Brandon's Secret Chapter 5 (m/t) by Cameron Coppinger
This is a fictional story from only my imagination. It is erotic gay fiction. If you are under 18 or these materials offend you or your community values, please stop reading now and close this window.
I froze in fear as the knock on my office door came a second time. There I was in my teaching close. My nearly 8 inch cock was still rock hard and straining against my slacks, aroused from the load I had just sucked out of Brandon's hot senior cock. Looking over at Brandon, he definitely had not gone fully soft and a noticeable lump puffed out the front of his cargo shorts. I leaned down and gave his a quick kiss on the lips. He slipped his tongue forward, but I broke the touch before he could enter my mouth. "Just follow my lead," I whispered to him.
I walked to the door as he stood behind me. I motioned him to the door and opened it up, to find Coach Moore, the school's athletic director standing there. "Hey coach," I greeted him, "come on in, we were just finishing up."
Turning to Brandon, I said, "Thanks for coming by and sharing that with me. It's a sticky situation, but I am sure we can work it out. I'll give it some thought and we'll meet again after practice to go over it some more."
Brandon clearly caught the double entendres and both blushed and grinned. He clearly wanted to get on his own in. "OK, coach," he replied as he walked out the door, "I am just trying to do my job as captain. The way I see it, it's time for me to take some of the load off of you."
OK, that was clever, and it definitely sounded promising. I smiled and told him goodbye as I sat down to visit with Coach Moore. "What's going on," Coach Moore asked puzzled.
"Nothing major," I assured him, "Brandon was just telling me about some personality conflicts on the team. He doesn't want any cliques to develop. He is really motivated to make the most of his senior year. It would be nice if the program could make its first playoff appearance during his last year. He has been a huge part of building the program up the last three years."
"Not only that," Coach Moore told me, "he is a great kid. Teachers are always telling me how well he represents the athletes. I understand he is up for the Outstanding Senior award, and the principal wants to appoint him as the Student Representative to the Board of Education's athletics committee. You have really helped him grow up over the last couple years."
I beamed from Coach's praise as well as out of pride for Brandon's accomplishments. Coach Moore was a big reason I came here. After finishing my college playing career, I spent a season as the assistant coach for one of the top boy's programs in the state. I had planned to spend three or four years studying under the coach there, before looking at a move to another one of the top programs.
A little over five years ago, I was one year into my plan. My team had just been eliminated in the regional finals for class 5A. The head coach took me and the team trainer out for some beers to drown our sorrows. I was taking the loss hard; we gave up the winning goal with just 50 seconds left in the game. I couldn't understand how the head coach could be so calm. He explained how he had been here before and how he knew this was one of his weakest teams in the last ten years. To him, even making the playoffs was a victory. Making it to regionals was beyond his wildest dreams at the start of the season. Then he turned to me, and told me that I was the difference.
The way the players responded to me and worked for me in practice, the way I was able to share my own experiences had raised the team beyond what he had thought possible. I mumbled some thanks, still inconsolable over the loss. The head coach put his hand on my shoulder and said he thought he might be able to cheer me up. That's when he told me.
He and Coach Moore had been coaches together at a number of schools over the last 20 years. One seemed to follow the other, getting inside tips on openings and putting in a good word for one another. Now, he explained, Coach Moore had been offered the AD's job at Sunset Valley High, a new school opening up in the suburb across town from where I was coaching. I knew the area, and knew there were a lot of good young players who would be going there over the next few years. The he dropped the kicker: Coach Moore had called looking for recommendations for a soccer coach. The head coach had given him three names of established coaches around the state. After he had run down the pros and cons of each of them, he gave Coach Moore his recommendation: forget those guys and hire his assistant coach. I was only 23, but he assured Coach Moore that before I was done, I would be better than any of the names he just gave. It was a risk, but one that would pay off big he said.
My head was spinning as coach wrote Coach Moore's number on a napkin and told me to call tomorrow. I was filled with doubt. Was I ready? Could I lead a team on my own? How would I handle players barely 5 years younger than me? As if reading my mind, coach promised me he would be a phone call away if I needed any advice, and that I was ready to do it. My own program to build from the ground up. That was a daunting thought. I wrestled with the decision all the while I was interviewing with Coach Moore and the principal. When they offered me the job, I took a week off to think it over, try to analyze the situation. Then out of nowhere, it came to me. They had looked at the others and decided I was the best choice. I had to take that confidence and run with it. I called Coach Moore and accepted the job. Now here I was, putting together a team that could make playoffs and an opening game against the school I had left as an assistant to take this job.
They were ranked #6 in the state in 5A; we were still a 4A school, and had gotten a few votes in the rankings, but not enough to crack the top 10. On paper Buchanan versus Sunset Valley was a mismatch. I had scheduled it believing that it would be the best team we would see all year. If we could hang with them, the teams on our actual conference schedule would look like they were in slow motion. As all these memories flooded back to me, I tuned back in to what Coach Moore was saying.
I had meetings all the times with Coach Moore, but none like this. He spent at least 20 minutes telling me what a great job I had done, how much I meant to the school and my players, and where this program and the athletic department was going. "We want you to be a part of our family for a long time," Coach Moore finished. I assured him I was happy here and very pleased with where the team was going. Having Brandon and Bobby around wasn't exactly a bad thing I thought to myself. What a strange meeting. Coach Moore excused himself and wished me luck with the season.
I closed the door and started to work on my practice plan for that afternoon. I had a couple of classes to teach today, but those lesson plans had been done for weeks. I was planning to work on some restart situations and defensive tactics. My planning was disrupted by the phone ringing. I picked it up and was pleasantly surprised to find Buchanan's head coach on the other end. I wondered if he would call this week and give me some good natured ribbing. Sure enough, we traded vague and understated opinions about how our teams were looking. I decided the underdog role suited me well.
"Coach, I really appreciate you scheduling us as the opener," I told him, "we are gonna learn a lot from this game. It's hard to look at an opening loss as a good thing, but we will really be ready for conference." Maybe I could lull him into a little overconfidence.
"Well, I don't know about the loss part," he answered, "I've seen some tapes from last year, you guys are going to push us hard. You have #12 returning don't you?" He was asking about Brandon.
"Yeah, we sure do," I said, downplaying any excitement, "he's a good player.
But you know, he's a little small. He can do OK against 4A teams, I don't know how he will handle your horses."
The coach chuckled, "Nice try," he said, "that kid would start for us and you know it. It's gonna be a good game. But that's not why I was calling."
"What's up?" I asked.
"Well, I wanted to visit with you about something," he said, "I decided over the summer that I was going to retire after the season. I am planning to recommend you to take over the Buchanan program."
I was shocked. I knew I was pretty well thought of in the area, but Buchanan was one of the top programs in the state. Thirteen straight years in the playoffs, 2 state championships and five state finals in that time. There is no doubt it was going to be the top job open after the season. I didn't know what to say, but now I understood the meeting with Coach Moore. He obviously had been tipped off to this.
"I really appreciate that, Coach," I said, "I'm pretty happy where I am, and I like where this program is going."
"I know that," he answered, "I just want you to think about it. We won't be doing anything to fill the job until after the season, but until you tell me positively you aren't interested, you are the front-runner. If you want it, it is yours for the asking."
"Well, I guess we can talk more after the season," I said, "Right now, I need to focus on getting this program to the playoffs."
"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," he assured me, "I'll see you Friday. Maybe we can grab a beer after the game."
"I'd like that. So long as you don't beat me too badly."
"Stop with that, I'm too old to fall you those tricks," the Buchanan coach laughed, "we'll see you Friday."
He hung up and my planning was done for the day. All I could think about was this offer. If not for Coach Moore's visit that morning, I would have chalked this up to gamesmanship designed to distract me leading up to the game. I looked over today's practice plan, made a couple of last minute changes, and stuck it in my drawer. It was almost time for class, so I grabbed my lesson plans and headed out.
Practice couldn't come soon enough. The team was sharp today and we got a good session in. I sent them to the showers and Brandon lingered behind.
"Did you mean what you said this morning about meeting after practice?" he asked hopefully.
"I'm glad you caught that," I answered, "just stop by my office after you shower."
"OK, see you in a few," Brandon said, and ran to catch up with the team.
I finished locking up the gym, as I slowly watched the team exit the building. When I went to check the locker room, Brandon and Bobby were standing bareassed at their lockers, chatting and putting their training gear up, before they bothered to dress. I am sure Brandon was fighting a hard on with all his might.
"Let's get going guys. I don't want to stay here all night," I said.
They tugged up their boxers in unison and started to finish dressing. Just then David came out the the bathroom area bareassed as well and headed to his locker. David was the most hung kid on the team, soft at least. I had sadly never seen him hard. He was only about 5'8", with dark curly hair. He was Honduran, and had the deeply tanned brown skin of a Central American.
He was fairly hairy. Thick black hairs covered his stout legs and a happy trail that was more like a happy forest would its way up from his pubes to his navel. No hair could be thick enough to conceal the huge piece of soft meat between his legs. It was 6 inches soft and thick as his wrist. This stocky little man has two fat balls hanging below as well. I stared, he caught me looking, laughed and made his way to the locker to finish dressing.
I headed back to my office and Brandon walked in the open door and announced, "everyone is out. I shut off the lights."
"Well come on over here then," I said, pulling him to me and kissing him deeply. He kissed back, our tongues caressing one another ever so tenderly.
I ran my hands over his back, feeling the little ripples of muscle beneath his smooth skin. He moaned softly and I swear I hear him whisper "I love you" as he kissed more vigorously. He moved down and began to suck on my neck as my hands traced circles around his hard nipples, adding a light pinch occasionally which would cause him to shudder and begin to grind against me. His right hand moved to my crotch. He laid it across my bulging shorts, which I had not bothered to change from practice.
"You are so huge," he gasped as he groped my bulging cock through my shorts.
"I owe you one, Coach," he said as he began to tug my shorts down. I knew the building was empty, but just in case I shut and locked my door. I finished taking my shorts down, and Brandon peeled my blue jockeys off as well, releasing all 7 3/4 inches into the air. Brandon grabbed it as it bobbed in front of him and began to stroke up and down the shaft. His small hand barely fit around my 6 inch girth. He stared hypnotized at it, as his smooth strokes evoked the first drops of precum from my slit.
Slowly, Brandon's head bent toward my cock. I could feel his hot breath on the tingling skin of my hard rod as he hovered just above it. He opened his mouth and his full lips disappeared over my mushroom head. I felt his tongue lick all over my glans. I shuddered with pleasure. Brandon did not attempt to slide any more of my meat into his small mouth. He just held the head inside him and rapidly worked his tongue all over the head like nobody ever had before. I felt his tongue feel its way to my piss slit. He bent his tongue and actually tried to fuck it into my slit. He pulled off and grinned at me. "How was it," he asked.
"Oh baby," I moaned, "that was so good. I am so hard right now. Keep stroking me."
Brandon obeyed, grabbing my shaft a beginning a steady rhythm of stroking. After all the attention his mouth gave my tip, his hand was now pleasuring my shaft. He stroked up and down then entire shaft, but always stopped just short of the ridge of my cockhead. Every bit of my shaft was being given this wonderful massage from his slightly sweaty hand.
I was in near agony as Brandon's steady stroking had me moving closer and closer to the edge, but never quite gained the pace to bring me off. All the while he was stroking me, Brandon's lips were exploring parts of my body. He licked my balls briefly, he sucked on my nipples, he kissed all over my stomach. He had worked his pants down to his ankles and his hard cock was peeking through his boxers.
He finally had me lay on the floor and he brought himself alongside me. His mouth was planted to my chests as he worked my nipples over. His cock humped my leg slowly as he continued his steady stroking. He was moving his hand more quickly over the shaft of my cock. He lengthened his stroke to polish my helmet on each upstroked. I was thrusting into his palm now, feeling my balls begin to draw up to my body. My cock pulsed and I fired an enormous shot up onto my chest, the second shot hit my abs and a third pooled just above my pubes. Brandon kept milking me but my 28 year old cock softened a bit faster than his teen piece. He was still thrusting against my leg when I felt his gooey sperm coat me. He lay beside me, sweaty, covered in cum, and nuzzled into my side. I held him tenderly. Sniffing his just washed hair, I planted a kiss on the top of his head.
We dressed slowly, holding each other often. As we left the school, we stole a quick kiss beneath the lamp post before I headed to faculty parking and he made the long hike to the student lot.
I won't go into what we said that night before we left, but I could live to be eighty and the words we shared will still be burned into my brain.