Tight End
By: Giantguy
You're working as an assistant for the summer football camp that the
school holds up in the mountains -- working over the new team
prospects, running them hard, and evaluating them. For the
scholarship guys, this summer camp makes or breaks them. During
the day, it's drills and games on the field, then long workout
sessions, then back to the 5-man cabins to collapse until the next
day.
You are in the cabin with four of the new recruits -- all the
assistants bunk in with the new guys, to keep an eye on them outside
of practice. There are Jeff and Sean, two linebackers, strong but
slow, Nathan, a good kicker, and Greg, a hulking incoming freshman.
He always played tight end but wants to move up to quarterback.
You're doubtful -- he looks like the typical dumb jock. You don't
know if he has the brains to be quarterback, but you'll see how he
does.
A tradition of football camp is to work hard and play harder. Beer
and cigarettes get smuggled into the cabins while the guys prove
who's tougher, who can get smashed and still kick ass on the field
the next day. The head coaches look the other way as the
assistants keep the more rowdy guys under control ... but most of
the assistants just kick back and join in.
The guys in your cabin are chugging beers and having a belch
contest. Pretty soon that wasn't enough ... always being
competitive, they bet money on who can crack the longest, loudest
fart. It makes you laugh to watch them straining to blow one out
just to win 20 bucks and bragging rights. All the guys do pretty
well except Greg, who is grunting and pushing but cant pump anything
out.
Sean laughs "Hey thats right, he's a tight end huh." He tosses a
pencil at Greg. "Nother 20 bucks says you cant fit this in that
butthole."
Greg kinda blinks and gets that half mad, half confused look of the
dumb jock. He never turns down a bet, though.
"You're on, shithead." He pushes down his briefs, and wedges the
yellow pencil between his muscular glutes, hard from endless squats
in the weight room. He grimaces as the pencil penetrates the
tight hole. "There. 20 bucks, fucker."
"Naw, man, it's gotta go in all the way."
Greg just mutters but pushes the pencil in a little further. He
squeezes his buttcheeks and slides it in, jaw clenched the whole
time. Finally the half-length pencil disappears into his ass, and
he pumps his fist in victory. Sean hands over the 20 bucks.
As the days went on, the guys worked harder and harder outdoing each
other on the field, Greg making a good case for moving up to
quarterback. He stayed an extra hour in the gym each night,
grunting out set after set of powersquats, building up his quads,
hamstrings and glutes.
The drinking games at night seemed to always be winding up to one of
the guys daring Greg to shove something else into his ass. At
first they enjoyed the pained look on Greg's face, who never turned
down a dare, as he struggled to fit pencils, pens and batteries into
his ass for a couple of bucks. Then, he started to get good at
it, and one night sucked a candle slowly in between his buttcheeks
with no hands. The guys laughed and cheered, impressed. Greg
just grinned. He liked winning bets.
Day after day, Greg got more aggressive on the field, intent on
winning the QB spot. His scholarship was riding on it. You
watched him carefully, trying to be fair in evaluating all the guys.
Sean and Jeff would be good defensive lineman, and good kickers were
always needed. You just weren't sure about Greg.
But every night after the beers were followed by shots of Jack
Daniels, you were always amazed at Greg's persistence in tackling
any dare the guys gave him. A banana from the mess hall ... a
handball ... the 8 ball swiped from the coach's pool table ... all
of them went up Greg's ass as he grunted and heaved. You thought
for sure he was gonna plug his gut up after too much of this, but he
was known for planting himself in a stall in the shared bathrooms
and just about filling the bowl with shit. So you didnt worry too
much.
The second to last night, the night before the evaluations were due,
the guys were getting tense, not wanting to ask what you planned to
report the next day. They were doing their usual pussy talk,
smashed on beer and whisky, idly tossing a football around the room.
Greg was distracted, not even listening. When Nathan threw the
football his way, Greg just automatically caught it, and thinking
that it was the latest dare, got up and turned around, planting the
football between his massive muscular cheeks. The guys laughed at
Greg's joke -- there was no way he could handle that -- but all of
you stared as Greg started to grunt like a bull ... the football was
suddenly slurped halfway up Greg's ass ... he heaved and groaned,
hands on his knees ... with another wet slurp, the football was
gone. The guys erupted in cheers. Greg turned around. Another
victory.
The next day, you turned in your confidential report. Even with
all their hard work ... and some unexpected talents ... you really
had to give your guys some low marks. You told yourself that it
wasn't that you were envious of their obvious skills on the field
... maybe you were judging them harshly, but that was your job.
Besides, they'd never get to see the report. They'd just hear
about the results later, long after they'd left camp.
That night, the last night, the tension is off. The guys are
exhausted from the hard workouts and drills, but seemed to sharing a
secret joke. You're ready to turn in and get some sleep, but they
keep daring you to do shot after shot. After a while, the room is
starting to spin a little bit... you stagger to your feet to head to
bed, but Sean grabs you.
"One more bet Jake, come on."
You grin. Okay, one more chance to prove you can still keep up
with the guys.
"Dare ya to stick your foot in there for a second. Come on, man."
You see where he is gesturing -- Greg's rounded ass, as Greg slides
his briefs off.
You just laugh and shake your head. Sean keeps after you.
"Come on dude, what, you a pussy? "
Something in you just thinks, ah what the hell. You've done
crazier things. Greg bends over. almost in a quarterback stance.
You lie on the floor behind him, and lift one foot up to his ass ...
perfect ... like two white marble halves of a bowling ball. You
push your foot into the deep cleft ... somewhere in your drunken
brain you think, hey, this feels kinda good. You feel a quick
resistance from Greg's butthole, and then it opens as your foot
sinks in.
You laugh at the sight ... your foot buried in the tight end's ass,
your leg emerging from between his buttcheeks. You smugly lift the
other foot up ... "Hey Greg, bet ya can't take two." You sink your
other foot in ... and in a second its snugly beside the first.
"Okay guys, that's it for one night, I gotta get to bed."
Suddenly Greg flexes his buttcheeks and you are yanked in up to the
knees.
"What the ... hey!" You laugh a little. "Come on Greg, enough
is enough."
Another mighty heave and you are sucked deeper ... his glutes
flexing around your waist, your legs enveloped deep in Greg's ass,
squelching in his warm shit. Adrenalin starts to pump through your
body ... you are being lifted off the floor, hanging down out of
Greg's ass. He squats down a little further, his hands on his
knees, and bellows like a bull. Powerful muscles contract and
flex, and you are engulfed to your armpits, your arms flailing
against his rock hard glutes.
"GODDAMMIT GREG, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" you pound on his
asscheeks, and Greg relaxes his buns, to your great relief. You
suddenly grab for a hold as you start to slip, your arms plunging
into his stretched butthole ... and he again flexes, holding you
tighter than before. You gasp for breath.
"Help me guys, I don't know what the fuck is going on." You look
and see Sean, Nathan and Jeff standing, staring at you with smirks
on their faces. Sean waves a copy of the report ... your
recommendations that they all be cut from the roster.
Your heart starts to pump wildly, as you struggle as best you can.
"Oh shit ... you weren't supposed to see that ... fuck guys, help
me, I can retract that, I can get you better scholarships, I can
..." Your breath is cut off as Greg gives a mighty flex and sucks
you in up to your neck.
The guys come closer. Greg's high, rounded ass cheeks are on
either side of your face. The musk of his ass makes you dizzy.
Sean leans in closer, his beer breath warm on your face.
"Guess you're just a little shit. We know where the shit belongs,
Jake."
"No! NO! Don't! I'm begging you! I'll be smothered!
DON'T!"
An evil grin just spreads across Greg's face.
"How bout it guys? Do ya dare me?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, but flexes his buns, powerful from
endless sets of squats. You feel Greg's sphincter sliding up over
your face as you are dragged deep into his ass. The last sounds
you hear are the four of them laughing, watching you disappear.
The next morning, Sean Jeff and Nathan help Greg to the bathroom,
and wait outside the stall where he grunts and groans, pushing a
giant shit out of his muscular ass. The bowl almost overflows with
shit.
They go to check the posted rosters -- since your report never made
it in to the official tally, the head coaches followed their gut and
put all four on the team.
Greg was quarterback, moved up from tight end.
The four of them cheer so loud that Greg cracks a long, loud, wet
fart. This makes them laugh even harder. That was all your
report counted for ... they knew nobody was gonna stand in their way
now.