RyanMI
underwear / fundoshi / jockstraps / loincloths
I’d play drop-in hockey on Tuesdays, often just a couple guys shooting a puck around. It was a good way to stay in practice and a good use of all the pads I’d spent way too much money on. Plus there was Rick.
Rick was a couple years younger than the rest of us, shaggy brown hair, furry chest and fuzzy butt. I’d sit on the wooden bench opposite him and he’d casually change into or out of his gear, making small talk. Rick wore Jockey bikini briefs that he’d slip out of and drop onto the floor with his jeans, revealing a handsome uncut penis that dangled beneath a forest of brown pubes. In no hurry, he’d rummage through his gear bag for his cup jock, then shimmy into it and arrange the hard cup over his meat.
After scrimmages, we’d strip out of our steaming gear. Jocks sometimes stayed on, but eventually they came off as we filed into the group shower and cleansed our sweaty bodies. I loved watching Rick soap himself up. I daydreamed about rubbing him down, every inch of him. It was almost impossible to conceal my arousal, but if Rick ever saw my glistening semi he never said anything.
One day I finished up showering before Rick and stepped back into the locker room to put my street clothes back on. Rick’s discarded cup jock lay on the locker floor by his socks and skates. Without thinking I picked up the damp strap. The white elasticized waistband and pouch were just slightly yellowed from perspiration. I took a closer look inside the sweaty pouch. A few light brown dots, pre-cum no doubt, colored the musky fabric cavern where Rick nestled his dick.
I raised the jockstrap to my face, fitted the cup over my nose and mouth, and inhaled deeply. The scent was complex and marvelous, salty and rich. “Hey,” said Rick’s voice. He stood in the doorway to the showers, wrapped in a short towel.
I dropped the jock and stammered something about mistaking it for mine. “Shut up,” said Rick. He uncinched the towel and it dropped away to reveal his fully erect cock. Despite my nervousness and embarrassment over getting caught with my face in Rick’s jock, my dick sprang to attention too.
“You like my used jock, eh?” Rick was vigorously stroking his thick shaft. He bent down to scoop his strap up off the floor. “I bet you’ll like this too.”
Rick pulled the white plastic cup out of its wet pocket and before I knew quite what was happening he ejaculated thick gobs of cream into it. Load after load erupted from his cockslit, filling the bottom of the cup. Some of his pudding splashed onto the rubber padded ring around the cups rim. Some of it dribbled out the ventilation holes. Swiftly, he clapped the slick cup over my face, moved around behind me, and began stroking my cock with his other hand, which still held the sweaty strap. Sperm dribbled down my chin.
I could feel Rick’s sticky dick pressing against my butt cheeks as I breathed through his fresh cum on the musky cup. My own orgasm was building fast. My tongue darted out and I began to lap up his warm cream off the cup. It was so erotic, I busted all over his hand, the jock, the rubberized locker floor.
Rick smiled and slipped the jockstrap on, freshly painted with my semen. He tossed the cup into my gear bag. “That’ll teach you to mess around with another guy’s jock,” said Rick. We laughed as we pulled on our jeans and t-shirts
Every time he wore that jockstrap from then on, he’d make sure I saw the stains. Lots of the guys’ jocks were stained, but I knew the origin story of this particular one.
Rick was a couple years younger than the rest of us, shaggy brown hair, furry chest and fuzzy butt. I’d sit on the wooden bench opposite him and he’d casually change into or out of his gear, making small talk. Rick wore Jockey bikini briefs that he’d slip out of and drop onto the floor with his jeans, revealing a handsome uncut penis that dangled beneath a forest of brown pubes. In no hurry, he’d rummage through his gear bag for his cup jock, then shimmy into it and arrange the hard cup over his meat.
After scrimmages, we’d strip out of our steaming gear. Jocks sometimes stayed on, but eventually they came off as we filed into the group shower and cleansed our sweaty bodies. I loved watching Rick soap himself up. I daydreamed about rubbing him down, every inch of him. It was almost impossible to conceal my arousal, but if Rick ever saw my glistening semi he never said anything.
One day I finished up showering before Rick and stepped back into the locker room to put my street clothes back on. Rick’s discarded cup jock lay on the locker floor by his socks and skates. Without thinking I picked up the damp strap. The white elasticized waistband and pouch were just slightly yellowed from perspiration. I took a closer look inside the sweaty pouch. A few light brown dots, pre-cum no doubt, colored the musky fabric cavern where Rick nestled his dick.
I raised the jockstrap to my face, fitted the cup over my nose and mouth, and inhaled deeply. The scent was complex and marvelous, salty and rich. “Hey,” said Rick’s voice. He stood in the doorway to the showers, wrapped in a short towel.
I dropped the jock and stammered something about mistaking it for mine. “Shut up,” said Rick. He uncinched the towel and it dropped away to reveal his fully erect cock. Despite my nervousness and embarrassment over getting caught with my face in Rick’s jock, my dick sprang to attention too.
“You like my used jock, eh?” Rick was vigorously stroking his thick shaft. He bent down to scoop his strap up off the floor. “I bet you’ll like this too.”
Rick pulled the white plastic cup out of its wet pocket and before I knew quite what was happening he ejaculated thick gobs of cream into it. Load after load erupted from his cockslit, filling the bottom of the cup. Some of his pudding splashed onto the rubber padded ring around the cups rim. Some of it dribbled out the ventilation holes. Swiftly, he clapped the slick cup over my face, moved around behind me, and began stroking my cock with his other hand, which still held the sweaty strap. Sperm dribbled down my chin.
I could feel Rick’s sticky dick pressing against my butt cheeks as I breathed through his fresh cum on the musky cup. My own orgasm was building fast. My tongue darted out and I began to lap up his warm cream off the cup. It was so erotic, I busted all over his hand, the jock, the rubberized locker floor.
Rick smiled and slipped the jockstrap on, freshly painted with my semen. He tossed the cup into my gear bag. “That’ll teach you to mess around with another guy’s jock,” said Rick. We laughed as we pulled on our jeans and t-shirts
Every time he wore that jockstrap from then on, he’d make sure I saw the stains. Lots of the guys’ jocks were stained, but I knew the origin story of this particular one.
