This story is complete fiction. Only read this story if you're not offended by sexual situations between adults and minors.
Any resemblance by name or description to anyone dead or alive is totally coincidental. If you are not of legal age or if this content is not legal in your area, please do not read this. Please don't post or publish this story without asking my permission. If you have comments, please email me at scotttimscott09@aol.com.
"A QUARTERBACK`S TALE" Part 3
Hey guys, Eric here. Just thought I'd keep you posted on what's been happening with my teammies and me. You've already met a few of my awesome buds: Remember Scott and Matt from the first chapter? Cool. Then I introduced you Paul, Brandon and Frankie in the second chapter. (Who can forget Paul and his little foray in Matt's backyard?)
Anyway, I'm still hottest jock goin' (ha, ha). But, then again, you be the judge.
Matt's party on Friday night was pretty cool. We just all sat around and thought about going to the State Finals we were gonna play in next week.
We had begun to become a real tight group throughout the year. Then we actually became closer. Take Paul and Matt for instance. If that blowjob between the Tackle and Center couldn't draw two guys together, what would?
Anyway I got home pretty early and rubbed out yet another load. I set my smart phone for around 9 a.m. so I'd have plenty of time to fuel-up before practice.
Now it's noon on Saturday and we're sittin' around waitin' for the coach to show up. He called a practice for the upcoming Finals and we were all there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. No problem with that. We were pumped and ready to get out onto the field.
I couldn't help but steal a few glances at Matt and Paul and reminisce about last night's "rendezvous" between them. They were perched on the locker room benches on opposite sides, but I could see them glancing at each other every so often; probably thinking about last night. I was gonna ask Paul if he got all the hair out his teeth this morning, but I just smiled to myself saying "Let it go Eric. Let it go."
I also felt somewhat ashamed (only kidding) of my fantasy episode with Brandon as I saw him sitting on the bench. Even though I had rubbed one out when I got home last night, he was still in my thoughts and in my dreams. One day I'm gonna...
Suddenly the door flung open and the coach entered. He's a pretty cool guy. All business, but still pretty cool. His name is David D. Andersen, but he goes by Dave or Coach Dave. He's a big guy: 40-ish years of age, 6' 2", maybe about 210-215 lbs., deep blue eyes and dark brown hair with just a touch of gray at his temples. He's still pretty solid too. He played ball in college a few years back but he still works out regularly; on and off the field. His chest is defined as hell and his legs resemble mighty oaks. He's also pretty hairy. I guess it's due to his heritage.
"Good afternoon gents" he says as he goes over to unlock the door to his office.
"Back at ya' Coach Dave. You ready to rumble?" we reply.
We hear his reply from the office: "Hell yea, but before we go out onto the field I want to review some of the plays we've used during the season. I think we could improve in some of our reaction times as well as holding patterns. There also seems to be problem with control. All in all we're actually pretty good on these, but a little fine tuning is always valuable. I put together a DVD that might help explain my point."
"Cool" we say in unison.
Coach plugs his peripheral into the USB port of the mega 50" plasma screen and asks us to dim the lights. One of the guys hits the switch and settles back down.
We, by the way, prefer this screen to the older, smaller one which Coach trashed a few week ago. The reason for this is because when we go over our plays it seems we were right out there on the field--the picture beings so vivid and lifelike.
The coach picked up the remote and pressed "Play." Our jersey numbers danced across the screen one by one in a montage affect. It was kinda neat seein' them--it had a type of symbolism that united us.
He then went to "Scene Selections": There were 3 different "Scenes" displayed, all accompanied by a photo. One of Brandon, next was Paul, and finally Frankie.
Then he said "Remember the points I mentioned: 1: Reaction Time; 2: Holding Patterns; 3: Control."
He hit the Select button.
"Here we go" he said. "First up is `Reaction Time'."
With that a headshot of Brandon flashed on the screen. We all looked over at him and nodded. The picture then zoomed out, continuing to play.
Suddenly the interior of the coach's office came into full view, complete with Brandon on his knees looking up at the coach's shirtless torso.
From the opposite side of the room we hear Brandon saying "What the fuck?"
He was fuckin' shocked and humiliated without a doubt.
Pressing the Pause button the Coach barks "Oh, shut the fuck up you fuckin' jock whore. You didn't seem to be embarrassed then. You came to me, I didn't come to you."
"And you two other jocks," pointing to Paul and Frankie, "Don't worry, you'll have your `15 minutes' when your scenes play out. You're all on the same team" he said, "And apparently quite a bunch of cock hounds when it comes down to it, so sit back enjoy." he continued.
Coach Dave settles on his seat and hit's the Play again.
"Now you notice here that even though I'm standing shirtless in front of Brandon he doesn't `React' right away, but not to worry he was a quick learner."
We then see Brandon quickly get up and move closer to the coach.
He keeps mouthing to himself "Reaction Time. Reaction Time. Reaction Time. Better make it fast." He rises and eagerly moves his hands up the Coach's hairy chest and begins rubbing the pecs in front of him. Bending forward he takes the nipples into his mouth, teething at them with fervor.
His breathing is getting harder and so is he. The camera zooms out and we can see the bulge in Brandon's sweats as he grabs and caresses himself.
Going back to the coach he wraps his hands around the Coach round ass cheeks and ever-so-gently massages them. The coach backs away about a foot and slips his hands into the elastic band of his shorts and pulls them down; hooking the material under his big balls.
He just stands there.
Brandon's Reaction Time' became second-nature. Kneeling down he lifted the heavy cock ever so gently and proceeded to lick the head until it was slick with spit. With his other hand he caressed Coach Dave's hairy nads and rolled them in their sac.
The Coach them grabbed him under the arms and raised him up to where their faces met. Brandon's mouth opened as Coach's tongue probed the insides. Brandon's cock's `Reaction Time' was immediate as he shot his cum violently inside his sweats. A huge wet spot suddenly appeared and slowly saturated the material all the way down to his knees.
He then begged the coach for his cock, but it was over with the Coach. He just ushered Brandon to the door and threw his gym bag into the locker room.
The screen faded to black.
Silence filled the room where all the jocks were sitting. Some became anticipatory about what would take place now.
Coach then invokes: "Number 2: `Holding Patterns'."
With that, Paul, the team Guard's pic appeared. Then the camera zoomed back and cut to him laying face-down across the Coach's desk with his sturdy, strong ass bouncing up and down and side to side.
"Now Paul initially had a problem with his Holding Pattern. It took a little more patience to teach him this virtue, but once it settled into that thick brain of his, it was no longer was a problem" the Coach volunteered.
"To be sure, once my full 10 inches was buried up his plump jock-ass he totally relaxed. Oh, he grimaced at first, but then he chilled."
By the scenario taking place on the screen you could see that Paul's breath had returned to normal as he rotated his ass ever so carefully so that the Coach could get a good rub on his prostate with his dick spear. He was in such a relaxed state that he was actually cooing with delight. He didn't move a muscle: He mastered `Holding Pattern' quite nicely, thank you very much.
The only time he did deviate from it though was when the Coach started really hammering him deeper and deeper. His ass bucked backwards to accept what the coach was offering. His head started rolling from side to side; his ass bouncing up and down.
Paul's dick was sandwiched between his abdomen and the desktop as he started to scream and cum at the same time, only adding to the Coach's pistoning in and out.
Coach finally cummed and coated Paul's insides completely.
Paul was a happy camper. He got what he asked for, and left the office a happy friggin' camper.
We looked over at Paul and he was actually kinda` smiling. Self-conscious, but smiling.
"Finally we have item number 3: `Control'" the Coach said.
Frankie's face then filled the screen. His bedroom eyes dazzling in the camera's lens.
The scene starts when Frankie, our Wide Receiver, lays eyes on Coach coming out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He had to have to coach and he had to have him immediately.
Eyes filled with lust and his brow soaked with perspiration he began stripping like a maniac. He ripped his shirt off over his head violently and threw it across the room.
Coach did not like his loss of `Control' and he rushed over and grabbed Frankie by his flailing arms, grasping both wrists within his big paw.
"Hey stud, fuckin' cool your jets. I'm not goin' anywhere. Remember `Control' is the name of the game; in here and on the field."
With that Frankie simmered down. "I'm sorry Coach, but that fuckin' mint body makes me delirious with desire. You're just so hot I can't `Control' myself."
"But you must. You must think about reining yourself in. If you don't it will be over all too soon, and I'm sure you want it to last for a while. Right?"
"Right Coach. I'm sorry." he said bashfully.
So the Coach rests his hands on Frankie's shoulders and lets the towel drop away from his waist. He was now standing in front of his student jock fully naked.
Frankie nervously approached the Coach and nuzzled his face in the nape of his neck: "You smell awesome coach. So musky and so manly. And that smell of testosterone...OMG!"
While slowly slipping to his knees, and at eye level with the Coach's curly black bush, he methodically licked the helmet of the proffered cock. "So tight" he thought to himself. He held onto the muscular ass as he fed on that glorious appendage, sliding down on it inch after inch until it was completely engulfed in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tube and licked at the pulsating veins. He was in love with this man's cock and the man himself.
As he began to massage the nuts that hung down between the tree-trunk-like legs he suddenly felt the Coach violently shake; his whole body seemed to lurch forward. In one massive spasm the Coach unloaded into Frankie's hungry mouth. Frankie continued to lick the shaft as the thick, healthy ropes of man-jizz shot out. Most of it went down his throat. But as the Coach withdrew the last rope hit him right between the eyes. With nimble fingers he gathered up one of the moist strands and brought it to his mouth. One digit at a time was cleaned off the remaining juices and eagerly swallowed it into his jock stomach.
The Coach wrapped the towel back around his waist and sat down at his desk to work on his computer.
A satisfied Frankie let himself out of the office pulling the door shut behind him.
"Okay guys, now that we`ve..."
"Not so quick Coach" Matt says sauntering over to the and grabbin' the Remote Control.
"Dont forget Arrogance' Coach."
" Arrogance was not on the list," the Coach says.
"Oh, yea? Well it is now. Let's show the guys how `Arrogance' can rear it ugly head."
Matt scrolls through the set-up screen until he comes to the Extras section. "I've decided to take liberties with your little hidden cameras too."
He presses the remote.
The Coach says "But Matt...I, uh..."
"Don't `Matt' me Davey. Just sit back and enjoy."
All the guys in the room leaned forward and leered at the screen.
The vignette opens with Coach dramatically drawing out some plays he wants Matt to put into action.
Matt's shaking his head: "They won't work Coach, their defense will see right through them."
"Screw you. I know what I'm talking about. Remember, I'm the Coach, you're just the Quarterback."
"Just the Quarterback? Just the Quarterback?" Matt says, getting progressively more pissed.
"You motherfucker. Who the fuck do you think you are? First of all you don't know shit about this fuckin' game. It's a whole new world from your bogus college days. You call those plays? I call them fuckin' crap. My 2-year-old nephew could scrawl a better fuckin' plan."
Matt continues his litany of verbal assault on the coach. "And you know what else? I'm fuckin' shocked. Do you hear me? Fuckin' shocked we're goin' to the Finals this year. No thanks to you pal. It's all our doing. It's because of the team. Guaranteed it's not due to you, our precious, sniveling Coach. You got that?"
The look of shock on the Coach`s face was priceless. Matt was subjecting him to the same type of "Arrogance" that the Coach had no problem doling out to his players.
"And you know what else. The way I saw you treating Brandon, Paul and Frankie when you let me pre-screen your little sexual encounters was yet another example of your Arrogance. They gave themselves to you, and you gave nothing in return."
And then we see the Coach cowering on his knees at the foot of a long row of lockers. He was at Matt`s feet and looking up.
Matt was still fully clothed in his uni, sans his helmet.
"Get the fuck over here. Better yet crawl to your Quarterback and apologize for being such a self-centered, arrogant jerk or I take that DVD right to the principal."
Coach Dave saw he had no choice, so he obliged Matt and slid across the floor to the middle of the room.
"You like dick so much Coach. I gotta nice prime piece of Quarterback jock meat stuffed in here. Never had any complaints with whomever I shared it with. Take a whiff Davey."
The Coach obediently raised up and nuzzled his face into the protruding crotch of the uni. He inhaled the satisfying aroma of Matt's manhood.
Matt took his raised foot off the bench, scraping his cleats across the floor. Taking his top off he stood there towering over the Coach; his shoulder pads highlighting his broad, sculpted chest.
"C'mon Coach. Lay some lovin' on these hot Quarterback nips. Make `em feel good."
The Coach then rose up and stood directly in front of Matt. He let his hands roam across the athlete's abs and his lower back muscles.
"The nips man. The nips." Matt reiterated.
The Coach's tongue began to run across the upper chest until he reach the two hard nubs. He flicked one with his coarse tongue and then moved over to the other.
"You're getting' me horny Coach. Real fuckin' horny. I haven't cum for days and I'm desperate to unload."
The Coach lifted his head and peered into Matt's eyes. They glared at each other until Coach moved his mouth and lips closer to Matt's.
Abruptly pulling his face away, Matt said "You fuckin' wish."
Coach Dave whimpered as his eyes shot to the floor and mumbled "Sorry sir."
"Sorry `sir'": I guess he's starting to learn his lesson after all, he thought to himself.
Untying the string at his waist he begins to lower the bottom of his uniform, His hunky glutes came into full view; the straps from his jock framing each cheek.
"You're in for a real treat Davey. You don't mind if I call you Davey, do you? Cool. Then Davey it is."
Matt bends over and say "Dig in."
The Coach's mouth is drooling with spit as he dives between those awesome orbs. "Davey" is groaning with delight.
Matt reaches back and open his ass wider. "Eat me Davey. Give me all that tongue. I want you in so deep that my toes curl in my cleats."
Coach Dave did his job as instructed. The sounds of his ass-loving slurps echoed off the walls.
Matt was thrusting back so hard; trying to get that tongue buried as far in as possible. His jock was filling up fast; the length of his cock causing the cup to actually pop out and land on the floor.
"So fuckin' good Davey. So fuckin' good. You're a natural jock-lover. You got me so hot man. So fuckin' hot."
Matt turned around and faced Coach Dave who was kneeling dutifully on the floor.
Coach Dave's hand began to move up the protruding jock-covered crotch.
Dave slapped his hand away and said "It's not about you this time Coach. This time it's all about me."
"Now strip!"
The Coach's eyes widened like saucers and the beating of his heart was almost audible.
"I said strip. Or that DVD goes right over to the principal's office first thing Monday."
Fear welled in the Coach's eyes as he started to remove his clothing in front of his star Quarterback. Once his shorts, shoes and socks fell to the floor Matt ordered him to lean over the bench and face the lockers.
As Coach took up his position, Matt removed his cleats and moved into range.
With his hands roaming all over the Coach's strong back he leaned over and said "Ready for some prime Quarterback meat? I gotta tell ya' Davey I'm pumped and primed and ready for a go at that needy ass of yours. Guaranteed you'll be squealing like one of those slutty cheerleaders when I get done with you."
Coach nodded his head and raised up his ass.
Matt pulled his jockstrap to the side and grabbed his solid 9" rod, already leaking with pre, and rubbed it all over Coach Dave's glutes. The feeling was electric; totally mind numbing.
As he spread the ass that was displayed in front of him he deftly aimed his cock at his ultimate target.
Matt decided "It's now or never."
So standing there in his pads and the bottom of the uni pushed down to his calves he made his move. With one agile thrust of his hips he was buried deep inside the Coach.
The Coach was practically nailed onto the bench as that railroad-spike-hard cock rammed in an out with alarming speed.
"Oh fuck it hurts. Oh fuck. Oh fu... Ahh. Ahh. It's so good. It's so good. Deeper Matt, Deeper. Please. Please."
Then I hear some weird chirping sound in my ear.
I bolt upright in my bed. Its 12:30 and Im late for practice.
--Copyright 2011. Tim Scott.
Okay guys. I'd like to continue this story if I get some positive feedback. Continuing/expanding story lines and new characters can also be handled if you like. You can e-mail me at scotttimscott09@aol.com. Oh, and happy stroking--Copyright 2011. Tim Scott.