(Story) Ever ogled the fit rower lads in lycra suits?
Encounters
posted 2 years ago
The setting for this story is drawn from experience but the events have a healthy dose of wish fulfillment. Hope you enjoy :)
Featuring: Lycra rowing suits; highschool; gay & fetish beginnings
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"Yeah!" "Woo!" "Zip him up!" "One on the bum for luck!"
The raucous chatter swirling overhead cut through the everyday humdrum of the changing rooms. The warren of shower blocks, lockers, toilets and benches was big enough to potentially have the whole school in there, all changing into their sports gear at the same time. The only time it even came close to full occupancy was sports day, but Wednesday afternoons pushed that a close second.
I was getting my shorts on for a round of badminton when my ears perked up at the ringing slaps, eight of them coming one after another, followed by a final cheer. Then the peculiar rattle of wellington boots. Eight fit, muscled young men trooped out, their obscene lycra uniforms hiding nothing.
The rowing team were by far the most serious athletes our school boasted. They sent several off each year to national trials. I tried not to look but there was one dreamy redhead with a cute button nose and pale freckled skin that I just couldn't get enough of. I peeked out of the corner of my eye, and risked a casual glance.
Sometimes eye contact is a physical force. I consciously knew it was just an overwhelming dose of adrenaline flooding my system to encourage me to either fight or run, but the feeling nonetheless, when you lock eyes with someone... it had me reeling.
Not the redhead. Not even one of the other beefcakes. The scrawny one, a head shorter than the others -- which put him just about my height, in fact -- the one rubbing his sore bum, grinning like a maniac, his wide eyes locked on mine, taking in every detail of my shock and awe at seeing his skinny body trussed in one of the same skintight lycra bodysuits that the big lads wore.
They were luscious, those suits. Shiny stretchy fabric in two colours, dark torso and light arms, a stripe down the side. Ending in mid bicep and thigh, enclosed by a zip up the back that left their fronts smooth and unblemished apart from the meat they habitually freeballed in there, the suits had a hold on me greater than I could explain. I wanted desperately to touch that silky fabric. Would it be cool to the touch? Damp? When they walked past I could smell the nylon, and something else with it.
His cock was a hard bar tenting out the front of his suit, and he didn't care. I can't have been the only one gawping. But it felt like I was the only one he was looking at. The other rower lads didn't even see the rest of us, the riff-raff, we were below their eye line and beneath them in so many other ways, inferior specimens incapable of hard rhythmic pulling.
While he was still looking at me he took his hand off his bum and gave his hard cock a firm squeeze through the lycra. Did he wink, too?
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You've got to understand where all this is coming from. Our schedules were finally opening up now that we had some choice about which courses to follow. He and I had some overlap in our free periods, when we were generally at liberty to roam the school as long as we didn't cause a disturbance.
There were places you could go if you needed to let off some steam, but what I seemed to crave most was solitude and calm. The best places to find that were, strangely enough, in the most densely occupied areas of the school, where the classes were in full swing. The corridors were quiet and no-one had any reason to be there who wasn't in a lesson.
That's where he put his hand on my bum. I was daydreaming, staring out the window, leaning up against some low book-lockers. Adrenaline squirted, I flushed hot all the way to my toes, I started to sweat, and I couldn't move. It was just a hand, nothing more aggressive, it didn't go anywhere else. After getting over my initial dizziness I moved his hand away. He put it back.
"Come here," he whispered urgently. "I want to show you something. Just come here. It'll only take a second."
I was pretty sure I knew what he wanted to show me, and I wasn't the least bit in the mood. The overwhelming fear that anyone could just walk down the corridor and see us, with me not stopping him from touching me, and draw entirely the wrong conclusion...
I didn't know if I was queer or what at that point, you understand. What I did know was that homophobia was effectively obligatory, queer-bashing slurs were to be traded at the slightest opportunity and god help you if you were actually gay. I hated it, and had made it known, but that didn't mean I was gay either. I could appreciate a fit bubble-butted redhead or blond but I couldn't for the life of me imagine... kissing one? More? It didn't seem like something I'd enjoy.
Until the hand. Until my body over-reacted, insanely. I finally got it together and fled. He gave chase, trying to touch me as much as he could. I sought safety in numbers, and he retreated, that time at least.
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There must have been some unspoken... or, I admit, I'm totally clueless, they probably talked about it all the time. What did all the fit hard rower lads do when one of them inevitably produced a boner of such prodigious size that it couldn't be missed by team-mates, coaches, or the skinny little cox who told them all what to do? Did they do forfeits? Circle-jerks? Did they slide their hard lycra-covered bodies against each other's cracks until they spunked into the silky fabric?
That last one was in my head, a lot. I wanted so badly to wear that lycra. It looked amazing, it must have felt... I had no words. And there was the school logo on it, and they had matching crinkly soft waterproof jackets too, and... yes, some of them had freckles and a cute button nose too.
Urg. I was confused. And aroused. Was it the lads? Or the gear? Or the belonging to a team? Or all of it?
I was still reeling from the latest electric eye contact with the short ugly... well actually, he wasn't, particularly. He even had a cute dusting of freckles. He was neither built nor hard, neither red-haired nor blond. He was just the only one who'd ever touched me. A look from him could make my knees weak, although was it fear? Or excitement?
I wandered in a daze after my badminton game, too agitated to get my shit together. Or maybe I just wanted to wait until the rowers came back from the river. He found me in the same place as before. He'd changed back out of his rowing kit. I turned towards him, backed away cautiously.
"Did you like seeing me in my new lycra?" he said. He couldn't know what I really thought about that. "Did you see how fucking hard I was? The lads held me and shaved my legs while I pretended to struggle. I'm amazed I didn't spunk when they started spanking me for luck. Apparently they do it to everyone the first time they wear the team kit."
Something was going on in my head, some kind of major subconscious realization. I stared at him, tongue-tied. He popped his dick out of his fly.
"I'm still hard, look. Want to touch it? Go on, you can if you want."
I backed away a few more steps. I shook my head. "Just... no. No, thank you. Very kind. Go away."
"I know you're interested. When you saw me, I saw your face. You want to. Why don't you?" he said, although he didn't come closer. "Why'd you come back here and wait for me?"
"I'm not..."
He put his hand on my cheek. It burned. "Tell me."
My mouth was so dry my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I pushed his hand away but he put it back again. Adrenaline overload was taking me. "Can I try your lycra?" I blurted. There, I'd said it. Revealed my darkest secret, my perversion. Maybe. Maybe he didn't see that at all.
He gave me an appraising look. "Yeah, OK. Come on." He zipped himself up again and set off. "Come," he repeated. I followed, this time. I kept some lateral distance between us. I was suddenly calm, although my hands were shaking.
Back to the changing rooms, winding past the lockers, the shower blocks. It was calming down now, the day almost over, still a few lads here and there lingering in the shower or just bantering.
He dialed open his locker and extracted his kit bag. He thrust it at me. I caught it. The smell wasn't too bad, but then again he didn't put in the same effort as the big lads. "Go on, then."
I stood there. I had what I wanted in my arms, and if maybe what I wanted required being seen as well as being kitted out then maybe I had that, too. But I was afraid, again. "Who cares?" he asked me. "Any of your mates still here? What if they were? Do you really give a shit?"
I stared at him. "Yeah, but..."
"Put it on already," he told me.
Somehow, being told was what I needed. I opened up the kit bag and took out the waterproof jacket, the lycra. He grabbed the waterproof from me. "Won't be needing that," he said. "Clothes off," he said. "Now."
He watched me as I stripped. He watched hard. My cock, like the rest of me, couldn't decide between hard or soft, so just sort of stood out at ninety degrees, tenting my pants.
"Them too," he said, once I was down to just my undies. I shivered, although it wasn't cold.
It was indescribable. The slick, cool fabric riding up my ankles, then my thighs, warming as it rose, cupping my bum, tight at the small of my back, firm around my biceps, snugged deep in my armpits, slowly, inevitably as he pulled the zip up my back, smooth and tight around my neck. My adrenaline peaked again, my knees wobbled. My cock was harder than it ever had been in my life. My nipples too.
He touched me then, everywhere but my cock. I moaned as quietly as I could. He pushed me to my knees. Introduced me to his dick, wrapped my lips around it and came in my mouth almost as soon as I'd closed it. I gagged and spat. Then he pushed me onto all fours, slid his finger down my crack and pushed the stretchy material against my bumhole. Three quick tugs from his other hand and I unloaded uncontrollably, wetting the lycra with my spunk.
"Fuck, you look so fit in my lycra, on your fucking knees," he whispered to me. "I'm gonna have you so well trained you'll come when I look at you. When I say a word. Oh fuck, this is gonna be so good."
I trembled on the floor. Tears flowed down my face, but I was happy. I think.
posted 2 years ago
Here is part 2. Hope it hits the spot :)
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Memories of that encounter haunted me nightly. Despite his promises, despite, or perhaps because of the very intensity of it, our paths just didn't seem to cross. One way or another, with final exams, university applications, making plans for a gap year, and all our other committments, eventually time ran out and we left that place forever.
Thank fuck. I hadn't realized how much it had weighed on me, the constant expectation of him around every corner, every flash of silvery lycra in the sun that might herald my imminent entrapment. I wanted it, but I resisted it. Did I want him to chase me down? Take me against my will? I didn't want to make a choice.
Until bedtime, when I'd wank myself silly thinking about it. The slick lycra trapping me, sliding against my cock and nipples, snug around my neck like a collar. His superior smirk driving me to my knees and the burning heat of his hand on my body. I bought myself a pair of lycra shorts, and they were nice, but it wasn't the same.
I went to work as an intern on my year off, and got felt up once or twice by fine upstanding family men (I mean, what the actual fuck? Thankfully it didn't go any further...), and gradually my overwhelming fear waned somewhat. I noticed that girls existed. Some of them even wore lycra sometimes. At the very least least, I was no longer worried about being ambushed and wanked off around every corner.
It was time to head to uni, plans were laid, too much luggage was packed, hugs were exchanged, and then I was on my own. There was a certain amount of structure, being in halls of residence and all, but it was a giant step up in independence, and freedom. Luckily I had a ton of work to do to stop me worrying about that kind of thing too much.
It didn't even take a week for him to show up. Well, there was a better than even chance. Rowing was a thing at this uni, and he wasn't dim either. Long-limbed and still well-freckled, he must have made tracking me down a priority. He'd acquired a tan in his year off, and it suited him. We exchanged pleasantries, caught up a little, and he gradually moved closer and closer, from the armchair across the room to perching on the edge of my desk.
I was sweating. "Just... stay over there, please." My mouth was dry too. I got up to refill my glass from the sink. Stood away from him.
Then he started regaling me with stories of all the rower lads, and other lads, who'd knelt to him. The ones he'd fingered and the ones he'd told to piss off. He told the stories physically, showed me the positions he'd had them in. Told me about the one he'd fucked, which ones had cried after, which ones wanted more, who was gay and who was bi, and who was just fooling around.
"You're the only gear-queer, though," he told me. "There was one liked wearing tights and lippie, but that's not you, is it?"
You ever seen one of those films of a flower, opening up? But sped up, so it all happens in a couple of seconds? It was like that, but in my head. And they say that labels don't matter, sticks and stones and whatever. Bollocks. I hung the name on myself, and it fit. It fit really well.
Already in my first week, I'd found my eye drawn to the gear, the sports kit that proclaimed this guy was on the uni football team, that girl was a uni cyclist (those thighs...!). The shiny jerseys, the comfy hoodies, the crinkly trackies. And the lycra. The ubiquitous, delicious, patterned lycra. The rowers, yes, the cyclists, ung, but also the track'n'fielders, even the bloody field hockey players wore lycra shorts under their skirts.
I wasn't alone. Once you caught yourself doing it, you saw other people's eyes scanning for the logo, the embroidery, weighing up the match. Second string fencing team? Piss off, poseur. First team football, rower, that sort of thing, and it was Hmm, How Wide Apart Must I Set My Thighs For You To Fall Between Them?
(But not the rugby lads. Everyone steered clear of them. You know why.)
While my fetish for the uni gear was only growing, my yearning for our school kit hadn't yet been completely doused, and seeing him again was bringing it back. Like me, he'd be too new to have acquired any of the former, but maybe he'd brought some of the latter with him.
Maybe he had his lycra suit.
"You're the only one I ever wanted to kiss," he said, bringing me back into the moment. He looked vulnerable, then, his eyes moist. I gaped like a fish, unsure how to respond. "You're so... docile? Yeah. Like I could make you do anything."
Adrenaline made me tremble. "I don't want that," I said, my voice hoarse.
He shook his head. "I don't think that's true."
The words were so hard to get out, maybe because I was worried they'd spoil the magic. "OK. I don't want to be your... boyfriend? But..."
He thought about that for a long while. "But you want me to make you."
I nodded, embarrassed. It felt good to be honest, to be understood, but it was frightening too.
"Make you do stuff," he continued slowly. "In lycra. Or other gear?"
I shrugged. I wanted to say so much more. But I couldn't get the words out.
He smiled an evil smile. I trembled. He came over and ran a hand through my hair. He kissed me, his tongue exploring my mouth. I shook like a leaf.
Then he patted me on the cheek, looking a bit sad. There hadn't been any magic in the kiss it for me, although I had taken it submissively enough. He left, and I had a good cry.
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I waited a week with bated breath, barely able to concentrate on my coursework. Then another. And another. Eventually I convinced myself that nothing was going to happen, I could stop looking over my shoulder, my fear of blind corners could take a back seat.
Just before the end of term he sent me an invitation to a party. I ignored it very carefully, but he seemed to be getting wise to my ways, and called me up on the phone. "I'll come and drag you here if I have to," he said, knowing I'd not be able to resist. My heart jumped into my mouth. "It's just a party, for fuck's sake, come and meet some people. It'll be good for you."
I was confused, but also somehow reassured. We were going to be friends, after all. Not romantically. Fuckbuddies, perhaps? That was probably too much to hope for. He must have been drowning in options, especially if he'd got himself some uni kit by now...
He had. He opened the door to his shared house, tip to toe in his uni rowing gear, which meant a light waterproof splash jacket in bold colours and dark shiny tights with green racing stripes. He smirked at me. "Knew you'd come."
"Uh... hi," I said, tearing my eyes away from his crisp gear. I looked past him. His shared house was packed with students who had only one thing in common. They were all uncommonly fit, and were wearing sports kit.
As he led me through the middle of the room a murmur swelled into a rumble and then into a roared chant of disapproval. "Off! Off! Off!"
He grinned at the crowd and pitched his commanding voice above the noise. "Alright you fuckwits, I'll find him something to wear!"
His hand at my wrist tugged me through to the quiet of his room. "I should have mentioned," he said, not contrite in the least. "It's a kit party."
"That's original," I managed to croak out. My voice had left me again.
"Not really," he said. "This thing you've got. Everyone does it. Maybe not as bad as you. Enough that they like to get off with each other. There's at least one a month."
"Why've I never heard...?" I asked, dumbly.
"You've got to be in one of the teams," he winked at me. "Here you go. You can wear this. Again."
His lycra from school. The luscious shiny suit. All my blood pooled in my crotch. I had to sit down on the bed. "I can't."
"I'm not a complete arsehole," he reassured me. "You can have this on top." He pointed to a thicker bundle, and held up the crinkly black splash jacket and trousers. "Go on. No-one'll know. No one'll see if you spunk yourself through that. And you'll look right fit."
I wanted to so very badly. He was already pawing at my T-shirt and jeans. I let him help me get naked. "I'm really scared," I blurted.
"No you're not," he told me. He caressed my cheek with the lycra suit. "You're excited."
Slip, slide, zip. Tightness at my neck. Hardness at my crotch and nipples. The touch of slick lycra everywhere that mattered.
And then an extra layer of heaven, the splash jacket with our school's name on the back, the crinkly nylon trousers with the logo on the pocket. The nylon and the lycra swished and slid against each other, whispering with every movement I made.
He ran his hand over me and my body throbbed with desire. Then he slapped me, not too hard, on the cheek. "Wake up," he ordered me. "You're here to have fun. Meet people."
I nodded mutely.
With a final slap on the bum he sent me back into the party. I reeled at the noise, the heat, the smells. I stumbled forward blindly, grinning like a maniac, pretending I knew where I was going.
I ran into a wall. "Oof," said the wall. I looked up. "Hey there."
"Dan?" I blurted. As I looked up into his eyes I was reminded of the confessional that had taken place in my room a few weeks ago. The positions, the names, the number of times who had done what to whom. I cracked a smile. "Hi!"
"Nice to see you," said Dan, from way up there in the clouds. He was your basic blond Adonis, cheekbones to die for, muscles and bubble butt and all that. He was in a simple lycra rowing suit that didn't hide anything. Another of our cohort who'd ended up here. He looked me up and down, taking in the outfit. "Never saw you doing any coxing at school?"
I plucked at the jacket. "Just borrowed. From our host."
Dan's grin broadened. "He must like you," he said. "But here, you're not wearing it right."
Then his hands were on my arse. I rose to the tips of my toes. He slid one layer of fabric against another. The jacket had a long tail that flapped down for when you were sitting on a wet seat. "You're supposed to tuck this flap under here," he showed me, "then pull this tight."
Tucked in, the jacket showed off my bum. Dan pulled the drawstring waist so it was tight across the head of my erection for a moment, then it slipped above. "Just a word of advice," Dan said, while he had my attention. "If anyone offers to trade kit with you, that means..."
"Oh," I said. My cheeks went pink. "Right."
"They want to swap an item of clothing for one of yours, yes," he nodded.
I laughed. "Fucker."
"Not tonight, boy," he grinned back at me. "I'm packing more than your sweet bum can handle."
I blushed again, and didn't dare look down. "Dan, you sexy perv," I whispered. "I never knew."
"Why should you? Now pop off, boy, I've got to find someone with a little more experience to feed to the beast." A huge hand in the small of my back propelled me away.
"Oh," I said to the next person I bumped into. "Sorry. Tripping over my own feet here."
"Yeah, I heard you coxes weren't very coordinated," she said. Tiny little running briefs and a shiny vest showed off smooth milky thighs and arms.
She'd taken me for something I wore. It felt... it felt good. It felt right. I nodded agreeably. "Couldn't find my arse with both hands," I said. I paused for a moment, pulse thundering in my ears. "Help me look?"
She laughed, and ran her fingers through my hair affectionately. "In here somewhere, I reckon." She paused, smirking, and glanced down. "Those trackies are lush, though. Can I try them on?"
"Uh..." My mouth was suddenly dry. If I took them off, I'd be exposed from the waist down. On the other hand, I did seem to be a tad overdressed compared to the rest of the crowd. Maybe I'd fit in better, draw a little bit less attention. "Sure." They were easy enough to slip off over my socks, elastic waist and smooth lining.
She pulled them on over her bubble bum. "Mmm, nice," she said. She ran her hands over her arse and down her thighs. "What do you think?"
She filled them out to perfection, there was just enough give in the material to show off its shiny drape, but you could tell there was nothing but long limber muscle underneath the crinkly fabric. I felt my cock twitch in my now-exposed lycra. I nodded. "Very fit."
"I've got to show these to my girlfriend," she said. "Be right back." With a wink, she was gone, leaving me gaping at the thought of two equally fit girls in gear going at it. I was finding out all sorts of new things about myself.
"Oh, 'scuse me," said a tall voice as it tried not to fall over me. A little bit of spilled drink splashed harmlessly off my waterproof jacket. "Don't worry, it's just juice."
He was another six-footer, not quite Dan's level of cheekbones, but good enough. This time dressed in a fire-red coverall. Not very shiny, nor tight, but still somehow triggering certain circuits in my mind. "Uh, that's OK..."
"Volunteer firefighter," he said, "got to stay straight at these things." He gave me an exaggerated wink. "Sober, I mean."
"Are you..." I searched for the word. "On call?"
"You never know." He waved a hand. "Oh, want to help me with something? Got to practice my fireman's carry. You don't mind?"
He handed me his juice, and next thing I knew I was being hoisted up over his shoulder. His huge hand held my arse firmly, and my crotch ground into his shoulder. I was concentrating on not spilling juice all over his back.
This behaviour barely rated a raised eyebrow as he took me on a circuit of the room, ducking under a door frame to carry me through to another room. With a quick spin, he deposited me in the middle of a sofa. The juice even mostly made it down in one piece, and he reclaimed it. "Thanks awfully, but I think I need to find someone with a bit more heft to them. Nothing to you skinny lads, is there?"
His retreating bum was rather fine to watch, even through the heavy fabric of the coverall.
"There's a fine specimen," tickled my ear. I started, to find myself practically nose-to-nose with a redhead, gender not immediately apparent. "Chad," they said, but before I could come to a definite conclusion, a glance down showed curves more appropriate to a female body under a tight shiny electric blue lycra onepiece.
"Uh, hi," I stuttered. "They/them?" I inquired, politely.
"Nah, nah, bro, I'm a dude when I'm wearing this," he indicated. "Even if I'm not when I'm not," she explained. His, uh, her... his voice was...
"American?" I asked. "Rower?"
"Wrestler," he replied defiantly. And indeed, he was built for it. His arm, downy with ginger fuzz, was lying in wait on the back of the sofa, close enough to feel the heat of his bicep.
"Didn't know we had that here," I replied.
"Oh, dude, I know, tell me about it," he said. He was so close our legs were nearly touching, his thigh of shiny steel at least twice the size of mine. "It's like wrestling doesn't even exist over here. I guess it could be worse though, bro. Back home I was fighting the boys, mostly, until they wouldn't let me any more."
"That sucks," I said. I tried to slide ever so slightly away across the sofa, somehow hoping that distance would hide my rapidly inflating dick. Whatever they were... they smelled right, somehow. Or their lycra did. Or both.
"Yeah, I kept making them cry," he grinned at me. "Hey, wanna see some moves?"
"Uh, when you put it that way, uh, thanks but..."
He cut off my polite refusal with an excess of enthusiasm and a hot hand on my thigh. "You gotta take off your jacket though, bro, it's gotta be singlets only."
"Singlets...?" I queried. He already had my arms up above my head as he tugged the splash jacket upwards.
"Dude, spandex, uh... like-ra," he said, faking a British accent on the last word.
"Oh, right," I said. I was on all fours on the rug in front of the sofa with no clear idea how I'd got there so fast. Then he knelt behind me. I could feel a few curious stares. My pulse thundered.
"This move is called the spladle," he said. It hurt when he knelt on my calf but as soon as his smooth lycra-clad body curved around mine I felt a flood of endorphins turn all my muscles to jelly. "I guess you guys call it the, uh," he did the accent again, "bar-nar-nah split."
He rolled me over and spread me wide to the crowd. If I'd been able to resist in the slightest it would probably have been excruciating. One of my legs was caught between his, and the other was locked up in his arms, both of them cranked up towards my shoulders, leaving my arse and package wide open to the onlookers as I was nearly folded double.
"And see, I gotta get your shoulders down to the mat, otherwise it doesn't count," he was explaining, more for the benefit of the crowd than for me. My arms couldn't get any leverage to push off him, he was soft hot steel around me, his sweat bloomed where we touched. Despite my predicament, my cock got hard and my bumhole ached as my lycra suit pulled tight against it.
"Uh, wha, stop, please..." I begged as the position started to hurt.
"Dude, you gotta say 'uncle', that's how you submit," he explained to me.
For some reason, the word wouldn't come to me. Not until I saw the smirk looking down at me. The cox, come to check up on me, amused. "Uncle," I whispered, and when Chad didn't let go, I repeated myself more loudly, so everyone could hear. "Uncle!"
Chad released the hold, then wrapped me up in a hug from behind as I recovered, shuddering. "I gotta admit, I get off on hearing that," he said. "Kinda gives me a boner, know what I mean?"
Kneeling in front me as well now, coxie, my nemesis. "Totally," he said. "Hey Chad, I think he liked it. Did you like it, you little gear-queer?"
I looked him in the eye, vibrating with adrenaline and on the edge of tears. I nodded shyly.
"Chad?"
Chad's hug tightened around me. Like he was excited. "Shit, yeah."
Time blurred somewhat, or maybe the room where they took me was just dusty. I was helpless against them. Chad provided the muscle, although neither of them needed it to control me. Just a whiff of either of their outfits had me dizzy and compliant.
First coxie had me wet his cock with my throat, and I expected to Chad to hold me down to take it, which he did in a way. I didn't catch sight of Chad's strap-on until he'd fucked me with it thoroughly, pulling aside the leg of my lycra suit to give it to my throbbing hole, trapping my dick and balls inside a twist of fabric so I couldn't get more than half hard.
Meanwhile coxie fed me more and more of his dick, letting me gag around it. He still wore his rowing jacket, although he'd lost his tights and had pulled his dick out of a pair of tight lycra shorts which snugged up under his balls.
Chad pounded me with his whole body, going for purchase on my nipples and teasing them savagely through my lycra suit with his every thrust. His sweat dripped onto me. I kept forgetting to breathe, especially when I was crushed between them and my nose ended up in coxie's pubic hair, my throat stuffed with his dick.
Once he'd come in my mouth and made me swallow it (with a little encouragment from Chad's wrestling moves) he got Chad to spladle me again, and then he went to work.
"Say you're a little gear-queer."
"Tell us what you think about when you wank."
"Tell us who you want to fuck more, me or Chad?"
"What would you do to keep that lycra?"
Each of his questions was punctuated by rough handling of my nipples, dick, balls and bumhole, and I told him everything he wanted to know, eventually finding the truths he wanted to hear somewhere inside my exhausted adrenal high.
Chad slipped out of his wrestling singlet to reveal a brutally tight sports bra and briefs. "Now you can call me Shawna, 'kay?"
I nodded mutely. They found a way to sandwich me between them. The lycra cut into my thigh where they'd pulled it right up to free my dick and balls but I barely felt it. Then Shawna pulled me inside her, and he mounted me from behind. She was tight, and he was bigger than her strap-on had been. Shawna's sweat trickled over her bountiful muscles as she controlled my body with hers, her limbs rendering mine useless with judicious application of leverage. Meanwhile he fucked me like a jackrabbit. I couldn't do anything but take it, my body did only what they told it to, my bumhole pulsed against his dick every time Shawna crushed me with her pelvic floor. I dissolved between them.
I woke up to find spunky lycra under my nose. As I inhaled my cock began to swell with morning wood, and then the pain registered. I looked down to find my cock trapped in a pink plastic cage.
My head span. My ordeal didn't seem to be over.
