Date: Sun, 08 Jan 2006 01:47:45 +0000
From: Bill Drake <billdrake@hotmail.com>
Subject: QB Club Charity Challenge, pt. 2

QB Club Charity Challenge
Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)


WARNING: The following story contains graphic depictions of male/male sex
and is for adults only. Do not read if such material offends you or if you
are underage.

This story is fiction. It is for fantasy purposes only and in no
way reflects on the real persons depicted. For more of my stories, check out
the Authors page of the Nifty archive, or join the Drake Stories Yahoo Group
(http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/).

Comments to billdrake@hotmail.com. Thanks to those who write, you make it
worthwhile.  Extra thanks to John, a reader who's fed me with inspiration
and pointed me to the newest talent in college and NFL football.


QB Club Charity Challenge
Bill Drake

Part 2


Ben Roethlisberger wiped the sweat off his brow as he watched his shot sail
to the green. His game was on today. He smiled as the ball bounced feet
away from the hole, then turned to Stuart Schweigart, the newbie Raider,
and winked. "That's how a pro does it, Stu."

The young jock squinted in the sun as he soaked in the sight of pro-jock
perfection. Ben's tall, powerful frame, his short blonde-brown hair, his
piercing eyes, all drove Schweigart mad with red-blooded lust. He recalled
the locker room tales he'd heard about "Big Ben" and wondered if the stud's
cock lived up to legend.

"Cut the showoff crap, Ben," came a deep voice. Trent Dilfer was choosing
his iron behind the two.

"Yeah," assented the fourth member of their team, former NHL-er Dan Quinn,
his pearly whites gleaming in the sun. "Just because you want to tag some
rookie ass doesn't mean you have to bore the rest of us all day."

"Ah, screw you," Ben grunted, "you just want a piece of Roethlisberger
cock, too." He cupped the ample genitals in his chino golf pants. Even
soft, the bulge couldn't be contained in the wide span of Ben's hand, and
Stuart had to agree that "Big Ben" was no false advertising.

"Damnit!" Trent tossed down his club and plopped down to the ground. "You
want your cock sucked?! I'll suck your goddamn cock. Whip it out, big
guy. I'm still three points ahead of you, but I'll suck you off. Just so I
won't have to hear you toot your own horn."

Ben was taken aback by Trent's outburst. But the hunky QB was kneeling legs
spread in front of him, face at crotch level, hot breath on his privates
like a tropical breeze and the Steeler's hands knew what to do.
  They unbuckled his belt and unzipped his chinos. His prize-worthy cut
meat was chubbed but nowhere near hard when it plopped out. Dilfer wasted
no time in stuffing the full length down, a task made easier by its
semi-soft state.  He wiggled his jaw and buried his nose deep into
Roethlisberger's blonde pubes. His nostrils flared as the air he sucked in
was redolent of the younger athlete's testosterone-laden musk. Trent ground
his face into Ben's moist crotch, then backed off the master cock, now
coated in the QB's clear mucus-thick spit, watching it flail and jump as
blood rushed into fill the hefty length. Then he pounced forth again,
stuffing the hardening shaft down his gullet once more.

"That's it, Trent, baby, suck your man's cock."

"Those guys are pretty hot, huh?" Dan was standing behind Stuart's young,
powerful frame, his arms circling around the frosh jock's torso.
Schweigart could feel the muscle through the knit material of his shirt and
instinctively ha backed up into the hockey pro's comforting arms.

"Yes, sir," he croaked. He turned and looked into Quinn's pale blue
eyes. Dan leaned forward and met the cute defensive lineman in a smoldering
kiss.

"I know I'm not a young hung stud like Ben there, but how bout I show you a
good time while those lunkheads are getting off?"

Stuart bit his lips in reflection, then broadened into a big smile. "All
right, sir. Show me what you hockey jocks got."

Already Quinn was jerking the tucked-in nylon-knit shirt tails out from the
constraints on Schweigart's tight-fit khakis.  Squatting down, he poked his
head under the space where the shirt draped down from Stuart's square,
beefy shoulders.  Schweigart's 200 pound body shivered at the first feel of
Quinn's tongue along his spine. Encouraged, the hockey veteran licked up
along Stu's backside, his hands caressing the wide expanse of young lat
muscle swelling up above him. The kid's skin was still fresh, and Dan
breathed in to savor the clean, perfumy smell of the soap Stuart had
showered with that morning. He could even taste a hint of it, but mostly it
tasted of man. If only they could bottle this shit, Dan thought as he
worked his way up Schweigart's back.

As we went up, he pushed the thin shirt material up, bunching it up onto
Stu's shoulders. Then further. The footballer got the hint and extended his
arms upward, allowing Dan to remove it. There he stood on the golf course,
naked from the waist up. Quinn stood back and admired the view. This guy
had one fantastic backside. Lithe, sculpted lines of brawn drew his
sightline into one unbelievably round butt. The pants weren't cut for such
a meaty rump, and the khaki material stretched tight over rookie athlete
rump. Quinn could even make out the impression of jock straps beneath,
framing the twin globes.

Dan reached forth and cupped his brawn-knotted hands on the athlete's juicy
backside. "Nice, hard muscleass," he thought appreciatively.  He loved the
way the muscle relaxed and firmed up under his caress. Stuart hissed and
relaxed into the sensation of the deep tissue massage Quinn was giving
him. He was glad Coach had been pushing him on his squats lately. His
tongue half-hanging out of his mouth, he turned to look over his shoulder,
into Dan's dreamy eyes, which were burning with lust and determination.

"Dan, buddy, don't ya want to feel those cheeks close up?"  Dan just
nodded, panting, as Stuart undid his golf pants and pushed them down over
his meaty hips and backside and over his bulging thighs.

Quinn had seen plenty of jock ass in his day, but this one took him
aback. "Damn, stud, you got an ass that won't quit," he purred while
running his hand over the curvature of the glutes and into the concave
dimples that formed when the kid flexed his massive butt for Quinn's
appreciative gaze. "Smooth as a baby's bottom," he thought, surprised that
a hunky young man like Stuart wouldn't be hairy all over.

Dan pulled one of the jock staps back and let it loose to snap the muscle
cheek. "I don't know how you football boys like to have a good time, but
let me show you how us hockey jocks had fun after the game," he growled,
kissing down the length of Stu's spine, which was beginning to bead in
clear sweat in the late summer sun.

The beefy jock stood there in anticipation and spread his legs to let
Quinn's hot breath tickle his crack. Dan marveled at the hairless butt,
just a hint of fuzz to line the athlete's trench. As if drawn by magnetic
force, he leaned forward, til his lips connected with Schweigart's tight
pucker.

"Fuck, Sir!" the newbie Raider cried out. "You're gonna spoil me, man. Best
goddamn butt munching I ever felt, stud. Keep at it, that's it, deeper you
ice-skating fucker!"

Dan moaned appreciatively while his face was smothered with exquisitely
hard and eager football player ass. He kissed, licked, prodded and drilled
that tight, puckered ring, til its resistance wore down and fluttered open
around his nasty, jocklicking tongue. He wanted this hunk nice and relaxed
and wetter than a sweaty marine. He wanted the kid ready for the juicy
boner Quinn had bobbing between his squatting legs.



"Thanks, buddy," Ben Roethlisberger said as Trent Dilfer leaned back on his
haunches, wiping the layer of manspit and stray cock juice from his mouth
and chin. He had to admit Dilfer was a class-A QB cocksucker.

"No problem, big guy." Playfully, he reached up and pulled down Big Ben's
sticky-wet eleven-inch pole and let it loose again, watching it snap up and
slap the athlete's taut belly. "I swear, Ben, I don't know how that big
honking dick of yours stays hard after the load it just shot in me."

"Dunno," he smiled. Always a horny motherfucker, I guess."

"Well," Trent continued, his hand slowly jerking the full length of Ben's
prick.  "Later on, tonight, I'd love to feel what it's like to have this
railroad spike wedged up my muscle butt."

"Sure, Dilfer, sure. Take a number," Ben teased. "Hey, let's join the
others."

**********

The young production assistant's buttcheeks clenched as he watched Dan
Marino's ball sail down the fairway. Even in his cargo pants, Matt's bubble
buns stretched the khaki material over the round expansive of young jock
ass so that anyone could make out the deep crevice or the involuntary
twitches of the melon-shaped cheeks.

"What you doing boy? Trying to keep my mind off the game?" Dan cried.

"No, Mr. Marino. I just can't help it. I keep looking over at Craig and
Boomer..." Boomer Esiason sat in the golf cart while the young sportscaster
worked his mouth on the retired QB's fat hog. "... and I keep thinking
about doing that to you, sir. Don't worry, I'll stand behind you next
shot."

"I'm not gonna last that long, Matt." Dan pulled his shirttails out and
unbuckled his belt. "Start stripping."

Matt grinned and began peeling off his Boston College tee shirt and his
pants and boxers. His seven-incher sprung high and tight when freed. His
buttcheeks jiggled firmly.

"Shee-yut!" Dan murmured as he stepped behind the young stud, his own uncut
erection up to its giant stature. "Be careful, kid," he teased, riffing off
his Hall of Fame Induction speech, "I'm about to lick my fingers. And you
know what happens next."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Marino," Matt answered.

"Go for it, Danny" Boomer called out, edging closer to shooting in the
sportscaster's expert mouth.

Dan licked his large quarterback fingers and, reliving the many times he
nudged his hands underneath the balls of his favorite center, he pushed the
sloppy digits at the entrance of Matt's tight rectum and squeezed them in.

"Damn, boy, you're tight," he purred, smiling to himself as his
ball-tossing fingers pushed deep into Matt's quim.

**********

Hockey legend Dan Quinn wasn't the best-endowed guy, but the several inches
buried up Stuart Schweigart's tail was working like a machine piston,
driving both men to higher sexual plateaus. Quinn was getting carried away
in long-forgotten sensations of intense rocks-off jock-to-jock tango. It
had been years, but when he saw two sweaty, sexed up QBs walking toward him
and Stuart, he knew he had to try. "Which one of you boys wants to climb on
in back?"

Ben looked at the rutting couple and swallowed the lump of lust rising in
his throat. Then he nodded his head in Trent's direction. "Let Dilfer
here. He didn't get off over there."


"Besides," Ben added stepping up to a sweaty, hot Schweigart, "I'm calling
seconds on the rookie."

Trent wasted no time in dropping trou and getting behind the hunky
Quinn. Dan howled in pleasure and pain as his long-neglected anus was
breached by an overheated Dilfer too worked up to take it slow.

Ben smiled a trademark aw-shucks smile as he rubbed Stuart's meaty torso to
help him relax into the relentless fuck the older man was throwing
him. Staring directly into the rookie's eyes, he asked him if he'd ever
played center.

"Only in high school," Stuart breathlessly answered, his brow furled into
an expression of puzzlement. "Coach made us rotate every position during
practice."

"How'd you like to practice that again, stud. See how well you can hold
that three-point stance while I mount your beefy butt."

Stuart managed a grin through the mid-fuck grimace he was
sporting. Cautiously he reached down and ran his fat paw along
Roethlisberger's impressive genitals. Nice, round nuts covered with dark
blonde hair, a stalk long, wide and nearly perfectly round, and a nice
cylindrically pointed head, now seeping its salty sap into Stuart's
fingers.  He grapsed the shaft with wonderment and began caressing the
hardon.

"Yeah, bud, stroke that puppy. Ben's got a lot of meat. All for you
bud. Right after Danny Boy's done, I'm gonna crawl into his place and let
you feel Big Ben in action. Think you'll like that?" Ben paused to examine
the silent emotions reflected in Stuart's angelic jock visage. "Yeah, I can
tell you're getting off on the idea. Wanna get boned by Roetlisberger cock
all afternoon and all night. Hell, all fucking weekend. Donthca?"

Stuart could only nod in affirmation. This dick, so big, so perfect. Dan
felt great, but he just knew this one would feel better, go deeper. He was
ready. Each centimeter of Big Ben that he touched pushed him higher and
closer to the inevitable.  Shit, he couldn't wait to take the Steeler on,
see if he could tame the beast, drain the fucker.

The minute Ben pinched his exposed nipple he lost.  "Aw fuck guys!"

"Shoot that load, stud," Ben urged, then stepped back to admire the sight
of this shafted, imposing side of rookie beef sperming his jock. Ben's big,
talented hand reached down and grasped the cotton cup, which dripped with
fresh come. With his other hand, he stroked his own imposing
hardon. "Jesus, Quinn, ya bout done yet?" he carped impatiently.




**********

"Excuse me, boys, I gotta piss," John Elway said, plopping his iron back in
the bag and strutting over to the edge of the green. Pawing the mound in
the crotch of his khakis, he smiled thinking about the stares he'd gotten
all day. He unzipped and pulled out his megacock, letting the piss fly into
the bushes. Elway was just settling into a long one when Brian Griese's
hulky All-American figure stepped up next to him and fished out his dick to
join John in releasing his bladder.

"Think I have a chance of winning, John?" the younger QB asked. His full
jock confidence impressed Elway, who remembered a wide-eyed rookie who
joined the Broncos shower room straight from Michigan.

"Nah, Griese. Your golf game sucks. You're already three holes behind."

"I mean tonight." His dick lengthened as the two men's piss flowed. He was
ever impressed with Elway's manhood, the thick long and smooth shaft, the
plump head, the enormous size when erect. Its stature seemed to suit the
man.

John pulled the length of his shaft, as if to milk out the warm yellow
stream. His rubbery staff stretched and grew, filling up with desire as he
appraised his former protege. He gave a final push of the semi-hardon and
the two men watched as it sprung up into a burgeoning boner.  The erection
didn't stop the last bit of his piss.

"Dunno. Lots of competition, I'm sure."

"Yeah," Brian replied. Looking down at Elway's cock, he muttered, "Damn! I
miss that fat hog of yours, John."

"And I miss wiping that pearly white smile off your face with it, Griese,"
he said in a deep gutteral laugh. He took a look back and saw that their
group had already started on toward the next hole. "Why don't you take that
shirt off, Bri. Show me your hairy chest... mmmh, that it, stud. You're one
furry fucker now. I hear Alstott loves to chew your coach's dried sperm out
of those dark hairs every night."

"God, those fingers feel great, John. Yeah, rub my nips, make them
hard. See what you're doing to my cock, man? If you ever decide you want to
be regular screw buddies, like before..."

"Sorry, Bri. Got a new pup under my wing."

"Does he like it dry?"

Elway gulped.  This was the one sticking point between him and
Schaub. Sure, the kid had learned to take it now and then, but he hadn't
learned to love it. And now that Griese was peeling down his pants and
briefs to his ankles, the veteran QB's dick surged to full petrified-wood
state.

"You gonna go easy on me, Elway?"

"You can bet your ass I won't" John snapped, feeling a forgotten hunger
rise up from within. His lumbering body circled Brian's as he wrapped his
massive arm around the other man and cupped his paw over Griese's mouth.


Reflexively Brian groaned and struggled while John roughly kicked at the
ankles to spread the beefy QB's legs. Griese stuck his tongue out and
lapped at the salty, sweaty palm just as the big, fat bloated head of
Elway's massive prick prodded his defenseless pucker.

John sucked in a deep breath of air and began applying pressure. His cock
was so wide that it was like trying to thread a sewing needle with cable
wire. Sweat beaded on Brian's forehead and ran down his cheek, over John's
hand, as the hard-as-nails manmeat pushed harder at his backside.

"Unngh!" Elway grunted as his effort paid off. His giant phallus rammed its
way inside, at least a good four inches. Brian's eyes opened wide and he
cried out into John's hand.  Still the older man fucked on, relishing the
tight, hot friction of the Tampa QB's posterior canal.

"You haven't lost it Griese," John groaned, looking over the man's shoulder
to see that his fuckee was ramrod rigid.  "Tight as a drum."

The second his furry nuts rested in the space between Brian's thighs, John
pulled back, feeling the anus clench around the dry skin of his cock,
holding it in its vicelike grip. Not letting go. Then he pounded his hips
forward, nailing Brian's ass.

The two were a sight, Elway encircling the younger jock with all his power,
fucking his dominance over Brian.

"This fuck's not gonna be dry for long, Bri. Bout to sperm you good."

He muttered his assent into John's hand as his own cock bobbed up and down,
unsure what to make of the wild sensations coursing through his
body. Roughly, Elway's left hand circled his waist and held his lower bod
steady as the top man went to town on the beefy, all-American butt he held
captive. Now Elway's chest pressed insistently into Brian's bare back, and
his pelvic bone rotated Brian's round rump on each impact. Griese hadn't
been longdicked like this in ages.

Finally it was too much for the pro fucker, who blasted a mega wad of seed
into Brian's guts. He had to admit: as hot as the sexual connection was
between him and Schaub, he sure as hell missed this.

When Griese turned around, Elway pressed forth with a deep, powerful
kiss. Brian's erection rubbed the man's belly, feeling the power and the
firmness and the soft fabric against his dick, till he too spewed his load,
which soaked a big wide stain in John's charity challenge knit shirt.

(to be cont.)