David stood under the hot spray, soap sluicing down the hard lines of his torso. The water polo practice had been brutal in the best way—legs churning through endless drills, shoulders burning from the constant sculling, the sharp whistle cutting through the chlorinated air. He’d held his own. The seniors had nodded. That was enough.
The locker room steamed around him. Towels hung from hooks. Bodies moved in easy, wet proximity—broad chests, thick thighs, the casual slap of skin against tile. The team was loud, laughing, peeling off Speedos, shaking water from hair. David kept his eyes forward, heart still hammering from the session and from something else he couldn’t name yet.
Marcus, the captain, stepped under the next showerhead. Water ran in rivulets down the deep cut of his abs, over the heavy cock that hung thick even soft. He glanced sideways.
“New guy held up,” Marcus said, voice carrying. “Time to make it official.”
The others turned. No one looked surprised. This was the ritual—after the first full practice that proved you belonged in the water with them.
David’s cock twitched. He didn’t hide it.
Hands found him first. Soap-slick palms sliding over his chest, down his stomach, cupping his ass. Someone kissed the side of his neck. Another mouth found his, open and wet, tongue pushing in while fingers wrapped around his hardening length and stroked slow. David groaned into the kiss. The shower spray mixed with the heat of bodies pressing closer.
They turned him, backs to the tiled wall. Marcus claimed his mouth properly—deep, claiming kisses while two teammates dropped to their knees. One took David’s cock into a hot, eager mouth, sucking hard, tongue swirling under the head. The other licked lower, spreading David’s cheeks, tongue pushing into his hole in long, filthy strokes until David’s knees nearly gave.
“Fuck—yeah—” David’s voice cracked.
They didn’t rush. They worked him open with fingers and spit and the constant pressure of mouths and hands. Someone kissed him again while another teammate fed him his cock, thick and already leaking. David took it, sucking greedily, eyes watering as the head nudged the back of his throat. The team watched, stroked themselves, passed him around under the spray—mouths on his nipples, hands on his balls, fingers stretching him until three slid in easy and he was rocking back onto them, begging without words.
Marcus spun him, bent him forward, hands braced on the wet tile. The captain’s cock was heavy and slick when it pressed against David’s hole. He pushed in slow, steady, filling him inch by thick inch until David’s breath left him in a long, broken moan. The stretch burned perfect. Marcus bottomed out and stayed there, grinding deep, one hand wrapped around David’s throat just enough to make him feel owned.
Then the real initiation began.
They took turns. Marcus fucked him hard and deep, hips slamming, water flying, until he came with a low growl and pulled out so the next man could slide straight in. David’s hole stayed open and used, taking cock after cock—thick ones that stretched him wide, longer ones that punched against his prostate until his own cock jerked and spilled untouched against the tile. They made him suck while he was fucked, spit-roasting him between two of the bigger guys, saliva and precum dripping down his chin. Someone came across his back. Another across his face. He swallowed what he could, licked what he was given, and kept his ass pushed back for more.
By the time the last man finished inside him—hot pulses flooding deep—David was shaking, wrecked, hole twitching and leaking, cock still half-hard from the constant stimulation. They rinsed him gently under the spray, hands softer now, mouths finding his in slower, satisfied kisses. Marcus clapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re on the team now.”
David laughed, hoarse and wrecked and already wanting the next practice.
The showers stay hot. The lockers stay open. Next time the new blood proves himself in the pool, the invitation is the same.
Come join us.