Sex stories

I’m Lucas, 24, a French street guy who hangs out near the local football field. I don’t play—I’m not athletic—but I love watching the guys go all in. One in particular always gets my attention: Yassin, 26, a built Arab man. This guy’s a unit—massive thighs, jacked arms, and a raw, dominant vibe that oozes testosterone. After every game, he stinks of sweat and man—and it drives me wild, even if I don’t show it.

That night, the game had just ended. I was hanging nearby in a grey tracksuit and scuffed-up Air Max, pretending to scroll my phone. Yassin sat on a bench, shirtless, his soaked jersey over his shoulder. His muddy white TNs gleamed under the lights, and his skin shone with sweat. I checked him out discreetly, but he caught me.

"Yo, what you staring at?" he called out, deep voice and smirking.

I’m not shy.
"You. You played hard, bro."

He laughed, wiped his forehead with his arm, and waved me over.
"Come here, stop acting innocent. I’ve seen you lurking all week. You got something to say?"

I stepped closer, and boom—his scent hit me. Fresh sweat, turf, raw masculinity. It fucked my brain, but I played it cool.
"Chill. I just like the vibe," I said, though my eyes wandered over his glistening chest.

He noticed. He stood, towering over me.
"You like the vibe, huh? You into me too?" he said, puffing up his pecs.

I blushed, but I owned it.
"Yeah, not gonna lie. You’re hot."

He stepped even closer. I felt the heat radiating from his body post-game.
"Hot? You’ve got no idea. Come on, let me show you, street twink."

He grabbed my wrist—firm, not rough—and pulled me toward the locker room.

"Ever sucked a dude fresh off the pitch?" he asked, grinning.

"Not yet, but I’m down to try," I shot back.

In the locker room, he slammed the door and pressed me against the wall—not dominant, just setting the mood.
"You’re wild. Go on, enjoy it."

He lowered his shorts just enough, and there it was—a thick cock, even half-hard, reeking of sweat and alpha energy. I dropped to my knees without hesitation.

I took him in my mouth. The salty taste hit my nose hard. I started sucking with hunger. He groaned, hand on the back of my neck.
"Damn, you’re good. Take it deep."

I gave it my all—deep throat, tongue action, the works.
He moaned out a few "you’re it", which only made me harder.

Then he said:
"You like it? Lick my balls too—they worked tonight."

I dove right in, nose deep in his sweaty, heavy sack. He jacked himself above me while I licked him like a dog. It was moist, filthy, and I was loving every second.

Then he yanked me up, turned me around, and growled in my ear:
"Ready to take it, little French twink?"

I was shaking.
"Do it. Fuck me."

He pulled out a condom—he was horny but not stupid—spit in his hand for lube, and started sliding in.
Slow at first, then harder once I begged for it.

His thrusts were viril. His muscular thighs slapped against my ass. I gripped the wall, moaning like crazy.

"You love my dick, huh? Say it," he grunted.

"Yeah, I love it. It’s huge," I gasped, totally gone.

He sped up. His groans echoed in the room. I was in heaven.

When he was close, he asked:
"Where do you want it?"

I was so far gone I said:
"On my Air Max. Mark me."

He pulled out, ditched the condom, and blasted a huge load all over my sneakers.
Cum splattered on the white leather, the smell was intense—and it pushed me over the edge. I came hard on the filthy locker room floor, legs shaking.

But he wasn’t done.

He handed me one of his TNs—still soaked in sweat and mud.
"Clean it, little sub. Show me you’re mine."

I was in a daze, licking the sole, tasting the grime and sweat, while he stared down at me, victorious.

"You’re my bitch now. Tomorrow after practice, I’m bringing two men. You’ll worship our TNs and cocks. You won’t be walking straight."

I walked out with sticky Air Max, a sore ass, and the biggest grin on my face.
And I’m already counting down the hours ‘til tomorrow.