Chance of showers:
This wasn't like one of those cheap porn movies where the people are strangers. I knew exactly who he was. Top of the class in the sports and health department. Bentham College's national champion swimmer. It was hard to believe a husky with that much muscle could move so fast in the water, but he was beating out orcas and otters in their own element.
He had at least three girlfriends on the side, not counting one night stands while touring the nation for competitions. What's more, they all knew each other. They all knew what he was doing, and they didn't care. With a body like his, I wouldn't have cared, either.
I would see him in his skin tight tank top and shorts, sunglasses glittering and a beautiful vixen on each bulging arm hanging on his every word, laughing at his every joke, one of them holding his lemonade for him while they lounged on the campus lawn. I would see him between classes, big foot paws moving with that confident alpha male swagger, his gorgeous bushy tail curled high, idly slapping paws with the other campus jocks. I would see him in the gym, those rippling muscles pumped and hard, teeth bared as he slammed out rep after rep on the lat pull down, set to a weight that made even the minotaurs and rhinos take notice. I thank whatever deities you care to name for putting him in my dorm, even if I would have to watch him gently ushering a Noah's Ark of voluptuous females into his room night after night.
Now he was here, in the dorm room's public showers, at 3 a.m. Nothing separated me from him except for a single door that stood carelessly cracked open. What would you have done? I didn't even dare flush the toilet after I zipped up, afraid he would realize the door was ajar.
I had seen every swim meet he'd ever been in broadcast on the campus television channel. Apparently I wasn't the only one to silently worship him, because whoever manned the camera during home meets never turned it off of him. Not that anyone complained.
You huskies all know how gorgeous you look. So you can imagine the way he made heads turn, because this husky was car wreck handsome. As in he walks down a busy intersection, and cars crash because the drivers are busy gawking. I've seen it happen. He pretends to be ignorant to all of it. But if you look closely, you can see the sly little half smile that creeps up his lips.
He was exponentially more beautiful in real life than on a television screen. Even a high definition plasma screen couldn't capture the detail of his manly jaw, his perfectly tapered snout, the deep Pacific sapphire of his eyes.
I had fantasized about seeing him stripped down to nothing but his swimming thong. Of course I had. Every fucking gay fur on campus had. But I was the lucky one tonight. Because there he was, turning on the water, the steam starting to swirl gently around him as if he were a genie.
He was wearing his black suit tonight. My favorite. The seams in the front of it act to perfectly frame his crotch, and I'm convinced this is why he bought it. Try competing against an Adonis in the lane next to you when his bulge is all you can think about. No wonder he wins so many meets. They all dive into the water soft, and by the time they reach the far end of the pool, you can tell who the gay swimmers are.
Of all the showers in the dorm bathroom, this one is his. It's the one closest to the full length mirror set into the wall I couldn't see from my angle. I could see him glancing in it from time to time as he whistled and soaped up his ruff. Why the hell not? I would have, if I were him. Not too much, though. Part of what makes him so irresistible is how comfortable he is with his body and his looks. I've never worked up the courage to speak to him, but you can see it in the way he carries himself, in the way he interacts with guys who are even bigger than him. It's like he just takes looking like a Greek god for granted.
He stopped whistling and rinsed out the soap. I watched the suds slowly course down his back. They reached his rump and I bit my lip hard to stop a moan. The suds parted around his tail, slowly, oozing over those two perfect bubbles of flesh before the water finally banished them into the floor drain.
My throat whined, tiny and soft. He was just standing there under the water, letting it course over him. I would have given anything to be a water droplet on his hide. My cock agreed. I gave my crotch a slight rub with my paw and had to stop because it made my eyes shut in pleasure, and that meant missing out on the sight through that little open space between door and frame.
He shifted slightly, rolling his hips. His wide back caught the light, making the water glitter off the rolls of muscle that formed his shoulder blades. Each drop kissed his fur before joining the others to trickle down into his thong. If Michelangelo's sculptures could move, they would have looked like this husky's back. He brought his arms up, splaying his big paws open against the wall, slowly rocking from side to side, letting the water stroke him.
I was against the doorway by now, right up to the crack and barely blinking. My paw was undoing my pants.
This is a bad idea. This is a very, very bad idea. Someone's going to watch in and see you.
My paw reached into my boxers and grabbed that needy, slick shaft. I allowed myself a silent, slow gasp. I looked on, just holding my shaft and trying not to make a sound.
He picked up a sponge from its tray, light yellow and fluffy. He squeezed it and I squeezed my cock at the same time. Water spurted out over his knuckles and dripped to the floor. He brought it slowly to him like a lover. I could almost feel it rubbing up and down his chiseled abdominals.
The action of the slow circles he made over his abs and chest caused his back muscles to flex like a banquet. My tongue came out of my lips. I licked the doorway, watching. Imagining it was the smooth, slick fur of his back I was licking. My cock throbbed, fully hard.
He set the sponge back on its tray with a heavy, wet slap. He put his arms on the wall, just from the elbow down, as if doing pushups, then slowly tucked his body up under the spray. The water was only stroking his rump and legs, now. My eyes locked onto his ass. He gently, slowly squeezed the muscle. It tightened inward, and at the same time the muscles in it grew more defined, then began to bulge out under his tail, forming a perfect T of rock hard flesh, speckled with water droplets.
I rubbed under the head of my cock with my thumb, murring to myself. By this time, I didn't care if I was caught. It would be worth it.
He backed off the wall. Bending slightly at the waist, his head turned a little towards the door. I slid back along the wall just to be on the safe side, but all of his attention was focused on his body.
His paws gently stroked down his powerful thighs. When he wore shorts, the sunlight would catch the deeply visible cuts and striations of both his quads and his hamstrings, with a sharp clarity that years of competitive swimming had given them. Not large like a football player's, and not skinny like a runners. No, his were a perfect harmony of size and firmness. He petted and massaged them as if brushing the glowing flanks of a prize stallion.
He straightened and took another pace backward, turning down the flow but turning up the heat. The air was filled with steam, clinging to his fur and muscle like posing oil. His fingers reached back and up, blunt canine claws hooking into the top of the thong.
Oh yes. Oh God yes. Oh please... I silently begged. My paw started to stroke. And he started to strip.
He stretched the thong out sideways to fit it down his big thighs. He didn't just whip it off like a stripper. He caressed it off. He eased it off with the same care you might use to take a stack of fine china off a table. As his back lowered, the water focused into long, thin streamers that struck his lower spine and pulsed down into the top of his exposed anal crack. His tail was curled off to the side, so I had a VIP look at that ivory and slate fur-covered piece of living marble. The water continued its journey, sometimes vanishing into his shadowed nether regions only to drip out the bottom. Sometimes, curling just along the visible edge of his left cheek and then running down the long bulge of his hamstring to tap on the inside edge of the thong he was still lowering.
He straightened, the thong a wadded up, twisted ring around his knees. Water trickled off the striations that ridged his middle back. The Christmas tree, it's known as in bodybuilding circles.
Slowly, he turned in place, presenting more of a sideways profile. His right paw teased the thong lower on his legs as he turned, lowering one knee down closer to the floor with a dancer's grace.
I could see his front, now. Those juicy, ripe chest muscles that swelled out from just beneath his neck, with nipples that looked like big water droplets in themselves, frozen in place on the edges of his pecs. Faint cuts coursed from the cleft between them outward, as if tracing the orbits of planets. Below them undulated his abs. Ridged like the San Andreas fault line, and when I saw them an 8.5 on the Richter scale shot through my entire skeleton.
My mouth was dry, my lips soaked in my own drool. My tongue was utterly shameless, slurping over those lips lewdly while I continued to slowly stroke. Maybe now I would get to see what all those ladies were raving about.
Water poured in a thin stream from the underside of his chin. I followed its falling course downward, resting my eyes between his legs and what they still hid from view. His thong completely off and pooled at his feet the way I wished I was, he slowly began to stand back up.
Evidently I wasn't the only one getting off on this, because his cock was free of its sheath. I wasn't expecting it. It slid into view, the head curling toward his right thigh, like some great black worm, the fat head capping a three inch thick shaft that was faintly ribbed with tiny lighter bands of flesh at regular intervals, like a tree trunk. The way it gently thrust itself into view was like a tongue seeking to taste a lover's muzzle.
I nearly lost it just at the sight of his pride alone. Precum spurted from my head and warmed my fingers. I struggled for air and took my paw away from my shaft, letting it jerk and spit precum, refusing to let it have the satisfaction of orgasm so soon.
God, even with his open palm resting on the far side of his right thigh, he could almost touch it. The water dripped, jungle hot, in a miniature rainstorm from his body, anointing that python. It dangled. It was so heavy it actually hung out of his sheath the way a horse's does. His balls were just as ponderous. Not huge by any means, but they swayed gently, low in their sac, hypnotic. The very tip of his cockhead wriggled slightly as he fully stood.
He completed the turn he had been making. His front was fully exposed for my inspection. I was afraid at first. All it would take would be him opening his eyes, and he'd see my eye pressed to the crack in the door, looking back. His eyes stayed shut. The water flowed from his ears, from his ruff, from his neck down in streams over his bulging pecs. Small fountains and waterfalls of it spattered from his nipples onto his obloquies. The deep channel down the center of his six pack funneled the water against his navel and then lower, flowing between his thighs. More streams followed the contours of his legs, which he slowly turned to the side, twisting slightly at the waist so that I could see their full bulging profile.
He twisted his upper body to follow, once again displaying his back and rump. This time his tail hid the best bits. But all that changed when he dropped the soap. He did the thing you never want to do in a prison. He bend fully at the waist to retrieve it. Up slid the tail. And there it was. I could swear his rump cheeks actually flexed apart to show it. His paw would be closed over the soap any second, but it was slippery, and so for thirty glorious seconds I stared at his pucker and at the silhouette of his balls just visible between his legs. My mouth, bone dry by now, flooded with saliva. It wanted to shove my entire muzzle between those cheeks and eat that ass.
He straightened triumphantly with the soap. The water cascaded down over his shoulder blades into the trough of his spine, straight down over his rump. He reached back with his paws to fondle and squeeze his bare rump, swaying from side to side so that his lower back muscles flexed and each cheek got a chance to show off for me on its own. He turned around. The water poured off the end of his mouth-watering pupmaker, hot as afternoon tea. I could see the steam rising from it. He turned to face the wall again, jerking his neck. His longish ruff fur swished, spraying water across the tiled floor. He was getting horny. I could tell by the way he spread his palms flat to the wall and then lowered his body against it. He gave a soft, deep murr. The fur on the back of my neck rose and I let my murr out in full volume, knowing his deeper, richer voice would drown it out in the acoustics of the shower room. He started to gently hump the wall. A slow, tender sliding up and down, just a few inches, not really a humping motion yet. His claws clicked gently on the tiles. He was stroking his cock on the cool tiles, rubbing those balls flat to their blue painted surface. His head tilted back, eyes shut, and lips parted, panting in gentle pleasure.
Once again he turned around. His cock was not hanging any more. It reached to above his navel, its thickness covering his belly button completely. He ground his rump softly to the wall, head still back. Water caressed his neck and shoulders like the paws of a lover. The center of his pecs tensed inward, forming a pair of deep central striations that connected the shadows from where his bulging shoulders met his armpits. His pecs bulged outward. They danced as he bounced them slowly, first together, then independently.
He reached up with a paw to caress one. He cupped it with his fingers, squeezing softly. So thick, so full. He brushed his fingers down across his abs, tensing them at the same time to make them stand out even more. He flexed his pecs again. They seemed to suck inward up and in from the point of the navel before relaxing back again. His arms never moved to help. That was all pectoral. I watched him smear his fingers across those mountains. He was relishing in his own body. You could see it in the wide, close-lipped smile, those delicately shut eyes.
He ran his other paw lazily along his ruff, spiking up the fur and letting the water gradually flatten it again. I bit back another moan. The action was making his bicep just pop out of the skin. Full and round, a perfect circle, bigger than an apple. Nearly the size of a cantaloupe. His armpit was fully exposed, showing off just how wide his lats were, with a small triangle of muscle between the bicep and the underside of his chest. He kept himself shaved smooth for swimming, and I was glad of it. It only made it sweeter when he stroked his paw up along the leading edge of his pec, following the line of light reflected on his muscle from the ceiling above.
He started really getting into it. He turned to the side, cupping both paws over his face and rubbing them down, over his pecs, down his abs, straight down over the top of his shaft to the head, then reversing and going back up the same path. Every little adjustment he made with his feet caused his cock to bob ponderously up and down. He turned back toward me and ran his paws one last time over himself, fingering every cut with delicious care. This time, he kept going, up his neck and then pushing his palms back over his ears to squeeze the excess water from his ruff. It made those two cannons of muscle flex the hardest they could. I was amazed they weren't preventing his paws from reaching back that far.
I couldn't stop pawing any more. This was getting too hot. He opened his mouth into the streaming hot water. He slid his tongue out, cupping water into his mouth. Keeping his paws behind his head, he turned and gave his right bicep a kiss on the peak. Yeah, from the way he handled his lips, I knew he was a champion kisser on top of everything else. His tongue darted out, sampling the muscle with its tip. He hummed in pleasure. He rocked his tongue back and forth across his bicep. Then he opened his lips wider and began making soft biting motions, sensuously French kissing himself with smacks and slurps I could hear all the way across the room.
I was on my knees in front of the door. The head of my cock was near to peeking through the door itself as I wanked. I panted, breathing in hot moist air that was laced with his scent.
He made out with that hard bicep just like a lover, eyes rolling half open as he gazed at the reflection of his triceps in the unseen mirror, still slurping himself in slow motion. He relaxed both arms, leaning his back to the wall. He brought a paw to his mouth and suckled his lips round a single finger. Slowly turning it, corckscrewing it in his mouth, up and down. He pulled it out with a soft pop and brought to one sizzling nipple. I watched as the soft pad at the tip of his finger rolled in a tender circle around and around the base and head of the nipple until it was erect.
Time for a finish. I couldn't hold on much longer. Clearly, neither could he. That bad dog was going to cum in the public shower. I could see it in my mind's eye with a prophet's clarity.
Come on, I silently urged him. Come on, big dog. Show me what you can do with that sausage.
He gripped it with his fingers, squeezing, while his other paw stroked his balls. He rolled it up against his thigh like bread dough. He started to stroke. This husky was an expert. Gentle squeezes, like those you use to milk a cow, first from one side, then from the other, until his cock was even bigger than it had been. He pressed one palm flat to the top of his crotch to force it down while the other paw teased the head. Then he let it rise and followed it up, cupping it at the base with his paw and sliding upward, tightening his grip as he went, relaxing just before he reached the head. He never actually covered his cockhead, it was always visible. Even when it started to pucker, part and squeeze out drips of pre.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke. We pawed in unison, my oblivious hunk and I. His strokes stretched his shaft a bit each time they reach the head before letting it relax again as his paw slid down to his balls. He kept changing the angle, changing which paw he used. Sometimes it was high and tight against the swimmer's line of his waist, sometimes flat to his thigh, sometimes pointing straight at me. Precum mixed with the dripping water.
He started to pant heavily. His pecs heaved. His abs tensed. His lips curled back.
That's it, boy. Show me what I wanna see.
He squeezed his eyes shut. A spurt of real cum shot out of his cock. He kept the strokes slow, never making it a blur, never spoiling the action. I was so close myself I pressed my face hard against the crack in the door and started to hump against my own paw.
The cock pointed directly at my face. PLOOM. It arced out nearly as far as the door. He grunted and shot again, over and over, each time barking and snarling a little louder, a little deeper. The floor was spattered with his seed in a wide dispersal pattern like shrapnel from an explosion.
I barely saw the final cum shots. I was too busy lost in a secret sex dream, my own orgasm noises muffled by a paw over my mouth. I was completely covered. It stuck to my shirt, oozed over my fingers, dripped from the bottom of my wrist on to my boxers and onto the floor beneath me. The hugest load I'd ever shot.
But I couldn't linger and enjoy the afterglow. I had to get out of there before I was discovered.
I stood and fumbled with my zipper, fingers still clumsy with pleasure. I heard the water shut off. My zipper was half stuck. SHIT! I yanked hard. My boxer tore a little, but my zipper freed itself. I risked one final glance through the crack in the door.
He was busy toweling under his arms, whistling again. I breathed out slowly, my entire body tingling with the thrill of what I'd just done.
Then he looked at me. Right at me. The sly smirk was firmly in place. I froze. He winked. Once. Then, tossing the towel over one shoulder, he turned, swished his tail, and walked out of sight.
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