Date: Thu, 24 Apr 2008 16:44:54 +1200 (NZST)
From: Nick Cramer <antinous48@yahoo.co.nz>
Subject: Cool Karl vs the jocks, part 16

Warning: in this episode, anal sex between two consenting
eighteen-year-olds is described.

Comments welcome, to antinous48@yahoo.co.nz
_______

Nicky now takes up the story.
_______

It's developing into a more and more weird evening.  It started with a plan
instigated by Pete whereby the jocks, led by Robby, would beat up my master
Karl.  Ostensibly this was a punishment for bullying me.  But the way
things have turned out, two of the jocks (Brad and Robby) beat the shit out
of each other.  That's until I persuaded them to stop -- in order to
protect the gorgeous Robby, who should have been Karl's and my arch-enemy,
but who I couldn't bear to see beaten.  Now, two more of the jocks, swim
champ Pete and football hunk Steve, are in a steamy embrace, sticking their
tongues down each other's throats!  In the case of Pete, that isn't so
surprising perhaps, given his little overture to me earlier.  But as for
arch-homophobe Steve ...!!  Well, having spilled the beans about his secret
proclivities, Steve has evidently decided that tonight is the night to out
himself big-time.  And, with lean and handsome Pete on hand and eager to be
of service, who can blame him?

Pete replies to Steve: 'You want me to fuck you?  Here, now?  Why, sure
... like I said, you're a tremendous guy, Steve ...  My cock would be
honored to pay tribute to your sweet ass ... that's if Robby doesn't mind
...'

Wow!  Is this shy demure Pete speaking?  A different chat-up line from the
one he used with me earlier, that's for sure!  Yet not everything's
different.  Stroking the other guy's neck with his forefinger seems to be a
standard component of the Petrowski foreplay routine.  And it suddenly
occurs to me that Pete is no longer wearing the singlet that he had on when
he fought Karl and when I was tending to him afterwards.  He's showing his
taut slimmer's physique now in all its naked glory.  It's as if he's got
this all planned out ...

'OK, if you want ... man, this is so weird ...'  Robby shakes his head and
sits down against the wall again.  Yes, Robby, 'weird' is the word that
came into my mind too.

'Thanks, Rob.  So, Steve, let's see you --' Pete pushes Steve's boxer
shorts (which is all he's been wearing since his fight with Karl) down his
thighs.  Sure enough, Steve's stiff cock springs upright as soon as it is
freed from the elastic.  It looks a little shorter than my master Karl's
pillar of manhood, but thicker.  The wild panicky look on Steve's face is
beginning to disappear.  Now he grins lopsidedly, looking down at his cock
and then up into Pete's face.  He lets his briefs fall round his ankles,
then steps out of them.  Now Steve's fingers move to the fly of Pete's
cut-off jeans.  Pete smiles encouragingly at Steve and lets his arms dangle
at his sides while pushing his pelvis forward.

At first, there's some awkward fumbling as Steve's knuckles bump against
against the taut tanned skin between Pete's tight denim waistband and his
immaculate navel.  Steve bends his head down, his blond hair flopping over
his forehead, frowning in concentration.  At last he gets the brass stud
undone, then pulls down Pete's zip.  Pete is wearing nothing under the
cut-off denim.  In the V of the fly, yet more of Pete's belly is revealed,
then his dark pubic hair -- then his erect cock, thin and long, not
straight but curving proudly upward.  Its purplish-pink head knocks against
Pete's belly.  Steve touches it, almost reverently, with the fingers of
both hands, and I hear him gasp.

You may well gasp, Steve!  It's long!  Are you going to be able to take all
that, up your virgin ass?

Karl's is leaning back against me, and his head is against my stomach.
He's bound to feel my cock stiffening in excitement.  Well, what of it?  I
look down at Karl's blue briefs.  Sure enough, he too ...!  Karl has his
hand over his crotch, ever so gently fondling the bulge under the thin
cotton.

I guess I've told you already something about Pete's appearance.  If I had
to apply the word 'graceful' to some guy in that room, who would it be?
Not thickset Steve (I'll come back to him in a moment).  And not my master
Karl.  I mean, Karl is strong and he's brave and his pecs and his shoulders
are awesome, and he looks so sweet with his upturned nose and his untidy
dangling hair and his ever so slightly pudgy tummy.  But graceful, no.  And
not even Robby.  Even though Robby could have been carved by Michelangelo,
there's too much solid bulk in him (as Brad discovered!) for the word
'graceful' to be quite apt.  But Pete -- yes, Pete sure is a graceful young
man.  He could be a ballet dancer, easy.

And what about Steve?  Well, think of Mark Wahlberg crossed with Jesse
McCartney.  A handsome boyish round face.  Rather small nose and mouth.
Blue eyes.  Floppy blond hair parted in the middle.  A short neck.  And
muscles!  Not grotesque, like Brad's, but eye-catchingly impressive.  Those
beautifully shaped pecs -- those erect nipples -- those ripped abs -- those
overlapping mounds of muscle in his thick arms ...  Yes, my old pre-Karl
fantasy about Steve rescuing me single-handed from a small army of muggers
was far from ludicrous.  (Yet even Steve, when up against Karl, the mighty
Karl ... Yeah, folks, you better believe it, whatever I may generously say
from time to time about lesser mortals -- move over, Elvis -- it's Karl
Spivak who is The King!!)

OK, so now these two paragons of young manhood are stark naked and kissing
one another again.  To judge by the little sighs and groans emanating from
them, it's a wonder they don't shoot their loads here and now.  That
thought seems to be in Pete's mind too.  'Hey, we'll use the couch', he
whispers.  With his hand on Steve's upper arm, Pete steers Steve over
towards the couch by the fridge.

It's the couch where Pete made his pass at me earlier.  Grrrr!  For a
fleeting moment I wonder whether I should warn Steve: 'Hey!  Don't trust
this guy!  He tries to seduce anything in pants!'  But I know that's not
really true.  Pete goes for Steve because Steve is goodlooking and perhaps
for other reasons ... Maybe what Pete said earlier about admiring Steve,
about Steve being a tremendous guy, was sincere.  Maybe what he said before
about wanting to help me was sincere too, even if he went about it wrong.
Anyway, graceful Pete, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, for now.
(Besides, I've got to admit it was you who retrieved my spectacles and gave
them back to me undamaged, after Robby knocked them off.)

Pete is carrying his discarded cut-off pants.  Why ...?

'Lie back and put your legs up, like this.'  Steve obeys, lying on his back
along the couch with his head on one arm of it and his legs in the air.
Pete gently pushes Steve's legs further back, with his thighs wide apart
and pressing against his sides.

'What ...?'  Steve is slightly nervous.

'It's OK.  Everything's fine.  Now your glorious asshole -- I'll just use
my finger first.  Just relax.'  While speaking, Pete has reached into the
back pocket of his discarded pants and pulled out ... a condom and a
somewhat squashed tube of lubricant!

What did I say earlier about Pete having this all planned?  Yes, Pete had a
plan when he and the other three kidnapped me and Karl in the store-room --
but I don't think that plan involved Steve!  I'm too flabbergasted to be
really angry.  In fact, I admire the effrontery of it.  Pete confidently
expected me to fall into his arms earlier.  He was disappointed.  (I'm so
grateful to you, Karl, for existing, and saving me from that fate!)  Never
mind, another opportunity presents itself, and this time the flattering
chat-up line, the come-hither smile and the coaxing fingers do their work
successfully.  Those expensive hustlers that Pete patronized were evidently
good for role-play practise too.  Huh!  Oily Pete and hypocrite Steve, you
deserve each other!

However, I'm not so disgusted with Pete that I can't learn something from
him too.  After all, as you folks realize, Karl and I are anal virgins just
as much as Steve is.  So I watch intently as lean Pete extends himself
above hunky Steve, gently probing with his lubricated finger Steve's
asshole while propping himself on the other arm and gazing down into
Steve's face.  Steve moans slightly, winces, and goes into a sort of awed
trance as Pete's finger slides rhythmically in and out.  Then Pete
withdraws it completely.

'Hey, what you ...?  Don't stop!'

'Sssh, now it's the real thing ... with my cock ... I do what no one's done
before!  I give your ass ... the honor ... it deserves!  I pay tribute
... to the champion ..., to the awesome ... muscles and ... the superb
... strength ... of the grid-iron ... hero!  No one ... dares ... stand up
to ... you, Steve!  But now you ... feel me ... inside you ... and you feel
... my strength ... too!  Stronger ... and stronger ...  Oh, Steve
... You're so fine ...  you're the man ...  so awesome ...  We two
... united ... invincible!'

'Yeah ... oh Pete ... oh yeah ... oh man ... uuhhh ... nnnhh ...'

By now, Pete is gripping Steve's head between his hands while Steve's hands
clutch Pete's torso just below his armpits.  Steve's head is thrown back
over the arm of the couch, and he is moaning rhythmically in time to Pete's
thrusts.  Is he in pain?  Well, yes, it's a kind of pain.  But he is in
ecstasy too.

Fascinated, I watch Pete's smooth back and his tight round butt: each slow
withdrawal, each powerful lunge between Steve's huge uplifted thighs --
then each fraction of a second of quivering stillness before the next
withdrawal.  Sweat pools at the base of Pete's spine.  His shoulders are
supported by Steve's muscular arms.  Pete's own arms are so slender in
comparison -- his shoulder blades look so fragile -- his neck droops -- his
breathing comes in loud gasps -- it's almost as if a tremendous force pent
up inside Pete risks blowing that graceful swimmer's body apart.  Are we
going to have to pick pieces of Pete off the ceiling?!  Oh, no, cling on to
him, Steve, don't let him go, this is the most formidable task that your
body has ever faced, this is the great test that your whole life as an
athlete has been leading up to, you're stronger than Pete is, it's up to
you to absorb the blast, you've got to save Pete and shield us all ...!

'AAAAHH!  AAAAHH!  Oh man!  Oh yeah!  Oh Pete!  So good!  Ohhh ...!'

In fact, it's Steve who shoots his load first.  His rock-hard cock, with
Pete's belly rubbing rhythmically against it, can't contain its load of cum
any longer.  His neck is bent as far back as it will go, his face is
crimson, his blond hair flops wildly.  But only a second later ...

'OOOH!  OOOH!  Steve!  Oh Steve!  You beauty!  Whoooh!  Yeah man!  The
greatest!  You're ... the greatest, man!'

The frenzied rhythm subsides.  Pete lets his neck bend so that his head
rests against Steve's chest, as if in exhaustion.  Steve, smiling, puts his
hand on the back of Pete's head and ruffles his short hair.  Then Pete
extracts his cock from Steve's hole.  He lifts himself so that Steve can
stretches his legs out underneath him.  I can see the glistening film of
Steve's cum covering both their bellies.  Then Pete lets his whole long
lean body flop limply on top of Steve, like a marathon runner collapsing at
the finish line.  I can't see Pete's face -- it's obscured by Steve's.  But
on Steve's face is a look of bewildered delight as he hugs Pete's upper
body while rubbing his cheek against Pete's.  (You're lucky it's a friendly
hug, Pete -- you wouldn't be so happy if those brawny arms were squeezing
your slim torso in a hostile bearhug!)  The sour grumpy Steve of earlier
this evening is transformed.  Well, I'm glad these two guys have had fun.

'Well ... aah ... gee ... this has been a weird evening.'  This is Robby,
using that word again.  He seems a bit embarrassed.  Well, the scene we've
all just witnessed has been an eye-opener for Karl and me too.  'Um, I
guess I'll go upstairs and have a shower.  I don't know if any of you guys
would like to, ah, have a beer or something before you go.'

'No, wait a minute, Robby.'  Karl gets up and detains him with a hand on
his arm, in a fashion that's (how shall I put it?) friendly but insistent.
'You remember what I said earlier about making amends to Nicky?  Well, I
think now's the time.'

'Ah, I'm not sure what you ...'

'Don't worry, it'll be Nick doing YOU a favor, really.  Remember how much
you enjoyed Nick's massage, during that break in your fight with Brad?  How
the touch of his little fingers was so ... relaxing?  Well, he enjoyed it
too.  And now your abs ...  after that kick from Brad ... I'm sure you'd
like ...'

'Umm ...' Robby is looking from Karl to me in a nervous fashion.  But I now
see exactly what my clever master has in mind.  I join in quickly to cut
off Robby's hesitation.

'Yes, Karl's right!  I'll be happy to oblige again!  All you've got to do,
Robby, is stand there, nice and relaxed.  You can even lean back against
Karl ...'

I kneel down in front of Robby and gently prod his abs, just above his
skimpy red speedo.  There is still a red mark there, where Brad's foot made
savage contact.  Robby winces and makes to push my fingers away.  But I
reassure him: 'Don't worry, Robby, I'll be ultra-careful!  Just a little
soothing massage ...'

Wow!  I've never been so close as this to the Adonis of Fairfield High.
Those red briefs -- those tantalizing bulging briefs -- are just in front
of my face.  I trace with my fingers the tiny dark hairs of the treasure
trail leading down from his navel.  Robby has been in the wars tonight, so
he gives off a strong masculine odor.  His skin is grimy and sweaty -- this
gorgeous satiny skin on his belly and thighs.  Well, all the better --
it'll provide some real work for my tongue and lips to do.  Yes!  But all
in good time.  Karl and I have got the fish on the hook.  Now we just have
to reel him in, ever so carefully ...

____

To be continued.