Coach Jaime Diesel was the assistant soccer coach and health and wellness teacher when I was in high school. He was a young guy, mid to late twenties, blue eyes, brown hair, thin bulged lips from years of dipping tobacco which gave his mouth a stern set as if he was never likely to smile. But when he did smile – which was often because he was sweeter than that stern look gave off – he lit up the room. I would swoon amongst a school of high school girls as he taught health class in his slow and slurred country accent behind those pearly whites, whisking the scent of his country musk cologne as he paced the classroom. It was so hard to focus on schoolwork between fantasizing him fucking on his daddy’s ranch, in a barn, on a throw blanket cast over loose bales of hay, and the obstruction of my senses his beautiful body, luring cologne, and seductive voice did to my sight, scent, and ears. I always left fourth period with a wet dick from the thought of being used by him and pre-cum.
He was jacked too. In second period I could watch him, among the other boys in my class, lifting weights in the weight room. The guys my age were always dressed out appropriately in the classic royal blue shorts and gray t-shirt. But Coach Diesel always wore quarter gym shorts in bright colors that cut off at mid-thigh. I can still remember the rock hard tone of his legs and his tan lines just above the end seam of those gym shorts. He also always wore one of those lacey workout tanks that barely covered his torso. The tank top was always sure to expose his solid shoulders and bulging chest as he lifted. I might as well had been drooling for a little nipple play, and his were perfect. Not too small, not too big, but perfect pink circles with a tiny perk of nipple perfect for tonguing. And he always wore a jockstrap under all of that. I made sure to sit somewhat in front of him as he worked out his thighs, fantasizing the day I’d be able to undress his cock from under those tiny gym shorts and tight jock and soak his fat head with my wet lips. At 18, a junior in high school, I couldn’t imagine being so lucky . . . but luck was a curious thing then.
One day the coaches had gotten tired of me not participating in gym. I wasn’t a lazy or unathletic kid. Throughout high school and now into my twenties I had always maintained a decent shape. Very broad, natural shoulders and chest, strong legs, a 28” waist, but a 34” ass (thank you mama). It was a beach town, so everyone who was anyone had a tan and did some mode of wave riding. I just didn’t find the need to participate in Team Sports class for whatever reason, and the coaches eventually grew tired of my insubordination and wrote me up for after school detention the Friday of Spring Break. It just so happened that Coach Diesel was hosting the detention during soccer practice. Since he was the assistant coach he wasn’t really need and was able to host the detentions on Fridays often.
When I arrived that Friday to his office in the boys locker room, Coach Diesel was dressed in a soccer jersey, gym shorts, high socks, and cleats. He was kind of red, just a little sunburnt, his hair was spiked and, at the tips, kissed blonde by the sun. His arms were tight in the sleeves of his jersey. The bulge in his soccer shorts was firm, round, and protruding. His blue eyes carried bags under them as if he had partied all night the night before and still hadn’t recovered so late in the day. His light sweat on his skin gleamed under the fluorescent light of the gym locker room, he looked like he was oiled underneath that uniform.
“You’re the only one who showed, Reed.” I love the way coaches address you by your last name. As it turned out the other two students didn’t want to push a delay on Spring Break.
“So I guess I can go to?” I teased.
“Nah, I think we’re gonna have some fun.” And I have to admit, I had no idea what he really meant.
The coaches at my high school were into playful humiliation. They held on to gym uniforms from the eighties. The shorts were the classic royal blue but quarter length, when Coach Diesel threw me a pair I flushed red. They were a small and I knew they weren’t gonna go much further than mid-thigh. The shirt I had to wear was the classic gray with our terrier mascot growling in his glory, but a tank top that had barely coved the chest. All I was missing was a pair of high top converse, some knee warmers, and a headband and I’d be a cliché, but thank God he spared me at least that.
The shorts on me were worse than I thought; they barely went past the bottom of my butt. Which, keep in mind, was at 34”, squeezed into 28-30” gym shorts, the skin lined boarder between my ass and thigh could easily be seen when I walked and indefinitely when I bent over. I had gotten a tattoo of humming bird in lower center of my right but cheek, its beak pointed towards my pink, and the wings of the bird could be seen peeking under the seams of the shorts. I would have thought it hot at that moment but I was in school and I wasn’t really out, so I was actually fretting that Coach Diesel’s mode of humiliation was going to be a success. But I sucked it up and threw the tank top on to find out that it was actually an extra-large and almost reached the bottom seam of the gym shorts. In hindsight it was probably the sexiest costume I have ever warned, but at 16-17 it did not feel like that.
After I dressed I met Coach Diesel in the locker room, I could tell he thought my attire was humorous but I was not yet fully aware of his intentions. He stretched me out first. He was very hands on with helping me with form. Especially in my legs and thighs, he laid me on my back and helped push my leg back in brief pulls. The sound of his breathing was deep and manly, it seemed he exhaled with pleasure every time, and with each pulsing stretch of my leg I could feel the firm bulge of his cock pressing against the back of my thigh. I couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not but I was definitely enjoying the moment. Each position he assisted me stretching in was a position I fantasized about him balls deep in me, pumping with every pulse of the stretch, only stretching my insides with his fat slab.
Then he worked me out hard. Ten sets of twenty pushups and sit ups, then a few sets of pull ups, I can’t even remember how many suicides he made me do. Then he made me run a mile in seven minutes, which he ran with me, a few paces behind, huffing obscenities as I tried to expand the gap between us. He was really doing a good job of pissing me off. I was running in this ridiculous outfit on a track that round the boys’ soccer team practice scrimmages. They weren’t saying anything but I knew they saw me and were laughing at me with each other. I had to look like some girl running that track, my ass jiggling everywhere as I ran in those mini shorts, the fresh green, red, blue, and white ink of my humming bird catching the light and their eyes. If they didn’t know before, my sexual orientation was definitely out there now. Especially for Coach Diesel, who every time I turned around and although he wore some really black shaded glasses, was fixed on my back side. His thin lips pressed together hard. My God he was one sexy man.
After I was done with the mile Coach had informed me that I had just about five minutes left and if I wanted I could go shower before the soccer team finished practice.
“Yeah that’d be great.” I replied between smokers gasp and constrained heartbeats.
Coach Diesel had barely broken a sweat but removed his soccer jersey to reveal his perfectly shaped chest, six pack abs, and pelvic v muscle that trailed to the center of that bulge I couldn’t forget pressing against me. The sun captured every line of body as his moved beneath its blanketing light towards the locker room door. I trailed him floating on a cloud of eroticism. The way he moved his hips as he walked was not for the like of a man as masculine as him, was the first sign I noticed. He was too fluid in his movements, and as we entered the locker room he looked back at me and his thin lips seemed to pout with a smile that he had never given me before.
“You gonna shower before you go?”
I stumbled out of his spell and barely blurted a coherent reply, “ye-, yeah . . . yes. I’m, I’m gonna take one.”
He cocked his head back and laughed slightly, “okay, come back to my office and I’ll grab you a towel.” He unlocked the office door from the boys locker room, but instead of searching for a towel, Coach Diesel locked the other office entrance from the gymnasium. “I’m just gonna get a quick change, shower when I get home.” Then he kicked off his cleats and dropped his gym shorts.
I followed those dark green soccer shorts as he kicked them to the side with his foot. Then followed his black socks as they silhouetted his muscular calve to his bare rock hard thigh and over the white bulge of his jockstrap. I remember the goosebumps racing up my back and over my shoulders, down the sides of my stomach and my dick more than gradually filling with blood as my eyes continued to trace the V shape of his pelvis muscle as he slowly took of his jersey. His abs was perfected, tightly coated in his pale gold skin. Even the pubic hair on his stomach was spun golden. His chest was hard from our workout, and his nipples were slightly raised from the golden brown strands of his chest hair. The last thing I remember those thin pink lips parting from a smile to: “Show me that tattoo.”
I shut the door behind me as he sat down in his armless, rolling, office chair. I quickly slipped out of the extra-large gym shirt, my body was toned from the work out, and gleamed under the light from my sweat. I could smell musk lightly permeating from my armpits. I was still relatively hairless so the smell was sweet with untainted youth. Before Coach Diesel I had only experimented with the boys in my neighborhood and done oral in the bathrooms of clubs I should have never been in. But I moved to him with confidence and grace, more my hormones yearning the pressure of his body against mine.
He wheeled around in his office chair and spread his legs open, the golden hairs of his thighs catching the light as he smacked one of his legs. “Bend over.” His voice was calm and affirmative so I did what he said without hesitation.
I remember the coarseness of his fingers and how they unintentionally tickled me as they worked up the back of my thigh and over my hummingbird tattoo sucking nectar from my tight pink flower. I heard him suck his fingers; I wasn’t wearing any underwear so it was easy for him to gain access to my entrance. The warm slickness of his fingers as they paced the rim of my virgin hole and slowly, then rapidly slipped the tips of his fingers in and out, sent pulses of sensation through my body and I began to silently moan. He stopped and turned me around so that my ass was in front of his face. His hands were strong as they groped, pulled, and pushed the plumpness of my ass. He played with my cheeks like breast in his hands, motorboating my crack, pinching the peaks of my lumps, then smacking it to watch it jiggle to stop. I could hear him groan deep mumbles and obscenities about how he wanted to take my virgin hole. Then pushed his callused hands down on the mid of my back to make me bend over forward and away from him then he ripped the gym short apart, and threw them to the ground in pieces. Before I had a chance to even register what happened he shoved his face into my crack and began vigorously gnawing my boyhood. I could feel his tongue pushing deeper inside of me, his nose as he inhaled the sweet smell of my young musk, his exhales as he blew into me, the roughness of his five o’clock shadow against my cheeks tickled the precum out of me. And he found that too, using it as lube to stroke my rock hard cock and he ate my sweet boy hole.
Within a few minutes I was dripping wet and Coach Diesel was pushing his fingers in me at full length, and slowly fitting two fingers in. It was the first time that I had felt so much pleasure all at once. His tongue and his fingers at once in my ass, then his big strong hands stroking my eight inch cock. It took all of me not to scream in pleasure. Then it was time to lose my virginity.
The Coach pushed my cock up against my stomach with one hand and pushed me down to the ground with his other hands(felt like five hands). He hadn’t said a word since “show me your tattoo” and he wasn’t speaking now. He was using his strength to force me to position, and I was more than willing. He positioned me faced down on the ground with my torso inverted to him. I felt his fat cock pushing into the meat of my fat ass, preparing me for what was to come. The short twang of his southern accent I heard through him moaning to himself. The ground was cemented, my knees and elbows were already beginning to scuff and ash, but before I was too uncomfortable he started. His dick was well over 8 inches and a good width but he moved into me like a pro, taking his time and reacting to the jerks of pain in my body, waiting for the tenseness to wear off before he pushed in me further. His spit had lubricated me so well that it wasn’t long before he was steadily pumping my tight ass. His breathing was intense and heavy, and with every few pumps he smacked fire into one of my already trembling ass cheeks.
Soon my stomach was on the ground and he was full on fucking me. I had pushed through the pain and was taking my first dick with one of the men of my fantasies. I could feel the tightness in his body that was like steel while he was fucking me from behind. He was pressed against my back skillfully moving just his waist as he pulled his length from me and pushed it back in in long, methodical strokes, each on aching my body with pure pleasure. His thin lips clasping tightly to the top of my earlobes, the bare of my shoulders, or the nude of my neck and his big coarse hands groping the sides of my ass as he fucked me deep sent my body into convulsions as I tried to keep up with his rhythm.
But keeping up was futile. He yanked himself out of me and moaned with me, “I’m about to come, roll over.” I did, and he was back in side of me, my legs wrapped around the small of his back. Within seconds of the new position I came hard between our torsos. I couldn’t help but scream lightly as he continued to force himself deeper in me, our chests and stomachs rubbing slick together lubed by my hot sticky seed being released with every one of his thrusts.
“Awe fuck,” I try to exclaim before his covers my mouth with his rough hands.
“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers in my ear between thrusts and breaths.
I could hear the locker room doors open and close between an array of students that was the soccer team. I looked at him with concern but he showed none, I didn’t want him to stop either. The sound of the locker room outside his office filled with the voices of young men, the clanging of lockers, and the screaming of gas lines as the water in the showers warmed up. I couldn’t remember locking the door to his office, but I couldn’t even think of getting caught at that moment either. He was fucking me so good.
He was fucking me slower now, quieter, still pulling himself out and pushing himself into my gushing pink boy hole in long strokes. Only this time his thin lips were pressed against my own puffy lips, his tongue working his way inside my mouth, his teeth gnawing at my soft bottom lips. He pulled his head away from mine and stared down at me with his dark blue eyes, his face stern and focused on me. I couldn’t close my mouth from the feeling of him fucking so good that I could only stare back breathing the air he exhaled. Then he let loose a beast like moan and his head fell into my shoulders as he thrust his final pumps as deep as he could into me. Ramming in his last pump his lips met mine again and every muscle in his body strained and the motions of our mouths moved together. I could feel his meat still hard, stiff inside me, his head sporadically jerking as his seed quickened deep inside me.
His body calmed with the vigor of his lips, he pulled his head back from mine, and his manhood from my boyhood without ever looking me in the eye again. He stood up, used the gym shorts he had ripped off of me and cleaned his dick that was still hard and wet in his glory. I watched him from my back on the floor, cold, and sticking to the skin of my clammy back, my leg jerking in spasms from the good fucking. He notices me, still enchanted by his manhood and prowess, smirks that cocky country boy smile my way and opens a filing cabinet, pulls out a towel and tosses it my paralytic body. “Hit the showers.” He says while pulling up his soccer shorts.
I gathered myself and wrapped the towel around my waist, looking at Coach Jaime Diesel for any sign, which resembled any aspect of him wanting me more. But he continued dressing himself without paying me any further mind. I figured I could just appreciate he came in me. That had to mean something, right? So I went for the office door, I hadn’t locked it after all. Anyone could have walked in the middle of that, and as I was walking out Coach Gunther was walking towards the office door. He looked at me but with little concern and I strolled by him towards a locker room showers filled with a soccer team of naked 18 year old boys. My boy hole slick with Coach Diesel’s cum.
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