Hung Jocks Novels & Stories

No one could get the facts right because there so many rumors going around, but in all I’m glad that prick is getting what he deserve I wish I could had been there to see the look on his face. I was still texting, when I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. I looked up to see three guys wearing letterman jackets and their hair was slick back. If I was to guess they had to be on the football team. I wonder what do they want? From the way they look, they seem like airheads with no brains. I know the type, the popular jocks who have all the girls including the cheerleaders fall to their knees when they appear. Or worst have the smart and unattractive girls do their homework and for

She cried out as he buried himself fully, thick cock stretching her deliciously. "Fuck yes," he snarled, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he started up a punishing rhythm. "This cunt is so fucking tight! Gonna ruin this little pussy for anyone else!" Jake was not about to be left behind. He climbed onto the couch, gripping the base of his cock to rub the tip up and down her slit before pushing in alongside his partner. She wailed as they both filled her up, eyes rolling back at the sensation of being split open on two huge dicks.

"Last chance 'roid heads. Once we start, I won't stop until you can't get back up." The jocks laughed and came right at him. Time to show them what a real ass kicking was all about.

The pendant under my shirt felt suddenly heavier. “Jaric wants to join a ‘jock college,’” I said, half to lighten the mood, half because it was true. “He says he’s destined for it.” Dr. Harry froze. Then he leaned back and broke into the loudest laugh I had ever heard from him—genuine, uncontrollable, almost choking.

“New nutritionist. New check-ins. Old plan until they change the macros. I will tell the guys so nobody walks in here tomorrow looking for Sienna like the memo did not happen.” He said my name like it was a label on a bin. I felt my face heat and hated that he would see it if he cared enough to check. He did not check. He was already turning the paper over, scanning the bottom for a time stamp, doing the simple thing, the hockey thing, the I-have-practice-in-an-hour thing. “If Paige needs me after skate, she can find me in the room,” he said. “I am not going to hover around Nutrition like I do not understand a roster change. I have enough to think about. This is not one of those things.”

If athletes switched pay with teachers and police officers, our world would be a better place. I didn't think I could fake my mental dislike of jocks or my body's lust for them. I could see myself salivating at their muscles with a sneer on my face. I'd sat brooding for so long, my screensaver popped up. I hit the "enter" key and clicked on Google. Two hours later, I was more confused than ever. The terminology alone had my head achingscrum, maul, ruckwhere did they come up with this shit? My frustration had me Googling Van Stelson because nowhere on my documentation was his brother's name mentioned. "Great," I muttered aloud when Van's face flashed on the screen.

“PLEASE WELCOME TONIGHT’S HONORARY GUEST SCOUT. STRAIGHT FROM THE NHL... ETHAN VANCE!” ​I blinked against the glare, turning to look at Janice. We exchanged absolute, paralyzed glances of pure shock. ​The thousands of screaming fans weren't cheering for the high school teams. ​They were cheering for the man standing right next to me.

DOMINIC "A hockey team, Dominic? Seriously?" Jax stood on the balcony overlooking the yard, watching as two dozen teenagers and young adults—the Blackridge 'Howlers' hockey squad unloaded crates from the back of an ice-truck. "They’re not just kids, Jax," I said, leaning over the blueprint spread across the railing. "They’re athletes with a specialized skill set. They know how to move on ice, they know how to coordinate at high speeds, and more importantly, they have access to industrial-grade liquid nitrogen and high-tensile netting."

The teacher eventually came in not long after and immediately started the class causing the discussions and chattering to cease as we began lectures. Lunch finally arrived as I sat down with Liv and Spencer at their special table. I notice Liv was very popular because we wouldn’t stop getting lots of looks and greetings from other students. The cafeteria was huge and students filtered about eating and chattering with one another but it also seemed that there were cliques. “Who are those people?” I asked gesturing to a group of students who wore football jerseys and cheerleading uniforms. “We call them jocks. They’re the athletes of Brixley high and they’re loud as fuck.” Spencer cussed out i

“You can sit right next to me.” Once the jock sat beside her, he flirtingly introduced himself as Brock Tannen, former captain and star player of the Mad Dogs, a high school football team from California that had won many state championships. The large patch of a bulldog’s head holding a football with its mouth on the back of his jacket proved his point. That was how schools commemorated their champions.