Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 08 Dec 2017
On Friday afternoon, Mark closed up his classroom for the week, and for the year. It would be used only Monday, for the final exams to be given in the classes he taught. After that, it was done for the school year.
He walked slowly, with conflicted, mixed feelings, to the office of his friend, the young, assistant
coach, Steve White. He knocked on the door, opening it on hearing
come in, and walked in.
He did not sit down. He simply, quietly, warmly, yet with a tinge of detachment, thanked the coach for the opportunity that had been given him over the past weeks.
I just want to say I’m sorry, ah, to be a disappointment, to, ah, disappoint you. I appreciate
everything you have done, and, ah, tried to do, Steve, the young teacher stammered, momentarily pausing
I’m, ah, sorry. Without saying anything further, he turned and walked out of the coach’s office without once looking at him.
He did not get far when Steve came running up after him.
Listen up, Mark. You haven’t disappointed me, at least not yet. So, don’t apologize.
We’re not done yet. I haven’t given up on you. There’s more to come, farther to go; and you can do it. You’ll see. We’ll find the way together, young man.
Strangely, Mark somehow felt better, relieved, at Steve’s persistence and encouragement, even though he still had misgivings and qualms about some of the things he’d done and allowed to be done, things he himself had encountered and experienced.
Come on back here, little man, and we’ll get started right away, Steve barked at the young, gaunt teacher, swatting the seat of Mark’s classroom-teaching dress pants.
The young teacher lurched forward from the swats, and in trance-like obedience, followed his friend and mentor back into the fitness facility of the gym.
Get out of those clothes, young man! Steve barked at Mark, again swatting the seat of his pants.
Obeying, he unbuckled and unzipped his dress pants, letting them slip down his slender legs, while he pulled down his trunk briefs, which both fell tangled around his feet and ankles.
Bending down to take off his shoes and socks, and step out of his jeans and briefs, Mark presented a perfect view of his bottom. It was bright red and the rectangular marks of a paddle or brush were clearly visible against his once snow-white skin.
He winced as stretching his body, upper legs, and buttocks, to pull off his jeans and briefs shot pain from his wounded bottom and thighs to his brain. In seconds he was back standing up in front of Steve.
Quickly crawling up onto the table, he lay flat, prone awaiting the preliminary rolfing body massage. Wearing loose sweat pants and a t-shirt, Steve commenced the massage-rolf therapy.
Starting with the young teacher’s head and neck, the coach-masseuse proceeded methodically down the bony shoulders and back, down to his waist, hips, buttocks, thighs, calves, and feet.
Flipping the very thin, young teacher over onto his back, he returned to Mark’s head and neck, to proceed again down the shoulders and chest, abdomen and hip, to the pubic arch, before tracing down the legs, front things and bony shins, to the tops of the feet.
When the rolfing manipulations were ended, with a sprouting boner between his legs, Mark felt his hips lifted slightly as the familiar internal prostate stimulator was inserted into him and turned on. He moaned, starting to squirm and become excited.
Before he could lie there writhing, Steve White’s big hands grabbed the skinny teacher’s bony hips and hoisted him up off the table, carting him along while held high in the air.
The young, assistant coach sat down, spread his legs, and placed young Mark Wickham bending over the coach’s left knee. The young teacher accepted this aciton with now-routine, ordinary obedience.
As he lay upside down, face and arms hanging to the floor across Steve’s left leg, the coach placed his right leg over, pinning, both of the young man’s legs so could not move them, or himself up and off Steve’s lap.
Taking hold of his younger, smaller friend’s right arm, Steve twisted it up into the middle of Mark’s shoulders. There was no way he was going to escape the imminent onslaught intended.
Steve smacked Mark’s backside ferociously over and over with the heavy, wooden brush: the cheeks, the thighs, inner, outer, and sit-spots. Trying as hard as he could to kick, he was frustrated at finding he was pinned into the position Steve wanted him.
Mark howled from the first loud swat on his bare flesh. He immediately broke down sobbing, as tears spilled down his cheeks. Frightened and frustrated, he understood he would be going nowhere until Steve said so.
He writhed and wailed, turned on and yet chastised with the fiery licking. When Steve’s big hand grabbed hold of Mark’s throbbing, hard bone, the young teacher screeched and bucked on the coach’s lap.
Still he was spanked on and on until he surrendered, allowing his spanking masseuse to jack his manhood to the edge of climax. Suddenly, Steve stopped, and Mark was startled, surprised, disappointed.
The coach lifted the light-weight, gaunt, young man up off his lap and deposited him back face down on the table, letting him squirm as the stimulator continued to drive him to agitated distraction.
Unbeknownst to the young teacher preoccupied with the internal prostate simulator driving him to one orgasm after another, Steve White sheathed lubricant on his long, hard, erect shaft.
Before he realized what was happening, Mark felt the prostate stimulator halted and removed. All at once, he felt something else between his buttocks, at his hole. It was Steve’s hard ram, pressing against his anus, pushing forward, pushing harder.
Instinctively, the young teacher clinched his cheeks and tightened the sphincter guarding his anus. The big coach had shed his sweat pants and now nude along with his subject, lifted and pulled the young teacher backward to impale him on the hungering harpoon.
Mark resisted again until feeling himself blistered with new, additional smacks from Steve. After the unsparing licking he’d just undergone from Steve White, and with his rearend hot, red, wounded and sore, in his subdued state he let down his guard.
Keep your eyes closed and concentrate on the sensations now. Cooperate, behave, as you promised,
Steve chided and instructed the smaller, younger man.
All at once, the battering ram got through, went in, a colossal feeling column of pulsing, warm flesh sliding in deeper and tighter as it proceeded.
Momentarily relenting, he was stunned as the big phallus popped into him, entering into the anal canal. Mark was squealing and whimpering as the pain of entry seared him.
Mark screamed, aghast and bewildered; but he quickly looked down and away, putting up no fight, accepting as he had promised, even moving at times in coordination with the aggressive, assaulting, impaling movements of his assailant, coach Steve White.
Oh, no, oh, noooo-aaaa-it-uh-uh-too-uh-big-uh-too-uh-much! Mark cried out, adding
No mooooore! as the shaft drove deeper and farther up into him, until the whole length and girth of Steve’s member was buried and wrapped within the thin, young man.
His rod fully penetrating the skinny young man under him, Steve began a slow in and out thrusting with his cock going deeper with each thrust. The pain Mark felt at first began to subside and he relaxed, accepting, almost welcoming, Steve’s manhood within him.
They lay motionless for a moment as Steve waited, allowing Mark’s anal canal to relax while tightly encasing the big, assistant coach’s massive, embedded shaft. Once again, Mark was stunned by the unknown and unthinkable.
Never before had he felt such invasive pain, or the fully filling sensation. Slowly, Steve began moving the bazooka shoved up deeply inside the young teacher.
As Steve withdrew and drove back in, moving in and out, in and out, Mark begged,
No, no more! Ooo-hoo-no-moooore!
Come on, little man! Take it! Be a good little boy, and take it, Steve urged his younger, smaller, friend.
Mark felt Steve’s thick, stiff penis throbbing inside of him, a large, warm, living invader. The pain began to lessen, and Steve increased the tempo of his drilling.
As Steve’s pumping movements increased in speed and intensity, Mark suddenly felt waves of a different emotion beginning to wash over him. The pain was being displaced by pleasurable, new sensations that set his nerve endings on edge and alert.
He began moving his hips and bottom back and forth, in complementing coordination with Steveís driving, in time to Steve’s hammering propulsion into and out of the young teacher.
The unknown invader, filling and stimulating his prostate with its tightly cased forward-backward, in-and-out movements, was wreaking erotic, radical changes to the young manís body, mind, emotions.
As his transforming enjoyment increased to a deliriously mindless state, Mark’s legs reactively wrapped around the coach’s pumping waist and hips, encircling it tighter as he squealed and mewled with unknown, unimagined pleasure.
The young coach leaned farther forward, surrounding Mark’s own engorged, craving penis in his mouth, vacuuming it to suction out the reservoir of ejaculate that might still remain within his younger friend.
Steve plunged harder and deeper as his own aroused excitement took over. As his todger expanded thicker with the surging semen, Mark’s chute clamped down on the invading column. Pausing tensely for an instant, Steve exploded, spewing a fire hose blast of ejaculate into the young teacher.
Mark squeezed his legs around Steve’s waist and hips even tighter, erupting into Steve’s suctioning mouth. They both shouted in ecstatic bliss, panting, quivering, as their entwined bodies trembled together with the passion of their orgasms.
It seemed to last an eternity, but Mark was spent. He lay still, gasping, heaving, breathing heavily under Steve.
Finally, the coach rolled off his young teacher-friend. Sliding to lie next to Mark, Steve pulled him over into himself, wrapping his long, strong, muscled arms around the exhausted, young man.
You are almost there, Mark. It will only get better from here on out, little man, Steve assured him.
You were a little, virgin boy when I first saw you, when we began these sessions. I knew all along just what you really needed, what would break you down and liberate you from all your hang ups, anxieties, sad qualms, and misgivings. I was right, wasn’t I?
Ah, I,... ah, I should, ah, go, now, Mark stammered, starting to move.
You can’t go, Mark, Steve remonstrated.
We’re not finished.
But it’s getting late, and it’s Friday night. I need to go home, Mark responded.
No way, little man. C’mon, you didnít answer my question, did you? Besides, Iím taking you home. This is going to be a weekend to remember, one youíll never forget.
No, no, I’m going home, to my home, Mark insisted.
No you’re not, little man. Are you still resisting? You’re going to go and be a good little boy. You’re going to obey, do what I tell you, as you promised.
Mark slid off the table, and away from Steve White. He started to go, to find his clothes. All at once, he felt his thin arms yanked backwards and behind him, being wrapped tightly together by duct tape.
Heeey! What’re you doing?! he shouted at the coach.
Let me loose! You can’t do this aahmmmmmmm!
Another band of tape was wrapped around his mouth and head several times, muffling his ability to speak.
Now, you, young man, are coming along, and going to be a good little boy, do what you’re told; or you’ll find your little bottom incinerated again and again with a paddle or a strap.
He picked the emaciated, young teacher up and laid him face down on the massage table, taking the same tape and securing his feet together at his ankles. Mark was restrained from almost any movement.
Steve left his younger friend and subject lying bound on the table, while he went and picked up Mark’s bag with his teaching clothes. He grabbed the sweaty running shoes, shirt, and shorts, stuffing them into a plastic bag.
Locating Mark’s car keys in his dress pants for school, Steve ran outside and moved his younger friend’s car to a remote, back space at the school parking lot, away from immediate sight. He drove his own vehicle and parked it close to the gym, as if to give the impression he had some heavy things to move out to take home.
Within a moment, he flung the restrained, incapacitated, lean and light, young teacher over his shoulder, swatting his repeatedly on his already hot, red, sore rearend. Steve took his time walking through the gym, carrying him nude, but for three bands of tape, outside to his car, where he laid the smaller, younger man face down on the back seat.
He went back, picked up the athletic bag with teaching clothes, and the plastic bag with running clothes. Turning off the lights, and locking the gym, he walked quickly to his car, where he put the two bags on the front, passenger seat before getting in and driving away.
Enjoy the ride, little man. It won’t be long now, Steve called back to Mark.
The ride, bound naked in the back seat of Steve White’s car, was not enjoyable to Mark at all. He strained and struggled in vain, trying to break the unyielding tape binding him.
About 30 minutes later, the car drove up to the isolated, farm house where he lived outside of Chatham. He took the bags into the house, and came out to haul young, lean, manhandled, Mark Wickham out of the car, and into the house.
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