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 3
Michigan State helmsman Drew Stanton was half buzzed from the beers that were forthcoming in the press tent and half hard from watching his favorite pro players all morning afternoon. He shifted his legs and reached down to adjust his crotch as he watching Peyton Manning putt on the Hole 14 green. Damn, the Colts QB was one incredible walking specimen of ballplaying manhood, thought Stanton, so different from the swaggering, puffed up jocks he knew in high school and at MSU. No nonsense, in command, but without a big head. Except maybe one, he added to himself as his gaze traveled down the ridges of quarterback muscle that the draping golf shirt couldn't hide, down the flat abdomen conditioned by a million sit-ups and crunches, then to the mound of cock and balls pushing out the pleats of his trousers. The college QB thought of Drew Brees, how he and Peyt were tight sex buds, always looking at each other like they were about to jump each other's bones.
The Spartan realized that's what he wanted. Sure, he'd fooled around with some teammates, but knew that the camaraderie of the QB Club guys was something else, deeper, more intense. Maybe by the time the weekend was over he'd experience it first hand. He'd already had a run in with one impossibly handsome thirty-something man, who turned out to be a sports reporter for a Bay Area station covering the event. The man was all smiles this morning, and well he should be, Drew thought, "I fucked him to town and back."
Manning's party finished with this hole and was moving onto the next green. Everyone in the tent started to follow, the press gathering their equipment. Drew started to join when he felt powerful fingers grip his meaty forearm.
"Drew, buddy, hold it a sec." It was Fighting Irish star Brady Quinn, Big 10 rival and off-field friend.
"Hey Quinn, what's up?"
"I wanted to ask you..." he looked around at the now deserted tent, "...when no one else was around. But..."
"Yeah?"
"I'm wondering about the QB Club. Is it true that these guys all fuck around?"
"That's what I hear."
"Shit. You going to join?"
"Yah, Quinn, I probably will. If they'll have me."
"You kidding, Stanton? I overheard Marino talking about all the college talent there was this year and how the Club might have to increase the quota of its honorary Varsity jock membership. He talked about you and... well, he didn't think he could wait two, three more years for you to join."
"Really?" Drew beamed, proud at the complement and hot at the idea of Dan Marino lusting after him.
"No shitting, Drew. He mentioned a couple other names, too."
"Yours."
"Yeh, mine."
"What about it, Brady? You thinking of joining?"
"Dunno. It's an honor, I know. I mean these guys are just incredible. But I never done anything like this... you know, with another guy."
"Not even your teammates, bro? Letting loose some steam in the shower room?"
"Nope. Some of the other guys do, but... well, this sounds corny, but if I'm gonna try it, it's gonna be with someone my equal on the football field, not someone I'm yelling plays at day in and day out. You know?"
Drew met the twinkle in Brady's eyes. "I understand, buddy. If you need someone to practice with... "
"Yeah?" the Notre Dame QB asked expectantly, his body shifting ever slightly toward Stanton's.
"... yeah, or to show you the ropes..." Drew felt his body drawn to Quinn's like a magnet to steel. "...I'm here buddy."
The two college men brushed lips, feeling the chapped pink flesh of each others mouth meet. Their eyes fixed on each other, breaking through and feeding on their months of rivalry. Quinn blinked as he felt the heat of Stanton's breath on him.
"Drew, man... you're so friggin' hot."
"You, too, bud. You, too."
Brady gripped Drew's shirttail's and tugged them out from under the waistband of his shorts. Hot, dry fingers crawled up underneath to trace and tease Stanton's side loins. Drew's hands, meanwhile, kneaded the rapidly hardening lump that pushed out the crotch of Brady's snug jeans.
"How much you packing, Quinn?"
"Enough."
"Feels like an honest-to-god eight incher."
"You should make sure."
Drew started unbuttoning Quinn's jeans, feeling the heat and the hardness beneath.
"Eight inches all right. To the millimeter"
"How you know, buddy?" Brady asked, smothering Drew's neck in hot, sloppy kisses.
"You're a dead ringer for Coach. He lets me feel his rod before each game. Tells me it's the trophy I'm playing for."
"Damn, you're now slouch either, Stanton," Brady said as he pulled down Dres' shorts. A heavy, wet cockhead leaked against his firm, hair-dusted abdomen. "Not too long, but damn, you gotta wide one."
"Double-wide, buddy."
"Shit. Bet you fifty Marino lifts his veteran QB legs up for a go at that. Big, goddamn buttbuster."
Brady's trash talk was driving Drew wild, he reached around and clawed at the pliable muscle of Quinn's prize jockbutt. Quinn shuddered when Stanton's powerful fingers tripped over the folds of his tight pucker.
"Ugh!" he half-moaned, half-swallowed.
"You want a go at my man stake, buddy?"
Quinn' composure returned and he circled his arms around Drew's tough-built midsection, zeroing in on his nether zone. "Funny. I was gonna ask you that, Stanton."
"Sounds hot, Quinn?"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah... only I want one of the veteran boys to break me in, take my cherry."
"Anyone in particular?"
Drew leaned forward and whispered the name of one of the league's top stars in Brady's ear.
Brady whistled. "Man, oh man, that would be hot." He pulled his left hand up and rested it on Drew's lips. The other quarterback complied with the silent request and opened up, sucking in three fat fingers into his mouth, wetting them up with his viscous saliva. "Think he's be up for a two-fer?" Quinn asked as he extracted the fingers with a soft pop.
"Both of us at once, bud?" He copied Quinn action for action, now lifting his ballthrowing fingers up so Brady could suck them in and give them natural jock lubrication.
Simultaneously, they pushed, their slick digits probing their conference mate's rectum easily. "That's the idea," Quinn grunted.
"Fuck, Brady, you got two in you now."
"You too, Stanton. Want another?"
"Yeah, bud, go for it."
"Fuck!" Drew tossed his head back as waves of pleasure coursed through his veins.
They embraced, frigging each others' ass and feeling each other's gridiron chests grind against each other til in rapid succession their cocks seized up against prime NCAA belly and sprayed their powerful, salty loads.
"Shit, Brady," Stanton grunted as he stepped back and wiped his sweaty brow. "Warner's gonna get one hell of a ride tonight."
The hotel hottub bubbled around six pro golfers who were getting a kick watching the NFLers do their best on the links.
"This sure feels good," Sergio Garcia sighed, sinking down into the warmth and glad he could spend a weekend with nothing but sex and relaxation on the mind. The cute Spaniard twenty-something cocked his head over to Phil Mickelson, who at that moment was savoring the feel of Justin Leonard's foot prodding his crotch, caressing his low-hanging nuts. "You taking part in the auction, Phil?"
"Dunno. I may be busy." He stared directly into Justin's sea blue eyes. Why he'd never hooked up with the younger golfer on the PGA circuit was beyond him. Slowly, under cover of the jets of air and water, he traced his bare toes along the inner flesh of Leonard's fuzz-covered legs, from ankle, over bulging calves then inner thigh, til the sole of his size 13 foot rested on Justin's prick. It was wet from the water, but Mickelson swore he could feel something thicker slicking up the stud's cockhead.
"They call that golf?" Paul McGinley gruffed in his deep brogue. The ex-Irish footballer shifted in the warm water, freeing up the formidable club of a cock trapped between the swells of his thighs to pop up and nestle against the wet hairs of his stomach. He had to admit the American football hunks did a number on his johnson. Reminded him of the post-scrum steam room bouts with his teammates. Between that and the feel of younger golfjocks Aaron Oberholser and Justin Rose rubbing arms with him was making his wood plop up from the hold his thighs had on it and slap his belly.
Sergio eyed his buddy's massive manrammer. Big round fucker, bloated head. His mouth was dry as cotton just looking at it. "Jeez, Paul, we better get outta here and cool off," the young golfer winked. "Besides they should be returning soon. Don't want to miss the show." He stood up, showing his fit, smooth bod, then stepped out to look for his towel.
Paul followed suit, admiring the round rump on Garcia and wondering if the fooling around the men had been doing the last few months meant something more.
"You men coming?" he asked.
"Yes sirree," Aaron intoned in his smooth, deep voice, easing his hunky bod out and letting the other men.
"Right," Rose gulped, his eyes fastened on Oberholser's fat American cock. His hardon was a respectable seven-inch cut piece ready for action.
Justin Leonard and Phil, who both sat stationary in the tub, afraid to show their surreptitious game of footsie to their PGA colleagues.
"Nah, Paul, I'm gonna sit here just a little longer, it feels to good to get out right now. What about you, Justin?"
"Me, too. Join you in a minute, guys."
"Suit yourself," Rose replied, smirking as he turned away. For some reason these men thought they weren't being obvious.
When the other men had left the room, Mickelson hoisted his frame up onto the ledge, his swollen cock plumping up between his legs. With a slap to his thigh, he hoarsely directed Leonard. "Tight space in there, why don't you come sit on Daddy's lap?"
Patrick Kerney pushed open the door to the hotel function hall and saw an assortment of major league baseball jocks and assorted guests, most of them wearing only jockstraps and their team baseball cap. He chuckled as he scanned the room and saw veteran player Cal Ripkin slapping his dick against Barry Zito's unshaven face, Derek Jeter gnawing on Texas Ranger Kenny Rogers' nuts, Jim Burt, Jr. pushed back on the table, his beefy leg hoisted up as Greg Maddox entered his perfect collegiate ass, and Jim Thune pushing down on the small of Jason Varitek's back as he sawed his long dick in and out of the catcher's juicy butt.
"Glad you gentlemen got started," he said as he stripped off his golfing attire. Behind him, NFLer and various golfing celebs were filing through, filling up the room with uncountable tons of horny professional jock muscle. He was a big-boned hulk of a man, and the MLB studs mostly took notice. His own jockstrap left little hidden from sight: even its cup was faded, stretched cotton that clung to the contour of his full genitals.
Kerney padded over and fiddled with a PA system. "Test! Test!" he sputtered. "Yeah, it's working. All right, men, file right in, plenty of room if you don't mind the close quarters. McCaffrey, it might give you a chance to feel up that rookie you've had your eye on all day. That's it, guys, squeeze in. All right, this is the big event you've been waiting for. We appreciate your coming out here for the golf challenge, it looks like we're on track with advertiser revenue. Let's just hope NBC didn't air what Quinn and the boys were up to on hole 6."
Laughter filled the room.
"This year, we wanted to tie a charity auction to the pro-Am event. You know the rules, no bidding unless you're serious, bid start at 100,000 bucks, no exceptions, with increments of 50,000. No pooling of bids - it's one bid, one winner. Got it?"
A roar of assent swept the room. The players were excited.
"All right, then, with out further ado, are our 5 pro-jock tops on auction tonight." Cheers erupted as Dan Marino stepped out on stage, nude except for a lone baseball cap and a big fat hardon. The light glistened on his cock, letting the men in the audience see the slick pre-fuck juice running down its length.
"Wonder who his fluffer is?" Trent Green joked.
Dan went and stood behind a placard that read "40" in plain black lettering. Next Craig Krenzel entered, his blonde body hair sticking out under the indoor lighting, and his cute smile disarming the defenses of most of the men in the room. Playfully he flexed his muscles, ran his hand down his washboard abs, and over his heavy ball and tackle. He turned, letting the athletes admire his magnificent, taut backside. He cupped his round buttcheeks in his hand and pried them apart, gaining whoops and hollers from the horny admirers. He gave an aw-shucks grin and walked over behind the "2" placard.
Next was Elway, his sculpted man-mass flexing in response to the loud cheer that erupted on his entry. His megadick wasn't erect, but it swung heavy and low, resting for the night ahead. He flashed his trademark grin and lifted his arms above his head, letting the blonde forest of hair show underneath his grapefruit-sized biceps, then he took his place behind the "0" sign.
Gannon joined the stage next, his prick worked up by Candeto, who stood admiring from the wings of the stage. He gazed at the swarthy, handsome salt-and-pepper dad-jock who strutted his way in front of raping eyes and back to his place behind a "1" placard.
Ben Roetlisberger was last, his cockiness on full display as paraded his tall, muscled body back and forth. He ate up the crowd's cheers and hefted "Big Ben" in his ball-throwing hand, teasing the erection to greater heights before heading back behind a sign that said "6."
"What's with the numbers, Kerney?" Beuerlein called out. "Handicapping them?"
"Not exactly," Patrick replied. "It's the number of times these men have been fucked. "
A big rumbled came from all the men. The sexual tension was definitely ratcheted up a couple of notches.
"Don't believe me?" Kerney teased. "Let's ask them."
"Ben. Your sign says 6. You been topped six times, is that right?"
"Yessir," the athlete replied politely. "High school coach wouldn't let me play. Wanted his son to be QB. So I gave him what his son couldn't. Told him if he let me play one game, I'd let him dick me. I held my side of the bargain and so did he. That game I became too much of the town star for Coach not to start me." His prick twitched as he recounted the story. "Funny thing was, the poor kid was so frustrated his old man benched him that he approached Coach right in the middle of the locker room and dropped his football pants, told his dad to fuck him, if that would let him play. Coach damn well did, too," he laughed. Kerney took a quick kneal down and swept Big Ben's tool with tongue, savoring the rich sap and working the QB up into a horny state. The men cheered.
"All right, next," he said, standing up and regaining his composure. "Gannon. Only once?" he asked as if he were some TV sports reporter on interview.
"Yeah," the retired Raider offered laconically. "Drunken night in college. Best bud broke me in."
"Name?" Kerney asked.
"That would be telling," Rich grinned.
Patrick reached down and gripped the older athlete's extra-large tool. "Mind if I have a taste?" he asked in a husky growl.
Gannon gripped the base of his big bat with his forefinger and thumb and held it up. "Be my guest."
The lineman repeated his actions with Ben, bending down and slurping at the giant, uncut rod. Quickly, he opened his mouth and took it in for a couple of deep swallows.
"Yep," he called out as he stood back up, face and bullneck flushed red with heat. "Pure top cock, there."
The men laughed and clapped.
"Marino, Marino! Forty? Shit, I could almost be a top."
"It was in a past life, Kerney. Had to learn the ropes as a rookie Dolphin. Besides, us Italians like to have fun, ya know?"
"So I hear," he played along, walking over to Craig, but not before getting a taste of Dan's fuck monster.
"Mr. Krenzel, how are ya, son?"
"Great, Patrick, great."
"Two times for you?"
"Yeah. Elway broke me in last year." He cast a glance over to John, whose mammoth cock was slowly rising, teasing the crowd.
"And your second?"
"You know anyone who has a go at John's bad boy and doesn't go back for seconds?"
The NFLers clapped in appreciation. Craig smiled as Patrick worked his dick orally. His cock burped a thick glob of natural manlube into Kerney's cocksucking throat.
"All right, it looks like you've had zero, John."
"Nope. Pure virgin butt you're bidding on tonight, fellas." Cheers.
"Fuck!" Patrick uttered, running his hands along the bulges of Elway's furry torso, stopping at his dick. "Had a go at this baby this morning, will let some other lucky fella have at you... Now. To start the bidding. Roethlisberger. Do I hear $100,000?"
"250" cried Drew Brees, who nestled his butt back against Peyton's boner.
"350" Matt Hasselback immediately countered.
"400" Bledsoe gripped the head of Marino's sportcaster friend, who was doing a number on his joint throughout the auction.
"450" Brees gasped the second Manning's fat cockhead pierced his tight pucker.
"500" Hasselback countered.
The bidding went on, pausing at $950,000. "I got 950 thou. Do I have a million?"
"C'mon guys!" Ben called out, turning around to taunt the crowd with his muscular cheeks. "1 mil and you can shave my ass before you take it."
"1 million!" five men shouted at once, before the bids went higher.
"Just your ass, Roethlisberger?" Brian Griese stroked his cock, milking the clear liquid from the tip and massaging it into the skin of his stalk.
"A million five and you can shave anything and everything from the head down," Ben replied.
"A mil five!" Trent Green called out.
"Too steep for me," Bledsoe interjected, his extra-rigid cock almost doing the bidding for him.
"One million seven hundred," Hasselback bid, grinning wide, and spreading his legs to show the attendees a powerful totem of gridiron manhood standing firmly up from his groin. Silence followed.
"Going... going..." Kerney yelled. "Gone! Mr. Hasselback, Big Ben is yours for the evening."
Matt's cock jerked a small stream of juice in excitement as he strutted to the stage. Big fucking Ben! "Hey, one of you fellas go grab me a razor and some shaving gel. And you, Ben buddy, bend over that table there. Yeah, gonna taste that furry Steeler butt before I make you all smooth, guy."
He'd barely begun munching on the young star's tail when the next auction began.
Dan Marino went for a more modest sum, $850,000, but the retired talent didn't seem in the least disappointed as he watched stud-du-jour Carson Palmer strut his 6'5", 230 lb. frame up to the stage, a massive cock swinging its way in front of him.
"Been waiting for this, Dan, since I was a high school jock," Carson said.
"How do you want me, stud?" Marino asked.
"Just bend over that table and hold on. Carson's gonna drive," he smirked.
Craig Krenzel shuddered as the winner of his $1.1 M auction, Chris Chandler, grabbed the young athlete and pulled him into a tight, airsucking kiss. Reaching down, Krenzel gripped the vein-popped erection sticking up proud from Chandler's dark brown pubes, fisting it till an obscene, juicy drop of pre-jizz trickled down the younger QB's fingers. Yeah, he was gonna get boned and good tonight.
Peyton Manning won the prize auction for Rich Gannon's daddy butt, but when Kerney motioned him onstage he begged off. "Nah, Patrick. It's not for me, it's for the kid."
"Huh?"
"Candeto. The stud's got the hots bad."
From the side of the stage, Craig Candeto looked on nervously, his prick oozing its sap down the edge and toward his blonde furry balls. Rich leaned his frame over a spare couch and spread his powerful, hairy thighs. Candeto moaned and got into a squat position behind Gannon, licking his way slowly up the older man's bulging hamstrings.
"You want this, don't you, Navy man?" Rich teased, reaching back and gripping his steel-built asscheeks, pulling them aside to expose his beautiful asstrench.
"Yes, sir!" he muttered in assent, taking advantage of Gannon's actions to gnaw and lick his way up the man's steamy butt crevice.
"That's it, Candeto, go to town there, buddy! Get your man wet for your cock. This fuck's a long time coming..."
"Sure as shit," Craig replied, as he hefted his thick jock frame up to a standing position and in a smooth motion sunk his rigid midshipman bone into the love of his life.
"That's it, kid, fuck your man," Gannon arched his butt back against the new sensation of his athlete fuckbuddy topping him for a change. The boy's hard prick rubbed against his inner gland, eliciting a powerful moan.
"This one's not gonna be a quick fuck, Gannon," Candeto, "not gonna crawl outta this hole til dawn."
"Fuck away, sailor," the former MVP huffed.
"No," Craig commanded. "On your back, Rich, I want to see your eyes as I break you in." He complied and breathlessly, the athletes watched as the two men bonded, deep in lust.
Finally, the crowd drew a breath of anticipation as Kerney walked up to John Elway, slapping the beefy sides of his obliques. "Let's start this one at a cool million, boys," he joked, but pretty soon the sums offered went higher.
Carson Palmer's cock kept spritzing the line of defensive players crouched in the row ahead of him.
"One million two hundred"
At one point Mike Alstott pulled his bobbing head off Sage Rosenfels' tool to see what was raining down on him; he licked Palmer's fresh dew off as it spayed on his chin.
"Million three"
Peyton Manning kept jacking up the ante as he wrapped his arm around Brees's lower belly, gaining more leverage to saw his topman cock in and out of Brees perfect butt.
"One and three fifty"
Chad Pennington slapped his cock against college coach Urban Meier's rugged, handsome face, feeling the contact of each slap keeping his QB manrammer bone hard.
"One million five"
Nick Koutouvides edged his spitslick round butt back onto Tom McMahon's wide finger.
"Two million!"
Boomer's throat clutched as Heath Miller started piledriving his cudgel of a cock deeper and harder.
"Three!"
"Motherfucker," one of the second-string stars muttered, now being priced out of the running.
Paul McGinley was getting worked up watching the proceedings, so much that Jay Fiedler had no trouble prying apart those Irish daddy rugby asscheeks and plowing his howitzer right in.
Steve McNair called out three point four million, only wishing he could retract as the nut he'd been fighting shot straight into some eager-to-be-bred college tail.
He needn't worry. The bidding climbed into the low four million.
Justin Rose and Geoff Ogilvy stood in amazement, the bidding long having surpassed their pocketbook. The two handsome golfers made out while Keith Brooking and Teddy Lehman, now bosom buddies who shared McNair between them, munched at their hunky butts.
"Four five!"
Hasselback scraped the razor down the meaty expanse of Big Ben's chest. Clumps of coarse chest hair came off, which Matt would have to wipe off before beginning the process again. Occasionally, he'd stop and wave his big Seahawk boner and order Roethlisberger to gobble it. The two men edged each other, drawing higher and higher in pleasure, building up to the fuck that inevitable was going to come.
"Four six!"
Hunter Cantwell, University of Louisville QB, leaned back and felt Trent Dilfer's butt-loving tongue go to work.
"Four million eight"
"Five million!" Chad Pennington stroked his cock while Coach Meyer gnawed at his nuts.
Stunned silence followed then it was official: Pennington had won Elway's ass. The men choked their spit in anticipation. Chandler pulled Krenzel's sucking mouth off his aching cock. Even Candeto, who was enjoying the heat and wetness and tight constraints of Rich Gannon's ass, stopping mid-thrust and waited for Elway's reaction.
John grinned nervously and reached down to scratch his hairy belly. He put on a brave face on the anxiety he was feeling about losing his cherry, to a hung stud like Pennington no less. Chad wasn't a thick man, but his prick stretched a good ten inches long, so Elway knew he was gonna get a good gut-punching. Still, better to get on with it. He crouched forward in a three-point stance and hiked his blonde furry butt up.
"Oh fuck!" the NY Jets QB grumbled beneath his breath as he stepped up to the strapping football legend. All those times he watched Elway in action, the moves he'd copied as a young athlete, the stories he'd heard. Those all flooded through his head as the golden-haired jock knelt down to come face to face with the deep daddy-ass crevice, lined with Elway's blonde fur.
Chad breathed in and felt a major headrush as the older man's pheromones sent his own lust into overdrive. He licked once, tentatively, barely stopping to taste the topman ass on his tongue before diving forward again for a deeper asseating drive.
This was hardly Elway's first rim job - hell, Schaub had chewed his mangash out good just that morning - but this time was different. He knew he was being prepared for penetration, and he imagined what a dick would feel like in place of the tongue that was giving him pleasure, opening him up...
Pennington tongued and prodded deeper but by now, his head was swimming in heat and his prick jerked in near orgasm. He leaned back and spit into Elway's relaxed hole.
"Can't wait any longer, buddy. Kerney!" he called out, standing up his long cock rigid and ready and hovering firmly up in the air. "Lube this baby up."
Patrick slicked his hand and carefully applied the slick goo to Chad's dick. He didn't want the auction winner to cock his gun too early either.
"That good, Patrick," Chad instructed. "Now. Elway, get up on that bench. Yeah, there. No, on your back, stud. Yeah, lift those beefy legs for your topman. Gonna see you sweat when I bust that cherry you've been flaunting. That's it... yeah... oh, oh... shit!"
Pennington's cock pierced the tight pucker and felt the tight oven-heat of John's inviolate rectum.
"Fuck, man! You're tight!" Chad grunted as he shoved more of his railroad spike into John's quivering insides. Almost as great was the sight below him: NFL's top sex-daddy veteran, his blonde hair torso bulging, heaving, twitching as the grown man got forcefed a double serving of pro cock. That formidable cock, normally reserved for breaking in young studs, now lie firm and expanded on his large belly, leaking its juice and the head throbbing with each inch that Pennington sunk into him.
"Yeah, making me feel it, big guy. Fuck, you gotta long one, Pennington."
"It's halfway in you bud."
"Shit."
"Hang on," Chad instructed, then powered his hips forth to corkscrew the most sought after ass in the NFL fully on his dick.
"Christ!" Elway grunted, gritting his teeth to stave off the pain. So this is what it felt like to get topped by a hung football giant. He almost promised to go easier next time he was busting some QB Clubber's cherry.
Nah, he thought, the first second Pennington dragged his cock back over the swollen ridge of Elway's prostate and shoved it back in. Alongside the pain, the deep penetration was exquisite. John Elway was now getting fucked!
Chad didn't last long. This was simply the most marvelous, the smoothest, tightest ass he'd ever shafted. He got about fifteen good, deep thrusts into his conquest before he felt the inevitable. It was more profound than any orgasm he'd experienced, starting deep in his balls and traveling up through his clenching guts and pounding heart and into his throbbing head. He held on tight to Elway's meaty legs and fucked away. Then he saw stars.
"Damn, Pennington, I don't think you lasted three minutes," one of the men called out. Chad stumbled back from the magnificent man he'd just tapped. He was barely able to recapture his breath or come to his senses.
"Yah, fucking million and a half a minute," another QB said.
Chad smiled and stroked his cock as his erection twitched with the aftershock of orgasm. "It was worth every penny, fellas, worth every penny."