The following is a work of erotic fiction depicting graphic sexual scenes, based partly on my own experiences but adapted for dramatic affect, and is meant to be enjoyed by a mature, faggot hole loving, audience.
“The Professor” – The Leather Ball, Pt.1
It’s Halloween 1990, and I’m going to school dressed up as Steve Urkel.
I’ve got a loud striped polo shirt done all the way up, rolled-up jeans pulled up pretty much just under my chest with suspenders. And black plastic glasses.
As a lot of the other grade 11 kids are dressing up, I had asked Junior if he wanted to go as Wayne and Garth, but he said no, which shocked me because we loved them, and I thought he would embrace the stoner character. I guess the other guys that hang out in the smoke hole won’t be dressing up, so why would Junior.
But maybe, it’s because Junior has a girlfriend. I think.
Or, at the very least, I’m pretty sure he is sweet on one of the smoke hole girls.
Tanya, the heavy metal music loving blonde chick with puffy bangs and even puffier shoulder length hair hangs out with Junior’s gang of smokers. She is thin, but has a long torso and shorter legs, so her wide meaty pear-shaped ass hangs low. I walked by Junior and her, sitting on the floor with Junior’s arm around her in the hall last week, whispering, laughing and making googly eyes at each other.
They make a cute couple.
It does explain why we haven’t been hanging out the last few Tuesday nights.
This summer, and up until Tanya, on every Tuesday night while both of our parents were out bowling in their mixed league, Junior (18) and I would watch his dad’s porn videos and Junior would fuck me silly.
Junior has a big dick and is taller than me, so he likes to pound my 5”6” hard round dancer’s ass. He always says he likes practicing fucking with my faggot ass-pussy.
I guess he’s finally found a chick who will let him bang her pussy-pussy.
Although I miss hanging out with Junior, I’m still getting dick though. I’ve had more time to train with Diego, Junior’s neighbour and university student. Coach Diego (18) and Sir Mike (40-something?) have been training me for the Leather Ball. Ever since Coach introduced me to Sir Mike, they have wanted to show me off to… their ‘crew.’
In the last few weeks, we have had many fuck sessions which involved Sir Mike dressing me in jockstraps, G-strings and leather harnesses, to test out various looks to see which one they like best for the occasion. They explained that the Sir’s ‘brothers’ will be wearing various motorcycle gear… jeans, leather vests, harnesses and black Master caps… and they will expect that Sir Mike’s new Baby Boy will also be properly attired.
Other than workouts in the garage gym (with Coach Diego and his university housemate Leo), my training includes studying Coach’s gay porn videos which had lots of gay fucking… in the woods, in bathrooms and in gyms. But there were also scenes with hot, muscular, hairy cops, army men, mechanics, and yes, leather-clad bikers.
Most of the leather daddy scenes were shot in dark seedy bars with a good boy or two being manhandled on stools, fuck benches or slings. These lucky fuckers were “subs” or “submissives,” sometimes masked or with a dog collar, who willingly gave up control in order to satisfy the predilections of dominant, and sex hungry, men.
Sir Mike won’t take me to the Leather Ball until he is absolutely sure that I will be a good sub.
Coach told me about his first time at the Leather Ball, when Sir Mike introduced him to the crew. It was last year and Coach was 20 and in his first year of university and already an accomplished competitive kickboxer. It took weeks of sub training prior to that, before Sir Mike would introduce his Son to the crew.
Coach loved telling me in great detail about all the fucking fun the crew had with him that night, sharing details about each brother. They all seemed like really hot men, but Coach’s eyes would light up just a little brighter when he would talk about ‘the Professor.’
Aptly titled, because Coach said that he learned the most from him.
As I have been spending a lot of time working out with Diego this summer, and, after hearing many “Diego working out” stories, my parents were okay for me to spend so much time with Coach. My protective Italian dad had duly swung by the gym garage (when I was there) more than once to check it out and had reported to Mom that Diego was a respectable, and talented, young man. As they did their parental due diligence, they were comfortable to continue to allow me to workout in the garage gym with those ‘university boys.’
Even though Mom still had her doubts (she didn’t like Diego’s tattoos), I had convinced my parents to let me go with Diego overnight this coming Saturday to a kickboxing meet out of town. Little did they know, Saturday night Coach Diego and I would instead be going to the Leather Ball and crashing at Sir Mike’s place after.
So, this Halloween Friday at school, sitting in my Urkel costume in class, is torture for me. The minutes are dragging on slowly as I day dream about finally going to the Leather Ball with Coach Diego and Sir Mike, including many educational images of what Coach’s Professor will teach me.
Bzzt… “Excuse me, Ms. Romano…,” the school’s secretary interrupted our math class over the P.A. system, “Can you please send Rickie to the gymnasium office? Mr. Cassavetes wants to see him.”
“Sure,” Ms. Romano responded, making eye contact with me. Nodding, she turned back to the chalk board and continued her math lesson.
As it was almost the end of class anyway, I packed my backpack and headed for Mr. C’s office assuming that whatever Mr. C, the school’s P.E teacher and head coach wants with me, will take longer than the last 10 minutes of class.
“Come in!” Mr. C barked, after I knocked on the closed door to his office, just off of the weight room.
I opened the office door to find Mr. C sitting behind his desk, and his two senior basketball stars, Steve and Rodney, sitting in the two chairs facing him. With all eyes on me I stopped and stood there for a second, taking the scene in.
Rodney turns his head to one side and smirks, giving me a look. Be cool.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. C?” I finally ask.
“Yes Rickie, come have a seat,” Mr. C says. “You fellas can go now,” he adds to the boys.
Steve getting up out of the chair puts his hand on my shoulder and nods as he and Rodney leave me with Mr. C.
“Please close the door,” Mr. C says without looking up from shuffling some papers on his desk. Rodney, gives me one last look before closing the office door behind him. Be. Cool.
Last Friday after school, Rodney had the keys to the weight room and locked a few guys from the basketball team and I in the room after school, unsupervised. Rodney had arranged for him, Steve, Kam and Gino, to take turns fucking me in front of the full-length mirrors. This had to be about that. What else could it be?
I sit down on the chair and take off my fake plastic glasses. Mr. C sits back in his chair and folds his arms, squinting. He tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow high above his shades.
I swallow, waiting for Mr. C to speak.
Mr. C is a football player. Does football have “minor leagues?” If they do, he did that… He is at least 6’5” with large round biceps, square chest and thick muscular legs that barely fit under his tight shorts. He has a moustache and often wears brown tinted glasses.
“I’m not sure how to put this,” Mr. C finally says.
Leaning forward, Mr. C interlaces his fingers on his desk, “I’m concerned for you.”
“You’re… concerned for me, Sir?”
“Yes,… sigh,” Mr. C, not usually a man of nuance, turns his head as if to search for words.
He looks at me and then over to the TV and VCR sitting on the TV cart in the corner. Mr. C would wheel the media cart into the boys change room and dissect various plays with the football and basketball teams after taping their games on the school’s camcorder.
Scrunching his lips to one side, he finally makes up his mind and walks over to the VCR and pushes ‘Play.’
There is no sound.
It’s a high angle video angle of the weight room.
It’s from the security camera Mr. C has installed.
In the shot, is a black and white video of the boys fucking me.
Shirtless Kam, takes out his dick and moves closer to me as I’m on my knees sucking Gino’s fat Italian cock and jerking Rodney’s dick.
A clear view of one of my eye’s keeps coming into focus as my head bobs.
Kam, with his back to the camera, shoves his long cock in my face.
Tugging on his nuts, I start to take Kam’s dick in my mouth, slowly swallowing it inch by long inch.
Kam puts his hands on his hips and throws his head back, as the very last inch of his long cock disappears down my throat.
Not moving, I arch my back and look up at him.
Gino, with both of his hands on either side of my head, holds me steady as Kam starts to fuck my face.
Rodney, spanking and jiggling my ass, looks up at Steve and says something.
Steve pulls out his huge 10-inch cock.
I swallow again and look at Mr. C.
As the video continues to play, Mr. C walks around closer to me and sits back to lean against the front of his desk, and crosses his arms.
“I don’t know what to say, Sir,” I manage to utter, looking up at him.
“Rickie, I’m concerned… you are being taken advantage of,” Mr. C softly says, putting one hand on my shoulder.
“Oh, no, Sir,” I reply, “… I like it.”
Not expecting my response, Mr. C’s snaps his head back in surprise, both bushy eyebrows raised over the edge of his shades, “You… like it?”
“Yes, Mr. C!,” I nod.
Mr. C, uncomfortable, fidgets a bit before looking from the TV where I’m on my knees blowing his boys’ basketball starting line.
“See… I’m a faggot, Sir. And if the hot basketball team want to practice “fucking” with my faggot pussy… I am all for it,” I explain, figuring honesty is the best policy.
Behind his golden aviators Mr. C blinks under his bushy man brows.
A few times.
I can see him swallow as his Adam’s apple noticeably slides down his thick man-neck. He takes his hand off of my shoulder and folds them again, looking back at the TV.
Kam is pumping me hard.
I have my face buried in the crevice between Steve’s balls and his leg, holding on to his massive thick cock to steady myself against Kam’s hammering.
Gino and Rodney are standing beside us, stroking their dicks waiting their turn.
Kam throws his head back as his fast-pommelling transitions to slow, deep, hard thrusts.
When he stops, I turn around and face him, dropping to my knees.
From the angle of the security camera, you can see my face as I tongue-wash and suck his cock.
As I suck Kam clean, Gino slides behind me and reaches down slipping his cock and pounds me hard once before I pull away and look back at him.
Gino, forcefully pushes me to a workout bench and lays me down on my back, lifts my leg and puts my foot against his shoulder.
My hole is visible from this angle, and Gino rubs it and sticks his finger in.
When he takes it out, he rubs some of Kam’s nut on his own mushroom head and slowly slides his fat cock into my little pink pucker.
Gino stops when my body spasms once and I grab on to the bench so that I can get used to his fat dick inside me.
After a moment, Gino starts to slowly press himself into me.
Steve slides behind me to sit on the bench and rests my head on the top of his thigh.
Steve pulls my legs back to either side of him and rubs his huge hands up and down the back of my thighs and calves as Gino fucks me with his fat Italian sausage.
Mr. C shifts from one leg to another. He takes off his tinted glasses and squeezing his eyes tightly, pinching the top of his nose, he sighs: “hmmmmm…”
Mr. C is wearing what he always wears… blue tight Lycra workout pants with a stripe on each side that flare a bit at the bottom. And his sizable package is straining in them. Noticing me, notice his growing hardon, Mr. C quickly stands up and retreats back to sitting behind his desk.
“Look… Rickie,” he says, “You may be… a homosexual, but… well,… students shouldn’t be having sex on the school grounds.”
I look straight at Mr. C and don’t say anything.
He can’t help but turn to watch the TV.
After getting lost in it for a second, Mr. C catches himself and reaches for the remote controller. He fumbles with it for a second and aims it at the TV. It must have been muted, as the sound instantly turns on. Loudly.
“Ungh… Ungh… Ungh” I grunt as Gino fucks my ass.
With each of his thrusts, Gino’s ass hardens and from this angle, dimples with each push.
From behind him, his round muscular lats shake slightly.
“You like that fat dick, packer?” Gino asks.
“Fuck, paisano,” I say, “Give me that Italian sausage, man…”
Steve is holding my legs back on either side of him and rubbing his hands up and down my legs.
“Fuck me good, you sexy Italian fucker!” I say.
“Fuck yeah, faggot!” Gino taunts as he smacks and punches my round glutes.
SMACK! PUNCH!... SMACK! SMACK! PUNCH!
Each hit is so loud it almost echoes in Mr. C’s small office.
“Yeah, bro… fuck that slut hole,” Steve says.
Rodney, tugging on his own dick, slides behind Steve and takes one of my hands and guides it to his cock.
Gripping him behind me at the base of his purple cock, I take over jerking Rodney’s cock as Gino continues to fuck me with his fat Italian bulldog cock.
Gino’s thrusts get faster and his assault on my ass gets harder.
SMACK! PUNCH! SMACK! SMACK! PUNCH-PUNCH-PUNCH…
Gino raises both his fists in the air and slams them down on me … DOUBLE-PUNCH-SLAM!
“Argh!” I scream.
Mr. C, after first being startled at the echoing addition of the very loud audio, was fumbling with the remote nervously. He finally finds the correct button and turns the TV off.
The TV goes black.
Still looking at the black TV screen, Mr. C takes a deep breath and slowly, and deliberately, places the remote on the edge of his desk. Watching his hand gingerly set it down, Mr. C takes a moment pressing his tinted glasses at the top of his nose, before he turns his head towards me again.
“Look… I was a horny teenager once too,” Mr. C eventually says, “I… first and foremost, want to make sure you are not being pressured into doing something you don’t really want to do,” he adds, starting to fuss with the papers and files on his desk.
“Mr. C, I appreciate that. Really…” I say, “But, I am not doing anything that I don’t want to do.”
Hoping to put an end to this awkward intervention, I stand up and throw my backpack over my shoulder, preparing to leave.
“I am very sorry for having sex in the weight room and promise that I will not have sex anywhere on the school premises again, Sir,” I confidently say, waving my arms once on ‘anywhere’ to stress my promise.
“… I’ll just have sex with the guys from the basketball team off the school premises…” I add half-jokingly, “… like in the parking lot just like everyone else.”
Appreciating my maturity, humour and grace in this situation, Mr. C nods with a smirk.
“… and if you ever wanna join, I’m game Mr. C,” I devilishly add, winking at him and shooting him with double gun fingers.
Not expecting that, Mr. C’s right elbow, that has been supporting his weight, slips off the edge of his desk. Multiple sheets of paper scatter on his desk, some falling on to the floor.
Now standing at his office door, I put my black Urkel plastic glasses back on.
“Did I do thaaat?” I say in my best Urkel impression, and smile, closing his office door behind me as I leave, before he can say anything else.
***
Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.
After a restless night of tossing and turning… and dreaming of Sir and Coach and all the men at the Leather Ball, I glance at the clock. 7:30 am. Finally. I jump out of bed and re-check that I have everything that I need in my gym bag (again) and bound down the stairs.
I drop my bag at the front door and go to the kitchen to make breakfast.
“You all ready for your athletic weekend?” Mom asks, yawning and tying her bathrobe closed as she shuffles into the kitchen.
“Oh yeah,” I nod with my mouth full of cereal.
“What time are you planning on going to Diego’s…” she started to ask me as she reaches for the coffee pot.
“Now!” I gurgle, as I down the final inch of milk from the bowl like a draft beer, and jump from the table. I no sooner had the bowl in the sink and was running to the front door, before she could finish pouring her morning coffee.
Taking a sip and fighting a yawn, Mom follows me into the front hall and watches me put my shoes on.
“Are you sure you have everything you’ll need? Did you pack your toothbrush?” she asks, as I zip my heavy jacket up.
“Yep,” I say, throwing my backpack over my shoulder and giving her a quick kiss on her cheek, “See you tomorrow night!” I turn and I am out the door before she can ask another mom question.
I can feel her at the front door, shaking her head as she watches me jump on my bike and take off down the block towards Junior’s. I turn back and wave.
When I get to Diego’s I jump off my bike and open the garage door to park it inside. So as not to let in the cold, I quickly shut the garage door behind me. Rubbing my hands, I make my way inside through the side hall entrance.
“Diego?” I call out, just in case Leo was home. No answer.
I find him still in bed, lightly snoring under his thick comforter. He has one foot dangling off the side and didn’t stir when his bedroom door creaked from me slowly opening it.
He looks so warm… I slide under his comforter from the far side and slip my arm in, wrapping my arm around his chest, pressing my body against him, the big spoon. I pull myself up so I can bury my face in the back of his neck and couldn’t help myself from softly kissing it.
“Ahhhh,” he stirs, “your hands are cold,” he mumbles, placing my hand under his furry arm pit by my wrist, to warm them. “What time is it?”
“It’s Saturday,” I whisper, just behind his ear. “Today’s the day, Coach” I add excitedly.
Coach giggles and slowly turns so he is on his back, pulling me into his chest and scooping my ass in his hand to maneuver me to fit perfectly along his side. I rest my chin on his hard square chest and stare up at him as he blinks and looks at me through half-closed eyes.
“Today is the day, Baby Boy,” he says, smiling.
After a hard workout, Coach makes us a big breakfast with eggs, bacon and protein shakes. I had power washed last night but I would need to freshen up again later before going to Sir Mike’s place. Coach gives me the bathroom, and although he doesn’t have a bidet, he has a special shower nozzle he attaches to an extended pipe on his shower head. I love it!
“You good?” Coach asks as I finally emerge from bathroom.
“I’m power-washed good, Coach,” I answer.
“Then let’s get our shit together, Sir is on his way,” he says smacking my bare ass to usher me back to his bedroom to get dressed.
HONK! HONK!
Coach and I make our way to Sir’s pick-up truck parked in the driveway. Sir has dark shades with reflective lens and his leather jacket on. I jump in, sliding to the middle of the cab to make room for Coach.
“You ready, Baby Boy?” Sir asks, wrapping his hand around my thigh and squeezing me.
“Yes SIR!” I squeal, as Coach slides in beside me and closes the passenger side door.
The pickup truck rattles down the side streets, its bed empty except for the faint smell of oil and leather that clung to everything Sir owned. I sat pressed sandwiched in between Coach and Sir, nuzzled under Coach’s arm from the cold.
Sir’s hands are loosely controlling the wheel, eyes fixed ahead.
“Listen close, Baby Boy,” he says, voice steady but carrying the weight of command. “Tonight, you follow the rules… No talking unless spoken to. No wandering. You stay at my, or Son’s side, unless I tell you otherwise. If a brother asks you for something, you do it. Respect is everything in there. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” I murmur, my heart thudding.
“Good boy. And one more thing — you don’t drink unless I hand it to you. You keep your head clear. You’re here to learn, not to show off.”
Coach smirks, leaning forward. “Don’t worry, Sir. I’ll keep him in line.”
Sir Mike shoots him a glance, half I’m counting on you, half amused. “That’s your job tonight, Son. He’s your shadow until I say otherwise.”
The truck turns onto a narrow street lined with warehouses. The air is mild for early November, the kind of damp chill that hinted at winter but hadn’t yet bitten. Fallen leaves skitter across the pavement as the tires crunch over gravel.
Then I see it: the clubhouse. A squat brick building, windowless except for a single neon beer sign glowing faintly in the front. Above the heavy steel door hung a black wooden sign with silver lettering: The Leather Ball.
I can’t help but be amazed at the row of motorcycles parked out front. Chrome gleamed under the weak setting sunlight, handlebars jutting like antlers, leather saddlebags worn from miles of road. Each bike seemed to stand guard, lined up in perfect formation, announcing that this is claimed territory.
Two men in leather jackets are leaning against the wall, cigarettes glowing in their hands. They look up as the truck pulls in, nodding once at Sir.
Pulling into a spot, Sir cuts the engine, the rumble fading into silence.
Sir turns to me, his hand firm on my knee. “Remember the rules, Baby Boy. Tonight, you’re mine, and through me, you belong to them. Don’t forget that.”
I swallow hard, nodding, “Yes, Sir.”
The door creaks open, and the cool November air rushes in. As I step down from the truck, the smell of smoke, oil, and leather wraps around me like a second skin. It’s almost comforting because it smells so much like Sir.
I make sure to follow close behind Coach as we make our way to the entrance. The steel door looms ahead, paint chipped, a faint hum of music leaking through. The two smoking men in leather jackets glance at me, then at Sir, and nod. My stomach tightens — I’m nervous, and excited.
The door swings open, and the air hits me like a wall: smoke, beer, leather. The dim red glow makes everything feel secret, like I’ve stepped into another world. Motorcycles line the walls in black and white photographs, chrome parts flare under neon signs, and a massive emblem — The Leather Ball — spreads across the far wall like a banner of belonging.
As we make our way toward the bar, I try to take it all in as my eyes slowly adjust to the lower bar lighting.
To the left stretched a long wooden bar, its surface worn smooth by years of elbows and spilled beer. Behind it, shelves of whiskey and rum gleamed under neon light. Behind the bar drying a wet glass with a rag stood a massive man, bald head, and thick white beard. Tattoos crawled up both arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his cut-off shirt. He grins when he sees Sir and Coach, nodding in recognition.
In the center of the room, two pool tables sit under hanging lamps, their green felt warn and fading. The crack of balls and bursts of laughter punctuate the smoky air.
Near the pool tables sat an older man, posture straight and commanding, in jeans and a black leather vest, sipping his beer. Beside him, his boy sat in a chair very close to him, eyes lowered, hands folded neatly on his lap. He is around Coach’s age, in his early 20’s and reminds me of skinny Kirk Cameron, with a curly mop of hair, dressed in a jockstrap and a single-strap black leather harness that wrapped around his chest and over one shoulder. Noticing us walk in, Kirk Cameron leans closer into the old man and nuzzles into the back of his shoulder as the old man gives Sir a nod, and continues to sweep the room with his gaze with a quiet authority.
At the pool tables, three broad-shouldered men lean over their cues, their laughter booming as they traded shots. They were Daddy Bears — thick, bearded, leather vests stretched across their frames. One of them, tall and wearing glasses pauses mid-shot, standing to get a better look at us. Although my eyes are glued on Sir as we make our way in, I steal a glance and through the haze notice that he actually is studying me with a slow, deliberate curiosity, fully abandoning his shot.
In front of me, Coach turns his head back and over his shoulder whispers, “That’s the Professor,” he says smiling, “Looks like you caught his eye.”
There was a narrow staircase leading up to a balcony that overlooks the main floor. Doors line the upper level — with offices, or private rooms, where club business was handled away from the crowd.
In the far corner, darker than the rest, hung a doorway strung with beads. Above it, a hand-painted sign read The Cellar with an arrow pointing down. The beads swayed as figures slipped in and out, the corner humming with secrecy.
As we reached the bar, I resisted the urge to get a better look at the Professor and instead was laser focused on Sir. Before talking to the bartender, Sir looks back at Coach and raises his eyebrows. Coach takes Sir’s leather jacket off and folds it over this arm. “Follow me,” Coach says to me.
We find a corner booth and Coach hangs Sir’s jacket on a hook. “Let’s get dressed here,” he orders.
I drop my gym bag on the seat and take off my coat. Both Coach and I kick off our shoes, take off our shirts and jeans, and fold them into my bag. Coach, in his jockstrap, puts his ball call back on his head. He had sports knee socks and his sneakers on. In the dim light his hard ab muscles popped in the shadows and he looked as beautiful as my bedroom Mikhail Baryshnikov poster.
After putting on my dance knee pads and my black converse shoes again, Coach helps me put on my ring harness, snapping the black leather straps into a tight “x” through a silver ring just above the middle of my chest and another ring at the middle of my back. Sir had his guy add extra snaps so that it would fit my tiny frame just right. From behind, Coach grabs the leather straps crisscrossing my back and pulls hard, shaking me a few times to test it out. He throws me around so hard, my heels keep lifting off the ground.
Coach turns me around and scoops my face in his hands.
Bending over so his face is inches from mine, Coach looks deep into my eyes.
“Tonight is your first night, Baby Boy,” he says, demanding I look back at him just as deeply. His stare is powerful and I realize I am jumping from focusing on one of his eyes to the other, and then back again.
“You will earn your place with the rest of us boys,” he decides, tilting his head a bit. “And that starts… with the boys.”
Coach turns and starts to walk towards the middle of the space, checking to make sure I’m following him, then spanning the room….
First, his locks eyes with a boy in the closest corner to us. He is comparatively smaller than Coach, but still bigger than me. His skin was a pure white, with hints of black straight hair in enticing places… his pits, a trail from his navel to his jockstrap, and more black hair spread out and hidden down his hard legs. He was in a jockstrap, knees pads… And he had what looked like a black leather dog mask.
As we go closer it was more like a pup mask, with floppy ears and a round leather snout that snapped in place above his nose.
He also had two jet-black orbs that were eye-fucking me through the pup’s eye holes.
Pup tilts his head to his side when he meets Coach’s eye again, then instantly jumps out of his seat and starts for the centre of the room too. When he catches up to Coach, they stop. Coach bends towards Pup, grabbing the back of Pup’s neck, and holding his forehead to Pup’s, starts to rub him up and down behind his head.
“Hi, Pup,” Coach says playfully to him.
Pup, now down on his kneepads, rubs his head into Coach’s side a few times. Then jumps up to his feet to continue to follow Coach. Coach is the Alpha Boy.
Coach then locks eyes with these pair of sons coming into the room from the dark entrance to the Cellar, the beads bouncing behind them as they emerge from the shadowy corner.
Both were almost-naked, black, warrior-man-boys. They had the energy of Coach but were built like powerful men. Hard, glistening muscles. Everywhere. As they scan me up and down coming closer into view, they nod to Coach and follow us to the centre of the room too.
Lastly, Coach nods to Kirk Cameron. Although he knew what he had to do, Kirk Cameron looks to his Sir hoping his master would intervene so he didn’t have to participate. But the old man instead lifts his eyebrows and tilts his head. Go now, boy.
Kirk Cameron, slouches over and not really wanting to, slowly starts to join Coach’s parade of boys to the centre of the room.
Now with a large mug of beer in his hand, Sir Mike turns from the bar and steps up toward our gaggle of boys, all of us in jockstraps and harnesses. Sir looks down at me and smiles, as I settle in right next to him.
Placing his free hand on my shoulder, Sir raises his glass into the air and speaks to the whole bar.
“Brothers!” he says loudly. The music lowers and the room answers back with nods, grins, a few raised glasses. I keep my eyes low, but I feel all of them on me — measuring, curious. He squeezes my shoulder. “This is my Baby Boy…,” he says, voice steady, proud.
His announcement hangs in the air, and now I’m part of it.
Some men smirk, one claps another on the back, another whistles. I blush, and steal a glance to my side and get a supportive wink from Coach. It’s my coronation, my inauguration into the club as Sir Mike’s Baby Boy; a welcome wrapped in rough man edges.
“… and I cannot be prouder,” Sir continues.
Putting his beer down on the bar, Sir turns to Coach and puts his other hand on Coach’s shoulder. “This summer my sexy Son brought Baby Boy to me, and for weeks, together, we have been training him for this night… So that we could officially introduce him to the club… to the family.”
I dare not turn my head, but from the pool tables I can see from my periphery that one of the three men, most likely the Professor, noticeably steps closer towards us to get a better view. And in a familiar way, he raises his hand to his forehead, takes his glasses off and pinches his nose, shaking his head.
“My brothers… I officially invite you all to help me welcome into our family…. my beautiful…. Baby Boy!”
The room erupts in cheers and applause. And the music starts again.
Coach grabs my hand and he leads me to the middle of the boys.
Coach, Pup and the sons each grab me somewhere and lift me up so that I’m standing on a table. Behind me the Judas Priest track’s ending seemly transitions to Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
I look down from the table top at the boys to find Coach. With the biggest smirk, Coach winks and nods. Dance, Baby Boy.
With my freestyle solo I did for Coach the first time I performed for him to this song in my repertoire, I was prepared.
As soon as the intro finishes, I start right with the first verse. Love is like a bomb, baby come on, get it on…
I took the first four sets of 8 counts of the first verse, to warm the club up. Get their attention and begin the arc... I pretty much danced on the table like a go-go dancer on a dance cube, like the kids I used to see show off on Electric Circus on Saturday afternoons.
I start by turning my back to Sir, and looking over my shoulder at him, then slowly descend into an ass to grass grande plié. Then, to the music, punch a foot into the air, while hugging my leg with my full body. I smile upside down at Sir, as I continue to spot him to keep my balance.
“Whoa…” a daddy blurts from the crowd, not expecting my tricks.
One of the black sons jump back to give me room.
I sit at the end of the table and fan-kick to the floor. Twirling and chainé turning through the tables and high-tops, I strategically make my way towards the dance floor by the side with the DJ booth in search of more room to let loose.
When I reach the edge of the floor, and the two sets of 8-count bridge starts in the song, I make my way to the centre back of the dance floor in preparation for the upcoming verse. Take a bottle… shake it u-u-up…
Facing the back wall and DJ booth, I know everyone was focusing on my little naked hard round ass as I ball change into my big preparation. Pour some sugar on me…
As soon as the verse drops, I start my big sequence toward the crowd. Aiming right down the centre of the floor and accenting each deep beat, (on 1) I cut into a deep turning prep; (2) I pull into a tight double pirouette; (3 and 4) I step and pull into a double tour; (5) I drop one hand to the floor and shoot my leg in the air for an extended penché turn… run, run, run into a turning middle switch split jump higher in the air than anyone thinks I can jump (6, 7, and 8).
“Yes!” the men holler. Whistling and clapping. I catch a glimpse of Sir… and the proud smile on his face fuels my performance.
Coach, drags a chair to the middle of the floor and Pup runs and jumps into it. Coach makes a point of taking his arms and “putting” them down behind Pup and then looks at me. His arms are tied. He’s ready for his lap dance, Baby Boy.
Holding tight to the sides of the chair, Pup watches as I drop down to the floor into the splits and roll around him, keeping my spot on him, and my bouncing hole to Sir Mike and the rest of the leather crowd.
I pop up into a handstand and turn on my hands, toes pointed together in the air, in a circle so that my body is facing the bar. I slowly lower my legs into the splits… making Pup bark at the sight of my round ass floating in the air just in front of his face.
I drop down to my knees, turning over a shoulder and playfully smack my ass, now facing the audience. My eye’s meet Pup’s old man’s, who was smiling and rubbing his crotch. Go get him, boy.
I turn to face Pup sitting on the chair in the middle of the floor, and as I crawl closer, Pup howls like a wolf to the moon. “Raaaoooooowrrrrrr!”
I shoot my legs out into the centre splits and bury my nose in his groin. I bounce up and down as I lap at his leg crack, grazing his left furry nut with my tongue peaking out from his underwear. His hard cock stretched his jock so much, it looked as if it would rip it apart.
Pup, not being able to play ‘tied up’ anymore, pulls his jock to the side freeing his hard fat cock. His thick 8 incher flops against his stomach. I suck his balls into my mouth and pulled down hard, so his cock springs straight up and bounces with each pull.
“Yes, Baby Boy!... Go little fucker!” the men yell.
Jumping in, Coach scoops his hands under my legs and lifts me off the floor, burying his tongue into my hole. Still holding me in the splits and raised above him now, I am able to take Pup’s hard cock into my mouth, as Coach moves me up and down on Pup’s dick, spitting and lapping at my crack.
With each of the black boys taking a leg, Coach pulls me up with me facing Pup, guides my ass down onto Pup’s wet hard cock. Coach makes his way to stand behind us, as the boys lift me up and down on Pup’s hard furry dick. I put my hands behind my head as they control my bounces.
From under his leather snout, Pup is growling as he laps at my nipple with his tongue. The boys are slamming me harder into him, and although I’m wet from Coach’s munching and trying to open up for him, it’s a tight fit as my legs and glutes are engaged from me being bounced on him in the splits.
Pup cannot contain himself any longer. “Aooooowwwww!” he howls, as he unloads in my hole.
Pulling me off his dick, the two sons tip me over so I can suck Pup’s creamy cock clean and display my wet hole to the club. As I lap up Pup’s nut, the two sons spread my hole and take turns sticking their man- fingers in me.
By the time I’m finished cleaning up Pup’s mess, Coach has come around to the side of us and pulled his hard cock out, stroking it gently. The two sons lift me up and scootch sideways so that we are now in front of Coach. Wrapping my arms around Coach’s neck, they lower me onto his cock and using Pup’s load as lube, start bouncing me up and down on him.
With most of my weight on Coach now, the boys don’t have to do much work and so they take the opportunity to grab, slap and jiggle my round ass cheeks, as Coach’s cock slides in and out of me.
“You’re doing good, Baby Boy,” Coach whispers into my ear, “Sir is beaming.”
I cannot help but start to kiss him deeply, as the boys’ enthusiasm grow in intensity, the slaps getting louder and louder with each hit… SMACK! … SLAP!.... SMACK-SMACK! My glutes are burning hot… not only from the onslaught but from squeezing my legs as I bounce in the air. My hole is gripping Coach’s cock as he stabs me to the beat of the music.
‘Cause I’m hot sticky sweet, from my head to my feet, YEAH…
Just as the last verse was playing in the song, Coach blew his load into my tight Baby boy hole.
“Ahhhhh!” Coach groans, his tongue still in my mouth in a deep kiss. I feel his dick convulse in my hole’s pincer-like grip, filling me with his Alpha-boy stud juice.
Replacing Pup in the chair, Kirk Cameron leans back, with his face to the ceiling, as the guys pull me off Coach’s dick and shifts back to the chair to hold me in the air inches over Kirk Cameron’s face. Even though my body was still taught, so that I could hold my legs wide apart, I could feel cum leak onto his face. Kirk Cameron opens his mouth wide and after catching what he could presses his face higher to hungrily suck at my hole.
“Mrrr… mrnommm…. Grnommmm…” Kirk Cameron chews and tongues and munches at my swollen lips, voraciously sucking as much of the loads out of me as he can. I press my ass into his face, trying to loosen my hole as much as possible and push it out to feed it to him.
Roars of cheers and moans erupt from the club.
Still facing the back, being held over the chair, with my ass in Kirk Cameron’s face, I turn slightly over to look at the tall manly son holding me up on my left. Being this close, I can see that although he’s big, he can’t be any older than Coach, with a light black stubble tracing his chin.
He looks at me with his deep dark eyes and smiles, his teeth square and white. Unlike his brother, he has a ballcap on and when I smile back, he opens his mouth and his wide, pink tongue flops out. Open your mouth, Baby Boy.
I open my mouth and stick out my tongue and Ballcap spits into my mouth. Before I can completely close my mouth, he swallows my face, his lips almost covering my chin.
As the song transitions to a Van Halen track, the boys lift me higher in the air, turning me around to face the crowd, gingerly places me on the dance floor in front of the chair. I see Kirk Cameron licking his lips as I stand in front of the club as everyone cheers.
I scan the room and see Sir standing with his now almost finished beer at the bar, with the Professor. Sir is smiling proudly as his brothers clap and cheer their appreciation for my performance.
“Come,” Coach quickly says, as he steps in front of me and starts to walk towards Sir and the Professor at the bar.
As we get closer, my attention shifts from Sir to the Professor… After a few steps towards them I almost stop in my tracks, but dare not to.
As soon as we are standing in front of them, Coach moves to the side and turns to look down at me… “Professor, this is Baby Boy, Sir,” Coach says.
With a big gulp, and my head bowed, I force myself to look up at him.
In his golden aviators and a black Muir leather daddy cap, traced with a silver chain, Mr. C. looks down at me, his bushy eyebrows raised again, hovering above the rim of his shades.
Mr. C is the Professor.
Mr. C’s familiar defined round biceps jet out from his black leather vest, one arm cradling a draft, the other fist on his hips. I stare at the black hair covering his bare chest and I cannot help but feel my faggot hole lips twitch.
“Well… Baby Boy,” Mr. C finally says, “I didn’t expect to get a live show so soon after your cinematic debut.”
Coach, not understanding what he means, looks at us baffled.
“Steve, here, teaches gym at Baby Boy’s high school,” Sir shares, noticing Coach’s confusion, “… and he recently discovered one of Baby Boy’s fuck-fests he had with the basketball team that was recorded on the weight room’s security camera.”
Partly shocked, but mostly amused, Coach turns to look at me, smiling.
Mr. C, putting his arm around Coach says, “If I’m being honest, Son, I much prefer watching Baby Boy… perform live.”
With Coach still under his arm, Mr. C looks me up and down and nods approvingly.
After he’s finished taking me in, Mr. C then turns to Coach, “Great job,” Mr. C says to him, reaching down to rub Coach’s chest proudly.
Coach looks up at him and smiles adoringly… I can’t help but notice Coach melt into Mr. C’s side, as he is now wrapped in both of Mr. C’s thick arms.
Mr. C slightly nods towards his closest nipple. Suck my nipple.
Coach immediately starts to suck and lick Mr. C’s nipple, as Mr. C turns back to me and the conversation.
Emerging from the pool tables, one of the brothers Mr. C was playing pool with appears just beside me and flops one of his hairy thick arms around me, while his friend smacks my ass before materializing on my other side.
“Great show, boys!” the Daddy bear with his arm around me says.
I look up at him, my nose just under his chest. He looks down at me, and finding my nipple pinches it hard and winks. He’s bald, but has a long square shaped ZZ Top beard that drapes down almost to the bottom of his chest, close to my face. I can’t reach his pit, but I can smell the mix of man and cigar, that he’s adeptly holding between his teeth as he talks from out the other side of his mouth.
“You ready for your next dance number with some brothers, Baby Boy?” ZZ Top says, snapping his fingers to release his death grip on my nipple.
“Ahhhh… Yes, SIR!” I reply loudly, wincing… but trying not to wince.
“Glad to hear it, twinkle toes,” the second bear adds, smacking my ass again.
He’s just as tall, but he has long brown hair pulled into a pony tail and his beard is only just past his chin. He’s not as thick as ZZ Top or Mr. C, and reminds me of Skinny that was the first pirate to fuck the Captain in the ass in my favourite porn. I wonder if he has a long skinny dick too.
“What do you think?” Skinny says, looking to Mr. C and ZZ Top, “Should we introduce Baby Boy to the Cellar?”
While ZZ Top has been pinching the same nipple again, Skinny has been squeezing my ass cheek and rubbing up and down my crack.
Feeling the wet from Pup and Coach, Skinny slides a finger into my hole.
“His Baby Boy hole is hungry for more cock…” Skinny says, looking behind me as he slides his finger in and out of my dripping hole. “Right, Baby Boy?” Skinny says, nodding yes to signal what my response should be.
“Oh yes, Sir,” I reply, tightening my hole around his finger as he forces it deeper to push it in past his knuckle. I coyly bite my bottom lip in response and keep my eyes looking up at Skinny as he purses his lips to blow out an appreciative exhale as he slides a second finger into my softening hole.
With a nod to Sir, ZZ Top and Skinny turn and with their hands still on me, guide me towards the dark corner and the Cellar entrance.
“You better go too,” Sir says to Mr. C, “This one is tasked with watching over him.”
Looking down at Coach still sucking on his nipple Mr. C says “You ready for another go, Son?”
“Yes, Professor,” Coach says, sucking back his own saliva he’s accumulated around Mr. C’s tit.
Pushing me in front of the line heading toward the corner, ZZ Tops steers us through the main room from the bar, weaving past the pool tables with practiced ease. My heart is thudding, eyes darting from the leather-clad brothers to the glowing sign in the far corner. The entrance was tucked into a darker pocket of the clubhouse — half-hidden and strung with beads. Above them, a hand-painted sign read The Cellar, the letters jagged and silver, with a small arrow pointing down. The air around it felt heavier, quieter, as if the room itself held its breath.
I pause at the threshold, pushing the beads aside with one hand.
“This is where things get real,” ZZ Top whispers in my ear, bending down, voice low but steady.
I swallow hard, as it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the darker shadow as I slowly walk past the beads. There’s a slight glow from a red light from below and I walk towards it down barely visible stairs.
As my eyes adjust, I can see the stairway walls lined with old posters — leather events, biker rallies, faded pride flags. The music from upstairs fade, replaced by a low hum and the occasional clink of chains.
When I reach the basement, the room opens up into a low-ceilinged space lit by red bulbs. The scent of leather, sweat, and something metallic hung in the air.
ZZ Top steers me to the right and after he navigates me around a few maze-like black walled corners, I stop at a tight space filled mostly by a hammock-like contraption.
Suspended from the ceiling by thick chains, swaying ever so slightly, was a leather sling. Black, padded, worn smooth in places and stirrups. The chains gleamed in the dim light, anchored to steel beams above. It looked like a handy fuck aid and a trap all at once.
Sliding off to one side of it, Skinny reaches for one of the stirrups. “First time seeing one?” he asks, as he fiddles with one stirrup.
“Yes Sir,” I reply, eyes wide. Although I had seen it in some of Coach’s porn, I never saw one in real life.
“It’s not just gear,” ZZ Top says. “It’s ritual. It’s trust… This sling’s seen more stories than you can imagine. And we are going to add another chapter, Baby Boy.”
In the corners, shadows shifted — brothers moaning, some watching, some waiting. Shadows moving. The Cellar wasn’t loud, but it was alive with a hushed energy.
I stood still, the sling in front of me like a symbol I didn’t yet understand, as both ZZ Top and Skinny worked each to get a stirrup into place. But I felt it — the gravity of the space, the weight of the culture, the silent invitation to become part of it.
When they were done, Coach and Mr. C had caught up to us.
Mr. C moves right up behind me. I feel his bulge pressing against the small of my back. I look over my shoulder and up at him, eyes wide.
“Here we go, Baby Boy,” Mr. C says, “Your introduction to the family continues.”
Scooping his hands under my arm pits, Mr. C lifts me off the floor high into the air. ZZ Top and Skinny grab a leg and the back of my harness, helping Mr. C to lower me face down into the scoop of the leather sling, settling me passed the pillow at the end, so my head dangled down over the edge. The brothers had adjusted it so the head rest was lower than the stirrups, and each of them guide my shins into the stirrups, so that I fit just under my knees nicely, ass up.
Skinny could barely let me get comfortable before spreading my cheeks and diving into my hole.
With two large man hands pulling my round cheeks wide apart, he leans in and swipes his tongue along my boy trench, groaning salaciously as he tastes my sweet, cum-wet ass. Skinny hungrily laps at it like a cat to a bowl of milk, his fat tongue working over the soft tender flesh of my pretty pink hole.
“Ohhh,” I moan, as Skinny’s bushy mustache brushes up and down my taint, “Thank you, Sir…”
“Mmmmm, you taste so sweet, Baby Boy,” Skinny growls as he slips his tongue into my tight ring and digs around, enjoying the sweet nut juice he’s sucking out of me.
Standing above my head, ZZ Top unzips his jeans and pulls out his dick. It’s a solid 6 and half incher, and fat, nestled in a furry man bush matching his long beard. He cups my chin with one hand and manoeuvres himself under my face so that I can reach him. With his other hand he taps the side of my face. Open up, boy.
I open my mouth and ZZ Top slides his cock in. After a few short pushes, both hands on my neck and face, he starts to fuck my throat in a steady rhythm.
“Gulk…. Gulk…. Gulk…” my spit now getting his dick almost as wet as Skinny is getting my hungry hole.
“Yes, Baby Boy,” ZZ Top growls, “Take that daddy dick.”
“Gulk…. Gulk…. Gulk….”
Skinny stands up and starts to smack my ass… SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
As he starts to undue his work pants, Skinny looks at Coach. Come here, boy.
Coach slides next to Skinny. To Coach, Skinny motions down to me. Take over, boy.
Coach takes over, continuing to slap my ass in the same rhythm… SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
While Coach continues to hit me, Skinny pulls out his cock. It is not Skinny. It’s long. And fat. He reaches underneath himself and pulls out his balls. They are the size of apples, and he drops them and they bounce to dangle low.
Skinny looks at his dick. Get my dick ready to fuck him, Son.
Coach drops to his knees and takes Skinny in his mouth. Holding his fat cock with two hands, Coach is aggressively bobbing back and forth, spitting and swallowing as much of Skinny’s big cock as he can. The back of his head sometimes hitting my suspended wet hole.
While Coach is working on his dick, Skinny resumes spitting into my hole and spanking me… Spit… SMACK…. Spit… SMACK. SMACK.
“That’s it, Son. Get my cock ready to fuck your Baby Boy,” Skinny directs Coach.
With both hands on either side of my head, ZZ Top is face fucking me harder and harder now.
“Gulk…. Gulk…. Gulk…”
Mr. C watching it all, moves closer and starts to tug on one of ZZ Top’s nipples while he watches ZZ Top fuck my face. Smiling, Mr. C starts to pinch one of his own nipples with his other hand.
Coach, holding Skinny’s wet dick in his hands, turns to face my hole. He spits and laps at it… spits and laps again, then guides Skinny’s fat cock to my hole.
Skinny leans forward and slides into me, one inch at a time. He only gets his dick about three-quarters in when it seems it just won’t go in anymore, so he stops and lets me take a minute to open up to accommodate his not-so-skinny girth.
As ZZ Top is rocking me into him from his aggressive face fucking, I try to press my ass into Skinny and relax my hole. After a few sways, Skinny’s cock slowly inches more into me.
SMACK!… Jiggle-Jiggle-Jiggle… SMACK!... Jiggle-Jiggle
“Push it out… Push it out, Boy,” Skinny says smacking and jiggling my right ass cheek.
“Gulk…. Gulk…. Gulk…”
Picking up on ZZ Top’s rhythm, Skinny presses into me with every swing ZZ Top face fucks me into him.
“That’s it, Baby Boy… That’s IT!” Skinny praises me, as I finally take all of him in and my cheeks start to bounce off of his pelvis.
SMACK!... Jiggle-Jiggle…. Gulk…. Gulk…. Gulk… SMACK!... Jiggle-Jiggle…. Gulk…. Gulk…. Gulk…
My initiation fuck sounds are getting louder and louder, together with the sound of the rattling chains as I swing.
Coach crawls over to Mr. C, and from on his knees on the floor, looks up at him… Mr. C looks at crotch. Take it out, boy.
Coach undoes Mr. C’s button on his jeans and slides his zipper down to display a denser batch of man fur hiding at the base of his hair trail. Pausing to look up at him for an adoring moment, Coach presses his nose into Mr. C’s fur and heartily sniffs. Coach then rubs his face on Mr. C’s bulge, up and down the side of his zipper.
Sliding a hand inside, Coach guides Mr. C’s hard cock out from his jeans. Moving under him, Coach lets it rest on his face, as it stretches from his chin to his forehead, covering his left eye. Mr. C looking down at him, puts a hand behind Coach’s head and lovingly pats him. Coach starts to lick up and down his shaft and then finally taking his fat, pink mushroom head into his mouth.
“Fuck, Son,” Mr. C moans, as Coach hungrily sucks on his cock.
ZZ Top is focusing on his dick fucking my throat. He looks up at Skinny fucking me. “You gonna fill him, brother?” he asks him.
“This faggot’s cock hole is so little… but the fucker is taking me so good, I think I am…,” Skinny grunts in between thrusts. “Would you like that, Baby Boy?” Skinny asks me.
“Gulk…. Gaaack-gluck…. Gulk…. Gulk….” I can only say, with ZZ Top’s cock down my throat.
“Yes, you DO want it, Baby Boyee,” Skinny sings, increasing the force and speed of his thrusts. “Yes, you doo-ooo.”
Skinny, with his hands on the sling’s chains, pulls the sling into him hard, while cock-punching my hole at the same time. ZZ Top, easing off of his thrusts, steadies my head to ensure his dick finds its way deep down my throat with each swing.
“Gluck.. Gluck.. Gluck.. Gluck..”
Ever since Junior made me throw up from that angry face-fuck, he’s tried to make me puke again. Every blow job I gave Junior after that quickly escalated to him hate fucking my throat as deep and as hard as he can… and he actually had come close a few times of making me puke again. Although he didn’t know it, he had made me gag and swallow some throw up more than once since... So, I’ve had lots of deepthroating practice and although it’s messy with thick gobs of phlegm splashing on us, I’m taking it like a champ.
“I’m getting close,” Skinny grunts, “How about you?” he asks ZZ Top.
“Oh, I’ve nutted already 3 times down his gullet, brother” ZZ Top answers, “I’m just fucking it all in, now.”
“Gluck. Gluck. Gluck. Gluck.”
ZZ Top, grabbing his cock and balls, pulls his dick from my mouth. “BLACHH!” I belch, as gobs of thick creamy cum spit spills from my mouth to make a noticeable splash on the floor.
“Let him have it, brother,” ZZ Top urges, my face now free from ZZ Top’s deepthroating.
With his newfound freedom, Skinny pounds my ass with a fierce manic force so hard that I wish I could have used some of that spit as lube.
CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! … the chains wrang throughout the Cellar as Skinny pounds me hard.
“Argghh!.... Agggh!.... Yes!..... Aggggh…” Skinny screams, as he fills me with his man cum. I grab the back chains in an attempt to brace myself, my head rebounding from each cock punch like I’m on a runaway jet ski.
After his final thrusts, Skinny grabs my ass cheeks and pulling them apart, thrusts his cock hard and deep a few more times.
“Fucking……. Faggot……. Hole…….” Skinny snarls with each thrust. Then, bent over me, finally stopping, he holds his fat cock deep inside me, catching his breath, “Huff…. Huff…. Huff…”
I can feel his dick spasm a few more times.
A glob of spit-cum drool slowly starts to form and drip from the side of my mouth as I hang over the edge of the sling, face down. My body is spasming and I’m breathing hard, too.
Coach, who is sucking on Mr. C’s thick cock, makes eye contact with me and, pulling off of Mr. C’s dick, smiles. He reaches out to me and rubs the back of my head. Good Baby Boy.
Coach, slides closer to me and sticking out his tongue, catches that globe of spit-cum before it gets too heavy and separates to fall to the floor with the rest. He sucks it in, and after prepping a big hork, spits it all into my mouth. Instantly kissing me right after to suck it all out of my mouth again.
Pulling back, he preps again and looks at me. Open your mouth, Baby Boy.
After opening my mouth wide Coach spits it all back into my mouth again. He lovingly taps my wet face. Good, Baby Boy.
Mr. C, free from Coach’s throat, moves toward Skinny. “Nice, brother!” he praises, putting a hand on Skinny’s shoulder, guiding him back away from me. Skinny’s still fat, but softening dick, slides out of me.
Mr. C places his hands on my cheeks and presses his palms to spread them, gazing at my leaking hole. “That is one stretched… sloppy… little…. faggot hole you made, brother,” he says to Skinny.
“Mike has trained another good one,” Skinny says, shaking his dick. A light spray tickles my lower back. Moving to my face, he puts his hands on his hips and watches as Coach and I start to lick and tongue his fat, low-hanging, slimy man cock. “Yes, boys… that’s it…” he praises us.
“You did say you were game, right Baby Boy?” Mr. C says.
“Yes, Sir… Please, Professor… teach me too, Sir…” I beg.
Mr. C brings his own football thick fuck stick to my gaping hole. He presses his big mushroom head into the wide red “o” that used to be my tight boy hole. When the mushroom edge slides past my swollen lips, I shudder. Mr. C presses his thumbs into my ass and pulls my cheeks farther apart to slide the rest of his man cock into me.
As my ass reaches his pelvis, I stop licking Skinny and turn to look back at Mr. C.
“Ohhhhh,” Mr. C moans, feeling the warm sloppy walls of my hole envelope him. I turn back to help Coach lick Skinny clean, while pressing my ass into Mr. C so I am as open as possible. When the swing slightly starts to bounce away from him, I squeeze my hole as tight as I can around him.d
Mr. C, slaps my ass in appreciation. “Now I know firsthand why the team likes your faggot hole, Baby Boy,” he says. SMACK.
“Right?”… SMACK.
“Right, Baby Boy?” … SMACK… SMACK… SMACK.
“YES, Sir!” I scream back, only allowing a moment for me to respond before returning to tongue wash Skinny’s dirty cock.
“That’s right,” Mr. C says, as he starts to thrust me harder and deeper.
Finishing with Skinny, Coach makes eye contact with Mr. C, who is fucking me hard.
Coach stands up from his knees, just as Mr. C wraps his big football man-hands around my waist. Grabbing my harness with one hand, Mr. C lifts me up, as Coach guides my knees out of the sling stirrups.
Holding me in the air and still from behind me, Mr. C slams me on his cock, bouncing me up and down on him.
I manage to grab the back chains of the sling and hold on for dear life, squeezing my thighs hard that are now frog-legged wrapped around Mr. C’s waist, my body face down toward the floor.
CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG!
The sound of the clinging chains the music to my boy grunts with every thrust. “Ugh. Ugh. Ugh,” I sing in unison with his fast, deep pounding… his fat football dick stabbing into me.
Just when I think he cannot go any harder or faster, Mr. C increases his pace. All I can do is hold on for dear life. I feel the euphoric bolts of bliss wash through me in waves, as I cum hands-free in my tight jockstrap.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” I scream, louder than I probably should have.
Mr. C eventually eases off and motioning Coach to help, flips me around and lowers me into the sling, face up.
While Mr. C was fucking me, Skinny had re-set the sling so that the head rest was higher than the seat. Coach guides one of my feet to a stirrup and I place the other one in myself, as Mr. C re-sets himself in front of me.
Mr. C, rubs his left hand on my stomach and chest, as he guides his dick back into my hole with his right hand. He notices my little wet bulge and grabs and shakes it. “Did you cum, Baby Boy?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir,” I say. Happy that he noticed.
“Good boy,” Mr. C says, gently slapping me a few times on the side of my face.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, spreading my ass into him and feel his thick football man cock inside me at a new angle. He starts to thrust me again.
“Are you a good boy?” Mr. C asks me.
“Yes, Sir,” I say.
“Are you a good boy?” Mr. C asks again.
As I open my mouth to respond, he sticks two fat man fingers in my mouth.
“Yeth, Thir,” I spit.
Mr. C hooks his two fingers in my mouth as the sling swing back and forth, and I’m bouncing on his dick again. He was maintaining a steady rhythm and now being turned around, I could see behind him. Some of the brothers, sons and boys were standing in the shadows, watching, moving, moaning. Many starting to emerge from the dark to join us in the sling corner.
“Are you a good hole?” Mr. C asks.
“Yeth, Thir.”
As a few more men started to enter the corner space that the sling was in and stand to the side to watch, Mr. C’s thrusts grew faster and harder.
“Are you a good little faggot hole?” Mr. C asks.
“Yeth, Thir.”
The men, including the two large black sons, settle into spots around us. Some rubbing themselves, some tugging at their dicks… or the dick of the daddy beside them… fixated on Mr. C fucking my hole.
“Are you a good little faggot cum hole?” Mr. C asks.
“Yeth, Thir.”
I watch Baseball Cap son scootch closer to Coach and lean over to get a better look of Coach’s dick sliding in and out of my ass.
Mr. C quickly and firmly pulls my face back to look at him. Look at me, boy.
I watch my reflection get bigger, then smaller, then bigger again, in Mr. C’s aviator glasses, as he fucks… and fucks… and fucks me with his large hairy thick legs. His round shoulders and hairy square chest, covered only by his black leather vest, glisten in the red light.
I hold on to his fat forearm and bicep, as his fingers slide deeper into my wet throat.
“Are you OUR good little faggot cum hole?” Mr. C growls. His voice so deep and hoarse, I was close to cumming again in my boy jock.
“Yeth, Thir.”
“What’s that?” Mr. C asks.
“Yeth, THIR” I say louder.
Mr. C picks up the rhythm and I feel his cock swell a inside me as he continues to pound me.
CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG!
“What was that?” Mr. C asks.
CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG!
“YETH, THIR.” I say louder.
“Are you OUR LITTLE FAGGOT CUM HOLE!?” Mr. C yells, as his fucking reaches a fever pitch.
CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG! CHANG!
“YETH…THIR!!” I scream as loud as I can.
“Argh! Argh! ARGH! ARGH! Argh! Argh!” Mr. C yells as he unloads his Professor, boy’s basketball coach, football man juice inside me.
“Yeah! … Yes!... Give it to him!” The brothers cheer.
As Mr. C finishes and tries to catch his breath, one of the brothers, Kirk Cameron’s daddy, pushes closer to us, feverishly pumping his cock.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Kirk Cameron Daddy grunts as he unloads all over me. He sways slightly left to right so that he sprays his huge nut on me, head to toe. It’s the biggest load I’ve ever seen, covering my face, neck, chest and legs. SPEW! SPEW! SPEW! SPEW!
He’s barely finished spraying me before cum hungry Kirk Cameron is on my face, licking and sucking globs of his daddy’s load from my face.
“Yes, Geyser!... Yeah!... Go, Geyser!” the brothers clap.
Mr. C takes his fingers that are still in my mouth and slides them from just above my jockstrap band up my stomach and chest to scoop as much of Geyser’s daddy cum as he can. Mr. C, trying not to spill, shoves his cum pinched fingers back in my mouth. Then does it again.
I lick and suck on Mr. C’s fingers like a baby bird being fed.
“Welcome to the family,” Mr. C says. “A+, Baby Boy…. A+,” he says, disappearing into the shadowy maze.
The brothers who are left slap and rub me as they follow him, disappearing into the darkness too.
Ball Cap Son, who is just as thick and stacked as Mr. C, makes his way to stand beside Coach.
Smiling, Ball Cap Son looks down at me. “It’s our turn,” he says, picking my wet body up by the harness and throwing me over his right shoulder.
With me flopped over him, Ball Cap Son turns and starts to head back into the shadowy maze.
Dangling down Ball Cap’s back as he carries me out, I look up to see Coach, with a proud grin on his face, following us back into the dark of the Cellar.
To be continued…
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