Speedo Surrender
Nick’s first few weeks at Bishop & King were dizzying, but one thing was clear. Daniel King, the CEO, had noticed him. After several “casual” office drop-ins including one in which Daniel baited him with talk of competitive swimming, Nick received the following text:
From: Daniel King
Nick—
I imagine you miss the water. You need a proper workout. Join me at my home this Saturday at 3PM. Bring a suit
—DK
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an invitation. It was a summons.
Nick stared at the screen, heart pounding. The cursor blinked. The words felt like heat against his chest.
Was this real?
Nick reread it three times. The tone wasn’t friendly—it was expectant. Confident. Commanding.
He knew this was dangerous—wrong, even—but the idea of submitting to Daniel lit something in him he couldn't extinguish.
He sat motionless for several minutes, then typed a reply. Deleted it. Typed again. Fingers shaking, he landed on something simple. Something that said yes, without fully admitting why.
From: Nick Courser
Daniel, thank you for the invitation. I’d be honored to join you Saturday. I look forward to it.—Nick
He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
Then he leaned back in his chair, chest heaving, unsure if he’d just made the best decision of his life—or the most dangerous one.
***
By Friday, Nick’s nerves were frayed.
He hadn’t told anyone. Not Donald, not his college friends, and certainly not his friend group from work. It felt like something that belonged in a different part of his life—secret, electric, fragile.
When Saturday arrived, he was already dressed hours ahead of time. He’d packed two swimsuits—one modest, one not—and had changed his mind half a dozen times which he’d wear. Surprisingly, he received a text from Daniel mid-morning.
Walk around the back when you arrive. Gate will be open. See you at 3. Sharp.
By 2:57, he stood outside a modern, angular home tucked into Dallas’s traditionally grand Preston Hollow neighborhood. It stood in stark contrast to its neighbors, looking like it had been lifted straight out of Palm Springs. Stucco walls, clean lines, native grasses planted in deliberate rows. Aesthetically immaculate—just like Daniel.
He took a breath and moved around the side gate as instructed. The backyard unfolded like a boutique resort. White loungers with oversized umbrellas, a stone bar stocked with top-shelf liquors, tall potted palms, and an Olympic-length pool that shimmered under the late afternoon sun.
Nick stopped. The gate clicked softly shut behind him.
Daniel stood at the far end of the pool dripping wet—water clinging to every inch of his sculpted body, catching the late light and turning him into something Nick couldn’t look away from. A force of nature. Forty-two years old, but standing there, it was impossible to think of him in terms of age. He was presence incarnate—raw, honed, impossibly sure of himself.
The white speedo left little to the imagination. Soaked through, it clung to him with an almost deliberate intimacy, outlining the heavy lines of his groin and the muscular definition of his upper thighs. It was the kind of suit only a man like him could wear without apology. Bold. Indecent. Perfect.
His torso glistened with water, each droplet tracing the hard lines of his chest, dripping slowly from the notch between his pecs down the deep grooves of his abs. The light caught the sharp edge of his V-cut, the skin taut over muscle, leading the eye down with dangerous intent. His body wasn’t just fit—it was lethal. Built not for vanity but for performance. Every inch a result of discipline and precision.
His biceps twitched subtly as he ran a hand through his wet hair, veins rising along his forearms like carved stone. Water streamed down the curve of his shoulders, over the broad sweep of his back, then pooled briefly at the small of his spine before following the curve of his glutes—round, high, sculpted—barely concealed beneath that slick white fabric.
He stood still for a moment, catching his breath after his swim, his chest rising and falling with calm intensity. He wasn’t posing. He didn’t have to. The quiet confidence in his posture, the stillness of his gaze—like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had—was more seductive than any performance.
From across the pool, Nick watched him, transfixed. Every instinct urged him to look away, but he couldn't. It wasn't just desire—it was gravity. The kind of slow, inescapable pull that rewrites what you think you want. He wasn’t just admiring a body; he was being undone by it.
By the sheer masculinity. By the power and ease.
By the fact that a simple white speedo, wet and clinging, had become a weapon.
And the man wearing it—completely, utterly in command.
Nick was confronted with one, inescapable fact. He admired Daniel beyond comprehension. Although Nick’s own physique, and presence were formidable, the only thing he could see was the gap between what he was and what he aspired to be.
Daniel turned, as though on cue.
He didn’t wave. Didn’t beckon. He simply met Nick’s eyes and waited. Waited to see if Nick would step into his future.
Nick walked across the pool deck, conscious of every breath, every glance. He tried to keep his gaze up, avoid scanning the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath Daniel's transparent suit and what laid beneath. But it was impossible not to notice. Daniel wasn’t just attractive—he was sculpted. Magnetic. Dangerous.
“Right on time,” Daniel said, his voice calm, confident. “Of course. That’s my boy.”
“I didn’t want to be late,” Nick replied, managing a grin.
Daniel smiled faintly. “You’re not the type.”
They talked for a few minutes—about traffic, the heat, the pool’s water temp. But under the small talk was a current of knowing. This wasn’t an accident. Daniel had crafted the scene, set the tone, and watched as Nick walked willingly into it.
“You bring a suit?” Daniel asked finally.
Nick nodded and motioned to his bag, “In here.”
“Come on, you can change inside.”
The house interior was exactly what Nick expected: sleek, tasteful, minimalist. Dark woods, soft leather, a few pieces of abstract art that suggested power and precision.
Daniel pointed him toward a guest room. “Towels in the cabinet. Join me when you’re ready.”
Alone, Nick peeled off his shirt and jeans, heart pounding. He held both swimsuits in his hands for a long moment before choosing the speedo. He breathed a sigh of relief as he’d brought two suits to be able to choose after seeing what Daniel was wearing.
He selected his tiny, sexy speedo and pulled it up over his hips and thickening cock. If he was doing this, he was doing it all the way.
As he looked in the mirror at his youthful, muscled jock body, he adjusted his swelling cock, and muttered, “Stay down, man,” under his breath. His cock didn’t respond; in fact it was pushing the boundaries of decency. But that was his way of telling Daniel, I’m up for whatever you have in mind.
When he stepped outside, Daniel was back in the water, back-stroking slowly through a warm-up lap. Nick stood at the end of the pool ready to dive, but Daniel stopped him. “Wait, before you dive in…” but said no more. He simply stared at Nick, appraised him as if he were up for auction. Nick should’ve felt uncomfortable, but he loved being physically admired.
The speedo Nick had chosen was black—low-rise, high-cut, daring. It barely clung to his hips, and what it revealed was... impressive.
Daniel felt it at once—not lust, though that was certainly there—but something closer to satisfaction. Confirmation.
The boy was built. But he was still a boy. A boy who needed to learn to be a man.
Six-foot-one, maybe six-two, every inch of him balanced in that uncanny, post-athlete way—tight in the waist, thick in the thighs, shoulders still broad with college conditioning, but no longer trying to prove anything to a coach or crowd. His chest was smooth and firm, lightly dusted with blond hair that caught the sun like fine down. It narrowed to an abdomen that, once sharply cut, was beginning to show the evidence of a less disciplined life.
His arms hung with easy rhythm at his sides—roped with subtle veins and sinew, not for show, but from use. The remnants of someone who spent years throwing heat from a mound.
Daniel’s eyes fell lower. The black Speedo sat tight over a pronounced V-line, slung so low it threatened to expose more than it concealed. His thighs were a thing of power—dense, pushing slightly outward with each step, betraying strength that showcased his college athleticism. Daniel could see the faint crease where leg met torso, the kind of definition that only came from years of explosive training.
And then the boy instinctively turned around, ostensibly to glance at the house behind him, but in reality to showcase his ass. It was all Daniel needed. The backside—Jesus. His glutes were high and round, two carved, taut muscles barely contained by the thin stretch of fabric. They moved subtly with each shift of his weight, and Daniel felt something tighten in his own chest.
But for all Nick’s athleticism, there was still opportunity. Opportunity for the discipline it takes to be a man. Nick was a boy. Daniel was a man.
Nick looked over, unsure, maybe shy. Daniel smiled, slowly.
Yes. This was what he’d waited for. All the controlled meetings, the careful office glances, the veiled instructions, the calibrated pressure—it had led to this. To the boy standing nearly naked before him, offering his body with more than just skin. Offering access. Readiness.
Nick didn’t know what this moment meant yet.
But Daniel did.
As if to explain the delay, Daniel said lightly, ”Just evaluating the competition….exploring the possibilities.”
“The competition? Possibilities?” Nick asked, after diving in and surfacing.
“Yes,” Daniel replied, “The challenge you present.”
Nick dove in and treaded water, not knowing how to respond.
Daniel didn’t waste any time: “800 meters. Eight laps. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser pays the price. No questions.” He said it with a smile, but the edge in his tone made Nick shiver.
“Deal,” Nick said. “What kind of price?”
“Winner decides.”
They lined up, pushed off.
Nick was fast—fast enough that he led comfortably for the first seven laps. Years of athletic training kicked in, every stroke precise, powerful. But in the last lap, Daniel surged forward, cutting through the water like a blade.
He touched the wall several seconds before Nick.
Nick panted, resting his arms on the deck. “You were sandbagging.”
Daniel grinned. “Of course I was. I told you—discipline.”
Daniel leapt out of the pool and extended a hand heaving Nick from the water with surprising force—intentionally reinforcing his superiority. Daniel pulled Nick in for a congratulatory hug…bare chests wet and close, a slap on the ass, and a brief graze of their water-soaked bulges. Nick prayed his body wouldn’t betray him. It didn’t—barely.
Daniel handed him a towel and nodded toward the bar. “Drink?”
They sipped gin and tonics in the loungers for much of the afternoon and, eventually, the sun drifting toward gold. Still in their speedos, Nick felt strangely relaxed, even vulnerable.
“So,” Daniel said, swirling his glass. “Tell me about you. Real stuff.”
They talked. About baseball, about Nick’s childhood, swimming, old girlfriends. His father came up—inevitably.
“We’re... not close,” Nick admitted. “He never really cared unless I won something. Even then, it felt like I was still chasing him.
Daniel watched him carefully. “You’re not chasing him now. You’re chasing something else.”
Nick laughed softly. The gin and tonics were opening him up. “Maybe. Maybe I just want someone to see me. Really see me.”
“I do,” Daniel said.
The words landed between them like a match in dry grass.
“And you?” Nick asked, awkwardly shifting the focus. “Family? Relationships?”
“Never married, a couple long-term relationships, but my work always came first. You’ve seen me in action. I need structure. Control. People who can follow.”
Nick’s throat tightened. “You sound like a coach.”
Daniel smiled darkly. “I’m both a coach and a leader. Coaches demand compliance. But I train men to surrender—with loyalty, and more.”
Nick was at a loss for words. The implications of Daniel’s seemingly nonchalant utterances were growing more and more ominous….and desirable. The silence stretching between them growing increasingly prophetic.
Nick turned toward him, trying to be nonchalant. “So, I lost the race...what price am I paying?”
Daniel stood and drained the last of his cocktail.
“Come inside,” he said as he grabbed his hand to pull him up. “I’ll show you.”
The sliding glass door whispered shut behind them, sealing the warm air inside Daniel’s house. The scent of cedar and citrus hung in the stillness. Daniel guided Nick into the house, but Nick didn’t need much encouragement. He knew he had to pay the price of losing. He didn’t know what it was but hoped it would have something to do with Daniel’s provocative innuendo. Nick knew he shouldn’t be here tonight, should’ve even reported Daniel to HR, but now it was too late. He had committed and he had to pay. And he was desperately eager to find out what that price would be.
Nick felt his damp speedo clinging tighter with every step as Daniel led him through the open-plan living room. And the further they were away from the pool wearing so little, the more he became aware of his near-nudity. But after the race, the sun, and the gin & tonics, it was as if were in a trance. He had only one thing on his mind….paying the price. But first he’d have to find out what it was.
Daniel didn’t speak. He simply nodded to the couch, retrieving a bottle of red from the sideboard and pouring two glasses with care.
Nick sat. The upholstery, soft against his still-wet skin, only amplified the strange vulnerability creeping over him. When Daniel joined him on the couch—bare thighs brushing just slightly—it sent a silent shiver up Nick’s spine.
Daniel handed him the wine, turned to him, and then raised his glass. As he turned, their now bare legs pressed against each other
“To truth,” he said.
Nick offered a nervous smile and clinked.
After a moment’s quiet, Daniel spoke. “Before I share your penalty for losing the race, I want you to hear something very clearly.”
Nick looked over, heart already racing.
“Nothing that happens tonight, or in the future will change your future at Bishop & King. You’re off to an exceptional start. Everyone sees it—clients, your team, me. You’re smart, driven, curious... and, frankly, sexy as hell.” He winked. “So, no matter what’s said here tonight, your position is secure. You have my word.”
Nick exhaled slowly. “Okay?”
Daniel swirled his wine. “Now. About that price.” Daniel paused for effect and then continued. “I have to start with the truth. The race was a setup. I knew full well you’d lose. The 800 meter was my event in college and I’ve lost little time since then. You called it right when you said I sandbagged to let you think you’d win and then came in for the kill. That’s why I set up the bet the way I did…loser pays the price; winner decides what the price is.”
Nick, sensing where this may be going, simply responded, “OK?”
Daniel continued, “The price you’ll pay for your loss is the following…the truth. I don’t think you’ll be surprised to hear that I have some strong feelings about you, feelings that explain my…” he paused, searching for the right word…”interest in you. The questions I have for you won’t be easy to answer. You’ll have to dig deep. Perhaps you don’t even know the truth yourself. But I want you to try. Will you?”
Nick turned toward him, wary. “So you’re saying the price I have to pay is the truth?”
“That’s right.” Daniel set his glass down. “No games. Just honesty. Deal?”
Nick hesitated, somewhat disappointed the price wasn’t more straightforward…say a blow job. But then nodded.
“First question,” Daniel said, his voice calm but penetrating. “I think I know the answer to this, but I’d like you to confirm you’re gay.”
The words landed like a drop of ink in water—simple, but spreading fast.
Nick opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and still in denial, offered, “I… I don’t know.”
Daniel waited, offering only quiet.
Nick continued, eyes locked on his knees, and keenly aware of where his bare leg was brushing against Daniel’s. He thought for several moments, then took a deep breath, “I mean… I’ve tried with girls. I really have. Several times, but nothing ever happened. Never really clicked.” Another long pause, ”But with guys…there’s something there. I think about it. I try to push it away, I don’t want to have those feelings, but they keep coming back.” Nick seemed relieved at finally being able to talk about to someone he could trust. The dam had broken and he eagerly continued…”I’ve had some—encounters. College. Nothing romantic, not even a real date. Mostly anonymous.” Nick stopped talking as if he were finished, but Daniel knew there was more to be said. Waiting patiently, Nick blurted out, now with tears forming in his eyes, “I think about it all the time. I can’t NOT think about it. I have an entire fantasy life that looks nothing like my real life…”
Daniel put his arm across the back of the couch and let his hand fall and caress Nick’s neck and shoulders. This was a pivotal moment for Nick and he seemed to welcome the gesture.
Pulling Nick into him, Daniel continued. “When you think about men, what exactly are you imagining?”
Nick tightened up again and pulled away slightly. “It’s not really... romance. It’s more...” and he paused for nearly a full minute…”what they’d do to me. What I want them to do to me.”
Daniel said nothing. He just let that sit there and allowed Nick to own his truth. Finally, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he gently added, “Say more.”
Nick shifted, as though the words might physically hurt. “In the fantasies, I’m never the one in charge. It’s always someone older. Bigger. In control.”
He blinked fast, but the tears came anyway, punctuating his humiliation. Not heaving sobs, but streams of hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
Daniel placed a hand gently on his back pulling him closer again, his palm steady. “Take your time.”
Nick wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to say this. I just... in my fantasizes, I’m on my knees…” then, taking a deep breath added, “..sucking their cocks. Sometimes they’re... rough. Sometimes I can’t even breathe right. But I want it. I get off on it.”
Daniel didn’t move. Just listened.
“I lick their holes. They love it. And I get off on them loving it. There’s more than one; sometimes a bunch of them. They get rough and order me to keep going. I fantasize about them cumming on my face and forcing me to eat it. And when they cum inside me...” Nick’s voice broke again, eyes now wet, “that’s when I know I’ve done it right. That I pleased them. That I was worth it.”
He curled slightly, chest tight, ashamed, and then broke into sobs adding in barely a whisper, “I love it when they call me names….make me their bitch…”
Daniel tightened his arm around him, pulling him in even closer. “Breathe, my friend, just breathe....”
The room was silent except for Nick’s hitched breaths, slowly getting back to normal.
After a while, Daniel asked gently, “What do you find more powerful…the pleasure you receive from sexual act itself? Giving sexual pleasure to another? Being degraded?”
Nick thought. He’d never thought about it that way. He paused and answered, “All of them, but mostly the last two. I get off more when they cum than when I do. I get off when they call me names. I’ve never actually done any of this, so I don’t know what’s real and what’s in my imagination, I….I….” unable to finish the sentence, Nick burst into sobs and curled up into Daniel’s embrace.
Daniel hugged Nick with a power Nick had never felt before. Although still shocked at what he had revealed, an enormous burden had been lifted. And he couldn’t escape the irony that the embrace he was receiving from Daniel, still a near stranger, was warmer and more comforting than any he'd ever received from his own father. “Nick, you haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know. To men like me, you radiate the need to serve. But what’s important here is that you’ve acknowledged it…to yourself. You’ve given yourself permission to own it.”
Still feeling the heaves of Nick’s quieting sobs, he leaned in closer, voice low. “There’s nothing broken in what you think you like. It doesn’t make you weak or lesser or anything else society might tell you. It takes strength to serve. To give. And when you do it honestly, from a place of truth... it becomes something beautiful. Powerful.”
Nick, finally able to breathe normally, looked up and stared at him, the weight of years beginning to lift—just slightly.
Daniel continued. “You weren’t meant to dominate. You were meant to offer yourself. Not out of weakness—but out of instinct. Of alignment.”
Nick leaned into Daniel’s embrace. He couldn’t believe the words that left his mouth just moments ago—couldn’t believe the comfort Daniels arms and words provided—but none of it felt wrong. It felt terrifyingly... right.
Daniel rocked him slowly, like something sacred had passed between them.
After a long silence, Daniel whispered, “You okay?”
Nick looked up. His voice was small, but steady. “Yeah. Embarrassed. But okay.”
Daniel smiled and brushed a damp strand of hair from Nick’s forehead.
“I’m here for you, little man,” he said, then leaned in and kissed him—slow, soft, sure. “You’re safe with me.”
And for the first time in his life, Nick let himself believe it. He felt completely safe. Daniel laid back into the couch with one foot on the floor and pulled Nick into him, Nick’s back to Daniel’s front, with Daniel’s arms around him tightly, grazing his torso as they laid there.
The stillness in the room was thicker now—Nick near-naked in Daniel’s arms, the late afternoon sun dipping toward dusk, casting golden bands across the polished floors. He could feel the soft rhythm of Daniel’s breathing behind him, steady and grounded. His own breath came shallower, more erratic. Most importantly, he could see that NIck's speedo could barely contain his cock. He could see it desperately trying to escape its Lycra prison. He'd probably never been this hard, Daniel thought to himself.
Daniel reached down and gently cupped Nick's throbbing bulge, followed by his voice, low and close against his ear.
“So, little man,” he said softly, “are you ready to begin your training? Ready to find out if those fantasies are real… or just dreams?”
Electricity raced through Nick's body. He nodded before finding the courage to answer.
“Yes, sir.”
A quiet pause, like an unseen door swinging shut behind him.
“And it needs to be said, you can trust me. As you take this first step, and beyond..." and here he forcefully squeezed Nick's cock, "...there may be discomfort, even pain, but I’ll never expect more from you than you can give…than you’ll want to give. Is that understood?”
Eagerly, and with a hint of a smile in his voice, Nick replied, “Yes, sir”
“Good,” Daniel said. “Now lose the speedo.”
End of Chapter 2
Note to Readers
Thanks for joining me on Nick and Daniel’s journey. I’ve been away for a while working on this story. It’s been a personal passion for me as there’s a quite a bit of both Nick and Daniel in me. I hope you hang in for their twists and turns. This is a long story, but I think you’ll find it rewarding, particularly the conclusion. And please share your thoughts in the comment section or at [email protected].
Full disclosure: As I’ve been writing this story, on more than one occasion I noticed thematic similarities to some of the stories written by Broken Boundaries on this site. I reached out to him to share my observations and assure him I wasn’t plagiarizing him and it so happens we appear to get off on many of the same things. We’ve talked more about this since and had a laugh over it. This will be the first time he’s read this this story, so I wonder if he’ll agree. And if you like this story, check out his on this site; they’re terrific.
