6:30 pm Locker Room – Coach Donnelly and Mr. Ramirez
The locker room always hits me like a punch after a practice before a big game. Thick air, sweat, and crotch. Nuts always have a unique smell unlike anything else. Cocks smell but not like balls. AND who should I see over to my left side, but the Music Man, chair leaning against the wall, whistling a tune but not missing any of the sights he’d come for.
My jersey clung like plastic wrap as I yanked it over my head, pads dropping with a heavy thud on the bench. As I pulled off my jersey and my bare chest appeared, I couldn’t help noticing the Music Man staring with his usual thirst. The dude is a watcher. He rarely touches. His eyes don’t leave me until I’m completely naked and I hold and shake my cock at him, putting on a show. It makes him smile. “My Beautifuuuuuul. Billeeeeeee!” he says.
Darnell, of course, was the first one to crack a joke. He’s also a devil with a popped towel on an ass. “Harper, man, you run like a gazelle,” he said, “but you smell like roadkill.” He always comes over and puts his crotch to my ass, acting like he’s fucking me. I feel that big tool right between the crack of my cheeks. It’s not hard, but it’s not soft either. All the guys laugh, because that’s Darnell—he’d be joking if the stadium was burning down. Coach leans against the opposite wall from the Music Man. Their eyes meet. Coach always watches with a kind of spooky intensity.
Across the aisle, Grant groans like an old man, peeling off his socks, slow and dramatic, tossing them, always the last piece of his clothing. His usual routine. Always complaining. He just sits there. Huge hunk of meat. 6’3” and made of muscle and steel. His big soft cock has some size while it hangs off the bench in front of him, but it doesn’t compare to those humongous balls, hanging right below them. My big friend has a secret, though: my stepbrother, Jason [who clearly worships Grant] has a gifted mouth. He’s the team’s equipment manager and Grant begs my little bro to suck his balls while he jacks off. Jason always pleads with him to let him suck his cock, but Grant won’t go there claiming ‘he’s no fag’.”
The Music Man misses nothing. Every muscle. Every move. Every cock. Every sack. Loves them all. He’s in heaven. Most of the guys know, but almost no one cares. They kinda love it, putting on a show for him. Grant even sometimes pretends to drop something in front of him and leans way over with his ass only inches from the band director’s chair. The look on his face is priceless.
Darnell, bouncing on his toes, always has his shirt off before his pads even hit the ground. He can’t get naked fast enough. He loves standing naked and having everyone admire him. “We own them boys! Will OWN ’em tomorrow night!” He slapped the lockers for punctuation, hyped up still from practice. His cock is beautiful – long and thin. He jokes that it always comes out the lady’s mouth when he fucks them. But there’s a secret there too. Darnell, my man, loves getting fucked. The bigger, the better. He begs for it. He has no shame but the cock hound needs it. Hey, you be you! No judgement.
Then the showers roar to life, and within seconds, everyone surges inside. Water hammers the walls and steam takes over the small enclosure. The Music Man moves his chair closer to the opening of the shower and Coach, having stripped, stands there naked at the entrance beside him, casually resting his hand on the band director’s shoulder. All anyone can see are silhouettes—broad shoulders, bent necks, raised arms, curved backs, legs stretching under the spray, cocks bouncing in the air, balls swinging underneath them. Sweet, tight asses showing holes as players lean over to wash legs and feet.
I saunter in, following the crowd. The heat swallows me. We crowd under the nozzles. I tilt my head back, let the water hit full force, muscles unspooling under the heat. Soap bottles are passed back and forth. Legs are raised to clean holes. Everyone helping each other. Balls are lifted to clean crotches and backs are rubbed by players around you. Soaping and washing. There is motion everywhere: hands sliding soap to underarms, fingers kneading sore shoulders, backs arching into the spray. We brushed past each other, shoulder to shoulder. In the rear, barely perceptible through the steam, my little bro is sucking on Grant’s balls.
Coach walks slowly into the middle of us. Every player begins soaping him up and washing every part of his body. He just stands there. Players kneel down. Special attention is paid to his cock and balls and ass. He lifts a leg when he has to. Leans over when needed. Every player joins in to make sure Coach is clean. All we see are hands working every inch of Coach’s body. Darnell is massaging his ass. I can’t see who’s cleaning his cock and balls through the steam.
When they’re done and Coach is completely rinsed off, he always exits to stand in front of the Music Man, who stands and begins to dry him off. Every inch. Every crevice. Coach smiles slyly. The Music Man kneels when he as to, doing his job, until Coach is dry. The last thing the band director does is spread powder over Coach’s cock and balls. That’s his favorite part. Coach winks at him and the Music Man beams.
I leave the crowd to make sure I’m ready for my massage when coach arrives. We all know Coach doesn’t like waiting. I lay face down with my head in the cradle, anticipating the feel of Coach’s hands. I hear the door behind me open and I know it’s the Music Man. I can see his shoes as he passes near the table. He gently slides his finger across my ass cheek, and I shudder. “Oh, Billeee, like a marble statue,” he whispers, dragging his chair between the hot whirlpool and ice bathtubs, getting ready for the show. Twisted perv but sweet. That’s our Music Man.
I think I hear Coach and I spring up, blowing the Music Man a playful kiss before sliding onto the edge of the table, legs spread in invitation. My pulse quickens as the door opens and Coach finally steps inside. I don’t move—I want him to see me like this, waiting, ready.
“Are you ready, Billy?” Coach teases, his voice low and knowing. “Coach is here to ease your tension… and keep you focused on what’s coming tomorrow.”
We hear the Music Man move his chair closer to the table to improve his view. There was a faint but audible hitch in his breathing, as he watched Coach begin, groaning, looking at his ass. No matter who was there, the Music Man always holds a special place for Coach. We’re all pretty sure it’s a “Daddy thing.”
My cock is big like the rest of me. Coach tries not to stare. I’ve also got hairy nuts like baseballs. The coach asked me to turn over so he could examine my leg. I rolled over and got up on all fours on top of the table. He looked over at me and I said, over my shoulder, “Like this coach?”
“Yeah, like that,” said Coach, slapping me hard on both cheeks.I knew that’s not what he meant but I just grinned a wicked smile. My big hairy ass and my giant sack were now staring coach in the face, as I rambled on about tomorrow’s game. Music Man said he loved this particular view.
Coach spent about ten minutes massaging my hamstring, kneading my big leg, every so often letting the back of his hand hit my ball sack as he worked the inside of my leg. My balls would kind of stick to his hand because they were so sweaty. Finally, he just left his hand in there with my balls dragging against the back of his hand and forearm as he worked.
Coach has large and merciless hands and it was painful because he works the muscles so hard. I didn’t mean to but I kept inching away from him on the table. Twice he asked me to move back and I did. The third time, Coach said, “Come back, Billy, you’re sliding down the table again.” But this time he cupped those huge balls in his hand and gently pulled me back by my nut sack. I loved it. Music Man loved it more. You could even hear an audible groan coming from his chair.
For the next few minutes, he just kept massaging my leg and pulling on my balls, and I stayed quiet but was beginning to squirm around a little. It was like I was in heat. Coach said, “Quite a set of gonads you got there, Billy. Damn those fuckers are huge.”
I spread my knees a little bit wider and said, “Yeah, my dad calls them horse balls. His are even bigger.”
He was now milking my nuts with both hands, churning them, pulling hard on them, and scratching them. “Yep, bet those fuckers need to be milked a lot. Bet you shoot a lot of juice with these big things.”
I was groaning quietly and had spread my legs wider and hiked up my butt to give him even more access to my scrotum, “Yeah, I need to be fucking milked, Coach. I really need it.”
Coach pulls hard on my sack, feeling one and then the other roughly. He pulls them down. He lifts each one, like he’s weighing them. He squeezes them, pressing them against each other almost to the point of pain. He leans down to give a little lick on each one, inhaling my scent. He knows how I love when someone plays with my nuts.
Coach rubbed a little oil between his palms, warming it before he pulled my hard cock between my legs and began to jack it slowly, taking his hand up and down my shaft, teasing me. He used his oily hands to pull and play with my balls. He knew he was driving me crazy.
“All in good time, Billy boy. All in good time,” he said, pulling his hands away.
“You’re killing me here, Coach,” I said. “I need to nut. I’m leaking.”
Coach put his finger to the tip of my cock, grabbed a wad of precum and brought it to his mouth, tasting. He dipped again and walked over to the Music Man, offering it to him. He licked the Coach’s finger clean with gratitude, sucking hard, making sure he gets every drop.
“Flat on the table, Harper,” Coach said. “On your stomach, head in the cradle.” He put more oil on his hands, warmed it up, set to work on my broad shoulders across my back. He started with long, sweeping strokes from the base of my neck down to mid-spine, slow and steady, heat building under his palms. He brought my hand down to his cock and I held it as it began to harden.
I may be big, but Coach knew what the star of this show was. The incredible gift he has between his legs. It’s a beauty. 8 inches. Fat. Tasty. Gorgeous head. Little curve to the right near the top.
My cock was so hard, it ached but the only choice Coach gave me was to lie on top of it, wiggling my ass uncomfortably. His thumbs traced the inside of my shoulder blades, pressing deep until they found the tight cords knotted up there. He circled them slowly, coaxing them to give.
I started exploring his shaft, playing with the head, swinging it back and forth. I pulled it down and it slapped back against Coach’s belly. The sound of that slapping made the Music Man moan. Hell, yeah. All I want to do is celebrate that cock.
“You were a nasty boy in practice, Billy,” he said, voice low and practiced. “Staring at my cock in my shorts and imagining my big balls when you should have been focused on the game.” Coach gave a hard slap on my naked ass. “Bad boy, Billy! Bad boy!”
I started jacking his cock. Spreading some of the precum to lubricate it. I gripped his shaft tightly. Moving it from side to side. Playing with its length. A grunt escaped me. “I couldn’t help it, Coach. You always tease me with those shorts.”
He pulled away from my touch and moved toward the cradle so I couldn’t get to his cock. He clasped my bicep firmly, stripping down toward the elbow, then rolled my forearm between his palms, stretching my wrist into extension. He moved his cock so I could smell it. Moved it closer so it was just out of the reach of my tongue. I licked and licked but never made those last inches to the head.
“We earn licks, Billy, you know that,” Coach said.
I tried to shift against the cradle, wanting to get closer to his cock, but the breath left me in a hiss when his thumb dug behind my scapula, right into the knot that had been burning all night. I breathed deep and let out the tension.
“That’s right, my boy.” He said, moving those last inches so I could lick the head of his cock. I tried to grab the head with my mouth, but he backed away. “One lick is all you get, bad boy Billy.” he said.
He moved to my other arm, repeating the same slow motion, and I let out a reluctant sigh as the tension bled away. “That’s it, my bad boy. What do you want for your reward?”
“Please touch my hole, Coach,” I whimpered.
He slapped my ass hard, once, twice, three times.
“Do you need Coach to play with your pussy, Bad Boy Billy?”
“Please, Coach. I need it bad.” begged Billy.
Coach moved his hands and focused on my ass. He squeezed and pinched and worked my cheeks. He bit the cheek on his side of the table, licking it and tasting it. He then spread them and popped his three fingers against my pucker. Pop. Pop. Pop. Fuck that felt good.
He moved nearer to the bottom of the table, using his palms to spread across my lower back, fingers wide over the lumbar spine. He climbed on the table and straddled me, leaning his weight forward, pressing deep with the heels of his hands. I tried to reach behind me and grab his cock.
“No touching,” he snarled, circling steady with his knuckles, pulling me up on all fours. “Keep your hands to yourself until Coach gives you permission.”
“Spread your thighs for me, you little whore,” instructed Coach. I complied and he started to use his fingertips to gently draw lines up the inside of my thigh to right under my ball sac and then back down to my knee. “You like that, Billy?”
Before I could answer, he laid his body on top of me, making sure his cock was right between the cheeks of my ass, moving his cock slowly up and down, teasing me again.
“Fuck, Coach. Hell, yeah,” I whined.
Coach moved back up to straddle me and while teasing my inner thighs, he reaches under and pulls my cock and balls back behind me again. Playing with my nuts. Stroking my cock. Then popping my ass again. He pours massage oil all over my ass, my cock and my nuts, letting one finger go into my hole, playing with my cock and balls with the other hand.
“Oh, that pussy feels so good, Billy. Going to let Coach ruin you?”
I just moaned “Yes. Yes.” This was the point in our routine where the Music Man got up from his chair and stood by the massage table so he would have the best view.
Coach let my cock and balls go and began to massage the cheeks of my ass and working them hard, like he had done on my back. He pulled them apart, spreading oil all around my hole and fluttering his finger right on the pucker, then dipping a finger a little bit inside, one knuckle, moving it from side to side, stretching my hole.
“Yeah, right there,” I said. “Fuck that juicy hole.”
He added a second one, tickling my pucker and gently putting one in and then the other, stretching the opening, then shoving them both all the way in one plunge.
He spread some more oil in my crack, and I heard him spread some on his cock. He moved so it was lined up directly with my hole, and he teased me. He kept pressing the head against my opening, letting his shaft fall between my cheeks and then pretending to enter me but pulling back. He slapped it against the hole.
“Ram that hole with it, Coach,” I said. “Kill me with it!
Coach moved up and plunged his cock into my ass in one big push, pressing me into the table, with his full weight on top of me. The head shattered my opening and didn’t stop until pubes hit my ass. It was fucking sensational. This was one of the Music Man’s favorite parts – seeing Coach’s dick go in and out of my ass.
And then he began to TAKE my ass.
He reversed and pushed the whole thing home again and something odd began to happen. His dick hit a place in me I’d never felt before and it was like the massage a thousand times. No finger could have gotten there. When he pushed in and out again, he kept hitting that same spot. I moaned from the rush and arched my back so my ass could swallow as much of his dick as possible. His hands were gripping the two halves of my butt and pulling them apart so when he looked down, it must have really looked like hot pussy lips wrapped around his pole.
“Milk Coach’s cock with your ass, Billy. Open up that cunt for me.”
The Music Man is up by the table, he can’t help himself, he starts to grab any set of balls he can as Coach pumps away. I began to move my ass upward, meeting his downward thrusts, enabling him to go deeper and squeezing my ass muscles just like he loved. I knew what Coach needed. I squirm, clutching the table and grabbing his prodding dick with my sphincter as tight as I can.
“I’m gonna breed you boy. Make me cum.”
The Music man grabbed both our sacks, playing with our balls, rolling them between his fingers and pulling on them. He was working both sets of nuts together. He reached between my legs and started pumping my rock-hard cock.
Coach started bucking like a man gone wild, holding onto my shoulders, grabbing two handfuls of my hair and riding me like a bronco, fucking my ass for all he was worth. The harder he fucked, the more his cock grew! He was stretching me to the limit. The Music Man, covering his hand with oil, was jacking my dick like a madman.
“Split me goddamn open, Coach! Oh, Jesus.”
Coach begins to crank his fuck engine to full steam, his driving strokes are smooth and strong. I can feel every tantalizing inch of his cock inside me. He’s churning my guts and sending waves of electric heat through me. He knows he’s a master fucker.
I’m so out of breath that I can only groan my approval. Coach climbs on top of me, quickly lifts my legs and dives back in, continuing his all-out blistering attack. Music Man is in fucking heaven squeezing my balls and pumping my rod.
I push back against coach and then something goes off like a flash inside me.
“Coach, fuck! Yes. Yes. Yes. I’M CUMMING!”
I begin spurting out gobs of seed. Music Man is ecstatic, taking both hands to pump my cock, greedily eating as much jizz as he can, white cream all around his mouth.
I’m not even sure Coach knows that I’m cumming but he suddenly freezes, convulses and starts growling
“AWWWW shit! Goddammit! TAKE IT!”
Every muscle in his body tightens and I can feel his cock throbbing thick blobs of cum in my guts. One spurt after another. He’s filling me up. He collapses on my back, breathing hard. He keeps his cock deep in my ass until he softens and slips out, his deposit flows out of me like a river.
After Coach and I collapse, he lets his full weight settle on my back. I am in fucking heaven.
Now, this is Music Man’s favorite part. He climbs up on the table and starts gulping and cleaning my ass, soaked with sweat and cum, with his tongue. Slurping and licking and getting as much of the cream as he can.
Finally, Coach gets up off my back and slowly moves to the floor. He’s like a sweaty, beautiful god, just standing there, legs spread. Cock half hard. Huge balls hanging below.
The Music Man goes down on his knees and starts licking Coach, sucking on his nipples, cleaning his pubes and cock. His balls. Then he fucking attacks his ass. Eats it up! I told you he was a nasty fucker.
Coach leans over and kisses the Music Man on the top of his head, while patting his face, and then moves to the shower.
I turn over and just lay there on the massage table. It feels like my whole body is floating—loose, light, and humming with energy. Coach has fucked me within an inch of my life, and every knot and ounce of tension has melted away. He knows that now I can truly focus solely on tomorrow night’s game, making sure we end up on top. I can even hear the cheerleaders in my head: Go! Fight! Win Tonight!
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