The Footballer: Another Step Down…

Near Home—June, 2017

I managed a break from work on the last Friday of the month.  As I could no longer host (until August) I didn’t even try to see who was online.  I dressed in some clothes I didn’t care about and went to the bookstore.  Luck was with me that night.

I quickly scope out the straight side.  Traffic is incredibly slow.  The closure of the gloryholes has not persuaded everyone who once used them to try the cinema as I hoped.  They just don’t come at all.  I look for the Friday night regular—and he’s there—down front so he won’t see any gay action that might happen behind him.  He needn’t have worried as he’s the only man in the room.

I don’t linger.  The porn choice is as depressing as the vacant room.  I go next door.  There is no one here either—but at least the porn is better—a video from another of those maverick bareback studios.  I try to tell myself it’s still early—but it’s really not.  So I resign myself to a solo jerk. 

I hear the cash register out front beep just as on the screen two loads are shot on the hole of a very young man.  One of the tops fingers it into the groaning boy as the door opens.  (It no longer has a buzzer to announce arrivals.)  I can’t believe it.  It’s the Footballer.  His face lights up when he sees that it’s me. 

“I almost didn’t get out of the car with so few others in the lot,” he tells me as he not only unfastens his belt, but steps totally out of his shorts.  There’s no underwear tonight.  And his big cock is already thickening.  The t-shirt comes off next.  All his clothes are tossed on a chair in the corner and the Footballer stands before me totally naked but for his sandals.  I can tell he’s back to working out.  He is firmer everywhere now than when I last saw him.  He lets me look for another moment before he gets on his knees and starts slobbering all over my cock.

“Get it good and wet---I really need to fuck tonight.”

He nods---his mouth too full to talk.  But the pace of the blow job picks up.  He is taking me deep into his throat.  Every.  Damn. Stroke.  It’s fantastic.

“I want to eat that ass.”

He knows the drill in here.  He swings a chair around so he can kneel on it and still watch the hot action on the screen.  I kneel between his legs and am at the perfect height to bury my face into those muscled butt cheeks.  I hit the pucker on the first stab of my tongue.  He hisses his pleasure—and reaches his right arm back to pull the cheek open.  I drill deeper.  He lets go—burying me in his hot crack.  I tongue and spit.  Poke and prod—and slick my cock with just a touch of lube from my shirt pocket.

The door opens.  In walks a favorite fuck bud.  He’s a good ten years younger than I am—his blond hair is showing gray in normal light, but in this half light it all looks blond.  He stops dead in his tracks and watches us.  I feel the Footballer tense.  He’s ready to flee.  I pull out of his crack.

“Stay there.  He’s a friend.”  That might be stretching it…but I do usually leave a friendly load in the new arrivals ass any time I can.  My Fuck-Bud has taken his cock out.  It’s bigger than I remember.  He sits and strokes, watching me as I go back to eating the Footballer’s ass.

The Footballer looks at the man watching him.  He relaxes.  He’s even showing off—pushing back more forcefully onto my face, and groaning a little bit louder than before.  All this makes my cock drip more pre-cum.  I smear some on his hole.  I tell the two men just what I’m doing.  I drill some of it into his hole with the point of my tongue and the rest I lick off.  The Footballer calls me a couple of nasty names as I do it.

I’m primed.  I want to fuck.   I stand up and drool one long strand of spittle down on his hole from above.  I wipe it across his relaxed pucker.  This sends a shiver through the Footballer. 

“Fuck me, man.  I need that cock.”

I poke in just the head.  I let it sit there.  

The Footballer pushes back—impaling himself on my cock.   “I said fuck me.”

I slap his ass with my open palm.  The sound fills the room.  And I begin fucking, full on, no gradual warm up.  And he’s taking it.  Loving it.  Egging me on.

I turn to my F-Bud.   “Stick that cock in his mouth.  He likes it at both ends.”

The Footballer pants, likely remembering the hot spit roast we had the last time we met.  My Bud gets up and eagerly sticks his dick in the Footballer’s mouth.  I slap the ass in front of me again and speed up the drilling.  The Footballer has to stop jerking himself and hold onto the chair.  I’m glad my Bud is there to steady it with his free hand to make sure that we don’t tip over.

The man in his mouth has at first allowed the Footballer to do the sucking.  Now my Bud grabs the Footballer’s head and begins to face fuck him.  Unconsciously or not, he is matching the rhythm I’ve set of plowing ass.  Suddenly my Bud pulls himself out.   I know that look—he was going to shoot if he’d kept it up.  He sits down in a chair to the side of us and watches my cock plow into the mounds of hairy flesh.

I consider a moment.  I know my Bud likes to be fucked.  I don’t know how the Footballer would react seeing me going from his hole to another.  I discard that idea.  I have a better one.

I turn my head to my bud, whose eyes are glued to my cock.  “You should fuck him,” I say matter of factly.  I don’t ask the Footballer.  I just decide for him.  Another step down his road to cum whore.

My Bud shrugs a ‘sure.’  I pull out as he stands up.  I hold the Footballer in place, just in case he tries to get up—but he’s totally into it.  He moans a sort of a moan that means “I can’t believe this…” And my Bud enters him.  Being thinner, he slides in easily with all the butt juice I’ve churned up.  I kneel down—on eye level with the fuck.  I watch him plow in and out.

“I want you to let me taste his ass on your cock when you pull out.”

“You fuckin’ perv…” the Footballer groans.  But his hand goes back to his cock and starts jerking it again.

My Bud suits the action to the word.  He pulls his dripping cock out of the Footballer’s hole and lets me sample it.  Amazing.  I slurp noisily so the Footballer knows just what is happening.  When my Bud pulls out of my mouth he steps back.  I swing around and go into full rim mode.  The Footballer literally starts shaking—it being the last thing he expects.  My tongue mops up every drop.

I stand.  I hungrily plow him again.

I pull out and my Bud goes back up him.  We repeat the process.  He fucks, I clean him up—but this time he goes back in.  He actually rips his cock out of my mouth and plunges back into the Footballer with a “Shit!”  I watch his body shake with every spasm of his cumming.

The Footballer is mumbling an “Oh, my God---oh, my God…” litany under all this.

I let my Bud marinate in his juices for a moment.  Then tell him I need to felch.

“Clean my dick first.”  He sticks it in my mouth.  Fuck—even better than before.  He pulls out and sits down heavily, exhausted, as I swivel and bury my face into the Footballer’s hole.

“You fuckin’ pigs,” he whines.

I slap his ass as my tongue pushes deeper into his cummy channel.  The slap gives me a huge dollop of load on my tongue.  I swallow and keep licking.

I finally spit into him and stand up.

“I’m going to fuck in his load.”

“Shoot in me, too!” he grunts.

“Now who’s the pig?”  I slide my cock into his velvety, cummy hole.  Instantly, I am super hard.  I know I will be shooting any moment now.

He squeezes me once—and that’s it.  I fire repeatedly into him.  Spurt after spurt.  And then one last one.  I hold on to the Footballer until I trust myself to slowly pull out.  I fall to my knees and clean the cum oozing out of his hole.  Just a couple of licks.  I can’t do more—I am so satisfied.

I pull back on my haunches.

“Now that you animals are done using me…”  The Footballer gets up off the chair.  Slowly.  Carefully.  His legs look like he’s not sure they can take his weight.  He reaches for his clothes behind me and pulls them on.  He turns to the two of us, both sitting there with our wet dicks wilting.  I see a million thoughts go across his face. 

But all he says is “Fuckers...”

And, rather unsteadily, he goes out the door.