Team Reward

Team Reward, pt. 13 (m/t, anal, oral, HS) Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)

Notice: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sexual material.

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This story is back from 2002-2003. It's hands-down the most popular one I've ever written. I ran out of steam on it, so it will have to remain unfinished. I recently noticed that I had never posted this chapter to Nifty, so here it is.

TEAM REWARD

13

Game Day

Mike White woke up bright and early in the athlete's dorm. He knew Coach Pierson would be picking him up at 9AM sharp to drive him back to Jackson County. Even though the double beds were bigger than the standard twins of the other dorms, it was a snug fit sleeping next to the sizeable bulk of the blonde running back. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stretched out the best he could, he breathed in deep, savoring the aroma of pure man and stale cum that filled his nostrils. Mike looked down his fit torso and regarded the morning hardon that throbbed in expectation. Then he looked over at the man whose body was wedged against his. At that moment, John Henderson was masculine perfection in White's eyes. Six foot two, powerchested, and covered in a thick mat of blonde curly down. Despite the loads shot the night before, the athlete was throwing wood in his sleep, his long, slender erection striking a contrast with his meaty, hairy frame.

Gently, Mike slid his hand up between the man's beefy thighs and wedged it into the tight crevice between Henderson's legs, right underneath his crotch. God! It felt so warm, so tight, so smooth despite the rough hairs tickling his hand. With his thumb Mike massaged the full nutsac as he leaned forward and swiped John's pink nipple with his tongue. Again, Mike sucked in air to get more of John's full musky scent in. It drove him mad, and he began to make love to the athlete's chest. Shit, he could worship this body all morning he thought. Slowly he slid his right hand up from the running back's crotch, over along the rigid form of his dick, over the swell of the full belly. John wasn't tubby by any means, hell, Mike could feel the firm wall of abdominal muscle resolute beneath his touch. But instead of a taut shredded midsection, the jock was all bulk, muscle padded with a modest beer belly, that made for an imposing middle. Topped only by the rounded crests his powerful pectoral muscles, framing a deep, hair-coated valley in between. Mike gripped every inch he could. John wasn't even 21 yet, but this was definitely a man's chest in his grasp. Flakes of dried cum came off in his fingers.

Slowly, deliberately, Mike got up on his haunches and straddled the muscular jock and future teammate. The motion caused John to stir.

"Hey Mike, you up already? What time is it?" he asked through a groggy voice and half-shut eyes.

"Dunno." Mike replied as he leaned back and reached behind him. There it was. That cock. The slender piece that pierced him so easily, slid in so deep last night. Mike's offensive lineman fingers gripped the shaft and pulled it up and forward. Nestled it right in place. Then sat down.

The feel of penetration brought John fully awake. "Unnh! Yeah, buddy, sit on it. Fuck yourself on my long dick. Couldn't leave without another go at it, could ya bud?"

Mike blushed at how brazen a bottom he became, but Henderson's dirty talk didn't deter him, it egged him on to rock harder on John's hips. He had to try this position more, Henderson's cock was working over his buttnut at just the right angle, and Mike sway and bucked to rub it faster. When John started thrusting his hips upward to meet his own motions, the effect was wild, like every nerve in his body was electrified. "God, fuck me!" he growled as his hands gripped John's massive pecs and his body rode the bucking bronco.

John broke out in a wide smile. "That's it, stud. Ride that fucker. Nice, tight morning fuck. Yeah, you really open up for dick in the morning, huh?"

"Oh, yeah... pound my hole. The varsity athlete grabbed Mike's well-developed thighs and held on tight as he worked up to a steady, hard fuck pace. The bed was rattling by now.

John looked over and looked back up. "Hey buddy. I think we have an audience."

Mike looked across the dorm room and saw that John's roommate was in his bed, the white sheet thrown off his massive body and his smooth black skin streaked by the morning sun. In the ballplayer's hand was a mammoth erection, capped by a flared purple head. The corner back stroked his meat while he watched the two men rut in the other bed.

"Holy fuck!" Mike muttered, his eyes fixated on the roommates' cock while his butt bounced up and down on Henderson's long pole.

"Enjoying the show, Reg'?"

"You know it, guy. That kid's hungry for a jock fuck."

Henderson looked up at the eager high school stud working himself toward orgasm. The beefy hands gripping his chest clawed tighter. "Sure is. I bet White here would love to ride your bone after he's done here... What do you say, bud, want to treat my man Reggie over there to a taste of your tight ass?"

Mike was too fucked out in his state of bliss to speak, he just nodded his head, gripped John's chest and spewed his morning load all over his new friend. The dick pistoning in and out of his hole suddenly grew slick with seed, and Mike knew John was shooting. He felt fantastic and full.

When the two men slowed to a stop, Mike dismounted and padded over to the other bed.

"Shit, man, you're almost as big as Pierson," Mike muttered before sitting astride Reggie's awesome bulk and easing himself down - slowly down - onto that wide, veiny cock.

Reggie smiled over at John, whose dick wouldn't go down now that he was watching the two athletes screw. He could feel his buddy's sperm, the tightness of Mike's rectum, which clung and spasmed against his megarod, and the hard muscle of the kid's conditioned body against his much larger mass. About seven inches in, when his dick began to meet resistance, he powered his hips up. White bounced up in the air, extracting a few inches of cock from his insides, then landed down, not stopping til he hit Reg's pubes.

"Hang on tight, stud," the black powerhouse warned before he started fucking away.

"Hello Mr. Fulsom, is Randy here?"

Hank stood before Randy's handsome father, who had gotten home from work early. Sometimes he couldn't believe how different father and son looked. Instead of Randy and Rich's height, Paul Fulsom was six foot even and with a lithe, fit build reminiscent more of his older son's than of Randy's football-lug shape. Still, he was a good-looking man at 43.

"Yeah, come on in Hank. His brother Rich is in town, so they're upstairs in his room playing video games before he has to go to the game."

It was now a tradition at Jackson High that on gameday Fridays, the football team got to leave after lunch. Hank hoped to catch him before he went back to the school to suit up.

"Thanks, Mr. Fulsom."

Hank knocked on Randy's door and opened it to see Randy and Rich making out passionately. Rich was wearing just a pair of boxers emblazoned with his fraternity logo and Randy had on a pair of jeans but was bare chested.

The two stopped as Hank walked in. "Shit! You startled us. We thought you were Dad."

"Sorry, guys, I just wanted to stop by before the game."

"What? Is someone hard?" Rich quipped, as he slid down his boxers. Randy moaned appreciatively as his hand ran along the contour of the sinewy leg muscle.

"Yeah, bro, feel me up, keep going, yeah, touch my hole. It's still wet." Rich was spreading his legs while Hank climbed out of his clothes. His long boner smacked Randy in the face. The linebacker groaned as the hard spike penetrated his mouth. He wasn't sure if he liked it when Hank got this worked up. He liked giving his fuckbud head, but a weapon that long could do major damage.

Fortunately Rich came to the rescue by leaning up and tongue Hank's nuts. "Man, Hank, I don't know how anyone has equipment this impressive. Can't wait for you to fuck me with this baby."

Randy came off for air and gasped, "Uh uh, he fucks me first."

"Shit bro, can't you see how boned and ready I am here? Fuck, you already got three of your fingers buried in my mansnatch."

"I gotta leave for the game soon."

"All right"

The two brothers kissed long and deep as Hank knelt down and started removing Randy's jeans. How he was lucky enough to have two studly jocks like these fighting for his dick duty was beyond him.

Randy stood up and pulled off his jeans down to mid thigh. He leaned forward against the dresser. Hank didn't need further instruction. He reached for some lube and wetted his missile up, then guided it forward.

"Yeah, sink it in. Nice deep dicking before the game. Want you blasting my nuts from the inside out. Oh, big fucking tool ya got, Johnson. Fuck me!"

"Shut up and get ready for a real fuck Fulsom." Hank rose to the occasion, pistoning Randy's backside.

Not to be left out, Rich sank down and gobbled his brother's meaty cock. He was trying to count how many loads it was that day.

Meanwhile, outside their room, Paul Fulsom watched the boys mating through the crack left in the door. He imagined he was the one fucking Randy, making the boy cry out with each inward thrust. Still, when Hank pulled out and started mounting Rich, he had to admit that the kid has one helluva dick on him. He knew he shouldn't but he couldn't help it. He reached down and pulled down his zipper. His cock felt hot and clammy in his hand. Gently he pushed open the door and stepped in.

"Dad!"

"Mr. Fulsom!"

"Boys, don't stop. Please."

They didn't.

Brian Pierson pulled up to the athlete's dorm to see White waiting with his bag, ready to go. "Good boy," he said as Mike got into the vehicle. "I like a player who's prompt."

The coach pulled his new recruit toward him in a good morning kiss. He hadn't shaven, so the rough stubble bristled against Mike's smooth skin. "So, White, how'd you enjoy your campus visit? Henderson show you a good time?"

Mike blushed three shades of red. "Yeah. Yeah, Coach, he did."

It wasn't until the two pulled off onto the highway that Mike asked Coach about Heath Larson.

"Coach, looks like you were up late last night." It was true. Brian held a big sized coffee cup in his hand and even his masculine facial features couldn't hide the sags under his eyes.

"Yeah, stud, I was. Larson's pretty fucking insatiable."

"Oh." Mike wanted to be nonchalant couldn't help but sound dejected.

"You don't get it, do ya boy?" His bass voice cut through the stillness of the car. Mike felt heavy in his chest and wet in his eyes. Why was he so jealous?

"No, sir. That's all right. Guess I'm still pretty dumb about these things."

Pierson looked over at the young athlete and placed a beefy paw on his shoulder. "Look, Mike. You're not the only one on the team who wants a piece of ol' Coach's dick. And you're not got to be the only one to get it. I fuck around, that's what I do."

"Yes, sir." Mike felt the world sink as he stared forward.

"Stop this sad sack crap. You're a great player and you're gonna be even better at State. Football's gonna be your life for the next four years, more important than everything else and that includes sex. I just know my boys need to let off a little steam and sometimes they need Coach to help 'em out. But you're special. Like Larson. He and I have something between us, something intense and wonderful. We will too, White. You just can't rush something like that. Understand, son?"

"Yeah. I do, Coach."

Pierson looked at Mike and grimaced. "Damn, I can't take that hangdog look of yours, White," he muttered and pulled over to the side of the road. Mike watched with excitement as Brian's thick mitt reached down and unzipped. He coaxed out his monstrous tool.

"Here ya go, kid."

Mike White, his future looking bright, bent down and lapped like a starved kitten.

Hal Mallone stood up his backside all covered in sweat, his buns still flexing sporadically. The forty-year-old beefy married daddy took in a deep breath and tried to stop the rush of blood to his head, which was making him feel a little dizzy. The thick layer of hair on his inner thighs tickled as fresh, wet semen oozed down the sides.

"Fuck, boy, I didn't think you had that in you."

Larry Warren stepped back and regarded his newly fucked conquest with lust and pride. His sperm-slick cock still poked up spike hard from his taut, athletic belly and his chest swelled forth as his head swam in a hormonal cesspool. He could get used to being on top.

"Man, Mr. Mallone, that was fantastic. Your ass tasted so I good I knew I couldn't stop myself. Just had to test drive that butt."

Hal laughed. "Damn, you did more than test drive it, you fucked it to town and back. Don't think I'll be able to sit down normal for weeks." Walking slightly bowlegged his strutted across the room to where the men's discarded clothes were. He picked up Larry's jacket and put his arm in the sleeve. "Guess this means I get to wear your letter jacket, huh?" The felt and leather jacket didn't even close up in the front of his massive torso, but the snugness made Hal's chest hairs stand on end, and it felt good to be wearing his fuckbud's jacket, it was like some trophy.

The two men chuckled, but after a second the feeling of deep, unsatisfied lust returned. The muscular halfback stepped forward and embraced the older man, grabbing the back of his head and grinding their mouths into a wet French kiss. His slick cock poked right into Mr. Malone's hairy gut. Hal's own cock was taking longer to recover, but it was on its way to losing its postfuck tumescence.

Hal interrupted their liplock. "How much time you got before you gotta suit up for the game, kid?"

"An hour. How bout I take another fuck for the road, for good luck?"

"It was great, guy, but I don't know..."

But already he was pushing Mr. Malone's beefy frame back onto the couch, the married muscular daddy's body looking obscene framed by the younger athlete's letter jacket, the mounds of his hairy pecs sticking out and fat nipples erect in anticipation.

And already the hunker football jock was prying the treetrunk legs apart, crawling right between, his nose sniffing out its target. His daddy had always told him that to get a cunt coming back for more, all you had to do was eat her pussy out after you fucked her. He felt the cool slickness of his own sperm on his nose then his lips as he opened his mouth and darted forth with his tongue. His teenage cock surged and his brain went into overdrive.

And Hal Malone growled, grabbed the back of the kid's head to hold him in, and pumped eight powerful jets of manmilk onto his furry torso and Warren's jacket.

"Hey Tim, what are you doing here?"

Principal Reece was surprised to see anyone in the halls at 4:30 on game day, much less the star quarterback.

Tim Fitzgerald flashed the principal his trademark smile as he walked up to him. "Just getting here early so I can collect my thoughts for the big game tonight."

"Big game, that's putting it lightly. How are you feeling? You feeling good about tonight."

"Oh yeah, Mr. Reece. We're gonna win. I know it. It's just I have to psyche myself up beforehand."

"Whatever it takes, Tim. We all believe in your ability and the team's too."

They didn't have really anything more to say, but neither could move. There they stood, in the hallway, looking each other cold in the eye, their breathing increasing pace, their hearts pounding. John Reece couldn't remember a student with more angelic, handsome features than Tim Fitzgerald. That smile, those perfectly round biceps, the smooth muscle of his torso.

Finally, Tim reached under his T-shirt and peeled it off. Pale, alabaster muscle came into view.

"Um... what are you doing, Tim?"

"Going down to the locker room to change. What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, well, nothing, it's just that..."

"That what?" Tim undid the first snap on his jeans, then the second. Fuck! the boy's not wearing underwear, thought the principal as the star athlete shucked his pants in the hall.

"I can't believe." Mr. Reece huffed as he saw the vascular cockmeat attached to the athlete's perfect form. "You're hung like a stallion Fitzgerald."

"Coach says it's best if we get rid of a load before the game. Takes some of the edge off he says." By now, Tim was openly stroking his shaft, feeling it grow to massive proportion in his hand.

Reece loosened his tie and knelt down. He didn't care if he had to take the suit in to the cleaners tomorrow. He had a duty to the Jackson High football team and he wasn't about to shirk it. He'd swallow this cock whole if it killed him.

Sitting on the bleachers, Hank Wright shifted uncomfortably. Twenty minutes to kickoff. His thoughts went to last week's game and the pre-game show he and Coach Williams had in the men's room. Fuck, what he'd give... well, why not, he wondered?

"Excuse me, honey, I'm gonna go see the coach and wish them well before game time."

"I swear, Hank, you just met the man last week. I'm sure he's too busy to be bothered by..."

But Hank was already descending the metal steps and walking toward the fieldhouse. The moist heat of steam hit him as he stepped in. It was a concrete maze of hallways and locker rooms, but he wandered through it, passing players suiting up and assistant coaches making sure the ballboys had all the equipment ready. Finally he came across Coach Williams' office. He and Coach Harris were discussing last minute a couple of plays. Hank knocked tentatively.

"Excuse me, Art." Williams said, standing up, and ushering Wright into the concrete-walled room.

"Sorry to bother you like this, Coach, I just..."

Williams cut him off. "Get the fuck over here."

Both men broke into lusty smiles as they drew together like two magnets. Hank pulled off his sweater and the Coach undid the buttons on his plaid green button down. A bare, hair-dusted chest greeted him. "No T-shirt... nice. God, I was hoping you'd stop by." He attacked Wright's neck with long swipes of his tongue. The muscle felt nice, real nice.

Hank gripped Coach's back and shoulder muscle the best he could through the gray Jackson High sweatshirt. "Man! Oh, yeah, fuck that tongue in my ear." By now, Coach was marauding the man's exposed chest, clawing at every inch of the married man's torso. This only drove Hank wilder, and he fumbled at the snaps of Coach's shorts. The heat of Williams' hardon singed his hand.

"Damn, I forgot how big you were," he muttered as the steely ten incher filled his hand. Coach pumped his hips and held Hank in place as the two locked lips. The force of Coach's tongue was powerful, dominating his open mouth. Telling him that Williams' need was urgent.

"Sit down," Williams ordered. Hank licked his lips and hunkered down in the coach's chair, his shirt open in the front and his pants unzipped to reveal a meaty hard cock poking up eagerly. Instantly, Williams stepped directly into his view, large prick swinging wide. Hungrily, Wright reached out and gripped it, pulling the erect bludgeon to his moist lips. The spongy head felt hot and dry, and the connection when he stuck his tongue out and licked the salty dick dew from the gaping pissslit was incredible. Taking a deep breath, he widened his mouth and let the flared head pop in. He was sucking cock and the rush was incredible!

After that, it was a blur: the grip of the man's hand on the back of his head. the tightness in his throat as Coach burrowed in, the suctioning sounds emerging from his plugged esophagus. He let Coach drive this face fuck, the man needed it. Hank just reached around and grabbed the man's ass, still clad in his nylon shorts. It was a man's ass, firm and powerful. He held on while Coach pounded away.

"Coach?" Hank froze. It was definitely the voice of a player, but Williams kept thrusting that large tool down his throat. "Kickoff's in 10 minutes."

"Thanks Jefferson. Will be done in a sec."

"Ha! Getting a head start on our party tonight?"

Hank couldn't believe this was going on. That he was servicing the man in front of his player and both were acting as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Guess I am Greg. Run along, get suited up. I'll be out in a sec."

"Right-O Coach."

After that, Williams was huffing as he thrust faster, sweat forming on his brow. Suddenly he stopped. His cock swelled, and the corona of the fat dickhead lodged in Hank's gullet knotted up, wedging the staff deep down. Then Coach blasted. Spurt after spurt, he injected his seed straight into the married man's digestive passage.

"That's it... Take that load, man... always biggest wad right before a game. Aw, feels great. Yeah..."

Jack Forrester leaned back in the bleacher. He loved football season, loved the smell of Fall in the air. And he especially loved championship games. He, the whole town, lived for nights like this. Being November, it got dark and chilly well before game time. Jack was glad he'd had a whiskey with the boys before coming. Only one thing would make this moment more perfect. He reached into his polartec vest pocket and pulled out two cigars.

"Hey Bates, you want one?" Howard Bates was his best friend from way back in the day when the two were at Jackson High. Now Forrester's real estate career was soaring, and Bates, a lawyer, had just set up his own practice with an old fraternity brother.

"Sure, buddy," Howard said, reaching up from the bleacher below, where he and his family were camping out their prime seats early. Thanks."

"Not here, Jack!" It was Forrester's wife Kate. She hated cigar smoke and never hesitated to tell him.

"Aw, come on, Kate, can't I? Just tonight?" He realized he sounded like a whining child, but he wanted a smoke.

"Sure you can, just not here. Why don't you join your friends down there?" She pointed to a patch of grass twenty paces down from the bleachers' end, which before and during the game was filled with the town's most respectable citizens, trading dirty stories, talking football and enjoying their cigars.

"What do you say, bud?" he addressed Bates.

"Let's go."

When the two men were out of earshot, Jack mumbled, "Ball busters!"

That got a laugh out of Howard, who countered that he didn't mind, it was nice to break away from the wife and kids sometimes. "Know what I'm saying, guy?"

"When you put it that way, yeah I do."

They approached their fellow Kiwanis club members standing next to the wire fence. Will Ballard, a handsome, stout, red-faced banker, greeted them.

"Well, if it's not Howard and Jack. Your wives didn't want you to smoke around them? Ah, just teasing fellas, we're hear for the same reason."

"Yeah, the henpecked club!" one of them joked.

"Here, let me light you up," said Jim Grant. He flicked his lighter and bent forward to touch the flame to the cigar tip of first Jack then Howard. With each he locked eyes, and the men communicated silently. You could cut the anticipation with a knife, the post-game party had been the talk around the club all week. They wanted a blowout for the team that had made them so proud.

Greetings out of the way, the conversation veered back to football.

"I can't believe these boys made it all the way to State Champs this year."

"I knew they could do it."

"You say that now, but you can't deny that Coach Williams has done a great job at getting these boys to defy expectations."

"Hell, maybe it was our motivational skills," Jack added, to which deep chuckles came.

"From what I hear they're loving the steam room."

"They know what's in store tonight?" one man asked.

"Williams is telling them now. Wants them pumped and excited for the game."

"Hey here's Sullivan!" Trent Sullivan, in his Friday casual, walked up to the bunch. There was backslapping and handshaking around as the men puffed on their cigars and watched the boys storm onto the field.

"That's one fine team."

"Yes, sir."

"They're gonna win tonight aren't they?"

"I got two hundred green ones riding on it."

"Hard to find a taker of an opposing wager in town."

"Yep, nothing but confidence in these boys. That right Sullivan?"

Jack, Will and a couple others laughed heartily.

"What's funny?" Howard asked.

"Ah, Trent got broken in by the star quarterback last night."

"That true, man?"

Trent blushed, puffed on his cigar, then took it out and smiled, "Yeah."

"Shit, couldn't you wait, Sullivan? I thought we were saving up for tonight. I haven't fucked the wife all week."

"Sorry, man, I couldn't resist. Just stopped by to see how everything was. Saw that Fitzgerald kid, and I knew I couldn't hold back."

"I'll say!"

"How was it?"

Trent's grin widen. "Fan-fucking-tastic!" The men hooted. "And Carson was even better."

"You horndog."

"No wonder, look at the size of those balls he carries around with him."

Will leaned on the metal fence and gazed out. "Man, I'd a go at Tim tonight."

Jack added , "It's Frank Myers' beefy butt I'm watching. After our little suck party I'm thinking a little pay back is order."

"Hey, this celebration is supposed to be their reward," a recently divorced engineer chimed in.

"Don't worry, Mike, Myers will be smiling after I've mounted his stud ass," Jack grumbled, cigar tight in his clenched teeth. He pulled it out and spit on the dry dirt. "Besides, tell me you haven't been wanting to do the same to Mike White's boy."

"Guilty as charged," the man replied.

They examined the boys on the field assessing their athletic ability and sexual prowess. By kickoff the town's upright businessmen had hardons to beat all.

Afterward, Coach didn't have time to stick around, he had two minutes flat to get out on the field. "Thanks for that, stud. Come back around after the game if you want."

"Yes, sir, I will," Hank replied as he stood up, fastening his khakis over his unsatisfied hardon and wiping the spittle and sperm off his mouth. He stumbled out into the hall only to see a beefy blonde man leave the office adjacent. He was a cop, likely in his late 20s, with bright green eyes and a round, expressive face. He was in uniform and walked out buttoning his trousers and fastening his belt. Art Harris's sperm dripped down Officer Miller's cop-next-door face.

The two men stopped dead in their tracks, each feeling guilty in being discovered in the act.

"Hank?"

"Dave?"

"Man, my own neighbor. How long?"

"What? Oh, you mean with Coach Williams?"

"Yeah..."

"We're not," Hank protested, only realizing that a glob of coach cum still clung to his upper lip. "I mean I just met him last week. Before the game."

"I'll be damned. I've had the hots for Coach Harris for a couple weeks now. Shit! I can't believe all this time, we coulda been getting it on, big guy. That is... I don't want to assume."

"Don't worry, Dave. I think that would be hot. Next time the wife and kids go out, I'll call you over."

"Sounds hot, man. And next time my garage light's on, come on over. No one bothers me there."

"Dave?"

"Yeah, man?"

"Do we gotta wait?"

"Game's starting."

"We can catch up at half-time."

"Like the way you think, Hank. Yeah, that feels good. A little more tongue. That's the trick!"