Coach Baxter was a powerfully built man. His sheer physical presence, iron will, and domineering personality helped him to mold his high school wrestlers after his own image. He took boys and turned them into men. He showed his boys how to develop their youthful bodies, build their muscles, perfect their skills, and dominate their opponents. Although Coach Baxter had similar appetites to the Man whose basement he know stood in, enjoying turning young men into obedient cocksuckers, he had never considered doing so with one of his own wrestlers. In fact it was the apotheosis of what he achieved with his boys. It was a little over a year since Zach had graduated, and Coach Baxter had been proud of the lad back then. Now here he was, with his former Wrestling Captain shackled in bondage like some faggot bitch. The boy had clearly continued to maintain his body the way Coach had taught him to since he graduated. Stretched out on the steel framework, sweating and straining, Zach's physique looked spectacular, but the Coach was pissed.
"What the fuck is THIS Castro?" Coach spat, thoroughly disgusted with the boy he had mentored for four years.
"Coach I..." Zach began, trying desperately to think of some explanation, and was cut short as the back of Coach's hand caught his cheek, rocking his head back.
"This isn't how I taught you to be boy. I train my wrestlers to be real men, not some punk ass faggot bitch, good for nothing but sucking on real men's cocks." Glaring at the ashamed face of the boy he thought he knew, and had honored with the position of Captain of the team.
Zach sniffed dejectedly, his face stinging from the blow.
"You've let yourself down. You've let your team down, and you have let me down. I wasted four years on teaching you how to be a man, and this is how you repay me."
Zach felt mortified. Like all the Coach's wrestlers Zach had idolized the man who had shaped his teenage years. He had always wanted to please the man, and it had been such an honor to be made Captain. It had proved to Zach that the Coach recognized his dedication to the Sport, to the Team and the School, but most importantly to his Mentor, whose approval he had always worked so hard to get. This was the worst moment of his life.
"You owe me for four years boy." Coach growled. He would never have contemplated touching one of his wrestlers, but Zach had graduated a while ago, and allowed himself to become a bitch for an older man. In his mind the kid was fair game now. "Four years! And I think I know a way that you can start repaying that debt faggot."
Zach's mind was in turmoil as Coach released him from the shackles which held him in place within the metal framework. The Man who had taken control of him had said Zach was to be fucked by someone to whom he owed a debt, and like the Coach said, he had let everyone down. He really did owe the Coach for betraying everything that Coach had tried to instill in him for what had been the four best years of his young life. Zach hated the idea that the man he had hero worshipped for those years would be the one to fuck him for the first time. It would mean that he had totally lost his Mentor's respect and that was a crushing blow for the boy.
Coach pulled Zach's hands behind his back and locked steel cuffs on his wrists as the boy staggered drunkenly with a dazed and bewildered look on his face. Grabbing the boy's neck harshly Coach pushed Zach ahead of him until he stood at the sloping end of a vaulting horse. Tightening his grip Coach forced Zach to bend at the waist until his chest rested on the padded top of the horse, and kicked the boys feet wider apart.
"You act like a faggot, I'll treat you like a faggot." Coach snarled. "Now you stay put while I get that tight little faggot pussy ready."
Zach's mind had all but shut down. He deserved this he knew. Coach had tried to make a man of him, and he had sold out all that effort. It was, in the end, only right that Coach should be the one to strip his manhood from him.
Coach studied the muscular bubble butt before him. The dimpled cheeks were only slightly paler than the rest of the boy's sleek, tanned body. He eased the smooth, hairless mounds apart to reveal the moist, sweaty trench between, and the equally hairless pucker nestling there. With one thick finger he traced up through the warm wet furrow, allowing the nail to scratch lightly at the sphincter, causing Zach to yelp and jerk upwards.
"Stay down boy." Coach growled, and then hawked a glob of spittle between the two quivering cheeks. With his big meaty left hand splayed on the small of the boy's back, holding him in place, Coach took the thumb of his right hand and spread the spit over the twitching pucker, once, twice, and then on the third pass pushed the tip against the tightly clenched sphincter.
An almost inaudible gasp escaped Zach's slack mouth. "You like that huh?" Coach teased, and pushed in harder.
"Nuh!" Zach grunted. The muscles across his rippling, sweat sheened back tensed, and his cuffed hands clenched into fists. Yet it was far too late to protest, and anyway he had been trained to always respond "Yes Coach".
"Don't worry slut. I'm gonna open you up a bit before I fuck this hot little ass." Coach promised huskily. He knew the boy had been cleaned out earlier that evening, and he squatted down to sniff at the musky crack. The smell of teen boy butt was enticing, and Coach allowed his thick, lusty tongue to lick along the length of the boys cleft. Again the boy jerked, and his long sinewy legs trembled.
Coach began to slurp at the boy's pucker enjoying the salty tang of sweat, and eliciting faint whimpers from his victim. Using the saliva to lubricate its passage, Coach pushed again at the pretty, pink pucker with his strong brawny thumb until the tight muscle submitted to him, and opened a fraction.
