Locker Room Circlejerks 04: Loser Licks Balls (Patreon)

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Chapter 4: Loser Licks Balls

Coach blew his last whistle of practice, and the whole team peeled off the field toward the locker room in a sweaty herd, shirts soaked dark, cleats clacking.

"Hope you stretched, freshman," a junior said as he jogged past me, and he grabbed his own crotch with a full hand and bounced it at me twice.

"Stretched what?" somebody behind me said.

"His jaw."

Yates walked a few steps ahead of me with his cap on backwards, blonde curls poking out the sides, his jaw muscles bunching and relaxing on a piece of gum. He glanced back over his shoulder once and didn't say anything. Tommy came up behind me and smacked the back of my head, one firm pop, and kept walking. His practice shirt was stuck to his bulbous pecs, his chest hair showing through the wet fabric in a dark patch.

I got to my stall and sat down on the bench facing the room. On my first day I had faced my hook with my back to everybody, folding and refolding a shirt. This time I sat with my knees apart in my practice shirt and shorts and bent down to untie my cleats, keeping my face looking bored while my stomach flipped every time somebody laughed across the room. My fingers fumbled the same knot twice.

Coach stood at the whiteboard up front, facing us, marker in hand.

"Tourney's this weekend," he said. "Bus leaves Friday morning. You're all excused from classes. That's your responsibility to let the teachers know. We're gonna be out at the crack of dawn, and I mean dawn, not dawn-ish. Hotel's four to a room. I'll post the list. Anybody gets a noise complaint, you're riding the bench till spring."

He capped the marker, set it in the tray, and pulled the door shut behind him without looking at anybody.

Shirts came off immediately, and the chatting got loud. Guys stripped at their stalls, kicked their shorts and jocks into piles, and wandered back to the corner naked, but nobody sat down this time. They stood along the bare strip of concrete between the two benches in a crooked line, pairing off and looking down at their dicks.

These guys hadn't even showered yet after practice. It smelled like balls. 

I quickly realized they were loosely self-assembling by size. Two guys squared up hip to hip and looked down, and Joey yelled his opinion on who was bigger before either of them had even stopped moving, and the loser groaned, effectively admitting defeat as he shuffled a spot toward the near end while the guys around him booed. One stocky guy grabbed his own dick, stretched it out and laid it right along his neighbor's to settle their matchup, and the neighbor slapped his hand away.

"Soft inches count stretched."

"What does that even mean?"

He did it again anyway, slower this time, and the other guy let it sit there, both of them staring down at their own dicks stacked warm on top of each other while three guys crowded in giggling and yelled out opinions that nobody agreed on. They both started to thicken in their hands while pressed against each other, before pulling apart abruptly, ending it without a final decision. 

"Doesn't matter anyway," one of them said as he turned away, butt to the group, trying to hide his dick, weirdly shy compared to the rest of the group.

Tommy and Yates ended up near the crook of the L, where the biggest ones had collected. Joey didn't stay in any one spot. He bounced up and down the line, hairy and loud, refereeing matchups.

"That's a tie. That's a tie, bro."

"It's not a tie, look at the head on mine."

"Head doesn't count."

"Since when?"

"Since Joey made it up."

The lanky guy who sat on my right that first day stood at the far end of the line and didn't bother matching up with anybody. Nobody challenged him. His dick hung soft against his thigh, thick as my wrist, and guys kept glancing down at it.

I got undressed at my stall, walked over, and stopped at the near end of the line with nothing in my hands. I was already fully hard, notably unashamed at this point. I'd been hard since Coach said "hotel."

Joey spotted it first. "Yo! Freshman's already at full mast!"

"So everybody get hard," somebody yelled, and half the line started tugging on themselves to catch up, which only made my odds worse.

I stepped out into the middle of the concrete strip, and the whole line turned to look at me.

Dominic stood first on the small end, a stocky but muscular sophomore with a farmer's tan that stopped in a hard red band at his biceps. I stood next to him hip to hip and we both looked down. Mine poked out past his by about a knuckle.

The room lost its mind.

"Dom lost to the freshman!"

"Dom, you gotta lick your own balls now."

Dominic shrugged and scratched his balls. "Whatever. Your girlfriend still likes it."

That got a big laugh.

Every guy after Dominic beat me, and it was obvious already. The next guy was about my length but twice as thick, his balls hanging low and heavy too. The one after him beat me by like an inch. The one after that was so far ahead that I didn't really have to look down, but Joey made me stand there anyway, pressed against the guy's hairy hip, while he crouched to "get the angle."

"Recount," Joey said. "I couldn't see. Go back, freshman."

He walked me back two guys and made me stand against each of them again, longer this time, his face down near our crotches, nodding seriously, while the guys I'd already lost to grinned and stuck their hips out at me.

"Why did I start at this end?" I muttered, and the whole line hooted, because every dick after that was bigger than the last, and I got to watch myself shrink by comparison all the way down the row.

And I only got harder. By the middle of the line I was pointing up at my own stomach, flushed red and bobbing with every step, and the room noticed.

"He likes losing, bro."

I reached the crook of the L. Tommy didn't say anything. He stepped in so our hips touched and laid his heavy dick against mine, and it covered mine base to tip with a lot of room to spare. Yates's big pale shaved one hung over his smooth balls, half hard and thick, and when I leaned my hip into his it twitched against me.

At the far end, the lanky guy looked down at me and raised his eyebrows.

"You don't even have to stand next to him," somebody said. "Fuckin' horse boy."

"Make him do it," Joey said.

I did it. Next to him I looked like I had brought a hotdog to a baguette store.

"Freshman lost to everyone except Dom," Joey announced. "Line up, boys!"

The guys who had beaten me filed up in front of me one at a time, and I bent over to lick the first guy's balls quickly, but by the second guy I realized it would just be easier to kneel.

I dropped down onto the concrete strip, pulling a towel under my knees, facing the long bench. It was cold and gritty under my kneecaps, even through the fabric. I let the next sack drop onto my tongue, barely bothered by what should have been the gross taste of balls after football practice. I even sort of liked it, weirdly. 

And then I did the next guy, and the next, and the room cheered every one. I started flicking my tongue more actively, seeing if I could make them flinch or jump a little.

Some guys were hairy all over the sack, and the hair tickled my nose. Some had small, tight balls pulled up close to their bodies, and I had to tilt my head back to reach them. One guy, half hard, slapped his dick against my cheek twice before he held still for my tongue. Another had big loose ones that hung low enough that I didn't have to tilt my head at all. They all smelled like practice, sweat, cut grass and manliness.

Soon I wasn't flicking anymore. I was pressing my tongue flat and dragging it up from underneath, slowly, and when one of them stepped away I leaned after him an inch before I caught myself. The cheering died down. Somebody said, "Oh, okay," and stopped clapping.

Horse boy hung back by the stalls with his arms crossed and didn't even get in line.

Tommy and Yates came last. Nobody had told them to. They'd stood back while everybody else went, and when the line ran out they both stepped up together, shoulder to shoulder in front of me.

Tommy went first. I licked up his big hairy sack, heavier on my tongue than anyone else's, and I opened my mouth wider and sucked one whole nut in. He didn't step away. I held it in my mouth, warm and heavy, and his hand settled on top of my head. I hummed around it and he liked that, I could feel his shaft twitch as it tapped my cheek.

Yates stood beside him. Without letting go of Tommy, I reached out, grabbed Yates by the hip, and pulled him in close, and his smooth balls bumped my chin. While I licked them, Tommy's dick grew against my face until it was rock hard and pressed along my cheek and up past my eyebrow, hot and heavy, leaking a little onto my forehead.

I let Tommy's nut slip out of my mouth, took Yates's dick in my hand, and stroked it with the full wrap of my fingers, moving down slowly and squeezing at the top. He stepped closer.

Behind them the rest of the team had stopped standing around. They sat down along the long bench in a row, naked, legs spread, their dicks and balls hanging off the edge of the plank, all of them facing out into the gap at me. Tommy and Yates stood over me, both hard now, both pointed at my face.

I knew I was about to suck a dick.

I took Yates first. He'd said before that I would choke if I tried, and I wanted to see if that was true. I wrapped my lips around the head of that big pale dick and pushed down, and it filled my mouth so fast that my jaw ached almost immediately, wider than the pencil case had stretched it. He tasted like salt and skin. I made it about halfway, stopped, and breathed through my nose while I rubbed my tongue firmly along the bottom of it, tasting it. Yates let out a long breath above me. Tommy's hand slid off my head and gripped my shoulder.

"Told you he'd choke," Yates said, but his voice cracked a little at the end.

"He's not choking," Tommy said.

I pulled off with spit hanging from my lip, turned my head, and took Tommy in. His was thicker, and the corners of my mouth stung getting past the head. I kept my fist on Yates the whole time, stroking him in time with my mouth on Tommy, and when I switched back I kept my fist on Tommy. Every switch, the one I left was wet from my mouth, and my hand glided over it.

A hand slapped onto my ass.

I hadn't heard Joey come up. He was kneeling behind me on the concrete, and he rubbed my cheeks with both palms, squeezing, spreading them a little and letting go.

"Missed this," he said.

His thumb slid down the middle and rubbed small circles over my hole, and I moaned around Tommy's dick. I felt Tommy twitch on my tongue.

The bench quieted. Nobody yelled rulings anymore. When somebody did talk, it was about me.

"Use more tongue, freshman."

"Take Yates deeper, if you can handle it."

Directly across from me, a guy on the bench leaned back on his palms with his knees wide, his dick standing straight up off his stomach. Nobody was clowning around anymore. The guys who were drawn to the spectacle were stroking themselves slowly, watching me work.