It's been a long, long time, since we've heard from Cooper and his friends. Part five hung around half-finished on my computer since shortly after part four, all the way back in December 2010. Unfortunately work (and a little apathy) took over, and I fell out of the habit of writing - at least, writing this sort of story.
I've been experimenting with shorter-form fiction over at http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com - everything I've written there is tagged "words" - but after some recent positive feedback about On the Poolboy Payroll I thought I'd at least finish up part five, since it seemed there were still a few people interested in where it was going. As I said all those months ago, it could well be time for us to leave Coop to figure his world out and for me to find some new boys to create, educate and debase.
As always, I'm addicted to feedback. Let me know what you think at alexp336@gmail.com or come follow me on tumblr and keep up with the shorter-form stuff there. Suggestions always welcome!
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On the Poolboy Payroll - Part Five
"Up and at 'em!" my dad likes to say, usually with a matching fist pump to get things really started. If he's feeling particularly enthused then it's "up and at 'em, champ!" but he tends to save "champ" for special occasions. There's only so much generic motivation a guy can take, after all.
Still, it's 8am and I'm already at the gym, with an "up and at 'em!" under my belt. It tends to be quieter at this time of morning, though there's still a fair few frantic business types trying to fit in a few more reps before they have to hit the office. Still, you don't have to wait long for the machines, and that's the important thing - nothing worse than working up a sweat and then cooling down by the time you're onto the next circuit.
I'm warming up with aerobic stuff, just pounding a while on the cross-trainer to get my heart rate going and push some of the confusion out of my head. By concentrating on the feel of my shoulders, as the handles threaten to yank them out of their sockets, I can avoid thinking too much about sex and sexuality and what happens when a boy decides he's gay, or at least gay enough to prefer having sex with other guys instead of women.
I'd stuck around with Alex long enough to watch the film, and then some trash TV after, and then headed back home despite getting the feeling he'd have liked me to have stayed over. Hell, I'd have quite liked to have stayed over too. Maybe we could've had sex in his big bed - after all, it might be quite nice to actually fuck in a bed for the first time.
Instead, I'd extracted my legs from where they twined with his, brushed off the stale popcorn - there was a frustrating kernel shell stuck in my back teeth, and I was hoping my electric toothbrush would make short shift of it - and excused myself. He'd not kissed me at the door, even though I'd wanted him too, and I felt too shy to try and push for it myself. Instead, he gently touched my arm, just above the bicep, and squeezed a little.
"See you soon, Coop" and he winked, as I backed two steps away, grinning, then turned to the elevator.
I keep getting the feeling that this should all be simple. Or, at least, that other people would find it simpler than I am. Okay, so finding out I liked guys, or was sexually compatible with them, came as a bit of a surprise, but once you figure that out, surely you're set then? This mental flip-flopping wasn't supposed to happen.
So, it's the aggressive cross-trainer and sweat and some pounding music on my headphones, and the music is obviously pounding enough and the crossing aggressive enough that I don't hear the guy talking to me - don't even realise he's there, in fact - until he taps me on the wrist.
I yank out my headphones, slow my pace down to a gentle cycle.
"Yo, sorry, was in a world of my own there."
He grins at me, and I take a minute as my brain catches up to the fact that he's pretty cute. Must be about my height, when I'm not stood up on the gym machine, slim build, dark brown hair with longish bangs part-covering his forehead. Silver framed glasses and a cycling-style top that's clinging all over his torso. I can't really look down, not without making it hugely obvious.
"No, I'm sorry - I was just wondering how much longer you'd be...?"
He tailed off, and I looked up at the clock and realised I'd been hogging the machine for over half an hour. No wonder my thighs were starting to complain; it was a good job the school-run mommies weren't around, else they'd be after my blood for taking so long. We're only meant to use machines for 15, maybe 20 minutes at a push during so-called "peak" times.
"Whoa, sorry, kinda got lost there."
I slowed to a stop, used my towel to wipe down the handles and the control panel, where I'd left sweaty fingers across the keys. He moved to one side as I stepped down; I'd been right, he was about the same height as me.
"It's no problem, I know how it is when you get going - can be hard to quit when you've found your groove."
As he talked, he stepped up onto the trainer where I'd been just a moment ago, and I watched as his ass dimpled in his semi-clinging basketball shorts. Now, there was a groove I could quite happily find!
"Yeah," I muttered, half-distracted. His thighs were nicely shaped, lean but toned with a subtle dusting of hair. I looked up, and realised he'd been watching me watch him. Caught!
"Talk to you around, okay?" he grinned, pulling his headphones on before I had a chance to reply, and giving me an almost shy little smile. I nodded, and headed off to find another machine to monopolise.
Forty-five minutes later, my muscles were regretting my brain's ambition and I was well overdue a shower. The final killer had been one last - stupid - rep of bicep curls, and my upper body felt like a ringing bell, tremors shooting up to my shoulders.
At my locker, I tugged out a towel and gingerly peeled off my vest. It hurt even to lift my arms to head-height, never mind any higher, so I compromised with the pain and tried to tug the material off from there instead. Not exactly graceful, but there was nobody else in here to watch me attempt it. In comparison, dropping my shorts and toeing off my shoes and socks was a walk in the park (something my calves told me I wouldn't be doing out of choice for a while).
"2xist, nice."
I admit, I jumped a little. Even though the changing rooms are a public place, you still don't expect to hear a voice when you think they're empty. I twisted round and instantly regretted it, as a stab of pain shot up from my lower back.
"You're wearing 2xist, right; they're nice."
It was the guy from the cross trainer again, towelling his sweaty hair as he pulled open his own locker. I glanced down; he was right, I was wearing 2xist - a kind of off-lime-green brief with a really broad waistband, the logo picked out in chunky metallic letters all round it. Alex had dropped a pair into my bag when I was last at the pool, I'd later discovered.
"Um, thanks. They were a present" I told him, suddenly conscious I was near-naked in front of him. The pouch front of the briefs were doing a good job pulling everything front and center, but they'd do an equally good job showing off my excitement if I sprung a boner right now.
"Heh, you obviously know the right people to get you good presents" he replied, glancing over his shoulder at me, smiling, and looking pointedly at my crotch. I turned back to the lockers, hoping to cut off the tingle of blood I felt stirring before it got too obvious.
I peered back at him, feeling the burn as I twisted my chest around. He'd pulled off his shirt, and his own shorts were in a silky heap on the floor by his shoes. The black of his boxer-briefs stood out starkly against the white of his skin, hugging the contours of his tight ass.
He turned, standing in profile, and I felt my eyes widen a little at the bulge his groin presented. "Yours are, um, nice too" I told him. He cocked his head my way, grinned toothily.
"Thanks." He reached down and adjusted himself conspicuously; I could see the heft of something firm and thick shift inside the clinging material. "I guess I need to brighten up, though; you've inspired me."
I couldn't think of anything to say to that - I was pretty sure this guy was coming on to me, but I didn't want to make a mistake in here. Instead, I reached for my towel.
"Need to shower, I think" I told him. His eyebrows jumped.
"Bit forward, aren't you? Can you smell me all the way from over there?"
My tongue felt about three times its normal size, which made stumbling out an apology particularly difficult.
"No... no, I mean... I wasn't saying... um... me, not you!"
My verbal fumbles trailed off as I realised he was grinning at me broadly. When he saw that I'd finally got the joke, he turned to his locker and pulled out his own towel.
"Well, think I'll join you anyway."
I'd followed the shifting mounds of his black-clad ass, cheeks high and taut, to the showers, and watched - managing to keep my tongue in my mouth, just about - as he'd peeled them off and hung them, with his towel, from one of the hooks. His skin was pale and smooth, even like brandy cream at Christmas; I could feel that tell-tale thrum of blood rush to my crotch as the first trickles of water began to course down his neatly tapered back and rivulet around his ass.
"You not coming in?" he asked, gesturing to the shower head next to his. I gulped, hung my towel and bent to slip off my briefs.
He'd turned back to face the wall, the water rushing over his face, and so my semi-hardness went unnoticed as I stepped into my own flow - something I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed by. It was hot and the pressure was high, and soon billowing clouds of steam had filled the room.
I looked across at him, and found him looking me over; not discretely, either, but raking his gaze from my toes upwards, taking in the wet tangle of my groin and my aching stomach muscles, finally settling on my face.
"Guess there's no point in asking if you come here often" he chuckled, and I felt my eyes flick down of their own accord, checking out his ample equipment.
He punched a hand at the liquid soap dispenser that studded the wall, filling the palm of his hand with glistening suds. And then that hand was on me, my chest first, slicking across from one nipple to the other, as my ears strained to tell whether we were alone in the locker room while my body surged at his touch.
Deft fingers slipped down the crease of my abs and then to my crotch, bypassing my now hard cock and instead plunging into the tight, sweaty space between my thigh and my balls. I unconsciously spread my legs slightly, as his hand delved deeper, until his fingertips were rubbing just below my hole.
"Come here" he commanded, and I stepped forward, feeling his other arm snake around my shoulders to pull me even closer, my arms folded and locked between us. With his forearm he nudged my thigh, until I lifted it, crooked against his hip. It let him push his fingers even further around me, so that I could eventually feel their slickness nudging at my pucker.
I hissed, felt a digit impale me, as he threaded his fingers through my hair and tugged my head back. The water splashed my eyes, leaving me blinking, but his mouth - hungry and feisty against my own - was all I noticed. He turned us, still feasting on our kiss, until my back was against the tiled wall, his hand untangling from my unruly hair and lifting my other thigh, levering me back so that I dangled heavily against him.
He was stronger than he looked; one shrugging movement and he'd brought me higher, high enough that - with my hips angled out toward him - I could feel the blunt head of his prick butting against the taut skin between my balls and my hole. A soaped finger still inside me, he hooked his erection with his thumb and pulled it closer.
I grunted, my arms wrapped around his neck. "In me, put it in" I told him, muttering between clenched teeth.
I felt the loss of his finger, and then the brutal gaping as his dick stretched me open, my own weight helping to pull me down onto him and fuck his steely inches into my ass. He pressed me harder against the wall, levering his cock inside of me, until I could wrap my legs around his waist and hook my feet together, clinging to him desperately.
He bucked his hips, once, then again but harder still - his hands found my shoulders as he tugged me down. Alex's cock felt like it was bigger, but he always took more care to prepare me before I got fucked; here, I'd had a single finger and some soap to ease the entry, and hung or otherwise I could feel each inch of this stranger as he ground the full length inside.
"Such" he panted "a hot fuck, I knew you fucking would be." I bounced my ass against him, pushing back with my shoulders against the tiles and forcing his shaft in and out of my burning hole. "Standing there in those fuck-me briefs, I knew you fucking wanted it."
A cry escaped my lips as he punched deeper, my own erection trapped between us and rubbed sporadically by our sliding abs.
"Breed my hole, dude," I gasped, squeezing tight around his neck, "fucking shoot in my ass." All concern of being found by another gym member or one of the staff was forgotten as the top length of him bumped rhythmically against my prostate.
"Gonna fuckin' cum in you" he muttered, and I clenched the muscles of my ass around him, making him groan in pleasure. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
Suddenly he was still, completely motionless as his strong hands yanked me tight against him, and I could feel the buck and twitch as his dick gushed inside of me. His head tipped forward, wet against my shoulder, as his ragged breaths slowly returned to normal.
"Fuck, you're amazing" he told me, as his softening cock slipped from me and I dropped my legs from around him. My hand immediately found my own dick, still hard and unsatisfied, but he brushed it away and dropped to his knees. The swollen head of my prick slipped between his lips, as his tongue swarmed across the sensitive underside; I felt a pair of fingers pushing into my bruised ass, jabbing hard in the cum-slick wetness.
It took about thirty seconds of his expert ministrations to bring me off, my hips not knowing whether to back against the hand stretching out my ass or forward, deeper into his sucking mouth. No matter; either way I gushed my own load into him, feeling the jerk as he swallowed my juice down.
Just in time, too. The clang of a locker from around the corner broke the reverie, and he sprang up from his crouch and back under the water. I turned, hiding my fading tumescence should anybody decide to join us.
"That was awesome" he said in a whisper, and I glanced across to see him grinning as he soaped himself more traditionally this time. I smiled back.
"Yeah, it was."
I'd returned to my locker to find a text message from Alex, and I felt a strange flush of guilt at the thought of what I'd just done in the shower. It was odd; Alex and I weren't dating, in fact I wasn't really sure what we were to each other - sometimes I felt like a project he was working on, or the next rung down in some sexual pyramid scheme, while other times there felt like a real connection between us. So far, that connection had only really manifested in our fucking, but who was to say there weren't other ways, if two sets of hormone-driven libidos didn't have their way?
"Simon says you're needed asap" the message read, and there was little room for subtext there. I'd not arranged another visit, though I guess I hadn't said I wouldn't be returning either.
Quickly thumbing out "on my way" and hitting reply, I'd abandoned my afternoon plans - which, admittedly, had involved messing around on the internet and little else - and headed over to Simon's place.
Tony met me at the gate, not Alex, and he didn't seem in the mood for conversation. The tall, lanky black guy was still intimidating, even after all I'd done to-date, and I followed him wordlessly as he led me through the pool house and out to the waterside.
"Wait here" was the simple, barked order, as he headed toward the house. I glanced around - nobody in sight, though the weather was amazing - and started to move to a nearby lounger when I heard Tony call again. "I said wait there."
He left me standing for five, maybe ten minutes. At first, the lounger had just seemed a comfier option; now I was seriously envying its shaded position, as my vest and shorts grew sticky against my sweating skin. Behind me the pool lapped quietly, teasingly, casting sparkling reflections against the glossy facade of the house. I could imagine its coolness enveloping me, my fists balling at the frustration.
Eventually, movement from the broad patio doors. Simon ambled out, hardly seeming to see me, followed by a group of the usual business-casual friends or colleagues. I hunted the crowd for a sign of Alex, but he wasn't among them.
Then I saw Brad lope through the doorway. He wasn't exactly thuggish, not "street" enough to make you feel like crossing sidewalks, but he definitely didn't belong with Simon's suits-out-of-suits. His long, lean brown body looked amazing in a pair of red shorts, the satiny nylon clinging and swishing around the tops of his toned thighs; otherwise he was barefoot and bare chested, nipples hard atop broad pectorals and the ripples of his abs underneath.
While Simon's group headed to the wet bar and the seating, Brad made a beeline straight toward me. He grinned, and it wasn't the friendly, warm smile he'd shared when we were briefly alone the other day; this was his professional smile, his tough-guy persona that I'd found so intimidating on my first day poolside.
I watched him approach, frozen into place. He stepped up close, then around me - one full circle - before stopping just off from my left shoulder. I could feel his breath close to my ear.
"Hey Coop" he drawled, voice quiet enough so that only I could hear him. "Tony tells me it's our turn for a show today, you up for that?"
It was a question but at the same time not; even though it had been my choice to drive here, my legs that brought me out to the pool, and my decision to wait out in the sun all this time, I didn't feel able to simply walk away.
"No Cat for you today?" I asked instead. Brad chuckled, and though I didn't want it to, the rich sound of it sent butterflies into my stomach.
"No, no Cat today. Just Cooper and Brad."
His hands took hold of my hips, gently cradling the narrowness there through the thin layer of my vest. Long fingers carefully brushing at the edges of my stomach. Part of me wanted to turn round, to keep him in sight at all times, but Brad was definitely in charge here.
"You're gonna do what I tell you, Coop, and we're gonna put on a good show."
He tugged my top up, and I raised my arms so that he could pull it free. The slight breeze felt great against my damp torso, and so did his hands as they reclaimed their place on my hips.
"What you got on under those shorts, Coop?" he asked me, the heat from his face noticeable against my cheek. I instinctively glanced down.
"Just boxers" I told him. They were nothing special, just a no-brand pair of boxer-briefs I'd dumped into my bag before heading to the gym this morning; I hadn't expected anybody to be seeing them today.
His fingers eased under the waistband of my shorts, tips grazing beneath the elastic grip of my underwear. A quick reach around, a fumble, and he had my button undone, fabric already sagging down my slender body. Brad didn't have to do much to hurry their fall.
"Kick them away" he instructed, and I did, standing in the tightly clinging square-cut briefs as his fingers continued their gently play against the skin just around the waistband.
"What have you got under those shorts, Brad?" I heard myself ask, and then his brief chuckle.
"I've got a big dick gonna fuck you with, that's what" he spat at me; I rocked my head back, knowing I should be feeling used and maybe even angry at his presumption, but instead feeling a rush of blood to my groin. I'd watched Brad fuck - I'd seen Cat's face scrunched in painful ecstasy as the black youth fed untold inches of thick, greased cock into his tight little ass - and despite the action I'd already had that morning, my hole tingled at the idea of the brutal, alluring abuse.
His hands began to gently pet my sides, long fingers tracing tiny circles across my slick skin. I could feel myself humming, almost inaudibly, at the attention. He chuckled again.
"Alex knows how to fuck, sure" he told me, voice a conspiratorial whisper, "but I'm gonna split you open, Coop." His feather touches had settled around my waist, as his fingers eventually found a grip on my boxers.
As he dropped to a crouch, leaving me standing in full view, he took my underwear with him. My dick wasn't hard, not fully, but it was plumped out - dangling away from my groin and jerking a little as my pelvic muscles twitched subconsciously.
Still low behind me, Brad reached between my legs and grabbed my cock - fingers wrapping snuggly round its chubby length, glans just protruding from beneath his fist - and pulled down, forcing me to bend my knees and follow his movement. I gasped, both in surprise and a little discomfort, then again as he began a long, languid milking motion on my shaft, letting the full length of it trail through his sweat-slick hand and then reaching up again to tug at it. My thighs were splayed open, prick pointed almost vertically down at the tiles. I knew the men were watching us from the bar.
I leaned back, rested my hands on Brad's bare legs as he plied my cock rhythmically. His other hand was at my neck, thumb brushing in the slight hollow at the back, fingers spread across my jawline. I wondered how we looked, my pale, honey-tan skin against his dark complexion. Sometimes he'd leave my dick for a stroke or two, instead play his fingers around my heat-loose balls or trail them up between my parted cheeks. I wanted him to push them into me, to feel his thumb broach my hole like had happened in the showers this morning, but he didn't. Just that careful stroking, then back to resume his casual touch on my rapidly hardening cock.
"When did you last get plowed, Coop?" he asked me, and I could feel the blush rise - crazy, given the situation and all I'd done by the side of this pool, but talking about my sex life and the boys I'd been with still made me embarrassed.
"This morning" I told him, my eyes closed. Only Brad could hear me, I was sure, but I still felt self-conscious.
He laughed, squeezed hard for a moment on my dick. "Proper little slut we have here, don't we. Anybody we know doing the honors? Nah, I bet it wasn't, was it Coop. You just let some stranger breed your hole, didn't you."
It wasn't a question and I didn't treat it as one. He was right; in a way, I'd had some sort of awakening and already it had gone to my head. It wasn't about being gay or being curious or anything - in fact, it was totally separate from sexual orientation. This was about me being promiscuous, about me finding out I liked sex and I liked to be desired and, if the two factors coincided, putting myself out there for guys to have. I didn't know if it was something I should be ashamed of, or worried about, or what - I just knew that for all the fear I felt at being at Brad's mercy, I was also so utterly turned on right now that there was no way I'd back out of it.
"I bet you're gonna breed it better" I told him, eyes still squeezed shut.
He laughed. "Damn right I am."
On all fours now, ass high in the air; Brad told me to arch my back like a cat, and my nipples are almost touching the ground while my buttocks are spread wide. He's got me facing the pool, my face turned so that my cheek is against the chlorine-scented tiles, my hole and my dangling nuts on show to the small crowd of men kicking back martinis and swapping business stories.
First time round I guess I wasn't to his liking, as he used the side of his foot to nudge my thighs further apart, pushed the palm of his hand in-between my shoulder blades to better angle my butt. I should feel obscenely degraded but I just feel obscenely hot.
There's a thin layer of sweat covering me, all across my back. I can feel it dripping from my smooth balls. I wonder how easily Brad's finger could push into my ass, with the sweat easing its way. Alex tells me I'm tight, but after the fucking this morning and the sunlight relaxing my hole, I bet he could get a finger in there easily, maybe two.
Brad's standing off to the side, where I can see him. He's got his thumb hooked into the waistband of his shorts, just pulling them slightly so I can see the tapering ridge of muscle as it makes its way downwards. With his other hand, he's tracing the outline of his cock through the shiny nylon, shaping the glossy fabric around the thick tube of dick in there. I've seen it before, of course - I've seen it in action - but knowing it's going inside me makes it all the more impressive and intimidating.
Eventually, with a final grin, he pulls the shorts down, letting them pool in a silky puddle around his ankles. He's lean and, well, beautiful - he takes my breath away. I don't really know many black guys - just like I've never really known many gay guys - and I certainly don't get the chance to look at them naked. Brad is tall, narrow around the waist and stomach, then flaring out with broad shoulders. His lips are particularly eye-catching, thick and juicy; I can remember their amazing suction around my cock the other day.
Then there's his dick, a thick, arching length of brown pipe curving out from among the closely-razored, tightly-curled pubes. It's dangling slightly under its own weight, meatily thick just behind the shaft. The head itself is wide and blunt, purple and swollen with a pronounced flare. I've only been giving head for a week or so, but already my mouth is watering at the sight of it.
Maybe that makes me gay - hell, I'm already crouched with my ass up in the air waiting for a guy to plug it, so maybe it makes me super-gay - but I don't care. I just want to feel it. My hands are flexing, wanting to feel the length of it slapped against my palms.
Brad steps over, behind me; I can see the movement but not all the details, because of the way he's got me positioned. I know he's not just going to ram it inside me, it's just too thick - I could take a finger or two, with the sweat like I said, but it just wouldn't be enough for that amazing prick.
And then I feel his tongue washing my hole, and my eyes roll back.
It's amazing, it really is. I thought Cat was good, his feline lapping with his narrow, devious tongue as he sucked the spunk out of me, but Brad is something else. First it's the broad flatness of it as he razes it up the crack of my ass, and then it's the meaty heft of it as he tries to piston it inside me. He starts around my balls, nudging them in my rapidly tightening sack, and then drags his mouth up, smearing a mixture of spit and sweat and using that as lube to dig his tongue in deeper.
He's making low, snuffling, grunting noises as he roots around at my tail, and I'm desperate to reach underneath my body and fist my cock while he sends thunderbolts up to my prostate. It's all I can do to grip the edge of the pool and whimper, though, voice cracking occasionally as he reaches some wet, tremoring point further in.
It's got to be five minutes, maybe ten, of solid, beautiful, mind-blowing rimming. It drives me out of my mind. There's precum drooling out of me, basically one long glistening stream of it connecting my dick to the tiles. I'm bucking my ass back, grinding it against his face, wishing I could get the whole sensation of it inside of me. All thought of the guys watching us is completely out of my head: my entire awareness is my butt and the pleasure radiating through it.
One finger, at first. Alongside his tongue, slyly easing in and pulling my hole further open. Brad has got long fingers, too, and when the second slips in - I can only guess at how gaping my ass must be by now - he's able to pull me apart and dart that brilliant tongue deeper. I'm grunting and cooing, my chest grazing against the ground as I try to upturn my haunches even more.
"Christ, give the kid what he wants!" I hear shouted out from the group of guys by the bar, to a chorus of laughter. I guess I do want it - want Brad to plug my hole before I go crazy. He's giving long, slow licks from my taut balls, right up and over my ass, and then up to my tailbone, leaving a long slick of spit that mixes with my sweat in the baking sun.
"Whaddya say, Coop?" he asks me, voice low and dangerous. "Think you're ready for it?"
I lift my head, ass still waving in the air, and look him in the eyes. "Fuck. Me." I tell him. Brad grins, winks at me.
"You got it, kid."
Watching him lube up his dick, I catch myself wondering whether I've bitten off more than I can chew this time. It's not just the length - though it's long, XXX-website-no-fucking-way-that-can't-be-real long - but the thickness, a meaty slab of swollen flesh that glistens as Brad palms along it. I press my forehead against the tiles and take deep breaths, knowing I can't back out now and, even if I could, I don't think I really want to.
Brad puts a lube-wet hand on the small of my back, not exactly moving me or even stopping me from bucking away, but just showing his ownership somehow. My ass is his, and we both know it. I can feel the bluntness of the head nosing between my cheeks, hot and hard.
"I've wanted to tap this ass since Alex brought you home" he says, quietly, voice mean and street from between his clenched teeth. I hum back at him, shivering despite the sun as he pushes against my hole.
Suddenly, Brad bucks his hips, just enough to drive the head of his cock in, past my twitching muscle and into the hot, slick tightness inside. The gasp escapes without a hope of controlling it: even though I've been fucked already today, even though I'm used to Alex's oversized dick bruising its way into my ass, Brad's pipe is stretching me out like nothing else. He holds there, just a second, as I grip and paw at the tiles, then takes a firm hold of my hips and pulls us together.
I should be able to feel every ridge, every vein of it as it bulldozes its way into my hole, but all I can focus on is the brain-warping sensation of being split open from the ass upwards. My mouth has to be a perfect "O", my eyes are wide, as Brad feeds inch after inch of fat, black dick into my spasming, clenching body.
"Oh my god, oh my god" I'm muttering, toes clenched, as I feel the close buzz of his pubes scratch against my butt. I feel like I'm sitting on a baseball bat, like his cock-head is sharing cavity space with my lungs. It's not so much a prostate massage as an all-out pulverization, Brad's beautiful thickness punching against me.
"Fuck, you're tight" he tells me, fingers gripping the muscles in my waist tightly. "Fucking tight hole for such a nasty little slut." I moan back at him, words beyond me, pushing the heels of my hands into my eyes until I see fireworks behind my eyelids.
When he starts to pull out, it's like he's dragging my guts out with each stroke. I guess I should be glad he's taking it easy on me, though I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to have him jack-hammer at my ass. The men by the bar have gone quiet, a small part of me notices, obviously mesmerized by what's going on between my splayed thighs.
Brad pulls back until just the head of him is inside me, my ring clamped as tight as it can manage around his shaft. He reaches down and runs a ringer against the taut flesh, and I whimper, until he begins the slow, steady drive back inside.
Soon, he has a rhythm set up, even strokes up deep inside me. Brad bends forward, the ridges of his muscled stomach against my back, and wraps his arms around my chest, humping his ass up to bump at my own. After a few minutes, I realise I'm hard again - achingly, painfully hard - as he decimates my prostate; I'm making low, grunting noises from deep in my throat, until his hand snakes up and clamps across my mouth.
He's up close to my ear now, whispering so that only I can hear him. "Fine, fine piece of ass, Coop" he hisses. "I wanted to take it easy on you, but this damn ass of yours is just begging for a pounding." I groan into his palm, maybe shake my head a little: I want him to fuck me, but I'm not sure I'm ready for everything his powerful hips can give me.
"Too late, Coop" he replies, almost apologetic. "I wanted your ass ever since I saw you with Alex that first day, when he flipped you over and you sprayed your face with his fingers in you." Brad's hips started to pick up pace, sending tremors through my torso. Our skin stuck together and parted stickily, as he humped on top of me. "Sometimes you just have to take what you're given."
It's like he's pulling himself into me with his hand across my mouth, his entire torso sliding up against me as his dick impales me, deep, each time. I can smell him, a mixture of cologne and musk as he pounds and heaves; it's almost as though he's wrapping my body up with his own. The feelings spilling out from my ass are incredible, an unbelievable mixture of mind-shattering pleasure and the gotta-scratch-it itch of pain, but somehow my overriding sense is of being enclosed, contained, by the way Brad is curled up on top of me. An amazing, possessed feeling.
The stab of him in my guts is too much to spend time thinking, least of all about what it says when I get off so much on being dominated, which I'm kinda glad about. My erection is wagging between my thighs, occasionally bumping up against my body when Brad gives a particularly powerful lunge.
"Boys like you, they're just meant to be fucked" he tells me between heaving breaths. His hand slips from my mouth, and he snakes his arms up under my armpits and laces his fingers together behind my neck, tugging my shoulders back and using the grip to grind my ass back to meet his pounding hips. There are alarm bells going off in my head, a little Coop voice screaming "but you're not one of those boys!" but it's getting drowned out by what's happening between my legs and how wild it's driving me.
Fast, tight strokes now, Brad pulling out just a couple of inches and then slamming against my hole; this has to be no-holds-barred, because if he could fuck me any harder then I'd literally snap, I know I would. The walls of my ass are singing, screaming with the ripple sensations as the broad, flared ridge of his cock dredges against them, and I can feel my balls churn as the constant jab to my prostate tips me closer and closer to the edge.
There's a low hum coming from deep in Brad's throat now, a deep "unggghh" sound as his climax begins to crest, and he's pulling my shoulderblades back further and further until my elbows are almost touching and my chest feels like it could bust open.
"You fucking nasty. Little. Slut!" he growls at me, and then it's like he's trying to bury his entry pelvis up inside me, tugging my torso up and arched as he loses his load into my bruised, shuddering hole.
We're frozen there, for a moment, Brad's thickness spewing cum deep inside me, and my own orgasm moments away. I can feel our sweat trickling down my lower back and between my thighs, the heat radiating from his chest.
"Get off my dick" he commands me, letting go of my arms. I half-fall forward, catch myself on one outstretched hand, and immediately grab at my cock to milk myself to completion, but he knocks my hand away. Taking a firm grip, his thick fingers just below the ridge of my crown, he pulls me back hard. My chest flattens down fast, against the ground, as he yanks my erection back between my legs, and I howl with surprise and the blunt feel of him.
Then it's his lips on me, his mouth suckling on the head of my cock, and the combination of my oozing, burning hole and his gobbling sees the spunk finally jet out of me, filling his mouth. My breaths are coming in heavy, ragged shudders, and the angry swipe of his tongue across my prick is almost too much, I feel myself getting light-headed.
Brad reaches up, one arm between my legs and another pulling at my shoulders, my neck, and turns me, pulling me almost across his lap, and then his face is on me. Mouths opening for a passionate, furious kiss, my cum sliming out between his lips and across my own. For someone so hyper-masculine it's almost a surprise that he would kiss me at all, but then he kisses with a force I'm not used to, in my limited experience from the past week or so. Like it's a battle that one of us can win, and Brad's determined to be the guy that comes out on top.
Slowly, though, his aggression eases, and I'm chewing on his lips and feeling his tongue, still cum-flavoured, trace across my own. I'm splayed across his thighs, legs gaping, and his fingers have found their way into the depths of my greasy hole, casually plying me open as we swap spit and juices. I can only imagine how puffy, red and used my ass must look, though I'm not really aware of who might be watching us or how many people saw me take Brad's dick. Somehow it doesn't really matter to me.
Brad and I had eventually detangled our lips and he'd finished thumbing his cum out of my ass. In the locker room I'm thumbing out a text to Alex, kinda disappointed I hadn't seen him today. What I'd done with Brad was hot, sure, but being watched doing it by Alex - or, let's face it, having him join in somehow - would've been even better.
"not sure i can wlk after brad" I sent him. A minute or so later, my phone buzzed in reply.
"big guy, huh ;) bet u took it well tho. wanna get together?"
I sat back on the bench, wondering where exactly Alex and I were up to - if, indeed, there really was an "Alex and I" in any meaningful sense. I'd come a long way in the space of a week or two: gone from being the boy next door to being, well, the boy on the floor, with bucketloads of cum sprayed, soaked and guzzled in most holes along the way. It'd reached saturation point too soon, in a way. If I'd just had one gay experience, maybe shared some oral with a guy I knew from school, I might've had the chance to think it through, process it properly and figure out whether I was really queer or not. But this... this had been a torrent of sex and new feelings and - completely distinct from the fucking, somehow - the heady feel of being desired, wanted.
Maybe that's what I was. Not necessarily gay, not necessarily straight, or even bi, but just a show-off. An attention-seeker. What I'd done with Alex the other day, at his apartment, had been hot as hell, but even then the moments that got me tingling the strongest were those when I'd been on show for him. And everything I'd done here, at the pool, had been about being watched. They'd seen just about every step I'd taken from naive kid to spread-open fucktoy.
So I had a choice. I could keep following down this route, text Alex back and see how he could test my limits more - and I knew, instinctively, that those limits would never regress, that I'd never find myself thinking "yeah, I'd probably had enough now" - or I could take a step back and try to figure out who I was and what all this made me. It seemed like a hell of a big decision to be resting on one little text message.
===
So there we go. Door opening for the next chapter of Coop's life, or the ideal time to seek out some new boys to play with? I'm not quite sure yet myself. Let me know what you think at the usual address - alexp336@gmail.com - and make sure to check me out at http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/tagged/words. Thanks for reading!