The Stench

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Adam squeezes the piss from the just-used hockey sweaters.
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Copyright 2007

Adam Hornby had been a star forward until three years earlier, when he blocked a ninety-mile-an-hour, slapshot with his left ankle, preventing what would have been a certain goal, but shattering the ankle beyond repair. He was only twenty-four, and in his hockey prime when the calamitous incident took place.

The equipment manager position was offered to him when the previous manager, who'd been with the team for more than twenty years was lured, with the offer of much more money, to the Ohio Buskers.

It was providential, Adam felt, that he'd gotten a job that almost satisfied his fetishes. Being so well known and easily recognizable, it would've been impossible for him to seek out companions with the same needs. And being so close to so many hunky, young athletes, he was certain that, eventually, something good would happen, one day with one of them.

He sat in a corner of the room, surrounded by a pile of game-worn, Hockey equipment. By now, the stench was unbearable. The game had ended, two hours earlier, the team had showered, dressed in their street clothes, and left the arena.

Adam was, now, alone in the room. He smiled contentedly as he held the number twelve, sweat-soaked jersey to his nose and inhaled, deeply. Any one of the twenty-three, stinking jerseys would have been quite satisfactory, but that particular one was very special; it had been sweat-soaked by his all time, favorite combatant, the rookie, nineteen-year-old Eighan Harrison.

Adam, who never ceased to amazed by the quantity of perspiration sucked up and retained in the teams' sweaters, tilted his head back and wrung the jersey until a shower of Eighan's sweat started pouring onto his face and into his mouth. And when he couldn't squeeze one more drop from it, he grabbed another, at random, trying to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for the exquisite nectar of the Gods.

By night's end, he would have stockpiled players' sweat from every source. He'd transfer what was left, after he'd drunk his fill, to a bottle, from which he'd quench his thirst, while watching the game from behind the players' bench.

Now, frenzied, and crawling around on his hands and knees, he searched for the underwear marked with the magic number twelve. Panicking, he threw soggy sportswear in every direction, until he finally had it in his grasp. Eighan's underwear, the cream o the crap, he, generally, saved until last; but tonight, Adam was being terribly piggish.

He cursed the exceedingly low light level, but it was essential that nobody knew he was still in the room. His eyes strained, until he finally breathed a deep sigh of relief- the skid marks were there, as he'd hoped they'd be.

Wasting not another moment, the crap-stained sections were held up to his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, through his nose, for several minutes before stuffing his mouth with the scrumptious, sweaty, shitty garment.

Having greedily sucked out all of the delicacies, and feeling as happy as a pig in shit, Adam sighed deeply. Then, turning off the only light, he stretched out, wearing number twelve's jock strap, like a gas mask, over his nose and mouth.

Covering his nakedness with the squelchy, battle gear of the twenty-three young, hunky, Warriors, He fished out his hard cock; and, with the help of Harrison's erotic, jock strap fragrance that was raising him to a fantastic high, he jerked himself to a tremendous orgasm. After licking his cum from his hand, he wiped up with Eighan's underwear. Only then, after donning his gas mask, again, did he drift off with a big smile on his sweat and shit-covered face.

He didn't need sleep, but really wanted, only, to lie in the dark, erotically-scented room to fantasize his gladiators, some jerking their big cock, others waiting and ready to piss. When the momentous time arrived, they would, enthusiastically shoot hot cum and piss all over him.

He passionately hoped that one day, soon, Eighan would allow him to take his gorgeous, uncut cock in his mouth and piss, endlessly.

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