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The Transfer Jock (60) -- By Jack Richards

"I'll be in in a few minutes!"



“Mitchell, man, whatever I’m doing,” Jeff had assured him, “me getting reamed by the hottest QB on the team, ‘watching game film’ with Coach, taking a shit, you name it - you are always fucking invited.” [#49]


“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 one 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 had passed, and Mitchell had gone inside to watch Coach fuck Finn in his sweet ass for the second time.
“Better stick it in, Coach,” Finn had said, “before I change my mind and ask that ginger horse•hung guy with the lizard•tongue to fuck me instead.” [#58]


The second time Finn got fucked in the ass was very much like the first, with a few small but important differences, but Mitchell didn’t know anything about the differences since he hadn’t been present the first time. The most immediately recognizable difference to anyone who had witnessed (or lived through) both, would have been that Finn was on his hands and knees, ass up and head and chest tucked, rather than on his back with his knees pulled to his chest.
Another obvious difference (if you checked underneath him, as Mitchell did) was that Finn was hard throughout much of the second fucking. During that first fucking, Finn had mostly been flaccid, with his fat, beer•can•cock flopping and bouncing all over (and beyond) his neatly trimmed patch of cotton•blond pubic hair, a visual that Jeff had found especially hot. A third difference was that while there were still a number of brief pauses in the action, there weren’t as many and they were all much shorter than during Finn’s first time to bottom. The most important difference, although not with respect to the actual fucking of Finn, but as concerned Mitchell and what happened later, was probably the fact that there wasn’t another couple fucking in the love•lounge in the corner of the room. Of course, Mitchell hadn’t known anything about that second couple fucking in the same love•lounge into which he eventually settled to watch Coach put the wood to Finn.
In point of fact, however, there was no longer a love•lounge in the corner of the room, because early in the fucking, just after Mitchell had slid his head underneath Finn to check on the quality of his erection (firm), and had ended up sucking Finn’s thick, uncut cock for a couple of minutes while Coach worked his way into Finn’s dark interior, and had then extricated himself to watch the ‘real’ fucking, Mitchell had dragged the love•lounge from the corner of the room right over to the edge of the bed for a better view of the action. Then after settling in and spitting into his hand as he got ready to stroke one out, Mitchell had seen Coach’s Astro•glide lying on the bed, so he had gotten up to help himself to some lube, and finally settled back into the love•lounge to begin lubing his huge cock.
By the time that Mitchell had observed the initial penetration, slid underneath the fucking couple and sucked Finn’s gorgeous beer•can•cock for a couple of minutes, rearranged the furniture, lay back and then gotten up to grab the lube and gotten settled again, Coach already had more than half his dick up Finn’s chute. He was beginning to work backwards by the time Mitchell was stroking in earnest, and had surrendered all but about the first three inches, but Coach was working those inches pretty well, and with increasing speed.
Given all the noise he was making, Finn seemed to be enjoying that tenderizing process. It looked like an interesting technique to Mitchell, but also one that, with so much attention focused on the head of the cock, Mitchell figured would have already cost him his load if he’d been doing the same shit to Finn. Then Coach pushed his thick cock back in at least as far as he’d been before he’d retreated, and Mitchell could tell it was a tight fucking fit, because it hadn’t been easy, not one quick thrust by any means. Coach claimed maybe another difficult inch then (and Mitchell wouldn’t have known this, but that difficult inch had yielded slightly easier than it had the very first time Coach’s cock had claimed it).
Mitchell calculated that Coach finally had between five and six inches (reasonably) comfortably up Finn’s butt and decided he ought to slow his stroke down until they were actually fucking (which Mitchell defined as establishing an out•in•out rhythm after hitting balls•deep depth; no one knows how or where Mitchell picked up such a miserly definition of fucking, since all he would say is, ‘That’s just what I believe’). Mitchell noted that Coach was indeed a patient lover, but he wasn’t struck by that fact; what struck him was that Jeff, who had topped him the first and second times he’d been topped, had probably been even more patient the second time he’d fucked him. Granted, it probably was harder work to thread Jeff’s watermelon🍉dick into a tight pink hole than it was Coach’s lesser but not inconsiderable cock.
Mitchell also noted that as patient as Jeff had been, he probably hadn’t been as tender and loving as Coach, who he thought was almost pampering Finn, when he really ought to have already been fucking him (as Mitchell defined ‘fucking’). He couldn’t help but think that as insistent as Finn had been to fuck him back in the spring, he seriously doubted Finn would have been half as patient in shoving his fat cock up his (Mitchell’s) tight pink hole if he (Mitchell) had yielded to him (Finn) in April as Finn had wanted. No, as good a dude as Finn was, he wouldn’t have fucked him in April as well as Jeff had in August.
Mitchell was glad he had waited until August for Jeff (not that he had planned in April to give it up in August, nor to give it up to the transfer•jock, who in April had not yet transferred and was still unknown to Mitchell), though he was beginning to tire of waiting for Coach to finish (they still weren’t even actually fucking yet), because he didn’t want to wait for Finn’s cock up his ass any longer. Unless he’d stayed with Jeff and Max, he suddenly thought (to his own surprise), THEN he wouldn’t have minded waiting for Finn’s cock for several more hours, or days, even. Plus, Mitchell figured, Finn had been waiting since April to fuck him, so what was the big deal about another half•night or so of delay?
Mitchell barely noticed that Coach and Finn were actually fucking (even by his definition, if fitfully) as he replayed the hot tub scene, wishing he’d kissed both Jeff and Max when he’d thought of doing it…he’d be with them on the fuck•platform or wherever they were fucking then, instead of masturbating while Coach pampered Finn, which he frankly was not finding to be much of a stimulus for his masturbation…and, fuck, when Max had kissed him, and then the WAY Max had kissed him! Because he’d known that Jeff would’ve happily welcomed him into their huddle…but he hadn’t been so sure about Max, even though they’d probably already fucked each other like a million times by then, and how long was he supposed to ‘give them their space,’ anyway? But the way Max had kissed him! That had been something. He shouldn’t have left them after that kiss. They’d have been taking turns on him by then. And he’d be fucking them, too, which he wasn’t going to get to with Finn, not that night, no matter how long he waited for Finn to fuck him.
That was when Mitchell got out of the love•lounge and left the bedroom, and walked to the back of the house to scan the CF fuck•platform for writhing bodies through the window. No bodies, writhing or otherwise. He checked the pool and hot tub. Nothing. Probably just as well, what would he have really done if he had seen them? ‘I would’ve thrown myself right into the fucking middle of them and made something really good happen, like at least another group•hug,’ he assured himself just before he turned to return to his lonely love•lounge. ‘Besides, they’re both probably tired of fucking a perfect guy by now…’
As he turned reluctantly to go back to his love•lounge, however, Mitchell saw a dim light flick on in that room with the high roof behind the hot tub…and watched a tall, lanky figure cross the room, or cross from one side of the double set of french doors to the other, out of sight again. He thought that had probably been Jeff, but as similar as his and Max’s builds were, it was impossible to tell which it was from that distance and in that lighting. Mitchell froze…would he really barge in there and pile up in the middle of those two hot•as•fuck lovers? And when the tall, lanky figure crossed back across the french doors and then a moment later the dim light flicked off, Mitchell knew it was then or never, before they started fucking again or, worse, fell asleep. He felt his cock throb optimistically as his hand turned the knob to the outside door and then, to his surprise, he was striding across the patio toward those darkened french doors.
Mitchell rapped lightly on the glass panes of the french doors and then turned the knob and pushed. The doors weren’t locked. “Hey guys, it’s Mitch—” “Mitchell?!?” two voices sounded in unison out of the pitch black. “Mitchell, get your ass over here and get in bed with us!” That was Max. “Trust me, brother…two steps straight ahead, then launch yourself…you’ll land in open arms.” That was Jeff. “C’mon, you ballsy fucker.” Jeff again. Mitchell trusted, and leapt into the dark…to land in Jeff’s waiting arms and then be wrestled into the space that had opened between Jeff and Max.
“Fuck, dude,” Jeff said, laughing, “we’re fucking•A glad you joined us, but bringing a pre•lubed cock up in here is pretty fucking presumptuous…” (So we know that Jeff already had at least one hand on Mitchell’s pre•lubed boner). Mitchell couldn’t respond immediately because his and Max’s tongues were already probing each other’s mouths, but Mitchell couldn’t keep his lizard•tongue out of Jeff’s mouth, either, so he alternated briefly between the two of them, telling Jeff in between kisses how much he had missed him, and apologizing to Max in between kisses for crashing his private time with Jeff, even as he wrapped his long, slender fingers around Max’s thick, rock•hard 16•year•old cock for the very first (and not the last) time, and Max responded passionately.
“Whoa, whoa,” Jeff said, as he moved to turn on a lamp, not referring to Mitchell grabbing Max’s cock, to which he certainly would not have objected even if he had seen it before he’d turned on the dim lamp. “You’re welcome here, Mitchell, more than that, we’re fucking glad you’re here, but tell us what’s going on. Did something happen? Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, bro,” Mitchell said, settling back into Max’s arms, which was a fuck•load more comfortable than the love•lounge in Coach’s bedroom. “It’s just that masturbation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and I was kind of getting frustrated by how much Coach was pampering that baby Finn, you know? Like, just go ahead and fuck him for Chrissakes…and I started thinking I should’ve just asked you guys earlier if I could hang with you…like the only reason I kept watching all that pampering inside was I wouldn’t have minded finally getting fucked by Finn, you know, if I didn’t have to wait all fucking night, and then…remember me telling you yesterday how you were the first guy I’d ever wanted to top me, not Finn? And then I remembered you saying earlier tonight that I was always invited, whatever you were doing, taking a shit or getting pounded by the hottest QB on the team, who happens to have his arms around me right now, by the way…so here I am, and I really hope you guys don’t mind…I mean, I just want to be with you, I’ll be quiet and not even beat off while you guys fuck or whatever…”
Jeff snuggled on top of Mitchell then, laying his head on his friend’s chest. “Yeah, we get all that, Mitchell,” Max replied, “but we’re not interested in you lying around being quiet while we do anything that doesn’t include you, unless you’re all fucked out…and you don’t look all fucked out. We’re not either, not quite, but I’d say we’re…satisfied—” “Um…” Jeff started to interrupt, perhaps not yet fully satisfied.
“Shush,” Max said, cutting Jeff off. “All I’m saying is, Mitchell, you tell us what you most need right now, and we’re both yours.” Jeff relaxed. He was pretty sure he knew what Mitchell would want, given a wide•open choice like that. His only question was whether Mitchell would speak up. “Honestly, what I need is just this,” Mitchell replied, “being connected to both of you. I can’t tell you how much better I feel already. But…but if you’re going to fuck again anyway, then what I’d like most is to be connected to both of you by cocks in cock•sockets.”
Jeff laughed. He’d nailed it. “Sandwich•fuck, Mitchell in the middle it is. Where do you want us?” he asked. “Whose cock in whose socket?” “Watermelon🍉dick or beer•can•cock up my ass?” Mitchell asked, laughing. “Since I don’t know who wants or needs to nut next between the two of you, you guys pick that. I’m going to love this either way.”
Jeff looked to the Decider, who quickly decided. “Jeff you connect to Mitchell, and Mitchell, you connect to me.” Max had nutted last, not long before Mitchell had observed him through the french doors crossing the room to the bathroom. While Max could’ve fucked Mitchell then, and would have enjoyed the fuck out of doing just that, he thought he probably had only one orgasm left before he was done, so he decided to try to save that for Jeff, though it wasn’t a big deal to him. What was a much bigger deal to him was cementing his connection with Jeff, and something told him there was no better way of doing that, not at that moment anyway, than for him to feel as connected as he could to Mitchell, and like Jeff, there was no more intimate connection for Max than to be completely filled up by another hot guy. Plus, the idea of having 10+ inches of cock rammed home inside him excited Max as much as it would any guy.
“You guys entertain yourselves for a few minutes while I take care of some personal business,” Max added as he wiggled out from under Mitchell and Jeff, and headed to the bathroom.
“Well, you heard him,” Jeff said to Mitchell as he wiped the lube off of Mitchell’s still•hard cock with a damp rag he took from a bedside table, “and I can’t think of anything more entertaining than five minutes of 69 before a sandwich•fuck with my two favorite dudes.”🏈

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 Bruce Sergeant


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