He’s here again. Fourth week in a row.

As if getting up before ten on a Sunday morning for father-enforced exercise with my sister and her friend wasn’t bad enough, and he’s making the already tedious outing at the council pool near unbearable. Going to university should mean I escape compulsory sport and everything to do with it, not that it gets moved to my summer holidays.

Eyes down!

Crap. Too late; things are already stirring below from that single glance. I’ll have to get in the water before the tent in my trunks is too obvious.

I slide in, wincing. It’s not really that cold, but it always seems that way when you first get in. Hopefully, that will help my loins calm down and shrink things, though if that bulge in his Speedos is after being in the cold water... No! Stop thinking about that! Not in a public pool! Keep it for tonight, alone in your room.

With a grimace, I start my routine of swimming laps, trying to avoid both conversation with my father and staring at the current object of my confused obsession. Confused because, although his hairy muscular physique is nothing like my dad’s, and he is definitely younger than him, he is still old enough to be my father. And I don’t like older men. Do I? No, I like cute twinks like myself, and maybe athletic tops if they look like Brad Pitt, but definitely no one more than ten — let alone twenty — years older, and not bears, not even muscular ones who would be snapped up for the role of Aragorn by any local production of Lord Of The Rings.

So why can’t I take my eyes off him or make this boner go down?

Time drags on until I judge that I’ve swum enough to satisfy my dad’s demands that I engage in some form of physical exercise, and I tell him that I’m getting changed. After waiting for the opportune moment when no one else is looking, I haul myself out, doing my best to disguise my continuing arousal as nothing more than an illusion from the wet material, and head through the footbath to the showers as fast as possible. Cursory rinse of chlorine from my skin complete, I grab my things from my locker, grateful to finally have something to hold in front of my crotch. I turn to begin the search for a free cubicle and walk straight into the person at the locker beside mine.

“Sorry,” I mumble, not looking up.

“You should look where you’re going. You can’t take your eyes off me the rest of the time.”

My eyes snap up as ice falls into my belly. It’s him. A good head taller than me and twice as broad with those swimmers’ shoulders, he’s more gorgeous than ever with his long, dark hair released from its top knot. It forms a wet mane around his bearded face, framing piercing brown eyes that laugh at me despite his stern expression.

“Um, I’m not sure what you mean.” I glance around. There’s a family at the other end of the lockers, but otherwise, we’re alone.

“Don’t deny it. It’s too obvious. You want me, don’t you?”

“N-no, I think—”

The voice of my sister talking to her friend echoes from the showers, and when I look over my shoulder in that direction, he puts his hand over my mouth and pulls me into the closest cubicle, locking it.

For one, this space would be cramped, but with two it feels positively claustrophobic. I struggle, but his body pins me to the wall, our clothes sandwiched between us. As I look at his face again, he brings a finger to his lips, telling me to keep quiet. Breathing hard, I look into eyes alive with amusement as the chatter of the girls draws nearer. My captor bends forwards to speak in my ear in a low, gravelly voice that I still fear will carry.

“How would you like to get fucked where everyone can hear?”

A chill from something other than fear runs down my spine as the water drips from his hair onto my reddening face, a not entirely benign smile tugging at his lips.

“I thought so. I can spot a needy boy-slut a mile off.”

With his free hand, he takes the combined bundle of our clothes and towels, and dumps them on the bench, half of them sliding onto the floor.

“Well, today’s your lucky day, because you picked the right muscle bear to ogle. I didn’t bring any lube, and there’s not enough noise here to cover your squeals if I take your arse without it, so I’ll let you apologise by gagging on my cock. Sound good?”

His hand slides to my neck, but I can’t speak. Only a whimper escapes my lips as they reach for his of their own accord. His eyes narrow and he withdraws an inch, pursing his lips, and then — splat! I jerk in shock as a mouthful of saliva splatters onto my face.

“I don’t kiss whores,” he growls, and my chest seizes at the humiliation of being spat on and the possibility that anyone, related or not, might have heard me being called a whore. Apparently my dick knows better than my head, though, because it throbs with his words. He notices. “You actually like that, don’t you?”

Entranced, I nod, and he rewards my honesty with another spray of spit.

“Real subby little boy-bitch, aren’t we?” he sneers, squeezing my throat tighter. My hand shoots up to grab his wrist — the first proactive act I’ve taken since being pulled in here — but not to pull him away. Though far beyond any of my fantasies, something in my core tells me that I need this.

“I do like subby bottoms,” he whispers and pushes me down, his one arm enough to force my knees to buckle until they are on the hard tiles. Another shiver of humiliation runs through me as I feel the bottom of the wall on my heels, my toes having slipped through into the neighbouring cubicle, thankfully vacant — for now. Anyone nearby who happens to glance down will immediately know someone is kneeling at someone else’s feet.

“My bottoms beg,” he murmurs. I shake my head and he grabs a fistful of my hair. “Really?”

I gasp, and he uses his other hand to smear his saliva across my cheeks and push it between my lips. Instinctively, I suck on his fingers, but he whips them away, slapping me across the face.

“Beg!”

“Please,” I whisper, hoping that is enough, but know it’s not even before he shakes his head.

“Not good enough.”

“Please, Sir.” The title just slips out naturally, and his lips curl. “Please, Sir, may I kiss your cock?”

My whispered words echo in the sudden silence, and I fear we have been heard, but then I hear the much louder whisper of my sister’s friend from two or three doors away, saying, “And then he put his hands down my pants!” followed by the hysterical giggles of seventeen-year-old girls discussing something naughty. Ordinarily, I might have strained my ears to hear the latest escapade of buxom Bridget, but right now I could not care less other than for the reassurance that they had not been listening to my own confession of lust.

“You may,” my still anonymous new master acquiesces.

Tugging his skintight briefs down, I free the flesh I have lusted after for the past month. It is still soft and retracted inside the foreskin, balls up tight from the cold of the pool, yet still intimidates me. How am I going to fit this in me when it’s hard? More eagerly than my bashfulness might have implied, I kiss it, licking the chlorinated water from his sac and warming his shaft so that it begins to grow. I go to touch it, but he knocks my hand away.

“No cheating! Show me how much of a cock-sucking whore you really are.”

My face flushes and my cock twitches at this new insult, but I obediently clasp my hands behind my back and suck on his balls, his now slimy member sliding over my forehead as I do. I lick up each side of his shaft, coaxing the head from its sheath, and then look up over the curve of his hairy belly and pecs to his face as I take him into my mouth, hoping for approval.

All I get is spit in my eye.

“I haven’t got all day, fuck-hole. Get me hard and suck me off already!”

He yanks my hair to bury my nose in the tangle of hairs below his belly button. I swirl my tongue around the swelling flesh, inhaling the ozone from his wet skin until the tip tickles the back of my throat and swells to fill it. Needing to breathe, I push back, but he holds me, watching me splutter and snort around his cock. Of course, I could bring my hands around the front to push myself back, but I have an overwhelming desire to please him at all costs, and, irrationally, I trust him not to suffocate me. That trust is proven when he relents just before I break, allowing me to gasp out a spray of spittle.

“You love that, don’t you, whore-boy?”

“Yes,” I answer and go to take him in again only to receive a slap on the other cheek.

“I told you, my whores beg! Keep in mind that I need to be out of here in three minutes, and I don’t give my whores second chances to make me cum, so think hard about what to beg for.”

“I am hard,” I say and get another slap.

“Bratty whores don’t get any mercy. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” Oh, it is what I want, I just never knew until this moment. “Use me, Sir. Use me without mercy. Make me your cumdump, the worthless piece of meat that I—” My stream of filth whispered with growing enthusiasm is interrupted by my dad calling out from a few doors down.

“Are you changed?”

“Er, nearly,” I call out, as my tormentor stifles a laugh and rubs his slimy dick over my face. God, I can’t be found like this!

“We’ll go wait in the lobby, don’t be too much longer.”

“I won’t,” I call, and watch his shoes walk past our cubicle, my heart pounding.

Wet, sticky cock tapping my cheek breaks my trepidation.

“You were saying?”

“Sorry, Sir. Please fuck my mouth, use m— mmmfff!”

Smooth cock-flesh rams between my lips. I attempt to suck but it slides out and thrusts back in before I can, this time making me gag, and then it is gone again. It comes back a third time, and I manage to relax enough to take it until my nose presses into his pubes. There he keeps me until tears run down my cheeks, and when he pulls me off, drool dangles in ropes from his cock before he wipes them off on my face.

“You really want that without mercy?” he asks, a little breathless himself.

“Yes, Sir. Please,” I beg, as the door next to ours opens and shuts — thankfully not the one with my toes peeping in.

“Open wide, then.”

I do, submitting totally for the impending throat-fucking, but first, he lets loose a long stream of spit to collect on my tongue.

“Extra lubrication,” he explains, then tightens his fingers painfully in my hair and thrusts forward whilst pulling me to him.

“Without mercy” is not a phrase he takes lightly, I realise. Wet gagging and sputtering sounds echo off the tiles, barely submerged in the general noise of a public swimming pool, but my mind consists only of the cock ravaging my throat, leaving no room for worries of being heard. Heat builds in my balls and rigid, straining member still trapped in my swimming trunks, and I wonder if it is possible to cum from being mouth-fucked alone.

He doesn’t let me find out.

“Cumdump, huh?” he asks, still thrusting. My mouth is full, but I mumble assent anyway. “You think you deserve my cum inside you, don’t you, you greedy little cum-whore? No, my whores need to earn that kind of tip.”

He pulls out completely, his grip on me too firm for the saliva I cough up with it to go anywhere but his crotch. Another slap gives me a near orgasmic burst of endorphins.

“Open wide, and you might get a sample of what could be yours if you work hard,” he says, wrapping his fist around his length and pumping it steadily, my throat-slime his lubricant.

I stare in anticipation at his disappearing and reappearing purple head. That earns me yet another slap.

“Good whores look me in the eye.”

Contemptuous eyes that somehow make me want to do anything to please them meet mine. My obedience is rewarded with another glob of spit that splatters on my upper lip, but I barely flinch. The squelch of his fapping increases in pace, but I don’t dare look away when his face scrunches up, so the first splatter of hot jizz that paints me from my chin to my forehead takes me by surprise.

A painful shake of my hair tells me not to shut my eyes or mouth, so I concentrate all my will on his contorted face as creamy jets fly into my peripheral vision before hitting my face. One strand of spunk landing on my left eye forces me to blink just in time, but either that is allowed or he doesn’t notice, as I receive no punishment, only the reward of more semen. Salty-sweet pearls drip onto my tongue, but I know better than to enjoy them until he taps off the last oozing beads on my lower lip. As I continue to gaze up at him, silently pleading, he pushes his still-leaking cock into my mouth, shovelling his seed before it on its journey down my throat one last time.

“Yes, you’ve got potential. Should I use you again, whore?”

“Yes please, Sir,” I reply, feeling cum slowly slide from my cheeks onto my chest. He snorts.

“I knew it. Needy slut. I’ll think about it. Let’s clean you up a bit first so we don’t have to go through the tedious process of finding another venue when they discover filthy little boy-whores like you are defiling it.”

He looks over at the landslide of clothing at his side and selects something.

“This will do.”

With the rag he’s found, he wipes his balls and wilting cock, and then scrapes the mess of spunk and spit from my face before dropping it on my still tented lap. That tent catches his eyes and he sniggers as he picks up his towel.

“I’ll leave you to take care of that when I’m gone if, you like. Or not, I really don’t care.”

Despite knowing that my family are waiting for me and every further delay will increase their suspicions, he takes his time getting dressed, and he doesn’t need to tell me to stay on my knees until he leaves. Finally, opening the door a crack to check there’s no one immediately outside, he steps out.

“If you want to walk after we’re done next week,” he says, turning to me, “bring your own lube.”

He leaves, and I hurriedly bolt the door. Pushing off my trunks, I briefly contemplate beating off my frustrated arousal, but there is no time — it will have to wait until I get home. Frantically, I search for my underpants. They were not in the pile on the bench or on the floor. With a sinking feeling, I turn and pick up the slimy cum-rag.

My briefs.

He made sure that all the cooling jizz is on the inside so that when I pull them on, I know the cold slime will be rubbing against my hard cock the whole way home, reminding me of the whore that I am.

I just hope their pungent scent won’t fill the car.