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The White Stud presents

The Transfer Jock (63) -- By Jack Richards


“What’s your number, Mitchell?”

๐Ÿˆ๐Ÿˆ๐Ÿˆ.

“Hey Mitchell, what do you say we skip our three a.m. naps…and just fuck now?” Max asked. He kissed Mitchell hungrily and Mitchell returned the kiss, reaching for Max’s nearly hard cock, stroking him lightly, helping Max get completely hard. Max’s hands, one of them anyway, was firmly gripping one of Mitchell’s smooth butt•cheeks, sliding into Mitchell’s crack… “Jeff is leaking out of you,” Max whispered, “I want to taste the two of you all mingled together.”
“Eat my ass, and then fuck me,” Mitchell said urgently, “against the wall.”

๐Ÿˆ๐Ÿˆ๐Ÿˆ.

Max and Mitchell climbed out of bed gingerly to avoid waking Jeff, not because they didn’t want him to know they were going to fuck without him - he’d made it clear he was cool with them fucking - but because they knew if he was sleeping, he needed to be. Mitchell knew first•hand that a series of short cat•naps during the wee hours could extend Jeff’s fucking stamina considerably. Max knew the same thing because Jeff had told him that.
Mitchell leaned into and braced against the wall separating the bedroom from the bathroom. Max crouched behind him, parting his lean, milky•white ass•cheeks. The cum he’d felt with his hand a moment before was oozing out of Mitchell’s tight pink hole and trickling down his crack, some of it gumming up the bright red hair surrounding Mitchell’s asshole. Max licked his crack bottom to top, lapping up the trickles first, then licked and sucked the ooze oozing from Mitchell’s puckered hole before attacking the globules of cum nesting here and there in his crack hair. “Yep, that’s Jeff’s, alright,” Max confirmed, “plus a fresh application of peppermint soap.”
Mitchell was glad he’d taken Coach’s advice to scrub his ass whenever he had the chance, and he had thoroughly washed his with tingly Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint Soap after leaving Jeff and Max in the hot tub and before settling into Coach’s lonely love•lounge to wait for Coach to finish fucking Finn with kid gloves (or really to START fucking him, he reflected). That quick scrubbing had been undertaken with Finn in mind, but as Coach had said, ‘you can never predict when somebody might want to bury his face in [your] crack.’ He was doubly glad he’d spent that extra minute when Max’s curled tongue pushed through his asshole and began licking him on the inside, a style of rimming that he and Jeff had picked up from Coach, and that Max had obviously picked up from Jeff.
Mitchell, who had ‘the soul of a bottom,’ could not withstand much of that treatment at all before the cock•craving that resided deep in his bowels was triggered and he began demanding Max’s cock. At 3:00 in the morning or whatever similar time it was, Max didn’t have to be asked twice, and Mitchell knew as well as Max that fucking some guy, or even fucking a lover, in the wee hours, especially after a night of ample sex for both, did not call for cock•artistry; if anything were required beyond a stiff dick and a willing asshole, it would be closer to urgency than finesse.
Urgency was more than fine with Mitchell; urgency for Max’s beer•can•cock, with which Max had urgently punctuated the ‘legendary’ Homecoming Night of his own ‘legendary’ twin brothers, the Homecoming King and Queen who had just fucked each other in the ass in front of a crowd of their straight friends and classmates, male and female, and had then been fucked in the ass by no fewer than five of the ‘straight’ males but had still come home demanding to be fucked by their kid brother with his beer•can•cock; urgency for that cock was exactly what Mitchell felt.
Max, too, felt an urgency for Mitchell, no doubt fueled in part by hearing the full story of that wicked Homecoming Night (the naughtiness or shamelessness of which, rightly or wrongly, had plainly aroused him), but his urgency was driven more by physical attraction and a related fascination with the paradox presented by Mitchell’s almost•cherubic good looks, which conveyed such a strong sense of ‘innocence,’ and the reality upon closer examination that Mitchell was anything but innocent. And he was also attracted by Jeff’s attraction to Mitchell and by Mitchell’s own attraction to him (Max). So urgency wasn’t a problem for Max either - not in theory, anyway.
For sure Max fucked Mitchell urgently and, not surprisingly, Mitchell found that very satisfying. And the girth of Max’s fully aroused beer•can•cock was more than satisfying. But despite the urgency both felt, and the friction that urgency created, Max was almost all•fucked•out, and might have been all•fucked•out in fact if Jeff hadn’t intervened. After fucking Mitchell for what seemed like a long time, especially for that time of night, and trying every variation he could think of, Max just couldn’t get over the hump to snatch that elusive final orgasm of the night, and he was afraid that his fruitless pounding was becoming a chore for Mitchell, who was doing everything he could to help Max get off. Max had begun to believe that he’d had his final orgasm when he’d auto•nutted earlier with Mitchell’s giant cock up his ass, and having thoughts like that were not helping.
“Don’t try so hard,” Jeff suddenly whispered into Max’s ear as he kissed and nibbled on it from behind, his hands gripping Max’s biceps and his boner pressed into Max’s crack. “Slow down,” he breathed into that ear. “Slow way down. Take a deep breath.” And as Max slowed down, slowly inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, Jeff stepped slightly to the side, removing his cock from Max’s crack to make way for his finger, which penetrated Max, finding and massaging his prostate. At the same time Jeff reached around Max and massaged his fat low•hangers, kneading some vitality back into Max’s tired, heavy nuts. For Jeff, massaging Max’s nut•sack alone had been worth getting out of bed for.
The double•sided massage helped, but didn’t quite get Max over the hump. “Go balls•deep,” Jeff whispered, “and then take a breather.” While Max was parking his beer•can as deep inside Mitchell as he could get, with his fat balls hugging Mitchell’s ass, Jeff was lubing his cock, and once Max was parked Jeff penetrated his nut•brown hole and drove into him hard. Max didn’t nut then, but he thought he might, and as he and Jeff synched their gentler thrusts, and Mitchell rocked his ass back onto his driving cock, he began to feel confident for the first time in quite a few minutes that he would nut, and soon. A half a dozen more deep thrusts, matched perfectly by Jeff, and Max was finally, gloriously pumping the absolute last of his night’s cum into that hot fucking red•head. After a minute’s respite, during which three panting, sweating bodies pressed against one another, and one of those three pressed hard against the wall, Jeff whispered, “Now let Mitchell out…he’s suffered enough.”
“The Cock•Whisperer fucks awesome,” Max replied. He withdrew from Mitchell as Jeff suggested, and Mitchell scooted out from between Max and the wall, and then flopped down on the bed to watch Jeff wrap up his unfinished business. Then Jeff fucked Max as gently and as passionately as he would have wanted Max to fuck him if their positions had been reversed, but not as patiently. Nor was Max patient in grinding his talented ass against Jeff’s thrusting watermelon๐Ÿ‰dick. Jeff and Max were lying on the bed laughing (and panting) with Mitchell within a couple of minutes.
“Thirteen,” Mitchell had said when they joined him.
“We’re not counting,” Jeff said (sort of) adamantly, “but if that’s right it would be bad luck to stop there. Kind of like having a pin•prick in your rubber, you know, if any of us used rubbers.”
“Couldn’t you squeeze one more out, like right before dawn, if you slept an hour or two? Mitchell asked Jeff. They all knew there wasn’t much point in asking Max. “I mean, this isn’t a weekend to be courting bad luck.”
“What’s your number, Mitchell?” Max asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Um, 14,” he admitted. “I could set my alarm for you guys.”
“Go ahead and set it,” Jeff replied, “but I’m not making any promises. And if I can’t wake up Max or I can but he understandably doesn’t want me to fuck him again at 5:30 in the morning, then you’re bending over. What’s in it for you, anyway?”
“A hundred bucks,” Mitchell replied, “well, $80, net. A number costs $20, so me, Dewey and Finn each threw in $20, and Coach bought two numbers.”
“If I squirt again before dawn,” Jeff said, “you owe me $20, even if you get DQ’d for cheating, trying to improperly influence the outcome.”
“What’s improper?” Mitchell asked. “Are you saying you don’t want to get off with Max again?”
“Nope,” Jeff replied, “what I’m saying is it wouldn’t be any sweat off my balls to rollover at 5:30 when your alarm goes off and go back to sleep for another hour before I get off again. Who’s got 13 anyway?”
“Finn,” Mitchell said. “Coach has 12 and 11, Dewey’s got 10, which I tried to tell him was way to low.” Jeff was gratified that a stud like Finn had the confidence in him and Max to go high with 13.
“Hey guys,” Mitchell said after a minute or so of silence and the breathing patterns in the room lengthened, “thanks again for letting me crash with you.”
“Fuck that, bro,” Jeff said, “we‘re fuck•brothers. This is what fuck•brothers do.”
“Hey guys, why is this a fucking guest room?” Mitchell asked as he studied the vaulted ceiling and loft above him in the dark. “Like why doesn’t Coach make this his fuck•nest?”
“Because it’s haunted,” Max replied.
“Oh,” Mitchell said, “that makes sense. What’s up there?” he asked, pointing at the loft.
“That’s where the ghosts fuck,” Max said. The three fuck•brothers slept then, entwined: the tall, lanky, smooth 18•year•old transfer•jock, a cock•whisperer with dimples, a watermelon๐Ÿ‰ dick and a knack for ass•fucking; the cherubic, youthful 17•year•old ginger team manager with the biggest dick anybody at their school had ever seen; and the tall, lanky, hairier 16•year•old backup QB with an 18•year•old beer•can•cock and a pair of legendary queer brothers who’d shown him the ropes.
Mitchell won the pool before his alarm even went off, when Jeff woke Max up about thirty minutes early with an insistent boner pressing into the sophomore’s crack, which Max gladly accommodated. While they fucked as quietly as possible, Mitchell was right beside Max so there was no way he could’ve slept through the rocking of the bed, especially as the urgency of the rocking increased. When Jeff moaned and shuddered, and then collapsed against Max, Mitchell smiled to himself in the dark. Both Max and Jeff were already asleep again by the time Mitchell’s alarm went off 15 or 20 minutes later, and both slept through it as Mitchell shut it off and rolled over to go back to sleep.๐Ÿˆ



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 Ruslahka


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