featuring coaches – Mansploitation

The Bodybuilding Coach Bottoms

When the tutor Donovan is approached by some football jocks, he thought he’d be servicing their hot, throbbing needs… But it turns out they have another plan! Coach Mike Bagworth has lost a bet, which means the whole team gets to watch as Bagworth endures a twink on top!

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Read the whole thing here

As he walked into the locker room, a part of Donovan was worried that this was all a trick. He was used to being pranked and teased by the seniors, the jocks and the bullies at Goldendale Hills University, and the three guys who had come to get him were all of those things. They simply said that Coach Bagworth needed him and that Donovan was to come with them.
Coach Bagworth was the head of the athletic department at GHU, and Donovan had jacked him off a couple times. Bagworth was in charge of the whole department, but he actually coached football. Football was the only sport that mattered at GHU. The only sport that mattered to Donovan, on the other hand, was gymnastics — he was here at GHU on a gymnastics scholarship.
The only reason Donovan didn’t believe right away that he was being pranked was that all three were shirtless, covered in sweat from the practice they had just finished. They were three big buff black studs who made Donovan’s knees weak. He was so distracted it wasn’t until he was in the men’s locker room that he began to get nervous. The football players wore shorts that barely concealed their jockstraps, no shirt, their bare chests dappled with sweat — it looked like they had just finished a practice when they came to get Donovan.
“Come on in here,” said one of them, snickering as he showed Donovan to the lockers.
But he hadn’t even known that he was going to the locker room when he followed the three black jocks. His heart started pounding as he realized that’s where they were going, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw the entire football team clustered at one end of the locker room. This was a prank, wasn’t it?
“There he is, you ready, Coach?!”
“He’s fuckin’ tiny! What’s he weigh, like eighty pounds?”
“I could lift him with my cock.”
They all whooted and hollered as though they were excited to see Donovan, who didn’t know any of them. They all sat there in their jockstraps and not much more.
Hair and beefy muscle spilled out everywhere, and the best thing about it was the way they touched each other. Men crowded onto narrow benches, their bare asses spilling out from their jockstraps and touching their neighbors’s sweaty bottoms. A few of them rested their arms around their buddies’s broad shoulders, and as Donovan walked in, that gigantic Samoan linebacker Poahi goosed his buddy’s ass, making everyone around him laugh.
Coach Bagworth was in the back of the locker room, against a wall. He wore the same shorts and shoes, no shirt, as the players, though he wasn’t sweaty like they were. Donovan didn’t really care for football, but Coach Bagworth was famous in his heyday — and he still retained his professional athlete figure. It was slightly concealed by a thin layer of pudge, which was just the right amount as far as Donovan was concerned. He had a few tattoos inked on his chest, dismal gray ones mostly, but there was a brilliantly colored American flag as well, and a large football on his belly.
The players only stopped the hooting when Coach Bagworth lifted one hand up and snarled as though he was going to order them to run laps. Their booming voices and chortling laughter faded away. Donovan’s heart pounded, and his dick stiffened in his pants, from anxiety, from horniness at the sight of so many nearly-naked football jocks, and from arousal at the smell of their untreated musk, overflowing jockstraps exuding their intoxicating scent into the humid air of the locker room.
“Donovan… right? That’s your name? You’re on the gymnastics team.”
“That’s right.” Donovan smiled. Coach Bagworth was pretending to not know Donovan well, even though Donovan had jerked him off — and more — on numerous occasions. Donovan wasn’t surprised. Most men he serviced did the same.
“He got swishy hips and everything!”
“Lookit him, he’s drooling and shit!”
“Well, Donovan… You may know we won an important game last night. A game that I… before the game, I said I ain’t think we would win. Nobody thought we had a chance, they was s’posed to be a better team, so I told the team I ain’t expect much from ’em,” he said. He took off his GHU cap and lowered his head. “For that I’m sorry. I was wrong. I should’ve had faith in my boys.”
They cheered and pumped their fists. Donovan saw that one, a six-packed white redneck in the front row, grabbed at his crotch as though his dick was hard. What was going on here? Donovan thought the air was filled with tension.
“And, uh… I made a bet,” Coach Bagworth said with a chest-rattling sigh. “A bet I gotta pay up on right now.”
“What bet, Coach Bagworth?” Donovan asked. He was trying to butch it up the best he could — he simply didn’t think it was a good idea to be flamboyant here in the locker room.
“Tell ‘im Coach!”
“His lack of faith was disturbing!”
“I bet these motherfuckers that they’d lose,” Coach Bagworth said over the nervous giggling of his players, his voice grim and pained. “And they proved me wrong. What I bet was… my ass.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna give it up. You can stick it me, Donovan, any way you want,” he said. “Right here in front of these fuckers. The only rule is that we never mention this again. It don’t leave this locker room. That’s why they picked you, cuz you got a reputation for being a discrete… person.”
“Take it, Coach!”
“Oh my god, are you for real?” Donovan asked. His eyes opened wide. But no one could hear him over the sudden eruption of masculine laughter and good-natured jeering. Someone pushed him forward, again and again until Donovan stumbled into Coach Bagworth’s chest. Donovan got a faceful of chest hair, meaty pectoral muscles and weary flesh that tasted of cocoa-butter soap.
“Stick him! Stick him! Stick him!”
“Make him like it!”
Coach Bagworth again held one hand up for silence. The football players all dutifully did quiet down, though an underhushing of jeers and cheers filled the locker room. Bagworth looked dourly down at Donovan and rolled his eyes as though considering backing out now. But he didn’t. He just raised his eyebrows as though asking how to get started.
“Uh… Well, do you… uh? I mean… will you… uh, let me… lick… and-“
“You gotta just tell him what to do, man!”
“He’ll do anything you want!”
Donovan blushed as the players all laughed. Donovan took a deep breath. He knew he was going to look like an idiot if he didn’t develop some confidence. He sighed and took off his shirt. He was about to drop his pants, then smiled and told Coach Bagworth to do it.
“Oh damn, shit’s getting real. Drop those pants, Coach!”
“Do it! Do it!”
Coach Bagworth dropped to his knees, sighing as the locker room slowly filled with silence, everyone watching with baited breath. It seemed a lot of players still thought Coach was going to back out, but he didn’t. Coach Bagworth had massive sausage-like fingers and he fumbled with the tiny button of Donovan’s jeans. They were tight, so he had to shimmy them down to Donovan’s ankles.
Everyone burst into laughter again at the sight of Donovan’s bright pink briefs. He wouldn’t have worn them if he knew he’d be baring them in front of football jocks. Donovan was so small and twinkish in comparison to everybody here — likely he weighed a third of anyone else in the locker room. Donovan felt small and weak in comparison, but that wasn’t a bad feeling for him. Donovan preferred to be among massive men with big meaty manhoods, and his own trim, almost feminine, body helped to allure them.
“Honey, you better start licking before you take my drawers off, cuz I don’t think you can handle jumping right into it. My dick is not for beginners,” Donovan said when things had quieted down enough for him to be heard. That caused another uproaring of laughter, and that Samoan Poahi clasped him on the back as Coach Bagworth closed his eyes and kissed Donovan on the bulge of his underwear. Donovan shuddered in anticipation at the feel of the Samoan’s giant jock hands on Donovan’s smooth shoulders.
Coach’s thick lips planted on Donovan’s dick through his pink briefs. That sent a shiver of pleasure up avery’s spine. Coach Bagworth looked away as though he was going to gag, but then he didn’t. He licked the entire length of Donovan’s dick through those briefs and rolled his eyes at the rollicking players in front of him.
“He kissed it!”
“How’s that taste, Coach?”
“Fo’ us it taste like victory. For him, it taste like defeat!”
Donovan moved away and leaned against the wall, forcing Coach Bagworth to turn around. That meant Donovan faced the rest of the team, who were now mostly standing, clustered so close together their bodies were pressed against each other, hands gripping each other, jockstrap-clad cocks dragging against each other’s bare asses. They all crowded in together so they could see their coach’s humiliation.
Donovan cleared his throat. “You know, boys, it’s considered rude to watch without taking your cocks out,” he said. “I wanna see all your meat.” They laughed, nervously this time, but one by one they did take off their jockstraps, their cocks flopping like limp baseball bats, while Coach Bagworth slowly lowered Donovan’s pink briefs. Donovan’s erection popped free. They all hesitated to drop their jockstraps at first because no one wanted to be first — what if they accidentally got hard? — but once someone had done it, no one wanted to look self-conscious either, so they all did it.
“God damn, boy, I was not expectin’ that,” Coach Bagworth said when he saw Donovan’s big dick. Donovan blushed and thwacked his dick across Coach Bagworth’s embarrassed face. Coach frowned and turned around. “You fellahs said you picked him cuz he was discrete. You actually picked him cuz he got a big dick, ain’tcha?. He gonna tear my ass up.”
“Swallow it, Coach! Swallow it deep!”
True to his word, Coach Bagworth opened his mouth and let Donovan’s bare dick plump down his throat. He gagged loudly, and his bristly beard hair scratched against Donovan’s shaved crotch. Donovan sucked in his breath, as bursts of pleasure exploded throughout his petiteness.
“Oh damn, he doin’ it! Coach is swallowin’ dick!”
The players realized that Donovan was aroused by the sight of their naked bodies. Some of them were embarrassed and covered their dicks with their hands but otherwise flexed their biceps and wrapped their hands around each other’s backs, showing off their pecs and sweat-dappled shoulders.
“Slam ‘is face, Donovan! Make him take it like a porn star!”
As the players egged him on, Donovan gradually lost his inhibitions. He wrapped his hands around Coach Bagworth’s fat head and ground his hips until he could get his entire dick down there. The pleasure running up and down his spine was incredible, mind-melting, making it hard for Donovan to focus on the entire football team standing naked before him.
They all were so close that their dicks touched each other. Every few minutes someone angrily demanded someone else quit touching them with their cock, and a fight almost broke out. But they were too glad to see Coach Bagworth humiliated to stop watching and fight. Donovan spied a few dicks twitching and growing half-hard.
Everywhere Donovan looked he saw a naked body, in every shade of brown, pink and tan. He writhed, his knees buckling as his crotch sent waves of pleasure through his twiggy limbs. He tried to pound Coach Bagworth like the team kept demanding, but he was too weak, not to mention too small, so he could do little more than stand there as Coach guzzled his dick deeply.
Precum flowed down Coach Bagworth’s throat, making him gag and sputter over the din of his cheering players. Coach Bagworth snarled around the cock in his gullet. Donovan gasped and trembled at the incredible pleasure wracking his body so powerfully it almost hurt.
“Make him gag, Donovan!”
“Woot-woot! He’s really doin’ it!”
“Never thought he’d go through with it…”
Coach Bagworth was more than a foot taller and at least a hundred and fifty pounds heavier than Donovan, making it awkward for him to reach Donovan’s dick with his mouth. Even being on his knees wouldn’t be enough, he had to stoop as low as he could go. The more he swallowed, the more he shifted until he was nearly laying on his belly, just lifting his head up far enough to reach Donovan’s crotch.
That left his plump ass, beneath his dingy gray shorts, ready for Donovan to slam it in. He could have cum down Coach Bagworth’s throat anytime, but Donovan knew he’d likely never have the chance to pound a football coach like him in the ass ever again and he didn’t want to give that up. He concentrated on backing away from his climax, while his cock throbbed and his hands explored Bagworth’s well-muscled chest and thighs. Donovan wanted to reach down and feel up Coach’s ass, but he was too short to reach, so all he could do was caress the meaty muscle of his back.
“Alright, Coach Bagworth, stand up, turn around and grab your ankles,” Donovan said. The last few words were drowned out by a torrent of cheers from the team, but Coach Bagworth himself was close enough to hear his words. Donovan knew that position wouldn’t really work, he just wanted to make Coach try it.
He hung his head as he stood, stretched his sore legs and bent over to grab his ankles. His gigantic asscheeks parted in front of Donovan’s face as he got in position, but he was so tall that his ass kept rising until it was in perfect position for Donovan to lick it.
“Damn, Coach, you tall as shit. He can’t even reach yo’ ass like that.”
And so that was what Donovan did — he didn’t have any lube, after all, so if he were going to pound Coach Bagworth in the ass, he was going to need to do something to loosen things up. Besides, it ought to slow down Donovan’s throbbing erection, so he didn’t blow his wad too quickly. The team gasped, and even Coach Bagworth snorted like he had never heard of a rimjob. Donovan could feel the snort in the rippling of his ass muscles and the tightening of his sphincter as Donovan’s tongue plunged in.
Coach Bagworth lifted one leg like a dog and his whole body trembled, in a combination of pain, shock and intense pleasure when Donovan’s tongue hit his prostate. Donovan’s face buried itself in Coach’s ass, so he didn’t see his face, but judging from the laughter and comments from the other players, he must have had a funny look in his eyes.
“Lookit him! Can’t tell if he loves it or if he’s terrified!”
“Both, I think.”
“Nasty-ass shit… Crazy!”
Donovan lapped at Coach Bagworth’s sweaty ass, which was choked with coarse black hairs. Donovan suckled all the salty sweat off while producing enough spit to lube him up. The taste was musky, savory, so hot that Donovan wanted to jack himself off — but he forced himself not to touch his dick, so he could last as long as possible. His tongue rammed in and out of Coach Bagworth’s ass like he was trying to get at the center of a lollipop.
“Alright, now you’re going to have to get down lower,” Donovan said. He kissed each of Coach Bagworth’s plump cheeks, then slapped his ass as he lowered it. Coach Bagworth shuddered. Donovan slapped it again, like a coach encouraging his players.
But Donovan focused on getting Coach Bagworth down low enough to get in his ass. Once again, his height was an issue — Donovan had to stand on his toes, even with Coach Bagworth on all fours. He kept his ass low and his head high. Donovan spread Bagworth’s buttcheeks.
“Stick it in ‘im! Stick it in ‘im!”
Donovan’s dick was throbbing hard, nearly ready to cum already as he lined it up with Coach Bagworth’s ass. Then he pushed it slowly in, adding some spit to make sure it slid in easily enough. Coach Bagworth grunted and bit his lip. His head dangled and he lifted that foot again until Donovan made him lower his leg — he was so big that moving one asscheek to raise his leg made it impossible for Donovan to penetrate him.
“Stick ‘im harder, man!”
Donovan was a bottom by habit. He appreciated the physiques of men like Coach Bagworth, and he enjoyed servicing them. He rarely got a chance to top though. It was intimidating to pound it into someone so much larger and stronger than Donovan. It felt wrong. Coach Bagworth was so big Donovan felt like he was going to be swallowed by his massive ass, which retained all of the power from his pro football days, now comfortably padded and able to take every inch of Donovan’s dick.
“Damn, he destroyin’ that ass.”
“I ain’t know li’l dudes could plow like that.”
Donovan beamed with pride. The pleasure rocking his body was so intense Donovan moaned out loud, the sound ringing out and echoing in the linoleum-lined locker room and overpowering even the hooting and hollering of the football team. They clapped, encouraging Donovan to be even louder and pound Bagworth even harder.
Donovan had never felt physically smaller yet emotionally larger, like his primitive mind thought he had overpowered Coach Bagworth. His heart skipped a beat as pre-orgasmic throes of bliss made all his muscles spasm. Coach Bagworth grunted and covered his face from the watching team.
He didn’t know how long he kept pounding at Bagworth’s wide ass. It felt like forever to Donovan, but at the same time, it seemed to be over in a flash. He wished he could have stayed deep in Coach Bagworth’s ass until the end of time.
But his orgasm overwhelmed him soon enough. Donovan’s fingers curled and he gripped Coach Bagworth’s thick back muscles. He held on, mounting him so high that his feet were no longer on the floor. Supported entirely by Coach Bagworth’s athletic body, Donovan used all the power of his hips to slam his cock down.
The awkward positioning and the lack of leverage made the whole thing hotter for Donovan, who grunted and groaned, losing all of his femininity. His body was assaulted by waves of orgasmic energy, making him throw his head back and scream even before the first drops of cum sprayed into Coach Bagworth’s ass.
“Fill him up! Let’s see it drip down, boy! I wanna see that nut in his ass!”
And then it actually happened. His body shot jets of cum, copious gobs of it, more than Donovan had ever shot before. It was a pity he shot it inside Bagworth’s ass, he thought, because it would have been impressive to see it puddled on his back or somewhere like that.
The orgasm was so incredible that Donovan howled like a wolf, and the team joined in, harmonizing with him. They hollered and slapped each other on their backs.
“C’mon, Coach, make a hobby out of it! You did so good with Donovan, why give up now?!”
“That’ll teach you to think yo’ team ain’t gonna win!”
Donovan’s body went weak, and if he weren’t laying on Coach Bagworth’s back, he would have collapsed to the floor. Instead he limply lay atop Bagworth’s spasming back muscles as he moaned into the meat of Bagworth’s shoulders. Donovan clutched his body tightly.
“Damn, he fillin’ you up, Coach!”
“You sure he ain’t pissin’ inside you?”
“I see it dripping, here it comes! Here comes the cum!”
Donovan lay there for as long as he could. He enjoyed the taste of Coach Bagworth’s back-sweat and the feel of his ass clenching around Donovan’s dick as Coach Bagworth struggled to accept all of that cum. Donovan felt his semen dripping out of Coach Bagworth’s thick ass, sticking to the hair that it matted to his skin. Donovan licked Coach Bagworth’s ass until he stopped him.
“Okay, you had your fun,” Coach Bagworth said, his voice booming to be heard over the jeers of the team. He stood up, wincing as pain erupted in his ass and Donovan slid down, his big dick flopping out. Coach Bagworth burned with embarrassment when the team clapped and hooted, again shaking their own dicks in his direction.
The cum flowed out of his ass and dripped onto the floor. Donovan instinctively reached out to grab it, stroking his fingers in Coach’s taint and soaking up all the cum he could get. Coach Bagworth grunted but ignored him as Donovan wiped the cum off all over his giant ass.
“Woo-hoo! You got stuck, Coach!”
“How’s that feel for ya!”
“You ain’t nevuh gonna underestimate us again, huh?!”
Coach Bagworth again used one hand to demand silence. Everyone fell quiet — even getting cornholed in front of them wasn’t enough to ruin his sense of authority — and he opened his mouth to speak, then winced as Donovan’s hand brushed past his tender asshole. Coach Bagworth bent his knees and supported himself with his hands on the bench in front of him. When a few tittering laughs filled the air, he again held his hand up.
“Shut your fucking mouths,” he said with enough authority that they all clammed up immediately. The humid, cummy-aired locker room was so silent Donovan could hear the water running in the pipes — girls must have been showering in the other locker room. “Remember this is it. Once this boy here — sorry, I can’t remembuh yo’ name right now — once he leaves, nobody says nothin’ about this again, or I’m kickin’ you off the team.”
He shook his ass, forcing Donovan’s hand away. He turned his head and glared at Donovan, who for a moment thought he was in trouble. Then he saw the players smiling and clapping silently now that Coach Bagworth wasn’t facing them. They held a fist up in the air in a show of solidarity with Donovan.
Donovan decided to be bold — he stepped forward and kissed Coach Bagworth on the lips. He only stayed there for a second, because he knew Coach would push him away once he had a chance to react, and Donovan wanted to end this on his terms. It was a short, sweet kiss. Donovan wished he could have dragged it out.
Then Donovan pulled away and walked towards the door. He didn’t even bother to put his clothes on as he went. The team cheered and clapped, and this time, Coach Bagworth didn’t stop them.
“Yeah, you go, Donovan!”
“You can stick Coach anytime you want, you got my permission!”
Once he was near the door, Donovan breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until he was away from all those gigantic alpha males. He grabbed his spare clothes from his locker at the other end of the locker room, then got dressed, abandoning the clothes he had come here in back there. He left his clothes both because it made his exit more dramatic to sway his bare twink ass and because it gave him an excuse to come see Coach Bagworth later.
Donovan had a feeling that Coach Bagworth would be willing to reclaim his masculinity by topping Donovan, and Donovan planned on giving him that opportunity tonight. He smiled and whistled a jaunty tune as he walked out of the locker room, already formulating his plan for this evening.

The Bodybuilding Coach

Donovan tutors football jocks, but he didn’t know their hunky coach Bagworth was willing to give him a taste too! Can Donovan satisfy his new favorite college football coach?

Read the whole thing here!

Read the whole thing here!

“I’m tellin’ you, man, it just don’t make no sense to me. My brain don’t work like this,” said Gravyboat — David Mitchell, but everyone called him ‘Gravyboat’ — running his fingers through his hair. He was a heavyset linebacker, just a junior in college but already balding, thick as a barrel of meat, with a big face, all the parts of which were too big for each other . He scowled and sighed.
“You’re doing a lot better. Remember when we started you couldn’t do any of these problems. Now you did half without any help from me, and you got most of the rest with just a little assistance,” Donovan said. He was a sophomore now and a tutor for jocks like Gravyboat, which had seemed more exciting in the abstract though. In reality, he’d spent most of his tutoring time sitting in quiet libraries and study rooms. “You’ve come a long way. You’ve improved so much-“
“I hate word problems!”
“You said before you didn’t like math because it’s not useful, but word problems show you how you can use it.”
“I don’t need to know which train will arrive when! That ain’t somethin’ I gotta do! I can look at the schedule, man,” He shook his head. “I can’t learn this shit.”
“You already are, Gravyboat,” Donovan said. He sighed. He was frustrated, but he managed to hide it from Gravyboat, who was easily discouraged about his intellect. Donovan patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s call it for today. You really are doing good, Gravyboat. Just come back on Wednesday.”
“Coach Bagworth said I don’t gotta do it on Wednesday because I have practice.”
“You have practice every day,” Donovan said as he leaned back in his desk chair. The study room was small and cramped, and it had nothing in it but a whiteboard, a trash can and four small desks. It was attached to the gym, so Donovan could hear the basketball team practicing in the gymnasium next door.
“Yeah, but on Wednesday he said-“
“I ain’t say nothin’ of the sort!” Coach Bagworth appeared in the doorway. “Don’t you spread no lies, Gravyboat!” He wagged his finger and scowled at Gravyboat, who blushed and looked down at his feet. Donovan felt tiny sharing a room with these two — Gravyboat was a college linebacker who was hefty even for college linebackers, while Coach Bagworth was a former quarterback, tight end and bodybuilder. They were gigantic, and Donovan was dwarfed by them.
But it was Coach Bagworth who really attracted his eye. He was a big burly man who was so macho it hurt, and he had a handsome face, with his bodybuilderish body looking too big to fit his mug. Coach Bagworth didn’t have a perfect body, but Donovan preferred men with that sort of physique over the Hollywood-handsome six-packed types. Bagworth had a little heft, a little thickness, and a whole lot of swagger. He grabbed Gravyboat by the back of the neck.
“Coach, get off me!” Gravyboat twisted away from his coach.
“What’d you say? You tryin’-a get outta tutoring? Huh? If you fail ya damn math class, you gonna get cut from the damn team, you damn fool, and don’t think I’ll do a damn thing to save ya damn fat ass!” Bagworth barked at him. “You wastin’ time, Gravyboat!”
“Coach, come on!” Gravyboat pushed away from him. Bagworth shoved him against the wall.
Donovan backed up to the window to stay away from them. Was a real fight about to break out? It seemed like it. Both men were giants — Gravyboat was six-foot, eleven-inches tall, while Coach Bagworth was a bit shorter but better muscled. You could tell that Bagworth’s padding concealed a barrel-shaped vat of muscle, while Gravyboat was just heavy all around.
There was something alluring about Coach Bagworth. Donovan enjoyed the sight of his body bulging from the ill-fitting tee shirt and pants, which were somehow both too big and too small for him.
The argument ended without turning into a fight. Gravyboat sulked out of the room after agreeing to return for more tutoring on Wednesday. Donovan blushed and nodded his understanding, his eyes drawn to Gravyboat’s meaty ass shaking when he walked.
Coach Bagworth had a little salt in his pepper hair, which Donovan wanted to run his fingers through. His body was big and burly, thick all over, the kind of body Donovan could and gladly would worship for hours. But there had to be a rule against that. GHU had a rule against anything worth doing, Donovan thought.
When Gravyboat was gone, Coach Bagworth looked at Donovan, his deep eyes taking him in as though he never noticed him before. He smiled crooked, awkwardly. “Thanks a bunch for all ya help… Donovan.”
“Oh, you’re welcome…” Donovan blushed coyly, batting his eyes in Coach Bagworth’s direction. He wondered if he could get anywhere with him.
GHU might have rules against anything fun, but nobody followed them. Bagworth did not seem like a stickler for the rules.
“I lost four players last year to academic ineligibility,” Coach Bagworth said, his eyes narrowing into furrows, which accentuated the cragginess of his face. “I wanna give you somethin’ as a thank you, since we just about to start the playoffs and we only gots a good chance on account of you bein’ so helpful. Davie Raython passed his pre-cal test.”
“That’s awesome, I’m glad to hear it,” Donovan said. He was surprised. Raython Lake was an idiot. He must have cheated, Donovan thought but didn’t say.
“So, uh… I was thinkin’, as, uh… like a thanks, I could give you tickets to tonight’s game. Front row, fifty-yard line. You’ll be right in the action,” Coach Bagworth said. He grunted like he was unused to speaking nicely to people.
That was true. Not only did Coach Bagworth speak mostly to his athletes — whom he was never polite to — he was usually only nice to women and children, and Donovan was neither. Coach Bagworth had been a bully when he was young, felt bad about it now and always overcorrected by being nice. Besides that, he had an instinct to protect women and weak men.
“That’s very sweet,” Donovan said. “But honestly, I’m not sure I’d enjoy that. I’m not really a sports fan.”
“Oh. I thought you volunteered for this cuz you was into it.”
“Nope. I had my own motives,” Donovan said. “I enjoy sports players more than I enjoy sports.” He licked his lips and came closer to Coach Bagworth. “I was kinda hoping that maybe you could thank me… in person.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He cleared his throat and said, more solemnly, “Thank you.”
“No, uh… not like that,” Donovan said. He walked slowly, seductively around Coach Bagworth’s towering body. He touched the small of his back, and Coach Bagworth quaked. Donovan reached up to his shoulders. He gave a massage the best he could with Coach Bagworth standing there, unmoving, unbending, and much too tall for Donovan to easily reach.
Coach Bagworth grunted. His body tensed up. His muscles were rock-hard, and they stayed that way.
“I would like it if you just sat down right there and let me service you.” Donovan kissed the small of his back through his sweaty tee shirt. The funkiness of his body odor assaulted Donovan’s senses, and a shiver of desire ran up his spine.
“Service…?” Bagworth asked as though he didn’t know what Donovan was suggesting. The way his cock was twitching in his pants made it clear he did understand and that he was eager for it to happen.
But he didn’t say so.
“I’ll lick you all over, I’ll swallow your dick all the way down,” Donovan said. “To the root.”He lifted up that grimy tee shirt and kissed the meaty flesh of Coach Bagworth’s back. He had a strong, well-muscled back, albeit slightly padded. His muscles flexed beneath Donovan’s touch, and his pecs rippled.
“Uh… Oh…” Coach Bagworth plopped onto the desk. It was an ordinary student’s desk, small for a college and especially small for Coach Bagworth. His ass barely fit, and he had to sit sideways, legs spilling out into the little walkway between his desk and the one next to it. He leaned against the side-arm of the desk.
Though he tried to look relaxed, he was all tense. Coach Bagworth closed his eyes.
When he was a young man, he worked on a farm in the summers. Some of the farmhands there cornholed each other — or to be more precise, they made lots of jokes about cornholing each other — but never went through with it — while only ever actually cornholing one of the farm’s workers, Carlos. Carlos didn’t work the fields, he was an accountant, and he was flamboyant and he wore women’s clothes and he had beautiful long hair and he spoke like a woman.
Coach Bagworth wished he had gone through with it then. Carlos had wanted him bad, but Bagworth always said no. It seemed like such a big deal at the time.
Now he regretted it. He had been so horny and frustrated back then — at the time, women rarely put out, and Coach Bagworth had remained a virgin until he was nineteen. He could have felt better anytime, if only he had gotten off with Carlos. He could have spared himself a lot of frustration.
So a part of him really wanted to do it with Donovan now. But he didn’t want to say it.
Back in the day, Coach Bagworth had had a six-pack to die for. When he got out of the Army, he had a six-pack without even trying, and that was before there was even a word for it. While some women were open to his advances, Coach Bagworth had long ago resigned himself to be unappealing to most women — not ugly by any means, but too old to be young and virile, not clean-cut enough to be a handsome older gentleman, he was too thick and heavy for most women, but not tautly-muscled enough for those who liked muscles, his charisma seemed to diminish every day of his life, and he hadn’t sweet-talked a woman in years. He seemed to have forgotten how in his haste to focus on commanding the players under his aegis.
“You, uh… what’re you doin’? You ain’t gotta rub my shoulders.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to,” Donovan said. He kissed the back of Coach Bagworth’s neck, where his flesh had curled up into little rows. Donovan loved muscular men whose necks did that. “You’re really handsome.”
“You just sayin’ that.”
“No, I’m not! I swear!”
“Shit… I sure wish females would see it that way.”
“I bet I can make you forget about women,” Donovan said. “Arms up, let’s go.” He lifted Coach Bagworth’s tee shirt and spoke with such firmness that Bagworth did it right away. His broad chest rippled in the chilled air of the tutoring room.
His nipples turned hard too, even before Donovan had reached out to tweak them. When he did, he smiled, and his cock throbbed in his pants. Donovan kept his crotch far enough away that Bagworth wouldn’t feel his erection but close enough that Donovan could feel the body heat emanating from Coach Bagworth’s firm torso. A grunt came out of his mouth. Coach Bagworth obviously liked nippleplay, and it made his whole body twitch. Donovan let his tongue trace a line up and down Coach Bagworth’s back.
Next door, the basketball team erupted in shouts and whistle-blows. There had been a fight, or an argument over a foul, something like that was going on. Donovan’s heart raced because he was fearful of being caught — if basketball practice ended up early, those guys would fill the halls and possibly see in here. He’d be fired from his tutoring gig for sure, and Coach Bagworth likely would be as well.
“I think you have a perfect body…” Donovan moved to the front of Coach Bagworth’s desk, and he sucked some of the stale sweat that clung to his chest. It was salty and warm, and it made Donovan’s dick tent his pants. He had to fight the urge to jack off right now.
“You don’t gotta say that.”
“What, it’s true!” Donovan said with a blush. “You probably think you need a six-pack, right? I confess that has its allure too… But for me, I like my men a little meaty and finely aged.” He kissed the furry part of Coach Bagworth’s bare belly.
Bagworth furrowed his brow. He still didn’t entirely believe this. He had hoped to say thanks for helping, but now he was about to get his nut off — that didn’t seem like a thank you. It seemed like something else he would have to be thankful for. Bagworth wasn’t used to anyone appreciating his body for more than its utility.
So he squirmed a little uncomfortably as Donovan pulled his pants down. Coach Bagworth had a fine, girthy cock that was veiny and warm. It twitched as soon as Donovan touched it — from anxiety, not arousal, yet. It was just slightly firm, soaked in sweat. His whole crotch was moistly humid, and the fragrant smell of his groin filled the air when Bagworth’s pants were down.
“Are you okay…?” Donovan asked because Coach Bagworth looked scared.
That was just because he was shocked at what he was allowing to happen. He’d never done anything like this. Back as a young farmhand, refusing to mess with that man had been what made him different from the others. They all messed around, he waited for the woman who would later become his now ex-wife. He was a god-fearing Christian man then and still technically was even if he had stopped living by that code in a lot of ways.
So now he couldn’t stop thinking about that, about the orgasms he had abstained from as a youth. He was letting Donovan go to town all over him, and he liked it. All those other farmbucks who had teased him back then would think it was hilarious that he did it now.
His dick popped into Donovan’s mouth. It was just the tip at first, as Donovan gauged how anxious he was about it. Coach Bagworth shifted his weight and grumbled, but he didn’t say anything. He just covered his face with one meaty forearm and leaned back in his desk-chair.
“Hmmmmm…” Donovan moaned around the cock in his throat. He could tell that sound was exciting Coach Bagworth because it made his whole body twitch and his pecs bounce, so he kept making it. He made as much noise as he could, spitting up on that shaft and then swallowing the mess he had made. The taste of his cock was musty and salty, and it made Donovan crave more.
“Ah, goddamn…” Coach Bagworth shifted around in his seat. It was uncomfortably small for his giant ass, and he struggled to remain still as his dick rocketed to erection. He was still nervous, but now those feelings were subsumed by an intense desire to get his rocks off. “Shit… It’s been a long time since I got off like this…”
Donovan knew that. Most men said something similar when Donovan got on their dicks. That’s because he was better at throating than any woman. Donovan’s throat was nice and long, and he was eager to use every inch of it. He knew exactly how to bring a man to orgasm right away — not that that was what he normally did.
He liked to draw this out as long as he could. He liked to tease his men, make them work for it.
Once Bagworth was hard and throbbing and leaking salty precum onto Donovan’s tongue, Donovan slowed down. He kept going, but he teased Bagworth with his tongue. He licked the shaft and slurped the sweat off his balls. He slathered Bagworth’s manhood in spit and went as low as he could, until he had Bagworth’s balls on his face so he could lick under there, teasing his sensitive taint.
That made Coach Bagworth shake and moan, his deep voice ringing out loud and making Donovan’s whole body crave him. Donovan was deep under his balls, slurping down all the sweat there. He loved this position because it meant Bagworth’s cock was right in front of his face and Donovan could worship it, while Bagworth’s balls throbbed in his nose and precum flowed onto Donovan’s fingers, Bagworth’s thighs quaking as he struggled to hold them aloft.
Then Donovan pulled away and dropped his pants, baring his pale ass, which Coach Bagworth kneaded with one of his thick-callused hands. His touch was rough enough to hurt but soft enough to feel good, and Donovan moaned out loud. Coach Bagworth moaned again, and his heavy legs stomped onto the floor. His dick jutted up angrily, precum flowing down the shaft. Donovan hurried to sit on his lap.
“Oh god, you’re not gonna hurt me too bad, are you?” Donovan asked winsomely, trying to make his voice sound as feminine as possible.
“Nah, I’d never hurt you, baby…” Bagworth blushed — he hadn’t mean that to say it in such a warm, caring way, like he was telling a girlfriend he’d never hurt her. He couldn’t believe he had called a man baby.
But he had only said it out of habit. As a big, macho man, Coach Bagworth had long ago learned he needed to be extra soft and nice to women if they were going to stick with him. So he made kind cooing noises and whispered sweet nothings as Donovan sat on his dick and aimed it into his ass.
It was just the tip at first. Donovan bit his lip. Coach Bagworth had a thick body and a thick dick to go with it. It wasn’t even all that long — though it was plenty long — it was just thicker than Donovan had seen in a long time, and its girth was more impressive than its length. He faced the front of the tutoring room and reached behind himself to guide Coach Bagworth’s cock. Donovan slid himself back.
“Damn.” He tensed up and struggled as a jolt of pain hit him.
“You okay, sweetie-?” Coach Bagworth cut himself off. Then he spoke more gruffly. “You alright, man?”
“I’m fine, just gimme a second…” Donovan groaned through gritted teeth. He loosened his ass and slid a little deeper.
Ah… There it was… A surge of pleasure ran up Donovan’s spine, and he shivered. The pain diminished into a dull, distant roar that he easily ignored. He slid down deeper, until he could feel Coach Bagworth’s unkempt pubic bush rubbing against his ass.
When Bagworth’s manhood hit Donovan’s prostate, he moaned and squirmed. For a moment, it looked like he was in pain. Coach Bagworth rushed into action, seeking to pull him off.
“No, wait, it’s-…” Donovan moaned so loud it made him blush. Coach Bagworth had stood up, and he held Donovan in place. Now that he didn’t know what to do and couldn’t tell if Donovan was in pain or not, Coach Bagworth just held him up.
Donovan was entirely off the floor, leaning against Coach Bagworth’s towering chest, rubbing his face against his muscles, while both of Bagworth’s hands held him aloft. He squirmed in his touch.
Coach Bagworth was so focused on his own uncertainty about what was happening that he didn’t even realize how good this felt for him. No woman had ever let him fuck her in the ass all the way down deep.
He pounded in and out with Donovan in his arms. He’d seen this position in porno, but didn’t think anyone would ever do it. He could control Donovan’s ascent and descent on his dick utterly, his angle, his timing, his depth of penetration. It felt better than it ever had with a woman, even — in a purely physical sense — his bitch of an ex-wife.
As his orgasm hit him, Coach Bagworth tried not to moan too loud. He was so big that he had a deep voice, which carried. He didn’t want to be heard by the basketball team next door.
“Shit… Aw, yeah…”
But it was hard to be quiet with the most potent orgasm he’d experienced in years coursing through his veins. Coach Bagworth grunted right into Donovan’s ear, and his hands dug into Donovan’s soft, smooth flesh.
Donovan shot his own load at the same time. He was cradled in Coach Bagworth’s arms, so he could use both hands to stroke himself off, spraying his wad onto the floor. He shot a big, creamy load that plopped into a puddle there on the floor of the tutoring room.
“Goddamn!” Coach Bagworth hadn’t expected it to feel this good. Worried he would drop Donovan, Coach Bagworth brought him to the ground and bent him over as he was cumming. He mounted Donovan from behind, his dick still all the way in there, throbbing and spewing his creamy load.
It seeped into Donovan’s flesh, gob after gob of hot juices flowing into him. Donovan felt it trickling into his body. The sensations wracked his body were so intense he couldn’t even cry out or moan anymore. All he could do was lay there stiffly, feeling Coach Bagworth’s hefty body writhe above him, his hot breath condensing on Donovan’s cheek.
At last, he was done. “Sorry, I crushed ya there,” Coach Bagworth said as he pulled out. His goopy dick rested between Donovan’s tender asscheeks. Bagworth kissed him on the back of the next, making Donovan sigh as endorphins ran through his bloodstream.
“Hmmmmm…. You don’t have to apologize, you’re beautiful,” Donovan said.
Coach Bagworth blushed. No one had ever called him beautiful before, not even when he was young and had a six-pack. He pulled away from Donovan. He took a deep breath and was about to say something else when a loud shout could be heard from the gymnasium next door. That was followed by a whistle blow.
Then there was a series of shouts, grunts and banging sounds. The whistle blew over and over, then got cut off in mid-blow. “Hey! Hey! Hey!”
“They’s fightin’ again,” Bagworth said. He shook his head. He couldn’t go over there naked, of course, so he raced to put his clothes on. When he heard more shouting, now sounding like people were concerned that someone was hurt, he ran for the door with nothing but his boxers on. His dick flopped, not even totally soft, in his drawers, which were soon moist with all the juices that clung to his crotch.
Donovan quickly put his own clothes on before sneaking to the double-doors leading into the gymnasium. A fight had definitely broken out among the basketball players. It had ended, however, because of Coach Bagworth, not because he had yelled for them to stop — though that was certainly part of it — but because they were shocked to see him nearly naked, and with a moist pair of boxers being the only clothes he wore. It looked like he had pissed himself, and that was what the players later told everyone had happened.
“You little halfwits had better shape up! Quit snickerin’, ain’t you evuh see a real man before?! If ya team was playin’ ya heart out, I could forgive a little grab-ass in the gym, but you motherfuckers ain’t been playin’ worth a half a damn! You got some kinda explanation, huh? Punks! Why do you got that stupid sneer on your dumb faces?! You been carryin’ on like hooligans again? Huh?!”
The gym was silent, and Donovan giggled as quietly as he could. Bagworth’s muscles tensed, all ruddy and sweaty — the players assumed that was because he was furious, but Donovan knew it was post-orgasmic excitement. He wished he could go in there and lick Coach Bagworth’s whole body as he scolded his players.
But he wouldn’t do that, even if he could get away with it. Donovan had another tutoring gig to go to.

Massaging the Football Player

Tupou is a Tongan exchange student playing football in Dallas, so when he gets an inconvenient stiffy, it’s up to the masseur Avery to help him out. Can Tupou get his needs met?

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Read it here!

Tupou Moala had been going along to get along since he arrived in America. He smiled a lot, and he nodded whenever he thought it appropriate. He agreed with whatever anyone suggested.
That’s because he was from Tonga, and while he had grown up speaking English alongside Tongan, he had trouble understanding nearly everything that happened in America. It wasn’t just the language — his English was good — it was everything about the culture. People spoke of television shows he didn’t know, hashtags he had never tweeted about. It might as well have been a completely different world. He felt like an old man angry about technology, even though he was only nineteen.
He had come to GHU to play football. Before he got here, he was only vaguely aware he was supposed to take classes at the same time. They had said that, but they minimized it. They said not to worry about the university part of university football. The only part that mattered was the football.
Now he struggled to get through his coursework, and didn’t even understand how to get tutoring — much less getting nerds to take his tests for him, which he also could have done if he had known that was an option — nobody had told him that because they assumed all jocks knew it. A lot of things in America were not explicit. Churches were racially segregated, for example, which nobody would acknowledge. It was impossible to know which churches were for white people or for black people except by going there and looking at the people going inside. Everybody assumed Tupou knew that nerds would do his homework if he asked them to. No one back in Tonga did homework for the rugby and cricket jocks who dominated the sports scene there. Those were the sports Tupou came up playing, and when he wasn’t busy with practices, he continued playing rugby with a local amateur team. Nobody here played cricket.
A lot of the people here didn’t speak English as he had learned it. There were a group of players from Florida who had spoken what Tupou was certain was a foreign language before finally learning it was, in fact, a peculiar dialect of English. He didn’t understand the black people who talked like rappers. He didn’t understand Coach Marshall at all, and they said he spoke proper American English. He needed to see a doctor every month and the medical system here was incomprehensible to Tupou — every time he went there, they said he was doing it wrong, signing in incorrectly, handing over the wrong cards, sitting in the wrong place. Every time, he did it differently, handed over a different card with his name on it, stood out of the way rather than sit, and still, they always said he was doing it wrong. It was a minefield too, because he’d found that he kept getting surprise bills in the mail, for medical appointments that he’d been told would be free. He assumed it was because he was doing things wrong, yet no one could tell him the correct way to do it.
But despite all that, Tupou really enjoyed America. The people were friendly, and the parties were fun. It was scary: there were so many people here, and none of them knew each other, it was so big, you could get lost in the woods here for years. It was cold most of the time too, which Tupou actually liked — he was big enough that he was normally overheated, so the cold was enjoyable.
Yet it was very very much unlike Tonga. There was not even any ocean for hundreds of miles in any direction. Tupou did not know how to take that. It wasn’t something that occurred to him until he had been in Dallas for some time, and then the thought of it gave him a claustrophobic feeling. Even though he could see for miles in every direction — Texas was very flat — he still felt penned in, cooped up and isolated.
Tupou was more than seven feet tall, and he had a full head of thick, wavy black hair. Men here did not have long hair, and many Americans made a big to-do about his hair. They thought it was either funny or gorgeous or weird or just plain interesting. Many men in Tonga have long hair. Many people in America liked touching Tupou’s hair.
He enjoyed American football. It wasn’t as much fun as rugby, but it was fun enough, even though Americans took it too seriously. He couldn’t believe they paid for him to come here and go to school just so he could play football.
It was because there were so many people. It took Tupou an embarrassingly long time to realize that was why. In Tonga, every single person would have to pay to see many games and buy many jerseys just to produce as much money as the university football league Tupou played in, and that was not even the main league! The National Football League was many times more popular than that, and a dozen or so minor leagues were also scattered around the country. And of course there were unpaid amateur leagues as well.
The city of Dallas had thirteen times the population of the entire country of Tonga. That was why there were many professional athletes in America, and virtually none in Tonga. Even their national rugby team mostly had side careers, and that was the most popular team in the country. In America, even minor sports have semi-professional leagues.
But the university sports team Tupou played for was very professional, and Tupou was expected to attend many practices, strategy sessions, weightlifting and cardio events, as well as massages from Mister Avery. He was an assistant coach who mainly taught gymnastics, not football, but he did provide massages for all of the football players. He was a very smart man indeed. He had an office near the showers in the locker room.
But Tupou had never gotten a “full massage” from Mister Avery. The others on Tupou’s team did speak of a “full massage” from Mister Avery, without specifying what it was.
Again, Americans love to not say things out loud.
Mister Avery had massaged his shoulders a few times and his leg once when he was limping in practice, and he had bandaged Tupou when he sprained a wrist during a match. But Tupou had never spent time alone with Mister Avery before he summoned him to his office one day.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked when his teammates told him he was to go see Mister Avery for a “full massage”.
His teammates had moved on to sharing stories of girls, and they ignored him. Tupou didn’t understand why he was supposed to see Mister Avery, or why his teammates were looking at him like he had done something wrong.
“Nah, you ain’t in trouble,” said George Hill — wide receiver — with a chuckle when he saw that Tupou was confused.
“Oh. What is it? What do I need?” Tupou said, and the others snickered. Tupou smiled as if he was in on the joke, but he did not know why he must now go see Mister Avery.
Perhaps, he thought, it was related to the hardon that struck Tupou the other day in the locker room. He was talking about a woman who he was to see that weekend, and when he told his teammates about her, his dick got hard. He was not the only one to get “boners”, as the Americans did say.
And Tupou had gathered that yet another thing Americans did not say was that those athletes who got an inconvenient boner went to go see Mister Avery. So perhaps that was why he was summoned to Mister Avery’s office.
“He’s prolly gonna jack you off. Do you do that in Tonga?”
“He’s gonna taste ya coconuts, Tupou.” That was Tuck McCarraher, one of those rednecks whose accents Tupou did not understand. He had long hair like Tupou but somehow it was always greasy, even right after he shampooed it. Tupou saw him shampoo it in the shower, and yet he came out greasy and hairy like a tired pig.
Tupou laughed along with the others, though he didn’t quite get it. It sounded like they were saying that Mister Avery would give him a handjob. But that, he assumed, couldn’t be right.
Still, the more he stood there, the more sure he was. That was why they hooted and made masturbation gestures.
The other players all assumed Tupou would freak out. That was why they made a big deal out of it. They more or less assumed that anyone who wasn’t from a Western country was probably from a pretty homophobic place.
But Tonga was one exception. Everyone hooted and laughed and pantomimed ramming Tupou in the ass — since Tupou towered over everyone, they just pretended to hump his thighs.
“He will wank me off?” Tupou asked.
The others laughed and said yes. They all thought it was funny that Tupou didn’t know it already. They had been talking about it all year. Tupou just hadn’t been listening or understanding well enough to pick it up.
But it was true. Mister Avery was known for giving out handjobs to any athlete who wanted it. They all thought it was better to go to him than to try to train with a stiff dick and blue balls. That was an idea Tupou well understood. Tongan men did something similar. Tupou was the son of a chief, and he was given a man to jack him off as soon as he turned eighteen.
Why did Americans not simply say so? They treat their women as fragile wisps, that was why, he decided. They did not want women to find out what men did behind closed doors.
“Will he let me ram him?” Tupou asked, his eyes opened wide. “In the bottom?”
That made the rest of the team fall quiet. Mister Avery handed out handjobs and swallowed their loads if they wanted that, but no one did anal. That, they all thought, was a step too far. No one here wanted to do that, no one on the football team at least.
“Prolly will, you big lug…” someone said, and everyone laughed. “He’ll love you…”
“Tupou’s crazy…”
“Mister Avery is small. Tupou will split him in half!”
They all burst into hysterical laughter over that. They all pretended they were talking about Tupou being tall — which he was, at nearly seven-feet — and heavy — which he was, being so thick and beefy he didn’t even fit in any standard-size jersey — and not his cock size. No one was willing to admit they checked out each other’s cock sizes in the shower.
But that was, in fact, what they were all talking about. Tupou had a gigantic dick, and Mister Avery was not a large man.
Tupou hurried off to Mister Avery’s office. He was ready to do it. That girl he hung out with this weekend had refused to have sex with him. A lot of the girls around here were like that, he had noticed, they talked about how cute he was and they played with his muscles and they rode his back like a horse, but they didn’t like the idea of actually getting fucked by the seven-foot-tall Tongan with a body like a shaved bear and a foot-long cock. They liked flirting with him and that was about it.
“Come in, Tupou,” Mister Avery said when Tupou knocked on his door.
Tupou walked in. He wore nothing but his jockstrap, cradling his sweaty balls and cock that barely fit in the pouch. He smiled at Mister Avery, wondering if those confused glances had been because athletes weren’t supposed to walk around in their jockstraps. No one had told him that either. But he shrugged it off for now. “Yes, Mister Avery. I will-“
“Did you talk to the Student Foreign Aid people? About the State Department?”
“What?” Tupou grunted.
Mister Avery sighed. “Of course you didn’t. You have to do what he says, Tupou, he’s been emailing you. He said the State Department needs an interview with you. It’s for your visa.”
“Oh.” Tupou grunted. He frowned. Were those other players wrong? Maybe Mister Avery was not planning on giving him a handjob after all.
“Is something wrong? He said it’s not a big deal. They just need to talk to you.”
“Oh.” Tupou grabbed his dick through his jockstrap. He wondered if his teammates were playing a prank on him. “Will you… Can I ram you?”
Mister Avery always took everything in stride, but that was sudden enough to shock him. He assumed Tupou was worried he’d be deported.
A long pause came between them, as both men froze like they had done something wrong. Mister Avery cleared his throat. His eyes bugged out. “Uh… Tupou…”
“The other players, they say that you jack them off. They say that you-“
“Tupou, I invited you in here to tell you about your visa, so you wouldn’t get deported. I don’t-“
“You don’t jerk players off? I want that.” Tupou crossed his arms over his chest. “I will do the visa, fine. I want-“
“I don’t just jerk players off.” Mister Avery wrinkled his nose. “That’s inappropriate.” He paused, and a sly smile crept on his face. “Sometimes… Men have urges, Tupou. Sometimes those urges lead to actions. It doesn’t mean anything happened, not really. It just means men are sometimes overcome by urges. They do things by instinct. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” It didn’t look like he understood. In truth, Tupou didn’t really care. He was waiting for Mister Avery to say either yes or no.
Mister Avery stood up and walked behind Tupou. He placed both hands on his broad shoulders. “I’ll just give you a massage. We’ll see what happens from there. If you need a hand at some point… I’d be glad to help out.”
Tupou smiled. He nodded. He could tell what was going to happen, and he enjoyed the massage — Mister Avery was really very good at it. He sighed, the stresses of dealing with a foreign country flowing away from him as he sunk down in the chair at Mister Avery’s desk.
His stiffness diminished slowly at first, then quickly. Tupou sat stiff until he took a big long breath, and he realized for sure that he was not in trouble. He had not done something wrong. Mister Avery was going to jack him off after all, and for now, the massage eased away the aches in his shoulders, then his back and his arms.
Soon enough, his muscles were big and soft now, relaxed, like liquefied meat beneath Mister Avery’s soft fingers. Tupou had to fight off the urge to kiss Mister Avery on the lips.
Somehow, Tupou ended up on the couch on one side of Mister Avery’s office. He just lay there, lounging, while Mister Avery kneaded his thick flesh. His jockstrap was off now, his massive uncut cock dangling over the side. Tupou couldn’t remembered if he had taken it off, or if Mister Avery had.
At last, it was happening. Tupou let out a baritone moan that echoed in the tiny cement-walled office. His cock throbbed, instantly running to full erection in Mister Avery’s hand. Tupou was uncut, well more than a foot long, his dick flopping at first before it was as hard as iron.
Mister Avery stroked it slowly, teasing him, his other hand continuing to caress Tupou’s chest and shoulders. Tupou licked his lips. He wanted to demand that Mister Avery start jerking him off — the other players had implied it was allowed, after all — but he had a feeling it would be better to not say it out loud. It seemed a lot of Americans were more willing to do things like this as long as they never had to admit they had done them.
Indeed, his teammates only communicated about Mister Avery’s “full massages” through sarcasm, jokes, accusations, etc. Nobody admitted clearly that they themselves had done so. Americans never say what they mean.
“Hmmm… You were tense, Tupou. You must have been stressed out about moving to America,” Mister Avery said softly. He leaned over and sucked a few beads of sweat off in the valley between Tupou’s powerful pecs.
“Yes.” Tupou’s voice rumbled and resonated, the sound booming in Mister Avery’s ears because he was still bent over, licking his chest, so the sound was close to his head. He sucked on both nipples.
Avery’s head moved lower, his kisses and his soft lips making a trail down Tupou’s belly to his crotch. Tupou closed his eyes as his dick disappeared down Mister Avery’s throat. A wave of soft, blissful pleasure enveloped him, and Tupou stretched his arms and legs like he was just waking up.
“Eeeeehhhh…” Tupou groaned. His whole muscular body rippled from head to toe.
It had been a long time since Tupou had gotten jerked off by a man, the last time he did it was back in Tonga. He wasn’t even aware how horny he was until he finally felt a warm mouth encircle his dick once more. He moaned, his pitching island accent shining through in the sound as it resonated in the office.
For the first time, Mister Avery felt like he was being seduced by a player instead of the other way around. They often came to him wanting handjobs, but they never outright asked for it, and they certainly never asked for it. Instead, the other players usually just let themselves get hard while he massaged their shoulders or refused to take their jockstraps off because of an erection, and Mister Avery would “convince” them to let him help out. When they wanted to bust a nut, they just stood there hemming and hawing, refusing to either lay down or leave, until Mister Avery took the initiative to get on his knees.
But Tupou was different. He guided Mister Avery’s head in place, and he made sweet love to his throat like no football player ever had. Mister Avery tasted the sweet and fresh flavor of Tupou’s cock, which tasted of sunlight and ocean waves. He moaned and guzzled it down deep.
Salty precum flowed. Tupou was young and virile, already nearing orgasm though Mister Avery suspected he would last longer than most men his age. His dick was slick with fluids, which Mister Avery guzzled down.
The dome didn’t last long. Tupou was too large — both overall and in his cock specifically — and too enthusiastic. He gripped Mister Avery’s head and rolled around with him on the couch, like he might find an alternate throat in there big enough for Tupou’s entire cock. He plowed in and out with all his might, but somehow it didn’t come across like a violent throating. It was more of a plain and pleasant love-making session, and it made Mister Avery swoon with desire, hands roaming all over Tupou’s powerful thighs and thunderous asscheeks.
Eventually Mister Avery pulled off his dick, leaving thin tendrils of saliva collecting his lips to Tupou’s shaft. Tupou gasped with desire and wiped up all that spit and precum on his shaft, wiping it off on Mister Avery’s chin.
He was used to his men laying there, maybe pretending to be asleep or to think that his love-making was a form of massage. But Tupou took charge and made love to Mister Avery’s mouth.
And then, all in one smooth motion, he had Mister Avery bent over the couch. Tupou towered over him, flexing his chest muscles and gently but firmly forcing his cock into Mister Avery’s tight ass.
“Damn.” Mister Avery muttered through gritted teeth. He rarely got it up the ass — he enjoyed it, it was just a step too far for most of his players, so he didn’t do it very often. He grimaced as Tupou’s cock invaded his ass.
It was tight and pinching. Mister Avery sucked in his breath. Tupou wrapped Mister Avery’s tiny body up in his massive arms, plowing in inexorably though not cruelly. Just like when he had lovingly rammed his dick in and out of Mister Avery’s throat, Tupou had a way of plowing that was both aggressive and soft, sensitive yet hard and difficult and strugglesome in all the right ways. Mister Avery cried out for more.
The pain turned very quickly into pleasure, and when Tupou’s uncut dickhead hit his prostate, a jolt of pleasure wracked Mister Avery’s body, and a shiver of mind-numbing sensations ran up his spine. It felt so good he literally drooled and had to wipe the fluids off his lips, which still tasted of Tupou’s precum.
The couch strained to support them both as Tupou rammed his cock in and out. Tupou was gigantic and he plowed in an animated way, rocking the couch to its foundations and even making the floor creak. Somehow the rickety old office couch held despite its creaking and wheezing.
Mister Avery was shocked at how easy it was to take. For him, Tupou’s massive size was a challenge he wanted to rise to meet. Tupou was not used to that because the university girls he had been with since coming to America (and most of the Tongan girls back home) found his size a turn-off. Tupou was well-practiced in using his dick as gently as he could, so he managed to get it all in without too much difficulty, much to his surprise.
So they both moaned as they plowed hard. Mister Avery barely needed to jack himself off, which was good because Tupou plowed so hard he barely could. Mister Avery cried out, grunting and groaning loud enough that he was sure anyone outside the office could hear.
Hopefully, he thought, no one was there.
An orgasm ripped through Mister Avery’s body, and he shot his wad onto the couch. As he experienced the most incredible climax of his life, Tupou reached his own orgasm. He shot a huge load that filled Mister Avery’s tight ass.
It soaked into his flesh. They both sighed, and Tupou grunted something in Tongan. The indecipherable words rang out in Mister Avery’s ears as cum flowed through him, and the creamy, sticky texture of it coated Mister Avery’s body.
They both moaned together. “Oh god, yes, Tupou…” Mister Avery murmured. Every time he thought it was over, more cum filled into him, great gobs of it, more and more with every passing moment. Was that because he was so big? Mister Avery wondered, or maybe it was because he was a young and virile man? Or was it that he was a little — or a lot — socially inept and hadn’t had a girlfriend since coming to America? Maybe a little of all those things, Mister Avery thought, or maybe Tupou simply had overfull balls.
In any case, Mister Avery accepted every drop, letting it flow into him and seep into his flesh. There was so much cum in his body Mister Avery imagined he could taste its salty flavor.
Mister Avery laid limp on the couch, while Tupou groaned and humped his hips a few more times. When he was satisfied that every drop of cum had escaped his dick, he sighed and leaned back. Then he was motionless for a moment. At last he grunted again, and twisted his hips as though his post-orgasmic bliss felt so good it hurt. His cock popped out.
Mister Avery took a deep, relieved breath. He turned his head to smile at Tupou and gently rubbed his shoulders. “Good job, Tupou. I hope you feel better now.”
“I do, Mister Avery.” Tupou’s big goofy grin spread over his face. “If I need another massage, can I come see you again?”
“You can come see me anytime,” Mister Avery said with a smile.

The Basketball Team

Lance is teaching financial literacy to some basketball players when they have trouble concentrating… they need someone to service their manly needs, and Lance is eager to help out. Can Lance keep their attention long enough to finish his presentation?

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Read the whole thing here!

“Okay, guys, I know this isn’t fun,” Lance said. “But it is important. You won’t be able to play basketball your whole lives, so the money you make now needs to work for you for a long time to come.”
The team sat in front of him in the locker room. Lance would have rather done this in a more formal environment, but Coach Thickman had said that if you take the players somewhere else, like Lance’s office, after the game, a lot of them will sneak away. ‘You gotta git ’em when they still in the locker room’, Coach Thickman had said.
“Alright, before we talk about your options, let’s go over some terminology,” Lance said. “First off, risk. I’m sure you all use the word risk, but in finance it’s a very important concept. All investment is about balancing risk, and-” Once he got into the flow, he could tune out any distractions. He had perfect tunnel vision for this presentation. After having given this exact spiel plenty of times, he had it more or less memorized.
But he was mid-monologue when he realized most of the team wasn’t paying attention. They were either on their phones or chatting with each other, and one was distractedly rolling a joint as though it required all his concentration. None of them even seemed aware that they were supposed to be paying attention to Lance, like they thought he just came here to monologue about finance in an empty locker room and was willing to do it around them. Lance’s voice trailed off.
“Hey, gentlemen, shut up!” Coach Thickman barked, his voice weary and glowering. He jumped in front of Lance and meanmugged at the players. They did shut up, but they glared at Coach Thickman, whose broad, bare chest gleamed as he stared his team down. “This is an important presentation, and y’all gots to hear e’ry word of it.”
A long pause followed. Lance wasn’t sure if this was normal, or if the players were seriously challenging Coach Thickman’s authority. Thickman furrowed his brow in expectation of utter obedience and furrowed it deeper when the players looked at him like a crazy person for telling them what to do. A few rebellious snickers underhushed, and someone muttered, “Shut that ol’ nigga up.”
“Get’cha butts in the sauna!” Thickman said. “Now!”
The players groaned but stood. They clucked their tongues against their teeth as they sauntered away. More than a few glared at Coach Thickman and licked their teeth, punching fists into the palms of theit other hands, but they all did as told.
They didn’t move quickly though. They sort of sauntered in, all except for the one white player on the team, who hurried in first. Lance wondered if this meant his presentation was over.
When Thickman barked at the others, they hustled into top gear. “I ain’t say mosey into the sauna like sleepy glaciers, did I? I said get’cha booties in the sauna right now, pissheads!” They darted into the sauna, and all conversation stopped.
Lance blushed and bristled. Was that it? Did Coach Thickman think Lance was so useless as to make the presentation irrelevant? Lance was surprised how little of a chance he got. He hadn’t grabbed their attention in the first thirty seconds, and Coach Thickman had just given right up? That didn’t seem fair.
Then Coach Thickman’s hefty hand clasped Lance’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, hoss, they don’t wanna pay attention to nobody. You can give your spiel in a sauna, right?”
“Uh… in a sauna?”
“They’ll be naked, you comfortable wit’ that? You ain’t gotta be naked too. I mean… you can’t really go in there in a suit, you gonna get heat stroke fo’ real. But you can go in there in yo’ drawers,” Thickman said, walking away. “They won’t listen anywhere else. Too many distractions.”
Lance’s heart started pounding. He certainly didn’t mind hanging out in a sauna with a bunch of naked basketball players — Lance was a keen admirer of the male form, so he would enjoy that very much. He’d never given his financial-risk spiel in his underwear though. Would they mind if he was in there with them? What if he got a hardon?
The boisterous chatting of the players made it easy for him to find the sauna, which was at the far end of the locker room. Lance folded his clothes and left them on the bench outside the sauna. He kept his boxer shorts and a t-shirt on, since he knew his body would look pitiful in comparison to the players’s. He wasn’t in bad shape, but he was skinny and short by comparison.
“Yo, Coach, where dat white man at? My balls is stickin’, nigga! I gots bitches beggin’ me to come over, man! Let’s hurry dis shit up!”
When Lance walked in, one of the players — Trent Wyatt, a power forward — was standing right in front of the door, stark-naked, pantomiming aggressive action, he must have been who was bragging about bitches through the closed door. He bucked his hips into an imaginary woman, his thick cock flopping with every thrust of his body. His toned ass was dappled with sweat from the humid air of the sauna.
They all stopped laughing at Trent and looked at Lance. Everyone was quiet for a second.
Then Trent said, “So I told her it’s s’posed to hurt, you s’posed to bring along a girlfriend to lick yo’ pussy at the same time. Ain’t mah fault women hate you too much to get on that girl-girl trip wit’ cha.” That made his team burst into laughter all over again.
It finally died down after a minute or two, and the men all looked to Lance. He blushed, both from embarrassment and from overheating in the crowded, steamy sauna. Trent moved out of the way so Lance could address the whole team. Lance’s bare chest gleamed with sweat.
“Okay, guys, this is really important,” Lance said. “I know it feels like you’re gonna have this income forever, but you won’t. You can’t play until you’re old men. You-“
“But we’s gonna have sponsorship deals and shit, right?”
“Uh, well, some of you probably will, but not all of you, and that won’t pay like-“
They all cheered and clapped their hands as if that ended it. Lance waited until they were done before speaking again.
“That won’t last as long as you think, guys. Unless your name is Michael Jordan-“
But they weren’t listening again. They were talking over his words, bragging about what they intended to do with the money when they finally got it. They spoke of buying islands, of mansions around the world, servants by the fleet and yachts by the flotilla.
“Hey! Hey! Hey, guys!” Lance yelled until he had their attention again. “Please, y’all, let me get through this. You’ll make enough to retire as long as that money is wisely invested. Not in boats or tropical islands, but in income-generating assets. Who knows-“
“I got some income-generatin’ assets waitin’ for me back at the crib,” said one of the players. He chuckled a deep, raspy laugh, and the others joined in with him. “She about this tall, and she got a ass that ain’t nevuh quit.”
The door to the sauna opened. Coach Thickman barged in. The players all fell silent at once. Their eyes were downcast, avoiding contact with either Lance or Coach Thickman. Thickman wore his sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt, and his shirt became soaked in sweat from the steamy sauna.
“Hey, you goddamn shitwads, shut yo’ fuckholes and listen up! Cuz I know from personal experience that at least a half-dozen of you gonna call me in the next year, and be all ‘oh Coach Thickman, I spent all my money at a casino in Vegas and buying high-class whores fo’ mah niggas and now I needs you to pay mah child support or else I’s goin’ to jail and can’t play next month.’ And I ain’t havin’ that. Not even a li’l bit, nah,” Coach Thickman said. He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Put yo’ jockstraps on anyway. Mr. Williams here don’t wanna look at yo’ wingwangs.”
“Reckon he does…” someone said.
Lance didn’t see who said that, but it was obvious that someone had guessed he was into that. It was hard to hide his interest surrounded by jocks. Lance had managed to avoid getting a hardon, but it must have been apparent from the expression on his face and his body language that he enjoyed the physiques of the men around him.
“Hey! Nah!” Coach Thickman barked. “Don’t accuse the nice white man of nothin’.” When some of the players nodded their agreement, Thickman paused. He looked at Lance and raised his eyebrows. Lance blushed. The players hooted. Thickman frowned. “Okay, well, maybe, but still, you best shut yo’ mouths til he finishes his talk.”
“C’mon, old nigga, we got this,” Trent said. He stood up and wagged his dick, swaying his hips to make it slap against each thigh in turn. “Y’old man…”
Lance’s eyes were drawn to Trent’s massive cock. It was nearly a foot long and thicker than Lance’s forearm, and it was moist from the humid air, so it gleamed, the dark skin of Trent’s shaft practically glowing in the well-lit sauna.
“Hey all y’all shut the hell up,” Thickman said. “The league says you gotta listen to this white man’s speech. You gotta have financial advisement, fellas. Tomorrow I gotta fill out a little piece of paper and send it to the league. It’s gonna have the name of every nigga here — and you, Dirk — every nigga who listen up about finances. Whichever motherfucker ain’t on that list, ain’t gonna be playin’ till next season. Got it?” No one spoke, not even Dirk, the token white guy. Then Coach Thickman cleared his throat and opened the door. “So all you niggas best shut the hell up. And you too, Dirk. Listen good.”
“Thanks for rememberin’ me, Coach,” Dirk said with a laugh as the door shut.
For a moment all was silent. Lance was nervous. He felt like a bad substitute teacher who needed the teacher from the classroom next door to keep his students in line. Everyone looked at him.
The heat had begun to get to him as well. His underwear and shirt were plastered to his skin with sweat. Lance cleared his throat. “Okay, well… I’m going to assume that you guys know absolutely nothing about financial investing. That’s probably not true, but I don’t know what you do know, so-“
“Yo, math nerd!” Trent called out. “Nobody gives a shit. We all know what to invest in.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah,” Trent said. “I gots a recording studio, man. I got-“
“You have a recording studio? Does it make a profit?”
Trent paused. “I mean… I got an idea for a recording studio. Alright?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a place you record-“
“No, I know what a recording studio is. What’s your idea for one?”
“Gonna record all the rappers in town, man, all of ’em. I got connects with everyone around here, man. Ain’t gonna be Crips-only or Bloods-only, gonna get ’em all.”
“No you won’t,” Lance said. The sauna was silent for the first time since he had walked in. “You won’t get a single one. Recording studios are one of the riskiest businesses out there. The major record companies can offer multiyear, multimillion-dollar guarantees. You won’t be able to match that, and in any case, recorded music is barely profitable to begin with. Even if you win, you’ll lose money,” Lance said. “You know you’ll have to hire a dozen sound engineers to run that properly right?”
“I can do that.”
“Cuz your multimillion dollar salary from the league is paid out over a couple years,” Lance said. “Those sound engineers are gonna start costin’ you thousands a month on day one — they aren’t cheap. They demand salaries. They demand a guarantee of a job — they won’t move from here for some basketball player’s month-long whim. You’re gonna have to guarantee them a job, one that pays as much as your job is gonna pay. And you know what? They won’t sign up a single rapper. In addition to spending all your money opening a studio and spending all your time hiring sound engineers, you’re gonna have to spend all your time signing those rappers. Oh, and I almost forgot, your professional basketball career will take up essentially all of your time,” Lance said. “I’ve seen hundreds of athletes try to open up a recording studio. You know how many have made a profit?” He paused for effect. “Wait… fuck that, you know how many actually built a functioning recording studio that created at least one actual commercial recording? Zero. Not a single one. Fact is, it’ll take like a third of your salary over the next ten years just to build the recording studio, that’s before you buy any equipment for it, hire anyone to work it or start recording a single song. Again, there’s no money in recorded music anyway. You’d be better off opening a bar that books live acts.” Lance paused. “But don’t do that! Bars are an awful investment!”
There was a long pause. Everyone looked at Trent, whose eyes were downcast. Lance blushed. He hadn’t meant to go off on a rant like that. Every athlete he spoke to these days wanted to open a recording studio, and it was a dismal failure every single time.
“I’m sorry,” Lance said. “But really, I want you guys to succeed. You will be making enough money that you can retire. You can have fun in a recording studio. You can give money to your friends. You can buy jerseys for the little kids in your old neighborhood. But first you have to learn about mutual funds, not fantasize about glamor businesses. The most profitable businesses are boring, behind the scenes things, companies you’ve never heard of.”
Lance cleared his throat. He had their attentions now, but now he was so sweaty — and a bit horny — that he had trouble remembering his spiel. He closed his eyes and went over the beginning again in his mind.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk about a few words you should know. Who can tell me what inflation is?”
“Yo, I’m too horny fo’ this right now,” said one of the players, a light-skinned man with a handsome face and bouncing dreadlocks. “Trent was talkin’ ’bout his bitches ‘fore you walked in, and now I can’t stop thinkin’ ’bout ’em.”
Another player jumped in. “Plus you made me think about girls. Who’s gonna see that new Sally Anne Whitaker joint, huh? I’s ’bout to bust mah nut just thinkin’ ’bout that bitch. She gimme stiffies for real.”
That caused another bout of laughter and boasting from the players. This didn’t last very long, however, before Trent yelled for silence.
“Hey, y’all niggas shut the hell up. If we let ‘im finish, we can all go fuck our bitches,” Trent said.
“Let’s just ram ‘im, he obviously wants it,” said a player. Lance couldn’t tell who it was who said that, but as soon as he did, Lance shuddered a little. Then he smiled as they all laughed — it was obvious Lance wanted it. That comment helped to shatter the awkwardness of the situation.
Everyone fell silent, waiting for Lance to respond. Lance couldn’t think of anything to say at all, he couldn’t bring himself to get on his knees and start servicing them all, even if that’s what he wanted to do, and he couldn’t remember how to continue his presentation. He was utterly dumbfounded, couldn’t agree, couldn’t disagree, couldn’t do anything but stand there in his boxers like a nerd.
“Alright, well let’s do it,” Trent said. He jumped to his feet and approached with his cock in hand. He gave it a stroke. His team chittered, as though they thought he was all-talk.
Lance dropped to his knees. He had a feeling this was going to turn out to be a big prank, like Trent was going to throw a cream pie in his face instead of his cock, but he couldn’t just decline.
“Go’n nigga, damn!”
“Throat the honky down, Trent!”
The other players oohed and aahed, which turned into whooping and hollering when Trent fed his dick down Lance’s throat. He had a cocky smile on his face like he was glad to be the most adventurous player on the team.
The taste of sweaty cockmeat overwhelmed Lance. This was all happening so quick that he gagged on the flavor, then began excitedly deep-throating. Trent’s cock was only just starting to firm up, but he swallowed it as deep as he could get it, making the other players cheer and laugh. He nestled his nose in Trent’s thick pubic bush.
“Lemme in there, nigga,” said one of the other players. He thwacked his cock against Lance’s cheek. Trent grumbled, but he didn’t say no, not even when their cocks glancingly touched each other, which made both men wince and look away. Both looked like they would have objected, but nobody wanted to get called out as squeamish by the others.
Lance moved from Trent to the next player, Jashwan, a tall and lean thug who sneered at Lance. He gripped Lance by both ears and began plowing his face. “Take it, bitch, you little nerd, damn…”
“Force it down that bitch’s throat!”
“Lemme in there-“
“-feels like a shallow pussy-“
“Damn, honky got throat, yo!”
They were in a circle around Lance now, and they laughed as they passed his head between them. Each person grabbed him by the ear, pushed their dick into his throat until he gagged, then passed him onto whoever was next.
“Damn,” that Jashwan Mitchell said, “I ain’t nevuh had a whiteboy on mah dick ‘cept a prison bitch. They actually handle a dick pretty good when you ain’t forcin’ it.”
His teammtes all laughed, but stopped just a moment later when someone shot his load already. It was a burly, mustachioed black man named Deontay, who appeared to be embarrassed at cumming so soon. He sprayed his load right over Lance’s face and a little even got on Trent’s cockshaft before he pulled away.
“Yo, I oughtta beat yo’ ass fo’ that, nigga! You got yo’ cum on me!”
“Damn, that nigga lasted about three minutes…”
Trent’s anger vanished as the rest of the team laughed at Deontay, who stroked his limpening cock like he didn’t notice them guffawing at him. His creamy cum dripped into Lance’s mouth as Lance licked every drop off.
“Taste sum white meat now, honky!” said Dirk, the team’s only white player, causing a burst of hilarious laughter from the others. He rammed his dick in Lance’s mouth. Lance got the distinct impression that this was Dirk’s first time with a man, and that he wouldn’t have agreed except everyone else did and he didn’t want to be left out. His dick was soft, but it jerked to full attention once Lance started working on it.
Soon enough Dirk was in the same circle as the others, laughing as they pulled Lance from cock to cock. Precum coated Lance’s tongue, the salty flavor combining with the general air of sweatiness in the cramped sauna. He loved that taste, and he licked the sweat off their heavy scrotums.
“Hey, let’s bukkake the math nerd!”
It was Trent’s idea, but everyone was into it. They thought the idea was hilarious, and no one asked Lance if it was okay with him. It was, of course, but it would have been nice to be asked. Also, Lance wasn’t a math nerd. He was a business nerd, and he used to work as a merchant marine and even a lumberjack, but it didn’t feel like a good moment to bring that up, and his mouth was full of dickmeat.
“Oh, nasty! This sauna gonna get real gross real quick!”
He loved it when guys painted cum all over his face. That was precisely what center Khyree Pankhurst did just a moment after they agreed to bukkake. He grabbed Lance by the forehead and sprayed cum all over Lance’s face.
It dripped over his body as Lance jerked Khyree’s dick until it was totally limp and had no more cum dripping off the tip. He thought that was it, that no one would touch his face now that it had cum all over it, but the next player to go was Lamar, the one they call a prettyboy cuz he had Nickelodeon dimples and few tattoos. Despite his prettyboy face, he had no compunctions about smearing jizz over Lance’s nose and cheeks with his dick, which he then jacked off into Lance’s mouth. When he came, he pulled out to spray his nut all over Lance’s already cream-coated face.
“Damn, that nigga touched that cummy face! Fuckin’ gross!”
“Buncha little babies,” Lamar grumbled as he stepped away. “How y’all ever gangbang a bitch if’n you ’boutta explode every time you get a little nut on ya?” He wiped semen from his fingers onto Lance’s shoulder.
After Lamar, the men burst one after another in quick succession. They cared less and less with every passing second about touching each other’s cum. Two of them even shot at the same time then, both big pulsating shafts resting on Lance’s face as he stroked them off with both hands. Their fleshy cocktips touched as they sprayed salty seed over Lance’s face.
“Nigguz make a mess, damn!”
Then came Dirk, who blushed as he approached. He definitely avoided touching Lance’s face, right up until he actually orgasmed. He closed his eyes and his dick twitched until it touched Lance’s lips. A big ball of sticky cum dripped there, touching Dirk’s finger and cocktip.
That made him shudder in disgust. Even with his eyes closed, Dirk could tell what was happening, that his cock was touching other men’s cum. His discomfort made it obvious to the other players as well, and they laughed away the awkwardness.
“White man gettin’ nasty too, nice!”
It was Trent who approached with his cock, still rock-hard since he had been saving himself to go last, and wrapped one arm around Dirk’s still-orgasming shoulders. “Come on, whiteboi,” he said. “Don’t tell me you never gangbanged a bitch befo’?”
Then Trent put his limp cock on Lance’s face right next to Dirk’s throbbing white member. Dirk blushed and gagged in disgust but didn’t complain, even as Trent’s ropy muscles left a layer of sweat over his body and Dirk’s cock dribbled the last of his cum all over Trent’s cockshaft.
“Lookit that whiteboi blush, he ain’t nevuh jousted dicks befo’, huh?”
A part of Lance felt bad about making Dirk uncomfortable — the rest of the team acted as though no man had ever become an adult without jousting cocks in someone’s mouth — but Lance was so aroused he couldn’t resist. He took both cocktips in his mouth at once, mashed them both together and flickered his tongue in both pissholes.
“He’e it cums, white man, you gonna taste this fo’ real…”
Before Dirk could pull away, Trent had his own orgasm. He sprayed his load all over Lance’s tongue and teeth, and Lance kept his mouth moving so the entire wad of nut coated Dirk’s limpening cockshaft. Lance sucked it up, then spat it out over both Dirk’s and Trent’s dicks then sucked it up, then spat it out, and he only stopped when they both pulled away.
Lance sat there for a moment, savoring the feel of cum covering his face. He barely even noticed that he was masturbating himself, not until that moment, when he shot his own load onto the floor.
“Ew, nasty-ass pervert, gettin’ his own nut e’rywhere!”
Pleasure undulated through his body, along with a potent sense of shame as the team laughed at him. He blushed and looked down, embarrassed even as an incredible orgasm washed over him. He laughed with the others though, as they swatted dicks and flicked jizz at each other.
At last it was all over. Lance slowly licked all the cum off his face as the players wiped their dicks clean, breathing heavily and speaking quietly — their boisterousness was mostly gone now.
Lance rose to his feet. “Uh, okay…” The men all laughed at his awkwardness.
“Go on, man,” Trent said. the whole team fell quiet. “We need to know this shit. What is inflation anyway?”
“Yeah. When you’re done, can we do that again? I’ll be ready to get hard again,” said Lamar.
Lance blushed and smiled. He gathered his breath. “Absolutely,” he said to throngs of cheering. “And if you want… every time you come to my office to talk about your options, I’ll jerk you off again.”

The Truck Stop

Charlie is a football player on the road with his college team when he stumbles across a notorious cruising spot, where his coach shows him the ropes… Coach Thickman introduces Charlie to an exciting world of man-on-man truck stop action!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Charlie Smitkowski nervously got out of the van and stretched in the truck stop parking lot. His teammates all seemed so confident, but he didn’t know how they could be. He certainly didn’t feel confident here. He never did.
For one thing, he was nervous he would get hard in the shower. Thinking about it did give him a stiffy, or at least it made his dick twitch like it might get stiff. Maybe that wasn’t a reasonable fear — he had never gotten hard in the group shower back in the GHU athletic building. But he would be nervous here, naked among strangers instead of his teammates.
The GHU football team scattered towards the showerhouse. Charlie gulped. He was glad to be out of the van, which stank of his teammates’s sweat. They had spent the last three hours in the van.
There were only two universities in Wyoming with football fields, so Charlie and his teammates made this day and a half voyage by van often, every time they played the other team. They always stayed in a hotel halfway there, but that hotel — the only option for many miles around — had little to no hot water. They claimed they did, but the showers either didn’t work, didn’t spray hot water or sprayed only brown, muddy water.
So no one ever showered there at the motel. They stopped at the Ramwide Truck Stop to shower instead.
But it wasn’t just his team. Old men showered there, rednecks, black men, bikers, old men, Latinos with tattoos and bullet wounds — it was scary. This was a rural area, but one that was right off a highway with a lot of truck traffic. The truck stop was busy even out here in the middle of nowhere.
But Charlie felt compelled not to let on that he was scared. He didn’t want to be the only one on the team who felt that way. He’d look like the biggest pussy in the world. None of the other players seemed nervous about it. They were all nonchalant, like they showered with dozens of naked strangers every day.
So he hung back. He tried to steel his nerves. He went into the showerhouse after his teammates, thinking he’d feel more comfortable that way.
A fat cock sat stared at him. Charlie backed out in a panic. There was a man changing in there, a naked white man with a shaved head and a vaguely nazi look, his huge white dick dangling just a few feet from the door. He made a kissy face at Charlie, who turned tail as he heard the man laugh.
Not wanting to look frightened, Charlie went to the vending machines. He made it look like he simply decided to drink a bottle of iced tea before going in the showerhouse.
He wondered if he could get away with not showering. It’s not like anyone was watching to make sure. He didn’t think he stank, and he hadn’t been sweating very much. He could shower in Cheyenne anyway — he never really got why they bothered showering here in the truck stop, when they’d all go straight to the visitors’s locker room in Cheyenne as soon as they got there. It was just instinct and habit, he guessed, that made his teammates shower in the morning. Nobody wanted to be the stinkbutt who didn’t shower, and nobody wanted to look like a squeamish punk unwilling to get naked in front of other men.
He hurried around the back of the showerhouse, hoping to relax out of view for a moment. The woods behind the truck stop were dense with foliage, so Charlie couldn’t see more than a few feet away. There was a patch of no-man’s-land between the showerhouse and the highway, which was where Charlie headed.
A path was there, blocked by shrubbery so it wasn’t visible until Charlie was in that patch of scrubby forest. It wasn’t a marked path, just a beaten route in the dirt. Charlie took a few steps down it, curious why there was a trail out here.
“Hmmm-hmm…” That was Coach Thickman’s voice.
Charlie gulped. He crept closer. When he got around a tree, he saw Coach Thickman — a hefty, broad-chested black man with a scruffy beard and a shaved head — with his pants around his ankles. He held onto the scalp of a thin white man as he rammed his dick into the man’s throat.
Charlie gasped. He wanted to run away, he felt an instinctual need to leave.
But he also couldn’t quite bear to stop watching. He wanted to see what happened. His eyes opened wide. He had never seen anything like this.
Coach Thickman looked confident — he always did, he was swaggerous, dominant, tough. He had a powerful body, thick as anything, with a hairy chest for a black man. He taught “industrial arts” and coached the basketball team. He often came out on football team trips too, which he said was because he wanted to support them but probably was because he could use the overtime. He had a cocky strut that Charlie had always found exciting, exhilirating, even arousing.
That was how Charlie wished he could carry himself. Coach Thickman’s heavy balls slapped against the man’s chin as he humped his cock down the man’s throat. Thickman let out a little bristly moan too, and he murmured some soft nothings as he pounded away.
The white man swallowing Coach’s cock was Avery, the team manager and a junior at the college. He came here frequently to cruise, so it was a happy coincidence that the team would be here too.
They were mostly truckers, Southern men with huge cocks and musky bodies. Avery would lick them clean like a cat if they let him. Coach Thickman’s foot-long cock throbbed veinily in Avery’s mouth. The sour-salty flavor of precum coated his tongue and throat, as he swallowed every inch of that massive shaft.
“Hmmm… Come on, open up,” Coach Thickman murmured. He used both hands to keep Avery’s head in place. He didn’t pound into Avery’s throat violently. He focused on grinding his dick deeply in Avery’s gullet, continuing even when he felt resistance and gagging. Thickman knew well how to throat a man down, and Avery was an expert in accepting massive alpha male cocks.
Intense pleasure rocketed through his body. A part of Coach Thickman thought he was being watched, but he ignored that feeling — he didn’t mind, for one thing, he liked putting on a little show. He wondered if any of the football players were watching, he hoped so.
“Swallow that shit, boy…” Coach Thickman said with a grunt.
He sprayed his wad deeply into Avery’s body, coating his belly and filling it with his creamy seed. It was hot and thick, and it seeped into Avery’s flesh from his stomach. Spasms of pleasure rocketed up Thickman’s body, and his muscles all rippled at once. A throaty groan came out of him.
His muscles were so powerful, so thick, so firm — or so they looked. Charlie had to fight the urge to show himself and grope Coach Thickman. Sweat clung to the curves of his biceps, and it glistened off his skin in the dim light. Charlie murmured to himself and licked his lips, his hand in his pants playing with his own throbbing erection.
“Hmm-hmm, take it, swallow it, damn…”
Thickman’s fat cock kept going, pulsating in Avery’s throat. Avery choked up a big wad of white precum that dripped down his chin and landed on the forest floor. Avery gurgled merrily, slurping on Coach Thickman’s limpening dick and taking in every drop he could.
Finally he was done. “Damn, boy…” Coach Thickman took his dick out and tucked it away in his track pants. His last few drops of jizz were soaked up by the fabric of his pants, which made a small wet spot in his crotch. Thickman either didn’t notice or didn’t care.”We got another away game in two weekends. You gonna drive the van for us?”
“Maybe,” Avery said with a smile, his hands moving up Thickman’s body under his shirt, to grope up his muscles. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”
They kept talking, but Charlie darted away. He didn’t want to get caught watching. That would be embarrassing, especially since he realized only just now that he had been jacking off. He had shot his own wad onto the ground. It felt so good and so natural he didn’t notice until he was orgasming, and now his dick was so sensitive it hurt.
Did they know he had done that? Would anyone be able to tell? Charlie was in a panic as he fled back to the bus.
Luckily, everyone just assumed Charlie had taken a shower, and no one asked. He snuck a sniff of his pits, which didn’t smell too strongly of sweat. Charlie assumed he hadn’t been seen because no one ever mentioned it.
But Avery had seen. He knew better than to acknowledge it though, because he thought he could still land a taste of Charlie’s meat if he waited for the right moment. Charlie Smitkowski was one of the athletes at GHU Avery most craved.
Avery hung out behind the truck stop waiting for that van of football jocks to return. He got a few truckers in the two weeks he waited, but no one as handsome as Coach Thickman. That was expected. They couldn’t all be winners.
Still, he waited. This would pay off soon, he was sure, and he had little else to do as his classes were almost done for the semester. He was just studying for the finals at this point.
He heard the van pull up while Avery finished a bottle of water at a picnic table near the showerhouse. It had been a slow day, unseasonably hot and humid as could be. He went to the air conditioner, where he could stand and peer into a window into the shower and the whirr of the compressor meant Avery didn’t have to worry about making noise. That position gave him a good look into the shower, and he could see out front if Coach Thickman was heading back here.
A muscular blond jock was flopping his dick between his fingers as he soaped himself up. Avery watched the shower water run over his plump ass as he shook his cock — he seemed to be making a point about how big or high-quality his cock was, or maybe he was just trying to get attention. But out of the corner of his eye, Avery saw that Charlie Smitkowski meander casually behind the showerhouse. He went around the other side of the building, so he didn’t see Avery at the air conditioner.
As soon as he saw Charlie, Avery hurried away from the air conditioner and darted behind a tree. He pretended to be waiting there when Charlie nervously approached.
“Hey,” Avery said.
“Hi.” Charlie was tense, lips pursed together. He didn’t know what brought him here, except that he thought that Avery would probably be here again, and he had made sure to beat Coach Thickman here. Charlie figured that he’d have some privacy if he was first.
Avery didn’t say anything else. He just dropped to his knees and pulled Charlie’s dick out through the fly of his jeans.
His dick disappeared into the man’s mouth, and Charlie let out a nervous whimper. Pleasure shot up his spine. It felt good, better than anything he had ever done. He wondered if this man was that good, or if he had simply never been with a good woman.
His dick rocketed to full erection. Charlie moaned and licked his lips. He could feel an orgasm already rising up within him, and he was worried he’d cum quickly and look like a loser.
“Howdy, son,” Coach Thickman’s baritone voice boomed and echoed in Charlie’s mind.
Charlie winced and turned around just in time to get a face full of Coach Thickman’s bare chest. He was in his boxers and shower sandals, his hefty chest shaking as he came closer. His dick was already poking out through the fly of his shorts.
“Oh, uh! Hi! Coach Thickman! Hi! I-“
“Hush, boy,” Coach Thickman said with a low, throaty murmur. He stood next to Charlie, so close their asscheeks pressed against each other. Charlie felt small and weak. Coach Thickman’s heavy arm draped over Charlie’s shoulders, and his armpit hair rubbed against Charlie’s bicep.
That was enough to keep Charlie from cumming too quickly. He was too nervous to do anything more than try not to smell Coach Thickman’s armpit — which didn’t smell bad, since he had just showered moments ago, it smelled like deodorant, but it was intense and warm and Charlie felt like less of a man every time he caught a whiff.
Their dicks touched. Charlie gulped. He looked around as though considering fleeing — the thought did cross his mind, but he wouldn’t want to blue-ball himself like that. He could do this. It was so exciting his heart raced, he felt like he’d never really been alive before this moment.
His pale tan cock smushed up against Coach Thickman’s. Charlie was glad to see that they were the same size — he would have felt inadequate if his dick was small. Avery could tease both cocktips at once, slurping down the precum that flowed from both piss-slits.
He tongued both shafts and licked all four balls in turn. Avery enjoyed dragging this out because he liked the sight of both men feeling each other up. It was Coach Thickman mainly, whose arms flexed as he moved, thick muscles caressing Charlie’s smoother chest.
But Charlie couldn’t quite stay still either. He jumped back and forth on his feet. Every time a shiver of pleasure shot through him he blushed and quivered a little more.
Charlie saw Coach Thickman’s mouth coming and could have moved his head away. It was obvious they were about to kiss.
A part of him wanted to be kissed. For just a moment, he allowed himself to feel desire for the mature football coach with the grizzled beard. Charlie gulped.
“Ah-!” Charlie’s gasp of surprise was cut off by Coach Thickman kissing him on the lips. Their tongues collided in Charlie’s mouth, while Charlie lost himself in his coach’s arms.
He didn’t know how long that lasted. It felt like forever. Coach Thickman noisily kissed him, slobbering over his lips and cheeks and neck. He even left a hickey that Charlie would later have to claim was from a girl last night (luckily, the others all believed him).
They were still kissing as they both orgasmed at once. Avery slurped on both cocks the best he could, slathering both dicktips with his spit. He used one hand on each shaft too. He loved being double-teamed in the mouth, especially by men whose dicks instinctively fought with each other for space in his mouth.
Creamy cum coated his tongue and ran down his throat. It was salty and warm, with two distinct flavors — one bright and sunny, the other fragrant and spiced — Avery couldn’t decide which one came from which. He guzzled down every drop, continuing to lick both piss-slits even as both men’s muscles twitched.
“Goddamn!” Charlie sounded like he might cry, he was so impassioned and stressed. He wiggled in Coach Thickman’s arms.
“Shit yeah,” Coach Thickman said. He finally let go and stepped away. He took a deep breath, laughed and smacked Charlie’s asscheek. “Good job, son.”
“Uh, thanks.” Charlie’s face was red, and he took a deep breath. He tried to look nonchalant.
“You boys have a good game,” Avery said. He stood up and stretched his legs. “But you better move on. I want to get going before too late.”
Charlie was glad to go. He was glad for the unspoken rules of man-on-man action — Coach Thickman didn’t need to tell him that this was a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of scenario. Coach Thickman would never mention it, and Charlie would try hard not to think about it.
It was hard not to think about it though, over the next few weeks as Charlie prepared for the state championship that would bring him back to that same truck-stop once more.
That had felt so good he could scream, and he needed to feel that way again. He even considered driving down there once in the middle of the night — if he hadn’t needed to borrow a car, he probably would have done it.
Of course, Avery probably wouldn’t be there at three o’clock in the morning anyway, Charlie told himself. Charlie had never told anyone what happened. He and Coach Thickman looked at each other and shared wry, awkward grins, but Charlie didn’t think there was any way that anyone else would find out.
He went to the truck stop one more time. Charlie told himself that this would be it — the last time the team went came to this truck stop this year. Hopefully next year he wouldn’t be doing anything like this. Maybe he’d even have a girlfriend by then.
He hung back while the rest of the team hurried into the shower, while Charlie snuck around back. He arrived in the woods behind the truck stop shower, where he turned around a tree and ran into Coach Thickman.
“Charlie, my boy.” Coach Thickman crossed his arms over his big black chest. He was hairy, with an amateur bodybuilder’s body, which made Charlie nervous — last time, Coach Thickman’s body hadn’t been as hairy because he’d shaved his chest recently. But now Charlie felt even weaker and younger than ever. Thickman glared at him and placed one heavy hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
“Coach Thickman! I was just back here, uh, to… to see, y’know, what-“
“Hush, boy,” Coach Thickman said. “I know exactly why you was back here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then, in one smooth motion, Coach Thickman lowered his head and planted his lips right on Charlie’s. At first, Charlie had an urge to push away and make him stop, the same urge he’d had before when they got their dicks wet at the same time.
But then Charlie realized he wanted it. He wasn’t scared — a little nervous, but not scared — and he wanted this to happen more than anything. He didn’t mind that Avery wasn’t here.
He wanted to taste Coach Thickman.
Coach’s arms wrapped around Charlie’s body, holding him close as they kissed. Coach Thickman stroked his smooth back and shoulders, making Charlie quiver in excitement.
“What.. was that?,” Charlie said, his voice wavery and plaintive.
“Hush. That ain’t the issue at hand, boy,” Coach Thickman said. “We gotta get down to business, and that business is makin’ love. We gonna brew up a big pot of lust, boy. Ya feel me?”
“Yes, Coach.” Charlie shook as he sunk to his knees. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. He opened his mouth and it filled immediately with Coach’s throbbing black cock. It was thick and veiny, and it tasted both bad and good at once — it was musty and fresh, sweet and sour, salty and watery, creamy and thick, all at once, and it made Charlie want to taste even more of it.
He opened his mouth wide, letting Coach Thickman drill his dick down his throat. Charlie stroked himself off as he took it. His throat gradually loosened until finally he felt that entire massive rod invading his throat with each thrust of Coach’s hips.
It felt so right. Charlie was right where he wanted to be, and his anxiety vanished; he was no longer worried about being caught, or about being teased, or about Coach Thickman thinking him less of a man. All Charlie wanted to do was swallow down every inch of his mean and every drop of his cumload.
“Alright, if you ready, bend over, boy,” Coach Thickman said, murmuring softly. He pulled his dick out and gently guided Charlie into position.
At first, Charlie didn’t know if he wanted to do this. He hadn’t really thought about taking it in the ass. Was this how people normally did that the first time? He didn’t know. He wanted to come up with reasons not to do it, but his mind couldn’t come up with any.
The only downside, he thought, was that it would hurt the first time, or so he assumed. When he felt his ass stretch, however, the pain was not bad at all. Coach Thickman’s cock was lubed up with spit (and a little actual lube that Coach Thickman had brought for precisely this sort of occurrence).
“Oh god!” Charlie gritted his teeth. There was potent pressure, like he needed to shit but couldn’t. That sensation only gradually loosened as he felt more and more dickmeat cram into his tight hole.
He wasn’t sure he could keep doing this. The feelings were so powerful he couldn’t even speak. All he could do was wrench his head and let out a meek, wordless howl that made Coach Thickman chuckle. His dick twitched in Charlie’s ass.
“I’m all the way in ya now, boy,” Coach Thickman said with a grunt. He smacked Charlie’s cheek, sending a shiver of pleasure through his body. “We’s makin’ love.”
“Oooooh….” Charlie’s voice broke. He tried to stroke himself off, but he couldn’t focus enough. His asshole and prostate commanded all of his attention.
He didn’t need to jack himself off though. As Coach Thickman slammed into him, his hands roamed over Charlie’s body and soon reached around to his cock.
With Charlie on all fours, Coach Thickman gave him a reacharound. He slammed his dick in with all the power he could muster — that was why Thickman cornholed men so much, they didn’t complain when you rammed it in, not like women did — until his balls made a pleasing thwack sound every time they slapped against Charlie’s body.
“Alright, boy, we gonna blow our nut in a minute,” Coach Thickman said, showering Charlie’s tense face and neck with kisses. His deep gravelly voice resonated in Charlie’s ear. “Ya hear me? You might feel all kinda bad feelin’s afterwards. You might start thinkin’ you you less of a man. Don’t think none of those things. What we doin’ here ain’t no thing, ain’t nothin’ you gotta ever think about again.”
“Yes, Coach,” Charlie’s voice was tense and pinched. He moaned as his cock throbbed an orgasm erupted inside him.
“This is just lust. We just actin’ on feelings, and we ain’t gotta think ’bout that lust again, not till those feelings appear once more. Ya feel me?”
“Yes, Coach.”
Cum sprayed into Charlie’s ass, great big gobs of it that coated his insides and seeped through his belly. Charlie was so focused on that pleasure deep within him that he barely noticed his own orgasm or the jets of cum he shot onto the ground and Coach Thickman’s wrist.
They kept going. Charlie was nearly totally limp, unable to process the potent pleasure wracking his body, but Coach Thickman didn’t slow down at all. He kept slamming his cock in and out of Charlie’s ass, making a big frothy mess of cum that formed a puddle on the ground.
At last he was done. Charlie’s mind reeled as he collapsed and Coach Thickman pulled out.
“Ah, shit, shit,” Charlie said with a grunt. He tried to stand but his knees were weak. Coach Thickman helped him up.
“You alright, boy?”
“Fine.” Charlie blushed. “Good. Cool. Fine.”
“Shush. C’mon, boy, we gotta go take a shower. Remember, ain’t nothin’ happened. If anyone asks, we came back here to share a cigarette we ain’t want the others to see us smoke,” Coach Thickman said. “You ready?”
“Yeah. I’m ready,” Charlie said. “Next time we have an away game-“
“Hush, boy. We’ll worry about that the next time I see you back here.”

The Dad

Avery is after a studly baseball coach for a kids’s team, and he just might land his man! Once the game is done, Avery’s favorite dad-coach Gordon is in need of a little release and some affection, which Avery is eager to provide!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was at the baseball game at Dirkfield Park, but not to watch the baseball, or the kids, or even the parents in the bleachers. The strongest dad was always the team coach, Avery had learned that a long time ago.
The pattern held true today too. He was Gordon, mid-forties, rustic, bearded, thick-bodied and flat-bellied but not skinny, he bulged all over, like his body didn’t realize how muscular he was. He was good with kids. Judging from the callused fingers and the scuffed workboots in place of athletic shoes, he was some kind of blue-collar worker, but Avery didn’t know what he actually did for a living.
The impatience was clear on Gordon’s face. The third-graders were not capable of playing baseball to any significant degree. Not a single real hit had been had all night. Gordon shouted encouragement when they got close, and he futzed with the pitch-machine every few minutes, growing increasingly exasperated with it. He seemed to hold out hope that they would play some real baseball at some point, but that hope was eternally dashed.
“Okay, Jakey, run! Jakey, take your base! Jakey, we’re counting that as a hit! You have to run! Jakey! Jakey! Jakey!”
“Austin! You can’t sit down in the outfield, bud! Stand up!”
“Watch the game! Where is right-field, bud?”
“Throw it to second-base! J’waun! Second-base! That’s not second-base! J’waun! J’waun! You have to pay attention — J’waun, I’m sorry, I’m not yelling at you. Just… It’s hard to get your attention sometimes. Please watch the game… No, don’t throw the ball to me!” Gordon hung his head and took a deep breath. “Okay, J’waun. That was a good throw. But it also matters that you throw it to the right place.”
“No, I’ve told you a million times, no phones in the outfield! You’re supposed to be watching the game! Playing! You’re supposed to be playing the game! Watch for the ball! You might have to catch it!”
“Fox! Fox! Fox! Fox! The ball, Fox! Look at the ball! Fox! Don’t close your eyes! Fox!”
It didn’t help that it was a hot, humid night. It didn’t even cool down once the sun set. Even in the darkness, the humidity was like a swollen woolen blanket that filled the air and refused to let any heat dissipate. Avery handed Gordon a bottle of water from the vending machine between innings. Gordon took a long swig from it, some of the water slipping out onto his scruffy cheeks.
“Thanks, man,” Gordon said with a nod. His voice was croaky and crass, hoarse like he chain-smoked, or used to. There was a southern twinge to his voice, though Avery didn’t think he was from the south. He sighed.
“Good game, boys, you’re doin’ great.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “You’re doin’ real great.”
Avery thought Gordon was great, the way he milled about dumpily in his ill-fitting clothes (which occasionally bared a flash of his hairy belly or well-muscled back), his uncaring swagger and focus on the game, the work-built muscles — you could tell he didn’t go to a gym, at least not regularly enough to matter, but he must have worked his muscles all day every day. The one thing that annoyed him was that Gordon’s wife was there in the bleachers too. She was a shrill harridan with dark hair and thin lips. She looked drunk too, Avery could tell. She sipped from a thermos in a way that seemed more suggestive of wine than water.
Avery thought it was adorable how good he was with the kids. He was patient and supportive and he always remained positive even when the kids made error after error after error. He kept that wan, well-practiced smile on his face no matter what.
“Okay, Fox, that was… Remember throwing? We practiced throwing. You can’t run the ball back to first, you have to throw it. Remember your hands! Remember your hands! Remember your HANDS! Good hustle, J’waun!”
It wasn’t until the next inning switch that the wife went to Gordon with a look of fury on her face. She ignored her own son, and she murmured intensely with Gordon. Gordon looked hurt, his square jaw quivering. She wagged her finger at him.
Avery felt instinctively protective of Gordon. He wanted to help. But Gordon didn’t say anything at all, at least not that Avery could tell. This was a one-sided argument.
“Well, fuck you, Gordon! I don’t need you, and I don’t need this shit!” she shouted. The kids and parents all stopped talking. Everyone looked over there as Gordon blushed. His wife was drunkenly bold though, and seemed uncaring of being the center of attention. The parents looked away, but not the kids, who were halfway on the field and halfway off it.
Gordon said something softly.
“Oh go fuck yourself! I’ll make a scene! I’ll make a real big scene! I’m a drunk, everybody! I’m a drunken hag, and I’ve ruined Gordon’s life! He woulda been a contendah!” She cackled. “You’re shit! You know that? You’re a big pile of hairy redneck shit, and you can’t blame me for that.”
“At least he’s not a drunk moron shouting profanity at a little league game!” Avery said. He stood up and went to Gordon’s side. “Ma’am, I thought it was inappropriate when you tried to score coke off me earlier, but I didn’t want to make a scene. Since we’re past that point now-“
“Wha-?” She cocked her head to the side as though ransacking her memory. (That hadn’t happened, she hadn’t tried to score coke. Avery just wanted to change the terms of the debate. The other parents all clucked their tongue and looked at her with cross eyes.)
“If you want to go snort coke, go do that but don’t corrupt the rest of our children,” Avery said as the crowd of parents murmured their approval. “They don’t need to see you off your mind on Peruvian marching powder.” Avery had to suppress a giggle. Nobody here, he guessed, knew anything about cocaine or that ‘Peruvian marching powder’ was not real slang for it. They all nodded and furrowed their brows at her.
A few people hollered at her to leave. She blushed and looked around as though trying to remember if she had actually tried to buy cocaine off Avery. It seemed she couldn’t rule out the possibility that she had done so and then forgotten. Avery guessed she probably used coke — she looked like the type — and he was glad to have guessed correctly. Avery smiled, clutching Gordon’s side and feeling the coarse hairs on his belly through his shirt. “I really think you should go so the kids can enjoy the rest of their game without you bringing down the tone,” Avery said.
There was a long, awkward pause. Finally she belched. “Whatever.” She looked at Gordon and scoffed. Then she tottered away. She had only just gotten off the field when she turned around. “Martin, sweetie! Call Mommy when the game is over!” Their boy, Martin, blushed and looked away like he might be able to pretend she wasn’t his mom (he wasn’t even standing in the direction she waved; she was too drunk to actually find him in the crowd of children).
Gordon took a deep breath. “Thanks, uh…” He paused.
“No problem,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.” He addressed the silent bleachers. “Okay, play ball. And someone call the cops to report a drunk woman leaving the park.” He looked at Gordon. “What does she drive?”
“Blue hatchback with Delaware tags.”
“Oh a Delaware bitch? Never marry a Delaware bitch, Gordon. That’s Rule One,” Avery said softly. He laughed and clutched Gordon’s bicep. “She’s remarkably stable and nice for a Delaware bitch.”
Gordon snorted. “Where were you eight years ago?” He clapped his hands and looked back at the players. “Okay, play ball!” He said it in a much more masculine and authoritative way than Avery had, so the kids erupted in activity right away.
After that, Gordon’s team, the Lammerdale Lions, was at-bat, so Gordon had less to do. One of his assistant coaches hung out by the pitcher’s mound to remind the children how to hold the bat, while Gordon stayed in the dugout with the other kids. That gave Avery plenty of opportunity to sneak peeks at his ass.
“Are you okay?” Avery asked. It was blatant how the other parents kept sneaking judgmental glances at Gordon, as though it was his fault his soon-to-be ex-wife was a drunken bitch.
Gordon shrugged. “She always been a bitch, hoss. Don’t worry.” He paused and cleared his throat.
Avery smiled. “The game is almost over. If you send your kid home with someone else, you could stay and clean up with me.”
“Why can’t my kid be there for that?”
Avery shrugged. “You never know what else we might do. I could help you forget about your ex-wife. I have a couple tricks that are very effective at that…” He licked his lips, loudly and moistly smacking them.
Gordon turned to face him and his eyes opened wide. “I ain’t down with that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Avery was disappointed, but he hadn’t given up. A lot of guys said no right away. That didn’t mean the answer would be no forever. It just meant they needed to prove to themselves that they weren’t too eager. Plus, he thought, it was easy to say no when it was just a theoretical option. When Avery was actually on his knees ready to swallow, Gordon might reconsider. There was still five and a half innings left (though the game would be called two hours after it began no matter what, so it really only had about twenty minutes). That was enough time for Gordon to change his mind.
“Yeah, good hit, Jakey! You got deep on that one!” Gordon shouted when one of the players actually hit the ball. It wasn’t even a foul, it was the first real, actual hit of the night. Jakey waddled straight for the bleachers to tell his parents. “No, Jakey! Run to first! Jakey! Jakey! Stay on the field! We practiced this!” But Jakey ignored Gordon and tried to get his parents to congratulate him, even as the entirety of the crowd shouted for him to run for first. Everyone wanted to see an actual baseball play occur.
Jakey got tagged out before he made it to first-base, which was impressive because the first baseman failed to catch the ball and then spent two whole minutes struggling to pick it up with his mitt. So all in all, that play took more than five minutes from when Jakey picked up the bat to when he finally made it back into the dugout. Five minutes for nothing to happen, one-quarter of the remaining game-time.
Baseball, Avery thought, was interminably boring. If it didn’t exist and somebody invented it, everyone would say “that’s not a real sport, it’s statistically indistinguishable from doing nothing”. Avery really did not like baseball. But he had to watch a couple games as part of his idiotic P.E. class — he couldn’t graduate without it.
Not that he really wanted to graduate anyway.
He entertained himself by watching Gordon’s ass in his tight baseball pants. They were wrinkled and unironed, a light gray with a green stain on the left ass. Avery drooled at the sight of his plump ass, and was he aiming it towards Avery? As he leaned over the dugout wall, it kind of looked like he was.
Gordon loved baseball. Unlike Avery, he not only thought it was a good sport, he considered it exciting. He spent hours at the batting cages nearly every weekend; he watched every Orioles game and nearly every other major league game; he even watched the Japanese, Mexican and minor-league teams (he had favorite teams in every league). He owned all the gear and could recite all the stats for his favorite players. He knew every World Series victory, the points and the plays — he could give you the play by play of every World Series game, and he could name every player and their vital stats too.
So he did get very frustrated watching the children play, dropping the ball over and over, failing repeatedly to swing the bat and generally just making more errors than Gordon had ever thought possible. But on those rare occasions when a kid did do it well, when it all worked — when his boy had caught the ball and dived for second-base to successfully tag a runner out — it seemed like a magical sport. Gordon thought less of anyone who considered baseball boring. It was the most elegant sport in the world.
When it worked, it was like ballet, he thought, not that he’d ever say that out loud.
It was hard to remember its elegance when the children were literally tripping over each other in their haste to run away from the ball. Gordon also found it distracting right now because this sissy was visibly checking him out.
But he soon realized no one was looking at him — the parents mostly just watched their own kids. People generally assumed Avery was Gordon’s weird little brother. They didn’t notice Avery staring at Gordon’s deliciously unkempt ass, thigh muscles fairly bursting from those tight baseball pants.
Eventually the inning was over, and Gordon went back out to be first-base coach. Avery had to sit by himself and wait. He was bored and didn’t have a very good eyeline of Gordon’s ass anymore. He did have a bulge in his crotch too, Avery could see that, but it stopped being exciting after a minute or two (a minute or two of absolutely, totally nothing happening whatsoever — Avery didn’t see why sports needed to have times when nothing happened. That was so boring it made the technically exciting parts of the game more boring by contagion).
But before Avery found a place to sit where he could see the game — and Gordon’s ass — easily, it was called. The two-hour mark was reached. In the end, no one could remember if the score was 9-2 Lions or 7-4 Pirates. So the Lions told their kids they won, and the Pirates told their kids they won, and everyone was happy.
When the dust had settled and the kids were all gone, it was just Avery sitting there in the dugout, while Gordon collected the bats and balls scattered around the field. Gordon had sent his boy home with a friend.
Avery picked up some of the empty soda bottles left behind in the bleachers. He tossed them in the recycling bin. Then he came up behind Gordon and whistled at his bent-over ass. “Damn… If your ass was a Chinese restaurant, I’d have the pu-pu platter.”
Gordon stood and blushed. “I ain’t into that.”
“I know. But I bet you could use a nut,” Avery said. “Come on… I’ll pay for all your team’s pizza parties.”
“What?”
“You guys have a pizza party after every game, right? Why not let me pay for it?” Avery said.
Gordon’s eyes opened wide. “You serious?” He came into the dugout. “Man…” He hesitated, then came closer, to where Avery sat on a bench. He didn’t say anything, but he got close enough for Avery to touch his dick through his baseball pants. Gordon closed his eyes.
“You ever done this before?”
Gordon scoffed like that was ridiculous. His dick twitched in his pants. Avery pulled them down, revealing an overstuffed jockstrap with pubic hair bristling out of it. Gordon closed his eyes. “Not sober.”
“Hmmm… What’s that mean? You do it drunk?”
“Don’t talk so much, man,” Gordon said. “If you’re gonna do it, do it.”
“You get drunk and do it a lot, huh?” Avery grinned. He lowered Gordon’s jockstrap, revealing a thick, meaty dick. It was already beginning to get hard, making Avery think Gordon must be exceptionally horny.
“No!” Gordon rolled his eyes. He flopped his cock over Avery’s face. When he had first hooked up with the woman he later married — that bitch who made a big drunken mess of herself in front of everyone — she used to suck his dick all the time. Gordon loved it. He acted it out now out of habit — he gripped Avery’s head and drilled his dick in until Avery gagged. Gordon blushed. He didn’t know why he loved it so much when she used to gag on his dick. That sound just made him so horny.
So when it was clear that Avery wasn’t going to complain about that, Gordon smirked and slipped his cock in deeper and deeper. Sure enough, Avery’s moist sputtering and choking was clearly enthusiastic in a way his wife had never been. She did it because she wanted to land a man, and she thought that was what Gordon required.
But Avery wanted to do it. He did it because he loved the feel of a man’s cock sliding down his throat, despite Avery’s instinctual urge to choke on it. Avery actually loved the feeling of his throat constricting around a man’s cock, and he loved the wave of pleasure he could see run up Gordon’s barrel-shaped chest.
Slobbering all over it, Avery murmured and cooed. He made a big mess with all the sticky precum coming out of the tip of Gordon’s cock. “Hmmm… You taste so good… Your wife is a dumbass for leaving you…”
“Yeah she is.” Gordon’s scruffy beard hairs quivered.
“Is the divorce final yet?”
“Nah. She’s just livin’ with her sister,” Gordon said. “Quit talkin’ so much, man. Or if you gotta talk, sound like a girl.”
Avery used his high-pitched feminine voice, acting as flamboyant as possible. “Hmmm… How’s this? I wish I had titties so you could lick ’em clean… or whatever boys do with boobs, I don’t know. Can I suck on a finger, Ralphie-poo? I wanna taste every part of you.”
Gordon grunted and groaned. No one had talked to him like that in a long time. His wife used to some, but even more than her, an old girlfriend did it; she used to talk dirty, beg him to let her suck his cock, request that he not shower so she could taste his unadulterated flavor. It felt like no one would ever talk to Gordon like that anymore.
Somehow being a blue-collar redneck had gone from stud to ugly tubby lardass even though his appearance hadn’t changed that much — women just interpreted it differently now that he was older and still had a blue-collar career and his thick body didn’t have that almost-six-pack he’d always had. He’d gained about fifteen pounds on his high school body, but it seemed like so much more.
He let Avery suck on his middle-finger, which was dusty and warm, while his dick jabbed Avery in the face. Every time it touched his skin, Gordon gasped and turned a little redder. He couldn’t believe how horny he was.
And Avery just teased him. Avery chased his dick with his tongue, giggling when he got a good taste and it twitched, and just that tiny moment of tongue-to-cock contact made Gordon’s whole hefty body shake.
“Hmmm… Will you let me lick your balls? Please….” Avery asked as though that was a debate — no one ever said no. He smiled as Gordon plopped his hairy sac onto Avery’s tongue.
“Goddamn…” Gordon moaned. He was already on the verge of orgasm, so it was nice to get his balls licked for a moment. That felt good but it also delayed his cock, so he wouldn’t cum too quickly. He figured if he looked like he enjoyed this too much, Avery would keep following him around and begging for more.
“Lemme hit that ass,” Gordon said. He blushed. He hadn’t meant to request that, he just thought it and his mind was too horny to censor himself. His cock throbbed though, and all he could think about was pounding it into some tight hole. He wished he had let Avery beg — he might have been able to get some more money out of it. Gordon grunted. He leaned forward and slapped Avery’s smooth ass.
“Hmmm… Will your dick hurt? Will you be gentle with me?”
“No.” Gordon grunted, his country-boy accent getting more intense as he lost his inhibitions. He was actually from Boston, but the longer he worked as a small-town plumber, the more of a country accent he acquired. He touched Avery’s ass again. It was so plump and round, like a woman’s but not like his wife’s, like a different, better woman, not even like his wife had been when she was younger.
Gordon slammed his dick in. He hadn’t intended to take his shirt off. But once he felt that tight ass clenching around his cock, Gordon saw that his shirt was just going to get in the way. Gordon didn’t want to do anything that made this less intense.
“Ah, shit, man…”
So he dropped his shirt on the dusty ground and plowed in deeper. His wife had given up the ass a couple times before they got married, but never once afterwards.
His belly jiggled and he sighed. For the last couple years — for most of their marriage — she had never fucked him without complaining. She complained when he didn’t initiate it. She complained when he did. She complained when he hadn’t showered. She made him shower and brush his teeth and shave before fucking (shave both his chin, his chest and his crotch). She made him lick her pussy, which she never once shaved after their marriage. She made him do extra chores. He used to do them and then initiate sex, but she’d just add additional chores at the last minute, no matter what, so he stopped doing any work until she put it on a list before sex. He didn’t put forth a lick of effort unless he got some sex out of it.
But jacking off was so easy now; it didn’t take any effort. He didn’t need to do anything but focus on ramming his dick all the way into Avery’s ass. He didn’t make Gordon stop to brush his teeth again; he didn’t answer emails on his phone, he didn’t complain to his sister that Gordon’s balls were “too wrinkly”. He just bent over and took it.
Gordon sighed grandly. “Damn, man, you feel good, shit…” He bit his lip as an orgasm exploded within him, not even noticing that Avery was already shooting his own wad onto the ground. “Sorry, almost done,” Gordon said, his voice breaking and strained as he came. He didn’t even get why Avery squirmed, orgasming beneath him. He was shocked because his wife had never responded like that. Avery felt so good he screamed into the night air.
Hot cum flowed into Avery’s ass. The feeling was melty and warm, and it was sticky, coating his flesh with creamy goodness. Avery let out a long, low howl that echoed in the stone dugout.
It had been a long time since Gordon blew a nut. He jacked off often enough, but that didn’t keep his balls from exploding now with years of pent-up cum. Even when he and his wife had had awkward, tense sex before she moved out, it had been so difficult it never really felt right, like he got blueballs even though he did fuck her.
But now, this time, it made Gordon’s whole body tense and shake. Sweat trickled down his broad back and into the crack of his hairy ass.
“Shit…” Gordon let his cock slowly flop out. He sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall of the dugout. “That was awesome.”
Avery smiled. “I know. You do that real good.” He stood up, hands still exploring Gordon’s bare chest. “Lemme know when you’re ready for me to pay for a pizza party.”
“Okay. You ain’t gonna give me the money now?”
Avery giggled as he put his clothes back on. “If I gave you the money now, how would I incentivize you to come see me again?” He walked away. “Just gimme a call. I’ll come over and make you forget about her any time you want.” He paused. “Anytime I don’t have class.” He paused again. “No, anytime. I don’t care about class.”
Gordon looked down at his dick, gleaming with remnants of Avery’s ass. “Cool,” he said. “I’ll definitely call you.” He paused. “Wait, I mean… We got an afternoon game next Sunday. I’ll, uh…” He realized he probably sounded desperate and nasty, but he didn’t care. He needed to do this again. Avery’s ass was mesmerizing until he got his pants up and Gordon could finally look away. “I’ll call you then.”

The Football Team

Rob is at it again, this time landing an entire college football team! Their coach lets Rob go to town all over their studly alpha male bodies, and these jocks are all too happy to use him as they see fit!

Can Rob handle these young men’s carnal desires?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob got hard as soon as he walked into the locker room. The entire GHU football team was there, eyeing him suspiciously. They knew who he was, of course, they just weren’t sure how to treat him. Rob entered as Coach Marshall finished his pre-practice spiel, which involved significant scolding, the slapping of asscheeks and many sexually charged insults. During all of that, the players focused on sneaking curious glances at Rob.
When he was done, Coach Marshall briefly introduced Rob to the team and said to do whatever he said and that Rob was no excuse for poor performance today. Coach Marshall was embarrassed with this part, so he got through it quickly and left. Once he was gone, Rob blushed and told the players to just relax.
“I won’t hurt, I promise,” Rob said with a casual grin.
He started with Raython Lake, a beefy running back with a curvy body and broad shoulders. Lake had implied he was very comfortable with this and even got dome from men in the past — he had an “old guy” who paid him for his old jockstraps and an occasional swing on his meat — Lake says “all dome is good dome”, and he has similar views on pussy. All that made him seem like a good place to start. Lake was sitting on a bench between rows of lockers, wearing nothing but a jockstrap soaked with sweat.
Rob inserted his tongue into the top of Lake’s asscrack, making him giggle like a schoolboy, then Rob licked in one long smooth motion all the way up Lake’s spine. Salty sweat coated his tongue and made him moan with desire.
“Holy shit, Lake, is he lickin’ your butt?”
“He is, he is-“
“That’s a rimjob, broh.”
“Nah, nah,” Lake said, suppressing a baritone laugh that came from either anxiety or ticklishness or both. His back arched and squirmed as Rob’s tongue explored the smoothness of his flesh. “He just lickin’ my back.”
“Is that a thing?”
“Are you into backs?”
That made Rob laugh as well. “No, no, not really, guys, I’m not especially into backs,” he said. He clutched the broad muscles of Lake’s back. “That’s not what this is about-“
“Then why are you licking my back?”
“I have never licked a girl’s back.”
“Right? There’s no point. There’s nothing there.”
“Maybe it’s foreplay! Maybe he’s gonna seduce you, Lake.”
“Will not.”
“Maybe back licking is just the first step-“
Rob held up his hands. “Guys, relax. There’s no secret to uncover here. I just like muscles, that’s all. I like sweaty muscles, no matter what muscle it is. His back was right there, available, big and sweaty so I licked it. That’s all. There’s no wider lesson to be learned from that.”
There was a long awkward pause. Then Rob smiled and licked the back of Lake’s neck, scooping up every drop of salty sweat that collected there. He massaged Lake’s sensitive flesh, feeling his ribs and his flat belly. He tweaked each of his nipples.
“Why do you like sweat? That’s gross.”
“Yeah, don’t you want to wait until after we shower?”
“No!” Rob blushed as they giggled at his reaction. “I mean… No need for a shower.”
“Okay, guys, come on, quit payin’ attention to him, we got practice to get ready for. He ain’t here to distract us,” said Jimmy, the broad-shouldered blond quarterback and team captain. He rolled his eyes at the assembled group. He had a big grin on his face. “We gotta talk about the game tomorrow, or Coach Marshall is gonna lecture me about leadership again. First of all, Tuck, did you finish your mission?”
Rob had finished licking Lake’s back and moved on to the next player, Tuck, a hefty tackle with a deep Texan drawl, a cowboy hat on his head — which he only took off during games — and an expansive tattoo of the Confederate flag on his back. He had an unkempt beard and an even unkempter mustache, and his broad shoulders gleamed with beads of sweat that clung to the hairs that extended to his shoulders and beyond.
“Well, I went ovuh to that campus, and I reckoned they wouldn’t tell me nothin’ unless I fit in. So I got to drinkin’,” he said. And then he began a long story about going to a frat party at a different college on the other side of Atlanta. It was obvious — to Rob, anyway — that Tuck’s story was going to end with him getting too drunk to steal the other team’s playbook, which was what he had been told to do. But he took a long time to get to that point in the story. “I was drunker ‘an a skunk on Sunday, lemme tell you!” He whooped and slapped his meaty thigh. He continued his story — it was obvious his teammates were used to his slow, rambling stories.
That didn’t bother Rob, who used that time to get freaky. He bent down between Tuck’s legs and kissed his jockstrap-clad balls, making him stop talking for about a second as he gasped in surprise. He blushed and tried to pretend he wasn’t distracted by Rob’s ball-sucking.
“Tuck, are you about to tell us you passed out drunk on the lawn?”
“No!” His voice broke, and he blushed as his balls twitched. Tuck roared in frustration and stood up. He took off the jockstrap, and his heavy redneck cock popped out. He threw the jockstrap on Rob’s head and sat back down. Tuck arranged the straps so the jock-pouch part was over Rob’s nose — and he got a head full of muscle, sweat and Texan machismo, pubic hairs coating his cheeks, the astringent scent bringing tears to his eyes. But if Tuck intended to distract Rob, that effort failed because Rob just licked his bare cock instead.
“Then what happened?”
“I… fell asleep.”
“You passed out!” Jimmy shouted. “I oughta make you lick that guy’s balls, man.”
“Fuck you, Jimmy! You said to get drunk with them!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I guess I should have specified that you shouldn’t get so drunk you pass out without completing your mission. Let’s just make that a permanent rule, okay? Anytime I give you a mission, I do not want you to get so drunk you can’t fulfill it. I also do not want you to get distracted by chasing butterflies, smoking crack or joining the Scientologists, Tuck! Should I list everything that should not distract you from your mission? No? Of course not, nothing should distract you from your mission, Tuck, that’s what makes it a mission!”
The entire team was laughing now, and even Tuck chortled, though he also winced and blushed. His dick twitched beneath Rob’s tongue, but it didn’t get hard.
He moved on to a dark-haired white man named Charlie, who looked at him like an oncoming tsunami as Rob came closer to him. He flexed his bicep, either as a threat or an invitation, since Rob had promised to lick muscles, or maybe as a distraction because he didn’t want Rob to focus on his cock.
So Rob did it — he loudly, moistly kissed Charlie’s left bicep, then slathered spit all along it. He had a barbed wire tattoo encircling his arm, which Rob traced with his tongue. He marveled at how rock-hard the muscle was, like he was licking a warm statue instead of a person. Why did only young bucks ever taste and feel like this?
“Hey! What’re you pussies still doin’ in the locker room? Huh? Sprints! Now!”
That was Coach Marshall, or Coach Hardass as he was known. When he bellowed from his office, the team jumped to their feet and hurried to throw their practice uniform on. For most of them, that meant those little half-shirts and dingy workout shorts.
“Relax yo’ old fart-factory, Coach Hardass…”
Rob watched them change, and aside from getting to kiss Tuck on his hair-dappled asscheeks — “kiss ‘em for good luck, okay, man?” — before he pulled his shorts up and headed out to the field, Rob wasn’t able to do more than watch them put clothes on. Watching men take clothes off was fun. Watching them put clothes on was less enjoyable.
He had only paid to have his way with them in the locker room, not out on the field. So Rob needed to stay in the lockers. He didn’t mind that too much. It was a nice break from the action, and he got to explore the masculine-scents and sweat stains of the clothing and equipment that filled the locker room.
Partway through the practice, as Rob wandered around sniffing jocks, he heard heavy footsteps and labored breathing. He jumped into the large cart near the door, wherein the players tossed their shared jockstraps and underclothes. Wifebeaters, t-shirts, boxer shorts and underwear abounded.
The smell was intoxicating, almost enough to distract Rob from the argument in the locker room. Coach Marshall had brought Jimmy in, dragging him by the earlobe.
“Coach! I told them to practice and I told them to do what you-“
“Shut your dumb mouth, Spokes!” Coach Marshall barked.
Jimmy yelped then, and Rob had to peek over the top of the hamper to see why. Coach Marshall had gotten Jimmy’s attention by gripping his crotch — his big, meaty hands held Jimmy’s jock-pouch in his palm, squeezing just hard enough that Jimmy held his breath, stood on his toes and flexed all his muscles at once. His blond hair trembled.
“Coach…”
“You want me to squeeze, boy!”
“No!”
“Then show some goddamn leadership! I tol’ you this job ain’t just ‘bout tellin’ ‘em what to do and handin’ out orange slices durin’ practice,” Coach Marshall said. “You gotta influence yo’ teammates, make ‘em do what they supposed to. Get ‘em to make good decisions instead of actin’ like ingrates.”
“Coach, I told them to!”
“And then they went out and got drunk and got balls-deep in some slut and you hung out and you double-teamed that slut along with ‘em, right? Lemme guess, Tuck was in her pussy cuz he’s a hillbilly and you was in her ass cuz you’re the team captain. And your balls slapped against Tuck’s and yer ballsweat mixed with his and your balls got all snuggly next to his-“
“Why are you so into balls, Coach?”
“Shut up!” He must have squeezed, because Jimmy gasped and straightened his back. Coach Marshall used his other hand to pull down Jimmy’s shorts. He slapped him on the ass — not in a kindly coach-like way or even in a mean pimp-like way, instead, he really slapped hard, like he wanted to slap the asscheek right off Jimmy. That made Jimmy buckle and cry out, and he nearly fell over but Coach Marshall kept ahold of his cock and balls with his other hand. Coach Marshall growled. “Only bein’ team captain ain’t about gettin’ the asshole when you double-penetrate a slut. That ain’t leadership, Spokes. That’s anal sex.”
“I know, Coach. That ain’t even what happened, you know-“
“So this weekend, you get Tuck to run like I told him to. If that seems difficult, just remember, I got you to agree to train Tuck, and all I had to do was squeeze your balls a bit. That ain’t hard. Tuck got balls you can squeeze too,” Coach Marshall said. He let go of Jimmy’s sac then, and wiped his hand off on Jimmy’s face.
“Yes, Coach,” Jimmy said with a shudder.
“Good. Now bring ‘em in for a break,” Coach Marshall said. “The lacrosse team needs the field for an hour.”
“Yes, Coach.”
They both went back out onto the field. Rob stayed there, buried in jockstraps until he heard footsteps heading towards the locker room. He could hear the lacrosse team as well, but they were in the visitor’s locker room next door.
“I am gonna fill that bitch up till cum be drippin’ down my balls, man!”
“She gonna suck me off too?”
“Fuck yeah, boys!”
“Tuck! You’re on the bottom for a team tackle!” Jimmy barked. His voice was tense and clipped, angry, or at least trying to get his teammates to think he was genuinely angry. “You should have done your runs last weekend.”
“Jimmy, come on! You were there! You can’t get mad at me about it now!”
“I told you to go running! I told you to do that, Tuck!” Jimmy frowned. He frowned, an expression aimed inward as much as at Tuck. He didn’t enjoy being the person who enforced the rules. He glanced over at Rob, who smiled. Jimmy nodded at him. “The little dude can tackle first.” He paused. He lowered his voice and spoke to Rob. “If you don’t mind getting tackled by some big fuckers.”
Rob wanted that more than anything. He ran across the linoleum-tiled floor of the locker room, while the whole team chanted and clapped, all except Tuck, who frowned at Jimmy.
“Tackle him! Tackle him! Tackle him!”
“Tackle-grope!”
Rob jumped onto Tuck’s chest, clutching his torso with his arms and legs. Tuck’s body was slick with sweat, and Rob had to struggle as he started to slide down the moment he connected with Tuck’s bulging muscles. He stuck his tongue out, so as he dragged down Tuck’s body, he got to lick his chest muscles.
Then Tuck sighed, groaned and climbed down to the floor as though he had been tackled — since he outweighed Rob by nearly two hundred pounds, that was the only way Rob could get him on the ground.
“Hell yeah, brought down by a li’l guy, huh, Tuck?”
“Shoulda gone runnin’, man…”
“Stick yo’ fist in his ass! Fist that hillbilly, man! What’s the dude’s name? Rob! Fist him, Rob!”
But before Rob could do anything but lick up all the sweat that had collected between Tuck’s shoulderblades, he oomphed as another football player landed on his back — it was Lake, that six-packed black halfback who didn’t quite jump (thankfully, since Rob’s delicate body would have been shattered) onto the pile, but he did flop rather awkwardly onto Rob’s back.
“Locker room tackle!”
Beneath Rob, Tuck groaned. He squirmed as Rob’s rock-hard cock rubbed against the small of his back, where a pool of sweat had developed. Rob was still clothed, but he wore just a pair of shorts and underwear, and his erection rubbed against the moist muscle of Tuck’s back.
“You got your fist in ‘im yet?” Lake asked with a laugh. He reached his big head down and kissed Tuck on the back of the head, prompting another wiggle from Tuck.
“More tackle!” Jimmy shouted.
“I can take it!” Tuck shouted. “Bring it on!” His voice was strained like he didn’t want to let on how difficult it was to breathe right now.
It wasn’t Jimmy who joined the tackle next, it was someone else — Rob couldn’t see who — and soon there were maybe four players atop Rob, who couldn’t really breathe. He could just barely sputter and take a gasping half-breath.
He didn’t mind though. His cock spasmed and leaked precum, which joined with the sweat in the small of Tuck’s back. “Hurry up and cum if you gonna,” Tuck said weakly.
And then Rob was distracted by Lake’s massive dick — it was still in his shorts, but he had either taken off the jockstrap (which seemed unlikely since somebody would have said something if they saw that) or his dick had popped out of it. Rob could feel Lake’s dick rub against Rob’s asscheeks, then slip into the crack.
Rob groaned. There was a shift in weight above him. He couldn’t see or hear, but it sounded like someone had gotten up, possibly replaced by someone else. Thick fingers even explored Rob’s crotch, apparently in search of Tuck’s ass.
“Gonna finger you, Tuck! But you’s already gettin’ it up the ass from the little guy, ain’t ya?”
“Hey, he is still alive, right? He ain’t crushed to death?”
“Say somethin’ sissy! Lemme hear you lisp!”
“I’m alive…” Rob said weakly. “I’m fine…” For some reason speaking sent a wave of pleasure through Rob, who realized he was going to cum like this whether he wanted to or not. That didn’t need to be too humiliating, since he had a feeling Lake was going to cum also.
“Ah, shit, Lake’s doin’ it, ain’t he?”
“I can’t help it, man, this nigga got balls!” Lake said. His booming voice echoed and resonated in Rob’s lungs, since Lake was pressed down on Rob’s back. It was clear that Lake tried to sound tough and nonplussed by the hundreds of pounds of muscle on his back, like he was dry humping because he wanted to and not because he was so young and horny he couldn’t resist.
Lake’s dark muscles writhed. His hips flexed the best he could, since he was in the middle of the tackle. He moaned, the sound making the hairs on the back of Rob’s neck stand up. The other guys in the tackle — who were all above Lake — laughed like this was a prank they were playing.
“Cum in Tuck’s ass, Lake! Teach him a lesson!”
If Tuck knew what was happening, he didn’t let on. He wiggled beneath Rob. Lake’s dick was right on Rob’s ass. The other team kept implying Lake could ram Tuck, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to and was able to move, because Rob was in the way. Rob couldn’t penetrate Tuck’s ass either, because he wasn’t positioned right on his asscrack and he couldn’t move with all the football players weighing him down.
In the end, Lake even came right before Rob, and it was the feeling of his hot, cum-soaked shorts dripping onto Rob’s back that sent Rob over the edge. The smell of cum filled the air. Rob spasmed and would have squirmed, but the only part of his body that could move at all were his fingers, which dug into the meat of Tuck’s body. Rob filled his own shorts with jizz, and some of it escaped the fabric, smearing up and down Tuck’s asscrack. Some of it must have gone into his butthole too, and still more trickled down between his legs to puddle up on the locker room floor.
“Ew, gross, he doin’ it!”
“He just want a big tip from the dude.”
“He gonna get the tip. Just the tip.”
Lake groaned. “Shut the fuck up!” His voice was weak now, having used all his energy to shout before and then cum into the messy tackle. He struggled to breathe under the weight of his own teammates.
Had anyone even realized that Rob himself had cum? He didn’t really think so. No one mentioned it. Tuck didn’t react as though a guy had dry-humped his ass until his cummy shorts left a layer of sperm on Tuck’s plump cheeks.
One by one, the football players climbed off the tackle pile. When Lake stood, his shorts were soaked. He pumped his biceps and his pecs, beaming at the assembled jocks. He swayed his hips, making that massive cock flop back and forth in his goopy shorts.
“Ew, nasty, man, you just dry-humped a man!”
“Why do you always cum in a locker room tackle?”
“Man, fuck you!” Lake said. “I cum whenever I want, man.” He grabbed his soaked cock through his shorts, so his shaft was outlined by the fabric. He reached into his shorts, stroked his dick one time so his hand was covered in cum, then tried to touch one of his teammates on the face.
“Get away from me, man!”
“C’m’ere, ain’t you wanna feel me, dawg? C’mon!” Lake cackled. He was so focused on that — Rob was positive Lake had cum despite his best efforts not to and was trying to cover it up with bluster and bullying his teammates — that Lake barely noticed Rob drop to his knees.
He had already cum, so when Rob pulled his shorts down and kissed his dick, Lake was startled and jumped. He grinned at the sensations arising from his sensitive shaft. Rob licked his dick from tip to root, lapping up every drop of cum he could access.
“Holy hell, the white dude really loves my cock.”
Lake writhed like it hurt. His massive dick was big even though it was limp, and Rob could feel how sensitive it was. He kept stroking it, even as Lake winced and shut his eyes. His muscles all flexed. He sat down on the bench as though he had planned to, but it was clear in the way his dick throbbed that he found this too exquisitely sensitive to remain standing while Rob lapped at his dick.
“Hey, you gonna jerk us all off, man?”
“Yeah… I mean… I got a girl, I don’t need it.”
“Me too. I get plenty of girls. But, y’know… If you wanted to…”
“He is payin’ money. We want him to get his money’s worth.”
Rob stood and held up his hand for silence. He felt good and exulted in their quietude and attention — he rarely felt like the center of attention around men like them.
“I’m not going to jerk you off,” Rob said. “But if you want to turn my throat into your pussy-” He laid on the back on the edge of the bench, so his head was angled over the corner. That put his face just below a low-hanging pair of sweaty balls — he couldn’t even tell whose because the jocks were crammed in so close together. He lifted his mouth up and suckled on them for just a second, prompting a chorus of nervous giggles. “I would be open to that. Why don’t I just lay here with my mouth open? You all can put whatever body part you want in there.”
It was Tuck who went first, like he wanted to reclaim his masculinity after the locker room tackle and being dry-humped. He stretched his muscles, smiled cockily and flopped his limp dick onto Rob’s face.
“Holy shit, I ain’t know he was gonna do that.”
“Is this a bukkake thing?”
“Bukkake the little dude!”
“You really into sweat?” Tuck asked. “Cuz I think I’m covered in all these motherfuckers’ sweat. Here…” He got down on his knees and lifted up his right arm. The overwhelmingly potent scent of his armpit assaulted Rob’s senses. He sniffed it loudly, and planted his face right there in the crook of his arm. Tuck guffawed as though he hadn’t expected Rob to actually do it.
As sweat coated Rob’s tongue and he gurgled, he lazily flopped his own dick between his fingers. He had already cum, but he had a feeling he would do it again if these football players all decided to bukkake him.
And then the hair of Tuck’s armpit was replaced by his fat cock. It slipped into his mouth, already hard, bulging, precum flowing over Rob’s tongue. He gurgled.
“Damn, this is nasty!”
“Paint his face white!”
“I got the cock you need, man,” said Jimmy, who clapped his hands and yelled at the others to shut up. Once he had silence, he dropped his jockstrap and placed it right on Rob’s nose, so Tuck’s balls slapped on it each time he humped his dick into Rob’s throat. Jimmy stood there, resplendent like a Greek god, his blond hair sweaty and matted to his head. He had a huge cock which he jutted forward to be sure everyone could see. “And this sissy made me promise to ram him in the ass. He said he needed the biggest cock on the team, or else there’d be no deal and none of us would’ve made a hundred bucks today…” He sighed dramatically.
None of that was true, but Rob didn’t intend to correct him. His mouth was full, for one thing, and he desperately wanted to get it up the ass. Jimmy hung his head as though being forced to do this as he straddled the bench and had Rob lift his legs up.
“You can do it, Jimmy!
“Takin’ one for the team, huh?”
“Bullshit, man, you guys see this, right? He wants to do it. Don’t make it seem like he’s sacrificin’ nothin’. He’s gettin’ booty. That ain’t a fuckin’ gift to us.”
“You wanna ram him, man?”
“No, I got girls beggin’ me to fuck ‘em. Mad pussy, yo! I’m just sayin’, anyone on this team would be doing it if that’s what the little dude wanted. It ain’t a big deal. We already all did it.”
That argument continued, but Rob was distracted. Two things happened at once, both of which were so huge and even difficult that Rob struggled to follow what was happening. First, Jimmy slid his dick in — it was clear he had a lot less experience with this than he had let on, he just forced it in and if Rob didn’t love being cornholed, it would have hurt a great deal — and he began humping Rob wildly. He showed off for his teammates by using all of his muscles when he stuck his dick into Rob. Secondly, Tuck groaned and came. That happened so suddenly that Rob didn’t even realize it wasn’t precum until Tuck was finishing up.
His load coated Rob’s tongue and the back of his mouth. It trickled down his throat. The intensely salty flavor assaulted Rob’s senses, mixing with the potent sweat that still filled his mouth.
“Fuck yeah! Gonna fill ya up, huh? You getting your money’s worth, ain’t ya?!” Tuck pumped his biceps as he rubbed his cock and balls over Rob’s face. “You sure you like this? It’s so fuckin’ nasty.”
Before Tuck could pull away, another player, George, had taken his place. His long, thick cock was already hard, and he must have been jacking off because he was already throbbing, his orgasm gathering like an approaching thunderstorm. Rob could feel it in his dick’s spasms in Rob’s throat.
He didn’t seem to notice that Rob had spat up most of Tuck’s cum. It flowed over the new cock in his mouth — that was a fullback named Will. Will had been the most popular football jock in his high school and had been annoyed that here at GHU, he was just another athlete, not even a first-stringer. He bragged about getting girls just like the other athletes, but he had only had sex with one girl since coming to college, and she wasn’t even very hot.
As Will sprayed his wad over Rob’s face, Rob sensed another player approaching him, the kicker Étienne. He was a Haitian immigrant, his upper body wiry, his lower half thick like a much larger man, and his trunk-like thigh muscles positively glowed because of the palm butter he rubbed into his skin every day. He masturbated into his own hand, looking at the naked pictures of girls in his locker. He sprayed his load into the palm of his hand.
He had planned on wiping all that cum off on Rob’s face, but when he was ready, his dark brown palm covered in goopy white cum, he didn’t want to touch him there. So he held his hand in front of Rob’s face — Rob was in between cocks at the time, Will having finished and two guys jousted near his face before Etienne pushed in front of them — and tipped his palm down. His cum stuck to his skin, but Rob raised his tongue and sucked it all off. He wanted to grab Etienne’s fingers and suck them each, maybe even play with that long, uncut cock. But he sensed that Etienne would have been uncomfortable with that.
“Don’t be squeamish, hoss! It’s just a little cum on yer balls!”
“Yeah, when we gangbanged that fat bitch, ain’t you get some cum on your dick then?
“Real men don’t care ‘bout that shit!”
Etienne was the only person who refused to participate. As those two players finished up in Rob’s mouth, jousting and denying how uncomfortable they were with it, Rob started stroking off whatever cocks he could grab.
Soon cum dripped in clumps off his face, and there was a puddle on the floor beneath his head. Rob was overwhelmed by pleasure as Jimmy’s cock began to tickle his prostate — Jimmy was so inexperienced at this that it took this long for him to get the hang of it.
Jimmy had been swearing to his teammates all year that he would fuck any female who gave up the ass. He said he refused to accept any girlfriend that didn’t let him in the ass. That means they’re not really on the pill, guys, that means they’re trying to trap you. He said he got every girl he dated to give up the booty, but Rob knew that wasn’t true. He shouldn’t have expected it to be true, since Jimmy had a massive cock — there were few women of any age or level of sluttitude who would be willing to take that it in the ass.
Rob’s ass was, in fact, only the second ass that Jimmy had ever penetrated, and he was the first whom Jimmy successfully fucked in the ass. His previous girlfriend had made him stop with less than a third of his dick inside her, and then she had frustrated him by refusing to let him in her pussy or mouth either because his dick smelled like ass. Jimmy had been so frustrated he beat up a couple of nerds on the way back to his dorm, then had angrily jacked himself off to Internet porn.
A Polynesian wide receiver named Poahi was the next to really ram Rob’s face. He alone had no compunctions about this whatsoever — on his home island in Samoa, there was a football coach who frequently jerked his players off. That was an expected, normal part of life for rugby jocks in Samoa. Poahi had been surprised to learn that didn’t happen in America.
So he alone made love to Rob’s face. The others didn’t want to touch Rob any more than necessary, but Poahi didn’t care. His planted his uncut cock in Rob’s throat, letting his balls drag over Rob’s nose and make a mess of the soup of loads he had taken on his face so far. Poahi smeared around the jizz with his fingers.
“Gonna paint yo’ balls white, Poahi!”
Someone shot their load right on Poahi’s balls. Most of the cum dripped down onto Rob’s face and forehead, and the entire team erupted in nervous laughter. The salty creaminess of whoever’s cum made Rob moan around the shaft of Polynesian meat throbbing in his throat.
“Let’s bukkake his sac!”
They had started off this day thinking that Rob would just lick their biceps and jack off in the hamper as he sniffed their jockstraps. Then they had accepted a little more contact, and a little more, and then they had agreed to bukkake him.
“I’m gonna nut on his ear, man, let’s drown that little guy!”
But now the remaining players were trying to make this as gross as possible, just to see if they could — none of them wanted to be the squeamish one who backed out. Poahi remained dick-deep in Rob’s throat, his heavy body leaning forward so there was plenty of room for the other players to cum on his massive ballsack.
All Rob could see was that scrotum, and all he could smell was football sweat. Poahi had always preferred American football to rugby, and he had been overjoyed to be accepted by an American university. He could have played professional rugby, but the Samoan team was barely paid anything. He hoped to make it into the NFL, and he really didn’t see why the other players reacted like it was weird for him to allow them all to cum on his balls.
“His throat feels like a nice, smooth pussy,” Poahi said, shrugging at this teammates, who were shocked at how little disgust he had with the situation.
Finally there were maybe fifteen loads on Poahi’s scrotum. It felt like another whole layer of flesh, like the cum that stuck to his hairy skin was palpably heavy. He pulled his dick out and plopped his balls in Rob’s mouth before Rob could even take a deep breath.
That was it for both Poahi and Jimmy, who reached orgasm as his cock tickled Rob’s prostate. Rob tasted an explosion of cum like he had never experienced before, as fifteen loads landed on his tongue at once, and a sixteenth erupted on his face at the same time from one of the backup tight ends who had been waiting for his turn.
Poahi moaned and felt up his massive pecs, while his low-hanging balls overflowed from Jimmy’s mouth. Poahi had always loved it when women handled his sensitive sac, and he groaned. His nipples were hard beneath his fingers. Rob tried to jack him off as he sucked on Poahi’s balls, but it was difficult because Poahi was simply huge — at more than seven feet tall and four hundred pounds, he was so wide that Jimmy could barely reach around his waist to stroke his dick.
He was also distracted by Jimmy, who groaned as he shot his load inside Rob’s ass. Jimmy’s handsome face tensed up, and his muscles flexed — he was momentarily self-conscious as the team cheered him on, and he felt tiny in comparison to Poahi.
“Ram his ass, Jimmy! Destroy it! Show him who’s boss!”
Poahi exclaimed in Samoan. Cum spurted out of Poahi uncut cock and coated Rob’s fingers, spraying over Rob’s chest, as his balls rose up in his sac in Rob’s mouth. Poahi shifted awkwardly, moaning. Since Rob had trouble reaching his dick, it was an uncomfortably intense orgasm, Poahi struggling and squirming, dragging his cum-soaked ballsack over Rob’s face.
Meanwhile hot cum flowed into his ass. Jimmy grunted and clapped. He made sure to pull his dick out all the way so everyone could see how big it was — it was even bigger than Poahi’s, which Jimmy was proud of and he wanted everyone to know it since he had a feeling most of them just assumed that a beefy giant like Poahi must have a beefy giant cock.
Intense pleasure shuddered through Jimmy’s body. He shot a gigantic load that filled up Rob’s tight ass. Jimmy kept plowing back and forth and laughed as he did, and his teammates slapped him on the ass. Jimmy tried to pretend his orgasm wasn’t as intense as it really was because he didn’t want to seem inexperienced.
“Naasty…”
“This locker room is gross. Smells like a fuckin’ brothel. Smells like that fat chicks sorority house.”
“Hell yeah! We should go over there later.”
At last it was over. Most of the players had already wandered off to the showers. Practice wasn’t over, but they were sweaty, covered in each other’s sweat, and most of them had at least one person’s cum dripping from their body. So while the lacrosse team was still on the field, they went in for a quick shower.
“How was that, man?” Jimmy asked as the other players filed out.
“Amazing,” Rob said. His voice was weak and wavery. It was almost four o’clock. That was as far as he had paid for, so it was about time for him to leave.
“You done?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “Is it okay if I just lay here for a bit? I’m not sure I can get up right now.”
Jimmy snickered. “Oh? Did I ram you too good?”
“You did it just right,” Rob said with a giggle. “But yes. Besides, maybe somebody will want some one on one attention when they’re done showering.”

The Alpha in a Wrestling Singlet

Avery is summoned into a steamy sauna by a wrestling coach, cuz one of his athletes is in a rage-filled fury over a ref’s bad call, and only Avery’s tender touch — and his mouth — can calm this livid alpha! That’s cuz Marco’s a hothead with a need to dominate other men, which is something Avery is eager to sign up for.

Can Avery get Marco to calm down long enough to spill his seed?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Avery struggled to remain professional. He was in the men’s locker room at the Cornerside Gym near the GHU campus. The smell of sweat filled the air even though no one was in here. It stank of manhood. Avery had an urge to just go through smelling things, checking out the shower where it sounded like someone was still cleaning himself off. The locker room was full of clothes scattered over the floor. That’s because there was a wrestling match going on. The wrestlers had changed, gone out for the match and left their clothes behind.
That was the source of the smell that Avery craved. As a masseur working for the Cornerside Gym, he had to stay professional. He was not hired to sniff the jocks of this college wrestling team.
“Just wait here,” Coach Thickman said when they came to the physical therapy work-space at the back of the locker room, connected to it by a hallway. His bristly mustache shook. Avery suspected that Thickman was supposed to give him more instructions, but Thickman just walked away. “The match is over. Marco will be here soon.”
Avery didn’t know why he was here. He had been hired to give someone named Marco a massage, but Avery had a feeling that was just an excuse to get him here. Marco was probably going to ask for Avery to jerk him off.
That was also part of being a masseur for the Cornerside Gym. Avery was expected to — and was eager to — fulfill that part of his duties. Avery greatly admired the male form, and the Cornerside Gym was full of men with the most admirable of physiques. It was a serious gym, men only, home to real athletes and bodybuilders, and of course, this regional champion wrestling team.
A series of loud whoops and hollers filled the locker room. The sound echoed and resonated. They were angry, upset, Avery gathered, they must not have done well in the match. There were grunts, recriminations, possibly some almost-fights. Avery had to fight back his urge to sneak out there and watch. The physical therapy room was set back a little, with lockable doors since it was accessible from both the men’s and women’s locker rooms. Avery would have to step well out into the hall to see anything. He wondered if he’d get in trouble.
Then Marco entered with a scowl on his face. He was short, but he was a heavyweight, his body packed with muscle and body hair, which extended all the way to his shoulders. He had swarthy skin and dark eyes, with a curly mess of tangled black hair. His hawkbrown nose was hooked and regal — he was a dark hawkbrown, a darkhawk, as they say, not that Avery ascribes to that kind of thing. It had a crooked bent to it, like it had been broken recently.
“Yo.” Marco sneered. “Man!” He threw his hands in the air like he was upset. He turned back around. “Coach! I-” He took one step out of the door and rammed right into the beefy chest of Coach Thickman, who pushed him back into the physical therapy room.
“What?”
“Lemme go talk to that ref, coach. He made a mistake.” Marco’s voice was clipped, angry, almost sinister. He had a thick New York accent with a deep and guttural stawk in a barking baritone to it that made Avery shiver with delight. Marco straightened the tight straps of his wrestling singlet. His chest hair was matted to his skin with sweat. His pecs and his biceps and shoulders and back all kept rippling as though it took every muscle he had to adjust his cock in the crotch of his singlet and stretch then release each strap of the singlet.
He ran his fingers through the thick black mane of hair, which clung flat to his head cuz he was so sweaty and it was hot and humid in here. A few tufts suggested he normally combed it up, and he had a voluminous head of hair, so it probably looked great on him like that. Pity he had a harsh, cocky-asshole of a face, a very punchable face, handsome but you’d never see him play a good guy in a movie.
“No. You’ll hit him.”
Marco scowled. “No I won’t.” But he mean-mugged at Avery as if that was a lie. He again stretched the fabric of his sweat-soaked singlet. The GHU colors were silver and red, so there was a silver U whose lower part stretched to his crotch. His fat cock protruded against the fabric. Avery could see that it had fallen out of his jockstrap, probably because he kept scratching it and rearranging his junk in his singlet. He sniffled and rubbed his nose. He might have been sniffing the hand that just arranged his cock and balls in his singlet. “I won’t hit the pansy.” He glanced at Avery, then looked down at his feet and again rearranged his dick in his singlet. “I don’t hit pansies.”
“You can’t hit someone every time you lose, Marco. You said-“
“Lemme out there!”
“You can’t hit the ref!”
“Fine, lemme fuck the slut. Where’s that slut-?” Marco paced, his hefty ass jiggling up and down in his singlet. It was riding up in his asscrack, so he pulled the fabric out of it as he paced. “You said I could have a slut-“
Coach Thickman slapped Marco across the face. A loud ringing sound boomed and echoed through the locker room. The moist sweatiness of Marco’s skin could be heard in the slap. Thickman shoved Marco back into the physical therapy room. “Don’t make me lay down the law, boy. I let you have a lotta leeway. You know I can’t bring you a female, the university is lookin’ into that shit, I could get fired if they found out. They wouldn’t even let me keep a cheerleader calendar in my office, cuz it could give you boys stiffies you can’t control, you gonna go groping waitresses at the Waffle House and shit, damn-“
“That wasn’t me!” Marco said.
“Shut yo’ fool mouth, sumbitch!” Thickman said. He jabbed a finger in Marco’s face. “You get’cha temper under control!” He sucked on his teeth, mean-mugging Marco harshly. “You got that Latin blood, that’s what that is. You got pepper under yo’ collar.” He feigned like he was gonna smack Marco in the balls, and Marco flinched. Thickman laughed and patted him on the cheek of the face, then the cheek of the ass. “So slow yo’ roll, whiteboy.”
“I told you it ain’t my fault!” Marco shouted. He pounded on his chest. Avery detected a casual stawk in his voice, like he was from New York or pretended to be. “Lemme out there, I ain’t a pussy. I can kick that blond motherfucker’s ass too, that last one I wrestled. He wrestled like a rank coward, like he don’t know nothing, Coach, swear to Christ! He over there in the other locker room, right? C’mon, he ain’t gonna bitch me out. No way. I ain’t lookin’ like a sloppy punk-ass sumbitch! I’ll go right over there, coach, swear to fuckin’ Christ! I’ll rip his goddamn nuts off and shove ‘em down that ref’s throat! I keeps it real, you know that!”
“Marco!” Coach Thickman barked. He smacked Marco again, and Marco stepped towards him like they were going to fight. Thickman pushed Marco, who was red-faced and fuming now, unable to stand still. He came at Thickman as though trying to pick a fight with someone behind him, even though there was no one there.
“You promised, Coach, you said you’d get me a girl! You said that! I ain’t playin’, I ain’t that kinda man! That fuckhead from Portsmouth State, man, I swear, you know I could have kicked his ass if it wasn’t for that damn ref!”
“Marco, shut up!” Thickman wrapped one arm around Marco’s head and put him in a tight headlock. Marco screamed and twisted, trying to get out of it, but he ended up only ensconced more tightly in Thickman’s arms. Thickman shouted incomprehensibly. Marco was bent backwards, with made his sweat-soaked crotch bulge aim upward. Avery’s eyes were drawn to it.
Marco was uncut. Avery could see that through the singlet. He licked his lips.
There was a long awkward pause. Avery was both nervous because this had turned into a very angry encounter for no comprehensible reason and aroused because Marco’s massive body rubbed against Coach Thickman’s. Marco’s sweat rubbed off on Thickman’s muscled flesh, which made his white polo shirt translucent.
“You okay? You better now?” Thickman asked when there had been a few moments of silence. Marco’s glistening chest heaved up and down, his pecs rippling under the straps of his singlet.
“Yeah. Fine. Lemme go.” Marco scoffed as though that should have been obvious, like he had never lost his temper. Thickman let him go. Marco again straightened his singlet. He glanced at Avery as though he hadn’t noticed him until now. “Man, coach-“
“Shut ya face, Marco.”
Marco bit his lip and looked down. His muscles were tense. He opened his mouth to complain a few more times, then stopped.
Thickman crossed his arms over his chest. “You wanted me to keep you out of trouble, right? You wanted me to make sure you didn’t get kicked off the team and arrested?”
“Man… Just… I won’t hit him.” Marco didn’t sound like he believed that even as he said it.
“Who? Some random lady in the parking lot?”
Marco sucked on his teeth. “No!” Coach Thickman glared at him. Marco cleared his throat. “The ref, man.”
“He’s gone, Marco. The only person you’ll find out there you can hit is maybe a lady in the parking lot.”
“I can go after that blond fuck from Portsmouth State. He wrestled like a fucking pussy, Thickman-“
Thickman slapped him again. “Do not call me Thickman, you little shit. You speak to me with respect.”
“Sorry, Coach.” Marco shifted his weight between his feet.
Thickman looked at Avery. “This is Marco. He’s a fucking moron with a temper problem. His idiot brain is always picking fights-“
“Man, Coach-” He sucked on his teeth.
“Shut up. Every time he loses he throws a little baby hissyfit and punches someone. Then I gotta clean up his messes with the police, with his teammates, with the dean, with the goddamn rabbi that one time-“
“It ain’t a hissyfit, shut up! I ain’t a fuckin’ pussy, coach, I’ll kick anyone’s ass, swear to Christ! I’ll come at those motherfuckers with e’rything — I’ll punch a Jew if he comes at me, you know that, I keep it real, Coach! Motherfuckers are always comin’ at me-“
“Shut up!” Thickman roared. “Which motherfuckers, Marco? There’s no motherfuckers here to hit. You just lost a match. You can’t get arrested every time that happens.”
“I ain’t get arrested every time it happens!”
“Sixty percent of the time!”
“Not every time! That ain’t every time!”
Thickman sighed. “You said you needed to get a nut out, Marco-“
“Not a man!”
“You specifically said you didn’t care! We agreed on this! You said you ain’t care cuz you a top. As long as you get ya dick wet, it don’t matter. Ah, coach, you don’t even know, where I come from, real man gotta stick his dick in someone, just fuck the shit outta her, or him, it’s all pink on the inside! I make any kinda bitch squeal!” Thickman did an exaggeratedly caveman-like impression. “Remember? The hood in Brooklyn.”
“I ain’t say that! I ain’t say that! I was just talkin’ ‘bout, y’know, my old ‘hood back in New York, coach. That’s how wise guys do it, y’know. They don’t care ‘bout males…” Marco’s voice trailed off. He looked at Avery like he had just noticed him there. “I mean… Yeah, hell yeah, I can do it. You ready, boy? I’m-a rock ya world.” He grabbed his dick through his singlet and shook it in Avery’s direction. “Wreck ya ass, boy. Like the old country.”
Thickman slapped him again. “What’d I say about that shit?” He lightly smacked Marco’s ass through that tight blue singlet. “Go’n cornhole him. He’s into it.” He looked at Avery, who eagerly nodded. Thickman smacked Marco’s ass again, making his cheeks jiggle like Mount Aetna. “Go’n hurry up. Don’t hit him.”
“I won’t!” Then Marco was quiet for a long time, chewing on his lower lip. His anger seemed to have diminished, but his chest still heaved, soaked in aggression-fueled sweats. “What happened to that girl?”
Thickman sighed. “I tol’ you that ain’t happenin’, on account of two reasons. Firstly, you lost and I ain’t bringin’ you no girl when you lose.”
“Man…”
“Secondly, you called that girl a bitch and a slut and a ho. You tried to get her to suck ya brother’s dick.”
“So? She could’ve done it.”
“Marco… You told me you couldn’t concentrate cuz the girls around here are prudes. You said you’d stop getting in trouble if you-“
“Coach-!”
“You said that! You said you needed to drain ya nuts! You ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout double-teamin’ some slut with your brother! Who ain’t even in this state, dumbass! What’d you think she was gonna do? Hang out in here while your brother drives for eight hours to get a blowjob?”
“Man, shut up!”
“She said you were too mean and too hairy and you said you took a shower but she didn’t think you took a shower and you fucked her too rough and you got a dick that looks like a goblin!”
“She did not!”
“She did! She said all that! She said she chargin’ extra for you next time. I don’t blame. Son, you nasty. Get right wit’ God.”
Marco hung his head. He shrugged and sucked on his teeth. “Whatever, that bitch was a fuckin’ prude, and she had a stank ass.”
“She had a stank ass? Shut up, Marco. Just go stick the pansy. Don’t hit him.”
“I won’t,” Marco said. He looked at Avery and shrugged. “Alright, then. You, uh… How, y’know, how you wanna do this?”
Coach Thickman scoffed. “I thought you knew how to use ya dick like a champion, Marco? Remember? Like in the old country? Of Brooklyn? You can get ya nut off in-“
“Shut up. Get outta here. I don’t wanna do it wit’ ya old-ass watching me.”
“Keep talkin’ ‘bout my ass, boy, you’ll find your tongue deep inside it,” Thickman said. “I’m-a wait right outside, so you ain’t tempted to start punching.”
“I wouldn’t. Punching sissies is like punching girls. You ain’t allowed to do that,” Marco said indignantly as Thickman went to the hall. He faced towards the locker room. Marco looked back at Avery. Despite Marco’s apparent confidence, his face looked tense and nervous, and he yet again rearranged his cock in his singlet and ran the same hand through his mop of hair.
“That’s why she said you stink,” Avery said.
“What?” Marco said with a snort.
“You keep touching your balls,” Avery said. “Then your hair, or you rub your nose. It makes you smell like ballsweat.
Marco snorted again. He threw his eyebrows way back. “What? Oh.” He grunted. “Okay. Thanks.”
Avery nodded. “Be gentle with girls.”
“Man, shit, shut up, you dunno nothin,” Marco said.
Avery walked right up to him, ignoring his fluttering heart. The scent of Marco’s post-match sweat filled the air. It was intense because it clung both to his body hair — which was substantial — and his singlet. Avery planted his tongue on Marco’s chest right above the edge of his singlet, which Marco began to remove.
“I done this before, man,” Marco said. “It ain’t shameful for me, y’know, cuz I’s on top. I ain’t no less of a man, nuh-uh.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “That’s how it is in th old country. Italy.”
“Of course,” Avery said. He dropped to his knees as Marco’s singlet landed on the floor. He wore a plain jockstrap, which Avery removed, making his thick, uncut cock pop out. He had a heavy pair of low-hangers too, which Avery cupped in one hand.
“Yeah, there it is, man, swallow that shit,” he said. He smacked Avery across the face with it. “Is it the biggest you’ve ever seen?”
“Hell yeah it is,” Avery said, following the shaft with his mouth. He stuck his tongue out until Marco held still long enough for him to lick it. The unwashed taste of body sweat and sun-drenched male flesh hit Avery’s tongue, making him moan. It wasn’t actually the biggest cock Avery had ever seen — it wasn’t even the biggest — but it was plenty big and Avery thought Marco’s arrogance was alluring, so he said it was the biggest. “By far the biggest, man, for sure.” He chased it with his tongue.
“I know,” he said. He sniffled like it didn’t matter. He kept thwacking Avery over the face with it though, emphasizing how it was almost as long as Avery’s entire face. It was thick and meaty too, and it was indeed uncut, just as Avery suspected when he saw it through the singlet.
Avery took that foreskin-clad tip in hand, and he started stroking it. He didn’t often get to jerk off uncut men, so it was a nice change of pace. He liked the way it seemed to have excess skin as he stroked it up and down, but then it grew more taut as it firmed up under the grip of his hands and his tongue. The funky smell of Marco’s dick got even more intense when it hardened up and that cocktip came out to play.
As a series of aggressive moans came outta Marco’s throat, Avery slathered spit up and down it, slobbering saliva all over the shaft. Marco bristled, shuffling his weight between his feet. Marco’s face showed his anxiety and his surprise at how good this felt, but he scoffed like he wasn’t impressed and kept his eyes away from Avery’s.
Avery said, as though the answer should have been obvious, “You’re Italian, right?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said. He thwacked Marco’s fat erection over his face. Each time it hit Avery’s tongue and bounced off, it jiggled and roped over his nose and his forehead. And each time Marco twitched like he had seen a ghost. His cock pulsated atop Avery’s face. “So you’ll do it old-country style? Or not? Doesn’t matter to me, that’s just how real Italians do it. It’s a machismo thing.”
He sniffled and shifted his weight between his feet. He wiped his face off. “Hell yeah,” he grunted. “‘Course I do it that way, slut. I know what it means.” He sniffled. “I’m from Brooklyn, dawg. We keep it real.”
“Oh, great, okay,” Avery said. His heart thumped. Was this really working? He turned around and aimed his ass for Marco’s cock. “What’s that Italian saying? A virile man makes his bottom feel it all. I don’t remember it in Italian.”
“That’s right.” He spoke in stuttering Italian, a language he obviously had only a dim knowledge of. “Uh-huh. That’s how you say that.”
He was so focused on his dick sliding into Avery’s ass that he barely seemed to notice his hand being brought around to Avery’s front. The heat emanating from his sweat-soaked chest hit Avery’s smooth back, as his cock rammed its way up Avery’s backside. That sent a spasm of pleasure to wrack Avery’s body, and he let out a harsh, jagged moan of a breath. Avery dragged Marco’s to his own cock and had Marco start stroking, just as his manhood filled Avery’s ass up all the way.
“Ah shit!” Marco yelped and backed his hand away when he realized he was giving Avery a reacharound. “What the fuck?”
“Oh, I thought you were going to gimme a reacharound? That’s how the toughest tops do it in prison and stuff, y’know, but that’s fine,” Avery said with a grin. “That’s how mafia guys do it. I thought you were from New York? They’ve got old-country Italians there, I just assumed you were into that.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I know. Yeah,” Marco said with an indignant sniffle. His hand moved slowly back to Avery’s cock, and he gulped as he touched it. “Yeah, ‘course. That’s how they do it in the old country. It ain’t, y’know, America is… things is different over there.”
“Your cock is so big,” Avery said with a moan. He leaned his head back, which both allowed him to grind his ass onto Marco’s cock while licking his chest hair as well as gave Marco easy access to Avery’s cock. Avery got swallowed up in the thickness of his arms and his chest.
It was an awkward reacharound, but Avery didn’t mind. The nervous yet cocky sounds emanating from Marco’s throat made the awkwardity worth it. Avery turned his face to the side so he could suck all the wrestling sweat off Marco’s chest, while his body squirmed and experienced Marco’s increasingly harsh ramming.
Soon he slammed his dick in all the way with each thrust of his hips. At first he seemed to want to do it hard enough to make Avery tell him to slow down, but when it became clear that wouldn’t happen, he stopped trying. Instead he closed his eyes, bit his lip and slammed his dick in and out as hard as he could. His balls slapped agsinst Avery’s asscheeks.
But Avery wasn’t surprised that Marco had trouble keeping a girl after fucking her — he was not gentle, and he wasn’t aggressive in an obviously good way either. Avery loved it because he liked a little pain, and he thought Marco’s machismo was hot. Girls, Avery thought, would find it a lot less appealing. That, he thought, must be why Marco was so angry and high-strung.
That and the smelling-like-ballsweat thing.
“Alright, boy, gonna fill you up,” Marco said with a grunt. He held Avery’s body in place with one hand while his other stroked Avery off. He had no sooner warned Avery when his balls crawled up in his sac. He stopped moving for just a moment, grunted in Avery’s ear and then let go of him.
Hot cum sprayed into Avery, great arcing jets of it that filled him up and turned his prostate on. Before Marco had even finished cumming, Avery was having his own orgasm — luckily Marco didn’t notice Avery’s cum coating his fingers — as the most intense sensations of his life ran up his spine.
It was a moment that seemed to last forever, Avery being filled at one end while his own cock sprayed onto Marco’s pudgy fingers. His hairy Italian muscles rippled behind Avery’s back, and his hot breath condensed on Avery’s neck.
Marco pulled away the moment he was done, so quickly that the last few drops of his cum landed on Avery’s back. They dripped down his asscrack and onto the floor of the filthy locker room. He sighed like he had thought he might not be able to do that.
“Alright, Coach Thickman, I done it,” Marco said. He snorted and jogged in place, half-hard dick bouncing as it slowly limpened.
Thickman walked in and groaned at the sight of his hard cock. “Boy, cover yourself up.”
But Marco just glared first at his singlet and jockstrap, then at Coach Thickman, then at Avery, then back at Thickman. “Nah,” he said like a cocky jerk. He walked towards the locker room, stark-naked. “I gotta take a shower.”
Thickman followed him trying to make him put clothes on, but Marco ignored him. Avery didn’t mind. He stayed there with Marco’s jockstrap and singlet, sniffing it and bringing himself to a second orgasm that was so intense it was almost painful. He spurted his second wad onto the pile of sweat-soaked clothes Marco had worn in here and forgotten about on the floor.
When he was done, Avery gathered up the singlet and the jockstrap, he hurried out of there. Those, he thought, were going to give him orgasms for many nights to come.

Coachly Bonding

When wrestler Josh Chadwin has to shower with his college coach, he knew things would get awkward, but he didn’t know how enjoyable it could be! That’s cuz Josh is in for a wild ride of truck stop action, jock manhood and coachly bonding!

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Kyle Chadwin told himself he was being silly. Coach Walker wasn’t going to do anything to him. Chadwin was being punished, but it wasn’t like a real punishment; this wasn’t prison.
As he walked to that truck stop shower, it felt like prison though.
Chadwin was a college wrestler. He was one of the best athletes on the team, maybe the best, or at least the most consistent at meets, and everyone knew it. He was raised to be proud and confident and to make certain everyone knew that he could hold his own. He should show leadership. He needed to make certain the younger wrestlers understood his authority. He wasn’t the team captain, but if he got past this punishment and did well, he might be team captain next year.
Anyway, Chadwin had been trying to show leadership to the freshmen when some hazing got out of control. The end result was that Chadwin made one freshman wrestler run around the campus in his jockstrap. It wasn’t even really hazing, Chadwin thought, because the freshman was only doing it to be invited to an upperclassman party. But since the jockstrap exposed the freshman’s bare ass, it was treated as a “flashing incident” by the dean — women could have seen it, if there were any on campus at the time, which there weren’t, making the whole thing stupid, Chadwin thought. But he had been suspended for three weeks anyway. That suspension was up tomorrow, which was just in time for the state tournament. The dean even raced to institute the suspension so it would be over with in time for him to compete in the tournament.
But Chadwin had had no way of getting to the tournament aside from the team bus, which he was prohibited from riding in because he was still under suspension. The rest of the team had gone today and were spending tonight in a motel.
That was why Chadwin had had no choice but to ride in Coach Walker’s car.
They had to spend one night here in a Ramwide Truck Stop along the highway. Chadwin thought that was insane — he hadn’t asked beforehand, but he assumed they were going to sleep in a motel, separate from the team because the athletic department couldn’t pay for accommodations for him while his suspension was still on. He had assumed him and Coach Walker each have a room to themselves.
Now that assumption made him feel spoiled. Coach Walker said he couldn’t afford even one motel room. Chadwin could have asked his parents to pay. They probably would. But now he’d sound bratty if he said so, and it was too late anyway. The sun was going down.
“Does the truck stop have… beds?” Chadwin asked. He didn’t know if that was a foolish question or not. Semis have little bedrooms behind the truck cab, don’t they? But anyway, surely not all of them did, so maybe the truck stop did have rooms to rent overnight?
“No. But I don’t got the cash for a motel room, and the next one isn’t for miles anyway. All my money goes to my bitch ex-wife,” Coach Walker said with a dry chuckle, as his use of a curse word made Chadwin bristle and straighten his back. He patted Chadwin on the back. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. We’ll sleep in the car. I’ve done it before. My car’s real comfortable. My current wife makes me sleep out there at least once a month.”
Chadwin felt a sense of dread but agreed. He didn’t have any choice anyway — he wasn’t about to miss the state tournament for any reason.
But now they were at a Ramwide — that was a chain of truck stops known throughout the country — and Coach Walker told Chadwin to come take a shower with him. Chadwin had a much better body than Coach Walker, but he didn’t feel like it as they undressed together. Coach Walker snorted and sniffled, making noise every step of the way. He seemed ancient, though he was only middle-aged, and his darkly tanned skin was marked with scars and a few faded tattoos. He didn’t have a perfect six-pack, but he looked like he probably did back in the day.
Chadwin, on the other hand, was ropy-muscled and solidly built, but without all the heft of Coach Walker’s body. Chadwin was light-skinned and six-packed, with deep dimples and not a single scar, tattoo or mark anywhere on his mostly hairless body. Chadwin thought he shouldn’t be intimidated by the older man. If anyone saw them together, they’d say Chadwin was in better shape. He had a six-pack and plenty of muscles. Girls came running. Not that Chadwin was a pervert. He was ROTC, he was ready for the Army, or maybe the Marines, he hadn’t decided.
So he shouldn’t be nervous about showering with Coach Walker. He showered with his teammates and his ROTCmates. That was always awkward at first and even later. But they played around, snapped towels at each other’s asses, tried to fart on each other, competed to piss the furthest distance in the shower, talked about girls — horseplay, basically.
Can’t do horseplay with a grandfather. Coach Walker might not have been a grandfather, Chadwin had no idea. But he was old enough he could be, which was weird enough.
One of the Chadwin’s squadmates in the ROTC was a couple years older, and he was already out of boot camp. He said his drill sergeant came in and showered with his barrack cuz they kept getting in trouble for playing around, making a mess, squirting dandruff shampoo on each other and wasting time. He said his drill sergeant had a fat old wrinkly dick that was hard not to stare out, but they’d get shouted at for being pansies if they got caught looking at it.
Which was hilarious, but now that he was changing with Coach Walker in the truck stop bathroom, Chadwin also found himself unable to look away. It was big but not freakishly huge, and Chadwin suspected Coach Walker was a show-er, not a grower. Chadwin was the opposite. His cock was nothing to sneeze at, but it wasn’t impressive until it firmed up.
He gulped. Chadwin was stripped to his underwear, hesitating as Coach Walker got his socks off and then rubbed his feet with like a brush or something. Was that something old men did? Chadwin didn’t want to ask.
The other old man in the shower, some mangy redneck with a mustache, he came out into the changing area then. He too was naked and had a wrinkly old-man cock, though he was only maybe thirty. Looked like a hard thirty though.
“You fellers truckin’?” asked the mustachioed man. He stood there with his dingy tight-whites in one hand, scratching his balls and playing with his wet dick like he was trying to make it dry off quickly.
A disquieting sensation roiled Chadwin. He opened his eyes wide.
“Nossuh,” Coach Walker said. He sat down on the bench next to Chadwin, spreading his legs wide to let his cock and balls graze in the air. “We’s on the way to Richmond, for a wrestling tournament. Triple-A. This is Josh, he’s the wrestler. I’m a coach, obviously.”
The man nodded. “Cool, cool, wrestlin’ is a real man sport, I do declare,” he said. He stepped into his ratty tight-whites. “Not like gymnastics.” He sneered. “Or golf.”
They both chuckled, and Chadwin forced himself to do likewise. “Yeah, golf…” he muttered. Possibly neither of them noticed he said anything.
“Hmm-hmmm,” Coach Walker murmured, and he wrapped one arm around Chadwin’s well-muscled side. They both sat there — Chadwin still in his underpants — as the mustachioed man dressed and headed out the door. He did seem to notice that Coach Walker and Chadwin were just sitting there, not showering or anything, but he didn’t ask why. Maybe that was normal at Ramwide Truck Stop. “You okay, Josh?”
“Yes, yes, sir,” Chadwin said, as confidently as he could muster. Coach Walker’s hand stayed wrapped around his waist, gripping his ribcage firmly, as though the check how much fat there was there. None. Chadwin was aiming for a low weight class, that was why.
“I’ve been following that meal plan!” Chadwin blurted out. “And doin’ the sauna like you said.”
“Good, good.” Coach Walker stood up. His manhood dangled in front of Chadwin’s face, and Chadwin could smell the rank sweat of his ballsac. Or maybe that was just him. Chadwin wrinkled his nose. Coach Walker twirled his cock and thwacked it against one palm, then the other. “C’mon, let’s get our shower over with.”
Chadwin forced himself not to look at Coach Walker’s cock. Chadwin tried to tell himself it was okay, and it wasn’t bigger than his. That was true, it wasn’t, or at least it was maybe only barely right now, but when they were both hard — not that they were gonna both get hard, that would be ridiculous — but when they were both hard, they’d be the same size, Chadwin was sure.
Was Coach Walker getting a boner? As Chadwin finally dropped his underwear, he thought he detected a sliver of firmness in Coach Walker’s cockshaft.
He assumed that they’d go immediately into the shower, but instead Coach Walker grabbed Chadwin’s dick with one hand. He held it tight, almost tight enough to hurt. Chadwin sucked in his breath, then didn’t exhale.
Coach Walker’s other hand gripped Chadwin’s shoulder, then ran down his arm and to his chest. “Flex your biceps,” he said.
Chadwin did so. He cock throbbed in Coach Walker’s rough hand. Coach Walker rubbed his free hand all over Chadwin’s biceps and triceps, and he tweaked each pec until they twitched and rippled. Then — much to Chadwin’s growing wide-eyed horror — Coach Walker leaned in to take a deep long sniff of Chadwin’s armpit.
His nose got right in the hair too. It wasn’t a little sniff, it was a full-throttle snort, like he was hoping to inhale Chadwin’s sweat. Then he straightened up.
“Why you nervous, Josh?” Coach Walker asked. He placed his hand back on Chadwin’s dick, holding onto it like a handle. He normally called him ‘Chadwin’ even when most others called him ‘Josh’. Now that they were alone at the motel, he was calling him ‘Josh’. It sounded weird coming out of his old-man mouth.
“I’m not!” Chadwin blushed. He knew he sounded defensive. No one else was in the shower, so he really shouldn’t feel nervous. Only a pansy was nervous to be naked around men. A man. One man. One old man with big droopy balls.
“Big handsome boy like you, I know you get girls all the time!” He laughed. His other hand dropped to Chadwin’s ass, while his right hand stayed tightly wrapped around Chadwin’s cock.
Chadwin blushed. He was embarrassed though he didn’t know why. Coach Marshall — the head of the athletic department at GHU — had walked in on Chadwin plowing a nursing student in the girl’s locker room one morning. Chadwin had gotten in big trouble for that. The rest of the coaching staff kept saying that Chadwin was a real casanova and a pervert because of it, though Chadwin didn’t really think of it like that.
She was his steady girlfriend, after all. Not a one-night stand. They broke up last month, but it was a serious relationship. They were both Christian. They were talking about getting married. It was close enough to marital to be acceptable in Chadwin’s eyes.
“Hmmm… I know the girls love you and those dimples…”
“Yeah,” Chadwin said. He bit his lip. “I mean, yeah, yes, sir, Coach Walker.”
“Relax, relax, boy,” he said with a laugh. Both hands rested on Chadwin’s ass now, caressing his plump cheeks, which Chadwin was surprised to find he enjoyed. It was ticklish and awkward but pleasant. “Take a deep breath. We’s on a road trip now. I know you’re still young, you dunno what that means. On a road trip, y’know… when you’s away from home, Joshie-“
Chadwin grunted because Coach Walker was closer to him now, virtually hugging him and speaking directly in his ear. That meant his soft cock pressed limply against Chadwin’s thigh. Chadwin really hated it when anyone called him Joshie — that’s what his parents called him, and he didn’t even like it then.
“Nothing counts on a road trip, son,” Coach Walker said. “What happens here, it didn’t happen. Got it?”
“Uh, sir?”
“That means you can say what you want. You can do whatever feels right,” he said. He grabbed Chadwin’s cock with one hand. “You can smoke that weed I know you got in your duffel bag.” He chuckled, his hot breath condensing on Chadwin’s face. “As long as you share.”
“Oh…” Chadwin’s blood ran cold. Did it smell? He thought it might smell, but he double-wrapped it, then put it in a sealed container. It didn’t seem to smell.
“Have you ever thought about kissing a man, son?”
“No.” Chadwin’s voice trembled.
“I find that difficult to believe,” he said.
“I mean… I’ve thought about it. I would try it, uh, you know… if I knew anyone who…”
Coach Walker planted his lips on Chadwin’s. Chadwin quivered. It was a quick, chaste kiss. “You can go wait for me in the car, son. Or you can stay here and get dirty all over again.”
“Um… Okay.” Chadwin wanted to leave. He was glad to have that option.
But he didn’t.
No matter how much his mind told himself to walk away, he didn’t; he didn’t want to; he craved finding out what would happen next and how it would make him feel. His dick was already twitching and he was thinking about how much he needed a stiffy — he’d been single for a month, and his balls were aching. He wasn’t sure what was happening. A part of him still thought that maybe Coach Walker was just messing with him.
But nevertheless, Chadwin’s body apparently found it to get hard. His cock tingled and thrummed. He desperately wanted to blow his wad. He couldn’t think about anything else but Coach Walker’s hand encircling his cock. He wasn’t stroking it, just holding on for now.
“I’m glad you stayed, son. A lotta college boys is too scared to shower with me.” He flopped his dick between his fingers and hit Chadwin’s cock with it. Chadwin had a big slab of meat when it was hard — not as big as Coach Walker’s — but he felt small right now. “You scared this is gonna feel so good you forget about girls, huh?”
“Uh-“
“That won’t happen.” He smiled. “You wanna jack me off?”
“Uh, no…”
He frowned. “Fine. You don’t got to. You wanna taste my dick?”
“Uh, no…”
“You want me to ram you in the ass?”
“No!”
He laughed like he knew what the answer to that last one would be, he was just messing with Chadwin. He chuckled and shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Remember, once we leave this truck stop, none of this happened.”
“Yeah.” Chadwin’s voice was weak and wavering. “Yes, sir.”
Then, without another word of warning, Coach Walker dropped to his knees and popped Chadwin’s cock in his mouth. He smiled and looked up at Chadwin, who gasped.
A shiver of pleasure ran up and down Chadwin’s spine. He groaned and grunted. Coach Walker’s mouth was warm and moist, and it sent tingles of intense sensations to wrack Chadwin’s body. Coach Walker ran his tongue up and down the shaft, making eye contact with Chadwin, who stood on his toes and held his breath.
“That feel good?”
Chadwin nodded. He didn’t know why, since it was awkward for him, not pleasurable. He had never been with a man at all. He had never even let a man touch his dick outside of some wrestling team horseplay — and once he stuck his cock in a gloryhole to let a woman suck him off, but another wrestler on his team Wesley said afterwards that it was a man in there. His cock throbbed, sending waves of pleasure through his body. Chadwin gasped.
It felt good, in a way. Chadwin’s mind reeled as Coach Walker started really slurping on it, slathering spit up and down his shaft, using his mouth and both hands on it. Chadwin wondered if he was even going to be able to get hard. It felt like a blowjob from a girl, he thought, but somehow more distant, less real.
That lasted only until he managed to take a deep breath and relax a little though. When his eyes were closed, he could almost forget he was with a man. The longer this lasted, the more he felt pleasure instead of awkwardity.
Finally his dick was hard. He hadn’t even felt it stiffen up, but it was as hard as steel now. Coach Walker was a hefty man who could swallow the whole thing, nuzzling Chadwin deep until his nose was nestled in his kinky pubic hairs. He had a cavernous mouth. He was big enough that he had to stoop over to take Chadwin in his throat.
This wasn’t the first time Coach Walker had gotten a taste of one of his wrestlers.
He had been able to tell that Chadwin would be willing from just a few days after the season began — he had discovered one easy way to tell which jocks would be willing and which wouldn’t: they fucked ugly girls, or at least fat girls. Chadwin was a handsome, popular, dimpled young man with a nice body; he could have, and did, get laid nearly every weekend, Coach Walker was pretty sure, and his locker room banter had made it clear he didn’t mind fucking large girls, ugly or unpopular girls, or girls he simply didn’t like.
Coach Walker had long determined that those athletes who fucked girls despite their appearance would also be willing to be jerked off by a man, even if they didn’t know it yet. He savored the clean, salty flavor of the precum flowing from Chadwin’s cocktip.
Or maybe Chadwin wasn’t like that, he’d often said he was Christian. Maybe he was just pretending in that locker-room talk. It wasn’t cool to be prudish nowadays.
He looked up at Chadwin and smiled around the cock in his throat.
Chadwin’s eyes were closed — scrunched shut tightly — and his face was tense. Chadwin twisted and writhed, hands flailing because he had briefly touched Coach Walker’s head only to be reminded he wasn’t with a woman. Coach Walker’s bald head (shaved, but you could tell he was naturally balding) felt distinctly masculine beneath Chadwin’s fingertips. So his hands hovered in the air instead.
As he felt Chadwin’s orgasm rising, Coach Walker tried to make him grab his head. He didn’t say anything because he knew his deep, gravelly voice would make Chadwin uncomfortable again. But he guided Chadwin’s hand to his scalp. Chadwin gripped him for only a moment, rammed his throat like a tender womanhood and he was a rampaging viking, until his cock filled up Coach Walker’s neck and throbbed in his throat.
Walker sputtered and gagged despite himself, letting out a moan in his baritone voice. His beard hairs scratched at the base of Chadwin’s dick, again reminding him he was with a man. He let go of his coach’s head, opening his eyes again just in time to meet his coach’s gaze.
Chadwin gasped, unable to look away or close his eyes as an orgasm coursed through his veins. He blushed intensely and cried out. Coach Walker grabbed Chadwin’s ass to make him throat him that way, using his gullet like a pussy, and he got that entire pulsating dick back in his throat just seconds before Chadwin filled him up.
Creamy hot cum sprayed down Coach Walker’s throat, coating him in his sticky juices. He could feel it trickling through his flesh and spreading through his veins. Coach Walker moaned as he shot his own wad on the floor. Chadwin didn’t notice that.
That’s cuz Chadwin’s young-man orgasm was intense and lasted a whole minute or two, maybe three. He lost his inhibitions and, in that moment, he really plowed Coach Walker’s mouth. His balls slapped over and over on his chin.
And still more jizz spurted out. It coated every inch of Coach Walker’s mouth and belly, and it collected hotly in his stomach. It was thick and creamy like alfredo sauce and just as savory. The taste was bright and sunny, salty, warm, delicious in every way, and Coach Walker tried his hardest to swallow it all.
That proved impossible, as he was already starved for oxygen when it began. As Chadwin came buckets, Coach Walker choked up his cock, just in time for the last and thickest of Chadwin’s jizzoms to jet out over Coach Walker’s face. It coated him from his forehead to his chin in hot creamy goodness., and Chadwin’s hands firmly gripped him by the ear as though still throating him down, but his cock was roping out over Coach Walker’s face, so Chadwin could only hump his erection atop the creamy soup of jizz he’d made covering his head.
Then Chadwin took one small step away, and his cock slid off Coach Walker’s face.
Slurping up what cum he could get to, Coach Walker kissed his way up Chadwin’s body, licking all of that cum off and teasingly taking the shower water off his body too. Chadwin’s wrestling-toned muscles throbbed beneath his tongue. He sucked on both nipples, and again, his beard hairs scratched at Chadwin’s skin, reminding Chadwin he wasn’t with a woman. Chadwin pulled away before Coach Walker could kiss him on the lips.
Coach Walker cursed himself. He should have shaved first, he thought. Always shave first, I’ve learned that lesson before.
But he pulled off Chadwin’s cock, now that it was clear he was uncomfortable with this once more. He smeared up the jizz drying on his face so he could slurp it off his hand, while his other hand teased out every drop of cum from Chadwin’s rapidly limpening dickshaft.
When both men were done, Coach Walker stood. He sighed and placed one hand on Chadwin’s shoulder.
“How was that, son? That’s how things go on road trips.”
Chadwin blushed and smiled nervously. “I guess that was… okay… I mean…”
“If we shower together on the way home, I’m gonna do that again. So you can signal yo’ okayness by either showering wit’ me again or not. You got a couple days to think about it.”
He turned around and finally trooped into the shower, leaving Chadwin there to regain his breath. A lot of times there were other men in a Ramwide Truck Stop, sometimes many. The showers were a social affair in these kinds of places, and Coach Walker enjoyed that aspect of them, the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the manly bodies…
In fact, if he weren’t with Chadwin, Coach Walker would have played around with that mustachioed man who was there to begin with. Oh well, he thought as he turned on a showerhead and let the water wash him clean. There was always next time, so long as Chadwin chose to shower with him on the return trip.
He sensed the answer was yes. Coach Walker vigorously soaped himself up and washed his armpits — he’d loved the smell and taste of Chadwin’s armpits. They had a fragrantly masculine aroma that got his dick hard, and he was going to smell even better after the wrestling tournament. They always did.
By the time he was ready to join Coach Walker in his shower, Chadwin had already decided to do it. As long as it was on a road trip, he thought, he wouldn’t have to tell anyone and it wouldn’t count.
And he couldn’t wait to learn what else Coach Walker had in store for him.

I ain’t bullyin’ no one. You a grown man. Kinda.

You spend all day telling them how to spend their life just so you can go home to what I’m guessing is a sad little apartment all by yourself, microwave a sad little TV dinner, lift your little weights like a fucking convict. Hey, how much furniture do you have that isn’t a bench press?

Thickman growled, making that mustache shake. “I ain’t bullyin’ no one. You a grown man. Kinda.” He throatily chuckled.
“Okay, well, I’ve had enough of that. I am a man, you piece of shit. At least I’m man enough to pursue my own life instead of domineering some fucking college boys. You spend all day telling them how to spend their life just so you can go home to what I’m guessing is a sad little apartment all by yourself, microwave a sad little TV dinner, lift your little weights like a fucking convict. Hey, how much furniture do you have that isn’t a bench press?”

From The Basketball Coach