Date: Sat, 5 Mar 2016 12:54:10 +0000
From: DavidandLaurie <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: BEST MOMENT OF THE MATCH

THE BEST MOMENTS of any day for me are when I'm in the changing room after
a tough match, feeling the effort of the game ebbing out of my muscles on
clouds of steam and spray, followed by the slow, sensuous fading away of
excitement. It is almost an orgasmic moment that, sitting there on the
benches, my sweaty kit clinging to my gently aching body.

At thirty-two I am by far the oldest member of the team and it has recently
begun to feel like it. There are some seriously fit lads playing soccer for
Bulstrode Rangers AFC, most of them in their late teens and early twenties.
I find it gives me a real thrill to watch them clatter noisily into the
changing room, their blues all sweaty and stained. I always look forward to
the moment when they strip bollock naked and bounce off to the showers. I
have given up showering with them, concerned that the solidly rampant
erection I always get will give me away. I don't want them learning more
about me than I want them to know, so I just sit in my kit until they have
finished showering and dressing. They affectionately call me "our old man"
and have decided I just need to take a bit longer to recover – I won't
disillusion them.

When they have all gone, I lean back on the bench and allow my rock hard
cock to stretch the cotton of my jockstrap pouch, concealed behind the
silkiness of my sweat and grass stained cobalt blue shorts. Closing my
eyes, I drift into a fantasy world where sexy lads with muscled thighs and
clusters of big hairy balls, healthy young manpieces and dirty mouths, work
me over until I almost shoot my load. There is more than enough around here
to keep an ageing lecher like me going.

Last November we played an exceptionally hard, difficult and important
match against Fletchworth United in the run-up to the quarters of the local
league championship. By good fortune and a stroke of genius engineered by
one of our backs, I had managed to scramble the winning goal in the last
thirty seconds. For once, I was the hero of the hour, cheered on by the few
spectators and the hyped up youngsters around me as they carried me off the
pitch perched precariously on their shoulders. Whether by accident or
design I know not but young `BillyBoy' Metcalfe's hand was wrapped around
my thigh, presumably to support my weight, but did he really need to
include my dick as well? However, that is bye the bye and once we were
safely in our changing room, I sat on the bench as usual, relaxing as I
always did. It was pulsing hard, stretching the sweaty pouch to an extent
it had never done before, filling my groin with a warm, electrifying
sensation, which I felt – or imagined – was particularly strong where
BillyBoy's paw had clutched at me as we came off. There was certainly no
way I would be showering with the rowdy crowd of pumped up youths or anyone
else at this rate!

I quickly grabbed my towel and draped it across my shorts and over my
thighs, slipping my hand underneath to squeeze my balls and stroke up my
heaving piece. I had to make sure they would not be able to suss out what I
was doing – believe me, it was difficult! There was not a single lad in
that team I had not lusted after at some time or other, particularly
BillyBoy. He was a tidy piece of just short of seventeen year old jail bait
and I had always made sure there were several of the other guys around if I
was anywhere near him – but that did not stop me from silently lusting
after his dick! Watching them towelling down and then easing on their clean
white underpants was almost enough to make me disgrace myself and fire off
a few heavy wads of sticky mess. Let me tell you, guys, I expended a lot of
energy that afternoon keeping my balls from exploding. Think of what I was
facing: fit, tanned young male bodies glistening, stretching, twisting,
clad only in fresh white pants! Any guy would try desperately to keep a
hold on climaxing in that milieu!

One by one the boys finished dressing and wandered away with their cheery
whoops and boisterous laughter ringing in my ears. I could not help feeling
a momentary touch of wistful regret for my own passing youth. However, the
gentle touch of my hand fondling my dick, keeping me on the edge of
pleasure without going too far, was enough to dispel the momentary lapse
into the blues (pun intended!) In a few moments I would be in the changing
room on my own, then I could have a fast, furious and juicy wank. The only
question remaining to be answered was whether to wank before taking a
shower, after taking a shower, or during a shower. My brain was telling me
to fucking well hurry up and I couldn't mess about for much longer. The
manner in which my fat knob-head was pressing into the warm moistness of my
jock pouch was also telling me to speed things up and get my pleasure as
fast as possible. It seemed my body was making the decision for me. I slid
my shorts down to my knees, exposing the piss stained pouch. It was
striving to pull away from my belly, helped by the enthusiastic efforts of
my heavy, fat dick. It felt hot and primed for action, straining against
the weave of the pouch.

"That's a big piece of cock meat you've got there, Mark."

The shock of hearing the voice brought me crashing back to earth. I sat up
with a start, trying to cover my thumping dick with the towel, though
Heaven knows why. I stood up and came face to face with Vikram, who looks
after the changing rooms. Oh, bejasus and begorrah! Vikram did not usually
come round for another hour or so. Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!! I looked over at him,
my face scarlet with embarrassment and saw he was fondling his crotch,
grinning cheekily at me. He had obviously been spying on me and had been
turned on by watching me pull and stretch my jockstrap. What the fuck was I
to do now?

I had been truly shocked when Vikram's soft tones had interrupted my
daydreams. I had had no idea he was into this sort of thing. He was much
older than most of us, I would guess he was pushing onwards toward
forty-five or so. He had been a star player for Bulstrode Rangers at a time
when many amateur soccer teams were struggling financially. His family had
originally come from East Africa in the mid-1930s, had quietly been
assimilated into the local community and had built a reputation for hard
work and honesty in all their dealings with the locals. The family
regularly attended the Anglican parish church in the town and Vikram's
grandparents had been particularly strong and generous members. Vikram's
playing career had come to an abrupt end in one of the first – and worst
– racist attacks in the history of our town. He had been set upon by a
gang of white yobs who had smashed both his legs below the knees. No one
ever knew what had triggered such a vicious attack; the police generally at
that time did not have a good name for handling racism, but our local force
did everything possible to apprehend the perpetrators. Sadly, without
success.

My mind was still buzzing, endeavouring to find a plausible reason why I
should be standing there, clad only in a stained jockstrap and sporting an
obviously fully developed erection, but nothing came to mind. (The damned
thing was still trying to break free of its confinement and simply refused
to deflate.) It suddenly occurred to me that the age difference between us
was about the same as between the other lads and me. At last, I managed to
stutter something.

"I didn't think there was anyone else about," I lamely replied.

"There isn't, just me," said Vee, chuckling softly, delighted to have
caused a flutter in my particular pigeon loft. "Would you like me to
service that thing for you, Mark?" he added.

Things were becoming crazier, in danger of getting out of hand. I was truly
nonplussed. I had known Vee for over fifteen years and in all that time I
had never had him down as a sexual predator. He was just Vikram, part of
the fixtures and fittings around here. He shuffled closer, running his
tongue over his lips to tell me I had been wrong about him, very wrong. He
unzipped the fly of his blue trackie bottoms and from inside his white
briefs he extracted a long, thick coffee-coloured cock that was bouncing
with vibrant life. Vee flicked the tip of his rod between his thumb and
first two fingers.

"Let me suck on your dick, Mark," he pleaded, "it looks like it needs some
serious attention." I gazed at Vikram totally dumbfounded.

"Have you ever done anything like this before, Vee?" I felt stupid simply
asking the question.

"I did BillyBoy last Saturday," Vikram replied, gleefully noticing the
expression of disbelief crossing my face.

I thought, "Oh, shit! I can't believe ice-wouldn't-melt Billy allowed Vee
to suck him off. Hell, if Vee is good enough for young BillyBoy, then I'm
definitely good enough for him," I decided. "I've lusted for that kid's
dick long enough!" I now, belatedly, occurred to me why BillyBoy had seized
hold of my dick that day last November when he'd helped to carry me off the
pitch in triumph.

I was about to get to my feet when Vikram came right up to me, crouched
down and rubbed his moist lips over my damp jock pouch, lapping across the
ridge of hard muscle, licking upwards from my balls to the very tip of my
cock. This caused me to shudder with delight, as he tasted the juices
trapped in the cotton pouch. One hard lick had my thighs trembling with
pleasure. His fat juicy tongue nearly drove me wild when he lick the
underside of my scrotum and moved upwards over the cotton shrouded
shaft. He repeated his ministrations continuously, gripping my muscled
thighs, spreading them as he pressed on to my jock, which he seemed to
enjoy as much as I did, getting off on all the attention. I would never
have believed that Vikram could be so fucking DIRTY! How could he know I
love sex wearing my jock? How could he know I was a devotee of man-to-man
sex?

A couple of times I felt his hard dick rasp against my chest, so I took it
in my hand. Vikram gasped, pulled me close and fastened his mouth around my
right nipple, sucking hard as he rubbed his big cock against the outline of
mine, pressing into the rough fabric of the jock. His hands reached around
and gripped my arse cheeks, pulling my cock harder into his bulging groin,
my tits tingling with the action from his mouth.

Now I began working on his tits, rolling the dark nipples around between my
index fingers and thumbs, twisting them, pulling on them until he began
groaning and endeavouring to pull away. I squeezed and tugged even harder,
making him whimper with pain, then I released them suddenly to allow the
blood to rush back in bringing with it another kind of stinging hurt. He
cried out loudly and gabbled, "Oh, no, no, not again, please, Mark," as I
began toying with his rubbery points once more. Despite his protestations
that I was hurting him too much, I could see he was truly loving this
treatment. His cockhead was beginning to drool a steady stream of
pre-cum. I grabbed his jigging cock and began massaging the dribbling
wetness all over the length of his shaft. The sensation of the cooling
slime around his over-heated glans was almost sufficient to make him
cum. He must have been close, because he pulled away from me and got down
on to his knees.

Tugging my elasticised jockstrap waistband away from my belly, he
immediately engulfed the first five inches or so of my thick, substantial
cock. I cried out with the undiluted rapture of sinking into the older
man's warm, wet and skilled mouth. Each tiny lick, each little nibble on my
glans from his teeth, each swirl of his tongue around my shaft, seemed to
ensure I would experience a climactic orgasm to be relished. My toes curled
as I fought the imperative need to blast off, but I was fighting a losing
battle. As much as I tried to mentally grip my balls, so his tongue, mouth
and throat worked in unison to excite me even more. It was useless to offer
any further resistance. I opened my mouth and roared as I jetted volley
after volley of cum deep into the hot, sucking throat. I writhed and
spasmed until my entire body was trembling like an aspen leaf.

"Sorry!" I tried to apologise, somewhat breathlessly, as I pulled my
sensitive dick out of Vikram's fantastic mouth, cum still oozing from the
cock slit. The waistband slapped back against my belly and his tongue
licked the cotton around my glans once more before he stood up.

"I haven't finished with you, yet," he warned as he spun me around. Vee
quickly parted the smooth, pale mound of my arse cheeks and sought out the
pungent starfish concealed within my depths. Vikram grunted as his tongue
made contact with my hole. He pulled on my strong thighs, forcing more and
more of his long tongue deep into my tingling anus. The sensation was
amazing as Vee licked and tongue fucked me like a man possessed.

I was feeling close to passing out when... WOW! Vikram eased a finger into
my fuck tube, which fought like a devil to eject it but then relaxed and
permitted the magic digit to penetrate further. My internal anal muscles
clutched at the finger, squeezing it, milking it. Vee continued to
delicately finger fuck my rectum until it cried out for something more
substantial. He removed his finger and plunged his tongue back into the
cavity he had created. I cried out again, with barely a centimetre of my
body not alive with crawling needles and prickles of pleasure. Vikram
continued to expertly work my anus until it was totally inflamed.

"Oh, Vee, give me your big cock, please!" I heard myself pleading and
begging. "I need that thing inside me. Ooooh, that's good!"

At last, Vikram mashed his burning cockhead against my rapacious hole and I
quivered, almost losing my balance and toppling over. He steadied me,
forcing his rampant eight inches of solid masculinity into my butt hole,
working an inch or two into me before stopping and tormenting me, teasing
me.

By now, the head of his dick had swollen and hardened. It felt as if it was
almost ready to burst. I began stroking it with my internal muscles as
Vikram moved deeper inside me, making my insides turn to jelly. I knew from
this that his cock was well experienced in fucking arse and this was going
to be one of the very best fucks I had ever experienced. Who would have
guessed it would be old Vikram delivering it?

Even the tiniest thrust or movement from that long, brown cock working away
inside my rectum forced a gasp from my throat; every nerve in my thick cock
tingling. My hand worked faster and faster, smearing pre-cum over my
cockhead. Without warning, my head exploded, erupting a stream of thick
jism inside my jockstrap. The sperm began oozing its way through the mesh
of the cotton pouch.

Realising I had blown, Vee went into overdrive, fucking me hard. Each
stroke was harder, faster, deeper than the one before. My arse began to
hurt, smarting as if it had been fucked raw. Crazily, I suddenly wanted to
piss but my cock would not go down. I clutched my horny spermy staff
lurking behind the saturated pouch and began masturbating again. Strange
excitements and bizarre thoughts flooded through my mind, spreading from my
arse, my cock and balls, sensations that were close to shattering my
sanity.

Vikram's rough fucking was even stronger. He gave a deep moan, put his
hands around my torso and pulled me tight, closer to him, nibbling on my
ear lobes and breathing heavily, raspingly. With a hoarse cry, he filled me
with blast after blast of hot sperm. He gave six strong spurts then began
fucking me all over again!

It did not take too long for him to climax for a second time and for my
balls to explode for a third time. We were in perfect harmony, the one with
the other. It was a superb fuck, the best I have every enjoyed – and I
was still wearing my jockstrap! Perfick, as Pop Larkin would have said.

I got lucky the following Saturday after a somewhat disappointing home game
when BillyBoy hung around, allowing the others to take their showers
without him. He was a bit down, having missed a vital penalty in the second
half. He came over to join me on my bench and told me that Vikram had given
him the wink to get to know me better – but to make sure the others
weren't around. I had my wish and enjoyed that beautiful teenage dick to
the full. Man, how wonderful it is to be fucked senseless by an eager,
rampant young cock!

We are buddies, now, BillyBoy and I, but I am going to be hanging around
the changing room for a while yet. After all, as I told BillyBoy, there's
not so much time for me and I need to know just who else on the team that
fucker Vikram has shagged – always after the match!

Laurie Page, March 2016