Blonde Adventures, Part 6 The Gymnast
Peter de Ruthyn
"How's the temperature?" I asked, peering around the shower curtain.
He wiped the water out of his eyes and looked up at me. "Good. Not too hot yet. Got the stuff ready?"
I held up a can of shaving cream and a razor. "Right here," I said, sliding past the curtain without opening it too far so the steam wouldn't escape. Something hard and fleshy at the same time poked me in the hip as I did so. I grabbed it and gave it a few wet strokes.
"I know you don't realize it, but other guys are going to find it pretty hot that you get excited so easily and can go for so long," I told him.
"You think?" In spite of his thickly-muscled body and obvious athleticism he always looked a bit like a puppy whenever I complimented his hungry sexuality. He was still not entirely convinced that he was very attractive. When you prefer blondes, and you're a brunette, you sometimes develop an inferiority complex. I was trying to break him of it.
"Do I look like I'm disappointed here?" I continued to tease his erection with a lighter touch, one faint enough to glide over the surface of the skin without putting much pressure on it. He closed his eyes and relaxed under the stream of hot water.
"But I go for too long," he said eventually, breaking the silence. "It's so hard for another guy to get me off."
"I was the same way for a while. You're so used to your own technique that no one else can do it right."
"So the answer is I should have more sex?"
"Pretty much. And no playing around on the side!"
"But there aren't enough guys around! Or girls! I'm picky!"
"You'll find some," I said. "In the meantime, it's good that you get so hard, it makes this easier."
"Yeah, it usually does," he admitted.
I sprayed a generous helping of shaving cream all over his shaft and groin. With short, deliberate strokes, I removed the light trail of dark hairs that distracted from the definition of his lower body. The patch right above the base of his stalk, already reduced to stubble with the help of the clippers, was the next thing to disappear. Then the shaft itself, slowly and carefully, to remove any strays that might get in the way. Then under and around, stretching the skin over his orbs taut and doing a little of it at a time to make sure I missed nothing. After that, it was fairly straightforward to circle behind him and come up from below, denuding him gradually so that the muscled dimples of his rear shone like hollow mirrors in the bright lights of the shower.
"Much better," I said, setting the razor aside and rubbing a cooling lotion over the freshly shaved areas. I purposefully let my hands linger longer than they strictly needed to.
"It's been too long," he agreed. For some reason, when I had reached around to attend to his boyhood, he had moved back so as to trap mine between his well-rounded buttocks. Which he was flexing and rolling from side to side. Very distracting.
"The next part'll be easier, too."
"Are you sure about this?" he asked, a trace of uneasiness in his voice.
"Absolutely. It feels great and looks great. All that definition you have that's hidden right now will pop out. You guys really never tried it before?"
"No, we mostly just did each other's packages," he said, referring to a former teammate of his who, a few years ago, had occupied the position I was in at the moment.
"This will be fun. Can't hurt to try it, right?"
He shrugged and leaned back against the shower wall, legs spread slightly, erection pointing toward the ceiling. I took that for consent.
The can of shaving cream came in handy again. Left leg first. This part was much simpler than doing his more intimate areas had been. A dozen swipes of the razor exposed the entire front of his thigh, showing the trained muscles twitching beneath honey-colored skin. I ran an appreciative hand over the hairless surface all the way from his knee to the fork of his legs. His eyes widened in surprise at how intimate the touch seemed. Then I turned to do his right leg next. Why not, I decided. I was kneeling in front of him anyway. I bobbed up, took the head of his shaft in my mouth, and pulled it down with me as I returned to my main task.
I kept sucking on him, teasing his glans with my tongue, the entire time I was shaving the front of his legs, even when he had to put one foot at a time up on my knee so I could attend to his calves. He enjoyed it, possibly too much, because when I finished and directed him to turn around, he promptly did so, arching his back and thrusting his rear out in my direction. I ignored the unspoken offer and finished shaving the backs of his thighs instead. He'd survive without a few more minutes of extra stimulation.
"How does that feel?" I asked, standing up.
He had this look of mild wonder on his face. "Light," he said. "I know I don't weigh less...but I feel like I do. And I feel a lot more. Even the air and the water. There's more information there."
"And how does it affect this?" I wanted to know, running a finger around the ridge of his retracted foreskin.
"I think it's going to feel really good sliding against someone else like this."
"It usually does. Mind doing me now?"
He didn't mind at all, especially when he started licking my boyhood while working on the front of my body. There was much less for him to do than there had been for me, since I kept myself smooth on a regular basis and only needed it touched up in places. But I think he purposefully prolonged the experience. When he finally stood up, and our hairless bodies ground against each other under the hot spray, I could taste my juices on his tongue.
I eventually came up for air and reached behind him to turn off the water. "Keep it up and you're not going to be able to fit back in your uniform."
"It doesn't have to stay in the uniform for long," he replied quite seriously.
We toweled ourselves dry and went back into his bedroom. He reached under his bed and pulled out a box. It was filled with little bits of shiny fabric in all the colors of the rainbow.
"Wow," I said. "You weren't kidding. You must have saved every uniform you ever had."
"I did. And most of them still fit."
"The wonders of lycra, eh?"
"Pretty much." He picked up the one on top, a white and maroon singlet that looked far too small for him. But as he stepped into the leg openings and pulled the elastic fabric over his body, it expanded, coating him as if he'd been dipped in paint. His ridged abdominal muscles and hardened nipples showed right through it. And his rigid, swollen boyhood, trapped by the material, pointed straight up along the center of his body.
I reached out and fingered it, scratching it a little with my nails. A wet spot appeared on the fabric right at the tip. His breathing quickened.
"Bet that brings back some memories."
"Quite a few, actually," he said lustfully.
"But you haven't had sex in this one yet?"
"Not yet. This one I have, though." He reached into the box again and brought out a bright red singlet with black panels on the sides. It looked slightly worn compared to the bright newness of the white spandex wrapped around his body.
"Oh, I recognize this. This is your old team uniform. The one you wore when you and your old boyfriend used to sixty-nine with each other while doing handstands!"
He laughed. "Yeah, that's the one. Try it on. It should fit you."
It fit me perfectly, even if I wasn't as thick or muscular as he was. My erection was just as obvious through the material, too.
"I think it's time we tried out that new shave job," I said, pushing him back down onto his bed. I climbed on top of him and let his strength bear my weight. From the way he started thrusting up into me, his lycra-clad shaft rubbing against mine, he had plenty in reserve, too. Our legs intertwined, rubbing against each other. We savored the glorious feeling of newly exposed skin, in his case for the first time. Every so often I bobbed down and gave him a lingering, greedy kiss. They got longer and longer as we went, until we were too busy trying to swallow each other's tongues to keep pace with our dripping, unsatisfied erections.
"This is amazing!" I gasped, panting for breath.
"I know! I've missed it," he agreed before dragging me back down again.
"If one layer of spandex feels this great," I breathed a little later, "how about seeing what two feels like?"
"Put the rest of the uniforms on, you mean?"
"Why not?"
"Okay." We staggered to our feet, still groping where we could and throwing one another the occasional lick. He pulled two pairs of tiny, silky shorts out of the box, one maroon to go with his uniform singlet, one red to go with mine. I considerately adjusted his boyhood for him so that it wouldn't stick out over the top of the shorts or be chafed by the waistband, pointing it sideways towards his hip instead. The singlet bulged ridiculously just above the leg opening, but continued putting its blissful pressure on him, all the same. He tugged the shorts on. My inquisitive hand, searching for its plaything, immediately grabbed at them.
"Fuck!" he hissed. The top layer of spandex slid freely over the layer beneath it. The delicate, irresistible pressure this caused made his erection jerk and twitch in my grip. It began to leak even more copiously, staining the shorts as well.
He threw me back onto his bed and slid the little red shorts up my hairless legs. They felt wonderfully cool against my bare skin. Then he crawled between my legs and began to tease the bulge in my uniform. I bucked back against the bed in furious arousal. I wanted to explode now, at once, without waiting any longer - but I couldn't. The fingering I was receiving through the material left me sexually charged without taking me all the way. It was maddening! It was delightful.
I felt the friction on my stalk lessen, but the pressure on it increased at the same time. I looked up to see him stretching my shorts tightly over the swollen member beneath them. When the bulge was smooth and free of wrinkles, he bent his head and covered it with his mouth.
He sucked and nibbled me through the material. He felt so warm, so intimate, and so remote at the same time. I could feel his tongue probing at the tip of my corona and tracing the outline of my shaft exactly. The spandex was too thin to hide such details. I rocked my hips, but he resisted the urge to squeeze me harder. I began to moan as my arousal built.
He broke off his oral attentions for a moment to turn and straddle me. When he lowered his mouth back to my trapped erection, his own pressed against my lips. I savored it, the unique taste of spandex blended with the juices of a young athlete in his prime. The soaking shorts slipped over the equally wet, unmoving singlet beneath them, and my tongue forced them both against the bare, inflamed skin beneath as I tried my best to push him to a level of arousal he'd experienced so rarely before.
Somehow our fingers found a way under the leg openings of our shorts and singlets. Somehow we managed to slide each other's shafts out through them, exposing our genitals completely to one another without depriving us of the wonderful clinging sensation of the lycra against our smooth bodies. We swallowed one another, rising up and down steadily in unison, no hands required. I felt the flow from his tip increasing. I knew the flow from mine was as well.
And then he had me there. I didn't want to hold it back, and in any case I couldn't have. He was stroking me to climax with his mouth while his hands massaged my buttocks through the shorts, reminding me that I was still wearing his uniform, the uniform of an elite gymnast, the uniform he had repeatedly used for erotic adventures. The thought aroused me nearly as much as his lips did. My boyhood became absolutely rigid. My back arched. He rose off me in a final stroke to take the gush of liquid from deep inside me on his tongue. He held me in his mouth as the spurts from my convulsing body diminished, without spilling a drop, without letting me go for even one second.
I sighed in relief. That is, I sighed as much as I could with his own erection still mostly buried in my mouth, though it was no longer plunging into me. I had reluctantly halted my movements in the quest for my own orgasm. Now I began them all over again, stroking his rear as he had done to me, and toying with his exposed, tight sac. I fingered its smoothness, but never let my hand brush his shaft. That was for my lips and tongue alone.
He slid off me and I turned so that we could lay side by side. He cupped my half-erect boyhood in his hand but made no move to overstimulate it right away. Instead, he closed his eyes and let me pleasure him.
And I did. He couldn't keep quiet as I treated his member to a constant stream of licks and kisses, breathing on it and sucking on it alternately. It was so firm that a gentle touch was all that I needed to make him squirm and moan. It never diminished, either. It remained shining, proud, inflamed all the time I worked on it, until my shaft stiffened again from the built-up excitement. And still he hadn't come to orgasm, or closer than within spitting distance of it.
Then he swallowed me again and we were joined in the endless circle once more. My shaft was dripping again, slicked up with his fluids and mine. It was so wet that I was responding almost too quickly to the stimulation. A thought crossed my mind, a memory of something he had told me before.
I let him slip out of my mouth and withdrew myself slowly from his. He started to ask a question, but I placed a finger across his lips. I rolled him over onto his stomach, spread his legs apart, and knelt between them. Slowly, I gathered up the material of his shorts and then his singlet - not that there was much of it, but it was still in the way - and pulled it aside. I placed my glistening shaft in the cleft of his powerful buttocks. I pressed forward. He sighed beneath me, then pressed back, opening himself to me. I didn't hurry, since I wanted my juices to fill him as I went, but I bore down steadily into the central heat of his jock body.
Under me, he was taking long, deep, shuddering breaths. My shaved groin made contact with his skin, tingling as it did so. I reached underneath him. He was still absolutely rigid, his erection trapped between the rough fabric of the bedspread and the unbearably smooth lycra of his uniform.
"Do it!" he demanded, in a low tone. "Fuck me!"
I did. As my hips worked up and down, I lowered myself on to him. Our spandex-covered torsos ground against each other. I nibbled the back of his neck; I embraced him even while my fingers sought out and teased his nipples mercilessly. I locked my ankles around his and spread his legs wide for better leverage. And the whole time I grew dizzier and dizzier from the tightness that was sucking me in, drawing my shaft out to greater length and hardness. I took long, slow strokes. I could afford to, with a spear so unflinching as the one I had to work with. Each one brought me closer until I couldn't bear the wait any longer. I gave him a few last, quick thrusts, then seized him with my arms and legs while the liquid heat poured out of me into him.
"Seed me!" he hissed, feeling the graze of my teeth on his neck as I inadvertently marked him. The words, and the sexual lust they expressed, drew an extra pulse from me as I struggled in vain to push my hips farther into him.
But they could only go so far, and eventually they had to retreat. I drew out of him gently, sliding his singlet and shorts back into place. They hid the evidence in a way that was so erotic, it made my shrunken shaft inflate all over again.
I didn't have the chance to do more than notice it happening, because suddenly he was on top of me, passionate, aggressive, even a little desperate, and I was the one on my back. He gave me a few strokes, forcing me back to full arousal, then slipped my stalk back into my uniform with a practiced hand. It protested, stretching the material, but I could do nothing about it. His mouth was on mine, he was lifting my legs in the air, and his erection, coated with his own juices and dripping strands of them, was nudging against my rear. He pressed my singlet aside, and then the tip of him was in me.
I shouted something incoherent, I don't remember what. I don't think I ever knew what it was, even at the time, because his tongue garbled the words before they left my mouth. But I remember how hot and wet he was as he opened me. With me still in him, in a way, he took me. I knew the thought turned him on. I knew the feeling, the lingering sensation inside him, was adding to his pleasure and his arousal.
Where I had been slow, he was fast. He drove me down into the bed with every stroke. After hours of stimulation, and no satisfaction, he was growing desperate. The front of his uniform was covered in damp spots from the moisture shed by his untended erection. I closed my eyes and let him take over, astonished and once again very turned on by how easily he had slipped into me. He had the strength and the lust; he was the one who needed to work them out. He rode me furiously, my body clenched in his arms, my knees almost back to my shoulders, his hips slapping mine with each thrust. I relished the touch of his newly smooth skin against mine. It felt like he was trying to fold me up and envelop me in himself at both ends. I returned the wild kisses he rained on me. I encouraged him when he cried out, spouting obscenities in his eagerness.
And at last he stabbed into me harder than ever before and held himself there. He tossed his head back and moaned. His juices flew into me, hitting a certain spot so hard that my own boyhood flinched and stiffened in response. They surged out, the product of a young, lustful, eager body trained for sex but too often deprived of it. I felt him shaking uncontrollably, and more than that, I felt his shaft shake within me to a rhythm of its own.
He rocked forward, slowly, until he lay on top of me again. The pressure of his spandex-covered body against mine was enough. I orgasmed a third time, finally marking his uniform as I had hoped to do from the start.
Comments and feedback welcomed at peterderuthyn@gmail.com! Also look out for my upcoming collection "Toyboys and Other Stories".