The Swimmer Who Dominated Me in the Club Showers

That Thursday in summer, it was raining hard over Valencia, and rain has one good thing about it: it empties the pools. I arrived at the Malvarrosa sports center after seven, with the locker room all to myself and the pool’s surface smooth as a mirror. I had just turned thirty-eight, and my body still responded: a lifelong swimmer, broad-shouldered, my skin weathered by the sun and chlorine. I wore my hair shaved at the sides, with long braids that stuck to my back whenever I came out of the water.

I did three thousand meters flat out. Sets of a hundred freestyle, fifty breaststroke, my legs burning over the last lengths. I finished wrecked and with that strange adrenaline exertion leaves you with, a mix of exhaustion and wanting more. I tore off my swimsuit at the locker, my cock already half-hard from all the rubbing of wet Lycra, and went into the communal showers with my towel over my shoulder, thinking only of hot water.

I wasn’t alone.

At the far end of the row of white tiles, beneath the steam, there was another man. Young, much taller than me, his dark back gleaming beneath the spray. His name was Idriss, though I learned that later. Senegalese, twenty-four, he swam for the university. He had the kind of body one imagines when thinking of the word “athlete”: defined pecs, a flat, hard stomach, long legs belonging to someone who spent his life pushing through water. And between his legs, hanging heavy even at rest, a thick, dark cock that swung every time he moved beneath the spray.

I turned on the shower beside him and let the water fall over the back of my neck. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, without really trying to hide it. He wasn’t hiding it either. When he turned to reach for the soap, I let my gaze drop a second too long, and he noticed. He smiled. A slow, unhurried smile, belonging to someone who knew exactly what effect he had. He ran his hand over his cock with all the calm in the world, soaping it in front of me, letting it grow in plain sight.

“I saw you swimming,” he said, in a soft French accent that drew out his r’s. “You swim well. And now I see you get hard quickly too.”

There was no point denying the obvious.

My cock was stiff against my belly, pointing at him. I took a step closer, still beneath my spray, and he took another toward me. Steam wrapped around everything, the sound of water drowning out every other noise. When I raised my hand and placed it on his wet chest, I felt his heart beating fast beneath my palm. I moved slowly downward, following the line of his abdomen, and grabbed his entire cock. I could barely fit it in my fist. It was hot, hard as stone beneath the skin, and it throbbed when I squeezed it.

“Fuck,” I murmured.

He gave a low laugh and gently pushed my shoulders downward. Nothing more was needed. I knelt on the tiled floor, water running down my back, and he put it in front of my face. It was even thicker up close. I took it in both hands and began slowly, with my tongue, licking the tip, tasting the chlorine and the salty flavor of his skin. I ran the full length over my open mouth, from the base to the glans, and sucked his balls one by one until they tightened against his body.

Then I put it in my mouth. At first only halfway, my jaw opening too wide to accommodate it. He threw his head back and let out a breath through his mouth. He grabbed my braids with both hands, not violently, but guiding me, setting the rhythm he wanted, deep and unhurried. I sucked his cock the way I hadn’t sucked one in a long time: slobbering, pulling it out to the tip to lick his swollen glans and taking it back in until my throat protested. A strand of saliva and water hung from my chin. He grunted things in French that I didn’t quite understand, pushing me deeper and deeper until I felt the tip hitting my throat and my gag reflex rising.

“That’s it, you bastard, that’s it,” he panted in Spanish, pulling my hair. “Suck it all.”

That was when I noticed we were no longer alone.

Several men had remained in the row of showers opposite us. Two guys in their early twenties, an older man with a gray beard, the lifeguard on duty still wearing the whistle around his neck. None of them said anything. They stood still beneath their sprays, watching, and they were all slowly stroking their cocks. Water ran, steam rose toward the ceiling, and no one made any move to leave or go anywhere. The gray-bearded man had a thick, curved cock, and he jerked it while watching my mouth full of Idriss’s cock.

Knowing they were watching turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected. I’m not someone who seeks an audience, but there, kneeling on the wet floor, with a cock in my mouth and their eyes fixed on us, I felt something electric running down my spine. I pulled it out for a moment to breathe and spat on it, coating it with saliva as I glanced at the men stroking themselves. Then I swallowed it whole again.

Idriss pulled me up gently by the wrists. He turned me against the wall of cold tiles, spread my legs with his knee, and took his time. He opened my ass cheeks with both hands and crouched down. First I felt his breath, then his hot tongue licking my entire ass, from top to bottom, pressing against my hole until it opened. A long moan escaped me and bounced off the tiles. He ate my ass for a good while, sucking and working his tongue inside, while I pressed back against his face.

Then came his fingers. First one, then two, wet with saliva and water, patiently opening me while he spoke into my ear in a low voice in French. He put in a third and I felt the stretch, that mixture of burning and pleasure that buckles your knees.

“Look how they’re watching you,” he murmured. “They love seeing you with my cock about to go up your ass.”

I didn’t answer him. I planted both hands against the wall, arched my back, and pushed backward, searching for it. I felt the thick tip resting against my hole, pushing, yielding. When it entered, it did so slowly, inch by inch, giving me time to adjust to its size. It burned and hurt and was exactly what I wanted. I was without breath for a moment, my forehead against the tiles, his cock buried halfway inside me and my hole burning, until my body gave way and I took him all the way in. I felt his balls striking my perineum when he reached the bottom.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled.

He began moving with long, firm thrusts. He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in, hard, to the bottom, until a moan escaped me with every thrust. Water splashed in every direction, my wet braids stuck to my face, and I moaned like a bitch while glancing at the men watching us. One of the guys had moved a couple of steps closer, his hard cock in his hand, not daring to do more, his gaze fixed on Idriss’s black cock sliding in and out of my ass. The gray-bearded man was breathing heavily and stroking himself with both hands. The pleasure of knowing I was being watched mingled with Idriss fucking me hard against the wall, and each fed the other.

“Harder,” I begged him. “Fuck me harder, goddammit.”

He gripped my hips with both hands and sped up. Each thrust pressed my belly and cock against the cold wall, his hips slamming into my ass with a wet smack, his hot breath on my nape, his thighs striking mine. My cock slid against the tiles, dripping pre-cum, without anyone touching it. There was no need. My body tensed all at once, fingers digging into the grout between the tiles, and I came on my own, my cock jerking against the marble, shooting thick streams of semen that the shower water immediately carried toward the drain. A hoarse cry escaped me. I heard someone across from us moan at the sight and the unmistakable sound of an orgasm splattering onto the tiles.

Idriss pulled out for a moment, panting, his cock shining and still hard, pointing toward the ceiling, and gestured toward the wooden bench in the center of the showers. He sat with his legs spread, his cock stiff against his belly, and pulled me toward him. I positioned myself on top of him, facing away, and lowered myself slowly until I impaled myself again. A long moan escaped me when I felt it entering all the way to the bottom once more, even deeper under the weight of my body. From there, I controlled the rhythm. I rose and fell, looking at the ceiling, riding him, his open hands on my chest pinching my nipples, his lips searching for my shoulder and nape, his teeth biting me slowly.

My cock, which had barely softened, grew hard against my belly again a few minutes later, jumping with every downward stroke. I grabbed it and began stroking myself to the rhythm I rode him, and he gave a hoarse laugh when he saw.

“You’re a slut, you know that?” he said in my ear, biting my earlobe. “My slut.”

One of the guys finally came closer. He didn’t say anything; he stood in front of us, his hard cock in his hand, the reddened tip dripping. Without thinking, I leaned toward him and opened my mouth. He slid it in slowly and began fucking my face while Idriss kept thrusting up into me. The two rhythms fell into step, and I stopped thinking. I had one cock in my ass and another in my mouth, while mine jerked freely against my belly. The whole scene became something else: the heat of the steam, the water still falling from the open showers, the stray moans of the men watching and jerking off, Idriss’s body thrusting up into me, the guy’s salty taste on my tongue. For a moment I no longer knew where I ended and everything else began.

The guy pulled his cock out before he came, panting, and came over my tits and neck, hot streams mixing with the water. He staggered away without saying anything and went back to his shower.

***

We changed positions without speaking, reading each other with our hands. Idriss lifted me off him with his cock still hard and shining from my own ass, and laid me down on the wet floor. He spread my legs, raised them, resting them against his shoulders, and entered again with a single thrust, looking me in the eyes. I opened myself to him, folded in half, and felt him deeper than ever. That was the part I remember most: not the force, but the way he held my gaze while he fucked me, slowly at first, deep afterward, his cock sliding in and out with a rhythm that rose into my throat, as if there were no one else in the entire room. He brushed a strand of hair from my face with a tenderness that didn’t fit with everything else, and kept thrusting.

“I’m going to fill you,” he whispered. “Do you want me to fill you?”

“Yes, fuck, come inside me,” I begged, arching my back.

The circle of men had closed in a little more around us. Some could no longer hold back. The lifeguard, still wearing the whistle around his neck, was first: he came with a grunt, shooting his load onto the floor near my head. Then the bearded man, panting hard, with a thick ejaculation that dripped over his fist. The sound of everyone coming at once, the water, the steam, Idriss’s thrusts pounding my ass, was too much for me. I jerked myself quickly and came a second time, this time over my own belly and chest, thick streams reaching as far as my neck, with a cry that escaped me without permission. My ass clenched around Idriss’s cock and he let out a guttural moan.

Idriss lifted me off the floor as if I weighed nothing, his cock still inside me. He held me against the wall, my legs around his waist, my arms crossed behind his neck, and finished that way, fucking me standing up, holding me against him, his forehead pressed to mine and his eyes open, locked on mine. I felt his whole body tense, his cock swell even more inside me, and him begin to tremble. When he couldn’t hold back any longer, he pulled out sharply, lowered me to the floor, put me on my knees in front of him, stroked his cock twice with his hand, and came over my face and chest, long, thick streams splattering my lips, cheek, and braids as he panted, eyes closed and mouth open. I licked the tip when he finished, sucking up the last drops. I swallowed what landed in my mouth; the rest stuck to my skin until the water still falling over me carried it away in white rivulets.

Little by little, the others withdrew to their showers, their cocks still dripping or already soft and hanging between their legs. No one made any comments, no one looked for anything more. Just sidelong glances, the occasional knowing smile, the sound of water once again becoming the only noise in the locker room. Idriss and I stayed for a long while beneath the hot spray, him behind me, his arms around my chest, his soft cock resting against my ass, saying nothing. There was no need.

We left the showers after ten, with the locker room empty by then. Before leaving, he grabbed my forearm and wrote his number on it with a marker he pulled from his backpack, the ink resisting the water.

“Whenever you want me to fuck you again,” he said, smiling that slow smile once more. “You know where to find me.”

I went out into the rain, my hair wet, my ass still burning, my whole body vibrating. I hadn’t felt so awake in months. I stood for a moment beneath the bus shelter, looking at the numbers written on my arm, and laughed to myself, unable to help it.

I can still smell the chlorine, steam, and semen when I close my eyes.

It was, by far, the best rainy afternoon of my life.