Advanced Physical Education

2140 words

This is a slasher porn parody, originally written for Halloween.

Contains: exhibitionism, voyeurism, dubious consent (due to coercive elements), anal sex, multiple orgasms, knifeplay, size kink, masked sex, and a power bottom final boy.

Ian peels the sweat-damp fabric of his shirt away from his chest. The treadmill shakes as he hops off. The clock hanging on the adjacent wall reads close to 11pm.

He’s by himself in the exercise hall. In fact, the entire campsite is near-abandoned, only populated with the few counselors who arrived early.

Camp Fairwood isn’t as large as some of its competitors, but it boasts luxury - as evidenced by the state-of-the-art equipment peppered throughout the exercise hall. Floor-length windows line the right wall of the gym and overlook the lake.

The treadmill continues to wind down. Ian sits on the edge and looks out towards the river. His walkman continues onto the next song, the machine unaware the workout is now over.

Fuzzed-out drums play over his headphones. Moonlight reflects off of the water, glimmers of white among deep blue-black waves.

Suddenly, there’s movement outside. A shadow flickers in his periphery.

Rapid-fire drumbeats are cut off as Ian pauses the cassette and removes his headphones. He strains to hear an indication that someone - or something - else is out there. It’s quiet, aside from his own breathing.

The silence doesn’t make him feel better.

 He knew it was a stupid idea to come to the gym alone at night. His fellow counselors didn’t hesitate to tell him so. At the time, he thought the others were just too chickenshit to sneak out. Now, with the empty room stretching out around him, he thinks maybe they had a point.

…Shit, he’s probably just being paranoid. Ian gathers his things from the floor. He’s not going to let a little freakout mess with his post-workout routine. Deeper into the gym he goes.

The locker room, like the rest of the exercise hall, has strangely high ceilings. Rows of shower heads line the back wall. While he waits for the water to heat up, Ian strips.

Ian’s got his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his shorts when he feels eyes on him. He tells himself it’s just a feeling; there hasn’t been any indication of another person here. A quick glance around the room just affirms this.

Despite this, he can’t shake the feeling of being watched. It’s with a mild amount of shame that Ian slides his shorts down anyway.

Goosebumps prickle on Ian’s exposed skin. He tests the water temperature with a hand, then steps into the stream. Water hits his back in a warm spray.

This Ian’s his 3rd year as a camp counselor. High school graduation came and went about a year ago for him. To be honest, he isn’t sure why they’ve let him stick around with the misdemeanors he’s managed to accumulate.

When he started here as a young camper, senior camp counselors weren’t given a strict curfew. He remembers the older teenagers sneaking off at night. They would run through the woods to meet up with their summer flings, or drive into town, or skinny dip in the lake.

Back in the day, the staff typically turned a blind eye to counselors after dark. It was common thought among camp administration that counselors were fledgling adults, learning to handle themselves. He remembers feeling equal parts jealousy and admiration for their freedom.

This freedom given the older teens was rescinded before Ian ever got to be a counselor. The camp introduced punishment for anybody caught outside nighttime hours, not just the younger ones.

The punishment has apparently escalated this year. The camp administration thought it was necessary, given the rumors circulating.

A metallic rattle echoes from inside the room. Probably just the heating for the building turning back on. Ian forces himself to ignore it.

The rumors vary depending on who you talk to, of course. The antagonists range anywhere from an inhuman lake monster eating young campers to a creepy but relatively harmless stalker stealing clothes from the laundry room.

Ian’s no stranger to stealing clothes once in a while. For a couple years now, he’s been hooking up with guys back in the city. If a shirt or jockstrap catches his eye, it’s not unusual for them to go missing. It barely counts as stealing if it’s after a good blowjob, anyway.

His hands wander down, over the defined plane of his stomach. There’s nothing better than the feeling of a cock pulsing in your mouth. Knowing you have control of when it gets to cum. Feeling how desperate another man can get when lost in pleasure.

Heat pools in Ian’s groin. His fingers brush over his hardening shaft, the briefest friction. They travel down to stroke his perineum.

He enjoys feeling the weight of a man’s balls in one hand, mouth working over the head in tandem. The precum beading as the tip of his tongue dips in.

That particular kind of control over a near-stranger is intoxicating. His cock twitches at the memory of a particularly vocal guitar tutor begging him to just go a little faster, please.

Ian’s hands travel backwards, over his hips. They spread his ass, exposing his hole to the steady pound of the showerhead.

It always amazes him how easily he opens up. There was one guy who just wanted to watch. Ian handcuffed him to the bed and then fingered himself, getting three lube-smeared fingers in before the 15-minute mark was up.

The adrenaline is doing interesting things to his state of arousal. He feels like his skin is too tight, heightened senses barraged by the warm water and the cold air and the feeling of being watched.

Some rational part of his brain gives way and Ian finds himself on his back, circling his hole with a lube-smeared finger. The wooden slats of the bench are unforgiving, even with a towel laid for comfort.

Ian groans as his middle finger teases his entrance, performing to the open room. A second finger joins quickly after. He curls his fingers, partially to search for his prostate, partially to exaggerate the wet noises.

It’s after he starts stroking his cock in tandem with his thrusts that he hears a decidedly human grunt.

Ian stops. “Hello?” he calls out, trying to keep his voice steady.

A figure emerges from the shadows. He’s large in every sense of the word, tall and muscle-bound. A kitchen knife is grasped in his right hand.

Ian stumbles to his feet, cock bobbing against his stomach. He wasn’t expecting the knife. Too risky, even for him.

“H-hey there.” Ian says, backing up. The stranger plods forward. As he gets closer, Ian realizes his face is concealed. A hockey mask glints in the low light.

Ian points at his face. “Oh, I get it. Like Jason, right?”

The intruder just creeps forward, knife extended.

“Well, you’ve certainly nailed the anti-sex schtick, catching me in the act and all.” Ian says. His eyes rake over the stranger. Scans over the button down, thick forearms, too-tight pants. Focuses on the conspicuous bulge. “No ulterior motives for that, huh?”

The man stops his slow approach. The black eye holes of the mask don’t betray emotion, but Ian could swear the man looks embarrassed.

“I’m already naked. Why don’t you get more comfortable?” Ian tries to reach out a hand, but the stranger stabs at the air and Ian shrinks back.

“Woah, can’t we just-” Ian’s plea is cut short as his back slams into the wall. No escape.

Ian gasps in a shallow breath as the chill of steel draws across his chest. The knifepoint comes to rest across the base of his throat. He holds back a whimper as the edge digs in, just hard enough to break the skin.

This is going south quickly. It’s time for risky moves.

Ian rocks his hips forward. He winces at the rough fabric of the stranger’s jeans against his bare cock. Despite the barrier, there seems to be enough friction, because the masked man gasps and his knife clatters to the floor.

The stranger tries to step back and retrieve the weapon. Ian grabs his waist with both hands. Presses his nude body up against the other’s clothed one.

“Come on. It’ll feel better if you fuck me before you stab me.”

Ian barely has time to register the fact he’s not standing before he’s on his back again. It makes him a little lightheaded when he realizes the stranger picked him up and deposited him back on the bench.

The masked man holds Ian’s thighs up. His fingers are thick and rough, calluses scraping against Ian’s shower-raw skin. His still-clothed dick rubs against Ian’s ass.

”Oh, for Christ’s sake, pull your cock out already. I won’t move. Promise.” Ian says, looping his arms around his own legs. “Scout’s honor.”

The stranger grunts and unzips his pants. No underwear. Ian licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. To say the man’s cock is proportional might be an understatement. It’s about as thick as Ian’s forearm, and nearly the same length.

“Holy shit.”

Obviously not one for foreplay, the stranger pushes the blunt head of his dick against Ian’s hole. It slides in with a bit of effort. There’s pain, of course, but it’s the dull ache of a protesting muscle. Ian wills himself to relax against the steady pressure of the man’s massive cock.

Inch by inch, the stranger’s shaft buries itself in the heat of Ian’s ass. It’s almost too much. He’s used to getting fucked, but not like this.

Thankfully, the stranger also seems to need a break, because once he bottoms out he stops moving.

Ian groans. “Jesus Christ, you’re thick.”

They stay like this for a moment, quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing. Then, the stranger starts to thrust and Ian can’t stop himself from moaning. It feels like he’s being split in half.

“I- ah- knew you were watching me earlier. Opening myself up.”

The stranger just grunts in response. The roll of his hips are coming faster now. The sound of their bodies slamming together is obscene, wet slaps as the stranger’s cock molds him around it.

Ian can only breathe in staccato, each thrust forcing air out of him. “You gonna cum?” He manages to pant out. “Do it.”

That’s all the encouragement the stranger needs. His pace stutters to a halt and his grip on Ian’s legs goes slack.

The cum drunk stranger makes a strangled noise when Ian hooks a leg around his knee and twists them to the side.

They fall to the ground, the stranger under Ian’s full bodyweight. Ian sits on the stranger’s chest. He might be smaller, but he knows how to wrestle. Cum trickles onto the dark fabric from Ian’s ass and it, surprisingly, doesn’t make him feel less powerful.

The stranger’s cock is still semi-hard. Coupled with the fact that his opponent is still trying to recover from the confusion, it’s easy enough to scoot back and slip it back inside. To Ian’s delight, after a few weak pushes at his waist, the stranger lets him.

“Good. I’m not done with you yet.” The stranger’s cock pulses inside him at that.  

“Oh, fuck.” Ian moans, satisfied with the development. “You like that, big guy?”

Ian’s thumb traces up the man’s body from where it joins with his, lifting up the shirt. Hair dusts the stomach there.

“That’s it, keep that dick hard for me.” The stranger has a bit of a gut. The layer of fat dents under Ian’s fingers as he starts to move his hips.

Despite the chill of the room, Ian feels sweat start to drip down his back. That damned thick shaft hits his prostate on every upstroke. He can feel himself getting close.

The stranger is making choked wheezes underneath him. Ian flexes, grinning down at that blank mask. The suction-heat of his ass must be overwhelming by now.

“I’m gonna cum.” Ian starts stroking his cock as he rides the other’s. “If you can manage it, you can cum in me again.”

Ian inhales through his teeth as his orgasm rips through him. “Fuck.”

A delighted shiver runs down Ian’s spine at the feeling of his thigh muscles tensing and contracting. The stranger’s button-down is now irrevocably stained with cum.

It only takes a few more bounces before the man underneath him is throwing his head back with a garbled whine.

“A lot more fun when I can contribute, right?” Ian says. He dismounts with a grunt. The stranger lays panting on the tile floor.

“Tell you what… I can come by again tomorrow, same time.” Ian makes a face. “Maybe then we can finally get your pants off.”

The man lifts his head up to stare at him through those unblinking eye holes. For a terrifying moment, Ian thinks he’s severely misread the situation. Then, the stranger lifts a big, meaty hand.

It's a thumbs up.