Date: Mon, 23 Oct 2017 13:59:22 -0500
From: Scott Coffin <scoffin.2814@gmail.com>
Subject: A Coach's Tale Part 3.5

From: scoffinator69

Disclaimer: This story is complete and utter fantasy, and should in no way
be believed to say anything definitive about the characters involved, their
sexual orientation, or their personal desires.  It is 100% about the author
thinking that this scenario would be fucking HOT.  You should also realize
by now that in a fantasy world, everyone is always safe from disease and
disfigurement.  We do not live in a fantasy world, so do with that
knowledge what you will.

If you are underage according to your jurisdictions applicable laws (18 or
21 in most cases), please do not read or disseminate this story in anyway.

This story is copyrighted by the author as of 10-21-2017

Constructive input and/or encouragement is welcome at
scoffin.2814@gmail.com.  Flames will be ignored.  I do hope you enjoy this
story.

Please consider donating to Nifty Archive.  The archivist does awesome work
here, and doesn't get any support except for our gratitude.  Help keep this
amazing site open for all of us!

A Coach's Tale 3.5:  Charging up for Preseason

(Sort of a sequel to "A Coach's Tale 3)


Prologue:

Ken Wisenhunt was smirking to himself at the situation playing out before
him.  He knew what the three men he was putting through drills were
thinking about doing to either (or both) of the others in their group, but
he was also sure that, for some reason, none of them had ever tried to make
any of thoughts become actions.  Even more amazing to the Chargers
Offensive Coordinator was that: as preoccupied as each of the three were
within their fantasies, they never let their concentration waver toward
their drills (or indeed their play).

Still, his boss, Anthony Lynn, had charged him with nudging the issue along
prior to the start of preseason.  The Head Coach believed, and his
coordinator agreed, that a deeper camaraderie between the three stud backs
would only be a plus in the long run.  The fact that he was massively
turned on to the idea of running backs Branden Oliver and Kenneth Farrow
taking their shot(s) at full back Derek Watt, made this additional task
something he was eager to be a part of.

And since Lynn hadn't said that it had to be just the three backs, Ken
Wisenhunt was damn well going to make sure that he was very much a part of
it.

Part 1

Practice had been light that day by design.  Wisenhunt had decided to keep
his offensive backs late to go over some additional scouting reports and
game films from last season for their first preseason opponent, the
Seahawks.  That way, the remaining practices could be devoted to prepping
for their coverage schemes.  While full back, Watt; and the running backs,
Oliver and Farrow might have thought it odd that they were the only ones
staying back today, none of them really dwelt on it.  So they would hit the
clubs an hour or two later than they might normally.

For his part, Derek thought it might play into his hand better that way.
He had decided once and for all that he was going to try to make this
particular jock sex fantasy a reality.  After hearing about Branden's and
Kenneth's first unplanned 3-way (and the other two that they actively
sought out together) over the off season, he thought his plan might not be
to difficult to set into motion.

Branden and Kenneth, however, figured it was a hopeless case.  Maybe
Kenneth was right, Branden remembered thinking after Derek had seemed only
barely interested in hearing about the two running back's joint exercises
over the past few months.  Maybe they should have been a bit more specific
in regard to their shared partners.  At least that way, they would know
whether Derek was interested or not.  They did both like the full back,
hell, they wouldn't have even tried if they didn't, but sometimes he seemed
to be pretty clueless, especially about DL code.  So this was the state of
the four men now seated in front of the screen, watching the Seahawks
defense rush, blitz and tackle their opponents from last season.  One full
back trying to hold his nerves in check and keep on with his almost a plan.
Two running backs thinking that they had been too cautious and missed a
chance with their stud full back.  And, one offensive coordinator who knew
this was going to be like taking candy from a baby, and planning on
savoring every ounce of what he was about to set into motion.

Even as he kept up a running commentary on Seattle's defensive schemes
against the run, and even as he kept engaging all three players seated
casually around him, he could feel the tension in the dimly lit room room
ratcheting up.  He watched for the subtle shifts in each of the three,
waiting for just the right moment to light the fuse.  Not even a half hour
in, his chance came.

He was rewinding to reiterate a point when he saw an odd look sweep over
Derek's face.  Looking forward he saw Oliver lean over toward Farrow and
speak into his buddies ear, laying his hand loosely on the other running
back's forearm, and making a motion more like a caress than a call to
attention.  The fact that Wisenhunt had his own hand on Derek's shoulder at
the moment was merely coincidence.  The unmistakable feeling of his full
back's skin breaking out in goose bumps was not.  Derek didn't even realize
that he spoke his though, until he lifted his eyes and saw all three men
looking at him.

"Did Branden just call Kenneth 'baby'?"

"Yeah I did.  He said that I wouldn't have any trouble getting my tight
little stud body between the cracks they leave in their line." the 5'8"
stud began, "And I told him that the cracks they leave are bigger than his
crack, and I never had any problem getting in there, baby."

Kenneth Farrow kept his eyes on Derek and their coach, unsure what might
come next, he and Branden both knew it was only their own indiscretion to
blame, but his hot little three-way buddy seem even less inclined to try to
backtrack than he was, so they were just gonna have to let the other two
men make the next move.  Even so, when it came, neither running back was
quite prepared for it.

"You have a problem with that, Watt?" asked the coordinator, looking his
full back straight in the eye, hand still on his broad shoulder, his
fingers moving slightly on the now overheating stud.

"No, sir!" the full back promised, locking his eyes onto the older man's,
shifting his heavy lidded, lustful gaze to his team mates he added, "I
think it's fuckin' HOT!"

Even as he caught all three men grinning in his direction, he started to
shift himself out of his chair, and to his knees. Reaching up, his big
football cradling hands took hold of something far more interesting to him
at the moment.

"I think you do too, coach."  came barely as a whisper as he brought his
left hand in to grasp his coach's package, and slid his right over toward
his team mates, tangling his fingers in with Branden's.  "May I?" he asked,
fingers at the waist band of his coach's pants.

"You fucking better." came Wisenhunt's reply.

Even as Derek began to pull the older man's pants down, he felt Farrow move
his arm from underneath where he and Branden still had their fingers
entangled, the feel of it sliding across his back to his other shoulder,
and the tangling of fingers between the coordinator and the running back
brought shivers to Watt's feverishly turned on body.

"You gonna take care of all of us, Watt?"  Kenneth Farrow breathed the
question directly into the maelstrom of Derek's desires.  "You gonna
swallow all our loads?"

"Only if none of you want to breed my ass!"

Given the lustful, barely whispered, questions and statements preceding,
the commanding tones in Watt's reply was like flipping on some master
switch that would power the entire stadium.  The hoarse 'woohoo's' of the
two running backs was mere punctuation to the moment.

Derek Watt felt Farrow moving in behind him, sliding up against his back
even as Oliver moved out of his chair to stand beside the two kneeling men,
fingers still entwined with Watt's, but now also Farrow's.  All three men
watched as Derek leaned forward, lips parting, tongue trailing along his
lower lip, eyes rolled up to keep hold of his coach's gaze.

Ken Wisenhunt absolutely trembled as his full back's tongue made contact
with the underside of his cock shaft, snaking it's way upward along the
pulsing shaft to the already exquisitely, painfully swollen crown.  The
coach watched as Farrow pressed himself up and in even tighter against
Watt's back, glancing to his right, he watched Oliver drawing the full
back's hand toward his crotch, he didn't have time to completely process
the big man's hand wrapping around an impossibly large hunk of flesh still
covered by his work out shorts.  Even if he could have kept his eyes open,
they still would have been rolled so far back in his head that they
wouldn't have done him any good.  Derek Watt's furnace hot mouth slipped
over the aching head of his coach's cock, and then his lips tightened just
under the ridge of the crown, before vacuuming his rock hard seven inches
into his stud throat with such force that the older man thought it possible
his cock would unattach itself from his body.  The guttural moans of
cocksucker and suckee echoed through the room ass Derek's nose mashed
itself into the coach's pubic bone.  The room, barley lit from the ceiling,
with TV flashing now long forgotten images of future opposition, was
charged with the electric and varied lusts of the four men rutting against
and with each other.

The coach felt his shirt being lifted up, when it was free of his body and
thrown somewhere behind him, Wisenhunt was looking down into the eyes of
his 5'8" stud running back, his fire plug body now almost completely
exposed as he ripped his own shirt off.  Pressing his sweaty muscular self
against his coach, making sure the older man's hand made contact with the
cock flesh still encased in his shorts and Derek's hand.  Wisenhunt's look
of disbelief brought a cocky smirk to Oliver's full lips.  The coach had
figured the smaller man to have definitely been a shower, assuming the six
or so soft inches he usually showed in the locker room to only be a couple
inches shorter than what he would have on full bone.  He was having so much
trouble processing what he was feeling along his wrist that he didn't
notice the younger man's hand sliding long his neck until it came firmly to
rest, splayed along the entire curve, with pinky finger tracing an
insistent line along his upper spine.

"He a good cocksucker, coach?"

Ken Wisenhunt could only nod, his words choked so far back in his throat
they might as well have been in his stomach.  As crazed as his full back's
cock sucking was making him, he knew he needed to feel up Branden Oliver.
He shifted his hand anxiously, preparing to confirm the evidence his wrist
was giving him, but not entirely sure he wanted it confirmed.  As his hand
attempted, and failed, to circle the tube of flesh pushing out the front of
the running back's shorts, the coach's eyes shot open wide, they were
bulging like a cartoon by the time his hand had made the circuit from base
to tip of the nylon clad horse cock in his grip.  Even as Branden Oliver
pulled him down hard, mashing their lips together and invading the older
man's mouth with his strong, searching tongue in a bruising kiss.

Part 2

Derek Watt moved his right hand off of Oliver's still clothed cock
reluctantly, and brought it around behind his coach's thigh to match the
grip of his left.  Sliding both upward to then clutch the muscular ass of
his stud coach, he pulled the older man toward him with all the strength he
had, and then again, and again.  Impaling himself on his coach's cock, lost
halfway between epiphany and memory.  Back in his high school locker room,
naked, sweating, hard and dripping; he was moving in a daze knowing he was
as likely to have his neck broken as not.  He was moving toward, and now
kneeling before his high school coach, working quickly before the man
opened his eyes again after rinsing his hair, Derek latched onto the stud's
cock head, and moved his drooling face toward the big man's bush even as he
was doing now to another coach in another jocks only space half a continent
away.  The differences in time and place melting away as the realization
hit him. How much Ken Wisenhunt reminded him of his long ago coach and
mentor.  Similar builds, similar looks, similar smells. And even though it
had to be impossible, nearly identical cocks.  Rock hard, overheated, seven
thick inches, mushroom crowned, and as he traced his tongue along the veins
cris-crossing Ken Wisenhunt's shaft, nobody would ever be able to convince
him that this wasn't somehow that same long ago cock that gave him so much
seed throughout his high school years.  The memory compelled him farther
forward, bringing his hands off his coach's clenching glutes, he searched
for his coach's fingers, and once he found them, he pried the older man's
hands free, and brought them to his skull, encouraging them to dig into his
hair, his scalp, hell, into his very brain, pleading moans rolled forth
from his guts, begging the man to help him relive the memory, even as he
savored the man now before him.

It was Farrow that noticed the need rocketing through the full back's body,
looking up he could see why.  He wouldn't notice a nuclear blast if Oliver
was kissing him like that, and he was used to it.  Frankly he was surprised
the coach hadn't sunk to the floor like he nearly had the first time his
buddy claimed his mouth.  His reflexive grind into Derek's crack, spread
wide under his shorts, brought another, even deeper groan to the cock
sucking full back's throat stretched as it was around hard coach meat.
Catching sight of his fuck buddy out of the corner of his eye, Oliver
pressed himself tighter against his coach's side.  Laying his own hand over
Wisenhunt's on Watt's skull, he squeezed down, encouraging the coach to
claw into the full back's hair. He ran his tongue along the length of the
older man's neck, whispering into his ear.

"That white boy deserves to have his throat fucked, coach."

It was as if Ken Wisenhunt had suddenly split in two.  Even as he felt
Oliver dragging his horse cock along his thigh, humping hard against him,
and driving his need to be used like a dog in heat by the impossibly hung
smaller man, he found his hands digging into Watt's scalp and dragging the
full back's face up and away, wrenching the gasping man's head upward and
looking him dead in the eyes.

"That what you need, son?  You need your coach to fuck your jock slut
throat?"

The force of his question drove the other three to even higher levels of
fuck lust.  Watt couldn't answer, couldn't find his voice, it was so deeply
buried by need.  Farrow pulled back slightly, letting an inch of space come
between his crotch and Derek's ass, left hand around the full back's torso,
even as his right was hiking his shorts down, and hooking them under his
bull nuts.  Oliver smiled.  Turned on even further at Wisenhunt's
commanding voice, secure in the knowledge that the coach was going to be
that much harder on the full back's face in an attempt to lessen the need
for his running back to shaft his ass deep and hard.

Derek's unintelligible pleas were fuel to the fire for the other three men.
Watching the stud full back choking out 'yes sirs' and 'pleases' even as
his tongue was currently useless for anything other than letting his spit
run off it and onto the floor. His last, desperate, attempts at begging,
his lurches forward, aching for his throat to be mounted once again, were
choked off by his coach, with an assist by his two team mates.  Farrow
hiked the stud's shorts down from behind, and even as Derek felt his aching
cock folding painfully under them inside his jock, he shook with gratitude
as two fingers quickly found their target and claimed his sweaty hole.  His
coach shifted suddenly, dragged back and slightly down, even as his fingers
tightened their grip in his player's tangled hair and dragged him forward,
he just caught sight of Branden Oliver's now exposed cock as it slid upward
to dry hump along Wisenhunt's coach crack.

The coach's cock speared into his throat in a lip splitting thrust, the
older man's deep moans rumbling through the now dank with testosterone
room, brought an answering moan from Derek to vibrate along the cock shaft
now raping his throat.

"I figured you'd be a great cocksucker with those stud brothers of yours."
Wisenhunt gasped out as he pounded his full back's throat into oblivion.
He knew the kid's lips had to be hurting, probably bruised, and possibly
even bloodied, and he didn't care.  This jock slut wanted this to badly for
him to care what damage he might be doing right now.  Besides, he could
always put the blame on Oliver.  Even as he was pounding the living fuck
out of Derek's face, he was doing it partly to grind his running back's
thick eleven inches along his own aching hole, praying that on the next
sliding hump, his puckering hole would latch on and inhale it.

Derek was in paradise, hearing this coach hear and now echoing, nearly
verbatim, the words of the coach from long ago, the first time he had a
sucked a cock other than his older brother's.  The first time he admitted
to himself that his deepest desire was to serve the type of men that had
earned that servitude.  His older brother had unlocked that desire, and in
going down on his coach in that stinking locker room back home, he had
accepted it.  Hear and now, in the film room of the Chargers, he was once
again at home.  Once again where he belonged.  The memory reformed, hunched
now before his long ago coach, jersey and pads leaving his upper body clad
only in a sweaty half tee, sucking his mentor's cock in the middle of an
empty and half lit locker room.  Two thick fingers ripping themselves out
of his quivering jock cunt, even as they were now, here in Los Angeles.
The insistent bluntness of a mushroom crowned jock cock moving into take
their place.  Even as his memory told the tale of big brother JJ claiming
his ass in front of the long ago coach on that long ago home coming night,
Derek felt the rough running back fingers of Kenneth Farrow's right hand
digging into his shoulder.  His jock ass lips kissing at the leaking black
cock now nudging it's way inward.

Farrow tightened his grip on Derek's right shoulder, even as his left hand
applied just enough pressure to the full back's torso to draw them
together.  Hunching forward Farrow's cock made contact, Watt's ass gave a
feeble attempt at defense before surrendering, and ten perfect inches of
black stud cock slid balls deep into beefy white jock cunt.  Derek pulled
off the shaft before him and hung his head, whimpering in purest pleasure.

"Oh, FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!  Jesus Farrow, fuck me, fuck me deep."  His painfully
tangled cock gave a lurch in his twisted jock, pulsing out a wad of pre-cum
that teetered dangerously close to becoming full on orgasm.  Lifting his
head slightly, even as he continued whimpering like a starving puppy, he
glanced up with heavy lidded eyes.  He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent
of the men before him, watching Branden Oliver's massive shank riding along
the the quivering hole of their coach.  Jaw slack, he watched his team
mate's palms cup under his coach's thighs and still the beast on his lap,
raising him up, drooling, angry purple cock head kissing against quivering
puffy ass lips.  Even without seeing Oliver's arms, he knew the exact
moment the running back slackened his grip.  As he watched the coach's ass
open and then engulf the massive black cock he sucked air so deep he
threatened to hyper ventilate.  More and more of Oliver's cock was claimed
by Wisenhunt's aching hole, and as more and more cock was swallowed, the
coach's cock got harder, the veins bulged along the shaft in ever deeper
relief, and the head became slicker and shinier with drooling pulses of
cock snot.

Part 3

Four men were lost to the burning needs of themselves and of each other.
Riding the crest of a wave the likes of which none of them had experienced
before.  A tangle of flesh and bone glued together by the sound of flesh
meeting flesh, the smells of manhood mingling between them, and of mouths
and sphincters and cocks driving each others pleasures as much as their
own.

Derek Watt stretched his body in a way he would not have thought possible,
had been capable of thinking.  Latching his lips around Ken Wisenhunt's
dripping cock, he ground himself back on the black shaft in his aching ass,
impaling himself on Kenneth Farrow's perfect 10 even as the running back
met his thrust, and raised it with a grind.  The Full back was inhaling
deeply, lust drunk on the scent of the men he was driving his face towards.
Feeling his coach's sweaty, scratchy pubes dig into his nose and upper lip,
his lower lip meeting the mans tightly drawn nut sack.  The sounds of
Branden Oliver's cock sliding it's way forcefully in and out of Wisenhunt's
clutching ass, were heightened in his fever riddled brain by the feel of
the running back's own ball sack thudding against his Adam's apple on each
driving thrust inward.  And still his ass was clamping on the cock of the
God like man fucking him, pushing back to claim the slick dusky prize for
his own, even as Farrow was conquering his ass, and claiming his prostate
as a prisoner of war.

Ken Wisenhunt was being tossed willingly between two raging seas, the deep
humid heat of Derek's sucking throat, and the pounding surf of Branden's
fuck strokes.  Eleven fat, iron hard inches forcing their way into his
ravaged coach cunt, even as that coach cunt was clamping and quivering and
milking along the lava hot flesh.  A clamping and quivering and milking
that was being answered forcefully by the man on hands and knees before
him.  A man, himself being shafted deep and hard before his eyes.  Eyes
that he had to close, needed to close, so he could hold onto these feelings
longer.  His need to cum only held off by his desire to keep feeling.
JUST.  EXACTLY.  LIKE.  THIS!  The skin of his cock stretched nearly to
splitting.  Virile ball sack pulled achingly, thrillingly tight against his
root.  Thirsty ass willingly open to powerful, deep, pounding assault.
Teeth digging into his shoulder blade, not caring if the trickling
moistness running along and down his back was sweat or blood.  Just please
let me keep feeling THIS!

Branden Oliver traced his tongue along Wisenhunt's shoulder and up to his
neck, tasting his coach's sweat, letting it roll back along his tongue and
down his throat.  Opening his eyes and looking over his bottom slut's
shoulder he watched Kenneth Farrow sliding steadily in and out of Derek
Watt.  Grinding his hips in a circle while fully inside his coach's
clutching channel brought a whimpering moan to the older man's lips, the
surge of pre-cum he forced out of Wisenhunt's balls, brought a gasp of
gratitude from Watt.  The gasp of gratitude was coupled with a clenching
sphincter, drawing Farrow's head up and back, arching his neck in bliss.
Branden Oliver locked eyes with his fuck buddy's, even as he understood
that 'fuck buddy' might not be enough to describe them any more, and smiled
at the man humping into the beefy white ass sprawled before him.

Kenneth Farrow smiled back.  Punch drunk with lust, working on the most
ancient carnal instincts, he still recognized this for what it was.  As
confidently as he moved inside Watt, as much pleasure as he knew he was
giving the gasping man under him, he knew that Oliver was doing the same
for Wisenhunt.  And he knew that Oliver held the exact same knowledge at
the exact same time.  Two men fucking deep and full into two other men,
each knew exactly what the other was feeling right now, just the same as
they each knew what the others bottom was feeling right now.  If their
connection had been any less, had any past coupling ever been only about
getting their rocks off and nothing more, they might have been jealous.
Not of each other, but of the man being taken by the other.  Farrow knew
the dizzying pleasures Oliver was guiding their coach toward, just as
Oliver knew how wildly desperate Farrow was making Watt.

And the gaze between these two men was telling them both everything the
other was thinking and feeling.  That those thoughts and feelings were
identical forged a connection between them that threatened to turn them
both inside out.

"Tag out and switch up, baby?"  Farrow whispered.  Oliver nodded, smiling.
"That OK with you coach?" he breathed into Wisenhunt's ear.

The coach's response was a lazy nod, and a hand under Watt's chin to pull
him up and off his cock.

Part 4

Derek Watt was basically incoherent with need, at this point.  Anthony
Lynn, watching from the security monitors recognized the full back's look
from weeks ago when he saw it while watching him being spit roasted by his
brothers, JJ and TJ.  He also recognized it from days ago when the stud
full back had allowed his coach to tie him to his bed and then edge fuck
him for an hour and a half before he finally let the boy cum as he dumped
his own massive load inside the talented ass. As it was now, though, Watt
only gave a half whimpering moan as Farrow pulled out of his ass, and then
lifted both of them upright.

The stud head coach had half a mind t o walk the thirty or so feet to the
film room and join in, but as he lazily stroked his hard cock, greasy with
spit and pre-cum, he knew this time he would rather watch.  He didn't get
as much opportunity to indulge his voyeuristic side as he would like, and
he hadn't caught a scene this hot since he caught Oliver and Farrow fucking
the holy hell out of each other in the whirlpool after a mandatory weight
training day back in May.  The fact that he had been glued to this scene
from before the beginning only added to his pepping tom pleasures.  Oliver
and Farrow had been deep into it already before he noticed them, and this
viewing party was already almost twice as long as the 20 minutes he got to
spy on his running backs.

Derek's disorientation made it easy for Oliver to bend the full back to his
will, even as Wisenhunt's burning lust placed itself in the service of
whatever the fuck Farrow wanted to do to the coach.  Watt found himself
sprawled across a table off to the side of the room, head dangling backward
nearly over the edge.  He knew Wisenhunt and Farrow were somewhere behind
him, but he was to focused to worry much about exactly where, or even what
they might be doing.  Branden Oliver slid up onto the table from the other
end, staring deeply into Watt's eyes as he edged closer to the big man on
his knees.  Derek's cock gave a jolt as it was freed from the twisted
confines of his shorts and jock.  It gave another, even bigger, when Oliver
laced his hands behind Derek's knees and began to lift them up and apart.
As much as he was used to being taken by bigger men, as much as he craved
his 6'5" brothers laying claim to him, as much as he loved when his big
head coach was covering his full back body, even as he was conquering his
full back ass, the shock of his body's reaction to watching 5'8" fire plug
Branden Oliver lifting the legs of his 6'2" self over his shoulders, and
sliding in toward the ass he was about to claim, threatened to rip him
apart from the inside.  Derek watched slack jawed as his cock throbbed
against his pelvis and wondered how he had desired anything else, other
than to be taken by the tight little stud about to lay claim to him.  The
running back's grin told Watt that he knew too.  Knew exactly what was
going on in the full back's mind, and he was glad.

Since his first time with a man, Branden Oliver had known it.  Known that
the bigger the man, the more turned on they got as they let the smaller man
take charge.  He knew it helped that he had a massive cock.  He knew it
helped that his body was packed with thick muscle.  But mostly, he knew, it
helped that these men didn't realize this about themselves until it was
actually happening for the first time.  Right now, he knew that Derek Watt
would not break eye contact with him, he knew that Derek Watt would
probably not even draw breath until he had sunk his cock fully into him,
and might even wait until he was dragging his 11 fat inches back out to
complete his first full fuck stroke.

Derek knew he had never taken a cock this big before.  He knew that the
stud running back was going to lay claim to previously uncharted territory.
He knew that it was probably going to hurt.  And yet, when Branden Oliver's
plum sized cock head made contact with his jock cunt, he relaxed and opened
himself willingly to it all.  One long, steady stroke inward, running back
balls slapping against full back taint.  One long stroke back out, massive,
over heated crown just nearly slipping free of clenching muscle.  One long
steady moaning exhale, rising in pitch even as he felt he would surely pass
out.  No air now seemed to be left in his lungs, his moan choked on his
lips.  The pounding, punishing thrust back inward sent him farther over the
edge of the table, and forced a long sucking gasp drawing air into his
lungs, air made alkaline and musky by the rising knee and spreading crotch
above him.

Ken Wisenhunt let his leg be raised and bent, felt his knee being placed on
the table beside Derek Watt's shoulder, felt the full back's breath being
forced out and up toward his nut sack on each and every one of Branden
Oliver's Fuck thrusts.  The jock slut's gasps were soon enough harmonizing
with the coach slut's ad Kenneth Farrow pile drived into his coach's
squelching ass with absolute zero mercy, the sweat dripping from his bull
nuts anointing Derek's burning brow, just as Wisenhunt's was slicking the
full back's lips and chin.  The coach was fully addled with jock lust.
Tongue stretching out as he tried to will himself another inch or two in
height so he could close his lips around his full back's cock head and
slurp up his pre-cum.  Bending the knee of his right leg, brought him
lower, allowing an even better angle of attack for Farrow.  The move also
had the added benefit of bringing his aching nuts to rest on Watt's lips.
The full back wasted in no time in parting them and allowing his tongue
free reign over the furry surface.  Each drive forward of Farrow's hips
jolted the older studs nuts away from the soothing tongue, and Derek didn't
have power to spare in holding his head higher to maintain contact.

The full and furious fuck thrusts of Branden Oliver into Derek Watt moved
the full back's crown achingly close to the searching tongue of Ken
Wisenhunt, desperate fleeting contact was all the coach could manage, and
then only with the very tip of his tongue for a fraction of a second at a
time.  He was nearly boiling with jealous rage as Branden brought his thumb
to Derek's drooling cock head, and swirled it languidly in the pooling
liquid.  That rage was supplanted by the fullest gratitude he had ever
known as the running back brought his thumb to the coach's outstretched
tongue, and let the man take it into himself like holy communion.

Down the hall, in the security booth, Anthony Lynn mimicked the move
without thinking, as he brought his right thumb to his lips and sucked it
like a baby, hefting his balls in his left hand, knowing it was absolutely
necessary that he not get ahead of the four men he was watching
surreptitiously.  Half wondering if it would give his game away to replace
the monitors with HD wide screens, he ran his now clean thumb nail along
the underside of his cock, even as he brought his left hand up to tease his
left nipple, eyes glued to the 4 rutting men on the screen before him.  As
he watched, Derek began to twist weirdly under Wisenhunt's splayed body.
For a second he thought the full back was gonna cum and he gripped his
shaft harder before almost immediately relaxing his grip by half.  The
coach chuckled out a "Good Boy" as he realized Watt's intentions.

Derek Watt finally freed his hands from their prison between his sides and
Ken Wisenhunt's left leg and right arm.  Bringing them around and out, he
wrapped one onto the small of his coach's back above him, and wrapped the
other around the pile driving thigh of Kenneth Farrow.  He would have to
trust that Branden Oliver wouldn't fuck him completely off the table and
break his neck.  Considering that Oliver now had Watt held in a tight grip,
with his fullback glutes off the table, he felt pretty safe in that trust.
He felt even better as the stud running back was currently fucking the holy
hell out of his ass, not by pounding in and out, but rather by dragging his
ass all the way onto his monster cock, and dragging almost all the ay back
off.

The running back's motion also allowed for coach's tongue to make more
regular and slightly more lasting contact with his leaking cock head.
While both Watt and Wisenhunt would have liked for even more contact, they
were definitely not going to complain.  Particularly as the full back was
really liking the feel of his coach's cock sliding along his neck and upper
chest, and the coach was liking the feeling of his full back's tongue
fluttering along his taint.  The slut coach was glad that he had lived long
enough to feel one man slurping up sweat and fuck juice from him there as
an inch above 10 inches of hard black cock was playing his ass like a
fiddle and his prostate like a bass drum.

Branden Oliver was drawing ever closer to his peak.  This angle, and the
way he was using Derek's body to attack it, brought every millimeter of his
cock flesh into contact with every fold of his bottom's clenching muscular
channel.  A thousand and one points of gripping, grasping contact along his
pulsing eleven inch jock club.  Coupled with the sight of his coach lapping
at the oozing cum slit before him, the running back knew he would not be
able to last much longer.  Each full drag of Derek's ass back onto his
aching flesh marched him another step closer to the firing squad of orgasm,
he knew from the counteractive circling of Wisenhunt's and Farrow's hips
(even as they pounded their bodies ever harder toward each other), that
they were nearing the same level of paradise.  He brought his knees in more
firmly under Watt's muscle jock ass, and shifted his hands around to the
front of the full back's thighs even as he started to move his hips again,
his thrusts meeting Watt's body half way on each drag backward.  Hooking
his fingers as best he could along Watt's eight inch shaft, he began to
drum them along the base, and over the top of the tightly drawn ball sack,
Wisenhunt still worrying his tongue relentlessly over the tip of the fuck
puppet's crown.

Once again, the two running back's eyes met and locked.  It didn't even
seem to either of them that the other was breathing as they fucked deep
into their respective bottoms willing asses.  Their motions were in nearly
perfect sync as they moved together, inexorably, toward a shared goal.

Anthony Lynn caught the subtle shifts in the connection between the two men
currently fucking his offensive coordinator and his full back.  The head
coach tightened his grip and dropped another wad of spit down onto his cock
head, swirling it around with his thumb as he stared open mouthed at the
security monitor before him.

Ken Wisenhunt felt it hit as Kenneth Farrow dragged his perfect 10 incher
back along his prostate on his way back in.  Like a plug being pulled on a
drain, he swore he even heard the sound like water sucking it's way through
the pipes, he could not have held back even if he wanted to, and now his
cum was pouring forth and spraying great viscous streams along Derek Watt's
heaving chest.  Watt watched his coach's balls contract with each burst,
even as he ran the tip of his tongue along the inch of pulsing cock tube he
could reach where Kenneth Farrow's body joined with Ken Wisenhunt's.
Farrow burst out six powerful shots of cum, and by the last two he was
fucking his load back out of his coach and onto his team mate's tongue and
lower lip.

Derek Watt had not stopped moaning for the last half hour at least, and
with the driving pressure of the massive cock ravaging his eager ass,
wedded to the ambrosia of fresh cum and fuck juice trailing onto his tongue
from above, he knew he had about 5 seconds of nirvana left to him.  The
powerful, grinding drive into his bowels, coupled with the at last
capturing of his cock head between his coach's lips brought that number
down to 2 as his overworked nuts did their level best to drown his coach in
rich tangy cum.  The strangling grip of his ass and the pulsing of his
abused prostate was greeted by the impossibly large jock shaft deep inside
him to become even more impossibly larger.  The swelling feeling within him
grew to near forearm proportions as he felt a massive pulse run along the
shaft from it's very base at his jock cunt lips all the way up to the fiery
crown no seeming to be lodged somewhere very near his stomach.

Branden Oliver roared like a bull elephant running amok, echoing through
the room and beyond, his cock swelling bigger than he believed possible,
the clutching walls of Derek Watt's jock slut ass fighting tooth and nail
against the increasing girth, even as the full back's pulsing butt nut was
beating out a tattoo on his shaft like a fucking drum solo.  Blast after
blast of baby batter pulsing out of his cock and breeding Derek Watt deep
and full.  He was so focused on the sensation enveloping his cock, that he
had not seen the movement around him.  As he regained his senses and pulled
back and out of his team mate, a flurry of motion nearly knocked him off
the table even as his still swollen and sensitive cock head slid free of
Derek's still fluttering sphincter.

Anthony Lynn pressed his rough palm hard over his angry purple cock head,
even as he gripped his shaft as tightly as he could with his other hand.
Watching the flurry of motion playing out on screen before him slack jawed.

Ken Wisenhunt hiked Derek Watt fully onto the table and planted his still
dripping ass on the full back's gaping maw even as he hoisted his legs up,
back and apart before diving tongue first into the jock cunt, digging for
Oliver's hidden treasure. At the other end of the table, Kenneth Farrow
slid Branden Oliver toward him even as he sank to his knees and inhaled the
slimy, cum streaked, still nearly hard jock shaft to the root.  Anthony
Lynn dragged his rough palm hard over the sensitive flesh of his cock head,
dragging his other hand up and down in a vice like grip as he watched the
depraved jock sex scene before him, one last brutish slide of his hand, and
his coach cum was spraying the bank of monitors in front of him.  Three
massive blasts smeared across the screens before he brought his still
spewing shaft upright, where the fourth and fifth landed on his searching
tongue.  The sixth and seventh hit his right pec and lower sternum.  A
last, long milking stroke upward brought the last of it pouring out over
his fingers.

Looking at the screen and seeing the men beginning to disentangle finally,
he flicked the monitor off, and brought his cum covered fingers to his
lips, smiling as he tasted of himself.

The End