Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 16

  I feel a tickle between my legs, deep there where I dare not touch, my sex swelling up against him, my inner wetness mingling with the chemical-laden water that coats my body and swimsuit.

  He presses his mouth hard against my own and our lips work together. We breathe each other in, desperate in our lust, desperate to consummate it.

  I begin to shake, unable to place whether it’s from the strange feelings of taboo running through me at this game, the vibration that has started up between my legs or simply the feeling of his lips and mouth upon me, hot and heavy.

  We separate and he slings off his polo to reveal that tight, toned physique, perfectly hairless and clean, nipples flat saucers on the marble of his chest. His eyes don’t leave mine when he draws his shorts down, his cock springing free. It looks too big, a baby’s arm in the light, but I’m used to it now. It’s more of a friend than a stranger.

  He takes the straps of my swimsuit and peels them down my shoulders, my breasts coming free, my nipples fiery pink in the harsh lighting. He takes one in his mouth. My breast pulls away from my body as he suckles, the exquisite pleasure of my nipple engulfed by his mouth overwhelming. He cups the other, weighing them out. I breathe heavily into his ear, lick its outline and feel his stiff member below twitch and buck against my leg.

  I comb my fingers through his hair as I take in his warm, manly air. I moan as his hands roll my swimsuit down my body, the sensation of my breasts against his smooth chest almost too much to bear in this space, a space that feels smaller and smaller by the second.

  My swimsuit rolled around my torso, his hands drop down my back, his fingers rolling along my skin and then below the taut elastic at the rear, each of his ample hands taking an ass cheek, testing their tightness.

  “So fucking firm,” he’s telling me. I can hear the want in his voice, breaking at my ear. He needs this. We both do.

  “Touch me,” I whimper.

  His right hand moves into the valley between my ass cheeks, stretches out the material there. I feel it pull and mold to the shape of his hand as it comes up and under against my slit, my suit soggy below, my wetness soaking his hand as it leisurely explores the folds of my pussy.

  I go to drop, to feel his finger slip inside me, but he pulls away to peel my swimsuit down completely, his breath hot on my navel as he kneels to twist the garment free, now bunched and wet, discarded to the floor.

  We stand facing each other. I see his cock is visibly leaking, a clear line of his desire glazing the sloped helmet of his cock.

  “Lie down,” he orders.

  I lie on the bench on my back.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I move my feet apart and feel cool air enter the space created, the sharp odor of chlorine still heavy in the air, wet sheets of my hair cascade over the side of the bench, my back and spine hard against the wooden slats.

  I try to relax, staring at a crack on the ceiling, my sex burning between my legs in anticipation of his touch.

  When he touches me, I gasp.

  Blake’s finger finds my swollen lips trapped under a soft down of wet, sticky hair. I moan as his index finger glides slowly into my willing hole. I look up and find that he’s staring at me, in awe of my body. I look between my legs, see his finger and the glint of opaque liquid that surrounds it, the distended lips of my vagina like an exotic flower blooming at his touch.

  He adds a second finger, curling it up against the ribbed roof of my pussy. My back bends off the table. I press my breasts together for his benefit, take a nipple into my mouth, unable to believe I am doing these things. But all the while the power of his hand is too much, overwhelming me, turning me smitten with lust until all I can think about is Blake, his cock thick between his legs, leaking in anticipation of filling me, his star pupil.

  I can taste the chlorine and salt on my skin, smell its thick, alkaline scent everywhere. It cools on my body and dries in strong contrast to the slick mess being created at the juncture of my thighs.

  He presses the flat of his tongue against my clit as his fingers work. I cry out, long and hard, at the intense feelings building inside me.

  The tip of his tongue slides against the swollen inner lips of my pussy, swirl around the rosebud of my clit, lapping at its fleshy hood above, rimmed and engorged with blood. I begin to feel light-headed as my orgasm builds deep inside my sex. It strains against his fingers, closing around his knuckles as I crest over into pure ecstasy. I close my eyes, push my chest forward and let it come, clear liquid coating his whole hand, my body bucking against his mouth as he sucks at my clit, waves and waves of pure joy washing through me as I twist and spasm against him.

  When it becomes too much, I force his mouth away from my pussy, pressing at his forehead, my essence still wet on his lips. He licks them clean as he continues to curl his fingers inside me, each time he presses up against my g-spot forcing me to kick out as if shocked once more. Finally, when I am near unconscious, he withdraws completely, leaving my body open and empty.

  Echoes of my orgasm coursing through me, I lay on the bench, legs hanging over the sides. The chlorine traps my perspiration, leaving me flushed cool and hot all at once.

  I’m vaguely aware of him standing over me. He remains in character. “You’ve been slacking off for weeks now, haven’t you?”

  I like this game, the naughty student and her coach.

  “I have,” I confess. “I should train harder.”

  “You need to be punished.”

  This is new.

  “Punish me,” I huff, almost in tears from the sheer power of this amount of pleasure, my body and senses detached, so alien to me. Even the words that come from my own mouth seem foreign. “I’ve been real bad.”

  I expect it to sound corny, but it kind of sounds right.

  He doesn’t break character. “Yes, yes you have. Kneel up on the bench there.”

  With some effort I do so, feeling exposed, vulnerable.

  “Push your ass out to me.”

  I do as he says, lowering my stomach to the bench so my ass rides up firm and hard, two spherical globes of toned, tanned perfection.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t have to wait long.

  Looking over my shoulder, I see him take my discarded swimsuit from the floor, still dripping wet from the pool. He pulls it tight between his hands, droplets of water fanning out onto the floor as he twists it tight.

  Suddenly, he pulls the suit back and uses it to smack me across the ass. Thick and heavy, the fabric lashes across both my buttocks at once. The force of the action is so strong, the impact so intense, it sends me sliding across the bench, knocking my arms out from under me, driving the air from my body. A wet echo reverberates loudly through the room and I cry out, hands frantically grabbing at my ass, burning like wildfire.

  Again he lashes me, my swimsuit falling across my hands and ass cheeks now, rivers of pain flashing through them. I let go, hands trying to hang dismally onto the edges of the bench as he rears back and strikes me again and again, my hips jumping each time at the sting of it, the acute bite from the sewn edges.

  It’s a little painful, but holy fuck is it sexy. I’ve never been so wet.

  My head is awash with red, salty tears in my mouth, spittle falling through the polished wood of the bench slats below.

  “Are you sorry?” he’s asking.

  “Yes, yes,” I’m nodding frantically. “I’m so sorry for disappointing you, Coach.”

  “Sir,” he corrects.

  Thwack, some hidden seam presses between my legs and kisses my sex, still moist from my last orgasm. I cry out like a primal animal into the dead space of the changing room, knowing no one can hear us, our forbidden tryst here.

  I hear the swimsuit drop wetly to the floor, spent. I turn and see him, his cock a stiff pole at attention, its head swollen and red.

  He walks to me. When his large hands span out across my buttocks, I flinch.

  “Re
lax,” he says.

  He gently runs his fingers across my skin, at the soft lines and shallow welts that have come to the surface. This intense measure of pain and pleasure draws out new emotions in me. I find myself melting under his touch as he whispers into my ear.

  “Good,” he’s saying, “good,” as he gently strokes my buttocks, fingers deftly grazing over the knot of muscle between them, dipping down into the gathered moisture and heat below.

  My body responds, yearns for him. I reach behind myself with one hand and find his cock, closing my fingers around its length and pulling it to my hole, open and waiting. Its acorn tip parts my folds, half engulfed by the outer ring of my pussy.

  I look back to him through dark wisps of hair. I make my eyes as sexual as possible, pout and tell him, “I want you inside me.”

  He places his hands on the fleshly handles of my hips and moves forward, his cock stretching me out, sliding effortlessly into my contained moisture and arousal.

  The sensation is too much. I’m filled so full and complete I utter a long, primal drone deep from my belly. In that moment, Ethan, Dad, the thing with the cops… gone. Nothings exits but his cock in my pussy, raw and sexual.

  He pulls out, my lips tight around his pole, and then plunges deep back inside, beginning to build into a rhythm, his fingers tightening on my skin.

  “Fuck,” he moans, lost inside me, breaking character.

  He starts slow and works up quickly. My insides swell and expand, stretching around his dick. He fingers claw at my behind and I feel his weight upon me, pressing me down into the bench.

  “Blake,” I moan, the illusion lost. I don’t care. All I care about is my release.

  He reaches one arm underneath my breasts and lifts me up against his chest to pivot against me, his cock driving harder and deeper than before, fucking me in new places from which come new and strange sensations.

  My next orgasm comes so fast I almost don’t have time to catch myself. My eyes roll back into my head as he holds my limp body with one arm, my pussy pounded below.

  I come fast, shaking against him like a leaf, twisting like a mad woman as my mouth hangs loose, long strands of saliva stringing out.

  I’m dimly aware of his testicles tightening against my legs as his own climax nears. “Ahhhh,” he groans, his pent-up release rushing down his shaft and into my willing hole.

  Complete, he withdraws and I collapse forward onto the bench a ragged doll, completely used.

  He lies down, cock still hard and twitching. “That was… intense.”

  I’m struggling to regain my breath. “I really believed you for a moment there. The whole spanking thing. I mean, that was amazing.”

  “I didn’t hit you too hard, did I? I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You can say that again. Ready for that shower?”

  He reaches over to stroke my ass, still tender. “Sure am.”

  He scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the showers. Steam billows out around us as he stands me against the wall. He turns the water to full blast and pulls me into his arms under the streaming jet. Caged in his arms I don’t want to be anywhere else. He takes my mouth in his, his tongue working against my own, my hands snaking down his back and onto the hard planes of his buttocks.

  We stand like this for what seems like hours as my pussy begins to light again, desperate to be filled once more. By the time we’re done, I can barely stand.

  As he towels himself dry, I take a moment to admire his body, his large cock swinging limply below, just a moment ago buried inside me, coated in my arousal.

  He walks over to me proudly. “Good session tonight,” he says, “but I think you can work a little harder.” A cheeky smile works its way across his face, perhaps the first of its kind I’ve ever seen.

  I poke my tongue out. “Asshole. Like you weren’t loving every minute. Same time tomorrow?”

  His fingers find my pussy. “Can’t wait, superstar.”

  He sees me looking distant. “What is it?”

  “It’s just not the same without you around campus. I should go to the Dean, tell him what Ethan was really doing that night, that you were only trying to protect me.”

  He shakes his head. “It won’t do any good. Besides, I don’t need Carver any more. I’ll compete at the next meet solo. Thanks to good ol’ Aunt Linda, I’m not short on funding. It’s more than enough to get me to Rio and back. Hell, we can all go. Bring Lacey if you want.”

  “You really think you can still make the Olympics, even without Carver, your squad?”

  He nods, his finger working into my sensitive flesh. “Hell yes.”

  I reach down and grab his member, slowly pumping it with my hand. “Well, if you swim as good as you fuck, I’m sure you’ll be a shoe-in.”

  *

  I’m still tingling as I walk back to the apartment. I get the whole ‘sex in the shower’ thing now, suds and soap streaming between us, his cock driving up into my body from below, heat and steam and sexual prowess.

  God.

  I pull my coat a little tighter around my shoulders. It’s getting colder every day, the snow crunchy under my shoes. I left Blake to run some laps on his own, let him “cool down” in his own words.

  As I come to the apartment, I notice a black van parked out front. The windows are fogged up.

  I stop on the drive. I look up to the apartment. The light’s on. Billy must be home, but something about this feels wrong.

  The door’s right there. Why are you so damn paranoid?

  It’s just a van, I tell myself, but as I walk past it I’m filled with a terrible sense of foreboding.

  Turn around.

  I manage to get the key into the lock of the door downstairs.

  “Nice night for a walk.”

  I turn around to see Ethan and a group of strangers. Two or three of them grab me, a grubby hand that smells of nicotine pressing tight over my mouth. I scream, but it’s muffled, the men lifting me kicking and fighting towards the van.

  No.

  I bite the hand.

  “Fuck!” screams its owner.

  “Bil-” I can’t get it out before another hand clamps over my mouth.

  The side door of the van slides open and I’m tossed in. Doors open, people jumping into the front.

  The engine starts and the van takes off.

  Shit. Think.

  Someone pulls my bag away, tossing it into the corner of the back of the van. I scream and scream, scream at Ethan as he twists my wrists behind my back and cable-ties them into place.

  I manage to get a kick in and scoot back on my butt in the corner with my bag. I knew he was fucked up, but this is next level. He’s not playing anymore. This is serious.

  The streetlights illuminate his face intermittently. He looks completely unhinged. “I told you you’d be sorry, didn’t I?”

  Stay calm. Think this through. “What are you doing, Ethan? When Blake finds out…”

  Ethan leans forward. I see his face is bruised and patchy. “He’s not going to. I promised my friends a good night, and I intend to give it to them. No,” he laughs, “I intend to give you to them.”

  “Why?” I try to keep the fear out of my voice, but it comes out shaky all the same.

  He comes forward, holding my chin tight. “Because you fucked me over, that’s why. You think your little prank was funny?” He slaps me across the face, white-hot pain blossoming from the contact. “By the time these guys are done with you there won’t be anything left for ol’ Blakey boy to fuck. I’ll make damn sure of that.”

  “I did it for Lacey, you asshole.”

  He laughs. “Lacey? Who? Come on, you really think I give a fuck about any of those girls?” He reaches behind me and fishes through my bag for my cell, pulling it out and holding it up to my face. “This is what I really wanted.”

  He starts texting. “Time to send out an SOS to your boyfriend. We need to get him by himself, you see, and he’ll come running for you. Yes
, siree. That boy can smell pussy a mile away.”

  May as well try reasoning. “Take my phone, but let me go, please. I won’t tell anyone.”

  He shakes his head. “Ah-ah. Like I said, we’re going to have some fun first.”

  “What do you think’s going to happen? Whatever you do to Blake it doesn’t guarantee you’ll win, even get a place. It doesn’t mean shit.”

  He comes forward, fingers tightening around my chin, my jaw pained. “I will fucking win. My old man couldn’t, didn’t have what it takes, turned into a fucking businessman instead. But I do. I’m going to make Pops proud. The whole country will know my name, and your boyfriend? He’s going to have a little accident.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BLAKE

  I throw my keys onto the bench, roll onto the couch. My hand’s still tingling from spanking Tia. I’ve never spanked anyone before. It just came out. She didn’t seem to mind.

  Finally, things are right again. I’ve got Tia back, even got Coach on my side. I might be out of Carver, but I’ve still got a chance at the Games. It’s all coming together.

  “Billy!” I shout, excited to share the news, but the lack of response tells me he’s out, probably down at The Trophy Room having his own little celebration at our surprise windfall. I’m still struggling to believe it myself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many zeros in one place.

  Ding.

  It’s a text from Tia to meet her back at the pool. It’s a bit odd considering she left before me, told me she was headed back to the apartment. Maybe she forgot something. Maybe she wants more.

  I grab my keys and head back out. At least Coach didn’t take away my key.

  I come up to the complex, entering through the front doors. The lights are still off, no immediate sign of Tia.

  “Tia?” I call out, my voice echoing off the walls of the pool complex, but it’s quiet again.

  I’m making my way to the changing rooms when I hear the side door swing open. I stop by the poolside. “Tia?”

  But it’s not Tia. It’s Ethan.

  “Ethan,” I call, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

  He smiles, one hand behind his back. “I could ask you the same thing, bro. Thought you were expelled.”