NFL playoffs 2014 (part 5)
Disclaimer: This story is fiction and is not intended to imply anything about the true sexuality of the celebrities mentioned or any personal knowledge about their private lives.
AFC Semifinal - Chargers vs. Broncos - Denver, CO
Eric Decker didn't even get all the way into the Broncos locker room before he saw the first two.
He saw right away that it was two of his own guys, one orange jersey tugging the tight white football pants down off another. They were pressed against the wall of the tunnel leading down to the lockers, facing away from where their teammates were streaming past. As Eric got closer, he saw the Bronco in back reaching down to unlace his own pants too, and by the time he could make out the name on the jersey,
Wesley Woodyard was already sliding his thick cock deep into Matt Prater's tight, round ass.
"Don't waste much time, do ya, boss?" Decker said. As he walked by, he slapped Woodyard's own firm butt, the two curved cheeks partially exposed where the powerfully built linebacker had pulled his football pants down far enough to pull his hard cock free and plant it deep in the Denver kicker's hole.
Woodyard turned back and grinned at his teammate, already making Prater grunt needfully into the concrete wall. "Hey, this little cocksucker asked me, ok?" Prater just moaned in response as Woodyard leaned his upper body back and let his hips do all the work, fucking his
hard prick deeper into the kicker, who bent and hugged the wall with his fingertips and cheek, his own cock still painfully constrained since
Woodyard had only pulled his uniform off just far enough to fuck him.
Decker chuckled but walked on. In the locker room itself,
the scene was more subdued, at least on the surface. Media were milling
about, doing informal interviews. But here and there, hidden beneath the ordinary postgame buzz, the handsome Broncos receiver could tell that many of his teammates were preparing to celebrate in the manner to which they'd become accustomed. He got to his own locker, pulled off his
jersey and pads, leaving Decker bulging into the gray under-armor shirt
that tightly hugged his upper body. He looked around, starting to smile as he counted them off.
Champ Bailey was texting. The veteran receiver with an ass like an apple was a tried and true dicksucker and all around lover of thick NFL jock pole. It was rumored around the league that Bailey was
most likely to be found taking a dick anytime, anyplace, and that had certainly been Eric's experience since arriving in Denver. Decker had fucked Bailey in the locker room, in the showers, at camp, in the hotel room on the road...and even in chancier places -- his favorite was one freezing cold game in New England when Bailey had backed up on him on the sideline and Decker had wrapped the big sideline coat around himself
and his fellow receiver, shoved down both their uniform pants, hearing the crowd roar and getting off on how he was balls deep in another pro in the middle of a goddamn game. Decker fucked a load into his teammate's ass that Bailey felt swishing in his hole for the rest of the
game.
Decker didn't know who Bailey was talking to right now but the way the horny stud was massaging his hardening cock under his mesh shorts and then reaching further to grope his hole, he'd guess it was one of the hard-fucking Chargers they'd just beat -- maybe the big safety Eric Weddle, or the well-muscled running back Ryan Matthews. Even
as Eric watched, Champ finished up abruptly, shoving his phone in his bag and walking out of the locker room without a word to the others, turning and heading for the visitor locker room.
Montee Ball actually had his dick out already, before he even turned the corner into the showers where the cameras weren't allowed to go. Decker whistled at the size of his teammate's hard-on, all 9 inches of the big running back's massive prick throbbing into the air, bobbing against his abs as he disappeared behind the wall. A moment
later, though, Decker saw a couple large-framed figures, each shrouded in a Chargers hoodie, rounding that same corner. Eric couldn't see their faces, but as they passed him he caught sight of the round muscle asses bulging into each guy's shorts or sweats. Fuck, he'd recognize those tight, firm butts anywhere, bare or covered, hard cheeks pumping back and forth as they walked or -- as Eric was most familiar with seeing them -- spread wide and shaking as a thick length of pro-jock dick prodded deep between them.
Eric Decker felt his own dick start to rise in his jock under his unlaced football pants. He reached down and squeezed it gently. One of those muscle butts he knew better than almost any other -- he'd fucked Eddie Royal every few days for just about the whole year they played together in Denver. God damn, but Eric loved that tight, firm wideout ass. He used to sidle up to Eddie in the locker room, not far from where he was standing right now. Decker would already be hard, his cock straining his Broncos shorts, making an obscene tent in the mesh fabric. He'd let it rub against Eddie's shoulder pads, daring the receiver to look. He always would, of course -- how could anybody not turn and drink in the sight of Eric Decker's long, hard prick curving its full 10 inches into his shorts, the wide crown obvious under the thin layer of mesh, each individual pulse of blood into Decker's swollen
prick visible as his cock throbbed with hunger. "Hey, bro," Decker would say. Eddie Royal would try to answer, but his voice would catch, he'd clear his throat.
Eddie would be hard by then too, his own decently long, beautifully curving dick tugging against his sweatpants. Without a word, he'd rise and follow Eric into the rear of the locker room. The guys knew not to go back there unless they were looking for a particular brand of post-game relief, and Decker and Royal were there every week. "Fuck..." Eddie would whisper as Eric pulled his shorts down, let his cock rise free into the air, red and firm and swollen with need. Decker breathed out slowly as he felt Royal's lips slip around him, then Royal's tongue snaking out and licking up the full, hard length of Decker's cock. "God
damn..." Eric would moan softly as he felt Eddie get to work. "You're so fuckin' good at that." Decker's hands on Royal's shoulders, Royal's fingers tracing the definition of Decker's absurdly ripped stomach. It was never
more than a few minutes of that kind of foreplay, though, before Eric couldn't last any longer and pressed Eddie Royal's muscular body against
the wall, tugging off Eddie's sweatpants. Eddie would feel Eric's bulk pushing him into the hard wall, his nipples stiffening as they hit the cool
tile, his abs flattened, his cock trapped between his hips and the wall, and Eddie had to turn his head, his cheek pressed to the wall as Eric Decker leaned in. Eric kissed Eddie's neck, bit at his ear. Decker's voice was barely audible: "I really love fucking you, dude." Then Decker's cock was sliding into him, perfect angle, perfect pace, smooth as silk. It was like Eric Decker had been made to fuck NFL athletes. And five or ten or thirty minutes later, Eddie Royal would gasp and come all over the wall of the shower, Decker following close behind, releasing low, animal grunts as he emptied his load deep inside his teammate. Decker bit his lip now, imagining Montee Ball enjoying that same soft, sweet hole.
Or maybe the other one...Eric didn't know that one as well. Which wasn't to say that he'd never fucked Manti Te'o -- shit, who
hadn't? Just that it had only been three or four times this season. The
Chargers' rookie linebacker was a joke, of course, a punch line at every frat house and office water cooler across America. But the truth was that Te'o was 240 pounds of muscle, a hell of a football player, and
an awesome fuck. For a guy who got plowed as often as Te'o did, he was still tight as hell, and he knew just how to work that sweet, round ass,
massaging Eric's cock, taking Decker's fuck just as hard as Decker was throwing it. He turned Eric on like crazy, and after the second time Eric rewarded him with a deep, long kiss after they were finished.
Actually it was Te'o going first, Eric realized as he heard the soft, deep groan from behind the wall. He pictured Ball driving hard into Manti's tight ass, muscle on muscle, the San Diego linebacker's own
dick dripping-hard and leaking freely till Eddie Royal slipped it between his lips.
Fuck, the young Bronco thought. He looked down. He was already hard in his jock, the fat length of Eric Decker's dick tightly encased in cotton like a thick sausage wrapped in its package. He was gonna have a hell of a time staving off his own needs, his own hunger. How was Decker gonna will this throbbing erection down, change into his suit, and head home to his wife?
Especially when he wasn't even sure he wanted to?
Things
were deteriorating fast now. Almost all the media had disappeared. Other guys were gathering their things and getting outta Dodge -- the ones who had no interest in extracurricular activities, the ones who were true-believer Bible-thumpers, not the Tebows of the world who knelt
to pray for the cameras then came back in the locker room and let the likes of Eric Decker rail them in the weight room for an hour and a half.
And for those who remained, things were getting a little more...overt.
Decker hadn't noticed Danny Woodhead come in, but the ripped little running back, shaggy-haired and built like a fireplug, was already on his knees in front of Von Miller, silently unbuckling the Bronco linebacker's football pants, letting Miller's thickening cock push out a little harder with each passing moment. Right next to them, another Charger had snuck behind enemy lines, and now the stud Denver wideout Demaryius Thomas was licking and biting at Derek Cox's neck, the handsome San Diego corner leaning his head back into Thomas's shoulder, feeling the ripped Bronco receiver unlace his pants and slip his hand inside, wrapping around Cox's stiff prick and pulling it into the open. As Demaryius brought his hand back and started pulling Cox's uniform down, revealing his toned, hard ass, Von Miller reached over and curled his fingers around Cox's hard prick, stroking him steadily, and Danny Woodhead took Miller's huge Bronco dick deeper and deeper down his throat.
Decker's
cock was out now, his jock shoved urgently down. He stroked himself gently as he took in the scene, Decker's fingers lingering on the sensitive underside of his wide cockhead. He pushed up his shirt, running his fingers over his hard stomach, up to flick and twist one of the nipples standing out proudly from his pec. Decker's lip curled up. He grunted softly. This was going south in a hurry, and Decker was right
on the edge of just letting himself go.
The door of the locker room slammed shut. Eric opened his eyes a little wider -- the
last reporters were gone. The cameras were off. He heard a loud groan to his right and looked over. Peyton's backup, Brock Osweiler, was on his back on one of the couches, the handsome, muscle-studded Charger safety Eric Weddle looming over him. Weddle had been holding back purely
out of respect for the guys who were entitled to use their locker room in the way it was intended, but he was pretty goddamn pissed about losing this game, and he meant to get his release. And by the way Brock was already shuddering, the cute second-stringer holding on to the couch
for dear life as Weddle quickly began pounding the kid's hole, he'd probably get it and then some before the night was out.
Decker
got to his feet. He kicked off his cleats, shucked his uniform pants and jock the rest of the way. The tight under-armor shirt was next -- no
sense delaying the inevitable now. Eric Decker now stood bare, all 6 feet 3 inches and 215 pounds tanned and smooth and swollen with muscle. The guys couldn't fail to notice, even those who were already engaged.
"Fuck, Decker..." Demaryius Thomas whistled.
He was pumping steadily into Derek Cox now, the Chargers corner biting his lip and holding onto Thomas's leg for support as he got fucked. "Lookin' good, boy." Decker smiled, and Thomas fucked Cox a little harder.
"No
shit, dude," came another voice from behind him. Eric turned to see the
young Denver running back Ronnie Hillman, arms swollen, hips thrusting,
driving deep in a sandy-haired white dude who was a lot bigger than Hillman but was taking it like a champ. Hillman was grinning. "Man, I might even take you, lookin' like that." The brash 22-year-old was grinning at him, but Eric was focused on the guy he was fucking. His head was down so Eric couldn't see his face, but damn, he looked familiar...
Ronnie noticed and spoke up. "Oh, you want a go, Deck?" He slapped the dude on his cheek. "C'mon Phil, say hey to my man Eric."
Philip Rivers raised his head and Eric Decker nearly came right then. The look of abject need, of total subservience, of unquenchable hunger for a long, deep fuck was etched on the Charger QB's face. "Hey," Rivers grunted, his Alabama lilt coming through even in that single, sex-choked word.
Fuck, but it was pathetic seeing this pro who stood proud and tall on the field getting his tight ass deep-dicked by a fourth-string kid with more dick than sense. And fuck, but it was hot, too. Decker grasped
his hard-on a little tighter as he smiled.
"I'm gonna pass this time, bro. But save some of this for me." Decker walked up and let his
throbbing cockhead reach almost to Phil Rivers' lips, waiting until the
defeated quarterback started to open his mouth to take Decker's fat cock between his lips, then pulling back and slapping Rivers' cheek with
his dick, smearing Decker's pre-come on Rivers' stubbled face. "If this fuckin' slut can wait that long," he added with a grin as he turned away.
Decker passed Manning in the hall down to the weight room. The veteran QB was showered and changed into a Broncos t-shirt and orange shorts and was carrying a bag that looked stuffed with God knows what. Trailing behind him were two guys, no more than 20, built well, their muscular torsos packed into
a pair of t-shirts that read "Colorado State Football". One was blond, one was dark-haired, but both were good looking as fuck and both had their eyes planted firmly on Peyton. Decker caught his QB's eye as they passed. "They just stay the same age..." Peyton drawled with a cocked eyebrow. Decker grinned; he didn't notice the blond turn and watch him go for just a moment before turning back to follow the Hall of Fame QB out to his car.
Eric nearly ran into Wes Welker as he passed by the showers. Welker's own taut body was bare except for the towel wrapped around his neck; he was rubbing it through his hair to dry
it off. Decker grabbed Welker's shoulder to hold off the collision, then caught his teammate's eye. "Hey, man," Wes said, unable to stop himself from flicking his eyes over Eric's body. "You stickin' around?"
Decker
didn't need to guess his buddy's meaning, especially as Welker tossed the towel to the ground and leaned into his teammate, wrapping a hand around Eric's steel-hard cock and ducking his head to lick at Eric's chest. "Mmh," Decker grunted. His dick throbbed into Welker's grip. "Fuck, dude, I..."
Welker's own cock, its thick 8 inches impressive for a dude his size, was already sliding over Decker's
stomach, the crown bumping over the ridges of Decker's abs. Welker kissed Decker's thickly-muscled neck, loving the smell of his teammate just after a hard-fought game. "C'mon, Deck," he murmured into Eric's skin. "You know I'm the best."
Eric reached down, grabbed Wes Welker's gorgeous round ass, feeling its firm bulges in his palm, barely giving an inch as he squeezed the muscle hard. He'd fucked his fellow wideout more times than he could count, and he wasn't sure Welker was wrong. But on this night Eric Decker was hungry for something else...
"Not tonight, Wes." Welker pulled back, looking hurt. "I'll hit you up tomorrow, bro."
Welker
was about to speak when a pair of powerful, chocolate-brown arms wrapped around his midsection from behind and a pair of lips appeared at
his ear. "Besides, we got plenty to do back over here." Welker's breath
caught as he felt a thick slab of dick rake over his butt, then slide between the cheeks. He knew the voice, and he definitely knew the cock. And as Wesley Woodyard drove his hard prick into his second Bronco of the night, Welker gave in, bending slightly forward, feeling the linebacker fill him, and letting his eyes flick closed, catching a last glimpse of Decker as his teammate opened the door to the weight room.
"My man!"
Paris Lenon smiled as he saw who was walking in. He didn't seem bothered by the fact that Eric Decker's muscular body was
bare. The Denver linebacker himself was wearing only a pair of blue mesh Broncos shorts and some Nikes as he sat on a weight bench. Lenon's upper body looked pumped -- he'd actually been lifting, working out the tension of sitting on the sideline for just about the whole game. He looked good -- 36 years old and still ripped with muscle, strong jaw and fierce eyes. The veteran linebacker was a man's man and a
player's player, fought hard and did his job even if it wasn't glamorous, even if he wasn't featured in GQ. Decker liked him. Decker was happy to see him.
And right now, Eric Decker wanted him.
"Hey, man," Eric said with a smile, locking hands with his teammate. They stood in silence for a second before Decker spoke again. "Some crazy shit goin' on out there."
Lenon grinned, shaking his head. "Look like you don't half hate it."
He didn't have to nod down to where Eric Decker's cock still strained proudly into the air, hard and thick and dripping-wet. In fact Eric had gotten even harder since the moment he stepped in and saw this muscle-packed pro football player pumping iron, and Eric couldn't deny he was fucking hard, not with his dick waving in Lenon's face. Decker decided to spin the attack to his advantage, catch the guy who extended too far like he had so many times on the field.
"You're tellin' me you don't see anything you like?" Eric said.
And
unlike Lenon, Decker did glance downward. And when his teammate did too, his eyes widened. "Shit..." Lenon murmured, seeing his thick, handsome cock straining into his shorts for the first time, tenting the powerful pro jock's pants like he was a 21-year-old rookie. He looked back up, his eyes meeting Decker's. His teammate had moved a foot closer, hovering over the bench, Decker's cock bobbing a foot away, Decker's bare, tightly-muscled body easily within reach. The linebacker swallowed hard. "What are you doin', man?"
Decker smiled again. He was trying to figure if he could take his teammate. Lenon had maybe 30 pounds on him, but Decker was so fucking horny... "Nothin' you don't want me to."
"Well, I don't want you to fuck me." It rang false, and Lenon knew it.
"Nobody
talkin' about that but you," Decker said, driving the dagger in. Lenon's eyes were fixed on Eric Decker's cock. How many times had he imagined that cock...doing things to that gorgeous cock...letting it do things to him. His voice was almost a whisper. "I never done this before."
"Never?"
Lenon shook his head. "Never."
"So why'd you stay this time?"
Paris
Lenon looked up, staring into Decker's eyes. "You want the truth, man?"
He didn't wait for an answer. "I known guys who liked guys on every team I been on...every damn one. But I never thought I was one'a those guys till I saw..." The linebacker paused, reaching a hand, tentative but steady, up to rest on Decker's hard stomach, just the fingers, then the palm flattening against Decker's flat abdominals. "This..."
A
grin spread over Eric Decker's handsome face. He dropped down to sit on
the bench, facing his teammate. His bare feet came forward, knocking against the 70-pound dumbbells Lenon had set down when Eric walked in. He took Lenon's hand, lifted it gently up, let the big linebacker's rough fingers spread over Decker's pec. Then down, all the way down, curling Lenon's fingers around Decker's iron-hard cock, his breath catching at first, then breathing in and out slowly as his hand traveled
up its full, firm length, feeling just how fucking big and thick Decker's cock really was, till finally it reached the soft, slick crown.
Now it was Decker's turn to suck in a breath as Lenon's fingers slipped
over the underside. He lifted his eyes.
"This...is yours." He groped Lenon's own cockhead through the tightly strained mesh
fabric; Lenon groaned deeply. "All this." Decker leaned in, his lips inches from the other Bronco's lips. "All you gotta do...is take it." And Eric Decker kissed Paris Lenon, slow at first, letting the rough-hewn pro feel the stubble of Decker's cheek, the power behind that kiss, then harder, deeper.
Before
Lenon even realized he was bending, he'd already broke. He was on his back now, Decker on top of him -- fuck! he was heavy...and hard...and fucking
hot. Lenon's cock ached into his shorts until those were suddenly gone too, shucked in a smooth motion of Decker's hands. Eric's hand was on his dick, then between his legs, and fuck -- fuck! what am I doing?? Then Decker's fucking mouth was between his legs and he felt himself relaxing, heard himself moaning, felt himself spreading and opening. God
damn, he'd felt a lot of things as a pro football player but never anything like this... yet it went on for minute after minute till suddenly Decker was above him again, all 215 pounds of him, looming, and
somehow he knew what was about to happen.
"You ready?" came Decker's voice. Lenon's eyes flicked up. Fuck, Decker was hot.
He gave the tiniest nod.
And just like that Decker was inside him, that thick Bronco prick driving deeper and deeper.
Fuck if a guy like Paris Lenon knew what it would feel like to get fucked by one of his teammates, but he didn't think it'd feel so smooth,
so easy, so...
"Fuck!" A shot of something -- sharp, unusual, and deeply fucking good -- fired through the veteran linebacker's tough-built body.
"Yeah..." Decker was saying, his lips spreading into a smile again, his hand around Lenon's fattening cock. "Fuck yeah, you feel that?"
Fuck,
did he ever feel it, and suddenly Paris Lenon knew he was gonna want to
get fucked -- and especially get fucked by Eric Decker -- a hell of a lot more. He didn't say anything -- his tongue and lips seemed broken --
and he just let his body relax, fall back, take the smooth, sweet fuck that his teammate was so ably delivering. It seemed like just a few minutes though he knew it was longer, but it felt so goddamn good he barely noticed the time pass. Then Decker's other hand was on his
stomach, then running over his chest, and when Decker squeezed the nub at the edge of his pec Lenon came, and came hard, pumping what seemed like 20 shots of cream all over his stomach, his chest, Decker's hand, letting Decker fuck him and squeeze him till it felt like his balls were
drained to the bottom.
At that same moment, Eric Decker clenched his eyes and came with a deep growl, his cock exploding with come, soaking this stud linebacker's hole for the first time in his
life. Lenon was so goddamn tight, even after Decker had fucked him for almost half an hour, and that ass seemed to clench around Decker's dick and milk that beautiful cock, making the young receiver empty himself as
completely as Lenon had, till finally Decker breathed out slowly and sank down onto his teammate's body, Decker's pecs and abs sliding cum-slick over Lenon's pecs and abs, the two Broncos just lying there for a moment, feeling their heartbeats slacken and their bodies cool.
Eric
was thinking of what to say, how to stave off the inevitable panic of a
guy who's lived 36 years and just realized he fucking loves dick, but it was actually Paris Lenon who spoke first.
"Hey yo, Deck." Lenon's voice was soft, but confident. "Can we...do that again?"