nothing like Coach fingerin me. big thick fingers. love licking em after he fingers deep.
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@gewoonluc
nothing like Coach fingerin me. big thick fingers. love licking em after he fingers deep.
- My neighbor boy prefers to swim in his AC jock -
He knows this is Daddyâs favorite look on him. And since the new iPhone is coming out this week, heâs going to make sure Daddy is happy.
Mick stepped out of the shower and froze in the doorway of the bathroom to drink in that sight. "Well. That sends a pretty clear message." He threw his towel over a hook. "Won't be needing this." He grabbed the lube out of his dob kit and strolled over to the bed where the feast was being served. Mick cupped RJ's ass with hands that grew up playing piano and squeezed. RJ whimpered. "Don't tease me, please, I just - really just need it." "You know, when I see the schedule in Mastertour and see we're going to be on the bus for a few days before we get a hotel room, I smile now." "Oh my suffering is entertaining to you?" Mick snorted. "Suffering? Aren't we dramatic." "It makes me a good song writer," RJ muttered. Mick popped the lid and drizzled the fluid down the split between the peach. "That's funny, we've been playing the same line up for a couple weeks now on tour, and I don't remember hearing any tracks about me fucking you." RJ looked back at Mick. "That's what Paladin is about. Why do you think it's the only track on the new album we don't play live? Makes me too horny to sing it..." Mick was too stunned to speak for a moment. "Ok that is brand new information." "You never realized it?" "No. Remember? I'm a drummer. I'm dumb. I just make things go bang bang." "That you do big boy. Come on now, bang me, before I lose my erection." Mick reached up underneath RJ and gave him a few pumps of encouragement. "Nope that is still going pretty strong." "Nnnn~~" Mick released RJ and let that heavy cock hang so he could slick himself up. "You want me to stretch you?" "No." "Fuck," Mick groaned as he put a knee on the bed. "I love touring with you. Also why did you kiss me on stage tonight? Fans are gonna be blowing up our socials about that." "You looked kissable." "Great, thanks for clearing that up." RJ giggled. "Come oooonnn." "Fine, fine." Mick pushed his head down on to the bed. "Knees a bit more wide apart. Good boy." He guided himself into RJ who was of course, tight, and needed to be stretched, but was begging Mick to just push it in. With the power of lube anything is possible, and his head popped in. RJ gasped with a shudder going down his back. "Yeah more!" "Gladly."
Mick grasped his shoulder with his thick, beefy hand, and pushed all seven hard inches inside that bubble butt. RJ arched his back and howled with pleasure. "Oh YEAH that's it! Fuck, that's it, come on nail me, please." Mick started with slow thrusts, mostly out of caution to make sure his partner was comfortable; but also to tease him a little and make him squirm on his cock. "Stay in rhythm with me. I always set the tempo rememberâŠ" RJ answered incoherently, the words muffled by the bed. With every push, the tension melted away bit by bit and Mick increased his pace until they were racing to the finish line. RJ was leaning on his shoulder pushed into the mattress, one hand gripping the bedding; the other one was around his cock, stroking himself as Mick did his work. "Yes - yes! Ah fuck, I'm coming!" he announced. He howled and drooled into the comforter and blew ropes of cum over the towel he put down.
"Fuck!" Mick hissed through clenched teeth. He threw his weight over RJ, using his toes to keep him in as deep as possible in that warm place while also keeping one hand on RJ's upward shoulder for leverage. It was intensely necessarily to Mick that his cum go into RJ -all of it- as deep as possible. "Oh fuuuck," Mick moaned as the orgasm rolled over him and then away. "Fuckin hell⊠god you feel so good." It lasted forever, but also, not long enough. RJ's chest was heaving with the effort of breathing. "So much cum leaking outâŠ" Mick gave a few slow thrusts until he began to soften and slip out. Cum leaked all over the towel. "Look at that load. You took so much." RJ rolled his head more so he could get more air into his lungs. "Fuck, that was incredible," he panted. "And I have to say, I'm realizing now, that I'm not the only one who is backed up being in a tour bus. " "I was saving that load for you." RJ glanced back again at Mick with an unfocused gaze. "You did?" "Yeah. Much better than putting it in a bunk sock." "Eeeewwwww. Oh don't ruin this moment." Mick flopped onto his side and toyed with his own cock. "It was really good, thank you." "You are very welcome. Got what you needed?" Mick asked as he sat on the bed. "Every time. Man, can you imagine if the fans saw that?"
Mick clapped his palm to his forehead and winced. "Please god no. Do you know how hard I have to work to convince them I'm straight?" "I don't really get why you want to be closeted to be honestâŠ" "You don't?" Mick scoffed. "You silly boy. So there's less eyes on us. Everyone thinks you're having a secret love affair with Tanner in Bank of Sounds remember?" RJ furrowed his brow. "Yeah, I still don't get how that started. Just because we're both gay and they opened for us last year doesn't mean we are hooking up." Mick grinned. "I might have planted that." RJ's jaw dropped. He propped himself up on his arms. "You DID? You started that?" "Oh yeah. On Reddit. Our social media engagement went way up, Bank of Sounds got a lot of social media engagement. And you now seem more secretive and mysterious, and I get your hole to myself, without scrutiny."
RJ stared at Mick. "Ok, maybe you're not a dumb drummer." "Oh no I'm dumb as hell. I got outsmarted by the bathroom faucet earlier, remember?" RJ just laughed. "Right. You just know how to go bang bang really well." Mick squeezed RJ's ass again and watched more cum spill out. "Indeed I do."
________________ Captions are fictional.
The Quarterback
Rod looked at the kid's Instagram thirst trap and was blown away by his body and that wholesome, handsome, boy-next-door face.
"THIS is him?" Rod asked Seth who was looking over his shoulder at the phone.
The young coach nodded with a devious grin. "Yeah, bro. That's him. Trust me, he's even hotter in real life."
As a college football recruiter, Rod had seen his fair share of young, studly athletes like this kid but there was something about him that was more special. He was perfect. His superior genetics and athleticism showed through in the picture.
"Farm boy?" Rod asked the coach.
Seth nodded. "Yeah, you can just tell a farm boy, can't ya?"
"Yeah, so wholesome looking."
Seth snickered. "Bro, this kid is ANYTHING but wholesome. Don't let the midwest corn-fed act fool you."
Rod grinned. "How do you get all the good ones, bro?"
"It must be in the water around here. Every year at least one or two like him end up on my team."
"The Williams kid you sent last year is a fucking slut, bro."
Seth guffawed. "I told you! He still keeps in touch with me. He tells me everything about what he's getting into down here. He fucking loves you, bro."
"I can't keep him off my cock, bro." Rod laughed. "He gives the best head."
"I remember."
"So what's this kid's name?" Rod asked as he continued to stare at the pic.
"Austin Weathers."
"Austin Weathers," Rod repeated slowly like he was salivating. "Fits him. Masculine. Is he closeted?"
"Oh, hell yeah. Has a girlfriend. He fucks her just to keep up a front. Parents are conservative. But just like all closet-cases, he has lingering eyes, so I could tell what he was after."
"You," Rod said laughing.
"Me." Seth patted his buddy on the shoulders. "Those closeted fuckers are drawn to me, bro. It's like shooting fish in a barrel sometimes."
"Rod spun his chair around. "That's because you're hot as fuck, bro."
"I know," Seth said with a cocky smile. "Anyway, you'll love him. He's just a total bitch in the sack. He starts out as this big, alpha stud and then you get your dick in him and he becomes this submissive pussy boy. Loves it hard and rough. Loves to be called nasty names. The kid has daddy issues."
Rod was palming his hardening cock through his pants. "Fucking perfect. You think he would play with Williams?"
"Bro, fuck yeah," Seth replied like it was an obvious answer. "Austin is a total bottom. Williams is vers. You can rail them both or you and Williams can tag him."
"Fuck yeah. God, you are the man. You send me such good jock pussy."
Seth smirked. "Only the best for you, bro. When you bone Austin this fall, think of me."
"How about I text Williams and get him over here. Spit roast him before you leave to go back?"
Seth's cock started to leak in his boxer briefs. "Bro, I was hoping you had some fuck-boy pussy for me."
"Texting now."
Jared's phone vibrated. He saw a text from Fuller and quickly swiped it open. What he saw made him salivate. The kid sent him a picture in the new uniform Jared gave him last night. The white stretch baseball pants hugged every curve of muscle in his legs, his quads straining the fabric. His bulge visible through the tight pants. His form-fitting t-shirt tucked into the pants accentuating his small waist. The ball cap pulled down low over his face, hiding his blue eyes. The kid was the epitome of a college baseball jock, a poster boy athlete.
Jared was usually very disciplined as a coach, making sure not to cross the line when it came to sexual attraction to his players. But Fuller was different. He was good at discreet flirtation. He knew he was sexy and hot as fuck. The kid also knew he liked older men and Jared was just his type. Fuller was relentless in his pursuit of his coach. Obviously, he was experienced with man-on-man sex and Fuller knew from the first time meeting Jared that the coach had a thing for pretty muscle jocks.
Jared fucked the jock relentlessly last night. Fuller showed up at Jared's house wearing his cut-off, stretch, baseball pants; the ones he wore at practice. They were the ones he wore in high school, two sizes too small, and molded to his bubbled muscular ass. His Gymshark compression shirt was a second skin on his ripped torso. The kid was bold and brazen. Jared loved that about him. And he loved that Fuller was an unabashed power bottom. The boy loved to get fucked. After they fucked for hours, Jared presented him with his new uniform.
Jared growled quietly to himself before he responded to the text.
-damn, boy. you're making my dick hard.
+that was the intention
-that uniform fits you like a glove
+well it should. you ordered a medium. I'm a large.
-your ass is large
+it's wrecked from last night
-you were the one who begged me to punch your pussy
+you beat it up, bro
-sending this to me now only makes me want to destroy it
+I have a break for a couple hours this afternoon. I can swing by your office. My pussy is so fucking hungry for coach's cock.
-Fuck. What the fuck am I going to do with you. You're gonna get me fired.
+Yeah but it's the best reason for getting canned. Fired for breeding your pitcher too much
-Get that jock pussy over here as soon as you can. I'll make sure we'll be alone
+Knew you couldn't resist this muscle pussy
-That's because you're a slut
+Fucking right I am
Bun Boy
Tim didnât know why heâd stopped here.
In the middle of the desert, miles away from any kind of busy road, he stumbled on this old motel. Heâd been on his way to his friends in LA, taking the less-traveled roads to avoid traffic. It wasnât a long trip - he could probably get there that same night. He really didnât need a motel.
And yet, he stopped.
It was scorching out, and he had been traveling shirtless, as per usual. Just two seconds outside the comfort of his carâs AC, and his torso already felt sweaty, muscles gleaming in the sun. Tim had always enjoyed a pretty impressive physique; and now, at 22, he could make any appreciator of the male form swoon with ease.
But there was nobody to swoon over him, here. It was just him, this old motel, and this strange-looking sign.
That signâŠÂ
âBun Boy MotelââŠ
The young stud found himself strangely fascinated by the old, faded letters on the sign. Made him feel good, for some reason. Made him feel like he belonged.
Bun Boy⊠thatâs what Coach used to call me, back in the day. Said I had the best buns on the team. Best buns heâd ever seen in his life, and everything. Bun BoyâŠ
For a while, Tim just stood there, staring up at the comforting sign. Sun burning down on his body, sweat dripping over his rippling muscles. There was no wind, no people, no sound except a crackly old radio playing in the distance.Â
Tim felt warm and relaxed.
Slowly, without really thinking about it, the stud pulled the back of his shorts down a little. Unconsciously, as if someone else was doing it for him. The sunlight hit his exposed cheeks, and made him feel even warmer.
Wasnât this what the sign meant? Bun Boy Motel⊠surely, this is what a Bun Boy would do. No use keeping his Buns hidden, right?
Tim hadnât felt this warm, this relaxed, in a long, long time. His life wasnât as glorious as heâd imagined it to be, at 22 years old. College was hard, and he missed varsity football, and his old buds, and his high school Coach⊠but somehow, this place made him forget about all his struggles.
It was almost as if Coach was right there with him, standing in the desert sun.
âHowdy, Bun Boy,â the manâs voice sounded in his ears, a big, strong arm wrapping around his waist. âYou showing everyone your big, round Buns again?â
Tim closed his eyes, gasping as he felt the manâs hand on his ass. Rough, powerful, and manly, hardened from years of playing ball. Fingers dug in his bare cheek, grabbing a handful of beef.
âY-yessir,â he whispered, burning with excitement. He knew he shouldnât. He knew this was wrong. But that sign⊠that sign made everything okay.
One finger wriggled in between his tight buns, stroking down his crack, pushing against his entrance. Shivers of pleasure traveled down the jockâs spine, and he moaned softly. His girlfriend never could make him feel this way.
His girlfriend didnât care about his buns. She never called him Bun Boy. Why had that never bothered him?
âYeah, I know how much you like that,â the man laughed, pushing a finger into Timâs hole. The stud moaned again, instinctively arching his back, grabbing his own titties to make himself feel even better. Everything felt so hot, so good, so slow and sweaty. He wanted to fall in someoneâs arms and be loved.
âThese are the best Buns in town, Bun Boy. Best Buns in the whole damn country! Donât you just wanna let everyone enjoy these beautiful Buns?â
âY-yessir,â Tim gasped, bucking into the hand that fingered him, âI do, sir, I doâŠâ
His strong, muscular body felt weak, submissive, desperately needing to be penetrated. He always had to be the man, the alpha jock, cocky and confident like the rest of his buds. All his life, he had to be the top. Words couldnât describe how good it felt to be treated as a bottom, for once.
Another finger entered him, now, lubed up with his own sweat. Stretching his hole, exploring his boypussy, applying pressure to his prostate. The manâs other hand grabbed his throat, and Tim whined in pleasure, curving like a slut.
Is this what his girlfriend felt, when he fingered her? She had never moaned the way he was doing now, never quivered with this much intensity⊠maybe this was a kind of magic that only Bun Boy could feelâŠ
The manâs fingers were big, rough, fingering him like a real man would, pummeling his G-spot over and over and over again. Two fingers became three, stretching his cunt even further.
âF-fuckk, sirâŠâ
Harder, quicker, deeper into his hole. Lips on his ear, panting in his neck, whispering things no real man could ever endure. His throat was squeezed shut, and Timâs eyes rolled back into his head. His shorts were already on the ground.
He was nothing, just a pretty little toy, weak and helpless for real men to use. Tim felt himself being lifted off the ground, hanging by the hand on his neck, unable to breathe or talk or do anything but moan.Â
The manâs fingers buried themselves so deep in his ass he thought he could feel them poking through his abs.
âCâmon, Bun Boy!â the voice boomed, âGive me that Bun Boy-juice!â
Shuddering and quivering like a madman, Tim started shooting his load. Big wads of cum exploded from his cock, spraying all around, splattering and sizzling on the concrete. The pressure on his loins was so much it hurt, making his boner erupt like a volcano, white-hot semen bursting through the air.
It was an orgasm unlike Tim had ever experienced. Without oxygen, without strength in his limbs, without a single coherent thought in his head, every last cell in his body succumbed to the pleasure. It was like he drifted through heaven and hell, torture and ecstasy, floating in and out of consciousness.
All because of his Buns.
The man laughed at the top of his lungs, shaking the stud like a rag doll, continuing his assault on those buns. He finger-fucked the young buck until no more sperm would spurt out of his dick, then tossed him to the ground like a used piece of trash.
Bun Boy lay shivering and sputtering on the asphalt.
Ravaged. Fingered like an ordinary whore. Soaked in sweat and semen, his boypussy still throbbing in the aftermath.
Tim could vaguely make out the silhouette of a large man, standing over him. He heard the same, familiar laughter, and felt a heavy foot on his plundered buns.
âWelcome home, Bun Boy,â the voice echoed. âYou are going to like it here.â
The straight stud gave one last pathetic whimper, before his head fell down on the ground, the exhaustion washed over him, and everything went dark.
When he came to, Tim was still lying there, in the empty car park.
His shorts were back on, and although his body was caked in a layer of sweat, there was no hint of any spilled semen. His ass hurt, as did his semi-stiff cock; but there was no proof he had ejaculated for real.
The sun was starting to go down already. To his surprise, there were lights burning at the motel, which had seemed so abandoned earlier. Faintly, he could see people moving behind the windows.
Tim pushed himself to his feet, trying to regain his strength. He felt hungover, weak and ashamed. Violated - but enamored.
The sign was still there, grinning down at him.
Bun Boy Motel.
Slightly dazed, the stud went back to his car, grabbing his phone from the dashboard. If he left now, he could probably still make it to his friendâs in time.
But something told him not to.
âChace? Yeah, look⊠I got some car trouble, dude. I-Iâm gonna have to stay at a motel for the night, Iâm afraid.â
âŠ
âYeah, yeah, Iâll see you guys tomorrow, promise. Iâll let you know when Iâm on the road again, okay? Alright, dude.â
Tim hung up, got his duffel bag from the trunk of his car, and started to walk up to the motel.Â
He felt⊠good.
Finally, Bun Boy was home.
Under the shade of the forest by the pastures, Wade and I hitched the horses up as I tossed him some water while we rested from the beating sun. Wade took a big sip and then let some of the water spill down on his shirt. âOops, sorry boss, Iâm such a klutz.â He said as he took off his shirt and undershirt to let dry, giving me a sultry look. I rolled my eyes but let him do his thing seducing me into using his holes. âGo on, then, we have some time for a break,â I said as I leaned back and crossed my arms, enjoying the show. Shirtless, Wade began posing and swaying his hips. He then turned around and took off his jeans, and resumed his routine in his underwear. Damn heâd been really hitting the weight room after I told him I loved the view of his back when heâs on my dick. His already wide shoulders, his back, not to mention that ass and those tree trunk thighs have never looked better. Wade pulled down his underwear down pver his ass and let me admire it as he said, âready for you, bossâ.
âââ
Wade liked showing his body for my pleasure. He had been, of course, doing that and much more since I hired him 5 months ago as a ranch hand. He first came to me when I was asking around if anyone knew of some dependable people. I was in need of some extra help after my two kids decided they wanted to go off to college. Theyâd been my love and joy since their mother died at an early age. And they supported me when I came out to them years ago. Actually they helped bring some extra business, helping me get on some queer small business lists for our state which was nice. Wade was a giant. Gentle with the animals when I took him around the property. Easy to get along with. Easy on the eyes too, that fucker wore tight fitting clothes that seemed to barely contain him. He came from a business contact of mine so in good hospitality I already had invited him to stay for the night even if he didnât want the job, since it was quite a drive out to my land. One thing led to another and we broke out some of my whiskey stash afterwards. âHope you donât mind, no need to stay in nice clothes, Wade,â I said as I took off my shirt and relaxed back in my undershirt. âNo, not at all. This shirt is pretty stuffy though, I left my undershirt in my pack somewhere, you mind if I just leave my shirt off?â I nodded as Wade grinned and stripped. We clinked glasses as we relaxed back on my cough. âSo, you know Jim, huh?â I asked again, making conversation. âYessir, he and I go way back from my college days when he did some coaching for us wrestlers.â âOh, you guys go way back, huh?â I dreamily reminisced fucking with Jim a few months ago, one of my buyers, that bearded brute looked tough but boy he could take a dick like a pro. I hosted him for a week on my ranch once so he could learn more about my stock, but I felt like all he wanted to do was constantly get fucked. Wait. Does Wade know about us? I wondered.
Wade grinned, perhaps reminiscing about something with Jim himself. âJim taught me everything I knew about wrestling, about comraderie.â He got quiet. âHelped me through some hard times, trying to come to terms with my sexuality. Thanks to him, I can love who I want and still be the best at my work.â I gave him a look. âOh, that last line sounds familiar, my kiddos make fun of me for saying that stuff in the article all the time,â I half scoffed half grunted. Wade chuckled. âWell, it was that article that made me seek you out. Reached out to Jim since he is in the area and he said he knew you and would reach out on behalf of me. Youâre sort of a legend to me. In a couple of ways.â âYeah? What do you mean?â I said, emboldened at what he was implying.
Wade silently got up and took off his pants, showing off his large legs in a jockstrap that supported his perky ass. He got onto his knees, waddling to me until he got between my legs. âJim said he had the best times of his life when you were laying pipe into him. Said he was usually a top but with you he immediately knew he was giving up his holes for you.â I nodded as Wade made a motion to help me take off my pants. âHe said that you were often out here alone, with no one to take that girthy asssplitter deep inside them the way you like, the way you deserve. He thought Iâd be the perfect guy to help you, considering Iâm a damn good rancher, and a damn good hungry bottom.â He was palming my growing dick in his hand, whistling as he compares it to his arm. Then he got closer to it and softly blew on it, before he looked up at me and started to lightly kiss it, groaning as he did so.
I guided his head and rubbed his face against my hardened dick and crotch. He moaned out again as he took a big sniff of my musk. âYeah? You gonna put out for me while youâre out here? Be my ranch hand and my little slut on demand?â I grunted out. âYes, boss. Use me anytime. My mouth and ass are yours. My body for your pleasure. You can take me when Iâm showering, when Iâm sleeping. Just come take whatâs yours, sir.â I nodded. âLetâs continue the interview, Wade. Iâll be evaluating your oral skills to start.â Wade smile as my dick slapped his face. âYes, boss,â he said before he took my girth in his mouth.
âââ
Now Wade is bent over, bracing himself against a tree as he fucked himself on my pole. I was kneading his ass and slapping it causing him to moan out as I fired verbal at him. âFine, grade A beef Iâve got here. Best one Iâve bred in a while. I see youâve put in work on your backside.â Wade cried out. âThank you, sir, I trained my body for you, gotta look good to my man so heâll feed me daily dick.â He panted as he flexed his back and arms for me, slowing down his rocking. I slapped his ass and started to increase my pace myself, his moans increasing in intensity. He started spewing out verbal himself. âOh fuck, sir, youâre hitting me right in the prostate, fuck. Biggest dick ever. Best dick ever. Oh fuck- Iâm coming.â I didnât slow down my fuck but he buckled a bit as I supported him. I saw spurts of cum fly out and hit the tree and grass, but like a good trained bitch he still focused on my pleasure and soon increased the rhythm to get me off as well. Seeing him cum hands free soon sent me through as well, and in a bit I roared and pushed into him and the tree as I unloaded into his ass. As he supported my weight against the tree, I started to kiss his neck and he softly groaned, turning to make out with me as well.
Wade then turned and couched down to clean off my cock. Softly sucking on it, I ran my fingers through his hair and softly massaged it as well, eliciting a soft hum on my dick as he purred. âSo, your man, huh Wade?â He blushed and pulled out my dick to speak âNot that my feelings matter. But youâve been fucking me nonstop the last few months. Iâve never been more happy, I get fed, I get bred. I get to be outdoors where I do my best work. Best job ever. With the best man ever. So yea, youâre my man. Itâs okay if you donât feel the same way, boss.â I lightly tapped him to resume sucking. âNah, Wade, I feel the same. Though, my men always stand ready to be used. We should get ready and head on back. I forgot to tell you but Jim is coming over tonight for a few days. Heâs been dying for some fun and Iâd like to show off my guy to him.â Wade laughed as he chocked on my dick in surprise. âYou fucker. My holes are gonna be extra sore.â He fake cried as I pulled him up for a kiss.
THANKSGIVING QUICKIE
It must have been a special occasion, because Cooper's parents let him sleep in. But it was Thanksgiving and the high school senior had turned in an incredible performance on the football field the evening before. He had come back home amped up on adrenaline and in no mood to go to bed at a reasonable time.
The jock stirred in bed now, his short sandy brown hair all mussed. It took a second to realize that a knock had roused him. The door opened, and his father peeked in.
"OK if I come in, buddy?" he asked.
The 18-year-old leaned up in bed, the covers slipping off his bare torso. He'd packed on muscle over the last couple of years, a lot lately. His dad had encouraged his gym and diet obsessions, maybe but it was kind of Cooper's thing. That need for perfection and athletic excellence.
"Um yeah," he answered with a soft croak.
Brian Murray slipped in and quietly shut the door behind him. That's how Cooper's still groggy brain knew what was on his father's mind. Indeed, as the 48 year old stepped in, there was a noticeable boner in his sweatpants.
"Your mother's making the turkey," he said, with a conspiratorial smile. "I figure that buys us a little time."
This was a game Cooper and his dad were playing. More and more it seemed. Neither knew if the risk turned them on, or if it was just too hard to resist fooling around.
The teen nodded. "It's been a few days," he said. Seductively, he slipped the covers down to reveal his half naked body. Mostly smooth, though some soft hairs were growing in on his chest and down a treasure trail leading to this boxer briefs, which were tented with morning wood.
It was Brian's turn to feel his voice catch as he stepped up to the bed. "That's beautiful," he said softly, his finger tracing along Cooper's strong quad muscle with its short brown hairs. His eyes swept up his son's form, taking in the eight pack and the taut chest and shoulder muscle. "You're beautiful, Coop."
The athlete's eyes swept up his father's form. The old man was beautiful to Cooper too. Handsome. Masculine. Whatever the word was, Cooper felt his Dad would make fun of him for saying it. But Brian Murray was in his prime, the ex-jock build thicker and bulkier these days but kept in fine form with manual labor and devoted time at the gym.
With a naughty grin, Cooper lifted his hips and slid down his underwear. The shank of cock hadn't softened a bit since waking up and it practically jerked in excitement now, especially with his father's eyes on it.
Brian gave a soft horny grin as his fingers traced up Cooper's legs, admiring all that tight end muscle he'd practically memorized for his jerk off sessions. 6'5" and 230 pounds of hard muscle. A beast on the field, but at home Coop was something else... a sweet kid who'd grown in to a bonafide Daddy's boy. Brian didn't deserve a son like this. And yet...
The father looked over his shoulder and tugged down his lounge pants. The thick piece of paternal cock stood up, maybe not with the innate rigidity of an 18-year-old, but it sure felt that level of fuck hard.
"How much time we got, Dad?" came the footballer's voice, still sleepy.
Brian was getting full on horny now. Like, seeing white, crazy horny. "Just a few minutes," he replied. Jenn probably wouldn't have any reason to come up to Coop's room, but they were taking a risk already. "Why?"
Cooper took in the sight of his father's cock. It was a like a new toy, though even over the course of the last two months, the jock had become strangely familiar with the dick that had made him. Its size, its shape, its texture and its taste. He looked up into this father's hungry brown eyes. "It's just been a while since... you know?"
Brian smiled. He loved how shy the kid could get sometimes. Particularly after his son's sexual imagination was what had fueled a lot of their crazy affair. "Yeah buddy?" he growled.
Cooper nodded excitedly and spread his powerful legs. The hunky young stud lay back in his bed and pulled those thighs back, showing off his still mostly smooth crack to his dad.
"Fuuuccck..." Brian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Already his hand was drawn down to that magic spot. Brian had been Coop Murray's first. The first few times had been a real challenge but now Cooper was a little more skilled at taking his Dad that way. The father tried to think with his head, rather than let his dick call the shots. "Maybe we can find some time tomorrow, OK, buddy?"
Coop nodded, but he knew his Dad wasn't taking the initiative to pull back from the soft gentle fingering of his vulnerable pucker. "Come on, Dad... it can be a quickie, right?" he pleaded, like he was asking to stay out past curfew. "You probably won't last long."
Brian chuckled. He had one persuasive kid, but Brian also had to laugh at how right his son was: Brian's normal sexual experience and composure went out the window once he was inside Cooper.
The man took a deep breath and pushed the thin flannel pants all the way down and stepped out of them.
Cooper was already reaching behind his bed, where he stashed the vaseline.
The mattress sagged from almost 500 pounds of male flesh as Brian climbed up onto the bed, hardon pointing up to the ceiling. Normally composed, the middle-aged man's body was shaking as he watched Cooper dig his long digits into the petroleum jelly and lovingly slather it onto his dad's cock. Just as methodically, Brian took the tub from his son's hand and dug in for the own daub of jelly to smear on Coop's tight ring.
Setting it aside, he scooted up and started working the slickness into his son's hole. Eyes locked on Cooper's he did his best to read the athlete's reaction.
"Feel good, Coop?" he asked quietly. This was a crazy risk but both men were turned on like mad.
Cooper nodded. "Yah." Then, "feels great, sir."
God, this kid... Brian pushed a second inside Cooper. "It's gonna sting going in," he cautioned. Giving Coop an out if he wanted it.
The jock was ready for this though. It had been a solid week since their last fuck. "I know, Dad." Then realizing he was speaking too loud, he lowered his voice too. "I like that part, too, actually."
"Goddamn," Brian hissed. He pulled his hand back and moved his hips into place. "I'm gonna have the worst case of empty nest syndrome next year, you know."
Cooper smiled. The separation was going to be hard on him, too. So he was determined to enjoy every minute now. He pulled his legs back tighter now as his dad placed a pillow under his hips to raise the ass just right. The sight was incredible. As much as Cooper loved seeing his dad naked, there was something equally hot about seeing the man in his holiday casual mode, bedhead and a well-worn Bama T-shirt clinging to all that middle-aged beef. Cooper knew the only minor disappointment he'd ever given his father was not signing to play Alabama football.
"Ooof," the jock let out despite himself. Maybe one of these days the penetration would go smoother. Maybe one of these days his dad would learn that an ass takes more patience than a pussy.
Brian looked down in excitement. "Told ya, Coop," he said in apology. "You good?"
"Yeah," the tight end answered as he forced his teeth to unclench.
"Sure?" the father asked, battling his urge to just plow in.
"Sure I'm sure, Dad," Cooper answered just above a whisper. "Fuck me."
If the entry was uncomfortable, the sensation of that that thick dad bone riding over Cooper's internal spot was pure pleasure. THIS is what had him finally losing interest in hetero stories and porn videos and focusing on men. As Brian Murray' dong pressed against his prostate, Cooper's own prick jolted and dripped above his eight pack.
"A quickie, remember, Dad," the jock urged his dad.
Brian's voice croaked. "Yeah." Then his hips powered forward. All the way in. Buried inside his own son, his own flesh and blood. The wrongness of the act had him coming back like a moth to flame, unable to gain any self control.
And beyond the mental pull of mating with Cooper, there was the sheer physical sensation of his son's ass, milking his cock with steady soft clenching around Brian. Each fuck was a give and take between his son pushing him out and sucking him in. Between Brian's restraint and his pure male need.
"Yeah, Dad..."
Brian looked down at Cooper. So innocent. And yet an active sex partner. Active in a way Jenn never was. The jock stud looked up with sheer need, that teen hardon a sign of just how much the kid frickin loved it. How much he needed his daddy.
The father's hips were moving faster now. The bed was squeaking, goddamnit, but it was too late to stop now. Not with his son looking and giving that nod, that silent permission to cum inside him. For an inexperienced young man, at least inexperienced in THIS, Cooper sure had developed a keen sense of timing. He knew when his dad was climbing to orgasm, not quite at the point of no return, but close to it. Just then, the jock wrapped his sticky slick palm around his shank of hard meat and began stroking in sync to his father's thrusts.
"Jesus!" Brian hissed. The way Coop's insides clenched and fluttered around that dad bone was just incredible. They'd never actually done this before, but the two Murray men were gonna cum at exactly the same moment.
The father made sure of that. He may have not been in full control, but he paused his sexual response just four seconds, and it was enough. He could feel his O face forming just as he watched Coop's.
The mutual orgasm was wordless but both men let out a simultaneous grunt. Brian's hips seized into a deep plow and unleashed a load that was bigger than it had any right to be given he'd just fucked his wife the night before. And who knows how often the kid jerked off, the teenager he was, but Brian's nostrils filled with that floral-musky scent of his boy's own cum as Cooper pumped out a healthy load onto his taut, muscled torso.
They stayed locked like this for just a couple of seconds, savoring the aftershocks of the orgasm that were part of the pleasure itself.
Finally, Brian's guilt kicked in and more than that his senses returned. They were crazy for doing this with his wife, Coop's mother, just downstairs. He gently withdrew and then quickly got off the bed, finding his lounge pants to slip back on.
"Get cleaned up," he said brusquely. "Then see if you can help your mother out with anything, OK?"
"Yeah, Dad," Cooper said in polite resignation. He didn't blame his father for acting like that. After all, it was the jock who pushed his dad past his comfort zone, A LOT. But after the hotness of the sex, Cooper felt the urge for a quiet emotional time with his dad.
Brian slipped out a quietly as he entered. He was crazy, but he was glad in a way. It would have been torture to get through Thanksgiving dinner craving Coop the whole time. At least the fuck would take the egde off in a major way.
By the time the father had showered and changed into nicer holiday dinner clothes, he came down to the dining room to see Cooper dutifully setting the table. His son looked up with a smirk. Brian had to let out a silent laugh and shake his head.
He stepped into the kitchen. "Smells great, honey," he said, stepping behind Jenn and massaging his shoulders as she stirred the gravy. He gave a soft kiss to her blond hair. Yeah, Brian was a schmuck, but he did appreciate how his wife made these days special.
"You know you're in the way in the kitchen," she said in a soft laugh that let Brian know she wasn't too upset. "Why don't you help Cooper... the water glasses need to be put out."
"Aye aye captain," the masculine building contractor joked and stepped away from his wife's petite frame.
He entered the dining room as Cooper was finishing placing the silverware around the settings. Silently, Brian set down the glasses and circled that table across Cooper. His eyes watched his son, who returned his father's gaze with a silent communication. Conspiracy. Secret. There were no words to convey the gravity of their affair. But Brian knew that even if his son had showered up, that there was still a healthy load of Brian's cum deep inside the jock. He knew Coop would keep that semen inside him, prized more than one of his football trophies.
Their eyes flitted back and locked once more. Then knowing the coast was clear, Brian stepped around. "I forgot something earlier," he whispered.
"What?" Cooper said.
God, his son talked like a college kid already, testosterone deepness tinging his young voice.
Brian could hear the sounds of his wife whisking the pot. The coast was clear. He raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around his son's neck, pulling Cooper's face toward his. The kiss was soft with lots of gentle tongue.
"Love you," the father lipped silently when he pulled back.
That brought a big smile on the football player's face. Not a grin, a real smile. He now leaned in to place his mouth closer to his dad's ear. "Love you too, Dad."
Just then the doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of the first of the in-laws.
"Hold that thought, buddy," Brian said with a chuckle as he pulled back, meeting his son's eyes once more before going to answer the door.
Jockpup
âHey, Chris,â I said, walking up to the handsome jock. He was just here by himself, throwing a ball in the air and catching it, probably waiting for his buddies to turn up. He saw me, and frowned.
âWho are you again?â the quarterback scoffed. He looked at me like I was vermin, visibly annoyed by the fact I was trying to talk to a guy like him. It seemed right on brand for mister Team Captain to not even recognize me, despite the fact we had been in the same class since middle school.
âOh, Iâm no one,â I said. âJust wanted to check on my favorite pupper.â
His frown deepened, and he looked around. It was just the two of us, in the park. There were no dogs anywhere to be found. Chris scoffed again, and tossed the ball up once more.
âFreak,â he mumbled.
I grinned, and clicked my fingers. This time, the ball missed his hand, and fell into the grass. Chrisâs pretty eyes glazed over, his strong arms fell slack alongside his body, and his mouth fell open. Just like that, the King of High School lost control.
âWhatâs the matter, Chris? Feelinâ a little dazed?â
I walked even closer to my favorite jock, and stroked his handsome face. Chris didnât respond, just stood there like a lifeless piece of meat. God, he was so hot. I felt his chiseled jaw, and squeezed his thick neck. He was everything Iâd ever wanted and more, the perfect high school jock, a gorgeous embodiment of the football stereotype. He and his cheerleader girlfriend ruled the school as the ultimate senior couple. Everyone knew him, everyone loved him. Iâd heard he even got a scholarship to join the team at Notre Dame.
I had always had a crush on Chris, of course. For years, Iâd dreamed about his sculpted body, his soft lips, his juicy cock. Those dreams were the closest I ever came to him. A guy like that would never even bother to be aware of my existence, no matter how hard I tried. He was the jock, I the nerd; all I could do was stare and admire from afar.
Or so I thought.
Right now, mister perfect was under my spell. Iâd never even believed in hypnotization, always wrote it off as a hoax, until I came across that small, old book in the library. âHow To Tame a Manâ, it was called. I was surprised the library would have a book I assumed to be about some kind of BDSM dominance thing, so I picked it up and started browsing through it. Suffice to say, I got hooked pretty quickly.
Flash forward several months, and here I was, completely in control of the high school quarterback. I had been training him for weeks now, and the stud never even knew.
âCâmon, letâs get you out of those silly clothes,â I said. I pulled his jersey over his head, and brought it to my nose. Grass, sweat, cologne. That unmistakeable musk of a fertile young buck, always horny and on the hunt for pussy. I inhaled his scent and felt my boner twitch in response.
Then I pulled down his shorts, too, and helped him out his sweaty Nikes. For a moment, I was just mesmerized by the sight of him. Half-naked, in nothing but his CK boxer-briefs and socks, Chris looked like marble statue come to life. His pecs and abs were like armor, sculpted to perfection by years and years of playing sports. His arms and legs were thick and strong, adorned with veins that kept his muscles functioning. His bulge was huge, his ass full and plump, and his perky nips looked more inviting than ever.
Chris was my Ken doll - and I was his demise.
âNow, boy, youâre missing something, arenât you?â
A soft whine escaped the quarterbackâs throat. He couldnât speak anymore, in the state he was in. It was a wonder he was even still standing on his feet. I pushed him to his knees, and revealed the black leather collar I had brought along. On a small, metal tag, his name had been engraved.
He saw his collar, and whined again. I saw his massive boner already twitching in his underwear, programmed to respond to this. He recognized this collar, knew he needed it around his neck, craving my approval.
I gladly put it on him. Mister Quarterback, collared and half-naked in the park, drooling spit onto his own chest. Beautiful.
âThatâs a good boy,â I said. Chris shuddered in response, a wet spot appearing in his CKs. His tongue fell from his mouth, and he looked up at me like a proud, happy pup. âLetâs get outta here, before those idiot friends of yours turn up. Câmon, boy!â
There we went. My half-naked Chris on all fours, collared and leashed like a fucking dog. He stayed by my side, pretty and obedient, and let me take him through the park, across the street, toward my house. Anyone would have been able to see us, had they stepped outside. Anyone couldâve taken a picture of the jock, crawling on the street, and ruined his life forever. I wouldnât have cared.
But he was lucky. We made it to my place without seeing anybody, and I took him into the garage. My parents were working late, so we had the whole evening for ourselves.
âOn your back, Chris,â I said, closing the door behind us. I took off his leash, and the muscle stud quickly lay onto his back, despite the harsh concrete floor. His tongue still hanging out, his bulge hard and wet. The quarterback threw me an innocent, brainless look, and I kneeled down next to him.
âWhoâs a good boy?â I chuckled, scratching his washboard abs, âWhoâs a good boy?â
He let out a strange sound - something in between a grunt and a bark - and cocked his head, his hands and feet lifted up like paws.
Iâm a good boy, yes, me, me, Master, pick me! Iâm a real good boy, me, I swear!
I pulled down his underwear a little, and that big, eager rod came poking out like a tail. Drops of precum already glided down his shaft. I took his glans between my fingers and started rubbing, making my boy groan and whine with excitement.
Soon enough, he was humping my hand, desperately trying to shoot his load. Before he would cum prematurely, I released his cock, and the boy let out another beautifully frustrated sound.
âYou know the rules, Chris. Before you get to shoot your juice, you make sure your bladder is empty,â I said. The jock stared at me, puppy-eyed, and quickly got to his knees again. He did know this rule, yes, he knew it very well.
Empty bladder. Gotta empty bladder, and Master will let me shoot.
I pointed to his pair of Nikes in the corner, and Chris scurried over without hesitation. He got to the shoes, lifted his right leg, and let his stiff cock hang above the pair. Such a good boy. I laughed out loud as the stud started pissing into his very own, precious Nikes.
My handsome, square-jawed quarterback, releasing a stream of gold into his shoes. I made sure to capture every second on my phone. This was so much better than anything Iâd ever dreamed of. The jock was actually here, in my garage, crawling around in a dogâs collar and his underwear, humiliating himself. It all felt too good to be true.
When both his expensive shoes were drenched in urine, Chris hurried back to me. He lay on his back and stared at me with anticipation.
âVery good boy,â I snickered, feeling those massive pecs for myself. I pressed both thumbs down on his large nips and started rubbing them, making the straight stud squirm and whine. He was so sensitive, so easy to play with. Those tits were hardwired to his fat dick, tender like a womanâs breasts. Only the slightest touch could make Chris howl in response.
His whining grew louder, the harder I tugged at his teats. He was getting close again. His hips started bucking into me, his beefy chest quickly rising and falling at the pace of his breath.Â
Please, sir, please, please. Iâm such a good boy. Please, please.
With a good couple jerks, the quarterback came all over his abs. I felt his cock throb in my hands, warm and hard, so musky and sweaty. His muscles tensed, and he moaned aloud, sounding more like an animal in heat than a 19-year-old boy. Cum splattered all across his torso. It was beautiful.
âWhat a nice, big load, Chris!â I laughed, âYou been saving up for me, huh?â
The big jock stared at me with a mixture of shame and excitement, panting heavily as his orgasm faded. Even after shooting all that semen, his cock stayed rock-hard.
I took the boxer-briefs off him, his socks too, and made him sit up on his knees. He kept his hands up like paws, and I held a finger before his face. The dumb, collared stud followed it with his eyes, sperm dripping down his abs, trickling from his boner. A string of saliva leaked from his open mouth.
âNow, time for your training,â I said. âIf you do well, Iâll know that youâre a good boy. And only good boys get to cum some more, donât they, Chris?â
He whined again, his gaze fixed on my finger.
The poor jock wanted to be a good boy so bad, so, so bad, it was all that mattered, he had to show Master he was the best boy of all. I told him to stay, and started taking off my jeans. As soon as I felt the air on my underwear, I saw the scent hit my stud. Chris sniffed, eyes growing wild with excitement, shifting in his spot. Cock. He smelled cock. This was the ultimate treat for him.
He wanted to leap forward, clearly, but I held my finger before his face again, and he let out a nervous whine.
âRemember your training, boy,â I said. âCrawl over, slowly, and sniff Masterâs dick. Nice and gentle, like a well behaved pup.â
With his tongue still hanging from his mouth, the naked quarterback moved closer. He was so nervous, so eager, I felt his excitement in the air. But he knew he had to behave, no matter how hard it was. His eyes were stuck on my groin, and Chris slowly brought his nose to my bulge.
One little sniff. A shiver visibly traveled down his body, a weak groan escaped his throat.
It smelled so good, so good. He couldnât help himself.
Anxiously, he brought his tongue closer to my cock. Before it could actually touch the fabric, I warned him.
âUh uh, Chris. I didnât say you could taste yet. Just sniff.â
The quarterback whined and whined, burying his face in my crotch. I knew it smelled too good for him, too perfect to resist. I had made him addicted to my dick in every way possible. All he wanted was to take it between his lips.
âUugghh⊠PâŠl-leaâŠseâŠâ the jock managed to utter, humping my foot.
Hmm. Turned out he was stronger than I thought. He really shouldnât have been able to speak anymore, at this point. I slapped his head, and Chris winced pathetically.
âNo people sounds for you, bitch,â I said. âNow keep sniffing, and donât you dare use your tongue.â
Poor thing. In this state, there wasnât anything worse than to make Master angry. All he wanted was to be a good boy, to make me happy, and he always tried his utmost best for that.
But today, I guess it was too much for him.
After a couple more sniffs, the stud grunted weakly, shuddering from head to toe. His shoulders quivered, and he let his head hang in shame. I looked to see a puddle of white on the floor, partly dripping off my shoe. He had shot again.
âBad boy,â I sighed, hitting his head. Chris whimpered in fear, too ashamed to look at his Owner. âI didnât tell you you could shoot, did I? Better fucking lick that up, and quick.â
The quarterback did as he was told, lapping up his own spunk from my foot and the concrete floor. It was still a gorgeous sight, of course, having the muscular jock slobber up his semen because I wanted him to.
When he finished, he tentatively looked up at me, guilty and desperate for compassion. I just couldnât stay angry at a face like that. I ruffled his hair, and scratched his nose a little.
âWeâll have to keep training that, boy. You really should be able to control yourself better, by now.â
Those blue eyes stared right into mine.
Iâm sorry, Master, so, so sorry. Iâll be a good boy again, next time, I promise, Iâm sorry.
To comfort him, I finally let the hunk lick my boner. I pulled my underwear down, and Chrisâs face lit up like floodlights on a football field. With those muscular arms, he steadied himself as he brought his tongue to my shaft, trembling with excitement. I felt his warm, wet mouth on my cock, and gasped. If only he knew what he was doing, the arrogant jock. I would love to see the look of disgust and self-hatred on his pretty face, knowing what he had done. But for now, Chris was gone - and a nervous, eager little jockpup had taken his place.
Watching him piss in his shoes, cream all over himself, then licking up spunk from the floor; it had all gotten my boner way too hard, already. I was too close. It took but a couple licks from the stud before I growled aloud, grabbed his hair, and planted my seed all over his face. Chris held his mouth open, looking happier than ever, hoping for some of the sperm to land on his tongue.
âFuck, boy,â I moaned, âThat felt very good.â
The collared quarterback sat there on his knees, tongue hanging from his mouth, joyfully looking up at me as the spunk dripped down his cheeks. I had him lick my cock clean, then told him to get on his back again.
I stood by his side for a moment, admiring that muscular body, gleaming with sweat, saliva, and semen. I took my phone, and started recording.
âAre you having fun, Chris?â
He looked so happy, so excited, with his hands lifted up like paws. The stud just panted for a while; then, with effort, he released a good, proper bark. I grinned at his proud expression.
âGood boy,â I said, âWhat is it you want, Chris? Why donât you show me what you want?â
I didnât have to tell him twice. Quickly, the handsome quarterback lifted his knees to his head, almost curling up into a ball, bringing his strong legs upward. Another bark followed, and he used his hands to spread his plump ass-cheeks.
Such a good boy. Chris was showing me his hole.
I put my phone away, and kneeled behind him. His pussy was still smooth and hairless from the last time Iâd waxed him. The jock whined a little, impatient as ever, and I spat on his entrance.
âYou want me to finger you again, huh, Chris?â I asked, slowly rubbing his hole.
Please, sir, please, please, finger me, oh please, sir, Iâm such a good boy.
I let the first digit slip into his pussy, and he moaned softly. Inch by inch, I pushed into my beautiful jock. He whined and whimpered until I found that magic spot inside of him, and started rubbing his prostate. Two fingers went up there, then three.
Fuck, he loved that.
Within seconds, a weak howl rose from his throat, and Chris shuddered into another orgasm. Folded up like this, his cock sprayed cum all over his face, some even landing in his mouth.
Hell, I wanted to fuck that bubble butt for myself, but I knew he wasnât ready for it. Even after weeks of training, that was still too much. It would probably overload him, heâd go into shock, and Iâd risk losing all the progress we made.
So for now, I kept it at fingering.
Even after his third ejaculation for the day, the quarterback stayed rock-hard. I pushed another finger into his tight ass, and continued playing with him for the next hour.
More cumshots, more whining and howling. Chris was panting furiously, at this point, after Iâd drained a fifth load from his fat cock. Still, I kept on ramming my fingers in his cunt, tugging at his dick with my other hand. He whined and whined, shaking and writhing on the ground, staring at me with those beautiful eyes.
âCâmon, boy, that all you got?â I laughed, fingering and jerking as hard as I could, âYouâre a stud, Chris, you got plenty more seed to give. I want all of it!â
Turned out he did have a shitload of spunk in those bull balls. Only with his tenth orgasm, the quarterbackâs boner stopped squirting. His young body had no more semen to give.
I finally let him go, and Chris lay panting on the floor, weak and exhausted.
His face, his neck, his pecs, his chiseled abs - everything gleamed with sperm. Even his tongue, which always hung from his mouth, was white and dripping jizz. His beefy chest was heaving up and down, and he was clearly having trouble keeping his eyes open.
Poor thing. He had been such a good boy, tonight. I would reward him next time.
I kneeled down by his head, and took it in my lap. Still, Chris kept looking up at me, hoping heâd made me proud. Hoping heâd been a good, good boy.
âAw, heâs a little tired, huh?â I said, gently scratching his chin. I knew all of this was terribly draining for him, being kept in this hypnotized state for hours. That, and having to cum ten times in two hours.
âDonât worry, boy. You were good. Letâs get you cleaned up, and Iâll take you back to the park.â
âUgh, fuck,â Chris growled. Great. Some fucking dog pissed in my shoes again. Thatâs the second pair this month. Can people not just tame their fucking pets?
He threw the ruined Nikes in the trashcan, and started walking home barefoot.
It was late - most houses had gotten dark already. Seemed like heâd been working out in the park longer than usual. His friends hadnât turned up, but he didnât really care. Chris always worked better on his own, anyway. Barefoot in the grass, just him and a ball. Undisturbed.
Heâd run laps, done pushups, practiced throwing, and everything. It had clearly done the trick for his muscles; he ached all over. His neck hurt, too, but some ice would fix that.
Instead of going over to his girlfriendâs, like usual, Chris decided to go home. He wasnât in the mood anymore, after all that working out, even though heâd been horny all damn day. For some reason, his dick hurt, too.
Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep.
As soon as Chris walked into the house, Bud, his family dog, came running with all his usual excitement. The quarterback kneeled down, laughing, and wrestled with the big Samoyed like he always did.
These days, their bond was somehow better than ever.
âHey, Buddy! Missed me?â Chris laughed. âWhoâs a good boy? Whoâs a good boy? You wanna be the good boy, donât you?â
~ Depraved Days of December 2018 ~
DAY 1 - BOY NEXT DOORÂ
***Trying this again. A story every day, for the entire month of December. Or at least up till Christmas, I guess. Weâll see how far I get.
Kicking off with a sweaty summer story - after all, December means summer for half this planet. Enjoy.***
Just another summer afternoon. Hot, sweaty, and exhausting. The sun had been burning down on everything and everyone for the entirety of the day. Even now, as it sank back toward the horizon, the heat persisted with an overpowering tenacity.
I was sat on my back porch, sheltered slightly in the shade of the house. Even here, it was too hot to move, too hot to think. Too hot to do anything other than sit and feel my insides being cooked to mush.
At least I had some beers to cool me off. That, and a very enjoyable view that helped take my mind off this brutal heatwave.
See, my house was built on a little bit of a hill, with the backyard sloping down toward a creek. Itâd been constructed together with just one other house, at the end of a long driveway, quite a way off from the rest of town.Â
Two lone buildings, in the middle of nowhere.
And since the houses were elevated above the rest of the terrain, I could see everything in my neighborsâ backyard when I was sat here on the porch. Currently, I was very thankful for that feature.
My neighbors were lovely people. Your perfectly happy, all-American couple. Friendly, neighborly, always ready to help. He had a great job, and she was a great cook. Stereotypes ran rampant, in that household. But they truly were nice people, and I knew I was lucky with them living next to me.
This entire summer, they were off traveling through Europe. They had always talked about wanting to see the world, and had finally taken the big leap overseas. Their only son, Michael, was home from college for the summer, and would watch over the house while his parents were away.
Michael was my neighborsâ pride and joy. He was handsome, athletic, intelligent too, and blessed with a big heart. The kind of son anyone would wish for. Through the years, I had watched him grow up, changing from a small, lively bundle of energy that would run round the yard, into a confident, popular high school jock, into the beautiful young man he was now. These days, Michael was the star quarterback for some grand university in the Midwest, and only returned home a couple weeks a year - during Christmas, and during summer break. Every time I saw him, it seemed like he had managed to get even prettier, rocking even more muscles on his sculpted body.
Right now, he was the reason I couldnât take my eyes off my neighborsâ yard. The stud was working out in the sun; running laps, doing pushups, taking sprints, the whole deal. He seemed impervious to the heat, although his entire body was visibly drenched with sweat. I could see the outlines of his abs, his bulging pecs through the wet fabric of his mesh shirt. My eyes were stuck to this boy like glue.
Iâm sure he knew I was watching, the lilâ tease. Every now and then, his eyes would wander in my direction, and the corners of his mouth would curl up in amusement.
After a while, he walked onto his own porch, his big chest heaving up and down as he took a moment to catch his breath. Michael looked at me again, and I found myself unable to stay quiet.
âMy, my, son,â I said, loud enough for him to hear, âWorking real hard again, huh?â
The muscled jock walked to the end of the porch that was closest to me, and gave me that adorable smile of his.
âYeah, mister Adams,â he laughed, still panting slightly, âGotta get ready for when the season starts!â
âIn this heat, boy? Look at you, youâre soaked!â
The stud looked himself up and down, and gave me a sheepish grin. He really was soaked, from head to toe. Every inch of his young body was wet and sticky with sweat.
âYou oughta take a break, Michael,â I suggested. âNo good pushing yourself too hard. You donât wanna be getting a heatstroke, so close to the start of the semester.â
He chuckled, and stroked through his damp, golden hair. âI guess youâre right, sir. I think Iâve run enough laps for today,â he said. Then the stud turned his back to me, and seemed to be headed inside - probably to take a shower. Before he disappeared, I quickly called for him once more.
âMichael, why donât you come up here and have a beer with me?â
The boy stopped in his tracks, and turned back round. âSir?â
âYouâre 21 now, ainât you?â I continued, âCâmon, boy. You deserve it, after all that running âround.
His boyish grin had vanished, as had his usual air of confidence. He clearly wasnât too sure about this.
âGo on, Michael. Just one. You ainât gonna leave your poor old neighbor here all by himself, are you?â
I could tell that he knew this was wrong. He was a smart kid, after all. But he was also a college student, bored out of his mind here in the country, of legal age but too broke to go out and buy his own booze. The idea of an ice-cold beer was too appealing right now.
He hesitated for a moment more, then shrugged. âAlright. Guess one drink canât hurt.â
So there I was. Sitting on my porch in 90ÂșF weather. Sharing beers with the hunky, sweaty boy next door. Michael was sat on the landing, looking out over the yard while I watched him from my chair. I could smell the testosterone on him.
We talked about his football career, for a while. He was doing very well as the Universityâs varsity quarterback, better than anyone had expected; the jock proudly shared how his coaches were thinking about naming him co-captain, even though he was only a sophomore. He talked about his classes, his friends, his dorm. We both sat and relaxed in the scalding heat, drinking our beers, enjoying the quiet of the woods around us.
Maybe I spiked his beer with a little something to help him unwind, maybe I didnât.
Either way, Michael soon laid back on the porch, resting on his forearms, clearly feeling very chilled out. I made him feel comfortable. Just the two of us, on a summer afternoon. Not a care in the world. His beer quickly emptied, and a nice, dazed look appeared on his pretty face.
âSir, do you mind if I take these off?â the stud asked, touching his sweat-soaked shorts, âItâs so hotâŠâ
âBy all means, boy. Iâll get you another cold beer, too. Thatâll help cool you down.â
I walked inside for a moment, barely able to hide my raging boner. When I returned, two fresh beers in my hands, Michael stood on my porch in his underwear. He was just taking off his shirt, too. I waited, and looked his chiseled body up and down. His smooth, golden skin gleamed perfectly in the afternoon sun. Little beads of sweat trickled down the trenches of his abs, down his thick legs. He pulled the mesh shirt over his head, and I saw the bulging muscles of his arms and chest work and move. Soon enough he was half-naked, and the boy gave me a sheepish grin.
âThatâs quite the revealing outfit, Michael,â I said, handing him the beer. He looked at his crotch, and realized he was standing in nothing but a jockstrap. The outline of his big cock was clearly visible. Blushing, he chuckled.
âOh. Yeah, I always work out in my jock. Hope you donât mind, mister Adams.â
More beers, more talk, more relaxing on the porch. Michael sat half-naked at my feet, and didnât think twice about it. He told me about girls he liked, about encounters heâd had with teachers. He told me how it bothered him that everyone always wanted him for sex, even when he was just trying to be friendly.
Before we knew it, the sun was starting to go down, and Michaelâs stomach rumbled loudly. At least ten empty beer bottles stood beside us.
âWhat were you doing for dinner, boy?â
He frowned, and took another sip. âEh⊠I think I got some leftovers, from last night.â
âWell, why donât you eat here? I bought way too much, anyway. What do you say we fire up the grill, have ourselves a couple steaks?â
Some sense seemed to flow back into the quarterbackâs pretty little head, and he frowned. There was probably some voice in his head trying to convince him heâd had enough beers, and that he really should be going before things got out of hand.
âI.. I dunno, sir. I donât wanna be a bother. But thank you for the beers, I-â
âNo, no, Michael, I insist. Come, help me get out the grill. I could use a strong boy like yourself.â
He nodded, and followed me to the shed. It seemed pointless to refuse, anyway. His old neighbor was insisting they have dinner together, probably with a couple more beers, on this hot summer evening - why would he pass that up?
A little later, I stood on my porch again, looking out over the yard. The handsome quarterback next door was half-naked in his jockstrap, grilling our steaks with a hand on his hip. Just the two of us, enjoying our freedom. What could get better than this?
âI think theyâre almost done, mister Adams!â Michael said, throwing me an adorable smile.
I put my empty bottle with the others, and walked toward the golden stud. At this point, I was rather intoxicated myself. The closer I got, the better he looked. That broad, glistening back, rippling with muscle. That slim, tapered waist. And then those beautiful, rounded glutes, trapped in a sweat-soaked, see-through jockstrap. I felt like I had Hercules himself, standing in my backyard. This boy was just too gorgeous for his own good.
âHowâs that meat coming along, Michael?â I asked, placing my hands on his shoulders. The stud froze, tensing up a little - but he didnât push me off. I brought our bodies nice and close together, and massaged his muscles to calm him back down.
âS-sir, I-IâŠâ
âItâs alright, boy. You can put the steaks on that plate, over there. They look good to me.â
He did as he was told, and removed the meat from the grill. I let my hands run up his traps, up his neck, feeling the masculine features of his face. He was nervous, I could tell.
I brought my lips to his ear, and kissed his skin.
âJust relax, handsome. Thereâs no one around. Just you and me, doing what feels good. Doesnât this feel good?â
My fingers brushed over his nipples, and he gasped. The heat of the grill was pushing into us, making the sweat drip down our bodies, relaxing our muscles. My shirt was glued to his back, my bulge pressed against his ass. I tasted the salt on the skin of his neck, and took his massive pecs in my hands.
âM-mister Adams, this⊠this is wrongâŠâ
Finally, he resisted a little, and I backed off. It took all my strength not to dive upon him right there and then. My body longed for his warm hole with the fury of a predator - but I had to be patient. Soon, the quarterback would be under me. Soon, I would conquer that sweet ass.
I took the plate with our steaks, and walked to the backyard table. Michael seemed to hesitate, for a moment; after all, Iâd just made my intentions very clear. But he was hungry, I had food, and there was a tiny, tiny part of him that was too curious to steer away. Without a word, he followed, and sat down in the chair opposite of me.
We ate in silence. Heâd asked for water - quite a smart move - but Iâd spiked it with a couple more relaxants. Unknowingly, the jock gulped down the entire glass.
By the time our plates were empty, he was slumped in his chair, barely able to keep his eyes open. His head hung, chin resting on his pillowy chest, and his arms dangled uselessly at his sides. The big, hunky quarterback suddenly looked a lot less intimidating.
My foot found his, started playing with his toes. Everything about this boy was so warm, so supple. These feet, which carried him across the field as the star player, felt soft and damp like theyâd never even been used before. I moved my foot further up his leg, and placed it on the warmth of his thigh.
âI-I⊠should⊠go homeâŠâ he stammered, trying to get up.
âSit down, Michael,â I said. Obediently, he fell back in his chair. âI want you to relax. Just enjoy what your body is feeling. Let yourself get hard. Can you do that for me, boy?â
The stud nodded weakly.
âHmm? Whatâs that?â
âY-yes⊠yessirâŠâ
With a grin, I leaned back further, and put my foot on his bulge. He was semi-hard already, clearly enjoying the intimacy of my skin on his. I took the shaft between my toes, and gently rubbed it up and down. A soft moan let me know how well I was doing.
âFeels good, doesnât it, Michael?â I grinned, stroking his dick all I wanted. The young buck let out another groan, shuddering in his seat, unable to fight the feelings I was sending through his loins. Spit was drooling onto his pecs.
âF-fuckk, sirâŠâ he whined. Clearly, that fat cock of his hadnât seen pussy in a hot minute. Just the slightest touch drove the quarterback insane.
Soon enough, Michaelâs rod was painfully stiff, and the tip of his bulge had gotten wet. As much as I loved the idea of rubbing a load from the straight quarterback with my foot alone, I really wanted to save his climax for later. That sweet, creamy pleasure couldnât go to waste.
I got up, and told the boy to follow.
Awkwardly, Michael stumbled out of his chair. After only two steps, his knees gave out, and the college athlete fell in the grass.
âS-sir⊠I-I donât⊠feel so goodâŠâ
Poor thing. The gorgeous jock groaned and writhed on the ground, clearly drunk and drugged out of his mind. His muscles had been rendered useless.
âItâs alright, Michael,â I said, crouching down beside him. âDonât fight it. Just let me take care of you.â
I placed one arm under his knees, the other under his impressive back. With a grunt, I lifted the stud from the grass, and started carrying him inside. Michaelâs head rested on my chest. His bulbous pecs were squeezed together like a beautiful set of tits, and the scent of his precum made my head spin. He was heavy - but I was determined.
I carried the quarterback inside my house, up the stairs, into my sweltering bedroom. There, I laid him gently on the bed. Finally.
Michael watched through heavy-lidded eyes as I stripped the clothes from my body. He lay there, completely powerless in the sheets, spread out like a tender slab of beef. For me, and me alone. My underwear fell to the ground, I climbed onto the bed with him, and positioned myself between his legs.
First, his jockstrap. I peeled the sweaty piece off his crotch, down his thighs, all the way down until I held it in my hand like a trophy. I brought it to my nose, and made sure Michael saw me inhale his musky scent.
âW-what.. are you gonna d-do with me?â the hunk whispered. Nervous. Excited. Terrified.
I grinned, and started jerking myself off with his jockstrap.
âIâm going to fuck you, Michael. Iâm going to fill your ass with my sperm, just like you fill your girls with yours. Iâm going to breed you.â
He gulped, petrified. Like a tiger stalking prey, I climbed on top of him, feeling that young beauty underneath me. His abs, his pecs, his beautiful cock, all pressing against my skin. I brought the precum-soaked jock to his mouth, and pushed it past those submissive lips. With a gasp, Michael tasted both his and my crotch on the fabric.
âBut Iâm sure you remember what it feels like, boy,â I said, stroking his face, his torso with eager hands. âAfter all, this isnât your first time in my bed, is it?â
Ashamed, the boy shook his head. For months, he had repressed these memories. Buried them deep, deep down, just so he could bear to go on with his life as an alpha stud. But right here, right now, with his neighbor on top of him, it was impossible not to remember.
We had been here before.
A little over a year ago. Heâd just turned 20.
In the middle of the night, I found him in my front yard, waiting for his parents to go to sleep. He was drunk out of his mind, probably just came from a house party, and clearly didnât care for his dear folks to find out heâd been drinking. I told him I wouldnât rat him out, and that he was more than welcome to wait inside with me. The jock gratefully agreed.
I gave him a couple beers - spiked, of course - and quickly convinced the boy to take off his clothes. Something about how his parents would smell the alcohol on him, or whatever. Within minutes, I had my hunky neighbor quarterback in his underwear, too wasted to know what was going on.
I took him upstairs, put him in my bed, and stole his virginity away. That night had been one of the most magical nights of my life.
And now, here we were again.
Michael was bigger, stronger, more beautiful than ever. His muscles were thick and seasoned, his skin was flawlessly golden, and his cock was ripe with cum. His face bore all the masculine ruggedness of his father, and the delicate prettiness of his mother. Finally, after more than a year, I took the studâs torso in my arms and lost myself in his beauty.
I kissed his neck, and Michael gasped softly. My hands clawed at his pecs like ravenous beasts, tickling his nipples and leaving scratches on his smooth chest. My legs pushed his open, and I rubbed our cocks together with a moan.
âS-sir - please,â he whimpered, weakly trying to pull me off. âI-Iâm not gayâŠâ
âHmm⊠I know that, boy. But you are so goddamn beautiful. Donât keep this little pleasure from your old neighbor⊠itâs all I haveâŠâ
I tweaked his nipple nice and hard, and Michael quivered in response. This was what Iâd dreamed of. The feeling of that young, Herculean body underneath me once again⊠writhing and gasping like a whore, muscles pushed against my flesh as our sweat melted togetherâŠ
I grabbed his arm, forced it up, and licked from his wrist to his armpit. I licked his delts, his pecs, those washboard abs I loved so much⊠down his treasure trail, around his shaft, onto his thighs. I licked him like a lollipop.
Michael whined - he wanted me to taste him, to take his massive cock in my mouth and bathe him in pleasure. But I was no cocksucker.
I licked further down, across those magnificent quads, over his calves, onto his feet. Then I moved to his other limb, and started going back up. I would not rest until every inch of him gleamed with my saliva. From his fingers to his toes, from his forehead to his crotch. This was my way of claiming him.
When Iâd finally tasted enough of his sweat, I flipped the quarterback on his stomach. Fuck. I nearly came from the sight of his ass alone.
âStay,â I ordered. Michael didnât dare move an inch. While I went to grab the lube, he just lay there, petrified. Mister perfect, draped over my sheets like a sultry whore. His tight, round buns were just begging for attention, begging me to split them open.
I climbed back onto the bed, and grabbed his cakes with both hands. Hmm. The juicy, muscly glutes of a college football player. Christmas mustâve come early this year.
âGoddamn, boy. I canât believe no one else has tried to fuck this before,â I said, digging my fingers in those cheeks. âYour ass would turn any man gay.â
I spat on his crack, and the slut gasped softly. I added a little lube, then traced my fingers down the crevice, across the peach fuzz of his buns, circling the pink little pucker that was his pussy.
I felt it quiver at the touch. So anxious. So eager. With a grin, I pushed inside, and made the quarterback whimper in discomfort. He was just as warm and tight as I remembered.
âNngh⊠m-mister AdamsâŠ. it hurtsâŠâ
My finger lubed up his hole, gently loosening that tight sphincter. His cunt had nicely healed since last time, so it was like a deflowering all over again. I added a second finger, and Michael whined. He looked so fucking good like this.
That broad, muscular back⊠those massive arms, clinging onto the mattress⊠those thick, powerful legs, trapped under my weightâŠ
âYeah⊠you like having that pussy fingered, donât you?â I said, slowly increasing my pace. I was driving both fingers in and out of his hole, fucking the stud with my hand. He arched his back, and gave another moan.
When the jock shook his head, I laughed.
âNo? Youâre not enjoying this? What do we have here, then?â
I reached under the sweaty slut, and found a thick, stiff boner, leaking precum uncontrollably. Beautiful. Michael really did seem to enjoy getting fingered. I pulled his cock back, letting it lie behind him like a tail, and stroked the purple glans a little.
âUghh.. ughhâŠ.â
With just the slightest touch, I pushed him over the edge. Michael shuddered, backing his ass further into my hand, spurting nice big wads of cum onto the bed.
âThatâs a good boyâŠâ I grinned. âCream for your old neighbor, Mikey. Thatâs it, get it all outâŠâ
The quarterback groaned until heâd squirted every last drop. Then he collapsed onto the mattress, panting like a madman. Everything smelled of sweat and spunk.
I probably shouldâve given him some rest - but I was too eager. Heâd had his fun. Now it was my turn.
Hypnotized by his gleaming muscles, I climbed on top of him. Grabbed onto his triceps. Let him feel my hardness between his ass cheeks. For several minutes, I listened to Michael beg. His words were slurred with alcohol and drugs, but they still sounded like music to my ears. He was so scared. So weak.
When the first tears started trickling down his face, I rammed my cock inside of him. Almost tearing his hole apart with one motion.
Michael screamed.
No one could hear him. No one could help him. It was just me and the boy next door, stuck in a hot summer night, somewhere at the end of a lonely driveway.
I grabbed the hunkâs wrists, pinned them down on his back, and fucked his bubble butt with no holds barred. He was an athlete, after all. Boy was used to taking a good pounding.
In fact, I could go as hard as I wanted, really. Michael was the perfect cocksleeve. I grabbed his skull, buried it in the mattress, slamming my hips into his with the force of a sledgehammer. My dick was stretching his poor hole, drilling its way into his ass, pummeling his prostate. No matter what I did, Michael would take it. He would take it all.
It wasnât long before I came - but I kept fucking. And fucking. And fucking. My cock filled the golden stud with my seed, but I just pretended like nothing happened. I wasnât ready to stop yet.
Michael moaned and quivered as he felt my sperm shooting into him. That was the first load the muscle boy had taken in a while. His eyes rolled back into his head, and a second load exploded from his fat tool.
He didnât even struggle anymore. The quarterback had surrendered to my dick, to that blissful pain and pleasure. All he did now was buck his ass into my hips, helping me ruin his pussy. How beautiful. An alpha boy turned cumdump.Â
âThatâs my boy!â I laughed, still mercilessly pounding his cunt. âThatâs my little slut! I hope you got some jizz left in those big fat balls, Mikey! âCause you and I, weâre gonna be doing this all fucking night!â
âNnghh⊠f-fuckk y-yesss, s-sirrrâŠ.â
Your eyes lock, and you see him. He smiles. You look up at him up and down and smirk. Heâs local, his Portuguese is beautiful and accented. His body invites your eyes roam over its curves and hills. You flirt, he flirts. His English is decent enough. He asks if youâre a fag, but heâs licking his lips as he asks it. You invite him back to your hotel room to find out. âGuess I will have to,â he says with a resigned shrug.
You both have a rinse off near the beach exit to dispose of sand, and by the time you get back to the hotel youâre both dry. You track sand into the hotel room with your feet anyway. You push him to the wall and kiss him hard, cupping his bulge. He arches into your hand, hot and eager.
You take things to the bed. Speedos go flying. He pins you down and your bodies slide together with desperate desire. Youâre lucky you brought condoms. Thereâs not a lot of time to prep for sex, but he seems eager. He keeps asking for something in Portuguese, and eventually he pulls some English out of his headfog and says, âput in put inâ. Oh, that makes sense. You roll him onto his stomach and guide him so heâs on his knees. Perfect. God his ass is a sight. Still as tan as the rest of him, but his hole is pink and tight. You sink into him in one go, nearly losing it from him tensing up around you. The lube helps, but it takes time to get every inch of yourself in his body. A few tender caresses and strokes gets him to relax, but god you almost come about five times in the process.
Once youâre in, heâs ready, and you give him the fuck you promised him on the beach. Neither of you last particularly long, not with the way his ass is a velvet vice around you. Heâs pushing back against your hips, mewling filthy words in a language you cannot understand. Between the sweat and sunscreen and lube, you can barely hold onto him, so you throw your whole body on top of his for the climax. You shove it in hard; he shudders and he cries out in a way that pushes you right over the edge. You explode in him, and itâs like that condom isnât even there. For a moment you see little white dots. When the hysterical fever is over, you do the polite thing and reach down and stroke him to finish. His cock fills your hand and itâs searing hot. It goes off like a gun; the amount of cum in your hand is amazing. You roll off of him. The sheets feel like they came out of the washing machine mid way through. âMeu deus,â he says when he catches his breath. You donât need a translator to know what that means. You give him a tired satisfied smile. He wipes his face with his hand. You gesture to the bathroom. He goes first. He showers. He gets out. The TV is on and you gesture to the fridge. You shower. You come out. Heâs gone.
So is the cash out of your wallet and your phone.
Youâre so shocked you just sit on the bed for a minute and think. Youâre relieved you put the passport in your hotel room safe. You turn pale and check your suitcase. He didnât find your tablet hidden in the inner pocket behind some magazines You walk to the balcony of your hotel room and glance down but you cannot see him. It occurs to you that maybe you should file a police report, but you never got his name. Wait, you have his DNA. Like, all over the sheets. What good will that do you? Youâll get laughed out of the station. You curse. Was he faking the whole thing? Did he plan the whole thing? You feel rocked by the breach of trust.
Eventually you go down to the lobby to ask someone to track your phone. Itâs off. Shit.
You change the sheets, but barely sleep. Itâs complicated hating someone who was a great fuck.
The next day thereâs a knock at your hotel room the next morning. Youâre not expecting it. Itâs him. And to your shock, he holds out your phone.
You take your phone back. Thereâs some terse words. You smack him across the face. He stammers out an apology. He looks so guilty you almost feel bad for him. You ask him why he brought it back. He scuffs his sandal on the ground and tells you itâs because of the sex. He mutters, âIt was good.â He doesnât say much more. His English isnât great.
You stare at him. The urge to throw him out is strong. All this stress cause of one hot lay! But you know why he came back, and why heâs still standing at your hotel doorstep: not because he liked the sex, but because he wants it again. And you want sex like that too. You want that tight ass and that slick body writhing under you, crying out in foreign words.
You tell him to come back later than night. You know, after youâve had a chance to lock up your valuables. You also want time to figure out how youâre gonna tie him to the bed.
To your surprise, he does show up. And he brings some of the cash. You take him inside to absolve him off his sin. It will involve a spanking though. You didnât pack a whip for his trip.
________________ Captions are fictional.
Check it out
âCome on, man, you canât be out here like this,â the lifeguard told me.
âLike what?â I said then checked out my own body. âWhatâs wrong?â
âItâs just⊠you knowâŠâ He lowered his voice to a whisper even though no one was around. âYour dick is showing.â
âI canât help that. These are swimming trunks. They just cling when they get wetâ I admired myself. I knew he liked what he saw too. I was gonna fuck this guy, hopefully right here out in the open. âIâm not even hard.â I grabbed my cock and shook it. âYou should see it then, then itâs a real distraction.â I looked in his eyes. He saw that I caught him ogling.
A little embarrassed, he turned and went back to his chair. His name was printed on the back of his white tank. âKevin,â I said and he spun back around. âSorry if I misunderstood. If the trunks are a problem I can just take them off,â and I pulled them down to where my v cut met the thick base of my cock in front and below my bubble butt in back. I turned sideways so he could see.
âNo, donât do that.â He said it hurriedly but only after too long a delay. He was staring at my body. Suddenly his short red trunks looked a little tighter.
âCome on, no oneâs even here. Holiday weekend, a lot of these apartments are empty. Itâs hot out. You should come for a swim too. Someone shows up you go back to guarding those lives.â I waded toward him, still sagging low, until I was standing right below where he was at the edge of the pool. I tugged on the leg of his little red trunks to coax him, not actually trying to pull them down, but I made sure my fingers went up inside and grazed his thigh. Pulling the fabric taut I was happy to see the contours of an impressive package.
And finally he gave up. He took the tank top off. Great body. I reached up with both hands and tore open the Velcro fly of those board shorts. They would have fallen to his feet but his rising erection was holding them up. He sat on the edge of the pool, legs wide, and pulled it out. Fucking huge, even bigger than I expected, and cut. Iâm uncut but I like cut guys. Thereâs something about the way you can wrap your lips around their head that drives them wild, and I like to make them squirm. I started to work my magic on Kevin.
Looking like I do youâd probably think I donât need to give blowjobs, and youâre right. Everywhere I go guys beg to suck my 9 inch uncut cock, and I let them. But I like to suck too, especially the feeling of control, the way I can bring them to the edge sooner than theyâve ever felt it before. Kevin was getting there already. He was panting. Maybe he thought Iâd stop and weâd switch. But I wanted to make him explode now. As he was getting there I pushed him on his back and pulled the trunks off, tossing them away. His fat head was in the back of my throat and I massaged his balls and taint and then, just before he started to cum, I pushed the pad of my thumb against his hole, swirling, teasing, loosening, slipping just the tip inside. He erupted in my mouth and I didnât stop til he was drained.
I swallowed a little. He tasted good, sweet and salty and healthy. But this uptight lifeguard came a lot, more than most guys. With my mouth full and dribbling down my chin, I pulled my trunks off, hopped out of the pool, straddled Kevin, and leaned in for a kiss. I fed him his own load and he was happy to take it. I sat up and slapped my heavy hardon against his smooth torso. Then I leaned back down and whispered in his ear, âyou know Iâm gonna fuck you now, right?â He nodded plaintively, begging for it.
I got up and lifted him into my arms, carrying him to a lounge chair. He let his body go as limp as I needed, but his big dick was still fully hard and pointed to the sky. Good. It was going to stay that way and he was going to cum again for me in just a few minutes.
I laid him down on a chaise and raised his legs, then leaned over and pushed my stomach against his legs so his knees were pressing into his chest, his ass wide, his hard cock laying on his tight stomach. He looked at me and knew what was about to happen. âFuck youâre so hot. I love your nipples.â He pinched them and made them hard.
âYouâre about to have a new favorite part of me,â I said. I dribbled some spit, still thick with Kevinâs cum, on his cock and started stroking him. Then I placed my head against his hole and spit on the target. I pushed my head in and out a few times to get him ready. His mouth went wide at the sensation. On the last short in-thrust I flared my head to stretch him, and he moaned, his dick pulsating in my hand. I spit on my thick shaft, rubbed it along the ample length with my hand, and then slowly plunged myself in, halfway, then out to the head, then all the way to the base. The second one was slow, then the next one was hard and fast and he squealed. He was leaking in my hand.
I could make it last as long as I wanted, but something about this lifeguard made me impatient to explode inside him. I was pounding the shit out of him and he gasped out âBenjamin, fuck!â
âSo you do know who I am? I bet youâve jerked off to me so many times. I bet you prayed to get fucked by me.â
âYes!â
âThought about seeing, touching, sucking, riding on my big cock?â
âYeah,â he whined, almost unable to take it anymore. I leaned in and put my hands on his chest, optimizing my leverage and lifting his pelvis, making it possible to go even deeper. A few thrusts like that and he was screaming for it as he shot another load all over his stomach and chest, hands free this time. His constricting asshole felt so good that I couldâve cum right away, but I made myself wait a little longer, to make him continue to get pounded even after he was done, when he would be too sensitive to take it. He was gasping as I finally let myself go inside him. It felt like six or eight big shots. When I pulled myself out his ass leaked all over the chaise and the pool deck.
I went to grab our bathing suits. I put mine on, even more revealing than when he first called me out for it, because now I was fully hard. I tossed Kevinâs suit on his chest. He was still hard. âFinish your shift. Then letâs meet back here. Bring some friends. Donât worry, youâll get just as much of my attention as this time. Maybe more. Youâve watched my videos. Youâve seen what I can do.â I winked and walked away, leaving him naked and spent and excited to do it again. I decided to bring some recording equipment next time. Kevin wasnât just hot enough to fuck again. He would make good content too.