Voyeur Sex


Subject: Meet the Players Meet the Players Bill Drake (ail) The usual disclaimers and warnings apply: the following is sexual explicit fiction not for underage readers or for those squeamish about man-on-man action. More of my stories are on the Prolific Authors page of Nifty archive. For all my stories and new updates, you can join the yahoo group: Drop a line if you like this one: ail. Meet the Players This was the fourth year in a row I was attending the State U. alumni athletic auxiliary “meet the players” fundraising banquet. Call it school spirit for my alma mater, if you like, but it basically boiled down to being a huge State football fan and having money to burn. I was hitting my stride professionally, as chief financial officer of a growing regional gas station company. My growing salary kept the wife and kids more or less content, and my penthouse office and golf-on-Wednesdays schedule kept me happy. These banquets were essentially a who’s who of the city’s business community, the guestlist a rolodex of the big players in the Chamber of Commerce and city business planning committee. I was hardly the only diehard fan of the State ball team here. Normally, I’m seated next to other contributors, but I guess the extra mid-year topoff gift I gave had perks, cause this year I was sitting next to none other than Mike Herrick. Herrick was the sophomore phenom already working wonders in State’s offensive line, with hunky looks and a clean cut image to boot. Sincere, confident, FCA, faith-and-family, decent student, the whole works. Essentially an NCAA PR guy’s wet dream. Here he was, his broad shouldered frame dressed in Sunday suit and tie, unfurling his napkin, and shaking my hand. “Hello, sir. I’m Mike Herrick.” Nineteen years old, dirty blonde, round cheeked, with a slight beak nose. Posterboy jock. Let’s just say those forbidden thoughts were flooding in hard and fast. “I know very well who you are,” I replied, laughing. “you’re the golden boy and our great hope for a championship this year.” That made the boy blush. “Aw, sir, I can’t take that kinda credit. Blake is driving this team.” Blake Cates, senior, was quarterback and team captain. “What about those internet photos?” I asked. Cates was a party boy and some photos from a naked grabass session in Cancun were making the rounds. “Yeah,” he mused. “The team just ignores all that stuff. Coach tells us to stay focused on the game and not what the newspapers are saying.” “We fans should do the same.” “Well, sir, State’s got the best fans.” He clinked my scotch and soda with his iced tea glass. “Golden Boy, if I didn’t know you better then I’d think you were trying to butter up a donor.” That made him smile. I figured his mother was a beauty queen who’d passed along her dental attributes, or else some orthodontist had gotten enough work for a second-home downpayment. His smile was just that perfect, with teeth pearly white and mesmerizing. “Ha ha. But you DON’T know me. And are you gonna keep calling me Golden Boy?” “You look like a young man who can take a teasing. So yeah, I’m gonna keep calling you Golden Boy.” His wide, mittlike hands went up in a mock gesture of surrender. “OK, OK… so, what can I call you?” “The guys in Finance call me the big boss.” I kept on my poker face, half expecting him to laugh or balk. Instead, he smiled. “All right, boss.” I wasn’t sure where this little game of ours was heading, but I was enjoying it. I was also grateful that we were at the corner of the banquet table, where the others in attendance couldn’t overhear. I had to remember to up my donation in thanks to the organizers. We shot the shit until the university president and head coach took their turns at the dais, then the food came. And the conversation flowed like electricity between us. I was impressed at how down to earth, how mature, yet how deferential Mike was. He asked me about my work and detailed his interests in business administration, in case football didn’t pan out for a career. I figured he was trying to seduce more cash from a star struck fan – fine by me. The eye contact kızkalesi escort was furious, and his body was positioned toward me, legs spread, back cocked. This running back was flirty coed, gladhandling fraternity guy, and cocky jock rolled into one. I was loving it, returning his gaze and double entendres, raking my eyes over his form every chance I got. I guess unconsciously, I was twirling my wedding band, cause he noticed it and asked about my wife and family. I whipped out my wallet and showed the photos. “Ever cheat on your wife?” It was a question that you don’t expect to get asked, certainly not in the middle of a fundraising banquet. “Look, bub, if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, would I?” I snapped. “Sorry,” he half-apologized, his baby blue eyes doing half the work for him. I felt the tension in between my shoulders retreat. “It’s just that, well, you’re built, handsome, and successful, and I wouldn’t be surprised if women were throwing themselves on you.” “Oh you wouldn’t, would you?” Don’t get me wrong, I was enjoying this weird flirtation, but I couldn’t figure this jock out. Until I felt him. Somehow, he’d kicked off one of his black patent leather shoes and was running his stockinged foot along the length of my ankle and up under my suit pant leg. I nearly spit out my coffee. As it was my heartrate jumped threefold and my dick sprang erect faster than it ever had. The kid was staring at me hard, trying to read me. “Forgive my forward question, boss, I just had selfish reasons for asking.” I clasped my hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently and discreetly so no one would notice. Damn, I craved body-to-body contact with this stud. I lowered my voice and grunted a reply, “Ah, Golden Boy, you haven’t seen selfish… I can think of a million selfish things I’d like to do with you.” My voice was just a hoarse whisper in his right ear now. He laughed. “Did I tell you how much I admire selfish men? Guys who know how to take what they want. Without…” He stopped midsentence. “Without asking.” A statement, not a question. “Yeah,” he assented. Fortunately, the banquet was wrapping up. I knew I could arrange the appointments I had for the rest of the afternoon. I asked Mike if he had some place private we could go. Yeah? No roommate? Rock and roll. So Herrick took me back to his dorm room, a personal suite. The athlete stretched his meaty bod back on the bed, and I lay down right after him, on top of him. My lips sought his, and he hungrily returned my kiss. I felt so damn alive at that point, so incredibly turned on, I started pawing his body like a sex-crazed teenager his first time away from a chaperone. Mike writhed beneath me full force, parting his legs, gripping the bulk trapped beneath my suit, placing his hands on my thrusting ass. The guy might have been only 19, but he knew how to make another man horny as hell. “Fuck, Golden Boy, you’re gonna make me your biggest fan, aren’t ya?” “I’ll sure try, big boss.” It went like that for the next half hour, making out with my dream athlete, State U’s great hope. The guy knew how to kiss, all right, but what he did with his hands drove me just as mad with lust. He tormented my nipples, my pits, the small of my back, as well as the big honking erection trapped in my trousers. Shit, Golden Boy knew some trick with his thumb and forefinger that had my meat stick drooling doubletime. Finally, I couldn’t take anymore without spurting my wad in my pants. I pushed myself up and unzipped. Mike’s eyes widened when he saw my drooling tool. “Man, boss, you’re hung.” “Not more than Golden Boy can take, I hope,” I said encouragingly, stroking, caressing his silken blonde hair and guiding his mouth forward. He licked the head, tasting my salty sap first. I guess he liked it, cause very soon he was locking his lips on the round head and suckling away. It felt fantasitic, but I was impatient. I pushed forward and was rewarded by his juicy mouth on my knob. “Goddamn, stud, I was dreaming about this all afternoon. Aw suck that baby.” He muttered his ascent with a mouthful of cock and proceeded to show me his sword-swallowing tarsus escort act. Herrick wasn’t the first person to take every inch of the rigid heft of my prick, but there hadn’t been many others. He sucked with gusto, bobbing his head voraciously on my bone. I egged him on, pushing his head down harder, talking a filthy chant of encouragement. After twenty or so glorious minutes of head, Mike raised up and wiped the spittle from his chin. He undid his tie and removed his shirt. His chest was powerful, strong, and dusted with a light coating of that dirty blond hair. Fantastic. My hands latched onto the hot skin and our mouths met again. He frigged my cock with one hand and rubbed the back of my neck with his other. I then took my turn and removed my coat, tie, and starched shirt. At every step, the horny athlete moaned his appreciation and massaged my torso. When my shirt unbuttoned, he was on me like white on rice, gnawing at the fur on my burly chest, getting of on my clean, natural scent. I pulled my shirttails out and stripped it off, letting the kid go to town. Eventually he settled home on my protruding nipples – tender, eager, and fat. Herrick loved those pups, chewing and slurping and tensing them up into bright pink pointy nubs, signaling that my engines were gonna overheat soon. Finally, he showed mercy and lifted his head up, giving one last swipe at my broad chest. “Big Boss, I was wondering…” “Yeah, Golden Boy?” I teased, tweaking his nipples and watching his burly bod contort in pleasure-pain. “Are you into handcuffs? I mean, I’m really into ’em, and was hoping… You know, well I gotta pair.” “You want me to cuff you?” “Yeah. Turns me on majorly.” I arched my eyebrow. This was DEFINITELY not what I was expecting. “My dad’s a cop,” he put in, as if that explained it. Hell, maybe it did. He pulled open a nightstand drawer and sure enough, there were a shiny nickel-plated pair of restraints. I reached in and helped myself. He turned around, putting his arms straight down behind his back. I fastened the first metal ring on his right wrist, then cuffed his left. His arm muscles did a dance, and I was rewarded with the sight of his already big triceps bunching up and his softball-sized bis crunching and twitching. Calmly, I put my hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him face down into the mattress. He looked so hot like that, lying servile, I could feel my nuts rise up in their sac. This was gonna be good. I then began stripping his lower half, starting with his dress shoes, then socks, then finally his trousers. He wasn’t wearing anything on underneath, so I was immediately greeted with that fine, round ass, buck naked and ready to be violated. I grumbled my approval and started running my dry, calloused hands along the smooth contours of his muscle, from head to toe. I took my time, savoring my prey before I partook. It had the consequence of working Mike up even more. I think he expected me to pillage right away, but having to lie there in slow anticipation was sheer torture. “Oh, please, boss, I gotta.” I took pity. On myself as much as him. That butt was round and tight, so it resisted my first attempts to pry the hefty globes apart. But he relaxed and I persevered til that beautiful trench was exposed. His cheeks were hairless, but the depths were dusted with his brown-blonde manfur, pointing and gathering around a nice, pink perfectly circular pucker. I dove in. Hunched my mug right into his beefy ass pillows and licked to my heart’s content. Mike squiggled his body, trying to get away, trying to back up harder on me, trying to make up his mind exactly what the hell he was experiencing. Either Golden Boy hadn’t been rimmed before, or no man had done his ass justice. Til now. I slurped and sucked. My tongue was a relentless muscle-organ, prodding at his the folds of his magic gate, teasing, insisting, coaxing it loose. That hole was sweet, and I ate away, til I’d soaked every inch of his rump and spittle coated my face. He was primed and I was ready. I rose up, smacked my dick in my hand a couple of times to distribute anamur escort the slick fuckjuice I was dripping, then poked it in between those smooth buttcheeks. Herrick clenched, then opened up, then dilated his ass as he got used to having my missile probe its way into deep, unchartered territory. “Ungh!” the kid cried. “Oh, man, that’s intense” His voice was innocent and deep at the same time. I thought about what folks would think about his cleancut image now. The more I did the more my prick was driven deep by insatiable hunger. I had to conquer this jock. After I settled in and opened his tight asswalls up, I rode him. Grabbed onto his shoulders and thrust like a man possessed. First, hard, using him as my personal pummel horse. Then fast, with intense, quick strokes of my manspike, punching his prostate like a typewriter key. Then a nice, slow grind, making deliberate figure 8 motions with my hard wand. Whatever I did made Golden Boy hornier, made sweat and goosebumps break out all over his back, made his pale skin turn pink with heat. “Oh man,” Mike cried, lifting his head up off the pillow, “you aren’t gonna cum in me are you?” I shot. Man, did I shoot. I couldn’t have stopped that train if I’d tried. I creamed his innards, pulled out to spray his back and bound arms, then punched back inside and spermed some more. Herrick didn’t get off… he was still hiking his beautiful butt back, hard, eager to be filled. Eager to grind his own load out from the inside out. I was still thrusting away. “Got anywhere you gotta be this afternoon, Golden Boy?” I asked. “No, boss,” he huffed, body writhing in sexual heat, feeding off on the frustration of being unable to use his arms or hands. “Friday’s our day off from practice.” “Great. I’m usually good for a three-loader.” I pulled out, eager for a rest and eager to see the athlete’s face and front. I turned him over, admiring his flushed sexuality and throbbing cock. I started rubbing and worshipping his muscle. Just as I began to hover around his crotch, I lifted my head and spoke. “Oh, and Golden Boy…?” “Yeah, boss?” “I am the type who cheats on his wife,” I winked before opening up and swallowing his overstimulated hardon, which pulsed several times in my mouth and dispensed its hot, rich man custard, which I eagerly gulped down. ****** Great thing about an athlete with a squeaky clean reputation is that none of the fellows ask questions when he bails on the partying after a game. Good thing, indeed, cause 8 PM Saturday night I was right back in his dorm room, continuing things were we’d left off. I had Golden Boy splayed prostrate in front of me, his legs spread to make room for me in between and to spread those meaty cheeks so I could get a good sightline for my penetration. Don’t know why I love pounding young bucks from behind like this. Maybe it’s because it’s the opposite of missionary sex with the wife. This was raw possession. “Hey Big Boss,” the kid huffed as I went to town on his backside. “You know, I don’t even know your real name.” My lips curled into a sneer. “So? I’m buried 9 inches deep into you, Golden Boy, what more do you need to know?” Herrick hung his head down and hiked his butt back, wiggling its way hard into my heaving crotch. “Nothing, sir.” We mated in silence, til he hesitatingly spoke up again. “Boss?” “What?! You wanna talk or you wanna fuck?” “Fuck, sir. Only… I was gonna say… if you want to, well, underneath the bed. My dad’s old nightstick.” Wow, this guy knew how to push my buttons. My orgasm rumbled deep and arrived hard. As my gasket blew, I curled my fingers into the flesh of his meaty asscheeks and pounded through it all. He’d have to explain my fingernail marks to his teammates the next time he hit the shower. When I came to, my vision was blurred and I was nearly out of breath. I pulled out, still stonehard, and leaned back to survey the damage. My load was copious and sloppy wet. Those hairless muscle cheeks clenched furiously, working up my seed into a white froth. While I reached under the bed with my right hand, I pushed my left finger square on the target and felt it sink into the hot moist tunnel. “I shot you full, Golden Boy. What do you think about taking your daddy’s stick with just a cum lube?” I teased. I pulled the hard-plastic truncheon up and lifted it to the light to survey it: standard double-strength police department-issue… sleek, shiny, and fat. “Aw yeah, boss.”

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