Rob loves football jocks and their sweat-soaked gear, so he likes to hang out in the college locker room during games. When one studly athlete is ejected from the game, only Rob can alleviate his manly urges… Or can he?!
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Rob Winthrop was in the locker room of the GHU Titans. The team was out on the field. He could have gone out there. He paid for the team’s parties and special, not college-approved events — like the stripper parties — so the team allowed him to do whatever he wanted as long as it didn’t disrupt the team. Rob was fine with that; he had no desire to disrupt the team.
He was a major supporter of the GHU athletic department, and he had been for years. He loved locker rooms, and football was his favorite sport — at least at the moment — so he could think of no place he would rather be than right here. He loved the smell and the way it permeated everything. When Rob left here, the smell would linger in his nostrils. It smelled like sweat, but it had a certain quality that Rob thought of as the smell of football itself — not the ball, the sport. It smelled of grass-stains and grease-paint, tackles, sweat-stained jockstraps and stale beer.
They had left some of their gear behind. Of course, the game was going on, so they had most of their gear out there — all their pads and such, their cleats, that kind of thing. But Rob had plenty to play with anyway. Everything reeked of sweat, salty and fragrant, zesty, musky like a fine cologne before it was ruined with floral additions.
One thing he loved was those little half-shirts they wore during practice — football-cut, they call that. The shirts usually became utterly sweat-logged. Rob found three and sniffed them aggressively, licking up all the salt left behind when the sweat evaporated from the fabric. The aroma was intoxicating, heady, grassy, potent like a slap to the face, and it made Rob want to swoon into a football jock’s powerful arms.
The crowd roared, and Rob’s ears pricked up. Somebody must have scored a touchdown. He had no desire to go out there though. The game of football was of little interest to him.
Soon he was too turned on to just smell those stretched cotton swathes of half-shirts, sopping wet and tangy just from the aura of football-sweat clinging to them. He dropped to his ass on the cold linoleum floor, and he dropped his shorts. He flopped his dick on the half-shirts and humped them, moaning as he imagined himself playing the sport with the team.
Rob wished he could play with the team. He had only done so once — and it wasn’t a real game, of course, it was only an unofficial and unapproved scrimmage. Rob was much too small and weak to play on a level like with these muscle-bound behemoths.
But the team thought it was hilarious and agreed (in exchange for gas money for a road trip). They did it after practice so Coach Marshall wouldn’t know. Rob had been right there in the middle of the huddle as his team — the shirts — came up with their plays. Rob didn’t know enough about football plays to participate in that part, so he just stroked their muscles and licked the sweat off their bicep as they huddled.
The part that Rob had really enjoyed, however, was the tackle. That was the part he had been looking most forward to, and it was the part that turned out the best. He had dove onto Tuck McCarraher, the left tackle who volunteered to be on the bottom of this particular dogpile.
Tuck wore one of those half-shirts — quite possibly one of the ones Rob was currently humping in the locker room, since the team shared those — and it had ridden up on his back when Rob jumped onto him, high enough that Rob’s face pressed against his naked neck. Rob was much too light to bring Tuck down, so he had bit back of a moan of desire as he clutched Tuck’s broad, sweaty back.
He would never have been able to hold on for long because the sun had been baking Tuck’s tan shoulders, and they were slick with sweat. Rob began slipping as soon as he held on. He didn’t mind. He rubbed his face against the writhing muscles of Tuck’s back, and he let himself slide.
“Uh-!”
“Agh-!”
“Uh-uh!”
“Yuuuuh!”
It lasted only a few seconds before they were both on the ground, tackled by what felt like a ton of man, jock after jock piling atop Rob’s delicate little back. Somebody’s muscles pressed down on his lithe body. Rob oomphed onto Tuck’s back, his erect cock rubbing over Tuck’s asscheek, cradled by his workout shorts. That was why Rob had asked for a volunteer for him to try being tackled — he knew perfectly well he was going to get aroused and maybe even cum. Tuck had said he was fine with that — well, maybe not “fine with” but tolerant of it anyway.
Tuck laughed nervously as football players piled on Rob’s back. Rob couldn’t breathe due to the hundreds of pounds of man-meat pressing on him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t mean to hump Tuck’s asscrack, but that was exactly what happened. He moved and swayed, trying to breathe, and as a result, his cock — already rock-hard — rubbed between Tuck’s toned cheeks.
Like most college athletes, Tuck had an exquisite body, and when his ass tensed up, it was like humping two warm, fleshy rocks. Rob panted and felt precum soaking into the dingy gray shorts Tuck wore.
But even hotter than that was the man on top of Rob — he couldn’t see who — whose bare chest rubbed over Rob’s back. Whoever it was was so thickly built that Rob was lost in the valley between his pectorals, shrouded in sweat, feeling the man’s own cock and balls cradled by his jockstrap and rubbing against the small of Rob’s back.
Did that man have a hardon? For just a moment, it felt like it. Maybe he did — or maybe he just had such a huge, girthy cock that it always felt hard.
There was another jockstrap resting on his hand. Someone had done that deliberately, he was pretty sure. His hand stuck out from the tackle and someone had dipped his balls onto Rob’s hand, like he was getting checked for a hernia. Rob stroked the ballsac on his hand, groaned and orgasmed right then and there. Moisture filled his crotch and coated Tuck’s back muscles.
“Aw, brah, he’s totally nuttin’, he’s goin’, ah… shit!”
Rob had told them it might happen. That was why they had had a long conversation about who was going to be on the bottom. Tuck had agreed, and he closed his eyes, moaning a little when he felt hot cum spurting over his back.
The whole tackle only took maybe two minutes, a little longer than a tackle in a game. Rob didn’t even need the whole two minutes. He was already turned on before it began, and then before he knew it, he swam in a sea of jockhood and shot his salty cum all over Tuck’s ass. Pleasure exploded within Rob, who moaned out loud, though nobody could hear over the carrying on of the players. Rob’s whole body writhed, ensconced in football jock meat, as exquisite bliss coursed through his veins.
Then it was over. Tuck jumped up and laughed good-naturedly, blushing, ripping those workout shorts off though he was careful at the same time to only hold the elastic waistband of them — he didn’t think any cum had gotten up that high.
“Tuck, damn, you got nutted on-“
“Oh shit, you got cornholed, buddy-“
Tuck blushed and roared. “Man, shut the fuck up, he ain’t stick it in-!” He blushed again as he realized his little half-shirt was cummy too, which meant some of the cum had probably hit his elastic, so he had touched it with his fingers. He took off the little half-shirt, tossed it on the grass and ran into the locker room, wearing nothing but his jockstrap. Rob watched his well-tanned, juicy ass shaking, framed by his jockstrap.
Tuck didn’t mind getting cummed on because being laidback was part of his image. While most of his fellow football players presented themselves as ladysmen who messed with the prettiest, nicest girls on campus, Tuck had little use for that. He didn’t like the plasticy cheerleadery type.
He liked his girls rebellious, alternative, dirty, raunchy even — he liked punks, Goths, weird girls, the kind of girl who would think it a turn-off if he was squeamish about other men. He had calculated that brushing off the cum on his back would pay dividends in getting those kinds of girls to give him the time of day.
So he wasn’t upset about it — he liked having a reputation as the team raunchhog, the Dirty Fucker (a nickname his teammates, and even his coach, sometimes used). Tuck was tall even for a football player, at well over six feet tall, and broad-shouldered like a mack truck. He had long stringy hair like a heavy-metal guitarist too, which was one of the things that made girls like him so much. They ran their fingers through that hair, styled it in an updo, in cornrows, in a ponytail, and Tuck always played along.
Of course, when he was alone, he just left his hair alone. He didn’t care about his long hair except inasmuch as it helped him get laid.
But he did take exception to it when a player on the opposing team said he looked like a “prettyboy” with his long hair. Tuck was the opposite of a prettyboy, his image had never been pretty. He spoke like a hillbilly, covered his chest in amateurish tats and let his chest hair grow out (the rest of the team shaved it because the cheerleaders liked their men smooth).
So he had thrown a punch, right in the middle of that game. The ref saw it, blew his whistle, and Tuck tried to defend himself.
The next minute or two were an angry blur. Later, Tuck was relieved he hadn’t lost control and punched that ref’s lights out, but at the time, all he thought about was how that player had called him a prettyboy.
So he was ejected from the field, and he stalked away from the booing crowd and the judgmental stares of his coaches. The ref didn’t blow the whistle to resume play until Tuck was gone from the stadium entirely.
He entered the locker room just a few minutes after Rob blew his wad all over the half-shirt that Tuck had worn during his warm-up before the game. Rob’s salty load mixed with Tuck’s salty sweat, and it dripped through Rob’s fingers onto the locker-room bench below.
Tuck was so worked up though from the fight that he didn’t smell the cum or notice Rob when he walked into the locker room. In his mind, he was going to go right to the showers and leave — he didn’t want to still be here when the game was over.
But he was so pissed off, he just roared, punched the palm of his own hand and paced. He didn’t take off his pads or even his cleats.
He only stopped to notice Rob when Rob stood and approached him. Rob could hear the game’s announcer through the loudspeaker, so he was aware Tuck had been ejected, but he had been focused on jacking off, so it hadn’t sunk in what he had heard until he saw Tuck’s furious face and his mind backed up to figure out what had transpired to cause this. He remembered then that he heard over the loudspeaker Tuck was ejected from the game.
His shoulder-pads loomed high above Rob, who quaked a little in fear because Tuck was so red-faced and blusteringly angry. Tuck growled at him, too worked up to notice that Rob had just cum onto the pile of half-shirts and workout gear.
“Hey!” Tuck snapped, wishing he could think of a reason to aim his anger at Rob. “You… You fucking…”
“Sorry you got in trouble,” Rob said, blushing. When Tuck didn’t respond, Rob hugged him. Tuck was so tall that Rob wrapped his arms around his jersey and rubbed his face against his flat belly. Tuck’s broad muscles were firm as rock beneath Rob’s grasp, and his heart pounded audibly through his chest. His skin was slick with sweat, which Rob slurped up. Tuck was so upset he didn’t even notice, and Rob grew bolder and bolder about savoring the sweat that clung to Tuck’s muscles.
His dick twitched. It was barely noticeable because it was imprisoned by an athletic supporter jockstrap. His cock and balls hung heavily between his legs, bulging from those leggings.
Tuck grunted. His chest heaved. He couldn’t think about anything but punching that goddamn ref.
And sex.
His girlfriend had promised to fuck him after tonight’s game — she said he could tap that ass — but she made a point of saying it wasn’t “for” this game. She was too “alternative” to support a sport like football. It was a “patriarchal sport”.
Tuck wanted to get his nut off. He narrowed his eyes to slits. Could he dick down Rob? He was sure the answer to that was yes. The questionable part was could he ask? It would be embarrassing, he thought.
“You want me to get you off, baby?” Rob asked for him, because he sensed that Tuck wanted it but was too straight and macho to ask. Tuck nodded and wrinkled his nostrils.
Rob sunk to his knees and pulled down those leggings. He started his attention before he took Tuck’s jockstrap off. He just started licking on the twitchy, throbbing bulge right away, and it soon firmed up. He stopped Tuck from removing the jockstrap just yet though.
First he licked a trail up under that jersey, which Tuck took off to reveal his compression shirt. They called it a “skin” because it tightly hugged his own skin, making his pecs look massive and perfectly formed. Those pecs rippled when Rob touched him.
“You taste so good, baby…” Rob murmured. He sensed that Tuck needed to be bucked up, so he kept saying that over and over, repeating how handsome Tuck was. One of Rob’s hands stroked up Tuck’s chest, under his skin and teased his muscles. He tweaked each nipple, making those mountainous pecs flex and bounce. Rob’s other hand slipped into his jockstrap.
It was sweaty and humid, like reaching into a jungle. Rob didn’t mean to drop his jockstrap yet, but Tuck’s dick was so big and firm in his hand that the jockstrap was forced down anyway. Rob stroked it gently with one hand.
“Damn, shit-” Tuck grunted and flexed his hips involuntarily. He closed his eyes as his cock slid in and out of Rob’s grip.
He still had his pads on when he sat on the bench in the locker room. That gave Rob easier access to his chest. He tried to take the pads off — so he could get that skin off — now that he wasn’t playing, it felt sweaty and gross to keep that stuff on — but Rob’s hands and tongue were in the way, and Tuck gave up.
The ref was gone from his mind. All he could think about now was his cock, throbbing and begging to cum. “C’mon, put it in your mouth,” Tuck said, his barrel-chested voice ringing out in Rob’s ear.
Rob’s heart thrummed as shivers of anticipation rocked his body, and he leaned in to kiss Tuck on the neck, slurping up some of the sweat that clung to his stubble. The smell of the grease-paint on Tuck’s cheek was intoxicating when he was this close.
Rob dropped to his knees, and slammed his own head deep onto Tuck’s cock. He surprised him with a sudden deep-throat, so sudden that Tuck was still leaning forward and Rob had to bury himself in his hairy, meaty crotch.
“Ah, shit, shit!” Tuck grunted and groaned. He gasped, leaning back so Rob could eagerly deep-throat him to the root.
No girl had ever deep-throated him quite like this. Tuck was astonished that someone could do so — he had thought his dick was too big to swallow completely. Tuck howled, gyrating his hips up to slam his dick into Rob’s throat, as Rob’s nose became squashed in the wild untamedness of Tuck’s crotch
He took off his pads and compression shirt finally, glad to bare his chest in the relatively cool air of the locker room. It was actually warm and humid in here, but he was still overheated from the game, so it felt good to take the last of his clothes off. His bare skin prickled and his cock tobbed in Rob’s mouth.
Now he wore only his athletic socks and a pair of cleats, plus his elbow- and knee-pads that he had never taken off. He didn’t want to lay all the way back on the bench, but the more Rob swallowed, the more he couldn’t resist.
He found himself on his back, barely balanced on the narrow bench. Sweat tricked down his face but was stopped by the grease-paint he still wore. He gripped Rob’s head and held on tight, even lifting his trunk-like thighs up to pin Rob in place.
“Shit, baby, swallow it, goddamn!” Tuck exclaimed.
When Rob pulled off, he had to tap Tuck on the belly to get his attention and let go with his legs. Rob stood next to him on the bench, stroking his cock on the verge of orgasm with both hands. Tuck gasped and panted.
“C’mon, man, keep goin’, whatchoo doin’? Swallow it, okay? Don’t spit, please? Please-?”
“Sssssh, baby, you can cum wherever you want. If you wanna cum in my throat, go ahead,” Rob said, his voice a soft purr that made Tuck’s heart skip a beat. He leaned over slowly and slurped up some more sweat off Tuck’s shoulder, in the area newly opened up by the removal of his pads. Rob smiled. “But first consider this: You wanna stick it in my ass?”
Tuck’s eyes opened wide. That seemed too wild, he thought, intellectually. But his cock was already demanding he go through with it. He nodded. Again, the intellectual part of his mind said to do this in the most manly way he could think of — bending Rob over and pounding away from behind.
But Rob had other plans in mind, and Tuck was too aroused to care that much about the details. Rob spread his tiny legs wide enough to straddle Tuck’s body, and he plopped his ass on that cock as it stuck straight up from his crotch.
“Oh god-!” Tuck bucked and nearly slipped off the bench as he writhed. It felt so good it hurt, and it was awkward because he couldn’t reach for Rob’s tits like he would have when he let a girl ride him like this. Spasms of pleasure wracked Tuck’s body, making each of his muscles ripple.
Rob had already cum once, not that Tuck knew that, so his cock had been slow to get erect again. Tuck closed his eyes when he saw Rob jacking off, facing him as he slid down on Tuck’s manhood.
If he had been setting this up beforehand, Tuck thought, he’d have never agreed to this position — or probably any position — and he’d have at least made Rob turn around so Tuck didn’t have to look at Rob’s flopping, precum-glistening cock.
But he didn’t want to even stop long enough to make Rob face the other way; Tuck was too turned on to do more than murmur, “goddamn, boy, do it, shit, ride that cock, boy-!” and groan in a mixture of over-intense pleasure and pained panting. He thwacked his own head back on the bench hard enough to groan in pain.
Rob had trouble balancing when he was all the way down on Tuck’s cock. He ground himself left and right, making that incredible cock press against his prostate and send wave after wave of bliss through his veins.
They stayed like that for what they both thought was just a few minutes. But they ended only just as half-time was about to begin, and Tuck groaned in shock — they’d been going at it for more than a full quarter of the game.
“C’mon, man, we gotta hide-” Tuck bit his lip, blushing, as he got up. The faint but growing sound of a bevy of football players could beard emanating into the lokcer room.
He didn’t take his cock out of Rob’s ass. This felt too good to even think about that, and Rob was small and light and pliable and willing to do whatever it took to get cornholed, so Tuck just lifted him up in his powerful, sweat-dappled arms and dragged him away.
They made it into the supply closet only moments before the locker room filled with Tuck’s teammates. They all snickered because it smelled like cum in here, but they assumed that was from Rob jacking off over the pile of jockstraps in the corner — they always piled up their sweatiest jockstraps for Rob to play with — and they were, in part, correct.
“We’re gonna demolish those bitches!”
“They won’t score a single goddamn point, the pussies-“
“Where’d Tuck go? Prolly off fucking some slut with a mohawk and a tattooed lip-“
“Ah, remember that crazy one with the blue hair?”
Tuck wanted to go out there and tell them off for talking about him behind his back — that crazy one with the blue hair was utterly beautiful, for one thing, and she only had blue hair on Halloween — but his body was an autopilot now. He had Rob on the ground, wrapped up in his arms so he didn’t accidentally make too much noise.
But Tuck made plenty of noise, rutting and whinnying like a horse as he slammed into Rob’s ass. Rob gripped the football helmet beneath him, holding on for dear life with one hand while his other hand stroked himself off, and his ass strained to accept every inch of Tuck’s cock.
Finally, that was it. Tuck stopped for a single clarion moment, and then he pumped one more time. He sighed, moaning into Rob’s ear and even nibbling on his earlobe until Tuck remembered he wasn’t with a girl. He put Rob in a loose chokehold so he wouldn’t move or cry out loud, and Rob bit the meat of Tuck’s forearm to muffle himself.
“Shit, boy-” Tuck groaned into his ear.
Cum spurted into him, great creamy gobs of it that filled Rob up. It kept on flowing, unrelenting, wad after wad spraying into him and spreading throughout his body.
“Aaaaaah…” Rob sighed until Tuck hissed at him to shut up, even though Tuck’s heavy breathing and heaving was much louder. Rob wriggled underneath him.
But Tuck ignored that, and rested, his cock limpening in the soupy mess of Rob’s ass. He had no intention of leaving this supply closet until halftime was over, so his teammates wouldn’t see him. He did let his cock plop out of Rob’s ass though, wrinkling his nose at the foul smell of cum and ass-juice that filled the closet.
He laid back, too tired to do anything else, or even to worry about it when he realized his bare ass sat in the puddle of Rob’s cum. He’d already gotten Rob’s cum on his ass once before, and that had been fine, so he just ignored it this time.
He closed his eyes and slept while Rob licked his chest and cock clean, slurping off his own assjuice. The closet was filled with football gear, which was just fine for Rob — when he had licked Tuck clean, he played with the helmets, pads, jockstraps and footballs that covered the closet floor.
By the time the players went back out on the field, Tuck was sound asleep, and Rob curled up on his chest to sleep too.