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The Transfer Jock (17) -- by Jack Richards

During some pretty steamy pillow•talk...

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During some pretty steamy pillow•talk, most of it concerning Jeff’s conquest of Mitchell, I’d told Jeff that I didn’t really want to fuck all of the team•mates (and manager) that he had been scheming to line up for three•ways. To my surprise, he’d told me that he known that - and that he’d figured out exactly what it was that I wanted.
“And what is that?” I’d asked skeptically.
“Four or five horny•as•fuck 17 and 18•year•old jocks with rock•hard cocks pulling a train on you,” Jeff had casually informed me.

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“But, Coach,” Jeff continued, “even though you don’t really want to fuck all those guys, you just want them to fuck you, if I get them to give you your deepest, most secret desire and pull a long•ass train on your ass, you understand you’re going to have to fuck at least a couple of them, right? I mean, that’s just common courtesy.”
“Oh fuck,” I whimpered into his chest. As soon as he’d said it, I’d known  that Jeff was right. I did want to get plowed by a gang of young studs with rock•hard cocks. One after another. Fuck, who wouldn’t want that? Jeff, Landen, Dewey, Mitchell...Alex or Sam? That would be one helluva going•away present. How had Jeff zeroed in on my (new) deepest desire even before I’d known myself what it was?
“Don’t worry, Coach,” Jeff assured me, “I’m going to pull it all together for you. You won’t have to do a thing. You want to fuck me again now or hit the hot tub first?”
“Hot tub, whiskey,” I mumbled, still in something of a daze over the  realization of how far I had fallen, and was yet to fall. “Hey, stud, is your dick hard?” “Sure,” Jeff replied cheerfully.
“Can you make it not•hard?” I asked as I got up and headed for my whiskey. I was fucked and I knew it, destined for the best going•away party of all time. I’d resign my job on Monday, after making all the hay I could possibly make in the meantime. I knew I was going to fuck, suck and get fucked by as many queer or bi•curious jocks as Jeff could round up. I wasn’t going to be able to just shrug and say ‘No thanks’ to the offer of a high school jock•train. I knew me well enough to know that.
And I really didn’t give a happy fuck how old they were, so long as they all (except one) dutifully lined up and fucked me in the ass seriatim, while the lone exception was thrusting his hard young cock into (and out of) my mouth before he swapped with one of the other jocks and took his turn in my gloriously exhausted rectum.
“I don’t think I can MAKE that happen, Coach,” Jeff said, following me, “Hard is pretty much default position, but not•hard does happen on its own sometimes. Why’d you ask?”
“Because I fucking love your fat, flaccid penis,” I replied, “and I want to feel you getting hard in my mouth.” “Fuck, Coach, you’re just making me harder.”
After we’d settled into the hot tub again with our whiskies, Jeff asked, “Hey Coach, can I ask you something? What was up with you torturing me like you did? Giving me two or three inches of D but then refusing to fuck me?”
“Was it torture?” I asked, knowing exactly what he’d been experiencing, because I’d reacted just like Jeff had when my fraternity brother had tortured me the same way with about a third of his thick cock, and I’d been fucking desperate for the missing two•thirds. He’d eventually given me all of it, and well, but during that first minute or two of a ‘game’ we’d been playing - the object of which was to see who could hold out the longest, the fucker or the fuckee, without begging for more (the fuckee lost) - l found out that I had ‘the soul of a bottom.’
“Fuck yeah it was,” Jeff confirmed, “it was like some...void...deep inside me...that could only be filled by cock...that HAD to be filled by cock...that had to be filled by cock immediately.”
“I felt exactly like the same way,” I explained, “when a college buddy of mine did the same thing to me. He claimed that my reaction, essentially begging for all of his dick, was a solid predictor that I’d ultimately decide that I derived more pleasure from the bottom role than from the top.”
“But you’re a great fucking top,” Jeff insisted, “not that I have any experience to compare.”
“Thanks,” I said, “and I love topping. Probably I even top more than I get topped, but what fucking flips my switch the most? Before today, I’d have just said having a hard cock buried balls•deep in my ass. Now I’d say having eight inches of hard cock buried balls•deep in my ass...you’re more than eight inches, right?”
“Eight•and•a•half,” Jeff replied, grinning, “but who’s counting half•inches? Hey Coach, were you saying that me fucking you flips your switch the most, like of anything?”
“I am,” I said, feeling his cock underwater. Not as hard, but not soft•serve yet. “You’re pretending, right?” he asked. “The game still?”
“Nope,” I said, choosing not to lay it on any thicker than that. “What flips your switch the most?”
“I really don’t have that much experience, you know?” he said. “Landen and Mitchell you’ve heard about, and I’ve been with a few other guys a couple of times each, not always fucking them, but never getting fucked until tonight. You know, I’m like this stud athlete or whatever, and I just assumed ‘of course I’m supposed to be the top, I am the top,’ but I’m not so sure that’s right...I mean, Coach, that feeling of being incomplete and then getting filled up and suddenly feeling completed, I never knew that was even a thing before...and now I could see it becoming my fucking religion.”
“You’ve got a way with words well beyond your years,” I said, hugging him close to me. “How’d you figure out what my secret desire was before I did?”
“That’s simple,” Jeff replied. “And you’d have never gone there on your own because it’s also fucking taboo to you...but you’ve made it crystal fucking clear that you love getting hammered in the ass, and especially by...well, one younger dude who happens to be on your team. So what could be better than that...other than getting hammered by half a dozen horny ballers? Plus, I had another insight, which really just sealed it, namely, I’m beginning to think that we’ve got a lot in common, and talking all that smack about the guys made me realize how much I want them all to line up behind me.”
“You know, if you gave me a little oral jump•start,” I said, “I’m pretty sure I’d be ready to line up behind you up again.”
“Like now?” Jeff asked, “because now’s not really convenient, Coach.” When he saw what must have been a look of surprise - and possibly hurt - on my face, Jeff said, “Aw, Coach, you look so pitiful....but the only reason   it’s not convenient right now is going to make you smile, I think.” He stood up right in front of me and announced, “Check this out...not•hard!”
Jeff’s beautiful extra•fat, flaccid cock was right at eye•level, and it was a sight to behold, still partially engorged, a good notch or two below what I’d call a true semi, water dripping off it, his heavy ball•sack and pubic hair. I didn’t hesitate to slurp his soft, fat dick all the way into my mouth, savoring his fleshiness for a minute before I began to slowly bob back and forth on his swelling cock. I continued to suck after he was fully hard, which had taken almost no time, kneading his big, loose nuts as my mouth worked up and down his shaft.
“Coach,” Jeff said as he gently pushed my head back, “as good as that feels, you’d still be sucking for a long damn time to get me off...and it’s my turn to get my emptiness filled all the way up by you. Do you still need me to prime your pump?”
I pushed myself up onto the deck and sat there with my legs in the hot tub, my throbbing boner standing straight up. “I think I’m good,” I replied.
“Still...” Jeff said as he lowered his mouth onto my dick and showed me that he knew a thing or two about sucking cock. When he was satisfied he stepped back across the hot tub and looked me over, drinking me up with his eyes as he’d done in the kitchen earlier. “Coach, I’m not very good at talking to guys I’m really into, so...well, the word that keeps coming to mind when I look at you is...is beautiful. Don’t take this the wrong way, Coach, but you’re fucking beautiful.”
“C’mere,” I said softly. We wrapped our arms around each other and our mouths joined for what seemed like a long time. “That’s exactly how men in love talk to each other,” I whispered in Jeff’s ear. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”
“Fill me up, beautiful,” Jeff demanded lustily as he pulled his beautiful young body out of the water.
“Grrr,” I replied, and led him, dripping wet, into the living room, with the intention that, if Jeff should happen to fuck Dewey on my living room floor the next day, Dewey wouldn’t be the first teenager to get fucked, and well, on that floor.

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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.

Art by Konstantin Somov


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