Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2003 08:29:00 -0500
From: NYC Dan <nycdan@att.net>
Subject: Coach's Pussy

Coach's Pussy
by Dan Cavanagh

The coach came into his office from the locker room tucking his cock and
balls back into his jock. A trickle of left-over piss ran down the hair on
his thigh. He palmed it of f with a huge hand and wiped it on his sweaty
T-shirt, then took his shorts from off his shoulder and threw them at Ken.

"Wanna smell, fucker?" he said through a broad grin, then turned his back
to the kid, pressed his hands against the wall and began to stretch the
kinks out of his calves.

Ken had come in from practice and had just finished cleaning up the coach's
office when the huge man lumbered in. He sat on a low stool, staring up the
crack of the coach's ass; watching the calves ball up and release as the
man worked them; watching the ass cheeks tighten and dimple. His palms
began to sweat as he rubbed them up and down the golden hairs on the
insides of his thighs. He was a freshman and had barely gotten in on a
work-grant as a "team-manager". He'd been a champion swimmer in high
school. He was now a physics major in the classroom. And a flunky in the
Athletic Center who would do anything the coach told him.

"I finished the laundry."

"Yeah. Those assholes... Shit." he moaned as that good stretching pain
traveled up one calf, then the other.

"They'd leave stuff in their lockers until mold grew."

He turned to face Ken.

"Shit work, huh? But I bet you really get off on all those sweaty
jocks. Huh, Kenny? Am I right? I found three of them in your locker."

And he smiled that perfect smile.

Ken's face flushed and his lips parted slightly as he drank in the
man. Yastic was 38; 6' 1 " of hard muscle under hairy, deeply tanned
skin. Huge biceps stressed the seams of the sleeves, sleeves so short the
armpit hair poked out underneath. Ken could trace the pattern of thick hair
visible under the shirt; there was a fold of cloth stretched between
nipples. The man's legs were massive and covered in black wire everywhere
except the backs of his calves, where the bulk of them had rubbed against
his jeans. And his cock, only semi-erect, pushed the jock pouch out with
such force that in profile Ken could see the balls trying to work their way
free.

While normally combed straight back, Yastic's black hair fell into an
unruly mop of curls when he worked out, graying slightly at the
temples. Ken's father had called him a man's man. He was married, but he
could seduce with a smile and had been warned repeatedly about fucking
co-eds. But he always had a favorite, a "boy-tool" he laughingly called the
kid: some punk stud panting around his heavy rod.

He'd promise a kid a "better body" and schedule late training
sessions. Yastic would show up in gym shorts slit up to his hip and an
athletic T-shirt graying with age. He'd stand directly over the kid's head
during bench presses, counting low and slowly, giving the boy a direct view
up between his huge thighs into a wet, rank crotch. He'd smile as he'd
watch the kid squinch his eyes shut, fighting it. Then stay there when the
set was over letting the boy inhale him with every gasping breath.

He'd seen the results. He'd watched Pete, his last piece, through a
classroom door one day: a short red-headed wrestler with a muscle-boy build
under paper-thin white skin.

The boy was squirming at his desk in crotch-high cut-offs during the
lecture, his ass grasping, trying to eat the desk beneath him. When he ran
into Yastic after class, he'd given the man that flushed, slack-mouthed
stare. Yastic grinned as he noticed the wet stain on the kid's crotch. That
night, the kid practically wailed when Yastic had taken off his shirt. He
sucked the man from head to foot. Yastic began playing with his ass in
preparation for the kind of gradual fucking they'd only done twice
before. Before either of them knew, Pete had inhaled the man's hand to the
wrist. 3 days later, Yastic have him a butt plug out of mercy, he
thought. The next day, the kid had an orgasm in class. Audibly. He was
expelled.

Yastic slumped into the chair behind his desk and pushed the chair
away. Leaning back he put his feet up on the edge of the desk, facing the
kid.

"Lock the door."

Ken strolled over and did what he was told.

Yastic lit a cigarette. The lighter clicked shut as he exhaled.

"Let's see."

Ken slipped his T-shirt over his head and, reaching down, worked off his
gym shoes. He reached for his shorts.

"Leave it."

He began his routine. He flexed his biceps, imitating the poses he'd seen
in the muscle magazines. Yastic chuckled. Turning sideways, he twisted his
torso and worked his lats, putting one foot behind the other and rising up
on his toes.

"Hold it."

It was an awkward position. Ken trembled.

"Hold it, Kenny boy."

The routine was ridiculous. Yastic knew it. Ken knew it. He had a
beautiful, smooth swimmer's body with big pink nipples and hard long
muscles. But the "muscle-man" poses were humiliating. Yastic exhaled.

"You're comin' along, baby."

"Thank you, sir."

"You make me proud. Are you happy for me?"

"Yes sir."

"You like makin' me proud?"

"Yes sir." He was beginning to sweat.

"How proud is that, baby."

"Real proud, sir."

"Then come over here and show me how much."

He broke the pose and walked slowly over to Yastic. He stared at the man
and waited for the next instruction. When nothing came for the longest
time, he timidly bent down and crawled between the man's legs that were
still resting on the desk top. He brought his head up, feeling the heat
from the huge thighs and stared eye-level at the jock pouch. Another
pause. He could hear Yastic talk through a smile.

"This one never gets washed. You understand that, baby?"

"Yes sir."

"There's a lot of man-spit on that jock. If you're really lucky I'll let
you wear it up your asshole for a day. You like that? Huh?"

Ken was breathing quickly.

"Yes sir."

"Huh ?"

"Yes sir."

Yastic ran his hand into the pouch and pulled his rod up until the head was
poking out over the top, glistening. He groped inside again and began to
mash his balls hard. He groaned. Then he brought his hand out and held it
out toward Ken.

"Kiss it."

Ken moved his lips against the hair on the back of the hand and inhaled the
man. His cock was so hard it hurt. Yastic liked it that way: knowing his
fuck-boy's cock was aching in confinement. Ken began to lick at the
funk. He sucked. Yastic turned his hand palm up and Ken closed his eyes,
taking each thick, callused finger into his mouth and sucking on them one
at a time .

"Nice. Real nice. Just like a pussy with a tongue, baby. Nice."

He felt the boy swallow each finger tip, and stretch for the hair on the
back of his hand with his tongue. They locked eyes. Yastic threw the
cigarette on the floor, then reached down and encased the blonde head in
both hands. Pulling the mouth into his crotch, he slowly brought his thighs
together, enclosed the head and clamped. Tight. He tilted his head
back. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he squeezed tighter.

"Ohhh yeahhh... C'mon home, boy."

Ken's head disappeared completely in wet, straining thigh muscles and
massive hands. His mouth and nose mashed hard into the jock material,
drowning on the smell of the man with every breath. His arms barely made it
around the man's legs as his hands came up to stroke the thighs.

"You belong between this man's legs, Kenny baby. You know that? Huh? Shame
you gotta waste your time in class when you oughta be studyin' how to make
a man feel good. You had any idea? Daddy's gonna teach you."

Yastic released the boy who came up gasping for air. He scrunched down
lower on the chair and rested his calves completely on the desk top. His
ass was hanging over the edge of the chair now, his hole on a level with
the blonde face.

"Get to work."

Ken's fingers were long and fine. They barely spanned the massive ass
globes as he reached up and pulled them apart. Yastic bunghole opened wide
immediately, knowing what was coming, reaching out with a mind of it's own
to accommodate another fuck-boy. With a groan, Ken pressed his face into
the hair, worked his head back and forth a few times to gain deeper
purchase on the hole. Then he thrust his tongue in. All the way from the
back of his throat.

Yastic locked his fingers behind his own head and leaned back with a sigh.

The rectum worked like a wet hand. It would open wide, inviting the tongue
and most of the pink boy-lips. And then clamp shut, oozing the lips back
out, but retaining the tongue. Ken would curl it hard up and down, working
it as much as he could like a finger tip, ignoring the cramping this caused
in the base of his mouth. He paused the action only long enough to gather
saliva and force it into the hole.

"Deeper, baby," Yastic said to the ceiling.

Ken dropped his jaw out of the way with a groan and pushed harder.

The ass-mouth tightened harder and yanked the tongue. Again. Yastic
continued the routine until there was enough saliva and ass mucous to bring
a squelching sound from the boy-man connection.

"Now wiggle it."

With two fingers on each hand, Ken widened the bowel. Then twisting his
head from side to side as far ass-valley would allow, he wriggled his
tongue frantically. His knee slipped as he rooted forward. Like a pig in a
trough.

The phone rang. It rang again. Ken finally heard it as his mind slowly rose
to the surface.

He began to pull away when suddenly he felt his head pulled back hard by
the hair. He had barely enough time to see the heavy hand come flying out
of nowhere and smash him across the face. He stared wide-eyed with fright
into the shadow of Yastic's sweaty face as his cheek reddened. The phone
continued ringing.

"You don't stop unless I tell you, Kenny." the coached smiled. "You don't
do anything unless I tell you. Isn't that right?". The phone rang.

"Yes, sir."

"What?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's five more strokes with the belt, now."

"Yes sir."

"Don't worry, honey. You'll learn. Now show me how sorry you are."

Yastic brought his massive legs down on either side of the blonde.

"Start at my feet."

Ken scooted backward and reached for the laces on the right running
shoe. Yastic picked up the phone.

The calves spread across his hand like heavy pillows as he lifted the legs
to slip the shoes off, treating the massive muscles as if he were handling
a newborn. He slowly peeled the wet socks down the ankles and off the size
13 feet. Grey-white socks damp with man-smell.

He lowered his mouth. As he opened it, his ass hole opened
simultaneously. It reached out as his lips met the hair lining the top of
Yastic's feet. And then, as the mouth closed in suction, the ass-lips
clamped shut. Suddenly aware of the emptiness in his bowel, he winced at
the violent ache in his one hole, as he whimpered through the other.

He slavered over the foot, separating each big toe as he washed off the
sweat between and under them. Using his tongue as a tool, he dug for dirt
under the nails he'd clipped a week ago. Then he cleaned the tops of the
feet, sucking man-taste from each pore until his cheeks ached with the
vacuum he was creating. He'd been beaten for skipping the ankles once
before and wrapped his lips thoroughly around each, knowing he had to earn
his way to the heavy muscles waiting above him. Gradually he reached the
back of the first calf and massaged the muscle, hair and wetness around his
mouth like he was jacking a dick.

Yastic was chuckling into the phone.

"Sandpaper the stubble off the asshole... Naaa. I did it every night before
little Petey got himself expelled. Sandpaper him, belt his ass... What?"

Yastic sounded pissed.

"Give him 50! Yeah, let him scream. After 25, tie him down or he'll start
bucking at you like a dog in heat. He can take it. After that you can fuck
it for an hour... Hell no! That's what I was afraid of, but that ass is
built for it. It couldn't get enough and the next night it was always
white, tight and butter soft."

They were talking about Pete, the red-headed wrestler. Ken had walked in on
them once. Pete had been laying on a massage table with his head dangling
over the side, his mouth split wide as Yastic's cock snarled up the length
of wet throat and back out again. Even from a distance Ken could see the
neck distort with the size of the cock-pipe every time it went in. The
adam's apple worked in a disciplined rhythm, like a fist.

Yastic had Pete's legs bent under his armpits, ass hole at face level. Four
of his huge fingers were buried up the ass and Ken could see his muscles
straining with the effort as he pulled the muscled boy-hole open. His arms
yanked spastically as he gnawed with his unshaven face and ran his tongue
half-way to the boy's heart.

Suddenly, Yastic had caught sight of Ken standing in the
doorway. Everything stopped.

Slowly, he raised his shaggy head.

Then grinned a challenge.

He gradually began easing the cock out of the mouth-hole. Half way out,
Pete began whimpering. Yastic stopped, smiling at Ken. Then he withdrew
some more. As the cockhead reached Pete's lips, the boy tried to slide
toward it. Yastic held the cockhead there.

Then cruelly, he popped it out.

Pete wailed, like a baby who'd lost a bottle. His head whipped back and
forth and he began to pound the table with his fists. Yastic, even with his
huge muscles, fought to hold him rock steady.

"Close the door, handsome." Yastic rumbled.

But Kenny backed out. He ran to the bathroom, reached a stall and bolted it
just in time. Clinging to the top of the door with both hands, he threw his
head back, eyes staring in surprise, as he came in his pants.

Yastic missed Pete. Kenny could hear it in the way the big man talked about
him. "A fuckin' stud-pussy who knew his place. With a sex drive from
hunger." Yastic would grin. And then the grin would fade into a long
silence, as if Ken wasn't there.

When Kenny was jacking off in his dorm room, he usually came silently. But
one night, he realized what he was; what he wanted to be: Yastic's
"studpussy; a hot boy-body wrapped around two swell fuck holes that the big
man used instead of his fist. Suddenly his back arched from the bed ("Boy
hole") and he screamed for the first time in his young sex life. The sudden
bulk and force of his semen was painful ("Two swell fuck-holes") as it shot
into the springs of the bunk above him. When it was over, he lay there
helpless in recovery as the cum dripped down on his body, on his face.

His cheek was brushing against Yastic's jock strap now as he finally
reached high inside one huge thigh.

The crotch smell was a drug. It could take his mind off his work and had
gotten him into trouble before. He wasn't there to lose his mind on cock
and muscle. He was here to service a man. Would Yastic expect him to ream
the ass again? Had he pulled out too soon? He whimpered in fear. The big
man didn't like to be asked questions. And Kenny's ass tucked forward as he
anticipated the belting he'd receive if he made a mistake. He was already
up to 15 nightly, each mistake increasing the count 3 to 5 strokes. The
number never went down.

He felt Yastic, absently stroking his hair.

"Bring Petey over here. Be here in half an hour." he was saying into the
phone. He sounded sad. "I've got Kenny here up to 20."

Tightening his fingers in the blond hair, he gently pulled the head back
and stared into boyface. The eyes were closed; the mouth hung slack and the
face was coated with saliva.

"He's just pool-pussy."

Cradling the phone on his shoulder, he took one huge fist and began
squeezing the mouth like a piece of clay. He slapped it, then worked it
again. Slap; squeeze.

"I'd like to show him how a real athlete takes a fuck."

He chuckled at the response from the other end of the line, and hung up.

He sat silently for a few minutes. The room was darkening as the sun went
down. There were no lights on in the room.

Yastic stared, unseeing, into Kenny 's face. He wrapped both huge hands
around the back of the boy's neck. Pushing the jaw up with his thumbs, he
tilted the head back and then slowly stroked the soft, outside of the
throat tube with his thumbs.

"Fuckin' pussy shit." Yastic muttered angrily.

Ken thought he was talking about him and froze in the half darkness,
frightened. Prepared for the worst. His head was immobilized as the huge
thumbs gently jacked his throat.

"I work damn hard putting bulk on Petey, turn him into one hot little
blue-eyed nut-cracker, bring out the best in him, and he craps out in the
army."

He dropped his head with a sigh. Then raised it.

He stared at Kenny as if seeing him for the first time.

"But look what I've got instead."

Ken started to smile, but there was something in the man's tone that made
him stop.

"'Team Manager'."

There was a long pause. Then...

"Shit."

Slowly, Yastic began to stand. Kenny found himself staring up the massive
thighs, heavy muscles covered with hair. Their bulk shoved the jock
forward, the pouch straining, stained and fraying at the seams. Yastic
reached back absently and scratched the crack of his ass.

"Pool-pussy. Fuckin' pool pussy."

He stood about a foot away from the blonde. Then slowly he began to
smile. He rubbed the bulk of his crotch with both hands.

"But we're gonna make this team manager a real locker room pussy-boy."

The project made him grin.

He made up his mind.

Hooking both thumbs into the waist band, he began to lower the jock. His
voice was low and steady.

"Keep you barefoot. Speedos. Cut off T-shirt. My boys like to see swimmer's
skin. Like to have it around."

The huge cock eased out between the V formed by the wrists as the waist
band descended. The cock nodded as if it were alive as the elastic slid
down the contours of its length. The head pouted and a huge strand of
pre-fuck drooled toward the floor. Once free, it stood rigid at a 45 degree
angle.

"Give the team something to look forward to after the game."

The jock was half way down Yastic's thighs before the gonads swung free. He
stepped out of it and flipped it on the desk. They swung gently between his
spread thighs.

"They can earn your pussy on the field. I'll decide who gets it. Then you
can wait in the shower and wash him down. Pecs, crotch. Sore, grimy
feet. Make him real grateful. Afterwards, he can press his hands against
the wall while you give that ass a good, deep mouth rinse."

There was a pause. The head of Kenny's cock ached in confinement.

The room was silent. It was getting darker.

Suddenly Yastic's leg shot out. He hooked his big foot under the boy's
crotch and yanked him violently toward the cock. Ken 's knees skidded
across the floor. He cried out. Yastic slapped him hard. He grinned wider
and reached for head with one hand. With the other he began to bend the
cock down .

"When he's good and hot, he can bring your ass in here and fuck you on the
table. You're gonna know just what he needs by then."

The bottom of Ken's jaw touched his Adam's apple as the cock head entered
the mouth. He pulled a muscle in his jaw, frantically trying to keep his
teeth out of the way.

"If you're the kind of hot stud I train you to be, the fuck won't last too
long."

Crushing the tongue to the floor of the mouth, the huge cock-pipe bored
steadily down into the throat as the pink, wet tissues streamed slowly
along it's sides. Yastic chuckled.

"If you're lucky though, it will."

Tears ran from Kenny's eyes. The cock reamed it's way down like a long
piston in slow motion. When the nose was mashed back by the man's hard
stomach, Yastic stopped. He paused, savoring that special tightness he
liked in a boy-throat. Then he began a slow, circular grinding motion,
scouring the soft pink lips with coarse, black wire that lined his
crotch. The huge stud and the blonde head were one solid piece from the
back of Yastic's ass down through to the top of the boy 's chest.

"Not gonna take much time tonight, baby." Yastic moaned.

He began to fuck.

His pecs bulged as he slid the hole off his cock, then his ass dimpled as
he drove the thing hard, full length down the pit. Kenny moaned, stupid
with need. Yastic withdrew.

He rammed.

Kenny's hands caressed the balls. There was nothing he could do with the
head surrounding his own hole. Yastic withdrew.

As the mouth fucking continued, Kenny could feel the spit dangle in strands
from his mouth onto his wrists.

Yastic's head was thrown back.

The face-fucking picked up speed.

He began mumbling. Suddenly he moaned "C'mon Petey! C'mon Petey!", crying
out the wrong name. But his thrusts suddenly became wild as he used the
face-hole like his own fist. He lowered his face, grabbed the head by the
blonde hair and yanked it toward him so hard that Kenny squealed. The boy
marshalled his over-stretched muscles into a deep sucking rhythm,
pleasuring the solid mass bursting the walls of his throat.

The corner of Yastic's mouth turned up and he snarled at the thing drooling
and sucking at his feet. Finally he rolled his head back, his knees bent
and he rammed upwards, lifting the body off its knees as he forced the head
down. His eyes rolled back in his head.

He shot.

Every muscle in his huge body stood out in relief as he stood rigid as a
rock. His brain was in his cock, in his asshole slam-pumping huge gobs of
cum into an open, eager stomach. There was one conscience in the room: a
virile man-stud and an extension on his prick. Cum began running from its
nose.

When he was through with it, he yanked it off, threw it to the floor and
fell into his chair.

Five minutes later a lighter clicked on, illuminating a relaxed, sweaty
face as the eyes looked at the end of the cigarette. He felt hands on his
leg and a face rest against his calf. He pushed it aside. The lighter
clicked shut. Then darkness.

--------------------

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