Swim Team Ch. 09 - Loft

I opened my eyes, squinting at the beams of clear light reflecting from a window onto a bright white wall. Over my brow, I shielded pupils with a forearm. Back and forth I looked, trying to work out my whereabouts. A single brushed nickel lamp arched from behind the bed's side all the way to the center. Above that, a polished mahogany wood bladed ceiling fan descended at least ten feet hovering motionless eight feet above me. The white leather bed frame's headboard continued to the foot, framing the mattress like wings. Beyond the bed's foot, mahogany wood flooring overlaid the floor to every stark white wall, and down past my feet a railing, twenty feet beyond the railing, a giant mosaic of large steel-framed windows descended.

I drew a deep breath filled with the aroma of bacon, pancakes, maple syrup, and butter. Flexing my stomach, bent at the hips, I lifted my upper body from the bed, rubbing my eye sockets. A yawn and groan escaped me as I stretched. The thin blanket draped over slides down, exposing my bare breast and stomach.

From the lower level, I hear a familiar voice, "Mijo, are you awake?"

"Papa?" I said. "Where am I?"

I hear Paolo's footsteps ascending the metal spiral staircase in the far corner of the room. "Buon Giorno. How did you sleep?"

Nothing but bright orange boxer briefs clothed Paolo, muscular arms, defined chest, and hinting sixpack on confident display. Straight lines of light between the vertical blinds over French doors leading to a lush patio arched and bent over the shape of his body as he paced toward me.

"Great, uh, where are we?" I asked.

"We brought you to our loft downtown, after, after, uh," Paolo paused and scanned me up and down.

"You need to eat something," Paolo pointed at a white robe past the entrance to an enormous bathroom opposite the railed loft. "There's a robe if you want it. Breakfast is ready. Come before it gets cold, yes?"

I nodded my head and smiled at him. The warmth of his grin slowed my heart and relaxed my flexed muscules.

Paolo stood for several moments, as if waiting. I jolted, understanding he wanted me to get up now. Legs swung over the side, past the leather wings. As I stood, the sheet pulled from my hips. Naked, I automatically cupped my hands, shielding my soft dick, and recognizing that I couldn't

"Relax, don't be embarrassed," he said.

Stiff, I approximated how I might act if I were comfortable and snagged the robe from the hook just inside the tiled bathroom, my dick swaying as I closed the front and tied it. Paolo stared at me, hummed a brief moan as if about to consume a decadent meal, moistening one lip at a time.

"Come, Mijo," he said, and I followed him down the tight staircase.

"Bret," Jake called out to me. "How are you feeling?" An easy, broad smile dawned on his face, a short red manicured beard framing it. I felt my free cock tighten at the sight of him shirtless behind the cast iron metal stove. Waist narrow, but not small, stomach and chest shaved, the rest of him just as toned as his biceps. At their home, I'd only seen them in their office attire.

Jake saw me staring. "I just realized that you've never seen us like this," he said. "I didn't think about it. Our weekends here tend to be, uh, less formal. I'll grab a shirt and shorts."

"No, uh," I said, louder than I intended. "Uh, it's fine. Don't change for, uh, me."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"He's fine, mio amore," Paolo added.

Jake nodded, then peered at the pan, flipping a sunny-side-up egg. "How do you like yours?"

"What?" I asked.

"Your eggs," Jake said.

"Uh, scrambled?" I answered, my tone uncertain.

"Ever tried over-medium?" Jake asked.

"I, uh--"

"Obviously not," Paolo added. "Try, it's good."

"Ok, yeah," I agreed.

Jake loaded three plates with eggs and walked to the rectangular white-topped acrylic table below a light fixture with a spherical chrome center, and thin chrome pipes protruding from the center, bare warm lights gleaming at the end of each.

I watched them cut the eggs with butter knives and forks, taking hold of the utensils, looking at how they held them, then trying to adjust my grip to match. Orange oozed when they sliced through the yoke. I looked down, focusing on my egg, hiding my revulsion. A quarter of an egg suspended before my face, impaled with every fork prong, before it reached my mouth, I took a gulp, determined to consume it and avoid offending Jake.

The warm spongy egg white squeezed against my tongue, a hint of salt from cheese, and heat of the pepper. I chewed the piece, the runny yoke enveloping my buds in a rich savory satisfaction. A shiver went down my spine.

Eyes closed, I rolled it around in my mouth, and swallowed, "How does it, uh, taste like, uh, that?" I asked in utter bewilderment.

They faced me and chucked.

Paolo finished, his mouth full. "Just eggs, Mijo."

"Not exactly, a bit more accoutrement than your everyday egg," Jake said, smiling at me in delight.

"It's really good," I gushed.

"I'm glad you like it," Jake added. "It was so easy," he looked at Paolo, "Not everyone around here is easy to please."

Paolo stared at me. "Don't know what he talks about." And took a sip from a fluted glass, half filled with a vivid orange liquid.

Jake chuckled, and Paolo choked on the orange juice, covering his mouth with the wrist holding the flute.

I smiled and cleared my throat. "Where is Stanley?"

"At swim, Bello."

"At swim, but it's Sat--" I caught myself. "Oh, club swim."

"We get you to all ourselves," Paolo reached over and patted my hand.

A tingling wave dispersed from my lower stomach in both directions.

"Did you tell Stanley about, uh, about what happened? About, uh--"

"No, we think it's best if you tell him," Jake said.

I swallowed, sound loud between my ears. "What are you drinking?"

"Mimosa," Paolo answered.

"That's, uh, that's, uh, what is--."

"Orange and sparkling vino," he answered. "Want one?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," I answered.

Paolo pushed his chair out and stood, giving Jake a kiss on the cheek before heading to the kitchen.

Jake spun to me, "I'm so relieved you're safe."

"Yes, thank you. I, uh, felt, uh, trapped," I said.

"How did you get tangled in all of that?" he asked.

I explained what happened the night Dwayne and I met, and how he coerced me.

"That's terrible," Jake said with sincerity in the voice. "If you're even in that much need ever again, please know you can come to us."

My eyes moistended, "Thank you."

Paolo returned to the table with three mimosas.

They raised their drink. I mirror, and the flutes chimed.

With a single sip, sweet tartness and clean, crisp bubbles, I had a jump in energy. Eye lids pulled wider, revitalized.

"How is it?" Paolo asked.

"It's, uh, it's wonderful," I answered, tugging my mouth into a grin.

"Eccellente." They raised their glasses upward slightly and took another sip.

"I'm happy to see you, Stanley, and Keith getting so close," Jake said.

Nodding, I tightened with worry, wouldn't be able to keep my nights with Keith a secret. These two men, who barely knew me, saved me. I couldn't lie to them.

"You don't have to answer this, but what did that terrible man make you do with those men?" Jake asked.

A weight settled on my body, recalling the things I'd done and the Johns had done. Who knows how long Dwayne would have respected my limits.

They were staring at me. Jake said, "Sorry, I should be more sensitive. It's too fresh. I didn't mean to--"

"No, uh, no, sorry." I cleared my throat and coughed into my fist.

"I signed up for the deluxe package," Paolo said.

"Yeah?" Jake's eyes swiveled between Paolo and me. "What was that?"

"Bottom," Paolo answered, turning red, the first time I'd seen him do so.

"Really?" Jake asked, his mouth open in surprise. "How was it?"

"Didn't happen, Mio Amore," Paolo answered. "Wanted to, but couldn't. I was on the clock. But he was still good, almost made me cum, anyway."

Jake licked his lips and looked at the light above us. "Hot, wish I'd have been there." He winked at me.

Words wouldn't come. My whole body went rigid, cock expanding under my robe. I wanted both of them in different ways. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. First-time anal sex had yet to happen. Under my robe, my dick lifted the fabric above my thigh. I crossed my legs to hide it, pushing it through and behind my upper leg, then pressing my cross tighter.

"Do you, uh mind if, uh, I, uh, take a shower upstairs?" I asked.

"Please do, Mijo," Paolo answered.

They noticed when I repositioned my hard-on under my cloth belt, but said nothing.

In the shower, I kicked myself. Why couldn't I tell them what I wanted? What I knew they wanted, or at least something they would consider? The water ran from behind my neck, over back, chest, and stomach, a thin waterfall forming at the diminishing erection tip. Showers aroused me, a habit of jerking off during one, but not today.

From the shower, I popped the transparent door opened, trying to hold the surrounding heat, and guard from the cold, reaching for the neatly hung and followed towel draped over a cylindrical clear bar and supporting polished nickel brackets. The fabric was thick and absorbant, warm and satisfying. Over my back, I rung the towel taught, scrubbing dry the last drops, dick and sack swinging with the motion.

I wrapped the thick white cloth around my waist, a low rhythmic sound emanating from downstairs. Approaching the edge of the loft, I discerned breathing, groaning, and moaning. I felt a twinge between my legs again. Eyes closed, I grabbed a heavy breath, gently exhailing. It was now or never. I could leave them be or interrupt.

When I reached the door, I tucked my cock tight under the towel wrapping my hips; the heart beats stabbed my restricted dick with pain and desire. My chest and neck were tourniquet tight, I wheezed. The door was closed. I wrapped my fingers around the lever, pulled down, and pushed.

The hinges squeaked. The commotion inside ceased. I froze. My hand still clasping the lever. The door cracked about six inches.

"Mijo?" Paolo questioned. "You there?"

I parted my lips, but my larynx was stone.

A tug at the door pulled me forward. I tumbled to the carpeted floor, the tassels skidding under my knees. I twisted to the entrance. Jake stood at the opened door, his trimmed red pubes surrounding his wetted erection. My eyes wide, I spun to the bed. Paolo propped up on his elbows, knees bent, feet flat on the bed, looked at me.

"Everything alright?" Jake asked, bending over, reaching for my arm.

He pulled me to my feet, gazed locked on his well-proportioned, warm rose skinned, circumcised cock.

"I, uh, I, um, I was just, uh, I finished my, uh, um," my teeth chattered, my eyes large as though dangling over a precipice, desperate for rescue.

"Sorry if we disturbed you," Jake added.

"No, uh," I tried my voice soft and horse.

"You're welcome to stay, totally up to you," Jake said, clearing his throat. "You can stay and watch. No pressure."

Paolo pointed to a corner with two upholstered seats, and a small, round mahogany topped table.

I nodded and scurried to a seat, not looking at either of them, plopping down, affording an excellent view of Paolo's asshole, topped with his dangling balls, and a glimpse of his erection extending behind his bent leg. Paolo shot me a wink. "We like an audience, Bello."

My mouth went dry, chest continued to constrict my lungs. Jake walked over to the foot of the bed, bent his legs, and lined his erection with Paolo's pulsing pink bud and thrusted. Paolo dropped flat to the bed, head leaning backward, moaning. Jake latched both his husband's ankles and anchored the legs over his shoulders. The rhythm of Jake's hips showed this was a marathon. He licked the palm of his hand and gripped Paolo's rock hard shaft, pumping it as they fucked.

I tugged at my towel, loosening the pain. It wanted to be touched, stroked; it wanted to fuck. My will wavered, tugging the towel, my cock's tip peeking, half visible. With two fingers, I painted the slick saliva over my glands. It inched up further above the towel, exposing the full head and a sliver of shaft. The ends of the towel slid to my hips, exposing cock, balls, and legs, all at once. I studied the fucking dads. They hadn't noticed. With both hands, I worked my shaft, watching the two sexy older men fuck. Paolo whispered something. Jake spun his face to me. He grinned, then spun his face forward again.

Paolo twisted and reached toward the nightstand, opened a drawer and pulled out a half-full cylindrical domed bottle of crystal clear liquid, as well as a thick, eight-inch umber dildo, veins vining its surface. He drizzled a generous portion of the bottle's contents over the sizable piece, then clicked it closed, threw it to the side before wiping it evenly over the toy's shaft. Jake took both items, glazed his fingers with the viscous substance, and smearing it over Paolo's pulsing bud. With both hands, Jake held the dildo just above his junk and pressed on the hungry entrance. Sucking air through his teeth, Paolo took inch after inch, until the silicon balls mashed against his lower back. In and out, Jake escalated his speed, his wrist twisting the shaft in rhythm. Paolo took quick and shallow breaths, his moans reemerging, raising in pitch, wailing. Jake's arms and back flexed with each pump, the fucking faster and harder. For at least ten minutes, I watched in awe Jake torturing his partner with pleasure, forgetting my rigid shaft.

"You ok?" Jake asked, his face turned to me without the slightest change in his relentless rhythm.

"Uh, yeah, better than," I said, staring at the dildo.

"You can do more than watch," Jake added.

My cock bobbed in my lap. Jake snickered.

Without thinking, I stood, walking to the bedside. My mind entranced and aroused. Over the side of the bed, I leaned, licking Paolo's nipple. He shrieked, begging me for more. I rolled my tongue around his areola, sucking, licking, tickling with the end of my tongue.

"Bello," his said, his speech breathless.

I hoisted my head from his chest.

"Fuck me? Please?" he asked.

"You don't have to," Jake interjected, pumps slowing.

"I've, uh, never, I've never done that," I said.

"Well, most people won't be able to, uh, handle that, uh, handle you," Jake added with a smirk.

Paolo peered at me, his neck strained, "Please, please fuck me."

I pushed from the bed, and Jake made way for me, extracting the silicon cock.

"May I?" Jake asked, lube bottle in hand, opposite palm up, flat, fingers closed.

I nodded, not meeting his eyes.

He discharged a shallow pool in the bowl of his palm, then dumped the lube over the tip of my engorged member, spreading with several firm stokes.

"Fuckin' hell, Bret," Jake said. "That's enormous--I'm jealous."

He smiled at me when our eyes met.

Jake backed off to the chair I'd left covered with my towel, stroking as he sat.

I refocused on Paolo's muscular body and freshly stretched, hungry hole, aiming my cock.

He yelped, accepting the first inch. I pulled nearly out, my slit still inside. When I applied fresh force, advancing three inches. He breathed as if giving birth, groaning, teeth clenching. Paolo vised around my shaft, clenching his anus, The texture softer and more slippery than Stanley's throat. He was so warm, slick, and velvety. My body urged me deeper, Paolo's resistance weakening, his vocalizations more sensual, more yearning.

I pulled out an inch, then in three more inches, halfway now. Jets of pleasure shot through my rod, erupting in dense hot pricking in my groin. I constricted my arms around his upper legs, bicepts flexed, pulling, drilling deeper. Back one, in three more, Paolo yelped and whimpered.

You can do it, Papa, just a few more inches.

Retreating once again, with leveraging of his legs I pull and thrust with all my strength, the sides of my shaft meet Paolo's air-cooled cheeks.

"Oh, my god," I said, huffing.

"What?" Jake asked, concerned. "What happened?"

"I'm all the way in," I declared with astonishment.

Jake arrived at my side. Peeking over my shoulder, he gaped. "Wow--God damn. Babe, gold metal in taking cock. Fuck."

Our faces turned towards one another. He leaned in, pushing his lips against mine. I closed my eyes, our mouths opening, tongues dancing, his dripping dick dabbing against my hip, then humping me, his desire raging.

While our faces mashed, I fucked Paolo slowly. When Papa seemed aclamated, I backed out slow, only to thrust back hard and full, my lower pelvis slapping his ass. I retreated a third, slow--jamming hard in again. Paolo folded his knees backward, resting them on his upper chest. Jake withdrew, walking to his partner's side. Paolo spread his legs open. Jake took hold of Paolo's cock and effortlessly swallowed him deep, moaning, jerking his own. Paolo muttered unintelligibly under his breath, whimpered, eyes snapped shut, pushing on the thick-red-haired head. I pounded Paolo harder, pulling a full 7 inches out before drilling full mast.

The Italian man grew louder, "Fuck me, Mijo, fuck me hard!"

Sweat beaded on my face, shoulders, chest, and legs. A stream traveled from forehead to chin, frictional heat rising as I pumped faster. I grunted and growled louder, like an animal. Paolo looked down at the punishment his as was taking. He cried out, "Yes, God, fuck me, breed me. I need to feel you cum inside me!"

It made me so fucking hard to hear him beg, savoring my cock like no other had, perhaps like no other could. I wanted to give him all the pleasure my shaft could induce. merciless, violent, out of control thrusts ensued, my vision doubled, a separate consciousness taking the reins. A knot under my sack tightened, heart thudded in my ears. My flesh red, face blue, I punched deep into Paolo, injecting thick ropes of cum with each powerful pulsing surge. I moaned loudly, tilting my face to the ceiling.

Just as the pulsations ebbed, a fresh throb drummed against the top of my shaft. Paolo writhed and bucked, squealing. Jake moaned, swallowing and slurping, his cum launching onto the sheets.

Out of breath, I was heavy, struggling to stand. I withdrew my shaft with a pop and rolled onto my back beside Paolo on the bed. Jake followed. Papa leaned up and nursed the head of my cock for the last drops. He moaned, satisfied, completely expended, collapsing to his back again, resting a palm atop my half-hard shaft.

"Best fuck of my life," Paolo said thoughtfully.

We lay naked, drawing deep breaths, dicks glimmering, red, exhausted, satisfied.