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The Transfer Jock (19) -- by Jack Richards

"Don't you think it better if we practiced with Landen first?"


“It’d be better if you just walked in and caught Dewey banging me on your  living room floor,” Jeff countered my insistence that if he wanted me to join in with him and Dewey (assuming Dewey was even queer and didn’t cold•cock my favorite tight•end when he hit on him), he had to first ask Dewey straight•up if he wanted to include their coach in their first sexual act together, “anybody would expect you to jump all over that.”


“Maybe so,” I agreed, assuming by ‘better’ Jeff meant ‘easier for Jeff,’ “but that’s not going to happen. All you have to do is ask Dewey if he’d rather fuck you, or fuck you and me together, then let me know. I told you I’m not going to set a trap for any of my players.”
“OK, Coach, I’ll do it your way,” Jeff agreed. “Hey Coach, do you think it would be better if we practiced with Landen first? Since I know for a fact he’s got major wood for both of us? Like...I’ll still hit on Dewey after this morning’s practice, but kind of play it by ear as to when I try to hook up with him. See, like I can picture Dewey getting all ready and hot for me, but when it’s not going down quick enough to suit him, he texts me tonight and says, ‘Yo, dude, you said we were gonna fuck tonight,’ and I’m like, “Hey man, I’m just chillin’ with Coach...if you want to come over and fuck both of us, Coach is down with that.’”
I probably shouldn’t have, but I laughed my ass off over Jeff’s fantasy text exchange with Dewey. “So you can actually see Operation Dewey unfolding that way, huh?”
“Definitely,” Jeff said. “Why wouldn’t it?” “No reason,” I agreed, although I could think of dozens of reasons Operation Dewey wasn’t likely to go as Jeff had just described.
“So what do you think about Landen?” Jeff asked. “I could make his fucking year for him...if you tied us up and fucked both of us...or tied us up and made us fuck while you jacked off on us...no, while you pissed on us.”
“I’ll piss on you right now if you want,” I said, temporarily sidestepping the question of my cock in one of Landen’s holes. “C’mon.” “Really?” Jeff asked eagerly, starting to get up.
“Sure, why wouldn’t I do that if if would make you happy?” I replied. “I’ve got to  piss anyway, and if I keep sitting here talking to you I’m going to piss on you in my bed, which I’d rather not do.” Jeff followed me into my bathroom and I turned on the water in my walk•in shower. “Does this involve me doing anything other than hosing you down?”
“Uh, no water, Coach, not yet,” Jeff said, turning it off before he lay down on the shower floor. “You can turn it back on as soon as you’re done, and no, you don’t need to do anything else, not this time, just pee all over me...like in some of the piss•porn I’ve watched the guys usually end up jacking off or whatever, but we’re not doing that now.” Jeff’s cock was already rapidly filling with blood, presumably in anticipation of me pissing all over him. I stood over Jeff holding my dick, with my bladder about to burst, but my stream wouldn’t start. “It’s OK, Coach, just pretend I’m not here at first, you know, if you’re a little nervous.”
My stream finally started as a trickle, dribbling a little piss on Jeff’s ankles and shins, but then the dam broke and my urine surged out in a torrent, which I directed at every part of his beautiful body...except his face...mostly concentrating on pissing on his boner. “Fuck yeah, Coach!” Jeff shouted, and then stuck his face in my stream. It’s possible he opened his mouth...I recall seeing his beautiful white teeth. I thought I’d never stop pissing but, of course, I did, and quickly found myself getting hard. Maybe I’d already been getting hard, though not hard enough to shut off the urine flow before Jeff had - maybe - opened his mouth.
My boner, the fact that I’d boned•up in reaction to pissing all over a guy I was pretty sure I was dangerously, preposterously, falling in love with, embarrassed the fuck out of me. Jeff was laughing gleefully, though, and not at my boner, but in sheer pleasure. If I’d had to guess - and I did have to guess, because I didn’t have any experience with uriphilia - I’d have guessed that Jeff found some kind of liberation rather than humiliation in getting hosed down like that.
He extended his hand to me and I pulled him to his feet, then quickly turned on the shower to wash away the evidence of my defilement. “You fucking stud, Coach, you did it!” I didn’t share Jeff’s excitement and was a little disturbed that my principal reaction had become, by that point, a throbbing erection...and an overwhelming desire to hide it deep inside Jeff. I busied myself by washing him all over with handfuls of liquid soap. My soapy hand lingered between his ass cheeks and I felt my breathing change in response to a flood of hormones, hormones demanding that I fuck him right away.
“You want to fuck me now,” Jeff observed as he stroked my cock, “so just fucking do it.” He turned and braced against the wall, inviting me, and I accepted the temporary gift of his body. “Oh fuck yes,” I murmured as I entered his velvety•plush fuck•hole, and quickly, urgently, filled him all the way up, then fucked him as tenderly and gently as I knew how, for not very long at all, but for as long as I could under the circumstances, which I admittedly did not understand.
The whole episode was confusing, and bordering on disturbing, to me, but Jeff was happy as a well•fucked lark afterwards so I let it go. We all have our peccadilloes and I supposed that, while not my cup of tea, getting pissed on consensually was no more degrading than getting fucked in the ass consensually, which was very much my cup of tea.
I am usually the first to arrive before morning practice but the locker•room was already unlocked when I got there earlier than usual that Thursday morning. Mitchell was standing by his locker, and wearing only a jockstrap. His boxers and shirt were lying on the floor nearby and I realized that if I’d walked in only a few seconds sooner I’d have caught him pulling up his jock and seen his (allegedly) huge dick for myself.
“Morning, Coach,” he said with a big smile. I couldn’t take my eyes off the over•stuffed pocket of his jock, which provided more than enough evidence that Jeff hadn’t been exaggerating about the size of this skinny kid’s equipment. Actually, while he was slender, he didn’t look as thin as I’d  thought he was. Mitchell had nicely developed pecs, biceps and abs, and was one of those few guys who looked a fuck•load better naked than clothed.
Mitchell just kept standing there smiling at me, and I probably would’ve - and certainly should’ve - been embarrassed to have been so flagrantly checking out his bulging package, if Mitchell hadn’t pulled the waistband of his jock down a couple of inches and then stuck his hand down there to rearrange his junk. I could appreciate the fact that arranging all that junk probably took some doing...but he kept on rearranging his junk, smiling at me the entire time. I could see plenty of his red•hot pubic hair and the base of the big dick he was, let’s face it, playing with.
The kid was plainly fondling himself, only a couple notches shy of masturbating...also plainly for my benefit. “Did you want to see me, Coach?” he asked slyly, with more of a leer than a smile.


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.

Cover art by Kaola Oty


  1. Another hot episode, along with an incredibly intense erotic illustration. Thanks for turning us on to Kaola Oty. She's quite the artist.

  2. Well, folks, thank you for your comments!


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