Date: Sat, 14 Sep 2013 17:46:38 -0500 From: Marshall Fitzpatrick Subject: Coach Nails a Chub NOTE: This story occurs in the same universe as my previous story "My Alpha Football God", which was published in the Nifty Archive on September 3, 2013, in the gay/athletics, gay/authoritarian, and gay/highschool categories. This story features several of the same characters and revisits some of that story's plot points, though it is not necessarily a sequel. DISCLAIMER: This story is entirely fictional. All characters, settings, and situations are products of the author's imagination. Happy readings! ~~~~~ MY CALVES BURNED, and I wanted to die. For the last two weeks, I felt like Coach had a personal vendetta against me. I hadn't been all that self-conscious about my weight until I had to start running extra laps. Coach said it would be good for me since I was so overweight. After that, I couldn't help but imagine that the rest of the guys in gym class stared at me when I had to run extra, noticing every time my sweaty thighs slapped together and made that awful slurping sound, how out of breath I was whenever I pathetically wheezed by them, and-this is the worst-the way my moobs bounced up and down freely under my t-shirt when I jogged. Every day I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable wisecrack about me needing a bra. The source of this embarrassment, this daily anguish, was Coach. I had completely slipped under Coach's radar as a freshman, being dismissed with the other nerds and fat kids as a waste of his time when he could be focusing on his top priority, the football boys. His fixation of me started one day after school during sophomore year. I had forgotten my bag in the gym, and after marching band practice, I ducked in to nab it before I went home. What I had not expected to hear were the showers running since the football team wasn't practicing that day. Curiosity got the better of me, and what did I find when I went down the stairs but the sight of Coach in all his naked glory, jets of water streaming down the hairy, beefy hunk of a man that he had become in his early middle age. I was transfixed, particularly, by the fat slab of meat dangling between his legs, hanging there ripe for the picking. "Jesus, Miles, what are you doing here?" he asked upon noticing me, turning off the water and scratching his furry ass. "Don't you have better things to do than creep on your gym coach?" I stood there, embarrassed and no doubt blushing. "It's not what it looks like. I had to get my bag and thought maybe the shower just needed to be turned off," I muttered, trying to assemble my scattered thoughts into some semblance of cohesion. "Well that's alright, I guess," he said, grabbing a towel. He hiked his leg up onto a bench and started drying off, his massive cock flopping around with each casual jostle from the towel. I couldn't help but stare. "You know, Miles, I actually had you on my mind earlier today," he added, apparently not noticing my blatant staring. "What?" I asked, suddenly nervous. "You need to get in shape. You're so fucking fat you can't even run a lap around the gym without wheezing. It's just not healthy." I stared at him, stunned. "I'm not trying to be mean or anything. I think kids like you just need to hear it like it is. Besides, I figure you can handle it," he said, not breaking eye contact, a mischievous and sadistic smile forming on his lips. "Besides," he continued, "I think I might have a use for you after all." With that he gave his low hanging cock one final scratch and pulled on his gym shorts and t- shirt. "Now get the hell out of here before I have to tell the principal you're a fucking perv who hangs around the showers." "WHAT THE HELL do you think he meant by 'I might have a use for you after all'"? I asked my friend Nick, my head still spinning from my encounter with Coach in the shower. "Who knows? Probably nothing," Nick replied, clearly distracted. He had been on double- homework duty all month. I don't know what happened, but he had been doing Dylan Brandt's homework for the last few weeks, and he wouldn't tell me why. He said it was too embarrassing. I was sympathetic at first, but lately it was getting annoying. Nick had been acting weird ever since right before this whole double-homework thing started. First I didn't see him for nearly a week after we played in the band at a football game one Friday night, and when I finally did, he avoided me. Maybe he was finally sorting through what happened that summer. It was the marching band's unofficial end-of-summer soiree, without the presence of the band director, parents, or any other adult supervision. It was basically just a bunch of teenagers getting high, drinking, fooling around, and doing stupid shit. I had never drunk before, and I don't think Nick had either because after three or four rancid beers each, we both started getting a little handsy and finally wandered off to a deserted room. We drunkenly made out for a while, giggling idiotically, before Nick lifted off my shirt, his hands roaming across my chubby body. We rolled around the floor a bit, my tongue wrestling his as we reveled in our carefree, intoxicated states. Eventually he was on his back with his hands behind his head, and I was unzipping his pants. I tried to keep him going, but he kept losing his erection, no matter how hard I sucked. After a while, he swatted me away in defeat and pulled up his pants, curling up in a ball. I left the room, confused and irritated, my mind still foggy. In the next few weeks Nick and I never spoke about that night, and after the school year started, normalcy resumed when we saw our friend Jeff again in marching band. We became our former trio of geeky misfits, all signs of the weird, unspoken sexual tension between me and Nick gone-or at least that's what I assumed. SHIT GOT WEIRD, in the best and worst possible ways, two weeks after I saw Coach in the shower. As my class finished our usual warm-up of three laps around the gym (naturally, I was the last to finish), Coach yelled to me from across the room: "You keep going, Miles. I want to see you burn some calories." This shocked the hell out of me, and I wished I could have disappeared because half the guys in the class burst out laughing at that. I tried to keep my head up, but I was so embarrassed. While they got to shoot hoops and fuck around, I was stuck heaving my weight around the gym as quickly as I could. After about ten minutes of nonstop jogging, the 240 pounds I was carrying around caught up to me, and I felt like collapsing. My already slow jog became an even more pathetic waddle as I pushed my legs to carry me just one more lap. Finally, with my fat calves feeling like they were on fire, I had to stop and take a hit on my asthma inhaler. Coach approached me from across the room. "You did good, Miles," he said, slapping me hard on the back. "Personally, I didn't think you had it in you." I was pleasantly surprised at the compliment. "Thanks, Coach," I muttered between wheezes. "This is only the beginning," he said, flashing that sadistic grin I recognized from the shower. "Why don't you come cool off in my office for a few minutes? You can sit in the air conditioning and enjoy a drink of water." I was so thrilled at the prospect of sitting in a comfy leather chair in a cool room that I did not suspect that Coach might have an ulterior motive. I grabbed a paper cup and filled up from Coach's cooler, slinking down into the chair and enjoying the feeling of the cool water hitting my throat. Coach walked in a moment later and locked the door behind him, taking a seat across from me and propping his feet up on his desk. "What are you doing after school today, Miles?" he asked me, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back. I thought about it for a moment. "Nothing," I muttered, caught off guard by the question. "Well, you do now," he said, standing, giving his crotch a scratch through his thin athletic shorts. "There's something I need help with, and I think you're just the guy to help me out." He stared at me hard with intense, seductive eyes. "You'll be here, won't you?" I nodded my head. "Was that a yes?" "Yes," I muttered. "Yes, what?" "Yes, sir." "Good boy." He opened the door. "Now get back to class." I WAS UNABLE to focus for the last half of gym class. I completely missed a pass in basketball and nearly got run down by some meathead jocks running suicides. I couldn't get my mind off Coach and whatever it was that he needed my help with after school. After what seemed like hours, the dismissal bell rang, and while the rest of the guys flooded out of the gym, I hung around, slowly packing things away in my bag to drag out the process. Once the coast was clear, Coach popped his head into the gym and gestured for me to come into his office. "I guess you didn't have anything better to do this afternoon, did you?" he asked. Before giving me a chance to respond, he added, "Well, you made the right choice, boy." He closed his office door but didn't bother locking it this time. "I know your type, boy," he said, pulling off the lanyard that held his whistle. "You think nobody knows what goes through that head of yours, but I can tell. I've seen you staring at me since the semester started. I didn't think much of it. Lots of fag boys like you have come and gone through this gym." I tried to interject, but he raised his hand. "Don't try to explain your way out of this. It won't work. Now, I was just going to leave you be and let you do whatever it is that you do to yourself when you let your imagination run wild. But then I caught you ogling me in the shower, and well-I just don't think I can let that one slide, not without having a little fun of mine own." At that, he peeled off his t-shirt and tossed it in the corner, his hairy, barrel chest now on full display. He must have noticed the look of unbridled lust on my face when he did because then he added, "Brandt was right. You are a fag." What I found out later was that Dylan Brandt, one of Coach's meathead football superstars, had figured out what I suspected-that my friend Nick was gay. Not only had Nick been too embarrassed to tell me that Dylan had made him his personal slave, using him as a cum dump and blackmailing him into doing his homework, but he also had failed to mention that he had cracked under pressure when Dylan asked him for the names of some of his other fag friends, and, in a moment of panic, Nick gave him mine. After the entire team gangbanged him that Friday night after the football game, team morale shot through the roof, and Coach figured something must be up. It wasn't long before Dylan told Coach how awesome it had been to have his own fag slave to do whatever he wanted and use whenever he wanted. I would come to find out all of this later from Nick, at the same time I would find out that Dylan had told Coach that Nick told him that I was a fag, too. Apparently catching me peeping on him in the shower was all the proof Coach needed that afternoon, which is why at this moment I was sitting in Coach's office, practically drooling over the sight of his beefy body and cocky grin. "Get down on the ground, boy," he said, all levity gone from his voice. "What?" I asked, beginning to think this might have been a bad idea. He wasted no time in grabbing me back my hair and pulling me down off the chair where I had been seated, my chubby body knocking it behind me as I fell. Coach maintained his grip on my hair as he yanked his shorts down with his other hand, revealing that fat, familiar bulge in his jock. "You want a piece of this, don't you, boy?" he asked, pulling my face forward and rubbing it over his crotch. I moaned in response, beyond the point of no return, as I started sucking at the bulge in the front of his jock. "Not so fast, faggot," he said, pushing my head down to the ground. "First you're going to take care of my sweaty feet." I wasn't sure what he meant, so I kissed the top of his tennis shoe, which caused him to erupt in laughter. "Jesus. No, I mean take them off." Embarrassed, I untied and removed his shoes, pushing them away. "Socks, too," he ordered, "and hand them to me." I peeled off his sticky socks one by one, pausing to inhale their funky aroma before passing them up to Coach, who set them on his desk. "Now get to work," he said, sitting down. "My feet are aching after a long day, so you better make them feel better." I stared at them for a moment, wishing I had more direction. I slowly started massaging one of them with my hands, which elicited a low moan from Coach, who had his hands behind his back and his eyes closed, clearly enjoying this. Encouraged, I eventually moved to the other foot and massaged every inch of it, as well, incredibly turned on to be handling Coach's big smelly feet. I took a chance and started sucking on one of his toes. "Oh, fuck," he muttered, clearly not expecting that but also not displeased by it. I kept going, devoting sufficient attention to each foot. Eventually, he stood and grabbed my hair again, pulling me up to eye level with his meaty cock, which was ready to burst out of his jock strap at any moment. "Suck it!" he barked, shoving my face into his bulge. I eagerly sucked at his crotch through the cotton barrier, slurping as hard as I could, inhaling Coach's sweaty, manly scent. After a few minutes, he pulled off his jock strap and stepped out of it, leaving me face to face with his bulbous monster-eight thick, veiny inches that had me hypnotized. "Open up, faggot," he said, dragging his fat cock head across my lips and smearing them with his bitter pre-cum. I opened my mouth on command, at which point he shoved in the first half in one rapid movement. I started coughing and choking immediately, my gag reflex triggered by the sudden intrusion. "You're going to have to do better than that," Coach growled, burying the other half in my mouth with a second thrust. I could feel my throat being stretched out as he invaded it, filling up my windpipes with his girthy monster. "Fuuuuuck," he moaned as his pubic hair hit my face. "I haven't had a good, wet mouth in months. You're just what I've been needing, fag." With that, Coach began his assault, fucking my face quickly and mercilessly. He seemed to pay no attention to my muffled groans of discomfort as he raped my throat. Eventually I started to feel lightheaded. "What's wrong, faggot? You having trouble breathing?" I nodded in the affirmative, glad he finally understood. Big mistake. With one hand he grabbed the back of my head firmly, and with the other he pinched my nose shut. "Guess you're going to have to learn to start breathing better with a cock in your face." He started fucking my mouth even harder, not letting up. After a minute, when I felt like I was going to pass out, he let off and pulled out. His fat cock made a popping noise as he yanked it out of my mouth, splashing a trail of mucus, saliva, and pre-cum across my face as he did. I gasped for air and fell forward, coughing and sputtering. Coach tossed me my inhaler, and I took a hit, glad for the break, which proved only momentary. To my amazement, Coach yanked up my entire weight with one hand and tossed me onto his desk so that I was lying on my front. "Let's see what we're working with," he said, pulling down my shorts to my ankles and lifting my shirt off over my head so that I was practically naked in front of him. Coach rubbed his big, rough hands across me, playing with my thin layer of back fat between his fingers as they explored the vast terrain. After a moment, his hands migrated south, rubbing the chubby globes of my ass in firm, deliberative circles, gradually parting my cheeks so that he could see the space between. I heard a slurping sound and looked back to see him with two of his big, hairy fingers swirling around in his mouth. He flashed me that sadistic grin and with his other hand gently pushed my head forward into the desk. No sooner was my forehead touching the cool metal of his desktop that I screamed out in pain as those two big fingers invaded my hole. "I figured you might scream," Coach said, grabbing his sweaty socks and shoving them into my mouth. "Don't you think about spitting those out, faggot. If you do, you'll be fucking sorry." With that, he yanked out his fingers. I heard a squirting noise and then felt Coach's fat cock head lining up at the entrance to my hole. He slid his two now lubed-up fingers up there one more time for good measure before jerking them out and quickly replacing them with the entirety of his cock in one slow, deliberate thrust. I could have started crying, it hurt so bad. The feeling of him invading my body, inch by inch with his massive tool, was both surreal and unbelievably painful. "You a virgin?" he asked, his mouth in my ear and his weight pressed up against me as I got used to the feeling of his cock inside me. I squeaked out a "yes" in reply. "Good, because you're never going to forget this," he said as he pushed down on my back, pulled backwards, and slammed hard into me. "Your fat ass is all mine now, fag boy." With that he began pumping into me fast and hard, occasionally slowing down to roll his fat cock around, spreading me out even wider than I already was. He eventually fell into a rhythm of slamming into me, jackhammering me for a few seconds, then pulling back and slamming back into me again. The longer he went, the more I became accustomed to the pain and started to really enjoy myself. I felt like a fat slut as I moaned when he hit my prostate just the right way. "Yeah, you like that, don't you, fag?" he growled, pleased with himself, driving into me even harder and faster. After a moment I felt him slip his hands under my front, feeling my fat rolls jiggle as he fucked me. Finally, he found what he was looking for and let out a lustful moan as he started fondling my moobs. "Fuck, you've got a bigger rack than my ex," Coach said, cupping and squeezing my tits as he continued to plow me. After a while, I got lost in the moment, closing my eyes and giving in to the fuck. I could feel myself getting close to coming without even touching my cock when all of a sudden, I felt Coach's grip around my midsection tighten before he lifted me off the ground. "What are you doing?" I asked, panicking. Coach didn't answer, instead carrying me around to the other side of his desk, my ass still impaled on his rock hard cock. He turned me around slowly while still inside me before dropping me onto the other side of his desk, onto my back, giving me a good hard thrust when I landed. My legs were pressed up against his big, solid chest, and he backed up a bit, pushing my feet over his shoulders so that my fat ass was on full display for him. From there, he fucked me even harder and faster than he had before, finding an optimum angle with me on my back. I could feel all of the fat on my stomach jiggling as he plowed me, back and forth, up and down, side to side, my moobs bouncing on my chest. I finally began to feel him tensing up, and before long I felt Coach unloading rope after rope into me, filling me up before pulling out in one quick motion, his cock making a distinct popping noise as it vacated my now well-worn ass. I gasped as I felt him pull out, leaving me feeling empty and strange. "Now that's what I'm talking about," Coach said, slapping my ass so hard that it stung. He pulled his sweaty socks out of my mouth and used one to plug up my ass. "Can't have your fat ass leaking all over my desk, fag. Besides, you wouldn't want to waste any of my spunk, would you?" I blushed at that. "I didn't think so," he said, flashing me that cocky grin as he pulled on his athletic shorts. I stood up and put my own clothes back on, feeling like a complete whore. Embarrassed, I wanted nothing more than to slip out of his office silently, go home, and relive this entire experience in my head as I jacked off. "Here you go," Coach said, tossing me his jock. "You can use this to get your rocks off until next time." "Thank you," I muttered, blushing. With that, I walked out of Coach's office through the gym, carrying his jock in my hand. "Looks like your faggot friend was right," I heard a voice say from across the way. Dylan Brandt flashed me that same knowing grin that Coach did when he caught me spying on him in the shower. "It looks like the team has two fags to use now." I shuddered at the thought, simultaneously excited and terrified. I wondered what Nick would have to say about this. ~~~~~ DID YOU KNOW that authors are sustained almost entirely by candid reader feedback? Please let me know what you think about this story by emailing me at marshyfitz@gmail.com. All feedback is appreciated. Thanks! Copyright (c) 2013 All rights reserved by the author. No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.