During some pretty steamy pillow talk, most of it concerning Jeff's conquest of Mitchell, I'd told Jeff that I didn't really want to fuck all of the team mates (and manager) that he had been scheming to line up for three ways. To my surprise, he'd told me that he known that - and that he'd figured out exactly what it was that I wanted.
"And what is that?" I'd asked skeptically.
"Four or five horny as fuck 17 and 18-year-old jocks with rock hard cocks pulling a train on you," Jeff had casually informed me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"But, Coach," Jeff continued, "even though you don't really want to fuck all those guys, you just want them to fuck you, if I get them to give you your deepest, most secret desire and pull a long ass train on your ass, you understand you're going to have to fuck at least a couple of them, right? I mean, that's just common courtesy."
"Oh fuck," I whimpered into his chest. As soon as he'd said it, I'd known that Jeff was right. I did want to get plowed by a gang of young studs with rock hard cocks. One after another. Fuck, who wouldn't want that? Jeff, Landen, Dewey, Mitchell... Alex or Sam? That would be one helluva going away present. How had Jeff zeroed in on my (new) deepest desire even before I'd known myself what it was?
"Don't worry, Coach," Jeff assured me, "I'm going to pull it all together for you. You won't have to do a thing. You want to fuck me again now or hit the hot tub first?"
"Hot tub, whiskey," I mumbled, still in something of a daze over the realization of how far I had fallen, and was yet to fall. "Hey, stud, is your dick hard?"
"Sure," Jeff replied cheerfully.
"Can you make it not hard?" I asked as I got up and headed for my whiskey. I was fucked and I knew it, destined for the best going away party of all time. I'd resign my job on Monday, after making all the hay I could possibly make in the meantime. I knew I was going to fuck, suck and get fucked by as many queer or bi-curious jocks as Jeff could round up. I wasn't going to be able to just shrug and say 'No thanks' to the offer of a high school jock train. I knew me well enough to know that.
And I really didn't give a happy fuck how old they were, so long as they all (except one) dutifully lined up and fucked me in the ass seriatim, while the lone exception was thrusting his hard young cock into (and out of) my mouth before he swapped with one of the other jocks and took his turn in my gloriously exhausted rectum.
"I don't think I can MAKE that happen, Coach," Jeff said, following me, "Hard is pretty much my default condition, but not hard does happen on its own sometimes. Why'd you ask?"
"Because I fucking love your fat, flaccid penis," I replied, "and I want to feel you getting hard in my mouth."
"Fuck, Coach, you're just making me harder."
After we'd settled into the hot tub again with our whiskies, Jeff asked, "Hey Coach, can I ask you something? What was up with you torturing me like you did? Giving me two or three inches of D but then refusing to fuck me?"
"Was it torture?" I asked, knowing exactly what he'd been experiencing, because I'd reacted just like Jeff had when my fraternity brother had tortured me the same way with about a third of his thick cock, and I'd been fucking desperate for the missing two thirds. He'd eventually given me all of it, and well, but during that first minute or two of a 'game' we'd been playing - the object of which was to see who could hold out the longest, the fucker or the fuckee, without begging for more (the fuckee lost) - l found out that I had 'the soul of a bottom.'
