Two days later, Nate was at a different event.

This meet was bigger, a regional qualifier, hosted at a university aquatic center three hours from his home. His coach had driven four of them up in a minivan, the whole way talking about splits and turns and the importance of negative pressure on the third lap. Nate had sat in the back staring out the window. He'd swum his heat earlier in the afternoon, the 100 free, not his best event but a solid one, and posted a time that was fine. Not a personal best. Not terrible. Just fine. His coach had nodded and moved on to the next swimmer.

After his race, he had nothing to do. The rest of the team had events spread through the afternoon. He was sitting with his teammates when he felt something. Not a sound, not a touch. Just a feeling. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

He looked up.

Wes was standing twenty feet away, near the railing that overlooked the upper concourse. He was dressed differently, dark jeans, a gray henley pushed up to the elbows, a baseball cap pulled low. He looked like a college guy killing time between classes. He looked nothing like the polished technician from the recovery pod. He looked like exactly what he was: a beautiful man in casual clothes, effortlessly magnetic.

Nate's heart stopped. Then it started again, hammering against his ribs so hard he thought people around him must be able to hear it. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, a rush of heat, a tightening in his chest, his cock stirring in his shorts. Two days. Two days since the pod, since the audience, since the reveal. Two days since he'd run out of that room and cried until he couldn't breathe. And now Wes was here, in the flesh, standing twenty feet away.

Wes caught his eye. He didn't wave, didn't smile. He just tilted his head, a small, deliberate motion toward the hallway that led to the locker rooms, and then turned and walked that way.

Nate stood frozen for five seconds. Ten. His phone was still in his hand, the screen dark. He looked toward the pool deck, where his coach was standing with a clipboard, watching a heat and shouting something at one of their teammates. The coach didn't look his way. Nobody was looking his way.

He put his phone in his bag and followed, knowing his team would watch his stuff.

The hallway was quiet. The locker room was quieter. It was a university facility, large, well-maintained, with rows of metal lockers and a tile floor that echoed with every step. The team areas were empty. The overhead lights buzzed. The air smelled like chlorine and industrial soap.

Nate walked past the rows of lockers, his bare, still slightly wet feet slapping on the tiles, his pulse in his throat. He turned the corner toward the shower area and stopped.

Wes was standing near the entrance to the shower stalls, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked up when Nate appeared. His expression was hard to read, serious, maybe a little tense. Not the warm, easy smile from the pool deck two days ago.

"Hey," Wes said.

"Hey." Nate's voice came out thin and tight. He cleared his throat. "What are you... why are you here?"

"I came to find you." Wes pushed off the wall and took a step toward him. "I needed to talk to you. I needed to apologize."

"Apologize?" The word hit Nate like a slap.

"For the pod. For what happened to you in there." Wes' eyes were steady, his voice low and earnest, the lie he was about to tell well rehearsed. "I didn't know what they were going to do. I was told it was a recovery study, sensory immersion, muscle relaxation, that kind of thing. I was hired to recruit and do maintenance. I didn't know there was an audience. I didn't know it was going to go where it went."

Nate stared at him. His mind was racing, trying to process. "You didn't know?"

"No. I found out afterward, when I saw the footage. And when I heard about the envelope they gave you, and the note." Wes' jaw tightened. "I should have asked more questions before I signed on. I should have been more careful. That's on me. And I'm sorry."

Nate's throat was constricting. He could feel the emotion building, two days of shame and fear and confusion, all pressing against the dam he'd built. "You... you saw the footage?"

"Yeah." Wes' voice was quiet. "I saw everything. I heard everything. And I know about the money and the non-disclosure threat. I know they told you to keep your mouth shut or they'd release the video."

"They don't know you're here," Nate said. It wasn't a question.

"No, they don't." Wes met his eyes. "I don't care. I needed you to know that what happened to you was awful. It was wrong. And, most important, that there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You didn't do anything that any boy wouldn't have done under those circumstances. You were manipulated. That's not your fault."

Nate's vision was blurring. He blinked hard, trying to hold it together. "Then why are you here? Why risk it?"

"Because I wanted to apologize. And because I wanted to tell you something else." Wes paused, and something shifted in his expression, something softer, more vulnerable. "I was attracted to you. From the second I saw you on the pool deck. Before any of it started. Before the pod, before the voice, before any of it. It wasn't one-sided."

Nate stared at him. "What?"

"I thought you were beautiful. I still think that. And when I saw the footage later, hearing you open up... it was the worst feeling. Not just because I felt guilty. But because I wanted to be the one talking to you, not a machine. I wanted it to be me."

A tear slipped down Nate's cheek. He wiped it away roughly with the back of his hand, his face burning. "You're serious?"

"I'm serious."

"You think I'm... you think I'm cute? After everything? After you saw me..." He couldn't finish the sentence. After you saw me cum in five seconds? After you saw me beg? After you saw me say I wanted to be spanked? After you saw all of it?

"I think you're beautiful," Wes said. "And I think what happened in that pod was... well... not wrong, but an invasion of your privacy. But the things you felt, the things you said, those were real. And there's nothing wrong with them. And there's nothing wrong with you."

Nate's breath hitched. Another tear fell. He was standing in a locker room, crying in front of the most beautiful man he'd ever seen, and this man was telling him he was beautiful back. The absurdity of it would have been funny if he hadn't been on the verge of completely falling apart.

Wes took another step toward him. "I shouldn't be here. If they find out I came to see you, I'm seriously screwed. But I had to. I had to see you. I had to tell you."

Nate wiped his face again. "You came all the way here just to tell me that?"

"Yeah. And to ask you something." Wes held his gaze. "If you want, we can make that fantasy real. What you described in the pod. What you said you wanted. But here, with me. For real. Not a machine. Not an audience. Just us."

Nate's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. His cock was fully hard in his speedo, pressing against the fabric, and he didn't try to hide it. There was no point. Wes had already seen everything.

"Here?" Nate whispered.

"Here." Wes cocked his head toward the shower stalls.

Nate looked toward the showers. Then back at Wes. His mind was screaming a dozen warnings at him, this is crazy, you don't know him, he was part of it, he helped set it up, but his body was screaming something louder, something that drowned out every rational thought. Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Okay," he said.

Wes smiled. It was the first real smile Nate had seen from him since the pool deck two days ago, and it was devastating, warm, genuine, a little crooked. He turned and walked toward the shower stalls, and Nate followed.

The shower stalls in this facility were nicer than most. Each one had a small changing vestibule, a curtained-off area before the shower itself, with a hook for a towel and a small bench. Wes stepped into one the vestibules at the end and turned to face Nate. He pulled off his baseball cap and dropped it on the bench. Then he pulled the henley over his head.

Nate watched, his breath caught, as Wes' torso was revealed. He'd been right two days ago, Wes was built. But seeing it up close, in person, in a small, curtained space with the light from above catching every line and shadow, was something else entirely. Wes had an eight-pack. Not a six-pack, an eight-pack. The muscles were defined but not bulky, the kind of lean, functional strength that came from years of swimming. His shoulders were broad, his waist was narrow, his skin was smooth and golden.

Wes kicked off his shoes and socks, then unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down. He was wearing boxer briefs, and the outline of his cock was visible, average, Nate noted. Not small, not huge. Maybe six inches. It was... nice, actually. Comforting. Wes was so beautiful, so physically perfect in every other way, that the normality of his cock was almost a relief. It made him human. And it meant that when the time came, it wouldn't be impossible for Nate to take.

Wes pushed the boxer briefs down and stepped out of them. He was fully naked now, and Nate could see the rest, the perfectly formed ass, the lean thighs, and the complete absence of body hair below the neck. Just like Nate. Smooth from the collarbones down.

"You shave?" Nate asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I was a swimmer in high school. I still keep up with it." Wes smiled. "Old habits."

Nate nodded. He was staring, he knew he was staring, and he didn't care. Wes was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He'd thought so from the moment they met, and seeing him naked, in person, inches away, was almost more than his brain could process.

"You're staring," Wes said, his tone teasing.

"Sorry." Nate flushed.

"Don't be. I like it." Wes reached out and took the waistband of Nate's suit under one finger. "Can I?"

Nate nodded. Wes pulled the speedo down and Nate stepped out of it. He was naked now too, his hard cock ramrod straight, his lean body on display. He felt a flash of self-consciousness, he was so much smaller than Wes, so much less developed, so much younger-looking, but Wes' expression was warm, appreciative, hungry.

"Beautiful," Wes murmured. He reached behind Nate and pulled the outer curtain of the vestibule closed. They were enclosed now, in a small space. The light above was warm and even. They were alone.

Wes kissed him.

It was Nate's first kiss with a guy. He'd imagined it a thousand times, in bed, in the shower, in the locker room when he thought nobody was looking. He'd imagined it with faceless men, with celebrities, with teammates he'd never have the courage to approach. He'd never imagined it would happen in a shower stall with a man he'd met twice, a man who had been part of the worst experience of his life, a man who was apologizing for that experience while pressing his naked body against Nate's and sliding his tongue into Nate's mouth.

But it was happening. And it was amazing.

Wes' lips were warm and soft. His tongue was gentle, exploring, not aggressive. His hands came up to cup Nate's face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. Nate's hands went to Wes' chest, feeling the hard muscle, the smooth skin, the warmth. He was shaking. He was hard. He was kissing a man and it was real and it was everything he'd thought it would be and nothing like he'd expected.

They kissed for a long time. Long, slow, deep kisses that left Nate breathless. Wes' hands moved down to his waist, his hips, pulling him closer. Their cocks touched, Nate's pressed against Wes' stomach, Wes' against Nate's. The contact sent a jolt through Nate that made him gasp into the kiss.

Wes broke away and smiled down at him. Then he sank to his knees.

The sight of Wes on his knees in front of him, this beautiful man, this impossible crush, looking up at him with those blue eyes, was almost enough to make Nate cum right then. He pressed his palms against the tiles, his hands flat, trying to hold himself up.

Wes leaned forward and took Nate's cock in his mouth.

The warmth, the wetness, the softness of his lips and tongue, it was nothing like the sleeve in the pod. It was alive. It was human. It was Wes.

Nate came in seconds.

It hit him fast and hard, the way it always did. His hips jerked forward, his hands flew to Wes' head and gripped it tightly, too tightly, probably, the way someone who'd never had a blowjob would, clutching the back of Wes' skull like he was afraid Wes would pull away. His cock pulsed, flooding Wes' mouth with cum, and a sound tore from his throat, high, thin, breathless. His legs shook. His vision blurred.

When it was over, he was panting, his hands still gripping Wes' head, his face burning.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry, I..."

Wes pulled back, his lips glistening, and looked up at him. He was smiling. "Don't apologize."

"I came so fast! I..."

"I know." Wes' voice was warm, amused, not mocking. "I know. And I'm still here." He licked his lips slowly, deliberately. "And I really do like the taste of you."

The words hit Nate like they'd hit him in the pod, a rush of heat, a surge of arousal. But this time, there was no shame. No audience. No machine. Just Wes, on his knees, looking up at him with those eyes and saying those words.

Nate felt himself getting hard again. He was still sensitive, still trembling from the first orgasm, but the arousal was building again, fast and insistent.

Wes stood up and kissed him again. This time, Nate could taste himself on Wes' tongue, salty, slightly bitter, warm. The intimacy of it was overwhelming. He moaned into the kiss, his hands on Wes' shoulders, his body pressing forward.

Wes broke the kiss and turned Nate around gently, guiding him to face the wall inside the shower stall. Nate braced his hands against the tile, his palms flat, his fingers spread. The tile was cool and smooth under his hands. Nate felt him kneel behind him. Then Wes' hands were on his ass, spreading him gently, and a moment later, Wes' tongue found his hole.

The sensation was electric. Warm, wet, soft, probing. Nothing like the cold, mechanical probe in the pod. This was a mouth, a tongue, a person. Wes licked him slowly, deliberately, tracing circles around his entrance, then pressing inward, teasing him open.

Nate moaned. The sound came out high and thin, that same girlish pitch that had echoed through the lecture hall two days ago. He couldn't help it. His voice just went there when he was overwhelmed. He pressed his forehead against the tile, his eyes closed, his mouth open, and the sounds coming from him were not sounds an fifteen-year-old boy was supposed to make. They were high and breathless and femme, and he knew it, and he couldn't stop.

Wes didn't seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to encourage it. His tongue pressed deeper, his hands gripping Nate's hips, and he made a low, appreciative sound against Nate's skin. "That's it," he murmured between licks. "Let it out. I want to hear it."

Then he added a light smack, an open-palmed tap on Nate's right cheek. Not hard, not painful. Just a sting. A warm, sharp little sting that made Nate gasp and push back into it.

Wes spanked him again, lightly, while his tongue continued to work. The combination, the wet warmth on his hole, the light sting on his ass, was intoxicating. Nate pushed back into both, his hands flat on the tile, studiously avoiding his own cock. He didn't want to touch it, he would cum immediately if he did. He wanted to feel this, just this, and nothing else. His hands stayed on the wall. His hips moved on their own, grinding back against Wes' mouth, seeking deeper penetration.

He was moaning continuously now, that high, thin, girlish sound, his voice cracking and climbing. "Oh god, oh god, that feels so good, don't stop, please!"

Wes kept going. His tongue was diligent, patient, and skilled. He spanked Nate a dozen more times, each one light, each one sending a fresh jolt through Nate's body. The stings were warming his skin, flushing it pink, and the warmth mixed with the pleasure of the rimming until Nate couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

Finally, Wes pulled away. Nate heard him rummage in the bag he'd brought, the one he'd set on the bench earlier, and then the sound of a cap snapping open. Lube.

"One finger," Wes said, his voice low. "Tell me if it's too much."

Nate nodded, his forehead still against the tile, his hands still flat on the wall, ass presented. He felt Wes' finger, slick, warm, first stroke and then press against his entrance. It slid inside, all the way.

Nate came.

Immediately, explosively, his body seizing around Wes' finger. His cock, untouched, jerked against the air, shooting thin ropes of cum onto the tile wall. The sound that came from him was a high, thin wail, girlish, desperate, the same sound the audience had laughed at two days ago. His hole clamped down on Wes' finger, pulsing with the orgasm, and his whole body shook.

When it was over, he was gasping. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I..."

"Shh." Wes withdrew his finger slowly. He turned Nate around gently and kissed him. Then he held up his hand, and Nate saw it. His cum, covering Wes' fingers, glistening in the light. Wes had scooped it up from the tiles.

"Lick it off," Wes said.

Nate leaned forward, opening his mouth, moving fast.

"No." Wes' voice was gentle but firm. He pulled his hand back slightly. "Slowly. And look me in the eye while you do it."

Nate moaned. The instruction, the command, the intimacy of it, it went straight to his cock, which was now hardening again. He looked at Wes. Into those blue eyes. And he leaned forward, slowly, and took Wes' fingers into his mouth.

He licked them clean, one by one, tasting himself, salty, bitter, warm, while staring into Wes' eyes. Wes watched him, his expression unreadable, his pupils dilated. When Nate finished, Wes leaned in and kissed him again, deep and slow, their tongues tangling.

"I want you to be my first," Nate whispered against Wes' lips. "Please."

Wes pulled back slightly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I've never... I want it to be you. Right now. Please."

Wes kissed him again. Then he reached for the lube.

They heard the locker room door bang open.

Both of them froze. Voices, male, loud, echoing off the tile. Laughter. The sound of lockers being opened and slammed. A team, coming in after a heat.

Wes' eyes met Nate's. He put a finger to his lips. Then he reached past him and turned on the shower. Water sprayed from the head behind them, the sound of it hitting the tile loud enough to mask their presence.

"Whisper," Wes said, his voice barely audible over the water.

Nate nodded, his heart hammering. The voices were close, maybe twenty feet away, in the main locker area. They couldn't see into the shower stalls from there, but if anyone walked past, they might hear something over the water.

Wes guided Nate down to the floor of the vestibule, the dry side, before the shower spray. The tile was cool against Nate's skin. Wes sat against the wall, his legs extended, and pulled Nate toward him.

"Sit on me," he whispered. "Face me. Lower yourself down. As slow as you need."

Nate's hands were shaking. He straddled Wes, his knees on either side of Wes' hips, the cool tile of the vestibule floor pressing against his shins. He could feel Wes' cock, hard, slick with lube, pressing against the cleft of his ass. It was average, maybe six inches, and Nate was grateful for that. His first time. He didn't think he could take more than that. Not yet. Not without a lot more practice.

He reached behind himself, his fingers slippery and clumsy with lube, and wrapped them around Wes' shaft. The feel of it in his hand was different from his own, thicker, hotter, the skin sliding differently than he expected. He realized, with a small jolt of surprise, that Wes was uncircumcised. The foreskin was bunched just behind the head, a soft, wrinkled collar of skin that shifted under his fingers as he adjusted the angle. He'd never touched an uncut guy before. He'd barely touched any guy before. The texture was fascinating, slippery and mobile in a way his own circumcised cock wasn't, the skin gliding forward and back over the head as he repositioned it. He felt a brief, absurd flash of curiosity, wanting to explore it, to pull the skin forward and watch it cover the head, to peel it back and see the glistening tip emerge. But this wasn't the time for that. He filed it away for later, a small, secret thing to think about in bed at night.

He pressed the slick head against his entrance. The tip kissed his hole, warm and insistent, and his body's immediate response was to clench. Every muscle in his pelvic floor seized, a reflexive, protective tightening that he couldn't seem to override. His body knew something was trying to get in, and it was fighting it.

"Relax," Wes whispered, his hands resting on Nate's hips, thumbs tracing slow circles on his hip bones. "You're tensing. Breathe."

"I'm trying," Nate whispered back, his voice thin and strained. He took a breath, trying to do what Wes told him, breathe out, and like the pod told him, push out, like he was trying to go to the bathroom. The logic was the same, even if the context was unimaginably different. He exhaled slowly, deliberately, and felt the ring of muscle soften, just a fraction.

He lowered himself. The head pressed harder, the lube doing its work, slick and slippery, and then, with a sudden, startling pop of sensation, the tip breached him. The widest part of the head pushed past his sphincter, and he gasped, a sharp, high sound that he tried to muffle against Wes' shoulder. It burned. Not a bad burn, exactly, but a bright, stretching, stinging heat that radiated outward from his hole and up into his lower belly. His body clenched again, instinctively, gripping the head of Wes' cock in a panicked squeeze.

"Easy," Wes murmured into his hair. His hands were steady on Nate's hips, not pushing, not pulling, just holding. "You've got it. Just the tip. Stay there for a second. Let your body get used to it."

Nate stayed. He was trembling, his thighs shaking, his fingers digging into Wes' shoulders. The stretch was intense, more than he'd expected, even after the pod, even after the dildo. The dildo had been smooth, uniform, mechanical and had given him a two fingered escalation. This was different. This was warm. It pulsed. He could feel Wes' heartbeat through his cock, a slow, steady throb that reminded him this was a person inside him, not a machine. And the foreskin, the soft, slippery skin was folded back now, bunched behind the ridge of the head, creating a slightly thicker ridge that his sphincter gripped and fluttered around. It was a strange, new texture, different from the smooth silicone he'd known.

He breathed. In, out. The burn began to fade, not entirely, but enough. His body was adjusting, the muscle slowly unclenching, learning to accommodate the intrusion. He felt a bead of lube, or maybe sweat, or maybe something else, trickle down his perineum and drip onto Wes' stomach.

"More?" Wes asked.

Nate nodded against his shoulder. "More."

He sank down further. Inch by inch, slowly, so slowly, he lowered himself onto Wes' cock. The shaft slid deeper, and the sensation shifted from the sharp stretch of the head to a deeper, fuller pressure. He could feel it inside him, pressing against walls that had never been pressed against like this, filling space he didn't know he had. It was uncomfortable. It was strange. It was a lot. But beneath the discomfort was something else, a warmth, a rightness, a sense of being filled that was different from the pod's mechanical probing. This was Wes. This was the man he'd been thinking about for two days, the voice he'd begged to fuck him, the hands he'd imagined on his body.

He paused halfway, his thighs burning from the slow descent, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "It's... a lot," he whispered.

"I know," Wes whispered, just enough to be heard over the shower. "Take your time. There's no rush."

Nate took another breath. He lowered himself more. Three quarters. Four inches in, maybe five. The pressure was building deeper now, pressing against something inside him that sent a low, warm thrill through his pelvis. Not his prostate, not yet, but close. The anticipation of it made his cock, which had softened slightly from the discomfort, twitch and begin to stiffen again.

He sank the last inch. His ass pressed against Wes' hips, Wes' cock fully inside him, buried to the root. He could feel Wes' pubic bone against his ass, the soft pressure of Wes' balls against his skin. He was fully impaled. Full. Stretched. Complete in a way he'd never felt before.

The sensation was overwhelming. Not just the physical fullness, but the reality of it. He was sitting in a man's lap. He had a man's cock inside him. He was having sex. For the first time. With Wes! The thought was so enormous that his mind couldn't hold it all at once, so it broke into fragments: the heat of Wes' skin against his, the pulse of Wes' cock inside him, the smell of chlorine and lube and sweat, the sound of the shower hissing behind them, the distant voices in the locker room, the cool tile against his knees, the warm breath on his ear.

"Good?" Wes whispered.

Nate nodded against his shoulder. "So good!" His voice was barely a whisper, high and breathless and thick with emotion. "It's... you're inside me."

"I'm inside you," Wes confirmed, his voice a low rumble that Nate could feel through his chest. "You feel amazing. So tight. So warm."

Nate clenched experimentally, squeezing his sphincter around Wes' shaft, and Wes let out a soft groan. The sound sent a jolt of pride and arousal through Nate. He'd made Wes feel good. He'd made this beautiful man groan. The power of it was intoxicating, a strange counterpoint to the vulnerability of his position.

He shifted his hips slightly, adjusting the angle, and felt Wes' cock press against his prostate. The sensation was immediate and electric, a deep, resonant pulse of pleasure that radiated through his pelvis and up his spine. His own cock, now fully hard again, jerked against Wes' stomach, leaving a smear of precum on his skin.

"Oh," Nate gasped, his voice climbing. "Oh, there. Right there."

"There?" Wes shifted his hips slightly, pressing harder against the spot.

Nate's breath hitched. "Yes. There. Oh god."

He started to move. Slowly at first, raising himself an inch, then sinking back down, experimenting with the motion. The friction was intense, the drag of Wes' cock against his inner walls sending sparks of sensation through him with every movement. And the foreskin, he could feel it now, the way it shifted and glided as Wes moved inside him, sometimes bunching slightly on the outstroke, sometimes pulling back on the instroke. It added a texture, a mobility, that was different from anything he'd imagined. It was like Wes' cock was alive inside him in a way a dildo never could have been, adapting, shifting, responding.

He found a rhythm. Rising and falling, his thighs working, his hands braced on Wes' shoulders. The pleasure built with each stroke, each press against his prostate sending another jolt through him. His cock was leaking steadily, precum dripping onto Wes' stomach, mixing with the sweat and lube.

"That's it," Wes whispered. "You sound so good. Don't hold back. Like I said, I want to hear you."

He was moaning into Wes' ear now, those high, thin, girlish sounds that he couldn't control, muffled by Wes' skin. The sounds were louder now, more frequent, punctuated by gasps and whimpers and the wet, slick sound of Wes' cock moving inside him.

"That's it," Wes whispered. "You feel amazing. I've been thinking about doing this to you since I saw you on the pool deck. You're so beautiful, Nate. You have no idea how beautiful you are."

Nate moved faster. The pleasure was building, fast and urgent, the way it always did. He was close already. The PE was relentless.

"I'm going to cum," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"Do it," Wes breathed. "Cum for me. Come on me!"

Nate climaxed. His body clamped down on Wes' cock, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing, shooting his load between their stomachs. He bit down on Wes' shoulder to muffle the sound, but a high, thin whine still escaped. His whole body shook.

Wes held him through it, his hands rubbing Nate's back, his cock still inside. "Good. That's good. I've got you."

When the orgasm faded, Nate was trembling, embarrassed, ready to apologize again. But Wes kissed him before he could speak.

"Don't say sorry," Wes whispered. "That felt amazing. And I'm not going anywhere."

Nate took a shaky breath and nodded. Wes was still hard inside him. The fullness was still there, warm and grounding.

"Keep going?" Wes asked.

Nate smiled. He started to move again, slower this time, his body oversensitive but craving more. Wes' hands guided his hips, setting a gentle pace. The water from the shower hissed behind them, covering the sounds.

The voices in the locker room continued. It was both frightening and thrilling, knowing that there were guys just a few feet away from them, oblivious to what was happening. All any of them would have to do was push back the shower curtain to see them, fucking, on the tiled floor.

In a burst of inspiration, Wes reached down and used the nails on his thumb and index finger to pinch Nate ass checks. He made a high pitched whine, more in surprise that pain, though it had stung a little.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well,” Wes said, smiling wickedly. “Spanking you would make too much noise. But this gives you that same sort of zing, right?”

Nate nodded, still a bit confused.

“Haven't you been a naughty little boy?”

Nate's expression shifted to realization, then to a lusty smile as he fully understood.

“Oh, yes. I've been very naughty,” he said, nodding. As he started bouncing on Wes' cock, the gorgeous young man resumed, moving his hands all around Nate's gorgeous globes, giving little pinches all over. Each one elicited a tiny high pitched wine from the teenage boy. Something about that drove Wes mad, and he could feel his orgasm building.

Wes' whispered dirty talk continued over the next few minutes, a steady stream of praise and filth. "You're so pretty. Your ass feels so good wrapped around my shaft. I want to cum inside you. Do you want me to cum inside you?"

"Yes," Nate gasped. "Please.”

“Say it.”

“I want to feel your cum in me."

Wes' grip on his hips tightened. His thrusts became faster, deeper, more urgent. Nate could feel him getting close, the way his breathing changed, the way his body tensed. And then he came, groaning softly against Nate's neck, his cock pulsing inside him, filling him with warmth, a massive load.

Nate came again a moment later, the sensation of Wes cumming inside him pushing him over the edge one more time. A dry, breathless orgasm, his body jerking with nothing left to give, but the pleasure was there, intense and real and shared.

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, the water running behind them, the locker room still buzzing around them. Nate's face was pressed against Wes' neck, his eyes closed, his body trembling.

Finally, Wes spoke. “That felt amazing.” Nate nodded, smiling, so pleased had voiced the same thing he felt. “And you know what this means, right?” At the boy's questioning look, he continued. “You're not a virgin anymore.”

The grin that broke across Nate's face would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame. He leaned in and kissed Wes, hard. They made out for a few minutes, enjoying the afterglow.

“I'm so glad it was you” the teen said, meaning it.

“Me too,” Wes said. They hugged for a few more minutes, hearing the locker room calm down and grow quiet again.

"We… we should get going."

Nate pulled back. "Yea, I guess,” he reluctantly agreed.

"If anyone finds us together, I'm screwed."

"How would they find out?"

"No, not them. I mean, if anyone finds us." Nate looked at him. His eyes were wet, his face flushed, his hair damp from the steam. He looked young. He looked beautiful. But he didn't fully understand the implications. Wes asked, "How old are you? Really?"

Nate face finally dawned with understanding. "Fifteen."

"Yea. I figured it was something like that."

"So... what we just did...?"

"Was technically a crime, yes. So it's not just the organization I'm worried about, whoever they are."

"So I'll never see you again?"

"Well, not like this at any rate, at least not for a few years." Nate's hopes perked up a bit at that. "But I wanted so badly to be with you. And so badly to try and make you feel a bit better about what happened."

"You did," he said, snuggling into Wes for one last time before he pulled back. Wes kissed him. Then Nate stood, cleaned himself up quickly, put his suit back on, and slipped out of the stall. Wes heard his footsteps recede, then just the buzz of the locker room.

As he walked back to the main pool Nate didn't know what this had been. He didn't know if Wes was telling the truth about not knowing what would happen in the pod. He didn't know if he was being naive, if he had made another mistake, if he had just given his virginity to the wrong guy. But he knew how Wes felt inside him. He knew how Wes' hands felt around him as they embraced. He knew how Wes' voice sounded when he whispered "you're beautiful" into his ear. And right now, that was enough.

His coach looked up from his clipboard. "Where have you been?"

"Just wandering around," Nate said.

Coach nodded and went back to his splits.

Nate sat in the bleachers and watched the rest of the meet. He was smiling. He couldn't stop smiling. He'd lost his virginity to one of the most beautiful men he'd ever seen! That memory would last a lifetime.

Wes got dressed, waited a bit, and looked in every area to be sure the locker room was totally empty. Then he carefully went under the bench and retrieved the hidden camera there, and also the ones from the ceiling and that he'd planted earlier. This, along with the one in the hidden compartment in his gym bag, should give him excellent footage.

Reviewing it later that evening he found that it did. Quite amazing in fact.

Weeks later, Wes sat in his car in a parking garage, a hour from home, his laptop open on the passenger seat, connected through a new mobile SIM card he'd paid for in cash. He'd been careful. He'd watched Gwen's comms protocol, the way she transmitted files to the Curator (who Wes wasn't supposed to know about), the encryption she used, the digital dead drops and the secure channels. She'd been sloppy. She'd left a window open one night when she stepped out to take a call, and Wes had memorized the information. It had taken him time to replicate it, but he'd finally managed it.

He attached the file, a high-definition brief teaser, captured by cameras he'd hidden during the locker room encounter. The angles were nearly perfect: the shower stall, the two of them, every moment. The kiss. The blowjob. The rimming. The spanking. The finger. The cum-licking. The fucking. All of it, clear and crisp and intimate.

He typed a message:

"New appendix on prior asset. Subject Nate, 15 years old. Consensual encounter, private setting. High emotional content. Loss of virginity, prolonged sexual encounter, and multiple orgasms for subject. Full callback to pod session. Exclusive footage, not available through other channels. Interested?"

He sent it through the secure channel and waited.

The reply came back about 20 minutes later. The Curator was interested. Very interested.

The price was negotiated quickly, the Curator knew quality when he saw it, and this was certainly it. A consensual follow-up to a humiliation session, the very beautiful teenage subject unaware he was being recorded, the handler acting independently. It was intimate. It was unique. It wasn't the normal type of encounter he looked to capture, but this was a nice offshoot and he appreciated this new handler's inventiveness. And a teenage boy genuinely losing his virginity, and in a gay context no less (the Curator's favorite), was exceedingly rare.

As a bonus in the video, Wes himself was also exceptionally good looking. This new handler might also prove a fantastic asset for recruiting future subjects; a relationship worth cultivating. So an extra payment to encourage that as well.

Gwen was obviously out. The fact that Wes knew how to contact him showed a clear lapse in security protocols on her part. In this case, there was no harm done (for him), but he wouldn't risk another lapse from her. Nothing negative would happen to Gwen, she'd just be cut off from the network and no more jobs going forward.

The transfer was completed within the hour. Wes checked his account. The number was larger than they'd negotiated. Over twenty thousand dollars! A follow-up note came from the curator, asking to speak again about future work. He agreed and they left it there.

He closed the laptop and sat back in his seat. He'd have to think about that.

His father's debts, the gambling losses, the loan sharks, the threats that had been hanging over his family for two years, totaled just under eighteen thousand. The money in his account would cover it. Would cover it and leave a buffer. For the first time in two years, Wes could breathe. They all could.

He thought about Nate. About the way the boy had looked at him in the locker room, those wide, trusting eyes. About the way Nate had whispered "I want you to be my first" and meant it. About the way Nate had smiled afterward, when Wes stopped to look at him one last time as he sat in the bleachers, that no longer innocent, blissful smile on his face.

He did feel a bit guilty for all he'd done, even though Nate would never know the full extent. But he knew that there would be far more guilt if he had to visit his father in an intensive care unit for injuries he could have been prevented. Plus, he really did think Nate was cute. This had not been a hardship for him, and he didn't fake it at all. The girly moans and the emotional vulnerability he had from the PE were adorable in their own way. If the kid were older... no, don't think that way. Don't see him again! He started the car and drove home.