Towel Boy #2
Denny wished his erection would deflate which, considering that no one was stroking him or even spanking him, it ought to, but for some reason Coach yelling at him was making him even hotter. His hips churned forward, desperate for contact.
“That’s it,” Coach said. “Over the desk. You need a serious punishment, one that’ll teach you the true meaning of both punishment and team spirit. And you’re not grinding on my leg while it happens.”
He spun Denny to face the desk and pushed him down until Denny’s hands were braced on it. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a ruler.
“I’ll bet you won’t be liking this any.”
Denny swallowed. He suspected he wouldn’t be liking it at all.
“Take down your pants.”
“My pants?” Denny squeaked.
“Underpants too. Take it all down and push that ass back. You’re about to meet your maker.”
Denny didn’t understand why he did what Coach was telling him to do, but he did.
With shaky hands, he unfastened his trousers and pushed them, along with his briefs, over his ass until they bunched up mid-thigh.
Then he leaned onto his elbows and pressed his ass back toward Coach’s looming presence.
His erection bobbed in front of him, a testament to the fact that though he was scared, he was not yet deflated.
The first whack of ruler against ass had him screaming.
It was ten times worse. No, a hundred times worse.
Nothing muffled the impact of a sharp, stiff object being wielded with powerful anger across the globes of his already-throbbing behind, and Coach didn’t offer any friendly joking to dull the humiliation of him being naked and sobbing and still somehow horny.
His hips humped forward as Coach thwacked him over and over until he saw stars, until he almost came.
“Please,” he begged. He was begging Coach to stop before he did come, but Coach must have thought he was begging for mercy because he went even harder.
“You little pervert,” Coach said, “trying to get the team in trouble for your own sick satisfaction.”
Denny couldn’t help it. The humiliating words pushed him over the top, and his cock spurted onto the desk, the floor, the wad of fabric around his legs.
Everywhere. When his orgasm was over, and it seemed to go on forever, he slumped onto the desk, still sobbing, chest heaving, both pleasure and pain racing through him until they were replaced by a deep sense of embarrassment.
“Well, don’t just lie there,” Coach said.
“Pull up your pants and get something to clean that up with. Most ridiculous thing I’ve ever had to deal with as a coach.
Kid comes in here crying about a few gentle taps then ejaculates all over my desk when I try to teach him what a real whooping is. No one will believe it.”
“You won’t tell anyone though,” Denny said, now more concerned with that possibility than with the rest of what had just happened.
Coach barked out a laugh. “Should have thought of that before you started this whole thing. What did I say? Pull your pants up and get a wet paper towel.”
Denny pulled up his pants, hissing as the fabric of his underwear brushed over the red heat of his ass. Then he went out to the locker room and ran a handful of paper towels under the hot water.
“Get it all,” Coach said as he mopped come off the side of the desk. “The floor too.”
He got down on his knees and swabbed at the splatters on the floor. Coach had thrown himself back into his office chair and was looking at some papers, not paying any attention to him, but given where he was and where Coach was, it put Coach’s cock right at eye level.
He licked his lips. He’d gotten off, but Coach hadn’t, and maybe he would like to. Coach was older, but not bad looking, and very stern. He sure knew how to spank a guy.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Coach said. “I’ve got a wife. If you want someone to suck off, try Matthias.”
Matthias? The hotshot wide receiver?
“I hear he swings your way. But listen, keep that business out of my locker room.”
“But you said I should let them—”
“Yes, yes. You’re a good luck charm. Fine. That’s just playing. That’s sports. That’s not”—Coach waved—“this perverted sex business. If I’d known what you were about, I never would’ve gotten involved.” He shook his head. “Get out of my office. And don’t be in here again.”
Denny wadded up the used paper towels and went to throw them in Coach’s trash can, then thought better of it and carried them out of Coach’s office to find a different trash can.
He was lucky he hadn’t been fired. He was also lucky he’d had such a nice orgasm.
Truly first rate, even if he was going to have a hard time sitting down for a few days.
He was also lucky that it might happen again.
At least the part where the team lined up to rail on him.
Why had he been so foolish as to complain about it when he’d actually loved it?
Probably because of what Coach had said about him being a disgusting sex pervert, which he hadn’t known before today.
So, okay, maybe he was lucky about that too.
He’d learned something about himself, something that might lead to more first-rate orgasms.
He walked out of the locker room whistling. All in all, it’d been a pretty good day.
Then he remembered he had another thing to feel lucky about. Coach had given him a tip. If he was looking to get his ass tapped—in more ways than one—now he knew who to call.
~~The End~~
If locker room shenanigans float your boat, check out Played, where another towel boy learns what it means to serve, not perv