We meet Jake, second of three of Carl's regular partners, and find out what kind of insanity he bring to the table. Literally my favorite character. As usual, long, but now also very raunchy.
The days after the boys’ visit, they slipped back into the familiar groove, a quiet rhythm Malik had started to lean into without thinking too hard about it. Mornings kicked off with Carl shuffling around the kitchen, making expensive coffee while Malik grumbled about the smoke that always lingered, the two of them trading sleepy jabs over meaningless things. Evenings consisted of takeout boxes and weed haze on the couch, Carl’s soft laugh cutting through the hum of some random show neither of them cared about, often turning to endless reruns of Friends. The apartment smelled like them now, Malik’s sharp cologne mixing with Carl’s faint chamomile shampoo, and the pile of Carl-bought clothes in Malik’s corner kept growing, a constant he didn’t fight anymore. The boxers thing hadn’t stopped either; night after night, Malik’s hand found his cock under the blanket, as if despite himself, any random thing on his mind from girls to Carl to the simple idea of Jake or Ryan finally coming through, and the stained fabric left a breadcrumb trail for Carl to quietly pick up, wash, and return without a word, never letting Malik figure out what happened to the cum he left.
One afternoon, sprawled on the couch with a joint smoldering between his fingers, Carl glanced over at Malik, his hazel eyes catching the light. “Hey,” he said, voice casual but with that shy edge Malik knew meant something was coming. “Jake’s gonna swing by later. One of my… you know, guys. Wants his evening. Cool with you?” He paused, brushing his sandy hair back. “He knows you live here already. Doesn’t care, long as you don’t say shit. He keeps it on the DL, you know.”
Malik’s brow furrowed, the joint pausing halfway to his mouth. Jake. He’d heard the name a few times, random bits of information trickling in. “Hold up,” he said, leaning forward, “Jake’s got a girl, right? Why’s he fuckin’ around with you?”
Carl tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips, like he’d been waiting for it. “You sure you’re ready for the crude answer?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes were daring Malik to step into this messy corner of his world.
Malik exhaled a thin stream of smoke, setting the joint in the ashtray as he met Carl’s gaze, his curiosity outweighing the flicker of unease in his chest. “Yeah, I’m ready, lay it on me.”
Carl’s smirk widened, a rare flash of mischief breaking through his usual softness. He shifted closer, lowering his voice like he was letting Malik in on something sacred. “Alright, but you gotta promise this stays between us. Jake’s… intense. Obsessed with shit his girlfriend won’t touch—deepthroat, anal, facials, fuckin’ loves people worshipping his feet. She thinks it’s all disgusting, won’t even hear him out. But I’m game for it. He gets off on that, having someone who’ll take it all and thank him for it.” His hazel eyes gleamed, proud but guarded, watching Malik’s reaction.
Malik’s eyebrows shot up as he spoke, a low whistle slipping out before he could stop it. “Damn, Carl. That’s some wild shit.” He paused, processed, then nodded. “Yeah, I’ll keep it quiet. Swear. He seems like a wild one, no wonder he DL.”
Carl grinned, fishing his phone from his pocket. “Check this out,” he said, scrolling quick before turning the screen to Malik. It was a social media pic, some college game day post, bright lights and roaring crowds. The guy in the center was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair slicked back and a cocky grin, arm slung around a blonde cheerleader in a tight uniform in the navy and yellow of Carl's college. “That’s Jake,” Carl said, tapping the screen. “Starting quarterback. Big deal around here.”
Malik’s jaw dropped, recognition hitting like a slap. He’d seen this dude on campus, on social media, even talked about on the local news a few times. “Wait, that Jake? The QB with the cheerleader chick and the whole ‘future NFL’ vibe? You’re pulling him?” He leaned closer, staring at the photo, then back at Carl, a mix of shock and respect creeping in. “Bruh, he ain’t even gay. How the hell you swing that?”
Carl shrugged, pocketing the phone, his shy smile returning but laced with a quiet swagger. “Dunno. Guess I just give him what he can’t get anywhere else. Doesn’t need to be gay, he just needs someone who’s down.” He glanced away, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, like he didn’t quite believe his own pull either. But Malik saw it now: Carl’s unassuming draw, that soft willingness wrapping around guys like Jake and Tyson, probably Dre as well, although they had yet to clarify any of that. It was fucked up, impressive as hell, and Malik couldn’t shake the image of Carl on his knees for the campus hero, literally leading a double life.
Malik leaned forward, his mind snagging on one detail that wouldn’t let go. “Hold up,” he said, squinting at Carl, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. “Foot worship? You’re telling me you’re into that shit for real? No way you actually like it. That has gotta be the price you pay for getting QB cock, right ?”
Carl’s hazel eyes flicked up, a spark of defiance. He sat back, crossing his legs, voice dropping into that low, earnest tone he used when he was spilling something real. “Oh, I love it,” he said, no hesitation. “After practice, Jake’s feet are all sweaty, kinda rank, you know? He’ll kick off his cleats, and I’ll just… get down there. Lick ‘em clean, suck on his toes, massage ‘em while he’s sprawled out talking shit. Sometimes he’ll shove them in my throat, hard, like he’s testing me, and I fuckin’ choke on it, but I love that too. The smell, the taste, how he just takes over. You'd think it's disgusting but it's not, the way sucking cock might be unappealing to you and eating pussy to me, but each one of us can tell the other it's not. And it's not just the mental aspect of it. It’s not everyone's thing, but it’s my thing. It's not my thing with everyone, but it is when I really like a guy.”
Malik’s jaw loosened, his skepticism crumbling under Carl’s quiet intensity. He couldn’t picture it, little shy Carl, gagging on some jock’s dirty feet and begging for more. It was too wild, too far outside what he thought he knew. “Prove it,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He yanked off one of his tall white socks, worn, still warm from his sneaker, and tossed it into Carl’s lap, the slightly greying fabric landing as he was still processing what he'd said. Then, he said more. “Show me?”
Carl froze for a second, staring at the sock, then picked it up slowly, his fingers curling around it like it was something precious. He brought it to his face, eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled deep, a long, deliberate breath that pulled the scent in. His lips parted, a faint hum vibrating in his throat, and he held it there for a full minute, lost in it. When he finally lowered it, he looked at Malik, voice a whisper. “Thanks. That’s… yeah, thanks.”
Malik’s breath hitched, his jeans tightening as a rush of heat shot through him. He shifted on the couch, trying to hide the erection straining against the fabric, but his pulse hammered, loud in his ears. Carl’s gratitude, the way he’d just done it, no shame, no fuss, flipped something in him he couldn’t name. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Uh, when’s Jake coming through, anyway?”
Carl glanced at his phone, still clutching the sock in one hand. “Like, an hour, maybe less. Depends on practice.” His eyes flicked back to Malik, catching the shift in his posture designed to hide his growing erection, but said nothing about it.
Malik looked at Carl cradle the sock a minute, silently, and asked, voice low and teasing, “You want the other one too, huh?”
Carl’s eyes snapped up, wide and pleading, his breath catching. “Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, raw with want. “Please, Malik, lemme have it.”
Malik smirked, tugging off the second sock and held it out. Carl snatched it, quick fingers trembling as he now clutched both socks like a lifeline. “You can get high off em, if you want” Malik said, his tone half-command, half-curious. “Not much to do until Jake gets here, anyway.”
Carl didn’t hesitate. He pressed both socks to his face, burying his nose in the fabric, inhaling deep and slow, a soft moan slipping out as his eyes shut again. Malik grabbed the joint from the ashtray, relit it, and took a long drag, setting himself in the couch so as to face Carl. For over an hour, they sat there, Carl lost in the socks, breathing them in like they were a drug, Malik puffing steady on the joint, passing it to Carl now and then, rolling a new one. The room filled with haze, Carl’s cheeks flushed, his body sunk into the chair, totally gone on the scent, while Malik’s erection throbbed against his jeans, insistent but ignored.
He didn’t touch himself, though. Something let him sit there, hard as hell, just watching Carl unravel. It felt good, powerful even, to give Carl this and not chase his own release. For once to take care of Carl like Carl was doing for him, for no reward. The weed softened the edges, kept him steady, and Carl’s quiet gasps, the way he pressed the socks tighter to his face, fed into it. Time blurred, the minutes stretching, until a sharp knock rattled the door.
Malik’s head jerked up, the spell snapping. Carl lowered the socks, his hazel eyes dazed but alert. “That’d be him,” he murmured, voice husky, tucking the socks into his lap like a treasure he wasn’t ready to let go of. Malik nodded, exhaling a last plume of smoke, his pulse kicking up as the knock came again, louder this time.
Carl hopped up from the chair, still clutching Malik’s socks in one hand, and shuffled to the door. He swung it open, and Jake barreled in. Tall, broad, and loud, his dark hair still damp from practice, a gym bag slung over one shoulder. His white skin gleamed with a post-workout flush, and his cocky grin split wide as he clocked Malik on the couch. “So, he's the nigger you told me about,” he said, looking Malik directly in the eye. Before Carl could answer, “Carl told me bout your little setup, bruh. Crashing here, living off the fag’s dime, and you ain’t fucking with him yet? Fucking waste of good holes, man, for all involved. Shit’s a crime.”
Malik stayed dumbfounded, trying to look nonchalant. Carl had warned him, Jake’s mouth ran filthy, racist and homophobic shit spilling out like it was foreplay and a fistfight rolled into one. Part of Malik bristled, the casual venom hitting old nerves, but he let it slide, ambivalent, waiting to see where this went. This couldn't have been gratuitous, or for simple shock value. “Sup, man,” he said, neutral, sizing Jake up.
Jake didn’t wait for more. He dropped his bag with a thud and started peeling off his clothes right there in the living room, sweaty tee first, then shorts, kicking them aside until he was down to tight black briefs that hugged his thick, hairy thighs. His swagger filled the space, assertive and proud, like he owned every inch of the apartment. “Yo, Malik, is it? You mind if I get my dick sucked in the armchair? My usual throne. Fag’s got a mouth like a fucking vacuum, best head in town, and I like it in here.”
Malik flicked his eyes to Carl, who hovered near Jake, socks now tucked away somewhere he didn't know, looking small next to the jock’s bulk. “Should I go to the bedroom with headphones, or just, out?”
Jake’s grin turned feral, eyes lighting up. “Fuck no, nigger, neither of those, you should stay. Watch this little white bitch choke on my meat, shit’s a show. Ain’t no better way to see how a real man handles a fag, and it might teach you a thing or two about what to do, at night, when you're bored on that couch and he's just sleeping in that bedroom all alone.” He clapped a hand on Carl’s shoulder, rough and possessive, already stepping toward the armchair, laughing to himself.
Carl glanced at Malik, his hazel eyes soft but unreadable. “Up to you,” he said quietly, a contrast to Jake’s bombast. “Whatever you want.”
Jake flopped into the chair, legs spread wide, his confidence radiating as he hooked a thumb in his briefs, waiting for Carl to make his move. The air crackled, crude and charged, Malik caught between the pull of staying and the itch to bolt. He made the gesture of lighting the joint and grabbing his can of pop, indicating his choice. Malik hoped they thought it was simple voyeurism. In reality, he couldn't help wanting to pluck at the wound in front of him. Not only was the down low quarterback quite alright with Malik knowing he was having sex with Carly, he also did not mind if Malik stayed, literally phone in hand, liable to do anything. And he was calling this new potential wild card in his life a nigger. With a hard r, and a smile. This man wanted something. Maybe from him, maybe just to be remembered.
Carl dropped to his knees between Jake’s spread legs, the movement smooth and practiced, folding into place like he belonged there. Jake, still in his tight black boxers, grabbed the back of Carl’s head with a rough hand, shoving his face into the bulge of his crotch. “Sniff it, fag,” he growled, voice thick with vulgar glee, holding Carl there as he inhaled deep. Jake leaned back in the armchair, smirking at Malik over Carl’s bowed head. “See this shit? Little bitch loves it and she's eager for it, not like my girl. She’s all prissy, won’t even lick my balls. Carl here fucking worships me. Sucks me dry, takes it up the ass, licks my feet clean after practice. I can even make him eat my ass when I want to. Perfect little cocksucker. Man, I’d love to see my girl get gangbanged by some blacks,” he kept going, as if that was a natural continuation of what he'd said before, “stretched out, screaming, all that shit. But, like, if she can't take my shit, she can't take a room full of niggers, you know what I mean?" He laughed at his own remark, never dropping Malik's gaze. "Thought maybe Carl was getting some nigger cock on the side, you know? I really was surprised when he told me that wasn't the case. Well, at least not your nigger cock, ain’t that right, fag?” He yanked Carl’s head back, slapped him, then shoved him down again.
Jake grinned wider, finally hooking his thumbs into his boxers and yanking them down. His cock sprang free: nine inches at least, thick and veined, an angry cock that he stroked, slow and deliberate. Showing it off. He looked at Malik, eyes glinting with challenge. “So, what about you, huh? Your nigger cock big? Bet it ain’t touching this.” He slapped his dick against Carl’s cheek, the sound sharp in the quiet room, waiting for Malik to bite back or back down.
Malik’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing and took a slow drag, his erection still straining from earlier, now sharper under Jake’s taunts.
“Alright, Carl,” Jake barked, “the usual.”
Without a word, Carl took Jake’s length into his mouth, the sound wet and sloppy, the rhythm immediate and deep. Jake groaned, his hands gripping the armchair, his eyes fixed on Malik. “See that, nigger?” he slurred, the word now a familiar, almost casual, jab. “He knows what I like. Quick and dirty as soon as I arrive. Always ready.”
Carl’s throat worked, his eyes fluttering closed as he gave Jake a rapid, deep blowjob. Jake continued, “I come fast, real fast, the first time. Then he cleans my feet, worships ‘em like they’re goddamn gold. Then, round two. He’s a champ.” He punctuated the sentence with a thrust of his hips, pushing Carl deeper with his hands at the same time. "You been hogging him, nigger. Wasting good holes. You should be using him too."
And then, he fixated his eyes on Malik, his hands around Carl's head, and started pumping for real. A wet, strained sound came out of Carl's throat at the pace of Jake's thrusts up and pushes down. Three minutes later, Jake’s body shuddered, a guttural groan ripping through him as he came, his thick load spilling into Carl’s throat, his eyes planted in Malik's. Then he pushed Carl away with a dismissive shove. “Clean up, fag.”
Carl, still on his knees, swallowed, then lowered himself to Jake's feet. He removed the sweaty socks and as he threw them away towards Jake's gym bag, Malik smelt them for a moment, and finally began cleaning Jake’s feet with a methodical, almost reverent, attention to detail.
Malik lit another joint and offered it to Jake.
The quarterback looked at him with a newfound calm. “You gotta admit, he’s good,” he said, his tone shifting, less aggressive, more conversational. “Like a damn machine. He's my fucking fleshlight.” He chuckled. “And a plushie too when I need a hug. Ain’t that right, Carl?” Jake winked at Malik, "He tells me I'm pretty too, when I need it."
Carl’s hands stilled for a moment, then resumed their task, his silence a stark contrast to Jake’s boisterousness.
Malik's eyes never left the scene, Carl's writing on the floor as he sucked toe after toe. “Why him?” he asked, his voice low and steady. “Why not your girl?”
Jake shrugged, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips. “She’s… different. Soft. Thinks sucking on my nipple for ten seconds is spicy sex. Doesn’t get it. Anyway, I cheat on her with girls, mostly, but those are just for the thrill of cheating, you know?" said like Malik could actually know. "Besides,” he added, a hint of something darker in his tone, “Carl ain’t a ‘him’ to me. He’s… a thing. A tool. Like I said, fleshlight, plushie, he can even help me with classes. Ain’t cheating if it ain’t a person, right?”
Malik’s brow furrowed, a mix of disgust and fascination swirling within him. “That’s fucked up, man.”
Jake chuckled again. “Yeah, maybe. But it works. He likes it, I like it. Everyone wins.” He took a long drag, then exhaled slowly. “To tell you the truth I actually love it. You're fucking new here, but Carly knows what I'm about. When I say he's a thing, that's my love, right, fag?" A moan came in response. "Besides, he's always here. Always waiting.” He watched Carl, a strange mix of ownership and dismissal in his gaze. “He’s got this… need. Like he’s made for this.”
Carl, still kneeling at Jake’s feet, continued his work of love, his movements precise and unhurried.
Jake leaned back further in the armchair, stretching his legs. “So, you got a girl, Malik?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp.
Malik hesitated. “Nah, last ex was like six months ago. Been fucking around a bit,” he said, his voice low.
“Plenty of fine bitches around here, man,” Jake said, a grin spreading across his face. “You could pull any of em. But you’re here, with Carl.” He nudged Carl’s head with his foot, the movement rough. “He’s got a thing for black guys, you know? Everyone fucking does.”
Before Malik could respond, the quarterback had shifted his eyes down. Jake took both his feet, and used their big toes to open Carl's mouth, holding it by the sides. Wider and wider, and held as wide as possible while Carl drooled over himself and on the floor. Jake smiled at him, impressed, loving.
Jake, seemingly emboldened by Carl’s silence, started to push the boundaries. He shoved his right foot, already drenched, deeper into Carl’s mouth while holding the back of his head with the left. “Deep throat it, fag,” he commanded. “Show the nigger what you’re good at.”
Carl gagged, his body tensing, but he complied, his throat working to accommodate Jake’s foot. Jake continued to push, testing Carl’s limits, his eyes fixed on him, gauging his reaction as if he knew exactly when he'd have to pull back to keep it enjoyable. And come to think of it, Malik supposed he did. He always had to remind himself, after three weeks in Cal's apartment, that people in Carl's life knew him better than he did. The domesticity didn't change shit.
Malik watched, his jaw tight, a knot forming in his stomach. He felt a strange mix of arousal, disgust, and protectiveness. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.
After a while, Jake seemed to tire of the game. He pulled his foot back, wiping it on Carl’s hair. “Alright, enough of that. Time for round two.” He shifted in the armchair, his eyes fixed on Malik. “You still gonna watch, nigger?”
Malik didn't respond, his eyes locked on Carl.
Jake sighed. "Alright, Carl. Get back up here."
Carl stood up, his movements slow and deliberate, and knelt between Jake's legs once again.
Jake leaned back, his eyes half-closed, a smug expression on his face. “Alright, slut, give me that mouth.”
Carl took Jake into his mouth again, and Malik immediately noticed a difference. The rhythm was slower, less urgent. Carl’s movements seemed subdued. Jake, however, closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the sensation. His breath slowed, his hand caressed Carl’s head, and his legs opened even further, revealing his large, hairy balls.
An hour stretched on, the only sounds in the room the wet rhythm of Carl's mouth, Jake's occasional groans, and the murmur of Malik’s breath. Jake didn’t even open to grab the joint, only ever letting them know he was awake by the movement of his fingers in Carl’s hair.
And suddenly, he was active again, as if he’d taken a nap, awake and being sucked. Jake, seemingly forgetting Carl's presence, launched into a detailed conversation with Malik. He talked about girls, about sports, about anything and everything but the act Carl was performing. He bragged about his conquests, his plans for the future, his life outside the room. Malik, for his part, engaged with the same quiet, normal tone, his eyes never really leaving Carl as he was showing the extent of his devotion.
Carl kept going, his movements unwavering. He seemed almost detached, his eyes fixed on Jake, his focus solely on the task at hand. He alternated between lazy deepthroats, going all the way down, fucking the back of his throat at a slow pace, then going back up and sucking the tip just as lazily, with a wet tongue spinning around. Spit fell to the floor, and dripped on Carl’s chin and chest, all the way to his tented and soaked jock.
More than an hour and a half into that second blow, by Malik’s accounting, Jake's body tensed and his groans grew louder. He came a second time, a forceful shudder that rocked his body, and this time his hand flew away from Carl’s head as soon as it started. Last step in their routine, Malik supposed, as Carl sucked the cum out of the tip directly, applying as much pressure as he could with his lips until Jake couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed Carl away, soft but definitive. "Alright, that's enough," he said, his voice rough.
Carl pulled back, his face glistening, his chest heaving slightly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still fixed on Jake, but now with his mouth free enough to smile widely.
Jake stood up, stretching, his movements languid. He began to gather his clothes, his eyes still on Malik. "So, that's the usual," he said, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "Quick one to start, foot worship, long one to finish. Works every time." He smirked. "You should find yourself a routine, nigger. It's efficient. I mean, we do other stuff all the time, but there ain’t nothing like this treatment after training." He pulled on his pants, then turned to Carl. "Alright, fag, go take a shower. Get cleaned up." He clapped Carl on the shoulder, the gesture dismissive. "I want some alone time with the nigger."
Carl nodded, his movements slow and deliberate. He stood up, not even trying to look at Malik or argue with Jake, and walked towards the bathroom, leaving them alone.
Jake watched Carl go, then turned back to Malik, a knowing smirk on his face. "I hope you’re turned on, nigger," he said, his voice low and suggestive. "I saw you watching. You got hard, didn't you?"
Malik shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking away. He couldn't deny the truth. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice grudging. "So what?"
Jake chuckled. "So what? So, you need to blow off some steam. All that tension, all that… action." He gestured vaguely with his hand. "Gotta jerk off, man. Get it out of your system."
Malik shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. I can do it later, before sleep, like a normal guy."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You look like you're about to explode. Come on, nigger, it'll feel good. Just a quick one."
Malik hesitated, tempted by the need to figure out what Jake wanted, why he wanted Malik to jack off now that Carl was showering and everything seemed over, rather than during. He could feel the throbbing of his erection, but something held him back. "I said I'm good," he repeated, but his voice lacked conviction.
Jake pressed further. "Don't be a bitch, man. You want it. I can see it in your eyes. What's the problem? You can do that for me, no?"
Malik's resistance was weakening. He knew Jake was right. The tension was building, the need for release pressing against him. "It's… weird," he mumbled, his gaze fixed on the floor. Why for him?
Jake's smirk widened. "Weird? What's weird about it? You're a man. You get horny. You jerk off. It's natural. You just watched porn!" He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Come on, Malik. Just a little one. No harm, no foul."
Malik sighed, his defenses crumbling. He knew he was fighting a losing battle.
Then, Jake did something unexpected. He knelt down in front of Malik, his eyes locking onto his. "Come on, nigger," he said, his voice hard and demanding. "You gotta do me this one solid, yeah? After I let you watch my porn?” Malik's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. Jake leaned closer, his gaze intense. "I need you to paint my chest with your nigger cum, just cover me in it. And you’re taking too long, bro."
Malik's erection, already strong, twitched with intensity. The audacity of the request, the raw power it exuded, ignited a fire within him... Slowly, pushed ever further by Jake’s insane smile, Malik took his cock out. The jock held in a gasp, then another when Malik spit on his nine inch length.
Jake’s eyes traced the rhythmic movements of Malik's hand. "Yeah, that's it, nigger," he said, his voice thick. "Stroke that shit. Get it nice and hard. I wanna see that big, black dick pumping for me." He leaned forward, his hands clasped behind his back without anyone asking him to do so, his eyes glued to Malik's cock. "Come on, man, work it. I wanna see you blow a load. Cover me in that nigger juice." He paused, a crude grin spreading across his face. "Come on, nigger, you gotta do this for me, I’m playing in a few days and I’m gonna need all the strength you can give me.” He shifted slightly, his eyes tracing the veins that pulsed beneath Malik's skin. "Feel that building, man? That pressure? Let it go. Let it go for me." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive growl. "I wanna see it explode. A big, wet mess. All over me." His gaze now flicked up to Malik's face, his eyes gleaming with a raw, almost predatory intensity. "Come on, nigger. Give me that cum. Show me what you're working with. I wanna see that big, fucking load you’ve been wasting when you sleep next to a bunch of free holes." He licked his lips, his eyes never leaving Malik’s cock.
Malik's breath hitched, his movements growing faster, more frantic. Jake would just not let up with the talking, and every time he called him a nigger, Malik somehow felt himself become harder, wetter, hornier.
“Come on, nigger, give me that cum,” Jake kept chanting low, again and again, until, his eyes deep in Malik’s, he just added off hand, “just fucking cream me like the niggers on my team do, just keep me on my knees and cover me in that potent fucking cum, come on, nigger, give me that fucking cum…”
The urgency of Jake’s words, coupled with the sudden, sharp sound of the shower shutting off, pushed him over the edge. Malik’s body tensed, trying to keep his voice down as he came. His thick load erupted in a powerful surge. The hot, sticky stream arced through the air, splattering across Jake’s chest and dripping slowly towards his bulge, like the spit had done earlier on Carl. He’d barely registered the splash of his own cum against Jake’s skin before a wave of adrenaline washed over him.
Jake, however, seemed utterly unfazed. A wide, predatory grin spread across his face. “Damn, nigger,” he breathed, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s some potent shit. Just like they said. You boys really are built different.” He ran a hand over his chest, smearing the cum across his skin like lotion. “Feels so fucking good, yeah. Thanks, man.”
He grabbed his dirty training shirt from his gym bag, the fabric stained with sweat and grime, and wiped his chest clean, cum into the fabric. He then shoved the soiled shirt back into his bag, a casual disregard for the mess he’d just made.
“Alright, Malik,” he said, his tone shifting back to his usual, casual arrogance. “Say goodbye to Carl for me. Tell him, excellent throat game, as per usual. I gotta bounce. Girlfriend waiting.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and strode towards the door, leaving Malik standing there, his pants still unzipped, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his release.
Malik stood dumbstruck, his mind reeling. He watched as Jake disappeared out the door, realizing at the last moment the jock had taken with him a shirt full of Malik’s cum, a cumrag he hadn’t anticipated offering.
Next : we meet Ryan, the last of three, and find out what his particular deal is in Chapter 4. That will conclude the "introductions" portion of the story, as all our main characters will be there; Carl, Malik, Maliks boys (Dre, Jamal and Kev) and Carl's men (Tyson, Jake and Ryan), with only recurring players introduced later. Chapter 5 and following will see how all these very compartimentalized situations start to, lol, mesh
