Joining the Team
by Wrestlr
7. Berto and Charlie: Now, Late Summer
Berto didn’t remember much about the long hike. Must have been the heat—it fucked with a guy’s head sometimes.
Where had the summer gone? Seemed like practically yesterday Diego had come home after his semester ended, and now the whole summer was almost gone. Soon they’d have to leave for college. Diego and Curt were returning as juniors; Berto and Trace would be entering as freshmen. Berto couldn’t wait. He’d wanted to skip the camping trip entirely, wanted to go directly to college, get moved in, and hang out a while before classes started, but he supposed Diego was right: Wasn’t much point in hanging out on campus if no one else was there. He’d just have to be patient.
Diego and Curt did most of the planning; Berto and his friend Trace were happy to let them. Their brothers had scheduled the trip for just before they had to leave for college. One last week of spending time together, just the four of them; one last week of freedom before classes and classwork, team practices and meets, and of course what Berto was really wanting to experience: all the parties, social stuff, and sex that college had to offer.
They’d been coming to this spot in the mountains for a few years now. It was practically their special place. Berto didn’t remember much about the hike itself, but he didn’t need to; remembering wasn’t important. He’d started in a T-shirt, shorts, hiking boots, shouldering a backpack, and somewhere along the way he’d taken off his shirt—so had the other three. Diego and Curt had even stripped off their shorts and marched along in just their team underwear and their hikers, as if not caring whether anyone saw their asses hanging out of the backless briefs! Fortunately no one ever seemed to come this way and they hadn’t passed anyone else the whole hike—at least not the parts Berto could remember. The trek, alternating through the hot sun then the cool forest shadows, passed in a mental fog, like a dream or something. Yeah, must’ve been the heat.
And horny!—Berto was always so fucking horny these days. He hoped no one would see the boner he’d been packing in his shorts on and off the whole way. He knew he’d be able to—would need to—find some time to sneak away for some self-loving, once they set up camp. Yeah, a jack-off was required, or he’d go crazy! He just needed to keep his mind off how horny he was, at least for another hour or so.
Berto had also thought just the four of them would be on this trip, but when they reached their usual campsite, a tent already stood there, and Diego and Curt greeted the guy with smiles and slaps on the back, and they introduced him to Berto and Trace as Charlie, a senior now and captain of the team. Well, okay. Berto decided everything made sense: Of course Diego and Curt would have told their teammates about this spot, probably camped here with them before—teammates shared everything, right?—even special camping spots. And Charlie being here made sense too; this would be a good chance to get to know someone else on their team, since they’d be teammates really soon. A couple of months ago, Berto might have been jealous at sharing his brother-time with someone else, might have resented Charlie as an intruder, but his presence seemed natural. Already Charlie seemed to sort-of belong there with them, like a puzzle piece that was definitely part of the picture but just hadn’t quite been fitted into its place until now.
Aside from a necklace, Charlie wore only a pair of team underwear that matched his brother Diego’s—practically naked!—so Berto knew he must be an okay guy. But it was that necklace Berto noticed. It looked like that good-luck coin thing Diego had, only suspended on a cord so that it rested in the center of Charlie’s chest. Was having a good-luck piece like that a team thing too?
By the time they finished setting up their tents, securing their food, and getting the fire pit dug, Berto was almost cross-eyed with horniness. He’d been a lot hornier than usual all summer, and now his balls had worked him practically into a frenzy. Sneaking off for a jack-off release was even more urgent—he needed to stroke out a load soon, before his fucking testicles exploded like little cum-grenades!
Over the course of the summer, Berto had relaxed about quite a few things. He’d gotten used to being in his underwear or naked with Diego; and if Diego told him to strip down all the way, he did so right away, no longer bothered at all. And if he got a hard-on? Hard-ons were natural when a guy got naked, right? Natural, though they still embarrassed him a bit, and showing off a hard cock still seemed a little wrong. Diego’s torso, his ass—he had the kind of body Berto wanted, swimmer-tight but with a little more manly muscle, trim but not kid-skinny, and Diego never seemed to wear a shirt unless he had to.
Over the summer, Berto had started emulating that, and now he was shirtless just as often as Diego. Berto hadn’t thought much about guys sexually before this summer, but now he was fascinated by how sexy Diego and Curt were, Trace too. At first Berto had started having those weird almost-dreams, almost-memories of going to a quiet place in his head where the sexy turned sexual, but he thought those couldn’t be real, could they, just products of his overheated libido. Then came the day he was hanging out with Trace in that abandoned gas station, and of course Trace tried to talk Berto into jacking off with him. And this time Berto had surprised himself by saying okay. He needed to get off, and the horniness was overpowering, and his need for release overruled his shyness. Berto had been surprised by how hard he got when he stripped down all the way with Trace, like peeling off their clothes all those times in the locker rooms at swim practice but completely different since they were about to masturbate. And he was surprised by how, just as Berto was about to cum, Trace had pushed his hand away and gone down on Berto’s cock, swallowing the big thing with ease. And Berto was surprised by how agreeably he let Trace suck him, and how quickly he came, and how strong his orgasm had been—holy fuck, so very strong!
They never talked about what was happening to them, except after that first time.
“Have you sucked cock before?” Berto asked as Trace wiped some stray cum off his mouth, because Berto was thinking no way was that Trace’s first time—he’d sucked too damn good.
Trace shrugged. “Aside from swapping hand-jobs, I never tried anything like this with another guy until Curt blew me a week ago in our bedroom. Now it’s like I can’t get enough cock. I get horny every time I see Curt, like uncontrollably horny ... and, uh, I even let your brother Diego fuck me yesterday. It’s no big deal, right? Just a teammate thing, helping out our teammates.”
Trace and Curt?—And Diego too? A teammate thing? Berto couldn’t process all that immediately, but something seemed oddly right about what Trace had said. “I’ve been having weird dreams about doing shit with Diego,” Berto admitted quietly. “Sexual shit. I think I might have actually done some of those sexual things with him, too.“
“You think? You’re not sure? If you had, you’d know it, right?”
Berto shook his head. “I dunno. Sometimes the dreams are so vivid I can’t tell what’s a dream and what’s real life.”
Trace nodded. “It was the same with me, at first. Then I got so tired of just dreaming about it and decided to do it. And you know what?—Doin’ it for real’s real good, once you get used to it.”
And then they didn’t have to talk anymore because Trace dropped his knees, face level with Berto’s groin, and Trace opened his mouth and began to suck again, and after a nervous moment Berto relaxed and let him and came again.
After that day, Berto realized what a fearless horn-dog Trace was becoming for guy-on-guy stuff. Their daily jack-offs together always turned into Trace blowing him. And just a week later, they’d been in Trace’s bedroom, and Trace was blowing Berto, and Trace’s brother Curt walked in. Berto remembered starting to freak out, but Curt hadn’t said a word; he’d just grinned and pushed down his team underwear, and Trace had practically jumped on Curt’s hard-on and blown him while Berto stared. That was the day Berto tasted his first cock, something he’d had dreams about doing with Diego, but now there he was kneeling and sucking his buddy Trace while Trace blew Curt’s cock. Berto found he didn’t mind sucking—in fact he kind of liked reciprocating. Then he co-sucked Curt’s dick alongside Trace, and Trace and Curt tag-team sucked Berto’s. Yeah, he’d thought, teammates serving teammates felt so damn special-good!
How easily he took to sucking cock had Berto suspecting those dreams with Diego hadn’t been just dreams after all. And later that night, alone in their bedroom, when Diego told Berto to strip down, Berto did as he was told. They’d gotten erections, and Berto finally worked up the nerve to kneel and blow his brother—and Diego had let him! And done the same thing to him too! And they’d done it again the next morning and lots of times after that. Berto still felt weird every time, but he enjoyed the sex and being with Diego—and Trace and Curt—and Berto was feeling less weird every time. Trace was right; doing it really was fun, and a lot better than just dreaming about it. Berto wasn’t ready to go full horn-dog like Trace, but part of him had been hoping this week turned into nonstop sexual fun, teammates serving teammates, and another part of him had been fearing it, afraid of liking it too much, a point of no return.
But now how would their dynamic be altered by this new guy Charlie? Diego and Curt said he was captain of the swim team, and he’d stripped to his team underwear just like Diego and Curt, and even Trace who seemed to be eager to copy everything Curt did. So Charlie was probably cool. But Berto was always a little wary around people he didn’t know well. For now he was keeping his shorts on.
By the time they finished their setup work, they were slick with sweat and their torsos gleamed in the hot sun. That’s when somebody yelled, “Skinny-dipping time!” and they all ran to the creek about seventy meters through the forest from their clearing. Diego and Trace were stripping off their hiking boots and underwear as Charlie and Curt, already naked, were leaping into the water. Damn, Berto wished everyone had gone slower, so he could’ve gotten a better look at their bodies, but then he was too busy tugging off his own hikers, shorts and underwear. He needed to get into the water before anyone saw his half-wood. Maybe the water would give his dick a chance to calm down.
Berto jumped in on top of them. Charlie and Diego wrestled while Curt and Trace splashed them in the chest-deep, slow-moving stream. They looked so sexy with rivulets of water flowing down over their hard, muscular chests. Berto’s mind exploded with fantasies of wild guy-on-guy sex. Yikes! Where were these ideas coming from? And why did they seem so much like memories? He really needed to jack off. How could he manage to control himself?
They must have played around in the water, wet bodies sliding over each other like otters, for close to an hour. Almost the whole time, Berto’s rebellious cock kept trying to stay full-hard no matter how he thought of un-sexy things. By the time Diego hauled himself, gloriously naked, onto the shore and shook the water vigorously from his hair and torso like a dog, making his cock and balls swing back and forth, Berto had given up the fight and resigned himself that his cock was going to be granite-hard for a while. Fuck, he needed to stroke off a load! Maybe he could jack off under the water without anyone noticing? Or maybe he could pull Trace into the trees and get a slutty suck-job from him; hell, Berto might even reciprocate. Yeah, would definitely reciprocate.
Diego announced, “We better head back to camp, guys,” and everybody else replied with exaggerated disappointment: Awww ... Curt and Trace climbed out of the water too and went about finding their hiking boots and underwear. So much for taking Trace into the bushes for some relief. “You coming, Berto?” Diego asked him.
“Uh ...” No! No way Berto was getting out of the water with an erection! They’d all see and laugh. Seeing his hard-on during one-on-one sex stuff for relief was no big deal—teammates getting relief; but parading around bare-assed with a hard-on that everyone could see? No way! Too embarrassing. “Uh, I’m gonna swim a few more minutes. You go ahead. I’ll be there soon.”
Diego shook his head. “I don’t want you staying down here all alone.”
“I’ll stay with him,” a lazy drawl from beside Berto announced and—dammit!—he’d forgotten about Charlie. Well, so much for getting some privacy to jerk off alone. “If that’s okay,” the captain grinned, though Berto wasn’t sure whether Charlie was talking to him or to Diego.
Diego started with a frown. “But—”
“It’s fine. We won’t be long,” Charlie assured him, his voice firm, a quick splash of water in Diego’s general direction.
“Okay, fine,” huffed Diego, and he joined Curt and Trace in disappearing into the forest.
“Got yourself a hard-on, huh?” Charlie said, matter-of-factly, once he and Berto were alone.
Berto blushed, appalled. “Uh, yeah, kind of.”
Charlie snickered. “Figured. It’s okay. Happens to every guy. No big deal.” He swam toward the water’s edge. “Bet you were planning to jack off, weren’t you?”
Fuck, could he get any more humiliated? “Yeah,” Berto admitted.
Charlie strode out of the water, and Berto tried not to stare at his ass, his chest, the round disk pendant hanging in the center of it, his abs, his free-swinging cock that seemed a little more than soft. “There’ll be time for jacking-off later. But Diego’s right—come on—we should head back. I bet once we get to camp, everything’ll be under control. You’ll see.”
Berto sighed. Well, okay, nothing left to do but do this. He pushed himself toward the shore, letting the water fall away from him.
Charlie appraised Berto’s rod, not even trying to hide where he was looking, and the older swimmer nodded a brief approval. “Nice. With a dick like that, you’re gonna be real popular. It’s as big as your brother’s, am I right?“
What? “You’ve seen Diego hard?“
“Sure—we all have. Everybody on the swim team has seen everybody else hard-up. No big deal. That’s one of the Rules.
Okay, that made sense. Guys naked in locker rooms or showers always were at risk of an accidental boner, and hadn’t Diego said sometimes the team members jacked off together after practice? But Charlie’s tone seemed to imply more than just a quick, utilitarian jerk-job, especially when he added, “And I’m looking forward to seeing that big piece of yours in action.”
Whoa! Was that a come-on? Berto was mulling what that might mean when he realized something: “Assholes! They took my clothes!“
Charlie snickered. “So? They took mine too. You gonna be a baby and hide out in the woods all night? Or are you going to sack yourself up and follow me back to camp so we can show them they can’t buffalo us that easily?”
Sigh. Nothing to do but to do it.
The walk didn’t take long. Just short of the camp, though, Berto announced, “You go ahead. I gotta piss.” He sidled over to a tree just off the rail and aimed his half-hard cock.
“Dude”—Charlie shook his head—“you just got out of the water. Why didn’t you piss there?”
“No way. Too much like pissing in the pool. I’m not gonna do that! Uh ... Are you going to give me some privacy, or what?”
Charlie walked on. Ah, sweet privacy! Berto gave his cock a rub and it responded with rapid swelling. He started stroking, didn’t wait for it to get fully hard. One hand fist-pumped it hard and fast, just the way that always got him off the quickest. So fucking horny! His other hand scratched under his ball-sack, making his asshole twitch like an odd hunger. That did it. ”Ahh!” Berto croaked as quietly as he could, as he came and spurted his load at the tree trunk.
Just over a minute, probably, from start to finish. Quick but satisfying—took the edge off his horniness. Now maybe he could get through the evening his damn hormones driving him out of his mind.
He wiped his hand and cock-head clean with leaves; the rough texture felt weird on his sensitive post-cum glans, but no way was Berto showing up at camp with spunk dripping from his cock. He considered running back to the creek to clean off in the water—no, he’d already been gone too long. The last thing he needed was for those clothes-stealing assholes to decide he was lost and come looking for him. He’d much rather get teased about Remember when we stole your clothes and made you walk back naked than Remember that time you got lost and we had to come looking for you. They’d give him shit about it mercilessly for the rest of the trip!
About fifteen yards from the camp, everything clearly visibly, Berto froze and ducked behind a bush and tree combination that would hide him from their sight. Who the heck were these other guys?
In the camp up ahead from where he squatted, he could see an older, thirtyish man—was that Coach Thompson from the college swim team?—what was he doing here?—and another guy standing near him, and two other dudes about Berto’s age. Diego and Curt and Trace were there too, so they all seemed to know each other. But who were they, and what was going on? And what was that faint static in the air that made Berto’s cock and balls tingle again, as if he hadn’t just cum?
The thirtyish man was bare-chested; he wore a pair of those ass-less team briefs that Diego and Curt always wore; yeah, made sense if he was Coach Thompson. The two unknown younger guys stood near, talking distance; one of them wore just a pair of the backless team briefs, so he was a team member too, maybe, while the other wore shorts and hiking shoes. Diego and Curt, with Trace between them, were standing back, as if waiting their turn, but at what? Their backs were mostly toward Berto, so no way did they know he was spying on them. All three of them were naked and prick-proud—well, of course they were—and they didn’t seem embarrassed at all.
But the two unknown guys about Berto’s age seemed to be the focus. They stood in front of the thirtyish man and the other man—like one of the unknown young guys was presenting the other to them? The older man said something, and then the younger guy being presented said something, though Berto couldn’t make out the words. But the way the guy acted seemed off, swaying a bit, as if an unknown force was making him feel drunk or stoned. Somehow Berto could kind of feel it too, just a little from so far away, and the weird but familiar feeling seemed to be going directly to his cock and balls, making him horny as fuck, even though he had just squirted a load only a few minutes ago.
“See something you like?”
Berto jumped at the abrupt whisper behind him, so close to his ear. He wrenched his head to look over his shoulder, found Charlie crouched behind him, and he quiet-hissed, ”Dude! What the fuck!“
Charlie just grinned, toying with that good-luck disk pendant at his chest. “Sorry to spook you.” He nodded back to toward the camp. “Look what’s happening now.”
Berto looked back. “Who are those guys?”
“Well, that’s Coach Thompson. You know him, right?”
“Yeah.” Berto had met him very briefly, a couple of times, when he’d gone to attend some of Diego’s swim meets. Now that Charlie had said his name, who that man was seemed a lot more concrete.
“And the guy on the other side of him is Master Tom—”
Master Tom? Had Berto heard correctly? What kind of name was that? Why did it seem familiar, like a placeholder he’d been waiting to plug someone into?
“The guy taking his clothes off is Blake. He’s an incoming freshman—fresh meat for the swim team, like you. And that’s Eadric next to him; he’s a senior, been on the team a couple of years now.”
The young guy being presented, Blake, stopped talking and started stripping. What in hell? Berto thought as his jaw dropped open in surprise. Eadric slipped off his team underwear and slow-tossed them aside. He had an average-long, bobbing boner; Blake did too. Holy fuck! Eadric led Blake aside.
“I guess you can’t see it real well from way over here,” Charlie said.
“See what?”
Charlie didn’t elaborate.
And Diego and Curt looked proud as shit as they led Trace forward, to the place before Coach and Master Tom where Blake had stood moments before.
Charlie snickered. “According to Curt, your pal Trace is a real horny fucker, maybe even hornier than Diego and me put together, if that’s possible.” Then, “Hey,” Charlie said, quieter, and Berto felt Charlie’s hand pat his shoulder, felt—
A quiet, distracted feeling rolled through Berto. A bleary feeling, like that time he stayed up all night studying for his history exam and was too tired to stay all the way awake the next day. He felt far away from his body, and he felt his cock hardening. His head turned, sluggish on his neck, and he saw the pendant Charlie wore had begun to open, a soft green and white glow, motes of light rotating. Berto knew this feeling somehow.
“C’mon, stand up,” Charlie said. Another pat on Berto’s shoulder. “You don’t want to miss your friend being introduced to Master Tom, do you? Diego and Curt are gonna show us how good they’ve got him trained.”
Berto’s body drifted to his feet. Charlie’s arm around Berto’s shoulders guided him forward, toward the camp.
Charlie guided him past ... Eadric lay on his back on a sleeping bag near the extinguished fire pit. He held his lube-shiny cock pointed upward. Blake straddled and squatted over him, ass descending toward that erection, about impale himself.
Closer now, Berto could see it. Coach held something in his palm that glowed and moved like Charlie’s pendant-disk, only in motes of a different color, and he was saying something about rules to Trace as Berto was guided closer. Trace sounded super-stoned; he was answering Coach, something about “Serve th’ team ... Serve th’ artifacts ...”
“Good,” Coach said. “Are you ready to show me how well you serve the team?”
“Yuhsuhr.”
“Diego, Curt, show us how well you’ve trained him.”
Berto watched as his brother and Curt, grinning intently, pulled Trace to one side, pulled him down onto another sleeping bag. And over there, Blake was squatting himself up and down over Eadric’s crotch, fucking himself on the older swimmer’s dick. And back to Trace, who was leaning for Diego’s cock like he was about to suck it—
Charlie was guiding Berto forward, saying something: “—brother’s busy, so I’ll do the honors. Coach, Master Tom, this is Berto.”
“Hello, Berto.”
Berto steered his head forward. That thing in Coach’s hand in front of him, the one on Charlie’s chest behind him—Berto felt as though he was floating, drifting, suspended between them.
“I found him spying on us,” Charlie said from behind Berto. “He’d snuck away to jerk off.”
“Horny as your brother, huh?” Coach half-chuckled. “Do you know who I am?”
“Coasssh ...”
“Good. And this is Master Tom. You know that name, don’t you.”
“Yuh ...” Berto looked at the man, Master Tom, and something fit into that placeholder now.
“And I bet you know the Three Rules, don’t you. What are they?”
Berto thought about this. He knew the answer. How didn’t matter. He just knew. “I zehrve Massuh Tawm ...” His tongue was too thick and muddy to make the words right, but Coach and Master Tom didn’t seem to mind. “Sss-serve tha team ... I shurve art’facts ...”
“Very good, Berto. All right, Charlie—get him ready.”
Charlie led Berto to another unrolled sleeping bag, urged him down onto it. “Looks like I’m gonna get my wish about seeing your piece in action. You’re gonna love this. I’m the best on the team at suckin’ cock, no matter what Diego says.”
Berto felt Charlie lick his cock. Charlie’s cock was heading toward Berto’s mouth too. Sixty-nine? Had Berto ever done that? He was pretty sure he’d never—but somehow this act seemed familiar too. One of those dreams, maybe? Sure, he could do this.
Charlie was saying, “Trust me—the training locks in a lot stronger after we get you ready. Now show me how well Diego’s trained you to kiss a dick.” Then Charlie shut up as his mouth began to swallow Berto’s cock, and of course Berto opened his mouth as ordered to receive the head and first inch of Charlie’s—Berto had to show how well Diego had trained him.
Coach said. “That’s it. Serve the team.”
Some small part of Berto couldn’t believe that he was sucking a guy he barely knew, and so readily too, where everyone could see. The half-dreams, half-memories he had been having about Diego, Curt, and Trace—and the times he had stroked them, sucked them—those times were different. He knew those guys, and if he’d been having sex with them, that was because they were his friends. Serve the team. But he wasn’t on the college team, not yet anyway, not until he actually got to college—
“That’s it,” Coach said. “Serve your teammate. Help relieve his balls. Welcome to the team, boys.”
Welcome to ... So now he was—? Something else moved in his mind, his summer team and his college team starting to merge.
Berto caught sight of Trace around Charlie’s hip. Trace, on his hands and knees, was enthusiastically sucking on kneeling Diego’s cock while Curt licked Trace’s asshole, obviously preparing to fuck his brother’s butt. Trace grunted happily each time Diego’s cock and Curt’s tongue poked into him in unison. Then Berto felt Charlie’s finger probe his own ass, and he refocused all of his attention on the cock in his mouth.
“Good, good,” Coach was saying, from somewhere near and far away at the same time. “Breathe. Breathe deep. Slow down. Let everything happen at its own pace. Let everything slow down. Breathe deep. Let your teammates and the artifacts make you feel good. Don’t fight it. Let everything happen in its own time. Relax. Enjoy. Focus. No distractions. Focus on my voice. Focus on how you feel, how the artifacts make you feel. Let that feeling take control.”
Berto felt himself rolled over on his back. His legs were lifted high. His naked coach was settling between them, preparing to push his cock into Berto’s ass. Berto turned his head and Master Tom’s cock was right there, ready to be sucked, so Berto opened his mouth and started. Charlie knelt beside Berto, masturbating himself with one hand and Berto with the other, leisurely strokes, in no hurry.
“Relax.” Coach seemed to be talking to him and to all of them. Berto felt the man’s cock-head penetrate his sphincter, a jab of pressure and pain, and he gasped around Master Tom’s mouth-filling prick. “Breathe deep,” Coach instructed him, them. “Let the artifacts take you down in their own time. Let them take you down into a deep trance. It feels like being sleepy, like going to sleep, doesn’t it. And when you’re asleep, you’ll be so open to the artifacts, ready to be part of the team, ready to be trained, ready to let your training lock in deeper and tighter than ever. Don’t fight it. This is what you want, isn’t it. What you crave. You need it to happen. Need to be part of the team. Like going to sleep. Deep sleep. Deep trance. Almost ready. Almost asleep. Let it happen. Almost in a deep trance, ready to lock in your training.”
Something about this worried Berto. Sucking and fucking with Diego—Curt and Trace—his team. Just them. Not the college team members, not yet. But Coach had just said he was part of ... No, that placeholder wasn’t ready to be filled. Berto wasn’t fully ready for that last step, not yet. How should he break out of this effect and what he was feeling?
Coach fucked in rhythm as he spoke, punching little bursts of pleasure through Berto’s nervous system. “Cum when you’re ready. Sleep when you’re ready. Cum and sleep. Deep sleep. Deep trance. Cum.”
Berto heard someone nearby groan, and he swiveled his head. Blake was on his back, legs spread upright in the air, Eadric between them, fucking his ass. Blake groaned again, deep and guttural, eyes pressed shut. He was pawing at the sleeping bag underneath him with hands that seemed too clumsy to grip it, wasn’t touching his cock. Berto saw his dick bounce, then saw it ejaculate—two, three ropes of cum across his chest. “Nnn,” Blake moaned as his eyes closed and his body went still, seemed to relax profoundly.
That small part of Berto understood. Cumming would make them—him—relaxed and sleepy. Then they’d fall completely into the artifacts’ effect, and whatever Coach and Master Tom told them—whatever so-called training changes they wanted to make—Coach and Master Tom could make those changes, make them think, want, do, anything—make them into anything—
Berto tried to pull his mouth off Master Tom’s cock. He needed to warn Trace and Diego and Curt, tell them to stop fucking, to not cum, to not surrender, even though it felt so damn good—
But Master Tom’s strong grasp wouldn’t let go of his head, wouldn’t let Berto spit out his cock. Nearby, Berto heard Eadric’s voice, a gasp and a moan of pleasure as he climaxed, followed by a sigh.
Next to him, Charlie made a noise, and Berto felt droplets of body-hot sperm splatter across his stomach. Berto looked up. Charlie, eyes closed, swaying, looked like he was asleep where he knelt.
Trace groaned, which caught Berto’s attention. That insatiable little horn-dog, on his back like Berto, getting fucked by Curt and sucking Diego, moaned happily again. Curt was fisting Trace’s overheated cock. No, stop, Berto tried to warn them around the cock in his mouth, but what came out was “Nnn-mmph—“
“Part of the team,” Coach was saying, and Berto felt his placeholder getting closer to a match, his objection starting to fade.
“Cum when you’re ready,” Coach recited. “Sleep when you’re ready. Cum and sleep. Deep sleep. Deep trance. Cum for the team. Cum.”
Berto saw Trace tense and shiver. His buddy’s seed spurted up from his cock in Curt’s fist. As Berto watched, Trace shuddered and rode through his orgasm—and after a few moments of tension, Trace’s body slowly relaxed, sated for once, and his eyes went the rest of the way closed, so subtly Berto wasn’t sure Trace even realized he was falling into a deep sleep. Falling into a trance, just like Coach said. Becoming part of the team.
Berto tried to move his arms, but that damn effect from the artifacts had them too heavy, too loose. Diego and Curt were moving over, both grinning dopily, nudging Charlie and his spent cock aside, standing over Berto. Diego and Curt had one arm across each other’s shoulders, their other hands on their cocks, stroking, jacking off over him.
Watching them stroke their hard cocks—watching all of their naked bodies—watching them pleasure themselves—while the heavy pleasure filled him—while Coach fucked him—Coach’s cock was tagging something inside Berto now—felt great—and Master Tom’s cock in his mouth felt natural—
Part of the team—
“Proud of you, bro,” Diego murmured. Diego, the handsome brother Berto had come to idolize even more this summer, like he’d previously hero-worshipped his high school coach—Diego seemed so happy, seemed to enjoy this so much. And even that resisting part of Berto admitted he’d loved spending so much time with his handsome brother this summer, feeling so close to him, a new depth of closeness with him, and with Curt and Trace too. If Diego was happy like this, maybe—
Part of the team—
First Diego, then Curt started to squirt their loads down on him.
Cum for the team. This felt so good. Felt like sliding—sliding away from who he was, into who he would be. Felt so fucking good. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. He’d be a full part of the team anyway soon enough—with Diego—just like Diego. If Diego liked this, why was Berto fighting it? All he had to do was let it happen, let the team take care of him. It would be good—all of them together—all of them a team. Just like Diego had said. Just like Coach was saying between fuck-strokes. Whatever they would do to him, make him into, was for the team. They’d do it together. Diego—Coach—team—
Berto felt the placeholder click shut, his summer team and his college team were one now. Nothing mattered except the hard teammate cock in his mouth and the stiff teammate cock in his ass. Part of the team now—
Berto snapped back to what was happening to his body when Coach pushed a few hard and deep thrusts into his ass, a new angle, which shocked fresh bolts of pleasure through his butt. Coach dropped his head back, and a low sound escaped his throat as he pressed his cock in deep and came in Berto’s ass, came hard.
A burst of cum in Berto’s mouth—Master Tom’s. Instead of Coach’s silenced voice, now Master Tom was the one who droned, “Sleep when you’re ready. Deep trance when you’re ready. Don’t fight it. Feels so good. Sleep so deep. Let it happen. Want it to happen. Whenever you’re ready.”
Master Tom’s cock slid slowly from Berto’s mouth. Berto felt a hand wrap around his supercharged cock. Whose hand? Didn’t matter. He was serving the team; the team was serving him. Felt great. He was ready.
“Cum for us, Berto. Cum for the team.”
Berto’s body surrendered, and his orgasm broke out. A primal “Ahhh!” because everything felt so damn good! All of them a team. Berto felt himself soaring, soaring, flying through that masculine bliss that burned away every other care, soaring, cresting, then sliding back down into himself, down, one last deep breath, into heaviness, into the blankness of sleep.