I could tell that Hals had shot his load, because the towel boy jerked and sucked hard on the tongue I had in his mouth and the two of them groaned in unison. The Swiss tennis pro and I were holding the towel boy between us on the bed in Hals’s changing room in hotel gym. The boy’s butt was plastered to Hals’s lap, Hals’s sheathed cock up his channel. Hals was on his back, the towel boy’s right arm trapped under him, and Hals had been holding the young man’s right leg bent up into his chest. I was on my right side on the other side of the young boy, his left leg trapped under my legs, my right arm under his neck, pulling his face into mine for the deep kiss, while the towel boy fucked himself on Hals’s cock by raising and lowering his pelvis. The young man’s cock was encased in my left hand, and I let him do the sliding with the same movement he was fucking himself on Hals’s cock.

Hals and I had come together at tournaments all over the world to do a boy ever since we had revealed to each other that we both had a fetish for fourteen-year-old boys, getting them as they were just developing into the muscularity men but still had the innocence, flexibility, and resilience of pliable skin of a boy. They didn’t have to be virgins, but we got an extra charge if they were. And that wasn’t the only fetish Hals and I shared. We were both into threesomes as well.

Hals having gotten off in him, I curled my right arm up under the towel boy, palmed his belly, pulled him off Hals’s dick, and turned his buttocks toward my crotch. Understanding what I was doing, Hals grabbed the young man’s left leg and pulled it up to Hals’s shoulder. The attendant was incredibly flexible. He also wasn’t completely prepared for the girth of my cock—Hals was better looking than I was, but I had much the bigger cock—because when I slid my cock into the channel Hals had just been in, the towel boy lurched, gave a little cry that was stifled because I was still French kissing him, arched his back, bringing his buttocks farther up in an angle that gave me a deeper slide; and kissed me back with a vengeance. Hals’s hand on the young man’s cock covered mine, and we jacked him off together. This didn’t take long, and I was still fucking him in long, deep strokes when he spouted off.

Having revealed in the gym that he was fourteen and thus sealing his fate, as far as Hals and I, who had been working out in the hotel gym together, were concerned, we were somewhat surprised to find that the boy wasn’t an innocent to three-way fucks with men.

I always liked playing tennis tournaments with Hals Holstein, Switzerland’s number three men’s player, because he had no trouble picking up tricks like this willing and flexible young towel boy—we never asked him his name—and was happy to share the young men with me.

I was in Frankfurt for an ATP tennis tournament, a 500-series lead up to Wimbledon, and found myself booked in the same hotel as Hals was. Most of the tennis players were booked in the Frankfurt Concorde Hotel. We’d both arrived the Saturday before the tournament started, both coming in time for the qualifying rounds that weekend if we weren’t seeded. But we’d both been seeded, me above Hals. I was the number three American men’s player.

Hals had magic seduction techniques, which is why I liked to hook up with him when we were at the same tournament. He had nasty tastes, including threesomes and the occasional double penetration, and, for some reason the young men and boys rushed to him to sign up for that treatment. I came along for the easy fuck that someone else set up. Hals pulled me into his trysts as often as he did because we both liked fourteen-year-old boys and he liked my cock inside him for a finisher too. He was a perfectly built Nordic blond with movie star looks, so I enjoyed fucking him as much as I did the boys he procured to share with me.

I hadn’t known we were both booked in the Concorde until we both found ourselves in the hotel’s gym on Saturday evening. As we exercised we talked about the possibility of going out and finding a fourteen-year-old to share, when the willowy red-headed hotel pool towel boy mentioned he was fourteen—and willing--and, literally, dropped in our laps.

In no time Hals was fondling him in the shower. When I entered, proposed to the attendant that he come into the commodious gym changing room of one of us and be shared, he seemed a bit hesitant, but his hesitancy started melting away when I came up behind him, pulled him into my body, while Hals was kissing him and pulling on his cock and balls, and we had him in a sandwich.

When Hals told him to go down on his knees in the shower, he went right down and gave us both an expert blow job. Hals’s offer of 100 euros, which I knew I’d have to cover half of, for a trip to a sexual high was enough to seal the deal.

Hals and I were both well-known international tennis players and pros. If the kid was into sex with men—and he proved he was—being balled by both of us at once could only be a big thrill for him. I’d seen him being felt up early in my workout by another man in the gym and not objecting, so I was confident he could be had by two muscular athletes like Hals and me.

After I’d come, I slid down the bed to share the young man’s cock with Hals, who was already down there. The towel boy just moaned and jerked when he came with two tongues working the sides of his cock. He lay there panting and moaning as Hals went off the bed, grabbed the young man’s ankles, and pulled his butt to the foot of the bed. I turned off to the side to see what Hals had in mind. The missionary position was what he had in mind for the young man, crouching close over his torso, with the towel boy’s legs running up Hals’s muscular chest and his ankles hooked on Hals’s shoulders. He was pounding inside the boy hard and chewing on the young man’s nipples, to the cries of passion and grunting from the towel boy, when I decided it was time to add a doggie position.

I came in behind Hals, worked my cock inside his channel, and to the tune of groans and grunts, I pounded Hals’s ass while Hals pounded the towel boy’s ass.

Later, when it was just the two of us, lying side by side on Hals’s bed, his left hand pulling on my cock and my right hand pulling on his, Hals told me about a waiter down in the main restaurant who he knew he could snatch for us the next night.

“Probably not a good idea, Hals,” I said. “I’ve got to practice hard tomorrow. My opening round match on Monday is with the Spaniard, Emilio. This isn’t the best exercise for toning up for a match.”

“But this is the exercise I know you love, Cliff,” Hals said with a smile on his face. “The guy’s not fourteen, but he’s not twenty yet, and he looks young for his age. He’s got the body of a fourteen-year-old.” He moved over me, straddling my hips. I didn’t fight him as he positioned my cock at his hole and started sliding down the shaft. For the next twenty minutes of Hals bouncing on my cock until I had filled out the bulb of a condom, I didn’t think about the tennis tournament we were about to enter at all.

I didn’t get back to my room until after 3:00 a.m. the next morning, and I wasn’t sleeping before that time. I dragged up exhausted and inhaled everything on the buffet table in the breakfast room that I thought would bring me back to life. Although I’d arrived in Frankfurt early for the tournament, I’d made it further into the rounds in Atlanta the week before, so I didn’t really have recovery time between tournaments. And Atlanta is a bunch of time zones away from Frankfurt.

I was disgusted to watch Hals bounce out of the hotel in tennis togs and a stack of rackets on his back while I was still waiting for a cup of coffee and assessing the aches and pains in my body. Now that I’d thought about it, though, he’d made me do the heavy lifting last night—take the brunt of muscle use. Before leaving the hotel he’d come to the door of the dining room and talked with a cute, young waiter who handed him a thermos jug. I wondered if that was the waiter he’d suggested we spike together tonight. If so, I would be missing a good time, I could tell. Had to do what I could to avoid that, though. I couldn’t burn the candle at both ends and still do well in the tournament. I was here for the tournament, not to fuck with Hals and friends.

Well, mostly for the tournament; a bit to fuck with Hals and friends.

It was Sunday and my trainer and I had a practice court at the tennis center between two and four. I got there twenty minutes early to find that Hals Holstein had that court for the hour before me. The courts were separated by a line of trees, with benches between them, and I sat and watched, waiting for my trainer, Wally, to show up.

I’d never seen the guy Hals was hitting with before. For a minute I thought it was the waiter I’d most recently seen him with, but that was nonsense. Just anyone couldn’t waltz in here and practice hit with one of the guys in the tournament. The guy was young, dark haired, and deeply tanned, a real looker. Very young. I wondered if he could be fourteen. He certainly looked like he could be. He was also very good, especially for a guy who wasn’t more than five foot eight. Height—and wing span—had become strategically important in tennis. He was meeting Hals shot for shot, but I had the feeling that Hals was holding back.

Hals didn’t usually hold back for anyone, which led me to speculate that he was cultivating the young man across the net from him. This led me to scrutinize the guy closer, as the young men Hals cultivated often ended up riding my cock. Yep, he could be a boy, a fourteen-year-old boy, I decided.

Wally hadn’t shown up when Hals and the boy called it quits ten minutes before their time was up. Hals said his good-byes to his hitting partner at the gate to the fence surrounding the court with a “See ya later, Franz. Owe you a drink ... and more.” I saw the good-looking boy flash Hals a smile, turn and see me, give me a brilliant smile too, and then saunter off toward the main stadium.

Hals walked over to where I was sitting on the bench. “I don’t know how you do it, Hals,” I said in greeting. “You were up and out before me and you still look fresh after a two-hour hitting session. How old is he?”

“Yes, he’s fourteen,” Hals answered, with a grin. “I’m Swiss—and good genes, I guess,” Hals answered. “His name is Franz. A real nice piece, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he looks like something you’d go after—and get,” I answered. “A little young to be on your team, though.”

“Oh, he’s on my team all right. Not my staff—I’ve fucked him. That’s the team he’s on. He’s game. He’d like to be on your team too. He knew who you were. He pointed you out sitting over here and said you were one of his favorite players. He’s good, as you can see. But he’ll never make it to pro. Not tall enough and he doesn’t move fast enough. He can fix the latter but not the former. I think he knows he won’t make it, which is why he stays around doing what he does.”

“Doing what he does?”

“Yeah, didn’t you catch what he was wearing? Possibly not. You haven’t been in the stadium yet this year, have you?—and they’ve changed the uniform.”

“Changed the uniform?”

“Yes. He’s one of the ball boys for the tournament. And he’s available. He’s a wildcat in bed. Gives about the best blow job I’ve had. And he fancies you. He fancies you big. He told me so just now. He wants—”

Hals had a foot up on the bench beside me and a forearm resting on his thigh, his hand dropped down to his crotch. He was leaning in toward me. “There’s room over behind the fenced in dumpster area, Cliff,” he said with a hoarse voice. “I like fourteen-year-olds, but I like you too. You know that.”