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Description When an ex-football player, now a local newspaper reporter, investigates The Black Knights, he gets more than he bargained for.

AddedOctober 2018
Updated20 Oct 2018



4 Parts tap bar to showtap bar to hide

Part 1

Zion eased the car into the parkway and got out. He gazed around the grounds of his old alma mater, looking at the endless hordes of students in their countless transits from one class to another. Admixed with the hordes were guys, that he noticed with raised eyebrows, that stood out from the crowds. They were unusually huge and thick, their auras of pure jockness and masculinity wrapped up in black spandex that molded against their thick forms like plastic wrap.

It was those guys that brought Zion Key, reporter for The City Times, back here. The Black Knights.

According to Zion’s research, they were one of the better-known teams in the state. The wins started soon after his graduation, quickly becoming a local favorite in the local football circles. They rarely lost a match, and those that they did lose were under grueling circumstances. The coach, Samuel Travers, was a legend. Twenty years of coaching and he understood the game like none other. The constant string of wins proved it.

Still, to find that the rumors were true was a trifle unsettling.

A bout of laughter intruded his thoughts, and he looked at the source: A trio of roughly hewn players were crossing his path, and all dressed the same. Zion looked at the uniform—for it had to be that—with a critical eye. It was black lycra, stretching across forms that better fit a heavyweight bodybuilding contest than football games. On the front, an outline of a chess knight glyph. The bottoms were white, mid-calf basketball shorts with the name “The Black Knights” vertically emblazoned on the side in black lettering.

“Yo dude!”

He looked at the one who called over. The jock was shaved bald, his collar cut a bit lower than the other two, and had blue-green tattoos swirling up his neck and skull. He grinned as he locked gaze with Zion. Damn, that’s a cute grin, he thought.

“What’s shaking, bro!”

Another one, a corn-fed guy that looked like he was fed on a diet of iron instead, and he had a beard that trailed to his chest that contrasted with his polished bald head. He leaned over to extend a hand, and Zion didn’t want to be rude. He shook it, and tried not to wince at the force that his hand was gripped.

“Hey,” Zion said. “I take it you are with the Knights?”

The trio nodded, and the first guy spoke up.

“Fuck yeah, bro. What’s up?”

Zion cleared his throat and pulled out his press card. “Zion Key, of The City Times. Here to interview the team and Coach Travers for an upcoming article.”

The second looked it over, and he grinned toothily. “Awesomeness, bro.”

The third one stepped up. He was deeply tanned, with a sharp, wide mohawk that spiked upward with yellow and red tips. He plucked the card from the second and nodded as he looked at it. “Fuckin’ a, dude. The coach is going to enjoy this.” He handed it back to Zion. “We’re headed to class, but if you want to head off to Coach….” He pointed in a general direction. “Down this path and you’ll see a white building. That is where he is. I think he’s having a meeting with some other team mates.”

The second one chuckled deeply as if he heard a joke and got a slap upside the head from the first. “Shut up, bro,” he said.

“Fuck you,” the second one said, rubbing the slapped area.

Zion cleared his throat. He had a small notebook in his hands. “Can I have your names so I can interview you later on?”

The identified themselves in rapid succession. The first: Baker, number 20, linebacker. The second was Kirk, number 14, left safety, and the third was Trav, number 39, defensive. He scribbled the names on the paper, and he nodded his appreciation. “All right, I’ll head to talk to the coach.” He shook Baker’s hand. “Been a pleasure, guys.”

“No problem, dude,” Kirk said. He smiled again. “We’re going to have a practice match later if you’re up to it. Get to see us in action.”

“That is not a bad idea,” Zion said. “I’ll see if I can get one of the photographers we have to take some photos for the story.”

Trav slapped the two on the backs. “We’re going to be famous, bros!”

Zion has to smile at the contagious cheer he was feeling. “I’ll see you guys later. Get to class.”

After the trio said their goodbyes, Zion felt his grin melt into a puzzled frown. Maybe his information was wrong. He felt that he was going after a wild-goose chase, and that he was ending up with egg on his face. He shook his head and turned to slowly walk up the pathway.

Part 2

The assignment is simple. Find out what was going on with the school.”

Zion looked at his boss. “What?”

The boss adjusted his glasses. “We have been getting strange reports from the area. Kids are getting recruited into the team known as The Black Knights.”

“Oh, I know those guys.” He riffled through his memory. “Founded about seventeen years ago, one of the best in the state.”

“Yep. Nice to know that, seeing you were part of the team.” The boss picked up a thick folder on the desk and he riffled through the pages to pluck a page. “Here.”

“What’s this?” A glance at the paper revealed a grainy photo of a small team, about fifteen players, all done in black with a white logo emblazoned in the front. Near them, a squat, fat man with a balding head and a stern expression stood silently.

“That is a photo ten years ago. I trust you know the guy?”

“Yeah, that’s old Coach Travers. A classic hard-ass on us, and we rewarded him by winning. But what does this have to do with my assignment?”

The boss motioned to take the photo back, and he replaced it with newer one. “What about this one?”

The photo showed about thirty guys, all of them with the same uniforms as before, but almost all of them astoundingly built. A taller man matched their bulk pound for pound, and he was in classic coach uniform of black and white.

“Whoa!” was all Zion had to say. “Who is this guy?”

“Coach Travers.”

“What?” He took the old one and compared the two. The coach’s face was faintly the same as the other photo, but it was as if he was photoshopped into a build to rival any pro bodybuilder. He looked at his boss. “How?”

“That is what we are hoping you would uncover,” the boss said. He leaned forward and tented his fingers.

“We have been getting strange reports from the school, as I said before. A stranger one is regarding the teammates. From our research, we cannot find anyone matching the descriptions of these guys. At all. They appear from nowhere and always from the college.”

“Specifically the team?”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “Another is that people have been disappearing.”

“What do you mean?”

He opened the folder and took out a photo clipped to a police report. Zion looked at the picture, then at the report. “Brandon Conrad, age 21. Disappeared four months ago.”

“We need to find out what is going on,” the boss said as Zion scanned the rest of the report. “With your knowledge of the college, specifically the team, you might be able to help us out. It might be drug related, to be honest. We do not know.”

“Like steroids, you mean.” Zion looked at the photo of the new team again. “It could explain how Coach and the players gained so much height and width.” He tapped the face. “However, to make him look something this unrecognizable….”

“Stranger still is how no one is commenting about the guys or the disappearances. I mean, you get people like this suddenly appearing and stomping around the college, and no one raises a fuss? Something has to be happening.”

Zion nodded. “The school has to know about this, though. Keeping it under wraps to ensure no scandal.” He nodded again. “Makes sense. You get a team like this, and you have to have some kind of leverage with the school.”

“That’s the idea.” The boss leaned back into his seat. “As I said, could be nothing. However, something tells me it isn’t. We could be on to something big. Monumental.”

“Damaging, surely.”

“Which is why we’re sending you, Key.” The boss pushed the file over to him. “You are one of the best operatives we have in the field. Your discretion and tact is matchless, and you have been known to be rather invisible with certain areas of the business.”

“Hm.” He grabbed the folder and opened it, thumbing the pages. “So I just check up on things and give you a heads up if anything happens?”

“For good or for bad. For better or worse. Make sure you leave no stone unturned, no corner untrammeled.”


The boss also slipped a small envelope over. “Your credentials,” he said as Zion opened it. “You are a news writer for one of the area’s local newspapers. I have already let them know just in case, though I do not think it is needed. Press card and a recorder. Or so they will see.”

“Standard build, then?” Zion checked the recorder and nodded approvingly as it shifted into a miniature gun.

“Standard build, par for the course.” The boss leaned forward. “Use only as necessary. Might be minor, but—”

“Might be major.” Zion stood up and saluted. “Don’t worry, sir. I will not let you down.”

Part 3

The football office was a huge affair. Two stories tall, composed of white brick and with modern chrome fixings. On the side of the pathway to the front doors, a huge brass statue of a horse reared up on its hind legs. The rider was a person done in medieval knight’s armor.

The Black Knight, Zion thought to himself, chuckling silently. Nice reference.

He walked up to the doors and was about to open one when it opened on its own. Attached to the door was a thickly hewed arm, then the rest of the guy appeared. Big as the others, and the black tank melded with his all-over pelt of black hair.

The guy grinned. “Hey!”

Zion stepped back in surprise. “Uhm, hello.” He got his bearings and cleared his throat. “Zion Key,” he said as he flashed the press card. “I’m with the local paper, here to interview the coach.” He nodded to the jock. “I take it you are part of the team?”

The guy nodded. “Brandon, number 13, right safety.” He stepped out and held the door open. “The coach is having a meeting with some of the seniors. A couple of them got scouted for the NFL, and he’s a bit happy about that.” He grinned. “Bet you can put that in the paper, eh dude?”

Zion grinned back. “I will definitely put that in.”

Brandon pointed into the building. “Third door down, don’t mind the noise.”

He nodded his thanks and walked in, Brandon releasing the door and having it quietly close shut.

The first thing Zion noticed was the cabinets of trophies and photos around him. He looked as he saw a matching photo he saw first in the meeting, and noticed the timeline of photos and awards, each year getting more and more players thickly hewed and with Travers also slowly growing to present bulk. If it was steroids, he thought to himself, he is doing quite a business spreading it around.

He heard footsteps coming towards him, and he straightened up to find his target coming towards him with a look of surprise on his face. He was wearing a loose-fitting white polo and black jean shorts that barely covered lower thighs and—! Zion tried to hide his shock at the way the coach bulged out at the crouch. I don’t recall him being that well endowed, he thought.

“Zion? Zion Key?” the man said. “Is that you, son?”

Zion couldn’t help but smile as he went over to shake the coach’s hand. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me, Coach.” I certainly didn’t recognize you, he added silently.

“How could I forget one of the best running backs the team had?” He gripped the hand in a powerful grip. “How are you doing, son?”

The way Travers said the last word gave Zion shivers, though he didn’t know why. He let go and dug into his pocket to bring out the press card. “I’m working for the news right now. Here to interview you and the team.”

Travers’ face lit up into wide grin. “Really now? Damn, we’re definitely getting attention.” The grin shifted to a grimace as he rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe a bit too much attention now,” he muttered under his breath.


The coach shook his head. “Nothing.” He clapped his hands together. “All right. An interview, eh? I think we can manage that. What do you want to know?”

“Well, I got a hold of some of your team.” He pulled out the notepad and read out the names.

“Ah, those goofballs,” he said rolling his eyes. “Yeah, they’re a handful. However, they are Grade A players. I wouldn’t want them any other way.”

“I just heard that some of your guys got scouted?”

The coach snorted. “Yeah, Angels and Brown. They might make it to train with the Bears. Or the Ravens.” He waggled a finger. “Might, I say. Don’t quote me on that. I’ll let you know if they’re going.”

“How much is the turnover for someone to get scouted?”

“It doesn’t happen often,” the coach said, shrugging. “I think the last one was….” He trailed off as he gazed at the walls of trophies. “I would have to be…hmmm…Chad Beard.” He pointed to a photo in which a short fireplug of a man was smiling and shaking hands with the coach. “Back in ‘13. Got with the Raiders for a few years, and then retired. I think he is in New York. I don’t keep track with my players after they leave.”

Zion nodded, and then looked around. “The guy who let me in said something about noise…?”

“Ah, that would probably be in reference to the weight room.” Travers motioned over. “Follow me, and I’ll give you a tour.”

As they strolled down the hallway, the coach’s voice grew pedantic. “Here at the Black Knights, we strive for excellence, as you know. We have been always looking for the playoffs, and we have been winning them for years. The teams that followed you guys have been working their asses off and it gets paid in spades.” They passed by a wide glass wall, showing off several players lifting heavy. “This is our gym area.”

Zion looked at the players. Each one was in matching uniforms of tight black lycra that covered massive amounts of bulk. His eyebrows quirked upward as he noticed that almost all of them had prodigious packages that form fitted lewdly against the fabric.

“As you can see,” the coach continued, “some of the seniors are killing time lifting.” He pointed to a duo near a power rack, one easily squatting seven plates on each side. “Angels is the one squatting and Brown is the other. I’ll have them talk to you later on if you want.”

Zion eyed their forms, seeing that the fabric did not impede the movements in any way. “I noticed that almost all of the players now look like oversized bodybuilders,” he said dryly. Overhung, too, he added to himself. “Any reason why, Coach?”

Travers’ eyes narrowed. “Don’t get any ideas, boy,” he growled. “All of my players have been tested time and time again for drugs, and we won’t have anyone implying otherwise.”

Zion raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, Coach. Sorry.” Travers snorted loudly, like tearing paper. “One of the things we news writers have to investigate,” he continued.

“Hmph. You were always an inquisitive guy,” the coach said. “You did well going to the newspapers. Anyway, if you could follow me onwards?”

The tour meandered to the indoor agility fields and the locker room. When it was mentioned by Zion that there was no second-floor stairway, the coach shook his head.

“Nothing upstairs of interest, son. Just old football equipment we’ve been trying to get rid of.”

Zion gave a noncommittal hum and let the statement pass.

Travers led the reporter to a windowless office filled with papers and filing cabinets, and had Zion sit down. “All right, what do you think of the set up? From an ex-player’s viewpoint.”

“Well, I guess you guys are doing okay,” Zion said as the coach sat down on the other side of a desk piled thickly with papers. “Apart from them looking like porn stars,” he added under his breath. He shook his head when he was offered a water bottle. “If I ask something off the record, Coach?”


“I have to ask. I remember you being a bit shorter than I am. And a lot skinnier. What happened?”

The coach cracked open his water bottle and gulped it down. “Honestly? I got a second puberty. The doc didn’t know what was happening—I just grew all over.” He lifted an arm and flexed, showing a cantaloupe of thick bicep that strained against the sleeve. “The players got inspired to be just as big as me, and here we are.”

Zion nodded and was going to ask another question when the door opened to show one of the guys from the weight room.

“Sorry, Coach, I didn’t know you had company.” He nodded to Zion. “Hello.”

“It’s all right, Brown. He was about to leave. Give me another three or five minutes.” The jock nodded and withdrew.

“I am?” Zion raised an eyebrow at the hint.

“Well, if you want to stay, then stay. Personally, I thought you were going to head out to interview the jocks.” He stood up, motioning Zion to stand. “If you’re going to get quotes, let me know. I’m sure Trav and Kirk will be more than happy to get their two cents in.” He rolled his eyes. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh yes. I forgot. Hold on a moment.”

He went to a battered wooden cabinet (while showing off a back and ass of such thickness it left Zion speechless) and came back to plop something on the desk. “Here.”

Zion looked askance at the small box, and he opened it to find a college football ring. The metal was dark steel, and topping it, a profile of a chess knight done in black onyx that gleamed in the florescent lights. “Wow, Coach, I’m honored.” He took it out of the box and slipped it on. It fit perfectly.

“I started giving them away to all of my graduates, and I saw you today, so I thought, why not?” He crossed over to pull the reporter into a massive hug. “Come by anytime you want, son.”

Zion tried to respond, but it was muffled by the thick bulk of the coach. He felt himself reacting to the embrace, and he tried to edge back to hide it. “Y-yeah, sure Coach.”

They released, and Travers grinned. “Just remember to let me know when you’re going to interview the kids, son. Now be off with you. I got someone waiting outside.”

When Brown entered the office, he was surprised to find his coach rummaging through a filing cabinet. “Sir?”

Travers looked up. “Ah, yeah, lock the door, son.” He slammed the cabinet shut and opened the next one down. He scratched his head as he tried to find something. “I think we need to be more careful. Especially now that we’re getting some attention on a national scale.” He looked up to find the player clad only in a jock, his heavy equipment already severely distorting the pouch to the point of breaking. “Damn, kid, you are feisty, ain’t you?”

“Fuckin’ horny, that’s what I am, Coach.” He flexed a thickly pumped arm and started to nuzzle the muscle.

“Heh. A kid after my own heart.” His own clothing melted into skin, releasing his own prodigious equipment. “All right, son,” he continued, rubbing his cock. “Let’s see that pumped ass ready for coach’s cock.”

Part 4

No, I don’t think anything is wrong with the college.”

Zion was in his car, on the phone with his contact.

“To be sure, the players look more like they’re fantasy images made flesh.” His mind flashed to the image of the lifters, with their massively pumped bulk. “From what I could gather at the moment, I would have to say that the coach is indeed dealing in drugs. When I made an accusation about it, he instantly denied it.”

“Any idea where they could be coming from?” the contact said.

Zion shook his head. “Not right now. It will take some time for me to figure things out. In the meanwhile, let the boss know I am going to stay here for another day or two. I got invited to see them practicing today, and I’m going to take the advantage.”

Typing was heard on the other side. “Okay. I’m booking a room at a local motel. About a block away from the college. Keep us updated.”

“Yeah, I will,” Zion said, and ended the call.

Someone knocked on the car window, and he looked up to meet the piercing green gaze of one of trio from before. He rolled down the window. “Hello?” He flicked through his memory. “Kirk, right?”

The jock grinned. “Yeah.” He scratched his beard. “Uhm, I heard you were one of the past players.”

Word travels fast, Zion thought. He nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Wanna play a game with us, dude?”

Zion smiled faintly, and he shook his head. “No. That’s okay, I’m good. In fact,” he added as his phone vibrated, “I need to double check on a motel booking. I’m going to be staying a few days to finish the story.” He nodded as the other two joined Kirk. “Hey. Your coach gave me the okay to interview you guys.”

Trav punched a fist into the air. “Fuckin’ a, bro.” He shifted his attention to Kirk. “Why are you here, dude?”

“Wanted to see if he wanted to play,” he said, still looking at Zion.

“Fucking idiot,” Baker said, slapping Kirk upside the head again. “He’s busy writing about us, and all you can think of is playing.” He shook his head and looked at Zion. “Sorry, dude. Bro here’s a bit eager for tackling.”

“It’s okay,” Zion said, shrugging. “I know how it is.” He smiled a bit as he turned the phone on and checked up the notifications. “Okay, give me a moment to get situated, and I’ll be here for interviews. I’m going to be at the Starlight Motel, and I’ll let Coach know when I’m coming back.”

Kirk nodded and he stepped back as the car backed up and drove off.

“Fuck, dude, what’s your problem this time?” Baker asked to him.

“He was wearing one of our rings,” the jock answered. “Coach must have given it to him.”

Trav’s eyebrows quirked up. “Yeah, dude? Fuck.” He slipped a hand under his shorts and adjusted his suddenly swelling dick. “This is gonna be hot, bros.”

The motel was as seedy as the name suggested. Zion placed his emergency suitcase on the bed and opened it, showing a change of clothes. He took those out to reveal a small collection of guns and weapons, all polished and gleaming. He took out a snub-nosed revolver, checked to see if it was loaded, and placed it in the bedside drawer. Then he opened the folder he took from the Agency. He thumbed through the pages, pulled out the police report from before, and nodded grimly as he read it. Despite putting on enough muscle to win any bodybuilding competition and having a slightly gruffer face, he was the missing guy.

He sat down on the bed, looking through the rest of the paperwork. He noticed that the disappearances happened every year, usually of the same cast: thin and geeky-looking. He shook his head. He was missing something. However, it had to wait. He had to investigate.

As he took off his shirt, he gazed appreciatively at the figure in the room’s only full-length mirror. Lean and taunt from his years of football and gym, the body caught both men and women’s attention. He couldn’t resist to flex just a bit, and he felt his cock stir.

It has been a while, he thought as he unbuckled his slacks and let them fall to the floor. He pulled down the underwear band to release his other gun, a well-shaped eight incher that he knew how to use to perfection. As he stroked himself, his mind wandered to the coach, and the players. True, they were college students… but he definitely would not kick any of them out of his bed. Especially not the coach. He softly moaned as he imagined the embrace the coach gave him. Being surrounded by all that beef…

Then he pictured Kirk, with that thick beard and those piercing green eyes. The plaintive way he asked to play… He imagined what it’d be like to be tackled, and left lying underneath that bulk. Having that cock rubbing against his ass as he drove down to prevent a pass. Having only a layer of slick fabric to prevent it from doing anything other than rubbing. Zion thought about the guys in the weight room, and he wondered if the trio was just as hung.

The sudden rush of orgasmic pleasure shattered his thoughts, and he deeply moaned as he shot against the mirror, his mind focused on how big and how hung the jocks were. He felt his knees buckle, and promptly landed on the bed, still shooting fiercely, making a mess on the linoleum tile.

“Fuck,” he muttered when the orgasm petered out. He sheepishly looked at the streaks of cum on the floor and the mirror. It has been too long, he thought to himself as he stepped out of his pants. He headed to the bathroom to get a towel, only to gaze in shock at the image in the mirror.

He knew his body, down to the last pound, so he was surprised at the shift in bulk. It was subtle, but there: His chest a bit beefier, his shoulders a touch wider. He shifted to the side to find his arms more defined, his ass a bit thicker.

He didn’t know what to think of, but he knew something was up. He turned on the faucet with a cum-stained hand, and realized with a start that the ring was still on him, festooned with his emissions.

“Aw fuck,” he said as he pried the ring off and rinsed it under the stream. After placing it on the counter, he washed his hands. He gathered up a washcloth to clean up the mess, and he was about to head back when he remembered about the ring. He picked it up and dried it, slipping back on his finger.

Heh. Stupid jock, he thought to himself. He looked at the reflection again, and he flexed again, smirking. Then he turned back towards the room to clean.

A half-hour later, he was chatting with the trio. Kirk was the most eager.

“So, yah, I was over the 50-yard line, when I tackled that motherfucker down.” He slapped his palms together to illustrate the tackle. “The bastard didn’t know what the fuck was happening. I shut that guy down cold.”

Zion scribbled on the notepad, flipping over a page. “I take it that was not the first tackle in the game?”

The jock snorted. “Fuck no, dude.” He popped his chest and he gently pounded a pec with a fist. “Look at me. I’m made for tackling.” He raised his arms into a double bi, the muscles straining against the black spandex. “Fuckin’ huge, dude.”

Trav slapped the goon on the back of the head. “Shaddup, bro. Ya scaring him.”

“Fuck you,” Kirk said, relaxing the pose.

“All right then. And you Trav?” Zion said, still scribbling. “Defensive, right?” Trav nodded. “That would be tackle, right?”

“Linebacker, also,” he said. He motioned to Baker. “He and I help out with extra line or pass protection, depending on the play.” He smirked. “But then you already know that, eh bro?”

Zion nodded as he wrote. “And how long have you guys been playing?”

“I think… three years?” Trav said.

“Yeah…” Kirk said, looking at Trav. “I think it’s been three years for me too.”

“I’m a freshman, to be honest,” Baker said.

“Hm. Okay.” Zion wrote another note. “Mind me asking where you were playing before?”

Kirk scratched his head. “I… don’t remember,” Kirk said, his eyes growing distant for a moment before he gazed sharply at Zion. “Why you want to know?”

“Don’t mind him,” Trav said, giving Kirk a friendly shoulder pat. “Too much tackling got his mind fuzzed in some areas. He’ll be okay.”

“The doc gave me an okay,” Kirk grumbled. “I just play too hard.”

“I know how that is,” Zion said, smiling a bit. “One of my teammates was like that. Couldn’t get enough.” He looked at the other two. “What about you guys?”

“They come from the same school as Kirk. The local high school.”

Zion looked up at Travers, who loomed against the open doorway.

“Hey Coach,” Zion said. He motioned to the three with the pencil. “They’re just talking about–”

“I know what you were talking about,” Travers said. He passed over a small stack of papers. “Transcripts from the high school. They’re all there.”

“Uhm. Okay. Thanks.” Zion looked at the paperwork with raised eyebrows, then put them aside. “Hm. I’ll look into these later.”

Travers nodded, then to the guys, “All right, time to suit up. Practice in ten minutes.”

“Wait a moment, Coach,” Zion said as the three stood. “I haven’t finished interviewing Kirk yet.”

“It’s okay, Coach,” Kirk said. “I’ll be out when practice starts.”

“He’ll be okay,” Trav echoed, patting Kirk on the shoulder again.

Travers snorted. “Okay. Ask away. But you two,” he gestured to Trav and Baker, “are coming with me.”

“Meet ya on the field, bro,” Trav said as they walked off.

“Glad to see Coach hasn’t forgotten how to be an asshole,” Zion said.

Kirk grinned. “He was like that with you guys?”

“Yeah. Always a hard-ass.”

“It is a nice ass, isn’t it?”

Zion raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

The grin intensified. “Yeah. He’s a hot fucker. Like you are.”

Both eyebrows now. “What?”

The grin turned to outright laughter, deep and growly. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me you haven’t gotten hit on by a jock.”

“Well, not by a jock ten years younger than me.”

“Then you probably weren’t expecting this.”

“What–?,” was all Zion said before Kirk leaped forward, wrapping his arms around him and planting a solid kiss. It lasted a solid five seconds before the jock broke it.

“I’ve been achin’ to do that when I first saw you, sir,” he murmured, letting go. He went back to his seat. “You’re a hot fucker.”

Zion was too stunned to speak, and it took a moment or two to get his bearings. “If the coach saw that,” he said hoarsely, “he’d pull you out of the team.”

Another growly laugh. “Yah right. Coach knows better than to get rid of me.” He raised up his arms into another double-bi. “Tell me you don’t want this, man.”

In fact, Zion was sorely tempted. A small voice in the back of his head was egging him on, to go ahead to submit to this beefy jockhead. Instead, he shoved the voice away. “So, about your last game…?”

Kirk lowered his arms down. “The fuck? I mean, you’re serious?”

“What do you mean?”

Kirk glanced at the open door. He then leaned forward, pitching his voice lower. “Seriously, dude, you don’t want to suck me off or anything? Coach doesn’t need to know.” He openly adjusted himself. “We got a bit of time left before I head to the field. And I know that I got a hell of a mouth.” He grinned wickedly. “Here, let me show you.”

He lunged again, this time, attacking the pants. Before Zion knew it, his cock was firmly enveloped around a warm, urgent mouth.

“Awfuck!” Zion swore as he felt the jock slobber and slurp his stiffening cock. He tried to back up, but he found a solid hand was firmly kneading a butt cheek.

“Are all of you guys like this?” Zion said between moans.

Kirk didn’t answer. Instead, he intensified his ministrations, bobbing up and down as the hand dug in and started to play with Zion’s hole, gently prodding and circling it.

Zion groaned deeply. He grabbed Kirk’s head with both hands and shoved himself in the eager mouth. Soon he was pistoning in and out, slowly but then with more force. The actions, to Kirk’s credit, didn’t faze him any. In fact, he sucked harder, the hand digging in deeper.

A few moments later, the pleasure reached a climax. Zion yelled as he shoved in for the last time and shot deep into the jock’s mouth, with him noisily, and happily, guzzling it down.

The orgasm was more intense than the last time, and Zion propped himself on Kirk’s thick traps as he kept on unloading. He moved a hand to the back of the head, and pushed forward, making him take the entirety of his cock. “Fuck yeah, dude,” he groaned over the vulgar slurping. “Take it all.”

Soon, the two separated, with Zion leaning against the wall, and with Kirk sitting on the chair with a shit-eating grin.

“Damn,” the jock said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I needed that.” He stood up and gave Zion another kiss, this time far more personal as they wrestled tongues against each other.

“Are all you guys like this?” Zion asked again, when the kiss broke.

“Fuck yah, dude.” Kirk grinned. “It’s the big three, dude. Football, lifting, and fucking. We can’t get enough.”

Jackson!” Coach’s shout was accompanied with heavy steps. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Oh shit, it’s the coach.” Kirk did not seem too worried, and he planted another kiss on Zion’s lips. “I’ll meet you outside, dude.” With that, he jogged out of the room.

Description When an ex-football player, now a local newspaper reporter, investigates The Black Knights, he gets more than he bargained for.

AddedOctober 2018
Updated20 Oct 2018



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