Chapter One Twenty-Two
Disclaimer/Reminder: The following story is a work of gay fiction although based on non-fictional events. It contains sexual acts involving males of high school age as well as older males. There are scenes of involuntary humiliation and punishment, some of them graphic. If this subject matter is offensive to you or if you are too young to be reading it, please exit now. Now kid! You have been warned. This story is the property of the author under U.S. copyright laws, and may not be used elsewhere without written consent. Otherwise enjoy it to your heart's content. Emails expressing interest or wishing further information can be sent to: mtnuda@hotmail.com.
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(NOTE: This story involves a "prequel" regarding the O'Toole family mentioned in Chapter Ninety-Seven. Several readers expressed an interest in hearing more about the character of Pat O'Toole. Although these stories are stand-alone, the reader is strongly advised to begin at the beginning all the way back in Chapter One. By reading Chapter Ninety-Seven alone (or for that matter Chapter Ninety-Eight for Coach Don Farbersten), the reader will have a better idea who the characters are and how they came to be in that crowded room with Pat being forced to explain to his roommates all the ordeals he endured to bring him to such a crossroads. That being said, here is the Pat's story.
"What the hell's been your problem Tool?" Coach Farbersten again singled out Pat O'Toole for attention "you been checked out the last three practices. You wanna make Varsity or not?" and the cycle of trouble started up again. Whenever either of the coaches had a bug up his butt it always seemed Pat would have to be on the receiving end of it. The assistant coach, that Sorin guy, was bad but Senior Coach Farbersten was the worst. So Pat lowered his head and waited for it to hit the fan.
"Yes coach more'n anything!" Pat looked around at his teammates hoping someone would come to his defense. His older brother Mike was senior varsity wrestler and being Iowa that was a huge accomplishment. But Pat had more than that one count against him. To make it worse he was a "mere" junior" who did not have at least six years of wrestling already behind him, and even worse, he was making no motions towards giving up his spot on the baseball team. Baseball in Iowa barely got a passing notice in the local sports page. So that is why he was assigned to the B group while his brother, of course, was the A group.
"Okay ladies hit the showers!" Don yelled "everyone except you!" pointing at Pat.
"Me?" oh shit here it comes.
"Yeah, you'n me gonna work on your sloppy style. I can't have an O'Toole on this team embrarrassing us" he growled "or embarrassing your brother on top of it."
"Yes coach anything you say coach" Pat watched his various teammates file out of the practice room in silence. It seemed like making JV much less Varsity was going to be a major ass-buster. Once everyone had vacated the room Coach Farbersten pointed at the center of the mat. Maybe now Pat might figure out why he was wasting his time with the B group,
"Assume the position" Pat knew enough to drop to his knees checking his mouthpiece in the process. Once he had dropped to his hands he felt that hot flesh embrace him "go!" and there was a split-second flurry or arms and legs as Pat tried to escape the hold and Farbersten did everything to counter every move. Again and again they practiced escapes, sometimes Pat managed to spin around and if lucky enough get to his feet at least try to attempt a take-down. Other times – most of the times – he found himself bundled and crumpled into a mass of flesh, his shoulders dangerously close to a pin. Over and over the practiced the same moves, Pat a bit shocked that the coach had no qualms about grabbing him in the crotch, even though the close contact was doing little to keep Pat from getting more and more aroused. During those times when his coach started in the bottom position, Pat made sure to keep his hand far from that dangerous area of the coach's crotch. After the third or fourth escape, Don grunted,
"Damnit boy, I ain't gonna break!" grabbing Pat's hand and placing it firmly on his bulge "if you don't keep your opponent – "
"C'mon coach!" Pat turned even redder. And for someone as blond and fair-skinned as he was, that was bright enough to signal low-flying planes "grabbing a dude there – "
"Is that it?" Don pointed at the center of the mat again until Pat was back on his hands and knees. This time Don made a point of giving Pat's hardon a tight squeeze and not letting go "you got issues being grabbed... there?" actually rubbing it "just because you bone, ain't a deal-breaker... or a match ender, y'hearing me Pat?"
"Y-y-you..." Pat was panting and gasping for air, only partly because of the last half-hour of practice "what are you saying? I mean you sure, coach?"
"Okay switch" Don got up, replacing Pat on his hands and knees "now you do it! And be a man about it!"
"You sure? Y'mean grab you..." before he could finish Don grabbed Pat's hand and placed it firmly on his nads, making sure Pat's slow brain got the picture.
"Okay now try to pin me" and this time when he coach tried to break the hold, Pat's hand was not afraid to apply holds everyone, no matter what it took to keep his opponent down. Again and again they reversed positions, their hands free to grab and tug anywhere necessary. When Farbersten was convinced Pat was dangerously hard and almost about to leak pre-cum, and then even felt himself start the process of getting dangerously aroused in turn he grunted "okay okay! Enough for one day! Don't wanna wear you out with one practice" quickly pinning him, but only long enough for Pat to realize both their crotches were pressed together, enough for Pat to feel his coach's cock pressed against his "hit the showers Tool!"
"Yes coach" feeling all that hot sweaty flesh finally roll off of him. He struggled to his feet with a slight assist.
"Now maybe just maybe if you would show as much... aggression to your other opponents as you showed me just now... maybe... maybe... I'll find a place for you on this team after all."
"Thanks coach! You're the best!"
"Don't thank me yet" Don kept his stone face in place "now go shower up, you stink!"
"Yes coach!" and Pat was out of the room fast. For being one of the worst days so far, it was turning out almost bearable, like he might survive this after all. He knew he had little chance of making the real wrestling squad the Varsity squad, hell he only did it at his brother's urging. And now knowing getting a bone during practices, even grabbing and being grabbed in that super-forbidden area, was not going to get him tarred and feathered like he always feared. The way his coach had no qualms about grabbing his dick, even his hard dick! – and letting, no making Pat do the same to him in turn... Pat stripped down thinking a major hurdle in his life has finally been overcome. When he was naked and heading for the shower with his towel securely tucked around his waist like he had always been told to do, he felt like something like a huge burden, a secret tormenting fear, had been lifted off his shoulders.
He stood under the hot spray, enjoying the fact that he could now hog all the hot water, and pressure, to himself for a change. For being such a gung-ho sports high school you would have thought they could at least have up-to-date plumbing fer crissakes! So nothing felt better than to stand under the spray and feel it flush all the redness from his face and upper body, all his almost too-big-for-baseball, too-wide-for-wrestling muscles in his shoulders and arms letting the water flush all his pent-up tension down the drain. He was just about to reach for the soap before his muscles got too relaxed when he heard a second shower start! What the fuck?
"Sorry but I usually wait til I get home" there stood his coach, Don Farbersten, almost naked in little more than his nylon shorts. His wet clinging nylon shorts. His wet clinging nylon shorts molded to every inch of flesh Pat had been grabbing not ten minutes before. Pat took in the whole package all one-ninety some pounds of perfectly sculpted National title holder wrestler tightly packaged onto his five ten frame. His slight dusting of brown chest hair leading down to a full thatch at this crotch that seemed to spread all over his thighs and legs, and all of it just a perfect complement to his chunky muscular frame directing the spray around and down to that perfect cock and low hangers, acting like his display of nakedness was nothing worth bothering about. Standing across the room like he was, Pat realized he actually had several inches on coach Farbersten and then those inches started to grow fast! Pat turned his back to the coach, facing the wall fast as his cock began to grow and fill out, lifting up and away from his dark blond pubes so fast he almost had to take a step backwards so his ten plus cut meat did not hit the wall, fer crissakes. He dropped his head and closed his eyes and prayed for it to go down. But he feared now his chances of making the team were going down the drain with all that soap and sweat. Everything was going down except his g-d hardon!
So it was a slow awkward waiting game, Pat facing the wall hoping sooner or later his coach would finish and leave. Finally after several hours Pat heard the shower behind him stop. He waited a few moments then turned hoping to see him leave.
Instead Don Farbersten, all one ninety pounds of sculpted muscle on that compact frame gave a short cough just standing there waiting for Pat to turn and then like it was nothing lowered his shorts and stepped out of them, his jock-covered crotch facing Pat, his eyes on what was sticking sideways from Pat's crotch. Pat froze knowing he was totally busted, no longer bothering to try to hide his enormously betraying boner.
"C-c-coach...er um... I mean..."
Instead of replying Don took a few steps until he was at the shower right next to Pat! And to push it even further into the impossible unreal zone he turned that shower on. Before Pat could react, and with his eyes still glued to Pat's pulsing hardon, Don just reached down and his jockstrap was also around his ankles. Pat saw everything, the shower, the room, his world, collapse to just that six inches of thick cock. Even those wet hairy pubes and hairy thighs were like background window dressing compared to that fat wrinkled mass of reddened tubular flesh. Pat grabbed himself fast but too late! He felt more than saw two thick shots of cum fly out and hit the floor between them.
Pat knew his life was over but his cock continued to ooze more and more white goo onto the tile in front of him. He was about to bolt out of there when he heard one word,
"Don't" and then like a total fool Pat opened his eyes and dared to glance at his coach, not believing where his coach was staring; he was staring at Pat's crotch.
"Huh?" was the best Pat could manage. In response Don grabbed some soap and began to lather up his muscled slighty-haired chest, then to his tattooed bicep and scarred shoulder. But when his hands went lower, Pat stood frozen where he stood. And when they went even lower and began to lather that bulls-eye crotch Pat almost stopped breathing. Still he continued to soap and lather his balls and dick, slicking his soapy hand back and forth until it was blatantly obvious Don was doing more than cleaning himself – he was starting to jack off! Pat gasped when his brain caught up with his bugging eyes "c-c-coach?"
"Don't" catching Pat's slight wobble as he tried to back away. Pat's post-orgasm brain was not functioning right—he could not believe his coach wanted him to stay and witness this. Not after busting Pat for letting himself cum in the shower room! Pat could not stay, he could not go. He wished he could undo the last five minutes, five hours, five years of his life and do everything all over. Because now he knew he had damned himself beyond the point of any recovery. He was so busy spinning and all but hyperventilating he almost did not hear that little voice in his head say: stay.
Stay? I can't do that! Pat tried to argue with himself.
Stay and if you play it cool, everything will work out, it responded.
This is crazy! Pat tried.
Leaving would be crazier, it continued, trust me.
This is nuts!
Do it, the voice finished in a way Pat could no longer argue. Maybe he could stay, but he did not have to stare at what his coach's hand was doing. Instead Pat lowered his head and closed his eyes, waiting for something – anthing! – to break the stalemate. And that's when it happened; Pat felt a soapy hand make contact with his shaking leg and slide up until it found Pat's half-hard!
"Huh!" Pat grunted and bucked his hips backwards with the shock, but Don's other hand grabbed Pat around his waist and held him fast. Once he realized Pat was not going to flee out of there, or worse pass out! Don guided Pat's good hand down to his rapidly filling cock. They stood there soaping and stroking each other in a race to see who would get full-out boned first. Don won by maybe ten seconds. Without saying a word, with only the slightest pressure on Pat's shoulders, Pat got the horrible, impossible idea that he was being directed to his knees, and his mouth was being directed to that recently rinsed hard-on now thrusting and bobbing up and out from his coach's crotch. Pat's mouth was on that cock for all of five seconds before he was muscled down to the wet tiles onto his back, that cock not leaving his mouth for more than a moment.
Pat lay there as his mouth was used like a fuck-hole not hard enough to make him gag but enough to let him know who was in change. It did not take long before the thrusts into his mouth let him know his coach was going to empty his balls into Pat's waiting mouth. Before Pat could react and resign himself to what was coming, Don spun around until they were head to toe, with Don's face only a few inches about Pat's damning and incriminating bone. Don knocked Pat's hand away and began to do the work himself, stroking Pat's cock with a steady demanding grip bringing him closer and closer to a second orgasm.
"No stop no no!" Pat grunted, trying to angle his coach's cock back into his mouth.
"Cum for me! Lemme see this cannon shoot again! Cum! That's an order!" and just like that Pat unloaded again, the grip so tight his first volley shot up several feet hitting Don right in the face. But that did not stop him for continuing to pump several more shots from Pat, only loosening the grip when he lowered his cock back into that gasping mouth. One minute, two minutes passed of those muscled hips flexing and ramming that cock faster and faster into Pat's mouth all the while his grip on Pat's cock kept him from loosing even a little of that eternal hardness. When Don felt Pat start to writhe and twist with that cock again tightening and spasming, he let his own cock find that soft spot in Pat's throat and that did it. He felt his cock erupt and flood that kid's mouth, his throat muscles gagging and squeezing tight as his cock continued again and again to shoot his long-awaited orgasm into that mouth, his hand tightening and speeding up and then as he expected, yet a third load of cum erupted from Pat's cock, enough to coat his hand as he continued the relentless stroking. Finally Pat screamed,
"No stop! Enough!"
"Third time's the charm, ain't it?" Don rolled off and sprang to his feet so fast Pat knocked his head on the tiles "get up and get cleaned up before somebody sees us!" like it was not too late for that. He hovered over Pat, letting the last of his load slowly drip down on Pat's face.
"Shit damn..." Pat tried not to swallow any more but he knew he was labeled a cock sucker and worse. When his coach gave him a slight slap to his cheek he struggled to his feet, getting a friendly assist as one thick arm guided him up and back to the showers, now running cool water "damn" jumping under the cold spray.
"That's your punishment for using up all my hot water!" Don growled, looking mean and pissed.
"Sorry coach... but..."
"You always cum like that?" Don wasted no words, now the deed was done "three times in what? Ten minutes? You been saving it for – "
"Hell no! I mean – "
"So how many times CAN you cum?"
"What?"
"Three four FIVE?" seeing Pat's blush.
"You serious?"
"Answer the question O'Toole!" Don stood there trying to resume his hard-ass mode "tell me!"
"I dunno maybe..." lowering his head "six...?"
"You can shoot off six times? In a day?"
"Maybe... um er... in an hour?"
"We're gonna have to see about that" Don glared at him like one of his team members was lying straight to his face "but for now we won't talk about this, say it!"
"Shit no! I mean, hell no."
"We don't talk about this! Say it!"
"Okay I don't talk about this! I won't breathe a word about any of this" like I still can't believe it myself, he thought.
Pat was too freaked out to mention a word of what had happened that night after practice, even when his big brother grilled him about coming home late. The two of them was all but browbeaten into continuing their basement exercise routine for the next several days, but all the while Pat knew his brother Mike could smell something had changed, something Pat had done, some nasty unmentionable thing had happened which Pat struggled to keep secret. Which made Mike all the more determined to get it out of him. And Mike knew he was probably the last person on earth to whom Pat would spill the beans, his one year seniority enough to cause a barrier at times like this. Like Pat's secret would unravel the precarious balance that made the O'Toole family function. Even less likely Pat would spill his guts down here in front of their younger brother Sean or worse, their dad!
But the worst ordeals were the next days' wrestling practices. As much as Pat was on damage control at home, at school and during the next practices Pat was hyper-alert to the slightest signals from either Coach Farbersten or his practice mates for that matter. But now it was Coach Sorin, his now JV coach, watching his every move like Pat would pull something funny... damn, it was enough to give him a major case of the willies! Pat watched and waited for his coach – for anyone! – to let a comment slip, something about showers or shit, but other than his regular coach sticking to the hard-ass no-funny-business script, everything seemed normal. Like what happened that afternoon never actually happened. Until it got to the point Pat began to actually entertain thoughts that it really never did happen; that his memory of him and Coach Farbersten was some weird dream or delusion brought on my too little food combined with too much exercise. But if it was all a weird stress-induced fantasy, then why was Coach Sorin now always drilling those eagle-eyes into him.
It continued like that for a week or two, the constant scrutiny at school, the constant needling at home, until Pat thought he would crack. Just when he thought about taking Mike into his confidence later than night, the situation at practice changed. When it began to be both Coaches at their practice, Pat smelled a rat. Something or somebody was upping the stakes. Something was about to shift their precarious balance and Pat could only suspect he would be singled out to do... what?
"Okay you!" Coach Sorin pointed at Dominic, someone who had always seemed to keep to the background. Dominic Delcosta, transfer student from Minnesota, had gone from being the brunt of the team's jokes to being just a piece of wallpaper. Not that he was a bad wrestler, it was just he was not built like one. More like a track and field star, all legs and lean muscles. But when the guys realized he was not to be intimidated or shamed off the team, everyone began to give him his space. At least until that Sorin coach singled him out. Everyone sat and waited for the worst to begin.
"Who me?"
"Yeah, you and..." Coach scanned the room long enough to make it look convincing "O'Toole!"
"What?" Pat looked at Dominic, knowing he was at least two weight classes beneath him "me?"
"Yeah, you two both are sloppy on take-downs. Show each other your best" did Pat hear the slight underlining of that word? "moves."
"As for the rest of you ladies" Farbersten continued "everyone else work on reversals. That means NOW GIRLS!" and the group split into twosomes.
"Dom right?" Pat held out his hand.
"Pat, yeah, I know you" what did that mean?
"Okay you two" and right away Sorin was in their faces "O'Toole you on bottom! Start!" and Pat got to this knees feeling the lighter, leaner guy grab him. When his hand went right to Pat's groin, he knew something was up. The whistle blew and they were at it, Pat's superior strength versus Dom's longer limbs until Pat had Dom flat on his back.
"Again!" Sorin yelled this time with Dom on his knees "remember what Coach Farbersten been working with you on" in a voice lower than Pat expected. It dawned on him then, now Coach Sorin wanted Pat to grab Dom's balls blatantly this time. He had no option so Pat grabbed his opponent and almost yanked away when he realized Dom was starting to chub in a serious way "go!" again the whistle screaming in his ear. Over and over they practiced and thrashed around until Pat realized he had not choice but to let himself get as hard as Dom had gotten. He was so preoccupied feeling Dom's hand on his bone growing more and more aggressive he barely noticed Farbersten leaving. But Dom was going for the kill, even giving him an almost obvious hand-job at every opportunity. And with Sorin now barking in his ears, Pat had to return to favor, even when Dom's cock went from hard to leaking. And each time they reversed and began again, more and more of the other guys began to slow to watch them. By the time both were full hard and all but masturbating each other, half the team had stopped to gawk at the exhibition. And with Pat's thick-headed stretched cockhead and Dom's precum-stained front, it was a serious display.
"Again!" Coach barked "okay you guys, ain't nothing to freak out about" talking to the others who were crouching in a sweaty circle at first sneaking looks, then opening staring "you think you can wrestle and not get the occasion erection, well hell, you ain't kids! It's gonna happen, and when it happens you better make darn sure you use full advantage of it. If you can get your opponent distracted enough, then pin the bastard! If you get boned first, don't let it make you lose your focus. Because ladies it's gonna happen to every one of you sooner or later – hey I didn't tell you two to stop! Okay Costa let's see you pin Tool now!" which is what Dom attempted to do. But what began as flailing of limbs and sweaty slippery grabs became a mutual grab at each other's bone. And when Dom got Pat's shoulders in a full nelson, his back arched and his crotch shoved upwards, the full extent of those ten plus inches of hard cock with that obscene flared head was so clearly displayed to get several grunts and gasps from the room. But Pat had no intention of letting himself get pinned just yet, so when Dom flipped him down trying to slam his shoulders to the mat, he bundled himself into a little ball and the momentum threw Dom down to the mat. When Pat brought his weight down on him, their two crotches slammed together, Dom grunted and bucked and that's when it happened. Pat felt a flood of hotness spread between them as he pinned Dom, then quickly sprang to his feet. As he did everyone saw the dark stains on his the tented crotch of his singlet.
"Dude lost his load" he heard from several directions around the room. He looked down at himself, praying it was not his cum. But the wetness only served to outline his swollen cock, highlighting every crease and vein through the thin material. When Dom struggled to his feet, everyone could see the real source of the wetness. Dom had blown his load all over himself!
Pat was too freaked to join everyone else in the showers but left practice still sticky with Dom's cum, his street clothes tossed on almost as an after thought. By the time he got home he was trailing the distinctive bleachy scent behind him in his smelly wake.
Good thing it was Friday because Pat was not in any mood to show his face outside the house for a while. He had barely gotten into the shower when the doorbell rang, yelling "someone get that!" before stepping into the warming stream. When it continued to ring he swore and tucked a towel around his wet frame and ran downstairs.
"Tommy!" Pat groaned "Mike ain't here" letting the teammate of his brother into the house "didn't he – "
"He's supposed to meet me here in like" checking his watch "like fifteen minutes ago!"
"Well you know where his room is" and Pat headed back up stairs, leaving a dripping trail behind him. He was not surprised to hear Tommy follow him. But when he followed Pat into the bathroom instead of continuing down the hall Pat turned "what?"
"Finish your shower" Tommy leaned his bulky frame again the door jam, a nervous smugness on his face "from what I hear you can – "
"What?" Pat spun around, clutching the towel like that might help "you heard what?" oh shit here it comes! Pat expected to here the upperclassman make snide sneering comments about what had happened during wrestling practice. His "problem" was about to become major school gossip. And if Tommy heard something from his dad Coach Brunner, then that meant Tommy's dad and his own coach Farbersten, was now spreading the word all over the damn school! So much for Farbersten keeping to his word "spit it out, Brunner! What? Does your dad – "
Tommy let out a nervous chuckle and shook his head "man, does Mike know what a stud he got for a kid brother?"
"Huh? WHAT?"
"Man, talk about secret weapon!" glancing down at Pat's towel "from what I hear, that tool's so scary you can just win a match by just rubbing it against a dude! Dirty tactics still win meets, right?" his eyes not leaving Pat's crotch "I do mean meat!"
"Knock it off, okay?" Pat expected this to be real bad, but so far he just might survive this in one piece "what else you hear? Spill it Brunner!"
"Just that anybody tries to pin you ends up messing their jock" chuckling and staring "wait til Mike – "
"Don't say a word promise me Tommy!"
"Like he don't already know, c'mon half the school – like definitely the cheerleaders – they all want some of that!" actually pointing now "dude talk about getting a serious rep!"
"Does Mike know?"
"Not yet not until – "
"Still don't say anything to Mike, promise me!"
"I won't if..." and there was that nervous smugness again.
"If what Tommy?"
"If... hmmm" Mike's best friend stood there weighing his option "seems to me you don't want me saying anything to your brother, right?"
"Yeah please Tommy okay?"
"And... if I don't say shit or..." if there was one thing that got Tom off, it was seizing an advantage "or if he did hear shit, I'll just say it's so much jealous gossip or shit or – "
"You'd do that?"
"Sure" narrowing his eyes "if..."
"If what?"
"You owe me a big favor..."
"Sure Tommy anything" Pat doubted anything the big lug could come up with would be too terrible "okay?"
"Make that three favors – "
"Sure fine deal okay" Pat stood there, sweat and water puddling the floor.
"First... um... favor" Tom knew the worst would be Pat would just laugh. But Tom suspected Mike's brother would not risk making waves "let's see it."
"Huh?"
"Let's see if it's all they say it is" Tom leaned there trying to look indifferent and failing by the second "drop the towel..."
"You... huh... what?"
"Do it... or the deal's off. Do it!"
Pat looked at Tom trying to gauge him, suspecting he's just laugh and make snide comments. But something about his eyes darting up and down, told Pat to trust that little voice again. The little voice saying: do it do it do it. So keeping his eyes locked on Tom's Pat let the towel fall to the floor, exposing it all. He heard a slight "wow" escape from Tom's throat.
"H-h-how..." Tom was turning beat red "how... big...?" does it get? He wanted to cough out. But the noose around his neck prevented anything coherent getting out. Instead he slowly bent forward to get a better look at that soft eight inches hung down from Pat's wet pubes, his balls slowly crinkling and lifting. As they did, that tube began to fill and lift forward "f-fu-fuck..." watching Pat trying to cover himself with his hands, then deciding to just let himself harden then and there.
But before either one could say or do anything they both heard the front door and Tommy snapped out of his trance coughing "Mike!"
"Yeah!"
"Up here" Tommy bolted for Mike's room with a glance over his shoulder "they weren't shitting you ARE the stud! Tool stud!" closing the door behind him, leaving Pat alone to make sense of that. But if Tommy dared to spread any trash talk, then the probability of it getting back to Mike would be a noose around both their necks.