From: scoffinator69
Disclaimer: This story is complete and utter fantasy, and should in no way be believed to say anything definitive about the characters involved, their sexual orientation, or their personal desires. It is 100% about the author thinking that this scenario would be fucking HOT. You should also realize by now that in a fantasy world, everyone is always safe from disease and disfigurement. We do not live in a fantasy world, so do with that knowledge what you will.
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This story is copyrighted by the author as of 10-10-2017
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A Coach's Tale 6: The Falcons Pack It Up
(This installment follows the Green Bay/Atlanta game on 9-17-17. Atlanta won 34-23.)
Prologue
Neither of them was happy with the current circumstances, each for slightly different reasons. Neither liked that they had lost, of course, both felt that they had let their team down, but that was where the similarities pretty much ended.
Aaron Rodgers had not only taken a hit to his confidence, but knew that he was also about to take a hit to his Alpha Jock status as well. That he had roped his teammate and buddy into this stupid bet besides didn't help at all. It felt like he was leading the man to the slaughter. The interception and the three sacks had doomed his team, and while those things were not 100 percent his fault, they did rate into the high 80's at least.
Clay Matthews hadn't wanted to take the bet. In the back of his mind, he had known that nothing good would come of it and he was mostly mad at himself for letting Aaron talk him into it. Both were riding high when it had been set, neither were now. He also knew that he had been more unfocused during the game because of his anxiety, and he had failed to read the offense, and failed to adjust his defensive teammates as necessary. That they had been burned all day on big plays at key times came down, in big part, to his lack of leadership today.
As the quarterback and outside linebacker walked down the long, dim corridor looking for the door, they didn't speak. Neither of them felt like they had the right to try to rationalize to the other that it would all be OK in the end, and probably (well, maybe hopefully) over soon. For Clay's part, there was also the fact that the sidelong glances he sent Aaron's way periodically were tinged with anger at his buddy. Misplaced, for sure, but no less real for it.
The two men finally faced each other when they finally reached the nearly hidden door deep inside the stadium. Even then they didn't speak. Aaron raised a questioning eyebrow. Clay gave a resigned shrug in reply and knocked on the door. Both men wondered how many of the victors would be waiting for them.
Part 1
"Come!"
The sharp whip-crack of the barking voice startled Aaron and Clay, at least in part due to the fact that it came at the moment the two old buddies realized they were still looking intently at each other. While the two vets were not strangers to messing around together, they had always had another man hoisted up between them riding their hard cocks. They knew that this was not going to be happening tonight. The door opened easily and silently and the two jock studs entered the well lit room. They were both wildly surprised to find only Atlanta Falcons Head Coach Dan Quinn in the room, and for a fleeting fraction of a second, they thought that this might actually go their way tonight. The cocky grins shared between the two Packers, and the thought that maybe Quinn only wanted what the pair were famous for among a certain type of NFL stud, were dashed before the ideas had even fully formed.
"The guys will be along later. They've earned the right to celebrate tonight, and you two are only a part of that." The coach had risen while he spoke, and moved closer t o the two studs. "For now," he continued, gazing contentedly at the men, "one of you is going to give me head, and the other is going to rim me." Unbuttoning and letting his khakis drop, the older man stood before them in his tented boxers, "I will let you two decide which task goes to who. It will be the last decision either of you makes tonight."
The two stud players looked at each other, as Aaron was just beginning to ask, Clay moved in front of the coach and fell to his knees. He reached tentatively for the waistband, and began to lower the shorts when he spoke for the first time since ten minutes before he left the visitor's locker room.
"I usually suck A some while he rims the guy, it'll probably be better for you if we don't stray too far from our usual game plan." The 6'3" linebacker said as he pulled the old fashioned plaid boxers off the man now standing above him.
Clay was shocked when the 47 year old coach's cock slapped his face upon being freed. Not least because he didn't think he had knelt close enough, but also because of how hard the older man was. Clay had expected that, in spite of the older man's obvious tent, he would only be about half hard. The fact that Dan Quin was, in fact, fully, pulsingly erect sent a shiver up Matthews' spine, and not for the first time since the game had ended.
For his part, Aaron Rodgers was thinking pretty much the same thought. If this man was this hard with no previous stimulation, and there were still others coming, tonight was probably going to be something he and his buddy would have to fight to survive intact. Trying to push those kinds of thoughts away by telling himself that the old man had obviously been jacking off before they arrived only made them cling deeper, to dig themselves farther into his brain. The sight of the smooth and muscular ass before his face when he knelt behind the man provided a familiar enough distraction to allow him an entry point toward this evening's sex.
"That the way you guys do Jordy?"
"To start with, anyway, sir."
Aaron surprised himself with the "sir" slipping out of his mouth. Not that the man didn't deserve respect, but in this instance, it seemed to carry too much acceptance for tonight's activities. Aaron knew that those activities had commenced when he saw a shift in Clay's kneeling stance, and heard the man above them let slip a sighing moan.
Dan Quinn looked down at the long, shaggy blond mane of the stud kneeling before him, and saw the handsome, beefy linebacker move his head closer. Watched the full lips part slightly, the tongue trailing along lower lip, heard the anxiety in the sigh, and took momentary pity to offer encouragement.
"I know I ain't as big as Rodgers...go on son, you can do this." Feeling his cheeks being spread by the big, rough quarterback hand behind him, the soft breathing of Aaron Rodgers moving closer and closer to his lightly furred ass crack, even as he felt twin breaths from Clay Matthews sweeping over his girthy seven and a half incher. The moist, muscular tongues of both jocks making contact with his flesh at the same time.
Aaron gulped at the first taste of the slightly sweaty and tangy ass lips of the stud head coach, tongue instinctively beginning the ravenous dance that had lowered many, many jock studs to pleading, quivering masses. Dan Quinn's ass was incredible, and the man's big hand reaching behind Aaron's skull and forcing him in tighter turned the quarterback on only somewhat against his will..He was determined to give this man, and anyone else that came later, his all...he was going to turn them the fuck on, get them the fuck off, and make sure they never forgot their time with him. And given what he was sure the plan for tonight was going to include, he himself was not going to enjoy it in the least.
The tragedy for the now subservient Alpha Jock, was that he believed he could do that.
Clay, for his part, felt half sorry for his buddy. While he didn't think himself any less Alpha, he had, on several drunken occasions, been railed by some of his old teammates back in college, and while he had never particularly enjoyed it, he at least knew he could take it (and as importantly, knew HOW to take it). And he did like the feel of the coach cock against his tongue. While it wasn't much smaller than Aaron's, it was easier to handle even though it was a bit thicker than his quarterback's unit.
The tragedy for the kneeling linebacker was that he believed Quinn, and anyone else that followed him, would play it like the coach was now. Content to let the big jock work as he wished.
Dan Quinn was loving the feeling of the stud quarterback rimming his sweaty ass. Rodgers reputation for ass eating had definitely not been exaggerated. On the other hand, Clay's jock tongue playing over the surface of his rock hard shaft was pleasantly teasing, the big linebacker palm cupping his full nut sack heightening the pleasures even more. The stud coach watched closely, waiting for the moment he would pounce on the massive blond and take over. He only hoped it happened before his guys joined them.
Aaron Rodgers' flitting tongue tensed itself into a taut point of muscle, and speared it's way past the muscular ring of Dan Quinn's darkest entrance, jabbing itself strongly inside the musky channel. The initial thrust was so forceful and sudden that it caught the coach off guard for half a second, and at exactly the right time. Dropping his free hand to the blond mane in front of him, the coach gripped the long tresses in his fingers attempting to regain balance, using his arm to force himself back upright at the moment Clay Matthews' tongue and parted lips were tracing over the crown of his cock. The stud linebacker had 7.5 inches of coach cock impaled in his throat before either man fully registered what happened. The jock scrambled to move back and off, only to realize the coach had taken complete control and was now grinding balls against chin, and not letting up.
That Clay Matthews was fighting his gag reflex while being held impaled on the column of flesh now raping his throat was ironic. Dan Quinn was determined to hear and feel massive blond gagging around his cock before he would be willing to let go. He kept grinding himself in. Feeling the linebacker's strong chin bumping against his nuts, the nose being smashed into his pubes, and the reflexive convulsions of the esophagus along his shaft. Nearly passed out form lack of oxygen, Clay Matthews surrendered with a wheezing, gasping, gagging cough, the hand tangled in his long hair loosened up slightly, and dragged his skull back. The line backer sucked air in around the cock still in his mouth and through his nose, knowing even before the man stopped pulling him back that he would be driven forward again and again.
The blood rushing to Clay Matthews' head as he was once again impaled face first on rock hard coach cock seemed to intensify, rather than diminish his other senses. The grip of the hand tangling in his hair, the feel of muscular shin and calf along his still covered thigh, the movement of the mesh shorts on his muscular ass and pulsing cock as his body shifted with the involuntary movement of his head as it was being fucked.
Wait.
What?
Dan Quinn felt the big cocksucker's body relax. Not only had the linebacker whose throat he was fucking surrendered, he had just (perhaps unwittingly) offered himself up on a platter, and while he didn't exactly understand why that had happened, he was definitely going to enjoy it. The agile movements of the flattened tongue along the underside of his shaft only confirmed it.
Clay had clenched up for a second. Desperately trying to bring his body back under his own control, there was no way in hell that his stud cock had gotten to pulsing, aching hardness by a man fucking his face. The more he tried to will his 8 inches to soften up (please? Just a little bit even?) the harder it seemed to get, in the two or three seconds that accompanied his realization, he swore he felt a wetness on his shorts where his cock pushed out into them. And then it was over. The fight was gone, and now the only thing for it was to fight against actually showing his pleasure at whatever the hell he was going to be put through tonight to Aaron. He hoped to be granted that one small consolation.
So far, it seemed that might be granted. The man who had seconds ago been pummeling his throat with hard cock had untangled his hand from his hair, and reached the hand behind him. The additional grunt from behind the coach told him that Aaron was being driven harder, face first, into the coach's ass hole. The Packers linebacker brought his hands to the coach's thighs, holding onto the man's strong legs as he began impaling himself on the leaking, veiny cock in his mouth.
Aaron Rodgers face was, indeed, jammed further into the sweaty ass crack of the stud coach, the forceful hands on his head serving not only that connection, but also to inspire the quarterback to dig deeper with his tongue. Fucking it in and out of the moaning man now trying to create a vacuum seal of lips to ass, reveling in the salty, sweaty tang that he could never resist once he started. The clamping of the coach's sphincter around his pointed tongue brought the Packer at least as much pleasure as it did the Falcon coach. The veteran quarterback felt his gathering saliva wash down his throat and into his stomach, taking along with it the heady pungent sweat of the stud coach he was rimming like a madman. At the same time, Clay was enjoying (half against his will) the luscious, savory pre-cum of the 47 year old man. The big linebacker kept as much of the thick 7.5 inch cock in his mouth as long and as deep as he could before slipping himself back to gather more breath and flick his undeniably eager tongue over the twitching crown.
Dan Quinn allowed his attentions to be pulled partially away from the men, now willingly, servicing him as he watched 5 of his stud players file into the room. The Falcons players had each already caused these two men significant embarrassment on the field, and were all itching to add pounding, pile-driving insult to injury. From the Atlanta defense,linebackers Vic Beasley and De'Vondre Campbell had each gotten a big sack at key moments, while corner back Desmond Trufant had burned Rodgers for the only interception of the game. From the offense, running backs Devonta Freeman and Tevin Coleman had scorched Matthews defense repeatedly for huge gains including 3 combined touchdowns. All five of the massive black studs appeared only in their compression shorts and tee's. The sight nearly made their coach wish the two Packers weren't going to have the lions share of these men's attentions.
Rodgers and Matthews were ignorant to the new arrivals until each jock felt massive towers of jock muscle slide up behind each of the kneeling men.
The hard press of stacked, thick muscle nestling along Aaron Rodgers' backside coupled with the heavy bulge of jock cock pressing along his ass through two thin layers of fabric was enough t o cause the quarterback to tense up in futile attempts toward self preservation. The whispering voice in his ear, repeating something still imprinted on his brain from a sickeningly embarrassing sack from earlier brought him, finally, to the full, sick feeling of resignation and surrender that the coach had not quite been able to manage.
"This is gonna be so fuckin' FUN, bitch."
The words had echoed, it seemed through the entire time from then until now. From when Vic Beasley had felled him, pressing hard into his body, grinding against him and speaking these same words into his ear on the field until this very moment. The linebacker's package had felt hefty then, it felt massive now. And the memory of his own cock twitching in his gear out on the field, his frantic attempts to deny and bury it, were unable to be called upon now as the truncheon now wedged itself tighter into his nearly exposed crack.
The fact that the moan emanating from the stud QB's lips was one of fear didn't register to the Falcons coach, and wouldn't have mattered if it did. All that mattered to the man being rimmed was the vibrations of sound echoing in his well tongued ass.
Looking down in front of him, Dan Quinn watched his two stud running backs envelope Clay Matthews' body with theirs. There was something exceedingly erotic in watching the 5'9" 209 lb body of Devonta Freemen press up hard along the back of the 6'3" Packers linebacker. That feeling was intensified watching the 6'1" 205 lb Tevin Coleman press full up along Matthews' side. The coach knew that the linebacker and the quarterback could hear the other activity in the room. Knew that their vanquished opponents could tell that there were others with them, and knew that they wanted to look, wanted to see what (and who) they were now faced with servicing. Given that Coleman's big paw was grinding Matthews' face harder against the coach's pubic bone, and that Beasley was shoving Rodgers deeper into Quinn's ass crack, that was impossible for the two anxious packers to manage.
Clay Matthews was still not sure who it was that had themselves wrapped around him, holding his head on their coach's cock, the voices coming simultaneously to his ears confounded him by only allowing him to hear their united command, not to suss out who was giving it.
"You keep suckin' coach's cock, bitch. You will get some of both of us soon enough." The two running back's breathed into Matthews' ears from each side, their words tattooed on his fevered brain.
The Packers stud linebacker felt his cock give a massive pulse at the command and the promise. Felt, undeniably now, the oozing wet of his pre-cum further moistening his mesh shorts, and sliding down along the shaft of his cock. Even as the scraping movement of furniture being dragged into position died out, Clay Matthews desperately hoped his obvious excitement at his current subservient situation would go unnoticed, or at least unremarked. The last thing he wanted was for Aaron to think that he actually liked this. Never mind that it was getting harder and harder to deny it to himself.
"DAMN! Thought these two was supposed to be fuckin' ALPHAS!" The deep voice of linebacker De'Vondre Campbell echoed through the room. "They getting' off on servicin' coach before we even get this thing rollin'!"
The 6'3" 231 lb stud had drawn the attention of the other men in the room to the obvious and prolific excitement of their two opponents. The cocks of both Aaron and Clay visibly hard under the tented green mesh of their shorts.
"This bitch Matthews is even fuckin' LEAKIN'!"
Both packers felt their skin burning in embarrassment, each to some degree tried to deny this blatant truth in their own wounded psyches. Neither packer stud was able to. Both had had their willing (if not exactly eager) submissive stance called out in front of their alpha buddy, and the fact that the other was at least in the same boat was cold comfort.
Aaron Rodgers let slip a prolonged, sighing gasp as Vic Beasley ground his massive body harder against him and reached around to clasp the hard packer cock in his fierce grip. The quarterback's proud eight inches was savagely milked by the colossus behind him.
Beasley announced to the room, "Rodgers is leakin' too, just gotta squeeze it outta' the repressed bitch."
Had he been able, the 33 year old packer vet would have hung his head in shame.
Part 2
Dan Quinn threw a nod at his victorious players.
"Pull the sucking cunts off of me guys. I wanna' watch you studs take your turns!" he commanded the five Falcons.
Freeman tangled his hand in Matthews' hair and pulled the stud linebacker off his coach's spit soaked cock. Beasley wrapped his free arm around Rodgers' throat and pulled him away from the well rimmed coach ass. As Quinn stepped aside to retake his seat, Coleman rose to his full 6'1" and ground his obscenely swollen cock, encased only in sweaty, intoxicating compression gear, into Matthews' face.
"Breathe it in, bitch. Suck up all my man sweat."
The stud running back's words ricocheted through Matthews' brain, and while he knew he should fight it, he only managed to do as he was told, huffing in great, gasping gulps of pungent, humid scent from the man's crotch.
There were no commands voiced from behind Coleman at first, only the wet slapping of flesh on flesh echoing through the small and now steamy room.
"Yeah, buddy! Slap this cunts face with them cocks!" barked Beasley to his teammates.
Trufant and Campbell gladly obeyed. The cornerback's slender 9 inches slapping hotly along Aaron Rodgers' left cheek, the linebacker's thicker 8.5 inches pummeling away on the right, even as Beasley's massive 10 inches dug it's way ever more forcefully into the sweaty quarterback crack.
Unbidden and instinctively, Clay Matthews' traced his tongue over the spandex encased monster pressing against his face, and ground his hips back against the other cock riding along his hip. He was pretty sure by now that he was imprisoned between the bodies of the two stud running backs, but almost afraid to ever confirm it. All he could confirm was that each of the men pressed against him here hung thick and long. The twinge of anticipation and anxiety that caused his jock ass forced another pulsing beat along his cock.
The rough index finger of the man behind him traced it's way between the two men, and down along his spine. It briefly passed along the waistband of his shorts before slipping under and then into his sweaty crack.
"You gonna like this, ain't you, big man?"
The low voice in his ear confirmed that the man behind him was the 5'9" fireplug running back Devonta Freeman, "Just wait till me and Tevin got your bitch ass spit-roasted! You ain't never gonna' be able to get yourself to bein' full alpha after this. You know that, right, cunt?"
The stud running back took the desperate whimper breathed along his buddies cock as acknowledgment. Tevin Coleman took it as time to unleash his cock and impale the packer. Pulling back slightly from the wildly licking and inhaling face, the 24 year old looked down at Clay Matthews. The linebacker's tongue was out, desperately stretching to regain contact with the mound of flesh it had grown to need. The blond packer glanced up at the smirking stud standing above him, then quickly refocused his attention where it belonged. The shiver that ripped through the linebacker's body could have been caused by either of two things. The drop of sweat trickling along his neck or the anticipation as Coleman's fingertips slid into place to lower the compression gear off his cock and hook them under his bull balls. Clay Matthews barely registered the fact that he no longer cared to try to make sense of his emotions. The cock now exposed to his gaze was too perfect to worry about such minor distinctions.
Nine and a half inches long and two and a half in diameter, at least. Uncut, foreskin only partially pulled back, deep reddish purple cock head half visible over the vein-etched shaft of dark skinned jock meat. The long stream of packer spit hit the floor in front of him before Matthews even realized he was drooling at the sight before him. He looked up at the dusky god standing before him and smiled. The until now all alpha stud maintained eye contact with the younger man as he moved greedily forward and brought his wet tongue to the stud running back's piss slit. The first, intoxicating taste of pre-cum registered on Clay Matthews' taste buds and the big blond's lips parted further to take this man willingly inside him, enveloping the flaring crown of the proud cock, lips tightening instinctively under the ridge where head met shaft, and then swallowing his way along the veiny column. The linebacker noticed the man's shaved pubic bone just milliseconds before his nose mashed itself against the sweaty flesh. The fact that the biggest of the few cocks he had ever deigned to suck was at least an inch shorter and not quite as thick as the one now deep in his throat, was an immediate and undeniable point of pride for the 31 year old packer.
Matthews began shifting his legs blindly even as he continued sucking the cock he had willing impaled himself upon as he moved to help Freeman remove the obstacle of his shorts. Once they were torn from around his ankles and thrown aside he realized that the other running back had pulled his down under his nuts in the same way as Coleman had. The club of a cock now beating against his hip urged the big man to adopt a more amenable stance. Splaying his long, muscular legs farther apart, the shaggy blond cock hound accepted his place and ground his obscenely spread jock ass back against Devonta Freeman's own powerful cock shaft. A cock that was easily the twin to the one he was now vacuuming into his ravenous throat.
The two Falcon running backs shared a knowing smile, loving the fact that the big "alpha" had so willingly bent himself to the demands. The fact that Clay Matthews' 6'3" thick linebacker body was grinding against them in desperate, unconditional desire made tonight's victory that much more intense. Both men knew that this fuck was going to be one for the record books.
Tevin Coleman lifted Devonta Freeman's right hand close to his lips, palm up. Gathering as much of his spit as possible into his mouth, he let it slip out between his lips onto his buddies hand. Freeman leered at the twisted meaning behind his teammate's action, leaning back from the jock ass spread before him, he palmed the saliva onto and around his cock, watching his buddies grin widen to match his own. The 5'9" stud shifted himself back up closer to his vanquished foe and brought the broad flaring head of his cock into position. Coleman's hand on his shoulder paused his entry. His bigger teammate leaned over the broad back of the packer bitch and let drop another wad of spit, perfectly aimed to slide down an inch of sweaty crack before sliding around the throbbing head of Freeman's cock.
Dan Quinn had removed his hand from his cock, knowing that if he even touched his shaft, let alone jacked it, watching his two running back's conquest of the man they had so thoroughly embarrassed on the field earlier, he would cum. And he knew that there was much more to see before tonight was out. And he knew that there would be a better place and time to drop his load than 'on his gut' and 'right fucking now'. He watched his stud fireplug built running back shift his massive hips and thighs behind those of Clay Matthews and knew what was coming. The coach shifted his gaze to where running back crotch mashed against linebacker lips, eager to see the cock sucking bitch try to react when his other running back made his move.
Clay Matthews' beefy jock body balked a fraction of a second to late. The massive cock at his long unused jock hole was breached violently with a powerful thrust forward by Devonta Freeman. The Falcon running back reveled in the feeble attempts at defense the muscle bitch used to try to block his entry. Clenching rings of muscle coiled around the shaft trying, at the very least, to slow down the conquest. Before he could pull his head back to howl, the powerful hands of Tevin Coleman dug into his skull, holding his cock deep inside the doubly penetrated linebacker. Matthews felt the powerful, sharp pubic bone of the ass fucking stud slam into his glutes hard, surely leaving bruises in it's wake. The roar that did manage to come was muffled by the powerful cock deep in his throat, the increase in pre-cum sliding down into his belly told Clay that the bastard impaling his face was getting a HUGE extra charge seeing the bastard impaling his muscle cunt. The spit soaked cock in his ass continued it's tearing rut, beating the linebacker further into incoherent submission than he thought possible.
Freeman pulled at least 9 inches of cock suddenly back out of the quivering mess of man that was Matthews, the linebacker doubted that the stud running back had left the entire crown buried. The ensuing drive back inside was, if anything, done with even more determined power than the initial breaching had been. And again and again. For a time the two men burying themselves inside him moved independently, then subtly began to modify their thrusts to get in sync. Tevin Coleman would drive his massive cock balls deep into the humid, swallowing throat as Devonta Freeman drew his own proud scepter from the rebelling ass it had claimed. And then both men would reverse their motion, thrusting into the widely stretched jock cunt, while withdrawing temporarily to leave only the leaking cock head on the cock sucking jock's moist tongue. By the fourth such unified movement, Clay noticed his pain had dulled. By the ninth, he realized that his ass was pulsing and his mouth swallowing with a pleasure he didn't know existed. By the twentieth, he was a whimpering mess, only hoping that this exquisite, beautiful pleasure/pain would go on for hours. Pre-cum was flowing freely from his aching cock, and the stud linebacker knew, for the first time ever, why Jordy Nelson got off so hard every time he was in this exact same position between Rodgers and himself.
Dan Quinn watched it all, languidly and gently running his fingertips along his rock hard cock, only occasionally allowing himself the luxury of a stroke or two as he edged himself in voyeuristic delight. Watching his 5'9" stud running back hammer the big man's ass with unrelenting fury while his 6'1" position mate fucked the blond's sweaty, flushed face was everything he had hoped it would be and more. The two dark skinned gods using this pale skinned man with no regard to his pleasure. The fact that their absolute disregard of him being anything other than a couple of holes to use turning him on to the point where his cock belched out pre-cum timed to every fucking heartbeat. He watched as the thick built packer sank deeper and more willingly into his need.
Registering Matthews' subtle shifts in his stance the stud coach watched, rapt, as the 6'3" jock began assisting the two rutting men in their debasement of his body. Sliding his own ass powerfully back to meet the incoming thrusts of the jock god impaling him from behind. Reaching up behind his throat fucker to dig his palms into the sweaty, clenching jock muscle ass powering the drives into his battered throat. At this moment, in this time, Clay Matthews was eagerly, desperately needy. The bitch was begging to be flooded with victorious jock god cum at both ends. Eager to be drowned in gallons of running back sperm. He was ravenous beyond greed in his lust drunk rutting state, and he needed more.
And More.
And MORE!
The stud coach turned his gaze at the wheezing cough of a gagging Aaron Rodgers, not five feet away from the two running back's and their bitch linebacker.
Part 3
Dan Quinn had to hand it to the packer quarterback. Hard as a rock and clearly turned on like a bitch in heat, the seasoned jock was still fighting this.
Mentally, at least.
Trufant and Campbell were taking turns spearing the scruffy vet's face with their cocks. The corner back would spear Rodgers face deep, his slender nine inch prick pounding against the back of the quarterback's throat several times in a row, grinding possessively each time it reached full depth. Then the linebacker would have a go, mimicking the same deep stroking and grinding motions with his own thicker eight and a half inches. The men stood rooted to their respective spots, only moving their hips when it was their turn to fuck face. Vic Beasley gripped Aaron Rodgers' skull and turned the man's strong, protesting neck from cock to cock, giving the perfect position of control to keep the packer vet from trying to get away in the rare moments he was between cocks.
The 25 year old Falcon continued riding against Aaron's muscular ass through two layers of shorts, grinding his massive 10 inch stud cock against the older man kneeling in front of him. Tiring of the layers of mesh and lycra separating their flesh, Beasley pulled back slightly, granting the briefest of reprieves. Rodgers felt, for half a second, that this might be a move of something like pity. The two men raping his throat each placed a hand firmly on Aaron's skull, taking over the guiding control from their teammate.
Vic Beasley's big hands trailed down the quarterback's spine and spread out over the mesh covered cheeks of the jock's ass. Strong, thick fingers gripped the fabric, digging in at the seam, and began to pull. Aaron Rodgers fought against the turning of his head from Trufant to Campbell.
"Don't, please...this isn..."
The quarterback's pleas were choked off by the 8.5 inch truncheon being jammed back into his throat, swallowed in a nearly sobbing moan as his shorts gave way and his furry jock crack was exposed to Beasley's appreciative gaze.
"Bitch, you ain't lost one bit of hardness this whole fuckin' time," growled the big linebacker in his ear, "you quit actin' like this ain't somethin' you want and you might enjoy it. You keep fightin' it like this and you're only foolin' yourself!"
Enjoying it was, of course, what scared the stud quarterback the most. He couldn't deny that he had gotten hard the minute Dan Quinn had shoved his beefy ass onto Aaron's eager tongue. He couldn't deny the fact that his cock gave an extra pulse each time Trufant and Campbell moved him between their face fucking jock shafts. He especially couldn't deny the throb deep in his balls each time the compression gear encased monster that was Beasley's cock passed over his ass lips separated by the two thin layers of fabric.
But he had to deny that he wanted this. That he was even close to liking this. He had built his whole persona on the foundation of never giving, of being a piece of trade for others to service. It was far too late for the man to be able to change that now, it wasn't something he could even contemplate.
Desmond Trufant knew that the desperate moan vibrating along his cock inside Rodgers' mouth was one of abject fear. He and Campbell had watched, eyes wide, as Vic Beasley had pulled himself free of his shorts. They saw the long, thick linebacker cock free itself from it's confines, and throb freely in the space between Falcon and Packer. They registered the fight in the cock sucker as Beasley's powerful hands gripped tight on the exposed jock ass before him. They watched the big man slide himself forward against Aaron Rodgers body. Trufant pulled out until only his cock's crown was left in the quarterback's stretched mouth, and slapped his buddy lightly on his muscular ass, nodding to Campbell as the man looked up.
Aaron Rodgers felt sudden cold fear rip through his body. The mass of rock hard jock flesh along his back, and especially the portion of it nestled in his crack, was bad enough in his fevered brain. The movements of the men before him, slipping out of focus as they drew nearer, sent a sick feeling dropping into his gut like a boulder. Trufant shifted his cock in the quarterback's mouth as Campbell moved in to join him, the thick mushroom of the linebacker's weapon pressed against his lips, seeking entry alongside the cock already occupying the humid space. The veteran stud fought against it, desperate to protect himself from the additional debasement. Two big fingers invaded from behind as Vic Beasley breached his ass stealthily, the attempted scream was choked off by the second jock shaft invading his mouth. Trufant and Campbell began pistoning into the quarterback's widely stretched maw, sawing in and out in turn, stretching his lips and jaw so they must surely rip apart.
"You don't get it yet Aaron, you do what we want here." The voice in his ear cold and demanding, "We know what you're capable of just as much as you do, even if you ain't strong enough to admit it to yourself."
Vic Beasley ran his cock hard along the jock vet's ass, tracing his plum sized head along the finger fucked hole, threatening to invade alongside them. Both men felt the involuntary kiss of the musky lips clenching around the digits and shifting against the slick crown. Both men felt the shuddering that slipped through every muscle of Aaron Rodgers' body. The quarterback angry at the betrayal of his own flesh and sinew, the linebacker knowing he was going to enjoy this all the mare because of that anger. Because of the desperate clinging onto of Alpha status by the bitched out jock.
Aaron felt the man shift against him, felt the massive head of Vic Beasley's massive cock meet his stretched jock hole, felt it begin to claim him from between the stretched fingers, and felt those fingers withdraw even as the cock continued it's journey forward. The stud quarterback moaned desperately around the proud cocks pistoning in his mouth, flattening his tongue and stretching his lips, as ten powerful jock god inches of cock slid deep inside his ass in a single, slow, steady drive. By the time Vic Beasley's pubic bone mashed itself into the small of Aaron Rodgers' glutes both men's bodies were vibrating. The Falcon linebacker in pure rutting pleasure, the Packer quarterback in pain and fear.
Rodgers let his mind slip back to the game, to the moment Beasley had landed them both on the hard turf, had ground himself against the sacked quarterback's hip and growled into his ear. The words echoed in his head, and he fought against them, lest t hey become true. Still, his body responded...had been responding all along...reacting to the forceful use applied by these three men, two fucking his face in unison, the third fucking his tight ass, none displaying any concern for him. None of them bore any marks of sympathy toward his rebelling body, his addled state of mind, his desperate grasping at maintaining some last shred of his alpha jock status in the world.
And he respected them for that.
Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron Rodgers saw Dan Quinn moving around the room, coming nearer to the rutting foursome as he rounded Clay's scene of debasement just feet away from his own, rolling his eyes up as much as possible to see the 47 year old coach standing beside him stroking his own proud cock at the victory march being conducted right through his body. The coach's hand came off his cock, fingers wet with pre-cum moved toward Aaron's painfully stretched lips and traced a moist path around them, the man's other hand slid along his spine as the coach bent himself into a crouch beside and leaned closer, cupping the jock's left ass cheek, pulling it even wider.
"That's it Rodgers. Give it up to my men. Never thought I'd see the day that you fucked yourself willingly on three stud cocks!"
The words brought with them dawning realization. The only hands now on his body belonged to Quinn. The coach's right smacking his ass, left pinching his nipple in a painful twist. The magnitude of his bodies betrayal clear as glass now. Aaron Rodgers physical self had stopped being merely a vessel for his three conqueror's powerful lusts, and had become an instinctually willing participant. His jock ass hiking tentatively back against the driving thrusts of Vic Beasley, his tongue struggling to goad Desmond Trufant and De'Vondre Campbell into dislocating his jaw as they fucked his face. His cock achingly, profoundly erect as his pre-cum soaked the ruined mesh of his shorts and dripped to the cold, hard floor beneath him.
"Fuckin' hard as iron and spitting like a snake he is guys!" Quinn's laughing observation was greeted with the hoots of rutting jock gods using the bodies of two broken men. Returning to Rodgers' ear, the coach made his latest command in a near whisper; "Fuck yourself back on that cock, you fucking cunt. Give Beasley every fucking bit jock gash he deserves!"
The gasping moan threatened to rip the quarterback's tortured psyche apart, even as he obeyed.
"You know he is ten times the man you ever were you fucking piece of jock cunt."
And the surrender was complete. Aaron Rodgers was broken, half of him here in this cramped, steamy room, eager for these three men to use him however they saw fit, and half was back in Berkeley on that day long thought forgotten, when he had trashed his O-Line to the press, complaining about their lack of coverage, and wondering aloud whether they even cared. Those men had used him too. Those men had shown where the lines of manhood were truly drawn. Those men had fucked him into this same depraved state, and left him bruised and battered on the locker room floor when they were done, and Rodgers had known that he deserved it.
Just like he deserved this.
Deserved the cocks fucking into his throat in turn.
Deserved the pile driving thrusts of the cock tearing through his clenching ass.
Deserved the coach telling him his place, reminding him what he was.
Part 4
The five rutting stud-built Falcons were nearing the peak, driving themselves and each other closer to orgasm with every driving thrust into the used and abused bodies of the two Packers. Dan Quinn knew he would not be far behind his men, and only hoped that he could hold off long enough to anoint these newly minted jock cunts properly. "Fuckin' flood these holes, men! I want you all to pound every fuckin' drop of cum you have deep inside these sorry cunts!"
The rutting jock gods complied, eagerly obeying their coach's command. Each of the five ratcheting up their own driving, pounding strokes as they encouraged their teammate's to do the same. The goading blurred into incomprehensible shouts and grunts as the studs drove themselves forward into the broken men writhing their desperate bodies between them. Vic Beasley and Devonta Freeman determined to get the two men they were fucking to blow their own loads before being bred deep and full.
Clay Matthews was incoherent with fuck lust as he ground himself against the powerful thrusts in his ruined jock cunt, slamming his bruised ass back against the hard muscle of Freeman even as he gulped ravenously at the leaking cock fucking his throat. Tevin Coleman felt his balls tighten and struggled to hold his load back from Matthews' snaking tongue, feeling his cum gather achingly ready to fire.
The first blast washed through Matthews' esophagus without warning before the greedy cock sucker pulled back to let the rest of the studs load pool on his tongue, there to be savored like the finest whiskey. His own load began spraying onto the floor even before the second blast of Coleman's cum flooded into him. Clay Matthews marshaled his remaining brain cells to milk the cock still pounding into his from behind, desperate for Freeman's cum to soothe his burning, bloodied jock cunt. Receiving his reward at the end of a crashing drive forward by the built stud running back. The Falcon cum flowing freely into his abused but willing body seeming to drive his own orgasm to stroke-out level heights. The pulsing of his cum spewing cock only slowing after five massive blasts.
The familiar moan from just a few feet away drew out two more from unknown depths. He recognized the grunting cry of Aaron Rodgers getting his nut, could see in his minds eye the clenching of his teammate's muscles as he spewed Packer cum, having memorized the sight over years of sharing Jordy between them.
The quarterback felt his cum pouring through the coarse sieve of his shorts, pulsing blasts of thick salt and musk scented semen that was normally shot up the clutching ass of his slut bottom teammate, while Nelson greedily swallowed what he knew Matthews was now pumping onto the same floor he was. His cum was still pouring out of him when he felt the sudden swelling in his mouth and tasted the pulsing bursts of cum pouring onto his tongue. Trufant and Campbell fired a combined 11 pulses of man milk into his throat, soothing the searing tissue on it's way to his gut.
Vic Beasley pounded into Aaron Rodgers. Full, bone shattering thrusts into the grinding, clenching jock hole. His massive ten inches swelling even bigger as he felt his cum rocketing it's way toward the freedom of the quarterbacks battered cunt. Five massive shots of linebacker cum flooded the quarterback's battered hole. The massive Falcon stud tore his still pulsing cock violently free of the jock cunt, firing his last two bursts as he marked his territory.
Rodgers felt the last of the jock load wash hotly across his lower back, the barely still holding waistband of his shorts, and running down the crack of his owned jock ass.
The violent orgasms of the victorious Falcons were followed by the equally violent manhandling of the vanquished Packers as the two used up jock cunts were thrown roughly against each other, there lips nearly meeting, separated only by Dan Quinn's still hard cock. The Falcons coach thrust his 7.5 inches roughly between the puffy, bruised lips of Rodgers and Matthews, amused to feel the two bitches tongues snake along the painfully hard column of flesh. His balls tightened, his knees became so weak so fast that he barely caught himself, pulling his angrily throbbing cock from between the e sucking lips and searching tongues he was only able to manage one aiming stroke along his shaft before he began to cum on the faces of the eager cock suckers.
Rodgers and Matthews felt the fiery hot load raining down on them, shooting across noses, running down cheeks. Their tongues seeking the ambrosia from off each others skin. The greedy lapping of coach cum morphed into long, languid licks, gathering each others fucked out sweat into still ravenous mouths, then further still into deep, passionate kisses, the two Packers swapping spit even as their searching, eager tongues wrestled against each other, and strong jock arms pulled the other tighter against themselves.
When the fuck haze finally, fully cleared, when the need for oxygen over rode the need for union, the two beaten, battered teammates found themselves alone.