I suck you with a small half smile creeping up on me as the green-cresting water foams briefly around us before it continues down the slide. You had been massaging me, your hands down my shorts, while I extended my legs to the extremities of the pale blue half tube, slowing us. I had turned around, lowered my body upon you as we slowed, smiled while wiggling off your shorts. I was a terrible tease. I let them slide to the side of me, then down. You put your hands on my back. Dropped, draped my face in your lap.

I do this because I love you.

The water that pumped down around was chilly, more chilly than pool water is usually. Despite your shrunken scrotum I had no problems in getting you hard. As you threw your head back, you moaned laborious and laughed. I lost myself. I sucked you deep, crazy, like an amateur. You telling me to stop but your hands on my shoulders were not imploring.

I tried to consume you, your spunk arising, but the wedge which I had created with my legs now slipped. We slid, water rushing up my body. I continued licking your balls, your blue-veined shaft, the shiny mushroom of your cock's head as the grain of the half tube chafed against me. Water gushed under your now naked, now vulnerable bum. Lucky water.

And as I hit the skein of surface, I lost your cock.

A mouthful of chlorine. Opening my eyes, I saw your legs kick away. Fizzle and plash of bubbles. I would and have spent hours between your legs.

My breath ran out. I surfaced, cold, quiet.

We are in the swimming pool at the top of your apartment building. Like all the tenants you have been given an access key but you aren't supposed to be here this late. Still, you are on good terms with the building's management, and so they've seemingly turned a blind eye on these our afterhours romps.

There is a skylight up above. Through the skylight the few stars left in our city.

Treading water, I turn to find you.

When I notice we are not alone.

Grinning to myself, slightly mortified, I realize that you must still not have shorts on. Maybe you're giving them a little peep show, running along the tiled wet, apologizing profusely with your eyes, headed for the men's room.

Which is when the fear first creeps in.

There are five. They all wear scuba masks, chomp mouth bits of snorkels. They all wear flower-print trunks. They are large men, with large breasts, well cut, like men on anabolic steroids. The diving gear totally obscures their faces. They are standing in a small group at poolside by the white lifeguard tower, looking my way.

I look around but you are nowhere to be seen.

I call out your name. The sound is hollow, light, like the dim fluorescence casting a pall over the pool's green surface. The pink door of the men's room. The pink door of the lady's room.

Two of the five men lower themselves soundlessly into the water.

As they go under, their snorkels stay above. I notice your shorts floating.

- Who are you: body snatchers? I joke, because really, with the scuba outfits, they look so sci fi.

I don't understand why they are so quiet.

Two are now making straight towards me.

- Is this a joke? I say.

It is echoey here at night. The other three have their arms folded at breasts, say nothing. A thin v of water cuts from the shoulders of the approaching men.

Whatever joke it is, it stops being funny when one makes a sudden lunge under, hugs around my legs, pulls me below. Totally unprepared my whole nose and throat clogs with water. I choke.

Another pair of hands pulls my speedo off. I panic. My eyes are wide but I cannot see for the thrashing. I feel an arm around my belly. Underwater my choking makes no noise.

When suddenly I am above surface. Over a man's shoulders, completely naked, as if he were the lifeguard.

Coughing up mucus, I writhe, but his arm thrown over my back is too strong. Dizzy, I can see poolside passing below me until I am thrown to the floor. I manage to have my hands out, land knees down.

My knees and palms stinging. I am still panting for air. I am on my hands and knees, my face staring down at the pale mosaic tiling.

- What the fuh . . . .

But before I can finish from behind I am grabbed by the ass. Someone else sits on my back legs. I thrash, shout.

As two others hold my arms in position, a fourth stuffs a rag, soaked in chlorine, in my mouth.

I breath panicked only though nostrils.

Someone is rimming me. There is pleasure and discomfort but I can only wiggle. My cock swells. Suddenly two fingers are jammed inside me, nearly ripping the interior wall. While the throbbing inside intensifies, I feel a hand tenderly encircle the shaft of my cock. Stroke my balls.

One of the men raises my head by the chin.

You stand before me, naked. Your gorgeous waxed body, your yummy cock totally erect and available. Pool-light plays over.

Excited, I realize it is one of your games. You stand with your arm around one of the scuba men, hand down the back of his shorts. Playing stress release with his testicles I imagine, as you always do with me.

You say,

- Hi Cricket.

Hands are groping me. I want to moan and plead and suck you. You have the tastiest balls ever I want to whine. But men are restraining me.

You say,

- If we take your gag out you promise to be a good boy?

Between the hands holding my face in place I nod yes, yes!

A scuba man takes my rag out. I gag.

You pull your hand out of your scuba man's shorts. You swagger towards me holding out your big, bountiful, beauteous cock like an offering. Then you wag it at me like an accusation.

- Now, bitch, you demand.

I want to cry yes! but already you've jammed your fat rod in my mouth.

I love you then more than any man on earth. Strange men are taking turns fucking me with their fingers. I feel your cock already tasty slimy with a little cum.

You are snorting and moaning, thrusting your hips, making it easier for me. Your scuba man now has his hands down his shorts, pumping himself to the rhythms of the spectacle.

Behind me, there is alternatively three, four, six, seven fingers up me. There are tears in my eyes. It takes everything I have not to bite through you. There is a hand grasping my own cock but it is not moving. I would squirm in ecstasy just for a little friction but the men won't let me move.

You pull out at the last moment. You cum in my hair, dripping down the side of my ear. You whack your wad out sloppily to be evenly dispersed over me.

Your face is contorted, ugly.

Even a breeze tickling the shining head of my cock right now, and I would gush hot all over my back legs, whomever's hand, the cold filmy ledge of this residential pool.

I hear the jets of the waterslide gushing downward.

- Gavin, please, I pant, fuck me.

Gathering your breath, you giggle.

I plead further.

- Or let them fuck me!

- You know what, you say, kneeling to me.

You raise my head forcibly to eye-level.

- Cricket, I am tired of you.

I tingle to my utter extremities. A single finger now, wetted with spit concentrically circling my anus, an excruciating, painful, unbearable tease.

Your voice has dropped.

- I am tired of fags. I am tired of what a fun little expensive tart you are. I am tired of this whole fucking lifestyle.

It is not a finger inside me anymore. Something cold, big and metal. I gasp.

- You know why you are the way we are? you say.

I am being ripped in half. I murmur, can't answer.

You continue.

- Because your father failed you. Because you want to keep your petite, tight ass little designer job. You want to take care of your stupid motherfucking poodle. You want satin sheets so you can wallow in puddles of your own cum all day. You know what Cricket, you make me puke.

It slides up and down me. Up and down me. Up and down me.

- I've decided to go straight, you say at last, in disgust.

You walk over to your standing scuba man. He is still as a mannequin and allows you to slide down his shorts. He is so gorgeous. His tan lines all taper to his scrumptious, magnificent golden nest just above the thickening bazooka of a cock. You lick him, once. He steps out of them. Resuming standing, his shorts in your hand, you prick a nipple on his firm breast. Watch his cock come up and say hi. Meanwhile I am being fucked by a cold metal pole. I want to weep but I am not even articulate.

You put on the shorts you took from him.

- So I have hired these men to take care of you, you say.

You give your last faggot a last look over.

Then,

- I am tired of bitches. Goodbye Cricket.

I scream as the pole goes almost through my bowels. I struggle with all my strength to close my own legs around my own prick, because that alone will would make me come, come come!

I am weakened, flipped over, hogtied. I am hogtied good and tight by the rope of a life preserver. Ankles, wrists, ass high in air. One of the scuba man has spit out his mouthpiece and is busily tonguing my ass. Other hands pinch my nipples until they ache, munch over every piece of my flesh.

I hear your footsteps then nothing more.

I am lifted by knees and elbows. I feel them swinging me. Even if they untied me, I am so thoroughly, gorgeously fucked right now I doubt I would even have the strength to swim.

There is another finger in my ass. I am almost close enough to grab a mouthful of cock. My head dangles by it. Gorgeous, juicy cock!

They are swinging me harder and harder. At the extreme of one side of the swing, I am being hoisted over the calm tinkling water.

I am perfectly bound, immobile. All someone would have to do is blow on my cock.

At the force at which they are swinging me they would get me clear to the middle of the pool.

Just one little feather tickle!

My hands are chafing from the ropes. Dear god, christ, fucking - I don't miss you at all.

 

©2002 Ryan Kamstra - Contributor's Bio