Team Effort by Greg Bowden j_and_g@telis.org
"God damn it Ferguson, just what does it take to get your attention out there anyway?"
Coach Bowers was pissed and I guess he had every right to be. We had just lost a game we should have won and we lost it through a series of really stupid mistakes and, as he said, not paying attention. It was a lousy end to a lousy season and now we had just one game left -- the biggest game of all: the Alumni Homecoming game against Crocket.
"Don't yell at me, Coach. I tried. All of us did but it just..."
"Ferguson," he spun around and glared at each one of us. "All of you. Let's get a few things straight around here. First of all, as a ball team you stink! Ferguson here couldn't hit the God damned ball if his mother threw it to him..."
We all laughed at that which was the wrong thing to do. Coach Bowers went ballistic.
"And the rest of you dickheads couldn't catch it if it fell into your glove. Baker," he snapped at me, "what the hell was the point of that little juggling demonstration out there? Is it really too much to ask you to just hold on to the ball?"
I guess I blushed. I'd had a perfect set up -- the ball practically homed in on my glove but I'd been thinking about something else and when I caught it I just couldn't seem to hang on to it. They scored twice before I managed to get the ball to Adam at third base.
Coach's voice suddenly got low and ugly, almost a growl. "And am I to understand, Mr. Garcia, that what you were doing out there is called pitching?" Billy Garcia hung his head and mumbled something but the coach had moved on to Garret Hammond, the second baseman.
I felt kind of sorry for Coach Bowers. I mean, here he was just out of college, not much older than we were, and he's trying to make us into a baseball team. Not that it couldn't be done I guess. We all played some in high school but somehow now that we were in college lots of other things seemed more important than playing ball. But the poor coach was trying to prove himself to the administration and I guess we weren't helping him much.
"Guys, look." The coach's voice lost its sarcastic edge and became almost pleading. "In just 8 days -- a week and one day from this moment -- we play Crocket College. We have not won a game with Crocket in over ten years and I really wanted this to be the year we did it." He balled up his fist and smacked it into the palm of his other hand. "If I could only think of some incentive to get you to pull together as a team, I know we could do it. I just know it." He looked around at us. "What would it take, men? What do you want?"
We stood in silence for a moment, hanging our heads and wishing this was over. Then, very quietly someone said, "Me, I want your ass."
"What? Who... My ass?"
"Yea, your ass." It was Randy Sloan, the catcher. "Gettin' my dick up your ass would be a real incentive to play good ball. Right guys?"
Most of the guys laughed nervously but quite a few of them nodded, too. Including me. I mean, Coach Bowers is one hell of a good looking man and he has a grin that always reminds me of my dad. I guess I'll work that out in Psych III when I'm a Junior but in the mean time, the idea of sliding my cock in between Coach Bowers buns put me well on the way to a hard-on.
The coach stood there for a long time, staring at us. Finally he let out a long sigh and nodded. "Shit. Okay. If that's what it takes, that's what it takes."
Randy took a step towards him. "You meant it?" He had an odd look in his eyes; I guess maybe it was lust.
"Yea, I mean it." He held up his hand and waited for us to quiet down. "But only on my terms." He looked around as he spoke, locking eyes with each of us, one by one. "First my part. If you guys can pull this team together and win that game with Crocket then whoever wants it can have my ass. In here, after the game." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Now your part. You're gonna work. You're gonna practice. If necessary you're gonna bust your asses but you're going to become a team." He waited a second, his mouth slowly breaking into a smile. "Oh, and one other little thing gentlemen. Between now and the end of that game -- for the next eight days -- you don't so much as touch your dicks. You also don't let anyone else touch them. You got that? I mean no jacking off, no rub jobs, no milking it down, no girlfriends or boyfriends getting it off for you. I mean no sex of any kind! None. You got that?"
Now it was our turn to stand and stare but then, slowly, the guys nodded, one by one. Adam, the third baseman, poked the man next to him with his elbow and said, "Geeze, Randy, I don't know if I can go eight days without, you know, without relevin' myself a time or two."
Several guys laughed and someone said, "Probably more like twenty times," but Randy just fixed him with a hard stare. "You mess up this deal Adam and it's your ass I'll be getting after that game. You got that?" Adam just shut up and nodded.
"Okay, then, I guess we have a deal?" The coach looked around the group again and everyone nodded. Then he sighed and shook his head. "God I hope this works," he said under his breath and then, to us, "all right, that's enough standing around. Hit the showers and then get out of here. Go study or something. Just be ready to work your butts off as a team at practice tomorrow."
Practice for the next five days was sheer hell. Coach Bowers cursed and swore and screamed at us like a mad man. Drop the ball and you were a shit-faced stupid prick and you had to do twenty five pushups right then and there and God help you if another ball came your way while you were doing them. Miss that one and it was fifty or sixty pushups. A couple of times he made me so mad it was all I could do not to slug him one -- or cry. Poor Kirt Daly actually did cry a couple of times, once not even trying to hide it, just standing there at first base banging his fist into his glove, tears running down his face.
Then the coach kind of backed off, suddenly hollering "Good catch, Baker," or "Great hit, Ferguson, good work." A couple of days before the game he brought a cooler full of cokes and stuff for after practice and made sure everyone got all they wanted.
He dressed different, too. At first he'd wear these baggy sweats but then, about the time he brought the cokes, he showed up in some sort of knit gym shorts and a tank top that really showed off his physique. The shorts were cut extra snug across the butt too, as if he was showing us what we were working for.
We changed, too. At first all we did was bitch about what a lousy deal this was and how horny we were and how that made us walk around with half a hard-on all the time. Then we began to see that somehow this was paying off; we were actually beginning to operate as a real team out there on the field. Finally, when the coach began being a human being again, I think a lot of us began to seriously anticipate the pay off. We all dealt with it differently (I decided it was just a phase I was going through) but most of us were developing a serious case of the hornys -- for Coach Bowers.
The day of the game finally arrived; a warm, windless, perfect day for baseball. We all showed up for the morning rally, cheered a hokey speech by the college president and generally strutted our stuff for the other kids and the Alumni. Later, in the locker room getting into our uniforms, the coach gave us a short inspirational talk wearing nothing but white socks and a jockstrap. When he turned around and walked down the hallway to his office Randy Sloan quietly said, "Oh, don't you worry Coach. We'll win this game if we have to kill Crocket to do it." The bulge at his crotch was obvious.
The guys on the Crocket team were a pretty cocky bunch when the game started and I suppose they had good reason to be. After all, they hadn't lost a game to us in years and we had a reputation for being the absolute worst team on the circuit. I guess they thought the only way they could loose was by not showing up. Anyway, they spent the first couple of innings fooling around, acting like a team of dads playing with their twelve year old boys, always shouting advice and instructions to us. Then, around the fourth inning, it began to get serious.
About that time too, Coach Bowers began to pace up and down in the dugout, flexing his buns and telling us we were doing okay. And we were; no game with Crocket had ever gotten to the fifth inning nothing to nothing. In the top of the sixth we thought we might have it when Cliff Ferguson connected with the ball and sent it way out in center field but their guy managed to catch it and then shot it to third where Kirt Daly got caught and was called out. Jerry Evans jumped up and screamed "Shit!" I could see that he had the pretty good beginnings of a hard-on.
At the middle of the eighth, when we were coming in from the field with the score still zip, I heard Peter Warner say, "I don't care. I just want it to end. I've got to get my rocks off, I don't care how." Someone answered, I think Billy Garcia, "I know. I got the worst case of blue balls ever and damn it, they hurt." We went into extra innings. At the top if the tenth it was still zero to zero and I think we were getting a little desperate. I know the Crocket guys were. They were beginning to pick at each other and the field chatter had turned a little ugly. And then we did it.
Randy Sloan, on the first pitch, connected with the ball so hard that he cracked the bat; he also sent that ball across the field, over the fence and across the road. For a moment he just stood there, watching the ball sail through the air. Then he turned around and grinned at the coach before trotting slowly around the bases.
Adam, sitting on the bench next to me sighed, "Oh, Jesus, we did it. We did it." Then he suddenly doubled over, groaning and I thought he was having an attack of some sort until I got a whiff of him. He was coming in his pants.
We dispatched the rest of the game with three quick strikeouts. 1 - 0 was good enough.
Back in the locker room one of the guys handled the folks who came to congratulate us by telling them we had to have a private debriefing session and we would see them at the dinner planned for that evening. Once the door was closed -- and locked - - the coach began a speech of thanks but Randy cut him off.
"The reward, Coach. Remember the reward? I think we're ready." He proved it by pushing down his pants and letting his dick slip out of his jock. It was hard and leaking some white fluid which Randy smeared all over the head. The coach looked a little shaken but nodded his head. "Yea, I know. Okay." He stripped down to nothing but his white socks and then looked around at us. "Where?"
"Right here," Randy said, indicating a pile of towels laid out on the bench between the lockers. "Prepared 'specially for you. I also brought this," he held up a large tube of lubricant, "which I think you're going to need."
Coach Bowers straddled the bench and then laid himself over the pile of towels. His buns opened up giving us a good view of the little brown pucker between them. I looked over at Randy and then back to the coach's ass; it didn't seem possible he was going to take anything the size of Randy's hard dick up there.
Someone called out, "Come on, Randy, get on with it before I come in my pants like Adam did."
"That doesn't count, does it? I still get my turn don't I?" "Sure you do, Adam. Sure you do." Randy coated his cock with the lube and then kneeled between the coach's legs. "So I'm a slimy shit eating prick face am I?" he said in a low, dark voice. "Well, my man, I'm also a big dicked ass fucking stud and yours," he rubbed the head of his dick against the coach's ass pucker, "is the ass I'm going to fuck!" Then he shoved his dick into the coach, all the way to the hilt.
The coach yelled. "Easy, Randy. Go easy."
"Easy your ass!" Randy pulled himself back and then shoved in again connecting with a loud smack. The coach sucked in his breath but didn't say anything more. It didn't take long before Randy went all rigid and then let out a groan and you could tell he was coming. It seemed to take a long time before he caught his breath and then slowly pulled his dick out of the coach. I went around to the other end of the bench and straddled it by the coach's head, to see how he was doing. "You all right?" He had a grim look on his face but I swear there was a twinkle in his eyes too. "Yea, Baker, I'm okay. Who's next?"
Garret was slicking some of the lube on his dick but I guess he was too close because he suddenly arched his back and shot his wad all over the coach's back. There was a lot of it, more than I ever knew a man had in him. He got up with a sheepish look and Cliff took his place.
I guess I'd seen Cliff a hundred times in the shower and I never thought he had anything special as far as his dick goes; I mean it was just an average dick, like we all got. But I'd never seen it ready for action. Up and hard it looked to be the biggest, fattest dick any man ever had on him. I kind of worried for the coach but he took it like -- well, like a man. Cliff pushed it in real slow, giving Coach Bowers time to get used to it as it worked it's way up his ass. Then when it was all the way in Cliff just braced himself and didn't move for the longest time.
The coach was sweating like crazy so I picked up my tee shirt and wiped his face. For a man just laying there he sure looked like he was working hard. Cliff leaned down and whispered in the coach's ear. Sitting where I was at the coach's head I heard what he said: "I don't know what muscles you have up there or what you're doing with them but it's going to bring me off. Yes sir..."
The coach looked up and gave me that grin that turns me on so. Then Cliff let out a low growl and began to shiver all over. He pulled his dick a little way out and I could see it throb as he shot his juice up the coach's ass. When he was finished he patted the coach on the buns and looked around at the other guys. "Best fuck I ever had, bar none." He reached out and grabbed on to Jerry Evans' hard cock. "Go on, man. Get in there."
Jerry didn't even bother with the lube but just began feeding his dick up the coach's ass. As soon as he was all the way in he slid it back out and then pushed in again. He went on like that, fucking in long strokes without a pause until he called out, "Gonna come, gonna come now," and switched to short, jerky strokes. A moment later he pulled out, his cock still dribbling out cum.
The rest of the guys took their turns, including Adam who went off before he'd even gotten it all the way in. At one point the coach reached up and took hold of my balls. "When's it your turn Baker?"
"Pretty soon now." I brushed his hair out off his eyes.
He grinned at me and then laid his head back down on the bench but he didn't let go of my balls. Randy came back, fresh from the showers and smelling of cologne. As Billy Garcia pulled his cock out of the coach Randy took his place, gently patting the coach's ass. "I did it in anger before," he said. "Now the other way." Very gently he pushed his dick into the coach and, when it was all the way in, he began to massage the coach's back, working his hands along the muscles to ease the tension in them. He leaned forward and kissed the coach's neck while he established a slow, easy rhythm with his dick, pulling out until just the head was inside and then slowly pushing back in until his bush rubbed against the coach's ass.
All the while Randy was fucking the coach that second time the coach held on to my balls, gently kneading them and rolling them around in their sack. Randy caught my eye and smiled at me, then leaned down and kissed the coach's neck again before putting his lips close to the coach's ear. "Go on, coach. It's okay. You know you want it."
The coach raised his head up and nodded. "Yea. I do." He let go of my balls and put his arm around my butt, making me scoot forward. The next thing I knew he had the head of my cock in his mouth and was slowly sucking in the length of my shaft until his nose was buried in my pubic hair and the head of my cock was part way into his throat. Randy began to fuck faster and the coach began to moan and squirm around on the bench. He pulled up on my dick and worked his tongue along the shaft until he found that really sensitive place just under the head. He played there for a bit and then took my dick back into his throat. Then he began to swallow. After that I don't know who did what because I was in another world, a world where the only thing there was my dick and Coach's mouth and the biggest, longest orgasm of my life.
Somewhere along there Randy started groaning and shooting his second load into the coach and the coach began making a lot of noise of his own. Randy finally quieted down and then he pulled himself out of the coach. "I think we all need a shower, don't you?" he said, helping the coach up off the bench. I don't know why but it surprised me to see that the coach's dick was slowly coming down from being hard and that it was dripping cum.
Coach Bowers put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a little hug as we followed Randy down the hall to the showers. I surprised myself by speaking out. "I didn't get your ass, you know. Like you promised."
He laughed. "I know. You'll get it though. Tonight. After the dinner and all the celebrating." He hugged me again. "Now we both have something to look forward to."
Team Effort by Greg Bowden