Recap: Cody wakes up wrecked from the night before, only to find Brad in the kitchen acting way too casual. Turns out Brad knows Cody found his spicy Twitter and doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he’s amused. Maybe even flattered. And when Brad mentions a new jockstrap he’s supposed to model, he hits Cody with a bold offer: “Wanna help me shoot?”

Brad had said it so casually. Like we were talking about filming a TikTok and not a custom jockstrap video for horny strangers online.
"Wanna help me shoot some content?"

I could have laughed. I could have made a joke, called him a slut, walked away. But I didn’t. I said, “Sure,” like it was no big deal. Like I hadn’t just spent the entire night rock hard thinking about his dick straining inside red fabric.

No problem. Just a little filming. Totally chill.

Now he was standing in our shared bedroom, the curtains slightly parted to let in a soft stream of natural light. Brad didn’t say a word, he just turned his back to me, slid his trunks down slow, and kicked them off without a glance.

He faced the mirror and bent slightly, reaching for the jockstrap on the dresser. His bare ass filled my vision. Broad and solid. Perfect round shape, the kind that looked sculpted. Every muscle shifted when he moved. The lighting caught the dip of his spine, the curve under each cheek. He didn’t even glance back at me. Just bent over and stepped into the straps like I wasn’t standing three feet away, rock hard.

The blue fabric stretched as he pulled it up. Snug and unforgiving. The back straps slid under each cheek and pulled everything up. Tight. Full. My eyes locked on the way his ass sat inside the jock. High. Thick. Like he wanted me to look. Wanted me to get hard.

I was already there.

Brad adjusted the front pouch with a casual palm. The jock cupped his bulge perfectly. Thick shape pressing forward, the fabric just sheer enough to hint at the shape beneath. I saw the outline shift when he moved. The head of his cock nudged the pouch like it needed space.

“Start recording?” he asked, still not looking at me.

“Yeah. Got it.”

“Make sure it’s angled a little lower,” he said without looking at me.

My hands moved automatically. Adjusting the tilt. Lining him up in the frame. Trying not to look as flustered as I felt.

I tried to focus on the phone. But he was in the frame. Shirtless. Jockstrapped. Facing the mirror. Arms flexed slightly at his sides. He squatted once, slow and deep. His thighs stretched. The fabric tightened around his ass, digging in just enough to frame it. Then he stood again, glancing at the mirror, adjusting his waistband like it wasn’t doing something to me.

“Steven likes squats,” Brad said. “And ass shots. Said I’ve got the build for it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

He squatted again, slower this time. Feet planted. Back straight. His ass pushed back toward the camera. Toward me. The straps slid along his skin, tightening around the base of each cheek. It looked obscene. Way too good. My cock throbbed in my sweats.

“You’re quiet,” Brad said, catching my eyes in the mirror.

I coughed. “Just making sure it’s all framed right.”

He smirked. “You wanna direct?”

My chest tightened.

Brad turned slightly, showing off more side angle. His abs caught the light. His bulge swelled slightly inside the pouch, just enough to notice. He ran a hand over his stomach, then lower. Palmed himself again. Not subtle. Not for the camera. For me.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re the one filming. Might as well help me get the good stuff. What do you want me to do?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. My cock twitched again, harder now. I shifted on my feet, trying to hide it.

Brad noticed.

He reached down again, slower this time, and cupped himself. The jock bulged in his grip. He gave it a light squeeze, then rolled his hips once. My mouth went dry.

“Grab the waistband,” I said. “Pull it up a little.”

He did. The pouch tightened around his bulge. I saw it pulse.

“More?” he asked, teasing.

I nodded.

He adjusted the straps behind him too, sliding his thumbs under the bands and pulling them up, lifting his ass even higher. Every muscle in his legs flexed.

“Now turn,” I said.

He did, slow and deliberate, until he was facing the camera. The pouch was thicker now. The head of his cock clearly pushing forward. He looked down at himself and laughed softly.

“Getting a little worked up,” he said.

I didn’t answer.

Brad looked at me over the phone. Then down at my waistband. “Damn,” he said. “You’re really staring.”

I tried to shift again. “Sorry.”

He stepped closer. Not all the way, just enough to break the space between us. The phone was still in my hands. His bulge was inches from my chest.

“If you’re gonna stare that hard,” he said with a grin, “you might as well hold it for me.”

My breath caught.

“What?”

His eyes didn’t blink. “I’m kidding,” he said. Then he smirked. “Unless you’re not.”

The tension buzzed. My cock pulsed again, harder than before. It felt like my whole body was flushed, humming, aching for something I didn’t know how to ask for.

Brad leaned closer to the mirror again. Flexed one bicep. Did another squat. This time he groaned just a little on the way up.

“This one’s for Steven,” he said under his breath.

I just stood there. Holding the phone. Stiff. Throbbing. Watching every second like I was addicted to it.

Brad turned and stepped closer, slow and sure like he already knew the answer. The jockstrap clung tight to him, straps framing his ass, pouch stretched around the thick outline of his cock. He looked down at himself, then up at me... eyes flicking to the bulge in my sweats, the way I was breathing, the way I couldn’t stop looking. He smirked like he was proud of it. Proud of what he was doing to me.

“You know, Cody,” he said, voice low, teasing, “my followers would lose it if they saw another guy’s hand on me. Bet it’d make the content way better.”

Then he nodded toward the phone in my hand and took one last step closer.

His voice dropped even lower. “You ever thought about being in one? Wanna help me make my content better?”


Brad nodded toward the phone in my hand and took one last step closer. His voice dropped even lower. “You ever thought about being in one? Wanna help me make my content better?”

I didn’t answer. My mouth was dry. My cock was rock hard in my sweats. And I couldn't stop looking at him. His body. The straps digging into his ass. The thick outline straining in that pouch like it was begging for space. “Sure, man,” I said finally. “I’ll help you out. No face, though.”

Brad grinned like that sealed the deal. “Yeah, yeah, Cody. Bro, totally. No face. Just start with your hand.”

He looked me over, still standing there in that damn jock like a walking hard-on. “Touch wherever you want,” he added. “I don’t mind. As long as the content turns out good.”

That did something to me.

I had my phone in one hand. My other hand was already moving. I ran it down his chest, slow, tracing the slope of his pec. Then over his abs. Cut. Perfect. Every ridge flexing under my palm. His whole body felt hot and hard, like it had been carved to be touched. I kept going lower, past the waistband, just until I was hovering over his jock again.

Click.

One photo. Just his body with my hand trailing down it.

My cock throbbed. I think I even started leaking right then. Just from touching him. From how casually he stood there and let me. Like it was no big deal. Like he knew exactly what it was doing to me.

“You good?” Brad asked, eyes still on mine.

I nodded. Swallowed.

“Wanna get something wild?” he added, already turning, showing off his ass again like it was part of the script. “Put your fingers under the strap.”

“What?”

He didn’t look back.

“C’mon, bro. Just slide ’em in under the band. My followers eat that shit up.”

I moved closer. My fingers found the strap on his right cheek. Hesitated. Then slowly, I hooked under it. Tugged gently. His skin was warm. His ass lifted with the tension. It felt good. It felt wrong in the hottest possible way.

“That good?” I asked, voice shaky.

Brad smirked at the mirror. “That’s perfect. Don’t move.”

He grabbed the phone from my hand, flipped the camera around. I didn’t even realize he’d started recording again.

“Smile for the thumbnail,” he joked.

I managed to lift the phone, aim it with one hand while the other stayed glued to his body, still under the strap. Brad posed, smirking over his shoulder like it was just another gym selfie.

Click.

Then he reached down and adjusted the front of his jock. “Okay, now grab it.”

I blinked. “Grab what?”

“My bulge, dude. Go on. Give it a squeeze. Make it look like you want it.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Brad grinned. “Yeah, bro. Help your bro out.”

I moved closer. My fingers hovered over the fabric. Hesitated. Then I slid them in under the waistband. Right into the pouch. Right against his skin.

Click. Another shot. My hand half inside his jock, touching cock.

His cock was warm. Thick. Pressing into my fingers. The fabric stretched tight around both of us. My whole body buzzed.

“Bro,” Brad said, looking down, cock twitching in that tight pouch, “don’t just keep your hand in there. Hold it.”

I didn’t even flinch. I gripped it.

Fully.

Click.

Another shot. My hand wrapped around Brad’s cock inside his jock, the outline way more defined now. My fingers barely closed around it.

Brad looked at the screen, then smirked. “I got an idea,” he said. “Here. Get yourself more comfortable.”

I blinked.

He pointed down. “Get on the floor, bro. It’ll be an amazing shot.”

I didn’t even hesitate. At this point, if he’d said “Bro, blow me for the content,” I might’ve done it. Hell, a guy like Brad? I'd do anything he asked.

He took the phone from me while I dropped to my knees in front of him.
“Bro, put both your hands on the waistband,” he said, aiming the camera down at me. “I’ll take a video. Slowly take it off.”

I nodded. My cock was throbbing in my sweats, leaking again. I slid my hand out from inside his pouch, the warmth still lingering on my fingers. Then I placed both hands on the waistband of his jock.

Deep breath.

And slowly... so fucking slowly... I started pulling it down.

The camera caught everything. Top POV. Brad’s hard abs flexed above me. His hips didn’t move. I peeled the fabric down, inch by inch, watching the pouch stretch before it gave up the fight.

Then I saw it.

Right in front of my face. Brad’s cock. All of it. In its full, fucking glory.

He couldn’t have been any harder. Thick, veiny, curved just slightly upward, like it was built to be shown off. And long. Long enough that if he slapped it against my face, it’d hurt. That kind of big. That kind of thick.

I just stared.

Brad looked down, voice low but steady. “Bro, grab it properly now. Right hand on my dick. Cup my balls with your left. It’s gonna be an amazing shot.”

I did exactly that.

My right hand wrapped around his cock, slow and firm. My left cupped his balls. Heavy. Warm. His skin was so soft, but his cock was steel-hard in my grip.

He groaned under his breath. Then added, “Now touch the tip with your thumb.”

I raised my thumb and pressed it gently against the head.

And that’s when I felt it.

A drop.

Warm. Wet. Right on my thumb.

Brad was leaking.