Date: Tue, 23 Feb 2021 23:53:48 +0000 (UTC)
From: corpusdawg88@aim.com
Subject: Tales From a Jock: Please

Thank you for reading my stories. Comments and questions are welcome at
corpusdawg88@aim.com. These stories are fiction, any similarities in names
and locations are purely coincidental. They involve intimate interactions
between above the age of 18.

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Tales from a Jock: Please

He'd just graduated high school and it showed.

The hesitant knock on my door told me he was as nervous as he sounded on
the phone., "I've never...you know with a guy before."

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," I lied.

He said he lived 30 minutes away, but he was under twenty.

"Someone is anxious," I said to myself as I opened the door.

He had his letterman jacket on, still in the belief that it somehow made
him more impressive that other people. He wore it as protection, as a sign,
all he did was prove how innocent he really was.

"Hey," I say with a smile. A practiced smile. The smile I use with my
parents. The smile I use at school. The smile that has gotten me everything
I ever wanted in my life. It is a good smile, a wholesome smile to go with
clean cut look. It is simply one part of a disguise I have worked very hard
on making. A disguise no one sees until it's too late.

"Hey," he says with a huff. He's nervous, trying to control his
breathing. It's not working. I stand there, not moving, it makes him
nervous, it throws him off balance, it makes him ask me permission to come
in.

"Can I come in?" he asks, a little bit of desperation in his voice.

"Sure," I say moving aside, "Enter freely and of your own will."

He gives me an odd look as he walks in, "It's from a book," I explain and
he nods and looks away.

He feels stupid, that's good. He needs to remember at all times he is the
fawn and that I am the wolf.

"So what's college like?" he asks, sitting down, jacket still on.

"Wild," I say sitting across from him instead of next to him, "It can be a
lot of fun."

"Yeah?"

I nod, "For one, there is a lot of sex."

His face gets a little red as he looks around my apartment, "How long were
you in the Navy?"

"You can take your jacket off, " I say instead of answering.

"What? Oh, sure," he stands up and peels it off, showing me exactly how
much football he played in the last four years.

He tosses the jacket aside and I say, "Come here."

He walks over and sits next to me, I can smell his cheap body spray and
nervous sweat. His hair is slick with product and I imagine him getting
ready before coming over. Like this was a date. It's so sweet I can die. He
sits down and I put my arm around his shoulder, "You ok?"

I don't care insomuch I need him to be ok enough not to bolt. It's the only
problem with kids like this, they are skittish, like gazel at a watering
hole. They can sense the danger but not quite see it. He nods and I lean
him in closer. As he gets close I see him close his eyes and I just know
how tonight is going to end up.

The kiss is timid, unsure at first. He kisses me like he is kissing a girl,
probably the only experience he has. I grab the back of his head, his short
hair being enough to grab and kiss him like a man. He's startled at first,
not ready to follow instead of lead, but he melts into the kiss and I feel
him accept my tongue. I have to be more than aggressive, I have to be
overwhelming, commanding, a blitzkrieg of passion. I need him to hold on
for dear life, I need him to raise his hands high and scream on the way
down even though he is terrified.

I break the kiss first, teaching him that I set the pace here and not
him. He is left with his eyes closed and mouth open as he wonders where I
went. When he opens them I am standing, hand out.

"Come on," I say, flashing my smile like they were my credentials. The
smile is a badge of trust, of understanding, a promise that I am sweet and
kind. He takes my hand and once again my smile has worked.

I lead him into my bedroom and push him towards the bed. he stumbles and
then looks back at me.

"Take your shoes off," I say lifting my shirt over my head. He pauses, and
this is why I work out. I mean sure, I like being in shape and I like the
health benefits and whatever. But I work out for the same reason that
wealthy people send their kids to private school. Because they know it will
give them an advantage later in life. My abs are my trust fund, my pecs is
my portfolio. I see him shuck his Converse off and then pull his own shirt
off unasked.

In nature it's called modeling. It's when a young animal sees an oder one
perform a task. They copy it, because they want to be like the older animal
someday. They want to be big and strong and in charge, so they start
mimicking what they see. He doesn't know it yet, but he is doing everything
I have told him to do so far.

I climb over him and kiss him again. His hands move over my bare back as I
grind my pelvis into his. He is flushed, caught up in the moment, and
loving every second of it. This is more his speed, making out, findling
each other, this is safe, this is expected, this is what he wants. I rub my
crotch against his again and I can feel his hardness move against mine
through our clothes. I sit up and look down at him. He is looking up and I
wait, because I know what happens next.

He glances down and see the bulge of my cock down my leg.

Underwear are the tools of the devil and only seek to control what other
people cannot handle. He sees my bulge and his eyes get wide,. It is the
same expression he would get at a haunted house, scared, happy, curious and
unsure what is going to happen next. I grab his hands and move them up to
my jeans, he unbuttons the top one by himself. He looks up at me and i nod,
he is asking permission with his eyes, god I love jocks. Conditioned by
their coach they automatically defer to authority figures, take their cues
from them, secretly desire them to control their every action. He unbuttons
the next three and my cock breaks free.

My body may be my investment, but my cock is my nest egg.

I will grow old and gray but I will still have cunts crawling across my
floor to suckle at my dick. It is the one good thing my father gave me and
I use it every chance I get.

"Whoa," he says, his eyes fixated on it.

I smile and nod, "You can touch it."

He reaches up and I can feel his rough hands curl around it. They are raw
from years of weightlifting, I know I have the same sandpaper like
palms. He is delicate, jerking it with a sense of awe and wonder. A bead of
precum forms on the tip of my head and I see him focus on it. I smear it on
my finger and then feed it to him in one movement, At first he is shocked
by the salty tang, but slowly his tongue works around my finger as he tries
to please me. I reach down and cup the front of his jeans and his eyes
close for a moment as he groans. It's a decent package, but from his
expressions i know i am bigger and he does too. That make the rest of the
night easy, because no matter how straight a man may be, the bigger dick is
always the top.

You can argue it, make exceptions about it, but every man alive defers to
the bigger dick. Subconsciously, consciously, baltzly, in some way or
another they always do.

I stand up and shed my jeans I nod at his and he unbuttons his in a hurry,
revealing a pair of white briefs that tells me his mom still shops for his
clothes. He tosses his jeans across my room and I slowly grab the edges of
his waistband. and wait. Without a word he raises his hips and allows me to
pull them off of his. His dick is thick, a good dick, a solid dick, a dick
I bet that got him some action in high school and might in fact get him
more action later. But at the end of the day t is just a dick, while I
climb back over him and show him what a cock looks like.

I am straddling his chest and he is looking up with lust filled eyes. IHe
reaches to take my shaft and I bat his hand away. Confused he moves his
hands and I lower my cockhead to his lips. He opens his mouth slowly and I
part them with the purplish, angry head of my cock. He's never sucked dick
before, that much is clear. I smack the side of his head, "Cover your
teeth." He quickly complies as I keep rattling off directions. "More
tongue, get under the tip, there we go....now really work it."

He does everything I want him to and more. Ten minutes in he has stopped
taking directions and has become a full blown cocksucker. He hasn't noticed
yet but he is getting off servicing me. He is actually turned on my my dick
in his mouth, something I am sure his little, straight jock mind never
thought would happen. I pump his mouth for a while but this is boring. Blow
jobs are useless outside of training a fag who they are here to please. The
boy has it and he is ready for the next part.

I pull my cock out of his mouth with a wet plop and I see him coming out of
his lust filled state. He had lost track of time and had never been so
turned on before in his life.

"My turn," iI say with a smile that i unlike the first one. This is a smile
of mischief, of pranks, of twisted games of truth or dare. It is a smile
that makes you smile back, so you can say you are in on the joke. It is a
smile that tells you that I am a little naughty and that you are ok with
that. It is false as the other lie, but just as useful.

I kneel down and take his dick in my hand. I lick the shaft of it and am
rewarded by his groan.

I suck dick like a champ.

Not because I like it but because it is a necessary tool in the harvesting
of straight, jock cherries. A good body is your uniform, straight guys are
incredibly shallow when it comes to other guys. If they are going to do
anything it better be with a fucking stud and nothing less. So you better
look good or it isn't happening. You need to be able to speak their
language. If you can't converse in sports, girls, poker or COD, then don't
bother. Men only mate with their own kind, if they wanted something
different they'd keep to girls. Straight guys only fuck other straight
guys, so if you can't speak straight, forget it. An aggressive attitude is
your vice, a tool to hold the branch steady so it doesn't sway or bend. If
you can take charge and keep it, you can lock him down within minutes and
keep him there so you can go to work.

That's when you pull out the blow job.

It is the opener, the peanut butter the medicine is hidden in. A good blow
job is the equivilent of a flash bang gernade. If you do it good enough you
can stagger them into confusion and ultimately submission with the right
application. See a blow job has two different jobs at the same time. One,
it lets them know we are intimate, we are naked, and that se is going to
happen. It's a handshake to fucking, an prelude for more that they consent
to by accepting it. But it also gives them the illusion they have some
control. You have to let them hold your head, you have to let them guide
you some, you have to give them the idea that they are in fact driving this
car.

And not in the backseat about to get fucked.

If you do this right when you move to their balls they will only encourage
you on. And once you go under their balls they will gasp at the new
sensations the are feeling. And that my friends, is when you can see the
golden land. It is tiny, it is hidden, and it is the doorway to a world of
submission for them. Some people will tell you to play with it, lick around
it, approach it like a shy deer. This is wrong. There is nothing more
sacred to a straight man than his ass and if you give him warning that is
where you are going, he will panic. He will resist and your spell will be
broken. You don't have time to play around you don't have time to circle
the wagons.

You have to move fast and hard.

Spread his cheeks and plunge your tongue in as hard as you can. You need to
breach that ring of muscle before they know to contract it. You need to
force that warmth up into them and touch the in a way they never dreamed
possible. You need to be halfway up their ass before their mind can realize
what is happening. It is a race between the pleasure and the panic and if
the panic wins, you will be pushed off and the jig is up. You can say
you're sorry and you can go back to blow jobs, but you will not be fucking
your jock that night.

The boy whimpers as I enter him and his hands grab the comforter on my bed
as he feels himself be breached. He tenses some but I am not
deterred. Straight jocks think everything is race when in fact, most of
life...is a marathon. I keep banging at his tiny, little hole and he tries
to keep it shut. His moans of wait and stop and no are proven lies by the
way his cock is bouncing off of his smooth stomach. Once, twice,, by the
third time he lets me in and I force my tongue into his virgin ass. He
spreads his legs willingly as I begin g to introduce him to his new life as
a bottom.

Cries of fuck and shit and oh my god are followed by a long moan as I begin
to tongue fuck him for real. He is incapable of speech. This was not in his
world an hour ago. He was a man, who fucked girls, who played football, who
had friends, who did normal things. That was true then but now he had a
tongue up his ass and was begging for more, and that made him something
completely new. You can't be too stingy at this part. You have to take you
time and really eat the boy out if you want to do more. You have to wear
him down, get him to not only accept something up his as.s...but to crave
it. I keep at it relentlessly until I see him reach down to grab his dick.

 "No." I bark at him, standing up.

It is the same tone I use to discipline my dog and it has the same
affect. He freezes and looks up at me for orders.

"Turn over." I say and his eyes get wide.

We both know what's next, and we both know it's going to happen. This, this
pause, this is the last stand of his dying masculinity. I grab one leg and
move to twist him, "Come on, on your stomach."

He can stop me. He can pull his leg away, say no, do a number of many, many
things. But he is not looking at me but my cock, and he is not hearing my
words but the tone of my voice. So when I say, "Now." he moves of his own
accord. He lays on his stomach and his perk, little jock ass is just
standing there, begging me. I kneel down behind him and in a voice barely
above a whisper I say, "Pull your cheeks back."

His hands slowly move back, and as he buries his face in my comforter he
pulls them apart, presenting his hole to me, as a gift.

A gift I took with great enthusiasm.