Fall hung in the crisp air as the Rangers once again triumphed over their rivals to win their division and get into the playoffs. The tiny dot on the map was once again excited about their local football team as this was the third time in as many years they had gotten here; another chance at glory. Chants of “Rangers Rule” echoed into the night as what seemed like the entire town exited the field on this crisp October night. In the parking lot, a lone car sat watching the hordes leave. This was his opportunity and he intended to make the most of it
Billy Logan had known his sexuality since he was three. He came out to his parents in 9th grade. They weren’t too keen on the idea at first, but soon realized their son was struggling. Their full support came readily at that point, as did that of most of the small Midwestern berg. He blossomed into quite the handsome young man, not particularly large at 5’9 and 160, but his taut physique was quite attractive. He sported a thick shock of light brown, absolutely straight hair and light mocha eyes, the only blemish being a slight case of rosacea on his cheeks, the light redness barely noticeable.
He was quite popular with everyone in school…until last year, when the Dillons moved to town. Their son, Bryce, a massively built football player who tried out for and won the coveted position of center on the football team bullied the young man constantly. It was relentless, and so intense that some of the class who had been his champions backed off, fearful of the powerful young man and his temper. That left the poor gay young man to face this abuse alone, many of his peers turning their back on him. He didn’t blame them; after all Bryce Dillon was a huge, scary individual. Instead his growing anger seethed toward the anger-consumed football player and he began to hatch a plan for revenge.
As he sat in the rapidly emptying parking lot, he thought about what his plan might be. He was so deep in concentration that it took him a moment to realize that everyone was gone. The only cars left in the lot besides his were Bryce’s and Coach Bartholomew’s. Seeing as how the young athlete had played this evening, it wasn’t a surprise they were the only two left. The team won the game in spite of Bryce’s performance, not because of it. Drawing a deep breath, the young man exited the car, the cold steel of the pistol pressed against his lower back, tucked into the light blue jeans, hidden under the white patent leather belt and his red hoodie. He strolled towards the door that accessed the locker rooms, still thinking about what his plan would be. Grabbing the door handle, he pulled it open…
Coach Bartholomew had chewed the young center’s ass up one side and down the other. He was the second most important person on the field. Only Trent Unruh, the quarterback, had a more prominent position on the team. It was Bryce’s job not only to open a hole for his quarterback, but direct the offensive line. He had failed miserably at both. He went on for some time before falling into silence; the young athlete hanging his head in shame. Indeed, he had failed so badly his uniform was almost in the same pristine condition as he had donned it pre-game; the white jersey with 58 in orange lettering and brilliant white pants still gleaming as if they had just been laundered.
Given the chance, the young athlete explained that the ankle injury he had sustained in the previous game two weeks prior had caused him considerable pain, enough so to warrant a prescription for a potent opioid, the drug helping greatly with managing his considerable discomfort, but causing his system to pretty much close down. He sheepishly told the coach he was bloated and totally plugged up because of it, causing Coach Will to immediately back down on his rhetoric. He felt empathy with the young athlete, not only because his own system was pretty whacked up at the moment, but he could imagine trying to give 100% in that situation. They did both get a chuckle out of an embarrassing admission that every time he bent over to hike the ball, he blasted a fart on Trent Unruh’s hand. Trent, aka the Golden Boy was a blonde, stunning athlete, but he was somewhat of a priss about certain things. The visual of him getting farted on throughout the whole game was humorous to both of them.
Bryce stood, telling Coach that he was headed to the bathroom to try to dislodge the beast in his backside, Coach Will, wishing him luck, watched the massive brunette with the squinty eyes exit the office, his bubble strutting out of the room. He could not take his eyes off one of the most majestic butts he had ever seen. Knowing that just under that thin white material, a battle was raging caused a reaction in his pants over which he had no control.
Twelve years ago, Will Bartholomew had been the star quarterback at the same school, leading his team to two victories. The ensuing 12 years had led to a whirlwind of activity and discovery. He married in college, the union lasting barely a year. Getting his teaching degree in history, he decided to return to his hometown, hoping to land the head coaching job and bring glory back to the small village. In that he had succeeded, but found obstacles in his own life.
He had maintained the strong physique of his youth; indeed he could still don the uniform he wore so proudly in high school. His sandy hair had thinned, but otherwise the strong square-jawed faced still turned heads. The young women who ogled him didn’t captivate him at all. He began to admit he was drawn to masculinity. There was no outlet for him during the school year, but on extended vacations and during the summer, he drove two hours to the city and explored the gay scene. He had a bevy of men there that he connected with on these visits. No one in this town could know, however. He realized they condoned Billy Logan, the young homosexual tormented by one of his star players, but he wasn’t sure the town could accept the same of their star coach, so he remained silent…
The handsome coach was so engrossed in his thoughts he didn’t even see the young man warily enter the locker room. He wasn’t aware of another presence until the young man came through the door of his office. Looking up, he was surprised to see Billy, the youngster as out of place in this environment as Coach would be in the pottery class.
“Billy, what brings you…” that was all he got out before the frantic looking young man reached behind him, swinging the revolver around, pointing it directly at Will. The young man trembled as he realized he was all in at this point. Coach, in his own shock, tried to mediate the situation. “Billy…what are you doing, son?” “Where is he, Coach?” “Calm down, son.” “WHERE IS THAT SON OF A BITCH, COACH!” The young man had lost all patience and it showed in his rapid escalation. His eyes were wild, darting around the room, soaking in everything; trying to figure out why he was there and what his plan was going to be.
“He’s in the bathroom…” Coach was trying to defuse the situation by explaining it to the wild youngster in front of him. “He’s had some…problems since his ankle injury, which is why he didn’t play as well as normal tonight. The pills he was taking backed him up pretty good.” Will hoped this would make the madman in front of him realize this wasn’t the time or place to be in this situation. Billy absorbed the information given to him for a moment. Suddenly, his expression changed. He realized how to use this to get what he wanted.
The armed youngster moved closer, brandishing the gun with a renewed energy. “Stand up, Coach.” Will started to protest, but the tormented teen wasn’t having it. “I SAID, STAND UP BITCH…NOW!” Realizing how serious Billy was, Coach complied, raising his arms in the air. The young man, still pointing the gun at him moved towards the file cabinet, snatching the bundle of zip ties off the top, these used to hang banners for the football team around the school. Waving the gun at the older man, he motioned him out towards the locker room. Billy pressed the gun into the back of the hunky coach as they exited the office.
Billy directed coach to the far wall, opposite his office. The lockers wrapped in an ‘L’ around the locker room. Behind the wall they approached was the entrance; in front of the lockers, a wood bench wrapped around about three feet in front of them, secured by metal pipes to the floor. Coach was directed to the center of that short run of bench, his wrists zip-tied behind his back; his left ankle zip tied to the metal post securing the bench to the floor. Billy pushed the older man down onto the bench, waving the gun in his face. “I’m not going to gag you, Coach, but I strongly suggest you be quiet…unless you want that prick’s brains spattered all over the stall.” The older man nodded silently, watching the young man cross the room towards the bathroom, prepping the next zip tie for the athlete straining in the toilet stall, regretting in his helpless state that he hadn’t taken to the bathroom himself when Bryce did, his own need pressing strongly inside his tan dress slacks, his bladder needing to release the sports drinks he had downed during the game.
The young man entered the bathroom area. Ahead of him were the showers and to his left, the bathroom stalls, urinals and sinks. The third stall door in was closed and he could see the white football pants around strong ankles. He grinned as he approached the next stall and entered, the young athlete so engrossed in his battle, he didn’t even realize someone else had entered the space. Billy stepped up on the toilet, leaning over the divider, the massive footballer hunched down on the pot, pushing with everything he had in him, trying to get his logjam moving. He was almost to the point where it was going to start moving on its own, when he heard a voice overhead.
“Hello, Sunshine,” the voice echoed from overhead. The burly athlete was so engrossed in dislodging the monster stuck in his ass he wasn’t aware someone was staring down at him. The sudden intrusion into his private space caused him to clench up, involuntarily squeezing the mass back into his rectum. Looking up, he saw the face of the school fag looking down at him. “What the…get the fuck out of here, you pervert!” He was more than pissed as he was so close. “Go get your jollies somewhere else, you sick-o.” He returned to the business at hand, believing that his demeanor had scared the young man as it had so many times before. He bore down, just getting the mass to his pucker yet again, when he felt cold steel pressed against the top of his head.
He looked up to see not only the barrel of a gun inches from his head, but the face of someone who had taken enough crap. Billy’s eyes were angry, tortured and almost black with defiance. The massive athlete realized at that moment that the young man standing over him was in total control. He also knew that the young man was no slouch when it came to firearms; he had been at the gun range many times and seen Billy blast the bulls-eye out of a target. The tormentor was suddenly the tormented and he knew it.
“Whoa Billy, take it easy.” He raised his arms up in surrender, hoping to diffuse the angry teen standing defiantly over him. Billy’s response was monotone, his eyes fixed. “I suggest you pinch that thing in, stand up and get dressed…NOW!” Bryce, truly fearing for his life at the hands of this newly created madman, complied standing painfully, pulling the white football breeches back up, re-tucking his jersey and tying the laces of his pants. “Open the stall door and turn you back to it. Put your hands behind your back, crossing you wrists.” Frightened out of his wits, the now submissive center did as he was told. Standing at the stall door, he felt the loop of hard plastic slipped over his wrists and pulled much too tight, grimacing as the zip ties squeezed his wrists brutally together.
“Damn, boy, I gotta say that is one fine pair of cakes you got there. Mind if I touch them?” He emphasized his ‘request’ with the thrust of the barrel into the athlete’s back. “No,no,” was the unconvincing reply, influenced entirely by the cold steel pressed against him. Billy’s left hand massaged the massive spheres of the toned butt, feeling the heat coming through the thin material. After the assault, he ordered the center to turn around.
Reluctantly complying, he looked down at a person who was once his victim, now almost standing larger than life, in complete control of the situation at hand. The young man shoved the barrel of the gun into the larger man’s toned mid-section. “Out to the locker room…” he commanded softly but forcefully, Bryce complying without question. As they moved through the doorway to the main space, Coach Will realized what was happening, the look on his face one of fear and horror. “Billy, please…” he started before he was shut down. “Coach, don’t say a word,” the young man fired back. He pushed the athlete towards the center of the main row of lockers, sitting him down in the middle and zip-tying his ankle to the support. Billy stepped back to survey what he had just done, a smile of revenge curling his lips.
The target of this operation sat directly in front of him, squirming uncomfortably on the bench. Coach Bartholomew was restrained to Billy’s left, facing the frantic athlete’s right side. The young gay was in control and took this moment to soak it all in. He had to escalate it, make it soak in that he meant business.
Moving towards the hamper, Billy dug through it, piles of dirty uniforms and jockstraps filling the smelly bin. He finally found what he was after; a stinky jock with ‘T Unruh’ in black marker along the waistband. Digging it out, he placed the undergarment to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Ah, Trent Unruh, our golden boy; he obviously worked his ass off tonight, unlike some people.” Staring at the restrained center in front of him, he grabbed a role of white athletic tape and walked over to the struggling football player, Bryce sensing what was about to happen and fighting against it.
Approaching the squirming young man, Billy forced the gun to his temple. “Open your mouth!” Bryce was sobbing at this point, shaking his head side to side. The cold barrel pressed to his head made him reluctantly open his mouth, the sweaty, stinking jockstrap shoved into his mouth, a few passes of athletic tape around his head sealing it in place. The athlete gagged at the acrid undergarment in his mouth, one of Trent’s pubic hairs tickling the roof of his mouth. Billy stood back, admiring his handiwork. The huge athlete squirmed in absolute desperation, his massive dump pressing forcefully at his backside. Coach sat to his left, also struggling, trying to advocate for the player whose voice was silenced by a smelly jock. It was right where the young man wanted it to be.
As the hunky footballer struggled, Coach begged the young man. “Billy, please, he needs to use the bathroom…ugh, we both do.” The young man was unimpressed. Sauntering over to the restrained older man, he leaned in. “Listen close,” he said with forceful determination, “that bitch over there has humiliated me for over a year, and you condoned it. Maybe it’s time for you both to humiliate yourselves. As a matter of fact, I think I should be filming this.” He turned, whipping out his phone and starting to record the events unfolding before him.
The massive player squirmed frantically, tears streaming down his strong, handsome face as his need washed over him. He scooched around on the wood bench as much as the restraints would allow, his beautiful face begging for help. His mentor watched the interaction, his own need becoming more dire by the second. Despite that, the helpless desperation of the beautiful young man began to affect Coach and he felt his cock stiffen in his slacks, despite the almost overwhelming need for a piss.
Suddenly, Bryce grimaced loudly, rising to his feet and spreading his legs, the intense cramps in his belly not allowing him to stand totally straight. Slightly hunched over, he cut two small blasts through the thin material, grunting loudly as his massive log began to pass through his tortured pucker. From his vantage, Coach Will watched as the perfect semi-circular buns of the handsome player were suddenly deformed by the introduction of a mass pressing into the white stretch-y material. The boy bore down painfully as the turd was slowed by the resistance, forcing him to push with every ounce of strength, his ass stretched to its limit as he slowly birthed the huge log.
Bryce continued to shake his head, his beautiful eyes pleading with his captor for help, even though it was far too late for any effective assistance at this point. It took almost a torturous minute-and-a-half for the young man to painfully push the entire load into his uniform, the thin material hiding nothing; every single lump on obscene display. Billy had moved around to the athlete’s left side, filming the unfolding accident with horny glee from this angle so as not to block Coach’s view of what he, himself was about to experience.
Finally, it was over; the humiliated athlete hung his head in shame, crying softly. “Damn buddy, watching that has got me all boned up.” The young tormentor continued to film as he tucked the gun back into his waistband, reaching over and softly caressing the huge bulge contained in the crisp white breeches. “Coach, what do you think about all…oh, it looks like I’m not the only one cranked by this” Billy smirked as he looked over to where the older man sat, his huge erection bulging graphically out of his dress slacks, his face reddened not only by need, but embarrassment at his predicament.
“Looks like Coach’s secret is out,” he noted sarcastically. Turning to the restrained teen, he stated, “As his player, I think it’s your duty to take care of that for him; after all he is your superior.” The young athlete shook his head violently at the suggestion, knowing he had no choice in the matter.
Reaching into his pocket and retrieving the folding knife contained in it, he cut the zip tie holding the player’s leg to the bench and tore the tape off his mouth, the young man spitting the jock strap out disgustedly. He shook his head, pleading with his captor not to make him do this, even as he was pushed at gunpoint over to the older man. “Stand up, Coach,” he demanded. Rising, Coach pleaded softly, “Billy…please don’t do this,” the response to this was to shove the athlete to his knees, an evil grin on his face as he reached out to Coach’s zipper, pulling it down and fishing his hardness out of the opening, then pulling his balls painfully through.
“Suck it,” he demanded, pressing the barrel to Bryce’s head, the captive sub complying almost eagerly, taking the large member into his mouth and going all the way down, coach and Billy exchanging a surprised look at the apparent ease with which the young man expertly serviced the older man. “Looks like someone else here has a secret,” the young man stated obviously. “What’s the deal, boy? You done this before? You got a thing for Coach, here?” The athlete nodded, continuing his expert blow job. “You fucker; you been harassing me for a year and all the time you had a hard-on for your coach! I ought to blow your brains out right here!”
Pulling off the engorged dick, the humiliated man hung his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I know I’ve been a hypocrite. I’ve fantasized about this since day one.” He looked up at coach, his brown eyes almost puppy-like before resuming, Coach gasping as the massive athlete serviced him. “Well, I’ve got to give it to you,” Billy responded. “You certainly got good taste; I don’t think you could pick a better looking guy to be attracted to. I’ve had that fantasy a few times myself.” He smiled as he stared at the blushing older man. He had them both right where he wanted them.
Suddenly two things happened; a loud grimace by Will and the young cocksucker pulling off the older man’s dick, spitting onto the floor. Billy saw the droplets of piss dripping off the end of the panting coach’s member. Laughing cruelly, he used his torso to push the boy’s face back onto the leaking cock, while at the same time jamming the barrel of the gun into the older man’s waistband, the sudden jolt causing Coach to gasp as his bladder suddenly released.
Billy held the boy down on the piss-spewing member. “When your Dom has to piss, it’s your duty to drink it!” His body held the center’s face in place, the piss spraying forcefully down the choking young man’s throat. Tucking the pistol once again into his waist, he used the one free hand to grab coach by his belt as he relieved himself down his player’s throat, the lad struggling to swallow, pale yellow fluid running down his chin and onto his jersey.
Suddenly, the 30-year-old man grimaced loudly, his rectum no longer able to contain the hard feces pushing brutally at his sphincter. As his piss ebbed, his backside began to kick into action, the massive load stacking into his dress slacks, filling his shorts with a solid pile of shit. Billy pivoted the freshly befouled man halfway around, forcing the kneeling sub to crawl around and shove his face into the freshly soiled slacks, making him inhale the acrid scent before continuing his fellatio on the throbbing member. Bobbing his head expertly up and down the coach’s member caused the older man to lose control, spraying his seed down the young man’s throat, the massive athlete swallowing it hungrily.
Their captor continued filming as all this occurred, catching the eagerness of both parties and their shame at their respective secrets being not only revealed, but captured on video. Billy turned the kneeling man around to face him, reaching down and undoing his jeans, pulling out a very generous endowment, the kneeling pig hungrily slurping down the new meat throbbing in front of him, bringing the youngster to orgasm in mere minutes, swallowing every drop of his copious release.
Re-dressing himself, the young fag reached down and grabbed the large player under the arms, pulling him to his feet and lowered himself in front of the stinking athlete. With his teeth, he undid the ties on the bulging white breeches, pulling a painfully average penis out of the athletic cup contained within the player’s jockstrap. “Huh,” the young man observed. “I guess your backside is your calling card. You definitely got the looks and the ass; I guess two out of three ain’t so bad.”
Billy sucked the trembling athlete’s member into his mouth, blowing him with expertise. Within a minute, the handsome player shuddered as he lost control, shooting his spunk onto the kneeling man. He may not have been blessed with size, but he certainly made up for it in sperm production. Billy allowed the first two blasts to hit him in the face before sucking the spastic member back into his mouth, swallowing the ensuing five shots from the trembling center.
Smiling broadly as he rose, Billy walked over to the hamper and retrieved a used towel, wiping the sperm off his face with it before dropping it on the floor. He approached each man, cutting the restraints with his knife, the men rubbing their sore wrists as they stood silently, humiliated at the scene that had just unfolded. Waving his phone at them, he made a proclamation. “I got all this on tape. I will keep it for personal enjoyment and not let anyone else see it if you…” pointing to the massive center “…leave me alone; I mean it Bryce, no bullying, no comments, nothing.” The young Dillon nodded, hanging his head. “Coach, you make sure to keep him in line and I will keep both your secrets. One slip-up though and a lot of people at this school will see parts of this. I don’t think either of you want that.” With that, the youngster who just reclaimed his life turned and exited the room.
Both men stood silently for a moment. Bryce looked sheepishly at his coach, not sure what to do or say. Coach Will smiled weakly at him and the youngster waddled over, the two men embracing, the younger man crying on Coach’s shoulder. “That’s why we left my last school,” he admitted through wracking sobs. “My last coach caught another player fucking me in the shower. He kicked both of us off the team. My parents wanted me to have a shot at a scholarship so they moved here. I’m sorry, coach.”
Coach held the younger man’s beautiful face in his strong hands, staring into those stunning brown eyes. “Look, I had a secret too. I haven’t been honest with anyone around here for the sake of my career. It’s kind of comforting that someone else knows. It’s funny; in a way Billy has had it so much easier than either of us; he’s been able to be himself. We both had to hide because of this damned macho environment we live in.” Bryce absorbed that thought before nodding weakly in agreement.
Looking into Coach’s face, the young man leaned in, kissing his mentor passionately. Will allowed this to happen this once. After all, considering what had transpired this evening this act seemed almost tame by comparison. Returning the kiss, he ran his hand down the athlete’s back to his beautiful deformed backside, cupping the mass contained in it. The youngster responded in kind, feeling coach’s mounded slacks, their dicks rubbing together as they embraced. Pulling off his prized player, Coach looked him in the eye, a serious demeanor falling over him. “That’s the only time, son. When you graduate next May, maybe then we can explore something further, but until then, it’s all business; got it?” Bryce nodded as the truth sank in. They would have to go back to pretending at least for the next half-year or so.
Coach motioned to the showers. “Go on, son; go clean up. I’ll wait until you’re done…Go on.” Number 58 turned, waddling towards the shower as Coach Bartholomew returned to his office, re-tucking himself into his slacks as he did. He stood by the desk, leaning on the wooden surface as he heard the showers kick off. The boy sauntered back into the locker room, opening his locker and dressing himself in black trackies and a black hooded pullover, sitting on the bench where he had been restrained only an hour or so ago to lace up his sneakers. After reaching into his locker to retrieve his backpack, he turned, staring silently into the office, locking eyes for a long moment with his coach, his mentor and he hoped eventually, his lover. They spoke volumes through a silent stare before Bryce turned, walking slowly out into the cold night.
Coach entered the dressing area outside the shower. On the floor, a white uniform lay in a pile. Coach picked up the pads, jersey and cleats, returning them to where they belonged. Returning, he bent over, picking up the breeches and jock, still mounded with a massive pile of waste. He brought the white material up to his face, inhaling the intoxicating stench of the boy’s accident, the outside of the material still brilliant white, the mass so dry and hard it left no stain.
Undressing, he sauntered into the shower, moving to the same shower
head the boy had used to clean himself. Washing the evening off his body, he dried himself, fetching a pair of sweats and a tank top out of his locker. After dressing himself, he retrieved a garbage bag to place the fouled clothing in to take home and launder, washing away what had occurred earlier. Donning a jacket, he flung the bag over his shoulder, pausing at the entrance and looking back into the locker room before snapping off the lights, plunging the secrets contained in those walls into silent darkness.