Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild violence, and sexual activity between young men. If you find such material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't read any further.
Copyright Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004). If you enjoy this story, please email me.
I sat in the car for a moment, wondering what had just happened. Here I was agreeing again not only to take Chris home, but promising to wait around until after practice--a good two hours! What was wrong with me? . . . Well, my cock knew. Here was the perfect solution to my hitchhiker problem--at least for now. I already knew Chris, so I was sure that he (probably!) wasn't dangerous. But his hard body and arrogant manners somehow set me on fire. I found myself thinking of all the things Chris might ask me to do now that I had proved myself so submissive. Maybe he'd want me to run errands for me or even borrow my car until his was fixed. Maybe he might want me to suck him off when he was between girlfriends . . . Hell! Where did that idea come from? Of course I had heard about blow jobs, but I never thought about them really involving me. Was I ready for this?
With those thoughts in mind, I decided to go sit in the bleachers and watch all that muscular young male flesh flex and sweat and fight back and forth on the field. The thoughts about blow jobs returned, but now I thought about blowing the whole team! I imagined myself knelling right in the middle of their huddle while the guys unzipped their football pants and took out their hard cocks. Then they ordered me to pass from one to another. Coming out of my daydream, I noticed my own cock was hard as a rock. Whoa, slow down buddy or someone's gonna make you out for sure!
Then something happened that made my cock totally wilt. I saw a familiar figure out on the field with the rest of the team. He was quite a distance away so I wasn't absolutely sure. He looked just like that guy, Nick, who had sat behind me in class and who had humiliated me by putting his feet on my shoulders. Was HE on the team?! The question was settled an instant later. He looked over at me and grinned. I just about died. It was Nick! Did he tell anyone about what had happened? Would he come over after practice and start tormenting me in front of the whole team? I didn't know what to do. An insistent voice inside me said to get my ass out of there, but I might find myself in more trouble if I pissed off Chris.
I settled for going to the bathroom and getting out of sight of the team so I could think. Problem was, I didn't have the slightest idea what to do. I had gotten myself into this mess by letting myself be controlled by my cock. Now it was hiding and making itself as small as possible, leaving me to contend with a couple of hulking and aggressive football players!
When practice was over Chris horsed around with his buds for awhile like he didn't have a care in the world. He looked in my direction, then turned and said something to his teammates, at which some of them started to laugh. Then he trotted over to where I was sitting alone in the bleachers. He told me that he was going in to take a shower and then he would be out and ready to leave. He winked at me and was off. Again I stared at his ass, now outlined so beautifully in his white football pants, smudged with grass and mud. Nick just ignored me, much to my relief. Still, I had a funny feeling that my troubles with him were not over, but really had just begun.
When Chris finally got out of the locker room it was already 5:30 pm. I was going to be late for dinner, and I'm sure mom and dad were wondering what had happened to me.
"Let's roll," he said casually. He pushed the seat back and put his feet up on the dashboard of the car.
"Man am I hungry," he complained. "I gotta get some food in me. Hey!" he said, "how `bout stopping at Mickey D's for a little chow. We can use the drive-through and get the stuff faster."
Again I found myself agreeing with Chris' commanding voice and driving to the fast food place, which was in the opposite direction from where I lived.
When we got up to the window I just ordered a Coke, since I would be eating dinner soon (I hoped). Chris' though ordered two quarter-pounders, super-sized fries, Coke, and an apple pie. Didn't they feed him at home?
I handed the attendant the money, expecting Chris to reimburse me, especially since his stuff was about 90% of the bill. Instead he just started chowing down and giving me directions to his house, which were again taking me out of my way.
I discovered that Chris was a real slob when it came to his eating manners, and he managed to make a royal mess of his side of the car. Catsup, pieces of lettuce, a couple of greasy fries, and spilled Coke littered the floor. He seemed not even to notice it, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Turn here, man," he said, "that's my house straight ahead. I noticed that his house was off the road that went past the college, which explained why he was always standing there on the main road waiting for a pickup.
Chris' folks had a large, rambling old house that looked like it badly needed a new coat of paint. I thought he might invite me in real quick to meet his parents, the Fosters, but he just burped, wiped his mouth again, and jumped out, mumbling, "See ya later, four-eyes."
I got home for dinner about half an hour late.
"Dave," mom said, "you know what time dinner is. You know it's an inconvenience for all of us when somebody is late (I told you my folks were conservative!) We've been waiting for you. Where were you?"
"Um, I had to help Allen after school with a project and the time just got away from us," I lied. "I'll try not to let it happen again."
"Okay," mom said, seeming not at all satisfied by my story. "Now let's sit down and eat. The food is getting cold."
At that moment I resolved to get a place of my own to get out from under my folks' authority, which was starting to smother me. After all, I was in college now. Why should I have anyone telling me when I had to be home to eat, or anything else for that matter?
Only trouble was I had very little money. Now I'd definitely have to find another job, and also hope that my parents would continue to foot my tuition bill-- at least until I was in better financial shape. One piece of good news was that after the first semester tuition was cut in half for state residents.
After dinner the telephone rang; it was Chris. "How did you get my number?" I asked.
"Oh," he said casually. "I happened to run into your friend Allen at the mall last night and I got it from him."
"What do you want, Chris?" I asked, slightly annoyed at Allen for having given out my number.
"I figured that since you stop for me on the road almost every day it would be a lot easier if you just came to my house and picked me up," Chris answered.
I thought about it for a moment. Chris' demands were escalating. I wondered how far he would go.
"So how about it, dude?" Chris said impatiently.
I felt the now familiar rise in my cock as I found myself agreeing to Chris' proposal. "Okay Chris, what time do you want me to be there?" (Another submission!)
"Cool," Chris said, as if he had expected me to say yes all along. "Why not come over around 8:15 am?" (Both of us had our first class at 9:00 am)
When I arrived at Chris' house I expected him to be waiting at the curb, but he was nowhere in sight. After waiting about five minutes I went up the steps and rang the door bell. His mom answered the door. "Oh, you must be the boy who 's going to be taking Chris to school. I'm very happy you are good enough to do that. I always worry when Chris has to hitchhike. I don't like it at all."
(At least somebody in the family had some manners.)
I guess Chris had not even told his mom my name, so I introduced myself. " Good to meet you, Dave," Mrs. Foster said. Just then Chris ran down the stairs, with his shirt hanging out and his sneakers untied, and swept past us.
"Come on, dude," Chris yelled, "I'm gonna be late for class."
I was about to tell him that if he wasn't so slow getting ready, we wouldn't be late for class, but he didn't seem at all concerned about my schedule. We started off. I was driving faster than usual so we could make that first class. I didn't want another late mark on my attendance sheet.
"Whew," he said. "Got to stop these school-night fucks with my girlfriend. I didn't get home till after midnight. Now I'm wiped out." Then he turned to me. "You got a chick, dude? I never see you hanging around with any of the bitches at school. Got a problem?"
I was shocked by Chris' question, and stammered that I was too busy with classes to carry on much of a social life. Chris stared at me for a long moment and then shrugged his shoulders. "Well, dude," he said. "You don't know what you're missing. I'm not much into jacking off myself. I'd rather have a warm hole to dump my load." When I looked over at him he was grinning. I quickly turned my head again to the road.
"By the way," Chris said in an offhanded way. "I've got practice again today so pick me at 5:00 pm like yesterday. Okay?"
Now he was just presuming that I would be available to wait for him after school. I was just about to tell him that my folks had chewed me out because I was late for dinner last night, but my cock stopped me. I was getting so hot for this jock that I found myself helpless to resist his demands. "Okay, Chris," I mumbled, "see you then."
Since this waiting for Chris seemed like it was going to be a regular thing, I started thinking about what to tell the folks about my daily tardiness for dinner. I finally settled on the excuse that I had joined the swim team at school and would not be home until about 6:30 pm every night.
Although my parents were quite upset about the change in schedule for dinner, they were also happy that I was getting more involved in college activities, so they reluctantly agreed.
Once again I was the only one in the bleachers while the school football team was practicing. I tried to study since I was falling behind in my work, but my cock was working on me, and I kept looking up to see the hunky guys on the field, and most especially to watch Chris, who was fiercely competitive. I was also trying my best not to be noticed by Nick by keeping my head bowed over and hidden behind my book.
When practice was over Chris approached me. I noticed that the other guys were watching from the field. "Hey, dude," Chris said. "help me get these cleats off. I, uh, strained my back and can't bend over too good."
As I looked up at Chris, I saw that he had turned his head around to his teammates who were intensely watching this little scene. I figured that Nick saw me for sure. I mean, how could he avoid seeing me now?
Chris boldly lifted one of his muddy football shoes onto the bleacher between my legs and stared at me with a slight smirk on his face. I thought he was waiting to see what I would do. If I complied he would know that I would probably be putty in his hands from then on. He didn't have long to wait.
I reached down and angled his foot so that I would have better access to his muddy cleats. At the same time he pushed forward so that his shoe rested between my crotch. As I untied the shoe he swiped his foot against my cock and balls, applying just a bit of pressure. His grin widened. I began to blush. Surely he must have felt that I had a hardon. I heard mocking laughter coming from the field.
"Okay, man," he smiled. "Now do the other one."
After I had finished and handed him the shoes, my pants and especially my crotch were a muddy mess. He didn't even apologize, but turned, and winked to his buddies who were now filing into the locker room.
When Chris came out and flopped in the car as usual he looked at me again and said. "Hey, man, some of my buds and I are getting together at a friend's house Saturday evening. How `bout dropping me off there around 8:00 pm? It won' t go on for too long since it's guys only. We got some strategy to plan for our first game next week. You can pick me up around 11:30 pm."
After agreeing mechanically to his request, I began to wonder again what was happening to me. I was becoming this guy's chauffeur and it was getting to be more and more often. Each night, however, when I went to bed I jacked off to fantasies of this handsome, arrogant guy: his squared off chin, powerful shoulders, tight ass, and ample basket. I started to think again about what it would be like to bury my face in his jean-covered crotch, to pull down his zipper and burrow through his boxers until I found that thick cock and heavy balls.
Whoa! I thought: I'm no fag. Where were these thoughts coming from? Of course, I really already knew the answer to that question. I was looking more and more at this manly specimen not only as a jock to be admired, but also as a sex machine to be serviced. I envied the girls he spoke about being the rcepticals of his baby makers,' and I thought about what it must be like to be plugged ' by his huge cock.
"Besides," Chris said, "I guess you know one of the guys anyway. He told me that you always sit in front of him in English class." He smiled as he closed the door and turned his back on me to go into the house.
I had a lot to think about that evening as I drove home for dinner.
After we had finished eating dad remarked: "Hey sport, what's wrong. You hardly touched your dinner.
(To be continued)