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The White Stud presents

The Transfer Jock (31) -- By Jack Richards

"I could well•imagine being arrested, handcuffed and frog•marched out of the field•house."


🏈🏈🏈.

Jeff had barged into my house to find Mitchell putting the wood to me, bent over the couch with my backside to the front door. I didn’t know that he had brought Dewey with him, and had immediately arranged for Dewey to step in behind me when Mitchell finished and vacated my ass. Having limited my corruption of student•athletes to two (thus far), I imagined that involving a third, Dewey - Student Athlete 3 - would be the tipping point for my arrest and prosecution…
Student•Athlete 1 [Jeff] was instead hiding behind the sofa laughing his ass off while ‘Student•Athlete 3’ (as Dewey would invariably be identified in my inevitable subsequent indictment) ‘anally penetrated his lascivious and depraved head football coach, who encouraged and commanded Student•Athlete 3’s moral degradation by shouting vile incitements to him such as ‘Oh fuck yes…fuck me with your [huge student penis]…’
While I’m no lawyer, even I understood that denying emphatically that at the moment in question (or ever) I had uttered the words ‘fuck me with your huge student penis,’ after reluctantly admitting that I had, in fact, said rather loudly (but not shouted) ‘Oh fuck yes…fuck me with your big dick,’ or words to that effect, would not be an especially compelling defense.
Nor did I believe that my explanation for using such language at that moment, which was that I had innocently believed I had been addressing Student•Athlete 1 (who had not fucked me in over 12 whole hours and, as a consequence of that cruel deprivation, I was missing him terribly), and not Student•Athlete 3, would tend to exonerate me in the slightest.

🏈🏈🏈.

Having slid head•first at jet•speed down that slippery slope of fucking student•athletes under my charge and expanding the circle of possible criminal complainants (or careless smack•talking braggarts, or innocent pillow•talk between one of my ‘conquests’ and some even less discreet queer he was boning when not boning me) to three, I knew it was only a matter of time before my awful secret got out.
I could well•imagine being arrested, handcuffed and frog•marched out of the field•house, and then prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for my crimes, with every ‘carnal touching’ of one of my student•athletes constituting a separate felony offense:
PROSECUTOR: “But you do admit that you also used such filthy and despicable language while being anally penetrated by Student•Athlete 2, a minor, do you not?”
“I do not,” I protested. “What I actually said to Student•Athlete 2, a well•endowed minor, was, ‘Fuck me with your GIANT ginger cock…NOW!’”
“And it is true, is it not, that when Student•Athlete 3 expressed reservations about proceeding with the act of anal intercourse, you demanded that he continue against his express wishes?”
“‘Demand’ is such a strong word,” I objected, “and I don’t recall Student•Athlete 3 ever expressing reservations about engaging in anal intercourse with me…see, I was confused about which student•athlete was actually fucking me at the time, and he offered to…um, discontinue…in favor of Student•Athlete 1, and I said, um, “Don’t you dare fucking stop!” So I can kind of see how you might misconstrue that as a ‘demand, but I was in no position to compel him to continue.’”
“But you weren’t satisfied with violating only Student•Athlete 2, a minor, and Student•Athlete 3, were you, Coach?” the prosecutor demanded, spitting the word ‘coach’ out of his mouth as if it had been a turd. “You then violated Student•Athlete 1, correct?”
“I would say I was MORE than satisfied,” I countered, “by the time, no, even before Student•Athlete 2, a minor with a huge penis, nutted explosively ten inches up my ass. He was also very well•satisfied, I might add. And I would argue that if anyone was violated it was ME, since I didn’t realize that Student•Athlete 3 was the student•athlete who happened to be fucking me, technically without my permission - but I didn’t feel violated at all.”
“Sir,” the prosecutor sneered, “immediately after engaging in anal intercourse with Student•Athlete 2, you engaged in anal intercourse with Student•Athlete 3, correct?”
“That’s true,” I admitted, “I just said that, but as for ‘engaging in anal intercourse,’ the student•athletes really handled all of the ‘engaging’ while I was taking care of the ‘receiving.’”
“And immediately after engaging in anal intercourse with Student•Athlete 3, you engaged in anal intercourse with Student•Athlete 1 in the presence of Student•Athletes 2 & 3, isn’t that true?”
“It is,” I agreed, “subject to the previous caveat.”
“And immediately after engaging in anal intercourse with Student•Athlete 1 in the presence of Student•Athletes 2 & 3, you pulled Student•Athlete 1 into your bedroom by his very large penis and shut the door, after telling Student•Athletes 2 & 3 that you intended to ‘severely punish’ Student•Athlete 1?”
“Yes, but—”
“The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

🏈🏈🏈.

Expecting Jeff’s thick rock•hard 18•year•old cock, I had gotten Dewey’s thick rock•hard 18•year•old cock instead, not that I think I could have told much, if any, difference between them. Had I known at that moment that Dewey was the one boning the fuck out of me, though, I would’ve mistakenly believed what I was experiencing was a rock•hard 17•year•old cock, since I didn’t yet know that Jeff had gotten just about everyone’s ages wrong but his own.
Finding out later that Dewey was in fact 18 provided only minimal comfort, not nearly enough to overcome the growing sense of dread engendered by the knowledge that I was then guilty of having sex with three, and not ‘just’ two, of the student•athletes under my tutelage and supervision. More troubling to me than the fact that I had corrupted yet another student•athlete, I’ll admit, was the fact that there was yet another witness to my crimes. No matter how much each of them assured me he would never tell a soul about what he and his friends had done with Coach, the more guys involved, the likelier the story would eventually get out. Jeff himself had already told (at least) two guys, Mitchell and Dewey, incidental to his recruitment of them.
But I didn’t know that yet. I was still bent all the way over the back of the couch, so the only thing I could see without straining my neck was the fabric on the couch. The first clue that everything was not as expected was, or should have been, immediately upon “Jeff’s”/Dewey’s penetration of me when I vaguely realized that “Jeff” was wearing a rubber, but I didn’t think then how odd it was for “Jeff” to have suddenly decided that he was into condoms after bare•backing me half•a•dozen times the day and night before.
It took a couple of minutes of straight•up hard fucking for my brain to register “Jeff’s” sudden condom use as being downright weird. I recall thinking during those first two or three minutes of ass•pounding that “Jeff” usually started slower and varied his tempo more, but I just assumed in the moment that zero•to•sixty pedal•to•the•metal butt•fucking was yet another of Jeff’s variations. And it’s not like I wasn’t enjoying his urgency or wanted him to slow down - I was enjoying the fuck out that man•ramming and had no intention of asking him to slow down.
What I never noticed, and probably should have, though, was the absence of low•hangers slapping against my ass. Getting pounded by Jeff like “Jeff” was pounding me then always put his big, loose nut•sack in rapid motion. And one thing that was (or should have been) a dead•giveaway that someone other than Jeff was cleaning my clock, but never occurred to me until afterwards, was the fact that Jeff ALWAYS runs his mouth non•stop while he’s fucking (top or bottom), and not just words, he makes all kinds of other noises, too - grunts, groans, yelps, shouts, you name it.
But “Jeff” wasn’t making a fucking sound, not with his mouth, and he hadn’t said a word. On later reflection, the only sound I could recall having heard while I still believed Dewey was Jeff, apart from Mitchell’s panting, was the squelching sound of a big, lubed, latex•covered cock being driven, repeatedly, into and pulled partially out of my gaping asshole before being slammed home again.
Presumably if the fucking had gone on long enough without “Jeff” running his mouth and without his balls slapping against my ass, I might have registered those oddities - but at the pace “Jeff” was keeping up, that fucking was destined to end soon. So if Dewey hadn’t shifted the grip of his hands from my hips to my shoulders, I might never have known that I was getting plowed by Dewey and not Jeff. The position of Dewey’s hands was not in itself a tell, though. It still took me deciding to stretch my neck and just happening to glance to my right to notice that the firm hand on that shoulder was black instead of white.
“Dewey??” I asked, momentarily confused. Of course it was Dewey. Sure, there were other black kids on my team, but none of them were queer as far as I knew, and Jeff hadn’t stuck around after practice to fuck any of those other kids. Dewey immediately stopped pumping his rock•hard 18•year•old cock into my ass.
“Yes, Coach?” he asked sheepishly as his stationary cock throbbed in my rectum, and Jeff laughed loudly in the background. You might think I was pissed off, but I wasn’t, certainly not at Dewey, whom I’d been plotting to fuck in the next day or so anyway, extra witnesses be damned. I really wasn’t even pissed at Jeff, though I was maybe a tad aggravated with him.
“Dewey, for God’s sake, don’t stop now,” I told him, “but I expect you to kiss me before you fuck me next time.” Dewey got back down to business without further ado. I expect the embarrassment of the situation or a desire to terminate the somewhat awkward encounter as soon as possible had something to do with how quickly Dewey got off after our very brief mid•fuck conversation, but like I said, with the amount of friction he had been creating, that fuck had been destined for an early ending anyway.
Dewey, ever obedient, was railing me full•speed again in no time, creating even more of that cock•on•smooth•muscle friction, and he was nutting soon after. Dewey came quietly but with authority, just like he fucked. If the period of time during which Dewey’s grip on my shoulders suddenly became a vice•grip until that grip finally relaxed is any measure of the intensity of his orgasm and how long it took him to drain his balls, that must have been a huge fucking load expelled with force into his rubber.
“We might as well finish this train, Jeff,” I said after Dewey pulled his spent cock out of my fuck•tunnel, “before I punish the fuck out of you.

🏈



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 Bruno Sprats.


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