Date: Sun, 23 Jul 2023 22:13:20 +0000 (UTC)
From: Ript Jock <riptjock@verizon.net>
Subject: WRESTLING AND EVERYTHING ELSE - PART 54 (Athletics)

The muscling up of Carter began immediately.  Seventeen pounds of lean,
hard mass isn't something you can pack on in a week.  We'd have five
months before team practices started up again in the fall, and by that
time he needed to be not just at the right weight but comfortable with
his new size, accustomed to wrestling two weight classes up, and strong
enough to hang in there with the big boys.

Carter was more than down with the program.  After two full years of
sweating his ass off to make weight at 157, wrestling at 174 sounded like
heaven to him.  It's every wrestler's dream to be able to bulk up
without any down side, to grow a new body of big ripped muscles and look
at himself in the mirror and drool over what a stud he's become.  My
brother couldn't wait to get started.

Everybody was in on it, not just the family but the whole team, either
pushing the iron with him to help him train or standing by cheering him
on.  When you're part of a group of guys as dedicated as we are to
working out, guys who absolutely worship muscle, there's never any
shortage of moral support or helping hands.  Especially in the off
season, when nobody has to focus so much on themselves.  They were all
just itching for a project like this.  Wrestling may be an individual
sport when you're on the mat but it's very much a team sport when it
comes to training.

Naturally Willis wanted to get involved; he'd just been through his own
muscling up program and was eager to share his new wisdom.  Brady wanted
in on it too, because he and Willis were just as much a team as Carter
and I were, and there's nothing boys love more than helping their
mentors.  But they had their own work cut out for them.  They'd be
wrestling for starting spots in the lineup come fall, and needed to focus
all their energy on preparing for that.  Besides, neither one of them was
as rabidly gung ho about training Carter or as suited for the job as
Justin and Travis were.

Justin's whole life was about growing bigger, especially now that he was
wrestling heavyweight and only needed to stay lean enough to maintain his
explosiveness and speed.  In a room full of guys who were all cutting
weight, having someone else to pump up and get bigger with was like an
early Christmas.  As for his little brother, Travis was just flat out in
love with big muscle.  He'd revel over every pound Carter added, and
give him massages at the drop of a hat.  You couldn't ask for more
positive reinforcement than that, even if you were paying good money for
it.

We were in the weight room on campus one afternoon a few weeks before the
end of the semester.  Justin and Carter were on the squat rack and I was
spotting them both, so they could trade off sets back and forth without a
moment's pause.  As soon as one of them racked the weight, the other
would step in and take over.  And as soon as the one who'd just finished
would back off and plop down on a bench to rest, Travis was right there
kneeling in front of him rubbing down his quads and hams.

There were other guys in the weight room, a handful of fat linemen from
the football team, a hockey player, a couple of the throwers from track
and field.  They all noticed what was going on but nobody so much as said
a word or gave us a funny look.  It was common knowledge that wrestlers
were used to having their hands on each other and had no qualms about
latching onto whatever they could grab -- and nobody in his right mind
would risk pissing all four of us off.

We were just about through with our sets and getting ready to move on to
deadlifts when the door swung open and Coach Wilson strode in, decked out
in workout gear.  This was not something you saw every day.  We all froze
for half a second and then made a show of getting to work, even more
aggressively and intensely than before.  When Justin racked the weight
and Carter stepped in, Coach strolled up to the rack and stood right
there watching until he finished his set.

"How'd that feel?" he asked.

Carter flushed.  "Great.  Felt solid.  I feel strong."

Coach glanced over at Travis massaging his big brother's quads, then
turned back to Carter, looked him over and nodded.   "Good.  Glad to
hear it.  Keep at it."

He turned and strolled to the other side of the gym as casual as could
be, grabbed a barbell and began setting up for bench press.  We all just
sort of stood there peering at him for a moment.  It's not like he'd
never spoken to us personally before; we'd each spent our time in his
office talking over our goals, our difficulties, our place on the team.
In those sessions he'd always been very supportive and very
businesslike.  But in all the time we'd been with the program, we'd
never once seen him show up in the weight room and hit the iron like a
regular human being.  It was pretty clear he was there to check up on us,
but decided to use a low key approach instead of busting in on us playing
the big boss.

For the rest of our workout we kept glancing over at him.  We couldn't
have helped it if we'd tried.  He was wearing a torn-up old T-shirt with
deep cuts down the sides that showed off a crazy set of serratus and
obliques, and gave us just a peek of nipple. A pair of short squatting
shorts exposed some powerful fucking quads, hugged his ass cheeks and
highlighted a nice big bulge up front.  His arms were meaty and ripped
and veined like road maps, and the tendons on his neck stood out as bold
as tree roots when he strained to make his reps.  During the season he
was always clean-shaven and groomed to perfection but now his hair was
ruffled on top and he was sporting a thick salt-and-pepper scruff.

It sure wasn't the Coach Wilson we were used to seeing... and the sight
of him like that had all of our dicks twitching.

I might as well confess right now that the vast majority of male athletes
on earth have had sexual fantasies about a coach.  With wrestlers, it's
easily ninety-nine percent, and the rest are surely lying.  You just
can't do what we do without some feelings stirring, somewhere,
sometime.  It goes with the territory.  And I'd venture to say there's
hardly a coach who hasn't felt something for a wrestler, but a good
coach keeps it on a professional level and doesn't let anything happen.
Well okay, there's Jase and me... but that's different; we were already
fucking when the two of us were still only teammates.

We were all just about dying for a little more interaction with him.
Having him over there pretending to be wrapped up in his own workout when
we knew damn well he was keeping an eye on us was just about driving us
crazy.  Even more so because we weren't sure if his being dressed like
that and pumping those reps out was his way of fitting in, or showing off
for us.  But we sure weren't about to call him out on it... or three of
us weren't, anyway.  Our buddy Travis was soaked to the gills in that
little-guy fearlessness, and couldn't let anything lie.  When he decided
he'd waited long enough, he just strutted right over to Wilson's bench
and stood there peering over him.

"Need a spot, Coach?"

Coach squinted up at him with a smirk.  "I think I've got it all
right."

"Well sure, I know you do, I just thought... sometimes it's better to
have somebody there, just for... you know..."  He was fearless all right,
but not exactly smooth.

"Go on back to your friends.  They need you more than I do."

"Yeah.  You're right.  But if you need something... I mean if you want...
just gimme a shout, okay?"  He backpedaled a few steps, then turned and
practically raced over to Justin.  We practically doubled over and were
all silently snorting and howling while Coach ignored him and went on
with his next set.

From that point on it was impossible to get our minds off it --
especially the way Justin was clowning around.  Between his sets,
whenever he thought Coach wasn't looking, he'd be taunting all three of
us -- grabbing his package, showing us his ass, pantomiming hip thrusts
and blow jobs.  It didn't take Travis long to get in on the act; it
always put him over the top when his big brother was feeling
rambunctious.

Carter and I just rolled our eyes and acted like we were above their
antics, but truth be known, the fire was lit and it was all we could do
to keep our cocks stowed away in our pants.  Especially since we were
collecting looks from damn near everybody in the room -- and Coach
couldn't possibly be so focused on his bench press that he wasn't aware
something was up.  There's nothing like a little danger of public shame
to drive the hormone levels through the roof.

Afterward, on the way back to the dorm, those two apes went into
overdrive.  They were all over each other and all over us, grabbing ass,
wrapping us up in hugs, talking dirty in everybody's ears.  The
wrestling season was over; spring weather was coming on and they were
romping around like two young bucks in rut; we shoved them away playfully
but they'd only come back for more.  Not that Carter and I were in any
way immune.  Our hormones were spiking just as high as theirs, and just
as insistently.  But somebody needed to keep them in check, before we all
wound up bare ass naked plowing away at each other in broad daylight
right in the middle of the quad.  So we played frigid and let them make
the moves, each side teasing the other with churning balls and stiffening
cocks, just waiting to get each other alone.

To the untrained eye it was just the usual monkey business you could see
going on anywhere on campus, between jocks, fratboys, roommates.  The
kind of stuff parents and coaches might call "horsing around," with
admiring twinkles in their eyes.  But the plain honest truth,
inconvenient or not, is that guys never just "horse around" like that
unless their dicks are looking for action -- no matter whether they're
roomies or fratboys or jocks or whoever.   Only difference between us and
them is that we knew what it was all about and where it was going, and we
weren't one bit afraid to go there.

My brother and I would've been happy to just split off and tie into each
other behind our own closed door, but Travis and Justin weren't about to
let us off so easy.  Once we were back in our own corridor they herded us
down the hall and into their room, and then the show was on.  Justin's
shirt was off in an instant and his shorts dropped seconds later, his big
cock bulging in his jockstrap like a bloated knackwurst.  Travis pulled
his brother's shoes and socks off and then stripped down himself, all
the way, never willing to let Justin or anybody get one over on him
without doing one better.

Our buddy's meat was already rigid and he slapped it against Justin's
thigh, then brought it over our way, grinding it against each of us while
he pulled our shirts off over our heads.  Justin pounced on him from
behind, wrapped his big arms around and squeezed, and Travis just grinned
like he'd never been happier in his life.  I draped an arm over
Carter's shoulders and we kicked back and watched the two of them go
through their pre-mating ritual, Justin showing off his strongman skills
and Travis squirming excitedly in his arms.

It wouldn't be long before they were full-on fucking.  We could have
stayed to watch, they wouldn't have minded at all, but Carter and I had
our own program in mind.  He gave me a look and I nodded, and we grabbed
our shirts and slipped out of the room while the other two were so caught
up in each other they wouldn't notice.  We were giggling as we trotted
down the hall, swung our door shut behind us and dove onto my bunk
together.

We kicked off our shoes and wriggled out of our shorts, and then mashed
up together and kissed, holding each other tight.  Two and a half years
we'd been together and I could still make out with the fucker for days
on end; he was so goddamn soulful, his tongue just excited me to no
fucking end... and the son of a bitch really knew how to kiss.  I felt
that muscular body rubbing bare ass naked up on mine, our hard cocks
sawing against each other as we flexed our hips, and Jesus, I wanted to
put my dick in him more than ever before.  Maybe it had something to do
with watching him pump iron for an hour and a half -- and maybe seeing
our buddies go at it had something to do with it too -- but holy fuck was
I ever ready to plumb that ass something fierce.

Problem was, it seemed like Carter had the same idea.  The moves he was
making told me he wanted his meat inside me just as bad as I wanted to be
inside him.  And it's not like he couldn't tell what I was thinking.
So we wrestled for it, not a regulation match or anything, just playing
strength against strength on the mattress until somebody cracked.

Naturally that action was only stoking up my engine all the more.
Feeling those beefy arms holding me, his solid pecs and abs pressing on
me, his powerful legs tangling up with mine just made me want to fuck and
fuck and fuck that stud till he'd squeezed every last drop of juice out
of me.

He'd already gained some muscle mass since the end of the season -- only
a couple pounds, but in exactly the right places.  I knew his body so
well I could feel every little difference, every fresh contour, every
last ounce of brand new rock hard muscle.  I swear to you it took my
fucking breath away to feel what his body was becoming.  He was goddamn
incredible, a true world class, blue chip stud, and he was all mine... and
I was all his.  I wanted him so bad, wanted that amazing body all over
me, wanted his thick fucking cock inside me so much it hurt.

And damned if the son of a bitch didn't know it the moment I gave in.
He could sense it, read my mind, read the way my body all of a sudden
surrendered.  I still gripped him with all my strength and pushed back on
him just as hard as he was pressing against me, but goddamn it he knew I
was ready to take cock.  I needed it.  I'd fucking beg for it if he
waited another minute to stick it in me.

The cocksucker teased me, nudging and prodding me with his meat, grinding
and poking and playing.  He interlaced his fingers with mine and
squeezed, nibbled on my neck and gnawed on my collarbone.  Puffed his
chest out and rubbed our nipples together until I was just about to lose
my fucking mind.

"God damn it!"  I blurted out.  "Get that cock inside me NOW!  Or
I'll kick your sorry ass to the curb!"  And I reached over my head,
found the jar of Vaseline and mashed it against his cheekbone.

I rolled over on my back and spread my knees wide and he slid in between,
greasing his cock and pressing two fingers to my hole.  We locked eyes,
breathing together slow and steady as he fingered me and stroked his
meat.  I loved how he handled me, gentle but firm, and I spread my knees
wider and pulled them up to my chest to give him free access to
everything he wanted.

He shifted his hand to my package and moved his hips in closer.  I felt
his fat cock head pushing against my hole; it was so fucking good like
that but I needed it inside me even worse.  My breath caught in my throat
for a second and he smiled and gripped my shaft and gripped his own,
pushed it into me and I opened wide to take it, felt it gliding in
straight and long and stiff.  His cock filled me, stretching my guts and
swelling into the space that was empty and lonely without it.  He leaned
in and kissed me, cradled the back of my head in his hand and began
pumping me, steady and strong.

As much as I loved railing my brother, I could never go too long without
his meat inside me.  Taking his dick, feeling the way he reached into me
and hit all the right spots made me so goddamn happy.  I grabbed his
triceps and pulled him in, clutched him tight while he strained to give
me every last inch, pumping me harder and harder.

His body, all that good hard muscle fresh from the gym, made me think of
how Coach Wilson looked cranking out those bench presses.  I remembered
the way Coach sounded when he blew out a sharp breath, how his muscles
flexed, the veins blowing up big on his arms and the fibers of his pecs
standing out like corrugated steel.  I felt my brother's cock plowing me
and - I couldn't help it - thought about how Coach's cock would feel
driving into me, reaming me, slamming me.  I imagined the look on his
face as he fucked me.  I felt his strong grip holding me, his stiff rod
using me, abusing me, making me his fuck boy.

Carter was already sweated up when we started and now it was dripping off
him, splattering onto my chest.  He squeezed my shaft in his sweaty paw
and jacked me, mashing down on my cock as he rammed his own deep into
me.  I wrapped my legs around him and locked my ankles behind his ass,
spurring him on, driving his thrusts into me harder and stronger.  I was
bathed in his sweat; I wanted his scent and his musk all over me, and
wanted more than anything to be filled with his hot juice.  But all the
while I was still in a fantasy world, taking my pounding from Coach,
being drenched in his sweat, longing for his load.

My brother grunted loudly and I grunted back to egg him on.  His cock was
destroying me, wrecking me in the best possible way.  My insides were on
fire.  That spot nobody else could hit was being tortured and punished
until I could hardly bear it.  I wanted so badly to cry out and beg for
release but I couldn't ask him to stop; I just wanted him to keep on
fucking me to the bitter end.  The way he was huffing and panting over
me, his muscles clenching and rippling, that desperate look on his face
had me goading him on for more and more and more.

Suddenly Carter began jacking me furiously and I knew what was up; he was
close to blowing and he wanted us to shoot together.  I relaxed and let
him work me, and then his whole body jerked and he slammed in harder than
ever, bucking and thrashing and grunting like an animal.  I knew he was
pouring his cream into me and I fucking loved taking it.  I thrust my
hips forward to clench his meat between my cheeks and let him jack me
over the edge.

My body held back for a moment building up to the big event and then
erupted all at once with a blast of hot cum that splattered over my abs
and clear up to my breastbone.  I felt his hard cock still rooted in my
ass flooding my guts with his cream, and I opened up and let my load gush
out of me in spurt after spurt, splattering us both with droplets and
gobs of thick white syrup.  Every inch of me was quaking with the
intensity of it, the waves of pleasure rocking me head to toe, so
shattering I could hardly breathe.

His twitches and spasms subsided as I squeezed the last drops from my
balls.  His body softened and folded around me, holding me.  I clasped
him tight against me and mashed my lips to his and we made out, our
tongues stroking and soothing each other, bringing us down safely from
the bedlam we'd just shared.

We lay beside each other snuggling and smiling.  I couldn't imagine what
my life would be like without him.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked me.

"When?"

"When we were fucking.  Something was different.  What was it?"

I stalled for a second but there was no use keeping secrets.  "I was
thinking about Coach Wilson.  How he looked in the gym today.  I imagined
it was him fucking me.  Sorry."

"No, don't be.  It's natural.  Nothing to be sorry about."

"Thanks, man.  Do you... ever think about fucking somebody else when
we're together?"

He shook his head.  "Nah, I never could.  When I'm with you, I'd never
want to be with anyone else."

He kissed me sweetly on the cheek.  It made me feel damn good that he
felt that way, but it made me feel like dogshit too that he could be so
devoted while I'm off fucking other guys in my head.  It made me wonder
for a second how in God's name I ever deserved him.

"But..." he added.

"But what?"

"Well, when I was fucking you... I was thinking about something too.  I
fantasized that I was Coach Wilson, pounding your ass."

So, there you have it.

*******************************************************

We're into the off-season and the guys are running loose.  Things will
be a lot more unstructured now that the team practices are done and there
are no wrestling meets hanging over their heads.  Of course they have
some goals to work on during the break but there'll be plenty of time
left over for messing around too.  Sounds like a prime opportunity for
the guys to get into some spring and summer mischief -- so, stay tuned!

And guys, as usual, I'll remind you that this website offers a lot of
good times and doesn't ask for much in return.  So please, after you
blow a nice hot load consider making a donation, so my family of
wrestlers and all the other smoking hot stories will always have a home!
The link to lend your support is here: https://donate.nifty.org/