Disclaimer: If you are not yet 18 years of age or if it is illegal to read materials of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys and is for adult eyes only. The acts are consensual and are a result of their love or lust for one another. This story is completely fiction, and all descriptions and names are also made up. Any similarities are purely coincidental.
I would love to hear from you, so negative as well as positive feedback is always welcome! Please write: markwild082@yahoo.com
This is for my dad, Conner, who waited patiently for the "good stuff" to begin.
I love you, man. Mark.
"Boys in Control," pt. 4
Saturday Morning Football Practice
"Come on come on come ON you wussies! Eleven o'clock! Time to hit the field, time to hit the field!" Jim strode though the Vikings' lockerroom dressed in sweats and cleats, his whistle dangling between his pecs. His eyes darted around while he ticked off names on his clipboard. Everyone here but Ben and Richie and...Parker. He looked around. A few were dragging ass, but these were good kids. "Listen up!" he yelled. "I hope you all got some sleep last night, cause we got a full day today, guys, and I'm gonna push you hard. I hope you're ready..." The room filled with whoops and groans, and Jim grinned. "Awright!" he yelled again. "The main thing, guys. Listen up. The most important thing! You're a good team, fellas, and I want you to be winners, But I can only show you how, fellas. Come Friday night I ain't gonna be the one out on that field. It won't be my ass those Ironmen are gonna be trying to wax. So. You want your moms to start dressing you again, or you wanna be winners, fellas? You wanna win, I need to see what you got. See how bad you're willing to sweat for that trophy. It's up to you." He looked around. He had their attention, at least. "Alright. Grab your gear and get on outside. Everybody three laps around the field. We're gonna be doing a lot of running today, fellas. Start slow, but stretch those leg muscles. You don't wanna be cramping up." He stretched his shoulder, massaging the kink from where he'd slept wrong, and a few of his boys looked and dreamed, ready to sweat or do anything else coach asked them to.
He jogged with them out onto the field. Ben and Richie came tearing out of the parking lot, winded, cutting them off. They ran up to Jim, panting. "Sorry we're late, coach," Ben said. "It was crazy around the house this morning." Jim nodded at them: they were good kids and they tried hard. "Alright, guys. Suit up." He looked at his watch. "Only five extra laps after practice." Richie rolled his eyes. "Nice going, doofus," he said, hitting on his buddy as they trotted back to the lockers to change. Jim smiled, and stretched his shoulder, emptied some footballs onto the ground, looked at the low sun above the goalpost. It would be warm this afternoon, but the morning chill lingered in these shallow Pennsylvania valleys, and you were never far from the smell of leaves. On maps it was the Appalachian and Allegheny Mountains. In life it was a network of interlocking valleys and rivers and woods, dairy farms and cornfields. You could drive and drive, ticking off towns like quarters on a scoreboard, from Carbondale to Oil City, through all of the forest counties. At the beginning of the country people headed west through these valleys, and you could still see the stuff they left. State parks and old coal towns lined the rivers with Indian names and county roads with dated numbers from the nineteen fifties knit it all together. The grass was still damp as Jim walked and the air smelled like damp earth. Where the hell was Parker?
He had woken up at six in the morning, gone to piss, and then tossed and turned for another two hours. His shoulder was stiff, as stiff as his dick was, and every time he rolled over it was into Parker's pit or crotch, and he buried his head in his pillow like it was the jock's damp morning ass. Finally, Jim just lay there, not daring to touch his dick, cause Parker had said today, after practice... He knew he was in too deep. He rolled over and rested his head on his bicep and thought of a dozen reasons to pull back, or call Robbie, or... He'd fucked Parker's shoe, and his cock was as hard as if he were the teenager. God knows, he was leaking like one again.
Two weeks earlier Jim had been in his office grading health tests. There had been no practice that day, but Jim usually kept the weightroom open as long as he was there, in case any of his boys wanted to get some time in. There was nothing going on, though. Tyler and Parker had been hanging around earlier with some other guys, but Jim had left them alone. Somehow it seemed to Jim that Parker was picking up on him, on the direction of his eyes. Or, sometimes, maybe not. Jim couldn't read the kid. But Parker sure wasn't coming on to HIM, at least, so Jim had tried to pull back. Tommy came over a little more often, he upped his crunches before bed. He left his office distracted, and his key seemed loud when it clicked in the lock. But his ears, familiar with all the sounds of his domain, sure picked something up. Looking around, over toward the exit, the equipment room door was ajar. The closer he approached, the more it sounded like a scuffle, and he set his briefcase down, ready to be cool, but to intervene if he had to.
He had quietly poked his head around the open door, but quickly pulled it back. Parker had his back to him and was straddled on the other kid's chest. When he spoke, Jim knew it was Tyler. He was struggling, but Parker outweighed him by fifteen pounds, and though Tyler was kicking out with his feet, it was doing no good. "Come on, Parker, let me up. I said I was sorry." "Sorry, dude?" Parker leaned in over his teammate. Daring glimpses, Jim could see his knees on Tyler's shoulders, pinning him down. "You were sniffing my fucking jockstrap, dude. Jesus Christ!" Tyler tried to buck up, and managed to free one shoulder, causing Parker to lose his balance. Tyler's arm shot up, but Parker dodged and caught it, locked his fingers into Tyler's and levered the arm back down. Jim was getting hard. Tyler yelled, "Ow!! Okay, okay. STOP it, man. Please!!" Parker reached down and slapped him, and when Jim heard that he was ready to barge in, and break it up, but then the room fell silent. He waited, then dared to quickly look again. Parker was still sitting on Tyler's chest, and Jim heard him say "So how long you been smelling my jock, dude? Huh?" Jim couldn't see Tyler's face, but his voice was in spurts, like he was winded. "Let up, man. I never did it before... Parker. I promise." "Never woulda had you pegged for a fag, man. Shit," Parker said. "I'm NOT a fag, Parker," Jim heard Tyler say, kind of quiet. "I don't know what happened. I was ...just curious, is all..." Parker laughed. "Curious, dude? I come back from taking a piss and you got your face in my locker, man. Caught you red-handed, man, chewing on my practice jock. You think I didn't see you rubbing yourself, too?" Jim couldn't see his face, but it sounded like Tyler was sniffling. "You gonna tell anyone, man?" Parker laughed again. "What? That Tyler Adams is a fag?" "I'm not a fag, Parker." Tyler said again, quietly.
Jim looked at Parker's back as he straddled the lighter boy. "Whatever, dude. You just like sniffing guys' gear, huh?" Tyler didn't answer. Jim saw Parker reach down and pick up something white off the floor. "Tell you what, dude. Why don't you show me one more time how much of a fag you aren't, then I'll let you up, okay?" Behind Parker, and unseen by him, Jim could see Tyler's cock poking hard up against his running shorts, and then watched as Parker hunched forward, lifted Tyler's head off the mat and stuffed his old jock in Tyler's mouth with a few of his fingers. "Next time you wanna sniff my jock, you ask first," he said. Jim leaned against the doorframe, his legs wobbly, then had pulled back. Except for a stray gagging sound the two boys were quiet, and he couldn't risk another look. He'd picked up his briefcase, and snuck out of his own lockerroom.
Jim knew that this was the kind of thing that could blow up a team, but the next day the two jocks acted pretty normal. They didn't hang as tight as they usually did, but they didn't ignore each other, either. Parker was on, though. His form was good, he was digging in precise. Then, two days later, he had come into Jim's office after practice, unshowered, a towel wrapped around his waist. He had knocked and Jim yelled "Yeah!"
Then he tightened his fingers around his pen when the boy entered. "Hey, coach." Jim tried the breezy tack. "Hey Parker. What up, dude?" "Man, I think I pulled a muscle in my thigh, my hamstring, maybe. It just started, but it really hurts, coach." Jim exhaled. "Well..." "Or maybe I just bruised it, but it doesn't feel bruised... Will you check it out for me, man?" "Uh, yeah, son," Jim had said. "Just, uh, climb up on the table, and I'll check it out." Jim was glad he had his jock on under his sweats, to hide himself. Parker hopped up on the table and Jim huffed and pushed himself out from his desk. He stood in front of the boy. "Which one?" "The right." The young jock scooted back a little, but remained sitting up. He unknotted his towel and let it fall open, and Jim's eyes fell to the mound of the boy's package packed into his jock. Like a drug, he could already smell it, and the tiny worm of craving started itching in his chest. He put his hands firm on the boy's thighs, probing with both of his thumbs each long corded section. Parker would look at Jim's hands and then at Jim's face. Jim looked down, at his hands, at Parker's jock, his blond pubes curling out the sides, and a couple drops of sweat fell down from his forehead onto the table between Parker's legs.
"Uh! Yeah. Right there," the young jock said, his leg twitching, his body jerking a little. "That hurts." Jim looked up at the boy, his blond hair matted and damp, his face still flushed from practice, his whole upper body covered in a light film of sweat, the little tufts of blond hair leaking out from his pits, the rise and fall of his stomach, his pale golden trail... Jim felt Parker's warm, real muscle under his kneeding fingers, and the boy jerked again, and said, "Aw, yeah. That feels better, coach. Right there." Bracing his wrists against the table, Parker pushed himself up a little, and slid further forward so that Jim was now about a third between his legs. He looked down at Jim's hand on his thigh and lifted his arm up and rested himself on Jim's shoulder. Jim's head was bent also, watching himself.
Perhaps five minutes later Parker pushed himself slowly away. Jim stopped massaging his thigh. They hadn't said a word, but Jim's tshirt was matted to his chest with sweat and they were both ripe and smelly. Then Parker grinned. "Damn!" he said, lifting his arm and sniffing himself. "I'm ready for that shower, now! Thanks, coach. It feels way better now." "Yeah," Jim said, coming back to reality. "I'm pretty ripe myself, haha..." He lifted his tshirt and wiped his forehead with it. Parker could see that the waistband of his sweats was wet, too, and that his coach's dick was bulging hard. Parker stood up, grabbed his towel and slowly wrapped it around his waist again. Jim tried to memorize his jock before it disappeared. Parker took a step, satisfied. "Soak in a hot bath tonight, son," Jim said. "Soak it and move it around some. Don't let it get stiff on ya. We need you on the field, okay?" "Yeah, coach. Thanks."
He was almost at the door when he turned around. "Hey, coach." Jim was still standing by the table, looking at the little wet marks of sweat Parker's legs had left on the wood. "Yeah, son?" "Don't you worry about me and Tyler. It's all straightened out, man. It's cool." Jim looked over at the boy a second. "Uh, what, Parker?" "There's that old mirror in the equipment room, coach, remember? Leaning against the box with the weights? I saw you looking, man." Jim felt the air on him cool with his drying sweat. "Uh." He exhaled. "Yeah, I guess I couldn't help but see..." he said, sounding lame. "Yeah," Parker said. "I kind of liked that, though. I liked showing you what I could do." Jim swallowed, and Parker said, "Well, see you tomorrow, coach." Out at Saturday morning practice Jim lifted his water bottle and drank.
Parker had come into his office the next day, too, under the pretense of the leg, but later, when most of the other boys had gone. And pretty much the same thing happened. Except this time Parker sat on Jim's desk and Jim sat in his chair between his legs, brushing Parker's pouch with the back of his hand, his mouth going dry when he saw it expand. Soon the young jock's thigh was forgotten, and Parker moved Jim's head between his legs, and the coach licked the edge of his jock, licked the part of his nut that was slipping out a little. He had kissed up the spongy mound of the jock's still only half hard tool, lifted his hand to pull the wet strap down. Parker had stopped him, then. He held Jim's head very lightly and humped his pouch against Jim's cheek and smiled. "Not so fast, coach. Huh?" He messed his coach's hair. "We got all season, man." Jim kicked a clump of lime while his boys ran the track. Where the fuck was Parker?
But twenty minutes later Jim was fuming. He was NOT gonna put up with this shit. Did he think he fucking owned him, now? He banged a football back and forth in his hands. His whistle cut shrill, and when he yelled, "Huddle up!" a couple of the boys looked at each other, and they all crowded up with minimal jostling. He had them split up into two groups. His centers and lines were off practicing their hand-offs and running for passes. His defense was paired up, banging into each other, grunting down, getting their pads stained. Jim was yelling, getting down next to Jenkins, grabbing his shoulders, showing the boy how to better protect his torso when he snapped up out of his squat, slapping his back and ragging him jock-like when the kid improved. "Yeah, boy. Yer playing football now, bud! Maybe even gonna be growing some hair, soon." His boys guffawed, and Jenkins padded to the back of the line.
At exactly eleven thirty Parker came jogging out of the lockerroom, all suited up. Jim and the other boys watched him run up. Jim stood up from where he'd been letting his boys slam into him, trying to keep him from slipping by. His shoulder was stiff as the boy approached. His face wasn't nervous, but it wasn't cocky, either. "I'm sorry," he said, so his buddies heard him, too. "I don't have an excuse. I overslept." The boys stood around, and Tyler nudged Alex and sniggered. Jim looked at Parker, at his strong neck and clear brown eyes. "Okay, son. Fall in now. You got a lot to make up. We'll talk after practice." He didn't even want to know if the kid thought it was funny or not. He walked over to his runners, letting his line knock each other around on their own for awhile. He heard someone say, "Nice one, Nicholls. Now we're ALL catching shit."
But even across the field Jim could see that Parker was on. He was hitting his buddies square, knocking a few of 'em on their asses, and Jim didn't see one of them that got by. His runners were looking tight, too, for a change, and though it was a bitch having Tommy away, Ben was filling in fine. He had been running all down the field, calling them peckerheads when they incompleted, shouting "Yess!!" when Richie and Manny intercepted. "Dammit, fellas. THAT'S what I wanna see." Manny strutted around a little while, spitting and grabbing his nuts.
At quarter of one they were all sprawled on the ground, ragged out, gulping from cokes or water bottles, some of the boys on their backs, legs spread, bellies heaving. Parker lay on his side, on his elbow, chewing some grass, his tshirt riding up. "Fuck, Parker, what happened to you last night, man?" Jim heard someone say, and Parker spat and said, "Was out getting laid, dickbreath. Guess it sucks to be you, doesn't it?" Jim looked over, but Parker was looking down at the ground, chewing his blade of grass, a half-smile on his face. At one o'clock when they'd all gone to piss and gotten their wind back Jim sat them all around and told them what he saw. "Alright, now, look--"
The sound of Juan's teeth biting into an apple snapped surprisingly loud, and he stopped and waited, patient, but looking at the boy askance. "Uh, sorry," Juan mumbled, taking an elbow in the rib. Someone piped up with "Burrito-head" and Juan flipped him the bird without even looking back to see him. "Awright!" Jim yelled, laughing in spite of himself. He sat himself down on the ground with them, arms around his knees, and spent the next fifteen minutes detailing where they were sharp, one by one, and where they needed more work. And except for a couple of jokers who would spend most of the season on the bench, anyway, they all listened up --- 'cause when Coach ragged on a guy it was always about the game, and not about the guy.
He broke them up into groups of four and five, then, little squads working on specifics. He called Parker over. The jock lifted his tshirt, showing Jim his stomach, his abs, wiping his forehead. "Yeah, coach?" Jim tore his eyes away from the patch of the young jock's six-pack. "I need you to help me out, son." Parker kept a straight face, but his eyes didn't. "What you need, man?" Jim flushed all warm, but said, "You're still in deep shit, guy. But you're on today, Parker. You looked good out there." Finally the boy grinned, flexing his fingers, bobbing up and down lightly on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, I did look good, didn't I, coach?" Jim knew his jock had to be wet, by now. How could he be so horned again so soon? "Need you to spot Cal and Jenkins for me, son. They aren't thrusting up with their shoulders right. No cut. Danville's got a tough line, we know that.. They're gonna get waxed if they don't get the leverage." Parker nodded; "Alright, sir. I'll work with them." Jim felt a little sick thrill go through him when Parker called him that, looking at the wet half-circles under his arms, feeling the little worm of craving itch again.
Twenty minutes later, though, looking around, he could see they were mostly beat. Their bounce was gone, they were goofing up. When eight or nine cheerleaders ran out from the girls' lockerroom with pennants, in halter tops, and took over the bleachers for cheerleading practice, it was all over. It wasn't just a sweat his boys were working up, now. He gave in and chucked and blew his whistle. "All right, guys! You did good, fellas. Everybody, twice around the track! Cool down. Then get your gear and get out of here! See you Monday at four, and try not to be hungover!" The boys broke up and Jim yelled, "Ben, Richie!" The boys looked at him. "Seven laps, boys." They groaned, and Richie elbowed his buddy again. "Parker!" "Here, coach." He was still light on his feet, plugged into the energy of his youth, almost unwinded. The guys stood around, listening. "You just keep running, son."
Jim picked up his clipboard and a couple markers and walked into the gym. The lockers were quiet, just some water dripping from a leaky showerhead. Shit was tossed around everywhere, jeans, socks, gymbags. He stood and sniffed. Then he hung his clipboard on the nail outside his office, went to the first-aid box and took out a couple aspirin. He pulled a GatorAde out of his fridge and sat down at his desk. He leaned back in his chair, head back, eyes closed, resting. Ten minutes later the boys started straggling in, and he heard stuff being shucked and dropped, and cussing. Lockers opened and clanged and showers started. In no time at all they were loud again and yelling plans back and forth for the evening. After awhile he got up and waked back out to the field. He was just pushing out the doors when Ben and Richie trudged past him. They were both panting. "Ben," he said. "Yeah, coach?" "You looked real tight out there today, son. But I need you to stay focussed, okay? You plan on being Tommy's relief Friday night." The boy's face lit up. "Aw, FUCK yeah! Oh, uh, sorry, coach." Jim laughed. "Go home, guys."
He walked out and stood by the bleachers. Parker was on the far side of the track. Jim watched him, watched the muscles in his legs while he ran. A couple of the girls were sitting on a bench, braiding each other's hair. Parker approached along the track, panting, passed Jim and said "Nine" and kept going. His tshirt was matted against the small of his back. Jim walked around and picked up a few things the boys had forgotten. Heading back to the gym he saw a couple of the jocks already pulling away on their bikes. They waved. Inside, he locked the equipment room, and checked Juan's ankle. There were just a few boys left, then, and he grabbed a water bottle and walked back out to the track.
Parker was still jogging, but Jim could see that he was tiring. His mouth was open, his face flushed; his nipples showed against his soaked and clinging tee. When he padded up he panted "Fifteen," and Jim said, "That's enough." Parker slowed up, but one of his knees locked up when he broke his stride, and he stumbled. He stopped, hands on hips, breathing deep. Jim handed him the water bottle. Parker drank, and Jim said, "You okay?" Parker wiped his forehead with his arm and rolled his eyes. "Never better," he panted. But he was grinning. He adjusted himself like the jock he was and said, "My legs are stiff." The front of his shorts was soaked, too, and Jim could see through to the mesh of his jock. When he looked back up he saw that Parker had been watching his eyes. "Well," he said, smiling. "Guess I'll go hit the showers." He walked a few steps, then looked back at Jim. "You coming?"
Jim walked a little behind, in a cloud of Parker's sweat and scent. Going into the lockerroom they ran into Cal and Lindsey pushing out. "We're the last two out of here, coach. See you Monday," Cal said, then, to Parker, "You gonna hook up with us tonight, bro?" "Yeah, man, maybe. Lemme check with my old man. I'll call ya." "Okay, but seven o'clock in the food court, okay? Movie starts at 7:20." "Alright." They left and Parker walked a little stiffly over to his locker. Alone with the boy Jim was suddenly nervous, till Parker looked at him and said, "Come here." Jim walked over and stood in front of the boy. "Gimme your whistle." Jim slipped it off over his head and Parker tossed it in his locker. "You look warm, coach. Why don't you take your shirt off?" Jim let it drop onto the bench. Then Parker surprised him. He looked at Jim and said, "I'm sorry I tooled in late today, sir. I didn't do it to disrespect you. I just thought it might be a way to hang late without anyone getting suspicious." Jim reached out, touched the fabric of Parker's wet tshirt. "...That's okay, son. I know you didn't." Parker leaned against his locker and looked at his coach. "I'm fuckin soaked," he said.
Jim leaned in, kissing, nibbling, tasting Parker's drenched shirt. He hadn't showered, and his stubble dragged in the weave, pulling lightly. Parker lifted the hem of his tshirt and made a ball of wet fabric, and Jim sucked it in his mouth and licked it like it was the jock's sweaty ballsac. Parker lifted his arm and Jim buried his face in the boy's soaked pit. He leaned back against the locker, and when, awhile later, he pulled Jim away he could see the look on his coach's face again. Parker reached down, deliberately adjusting himself while the older jock watched him, and then he said, "Get naked for me, coach." Jim kicked his cleats and socks off, and stripped out of his sweats. His cock was hard and tenting his jock bad. Parker pulled off his tshirt and threw it on the floor. Jim moaned, and let his jock drop on top of it.
Standing in front of Parker now Jim realized that it was the first time he'd been fully naked in front of the boy. He flushed, knowing his cock was leaking and that Parker could see it, could see just how hard he was. Parker reached out and cupped Jim's nuts in his big hand, bouncing them up and down, slowly working his hand more and more around them. "Shit, coach. Guess I really got you by the balls, now, huh?..." the jock said, laughing at his own dumb joke. Jim was looking down at Parker's hand, at his dick resting against the jock's wrist. Parker tugged. "Don't I?" Jim looked up into Parker's brown brown eyes, at his wide mouth and nose and jaw, and thought how his marriage had been a sham, how he'd never said a word to Danny, how he'd give this kid anything he wanted, if he wanted it--which he probably didn't. He groaned. "Yeah, jock."
The boy tightened his grip a little. "I can smell you, coach. This is turning you on, isn't it?" Jim's cock was leaking bad, all over Parker's wrist, and Jim knew they could both see it. He swallowed. "Yeah.... Fuck..." he said. Parker reached down and squeezed a gob of Jim's precum onto two fingers, then held them up in front of his coach's face. "You can suck 'em if it starts to hurt, okay?" His grip tightened around Jim's balls and the older jock felt an uncomfortable pressure in his nads. He looked at Parker's fingers, wet with his juice, and then slowly up to Parker's eyes and knew he would take it, he'd show him... He gasped, sweat dripping down his forehead and chest, leaned forward and took Parker's fingers into his mouth. "Yeah, caoch. Take it man. Show me what a big jock you are," Parker squeezed. Jim whimpered, sucked the jock's strong fingers, and one knee gave way a little. He leaned forward and braced himself against the locker. His tongue and mouth worked around the boy's fingers, and Parker slowly worked them down Jim's throat, opening it up, taking it over. Even after he released Jim's nuts his coach kept sucking. Parker braced his foot up against the locker, and pushed Jim's cock against his abs with his knee.
He pulled his fingers out of Jim's mouth and rested his hands on his coach's shoulders, smiled and pressed down. Jim moved slowly, kissing down the jock's chest and stomach, kissing the waistband of his shorts, rubbing his face against Parker's bulge. He lifted his hands and pulled the boy's shorts down and knelt in front of him, his face inches from his mound. Parker was completely hard, the head of his dick pushed up under the waistband, and the jock was as wet as Jim had imagined, straining against the boy's thick shaft. He leaned in, and closed his eyes and began to kiss it. He kissed where the teenager's nuts were covered, and all along and up the shaft. He kissed, hypnotically, in little circles, the head of Parker's dick. His hands moved over Parker's stomach, along the back of Parker's thighs, over the heavy sag of the pouch.
He stroked the kid's cock, licked the blond tufts of pubes that poked out both sides, licked between his thighs and ballsac. He was crazy with the smell. When Parker pushed his face away he looked up at the jock blankly. "I gotta piss, coach. Wait here." Jim nodded, and Parker humped his face one more time for emphasis and then walked off. Jim picked up the boy's tshirt and sucked in the pit. Some minutes later he realized how quiet the place was, how he couldn't hear Parker at all. Slowly he got to his feet, and, ignoring what the player had told him, walked back to the sinks and urinals. "Parker?" ... "Yeah, coach. In here."
Jim walked to one of the toilet stalls and looked in. Parker sat back, his legs spread, his jock off, his naked cock jutting hard up against his abs. Jim stepped inside, looking at it. The boy grinned up at him. "I tried to piss, but I couldn't." Another step and he was in front of the boy. "Think you could help me out, coach?" Jim got down on his knees, looking at it. "Help this fucker go down so I can piss?" The fucker was leaking precum, and Parker teased his conquest by tensing and untensing his cock, making himself leak over the helmet and the underside of the head. Parker had never let him get this close before, and, heart pounding, Jim leaned in and closed his eyes and licked up the long shaft of Parker's teen meat. He almost came. And then, at last, he opened his mouth and took Parker Nicholls' cock.
He worked himself slowly on the jock's big tool, and heard Robbie joking, "Ain't nothing as hard as teen cock, eh, buddy?" but this time he flushed as he remembered it, and relaxed his throat, and opened wider. Just past the head Parker's cock flared gently to its thickest point and only slowly diminished till it disappeared into the thatch of blond dick hair. The jock was moaning softly, humping up as Jim took him slowly, till he was nuzzling the root of Parker's dick with his nose. The boy hunched forward, sliding the last inch into his coach's throat and his sweat dripped onto the back of Jim's head. He thrust, and a shudder ran through the young jock's body, and crying out "Ah! aaaah... oh fuck oh fuck..." he felt his cock go over the edge... and lost his fucking load. Jim felt the boy's cum fill his waiting mouth, tasted him all, swallowed and let his mouth fill again. He was lost in the smell and taste of the boy, swallowing him again. I'm his cocksucker, he thought, holding Parker's tool in his still-worshipping mouth, shooting his own load onto the floor.
A few minutes later Parker pulled his soft cock out of his coach's mouth and let it fall down into the bowl. Jim kissed around his pubes and abs while Parker relaxed and pissed into the toilet, and Jim smelled that, too. When he was done he made a gesture for Jim to stand up, and then Parker did, too. His cock hung down, full even when soft. He grinned at his coach, and slapped his face gently. "Whoa, man. I could get used to that." Jim swallowed, still tasting him. Parker was still grinning. "You got anything to say for yourself, coach?" Jim looked at the young man's teen cock and said, "You...uh... wanna go again?" Parker laughed, really laughed, delighted. He reached down, tapped Jim's cock and watched it start to bone. "I'd like to coach, but I really gotta go. "Okay," Jim said, disappointedly.
Parker lifted his arm and sniffed himself. "I better clean up, though. Shit, I'm about as ripe as I can remember, fucker." He moved his pit to Jim's face and watched him lick hungrily. Then he moved past him out of the stall. Jim heard a shower start, and went out to clean up, too. They stood under two adjoining sprays, but Parker didn't linger. He was already slipping into his jeans when Jim walked out towelling himself off. He sat down on a bench, and showed Jim his shoe before he slipped it on. When Jim was dry Parker handed him his jockstrap, and told him to put it on. He grabbed his car keys out of his gymbag and closed his locker door. "Wear it to practice on Monday, coach. I'll get it back then, okay?" He stuck his index finger into Jim's mouth, and watched Jim suck it a few last times. Then he picked up his gymbag and said, "See ya," and, still shirtless, pushed his way out the door.
to be continued: