Ichabod had been forced to watch his rival’s mouth feast on his rosy-cheeked flower’s cunt, tonguing her clit as messily as he’d sucked off the other dullahan in the locker room. Worse though, was the fact that he’d been forced to watch the horseman partake of her sweet pussy from his hands and knees, as he was made the horse. Brom Bones’s unoccupied cock speared him open, hammering Ichabod into the grass as his mouth made short work of Katrina Van Tassel’s orgasm. The horseman had abandoned him when the girl mewled for more, leaving him floundering on the blanket, his cock unfulfilled and aching, forced to watch the brute fuck the girl of his dreams, another front row view to Brom Bone’s pulsing peak as Katrina moaned and his unattached head laughed at the schoolmaster’s misfortune.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ichabod snapped, his ears reddening as he pushed away the remnants of the foul nightmare. There’s no way he could know. There’s no way he saw.
“Oh, I think you do,” Brom chuckled. Ichabod watched, scarcely breathing, as the horseman palmed the front of his shorts, flagrantly adjusting his horse-sized cock. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Views, I should say. I think you enjoyed yourself, too.”
Ichabod blushed hotly, refusing to answer. There was no shortage of instances at that point, his imagination notwithstanding. He had watched Brom Bones fucking and being fucked in turn, had watched him sucking another headless man’s cock, had watched him ejaculate hugely, his big balls pulsing as they emptied, rivers of pearly white cum, leaking from the other head’s lips. He had watched him lick the pussy of the most beautiful girl in town, sucking on her clit as his fat cock filled her, pumping, thrusting, fucking her until she was limp, feasting on her the whole while. He refused to answer. You don’t owe this asshole anything.
“What do you say we make a little wager? I can forgo the field for one day. I’ll stay inside and play your game.”
“A bet? You want to make a bet with me?”
“Battering around little balls, right? That’s your sport? But if I beat you at racquetball,” the horseman went on as if Ichabod had not spoken, “you’re going to let me fuck you.”
His eyes bulged out of his head, and his mouth dropped open so far that his jaw was in danger scraping the locker room bench. Ichabod could hardly believe his ears. Brom Bones was entirely nonchalant as if making wagers to have sex with mere strangers was simply a part of his daily dealings. Maybe it is.
“And what happens if I win?”
Brom Bones smiled widely.
“That’s wildly optimistic of you, professor. Good for you. Let’s see, if you win . . . I’m still going to fuck you. But I’ll suck your cock while I do it.”
Ichabod realized, around the point that the fourth or fifth ball went whizzing past his face, grazing his great nose, his racquet useless at his side, that he would’ve been far better off challenging the big brute to a poetry competition, or perhaps a sonnet reading. A wine tasting, even a spelling bee. He had never won a game of sport in his life, and Ichabod wasn’t sure why he thought he would miraculously start now.
“I think that’s the match, professor.”
Ichabod was wheezing, but Brom Bones had barely broken a sweat.
“Good thing, too. My balls are ready to burst. Are you ready for me to empty them inside you?”
He half thought it was a joke. Ichabod headed into the locker rooms alone, not slowing when Brom was stopped by one of his glad-handing sycophants outside the racquetball court. His cock was hard, had been since they’d taken the court. You should just hurry up and change and get out of here. You can jerk off at home. If you sit here waiting like some lost puppy, he’ll be outside laughing at you. None of this was serious.
He should have known better, he berated himself. The horseman was a joker, he already knew. Ichabod had gleaned that from the stories he told the boys’ team — pranks and practical jokes, juvenile and mean-spirited, and he had no intentions of being the butt of one of them.
He had just pulled his bag out of his locker when the arrogant prick came sauntering through the locker room doors. Brom had his cock in hand.
“Why aren’t you in the showers yet? The least you could do is warm that scrawny little ass up for me.”
His throat ran dry. He had never had the opportunity to truly appreciate the horseman’s horse-like cock, having only seen it from around corners and across rooms. Now that it wasn’t sliding out of a mouth or thrusting into a tight ass, he was able to better appreciate the sheer size and girth of the thing — fat and full, as thick as the rest of him. He truly was a leviathan, and this fat, veiny appendage was the biggest thing Ichabod had ever seen.
The horseman gripped Ichabod’s cock in the center of his huge palm, once they were beneath the hot spray of the showers. The polo star’s hands were enormous, which he supposed shouldn’t be a surprise, now that he had seen what Brom was packing in his shorts. Ichabod realized what a precarious position it was in which he found himself — anyone could walk in; anyone could see them. A student, parent, anyone at all! — but Brom seemed not to care, not any more than he had that first day Ichabod had spied upon him.
He stroked Ichabod with a firm hand, pulling back his foreskin, an insistent thumb rubbing into that spot that made his toes curl, and cupping his balls easily, and it was all the schoolmaster could do to keep his cock from erupting right then and there.
“This is what you want, right, professor? To take my fat cock? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have watched so closely. I want to hear you moan when I fuck you.”
First though, he needed to be prepped. Ichabod braced himself against the shower wall, closing his eyes when he felt the first stroke of a thick finger at his entrance. His stomach muscles bunched and contracted with the first push, his knees shaking by the time a second finger was added. When he was comfortably taking a third, his knees were bent, his hips thrusting lightly, and his cock dripping. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
“Nice and slow, professor. I’m going to open you up nice and slow before I ride you like a filly.”
The first press of Brom Bones’s fat cockhead to his ass made him see stars. He felt as though he were being cleaved in twain, the pressure enormous, but he would have been lying if he pretended it did not feel good. The first slow roll against his prostate made him jolt, the second and third nearly sending him into paroxysms. When the horseman’s hand closed around his shaft once more, Ichabod didn’t care how pathetic the moan that pulled from his throat sounded.
Brom Bones began to pump him, stroking his cock to the same rhythm in which he fucked him, every downward stroke punctuated by the slam of the horseman’s hips. It was more stimulation than he’d ever experienced, more pressure, more pleasure, more more, and he cried out again, his cocktip drooling.
“You’re so tight. Does my big cock feel good in this tight little hole? I think your ass is going to have the shape of my cock after this, professor.” He’d placed his head on the ledge just above, safe from the shower’s spray, and his voice carried to Ichabod’s ears with ease. “Is this how this little cock likes to be stroked? You’d better not come yet, not unless you want to lick it up off the tiles. You’re going to come when I tell you to, understand? Hmm, I think you were sensitive right here . . .”