Coaching Me Into Submission

It was June in Fort Lauderdale. If you've ever been there, then you know that June in Florida means the weather is hot, humid, and sweaty. It was Friday, the day after my eighteenth birthday. I didn't know it then, but that Friday was the turning point of my life. Everything is different now.

My name is Aaron Paul. I had just finished my junior year of high school, and I thought life was looking pretty good. I was one of the star players on my high school's varsity baseball team. I was getting straight A's in all of my classes. I even knew that Rachel Ross, the hottest girl in my grade, had a huge crush on me.

My original plan for that Friday night was to go grab a bite to eat at Coach Michael's house and then head over to my buddy Nick's party, where everyone popular in school was going that night -- including Rachel. My mom had just left to go on a two-week vacation in Europe, and I was planning on having a fun two weeks without any parents around to tell me what to do or when to be home.

Coach Michael is basically the father I never had. I lived with my Mom ever since I was ten years old, right after my father left. Not shortly after, we both met Coach. My mom had me going to play on a little league team two days a week after school, and Coach Michael was the team's coach. He was the best coach I could have ever asked for. After a while, he started coming around the house more often and helped my mom out with chores and played a role in raising me. When I started high school, he was the coach for the baseball team. I always asked my mom why she never tried to date him, but she said that they were always just friends.

Michael was forty-seven years old, but he looked really great for his age. He had a nice, short, trim beard, with defined facial features, big blue eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair. Some of the senior girls at school sometimes called him a "silver fox." I don't blame them -- he was a good-looking guy. It always confounded me that he didn't have a wife, or even a girlfriend. I always assumed he just liked to live alone or wasn't into any serious relationships, and went on tons of dates with hot girls on the side. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.

Coach asked me to come over to his place for dinner that Friday night so that we could celebrate my birthday. I'd been over to his place for dinner a countless number of times, so I didn't even think twice about it. He lived alone in an awesome house. He was also a great cook, so I was excited to see what would be for dinner. Since I just turned eighteen, I figured he might have bought me a cool present, too. He was usually pretty generous.

I got to his house around six o'clock in the evening. It was hot and humid outside, and I was a little sweaty having walked all the way there in the heat from my Mom's house about a mile away.

I knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door opened and I saw Coach Michael in the doorway. He was wearing gym shorts and a muscle tank top. I could see his chest hair poking up from underneath his shirt, and I could see the sweat glistening on his shoulders. I could tell he had just been working out.

"Hey, there's the birthday boy!" He said as he reached in for a hug. I hugged him back, reluctantly, because I could smell the fresh sweat evaporating off his body into the air I was breathing. I didn't have any hard feelings, though; he was like a father figure to me, after all. To be honest, his scent was kind of comforting in a paternal way.

"Hey, Coach." I said as he led me inside his house and closed the door and locked it behind us. "Good to see you."

We walked into the kitchen together and I took a seat on one of his barstools. I could smell something delicious coming from the oven.

"What did you make tonight, 'Chef' Michael?" I teased.

He smiled. "Pot roast. You'll love it." He walked over to the fridge and grabbed two beers. "Want a beer?"

I was shocked. In all of the time that I knew Coach, he never once offered me an alcoholic drink.

"Uh, sure," I said, "are you sure?"

"Yeah! You're eighteen now, in my eyes you should be old enough to enjoy a drink from time to time." He opened up the beer bottle and handed it to me.

"But before you take a sip," he added quickly, "I need to ask you an important question."

He looked pretty serious. "What's up, Coach?" I asked as I put down the bottle on the table.

"Do you trust me?" He said as he looked directly into my eyes.

I was caught pretty off-guard by this question. It just seemed so out of the blue. I started to chuckle, but he didn't join in on the laughter.

"I'm serious, Aaron." He said, not removing his eyes from mine. "Do you trust me, with all your might?"

"Of course I do, Coach." I said. "You're like a father to me."

He smiled. "Good. That's good. There's something I want to show you. Something that I think you'll enjoy a lot, but you have to be open-minded." He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Do you trust me and my judgment enough to let me show you?" he continued.

I laughed. "Of course."

He smiled, but then his smile quickly faded and he looked down at the floor.

"Well..." he tried to find the right words. "I have one more question. Will you forgive me if I show it to you and you don't like it?" He seemed really serious.

"Of course, Coach," I said, not knowing what I was about to get myself into. "You'll always be good ol' Coach Michael to me."

He smiled a very warm and proud smile. "Okay," he said, "drink up your beer."

I grabbed my beer bottle and clinked it against Coach's bottle. Then I took a very large gulp.

"So what is it that you wanted to show me, Coach?" I asked.

His smile was fading. "I'm sorry for what's about to happen," he said grimly, "but I wasn't sure how else to open up your world without being a little mischievous at first."

I was very confused. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but all of a sudden, my head started to feel very light.

"Coach, I don't...feel so...good." I started to slip off of the barstool. Coach was behind me. What was going on?

"It's okay, Aaron" He said as he hoisted my arm up over his shoulder. "Let's get you to the couch."

He walked me over to the couch and I plopped down heavily. The last thing I remember is looking up into Coach Michael's eyes as I slowly drifted off into a very heavy slumber.

.....

When I woke up, I was in a bed. It took me a while to gain feeling in my whole body. I tried to move my muscles one by one; I ached all over. My head was pounding. I could barely open my eyes.

Where was I? The last thing I remember, I was sitting down in Coach's kitchen, drinking a—

The beer. Was it the beer? I felt so hungover. But that doesn't make sense, nothing makes sense. Why couldn't I remember anything?

I finally budged my eyes open. I was in a bed, in a room with no windows and just a door. And then I realized -- there were handcuffs around my wrists and my ankles, attaching me to the bedframe. Someone locked me up there.

I tried to scream, but not much sound came out of my mouth. Just a faint croak. My voice needed to warm up. I needed water. I was so thirsty.

Just then, the door opened. Coach Michael came in and closed the door behind him, and calmly came up to me and sat down in a chair next to the bed. He was wearing the same tank top and gym shorts he was wearing before.

"Listen," he began. "I want you to know that—"

"What the fuck is going on? Where am I? How long was I out?" My voice finally came back, although it was pretty weak. I started shaking my head in confusion. But still, I honestly didn't freak out as much as most people would have—like I said, Coach and me were really close, so deep down I was somehow sure that there was a logical explanation for what was going on. Or at least that's how I felt in that moment. Maybe it was some kind of eighteenth-birthday prank with my friends, for all I knew.

"Look, Aaron." He leant closer to me on the bed. "Listen to me without talking and I'll give you some water, and then we can have an adult conversation. You've only been out for three hours, and you're in my guest bedroom." He seemed really serious. I didn't like it; I'd never really seen that side of him before.

"Calm down, Coach." I smiled, trying to make light of the situation. "What, did Nick put you up to this or something? Where are the guys?"

Coach didn't smile at all. "I know that this isn't right," he began again, "but there's something that I want you to open your mind to. I know you'll be reluctant at first..." He looked down at the floor again. I could tell he was conflicted between making me comfortable and trying to assert his power over me in the situation at hand.

He softly rested his hand on my stomach and began to caress me over my shirt. It tickled slightly, but I was too in shock to laugh or protest.

"Alright, I'll just cut to the chase." Coach moved his hand up to my chest and started to rub me there. "When I was your age, on my eighteenth birthday, a man that was very close to me did the same thing I'm doing to you right now." He moved his hand over to my right nipple and began to slowly play with it between his thumb and forefinger. My nipples were very sensitive, and I began to squirm a bit. I finally understood a little better what was going on and what Coach's intentions were. I didn't think I was going to like what I was about to hear.

"I was reluctant, too, at first. He drugged me and tied me up and..." he paused and looked into my eyes, trying to find sympathy from me. "Aaron, he opened my eyes to a lifestyle I had never imagined living until I was thrown into it. And I became obsessed with it." He moved his fingers over to my other nipple, and started to play with it between his soft fingers.

"Aaron," he began again, "he showed me how men can love each other in ways you would never imagine. Ways that they can make each other feel better than any woman ever could." He stuck his hand underneath my t-shirt and began to rub the exposed part of my happy trail which ran from my belly button to the top of my jeans. "He changed my life, and at the end of the day, it was the best gift I could have ever received. And I'm going to give that gift to you, for your eighteenth birthday."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Reason with him, I thought. I just have to reason with him.

"Coach," I began, "you know I'm straight, right? There's this girl, and--"

"I don't want to hear it. You will speak when I say it's okay. I have told you my intentions and now you have no choice but to obey. Excuses will only make this harder for yourself."

I wanted to scream. "Coach, it's me! It's your buddy Aaron! Why are you doing this to me?"

"Oh, Aaron. I'm not doing this to you. I'm doing this for you." I could tell he hated the pain that he was causing me, but the excitement he had for his plan was more powerful than the pain that he felt. But still, I didn't want this.

"First, you need to understand something." Coach continued. And this may sound silly, but I want you to pay close attention. My goal here, although it may seem twisted and unclear at the moment, is not to 'turn you gay' or to simply use your body for my own personal pleasure. I believe that all men, including you, have a natural potential to prefer men over women in a very real and almost animalistic way if their mind can be opened and they can be shown that men are truly meant to make each other feel good. But for this to work, you need someone that knows you well, that you know deep down will never cause you any real harm. You need me to do this to you, Aaron. This may sound cheesy, but I need you to understand that you belong to me now."

I refused to accept the situation at hand. I didn't want to become Coach's... sex slave, or whatever he had planned for me. I was confused. I felt betrayed and angry and scared all at once.

Coach stood up and took off his tank top. He had hair all over his chest and torso, covering a strong six-pack of abs underneath. There was no way I could fight him if I tried to physically get myself out of the situation. And I couldn't even fight my way out unless I got out of the handcuffs... I felt utterly lost and defeated. So I started to yell.

"All right, if you're gonna yell, I'm gonna have to make you stop." Coach said as he twisted his sweaty tank top into a sort of rope and tied it around my head and put all of the excess cloth in my mouth. I tried to keep screaming, but it came out all muffled. Besides, I was having trouble breathing properly because all I could taste and smell was Coach's sweaty tank top.

I stopped struggling. It was taking away all of my energy and it wasn't getting me anywhere. I sat still. I could tell coach still seemed to care about me, even though he was doing this to me. Or, whatever, for me, as he put it. Maybe if he saw that I didn't like it, he would stop. Just maybe...

He sat next to me on the bed and slowly started to rub my inner thigh.

"Aaron," he said softly as he looked into my eyes, "I'm excited for our weekend. Don't worry about your mom not hearing from you, or your friends. I told them all I'm taking you on a surprise trip to Disney World for your birthday, until next Wednesday, so no one expects you to be around right now, anyways. You're all mine for the next five days." He paused again. "After Wednesday, if you wish, you can leave here and report to the authorities or tell your Mom or whatever you want." He looked down for a moment and then lifted his gaze right into my my eyes. "But until then, you are mine." He ran his fingers through my hair, and he pulled something out of his pocket. It looked smaller than a dime.

"You're going to swallow this pill," Coach said, "and you can swallow it now and immediately or you can make it harder for yourself. But either way you're going to swallow it." Coach unwrapped his sweat-drenched tank top out of my mouth and took it out of my mouth.

I started to shake my head, noticing that he held a small blue pill in between his thumb and index finger.

"No, Coach. Please. I don't want to take it." I begged.

Coach sighed. He looked as though it really hurt him to see me so worried, which only made me more confused. He kidnapped me, but he still cared about me? It was such an ironic feeling to see inside of him. It made me resent the situation even more.

"It's harmless, okay?" Coach reacted. "I promise, I would never do anything to sacrifice your health. I promise."

I think he really meant it when he said that, but there was no way I was swallowing that pill.

He opened my jaw with my chin and shoved the pill into my mouth. Then he brought a cup filled with water close to my face and told me to take a big sip from a straw that protruded out of it. I took a sip of the water, then hid the pill under my tongue.

"Open your mouth." Coach said. "Let me see that you swallowed it."

I did as I was told. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

"Lift up your tongue, boy."

I shook my head.

"I said, lift up your tongue."

Worried about what might happen next, I lifted up my tongue, exposing the blue pill.

Coach laughed. "I should have guessed."

To my surprise, he didn't seem angry. He rested his hand on my stomach and started to caress me again.

"By now the pill is probably slowly dissolving into your mouth as we speak." He said very matter-of-factly.

I turned red. He was right. I already felt the pill getting smaller and dissolving into my saliva.

I shut my eyes. For a second I considered spitting the pill out, but I knew that I was at a loss.

"Wh...what did you give me?" I asked, not sure if I actually wanted an answer. "If you think a pill is gonna make me gay, you're wrong, Coach. Can't you just let me go?"

Coach smiled and chuckled a little bit. "Nothing serious, Aaron. Just a bit of Viagra." He stood up and ran his fingers through my hair again. "If your brain won't open up to me, I'll make your dick do it first. Might give us a bit of a jump start."

I shuddered. Viagra? Seriously? I couldn't believe it.

And just then, I realized how tired I had been from all the struggling, and how weak the drugs from earlier still made me. I tried to fight off an overwhelming feeling of slumber for the next few minutes while Coach ran his fingers through my hair and started to rub my inner thighs. I slowly drifted off into sleep again.

.....

This time, I woke up naked. I was still shackled to the bed. I thought about yelling, but I had tape over my mouth. Even though it had been out of my mouth and away from my face for a while, I could still taste Coach's sweaty tank top on my tongue and smell his musky sweaty scent on my upper lip.

Coach was sitting next to me now. He hadn't put a different shirt on since he took off his tank top, but at least he was still wearing his shorts. In my mind, I wanted to just get it all over with. I had gone through every possible opportunity of breaking out of here. The truth was that Coach was way too strong and fast for there to be a way past him, especially because I was already shackled to the bed by each of my limbs and had no way to escape. I accepted the fact that I would have to live through him touching me. There was no way around it. But I vowed at least that he wouldn't steal my dignity, nor would he change me.

"You're awake." Coach said. "I'm sorry about the drowsiness, I think I gave you too much of that blackout drug in that damn beer. That wasn't what I meant to do. Are you feeling okay?"

I shook my head while I looked at him. I tried to make myself cry. A guilt trip. This was my last chance at finding any way possible for him to let me go out of his own guilt. I looked into his eyes and made a sad face. I even think it started to work on him. I could see him processing in his mind the way he was making me feel.

But in the end, it didn't matter. He looked down at my dick. It was hard as a rock. The Viagra did its job.

Shit! I thought. This wasn't fair. I wasn't turned on in the slightest, but there I was, rock hard, Coach standing above me looking at my now fully erect 6-inch dick. He looked at it as if he was surprised at how thick my dick was.

"Looks like someone's excited, huh." Coach said. He stared in awe at my dick. His mouth started to salivate as he licked his lips.

I tried to talk, to say that it was all because of the Viagra, to say that I wanted to leave still, but the tape on my mouth kept me from expressing anything more than a grunt. I closed my eyes, not sure what to expect next.

Coach sat down on the bed. I could smell his sweat still on his body -- I don't think he had showered since he had worked out earlier that day. He was musky, every inch he came closer to me, the more his scent filled my nose.

"Okay, Aaron. It's time." Coach said, moving his eyes up and down my naked body. I felt more exposed than I had ever felt in my entire life. I was used to changing in locker rooms with a bunch of naked guys around, but this was different, obviously. I felt the urge to cover my junk with a pillow, but there wasn't anything I could do.

Coach seemed to be getting more comfortable with me now that his plan was starting to really come to fruition. He had me naked on his bed, vulnerable, without any way to deny what he wanted.

He spit in his hand and placed it on my dick. I could feel how strong and warm his hand was as he slowly started to stroke my dick in his hand, making me wet with his saliva.

To my shock, it felt really good. And of course it felt good; what kind of guy doesn't like to have his wet dick rubbed. But I didn't like that it felt good, and I stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the pleasure he was causing in my dick.

With his other hand, Coach started playing with my nipples. I started to squirm. I couldn't help it. The physical pleasure he was causing me was too good. I didn't look at him though. I kept staring at the ceiling, waiting for it all to be over.