Date: Sat, 14 Oct 2017 15:40:25 +0000
From: Tiao Wu <hjk7359@hotmail.com>
Subject: Here Cums the Neighborhood: Part 8

This writing contains sexually explicit material, unsuited for readers
under the age of 18. If you are underage, live in an area that disallows
the reading of this type of material, or are offended by homosexual
content, please do not read further.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, settings, and ideas
featured in this series are based on fantasy. Any character that resembles
someone in your reality is purely coincidental.

If you enjoy these stories, please donate to Nifty so that we can continue
reading.

Feel free to email hjk7359@hotmail.com to give feedback or constructive
criticism. Please enjoy.

***************************************************************************


Chapter 8 - Butterfly


The next morning, the summer sky was a fine blue. It was one of those
mornings where I was awake earlier than usual, and that usually meant
school would be starting soon which sent a twist of dread through my
bones. There was a bit of nostalgia with it as well. Driving thirty minutes
into town just to get to school, going to orientation, meeting my teacher
for the year.


I groaned anxiously.


"You'll be fine," Dad said, as we drove to the public pool. I was wearing
my short yellow swimsuit with the blue Speedo underneath, my legs bouncing
as we got closer to the public pool.


"Just...y'know...swim hard," he said, somewhat encouragingly.


"Thanks, Dad," I said sheepishly, trying to ease my nerves.


I hadn't slept that well the previous night. It's difficult sleeping next
to someone that you want to...well, have sex with. My dad especially so. I
looked over at him, and seeing his figure stuffed into jeans and an orange
polo calmed me down. His chest hair seeped from the collar of his
shirt. His nipples pressed against the fabric making tiny mountains on his
chest. I felt lucky to know what was beneath these clothes.


"Look," he said. "You want this right?" He put his hand on my leg,
squeezing my knee.


"Y-yeah," I said, feeling my dick jolt to life, responding to his touch.


"Well," he put his hand back on the wheel, "just keep that in yer
head. It's just practice. Focus on you." I nodded.


We pulled into the parking lot of the pool. Other kids had bags of gear
with them: goggles, towels, swim caps. All I had was what was I wearing. I
got nervous again. What if I was forgetting something? What if I don't have
what I need? What if--


tap tap


I jerked my neck to the right and saw Coach Scott smiling and waving at
us. I rolled the window down with the crank-lever.


"Hi, boys!" he said.


"Mornin', Coach," Dad said taking off his sunglasses. He squinted at him
through the sun. Dad knew that Coach Scott and I had had sex. I wondered
how that made him feel. Coach Scott licked his full pink lips a bit,
flashing me back to our shower that we'd had the other day. I twisted my
legs to keep from getting hard.


"Glad t'see y'all could make it out so quick. Dr. Amar says yer more than
healthy."


"Yeah," Dad said, "here's his physical papers." He handed them over through
the window.


"Perfect," Coach Scott opened the folded paper, skimming over it. "Look
like he's all set, then," he said almost as if the physical I'd just had
was nothing at all. I smiled in relief. A part of me worried that something
would be on that paper that didn't let me swim. "Practice should be over
around one o'clock, so we'll see you back here around then?"


"Sounds good," said my dad, reaching over to pull on my door handle. "Swim
hard, Seb," he said. I nodded nervously.


I stepped out of the truck and headed toward the entrance.


"Everyone should be warming up past the gate. Go ahead and change out and
join the rest of the team."


"Yes sir," I said. Going back into the locker room, I wasn't sure what to
expect. Rounding the corner I saw kids my age and some maybe slightly older
stuffing things into lockers, making conversation, laughing, pushing,
shoving. I stole some glances at some of the kids sliding their shorts off,
getting changed, confidently walking around completely naked, lithe bodies
ambling in and around every corner. Some kids looked like they might be
bigger than me, others smaller. I was surprised to see some of the bodies
that were on the team. Some looked a little thicker, others were really
scrawny. It was an interesting mix. In the end, all of us were technically
still growing, I supposed.


I awkwardly made my way to the same locker that Coach and I used the last
time I was here. Kids bumped into my shoulders as they ran through the
locker room. Making it to the locker I wanted, I awkwardly took my shirt
off, and stuck it in the locker. I stuck my thumb in the waistband of my
swim suit and slid it to the floor.


"Hey!" an obnoxiously mean voice called through the room. All the chatter
came to a pause, and the kids looked in the direction of where the voice
came from. A tall kid, maybe a foot taller than me with a blond bowl-shaped
haircut stepped toward me. I hid slightly behind the door of my locker. He
was already dressed in his Speedo. A tan covered him indicating that he
definitely practiced a lot. Compared to me, his muscles were definitely
more refined, and I couldn't help but be a bit envious.


"Hi," I said back. Boys snickered and rushed out of the locker room,
leaving just me and this kid and a couple of others that also seemed to
walk toward me.


"You lost?" he crossed his arms, puffing out his small chest, flexing his
arms a bit. I raised an eyebrow.


"Uhh," I closed my locker. "This is swim practice right?" The boys left in
the locker room all laughed.


"No," the boy said, stepping closer, forming a shadow over me, "this is the
Birchwood Middle School Boys Swim Team practice." His voice was low and
thin, yet cold like an icy mist. Like chapped lips. Up close I could see
that he was completely hairless. I didn't have much hair growing on me yet,
but I at least had some thin leg and armpit hair.


"Oh," I said. "Then I guess I'm not lost." Bowl-cut scoffed.


"Sorry," he responded, licking his lips, "I guess you just don't look like
you could hang with us." He looked around me, up and down. "No goggles?" he
asked.


"Don't have any," I said. He smiled and the rest of the kids laughed.


"Well," he sneered, "Careful not to get kicked in the face by my foot." He
brushed my side as he walked past me, the other boys, I'm assuming his
friends, also bumped me. I rolled my eyes. He was taller, and maybe
stronger, but he didn't scare me.


"'Scuse me! Scuse me!" another shorter boy ran inside clumsily.


"Watchit, dumbass!" one of the other kids with darker skin said as he
shoved him into a wall, causing him to slump to the floor. I ran over to
him to pick him up.


"Ah, geez," his voice was high-pitched, kinda wimpy.


"You okay?" I asked, lifting him up.


"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." The kid had big glasses that made his eyes bug out,
a buzz cut, a kind of wide nose, a jack-o-lantern smile.


"Probably shouldn't run in here, huh?" I said, getting him to his feet.


"Hoo, yer tellin' me! Sorry 'bout that." He quickly started stripping off
his clothes. I was maybe a half a foot taller than him, but once his shirt
came off I was surprised. Underneath this dweeby kid's head was a pretty
tight body. I suddenly started to feel self-conscious about how I looked.


"I can't believe my mom got me here late. What a bitch," he said matter of
factly, lisping the word "bitch". I laughed at how candid he was.


"Yeah, I'm a little late, too," I commented.


"Coach Scott hates it when people are late," he said seriously. "Whoa, you
don't have a lock?" he motioned to my slightly open locker.


"I mean," I looked at my shirt and short suit piled in the locker. "I don't
have much to take."


He sighed, "Here, take one of my mine. I have three. I lose stuff a lot."


"Thanks," I said, kind of surprised. I guess not everyone here was a
complete jerk.


"I'm Curt. With a 'C'," he added emphasis to that part.


"I'm Sebastian," I slipped the lock through my locker. I felt relieved to
have met someone, and actually learned their name, rather than feeling like
a fish out of water.


Curt and I hustled outside to see the rest of the team bent over doing side
lunge stretches counting aloud.


"8!...9!...10!" around twenty voices yelled in unison. Bowl-cut was leading
the stretches.


"Legs together!" he commanded. In synchronized motion, the team put their
legs together. Curt and I used this opportunity to slip in between two
other swimmers, who glanced at us dismissively.


"4!...5!...6!..." we yelled. It felt good to stretch. Especially to get in
this routine of exercising. Doing something that I love. Also something to
get my mind of sex for a moment.


"Quad stretch!" Bowl-cut directed. And we all dropped to the floor and
continued. I was relieved that I knew basically all of the stretches, and
those I didn't or had a different name that I was used to, I could pick it
up pretty easily.


We stood up for windmill stretches and kept counting. Coach Scott circled
the group checking for form. His legs looked tight emerging from an
ordinary swimsuit. His stomach formed a firm roundness that I distinctly
remembered in the shower. My naked body resting on top of his. His tan skin
shone in the summer sun, and his grey hair looked wispy and cloudy on his
head. He had a bit more facial hair compared to the last time I saw him. I
made sure to be as perfectly still and allow my muscles to fall into the
form I was putting them in. Coach eventually got to me standing directly
behind me as I was bent over for windmill stretches. Suddenly I felt his
waist rest against my ass, bumping me slightly. His hands patting the small
of my back.


"Step aside a bit more," he said softly, beneath the loud counting. He
spread his legs apart and I matched his form. I felt him grind his hips
against my ass. "There ya go," he said, patting my side. I blushed
slightly, trying to focus on the stretch rather than my dick getting
hard. I looked up from the windmill stretch to see Bowl-cut scowling in my
direction.


"2 laps!" he shouted, and everyone jogged toward the diving blocks. "You
two! Braunkofski...and the other one," he cut through the sound of jogging
feet, and pointed at me and Curt. He stepped up to us, a curled lip cutting
through his face. Sounds of swimmers punctuated the water with their kicks
and strokes.


"What's yer name, Seven?" I was confused by the term "Sevens" but I went
ahead and answered him anyway.


"Uh, Sebastian?" I said. Bowl-cut raised an eyebrow. "...Smalls?" I added.


"Smalls. Just so you know," he continued brusquely, "there are Sevens and
there are Eights." I looked around. Curt looked down at the ground
ashamed. "Sevens can either make it on this team, or their late like you
two. Eights actually want to get shit done." I looked around awkwardly. Why
was this kid acting like this. I figured this would be fun like my team was
at home, but this seemed like the military.


"Gimme 25," he said and walked away. We got down and did twenty five push
ups, Curt cussing under his breath the whole time. Bowl-cut dove into the
water, dolphin kicking through the water. I stood up once my push ups were
done, catching my breath. Curt was laying flat on the ground like a
cartoon.


"Go ahead and stand up," I said. "He won't know if you finished 'em or
not." Curt growled pushing himself back up to his feet. For someone who
looked pretty strong I was surprised that he was struggling with 25 push
ups.


"I hate that kid," he said under his breath.


"Yeah, what's his deal?" I asked, kneading my shoulder muscles.


"He's like team captain or somethin'," he explained. "He does alright, and
Coach Scott likes him, so he thinks he can be all tough."


Kids were starting to pull themselves out of the water. Bowl-cut being one
of them. As he pushed himself out of the water, he swept his wet blond hair
out of his eyes in one motion, water trailing off of him. Coach Scott
talked with him quietly apart from the rest of the team as they caught
their breath after their warm up. Coach's hands tapped Bowl-cut's shoulder
affectionately. Bowl-cut looked to be almost the same height as Coach
Scott. He looked like he was giving some basic instructions. Maybe feedback
on how he was leading the team through warmups. When he was done he stood
by Bowl-cut's side and grab his ass, then gave it a soft pat. My eyes
widened at this. Bowl-cut slipped his hand down his Speedo, adjusting his
crotch a bit.


I don't know why, but seeing their exchange sent a twinge of jealousy
through me. He looked so good at what he did. Confident, authoritative;
Coach Scott obviously saw that.


I had to be better.


TWEE-EEET.


Coach Scott sent a strident whistle through the air, calling for our
attention.


"Alright, Bears, let's get urgent," he said, projecting his voice. We all
stood in front of him waiting patiently. I felt ridiculous being the only
dry swimmer in the group. The once still swimming pool now sloshed and
whipped with waves from the team's warmup laps.


"Yer all here to swim. Because you love to swim. Because you love that
feeling you get when you push off the blocks." Boys began nodding their
heads, sternly. The sun, though not blazing like it typically was, beat
down on our necks. I clenched my jaw, full of adrenaline, dying to get in
the water. "Eventually," he continued, pacing before us, "you'll be wanting
to swim with the big boys up at Birchwood High." He looked at each of
us. "Nothin' personal, but I don't wanna be responsible for any pieces o'
shit dogpaddling through the first practice. Makes me look bad." I smirked.


"If you want to be here, you're going to have to work hard. The second I
get the sense that you aren't trying your best, yer out." I gulped,
glancing around me. Everyone else was focused.


"Last year," he shook his head, solemnly, "we had some Eights let us down,
right when we needed them most." Coach Scott walked over the edge of the
pool. "We were this close," he stuck his arm into the water, maybe a foot
away from the edge, "from the District Championship." Some of the Eights
put their heads down, possibly reliving the experience.


"Those of you who know me," he started again, "you know there are three
things I hate: laziness when getting the job done, lateness to
practice,"--a guilty fire hit me from the back at the sound of that--"and
complacency. Martinez," he directed.


"Yes sir?" the darker skinned swimmer behind Bowl-Cut stepped forward.


"What is complacency?" he asked.


"It's, like, when you feel like you've, like, done good enough? And you
don't have to, like, try any harder?" he squinted his dark eyes searching
for the right words.


"Basically, yes," he responded. "Complacency is what lost us last year."
Bowl-cut nodded his head, brows furrowed.


"I don't care if your 50 meters ahead of your opponent, you swim like
they're only 5 centimeters on your tail." I started filling in the gaps of
this team. Coach Scott really cared about winning, but it sounded like he
wanted us to be all of these things in our everyday life.


"Do we understand these three things?"


"Yes sir!" we all yelled in response.


"Good, then we have nothing to worry about. Alright, I want ten swimmers,
five Sevens and five Eights, alternate on the blocks. You five and you
five." I was part of the five sevens. My stomach twisted with nerves and
excitement. The ten of us lined up on the ten blocks, me standing between
two Eights.


"100 meters. When you hit the edge, tag your partner. Your partner will be
an Eight if you're a Seven, and a Seven if you're an Eight," explained
Coach Scott. I looked behind me to see Martinez standing arms akimbo. Curt
was a few lanes down with Bowl-cut standing behind him. Everyone was
fitting swim caps around their heads, and fastening goggles to their
eyes. I felt terrible not having the proper equipment. Like I had a giant
arrow pointing at me, saying that I didn't belong here.


"Let's see how we do with freestyle 400 meters," he instructed. So eight
laps, four each. I hated that I was going to have to be first, but I
figured maybe I can get us far ahead, thinking of all the long distances I
swam in the lake.


"Don't fuck us over, Seven," Martinez hissed. I shut him out of my mind and
bent over into starting position.


"Marks!" the rest of the swimmers bent into starting position. "Set!" I
clutched the edge of the block, all sound around me drowned completely out.


TWEET!


My legs rocketed off the diving block. I was a meteor hurdling through
space.  I was an eagle ready to snatch my prey. Once my skin touched the
water, I was home. I made myself as slender as possible dolphin kicking
through my lane, my legs whipping like branches in the wind. I counted to
five and then resurfaced, gulping down delicious air. My ears took in sound
like a firework show. I heard cheers calling various names, numbers. I
peeked through the water, though blurry I could see quite well the hash
marks that guided swimmers to the different lengths of the pool. I clawed
my way through the water catching my rhythm.


Once I knew I was close to the wall, I dove underwater and back kicked off
the wall like a torpedo, rolling my body to propel myself forward. As I
broke the surface this time I heard the cheering voices getting louder
instead of softer. My heart raced, even though this was only a drill. I
needed the team to know that I wasn't just another "Seven". That I could
actually swim.


As the cheering got as loud as it possibly could get I took my right arm,
and swung it in front of me, reaching for the edge. The second my fingers
touched the wall, I heard a splash behind me. Martinez dove in for his
round. I pulled myself out of the pool, not wanting to show too much
fatigue and took my spot back at the diving block. To my surprise, I was
one of maybe only three other swimmers who were ready for their next dive.


Bowl-cut was livid, screaming at Curt, who was still only halfway finished
with his return. "Come awwwww-n!" he yelled Curt. I stroked my messy hair
out of my eyes, keeping focus. I looked over at Bowl-cut who was glaring at
me, in his starting position, waiting eagerly for Curt to hit the
wall. Once he did, Bowl-cut flew off the block like a bull at a rodeo. It
was a sloppy dive, but I understood what was going through his mind.


Curt emerged from the water, teeth chattering, catching his breath, body
glistening with pool water. I could tell he felt defeated.


"You got this, Curt!" I yelled, clapping my hands. He raised his eyebrows,
taking deep breaths, climbing back up to the starting block. I cheered on
Martinez who was making his return. We were among the top three at this
point. I bounced on my toes slightly, and then bent down the starting
position, eager for Martinez to tag me back in, Bowl-cut making excellent
time, catching up to him. I kept reminding myself that this was just a
drill and not a real race, but I didn't care. I didn't even care if I was
so tired I couldn't finish practice, as long as we came out in first.


"Don't kill yerself over this," a said a voice behind me. "I need you
later." It was Coach Scott.


"Yes sir," I said, easing my breath. Martinez was three feet away, two
feet, one. I soared through the air once again, skating into the water
smoothly. Normally I would count to five and then resurface, but this time,
I pushed myself a bit longer. I knew that there was a rule on how long we
could kick, so I didn't want to mess up me and Martinez's chances.


"Don't kill yerself over this," I heard Coach's voice in my head. I knew he
was telling me to slow down. But at the same time his pep talk was in my
head telling me not to ever slow down. I chose to go with that advice
instead, pushing myself. Looking good for the team was more important than
following Coach's directions. I resurfaced and heard Martinez roaring over
the rest of the voices.


"GO-OOOO!" he shouted. I twisted my body to match each of my strokes, my
legs acting like a miniature motor. I peered through the blurry curtain of
my eyes and saw the bold hash mark and tucked and turned, dolphin kicking
once again toward the end. I could see the meters melting away in my
head. 45...40...35...I broke the surface again, taking quick sips of air as
I powered to the end.


"COME ON COME ON COME ON!" I heard Martinez yelling. 20...15...10...I
imagined that sharks were behind me and the only way I could survive was to
just...swim faster.


5...4...3...2...I reached my arm out on my final meter and smacked the edge
of the pool, hearing the sound of Martinez hitting the water directly
after. I instantly pulled myself out of the pool, and paced in circles
catching my breath. I looked at the pool and saw that Martinez was well
ahead of everyone else. I smiled with relief.


"You gonna be able to keep up that pace for the whole practice?" Coach
Scott approached me from behind. I spun around. He didn't look impressed. I
panted, catching my breath. I swept my sopping wet hair from my eyes. He
was only maybe a foot away from me. Him standing that close caused my mind
to race. I rolled my shoulders trying to stay focused, and whatever I
did...


"Do not get hard," I told myself in my head.


"Yes sir," I responded, getting my breath under control.


"Let's hope so," he remarked, and walked off to a different lane. I saw
Curt getting out of the pool, and Bowl-cut powering through his lane. Coach
Scott walked toward him resting his hand on Curt's shoulder. I couldn't
hear what they were saying, but I assumed he was asking him if he was
okay. Coach comforted him, and Curt paced with his arms over his head.


I darted back to the edge of the pool. Martinez was closing in as well as
another Eight, both of them neck-and-neck with each other. I knelt at the
edge, splashing the water, cheering Martinez on. Martinez pulled ahead and
swung his arm to strike the edge of the pool, bursting out of the water,
catching his breath.


"YE-EES!" I yelled reaching out my hand. Martinez looked around to see that
he finished first.


"Ha!" he laughed, taking my hand. I assisted him in getting out of the
water. After stumbling a bit on his legs, he finally fell into my arms and
gave me a friendly hug. "Dude," he said, pulling off his goggles, "you're,
like, really fast!"


"Thanks!" I patted his back. "You, too."


"Good job, boys," Coach said, patting us both on our backsides, and then
continuing his patrol of the lanes.


"Sebastian!" Curt hobbled over to me, "Yer so fast! Yer
like...like...Aquaman!" I laughed blushing.


"Yer fast, too, Curt."


Bowl-cut emerged from the water looking furious, yanking his goggles from
his face, totally out of breath. I'd never felt so satisfied to see someone
fail. In my head, I started fantasizing about all the ways I was going to
see that frustration on his face, again and again.


"Alright!" Coach Scott belted. "What I want you to do is talk to your
partner. What did you observe about how they were swimming? Help each
other. Give feedback." Martinez and I turned toward each other, chatting
about how the other person did. We mostly had good things to say to each
other. Martinez was cool. He was animated, full of life, a bright smile
topped with dark peach fuzz. I could tell he was competitive without
putting too much pressure on himself to succeed. He was pretty
lanky--slender arms and legs--but had the wide shoulders of a swimmer, and
obliques that fanned outward like folded wings. I looked over at Bowl-cut
and Curt. It didn't look pretty.


Bowl-cut was mostly lecturing, still red in the face. Curt was wiping his
goggles. He made frequent glances over at me and Martinez being amicable
with one another, and I could tell he didn't like it. Seeing the two of
them standing next to each other was pretty entertaining, Bowl-cut being
the tallest swimmer on the team, and Curt being the shortest.


Coach Scott's whistle brought us to attention, and we all huddled up.


"I hope this exercise showed you how it feels to rely on a team
member. Eights, maybe you didn't want to lose, looking bad, or having to
lose to a Seven at the very end. Sevens, maybe you felt like you needed to
work extra hard for your teammate, not wanting to let them down. That's the
tenacity you want to have. That's the tenacity we need," he explained.


The next hour was spent practicing four different strokes. Working on
freestyle form, backstroke, breast stroke, and butterfly. I felt pretty
comfortable with all of them. Backstroke was extra difficult without
goggles, but I made do. After all of these different drills, I definitely
was feeling tired, and hungry. Coach Scott told my Dad that practice was
over at one o' clock, and it was only 10:45. Doing this for two more hours
didn't seem doable, but I tried not to think about it.


"Alright, let's cool down," Coach Scott instructed. The rest of the team
was definitely wiped out. I did my best to appear strong, and not rest on
my knees. Bowl-cut paced the edge of the pool, chest heaving, catching his
breath from all the exercise. I always liked this part of practice. How you
could sweat even if you were just in a pool of water. Which, as the sun was
starting to get higher in the sky, the water was getting warmer. The more
pale swimmers started getting red on the backs of their necks. Me, my skin
just got a little darker.


After cooling down, I expected for practice to continue, but instead, Coach
Scott called us over to huddle.


"Good practice guys. Remember, lift weights if you can, and definitely get
in some running. Swimming shouldn't be the only exercise you do if you want
to be the best. I'll see you all on Monday."


"Yes sir," we all said.


"Alright, bring 'em in," he held out his hand an the rest of the team
started stacking their wet and pruny palms on top of the next. I managed to
squeeze my way to the middle, my hand ending up being last. "Remember, I
don't want laziness or only complacency. Just tenacity. Practice again same
time Monday." Coach moved his hand from the bottom of the pile to the top,
on top of mine. Instantly his touch gave me chills, even if it was just my
hand.


"Bears on 'three'. One, two, three--"


"BEARS!" we all jerked our arms to the middle, and then broke apart, and
headed toward the showers.


"Smalls," I heard calling after me. I turned and faced Coach Scott. "See me
after."


"Yes...sir," I responded. After his final talk with the team, I imagined I
was going to be in trouble for being late. I walked toward the lockers with
my head down.


Chatter echoed throughout the locker room as teammates changed out of their
Speedos and rinsed off in the showers. I walked up to Curt who was kicking
his bathing suit to the floor. He looked pretty bummed.


"You alright?" I asked. Curt shrugged. "Look it's just practice," I
explained. Sliding my bathing suit to the ground. My dick was somewhat
hard, Coach Scott's touch still floated in my mind. Looking around though,
I don't think anyone noticed.


"Yer right," he sighed, pushing his glasses back on. "I'll kick ass next
time." His eyes gigantic with the glasses on, making him look like an
owl. I giggled.


"You look like the Tootsie Pop owl," I remarked.


"Uh-one, uh-two..." Curt cooing as he started getting dressed, and I headed
to the showers. Mostly Eights were rinsing off. I just tried to keep my
head down and clean up without looking at anyone. I hadn't cum once yet
today, and the idea of nudity was definitely reason enough to get hard,
regardless of who was around.


I stepped under a shower head and twisted the nozzle releasing a cold spray
of water. I gasped and flinched, but remembered it would get warmer, just
like Coach Scott had reassured me that one day.


"Ha! Hey look!" I heard a voice say from the corner. "I guess that's why he
goes by Smalls!" It was Bowl-cut and he was pointing at my dick.


"Hey, why don't you leave me and my dick alone," I shot back.


"Oh, I don't think you'd like that," Bowl-cut said back.


"Whatever, yers isn't that big anyway," I retorted, spraying water on my
face. A chorus of "ooooo's" echoed in the showers.


"Yeah? Fuck, you, Seven," he bounded toward me. "NO one's bigger than me,"
I looked down and saw Bowl-cut's dick in his hand. It wasn't fully erect,
but damn, it was pretty big.


"Yeah, man," I heard Martinez chiming in. "We, like, measured to see and
everything."


I laughed. "Okay, cool. You have the biggest dick. I seem to remember
swimming faster than you though." I turned around rinsing off my back.


Bowl-cut spun around and shoved me against the wall, his forearm pressed
against my chest. I glared at him in return, not showing fear.


"You better fuckin' watch yerself, Seven," he hissed, inches away from my
face. "I'll make your life miserable."


"Go ahead," I said softly. "I'll still be faster." Bowl-cut didn't like
that very much. As shown by his twisted face. In response, Bowl-cut reeled
his head back and spit in my face. I made sure not to blink, holding me
ground. Bowl-cut walked away, and I turned around and rinsed my face
off. The Eights all stood in silence as I finished rinsing off.


After I dried off, I slipped on my dry swim suit that was in my locker and
the T-shirt I came with and headed outside to meet Coach Scott as he told
me to. Looking around, I didn't see him, but once I turned toward the exit
I saw Coach Scott and Bowl-cut having a conversation.


"But you always ask me to stay after!" Bowl-cut whined.


"Not today," he instructed.


"B-but," Bowl-cut looked like he had that lump in your throat when you're
about to cry.


"Go home, get some rest," he said, his tone indicating that his word was
final. Bowl-cut looked shattered for some reason. Maybe it was because he
was used to being the best, or that he wanted to feel like Coach liked him
the best.


Once Bowl-cut turned and headed toward the parking lot, Coach Scott turned
to me and gave me a welcoming smile.


"How was your first practice?" he asked kindly, resting his hand on my
shoulder.


"It was great!" I said excitedly. My legs were a little noodly, but I felt
pretty good. "I thought practice was until 1, so I expected for there to be
more," I explained.


"More, huh?" he laughed. I followed him as we walked around the pool. No
one was around, since the pool didn't open to the rest of the public until
a bit later after practice was over. "Well," he continued, "I'm happy that
you'd want to do even more. I appreciate your tenacity, Sebastian. You
really made a mark today. Keep it up."


"Thank you, Coach Scott." I stood before him waiting to see what was next,
but he just sort of hung me in his gaze for a few seconds. Behind his
sunglasses, I couldn't tell what he was looking at. "You asked me to stay
after?" I asked finally.


"OH! Yes, thanks for reminding me," he put his arm around me and guided me
with him. I looked to my side to see a few Eights, along with Martinez, see
Coach Scott walking with me. "So, I wanted to show you a part of the pool
that you need t'be aware of, for safety." We walked a little further away
from the pool area into the grass. I wondered where we were going that
seemed so important. As we moved further, Coach continued talking about my
form, how I was swimming, entering/exiting.


"When you push off the blocks, y'look like a maniac. You need some control
there," he lectured. "I know swim caps are uncomfortable, but you need
one. I'll grab one for my office for ya." I just kept saying "Yes sir" as
he finished each of his points, until finally, "Ah, here we are," he
pointed ahead.


He lead me to what seemed to be a somewhat spacious looking shed. The walls
were made of a white painted wood, with a dark green roof, and a dark green
door.


As we approached the shed, Coach Scott took a key that was hanging with his
whistle, and unlocked a padlock latching the door shut.


If there was safety equipment in here, why was it locked? I wondered. As we
stepped inside, I looked around. Shelves that held what looked like buckets
of pool chemicals, a number of different length nets, pool filters, ropes,
standard pool cleaning stuff.


"What're we doing in here, Coach Scott?" I asked. Coach Scott flipped a
metal latch that kept the door securely closed.


"This here's the pool equipment shed. Nets, extra safety preservers,
chemicals, it's all found here," he paced a little bit, I assumed he was
thinking of what to say next.


Coach Scott sighed and turned toward me, a good-sized tent in your shorts
growing in his shorts. My eyes widened, and my stomach knotted up with
nerves.


"I spoke with Dr. Amar," he started.


"Oh no," I thought. "Something came up, and I'm going to have to leave the
team. All of this was for nothing." My mind raced.


"What did he say," I asked cautiously.


"He told me that your physical went very well. That you were a very," he
paused, "special kind of patient."


"Special?" I asked. Coach Scott stepped closer to me, taking off his
sunglasses. His skin was especially dark in the shed, even though there was
a window, not much light was able to get in from all the stacks of pool
supplies.


"I like 'special'," he continued. "I like my boys to have tenacity. To take
what's given to them and run with it, and always do their best." I looked
down at my feet. His erection seemed to be growing thicker. "And you," he
stepped closer, "you have that."


"Th-thank you, sir," I said, nervously yet excited that he felt that
way. My dick was starting to get hard, as I imagined Coach without his
clothes on, the cock in his shorts touching me, what it must taste and feel
like. It was impossible to keep it out of my head.


"And when Dr. Amar told me about your physical," he reached out and groped
my crotch. I gasped, not even realizing that I was hard. "I knew I needed
to see how special you were for myself." I rolled my eyes at the sensation
of his touch. My bathing suit, which only reached a little under mid-thigh,
crunched as he bunched up my private parts in his grown-up hand.


"You see," he continued, "when kids like you come around--hard-working,
tenacious, special--I feel like they should be rewarded for their hard
work." He squeezed my dick in his hand, stepping closer so that his bulge
pressed against my stomach.


"Unnh," I whimpered, into Coach Scott's chest.


"So that's why we're here," he explained softly, stepping closer to
me. Sunscreen and sweat filled my nostrils, making my head spin. I looked
into his eyes, his full pink lips, and then down to his arm which was
currently connected to my dick, pleasuring me, his bicep bulged with every
tug, every twist of his forearm.


I suddenly realized why Bowl-cut might have looked so upset when he was
told not to stay after.


"Every time I can see that you've gone the extra mile," he played with the
material of my swim trunks, "you get to spend some time with me after." My
breath shuddered in response to his touch.


"Does that," he tugged on my dick one more time, "sound okay to you?" My
mind raced. Of course it was okay. If being a good swimmer meant I would
get rewarded with someone touching my dick, then in my mind it was
completely worth it.


Rather than saying anything, I reached out and touched Coach Scott's bulge,
feeling the weight of it in my hands.


"Hmm," he moaned softly. He didn't sound gravelly like my dad did when I
made him feel good, just deep, and authoritative. I rubbed Coach Scott's
dick through his shorts, as he touched mine. "Let's see it, Smalls," he
said quietly, peeling on the legs of my shorts back a bit. Coach snaked his
hand inside of my shorts, feeling my cock with his bare hands.


"Hunngh," I sighed. Coach pulled lightly on my dick, springing it out of
the leg of my swimsuit, my balls jolting beneath my suit. In the distance I
heard the sound of parents and kids starting to enter the pool for their
summer fun.


"Looks good, Smalls," he said. He held it in his hand before making one
slow stroke, milking a few drops of precum from my cock, running his other
hand up my shirt and feeling my stomach.


"Kids, no running!" I heard a mom yelling in the distance.


"Ahhngh," I whined, staring at the clear fluid. Coach Scott snickered and
cleaned his fingers of it with his tongue.


"Dr. Amar told me about that, too," he said savoring my precum, a smile
creeping over his face. "I want to taste more of it," he said as he knelt
down and took my cock into this mouth.


"Heengh!" I cried. His mouth was so warm, just like Dad's, except Coach
Scott had a certain hunger about the way he went down on me, as if my dick
was a meal. He slurped and swallowed my cock ravenously, like an animal.


"Unngh, oh, gawhd, Coachhhh," I felt my balls tightening up, my legs and
knees beginning to quake. I reached for something to grab onto, only the
pole of a metal shelf would do. Coach reached around placing his hand
behind my ass, pushing my into his face even harder. I was reeling, my back
with sweat slithering down my back. I didn't want to cum yet. I wanted to
be able to control it. "Uhhghh, Coach? Coach? I think I'm gonna...I'M
GONNUGGHH."


But I couldn't hold it in! Coach wrapped his fingers around my dick and
milked my cock for whatever he could get out of it. I jerked forward, my
cock plowing into his skull.


"COACHHH, I'M CUMMMINNG, AHHHGN!" Coach didn't let up and continued
slurping and slobbering. My hips jerking forward with each spurt of cum
that emptied into my coach's stomach. He continued feeding on me, sending
me into over drive. I pulled on his hair, whimpering and squealing at how
sensitive my dick was.


"Ah, coach coachcoachcoachcoach," I whispered, gripping his
shirt. Understanding that I'd had enough, he slowly pulled away, and stood
back up.


I smiled in ecstacy. "Haaaa, C-coach Scott, that was--"


Coach interrupted me, planting his full pink lips into mine. My eyes
fluttered in surprise, and as his tongue searched my mouth a familiar taste
slithered onto my own tongue.


Is that my cum? I thought. As that thought entered my head, Coach pulled
away from my face, a strand of cum trailing off his lips as if he were
peeling cheese away from a pizza.


As he stepped closer, he opened his mouth, and squeezed my cheeks
instructing to open mine. As I did, the rest of my cum dripped into my
mouth. I appreciated the surprise, playing with my wad of cum with my
tongue. Coach quickly kneeled down below me again, opening his mouth, like
a baby bird expecting a meal, so I leaned in and drooled my load back into
his mouth.


"Hrrrgm," Coach growled and pulled me in again by the waist, sliding his
fingers around my cock. Just by standing I reached Coach's lips, so I
pushed my face into his, and allowed him to make out with me, my cum
dancing back and forth between our mouths. Eventually we both swallowed our
share, and pulled away from our faces. I glared hungrily at Coach. Having a
taste of cum only made me more hungry.


"You want more?" asked Coach. I nodded, drunk, eyes glazed over. Coach
stood up and pulled his shorts down, his cock bounced up and down as his
waistband caught his nuts going down. Coach clutched his dick in his hand,
flicking it my direction, like a toy he knew I wanted. I knelt down quickly
before Coach's dick and held it in my hands. It was a deep tan color, with
extra skin folded over the tip. I leaned forward feeling the warmth of his
cock against my cheek.


"Go ahead, Smalls," he instructed, out of breath, craving to be
touched. "It's called foreskin. Just pull the skin back with your hand." I
did as he said, pulling on the skin as if it were a sock. From the skin
emerged a bright pink dick staring at me in the face. "Yeah," he growled,
"just like that, Smalls. Go ahead, play with it. Take it for a spin." I
stretched and fondled Coach's dick, lapping up the little precum around the
tip with my tongue.


Playing with foreskin, while it might have looked strange at first, was
actually really fun. I jacked him off, pulling on the skin as far it was
go, marveling at how elastic it was. Each time I did something right, Coach
praised me, or his balls jumped.


"Yeah, you want it, Smalls?" he took his cock in his hand, wagging it in
front of my face. "You got tenacity? You gonna show me how hard you're
willing to work?"


"Yes," I said breathlessly, drunk with lust, my tongue wetting my lips, my
gut starving from all the swim practice. "Yes, sir," I said again taking
his dick in my hand. With one fluid motion, I took Coach's dick in my
mouth, pulling and playing on his foreskin as I sucked and swallowed his
thick meat.


"Yeahh-aghh, Dr. Amar told me that you were a good cocksucker." Hearing his
words only made me work harder. "Yeah stick yer tongue right in there," he
instructed. I pulled on his foreskin, and circled my tongue
inside. "Ahhh-h-h-h," he shuddered.


"MOMMY, ZACK TOOK MY FLOATIES!" I heard a girl scream outside the pool. The
pool must have been getting more crowded as the day got hotter.


Sweat formed around my brow as the temperature of the shack definitely
started to rise.


"Yeah, Smalls, take my dick, show me that you want it. Show me how much you
love my fuckin' dick in yer mouth," he whispered. I adjusted my neck and
pushed my head down on Coach's dick, as far as it would go. My dick pulsed
and twitched as I felt Coach's dick reach further and further toward the
back of my throat.


I spent minute after minute worshiping Coach's dick, precum spat and
collected in his foreskin, allowing him to give me frequent samples and
tastes of his seed.


"Ahh, damn, Smalls, yer mouth is so good. Yea-aaah, dive down deep on my
cock, boy," he instructed. I took a deep breath, and pushed myself taking
as much of his cock as I could. It wasn't as big as my dad's, but was
definitely thick, and not easy to swallow. "C'mon, Smalls, show me that you
can do it." I coughed as I made three-quarters down. "C'mon, push yerself,
push yerself, mmmmm, yeaaah." Tears welled up in my eyes as I pushed Coach
deeper into me.


"Mmmmph," I moaned. Up close I remembered that he shaved as often as he
could being a swimmer, so there was little hair to tickle my nose, which
was kind of nice.


"Ahhh, fugg yeah boy. You like suckin' my dick?" he asked calmly,
encouragingly.


"Mmm-hmmmm," I droned on as I took Coach's dick further and further into my
throat.


"Almost there, Smalls. Mmmmmph yeah, boy," Coach Scott placed his hands
behind my head and tried helping me get the final inch of his dick. I
opened my throat, and unhinged my jaw the best that I could and finally,
like trying to put on a new shoe it just popped into place.


"Mmmph, mmmph," I groaned as Coach Scott continued stuffing my face with
his cock.


"Yeah, Smalls, you wanna swallow my cum?" he cringed his face. I could tell
he was getting close.


"Mmmmph," I nodded my head vigorously. I wrapped my hand around his dick,
jacking him off as I stuffed my face full of cock.


"Oh fuck. Unngh, OH FUCK Yy-yyyeah!" Coach Scott whimpered as softly as he
could as he emptied his load into my mouth. Cum whiplashed against the back
of my throat and filled he corners of my mouth. I was in heaven. Coach
Scott's cum was thick, almost like a kind of batter, and it tasted
amazing. Like custard or some kind of dessert. Coach whimpered as I kept
gumming on his thick cock. I slowly slid it from my face, milking the last
few drops and greedily swallowing as much as I could. As I pulled away,
Coach's labored breath reassured me that I was doing a good job. I
stretched and played with his foreskin, nibbling on the hood a bit,
lathering up any remaining drops that might've escaped.


"Fuggin' hell, Smalls," Coach Scott wiped his forhead. "Yer somethin'
else!" I stood up to reach his face, wiping my lips on the back of my
arm. Once I was back on my feet, Coach Scott pulled me to his face and made
out with me again, his tongue searching for any last remnants of cum on my
lips. Coach pulled away with one loud slurp on just my bottom lip,
stretching it a bit from my face. I took Coach Scott's cock in my hand,
continuing to play with it, as though it were a toy that I couldn't put
down.


Coach Scott reached out and grabbed mine as well, still simply sticking out
of my yellow swimsuit.


"Hmph," he laughed to himself. "Still hard, Smalls." I looked down, and
sure enough, I was sticking firmly straight out of my suit, some precum on
Coach's fingers.


"Y-yeah," I said nervously. "I'm, uh, kinda always like that."


"Always?" he asked.


"Well, most of the time," I responded, catching my breath. Coach's dick
felt firm as well in my hand, without any sense of softening. Coach Scott
locked his eyes on mine as he continued squeezing and massaging my cock.


"Unnngh," I stared into his eyes longingly, my mouth drooping. He had me
under a spell. His touch, his domineering energy, a dick that I could play
with for hours if he'd let me.


"Here," he declared, putting his hand in my shirt, "let's take this fuckin'
shit off." He pulled my shirt over my head, and then dug his hands into the
waist of my swimsuit, and pulled it to the ground as well. I stood naked in
front of my coach, just like I had been only a few days ago when we first
met. "Whenever you're around me," he squeezed my dick in my hand, as though
it were a leash, "I want you either dressed out for practice, or naked, on
your knees, ready for my dick, understood?"


"Y-yes, sir," I said somewhat startled. No one had ever demanded me to have
sex with them like this before.


"Do you have what it takes, Smalls?" he asked me shoving his hand between
my legs, his fingers searching for my hole. I jumped, gasping at his
touch. "Are you gonna be my star player?"


"Y-yes. Y-yes sir," I said again reaching out for Coach's dick.


"Do you want it?" Coach Scott asked again quieter in my ear, his own dick
in his hand, hammering it against my stomach.


"MOM DO YOU HAVE ANY MORE SNACKS?" kids continued to scream and play
outside in the pool.


"P-please, Coach Scott," I looked into his eyes, pleading. I needed his
dick in my mouth again. I reached out and tried to grab it, fumbling for
his warm meat. "I want...can I have more of it?" Coach Scott walked closer
to me, kissing my forehead, his hand still clutching my dick, I stepped
backward on my toes, my swim suit around my ankles and kissed him on the
lips. My tongue wrestled with his, swapping our saliva.


"Mmmmm," he growled into my mouth. Using his other hand Coach Scott lifted
my feet of the ground so that I was firmly pressed against him. Worried
that I was going to fall, I latched my arms around his neck, and my legs
around his waist. Taking one more step, Coach Scott set me down on a pile
of firm cardboard boxes.


"Lean back, Smalls," he instructed. "I wanna taste that hole of yer's
again."


"Y-yes, sir!" I said excitedly, laying backwards, lifting my legs in the
air. Coach pulled me closer to him so that my asshole was at eye-level with
him.


"God damn, that's a pretty hole," he said, circling it with his index
finger. "Did you have any injuries today swimming?" he peeked at my from
between my legs, giving me a wink.


"Ha, um, I don't know, Coach. I don't think so. I feel pretty good," I
stammered.


"Better take a look, just in case," and before he even finished his
sentence, he plunged into my hole.


"Auuugh!" I groaned. Coach Scott's tongue drilled and sank deep into my
hole. I whined as he spat on me, slurped my hole, went to town on me,
eating me out. I spat on my hand and wrapped it around my dick, jacking
myself off as Coach Scott licked me from the inside out.


"Mmm, I love the taste of your fuckin' hole," he grunted
aggressively. "Been thinkin' about it ever since I last saw ya." He dove
ravenously, wiping his face against my hole, wetting it with his tongue,
and then grazing his hole head against it. His eyes, nose, cheeks, all ran
against it. Colors swirled in my vision as Coach continued to lap me up.


"Ohhh mmmmph! Y-yeah, Coach, aggggh!" I whined. Coach kept lathering his
tongue into my asshole, sending shockwaves through my hole body. My legs
spread in the air, began to shake from pleasure, as well as soreness from
practice.


Coach wrapped his hand around my cock as he drill his tongue into me,
jacking me off once more.


"Unnngh, yeah, Coach! K-keep goin'," I encouraged, reaching for the back of
his head, pushing him deeper into me. "Y-yeah, d-don't stop, Coach." Coach
Scott jacked me off more furiously, my precum lubricating his fingers and I
responded with my approving moans.


In my brain, I started devising a plan where Coach and I just lived in this
pool shack, stuck in this continuous state of sex and lust, feeding and
surviving off of each other's cum. I closed my eyes and lived in that
fantasy as Coach's tongue continued to snake inside of me.


"C'mere," Coach said, yanking me off the boxes, and holding me by my ass
and neck in one quick motion. He pivoted me so that I fell into his face,
tasting his lips that were just on my asshole. They tasted salty, and only
pushed me into him more hungrily. I pulled away to see Coach's eyes, glazed
over, sharing this look of drunkenness that I no doubt had on my face as
well. My wet cock pressed against his chest, still dressed in his Birchwood
Middle Swim Team shirt, stained around his neck with sweat.


His whistle rested on my dick, and I couldn't help but hope some of my
precum would get on the metal lip, so that every time he blew it, he'd be
blowing a part of me.


My legs growing tired from being wrapped around Coach Scott's waist
unclamped themselves from him and drooped to the floor. Coach catching his
breath, yanked his shirt off revealing his firm chest. Arms that were
muscular, covered in sunspots. And a round pink belly.


"Here, boy," he pulled me to him, continuing to make out with me, and
jacking me off. Coach Scott tugged on my cock prompting me to follow him,
as though my dick were a leash. Coach carefully slumped to the ground
laying on his back. He directed my legs so that I was standing on either
side of his head, giving me tender kisses on my ankles, stroking my
legs. "Squat down, Smalls," he instructed. I followed directions, my prick
pressing against my stomach as I slowly lowered myself to him.


My balls landed first on his lips, which he started swirling in his mouth,
as though they were candy. My knees shook, as I tried to keep my
balance. Precum started to bubble from my cock as my eyes rolled in
ecstasy. Coach pulled me by my waist, causing my balls to run along his
face. Eventually, I could feel my hole wrapping around my coach's
tongue. The walls of this shed must've vibrated with how strident my moans
were.


"KIDS OUTTA THE POOL."


"BUT MO-OOOOM!"


I looked down to see Coach Scott between my legs, charging his tongue
inside of my asshole, my dick bouncing as I rode his face. My hips, almost
involuntarily, bucked and gyrated on my Coach's lips, smacking and slurping
sounds scraped against my ears.


"Mmmmmph," I heard Coach groan hungrily. "I can't...mmph, mmph...get
enough...mmph...of this ass, boy." Coach treated my hole as though it were
ice cream on a cone, lapping me up.


I knew I would cum again if Coach kept this up. I gripped his shoulders,
whining, "Cooo-oach," my hips like a sheet, whipping in the wind. My balls
ached, needing to bust my load again. Coach Scott understood how my body
was responding to his touch. He chuckled as he kept feasting on my ass, the
vibrations of his voice rattled my bones. Precum began seeping from my
cock, dribbling down my shaft. I quivered as I continued grinding my hole
against Coach's face. My eyes filled with stars. This feeling spreading
from what felt like the middle of my stomach, spidering across my arms and
legs.


"Unnngh, Coach S-Scott, I thingggg I..." I pulled on my dick, using my
other arm to balance on the floor of this shack, the bottom half of me
gyrating on Coach Scott's face, my hole raking his lips and nose.


"Mmmmph," Coach Scott growled into my hole. Fireworks went off in my brain,
and I knew I couldn't hold on much longer.


"I-I'm gonna...gonna cum again," I whispered, my voice thin, exhausted from
pleasure. "Coach, I-I'm gonna..." Without even anticipating it, a load cum
busted from my dick once more, spraying my stomach and between my
chest. "AHHHHGNH!" I wailed, as Coach's tongue continued to press deeply
into my hole. I jerked and twitched, still maintaining balance, feeling
Coach's nose prod my balls, my thighs pressed against his ears. Sweat
glistened against his tanned forehead, grey hair matting to his skull. My
legs quivered violently as I tried regaining my strength. Coach Scott
delivered a couple of light flecks of his tongue. I took deep breaths,
peering through squinted eyes, sweat pooled in the center of my chest.


I could curl up and sleep in this chamber, wadded up with my coach's naked
body.


Looking weakly behind me, I observed Coach Scott strangling his cock with
his right hand, beating his meat. As I moved my ass away from his face,
chest and stomach dripping with my cum, I fell backwards, taking Coach's
cock into my own hands, playing with his foreskin. Catching my breath, I
stooped down and took Coach Scott's dick in my mouth once again. His skin
even saltier now. I rolled over on my belly, getting a better angle to take
his cock further into my throat. I straddled Coach's body with my arms and
legs, my hole drenched and soggy with Coach's spit.


"Haaaagh, yeah, Smalls. Swallow me whole. You can do it. I know you can,"
he encouraged, breathing heavily, panted warm air pushing on my ass. Even
though I was growing tired, having just came twice, I couldn't help but gum
and suckle on Coach's cock, keeping between my jaw for as long as I was
allowed. Who knew when I would get another chance like this? "Yeah, wrap
those lips around my cock, boy. Mmmmph," he twisted his hips, his dick
digging further down my throat. I fidgeted with how my head was angled
against him, helping his penis slide further into me. Further and further,
my lips and tongue wetting his cock, my drool leaking out of the corners of
my mouth, until finally I let gravity pull the rest of his cock into my
skull.


"AGGHH, yeah, Smalls. FUCK." His cock--almost like a shoe slipping on to a
foot--sunk into its place down my throat, and I was as deep as I could
go. I gulped him down, my tonsils caressing his shaft. "Errrgh, yyyyeah,"
Coach whined like a foghorn. He popped his hips so that when he lifted
them, he took my head along with him, and then dropped his hips to the
floor suddenly. Without even having to move I was sucking my Coach's dick,
the head punching against the back of my throat. My eyes rolled into the
back of my head, partly out of pleasure, partly out of fatigue. I humped my
own hips with him, smearing my already zombified cock against his chest, my
cum sandwiched between our bodies. I knew I was getting hard again. I could
feel my heartbeat in my dick as it slowly inflated once again.


"Ahh yeah, I luuuve fuggin' yer mouth, Smalls. You like taggin' this cock?
You like yer coach's fat dick in your mouth, fuggin faggot?" he growled and
snarled as he kept thrusting into me, his ass slapping against the floor of
the shed making rhythmic smacks of skin hitting wood.


Normally I'm needing air at this point, but I didn't want to let go of his
cock yet. Not until I had more of his cum in my stomach.


"Aggh, yehhhh. Mmmmph. Ha, Smalls. Yer hard again, son," he said, almost as
if in a dream, grabbing my teen prick in his hand, squeezing it.


"Mrrrpmhhh, alllghhh," I girgled in response. Coach ran his hands along my
back all the way down my ass.


SMACK.


"MMMMMMPH," I squealed, cock plugging my mouth. I wagged my ass in his face
in response as he kept playing with the soft muscles of my back side.


"Yeh, you like that, Smalls?" he rubbed my sore ass in circles with his
smooth hands.


SMACK.


"MMMMMPH!!" I cried, spit spilling from my mouth.


"C'mon Smalls. Show yer coach yer willin' to work."


SMACK.


"UNNGH!" I cried, freeing Coach's cock from my jaws. "Y-yeah. Y-yessir,
Coach S-Scott. Keep, mmmph, keep doing it," I whined.


"Damn, boy," he lightly patted my cheeks, petting me, like a cat. "Yer
somethin' else."


SMACK.


"AAAAH!" I wailed, stroking Coach's dick, slick and spongy in my hand.


"Keep suckin' boy," he commanded.


SMACK.


"Unnnghmmmph!" I dove back down on Coach's cock and easily swallowed all of
him, getting to that sweet spot where it feels like it can't go further,
but then it all slides into place. His meat slid further down my throat,
seeping precum into me, his foreskin entangled with my tonsils and tongue.


"YYYYYYESSSS'RRRRGH!" Coach roared, jutting his hips into me. "Unngh, yes,
Smalls. Mmmph. F-ffuck yeah," he growled. "Y-yessegh, oh Smuh--Smalls, I'm
gonna cum again. I'm gon-haaa. SMALLZANNNNGH!" I opened my throat eagerly
expecting his wad. Coach grinded his hips, penetrating as deeply as he
could as his balls emptied gob after gob of his sweet and buttery
seed. Hearing Coach growl and moan was enough to make my dick spring to
attention, but hearing him screaming my name as he orgasmed, that was
enough to make me want to cum all over again.


"Mmph. Mmmmmph," Coach sighed catching his breath, and I slowly
relinquished his cock, making sure to milk every drop out of my Coach as
possible, leaving his balls hollow and empty. Finally, after toying with a
pinch of his foreskin, I let his cock go, and watched it fall, heavy and
limp between his legs.


Once Coach Scott caught his breath, he pressed me by my hips, signalling me
to get up. Swinging my legs around his waist I scooted over to the side of
him, sitting on the floor, my legs lazily sprawled apart, my dick shaking
pendulously. I instinctively grabbed my dick and started slowly jacking
off. Coach stood up, his legs approaching me, his barefeet at each of my
hips.


"Go on," he said, chest heaving, sweat glistening against his skin from
head to toe. "I wanna see if you've got a third load in there." It wasn't
even a challenge. I knew I did. Looking up and seeing his stature, wide and
built, standing before me, a perfect view of his meaty dick swinging so
close to my face, I knew I could cum in less than a minute.


I gripped my dick, using my sweat as lube, and starting beating off to my
naked coach standing in front of me. My mouth and jaw twisted as I felt my
orgasm sprouting like vines, starting at my ankles and working up my legs
and blooming right in my gut.


"I'm gon' c-cum," I said weakly, and right as I said the word "cum", two
light spurts of cum shot from my dick like tiny minnows leaping into a
puddle. My eyes crossed as all my muscles contracted, my feet rocking
against the wooden floor, convulsing like distant earthquakes. I breathed
quickly and heavily, my shoulders rising and falling with my lungs.


"Hmm," Coach said, kicking my clothes over to me. "Three times, huh?" I,
with the energy of a runner who just completed a triathlon, slid my clothes
closer to me. "Can't say I've seen that before." Coach slid his briefs and
his shorts back up around his waist. "Yer a pretty good cocksucker," he
said. Feeling flattered I smiled.


"Thangz Goach," I said, slurring my speech, making a feeble attempt to get
my suit to fit around my ankles. Coach squatted down, and helped me dress
myself. He slid my suit up my legs and around my waist. When his hands
reached my stomach, he pulled me in for a kiss, and gave me along look into
my glazed over eyes.


"You're good," he said finally, and standing up. "Not great," he
finished. "You could be great, though, Smalls, you hear me?"


"Y-yessir," I said unsure if he meant my swimming, or my cock sucking. I
went ahead and assumed both.


"I know you got more in you," he said tossing his shirt over his head. I
watched as the curtain of fabric concealed the glassy puddle of dried cum
that I'd made on his round stomach.


"Yessir," I said more seriously, grabbing my own shirt. I stood up and
walked with him to the door. Before opening it, he turned to me once more.


"Smalls, this has to be between you and me. None o' the other swimmers can
know about this."


"Y-yessir," I said, somewhat intimidated. "I understand."


"Good. I don't want any o' them getting jealous that you're getting extra
time with me. You gotta earn it."


"Yessir." And with that, Coach pushed oven the shed door with his fist,
letting in the bright summer light. Families and children were seen
splashing in the pool, oblivious to the fun we had in our private shed.


As we moved through the exit, I saw my Dad waiting for me in his
truck. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and trickled down the sides of his
cheeks. Coach put up a hand signalling to him. I did my best to walk
firmly, but with all the exercise I'd just had, I definitely felt a bit
weak. Coach followed me as I went to Dad's truck.


"Hey, Seb," he said, as I opened the door. Coach went around to the
driver's side to chat with my dad. He rolled the window down.


"Great practice today, Mr. Smalls. Yer boy's got a real talent," Coach
said, smiling.


"Y'work him pretty hard?" Dad asked.


"Sure did!" Coach said, wiping his lips with his forearm. "Next practice is
Monday. Can't wait to have him again," he said cheerfully. "Y'all be safe."
He tapped the truck door, and headed back toward the pool.


"Take care," Dad said back.


"Bye, Coach," I called, and he turned to look at me one more time, a
glimmer in his eye.


Dad the rolled the window up, and flipped the gear into reverse. I fell
back into the seat, finally getting a moment to relax. I could still feel
Coach's spit between my ass, and around my dick. I could still taste his
cum on my tongue.


"So," Dad said, snapping me out of my daze, "how'd it go?" I told him
excitedly about how well practice went, how I beat a bunch of the older
kids. Trees whizzed by us as we headed further and further away from town,
closer to home.


"S'great, Seb," he said, smiling. I smiled to myself as well. Sure, I swam
for all those reasons that Coach Scott mentioned in his talk--the thrill of
the racing, and all that--but seeing my dad behind the wheel, smiling at
the stories I told him, it made me think that I mainly was swimming for
him. That feeling of pride that he had toward me.


Dad pulled into the driveway, parking the truck. "Anything else happen?" he
asked, staring me in the eye. I stared back.


His eyebrows peeked out from over his sunglasses, and I held back a smile.


"Well?" he asked again, stifling a small laugh.


I started laughing, and bolted out of the truck, and ran to the house.


"Ha! Wait'aminute!" Dad called jumping out of the truck as well, chasing
after me.


Once inside, I darted toward the stairs giggling. I heard Dad's powerful
steps not too far behind me.


"No!" I cried out laughing, but Dad bolted up the stairs behind me, and
grabbed my ankle causing me to slip and fall halfway up the stairs. Dad
crawled up behind me, wrapping his arms around my legs. I was caught. Dad
held me close, slipping his hands beneath my swimsuit and shirt.


"Well, I hope Coach Scott at least saved me some," he whispered hungrily
into my ear, grinding his waist against my ass.. He coiled his hand around
my penis feeling me up and used his other hand to rip my swimsuit from my
waist. I held myself up, my slightly sunburned arms brushing against the
carpet.


"Mmmm," he moaned, diving into my ass, forcing my hips to press against the
carpet of the stairs, my dick brushing against my stomach and the corner of
one of the stairs.


"Unnngh, Dad," I moaned. My dick and balls were aching from my three loads
I'd already spent on Coach Scott.


"Y'gonna have any left for me?" he asked between slurping on my hole and
jacking my cock. "I'm pretty horny, son," he pressed his hand against my
ass, his hand fitting the handprint left by Coach Scott's after spanking me
earlier that day. "Mmmmmph," Dad moaned into my hole, "y'taste good, Seb."
His tongue eventually was replaced with a thick finger, sliding into my
hole with relative ease. My vision shimmered with colors and stars. My dick
jolted


"Unnngh, D-dad," I whined. My dick throbbed and ached, wishing to
cum. "I-it," I stuttered, unsure of what to say, "i-it hurts a 'lil, Dad,"
I pouted, resting my folded arms on the stair, feeling my Dad's finger
slide in and out of my ass.


"Aggggh, son, it's so warm in there," he kissed my ass, as he continued
probing me with his finger.


"Mmmmmmph!" I groaned.


"What hurts?" he asked.


"Honestly, my...errrgh...my d-dick!" Dad laughed. His facial hair scrapped
and scratched my soggy asshole. "It's s-sore, Dad," I complained.


"Hmm," he pondered, not relenting in his pressing of his finger into my
ass. "Cum t'many times?" he asked.


"N-no," I lied. I didn't want him thinking I was a wimp.


"L'here," he said, twisted my body around so that I was sitting on the
carpeted stairs, a leg around my dad's shoulder, my ass exposed and still
clamped around his finger. "How 'bout I try t'make it better?" he said,
flicking his tongue out of his mouth and tasting my dick.


"Uuh-uuungh-uhhhhh," I'd never felt this before. It was like that feeling
of pressing on a bruise. You knew it hurt, but it felt good to massage and
press on it. I also knew, that I don't think I could bring myself to tell
my dad no.


Ever.


"Unnngh, Dad. I-I..." Dad slid his lips around my aching cock, pressing the
head of my dick between the roof of his mouth and his tongue. My balls
jolted and rolled against my shaft in response. "Ohhhh, D-dahh..." I
sighed. Dad slid his finger further into my ass, hooking it inside of
me. "Ah!" I gasped, eyes rolling in my head.


"Mmmmmmph," his voice sent vibrations down my dick. Dad kept twisting his
finger into my hole, swallowing my cock effortlessly. He took one last
taste of my dick before asking, "Y'like it, son?"


All I could do is nod, drunkenly, my face and chest red with heat and
pleasure. My lip snarled as Dad's finger dug deeper into my hole, my ass
tightened and pulled on my father's arm, almost out of my control. "Damn, I
love how your ass just sucks my fingers right inside," Dad marveled at how
determined I was to take my dad into me, joint by joint if I had to. He was
pressing something inside of me, and I couldn't ask him to stop.


"C-can, y'put in more, Dad?" I asked, voice shaking, precum sprinkling onto
my stomach. My balls throbbed, and I imagined them as little factories,
working overtime.


Dad removed his finger from my ass, causing my jaw to drop involuntarily,
little moans escaping from my breath. When he was free from my grip, he
sank two of his fingers into his mouth, and pulling them out in a
drool-covered mess.


My spine and limbs snaked down the stairs, as my skin started to become
coated in sweat. As I continued to inch down the stairs, Dad caught me,
pushing his two fingers into my hole, keeping me stable.


"GrrrrrAHH!" Dad's fingers in my hole made my bones feel like they were
made of electricity. Dad's dick hung loosely between his legs, and through
a haze of lust I caught it with my fingers, squeezing and feeling it
between my fingertips. "RRR-YYEEAH, DAD," I snarled through gritted
teeth. Dad sank his mouth around my dick again, and the combination of my
Dad's fingers and his tongue was making me feel ready to burst.


"Ohhhhuuugh, Dyyyad!" I whined, legs quaking as they straddled my dad's
firm body. Dad's fingers kept charging in and out of me, his knuckles
punching against my ass. "I-I'mmm gonna cum, Dad. I-I'm gonna..." and with
those words, Dad's fingers pulled out of my ass, and his mouth abandoned my
dick. "AHHHERRRGH!" I shouted, my neck craned so that I could look at my
cock, and all I saw was it twitching, but nothing coming out.


"Ehhh...hehhh...." I sighed. I looked at my dad, confused. Why did he stop?
Why didn't he let me cum? Dad stood up, slid his jeans back around his
waist, and grabbed his shirt, walked down the stairs and turned the corner.


What was going on? Why was Dad leaving? Did I do something wrong? Maybe I
wasn't giving him anything in return, and he was frustrated.


Suddenly I heard the door open. Instantly I covered up my penis with my
hands, clothes draped on the stairs, anything I could fine.


"See-eb?" Dad called, almost like he was calling an animal to come home.


"Y-yeah, Dad?" I called back.


"Paul wants t' know if you wanna sleepover!" he yelled. I shook my head in
surprise. I guess I couldn't hear the door knocking. All my senses were
blocked by my balls ready to cum.


"S-sure!" I yelled back. I gripped my dick, using my precum as lubricant,
and slid my crotch around in my fingers. I leaned back against the carpeted
stairs, as I heard the front door closing. My brain couldn't even process a
sleepover right now. All I could think about was my dad, his dick, and
wanting his cum.


Dad's footsteps thumped up the stairs, and I heard Dad's belt coming
unbuckled. Looking up I saw Dad's dick swinging between his legs once more.


"C'mere, Seb," he leaned over, lifting me up. The clothes I used to pile
onto my naked dick slumped to the floor. As Dad lifted me, I coiled my legs
around his waist, my hole sticking to his stomach, his dick riding against
my back. I slipped my hands under Dad's shirt, pulling it over his head.


We were naked together again, and once again I needed him. All of him. I
leaned into him to kiss his lips, and he accepted my offer, our tongues
gliding over one another. Dad's voice entered my throat like a ghost. I
hungrily took in every bit of him I could, swallowing my dad's spit,
nibbling on his lips if I had the chance, letting him suck on my tongue. I
felt connected to him in a way that I don't know if I'd ever felt, and the
way he handled me, I wasn't sure if he had either. Dad pulled away,
catching his breath. He was heading to my room, carrying me to where I
hoped we would get to keep having sex. All night if we could. Paul wouldn't
mind if I didn't come over. This was too important to me.


Dad pushed the door open with his foot, and tossed me on my bed. "I want
y'to show me what Coach Scott's been teachin' ya at practice." My eyes
widened. My mind shot to Coach Scott lapping me up in the pool shed. I'd
never done that before, and I certainly didn't understand how. All I had to
go off of was my experience.


"U-um, okay, Dad," I said, straightening myself on my bed.


"Here," he said, walking toward me. I stared hungrily at the dick that
swung from side to side with each step, Dad's thigh muscles jolting as he
moved toward me. As Dad slumped into the bed, I felt the weak cheapness of
it start to buckle. The bed was made for someone maybe just entering middle
school, so as I was growing, I knew that I needed a new bed.


Dad's knee pressed into the center of the bed, causing it to bend
slightly. He swung his legs around me so that his butt was directly in
front of my face. I'd been close to all parts of my dad, but I don't think
having his hole only inches from my nose was something that I'd seen
before.


Dad leaned over so that his face lowered right back onto my dick once
more. As Dad's warm mouth engulfed my cock that familiar warmth and safety
spread over my body.


"Aaaangh," I cried out. The safety of being in my own bed only heightened
what I was feeling. Dad's ass wagged in front of my waist. His ass, dusted
with fur on the firm globes of his muscle, and a canyon of hair in between
those two cheeks. Dad kept gnawing on my dick. His weight, torso, legs,
ass, dick, all of him, anchored my waist and ribs. My arms were free, and I
could move my neck. Everything else? I was pinned down by my dad. All I
could do was lay there, succumbing to the pleasure my dad was giving me.


"Mmmph, Seb," Dad said, my rubbery dick in his mouth. "I c'n taste yer
cum," he growled. My hips responded to his lips and his jaws, I could tell
he wanted me as much as I wanted him. "Taste it," Dad whispered as his
kissed the tip of my dick. My toes curled at the sensation of my father's
lips, and when he gave me an instruction, I knew I had to follow it. "G'on,
Seb," he encouraged, the voice I remember as a child, when trying something
new.


My eyes got lost in my dad's ass. As lascivious as Dr. Amar, Coach Scott,
and my own dad had treated my hole, I knew there had to be something to
it. The whole idea seemed gross, but man, it felt so good to have someone
licking and slurping up my hole like that.


I leaned forward, my nose sinking into the dark black hair that divided
between my dad's ass. It tickled a bit, but the warmth seemed to grab hold
of the back of my head and pull me into him.


My face almost in an instant sank into the curtain of my dad's ass cheeks,
shelving my nose and lips between him.


"Y-yeah, son," Dad grumbled, "g'on." I took Dad's lead and pressed my face
into him.


I never thought what it must feel like between my dad's ass. It was warm
and moist like what I'd expected, but the taste that entered my nose,
spilled onto my tongue and down my throat.


"Use yer tongue," he said, flicking his own tongue onto my cock, cleaning
up the spit he'd left behind.


I steadily sank into my dad's ass, using my tongue just like I'd seen Coach
Scott do to me. As I fell further into the darkness of my dad's ass, I was
surprised to find that it wasn't much different than when I deep throated
Dad, or when I ran my tongue along his body. I guessed that was just the
intensity of his hair that I was tasting. "Mmmph," Dad growled as he
swallowed my dick, "C'mon, son."


I knew Dad wanted more, so I pushed my hands against the firmness of my
Dad's ass, and was surprised when I saw my own father's asshole beneath all
the dark hair that seemed to be endless. A small pink ring winked and
flinched only inches from my lips.


"That's it, Sebastian," Dad whispered, exasperatingly, grinding his dick
into my sternum. "I wan' ya to eat my hole, son." Dad seemed crazed, almost
wild. I watched as his ass spread and tightened as he gyrated against me,
burying his face into my dick. Sweat beaded on his lower back and dripped
down his hips, sliding against me. His hole tightened and puffed itself as
it continued inching its way closer to me. "Y'want it, Seb?" Dad's ass
clenched one last time.


"Y-yeah," I whispered. My warm breath pressed against my dad's hole. I held
my dad's ass apart with my hands, and dove into him face first, just like
he had done to me.


My tongue ran and slipped across my dad's asshole, the taste of salt and
sweat hitting me instantly.


"Mmmmph, yeergh," Dad said, his mouth full of cock. He pressed backward,
pushing his ass against me, encouraging me to have another taste. "Yeemmph,
Sheeb," he groaned. I pushed my face harder into my dad's ass, my lips and
teeth and tongue tangled in the hair growing around his hole.


Dad whined and moaned as I ventured my tongue further into his hole, fully
tasting him. I wasn't sure what to expect, knowing what I know about
buttholes. I guess I expected it to be dirty. To my surprise, it was a lot
like tasting a steak. It tasted like my dad, or what I knew him to tast
like.


Dad lifted off my cock, and let out a deep growl. "ERRGH, yyyyeah, son,"
Dad wagged his ass in my face, wiping the spit that was now soaked in my
dad's hairy hole against my cheeks and nose, anointing me with our sex. I
gripped my dad's ass, making out with his asshole. "Grrrr-AHH! Fuck, yeah,
boy, MMMPH." I shoved my tongue into him just like he'd done to me, and I
almost came just from the sounds he was making.


"Hunnngh, y-yeah, ffff...fffuck Sebastian," he breathed. Using a free hand,
I snaked my arm around his leg, and started stroking my dad's cock as I
licked his hole.


"Unnngh, yeah, Sebastian. Fugggh..." Dad let out a small chuckle, and
straightening his posture a bit. "Open wide, son." He leaned on his knees a
bit, his ass gliding across my face, his balls rolled across my chin, my
nose my forehead, his dick bumped against my Adam's apple. Like an animal
waiting to be fed, my jaw dropped, tongue lilting from between my lips,
expectantly. With a smooth push from my dad's hips, his dick was fully in
my mouth, and down my throat.


My eyes shot open, mainly out of surprise by how I managed to swallow him
whole.


"UNNNNF," Dad bellowed in between my legs. "Errrgh...yer....yer gettin'
good, son," he whispered. Dad lifted his hips once more, drawing his cock
from my head like a sword, and then rested his weight against my face. His
balls blindfolded me, and I knew I would be fine going blind if it meant
this is how I'd be forever.


Soon, Dad's pace picked up to a carpenter's pace, hammering away at my
skull with his cock. The head punching the back of my throat, emptying a
steady trickle of precum.


I reached my arms over my head and massaged my dad's asshole with my
fingers, feeling the slick spit I'd left behind.


"Mmmm, yeeeeergh, Seb," he pushed his words through labored breath. I
pushed my fingers against my father's asshole like it were a pocket,
searching, trying to imitate the men who'd done it to
me. "F-fuck...f-f-uck....ummph...a-ahh-AHH," Dad squeaked and whined as he
pummeled my mouth. I felt his hole tightening around my finger as I tried
my best to inch inside of him.


Dad gobbled my cock up once again in his mouth, creating this neverending
circle of pleasure with our bodies linked together. Dad had me completely
pinned. My throat, as closed off as it was, continued to milk my father for
what he was worth. Dad smothered his rough face against my dick, which, as
painful as being hard was before, all I could feel was pleasure.


Like velcro, I felt my dad's balls peeling themselves from my face, and
stretching toward my dad' shaft. As Dad continued driving into my mouth, I
felt a familiar twitching that usually meant...


"MMMPH MMMMPH FFFFFF--" Dad's voice vibrated against my dick, and I knew I
was getting close, too.


With one last firm push, Dad pressed his waist against my face as
purposefully as ever.


"MMMMMPH MRRRMMMMMM!" Dad kept bobbing up and down on my cock, even while
he began emptying cum into my stomach. Rope after rope of warm cum filled
my chest like hot cocoa on a cold night. With each blast of cum, I felt my
dad's hole tighten around my finger. Tears streamed from my face, and my
own balls started jolting and twitching against my dick.


I gagged and girgled on Dad's cock still down my throat, foaming at the
mouth, air pushing from my nose, as I continued swallowing anything that I
could harvest from my dad's balls. I shrieked, plugged by my father's
shaft. Cum surged from my dick, landing in my dad's mouth. My eyes rolled
into the back of my head, as my dad restrained me during my fourth orgasm
of the day.


Dad finally started to pull his dick out of my mouth, and like a fish being
pulled from the water, I held on, sucking the last drops of cum.


"Gy-yaaahd, fuck!" Dad's knees quaked on either side of me. Finally he
managed to lift his dick out of my mouth, my head dropping to my bed with a
thud. Dad shuddered a melodic breath, and squirmed toward my feet, his dick
dragging across my face, leaving a trail of spit and precum along my neck
and chest. I gripped my own dick, milking out one more bead of cum. My eyes
rolled back in my head.


I wasn't sure if I'd discovered a limit to how often I could shoot my load,
but right now, I was definitely tired. My balls felt almost numb. My penis
flopped to one side, resting against my bare thigh. I ran my hands down my
hips, noticing a bit of a tan line from practice this morning. My hole
buzzed as I lay still, eyes heavy, breath beginning to steady once more.


Dad got up from my bed, my body bouncing in response, and walked toward the
door. I stared at his ass, shiny from where my tongue had been. I smirked
at the idea. I'd never given anyone that kind of pleasure before, and now I
knew how. He wiped his eyes, almost groggily.


"I'm gonna make some coffee," Dad said, swinging his softening dick as he
turned to face me. "Y'want some?"


"Coffee?" I said, weakly. "Uh...s-sure, Dad." Dad had never asked me to
drink coffee with him.


"Awright," he said, stepping toward the door. The sun had started to change
its position in the sky, and Dad's skin looked gold with the light that
beamed through my broken window blinds. Just before leaving, Dad turned
back around, and bounded toward me. In a quick motion he pressed his face
against mine, holding me in his strong arms. Our tongues met between our
lips, and again I was brought to that bliss that I never wanted to leave.


He pulled away slowly, light uncovering my dad's muscled and haired body
like a curtain from a new car.


"Y'can rest a bit. Come down when yer ready." I nodded, dizzily, and rested
my head against my pillow.


** Both of us naked at the table and sitting over coffee, I told my dad
more about my swim practice and how I swam with eighth graders and held my
own, even beating a lot of them. I told him about Curt and how he might be
my friend, but I wasn't sure. I told him about the Bowl-headed kid who acts
all tough, and how he hates it when I do anything right.


I sipped on my coffee. It was bitter at first, but after putting some milk
sugar--okay, a LOT of sugar--it was better. My knees bounced up and down,
as I started to feel the caffeine do its job.


The sun was starting to hang lower in the sky, and my coffee was almost
gone. My head was buzzing, and I wanted to run laps around the neighborhood
just to calm down.


"What about the...uh..." Dad stirred his coffee by swiveling it a
bit. "...you and Coach Scott?" he asked finally.


I gulped down the last of my coffee and in a hyperactive and jittery sprint
of a story, I told him all about our adventure to the pool shed where he
showed me all the equipment for the pool and where to go if we need any
life preservers or pool nets or chemicals and stuff and then he showed me
his cock and how to suck on his because it's a little different and how his
cum was kind of thick compared to ours and how he kissed me with cum in his
mouth and shared it with me and I couldn't even remember if it was mine or
his but it didn't matter anyway because we both swallowed it and then he
kissed and put his tongue in my hole--am I allowed to say hole, Dad? Is
that a bad word, Dad?--anyway, it was really fun, and I came three times,
and he came twice, and he told me that I was good, but not great, but I can
be great if I really want to be.


I exhaled as if I hadn't breathed for minutes, punctuating my long-winded
story.


Dad just stared at me wide-eyed with a small smirk on his face. Still
sitting in the dining room, naked, cock resting between his hairy thighs. I
was fully hard again. Just being in the same room as my dad would get me
going like this, much less if we were both naked.


"I think coffee might've been a bad idea for you, Seb." I laughed and
folded my legs under me.


"What're we gonna do tonight, Dad?" I played with my coffee cup, letting it
slide across the table, catching with my hands. "Huh, Dad? What're we gonna
do?"


"Well--"


"Can we have sex again, Dad?" I asked excitedly. "Maybe I can eat your hole
again? Maybe I can swallow your cum?" Dad opened his mouth again about to
speak, but I was practically standing on the chair in our dining room. "Or
we can just stay naked and be next to each other. OOOOOH! You can put your
fingers in my hole again! One, or two, or three, or--"


"SEB," my dad spoke firmly, silencing me. I shuddered, sitting back down,
my erection slapping my stomach. He took the coffee cup away from me,
holding it in his hand. "Yer goin' across the street, 'member?" Suddenly
the whole thing came flooding back to me. Paul wanted me to spend the night
at his house.


My hyper spirit dwindled to a disappointed "Oh, yeah."


"Yep," Dad said standing up from the table, and walking to the kitchen,
giving me a head-to-toe eye full. Naked muscles bouncing slightly as he
walked away from me. "Y'better shower, and get dressed. S'bout that time
for y'to head over there."


"Okay," I said, as if he told me to clean my room. I pushed myself away
from the table, shlumping through the kitchen.


"Hey," he said as I passed him, grabbing my shoulder. He spun me around and
wrapped his arms around me giving me a hug. "S'gonna be
okay. You'll...survive not gettin' yer rocks off thirteen more times
t'night." I laughed into his chest. His dick pressed softly against my
stomach. We were both still sort of sticky and a mess form earlier. He
pulled me away resting his hands on my shoulders.


"Lis'n," he said staring deep into my eyes. "I'm happy fir ya," he smiled
warmly. My eyes were like flies, darting all across my Dad's naked body,
unsure where to land. "I'm happy yer gettin' to do all this, but Seb..." he
strengthened his brow a bit "I want ya to try an'...not cum so much," he
said. I twisted my forehead at him.


"Huh?" I responded.


"I can't control h'much you cum, or...who you cum with, but...I promise,"
he said, and Dad has never broken a promise, "you'll feel better if
y'don't."


I understood what he meant. By the fourth time, my dick felt a bit sore,
and ached.


"Okay, Dad. I'll try," I said, hugging him once more.


"Good. Now git up there and clean yerself up," he said giving me a spank as
I walked passed him.


"Yah!" I gasped and ran away laughing.


**


I ended up taking a cold shower, just like Dad had told me, and whether he
knew it or not, it really did help my dick go down. I was pretty relieved
judging how I'd be staying at my neighbor's house tonight. I wouldn't want
to be walking around with a boner all night.


Dad walked me across the street. The sky was an interesting blue and gold
as the sun was just about to sink below the horizon. My head was still like
a hive of bees from the coffee earlier. I began to worry that I wouldn't be
able to sleep at all.


Our shoes scuffed the loose asphalt of our street, and stepped into the
front yard of the Grishams, and up to brick and concrete steps to the front
door. Everything looked meticulously picked out for the yard to look
perfect, and even though it was summer, the grass and garden looked verdant
as ever.


"Alright, Seb. Y'got everything?" Dad asked. I shrugged, my backpack
hanging from my shoulders. Extra clothes, and a tooth brush.


"I guess so, Dad." Dad knocked on the door. "I mean, can't I just come home
if I need anything?"


"Ha, y'really gonna leave a sleepover? Don' be that kid, son," Dad
chuckled.


"Well, what if I need..." I reached over and put my hand on my dad's
crotch.


"Seb! Knockit awff!" he shoved my hand away just as Mrs. Grisham opened the
door.


"Hi boys! Come in! Come in!" she beamed.


"Hi, Mrs. Grisham," I said politely.


"Good t'see ya, Wendy" my dad put on a smile as we stepped inside.


"Gary, Mark's in the garage workin' on somethin', and Sebastian, Paul's in
his room upstairs, if you wanna head on up. Pizza should be here any
minute," she explained.


"Okay," I responded and bounded up the stairs.


"I'm just so glad he could come over. Sarah's at a friends so we didn't
want Paul to feel--" I heard Mrs. Grisham trail off as she kept talking to
my dad.


I remembered where Paul's room was from yesterday, and so I pushed open his
door to see him behind a massive mountain of Legos.


"Whoa," I said in awe.


"Uh, hey Sebastian," Paul said sheepishly. I stepped into his room that
other than the chaotic pile of colorful contraptions on the floor, was
immaculate.


"Thanks for letting me come over!" I said, setting my stuff down by his
bunk bed. "I was really getting bored at my house," I lied. I'm not even
sure why I lied. Maybe to convince myself that being here would be fun.


I checked my surroundings as we stacked Legos in strange patterns and
designs. I liked how big Paul's room was compared to mine. No
clutter. Everything had a place. The carpet felt good on my bare legs as I
knelt in the center of his room. The ceilings were surprisingly tall, walls
of cream, and a couple of big windows. In the corner, he had a computer on
a desk with a screensaver of flying toasters. His bunk bed was neatly made
with dark blue sheets and exactly two pillows for each bed. I started to
think that it had been made so neatly because I was coming over, but then
figured it must always look like this.


I started with making a spaceship, but ended up making some kind of strange
zig-zagging mess, just fidgeting with little pieces of plastic as I
continued to buzz from the coffee. Paul made a multi-tiered wall that
looked like some kind of fortress.


"Dang, you oughta be a construction worker or something," I commented,
holding my travesty in my hands.


"Well," he started, "I wanna be an architect," he said somewhat
lamely. "But...I dunno."


"Whaddya mean?"


"Heh," he laughed, breaking his wall, "I think I'm already set on my
path. Dad wants me to be just like him. Go to seminary school. Take over
for him when he gets old."


"Well," I thought for a moment. I didn't even really know what I wanted to
be when I grew up, so I didn't have any thoughts on it one way or
another. In a way it sounded nice, but if you knew what you wanted to be,
and were told to do something else, I guess that would be pretty sad. "At
least you have a plan," I offered.


"Yeah," he agreed. "And who knows?" he shrugged piling up his Legos.


"Bo-ooys!" Mrs. Grisham's voice sang up the stairs. "Come down for pizza!
Wash yer hands!" We sprung up from our spots and dashed toward the dining
room. I was officially starving, with only coffee and cum in my belly since
breakfast, I could eat a whole box of pizza by myself.


At the table, the Grishams sat around asking me questions. Mrs. Grisham
asked about school.


"What subjects do you like? Do you make good grades? How's your mom and
dad? And siblings?"


"I like science the best, I guess, other than swimming. I make OK
grades. They're fine, my mother's out of town with my sister, Lisa."
Mr. Grisham nodded knowingly, cutting his pizza with his fork, Paul
following suit. Mr. Grisham was wearing a white button-up with a white
wifebeater underneath, and black pants.


Looking at him, watching his jaw grind the greasy pizza, honing in on his
tongue, I couldn't help myself from thinking about what he must taste
like. What his tongue would feel like tangled with mine. My dick swelled in
my shorts. I crossed my legs to keep it from being too noticeable.


"So, what church do you all go to?" Mr. Grisham asked.


"Uh," I started, somewhat dazed. "We haven't really picked one yet," I
explained. I didn't want to tell him that my family never really went to
church. My mother usually had fundraisers or events on Sundays that would
happen after the church rush so she would spend all morning preparing.


"Haha, I mean," he wiped his lips with the paper towel on his lap, "which
denomination of church do you go to?" I stared at him blankly. I felt
bed. I wanted Mr. Grisham to like me. His approval, for some reason, meant
a lot to me. I tried to think of one, or what most people said.


"Um..." I searched my brain. "C-Christian?" I said sheepishly. The whole
table laughed at this, as my face turned red with embarrassment. I hadn't
learned yet that Christianity had many different denominations.


"Well," Mr. Grisham started, "we go to First Methodist." I nodded, trying
to understand. "You see," he continued "since tomorrow's Sunday, we usually
get to church really early, and stay until about lunchtime."


I kept eating pizza. I was on my fourth slice, and could have kept eating,
but I didn't want to get a stomachache.


"I already spoke to your dad about it, but we'd really like you to join
us," Mr. Grisham continued.


Church? I thought. All people do in church is sing, sit, stand, and pray. I
never liked going, so spending all day there? Seemed awful, but with
Mr. Grisham sitting across from me--his warm eyes, his dusty blond hair,
his hard jaw, his porcelain skin, the way his voice sort of sang as he
spoke--I couldn't say no.


"That sounds good," I said, shifting in my seat, my erection still stuck to
my thighs. "But I didn't really bring anything nice to wear tomorrow."


"That's okay," Mrs. Grisham chimed in. "Paul's got some stuff your size
that'll do just fine."


I was excited to get to see Mr. Grisham work, for more reasons than
one. Looking at him was a treat in itself, and since we sat to dinner, I
couldn't stop staring. Imagining what was under his clothes, if he was as
big down there as I'd imagined, if he tasted as good as his biker shorts.


After dinner Paul and I played a little bit more. He showed me his computer
and the two games he had on it. We talked about school starting soon and
what I might expect at Birchwood Middle.


Suddenly at 8:30 we were getting ready for bed. I didn't want to complain
since I was a guest in their house, but I couldn't help but think of how
early it was. As we were brushing our teeth and getting our night clothes
on, I was going through escape plans in my head. Maybe after everyone was
asleep, I could sneak out and go home, and sleep with my dad. Maybe we can
cum a couple of times to help me sleep.


Instead, Paul climbed into bed, in full button up cotton PJs, even though
it was summer time. Me, I just went to bed in nothing but underwear, which
he teased me about, and responded with a shrug, saying I was used to
sleeping this way, and that he looked like he was heading out in a job
interview in what he was sleeping in. We laughed, and talked maybe a few
more minutes before I heard Paul's breath become soft snoring.


I still felt caffeinated, and as I laid on the bottom bunk of Paul's bunk
bed, I knew I'd have trouble falling asleep.


Hours went by, it seemed. I was awake. My boner was awake. My hole was
awake. I gripped my erection beneath Paul's blankets. It didn't seem to
hurt at all anymore. Maybe just a good stretch of time was all I needed to
not have an aching dick from cumming to often.


I slowly stroked my dick, but the idea of Paul being in the room while I
felt myself up weirded me out.


Laying in the darkness of Paul's room, I couldn't help but feel trapped. My
feet tapped their toes just to let out energy, but all I could do was stare
at the bottom of Paul's top bunk mattress, listening to the faint sounds of
his breath.


"Paul?" I asked. I heard shuffling above me. I glanced over at his digital
alarm clock. 11:36 PM.


Man, I thought. This night is never gonna end. I continued resting,
horizontally. Staring at nothing. I still had so much energy, I felt like I
could run a lap around the entire neighborhood.


I decided to head to the bathroom. Maybe I could sip on some water, or
maybe even get a load out of me in private. I slipped my hand out of my
underwear, and walked over to his door, being as quiet as possible.


There was something exhilarating about navigating the Grisham's house in
nothing but underwear. My trip wouldn't be long to the bathroom, so I
didn't feel the need to get completely dressed to just go across the hall.


As I approached Sarah and Paul's bathroom I noticed something
strange. First, the bathroom light was on. At first I thought it was
because the Grisham's left it on for me so that I could find it easier. But
as I got closer, I realized that someone was inside. Mr. and Mrs. Grisham
had their own bathroom in their room, so it couldn't have been them, and
Paul was asleep.


I walked carefully forward, and as I got closer I heard a noise coming from
inside. It was a bright and snappy, almost like someone rubbing lotion on
themselves, or washing their hands.


The door was slightly cracked sending a thin, piercing line of light
against the floor and the wall. As I rested my hand on the doorknob I heard
more noise coming from inside.


"Ahhh..." I heard a deep whispering sigh. I jerked my hand away from the
doorknob, heart racing. "Mmmm..." I heard again coupled with with the same
slippery noises I heard from further away. I decided to peer through the
crack in the door to make sure it was really empty or if I was just hearing
things.


Through the crack in the door I could see a pair of pale legs with faint
glints of blond hair, and at the ends of them two feet with pink toes,
curling tightly. I adjusted my position slightly, panning up the figure a
bit, and my jaw dropped at what I saw.


Mr. Grisham's tight fist around a cock like an ivory post. Pink, velvety
balls rolling and bouncing at its base with bristly blond pubic hairs
growing wildly from just above it. It had to be a bit longer than my dad's
and not as thick. My own cock inflated in my underwear, and I gripped it
with a shaking hand. My eyes took in heavy helpings of Mr. Grisham's
body. Legs like tree trunks, most likely from cycling. Hips tightening like
beating hearts at his sides. A torso like marble, hairless except for the
thin trail of blond that led to his penis. His chest tight and flat with
soft looking pecs dotted by bright pink nipples that seemed to be painted
onto him like watercolor. Draped from his shoulders was a black bathrobe
that stretched to the floor.


I had a hard time seeing his face since he was slouched upon the closed
toilet, sort of slumping toward the floor as he continued to masturbate. In
his free hand I could see a magazine of some kind, but I had difficulty
seeing what was on it. If only I could push open the door so I could see
better. If only I could just walk in and take his cock in my own hands, my
mouth, and take his cum for myself.


"Anngh," he coughed little breaths. As he slumped forward I started getting
a better view of his face, which typically was soft and white, but now red
and marred by sweat. It almost looked like he was in pain. Veins like
little rivers etched his temples, and the typical crows feet he had by his
eyes when he smiled were there from his furrowed brow. "Mmmmph," he moaned,
jutting his hips as he slid his hand over his dick making slower strokes
now.


I looked down and saw my hand stroking myself slowly as well, as if I was
out of my own control. I slid my fingers around my stiff prick, watching
Mr. Grisham, this man of God pleasuring himself to a magazine. I watched as
he gripped himself, eyes locked to the page with such purpose, trying to
pull the orgasm from his body. His neck, tightened with muscle and vein,
became rosy and shone with sweat. I slid my underwear down my waist
slightly, stroking myself along with Mr. Grisham, imagining that I was
giving him what he needed. I wanted so badly to push the door open and take
his cock down my throat.


Precum leaked from my dick, lubricating my skin. My dry dick shone and
sparkled in the dim golden light from the bathroom. My stomach tightened
into knots with worry and with intense pleasure. My heart raced at the idea
of Paul or Mrs. Grisham catching me, or the idea of Mr. Grisham letting go
of his inhibitions and grabbing me by my hair and shoving me to the floor,
ordering me to chow down on his cock, just like my dad and Coach Scott had
done before me.


"Ahhh," I whispered. My nose was practically inside the bathroom I stood so
close to that door. I felt my ass tighten with each stroke, my eyes locked
on Mr. Grisham's grown-up body, his grown-up dick.


"Mmmmmph," Mr. Grisham whined. He licked his finger, turned the page of the
magazine, and clutched it again, the pages crinkling with his fingers. His
eyes widened as if he saw something immaculately beautiful. His jaw dropped
perfunctorily. I saw his balls bounce and jolt.


"Aww, nnn-yeahhh," he whispered, throwing his head back. His sharp adam's
apple bobbed as air escaped his lungs. His bathrobe slunk further to the
floor.


My dick twisted in my hand. I was desperate to cum, but also I longed to
swallow Mr. Grisham's. My balls tightened against my cock, and I whipped my
arm more furiously. I bit my lip, hoping to keep myself from letting out an
involuntary moans.


Mr. Grisham craned his neck and tightened his stomach, a half dozen rolling
hills quaking on his torso. Mr. Grisham locked his eyes onto the page,
glaring at it, almost.


"Fa...father," he whispered. I strangled my meat with my hand as I watched
Mr. Grisham's legs tighten, his toes curled. "Fath..." he whispered
again. "Father," he said, voice deep and clear. "Mmmmm...NGGG!" With what
looked to be all of his lean muscles tightened at once, clear fluid sprayed
from his cock, spraying Mr. Grisham's chest and face. I stood transfixed as
I watched Mr. Grisham's face twist in pleasure, his nose crinkle, his brow
furrow, his mouth tighten, cheeks streamed with clear precum.


I took a deep breath and watched as thicker and thicker cum came shooting
from his dick, coating his white skin with ropes of his even whiter cum,
his breath shuddered. Biting my lip, thin air escaped my nose and mouth I
saw double, two Mr. Grishams in faded light as cum shot from my dick,
knocking against the slightly closed door, serving as my silent wanting to
join Mr. Grisham in his orgasm.


I peered through my glassy eyes and stole more glances of Mr. Grisham,
reclined on the covered toilet, slowly stroking himself, tossing the
magazine to the floor. His chest rose and fall, neck red with veins beating
beneath his skin. His cock pink, shining with used cum and sweat. His balls
bounced and twitched ever so slightly with each slow and steady throat.


So much of me had to hold myself back from bursting into the room and
gobbling up his cock and any other part of him I could. My own dick
remained firm, my lust unsatisfied.


As he leaned to grab toilet paper, dabbing himself clean, I started to tuck
away my dick back into my underwear. Before I turned to go back to Paul's
room, I noticed Mr. Grisham sniffling a bit, and using his bathrobe to wipe
his eyes.


Was he crying? I thought to myself. I stepped closer once
again. Mr. Grisham used a dry piece of toilet paper to wipe his eyes.


I looked down at my slightly softer penis, and milked the last bead of cum,
letting it roll onto my finger. I stuck my finger in my mouth getting a
taste of myself. With perfunctory motion, I licked the rest of my hand,
almost like a cat, cleaning myself of any excess sperm.


With a quick shuffle, I heard the toilet flush, and footsteps approaching
the door.


A shock of nerves and surprise jolted me from behind my eyes, and I felt
heat spreading all through my body. Light from the bathroom spread over my
naked body; I quickly shoved my cock back into my briefs, looking wide-eyed
at the man standing two-feet taller than me.


"S-Sebastian?" Mr. Grisham stood just as surprised as me.


"Uh..." I searched my brain for answers. My dick still almost fully erect,
bobbing in my briefs, a stain of cum marked a shadow on my crotch. "I
was..." My eyes scanned Mr. Grisham, locking onto the mound of dick that
lay beneath his closed bathrobe.


I could smell the cum on him. On his skin. The robe only reached about his
knees on him because of his height. His legs stood powerfully yet
gracefully. His toes, long, almost frog-like.


"I was...I needed to use the restroom," I explained, sheepishly.


"Oh, well, ah, yes, of course," he stumbled, hiding the magazine under his
arm. He stepped forward, brushing past me. "All yours. Good night."


"Night," I said, as I walked through the door, shutting it behind me. Once
I was alone, I exhaled in relief. I don't know what I would have done if
Mr. Grisham had caught me, cock in hand.


I left the room after feeling like the coast was clear, and made my way
back to Paul's room, being quiet as a mouse.


Paul was sound asleep, and I crawled back to the bottom bunk. My heart was
still racing. After getting to see Mr. Grisham like that, I decided that I
needed his cum, his cock. To taste him, and swallow him like I'd done to
other men so far.


As I stared at the wooden panels of Paul's top bunk, I started developing a
strategy. Some kind of plan to get Mr. Grisham to want me as much as I was
wanting him.


It wouldn't be easy. This I knew. My eyes grew heavy as I drifted off to
sleep. Church service was tomorrow, and I wanted to make sure that I was
wide-eyed and awake for every moment.


*******************************************************

Chapter 9 to follow.

Please email hjk7359@hotmail.com for feedback or constructive criticism.

Thank you for reading.