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Paul jumped in his dad's pickup truck and started the route.
The star quarterback was dressed as Tarzan, wearing nothing more than a loincloth his coach provided, and a cock cage his coach had him wear to keep his cock in check.
Paul was 6'3" tall, a trim but muscled build, black hair, blue eyes, with handsome boy-next-door looks. He shaved his body except for his arm pits and a triangle of pubic hair.
Every year the football team dressed up and went out Trick-or-Treating to raise funds for the football program and other athletic events.
Paul had a country route this year. He'd usually done in-town routes, but the coach gave him a new route this year. Coach had also horned him up before sending him out on the road.
The truck bounced down a country lane that lead to the first name on the list: Jacob Struthers.
Mr. Struthers was a huge athletic supporter. He donated lots of money every year, and was at every game. He's played football when he was in school, and Paul knew the man kept in shape.
Paul thought about Mr. Struthers. He was probably in his late 40s, same height Paul was, but much beefier, like a burly body-builder. He was blonde, green-eyed and Paul seemed to remember Mr. Struthers was a widow or divorced; he couldn't remember.
The team had been out to the farm a few times, bucking bales, then taking a dip in a pool out back. Some team members had told Paul the man had a full gym in his basement, but Paul'd never been there.
Paul parked the truck in the drive, and knocked on the side door at the kitchen; that's where the light was lit.
"Hey, Paul!" Mr. Struthers greeted Paul warmly, patting Paul's bare shoulder with a big hand. "Come in and let me get the donation."
Paul stepped into the kitchen. It looked like what he thought a farm kitchen would look like, although he'd never been in the house. Mr. Struthers had walked into a dark room, and he called to Paul, "hey bud, can you come in here?"
A light went on in that room. Paul walked into the living room.
"Nice costume. You Tarzan this year, son?" Mr. Struthers asked.
Paul said "yes", but his eyes locked on the bulge in Mr. Struthers sweat pants. The burly farmer had a hand holding out an envelop, but Paul didn't notice. Mr. Struthers set the envelop aside and walked right up to Paul, putting his right arm around Paul's left side, and cupping the boy's left ass cheek.
"Coach Simons told me you'd be into this," the blonde farmer purred, opening his mouth and wrapping it around Paul's mouth and chin. Paul felt incredibly small as the burly farmer swallowed half of Paul's face. He felt a finger scrape across his asshole.
"Yes, sir," Paul said.
Mr. Struthers led Paul to the floor, on top of a bearskin rug.
The fur felt great to Paul as he lay on the rug, coming face to cock with Mr. Struther's dick. The farmer had slid his sweats down and freed his 6-inch fireplug. It was thick. Paul'd never seen such a cock. He couldn't tell if it was the size of a soda can or not, but it was close!
It was drooling precum which Paul started lapping up like a dog without being invited.
Mr. Struthers grinned and started lapping spit on Paul's shitter. He pushed a finger around the pucker as he licked and drooled on to Paul's hole. The boy was moaning loudly around the can-thick dick; the star quarterback could stretch his mouth and deep-throat cock.
"Want some cum, son?" Mr. Struthers asked.
"Yes, sir," Paul said, but was a bit disappointed the burly farmer was going to shoot so soon.
The farmer started shooting, and Paul sucked it down his quarterback throat, squeezing his sphincter tighter on the finger Mr. Struthers had worked up his ass.
Mr. Struthers didn't stop fingering Paul after he shot; the farmer prodded Paul's prostate, making the boy buck up on the finger.
"Like that finger up there, son?" Mr. Struthers asked.
"Yes, sir," the football player panted.
The burly man moved Paul onto his back and slipped a second finger up the quarterback's butt in one move, then straddled his hairy ass over the boy's face.
The farmer started alternating fingers in and out of Paul's pucker, piston-finger fucking the boy.
"Eat my ass, son," Mr. Struthers said.
Paul's ass was in ecstasy. The command triggered an instant response in Paul, who slipped his tongue in the hairy crevice before him. He lapped at it like a dog. After a minute, his mind processed what he was doing, and he had a question: why hadn't he done this before?
Paul's hand reached up and wrapped around the athletic supporter's thighs, pulling the burly man's ass closer to Paul's face as he ate.
Mr. Struthers smiled. "As planned," he thought, still pumping fingers alternately in Paul's quarterback shitter. The farmer could see the boy's dick straining against the cock cage.
The ag master pulled his fingers from Paul's ass and stood, offering the boy the fingers that were up his ass. Paul jumped on them, cleaning his ass from the fingers. Mr. Struthers patted him on the head, and said, "Good, boy."
Paul glanced to the side and froze. There was a large mirror, and he saw himself in the reflection, on all 4s, licking 2 fingers clean.
Mr. Struthers broke him from the scene.
"Stand up, son. You have more donations to collect," the farmer said.
Paul stood, kind of stunned.
Mr. Struthers showed him to the door, and shoved the envelop with his donation in the back of Paul's costume.
"Have a good night, son. See ya soon."
The door closed and the lights went out.
Paul climbed in his truck and the dash radio showed he was running short on time.
His dick hurt, and precum was dripping from it.
The next house wasn't that far. Paul grabbed a rag, and wiped his cock off as he drove.
Mrs. Harper gave Paul a big donation, commenting on his costume until Paul turned shades of red and purple. As he turned to leave, she patted his ass and said to come again next year.
Paul got back in the truck and did 2 more houses, again getting comments, and large donations.
Paul was puzzled when the next house was dark. Everyone on the list was waiting for him. He tried the door and it was unlocked, so he opened it and shouted, "Anyone here?"
"Can I help you?" a voice behind him asked.
Paul nearly jumped out of his loincloth.
"Hi, I'm Paul, from the football team? I'm collecting the yearly donation," he said, turning as he talked.
He was face to face with a policeman he thought he recognized.
"Gladys had a heart attack," the uniformed man said. "You missed the excitement by about 15 minutes."
Paul looked the officer over, head to toe.
He was hot! Paul's height and build, jet black hair, huge chest, and Paul spied tufts of hair coming out the top of the shirt.
"I'll just move on to the next house officer," Paul said.
"Do you have any identification, son?" the officer asked.
"Son?" Paul thought. "He's not that much older than me."
"In my truck," he said, starting to head in that direction.
The officer followed, looked over Paul's wallet, and the list of houses the coach gave Paul at the beginning of the evening.
"That's not much of a costume," the officer said. Paul guessed the officer was around 25 years old, and Paul was sure he knew him.
"The tunic didn't come in," Paul said. "Who are you? You look familiar."
"Thomas Skincaid, bud. I graduated the last year our school went to state," the officer said. "You've probably seen my face in the halls."
He paused a minute, then added, "I see you've been to Mr. Struthers. Get a big one?"
"Uh, yeah," Paul said. He was a bit uncomfortable, suddenly.
Thomas reached out and placed a big, beefy paw on Paul's left shoulder. Paul saw hair growing on the back of the hand.
"Turn around and put your hands on the hood, legs apart," Thomas commanded.
"What? Come on, what could I be hiding?" Paul asked.
Thomas spun the quarterback around and knocked his legs apart, and shoved him into a bent over position.
"I'm going to frisk you. Shut up," Thomas barked.
Thomas spit, then Paul felt a finger working its way up his ass.
"I had this route when I was in school, but Mr. Struthers' was usually last," Thomas said, fingering Paul. Paul heard a zipper, another spit, and felt Thomas' tool at his ass.
"I always wanted to fuck a quarterback," Thomas said.
Paul's mind popped. Thomas wasn't exactly on the team; he was the fucking waterboy when he was in school!
Thomas roughly fucked Paul, bending him over the warm truck hood, twisting his nipples, and occasionally licking Paul's back neck.
Thomas grunted, unloaded, pulled out and spun Paul around.
"Looks like I'll see you later tonight, boy," Thomas said, shoving the house list back in Paul's hand.
Paul just stood there as the officer left. "What did that mean?" he thought. "He can't come to the house; I'm not home alone."
Paul glanced at the list and jumped in his truck.
When he had 3 houses left, Paul sighed a bit. He was back on schedule, and had received some incredible donations. Lots of farm wives were home alone and had "tipped" Paul some extra.
One tried to coax him inside, but he begged off. Another answered the door with rope, and Paul hurried through the donation pitch as incredible speed.
Paul pulled into the next drive, and knocked on the door.
He didn't recognize the name at all. Stan Cavale. "Who was that?" Paul thought.
"Trick or treat!" Stan exclaimed when he opened the door.
"Hi, I'm Paul^Å"
"Yeah, I know who you are, son," Stan said. "Come in."
"I can't, sir. I have 2 more houses to go."
"Coach said you have time. Come in," Stan said, suddenly gruff, sounding a little put off by Paul's comment. "You want the donation, son?"
Paul walked inside.
A man was lying naked on the floor, with a huge double headed dildo sticking out of his ass.
"The boy finally here?" the naked man asked, without looking up.
"Yeah," Stan said. "Primed and ready."
To be continued.
Yes, there will be more chapters. The idea is to finish this up by Halloween.
I appreciate all the comments and feedback.