Dedicated
by Wrestlr
Part 2: The New Head Coach
Yeah, Coach Rod thought to himself, I got it made!
He had gotten through college on a wrestling scholarship, he had won the All-Marine championship twice while he was in the Marines, and now he had set himself up with a cushy assistant coach’s job at a small private college that barely gave two shits about athletics. Maybe he had not fully planned things out when he decided to leave the Marines and apply for this job, but he had to admit things worked out great, just like they always did.
The head coach he worked for was a tired old bastard whose only duties seemed to be making up schedules, reminiscing to anyone who would listen about his glory days as a minor-league athlete decades ago, and staying drunk until he retired in a few months.
Left on his own, Coach Rod put the athletes through Marine-type training, and they ate it up. He was a big, fuckin’ hero in their eyes, especially when it came to wrestling, and he took advantage of their hero-worship. Hell, yes!
Stripped to his sweatpants, Rod strolled into his small office—hardly bigger than a closet, really—at the back of the gym locker room, lazily wiping his bare shoulders and chest with a coarse towel. He had a swarthy complexion, and his barrel chest was matted with crisp, black hair. Powerful muscles rippled beneath his taut, bronzed skin, and he fingered the loose-hanging genitals inside his pants casually.
Kicking the door shut behind him, he walked over to small table that the administration laughably called his desk and settled in the chair behind it.
Outside, he heard the youthful voices of his wrestling jocks, laughing and bitching and slowly fading as, one by one, the boys on the team cleaned up and left.
The door was yanked open, and a burly blond, freshly showered and naked except for a narrow towel knotted about his slim hips, swaggered in. He had a solid build that foreshadowed the man he was becoming, and the pale skin across his shoulders was dusted with a rash of freckles.
“Get your head outta your ass, Pete,” Rod barked, “and close the damn door!”
“Fuck!” The youth closed and locked the door. “I shoulda known you were in a shitty mood, Coach Rod, when you had us go through that slo-mo practice all afternoon.”
Slo-mo practice was Rod’s idea. He would pair the athletes up and force them to go through various moves and holds with brutal slowness, emphasizing points of pain or total, intimate contact.
“I thought you’d love that cross-crotch grip with Mac,” Rod snickered. He slouched back in his chair and cocked an eyebrow. “Get him by the balls?”
“Damn right! And he threw one big hard-on, believe me!” Pete held his index fingers eight inches apart to illustrate Mac’s size, though they both knew Rod had seen it himself dozens of times. “And he damn-near busted my balls when we traded places.”
“Hell, you’ve gotten tough enough to handle that.”
“Mac’s a cocky bastard.” Pete sat on the edge of the desk facing the coach. “Maybe you oughta put him through the rough drills training like you done to me and the rest of the inner circle? Really make him one of us?” The youth’s expression went distant, as if he was remembering the first times: the rugged ex-Marine who’d taken over the wrestling team, worked their assess off, made them toe the line, whipped them into shape, the way he’d concentrated on Pete, put him through the rough drills, hypnotized him and belted him and worked him over and more, until he had broken the kid’s resistance and started rebuilding him. Maybe Pete was imagining Coach Rod doing the same to Mac, with Pete standing by the coach’s side as Mac suffered the same punishments and finally broke and—
“You’d sure like that, huh?” Rod said, knowing he was interrupting the kid’s fantasy. He eyed the youth narrowly. “You’d like seein’ if he could take it the way you did, huh?”
“Yeah. Either you’ll make a man out of that cocky bastard, or he’ll drive you straight to the loony bin.” Pete shrugged. “Either way works for me.”
Rod quirked half a grin. “Very funny, ass-wipe.”
Rod leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the blond. Nothing about Pete was little. Pete was good-looking and muscularly built, and his smooth, freckled skin emphasized his growing maturity. His chest was broad and hard-curved, with small, tight-tipped nipples, and his taut stomach was washboard-firm. His knotted towel split open carelessly, offering a quick glimpse of his helmet-shaped pink cock-head.
Rod hypnotized everyone on the team; that was just another accepted part of their training. But for his trusted inner circle, the core group of players at the heart of the team, he required more—he required their absolute dedication, which involved breaking down their psyches using what Rod called the rough drills and rebuilding them to his liking. Rod remembered when he put Pete through the rough drills: the curses and verbal abuse, the endless exercises, the mental and physical torment, the naked beatings with his fists and belt, denying the young athlete an escape into hypnosis, forcing him to endure the punishment, the slow breakdown of the youth’s defenses, the final conquest—
And speaking of conquests: Rod asked, “So how’d it go with the new kid yesterday?”
Pete grinned big. “Oh, man, you should have seen it, Coach. We met up here for a workout, and I got him good and tired-out, and I started in on him before he knew what was happenin’. Fuck, Coach, just like you said—Tony went down just as easy as you please.” Something under the front of Pete’s towel pulsed at the memory. His drawl deepened, the way it always did when he was aroused. “Got him in the quiet room, just like you wanted, and got him ’tized on the very first try. He took to it like a duck to water, Coach, just like you thought. He took to the sexy stuff too—one hundred and ten percent willin’. I must have ’tized him three or four times. I had him practically beggin’ for it—the hypnosis and the sex. Then I took him back to his dorm room and told Larry to come by, and we had the kid ’tized and cummin’ all night long. You saw the way he was lookin’ at me all through practice today: I think he’s got himself the world’s biggest puppy-dog crush on me and Larry now—’specially me. So I’d say it went pretty fuckin’ good.” Pete dug at his balls through the terrycloth, obviously enjoying the feeling of power. “Larry’s got him in the quiet room right now, giving him a little reinforcement. We’ll have him ready for you by the end of the week. Won’t have no trouble gettin’ him dedicated. He’s gonna be just like Larry, an insatiable little fucker for the sex and the hypnosis.“
“Good job,” Rod said, nodding.
Pete sat there grinning at him.
“That ain’t all you’ve got in mind, is it,” Rod said quietly.
“You said you’re gonna name the captain of the squad at the end of the week. I want the job.”
“What makes you think you can handle it?”
“You know damn well I can.” Grinning, Pete stretched one leg, placing his bare foot squarely in the crotch of Rod’s sweatpants. “You give the orders, and I’ll see that the guys jump to it.”
“Damn right I give the orders, ass-wipe, and that means I pick the captain.” Rod squirmed slightly, adjusting his hidden genitals to the taunting pressure. “You ain’t the best ’wrestler on the squad, and Tony’s only the second guy you’ve ’tized on your own for me. Why should you be captain?“
“Because my old man’s on the Board of Trustees for this fucking school.” He nudged the edge of his foot knowingly against the coach’s slippery balls. “The Board’ll be voting on a new head coach pretty soon, and Dad carries plenty of weight with the Board. They’ll listen if he says you’re the right man for the job.” He felt the stiffening meat beneath the coach’s cotton sweatpants. “So how about it, Coach Rod? You want me to tell my Dad you’re the right man for head coach? You getting a hard-on for the job?”
Rod narrowed his eyes at Pete’s teasing tone, as the wrestler brushed his foot over the cock-lump in Rod’s sweatpants. “Kid, you’re just askin’ for a heap of trouble. You know that, right?”
“You’ve always said you Marines looked out for each other. Right?”
“Yeah?” Rod narrowed his eyes when Pete mentioned the Marines, wondering how the kid was willing to push this.
Pete must have read something in Rod’s expression, because with a confident grin he spread his towel open. “So don’t you think a coach should do the same for his team captain, and vice versa?” Pete’s long, half-hard prick jutted from a nest of sandy-blond wire at the base of his pale belly, the ivory-smooth shaft topped with a pink helmet. “See those little scrape-marks?” Pete murmured as he waggled his cock at Rod. “They’re from the new kid’s teeth. He’s learnin’ real quick, though.” His gaze steadily on Rod, Pete ran his fingers down his abs, down the central valley into his groin, around and under his pubes and ball sack, pressing his testicles upward. “How about it, Coach? You wanna taste where his teeth have been?”
Rod stared at the naked blond and the stiffening meat. He sighed and shook his head. Then he bent forward, his palm stroking the youth’s sturdy thighs. “Still horny, wrestler? Even after all your play-time with the new kid?”
“Fuck, yeah! Horny’s the way you like your wrestlers to be, ain’t it, Coach?” Pete spread his thighs, offered his crotch. “Want a taste of my meat, Coach? Go ahead. Taste it. A little head from the new head coach,” Pete half-giggled.
“Since when do you call the shots around here, sleepyhead?” Rod growled.
Pete blinked. “I ...”
“Don’t fight it, sleepyhead. Don’t even try. I got your ass too well-trained for that—right, sleepyhead?” Rod saw the familiar daze spread through Pete’s expression, his shoulders loosening. “Just submit, sleepyhead. You know you love how good it makes you feel—right, sleepyhead?“
Pete’s eyes closed as the trigger command took hold and his conscious mind sank. “Yes, Coach.”
“Stand up, sleepyhead.”
Pete slid off the table to his feet, arms hanging loose at his side. The towel slipped off the table with him, fell to the floor by his feet.
“Yeah, sleepyhead,” Rod chuckled. “Horny, naked, and deeply entranced. Now that’s the way I like my wrestlers to be.“
Rod glided from his chair to his knees before the cocky teenager, and he used his fingers to outline Pete’s thick thigh muscles, examining the scrape-marks on Pete’s erection. Suddenly he drove forward, pushing the youth’s dick aside and pressing his lips and tongue to the loose-swinging testicles beneath. After a minute of licking and lapping, he pulled back. “Talk to me, Pete. I like it when you’re vocal. Tell me how it feels—tell me what you like.” He dragged the flat of his tongue across the crinkled skin of Pete’s scrotum.
“Yes ...,” Pete sighed groggily, shivering. “I like ... Eat my nuts ... like you did ... first time!”
Rod caressed the slithering balls lightly, teasing them. Then his tongue was washing over them, spreading them, darting out and back to lick hungrily. Without warning, he forced one testicle into his mouth and suctioned it, rolling it with his tongue.
“Guur—Ahk!” Pete gasped at the taunting pressure. “More, Coach ... Both of them ...”
Rod let one ball slip from between his lips and took the other one quickly, feeling Pete stiffen with the sudden pleasure-pain of his move. The man released Pete’s balls and sank back on his heels, staring up at him coolly. “You should’ve been a Marine, you little punk. Maybe I’ll plant a suggestion to make you enlist when you graduate! I bet you’ll even thank me later.”
Rod’s lips opened and encircled Pete’s sharp-tipped cock-head, and then Rod slid his head all the way down to the base of that prick in a single, slow movement.
“Hurr ...” Pete moaned.
Rod’s fingers wandered up Pete’s thighs and circled them to trace over his ass, stroking, almost caressing. Rod’s lip-pressure moved along the length of the youth’s cock again and again in a strong, sure rhythm, and his palms cupped Pete’s butt, fingers probing confidently into the cleft, still moist from Pete’s shower, between the squirming buns. “You about ready to cum for me, Pete? Cum for me, sleepyhead.” Rod swallowed Pete’s cock again, knowing what was about to happen.
Pete tensed, then doubled forward with an almost child-like whimper. He quivered in the man’s grasp, and suddenly his body wrenched with the force of the first climactic spasm. “Hunnh,” groaned Pete as his balls pulsed and spurt after spurt of cum gushed into the mouth of the man locked to him. Pete shuddered for nearly a minute, and then as his climax finally ended, his body went trance-still again, except for little jerks from the aftershocks of his explosion.
Rod snapped his fingers. “Wake up, Pete. I want you awake and aware for this next part.”
Pete shifted against the desk and blinked his eyes open. He looked down. Rod was still on his knees, face hovering near Pete’s crotch. “Oh, man,” Pete gasped, and his fingers moved to smooth the short hair-bristles on the coach’s head. “Fuck, yeah, Coach ... We’re gonna look out for each other, Coach, like Marines.”
Rod drew back slowly and stood up. For a long moment, he stared at Pete’s slow-softening prick still gleaming with spit and traces of cum, and then he sucked in a deep breath. “Sure,” he muttered. “We’ll look out for each other.” He hauled himself to his feet. “But first, you gotta prove to me you’re dedicated enough to deserve being captain. Turn around and bend over. Lean on the desk.”
“Huh?” Pete said, but he turned, bent forward, placed his palms flat on the desktop, legs spread. The naked arcs of his ass gleamed in the soft light. “Oh, man, Coach—If that’s what it takes to prove I’m your man, then ...” He listened to the movement behind him: the rustle of Rod’s sweatpants falling to the floor, the desk drawer being opened, the search for the tube of lubricant, the sounds of a condom packet being torn open, of grease being applied to rigid latex-covered flesh.
Rod stepped up behind the youth and stroked the smooth, rounded ass cheeks. “You’ve got a butt that would make a Marine proud, Pete. Tight and slick and built for fuckin’. You’ve shaped up like a damn Marine, too.”
“Coach Rod—”
“Remember when I put the screws on you? Extra duty? Wore you down? Burned your tail with my belt?” He traced his greased fingers down the valley cleft of Pete’s butt. “You really want to be team captain, huh? That’s a key role—gonna require more from you than just the hard drills. You ready to show me you got the dedication to make that commitment?”
“Damn right I am!” Peter barked. He stiffened instinctively as Rod’s fingertips centered on the hidden opening between his ass cheeks. “Just—you know—take it easy, okay?”
“I know how you like it, punk. I taught you, remember?”
Pete said nothing.
Rod massaged the puckered opening gently, then with more pressure, finally inserted one finger knuckle-deep. Pete quivered and swallowed hard, and Rod jammed a second finger into him abruptly.
“Jesus!” Pete yelped.
“You like that, huh?” Rod taunted, probing with skilled slowness. “You ready for a third one?”
“I can’t—” Pete groaned, but his cock was stiffening again. “Not yet—not—”
“I like the way you keep your hole tight, Pete. And you like the way I spread it, right?”
Pete groaned as the coach’s fingers slipping in and out of the sensitive lips of his opening, tauntingly. “Dammit, Coach Rod—”
“Any of the other studs here ever fuck you, Pete?”
“Hell, no!”
“Your buddy Mac’s hung pretty big. Maybe we’ll teach him how to ram your butt right. You can be a real arrogant prick sometimes, Pete; that ego of yours is liable to get you into trouble. Maybe havin’ one of the junior wrestlers pound your ass good and regular is just what you need to keep you humble.” Without warning, Rod rammed a third finger into Pete’s squishy hole.
Pete yelped: “Owh!”
Rod grinned. “Yeah, we’ll teach you to take his meat, and maybe my fist!”
“Aw, fuck, no! That’d be way too—” Pete’s breath came in tight gasps, and his body rocked forward and back with each intense penetration. “Just do it, Coach Rod! Get it over with!”
“I like it when you’re hot, Pete. I like it when I don’t have to use hypnosis and you still can’t wait to get fucked!”
“Don’t be a bastard, Coach! Hypnotize me and make—”
“No way. I want you completely awake for it this time. A real man don’t need no excuses. Stop trying to pretend you don’t like it. Wait ’til Mac opens you up and then I screw you using his cum for lube!” Rod jerked his fingers free and brought his cock into position. “Open up!”
Pete felt his sphincter instinctively tighten when the massive, greased hardness nudged against his asshole. He hissed, “Coach, sometimes you’re a real sonnuva-bitch! You know that?”
Rod’s swollen tool was mapped withy veins and capped by a wide, curved head of steel. He used it to probe mercilessly for the center of Pete’s opening.
“Shit,” Pete breathed. “Feels like a tree trunk back there.”
“Fuck, yeah—and you’re gonna take it Marine-style!”
Pete stifled a cry of pain at the first, brutal penetration and clenched his eyes shut. His hands clenched at the desk. “Coach!—Please ...”
“Yeah!” Rod sucked in a sharp breath, and then he pawed hungrily at the wrestle-jock’s bare muscle-layered back. Rod gripped Pete’s hips and, with one animal grunt, he drove his log-sized ram deeply into Pete’s quivering depths. Rod savored the warmth and pressed himself against the youth’s smooth, shower-damp flesh.
Pete babbled incoherently. “Fuck ... Aw, fuck ... Coach ...”
“You still want to be team captain, punk?”
“Fuck, yeah!”
Rod leaned back, holding his thighs against Pete’s and then arching his back to force his iron inward, into that ass to the hilt. “Damn!” he murmured with pleasure, closing his eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you ’til your ass is wide open!”
Rod remembered when he had been just a few years younger than Pete, back in high school. That was before he enlisted in the Marines, before the hypnosis. Back then, Rod had been wrestling and jerking off with his buddies, getting his first blow-job, then jamming his hot prick into any cock-sucker’s mouth who would take it, and finally getting into a stud’s butt, the whole new world of man-sex opening up for him like a buffet. Back then Rod had been an arrogant bastard himself, just like Pete, and back then Rod had made sure the man-sex always involved his cock being worshipped, not him doing the cock-worshipping.
Rod hip-pumped almost lazily in spite of Pete’s muffled groans, and he remembered the older, brawny guy who had worked at the gym across the street from Rod’s high school, the rugged, wrestler-type who had kidded him about going a few falls on the mat in the back room—and the late afternoon when they had tried it, stripping to their shorts and grappling at each other.
“Hell, Rod, let’s drop our skivvies and do it man-to-man.”
Naked and sweating and wrestling. Both of them throwing rods. The man getting him down on the mat in a hold that had his cock in Rod’s face. The casual, silent insistence—then, shit!—Rod had just opened his mouth and gotten his first taste of cock without choking or giving a damn. Sucking each other felt to Rod like a revelation.
“Don’t waste your load, Rod! I want you to fuck me with that fucking cock! Fucking thing looks like a battering-ram!”
Screwing his grease-smeared dick into the stud’s finger-spread ass. Slamming like a son of a bitch and blasting his load into the man.
“Yow! You’re too damn rough, Rod!”
But the guy had wanted to wrestle and get plowed again a week later, and plenty more times before Rod graduated and went away to college.
Rod had wrestled his way through college, and the best times had always been when he pinned a stud face-down and naked, when he fucked his conquered opponent, heard him yell and felt him yield—
“Rod! Fuck!” Pete moaned, interrupting Rod’s memories as Rod’s slow-plunging giant slid deep into Pete’s asshole again. “Ow!—You’re wreckin’ me, you bastard!”
“Shut up, punk! And don’t call me ‘Rod.’ It’s ‘Coach’ or ‘Coach Rod.’ We ain’t boyfriends. Got that, punk?”
Yeah, Rod had called all the dumb shit-heads in the Marines punk, and he had won the WesPac wrestling championship, twice, but the best parts of his service-time had been when he got to break in a wise-ass recruit. Damn right, he had been the wrestling champion, and when he told a punk to jump to it, they jumped double-time—or else! Especially the ones who thought they were tougher than he was. He would bear down on them. Break them. Make them lick the sweat off his balls, suck the cum from his cock. Fuck ’em!
Especially that one punk, Vince. Rod smiled at the memory. Yeah, Vince! Rod spread his legs wider and pounded his massive rod into Pete’s tail, remembering that damn little stud named Vince.
Vince had been a cocky little punk—an eighteen-year-old recruit. Short and dark, olive-skinned—Italian or Greek or a mix of the two. Tough and street-smart but still adjusting to Marine Corps discipline. His black eyes met Rod’s evaluating gaze with a mixture of hero-worship and defiance. And Rod had sworn to break the little bastard, to make him crawl, to fuck his tight bubble-butt—and he made sure Vince knew he was going to do it.
By then Rod himself was under the domination of a master sergeant who was one mean son of a bitch. Hypnosis, rough drills: Rod had tried to fight it, tried hard too, held out longer than most. The master sergeant had broken Rod, made sure he rebuilt him right, used him as one of his inner circle to enforce discipline, obedience, and dedication down the ranks. The master sergeant had assigned Rod to break Vince.
Damn, that kid had taken everything Rod dished out—every shit detail, all the extra duty, the endless physical and mental pressure:
“I’m gonna break you, punk!”
“With all due respect, I can take any crap you dish out, sir!”
“You’re gonna lick my nuts, suck my cock, take my cock up your fucking ass—anything I say!—And you’re gonna like it!”
“Go to hell ... sir!”
After a few weeks of getting the punk accustomed to hypnosis, suddenly Rod stopped hypnotizing him. Rod wore the kid down, ran him ragged, kept on his tail, all without letting Vince escape into hypnosis. This was the trick that the master sergeant had used to break Rod too. Rod made sure Vince was awake and aware of everything, every shit duty that ground him down. Vince had struggled to hold up under the pressure, until that last double-time forced march in the boondocks, sweat-soaked in the blazing sun. Rod had been right there alongside Vince, showing him a dedicated Marine could hold up, but Rod had the advantage of a couple of years of dedication training, as his master sergeant called the hypnosis that kept Rod single-mindedly focused on his goal. He was training Rod to use the hard drills to break a man. Breaking a man was the first step to rebuilding him, making him better, making him fully dedicated. Hypnosis was a good start, but it only took a man so far. Hypnosis and the hard drills together could take a man further than he ever imagined, take him to the breaking point and beyond. Finally, out there in the middle of nowhere, nothing around but trees, a ramshackle fence, the seemingly endless road, and the scorching sun, panting, Vince stumbled and fell panting to all fours as he broke.
“I give up ... You ... win, sir ... I can’t ... can’t take ... no more.”
“Strip, punk!”
And Vince had peeled off his sweat-soaked uniform—short, muscular wrestler build, powerful shoulders and arms, thick chest peppered with black hair, narrow waist and hips.
“I said: strip, punk. All the way. I don’t wanna see you wearing nothing but a smile.”
Vince stepped out of his skivvies—heavy-hanging genitals—and he stared, numb and defeated, as Rod opened his own shirt and dropped his pants.
“Dammit, sir ... What’re—”
“Ever been fucked, kid?”
“Hell, no!”
“Grab that fence post. Bend over. Now!”
Vince’s butt cheeks were two olive-pale half moons. Rod had greased his full-swollen prick and driven it hard and fast between those trim buns, rammed it right into Vince’s virgin asshole.
Vince screamed.
Rod locked his arms about the youth and whispered the trigger into his ear: “Sleepyhead.”
That was the moment it happened. Vince’s mind fled from the pain, fled into hypnosis, sinking into complete surrender to escape the shame of being broken, the humiliation of being naked and fucked up the ass, out in the open where anyone could see. His mind fled deeper into hypnosis than ever before, taking Rod’s control with it. Rod whispered encouragements to him—relax, focus, sleep—until the hypnosis and his authority were anchored deeper in Vince’s psyche than ever before. In that moment, Rod owned Vince’s mind. And soon, when the slide of Rod’s erection back and forth across the nerve endings in Vince’s ass gave way to pleasure, when the inevitable nudging of Rod’s cock-head against Vince’s prostate lit up Vince’s neurons with jolt after jolt of ecstasy, Rod made sure Vince’s hypnotized mind knew that Rod owned those feelings too, that Rod was the cause of the warm, blissful relaxation filling Vince. Vince’s psyche was completely open now, all barriers down. In that moment, with Rod’s dick up his ass and Rod’s words in his mind, Vince became a man. This was the secret that the master sergeant had used on Rod and now Rod used on Vince: he had influenced the boy, but now he owned the man.
Rod was fulfilling his mission for his master sergeant. He owned Vince. He fucked Vince’s responding mind and eager body Marine style—rugged, ruthless, demanding—until the soaring satisfaction of orgasm overcame him, and Rod allowed Vince finally to climax too. The young Marine must have shot almost a pint of cum.
Rod hammered his dick into Pete with fevered intensity, and he opened his eyes to stare down at the youth hunched over the desk before him. Pete was blond and sleek-bodied—nothing like Vince!—but Pete’s ivory-pale ass pumped back with the same hunger to meet Rod’s thrusts. Vince had always cursed and raged at getting fucked if he was awake, as if to goad Rod to greater fury, and his asshole had always clamped white-hot around Rod’s plunging giant. Unless he was entranced, Vince had never given in as willingly as Pete did, that was for sure!
Rod wrapped his arms about the writhing youth and felt the marble-like smoothness of his muscled chest and torso, and he remembered the sweat-slick hair on Vince’s chest and the soft fuzz on his taut belly. But this was Pete he was fucking, not Vince. Rod slid his hands lower, and he gripped Pete’s spike-hard prick and tightened balls, working them in rhythm with his furious pumping.
“Give it to me!” Pete begged hoarsely. “I’m fixin’ to pop!”
“Not ’til I say so, sleepyhead!“
Pete made a low groan as his well-trained mind immediately slipped back into trance.
“Yeah, that’ll show you who gives the orders around here, punk!”
Rod pumped at Pete’s relaxed hole, but he could not hold out long. He felt his rigid cock convulse in Pete’s ass. “Take it—take my cock, you cocky son of a bitch!” Rod hissed. Rod’s climax tore through him; churning liquid raced the tunneled length of his massive prick and spewed into the condom inside Pete’s guts. Rod’s heartbeat thundered in his chest, and he clenched himself to the entranced youth, lost in that searing pleasure.
After his cock softened and slid out of Pete’s body, Rod turned the wrestler around, jacked Pete’s still-hard rod with his fist. Rod snapped his fingers once, twice—“Wake up, Pete; wake up and cum for me”—and Pete’s eyes blinked.
Pete’s mouth dropped open and his body immediately tipped into orgasm, cum spraying, and Rod poked his hand between the wrestler’s legs and to impale him with two fingers. ”Coach! Ahhh!” Cum and more cum—Pete always shot big loads.
Rod continued to work the young blond’s rod as Pete descended slowly from his climax. “Fuck, Coach Rod,” Pete breathed at last. “That was probably the best one yet!”
“You like gettin’ my prick up your butt, huh?”
“I’m getting used to it,” Pete said, admitting the obvious. He relaxed against Rod’s powerful body. “You were kinda rough this time. My ass will feel that fuck for a week.”
“That’s Marine-style, kid.” He released Pete’s weary genitals. “Worn out?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” The youth chuckled softly. “Man, you sure sweat!”
“Next time, we’ll wrestle bare-ass and work up a sweat first, and then I’ll make you lick me clean before we get our rocks off.” He reached around Pete’s legs and grabbed the towel. “Hold still.” He shoved the cloth into the blond’s ass-cleft and wiped the excess lube.
Pete nodded downward. “I shot my load all over your desk, Coach.”
“Lick it up!”
“Yes, sir!” Pete obeyed immediately this time. Good.
Rod stepped back and watched the naked youth bend over the desk and tongue-lap the scattered puddles of cream, and then Rod kicked his tangled sweatpants on the floor out of the way before he or Pete tripped over them. “You’re a horny bastard, Pete,” he said casually. “You must’ve had blisters on your hands from jerkin’ before I got you broke in for other things.”
“Is that what you did to the punks in the Marines?” Pete asked, straightening and staring openly at the naked man. “Did you hypnotize them and fuck them and make them eat their own cum?”
“Some of them. Why?”
“I was just thinking.” Pete grabbed the towel and avoided Rod’s gaze as he wiped his ass. “Now that I’m team captain, I’m gonna help you break in one of the other guys with the rough drills. Mac, maybe. Make him jerk off and swallow his own cream. We’ll bend him over the desk and—”
Rod shook his head, regretting having mentioned that he was considering Mac for the rough drills and the inner circle. But Pete’s ego was the immediate problem. “You ain’t captain ’til your old man gets the trustees to give me the head coach job, kid.”
“I’ll talk to Dad tonight,” the wrestler said eagerly. “Anything else you want me to do?”
“Yeah,” Rod answered dryly. “Get your ass out of here so I can clean up and go home!”
“Yes, sir!” The nude blond hustled toward the door. “See you tomorrow, Coach.”
“Fucking punk!” Rod muttered to himself as Pete slammed the door behind himself. Yeah, I broke him in good, and he’ll do anything to be team captain Rod thought. He shrugged and turned toward the desk. He’s a good piece of ass when I need to get my nuts off though. Also, he can take it rougher’n most of these punks. He might just make a decent captain. Rod slumped into the chair, relaxing. He gazed down at his mature, muscular nakedness and his heavy-hanging genitals, and he dropped one hand to toy with his slippery, loose-sacked testicles. Too bad Pete ain’t as tough as Vince was! Once again, Rod remembered the rugged young stud, the first Marine he had broken in for his master sergeant. He wondered where Vince was these days, what the master sergeant had Vince doing, whether Vince was breaking in a new punk right that very moment. Wouldn’t that be something?
Yeah, that first time he had butt-fucked Vince sure as hell was not the last! Awake, Vince always looked at Rod with that combination of hero-worship and defiance. In private, they would strip down, square off against each other, grapple and wrestle, naked and rugged and horny, matching muscles and bodies and masculinity, cursing and threatening.
“Get down there an’ suck my balls, punk!”
“Fuck you, sir—I ain’t no fucking queer!”
“I’m gonna fuck you, Marine!”
“Arrgh! Bastard! Son of a bitch!”
“It’s time, sleepyhead. Relax, sleepyhead. Obey. Good boy, Vince!”
Shit, Vince was never worth a damn for wrestling against a champion like Rod, but he had a fire in his belly and he never gave up trying; and when he was deeply hypnotized, he was completely dedicated to completing his orders, especially if the mission involved Rod’s prick up Vince’s backside. Then after their orgasms, Rod would wake him, and Vince would go on about his business without acknowledging what had happened.
“Shit!” Rod muttered, reaching to the floor for his sweatpants. “Vince was just another punk. And I sure shaped him up, Marine-style!”
On the night before Rod had gotten released from his master sergeant’s control and gotten out of the Marines, he had gotten drunk with some of the guys. After, Rod had been in the process of stripping down for bed—shirt, boots, pants off, down to just one sock and his skivvies—when Vince appeared in his doorway. Vince would be taking Rod’s place as the master sergeant’s right hand, but that did not explain why he stood in Rod’s doorway. Alcohol had Rod buzzed, but he was not drunk, no way. He asked Vince what he was doing there, and Vince replied with a grin and one word: ”Sleepyhead.” Rod understood his orders immediately as hypnosis swallowed his mind like a lake swallows a pebble. Rod let Vince finish stripping him, roll him over on his belly, and fuck his ass. This was the first time anyone other than the master sergeant had fucked him. Rod took Vince’s hard-charging prick into his guts, let himself be rammed again and again, because he was dedicated to his mission. Vince’s hoarse breathing and excited whispers filled Rod’s mind as the rugged Marine punk screwed the All-Marine champion wrestler, screwed Rod’s ass as if it were a prize Vince had earned. “Yeah, Rod! Yeah, buddy—I’m fucking you like you fucked me! Fuck, yeah!”
“Shit!” Rod repeated to himself. Slouched back in his chair, as he pushed a foot back into his sweatpants, he looked down at his sizeable, half-hard cock arching back toward his flattened belly, and he exhaled deeply, fumbling his sudden-churning balls. “Vince was sure a hot little punk!”
With a grunt, Rod stood, finished pulling up his sweatpants, and sauntered toward the door. By the time he reached the locker room beyond, his prick had softened again.
The room was deserted and neat, lockers carefully closed, soiled towels piled in laundry containers. That was the first lesson Rod always taught his wrestlers: Keep the fuckin’ locker room squared away, or I’ll paddle your asses, and the first kid who screwed up got Rod’s Marine Corps belt laid across his bare ass while the others watched. A little of that discipline, and these punks shaped up fast!
“I wonder if Pete’ll be any good at handin’ out the discipline when he’s captain,” Rod murmured as he dropped his sweatpants. “Gonna have to find a way to keep his ego in check, though—keep him humble.” Rod stepped out of his pants, and tossed them across a bench. Naked, he started down the tiled corridor to the shower room. Then he glowered at the sound of gushing water. “One of those damn punks left a shower runnin’!” This breach of discipline was almost a personal insult.
He stormed to the shower area and paused in the doorway to the room, and he could not restrain a grin. A husky, dark-haired wrestler was scrubbing himself beneath one of the sprays: Mac, the kid Pete was so hot to break in. “Hey, Mac. What’re you doin’ around here this late?”
“Hi, Coach Rod.” He met the man’s gaze for an instant, then flicked his eyes across the coach’s burly nakedness openly. “I did some extra time in the weight room. You went easy on us in practice, and I figure I needed to build up the muscles.”
Saying he had gone easy on his wrestlers? Rod wondered if this was playful sarcasm or outright disrespect.
Rod started the shower opposite, doused himself under the spray, and began soaping. He stared at Mac from the corner of his eye. Hell, time never ceased to amaze him: he coached these kids nearly every day, and all of a sudden he would realize one of them had grown up almost overnight! Mac’s black hair was short-clipped, and his features were maturing strong and hard, his narrowed eyes caught between thick brows and high cheek bones, his lips set in a constant, almost mocking grin. He was nearing Rod’s height, and his shoulders and arms were lined with thick, powerful muscles. His broad, full-curved chest was sprinkled with wisps of dark hair; large, amber-brown nipples stood hard at each side. His swarthy tan came to a sudden halt low on his trim, paler hips, and his heavy genitals dangled loosely between his bulging thighs. Mac was in his junior year. Here he was turning from a teenager with a big dick into a man with a big dick practically right before Rod’s eyes.
Once again, Rod thought of Vince. Yeah, Mac was kinda like Vince: same torso shape, similar coloring, and definitely similar in the way he was hung!
“You like wrestlin’, Mac?”
“Damn right!” He faced Rod, soaping his left arm and pit. “I’m going to be team captain this year.”
“Oh, is that so? What if I said Pete’s in line ahead of you.”
“He’s a senior and graduates at the end of this year. I’m a junior, and I’ve still got another year to go after he graduates. You can get one year of service out of him, or two years out of me.” Mac rubbed his palms downward over the flat curve of his belly, and he began lathering his cock and balls lazily. “I’m going to be as good a wrestler as you. Better, maybe.”
“Maybe.” Rod alternated his gaze from the youth’s eyes to his crotch, watching the thick fingers stretch and stroke the wide-shafted prick and potent nuts. “It takes trainin’ and dedication to be team captain or more. Marine-type trainin’.”
“That’s what you’ve been giving Pete?”
Rod raised an eyebrow. The whole team, even the new guys by now, knew hypnosis was part of their training. They also knew the inner circle of the Coach’s best athletes were singled out for additional, secret training. What did Mac know? Or more to the point, what did Mac think he knew? Rod decided to be noncommittal. “Yeah,” he said. Facing Mac, he began soaping his own dick, remembering how he had shoved it iron-hard into Pete’s willing asshole a short time earlier. “Why?”
“I’m going to pin that son of a bitch before he graduates,” Mac answered quietly. “I’m going to pin Pete to the mat and bust him in the balls the way he did me this afternoon.”
Rod sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes to find the teenager watching him wash himself, two naked men alone and showering only few feet apart. Mac’s gaze was like Vince’s had been, intense, half hero-worship and half defiance, plus that damn steady grin.
“Are you saying you want me to train you, kid?”
“Yeah. I want to be part of your inner circle. I want to be team captain. And I want to beat Pete’s ass in the ring.”
“You sure you want that? There’s a lot of special training involved. It’s gonna make everything you’ve seen before seem like a walk in the park. I’m gonna bust you like a fucking recruit, an’ you’re gonna do what I say.” Rod thumb-stroked his heavy ball sack openly. “About everything. No matter what.”
“I can take it. If Pete could handle the training, I can too,” Mac said with a shrug, and he turned to rinse under the shower. Over his shoulder he announced, “Hell, maybe I’ll end up pinning you before I graduate, Coach!“
Rod chuckled. “Dream on, punk!”
Rod watched the husky teenager, evaluating. Solid shoulders. Wide, muscle-ridged back. Trim, tight little bubble-butt. Built like a champion with an ass that begged to get fucked! Yeah!
Rod finished showering and sauntered into the towel room to dry off, and Mac followed a moment later. The chunky stud looked like he had been working up a hard-on, and Rod frowned, pawing his crotch with a towel. “Beat your meat much, Mac?”
“Shit, all the guys jerk off.” With no trace of embarrassment, the youth grabbed a towel and started wiping his powerful arms. “Is that the Marine-style training you gave Pete? Sex lectures about the dangers of masturbation?”
“You’re a cocky bastard,” Rod muttered, watching Mac turn away and bend forward to dry his legs, his slick ass gleaming in the fluorescent lights. “Ever suck cock? Get fucked?”
Mac’s head snapped up but he did not turn or look around. “Hell, no!—I don’t get fucked!”
“You will, punk!” Rod spun his towel into a rope, aimed with sureness, and snapped the cloth with a hard thwap against the youth’s upturned buttocks.
“Son of a bitch!” Mac straightened and spun around to glare at Rod, eyes blazing. “What the—”
“You just got your first trainin’ lesson,” Rod growled. “You left the shower runnin’. That’s against my rules, and you know it, punk.”
“Yeah,” Mac muttered, still glaring, tough and defiant. “I know.”
“So go turn it off, asshole. Now! Before you piss me off.“
Mac pulled in a slow breath, and then he spun on his heel and tromped toward the shower room.
Rod noted the youth’s cocky gait and the abrupt rise and fall of his slick, round butt—and the pink towel-welt on one cheek—and he grinned to himself. Yeah, that fucking punk left the shower running on purpose, just to see if he could get away with it!
“I’m gonna break you in, Mac,” he murmured. “Just like I did with Vince! An’ you’re gonna end up gettin’ my prick shoved up your butt, and lickin’ my balls, and suckin’ my cock, just like Vince did, and you’re gonna love it. I’ll make double-ass sure of that, punk.” He felt a rush of heat in his crotch, and he fingered his genitals proudly.
Mac would not break quickly, not the way Pete had. Shit, the days of the hard drills had hardly begun before Pete was practically begging to take Rod’s dick up his damn ass! But Mac would not give in easy. Yeah, breaking him might take weeks—months, maybe. Plenty of extra duty and work-outs. Wear him down mentally and physically until he was too exhausted to keep up the fight. Finally have him strip and bend over to get fucked, cursing and raging and—
“So what’s the training schedule, Coach?” Mac asked as he tromped back into the room, still defying Rod with his eyes.
“Be here first thing in the momin’, 5:30 sharp. We’ll do some track work before you go to classes. An’ there’ll be overtime for you after regular practice.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t plan nothin’ for the weekend neither. I’m giving you a cross-country run through in the boondocks.” He kept a steady gaze on the rugged, cock-swinging youth as he finished drying off. “Change your mind about tryin’ to make team captain?”
“Hell, no!” He looked Rod over slowly, head to toe, his eyes showing a conflict of admiration and challenge, and he stared at the man’s huge prick and balls. “You’re a damn big guy, Coach Rod, big all over.”
“So’re you.”
“I’m not scared of you.” Mac wet his lips, and his voice was quiet and honest. “You train me right, and you’ll be real proud when I’m good enough to be captain.”
“That’s what you want?”
“Yeah.” The jock was thoughtful and serious, still sneaking glances at Rod’s dangling genitals. “I want you to be proud ... and I want to be a champion wrestler, like you.”
Rod nodded. “Now you sound like a fuckin’ Marine recruit!” Hypnosis was a start. Physical training was a start. But the hard drills were special. He remembered all those punks he’d broken in. Most of them had given in really easy, except for Vince who had fought back and—
“Okay, punk!” He slammed his towel on the tiled floor at Mac’s feet, snatched up his sweatpants, and turned to stride from the room. “Square away this place before you leave, kid! That’s an order!”
Chuckling to himself, Rod headed for his office to get dressed.
Damn. He had a whole team of dedicated wrestlers. Hypnotizing and training them was always a rush. Breaking in the select few was an even bigger rush. Mac might be as good as Vince, once he was broken in. And then there was Pete, who would make sure Rod got the head coach contract.
Yeah, Rod thought to himself, I got it made!