Coach's Retained Star | Meet Coach Paul | Football rookie hopefuls get so desperate... (Patreon)

Everyone is over the age of 18

From Coach Paul’s POV

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I know some think it's a cop out that I'm going into coaching before I even turn 30. 

Some of what I read is true. I am scared to have a long career where my record slowly turns from all wins to all loses. I am fucking terrified of being a has-been that needs to be cut out of his contract. 

Will I regret it? Maybe. But when I made the decision to not renew my contract, it was like a weight was lifted off my chest. It was that weight that made me think of coaching in the first place. 

A good thing about leaving the football field on a career high in a really public manner, is that universities were throwing things at me to get me to work for them. Offices, assistants, cars. I settled on my old Alma matter, not for the privileges but for the familiarity. I know every inch of that field. 

The car, though, is still nice. 

The emails came flooding in as soon the tech team had it set up. Coaches from all over the country were contacting me about “the next big football star.” I was reading hundreds of profiles and stats in a week. Soon, I was planning trips to go see the best hopefuls play. 

There was one email address that caught my eye, because it was the most unprofessional one. 

balldestroyer1000. The content of the emails matched the tone exactly.

“Yo, coach. Come through tmrw at firebird. I'll smoke you up and you'll see why they call me the legend.” 

“Whatsup coach, imma be tossing a ball around at 2 if you wanna see it.” 

Compared to the very official emails I was receiving from serious recruit candidates, it was laughable. As in, his emails did make my work day when they popped up in my inbox. 

Then, one day, balldestroyer1000 showed up at my office. 

“Yo, coach. Shit bro, you mog in person.” He lets himself in. He has the same haircut as every other freshman does on campus, with the fade on the side and a curly mess on top. 

“Can I help you?” I close up some files. 

“Yeah, man. I was just wondering if you caught some of my emails. Been waiting for you to show up so I can bring some fire to your team.” 

“That's not how it works. You have to send in an application, and the deadline was yesterday.” I didn't know how to react as the young man plopped himself in the chair in front of my desk. He's tall enough, and he's definitely in good shape, but that doesn’t make a football player.

“Yesterday?! Fuck, dude!” Axe body spray wafts over at me. “Ain't nobody told me!” 

“You working with a coach?” I ask. “Maybe I have your file somewhere here. What's your name?”

“It's Lance. Did I really fuck the deadline?” The brown-haired athlete put his hands behind his head. “Look, Coach, I can show you what I can do.” 

“Whoa whoa whoa!” I pause everything as he grabs a football off my desk. “Not here.” 

“Sorry, Coach.” Lance twirls the ball in his hand. “I promise I got mad skills though.” 

I knew there was no Lance in my files, so I closed everything up. 

“Sorry, buddy. Maybe next year. Playing football means being organized with your paperwork too.” 

I thought that was the end of that. Lance left with a look of disappointment like he got a sack of coal for Christmas. I finished cleaning up my office, and went to the parking garage to get my car. 

And there he was again, leaning against my door. 

“Lance, the recruiting part of the season is over,” I say while unlocking my door. 

“Give me a chance to convince you,” he says, slipping into my car before I have a chance to stop him. “One car ride, and then I'll leave you alone.” 

While I am a stickler for procedures, I admired the gall of the guy. He reminded me of my teammates when I was in college. All balls and no brain. That's how you gotta be sometimes when you're an athlete. 

“One car ride,” I emphasize. He punches the air and buckles his seatbelt. With that, I drive us out of the garage and onto the campus roads. “Where do you live?” 

“Here. But it's fine. I'll hitch a ride home when we get to your place. So, about the team. When do I start? I'm raw potential, dawg. Look at these arms. I don't even workout.” Lance rolls up his sleeves. I check them out briefly before making a turn. 

Not bad. A little scrawny but nothing that can't be fixed with training and heroic doses of protein. I was that skinny once. 

“I've got a mean arm, I promise, Coach.” 

“I'm sure you do, but I have a whole pile of guys on my desk that have a mean arm,” I say. I don't want to bring some university fratboy to my place, so I start driving aimlessly in the opposite direction. 

“Whatcha doing with them on your desk? You could have any chick you want on there. You're fucking Paul Stark!” 

“No, not actually on my desk. I mean their files,” I laugh. 

“Oh shit, man. I thought you were banging them guys that get to be on your team. Fuck, I'd do that if I got a chance to be trained by you,” Lance says with a big laugh. “No fucking homo, you know what I mean?” 

I shook my head silently, not wanting to engage in that conversation too much. I haven't read through the whole university handbook yet, but I'm not about to get myself in trouble before my first season. 

“Unless… it helps?” 

Whoa. I look down to confirm that it really is his hand that he just placed on my lap. 

Bold as he is, Lance moves directly to place his hand on my crotch, and I look in the rearview mirror to see if I should slam on the brakes. Instead, I find his brown eyes looking at me seriously. 

“I'm just saying, Coach. I'll do what it takes to be on the team.” His fingers find the shape of me under my shorts easily.

“This is really not the way,” I say. I should not have let him into my car. 

It's because he reminds me of my old teammate, Charlie. Same brown hair and brown eyes. Not as much light in the eyes though. 

Charlie and I had just one little thing in the showers once. 

“Yeah? If you want some sloppy top, all you gotta say is the word,” Lance says. 

We just jerked each other off once, late after practice. It was just one time. 

“You got a massive snake in here, Coach. That big dick energy isn't fake.” 

“Lance, you don't know what you're doing.” I grip the steering wheel as he adjusts my cock, giving it room to get harder. His hand slips up the leg hole, and picks at the tighter briefs that I'm wearing. 

We just jerked each other off that one time. He was frustrated that he had to put on this straight-bro front because he was gay, but that was the culture. He just wanted to feel wanted. Just that one time. 

“I'm telling you, boss. I'll do anything for a chance.” 

“Lance,” I warn him as his fingers creep under my underwear. “Fuck!” The college student pulls my cock out of the leg holes, and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Fuck!” I look in the rearview mirror again, knowing I can't slow down with the traffic. 

His warm mouth surrounds my dick. 

“GUhhHH!” Lance sputters, not even halfway down my shaft. “Sorry dude, first time. That’s an…interesting taste.” 

It feels like that statement is true. He comes dangerously close to biting my cock, and there's no suction to what he's doing. 

But his willingness to do it is turning me on. I look down at the curly brown hair, and push him down. 

“GUHHHHH!” 

“Hands behind your back!” I command, and Lance obeys my order. “Close your lips around it. Watch your teeth! Okay. Down. Down! Down! Fuck…” I exhale deeply as the inexperienced athlete manages to get most of my cock in his mouth. 

I have to let go of his head to make a turn off the highway, and Lance comes up for air. 

“I'm a team player, Coach. Trust me, dawg.”

“Oh fuck,” I mutter as he sucks my dick. It doesn't feel the best but it's the effort that's keeping my cock hard. 

Charlie and I just jerked each other off. Then, he turned around. He said no one's done it to him since he's joined the team. It was just one time. 

I pull over to the side of the road, and the one car that was behind me zooms past. 

“You wanna be a team player?” I hold his head down so he doesn't get up. “Tell me.” 

“Yuh…” He slurps around my shaft. I stroke his curls.

Just one time. 

“Get out.” I pull him off and look at his red face. I hide my cock back in my shorts as I step out of the car. Lance is just getting out when I walk over to his side. 

“I can finish you, dawg.” He bends his knees and I stop him. I twirl my finger to show him what I want and he turns around, placing his hands on the car’s window.

It was just one time, but I never forgot it.

I pull Lance’s shorts down, and see the most perfect bubble ass I've ever seen. I pull my own shorts down to my thighs, and stroke off to his hairy hole. 

“You want this?” I press it against his fur. 

“Anything you want, Coach. Fuck, this is going to hurt like a motherfucker.” 

“Yes, it is.” I spit onto my cock and slather it over the shaft. Then, I push it against his ring. 

“Do it, Coach. I can take it.” Lance falls completely silent as I penetrate his tight hole. 

“You okay?” He turns to look at me with his innocent brown eyes. Then, he grits his teeth and pushes back against me.

Oh fuck…

His eyes water with pain. But he keeps going. 

Oh FUCK! 

My body tells me to push forward, and I meet his speed, pressing forward until there's no more. 

“You're so fucking tight,” I whisper, grabbing his hips. 

“Do what you… need to do…Coach.” 

“Does it hurt?” I pump slowly. 

“I can… take… anything you give me,” Lance says. 

“Anything?” I jab into him and he cries out. 

“Anything!”

“Arch your back.” 

I fucked Charlie just once. He was so happy taking my dick. The happiest I had seen him since joining the team.

“Oh! Fuck! Oh!” 

Charlie loved taking my cock hard.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” 

Lance has endurance. That, I can give him. 

“Ah!” I grab his curly brown hair and pull. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” 

He's got a lot of natural talent in his body. I remember when I had abs without trying. They feel amazingly defined against my palm. I slide my fingers down and feel his unruly pubes, dry and rough. 

“You're hard,” I hiss in his ear, gripping his tool as I fuck him mercilessly. 

Just like Charlie was.

“You like taking my cock?” 

“I … dude…”

“You call me Coach.” 

“Coach…” He grabs the wrist of my hand holding his junk. “Oh what the… fuck…”

“Yeah?” I fuck him harder, feeling his dong swell in my hand. 

“Oh what the fuck… what the fuck… what the fuck…ah!” The base of his cock flexes in my hand. “Ah!” I look over his shoulder to see him spurting on my car. 

“I'm going to cream your ass,” I grunt. 

In! 

Another splash on my door. 

In! 

“Fuck,” I whisper as I hold in my true feelings. An overwhelming satisfaction engulfs me as I seed his virgin hole. 

“Cum in me, Paul!” I hear Charlie say. 

“MM!” I grunt with each hard jab I give his guts. 

“MM!

“Charlie, fuck!”

“MM!” 

I pull out all the way, and his hairy hole pulses at me, spitting my cum back out. 

Lance turns his head around, and I pull my shorts back up briskly. 

“Coach? I mean, I can call you Coach? For real?” He pulls up his shorts without wiping.

Fuck.