The Away Meet

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You're reading a serialized story. For a better experience, start at

the beginning of The Swim Team Series

All people featured in these stories are at least 18.

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The Away Meet

Wet from our bath, we toweled dry. Keith and Stan stared into each other's eyes. Their swinging erections hypnotized me.

Stanley stepped toward Keith before wrapping him in his arms and kissing him. Keith kissed back. Like starving bears, they pawed and pulled at the other. Moaning, their lips popped when the seal broke.

Wide eyed, I gripped my throbbing cock and pumped the top four inches. They migrated to the bed and fell onto it. I walked closer to get a better view. Keith made out with Stanley's neck. Under Keith's hard muscular body, Stan's breath was heavy, hungry. He bent his knees and hooked his legs around Keith's waist. I pumped faster, spreading the pre-cum from the tip down my shaft. The sweet scent of their sweat floated in the air.

"Keith," Stanley whispered. "I want to feel you inside me."

To Stanley's full lips, Keith returned, his tongue penetrating deeply. They both moaned. Keith lept up and stood at the edge of the bed, grabbing Stanley's legs with each arm, pulling him to the bed's end. With both his hands, Stanley stroked, biting his lip, and staring at Keith's lower stomach. Stanley rested his legs against Keith's shoulders and chest as Keith fed his veined purple cock into Stan's ass.

Stanley gasped. Keith's dick disappeared, his balls slapping against Stan. The tempo of the whacks grew aggressive. Keith gripped Stanley's legs; white areas formed around his hands. His hips blurred with motion.

Stanley's voice wavered with the thrusts. "Fuck me!"

Dumbstruck, I drooled, pumping my cock faster, pre-cum flowing from its tip.

Sweat beaded on their thin, smooth skin.

"--gonna c--cum!"

"Yes! Fill me up! Fuck me!"

Keith growled and huffed, slowing his hips, but forcing himself as deep as he could with every, single, pounding, thrust.

Keith collapsed onto Stan, his cock still pulsing inside. Stanley kissed Keith's neck as if he'd received a deeply thoughtful gift. Both of them panted, drenched.

Stan's eyes rolled to me, then my cock.

Still panting, Keith rolled to Stan's side opposite me. Stanley planted his feet on the ground and arched his back, the sheets clinging. Stanley smirked, gesturing at me with his chin.

I approached. My legs shook, my skin cold. Bending my knees, I pushed the slick tip of my aching cock against Stan's hole. I shivered.

Stanley sucked air through his teeth, reaching between his legs and grasping the end of my shaft. Huffing and puffing, he squinted and nodded.

I pressed harder, his ass still wet with Keith's cum; I slipped in an inch. Stan grit his teeth, tightened around me and took a deep breath. Keith slid his hand over Stan's taught stomach, and craned his head over his chest, licking a nipple.

Stanley whimpered.

He gave me a look and nodded again.

As I pushed deeper, Stanley's mouth gaped wider, eyes round.

I paused and raised my eyebrows slightly.

He nodded and pumped his cock.

He drew a sharp, deep breath as I sunk into him. My hips met the cold flesh of his cheeks.

I gaped.

"Are you all the way in?" Stanley asked.

I nodded, as a wide grin stretched across my face.

"Wow," Keith said, looking down at my hips, then back at Stan.

I retreated about three inches, then eased back in.

Stanley bit his lip and pinched both his nipples.

Keith wrapped a large, firm hand around the base of Stan's shaft. The veins of his arms popped as his hand jerked up and down.

I used Stanley's upper thighs as leverage to push in and out, snarling my teeth. When the tip of my cock reach the tight grip of his anus, I rammed inward again.

Keith stretched his neck and tongue toward Stanley's dick. He sucked the head into his mouth.

Stanley gasped, caressing his stomach, chest, then returned to his nipples, breath faltering. Stan reached under Keith and guided his hips toward his face. Keith pushed the back of his throat against Stan's big rock-hard cock. He gaged and coughed while Stanley slurped Keith's re-hardened dick.

Keith's cum oozed around my shaft.

Mercilessly, I punished Stan's hole, cheeks red with the slaps of my hips. He clenched tight. "I'm gonna--c-come with me!"

Keith sucked away at Stanley's cock.

Stan yelled. The pulsing around my shaft brought me to climax. My yells joined Stanley's. Keith swallowed and swallowed again. I jammed my rod as far as I could. The quick and deep orgasmic throbs filled him with my jizz.

I grit my teeth, pulled out, and laid next to Stan.

Stanley panted. "That was--that was--"

I beamed. He twisted to look into my eyes. We kissed.

"I'm gonna be sore tomorrow." Stan took a heavy breath and turned to Keith.

Keith grinned. "Good thing you don't need your ass to swim."

They pressed their foreheads together.

I cuddled close to Stan. He wrapped an arm around me. A tingle rushed from my head to my toes.

***

The next morning, Keith, Stan, and I picked up Michael for school. After lunch, we boarded a classic yellow bus. Keith and I stepped on first. He beckoned me to the very last row. Michael boarded a little later and sat closer to the front.

"Nerd." Keith turned to me. "He causing you any problems?"

I shook my head. "He's dealing with his own."

I couldn't tell him about Michael's step dad. It would only make thing worse and I wished things were better for Michael--for us. I craved being with that sweet boy again.

"Well, if he hurts you, he'll have more to deal with."

"Don't," I said. "I kind of like him."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"Nothing." I smiled.

Keith folded his arms and stared at me.

"Ok fine," I popped my tongue. "We messed around a bit."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Ok, ok. I let him--uh--" I poked my index finger through a loop of the other.

"He fingered you?"

"Shhhh!" I looked around and put a hand on his mouth.

Keith laughed. "So, it was good then."

I smiled and let my head pounce on the back of the seat, looking up at the steel bus ceiling.

He laughed again. "When will you--uh--again?"

I pursed my lips and turned to face him, shaking my head. "I don't know."

"Those Mormons." Keith blew raspberries. "I dated one--or at least tried to. Never got far. So many rules. Always busy with church stuff." He looked at me. "How did you--?"

"Like I said, he has problems--at home."

"Family doesn't go to church?" Keith asked.

"They do. I mean, I went with them."

"How'd you get him away from his cult long enough?"

I giggled. "Keith, that's not nice."

The coach and counsellors jogged back and forth between the front office, finally bringing Stanley in tow.

"Sorry everybody," Stanley announced to the team. "Principle Edwards wanted to the student's attending a full day of finals at the end of the semester."

The team booed and hissed.

"He needed a little extra convincing, so I'm late." Stanley looked toward Keith and me. The bus erupted in hoots as he scurried to us.

Keith gaped, a sly grin form at the edges of his mouth. "Did you?"

Stanley batted his eyes. "A lady never tells."

~Smack~ Keith slapped Stan's ass.

"Ow! Bastard!" Stanley covered his ass with a hand. "That's tender."

Stanley and I smiled at one another. He bent to sit and flinched when his butt touched the seat. He pulled out a towel and folded it. Teeth bore, sucking air, Stanley squinted as he sat.

I mirrored his expression. "Sorry."

"Oh no, don't be sorry." Stanley forced a smile. "There's always a price -- ow -- to pay, ow, for a good fuck." He winced. "Just never had to pay this much before." Stan chuckled dryly.

While Keith and Stanley stared at their phones, I gazed at the passing cars and scenery under the dark gray sky. So many houses, families, lives, people I'd never know. Was my dad in one of them? In a ditch somewhere? Maybe I wasn't worth reaching out to anymore. I sighed and glanced over at Keith. Stan leaned on Keith's shoulder and Keith on Stanley's head. They slept, rocking with the sway of the bus.

After a four-hour journey, the bus arrived at a luxurious, eight-lane haven, nestled amidst an expanse of bare clay. From the confines of the pool's exterior stretched landscaped flowerbeds of elegant gray stones and a collection of cacti, yucca, and Palo Verde trees. Winding paths cut through the groomed vegetation, leading to the opulent private all-boys school. The architecture soared toward the angry clouds, crowned with intricate Apache emblems and sheathed in a rich, rustic metallic facade. Its sharp, modern lines formed a striking contrast against the backdrop of ancient, weathered red rock mountains.

The Mustang boys' swim team stretched in their speedos on the pool deck.

Stanley pointed at a single black boy amidst the group of lighter brown swimmers.

I caught Stanley's gaze. "Who's that?"

"Dosela, Marcus." Keith and Stanley said in unison.

The rest of the boys turned to see.

I opened my mouth. "What's his--"

"Don't worry, he'll tell you." Stanley smirked.

The Mustang boys greeted our team at the edge of the pool deck. Marcus led them. Stan and he shook hands.

"Pleasure to see you again, Stanley." Marcus' voice dripped with a rich English accent.

"The pleasure is all mine." Stanley grinned.

"We shall see about that." Marcus' face was stony, then cracked into a smile. They hugged.

Each of us from the team shook the other team's hands one by one. Marcus' grip was strong and sure. "Dosela, Marcus."

My voice cracked. "Uh, B--Anderson, Bbbret."

"So you're the famous Bret." Marcus grinned and exchanged glances with Stanley. "I've heard much about you, my boy." He glanced down at my crotch for an instant before returning to my eyes and giving me a wink.

I flushed.

Marcus slapped my shoulder and shook the next boy's hand.

In the locker room, all of us changed into our suits. Stanley lingered in the shower with me until the other teammates left.

Stanley brimmed. "What'd you think of Sir Marcus?"

"He's uh, he's uh, ummm--"

"The hottest guy you've ever seen?"

My face flushed again.

"You know, every year," Stanley licked his lips and scanned the bathroom, his voice descending into a whisper. "Marc and I make a little bet--wager, he'll call it a wager."

"W-What do you bet on?"

"On the winner of the meet, as a team."

"Like you--"

Stanley interrupted. "We lost my freshman and sophomore year, so he got his way with me."

The lycra around my bulge tightened.

"Felt more like winning in the end." Stanley laughed. "Last year, though, we eked out a win. And I sampled that hot ass." He gazed up and shook his head. "I don't think I've been with a more enthusiastic bottom."

"Wow."

My suit was not up to the challenge. A seam around one of my legs exposed the pink of my engorged cock head. I covered myself. Stanley laughed.

Wet steps entered the bathroom.

It was Marcus. "What's all the com--Oh, well." He stared at my crotch. "I see you were not in jest." Marcus' mouth stretched into a broad grin. He turned his face to Stan. "We up for another wager, Mr. Vasquez?"

Stanley grinned and nodded.

"I propose a twist on our usual winner-on-top prize."

My heart pounded, cock aching under the stretching lycra.

Marcus pointed at my crotch. "That distraction--part of your strategy this year?"

"What's the twist?" Stanley scratched his neck.

"A ménage."

Stanley folded his arms. "With?"

"At the very least, you two. Perhaps an audience--depending on who wins, of course. Winner gets to dictate the--the activities. Let's just say open mindedness has blossomed here in the desert."

Stanley nodded.

Marcus walked closer, as if to whisper something in my ear. He nut checked me. I doubled over and fell to my knees, coughing.

"Distracting my team is not fair play." Marcus turned and walked out.

"Should have warned you." Stan crouched down to help me.

I groaned, holding my sack.

It worked, though. My erection receded.

***

Behind the starting blocks, I stay clear as the competitors for the 100-yard Butterfly gather behind their lanes.

Relative to other teams, both Mustangs and we were small. Only three swimmers from each team possessed the skill and strength to complete the race. First place is worth six points to the team score; second: four; third: three; and fourth: two and fifth: 1. A first place finish from Stanley would all but guarantee a team win.

The robotic voice of the starting official induced a quiet around the pool. "Swimmers, take your marks."

The air vibrates with a buzzer. The synchronous drum of lean bodies penetrating the water's surface ending the silence. Cheers and whistles sync with the swimmers' strokes. Marcus, the event favorite, takes the lead, his arms slicing through the water, each stroke sending ripples that shimmer under the pool lights.

Stanley follows closely, his beautiful body like a knife moving with a hypnotic rhythm. The sound of his powerful strokes blended with the cheers of the crowd.

As they make the final turn, Marcus maintained the lead, but Stanley gained, closing in with every stroke. They hit the wall. The scoreboard flashed. Stanley was a mere hundredth of a second behind Marcus. My team groans, but three more swimmers from our team fill out the next consecutive spots bring the point split to 9-7: Us.

"Way to claw a win out of that loss." Keith slapped our teammates as they passed. Stanley blocked him with his arm.

Each swimmer could enter up to a couple of individual and a couple of relay events per meet, otherwise Marcus might try to win everything. Lucky for me, Marcus didn't do the 100 breast. I had a chance of a first-place finish, which only brought more anxiety somehow.

During my race, I noticed a swimmer to my left matching me stroke for stroke. Keith, Stanley and another's voice sounded every time my ears breached the water. I was loose. My stroke and kick worked in concert to fend off the threatening Mustang boy.

After the final turn and underwater pull out, I found Marcus cheering at the end of my lane. Was it for me? His teammate? It had to be for a fellow Mustang.

Now to my right, the opponent tore ahead. I increased my stroke rate and drew back next to him. Our stroke alternated his arms stretching, then mine, then his again. My lungs were tight, my limbs weakening. I reached. With a touch, I turned to the scoreboard.

I'd won!

My teammates screamed and cheered.

The last event brought Keith and Marcus head to head for the first time this year, both as anchor of the 4X100 freestyle relay.

Our team finished the third leg a second ahead of the Mustangs, but Marcus had an excellent start and caught up to Keith. At the end of the fourth length, they were neck and neck. They slammed into the wall. Their wake surged close behind and crashed against the wall, soaking the timers and officials. We'd come in first. Their breaths were heavy, arching over the water's surface.

Keith and he shook hands over the lane line.

I bit my nails as the official score tallied.

We won by only three points!

Marcus pulled himself onto the deck and with a hand on hip, he half-smiled and gave us a nod. "Great effort, everyone."

Lightning spidered across the sky, crackling thunder moments later. Our team took shelter in our bus as a torrent of rain pelted the area.

The coach waited for the storm to let up before we headed out. It was hard to see anything beyond a few feet outside. He pressed several buttons on his phone and talked with someone back in town for a few minutes.

"Boys," Coach scratched his mustache. "Principle Edwards tasked me to make arrangements--Seems a flash flood has blocked the roads."

I tapped Stan on the shoulder. He turned to me. "We normally would just leave now, right?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Then--when would the loser pay up?"

"He'd just drive to me the next weekend--in his very on-the-nose Ford Mustang."

I chuckled. "What happens now?"

"Depends on the 'arrangements' coach sets up."

***

"Boys!" The coach waved his arms for us to come closer. "The local hotels don't have enough vacancy to accommodate us. Some of you will have to stay at the school's dormitory."

We looked around at one another.

"We have two rooms, two beds per room and one cot. You'll have to workout the sleeping arrangements yourself." Coach said.

Boys groaned.

"Ah, right, enough." The coach yelled.

"At the dorms, the beds are full, so you'll have to share with someone." Coach said.

Again, boys groaned.

"It's not perfect," the coach said. "but it's all we could arrange on such short notice."

"Stan will go." One of the boys offered. A group of them laughed.

Keith slapped the boy in the back of the head. "Shut the fuck up, Aaron"

The coach raised an eye. "Does it mean I have to pick for you all?"

Boys repeated, "No, no!"

"If you're just going to give your teammates a hard time for volunteering, I'll have to." Coach scanned the room. Everyone was quiet.

"You." The coach pointed at Aaron. "Dorms."

Aaron gaped. "Coach!"

"Shut it!" Coach said. "Anyone else?"

The coach made it sound like a punishment. No one spoke a word.

"Now boys, it's time to be team players. Some of us will have to go." Coach scanned the group again. "I'll watch over everyone at the dorms if that makes anyone more comfortable. They have a bed for me at either place. That'll give the hotel boys an extra room and less sharing."

Keith raised his hand. "I'll go."

The room relaxed a bit. If Keith went, it was ok for anyone.

Dan, the massage therapist, and I raised our hand.

"Two more." The coach said.

Then Cody, the short hunk from my lane, and finally Stanley.

Turning to the boy who made the comment, Stanley smiled. "Don't worry Aaron, I'll make sure you're taken care of."

***

A staff member led us to where Marcus and five other boys greeted us. The scent of chicken, fresh-baked bread, and potatoes filled my senses.

"These young men will help you get settled," she said and left.

Rustic and industrial style furniture and fixtures adorned space, including kitchenette, a huge chesterfield sofa, a flat screen TV, and game console. Beyond the entrance, each wall had an opening to a small bedroom. I could see all six beds with their neatly made white sheets. It must be nice to have your own bed, but without a door, there couldn't be much privacy. I grinned. Who needed it when you looked like these boys?

On top of a huge glossy old tree stump laid a glass table. The chicken, bread, mashed potatoes, and various greens sat upon it. My mouth watered. After all the swimming and delays from the rain, I was damn near starving.

My team seemed quite the motley crew compared to the uniformed Mustangs. They looked older, more experienced, more confident.

Wide eyed, my five teammates and I combed over every inch of the dormitory. It wasn't what I imagined a "dorm" to be, more like a luxury cabin or ski resort.

The food was good, but hunger can make nearly anything palatable. I still preferred Jake's cooking. I stuffed myself to the point where it was painful and collapsed on the couch.

Stanley sat next to me with his swim bag. He reached in and pulled out two big glass bottles of whiskey with each of his hands. I gasped and covered my mouth. The rest of the boys turned towards us.

"Right on, man!" Marcus did a fist pump.

One of the other guys spoke, "Beer--er--whiskey pong?"

A chorus of agreement.

"We already beat your asses once today," Stanley said.

The Mustang boys laughed. My stomach clenched.

"No winners or losers in this game, K?" Marcus said. "We'll all just take turns."