Wresting Team Gone Wild

A new coach with rather unorthodox methods is appointed to bring the University's wresting team back to the top. Unfortunately for straight hunk Scott, the path to victory involves turning him into the team's bitch.

Please be aware that this story involves a lot of manipulation elements (straight to gay).

The story, names, and places are entirely fictional. All characters featured are above 18. Enjoy!

*

Chapter 33: The Coach's journal

On Saturday, Coach Ranson asked me to go in his office before the big competition.

He wanted to give me some last-minute advice on my moves on the mat and how to handle the press afterwards. I figured that he would also want to fuck me in the ass.

I was right since he pulled his hard dick out of his shorts as soon as I came in.

"Come sit on it boy, I'll give you some more loads before your first match, straight in your hole this time."

I was already wearing my singlet. It was a bit inconvenient taking it off and pulling it back on, I had only a few minutes left before the weigh-in. Besides, my anus was still very sore from the gangbang the day before.

"Sir, I don't think we have time...."

As always, the Coach had the perfect solution to deal with my outfit. He grabbed me, pulled back the tight fabric of my singlet, just enough so my hole would be exposed.

"See. Easy. Done in five minutes" He smiled at me.

I gulped.

"Yes, Coach. Although... My ass does hurt... From yesterday, I mean."

"You know you cannot trust the others to take care of that sweet hole like I do."

He kissed my forehead. His moist cockhead was already finding its way up to my hole.

"They have probably ravaged it yesterday but, sit on me. You'll see, it will be more healing than anything else!"

I hastily impaled myself on my wrestling Coach for a quick fuck.

Surely, it hurt but I just had to learn to cope with that pain at this point. It was not like I could reasonably refuse anything from the Coach.

His chair was banging against his desk as he was banging me. My dick got hard in the process, forming an insane bulge in my singlet. I knew that I would not cum, at least not from my cock, not right before a competition. But at least, I would fight with my hole filled with the Head Coach's nutritious juice.

Just to think back about how happy that thought made me feel give me cold shivers now.

I went up and down on his pole, trying to make him nut fast. I could be disqualified if I missed the weigh-in. Maybe they would wait for me, though? After all, I was the biggest competitor that day. The undisputed wrestling champion!

The Coach's dick was still shoved deep inside my ass when someone knocked at the door.

It was unexpected, even for the Coach. He panicked and pushed me under his desk. His dick slapped against his abs as his shaft was pulled out from my heated (and quite ravaged) asshole.

"Come in." He said to the visitor once I was out of sight.

I was trapped between his muscular thighs, his hard cock laying against my cheeks, smearing precum all over my face. I had no idea whether the guest could see me or not. I recognized Daniel's voice. Crisis averted; He had seen me in way more compromising positions!

The assistant coach seemed very worried though.

"Coach Ranson. I am sorry to disturb you but there is an issue. Two boys, Travis Lee and Victor Masson, they are... They are talking about you, to the press, to everyone..."

I was intrigued.

"What is it about, Daniel? Cannot you see that I'm busy here."

He guided my head towards his dick so I would blow him below the desk. I naturally obliged.

"Coach Ranson, they are saying very bad things about you, and about Doctor Peterson... I do think this is serious."

The Head Coach got up abruptly while I was blowing him and I banged my head against the desk. Ignoring me, he pulled up his shorts and followed Daniel hastily.

I was left alone, confused, once again.

But for the last time.

I rubbed my head which was hurting.

One of the drawers had opened up because of the bang and some stuff had fallen on the floor. Where would I be if I had not seen the notebook? Would have I believed Travis and Victor? Probably not. They had tried to warn me before.

The staff was already silencing them as they were trying to denounce the Coach's methods, kicking them out of the gym as I was sitting there, my asshole still warm of the Coach's dick.

I think at this point, not a single individual would have been able to wake me up from my trance. I was fully under the influence of my wrestling Coach and only his words mattered.

This is why the notebook was key at this moment.

It was Coach Ranson, himself, admitting the truth there. Him talking directly to me.

I opened the journal. I recognized Coach Ranson's handwriting. The rest felt like the most intense gut punch ever.

He had called me his experiment. His bitch. His project. His thing. He had written that I was straight. Was I?! He had described everything, from start to finish. I wanted to scream, to kill him, but still, I needed to get fucked by him.

My ass was still itching for his bone. Through hundreds of pages, he explained how he abused, manipulated, gaslighted me to ultimately turn me into his personal whore.

I skimmed through the pages but only fully read the first and last page, they were telling enough.

The first entry was dated June 21st, 2022. Almost a full year back.

*

"(...) I have called dean Falker this morning to accept his proposal. I did a quick check of the boys competing last season and I must admit that some of them have caught my attention already.

I printed the pictures from the roster, - not the best I have seen but this can be fixed -, and jerked off to them multiple times already.

Their singlets were not tight enough, amateur work from their previous Coach, but I still released some huge loads on one of the guys, Scott Russel. A big fat ass on a slim and fit body, a humongous dong on the front (I have rarely seen that, especially on a white boy!), and a gorgeous face to complete the portrait. Just my type.

I cannot wait for the year to start."

*

The last entry had been written the day of, probably just before I had walked in his office.

*

"May, 28th, 2023:

Finally, I can say it: the experiment has proven successful. I have always believed this was possible but still, actually going through with this still seems like an incredible accomplishment!

I have turned a straight boy into the ultimate gay cock-sucker and cock-fucker slut. Religious conversion camps should call me! You can probably do this the other way around and "fix" gay boys. Damn, I'm excited! Have you seen the livestream on the WTGW page yesterday? A fucking master piece! Everyone was impressed by the boy's abilities.

I intend to ask Scott to fuck himself on my dick just before his competition. I am positive he will not show the slightest sign of resistance and that he will actually love this. His hole is craving for cocks and his brain is now fully wired to pleasure me.

Reading this journal, you might think that it has taken a year but you would be wrong. It has taken a lifetime of trying and failing until I fell upon the perfect boy at the perfect time. Of course, I have to give credits where it is due to Leo, Robert, Francis, even Victor, but frankly, this was my master plan and none of them could deny that.

Francis wants me to whore the boy out in porn. He is thinking about the money. He is practically a millionaire already with the x-rated page. The gangbang is being made into a feature film as I am writing those lines but I have made my decision. I will keep Scott for myself.

He is MY success.

We have the others we can use differently, I leave them Damian, Amir, Eli, Tom... Milk them all you want for the Wrestling Team Gone Wild's page, but Scott Russel is MY personal bitch from now on, my personal achievement. And hopefully, the first of many to come!"

*

"Scott!"

I turned around, I was still on my knees on the floor, my ass exposed, reading the journal. Damian was standing in the door frame.

"You're about to miss the weigh-in! They want to disqualify you. Come on!"

How could I stand back up? My entire life was a lie.

Of course, I could not process what I had just read. It was too much, too big, too surreal. I had only skimmed through the pages; I had read a few paragraphs but it was so damn clear.

The intent was obvious through every sentence, every perverted word used by the Coach aims at turning me into his personal cock-sucker.

How stupid could have I been to fall into this trap?

In a sense, I had always known something was not right. But I had been so conditioned to never challenge the Coach's words that he had made it impossible for me to doubt him. The pervert had isolated me, brainwashed me, played on every single one of my insecurities.

I was shocked but I was relieved too. Now, everything was making sense.

"Scott?! What the fuck are you doing?" Damian pressed me.

"Damian..."

What should I have told him? Was I mad at him or were we both victims?

Victim. For the first time, the thought came to my mind that I was a victim.

Funny it was in association with Damian who had been my tormentor for so long.

"Scott!" He pulled my arms. "The weigh-in! The Coach asked me to come get you. Fucking move!"

He noticed the notebook I was holding against my chest:

"What's that?"

He tried to grab it but I would not let it go.

"That's mine!" I barked at him, more aggressively than I had anticipated.

Fuck, I just needed a minute to process. Was it too much to ask? Probably yes, I was already late, I was about to be disqualified. I pushed Damian away.

"What's the matter with you, dude?" He asked.

"I'll fucking go. Just don't touch me."

Deciding that I would go compete was the first clear choice that I made after I had discovered the notebook. I could not have gone through all of this for nothing. In the most fucked-up way, my mind was still fully conditioned to become a champion.

I followed Damian in silence but he was not done talking, I wished he would have shut up:

"Travis and Victor are here. They're saying weird stuff. They came with another guy, Sergio. Like, crazy stuff! About molestation.... They said that the Coach has done things, sexual things, to people."

Damian seemed very uneasy about that.

"We have a competition to win." I simply spoke.

The minute I would let the info sink in, my whole world would collapse, but at this point, I could not break down, not just yet.

Still, flashes were going through my mind, particularly from the night I had spent at Coach Ranson's place. How I had felt horrible about joining him in bed, fully hard. The asshole had drugged me! How he had cummed on my face afterwards. He had planned everything!

I walked in the locker-room. No sign of Travis or Victor, they have been effectively kicked out. Coach Ranson was pacing in the middle of the semi-naked wrestlers. Doctor Peterson was there too; he was very pale. Daniel was trying to calm the Head Coach down.

Not an easy task, he was fuming.

"Such vile accusations! Very convenient just when the Wolves are about to make history, just when Russel is about to make history! There are some limits which shall not be crossed! Not everything is fair game."

Funny he would talk about fairness.

For a split second, my mind sided with him, I was still very much under the influence. Sometimes, I think I still am. Travis who had transferred to the Eagles had tried, once again, to throw us off! What was it about, now? Saying the Coach would have abused of athletes! As if!

It was just for a split second though. I was holding the notebook, so tight that I was scratching the material. I knew better now. Ranson had confessed to me. He just did not know it yet.

"Oh, Russel! Here you fucking are! Get naked, quick! The weigh-in." He scolded me.

In a way, it was like my brain was split into two. I still wanted Ranson to be proud of his favourite boy, at the same time, I seriously wanted to kill him. Stuck between the two, I could not move.

Ranson pulled my singlet off, stripping me down in the middle of the locker-room. The guy was relentless, he had just been publicly accused of molesting his wrestlers but he still could not help himself. He touched me, barked at me for being late, slapped my ass...

He kept on molesting me until he realized what I was holding in my hand.

Then, his face shifted dramatically.

I cannot begin to describe the cruel joy I felt when he realized. He knew that I knew. He was done.

He literally took several steps back as if he was afraid of me, so much that he bumped his head against a locker. Damian, Daniel, and everyone else in the room were clueless about what was happening.

"A problem, Coach?" I asked, now stark naked in the middle of the room.

His breath had been taken away. My dick was very hard at that sight. I was ecstatic to see him destabilized. After all this time! The tables had finally turned!

"Sc... Scott..." He mumbled.

Daniel grabbed him as he was almost falling down.

"Coach, you are warm. Please, sit down."

I was still holding on to the damn journal, a large smile on my face. I must have looked like a maniac. Harry, on my side, seemed very worried.

"Russel, it's now or never for the weigh-in." The referee said behind me.

I came back to reality.

I followed the referee. I had a plan and it involved participating in the competition. The Head Coach was losing it but I remained very calm. Weird how our brain reacts to trauma? Suddenly, I had clarity on what I wanted to do next.

I did my weigh-in. 149 lbs. Perfect.

You probably know the rest of the story. I went to compete. In the bleachers, no one knew about the fight in the locker-room and the accusations made against the Coach. The entire university was there, shouting and applauding.

They were so proud of the Wolves; each athlete was welcomed with excited cheers.

"WTGW" signs were prominent in the crowd. The gangbang scene had been a huge success.

The roaring became insane as soon as I walked in, some people were shouting "the cum stick", others "the cum dumpster", others were simply chanting out my name. I waived at my fans. I was so fucking ready.

Dean Falker, sitting on the first row with other members of the Board, applauded with the crowd but he looked nervous. He must have heard about the locker-room fight. Francis and Robert were there too.

Not far from them, I finally saw him. Travis! Victor was not with him. Good. I liked it better this way.

I ran towards my former best-friend.

"Scott! Thank God, you came to see me. I really need to talk with you. Please."

He was talking fast; Travis was clearly distraught. "I have found other people, I've spent the last couple of months gathering evidence, there's this guy, Sergio..."

"I know." I cut him off.

"What?"

"I know everything."

The clamour around us was so loud that we could barely hear each other. I gave him the notebook.

"Please hold on to that, at all costs. I need to win. Then, we'll talk."

"What is that? Scott, this is serious, we need to..."

"Please do not read it either!"

"Just talk to me! What the hell is going on?" Travis would not let me go: "I've done my research, I've tried to confront Ranson this morning, I have proof..."

"Travis! I fucking know. Ok?! Please, trust me. Just hold on to this."

He took the notebook. He was still confused but I knew he would not betray me.

"Ok... I will... But..."

"Keep this until I'm done with competing. Believe me, we got him."

That morning, I performed some of my best wrestling. It was also my last competition ever. I was furious, but instead of getting destabilized by my anger, I used it at my advantage.

For my first opponent, I pictured that I was fighting with Robert de Portier. The ridiculous communication director: he was supposedly on my side; he was supposedly there to listen to me. He could "get me", he had said. He was gay and "just like me" (what a joke), he had struggled with his sexual orientation in college. He presented himself as a potential confident.

BULLSHIT!

I sat on my opponent's face, imagining I was smothering Robert's stupid face under my big fat ass. The poor athlete was choking under my weight. I won. Ironically, the actual Robert de Portier was cheering for me, a few feet away from the mat. I smiled at him.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

For the second opponent, I pictured that I was fighting with Francis. No surprise there, I had known that he was a scumbag for a long time. I think I hated him long before even reading the Coach's journal. I was so aggressive on the mat, my dick was still raging hard, my ass was still twitching, my opponent had no chance to tame me.

Maybe part of my fury was due to the fact that the Coach had not been able to fill me up with his juice before competing. We had been interrupted and I was craving my fix!

I rubbed myself against my second opponent for good measures but still pinned him down methodically.

I pictured my third opponent as Doctor Leo Peterson (as if he ever were a doctor!) to make sure I would be committed enough to beat him. Seriously, I was almost hallucinating. Obviously, the wrestler had nothing to do with Doctor Peterson but I swore that I thought I was owning my tormentor at that moment.

"Aaaaaaaaargh!" I roared when I won my third match, my dick pulsating in my singlet, my big ass exposed to the whole crowd as the fabric was once again getting into my ass crack.

Who fucking cared? Certainly not me!

For the last opponent, of course, I pictured that he was Coach Ranson. The monster who had orchestrated the whole thing. He was my mentor, my only remaining friend, my father figure. He was the person I admired and feared the most in the entire world. He was my everything.

Ranson had led me to the summits of my favourite sport but he had also completely ruined it, for me and for so many other wrestlers.

Maybe this is the reason why I am most mad at him today: Ranson has destroyed the thing that I loved most in the world.

Wrestling had become dirty, wrong, unhealthy. The values of strength and commitment have been replaced by filth and low blows. I had won my season only because I had been the obscenest, the most shameless, the sleaziest of all competitors.

I jizzed on my very last opponent. I did not even need to; I had already won when I released six thick loads of cum on his thighs. But I wanted to paint my Head Coach's white and at that time, I was using my opponent as a good ersatz of Ranson.

Thanks for teaching me about the concept of "ersatz", Victor! It was of good use that day.

Without any doubt or question, I had won the championship in my category. The referee held my hand high. I was a fucking star! The audience was crazy for me.

Coach Ranson looked reassured to see me in that state. I had ended up the competition just like the others: as a winner and drenched with cum. I smiled at him.

Maybe I was not the only one being naïve if Ranson thought he would get away with what he had done so easily!

Somehow, I knew exactly what I needed to do at that point.

Sweaty, horny, transfixed by my win and dripping with cum, I walked to meet the press. Porn magazines, sports channels and mainstream media were all there, eager to interview me. College wrestling had never been that much at the centre of the media attention.

They wanted a show, they would get one for sure!

The sport had totally morphed in just a year and I was the symbol of it: the first wrestler to ever implement the hose technique by cumming on his opponent, the first to come on the mat smeared with cum to throw his competitors off. I was the one who had instituted rubbing, jerking, stroking and nutting on the mat.