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LOCKER-ROOM
LOVERS
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By Volponia
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© 1999-2000, All Rights Reserved.
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| Greg sat hunched forward on the bench, bent over, sweat dripping from his forehead between his outspread knees and making little Plop! sounds on the vinyl floor. He had lost in the second round, despite putting everything he had into the game, and was exhausted. The locker-room door swung open, then hissed shut. Greg did not look up until the bench vibrated under the impact of another body. Then, Greg glanced sideways through his tangled blond curls and saw his opponent, the man who had beaten him, sitting with his head back against one of the grey steel lockers. "Hey, Jon," Greg said listlessly. "Good game," Jon responded. Jon did not seem short of breath -- perhaps the sign of a winner? -- but he was slick with sweat from the top of his short-shaved head to the legs that stretched before him, heels on the floor, toes up. "Yeah; congratulations," Greg said, sitting up a bit straighter and wiping his brow with a sodden towel. "Well, time to hit the steam." "Me, too," said Jon. Both players stripped off their clothes with the casual disregard of men in locker rooms anywhere. Wrapping towels around their waists, they strode into the steam room. The steam room was a small cube, about 8 feet on each side, and had three graduated shelves to sit on. It was empty when they strolled in, hanging clean towels around their necks. Greg climbed to the top level and leaned his back against the wall, inhaling the steam through flared nostrils. Jon settled one tier down, no more than a foot away. "You looked good out there," he said, "but then something happened. It looked like you got hurt." "Nah," said Greg, "just a little groin pull, no big deal." Although his groin indeed ached, he wouldn't take the easy route and blame his loss on an injury. "It's real simple; you were on your game, and I wasn't." Pushing air out between his pursed lips, Greg wiped his forehead with the towel slung around his neck and closed his eyes. Soon, he felt a tickling sensation along his outflung right leg. Opening his eyes, he saw that Jon was flexing his shoulders and neck. With each rotation, a hairy, muscular shoulder brushed against Greg's thigh. Greg gulped. "Should I move?" he thought. "Would it look like I thought he was making a pass at me if I moved? Would it look like I'm coming on to him if I *don't*?" He thought of all he knew about the older player. Jon was a famous ladies' man, or had been until he married that gorgeous model. She had turned up at every match, looking happy, cheering wildly. Granted, the marriage hadn't lasted more than a season, but still ... Again, the tickling sensation. Much to his surprise, Greg felt his sleepy cock stir against the thick terrycloth towel that covered it. Embarrassed, he dropped his hands to his lap with assumed carelessness to cover the evidence of his reaction. He gently butted the back of his head against the tiled wall of the steam room. Jon yawned elaborately, stretched his arms above his head and let his left elbow drop onto Greg's knee when he lowered them. He turned and looked up at Greg, hitting him with the full wattage of his chocolate- centered eyes. Those eyes! They seemed to burn a laser beam into Greg's own blue ones from beneath an ebony fringe of thick, silky lashes. "So," Jon whispered huskily, "about that groin injury ... Maybe you need a massage." "M-massage?" Greg asked in a voice that cracked embarrassingly. "Yeah," Jon said, rising, going to the door in three long strides and locking it. "We wouldn't want anybody to walk in and get the wrong idea," he said, shooting Greg a wide, white grin. Jon returned to the shelved seating, pushed Greg's knees apart emphatically and knelt between them. He unwrapped the towel and uncovered Greg's pink, uncut cock, which was quivering to life like a time-lapse film of a tulip bursting into bloom. Jon placed both hands on Greg's groin, thumbs either side of his balls, fingers entrenched in the crease between thighs and trunk. He pressed, gently at first, then harder, rhythmically. Greg's cock bobbed and weaved like a boxer after several hard rounds. Both men ignored it as if it weren't even there. Jon just pressed away, over and over, massaging Greg's groin. Greg, caught in unknown territory between fear and pleasure, let his head press back against the wall and closed his eyes. If he didn't see it, he reasoned, it wasn't happening. After a minute or two, Jon changed his grip. He brought his thumbs together in the furrow beneath Greg's throbbing nuts and began pressing the tender skin there. Startled, Greg let out an "Ungh!" and instinctively thrust his hips toward the other man. Jon grinned to himself and blew softly on Greg's cock, which was now standing erect. The foreskin retracted and the knob-like head emerged and went from narcissus pink to the purple of spring hyacinths. Encouraged by Greg's failure to protest, he then took the shiny, lavender knob between his lips and began sucking, gently at first. Greg jumped again, but said nothing. His hips did the talking, now moving back and forth along a tiny continuum of pleasure. Sucking more passionately now, Jon stopped massaging Greg and flung his towel to the floor. With his right hand, he began flogging his dark-red erection in tempo with his lip action on Greg. The silent room seemed filled with the slurping, sliding sounds of Jon sucking Greg and masturbating with almost vicious passion. Jon's left hand crept into the crack of Greg's ass and searched for the trembling ring of flesh that surrounded his entrance. Teeth chattering with sensation and with fear, Greg wordlessly slid his hips further forward on the seat to give Jon free access to his butt. Head bobbing over Greg's lap, Jon slid one slippery finger into the younger man's anus. The feeling was so strange; it burned like fire but was pleasurable all the same. Greg felt that his cock was swelling to a size it had never reached before. He opened his eyes just enough to look down and see Jon's dark head in action over his crotch, Jon's right arm flailing away at his thick cock, Jon's brawny left forearm disappearing under Greg's own butt. Greg groaned and lifted his feet, placing them on Jon's shoulders like some practiced whore. Needing no further hint, Jon drove his finger all the way into Greg's ass, where he wiggled it in time with his sucking. The hot cavern of Jon's mouth closed on Greg's cock like a succubus's unearthly cunt. Up and down Jon's head bobbed; in and out his finger flew. All too soon, Greg was able to separate one urgent sensation from the storm assailing him: the boiling in his balls that meant he was about to come. Urgently, he put his hands on Jon's head and pushed back. Jon looked up impatiently, and Greg blushed and hoarsely whispered, "I'm gonna come!" A wicked grin split Jon's unshaven face. "That's the general idea, partner," he replied, then bent again to his work. His cheeks hollowed by the force of his sucking, Jon bobbed faster and faster on Greg's cock, licking, tonguing, sucking, even gently biting as Greg's hips rose higher and higher. Jon drew his finger out of Greg's ass, only to shove it back in with another for company. Inside his mind, Greg shrieked. There were no thoughts, there was no right and wrong, they were in the night sky, not this tiled cubicle. His entire being was centered in the head of his cock, his balls and his throbbing asshole. With a final thrust, Jon curled his fingers inside Greg and pressed the walnut-shaped gland there. Greg shouted, mashed his pelvis against Jon's face and came in wild, abandoned spurts of steaming cum. It seemed to go on forever, in slow motion. Each spasm seemed to be wrung from his spine, from his feet, from his very soul. The sounds of Jon slurping, gulping, noisily swallowing his seed made it all the more exciting ... but eventually, Greg's balls were drained and he slumped back with a sob of relief. Jon sprang to his feet, grinning broadly, licking his full, red lips, still clutching his meaty erection. He spread his legs, wailed away at his cock and soon spouted pearly cum, which arced across the distance between them and landed on Greg's heaving chest. When he had finished, Jon picked up his towel, leaned forward and wiped Greg's chest. "Consolation prize," he said with a grin. Then, slinging the towel over his shoulder, he strolled across the steam room, snapped the lock open and cracked the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he gave Greg a jaunty salute. "Next game, I lose," said Jon, and then he was gone. END |
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| Locker-Room Lovers © 1999-2000 by Volponia@aol.com. Any comments should be sent to this address. Do not reproduce in any manner without the writer's express permission. | |
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