Team Reward, pt. 8 (m/t, anal, oral, HS) Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)
Warning: the following stories contain graphic descriptions of sexual material. If you are underage or do not wish to read such materials, read no further. The fiction depicts unsafe sex practices. It's fantasy. In real life, wear a rubber.
Comments to billdrake@hotmail.com. Thanks to all the guys out there who have written - I love to hear when my stories are doing their job. I've been getting too many emails to always respond personally, so I've taken the lead of other writers and have set up a Yahoo Group as a place to collect my stories and as a way to notify interested readers when a new story is coming out.
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/
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Team Reward pt. 8
Hank Johnson watched the scrimmage practice intently. Actually, his attention was focused on one player: Randy Fulsom, the studly linebacker. Lately, Hank couldn't get enough of the tough-as-bricks ballplayer. Ever since their encounter in the men's room at Jackson County High, the two hunky teens had gotten it on ever chance they could. Randy turned on Hank so much - big and strapping, that unbeatable combination of muscle and natural padding required by his position. It inspired him to begin working out harder at the local gym, keeping his already toned and muscular body in perfect shape.
The linebacker, meanwhile, seemed to get off on that oversized salami that swung between Hank's legs. He would plop back on his bed, place his large apelike hands on his chest and beg Hank to lie on top of him and slide that monster between his massive man tits. Each time Hank spunked all over Randy's neck and face, the burly jock would grunt and start spraying his fuck buddy's back with searing hot linebacker cum.
Even in uniform and pads, Fulsom was giving Hank an undeniable hardon as he watched the team go through a rigorous practice. He loved the way the senior's muscular ass jiggled as he jogged back from the huddle. He loved watching the powerful mass butt up against his teammates.
"Which one are you fucking?"
The question snapped him out his reverie. Beside him was sitting Pete Burns. Like Hank, Pete was one of the school's "jocks" who nonetheless didn't play any sport. The two just had the good looks, built teen bodies, and assured, confident attitudes.
"What?" Hank asked, taken back by Pete's frankness and worried that Pete knew about him and Randy. "How? I mean, what...?"
"Fuck, Hank, you can't hide that big sausage of your when it gets hard."
Hank looked down at the right leg of his jeans, which bulged obscenely with the long tubesteak trapped inside.
"Don't worry, man," Pete said. "Your secret's safe with me. Besides, there are some hot guys out there. I'm fucking one of them myself."
"Really?" Hank looked at Pete incredulously, then turned his gaze to survey the hunky players on the field. "Who?"
"Coach Williams."
"No fucking way!" Hank said.
"Sure as shit, buddy!" Pete grinned. "Nice, tight fuck, too." He licked his lips as he stared out at the field, watching the coach and reminiscing about the most recent time rimming out Williams' ass. He turned back to the other teen hunk. "So, Hank,...which one are you fucking?"
"Fulsom," Hank said in a mixture of pride and nervousness.
"No shit? Randy Fulsom? I didn't know you were into the big boys, Hank."
"Yeah, I guess I am. Can't get enough of him."
"Hell, buddy, with a dick as big as yours I bet ole Randy's can't help giving up his big linebacker ass for you."
"Actually, he won't let me fuck him. Says my dick is too big."
"Aw, fuck, Hank, he's just saying that. May even think he believes it. But that bruiser wants you to bend him over and take his tight ass. Believe me."
"Yah?"
"Yeah, stud. Those jocks are all the same. Coach was giving me the same shit. How he couldn't handle a big boy like me. So we had a wrestling match to see who would be bottom boy, and of course the fucker lets me win. They're all the same, those meatheads. You just gotta take charge, Hank."
"Shit, Pete, I hope you're right. I'm already boned up thinking about Randy's butch ass riding my pole."
Just then, during a time out, Randy trotted over to the chain fence and motioned Hank to come down. Hank jogged down the bleachers to where the hunky ballplayer was waiting.
"Hey stud," Hank said.
"Shit, Hank, that dick of death is reaching halfway down your leg!" Randy breathed. "Can't believe you walk around like that."
"Can't help it Randy, I get too hot watching you play."
Randy lifted up his football jersey to wipe the sweat off his brow. He had on only his pads underneath, so Hank was greeted with the sight of Fulsom's massive chest, clammy with sweat and flush with exertion. His eyes followed down the trail of dark hair leading over the heaving belly and down beneath the waist band of the sweatshorts that clung to Randy's waist.
"Aw, man, don't tease me like that," Hank sighed. "I gotta feel that hot bod of your soon. Or my dick's gonna explode."
"Hold it, stud. After practice, we'll go back to my place and have some fun, OK?"
"Can't wait."
It had been a cold Wednesday afternoon practice, but Greg Jefferson had worked up a sweat anyway. As the he entered the lockerroom, cleats clacking against the hard cement floor, Greg pulled off his practice jersey and pads, revealing a sweaty chest, the flesh reddened with heat and the muscles taut with exertion. The beads trickled down the valley between his full pecs, down the ripples of his washboard abs, through the forest of his torso's fine hair, and down into the seam of his football pants. His crotch was soaked through with the wetness of a hard workout, and truth be told, from the leaking of his overexcited balls, which had been pumping out dick lube a lot lately. Hell, he'd started bringing an extra clean jock to school to change into, as his was always soaked through by the end of fourth period, when he'd get a boner the whole class staring at his history teacher Mr. Johnson's fine, firm ass.
Now Greg sat down on the bench to remove his cleats and his socks. He was excited, as today the steam room was supposed to be up and running. He and the other guys on the team were eager to try it out and today would be a perfect day to relax after a tough practice.
As he stood back up he felt a warm, strong hand smack lightly on the clammy-cool skin of his broad delts. "What's up, Jefferson?" a booming voice asked.
It was Eric LaGrange, a junior who played halfback. He was trimmer than a lot of the guys in his position but still packed on a good bulk. His powerful black muscles bulged against the tightness of his white towel.
"Today's practice was some workout, huh?" Eric asked.
"Tell me about it, man. I'm fucking sore all over."
"Yeah, Coach sure is busting our balls for the game Friday. That fucker really wants this state championship."
"Me too," Greg added.
"Yeah, bud, so do I. Only..." the halfback paused.
"Only what, bud?"
Eric looked to both sides of him to see who was around, then dropped his voice. "Only the fucker turns me on when he acts like that. Every time Jackson barks an order at us, I get a fucking hardon that won't go down."
"No shit?! Really?" Greg could feel his dick start to stir in his tight football pants as he slowly unlaced them. He had to admit the coach really turned him on as well, every time he'd swagger into the locker room for a pep talk or to chew out the guys for poor performance.
"Fuck, yeah. See..." LaGrange pulled off his towel. Extending downward, trapped between his rigid thighs, was a pulsing fuck hardon. The length of the shaft approached ten inches and large, opalescent drops of dick goo leaked down the smooth black surface of Eric's built quads.
"Jesus, LaGrange," Greg exclaimed. "You better be careful with that weapon. Looks like it's ready to go off any moment." With his large hands, Greg fumbled with the strings of the white pants, unlacing them to expose more of his downy brown hair and the top of his white jock, now all wet with jocksweat. As he removed the uniform pants, revealing the corded muscle of his quads, calves and hamstrings, Eric dropped his towel on the bench right on top of Greg's jersey. His cock hardened even more as he studied the offensive lineman's muscular form. Eric always thought Greg looked like a younger version of Coach Jackson, same height, same build, maybe that's why the man always got his oversized cock hard. He'd always been afraid to make a move on the big bruiser, though.
Until now. The globes of ripe football-stud ass were too much for the halfback to resist. He watched as Greg pulled down his football pants and soiled, wet jock then admired the sinewy calf and hamstring muscles as the jock stood up right. Wasting no time, Eric stepped right behind Greg and wrapped his beefy black biceps around the thick, powerful torso, pulling and holding him tight against LaGrange's smooth, powerful, naked chest.
The ten-inch black scepter fit snugly in the crevice of Greg's ass. Eric groaned as he ground his pelvis, pushing his hard dripping meat into the heat and wetness of the other athlete's crack. "Nice fucking ass, Jefferson."
"Man, Eric, what the fuck...?"
"Sorry, buddy, I couldn't resist. Gotta sperm that moist crack of yours, guy." His large arms held onto the athlete's torso even tighter as he thrusted and ground his crotch into the recesses of that jock ass. He looked down at the magnificent sight of Greg's firm mounds clutching his slick black pole as it slid back and forth.
"Goddamn, LaGrange, you are a horny motherfucker." Greg hummed as he leaned back into the powerful pectorals of his crackfucker. "Your dick is already juicin' up my asscrack."
"Yeah, buddy? You feel my cockjuice soaking your crack? Feel my big balls rubbing against your horny hole? Getting ready to hose you bud."
The lineman reached back and alternated parting the muscular hemispheres of his bubblebutt and pressing them together to trap the long black snake fucking between them. "Yeah, spunk me, guy."
"Ah shit, here it comes buddy. I'm too wound up to stop now. All over your fucking back, and soaking your white-boy crack."
Dick snot shot everywhere, the pearly white seed splattering all along Greg's spine, coating his lats and lower back, slipping down to wet the soft hairs lining the athlete's buttcrack. As Eric pulled away, Greg clenched his cheeks, feeling the wetness penetrate deeper and lower, wetting up his tight pucker.
He turned around and looked at the monster cock that had just hosed him. Smiling, he reached out and grabbed the sensitive shaft, massaging it and feeling the cum, sweaty slickness of it.
"Fuck, LaGrange, you gotta let me have a go at this cuntsplitter, for real."
Eric stared into the hunky jock's deep brown eyes and smiled back. "Nothing I'd like better Jefferson, but later, man, later."
Already as Frank Myers walked toward the fogged glass doors of the steam room, he could feel his teen jockmeat plumped and lengthen and he knew his balls were churning in anticipation of popping a nut.
The studbuilt senior opened the doors and was immediately enveloped by steam. It felt wonderful. A little bit of light flowed from behind him and there were a couple of pale blue lights, but otherwise it was dark, and with the thick fog, he couldn't see beyond a foot in front of him. From the noises of footsteps, he knew a couple of his teammates were already in there, but he didn't know how many.
He sat on the warm wooden bench. All around him steam flowed. Relaxed and horny at the same time, he could feel his cock throb and stand out from his taut abs, an erect tower of hard, athlete flesh whose smoothness contrasted to the forest of dark brown pubic hairs that spread upward from his crotch and fanned out over that perfect muscular stomach. Greg took in a deep breath and shut his eyes. Around him he could hear the otherwise silent athletes walking on the wet tile floor, he could almost hear their breathing the room was so still.
The defensive lineman was about to drift asleep when he felt something slap against his face. Then again. The hunky athlete opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of a large piece of hard cockmeat. The flesh was moist from the
steam and beads of moisture dripped from the perfectly round balls that hung snugly below. The cock pressed insistently into his face, rubbing gently up and down alongside Frank's nose. Frank instinctively stuck his tongue out and began running it underneath the base of this perfectly shaped cock, tonguing the hairy balls and the beginning of the hard shaft.
The piece was starting to get wet from Frank's spit and the moisture of the steam room. Its owner stepped back and slapped the athlete's face a couple more times before aiming the distended head toward Frank's mouth and pushing right in.
Frank felt his mouth cavity fill with the mass of beautiful, thick dickflesh. The large shaft pressed its way insistently into the young man's mouth and throat. Frank was only too happy to open up for it.
The shaft stretched his jaw then, as it pushed further back, spread his throat wide. The dick kept sinking in until Frank could feel the steam-wet scrotum push tight against his own moist chin. Then he felt something that made his cock jerk and spit its gooey prelube out onto the moist tile of the floor: a firm hand gripped the back of his head, right were his buzz haircut began to taper into the thick muscular flesh of his neck. The hard, strong fingers dug tightly into the fine hairs on the nape of his neck, holding Frank firmly in place, commanding silently him to take cock. The athlete didn't know who it was, but he felt his power and it turned him on. His dick throbbed to think that he was deep-throating some stud right there in the locker-room steam area.
Inward again, the hard cock pushed forward, spearing Frank's wet, eager gullet. He'd barely had a second to get used to the fullness of the invader, when it withdrew and thrust in again. Immobile, the lineman held his jaw open and relaxed his throat to let this man take his pleasure. In again. Each time, Frank could swear the cockflesh burrowed deeper, if that was possible - the man's testicles were already smacking his chin with each thrust, making a soft squishy smacking sound that reverberated over the hissing of the steam. In again. Yeah, he knew it; that dick was getting harder and longer in his mouth. With his breathing Myers alternated a slight sucking as the prick pushed inward. That hand gripped his neck tighter. God, it turned him on to be used like this. To be skullfucked silly by some stud. Maybe this guy had fucked him before, maybe not. He was trying to think of guys on the team with dicks this big, this long, this full. And balls so heavy they seemed to thud against the flesh of his face. That grip grew even tighter as the man started thrusting in and out harder, faster, without mercy. Frank's throat just opened up and took the pummeling like he was born to suck cock. Maybe he was. He thought of all the guys on the team he'd blown. All the big jock dicks having their way with him, letting loose their loads down his hot throat.
Both of Frank's hands were on the man's ass now, holding and kneading the hard cheeks in his palms. Trying to pull more cock into his mouth, trying to make the man shove harder. It was a hopeless attempt though - this stud was in charge. His powerful ass and strong legs set the pace, a steady thorough facefuck. That hard grip showing Frank who was in charge.
Just then the fuckpace became erratic, the smooth deep penetration of Frank's throat alternated with short, hard jabs. The man was draining his nuts good now. Rope after rope of salty man spray were shooting into the senior athlete's mouth, spasming deep into his gullet. Claiming their conquest.
Frank was being hosed good. Without even touching his dick, it exploded in a high arc that painted his chest and the legs of his fucker. With each volley of jism that jetted into his esophagus, his own cock gave up another hard shot, his nuts contracted rhythmically, pumping out jolt after jolt of hot jizz, drowning Frank's hairy chest in his own horny dick slime.
When the stud had sated himself, he pulled free from Frank's mouth and before Frank could see who it was, stepped back into the steam. Satisfied himself, the hunky athlete leaned back against the tile wall, closed his eyes and took a few minutes of sleep in the steam.
(to be cont.)