Training Coach's Slut

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, or non-consensual sex.

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.

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Night hummed a tune to himself as he headed back to the college changing rooms for the sports facilities, a bounce in the wusky's step, his chest bare to show the yellow and blue lines struck through his grey and white coat, typical wusky colours undercutting what set him apart. With his sports bag with a change of clothes slung over his shoulder, the campus lights were already coming on as the autumn evenings drew in, the football field lit up so that practice could take place without any struggles. However, the wusky was there for some personal training, his coach telling him that he could benefit from it to get to the next level...whatever that meant.

Night didn't take training too seriously, using the natural talent that came to him, though he was not worried as he crunched over the gravel, his old trainers wearing a little too much. He greeted his Doberman coach with a wave and a smile as he entered, slinging his backpack into a locker space that was set so that each team member could have space in front of their locker of the day in which to change.

What Night did not know was that he would never make it to the field that evening for training, even though a very particular kind of training was set to commence there. He did not think, pushing his shorts down, but...that was where the movement stopped.

"Hm?"

The wusky blinked, trying to move his fingers. What was wrong with him? Was he dizzy? Nothing seemed to work, not shifting his weight, wriggling his fingers, even trying to thrust with his hips. He'd been halfway through the motion of pulling his shorts down, changing into his football gear...and everything had just stopped. His skin prickled with tension, aching deeply through him, the wusky panting, whimpering, his eyes wide and plaintive, though no answers would come to him in his right mind.

That was okay. Night didn't have to think for himself anymore.

In the coach's office, overlooking the changing room, Byron smirked, tossing a football between his paws, the Doberman's black ears pricked to attention, focused on Night. Although his lips moved faintly, honing his senses for the tease of mind control, he had chosen his target well. Night would be perfect for training, already under his spell, though all Byron had to do was to show him where his new place would be on the team and that would be that.

"Easy as pie..."

Night groaned, head spinning, yet his body jerked back into motion as if he was acting without thinking, the wusky's tongue lolling out.

"Mmmph... Oh..."

Horny, so horny... It was all he could do, body moving without any command from his mind, to get his shorts off, tugging his jockstrap down too, whimpering, licking his lips. He couldn't pull his tongue back all the way into his mouth with how hard he was panting, his balls aching like he hadn't gotten off in weeks -- but he'd only just gotten off in the shower that morning!

He tried to stand, tried to stagger, though Night found himself on the floor without any recollection of how he had gotten there, shoulders rounding, groaning, his cock out. His sheath plumped out with the push of his shaft, a wusky's dick proudly on show, though it was nothing in comparison to the meat that he was to take.

"Ooof... Mmmph... I..."

There were no words to describe what he was going through, the ripping, deep, aching need for submission coursing through him as if it was as vital to him and his survival as each pump of blood around his body. And then his coach was there before him as he heaved and panted on the ground, blinking, trying to clear the haze from his mind. Of course, it was to no avail.

"Little slut," Byron rumbled, Night quivering before him. "It's time to step up to your real team duties."

Oh? What was that? Night grinned blandly, tongue hanging out, panting and wuffing softly. He hoped it was good, a good role, his coach bare but for a large jockstrap covering his considerable bulge, the tan-brown markings on his coat visible in his state of relative undress. He wanted to be good for him, drawing in close, groaning and moaning openly as Byron humped his lightly musky bulge into his face.

The aroma of the jockstrap was so thick, so musky, that Night could not think of anything else, his cock hardening, drooling pre-cum. Yes, he was right where he needed to be, down on his knees, the coach smirking above him, so thick and so muscular, even with that tiny bit of a gut that made his loins ache more desperately. Byron tugged down his jockstrap only enough to free his hard-on and his balls, a huge length of Doberman meat pushing free -- right into Night's muzzle.

He had to take it, lost in the moment, the perfect slut. Truth be told, Byron could probably have gotten him to be the team's slut without even hypnotising him -- but that little touch of mind control was just the icing on the cake for him. It was only fair too that he got the first go at trying him out too before handing him over to the team.

Byron rumbled a growl, thrusting, grinding, using Night's muzzle like a hole to be filled and nothing more than that. Yes... Yes, they'd win every game with a slut like him in the locker room!

The wusky moaned, drooling a little, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. It felt too good, simply too fucking good, as he took that cock into his mouth, his paws coming up -- all the better to massage and adore the stud's balls. He could not even see Byron as his coach anymore, just a top that he was destined to serve, a dominant stud with a cock to match and huge nuts that he yearned to see the fruits of.

There was nothing else in Night's mind other than serving, his cock drooling a weak stream of pre-cum, though it was not his needs that would be most important there, only his coach's, those of the team coming shortly after, once he'd been re-introduced to them as the team slut. He panted around the Doberman's cock, holding the base, even giving his sheath a little bit of a squeeze, the fur there so soft, so malleable, that it was a wonder that the sheath itself belonged to such a stud of a dog.

"Deeper, slut..."

He had to take it, for Byron was not messing around as he grabbed him by the back of his head, forcing his muzzle down, hacking and gagging around that fat length. It insistently bore over his tongue as the hypnotised slut was forced into giving the best damn blowjob of his life, whimpering faintly, though his cries, if they had even been heard, fell on deaf ears.

"Unff... Yeah..." Byron groaned, shuddering as he rolled his hips, forcing his dick into the back of Night's throat. "Huskies always make the best sluts."

Yes, yes... He west the best slut, even if he was a wusky, not a husky, but he could not correct his coach and master as his need swelled like the throbbing of his prick. He wouldn't cum in the wusky's maw, not yet, not when there were hotter treats and tighter holes to be taken. Night moaned and slavered his tongue all over every bit of Byron's length that he could reach, messy and uncoordinated and yet unbridled in his enthusiasm. Byron grinned. He was so fucking perfect.

Night moaned, pressing down, hardly caring that it was hard to breathe, whimpering around that massive length that he only sought to adore. That was all that mattered to him, being on his knees and serving, more excited than ever by being in the locker room, even though he'd never considered it all that much of a kinky place before, despite all the lusty male bodies in there. It had been right for him all along, he thought dimly in the wrappings of mind control, yes... Yes, to be down there, to suck dick, to please. He didn't need to go out onto the field when he already had everything he could ever have needed and more in a prick rammed down his throat.

Bryon grunted, muttering a curse, balls aching as if he was about to unload right then and there. Yet that tight hole under Night's tail called to him too readily and Byron dragged him back off his aching prick with a low groan, a string of pre-cum connecting Night's lips to his dick for a breath of a moment. He didn't need to ask the slut's permission as he hoisted him up in his arms, using his greater bulk and muscle mass to use him as he pleased, the wusky's back to his chest as the Doberman's dick gleamed with all the lubrication that Night was going to get.

"Time for the next stage of your...unff...training, whore..." Byron snarled, lips pulling back briefly from his teeth as he sank the slut onto his cock, his length burrowing deep. "So tight... You're going to be fucking ruined by my cock by the team gets to you."

Night had no say in the matter, howling as his backside was plundered, legs hefted up only by the coach's arms under them. In his hypnotised state, there was no in-between moment of him sucking dick and taking dick, only one following the other, one sexual moment blistering into the next as his arse ached around a cock that, really, was too big for him. But that was why he was in training, yes, training with his coach, to be a good little cock sucking whore and dick taking slut for the team. That was his only purpose there, to give them everything they needed, as his arse clenched tightly around Byron's cock.

The Doberman grunted, the wusky's legs bent as he hooked one arm around his left one, keeping him pinned to him, his other arm latched down across Night's chest. It left the wusky open to the locker room cameras that he had installed too, ensuring that there was no part of their training fuck that was not caught on camera, for he'd watch it again and again later. It was useful, after all, when training new college sluts, and for getting off on colder winter nights when he didn't have one to warm his bed. That, however, was rare.

He thrust and thrust, his legs slightly bent so that he could grind up into the wusky's tail hole, seeing him as a sexual relief slave and nothing more, which he was more than keen to tell him.

"You're never going to be missing out on dick now, boi," he mocked him, powering up, cock gleaming with pre-cum. "Fucked and bent over... You'll be the best damn slut this locker room has ever seen!"

Whether that was true would all come out in time, yet the wusky could not help himself from whining and jetting off a load of cum. It would have been a respectable load, as his nuts ached and churned, if not for the monster buried in his arse, his coach all hot and sweaty, the musky aroma of their liaison winding around them again and again.

For there was no matching up to the force of a brutely coach like Byron as he slammed in, expelling his load from his balls with a growl that commanded attention. His seed flowed deep, knot swelling inside the wusky so that none could escape, locking them together as Night practically hung limply in his arms. He would learn, yes, all coming to his rightful role in the team in time, but the first fuck was always the hottest, feeling a mind-controlled training slave breaking in his arms.

The funny thing was, he could always pick the ones that would be ideal for it anyway, so it was never that far for them to fall.

"That'll stay with you, fuck-slave," he growled, Night's ear twitching against his muzzle as he tipped his head down. "You better remember this when you're letting everyone fuck that tail hole of yours before the game next weekend."

Night whimpered, tail wagging faintly. Yes... Yes, he would be good, a good slut-slave, a good boi. That was all he needed to be with the Doberman's load laying heavily up inside his rectum, filling him up so that he felt as if he was a little bloated, the tightness of his passage around that fat knot enough to make him feel as if he was on the edge of fainting, a little shaky. But he was right where he wanted to be, at least in his mind-controlled state, yelping softly, wagging his tail, asking his dominant for more.

That was all the mind-controlled slut would ask for ever again.