A gay sex story: Getting . . . Educated Ch. 10
I had hoped after my conference with Coach Seeman where he had commiserated with me about how badly one of his wrestlers had used me outside the gym that I would get some relief from the liberties he was permitting his guys to take with me, but no such luck. At least, though, my next team punch event day at wrestling practice was more memorable for being the day of Ben’s “loosening up” massage and for putting my escape plans further in motion than for my losing a wrestling match and getting fucked.
I lost my match during the next wrestling practice, of course, which, by Coach Seeman’s rules meant that the winner could have his way with me. This time the winner was Greg, the teasing frat boy assistant to Seeman, who was perverse enough to make me swing both my arms and legs over the parallel bars and then got on a bench under me and fucked me first from the front, my ass tipped up, and then from the back, my ass tipped back, and then back again. The trick for him was in making the transition, which he did several times, without dislodging his prick from my ass. The trick for me was to take the pressure and weight on my arms and biceps for the thirty-minute performance. The other weightlifters seemed to be quite entertained by this.
The first of the massages came after my tennis match with Ben, in which I won a set but lost the match. He hadn’t found a doctor yet and was rock hard solid again and had been so for a day, so we both agreed that the prostate procedure was the next logical step to relief. I really didn’t have to convince him to do this; he was in that much distress and he seemed to trust my intentions completely.
After our showers, I pulled on gym shorts and he wrapped a towel around himself and we went looking for the most remote massage room we could find. I had him on his back on the table in short order. We dispensed with the towel, as we agreed that the procedure would include the prostate procedure and me masturbating him, and there wasn’t much privacy involved in that. I rubbed him down real well from head to two, not touching his cock, and had him turn over. He groaned as his hard on came between him and the table and I told him it would be okay for him to raise his pelvis a bit to give him more room there. I rubbed him down on this side and then announced that he seemed to be relaxed enough for me to proceed if he still wanted to do this. He said he did.
So, taking a large gob of ointment in my fingers, I began rubbing it into his asshole, moving a finger in a bit farther with each pass. I hoped that this all seemed medical enough. When his hole had opened and his sphincter had pulled my index finger in and positioned the pad of the finger on the prostate, Ben began to moan and pant. He looked so beautiful there, stretched out on the table, that I had the urge to rise up there and just mount him. His butt was raised and inviting. But I resisted. Ben was not for me. Ben was my freedom. He “oohed” and “ahhed” as I gently rubbed and put pressure on his prostate. He also began to slowly grind the table with his pelvis, a sight that I enjoyed immensely.
“Okay, turn over,” I said. “I’m going to try to keep my finger in position.” He did and I did. His huge cock went straight up in the air. I encased it in my other hand and stroked it as I continued to milk his prostate. Cum was bubbling up and out of his dick. I felt pressure on my elbow, and a looked around to see that Ben was gripping my arm. Whether he realized it or not, he was giving me that “fuck me, fuck me now” look with his beautiful hazel eyes. It broke my heart, but I didn’t know if he realized what he now wanted from me and, regardless, he was not for me. If I’d taken him, I don’t know that I’d ever be able to deny, even to myself, what I was becoming or that I’d be able to turn him over to the coach to substitute for me in getting the education I was getting.
His pelvis lifted into the air as he ejaculated straight up – several times. He certainly did have a lot of extra jism to give. I had lost position with my finger, but when his pelvis had come back to the table, I just kept milking and semen just kept bubbling up for several more minutes. All I could think was that Coach Seeman was going to love this.
At my next tennis match with Ben, he allowed as how he wasn’t in nearly the same painfully hard condition that he had been when we’d done the prostate procedure, but he did show a bit too much eagerness to repeat the massage that day if I thought it was advisable. I wanted him at full staff for presentation to the coach, so I asked him if he could hold off until our next practice match, to which Ben almost wistfully replied that he thought he might, but he’d probably be in pretty bad shape then. I thought that bad shape, under the circumstances, was all relative and that this probably could be ideal, if I could just hang in there myself for a couple of more days.
We played tennis again the day after that. As I had thought and hoped for, after we’d played and I’d beaten him for the first time, I learned that he was in bad condition again and needed help. We both took showers, and he started back for the massage room, but I stopped him, telling him I had found a better place for him to get relief. We hurriedly both put gym shorts and T-shirts on, and I walked him across campus . . . to Dean Seeman’s office. I’d already called ahead and told the dean I was going to try to bring him a treat along about now, so I knew he’d be in his office.
No one was in the outer room when we arrived, but I could hear the low, happy whistling from inside Seeman’s office, and before Ben could ask what was happening, I propelled him into the room and beside the dean, who as usual in this office on days he had held wrestling practice, was wearing baggy gym shorts and an athletic T-shirt with deep arm and chest V’s.
As he had done with me, as soon as Ben got near enough to snag, Seeman was turning and examining and pinching and prodding him without paying any attention to Ben’s questions and yelping. When he pulled down Ben’s shorts to take a look, he let out a yelp of his own.
“Hot Damn! Will you look at that monster cock? Just look at that monster hard on. It seems a sin to give someone as good looking as this a cock to die for to. Will you look at that hard on?”
“And it stays hard most of the time,” I helpfully interjected over Ben’s shoulder.
“Well, I gotta get some of this right now,” Seeman declared. “Here, Ron, you know the stance. Get him in a good position for me.”
Vividly remembering my first day here, I remembered to get behind Ben, between him and the desk and, first, strip off my own T-shirt, then push the front of my shorts and briefs down, and then strip off Ben’s T-shirt from the back and put an arm lock on him that raised his arms over his head. Then I leaned back into the desk and brought him back with me, remembering, as Gregg had done, to get my dick running up the small of his back. I also somewhat belatedly remembered to wrap my calves around Ben’s, so he was essentially held in place until Seeman wanted to move them. Ben was moaning and whining and neither Seeman nor I paid a bit of attention to him.