Hot Jocks, page 18
And it was a perfect fit, in more ways than one.
INAMORATOS
Marc Corberre
The bed was big, white and covered in cool cotton sheets. The men were muscular, tanned and resplendent in gi pants. The foreplay was hard, fast and all about judo.
Judo: Such an unusual sport. Such a homoerotic endeavor. Such a perfect conduit for sex.
They’d been play fighting on the sheets for over an hour, grunting and groaning, twisting and turning, but now, at last, Jamie, the student, finally had Jack, his sensei, his judo master, where he wanted.
“I think I agree with you,” said Jack, his face pressed deep inside Jamie’s crotch, his voice muffled by the soft white material of his lover’s well-washed judogi trousers. He nuzzled Jamie’s aching scrotal sac, simultaneously torturing and tantalizing him. “I suppose you want to claim your prize now—”
“Mmm, absolutely.” Jamie released the triangle choke he’d secured, drinking in the sight of Jack’s godlike physique as the other man rolled onto his back, ready to be possessed. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse; Jamie stretched out on top of him, burrowing into the warmth of Jack’s muscular chest.
“Ah, that’s much better.” Jamie spoke softly, love and desire shining in his dark blue eyes.
“Come here, kiss me.” Jack pulled Jamie up a little to reach his lover’s enticing lips. Jamie kissed him back urgently, his fingertips gliding down Jack’s chest to stroke the hard cock straining beneath his gi pants. Jack moaned into his mouth, his hands roaming over Jamie’s hard, compact frame. “You’re a tease, Jamie,” Jack hissed, when the hand that had been petting him so sweetly drifted away again, stroking up and down his inner thigh.
“You think?” Jamie asked innocently, lips and teeth teasing Jack’s earlobe.
“Yes, I do,” Jack groaned, turning his face to the side to expose his neck for more of the gentle bites.
“Oh, well, maybe I’ll just have to prove you wrong,” Jamie answered, his hands gliding slowly over the sculpted muscles of his lover’s chest. “You really are so beautiful…” he murmured, his lips trailing down Jack’s throat to lick delicately along his collarbone.
Jack’s body responded passionately to his caresses, taut muscles rolling under smooth skin. Jamie kissed him one more time, harder than he had before, asserting his control and his hard-won ownership of his lover’s body. Jack’s mouth surrendered to him completely, moaning quietly when Jamie’s hungry lips attacked his, sucking hard, his tongue thrusting rhythmically into his mouth.
“Jamie…” Jack’s soft groan directed him downward, toward his midsection, his erotic epicenter.
There was something wonderfully wicked about doing a swan dive onto his lover’s cock. Jack’s thighs went rigid under his hands, muscles straining and trembling under the light strokes of his fingertips.
Jamie took his time, grabbing handfuls of soft white cotton on either side of Jack’s cock and then using them to pleasure him, sliding the thin, tactile fabric up and down the entire measure of his judo partner’s raw, raging hard-on.
“Oh, yeah…oh, god…feels so right…” Jack ground out as Jamie expertly caressed him with his own judogi. “I love you, babe…ahhh…”
Jamie required no further encouragement. His fingers undid Jack’s drawstring with a facility born of long practice and then pulled the gi pants slowly downward, ensuring that they caressed every inch of Jack’s magnificent staff as they were removed.
“Take me, please,” Jack moaned, trembling in anticipation beneath him.
“With pleasure,” said Jamie, smiling. Deep-throating the long shaft without pausing to breathe, Jamie consumed his lover’s cock. With his lips stretched around the base, and his face buried in the soft curls, Jamie relaxed, exhaling the last of the air in his lungs through his nostrils. He couldn’t breathe again without pulling up a little, but he stayed there for as long as he could, reveling in the feeling of his throat opening up to receive the hard tumescence, the muscles of his throat relaxing and reshaping around the unyielding column of hot flesh.
Jack’s hands groped for his shoulders, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. Jamie smiled around the straining organ and began to move slowly around it, up and down and up again.
“Ah, Jamie…” Jack whispered harshly, the pleasure exploding inside him. He held still, giving himself up to the intensity of the wet heat of his lover’s mouth. Nothing felt as good as this. Jamie sucked softly and then harder, caught up in the rush of Jack’s surrender. To have him like this, completely in his power, sent a surge of adrenaline straight to his groin. He sucked hungrily, closing his throat around the taut, pulsing skin. His tongue danced up and down Jack’s cock, until it wasn’t enough, and he had to have more.
Pulling up swiftly, Jamie removed his own gi pants, then took Jack’s hips and flipped him over, flattening himself out on the broad back to hold him there. “I need you,” he said, his voice harsh with unrepressed lust.
Jamie fumbled in the night-table drawer for lubricant. Then, parting his partner’s cheeks, Jamie inserted one slick finger, trying to make himself go slowly, when what he really wanted was to plunge aggressively inside Jack’s body, to open him up for his cock, to fuck him hard and fast until he came, deep inside him.
“Do it. Please, no more…just do it.” Jack twisted beneath Jamie’s hand, trying to push back against his fingers. Jamie’s other hand held his sensei down, his palm splayed out firmly on the small of his back.
“Relax, handsome, work with me here. I want you, but we have to go slow….” Jamie murmured, expertly pushing a second finger into his lover’s tense body.
“Ah…babe. Yes,” Jack cried out, bucking back when Jamie’s fingers found his prostate, brushing over the bundle of nerves there again and again.
Jamie sighed in satisfaction, feeling Jack relax around his fingers. His thrusts into his lover became more pronounced.
Jack groaned, his cock pushing desperately into the sheets beneath him. “Please…” he gasped, as a third finger entered him slowly, stretching him wider.
Jamie felt his cock tremble, growing even harder, his balls tightening, watching Jack twist and buck against his fingers. “That’s it, so beautiful…I’m gonna fuck you so hard, I want this so bad…” Jamie pulled his fingers out carefully, moving to kneel between Jack’s legs. Quickly coating his rigid cock with lube, he reached for his teacher’s hips, pulling him up halfway to his knees on the bed to shove two pillows beneath him for support. He took time to fondle Jack’s weeping erection, grazing his fingertips lightly over Jack’s balls.
“Comfortable, Sensei?” Jamie murmured, stretching out on top of the broad back. His cock buried itself between his lover’s cheeks, and Jamie sucked air into his lungs, trying to maintain a semblance of control.
Jack pushed back against the student who was now controlling him, begging Jamie with his body.
Jamie’s lips found the back of Jack’s neck, sucking skin into his mouth as his cock pushed gently, the weight of his muscular body behind it, until the head was inside Jack, and then he bit down on his teacher’s skin, simultaneously shoving himself hard into Jack’s body. The tight passage closed around him, and Jamie groaned helplessly, sinking in to the very hilt, his senses flooding with unspeakable pleasure.
“Oh, god, Jack, ahhh!” Jamie moaned, his arms wrapping around Jack’s chest. He held still for a long minute, until Jack relaxed and he started to pull out slowly.
“Jamie.” Jack groaned his student’s name, his lover’s name, his fists twisting handfuls of the sheets. “Come back to me. Come back inside, I need you inside me….”
“Shhh, relax…yeah, like that…” Pulling out until only the head of his cock was still inside, a massive mushroom in full bloom, Jamie reached for Jack’s hips, thrusting up hard. Jack arched beneath him, his hips pushing his own cock into the pillows, moaning softly. “So fucking good, Jack, oh, god, you feel so good,” Jamie groaned, losing himself to the steady rhythm of Jack’s hips. Driving into the hot, tight channel, Jamie kept up with Jack’s urgent thrusts, fucking him harder than he’d ever dared to before.
Jack pushed his face into the sheets, groaning. Jamie’s hard, thick cock surged inside him, and the pleasure of it exploded over his nerves, again and again. His hand dragged slowly down to his cock, trapped beneath him, and Jamie bit the back of his neck again, gasping.
“Touch yourself, Jack,” Jamie growled in his ear, his hands grasping his partner’s hips to pull him up to his knees. “Come for me…”
Jack obeyed as Jamie’s cock slammed into him, driving so deep that Jack imagined they were fused together. Jamie exploded and Jack’s body curled forward, shuddering and moaning, as his own cock sent hot streams of cum shooting across his stomach and onto the sheets.
“Did I hurt you?” Jamie gasped quietly, not moving inside him.
“No—but you made me come so hard I thought we’d need a nine-one-one callout. It seems the student is surpassing his sensei.”
“Me? Surpass you? Never.” Jamie sighed in obvious relief, relaxing on top of him. Jack felt lassitude creep over him, his limbs going limp with exhaustion and relief. It was true, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d come that hard. Jamie’s hands moved over the muscle of Jack’s shoulders and caressed his biceps before coming to rest on the backs of his hands. “I love you.”
“Mmm, love you too,” Jack responded sleepily, basking in the pleasure of being covered and surrounded by Jamie. “Nap now?”
Jamie laughed softly, kissing his shoulder. “Why not? You certainly deserve it.”
Jack slept.
His dreams, when they came, were all bathed in gold.
BELOW THE BELT
Mike Sanders
The moment I saw him, I wanted him, badly. He’d just arrived at the facility and was busy introducing himself. People seemed glad to make his acquaintance; Baxter—our resident Brazilian jiujitsu instructor—slapped him on the back, and head honcho Milton kept shaking his hand like it was the lever on some human slot machine.
Looking at the suit and tie, I suppose I took him to be one of the trainers.
Which he was, in a way.
I’ve always been curious, so I snuck another look across the room at him during dinner. He was deep in conversation with the other tutors, all of them on hand to watch over us during this, the final part of our induction training for that most secret of secret services: CI5. He was muscular, but not muscle-bound, with remarkable eyes that seemed to change from brown to black depending on whether he was listening or speaking. His dark hair was short, but not too short; his wide smile was white, but not blinding; his posture was straight, but not rigid.
He was a man of happy mediums, and I liked him all the more because of it.
I shook my head in a stalwart attempt to dislodge my growing preoccupation and dragged my attention back to British cooking, which was—and still is—worthy of most of the insults I’d ever heard about it. This is crazy, I told myself. I hadn’t fought my way through months of trying to join this squad just to start looking at a man again now. I hadn’t done that for—hell—eight years. I’d had a relationship with one guy and one guy only, and I’d been sure that side of me had died a natural death after I met Amanda. But now I was thinking about it all over again and remembering how good it had been sometimes. Irritated suddenly, I turned pointedly away from the subject of my scrutiny, and applied myself to joining in conversation with the others at the table.
There were eight of us—out of an original thirteen—who would be here for the last two weeks of induction. We all knew that CI5 was a tough place to get into, and that we wouldn’t all automatically make it to the final pairing-up operation that signaled acceptance. This was definitely not the moment to fool around. Not the time to become infatuated.
Not the place to fall in love.
The newcomer was out on the mat the following day, and I was confused to see him doing some pretty light training—no combat, just drills—while the rest of us were being decimated by Coach Baxter’s over-enthusiastic assistant.
What was up with the guy? Injury, or merely a desire for preferential treatment?
Baxter himself supervised the stranger for a while, before taking time out to come stomp on us instead. I concentrated on remaining relatively whole and not incurring his wrath—successfully, since I’m good at martial arts stuff, particularly Brazilian jiujitsu. It caught on so much faster in the States than it ever did here in good old Blighty, so I’d had plenty of time to roll around, make mistakes and learn from them. The other guys hadn’t been quite so lucky, and it showed, big time.
Between all the upas and kimuras, montadas and americanas, I found myself glancing across the gym, watching the dark and handsome stranger’s powerful physique at work and once again wondering why he wasn’t training with us.
“Enough with drilling already. Let’s see a little action over here.”
It was the over-enthusiastic assistant, Marlow, talking louder than he needed to. He always did, and I always wondered why. I even thought he might be hard of hearing at one point, until someone leaked his psych tests, the ones that revealed his ingrained inferiority complex—and obsessive desire to keep it under wraps.
“Thanks, but no,” said the new guy now. His tone was quiet, but his eyes were dark, forbidding.
Marlow paid no attention. “You need to work on your guard. Your submissions are weak.”
“I was practicing sweeps—”
“Your submissions are weak,” repeated Marlow, and this time I really did question the integrity of his aural canal. He laid a heavy hand on the shoulder of Stéphane, the French guy in the stranger’s guard. “If this had been a real assailant, you’d be dead by now.”
“He’s not a real assailant. He’s my training partner. If you can’t understand the difference—”
The heavy hand twitched, pushed Stéphane to the side.
“Just shut up and roll, pretty boy.”
It was those last two words that sealed Marlow’s fate; of that I have no doubt. The eyes of the stranger had turned to obsidian, hard and black and deathly cold. He reclined on the mat, hands behind his head, large feet spread wide apart, long legs open and defenseless as a crane fly’s.
“Take me,” he said.
Marlow attacked, falling into his guard like a man possessed. By this time, the combatants’ tense exchange had drawn an audience, everyone stopping to watch, to speculate—and to bet on the likely victor, discreetly or otherwise. I kept expecting Baxter to step in, break things up, bawl us all out for stalling during class. It didn’t happen. He kept his distance. He was hooked, just like the rest of us, realizing that the outcome could make or break the new guy’s status.
The battle was fierce and, for me, uncomfortably arousing. I tried not to focus on the stranger’s chest as his jacket came open; I tried not to stare when he pulled Marlow’s head down onto it, next to his nipple; I did everything I could to ignore him as they tussled for dominance, for mastery of the other’s body.
When it’s just me and another guy fighting, containing my carnal urges is easy; far too much is going on for me to entertain any thoughts other than those directly related to scoring points or gaining a quick submission. I can keep my libido in check. I can stay the need not just to mount, but to screw.
My libido was not in check anymore; watching them grapple was too much like pornography. Within minutes I was fully aroused, my hard-on pressing insistently against the fabric of my gi pants, mercifully disguised by the skirt of my kimono.
By way of distraction, I attempted to concentrate, not on the warring opponents, but on their techniques—anything to lessen the aching in my balls, the blood rushing to my swollen member. Marlow was still caught in the guard, his hips thrust tight against his adversary’s as he attempted a cross choke, his right arm snaking forward, but reaching too far, stretching too much—
The newcomer caught the invading arm and pulled it toward him, bringing Marlow’s hot, panting mouth so close to his own that the two seemed on the verge of kissing. Marlow twisted away violently, clearly aware of how close he was to being shoulder locked. But it was the wrong way, and the stranger had his back in moments, both hooks in, his lean legs acting like a second set of arms as he expertly subdued his prey, not crane fly now, but hunting spider.
He wasted no time in going for the choke.
Marlow’s blue eyes went wide with fear. He tried to wriggle out of danger, but there was nowhere for him to go; the stranger had him utterly immobilized, his substantial forearm pressed fast against the soft yielding tissue of Marlow’s throat, both feet planted firmly in his captive’s groin, sliding provocatively over his genitals: once, twice, three times…
The larger man made a sound I’d never heard before, something between total bliss and abject humiliation. He bridged upward, groaning, and suddenly all I wanted was to be him, to feel what he was feeling, to make the noises he was making, to be caught and free and trapped and safe all at once.
As if to acknowledge my unspoken thoughts, the newcomer smiled, tightening his grip still further. “That’s it,” I heard him whisper. “That’s right. Don’t try to fight it. Don’t try to struggle. Just sleep. Sleep…”
Marlow’s eyes squeezed shut; he tapped, provoking a collective cheer from me and everyone else. We’d all of us run into Marlow’s bad side at one time or another; we’d all of us wanted to do what the newcomer was doing right now—deal out a little justice, even up the score a bit.
The tables were turned, and it made us feel good; really good.
Marlow tapped again, more urgently, his right hand beating out an insistent rhythm on his antagonist’s upper thigh.
“That’s enough,” said Baxter, moving toward them. “I think you’ve more than proven your point.”
The stranger nodded and smiled beatifically, the smile of an angel, of a devil—and kept right on going.
