The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Look at that, ladies and gentlemen. His muscular form is really slicing through water as he cruises into a comfortable lead. He’s just reached the end of his lane and bucked back the other way, into this final lap of the two-hundred-meter butterfly. If he keeps up this pace, he’ll win the gold, probably even set a new world record. This swimmer has made a career of pushing himself to excellence and going past the limits of human endurance. You can see the results in his straining muscles and his perfect ass. And here he comes to the finish ... Oh, my gosh, ladies and gentlemen!—Listen to those screams from everyone in the audience! They’re practically rioting in the bleachers. As expected, Adrian has just beaten the best swimmers in the world to win the Olympic gold and set a new world record today! We can see him lifting his arms in victory, grinning for the cameras. I’m going to try to get close, see if the great Adrian has a few words about his victory!

Adrian surfaced from his fantasy as he reached the end of his warm-up lap. The first college swim team practice of the year was about to start, and he knew he would soon impress the hell out of his new coach and the rest of the team.

He salmon-leaded from the pool, reached for his towel, feeling the satisfying glow of physical superiority that exertion always left in his shoulders and pectorals as he wiped the water from his face and chest. He ignored some of the team members who were gathering for practice and starting their stretching routines. They didn’t have his dedication. He was too good, he knew, for this college, but it was had a growing reputation, a good coaching staff, and it had offered the most scholarship money. Yeah, he was only an incoming freshman, new to the team, but college was just a formality on his way to the inevitable Olympic superstardom and the endorsement deals that would make him famous and wealthy. He wasn’t here for the usual college horseshit, didn’t care whether he was popular or his teammates liked him. Hell, he’d already turned down his coach’s offer of a week-long camping trip with some of his teammates-to-be. A week in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of also-rans and no pool in sight? No way!—Not in his game plan. He was here to win, no matter what, and his determination did not allow for distractions like having fun or bonding with a bunch of team-bros. He wasn’t state champ yet, let alone a contender for the Olympics, but this season he was sure he’d make a name for himself by winning every two-hundred-meter butterfly and four-hundred-meter relay he entered. Adrian saw himself as a team of one. This college was lucky to have him.

Adrian saw Coach Thompson. Buzz Thompson was making a name for himself in swimming circles. He had almost qualified as an Olympian himself. Of course, the finest athletes did not necessarily make good coaches. His greatness as a coach, of course, had yet to be proven, but Thompson’s early successes over the last few years reflected well on him. He would be a good steppingstone on Adrian’s path to the top echelon of competitive swimming and the Olympics.

Adrian went over to his new coach to shake his hand, say hello. Staying on the coach’s good side was important if Adrian wanted to get the best training, the best opportunities. Of course, Adrian would jum to a better coach, a better school, as soon he had the chance, but Coach Thompson didn’t need to know that. And when it happened, Thompson would have to admit whatever new stepping stone Adrian had lined up was too good to pass.

Aside from shaking his hand and saying hello, though, Adrian ignored the team captain at Thompson’s side, Charlie something-or-whatever. Who over the age of twelve still went by a name like Charlie anyway? And what was with the way the captain looked at him, like he was hungry for something Adrian had to offer? Adrian was used to women looking at him that way. But a man? As if! Fucking another swimmer, a man with a body almost exactly like Adrian’s own—wouldn’t that be too much like fucking himself? Ew!

The team was gathering, and Adrian introduced himself to most of them as a formality. After all, he’d need to know their names to complain to Coach about them later. He remembered a few of the returning members by reputation from when he’d done his research on the college—this one had potential as a freestyler, that one had done well last year on the medley-relay squad. The team had some good athletic ability. He was also aware they needed to improve in order to reach Adrian’s rarefied level of performance. But that was fine for Adrian; he might even step into the role of teacher or leader, help his teammates rise to excellence.

Adrian, being one of the new members of the team, understood that the others would be wary of him and his superior skills. He wished that the entire team would be worthy of his favor. He fantasized about how events might unfold in the years ahead. He and his teammates at international competitions. Colorful ribbons and shiny medals draped across bare chests as they stood on winners’ podiums. How they would talk to reporters and praise Adrian for seeing their potential, helping them actualize their skills, how fortunate they were to have met him, been guided by him. More ribbons, more medals. Adrian would garner most of the first-place prizes for himself of course, but competitions offered plenty of second- and third-place honors for his teammates to share. And every time they basked in a spotlight, they’d know they owed that success to him.

Yes, some of his new teammates might have potential. For example, that blond kid with the long legs and broad chest. Impressive physique. Another freshman, new to the team—What was his name?—Race?—Trace?—Something like that. The kid was standing with a swimmer who looked almost exactly like him, only a little older, more muscular, maybe a brother or cousin or something. From his physique, Adrian assessed, Trace might be a capable backstroke swimmer. Cute as hell—probably a sweet-talker used to getting his way with the ladies. Adrian caught the blond staring at him. When Adrian met the kid’s eyes, Trace did not look away, and in fact looked back with an expression that was difficult to read but might have been lust or a challenge. Was he trying to intimidate Adrian? The kid had good psych-out techniques.

The two assessed each other for only a moment. Adrian felt a tingle in his scrotum. He decided that, yes, the blond gave off an air of cutthroat competitiveness. Good, Adrian thought, in fact better than good; he could use the challenge to keep him on his toes, keep him from getting complacent.

Obviously, Adrian decided, he and Trace weren’t meant to be friends. If that kid was indeed any good, and if Coach Thompson was anything like Adrian’s previous coach back in high school, Thompson would likely work to pit the two of them against each other, in and out of the water, go to great lengths to make them challenge each other. Adrian decided he would like that very much—almost as much as he would like crushing the other swimmer.

Adrian wanted his future to be drenched in gold medals. He’d been studying the great Olympic swimmers. Already his butterfly was nearly competitive with theirs, and his freestyle speed had been the best on his high school team. Adrian wanted to see blond Trace in the pool, assess his skills. Would Trace’s specialty really be the backstroke, Adrian’s weakest? Or would it be a stroke where Adrian was strong? All the better if it was. Adrian could use the extra motivation. Sure, that would alienate many of his teammates, but Adrian knew from experience that in athletics he would gain a lot from an adversarial role. Just like back in high school, he would simply have to take his teammates’ inevitable resentment of his success in stride.

Well, all that would have to wait. Coach was calling the team members together and starting the expected welcome to the team, let’s have a great year pep-talk, probably filled with the usual clichés. Someone should call him out on his horseshit, for his own good.

Adrian stood at his locker fuming. Coach Thompson was an asshole!—a major asshole!

Halfway through practice, Coach had called the team together and gave them a speech about team spirit. He’d said, The secret to being a winner isn’t your strengths. Not matter what your role, no matter how good you are, when you’re emotionally and physically exhausted, the secret to being a winner is being able to some way, somehow, dig down deep inside yourself to find the energy to help the teammate next to you.

And Adrian had told him that was a load of bullcrap; being the winner absolutely was about being the best, being the strongest—and if the rest of the team couldn’t keep up, well, there was a reason why most swimmers never got to stand on the winner’s podium. He might have used the words losers and failures who just don’t know it yet, but so what?—It was true.

Coach had turned several shades of crimson; he’d told the team captain to oversee the rest of the drills, and then he’d hauled Adrian, a death-grip on the swimmer’s shoulder, into his tiny office and proceeded to berate him for the rest of practice about his “counterproductive opinions” and “bad attitude,” and how he had potential, might have been a big fish in the high school pond, but he’d need to show real improvement real fast to compete at the college level, and if Adrian didn’t change his attitude, Coach’d kick him off the team, which would mean the end of his scholarship, and there were a dozen other guys as talented as Adrian who’d love to take his place on the roster. Coach finished the lecture by saying he wanted Adrian to spend the next twenty-four hours carefully considering his place on the team—and Coach Thompson emphasized those words.

Adrian had left the dressing-down with his ears burning and a clear torpedoing of his status and prestige in the eyes of the team, all because Coach saw a bad attitude where Adrian saw the truth. No, maybe Coach and the team had needed that dose of reality Adrian had given them, but Coach’s lecture was definitely not the way Adrian expected his first day of practice to go. He’d fucked up, moved too fast, should have let them come to see his superiority first, then spoken out.

Adrian stood in front of his locker, fidgeting and re-fidgeting with stuff in his gym bag and basically stalling. His plan was to ignore everyone, not even acknowledge them, just wait until the others had showered and left before he stripped, showered, and changed into his street clothes. Obviously the whole team had overheard Coach Thompson chewing Adrian’s ass and handing it back to him, and some of them kept glancing his way with a strange mix of expressions. Fuck ’em all!—Adrian didn’t need their pity! And what was with all the returning swimmers wearing those weird blue briefs with no backs that left their butts on display? Teams usually wore matching jerseys or all shaved their heads as a sign of solidarity. But wearing ass-less underwear?—That was just weird and sad. Having their butt cheeks hanging out made them look like a bunch of queer man-sluts or something. No way would he ever wear something that dumb!

He wondered whether he should cut his losses and transfer schools; too late to do it this semester and get a place on a swim team, so that would mean he’d lose a year. Losing a year was also definitely not in his plan! He’d just have to tough it out this year, and if Coach Thompson kept being an asshole, Adrian could make some inquiries and transfer to another, better team next fall.

“Coach is pissed.”

Adrian turned around to see the team captain, wearing jeans, his T-shirt draped over one bare shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. The captain—what the fuck was his name again?—studied him angrily.

Adrian said, “I—”

“Shut it. That mouth of yours already got you in a world of hurt. You need to keep your mouth shut and your head down ’til this blows over. Got it? First day of practice? What the fuck? Did you piss off your previous coaches like that?“

Adrian shook his head. His previous coaches always seemed to know a team always had a star and that star was him. Sure, his past coaches had talked about team-this and team-that, but they never seemed to mean it. Except for relays, swimming was an individual sport, right? Apparently Coach Thompson had a different perspective, and Adrian had sure messed up by not picking up on that.

“Coach is pissed off, and he almost never gets pissed off.“

“I didn’t mean to ...,” Adrian tried to explain, barely able to look at the captain, and he read something unspoken in the older swimmer’s man’s scowl and shut his mouth.

“You planning to skip out on the team party tonight too?”

He’d already decided not to go. Hang out with a bunch of second-rate jocks?—No way. And now, hang out with a pissed-off coach and a bunch of jocks who heard him get lectured at for nearly an hour?—Oh, hell, no. He didn’t need their pity. “I, uh, don’t think I’d be too welcome—“

“You are not going to skip. You already skipped out on our camping trip and made me look like a fool—“

“Like I said, something came up—”

“—And you don’t got any excuses this time. We call it a party, but it’s more like an initiation for all you new guys. Until Coach says otherwise or until you quit, you’re part of this team, whether you like it or not. That means you’re going to be there for the team initiation. You’re gonna drop the superiority attitude, have a good time, and make nice-nice to anyone who wants to have anything to do with you. Coach asked me to keep an eye on you; he trusts my judgment, and if I decide you’re not team material, then he’s gonna kick you outta here. Whether you’re on the team come Monday depends on what happens tonight. Understand? So let me ask you again: Are you planning to skip out on the team party?”

An initiation? Off the team come Monday if he failed? He’d miss the entire season! Losing a year of swimming was not in Adrian’s plan. Maybe he should act apologetic, at least until this blew over and the rest of the team got a chance to recognize his skill in the water. Coach wouldn’t be pissed once Adrian started bringing in the wins—definitely not pissed then. But the first meet was weeks away. Maybe for now—

Adrian made a show of hanging his head, miming remorse and capitulation, and muttered, “I’ll be there.”

Charlie leaned in. “And this is the most important part: You’re gonna do exactly what I say, right? If I tell you to shut the fuck up, you immediately shut your mouth and don’t say another word. If I say you need a time out, you immediately go take a walk around the block or something ’til things cool off. You will do anything I say, understand?“

Adrian gulped. Off the team ... Losing a year .... “Okay. Sure. Anything you say, Chad.”

“It’s Charlie, numb-nuts. Get it right.“

“Sorry. Anything you say, Charlie.”

“Go get showered and dressed,” the captain ordered quietly. “I’ll have one of the guys meet you out front and take you over to the party.”

Adrian decided to throw a little more remorse into his voice. “Okay.”

Charlie seemed satisfied. He nodded and turned for the door.

Alone in the locker room now, Adrian stripped off his swimsuit. His genitals tumbled free, and he scratched at his balls. “Fucking asshole coach! Fucking captain!” Adrian whispered, and then he sucked in a deep breath, snatched up his towel, and marched toward the showers, still fumbling his potent testicles.

He scrubbed carefully, thoroughly, washing away every trace of pool chlorine, and he smiled contentedly at the warm, virile sensations swirling inside him.

He dried his muscle-hard body with pleased sureness, and he was still smiling to himself as he walked back to his locker. The shower helped clear his head; he felt more like himself again, confident and cocky. Yeah, he had a plan now: he’d just sneak off, ditch the party, and on Monday he’d apologize and say he didn’t feel well or something. Heh. That asshole Charlie and his tries at intimidation!—What an amateur!—Almost as big as asshole as the coach. No way would they really kick him off the team; they were just trying to spook him. Yeah, Adrian would act all repentant, keep up the act until the meets started. After that, his wins would prove he was right.

He dressed in a retro T-shirt, jeans by a designer most of the yokels here probably never heard of, and trainers that likely cost more than Coach—that asshole!—made in a week. He packed his gear and, calm and sure of himself again, he sauntered to out of the locker room. Out front was that way, and the side door was this way. Adrian smirked—those fucking amateurs!—and headed out the door to the side parking lot.

A young man came out of the shadows: dark-haired, swimmer-built, casually dressed, and he seemed to take for granted that Adrian would be there.

Well, fuck! Adrian felt his bravado deflate a little. Time to get his repentant mask back on.

“I’m Diego, in case you forgot,” the swimmer announced with a grin, then nodded toward the darkness. “Charlie said to bring you out to the place. The car’s over here.”

“The place?”

“Where the party’s happening. We got a place just outside town. A lot of the team lives there.”

“Okay, Diego.”

They walked side-by-side across the parking lot, and Adrian settled into the small car as Diego got into the driver seat.

“You’re clear to stay overnight, right, Adrian? No one’s gonna be waiting up for you or ticked off if you don’t come home tonight?”

Stay overnight? The captain hadn’t mentioned that. “If Charlie wants me to,” Adrian conceded quietly. “He’s the boss.”

“He’s the boss, all right.”

Diego seemed to be believing his act. Adrian stared blindly into the night as they drove from the parking lot. He had no idea where they were going or what was in store for him. But tonight, he’d have to play along, do what Charlie said. Adrian would fool them all.

In silence, they sped through the darkness, not far but near the edge of town, and then they were pulling to a stop in front of a large, isolated building. Adrian had expected a house, since Diego said a lot of the swimmers lived there, but this looked more like a small warehouse or windowless commercial building. Automatically, Adrian got out of the car and followed Diego inside.

They entered a large, dull-lit room, a bank of gym lockers against one wall, wooden benches placed carelessly. This was a home? It sure looked more like a locker room. Half a dozen young men from the swim team stood in the shadows, quietly talking and joking. Most of them had stripped off their shirts, and many had stripped all the way down to their weird underwear. They seemed to be waiting for something. This didn’t look like a party or an initiation. What the hell?

Charlie came sauntering from the group. He wore a pair of dark jeans that seemed to emphasize his rugged, masculine frame, shirtless, a small pendant in the center of his chest. His deep-set gaze met Adrian’s. “Tried to sneak out, huh?” he said coolly. “Don’t try denying it. I had somebody waiting out front and Diego here had the side door. Since he’s the one who brought you, that tells me you tried to sneak out the side way. That’s a second strike against you. You can’t afford one more.”

Adrian considered denying everything. He could say he was new; the gym layout was still unfamiliar; he just found the wrong door was all. But Charlie had been a step ahead of him, would know he was lying. So: “Okay,” Adrian acknowledged.

“At least you didn’t make me come get you.” Then Charlie’s tone went firm, inviting no disobedience. “Pick yourself a locker and strip down to your underwear.”

Obediently, Adrian chose an open locker and began to undress slowly. He was aware that some of the other men were ignoring him, and some were looking him over with casual interest, but he concentrated on himself the way he did before a swim meet.

When he was down to his briefs—gold-striped designer briefs, not those silly butt-baring team underwear—he closed his eyes for a moment, steeled himself for his performance.

“C’mon, Adrian; it’s time to get started.”

Adrian opened his eyes and turned. The other swimmers in the shadows watched silently, and Charlie had stripped to his briefs.

“Coach and Master Tom are busy with some of the other new guys for now, so I’ll be handling your initiation.”

“Okay,” Adrian mumbled. “Anything you say, Charlie.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Charlie practically purred. He fingered his round pendant. “And I’ll be hearin’ you say that a lot after—”

Adrian cracked his eyes, tried to lift his head. His gaze wouldn’t focus. He knew he was awake only because of the light—everything seemed a blur of vague lights. He felt dizzy, disoriented, as though the world was spinning one direction and his head was spinning the other. His attempt at What happened came out slurred: “Wuuh’nnd ...“

A voice nearby began, “He’s coming around. Go get ...,” and then everything faded away again.

Someone tilted his head, patted his cheek. Adrian tried to open his eyes, but nothing seemed to work. Words drifted through his ears: “Hey, guy, you with us? Wakey-wakey.” More cheek-slapping, firmer this time.

This time Adrian managed to open his eyes. The lights became shapes, a face. Charlie, smiling, right in front of him. Two other members of the swim team beyond him, all of them in those backless briefs. One of the guys farther back held something, a tray.

Charlie’s face grinned, drifted closer. “Easy there, asshole. You D.F.O.’ed on us.”

“Whuh?”

“Done Fell Out. Some guys, their first couple of times, the artifacts hit ’em so hard they don’t go into a trance—they just pass out and drop where they stand. Especially when it’s the red one that opens up. We say ‘he Done Fell Out’ when that happens.”

Adrian was ... sitting? Yes, sitting. In a chair. In a room. Brighter light than the dimness he’d seen when he walked into the party. Concrete floors. Bare walls. He tried to move his hands but they seemed somehow ... fused together?

“Take it easy. You been D.F.O.’ed a couple hours. Was starting to think you’d be out all night. Nothing to be ashamed of. Happened to me too—I D.F.O’ed my first time too, made a real mess of myself too. Happened a few times ’til I got used to the effect. You’ll get used to it, eventually, and then you won’t D.F.O. as much.”

Adrian frowned. He tried to move his hand, but both hands still seemed together somehow. His eyes and brain were starting to decipher what he saw. His arms were crossed at the wrists, zip-tied together. “Tha fuhk ...?” Trying to pull his hands apart made his uni-arm swing in front of him.

“Shh. I said, take it easy.” Charlie’s voice was firm. His hand on Adrian’s wrists pushed them down into his lap, stilled them there. “For your own good—sometimes guys flail around some when a D.F.O. wears off.”

Adrian let his hands remain there, limp. In fact, his whole body felt so weird, relaxed and heavy, and he distrusted his limbs’ ability to move. “Drugg’d meee,” Adrian moaned.

“Nope. No drugs. Just the artifacts, like I said.” He looked over his shoulder. “You got them, Diego?”

“Yeah,” someone said. Adrian recognized the voice but it sounded strange, thicker than he remembered the other swimmer talking in the parking lot. “Got ... live one already ... too ...”

“Good. Okay, asshole, since you’re no good to us knocked completely out, we’re gonna introduce you to the artifacts a little gentler this time. A little bit at a time. Diego, bring ’em closer.”

Adrian felt—

Dizzy again. Disoriented. Horny. Everything seemed to be happening from some blurry, faraway place. Head rolling. “Huur ...,” from his throat.

Charlie’s face blurred, and his voice was thicker too, as if whatever-this-was affected him too. “We’re Losing him ... Back up some ... Diego ... Yeah ... Better ... Still with us ... Adr’an? Yeah ...?”

Adrian felt as if the world was spinning and he was floating, falling, though it. Some weird sensation was washing over him, and his body felt heavy and limp. He couldn’t move, couldn’t keep his head up. He’d never felt this heavy before, not even at his most exhausted. Every part of his body was too limp to move—except for his hard cock, which he could feel stretching the front of his briefs. He had a momentary flicker—Everyone can see—before the thought slowly spun away. Heavy and horny, and he couldn’t do anything about either condition.

“Yeah,” Charlie said again, “looks like ... somebody likes it ...” Adrian felt a fingertip run across the front of his briefs, tracing the length of his cock through the fabric, too intimate a touch. He wanted to knock the finger away but couldn’t make his hands move. “Don’t worry yourself ... kid. When the artifacts start their dance ... every guy in range gets an erection ... even me and the others.” Back and forth ran the finger, base to tip to base.

“Ready to get started? Bring ’em ... a little closer, Diego ...”

Adrian tried to wake up, but couldn’t, and slipped back into a space that wasn’t quite sleep.

He tried again, got an eye open, felt the world returning. Managed to keep his eyes open, and sat up. A narrow bed. No windows—the overhead light was on.

The world still spun. His head felt like everything in it had been disconnected, scrambled, then reconnected. What the hell happened?

The zip-ties that had secured his wrists were gone. His designer briefs were gone too, and now he wore a pair of those blue butt-less numbers the other swimmers had been wearing. Team underwear something in the back of his mind called them. He tried to stand. The world was slowing, righting itself. Good. Was there a bathroom? There? Good. He managed to steady himself enough to stagger into the adjoining bathroom. He pushed down his team briefs. He dared not try to piss while standing up, now when he was this dizzy, so he sat on the toilet to empty his bladder.

Afterward, he staggered to the bedroom door, deciphered the task of making his clumsy hand grip and turn the knob. A hallway. No windows—was this a basement? Indistinct people sounds—upstairs? If this was a basement, then upstairs meant an exit. He headed toward where he thought stairs might be.

A hand from behind on his shoulder. He was turned to face the two blond swimmers—brothers, he remembered—Carl—no, Curt—and Tracy—Trace—grinning at him, saying something like, “There you are. C’mon, the party’s upstairs.“

Adrian found himself half-guided, half-hauled the opposite direction, then to a flight of stairs that proved impossible for his inept legs and, with Adrian’s arm thrown around his shoulders, the older brother-swimmer Curt practically carried him up them. Which should have been humiliating, except Adrian felt mostly confusion instead.

Around, Adrian saw—Holy crap!—his teammates, most of them naked in the dim light and shadows, a few in briefs, most of them sucking or getting sucked, a few fucking or getting fucked. The sounds he had heard from downstairs were the animal noises of men having sex together—a lot of men!—maybe the whole team!

Adrian was deposited in front of Charlie, and Adrian staggered a little until he found his balance. Already he felt a little steadier.

The naked team captain was sprawled in a large chair, one leg draped over a chair arm, the other stretched out in front of it, and between the captain’s thighs knelt a swimmer who was bent over Charlie’s crotch, sucking enthusiastically.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. About time you joined us,” Charlie said, patting the head of his sucker and saying, “Cool it a while,” and once the sucker pulled off his cock, Charlie unsprawled and sat up and grinned big at Adrian. “How ya feeling?”

“I ...dunno?"—which was the truth. “Better?"—which was a guess.

Charlie nodded. “Me and your mind had a real long talk, and we made some changes. You don’t remember any of that, I bet, but those changes went in extra-deep because you were D.F.O.’ed. Then you had a real strong orgasm, thanks to the artifacts. You probably don’t remember that either, but you’ll be feeling the afterglow for a good long while.”

Adrian thought about this. Yes, part of what he’d first interpreted as dizziness had something else mixed in, the way he felt sometimes in the minutes after a really good climax, but this was stronger, and the pleasant post-cum lethargy showed no signs of fading yet.

“Your head will feel a little funny ’til the changes finish sinking in. That’s normal—Just go with it.”

“Changes ...?” Adrian echoed.

“Yep. We’re gonna rein you in some, keep an eye on you, make sure the changes start becoming permanent.” Charlie leaned forward. “You had an apartment off-campus, right?”

Of course he did. How could a star like Adrian be expected to stay in a lowly dorm with the riffraff students? He did not need a roommate “borrowing” his expensive clothes—and he did not need a former dormmate someday writing a tell-all book after Adrian became famous. He nodded yes.

Charlie grinned wider. “You had an apartment. A couple of the guys are over there right now, packing up yourr shit, bringing it all back here. Most of it’ll go into storage, unless it’s stuff we decide you’ll really need. You’ll be moving into my room here, so I can train you as often as possible, keep a close eye on your progress. In order to prove you’re part of this team, you’re gonna do anything I say from now on, got it? Say it back to me.“

Adrian thought about this. He knew he should be angry—no one touched his stuff without permission or made decisions for him—but instead he felt a vague acceptance. Charlie, the team, they were just doing what was right for him. Hadn’t his humility and remorse been an act before? Now somehow he felt genuinely remorseful, to the core of his being; he had been such a dick to his Coach, his teammates. He needed to show his penance, needed to stay on the team—needed—needed what? Needed to their guidance. He needed to agree. “Okay. Anything you say, Charlie.”

“Made some changes to your class schedule too. Now you’ll be taking the same classes as Trace—”

The younger blond appeared at Adrian’s shoulder, grinned and nodded at him.

“—And Berto.”

A dark-haired Latino stud stood on the other side of Adrian.

“They’re gonna be your new bestest friends—after me, that is—and they’ll be with you all the time. If you’re not with me or with the team, you’ll be with them. They’re taking freshman survey courses too, and now you’re in the same classes they are. If you need to go to the library—if you need to hit the restroom—whatever—you’ll have them with you. Got that?”

Adrian considered this. Part of him already knew it, seemed to have already accepted this situation as a fact. He nodded. “Anything you say, Charlie.”

“And now the most important change. You’re not going to be jacking off solo, are you?”

Adrian thought a moment, then shook his head no.

“From now on, the team owns your cock and your ass and your mouth. We own your orgasms. Any time you get horny, you’re gonna come find me and ask for what you want—whether it’s a hand-job, a blow-job, or a butt-fuck. And if I’m not around, you’ll ask your new best friends”—he gestured at Trace and Berto—“or Master Tom, or Coach, or someone else on the team, in that order. Got it?”

“Anything you say.”

“Damn right. Now comes my favorite part—I wanna test how well your new obedience changes took.” Charlie lifted his meat-rod, which hadn’t softened. “You ever sucked a dick?”

“No.”

“Then you’re gonna learn by sucking mine. On your knees and get to it.”

Adrian hesitated, staring at the naked, hard-cocked swimmer; and then the men on other side of him, Trace and Berto, both had a hand on his shoulders, urging him downward. He should shout Hell, no!—and march off and report this whole team to some college disciplinary board or other. He should have ... He should ...

He should do what he was told.

Adrian found himself not fighting back, sinking to his knees, unable to shift his gaze away from Charlie’s very male erection.

The captain’s long, thick-shafted prick hovered above his spread thighs, the base hidden in the mass of trimmed pubic hair at his groin, the amber cock-head bulging from a heavy roll of skin at the collar, and his large, free-hanging testicles hung tight and round under the powerful column. Hands grasped Adrian’s head, and he closed his eyes and let himself be directed toward the offered organ. This close, it seemed huge to him, though he realized Charlie’s cock wasn’t that much larger than most men’s, or Adrian’s own. The musky male scent and faint chlorine smell filled his nostrils, and then his face was being pressed against the warm, bared flesh. An unexpected shiver of excitement surged through him, and he let his lips trace the massive size of the erection. Strong hands held him in place but he wasn’t fighting them, and the marble-slick smoothness of the prick-head eased into his mouth.

He swallowed the unfamiliar taste of masculinity, and a numbed warmth of willingness wrapped about him. He felt Charlie patiently, almost gently, feed stiff meat into his mouth, inch by inch. “Take it easy,” Charlie said. “Get used to it. You’ll be spending a lot of time with this thing in your mouth or up your ass, so make friends with it nice and easy.” Adrian shivered again, both with fear and want. He wanted to spit the cock out, and also wanted to swallow it deeper. Physically he struggled to accept the invader without gagging, and finally he had half of it in his mouth—must have been at least half—but, threatening to gag, he could take no more.

Charlie got to his feet, locking the kneeling Adrian between his muscled thighs and holding him face-to-crotch, and he thrust his hips forward, jabbing the tip of his ram a bit deeper into the man’s throat. For a long moment, neither swimmer moved, and then Adrian choked violently, pushed back off Charlie’s cock entirely, retching, trying not to vomit. With a grunt, Charlie eased back.

Gulping for breath, Adrian fumbled to the floor and opened his eyes, gazing up at the powerfully built athlete standing over him, and he thought about how he felt, how right the words Anything you say felt. He was no virgin but he didn’t have a lot of experience, and none with men—he’d never had time for a girlfriend and he’d never done anything with a guy before either, but now he needed to learn. Adrian’s own cock throbbed stiffly in his team underwear. He righted himself onto his knees again, focused his eyes to Charlie’s heavy hard-on, and he leaned in again toward it.

Charlie pushed Adrian’s head away, said quietly, “Not so fast. Your teeth are gonna scrape me raw. We’d better show you how to suck cock. Trace, give him a lesson.”

“Hell, yeah!” Trace agreed from beside him.

Berto and Charlie hauled Adrian to his feet; they didn’t have to hold him—their presence was enough. Trace moved closer, blond and naked and grinning, wide shoulders and sleek chest tapering to slim hips, his blood-hot prick erect. Without hesitation, Trace went to his knees, peeled Adrian’s briefs down to mid-thigh, gripped the freed rigid dick. “Pay attention,” Charlie said as Trace nuzzled Adrian’s cock with his lips.

Numb, Adrian watched his own arrow-headed crown disappear into the swimmer’s mouth and felt the hot, wet tongue move around it, and he tensed as the taunting lip and mouth pressure engulfed more and more of his column. Trace took the full-swollen iron with slow sureness and began suctioning skillfully, and suddenly Adrian was filled with sex-hot sensations that swirled through his body and made thinking difficult. He squirmed and writhed, held in place by the two men beside him, Berto and Charlie, and he felt Trace’s hands stroke the sensitive linings of his thighs and caress his churning balls and probe the hardened flesh-ridge leading back between his legs toward his ass.

Adrian groaned with the fast-rising pleasure, and Trace’s tongue was doing amazing things. Then—too much!—too soon!—as the climactic eruption ripped through him, Adrian threw his head back and called out hoarsely, ”Ah!” Adrian soared into a raging orgasm, his cum pouring out in a searing flow. “Ahhh!”

Adrian was lost in his erotic satisfaction, and almost lazily, he floated back to reality, his cock still in Trace’s mouth, his body still secured between Berto and Charlie, his breath a sigh of satisfied exhaustion.

Trace licked Adrian’s sensitive, still-hard ram clean and released it, looking up with a broad smile. “Charlie, we got us the makings of a real stud!”

“Dammit, Trace, you weren’t supposed to make him cum so quick, but done is done. Trade places,” Charlie ordered quietly.

Naked Trace stood up, muscular and cock-hard, and Adrian dropped to his knees automatically. He stared at the rigid male-column thrust toward him, and then, as if in a dream, he bent forward and lapped Trace’s rod into his mouth.

He knew Charlie was watching, and he tried to copy everything Trace had done.

He was only vaguely aware of the size and taste of the blond swimmer’s throbbing prick. It was slightly shorter than Charlie’s, and Adrian managed it easier. Once he had the whole thing in his mouth, he suctioned from tip to base almost hungrily, felt it hammer into his throat, quiver steel-hard. Up and down, he went, tip to base to tip. How long would he have to keep repeating this? As long as necessary.

Just as his burning jaw was beginning to become too painful he heard Trace make a sound, and he felt the first lightning bolt of Trace’s nut-juice strike in his mouth, a strange taste, thick cum spurting. Success! He’d done it!—Made Trace cum! Adrian swallowed the gushing sperm and held the pulsing rod. “Not bad,” Trace judged, “but he definitely needs more practice.” Then Trace was pulling away; another man took his place.

Silently, as if completing a ritual, five or six of his new teammates took a turn. Though his jaw ached, Adrian accepted the demanding studs, even Berto’s large-sized rod though he had to struggle with it. Adrian remembered everything he did that made them moan or caress his head, but otherwise his mind felt strangely blank, obeying Charlie’s orders. Anything you say ...

And then: Charlie himself!

The naked swim captain stood over him, feet spread, hands on hips, his massive cock full-swollen and angled toward Adrian. The huge shaft was etched with taut veins, and the mallet-shaped head gleamed, a droplet of clear liquid leaking at the tip.

Strangely pleased that he was the cause of Charlie’s open, hard-cocked excitement, Adrian bent forward to the meat-rod, pressing his lips to the crown, and licked it with tongue flicks as his fingertips tease-caressed the shaft.

Charlie’s hand dropped onto Adrian’s head, patting him as if he were a puppy. Adrian sucked the big cock into his mouth, nursing it all the way into his throat. He pressured gently and began suctioning. Anything you say ... He was part of the team, submitting to his team captain willingly.

Working steadily, Adrian ran his palms upward over Charlie’s swimming-shaved thighs, into his crotch, fingered his large, tightened balls, stroked his muscle-taut belly, felt the masculine body respond.

“Much better. You’re learning.”

Adrian felt himself flush at the praise.

He continued to suck, found a rhythm. Suddenly, Charlie’s hand on Adrian’s head became a grip. “Get ready.” And Charlie creamed, holding Adrian’s head in place as the captain pushed his convulsing prick hilt-deep in new swimmer’s mouth and throat, holding it there, his cum pouring out in powerful spurts. Adrian struggled to swallow every drop of the flow and finally came off the cock to gulp helplessly for air, feeling the final spurt strike his lip and cheek. As the last of the captain’s cum dribbled out, Adrian wrapped his arms about Charlie’s thighs, clinging to him, needing ... what? Needing something he couldn’t name.

It ended, and he continued to hold onto the relaxing man’s body in the silence that followed. Then Charlie patted him on the head and eased free of Adrian’s grip. “Yeah, you’re learning. Keep that up and you’ll be a great part of the team, once we’re done training you.”

Adrian stayed on his knees and, as he looked down at his own cock hanging hard and ignored over the top of the briefs that Trace had only pulled down a little way. Adrian couldn’t help smiling at the glistening hard-on rising from his crotch. He needed to cum—Charlie said he must ask for what he—

“Get him ready for the others. But no artifacts—no one does that to him tonight but me, and I want him awake and not D.F.O.—ing on us,” Charlie ordered. “Put the bitch chains on him. I’m making him our designated bitch for the night.”

His new best friends closed in on Adrian, and he let them strip his briefs the rest of the way off, let them haul him to a shadowed back wall, and clamp thick metal slave-cuffs on his wrists and ankles, cuffs attached heavy chains. Adrian didn’t resist. They kept him standing upright and forced him to spread his legs and they hooked the ankle chains to floor bolts, and then overhead ropes were snagged to the wrist chains. In silence, they tightened the ropes, stretching him spread-eagle, and then they moved out of sight.

Adrian tensed his muscles and tested the bindings futilely, then relaxed. Knowing he couldn’t escape, knowing the inevitable, brought a kind of peace. His team was here, all around him. Instead of shame, he felt an odd sense of safety, security. He was held there, naked and helpless, and he waited with trusting calmness for whatever Charlie had in store for him.

At last, young men surrounding him silently, not Charlie or his best friends, but other swim team members. Their hands ran over his fully exposed body lazily, then more hungrily, and he felt a taunting, sexual yearning stir in him. He heard their excited breathing, and they squirmed against him, stiffening cocks pressing against his bared skin. He’d been around hundreds of men in swimsuits or underwear or naked, and they’d never aroused him. Now he couldn’t imagine feeling anything other than horny excitement and a need to cum—and soon!

He stifled a groan of frustration as his own prick returned to throbbing hardness, and then he felt Charlie behind him. He couldn’t see back there but he knew the man was Charlie, already knew the powerful arms embracing him. He felt the man’s firm-muscled chest against his shoulder blades, the man’s thick, firm rod pressing at the narrow cleft in his ass.

Charlie’s voice in his ear: “Ever been whipped, Adrian? Or fucked?”

“No.” He knew he shouldn’t argue with what the swim captain wanted, but he quivered with alarm, his voice a whine: “Don’t ... Please, Charlie ... I don’t want to be ... Don’t want to be—you know.”

“Get him ready,” Charlie said to the others and pulled away. “But don’t use the artifacts. I want him clear-headed while we work him over.”

The fingers pawing over him became rougher, pinching and probing and jabbing, and he wrenched against the chains holding him. Metal clamps were attached to his small, dark nipples. ”Ow!” A heavy chain was wrapped around his balls, separating them and weighting them down. Dull, aching pain ate into his brain.

“Open your mouth, Adrian.”

Charlie stood in front of him, holding a ball-gag. No—this wasn’t Charlie; this was one of the other swimmers. But Adrian wanted him to be Charlie and somehow seemed to see the man as Charlie. Adrian opened his mouth to accept the gag, felt the straps secured around the back of his head to hold the ball in place.

In his free hand, another not-Charlie gripped a black leather belt, and he stared at Adrian deliberately, then stepped behind him.

Adrian braced himself and waited. Punishment was coming—for his ego and attitude, for his argument with Coach, for his, well, everything. Punishment he deserved. Punishment to burn the errors out of him and make him a better person, a better team member. And after what seemed like an eternity, he heard the whistle of the belt cutting the air, and knew he had to take it, wanted to take it. Needed to prove—

He heard the brutal snap as it slashed across his shoulders. Half a second later, he felt the lance of fire searing through his struck bare flesh and his thoughts.

Again.

Again.

With each lash-blow, his yowl of agony died against the ball-gag. Adrian clenched his eyes shut and bit down hard on the gag between strokes, and he pictured himself before, kneeling before the swim captain. Pictured ...

Then came the gradual numbing of the body, then the mind ... Happening to someone else, not Adrian ...

The whipping continued, slow, steady, deliberate, and Adrian felt as if he were floating in a dream, part of him writhing and groaning in a sea of pain, part of him willingly submitting to not-Charlie’s torture to become better. He was aware that the other not-Charlies were tightening the clamps on his nipples and adding weight to the chain on his nuts. His lower back and thighs were seared with bruising welts from the slashing belt.

A pause. Adrian opened his eyes, saw Charlie, the real one, studying him. Charlie held out his hand, took the belt, and stepped behind Adrian. Charlie’s first blows flogged the slim arcs of Adrian’s ass with the heavy leather lash, which hadn’t been touched until now, as if the predecessors had been saved for the real Charlie. Again. Again.

At last, the beating ended, and the air was silent. Adrian drifted, dazed. From far away he felt the swimmers remove the gag from his mouth, the clamps from his tits, the chained weights from his balls, and Adrian felt his semi-stiff cock bob from his crotch as they loosened the bindings and let him sag to the floor.

He was naked except for the manacles on his wrists and ankles, a chain connecting his wrists, one connecting his feet. He lay face-down, pressing his burning bare skin against the cool floor, and he felt the young jocks crouch about him and rub his welt-raked back with a lotion that soothed the sensations.

He floated in pain-numbed pleasure.

A man hunched between Adrian’s spread legs and oiled his upturned ass, and he knew that man was Charlie, massaging the burning cheeks of his ass gently, easing them apart and probing into the narrow passage between them, locating his muscle-tight asshole, and finger-greasing it repeatedly. His hazy thoughts realized what was about to happen. No! If fucking was to be done, he wanted to be the one who fucked, not got fucked. But—he needed to be disciplined, punished, purged, guided, made new. He needed Charlie to—

Something slipped away. Adrian wasn’t sure who he was anymore, but he knew who he needed to become. He lifted his tight little tail to meet the fingers, felt them rub, stroke, press, tease, felt his ass-lips gradually relax and begin to throb. He needed ... Needed ...

“Get up on your hands and knees,” Charlie drawled with his usual quiet authority.

Adrian shifted into position obediently, and he sucked in a sharp breath as the powerfully built swimmer moved in behind him. “Please ...,” Adrian tried, but please what? Don’t? No, this was inevitable. Go easy? Maybe that was closer.

Charlie’s voice: “Try to relax and it’ll go better—for both of us.”

But relax how? Adrian felt the captain’s slick cock-head nudge between his buns and rub across the tensing opening, then pressure, and Adrian gasped at the hard stabbing sensation as the cock breached him and thrust inward, collar-deep. Charlie arm-locked Adrian’s body back against the intruder, and Adrian couldn’t escape. The bright scream of pain in his hole, the dull roar of more pain over his back and butt cheeks, all of it merged into a red haze where he couldn’t tell anything apart anymore. He needed ...

After a long pause, Charlie began inching the rigid invader deeper and deeper into Adrian. Though still manacle-cuffed, Adrian knew he wasn’t being held, except by Charlie’s steadying arm; he could’ve but didn’t pull away, couldn’t seem to push himself to make that first move. Adrian choked for breath and squirmed, trying to adjust himself to the slow, deliberate penetration, and he heard his own throat-tight groan as Charlie’s pubic stubble at the base of his meat ground against his taut-curved ass. Charlie withdrew part-way and thrust again, as if to reinforce his domination over Adrian.

Floating in a numb space, Adrian opened his eyes and saw his spread hands, fingers clawing helplessly at the floor, the wide manacles on his wrists connected by a heavy chain, bitch chains, their bitch for the night, and he knew the other teammates were watching him, watching the champion swimmer humbled and hunched slave-like while Charlie bitch-fucked him, watching him prove his obedience, his belonging. Adrian felt strangely content and willing, maybe even ... eager? Yeah, eager. He was beginning to want this.

Charlie hip-pumped almost gently at first, then more aggressively. The strokes still hurt, but mixed in was something that felt good, something spreading. A surge of sex-hunger swirled through Adrian, overwhelming the pain and numbness with arousal and shards of pleasure. He heard himself gasp, “Charlie ... Awww, fuck, Charlie ... Fuck me ... I need ...”

The older athlete sank back on his haunches, dragging Adrian with him, back to chest, and forcing him to sit squarely on the thrusting ram. Adrian slumped into the man’s embrace. “Take it, Adrian,” Charlie growled. “Take it all!”

The powerful cock connected their bodies. It hammered into his guts with piston-like precision, punishing him, making him better, and Adrian lost track of the minutes that Charlie’s thrashing body was clamped against his back, powerful arms locked about him.

He felt the strong fingers, multiple hands, paw over his chest and stomach, then descend into his crotch. Someone’s hand clamped his overstimulated balls securely, and another gripped his inflamed prick, pumping it in rhythm with the pounding cock in his tail.

Ask for what you want ... “Fuck, Charlie! I need to—Please lemme—Awww, shit!” Adrian dropped his head back, and groaned again, whispered, “You bastards—I’m gonna—I love you bastards!—I love you bastards!” He wasn’t talking about one person; he was talking about the team. The first lightning shocks of climax arced through him. “I need—I’m gonna—Lemme—Ahhh!”

Charlie said, “Cum for me.”

Adrian’s eyes, clenched shut, didn’t see the sperm fountain from his firmly clenched cock, and he howled through the ecstasy while Charlie’s brutal-hard dick drove to his core and convulsed. Lost in the obliterating pleasure, Adrian writhed back against the man holding him, submitting and accepting. The moment lasted as never before, lasted, and Adrian was only vaguely aware of being lowered, pressed to the floor again, pinned beneath Charlie’s solid, masculine heaviness.

So distant time later, Charlie pulled up on all-fours, withdrawing his still-firm rod, and Adrian felt the stretched lips of his asshole snap shut as the wide-crowned glans slid free.

He sensed that Charlie had gotten to his feet and that the other teammates were closing in around him. He heard grunts, moans, and then he felt a spray of hot liquid sweep over his back and another, another. Adrian twisted to look over his shoulder and saw Charlie looming over him, hands on hips, as teammates stroked their cocks aimed at him. As Adrian watched, another cock shot out a white liquid, and he felt it strike his freshly belted and fucked ass cheeks. He closed his eyes and squirmed slowly beneath them.

When it ended, he lay semen-drenched and motionless, once again floating in dream-like numbness.

He was vaguely aware of distant sounds, and he turned on his side and opened his eyes. His gaze focused on the heavy chain strung between his wrists, droplets of someone’s sperm glistening on the shining links, and he viewed it with curious satisfaction. Connections ... Need ...

The sounds caught his attention again, and he shifted to the shadows on the opposite side of the room. These were groans and gasps and mumbled words of excitement, and he recognized the naked swimmers, dim-lit bodies locked together, sucking, fucking ...

“Want to join them, Adrian?”

Adrian found Charlie toweling the sweat off himself lazily, naked and unashamed, sitting on one of the locker room-type benches beside where he lay chained.

“Whatever you say, Charlie.”

“Damn right. Whatever I say. C’mere.”

Under Charlie’s determined, evaluating stare, Adrian crawled closer, automatically crouching head-down in front of him.

“Lift your hands.

Adrian did, and he watched Charlie unbolt the chain from his wrists, leaving the wide manacle cuffs. “Better get you cleaned up. Coach wants me to give you another training session with the artifacts before we call it a night. Think you can walk?”

Adrian nodded, followed numbly as Charlie led him down a side hallway and into a large, gym-style communal shower room. The walls were tiled, and Adrian smiled. “It’s like a locker room,” he murmured. “Like when the team—”

Charlie started one of the sprays. “Coach and some of the guys spent most of the summer turning this old building into a place for the team. Upstairs is like a locker room. Downstairs is where most of the team sleeps. I’m the only one who has a bed upstairs; one of the perks of being captain, I guess.” He checked the water temperature, stepped back. “Wash up.”

Adrian took soap from a wall holder and began lathering himself thoroughly, and he remembered other shower rooms. Naked young athletes soaping off the sweat after practice or the chlorine after a meet. Well-muscled bodies glistening. Flopping cocks openly displayed ... How had he missed how sexual ...?

The heavy manacle cuffs on his wrists, the cuffs around his ankles, the chain connecting his feet—constant reminders that the disciplining was not yet over. Good—he needed to be made better. The spraying water stung his welt-streaked back and ass as he rinsed, and he realized Charlie was at the far end of the room, standing by the wall with his arms folded across his bare chest and watching steadily. Swimmer-clipped hair and rugged, set features. Powerful shoulders and biceps. Solid, mature build. Loose-dangling prick and balls. Like the winner of a swim meet waiting on the first-place podium to receive his medal.

Finished, Adrian turned off the taps and found Charlie tossing him a towel, the towel he’d been using himself, and Adrian wiped his torso and limbs with the already damp cloth.

“Like Trace said,” Charlie drawled around a yawn. The hour must’ve been getting late. “You got the makings of a real stud, Adrian. Good-lookin’, damn good build—hung like me.”

“I guess I’ve never thought about it.”

“We just gotta get you trained and make sure it sticks, make sure that bad attitude don’t come back.” He paused. “Ever fuck a guy?”

“No. Do you want me to ...?”

“Maybe I’ll let you hump Trace’s ass tomorrow. He’s turning into kind of a slut for butt stuff, likes riding a guy’s pecker.” Charlie viewed Adrian as if inspecting livestock, then shrugged. “Maybe I’ll ram your ass again at the same time.” He turned toward the hallway. “Follow me.”

Adrian followed, still drying himself, the chain hooked between his ankles rasping again the hall floor. The two men entered a small, dimly lit room, a simple bed at one side, a small table next to it, a chest for clothes, no other furniture. They hadn’t gone downstairs, so—

“Your room, Charlie?”

“Yeah.” Charlie sprawled on his back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head. “You’re shackin’ up with me for your last training session tonight. Figured it’d be easier, in case you D.F.O. again. Lie down.”

“Okay.” Adrian eased onto the bed, lying back, feeling his whipped back and ass protest. “I didn’t mean to yell like a baby, earlier, when you said you were gonna fuck me.”

“It can sure hurt, the first time.”

“I think I was more scared than hurt, at first.” Then Adrian turned on his side toward Charlie and brought one hand up hesitantly to display the wide manacle on his wrist. “I’m glad you left the cuffs on me. It makes me feel more—you know.”

“Master Tom said to. Figured you might need them as reminders, at least until the changes’ve completely sunk in. There’s a slave collar that goes with them, too. Maybe you can earn that tomorrow.”

A prize to be earned? A new goal? “Anything you say, Charlie.”

“I like hearing you say that. We’ll chain you up again ... Work on you other ways, too ... Edging. Gang-fuck.” Charlie didn’t object as Adrian’s hand came down to rest on his solid-muscled chest. “You shouldn’t have skipped the camping trip or mouthed off to Coach, but we’ll get you trained up right. We’ll make you part of the team. Can you tell me the Three Rules?”

Adrian thought a moment, then said: “I serve Master Tom—” A blank space. “Who’s ‘Master Tom’?”

“You would’ve met him on the camping trip if you hadn’t skipped. But you’ll meet him in the morning, after he’s done with the other new guys. Keep going.“

“I serve the artifacts—”

Charlie tapped the small disk on a necklace chain that lay on the bedside table.

“—and I, uh, I serve the team?”

“You asking, or telling?”

“Telling. I serve the team.”

“Good,” Charlie yawned. “Got them out of order, but you got them. You’re learning. Maybe Coach is right and we can make something outta you yet.”

Adrian watched his fingers trace over the older swimmer’s slow-rising chest, and suddenly he smiled to himself, wondering if Charlie ever took the position Adrian had been in before, picturing the rugged captain kneeling naked before him in submission, sucking his cock, accepting whatever beatings and torment Adrian chose, spreading his ass cheeks to get fucked ...

He felt the man shift beside him, spreading his legs and stretching his arms lazily, and Adrian squirmed downward, stroking Charlie’s muscle-ridged torso with his lips and hands. Suddenly, he dropped lower, pressing his face into the older swimmer’s crotch, and he inhaled the taunting male scent hungrily. His own cock jammed throbbing-hot into the mattress beneath him, but Charlie’s organs lay relaxed and flesh-soft under Adrian’s lips.

Adrian nudged the heavy-headed prick to one side, and for the first time, he worked his lips over the captain’s loose-sacked testicles, licking them, separating them with his tongue and suctioning first one and then the other into his mouth, hoping the liquid warmth gave the older swimmer pleasure; and then Charlie’s hand was on his head, stroking his hair and urging him back. “I’m going to use the artifact to train you again, like Coach and Master Tom want, then maybe I’ll fuck your ass again after,” Charlie drawled, and he gripped his flaccid cock-base with his free hand. “You’ll probably be out of it when I get around to fucking you again, so if you want to suck on my cock a little first, you best go for it now.”

Anything you say, Charlie!

Charlie tapped his soft cock-head against Adrian’s lips, and Adrian opened his mouth and took it flange-deep willingly. He felt the first shock of sex-heat jerk through Charlie’s powerful rod, felt it begin to swell, and he remembered when the triumphant captain had worked it all the way into his throat before.

But not this time! Yeah, Charlie was hot for what Adrian was eager to do, and Adrian, the humbled and beaten and manacled swimmer-slave, was going to make his master crawl! Lick and suck his rigid prick until Charlie groaned with the aching need to unload. Nip on his nut-sack. Stroke him all over with fingers and tongue. Get him so horny he’ll beg for release. Keep him worked up for hours, maybe. And, finally, let him pop. Drink down his spurting cum.

Contentedly, Adrian began to service the athletic swimmer who’d conquered him, as he saw Charlie reach for his artifact pendant on the bedside table.

Everyone knew the rivalry between their two schools was intense, and the men’s swim meets were no exception. Adrian didn’t know how the rivalry got started, years ago, well before he came here, but everyone accepted it as a fact. Even before the meet started, the teams were catcalling, teasing, yelling insults, trash-talking the moment they laid eyes on each other.

Losing had consequences—everyone knew that—and by tradition whoever lost had to do a chore for the winner. One year the winners made the losers wash their cars. Another year, the losers had to pick up trash along a mile of road in front of the college.

By tradition, the winning team captain decided on the “punishment” chore for the losers. This year, since he was captain and would be graduating in the spring, Charlie asked for something special.

Their rivals lost the Saturday meet, but Charlie and the team weren’t celebrating—not yet. As dark began to fall, they dressed quickly, then hid in the bushes that lined the athletic center parking lot where the rival team’s bus was parked, lying in wait.

Sure enough, soon the side door that led to the visiting team’s locker room opened, and the rival swimmers started filing quickly out, not exactly sneaking, but hurrying. “You’re right—Those losers’re trying to skip out on us,” Adrian said, not quite quietly enough.

“Shh,” Charlie hissed. He watched the line of rival swimmers, freshly showered and changed into street clothes, gym bags or backpacks slug over their shoulders, as they hurried dejectedly toward their bus; probably they thought they were about to get away without consequences.

The gym door opened again, and Coach Thompson walked out, heading toward his car.

“Hey, Thompson!” the rival coach hollered. “Good match. Your team’s come a long way in the last couple’a years.”

Coach waved back. “Thanks. Both teams had a great match. Hey, you aren’t trying to duck out on the tradition, are you?”

“Us? Naw—we just gotta get on the road is all. Maybe next year.”

About half the rivals were on the bus. Charlie stage-whispered to the rest of the team, “Okay, on three. One. Two ..."—then yelling—”Three!”

The whole masked team stormed out of their hiding spaces and swarmed down on the shocked rivals. In a second the running team intersected the tail-end of the line of rivals, grabbing, pulling, hauling several of them along. Their rivals’ panicked cried filled the air:

“Hey!”

“What the fuh—!”

“Lemme go!”

“Stop!”

A panel van screeched up. In seconds, before the rest of the losers could tumble out the narrow bus door, Charlie and his team had dragged several of the rival swimmers along with them, began shoving them into the van’s cargo door.

“Hey, Thompson!—What the fuck!” the rival coach bellowed. “You can’t just kidnap a bunch of my swimmers!”

Buzz, still strolling toward his car, shrugged and grinned. “All I see is a bunch of masks. What makes you think it’s my team? Don’t worry—I’ll bet whoever-they-are deliver your boys to you safe and sound ... tomorrow night at the latest.”

“Don’t play games with me, you asshole—!” the rival coach yelled, hands in the air, the rest lost as someone slammed the door and the van sped away.

The captive rivals in the van were quickly subdued. Burlap hoods were bagged over their heads. Their hands were zip-tied behind them. They were shit-scared, outnumbered, and had no idea what was happening to them, surrounded by voices yelling:

“How many’d we get?”

“Six—”

“Hey, Charlie, we got that blond one you liked—”

“We get the one who mouthed off at me?”

“Dunno—We’ll sort ’em out when we get ’em—”

“Take their phones—”

“Hand ’em here—Gotta deactivate ’em so they can’t be tracked—”

“Should we give ’em a little dose to keep ’em quiet?”

“No! No artifacts while I’m driving. A wreck’s the last thing we need.”

The van drove around for twenty minutes, making many turns to confuse the captives’ sense of direction. Then it stopped.

“Get ’em inside.”

“Hustle! Hustle!”

“Get ’em up against the wall, over by the bitch chains.”

“They’re all our bitches tonight!”

Suddenly: quiet.

Charlie’s voice: “Okay, guys, listen up. Yeah, I’m talking to you, numb-nuts. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me through those hoods—you can hear me just fine. Don’t bother yelling for help; no one’s gonna hear you. So listen up, ’cause I’m gonna tell you a little bit about what’s in store for you. You fuck-heads lost the meet, so for the next twenty-four hours your asses belong to us. You might as well settle back and enjoy it. Okay, get their hoods off.”

The rough burlap was pulled away, rival team members blinked as their eyes adjusted to the sudden circle of light that illuminated just them, the rest of the room in shadows. They jerked at the zip-ties holding their hands behind them. A couple of the rivals fixated on Charlie, just outside the edge of the light and stripped to his team underwear and artifact pendant, and they rage-bellowed the expected crap about better let us go and know who you are and go straight to the cops.

Charlie laughed. “Naw, you won’t. I’m not tellin’ ya what’s in store for you, but I’ll tell you this. You’ll wake up and you won’t remember a damn thing—and that’s okay. You’re gonna enjoy everything we do to you, so you won’t mind not remembering ...”

Adrian and the rest of the team stripped down to their team underwear while Charlie played the showman and delivered his speech to the captured rivals. Adrian stood with Trace and Berto in the shadows against the far wall, the farthest from the spectacle, because as freshmen they were still the most susceptible to the artifacts, and sometimes Adrian still D.F.O.’ed. Which always embarrassed him when he woke up, because by now he was no beginner, was experienced enough to be remembering part of what happened. But what could he do? He couldn’t change reacting so strongly to the artifact effect.

Charlie was dealing with an unruly rival: “Hey, stand still, asshole. Yes, you. Stand still before you ... Oh, boo-hoo. Fell on your ass, did you? Big fuckin’ surprise, with your hands tied behind your back. Now maybe you’ll listen and stay the fuck still. I got my foot on your balls, and you do not want me to press down, do you? Then keep your mouth shut. Good. No, we’re not gonna drug you. The only thing you need to know is for the next twenty-four hours your asses belong to us, we’re gonna do whatever we want to you, and if you remember anything at all, I’ll bet it’s that you enjoyed the hell out of all of it. Got that?“

Adrian and his new best friends Berto and Trace stood away so Adrian would at least remember the start, just in case he D.F.O.’ed when Charlie finally got around to calling for the artifacts. Adrian was eager to see those fucking assholes get introduced to the artifacts, eager to see their anger-twisted expressions slowly begin to go slack, to see their muscles relax as they were overcome. And if Charlie’s spiel was running long, hell, Adrian thought with a grin, this had been the captain’s idea so let him enjoy his moment, right?

Charlie ...

A nudge to Adrian’s bare shoulder, a familiar presence beside him. Berto. A shared smile. “You okay? Any bad thoughts?”

Adrian mulled this. In the last couple of months, wow, life had changed for him more than he would have considered possible. He wished his fling with Charlie had lasted longer than it did, but after a few intense—and intensely sexual—weeks, once the basics of the “special training” sessions were complete, Charlie relegated Adrian to Berto and Trace’s room and went back to his usual captain duties. Adrian had always known that serve the team was one of the Rules, not serve Charlie. And if Charlie’s loyalty and major emotional connection was always to Coach, well, Adrian supposed anyone who’d been intensively introduced to the artifacts by one guy maybe bonded tightest with that guy. And anyway, serving the team and getting his rocks off with his hottie teammates was a great replacement—and he still got to enjoy Charlie’s cock, ass, and mouth now and then.

Adrian nudged Berto’s shoulder back, and shook his head no to answer the question, and meant it. No bad thoughts. He’d been on a team since he started swimming, but being part of a team was something new he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. Serve the team. Yeah!

And anyway, maybe Charlie and Coach and Master Tom had always meant for Adrian’s major attachment to be his new best friends, Berto and Trace. Adrian leaned against Berto’s bare shoulder next to him, felt Trace on the other side slide an arm around his back and squeeze Adrian’s bare butt-cheek. Adrian’s cock already half-hard with anticipation and he could see Trace’s dick—that horndog!—already peeking out over the waistband of his sexy team briefs. Adrian knew that cock very well by now, and Berto’s too, knew them as well as he knew his own. The artifacts always ratcheted up a guy’s sex-drive, Coach said, and that was sure the case with the three of them—keeping Trace’s horniness satisfied between team sessions required both Berto and Adrian!

They’d been virtually inseparable during and after Adrian’s training—Coach had called it a probation phase, but Adrian saw it as just a different kind of training program—and Adrian was always amazed, looking back, by how easily he had fallen into harmony with them. Maybe it was because of the artifacts, or because they were always together whenever Adrian wasn’t with Charlie for a “special training” session, or because Adrian was getting off together with Berto and Trace at least once or twice a day even outside of the team’s post-practice sex. As Berto and Trace’s long-term friendship and new sex turned into a real relationship, they hadn’t closed themselves off from Adrian—they had invited him in. Now Adrian couldn’t fathom how he got by without them.

“Trace and I are gonna head downstairs now.” Berto again, rubbing his hard-on through his team underwear, as if Adrian could possibly misunderstand what going downstairs with Trace would mean. Downstairs meant the bedroom they shared. The bedroom meant the bed, and the bed inevitably meant ... “You coming?”

Adrian frowned. “You’re not gonna stay?” Across the room, Charlie seemed to be winding down his performance, calling for Diego and Curt to get the one who fell back on his feet. Soon Charlie would hold up the artifact he wore on a chain and—

“Nah. We don’t want to wait behind the whole team for a shot at them. Besides, we can fuck them in the morning. They ain’t going anywhere for a while.”

Which made sense. Trace got grouchy whenever he had to wait to cum—the downside of being an insatiable horndog, Adrian supposed. When Trace got horny, Berto and Adrian had to take care of him, and vice versa.

“Besides,” Berto continued, holding up something round and metallic, just a little larger than a coin. “I borrowed something special from Master Tom, just for us.”

Adrian had seen Trace’s hard-on. Berto’s too. His team needed him, and he needed to serve the ...

The rivals would still be there in the morning, Charlie too. But right then? “Wait for me,” Adrian said, following them.