The rest!

The next pair was the red trunks, brighter, tighter, cut higher on the thigh. They slid up smoother, but the fabric gripped harder, clinging to every inch. When you turned in the mirror, the pale swell of your meaty cheeks seemed to spill against the fabric, framed and displayed.

You hesitated, but Jamal’s deep voice drifted through the curtain again, amused and knowing.

“Don’t make me come in there, man. Let us see it.”

You stepped out again, tugging at the waistband nervously.

Jamal’s reaction was immediate. His lips parted, eyes gleaming, a slow laugh rumbling in his chest.

“Ohhh, now that’s fire. Red hot. Literally. God damn, Emile, that’s perfection. Your ass in those? Man, it looks like the fabric can barely hold on.”

His gaze lingered, appreciative, hungry but never crude.

“That pale skin against that color? Pops like crazy. You’re killing it.”

You flushed so hard it almost hurt, but despite yourself, your lips twitched upward, just a hint of a smile. Jamal caught it instantly, his grin widening.

“That’s it,” he murmured, almost to himself. “That’s the look I wanna see. Confident. You don’t even know how good you look.”

Justin made a small, strangled sound from his corner, quickly pretending to cough.

You darted back inside again, pulse thundering, and picked up the final pair: the light blue speedos. Smaller. Sleeker. Barely enough fabric to cover. The material stretched taut as you slid them up, hugging every contour, waist, hips, and especially your thick butt, leaving nothing to the imagination.

You stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring. Your thick thighs pressed together, your ass practically poured into the tiny suit, pale flesh framed by the vivid blue. You’d never seen yourself like this, exposed, but almost… powerful.

Jamal’s voice came again, softer now, coaxing.

“C’mon, Emile. Don’t chicken out on the last one. Show us.”

Your hand trembled on the curtain, but slowly, you pulled it aside.

The reaction was immediate. Jamal’s dark eyes widened just a fraction, and for once he didn’t say anything right away. He just looked, slowly, deliberately, up and down, his chest rising heavier as a smirk tugged at his lips. One of his hands slid casually into his pocket, the very sizable outline at his crotch unmistakably shifting and being pressed into a more comfortable position.

Finally, his voice came, low and velvet smooth.

“God… damn. That’s it. That’s the one. Blue’s your color. Pops off your skin, hugs every inch. Man, that’s not just swimwear, that’s a weapon.”

You shifted, flustered, tugging at the leg openings that hug you tightly, but not to the point of discomfort.

“It’s too much,” you muttered, though your own reflection told you otherwise.

Jamal leaned a shoulder against the wall, his eyes heavy with heat but his smile still playful.

“Too much? Nah. That’s exactly enough. You don’t even get it, do you? You walk past a pool in that, you own the whole place. Nobody’s looking at anyone else. Not when you’ve got that ass filling it out.”

Your breath caught, half-embarrassed, half-thrilled. Justin’s face was red, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say a word, just stared at the floor, shifting uncomfortably, clearly affected. You don't know it, but he's heavily dripping in his tiny cock cage just looking at your display.

Jamal tilted his head, eyes narrowing with that sly grin.

“Hold up, Emile. You’ve been hiding from me this whole time. Turn around. Lemme see the back proper.”

You froze, heat crawling up your neck.

“What? No way, man.”

“C’mon.” His tone was coaxing but firm, that commanding energy impossible to ignore. “We gotta make sure it fits. Can’t have you buying something that doesn’t hold up in the water, right?”

Justin glanced up nervously, then quickly back down at the floor, lips pressed tight.

You hesitated, heart hammering, then slowly turned. The mirror reflected the way the electric blue fabric cut across the pale swell of your ass, gripping tight, outlining every curve. The speedos seemed to dig deeper as you shifted, the thick flesh straining against them.

A low whistle escaped Jamal.

“God damn.” His voice was thick now, rough with barely-contained hunger. “That’s a masterpiece right there. Tight, round, sittin’ perfect in that blue. Man, you don’t even know, half the dudes on that team would lose their minds if they saw this view.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“You’re insane…”

You didn’t understand why he always talked about the men. You’d told him you weren’t gay. It didn’t bother you too much, you didn’t care that much about labels or sexuality, but still, it was strange being complimented this much and even a little objectified. Maybe he didn’t mean it that way and you were just overthinking, so you pushed it aside for later.

But Jamal wasn’t done. His grin widened as he leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming.

“Bend a little. Just, like you’re picking something up.”

Your breath caught.

“What? No. Why…?”

“Do it.” His voice dropped lower, smooth, dominant, commanding. “Trust me.”

Against every ounce of better judgment, you bent down as if you were grabbing somethijg from thr ground.

The effect was immediate, the fabric stretched taut, squeezing your ass even tighter, pale flesh framed by vivid blue. The curve of your body filled the mirror, impossible to ignore.

Jamal’s hand twitched in his pocket where his bulge is located, his jaw clenching as his eyes drank you in.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, almost reverent. “That’s incredible, man. That’s… perfect.”

His gaze lifted just enough to catch your flustered eyes in the mirror.

“You better get used to people looking, ‘cause with a shape like that in trunks like these? You’ll own every room you walk into.”

Even though they were tight, they didn’t hurt. They felt good, better than expected. You’d be okay with them, if it was just about feel and fit. But when you thought about how revealing they were, you shuddered, scared of how the swim team might react.

Justin cleared his throat awkwardly, still looking anywhere but directly at you.

“Y-yeah. Those… those fit.”

For a moment, the air felt hot, charged, like a wire pulled tight.

Then Jamal clapped his hands together suddenly, breaking the tension.

“Alright, let’s get to the counter. We’re buying those. No arguments.”

You shot him a glare, still red-faced, but the small, guilty smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

You ducked back into the cubicle, changing as fast as you could, your hands trembling slightly. The speedos slid off, leaving the ghost of their tight grip still burning against your skin.

When you came back out in your normal clothes, Jamal was smirking like a man who’d just won a bet.

“Don’t worry, Emile. You’ll thank me later.”

The three of you made your way to the counter, Justin again paying for everything, the bag swinging from Jamal’s hand like a trophy.

And though you tried to calm your racing heart, the image in the mirror, the way those speedos gripped and framed you, burned hot in your mind, impossible to shake.