A gay sex story: Str8 Turn Out Ch. 04: I’ll Do Anything
I’d do anything to delay another butt banging, but panties?
Thanks for all the comments! I truly appreciate them. You should probably read the previous chapters for this one to make sense. I hope you enjoy it.
This is a tale of male-on-male sex with some non-consensual elements including forced panty wearing as a young man comes to terms with his evolving sexuality, so if that offends, please look elsewhere.
“OK. I’m done with you. Get the fuck out.”
The words rang in my ears as I limped to my apartment. I felt so used and dirty.
Why was Coach Tyler so hard on me? I thought I had been a good boy…
I’d given him my oral virginity and could still taste his cum in my mouth. My ass was painfully sore from taking his huge cock, ALL of his huge cock up my ass! If only he had cuddled with me a while and told me that I was a good boy a few more times I wouldn’t be feeling like a dirty whore. I was actually sobbing as I took the hottest shower I could, trying to wash the shame away, then I thought that maybe I was asking too much of my new coach. I tried to focus on him gently ruffling my hair, patting my butt and telling me that I was his good boy.
What more could I expect from my new Coach, my new Master. I needed to man up and stop crying like a little bitch. There’s no crying in sports. I had to trust that Tyler was being harsh in his training to make me a good boy. I wanted so much to be a good boy that I would do whatever my big-dicked Coach commanded. He was going to be so proud of me. The next time he ruffled my hair or patted my butt and told me I was a good boy I would relish it even more because I would know that I had earned it.
I dried off, went into my bedroom and slipped into my blue nylon running shorts and a fresh wifebeater. This was my new uniform for Team Tyler. Master liked me in this outfit, and I was part of his team now. I was ready to accept his coaching and prove myself worthy of his time.
Then my eyes landed on my high school yearbook on the shelf. I pulled it down and flipped to my favorite section, pictures of my high school soccer team. It wasn’t hard to find. The book flipped open to the photos I had looked at dozens of times before. There was the usual team picture with half the guys taking a knee in the front row and the rest of us standing behind them with Coach at the end. We were all smiles, including Coach Johnson. It was hard to believe that ten years had gone by so quickly. We were like a bunch of eager puppies chasing a ball that Coach had to train to work together to reach a goal. My eyes rested on the image of my eighteen-year-old self, I was two inches shorter and about thirty-five pounds lighter back then. I wore a big goofy grin like the rest of the young knuckleheads on the team. My biggest worries back then were about getting a pimple before a date or hiding a hickey after one.
Coach Johnson stood to my right with his left arm draped around me, his hand gripping my left shoulder. I was holding the soccer ball in front of my crotch and positively beaming. For the first time I noticed that I was also leaning into Coach slightly. I slowly sat on the edge of my bed, wincing when my sore ass made contact. My cock started to tent my nylon short shorts as I studied the picture closely. It was so innocent back then, just a player and his Coach posing for a photo. Only now I found myself studying by body language like I was gazing into a crystal ball. Was it really all innocent on my part? Was I leaning into Coach for support and guidance or was I looking for something more from a man in charge even way back then? I rolled over gently onto my belly to study the picture more closely. Damn, my ass was sore! After staring at the photo close up for a few minutes, I had to admit that it was just an innocent photo at the time. However, I could not help looking for some meaning in it. What was I looking for from Coach? Both back then and now? Was I just missing those carefree days or did I desperately need a man, a Master, a Coach to…what? Guide me? Control me? Rape me? I was rock hard…
With nervous fingers I turned the page to my all-time favorite picture. It was a picture of me and Coach Johnson in my senior year. We were on the sidelines during a game, and I had always looked at it as just a great photo of me and my old Coach, but now it had an entirely different and homoerotic undertone. Screw that. The truth is, with everything I had experienced in the last few days and months, it was the hottest photo ever!
I was in the foreground in profile, my trim and less hairy body was the perfect embodiment of an athletic youth on the cusp of manhood. I had my hands on my hips with one perky butt cheek jauntily tilted towards the camera. Coach Johnson was in the background facing the camera, explaining strategy to me while I was looking out onto the field with focused concentration, taking in his every word. The smoking hot part was that Coach’s hand was in the small of my back, just above my protruding, high and tight eighteen-year-old ass!
I started humping my mattress as I drooled over the photo. The thrill of my cock sliding over my nylon shorts negating the ache in my sore ass. I hadn’t come while sucking Tyler’s cock or when being fucked, so I was desperately horny. The memories of a huge cock violating my sore throat and mouth combined with the long-ago image of Coach Johnson publicly claiming his dominant authority over me and my eager submission to his rule had me humping the mattress as hard as I could manage. I was a young pup back then and Coach was my Master. I accessed old memories of Coach patting my butt after a good play, sending me onto the field with a slap on the ass, grabbing my shoulder and whispering instructions in my ear, ruffling my hair when I came back after I had done well on a play. THAT was my happy place! Back when I was a just a happy pet, when my owner saw that I was a Good Boy! With that thought it didn’t take long for me to experience a mind-blowing orgasm, blasting a huge load of cum into my nylon shorts! As each load erupted from my balls, my sore ass clenched painfully, firing nerve endings in my core, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. I grunted in pain and pleasure until my balls emptied all they had into my soggy shorts. I collapsed with my face in the book, gasping for air, slowly nodding off into a blissful sleep.
I awoke a couple of hours later, with an urge to hit the bathroom. I felt a stabbing pain in my poor butt when I tried to move. Eventually I was able to get off the bed and waddle down the hall. Fortunately, there was no sign of blood, so I guess I was alright. My blue nylon running shorts were a sticky mess, so I tossed them in the sink with my black ones for a quick wash and hung them on the shower rod to dry. I was now down to the last white pair in the three pack. I had never worn them because I thought they looked kinda gay. I slipped them on anyway, but with the white shirt I thought they looked really gay, so I slipped on a black wifebeater. I checked out the look in the full mirror on the bathroom door. Hmm. Not bad. The black shirt was slimming and made a nice contrast to the white nylon short shorts that had more sheen than the colored ones.