The Senior Towelboy
By Ben C.
This story contains sexual acts (domination, humiliation, oral, masturbation) between young males.
If you don't like it, or it is illegal in your country or state, please stop reading.
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In case you are interested, here is a list of my other stories:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/game-sessions/ http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/scottys-tailor/ http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/hosting-skater-dudes/ http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/the-senior-towel-boy/
Chapter 3
He laughed and tried to pull his leg free, but I didn't let go. I leaned over to kiss his foot.
"Thank you Gino, thank you..." I kissed his foot over and over again.
Gino used some force to yank his leg free, laughing.
"Ciao, checca," he laughed and left me there.
The short but steamy session in the laundry room made me I lose all illusions about myself as a future biological father for a new generation of the Henderson business empire. I would no doubt marry a beautiful girl some day, but I had no idea how I would be able to take care of my marital duties. Maybe I could secretly hire other young men to satisfy her sexual desires? They could also deliver the necessary semen to produce the baby boy my father expected. In the end of the day, money would take care of my problems, as always.
A much more embarrassing thing was that Gino had exposed my true nature to me. I was a cocksucker, a representative of the lowest male species on earth. How did that fit to my inbred role as a supreme individual? I did not have a consistent answer to this dilemma, but I knew I had a strong natural urge to serve other boys. I wanted to bring them pleasure and help them get relief from the constant sexual pressure of teenage males. This was the new Raymond Alexander Henderson III, the guy I saw when I took a look of myself in the mirror, a lowly fag.
Soccer players are known to be addicted to their appearances, and the elite team of our school was no exception. After showering, most of the boys spent a long while in front of the mirror; the boy gelled and styled his hair, tried to decide how many shirt buttons he would leave unbuttoned, and pulled his jeans down a little to show the skin of his flat abdomen and the waistband of his boxers. That offered me lots of observation time while I took care of my duties.
After Gino helped me discover my true inner self, I looked at the boys in the locker room in a new way – the way a young homo watches other boys. Who was rich, who was successful in his studies, who drove a cool car – those things meant nothing to me anymore. Other things became important. Was the guy good-looking? Did he have a bubbly ass and a tight sixpack? Did he carry the cocky aura of a young male with grace? When the boy looked at me, did I feel an urge to kneel down in front of him?
There were many boys in the team that belonged to the "yes" category on all accounts. They formed the A class in my mind. I would love to serve their needs whenever they wanted. Then there were the B class boys – the largest group in the team – that I would service if they asked me to, but with less passion. And then there were the boys I would help with some reluctance, the C class; some guys with an impressive body but an ugly face, like Toby, the defender, and some with athletic bodies that were covered with red pimples. The idea of touching their bodies was a bit repellent.
But let me tell you about the A class. The king of the pack was naturally Gino, the natural born alpha male. But there were three other guys I also considered as members of the A class.
One of them was Nick, a neatly muscled wing forward with strawberry blond hair. He wore the 'pineapple haircut' – you know, cut very short on the sides and longer on the top. The haircut was already way out of fashion – Pierre, my hair stylist, would never cut my hair like that – but I had to admit it looked good on him. Nick was seventeen but somehow he had already managed to get a few tattoos; one on his left pec with a sword penetrating a purple heart and the word "Women" under it, and the word "Honor" on his neck just above his shoulders; and finally a black-and white soccer ball on his left shin. His good looks was completed by his quick laugh that showed a set of large pearl-white front teeth and a set of cute freckles on his cheeks. His calves and thighs were covered with a thin layer of downy blond hair. Oh, by the way; I got an opportunity to touch and feel his strong legs too; I'll tell you about that a bit later. Nick was a known womanizer and rumored to keep two or three girlfriends simultaneously. He was hot and he knew it.
Another individual in the very top of my list was Seb – Sebastian, but nobody called him that – a lanky midfielder with black straight hair almost down to his shoulders. Seb tried to keep his long lashes organized behind his ears to prevent them from covering his eyes, which required constant arranging – a sexy gesture that drove me crazy. Seb liked to wear skin-tight jeans that looked really good on his slim body. I loved to secretly watch him as he struggled to squeeze his long legs and bubbly butt into those tight pants.
I was a bit wary of Seb, because his father got fired from one of my Dad's companies a couple of years earlier. Jack, his Dad, acted as an organizer for a local union branch that threatened to start a strike for pay raise. I was worried that Seb might want to seek payback through me. So far, I had had little contact with Seb, but I saw him glance at me occasionally, and the look on his face was full of contempt. Quite unreasonable – surely my Dad knew best what kind of wages his workers deserved. Some guys just don't know what's good for them.
Seb didn't really have a reason to hate me; I had nothing to do with his Dad's hard luck. Well, after Jack got sacked, I couldn't resist the temptation to approach Seb in the school hallway. I just asked him, "does your Dad still want a raise, Seb?" He didn't appreciate my joke and tried to assault me; luckily some of his more reasonable friends grabbed him in time.
And then there was Vince, a fast midfielder known for his superb ball control technique. He was about my size, but somehow looking into his blue eyes made me feel small. Vince loved to make fun of me in front of everybody; once he sneaked behind me, pulled his sweaty boxers over my head and face and shouted: "Help me, Finocchio stole my pants! Give'm back, Fino!" making everybody laugh. Another time he called me up from the shower room and told me to get his shampoo. When I handed him the bottle he pulled me under the shower and kept me there until I was soaking wet. And so on. But everybody loved Vince, he was such a funny guy. He had an honest boyish face that concealed his cunning nature. In spite of my regular humiliation I have to admit I loved Vince too; I loved his exultant grin after he had successfully pulled one of his pranks on me, and the way he looked at me, saying silently: "Got you, loser." He kept his blond hair tied into a man-bun on top of his head; the tight bun fitted perfectly with his firm, toned body.
Well, I promised to tell you about the day I came into close contact with Nick's legs – and his back too! The guys were playing a practice game that day in two teams. All athletes are very competitive by nature, of course, and the game got pretty rough at times. It was raining, and the boys were soaking wet and their cleats and shorts were stained with mud.
So, Nick and Toby were struggling hard against each other for the control of the ball, when it happened. Nick leaped in front of Toby just as he was about to give the ball a furious kick to send it far away from Nick's reach. Toby lost his balance on the wet lawn and his kick hit Nick's right ankle with full force. Nick screamed and fell to the ground, holding his ankle. Everybody could see it was something more serious than the usual bruises the boys constantly got.
Coach Bennett jogged clumsily over and inspected the injured ankle with a frown on his face. Then he looked around until he saw me standing in the doorway of the locker room, watching the game without getting wet. He blew his whistle and waved at me.
"Henderson, get your ass over here," he bellowed.
I left reluctantly my comfortable observation point and walked across the lawn to hear the Coach's orders.
"Nick's ankle needs to be x-rayed in the hospital. Help him to the locker room and wait for me there. We'll be done in forty minutes; I'll drive him to the hospital right after that."
"Yessir," I replied and offered my arm to Nick as the other boys helped him get up.
Nick leaned on my shoulder with his right arm and we limped slowly together towards the sports facility. It felt nice to have my arm around his strong shoulders while he leaned on me for support. I helped him sit down on the locker room bench and handed him a towel. Then we just needed to wait for the Coach. But no, Nick wouldn't settle for that. He pulled his shirt off and threw it across the room angrily.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Not knowing what to do, I picked up his shirt and dropped it into the laundry basket. Nick unlaced his cleats and pulled them off; he moaned from pain as he carefully eased the shoe off his injured right leg.
"Fuck!" he yelled again and threw the cleat across the room; it hit the opposing wall with a bang just a couple feet from my head. I felt uncomfortable standing there while a furious athlete lashed out his frustration.
He tried to rip open the black plastic tape around his calves but it was glued so persistently on the cotton of his soccer socks that his efforts seemed fruitless.
"Fuck! Help me with this, dude," he snarled.
"Yeah, sure Nick," I said and kneeled down in front of him.
I tried to loosen the end of the tape, but my nails were too short. Finally I crouched down and with some difficulty managed to hold a corner of the tape between my teeth. His wet sock smelled of mud and sweat, but this way I was able to loosen the end and rip the tape off his both legs. Without asking for his permission I rolled his sock carefully down and started to slide it over his injured ankle. I tried to do it as gently I could, but nevertheless he snapped at me;
"Watch out, you fucking moron!"
"Sorry Nick," I mumbled.
As soon as I had relieved him from his soccer socks, shin pads and ankle socks, he raised his butt a little and pulled his shorts and boxers down to his knees. I eased them off his feet and suddenly realized that I was looking straight into a teenage package that was steaming just two feet from my face.
It was one of the most beautiful sceneries I had ever seen: a young athletic body crowned by a manly uncut cock and a low-hanging ball sack. Nick had groomed his groin with great care, the skin of his sack was smooth as a baby's cheek, and the surrounding crotch area was also clean-shaven except a neat triangle of close-cropped dark-blond pubes above his cum-sling. The result was a skillful balance between the expectations of the contemporary young ladies and the unwritten code of conduct of the locker room.
The general smell of his body was strong, but somehow the heady odor of his package seemed to catch my nose, and I realized the obscenity of the situation just before he woke me from my trance.
"Help me to the shower", he grunted.
"You want to take a shower, Nick? How the hell are you gonna do it with that ankle?"
He smiled with a grimace.
"There might be some hot nurses I could hook up with later. I don't want to smell like shit. Come on, help me."
"If you say so."
"I just said it, dude."
I supported Nick to the deserted shower room. It felt twice as nice to have my arm around him now that he was naked, the strained muscles beneath his hot skin flexing under my fingers. I left Nick leaning against the tiled wall while I turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature. Then I turned to leave. Nick looked at me impatiently.
"Dude, are you gonna help me or not?"
"Yeah, sure. What do you want me to do?"
"You can wash my legs."
He made it sound like he was granting me a favor.
"But be careful with the ankle; it hurts like hell."
I didn't want to get my clothes wet so I pulled off my t-shirt and started to unbutton my shorts, when he interrupted me:
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, dude?"
"Just taking off some of my clothes so they don't get wet."
"Don't even think of it. You know what they say about you. Keep your clothes on."
"Okay, Nick," I said sheepishly and pulled my t-shirt back on.
"Go get my shower gel. It's in my bag."
When I got back, Nick was standing under the shower, letting the water run down on his body. I had to stop for a second to enjoy the sight of this youngster; his V-shaped back and tight buttocks sparkling in the light under the stream of water. What a beautiful world this is, I thought to myself.
I opened the bottle and handed it to him. He poured some soap on his palm and washed his hair. Then he tried to soap his back, leaning on his good leg. The effort made him almost slip on the wet floor. He cursed and handed me the bottle.
"Wash my back," he grunted.
I felt a warm stir in my pants. This was the first time in my life I was going to touch another boy's body. I didn't count in the episode with Gino; I only got a chance then to hastily feel his legs a little while he almost choked me with his merciless fucking. This time Nick had given me his permission to make contact with his body.
I poured some shower gel on my palm and started to spread it on Nick's wet shoulders. The skin and muscles of his back felt so fucking good that I tried to make that cherished moment last as long as possible, soaping the skin of his shoulders and moving slowly down on his back. His clean-shaven armpits were exposed, so I rubbed some soap on them and washed them gently with my hands. Then I started to follow down the canyon between his back muscles, cleaning the skin that covered his hard muscles on both sides of the canyon. The thick foam was running down on his back, making him look even sexier in my eyes. My right hand was maybe just two inches above his apple-like buttocks when his command stopped me.
"That's far enough. Gimme soap," he said and reached out his hand, palm up. I poured some gel on it and he swiftly washed his buttocks and crack.
"You can do my legs now."
I fetched a white plastic stool from a corner of the shower room and placed it in front of Nick. He sat down, groaning a bit.
I saw no other way to wash his legs than to kneel down on the wet floor while water sprayed off his body all over me.
I took the shower gel, poured some of it on my palm again and washed his right foot as gently as I could. He didn't complain, so I caressed the sole of his foot very carefully and cleaned the cramped spaces between his toes with my index finger. He didn't make a sound, so apparently I was doing all right. I worked his leg further on, soaping softly his calves and the fuzzy hair covering them. He stretched his leg so I continued higher until my fingers passed his knee and almost reached his hard-trained soccer thighs. My boner was stretching my wet shorts and I was a bit worried that somebody would notice that.
And I worried about that with a good reason. The game was over and the first boys had returned to the locker room, unnoticed by me. The first thing I heard through the stream of water running down on me was Vince's excited voice:
"Ha-ha! Fuck, you gotta see this, guys! Finocchio's washing Nick's legs."
Suddenly the doorway was bunged up with sweaty boys, eager to see something hilarious. All the moderation the boys had recently shown to me was suddenly gone, replaced by teenage debauchery.
"Look at the faggot, he's washing Nick's feet!" Vince repeated his introduction to the audience.
"How fucking low can a guy get!"
I looked up at Nick – the situation had to be embarrassing for him too? But no – Nick was grinning from ear to ear. When the laughter paused, he spread his arms and said,
"He asked if he could wash my back, but I said no. He looked so I fucking sad I couldn't bear to see it so I let him do my legs."
More laughter and taunting.
"Having fun, Finocchio?"
"I need to have my asshole washed, Fino!"
I tried to back off the situation, turning around to cover my boner. But Nick stopped my retreat.
"Where the hell do you think you're going, Finocchio? You haven't washed my left leg yet."
The boys laughed and taunted me.
"Yeah, don't you have any manners, Finocchio, leaving Nick with a dirty leg?"
"Go on, I wanna see you do it, Finocchio!"
I kneeled down again and soaped Nick's left foot. I tried to wash it quickly, but Nick was having fun in spite of his pain.
"There's some dirt between my toes."
I cleaned his already clean toes again and moved to wash his shin.
"My tattoo seems dirty, do it better," he ordered.
I rubbed some more soap on the soccer ball and re-washed it with my fingers.
A familiar warning call interrupted the scene.
"Coach approaching."
Someone grabbed me by the collar of my soaked t-shirt and pulled me up. Vince was the first one to shout:
"Look, he's got a boner! The faggot got a hardon from washing Nick's legs!"
Shouts of laughter and disbelief filled the steamy shower room until Coach Bennett's voice thundered over everything else.
"What the hell is going on here. Why aren't you ready, Nick?"
"Sorry Coach, Henderson was entertaining us. He did a shower dance with his clothes on. It was so funny I kinda forgot my ankle, Coach."
The Coach turned to face me, fuming. I stood in front of him, trying to cover my crotch with my hand.
"You are playing here with water, Henderson, like a baby? Try to grow up for chrissake, boy! I'm going to have a word with your father about this."
I felt devastated. Now I was going to be punished for being totally humiliated by the boys. This isn't fair! I screamed silently to myself. But my ordeal wasn't complete yet.
"The cleaner called in sick. Washing the toilets is your job today. I'll check the can afterwards so clean it well. Now, get the hell out of here."
I was still soaking wet. I had done some serious shopping before the day's practice, so I had a set of clean clothing in my car. But I needed to do some dirty work first so I ransacked the lost-and-found box in the laundry room until I found a relatively clean-looking t-shirt and a pair of not-so-clean shorts. I didn't need socks or shoes for my cleaning duty, so I went barefoot.
I was too embarrassed to meet the boys, so I picked up a mop, a couple of rags and some detergent and sneaked quietly to the toilet. One of the guys was taking care of his business at one of the urinals, so I started from the other end, mopping the floor and scrubbing the foul-smelling urinals. When the guy was gone, I started to clean the bowl he had just used. He had been careless and splashed his urine on the floor. Luckily it was the last one in the row.
I mopped up his urine and crouched down with a rag to wipe the floor behind the bowl when someone came in and placed himself in front of the next urinal – the one I had just finished. I sighed. Then I glanced at the pissing guy's legs. He was wearing a pair of dirty white Converse hi-tops and cuffed skinny jeans. There was only one guy in the team who dressed like that. I looked up to see Seb's smiling face. He turned a little so that his stream hit the edge of the bowl and sprayed all over me.
"Sorry about that, faggot," he chuckled and continued to relieve himself.
When I had wiped Seb's piss off the floor, all the boys had already left. I was dead tired so I decided to wash the towels and uniforms in the morning. I picked up my brand new gear from my car and took a quick shower. Dressed in a white Armani shirt and white Calvin Klein jeans I looked like the familiar Raymond Alexander Henderson III again. I decided to leave all my ordeal and humiliation behind me and enjoy a nice evening of a rich boy's life.
I turned off all the lights, locked the front door and walked rapidly towards my Porsche when a voice, almost a whisper, behind me made me stop.
"Dude."
I turned around. Someone dressed in a white hoodie and trashed jeans was leaning on a tree in the shadows.
"Come here, dude."
I closed my eyes for two seconds. This can't be true. I walked over to see who wanted to see me. It was Vince. I looked at him questioningly.
"Gino told me you give head," he said curtly.
"What?"
" I need to get off. My girlfriend's on the rag."
"Vince, please. It's been a hard day for me already. I wanna go home."
"Then stop bitching, dude. Meet me behind the old gas station on Drake Avenue. Park your car someplace where nobody can see it and walk there," he said and headed towards his pickup truck in the parking lot.
He didn't ask if would come or not. Well, in spite of my exhaustion, the idea of sucking off a guy like Vince was tempting, so I walked quickly to my car and navigated it towards the nearby strip mall. All the businesses were closed, so I parked my Porsche in a dark corner of the parking lot of a burger joint and wished nobody would steal it. I walked the final few hundred yards to the abandoned gas station. Vince's truck was there and Vince himself was leaning on the tailgate, looking at his phone intensely.
I walked over and stopped in front of him. He grinned and showed me the screen of the phone. He had been watching a porn video; a blond, big-boobed girls on her knees, sucking off a young guy. The guy held a tight grip of the girl's hair so he could pound her face with full force. The girl was letting out exaggerated porn-movie moans while the guy talked dirty:
"Take it bitch! Choke on it, whore!"
Vince explained me the drill.
"I'll watch this while you suck me off. You wanted to go home, so get to work," Vince said and pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing the tight six-pack I had so often admired in the locker room.
"Here?" I asked, looking down at the oily and muddy asphalt.
He didn't bother to answer my question, just smiled and unzipped his jeans.
"Don't you have a blanket or something I can put under my knees?" I pleaded, but Vince put his hands on my shoulders and added a little downward pressure – the same 'on your knees, fag' gesture Gino had used on me in the laundry room.
I slumped down on the filthy asphalt – goodbye, my new Calvin jeans – while Vince fished his already erect cock from his white Hanes boxer briefs – these guys really have no style – and stepped closer so that the purple helmet of his uncut, medium-plus sized love-missile was brushing my lips. He took a grip of my neck and pulled me closer. I knew what was expected of me and opened my mouth so he could push his rod in.
He had showered less than an hour ago, so his cock tasted clean and his groin smelled of soap. I appreciated that; on the other hand I had grown to love the smell of teenage boys and I still remembered the odor of Gino's sweat when he used me.
I tightened my lips around Nick's shaft and wrapped my fingers around the root of his cock, an started to rub it gently to increase his pleasure. He skull-fucked me with a steady pace, all the time staring at the screen of his phone. The theatrical moans of the girl and the harsh words of the guy accompanied us while I serviced Vince.
Would he let me feel his body? He seemed to be totally focused on the video, so I decided to try my luck and slid my free hand inside the back of his jeans and squeezed his rock-hard buttock through his boxers. He didn't seem to mind, so I let my hand wander under the cheap cotton until I felt his skin against my palm. I knew already that his buttocks were completely hairless, and feeling out the hard muscle felt absolutely divine. My cock was now so hard in my expensive but already destroyed jeans that I knew I was going to cum in my pants pretty soon.
Vince seemed to be close too, because he suddenly handed me the phone.
"Hold this." Those were the first words he said to me since he had ordered me to start servicing him.
I took my hand off his cock and took the phone, holding it so he could see the screen.
He grabbed me by the hair, just like the guy in the video.
"Hold it higher."
I tried to hold the phone as high as possible while he increased his thrusts, pushing in with his lean pelvis and holding my head in place. I helped him by holding his buttock and pulling him closer every time he made a fuck-move on my face. Suddenly he grabbed the phone from me and turned it so I could see the screen.
"This is the best part," he panted, and the camera zoomed in as the porn guy started to shoot cum all over the girl's face.
I instantly understood what was going to happen next and tried to lean in to keep Vince's cock inside my mouth when he would erupt. But he tightened his grip of my hair, pulled my head back and aimed his cock straight in the middle of my face. His cock turned into a fountain of teenage cum and I felt a warm, slimy splash after another hit my face. I expected him to let go of my hair when his cum-shots were finished, but no. He held me there for a good while, panting. Then he giggled and used his already softening cock to smother the jizz evenly on my face and in my hair. Then he shook it so that the final drops of slime landed on my shoulder.
He grabbed the front of my shirt, ripping off a button or two, and wiped his cock on it. He stuffed his well-performed cock into his jeans and zipped up. Then he lifted my chin with his finger and made me look right into his ocean-blue eyes. He laughed at the sight of my face. Kneeling there in front of him, with my face and hair smothered with his cum, while he sneered at me, sent me over the edge and I filled my brand-new Gucci underwear with cum.
"Thanks, faggot," he said, tucked his t-shirt into his jeans and turned to leave.
"Vince, wait."
He didn't turn, just unlocked his car.
"Vince, please, I can't walk back to my car looking like this. Please give me a ride, I've got cum all over my face."
He climbed in, started the engine and leaned out of the open side window. He winked at me – the ever-mischievous Vince.
"Can't risk being seen with a fag," he said and drove off.
Comments, anyone? I have some ideas for the next chapter: among other things Gino would teach Ray to beg him in Italian. Want to read it? Then drop me a line or two to let me know.
bencoolen1212@gmail.com