Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I’m taking a break right now from my “Their Girl” series (because I have a bad case of writer’s block for the next part of their story), to tell another tale of hot alpha men and interracial relations. This story may, or may not, become a series.
Jaxon and Darius have lived in my mind for a while now, a fantasy that helps me fall asleep, and helps me wake up in the morning.
All sexual participants in this story are age 18 or older, and does contain elements of questionable consent.
Jaxon — second Saturday of October
I scanned the crowd. It was a party put on by alumni football boosters at a swank mansion-like hotel on Vashon Island, so the group was oddly mixed — football players, both high school and college, and wealthy middle aged folks, along with a selection of young women who I wasn’t sure were sorority girls or jersey chasers. From their expensive clothes and behavior I thought they were probably sorority girls, perhaps one of the boosters had a daughter in the sorority and invited them.
It was Saturday night, and the team had won their game a few hours ago. I watched from the good seats — the coaches made sure I had access. It was my fourth game this year, and I was loving it. Half my wardrobe was Husky stuff — purple and gold — though I had quite a collection from other schools, since most of them offered swag when they flew me out for visits. I gave most of them away to my friends, except the ones signed by NFL players who visited at their alma mater as part of a campaign to recruit me or other players, or those who volunteered at skills camps.
It was no mystery to anyone who knew me what school I’d sign my National Letter of Intent for Washington.
It was good to be a five-star recruit.
Okay, so I was a five-star recruit on about half of the college football recruiting websites out there; on the others I was a four-star. Still, it wasn’t exactly a hardship.
My eighteenth birthday was only four days behind me and there I was, already at a college party. Okay so technically I wasn’t supposed to be there; my presence was a NCAA recruiting rules gray area. I was on a college visit — an unofficial weekend at the University of Washington. It far from my first time on campus — I had attended two “invitational” skills camps, as a sophomore and junior, but the coaches were heavily recruiting me and I had been indirectly “encouraged” to visit as often as I wanted.
There weren’t a lot of six-four, 235-pound tight ends in the high school recruiting pool. Sure, by the mid college years my size wasn’t rare, but my family was “early maturing,” and I reached my full height by the time I finished my freshman year. While other guys were biding their time waiting for their bodies to grow and fill out to be ready to reach for the big-time, I was honing my skills, using the body genetics had gifted me.
I never spent five minutes on the freshman or JV squad; I was the starting tight end for my team from the first day I walked onto the field and the coaches fell all over themselves. I took weight room classes every day for graduation credits, and packed on the muscle fairly quickly after I stopped gaining height. By the end of my junior year, I was being heavily recruited by Division I colleges across the country.
But my heart was already at U-Dub. I was a Husky from birth, thanks to my dad, who was a fan and alumni — and a damn accountant. It helped that the Husky coaches were the first to approach me with a verbal scholarship offer.
Dad was tall, nearly six-four, but thin, and all long arms and legs, a cross-country runner in college. Mom’s brother was in the NFL for seven years. Uncle Jameson was offensive guard, nearly six-six, a massive mountain of a man, so I inherited the height from both sides and my build from my mom’s side, though you’d never guess it, because Mom is tiny by most standards.
My gaze was drawn again to Darius McGuire; he was already a nationally known starting linebacker and edge-rusher for the Huskies, As a freshman he displaced a senior who had NFL aspirations. That senior taken in by the Raiders in the fifth round. McGuire was named to the All-Pac-12 team as a sophomore.
Sure, he played opposite the line from me, and if I had to face him on the field right now he’d probably flatten me into a pancake into the turf, but at the moment he was my favorite player in the NCAA. The guy was a beast, and he fascinated me. Whenever he was on the field, it was like he was the only guy out there.
He was big but not huge for his position, six-four and his official playing weight was 248. Like the vast majority of guys at linebacker, he was African-American, medium-skinned, and wore his inky black hair in natural, shiny, spiral curls just past his shoulders. He was a a showman, wore flashy clothes, and seemed to love talking to the press.
Okay, so I had more than a little bit of hero istanbul travesti worship going on. I was a fucking fan, embarrassingly so. I even had his poster on the wall of my bedroom, along with some NFL favorites, not that I’d admit it to anyone outside my family.
I drifted from one group to another. At one point I had a girl tucked under my arm while I had my ear talked-off by an alumni who regaled me with tales of his own football exploits when he went to college in the 90s. He was still super-fit and clearly had money — and lamented about his recent divorce.
The girl defected. The last time I saw her she was cozied-up with the middle-aged former running back. He looked quite pleased by the development.
I was offered alcohol, but since I really didn’t like it much, I made the truthful excuse of being underage and not wanting to fuck up my verbal offer, just in case someone ended up with pictures.
Yet my eyes kept going back to Darius fucking McGuire, where he partied with a core group of Husky players, each with one or two girls paying very close attention to them.
The party was in full swing when I was pulled aside by one of the players, who was two sheets to the wind, and heading toward three.
“Hey, you, kid, you look strong. Help Darius here back to his room. There’s not much left of him,” one of the guys who was supposed to be my host-guide had two girls under his arms, and was entirely engrossed in them, clearly uninterested in helping his rather soused teammate. The girl on Darius’ lap looked put-out that he was so drunk he barely recognized she was there. In desperation, she had been rubbing herself all over his crotch. When she moved I couldn’t help but take a glance — yeah, there was a decent size bulge there.
Two of the guys helped him off the couch and draped his arm over my shoulders, then grabbed a key card from his pocket and shoved it in mine. “Just drop him in his room, and if he passes out before you get there, just drag him in and leave him on the floor. Just make sure he’s on his side or his stomach so he doesn’t choke on his own barf later.”
I nodded my understanding. This was definitely not how I wanted to meet one of the players I most admired, but it did make him seem more human, more approachable.
“Hi, I know you,” he said drunkenly as I all but carried him toward the elevators. He kept leaning into me so hard I swerved into a wall at one point.
“We’ve never met,” I said. “I’m just a prospect.”
“Nah, you’re the tight end. Gonna be great. I watched your… workouts,” he slurred slightly, his speech much better than I expected for how drunk he seemed to be.
The elevator ride was awkward, but thankfully we were alone as he hung on me, his hooded eyes drilling holes in my face.
“You’re not what I thought,” he said, sounding almost thoughtful for a drunk guy. And way less drunk that I thought. In fact, he was suddenly a lot less boneless, though he was still half wrapped around me.
I grunted as the elevator door opened and, with a hip, I persuaded him to move under at least some of his own power into the hallway of his floor. “No one ever is,” I said, uncertain what he meant, but being philosophical seemed to be appropriate for the moment.
We found his room, and it was surprisingly easy to get him to shift so I could open the door. I shouldered him inside, shut the door, and turned to find him a lot closer than expected. A lot closer. Like, eye to eye.
“I saw how you were looking at me down there. You’re into me,” he said, his expression drunkenly intent — but not as inebriated as he seemed downstairs. This man was well buzzed, but not drunk. What the hell?
Wait, the fanboy in me was that obvious?
“Of course I am, You’re incredible,” I answered honestly. Why not? I might at least get an autograph out of it, though I’d have to be careful not to go total fanboy, because if my senior year went as planned I’d be his teammate next year, and being a fanboy and teammate would be beyond awkward.
Suddenly I was pushed against the wall and he was — kissing me? My mind shut down and my body took over, on full automatic, kissing him back. My body told me it was the hottest kiss of my life, and my entire nervous system said I wanted more, and my brain simply accepted it.
What the hell? I was being kissed — no, downright mouth-fucked — byDarius McGuire — and I liked it!
“Let me do this for you,” he said when we both came up for air. His eyes were lidded by both alcohol and, was it lust? Holy shit, Darius McGuire lusted for me?
“Do what,” I asked, my brain still somewhere else, shut down by the scorching kiss and the terrified feeling I had that I was sexually responding to a man.
I didn’t even realize he had unbuttoned my jeans while he kissed me, and he pulled my cock out and fisted it. Somehow I was already hard as marble. I hadn’t noticed, still reeling, but now my entire attention was on my cock, and his big, istanbul travestileri dark hand wrapped around it.
“I had to escape those girls somehow, before they realized I wasn’t into them at all,” he murmured as he kissed my neck — every touch zinging to my own cock. He was barely moving his hand against my cock, a slow, easy motion, a hard caress. “Before they figured out my hard-on wasn’t for them. It’s so hard to pretend all the time, when I know who I want. I’ve been watching you all night; I saw you shed that girl and give her to the old guy. You were looking at me. I was so scared someone would figure out I was looking at you.”
What the hell? Why was this so good?
The thought warred with, Darius McGuire is gay?
Okay, so my interest in my girlfriends was lackluster. With some of them I felt an emotional connection, but it never translated to a more physical connection; no deep need, no desperation to get into their pants; only a happy, pleasurable feeling of being with them. I just thought it was a matter of a lack of chemistry with those particular girls.
Even the two girls who took my virginity four days earlier, at my eighteenth birthday party didn’t compare. That night was the best feeling of my life up to that point, but something was still missing. The moment I found the girl who gave me the kind of charge I dreamed of, I planned to make sure she was mine and put a damn ring on it.
Guys were never on my radar.
But what he was making me feel a the moment, I wasn’t about to protest. I found that charge I’d been looking for, dammed lightning in a bottle. I’d question my sexuality later, when my brain functioned. It felt too good to care.
I groaned as his hand continued its slow, sensual exploration of my cock and balls.
“I’ve seen you around the facility, on tours, and at skills camp last summer,” he hummed against my neck. “I’ve seen how you look at me. You have no idea how glad I was to see you here tonight. Yeah, I looked you up. I know you’re eighteen now. And you have just as much reason to keep your mouth shut as I do,” he said as he unbuttoned the heavy cotton oxford shirt I wore for the party.
Oh, shit, he interpreted my fan-worship as sexual interest all along?
Wait, he noticed me? More than a year ago? My ego did a happy flip, and my cock jumped in his hand, harder than it had ever been in my life.
He kissed me again, and my brain entirely shut down, laser-focused on what his mouth was doing to mine, and what his hand was doing to my cock. Of their own volition, my own arms reached around so one cupped the back of his neck and the other, his ass. His very fucking impressive ass.
He groaned into my mouth.
“Baby, I need to taste you,” he murmured.
And with that, he slid to his knees in front of me. I leaned heavily against the wall and his mouth quickly engulfed most of my cock, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head.
“Oh god,” I swore. This was nirvana.
But what Darius was doing to my cock was so far beyond anything I ever imagined possible. Everything I’d experienced in my life to that day, it was like the difference between a duck and a swan.
“You have a big ass cock for a white guy, baby,” he said appreciatively, pulling off for a moment to play with my balls, suck them, rolled them in his hand. I kept them neatly manscaped, because I wasn’t a slob.
I had a name, but if he wanted to call me “baby” while he did this, I was okay with it. I wasn’t huge, but at almost seven full inches I was bigger than average and decently thick, with a slight upward curve. I had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Damn, you’re good at this,” I groaned as one hand massaged my balls and the other fisted the base of my cock. This time he started playing with the sensitive, neatly-circumcised head, with his tongue, and the barest scrape of his teeth — just enough to feel, not enough to hurt.
He worked his way down my shaft. At what point in my life did I do something awesome enough to deserve this?
Oh, hell yes. My fucking hero was giving me the blow job of my life.
I wasn’t paying attention to much else when Darius let his fist loose and deep-throated my cock, my entire length sinking down his throat. Instinctively I held the back of his head and without further brain function, starting throat fucking him.
Which meant I didn’t notice immediately when his now-free hand slid to my ass until a thick finger penetrated my asshole. I yelled and jerked hard, startled, even shocked — but damn if felt good.
His fingers were well-lubricated with his spit and my pre-cum and it was too quick and unexpected for me to clamp down against the invasion, so it slid inside easily. I had to stop throat-fucking him to process the messages my nerve endings were sending me, vs my emotional reaction to a guy’s fingers penetrating my ass.
It was fucking cliché; how could something so wrong feel so right?
I started travesti istanbul moving again and his thick finger slid deeper. It didn’t hurt like I expected, though I definitely felt an odd stretching. I had no idea how many nerves were in there, because the feeling set every part of me aflame.
“Ungghhh,” was the only thing I could voice, which Darius took as approval and slid another finger in next to the first. This time it hurt a little — a stinging stretch at my tight little asterisk that was absolutely overwhelmed by what he was doing to my cock, balls, and the new, incredible sensations inside.
A moment later he found that legendary male g-spot as his fingers kept massaging deeper into my hole. I’d heard about pleasures of the prostate but was never brave enough to explore. The idea putting something in my asshole had never been an attractive concept. But when his fingers found my prostate I nearly lost control of everything, including my heart and breathing.
Was I breathing? Who cared?
Was that what girls felt when guys found their g-spots? If so, I understood their their never-ending quests to find a man who knew where to find it.
I tried to grunt a warning; my balls were about to blow, and had tucked themselves tight against my body. Instead of pulling away, Darius took me deep again, and he renewed his assault on my prostate.
The resulting orgasm nearly took my knees out from under me as I exploded deep in his throat, pumping rope after rope of cum down his throat, and he was groaning as if it was the hottest thing he had ever done and milked me for every drop of my cum.
When I was limp and leaning against the wall in desperation to not fall over, he pulled off and I felt myself falling onto a soft surface, nearly passed out on my stomach.
I wasn’t really aware when my shoes and pants disappeared, but the next thing I was aware of was my legs spread wide, and a warm mouth between my butt cheeks. Oh, god it felt good. Again, I only knew about rimming as a theoretical thing, and his warm, wet tongue, pressed against my now incredibly sensitive asshole felt like heaven.
“You’re the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t believe it when I realized you’re here, and when I figured out you’re into me,” he said as he traded his tongue for his fingers and began working his way back inside — somehow this time their passage was easier, smoother, and when he added a third finger, the stretch didn’t sting or hurt, even if it was a little weird.
I groaned with pleasure, my brain completely overwhelmed in a futile attempt to process the insane mix of utter relaxation and intense sexual stimulation. I was spent, but my cock valiantly made an attempt to recover and twitched, still a half-chub remaining from the blowjob sent from the gods. I had a decent recovery time, sometimes five or ten minutes, but I’d never had an orgasm that wrecked me like the one I just experienced.
I groaned. “That feels so damn good,” I said, beyond worrying about the fact that I was in bed with a guy, doing sexual things. What could it hurt to fool around a little? Experiment? That’s what college was about, right?
“Baby, you’re so what I was waiting for,” he growled as he bit my ass — just hard enough to make me jump. Darius continued slowly finger-fucking my ass; gentle, easy, while he trailed kisses and nips my my ass, my lower back, and to my upper back and shoulders. Then he laid kisses on my neck, behind my ear, on my jawline. Instinctively I twisted to kiss him, and tasted myself on him as his tongue delved deep into my mouth, taking, sharing, giving pleasure.
“Damn, Darius, what the hell are you doing to me?” I groaned as he went back to my neck, making my entire body shudder under his weight.
“Is it good, baby?” His voice was muffled as he was nuzzled into the crook between my neck and shoulder.
“So fucking good,” I said as his fingers started moving a little faster.
Slowly his fingers disappeared from my ass, and I whimpered with the loss. I wanted more of that. Why did he….
“Oh,” I sputtered as I realized the wide new pressure at my ass wasn’t his fingers. It was his cock. Before I could react, his cockhead breached my already loose opening, and slid home way more easily than I thought it should have. “Ungh,” I grunted, shocked. Somehow it never occurred to me that he’d — do that.
“Are you okay?” Darius stilled, his cock buried balls-deep in my ass.
Was I? It didn’t hurt. Actually, the stretch, the fullness felt amazing, and yeah, his cock pressed heavily against my prostate — which was doing a fucking happy dance.
I couldn’t believe my own ears when I said, “I’m more than good. Oh, that’s good.”
He began to move against me, sliding in and out, slowly, taking his time with me, and my cock responded in kind. His weight was almost entirely on me, and his arms were on the bed on either side of me, caging my own body in a trap I doubt I could have escaped if I wanted to. Gradually my cock hardened as it finally got the message from my prostate. Hell, even my asshole itself was tingling with pleasure. I loved the feeling of his cock filling me, his weight on me, the skin-to-skin contact, and the hot, heavy breath in my ear.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32