Redhill High School does not have the best swim team in the region, but they’re well aware of that. The school is small enough that they have only two coaches for all the major sports teams, and both of them agree that swimming is one of the best forms of conditioning for any athlete, especially in the winter when the outdoor fields are closed and the indoor pool is nice and warm. Because of this, the school swim team is enormous, but made up entirely of athletes from every other discipline. They don’t win a lot of swim matches, but they do stay in great shape trying.
After a practice, the school’s locker room is chock full of athletic young men of all shapes and sizes—every conceivable build. There are footballers and baseballers, wrestlers and gymnasts, basketballers and track and field runners. Basically any boy who plays any sport at Redhill knows each other. Sometimes multiple sports teams from different disciplines will even practice together, but at the very least they all meet to swim together twice a week.
For the coach’s son Albert, these swim practices are a dream come true.
No one calls him Albert; he is known by the team as “Towel Boy” only. But Albert doesn’t mind. As a fifth-grader, it’s his greatest pleasure to be included on the team, even in this small way. He’s happy to help out his dad running towels, grabbing water bottles, and doing any other odds and ends the team needs from him.
But his greatest pleasure of all comes from simply walking amidst the nude figures of the older boys in the locker room, and staring in awe at their ample, shapely bodies. And, when his father leaves the room to see to other concerns, going one step further and touching.
Everyone here is in great shape, as Coach demands. All the bodies are cut, well-muscled, their physiques in top form. Albert feels like he’s in a candy shop, free to take whatever he wants and spoiled for choice regarding what to touch or taste first. He loves them all, but of course he has his preferences and favorites.
Carl, a basketball player, blond and short-haired and perpetually wind-swept, is a senior and just recently hit a full seven feet in height. Albert is barely eye level with his crotch. Often, once he finds himself alone with the boys, Albert will run over to him as he steps into the shower and hug his legs, nuzzling his face into the crease where the young man’s enormous dick hangs ready and waiting. Like everything else on Carl, his cock is oversized—too big for Albert’s mouth, as most of the athlete’s cocks are—but he loves to mouth the surface anyway, lipping along it and licking a stripe up and down it.
Carl generally laughs at this, ruffling his hair. “If you’re trying to clean me off, Towel Boy, I’ve got dirtier places for you.”
And so Albert will move his face to the side, to the joint of crotch and leg, tongue catching the rivulets of sweat that run down the inside of Carl’s thigh. Then, standing in the spray with him, he’ll follow the trickle of moisture around to the senior’s backside, licking up between his buttocks and burying his face between cheeks nearly the size of his own head. He holds them apart so he can jam his face into the cleft, reveling in the feel of them pressing in against him as he dutifully tongues the boy’s asshole.
Carl is not the only boy that allows Albert this kind of leeway. The team has come to think of him as something of a cute mascot; someone to tease and indulge and give leeway to. When he begs they smile and laugh and flex for him, showing off their muscles, competing for his wide and fascinated gaze, his rapt eyes and watering mouth. Albert wants only to please them.
Another favorite is Ho-sung, the wrestler. Most of the Korean boys at Redhill are slight and slender in build, but not so Ho-sung. Although somewhat short compared to the other boys, his body is practically a triangle with its wide, wide shoulders and enormous pecs, tapering down to a narrow but solidly-built waistline. Albert has watched Ho-sung wrestle time and again while his father coaches the matches, and every time he has to make excuses to leave because the sight of Ho-sung dominating another boy, scrambling against him and subduing him, leaves Albert so turned on it’s embarrassing.
He has no such embarrassment in the locker room, however. Ho-sung is happy to play-wrestle with Albert all he wants, and when Albert is squirming and trapped beneath him, he is equally happy to stick his arm-thick cock up Albert’s well-lubed hole.
Albert works hard to ensure his ass is well-prepared for any way in which the boys might choose to play with him. It has taken him much training and practice of his own at home to be able to accommodate the ridiculous length and girth of many of these boys, but it’s all worth it to feel Ho-sung’s thick meat slide up into him, torso hard against his back, his neck pressed in on either side by the enormous bulging mounds of Ho-sung’s pectoral muscles, so large they nearly choke him. Ho-Sung will hold him in a wrestler’s pin as he fucks Albert’s ass quick and brutal, and Albert wonders if he fantasizes about doing this with all the boys he wrestles against, or if it’s just Albert.
As he makes his rounds wandering the locker room to ogle the boys changing and showering, many will stop him to ruffle his hair or squeeze his young cock playfully or slap him teasingly on the ass even as their cum drips out from between his cheeks.
Jean-Paul, tall and lean and with the thickest thighs Albert has ever seen—he knows Jean-Paul bikes to school every day, in addition to being on the school gymnastics and track teams—is among the prettiest of the boys in the locker room. Albert knows that the other boys often tease him because he wears a little bit of basic makeup to school, but Albert just thinks it makes him more beautiful. There’s certainly no denying his masculinity; under his clothes he’s just as fit as anyone else in the room, his muscles bulging and shining with sweat under the harsh fluorescent lights of the locker room and the adventurous roaming of Albert’s tongue. He’s a mercurial one, often petting Albert’s hair softly and affectionately at the same time as he fists his ass, mercilessly jamming his entire forearm over and over into Albert’s hole and laughing as he does it.
Albert loves the way the boys’ muscles look rippling under their skin, like they’re straining to get out. His favorite way to experience them is running his tongue along their ridges and clefts, feeling the cut of each ab and delving into the deep ravine between their huge pecs. He takes his position as Towel Boy somewhat literally, licking up their sweat wherever he can, following their dripping trails across every plane and into each exciting crevice.
And it’s not just sweat. Lucas, all pecs and bulging biceps from the baseball team, will sometimes jerk himself off after he’s done in the shower, lounging on the locker room benches and lazily tugging himself. When he comes all over his stomach and chest he’ll call Albert over, laughing. “Hey Towel Boy! I’ve got a mess for you to clean up!”
Albert will lap it up eagerly, licking trails up each rise and dip of Lucas’s abs, sitting happily on his lap so he can tongue a trail all the way up the boy’s body and bury his face between pectoral muscles so bulging it looks like they’re trying to escape from his chest. He’ll sometimes lick all the way up the boy’s neck and to the underside of his jaw after he’s done cleaning off all the semen, just to feel the scratch of newly-emerging stubble against his tongue.
When he’s seated on Lucas’s lap this way, assuming the boy isn’t fucking Albert himself, Lucas will often grab Albert’s butt-cheeks in either hand and spread them, exposing his eager and willing hole to the room at large. “Anyone wanna give his little hole a good fucking?” he’ll ask of the assembled boys. Often he’ll stick a teasing finger into Albert’s anus as he speaks, demonstrating how slick and ready it is to be plowed. Albert will shudder with his face pressed against the firm lines of muscle beneath him. “It looks awfully lonely...” Lucas will tease.
Usually someone will take him up on it, and Albert will feel someone’s head part him, pushing forward until the shaft sinks eagerly into his rear orifice. It’s a tough sensation, sometimes painful even with the sheer size of the cocks they stick into him. But Albert is proud of his ability to handle it, and considers use of his hole a price he’s ready and willing to pay, especially if it means he gets to sit on top of the rock-hard thighs and abs of another boy while they do it.
Sometimes there is a fist instead, feeling him from the inside as he feels their bodies. Or sometimes the boys get creative and it is no body part at all but some sports equipment performing makeshift duty as an object of penetration. He’s had baseball bats inside of him, hockey sticks, road cones, even the better part of a football. The boys are inclined to tease him, but he loves to take it, and so he has no complaints.
There’s no shortage of skin for his eager tongue, no malice in the laughing eyes as he grabs their buttocks or tongues their cocks or worships at their well-muscled backs. Truly he is blessed, Albert thinks, as the forest of sweaty muscle shifts around him, comes forward to embrace him, allows him his feast of eyes and hands and tongue. Truly he is blessed.