Salt Lick
Not exactly a triumphant return, though hopefully this might goose me to write the projects and continuations I've been meaning to but not felt the motivation in a few months. I also just really love short chapters and snippet-sized stories so I thought I'd add to the pool of them on the site. This was basically free-written because I just felt like writing something but not tackling a project with any thought just yet. I really like this and I think there's more to mine from it, but it will also be seat-of-the-pants and in bite-size installments whenever I need to throw something out there.
GodDAMNit I wish I didn't think they were so hot.
Even in the shade below the bleachers, the air was baking and still. It was late afternoon, only a half an hour after school left out, so the sun was still out and merciless and the wind refused to budge. All of which only made both the football team AND me sweatier...and hotter.
Fuuuuuuuck they're running another drill...Both lines bent over in a crouch, all in sticky, thin athletic shorts and almost laughably bulky armor...and those faceless warlike masks on their helmets, though I could tell even just by their positions and legs who was who. I stifled a moan-whimper, squeezing my hand and flicking my splotched tail.
Ohhhhhh yeah Brent squat down and shift those beefy Saint Bernard legs for me...don't mind me peering between the bleachers on the sideline and imagining myself right behind you right now. In the span of one single beagle heartbeat I'd be sitting behind you and pulling the back of your sweat-stained shorts down and slipping my hand between your legs and tugging on those fat fucking balls and shoving my muzzle into your jockstrapped ass and sniffing your sweltering asshole and
This time the whimper escaped my throat for real. My cock ached in my grip, pulled through my hastily unzipped fly along with my tight beagle nuts. My tail positively thrashed behind me. Jesus they were magnificent and beefy and they probably STANK...and here I was stuck being a smaller breed and hiding shamefully behind a set of bleachers almost every day after school, watching football practices and masturbating.
Of course it started as a one-off in my mind. Nobody knew my nasty little secret and I'd never been truly and properly laid. I got so pent-up thinking about sex and reading and watching porn online at home while sweating and clearing the web history every 30 seconds. Surely it's not my fault I developed such a desperate voyeuristic need. This was as close to "action" as I got, but the first time I felt so ashamed. After I came I kicked some dirt over the splatter and ran all the way back to my car on tiptoe, taking the back way by the baseball diamond so the team and coach wouldn't see my hasty exit scramble. For several days it was all I could think about. "Holy shit...I just jerked off behind the bleachers while watching the football team." I was terrified that someone had walked by or that a fictional camera by the concession stand had caught the whole thing and I was about to be exposed to the whole school and expelled. But it never came, unlike me. And it was only a week before I snuck back there and did it again. The fantasies of being the team's "towel"-boy and having them casually expose themselves to me and everyone else and make me play with their balls and their assholes were just too vivid and entrancing for me to not need some ready visual assistance.
Not to mention the even more perverted thrill I got from slipping out my junk more or less out in the open where anyone could walk by or glance behind the bleachers.
So far I'd had no such bad luck though.
I gave my short shaft a few quick strokes when the coach blew the whistle and the players all stood up. I was so focused watching the PERFECT view Brent was giving me of his impossibly beefy butt while he turned sideways with his back to the bleachers and holy FUCK I just wanted to spread those fat cheeks and get a full-on unobstructed view of his clenching salty asshole and then
"BLEGGGHHHHHHH!!!" and splashing noises. Ten feet away.
I absolutely lost my shit for a few seconds, falling over sideways and strangling a yelp while wildly targeting the source of the nasty noises.
Said source was Josh, the freshman puma third-string quarterback. Just my luck that the junior-varsity team was on this end of the field today...
By anyone's account Josh was a terrible football player. Too green to be a leader or quick decision-maker, with a weak and inaccurate throwing arm and a build that was halfway between too small-boned and too perpetually flabby. He was never one of the players that I looked at or fantasized in my little sessions behind the stands. He didn't have the swagger, the physicality, or the leering jockish grab-ass tomfoolery that so stoked the fires of my lust for most of the rest of the players.
But now it was him that was violently puking up his Gatorade just behind the edge of the stands. Clearly in sight of pervy Bert the beagle, who still had his pants unzipped and a stumpy boner sticking out of his fly.
On the first couple ralphs he was too occupied with the half-relief-half-horror of actually having to run behind the bleachers and vomit during a practice. But then he stopped, panting heavily and several times spitting a mixture of bile and saliva into his previously accumulated pool. And that's the state in which he saw me tremble and twitch, and his eyes immediately met mine as he looked over. Because I couldn't stop staring, horrified for several reasons.
No sounds at all passed between us. He glanced down at my crotch and surely saw that my boner hadn't even had time to flag yet. I started violently and clapped a hand to my dick, covering it too late.
He retched again, his whole face scrunching up and his back arching under the mesh half-shirt he wore over his ill-fitted pads. There was nothing left but a dry heave.
The coach's whistle blew. Josh's ears stood up and then flattened. He was missing a drill. Not even a look back at me accompanied the cougar's pained, limping departure. Guess we both had our shames to hide.
I scrambled back to the parking lot without finishing myself off.