Date: Mon, 6 Feb 2006 17:06:24 -0800 (PST)
From: Arnold Layne <arnoldlayne69@yahoo.com>
Subject: Coach Cowher

This story is NOT true, and in no way does it reflect or question the
sexuality of the real people it fictionalizes.  All elements are strictly a
figment of the author's rich and seedy fantasy life.

Super!
By Bacteriaburger

THE PITTSBURGH STEELERS HAD JUST WON THE FUCKING SUPER BOWL

	...and by a set of improbable and head-reeling circumstances I
found myself in a hotel convention room surrounded by the Pittsburgh
Steelers themselves, mingling with an unimaginably thrilled and downright
insane mix of coaches, wives, owners and fans.
	The after party was in full swing.  Rivers of beer and wine flowed,
the crowd noise never dropping below an ear-splitting roar.  Hines Ward
danced on top of a table, clapping and shimmying his hips to an exuberant
beat.  Troy Polamalu swayed decorously with his wife, their gentle faces
lit up with ecstatic smiles.
	But as I scanned the faces in the crowd, looking for the anonymous
benefactor who had mysteriously slipped me an invitation to this
ultra-exclusive gathering (via a merchandise seller outside of Ford Field
who'd ran up to me just as I was getting into my car), I caught site of the
grand pooh-bah himself, Coach Bill Cowher, who had casually stepped back
from the madness and was now staring at me.
	His face, so steely and angry during the game, was lit up into a
mile-wide grin.  I was stunned, like a deer in the headlights.  His gaze
never wavered.  I nervously averted my eyes.
	"He likes you, you know," said a gentle bass-toned voice next to my
ear.  I turned.  It was Jerome Bettis.  He tipped his beer at me.  "You're
just his type."
	"Excuse me?"
	"Coach Cowher," Jerome said, motioning toward the coach.  I
gathered up enough courage to take another glance - he was still staring at
me, smiling even wider now.  His wife slipped her arm around his waist, her
eyes following her husband's, to me.  Quickly I looked away.  "That's who
gave you the invitation, you know."
	"You're shitting me," I said.
	"No way," Jerome replied.  "So, are you gonna go for it?"
	"Go for wha--" I started to say, then realized his wife, Kaye, was
coming my way.  She stumbled a little as she jostled her way through the
crowd.  I prepared myself for the worst, but she just saddled up to me and
swung an arm around my shoulder.
	"What's your name?" she said.  Her speech was a little slurred.
	"Natty," I said.
	"Well, Natty, do you see my husband over there?  He's got his eye
on you, you know."
	"I - I don't - um, I'm really sorry..." Kaye slashed her hand
through the air.
	"Forget it.  Me and Bill, we have...an understanding.  In fact,
this time we made a deal.  The deal was, he wins the Super Bowl, he gets to
take a boy for the week.  You, my young friend," she said, poking me in the
side, "have just been drafted."
	I barely had time to register this information before the whole
room went silent.  Coach Cowher was walking toward me, his jaw set and his
eyes intently fixed upon mine.  I swallowed a lump in my throat.  This
perfect specimen of my ultimate coach/daddy fantasies was stalking toward
me like a hunter who'd just trapped his prey.
	Kaye and Jerome stepped aside as Coach Cowher walked up to me.  He
wrapped his arm around my waist, and in one powerful motion, pulled my body
into his and brought his lips to mine in an intense kiss.  His chin, like a
stubbly chunk of granite, locked on to my face.  His tongue pushed in to my
mouth, and I accepted it willingly.  We kissed for what seemed like an
eternity, and then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
	For a moment the room was completely quiet.  And then, it erupted.
The crowd cheered and screamed as Coach Cowher scooped me up into his
strong arms and carried me across the room.  We floated out of the hall on
a sea of jubilant revelry.

	He never set me down until we got to the door of his penthouse
suite.
	"What's your name, boy?" he asked, and I told him.
	"I'm Bill Cowher," he said, opening the door.
	"I know who you are," I said.  The shock had begun to wear off, and
I managed to eke out a smile.  The smile took on a life of its own, and
soon I was grinning from ear to ear.  Bill Cowher grinned right back.
	"Well, in that case, you can call me Coach.  If you want."
	"Alright, Coach," I said, and followed his arm into the room.
	The room was incredible, with an epic view of downtown Detroit.
	"I don't like to waste any time," Coach Cowher said.  He pulled me
into him again, cupping my ass in his hand and slipping his tongue into my
mouth.  His mouth tasted of cool mint and heady beer.  His mustache
bristled against my face.  As we made out, I felt my defenses melting, and
I fell into him more and more, giving him more of my mouth and my body,
wanting him to break me down, to take me away.
	"You are one beautiful boy," he said, stripping off my shirt and
getting right to work on my belt.  His eyes devoured each inch of my body
as it came into view.  Then he pushed me back onto the bed.  I bounced and
rested there, watching him strip.  His eyes never strayed from me, his
prize, his goal; as his furry, muscled chest came into view.  He took off
his hat just long enough to slip his shirt over his head, then put the cap
back on.
	Unhurriedly, he unbuckled his khaki pants and let them fall to the
floor.  I could see the fat roll of his hard cock rising up in his boxer
briefs.  I reached up and grabbed a hold of the waist band.  I pulled them
forward and released his cock, which bounced out to greet me.  It was a
beauty to behold, one of the most huge, handsome, and thick pieces of
manhood I'd ever seen.  I gazed at its holy beauty for a minute before
taking it between my lips.
	A drop of precome had gathered at the tip and I licked it off,
tasting the salty essence of him.  Coach Cowher moaned.  Slowly, I slid my
mouth down the Coach's hard cock, letting each smooth inch slide along my
tongue.  When my bottom lip had stretched enough that it was resting
against the edge of his beefy balls, I knew I had done my job.  I slid back
off, and repeated the process all over again.
	"That's it, boy, such Coach Cowher's cock," he said in his tough
yinzer accent, each word coming out like an order, a command.  "You like
that piece of meat?  Yeah, you love the Coach's big cock, don't you?"
	I moaned my appreciation, reaching up to cup his heavy nuts in my
palm as I stuffed his fat ten inches into my throat.  The Coach grabbed the
back of my head and gently thrust his cock into my willing throat, sneering
down at me as he did so.  "GodDAMN you got a hot mouth, boy," he shouted,
his nuts slapping against my chin.
	I almost thought he was going to come, but he pulled out at the
last second, his whole body heaving with exertion.  He dropped his knees on
the bed and lowered his body on to mine, bringing his face close and making
out with me.  His hard cock jutted from his body like a deadly weapon.  His
hands roughly felt up my smooth body, pinching my nipples and stroking my
diamond-hard dick.  I never knew such pleasure was possible.  I had to slap
his hand away because I thought I might cum, just from that.
	"Turn over boy, let me see that ass," he said, and helped me flip
on to my stomach.  He grabbed my waist and brought my ass up to his face,
spreading my cheeks with his hands.  "Fuck that's a nice butt," he said,
giving it a slap.  "Nice enough to eat," he said, and dove his face inside.
	I bucked in shock, but it quickly faded to pleasure.  Coach
Cowher's randy and insistent tongue bathed my hairless crack before finding
its target and driving it into the end zone.  I could feel his chin grazing
my balls as he ate out my ass, using his tongue to force open my hole and
drilling it inside.  He slapped my ass again, and I found myself lustily
backing my butt into his face, wanting more and more of his tongue inside
me.
	He got one of his thick and calloused fingers wet in his mouth, and
pressed it to my pulsing hole.  I braced myself as he slowly pushed it
inside, sliding his fat digit home into my hot depths.
	"Fuck, nothin like some tight boy ass," he said, pumping his finger
resolutely inside of me.  I was beyond pleasure, beyond control.  Every
piece of my soul cried out to just be taken by him, as roughly as he
wanted.  "Open up for me, boy, I'm coming inside," he said.  I heard him
reach down and open up a tube of lube.  He squirted some onto his finger
and slid it back inside.
	"Get you all juiced up for Coach Cowher's cock," he said.  I looked
back and saw him grinning at me, towering over my prone body with his
massive, slicked prick pulsing away in his palm.  "You want the Coach's
cock inside you, boy?"
	"Oh yeah, fuck me Coach Cowher.  I want to feel all of you slam
inside me."  I had my head buried in the comforter, my ass spread wide and
waiting for him.  He brought the head of his dick to my tender asshole, and
insistently pressed inside.  There was no backing out, I had to take what
he was going to give.  The pressure built until the head popped my cherry.
	"Fucking tight end!" Cowher growled, grabbing on to my hips for
support.  I barely had time to gather myself before I realized he was
sliding the rest of his cock into me, and I was moaning like a bitch in
heat.  "Oh, fuck yeah!" Cowher said, his meaty balls pressing against my
ass.  "Touchdown!"
	"Fuck me Coach!" I screamed.  Cowher held firmly to my ass as his
pounded his hips against my body, each thrust drilling his thick and
powerful cock deeper inside me.  I accepted it and wanted even more.
	He flipped me over and held my ankles in the air as he fucked my
well-lubed ass, his steel-hard dick riding my hole like a piston.  Once he
got going he let loose with a stream of gravelly, dirty talk that shot out
of his mouth like stones.
	"You like gettin fucked by Coach Cowher, don't you boy?  You like
riding the Coach's dick?  Ride that cock, bitch, ride it."  I got on top of
him and bounced up and down on his dick like a carousel horse.  Coach
Cowher rubbed his hands along my torso, pinching my titties.  "You gonna
take my load, son?  Huh?  Where you want Coach's juice?  In your ass?  On
your face?"
	I blurred my options and said "Cum all over me."  Coach flipped me
on my back again and drilled his mouth into mine, our passion increasing in
speed like a runaway bus.
	"Fuck boy, gonna lose it...oh shit...oh SHHIIIIT!" he screamed, and
quickly took out his cock and aimed it at my body.  I watched his nuts
gather up; then his dick pulsed, and a thick rope of steaming jizz flew out
and landed on my face and hair.  More and more come streamed out of his
cock, landing all over my chest and stomach, bathing me in its sticky heat.
I rubbed it into my skin as he came down, dipping my fingers into my mouth
to taste the essence of a true winner, a professional-league NFL coach.
	Coach Cowher ran his tongue along my face, then pushed it into my
mouth and ate his come with me.  I was stroking my cock furiously.  My
balls crept up tight into my body.
	"You gonna cum for the Coach?" he said, sliding down until his face
was right next to my cock.  He took one of my balls into his mouth and let
it fall.  "Spew that load, boy.  I want to see that come spray out of your
pisser."  His finger slid underneath my balls and fit easily in to my
well-fucked hole.  That's when I lost it.  I felt the first spurt of my
load rise up, but before it could spray into the air, Coach Cowher sank his
mouth over my dick and started drinking it down, sucking my cock with
swift, smooth motions, his neck muscles gulping and working as he drank
every drop.
	"Mmmmm," he said, wiping come from his mustache.  "Fuck your come
tastes good."
	"This is like a dream come true," I said as he lay back on the bed
next to me.
	"For you and me both, boy," Cowher said.  "For you and me both."

THE END

With apologies and respect to the Pittsburgh Steelers and to Mary Sue.

Email: arnoldlayne69@yahoo.com

My website, w/free stories: www.bacteriaburger.com