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Rafael Nadal Is Rock Bottom
Part 10
It was the middle of June, a few days after Nadal's historic eleventh victory at Roland Garros in the French Open. He had decided to take a few days off from training, God knows he felt he deserved it after all his hard work during the clay court season. The moment he arrived home in Spain, he had told Maria that he wanted to take her on a cruise around the Balearics in his yacht. Maria had agreed on the spot and started packing immediately. Even though Nadal was being plagued more and more by dirty thoughts about the men who had owned his ass, he was still trying to make things work with Maria.
Unfortunately for Maria, only a few hours after Nadal had suggested the trip, she received a phone call about one of her closest relatives, her aunt, who was very ill. Maria's family wanted her to be close by in case her aunt's condition worsened. Nadal had been at first annoyed by this setback, but he totally understood why Maria would not be able to accompany him this time. He had asked Maria to pass his best wishes on to her aunt, and the pair had warmly embraced when he dropped her off at the train station. He had watched as the carriage pulled away and waved to her. She had blown a kiss to him, then he had returned to his car and driven home.
Now, he sat on the deck of his yacht, sipping a cold beer lethargically. Even though Maria couldn't make it, he had decided to take the trip anyway. Accompanied by his captain and a small crew, they had left the harbour a few days ago, and cruised around the Balearic Islands. Nadal loved the sea, and liked to take fishing trips with his father in between tournaments. What would his father have thought of his sexually depraved behaviour during the `tournament'? What would his father have to say about the way he had given up his ass to so many stiff cocks, at first humiliated, then turned on, then begging for more and more until his ass was overloaded with cum? He didn't like to think. His father had been encouraging him to marry Maria for years, his mother kept pressing them on the subject of children, loudly wondering why her son's girlfriend was not yet pregnant.
Right now, I wish all those guys who'd owned my ass would come aboard this yacht and get me pregnant. Nadal was shocked at how quickly his thoughts had moved from Maria to those few days of sexual abandon. Again. These thoughts were becoming a regular occurrence. Especially those about Djokovic and Dimitrov. They had been at their worst any time he had encountered the pair at tennis tournaments. Nothing had been said, Djokovic was too focused on his game for that, but both he and Dimitrov had given Nadal sly looks and subtle winks whenever they had passed him on the way to the locker room or seen him on the practice courts. He had tried to be friendly but distant, unwilling to let them see that their light mockery bothered him.
But it had been impossible for him not to remember that experience. Sitting on Djokovic's lap with the Serbian's meat deep inside him, slowly giving himself up to the pleasure. Gosling grabbing Nadal's shoulders and making him ride the cock harder, before Nadal started doing the work himself. Then that feeling of being opened up, fully stretched out, as Dimitrov added his dick to the mix and entered Nadal at the same time. The two cocks, Serbian and Bulgarian, pounding the Spaniard's formerly tight hole into oblivion, and Nadal loving every single sordid second of it.
The first time Nadal had seen Djokovic after the Serbian stud had helped to DP the Spaniard slut was at a charity tennis match for a foundation both men supported. The pair had been asked to play a set against each other on the modest-sized court, therefore seeing Djokovic in the small locker room afterward had been unavoidable. The Serb had remained silent about their dirty, nasty sexual encounter, but when he had left the showers, he had deliberately – or at least it had seemed deliberate to Nadal, who was totally on edge the entire time – dropped his towel just as he was about to pass Nadal, who sat on a bench texting Maria.
Djokovic's cock was soft, but at seven inches soft, it was still big enough. Nadal had tried to seem unfazed, but he had been watching Djokovic out of the corner of his eye from the minute the stud had left the shower. The towel dropping routine caught him by surprise – as it was meant to – and he couldn't help but stare at the Serb's beautiful naked form. Djokovic was ripped, yet still oddly slim. Perfectly proportioned and without an ounce of fat on his frame. Nadal had stared at the cock then looked up at the chest, then down to the feet and up at the face. It must have only been a couple of seconds before Djokovic hurriedly picked up the towel and wrapped it around himself again, but to Nadal, it felt like an age. Djokovic had carried on past Nadal, the smell of his shower gel hitting Nadal's nostrils.
"Shower's free, Rafa," was all that Djokovic had said.
Nadal had felt vulnerable at this, and had decided to forego a shower until he got back to his hotel room. Djokovic had quickly got dressed then said goodbye to the Spaniard, a twinkle in his eye. Since that day, the pair had never been alone together, and Nadal had deliberately avoided taking part in any further events, charity or otherwise, where he might end up alone with Djokovic or Dimitrov.
As Nadal sat on the deck and stared at his beer, the sun beginning to set in the distance as the waves lapped gently against the yacht, he felt a sudden impulse to call Andy Murray.
Nadal and Murray were fairly close, and they hadn't seen each other very much lately because of Murray's injuries and his new role as a father.
After a few rings, Murray answered the phone.
"Rafa?" he sounded surprised to hear from Nadal. "Is that you? How are you doing, man?"
"I'm good, I'm good."
He was suddenly unsure of what to say next, in fact, totally unsure why he had called Murray in the first place.
"How is Maria?" the Scot was clearly unsure of what to say himself.
"She's good, she's good."
A few seconds passed.
"Is everything okay?"
"Well, not really, Andy, no."
Another few seconds.
"Do you, do you want to talk about it?"
"Oh, I don't think you'd understand even if I told you."
"Is this about the tournament, pal?"
Nadal's blood ran cold.
"The tournament?"
"Aye, Rafa, the tournament." Murray's voice had changed, hardened a little perhaps.
"You mean Roland Garros?"
"No, Rafa, I mean the tournament where everyone fucked your cunt six ways from Sunday and filled you with so much spunk your hole nearly exploded."
Nadal was completely beside himself.
"How do you know about this?"
"I watched the video."
Nadal felt his heart sink.
"The video?!"
"Yeah," Murray's smile could be heard in his voice again, "the video that was sent round to a select group of paying customers. I'm only sorry I couldn't make it there that day myself."
"I can't believe you know about this! So you're part of it too?"
"Fuck yeah I am."
"And what about your family? Kim just had a baby for Christsake!"
"Don't get sanctimonious with me, you little slut. I watched you whore your ass out to nearly 40 celebrities just to keep the lights on. You weren't so high and mighty when you were begging for their cum."
Had it been that many? Truthfully, Nadal had no idea how many men had ploughed his well-used fuckhole that day. Though it could well have been as many as that. He had drifted in and out of consciousness several times because of those injections they kept giving him. Maybe his hole had been filled up with cum even as he slept. Fuck, he felt himself getting hard again. The idea of his cunt being used even when he wasn't aware of it was turning him on. As was the idea of Murray watching the whole thing.
"I'm sorry, Andy, I didn't mean to offend you, I--" Nadal felt himself on the verge of tears.
No-one had said that the event would be filmed. He had been told that it was a one-off, that no-one would ever find out about it and that he could take his money and forget the whole thing. Of course he had been unable to forget it, and apparently he had been duped as well. He was devastated.
"Andy, if this ever gets out and leaks to the media, I'm ruined."
"You're ruined? We're all fucked if that happens! You're not the only one visible on that video, you know."
"You mean you can see the others too?"
"Of course you can, man! What would be the point of only enjoying watching one celeb get fucked? You need to see who's doing the fucking too," Murray was smiling again, Nadal could tell, "I mean it's hot watching your bubble butt getting slammed, but it's even hotter to watch Christopher Meloni do the slamming."
"Christopher Meloni?" Nadal had maybe heard the name before, but wasn't sure.
"He's an actor, a real dirty daddy" Murray laughed, "I can't believe you've had his cum inside your hole but don't know him from Adam. That's really fucking hot."
Nadal was turned on by this conversation. Maybe it had been right to call Murray after all. He couldn't believe the dirty words coming out of the Scot's mouth. He could give Beckham a run for his money. Nadal took his empty beer glass to the galley and left it in the sink.
"Hold on a second, Andy," he said, placing the call on hold.
Nadal quickly went back to the main deck and asked his captain to circle round one of the small islands nearby then find a suitable place to anchor for the night. The captain detained him for a minute or two with routine questions about tomorrow's plans, then Nadal told him that he was retiring for the evening. Without another word, he took off to his quarters and locked the main entrance door behind him.
"Hello again," Nadal said as he resumed the call.
"Hi, sexy," Murray said, "where are you?"
"I'm on the yacht, we're going to anchor for the night soon."
"You're alone?"
"Yes, why?"
"I'll call you back in a few minutes."
Nadal did not know what to make of this, but he was almost certain that something nasty was about to happen. He left the living-room area and went to his bedroom, where he closed the curtains, the late evening sunset blocked out immediately. As he looked in the mirror, he removed his clothes: white T-shirt first, then sneakers, socks, belt, tight-fitted chino pants.
He stood in front of the mirror in just a pair of white briefs, and found himself satisfied with his appearance. He looked good. He moved to the side to look at himself in profile, at his body in profile too, and saw how his ass protruded, its full cheeks sticking out in a sexy curve. No wonder they loved his ass so much, it did look good. He was the least likely person to ever be big-headed about anything, but even he could see the attractiveness of his ass, perfectly proportioned and the definition of a bubble butt.
Intrigued, he quickly went to the bathroom, where he filled a glass with water and returned to the mirror. Still looking at his reflection, he poured the water over the white briefs. The material immediately clung to his thick and fully erect cock, while the outline of his ass cheeks was visible underneath the soaked material. Turned on by himself and his newfound sexual self-confidence, he slowly pulled down the briefs, watching as his ass was gradually exposed from underneath the white, filmy material. As the briefs came down at the front, his cock popped out and he wanked it briefly while looking at himself in the mirror. He shook his ass a little, watching it jiggle and shake, then slapped his butt cheeks a couple of times naughtily.
He had no idea what to expect with Murray. Leaving the wet briefs on the floor with his other clothes, he sat on the bed, switched on both bedside lamps and waited for the phone to ring.
It didn't take long. It was a FaceTime video call. What was he going to answer the phone to?
As the phone continued to ring, he looked at it for a few seconds, took a deep breath and finally accepted. He couldn't believe what he saw. Andy Murray was on the screen, completely naked. He was muscular, but still a little on the skinny side. His cock, though, was huge. Stiff and protruding from a large bush of ginger hair. Nadal felt his own dick rise at this sight.
"Here's the thing, Rafa," Murray said, as he grinned into the camera somewhat sheepishly, "I'm a bottom."
As Nadal looked on in disbelief, the hot Scot briefly reached for something out of shot before reappearing with a huge black dildo in hand.
"Oh my God," Nadal began to speak.
"Sssshhhh," Murray said, "just sit back and watch."
Nadal watched as Murray moved his phone and positioned it somewhere, apparently on a tripod of some kind. Nadal was able to see Murray on a bed, with his back to the headboard and the dildo in his hand. Alongside Murray was a large bottle of lube and a smaller bottle of baby oil.
Nadal watched as Murray poured some baby oil onto his almost hairless chest and began to play with his nipples. He pinched them slowly until they were as erect as his and Nadal's cocks, and kept playing with them as he groaned for Nadal, who couldn't take his eyes off his phone. Murray moaned loudly as he reached for his cock and spread baby oil all over it too. Looking into the camera sexily with a naughty grin on his face, Murray began to masturbate slowly, wanking his dick in a gentle rhythm.
"You enjoying this, stud?" Murray suddenly asked, as he wanked with his left hand and squeezed his right nipple with the other.
"Fuck-- yeah," Nadal said uncertainly, before realising that for the last few minutes, he had been unconsciously wanking in time with Murray.
"Let me see."
"Uh, okay," Nadal said nervously. This really was crossing the line. No going back now.
Nadal tilted his own phone down slightly, watching as his cock came into view in the small thumbnail on screen.
"Mmmmm, fuck," Murray groaned as he watched Nadal's not-inconsiderably-sized cock appear, "you're a big boy."
Nadal's cock began to leak more and more precum as he wanked harder, completely turned on by Murray and his unexpected dirtiness. He watched as Murray lifted his legs in the air and reached for the dildo. He began to press the dildo against his hole teasingly, moaning a little and saying Nadal's name.
"Mmmmm," he groaned, "Rafa, fuck that huge Spanish cock into me. I want it hard."
Nadal couldn't believe what he was hearing. Andy Murray, recently married, a new father, was begging for Nadal to fuck him and pretending that the giant dildo he held was Nadal himself. Nadal's incessant precum dribbled on to his hand as he wanked at this sight and imagined himself fucking Murray.
In his mind, he had Murray on his back and was pounding the Scot in the missionary position, looking deep into his eyes as he drilled the hunk's tight hole and made him moan with pleasure. Nadal pinched the Scot's nipples while he fucked him deeper and deeper, feeling himself close to cumming.
"Breed me," Murray said between moans, "breed me, Rafa."
Nadal let out an almighty growl as he fucked his cum into Murray, pistoning his cock in and out of the Scot's cunt and feeling his seed implanting itself deep inside his Scottish ass.
Back in reality, Nadal continued to wank, thinking about this image while also watching Murray, who had started to lube up his hole in preparation for the dildo. Nadal had practically begun to salivate at this point, staring at the screen, with his phone in one hand and his rock hard dick in the other.
"I'm ready for you," Murray said to the dildo before positioning it at the entrance to his asshole.
Nadal had expected Murray to slide it in slowly, but to his surprise and delight, the talented and very experienced power bottom shoved almost the entire length of the lubed up dildo inside his boycunt in one move. Murray was clearly an expert at taking multiple dicks, a thought that only turned Nadal on even more.
"Jesus Christ," Nadal said involuntarily, the precum sticking to his fingers now.
"No, I'm Andy," Murray laughed as he began to push the dildo in and out of his hole. His dick stood to attention as he did this, the ginger pubes encircling his erect penis.
"You know what I mean," Nadal laughed too, "this is so hot."
"Glad you're enjoying it," Murray replied, "I'm pretending that this is your massive cock inside my hole."
"I'm thinking about that too."
"What are you doing to me? Tell me, you naughty boy."
"I'm, um, I'm, um, filling you with my cum," Nadal said shyly, not entirely used to this kind of chat with another man.
"I need more details than that," Murray said, clearly turned on by this image nonetheless.
"Okay, um," Nadal began, "I have you on your knees, uh, on all fours."
"Yeah, keep going," Murray moaned loudly, the dildo stimulating his prostate thoroughly as he fucked it in and out of his hole in quick thrusts, his own cock dribbling oodles of precum all over his hand and his pubes.
"And I grab your neck and pull your head back so I can whisper in your ear," Nadal said, remembering what some of the men at the `tournament' had done to him, "and I pull your cheeks apart with my hands and push my cock inside you, balls deep."
"Fuck, keep going, please."
"Then I start to move in and out slowly, before I speed up and fuck you faster and faster, like that dildo is doing now. I hold on to your hips tightly and I whisper in your ear that I'm ready to cum and then--"
"Oh, fuck," Murray said as he felt himself getting close to the edge, his right hand fucking the dildo in and out of his fuckhole relentlessly while his left teased his dickhead. He knew how to fuck his asshole so that he could cum hands free. He was nearly there.
"I shove my cock back inside your tight little hole, deep, very very deep, and wait to hear you moan as you feel my cum flood your hole."
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck me," Murray growled.
Nadal watched as Murray began to cum, without even touching his cock, his spunk spurting out in ribbons, high enough to fly back and hit the headboard behind him, flakes hitting his chest and neck too, splashes visible all around him. The dildo remained deep inside his hole, left there during the final thrust that had pushed him over the edge and caused him to cum without wanking his dick.
"Your turn," Murray said to Nadal, moving closer to his phone and removing it from its tripod. Murray was briefly in close-up before pointing the phone down at his well-fucked hole and the dildo still inside it. He started to move the dildo in and out again, while whispering to Nadal hornily.
"Come on, Rafa, let me see that cum."
Nadal didn't need any encouragement. He had been wanking since Murray had called him back and was ready to let his cock erupt and empty his very full balls. He continued to stare at his phone, looking at Murray's now softening cock, still dripping a little cum, and the dildo that the hot Scot kept fucking into himself.
Nadal began to moan himself, completely uninhibited now and forgetting that his yacht wasn't entirely soundproof throughout. He wanked his eight-incher furiously now, listening to the dirty talk Murray said to him through the phone.
"Come on, stud, let me see that cum, think about coating my face with it, or sticking it deep in my cunt and creaming my hole. Think about me pushing it all out. Think about me pushing out all that cum you took at the `tournament', think about me taking all the cocks you did. I've done it before, you know."
Nadal was there. It was all too much to hold out any longer. He somehow managed to keep hold of his phone with one hand, allowing Murray a view of his cock as it finally burst, cum splattering all over his chest, dripping down on to his hand, a couple of flecks hitting the phone screen itself. He was breathing rapidly and loudly as his dick continued to spurt, covering his skin and his sheets.
"Wow, champ, you really needed that, I can tell."
"I did," Nadal replied with a chuckle, "thank you."
"Any time," Andy said happily, before his expression changed slightly, "oh, shit, Rafa, I need to take this, it's Kim. I've ignored her four times already and she'll be out for blood if I don't answer."
"Okay, no problem," Nadal said, cum still leaking from his cockhead.
"Speak to you soon, I hope?"
"Definitely," Nadal said, wishing he had been able to fuck Murray for real.
"I might have a proposition for you anyway."
"Really? What kind of proposition?"
"Just you wait and see."