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The White Stud presents

The Transfer Jock (50) -- By Jack Richards

Mitchell also cooperated by achieving the perfect, rod-hard erection

 
🏈🏈🏈.
“C’mon, Max, I want to show you something very fucking cool,” Jeff said as they walked toward the cabana.
“Yeah, his big, fat watermelon🍉dick,” Finn quipped, and all five of them laughed. Jeff loved hearing that shit.

🏈🏈🏈.

As soon as their soon•to•be•fucking friends were out of earshot, Finn added, “I gotta say, those two very hot guys are fucking sizzling hot together, like they’re on fire just beneath the surface.” Finn was quite content to wait his turn, but he badly wanted a turn (or seven) with his hunky new friend with the watermelon🍉dick.
He hoped Jeff’s wink had meant that Coach had agreed to initiate him that night in the mysteries of ass•fucking, not just because Coach was hot•as•fuck in his own right, which he was, but because the sooner that happened, the sooner Jeff could start shoving his watermelon🍉dick up his tight ass, provided he could be pried off of Max, who was almost as hot as Jeff. Finn was thinking a sandwich fuck with Jeff plugged into him and himself plugged into Max would be just about perfect. So would a reversal of that lineup, he realized.
“Right,” Mitchell agreed, “like they’re about to burn down Coach’s cabana.” Finn’s hand found Mitchell’s thick semi•hard cock underwater and stroked him a few times, and Mitchell signaled his willingness for more by spreading his legs further apart. “Sit up on the edge and I’ll get that monster perfectly hard for Dewey,” Finn whispered huskily as he kissed Mitchell’s neck and ear. Mitchell complied, of course, with Coach happily watching, and closed his eyes in pleasure as Finn deep•throated most of his semi for the first time in months.
Mitchell also cooperated by achieving a perfect rock•hard erection, too much cock even for Finn, the most accomplished deep•throat artist he knew, to take. So Finn adjusted and concentrated on the large head and next three or four inches of Mitchell’s huge ginger cock for a couple more minutes. He wanted the huge cock he was sucking to be the third one up his ass, though he wondered at the wisdom of that desire. And he got hard at the thought of fulfilling his promise of that afternoon to fuck Mitchell that night. Even if Dewey stayed over he was sure they could work something out that got all of their rocks off.
Mitchell brought the incipient full•fledged blowjob, as enjoyable as it was, to a screeching halt by saying, “So, Finn, I hear you’re going to get laid tonight.”
Finn popped up immediately. “I am?” he asked eagerly, looking wide•eyed first to Mitchell, then to Coach. “Fuck yes!”
Coach laughed, amused by Finn’s obvious delight. “You’re not half as happy about our, um, ‘appointment,’ as I am, Finn. I haven’t wanted anyone as desperately as I want you since I wanted Jeff so desperately and then wanted Mitchell so desperately.” The three of them laughed easily together.
Finn, a very smart guy, then said, “Coach, I’ll just say one thing and then we can stop embarrassing each other and just enjoy our time together: After being introduced to all that talent this afternoon on your sidelines, Mitchell basically asks me, ‘So who do you want?’ and I said, ‘No. 1, why didn’t you offer Coach? That’s my first choice. No. 2, Jeff and Mitchell.’”
“You’re right,” Coach said, blushing a bit, “that’s enough bullshit from both of us, even if it is all true.”
“Yo! Anybody home?” Dewey called from inside the house. “C’mon out, Dewey! We’re by the pool!” Coach shouted back.
“Finn, let’s go inside and have a drink after we say hello to Dewey, what do you say?” Coach asked while Dewey made his way to the hot tub. “10/4, Coach,” Finn agreed, feeling a certain tingling in his butt•hole. Dewey was greeted by the pleasing sights of his date’s huge erection, and Finn and Coach climbing out of the hot tub, both with fat, partially aroused, mostly dangling dicks, one noticeably fatter, more aroused and less dangling than the other, older, but still beautiful, cock.
“Fuuuck, Finn,” Dewey said, fist•bumping him, “very fucking nice. I’m glad to see ALL of you, brother.” Turning his gaze from Finn’s fine piece of beef, he next feasted on Coach’s. “Hey Coach, looking forward to finishing our unfinished business mañana.” Finally, “Lil’ bro, I am so fucking glad to be your date tonight.” Dewey, also a smart guy, understood the value of breaking all the ice on the front end, and further understood that when your date greets you not only naked but with the biggest boner you’ve ever seen, it’s entirely appropriate to kiss him lustily and claim that cock as your own before anyone else does by grabbing it firmly and not letting go of it. That is, not until your date clears his throat and nods very intentionally at your bulging shorts.
“A•ight, a•ight,” Dewey said, laughing, “I know the house rules.” He quickly peeled off his T•shirt, revealing his perfect milk•chocolate physique, kicked off his deck shoes and dropped his shorts, no underwear. Finn, who’d been waiting around for a look at Dewey’s cock, whistled appropriately. “Thanks, my man. Whoa! What the fuck? Who’s that wrestling over there?” Finn, already familiar with the ‘wrestling’ underway across the pool, excused himself to join Coach for a whiskey and, ultimately, his own butt•fucking:

1. Team
2. Killer Rimming
3. Let Max Decide

Whoever was rolling around together in the cabana on that bed or whatever it was were kind•of•wrestling, but not so much, Dewey realized when one of the two sweat•slickened gladiators, having momentarily pinned the other and, sitting astride him, bent forward and kissed him passionately, with his (the gladiator on top’s) hand tightly gripping his co•combatant’s cock (though it was too dark to really see the cock), and when that kiss ended the gladiator underneath knocked his lover•assailant off of him with a limber leg sweep to the chest, quite an athletic move, and rolled on top of him, pinning the gladiator who’d just had him pinned, and grabbing his cock or balls (again, too dark to see the meat). Then the gladiators were mostly rolling around kissing and hugging, grinding junk against junk, touching and grabbing each other everywhere, here a face buried in an open armpit, there a nipple being sucked through a shirt (oddly, both gladiators were totally nude, except that one of them was wearing only a sleeveless shirt), then one of the gladiators, the one wearing the muscle shirt, flopped over onto his belly, seemingly by agreement or prearranged signal, his ass up and legs spread apart, the other momentarily kneeling behind him, his large hard cock visible in profile for an instant as he spread apart his prone comrade’s ass cheeks…
“He’s about to fuck that dude!” Dewey said excitedly.
…but he, the boned•up gladiator, wasn’t about to fuck that dude, not yet anyway. Instead, he stretched out and buried his face in the other gladiator’s ass crack…
“That’s Jeff!” Dewey exclaimed. “Jeff and…uh…uh…whose ass is Jeff eating?”
“Max’s,” Mitchell replied.
“Max? The backup QB? Not that Max?” Dewey asked, still transfixed by the wildly erotic scene unfolding across the pool.
“That same Max,” Mitchell said.
“Max? Max is a fucking homo??” Dewey asked, not believing his eyes. “Why don’t they just fuck? Do we know if that kid has a dick on him? Why I never saw him naked?”
“They’ve already fucked once,” Mitchell replied, choosing to answer the second of Dewey’s questions. “This is Round 2.” The answer to Dewey’s first question, whether Max was a fucking homo, was self•evident.
“Why haven’t I ever seen his dick?” Dewey repeated his last question.
“Bad luck, I guess,” Mitchell said, answering both the fourth and third of Dewey’s questions. Dewey was rock•hard by then. “Because that guy’s got dick for days.”
“Shee•it, white boy,” Dewey said, laughing. “YOU got dick for days.”
“We could start a club, bro,” Mitchell said, “but I hope I’m about about to get fucked instead.”
“You are, that’s true,” Dewey said, “right after you split me wide open with that dick I started dreaming well before you started showing it off in the locker•room.” Dewey had had a thing for Mitchell since before camp had opened that summer, that much was certain, and he’d been speculating for some time that Mitchell’s typical baggy gym•shorts were concealing a bigger prize than anyone else (except for that cock•hound tight•end) would’ve guessed. When Coach had mercifully ordered the manager to start showering with the team (because Coach had wanted to see Mitchell’s dick, too, Dewey had presumed, before he’d followed Jeff into Coach’s house and seen Mitchell boning the fuck out of Coach) Dewey wasn’t as surprised as everyone else (except for that cock•hound tight•end, who was already tapping the manager) by Mitchell’s endowment, but he’d still been surprised by the scope of his endowment.
What had pleased Dewey even more than Mitchell’s cock, to his further surprise, was what a fucking gym•rat Mitchell had been revealed to be once he’d lost his over•sized sweatshirt. Dewey had been awed by Mitchell’s definition and, to his eye, his perfect proportions. When he’d finally seen Mitchell naked in the locker•room the day before he’d gotten an instant hard•on staring not at Mitchell’s giant ginger cock, but at his pert pink nipples.
“And you can split me wide open with that big dick of yours right after you let me suck your perfect nipples.”🏈



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 Theo Blaze


Comments

  1. Nice to see the Coach and his team back, wishing my thick boner was securely ensconced in Max, Jeff, Mitchell, Dewey, Finn, Landon or Coach. Perhaps all lined up for me to to ' dip & dive ' playing a game of Russian roulette to see who gets my bullet!!

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