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WARNING: This is a stroke story. It contains group sex, oral sex, anal sex, facials, girl-on-girl, and lesbian incest. It does NOT contain significant character development or much of a plot. If any of that bothers you, read something else. Similarities to real people are quite intentional, but names have been changed to protect the less than innocent. As usual, this story is mine, and you do NOT have permission to repost it or publish it elsewhere.
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CHAPTER 1
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// Oh-oh say can you see... by the dawn's early light? What so PROUD-ly we hailed... at the twilight's last gleaming...
Even though the anthem was an instrumental version, I could still hear the lyrics in my head. With my right hand over my heart, I felt moisture forming in my eyes as I looked left to see my country's flag held aloft, ever so much higher than the two flags flanking it to either side.
You'd think I wouldn't be emotional at a time like this. After all, this wasn't my first rodeo or anything. I'd been swimming competitively since I was four years old, blowing away first boys in the 6-and-under division and then even the 8-and-unders. I won nearly every swim meet I entered at the local level, and most every one at the state level too. Only when I hit the international circuit did I start to find competition that could keep up with me, but even that only drove me to compete harder and train even more to lower my times.
I won a Grand Prix or two. I medaled at the Pan Pacific Championships. And in the run up to these Games, I'd even won a WORLD Championship. But that was just the World Championships. This... THIS... was the Olympics.
And I was now a member of a VERY elite club... I was an Olympic Gold Medalist.
This was Fuck-TASTIC!
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I bent my head down and looked at my shiny new hardware. I knew what to expect, of course; every athlete knew the look of the medals well before ever showing up. I liked the design, the Olympic Logo centered in the middle of the circular disc with scattered lines behind it. I was especially pleased that the organizers hadn't fucked things up like the past Winter Olympics, with that wavy, lopsided piece of shit that looked like someone had left the medal inside their car on a hot day and had the thing melt halfway before re-hardening.
Flipping my disc over, I smirked as I checked out the reverse of the medal. I knew full well that the figure on the back represented Nike, the Greek Goddess of Victory. But at the moment, I couldn't help but notice that Nike was half-naked, with her unfettered breasts hanging out for the world to see. And as I belatedly remembered that the world's television cameras were on me at this moment, I wiped the smirk off my face and stood up straighter, thankful that my baggy warm-ups would hide the growing bulge at my crotch.
Shit, man... Just hold it together until you get back. Just a little bit longer... a little bit longer... and THEN man... you are SO gonna get fucking LAID.
I hadn't had sex in weeks already, not an easy thing to do when half the women's swim team wants you to nail them (again). (Breaststroke? I'll show you a 'breast stroke').
But rules are rules. Not that there were any laws against getting laid. No, my rules were part of my training, part of my discipline. My entire life had been building to this point, to this singular moment at the end of a grueling series of laps back and forth across a short fifty-meter expanse of water. In one, solitary effort I had challenged myself against the best the world had to offer... and I'd come away victorious.
I'd kept my eye on the prize, and it had all been worth it. Sex would have been unnecessary exercise right at the time when I was tapering, carefully controlling my energy expenditure to ensure maximum endurance and optimal performance when it really mattered. Not only that, but sex (or even masturbation) would have drained my balls of needed testosterone.
Who needs performance enhancing drugs? Not me, my balls make all that juice for me. Excess testosterone at the right time means more power, more energy. That little bit may have been the reason why I swam 0.12 seconds faster than the silver medalist. That little bit may have been the reason why I now had this golden hardware around my neck. And for that, I should really thank the women's swim team for doing their level best to flaunt their nearly-naked (and sometimes fully naked) bodies for my viewing pleasure, knowing full well that it would help me build up my own natural, non-doping steroids.
But all that was over now. I'd finished my last event. There were no more competitions on my immediate horizon. No more tapering, no more ABSTINENCE. All that was left to do now... was PARTY.
// O say does tha-at Star Spangled BA-nner yet waaave...
Oops, time to wrap this up. Stand straight. Chest out. Smile for the cameras, fucker. After this, it's just a short press conference, a pep-talk from coach, and then you're onto the shuttle to take you back to those high-rise condos they call an Athlete's Village. You're an Olympic Gold Medalist, man... and now it's time to reap the rewards.