Kota stood there in the middle of the emptying changing room, the heavy wooden benches creaking faintly under the weight of discarded gym bags and scattered towels as the last few seniors hurried to pull on their clothes.
The air was thick with the sharp tang of sweat, old sneakers, and the faint chemical bite of the industrial cleaner someone had sprayed earlier that morning, mixing with the low, muffled sounds of fabric rustling and zippers sliding shut.
Everyone moved in near-total silence now, eyes darting sideways in stolen glances toward the corner stall where Kota had just emerged, their faces flushed and lips pressed tight like they were biting back moans that threatened to spill out.
One senior fumbled with his shorts, the fabric catching on his half-hard cocklet as he yanked them up, a soft, stifled whimper escaping before he clamped his mouth shut and hurried out. Another kept sneaking looks at the front of Kota's gym shorts, where the obscene bulge of his new, impossible size strained visibly against the thin material, the thick outline of the head and shaft clearly defined even when soft.
They all filed out one by one, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor, the heavy metal door swinging shut behind the last of them with a final, echoing thud that left the changing room completely empty except for Kota.
This was bad. Really bad.
His cock throbbed angrily inside the loose gym shorts, the new weight and girth making it hang heavy and full even after everything he had already pumped out earlier in the day.
The ache from yesterday had vanished overnight, but the raw, urgent need had tripled instead, a deep, insistent heat coiling low in his gut that refused to settle. He glanced around the deserted space, the row of metal lockers standing silent, the faint drip of a showerhead in the distance, the dim overhead lights buzzing softly overhead—and quickly stepped back into the corner stall for privacy.
His hand shoved down the front of his shorts without thinking, fingers wrapping around the thick, veiny length that felt heavier than it had any right to.
He stroked fast and desperate, the wet schlick-schlick of skin on skin filling the small space as pre-cum already leaked steadily from the slit, slicking his palm. The new size made every motion feel different—longer drags, fuller girth stretching his fingers wide—but it wasn't working. The pleasure built slow and stubborn, nowhere near enough to tip him over, his balls heavy and tight but refusing to release.
Frustration boiled up hot and sharp in his chest, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he pumped harder, hips bucking into his fist, but the edge stayed just out of reach, teasing him mercilessly.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, the word echoing off the tiled walls. Sexually frustrated beyond belief, he yanked his hand free, wiped it hastily on his shorts, and stepped out of the stall just as Otis's calm, warm voice carried in from the gym floor.
"Alright, everyone! Today is only meditation. No jumping, no drills—just breathe and relax. Find a spot on the mat, close your eyes, and sit down in a simple criss-cross. Let the energy flow nice and easy."
Kota hated this. Hated the idea of sitting still with his body screaming for release, hated the way his mind kept flashing back to the stall, to Dennis's lace-covered ass shaking, to Riley's throat stretching around him.
But he walked out anyway, the gym lights bright and unforgiving overhead, the polished wooden floor cool under his bare feet. The seniors were already settling into place across the wide mats, legs crossed, hands resting on their knees, eyes dutifully closed as Otis moved between them with that gentle, patient smile. Kota dropped down near the back, folding his long legs into the criss-cross pose, but the moment he sat the massive tent in his gym shorts became obscenely obvious—a literal skyscraper pushing up the thin fabric, the thick head clearly outlined, the heavy shaft curving slightly as it strained upward. He could feel eyes flicking toward him even through closed lids, the seniors shifting uncomfortably on their mats, soft breaths hitching as they tried not to stare.
He closed his eyes tight and prayed it would go down. Just rest. And rest. And rest. The words looped in his head like a desperate mantra, the gym falling into a heavy, breathing silence broken only by the faint rustle of clothing and the distant hum of the ventilation system. His cock throbbed painfully against the shorts, the new size making the tent even more ridiculous, pre-cum already soaking a small dark spot at the tip. He focused on his breathing, in and out, slow and steady, willing the blood to leave his groin and return to the rest of his body. Minutes dragged by, the meditation stretching on while Otis's soft footsteps padded quietly around the room, offering gentle corrections in that calm, soothing voice.
Kota peeked one eye open, just a sliver, hoping the worst was over.
Otis was gone.
He looked down and his stomach dropped. Otis was right there between his spread legs, kneeling quietly on the mat, one hand already wrapped around the thick base of Kota's cock through the thin gym shorts, squeezing gently. The teacher's light brown hair fell softly across his forehead, his expression calm and focused, fingers tracing the massive outline with slow, deliberate strokes that made the fabric pull tighter.
Kota's mouth opened to say something—anything—but Otis lifted a single finger to his own lips, shushing him softly, eyes warm and steady. "Ssh," he whispered, voice barely audible, the sound vibrating low and intimate in the quiet gym. "Just relax. Let me work my magic."
Otis's hand slid under the waistband of Kota's shorts without another word, warm fingers wrapping fully around the thick, throbbing length, skin on skin now as he started stroking with slow, expert pulls that made Kota's breath hitch sharply in his throat.
The gym remained deathly silent around them, the other seniors still sitting criss-cross with eyes closed, completely unaware, while Otis worked him with calm, practiced movements, thumb circling the leaking head on every upstroke, squeezing just right at the base on every downstroke.
Kota's hands clenched into fists on his knees, the overwhelming pleasure crashing through him as Otis leaned in closer, breath warm against his thigh, the meditation pose holding steady while the teacher quietly, expertly, began to unravel him right there in the middle of the class.