**Members' Exclusive: Bending Eli, Bonus Chapter: Not What I Expected

Not What I Expected

I barely slept.

Not because I was sore, even though I was. It was because I couldn’t stop replaying what happened. Casper fucking me. The way he moved. The way he held me open and took his time, like he knew every part of me already.

There was something about it I couldn’t shake.

By morning, it was all I could think about. I didn’t bother with breakfast. I threw on clothes, packed my bag, and left without checking the time. My legs still felt loose, used. My chest was tight, full of something that sat right between nerves and want.

I wanted to see him again.

I wanted it again.

And maybe this time, he’d give me more.

So, I arrived at the gym ten minutes early for our morning session.

I stepped into the gym and barely had time to shut the door before Casper looked up.

“Clothes off,” he said.

That was it. No hello. No warm-up. Just those two words, low and certain.

I froze for half a second. Then started pulling my shirt over my head.

He watched me the whole time, not moving, not saying anything else. I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my shorts, pushed my briefs down. I didn’t look at him while I did it. My skin felt hot, not from embarrassment exactly—just that feeling of being seen again. Exposed. Waiting.

Casper walked toward me slowly, barefoot, shirtless, in the same black shorts from yesterday. He stopped right in front of me and tilted my chin up with one finger. His eyes scanned my face like he was checking for something.

Then he said, “On your back.”

I dropped to the mat without thinking. My heart was pounding, but my limbs moved on their own. I lay flat, legs slightly bent, arms at my sides. I didn’t know where to look, so I just kept my eyes on the ceiling.

I felt him kneel between my legs. One of his hands gripped the underside of my thigh and pushed it open. The other hand moved between us.

He spit into it.

That sound—wet and quiet and sudden—made everything feel real in a way it hadn’t even yesterday. I didn’t move. Just kept breathing through my nose.

He slicked himself quickly, then leaned forward, pressing the head of his cock against me.

“Breathe,” he said.

I did.

The pressure built slow. He pushed in with a steady force, not gentle exactly, but not careless either. My back arched slightly without meaning to. He held my thigh tight, guiding me open, working his way deeper without pulling back.

It stretched. Not as bad as the first time, but enough to make me feel every inch of him. No prep. Just spit and force and heat.

Once he was buried all the way inside, he stayed still for a few seconds. I could hear his breathing now, close to my face. I kept mine even. Barely.

He started moving.

It wasn’t fast. Just deep. Long strokes that filled me completely before he pulled back again. His hips moved slow and tight, thighs brushing mine with every thrust. There was no rush to it. No teasing either. Just focus. That same calm, solid rhythm he used when spotting me on the bar.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to.

His cock hit the same place each time, and it started to feel less like pressure and more like something I needed. Something I didn’t want him to stop.

His rhythm stayed steady. Not lazy. Just exact. Every stroke felt deliberate. I could feel the way his body worked over mine: solid, restrained, and always in control.

I kept my legs open without being told. They trembled a little, but I didn’t close them. I didn’t want to.

One of his hands slid under my lower back. The other braced beside my ribs, bringing him in closer. His chest hovered just over mine. I felt his breath against my cheek with every slow exhale.

He didn’t talk. Just watched me. He kept his focus like he was tracking every reaction. Every twitch of muscle. Every sharp breath I tried to swallow.

Then, after a few strokes, he said, “Doing good.”

That was it. Flat, almost like an assessment. But it still made something tighten in me. I clenched around him. He didn’t slow down. Just kept thrusting with that same steady rhythm. Like he’d known exactly how this would go.

I could feel how deep he was. I could feel him stretch me with every motion. I was open to him now, completely. My body wasn’t resisting at all.

My cock throbbed against my belly, leaking with no contact. I didn’t touch it. That wasn’t part of this.

He kept moving, keeping the pace, keeping the pressure just right. It didn’t build like porn. There was no panting or quickening or frenzy. Just a subtle tightening in the way he held my hips. A slight hitch in his breath. The kind of signs you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for them.

I was.

Then I felt him push in all the way and hold. His cock throbbed once, then again. His body went rigid over mine.

He came.

He stayed still through it, just letting it happen. No sound. Just heat flooding into me, slow and steady.

I gasped softly and held still under him, feeling every twitch of his cock inside me. My hole clenched around it without meaning to.

He didn’t pull out right away. He stayed there for a few long seconds, breathing slow. Still not saying anything.

Then he withdrew. Smooth. Calm.

I stayed on my back, flushed and silent, cum leaking out of me onto the mat. My legs were open. My chest was tight.

He stood, wiped his cock with the edge of his shorts, and walked over to his bag.

I sat up slowly. Everything in me felt loose. Spent. I could feel how messy I was between the legs, and I didn’t move to hide it.

He looked over his shoulder. “Clean up. Then warm up.”

I didn’t say anything. I just nodded, grabbed a towel, and wiped between my legs. My thighs were sticky. My insides still felt full.

Then I got dressed again.

And started stretching.

Once I’d stretched out and wiped down, we got to work.

Casper started me on drills like it was any normal session, but I could feel the difference almost immediately. My body responded faster. My flips had cleaner lift. My landings hit tighter. I didn’t have to overthink every movement—things just clicked into place.

He noticed.

“Yeah,” he said after my second pass. “That’s better.”

I glanced over at him. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a look in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. Something sharper, pleased, maybe? He crossed his arms and nodded once. “That’s the cleanest your core’s looked all week.”

I tried not to react, but something lit up in me. I pushed harder.

The drills kept coming. Tumbling, trampoline, rings. He kept the pace up but didn’t push me past what I could handle. He spotted when he needed to, and when he didn’t, he just watched, arms folded, giving short corrections that actually made sense.

“Control your exit.”
“Don’t rush the twist.”
“Use the line. Trust your timing.”

And each time I did what he said, it worked.

By the end of the session, I was sweating like hell, out of breath, and floating a little.

He tossed me a towel. “Told you. It’d loosen you up.”

And for once, I didn’t care how smug that sounded.

He’d been right.

I went through the rest of the day like I was still in his gym.

I showered. Got dressed. Met Irina for a smoothie run and tried to act normal. She didn’t say anything, but at one point she tilted her head and gave me a look like she knew something was off. I told her I was just tired from training.

Which wasn’t a lie.

My legs still felt used. Not sore, used. Every time I shifted in my seat or bent to tie my shoe, I felt it. That dull ache was still there, but not in a bad way. Just enough to remind me. Casper had been in me less than four hours ago. He’d held my thighs open. He’d filled me. And then he’d watched me perform better than I ever had under him.

It kept looping in my head. Not even the sex itself, just his voice. The way he said “good boy.” The way he grabbed my thigh. That last deep stroke right before he came. The weight of his body over mine, heavy and quiet and impossible to ignore.

I went back to my dorm around dinner but didn’t eat. Didn’t want to move too much.

I thought about jerking off. I wanted to. I even sat on the edge of my bed and slid my hand under my waistband once. But I stopped. It didn’t feel right.

I didn’t want to ruin it.

That was the weird part. It felt too good in my head, too specific. I didn’t want to take it apart by touching myself like a desperate idiot and rushing through it. I wanted it to keep building. I wanted to see where it went next.

Mason came in around ten, flopped onto his bed, and immediately got on his phone. He didn’t ask what I’d been up to. I was glad. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve said.

We both stayed quiet for a while, lights out, just the soft sounds of his screen and the occasional buzz from his messages. Eventually he rolled over and went still.

I closed my eyes and let the image of Casper come back.

His hips between mine. His voice in my ear. His fingers on my jaw.

But this time it wasn’t just remembering.

This time, something started to change.

He was behind me.

Bent over a padded block, arms draped forward, my back slick with sweat. My ass was bare, raised, exposed. The gym lights were harsh and hot overhead, casting everything in bright, unforgiving color.

Casper stood between my legs, completely naked, his cock heavy and hard in his hand. He looked down at me without blinking.

Then he spit.

Right onto my hole.

It hit warm and wet, and before it could drip, he smeared it in with two fingers, rough and quick. Not gentle. But not careless either. Just impatient. He’d waited long enough.

He lined up and pushed in hard.

I moaned, head snapping back. My body rocked forward from the impact, but I shoved right back into him, greedy for more.

“Oh fuck,” I gasped.

He slammed in again. I arched into it, mouth open, cheeks flushed. I didn’t try to escape it. I needed it. I met each thrust with my own, skin clapping, breath catching, body begging for more with every slap of his hips.

“Look at you,” he sneered behind me, voice low and mean. “Fucking into it like a little bitch in heat.”

I whined at the words, hole clenching around him. I didn’t care how filthy it sounded.

His hands dug into my hips, dragging me back into every thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, loud and fast, echoing off the walls so loudly it could only have been a dream .

I tried to hold on to the block, but it was no use. My body moved with his now, jolting forward, pulled back, used again.

Then his hand slid up my spine and wrapped loosely around my throat. Not tight. Just there. Possessive.

“Slut’s loving this,” he muttered, pressing his mouth close to my ear.

I moaned so loud I startled myself.

He shoved two fingers into my mouth, wet and rough. I sucked on them instantly, lips wrapped tight, eyes fluttering shut. I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t want him to say anything nice. I wanted it just like this: aggressive, rough, all-consuming.

His cock rammed into me faster now, deeper. I could feel it hitting the same spot over and over, dragging me closer to the edge even though I hadn’t even touched myself. I didn’t need to.

He had me.

All of me.

And I wasn’t going anywhere.

My whole body was shaking.

His fingers never left my mouth. His cock never slowed. Every thrust sent me forward into the block, then yanked me back by my hips. The sound of our skin slapping echoed off the concrete, fast and brutal. Sweat dripped from my temples. My vision blurred.

I didn’t care.

I moaned around his fingers, sucking them deeper. My tongue slid against his knuckles. I would’ve taken anything he gave me in that moment. My hole was wide open, stretched to its limit, and I still wanted more.

He leaned over me, chest slick against my back. His weight forced me down, pinned me in place.

“Fucking cockdrunk,” he growled.

I whimpered in response, cock twitching untouched beneath me.

His grip shifted. His fingers slipped from my mouth, hand sliding under my chest to pull me back harder. His other hand smacked my ass once, then stayed there, gripping the meat of it like it was his to hold. And it was.

He owned every part of me in that moment.

I didn’t feel humiliated. I felt… right. Exactly where I should be. Bent, used, full of him. My mouth open and wet, my body broken into by the same man who’d watched me train like nothing had ever happened between us.

My head hung forward now, forehead resting against the vinyl, my breathing ragged. I could feel my hole clenching on him every time he bottomed out. His thrusts were erratic now, more force behind them. No rhythm anymore, just need.

“Fucking take it,” he snarled.

I nodded without thinking. Just nodding into the mat, begging silently. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t need to.

He buried himself all the way in, deep and still. His cock twitched inside me, once, then again, and then I felt it.

Hot and thick, filling me in pulses.

I groaned long and low, my whole body melting into the block. My cock pressed against the pad beneath me, untouched, but leaking like I’d just finished too. I was dizzy with it. Drunk on everything he gave me.

He didn’t pull out right away.

He stayed there, locked deep inside, his chest still pressed to my back, one hand holding my hip, the other draped over my shoulder. He was breathing hard now. Slower, deeper.

Neither of us said anything.

It was just his cum dripping from my hole, pooling under me. His cock softening slightly but still inside. His weight on me, grounding me. Keeping me pinned.

I didn’t want him to move.

I didn’t want the dream to end.

But of course it did.

The dream slipped away slowly. Not like dreams usually do. It didn’t vanish all at once or turn blurry. It let go in pieces—his breath on my neck, his cock pulling out, the last echo of my moan. My hips twitched once more in my sleep.

Then I was awake.

Eyes open. Room dark. The ceiling above me just barely visible from the sliver of hallway light under the door. Mason’s soft breathing came from the other bed. Steady. Undisturbed.

I didn’t move at first.

I just lay there, heart pounding, staring straight up. My whole body felt flushed, sticky under the covers. I was still catching my breath. As though I’d actually just experienced the fuck that happened in my dreams.

Then I looked down.

There was a huge wet spot in the sheets. Not subtle. Not something I could hide with a hoodie thrown over the bed. My cock was still hard though, throbbing even. My thighs felt warm and damp. I could feel the leftover pulse of it in my lower back and deep inside, even though it had only happened in my head.

Only a dream.

But it hadn’t felt that way. It felt like Casper. The way he really moved. The weight of him. The voice. The hands. The slap of skin on skin. Just… more. More aggressive. More possessive. More intense. Like something primal had taken over.

And I’d loved it.

I swallowed hard and shifted under the blanket. My heart was still racing. I should’ve been freaked out. I wasn’t.

If anything, I wanted it again. For real this time.

I glanced over at Mason. He was still facedown, one arm slung over the side of the mattress, completely passed out.

Quietly, I reached under the covers and slid my hand down.

I slowly slid my hand up and down, quiet as a mouse.

I didn’t think Mason was going to wake up, but after that dream, if he did, so be it…