Tag Archives: locker room

Masseurs Gone Wild: The College Locker Room

Here’s the beginning of Masseurs Gone Wild: The College Locker Room, a hot new story by Happiest Ending!

 

“Oh shit, lemme tell Jeremy my dick got hard- Hang on.” Donald got up and poked his head out the door. He yelled, “Hey, Jeremy, you were wrong! Hey! You are a fucking idiot, man, I told you I can get hard for anything.”
Jeremy shouted something back. Ethan couldn’t hear what it was, but it made Donald guffaw, his thick body shaking as he did. Donald was a little ruddy right now, his rock-hard dick jutting out between his legs. He smiled at Ethan.
“Sorry, sorry, that’s my friend Jeremy. He’s a prickhole.” Donald knew that Ethan already knew Jeremy, he was just explaining because he forgot that fact. It was Jeremy who had urged Donald to come get a massage because Jeremy frequently did so.
“Sure, that’s fine. Just lay down, Donald. You have to stay still,” Ethan said.
Donald sheepishly laid back down on his belly on the table. He had such a perfectly thick ass that Ethan had to resist the urge to suck all the sweat off him. Donald was a rugby player for GHU, and Ethan was a masseur for the athletic department. He kneaded the flesh of Donald’s muscles. Donald closed his eyes, but he didn’t look particularly relaxed — he looked bored, like he was only doing this because someone had told him he should.
“Hey, do you massage girls too?”
“Yes,” Ethan said.
“Do you ever massage Katie Marleywine?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about other clients. What team is she on?”
“Oh, she doesn’t play any sports.”
Ethan sighed. “I work for the athletic department, Donald. If she’s not on a team, I can’t massage her.”
“But she’s like, superhot. If you were at a party, you’d offer to massage her. She’s so hot. She’s got tits that are like… amazing.” He thought for a long time but struggled to come up with any words to describe how awesome her tits were.
Ethan was shocked that Donald didn’t know he was gay. Ethan was slim, flamboyant, feminine. He normally never bothered to come out of the closet because it was obvious to everyone that he was gay.
In actuality, Ethan should have been even more shocked — Donald knew very well that Ethan was gay, he had simply forgotten. Donald’s friend Jeremy had urged him to come get a massage because it would lead to a happy ending, and Jeremy thought it would be hilarious if Donald got a handjob from a man. His teammates frequently dared each other to come let Ethan give them rimjobs (they had no reason to think Ethan would do so, they just thought the idea was funny). Donald had discussed Ethan being gay on several occasions, so there was no way he didn’t know.
But at the moment, Donald was thinking about girls. He had Katie Marleywine on the mind, and so it didn’t occur to him that Ethan was gay. How could anyone, he thought, not think Katie Marleywine was the most beautiful girl ever?
That was why his cock get hard. The more he thought about her, the harder his dick got, until it was sticking straight up and throbbing. Donald blushed.
“Donald, it’s okay-“
Donald sat up and looked at his dick. He smiled — he had no embarrassment. “Sorry, I get hard sometimes.” He got up again. “I’m-a go slap Jeremy in the face with it. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait-“

No Homo: Jocks

Here’s a sample from No Homo: Jocks, a new story in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica that’s too hot for “gay sex”! This entry is all about college jocks hazing the freshmen on the wrestling team!

As soon as he got to his first practice on the college team, George regretted signing up for wrestling back in high school. The team had been short one man, and the coach, his mother’s boyfriend, insisted he join up, just so he could put it on his college application. Since George’s admission to college was in doubt, it seemed like a good plan. Colleges were competitive in 1951 on account of so many soldiers attending on the GI Bill, and George needed to do something to differentiate himself from all the other high schoolers with good, but not great, grades.

But then in his first, and only, match on the high school team, he drew three weak opponents, defeated them all and became the team savior. There was even a college scout there who signed him up on the spot for a scholarship at Goldendale Hills University, the elite private school in Mississippi.

He was elated then. But when he showed up for orientation in the required suit and tie, he realized that staying on the team was a prerequisite to keeping his scholarship, without which he had no hope of continuing his education. It had all seemed so simple before it began.

So George knew he needed to learn how to wrestle for real. This wasn’t his rinky-dink little town in southern Mississippi, this was a major sport at a big school. He’d be competing against the cream of the crop.

That put a lot of pressure on him, which wasn’t helped by his heavy workload. As a pre-engineering student, he would be taking a lot of dense math classes that he was sure he’d struggle with. The thought of being unable to balance his work and school, and having to go home to his mother a failure, made his heart race.

The first practice was easy enough. It was a lot of running and some other general exercises, along with a bunch of yelling from Coach Winnow about representing the university well. George was fit and quick, and a few of the clumsier boys attracted Winnow’s ire that first day, so George managed to acquit himself well.

As that first practice ended, George and the other wrestlers kneeled, listening to Coach Winnow go over the sports program’s rules. “That means that if I find out any of you are breaking the law, or consorting with girls, or anything like that, you are off the team,” he said. Then he looked around nervously. “Anybody here Jewish?” Nobody said anything. “Then I expect all of you at chapel on Sundays too. And if you’re Catholic, you can go to Saint Andrew’s. The college sends a bus in the morning, and I know Father Murphy, so I will make sure you’re there. No excuses.” He motioned into the crowd of young men, and one of the other wrestlers stepped forward.

Wayne Dashell was tall, and looked too old to be in college, George thought, at least twenty-five (though he later claimed to be only twenty-one). He had a thick shock of dirty blond hair and a smattering of it on his chest, which was broad and strapping, his muscles straining against the singlet he wore. He was the oldest and biggest senior, and he grinned like a cocky bastard as Coach Winnow introduced him.

“Most of you’s already met Wayne. He’s the team captain. What he says, goes. If he tells me you ain’t giving this team everything you got, then you are off the team,” Coach Winnow said. “Now go shower up.”

They walked slowly towards the locker, but then Winnow clapped and shouted something angry that George couldn’t quite make out. He gathered the gist of it was “Run, shitheads!”, since that was what everyone else did, so George sprinted the rest of the way to the locker room. The crowd of wrestlers were so intent on following Coach’s directions, they almost charged en masse into a colored janitor who pushed a mop bucket through the hall.

George and a few other freshmen in front fell in a pile near the colored janitor, who just smirked and walked away. George squirmed as he tried to free himself from the writhing pile of freshmen. Wayne and the other seniors laughed and threw their sweat-stained practice singlets at them as they went by. More than a few stripped even further than that, standing there in the hall in the nude as they watched the freshmen scamper away from their jockstraps.

Freshmen pile on!

Spitting away the salty fabric of someone’s undershirt, George rose to his feet. He tried to appear nonplussed by it, but he had always been a clean boy and didn’t like this kind of close contact with other men and their clothes. He knew there’d be a lot of hazing here at college though, so it wasn’t a surprise.

The upperclassmen stood imposingly above George, here in the hall, right outside the locker. No one was around, but still, George was shocked — in his hometown, men just didn’t get naked outside of the locker room. He stood there dumbfounded as one hairy Italian-type man bared a thick hairy prick. He wagged it in George’s direction.

“Hey!” Coach Winnow barked from the gym. “Git in there! What’d I tell you about strippin’ off in the halls? There’s wimmin on staff here, Joey!”

Joey smiled proudly but did as he was told; he waited for Coach Winnow to turn around, then grabbed his crotch and spat on the ground. George followed the last of the seniors into the locker room. It was not a large room, and George felt cramped immediately. There wasn’t really enough space for the entire team to change at once. He felt more than one limp, greasy cock brush against his hand as he found an empty locker. It looked like the others by and large weren’t upset by it, so George pretended he didn’t mind the nudity and cock-contact either.

George was nervous. He had never liked naked showering with his teammates, and at his high school, his mother had intervened to get him out of it. He had always claimed the humidity upset his lungs, but in truth he was self-conscious about a smallish penis. He hoped nobody noticed, especially as he saw a few of the freshmen, including Wayne and Joey, were noticeably huge — that was probably why they were so willing to get naked in the hallway.

“Freshmen get the Corner!” the seniors called out as they lined up at the shower entrance. They were naked, sneering and carrying thick wooden paddles, which they had gotten from a closet in one corner of the locker room. The Corner apparently referred to one showerhead that stuck out more than the others, and looked older, as though it was a relic of an earlier showering area that had later been expanded. This one showerhead was large enough that its spray covered the entire corner with vaguely rust-flavored water, which freshmen were required to share so the older players could shower freely in the modern-day showerheads.

The freshmen were lined up at the entrance, where the seniors and juniors barred entry. The two biggest seniors were right there watching as the freshmen got ready. They had their hands on their hips, thick cocks swinging between their legs. Since both men were very tall, their crotches were at most of the freshmen’s belly-height, or even higher.

Let’s see ‘em, nitwits! We gotta examine yer meat! Better meet the minimum or you get beat!

George’s heart skipped as he saw what was happening — before going in the shower, all the freshmen had to compare cocks with the five head seniors. Anyone smaller than all five got a paddling on the way in. The upperclassmen inside the shower brandished paddles and smiled at the younger men.

“It’s for your own good!” Wayne called out as the fourth freshman in line, a ratty, lanky kid with a faint mustache, winced. “Paddling makes your dick bigger!” The other seniors laughed and hooted as though they really believed that.

The lean freshman bent over and blushed, but the seniors weren’t so quick, telling him to wait until everyone had gone through the line. He was the first to be singled out for his small penis, which was a relief to George — he hoped he would pass the exam, but he was glad to at least not be the first to fail.

“What’s your name, little boy?”

“Travis Barnett,” said the lean kid, while the other seniors began quickly checking through the other freshmen. “I’m not a boy. I’m almost nineteen.”

“You got a cock like a little boy.”

Travis, who blushed beet-red, was still the only one pulled aside when George got to the front of the line. As soon as he saw the seniors’ naked cocks, he knew he would be paddled too. They were huge, seemingly impossibly huge — he didn’t think cocks came that big, much less that all five of them would be so gigantic.

Joey, that hairy Italian barrel-chested swarthy bastard was at front. George had never liked Italians very much. Joey whacked his own dick against George’s, smiling as he said, “Hey boys, I think we gotst another one.” He seemed to delight in watching George squirm at their cock-to-cock contact. George thought this kind of touching was inappropriate, maybe even sinful, but he wasn’t surprised that Joey didn’t see things that way — George’s pa had always said Italian men were like that. If’n you ever get locked up, George, pull whatever strings you have to so you ain’t got an Eyeteye for a cellmate, they’ll take your manhood like it were’t nothin’. George had always assumed that was his father exaggerating, as he was prone to do, but he felt sure that Joey was dangerous.

“Lookit him, he got a dick like my thumb,” Joey said.

They all crowded around to look. Joey’s dick was at least ten inches long and as thick as George’s forearm. He took his own dick and George’s in the same hand, stroking both shafts together. Joey was at least twice as long as George, and even thicker in comparison.

Damn, Joey, you touchin’ him!

“Cuz I ain’t mingherlino,” Joey said. It was obvious that he didn’t really speak Italian and he used that word — whose meaning George didn’t know — without really pronouncing it right. He probably had only a vague idea what it meant himself. “You squeamish weaklings are worried you’ll get hard if you touch another man.” He laughed and rubbed his entire hairy body against George’s, to prove that he didn’t get hard.

George blushed beet-red, though he tried to look stoic. Next to him was Travis, the puny redneck who looked like he was on the verge of tears as he and George were led into the shower.

“Bend over and grab your ankles, you pencil-dicked freaks!” Joey bellowed. He looked on hungrily at the pair of fresh-faced freshmen stammering as they got into position. George’s cock had never felt so small. “Come on, girls, grab your ankles. Keep your butt up!”

George did as he was commanded. He grabbed his ankles and tried to ignore the hot, humid shower air wafting over his suddenly open asshole.

The first sharp crack of pain made him yelp, and the whole team laughed, even the other freshmen. Make the fresh piggies cry! But when Travis started sobbing after his first hit, everyone soon started to ignore George.

Toughen up, little piggie!

The sound of the paddle slapping against Travis’ ass caused George to feel like he was being hit all over again; it made his ass-cheeks twinge with remembered pain. The upperclassmen switched between paddling Travis and George, but when it became apparent that George was not reacting much and Travis was crying, they gradually forgot that George was supposed to be paddled too.

If you don’t stop crying, we’ll give you something to sob about, you little weakling!

Shove the handle up his ass!

He stood up when it was done, gently rubbing his red asscheeks. George pretended to be in more pain than he was, in the hope that everyone would forget he was still owed more paddling. Travis had difficulty staying still, and so Wayne was holding him down as Joey whacked him with the paddle. Wayne’s blond hair shook and dripped with shower water as he hugged Travis tight. He even made sure to line his crotch up with Travis’, so as Travis writhed in agony, his small cock pressed against Wayne’s oversized meat.

The most disconcerting aspect of all this, George thought, was that a couple of the seniors were starting to get hard. They weren’t quite erect, but George saw their cockshafts jerk to attention when Travis’ thick cheeks jiggled. Back in high school, when someone had a boner in the shower, the rest of the team teased them about it mercilessly. He was shocked that the wrestling team here at GHU took it so lightly. No one even seemed to notice, even when Joey’s hand instinctually fluttered to his own dick; he gave it a stroke. George gasped (and he thought some of the other naked freshmen nearby did the same) — he masturbated himself right here in front of everyone, only for a moment and he didn’t blow his wad, but still, as far as George was concerned, that was beyond the pale.

Any girl who sees that is gonna laugh at you, limp-dick!

Finally it was all over. The seniors laughed at Travis’ red, tear-stained face, but one of their buddies had run by the shower to tell them something about a party with girls, and now the seniors were in a hurry to finish up and get out of there. They continued calling Travis a girl as they showered, however, and Travis stayed there pretending he wasn’t on the verge of tears.

Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed that George didn’t get all of the paddlings he had been promised. He hurried up and got out of there as soon as he could do so without attracting attention. He avoided making eye contact with Travis on the way out.

Respecting Coach Browne

Here’s a sample from Respecting Coach Browne, a new tale from the All-Strong League! This is hot black dilf-coach on college-jock action!

 

“You better be sorry, boy,” Coach Browne said. “One!”

Jamal hesitated, then did a pushup. Once he got started, he kept on doing them, grunting with each ascension.

“Two. Three. Four.” Coach Browne counted and placed one hand on Jamal’s ass to guide his lower back and keep him from arching his spine. “Five. You know what grade you getting in Fundamentals of Team Sports?”

“You give grades for that?”

“Hell yeah. And if you come to class and you remember to bring your jockstrap most of the time, you get an A,” Coach Browne said. “Six. Seven.”

“That’s like twenty. You ain’t even countin’!”

“You shut that fool mouth, boy,” he said. The more he interacted with Jamal today, the less he wanted to give him a break. One of the linebackers — Harvey — was a good thrower and had been a quarterback in high school; if push came to shove, he’d be a fine quarterback.

But Coach Browne didn’t want Harvey to be the quarterback. He would never have admitted why: because Harvey was white, and not just white, but a blond Nordic-type. He looked like a quarterback. Coach Browne didn’t want to make the only blond man on the team the quarterback. He had written a letter to ESPN last year, and got it read on-air, complaining about teams that seemed to have a rule of only putting white people in the quarterback position. It would look terrible for him to now take one of the few white men on the team and make him a quarterback.

“Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen,” he said. He was deliberately only counting every other push-up or so. He didn’t want to let Jamal finish this without a struggle.

Jamal scowled at him. He must be having trouble now, Coach Browne thought, because his arms shook and sweat beaded on his shoulders.

It looked like Jamal was about to snap when suddenly his cell phone rang in the pants he had crumpled up on the floor nearby. Jamal got up, went over to the pants and took the phone out. He smiled when he saw who was calling — it must be that redhead, Coach Browne decided.

“If you answer that, you get an F for my class.”

Jamal stopped, phone in hand. He looked at Coach Browne as though there was a chance he was kidding. Coach crossed his arms over his chest.

“You serious?”

“You are gonna show some respect, Jamal,” Coach Browne said. “That means you gotta occasionally tell a girl no. Or in this case, not tell her nothin’. Just don’t answer it. You got somethin’ more important to do, Jamal. Or maybe you don’t. I guess that’s your choice. You can walk out that door anytime, or you can get on the floor and do thirty-six more push-ups.”

Jamal took a deep breath. He looked like he wanted to punch Coach Browne, but he didn’t. He glanced at the phone screen then put it back in his pocket. He got on the ground again and did a push-up; he moved angrily now, like he could punish Coach Browne by doing push-ups quickly.

“Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen,” Coach Browne said. “Keep yo’ back straight, Jamal, I ain’t countin’ these.” He put his hand back on Jamal’s lower back until he straightened his spine. “Good. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.”

He didn’t even think about what happened next. Coach Browne acted on instinct, as he saw Jamal arching his back again. He must be frustrated and having trouble focusing, no doubt thinking of that redhead pussy, so Coach Browne thought back to how his own coach got his attention when necessary.

He slipped one hand under Jamal’s boxers, slipped a finger between his sweaty asscheeks and plunged it right into his asshole. It was hot and moist and hairy, and it was both gross to Coach Browne as well as strangely arousing. Jamal’s asshole squeezed around Coach’s finger.

“Aw, fuck!” Jamal gasped. He stopped mid-push, and his shoulders trembled nervously. He bit his lip.

“Don’t stop, boy.”

He did another push-up, slowly and tremulously, as though if he moved too fast his asshole might shatter completely. When he lifted himself back up, it forced Coach Browne’s finger in even deeper, which made Jamal shudder with pain.

“Twenty-one,” he said.

“Coach…” He winced.

“You takin’ a long time to do fifty push-ups, boy,” Coach Browne said. He wiggled his finger in Jamal’s ass, making the young man yelp and drop to his elbows and knees. “Get back up, Jamal. Do I got yo’ attention now?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You wanna walk out that door?”

Jamal bit his lip. “Kinda.”

“Well, go right ahead,” Coach Browne said. “But if you wanna be on this team, and if you wanna get a passing grade in Fundamentals of Team Sports, you stay right there and show me a little respect.”

Jamal struggled through another push-up.

The Black Basketball Team Goes Gay

Here’s another new story, The Black Basketball Team Goes Gay, which is a hot piece by Calvin Freeman.

Walter ended the game excited and overjoyed — his team had not only won, but Walter himself had scored the game-winning basket. He was only supposed to be the third-string forward on the minor league Newark Netters team. But one injury and a meth trafficking charge resulted in Walter playing an entire game.

And then he won the game for the team. He heard people congratulating him as he and his fellow teammates went into the locker room. More than a few people clasped him on the back or patted his ass.

Victory is always sweet, Walter thought, especially when no one thought you would ever taste it.

Coach Tanner was not as satisfied with the game — he didn’t think they should have even been down so much as to need that one three-point shot at the buzzer in order to win. He thought they were better than that.

But nobody could fault Walter for it. He wasn’t supposed to plays this game at all, and he had done well even before making the game-winning shot. So he tried to make a serious face as Coach Tanner addressed the rest of the team in the locker room.

As his adrenaline faded away, Walter felt more and more self-conscious, sitting there, cramped on the bench in the center of the locker room. Walter hadn’t dropped his shorts yet, but he was shirtless, and he could feel the sweaty elastic of Deon’s jockstrap — Deon stood next to Walter near the bench, so Deon’s ropy-muscled thighs and the sweat clinging to them pressed against Walter’s side.

“We do need-uh thank someone,” Coach Tanner said, winding down his y’all need to do better speech. He looked right at Walter, who was so focused on Deon’s jockstrap touching his arm that he didn’t notice Coach Tanner talking about him right away. “Somebody here done real good, someone we ain’t really even expect to play like that, on account of his young age and he weren’t even s’posed to play today.”

There was a little applause and some whooping from the rest of the team. Everyone slapped Walter on the back, and he sighed as though he didn’t like the attention, though he did. Most of the team was riled up, and as they chatted over Coach Tanner’s voice, someone pulled out a bottle of champagne.

Fizzy wine spilled out as the bottle was uncorked, and Walter stood up to get the first glass. He didn’t especially like champagne, but he appreciated the gesture. He always thought it tasted like sweetened, carbonated urine. But then he didn’t really like wine either.

Eventually Coach Tanner left, as did a couple of players, mainly the white guys, who never really wanted to stay and hang out. That was probably because a few of the black players often brought a girl into the locker room to celebrate with. The white men never wanted to gangbang because they were always too worried about their balls touching.

In truth, Walter typically left too. He was the only black man on the team who didn’t participate in the locker room gangbanging. He was Christian, and he didn’t think that kind of thing was morally acceptable. He was saving himself for marriage.

After finally taking off his shorts, bare cock dangling between his legs — it might just have been his pride after the big win, but he was pretty sure his cock was bigger now than it normally was — Walter headed towards the shower. He heard gruff voices laughing and figured the gangbang must have already begun, though he didn’t see any girls around.

Linebackers Downlow

Here’s a new sample chapter, from a hot story called Linebackers Downlow, the tale of a college football team whose linebackers don’t quite have the physique to get laid like most of the other players. Be forewarned: this book is about curvy, powerful, macho guys who aren’t sculpted Hollywood hunks; they have hairy chests, arms and backs. Caveat emptor, motherfuckers. This story is part of the Str8 Studs Downlow series.

Once again, the party dwindled and Jason was left behind. He was a senior, a starting football player and a popular jock… with the guys. His fellow teammates all thought he was hilarious. The cheerleaders thought he was funny and liked getting piggy-back rides from him because he was so big.

But when push came to shove, those cheerleaders went off to screw the brains off the quarterback and running backs with six-pack abs. Jason and his fellow linebackers were left behind, the least popular players on the Jacksonville University squad.

“Am I fat?” Jason asked himself for what felt like the millionth time this week. He knew that objectively the answer was no — he didn’t have a ton of fat. But he was more than six and a half feet tall, and he was covered in just enough paunch that it was obvious which position on the team he played.

So now this party had dwindled to just him and the other four linebackers on the team. It was a perfect summary of the way Jason’s football career went — he worked hard with the team; he struggled with them; he played along with them; he coped with their cockiness; he sat behind and watched while they fucked all the hot chicks.

“Guess we’re alone again,” said Rick, another one of the linebackers. “I really thought that blonde was gonna suck my dick.”

Nobody responded. Jason wanted to tell Rick that there was never any chance she was going to suck his dick — that had been obvious to Jason, who saw her flirting politely with Rick before moving on to one of the handsome basketball players. Rick grabbed at his crotch with one big, meaty hand.

Rick was probably the fattest of the linebackers, but even he wasn’t fat. He was powerful; he was also probably the strongest of the linebackers. He just had a generous layer of padding on top.

Aside from Rick and Jason, there was the burly dreadlocked black man, Dante; the fresh-faced redneck Garraty and the hairy-as-hell Vinnie, all of whom looked nervously between each other. It was Garraty who sighed and ran into the other room, returning moments later with a stack of magazines.

“Well, hosses,” he said. “Guess we gotta do what we gotta do.” The magazines had naked women all over them, petite blondes and brunettes cavorting with each other and with a bevy of smooth, six-packed studs. Jason was annoyed.

Garraty took off his shirt and then put his cowboy hat back on his head — he never went without it, except during a game. He smiled his youthful freshman grin, as though he still had hope he’d get girls when he was a senior. Jason was annoyed by his optimism.

“Let’s do this, boys,” he said with an enthusiastic shout. He clapped his hands together, then grabbed at Dante’s dick.

Dante jumped and backed away, “Yo, man, hey, no homo!”

Garraty laughed. “What? You wanna circlejerk or not?”

“Not.”

Jason felt himself blush at the thought of a circlejerk. He had assumed they were just going to jack off to the magazines, probably go separate corners of the locker room. Did people really circlejerk? He thought that was just a punchline and a way to scare freshmen.

Vinnie and Rick both seemed to think it was normal. They teased Dante, calling him a prude. “Probably can’t get it up,” Rick said with a knowing smile.

Dante sighed and looked away, and he caught Jason’s eye. Everyone then turned to Jason, who blushed even harder. He always felt exposed in the locker room — he wasn’t as comfortable with nudity as most of his teammates. But then, most of his teammates had six-pack abs. Jason wasn’t ashamed of his dick size, which was ample, though he and the other linebackers had talked about it once and come to the conclusion that their height made their dicks seem shorter, since all five got teased for it from time to time despite having larger than average cocks. The shorter you are, the longer your dick appears to be in relation to your thigh.

But Jason didn’t want to be the one to start a real conflict over it — Rick was overbearing and would want them all to circlejerk, and it would turn into an argument. “Ain’t really my cup of tea,” Jason said, “But if’n y’all want it, let’s do this shit.”

He was annoyed to realize he should have moved — Vinnie was to his right, so that’s whose cock Jason touched. He stroked it and let out a groan of disgust. “Man, yer cock feels like a fucking uncooked greasy Italian sausage.”

Vinnie burst into laughter and pumped his hips so his cock flopped around. It was already half-hard, the foreskin now fully retracted and the head getting thicker by the moment.

The main thing he didn’t like about jacking Vinnie off — aside from the general idea of touching another man’s penis — was that Vinnie was the hairiest one here. They were all pretty hairy, chests, back, thighs and arms covered in fur; Rick was blond; Dante had naturally kinky black hair, while Garraty and Jason were thick and brown.

Vinnie was like a sasquatch, which is exactly what some on the team called him. He was covered head-to-toe in dense tangles of Mediterranean hair, which he seemed alternately proud of despite the teasing and ashamed of from time to time, mainly when it kept him from getting laid.

It felt like he was pushing his hand into jungle undergrowth, he thought, and the hairs, slick with moisture from (Jason hoped) a shower, stuck to Jason’s body where they collided.

The five linebackers had pulled into a tight circle so they could look at the magazines, which Garraty had opened to a few random pages laid out on the floor and bench in the center of the locker aisle. Garraty was to Jason’s left, so that’s who began stroking Jason off as the circlejerk got into full swing.

“Yo, if any of y’all get yo’ nut on me, I will beat yo’ ass,” Dante said. He was gingerly stroking off Garraty, who looked at him with an exaggerated frown, then kissed him on the grizzled cheek.

Dante glared at him sternly. He probably wanted to fight about it, as Dante was always quick to throw a punch over anything that insulted his manhood. But coach had made it clear anyone who fought — anywhere, but especially in the locker room — would be kicked off the team, and that appeared to be enough motivation for Dante to let it slide.

Oh shit, the linebackers is circlejerkin’!

They all groaned — no one wanted to be caught at this, even if they knew the rest of the team would keep it quiet. That was just the way they operated. Jason focused on himself despite the tension, as he realized he wasn’t fully hard. He didn’t want to be the only one who couldn’t do it.

He stared at the sexiest photo he could see, a pair of stunning redhead girls sixty-nining. They had perfect pussies, he thought and finally felt his dick stiffen to its fullest extent. He felt a few drops of precum lubricate Garraty’s fingers.

Damn Rick, you got big fuckin’ fingers, ya damn hillbilly! Why couldn’t you have dainty fingers like that chick in the photo?

It was Dante who came first, grunting and shooting a load so unexpectedly it made the others laugh. He had been so reluctant, Jason thought, it was strange he came first. His dark body jiggled and he closed his eyes as he sprayed his nut all over the magazines. He had a gut that shook, his thuggish tattoos barely visible through the sweat and dark skin.

As the circle closed and Vinnie grabbed Garraty’s cock, Jason felt Vinnie get close — his balls crawled up in his sac, and his dick throbbed. Cum flowed into his cockshaft, palpably pulsating beneath Jason’s fingers. Jason was shocked at the realization he was going to get cum on his fingers, and he almost stopped then made himself keep going. If Vinnie came, at least he wouldn’t have to touch the man’s hairy body anymore.

Vinnie grunted and said something in Italian, spraying one fat wad of jizz in a giant blob on the bench in the center of the circle. “Direct hit!” Vinnie shouted — he had covered the sexy photo of lesbian redheads.

“Thank god, you hairy wop,” Jason said with a laugh. He grabbed at Garraty’s dick then, glad to touch someone only moderately hairy. “Ya ain’t have to nut on the redheads, jackass.”

“Oh yeah, redneck, there’s no rule about interference in circlejerk, ya knows,” he said.

“Wha-?”

Jason felt like gagging as Vinnie came up behind him and hugged him close. Vinnie’s powerful arm encircled Jason’s chest, and he mockingly played with both of Jason’s tits. Jason blushed — he wasn’t fat, as he had told himself over and over, but he hardly had bodybuilder’s pecs either. That just wasn’t how linebackers were built. The other players had made fun of his “tits” more than a few times.

Dense pubic and chest hair scratched at Jason’s bak and ass, and he even felt a slimy, cum-slickened cock against his ass. Jason protested, but everyone else laughed as though it was the biggest joke in the world, even Dante, and Jason didn’t want to be the only one who “didn’t get it”. If he just gave in, he thought, and hoped, Vinnie might give up soon.

Rick shot his load while Jason was adjusting to the brillo-like feel of Vinnie’s body behind him, and the smell of cum was now so strong in the air that Jason wanted to just give up. But they’d tease him forever, so he was determined to finish, and ideally, not last.

It was down to him and Garraty, the relatively small cowboy and freshman linebacker. He had barely played in any games yet. He used Jason’s dick to pull him closer, until their dicks were both touching.

“This is what we call a Double Hog-Ride back in Montana,” he said. He spat into his hands as he used them both to stroke both cocks at once. Jason was horrified to see his dickshaft mash into Garraty’s, but he had to admit it did feel better than an ordinary handjob. Plus he wasn’t touching anything, his hands were free since Garraty used both his.

They both nutted at once too. It felt so good that it came on suddenly, and both dicks were coated in semen. Jason’s muscles roiled beneath the layer of padding that caused him so much embarassment, and their semen mixed as it spread over both shafts. It dripped down their thighs and ballsacks, and onto the few dry spots of the magazines below.

“Well, fuck, we ruined my magazines,” Garraty said, “And you can bet I ain’t pickin’ em up. They’s gross.”

“Just leave ‘em there. The janitor’ll get them,” Vinnie said. He was already getting dressed. Jason felt bad about agreeing, but he certainly wasn’t going to pick up the cum-soaked rags. He was embarrassed enough about what happened he didn’t care about the details, he just wanted to get dressed and get out of there. Hopefully before anyone else from the team saw what they were doing.

The Perfect Specimen of Jock Came Through the Honky Hotel

This is a sample chapter from The Perfect Specimen of Jock Came Through the Honky Hotel, a new All-Strong League story by Randall Eisenhorn.

Late night shifts at the Whiteland Hotel were slow and boring. Adrian didn’t mind it, because he could watch TV and goof off on the Internet, which is realistically what he would have been doing at home. But still, the interminable quiet was dreadful, alleviated only by the occasional pandemonium of a drunken group of hotel guests coming back to their room. It was not usually an exciting job, but it had some perks.

“Hey hombre, you speak English?” asked a man’s deep voice. Adrian was startled to see an almost-naked man there. He was a barrel-chested semi-pro football player who had checked in a couple hours before, in advance of a game tomorrow. He stood there in plain white boxers from which a few tantalizing pubic hairs poked through, and he swayed on drunken legs.

Adrian was only half-Latino, but he looked Hispanic enough that he was used to being asked if he spoke English — a lot of the Whiteland Hotel’s staff were Spanish-only, after all. “Yes, sir. I checked you in when you got here, Mr. Walters.”

He leaned in close and peered at Adrian as though checking to see if he was lying. The man, Lloyd Walters was his name, scratched his balls through his boxers. For a moment his thick cock was outlined by the dingy fabric of his shorts, and Adrian’s heart raced as he pictured this brutish jock naked. Lloyd’s rancid breath was beer-soaked and hot. He produced a twenty dollar bill and gave it to Adrian.

“Go get me a hamburger. Can you do that? Or is there one that delivers?”

“I can arrange for a delivery,” Adrian said, glad that his connection at the scuzzy twenty-four hour hamburger joint across town finally came in handy.

“Good. Get me the biggest hamburger they got and everything they put on it,” Lloyd said carefully, as though describing brain surgery, “But not any kind of mushrooms. And make it rare.”

“Okay.”

“No, wait… Is this a nice place?”

“Well… It’s the only place that’s open this late, sir.”

“Then medium-rare. I can’t be shitting all over the place at the game tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.”

Lloyd sauntered back into his room then, and after a few minutes, two cheap floozies crept out the door. Their just-fucked hair made it obvious what had happened; they giggled quietly, whispering, no doubt bragging about how they had just fucked a football pro (or semipro, close enough, Adrian thought).

Adrian’s friend arrived soon after that, with a bag containing the greasy hamburger. Adrian gave him a tip and then brought the food to Lloyd’s room. He knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder.

“Come in!”

Adrian walked in to see a stark naked Lloyd, sitting on the bed. He was sweaty and relaxed, sprawled out on the bare mattress. His limp cock was still moist, plastered to his thigh and gleaming in the dim light. The sheets and blankets were in a ball on the floor.

The smell of the hamburger aroused Lloyd from his soporific, drunken daze, and he took the bag from Adrian. He nodded to the sheets and blankets. “Can I get some clean sheets brought in?”

Adrian nodded. “Sure.”

“You might wanna… get rid of those,” Lloyd said. “Both those girls was anal virgins, if you get my drift.”

Adrian saw the moist sheets dotted with blood, and he nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Walters. I’ll send the cleaning staff right in.”

“They’s prolly women, right? I should put some drawers on.”

Adrian hesitated. “They would probably prefer it, sir.”

“Ain’t you polite?” Lloyd grinned. “Cleaning staff hot?”

“Eh… They are all older Mexican women, sir. The youngest is still a grandmother. They have a… steely handsomeness, but I’m not sure they would appeal to you,” Adrian said. “Didn’t you just…?” he nodded towards the door.

“We finished like an hour ago, so I’m ‘bout ready for another go-‘round” Lloyd said. “And they barely sucked my dick at all. Silly little college brats can’t suck cock worth a damn.”

“I see. Well, I do not think the cleaning staff will be interested,” Adrian said.

“You look like you got nice cock-sucking lips there,” Lloyd said.

Adrian was so shocked he didn’t have a response. He had been propositioned by straight bucks here at the Whiteland Hotel before, that part wasn’t new, but a semipro football jock like Lloyd? That was a first, especially since he had just fucked — normally straight guys were only interested when they were so horny they didn’t care where they stuck their cock. But no matter how virile he was, Lloyd couldn’t be that horny again just an hour after sex. “Yep,” Adrian said, finally forming a word then blushing at how stupid he sounded.

“You got something to do with those lips?”

Adrian dropped to his knees and kneeled in front of the bed. Lloyd leaned back on some pillows he had propped up, and then grabbed for the hamburger bag. He took it out and the cloyingly greasy smell filled the room.

Lloyd opened his bathrobe, his heavy cock dangling between his legs. It smelled delicious — especially with the odor of beef on top, Adrian thought, giving it a tantalizing meatiness. He opened his mouth and sucked it down to the root, determined to give Lloyd a blowjob he’d remember for a long time. The flavor of his stale sweat and the remnants of his heterosexual fucking overwhelmed Adrian’s senses as he slathered his tongue up and down the shaft.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Lloyd said. He groaned deeply then turned the TV on to Cinemax, where softcore lesbian porn was playing. He belched loudly. “Damn, I should take you with me to away games. Call you my personal ball boy.”

Adrian’s tongue slathered up and down his shaft as he wished Lloyd was serious, but knew he wasn’t. Straight guys said that kind of thing a lot when their cock was in Adrian’s mouth, but they always changed their mind once their balls were drained. Lloyd took a big bite from his hamburger, as Adrian moved down to his balls.

He knew girls always hated sucking balls, but he loved them, especially when they were swollen like Lloyd’s, and dripping with the remains of his wild rutting earlier. Adrian could taste layers of sweat and feminine lotion still trapped in the hairs of his scrotum.

Moving back to the shaft, Adrian deep-throated his cock. Lloyd gripped Adrian’s ears tight, putting his hamburger down so he could use both grease-slickened hands. He pushed his dick all the way down Adrian’s throat and held it there as he groaned.

Cum came pouring out of his cock with such an uninterrupted stream it was as though he was pissing down Adrian’s gullet. Lloyd’s whole body bucked as his chest and neck turned reddish. Adrian managed to swallow almost every drop of the pearly sweet cum. Lloyd grunted, sounding like a bodybuilder working hard on his biceps, and his balls slapped against Adrian’s chin.

“Oh fuck yeah, you got a comment card or some shit?” Lloyd said. “I’m gonna tell the manager you’re good at your job.”

“You’ll be given an evaluation form when you check out sir,” Adrian said breathlessly as he wiped cum from his lips. He didn’t want to waste any. “I’m glad I could make your stay at the Whiteland Hotel more pleasing. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

Alpha Male Football Jocks

This is a sample chapter from Alpha Male Football Jocks, a prequel in the No Homo: Soldiers series of hardcore gay erotica.

Tony didn’t want to go to the party on Friday. But when Eddie called his old football team buddies to tell them the news about his college prospects, they invited him over for a house party that was just beginning. Tony could have tried to talk them out of it, in order to spend more time together before he left for boot camp. But he knew they’d call him a pussy, a girl, a faggot who would rather have a guys-only slumber party than try to get laid at a real party.

So Tony pretended to want to go to the party. Everybody seemed to have forgotten that this weekend was originally supposed to celebrate Tony’s departure for boot camp rather than Eddie’s success at football.

It was in full swing when they got there, and served themselves beer from a keg in the backyard. There weren’t many girls there, Tony saw, and the ones that were in attendance seemed to be there with their boyfriends. He had been surprised at how much harder it was to meet girls now that he wasn’t in high school anymore.

Eddie greeted his buddies from the team then came over to Tony. “Hey, they hired a whore, man, can you believe it? These guys are hardcore.”

“What?”

“She’s a stripper, but she agreed to suck off everyone here tonight. They’re just paying her a flat fee for the whole night,” Eddie said. He had a sick grin on his face, as though he was both disgusted and excited by it. In truth, Tony was more disgusted than excited, but that didn’t mean he was going to turn it down.

It sounded kind of gross to Tony, but he loved blowjobs and figured that couldn’t hurt. Once they got laid once, it would be easier to convince Eddie it was time to go home, he thought. Before then, he would want to stay until he found a chick willing to sleep with him.

There was a crowd of guys in one of the bedrooms, and Tony and Eddie waited in the back for their turn. Tony thought it was gross — he had assumed they were going one at a time into a closet or bathroom, not openly ramming all their dicks at her at once — but he didn’t want to be the only one to complain. These college studs seemed to think it was normal.

He got hard thinking about the blowjob he was about to get, as he approached and dropped his shorts. The smell of semen was strong in the air, and it made Tony feel ill. The room was no longer as full, as a lot of the young men had finished up and gone downstairs to resume the party. But there was still bare manflesh all around him, and it stank like a locker room and brothel at the same time.

Moments before his dick penetrated the whore, Tony realized “she” was a drag queen. She had a mannish face, plastered with makeup, small tits on a petite man’s frame. Her delicate fingers and painted nails wrapped around Tony’s cock, and her tongue flickered into his pisshole.

“Oh fuck, that’s not a chick,” Tony said.

The football team laughed, along with Eddie, more directed at Tony’s awkwardity than anything else. Tony assumed that meant they thought this was pretty typical, and that they didn’t think it was a big deal.

She moved from Tony to the cock in her other hand, a big black man’s, and said, “I will be soon, baby.”

“She got tits,” said the black man. “So it counts.”

“Come on, don’t be a pussy and back out now,” Eddie said. He wrapped one arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him close.

The black man shot a load, his loud, exaggerated moaning ending Tony’s complaints. He didn’t want to look like a wuss, he was just surprised to see these guys doing something technically gay. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the black man’s cock throbbed and shot a huge wad cum right on her mouth.

She took Eddie and Tony’s cocks in her hands, and jammed both in her mouth before Tony could complain. His cockshaft touched both the black man’s semen, resting on her tongue, as well as his friend’s shaft. She mashed both cocktips together and sucked them, her tongue flicking in and out of both piss-slits.

The guys watching burst into astonished cheers, feigning disgust as she took both dicks in her mouth. (Look at that slut go!) Tony looked around, trying to see if anyone else realized “she” was a man. Judging from the looks on their faces, at least a few of them did, and seemed to think getting a technically gay blowjob was hilarious.

Precum leaked down Eddie’s shaft, moistening his pubic hair along with Tony’s. Tony tried not to look at it or think about it, focusing instead on the “woman” whose mouth circled his cock.

He loved blowjobs but regretted starting this one, as it was deficient in every way — Tony didn’t like the audience, sharing the mouth with Eddie, the fact that the “woman” was a man, or the other men’s cum he could feel seeping into his flesh. He didn’t think he’d be able to finish like this.

It seemed Eddie didn’t have the same problem. He was rock-hard, pumping his biceps and lightly tapping the whore’s cheeks. Finally he grabbed the back of her head and slammed his dick all the way down.

He closed his eyes to the cheering adulation of the crowd as cum leaked out of her mouth, dripping down her chin. Tony was glad that Eddie was done, hoping that he could take a turn on her mouth solo next. He just wanted to get this over with.

But just as he was putting his dick back in her mouth, another man pushed in beside Tony. He was again sharing her throat with a second cock. At least this one was clearly smaller than his, by quite a bit, Tony thought. More than one person pointed that out, which puffed up Tony’s ego enough to make him hard as steel.

He thought he’d have to finish by facefucking her just like Eddie had, but when he felt his orgasm approach, it came so suddenly he didn’t have the chance to. His load shot from his cockhead right into her mouth, and she spat it back out. Semen rolled down both his shaft and the man’s next to him, and he groaned in disgust. Both dicks were covered in the foamy mixture of spit and cum that covered her face.

Tony pulled out, glad to be done. His stomach felt queasy as he searched the crowd for Eddie. He wanted to go home: Tony was fully done with this party.

Irontop Gym of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

This is a sample chapter from Irontop Gym of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, a book by Afra Zaman.

Wilson wanted to leave Saudi Arabia. He loved his job most of the time, but opening the first Irontop Gym in Riyadh had taken its toll on him. No liquor or weed, no open homosexuality, nothing at all for a man like Wilson Tripper to do.

But at last now the end was in sight. As he opened up for his first day, he felt like he was almost ready to go. In fact, there was still a lot to do — he had no staff, for example, which was fine because nobody signed up for a gym on the first day anyway. It was simply a hopeful feeling to know he was on his way to being done with this mission — next he hoped to be opening a gym in Venice, which would be marvelous.

For now he had to make do with this desolate city in an uninhabitable desert wasteland. Oh well, he thought, at least his hotel was nice.

So he just reviewed resumes as he sat at his desk, and tried not to think about how horny he was. Most of the applicants listed home gyms and unofficial personal trainer gigs, but not many had a verifiable work history in the field. Wilson wondered if there was a guy bar in Riyadh; there must be, he thought, but he didn’t feel safe looking for it, much less going there.

Much to his surprise, a patron did show up on that first day. It was a tall, regal-looking man in flowing white robes. He was young, in his early to mid-twenties, with a well-kept beard. He had a wide frame and an arrogant sneer. A muscular tough in sunglasses preceded him, and came to the front desk where Wilson sat.

“This is Prince Faisal,” said the bodyguard in halting English. He had a scarred face and a bushy beard. “He would be interested in membership in your gym.”

Wilson quickly went over the equipment available and rates. It was apparent that the bodyguard — Mohammed — was not fluent enough in English to understand. Prince Faisal, however, appeared to hear every word. Wilson wondered why he had the bodyguard communicate for him if Faisal spoke better English. It must be a power thing, he decided.

“Do you allow anyone to join?” Prince Faisal asked sharply. He had a British accent, but spoke English flawlessly. He must have been educated in the UK, Wilson decided.

“I’m sorry…? We have some membership requirements. Men only in this country, and adults only. Over sixty-five requires a doctor to-“

“I mean… Do you allow Malaysians and other foreigners? Non-white foreigners, I mean.”

“Oh… Yes,” Wilson said. It was obvious Faisal didn’t like that, but that was Irontop Gym corporate policy. Making an exception in Saudi Arabia would be too controversial internationally to even consider.

“That is disappointing,” he said. “You close at seven, yes? I will come here between seven and ten in the evenings, and I will pay for twenty-five memberships. That will help you meet your first month sales goals very much, am I right? I am paying extra so you can keep the gym exclusive to me during those hours. You may allow other acceptable Saudis to work out then with permission from me beforehand. Is that understood?”

“Uh… Okay,” Wilson said. Prince Faisal’s penetrating stare made it hard to say no to him, and there was precedent within the Irontop Gym chain to allow celebrities and others to rent out the entire gym for certain periods.

“I trust you rarely have any customers on the first day?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then I will work out now,” he said. He walked past Wilson, bodyguard following close behind. He spoke sharply in Arabic, and Mohammed stopped.

“Twenty-five memberships,” said Mohammed. He produced a credit card.

Wilson quietly processed the transactions. Aside from the tension of the situation, he was glad to have twenty-five signups on day one. If he had had ten at the end of the first week, his superiors at corporate would have considered that a success.

Mohammed left the front desk. The men’s changing area was right in front of the desk, with no partition — that was, he was told, the normal layout for a Saudi gym. Wilson avoided looking, thinking he should give Faisal privacy.

But when he finished the paperwork, he glanced up and was surprised to see Mohammed pulling down Faisal’s green jockey shorts. Faisal stood there as though he never dressed himself.

Mohammed pulled a jockstrap up and then green shorts. Faisal wore a sleeveless shirt and headed out for the gym.

Wilson bent his head down in his paperwork, trying to focus on that. The thought that he had genuine royalty who was too noble even to dress himself made him nervous, however, and he couldn’t get any work done.

Faisal grunted as he lifted weights in the gym. From his desk, Wilson could partially see into the gym area, and he could see Faisal in a mirror there. He went from machine to machine with Mohammed watching, but neither participating nor encouraging Faisal.

Finally it was done, and Faisal returned to the changing area. Mohammed took off his sweaty shirt and then dropped his shorts and jockstrap again. Wilson found he couldn’t look away as he realized Faisal had a throbbing hardon.

Faisal barked something in Arabic. Mohammed winced and almost stepped away, but Faisal repeated himself.

Mohammed grabbed ahold of Faisal’s cock and gave it a squeeze. He looked away as though pretending this wasn’t happening.

Wilson kept his head down, so it didn’t look like he had noticed. He could only barely see, through the mirror at the far end of the gym. Faisal’s lean, ropy-muscled body contorted as he got hard, and Wilson could even smell his precum.

Faisal barked out another order in Arabic, and the shame-faced musclebound bodyguard got on his knees. Mohammed held out one hand in front of Faisal’s cock, evidently planning on catching all of his cum in one cupped hand.

Mohammed used his right hand to furiously masturbate Prince Faisal, who stood bored and regal as though this handjob was entirely tiresome for him. He grunted like a camel as he shot his load onto Mohammed’s palm.

Mohammed looked at the soupy cum in his hand as though it might come alive. He stood and held it in place. Faisal was very slowly taking a drink of water from a bottle he had brought along, then casually picked up his towel. Obviously, this was a power-game Faisal played, making Mohammed hold onto his cum until he gave him permission to get rid of it.

Finally Faisal walked back to the changing area, and Mohammed quietly wiped his hand off. He looked at Wilson then, but Wilson managed to keep his head down and pretend he hadn’t noticed what happened.

Jockstrap Haunt 3

This is a sample chapter from Jockstrap Haunt 3 by Randall Eisenhorn. It’s a hardcore tale of gay jock rough trade, and it’s available along with eight other complete stories — plus more bonus content — in the megabundle Infinite Innings!

As soon as Spencer showed up for his first practice on the Goldendale Hills University wrestling team, I knew I had to stick with him for awhile. He was a baby-faced freshman with the body of a long-time Marine, I thought, tall and strapped, with toned muscles that I suspected came from farmwork, based on his twang and homespun swagger.

 

I was a ghost, you see, cursed to inhabit the underwear of men at Goldendale Hills. Spencer was my latest target, and I was delighted to see he had an outsized cock that almost burst from his jockstrap. I cradled his balls as he awkwardly pulled on his singlet, silently watching the other freshmen.

 

He lined up with the unsteady gait of a man who was used to being in charge — he had probably been the biggest bully at his high school, I thought, and now felt unsure about how to act as a freshman somewhere new. His balls were sweaty with nervous sweat, which I licked as he listened to Coach Wilson’s speech.

 

As always happened when I inhabited a man’s underwear for long, Spencer began to get hard. The hornier I got from possessing every supple inch of his body, the hornier he got no matter what was around him.

 

They sparred, and I was so enthralled I could barely pay attention. Spencer was not acquitting himself well, probably because he was distracted by my ghostly touches. I was not real enough to be seen or truly felt, but he sensed me on occasion.

 

As he got in position to spar again, standing overtop his partner, I stuck my nose in his ass. The tight singlet clung to his skin and smelled of his clean, pure sweat. My phantomic tongue swept up his buttcrack from taint to the small of his back, where faint blond hairs tickled my lips. He shuddered. The whistle blew.

 

Spencer was on the ground, pinned, before he could blink. I nuzzled his neck and his powerful pecs with hard nipples as he walked to the sidelines. He nodded as Coach Wilson gave him a talking-to.

 

“You had better get your ass in gear,” Coach Wilson said. “I know you can do better than that.”

 

Spencer clicked his tongue against his teeth and rolled his eyes with the look of a man who had lost his temper. He snarled at Coach Wilson. “I’m off my game, alright? It’s the first fucking day, man, lay off!”

 

Wilson looked at him with stunned disbelief. Spencer’s balls crawled up a little in his sac like he knew he had done something wrong. “You’re gonna talk to me like that? Boy, I will bounce you off this team before your girlfriend can make you cum, and I bet that happens in about three seconds flat. So are you gonna ‘pologize and show me a little respect?”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes again. He opened his mouth to speak, but Coach Wilson interrupted him.

 

“You fucking hesitate with me, boy? You’re here on a scholarship, one I can take away anytime I like. Why don’t you go run ten laps, then see if you can find some respect? You’re three pounds past your weight class anyway, fattie.”

 

I think Spencer was glad to be running, where he could cool off his temper. He made a show of not liking it though. I knew how uncomfortable it was to run with a hardon, so I tried to avoid molesting him.

 

But by the time he was finishing his last lap, I couldn’t resist. His back was dripping with sweat into the elastic of his jockstrap. I sucked every salty drop off.

 

Practice was just about finishing, and the wrestlers were all gathered in front of Coach Wilson. Spencer awkwardly approached, having finished his laps. He was panting for breath.

 

Wilson grabbed him by the balls. Spencer gasped and tried to move away but Wilson held him in place. The other wrestlers all winced but stayed silent. “Where’m I holdin’ you, boy?”

 

“What? My balls… My balls, Coach,” Spencer said. His voice trembled with pain and anxiety, though Coach Wilson didn’t squeeze, he just held on.

 

“That’s right. I got you by the balls-“ Coach Wilson stopped and squeezed Spencer’s shaft, which was hard. “You got a boner, boy?”

 

“No!”

 

“Yes, you do. You some kinda queer? That’s okay if you are. We got a queer on the basketball team too,” Wilson said. He raised one eyebrow.

 

“No!”

 

Coach Wilson’s rough fingers caressed the worn fabric of Spencer’s jockstrap, which was my home so I felt as though Coach was massaging my entire body. He squeezed just a little on Spencer’s balls, and the young buck whelped in pain, then fell into shameful silence as the team laughed at him.

 

Coach Wilson roughly pulled down the jockstrap, and I fell to the floor, on Spencer’s big, sweaty feet. Wilson pointed to Spencer’s hard cock, which was still ragingly erect because the fabric of my jockstrap was still touching him.

 

“You tryin’ to tell me you ain’t a faggot? Standing here in front of me with a hardon?”

 

“Coach, I don’t know why, it just happens sometimes-“

 

“Oh, well, so you got a hardon but you ain’t really horny?”

 

“Yeah.” He was uncertain — it was obvious Coach Wilson was leading him into a trap.

 

“So prove it,” he said, “Prove you ain’t really a faggot. Cuz I think you really is a faggot,” he reached out and grabbed Spencer’s cock, giving it a few quick strokes. “If you ain’t, you won’t cum from a tug job from a man, right?”

 

The team laughed and hooted as Coach Wilson began stroking. It was obvious that Spencer was on the verge of cumming already, so they knew where this was going. Wilson kept at it with precision and care, like a farmer handling his livestock.

 

I knew it was my fault he was in this position, so I felt bad and thought about moving on, but I wasn’t close enough to any other players. Besides which, I was nutting alongside Spencer as his balls curled up in his jockstrap.

 

“You nuttin’ already, boy? You must be a faggot fersure.”

 

He moaned involuntarily and rolled his eyes as his orgasm overtook him. A few drops of salty sweet cum landed right on me, and I could taste their masculine flavor just as though I was sucking him off.

 

Coach Wilson held up his hand for silence from the team. He grinned down at Spencer’s embarrassed face, and said, “See? I knew you was a faggot. There ain’t nothing wrong with that, it’s just a fact. Now go on home, queerbait.”