Coach K

Part 1

Coach K was an imposing man. Easily 6 feet tall and around 350lbs. I'd guess he was in his late 50's by the time he started coaching me. He had a dense salt and pepper beard—with increasingly more salt—and a perfectly bald head, although it was rare to see him without a baseball cap. You could tell he'd been a formidable athlete in his younger days, his body a stocky mass of muscle and fat and his knowledge of football potentially unmatched.

Not letting his age get in the way, Coach K kept up with a heavy routine in the university gym. Myself and the other players had seen him bench press more than us on our best days. Despite his strength, he’d managed to develop a fairly enormous gut and filled out his body elsewhere through years of generous eating and drinking. But underneath that padding was an impressive mountain of muscle that caught my respect and attention the first time I saw Coach K as a young player during my senior year of high school.

I vividly remember our first meeting. He visited our team during my varsity year as part of a recruitment scheme implemented by the local university. He was introduced to us collectively but eventually spoke to us individually. He was a stern man of not-too-many-words but he had a fatherly—almost grand-fatherly—demeanor that instantly demanded respect.

What I noticed most that day was the tight-fitting, light pink, short sleeve polo he wore. The way his shirt hugged his giant chest, his nipples seemingly always erect and forcing themselves into the fabric. The pink was a bold choice and the fit of his clothes even bolder. His cargo shorts were so tight across his girthy hips, the bulge of his scrotum was impossible to miss. We chatted for a bit that day, but neither of us being especially talkative we didn't share much more than platitudes about the upcoming game and how important it was to, "train hard."

A year or so following that introduction, I'd since made the university football team that he'd spearheaded seemingly forever. I was a pretty decent linebacker in my own right, using my 6'1, 230lb frame to my advantage. My nickname among the other players was, regrettably, "Pretty Boy," presumably because I had such a, “cute, baby face,” as I’d incessantly been told throughout my young adulthood by friends and old ladies alike. The silly name unfortunately stuck, but over time it was mercifully shortened to P.B., eventually finding its way to Coach K, who exclusively referred to me, and most of the other players, by our acquired nicknames during training, practice, and our rare one-on-one exchanges.

I’d had girlfriends throughout high school and a couple short relationships so far in college, but most of my attention had been directed to the football field or my grades—much less on girls. But I couldn’t keep my mind off Coach K. I found myself jerking off to thoughts of other players on my team, guys I found hot—including our first quarterback Jeremy P, and our key running back Marcus J—but my fantasies often meandered back to Coach K. His enormous build, his maturity, his grand-fatherly wisdom about life and sports all playing into his allure. His ass. The meatiness of it. His chest. The roundness of it. The way the shape of his cock pushed through his shorts whenever he sat and spread his legs. I wasn’t long on the team before I realized how much Coach K turned me on.

Coach had been married for longer than I’d been alive. I’d heard he had a couple adult kids, two boys who had played for the very team I was on and long since gone. So with Coach K being the straight-arrow family man he was, I knew my fantasies would always remain just that: lustful imaginings fully out of reach. Until the day in September when I got what I wanted.

Part 2

Thinking back on it I’m still surprised it was me who made the first move... well, inadvertently at first.

It was game day in late September, a home game against a regional university. I was half-suited up already in my navy and white, nylon-mesh football shorts and knee-high socks, but I hadn’t quite gotten to dressing my bare torso when I realized I was already a few minutes late for our meeting. Coach K had asked to speak to me in his office about some strategies for that day’s game, which I would then relay back to the other defensive linemen. The time had escaped me—despite arriving to the lockers a full hour early, no other players in sight—so I bolted to his office, which was nestled down the narrow hall of lockers and adjacent to the showers.

I was already in his doorway when I suddenly became self-conscious of my bare chest. I should’ve at least grabbed a tank top, but I’d rushed to the late meeting without a forethought. Standing at his open door, surrounded by my thoughts, Coach K’s gaze caught my chest and lingered there. “Oh, come in Dylan.” My name. I was surprised he even knew it, I was so used to the absurd sound of “P.B.”

He looked away and then returned to my chest a few more times. His interest took me by surprise and I suddenly found my dick hardening beneath my jock strap. He pulled his eyes away, evident awkwardness washing over his usually stoic face, and began his discussion about how we’d handle this particular team’s imposing physical size on the field that day. I was standing there half-listening, half-thinking about my state of undress in the office of the coach I’d privately nutted-to several dozen times since joining the team.

“Fuck,” he abruptly growled, interrupting himself mid-sentence. My attention was now 100% on Coach K, having returned from a fantasy playing out somewhere in the back of my mind. Silence.

“What?” I finally asked, stunned by his glare in my direction. Then I realized I’d absentmindedly been shifting my erection around beneath my pants into a more comfortable position. Coach was looking directly at the bulge of my cock and my hand awkwardly gripping it. Embarrassed, I immediately dropped my hand to my side, which gave Coach K an even better view of my boner. Intensified embarrassment.

He sighed and then looked up at me, “Damn, boy. That’s a big fucking tool.” He let his words linger in the air for me to process. I could barely fathom he was talking about my dick. “Is that something you need to take care of on your own?” He spoke, jokingly, letting out a slight jolly chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Oh man, sorry, I—” I trailed off, not entirely sure how to talk myself out of an enormous, unexpected hard on. I looked down to my cock, surprised with myself. I stood there, unmoving for a handful of seconds, not reacting to coach’s joke, not bothering to make up some excuse. I sort of liked that my cock had betrayed my thoughts. I grabbed it again, traced the outline of my shaft with my fingers and slowly massaged it. I looked up at Coach K, making sure our eyes met.

His eyes carried over my body, up to my chest, examining my nipples as his eyes darted back and forth, then back to my cock protruding through my football gear, and ultimately resting on my face. The eye contact was intense. His eyes began to communicate deeper thoughts. His eyes looking me over, absorbing me; his breathing growing heavier. His eyes meeting mine. Coach K was not only undisturbed by my arousal, he was inviting more of it.

He bobbed his eyebrows and exhaled sharply, then let out a soft, “Well, fuck.” He slowly rose out of his chair, navigated his desk which was between us, passed me, and closed his office door. There were no windows, no other players had arrived, nor would they for some time. The assistant coach was prepping equipment on the field and would be occupied until game time. We were completely alone.

He approached me and I could hear his baritone breathing. I turned to survey him. I noticed his shorts tightening with a boner of his own.

“You have an incredible body,” he said matter-of-factly.

My eyes met his, both of us standing inches apart. I reached to my chest and started massaging my nipple. My left had still resting on my stiff cock, massaging the tip. I could feel dampness where my pre-cum had started to leak out.

Part 3

Speaking wasn’t my forte. Nor was being sexually forward. My own boldness shocked me. Coach K’s eagerness embolden me further.

At this point coach was massaging his own hard cock packed tightly beneath his shorts. He looked down at his hand as it rubbed over the large mass where his shaft was, then lifted his eyes to look at my bulge.

We made eye contact again as we rubbed ourselves, both uncertain of what would happen next.
Finally, I moved toward him, our noses nearly touching. We were virtually the same height, me standing slightly taller. His breathing deepened, his eyes full of an intensity I hadn’t seen before. I bent down slightly and touched my lips to his. I kissed him slowly. He kissed back. I paused, remaining close. “Should I keep going?” I asked.

“Fuck yes,” he said, his warm breath billowing onto my lips.

I moved my mouth to his again, more aggressively this time, parting his lips with my tongue, feeling the flesh inside his mouth. The whiskers of his thick, white beard poked at my smoothly shaved face. I reached up and grabbed a tuft of his beard with my right hand. It was dense and dry, and as I rubbed it I unlocked the scent of musk and citrus oil.

As my tongue worked its way around coach’s mouth I grabbed his beard harder, push my fingers deep into the foliage, moving my hand slowly along his jaw, finding my way around the back of his head, holding him steady.

After a moment of rooting around in coach’s mouth I retreated, holding his strong neck in my hand, still rubbing my cock with the other. I looked at him, my mouth wet with his saliva. His icy blue eyes were in awe. He was speechless, but there was a needy eagerness in his expression. I directed both of my hands to his nipples, each protruding sharply from beneath the fabric of his coach’s jersey. He let go an exasperated sigh as I pinched them. Despite their chubbiness and rotund size, his pecs were amazingly firm. He moaned as I pinched and rubbed his nipples more aggressively. He reached his hands to my chest and began to reciprocate. He took my bare nipples between his large, rough fingers and squeezed and pinched them. The weathered skin of his hands was like sandpaper, forcing my nipples to solidify even harder.

I reached down past his belly to the mound in his shorts. His cock. His balls. Each hard but fleshy-soft beneath the tightly stretched fabric. I could feel his shaft. A good size. Not the longest, far shorter than my own at full mast, but much thicker. I massaged his cock and he moaned louder.

After several seconds he let go of my chest and stood in still concentration as I continued to rub his cock progressively harder. He closed his eyes, his breathing passionate and pronounced.
I took the opportunity to lift his shirt over his belly with my free hand. The white and gray fur densest near the center, his peach skin hardly visible beneath. I let go of his cock and used both hands to lift his shirt over his chest. A snowy forest of white and gray hair, massive pink nipples the size of thimbles. My chest by comparison was large and full but far leaner, our nipples both pale pink but mine much more compact, my chest hair was as dark as the short cropped hair on my head and not nearly as plentiful.

I bent down and licked his left nipple. It was firm, the wiry white chest hair prickling my tongue. I licked it back and forth aggressively. He seemed to convulse slightly, and let out an impassioned moan. I backed off, unsure of his reaction. I looked to his face for an assessment.

“Oh, bud, don’t stop,” he exclaimed in a whisper, his deep grandfather voice full of desire now.
Reassured, I returned to his chest. This time tonguing his other nipple, then back again to the first. I could feel them growing harder, the areola around them bristling and toughening as the air hit my saliva trail and my tongue worked them over. He moaned more intensely. After a minute, I retreated, this time confident with my contribution.

We stood motionless for a few moments, both of arms resting at our sides, until he timidly bent forward. This time finding my lips with his lips. He was a tender kisser. Soft. Subtle. Shy. But the size of his features felt stimulating on my body. His large, dry lips and piles of whiskers titillated me. His large, rough hands running over the smooth skin of my torso, caressing my chest. Gripping my wide shoulders, seemingly assessing my muscle mass. His large, hard belly making contact with my own stomach as he drew closer. He rubbed his tongue softly over my chest, finding my nipples, lingering on them, accidentally tickling them with his beard.

After a couple minutes of exploring my body with his hands and mouth he righted himself, face-to-face again. Sheepishly, somewhat reluctantly, he said, “I want you inside me.” He spoke as if unsure what my reaction would be.

Part 4

In something approaching a primal, instinctive maneuver I quickly, almost violently grabbed his shorts and yanked them down. His chubby, muscular thighs jiggled. His beer can cock bobbed up and down, fully exposed to my gaze. Of course he didn’t wear underwear, that would explain how my eyes always found his cock and balls wherever he went.

My hands worked his shaft for a moment and then I reached around to his ass. It was the beefiest ass I’d ever felt. It was fat but firm with decades of muscle growth beneath layers of chub. It was smooth, unlike the rest of his furry body, the skin soft and taught.

Standing roughly face-to-face I then pulled down my own shorts. But I had on a jock strap, my cock fully contained inside. I slowly pulled down the jock to revel my large, erect shaft. Pre-cum erupted slowly, oozing out of the tip as my cock bobbed in the open air of coach’s office. He stood motionless, quiet. His eyes running over my body, and mine running over his. He reached out and grabbed my dick, slowly jerking it. He looked to my eyes as he tugged, seeking approval. I closed my eyes and leaned my pelvis forward, as if urging him to pull harder. He complied and I made sure my face communicated my approval.

After a minute or so I moved my whole body closer, his hand dropping away from my cock. I wrapped my arms around him, grinding my body against his. Our cocks moved across our bodies, our volcanic pre-cum sticking to each other’s bare thighs. I moved my hands over his ass, cupping and gripping his cheeks as best I could from this angle, although, despite my massive wingspan, his gut made the action difficult.

I guided him around, moving his large frame so that he faced his desk. Now I had a full view of his impressive, thick ass. It was divine. Perfectly bulbous and firm. Better than any of the player’s asses I’d seen and lusted about in the showers. Instinctively, without being instructed, coach leaned onto his desk. His butt cheeks naturally parted slightly, bearing a glimpse of a luscious looking asshole. I moved in closer, taking my hand and moving my cock over his ass cheeks and down his crack. I rubbed my cock head on his asshole, my pre-cum sticking to the puckered skin around the hole. I moved my body closer, my football shorts and jock now wrapped around my ankles. I spit saliva from my mouth onto my shaft and pushed the head of my dick into Coach K’s hole.

I couldn’t believe how tight it was. I struggle closer, forcing my shaft deeper inside. He was so tight. I’d fucked virgin pussy that wasn’t as tight as this. I moved my body forward, struggling my dick deeper inside his ass. He winced and grimace, moaning louder the deeper I went.

I began fucking Coach K hard. He wriggled, shifted, and winced. Sometimes I wondered if he was in too much pain but he kept softly reassuring me to continue, with hushed exclamations like, “Yes,” “Fuck yeah,” and, “Dylan, don’t stop,” once again surprising me with my own name.

As I fucked him the muscles in his back rippled beneath the husky layers of chub. He’d occasionally turn his head to the side, sneaking a peripheral view of me fucking him, his face twisted into fits of pleasure.

Several minutes in and I could feel myself rounding the homestretch to climax. My eyes made their way to the wall in front of me where there was a framed picture of Coach and Mrs. K taken during their 25th wedding anniversary some years ago. Coach was wearing a tightly fitted suit, his thick build filling it up and bulging out in flattering places. He was an attractive man. I hadn’t really studied his face before, but beneath the large beard and aged complexion was a beautiful, masculine face and devastating, baby blue eyes.

The feeling of his asshole on my cock was transcendental. I’d fantasized about fucking him in the past but I couldn’t have anticipated the intensity of this sensation. I’d fucked numerous women before, and even a couple men my age, but nothing compared to this. The size of him. His strength. His power. The weight of his ass as I rammed him, the force of his body settling back on my lap as I thrust back and forth, plowing forward and back, again and again.

Then I heard him yelp and exclaim in a tone much above a whisper, “Oh! Oooohh!” I slowed my rhythm to interpreret what was happening. “No, don’t stop!” he said rapidly. Then I realized he was pawing at his cock. I stretched back, simultaneously revving up my thrusts once again, but maneuvering myself so I could see the commotion below me: a steady stream of thick, white cum burst out of his fat shaft and down the back side of his desk. I’d made my coach orgasm.

His panting was extreme now, his sighs peaking along with the intensity of his orgasm and the rhythm of my fucking. Invigorated by his cum I fucked him with a speed and ferocity I hadn’t up to that point. His massive frame shuddering and wobbling on the desk. Papers and pens flopping to the ground. The clap of my thighs on his sweaty ass. The jiggle of his love handles as i gripped the sides of him for leverage.

Until finally, release. My orgasm was intense and long. I could feel my cream burst into him. The initial shot of cum must’ve been epic, the pulse of my cock throbbing deep inside his ass. I let out my first intense cry of ecstasy. I collapsed onto coach’s back, continuing the rhythmic fucking as I came. I caressed and nuzzled his enormous, sweaty frame, my cock continuing to pulse, my cum continuing to fill him from the inside. He gyrated his ass, his thick cheeks flexing eagerly as I sighed and moaned. “That’s it,” he reassured me, “yes. Yes,” his voice calm and sweet.

I thrust into him a dozen more times, my cock pumping and throbbing, but slowing now. I must have squirted into him a couple dozen times. My orgasms had always been huge events, dropping massive loads of cum each time, but this was different. This time I was nutting inside Coach K.

I rested on his back, my dick still submerged in his ass, my orgasm fully resolved, in a state of indescribable euphoria and peace, when, an unknown amount of time later, he jiggled a little bit and asked, “Okay, bud?” As if inquiring about our next step.

I stood up, slowly pulling my semi-erect shaft from his creamy asshole, some of my cum dribbling out after it like the slow popping of a cork. I backed up and observed coach still hunched over, his cum having dripped down the desk and pooled on the floor. The bottoms of my socks were soggy with his jizz. I pulled my jock back on, pulled my football shorts up and all the while watched as my cum slowly trickled out of his hole.

He shuddered and wobbled and moved his way off the desk and struggled to a standing position. I could see me leaking down his leg as he wrestled with his shirt, pulling it down over his giant tits, and reached to his shorts and slowly pulled them back up, hiding away his now flaccid cock.

He turned to meet my eyes. We didn’t have to say anything. We had both gotten something we deeply wanted and it was more than we could’ve hoped.

He grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up his own cum from the floor and desk. “You, ah—” he was struggling for the right words. “You better get ready for the game, P.B., it’s gonna be a tough one today.”

I was relieved we were back to normal discourse. I nodded and left his office, closing the door behind me. I got ready for the game, the other players slowly trickling into the locker room, each of us going about our regular routines. I chose to leave the cum-soaked socks on. The cool wet on the bottoms of my feet as I slid into my cleats was invigorating. Coach K.

I wouldn’t see him again until the team assembled on the field that day. Unsurprisingly his shorts displayed small wet spots around his ass. He hadn’t bothered to clean me out of him. No one else probably noticed or would’ve thought twice if they had seen these spots, but I knew it was my cum.

As I played the game that day I could feel cool jizz on my feet, constantly reminding me of what we’d done. And at halftime, during our huddle, I once again made eye contact with my coach, sweat dripping down my face, through my helmet to my jersey. He watched me attentively, drinking me in. And I knew—we both knew—a massive load of my semen was inside him.