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< USING TYLER SEGUIN > < entry two >
Gronk's cock throbbed for Tyler when he spotted the athlete from across the airport lounge. Remembering meeting the cocky-son-of-a-bitch nine years earlier, Gronk smirked to himself as he chugged the rest of his beer. The then baby-faced 19 year old had the audacity to pick a fight with him in a bar bathroom. He was wasted and had lost his shirt on the dance floor hours ago.
Gronk could remember Tyler's sweet, sweaty smell as he pinned the unruly drunk agains t the bathroom wall, his breath stinking of beer and cigarettes, his hairless, tight torso sticky and smelled like apples and sex. Gronk remembered wrapping his hand around Tyler's neck as he screamed at the drunk to back down, feeling the teenager's hand grasp around his forearm, and suddenly feeling Tyler's hardening cock tenting inside his basketball shorts and rubbing against Gronk's thick thighs as the teenager struggled in Gronk's grasp.
"Wake the fuck up, shithead!" Gronk remember shouting at Tyler, slapping the boy's face repeatedly to sober him up, only to choke him tightly whenever Tyler would try to fight back. Over and over, Tyler would rage and push and punch whenever Gronk loosened his grip, only to get harder and whimper pathetically whenever Gronk pinned him back up against the wall and choke him.
Gronk couldn't remember how it happened, but somehow the two pushed and shoved each other inside a stall. Gronk remembered the novel sensation of Tyler's hard cock rubbing against his thigh, the fists and the choking, and finally the shaking, writhing teenager - gasping and crying and whimpering... the growing, gooey wet patch forming at the tip of Tyler's shorts, and the orgasming teenager's precum and fresh cum seeping out onto Gronk's jeans.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or Tyler's sweet-dirty odor, or the smell of cum, or Tyler's quaking body, but Gronk was hard. Everyone in Boston knew Tyler was basically a sex addict, fucking teammates girlfriends and wives without fear of real consequence. Raging hard. He couldn't help himself as he shoved Tyler face first against the wall, his thick arms wrapped around the post-orgasm teenager. Gronk had never fucked a man before, but something about Tyler... he had to have him right then.
Spitting on his raging 12-inch cock and tearing down Tyler's shorts with his free hand, Gronk tightened his arm around Tyler's neck and covered the boy's mouth with his free hand. It was then when Tyler's eyes flashed from the cocky "I DARE YOU" to "OH FUCK WHAT DID I GET MYSELF INTO". The terrifying realization of pushing his own boundaries too far for once, for pushing someone like Gronk too far.
"DUDE! NO! STOP! FUCK! STOP! GRONK! STOP FUCKING AROUND!" Gronk's greasy cock entered Tyler. Despite the teenager's resistance and his incredibly tight virgin hole, Gronk shoved his footlong cock deep inside the wailing athlete with one painfully-slow thrust.
Tyler screamed bloody murder. He screamed so loud that Gronk had to tighten his grip on the wailing boy's mouth and throat, so hard that he was sure Tyler blacked out. But that ass, Tyler's hole... the throbbing hotness, the tightness. As soon as he bottomed out, Gronk immediately started pounding Tyler savagely, shoving the whimpering athlete against the wall, so hard and fast that Gronk, usually known for his hours-long stamina in bed, dumped his load inside Tyler's tight, tight hole within a minute of brutal fucking.
Gronk couldn't believe what he was doing, nor did he care. Something about Tyler just screamed "FUCK ME" and "USE ME", and Gronk shuddered as he - begrudgingly - pulled his still-hard cock out of the abused boy's cummy hole. The sight before him... Tyler collapsed onto his knees by the toilet... his white, hairless his ass covered giant, red hand prints that Gronk didn't remember leaving, and traces of thick, creamy white cum leaking out of his newly-bred boy's pink hole.
"(Go...)" Tyler grunted. "(Get the fuck out of here...!)"
...
Neither men talked or even acknowledged what had happened that night. But, on the off chance the two athletes crossed paths in Boston, with alcohol and god knows what, Tyler somehow always found himself alone with Gronk. In a VIP lounge after everyone had left. In the back of a limousine with blacked out curtains. Against a floor-to-ceiling window at some NHL-NFL donor's penthouse suite. It was always the same: drunk, teenaged NHL star, an irritated NFL giant - challenges, bickers, fights... Tyler was always made to submit, forced against the wall, crying and cumming uncontrollably from getting choked and manhandled before getting his tight jock hole stretched open and fucked wide and loose in every position imaginable.
Gronk wasn't sure what game this masochist little piece of shit was playing. He knew, for a fact, that Tyler was fucking the wives and girlfriends of everyone on the Bruins roster. But he also knew, for a fact, that whenever he found himself alone with Tyler, the boy's screams and whimpers, his addiction for pain and demeaning treatment, his ability to take a thick, 12-inch cock up his ass, was undeniable.
To be continued...
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