Training Evan
The following story is a sequel to Testing Evan, found in the US mirror site here.
Disclaimer: The following story is fiction which depicts adult males having sex with teenage males. The age of consent in the state in which this fictional story is set is 18, so please be advised that this fiction depicts strictly-speaking illegal acts. If you are offended by this depiction, or if you are under the age of consent in the jurisdiction in which you are reading this material, or if this material violates standards of decency in your jurisdiction, please leave now. You are warned. Please remember that ordinary human decency as well as maturity requires good judgment, safe sex, and the ability to distinguish desires expressed in literary fiction from illegal acts committed by responsible, consenting human beings. The intellectual ownership of this material is claimed by DadJockCT, 2007:
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.
If you have comments or suggestions, please write them to DadJockCT@gmail.com
Comments: Thanks for your support after I published Testing Evan, which nifty.org put in the “authoritarian” category (I guess because Evan was put in restraints). This “sequel” has been a long time in coming (no pun).
Corrections to Testing Evan: A typo inadvertently put Evan at 170 pounds –he's 6'1”, 150 pounds, so he's tall and thin and quite defined.
Training Evan
(1)
Evan woke up dimly, on his own bed in his own room, the soft light blushing over the high mountains some miles east of Laguna Cerrita. He could quite remember how he got back here. He thought he remembered Mike helping him back into the house –or was it Jim's car? –or both of them? Evan sat up, swung his legs to the side of the bed, his hard-on throbbing between his legs. “Unggh,” moaned Evan, who fell back into the bed and momentarily back into his dream-space.
He was looking for his mom –she just seem to have left and suddenly he was looking for her in the house outside of Bellingham where he used to live. A man looked up from a computer, smiled, and said, “Jeanne isn't here,” and somehow Evan knew both that man was his father and that he was standing in front of his own birth-father completely naked and totally hard –and then Evan ran, ran away looking for Mom, and tripped over his step-father, who snarled, “she isn't here,” and Evan didn't care if he saw him naked and hard and he went on running and running until he ran smack into Coach Marty Jacobs and he fell into his arms sobbing and sobbing and Marty stroked his head said, “I can't find her, I'm not sure she's coming back.” Evan pressed his hard-on into Coach and moan, and Coach said, “Don't worry, don't worry, Evan, we have a good place for you,” and then Mike and Jim appeared naked as well, and Coach said to them, “you can take, you know where he'll be good,” and the three walked away hand in hand and stepped into an elevator and it went up and Evan was alone again, going up and up and up--
Evan woke up again with a start, still amazingly hard and felt close to cumming. He stroked his hard-on twice and the cum rolled over him but produced only a tiny drop. Evan felt damp with perspiration and got up, still shaken from the dream, and found his way into the shower.
The hot water brought him back to himself. Still shaken from his dream, Evan tried to rehearse what had happened in the last few days. His mother had left for a mysterious visit with a friend in Los Angeles –there was some food in the freezer, Evan had practice every day twice a day, and she'd be home in a few days. Evan was used to fending for himself, but this seemed different, somehow. Then he remembered what happened last evening at Dr. Evers' and wondered if that had been a dream too, but the slight soreness in his butt and on the tip of his cock made him think that it really had happened –and then Evan was hard again, instantly.
And then, relaxed under the warm spray, he remembered further –he had never met his birth-father, the one whose genes he carried, the one whose looks he probably inherited. He wasn't sure whether his father and mother had ever been married in some little town in Washington he didn't even know the name of. But sometime back then Mom had moved to Seattle and then met his step-father, married him, and moved to Bellingham. That hadn't worked out either and one day in third grade Evan came home to find her gone, and she stayed gone. It was about then that his step-father would touch his cock occasionally while Evan was in the shower, and several times Evan had explored with other boys. One of his friends showed him how to suck, but Evan was too shy to try it again.
Swimming had been his salvation. It gave him an outlet for his energy, a group of boys to belong to, and long hours outside of his step-father's house. The coaches sensed Evan's needs and abilities and pressed him to swim harder, faster, longer, and by seventh grade he was placing seconds and thirds in regional swim meets. Then in eighth grade the bottom fell out again and his step-father, who always treated Evan like an extra so much that Evan always had to get other rides to practice –or just walk –lost his investments and had to cut costs. The first cost to cut was Evan, who quickly found himself shipped out to his mother, whom he hadn't seen in a year at least, or lived with for six years.
There was some funny paperwork that passed back and forth between his former step-father (they had now gotten a divorce) and his nearly absent mother. She was completely absorbed in her work and didn't seem very healthy –thin, nervous, apt to be cross, wanting Evan out of the house. By great good luck she had a condo in Laguna Cerrita, and Evan quickly attracted the attention of the town's coaches, especially Marty Jacobs. Evan quickly rose from swim club to school team, and equally quickly rose one grade in school, right out of middle school. Somehow mother found a birth certificate showing Evan was a year older –but he thought he couldn't be. Strong for his age, he easily passed for a year ahead –but was he 14 or 15? Was it his sixteenth birthday or fifteenth? It was only two days before the cut-off at the beginning of practice, in any case. Suddenly Evan was in 10th grade at school, but it meant he could compete with the high school team, even if he barely kept up with the class work. He knew deep down he was fifteen, but knew it would be better to keep his mouth shut about this and many other things.
The arrival of cold water announced that Evan had stayed too long in the shower, at least in the opinion of the water-heater. He turned off the water, stepped out, dried himself, and caught himself in the full-length mirror in the hallway. He was startled to see that he had no pubic hair at all (“oh –yeah”), that he was completely smooth in his pits, his chest, even his balls. He looked like a very strong 11-year-old again –and his cock sailed straight up again, arching slightly to the left, fully hard. Since it was a bit sore, Evan looked at it more closely. There were two slightly pinkish blotches on either side, and when he pulled back his foreskin, he thought the piss slit was larger than he remembered. He looked again—he loved to let his hard cock sway, and whatever pills they gave him last night seemed to be working still. He felt relaxed but totally erect, and alone in the house, he reached into the refrigerator for some orange juice, yogurt, and breakfast bar, and sidled them out to the very private deck where he ate and lay back on a bench, feeling the sunshine warm his legs, his abs, and his cock and balls.
He dozed in the sun. Startled suddenly by a distant siren, he thought “Oh, shit –practice!” He darted back inside the house to discover –great relief –that he was not yet late, but he had to leave very soon. He found a dry red speedo, and old one from last year but it still fit, threw on a pair of soccer shorts, sandals, ran a comb through his hair, checked for his keys, his ID, his wallet, and sailed out of the house quite forgetting that he wasn't wearing a shirt. After the door locked, in the cool of the shade on the north side of the condo, he realized –“oh fuck it,” he would just take the back way down the hill to the school, down a small street and the utility entrance. These practices the week before school were so important but less formal than those once school had started.
The sun on his back, the morning stillness, anticipation of practice, the way his shorts felt loose and soft and his shaved crotch: Evan felt happy, relaxed for the rare time in Laguna Cerrita. The worries about his mother, his age, his school-work all dissipated in his relaxed gait down the narrow side-street past older California bungalows with front porches for a view over the valley –one of which flew a rainbow flag. A man sat reading on the porch, and put down his book as Evan passed, and motioned to his partner on the porch swing. Evan felt their gaze on his back, his ass, and his cock swelled just a touch. “Down, boy,” he thought, and he swung through the back utility driveway, passed garbage containers rancid in the morning sun, and ducked into the back entrance to the pool.
“Bauer –throw your stuff into the locker room and see me in my office,” he heard Coach Marty say.
After last night, feeling suddenly embarrassed, Evan nodded but averted his look from Coach, and moved double-time back to the locker area. Already most of the team was in the water or stretching on the side: all long, thin, smooth boys with very short hair and non-existent asses. Once in the locker room Evan heard the shrill whistle as the coach ordered the boys into the pool to begin their warm-up laps, twenty-four each. He threw down his bag, kicked off his sandals, and headed into the coach's office.
Coach Marty followed him in, closed the outer door to the ante-room holding a photocopier, blocks, cones, and other swim-team paraphernalia, then closed the inner door to his office: carpeted in school colors (maize and blue). Evan stood in front of his open desk, but Marty leaned back on a stool next to the wall, more relaxed. He looked at Evan, who could not look back, but stared at the floor.
“That was quite a time last night,” said Marty. Evan flushed. He had apparently neglected to put on brief, and his loose soccer shorts were tenting in his front. “You have nothing to be ashamed of: you performed like a champ. Your gifts are becoming apparent.”
“Thank you,” Evan mumbled, then more clearly, “Thank you, sir.”
“I know it was new for you, but I've seen all of your best team-mates from the past ten years do the same thing,” said the Coach. “You out-performed all of them. You are a gifted swimmer, but you have to focus, and you have to work, and if you do, you'll be at the top. Really the top. Olympics. I mean that.”
“How do you really know that,” Evan asked suddenly, surprised at his own skepticism.
“Because I know swimmers and I know swimmers' bodies,” said Coach. “Whoever you are, you live from your center, and we found your center last night, Evan,” he went on. “Every dancer, every swimmer, every rower, every runner, every gymnast knows that center, the exact center of his body. Your spot is where you swim from, Evan. Trust it. People won't understand it, so don't tell them. Just show them.”
By now Evan had completely flushed. His cheeks burned, he felt his ass cheeks burn as well. He felt suddenly damp in his pits, he would drip where he had no hairs. His cock, rigid and red, felt like it would burn a hole in his tented soccer shorts. At once he was ashamed and beyond shame. He felt his nipples harden, he couldn't look at Coach Marty, only in his direction. “But what the hell –he's seen everything I got,” he thought.
“Are you sore anywhere?” asked the coach.
Evan paused and replied, “Not really, sir. Well, a little in my ass, and the tip of my cock.”
Coach Marty smiled.
“You took to it like a champion last night, Evan. No need to wonder. Sometime I will show you a video of how most boys take it –not nearly so well.”
What the –how many times have they done this? Thought Evan. Then he thought –well obviously they know what they're doing.
“Pull your shorts off, or you're going to get them stained.”
Obediently, almost trance-like, Evan pulled off his shorts and stood before his coach, naked, smooth, and erect. The tip his cock glowed with a tiny drop of liquid.
Coach Marty stood and walked over to face him, and gently brushed Evan's cock with his right hand. “You don't have to wonder why you got so hard so quickly, Evan. Real boys do when they are with real men. Your body is fantastically responsive, and will respond long before your mind does. So we have to train your mind just as much as we have to train your body –mostly, train your mind to get out of the way. Your body knows what it wants and what its doing, Evan. You have to trust it. You can trust me –I will never hurt you, but I will show you what your body is for.”
Marty brushed Evan's nipples and then touched his face.
“Your body wants to respond to a man, Evan. Your body wants to respond to the water. You already know what to do. You just have to unlearn all the bad things that have happened to you.”
Evan's eyes watered –he wanted to hug Marty, to touch him everywhere, to serve him –and he was scared and amazed at how intensely he felt his urges. Marty pulled Evan into him, held him, pressed into him, kneaded his back and and his ass-cheeks, kissed his neck.
“Boy, your training really starts now. Up to now everything has been foreplay. Now you learn to swim, to serve, and to be happy.”
The man and boy let each other go, and Marty turned to a supply cabinet next to the door. He took out a pair of long competition jammers in maize and blue. “You're a certified Cerrito now –no more swimming in that hand-me-down crap,” he said. “Try those.”
Still erect, Evan struggled to pull on the jammers, which felt a size or two too small, but long enough to cover his thighs, and very low rise, barely covering his ass. The jammers were unlined, stretched thin, and sleek. “What am I supposed to do with this?” said Evan, his erection protruding from the low waist-line.
“Well, there's a long answer and a short answer to that, but here's the short,” Marty joked. “Push it over to one side,” and he slid Evan's erection into the jammers on Evan's left, the side to which it pulled slightly anyway.
Evan looked at himself in the full-length mirror mounted on the inside of the cabinet door. “Jeez, you can see my cock and balls in this,” he said, eying the distinct mound each ball made under the fabric, and his half-hard cock in some detail. The jammers were blue with a maize stripe running horizontally, as if to emphasize his cock. “That is the idea, I guess,” said Marty.
“OK, enough lovey-dovey. Start your warm-up laps and I'll be in later to time you and work on your stroke. Evan left Marty's office, deliciously exposed in his new jammers, threw his shorts into his half-open locker, and headed for the pool.
(2)
Evan sensed the difference the minute he dove into the pool. The lane flew past; he reached the end two and a half strokes before his usual count; after 24 laps one and a half strokes but still much faster than his usual warm-up tempo. “Don't spend it all now,” he thought as the pain in his lungs increased; after another 24 laps he took a good breather. Somehow the water felt different; somehow he relaxed into it and it cooperated to push him past, to welcome his next stroke, always reaching, always grasping the water and pulling it aside.
Zeke pulled up in the lane next to Evan.
“New suit, huh,” he said. Zeke wore one too, and was totally smooth as well. “But they're really fast.”
“Yeah, wicked,” said Evan. Zeke took off again on his next set. Evan wondered if Zeke figured out about him. But not for long.
Coach appeared above him next to the block. “Well that was an excellent warm up,” he said, “now I want you to concentrate on reaching today –reach forward into the water, don't twist your torso, relax your shoulder as the stroke goes past, and reach again. You know our visualization work –reach for the stroke, throw it away, reach again. You're swimming from your spot, reach from your spot –pull it through the water behind you. Twenty seconds and you're off.”
“Five”
“Off,” and Evan was off the block in a flash, pulling freestyle for the end of the lane –halfway –here's the turn, flip –back and again three more times –now the lungs started to burn –two more times –his lungs were burning hard now –pull, throw, pull, throw –he felt his spot start to glow deep inside him –what was this? –never mind –his lungs burned and now his boy spot flared deep inside him, incandescent –incredibly he was faster –the wall at the end of the fourth came up hard, final turn –down the lane to the end, lungs bursting --end.
His head spun as he came up and he blanked for a micro-second.
“Where the bloody hell did that come from?” Evan heard about him. He squinted up into the lights to see Coach, smiling and laughing. “That was a full second and a half off your best time last year, faster than you ever swam before. Four-forty four-forty two.”
Evan could hardly take it in. After a moment he motioned for Coach to squat down next to the block. “I felt my spot. I felt my spot turn on like last night.” “I know you did,” said the coach, “that's your center.”
The rest of the long practice Evan paced himself but still felt fast, free, the water cold but his body on fire: endurance drills, conditioning strokes, back stroke, breast stroke, back to free, with a long cool down. He heard the whistle sooner than he expected, then heard Coach call out, “showers, except for Bauer, Miller, Sanchez, and Nordstrom –you stay in and do one more endurance run.”
An endurance run meant another 24 laps. Suddenly he was with the elite swimmers, boys all a year or two –or was that three? --older than he. Evan got to pick which stroke and took his easiest freestyle but by the eighteenth return he felt the burn in his legs, his arms, his abs, everywhere and then he easily broke through it and just swam, finishing even with Zeke Miller next to him, the two last. “Up and out,” Coach ordered.
The four swimmers stood in a respectful line-up in front of coach, arms back, heads up, the form they had already learned seasons ago. “Ok, you're the core this year,” Marty began. “The success of this year's team, and continuing the Cerrito tradition, starts here. You're the spark-plugs, the pace-setters: you swim faster, longer, put in more hours, show up early, stay late, and above all go for the extra mental training.”
Extra mental training? Evan wondered. Is that what he calls last night? The moment they emerged from the pool Evan was suddenly aware: these three swimmers were bigger than he by at least two inches, probably at least ten pounds of muscle each, but like him each wore the Cerrito blue jammers not only for meets but for practice, each of them was completely smooth, muscled, relaxed, and none seemed so surprised as Evan that he had suddenly joined them.
“Ok, hit the showers –Bauer, see me afterwards.”
Instead of the usual showers just around the corner however, the three headed towards the officials' area door. “No, this way,” beckoned Zeke and Evan turned to follow the three down a short corridor to a smaller common shower. Once inside Erik Nordstrom started all six shower heads at once and Zeke Miller closed and locked the door back to the pool and checked the door in the direction of the locker rooms. It was locked, and all four swimmers peeled off their skin-tight suits.
“So we go a new boy,” called Erik.
Clouds of vapor swirled through the shower room. All four swimmers warmed themselves, each shaved smooth in his pits, pubes, chest, except for Sanchez, whose pubes were trimmed and who had the trace of a treasure trail from his navel. Evan felt himself harden instantly and uncontrollably but saw that each other swimmer was totally boned as well. Erik Nordstrom's cock pointed straight out and easily surpassed the others at eight and a half inches; Emilio Sanchez' was not quite so long but thicker; Zeke Miller's was about seven inches, long grace, cut with a flaring head. All the boys' balls were dangling in the warm spray, so it was difficult to tell whose were bigger, although Sanchez' probably were. The boys each stroked their own bodies, let the cascading water course down their shoulders and abs, gently rinsing themselves. Not one boy touched his totally engorged cock, enjoying the sight of each other, the relaxation of the water, the sound of the spray. Something seemed to want to happen, but no one hurried anything.
Zeke smiled at Evan. "So what all did they do to you?"
Evan smiled nervously. "They did all that stuff to you, too?"
"Not really sure," said Sanchez. "They seem to test out different stuff, they think each of us is different."
"Well, I got a lot of finger work," said Evan. "Oh yeah," laughed the others.
"Then they started hooking me up to these machines, all this electro stuff. They kinda made my hole tingle a lot and I felt like I was gonna cum for hours."
"I never got that," said Sanchez. "Did they spank you?"
"No," said Evan, "and then they put like this long narrow little thing down my cock and started it all up and it was incredible --I thought I was gonna die from cumming."
"Oh my god, " yelled Nordstrom, "thats INCREDIBLE --that stuff is advanced, like I never had that. You must have one hot spot." The others laugh.
"What did they do to you all?" asked Evan.
"They love to spank me, " said Sanchez, "hard, with their hands, and they love that I can take everything they dish out." Strange, thought Evan, Dr. Evers seemed so gentle to me, not like that at all.
"Then they finger me --it all seems to work, I swim a lot faster."
"I get the electro up the butt, not the cock," said Zeke, "it works fine, but now I can't get fucked enough."
"And so we all have to pitch in. It's a sacrifice ..." laughed Erik. "Actually I only ever had fingers, but they been working on me a long time --since I was eleven. I used to have these amazing dry cums when they fingered me -- I guess they really liked that. It worked though."
It was occurring to Evan that when the doctor and Coach seemed so impressed last night, it was not just an act.
"You know one thing they never work on" said Sanchez, "is that they never teach you to suck. my and my brothers, that's the best part."
"You guys do that?" said Evan nervously.
"Oh yeah, it's the best part," said Erik. "Come on, we'll show it to you."
The four swimmers turned off the water and shook off, then their erections bobbed before them into the adjoining sauna. "Aw, it's not turned up all the way," said Zeke, "but it'll heat up soon enough." The sauna could have held perhaps eight men; on two sides it had a lower rack of seats and and upper rack of seats. Zeke and Erik climbed up on the lower rack and sat down on the upper, spread their legs, and Sanchez moved quickly up between Erik's legs. Evan hesitated, then knelt in front of Zeke's, grateful that Sanchez had taken the biggest cock. Zeke nonchalantly opened up his legs to Evan, and gently stroked his head and the back of his neck. "Don't worry," he whispered, "we all do this."
"OK, now watch me," said Sanchez. "You open your mouth and put your tongue halfway out, like this," he made the motion, "and then you gently slide his cock right in." "In a second Erik's flared head was in Sanchez' mouth, and he sucked down gently on his cock shaft. Erik moaned and inhaled.
Zeke's right hand guided his cock towards Evan's mouth. In a flash Evan felt both thrilled and degraded: this was the second decisive point in the last two days, and perhaps the most humiliating: he didn't even have the fiction of a medical procedure to maintain. He was going to suck another's guy's cock: cocksucker, he heard himself say inside, I've become a cocksucker.
Evan licked his lips and put his tongue on Zeke's cockhead and swirled his tongue around his flaring glans, the pursed his lips and took the cock into his mouth, inhaling and sucking down gently on the shaft, sensing the hardness master the soft tissues of his tongue and cheeks. he felt Zeke's cockhead touch far back in his mouth, fought the temptation to gag, and then sucked down harder on the cockshaft.
A gladness, and joy flooded through Evan. "Cocksucker," he thought, "I'm a cocksucker, and this is what I always wanted to do." Somehow the shaft and head in his mouth answered some deep need in his groin; somehow the cock in his mouth fit exactly into a boy hole in Evan's heart, and he knew that this was exactly what he always wanted to do. More than wanting Zeke's cock, more than tolerating Zeke's cock, or obediently doing what he was told, Evan sucked down with abandon, wanted to devour this cock, to take it into him, to serve and obey it in every way.
For his part Zeke felt Evan's lips and tongue open up, relax, and suddenly devour his cock in such a way that the cum was rising in him alarmingly fast. Evan sucked with abandoned, threw himself into it, and Zeke was humbled and touched by his commitment. Zeke's balls tightened against his groin, Zeke felt his abs heave and harden as he approached the crest, the wave, and his cock went rigid and sensitive, red and stretched, deep into Evan's throat as Evan rolled his eyes up at Zeke. "Get off, man" Zeke mumbled, and then yelled, "I'm gonna cum, get off ..." and then flooded Evan's throat and mouth, his cum surging past his cockhead, expelled into Evan's gaping mouth, Zeke holding Evan's head down on his cock hard, Evan spluttering and choking and grunting Zeke's cum spilled out of Evan's mouth, coating his chin, his nose, his face, and Evan grinned.
"That was soooo intense," gasped Zeke, "you didn't have to take my cum." Evan was silent, shocked that his face was coated with Zeke's seed, unsure what to do next, when Zeke bent down, pulled Evan up next to him, and passionately kissed him, his tongue deep in Evan's mouth, sucking his cum back and holding a struggling and protesting Evan strongly in his embrace. Evan pulled away, "no kissing," he mumbled, out of breath, damp from his effort, his face shiny with cum.
"What are you afraid of?" laughed Zeke. "You're gonna be queer or something? ... dude, you just sucked off my cock and took my cum ... let's at least kiss, OK?"
Evan opened his mouth with shock, closed it, then grinned. For sure Zeke was right, he knew. If this isn't queer, what is? He met Zeke's eyes and then kissed back, embracing him, and they both rolled back on the upper bench of the sauna as Erik and Sanchez looked up, laughed, and went back to their own sucking. A few moments later, shiny with sweat and cum, the four swimmers dashed back into the hot showers, laughing, playing, slapping each other's butts in a camaraderie of cocksuckers.
After Evan showered off, cleaned up, and threw back on his shorts and string shirt, he returned to Coach's office as the Coach had ordered.
Coach Marty looked up at him. "So you like sucking cock?"
Evan was shocked at his question.
"Sure you do," Coach answered for himself, "is the Pope catholic?"
Evan just stared at him.
"Look, Evan, time to grow up. You don't have to be shocked. This is why we're here ... to give you boys a safe place to explore your bodies. If you're going to be an Olympic athlete, you're going to have to know how this is done. All upper-tier performance athletes know very well all of what their bodies can do. Part of it is sheer enjoyment, but you have to be safe. You can play with the other swimmers, but NO ONE that I do not specifically approve, OK? Coach's order," he said sternly to Evan, who was still taking in a world he had hardly guessed existed a few days ago.
"Yes, sir," Evan said obediently.
"Tonight I want you to go back up to Dr. Evers' and you're not going to see him. He called during practice and gave me his orders for your continuing program up there. You won't be seeing him, though. Mike will take care of you and he wants you to see him every night or every other night. I figure that you and Mike will get along just fine, and what Mike can do is great --usually boys start out with Hugh and then go to Mike but you're pretty advanced. Coach's order."
"Yes, sir," said Evan again.
(3)
When Evan finally hiked up to Dr. Evers' place --no ride today!-- he glistened with perspiration on his bare chest and back in the afternoon sun. The nurse waved him right in without even asking a question and Evan found his way back to Number 6. He knew it would feel good so he casually stripped off his shorts and stepped into the shower --and was sure this time to make sure that his hole was totally clean.
Mike came in, shirtless and barefoot but with a sun hat and loose white shorts. "Oh, wow, you're already prepped. Did she tell you to do this?"
"No, I just figured," Evan laughed easily. "So what's up?"
"Well, this will be fairly regular prostate stimulation," said Mike. "We don't need any special equipment, but most guys like this best on their backs. I have a table set up on the deck under the trees, if you like being outside."
"Isn't that a little public?"
"Well is that a good thing or a bad thing? It's pretty private, and later if you like more public we can easily move that table out to the courtyard."
"Yeah, OK, sure," said Evan, since his cock was already rising --he obviously wanted to connect. Why not? He followed Mike to one of the cottages at the back of the compound, but not the one he was in yesterday. This cottage was really just a room, obviously where Mike worked and maybe even lived --there was a rumpled futon on one side. The deck, shaded by the eucalyptus trees from the afternoon sun, had a sturdy masseur's table backed up to the wood railing.
"Lay down there," Mike instructed, "with your head up at this end. Mike brought up two stirrups that Evan had not seen --but connected by a strong table to weights via a pulley on the opposite wall, so that Evan could comfortably lay with his legs splayed and knees up, the weight of his legs countered by the weights connected to the cables. Now Mike folded down the portion of the table under where Evan's legs had been, so that Evan's boy hole and scrotum were easily accessible as Mike stepped between Evan's splayed legs.
"Put your hands back here," Mike told him, and Evan reached back and gripped the sturdy rail behind him, so that his arms were up over his head, totally exposing his arms pits and ribs. "You can relax," laughed Mike, as he gently massaged Evan's inner thighs, brushing his ball sacks, "you look so serious."
"It's all still kinda new," mumbled Evan.
"Yeah, it is," agreed Mike, "I guess it's completely different from the lie of power and confidence that jocks are the victims of. Instead just pay attention to what you feel, and you'll swim faster and be happier doing it."
By now Evan was rigidly hard, his cock full and read and balls close up. Mike slipped his right index finger into Evan's boy hole but Evan never fought it --he relaxed immediately, exhaled, sighed with contentment, as if entering a trance. Mike immediately found Evan's spot --his prostate seemed particularly easy to find-- and gently brushed and stroked it with his finger and his own hard cock brushed Evan's thigh. But this evening, Mike didn't even try to keep his cock away from Evan, and he left a small drop of precum on the fine blond hairs of Evan's left leg.
Evan groaned softly as Mike worked his prostate harder, then gently withdrew and inserted two fingers. With his left hand Mike reached back and gently massaged Evan's left foot, gently running his fingers between his toes, running his finger nails gently up his ankle, calf, and to his lower thigh. By now Evan was completely relaxed, totally in his power, his breathing deeper, and now and then caught an edge, ragged. His precum ran down the side of his abdomen. Mike's cock now throbbed up, touching Evan's right inner thigh, and he poked it into Evan gently.
With a swooning cry Evan exhaled and flooded his chest, abdomen with cum suddenly and without seemingly any buildup; the second shot of cum hit Evan's left nipple. Mike worked Evan's prostate more slowly now but did not stop or release pressure, and said to him, "feel your spot radiate out to your body --thats the energy you want. Keep it going, you can keep going a long time here, you're now done yet."
Evan opened his eyes and smiled at Mike, sated, eyelids heavy.
"Have you ever eaten your cum?" Mike asked him. Evan grunted, then let go of one hand-rail above his head and ran his fingers down his chest, and brought the cum to his mouth. "You should do that a lot," said Mike, "your own cum will help you get even stronger than another boy's will."
Far from spent, Evan's cock remained rigid, red, and his balls remained constricted tight against his abdomen. "Slight pause," Mike whispered, as he withdrew his two fingers and brushed them over his own cock. Then he took some of the remaining cum on Evan's chest and stroked in onto the head and sheath of his cock.
Mike gently placed his cock head at Evan's pink, open hole, and Evan opened his eyes again and looked directly into Mike's. "Oh yeah," he mumbled, as Mike pushed in slightly, and his cock head comfortably opened Evan's hole, then slide the rest of his cock into Evan, resting only when his balls were against Evan's cheeks. He leaned low over the boy, and Evan almost involuntarily opened his mouth and accepted Mike's tongue and his deep, wet kiss, and Mike completely possessed both of the boy's holes.
Mike began to work his cock harder now in Evan's hole, and the jock matched every stroke with an open push that challenged him to take him deeper, longer, harder. Mike fucked deeper with every stroke, in past Evan's inner ring, totally pining the boy to the table. Evan grunted and began to moan with every Mike's every thrust, mouth open, eyes rolled back, neck bent back, totally oblivious to anything but Mike's thrusts. Mike grabbed Evan's shoulders now and pulled himself deeper into the boy, so that his trimmed pubes slammed into Evan's balls, which grew tight again against his full hard cock, recharging the ammunition of cum deep inside the boy.
Now Mike's breath grew ragged and his cum rose and he fought the urge to pour himself into the boy's hole. Keep it back, he concentrated, keep it back, back from the edge .... and he conquered his urge to cum immediately, slowed for a moment, then resumed hard strokes. To distract himself he smacked Evan's ass cheeks once, twice, three times, each time harder, the last making Evan flinch and yell and flush ... and yell "again," which Mike obliged. But Evan's utter submission drove Mike harder, deeper, and now he entered into a fucking place he rarely if ever had gone before.
Mike's head swam, his ears were ringing, a bubble of saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. He was oblivious to anything except thrusting, possessing the boy, fucking him to the table, the floor, the earth, drilling into bedrock. Evan yelled and tensed and relaxed and tensed again as he came violently, his cum splattering his face, his eyelids, his hair, his chest, his nipples, his abs, and his muscles held Mike firmly deep in his hole, seizing Mike's cock with a grip the strengthened with each shot of cum. Mike yelled back, roared, and seeded the boy deep in his hole, cumming over the edge and down and somewhere beyond, as Evan felt Mike's seed warm and fertile nearby his racing heart. The young man and the boy collapsed onto each other in a tumbled mass of sweat and skin and cum and saliva and then kissed deeper and longer than Evan had ever known before.
(4)
Coach Marty and Doc Evers knew from Mike's full report that Evan's training was moving quickly, that his defenses had been broken and the boy had submitted to their direction.
In the following weeks, Evan's practices shaved tenths and hundredths of seconds off his best times, as he was swimming more nimbly and lightly than ever before. In his classwork Evan became humble, attentive, and treated the teachers more politely than ever before. They all noticed the change, but did not understand the root cause. Evan continued to see Mike two or three times a week for his total fucks, and Evan abandoned all pretense that he didn't like it: he loved it. He felt more centered than ever before at the exact time that his mother seemed less present -and more distracted --than she had ever been before.
Mike had gradually shifted Evan's sessions from a table to the futon, not bothering to restrain him at all anymore, knowing that Evan would submit to his every instruction precisely. Doc Evers and Coach Marty and Mike were molding Evan's new mind towards obedience and humility and utter physicality, an abandonment to Mike's sexual pleasure appropriate to a boy of Evan's age and type. Ever the better swimmer and jock, more confident in school than ever before, he was nevertheless truly submissive and obedient to Mike. Mike moved the futon to a place beneath the eucalyptus trees outside his hut, in full view of the staff, who would occasionally pause to watch how utterly Evan was fucked. At first Evan found this strange, then normal, then appropriate. It was one of the things he did best.
It was about this time that Evan's mother entered the hospital in Los Angeles, and it seemed that Evan, barely supervised by anyone at home, would have to return to his ex-step-father in Washington State. When Coach Marty got wind of this, he sprang into action. It was unclear why exactly she was in the hospital, and what kind of hospital it was --Evan mumbled some things about drugs and eating disorder and digestive issues --but the obvious result was that Evan would be out of the school, off the team, and out of Marty Jacobs' program.
"It's time to move him up to the next level of service," Hugh Evers said, "and there are certainly competitive athletes who would like to have him."
So Marty made some calls to Washington state --the ex-step-father was only to happy to sign over Evan's responsibility to Marty, and notarized health care and in loco parentis forms appeared in the mail two days later. Barely had the ink dried on his signature when Evan called Marty very early in the morning, upset and crying --his mother was gravely ill in Los Angeles and Evan's aunt had called him from the hospital. Marty dropped everything and drove Evan down but by the time they arrived his mother was dead, her bowel perforated and the victim of massive peritonitis. Suddenly and without ado Marty was Evan's effective legal guardian. The aunt, just as strange and tightly wired as her sister, decided that there would be no services, nothing other than official notice of death, and that she had very little time to close the apartment in Laguna Cerrita. Evan and an alarming small amount of stuff landed on Marty's doorstep --but when Marty found a crucial file in her papers he realized that Evan was in fact fifteen and not entirely qualified for district swim competitions. Marty put the papers back in the file and made sure he never looked at them again.
Now Marty had a problem: where to place Evan? They couldn't live together --it would cause far too much comment and possibly violate school district policies. Doc Evers came to the rescue here: there would be room in Mike's cottage, and better yet, Jim was moving into the next cottage, doing a college internship in the practice while maintaining his swim practice back on his campus an hour away --so Evan could be well trained for the next level of service.
(5)
Jim asked, "So what did Doc and Coach really tell you?"
Evan scowled. "Damn little. What is it you're really doing here?"
Jim and Mike smiled. Now came the final secret.
"This practice serves the athletes of Laguna Cerrita. But more than that --not only Laguna Cerrita alums out there on the field, but a few others like movie actors. Anyone who needs a creative center and who knows about his spot --his prostate."
"The trick is," said Jim, "a lot of guys at a certain level of training make a transition from bottom to top, frankly. They center themselves now not from the energy that flows from their spots, but from giving their energy to the boys under them. That's where we come in."
Mike smiled, "so basically, yeah we're fuck boys to the stars. Hang on for the ride."
Evan absorbed this with little alarm. He felt his cock swell up, and Jim and Mike noticed as well, and gently stroked their own cocks. "So when do I start?"
Evan discovered he started not quite yet. The practice maintained confidentiality obsessively, because its ultimate clientèle had to escape exposure. The first thing they did was to film Mike and Jim fucking Evan hard. Evan discovered how much he liked being naked and hard in front of the cameras, amazed that they didn't seem more intrusive. The two camera men, cute enough, remained discreetly clothed as first Jim climbed up on Evan, then Mike, then stuffed Evan's holes at both ends. A few days later Evan saw the edited versions, amazingly hot --two defined young men fucking a yelling, smooth, 15-year-old boy. "Private stock," said the warning when Evan put the DVD in the player.
"Yeah, Doc Evers is taking care of your age," said Mike. Evan began to love his life in the compound: always naked, appreciated by those around him, driven to practice, to school, tutored when he needed it, supported and appreciated in a way he had never experienced. In six months he grew an inch and gained four pounds but lost an inch around his waist, now an even 28.
After practice one day Evan climbed the hill and took the back door into the compound, using the double-keyed entrance only the boys used. He loved strip just inside the door and stroll up the walk with his bag on his shoulder, cock lengthening in the breeze, arms outstretched, gathering the appreciative look of whomever might be there. Today Doc emerged from his office cabin with papers and a camera.
"I have a few things for you to sign," he said, "and we need to take your passport photos."
Evan laughed. He didn't look at the papers he signed --it was enough that Doc said it had to be done. He threw on his school shirt, thinking how kinky it was that his passport photograph showed him covering both shoulders when outside the picture he was bare from the waist down. Then Doc had a copy of his birth certificate and a California drivers license that Evan held by his face as Doc snapped his pictures --but this time, naked, bare-chested in the picture. "What are these?" Evan asked.
"Oh, just some papers for legal requirements," Doc passed off. Reading more carefully, Evan realized that his year of birth was wrong on all these --that he had just turned eighteen, according to these documents. "But really ..." he said, "maybe I'm not quite that."
"Our secret and no one has to know," said Doc. "Actually, everyone will know, but we need proof otherwise. It's for your protection --you don't want the government sniffing down your back."
Evan looked at the birth certificate. It was an amazingly good copy, on the same paper, same ink, same folds, as his real one, but with a different serial number and year of birth. "Where you get this?" he asked.
"I have a friend in government work," said Hugh, "let's leave it at that."
Within a week Evan saw a completed passport --obviously it had been expedited somehow. Two days later was fall break at school, classes off for a week, but Marty had other plans for him.
"The team will be doing double practices," he said, "and I want you there for the first two days --then I have some travel for you."
"Where are we going?"
"Well, you and Jim will be joining a couple of other boys at an estate above Palm Springs," said Marty. There's a couple of officials from the Olympic committee who will want to see how you're doing."
"Swimming?"
"No," Jim laughed, "everything else we do."
So Wednesday in break week Evan and Jim were joined by two boys Evan barely knew, a college runner named Jared and a gymnast named Kyle. On the way the boys talked: they had each had similar experiences with Doc Evers, who seemed to keep them away from each other very carefully. Jim told them, "Doc has a real phobia about his boys learning to top each other --it would destroy everything he's trying to do for you."
Mike drove a hummer up into the hills as the land became drier and drier and past the gates of a large estate miles from prying eyes. An expensive black car was parked in front as the boys emerged from the Hummer, squinting in the sunlight.
"OK," said Mike, "the boss here is Alex, and he wants you to some particular things. First, remove all your clothing and put it in your bag for the duration. You can wear sandals, a hat, maybe sunglasses. No matter who arrives or what happens, you're naked all the time. You're all pretty well shaved, so that shouldn't be a problem, but there's stuff inside if you need it."
The boys obediently stripped --Evan noticed that he was the tallest, and possibly the heaviest. Jared was completely thin but beautifully proportioned, with an elegant, long cut cock; Kyle was more compact, a little more muscled, totally smooth with strong shoulders. Jim was staying too --he stripped and smiled at the rest, so they made an even number.
"You'll each get to exercise plenty, " said Mike, "even you, Evan --there's a decent-length two-lane pool deep in the basement here. Let's go in."
They soon met Alex, and gently balding man in good shape wearing USOC sweats, who showed them to their common sleeping room, showers, and the rest of the beautiful house. "What's the point of all this?" Evan wondered.
As if on cue Alex spoke up for the first time.
"My operation has been watching Hugh Evers for years," he said, "we've seen a lot of his graduates here and in the pools and gyms and fields. Thanks to his work, and your time, the role of the prostate in athletic performance is so much better understood. We'll be having a guest tomorrow, a French count who will be seeing everything you can do. He appreciates fine boys very much, and I'm sure you'll want to do your best for him --and he'll be selecting the top competitive athletes that you will be serving soon."
"So we're gonna be whored out," thought Evan. Again almost on cue, Alex went on.
"You will be serving the very best athletes in the world --the ones we want to make sure don't stray from their training regimens or get into any kind of trouble. They all seem to prefer boys your age, 14-17, and many of them served similar men when they were your age. You're not being used, you're being trained and tested. In a few years, you will be where they are."
For the rest of the day, the boys explored the beautiful estate. The housekeeper, the gardener, the driver showed no surprise at all at meeting them naked, at their obvious affection for one another. For the first time Evan felt less strange and more a member of a family he never knew he belonged to. His erections became even easier, quicker, longer lasting. Evan, Kyle, and Jared were each hard most of the time, effortlessly showing their connection, their neediness, and their readiness for use.
Evan loved the pool downstairs; he had it all to himself; the swimming was effortless; when he was done he jumped up, dried up and simply went on his way. He realized he had practiced for two hours and was ravenous; for supper the boys each had a carefully chosen plate of salads and cheese, food that would pass through very easily, as it soon did. Early the next morning Alex woke them up, gave them the familiar two pills and a large glass of water, and told them to shave and clean up. Then they should come up to the roof.
When they arrived, they found three tables set up, one for each boy. But there were no straps, no restraints, simply a set of handles adjusted so each boy could hang on when he needed support. Alex introduced Count de Savigny, an older man in a knit shirt and running shorts who ran his hands over each boy. The boys each sprang up onto the tables gladly, ready for their work out, which soon took a serious turn. Jim, Alex, and the Count moved among them, inserting their fingers and cocks smoothly as each boy cried out with cum after cum. For Evan, the most exciting part was realizing he was not alone, not abnormal --the boys vied with each other for the depth and range of their spurts as the energy flowing from each prostate engulfed the boys and their masters. At last, after hours and what must have been six cums Evan lay still, sated, and alert as Alex pronounced his blessing upon them. "Yes,each boy is ready," he said, and the Count agreed. Fully trained at last, Evan lay ready for use, for service, and for swimming --higher, stronger, and faster than ever before.