When Jack heads off to college and his sweet, innocent charm begins pulling in his new roommate, the roommate’s dad, the football team, a fraternity, and eventually much of the campus, Jack discovers that his family’s special brand of closeness travels with him — and only gets filthier.
Chapter 10: Extra Credit
A few days had passed since the wild night at Brock’s apartment. The rest of the floor acted like nothing had happened. Nate and Liam joked about “that crazy party” in the lounge but never mentioned the carpet, the cum, or the way they’d all piled on top of each other. Mason blushed and changed the subject whenever it came up. Riley and Zach convinced themselves the memories were just beer-fueled dreams. Everyone went to class, hit the gym, and pretended freshman life was perfectly normal.
Jack and Tyler, however, had been sleeping together every night since move-in—in Jack’s bed. The once-clean sheets were now a permanent yellowish crust of dried cum, sweat, and spit, stiff in some places and still tacky in others.
Tyler woke up first that morning, his thick cock still buried deep inside Jack’s warm, cum-filled ass. He groaned softly, gave one lazy thrust, then slowly slid out. A thick glob of his overnight load followed, oozing from Jack’s puffy pink hole and dripping onto the ruined sheets.
Jack turned over with a sleepy, sweet smile, big blue puppy-dog eyes blinking open. “Morning…” he whispered, and pulled Tyler into a deep, passionate kiss. Their tongues slid together, slow and hungry, tasting the remnants of last night while their hard cocks rubbed between their bodies.
Jack’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He broke the kiss just long enough to glance at the screen.
“It’s Brock,” he said softly.
Tyler smirked, kissed Jack one more time, then rolled out of bed. Thick ropes of cum immediately started dripping down the inside of his thighs as he padded naked toward the showers. “Tell him I said hi,” he called over his shoulder, ass still shiny and leaking.
Jack answered with that innocent little lilt in his voice. “Hey, Brock.”
The big senior’s deep voice rumbled through the speaker. “Hey, cutie. Got a home game this weekend. You should come. Alone. I’ve got a special treat for you after—something the rest of the team’s gonna love watching.” He chuckled low and dirty. “Think you can handle it?”
Jack’s enormous cock twitched against his belly. “I’d love that,” he said sweetly. “See you there.”
Jack and Tyler headed to class like any other day. Jack’s Human Sexuality lecture was late in the afternoon. He showed up in his favorite outfit for days like this: a loose white tank top with completely open sides that left his smooth armpits, tender pink nipples, and hairless chest fully on display. Below that he wore skin-tight black bicycle shorts that clung obscenely to the thick outline of his dick and heavy balls. Simple flip-flops on his pretty feet completed the look.
After class, while the other students filed out, Jack lingered at the front of the lecture hall, pretending to study his notes.
Professor Davies was exactly what the course promised: a huge, burly middle-aged man in fantastic shape—broad shoulders, thick chest straining his button-down, powerful arms, and a gregarious, booming laugh that filled the room. He looked like he practiced every technique he taught.
“Something I can help you with, Jack?” Professor Davies asked, voice warm and friendly as he stacked his papers.
Jack looked up with those big blue puppy-dog eyes, biting his lower lip shyly. “I’m… having a little trouble understanding some of the lecture, Professor. Especially the part about intergenerational attraction. Is it really okay for a teenager to… you know… be with a man old enough to be his father? Like, physically? Emotionally?”
The questions grew more pointed, more explicit. Jack leaned forward on the desk, the open sides of his tank top gaping wider, exposing the soft pink buds of his nipples and the smooth hollows of his armpits. His clingy bicycle shorts left nothing to the imagination—the heavy bulge of his cock and balls clearly outlined, the fabric already starting to darken with a tiny wet spot.
Professor Davies’s eyes kept drifting. He tried to stay professional, but his gaze lingered on Jack’s tender nipples, the hairless chest, the smooth pits, the prominent bulge, and especially those creamy white thighs and shapely calves that ended in beautiful, exposed feet in the flip-flops.
Jack knew exactly what he was doing. He adjusted his bulge casually with one hand, then lifted both arms to stretch, giving the professor a full view of his smooth, faintly musky pits. Finally he slipped his right foot out of the flip-flop, letting the warm, musky scent of his sweaty sole waft upward.
“Professor?” Jack asked sweetly, voice soft and innocent. “I was wondering if I could get some extra credit. I’ll do… whatever you ask.”
Professor Davies stammered, face flushing. “Jack, I— that’s not really—”
Jack didn’t wait. He stepped around the desk, reached out, and boldly grabbed the front of the older man’s slacks, feeling the massive, thickening cock beneath.
The professor’s resistance crumbled in seconds.
What followed was filthy, passionate, and intensely erotic—right there in the empty lecture hall with the door unlocked and the blinds only half-drawn, letting thin strips of afternoon sunlight cut across the room. Professor Davies, true to his subject, treated the moment like an advanced demonstration in Human Sexuality.
He grabbed Jack by the hips and spun the boy around, bending him over the front lecture desk. With a low growl, the burly professor yanked those tight bicycle shorts down just enough to expose Jack’s perfect, milky-white little hand-sized ass. The clingy fabric caught around the boy’s smooth thighs, framing the smooth, hairless cheeks beautifully.
“Lesson one,” Professor Davies rumbled, his deep voice thick with lust, “proper rimming technique.”
He dropped to his knees behind Jack, spread the boy’s cheeks wide with both big hands, and buried his face between them. His thick, hungry tongue dragged slowly up the smooth cleft before circling the tight pink pucker with expert precision. Jack let out a soft, breathy moan, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk as the professor licked him with long, sloppy strokes—lapping at the sensitive hole, then stiffening his tongue and pushing it deep inside.
The professor ate him out like a man who knew exactly what he was doing, alternating between broad, wet licks and deep, probing thrusts of his tongue. He groaned loudly into Jack’s ass, the vibrations traveling straight through the boy’s body. One of his big hands reached around to stroke Jack’s leaking cock through the stretched fabric of the bicycle shorts while the other kept those perfect cheeks spread wide.
“See how I’m opening you up with my tongue?” the professor murmured between long, filthy licks, his voice muffled against Jack’s hole. “That’s how you get a boy nice and relaxed… ready for more.”
Jack’s knees trembled, soft whimpers falling from his lips as the older man devoured him with expert hunger. The wet, obscene sounds of the professor’s tongue fucking in and out of his tight little hole echoed through the quiet lecture hall.
Then Professor Davies stood up, his massive cock springing free — thick, veiny, and obscenely huge, the fat head already glistening with pre-cum. He gripped Jack’s narrow hips, lined himself up, and slid into the boy raw in one long, relentless thrust.
Jack’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp as the professor’s thick cock stretched him wide, sinking all the way in until his heavy balls pressed against Jack’s smooth ass.
“And this,” Davies growled, voice low and rough, “is what deep prostate stimulation feels like, boy.”
He fucked Jack hard and deep, demonstrating every angle, every rhythm, every way to make a younger partner lose his mind. He started with long, powerful strokes that dragged his fat cockhead right across Jack’s prostate on every pass. Then he switched to short, brutal thrusts that hammered the sensitive spot relentlessly. Jack moaned loudly, pushing back greedily against every thrust, his big blue eyes fluttering with that wondrous, innocent expression even as his body shook with pleasure.
“Mmm… yeah… just like that…” Jack whimpered breathily, his voice soft and sweet. “Fuck… you’re so deep…”
They switched positions.
Jack climbed onto the professor’s lap in the desk chair, facing away from him in reverse-cowgirl. He sank down onto the thick cock again, moaning as it filled him completely. He rode Davies with slow, rolling movements at first, then faster and harder, his perfect little ass bouncing and jiggling with every downward slam. The professor’s big hands gripped Jack’s narrow waist, helping him bounce while he growled filthy praise.
Later they moved to the floor. Davies laid Jack on his back in missionary so he could watch those big blue puppy-dog eyes while he fucked him. He pounded the boy mercilessly, hips snapping forward as he pumped load after load deep into Jack’s guts. Jack came twice — once hands-free while getting railed, his thick cock pulsing and shooting long ropes of cum across his own smooth chest and the professor’s shirt. The second time he came while swallowing the older man’s cock to the root, throat visibly bulging around the thick shaft as he moaned and spurted again.
The professor wasn’t finished demonstrating.
He pulled Jack into a filthy sixty-nine on the floor, fingering the boy’s cum-filled hole while Jack sucked him off with eager, sloppy devotion. They traded loads back and forth — mutual creampies, snowballing thick globs of cum between their mouths, and even more cum painted across their sweat-slick bodies. By the end of the long, intense session both men were completely covered in sweat and sperm. Professor Davies had unloaded deep inside Jack three separate times, and Jack had painted the older man’s hairy chest and face with two more heavy loads of his own.
When it was finally over, Jack stood up on shaky legs, his body glistening with sweat and cum. His little pink starfish was completely wrecked — gaping, puffy, and leaking thick white ropes of the professor’s sperm that ran freely down the insides of his smooth thighs.
His bicycle shorts were still tangled around one ankle where Davies had yanked them down earlier. Jack bent over slowly, giving the older man one last perfect view of his cum-dripping hole, then stepped into the shorts and pulled them up. The tight black fabric immediately soaked through as fresh cum continued to ooze out of him, creating a large, dark wet spot that spread visibly across the crotch and the seat of the shorts. There was no hiding it.
Jack turned around, his face flushed and glowing, and gave Professor Davies one last soft, sweet smile — that same angelic, puppy-dog expression he’d worn the entire time he was getting railed.
“Thank you for the extra credit, Professor,” he said innocently, voice still a little breathy. “I learned a lot today.”
Davies, still sprawled naked and spent on the floor, could only stare at the beautiful, cum-soaked boy in stunned silence.
Jack gave him a small wave, then slipped out of the lecture hall, the wet spot on his shorts growing darker with every step as more cum leaked out of his ruined hole. He hurried back toward the dorms, feeling the warm, sticky mess squelch between his cheeks with each stride.
Tyler was just coming out of the shower when Jack slipped into their room, the huge wet patch on his bicycle shorts glistening obscenely.
Tyler took one look, burst out laughing, and pointed at the dripping mess. “Jesus, Jack. What kind of extracurricular activities did you get into this time?”
“I’m basically a walking evidence bag at this point,” Jack quipped with a knowing smile as another thick glob of the professor’s cum slowly leaked down the inside of his thigh.
While Tyler was still chuckling, Jack shed the sticky shorts and flopped on his bed. He pulled out his phone and opened YouTube, gently tugging at his smooth plump balls as he watched a video of a guy methodically tearing apart an old truck engine.
It was an especially good day.
Chapter 11: Locker Room Surprise
Saturday afternoon was scorching, the kind of late-September heat that made the turf shimmer and every uniform stick to sweat-drenched skin. Jack sat high in the bleachers, tiny white athletic shorts already tented and damp at the front. His big blue puppy-dog eyes were glued to the field, watching the massive senior football players crash into each other—broad shoulders slamming, thick thighs powering through tackles, tight white game pants stretched obscenely over powerful asses and bulging jock-protected cocks. Shoulder pads made their already huge bodies look even more godlike. Every time one of them bent over or jogged past, Jack’s thick dick leaked steadily into his shorts, a dark wet spot growing as he imagined the raw, masculine smell rolling off them.
The game ended with a home-team blowout. The crowd roared, but Jack was already standing, heart fluttering with sweet, innocent anticipation.
Brock found him almost immediately after the final whistle, still in full pads, helmet tucked under one massive arm, sweat pouring down his thick neck. “C’mon, cutie,” the senior rumbled with a dirty grin, clapping a big, gloved hand on Jack’s slim shoulder. Jack's cock jumped as the scent of Brock's sweaty gear filled the blond boy’s nostrils. “Time for your surprise!”
He led Jack straight into the locker room.
The heavy metal door swung shut behind them with a clang. The air hit Jack like a wall—thick, humid, and overwhelmingly masculine. The entire team was already inside, laughing and shouting, the echo of deep voices bouncing off the tiled walls and metal lockers. Jack sat quietly on the long wooden bench in the center of the room, hands folded sweetly in his lap, big blue eyes wide with soft wonder as he took it all in. It felt like being in Heaven.
The stripping began.
Helmets came off first, revealing flushed, sweaty faces. Then shoulder pads were unbuckled and dropped with heavy thuds, revealing broad, powerful chests glistening under the fluorescent lights. Some of the players were smooth and sculpted like marble; others were thickly hairy, dark curls matted flat against powerful pecs and trailing down over hard abs. Tree-trunk legs—thick, veiny, and powerful from years of squats and sprints—flexed as the seniors peeled off their tight game pants. The room filled instantly with the heavy, unmistakable funk of a dozen hard-working football bodies: deep, salty sweat, the sharp tang of adrenaline, and the ripe, earthy musk that had been trapped inside pads and uniforms for four grueling quarters.
Jockstraps came next. Well-worn, piss-stained pouches—some white, some gray, all yellowed and crusty from countless games—were yanked down thick thighs. The smell that rolled out was intoxicating: concentrated ball musk, the sharp ammonia bite of old piss stains, and the heavy, creamy scent of dried cum from pre-game nerves or post-practice leaks. Jack’s nostrils flared, his own cock throbbing visibly in his tiny shorts as he watched the fabric peel away from heavy, swinging balls and thick shafts.
The shoulder pads and helmets were tossed into a pile in the corner, already reeking of years of trapped sweat that no washing machine could ever touch—sour, acrid, the kind of funk that only built up over an entire season. Sweaty socks were the worst (and best). The players sat on benches or leaned against lockers, grunting as they struggled to peel the soaked, crusty socks off their huge, size-fourteen feet. The air grew even thicker with the sharp, cheesy scent of foot sweat—vinegary and pungent, the kind that had been fermenting inside cleats for hours. Giant bare feet flexed and spread, toes wiggling, releasing fresh waves of that raw, masculine funk.
Tight, muscular asses were everywhere —some smooth and powerful, others covered in a light dusting of hair, all of them firm and flexing as the players moved. Huge hands—calloused, veiny, capable of crushing a football—reached down to scratch heavy balls or wipe sweat from chests. Tree-trunk legs shifted and spread, revealing the full glory of the team’s bodies: quads like steel cables, calves carved from granite, and everywhere the raw, unfiltered scent of pure male exertion.
Finally, every last player stood completely naked.
Cocks of every variety bounced freely in the steamy air. Brock’s was thick and heavy, uncut with a long, fleshy foreskin still pulled back from the fat purple head. Next to him, a tall wide receiver sported a long, slightly curved cock that hung low and heavy. A hairy defensive lineman had a shorter, girthy monster—veiny and beer-can thick, the head already half-hard from the heat and adrenaline. Smooth tight-end types showed off prettier, perfectly proportioned dicks with low-hanging balls, while a couple of the bigger linemen had absolute clubs—fat, uncut, and already thickening under Jack’s wide-eyed stare. Jack started to wonder why none of the men had headed into the showers yet.
Brock, fully naked and still glistening with game sweat, dropped onto the bench right beside Jack. His massive thigh pressed warm and solid against the blond freshman’s smooth leg. Without a word he reached into his locker, pulled out his own sweat-soaked game-worn jockstrap, and handed it over.
The pouch was still warm, the white fabric yellowed and crusty, heavy with the concentrated ball musk of an entire season. The smell hit Jack instantly—thick, salty, piss-tinged, with that deep, earthy undercurrent of pure masculine crotch sweat.
“That’s *one* of your surprises,” Brock said, voice low and amused.
Jack lifted the jockstrap to his face with both hands and openly inhaled, big blue puppy-dog eyes fluttering half-shut in pure, sweet bliss. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the rich, raunchy scent, lips parting in a soft, wondrous little moan.
Brock watched him for a long second, then looked around at the gathering crowd of the entire naked football team—two dozen massive, sweaty, hard-bodied seniors now circling the bench, cocks thickening, eyes locked on the slim blond boy in the center.
“And here’s another,” Brock said with a slow, filthy grin.
Chapter 12: The Full Team
The entire locker room seemed to hold its breath for half a second after Brock spoke. Then the floodgates opened.
Two dozen massive, naked senior football players closed in around the bench like a wall of sweating, muscular flesh. Jack sat there in his tiny white shorts and tank top, big blue puppy-dog eyes wide with soft, innocent wonder as the first pair of huge hands grabbed him.
Brock went first. He yanked Jack’s shorts down in one rough motion, freeing the blond freshman’s enormous, already-leaking cock. “Strip him,” Brock growled, and half a dozen hands obeyed instantly. Jack’s tank top was peeled off, flip-flops kicked aside, and suddenly the slim, smooth twink was completely naked in the middle of all that raw power.
They didn’t ease him in.
Brock sat back on the bench and pulled Jack onto his lap, thick uncut cock sliding straight into the boy’s tight hole in one long, wet thrust. Jack gasped sweetly, eyes fluttering. “Oh my god… you’re so big…” Before he could finish the thought, the tall wide receiver stepped up and shoved his long, curved dick between Jack’s soft lips. Spit-roast. The two seniors found a brutal rhythm immediately—Brock pounding up into Jack’s ass while the receiver fucked his throat, heavy balls slapping his chin.
The rest of the team didn’t wait their turn. A hairy defensive lineman grabbed one of Jack’s smooth feet and licked it before pressing his own sweaty, musky foot to Jack's face, forcing him to inhale the sharp, vinegary funk while he got railed. Two seniors lifted their thick, hairy arms and buried Jack’s pretty face between them, smothering him in deep, pungent, game-day pit musk while Brock and the receiver kept destroying both his holes. “Yeah, sniff this! Smell that game-stink! You like it boy? Fuck yeah you do!”
They rotated constantly, every single player getting his turn. Jack was passed around like the team’s favorite toy. A smooth tight end took Brock’s place in his ass, then a second lineman pushed in alongside him—double penetration, two thick cocks stretching Jack’s hole wide open while he moaned around whatever dick was in his mouth. The wet, obscene sounds of slapping skin and gagging filled the locker room.
Every guy would unload at least three times.
The first round was fast, greedy, and completely merciless.
Brock went first. The quarterback gripped Jack’s narrow hips with both big, calloused hands and slammed into him raw in one brutal thrust, burying his thick cock to the balls. Jack let out a soft, breathy moan as the fat shaft stretched him open. Brock fucked him hard and deep, his heavy hairy balls slapping loudly against Jack’s ass with every thrust. After only a few dozen powerful strokes, Brock growled and unloaded, blasting the first thick, hot jets of cum deep into Jack’s guts.
At the same time, the wide receiver stepped up in front of Jack, grabbed his head, and shoved his musky, game-sweaty cock straight past those soft, pretty lips. He painted Jack’s tongue with the first heavy spurts, then pushed deeper, feeding more of his salty load down the boy’s throat.
That wasn’t even the start of it.
The rest of the football team quickly closed in. These were big, sweaty, exhausted men who had just played a full game and hadn’t showered. The locker room filled with the thick, masculine reek of fresh ball sweat, unwashed pits, and rank, piss-stained jockstraps as more players stepped up.
Cocks were shoved into Jack from both ends without pause. Without pause. One lineman took Brock’s place, slamming into the blond boy’s already cum-filled ass. Another player replaced the wide receiver, feeding his thick, musky dick down Jack’s throat. Then another. And another.
Cum started pouring into him relentlessly — thick, hot ropes flooding his belly from the front and his guts from behind. Jack’s smooth, flat stomach began to swell, a soft little bulge forming under his skin from how much cum he was being forced to swallow and take. Heavy globs of sperm leaked out around the cocks stretching his hole, running down his milky thighs in messy streams. Drool and cum ran freely down his chin and dripped onto the bench below.
Through it all, Jack’s big blue puppy-dog eyes stayed soft and wondrous. That sweet, innocent demeanor never disappeared, even as his throat worked greedily around one cock after another and his wrecked hole was pumped full again and again.
The entire team took their first turns on him in rapid succession, using the pretty blond like the perfect post-game cumdump he was.
The second wave was louder, messier, and far more chaotic.
The football players were now fully warmed up and riding the high of their victory. They surrounded Jack like a pack of hungry wolves, laughing and shouting over each other.
“Alright, let’s paint this pretty boy!” one of the linebackers yelled.
They hauled Jack off the bench and put him on his knees in the center of the locker room floor. Three players immediately stepped forward. Two shoved their thick, musky cocks into Jack’s mouth at the same time, stretching his soft lips obscenely wide while the third slapped his heavy dick across the blond’s forehead and cheeks.
“Fuck yeah, look at him take two at once!” someone cheered.
Jack’s beautiful eyes watered as the two players took turns thrusting into his overstuffed mouth. Spit and pre-cum ran down his chin in thick strings. The third player suddenly groaned and blasted a massive load directly across Jack’s face, painting his forehead, eyelashes, and pretty lips in thick white ropes.
The entire team erupted in loud cheers.
“Fuck yes! Paint that angel face!”
“Atta boy, Jack! Wear it like a trophy!”
They didn’t give him any time to recover. Two more players lifted Jack up, one sliding back into his already cum-filled ass while the other pushed into him from the front, forcing both cocks into his hole at the same time. Jack let out a high, breathy moan as he was double-penetrated again, his small body rocking between the two muscular athletes.
Every time a particularly thick rope of cum shot across his face or a heavy glob of sperm squelched out of his overstuffed hole and splattered onto the floor, the team would roar with approval and high-five each other.
“Goddamn, another one just dropped out of him!”
“Look at that little slut — he’s fucking full of cum!”
Jack stayed right in the middle of the storm, smiling that same soft, angelic smile even as his face was glazed with fresh loads and his wrecked hole leaked constantly. The players took turns rotating in and out, cheering and trash-talking the whole time, treating the sweet blond like the ultimate team celebration toy.
By the third round, the bench and the floor around it were completely slick with sperm. Jack was an absolute wreck — his pretty face glazed in layer after layer of cum, his buzzed blond hair matted and sticky, his smooth body shiny with sweat and drying loads. His once-tight little pink starfish had become a gaping, cum-flooded ruin. Every time a cock pulled out, thick white rivers of sperm poured from his wrecked hole, running down his creamy-white thighs and forming a growing puddle beneath him. His own enormous cock had already cum hands-free twice, adding messy ropes across his flat belly and chest.
The unshowered players’ bodies radiated the heavy, pungent reek of a full football game — ripe ball sweat, musky pits, and the sharp tang of unwashed crotches.
“Third round, boys! Let’s break this little cumdump for good!” one of the defensive linemen shouted.
They got rougher and more creative. Two massive players lifted Jack clean off the ground, holding him in the air between them like a toy. One slid his fingers into his sloppy, overflowing ass, working it hard until he could fit his hand, wrist, and finally part of his massive muscular forearm, brutally stuffing the blond’s already destroyed hole. Jack’s eyes widened, a soft, overwhelmed whimper escaping him even as that innocent smile stayed plastered on his cum-covered face.
“Fuck, listen to how sloppy he sounds!” one player laughed. “We’ve turned his guts into a cumshake!”
Another player stepped up and dropped his sweaty, unwashed balls into Jack’s mouth. “Suck on those, pretty boy. That’s game sweat right there.”
The rest of the team cheered and hollered as they rotated in. One lineman shoved his sweaty, hairy, musky ass into Jack’s face while another jerked his cock off onto the boy’s raging hardon. Every time another huge load was pumped into Jack’s ass, the locker room erupted in loud whoops and laughter.
“Oh fuck, another one just gushed out of him!”
“Look at that belly — kid’s fucking pregnant with our nut!”
Jack’s face remained angelic the entire time, even as his body was used without mercy and the overpowering stench of twenty unwashed football players filled his lungs.
When the last senior finally pulled out after his third load—painting Jack’s swollen, cum-stuffed belly with the final ropes—the entire team stepped back, breathing hard, cocks spent and dripping.
Jack lay crumpled on the bench, chest heaving, belly full from all the cum he’d swallowed. Sperm drained slowly from both his holes, puddling on the tile floor. The locker room reeked of sweat, cum, piss-stained jocks, funky pits, and musky socks—an overwhelming, filthy fog that clung to every surface.
The players headed for the showers in a group, laughing and clapping each other on the back like they’d just won another game. Jack stayed exactly where they left him, his exhausted body limp and leaking.
Ten minutes later the team returned, freshly showered and smelling of soap and victory. They stopped in a circle around the bench, eyes roaming over the destroyed freshman.
“Damn, he hasn’t showered yet,” one lineman chuckled.
“Fix that,” Brock said with a grin.
All two dozen of them surrounded Jack at once. Thick streams of hot piss began to rain down on him—strong, golden arcs splashing across his face, chest, belly, and spent cock. They hosed him thoroughly, laughing as the warm liquid washed over every inch of his cum-soaked body, mixing with the sperm still leaking from his holes and pooling around the bench. Jack just lay there, eyes half-lidded, taking it with soft, overwhelmed little moans.
One by one they finished, shook off, and filed out of the locker room, leaving only Brock behind.
The big senior carefully sat Jack upright on the bench, his strong hands gentle now. He grabbed a clean towel from his locker and tenderly wiped the worst of the cum and piss from Jack’s pretty face, brushing the blond hair back from those big blue puppy-dog eyes.
Brock leaned in close, voice a low whisper. “So… did you like your surprise?”
Jack could barely lift his head. His body was completely spent, ass and throat wrecked, belly swollen and sloshing, every inch of him reeking of the entire team. But he managed a soft, sweet, exhausted smile.
“Yes…” he murmured, voice hoarse and breathy. “When… when can we do that again?”