Alien Culture

The Alien Culture Project, part 25 By Rio Mack

DISCLAIMER: The following contains depictions of gay sex.

Reed awoke to the sight of the face of his sleeping lover. Warm, serene bliss oozed over him. He stayed motionless, not wanting to wake Chance, so he could drink in that still, potent beauty. As incredible as Chance's body was - and it was the most erotic male torso Reed had ever seen - Chance's face was wonderfully sensual as well. His head was perfectly shaped, a fact made tantalizingly evident by the skin-close buzz he wore lately. And the face stubble gave a rugged, macho edge to his soulful, country-boy good looks (Reed's new thrill was the feel of Chance's buzz-cut and beard-stubble against his thighs and abs as Chance rimmed and sucked him with athletic abandon). His cheekbones were perfect; they led to that slight, sexy hollowness in his cheeks, then down to those full, bee-stung lips, lips he could feel gliding lusciously up and down on his stiff prick.

That face, on a body that would make the most virulent homophobe get down on his kness willingly, and Chance was Reed's dream-lover. He'd had affairs with some truly gorgeous men in his life, especially in his year abroad - Gianni, of course, and some of the boys he'd met in Gianni's circle - but Chance was not only the best-looking of them all, he had a kind of untutored depth of spirit that had captivated Reed. Reed had never believed in love before Chance. It always seemed like his life would be an endless series of men - and there was nothing wrong with that; he had a career, so the thought of 'settling down' made no sense. But he couldn't imagine life without Chance now.

Unable to help himself, he slurpily moistened a finger and traced it from the top of Chance's head, down over his forehead, across one eyebrow, down a cheek, across a lip, and by that time Chance's mouth broke into that heart-breaking, shit-eating grin of his.

"Mmmm," the sleepy boy mumbled, "this my wake-up call?"

Reed was on him instantly. They kissed breathlessly, and Chance interrupted to croak, in a voice mixed with sleep and lust, "Gonna be able to wake up like this fer the rest o' our lives. Too fuckin' much."

Reed couldn't help himself: he shot a hand down to massage Chance's ass-crack, readying his lover for the fucking he was desperate to give him.

"Wait, horndog," Chance smiled. "Let's have a quick bite to eat first. I got wrestlin' practice in less than two hours, and I wanna get some food in me now 'fore it gets too much later."

Reed lay back, too lost in love to be disappointed, as that huge, muscular frame effortlessly sprang over him. What incredible control Chance had over that massive body.

"Breakfast first," Chance grinned as he stood up, "then you can pleasure my ass all you want."

Reed smiled as he lay in bed and watched Chance's ripe musculature as it moved to the small dorm fridge, bent down, and poked around.

"You like poached eggs?" he asked, without looking up.

"Love 'em, but can you seriously poach an egg in a dorm-room?"

Chance stood up, put his hands on his hips, and shook his head, Reed loving the sight of that long thick cock sashaying around as he moved. "Now why the heck would I ask if ya wanted a poached egg if I couldn't make one? Sometimes, Reed, I think I'm the brains o' this outfit, not you."

"Me too," Reed laughed. God, did he want to fuck this impossibly beautiful boy. Then suck that gorgeous cock for an hour or so.

Instead, he had to watch in amazement as Chance flipped a switch on a two-element hot-plate, poured water from a huge jug in the fridge into an electric kettle, plugged it in, then reached up on a shelf, got down a small saucepan, filled it with water, and set it to boil on one of the hot-plate's elements.

"You can poach an egg, dawg? For real?"

"You grow up on a farm," Chance shrugged, "you learn to make eggs pretty early in life."

Reed got up, brought his laptop out from his backpack, and put some music on. It was a playlist of favorite opera arias and other classical vocal stuff he loved, which he thought would make nice morning music.

Chance was getting a couple paper plates down and some plastic cups. He filled the cups with orange juice and handed one to Reed, saying "God, Reed. This is incredible. Waking up with you. Bein' naked together. Breakfast. Then foolin' around after - that hot fuckin' brand o' sex I'm so damn addicted to. Shit, dude."

And then he carressed Reed lovingly, hands exploring all over his smooth-muscled older love's bodyr. "Fuck, dawg, I am so used to this already."

"No fuckin' shit, man. I am way looking forward to a lifetime of this," Reed whispered, hard as fuck for this gorgeous young god.

They put down their juice glasses and kissed hungrily, hands exploring the bodies they'd grown so used to. Reed grooved Chance's ass, anxious for a slow, sensual fuck with his young hunk. The feel of their steel-hard cocks pressed tight together as they embraced was rapturous. Especially since they both knew how satisfyingly soon they would be able to release their rock-hard passion. Overcome with the thought of that sex, Reed's middle finger began to poke and prod Chance's tight, hairless pucker with a lewd insistence. His hips began to make not-so-subtle pistoning movements.

Chance pulled away and said, "Mmmm, just let me finish breakfast. Don't worry, dawg - I want that sweet, hard cock o' yours up my ass as much as you do."

Reed, unwillingly, broke the embrace, moved his orange juice to the nightstand, setting it down next to the lube and cock-ring - which seemed to fit perfectly in this setting of the modern college boy's dorm-room - hopped back into bed, and stroked himself as he watched his young stud fix breakfast.

Chance filled a teapot with a few scoops of loose tea just as the kettle whistled. He poured the water, let it steep, and turned to Reed, who was sensuously teasing his cock to drive his lover crazy with lust.

"You sure as fuck look hot," Chance leered, "but what I wanna know is, one egg or two?"

"One, I guess," Reed smiled, then licked his finger and let it circle his cockhead lewdly.

"Damn, you fucker, you're evil," Chance smiled. "Toast?"

Reed was now lying back in ecstasy, tweaking a tit with one hand, and letting the other play up and down his ass-crack, which made his rock-hard cock sway and bobble oh-so-temptingly. "Mmmmm, yesssss," he moaned, "hot and drippppping with butter."

"DAMN, that's not fair! Wait'll it's your turn to cook. I'm jus' gonna stand in fronta ya and jack off."

"Shit," Reed said, "then I'll fix lunch."

With a smirk, Chance cracked three eggs into the now-simmering water, then put two pieces of bread on a skewer and held them over the red-hot element, turning and toasting them.

Reed hopped out of bed and embraced his young lover from behind, grooving that hard, muscular ass with his stiff, leaky cock.

"Hurry, you fucker, I am so fucking hot for you. It's seein' a macho young stud like you all domestic and shit, I guess. Fuck, do I want you!"

"Mmmm, and fuck do I want bein' wanted," Chance purred, loving the feel of Reed's kisses dancing across his neck, as well as the wet, moist hardness of Reed's cock stroking up and down in his crack. He floated off in the thought of that hard wet thickness expoding wave after wave of hot cream into his eager ass. Reed's hands were now kneading his pecs, twisting his nipples. Chance was rock-hard and moaning.

They stayed that way till the last shred of Chance's conscious mind realized breakfast was ready. He drained the eggs, put them on a plate with the toast, and spread each piece with some preserves.

"Cherry," he grinned, "my favorite." Then he poured the tea and handed Reed a plate of food and a cup of steaming mint tea.

Before he took his own, he stared at Reed. "You know - it's like . . . well," he stammered, "corny as it sounds, it's like, like I'm not even really sure I'm not dreaming, you know? I mean, I realize now . . . with every shred of nerve in my body . . . that this is like my definition of exactly what I want. A hot, incredibly amazing guy, endless rounds of this love-makin' I crave like a motherfuckin' sex-fiend. And then, even when we're not having sex, you're so fuckin' great to hang with. I feel like . . . I'm not sure how this all happened, you know? But now that it has . . . Fuck."

And then Chance was overtaken with a rushing reverie: his father and Bill. They should have had a life like this: two studs, obviously happy together, wanting to hang together all the time. Sexually simpatico, he assumed. A whole wide exapnse spread out before them. Instead, his dad & Bill had to keep it all on the down-low. They could have had days and nights, weeks and months, years like this on the ranch. He could imagine his dad and Bill waking up like this, his dad making eggs, both of them naked, Bill anxious to fuck. The teasing camaraderie of two lovers.

". . . getting cold, dude! And it's all really good," he heard Reed saying.

"Oh, sorry. I was miles away, dawg."

Before he turned to his food, he embraced Reed again. "Fuck, what a fuckin' gift we've been given."

He felt Reed's still-moist hardness pressed tight and wonderful against his own, both young dicks madly straining with blood and longing. He just about inhaled his eggs and toast, gulped down the tea, but before he hopped into bed, he grabbed the jar of cherry preserves, fished out a huge gob with his fingers, then sauntered to the bed. Once there, he crouched so his smooth, shaved, lusciously muscular ass faced Reed, turned his head to face Reed, closed his eyes, licked his lips wantonly, and sexily smeared the jam all up and down his crack, trying his best to look like a fifty-dollar whore.

"OH FUCK!" Reed cried, and was on it in a second.

The breakfast was just an appetizer. He dove in for the main course, lapping and tonguing and munching that tight, slick, jam-slathered hole with utter relish. Sex with Chance would never get dull, he realized. His hungry hands played all over his lover's muscular ass, flat abs and huge stiff prick. Gradually, his sex-hungry mouth cleaned off every speck of preserves. In and out his tongue went, a rhythm of eager lust.

Chance was moaning and cooing - he loved a good rim job, his ass was so sensitive. His dick was throbbing with an exquisite ache, and his balls hung low, chock-full of the cum that would feel so glorious when it spurt.

Reed's horniness had him drooling thick waves of saliva all over his muscle-stud's ass. He began working a skiled thumb around Chance's love-ring, then a second, as his boyfriend howled and panted like a bitch in heat.

"Open me up, you fucker! I gotta feel that thick juicy prick o' yours in me! Stroke it hard and long, dude! My ass is on fuckin' fire!"

"Fuck, dude, my prick is so hard it's gonna fall off soon if I don't get it in this hot, tight hole of yours, you hot fucking stud! Shit, do I wanna fuck you! I'm twitchin' and leakin' like crazy!"

He played his tongue around the slightly stretched pucker, darting it in, savoring the taste of Chance's ass juices, mixing now with the lingering taste of cherry. He scooped a gob of precum off his own cock and fed it to his lover. Chance licked it off gratefully: the taste of his boyfriend's clear honey was like elixir to him. A deep guttural moan bellowed out, coming all the way up from his loins.

"Oh you sweet, gorgeous slut," Reed mubled, hoarse with pure passion. "You want this cock so fuckin' bad, don't you? You want this sweet little jock-hole fucked raw as fuck, I can tell! Here it comes, you hot fuckin' slut!"

And he oozed his fevered cock up into Chance's moist warmth. As it slowly slurped in, the feeling was pure ecstasy for both boys.

"OH SHIT, YEAH! FILL ME, DUDE!"

"DAMN I LOVE THIS HOLE!"

Reed plunged steadily, forcibly, right to the hilt. Then he just let his cock rest for a minute, getting used to the sensation of that hot, muscular flesh enveloping him, and the wonderful feel of his nutsac nestled tight and snug. It was like Chance was embracing his cock and balls with his ass.

"Aw shit, dawg! Feels so fucking fine! Ream this ass with that sweet fucking cock o' yours!"

Then came the stroking. Slowly, exquisitely. Reed steadied himself against Chance's smooth marble globes and pistoned his own lithe hips in and out in that glorious rhythm of boy-fucking. Chance answered back, working his ass against the dick he craved so much. Christ, Reed thought, what a fuck. So fucking athletic and responsive. Am I fucking him or is he fucking me, he laughed?

In and out he glided as Chance's talented hips rode Reed's stiffness with maddening expertise, wriggling and jostling in a way that made Reed scream in pleasure.

"AW SHIT!" Reed cried. "What a great fucking fuck!"

"Aw fuck, Reed, I want that sweet fuckin' dick o' yours in me all fuckin' day. My ass feels electric!"

At one point, Chance made a signal with his hips and Reed picked up on it immediately - so in-tune were they becoming; they flipped from doggystyle to facing each other without missing a beat.

As they continued their love-dance, drinking in each other's beauty with their eyes as their bodies enjoyed each wondrous sensation, Reed reached down to jack his lover and play with that big, silky-smooth ball-pouch.

"OOOHHH YEAAHH!!!" Chance howled. "Work that big stud-cock o' mine! I'm gonna cum all over your fine-ass body!"

"Fuck," said Reed, panting a little now, "I'm gonna shoot half my seed up this fine, sweet hole o' yours, then I'm gonna fuckin' drench your muscle-stud body with the rest! Shoot some over that sexy-ass buzzed skull o' yours!"

Shit, they sure as hell loved each other.

Wham, wham, wham, wham. They were like two titans, neither wanted to cum first, each wanted to hold out, taking the best the other could give. Chance's ass was twisting, bucking, humping, hitting every one of Reed's switches. The older boy's dark caramel ballsac was swaying and slapping riotously. And Chance was screaming in bliss as one of Reed's hands stroked and jacked his cock, madly circled under his foreskin, dug around in his piss-slit, and the other kept fondling his achingly full ballsac.

Finally, Reed gave.

"AW FUCKKKK!!"

He collapsed on Chance's massive chest, then pumped a few loads into his hot, tight ass. Then he rose, pulled his cock out, and let it spray four or five more vollleys over Chance's chest, abs, and face. The delightful creaminess sent Chance over the edge: as Reed kept jacking him, he shot load after load of thick, sweet cum all over Reed's abs. Deliriously, mindlessly, the two boys scooped and fed cum to each other, hearts racing in total well-fucked bliss.

As they lay there, letting their fingers paint each other's ripply muscle-mass with fresh, sticky boy-cream, Chance became dimly aware of the music Reed had playing on his laptop. He'd never heard music like that. Just a man's voice and a piano. He was singing in a language Chance couldn't make out, but it was like his emotions were comprehending it perfectly. It pierced him like no other music had. He lay back and let it resonate through him. Finally he had to speak.

"What the fuck is he singing? It's like he's pouring out the depths of his soul in a kind of endless longing."

"That's it," said Reed, "you got it. These are German art-songs, 'lieder,' they're called. This particular one is a German poem set to music. That last line, in English is something like, 'I've renounced the worldly bustle, and live in peace in a quiet place. I live alone, in this my heaven, in my love, in my songs.'"

It was the most beautiful, haunting, moving music Chance had ever heard. It filled him with a profound quietness that almost made him tremble. Time stood still and only Reed and his love for Reed and this music were alive to him.

"Jesus Fuck, what is this? 'Leader,' you said? It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"For real!?" Reed was excited. "You like it? Really? Cause it's about my favorite piece of music. It's a song Mahler wrote. It's lieder. So sad, so romantic. Aw fuck, dude, I'm so glad you dig it, too."

Chance was stunned at the beauty, the way it could be so sad but so gorgeous at the same time. If he knew the word, he would call it 'triste.' The music teased out of him a new facet of his love for Reed. He tried to put into words how powerful it hit him.

"Something is being said in this song," he said slowly, "which has been on the tip of my tongue a long time."

Reed's eyes welled up a little: his boyfriend, who everyone thought was just a dumb ol' country muscle-stud, was so amazing. His love for Chance grew inflamed. He flipped over and embraced him. The music was an aphrodisiac, re-igniting their physical hunger in a blaze; they carressed feverishly.

They were each hard again by now, so they lay next to each other and blissfully made out. As they kissed and stroked, they pressed their hard young bodies up close together, pressing nipple against nipple, thigh against thigh, cock against cock. Their passion grew steadily more urgent; they kissed breathlessly, then lapped tongues together.

Reed then let his tongue play all over Chance's sexy buzzed skull and beard-stubble. The sensation was delicious. As he tongue-worshiped his lover's gorgeous head, Chance began to sensuously jack Reed's cock. Reed brought 3 fingers to Chance's lips, parted them, then let his young stud's tongue get his fingers glistening wet. Chance loved the oral stimulation. If he couldn't have Reed's cock in his mouth, these fingers were the next best thing.

When Reed's hand was nice and juicy, he fell into rhythm with Chance, each boy stroking the other's hardness while they kissed deliriously. Reed smiled: he felt wonderfully naughty, like a randy young boy, excited at having his first j/o session in bed with a young schoolmate. Damn, he thought to himself, his sex-life with Chance would be a never-ending series of impossibly erotic moments like this.

"Fuck, I love you!" he moaned in quiet, breathless passion as he erupted four or five squirts, his lusty young cream flowing all over Chance's firm grip. Chance licked them clean, scraped up more, and fed them to Reed. As Reed sensuously licked those fingers, Chance blasted several volleys of his own all over Reed's abs and thighs.

Deliciously exhausted, and running late, they showered and returned to their dorm to dress.

As they both pulled jeans up over their naked frames, Chance grew animated.

"You're bringin' a camera to practice today, right?" he asked, excitedly.

"Yeah," Reed said, moussing his hair in the mirror, "I thought some streaming video would be a cool part of the project." He turned to face Chance. "Why? It'll be OK, don't ya think? The guys on the team won't mind, will they? Wyatt won't, I bet."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine," Chance said, grinning like a motherfucker, on the verge of busting a gut. Reed noticed.

"What the fuck is up, Taylor? You're acting weird."

"Nothin'," he lied, transparently. "Well, all right," he said sheepishly, "I just thought of somethin' last night, before I drifted off, that might make for some cool-ass footage for yer 'Alien Culture' project."

Reed shook his head. "You know, you're the goofiest fucking cat I ever met. Just what the fuck're you planning?"

"Aw, nothin' really," he lied. "Well, anyway, you'll see."

They finished dressing and headed out.

"What's up after wrestling?" Reed asked.

"Calc. Then a long run; I think I'm gonna hook up with CJ, we talked at Sparta about running together today."

Reed smiled. He knew what that meant: lots of flirting between Chance and his jock-friend, then stretching and fucking and showering and more fucking afterward. But he didn't begrudge him a minute of it.

"I got to go from practice to a marketing seminar. Then I'm free for the rest of the day. I think I'm gonna move my stuff over to our room."

Chance stopped. He took Reed in his arms and kissed him passionately. They were lost in each other, not realizing how many stares they drew.

When they came up for air, Chance whispered, "It's so fuckin' cool to think about 'our room,' no? Shit, wish I could help you, but after running, I got English. I'll be back around five; if there's any left to do, I can do it then."

"Don't worry, dawg," Reed said, giving Chance a light kiss. "I ain't got much stuff. I'll be all moved in and have dinner ready for us at five."

Chance just shook his head. "It's startin," he said. "Can't believe it. My first real releationship."

"You're ONLY fuckin' relationship, asshole," Reed laughed, giving Chance's cock a tight grab.

When they got to the gym, Reed went into the main gym and got his camera ready while Chance went in to the lockers. Reed was busy loading cartridges and practicing to see if he remembered how to use the camera. But he noticed, as some of the wrestlers filed in and began stretching and shooting the shit with each other, Chance come in, still dressed. He strode over to that very cute goateed skater dude Reed remembered from last week, the guy stationed in front of a small equipment room. Reed watched as he and Chance talked - well, the boy was mostly smiling and nodding while Chance did all the talking. Then Chance turned and went back into the locker room.

Wyatt came in and smiled when he saw Reed.

He sauntered up to his young friend.

"Can't get enough o' me, huh?" he cracked.

"You know it, Daddy."

"Ouch, that fuckin' hurts."

"Lame attempt at humor. I wanna take some video of the team. That OK? I wanna stream it in my project for Professor Baxter's class."

"OK with me. I'll ask the guys, but I don't think they'll mind. They love showin' off their hot bodies."

"They got a lot to show off."

They both turned to see Chance and about five other boys enter the gym area bare-foot and bare-chested, wearing just pants.

"Guys!" Wyatt called. "Come on, get your gym clothes on. We got work to do!"

"Uh, Coach," Chance muttered sheepishly, "we got sorta a little problem. I took some of the guys' uniforms away end o' last week to launder 'em, and I totally forgot about 'em. They're back in my dorm, all stinky."

The rest of the team exploded in laughter, smirks, and cat-calls. Wyatt couldn't hide his displeasure.

"Christ, Taylor, that was just a tad bone-headed, wasn't it? Expected better of you. I'm tryin' to coach a championsihip teamj, and I can't do that if you guys screw up on such petty stuff as this. So what the hell are you gonna do today?"

He turned to his equipment manager. "Cain, we got spare uniforms back there'd fit these guys?"

Now it was Cain Adler's turn to look sheepish. "Uh, not really, Coach. I thought, with the season starting in a couple weeks, I'd get all the uniforms and stuff clean. I sent 'em all over to campus services last week."

"Aw, fer the love o' . . . so what're ya gonna just work out in jeans?"

Chance looked even more embarrassed as he played his trump card. "Uh, actually, Coach. We thought we'd just . . . uh, I mean . . . if it's OK with you . . . and the other guys. . . ."

"What?" Wyatt barked. "Spit it out, Taylor. We ain't got all day to listen t' you stammer! I'm tryina coach a wrestling team."

"Well, we kinda figured we'd just work out and practice nude today."

After a three-second silence, the other wrestlers exploded.

"What?" Wyatt said with quiet ferocity.

Now Chance was all eager salesmen: "Well shit, Coach. I mean, most all us guys work out nude or in just a jock on our own. And I mean, that's what they used to do in the ancient wrestling academies, right? Everyone was naked. It's no big thing."

"Holy shi - Taylor, you're too much, you know that. Jesus fuck." Inside Wyatt was humming on all cylinders.

"So, can we, Coach?" asked Gar Daniels, one of the other players. "We all thought it would be kinda cool. Like Chance says, kinda classic, traditional."

He looked at those incredible hunks - so much of their beautifully ripe bodies shown off already in just their tight jeans, those maddeningly big bulges he tried so hard not to stare at, so teasingly outlined under the soft denim. Can you young bucks work out naked today? he laughed to himself. Fuck, everyday. He would repay Chance for this prize tomorrow, when they began their private training. And he knew just how to show the boy his gratitude, too.

Clearing his throat, he tried hard to sound bored and irritated with this minor absurdity. "Shit, awright, sure, just for today. What the hell. Get your head in the game from now on, though, Taylor!"

He hated talking rough to Chance, but he didn't want the other boys to suspect there was anything going on between them. He tried not to stare - all the other boys did, too - as the six of them shucked their jeans and stood there smiling: proud, naked, gorgeous.

Of course the whole thing was a ruse, designed to give Reed incredible footage of a nude wrestling practice for his project. Everyone's workout wear was right in their lockers. The other boys - and Cain - went along with it instantly.

The rest of the team - mostly the straight boys - were filled with a tussle of conflicting emotions. Their minds just swam in confusion until Tor called out, "Hey, Coach. if they get to work out nude, why can't we? It sounds like a blast. We're a team, right? One for all, and all that jazz. And anyway, it's hot as fu - I mean, hot as hell in here, Coach."

"Look," Wyatt barked, pretending to be testy as hell, while his cock began to twitch deliciously at the scene of rarefied eroticism unfolding arounding him, "I don't care if you work out in your Grannies' paisley shawls. Just get busy lifting, ok? The season starts in a couple weeks, and if you guys haven't noticed I been busting your asses in the hope of winning the conference."

Smiling, buzzed, the rest of the team stripped off their shorts, T's, and jocks, and proudly showed off their well-worked young torsos. More than one get was getting blood-gorged with excitement.

Reed, dry-mouthed, stammered, "Uh, Coach. I guess this means no video?"

"Shit, that's right." Wyatt faced the boys, trying hard not to lick his lips at this incredible bevy of gorgeous young beefcake on casual display. Whatever you do, he tried to tell himself, make eye contact; don't stare at a kid's dick. He tried to tell himself that, but he realized he was lavishing all his attention on Brock Sears incredibly hot uncut cock, set off so nicely by his shaved pubes.

"Uh," he managed to stammer, "Reed, here - you remember he took pictures of one of our last practices - was gonna take video today, but - ."

"OK with me," Gar chimed in. And a chorus of seconds rang out from the smiling, jazzed group of naked young wrestlers, all eying each other excitedly.

"Anyone object?" Wyatt asked. Not a soul.

"OK, Reed, I - uh - guess you can go right ahead." No way he'd forget to have Reed burn him a disk of today's pratice; that's gonna be prime j/o material for years to come.

"Hey, Coach, whyn't you get naked, too?" someone piped up, "It'd be like a cameraderie thing. You know, our fearless leader!"

"Yesh," said Brock, in a sly, lascivious sneer, fully aware that Wyatt had been checking out his dick, "show off that stud Marine physique you got!"

"Cain, too!" another voice piped in.

Wyatt, half-thrilled, half-panicked, turned brusquely to Cain, acting like he was further bored by the request.

"Cain, whaddya think? You game?"

"Sure, Coach, why not? It is kinda steamy in here."

It's about to get a lot steamier, Reed thought, realizing his boyfriend was an even bigger genius than he'd thought. Reed set his camera down and pulled off his own jeans and shirt. When in Rome, he smiled to himself, wondering how you keep a camera steady while you're jacking off at the same time. How DO those Bel Ami cameramen do it? he wondered.

The sight of Cain's pierced, tatted body and Wyatt's hairy, manly, brawny perfection at first had the boys speechless. Then the low whistles started, as well as a few idle comments like "Damn, Coach, you're a total stud," and "Fuck, awesome build, Coach." Meanwhile a handful of boys, both gay and straight crowded around Cain, marveling at hos hot he looked with his sexy ink, nipple rings, and his PA. The straight boys had never seen a pierced cock before and just gawked in fascination while their brains started whirring in exciting little fantasies about what it must feel like for someone - girl or boy - to be fucked by a dick with a big metal ring in it.

Finally, more amped than they'd ever been for a wrestling practice before, the nude athletes drfited off, either to stretch or lift.

Spencer Horsowski, one of the straight boys on the team, had been unable to take his eyes off Chance the minute he'd stepped out of his jeans. Horsowski, nicknamed 'Horrorshow,' was a sophomore on the squad. He was a major stud, wrestling as a heavyweight, two weight classes up from Chance. He'd had a stellar career in highschool, undefeated in every one of his bouts. His high school team won state three straight years, with Horsowski being name all-state two of those years. He'd earned his nickname because he was a nightmarish opponent to face. He was a major recruiting plum for Wyatt. Horsowski's dad had wanted his son to sign with Oklahoma, but the boy really loved his visit to State. There was something about Coach, some vibe or something that really appealed to the young jock. He hadn't regretted it for a minute.

Spencer had admired Chance right from the start. Spencer was a rock-solid hunk, working constantly on his body, and he respected other dudes who pushed physical conditioning to the limit, as Chance clearly did. Now, with that frosh stud standing there, flexing a little to limber up, in all his naked glory, Spencer was even more impressed.

"What a fuckin' body," he thought to himself. He considered himself a connoisseur of the male form and didn't see anything weird in his ability to appreciate a truly fine body. His rooom was filled with fitness mags and DVDs; there were posters of incredibly built guys on his walls. 'Keep your eyes on the prize,' his first-year highschool coach once told him, and he was doing just that.

He decided to see if Chance wanted to buddy up in their workout today.

"Hey," he said, casually falling into some stretching exercises with the freshman adonis.

"Hey, Spence!" Chance said good-naturedly. "This is pretty fuckin' wild, huh? Damn, we sure are a team of totally buff dudes."

"No fucking shit, Taylor. Yeah, this is pretty un-fuckin-believable, pretty goddamn cool. It's like what it should be, y'know? Just naked muscle, raw beef. Makes me REALLY feel like an elite athlete or somethin', y'know?"

As they stretched, Spencer's eyes were locked on Chance. His body got more and more incredible the more you saw it flex and watched the muscles roll and pump and ripple. What a goddamn fuckin' stud, he kept thinking. This kid should do fitness videos. Fuck, a nude workout video of Chance. That'd be awesome.

"Yeah, but hell, Spence, you'd be an elite athlete no matter what you were wearing. Or not wearing. I've seen you wrestle and train, dude. I know your stats. Don't get more 'elite' than the numbers you've put it."

His eyes raked over Spencer's naked frame. He looked to Chance like a young, blonde Charles Bronson, one of Chance's favorite actors - he and his dad watched Bronsom films together a lot back home. Spencer had the same sort of hunk build, and he had those squinty eyes like Bronson's, too - eyes that made him look like he was always happy, like they were always twinkling. And nice fucking cock, too. Not as long as his own, and cut, but way thick. Nice, mouth-watering hunk of Polish sausage, Chance thought to himself, and felt his own cock begin to stir.

"And your body's pretty fuckin' elite-looking, too, Spence. Shit, you're major hot, dude."

"Fuck, bro, look who's talkin'! Everyone knows you got the most incredible body on the team. I was just thinkin' to myself, you should be a fitness model or somethin'. Or a personal trainer. You're like . . . perfect. Like a statue or something."

This was new for Spencer, this kind of flirty talk and cruising of another dude's body. He wasn't gay, of course. But he had to admit, it was, like, weirdly exciting. Dammit, it's like what athletes should do - be naked around each other, check each other out, study each other, be totally into the male body. Like you'd appreciate a fine work of art or something. Shit, he realized, I can't stop staring at this dude's dick.

Spencer was fascinated by the thick length of uncut man-meat Chance was packing. He'd noticed guys' cocks in the shower or when they were undressing in the locker room, of course - who wouldn't? - but he'd never really stared at one this closely and for this long before. Taylor's was so thick, so long, so firm-looking, even when soft like this. It was incredible. 'Tasty-looking,' he thought to himself; you could easily see why a chick would be totally into sucking a cock like this, just letting her tongue play all over, lapping up and down, gettin' it hard as hell, rubbin' it all over her face, jackin' it, playin' with it. Such a fuckin' hot cock.

And that sweet hunk of foreskin letting the tip juuuussssttt poke out. Fuck, did it look awesome. Chance had shaved away almost all of his pubes, which looked sexy as shit, and the whole effect - long thick meat hanging down; big smooth sac drooping low (shit, he must shave his balls, too!), the whole package set off by his flat, rock-hard lower abs, his Apollo's belt acting as kind of twin road-signs, pointing to that dick, highlighting it. Shit, it was, like, like . . . damn, Spencer thought to himself, it's like fucking erotic as hell. Beautiful; no other word for it.

And fuck, he had to admit to himself, only half-ashamed: he wasn't gay or anything, but he sure as hell would like to get his hands on that cock - lick it a little, even - see what the hell the whole gay thing was all about. He could just imagine foolin' around with a majorly built hottie like Taylor: feelin' up each other's hot muscles, jerkin' that incredible cock, bein' jerked by that fine-ass stud, sprayin' huge loads of jock-cream all over each other's cut abs, then rubbin' it in. Fuck, he bet it'd be hot to even kiss a dude like Chance, he was so damn sexy-looking. Not an "I love you" kiss or anything, just a hot muscle-stud kiss, one passionate, amped-up hard-body to another.

Chance could feel Spencer's gaze burning into his groin. Cool. He wondered if the dude was gay. Or, Chance laughed to himself as he watched Spencer lick his lips unconsciously, if he knew he was gay yet. Shit, was he built.

"You 'bout ready to lift, dawg?" Chance asked casually.

"Guess so," Spence said a little nervously, having been shook out of his reverie. That was weird, he thought, smiling kind goofily. Where the fuck'd that come from? "Wanna lift together today, Taylor?"

"Sounds like a plan. I'm doin' abs first today, that cool with you."

"Definitely. Cause I wanna see your abs routine. I gotta see how you get so fucking cut like that."

"Oh, thanks dude. Happy to show you. It ain't much, it's just I do a lot of it."

"Fuck, you're so damn shredded. I try and try, but this six-pack is the best I can manage. I really want the eight, like you got. Hands-down, best set I've ever seen. Just really awesome definition, so fuckin' ripply . . . . "

His voice trailed off as he brazenly reached down and stroked his team-mate's lusciously cut definition. Not 'brazen,' maybe, more overcome with the headiness of the scene, all this incredible beefcake on parade today.

"Mmmm, glad you like my abs, dude. It's so cool, too, havin' you stroke 'em like that."

"Shit, man, they're amazing." His eyes were glazed, his voice thick. "And shit, Chance, I ain't, like, gay or anything, but fuck, dude, you have an awesome-looking cock."

"Yeah, I saw you scopin' it out, dawg. Shit, Spence, take a feel," Chance said. "Help yerself."

Spencer looked up nervously, excited. "For real?"

"Fuck, yeah, dawg. Maybe you ain't gay, but I sure am, and it'd feel hot as fuck having such a hot-looking muscle-head like you messin' with my dick. You got a fuckin' tasty-looking piece o' meat yer damn self."

And Chance let a sly, seductive finger run up and down Spencer's thick, hardening shaft. It began to twitch and rise.

Spencer was so turned on. So Chance was gay. Unbelievable. He's like the perfect guy to let Spence get a taste of boy-sex, which, if he were honest with himself, was something he wanted a taste of for a looooonnnnggg time. His cock was getting wonderfully hard as Chance diddled with it. Shit, he wished they could run off and have a romp in the locker room right now, jack each other off like crazy. Shit, was this ever hot!

He reached a hand in nervously, almost as if he were sticking it into a flame, not knowing what would happen, and grasped that incredibly seductive lure dangling in front of him.

Oh fuck! he thought to himself, it was so often. So huge, thick, alive. A rush of pleasure tingled through him. He'd been told all his life messin' with dudes was unnantural, but this felt hot as hell. He stroked the long, long length, even daring to pull the foreskin back a little, which was so fucking hot he could feel his own cock thrust up a little in excitement. Oh fuck, he realized, guys are totally meant to get together for sexy-ass fun like this. Shit, he wanted to mess around with Chance the rest of the fuckin' day like this. Fuck, to take this gorgeous piece of meat in his mouth - the urge was overwhelming.

"Mmmmm," Chance purred, "so hot," as he stroked Spence up and down and enjoyed the nervous, excited feel of his team-mate copping his first feel of dick.

"Fuck yeah!" Spencer said, half-choking on the words his voice was so dry.

"Shit, dawg, we better get to liftin' before Coach comes over and calls us out. But fuck," he said, giving Spencer's half-hard thickness a final squeeze, "sure would like to continue this in the shower later."

"FOR REAL!!??" Spencer asked excitedly, almost too amped to speak, churning inside with the certitude that the one thing in his life he really wanted now was awesome dick-play - and who knows what the fuck else - with this hot fucking muscle-stud standing in front of him. He looked around the room at all the hot jock muscle on display. Fuck, he thought, I'd mess around with any of these dudes. Fuck, am I primed for a nice long spate of some hot fuckin' boy action. He was hard as a rock. Chance looked down at him and gave a good-natured laugh. The he slapped his ass lightly and said, "C'mon, dawg!"

The two team-mates went off to the Roman chair where Chance proceeded to show the brawnier boy how to get his abs more deeply grooved and cut. As one boy did a set on the chair, the other did reverse sit-ups. They alternated like that until they'd each done 5 sets of a hundred. Spence was grunting and straining in sheer pain the last set and a half. But he was determined to tough out every last crunch.

They continued their workout in the free-weight area. Spencer though he was on his turf now, but almost immediately Chance challenged Spencer to up the weight on his bicep curl. The younger hunk, a nice coating of sweat adding sheen to his nakedness, stood close behind Spence letting his hands gently ride the barbell, spotting his new work-out partner. As he did, he pressed his thick cock, stiffening again from this sexy intimacy, tightly into Spencer's warm, moist crack.

"Fuck, that feels good," Spencer grunted, straining with the weight.

"What? The pump or my cock?" Chance asked, his mouth right next to his partner's ear, the hot breath sending an erotic chill through Spencer.

"Both," the boy grunted. "Fuck, Chance I am so fucking turned-on by all this, so fucking hot for you." Another strained grunt. "Shit, for all these dudes. Never really did more than daydream about it, but damn! Fuck," he said, then grunted again, "look at fucking Daniels, he's totally boned up, dude!"

"Like me," Chance whispered, hot moist, in Spencer's ears. He let his hands off the weight for long enough to cop a feel of Spence's dick. "And like you, dawg," he whispered again.

Another grunt from Spence, and Chance was now subtly pumping his hips back and forth, up and down. "Mmmmmmmm, so nice, dude!" Another rep and another grunt. "Damn, look at Tor! Check it out, that light little puff of a bush above that sweet, long, up-curving stiff prick, like a little cotton-tail." Another grunt. "God, so fuckin' sexy."

"Fuck," said Chance, "our squad is one hot-looking dude after another." And then he thought to himself, is that how Wyatt recruits? Gets wrestlers who are not only good, but so damn gorgeous? He laughed as he thought of what a cool fucker Wyatt was; it was exactly the kind of utterly hot perv move Chance would do himself if he were coach.

"Come on, man! Race you up the ropes!" he said, as Spence finished his last set.

"You're on," the blonde stud smiled, high and mellow from a great workout and this wonderful new boy-passion.

Wyatt had four thick ropes hanging from the top of the tall ceiling in the old gym. The rule was you had to shinny up with just your hands. It was an incredible upper body pump. So tough, in fact, there were a couple boys on the squad who could only get part way up.

Chance and Spence paced each other, putting hand over hand with dizzying quickness. Chance looked over at Spence's upper arms, all cut, pumped, and sexy as shit. It was hot to see his nude body jostle as he bolted up, big, stiff dick waggling like crazy. Shit, Chance thought, driving himself harder to pace his hot-looking team-mate, this is how practice whould always be.

All around the scene was the same: ripe, gorgeous young muscle-studs, hot bodies sheened with sweat and flushed from the extreme intensity of today's workout, so anxious they all were to drive themselves harder, pump themselves bigger, show off their nude, cut frames to each other in the most glorious relief.

Wyatt strode through the scene with an almost regal bearing. His stature among the boys was obvious: He had easily the most awesome-looking body in the room, a well-worked frame just dripping with erotic, chiseled perfection. His muscles were harder, more defined, more jaw-dropping than any of the youngsters'. Plus, he had such a sexy coating of man-fur, where all the boys were smooth. Everyone stared as he walked through, checking them out. Even the straight athletes, who'd all admired their stud coach since they first laid eyes on him, envying him such a fine-ass body and hot, manly good looks. Now, seeing him nude, was just too much. That sweet fur dusting that hard round ass - none of them could help but wonder: how would your tongue feel running all over it? Those huge calves and sculpted thighs, no trace of fat, and again so much sexier with that light, masculine dusting. Fuck, was he built. And that cock! Longer than any of the boys', and with a much bigger ballsac. Plus it was obscenely uncut, that sexy, droopy fold of skin - it had every boy drooling at the sheer raw sex embodied in it. It swayed teasingly, temptingly when he sauntered through the gym, as it bounced on those two egg-sized balls jiggling in his man-sac; the whole awesome package framed by just the right amount of man-bush. Even his big, bony, sexy-ass feet had the boys salivating.

The coach looked around him, in heaven. His coach's dream had come gloriously to life. He was in charge of a classic Greek gymnasium now, a private, heady temple of young, male beauty, an athlete's refuge of pure body, cut muscle. Any other kind of gym seemed now like a perverse variant of this, the real thing.

He strolled around, checking out guys' routines and progress (hell, he laughed to himself, mostly checking out guys). He felt like a randy old satyr, wandering around a field of beautiful young male nymphs, trying to decide on his pleasure from all the sexy, boyish perfection on display. Or like a beefy young lecherous pascha, wandering through his male harem, trying to make up his mind which boy (or boys) he wanted for the evening.

He watched Gar Daniels doing raises. Shit that kid looks hot, he thought. Short blonde hair, that cute little beard thing on the bottom of his chin, and what a body. Massive, well-defined, almost ivory-pale skin. Nice round, tight ballsac and a tasty-lookin' seven inches or so of thick cut meat. Wyatt's cock was semi-erect by now.

He noticed Gar's grip on the barbell was all wrong, it was screwing up his lift, so Wyatt did what he always liked to do when a young dude was messing up: get in close behind him and show him how (wink-wink).

"Daniels," he barked, "how the hell're you holdin' that? It's hittin' your muscle all wrong!"

"Sorry, Coach," Gar looked up, startled - he had been drinking in the sight of Brock Sears' bench pressing - that lean, shredded body, nice thick cock flopping down along his thigh, it was soooo fuckin' sexy - and wasn't even concentrating on his own routine. "I - ."

"Here," Wyatt said, getting in close behind Gar and reaching his huge, bulky arms around, embracing Gar tightly, pressing his fur-covered, hard-nippled pecs right up against the boy's smooth, pale, nicely defined back, and wedging his all-but-hard cock firmly in the crack of the boy's scrumptious-looking ass. Whenever he did this before with his young athletes, there was always the false modesty of a jock, sweatpants, and T to serve as a barrier between his own raw, physical passion and the cut young boys on his squad. But now, all barriers were down; desire was nakedly apparent. As he showed Gar the proper hand position and pump, he lewdly thrust and wriggled his hips, massaging his huge member against the boy's smooth, luscious ass. He smiled to hear the quiet panting of flustered, excited arousal from Gar, as well as feel the pressure his dick was receiving from Gar pushing back on it, massaging his cock invitingly. He brought his arms in even tighter, spending way too long demonstrating the right grip and lift. Christ, he could fuck this boy right here. He could feel his pre-cum strat to ooze out the tip of his rock-solid shaft. His thrusts - and Gar's ass-pushing - were falling into that beautifully sweet rhythm of male sex.

Finally, he came to his senses and released his willing young captive.

"Got that?" he said, voice trying to be gruff, but shaking a little from the wake of erotic charge rippling through his body. Gar just nodded, he was too overcome with lust and confusion to speak. Wyatt wandered away, his slick-tipped dick jutting out proudly.

At this point, Reed, reluctantly, had to leave for his semniar. He kissed Chance good-bye, winked at Wyatt, and dressed, packing up his camera, which now contained one of the hottest pieces of video footage imaginable. Shit, he thought, Baxter will wank like crazy when he sees this.

A few minutes after Reed's departure, the weights gave way to scrimmage matches. Again, there was a fire in the boys' eyes, a fury in their performance, that was new. While they grappled with each other, the atmosphere in the room became charged with an irresistible odor: the pungent, heady smell of young, athletic sweat, cut through with powerful hormonal release. It streamed from naked pits, groins, and asses and wafted thickly through the room. The hot, thick moistness of aroused boys in the air made the gym a terrarium of young male lust, a medium in which the full, exotic flower of young gay passion could sprout wildly. It was so powerful an aphrodisiac, even boys who'd previously only been mildly curious about a same-sex encounter were now ravenously hell-bent for their first taste of dick.

As the practice went on, everyone in the room realized the deep, bodily logic of what muscular young men should do together in an athletic setting like this. They'd gorged on the primal need for nudity; it had prompted in them a desire to work their bodies hard, proudly displaying them to each other as they stretched or pumped iron or just posed teasingly; they'd spent the session studying and learning from each other's muscular development, and then they'd become lusciously aroused by the dizzying display of cut jock bulk, only emphasized by grappling each other's sexy perfection on the mats; now, young, horny, unchecked desire overflowed in them with burbling passion, getting muscles and cocks full, plump, luscious, straining for release. Presiding over it all, like their guiding spirit, the awesomely cut physique and huge, mouth-watering man-cock of their coach, so much bigger, hairier, sexier than any of them, serving as the homoerotic ideal and inspiration to these randy young acolytes.

After that incredible practice, Wyatt addressed his excited boys. There was a buzz in the air you could see and feel. Beautiful nude boys were lying lazily against each other, recovering from their hard practice, or arm in arm, eyes looking lustily at each other's pumped, sweaty, chiseled bodies; loving the feel of young male juice coursing through their well-worked bodies; utterly amped at having spent the session together nude and aroused, immersed in this steamy oasis of hot young naked muscle. Wyatt didn't even bother to hide his stiffening prick. What was on his mind was on the mind of every single boy in the room - hot, raw gay sex, immediately.

For the young gays on the team, the session had been a fantasy sprung straight from their waking daydreams. For the heretofore straight boys, it was a now fully-formed desire that had liberated itself wondrously from the fear and shame and guilt and repression that had kept their natural urge for same-sex pleasure clamped down. But now that the genie had been let out of the bottle, these boys fully understand the primal truth about male sexuality; a truth that cut across labels like 'straight' and 'gay'; a truth rooted deep in a virile young boy's muscles, brain, cock, ass. A truth, they realized, that was wired indelibly into the male psyche, the male body. It was useless to deny, too compelling to resist. Every boy in the room wanted each other - and Wyatt, definitely - with every fiber in their young, well-worked bodies. They wanted to act on this desire, realize it, celebrate, nurse it, develop it through the rest of the season. Their wrestling room, they all knew, had now become an oasis of homoeroticism. They would never go back to the way things were before today.

The formerly straight Jason spoke for every boy in the room, trying his best to couch his raw lust in rational terms: "Coach, uh, I vote we have wrestling practice nude like this from now on. This was incredible! I've NEVER felt more centered, more energized, more into working out my body that today. Stretching was awesome, and lifting. I mean, being able to see everyone else's muscles made it so much easier to visualize my own."

"No shit, Coach. It was totally awesome," echoed Gar. "I vote same as Jason. It made me feel like a real wrestler."

"And, damn," Jason added, "for a guy who was pretty damn sure he was straight, I gotta say, it is off the fuckin' hook being around all you hot fucking studs! Shit, you guys are fucking hot!!" He was shyly stroking his cock, getting primed for the sex he was ready to demand.

"WORD!" bellowed Horrorshow, happy to learn he wasn't the only previously straight dude amped up for his first taste of male/male action. "Man, I totally get the gay thing now and, like, want a major piece of it!"

"No doubt, Spence!" Jason continued. "Shit, do you dudes ever look awesome sweatin' and strainin' on the mat, or gettin' pumped with weights. Sure as hell got me in touch with my inner gay dude, or whatever," he laughed.

He licked his lip suggestively, letting his tongue slowly play across his goatee-framed mouth. It looked sexy as hell. He added, voice husky now, "All this fine-ass jock cock! Shit, does it ever look luscious. Never thought I'd be sayin' somethin' like that before, but, damn, this sure as fuck's been a day to remember." He started to stroke his hard, young dick brazenly now, as if offering it to whoever wanted a taste.

"Yeah, Coach," Alex, one of the gay wrestlers smiled. "I'm uually always horny as hell leaving practice. But today, damn. I feel like my nuts'll explode if I don't cum soon. OK, if whoever wants to is able to, you know," he smiled shyly, "fool around and all?"

There was a loud, lusty chorus of assent. Wyatt looked around at fifteen rock-hard cocks - his own included - jutting and straining from the wet dream that was this bevy of nude wrestlers. He drew in a big breath.

"OK, OK. Obviously we had an innarestin' practice today," he shot a sly look at Chance, "thanks to you, Taylor."

The other boys crowded around him, patting, rubbing, carressing him all over.

"So," he continued, "we gotta decide. I have no problem with you guys havin' all the sex you want after pratice, providing it's consensual. I'm a gay man myself, and so I understand how you all feel. I mean, what can I say?" Here he laughed and gestured to his own raging hard-on, which drew lots of excited whoo-whoo's.

"Lemme add somethin' else," he continued. "I'm serious about this squad. Best I ever coached, hands down. We should be a cinch for the conference and competitive as hell at nationals. The harder we train, the stronger we get, the more that's gonna be true."

Now he strode the room, his cut musculature ripling and his stiff, straining cock bobbing seductively.

"You guys wanna fuck like rabbits after pratice. Go for it. That's testosterone, and that's gonna be our secret to a championship season. Testosterone is an amazing hormone. Bulds muscle mass and strength, improves memory and emotional stability, boosts your energy level, even helps in body fat loss cause it speeds up metabolism. And of course," and here he took one of his big paws and jacked his huge, dripping cock, causing a mixture of laughter and lust from the boys, "it increases sexual potency." More laughter. "It may," and he slowly drew a seductive finger all up and down the length of his massive prick, "even stimulate penis development. Even erection frequency." Then he looked around at the hard, straining cocks of his hot, muscular team and added, "Not that anya you boys need that." A wink and more laughter. Every boy in the room, including Cain, loved where they saw this heading.

Wyatt continued, loving the looks of raw desire glazing over every boy, the almost droooling appreciation of his body they were manifesting. "Now, you can take testosterone supplements, and we might think about whether we wanna do that. You can also eat a lot of nuts, one of the best foods to help a dude increase his manliness. And," and now he was right behind Cain, pressing his massive member into the young boy's ass-crack and feigning a truly hot fuck, while jacking Cain from behind. Cain immediately moaned in ecstasy, "you can fuck. Or jerk off, or blow each other. Whatever it takes to spill seed. Best way to increse testosterone is to increse sex."

He came away from Cain, who let out a sad sigh.

"So, you boys want sex after pratice? Shit, way I see it, it's a key part of pratice. From now on. But I wanna be sure. Anyone here opposed to idea of this becoming the fuck-buddy wresling squad of all time?"

All grins and flashing eyes, no dissent.

"Gentlemen, knock yourselves out. And lemme add, to you straight guys on the team - your girls don't give you enough from now on, you just call your buds on the wrestling squad!"

The boys commenced to stroking, sucking, jerking. All of them, gay and straight, fell into a lush, delicious rhythm of male desire as naturally as could be. Soon the room was filled with slurping and moaning.

Cain turned back to Wyatt and aksed, "Fuck, Coach. You wanna put that hot fuckin' man-meat in me for real?"

They kissed, groping each other in sheer male pleasure. Wyatt began stroking the slim, sexy skater-boy. They were both single-minded in their need for release, as everyone rolling together in passion on the mats was. Wyatt laid Cain down gently on his stomach and got to work on his ass. He licked, spit, poked, and stretched - over and over again - until the boy was as ready as Wyatt could wait for. His dick was coated with pre-cum. Cain half-cried, half-gasped as Wyatt drove home. God, he needed to fuck. He looked around him at the beautiful bacchanalia of writhing muscular boy-flesh. Don't wake me up, is all he thought, before proceeding to fuck the shit of his most willing equipment manager.

After he pumped about seven or eight incredibly satisfying loads into Cain's ass, having also made sure he stroked his young partner off to a very creamy climax, they kissed, and Wyatt headed to the shower. He noticed only three boys were left in the gym: Gar was sucking off Danny, who was being fucked by Tre. "Awesome practice today, Coach!" Tre yelled as Wyatt strode by, still trying to figure out just what the fuck happened today.

He walked to his office to grab a towel, striding through a locker room dotted with pockets of boys here and there kissing or jacking or fucking. He got his towel and walked to the showers. He never showered with the boys in the past, but he expected now he'd do it after every practice. Fuck, he thought, I'm going to have the greatest year of my life as a coach. As a man. It's Taylor, he knew. The kid is magic. He thought about their first private practice coming up tomorrow. Fuck, was that ever gonna be hot. Then pratice with the team again next day - the new-style pratice. His cock was huge and full again with longing.

He rounded the corner, his hot, hairy muscle-stud body primed for more action, ready to continue this glorious realization of a gay coach's deepest fantasy. What he saw when he stepped into the shower room brought an immediate, knowing smile to his face: four boys were pressed against the tile wall, in a row next to each other, while an equal number of team-mates stood in back of them, hitting those asses from behind. It was like a scene out of a porn flick. Shower room as orgy room. But, Wyatt realized, the boys' gym shower room always had that element, that potential. Its status as a scene for a wild gay sex-spree was present in every boy's fantasy as they showered, joked, and stared at each other's provocative nakedness. Now, his team has simply made that subtext the main text.

His mouth grew dry with lust; his prick oozed precum. He licked his dry lips and stroked his wet cock as he drank in the scene: a row of hungry young asses being fucked by thick-dicked, boy-crazed young studs. He stared as full, floppy ballsacs swayed and slapped those hot, wet asses. The buzz of new-found pleasure and licentious freedom in the room was almost deafening. He watched with a mixture of lust, excitement, and pride. Finally, he was coaching a team he could call his own, one that had his total stamp on it. He felt like a Spartan commander in the barracks, pleased at the lusty, hard-core intensity of his troops.

His balls felt fuller than ever, his cock longer and harder than he could remember. He walked up to Brock, who was jacking off to the scene as well, grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a starved, insistent kiss on his lips. Brock responded with wild delight. Wyatt began quick, rough fingering of that tight, muscular, teasing little ass.

"Mmmm, oh fuck yeah, Coach. My ass has craved that stud-cock of yours for three years," the hot boy mumbled hoarsely, not wanting to take his lips off his Coach's raw, manly mouth.

Wyatt pulled his face away and stared at Brock, that lean, cocky beauty, as if from a far-away height he'd just gotten the nerve to jump into, then whispered roughly, "That's about as long as I been wantin' to drill this fine, tight ass o' yours, son."

He turned the boy around, and let the fingers of one hand play over Brock's grateful, lapping, tongue-fevered mouth, as, with the other hand, he soaped up his long, thick, achingly hard dick. When it was nice and slick, he pried Brock's hole a little more open with soapy fingers, then rammed his hungry cock home. Oh fuck, he thought, what a rush, this tight young jock ass. His slick moist cock found a pleasurable rhythm immediately. He smiled to himself as he felt Brock's muscular athletic ass began to wriggle and rock as it eagerly, excitedly rode the incredibly long, thick stiffness pleasuring it. His hands played over the hot, shredded musculature of this young athlete's abs, that 8-pack which he'd ogled so often in the past. Then one hand moved up to play with the tits on those ripe, cut pecs.

Brock was squealing and panting as Wyatt rammed nine hard, thick, uncut inches home again and again. He took pity on the boy, soaped up a hand, and jacked a young straining cock as he plowed that tight young ass. Turning to get more soap, he smiled to notice that the row of fuckers and fuckees were all staring in drooling, open-mouthed lust as their stud coach fucked the senior hottie on the team. It's dream-time on this team from now on, Wyatt realized. This would be a season to remember. He could feel the exquisite pleasure of an on-coming orgasm build in his man-sized balls.

"I'm cummin' soon, stud," he leaned in and whispered to the semi-delirious boy he was fucking. "You want it in this sweet ass?"

"No," Brock panted, "tell me when you're ready. I want every drop in my mouth."

"Too fuckin' hot," Wyatt grunted.

More and more thrusts, during which Brock himself came. The pressure from those ass muscles clamping down again and again, with each volley of boy-juice, on his huge cock was too much for Wyatt.

"Open up, stud," he panted hoarsely, pulling out. Brock flippped around, got to his knees, and put his hot mouth over the most luscious prick he'd ever seen. He gurgled and snorted and swallowed and almost choked, but he got every drop of muscle-god nectar. Eight, nine, ten volleys-fuck, he thought, Coach is a real man.

He looked up at Wyatt, whose head was thrown back in the sweet ecstasy of male release. He felt Wyatt's grateful hand stroking his head. Then Brock held that cum-slick cock out in front of him. It was still almost fully hard. What a fucking stud, Brock thought. His Coach's cock was incredible. So full, so long, so thick, so powerful. It was the most mouth-watering piece of jock-meat he'd ever seen. The foreskin was still hiding the mighty head in its fleshy hood. He had even more foreskin than Chance, Brock marvelled. He took it tenderly by the huge ballsac and brought his mouth to it. His tongue lapped any remaining cum off as Wyatt groaned hoarsely. Then Brock teasingly traced his tongue under the foreskin, around the head, digging into the piss-slit, all the while tickling Coach's full, manly balls.

"Mmmmmn," sighed Wyatt, in utter bliss at the sheer sensuality of the scene: young studs to his right, either in post-coital kissing and fondling, or stroking off while they watched Brock suck him off, or still fucking themselves; the hard steamy shower sprays, gushing erotically, providing the driving rhythm soundtrack of male lust; and the indescribable pleasure this hot boy was giving his stud-cock, ministering to it like one of those young male whores he and Jesse had paid for on their trip to Bangcock.

"You keep doin' that," he groaned, "and yer gonna get me so damn hard and horny, I'm gonna have no choice but to hit that ass up again."

Brock looked up and grinned with young, leering boyishness, ""That's the idea, Coach!"

And so, this amazing first day of new-style wrestling pratice ended. The formerly straight guys on the squad were the most buzzed. Two of them floated out of the gym that day thinking of their incredibly hot-looking room-mates, who'd always sort of given off a gay vibe; these two were now planning the moves they'd put on their roomies tonight. Others were thinking of hot-looking friends they had, and how they would go about initiating those dudes into this awesome brand of boy-sex as soon as possible. The rest hung around the gym, in a crowd with some of the out gay wrestlers on the team, stroking each other's deliciously well-worked cocks and making plans to hang out later that evening. These once-straight boys were thrilled that the low level of flirting they'd been engaging in with other dudes over the years - sometimes unconsciously - could now become frank, explicit, and lead to such gloriously fulfilling release.

For it was always guys, these boys could now admit, from almost as far as they could remember. All throughout their sports career, working their bodies to a homoerotic ideal of masculine beauty, watching other boys intently as they did the same, delighting in the physicality of sport, as well as the athletic horseplay and rough-housing with other fit boys, looking for any occasion to preen their buff bodies and slyly eye the other boys who delighted in displaying theirs, poring over fitness mags (and sneaking peak after peak of gay muscle porn sites, trying to convince themselves it was just to see some awesomely built dudes), and watching any live or televised sporting event that featured good-looking guys wearing as little as possible. The realization of their true desire - shit, it was the reason they'd all chose wrestling for their sport, wasn't it? - engulfed them with a warm exciting confidence; any previous, tamped-down guilt over their newly discovered gayness had been rapidly dissolved in the explosive power of the most satisfying sex imagineable.

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