Date: Sat, 24 Dec 2005 19:10:35 -0500 (EST) From: r Subject: 'Coach Medder #2' {R Frasier} (MB hs) [2!3] Here's the second part of the Coach Medder story, following up a few days after the first left off. This story involves a sexual relationship between a football team member and his coach. This segment of the story involves a more sexually driven story with consumption pot as well. Thanks for the input - comments welcome at collegefrat05@excite.com. Enjoy. ----------------------------------------------------------- Coach Medder #2 We played miserably that Friday night. Fumbles, interceptions, and injuries nearly threw Coach Medder into overload. By the fourth quarter, his clipboard spent more time on the ground than it did in his hands. I didn't make things any better by completely blowing a play, which give the Hornets possession of the ball and soon after, a touchdown. Thankfully, it was a home game, so after Coach chewed us out over the game, we all decided to head over to Nate's place for a post-game kegger. Nate asked Coach Medder if he'd like to come. "No thanks boys. Some of us actually feel bad about how we played tonight. Besides, bunch of us old farts are gonnabe campin' tonight." Slightly disappointed, I went ahead to Nate's party. The party was basically a keg hanging off the back of a Dually and a hay bale bonfire. About 40 people showed up, including my best friend Chase. As Chase and I waited in line for a cup of beer, we talked about the game and Coach Medder. "That man's gotta have two dicks or somethin'," Chase grumbled, shaking his head. "You heard what happened when old principal Brooks called Coach Medder into her office for cussin'?" He spit sharply. "Apparently, he fucked her until she screamed once. Janitors broke into the room `cause they thought he was hurtin' her." I nodded my head, but said in his defense, "Yeah, but that was before he married, and before we were in high school. That all might jus' be bullshit." Chase laughed. "Whatever, bro. All I know is my girlfriend wants to fuck the shit outta him. She tells me all the details and I'm like, `Fuck woman, thas like telling me you wanna fuck my dad." As it rolled around to 3:00 in the morning everyone started to wander off. Three of us started to walk out further into the woods. After ten minutes or so, we came upon a small clearing with a tent and a guy smoking in front of a campfire. TJ, more drunk than awake, shouted over-emphatically, "How's it goin' Mr.? Don't mind us, we're just passin' through." The man looked over his left shoulder and smiled. He set his cigarette down on a nearby rock and stood, bellowing, "Well look at you drunk, ugly bitches! How're you boys doin' tonight?" I knew exactly who it was and warmed right up to him. "Doin' alright Coach. Just wanderin' around Nate's land, lookin' for some pussy." Coach Medder laughed, saying, "Well all I got for ya here is squirrel pussy." He turned and pointed to a small, red cooler. "And hot dog buns. Anyone hungry?" We all shook our heads, and moved to sit on the ground near the campfire. Coach sat down on his original chair and asked, "You boys smoke?" TJ suddenly came to life and perkily said, "Hell yeah Coach. You got any Reds?" Coach Medder relit his cigarette, then flicked his arm to close the Zippo lighter. "Actually, don't mean cigarettes. You boys never smoked weed before?" The other two, I came to find, smoked at least casually. Only I had never smoked before. "Aw, no pressure Hawes. You don't mind if we smoke, do you?" I didn't. As the joint made its way around the group, Coach Medder let each person know exactly how they could've play better during the game. "TJ, you kep' gettin' cocky out there. Brownwood loves to knock the cocky outta folks." "Chase, don't be afraid to be a leader to these guys. I know you're a junior, but you're a damn good QB." He turned to me, "And Hawes, you're one of our best, boy. What happened out there tonight?" "Sorry Coach. Just had a bad night." Coach Medder took long hit and spoke while he held it in, "Just don't have too many. Conference games are fixin' ta'start." He exhaled and reached across me to pass the joint to Chase. Feeling a little ballsy, I held my arm out to take the joint from Coach. He gave me a funny look, asked if I was sure, then passed me the weed. I put the slightly moistened tip against my lips and inhaled deeply, like I did when I smoked a Camel. Acrid, dense clouds filled my insides and stuck against my lungs, forcing me into a coughing fit. The other guys joked my cherry had been officially popped, while Coach kicked my shoe. "Tryin' ta'be a superhero there, boy?" After the joint burned down to its ashes, TJ was nearly comatose. Chase let us know he had to work tomorrow, so he slapped his thighs, stood up and popped TJ's sunken head. "Get up fucker, I'm takin' ya home." TJ grunted, stood up, then sleepily stood behind Chase. "Brian, you gonna come with us or stay here awhile?" I turned toward Coach Medder in a half shrug. "You're welcome to stay awhile Hawes. The other guy I was campin' with ^Ö Jeremy - his wife went into labor just after we got here. Sat here on mah'hands, `till you boys showed up." I looked up at Chase and shooed him off, "Yeah, I'll be fine here, bro. Talk to ya tomorrow bud." TJ rubbed his eyes, half-waved, then trudged back the way we came. Chase ran after him, saying, "Wait up dickhead, you don't know where yer goin'." Coach looked over at me, and then reached down into his duffle bag. "You feel like another?" I nodded. I faced Coach in his chair while he lit another joint. He squint his eyes as the tip flared orange and smoke billowed. He set his arm down on his leg, then leaned back to keep the hit in. Slowly, he exhaled the smoke and coughed once. I took a small hit and began feeling disoriented. My whole body tingled and felt alive. My senses felt more intense: colors were more exciting, each texture felt new, and doors opened simultaneously in my mind. Coach looked at me, smiled broadly, and took the joint. "You wanna^Å?" Without another word, I crawled over, unzipped his pants, and gently pulled his cock out. I slowly worked his cock with my hands, enjoying every second the thing needed to get hard. After pumping Coach to attention, I leaned down and lifted one of his balls in my mouth with my tongue. The slight hint of man-sweat teased my tongue and his scent filled my nostrils. I pulled off, and then engulfed his entire ball sac. He slowly jerked off and took another hit while I tugged gently on his nuts. "Suck my dick, boy. Wrap your mouth around this meat." I was happy to oblige, engulfing his 8 inch monster. He allowed me to lap on his cock for nearly 10 minutes while he smoked his joint and encouraged me. "Yeah, baby. That mouth of yours is mine. Swallow Daddy's cock." Finally, he pushed me away gently, stood and walked into his tent. When he returned, he carried a large sleeping bag, which he rolled out next to the campfire. I stripped naked, then lay face down on it. Coach Medder walked over, still clothed, and lay on top of me, holding me tightly and grinding his cock through his jeans into my ass. "I seem to remember this from Tuesday night." I moaned, remembering the load he shot in me. "Think you're ready to take it again, boy?" "Yes sir. I need it Coach. Please fuck me Coach." He stood again, pulled his shirt over his head and dropped his jeans to the ground. Then, he reached over, grabbed the joint from near his chair and brought it over to the sleeping bag. He turned me on my back, his knees down above my shoulders, his cock in my eyes and my eyes begging, eager to take the meat in my face. His thick, forceful fingers tugged my hair and head forward, as he hissed, "Do it ^Ö now." My desperate tongue greeted his foreskin, testing the tip and slipping under it. As the head entered my mouth, I nibbled it once to feel the commanding thickness of his cock. Soon, he shoved the entire length down my throat to the hilt, using my hole until saliva helplessly glistened on my chin and cheeks. As he mercilessly beat his nut sac against the bottom of my face, I reached up and massaged his ever-tensing muscular gut. His eyes transfixed on his own cock and my mouth, vigorously pursing his lips and cursing my warm, inviting throat. One hand, full of hair, pounded my head on his cock while the other gave his own mouth an effortlessly long hit from his joint. He exhaled, blowing the smoke on my head, and moaned, "Take it baby. Suck it all for Daddy." Stopping, he released my head. I took the time to work his cock over, teasing each vein and crevice with my lips and tongue. As he pushed my shoulders down to free his cock from my mouth, he presented it to my face. It stood proud and fierce, glimmering slightly from the campfire. He tugged the foreskin on his dick down and up like a piston. His joint flashed an orange burst of light as he inhaled, revealing the face of determined ecstasy. In a low groan, he exhaled slowly and allowed the smoke to settle over us, then threw the joint into the campfire. Consumed with lust, I grabbed each stiff sack of pectoral in my hands and shoved him off me, between my legs. Taking the cue and in a fluid motion, he slid his arms under my legs and up over his shoulders. I felt a log on my balls, grinding vertically against the sec. He repositioned his cock parallel with mine and jacked us both off. While jacking us off, he threw his head and eyes backward, overwhelmed by the dense erotic air of the scene. Finally, in three quick motions, he jammed his spit-covered rod against the entrance to my asshole, pulled back, and then filled my hole. When I felt his balls settling against my ass, he swung his head down and penetrated my mouth with his hungry tongue. We wrestled in this way, cock fighting my ass and tongue dueling tongue, until minutes collided with hours. Then, he pulled off my mouth, thrust his left hand on top of my head, and groaned, "Oh, fuck yeah." Soon his meat bloated, ready to coat my insides. He shot the first load, letting my ass know its size before it escaped his cock. Before he fired the next volley, he grabbed my sides tightly, lifted me from the sleeping bag, and pulled my hole as close to him as possible. After 5 shots in my ass, he threw me to the sleeping bag, and climbed back to his position on his knees above my shoulders. Jerking his cock for another few seconds, he blew a second load, covering my face and open mouth with his cum. After seeing his work, he took hold of his penis and rubbed it appreciatively against my face, smearing cum and claiming me as his. "Yer a damn good lay, boy. And this cock next to yer face is a good look for you." He backed up, pulled me up by my neck, licked a little of his cum off my cheek, then kissed me deeply. I joked, "I think we gotta problem stayin' clean, Coach." "Yeah, well there'sa small pond fed by'a hot spring over yonder. Wanna go skinny dippin?" "I don't know, Coach Medder," I said, smiling. "You might get some ideas." "Ideas mah'ass. Ya'know yer seducin' me and like it." "You got some funny ideas about seducin'." I flashed a grin toward him and coyly said, "Wanna seduce each other down in the pond?" Coach bent down and grabbed me by the waist. Throwing me over his shoulder, and running toward the pond, he shouted, "Shit boy, don't haf'ta ta'ask me twice!" collegefrat05@excite.com _______________________________________________ Join Excite! - http://www.excite.com The most personalized portal on the Web! [ Part 2, "'Coach Medder #1' {R Frasier} (MB hs) [1!3]" ] [ Message/RFC822 19KB. ] [ Unable to print this part. ] The story features a sexual relationship between a muscle-bear football coach and an 18 year old team member, told from the team member's prespective. The characters and town are both ficticious, simply a product of my overactive imagination. This is my first submission to the Nifty Archive and will post the already-completed follow-up to this story very soon. Comments can be directed to collegefrat05@excite.com. Hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Coach Medder This story takes place in rural East Texas - town called Morris. Morris is a real country town - only about 2000 people in the place. We've probably got more hay bales than folks in the high school. Morris is also a town run on football and Baptist Christianity, though the first usually takes precedent over the second. The sermons are only remembered when someone airs their shit out in public. But everyone, from the gossip hens at First Baptist to the old men who spend their mornings at the Dairy Queen, finds themselves yappin' about a Friday night. The football team walk the hallways of Morris High with authority and the coach does whatever he damn well pleases, as long as nothing progresses past rumor. "That was tha'best catchin' I've seen all year, boy. You been practicin' all summer or you just eat yer Lucky Charms this mornin'?" It had been the first, which left my body tanned and taut. Of course, it mattered little to Coach Medder, who seemed like the type of coach who would harvest student organs if it would help on the field. "You wanna stay a'bit longer and practice? Most of tha guys are headed home. Can't keep em longer than a few hours or the school will shit a brick. 1st string is gonna practice for a while longer. You can go home," he paused and flashed a half-smile. "But I think you'll be staying with us, right?" He slapped my ass, firmly grabbed my shoulders and turned me back toward the field. From my freshman through senior years, I was completely awe-struck with Coach Medder. He commanded our team with complete authority, not through shouting and fear, but through his sheer presence. When he entered the room his genuine, approachable charm gave him your attention, while his intimidating, firm persuasion made you love whatever he wants you to do. He was 35 and stood 6'1, a few inches or so taller than me, and wore a thick, muscular build. His arms nearly always bulged out of his shirt, like tonight, and his chest stretched the white material tight. Coach's gut looked thick, but solid. You could always find him in three things: a white shirt tucked into dark red track pants and a slightly graying 5'clock shadow. His full short brown hair never made it past disheveled, but always looked amazing. When we arrived at the posts, the rest of 1st string had already assembled. Coach Medder snapped and pointed at groups of guys, telling them where to go, what drills to perform. He walked past each group, barking, "Com'mon McDaniels ^Ö Hit it harder, like ya'did at Baker! If I wan'da pussy to knock someone down, I'd call yer sister!" "Reynolds, trust yer line and jus' catch the damn ball." "That's it Williams! Now do it again, but don't bust yer ass this time." We practiced into the evening, finally shutting down the field lights about 9:30. The guys slowly trickled out of the locker room until there were only 3 of us left: Me, Campbell, and Coach Medder. Coach Medder muscular frame filled the doorway as he gripped and bent the bill of his worn cap. He cursed, "Shit, missed most of ya'll. You boys up for a few beers at Marshal's?" Marshal's is really the name of a local bar called "J.R.'s", but the owner happens to be the marshal, who happens to sell moonshine as real liquor to his patrons. Marshal gets to think he's fooling the town, while everyone knows it, but doesn't let on because Marshal will get them drunk for cheap. "Sorry Coach," Campbell said as he tightened a knot on his shoes. "I gotta get ta'my gramma's. She sayin' her hogs are out again, so I get ta'spend my Tuesd'y evenin' chasin the fuckers. Excuse the language, sir." Coach nodded and idly chatted with Campbell, inquiring about his grandmother. He turned to me and asked, "How about you Hawes? You up for a Shiner?" "Not quite 21 yet, remember Coach? Not all of us have been able to drink since the 80s." Coach Medders smiled and said, "Watch that mouth Hawes. And yeah, you can get in. As long as the parents don't haf'ta hear about it, their boys can get boozy. So you in?" I pulled my jeans up and nodded. "Yeah, sure Coach. Long as you can keep up with us kids." He reached out and playfully slapped the air and said, "Boy, that mouth! Long as yer still in this building or on a field, you respect me." He shoved his hands in his pockets, jiggled his keys then smiled to himself. "And Hawes, we're not drinkin' fruit punch. You might have trouble keepin' up with tha' old guy ta'night." I waved him away and let him know I'd meet him there. After the short drive to Marshal's, I walked up to the entrance and saw Coach Medder. He wore jeans that perfectly cupped his sculpted ass and a red plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled up. His biceps struggled against the confines of the sleeve, while 2 buttons down his shirt his chest lay exposed and tempting. We walked in and sat at the bar with a couple of Shiner Bochs between us. After 3 or 4 beers, Coach Medder began to get chatty. "See, tha'gist of yer problem is you're thinkin' too much. Just let some shit happen. Me, well, my wife told me I thought too much," he said, taking a healthy swig of his Shiner. And now she's runnin' off with some guy in Detroit." "Coach, yer getting a divorce?" In our little town, divorces were an abomination to the fabric of morality and goodness. My physics teacher got a divorce and was forced to teach at a neighboring school. "Well, Kelly and I got problems. Her problem is she's a bitch and my problem is she spends all my money. I use'ta chase after her when she'd run away, but I'm jus' sick'a tryin', you know?" He went on to describe his shitty 6 year marriage to her and how she fucked around on him a handful of times. The more he talked, the more we drank - him to forget and me to loosen up more. After 5 shiners each, we decided we drank a little too fast. We paid the tab and bee-lined to the door slowly, with determined calculation. When we go to the door, my body felt as if it absorbed all the beer in transit as dizziness fell over me. I remember jumping into his Silvarado, then leaning on Coach Medder's shoulder, then passing out. I awoke at daybreak on Coach Medder's couch in panic. I couldn't believe I got so drunk with my coach, with class the next morning. I woke up to the sound of Coach Medder brewing a pot of coffee and rustling the sports page of the paper. "Mornin' lightweight. How'd it feel, passin' out and all?" I threw my pillow at him, which fell a good distance in front of him. He chuckled, "Glad you're tha'receiver. God didn't make you a quarterback did'ee?" I cursed him. My head pounded, but I needed to get home to get changed for classes. Coach Medder drove me the few miles from his house to my own, where I changed and showered. The day sagged my brain from the hangover until about 1pm. At 1, I had my biology II class with most of the guys from football and Coach Medder teaching. Feeling a little better and more comfortable with Coach Medder, I teased him as much as he teases everyone else. Eventually, I was running low on ideas, so I let a comment slip about Coach Medder's impending divorce. "Hawes, you'd do well to shut yer damn mouth in my class. Everyone - looks like Hawes is tha'winner of an extra set of Eagle Reminders." Eagle reminders were torture, especially when used as punishment. You start at the 50 yard line on the football field, then run to the 45 year line, then back, then the 40 yard line, then back, and so on. When you hit the goal line and return, you finish and puke. After practice, because of the extra Eagle Reminders, I stumbled into the locker room. Arriving at my locker and seeing as I was the last person there, I stripped down naked, then walked to the showers. Three showerheads line the longer sides of the small 10x6 room. I walked in and went to the far showerhead to my left. I turned the crank on the hot water until it steamed, throwing white billows to the floor and ceiling. A piercing thunk pulled my alert eyes to the floor and I reached down to my right and picked up the fallen shampoo bottle. I placed the bottle back on the mini-shelf, and casually turned my head to the left. Double-taking, I swallowed hard when I recognized the face: Coach Medder, completely naked, nonchalantly grimacing as the cold water attacked him from the showerhead next to me. Though I only looked for a second, his body etched itself in my eyes. His eyes were closed against the volley of water. His strong jaw was hidden under a short-length beard and jutted slightly forward against the cold water. His thick neck rested atop two muscular spades above his shoulders. His arms betrayed his years of work as a ranch hand as a kid. Coach's torso revealed a muscular chest and gut, splashed with short, just slightly grey-flecked hair. His legs were not defined, but undeniably muscular, and supported his thick torso. His cock, though, stole the vote for most defining attribute, hanging down 5 or so inches, uncut, and very fucking thick. It sat powerfully above two enormous globes, each worthy enough to carry the log above it. Aside from the small grey flecks, I couldn't believe Coach Medder was 35. "You gotta learn not-ta smart-aleck around with me, boy," he said to the showerhead and louder and slightly slower, forced, "Just because we drank a few beers, don't mean I'm gonna take shit from you on tha'field or in class." I threw myself back to that night briefly, remembering the thick after-practice musk he wore last night as we kicked back those Shiners at Marshal's. I responded respectfully (which means a lot from me), "Sorry, coach. I didn't mean'ta embarrass ya in class. I guess it jus'kinda slipped." Before I could turn to face him after the sentence, the bottle of shampoo fell again to the floor, followed by a short barrel-laugh from Coach Medder. "Speaking of slipped." I bent down to grab the bottle, and then placed it back on the shelf. I lathered my hair, and with a little soap in my eyes, I glanced over at Coach Medder. I thought I could barely make out his upper body slightly turned toward me as he washed his own hair. I rinsed my hair and began to lather my body. I again glanced at Coach, and felt like every nerve, in my head through feet and back again, burst. He too, had lathered himself but turned his attention on his slightly grown cock. After a few seconds, he stopped, seemed to collect himself, then said, "Jus' don't go tellin' ev'rybody I'm divorcin' Kelly. If the town starts findin' out about that shit, there's gonnabe a witchhunt to drum this sinner outta tha'schools." The billows of steam soon disguised his face and most of his body in impenetrable white clouds. "'Course, glad I told SOMEbody." He half-chuckled. "Even if you don't know shit about wives, life, or sex." "Oh shit, Coach, come on," I insisted. "I'm 18. I think I know a little bit about^Åwell sex and life I guess." I could almost feel his playfully astonished glance and cracked smile shot. "Really now, boy. Tel'me what ya'know `bout life and sex. I got a coupl'a minutes ta'spare." "Well, ya can't judge a'book by its cover. You^Ågotta take tha' bull by tha'horns." I earnestly thought for a moment longer and said, "Two wrongs don't make a right, and treat others as you wanna be treated." Coach guffawed his resounding belly laugh, as steam rushed slightly toward me. "That'sa good start, boy. You learn all that fromma country song?" I was slightly hurt from the laughter, but felt more proud he trusted me enough to speak man-to-man. "So whaddaya know about sex? You know that thingy down there between yer legs is called a dick, right?" His laugh felt closer than before. I turned and said, "I know wha'tta do with it, yeah. Probably seen more action in my front seat than ya saw with Kelly." "Wouldn't doubt yer right. She was'za frigid bitch. Only gamme a blowjob once in 6 years. That's like, half yer life right there. Shame too, I love my blowjobs." My heart slammed itself desperately against my chest and my head swam with thoughts of my head on Coach Medder's meat. I attempted several times to speak, then finally said, "Yeah, my girl doesn't give me shit either. She's grabbed me the first few nights, then locked those pretty legs tight when I touched her." Coach Medder grunted knowingly, and said in deadpan, "She has some titties on her though don't she?" I agreed, and then turned back to my showerhead, slightly disappointed. I continued to shower, realizing my chance with him had closed. Suddenly, I heard a slow, rhythmic pulse rising above the sound of the showers, coupled with a short, paced breathing. The noise was unmistakable: Coach Medder stood jacking off next to me, with nothing but thick veils of steam between us. I quickly and thoughtlessly did the same. After a few moments, Coach Medder burst through the steam, inches from my face, and grunted, "Don't tell anyone." He pushed my shoulder down with gentle, but concentrated force, and through the drops of water and steam, I saw his cock at full mast. It had to be at least 8 inches long and thick. I doubted my ability to grip it with one hand. A thick layer of foreskin covered the swollen head. I swallowed his cock in one smooth motion as he reached up to grab the exposed piping of the showerhead. The entire length felt at home in my eager mouth, like we had already been doing this for years. My tongue swirled and flicked his swollen head then slowly massaged his shaft. I wanted this for so long, I wanted to enjoy every inch of his cock. Coach Medder pulled one hand down from the showerhead and dug it into the back of my head. As the water sprayed my back and head, I could hear a barely hear Coach say, "Holy shit, boy. You done this before?" He slightly bent at the hips, then forced my head down his cock with his hand, one hand still hanging onto the showerhead. Coach Medder turned feral, transforming a slow-working tonguejob into a desperate attack on my open mouth. His meat slipped in and out of my mouth, foreskin lingering on my tightened lips. He gave my head one last grind on his dick before pulling me off. I sat there, in awe of his cock until he rumbled, "Get up." I jumped to my feet, but before I could look up to his face, Coach Meddor grabbed my head and pulled it and my body close to him. He stopped inches from my face and swallowed every inch of me with his eyes, knowing thoroughly he had me. We kissed, madly and deeply, tongue over tongue, while Coach buried his hands in my head and back. We broke the embrace briefly ^Ö long enough for him to aggressively grunt, "You're mine now, boy." He spun me roughly to face the showerhead, my head down under the stream. I suddenly turned scared. I have never been bottomed before and his cock was a monster. He would effortlessly tear me apart. He positioned himself behind me, slapping his dick against my ass. Coach Medder must have sensed my fear and leaned over sympathetically and said, "I'm sorry. It'll only hurt for a bit." With that, I heard him spit in his hand. Shortly after, my world was the roar of the shower and pain. His cock filled me and lifted me to my toes. I barked a shout, as he cooed, "Shhh^Åshhh^Å" Feeling the hole's tightness, he allowed my hole time to adjust to his length and girth. As the burning subsided, the water beat on his chest as his cock beat slowly on my ass, turning the empty sounds of the shower into sexual percussion. He grabbed hold of my left shoulder, while his right dug into my hip. He yanked my shoulder up and arched my back. I felt the pounding in my ass throughout my body, sending shocks into every appendage. He hissed in my ear, "Looks like I got myself a fuck-boy." I turned my head and our lips met. He pulled my bottom lip a little with his teeth and moaned, "You like that cock, boy?" "Yes, sir." I couldn't take the insurmountable ecstasy of the moment. I lost control of myself and became of a single mind ^Ö to take his load. I pushed back on Coach Meddor, until he hit the opposite wall, then used my ass to pound and grind my hole on his dick. He helped pull me down the length with his hand on my shoulder and hip. He pushed me back to the other wall, my arms holding me up against the wall, exhausted from the practice both on the field and in the shower. His strength clearly out-matched mine, and my legs buckled. He slowly guided me to the floor, still fucking my hole, and then lay me on my stomach. I lay with my face slightly raised off the floor by my arms. Coach Medder fucked me hard and deep, his knuckles down on the floor by my sides, arms straightened and down, torso elevated. He growled, "Fuck, I'm cummin', boy." I felt each convulsion of his dick as my asshole accepted his load. I felt full on his seed and in total euphoric bliss. He pulled off me, stood, and then reached for my hand. I took his hand, then stood. He gingerly touched my face followed by a soft kiss on the lips. When our lips broke, he playfully popped my cheek, pointed and said, "Boy, you're gonna get me in trouble." I grinned as he pulled me to his chest. I felt the rumble in his chest as he mumbled, "A lot of damn trouble." As we finished showering, I noticed cum on my stomach. I wondered aloud, "How'd that get there?" Coach Medder laughed, saying, "Guy cums twice in'a'go and asks where it came from." "Huh?" "When I was fuckin' you, you blew your load twice that I knew of. Hottest thing I've seen inna while." He grabbed my ass. "Hey, when we're done here, you wanna stop by Marshal's later? Drinks on me." "Damn sure thing. I'm gonna need a least a beer and a cigarette after that." He smiled a full smile, and put his arm on my shoulder. "Let's shut all this shit off and go then." collegefrat05@excite.com