Steve was getting impatient. 'Just blow the damn whistle!' But once more he threw himself into the scrum, locking heads with the opposing front row, as the arm of one of his team mates thrust aggressively between his legs, the unknown hand grabbing the waist of his shorts and yanking them down, as the heaving bodies wrestled for advantage, trying to gain control of the ball. Steve felt the weight of the bodies behind him, crushing him into those in front. The fingers of the unknown invasive hand were dragging at the front of his shorts. Finger nails scratched and pulled at his pubes. A shove into his arse-cheeks from the body behind forced him forward, causing the fingers to dig into the root of his cock, the palm of the hand cupping his balls through the canvas of his shorts. Suddenly a shrill whistle blew. 'At last!' The rugby scrum collapsed.
Back in the locker room Steve weaved his way through the naked muddy bodies, stepping over discarded shorts and jockstraps. He was on a mission. He tried to shut out the noise of post-match excitement, avoiding getting caught up in conversations of bravado and tall tales of narrowly missed tries and conversions. Whoops of joy erupted from the steaming communal showers as the thick sticky mud diluted and slipped off the eighteen-year-old bodies, to flow into the drains. Nearly men, but not quite, the atmosphere was reminiscent of children's bath time at the end of a day.
Steve's mission, however, was to avoid all this. He didn't intend to shower. He had to find a way of getting dressed without any of the three games masters noticing he was still covered in mud, and breaking the rules. He had plans that meant he had to get out of here quick. He had promised to meet his girlfriend. What was more important was the promise she had made to him. Tonight was the night. While he would never admit it to his friends, at 18, he was still a virgin. They had been a couple now for nearly two years. He had maintained the honourable position of not pushing her until she was ready. But he was 18 and his hormones were sending him crazy! If she didn't honour her promise he really couldn't see a future for them. Harsh, but this had come down to the preservation of his own sanity.
Making sure that nobody was paying him any particular attention, he carefully stripped-off. He discovered the greatest care had to be taken when he removed his jockstrap, discovering his semi-hardon at the thought of what lay in store. Something that would single him out as the victim of his boisterous team mates. He quickly dressed in his school uniform. He had got as far as underpants and trousers, and was just pulling on his crumpled white uniform shirt when a voice immediately behind spoke sharply:
He cursed under his breath. How come he hadn't seen Graves sneak up on him? And it would have to be him.
Graves was employed as a history teacher at the school, but he helped out coaching the rugby team as additional duties. He was relatively new to the post and was only a few years older that the boys. He had a reputation of being mean and spiteful towards Steve and his peers. He struggled to maintain discipline, so whenever he felt he could get the upper hand, he would relish making life as uncomfortable as possible for his identified victim.
'Have you showered Becket?'
Steve adopted his blankest expression, made eye contact and lied.
'I think you're lying boy,' Graves said in his meanest voice.
The teacher reached out and pulled Steve's shirt open, exposing his lightly muscled torso.
'What's this?' Graves wiped his finger down the side of Steve's neck, then continued a journey down, diagonally across his chest to his right nipple, which he deliberately caught with his finger nail, making Steve gasp in pain.
He withdrew his finger and held the muddy tip under Steve's nose for his inspection.
'You appear to have missed a bit.'
There was an awkward silence for a moment.
'I can't imagine how that happened sir.' Steve maintained his lie and held the teacher's mean, narrow-eyed gaze.
'You heard me boy. Get undressed.'
'But I've just got dressed sir. I've had a shower and got dressed.'
'Don't argue with me boy!' He was getting really mean now. 'Take all your clothes off and show me your filthy body.'
The whole locker room had gone silent. Steve was now the focus of everyone's attention. Some watched in anticipation, others quietly giggled at his misfortune.
Reluctantly Steve removed his shirt, slowly bringing his muddy forearms into view.
Steve unbuckled his belt and then undid, first the button at the waist, then slowly slid down the zipper.
'GET THOSE BLOODY TROUSERS OFF BEFORE I SLAP THAT SELF-SATISFIED GRIN OFF YOUR FACE!!!!'
Graves' complexion had gone a strange shade of red, almost purple.
Steve stepped out of his trousers, leaving them in a pool on the tiled floor. His mud-stained thighs were there for all to see. He stood there in his lucky underpants - since this was to be his lucky night - eliciting more giggles - no longer quiet.
'The rest of you, get dressed and get out,' Graves bellowed. There was hurried activity as the other boys recognised the need to stay out of trouble.
A sharp whack to the back of Steve's head hurt as his slowness was rewarded with violent encouragement to complete his instructions.
Steve hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband and slid it over his young, but ample manhood, revealing his nakedness to his teacher and the slower of his schoolmates.
'Now stand there,' the teacher sneered. 'Davies, Brown, Palmer! Get out! NOW!'
Steve's remaining team mates grabbed the last of their clothes and their bags and ran out half-dressed, taking a final glance at Graves' victim.
Graves walked to the door of the games master's office. 'We'll see what Mr. White and Mr. Hollingham think of this. Now wait there you vile child.' And he disappeared through the door.
A few minutes went by, leaving Steve feeling very lonely, slightly cold and rather foolish in his nakedness.
'BECKET!' Steve started at the sound of his name, shouted from behind the closed door. He recognised White's voice - the head games master. 'IN HERE - NOW!!!'
Steve's bare feet padded across the cold, tiled floor. With his right hand he nervously opened the master's office door. His left hand cupped his cock and balls in an attempt to cover his embarrassment.
He walked into the room, closing the door behind him. White was sitting behind his desk with Graves and Hollingham standing on either side of him. Like Graves, Hollingham coached rugby in his spare time, his key role being that of economics teacher. The boys liked him. Again, this was his first appointment in a teaching job, but unlike Graves he had learnt how to make an instant connection with boys only a few years his junior. He was good looking and confident, and a number of his pupils saw him as a role model for how they wanted to conduct themselves as they moved into adulthood, even if they chose not to adopt his career choice.
White on the other hand was a teacher to be feared. Respected, but feared. He was a good coach and had the loyalty of all of the First Fifteen, the school's leading rugby team. But he exercised strong discipline. You didn't piss him about. If you played hard and performed well you had his support. If you didn't play your best and failed to take responsibility for the team's success he could be really mean.
Steve stood before White's desk, head down in shame. His right hand had now joined his left to lend support in covering up his nakedness.
'I will ask this question only once Becket - have you showered?'
'No sir,' Steve whispered.
'I can't hear you son.'
Steve looked up into White's hard eyes. 'No sir.'
'I have an appointment sir.'
There was an indignant snort from Graves. An amused smile spread across Hollingham's handsome features.
'An appointment? With whom?'
Steve stood in embarrassed silence.
'With whom Becket?'
'My girlfriend sir.'
'His girlfriend!' White seemed to see Steve's response as a joke, and shared it with Graves and Hollingham.
'What's so important about this appointment with your girlfriend that you're in such a rush to get out of school?'
Steve didn't answer. How could he?
'Tell me,' White insisted.
Still Steve said nothing.
'Answer me boy, or I will beat you! And by the time I've finished with you, you'll be so desperate to tell me, you'll scream it so loud the world will hear!'
'She's promised sir,' Steve said quietly.
'Promised? Promised what?'
'Oh God!' Steve thought. 'I can't tell him. This is so fucking embarrassing!'
'Promised to let me...' Steve whispered and then hesitated.
'Well, well,' White grinned. 'Mr Becket is on a promise gentlemen. His girlfriend has promised to give the dirty little fucker a shag. What do we think of that?'
'Good for you Becket!' Hollingham grinned.
'Can't imagine why she'd want to. He's filthy with mud and sweat,' Graves sneered.
'Good point Mr Graves. What have you to say to that Becket?'
'She won't mind sir,' Steve mumbled.
'Are you sure about that Becket?' White asked. 'Can you even imagine what it's like to shag a young man caked with sweat and mud?'
'Gentleman, perhaps we should raise Becket's awareness. Mr Hollingham,' White turned to his colleague, 'perhaps you'll oblige us?'
The economics teacher stepped out from behind the desk to one side. He was still in the t-shirt and tracksuit trousers he had worn out on the pitch, but his feet were bare.
'Certainly Mr White, happy to.'
Hollingham reached up behind his head and grabbed the collar of his t-shirt. Raising his arms, he pulled the shirt over his head.
Steve couldn't help but appreciate Hollingham's physique. The muscles in his arms, chest and belly were taut and defined. But for the sweat-matted hair in each of his armpits, his torso was smooth. His small nipples stood out sharply against the otherwise rounded contours.
Hollingham lowered his arms and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his tracksuit trousers. Loosening the waist he slid them over his slim hips, down his smooth muscular thighs, stepping out of them as he went. He threw them on the floor to join his t-shirt and stood up straight, looking directly into Steve's eyes.
Steve couldn't help it. He knew he should return and retain the stare, but the compulsion to look down was instinctive. His eyes found the full pouch of a white jockstrap. He raised his gaze slowly, tracing his way back up the torso, finally coming to rest back on Hollingham's face, which was now sporting the faintest of grins.
White rose from his chair and walked around his desk to stand behind Steve.
Suddenly Steve felt White's hand grab at the dark curly hair at the back of his head and pull it hard.
'Let's check out how pleasant it is to be confronted with a sweaty male body shall we?' White said menacingly.
He forcibly marched Steve forward towards Hollingham. As they approached, the teacher raised his left arm above his head, revealing again the sweat-matted armpit. White thrust Steve forward, forcing his face into the pit. Steve tried to resist. Forgetting to hide his manhood, he put both hands out in front of him, grabbing at anything to stop what was happening. Of course all he could find was Hollingham's torso - one hand coming to rest on his teacher's left rib cage and the other on his right pectoral muscle.
'Go on Becket, smell it,' White commanded. 'Let me hear you sniff.'
Steve obeyed. The smell was strong, slightly rancid, musky, but actually not unpleasant.
'You think your girlfriend will enjoy that?' White asked.
He released the grip slightly on Steve's hair, allowing him to pull away from the sweaty armpit and respond.
'It's not so bad sir.'
'Not so bad eh? Let's give the boy the full experience. Mr Hollingham?'
Hollingham reached back for a tall stool that stood behind him. He positioned it so that it was directly in front of him, and proceeded to bend over it, lying across it and spreading his legs apart behind him.
Still pulling on Steve's hair, White walked him round to stand behind the prostrate teacher. Steve looked down at Hollingham's bare arse before him, framed on three sides by the straps of his underwear. The cheeks were separated by the parted legs and Steve could see into the dark orifice. He couldn't help noticing the lack of hair. He knew his arsehole was hairy. His arse cheeks were hairy. There was a trail of dark hair from his navel, spreading as it approached the base of his cock. There was a soft down covering his cum-filled balls, and the hair spread on down the muscles of his thighs to his ankles. But Hollingham was entirely smooth. Not a hair in sight.
'Smell it boy!' White pulled Steve's hair hard, eliciting a yelp, as he thrust his head forward, making the boy bend at the waist. Once again Steve tried to resist. And once again Hollingham was his only means of purchase. Without helping himself, each of his hands came to rest on Hollingham's muscled, smooth arse cheeks. This simply succeeded in spreading the economics teacher's butt cheeks further apart, exposing his tightly clenched arsehole. Steve found his face forced between these cheeks. The tip of his nose coming to rest against the tight pucker.
'Smell it!' the command came again. 'Let me hear you sniff!'
Again Steve obeyed.
This time the smell was quite different. Again musky, but manly. Steve recognised it as the smell of the locker room. The smell he had, up until this moment, always associated with sweaty bollocks.
'Lick it!' A new command. 'Lick it!!'
Steve didn't want to, but the pain on the back of his head was really intense. It felt as if his hair was being pulled out by the roots.
Steve tentatively poked out his tongue. It came into contact with the teacher's arse. First he became aware of the sweaty, slightly slimy surface. The folds of puckered skin. But it was also smooth and incredibly soft. The taste was like nothing he'd tasted before. Again he was taken by surprise to find that it wasn't unpleasant. He licked with more purpose, swiping the flat surface of his tongue over soft folds of skin. He felt the muscles twitch as he did this and discovered the tip of his tongue had become lightly trapped in the shivering hole.
His hair and head were yanked sharply backwards and he was pulled up to a standing position, looking down on the wet hole he had left behind.
'You think that's acceptable for your girlfriend? Foul smelling armpits. Filthy, sweaty arsehole. I think she deserves better than that.'
'Yes sir,' Steve mumbled.
'Do you know what that sort of behaviour deserves Becket?' White growled.
Steve was dragged forcibly out of the way as White's free hand came down with a hard, echoing slap on Hollingham's arse. A red imprint of the hand immediately coloured into view. Hollingham's body jerked forward, but otherwise he didn't move.
'You see Becket, personal hygiene is very important. Not just for your own health, but also for the well-being of those around us. I will not have a man on my team who's un-clean!' Each syllable was punctuated by a slap on Hollingham's arse cheeks. 'Not a coach or a pupil!' Two more slaps emphasised White's conviction.
Steve was standing to one side of the virtually naked, bent-over teacher. He could see the soft smile on his face. The closed eyes. And the slight wriggle of his arse cheeks after each beating.
'Thank you Mr Hollingham,' White said.
Hollingham arose from the stool and stood up straight, stretching his muscles from his previously prone position.
'The final point needs to be made I think,' White said.
Hollingham hooked his thumbs into the wide waistband of his jockstrap and slid it over his hips. A sparse, neatly clipped patch of pubic hair came into view. The waistband continued its journey down. Next Steve saw the root of a thick cock, which sprang forward as soon as it was released. Not hard, but well on the way. Then a low-hanging ball-sack swung free. Totally hairless. Containing a large pair of balls.
Hollingham slid the jock strap over his smooth thighs, and proceeded to step through the straps. Bunching it in his fist he handed it to the games master. White took it and thrust it into Steve's face. He instinctively pulled back, but White ground the item of clothing over his nose and mouth by holding the back of his head with his other hand.
Steve inhaled. The smell was amazing. That locker room aroma again. The one that made him feel at home, safe...and yes...kind of turned on.
White released his hold on the boy and Steve's head fell forward. He looked down at his cock. It was semi-erect, and was pointing towards the similarly semi-erect cock of the economics teacher standing in front of him.
'So what's the answer Becket? What's the answer Mr Hollingham?' White asked.
'Shower!' Both young men answered in unison.
'Come Mr Graves, let's get these lads clean,' White said.
Steve had forgotten about Graves. He turned to look across the office. Graves stood there stark naked. He was thin and wiry. Very little muscle definition. There was a thin patch of hair in the centre of his chest, then nothing until Steve's gaze came to a thick patch of rather unkempt pubic hair that almost concealed his balls, but couldn't hide the long, thin erect cock that was reaching back up to the man's navel.
Steve looked away, embarrassed, only to find his view now taking in the senior coach. White was stripping his clothes. He was already topless, and Steve couldn't help but admire the muscled chest and ripped stomach, spread with dark hair. With no inhibitions the rest of his clothing followed. The older man straightened up and stood strong with his legs spread. He was a solid bulk of hard muscle. His thick, veined cock arched out over a massive ball-sack, surrounded by neatly clipped pubes.
Steve looked around him. He couldn't believe the situation he found himself in. Here he was standing stark naked, surrounded by his three games masters, each sporting a full, or semi-hardon. Thoughts of his appointment with his girlfriend had vanished. His entire focus was on this moment. He wasn't gay - so why was he turned on? He wasn't gay - so why was he excited by the prospect of what would happen next?
White led the way out of the office. One by one the three men and boy entered the communal showers. Soon the hot water was gushing out of all the showerheads, and the steam was rising. White and Graves took charge. Both Steve and Hollingham were positioned under the cascading water, soaking them thoroughly. They faced each other and Steve watched as Graves applied soap to Hollingham's muscled chest, simultaneously feeling White's big strong hands replicating the same action on his own body. Soap was lathered into their hair; spread over their faces; massaged into their necks and shoulders; down their backs; reaching through and soaping their arms and pits; sliding over their pectorals; down over their washboard stomachs and into their pubic bushes. Both young men moaned as their stiff cocks were massaged and their balls squeezed. Hands slid through behind their balls up into their arse cracks. Rigid fingers slipped into their twitching holes. The moans grew louder. Legs were lathered as the two cleansers knelt before them.
The water showered down on them and the suds ran down their young bodies, leaving their hard flesh shining and wet. Both gasped simultaneously as the two games masters closed their hot mouths over their hard cocks. Steve mimicked Hollingham's hip thrusts as he buried his cock into Mr White's mouth. He couldn't believe the sensation. It was incredible. But what made it more incredible was watching Graves replicate White's actions on the young teacher opposite.
Both White and Graves moved around behind their victims, leaving the now clean athletes to look into each other's eyes. Hollingham leaned forward. He reached out and clasped the back of Steve's neck, making him also lean forward. It seemed natural for them to kiss. Hard and passionate. The kiss broke as both felt a tongue burrowing into their arsehole, soon to be followed by a finger, and then fingers. They leaned against each other in ecstasy, gasping for air. Steve felt the assault on his arse stop. Water gushed down his arse crack and over his hole. Then he felt the blunt head of White cock pressing against it. For the first time he was a little scared. He pulled away from Hollingham slightly and looked into his face for reassurance.
'It's OK. Just relax and enjoy it,' Hollingham smiled kindly at him, reaching forward and pulling him back into another passionate kiss.
For a second Steve was distracted. This was enough for White to pierce through the muscle of his hole and work the head of his cock inside.
'Aaargh!' Steve went rigid and called out.
Hollingham pulled him back to a kiss, stroking his face, neck, shoulders and chest. Steve realised that Hollingham's thrusting movements were induced by the hard fucking he was receiving from Graves. He could feel White's cock sliding into his hole. It was huge. Filling him up. Making him feel abandoned and carefree. He felt the pressure of White's pelvis against his arse. This must mean he was all the way in. It felt amazing!
White very slowly and carefully started to fuck Steve, building pace so he was soon ramming into the boy.
The ecstatic yells of the two young men echoed around the tiled walls of the shower.
Steve looked down at Hollingham's throbbing cock, thrashing around under the force of Graves' actions. He could feel his own cock slapping against his belly as White shoved into him.
'Aaaaaaaaaargh!!!!!!' Both Hollingham and Steve screamed in unison as they shot cum into each other's faces and left further slashes of white cream across their chests and stomachs. Their arses clenched in orgasm and set both Graves and White beyond the point of no return. Each thrust forward, forcing Steve to lock heads with Hollingham in a rugby scrum manoeuvre. They held this position as the men behind them fucked hard into their arses, squirting cum up inside them. They gasped in unison again as the cocks withdrew and the final jets of hot cum hit the inside of their thighs and ran down their muscled legs.
All four men fell away from each other, collapsing under the steaming, hot, cascading water. The remaining soap suds and cum mingled and ran down the drain. Steve peered through the steam at the three men who had taken him from childhood to manhood. He didn't give a fuck about his girlfriend. He wanted more. Only this time he wanted to do the fucking. Now who could he persuade to be his first victim?
Afternoons of standing on a cold muddy rugby pitch, begging the final whistle to blow, led me develop these fantasies. Whatever gets you through it eh?!