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The Transfer Jock (58) -- By Jack Richards

Coach noted the dissension among some of his players




“Hey Coach, were you always queer?” Mitchell asked. Coach, Finn, Jeff and Max were in the hot tub, and post•fuck Mitchell and Dewey were on the surrounding deck, having come over from the CF fuck•platform to join the conversation.
“Not this queer, I’ve never been this fucking queer,” Coach replied, laughing. “I think I did always know that about myself, but I fought it harder than, say, Jeff, appears to be fighting it. I’d had more girlfriends, some seemingly serious, than secret boyfriends before I met Paul, and I finally began to accept the fact that I wasn’t really bi•sexual, as I’d been telling myself, I was just practicing heterosexuality to dampen the much stronger attraction I had to men. The way Paul’s cock felt inside me was largely, but not entirely, responsible for that new understanding of myself. Certainly that was the tipping point.”


“The only thing I’m fighting is Landen,” Jeff said, which made no sense to anyone other than Max, and for different reasons, Dewey. And while he didn’t say anything at the time, Coach noted the dissension among some of his players, which would need to be snuffed out quickly before it spread.
“Save me some of that whoop•ass, brother,” Dewey said to Jeff. “Coach, I was just telling Mitchell good•night. I’ve got to get home or my mom will be busting up in here with a switch. She’s got a rule that if I don’t tell her I’m spending the night out before I leave the house, I’m not spending the night out. Just wanted to say thanks for allowing me to hang out here tonight. I’ll see you in the morning, though.”
“There’s a lot of wisdom behind your mom’s rule, Dewey, so we’ll need to plan better next time,” Coach replied. Jeff noted that Coach didn’t directly respond to Dewey’s reference to their Saturday morning date.
“‘Night, homey, you were the best,” Mitchell told Dewey as he was getting dressed. “See you tomorrow.”
“You too, white boy,” Dewey replied, laughing, and then gave Mitchell a big kiss. “‘Night, guys.”
“What time is it, anyway?” Coach asked after Dewey left.
“I don’t think you want to know, Coach,” Finn said, looking at his watch.
“Don’t listen to him, Coach,” Jeff said, “he’s just trying to get you back in the sack.”
“Which is a great fucking idea,” Coach replied. “Mitchell, you’re welcome to sleep with us, or you and Finn can take the room at the end of the hall…after I make good on the promise I made him.” He stood up and climbed out of the hot tub, showing off his boner.
“If you guys are going to fuck again,” Mitchell said, “I’ll watch if you don’t mind, and then I’ll snuggle in with Finn and you.”
“Or we can go down the hall after, if Coach doesn’t want us to keep him up,” Finn suggested, “because I’ve still got something for you if you want it tonight.”
“Oh shit, I nearly forgot,” Jeff said, “Finn, Mitchell, would one of you guys fuck Alex in the morning? Or bend•over for him? It doesn’t matter which, mostly just entertain him while Coach is finishing his unfinished business with Dewey. I really just…can’t.”
“Sure, bro, one or both of us will take care of Alex,” Finn agreed after Mitchell nodded. “We’ll tell him you suddenly came down with a bad case of the clap.” Max laughed so hard he nearly spit up.
“I’ll be in in a few minutes,” Mitchell said when Coach and Finn headed inside. “I want to rinse off first.” Then he hopped into the hot tub with Jeff and Max. He and Jeff made eye contact, and whether it was the shit•eating grin on Mitchell’s face or the one of immense satisfaction on Jeff’s, or the sense of giddiness that accompanies love or infatuation and the happiness the friends felt for each other, or simply that they were enjoying their friendship - or some or all of any of those things - both of them cracked up, and one’s laughter fed the other’s and then drew Max in as well, such that the three of them were soon laughing (almost) uncontrollably.
After they finally managed to stop, Mitchell said, “C’mere, fucker, I love you, give me a fucking hug,” and threw his arms open to Jeff. Jeff and Mitchell hugged each other tight, pressing their hard, wet bodies together, their fat penises mashed or rubbing together, the two bros laughing again, though not as hard. That wasn’t exactly, or entirely, a sexual moment, but it wasn’t strictly a platonic either, and both of them must have felt the other’s accidentally swelling penis.
In fact, Mitchell fleetingly entertained the idea of kissing Jeff in that moment and, recalling the extraordinary act of kindness Max had shown him in the shower•room, then kissing Max, too, neither contemplated kiss a ‘friendly’ one but a lover’s kiss. Jeff no doubt would have kissed Mitchell had Max not been present, and had Mitchell kissed him then, Jeff would have returned the kiss, Max or no Max. Max, too, recognized the undercurrent of sexuality running between Mitchell and Jeff, and recalling how fucking good Mitchell had felt inside him for those two minutes in the shower•room, briefly considered that the three of them finding a bed in which to spend the remainder of the night together wouldn’t be such a bad thing at all, even though he wasn’t quite ready to share Jeff.
But that moment passed. Instead of kissing Jeff, Mitchell took him down, a wrestler’s move, tackling and dunking him in the hot tub, probably a move purposefully meant to break the heightening sexual tension between them. Jeff came up spluttering, still laughing, and promptly put Mitchell under. They hugged again when Mitchell came up, and that time they drew Max into their embrace, enjoying the added feel of his hard, wet body and somewhat engorged beer•can•cock pressed against the place where Mitchell and Jeff’s bodies came together. “Oh man, fuck, what a night…Dewey…” Mitchell said as pulled away from Jeff and Max, and sat down in the hot bubbling water.
“Somebody likes ‘big black cock,’” Max observed, laughing, “or at least one ‘big black cock’ in particular.”
“Oh fuck, was I that loud?” Mitchell asked, semi•horrified, previously unaware of how enthusiastically he’d urged Dewey on. “Did I sound terrible, like politically incorrect…or worse?”
“I don’t know what Dewey thought, but he seemed as giddy as you are,” Max replied, “and for what it’s worth, it sounded hot•as•fuck to me.”
“Agreed,” Jeff said, “and from what I could see, which was not nearly enough, it looked hot•as•fuck, too.”
“It was hot•as•fuck,” Mitchell confirmed, “but I would never have said the shit I was saying over there without asking Dewey first if he’d be offended. Like I gave him specific examples of what I was thinking but wanted to say out loud while he was drilling me. He laughed his ass off, and I guess it was kind of silly - ‘Hey Dewey, do you mind if I say, ‘Fuck me with your big black cock’ when you’re fucking me with your big black cock?’ He was cool, though, he said I could say any damn thing I wanted to as long as I included the word ‘BIG.’”
“Hey Mitchell, do you think Dewey would be disappointed if you subbed for Coach in the morning?” Jeff asked. “Finn could cover Alex…or vice versa.”
“No, I really don’t think he would mind,” Mitchell said. “Why, does Coach want to bail?”
“He hasn’t said that,” Jeff replied, “but his guilt is having a tug•of•war with his temptation, and his guilt is getting stronger. He said earlier that he was going to cut way back on the non•essential fucking of student•athletes after he got Finn broken•in…except for Sunday night, I mean, that’s still on.”
“Dewey thinks Coach is hot•as•fuck, of course, like we all do,” Mitchell said, “but I think his main thing was not getting left out of whatever was going on, and he probably figured the best way to do that was to bend•over for Coach. He knows the deal now, though, and he’s on board for Sunday night. I can sound him out in the morning, you know, to make sure his feelings don’t get hurt. But I really think Dewey’s kind of into me.”
“Duh,” Jeff agreed, and all three of them laughed. “Why don’t you run it by Coach, too, when you go inside to jack off? That is what you’re going to do, right? Jack off while you watch them fuck?”
“Fuck yeah it is,” Mitchell said, laughing. “I really don’t understand what you’ve got against masturbation. I happen to enjoy it and it doesn’t embarrass me to say so. Plus I really do want to watch them fuck.”
“I don’t have anything against masturbation,” Jeff said defensively. “I love to jack off, too. In fact, I think it would be hot for you and me to jack off together…like tomorrow, if you want to.”
“Sure I want to,” Mitchell replied, grinning. “Max, you want to beat off with us tomorrow?”
“That…or three•way sport•fucking,” Max replied, just before he kissed Mitchell, and not just a ‘friendly’ peck.
“Yeah, maybe that instead,” Mitchell said, surprised by the kiss, but liking the way Max’s tongue had felt against his. “Now I’m going to watch Finn’s second act since I missed his first. G’nite, you hot fuckers.”
Ten+ inches of thick rock•hard 17•year•old ginger cock was sticking out and up when Mitchell stood up. Jeff grabbed the tip of his friend’s boner and pulled it down to water level, releasing it to slap back against Mitchell’s taut, flat belly. THWAACK! Mitchell’s dick sounded like a beaver tail slapping the surface of a still pond.
When Mitchell walked into Coach’s bedroom, Finn was on his hands and knees on the bed, moaning, facing away from the door with Coach’s face planted in the first baseman’s crack. Mitchell didn’t have much experience with Finn’s crack since the two of them hadn’t advanced to fucking back in the spring, but he had seen his friend’s puckered pink hole and the riot of tight, curly blond hair spilling out of his crack, once (and Finn had seen his ginger•fringed tight pink hole once), and he’d fingered Finn a couple or three times while he’d been blowing him. He decided he wanted to do more than just see or even finger Finn’s crack again.
Mitchell stood next to Coach for a minute watching his tongue alternately licking and drilling into Finn’s pinkness, much as Coach had rimmed him until he had literally begged for Coach’s cock. He could do that, he decided. He tapped Coach on the shoulder and when Coach looked up, Mitchell whispered that he’d like to help. Coach moved aside, and Mitchell climbed on the bed behind Finn, first putting a hand on both firm, hairy cheeks and spreading them, next taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of Finn’s crack and hole, his big, heavy nuts hanging below. Then he dove in face first.
“Hey bro, what does my butt•hole taste like?” Finn asked Mitchell over his shoulder in order to keep from moaning like a bitch at the intensity of his friend’s performance.
“Mmm…peppermint soap,” Mitchell replied, “and I thank you for that.” They all laughed, but Coach’s boys learned very quickly that he believed good hygiene was essential for good sex, and that good anal hygiene didn’t ‘just happen.’ For example, before rimming Jeff the first time on Wednesday night and Mitchell on Thursday night, he hadn’t been shy about first scrubbing both of their asses with Dr. Bronner’s tingly peppermint soap, including the insertion and twirling of at least one soapy finger.
Mitchell had no doubt that, as recent an addition as Finn was to ‘the stable,’ he’d already received the same education (whether needed or not) and been subjected to the same treatment. Coach had also encouraged both Jeff and Mitchell to never miss an opportunity to soap their own asses or those of their partners, because you could never predict when someone might decide to bury his face in that crack.
Since Mitchell had never rimmed anyone before, no one had ever had reason to notice that he had a tongue seemingly designed and built for rimming, long and narrow, with an astonishing dexterity. Finn was the first to notice that difference as his eager red•headed friend brought his specially•evolved oral appendage, his keen observational skills and his usual dogged determination to succeed to bear on the asshole bared before him, which is to say that Mitchell pretty much drove Finn wild and had him ready to fuck in short order.
Finn’s ass had been eaten so well that part of him wanted Mitchell to be the one to fuck him even though he knew there wasn’t anyone at Coach’s house who could fuck him as well as Coach already had. Fortunately, he was reminded of just how rash a decision that would have been when he turned around after Mitchell had gotten up and saw Coach’s and Mitchell’s boners right next to each other. Mitchell had nearly three inches on Coach and the additional girth to support the extra length.
“Better stick it in, Coach,” Finn said, “before I change my mind and ask that guy with the lizard•tongue to fuck me.” And regret it.🏈

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 Joseph Sheppard


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