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PART I In the summer of my senior year in high school, I had just turned 18, I suddenly started looking less like a boy and more like a man. I gained 20 pounds of muscle, jumping two full weight classes on the wrestling team. My chest became muscular and defined almost overnight. My boyish stomach developed into six distinct muscles that flexed and tightened on demand. In addition, my ass wasn’t flat anymore - it was a genuine bubble butt, a jockboy muscle ass. Even my dick seemed to get fatter and longer. Girls started noticing me. And something else started happening, also: when I walked around town, the occasional man would shoot hungry glances at me, devouring me with his eyes. The truth is, I wanted to be devoured, and every night, when I quietly jacked my dick under the covers, I’d think about my wrestling coach, Mr. Pitt. He was in his late 30s, with jet-black hair and dark, playful, wolfish eyes. He always had a thick layer of scruff on his square jaw, and his torso was just fucking perfect: I’d never seen him with his shirt off, but he definitely had a hairy chest, and his hard pecs were always visible under his tight-fitting polo shirt. From the moment I met the guy, I jacked off almost every night wondering what his cock looked like, imagining what it would be like to touch that chest, that hair, those nips. The assistant wrestling coach, Mr. Strickland, was every bit as hot. A former college wrestler now in his mid-20s, he was a dirty-blond, green-eyed Midwestern jock dude with a massive bulge in his crotch. One time I happened to see him playing basketball shirtless, and I just stopped and stared: his schlong bounced up and down in his loose gym shorts, and his muscled chest was covered with a sexy layer of dark-blond fur. Coach Pitt and Coach Strickland—the brown-haired dude and the blond guy. They were like the Hardy Boys, all grown up, strutting around the halls of our high school with their dress pants stretched tight around their cocks. At the beginning of my senior year, Coach Pitt started paying a lot more attention to me. He made me team captain. He and I would often demonstrate wrestling moves together, and sometimes his hand would linger on my ass after he’d pinned me to the mat. And like all team captains at our school, I was responsible for helping him clean up the equipment after practice - which meant that I got to the locker room 30 minutes late every night, after all my teammates were gone. Then I’d shower by myself, get dressed, and head home. But something funny happened about a week before Christmas: after my shower, I was toweling off in front of my locker, bending over the bench to grab my briefs. And I swear I felt someone staring at me. I turned back toward Coach Pitt’s office, but he was concentrating on some paperwork at his desk. I began slipping my briefs up my calves and thighs, snapping the elastic around my butt, and again I sensed someone was watching - but when I looked up, Coach Pitt wasn’t looking at all. I figured my mind was just playing tricks on me. The next night was even weirder. After I got dressed, I walked past Coach Pitt’s office. His office was composed of two rooms: the front room facing the lockers, and a back room suited for physical therapy and private meetings. The door to the backroom was just barely open, and through the crack I could see Coach watching something on a computer. His back was turned to me, but as I looked closer, I could see that it was porn. And not just any porn - it was gay porn. From what I could tell, Coach Pitt had both of his hands on his cock, jacking like crazy to a scene where some dude was pounding a tight muscle hole. But then he suddenly froze in place, as if he could sense me watching. He tilted his head to the side, listening. And before he could turn around, I ducked out of the locker room and into the night. The next day was the last day of school before Christmas break. As I showered up, Coach Pitt poked his head into the shower room. “Hey, buddy,” he said. I looked over at him. He was only wearing a towel loosely draped around his hips. I stared at his perfect hairy chest, his taut abs, the dense thicket of hair just above his cock bulge. His body was even hotter than I’d imagined in all my jack-off fantasies. A few moments passed before I realized that I was staring. Startled, I looked toward the wall. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Lance,” Coach said, cracking a devilish grin. “Do you mind if I shower in here? The shower in my office is on the fritz.” I shrugged, trying not to reveal my excitement. “Cool,” I managed to croak. He swaggered to the opposite wall and turned on a showerhead. Meanwhile, my cock, no longer a boy’s little dick, but a man’s cock, fat and veiny, began to throb and grow. Then I heard his voice “You’re looking really great these days, Lance.” I turned around to look at him, and saw something I hadn’t even dared to see in my dreams. Coach Pitt stood under a full stream of water, his eyes closed, his face turned upward into the shower, shampoo streaming down his torso, down his abs. As my eyes descended down his body along with the water and the suds, I saw that everything was cascading around his giant cock. He was completely hard. His beautiful dick extended a full nine inches from his abs - a man’s cock, that made me feel like a boy all over again. Panicked, I turned back to stare at the wall. My dick was also now totally hard. I wasn’t sure what to do. Then Coach Pitt spoke. “Hey, Lance? Everything okay?” After a moment’s hesitation, I rotated my torso to face him, trying to hide my giant boner. He was still standing underneath the water, but now his legs were shoulder-width apart, his hands tweaking his nips, his hard cock visibly twitching. And there was a big ol’ grin on his handsome, scruffy face. I stared openly. I didn’t want to say anything. If this was a dream, I didn’t want to wake myself up. “You have the cutest fuckin’ butt, dude,” he said, reaching down to yank on his dick. “I’ve jacked my cock so many times thinking about your little jock ass.” He paused, then smiled. “You like my dick, huh? I knew you were a little cockhound the moment I saw you at your first practice back in freshman year.” I kept staring. He let out a low chuckle, then gripped his cock with his hand, the muscles in his forearm tensing as he began jerking off in front of me. “You wanna touch my dick, Lance?” he asked. “It’s cool, buddy. Just say it. You wanna touch Coach’s cock, huh?” I nodded. “What was that, boy?” “Yes, Coach, I want to touch your dick.” His smile got even bigger. “Good boy,” he said. “You smoke weed?” “Yes, Coach.” “C’mon, then,” he said. “Let’s go to my office. Hang out. Have a little fun. Cool?” “Yeah, OK,” I said, my body shaking with excitement. I followed him through the front office and into the back office. He closed and locked the door, then turned to face me. He brushed his hand against my chest, then reached around to the small of my back, drawing me closer to him. I could feel the heat of his breath. “Actually,” he said, “wanna try something even more fun than pot?” “Sure, yeah,” I answered. At that point I would have done anything - absolutely anything - to keep this dream from ending. He walked over to a desk drawer, opened it, and removed a glass pipe. “You’ll like this, buddy,” he said. All I could do was nod. I couldn’t believe I was standing in Coach Pitt’s office, the two of us in nothing but towels. “Here: put it to your mouth. I’ll light it. Wait. Just wait for it. You’ll see a little wisp of smoke coming out of this hole here, and then you start inhaling. Now. Start. Good boy. There you go. Keep inhaling. Good.” I blew out a cloud of white smoke. “Do it again,” he said. I obeyed. And a third time. And a fourth. Then he took the pipe and lit it for himself, blowing the smoke into my mouth, then kissed me, his beard rough against my lips. He growled, asking “How ya doing, buddy?” I wasn’t sure how to answer that. My head was buzzing. My cock was unbelievably hard. And something in my butt - well, it almost ached. Like the beginning of a hunger pang I’d never felt before. Coach Pitt dropped his towel, then removed mine. He stepped closer, rubbed his nips against mine, his cock against my stomach. Then he kissed me as his hands wandered down to my jock butt, each hand on an asscheek, spreading my hole. I arched my back just a little bit, and my ass spread wider. He grinned. “That smoke made your hole hungry, huh?” I nodded, and he laughed again. “I’ve got a confession, boy,” he said. “My office shower’s actually working. I just wanted an excuse to get naked with the hottest little stud on my wrestling team.” He leaned in to kiss me again, and this time I kissed him back, hungrily. He growled as his fingers hovered over my hole. “You ever take a man’s cock in this sweet little cunt?” I shook my head. He pulled me closer, grinding his abs against mine. “You gonna give up your smooth, pink, tight virgin ass to Coach? Let Coach dick you deep, slap his balls against your ass, pound you like the sweet hungry fagboy you are?” “Yes, Coach.” “Yes Coach what?” “Please fuck me, Coach. I want your dick inside me so fucking bad.” “Thatta boy," he said, then paused. He lowered his voice. "You gonna make Coach wear a rubber?” I didn't answer right away. Everyone's supposed to use rubbers, right? But then Coach slipped his hand back around my butt and spread my fuck hole with two fingers. “Your Coach fucks the way men are supposed to fuck. Raw. Natural. I want to feel the skin of my fat cock head splitting your little jock butt wide open. I want to feel the heat and hunger of your virgin hole against my bare dick. And you’ll let me do that, won’t you? Because you’re Coach’s good boy. Right, Lance?” “Yes, Coach. Fuck me the way you want.” “That’s what I like to hear. A true bottom boy surrenders his hole to raw dick. That right?” “Yes, Coach. Fuck me raw.” “And I won’t pull out until I’ve pounded my boy’s hole full of seed.” I don’t know why, but with those words I almost shot my load without even touching myself. Coach saw my eyes get big, and he grinned. “See? You know, and somehow you’ve always known, that a man’s cum is what you need in this sweet little butt. I want to train my boy to spread his boy hole for cock. Beg for seed like a good bottom. The best bottom.” “The best bottom,” I murmured, nodding. “Let’s get you cleaned out, boy. I’ll show you how to get your ass ready for Coach.” With that he took me back to his private shower and pointed to a little red plastic bulb. “This has some liquid in it already,” he said to me. “It’s a homemade recipe to help my boy get ready for dick.” He reached down, spread my pink hole a little bit, and inserted the tip of the douche. Then he gave a hard squeeze. “Clench your butt, Lance. Keep it up in there.” At first I didn’t feel anything, but then my head began to tingle, and my dick twitched, and I felt a warmth and a deep, dark hunger radiating out from my guts. My butt seemed to pulse with a need to be touched, licked, fingered, fucked, filled. Coach Pitt smiled. “You feel that?” I nodded. “That, boy, is what it’s like to douche with your Coach’s slam piss. You don’t know what slam piss is, but you will. Enjoy the ride. Just enjoy it. But keep your hole nice and tight. Nice and tight for Coach. Good boy.” He turned me around, cautioning me “Keep that hole tight,” as he rubbed his cock up against my crack, adding “You’ve got some fur on this hole, boy.” I nodded. Just a few months earlier I’d started to get hair around my ass, and just a little bit on my chest. “Listen,” he said. “I love a furry hole on a man. But a boy like you? A boy getting his cherry popped? That boy needs a smooth fuckin’ pussy. You OK with me shaving your boy hole, Lance?” “Yes, please.” “Yes, please what?” “Yes please, Coach.” While his chem piss continued to radiate waves of pleasure all over my body, Coach smeared shaving cream on my ass. Then I felt the brush of a razor against my hole, and as he shaved me, I swear I could feel every hair surrendering to his blade. “There you go, buddy,” he said, slapping my ass. “Now go release that special brew that Coach squirted up your hole, then come back and I’ll fill you with the rest.” After a second dose of slam piss flooded my guts, Coach handed me the little bulb and told me to finish up. “And then you know what happens?” he asked. I smiled eagerly, responding “You fuck me, Coach?” “Not quite yet. First we’re driving back to my place, and we’re gonna hang out with Coach Strickland. He’s dying to see your boy hole. Would you like that?” “Fuck YEAH.” “Such a good boy. You want both of your coaches to pound you full of their seed, huh?” “Fuck YES. Please, Coach.” He paused. Then he drew me closer to him, kissed me, and brushed his beautiful dick across my abs. I could feel the pulse of his cock, so full of blood. I looked down at his massive, swinging balls, so full of cum. Then I heard his voice again. “I want to hear you say, ‘Please knock me up, Coach.’” “Please knock me up, Coach.” “Good. Now: ‘Wreck my boy hole, Coach. Please.’” “Wreck my boy hole, Coach. Please.” “Good boy. And finally: ‘Make me yours forever.’” “Make me yours forever.” “Very good, boy. Now go clean up. We’re gonna make this the fuck of your life.” MORE SOON...
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I was surrounded daily by hot, young jocks with smooth, firm muscles. All those well-built college football players were enough to drive any guy insane with lust. I never acted on my desires, however. I wasn't about to endanger the coach-athlete relationship. Some things were more important than sex - like my job. I also knew I'd be in another kind of danger if I started something with one of my players. I had a submissive side and I knew I could be controlled. I couldn't risk one of my players gaining that kind of power over me. It wasn't easy. Sometimes I barely kept control. Well, I resisted my players, but I couldn't resist the hot little punk that entered my life one afternoon. I'd been coaching for eight years and had just turned 36 when a beautiful, dark-haired young hunk walked into my office just after practice. I didn't even know he was there for a few minutes. I was too busy looking through the window, enjoying the view of jock flesh as some guys lingered on the field. "Uh, Coach Henderson?" "Yes." "Hi. I'm Justin. I'm working on a Physical Education degree. Could I talk to you for a minute?" I agreed quickly, if for no other reason than to be able to give Justin the once over. He was about 21...and gorgeous. The first thing I noticed was his face. It was handsome, cute...even beautiful. His eyes were grey and sexy. His eyebrows gave him an intense, sensual look that hinted at powerful passion. One look at Justin made me forget all about my players. Justin wanted to be my coaching assistant for football. He needed the experience to fulfill the requirements of his degree. Sort of like student teaching, only organized around athletics. I had to sign off on the hours he put in. I agreed to take him on. I could think of worse things than looking at Justin every afternoon. We sat and talked about what he'd be doing. My eyes wandered over his firm body. He was dressed in a nice button-down shirt with long sleeves, but I could tell he had an impressive build. When he left later, I noted his tight little ass for jerk-off material later that night. Justin showed up the next day in jeans and a white t-shirt. He changed at the free locker right in front of my office while I was scribbling a few notes. My eyes were drawn to him as he pulled his shirt over his head. His torso was lean, firm, and beautiful. The sight of his pecs made my cock twitch in my shorts. I yearned to reach out and touch him. Then he pulled off his jeans. The world's most beautiful young man was standing right in front of my office wearing nothing but tight briefs. He was gorgeous. The sight of the thin material of his underwear stretched over his tight ass was about more than I could take. When Justin reached into his gym bag and pulled out a jock, I beat a hasty retreat to the field. I had to get out of there. I was consumed by lust and couldn't stand it anymore. Every day, before and after practice, I was treated to a view of Justin's hard, smooth, nearly naked body. He never failed to get my nuts churning. I was cautious checking him out, but I wondered if I'd been careful enough. Something about the way Justin looked at into my eyes told me he knew I was filled with desire for his young flesh. Sometimes I could swear he was intentionally showing off for me. It was all very subtle. slow, sexy movements as he pulled off his shirt, the way his fingers stayed near his bulge a little longer than normal as he unbuttoned his jeans, the way he carefully moistened his lips. his hot display of his bubble butt as he bent over to take off his shoes. There was nothing apparent, nothing too obvious, but it was like each and every one of his moves had been calculated to drive me crazy with lust. By the end of the first week I was ready to pounce on him and worship his body. Was he putting on a show for me? And if so, did that mean he was interested? I knew much younger guys sometimes found me attractive. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I have a well-muscled body and a handsome face. Even a few of my players had come on to me, making it all the harder not to get involved with them. Did Justin want me? I sure as hell wanted him. Justin had a mischievous side that only heightened my desire for him. When he walked into my office that first day he was polite, almost quiet. The real Justin had come to the surface, however. He was wild, dominant, and quite the little punk. I found the combination captivating. Just how much of a wise ass punk he was became painfully obvious one afternoon after practice. He was more wicked and dominating than ever and I fell under his power. My nuts were aching from watching him pull on his jeans. I was drooling over his smooth, muscled chest as he pulled his shirt down over his head. As he tucked his shirt in, he looked at me and smiled playfully. Behind him, the locker room was quiet and empty. "You know, you really shouldn't torture yourself like this, Coach," he said, rubbing his hand slowly on his chest. "What do you mean?" "You know what I mean." A wave of fear passed through my body, a wave of fear and intense arousal. "You think I don't notice you looking at me and the players?" he asked. "I, un...." "I bet you're all worked up right now. Aren't you, Coach?" Justin ran his hand down his torso and let it glide across his bulge. I was so turned on, I was practically shaking. I remained silent, my breath coming fast and hard. "I could give you what you want, Coach, if you give me what I want." The little fucker was driving me out of my mind. He was taking control, trying to make me his slave. I could put a stop to that real quick...but part of me wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything. "What do you want?" I asked in a low voice, ready to do anything. Justin smiled again. He knew he had me by the balls. "I'll tell you when I'm ready for it. Until then, you do as I say and I'll give you somethin' good."
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Hey guys, I need some help with this >> I keep seeing the Hispanic guys "covered up" in the locker room. These guys are (what I term as "shower shy"). They won't walk around naked at all. They are quick to put a towel around their waist as they are taking off their underwear, and putting it on (after showering). Is this a cultural thing? In addition, i see some Asians doing the same thing. I don't see many of the white or black guys doing this. They are walking around "free" and proud. Please post your responses and observations. (BTW -- I am white. I was self-conscious when I was younger but going to the baths and walking around naked, cured me of that!)
