A Good Citizen
by Wrestlr
5.
In the late afternoon, Joe strolled across the campus toward the gym. He was set to graduate in just a couple of months, and he already had received notice of the appointment date for his Civil Security registration, where he would be evaluated for his stud-rating, issued his adult identification card, assigned his own apartment and job, and given his very first Attitude Adjustment treatment. Yeah, he thought with a grin, no more school and no more living in the damned crèche. Yeah, he was practically out of there already; soon he would be adjusted and all adult-aloof, no longer at the mercy of these hormone-driven emotions he felt so intensely—too intensely, maybe.
He wondered how many times he had headed for the gym after school lately. Yeah, he had gotten his rocks off with plenty of guys in plenty of places, but he liked the old shower room best—horny young studs hopping around all soaped up, getting turned-on and showing off their rigid dicks, maybe wrestling together to see who was stronger, jerking each other off, sucking. Shit, Joe had had his share of blow-jobs, and he himself did not mind going down on a rugged, demanding athlete now and then either.
Maybe Vince would be there today.
Vince was a real rough-and-tough son of a bitch, and he had surprised the hell out of Joe by wanting to sixty-nine. That had been a really wild experience, Joe remembered, getting Vince’s load and shooting his own down Vince’s throat seconds later.
Joe entered the gym and went directly to the team locker room, and his prick tingled with excitement as he stripped. Yeah, all he had to do was think about sex and his dick began to get ready.
Naked, he strode down the tiled corridor to the showers. The room was empty. “Dammit!” Hell, maybe some of the guys would show up soon.
Joe flicked on a shower tap, adjusted the temperature, and stepped beneath it, wetting down completely, and then he began lathering himself with soap. His palms rubbed over his wide, strong shoulders; muscular arms; the increasing hair around his cock and on his broad, firm-arched chest; hard-tipped nipples; washboard-firm stomach; heavy-shafted, dangling cock; heated balls. Joe started to reach down and—
“Hi, Joe.” A blond, swimmer-built youth was entering the room, Joe’s age, bronzed and prick-swinging naked. “What’s new?”
“Nothing. How about you, Steve?”
“Coach is pissed at me. He keeps giving me extra laps in the pool.”
“Tough shit, pal.”
Steve was the star of the swimming team, and Joe could not help grinning as he remembered that time the kid had hustled into the showers after school, wide-eyed and virgin-innocent when he realized he was interrupting a circle-jerk. And the guys had jumped Steve and held him. Steve had gasped and cursed and laughed, thinking this was a game; and it was in a way, just not the type Steve had thought; and he got really quiet really quick when his cock start to harden and he realized what was happening. He protested a little, just at first, but they had held him, jerked him off, and made him shoot his load, making him moan and cry out in pleasure as they initiated Steve’s virgin cock into their all-male world of sex-games. And Steve had sure come back for more after that.
“What’s so funny, Joe?”
“I was just thinking about the first time you found us guys messing around in here,” Joe chuckled. “You acted pissed-off as hell, but you sure shot a big load!”
“That was a long time ago,” Steve muttered, though in fact that first time had been just a few months before, and Joe decided not to correct him. Steve looked down as he started to wash himself. “It was—you know ... No one talks about that kind of thing at my crèche. Back then, I’d never thought about jerking another guy, much less doing other stuff ...”
“Yeah.” For an instant, he remembered his own first introduction—trading hand-jobs with Ron, the surprise that someone else did it, pumping the cum from his nuts—and Ron had disappeared a long time ago, nearly a year. “You haven’t been down here with us guys recently.”
“Coach has been keeping me busy. He’s been a real bastard lately.” Steve stayed hunched over, soaping his thighs and sun-bronzed legs. “And there’re other things a guy can do besides jerk.”
“Yeah?” Joe asked with a snicker, playing innocent as he fumbled his heavy prick openly. “What kind of things?”
“Things,” Steve repeated nervously, and he was obviously watching Joe’s swelling cock. “You know.”
“Maybe. You got something in mind?”
Joe could see the youth’s thick, pink-tipped dick quiver and start to rise, and Joe was nearly ready to grab the sexy swimmer and strong-arm hustle him into the towel room when he saw a burly figure appear in the doorway—crap!—the coach!
“What the hell’re you punks doing?” the man growled.
“Nothing.” Joe had spun automatically to face his shower spray and cover his surging hard-on. “Nothing, Coach.”
“Steve,” the coach ordered, “I didn’t say you could go. Get your damn ass back into that swimming pool. I want twenty-five more laps, and I want them now!”
“Uh ... Yes, sir,” Steve muttered and headed for the pool.
“Joe, you dry off and get to my office pronto.” Coach turned away. “I want to talk to you. On the double, you hear me?”
Joe obeyed automatically. He rinsed off, went into the towel room, willed his urgent cock to go soft as he dried quickly, wrapped the damp terrycloth about his hips, and hurried to the office.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?”
“That’s what I told you, punk.” He came out of the shadows. The coach was in his early thirties, with buzz-cut hair and craggy features, and he wore loose gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that outlined his mature, muscular physique. His office was plain: a desk at one side, venetian blinds closed across the window behind it, shadowed photos of school teams going back years on the walls. He moved behind Joe and snapped the door lock sharply. “You and Steve were messing around in the showers, right?”
“No,” Joe replied, thinking, Not yet anyway. “Hell, we weren’t doing anything.“
“Bullshit!” Coach peeled off his shirt, and his shoulders were broad and solid, his full-curved chest glazed with slick, black hair. “You figure on graduating in a few months, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You won’t make it if you flunk Physical Ed. I haven’t sent up your grades yet.” The coach viewed the towel-clad teenager coldly. “Understand me?”
“I—I’ve done okay ... Uh, haven’t I?”
“That’s up to me.” The coach brought one hand up to his crotch, groping meaningfully. “I’m no punk fooling around in the gym showers.”
Fascinated, Joe watched the man’s fingers rise to the drawstring at his hips and tug the knot undone, and the coach’s loose sweatpants slipped down his muscled legs. He was naked underneath, and his heavy cock swung from a broad nest of pubic hair at his crotch, the wide crown rimmed by a thick fold of foreskin.
Wait, Joe blinked, were full citizens supposed to act this intensely horny-hot, like some sex radical? “Uh, Coach—”
“You want to graduate, don’t you?” the older man interrupted pointedly. “Take off that damn towel.”
“Yes, sir.” Joe pulled the towel from about his waist and let it dangle from his grip, and his prick bobbed forward, hardening and rising in spite of himself. “I—I can’t help it ... It’s got a mind of its own sometimes ... You remember what it was like before you—?”
“Horny, huh, punk?” He studied the youth’s nakedness intently. “You’ve got plenty of meat and a damn good build. The other punks in the shower room must like that, huh?”
“We just horse around,” Joe mumbled, staring down at his rising iron. “Jerk off, stuff like that.”
“Bullshit!” the man declared. “You’re too grown up to settle for kid stuff, right?” He braced his hands on his hips. “Give me the truth!”
“Yes, sir!” Joe confessed, and the words started pouring out without strain, under orders from the demanding coach facing him. “I used to beat my meat a lot all by myself, and then I got to doing it with other guys. Then somebody told me about the shower room. I like it like that, getting stripped down all the way and messing around with a bunch of hard-up guys and—”
“Sucking cock?” the coach barked, pointing his now-rigid prick toward the Joe. “On your knees, punk! You’re gonna make love to my meat, cock-sucker! Worship it!”
Joe obeyed. He sank down and stared at the aroused cock held toward him. He gripped it and brought it to his lips. He took the tip into his mouth and tasted the heated maleness, and then he suctioned collar-deep on the powerful shaft. He looked up at the rugged, muscle-tensed coach who was stud-dominating him, and he saw the look of triumph on the man’s face. Strangely aroused, Joe ran his palms upward over the brawny, masculine naked body, and then the coach grabbed Joe’s head with both hands and jammed him all the way down on the rigid column. Joe choked, not at the size of the man’s dick but at the unexpected fury, as it drove into his throat again and again.
“Punk! Just a horny punk!” The coach pulled free suddenly and slapped his spit-glistening meat sharply across Joe’s upturned cheek. “You love sucking a real man-sized rod, right?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Joe half-whispered automatically.
“Say it! Say you love my big, hard dick!”
“I, uh, love it, sir!”
“That’s more like it,” he gloated, stepping back. “Stand up and bend over, cock-sucker. I want to screw your ass!”
“No way! Please, Coach ... I—I’ve never been fucked.”
“You’re going to do whatever I say if you want to graduate,” he reminded Joe, and he grabbed the youth’s towel and spread it over the top of the desk at the side of the room. “You can lean on this. I don’t want pecker-tracks all over my damn desk if you squirt your load.”
Joe looked at the naked, cock-hot man, then down at his own inflamed prick. He was about to graduate, and the state had already scheduled the appointment that would mark his official transition into citizenship, but that would all get delayed, maybe for months, even a year, if the coach flunked him in Phys-Ed. But what choice did he have? Joe felt numb as he moved to the desk.
The coach went to a cabinet, brought out a well-used tube of lubricant, and smeared his shaft with the ooze. Joe took a deep breath and bent forward, bracing his outstretched arms on the towel-covered desk.
“Stretch out. Lay flat,” the man ordered, “and spread your legs.”
“Yes, sir.” Joe planted his feet farther apart and sprawled forward on the desk, and he knew his virgin butt was fully exposed. “Honest, Coach, I’ve never—”
“Then it’s high time your little ass got reamed out, ain’t it.” Coach stepped up behind Joe and gripped his slim, pale ass cheeks, digging into the muscled flesh and pushing them apart. “Yeah, you’re gonna be a full-fledged citizen soon. It’s time you got a man-sized dick fucked into you!”
“Please, Coach—” Joe broke off as the blunt-crowned ram thrust against his sensitive muscle-ring, and he clenched his eyes shut at the first stab of pain. “No! Don’t! Please—it’s too big!”
“Bullshit! You’re gonna be a citizen soon. You can take it.”
“Ow!”
Coach speared the ruthless invader into Joe brutally.
“Fuck, Coach! Lemme go!”
“Take it, punk!”
“Aaagh!” Joe cried out as the man’s hard-on drove into him, and he clawed at the edge of the desk, pinned down, teeth clenched. “You son of a bitch!”
“You love my cock, remember?” the coach taunted, forcing his dick deeper into the thrashing youth relentlessly. “You loved it down your throat, and you’re gonna love it up your ass! There! You’ve got it all, punk.” He ground his crotch against Joe’s quivering butt.
Through the wall of pain, Joe heard himself make an incoherent sound.
“Get used to it!” Coach slammed down, plastering himself against Joe’s back, and his voice sounded hoarse and excited in the youth’s ear. “Now, you horny punk, I’m going to show you how a real man fucks.” He began hip-pumping ruthlessly. “Yeah, I’m going to teach you.”
Joe groaned with each penetration and he tried not to think about what was happening to him. He tried to make his body relax—he’d heard somewhere getting ass-fucked hurt worse if things tensed up back there. He was stretched out naked on the coach’s towel-draped desk, and the brawny man’s rod was hammering into his guts. Rough fingers pawed at his bared flesh, and the sex-heat lingered in his loins, but his always-ready prick had retreated into softness, dangling heavily between his spread thighs. He wondered how he could cream and leave pecker tracks without getting a hard-on. “Dammit, Coach!” he hissed, almost whimpered. “Agh! Finish it! Get it over with!”
“You want my cum up your butt?” the man growled triumphantly. “Beg me for it, punk!”
“Please ... sir,” Joe panted through the pain. “Please let me have your cum ...”
“Yeah! Damn right!”
Numb, dazed, Joe felt the coach’s arms embrace him, with the convulsing column still jammed into his tail. He was getting accustomed to the pain, and coach’s cock inside him was starting to set off a new feeling, a fullness with little sharp jolts of pleasure. But before he could decide whether he liked this new sensation, Joe felt the body-quivers of a male in climax against his back, heard the stifled howls of ecstasy, knew the man’s sperm was spurting into him, felt the man’s lips and tongue caressing his shoulders.
Joe understood the sensations his fucker was enjoying, the balls-hot explosions, the skyrocketing and the ultimate exhaustion—and Joe felt a weird pride because he, his body, had taken the coach through all that special ecstasy—and now the once-demanding man was licking and nuzzling his victim’s sweat-dripping skin—and Joe had not popped his load.
“Yeah, punk! That’s the way,” the coach muttered at last, his cock softening quickly, and he pulled back, letting it slither free of Joe’s ass. “Damn good fuck, huh?”
“Yeah,” Joe murmured drily. “Great.”
“I figured it was time you got your cherry popped.” He sauntered to the wash basin in the corner of the office and began washing, his back to the youth. “You’ll know what to expect next time.”
“Huh?” Joe straightened and grabbed the towel from the desk, wiping the grease-slick cleft in his ass, then wrapping the cloth about his waist. “What do you mean, ‘next time’?”
“Until you graduate, you’re going to bend over any time I want to plug your tail. Otherwise, you don’t graduate, right?” The coach turned, drying his shriveled prick and grinning. “You’re one hell of a stud, but from here on, you’re going to spread your buns for a man, not those other punks in the shower room. You’re going to suck, get fucked, anything I say, any time I say.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Clear out of here, punk. Go take a shower and get back to your crèche.”
Joe left the coach’s office in a daze. The first penetration of his virgin asshole had been painful and brutal, but before that, he had knelt and licked and sucked the man’s aroused genitals willingly. He recalled the way his coach had growled, Make love to my meat, cock-sucker! Worship it! Yeah, Joe had obeyed the rugged, mature stud—and he decided being bent over the desk and fucked was kind of wild, even if it had hurt like hell, especially at first.
He peeled off his towel, tromped into the shower room, and doused and lathered his nakedness. His asshole was tender and sensitive to his touch, and his balls were still working overtime, his cock plumping a bit as he remembered and threatening to go full-hard. “Shit!” he declared, wishing he had gotten his rocks off when the coach had.
“Hey, Joe!” Steve, the swimmer-built blond came hustling in from the pool, nude and dripping wet. “I thought you’d be gone by now.” He hopped under the spray, bronzed and prick-swinging. “What’d Coach want?”
“Nothing.”
“How about picking up where we left off?” Steve asked, toying with his dick meaningfully.
“I dunno. It’s getting late. I should be heading back to my crèche.” He stared at the swimmer’s cock. “You should too.”
“It’s not that late.” Steve eyed Joe quizzically for a moment, then snickered. “Hey! I bet the coach fucked you!”
“Shut up.”
“Joe got his ass screwed!” Steve chanted mockingly. “Joe got his ass screwed!”
“Shut up, dammit!” Joe glared at the young blond, then blinked as a sudden thought struck him. “How do you know about the coach?”
“Shit, he’s plugged most of the guys around here.”
“Including you?” Joe felt his cock begin to stiffen in earnest, and he reached down to finger it, grinning. “You like getting fucked, huh?”
“I—” Steve hesitated, his gaze locked on Joe’s expanding prick. “Holy shit! You’ve got more meat than Coach does. He’s always bragging about being ‘man-sized,’ but his hard-on isn’t near as big as yours.”
“I didn’t notice.” He flipped his now-rigid meat at the staring blond. “Want to spread your buns, Steve?”
“Maybe ... if you slick it up real good with plenty of lube first.”
“Sure, buddy.” He nodded over one shoulder. “Back there, in the towel room.”
Steve headed for the other room, and Joe felt a hungry eagerness grip his guts. Yeah, he was going to fuck ass for the first time!
Joe hurried after Steve. Remembering how the coach had greased himself, Joe grabbed the nearly empty bottle of lubricant someone had stashed behind a stack of clean towels for guys who liked to make their hand-jobs slick, and he applied a generous layer to his solid hard-on.
The trim young swimmer was on his hands and knees on the towel-strewn floor, blond and naked and willing, wanting it doggy-style, and Joe knelt behind him, hoping to hell that Steve would not recognize his inexperience.
“Lemme line it up for you,” Steve murmured, reaching back to grasp Joe’s slippery shaft and guide it into the narrow, shadowed cleft. “Okay, go ahead!”
“Yeah!” Joe shivered at the sensation of pressing his heated cock-head against the puckered opening, and then he thrust with sureness. His rod slithered head-deep into the clenching flesh-ring, and he gasped, fighting to control his flaring sex-pleasure. “Fuck!”
“C’mon, man,” Steve hissed impatiently. “Fuck me hard.”
Joe remembered his own pain-filled cry when the coach’s thick meat had rammed into him, and then Joe was easing forward, sliding his cock deeper and deeper, inch-by-inch, enjoying the spine-tingling experience without rushing it, deeper, all the way to the pubes around his cock-base! He looked down at the blond hunched before him and the slim, pale ass cheeks pressing against his crotch, and he reached down to run his palms over the swimmer’s shower-damp back. “Okay, Steve?”
“You bet. Screw me hard, buddy.”
“Okay. Yeah.”
Holding Steve in place, Joe hip-pumped slowly, drawing his prick back to the flange and then plunging in again, and he heard the swimmer’s pleased gasp as the potent cock filled him. Once more, Joe remembered the coach’s brutal, thrashing attack, and he wondered why the hell the man had wanted to rush anything that felt so damned good!
“More, Joe. C’mon—stop teasing and really fuck me!”
“Okay,” Joe said. He realized Steve was enjoying this as much as he was, and he rocked forward, blanketing the youth with his sweating nakedness as he continued his steady thrusts, trying to hold to a steady rhythm but finding his hips kept speeding up, as if his body craved more speed, more depth, more sensation.
“Man,” Steve sighed, shoving his butt back to meet each penetration. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Joe locked his arms about the excited blond, and he gave in to his body’s demands for more because those were his demands too, and Joe gave up caring about Steve’s pleasure. Joe thrust into that ass, deep-dicking it as quickly as he could. He did not want to rush the fuck—but, dammit, he needed to get his rocks off, as soon as possible!
Without breaking his clumsy rhythm, Joe figured out how to kneel between Steve’s spread legs. Then he managed to settle on his haunches and dragged the younger stud back to sit on his full-stiff cock. Steve’s body took over most of the motion, making his ass bob up and down on Joe’s erection, making that dick hard-ram into him. Joe ran his hands over the swimmer’s slick, broad-plated chest and tight, small nipples, then downward over his muscle-marked stomach and into his crotch. Steve’s prick was fully hard, lean and straining, and his balls were pulled up cum-tight. Joe remembered how his own cock had gone soft when Coach plowed into his virgin asshole earlier, but Steve sure did not react that way. Joe wrapped his hand around Steve’s dick and just held on, letting the jerks and thrusts of Steve’s body move his cock inside Joe’s fist.
“Fuck me!” Steve choked, thrashing in his embrace. “Yeah, man! Fuck!”
Steve’s hand wrapped around Joe’s, both of them stroking Steve’s dick. Joe felt Steve’s rod quiver in his grip, and then Steve’s cum was pouring from it, spurting and dribbling down over Joe’s fingers. The need to pop his own load overwhelmed him, and Joe hammered his prick into the young blond’s pulsing asshole. “Ah!” Then his climax was starting. The first long, intense blast of sperm! “Aw!” The second explosion—another—another—again and again and again. “Ah!” Joe slammed Steve face-down on the piled towels, and he hurtled into the total fury of his orgasm, the all-male summit, the ecstasy, then the slow and exhausted retreat, the emptiness.
Joe lay plastered against the trim swimmer’s back, holding Steve’s cum-soaked cock, his own still-firm dick locked in the youth’s tail. Joe had fucked a stud for the first time, and it had been—
“Great,” Steve murmured. “That was real great!”
“Yeah.” Joe drew a deep breath, descending to reality. “You got your rocks off, huh? So’d I.”
Steve’s head hung limp as a ragdoll’s. “I’ve never done that before, popped my load just from getting fucked. Want to do it again?”
“Right now?” Joe asked, amused.
“Anytime, Joe. Anytime.”
Now, years later, Joe’s head began to clear for a moment, and he was still under arrest, still in the interrogation room, still strapped in that damn chair, and he realized everything he had just seen and experienced was just a dredged-up memory that damned machine made him relive. Joe blinked and saw Parker’s face looking at him. He heard one of the shirtless guards say, “Yeah, it’s really got its hooks in his head now,” and Parker asked him if he was ready to confess, and Lefty said—
Joe was in his cell, lying naked on his cot while the farmer-faced youth rubbed salve on his raw wrists. “Man,” Lefty sighed. “I surely wish I’d been the one to plug your ass fer the first time. You’ve got a mighty pleasin’ little butt.”
“I don’t like getting fucked. I don’t go that route.”
“Maybe you just ain’t been fucked proper-like,” Lefty suggested eagerly. “That’s somewhat the way I felt before I met up with Chet.”
“Chet fucks you, Lefty?”
“We take turns,” he admitted cheerfully. “It don’t seem proper not to share each other.” He hesitated and wet his lips, suddenly thoughtful. “I reckon Chet’d be pleased to plow your ass, too. I’d best ask Whit if we can both hump you.”
“Forget it,” Joe muttered automatically, and then he turned his head to look up at the drawling youth. “Wait, what’s Whit got to do with it?”
“Parker says Whit’s in charge of you.” Lefty hopped to his feet abruptly. “I’d best get back to Chet. I ain’t sure whose turn it is tonight, but I do believe it’ll be mighty pleasin’, either way!”
“Lefty—”
“I reckon Whit’ll want to plug your ass before Chet and me get a chance,” he drawled, tromping toward the door. “It’s a good thing you’ve been plowed before, ’cause Whit’s somewhat large, as you know from havin’ sucked him.” He stopped in the doorway and sucked in an audible breath, then spoke softly. “Whit’ll know. He’ll know you’ve been fucked ... and I do believe he’ll know that the first time with your coach wasn’t the only time!”
Lefty left, the heavy door slide-slamming shut behind him, and Joe was in the semidarkness, rolling over on his stomach, cock-hard, remembering Whit’s sex-hot prick in his mouth, and the other times the coach in school had ordered him into the office to worship the coach’s dick and get fucked, and the times Joe had screwed Steve. Sure, Joe had told himself every time that he would never again bend over for that damn coach again, but the next time the man demanded it—well, Joe wanted to graduate, so he did it. Hell, Joe admitted, he found what the coach made him do kind of exciting, being forced to kneel in front of the burly man, licking the sweat off his balls and sucking his prick, sprawling across the desk to get his ass plowed ruthlessly, like the coach was a damned sex-rebel or something. But Joe never creamed from getting plugged, not the way Steve did.
Then one night just before graduation, the coach threw a beer-bust in the gym for the guys, and before long they were stripping down and horsing around. Damn right, Joe remembered, every stud there knew how to party!
The entire gym building was in semi-darkness except for the lights spilling in from the hallways and the nightglow from the skylights overhead, and Joe felt a weird excitement from everything: the beer, knowing he was breaking curfew by not being back at his crèche on time, the naked youths, and the freedom of knowing they would never all get together again—one last party to blow off steam together before graduation, Adjustments, jobs, the obligations of citizenship. He drifted into the shower room with some of his friends and, in spite of the dimness, he could see a couple of guys he had never seen nude and cock-hard before.
“Hey, Joe!”
A hand groped his genitals, and he grinned as he recognized the president of the student body, handsome and athletic—and not hung worth a damn. Joe groped in return and wandered away, and a couple of the guys were trading hand-jobs in the corner, snickering and showing off, just warming each other up. Joe lathered himself, and he was surrounded by horny young males, most on the cusp of citizenship like him but the coach had invited several of the younger members of the athletics teams too. Someone went down on him, and Joe shot his first load of the night, too damn fast.
Someone else palm-stroked Joe’s ass and fingered into the cleft between his buns, and Joe pulled away fast. “Knock it off!” he growled and headed for the towel room. “Fuck!”
The coach had fucked him—and when Joe reached the towel room, the beer keg was flowing, and the coach was standing there, screwing Steve, out where anyone could see. Joe dried off and had some more beer, and Vince was coming toward him from the shadows, rugged-built and looking so damn horny. Hell, they had traded blow-jobs before.
Joe sank to his knees and sucked Vince’s steel-hard prick, locked between his tree-trunk thighs, cum belching down his throat—
“Joe ... Shit, I want to fuck you!—Wanna make love to you—and—”
Joe wondered what it would be like, having Vince’s massive cock shoved up into his guts. Make love to you. And then another stud was taking Vince’s place, and Joe sucked him off.
Hell, tonight nobody gave a damn about who was doing what!
Joe grabbed more beer and wandered through the darkened gym, and naked guys were all over the place, getting their rocks off any way they wanted to. One of the younger athletes grabbed Joe’s dick in the locker room and pumped it eagerly. “Suck!” Joe ordered. “Get down there and—”
“Shit, man! I don’t do that sort of stuff!”
“You will,” Joe said wisely, grinning at the startled youth. “Before you graduate, you’ll let go and do everything.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because last year when I was your age, I was as dumb as you are. I wised up fast, and you will too,”
A couple of studs were trading blow-jobs in the shadows, maturing bodies clamped together, and Joe headed for the urinals to take a leak. Too much beer, dammit! In the tiled latrine area, a bunch of the guys were messing around in the corner. Joe ignored them and sidled up to the nearest urinal, and he had already started to pee when he saw the burly male body stretched out next to the urinal, motioning for Joe to aim his cock that way: Louie, the star of the hockey team. And Joe shrugged and figured what the hell, so he turned and pissed all over him, and Louie pulled up to lick the last droplets from Joe’s cock-head as he finished pissing.
What the hell, right?
Joe started back for where the action was, and the coach was there blocking the doorway.
“Get your butt into my office, Joe.”
“Go to hell, you son of a bitch!” He knew he was set to graduate. “No more of that shit, Coach!”
“I just want to talk,” the man murmured, slightly drunk, his gaze fixed on the naked youth.
“What about?”
“You and me. Now that you’re graduating—becoming a citizen—” He spun away. “C’mon.”
With a shrug, Joe followed, and as they went through the dim-lit locker room, he saw Vince screwing the handsome student body president in the ass. Joe wondered what being in the student body president’s place would be like, having Vince’s massive rod pushing into his hole—and, maybe, fucking Vince afterward—
Joe went into the coach’s office and heard the door close behind him, the lock snapping sharply, and then he was facing the dark, burly man.
“Okay, Coach, what’s up?”
“I want us to be real buddies,” the coach mumbled, head down. “You know ... Partners ... Sex-buddies.”
“Bullshit. That’s sex-rebel talk, Coach. You’re drunk.”
“I mean it.” Without raising his head, he put both hands on the broad arcs of Joe’s chest and stroked them slowly. “It would be damn good, you and me together.”
Joe watched the man’s fingers trickle downward over his nakedness, finally reaching his crotch and caressing Joe’s genitals for the first time, and his cock stiffened automatically. Silent, the coach dropped to his knees and ran his lips over Joe’s all-powerful cock.
Joe stared down at the mature, rugged stud, the son of a bitch who had made him suck cock, the burly bastard who had forced him to bend over across the desk repeatedly and get fucked. Now he was sucking Joe’s cock and talking about them being together—like lovers—or sex-rebels. Coach must be crazy—or too damn drunk, Joe thought, but he liked the idea of Coach being on his knees. “Make love to my meat, you cock-sucker!” Joe’s voice rasped as he repeated the words the coach had used that first time. “Worship it!“
“Yes, sir!”
The man kissed the tip of Joe’s fully hard prick, took it into his mouth, sucked, all the way to the hilt. He pulled back and tongue-lapped Joe’s tightening balls, ducked down and licked back along the flesh-ridge leading to the teenager’s butt. Joe turned around, presented his butt to Coach. Coach spread Joe’s ass cheeks and buried his face mouth-first in the youth’s tail. “Aw, man!” Joe felt ten feet tall, bulletproof, invulnerable, standing over the bastard stud who had used him for months, the man now reaming his asshole with a hot, worshipping tongue! Joe loved the feeling of superiority over the fucker who had busted his virgin ass! Joe was bossing the coach around, and he was going to work the coach over and make him beg. “On your feet, shit-face!” Joe ordered. “It’s your turn to bend over your damn desk!”
Ignoring the man, Joe went to the cabinet and got the lubricant, and when he turned back, Coach was already sprawled forward on the desk, the pale curves of his butt practically luminous in the semi-shadows. Without emotion, the youth smeared ointment on his throbbing dick and moved into position, and he did not bother to warn the muscle-tensed stud before pile-driving his cock into Coach’s exposed asshole.
The man gave a choked cry at the fierce, brutal penetration, and Joe did not give a damn. He screwed all the way into the straining flesh-ring. He copied everything Coach had done to him, and Joe cursed him and made him beg. Yeah, he was pissed off at the son of a bitch, and now he was venting that anger on his submitting coach. “Damn ass-wipe! Ass-licking coach!”
“Yeah, Joe! Anything you say!”
“Damn right!”
Joe plowed his rigid dick into his victim’s guts again and again steadily, fiercely, angrily. He corkscrewed his hips, spreading Coach’s ass-lips to their limit. He fucked as hard as he could, ignoring the man’s agonized groans. Joe was the king of Coach’s ass, and he did not give a damn, and he was getting his revenge and getting his rocks off at the same time.
After a long time and an awful lot of work, Joe finally shot his load into the stud who had been his coach and master. Big deal. All over.
Nothing.
He lay flat against the man’s back, sweating and cock-softening, and he sure as hell did not feel anything like he had when he had screwed Steve!
“Anything you say,” the coach whispered again.
“Huh?”
“Whip my ass, fuck my butt ... Anything you want, Joe.” Coach took an audible breath. “I love you, stud!”
“Bullshit!” Maybe Joe was not a full-fledged citizen yet, but he sure knew enough to understand that what Coach was saying was dangerous, illegal stuff. Joe wanted to be a good citizen, not a sex-rebel. Getting off was one thing—allowed, commendable even—and youths who had not reached the age of citizenship yet were allowed to feel strong emotions—hell, adolescence had generally been nothing but strong hormone-driven emotions and horniness for Joe—but staying partnered together as adults, citizens shacking up, forming dangerous emotional bonds—that was a different situation entirely. No, Joe wanted to be a good citizen, wanted to have the emotional distance that was the hallmark of a good citizen. Fuck ’Em and Forget ’Em, as the slogan declared.
Joe jerked his prick free and stepped back from the coach, as though fearing maybe the man’s sex-rebel ideas were contagious. But Joe could not keep from grinning as he saw the coach’s cum dribbling down the side of the desk. Yeah, the rugged bastard had gotten his rocks off right along with Joe, just from getting fucked!
Joe shrugged and sauntered from the office, heading back for the showers.
A couple of the guys were lathering each other under one of the sprays, and Joe washed up separately. His cock dangled heavily between his thighs, spent; and for once, he did not feel like messing around. He dried off and strolled to his locker, where he found Vince sitting on the bench in front of it, naked and stretching his shoulder.
“You screw the coach, Joe?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“He digs getting a big cock up his butt, and you’ve got a big one.” He stretched again. “I been plugging him a lot the last couple of months. Fucked him earlier tonight too.”
Joe staring at the muscular youth. Vince was built like a son of a bitch, tough as hell, and well-hung.
“Did the coach say he loved you, Vince?”
Vince shrugged. “Sure. So what? I think he’s just drunk.”
“After I went down on you earlier tonight, you said you loved me.”
“Crap!” Vince chuckled, and he reached up to grasp Joe’s loose-falling cock and balls. “I’m no sex-rebel. What I said was I wanted to make love to your dick ... and fuck your ass. That’s different.” He tightened his grip. “Ever sleep with a guy, Joe?”
“Hell, no!” He tried to pull away as the fingers clenched painfully. “Lemme go!”
“Graduation night, we’re going to sleep together, Joe ... And my cock’s going to make love to your ass, all night long. Right?”
“Y-yes, sir!” Joe understood Vince was repeating Coach’s spiel, but he found himself willing to go along with what the other athlete was offering. After all, Joe’s registration day and his first Adjustment Appointment had already been scheduled in a few weeks. Once he was registered and adjusted, nothing he had done before would matter. So he might as well try what Vince was offering. In a few weeks, none of it would matter any longer. Who gave a damn what a couple of horny pre-citizens did, right?
“Graduation night,” Vince repeated. He let go of Joe’s genitals and moved off into the darkness.
Joe dressed, wondering if he were making the right decision, and he went home to his crèche, sneaking in, and no one gave him any shit for missing curfew because they knew he was about to graduate; and Joe jerked off in the blackness of the crèche dorm, thinking about what spending a whole night with Vince would be like—or with Coach ... or both. Which would he choose?
But neither one of them showed up for the graduation ceremony. No Coach. No Vince.
And somehow that pissed Joe off, so intensely that the anger and horniness spooked him. He was ashamed and angry that Coach and Vince had so easily tempted him with something forbidden—furious with them, furious with himself—and now this no-show betrayal from both of them? Well, he would show those fucking assholes, right? Like the slogan said: Fuck ’Em and Forget ’Em!
The next morning, he had called the Civil Security office and begged until his registration appointment was moved up. Two days later, still disgusted by how easily he had been duped into wanting something lasting with Coach or Vince—Like some damn sex-rebel, he swore at himself—Joe tromped into the headquarters and got himself registered and stripped and stud-rated; and that damn clerk waited too long and Joe started losing his hard-on, so his stud-rating came out only an A-8 instead of the A-9 like it should have been; and then naked Joe had been led into another area and told to sit down in one of the mind-machine chairs, and the helmet moved into place, and he had his first Adjustment.
And later, after being issued his first citizen work clothes, when he went back to the crèche for the last time to pick up his few belongings as he moved into his state-assigned apartment, the other, younger guys had teased him about his adult-calm expression and ooo’ed and aah’ed their admiration of his new identification card with the A-8 stud-rating, which was still damned impressive even if it was not the A-9 he deserved—and Joe had not felt a damn thing, not about his crèche-mates, not about Coach or Vince or any of the others.
Fuck ’Em and Forget ’Em!
And Joe began his adult life as a good citizen, starting his state-assigned job the next day, and fucking studs when he was horny, no strings, no commitments, and forgetting them afterward. Then a few years later he had been arrested and taken to this damn interrogation room where he was waking up again, realizing he had been lost in remembering yet another memory, with Parker and the rest leering at him, and that damn Whit leaning against the wall and staring so inscrutably at him.