THE TIGHT END (HS-M/M-AUTH-ORAL)
by Chris Andy
"Meet me in the parking lot, bitch--in five minutes!" Tony said.
"Yessir," I said, trying to ignore the smirks and chuckles of the other senior football dudes. They were all rushing to get showered after their smashing 37-7 victory over Penn Heights.
'Shit! they know! Everybody knows,' I thought. "How did I ever get into this mess?'
But I had no time to think about what had happened. I hurried to get the game info telephoned to the DAILY REGISTER, the local news rag. I was the information director for Central High School--at least for the time being. Until the principal, Mr. Burris found out I was the tight end's tight end!
That was Tony's little joke, "You're the real tight end, slut!" he'd laugh, plowing my stretched asshole (he called it 'my cunt') with his fat, Italian dick. Grunting and rutting till he shot a big load of cum up in my insides, he called me his 'cock coach'; his 'peter-eatin' teach'; or his 'tongue-lappin' ball washer!'
I had brought the mess onto myself. It started that day in September when Anthony Michael DeStasio swaggered into my First Period French class. I was fuckin' stunned by his looks! God--what a hunk! Tony had dark brown eyes with long, silky lashes; a face with chiseled cheekbones and a cleft chin. His jeans and tight tee showed off his god-like body!
But I kept my expression blank--and I tried to appear stern--after all, I WAS the teacher, even though I was only a couple years older than these senior students. I had started school early and graduated at 17, zipping through college and out at age 20. Most of the kids in this class were 18 or older.
I wanted to have control, so I adhered to the old 'student teaching' advice--"never smile till at least Christmas!" So I kept an inflexible facial expression and whipped through class seating the students with a seating chart and presenting class expectations!
Looking austere and oblivious to the attention focused on Tony, I droned on through my lecture. The chicks in the class were giggling and the guys looked embarrassed, but amused. I glanced at Tony, the obvious center of attention and noticed that he was hunkered down in his seat, legs spread wide. I could hardly take my eyes off his dicklump which, I thought, was about the size of New Jersey.
"Can I help you, Mr. DeStasio?" I asked him. He shook his head 'no' and mumbled something under his breath which caused the girls around him (and some of the guys) to giggle.
Somehow I made it through the rest of the class and through the day until picture taking time for the DAILY REGISTER. I, as information director, had the chore (or delight--depending on your point of view) of getting the Varsity and J-V football pictures taken, as well as the individual senior pics. It was a pic shoot I looked forward to.
I lined the players up, according to class in school and took the group team photo without any problems (except for a couple wise-ass juniors saluting the camera with the 'fuck-you' finger!) Coach Minster yelled at them and they quickly re-posed. I took the team pics quickly and headed for the Varsity Locker Room to shoot the Senior Individuals.
Walking into the room, I immediately saw Tony, naked, his pecker hanging below his nutsack, about six inches soft. He and a couple buddies were standing around laughing Their smiles disappeared when Coach shouted. "You lazy-ass seniors. Get dressed for your individual newspaper pictures. I ain't got all day!"
"Maybe Mr. Langston will help me with my jock," Tony said. And the other seniors roared at his humor!
"Move your ass, DeStasio!" Coach Minster bellowed. "Or I'll paddle your ugly butt and stuff that jock in your mouth to muzzle ya!"
"Yessir, coach," Tony answered. And he and his buddies quickly dressed and headed to the field to pose. They were perfect gentlemen through the rest of the shoot.
The next morning I was startled to see Tony strolling into my A.M. Club (as we called it! It was really just a bunch of kids who wanted to chat and came to my room before school.) We discussed everything from the War in Iraq to who was seeing whom this weekend to how my 'woman' was. (My fiancee was 'Big Sorority Sister' to a girl whose sister really was in my class. The topics varied.
Tony jumped right in and surprized us all--he DID have a brain and could be polite. He arrived every morning and we were all delighted to count this 'hunky' football player as our 'buddy.' He discussed his acne, music he liked (Godsmack--just like me!) things that scare him--terrorists and whoooaaaa!--clowns! And he talked about the chick he was seeing, Susan Wilhelm, a cute, bubbly cheerleader (of course!)
After he'd been coming to our A.M. Club meetings for several weeks, he kind of hung around after the bell rang to move us to First Period. The others had gone and he asked, "Coach, (he always called me coach) where do ya eat lunch? I never see ya in the cafeteria."
"A lot of times I eat here in my room, if I have papers to grade. Or if I got a test to study for. (I was in graduate school, too.) Why? I asked him.
"I was wonderin' if you'd write me a pass to come here at lunch today, sir." he asked.
"Why?" I asked. "Don't you usually eat lunch with Susan?"
"That's why I asked, coach," Tony said. "I'm kinda tryin' to dump her and if I go to the cafeteria, she'll raise a ruckus!"
I laughed saying I'd write him a pass.
He came to my classroom for lunch everyday for several weeks and I discovered he had a good mind and many interesting thoughts. I really enjoyed our chats. At first we both worked--I graded papers; he studied for tests. We were content and started sharing our "Horny Man--Virgin Girlfriend Stories!"
Then one Tuesday in late October, Tony asked for a pass from 'our lunch' to the 'boys restroom.'
"During lunch?" I asked, frowning. (Our principal hated for folks to be in the halls during lunch period.)
"I gotta go bad, coach," he said, rubbing his crotch and switching from one foot to another.
"You can't wait ten minutes? You know Mr. Burris hates people in the halls at lunchtime." I said.
"Can I level with ya, coach?" he asked.
"Sure, Tony. You know you can. If you got a problem, I wanna help out." I said. 'Gawd--what a hunk he is,' I thought. 'And I wish he'd quit pawin' his package. I'm gettin' boned up!'
"Coach, you know we've both been honest with each other about our 'needs', as we call 'em," Tony grinned his sexy "don't you wish you were me?" grin.
"You mean our suffering horny dude stories?" I asked, laughing.
"Yeah. Well, I'm sufferin' now, Mr. Langston," Tony said. "I got a hard-on a cat couldn't scratch, as my daddy says."
"And?" I asked. "You know I can't send ya to the bathroom to jack off, man. You know that!"
"O. K., coach. You got some Kleenex in your desk?" Tony asked. "Can I get some and go clear to the back of the room and beat off?"
Before I could answer, he had his dick out and was strokin' his boner and moaning. When I saw his hard cock, something happened to me. I quit being a 'straight man' and became Tony's bitch. It was as if his dick took on a luminescence. It glowed. Like the Holy Grail.
Tony stopped pumping and smirked at me. "Like what ya see, coach?"
I just continued staring.
"You can touch it if ya want to. Most bitches want to." he said.
I reached out and wrapped my fingers around it. The skin was so soft. And the rod was so hard.
"Stroke it." Tony commanded.
I did, fascinated by the drop of pre-cum floating on the tip, glowing in the afternoon sun.
"Stop starin' at it and start lickin' it." Tony said.
"But I never...."
"No time like the present to learn--teach," Tony said, "Now get your fuckin' mouth on it. You been eyeing it enough--for months. Now, taste it, cocksucker!"
I grabbed Tony's peter and ran my tongue around the head--kinda like I was eatin' an ice cream cone. Shit! It tasted so fuckin' good.
"Ah, fuck yes, faggot!. You are one helluva good cocksucker! Now lick my balls awhile till I tell ya to stop," Tony dictated.
"But, Tony--I ain't a fag--I'm engaged and gonna get married this summer!" I protested. But I kinda knew he was right.
"Get on my balls--lick 'em good, boy!" he demanded. "I don't give a fuck how much you tell me you're straight--I knew from the first day I saw ya--I can tell when a faggot wants to swing on my pecker!"
"But, Tony," I stammered.
"Fuck, dude. That feels awesome. You're a born cocksucker, bitch!" Tony moaned.
He shot a copious load of sperm and I tried hard to swallow it. I looked up at him and as he was zipping up his jeans, he smirked at me saying, "Now, bitch. You'll be my cocksucking whore whenever I need ya."
And he tucked his meat back in his pants, zipped up and swaggered toward the door. "See ya tomorrow, dude. I'll need ya to take care of my morning wood!"
TO BE CONTINUED