The Telemachus Story Archive

The Athlete
By Hooder
Email: hooder@ntlworld.com



The Athlete

Jeanette Andersson, prime-time television hostess, gave her trademark smile to camera. “Tonight I have a very special guest. Will you please welcome – Tony Evans!”

The studio audience cheered as Tony walked on and sat down in the chair oposite Jeanette.

“Welcome, Tony.” She breathed in deeply. “Mmmm… I have to say that you’re looking very… good… tonight.” She fanned her face with her script and the audience laughed. “Now, before anything else I have a very special announcent. Ladies and gentlemen, I have in my hand the results of this year’s ITV National Celebrities Poll. And Tony, you are in it. With a response of ninety-two percent, you have been voted the Sexiest Guy in the UK!”

The audience went wild; cheers and whistles filled the studio.

Tony’s mouth opened in surprise, then he swallowed, and then he remembered to smile.

“So, how does it feel to be voted the sexiest guy in the UK?” Andersson raised her eyebrows, then turned her head to the camera and gave her smile again. “Especially when you’re already an Olymian gold medallist! Not bad for someone who’s only nineteen.” She allowed herself another smile, then turned her auburn head back to the boy fiddling a little nervously with his belt buckle in the other chair.

Tony was embarrassed. He hated all this celebrity, but everybody had insisted he accept the invitation to appear on this prime-time show. “I don’t know what to say. It feels – strange,” he replied. “Good,” he added quickly, “but strange.”

“Any plans to celebrate?”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t - no, just a quiet evening.”

Jeanette elegantly crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, gazing at the athlete. God, she thought, she’d never seen such gorgeous golden blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. She assumed an expression of innocence. “Now, Tony, tell me. Is there a special girl in your life at the moment?”

The beginnings of a blush appeared on Tony’s face. “I – I don’t think I want to talk about that. That really isn’t anyone’s business but mine.” He attempted to take the edge of his reply with a smile.

“Of course it isn’t. But just between you and me -” she turned to the camera and winked, “I’d really like to know. I can imagine most of the ladies in the land curling their toes up at the thought of a date with you.”

Tony tried to find words. “I think I’d rather talk about something else.”

Jeanette pouted. “Spoilsport.” Then she beamed again. “Ok. Talking of sport, you won gold at the Olympics last year in the Men’s Gymnastics. Would you do me – and the millions watching this – a big, big favour please?”

Tony didn’t like the sound of this at all. “What favour?”

“I think we’d all like to see your body.”

The studio audience cheered and whistled agreement.

“I – I don’t -”

“Now come on Tony, you’re not getting out of this. Show us your physique. It’s been on the front cover of ‘Time’ magazine – and a lot of others – after all.”

Tony took a deep breath. Then, sighing, he pulled off his sweater and his tee shirt.

Jeanette stood up and pulled him to his feet. The audience were going wild at the sight of the boy with officially the most perfect body and the most beautiful face in the country.

At first Tony stood awkwardly, but then he took up the ‘ready’ position of gymnastics he knew so well, his arms behind his back, feet slightly apart, weight evenly distributed- and immediately he felt at ease. He smiled.

Jeanette considered asking him to take his jeans off as well, but then thought better of it. She intended to see his legs at much closer quarters later. He was the hottest guy she’d ever seen, and nobody declined an advance from Jeanette Ansersson.

She didn’t yet know it, but on this occasion she would be wrong.

She turned back to the camera. “Now, have you ever wondered if it’s possible to juggle four elephants? Stay tuned and all will be revealed. We’ll be back after this...”

* * *

Andersson’s smiling face disappeared as the TV was switched off. The Man placed the remote control carefully on the coffee table, then sat back and stretched out his legs. He placed a large cigar between his lips and struck a match. “I think,” he said slowly, applying the match to the end, “that we can make a great deal of money from this boy.” He shook the match out and dropped it into the crystal ashtray.

Snitch grinned at Dingo. “When The Man has an idea, we must listen and learn.”

The Man swiveled his eyes towards the two lads. “Indeed you should. There are many ladies who would pay a lot of money to get fucked by that boy.” He inclined his head towards the TV set.

Snitch thought about this. When Snitch thought about something, it was almost possible to hear the wheels going around – not that they often produced anything worthwhile. Snitch had always wanted to be a hard-looking skinhead like Dingo but had never quite been able to get it right. Unlike Dingo, who had tattoos on his neck, was fit and muscled, and good-looking, Snitch’s tattoos were all in places that were covered by his clothes, which he rarely took off. He was scrawny and had matchstick legs – in spite of which he always wore the most skintight jeans possible. His face looked like the back end of a bus, and the short green mohican was in an advanced state of fading. The overall effect was that of a weird kind of punk. He looked up, frowning. “How we gonna get him to fuck them though?”

The Man knocked some ash of his cigar and sighed. “We’re not. That would be difficult. But what is the next best thing?”

The wheels started to go around again but then Dingo, who was considerably brighter, smiled slowly. “We could sell them his spunk.”

The Man gave Dingo a small nod. “We could indeed. They would have to know beyond any doubt that the semen they were buying was indeed from the boy, but that would not be too difficult to arrange. And we could charge a very great deal of money for it.”

Snitch was trying to catch up. “So we’d be there in the room when he’s fucking some chick and pull him out and collect his spunk.”

The Man’s eyes slowly closed and he exhaled sadly. “No,” he said. “That would be silly, Edward.”

Snitch screwed up his face – which made it, if possible, even less atractive than it usually was. He hated it when people used his real name.

“Just sit there quietly and listen.” The Man opened his eyes again and addressed Dingo. “You grab the boy, extract as much of his semen as possible, then release him. If necessary we may be able to repeat the procedure a second time at a later date. We would have to keep him for a while each time as his refractory period would limit the speed at which we could collect his semen...”

Snitch was now frowning in incomprehension. “Refack...”

“Refractory period. The time it takes a guy to recover after he’s cum, before he can cum again.”

Snitch was nodding slowly, his mouth forming a perfect ‘o’.

“Bruce.”

Dingo looked up.

“You will arrange it. Use the old warehouse on Grebe Street. The important things to bear in mind are,” The Man counted them off on his fingers, “one – he must not be allowed to identify you or to know where he’s been taken. Two – we want the very maximum amount of semen from him, so find out what turns the boy on. Three – video each extraction and keep the camera on the semen as it is put into a freezer tube, labeled with the time and date and his name, and sealed with some kind of tamper-proof seal. Get a good shot of each and every tube so that it is proof of provenance.” He looked at Dingo. “That means proof that it came from him. Now, do you think you can organise all that?”

“Leave it to me,” said Dingo. “No problem.” He rubbed his hands in anticipation.


Dingo had, in fact, had several problems, the main one of which had been finding out what turned Tony Evans on sexually. There was nothing on the net, or in the papers, and nobody he talked to had the slightest idea. The boy’s private life seemed to be a closed book. And so, having no other options, he’d decided that the best thing would be to get lots of porn on a big screen for him to watch during the extractions; something on there was bound to get him going. Dingo nodded to himself. Big boobs, that’s what was needed.

The next problem had been who was going to do the extracting? Both he and Snitch were straight and so had no experience of making guys cum – but how hard could it be? Eventually he’d decided that he’d do it himself.

Although Dingo could get no information on Tony’s sex life, the athlete’s daily routine was easier. Every Wednesday morning he went out for a jog that lasted until the afternoon. After that he usually went to the gym for an hour or two, and then back to his flat. They’d considered doing the extractions there – as far as they could find out he lived on his own - but there was no way for them to know whether anyone else would arrive unexpectedly. No, they’d use the old warehouse. It would be safer.

The abduction was planned for the beginning of the jog. Dingo and Snitch would get him at the corner of Fenchurch Street. It was quiet, not overlooked, and a good way from the warehouse, so that would allow plenty of time for him to lose his bearings on the way to it. They’d take a very circuitous route anyway, to make sure. Snitch had been all for chloroform and hi-tech restraints but Dingo pointed out that some cuffs and a pillow case for a hood would do the job just as well.

Dingo had everything ready. He and Snitch were in the van, ski-masks on the tops of their heads, waiting - and watching the rear-view mirror closely.

The boy appeared. He was jogging at a fair pace towards them. “Masks down!”

They waited - Dingo ready to open the driver’s door, Snitch the side door - until Tony had almost reached the back of the van. “Ok! Go!”

They jumped out and Snitch almost collided with him. As they’d rehearsed, Snitch dropped the hood over the boy’s head while Dingo grabbed his wrists and cuffed them behind his back. They bundled him into the van, closed the door, and set about tying him up properly. The boy’s tracksuit was damp with sweat. Then Dingo scrambled behind the wheel and the van screeched off down the road.


The warehouse was an old, empty brick place, but they’d installed a bed in one of the downstairs rooms, with screens around it so that the boy couldn’t even see the bare walls. A large TV, connected to a DVD player, was hanging horizontally from chains over the bed, and a video camera on a tripod stood to one side. A small table bearing rows of small, tightly sealed glass tubes was beyond it.

They managed to get Tony stripped, and then they tied him to the bed. Still hooded, he had no idea how many of them there were, where they were, or what they were doing, so it hadn’t been too difficult.

Dingo had realised that they would have to take the hood off Tony for him to be able to see the porn, so he’d sent Snitch off behind the screens. He put his ski-mask on again and removed the pillow case from over the boy’s head.

Tony blinked in the light, looked up at the TV, and then sideways at Dingo.

Dingo smiled. “Don’t worry – we ain’t gonna hurt you. All we want is your spunk.”

“My sp--.” After a second Tony nodded. He thought he understood. Either these people were going to conduct extremely unethical experiments, or they were going to sell it. This guy didn’t look like an evil scientist, so he guessed it was the latter.

“And how exactly are you intending to get it?”

Dingo pulled on a long black rubber glove.

Tony nodded again. “And the screen is for me to watch porn?”

That reminded the skinhead to turn it on. Images of a naked, busty young woman sucking a cock that could possibly have been attached to a horse, judging by its dimensions, appeared on the screen.

Tony watched it for a few moments. “Knock yourself out,” he said, lazily.

Dingo frowned. This boy was too self-assured for his liking. But he shrugged, moved to the side of the bed and spread some lube on the rubber glove. He took the soft cock in his hand and started to wank it. It kept slipping out of his hand. He changed his grip. That was better. The feel of another guy’s cock sliding through his fingers was weird – but money is money, he thought.

The cock wasn’t getting hard.

Imagine you’re wanking yourself off, he told himself. All guys do it the same way. He stroked it lightly, gripped it more firmly, tried doing it slowly, then fast – nothing seemed to be working.

After ten minutes of getting nowhere he stood back. Snitch could have a fucking go. He called him in.

“What?”

“I’m getting nowhere. You try.”

Snitch appeared around the screens, his ski-mask askew. “Looks to me that you’re doing all right,” he said.

Dingo frowned, not understanding, and then looked at Tony’s cock. It was visibly hardening as they watched.

He glanced at Snitch, then back at Tony’s face. The boy’s eyes were glued to Snitch’s legs and crotch. His pupils had even dilated.

“No,” said Dingo, slowly, “go on, put the glove on and play with his cock.”

Snitch looked uncomfortable at the idea, but gave in. “Ok.” He pulled on the rubber glove and walked closer. Tony’s eyes followed him. Tentatively, he held the boy’s cock – and immediately dropped it again as he felt it harden abruptly in his hand.

Tony was groaning. “Oh fuuuck. Your legs...”

Snitch looked down at his thighs. They were approximately the same circumference as Dingo’s arms. “What about my legs?” He asked defensively. He was used to being ridiculed about them.

“Oh fuck they are gorgeous...”

Snitch frowned and looked at them again. “They are?”

“Oh fuck yes… You have no idea. And those fucking jeans… Come here. Let me feel them.”

Snitch looked at Dingo, who was making ‘go on!’ motions with his hands. He stepped closer and Tony struggled to touch the skintight denim thigh with his fingers, but couldn’t quite reach.

“Bend down!” Hissed Dingo urgently. “Let him feel your legs!”

Snitch did as he was told. Now Tony could reach. He stroked the inside of the lad’s thigh, under the boy’s perineum, and ran his fingertips over the bulge of Snitch’s cock. To Snitch’s surprise it started to get hard. This made the bulge between his legs more pronounced, and Tony groaned again.

“Oh fuck yeaaaahhh… Oh shit...”

Snitch straightened up. He was supposed to be wanking this guy off.

Tony looked at him. “Listen, lads. I have an idea. You want my spunk, right?”

Both of them nodded.

“And judging by all those tubes there on that table you want as much of it as you can get, yeah?”

They nodded again.

“Ok. That’s perfectly fine with me. It wasn’t, until this boy came in, but he is a fucking wet dream.” His eyes were on Snitch’s legs again.

Dingo looked at Snitch unbelievingly. How could anyone in their right mind think that ugly little runt was attractive? Tony was clearly in need of treatment.

The restrained boy went on. “Untie me, tie that one down here instead, and I’ll give you all the spunk I possibly can. And there’ll very probably be a lot.”

Snitch snorted. “Untie you? Ha! As if! If you think we’re going to -”

But Dingo cut him off. “Untie him. Don’t worry – the rest of us will make sure he doesn’t escape.”

“The rest-”

“Shut up and untie him. Now!”

Together the two lads released Tony, who stood up and rubbed his wrists.

“What’s your name?” Tony asked Snitch.

“Don’t -”

“Snitch.”

“- tell him,” Dingo finished off. He rolled his eyes.

“Well, Snitch, get on the bed. You’ll enjoy this.”

Snitch looked at Dingo. Dingo sighed. “Get on.”

They tied the punk to the bed, and immediately Tony was all over him. He ran his hands over the lad’s thin legs and licked his jeans, working his way slowly up from his boots to his crotch. He could almost meet his finger and thumb around those legs. “Oh fuck yeah,” he moaned. When he got to the top he went to work on the cock inside the punk’s jeans. “You got underpants on?” He asked.

“Course,” said Snitch.

Tony undid the jeans. “You got a knife or scissors?” He asked Dingo. “If so, cut these off, will you?”

Dingo’s hand went to his pocket. He hesitated for a moment, then took out a bowie knife. Snitch started to protest but Dingo ignored him. He cut through the underpants and pulled them out from under the punk.

Tony zipped the tight jeans back up again. “Oh fuck,” Tony breathed, “that’s better.” He went back to work on the now far more vulnerable cock, knowing that the lad could feel everything through them. He teased his fingernails and his teeth over the head. And it quickly began to get hard again.

“Get ready with of of those tubes,” Tony said, breathlessly.

Dingo picked one up and began to open it.

“Oh fuck!”

Tony was cumming. Gobs of sticky white spunk erupted from his cock and began to soak into the scrawny lad’s jeans. Dingo tore at the tube in his hand but he was too late – by the time he’d got the seal open there was nothing left to collect.

“Shit. Missed it.”

Tony lay down on the bed next to Snitch. “Sorry about that. This boy’s legs are something else.”

Dingo put the tube down. “So how long’s it take you to recover so you can go again?”

“Oh not long. A cup of tea would help. Got any tea here?”

“No. I could send Snitch out to get some. There’s a wagon down the road.”

Tony thought about this. “If you left me here to play with this boy in those jeans I’d be ready to go again a lot sooner.”

Dingo considered, then nodded. He could lock the warehouse behind him. Tony would be going nowhere. “Ok.” He turned and left them.

Snitch was moaning. He’d been very close when everything had stopped, and he needed to cum. He’d never had his cock played with like that before – it was much hornier than when girls did it – and the feel of it being worked on through the well-worn, thin, threadbare denim of his jeans was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He wanted more of that. He hadn’t realised that tight jeans could feel so fucking sexy – or how much hornier they felt with nothing on underneath. If this is what it was like with guys, he thought, he’d been missing out on a hell of a lot so far.

Tony examined those jeans more closely. There were patches here and there that were almost worn through – there were even a few actual holes in places. He pushed his hand under the lad’s arse and felt around. Yes. There was a hole in almost exactly the right place.

“Work on my cock,” moaned Snitch.

“Oh I intend to. But I want it to feel even more horny for you. I’m going to untie you and turn you over, Ok? Then I’m going to give you the orgasm of your fucking life.”

Snitch frowned. “But you won’t be able to get to it then.”

“Oh, let me worry about that...” He looked at the lad. “But first, let’s see your face.” He gripped the ski-mask.

Snitch struggled in the restraints. “No! We have to keep the masks on! And I’m ugly!”

With one pull, the mask came off. Tony looked at the punk. And grinned. “Oh shit,” he said very slowly, “you are fucking perfect...”

Being called anything but hideous was a new experience for Snitch. He knew he had a face like a horse’s arse. He smiled unbelievingly. “Am I?”

“Oh yes, you most certainly are.” After a few moments more of looking at the lad’s face, he released him, turned him face down, and refastened the restraints. “I know I have strange tastes in guys but Snitch, you are what I’ve been looking for for a very long time. I want to fucking rape you.”

“Rape me?” The idea was not something that appealed to him.

“Rape you.” Tony found the hole he’d felt earlier, and enlarged it with his finger. He spat on his cock and pushed it through the sexy jeans, into the lad.

“AAARGH!” Further protests were silenced by Tony’s gagging hand.

Tony closed his eyes in ecastasy at the feel of the skintight jeans on those thin legs rubbing against his naked skin, and at the thought that he was fucking this unbelievably sexy lad – this Snitch was his perfect idea of a boy.

Snitch arched his back, bouncing up and down on the bed under Tony’s animal thrusts as the athlete came. As his orgasm died down he reached between the restrained lad’s thighs and felt for his cock bulge, intending to bring the boy off very slowly and intensely. He felt slippery wetness there: Snitch had cum already.

“Tea’s up.” Dingo was back. He took in the scene. “You haven’t...”

“I’m afraid so. This boy is unbelievable.

Dingo put the paper cups down. “But we’re supposed to be collecting your fucking spunk!”

“I know. I’m sorry. Let’s have the tea and then we can try again.” He unfastened the ropes holding Snitch to the bed and the lad got up. There was a dreamy look in the punk’s eyes unlike anything Dingo had seen on him before.

“You’ve fucking cum as well!”

Snitch had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry,” he whispered – but he was staring at Tony’s cock is if trying to convince himself that something like that could have made him cum so amazingly. His brain was having difficulty processing the information.

Dingo passed the teas around and they drank it in silence for a while. Then he realised something. “And you’ve taken your fucking mask off, you idiot! Why don’t you just give him our names and adresses as well while you’re at it?”

Tony smiled. “That was me. Sorry.”

Dingo breathed an exasperated sigh.

Tony looked Dingo up and down more closely. “I’ve got an idea. You know now that I’m into guys. Snitch is done for a while but I’ll be ready to go again very soon. Let me suck your cock for a bit. That’ll help. A lot. You are one very fit boy.”

Dingo started to shake his head, but then thought what the fuck else could he do? He put his empty cup down and Tony motioned him to the bed. “Can you strip to the waist? Looks like you’ve got some beautiful muscles...”

Resignedly, Dingo took off his jacket and tee shirt. Tony whistled. “Mmm. You have got a wonderful body. Lie down.”

Dingo did. Tony fastened the restraints around the skinhead’s wrists and ankles, then knelt between his knees and began to play with Dingo’s bulge, leaning forward to lick his beautiful pecs. Not a lot was happening with the cock, but Tony knew that would only be a temporary arrangement. He lowered his head and scratched his teeth over the end of the bulge. He could feel the shape of the skin’s cock through the boy’s jeans now – and it felt like he had nothing on under them. He smiled as he felt it harden a little.

After five minutes of working on it through the denim it was fully erect. Tony undid the button and carefully lowered the zip. He grinned. He’d been right – the boy was commando. “Excellent,” he said, gently releasing the cock and taking the head between his wet lips.

Dingo’s cock had never been in the mouth of another guy before. In his mind there was a battle going on between his preconceived idea that it was somehow ‘wrong’, and how fucking gob-smackingly wonderful it felt. No girl had ever worked on it like this guy was working on it. He was using his lips, his teeth, his tongue, occasional suction - and he was gently tickling Dingo’s balls and fingering his arsehole at the same time. Dingo was in heaven.

“Fuck! I’m gonna shoot!”

“No you’re not.” Tony slowed the stimulation a little – just enough so that the skinhead was hovering on the edge of orgasm.

The muscles of Dingo’s right arm flexed suddenly as he tried to bring his hand down to finish himself off – but he was tied up, and so he couldn’t.

Tony smiled. He licked the tip of the skinhead’s cock and looked into his eyes. “That’s right – you’re not going to be able to cum until I decide to let you. However much you want to.” To underline the point he worked on the head again for a few seconds, and then pulled off it.

A low growl started in Dingo’s throat. Then it turned into a yell. “Let me fucking cum!”

Tony had an impish grin on his face. “You want to cum? Oh. Ok. You should have said.” He took the cock back into his mouth and sucked it very, very slowly.

Then he felt something between his thighs, behind him. A short green mohican. Snitch had been watching this – in fact his eyes had never left Tony’s cock as it hung down, hard and solid, between his thighs while he was working on Dingo. In the end he hadn’t been able to resist. Now it was pulled even further back and in his mouth, and he was making an enthusiastic – if inexpert – job of sucking Tony off.

Inexpert it may have been, but it was nonetheless effective. Tony reached back with one hand and stroked his fingers over that boy’s amazing legs. In unison Tony and Dingo yelled at the tops of their voices as they both came. A few seconds later, with a little gurgle, Snitch came in his jeans, Tony’s spunk running down his chin.

All three collapsed in an exhausted heap on the bed, beathing fast.

Their heavy breathing froze as The Man stopped the playback. He sat there looking at the TV that showed the three lads in a tangle on the bed. “So let me try to understand.” His eyebrows were almost meeting. “I sent you to collect this boy’s semen. You, Edward, came twice. You, Bruce, came once. The victim came what – three times? And you didn’t manage to get a fucking drop of it?” He sat down heavily on the settee, took a deep breath and screamed: “WHAT THE FUCK DO I PAY YOU FOR?”

The two lads were cringing. When The Man got angry nothing good would come of it.

Dingo spread his hands placatingly. “Think of this as a trial run.”

A TRIAL RUN? What the fuck are you talking about? This had better be fucking good.”

“It is. Calm down. It is.” Dingo licked his lips. “I know it’s hard to believe, but the boy Tony has got a thing for Snitch.”

“A thing for Sn – what do you mean, he’s got a ‘thing’ for Edward?”

“Well, turns out he’s not into women. He likes guys. And for some reason – God knows why – he thinks Sn... Edward is the bee’s knees. He nearly came when he first set eyes on him in those jeans. Thinks Snitch is sex on legs.”

The Man stared. Like everyone else, he was trying to see how anybody with vision that worked, could fancy Edward. He scratched his head. “And?”

“And so,” Dingo hesitated for a moment. It sounded so unbelievable. “Snitch and Tony are an item.”

“What? What do you mean, ‘an item’?”

“Tony’s in love with Snitch and Snitch just wants more sex with Tony.”

The Man processed this for a while. Then his face relaxed a little. “Oh?” He picked up a cigar but forgot to light it. “Oh. Well in that case,” he was thinking of the ramifications. “In that case, all may not be lost.”

“Right. Now, left to themselves, Tony would just fuck Snitch and that would be no good cos we’d lose his spunk. So I’ve got an idea. We tie Tony down, and make him watch me tease Snitch’s thin legs and thighs and cock bulge in those tight jeans he’s so mad about. He thinks I’m fit, so I’ll strip to the waist. Watching a muscular skinhead teasing Snitch in those jeans’ll make Tony shoot uncontrollably. So we do that, collect the spunk, and there you go. You said to find out what turns the boy on – we have done.”

The Man stared at the wall for a while, then shook his head in wonder. “Do it. Strap him down. Tease the fuck out of Snitch and get the athlete’s spunk. Get LOTS of it. This had better work.”

Dingo relaxed. In fact, it wasn’t going to have to work. Back at the warehouse, after the camera had been turned off, they’d ended up doing things every which way: Tony had fucked Snitch, then Dingo; and then Snitch and Dingo had taken it in turns to suck Tony off. Whichever way they did it made both the punk and the skinhead need to wank very badly indeed – and it would be a shame to waste all that spunk; they may just as well do it into the little glass tubes.

As for the provenance, Dingo knew a guy who was a whizz at doctoring video. He smiled: nobody would ever know it was their spunk and not Tony’s. And the supply would be endless.

Dingo winked at Snitch. The punk was grinning back.

It looked like everyone was going to be happy.