I once fantasized about sucking off a cross-country team. That morphed into this story set in a dystopian future.
Thanks, as always, to LarryInSeattle.
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The problem with choosing the full marathon is the wait,
Chd thought to himself. Worse, if you want a good spot along the bar, you had to get there early. He was ready and waiting a good twenty-minutes before the first runner could realistically be expected. His wife had chosen the 10K race. He had no doubt she was already enjoying herself, while he knelt here, cock and balls aching with a thirst for cum that was slaked only twice a year. Even though he'd arrived early, he'd not been the first. He looked up and down the row. There were four others on this bench, and there were six benches, three lining each side of the wide path leading from the finish line. Even if the runners bunched up, no one would have to wait very long. He shifted his weight. The padding was comfortable enough but, comfortable or not, twenty minutes of kneeling and you got a bit stiff. He kept his hands away from his cock. You cum, you're done. He tried to recall how many runners were in this group, one-fifty, two hundred? He told himself to relax. There would be plenty of cock to go around. It was theoretically possible to get none and for someone else to get it all but that was unlikely. He usually did well, garnering more than his share. The record, official record anyway, for the greatest number of blowjobs in one setting was still a woman, a century ago, who blew 249 cocks in 14 hours. It pissed him off that his wife took great delight in the fact the blow job record was still held by a woman. Chd had no interest in blowing 249 cocks. A dozen or so would hold him and even then, his jaw would be aching.
He rested his elbows on the padded railing and leaned out to look down the road leading to the finish line. Nothing. It never crossed his mind that the structure he knelt on, and rested his elbows on, looked very much like a communion rail. He'd never heard of communion. There'd still be a wait after the first runner crossed. The runners usually need some time to cool down first and when he was ready, there was no guarantee he'd choose Chd. Despite his early arrival at the Greater Cincinnati Marathon Cock Sucking Station No. 2, GCMCSS2 for short, he was second in line on the second bench. It was possible the first six runners would simply shove their cocks in the first six open mouths. Fuck, it was worse than that, he realized, there were the three benches across the way. He shook his head, determined not to be so negative. A runner didn't go to who was first in line, he went to the person he wanted to suck his dick. He took a drink of water, then swished TruSpit around inside his mouth to re-lubricate it.
He leaned forward. Nothing.
Damn. It had been six months. This was only the third time he and Ls had signed up. They'd been hesitant, not that they hadn't had plenty of other partners but not so many all at once and not while a Holo-Vid was being live streamed all over the solar system. Vaccinations for HIV, herpes, and the ability to produce antibiotics tailored to whatever strain of clap, chlamydia, chancroid or syph you'd picked up, had allowed humanity to go back to what it was best at - fucking. Well, it was better at killing but that was a thing of the past. Fucking had moved into first place.
The sex runs were organized by geographic sector. There was one every week, somewhere. Even if he and Ls had the credits, travel was not allowed for these events. Every sector had more than enough runners and those that wanted to pleasure them. Gay. Bi. Straight. Group. Runners and fans were matched by preference. It wasn't just blow jobs. Ls would walk gingerly after her afternoon at one of the "Three Holes, No Waiting" stations. He looked forward to hooking up with her afterward, almost as much as he did sucking some cock, nice sweaty cock. She'd be leaking cum and he'd have enough appetite to clean her up properly before fucking her. Many of his compatriots would do the same. Relatively few of them would jerk off along the benches. Most would suck their fill of cocks and then go back to husbands and wives for their real satisfaction. He wouldn't be making love to anyone except his wife this afternoon. He wasn't here for love. He was here for lust - and cock.
Before then, however, he wanted nothing more than to drown in sea of cock, sweat, and cum.
The line of naked men, tall, skinny, overweight, buff, dark, pale, bald, and pony-tailed across the path from him stirred. He followed their gaze and his pulse quickened. Here they came. Now that the runners were coming he'd make them cum. He smiled at his silent joke.
Not surprisingly, the runners were tall, or at least looked tall, and rather gangly. Chd wasn't worried. Skinny dudes usually have huge dicks, not that it mattered. What mattered to him was for the skinny dudes to have balls full of cum. He was essentially straight. His bi side consisted almost entirely of being a cum slut. He didn't fuck men, or get fucked by them. He wasn't interested in getting blown by a man, either. His obsession was the sucking of hard cock and being rewarded with cum, in his mouth, on his face, in his hair, on his chest. That, and sweat. He'd lick sweat off taut abs, dip it out of belly buttons with the dip of his tongue, lick it off the side of panting chests. Cum. Sweat. Give him the smell of a man's crotch, his pits, running with sweat and a hard, spurting cock in his mouth and he'd be in heaven.
The first runner crossed the line and now the torment of waiting increased an order of magnitude. The runner would walk back and forth, cooling down for who knew how long before continuing up the path and selecting someone. Chd kept his eyes glued to the man's running shorts, watching for any sway, any hint of what lay underneath the thin, sweat-soaked (fuck yeah) material.
There were a half a dozen men now walking, leaning on their knees, drinking the offered water. Still, no one had started up the path that lead to the benches lined up in the shade of the trees.
He perked up. Finally, someone was heading toward them. Chd licked his lips at the sway in the man's shorts. He was razor thin, skin dark and glistening like a wet dark chocolate bar. He went straight to an older, rotund bald man across the way. Chd wondered if they knew each other. Probably not; that would be against the rules. The dude probably had a thing for older, bald, out of shape, white guys that wanted to suck a black cock. Chd was torn between trying to get a glimpse of said cock and watching as other runners continued to arrive. The runner already had a hand on top of the bald head, which was bobbing up and down. Well, fuck, maybe after the runner busted a nut, he'd manage to catch a glimpse of his sweat and cum-shined cock. Most of the runners would leave here with only their shoes. The cock sucking fans and fanatics would be awarded most of the jerseys and shorts. There are no number tags. The runners were tracked, as were all citizens, by the transponder implanted at birth.
A pair of legs stopped in front of him. The man's body glistened with sweat. The shorts were lime green. Chd pulled them down and leaned over the bar, tilting his head to one side and scooping up the soft cock with his mouth. He'd learned to start with the cock. You wanted to be clear you're a cum pig first and sweat hog second. You start right off licking sweat or sucking at pits and you'd lose some guys. Even guys that dig that shit mostly wanted their dicks sucked. So, suck it. Simple enough.
Lime Green's dick was still soft. It was easy for Chd to take it all, to swallow that salty, sweaty cock and bury his nose in the sweat soak pubes. He held the cock in his mouth and inhaled. Chd's brain was overloaded with the deep, earthy musk of Lime Green's crotch. He pulled his mouth back, held the base of the now lengthening piece of man meat in his mouth, and began to work it with his mouth and tongue. Lime Green's cock got longer, fatter, and harder with every movement of his head. He was glad he'd taken all the soft cock in his mouth. He was pretty good at sucking cock but he could barely get the crown of the now rock-hard monster past his lips.
He slid his lips down one side of the beast and took advantage of the opportunity to push his nose into the man's pubes again. He turned his face into the crease between the dude's ball sack and upper thigh and licked and inhaled. Salt. Musk. Heaven. He caressed the cock with his lips and tongue as he made his way home to the bulbous head. He used both hands to milk the pre-cum from the shaft onto his tongue. He trapped the foreskin between his lips and worked his tongue under it. He tongue-swirled the crown a few times before dragging his wet mouth down the other side of the shaft. He buried his face next to the ball sack and began to lick. He turned his head, sucked one of the man's large balls into his mouth, tugged softly, slowly, released it, and sucked the other into his mouth. Then a slow journey back up the shaft, now covered in spit and sweat and slick enough to really stroke, to the head.
Chd engulfed the head and popped in in and out of his mouth rapidly, as both his hands stroked the monster cock. The runner grabbed his head and held it there. He jerked his cock forward, in rhythm with Chd's strokes. He gagged but when he pulled back, the hands let him. He forced his head forward, working his mouth around the enormous dick until he started to gag again. He waited, breathed, pushed harder. Even doing his best, he could get no more than a third of the cock down his throat.
"Fuck, man, what a fucking cock, damn," Chd said, cock against his cheek, smiling up. Lime Green flashed him a smile. Everyone had perfect teeth now but the smile was nice, nonetheless.
"Thanks, I'm glad you like it." The smile faded. "Now suck it, bitch. Suck my fat cock. I'm tired. My legs and ass ache. I want to dump a load down your throat and go lay down and sleep for about a day. Suck it."
"No," Chd growled. "Fuck it. Fuck my mouth."
He wrapped his hands around Lime Green's dick and wrapped his lips around the head. Hands clutched at his head. Lime Green did as he was asked. He fucked Chd's mouth. Chd kept his lips tight and used his tongue as best he could on the crown, but mostly he did his best to turn his mouth and throat into a cunt.
He gagged, hot water filled his mouth. He could feel slime and spit flowing over his chin, some landed on his chest, some on his aching cock, some on the top of his legs. Lime Green's breathing became ragged, his thrusts slower, shorter.
