The Jack Thomas Stories

The Jock

Driving along the motorway, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was in better shape now in my fifties than ever before. Somehow, I was also better looking. I was tall, slim-ish and at the same time solidly built with a strong chest and shoulders. And hairy. Don’t forget the body hair. It turned me into a Daddy, and the young guys seemed to love it. As a young man myself, it had been very different. I’d been a plain, weedy boy, and as a student, I had been a thin, spotty youth. Nobody thought I was attractive, and at university, I’d been a bit of a sad virgin. It hadn’t helped that I went to a college that focussed on sport. There were jocks everywhere. Rugby, rowing, hockey, and soccer were all big sports and the jocks were fucking arrogant. Looking back, they had every reason to be. Square-jawed, muscle-bound, and eager to get their dicks out for every drinking game, they were confident, brash and annoying. And this was the late 80s and early 90s, so if any of them were gay, they kept it quiet. With all of that competition, a spotty nerd was going to stay a virgin. I spent a lot of those three years at university wanking vigorously at the thought of getting a jock naked, bending him over, and fucking him to death. But it was never going to happen. There was way too much competition.

I was on the road now, driving up north from my new home in London. I had treated myself to a luxurious hire car and intended to spend a few days driving, stopping off here and there on my way up to visit friends in the Lake District. I had an elderly aunt and uncle in the Midlands and aimed the car in that general direction, pleased to have a life now that allowed me to make only the vaguest of plans. Thirty years of teaching had forced me to plan around the working week and school holidays, but now I was as free as a bird. 

In the space of a couple of months, I had inherited a fortune from my aunt, resigned from my job, bought a luxury apartment in London, and turned my life around. I was now living the high life, fitter than ever, and happily fucking my way around the nation’s capital. But not today. I had called ahead to my uncle, and arranged to drop in the next day. So, for now, I was a free man. I Googled accommodation and found a comfortable looking boutique hotel on the outskirts of Northampton, the type of place that had once been a stately home and now housed a spa and wellness centre. Not really my thing, but I’d be able to use the pool.

I called them up, made a booking, and was in my room within the hour. I looked around, admiring the king-size bed, the enormous bathtub and the huge desk, sex always on my mind. I could imagine myself fucking some guy in all three places, finally pushing him against the balcony door and making him squirt his cum on the glass as I butt-fucked him mercilessly. I sighed. For that, I’d need some company…

I got ready for my swim, wrapped my toilet bag in a towel, and walked down to the spa area. A perky, friendly young woman was on the desk, dying for me to want a reiki this, or an aromatic that, but I explained that I was just a simple man in need of a pool. She smiled sweetly, told me I’d have the place to myself, and let me know that she was on hand to help. With anything. I wondered if I was giving off hetero vibes again.

In the changing room, I gave my ever ready cock a couple of swift jerks, happy to chub up quickly in a way that would make me look even hotter in my skimpy shorts. I didn’t really need to show off - my ego was healthy and I wasn’t an exhibitionist - but I like to feel my best. And who doesn’t want his cock to look even bigger? Soon I was in the water, swimming back and forth, feeling the strain in my shoulders and legs. If I had to sleep alone tonight, at least I’d sleep soundly. A wank would help. Let’s face it: a wank always helps.

I decided to have a quick dinner in my room and then have an early night. I jumped up out of the water, and headed for the changing room, telling myself I’d have a shower in my room. On my way out, I stopped off to thank the girl on the spa reception desk, but fortune was suddenly on my side. She was gone, and in her place was a god.

He was dressed in a white polo shirt and white shorts, his tanned legs thick with dark hair. He was one of those square-jawed hunks who had ignored me at university, but as I approached him, his eyes widened, as he took me in from head to toe, his eyes pausing at my crotch. I’d been in the same situation dozens of times recently and relished the attention. He smiled warmly and gave me a corporate greeting. And then I realised. It was a cold day, and he was wearing a scarf, and not just any scarf. It was from…

‘Nottingham university. Your scarf. Are you an alum?’ I decided to forego the usual niceties and go straight to questioning the youthful adonis.

He looked at me, the old arrogance of a Nottingham jock not far from the surface. But I was the guest, and I supposed he needed the job. He controlled himself. ‘Actually, yes. I graduated last year. Are you also a product of the great NU?’

‘Yeah, I also graduated last year.’ I laughed. ‘OK, ok, maybe not last year. It was back in the 90s. I’ve been around the block a few times since then. Back in the day, Nottingham was wild.’ I decided to keep it to myself that it had been wild for everyone but me.

The young man looked at me more closely. ‘You must have been a jock, too, right?’ He looked at me appraisingly. ‘You’re in great shape.’ I took the compliment gratefully, knowing that he was right. I did look great, a mixture of a stress-free life, a new fitness regime, and a Daddy vibe that was getting hotter as the years went on.

‘I wasn’t a jock by any means. I just admired them.’ The boy smiled and I decided to plunge straight in. ‘I think it was the fashion in those days. The shorts always seemed particularly short and revealing.’ I glanced down at the boy’s own shorts, clearly admiring the view. ‘Just like yours.’ I had nothing to lose. If the boy weren’t interested, he could let me know now. I went for it and put my hand out. ‘It’s nice to meet another Nottingham guy.’

The boy took my hand firmly, looking me straight in the eye. ‘I’m Vincent. And what do they call you?’

I returned the boy’s gaze confidently, knowing that I came across as someone friendly and approachable, but also in charge, dominant... ‘They call me... Daddy. Or Uncle. My name is Jack. You choose.’

The boy grinned as I used my height advantage to full effect, moving closer to him, as he blurted out, ‘I think I’d like to call you my special uncle…’

Sometimes, I like to take things slow, savour the moment and linger on every inch of a boy’s body. I like to draw out the sex, kissing the other man deeply, enjoying the hunt. But not today. Today, I was horny. Today, I had the chance to service a jock from my old university. Today, I just wanted to fuck. I pulled the boy towards me and growled in his ear. ‘I can either fuck you here, or we can find somewhere more private. You’ve got five seconds to decide.’

Vincent gasped in delight, looked left and right, and then made his decision. ‘Over here. There’s an office. He gestured to a door behind the reception desk. ‘We can…’ He didn’t get to finish the sentence. I pulled him along with me, opened the door, forced him inside, and closed the door behind us. The office was small, but I spotted a small desk. It would be the perfect height. I roughly pushed the boy towards it, turned him around, so that his back was facing me, and grabbed him, wrapping his muscular body in my arms, my hands finding his nipples. I teased them through the shirt, enjoying the sharp intake of his breath. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

In one swift, fluid motion, I pulled his polo shirt off, my hands all over his body. Next, I reached around, undid the shorts, and yanked them down roughly. I wanted this boy to know that Uncle was the boss. Finally I took his briefs, ripped them down his body and pulled them off. Apart from his tennis shoes and the university scarf, he was naked. I decided to forgo the pleasantries, glad to have my toilet bag with me. I slapped the boy hard on the butt with one hand, whilst with the other I fished inside my toilet bag for lube and a condom. I didn’t need to worry about my cock. It had sprung into action already. It would stay hard for as long as I wanted, pointing upwards like a tennager’s. I squeezed some lube out, pushed the boy’s legs apart savagely, and massaged his butt hole with my insistent fingers. I pushed against his hole, inserting firstly one, then two fingers, finger fucking the youth aggressively. I whispered in his ear, my voice low and harsh. ‘Now’s your chance. You can either say no now, or get fucked. You decide.’

‘Fuck me. Fuck me, uncle. Please.’ Vincent was in the throes of lust, pushing his perfect, tanned arse towards me. ‘Fuck me now…’

I didn’t need any more encouragement. Within seconds, the condom was in place. I know that my size, though not pornstar huge, takes some getting used to, so I lubed up well. A happy bottom is a horny bottom. I lined my cock up with his hole and pushed, gently at first and then, as I felt my first inch break through his wall of muscle, with more force, overcome with desire. He grunted, but pushed back, drawing me in, and I started to fuck him, with the long, smooth thrusts of a man who was an expert, a man who knew exactly what a bottom needed. I pushed Vincent down on the desk, all the time ploughing him hard and deep, thoroughly turned on by the whimpering sounds of his ecstasy. I reached forwards, grabbed him by the shoulders, and looked down at the muscular perfection of his back. I began to pound the boy in earnest, pile-driving him like a machine, my thrusts getting deeper and deeper.

After a while, I slowed my pace, knowing that the boy would soon need a break. Slowly, I pulled my rock hard cock out, watching him quiver, as his butt muscles contracted. I grabbed him by the arm, pulling him upright against my body, feeling his hungry arse grinding against me. ‘Turn around, boy,’ I ordered. ‘Get on your back and show me what you’re made of.’ Vincent obeyed, turning around, flopping onto the table and lifting his legs in total submission. He took a hold of his legs behind the knees and pulled both ankles high over his head. Stretched out in front of him, it hardly seemed possible that my dick could get harder, but a lifetime of lust for hot jocks overcame me.

All control gone now, I held him by the hips and buried my throbbing cock deep inside him, aiming upwards, knowing the effect it would have. I growled like an animal as the boy whimpered whilst I fucked him without mercy.

I can do this for hours. I’ve always been able to hold off my own orgasm, keeping it at bay, close but not too close, deep in ecstasy, but just on the right side of cumming. I loved the feeling, knowing that the bottom could feel my cock head expanding in readiness, but never getting there. At these times, I knew how to tease, pulling out all the way, feeling his sphincter strain around me, only to have the whole length of my cock thrust in him again. Each time, my head found its way to his sweet spot, brushing roughly, insistently against his prostate, causing wave upon wave of pleasure to fill him. It was exactly the same with Vincent. I had this strong, muscular athlete exactly where I wanted, my cock getting even harder, turned on by the soft moaning of his complete satisfaction. That’s what a good top does. He sets up the arse fucking perfectly, making the bottom hornier with every thrust. In return, the expert top gets what he wants, a willing bottom who wants to be fucked longer, harder and deeper. In this perfect storm of desire, I could butt fuck Vincent for as long as I wanted.

Was I getting off on fucking a Nottingham jock? Yeah, I admit it, I was. Was I taking revenge, however sweet, on this beautiful jock for the sexual desolation of my college years? Absolutely. Did I have something to prove? Was I trying to show that a man in his fifties was worth a dozen young twinks and that decades of experience count? Yup, guilty as charged. But then I looked down at the boy, whose neck was straining as he looked up to watch me jackhammering his meaty fuck hole. And I realised, it wasn’t a one-sided thing. As much as I was getting out of this, the boy was willing, horny and having the time of his life. This was real for both of us. I always knew if a bottom was faking it. Too many of them thought that the sounds that porn stars make are real. I knew differently. It was the soft whimpers of delight, the gurgling, strained gasps of ecstasy that let a top know that his bottom is getting fucked right. And Vincent was in raptures. 

But there was still a part of me that wanted to make a point. I was still a man who wanted to fuck the life out of a Nottingham jock. In one swift move, I pulled out, lifted him up, and turned him again, smacking him on the arse, happy to leave a red mark. I pushed Vincent face down onto the desk, then caught hold of his scarf and pulled hard, jerking his head up, making him arch his back like a gymnast, as I entered him again. In this position, I fucked him hard and long, the minutes ticking by as I felt him grow more and more submissive. I pulled on the scarf even harder, bringing his arched back closer to me. That caused my cock to press down into Vincent all the more and I was met with dark screams of joy, as I brought him closer to orgasm. God, it was a turn on to see this boy respond to every deep thrust I made. 

I decided to make these last minutes count, pulling my cock out of him aggressively, grabbing Vincent and turning him once more, pushing him onto his back, down onto the desk, his legs now in the air, giving me the perfect view of his athlete’s physique. Now face to face, I snarled into his ear, as I thrust my pulsating dick back into him. ‘The louder you call me uncle, the harder I’ll fuck you. Do it!’ He looked up at me, startled by the power in my voice. But I knew he would obey. ‘Uncle, fuck me! Make me your boy. Fuck my boy-cunt!’ He took it like a whore, bucking his body, arching his back, and groaning at the pleasure he felt. It was now time for the grand finale.

I took hold of Vincent’s thighs and thrust deep, balls deep, all the way. Then, slowly, agonisingly drawing out of him, I pushed in again. And again. And again, each time enjoying the sensation of his arse muscles closing in on my cock head. And now I upped the pace, hammering home, roaring with pure energy as I brought him to orgasm, his thick cum splattering over his face and his chest. The sight of the boy covered in his own juice took me over the edge and I came long and hard, shuddering with delight. Finally, I fell on top of the boy, exhausted and spent. After long, tense moments, the orgasm subsided and I pulled my still rock hard cock out of Vincent.

It was over. Uncle had used the boy for pure pleasure, to bask in his cum covered orgasm. It hadn’t been a romantic fuck. I pulled up my shorts, took hold of my towel and toilet bag, opened the door and left without a word. It had taken me thirty years, but I had bent a Nottingham jock over and fucked his brains out. A glimmer of a thought came suddenly alight in my mind. Tomorrow, after visiting my aunt and uncle and before heading north, why not spend a couple of days in Nottingham? I could then see if there were more jocks who secretly wanted uncle’s cock.