Groupie Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)
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GROUPIE by Bill Drake
I thought he'd be nervous, but it was clear he'd done this before. I followed him into his hotel room, one of the higher-up suites with a great view of downtown. It's hard to capture just how much bigger a professional football player looks in real life. I mean, I'm tall and have a pretty good build myself, but this man was must solid beneath his tailored navy suit. And he was one of the leaner-looking quarterbacks in the league.
"Sorry... what's your name again?" he asked.
"Kevin," I replied, not in the least offended. I'd met him just a couple hours ago after his press conference. I probably wasn't supposed to ask for an autograph, but I couldn't help but take advantage of the opportunity. This pro athlete hunk had eyed me up as he scribbled out a signature, before leafing through my notepad to another page and writing his Four Seasons room number on the paper, along with "8:00."
I was there now, eight on the dot, watching the hunk take off his suit coat. He was without tie and if the tailored jacket looked great on him, the trim dress shirt was amazing in the way it foreground his hard muscle. Mr. QB was 37 and old for a pro player, I guess, but I loved the combo of his seasoned muscle and top conditioning.
"Why don't you get comfortable, Kevin?" he urged.
I nodded. I started undoing my button down and kicking off my sneakers. I'd spent a lot of my 20s closeted, whether on my lacrosse team or in my fraternity, and even after, playing the "shy," career-focused dude who couldn't get a steady girlfriend. Those years let me focus on my body, lots of lifting, lots of watching my macros, and I had a build I was proud of.
"God, you're cute," QB grinned as he untucked his shirt from his trousers and started undoing the buttons in a mirror image of my disrobing. "Don't know what it is about you sports reporter types, but you guys are always hot fuckers."
Coming from this man, it was a hell of a compliment. "Well, I'm a huge fan," I gushed, then regretted not playing it cooler.
Thankfully, QB laughed as he removed his brown leather shoes. "Is that right?"
I blushed but nodded, undoing my trousers. "Um... you do this often?" I asked.
QB didn't miss a beat. "With guys as hot as you in every city... what do you think?"
"That's cool," I answered, glad to be part of the special club. "Don't worry, I'm discreet."
QB nodded his acknowledgment of the fact, then shucked his trousers down. Holy fuck, even through his boxer briefs I could see a hard heavy dong that was considerable in length. As I scrambled to catch up in the disrobing, he pulled that underwear down, too, and let that massive dick swing up and out. Kicking the briefs off, he sat down in the hotel chair, spread his legs, and watched me strip for him.
The man had 8 years on me, and a hell of a lot of fame and athletic success. And I was starstruck as hell. But in a weird way we felt almost like we were coming together as equals, two horny men in our prime wanting to get off.
I felt my own dick get rock hard as I walked over to him, QB's eyes eating me up. His hands ran up my outer thighs and his touch made my cock get over its nervous jitters and stand up straight.
QB laughed. "You got a well-trained puppy there," he hissed.
"Yeah," I said dumbly. I wasn't even sure how this was gonna play out, but the athlete seemed focused on my regular-sized cock. This guy may outsize me, all over, but I still liked my dick. It was a good looking dick, meaty and symmetrical and steel hard. QB was into it, for sure.
"Don't cum too soon," he ordered then leaned in and started going down on me. I almost didn't follow his instructions. I mean, I almost couldn't. His mouth was silky smooth, with just the right amount of suction, and some amazing stimulation from his tongue as he worked me up and down. But mostly it was the mindblowing idea I had an NFL star giving me head.
I stood, posture erect, hands down by my side, not daring to touch the man. Until I got up the courage and started running my fingers through his hair. Softly, encouraging him. I was thrilled to see that turned him on. QB moaned around my cock and started bobbing a good inch further down toward the root. It was incredible.
My toes started curling, and I think QB had a good sense I was about to nut. With a slurp he pulled off and blew some air playfully onto my twitching erection.
"You like that?" he teased in a sexy version of the voice I'd heard in so many press conferences and interviews.
"Fuck yeah," I growled. "Don't take this the wrong way, man, but you're an incredible cocksucker." I was being bold, but that was a sign I was relaxing into the scene.
QB winked and patted my outer thigh. "Turn around, dude."
I did as instructed and felt two very strong quarterback hands feeling up my thighs, my hamstrings and my gluteal muscle. I was very thankful of my gym dedication at that moment, because QB just massaged my buns and growled, "That ass is off the hook. man."
I flexed my glutes a little, teasing him some. He felt me up some more then leaned in and buried his face right into my cleft. I knew what he was after of course, so I parted my legs some and leaned forward to braced my upper body on my quads.
QB had full access to my hole now and he ate it like a pro. Deep tonguing, and a hell of a lot of round-the-rim teasing. He was fevered and unpredictable as he ate me out, and he just kept fucking going. Even to this date, that was hands down the best rimming I've ever experienced.
It went on for a while, but like a hungry man who gets his fill at a buffet, QB stopped eating at last. He pulled back and smacked my buns. "Get on the bed, man, I gotta fuck this."
Normally, I wasn't into dudes ordering me around like cavemen, but QB could do whatever he damn pleased. I was rock hard as I stood fully up and strutted over to the bed. I looked over, seeking instruction. This star athlete was running the show.
QB was lubing up his cock now. It wasn't massive, but it was big fucking tool. Thick, meaty, and long, with two heavy testicles hanging an inch beneath the stalk. I was glad then I wasn't virgin, but I instinctively knew QB had broken in more than his fair share of cherries. For some reason that idea made me very turned on.
"On your belly," he said, voice normal, not commanding. "I like a lot of foreplay but when I fuck I get off real quick." From his tone, I couldn't tell if he was warning me or seeing if I was OK with this. Whatever, I got on the mattress and stretched out, belly down and ass up.
I felt the bed sink a little as 225 pounds got in place behind me, pushing my legs apart some. His lubey hands kneaded my buns some more, just for a few seconds, then he stretched his athletic body on top of mine.
I felt his kisses along my neck, then the nudging feeling of him guiding his cock into my crack. He was good at this, real good, and his experience in dicking groupies showed. I felt that greasy-slick cock penetrate me.
"Unnngh!" I let out in a soft, choked cry. I wanted to take this man like a trooper, but I didn't bottom all that much.
"Easy, buddy, you got this..." he cooed. His hands playfully massaged my forearms and his kisses along my neck turned to playfully sexual licking before he asked, "you done this before?"
"Yeah," I replied. God, I'm normally not submissive, but I wanted to be QB's best fuck. "But it's been a while."
"I can tell, man," QB growled, his hips now doing this micro-thrust thing that was working me right the fuck open. "Hot, tight frat boy ass."
He was halfway on the mark, and for the rest I'd be whatever QB's fantasy fuck was. Especially now that his multimillion-dollar cock was boring me in soft but deep thrusts. Now fucking me.
"Shit, you fucking frat guys are the best goddamn lays," he hissed, now getting real into it. "I love nailing your horny asses."
I gripped the sheets. QB wasn't kidding. He'd gone from the gentle working-me-open part of the fuck to pounding me into the sheets. The mattress bounced in time and I felt his hard athletic body, covering me tightly, thrusting into me. There was some discomfort which kept the cum from being pushed out of me, but my prostate was also loving this more than I expected, and each shove interacted with the star struck lust in my brain.
"Oh shit!" I heard in my ear and then felt a frantic energy to the pro athlete body on top of me. QB wasn't lying. He didn't last long in a man's ass. I felt his cock pulse, combined with some harder thrusts that seemed intent on planting his seed as deep up me as possible.
That orgasm lasted maybe ten seconds and like that I felt the hotel-room cool on my back as QB rolled off me, fully sated.
I slowly raised my head and looked over at him. He had a kid-like smile on his face. "That was incredible man," he said. Then, "you need to get off?"
I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I did. So I nodded and rolled onto my side.
QB reached over and then quirted some lube on my cock. He started at me and I knew he expected me to jerk off. Normally, I'd crave more. A blow job, a kiss, or something. But I had 6-foot-4 of professional baller in bed with me, and I knew it wouldn't take long to get off just looking at him and masturbating.
And it didn't. Especially not when he scooted his naked body closer and reached around to cup my ass, digging into the cleft.
"You got a Pro Bowler's cum in ya, buddy," he growled as his digit rooted around the cummy mess in my crack. "I dumped a good one in ya."
His naughty words had me firing, right onto his furry torso. It was a crazy deep orgasm, too, and QB laughed some at the intensity.
QB now had a relaxed, content look on his face as he looked over at me and patted my bare thigh. "I'm afraid I don't have guys stay the night," he said simply. "No offense, stud."
I guess the afterglow was over. "None taken," I assured him. "That was amazing," I said as I scooted out of bed and went to find my underwear. I could clean off when I got home.
As I got dressed, I watched his tall, athletic body walk to the bathroom to piss and rinse off. I was just getting my shoes on when he came out, that magnificent body damp and a towel wrapped around his waist.
I could read on his face that he was ready for me to leave. He'd gotten what he wanted. Then again, I had, too. I'd actually made it with a pro athlete, and I knew I'd be reliving this evening in my head for many future stroke sessions.
"All right," I said, standing up and nervously patting my pockets to make sure I had everything. "I'm off."
"Take care," he flashed with a winning grin. God, I'd never be able to look at QB the same way again.
It took some willpower to avert my eyes from his half-naked body as he went to check and scroll through his phone, but I left him and left the hotel room, letting the heavy door shut behind me.
The hallway was cool and smelled like some aromatherapy scent, a contrast to the masculine smell of QB I'd just experienced up close. I shook my head and actually laughed, unbelieving that this just happened. I was dying to tell someone, my buddies, anyone, but I promised to be discreet.
I walked down toward the elevator and saw a man approaching me. A little older, maybe mid to late 30s. Thinning hair, normal married-suburban looks, it was only when he got closer that I could tell he was actually rocking a pretty jacked body beneath his sweatshirt and faded jeans. As he was walking toward me he seemed to be checking his phone and looking up at the room numbers.
"Hey," he acknowledged as we saw me right before we passed each other.
"Hi," I mumbled, but already the man was walking onward, on a mission. Fuck, he wasn't going where I thought he was, was he?
He was. I stopped right before the elevator bank and looked back. There was that Suburban Fan, standing in a nervous stance before knocking on the room door.
"Hey, man," came his surprisingly deep voice as the door opened.
"Hi, buddy," I could hear QB say. "Come on in."