21. Jack

It"s been five days since I"ve seen him.

After fucking me senseless the other night, I pointed out that he shouldn"t leave until we knew that everyone in the dorm had gone to bed. If anyone caught him leaving, especially after the sounds that had come from my room in the silence that followed the music being shut off, we"d be fucked. And not in the good way that I"d just been fucked.

And holy shit, what a fuck it had been.

I can now say, unequivocally, that I"m probably gay.

It"s never been something I"ve questioned or considered, and I"m pretty sure I"m attracted to women in general, but I have never had my world rocked like that before.

It hurt, at first. A burning stretch that was both delicious and excruciating, but then once my body relaxed around him, I relished in the fullness and the way his cock was hitting against that crazy pleasure spot inside of me. I think I might have lost consciousness. Wave after wave of nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure rocked through my body, with each thrust of Bryant Nicks" long, thick cock. As I came down from the stars, the pulsing of his cock, shooting his hot cum inside my ass, was heady enough to make me keep orgasming until I was nothing but a trembling mass.

I fell asleep with him wrapped around my back, overthinking what the heavy, satiated feeling in my chest might mean.

He didn"t kiss me when he left, and I felt like a fucking pussy for being disappointed by it. He only slipped out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and looked back at me with a terrifying expression, like he regretted every second. It hurt, and that pissed me off. I moped around for the first two days of not hearing from him, acting like a fucking girl that got jilted by a bad date.

After a couple more days, I"ve finally come to my senses again. This is nothing more than sex, and that"s all I ever wanted it to be about. I was just exhausted, still sick. Now I"ve mostly recovered from my flu and the soreness from the hit I took—all the hits I took—has worn off. I"d be lying if I didn"t admit to myself that I wouldn"t mind my ass being sore again. There"s something about sitting gingerly that sends a little jolt of pleasure through me, like a reminder of how fucking good it felt.

"Perry! Welcome back!"

A few of the guys hold out their hands for high fives and fist bumps as I walk through the locker room. There"s no game today, but we"re scrimmaging to work out some new plays. I haven"t been in to work out or practice all week while I was recovering. I"m technically not supposed to come back until cleared by Coach Nicks, but he"s not answering my calls or texts and I"m tired of waiting by the phone like a teenage girl waiting for an invitation to prom.

He sucked my dick and fucked me against my dorm room door—I don"t think there"s too much he can say or do to me that could prevent me from doing whatever the fuck I want at this point.

Coach Sanders comes in and gives us a five-minute warning to get our asses out on the field to start warm-ups. When we get out there, I don"t see Nicks anywhere. Throughout the whole practice, I"m running about a beat behind. No one says anything, because I still don"t miss a pass, and my slowness can easily be blamed on my illness and injury. Mostly, I"m just distracted. Where is he?

When Coach Sanders finally calls for us to hit the showers, I decide to just ask.

"He"s been out most of the week," he explains. "Has the flu, apparently."

My cheeks heat, and I"m thankful for the helmet covering most of my face.

"You looked good out there, Perry. Does this mean we"ll have you back for next week"s game?"

"Yes, sir."

He nods approvingly and makes some small talk about gaps in the opposing team"s defensive line on the way back to the locker room.

I stay late, deciding to spend some time in the gym before I head out. Even after only being out a week, I feel like a limp noodle, but I suppose that could be from the flu and not just the forced break. I"m feeling much better, but I know it"ll take me more than a week to be back to my old self. I mix a packet of the Vitamin C powder that Coach left in my bag into my water and start towards the cafeteria. The soup tastes nothing like what he made for me. It"s overly salty and has a distinct canned taste, but I still fill a to-go bowl full of it, and another with crisp veggies from the salad bar.

After knocking three times, I figure he"s ignoring me. I try texting, and calling, and video calling. Finally, I make a last-ditch attempt with a text.

JP: Open the door or I"ll make sure the neighbors know I"m here.

To prove a point, I beat on the door and yell, "Hey Coach, you in there!?" just loud enough to make sure he knows I"m serious, but not loud enough to wake the neighborhood.

He opens the door and glares at me. His nose is red, and his usually close-cropped hair is disheveled. He was clearly in bed. I should feel bad about that, but I don"t.

"What are you doing here, Jack?"

I hold up my offerings. "I heard you were sick. You look like shit, by the way. And this cafeteria soup tastes like shit, but I put some hot sauce in it, which helped a little. And I got you some salad to wash it down." I"m rambling as I push myself past him and into his house, heading towards the kitchen to make him a bowl of crappy soup.

"What are you doing here?" he repeats, and he even sounds tired.

"Why didn"t you tell me you were sick? I thought you were just ignoring me." I cringe as the words come out of my mouth. I sound exactly like a needy girlfriend. "You took care of me. I owe you," I say, trying to cover.

He watches me with a bored expression. "I can take care of myself."

"So could I, but that didn"t stop you. Just returning the favor."

"Okay, well. Thanks. Bye."

Seriously?

I give him a cocky grin and sit down next to the seat where I"ve placed his soup and gesture to it. I"m not going anywhere.

He rolls his eyes and sits down, wincing when he takes a sip of the soup.

"Yeah, I know. But it"s better than dry protein bars."

"Is it?" He takes a few bites of the soup before turning to the salad, which he mostly finishes. I pretend to play with my phone, but I watch him eat every bite, focusing on the way his Adam"s apple bobs when he swallows. He notices me watching him and shakes his head, pushing away the food. "Alright, thanks for dinner, I guess. I"m going back to bed now."

I shake my head. "Not done returning my favors," I say, getting to my knees.

He doesn"t push his seat back or turn towards me when I reach for his lap. Instead, he runs his hand over his face before leaning forward and resting his forehead in his hands.

"Go home, Jack."

"I distinctly remember feeling much better after getting my dick sucked. It"s worth a try."

"Go. Home."

I stand and cross my arms, fully aware that I probably look like a petulant child, but I don"t care. I"m annoyed at the way he"s been ignoring me. "Why?"

He looks up at me with cold eyes, his expression hard and blank. "What happened Monday…"

"You"re going to say that it can"t or won"t happen again, but that"s bullshit. You keep going back and forth, but this will you, won"t you shit is getting old. You want me, and I want you. It"s as simple as that."

"If we got caught…"

"We won"t. We"ll be careful."

"I don"t want you getting the wrong idea, either."

"Wrong idea about what?"

"I"m too old for you."

"This isn"t a relationship, this is an exchange. A diversion until the season ends."

I"m not sure why my stomach clenches when I notice the look of relief on his face. He nods, almost begrudgingly, and I roll my eyes. He narrows his, and I laugh.

"Alright, old man. Pull your cock out so you can get back to your nap."

Coach Nicks comes back to practice a few days later, just in time to run us through our new plays and to push us through torturous workouts every night. He says Sanders was too easy on us. He"s probably right.

The burn in my muscles makes my dick hard, and as usual, I stay behind to work out until everyone has showered and left. Coach"s office door is ajar and his light is still on when I enter the locker room. I drop my clothes on the floor, a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the sauna. It takes about ten minutes before he comes in, just long enough for me to think he might not show.

He drops his towel the moment he walks in, standing there in all of his muscled glory. His whole body is thick with muscle. A thin layer of dark hair covers his chest and leads down to the very large, very proud, appendage jutting out between his legs. He palms it, running his hand up the length and pressing it against his hard stomach so I can see that bulging vein that makes my mouth water. Opening my towel, I let my erection free, stroking it as I watch his hand move over his cock.

"On your knees, Perry." It"s clear by his tone that he hasn"t come to play around, and it sends a delicious shiver over my heated skin.

The ground is hard and wet from the steam as I drop to my knees in front of him, waiting expectantly. I know exactly what he wants me to do, but I like to hear him tell me.

"Open," he says, running his fingers over my jaw. I comply, sucking in a breath of humid air as his thick cock pushes into my mouth. "Suck," he says, and I wrap my lips around the head, sucking and swirling my tongue around the tip until he starts to move deeper into my mouth.

He doesn"t fuck my face the way he normally does, hard and fast and brutal. Instead, he grips my hair and guides me up and down his shaft, languidly, like he"s savoring the feeling of my mouth on him. However gentle he"s being, he"s still large, stretching out my mouth so I can"t suck in the spit that escapes and pools on the floor beneath us. I look up at him beneath my lashes, and he pumps farther into my throat. I"ve gotten more conditioned to having him all the way down my throat, so I don"t gag, only work my throat to try and swallow around him, which makes him groan. Then he lifts his hands away from my head, leaning back against the wall with his hands behind his neck, my cue to take over and do it my way.

I bring my hands up, using one to cup and tug on his big, heavy balls. The other wraps around his base, stroking and squeezing while I hollow out my cheeks and bob on his big cock. I chance another glance upwards, watching him watch me with his mouth parted slightly.

"You love my fucking cock," he says, almost in awe. I hum around his cock in appreciation. Gay or not, I do love his fucking cock. I love the way it looks, the way it tastes, the way it feels.

The more I think about how much I love his cock, and all the things I love about it, like the thick vein that I"m currently caressing with my thumb, the more enthusiastically I suck and fondle him. "Fuck," he hisses, and pulls back. I look up, wiping drool from my mouth, unsure why he made me stop.

"Go bend over the bench, put your hands on the top platform," he says, bending over to pick something up near his discarded towel.

My heart beats with two kinds of anticipation, relishing the promise of both pain and pleasure. It took days for my ass to not be sore the first time he took me, and I"ve missed the soreness ever since it subsided. I place my knees on the bench and bend over the back, bracing my hands against the top.

Nicks moves behind me, trailing a hand down my right side. He bends forward and licks up my spine, licking the sweat and moisture from the steam. A splash of liquid falls down my crack before he places a small bottle of lube on the top platform next to me. Whether he put it there for my benefit, I"m not sure, but knowing that he thought ahead to bring lube makes my chest flutter. The thought of him standing in line at a store to buy the lube gives me an entirely different thrill, one that goes straight to my straining cock.

He massages and squeezes my ass, spreading the cheeks and teasing his fingers down my crack, spreading the warm, slippery liquid. He pushes one, then two thick fingers inside me and I groan.

"This ass is so fucking needy," he murmurs, so quietly that I"m not sure I"m meant to hear it. My face flushes, and once again, I war with myself over the indignity of being his plaything, but the persistent ache and desire overpower any embarrassment I feel. He"s right, I am fucking needy. Needy for his fingers, his hands on me, his cock filling me up.

My moment of hesitation has me wanting to skip the playfulness and get down to business. I push back against his fingers, demanding more, but he stops me with a loud smack across my ass.

"I"m in charge here, fuckboy."

"You learn some hip new slang, old man?" I say sarcastically, my abs clenching as the sting of the hit dissipates into warmth. My cock twitches and leaks with need and anticipation.

"Brat," he mutters.

"Yeah, what are you going to do about it?" I challenge, pushing back on him again.

There"s very little warning before he"s thrusting into me, filling me to the hilt in one hard push.

"Fuck!"

It hurts. The slickness of the lube helps him slide in, but the stretch is too much, the intensity of being so full is overwhelming. The ring of muscle that holds my ass shut burns, and I"m not sure it"ll ever recover. I hiss out a breath as he begins to move, not giving me more than a second to adjust, complain, or get away. He grips my hips and plows into me in long, hard strokes that shoot sharp pains through my lower body.

"Baby bulldog wants to fight? Then fight me, Jack. Try it," he grunts. I cry out, but don"t protest or tell him to stop. Instead of fighting, I push myself back on him, thrust for thrust, relishing the pain. Daring him to do his worst.

It doesn"t take long before the pain mingles with spine tingling pleasure as his cock hits against my prostate. My asshole relaxes and adjusts to the onslaught, and then all I know is pleasure. My skin, near feverish with the heat of the sauna, breaks out into goosebumps and my chest seizes, the humidity making it even harder to draw breath.

My short breaths are coming out in pants and moans and pathetic little cries. For a moment, I remind myself of Millie and the sounds she made as I bent her over her father"s desk.

I push back the thoughts of being the girl in this scenario and focus on the sounds of his balls slapping against my ass. My hands are gripping the top of the bench, knuckles white, trying to hold off my climax. But it"s coming.

"Bryant…" I use his first name, and it comes out like a prayer. But I refuse to beg.

"You want to come, baby bulldog?"

"Fuck. Yes!"

He thrusts into me faster, still not telling me when. The sounds of him fucking me echo through the hot, hazy room, my moans getting louder as I get closer to not being able to hold back. It"s coming. I"m coming, whether he tells me to or not.

Bryant reaches around and squeezes the base of my dick, hard, as his thrusts get jerky and he lets out a shaky breath. He slows, and I can feel the heat of his cum inside my ass. It leaks out a little when he pulls out. He"s still holding onto the base of my dick, preventing the orgasm that was just about to wash over me. It"s painful, an all over body fullness that concentrates in my balls.

"Stand up," he demands gruffly. He"s standing too close for me to step down to the floor, and he pushes against the back of my thighs, letting me know he wants me to stand on the bench. "Bend all the way over," he says, and I flatten my chest against the top of the bench. I"m too far gone to think about what he"s doing, only thinking about my impending orgasm and how I can please him so he"ll let me come.

He lets go of my cock, my climax effectively controlled for now, and puts both hands on my ass. He spreads my cheeks and whistles before he lets go and steps back.

"Stay."

He doesn"t say another word, picking up his towel and leaving the sauna. I wait, warring between patience and indignant exasperation. I like when he tells me what to do, but I also hate it in equal measure. How does that work?

It"s only a couple of minutes before he comes back in, but it feels longer. I don"t move, but the longer I stand here like this, exposed and waiting, humiliation starts to creep in.

Then I hear the click of a camera.

"The fuck?" I move to stand, but Bryant steps up on the bench next to me. He places a hand on my back, holding me down, as he curls over my body and shows me his phone. On the screen is a closeup of my ass. My hole is stretched and gaping, red from the assault, and there is a thick trickle of white leaking out, dripping onto my swollen looking balls.

His breath tickles against the shell of my ear, sending a fresh rush of blood straight to my aching balls. "Look at that," he says, his voice a low rasp. "Look at my cum pouring out of your perfect little fuckboy asshole." A full body shiver wrenches over me. He lays the phone just under my face and reaches down. "I was going to make you wait, but you followed instructions like such a good boy, and this picture pleases me." His hand, big and slick with steam, sweat, and cum, wraps around my cock. He pumps me with slow strokes, murmuring dirty, humiliating words that drive me wild with need. My hips buck into his grip, and I cry out when his other hand cradles my aching balls, gently tugging and massaging them.

"I"m going to save this picture, and whenever you try to pull your baby bulldog bullshit, I"m going to pull it out and remind you that you"re nothing more than my toy to play with. You catch the ball when I tell you to, you run as fast as I tell you to, and you take my big cock when and how I tell you to. Isn"t that right, Jack?" I"m assuming this is all rhetorical, because I"m past the point of being capable of speech.

Wrong.He squeezes me again and I almost sob like a fucking baby. "Yes, Coach!"

"Good boy," he says, and then his gravelly voice murmurs the words I"ve been waiting to hear all fucking week. "Come for me, Jack."