Gay Erotic Stories

Having tasted mightily of the delicious, thick, creamy white cum of the four pumped-up, lusty Lakewood Tiger varsity football studs, and shot my biggest load ever myself, I felt weak, spent, drained in the moments after superhunks: Raymond, Dante, and the tanned jock brothers Anthony and Michael had had their mighty manly way with me in Coach Perry's cramped locker room office. Yet it was only a couple of seconds, actually, until Anthony spoke, in the same deep, manly voice that all the cocky, dominating, athletic hunks seemed to have, breaking my reverie and calling the hunks back to their eternal business-of getting bigger and studlier.

"Come on, guys, we gotta go lift now if we're gonna fuckin' get any pump time in before noon basketball. Gotta go get big!"

"You guys go on down to the weight room," said Raymond, his hand going up to slick back his shiny, clean, short dark hair. "I'm gonna continue the initiation of our new cock suckin' friend here awhile." With that he ever so slightly smiled, radiating self-aware handsomeness and looking dead straight at me. I felt my cock stir yet again.

"Suit yourself, man, we're gonna go fuckin' get bigger," replied big strong Dante, who got up, his massive build taking up a lot of space in the small office. He picked up his discarded muscle-hugging white T-shirt, and moved toward the door to the coach's office where the sexing had taken place. Ignoring me, he gave his buddy an athletic slap of the palms and moved on out. The tight end brothers, who followed him, proved friendlier, after their own jocktop fashion.

"You give fuckin' great head, man...you're a real Hoover! You suck it up, you're really into it," said a grinning Anthony, staring directly and powerfully into my eyes. "I really got off a great load; thanks, bud!" With that he slapped me in a jock friendly way, but powerfully enough-and he knew it, did it deliberately, to show muscular strength-that I felt my breath taken away momentarily.

"Damn right...what the fuck's his name anyway?" asked Michael, looking at football team mate Raymond, who grinned at the contempt-laden comment.

"Delbert, he fuckin' says," replied Raymond, smiling full at the dumb ass name. "Little cock-suckin' Del, I call him."

"Well, we're gonna call him Hoover, cause that's what he does-don't ya, you hungry jock sniffin' queer?" With that Michael grabbed my nuts, still naked and damp from the recent shooting of my dick, and got in my face, laughingly aggressive. I at this point really felt no fear, just the usual delicious intimidation in the presence of the young stud gods. "Yeah, babe, you're Hoover," Michael continued, tugging on my nuts and causing more blood to flow into my dick, "'cause..."-he paused for a moment, then, with effort, spit as hard he could, right onto my face as he yelled-"...'cause you fuckin' SUCK!"

Anthony picked up on this, grabbing me and pulling me to look into his good looking jock face, "But you fuckin' love it, right?" I nodded, with Michael's spit glistening on my nose and cheeks. "Hell yeah you love it...born to help guys get their rocks off with you fuckin' hungry mouth. Hoover-that's it. That's his new fuckin' name. I dig it." Deep, manly laughter from the three hunks filled the small room. "See ya, Hoover!" he added, patting my little head with his big strong hand.

With this the brothers picked up their T-shirts, high-fived Raymond, and headed to follow their more dedicated, and hence bigger, team buddy Dante down to the palace of male muscle building, the varsity football team's weight room. As he left, Michael turned around once more to make a parting remark: "We're gonna tell all out athlete buddies we got a new 'hoover' at Lakewood! More ways for out posse to get off!"

With that, they were gone too, leaving me to face Raymond Aspen, the leader of the whole scene that had in one morning transformed my life, alone. I felt totally, wonderfully subservient to this intelligent jock top, trusting him to take care of me with his strong muscular body and his stud instincts, yet, perhaps inevitably, I also still felt a little fearful of what he might do with me. Additionally, I felt a little embarrassed to be one on one with a super hunk who knew me and seemingly fully understood my lusts almost better than I had known them myself, who had made me face up to what I wanted and needed-who had actually liberated me, brought me out. It was scary and yet exhilarating at the same time.

Embarrassed, actually feeling a blush in my cheeks, I avoided eye contact with the football hunk whose come I had just drunk, whose large, tanned, muscle bound body, virtually naked and thus available, was ever so close to me, whose cologne smelled so good, so manly, until I felt his huge hand back on my thigh, like back in the classroom earlier that morning-it seemed ages ago, so much had happened-asserting manly possession.

I looked at his face and saw he was staring intently at me. Once eye contact was made, I was totally in his dominating power. He was so clean-cut and tanned, really very, very handsome, short, dark, slicked hair, and oh so aware of his alluring power over me, and many others, no doubt. A guy who got looked at a lot and had come to really get off on that-and on a lot more. He took a big hand up to my face and, using a finger, mopped up his buddy's spit, then poking it in my mouth. I licked the spit off his finger.

"You dug that scene, right?" Scared for reasons I couldn't explain-I really DID trust him-I just sort of nodded again. "Your first taste of man sperm, right?" Again all I could do was nod, I felt so weak in his muscular presence, as if what little strength I had was drained out of me my his mere manly presence. My throat was dry. I couldn't take my eyes off him-his eye contact demanded that I look at, drink up his adorably handsome presence. With his sixth sense, he seemed to understand. "Yeah, I had you figured out all the way straight out. But tell me, little Delbert, little Hoover-man, are you startin' to feel secure now in your role with me and the boys? Speak up, babe," he added, now caressing my thigh, showing his strength through his kneading hands. He sounded tough still-he really couldn't come off any other way, I was sure, even if he tried, given his huge, clean cut, muscled jock look--, yet almost kind, building up my confidence.

"Um, yeah, yeah, Raymond," I replied with effort. "You guys are...aw... awesome." There, I had gotten it out. This made the football hunk smile just a little-God, what perfect white teeth, which looked so good against his tanned face--, and with this encouragement, I continued. "I mean, I never actually did anything like that before, but, but..."

"...but you damn well wanted to service big boys, hell yeah, right?" Raymond demanded, keeping eye contact, grinning just a little more. God, was he handsome when he smiled! "You fuckin' had wet dreams about it, I'll fuckin' bet, right?" Again feeling weakened and speechless, I just nodded my head. "I always say that born cock suckers can NEVER get enough of that creamy manly stuff-they fuckin' LIVE for it! Born to suck, that's you, babe. And lemme tell ya, Del man, you got a horny bunch of stud athletes who are on to your suck action, damn straight! They're gonna fill you up all right-and you're gonna fuckin' love it! Plenty more lettermen where these studs came from. You're gonna love drinkin' it up, swallowin' it hard and direct from these stud guys!"

Handsome, dark Raymond now moved his good-looking face right in front of mine, as his fingers had reached right beside my nuts, which were now semi-hard and beginning to wet up a little, yet again. I hadn't known just how often I was capable of getting off, given the incredible stimulation.

"Open you little mouth, faggot, nice and wide," commanded Raymond in his deep voice. Trustingly, I obeyed. "Stick your little tongue out, that's it, there ya go," he continued. Then he shocked me by poking his own tongue against mine and then aggressively invading my mouth. I had never been kissed, yet alone kissed with strong, probing tongue action, let alone by a super jock.

At the same time, his hand took hold of my dick and pulled on it, as if to draw come out. I yielded totally, smelling his macho cologne, trying to kiss back, and, kind of like in the classroom, shot hard, my third orgasm of the morning, but this time into my football god's big, grasping hands. Feeling my come made Dante actually laugh, and he pulled his face away from mine.

"God, you're a fuckin' horny bastard this morning-it's like you're makin' up for lost time or something. Well, here ya go, you hungry faggot, eat up your own fuckin' load...clean up your big man's hands." He stuck his hand near my mouth but waited for me to voluntarily start lapping up my own cream from his strong, powerful hands. This I did with alacrity, with enthusiasm. When his hand was clean, he patted my head again and said, "There you go-all fed and cleaned up!" With that he smiled broadly-my God, he looked so good when he grinned! And he knew it.

"Now listen up, Hoover-man," said my idol, whom I now vowed I would follow anywhere all over the earth at this point. "I want you to go to the library or some place like that and do this fuckin' homework for me, while me and the boys play ball with coach and some of our buds. I'll get a girl I know to type it up for me-I'll give her a little lovin' as a payment," he added cockily. "Meet me and my main buddy Dante at the side door of school at one o'clock. We're gonna go over to a house to hang out, drink a few brews and soak up some sun this afternoon-you can oil us up and keep us fuckin' happy while we rest up for tomorrow's big game. Now you fuckin' got that?"

With that, he handed me a book and an assignment sheet, and without anything further walked out of the coach's office, leaving me alone. I got a great view of his V-shaped back, rippling with muscle, as he walked out. Before leaving the office myself, I checked out a few more of the framed pictures of groups of grinning, hard bodied, tanned athletes, usually bare-chested and always built, that adorned the coach's shelf. It almost made me hot again, but I pulled myself together and went up to the library, carrying stud Raymond's homework with me. With the goal of pleasing my football master, I did a number on the assignment.

At one o'clock at the side door I waited, but the guys were about ten minutes late. When they showed up they were wearing tight, muscle hugging tank tops that drew attention to their enormous upper bodies. They were in an animated conversation about their game of hoops, and virtually ignored me even as they approached me. I just tagged along behind like a good mascot, letting them lead me wherever we were to go. I had been thinking for over an hour, off and on, about what Raymond had said to me regarding what we were going to do, and it sounded potentially exciting. We stopped at a black jeep in the parking lot which Dante entered on the driver's side. It was an open jeep which on the bumper had a sticker that read "Tiger Football," plus a smaller one that read, "I lift at Gold's." Almost as if it were a natural movement, the hunks shucked their tank tops so as to ride big, buffed, and bare through the streets, wherever it was we were going. I sat inÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ.