tagGay MaleCapitol Takes

Capitol Takes

bysr71plt©

Gordy was a pushover. From the moment that Bryan Albertson entered the Wilson apparel and gear tent at the Legg Mason tennis tournament in Washington, D.C., the tennis star knew the cute young twink who was modeling tennis apparel and helping at the ball serve exhibit was his for the asking.

This wasn't the first time today that Bryan had seen Gordy. The first time was out in the players' and staff parking lot, where Bryan was standing at the players' booth and picking up his credentials. A BMW convertible driven by an older guy of about forty or so had motored into the lot and over near the staff tent, and this really great-looking younger guy had unfolded himself from the passenger side and leaned over and given the older guy a big sloppy kiss.

Bryan had then recognized that the older guy was a TV anchorman for one of the news programs based in Washington. Wally Haimer, Bryan thought. He'd heard rumors about Haimer. It looked like the rumors were true. In any case, he'd gotten himself some really nice tail in this young guy. He was a tall blond with blue eyes and a good build. He had a sunny smile and an "oh my gosh" aura to him. Bryan doubted he was more than nineteen or twenty, and he looked fresh, barely broken in. Surely an old guy like Haimer couldn't have given him the ride he deserved.

Bryan had hung around just beyond the gate and followed the young guy to the Wilson Sports retail tent and looked in there from afar long enough to see that this was probably where the young guy was working. Bryan didn't want to stay out in the open like this for long, because tennis fans were beginning to recognize him and a few had already asked him to sign their programs or tennis balls. So, he turned and retreated to the locker rooms under the stands.

He wasn't playing until the next morning, being one of three players who had gotten a bye in the first round. But he'd wanted to get in some practice today. His coach wasn't coming in until the next morning, though, so he'd have to try to pick up one of the other players. Maybe one of the Ergon brothers—a Turkish men's doubles team. He'd been in a tournament with them in Munich a couple of months previously. They had a good fuck session there with one of the eighteen year olds that tournament used for ball boys. That young guy certainly could yowl. Of course it had been the three of them at him, and the ball boy fucked like it was his first time. Bryan had hoped to get it on with the two Turks again here—they'd been a lot of fun and had nice, big cocks. And maybe this young guy in the Wilson tent would be just the ticket. It was a tennis fetish of Albertson's. He had to have a good fuck the night before a match to do well.

Nobody he knew was in the locker room. In fact, the place was almost deserted. There were players out on the court, but it was pretty early in the day and in the tournament, and momentum hadn't started to roll here at Washington's Carter Barron tennis complex yet. Bryan went back out onto the concourse and walked over to the Wilson tent. All of the players had agreed to float around to the vendor tents for a few hours during the tournament anyway, and he decided he might get some of that out of the way sooner than later.

He wandered around and stopped and posed for photos and signed autographs here and there, but he found himself zeroing in on the Wilson tent. He really wanted to get up close to that young blond he'd seen. When he entered the tent, the blond guy looked up from the serving cage that had been set off to one side as a come-on to get people into the tent to buy apparel and tennis gear. There was a camera at the end of the cage and a big bull's eye on the back wall, and whoever was serving was told to try to hit a certain mark on the bull's eye and the camera would record the speed of the serve. There wasn't any prize—just bragging rights if those standing around saw you give a good, fast serve.

Bryan walked to the spotlighted circle where the players were to stand to give autographs. Some children began to form around him for autographs, but he could see immediately that he'd also caught the attention of the young blond guy from the parking lot, who flashed him a warm smile. When Bryan had worked his way over to the serving cage, he found the blond guy busy demonstrating how the exhibit worked to a couple of Hispanic dudes.

"Hey, not bad," he said when the blond guy had hit the perfect spot on the bull's eye at a 98 mph speed.

"Uh, thank you," the blond guy said as he looked up and then did a double take when seeing that it was one of the top seeds in the tournament who had delivered the compliment. "We, of course, can't get the higher speeds here. The conditions aren't really comparable to being on the court. You're Bryan Albertson, aren't you?" He asked the question as if he couldn't believe Bryan Albertson would be on the same planet with him, let alone standing next to him.

"I was when I woke up this morning. And you are . . .?"

"Uh, sorry. I'm Gordy. Gordy Martin."

Bryan put his hand out, and Gordy awkwardly took it in his hand. Bryan could feel that Gordy was trembling at the touch.

The Hispanic dudes lost interest in trying the serve at least long enough for Bryan to sign the sleeves of their T-shirts. As he did so, he continued to look at Gordy and converse directly with him.

"Do you play well on the real court?"

"I hold my own pretty well," Gordy answered.

"I need someone to hit balls with me for a half hour or so. My practice court time is coming up and I can't find anyone in the locker room to hit with me. If I asked your manager real nice if he could spare you for an hour or so and I stood you for a cool one before that, would you like to hit with me?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course," was Gordy's response—although it came out a little tongue tied. He was completely star struck.

"This is gonna be a piece of cake," Bryan thought, quite satisfied with himself, as Gordy preceded him to the back of the tent where the manager's desk was set up. As they walked, Bryan put a palm on Gordy's butt. And although he felt the young blond shudder, Gordy didn't make any move to separate Bryan's hand and his butt.

"You from Washington?" Bryan asked, as they sat in front of the Singha concession at a high-top table and sipped beer. Every couple of minutes a tennis fan recognized Bryan and stopped by for an autograph and a "best wishes" for Bryan's chances at taking the tournament. Bryan could tell that Gordy was duly impressed at the attention.

"Naw, I'm a California coast guy," Gordy answered. "Play a lot of tennis and got a chance at modeling for Wilson, though, and I thought I'd take a look see at this side of the world."

"So, modeling is your gig?"

"At least until my goal of being a movie maker takes off."

"Which is why you're living in California?"

"Yeah, but I like to travel like this; it gives me ideas for movies. And how about you? Do you call anyplace home?"

"Just the tennis court, and . . ." at this he looked Gordy in the eye and laid a hand on his knee under the surface of the table ". . . and in the bedroom."

Gordy blushed, but, again, he didn't brush the hand away. "So, you're not a home-based kind of guy?"

"No. Pretty much a hit and runner, always going to the next tournament. When I'm not playing, I'm working out at Bollittieri's setup in Florida. I usually find someone to bunk with when I'm there. Whoever I bunk with, he never complains."

Gordy said nothing. He didn't really have an opportunity at that point, because another fan had seen Bryan and sauntered over for an autograph.

When the fan had drifted off, Bryan turned to Gordy and said, "I won't beat around the bush. I need to get laid today. It always helps my game, and if not you, I'll need to hook up with someone else soon. Do you take cock or do you give it?"

"Excuse me?" Gordy was suddenly coy—and his face blushing virginally.

"I don't think I guessed wrong," Bryan continued, still cocky, "I saw you smooching up that TV commentator out in the parking lot before you came in. Top or bottom? Give good head, do you?"

"Umm, I don't really do much . . ."

"Top or bottom?"

"Uh . . . bottom . . . I guess. But I don't often . . ."

"Here, feel this. You want it, it's yours." Bryan had taken one of Gordy's hands and placed it on his basket. "You don't think you can take it, tell me now. Isn't a dream of yours to get laid by a hung tennis champion?"

Gordy was trembling, but he didn't take his hand away from the basket—at least until he noticed another fan zeroing in on Bryan. And he didn't say no, either.

After the fan had left the table, Bryan downed his beer and stood up. "It's time for that practice session. It's hot as hell in Washington in August. So, let's play skins. It will give the spectators a thrill, and I want to see you move half naked—and I want you to see me move as well. Afterward, we'll hit the showers here and I'll fuck your lights out. I like that, I'll take you home with me tonight. Problems with any of that?"

Gordy was speechless, but he stood up from the table and, evidently cowed by Bryan's directness and assured arrogance, the young blond meekly followed Bryan to the practice courts. And he didn't do badly in hitting with Bryan during the practice, which was a miracle considering how keyed up Bryan had made him. Seeing Bryan shirtless and moving around the court, magnificence in motion, made him pant, though—along with a two-deep crowd of young women—and not a few men—clinging to the wire fence around the periphery of the court.

* * * *

"Oh, god . . . I don't know if I can . . ."

"You can. Just watch the teeth; unhinge your jaw; keep 'em out of the way. There like that. Ahhhh, yes. Oh, fuck, yes. Open to me!"

Gordy gagged and pulled off Bryan's cock, but after a couple of coughs, he opened to Bryan again, who slid inside Gordy's mouth, the access much easier now—and deeper—and, holding Gordy's head to his crotch under the cascading water of the shower cubicle under the tennis stadium stands with his hands, he began a slow pump.

"There, that's good. For never doing this before, you're doing just fine. Ahhhh, yes."

Gordy had a wild-eyed look about him as Bryan pulled him erect with hands on his waist and then turned him and gave the command, "Bend over. Grab your ankles."

Bryan was loving this. He'd rarely taken a guy—certainly not a guy this hot—who seemed so new to it. Bryan was feeling like he was the first with this blond hottie, and his cock was all the harder for the sensation.

"Oh shit . . . . oh fuck!" Gordy cried out as Bryan slowly plowed up into him. Gordy initially almost collapsed, his knees going to rubber, but Bryan held him up with hands clutching the young blond's waist. Gordy reached up, though, and grabbed the towel bars on the wall with his fists and arched his back and whimpered and moaned as Bryan continued driving his cock up inside him.

When Bryan started to slow pump, Gordy arched his back up to Bryan's chest and wrapped his wrists behind Bryan's neck. He turned his face toward Bryan's and, as the two kissed deeply, a charge of electricity ran up through Bryan's body from his cock up to the top of his head. Gordy was moving his hips, back and forth, on Bryan's skewering cock. Fucking him now. And now Bryan's moans and sighs were merging with Gordy's. It was as if Gordy was a pro at this. Bryan knew now that he'd be taking Gordy back to the hotel for the night. This was the prematch fuck he'd been looking for; he could almost guarantee victory in his second-round match now.

Bryan was also thinking that Gordy was too good to be keeping to himself, as his thoughts went to his last really great fuck—in Munich. He'd won that tournament—which was what had given him the great seeding in this one. The Turkish brothers had won the men's doubles too.

* * * *

"God, I don't know," Gordy said as they were dressing in the tennis stadium locker room. "It's all a little overwhelming. I'm so sore. I've hardly ever—"

"That TV guy, Wally Haimer, fucked you last night, didn't he?"

Gordy didn't answer. His eyes were downcast in evident embarrassment.

"Was that your first time?"

"Uhh." That and nothing more from Gordy, his eyes still downcast.

Bryan reached over and put his arms around Gordy and lifted his chin so that he could take Gordy's lips with his. It was a sweet kiss.

"Is he picking you up here this evening?"

"No. No, certainly not. It was an accident, really. I didn't intend . . . he just . . ."

"Was so seductive?"

"Yes."

"And did he fuck you better than I did? His cock possess you deep inside as well as I did?"

"Please . . . I don't want to talk—"

"Did he?" Bryan had grabbed one of Gordy's hands and placed it on his basket. Gordy was trembling, but he didn't take his hand away.

"No." The answer, when it came, was almost a whimper.

"I'll pay you $100 if you'll come back to the hotel and sleep with me tonight."

"I . . . I don't . . . know."

"Yes you do. You know, don't you? You want to. You want me again."

"Yes." It was a whisper.

* * * *

Bryan was in the hotel room bathroom showering again. Gordy would be next. Bryan had suggested they shower together again, but Gordy said he knew that would lead to sex and he wanted Bryan in bed. He had blushed and pointed out that there was a mirror beside the bed and he wanted to watch this time. Bryan had just laughed and muttered something about Gordy being on the fast track in learning to be a slut and had sauntered off to the bathroom, bare buttocks undulating and a towel flipped over his shoulder. If someone was being described as the cock of the walk, that would be Bryan walking to the bathroom.

While Bryan showered, Gordy moved around the room nervously, looking at this and that on the wall and behind the drapes at the window. He stopped in front of the wall opposite the one with the mirror on it—on the other side of the bed—and examined the painting on the wall. It was quite a colorful and "busy" one. Lots of abstract circles in different sizes. Gordy smiled, lifted the painting off the wall, and reached into his pocket for his pocketknife.

Later, when it was Gordy's turn to come out of the bathroom, after his shower, naked and toweling his hair, he did a double take and almost fell backward into the bathroom again.

"Relax, Gordy," Bryan said. He had been standing close by the bathroom door and moved behind Gordy and encircled his chest with his arms, pinning Gordy's arms to his sides. "These are friends of mine. Surely you recognize them. Doubles partners. Mehmet and Mahfouz Ergon. They play with me. They want to play with you too. You'll enjoy them. I know they'll enjoy you."

All three of the men Gordy encountered in the room were naked—all already crowned with condoms, so Gordy was left with no doubt what the three intended.

"No . . . please, Bryan," Gordy whimpered. "I told you that I . . . oh, god, oh shit!"

"It'll be a fast $300, Gordy. I wouldn't ask you to do it for what I said I'd pay just for me."

"Oh, god," Gordy whimpered.

"We'll take that as I yes, shall we?" Bryan said, with a big smile. "Good. 'Cause you comin' out of the bathroom looking that good, I think it would happen anyway."

One of the Ergons was kneeling in front of Gordy and had taken the blond youth's cock in his mouth and was expertly going down on it. Gordy struggled a bit, but when Bryan took possession of his lips in a deep kiss, Gordy settled down.

He was writhing again, though, as, with Bryan still holding his arms and torso prisoner, the Turkish tennis player stood and lifted and spread Gordy's legs and began working his cock inside Gordy's passage. The second Turk came over and stood beside Gordy and worked the young blond's cock with his hand while his brother fucked him and Bryan held him close and worked his mouth. Neither of the Turks were as long as Bryan, but they both were thicker—and were more brutal and pistoning in their taking.

When the first Turk—Mahfouz, Gordy caught the name correctly—was finished, they carried Gordy to the bed and pushed him down on his back, his butt at the foot of the bed. Bryan crouched between Gordy's legs and fucked him second, while the other Turk—Mehmet—straddled Gordy's chest and fed his cock into Gordy's mouth.

Gordy whimpered and pleaded, but the three kept at him, laughing and joking among themselves and commenting on what a nice, young, fresh piece of ass they had to work this time.

When Bryan was finished between his legs, Mehmet pulled Gordy off the bed and pushed the blond youth onto the floor on all fours and mounted him and fucked him like a dog.

The Turks took him in another round on the bed, with Gordy having reached the stage where he just flopped back and moaned and gave no opposition or help at all. The Turks offered Gordy to Bryan at the start of the second round, but Bryan just laughed and said he had Gordy for the rest of the night and for them to each have another fucking before showering and leaving.

As the Turkish brothers showered—together—Bryan laid stretched against Gordy's panting and whimpering body and held him close and whispered in his ear what they'd do together when they were alone. Gordy, in obvious exhaustion, merely murmured unintelligible words back at Bryan and drifted off into a state of semiconsciousness. Bryan found him so luscious in that state that he went up on his knees, lifted one of Gordy's legs and side split him in a quick fuck. Gordy remained comatose.

When Gordy started to become aware of his surroundings again, Bryan and the Turks were at the hotel room door, joking and talking tennis and of their coming matches and their prospects for victory. The Turks were dressed and Bryan had a towel wrapped around his waist. When the Turks had gone, Bryan went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Gordy waited for the shower to start pumping water and then he sprang off the bed—seemingly rejuvenated. He was smiling and not moving at all like a newly initiated guy who had just been gangbanged for a couple of hours by three virile and demanding cocks.

He strode over to the painting beside the bed, pulled it off the wall, and extracted the miniature, wide-angled video camera he'd attached to the back of the painting with its lens against the hole he'd cut into the busy-design painting with his pocketknife.

Bryan was still under the shower stream and singing happily to himself when Gordy finished dressing, swept the $300 Bryan had promised him off the dresser, quietly exited the hotel room, and clicked the door shut behind him.

"Not bad for less than a week," he was thinking. "First that pitcher with the Washington Nationals baseball team, and then that TV anchorman. Three pro tennis players was a bonus here. And I've already got a hookup arranged with that Republican congressman tomorrow night. A couple of more days of video editing and splicing and my Capitol Takes movie is gonna be ready to go viral in the gay movie houses."

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