QB Club Charity Challenge Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)
WARNING: The following story contains graphic depictions of male/male sex and is for adults only. Do not read if such material offends you or if you are underage.
This story is fiction. It is for fantasy purposes only and in no way reflects on the real persons depicted. For more of my stories, check out the Authors page of the Nifty archive, or join the Drake Stories Yahoo Group (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/).
Comments to billdrake@hotmail.com. Thanks to those who write, you make it worthwhile. Extra thanks to John, a reader who's fed me with inspiration and pointed me to the newest talent in college and NFL football.
QB Club Charity Challenge Bill Drake
Part 2
Ben Roethlisberger wiped the sweat off his brow as he watched his shot sail to the green. His game was on today. He smiled as the ball bounced feet away from the hole, then turned to Stuart Schweigart, the newbie Raider, and winked. "That's how a pro does it, Stu."
The young jock squinted in the sun as he soaked in the sight of pro-jock perfection. Ben's tall, powerful frame, his short blonde-brown hair, his piercing eyes, all drove Schweigart mad with red-blooded lust. He recalled the locker room tales he'd heard about "Big Ben" and wondered if the stud's cock lived up to legend.
"Cut the showoff crap, Ben," came a deep voice. Trent Dilfer was choosing his iron behind the two.
"Yeah," assented the fourth member of their team, former NHL-er Dan Quinn, his pearly whites gleaming in the sun. "Just because you want to tag some rookie ass doesn't mean you have to bore the rest of us all day."
"Ah, screw you," Ben grunted, "you just want a piece of Roethlisberger cock, too." He cupped the ample genitals in his chino golf pants. Even soft, the bulge couldn't be contained in the wide span of Ben's hand, and Stuart had to agree that "Big Ben" was no false advertising.
"Damnit!" Trent tossed down his club and plopped down to the ground. "You want your cock sucked?! I'll suck your goddamn cock. Whip it out, big guy. I'm still three points ahead of you, but I'll suck you off. Just so I won't have to hear you toot your own horn."
Ben was taken aback by Trent's outburst. But the hunky QB was kneeling legs spread in front of him, face at crotch level, hot breath on his privates like a tropical breeze and the Steeler's hands knew what to do.
They unbuckled his belt and unzipped his chinos. His prize-worthy cut meat was chubbed but nowhere near hard when it plopped out. Dilfer wasted no time in stuffing the full length down, a task made easier by its semi-soft state. He wiggled his jaw and buried his nose deep into Roethlisberger's blonde pubes. His nostrils flared as the air he sucked in was redolent of the younger athlete's testosterone-laden musk. Trent ground his face into Ben's moist crotch, then backed off the master cock, now coated in the QB's clear mucus-thick spit, watching it flail and jump as blood rushed into fill the hefty length. Then he pounced forth again, stuffing the hardening shaft down his gullet once more.
"That's it, Trent, baby, suck your man's cock."
"Those guys are pretty hot, huh?" Dan was standing behind Stuart's young, powerful frame, his arms circling around the frosh jock's torso. Schweigart could feel the muscle through the knit material of his shirt and instinctively ha backed up into the hockey pro's comforting arms.
"Yes, sir," he croaked. He turned and looked into Quinn's pale blue eyes. Dan leaned forward and met the cute defensive lineman in a smoldering kiss.
"I know I'm not a young hung stud like Ben there, but how bout I show you a good time while those lunkheads are getting off?"
Stuart bit his lips in reflection, then broadened into a big smile. "All right, sir. Show me what you hockey jocks got."
Already Quinn was jerking the tucked-in nylon-knit shirt tails out from the constraints on Schweigart's tight-fit khakis. Squatting down, he poked his head under the space where the shirt draped down from Stuart's square, beefy shoulders. Schweigart's 200 pound body shivered at the first feel of Quinn's tongue along his spine. Encouraged, the hockey veteran licked up along Stu's backside, his hands caressing the wide expanse of young lat muscle swelling up above him. The kid's skin was still fresh, and Dan breathed in to savor the clean, perfumy smell of the soap Stuart had showered with that morning. He could even taste a hint of it, but mostly it tasted of man. If only they could bottle this shit, Dan thought as he worked his way up Schweigart's back.
As we went up, he pushed the thin shirt material up, bunching it up onto Stu's shoulders. Then further. The footballer got the hint and extended his arms upward, allowing Dan to remove it. There he stood on the golf course, naked from the waist up. Quinn stood back and admired the view. This guy had one fantastic backside. Lithe, sculpted lines of brawn drew his sightline into one unbelievably round butt. The pants weren't cut for such a meaty rump, and the khaki material stretched tight over rookie athlete rump. Quinn could even make out the impression of jock straps beneath, framing the twin globes.
Dan reached forth and cupped his brawn-knotted hands on the athlete's juicy backside. "Nice, hard muscleass," he thought appreciatively. He loved the way the muscle relaxed and firmed up under his caress. Stuart hissed and relaxed into the sensation of the deep tissue massage Quinn was giving him. He was glad Coach had been pushing him on his squats lately. His tongue half-hanging out of his mouth, he turned to look over his shoulder, into Dan's dreamy eyes, which were burning with lust and determination.
"Dan, buddy, don't ya want to feel those cheeks close up?" Dan just nodded, panting, as Stuart undid his golf pants and pushed them down over his meaty hips and backside and over his bulging thighs.
Quinn had seen plenty of jock ass in his day, but this one took him aback. "Damn, stud, you got an ass that won't quit," he purred while running his hand over the curvature of the glutes and into the concave dimples that formed when the kid flexed his massive butt for Quinn's appreciative gaze. "Smooth as a baby's bottom," he thought, surprised that a hunky young man like Stuart wouldn't be hairy all over.
Dan pulled one of the jock staps back and let it loose to snap the muscle cheek. "I don't know how you football boys like to have a good time, but let me show you how us hockey jocks had fun after the game," he growled, kissing down the length of Stu's spine, which was beginning to bead in clear sweat in the late summer sun.
The beefy jock stood there in anticipation and spread his legs to let Quinn's hot breath tickle his crack. Dan marveled at the hairless butt, just a hint of fuzz to line the athlete's trench. As if drawn by magnetic force, he leaned forward, til his lips connected with Schweigart's tight pucker.
"Fuck, Sir!" the newbie Raider cried out. "You're gonna spoil me, man. Best goddamn butt munching I ever felt, stud. Keep at it, that's it, deeper you ice-skating fucker!"
Dan moaned appreciatively while his face was smothered with exquisitely hard and eager football player ass. He kissed, licked, prodded and drilled that tight, puckered ring, til its resistance wore down and fluttered open around his nasty, jocklicking tongue. He wanted this hunk nice and relaxed and wetter than a sweaty marine. He wanted the kid ready for the juicy boner Quinn had bobbing between his squatting legs.
"Thanks, buddy," Ben Roethlisberger said as Trent Dilfer leaned back on his haunches, wiping the layer of manspit and stray cock juice from his mouth and chin. He had to admit Dilfer was a class-A QB cocksucker.
"No problem, big guy." Playfully, he reached up and pulled down Big Ben's sticky-wet eleven-inch pole and let it loose again, watching it snap up and slap the athlete's taut belly. "I swear, Ben, I don't know how that big honking dick of yours stays hard after the load it just shot in me."
"Dunno," he smiled. Always a horny motherfucker, I guess."
"Well," Trent continued, his hand slowly jerking the full length of Ben's prick. "Later on, tonight, I'd love to feel what it's like to have this railroad spike wedged up my muscle butt."
"Sure, Dilfer, sure. Take a number," Ben teased. "Hey, let's join the others."
The young production assistant's buttcheeks clenched as he watched Dan Marino's ball sail down the fairway. Even in his cargo pants, Matt's bubble buns stretched the khaki material over the round expansive of young jock ass so that anyone could make out the deep crevice or the involuntary twitches of the melon-shaped cheeks.
"What you doing boy? Trying to keep my mind off the game?" Dan cried.
"No, Mr. Marino. I just can't help it. I keep looking over at Craig and Boomer..." Boomer Esiason sat in the golf cart while the young sportscaster worked his mouth on the retired QB's fat hog. "... and I keep thinking about doing that to you, sir. Don't worry, I'll stand behind you next shot."
"I'm not gonna last that long, Matt." Dan pulled his shirttails out and unbuckled his belt. "Start stripping."
Matt grinned and began peeling off his Boston College tee shirt and his pants and boxers. His seven-incher sprung high and tight when freed. His buttcheeks jiggled firmly.
"Shee-yut!" Dan murmured as he stepped behind the young stud, his own uncut erection up to its giant stature. "Be careful, kid," he teased, riffing off his Hall of Fame Induction speech, "I'm about to lick my fingers. And you know what happens next."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Marino," Matt answered.
"Go for it, Danny" Boomer called out, edging closer to shooting in the sportscaster's expert mouth.
Dan licked his large quarterback fingers and, reliving the many times he nudged his hands underneath the balls of his favorite center, he pushed the sloppy digits at the entrance of Matt's tight rectum and squeezed them in.
"Damn, boy, you're tight," he purred, smiling to himself as his ball-tossing fingers pushed deep into Matt's quim.
Hockey legend Dan Quinn wasn't the best-endowed guy, but the several inches buried up Stuart Schweigart's tail was working like a machine piston, driving both men to higher sexual plateaus. Quinn was getting carried away in long-forgotten sensations of intense rocks-off jock-to-jock tango. It had been years, but when he saw two sweaty, sexed up QBs walking toward him and Stuart, he knew he had to try. "Which one of you boys wants to climb on in back?"
Ben looked at the rutting couple and swallowed the lump of lust rising in his throat. Then he nodded his head in Trent's direction. "Let Dilfer here. He didn't get off over there."
"Besides," Ben added stepping up to a sweaty, hot Schweigart, "I'm calling seconds on the rookie."
Trent wasted no time in dropping trou and getting behind the hunky Quinn. Dan howled in pleasure and pain as his long-neglected anus was breached by an overheated Dilfer too worked up to take it slow.
Ben smiled a trademark aw-shucks smile as he rubbed Stuart's meaty torso to help him relax into the relentless fuck the older man was throwing him. Staring directly into the rookie's eyes, he asked him if he'd ever played center.
"Only in high school," Stuart breathlessly answered, his brow furled into an expression of puzzlement. "Coach made us rotate every position during practice."
"How'd you like to practice that again, stud. See how well you can hold that three-point stance while I mount your beefy butt."
Stuart managed a grin through the mid-fuck grimace he was sporting. Cautiously he reached down and ran his fat paw along Roethlisberger's impressive genitals. Nice, round nuts covered with dark blonde hair, a stalk long, wide and nearly perfectly round, and a nice cylindrically pointed head, now seeping its salty sap into Stuart's fingers. He grapsed the shaft with wonderment and began caressing the hardon.
"Yeah, bud, stroke that puppy. Ben's got a lot of meat. All for you bud. Right after Danny Boy's done, I'm gonna crawl into his place and let you feel Big Ben in action. Think you'll like that?" Ben paused to examine the silent emotions reflected in Stuart's angelic jock visage. "Yeah, I can tell you're getting off on the idea. Wanna get boned by Roetlisberger cock all afternoon and all night. Hell, all fucking weekend. Donthca?"
Stuart could only nod in affirmation. This dick, so big, so perfect. Dan felt great, but he just knew this one would feel better, go deeper. He was ready. Each centimeter of Big Ben that he touched pushed him higher and closer to the inevitable. Shit, he couldn't wait to take the Steeler on, see if he could tame the beast, drain the fucker.
The minute Ben pinched his exposed nipple he lost. "Aw fuck guys!"
"Shoot that load, stud," Ben urged, then stepped back to admire the sight of this shafted, imposing side of rookie beef sperming his jock. Ben's big, talented hand reached down and grasped the cotton cup, which dripped with fresh come. With his other hand, he stroked his own imposing hardon. "Jesus, Quinn, ya bout done yet?" he carped impatiently.
"Excuse me, boys, I gotta piss," John Elway said, plopping his iron back in the bag and strutting over to the edge of the green. Pawing the mound in the crotch of his khakis, he smiled thinking about the stares he'd gotten all day. He unzipped and pulled out his megacock, letting the piss fly into the bushes. Elway was just settling into a long one when Brian Griese's hulky All-American figure stepped up next to him and fished out his dick to join John in releasing his bladder.
"Think I have a chance of winning, John?" the younger QB asked. His full jock confidence impressed Elway, who remembered a wide-eyed rookie who joined the Broncos shower room straight from Michigan.
"Nah, Griese. Your golf game sucks. You're already three holes behind."
"I mean tonight." His dick lengthened as the two men's piss flowed. He was ever impressed with Elway's manhood, the thick long and smooth shaft, the plump head, the enormous size when erect. Its stature seemed to suit the man.
John pulled the length of his shaft, as if to milk out the warm yellow stream. His rubbery staff stretched and grew, filling up with desire as he appraised his former protege. He gave a final push of the semi-hardon and the two men watched as it sprung up into a burgeoning boner. The erection didn't stop the last bit of his piss.
"Dunno. Lots of competition, I'm sure."
"Yeah," Brian replied. Looking down at Elway's cock, he muttered, "Damn! I miss that fat hog of yours, John."
"And I miss wiping that pearly white smile off your face with it, Griese," he said in a deep gutteral laugh. He took a look back and saw that their group had already started on toward the next hole. "Why don't you take that shirt off, Bri. Show me your hairy chest... mmmh, that it, stud. You're one furry fucker now. I hear Alstott loves to chew your coach's dried sperm out of those dark hairs every night."
"God, those fingers feel great, John. Yeah, rub my nips, make them hard. See what you're doing to my cock, man? If you ever decide you want to be regular screw buddies, like before..."
"Sorry, Bri. Got a new pup under my wing."
"Does he like it dry?"
Elway gulped. This was the one sticking point between him and Schaub. Sure, the kid had learned to take it now and then, but he hadn't learned to love it. And now that Griese was peeling down his pants and briefs to his ankles, the veteran QB's dick surged to full petrified-wood state.
"You gonna go easy on me, Elway?"
"You can bet your ass I won't" John snapped, feeling a forgotten hunger rise up from within. His lumbering body circled Brian's as he wrapped his massive arm around the other man and cupped his paw over Griese's mouth.
Reflexively Brian groaned and struggled while John roughly kicked at the ankles to spread the beefy QB's legs. Griese stuck his tongue out and lapped at the salty, sweaty palm just as the big, fat bloated head of Elway's massive prick prodded his defenseless pucker.
John sucked in a deep breath of air and began applying pressure. His cock was so wide that it was like trying to thread a sewing needle with cable wire. Sweat beaded on Brian's forehead and ran down his cheek, over John's hand, as the hard-as-nails manmeat pushed harder at his backside.
"Unngh!" Elway grunted as his effort paid off. His giant phallus rammed its way inside, at least a good four inches. Brian's eyes opened wide and he cried out into John's hand. Still the older man fucked on, relishing the tight, hot friction of the Tampa QB's posterior canal.
"You haven't lost it Griese," John groaned, looking over the man's shoulder to see that his fuckee was ramrod rigid. "Tight as a drum."
The second his furry nuts rested in the space between Brian's thighs, John pulled back, feeling the anus clench around the dry skin of his cock, holding it in its vicelike grip. Not letting go. Then he pounded his hips forward, nailing Brian's ass.
The two were a sight, Elway encircling the younger jock with all his power, fucking his dominance over Brian.
"This fuck's not gonna be dry for long, Bri. Bout to sperm you good."
He muttered his assent into John's hand as his own cock bobbed up and down, unsure what to make of the wild sensations coursing through his body. Roughly, Elway's left hand circled his waist and held his lower bod steady as the top man went to town on the beefy, all-American butt he held captive. Now Elway's chest pressed insistently into Brian's bare back, and his pelvic bone rotated Brian's round rump on each impact. Griese hadn't been longdicked like this in ages.
Finally it was too much for the pro fucker, who blasted a mega wad of seed into Brian's guts. He had to admit: as hot as the sexual connection was between him and Schaub, he sure as hell missed this.
When Griese turned around, Elway pressed forth with a deep, powerful kiss. Brian's erection rubbed the man's belly, feeling the power and the firmness and the soft fabric against his dick, till he too spewed his load, which soaked a big wide stain in John's charity challenge knit shirt.
(to be cont.)