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Champs party -- Oliver Frey

The transfer jock (6) -- by Jack Richards

"Are you gonna fuck me again?"


“Coach,” Jeff asked, reaching over and grabbing my boner, “are you gonna fuck me again?” In what I took as an expression of boundless optimism, if not love, Jeff let go of my dick and pulled his legs back almost to his ears, clasping his arms behind his thighs exposing his hairy crack and slightly opened hole.
“Fuck yeah I am,” I said, “but not now, not here. C’mon, let’s go find a more comfortable place to fuck for a long fucking time.” I extended my hand and pulled him to his feet. He sprang up, his athleticism on full display.


Not as an afterthought, but as a fore•thought, I turned and asked my new tight•end, “Just curious, Jeff, but how many more times do you think you can blow a load before you have to go home tonight?”
“Number 1, I can stay as late as you’ll have me. As for number 2, how many times, I really don’t know for sure,” he replied after a couple of moments’ thought, “because until tonight I’d never been fucked in the ass myself...and the way that made me feel...I think it means I can get off more frequently, not less, if, you know, you’re also giving me regular injections of coach•cock...”
“That sounds about right,” I said, understanding that receiving deep anal stimulation usually improved my own erectability and semen output. “Rest assured you’ll get plenty of those injections if you want them, but assuming getting reciprocal treatment didn’t mean any more or less orgasms for you, and time wasn’t a real factor, how many times do you think you could fuck me tonight?”
I wanted to know as precisely as possible what I was going to get for potentially throwing away my job, my reputation and my freedom. Not that Jeff’s answer would impact my decision to continue down the dangerous path I’d chosen - that die was already cast. If Jeff had whimpered, ‘Gee, Coach, if you blew me for a real, real long time to get me hard, I MIGHT be able to fuck you one more time,’ well, I’d have still taken him home with me and blown him for a real, real long time to get him hard enough to fuck me one more time.
“Well, Coach, I guess I’d have to say I think I can fuck you as many times as you tell me to fuck you,” he answered seriously, “and I’ll get off every time, no ghost•fucking. Will that do, sir?” Standing there watching Jeff’s dick, which had not subsided below a solid semi since blowing his huge load five minutes before, stiffen into a full boner as he spoke, I had no reason to doubt a word of what he’d just told me. Fuck, to be eighteen again...
“Shut the fuck up, get the fuck dressed and get your sorry ass in your fucking car,” I replied gruffly, trying to mask my elation. “That kind of attitude can only help, sir,” he observed wryly, his very hard cock twitching and throbbing.
On the drive home, with Jeff following closely behind, all I could think about was sucking that smart•ass jock’s big, loose nut•sack and his big fat dick again, and then feeling those big balls of his slapping hard against my ass as he hammered my hole, again and again. On the other hand, I was fully erect again, too, and it was technically my turn to top. Maybe I ought to show that punk how a grown man really tops a lover...
I was hoping that last, spontaneous session on the ch had fucked that whole ‘punishment’ notion right out Jeff’s head, but his last comment was not encouraging on that score. Shit, I thought, I could pound the fuck out of him as soon we hit my door if that’s the kind of ‘punishment’ he wanted. But I knew what he wanted was sub•dom role•playing, which was fine, just not my first choice.


Jack Richards is the pen name of a southern lawyer and prolific Tumblr author of prose porn.
This piece appeared first on Jack's Tumblr website. More will follow.


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