Date: Thu, 7 Dec 2017 16:51:22 -0600 From: Scott Coffin Subject: Rookie Tail Tales 3 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 12-07-2017 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! Rookie Tail Tales 3: Fournette's Reward Prologue Blake Bortles had decided that today was the day. It had to be, or it might never happen, and it would definitely become a wedge between them. A wedge that he definitely didn't want. As the clock wound down on the game, it struck the signal caller that today was even extra appropriate. His Jaguars had beaten the Steelers in Pittsburgh, and it was pretty much no thanks to him. He had completed barely half his passes, had not thrown a touchdown, but HAD thrown an interception. If you went by his stats alone, the Jags would have been destroyed. Fortunately, his stats were not the only ones to be counted, and his rookie running back, Leonard Fournette had more than made up for the anemic numbers the signal caller had put up. Most importantly, the former LSU stud had included two rushing scores among his numbers. Blake could not put this off any longer after what his running back did today. Not that he had wanted to put it off this long, mind. The QB knew that he had let his mind race on ahead of him and before he realized what had happened, he was in a state of anxiety that eroded his resolve. Before he knew it, he had restricted himself to basic politeness in dealing with the rookie. When he snapped himself out of that, he worried that maybe it was already too late, that he had pissed Fournette off. It took him a couple weeks to get back to a point where the rookie would joke around with him again. He was also nervous that maybe he had gone too far in his praise after the game, hoping that the running back would take it the way it was intended. As honest gratitude for his (big) share of the win. Sure he was still nervous about it, but he couldn't deny that he wanted it. He just wasn't sure he would be able to handle it. At least not as well as it deserved to be handled. In the crush of players and coaches making their way down the tunnel toward the visitor's locker room, Blake stuck close by his running back, grateful that their time talking to sideline press had left them at the back of the group. He had scoped out the spot earlier, and he knew exactly where and when to go, he just hoped Fournette would go along with him. Part 1 The door was about two more paces ahead, a quick glance over his shoulder told him that there was no one behind to see them, still he was lightning quick in his movements. Grabbing his running back's sleeve with one hand and opening the door with the other, he pulled the rookie after him into the utility passage. Fournette stumbled a bit at the sudden detour, but didn't fight being pulled along. Around a corner, and another four steps along Bortles opened another door, and the two Jags entered a small mechanical room. When he closed the door and backed his teammate up against the door, the QB was suddenly nervous again. The look in his running back's eyes was completely unreadable, and Blake realized it was as likely that he was going to get punched as it was that he was going to be allowed to thank the rookie for getting them out of Pitt with a win under their belts. Leonard Fournette smiled. He knew what was up, and was glad that it was. He had heard about his quarterback's shows of gratitude, and had honestly been kind of pissed that he had not received one yet. He had begun to genuinely think that his teammate flat out didn't like him. "About fucking time, Bortles!" the running back pulled his quarterback's face into his and kissed the taller man hard and deep, loving the shock that seized Blake's body up for just a second or two before he relaxed into it. They did not waste any time. Still holding the kiss, tongues wrestling, the two gridiron studs began to rip at each others gear. Bortles worked at the waistband of Fournette's tight uniform pants, only to be interrupted when his running back began to rip his jersey and shoulder pads off, necessitating the raising of his arms and the breaking of the kiss. Once those obstacles were removed from his sweaty upper body, Blake was immediately back on Leonard's lips, his tongue snaking into the running back's mouth, and his hands scrambling to finish undoing the rookies tight, stained and sweaty pants. It wasn't until he had those pants undone and loosened enough to slide his hand in that he realized the rookie had made considerably more headway himself. Leonard Fournette slipped one big hand down the back of his quarterback's pants and compression shorts, making sure to run his long middle finger deep into the sweaty trench of Blake Bortles' ass crack. With the other, he reached into his own loosened uniform and pulled out his sweaty cup. He watched the look of abject jock lust wash over his teammate's face as he brought it up between their chests. He smiled at the gaping, drooling mouth before him. He nearly laughed out loud seeing Blake's head move forward on his neck. His teammate's big ball handling fist wrapped around his lycra encased cock at the same moment he brought the cup up under the QB's nose. Bortles gripped harder on Fournette's rapidly hardening cock shaft as he huffed in the running back's scent. The rookie leaned back against the wall as the signal caller jacked his cock through his shorts. He moved the cup away from his teammate's nose and dropped it, then raised his now empty hand onto Blake's shoulder. The command was understood without any downward pressure being applied, but even as the 6'5" stud QB began to lower himself, the running back pushed him anyway, the signal caller's knee pads making a satisfying thump as they met the floor of the overheated mechanical closet. The big man looked up at his rookie running back, watching as the black stud brought his fingers up to his face and huffed in the sent of sweaty jock ass. Blake let loose with a long, almost anguished moan as he watched Fournette slip the fingers into his mouth to taste him. The stud quarterback's heart was racing as he lowered the running back's shorts. He kept his eyes locked with Fournette's sure that if he actually looked at the cock he was uncovering the anxiety would become overwhelming and he would implode. The cock that had caused so much anxiety from the first time he had caught sight of it. The cock that he was sure was bigger than any he had ever had before. Even if it turned out that Leonard was very much a shower, the running back was for sure going to be close to the longest, and the rookie was definitely going to be the thickest. Judging from the column of rock hard flesh he had his hand wrapped around at the moment, he was pretty sure that Fournette was also a grower. His hands were trembling noticeably as he lowered the pants and shorts over the muscular thighs. The crown appeared quicker than expected, and the thick, veiny shaft came into view much later than expected. The massive, flaring head was the size, and nearly the color of a plum, the coronal ridge jutting out from the shaft a worrying distance. The bulge in the middle of the shaft was obscene in it's girth, creating a slight taper at the base that mimicked the one at the head. The rookie's cock was a vision of terrible beauty to the quarterback. This black jock muscle was going to wreck him. And just like that, the anxiety was gone. It didn't matter if he was able to take it, to treat his running back the way he deserved, because he knew his running back would make it happen. Fournette's hand on the back of Bortles' head drew the quarterback in. The immovable object that was the running back's 11 inch cock split the big man's lips and slid over the flattened tongue. The signal caller relaxed instinctively, letting the rookie take charge and do what needed to be done. The second hand joined the first, gripping Blake's skull on each side, the stud's muscular hips coming up off the door in a subtle fuck stroke. The running back didn't try to force the issue too hard too fast, but rather slid three or four inches in for a few slow strokes before moving up to four or five, and then six or seven. Blake knew that his jaw would be sore later, but for now he only felt the massively thick shaft on his tongue. Along the roof of his mouth. Knocking at the entrance to his throat. The steadying grip on his skull focused him on pleasing this man. He brought his hands upward, sliding them along the back of his face fuckers legs, cupping them over the powerful glutes. He let his hands map out the shift in the black stud's muscles as he thrust forward into him. Eyes closed, he felt a slight tickle on the tip of his nose just before the cock started pulling back away from him. It came again on the next thrust inward, accompanied by the sharp smell of Fournette's sweat. He swallowed reflexively at the realization the his face was nearly fully impaled with hard running back cock, drawing a deep, rumbling moan from the rookie. Fournette loved the passivity of the quarterback. It wasn't that he was doing nothing, but he had definitely given control of the situation over to the rookie. Bortles was working his tongue and lips on the running back's cock eagerly. His hands rested encouragingly on the stud's muscular ass, working to draw him in, and showing his desperation at not being deprived of the cock. Occasionally, the signal caller shifted one hand around to cup and play with his face fucker's bull nuts. But the best part for the rookie was the wet, steamy heat of the throat he was fucking. Copious wads of QB saliva washed over Leonard's hard shaft as Blake sought to devour the monster splitting his face open. The rookie could easily have let his teammate work him over until he flooded Bortles' gullet with his load. But the rookie knew that as good as this was, as willing as Bortles was to drown in his jock cum, that it was the stud quarterback's ass that was the main attraction. Leonard Fournette knew that his teammate wanted to be fucked just as much as he wanted a crack at the signal caller's beefy jock butt. The running back pulled his quarterback up and away from his cock, proud of the wide eyed stare Bortles cast on it as he rose away. A stare that told Fournette that Blake was surprised and proud that he had managed to take that much cock, that he had been able to withstand the powerful face fucking strokes of his teammate. A stare that told both men that the signal caller was still anxious, but also eager, to get the beast up in his muscle ass. The rookie claimed the young vet's lips once again, kissing him deep and hard for a moment before turning the man away and shifting his own stance. Bortles' hands rested on the door, he bent forward at the waist, spread his legs and bent his knees slightly. All without any encouragement from his stud teammate. Fournette was pleased at the turn of events, and even more so when he heard the hiss of breath from his quarterback as he lowered the man's uniform pants. The contrast of the tan line as the quarterback's ass was revealed was an awesome sight to the rookie. He had noticed it in passing in the locker room before, but in this situation, enraged with lust, there was an extra and powerful charge. The wiry, dark brown hair spilling out from the trench of ass crack and dusting over the firm ass cheeks shown in considerably greater relief than the patch of hair at the small of the QB's back or the forest that ran in thickening relief down the long, lean legs. As Fournette spread the jock butt wide, the bright winking pinkness of quarterback hole was set off, rather than diminished, by the surrounding strands. His unconscious exhalation sent his warm breath over the winking entrance rocketing a satisfied shivering moan through Bortles' entire being. The moan gave way to a gasp, and then a low, rumbling growl as Leonard Fournette's extended tongue made first contact with Blake Bortles' ass lips. The growl threatened to become a scream as the running back drove his hard pointed taster past the muscular ring of the quarterback's sphincter and began to tongue fuck the now whimpering jock bitch relentlessly. His fingers dug into Blake's glutes forcefully, spreading the muscle butt as wide as possible for his explorations. The rookie ate ass like it was his last meal. Fine wiry hairs caught in his teeth as the tangy musk washed over his tongue, driving his lust higher. His quarterback pushed back against him, smashing the rookie's nose as he sought a way for the man to get up in his ass even deeper. Leonard felt another, different shifting in the big man's body and stance and sought to stop it without removing his lips and tongue from the feast before him. The hard slap on the quarterback's ass and the command to stop shouted up the jock's loosening cunt went unregistered, or at least unheeded by Bortles as the man still moved his hand toward his crotch in a desperate need to shift his cock, tangled as it was in his pants and shorts, to a less painful position, and maybe even to stroke himself in concert with the dizzying action of the tongue currently lodged up his shitter. Before he could reach himself, his hand was seized in a painfully tight grip. "That ain't for you to decide, Blake. I get you off, or you don't get off!" The running back twisted the quarterback's left arm up and back, bending it across his back even as he dove back into to continue the masterful rimming session. Driving his tongue deeply back up inside his teammate's hole as he laid another, harder, slap on the quivering ass. The quarterback shifted his stance again, leaning his shoulder into the door his neck bent at the closest thing to comfortable position he could find. Bortles brought his throwing hand up along his furry chest and began tweaking his diamond hard nipples, moving between the two in his lust riddled state as the tongue in his hungry ass dove in deeper and deeper. The punching drives of Fournette's taster spread his hole more effectively than many men were capable of with their fingers. Blake Bortles knew that if he could reach his cock, if he could slip his fingers under the compression shorts and cup, that he would find a fever swamp of slimy, salty pre-cum. As it was now, he could feel the hot, slick wetness of it on his balls. And still he drove himself back against the raping tongue as best he could. Part 2 Sweat was running down from his brow, stinging his eyes. He tasted it on his lips, smelled it under his nose where it pooled there before sliding away. That taste, those smells, conspired to ratchet his lust up several more notches. The tightening band of his jock slut desires soaring higher still as he felt the long thick fingers of his running back slip into him suddenly. Three fingers driving all the way inside him in a welcome stealth attack. He had been barely coherent before this invasion, he was somewhere south of imbecilic now. So far south, in fact, that he didn't fully realize what he was doing until he had already done it. Leonard Fournette had his quarterback's jock ass spread wide, had shifted his grip on the big man with two fingers on each hand sliding out of the sweaty cunt as he moved his ass busting jock joint in to replace them. Blake Bortles' movement served to seal the signal caller's fate, and the running back smiled at what the stud was about to do to himself. Trying desperately to get the fingers and tongue back inside him, Blake hadn't even realized that the rookie had risen behind him. Thrusting his eager, spit slick ass back, expecting more of the sweet release the tongue had given him, he found himself instead impaled on the massive cock, half buried inside his balking cunt before he managed to even slow himself down. Much too late he felt Fournette's strong, rough hands dig into his hips, forcing him to continue with the backward motion even as the running back continued his own forward slide. Blake Bortles' mouth flew open to scream, but no sound came out beyond a pathetic and shocked squeak. The rookie's obscenely massive cock speared the quarterback completely in one long, ravaging fuck stroke. A fuck stroke that had been enacted as much by the signal caller as it had been by the running back. Through the entire length of the first deep stroke, Leonard Fournette exhaled in bliss. The steamy, clenching tightness of his quarterback's ass was a harbinger of a world class fuck yet to come. The satisfying crash of his pubic bone against his teammate's tensing, almost rebelling, backside only heightened the feelings. Digging his fingers deeper and harder into the tightening muscles of the already rock hard jock ass, the way his QB's body seemed to have frozen on the verge of making a break for it, of letting out a warning, beckoning scream, drove the black stud rookie into overdrive. He was sure that Bortles hadn't taken note of the backstroke as he pulled out until only part of his flaring crown remained inside the quarterback's soon to be ruined jock cunt, but he knew the big man would register his next move. Shifting his hand around the mans hips, clenching into the fabric of the still mostly tangled uniform pants of his teammate, Leonard Fournette threw himself into forward motion, tearing his way back through the signal caller's tight jock tunnel. Crashing himself headlong against the whimpering stud with the same kind of force he used to plow through potential tacklers. Bortles' scream finally came. A desperate howl of pain ripped from deeper inside him than he had ever known. Each driving, tearing thrust of his mega-hung teammate drew forth another burst of the wretched scream. The audible compliment to the staccato rhythms of the powerful fuck strokes that ripped him to wheezing, limp shreds. Even as the demonic pain tore through his body, he brought his hands firmly up against the door, and pushed his sweaty upper body away from it. Even as the fingers digging bruisingly into his hips, seeming to tear at his muscles, he pushed himself back. Driving his lust addled self back against the crushingly painful, but oh so amazing, fuck strokes moving in and out of him by nearly a foot at a time. He felt his teammate's sweat raining down on his already soaked back, trails of running back perspiration mingling with his own in some twisted jock stud mating ritual as he ground himself fully back on the powerful, masterful black cock currently tearing through his bowels. Fournette felt his quarterback driving back to meet his thrusts of his own volition, felt the muscular, furry jock cunt grind itself into his slick dark flesh on every deep inward stroke. The desperate drives back against the running back belied the claims made through the desperate, nearly demonic, growls of pain his teammate was still uttering. The running back leaned forward, covering the signal caller's strong, broad back with his still geared up upper body. Bortles felt the heat covering him, the edges of the shoulder pads still in place on his mostly dressed running back's thick chest. Felt the scratch of the damp, rough fabric of the jersey as it ground against his sweaty, overheated flesh. Felt the roughness of the long, thick fingers as the rookie's hands slid off his hips and up his chest, one palm splaying momentarily over his racing heart, the other continuing on to press against the door beside his head. The quarterback let himself sink back into the feeling. The massive cock grinding and twisting inside him, the heat and power of the broad chest against his back, separated crunching, scraping football gear the rookie still wore. His shoulder sank back into the cool metal that guarded them from the rest of the stadium. He bent his knees precariously, knowing that this fuck made both of them vulnerable to crumpling like a cheap suit if his already trembling, straining legs gave way. Legs that did give way partially as the running back moved his powerful hand from over the quarterback's wildly thumping heart to clamp down hard on his left nipple. He was barely able to catch and hold their combined weight as the rookie's teeth sank into the flesh at the base of his neck where it met his shoulder blade. Both jock studs felt it at the same time, the rapidly approaching undeniability of orgasm. Fournette felt the bruising smack of his fist tight ball sack against his quarterback's body on each driving thrust inward. Bortles felt the swelling of the already painfully, thrillingly massive cock burying itself repeatedly in his greedy jock cunt. The quarterback felt his flesh give way under the running back's teeth as the rookie tasted the coppery drops of blood ooze onto his tongue. Fournette screamed into the sweaty torn flesh of his teammate as his cum ripped it's way through him, pulsing out like a rocket launch into Bortles' desperately milking ass. 450 plus pounds of combined sweaty and bruised jock muscle quivered and rocked against itself as Leonard Fournette hosed his massive load into Blake Bortles' sucking, squeezing cunt. The quarterback's jock channel gripping the powerful black column of jock cock each time he fired his own blasts of cum into his cup and compression shorts. The salty, alkaline smell of Jaguar sperm pulsing out of Bortles aching nuts permeated the small room, conspiring with the gripping quarterback cunt and the swelling pulse of running back cock to draw the shared bliss out longer than either experienced jock stud had ever known. Before even regaining his breath, Fournette slid his shaft out of Bortles' still clutching, quivering ass. He stepped away from his teammate unsteadily, lightly smacking his quarterback's ass in gratitude. As he began to turn away, Blake was up and off the door, swinging himself around to kneel before Leonard, interrupting the refastening of the sweaty uniform pants to haul the still half hard cock back into his mouth. Bortles nursed on the cock languidly, cleaning the fuck slime off the still massive shaft, finally only pulling away when Fournette's scrambling motions told him it had become too much for the running back. He looked up at the sweaty, god-like black stud fucker, smiling. "Think you could tongue fuck a load out of me sometime, Len?" "Fuck yeah, B!" When the rookie pulled the stud QB up to his feet, the two gazed at each other for a moment before sinking into a brief but intense kiss. Gone was the power struggle of before, the drive of each to claim and subdue the other. All that was left was the contentedness of pure fuck buddy camaraderie.