- Zack
Not only did he hold both our hands against his bulge, he rubbed my hand against it. Gee, he must be a little sauced I thought. But honest, I admit that I didn't care as long as I got to feel his dick. Then his hot arm was around my neck again.
-- C'mon, I got something to show you.
He practically dragged me out of the room. I almost protested but after all, I thought, Zack's 6 foot five and about 200 pounds, the Aztec standout defense against Hawaii's Roaring Rainbows last fall. And here he was rubbing my hand on his cock! He'd obviously had his share of beer, but he wasn't so cock-eyed that he couldn't walk straight. Not only could he walk fine, but as we left the house he was actually making big strides with his long legs. He pulled me along with his big paw gripping my arm and I had trouble keeping up.
-- Where are we going, Zack?
-- Right here, buddy. Look at this beaut.
He stopped in front of a souped up Ford jalopy with a rumble seat, probable vintage 1930. The top was long gone and so was the hood. AZTECS was painted in white on the side of the door, and HIGH VOLTAGE across the back bumper. He hopped in the front seat and opened the passenger door from inside.
-- Get in. We're gonna take a ride.
I figured what the heck. He revved up the motor and put the crate in gear and with a loud backfire the old buggy sputtered and jerked down the street, hiccuping at every bump. I could tell Zack's cock was swelling by the bulge in his trousers. So was mine. He pulled up by a small old-fashioned mission-style bungalow somewhere around Landis Street, about a mile from my folks' home where I was living. The jalopy shuddered when he turned the engine off. He gazed at the bungalow and sighed contentedly.
-- Home sweet home, he said with a grin.
His pop probably paid for the property. He bounded out of the jalopy and told me to get out. Just like that -- Get out. Again he locked his big arm around my neck.
-- Let's have some fun, buddy.
I stumbled along in his grip as we careened to the front door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open and smacked my butt hard. I didn't know what I was in for!
-- Inside, he commanded.
He pointed at the doorway to a room just large enough to accommodate an iron-frame bed and a dresser. The bed was king-size, just like him, and covered in rumpled sheets.
-- Go in there.
Who was I to question his orders? He ambled to the bed and plopped down on it as I stood awkwardly. He rubbed the big bulge in his trousers.
-- Hey, you know Hal.
-- Yeah, sure. Everybody knows who Hal is. He's the best kicker and runner on the team.
-- He knows who you are. He tells me you're a cocksucker.
Wow, I didn't expect that! To be honest, I had sucked Hal's dick the week before. He's a handsome tall Aztec who looks a bit like William Hopper in The Cowboy Quarterback, but more all-American and with less nose. Hal has a reputation as a ladies' man. He's had a number of girlfriends. But I don't think he got past first base with any of them. I guess that's why he was out in the Loop at Golden Gate for a blow job. When I saw him it was late evening and he was pissing against a tree. I made sure he saw me watching. After he shook the last drops off, he went further into the shadows and waited for me to get on my knees.
-- Sure, I blew Hal. But I'm no pansy. I just get horny like every other fella, and sometimes I blow guys.
-- Yeah. Like I said, you're a cocksucker. You like football players, don't you?
-- Well, gee, heck yeah.
-- You like seeing me in my gear, don't you?
-- Sure, Zack.
He pointed to a corner of the room with a pile of uniform gear.
-- Go over there and get my shoulder pads.
He was confident that I would carry out his orders. He was right. The dark red leather shoulder pads were on top of the pile. I brought them to Zack. He was standing beside the bed, naked from the waist up. You could see why he's a backer, the broad chest, thick waist, powerful long arms. Hair sprouted across the mounds of his chest, black as the hair on his head. A patch below his navel marked the start of a trail that led down to his pubes.
-- Put it on me and lace it up.
He's a tower. I had to stretch my arms full length to put it over him. I brought it down around his shoulders and the top of his arms, laced up the front and tied the laces. The big stud looked down at me serving him and smiled with the assurance of his power. The gear expanded the size of his shoulders and chest, making him even broader. He looked like a warrior in hard red armor. He held up his right arm, raising the side of the shoulder pad, and flexed, looking at his bicep proudly.
-- Here, feel that.
My hand barely spanned the top of it. His skin was soft and warm, underneath was hard muscle. I put both my hands around his arm and pressed. It was like pressing a rock. He raised his other arm and flexed, shifting his gaze. I moved to the other side and explored the muscles on his left arm, my hands and fingers sliding over the strong bulges. It wasn't just service Zack wanted. He expected to be worshiped.
-- Kiss it.
Once I got started I couldn't stop wanting to feel his hot skin against my lips and to be honest it made my dick throb to be worshiping a big football hero in his gear. He lifted his arm up higher, pushing the pads on his shoulder up and revealing a black tuft of hair wet with sweat.
-- Put your face in there and smell it, queer.
I put my face close to his hot body and sniffed the rank male odor. I pressed my nose and lips into his armpit and inhaled deeply so he could hear me smelling him. He pushed me in and held me wedged between his arm and the sweaty hair, rubbing my face in it, marking me with his smell.
-- Bet you never smelled a football player before huh faggot?
Of course he didn't expect an answer. He shifted to the side and raised his other arm. Without him having to tell me I pivoted to the left and rubbed my face in his soft wet skin and hair. Until he grabbed me by my hair and roughly pulled my head back. He held me there in his grip, peering down into my face like I was his property.
-- Now go get my jersey.
I returned to the pile of clothes and equipment and rummaged till at last found the wool jersey. It looked like it was made to fit a giant and I guess it was in a way. I brought it over to him. He had taken off his shoes and socks and trousers. He stood there barefoot, like a giant statue in his shoulder pads and briefs. The outline of his cock was thick and extended from the base all the way to his hipbone, where a wet spot testified to his dripping jizz fluid. The bulge below was like two lemons were stuffed there.
-- Bring it over here faggot.
He put his arms through the jersey first then stuffed his big head through the hole on top.
-- Pull it down.
The jersey fit so tight over the shoulder pads that I had to reach up high and tug it with a fair amount of effort to get it over Zack's shoulders and chest. The shoulder pads bulged beneath the jersey. The sleeves extended down to his wrists. Although he didn't tell me to, I bent and kissed and nuzzled his hard stomach through the wool jersey. He didn't seem to mind. In fact he rubbed the back of my head with his big hand and tensed his stomach muscles, keeping them hard against the pressure of my face and lips. When he was satisfied that I had shown enough respect, he ordered me to get his jockstrap and uniform pants from the pile in the corner. And sure enough when I fetched them his briefs were off and his erect cock was curved up. Honest, his cock has got to be at least seven inches, maybe eight, and his balls really are the size of lemons.
-- You don't get to touch, just hand me the jock.
He stepped into the straps and pulled it up so the pouch cradled his nuts. His swollen cockhead stuck out above the waistband like a giant acorn.
-- Now get on your knees and smell my jock.
I sank down beside him. He was like a tree trunk, massive and hard. He was just the right height that my face was level with his crotch. I rubbed my nose in the bulging webbed fabric, feeling his balls against my nostrils and eagerly smelled him. I moved up to smell his cockhead too and began to lick it, tasting his precum. His big palm covered my face and he pushed me away.
-- Not yet. Give me the pants.
He stepped into them and pulled them up.
-- Lace `em up. Make it real tight.
The laces hung down from the lowest eyelets. Still on my knees, I threaded the laces, going up the four pairs of eyelets slowly to savor my position, feeling his hard cock as I crossed the laces and pulled them together.
When I finished he smirked.
-- What a queer. Take all your clothes off. Except your underwear.
I stripped as fast as I could and stood with my cock at attention in my briefs. I'm no puny weakling. Sure, I'm lanky. But I'm in good shape. Filled out and tight. But next to Zack I felt a lot smaller. And being practically naked while he was halfway in uniform made me feel more like I was under his control, and deserved to be.
-- Now you can kiss my ass. But keep your hands behind your back.
I guess Zack's dick got hard watching the pledge kiss his pledge master's ass at the frat house initiation. Now he got to be the pledge master, with just the two of us. To him, a man kissing another man's ass was about as humiliating as you can get. But to be honest I wanted to kiss Zack's ass, though I'd never done that with any fellas before. Even though the pants were baggy, when Zack bent over for his ass kissing his cheeks filled out the dun canvas like gold globes. With my hands interlocked behind me I leaned forward with all my concentration on his ass.
I glanced up and saw him looking over his shoulder so he could watch me worshiping him. His smile was like the pledge master's smile when his pledge was kissing his ass -- self-satisfied, gloating. Honestly, my dick was jumping as I pressed my lips against his orbs and the sloping sides of his cheeks. I kissed his ass with my lips parted, outlining the shape of each side with my mouth. My lips went to the fold where his thighs met his ass and I pushed my face in the middle of his ass cheeks and sniffed the worn canvas pants so he could hear me. I pressed my nose between his cheeks and nuzzled him, moving my face from side to side. My lips found the inside of his crack through the thick rough fabric and I kissed his crack and asshole as best I could. No doubt he felt my mouth and nose and face since his ass was bare under the pants.
He swore again and snorted with contempt.
-- Hal's right. You are a cocksucker aren't you? Say it.
-- I'm a cocksucker.
-- Stand up, faggot.
I got on my feet facing him. He loomed over me. He narrowed his eyes and pushed against my chest with both hands, making me stumble backwards, almost falling. He pointed to the floor.
-- Get back over here.
I returned, standing close in front of him, upright again.
-- You better get used to a man pushing you around, faggot.
Again he pushed my chest with his big hands, propelling me backwards. Then he came up to my side and shoved my arm. I managed to keep my feet planted so only my torso bent sideways. But he kept pushing me until after a few shoves my feet sidled across the floor until the dresser stopped my fall. With one big stride he was up against me. He took me by the shoulders and squared my back against the dresser. He put one hand around my neck, holding me in place.
-- You go putting around little golf balls and think you're an athlete? I'll show you a real athlete.
He reached over me to to get his thick leather helmet from the dresser. He stared down at me while he adjusted it on his head and strapped it on his chin. Except for his lower legs and feet he was fully in uniform and his hulking presence was like he'd just come off the field after a rough game, his jersey stained with dirt and the padded knees of his pants streaked by grass. All the while his smile made clear that he was superior. And he liked proving it.
He spit on the side of my face and pushed me down to my knees. He unlaced the pants slowly and as he pulled the jockstrap down below his balls his cock jumped out and pointed right at my face. He rubbed his spit in my face with his hard dick.
-- Me, I'm an athlete. You, you're a cocksucker. Now blow me.