Leadr House

WARNING: The following is a work of fiction containing (hopefully) graphic descriptions of sex between any number of willing men. If this sort of material offends you, you shouldn't be reading it. If you are too young to read this sort of material, you shouldn't be reading it. If however, you are of age and you're sitting in your dorm room and no one else is around and you can't figure out why you get a hard-on every time your best buddy drops his shorts and heads to the shower...read on my friend.

This story is fictional. Any similarities between the men in this story and the men that you know are purely coincidental, although the author wouldn't mind hearing about them himself.

Comments may be sent to TheoNorth@aol.com

Constructive criticism will be accepted. Praise will be absorbed. Flames will be ignored.

Now, without further ado . . .

LeaDR HOUSE

by Theo North

Chapter 13

in which Steve learns to speak up

Even if the brothers never wore their letters, it would be easy to spot the LeaDRs on campus. They were always outgoing, talkative, playful - in charge. Look at any gathering of students on campus - a study group in the library, a gang of guys playing softball on the quad, a team at practice, or just some folks sitting around shooting the breeze in the sun - the one instigating the action was almost invariably a LeaDR. There was something about them; they charmed people, inspired confidence and were always counted on to not only have a good idea, but to voice it.

That said, Steve was sort of a misfit among the LeaDRs. Make no mistake: he was smart as a whip and had athletic talent to spare. His soft smile charmed the socks off people but Steve probably didn't know that since his eyes were usually downcast when he flashed that shy grin. The fact was, Steve was an introvert. Inside LDR House, though, he had the respect of all his brothers. They knew that whenever they spoke, Steve was listening. Once he had put all the pieces together, he would speak up and he was always right.

During his first year, Steve went to all the parties and attended all pledge functions because he was required to do so. But through his sophomore and, now, junior years, he tended to avoid the noise and crush. If some people had tried that they would have been considered stuck-up, but Steve's modesty and natural friendliness erased all thoughts of arrogance. Besides, Steve was always available for a good, one-on-one conversation; he was a great listener and a better friend. To his brothers, Steve was the definition of a LeaDR.

Outside of LDR House, one other group of students truly knew and appreciated the kind of man Steve was: to the guys on the gymnastics team, he was perfection.

Steve was the star of St. Winston's team and there was talk of him having a shot at the Olympics. Steve just scoffed at that he didn't believe he was THAT good, but he was flattered others thought so. His St. Winston teammates worshiped him and marveled at his skill: rings, bars, floor exercises, there was no event he wasn't good at, though he excelled on vaults. The thrill of seeing his twisting, turning body skyrocket through the air and land with perfectly balanced precision caused spectators and judges alike to gasp. While the casual observer appreciated the beauty and balance of his vaults, Steve's teammates, coaches and others who watched him compete and practice over and over were aware of something else: not only did Steve nail his landings with perfect balance, but he always landed in the exact same place! Teammates made a habit of checking out the mat after Steve finished an afternoon of practice. Always, there were two clearly defined, chalky footprints on the mat. No more than that, just the two marks which Steve hit time after time, vault after vault, all afternoon.

While his teammates envied his talent, they also respected his dedication. No one could say that Steve didn't work for any glory he received at tournaments. He was driven during practices, always working longer than anyone else. He would work a routine over and over and over until he had it just the way he liked it. When he had troubles fell down or missed a move he never complained. He never cursed or whined or offered an excuse; he just tried again with a more intense gleam in his eye.

When he wasn't in the gymnasium, he was in the weight room building his magnificent body. People were often stunned the first time they saw Steve in the tight, white stretch pants and spandex tank of the team's uniform. Outside the gym, Steve wore his clothes baggy and layered, so people had little idea what kind of bod he was hiding under there. In actuality, Steve was 5'10 of solid, hard-packed, lean, cut muscle topped off with a mop of black hair and sharp, blue eyes.

Steve's most incredible feature was his chest. His pecs were two solid mounds of muscle, smooth and sculpted. He worked hard on them in the weight room, but the results he obtained were more than cosmetic. His pectoralis major and minor were strong, and those muscles were invaluable to him in his routines. On the aesthetic side, though, his brown nipples capped those pecs like two juicy ornaments. When he was excited, they would harden and stand up. Steve often was embarrassed to see a newspaper picture of himself competing. The energy and tension of a big meet always got him excited and there, on the sports page for all to see, was the telltale sign his erect nipples pressing against the spandex tanktop.

Steve's chest was the focal point of his body and it seemed all of his muscles flowed out from his pecs. His arms were thick and powerful, the tris as clearly pumped and defined as his biceps. His legs were two meaty pillars. His abs were so clearly cut that, even when he was in uniform, you could clearly make out each muscle in his six-pack. His ass was a masterpiece: round, firm, tight and so hard you could bounce stones off it.

If Michelangelo had known Steve, than gay men everywhere would have a different magnet on their refrigerator.

So it was no surprise that Steve's teammates idolized him. They begrudged him not one bit of his success. Rather, they happily elected him captain of the team his junior year, a move that surprised only Steve.

****** On this particular Saturday night, the men of LDR House were gearing up for a big party. The alcohol was being stockpiled; the music system was being set up and compact discs littered the living room. Young men were laughing and slapping high-fives as they planned what kind of fun they might get into before the night was over. Steve knew it was time to slip out quietly.

He had been studying hard all day and his muscles were stiff and sore from being hunched over the books and his computer for so long. Time to hit the gym, pump some weight and relax. Plus, he needed to work on his ring routine. Thinking about that, he frowned as he packed a bag and headed out.

Steve had been unsatisfied with his ring routine for a while and, a couple weeks back, he had scrapped the whole thing and developed a new one. The new routine was more difficult (which would earn him some points in the judging), and when performed correctly it would look way impressive, he was sure. He had smoothed away most of the rough edges on the new routine and he was seriously hoping to debut it at a meet coming up in the next week. There was only one problem . . . and it surprised even him. He couldn't nail the dismount! Given that vaulting was his strong suit, the fact that he couldn't make it from the suspended rings to the floor without falling on his ass was starting to bug him.

After changing quickly in the locker room and doing some warm up stretches, Steve headed to the rings and hauled himself up. He went through the routine, his legs scissoring through the air, his arm and chest muscles popping, his tongue curling over his upper lip in concentration. Then he came to the dismount. He swung forward, tucked into a ball, flipped over . . . and landed on his butt. Silently, he got up to repeat the dismount again. Over and over and over he rehearsed the move until, finally, he swung forward, felt his hands lose the rings behind him, tucked into a ball, flipped once, twice . . . and landed squarely on his feet, his legs in a perfectly balanced squat. With his arms straight out before him, he drew himself up and grinned with satisfaction. Then he went back and did it a few more times to be sure he had it.

After about his fifth successful dismount, he heard a group of male voices laughing and whooping from the hallway that connected the gymnasium complex to the ice rink. A group of five players from the college's hockey team passed by the door, their skates slung over their padded shoulders and their sticks in their hands. At the center of the group, and clearly dominating it, was Race Jackson. Race glanced into the gym and saw Steve on the mats. For just a moment, his dark brown eyes locked with the gymnast's blue ones. Then Race turned his attention back to his buddies and they were off down the hall.

"So much for quiet," thought Steve as he chalked up his hands. The image of Race's eyes lingered in his mind for a moment. Something about that look excited Steve. He grunted to himself, shook off the thoughts, and hauled himself back up onto the rings.

He practiced the routine about 20 more minutes before admitting he could do no more. His arms were fatigued and if he kept practicing now, he would only hurt himself. Deciding to call it a night, he headed toward the showers. Approaching the locker room door, though, Steve heard the spray of water in the communal stall and the loud voices and laughter of the hockey players bouncing off the tile walls.

"You know," Steve thought to himself, "my legs aren't too tired yet. I could probably stand to work them." He turned away from the locker room door and walked across the hall to the weight room.

"Hey," a voice grunted as he entered the weight room.

"Um, hey" Steve replied, trying to mask his surprise as he looked over and saw Race on the bench press.

The two looked at each other for a moment but neither spoke. Then Race lay back on the bench and began pumping the weighted bar above him. Steve climbed into the leg extension machine, set the weight, and began pumping 'em out. As he worked, he silently watched Race. Steve had often wondered why Race Jackson wasn't a LeaDR. Of all the non-LeaDRs on campus, Race was the most "LeaDR-like." He was captain of the hockey team and obviously had the respect of his guys. He was an officer in his own fraternity. Steve didn't know what Race's grades were like, but the big guy made intelligent comments in classes the two shared. "And he's a lot more outgoing and likeable than me," Steve thought. "Heck, he'd make a better LeaDR than I would."

As to physique, Steve couldn't see that Race would have any problem fitting in with the LeaDRs. The hockey player was a little over six feet tall and dark complected. As Race grasped the barbell, Steve noted that the guy's hands were huge. His long arms and legs were coated in soft, brown hair. That same hair poked above the collar of Race's t-shirt, and Steve imagined that it covered the hockey player's lean, muscular torso. With Race lying back on the bench and his legs spread on either side, Steve couldn't miss the considerable bulge in the guy's cotton shorts.

As Steve eyed him, Race sat up on the bench and ran his fingers through his shoulder-length, brown hair. Both Steve and Race were good-looking, but in different ways. Steve was considered "cute" with his smooth skin and youthful good looks. Race had a more rugged appearance. His square jaw was accented by a goatee and his cheeks were perpetually stubbled. His nose had been broken at least once from the rough play of his sport.

Race looked up and again locked eyes briefly with Steve before getting up and grabbing a pair of dumbbells for some bicep curls. Steve hung his head, pretending to stare at his shoes, but secretly watching Race walk by. He felt that surge of excitement again.

The two young men were a study in contrasts. Race was tall and lanky; Steve was shorter and compact. Race's hair was long and thick; Steve kept his neatly trimmed. Race always seemed to need a shave; Steve always looked like he just had one. Race was hairy; Steve was smooth. Race was dark; Steve's smooth skin was pale. Race was loud and outgoing; Steve was quiet and shy. Race played a highly combative, team sport; Steve devoted himself to a sport that emphasized individual performance. Race was a wild man; Steve was as conservative as he could be. And yet . . . Steve reflected that opposites must truly attract because he was feeling an attraction to the hockey player that was unlike anything he had experienced before.

Steve continued to workout, sweating out sets on the leg press and extension machines, and throwing in some lunges for good measure. He finished up with some calf raises, using more weight than usual in an effort to push away the thoughts of Race that filled his mind. When he was done, his calves were screaming and he limped a bit for the first few steps. He'd be sore as hell in the morning, he thought.

As he headed for the door, Race called out. "See ya."

Steve blushed and muttered, "yeah, ok." As he walked out of the room he mentally kicked himself. Race had said only three words to him the whole time he'd been in the gym. None of them were remotely sexual. "Hey, see ya." If you put them all together they would barely even form a complete sentence. Steve had no reason to think that (A) Race was into guys or that (B) Race was attracted to him. So why, he chided himself, was he acting like such an idiot? Why was he blushing? Why was his mind filled with images of Race naked and of what he might do with the stud?

"Damn," he told himself. "I must just be horny as hell." Steve couldn't actually remember the last time he got off. "Maybe I better get back to the house and check out the party. Maybe somebody there would . . . help me out."

He moved into the locker room, which was now empty. The hockey players from earlier were gone. Steve stripped off his sweaty workout clothes and was wrapping a towel around his hips when he heard the locker room door slam open. "That's got to be Race," he thought. He turned and, sure enough, Race Jackson was walking into his row of lockers. The stud already had his shirt off and was wiping it under his sweating armpits. Steve noted that the guy's torso was indeed covered in the same soft, brown fur that lined his arms and legs.

Race stood in front of Steve and nodded his head. "You were looking good out there."

"Um, thanks."

"What, were you working on your gymnastics routine?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded. "Um, my ring routine."

"Oh yeah? Where you hang on those rings and swing back and forth and do flips and stuff? Man, that shit rocks. You guys have to have big fucking arms to do that, huh? Wish I had arms like that."

"Your arms look plenty impressive," Steve thought to himself. What he actually said was, "Yeah . . . Strong arms help, but it's also good to work on your pecs. They can help stabilize you in a position and the pectoralis major actually does a lot of work in flexing and abducting the arms. Um, most people don't realize that." Steve blushed and looked down.

"Oh yeah, I'll bet that's true," Race said as if he were considering Steve's words. "I can see you've put some work into your pecs. They look pretty firm."

Steve gasped as he felt Race's large hand grab hold of his right pec and squeeze it.

"Yeah, man. Those fuckers are hard as a rock," Race commented.

Steve looked up at Race, but there was nothing in the young man's face that was even remotely lascivious. His look said he was doing nothing more than assessing the strength of Steve's muscles.

"You need to do something to soften the muscle tissue there, guy, loosen the muscle fibers a bit. You start jumping around on those polls or rings or whatever with your muscles this tight, you're gonna fuck yourself up bigtime," Race said, pulling back his hand. "Come on, hit the sauna with me. Do you a world of good."

Steve was sure his blush spread all the way to his toes. "Um, no . . . thanks . . . I'm just gonna . . . gonna shower and then, um, head back to the house . . . thanks."

He stepped around the sweaty hockey player in front of him and went directly to the shower room. He flipped his towel onto a peg on the wall and stepped into the communal stall. Silently, he cursed his half hard dick as it slapped against his strong things. "Stop it!" he told himself. "He's not coming on to you. He's just a . . . a jock. He didn't mean anything by it. You're making it up."

Smacking the "on" button with his palm, he adjusted the water temperature to COLD and tried to calm down as the icy water poured onto his warm body and overheated imagination.

Eventually, his dick and his breathing returned to normal. Steve turned the water to a warmer temperature and began to clean himself. As he rinsed off, he felt the stubble growing on his chest. Damn, he was gonna have to shave that before the meet this week.

"No time like the present," he sighed as he padded back out to his locker and grabbed his shaving kit. Back in the shower, he spread the shaving cream over his chest. The cool menthol of the cream made his skin tingle in the warm shower. His oversensitive nips rose up and poked above the white lather, and his cock began to harden again. He looked at it and frowned as he started to run the razor over his muscular torso. He swiped away the stubble that had started to form between his mountainous pectorals. He carefully circled his plump nipples with the razor, trying not to nick them as he shaved away the hairs that grew there. When his pecs were smooth, he turned his attention to his armpits - smoothing away the stubble that grew in the muscled unions of his arms and trunk. He ran a hand over his body to evaluate his work.

"Good," he thought. "Nice and smooth."

Being hairless gave him a psychological edge on the competition. Body hair held perspiration, instead of letting the clothing fibers wick it away. Even though everyone at a tournament is sweating heavily, the hairy guys showed it more, and judges correlated heavy sweat with extra effort. So, while the hairy guys seemed to be struggling, the smooth competitors made it all look easy. Besides that, Steve just liked the way his body looked without hair - his muscles all stood out clean and defined, giving him a smooth, aerodynamic look in his uniform.

"Hmm," Steve grunted as he found a rough patch on his left pectoral. He reapplied the lather and began running the razor over his muscle.

"So THAT'S how you keep those muscles so smooth," a voice said behind him.

Steve jumped and turned to see Race standing in the shower room grinning at him. The young gymnast blushed crimson and felt as if he would die.

When Steve failed to respond, Race walked up to him and, again, stretched out a hand to his hard chest. This time though, Steve noted, the grin on his face looked wicked. "Hmmmmmmm, looks like you got 'em nice and smooth here, buddy," Race growled.

Steve was speechless. He could do nothing but stare at Race as the good-looking man ran his hands over Steve's chest. Was Race Jackson coming on to him? Was Race into guys? If so, where was this gonna lead? They were in a public shower room, for gods sake . . . wait a minute! Steve's mind screeched to a halt and backed up to the word "shower." If Race was in the shower with him, than he must be naked! Before he could stop himself, Steve looked down at the hockey player's cock.

"Oh god," Steve thought. Race's cock was perfect: the thick, brown dick hung down between the stud's legs, ending in a long flap of uncut skin hiding a round, fat head. His balls were big and heavy and the entire package was framed in a thick growth of black hair.

Steve looked back up at Race's face and knew he had been caught checking out the guy's equipment. He blushed even more as Race let out a deep, evil chuckle.

Suddenly, Race's hand trailed lower on Steve's body and his face assumed a serious look of concern. "Uh-oh, looks like you forgot to shave this part," Race said as his hand played with the "treasure trail" that ran from Steve's navel to his cock. "Can't have you walking around half shaved."

Without asking, Race took the shaving cream and razor from Steve's hands. Steve felt he should say something, do something, but the situation was beyond anything his mind knew how to deal with.

Steve stared down, past his large pecs and flat, ridged abs, to see Race's handsome face staring back up at him with a sly grin. With a "sssshhhhhhht" sound, Race sprayed a mound of shaving foam into his palm, then slowly spread the cream over Steve's midsection. The combined sensation of the cool menthol cream and Race's hot touch ignited the young man's nerves. He hissed as Race spread the foam.

"It's all right, buddy. Just gonna help you get all this hair out of the way. Gotta have you looking good and smooth, huh?" Race murmured. His hand worked lower and lower, deeper and deeper, spreading the cream into the hairs on Steve's lower torso. He stopped about an inch above Steve's dick. Steve bit his lip in frustration, silently wishing the hockey stud had gone further.

"There we go. Now," Race said, placing the razor against Steve's foam-coated skin. "Hold still. Wouldn't want you to get nicked" Slowly, teasingly, Race worked the razor over Steve's lower abs. With each slow stroke down the boy's body, foam and hair dripped out onto the tile shower room floor and swirled away down the drain. Over and over, Race dragged the razor over Steve's skin. When he was finished, he splashed water over the now-smooth abs and commented on how much better they looked. "There you go, now your abs match the rest of your body," Race said as he ran his large hands up and down Steve's strong, muscled legs.

"Hmmmm. You didn't shave your legs, Steve," Race said. "Would you like me to get those, too?"

Steve stared for a moment, still not believing the scene that was unfolding before him, certain that, somewhere, there was something he was missing - a punchline he didn't get, an explanation that passed him by.

"Hmm? Should I shave these legs for you, Steve?" Race said, his hands still massaging the backs of Steve's meaty thighs.

Steve just nodded.

"What was that?" Race asked, his devilish grin returning.

"ye . . ." Steve croaked through a mouth dry from excitement. He cleared his throat. "Yes, please."

Race chuckled as he sprayed more foam into his hands. "You don't talk much do you?" he asked.

Steve shook his head.

Race laughed. "Well, we'll see if we can't work on getting you to talk a bit more. Fuck, a good- looking guy like you doesn't have any reason to be shy," Race said, and he looked up and winked at Steve as he spread foam onto the shocked gymnast's right leg.

"Oh, christ," thought Steve. "This is not happening."

But there was Race Jackson, a fantasy stud if there ever was one, spreading cool, foamy shaving cream on his leg . . . all around the thick corded muscles of his quadriceps . . . around to the back of his thighs . . . Race's hands almost but not quite brushing against Steve's cum-heavy ballsack. Race's large hands were everywhere, skimming down the backs of his legs, over his calves, and around to coat his shins in shaving cream. Then, Race took the razor and slowly, as he had on Steve's abs, pulled it down over the young man's skin. Shiny, smooth patches of pale, pink flesh were revealed as stroke after stroke slid down Steve's body. Hair and shaving cream swirled down the drain. Race's hands were all over Steve - one hand grabbing firm to his legs to hold him in place as the other shaved his body. "Easy stud," he cooed. "Just relax."

When he got to the top of Steve's inner thigh, he gave no warning as he reached out and grabbed Steve's balls and moved them out of the way of the razor. Steve gasped and trembled from the excitement, but all too soon, it was over. Race let go and sprayed more lather into his palm, preparing to do the left leg.

The ritual was repeated: the long, slow lathering. The teasingly slow razor strokes. As Race worked his way around the quadriceps, coming closer and closer to the inner thigh, Steve's cock grew hard with anticipation. He couldn't stop himself and no longer wanted to. Steve knew that, when Race reached the top of that thigh, he would again grab his balls and the thought of it excited Steve more than he could say.

Steve was not disappointed; Race did indeed grab his heavy eggs and move them out of the way of the razor. Steve's cock grew harder, bobbing and pulsing in the air before his hard, muscled body. A clear drop of precum formed at the tip and, to Steve's horror, dripped off and landed on Race's shoulder. Race seemed not to notice though, and went on with his shaving, taking the last swipes off of Steve's legs.

After he was done with the legs, though, Race continued to hold the gymnast's balls. He played with them in his foam-covered hand, rolled them back and forth, stretched them down. All the while, Steve's erection throbbed and pulsed.

Steve suddenly gasped as he felt the razor on his balls. Race grinned as he swiped the blade around the young man's sack. "You ever shaved your balls?" he asked.

Steve shook his head no. He had never bothered with that. His balls were hidden inside his uniform.

"Well, you oughtta. It shows off these big beauties, just like shaving your muscles shows them off," Race said. He then moved the razor onto Steve's pulsing stalk and, with a few swipes, removed all the hair from the young man's dick.

"There you go," Race said as he splashed water over Steve's crotch. Steve looked down and was amazed: Race had removed every hair from his balls and dick. He had left a small patch just above the base of Steve's dick and, yes, he had to admit, his equipment DID look better . . . and bigger!

As Steve looked at his shaven package, Race reached out and stroked the gymnast's throbbing cock. "I've gotta make sure I got it all smooth," he leered. "Of course, sometimes it's hard to tell with your hands, particularly when they're all slick with shaving cream."

Steve looked at Race, not comprehending what the guy was saying but happy to feel a large, warm hand wrapped around his cock. Then, Steve gasped as he saw Race's face move closer and his mouth open wide to take Steve inside him.

Thunder clapped and lightning flashed inside Steve's mind. This COULD NOT be happening. Race Jackson, hot, dark, wildman stud, was NOT sucking his cock in the locker room showers. Yet, when Steve looked down, there he was. Race's mouth was bobbing up and down; his velvet lips were wrapped tightly around Steve's cockstalk. When Race bottomed out, Steve could feel the hockey player's goatee grind against his smooth balls. The sensation was incredible and Steve gasped and trembled. He whimpered through clenched teeth and sealed lips.

Race pulled off the hard cock and, before mouth-diving onto the gymnast's silky ballsack, asked, "Does that feel good, Steve?"

"mmm-hmm" Steve hummed.

"What?" Race asked, sliding his tongue over Steve's slick orbs.

"MMM-HMM" Steve moaned louder.

"Come on, boy. Tell me you like it or I'll stop," Race teased.

"No! please don't stop! it's good, so good . . . oh yeah, very good." Steve muttered.

Race grinned and sucked both of Steve's balls into his hot mouth.

"NNNGGGGGHHHHH!!!" Steve cried out through tightly clenched teeth.

Race wrapped his talented tongue around those twin balls and sucked them down. He sucked and pulled, tossing his head back and forth like a dog with a favorite toy. He covered Steve's eggs in spit before popping them out of his mouth.

Leering up at the silent stud above him, Race grabbed one asscheek in each of his big, meaty mitts and pulled Steve forward, his mouth open to accept the gymnast's hard cock. He deepthroated the hard tool and held it inside him, teasing the shaft with his tongue, swallowing to caress the swollen head, and tickling the gymnast's balls with his wiry goatee.

"mmmmph . . . mmmmmmm . . . MMMMMNNN . . . OOOOOOOOOOOOH GOD!" Steve finally screamed as Race worked a large finger into the boy's crack and teased his pink hole.

"THAT'S what I want to hear," Race said as he popped the dick out of his mouth. "You like feeling that finger on your hole?"

Steve looked down, panting, his mind swimming in sensation. He dumbly nodded his head yes.

"Uh-oh, not talking again, huh?" Race grinned and rubbed his forefinger over Steve's tight pucker.

Steve's eyes snapped shut and his face screwed up in pleasure. His body trembled and his dick spat out a heavy drop of precum, but he said nothing as the hockey stud played with his hole.

More determined, Race grabbed Steve's thin hips and spun him around. "Brace your hands on that wall, stud, 'cause I'm gonna work this ass over until you talk or collapse."

He spread Steve's tight, round gym-toned glutes and admired the slick, pink hole inside. There was no need to shave Steve's ass, for there wasn't a hair back here to mar the beauty of the boy's hole. "Oh my god," Race quietly moaned as he pressed his face forward. He inhaled deeply and caught a whiff of the gymnast's musky scent, along with the smell of soap and shaving cream and a lingering hint of sweat. As Race exhaled, his breath fell across Steve's asshole and the tiny portal twitched and winked in excitement.

Race stuck his tongue out and slowly, slowly eased his face forward. He was teasing himself as much as Steve, making himself wait for the pleasure of tasting that hot ass. Closer and closer his tongue drew. Saliva was dripping off the tip as Race imagined the warm, salty taste of the man- ass in front of him.

When Race's tongue finally connected with Steve's ass, it was like an electric current ran through both young men. Steve gasped, his body shuddered, every nerve ending inside him stood up and screamed in pleasure. The young man fell forward against the shower room wall. His heaving chest was plastered to the wet tile; his face was turned sideways and also pressed against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth hanging open as he gasped and panted. His ass thrust back toward the invading tongue which was bringing him such intense pleasure.

Race was equally electrified by the contact. His tastebuds went crazy at the sweaty, musky, soap- tinged flavor of Steve's ass. Tiny sparks of blue pleasure ignited in his brain. His breathing grew rapid and his cock grew rigid.

Race continued his attack. Laying his tongue down flat against Steve's muscled trench, he ran it up and down the crack, taking broad swipes at the hole. When the pink focus of his attention clenched tight, Race took it as a challenge. Steve's hole became his quest; he vowed to take it, to penetrate it, to make it his own. He grabbed one of the muscular cheeks in each of his large hands and spread them apart. Taking a deep breath, he shoved his face inside and was instantly engulfed in warm muscle. He tried to breath slowly through his nose, but his excitement and his determination to get his tongue inside that pink pucker soon had him rutting like a pig.

For Steve's part, the sensation of a warm, wet, tongue wriggling inside his ass was only matched by the tactile joy of Race's razor-stubbled cheeks wedged between his smooth buns and of his own balls bouncing off of the rimmer's goatee. Steve was grinding his ass back and down onto Race's face. He reached down and helped the stud ply his ass open.

Race had his tongue buried up the sweet hole above him. Spit, sweat, shower water and ass juice were all dripping down onto his goatee, coating it in a musky slick. His cock was harder than he could remember seeing it and he couldn't resist giving it an occasional stroke as he fed on the gymnast's rear. He wanted desperately to sink his tool up this boy's hole, but he vowed to himself that he would make Steve BEG for his cock. And by god, he was going to stand by that promise if he had to eat ass all night - and that thought wasn't too bad either!

When it came to rimming, Race considered himself a virtuoso and, with Steve's ass, he felt he had found an instrument worthy of his talents. He performed every single trick he knew and made up a few new ones along the way. With his tongue wedged deep inside the hot ass and his lips locked around Steve's hungry hole, Race would twist his tongue to the left and right. The movement brought a happy jiggle from Steve's hips and a grunt of satisfaction from his lips.

Then Race would begin to thrust the tongue in and out without moving his mouth from it's tight liplock. In that vacuum-sealed hole, he would plunge as deep as he could, then pull out, only to thrust back in. He would vary the speed, sometimes fucking slow, sometimes quickly. Steve grunted and moaned as he shoved his ass back for more.

Then, inhaling deeply through his nostrils, Race exhaled hard, blowing air up Steve's intestines and sending the kid into a new stratosphere of lust and happiness.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" Steve cried out as he felt the air blowing into his guts. "OOOOH MAN!"

"YEAH!" Race cried out, pulling his sopping wet face out of Steve's butt-trench. "You like that, boy?"

"YES!" Steve moaned. "Oh god, yes."

"Yeah, I bet you want some more," Race asked, slowly caressing the round globes of Steve's ass.

"Mmm. Yes." Steve responded.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I want some more," Steve said, thrusting his ass back at Race.

"More what?"

"More of what you were doing."

"COME ON!! SAY IT, BOY! TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!" Race barked.

"I want you to do that again, please. Please? Lick my ass again?" Steve whined, frantic to feel Race's tongue back at work in his hole.

"AW FUCK! IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO? COME ON! TELL ME TO DO IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT!!"

Steve took a deep breath. His body shuddered as he exhaled. And then he shouted. "EAT MY ASS GODDAMMIT!!! DO IT!!! GET YOUR TONGUE UP MY HOLE!!!! NOW!!" Steve blushed at the torrent of hot sex talk coming from his lips. But his dick throbbed and his balls tingled when he said it.

"More like it!" Race grinned before diving back in. After tonguing the hot pink chute, he pulled back. "You like that? Huh?"

"YES!"

"Want me to do some more?"

"YES!"

"You just want me to eat this ass all night?"

Steve paused for a moment and thought. "No."

Race grinned. "No, huh? You want something else?"

"Yeah." Steve said.

"Tell me . . . come on, tell me," Race coaxed, sliding his tongue around and around the kids hairless asshole.

"I want you to fuck me," Steve said. Again, his dick pulsed.

"What? I didn't hear you there?" Race teased.

"FUCK ME!!! FUCK MY HOT ASS!!! STICK YOUR COCK UP MY HOLE, DAMMIT!!" Steve cried out. His cock bounced up and slapped his abs, leaving a drop of precum on the ridged muscle.

"Ok, I will," Race said, smiling from ear to ear. "But only on one condition."

Steve moaned his disappointment. "What???"

"You gotta describe the whole fuck to me as I do it to you. I want to know how it feels every moment of the way. You understand?"

Steve nodded.

"No, boy, see you can't nod like that. You have to TALK. If you stop talking, I'm gonna pull my cock out of your ass and go home. Now do you understand?"

"Yes," Steve said.

Race hoped like god the kid DID understand because he sure didn't want to have to make good on his threat to go home.

Race quickly positioned Steve on his back on the shower floor. He pulled the gymnast's legs up over his shoulders and pointed his throbbing hard cock at the spit-lubed hole of his dreams. "Remember the deal, now, boy?" he prompted.

"Yes," Steve said.

And then, in one long, happy thrust Race buried his thick bone inside the gymnast's rectum. "OOOooooh god," he moaned as he penetrated the tight, muscular ass. "Talk to me, boy! Tell me what it feels like!"

"Oooooooooooooooooh," Steve moaned. "It's . . . it's so big . . . your cock feels really big and thick in my ass. It's filling me up . . . stretching me . . . ow, oh, man . . . it hurts a little, but it's good, you know? . . . I can feel your balls on my ass . . . I can feel the hair from your balls tickling my rear . . . and the base of your cock is so thick . . . you're really stretching my hole . . . Ok, now . . . oh god . . . now you're starting to move it . . . oooooooooooooooh . . . oh fuck that feels good. My ass is so tight . . . I can feel your cock squeezing in and out of my hole . . . oh god . . . oh god it's coming back in . . . ungh . . . unnnnngh . . . yeah . . . and your balls are slapping my ass . . . and . . . and I'm looking up at your face . . . ungh . . . and I can see your brown eyes watching me as you fuck me . . . and . . . ungh . . . ungh . . . You're getting faster . . . ooooh! . . . and the sweat is falling out of your chest hair and landing on me . . . and I'm squeezing my legs against your shoulders . . . your shoulders . . . oooh . . . they're so strong . . . so hard . . . like your cock . . . your cock is hard . . . so big . . . filling up my ass . . . ooooooh fuck! . . . Your pubic hair is grinding against my ass lips . . . your cock is thrusting in and out . . . I can feel the foreskin in my ass . . . feel it rolling back and forth . . . ungh . . . ungh . . . as you thrust in and out . . . ungh . . . fucking me good . . . fucking your boy good and hard . . . fuck me . . . FUCK ME! . . . YEAH! . . . FUCK ME HARDER!!! COME ON! . . . MY COCK IS SO FUCKING HARD . . . IT'S HARD AND IT'S SPITTING OUT JUICE ALL OVER MY STOMACH . . . OH GOD . . UNGH . . . UNGH . . . YOUR COCK IS SO GOOD . . . SO BIG AND HARD . . . IN MY ASS . . . MY TIGHT ASS . . . OH GOD . . . HARD COCK . . . FUCK! FUCK! . . . FUCK ME! . . . MORE!!! . . . I'M SO CLOSE . . . YOUR BIG FUCKING COCK RUBBING MY PROSTATE . . . OH GOD . . . OOOOOH . . . YOUR COCK SO BIG . . . GETTING BIGGER . . . YOU'RE GETTING BIGGER . . . YOUR BALLS ARE TIGHT . . . YOU'RE GONNA CUM . . . OH YEAH . . . I CAN FEEL IT . . . YOU'RE GONNA CUM . . . BLOW YOUR HOT STUD LOAD UP MY ASS . . . FEED ME YOUR JOCK CREAM . . . OH GOD . . . OH GOD . . . I'M GONNA . . . UNGH . . UNGH . . . I'M GONNA TOO . . . GONNA CUM . . . GONNA CUM WITH YOU . . . OH FUCK . . . FUCK . . . GONNA . . . YOU TOO . . . SOON . . . SOON . . . UNGH . . .

"OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWGGGHHHH FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH UUUUUNNNNGGHH UNGH UNGH UNGH YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!"

Steve twisted and writhed beneath Race's hard body. He shouted out his pleasure and the sounds of ecstasy bounced off the tile walls, matched only by the grunts, shouts and gleeful screams of Race as he poured his own seed into Steve's hot ass.

Race collapsed forward, his head falling onto Steve's monumental chest. Steve wrapped his arms around his new-found lover and held him tight. In the aftermath of their explosive union, the two cuddled quietly in the warm rain from the shower. They kissed lightly and exchanged murmurs of pleasure.

When their breathing normalized and everyone's blood had returned to the correct areas of their bodies, Race rubbed his goatee over the hard mounds of Steve's chest. "Dude, these pecs are still rock hard. I told you to relax these muscles before you hurt yourself. Now, why don't you join me in the sauna?"

This time, Steve hesitated not one moment in answering, "OK!"

The two men disappeared into the heat of the sauna room and closed the door behind them. A short while after they entered, the sounds of two guys laughing and wrestling about could be heard.

Then a voice barked out, "COME ON, HOCKEY BOY! EAT THAT GYM COCK!"

Race's voice laughed and answered, "Damn, I've created a mon-mmmppphhhggrrtttt!!!"

************************** Look for more LeaDR action in Chapter 14 (God, will this series never end?) Comments may be sent to TheoNorth@aol.com