Your erotic stories

Too many erotic stories. Erotic stories free to watch. Only the best porn stories and sex stories

Payback For Dad

Category: Gay Male
BadFairGoodInterestingSuper Total 0 votes

Ancient Cures for Modern Problems


Tim’s mouth dropped open. A ghost! A man in white chino pants and a new red Hecadock Junior College sweatshirt yelled instructions to students on the tennis court. He was about forty, six-foot-two, powerful build, blond hair, crewcut.

Dad! It’s Dad! Where in hell did he–

Tim shut his mouth. Get a grip, idiot, that face is from the picture on the mantel, Mom’s wedding picture in 1950! A look-alike.

He took a seat in the bleachers, and Sankha walked up beside him. Sankha’s English was very good, getting better every day–“What’s up, my dude? You are now suddenly being a tennis fan?”

“Tennis? Oh, yeah. Tennis. Sport of kings. You should take it up.”

“The sport of kings is horse racing–we do have it in India. We also have this tennis. Who is this you are so interested in?” Sankha followed Tim’s gaze, then looked back with a wry smile. “You are liking the older men–the old hunks?”

Tim drew in a deep breath. “It’s weird, man, like he’s the spitting image of my father. Looks exactly like him.”

Sankha looked back at the tennis coach. “How do you know? Did you not say he went away when you are eight, in what, 1959? How do you know what he looks like now in 1969?”

“That’s just it: that can’t be Dad. He looks like Dad in the wedding picture 20 years ago, not what he would look like today. By now Dad’s probably an old, wrinkled geezer.”

Tim bit his lip. The look-alike was not handsome. Actually on the ugly side. But Roman gladiator ugly. Powerful, chiseled, granite ugly. Masculine ugly. No wonder Mom was attracted to him.

The memories were vague and unpleasant–a big guy slapping his face, knocking him down. Knocking his mother down. A lot of shouting. A lot of crying.

“I hate him.”

“Hate him? My dude, you don’t even know him.”

“Sorry. Didn’t realize I was talking out loud.” Tim turned to look at Sankha. “You’re right. Flash from the past. Not even my game, tennis. Let’s get out of here.”

The Hindu student, the taller of the two and a year older, looked down at Tim and put his arm around him. “Hey, buck up, my bro. You’re not into the ancient men.” He looked around. No one was looking, so he reached the other hand into Tim’s crotch. “Whoa yes, my friend, you have the–how you say–woodpecker! This man is turning you on?”

Tim smiled. “Yeah, got a woodie. Shame to waste it. Want to go back to the apartment and see if you can outdo an old tennis coach?”

Sankha gave him a final squeeze. “We now must get registered for the classes, my dude, but wait until we are back in the apartment. First I brew you a cup of Masala Chai tea. Then I am giving your tennis racket a new handle.”

The two left the bleachers, but as they walked on to the admin building, Tim looked back.

A long-lost relative, maybe? Not very likely. Dad was a drifter, no family, settled in with Mom only when he knocked her up with me.

Sankha snickered, “Hey, my dude, why you do not sign up for his tennis class if you are so interested?”

“Maybe I will, maybe I will.” Tim punched Sankha’s shoulder. Good guy. Lucky I was a little late at the bike rack last week.


As Tim stooped to open the padlock chaining his bike to the rack, a tall, handsome student walked up and began to unlock the next bike. He had shiny black hair, brown skin, and an exotic, intelligent face. They smiled, and the new guy looked down at Tim’s ride. “A very nice bicycle there.”

“Just your run-of-the-mill ten-speed. But I got it cheap.”

The tall stranger pulled his own bike out of the rack, an unusual British-style touring bike. Tim admired the bike but liked even more what he saw in its owner. The foreigner was about six feet tall with a healthy frame—a swimmer’s build. Tim held out his hand. “I’m Tim. Tim Scinitek”

“I’m Sankha.” He reached out and gripped Tim’s hand.

“Sanka, like the coffee?”

“Not spelled the same. S-A-N-K-H-A. Sankha Krishnamirto.”

“Wow. Where are you from?”

“Bombay–in India. And you?”

Tim rolled his bike out of the rack. “I’m from right here in Pennsylvania. Born right here in Hecadock. Now I’m hoping to graduate so I can get out.”

“On your way home now?”

“Not yet, I think I’ll go have something to eat.” Tim paused. “Care to join me?”

The two rode off toward a street of cafes near the campus. Later, in a little bistro, Tim ordered coffee and a chicken sandwich. Sankha ordered the same–“but please, not with the coffee. You are bringing me tea, please. Thank you.”

As they got to know each other, Tim blinked. “You came all the way here to study drugstores?”

“Oh, more than that! India knows thousands of drugs and potions America does not know. But the America pharmacology is being more ordered, more with system. I am wanting to blend the two, American technology and ancient Indian knowledge of drugs.”

Tim’s lip curled. “I think America knows a lot about drugs. Every party you go to has acid or at least marijuana. Even the music is all about drugs.”

“Ah, yes, your American Jimi Hendrix, ‘Purple Haze.'”

“But how about Ravi Shankar? Sitar music and marijuana!”

“But Ravi Shankar has nothing to do with hashish. You Americans have added that to his music. And no, I am not studying the illegal drugs. I study the healing drugs and potions in India — we have things in India that cure illnesses that Americans go to a hospital for.” He smiled. “If I can make the combining of both knowledges–we have the happy ending!” He took a sip of his tea. “Ugh. In America you do not know how to make tea.”

Tim sipped from his cup. “Not as popular as coffee.” He looked down. “Just like happy endings. We don’t know how to make those, either. At least, I don’t”

Sankha looked up at him, and Tim dropped his glance. “Sorry. Don’t mean to be such a downer.”

“Not to worry. Family troubles?”

“What family? Father ran off, mother died”–he shook his head and straightened up in his chair. “No, let’s not go there. I’ve got a good job–in a drugstore, as a matter of fact!” He smiled. “Maybe I can get you a job there, too.” Then his face darkened. “I made it into college. Somehow I’ll get out of here.”

For a moment, the two looked at each other. In the black eyes across the table, Tim saw darkness and mystery–but also warmth. Friendship.

The young Hindu saw in Tim’s blue eyes an eagerness and determination–and something else, something hidden, a pain, a fear. Almost at the same instant, each put out a hand, and they clasped together gently on the table.

Tim smiled. “Have you got a place to live yet?”

“No, I am staying in a hotel until I am finding a good apartment.”

“How about sharing my apartment? I got a great deal six blocks from the campus. It’s a basement apartment, but hey, it doesn’t flood around here, and the rent is only $150.”

“Hey, thank you–dude. Let us go take a look at it.”

That night, over a cup of Sankha’s carefully brewed Assam Mumri tea, Tim’s lips met Sankha’s in the first touch of what later became an all-night exercise in international relations.


A week later, when summer school classes ended, Sankha and Tim wandered through the registration center to sign up for their semesters. Tim looked at the basketball class on his list, lined out the entry, and went over to the Tennis desk. Yeah, you just want to see more of Dad in a tight sweatshirt.

No. He’s not Dad!

The student assistant looked up at him. “Tennis class?”

“Yeah. I’m down in the pre-enroll for basketball, but can I change that to tennis?”

The assistant rummaged through his tray of cards. “What class number?”

“There’s one teacher–tall guy, blond hair–looks like he’ll be a–you know–good coach.”

“Coach Gannefic?”

“Dunno. Real big guy. Heavy build.”

“That’s him. Coach Ansel Gannefic. Used to be a tennis pro.”

“A tennis pro? He’s pretty big for a tennis pro.”

The assistant took a deep, thoughtful breath and looked at Tim. “Yeah, he’s big. You’ll like him.” He looked Tim straight in the eye. “He’s hard. Hard to beat.” His eyes still bored into Tim’s. “He can make a man out of you.”

Tim snorted. “Hey, man, I just want to learn tennis.” The assistant wrote Tim’s name on the list and gave him the card.

I’m a perv. I just signed up for a class from my dad. And what was all that about–oh, wow, I bet that guy was gay!

Tim stopped and looked back. The assistant looked up with a mysterious smile.

Damn! Wonder if he’s out of the closet. Tim resumed his trek to the next desk, his cock straining fully hard in his pants as he walked away. I wonder if I’ll ever dare come out.

He chuckled to himself. Damn glad I found Sankha.


Outside the admin building, the Hindu student waited on a bench near the sidewalk, drinking from a plastic bottle of green tea from a vending machine. When he saw Tim walking toward him, he grimaced. “Ugh. How you can drink this?” He stood up. “This took longer than I thought. I am thinking we should get credit for the hours we spend in registration.” He shouldered his backpack, and they started toward the bike rack.

Tim looked aside at his friend. One in a million shot, really, to find a gay guy without risking a broken nose. “Get everything you wanted?”

“Yes, almost everything. Did you sign up for the big tennis coach?

“Yeah, matter of fact, I did.”

At that moment they were passing by the gym, and Sankha tugged on Tim’s arm. “Let us walk through the gymnasium! Maybe we are getting another look at your surrogate father.”

The school day was over, the summer classes dismissed, and most students had gone home. The hallways were empty except for janitors, and as Tim and Sankha passed the doors to the locker room, they looked at each other. “Hey, what the hell, Sankha, let’s go all the way. Ever cruised a locker room after hours?”

It was empty–long rows of green-painted lockers–but they heard running water. “Somebody left the shower running!” They moved quietly toward the door. “Ohmigod!”

Alone in the shower room, the big tennis teacher stood under the shower stream, facing away. Washing up before going home.

Sankha snickered. “Look at him! What a–how you say–stud!”

“Yeah. Wow.” The man’s torso from behind was like the spreading back of a peacock chair–a delta of hard, rippling muscle spreading out to broad, heavily armored shoulders. Hard, rounded buttocks so taut they didn’t jiggle or bounce. His brain spinning at 2,000rpm, Tim’s voice narrowed into a hiss: “Look at that ass!”

“I am thinking he is the weights-lifter. Either that or he is a Turkish warrior, but I do not think–

The man turned around.

God, a body like Batman. No body hair except–Tim gasped. Damn, look at that thing! He shut his eyes then opened them again for a harder look.

Sankha whispered, “My dear gods, how he is tucking this thing into his pants?”

Tim’s cock strained inside his own, and the annoying little tickle told him it had thrust out through his boxers’ fly-slit, his cockhead rubbing against the cloth of his jeans. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Son. of. a. Bitch! The naked man was a bodybuilding magazine cover-picture come to life. A perfect Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent/Charles Atlas dripping wet in the showers!

Was Dad like that? No wonder I’m on the earth.

When Coach Gannefic reached down to wash his crotch, the cock lengthened out a little, and Tim rocked back on his heels, a little dizzy.

Sankha leaned over and hissed, “My friend, if your father has one like that, it is perhaps the reason you are on this earth!”

Thrills shot up Tim’s back to hear his own thoughts out loud. But the tennis coach’s big cock was there and immediate–and if not the reason Tim was on the earth, it was the reason he was in the shower room.

Unable to stop himself, Tim pulled down his zipper and gripped his throbbing cock, and as he stared into the shower room, in only a half-dozen strokes–Ah, God!–his cock shot boiling gushes into the air, and his knees finally collapsed.

He fell back against Sankha, and the two fell to the floor beside the doorway. They hurriedly got up and scurried out of sight, back into the locker room.

“Tim, you are really turning on. I am thinking this man means more to you than you know.”

“Let’s get out of here; he’s about to come out.”


The following Monday, Tim looked forward to the first tennis class in a combination of breathless anticipation and nervous jitters. That morning, Sankha brewed up a “special tea” for him to calm his nerves, but in the locker room, Tim’s cock twitched in his hand as he slipped on his jockstrap, and as the mesh pouch strained against his swelling erection, he winced.

Down, boy! Come on, jockstrap, don’t fail me now!

He took his place on the tennis court, and a few minutes later the coach walked out. He was impressive, more like a football player, really. Hard to imagine him on a tennis court.

Not so hard, now, though, to imagine him naked, and Tim kept seeing through the man’s clothes at the huge cock between his legs.

“Tennis is one of the most effective exercise sports there is.” The big man’s bass voice filled the tennis court like a black velvet background, and against it his heroic physique stood out like Superman in a cape.

Tim looked from side to side. Compared to the big coach, the students were tiny, timid, and colorless.

Ouch. His cock swelled so hard inside his jockstrap, he knew he would have red, sore lines crisscrossing his dick from the mesh fabric. At least I don’t have a tent in my shorts.

Since it was the introductory class, the coach did most of the talking–“you will get this, you will bring that, you will do this, you will do that, blah, blah”–not even the relief of activity or exercise, and the coach’s constant flexing, turning, standing with feet apart and hands on hips had Tim sweating. He shifted uncomfortably with a hardon throughout the entire class and even while changing clothes again in the locker room.

As he walked away from the tennis courts, heading for his next class–damn!–the persistent erection again thrust out through the loose fly of his boxers and rubbed against the inside of his jeans. It gave his cock a secret mini-stroke with each step, and Tim gritted his teeth against the sensation, a delicious tickle gradually growing stronger until electric sparks gathered in his balls–ohmigod, I’m going to cum!

Think of something else! Anything! Psychology! Yeah, psychology! Tim hated psychology classes and the long, droning lectures about Freud–but images of Coach Gannefic hovered in his mind, and his thinking grew faster and hotter as he walked along–Big male hunk. Big muscles. Broad shoulders. Huge cock–

And with a rush, he had only seconds to lurch to a nearby park bench, pull his books across his lap, and–Ohmigod, ohmigod, Yeah!–a grenade explosion in his balls blew shards of pleasure through his body, and the orgasm left him shivering and panting on the bench. As he shuddered in the final throes of the ecstasy, he groaned softly, “Dad!”

A passer-by looked down at him and hurried over. “Hey, dude, are you okay? You an epileptic or anything?”

“No, I’m okay. Just–got a migraine.”

Tim looked down, glad his jeans were new, still dark blue. The cum load would soak through, but it wouldn’t show. But the smell grew.

The student bent over him for a moment, drew in a breath, then stood up, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Well, have a nice day.” He walked away slowly, occasionally looking back.

Incredible. Fucking incredible! A jackoff by walking around! Didn’t think you could do that.

Damn. What’s come over me?

Two classes later, Tim met Sankha at the bike rack. Sankha snickered, “So how was he? Is he conducting the class in the nakedness?”

“Very funny. No, he didn’t.”

“So what he is wearing?”

“Same thing as the first time: Hecadock sweatshirt, chino pants.”


“Tight enough.” Tim’s mouth curled in a leering smile, “and I was thinking–”

–“Ah, yes. You are thinking how about seeing if we catch him in the showers again, no?”

“Sankha, my man, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

The two killed time on campus until the end of the school day–coffee and tea in the snack bar, browsing in the library–then ambled over to the gym. They watched students and faculty leave the building then meandered into the locker room.

Water was running in the showers again. And there he was again. Naked male magnificence.

Tim stared at the splattering water coating the blonde god in eerie, erotic, almost slow-motion flickers of light–a fantasy, a dream, a picture like one of the frenzied visions just before an orgasm. He sucked in his breath, in a daze.

Without thinking, without any decisions, his hand went to his crotch and squeezed his throbbing hardon. Then he unbuckled his belt, pulled open his pants, and gripped his cock–again jabbing out through the slit in his boxers. Sankha grinned.

Tim pulled open his shirt and dropped it to the floor followed by his underwear. Sankha’s smile faded, and he stared in disbelief.

Tim kicked off his shoes and socks, and wearing only the silver chain around his neck, he walked quietly into the shower room with the naked god. Sankha stared open-mouthed.

When Gannefic noticed the naked youth approaching, he growled, “Students not allowed in here after school hours.”

Tim didn’t know what to say. Completely on autopilot. “Thought you might need–help–scrubbing your back.”

The big man turned around to face him, and he glanced down at Tim’s hardon. “Well, well, well. Sure, kid, you can wash my back.”

He tossed Tim the soap, and when he caught it, the coach looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Getting the message, Tim dropped the soap then bent over slowly to pick it up, turning away, spreading his legs.

When Tim stood up again, he gasped at the monster cock jutting out at him. God! It’s impossible! Gigantic! Tim realized his mouth hung open, and he shut it with a snap.

“Don’t shut your mouth, boy.” The coach’s voice was like sandpaper on a bass drum. “Why don’t you get down and suck it?”

Ohmigod. Here it is. Dad’s cock–

No, he is not Dad!

His mind a chaos of flashing lights and ringing bells, Tim’s legs slowly buckled, and he knelt on the wet floor, hypnotized, his vision tunneling to focus on the wondrous cock. Everything around it was a blur, and a roaring sound grew in his ears.

Sankha stared from behind the door, breathing hard, his own cock in his hand, stroking furiously, his dark brown foreskin baring his dusky cockhead in quick flickers like an old-time movie.

Tim placed a hand on each of Gannefic’s hard thighs and lowered his face to the broad, purple helmet. At the last second, only the pebbly surface in focus, he opened wide to suck it.

But suddenly the huge cock smacked into the side of his face! Gannefic slapped Tim back and forth with his throbbing rod, leaving a panting, drooling zombie trying to catch it in his mouth.


When Tim’s lips finally sank over it, spreading his jaws wide, he felt his balls churning, beginning the climb to an orgasm, and he knew the cock was in control. He was not sucking it–the cock was invading him, had thrust itself into him, spreading his jaws and commanding him to be obedient.

The monster organ jammed him so open, Tim was helpless, choking, getting dizzy–Oh, God, can’t breathe–but after a dozen or so thrusts, when he was about to black out, Gannefic withdrew The Cock, leaving Tim gasping, panting, desperately clawing back to consciousness.

But each time Tim caught his breath, the coach rammed The Cock back in again, lunging Tim back and forth between death and gasping life. The big penis had its way with him, making Tim its hole, its sheath, its meat, its slave.

And still, purring underneath, his balls simmered with a building climax even as Tim felt himself in a distant bedroom, knocked against the wall by an angry man because he had wet his pants.

With a deep, bass grunt from above, The Cock swelled even bigger and gushed floods of boiling jism down Tim’s throat, pumping it down him, impregnating his belly. Sperm spurted out the sides of his mouth as the load went past his capacity to swallow.

Completely at the mercy of the giant organ, Tim felt his masculinity surrender: instantly, without buildup, without a single touch to his groin, Tim shot into an orgasm of his own, his own sperm jetting out in salute to his submission.

When finally finished, the coach pulled back, snaking the huge cock back with a sucking sound, pulling it out of Tim’s throat, emptying him almost like a vomit, and as it released him from the hellish possession, the young man fell forward onto the wet shower room floor, almost unconscious, streams of pearly sperm drooling from his mouth.

Still dazed, he gasped, “Dad–”

–“Dad? I’m not your daddy, boy!” Gannefic reached down to grab Tim’s hair and pull his face up. “I’m your owner, and that mouth of yours is going to be sucking my cock whenever I call you.”

The coach rinsed himself off under the shower, washing off his cock. “We’ll get together again, my young cocksucker, don’t worry about that.” His lips pulled back in a crocodile smile, his eyes grim, and he walked out of the shower room.

When the coach left, Sankha stepped out of the shadow. “By my goolies, man, this is the hottest thing I am ever seeing! This is the mother of all blowjobs!”

But Tim was silent, biting his lip. He stood up and turned his face into the shower water to hide the tears.

“Tim? Are you okay?”

He stepped away from the water and turned around to face Sankha. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

But the Hindu looked him straight in the eye. “That is looking very, very hot — but maybe is not as hot as it is looking?”

“Yeah, it was hot.”

“You are saying this in same way you are talking about MacDonald coffee. It was not hot to you?”

Tim fell into Sankha’s embrace, and they stood hugging for a long time. Tim fought to keep his voice steady and finally croaked, “He got to me. I tried not to, but I–I kept seeing my father. I didn’t want to, but–couldn’t stop thinking–I was sucking my father’s cock.”

“And he is treating you like the shit.”

Tim stood in silence for a long time, his face buried in the taller man’s shoulder. Finally, “Yeah. Just like Dad.”

They walked out of the showers, and Tim scooped up his clothes from the pile near the floor. As Tim put them on again, Sankha muttered, “So you are going to give him the fuck instead. You are dropping the class.”

“Yeah. Ought to.” Tim changed the subject, trying to lighten the mood. “What does ‘by my goolies’ mean?”

Sankha chuckled. “Hindi slang. ‘Little balls.’ It is meaning the balls. ‘Testicles.'”


Tim did not drop the class.

Don’t want to. God damn it, I’m not his little play-toy! Fuck him. He won’t scare me. I’ll report him to the administration.

In the Wednesday class, the coach acted as if he had never seen Tim before, speaking to him only officially: “Mr. Scinitek, make sure you know the angle of the racket’s face when you swing in a backhand…”

As if nothing had ever happened.

On Friday, same thing. Indifference. Tim got no special attention. He began to relax a little.

But at the end of the class, as the others left the court, Gannefic called out, “Mr. Scinitek, would you wait for just a minute?”

Okay, here it comes. He tells me to get on my knees again, and I’m going to tell him to go fuck himself.

When the other students were gone, the coach walked over to him. Without a word, he reached down and groped Tim’s crotch. “Good. You’re hard for me, boy.”

What? Damn, he’s right. Fuck, how embarrassing.

“Meet me in my office at the end of the day. Don’t wear underwear.” With that Gannefic walked away.

Damn, I should’ve said–I wish I’d–I shoulda–

The rest of the day was a blur. While the teachers pointed to formulas on the blackboard or explained the Roman invasion of Spain, Tim kept seeing himself on his knees on a hard, wet tile floor, warm water splashing over him while his jaws stretched wide over a big, pulsing cock.

Over and over like a porno loop. Can’t get rid of it!

At the end of the day, Tim was almost dizzy. Can’t go there! Goddamnit, can’t go there!

But instead of the usual meet-up with Sankha at the bike rack, he found himself knocking on the door of Gannefic’s office in the gym. The coach opened the door. “Good. Right on time. Come on in.”

He reached down and gripped Tim’s ass as he walked through the door. “Let’s get those clothes off.”

Tim intended to say something, to refuse, but he didn’t. Almost against his will his hands unbuttoned his clothes, and he dropped them onto a chair, gradually stripping before the leering man, who was pulling off his own clothes. “Hard for me, aren’t you, boy? Can’t wait, can you?”

Tim was at full, rock-hard erection, and he bit his lip. Damn! He looked down at Gannefic’s cock. Not hard yet. I see who’s most aroused here. Damn! He bit his lip again.

The sight of the big man stripping off his clothes was like standing too close to a fire. Tim began to sweat, and his cock oozed big globules of precum. When Gannefic pulled him into his arms, Tim felt like a little puppy.

The pressure of the big body against him was intoxicating. Tim breathed deep. Clean, but with a slight musk of sweat. His armpits. And arousal–the “balls smell” of a horny man. But it’s probably coming from me!

Like a master mechanic confidently, almost carelessly tuning the engine of a racing car, Gannefic kissed Tim gently on the forehead, then moved his lips to the younger man’s temple. Tim sighed as the lips sucked at his ear, moved down to the curve of his jaw, then nibbled at his throat.

Tim’s own deep breathing roared in his ears along with the pounding of his heart, but everything else was silent, almost as if the only reality was the man expertly setting him afire.

As Gannefic’s mouth enslaved him, the coach’s hands squeezed and kneaded Tim’s buttocks, pulling him closer, grinding the huge cock against Tim’s belly. With short lunges of his hips, Gannefic jabbed it against the trembling youth, and by then Tim ached to feel Gannefic’s lips on his own.

When he got his wish, the coach covering his mouth in a fiery kiss, Tim almost came. Not really a kiss, it was a cavalry charge, conquering and overwhelming. Even though Tim had been eager for it, expecting it, Gannefic’s lips surprised him, forcing Tim’s lips wide open. The coach’s tongue rammed into his mouth, a sizzling tentacle jabbing in and out–a clue to what would soon happen below.

Aroused and breathing hard through his nose, Tim brought his own tongue to battle with the hard, wet invader, but as Gannefic’s tongue batted his back and forth, Tim recalled the giant cock slapping his face from side to side. And his father’s hand beating him up.

Gannefic’s hand thrust between them and gripped Tim’s cock, and the big man pulled away from the kiss, leaving Tim panting. His thumb and forefinger pulled long strings of precum from the head of Tim’s cock, and he snorted. “Just like a bitch, you’re wet and ready. Get on that couch on your hands and knees!”

Drunk from Gannefic’s foreplay, Tim crawled onto the couch and posed there, still breathing hard, waiting. Gannefic dropped onto him and mounted, his big cockhead aligned at Tim’s trembling asshole, and he thrust–

Yeowtch! Jesus Fucking Christ!!

–but Tim kept silent. Didn’t scream. Didn’t let himself yell or moan. He took Gannefic’s huge cock up his straining ass, biting his lip so hard it bled, but he took every last inch.

At the peak of his agony, with the older man’s cockhair grinding into his ass, Tim knew he had it all, but it hurt so bad his teeth almost chattered–but oh, God, if I can just hold on long enough–and it happened: the pain faded, gradually turning into exhilaration, and as Gannefic began slow lunges, the stimulation built up to ecstasy.

By the time Gannefic had settled into a powerful, driving rhythm, Tim was dizzy with the rush of power driven into him from the big man, high voltage surging into his body through the giant cock spreading his asshole.

In only three or four minutes of Gannefic’s lunges, Tim’s body was covered in goose-bumps, and the thunder of an orgasm built in his balls. Finally, tossed and battered by waves of ecstasy, Tim’s jism sputtered out–his body surrendering again as he wrenched back and forth under his rider, bucking, groaning, spreading his legs as far as he could.

As the exhilaration in his cock gradually burned down, Tim’s asshole still sizzled in the ecstasy of Gannefic’s strokes, and he floated on a cloud of pleasure, a dazed, subdued man crouching in automatic obedience to the alpha-male using him.

After long minutes of grunting, jolting lunges, Gannefic reached his climax, and Tim felt–actually felt–the warm spreading of the sperm gushing into him.

Finally Gannefic slumped onto Tim’s back, both men panting and sweating. With his mouth close to Tim’s ear, he hissed, “Okay, you little fucker, you’re my bitch now, my whore. Your asshole is mine, you hear me? Whenever I want you, you’re to come running, you hear?”

Still dull-minded in the warm buzz of a powerful afterglow, Tim muttered, “Yeah.”

The coach backed off his new toy, his cock sliding out of Tim’s burning ass with a sucking sound, and he stood up. “Now put your clothes on and get out of here! I’ve got work to do.”

Tim got up from the couch, sore and exhausted, and hurriedly pulled on his clothes. As he walked out the door, he heard Gannefic’s voice behind him: “Be in my office at lunchtime tomorrow–you can suck my cock while I have a sandwich.”

Tim bit his lip.

As walked down the hallway, sperm ran out of his ass and down his legs. Wearing tan pants that day was a bad idea.

He still floated in the satiated, fulfilled aura of a roaring good fuck, but it was a beach trip in a rainstorm. Good, but not happy. He rode home with the big wet spot in his pants smearing his bicycle seat.


Sankha sat waiting. “So, did he get to you?”

Tim leaned back against the door. “Yeah, we fucked–”

–“My goolies, he is now fucking you!”

“Yeah. He fucked me. But he’s good. Damn good.” Tim stepped away from the door, and as he walked toward the refrigerator–

“Ah, from this wet spot, I am thinking you are having a good time.”

“Yeah. He’s got the big goolies.” Tim reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water, and when he stood up with it, Sankha stood beside him, looking into his eyes.

“So how is it really, my friend? How is it really?”

Tim bit his lip again, fighting back tears.

Sankha reached out for him, pulling him into his arms, and Tim choked, unable to speak. Finally, “He called me his bitch. His whore.”

“Ah, so. Then to the hell with him, my friend. You are reporting him to the administration.”

“I can’t.” And Tim broke into tears, burying his face into Sanhka’s shoulder. “I can’t fight him, can’t refuse him–oh, God, Sankha, what have I got myself into? He told me to meet him at lunch tomorrow to suck his cock!”

Sankha held Tim out at arm’s length. “So do not!”

Tim’s face fell. “I can’t. Tried not to meet him just now. But I couldn’t not go. I–I can’t refuse him!”

“I think, as you say, you need a little of your own back.” Sankha looked into Tim’s eyes. “You need to put your father behind you!”

“But he’s not my fa–”

–“You are seeing your father in him! He is your father to you. You must be saying goodbye to him as he said goodbye to you! Leave him behind as he left you!”

“But how can I?” Tim fought against tears. “I know I’ll go there tomorrow to suck his cock. If he wants to fuck me, I’ll let him,” and Tim sobbed again.

“Be strong, my friend! You can do this!” Sankha gripped both Tim’s shoulders. “Look at me!” When Tim looked up, “Tomorrow, no matter what is happening in his office to you, at the end, you will say goodbye!”

Tim looked down, but Sankha shook his shoulders, and he looked back up again. “You are saying goodbye! And you are dropping his class!”

Tim was silent.

“Say it! Say you are telling him goodbye!”

Tim took a deep breath. “I’ll–tell him goodbye.”

“Yes! And you are closing a book that is open for too long.”

Sankha made Tim a cup of Oolong and Souchang tea, and later that night as they made love, Tim couldn’t get over the difference in scale: smaller, gentler. Not as thrilling, not as huge. Not as fiery hot.

But warmer, closer, more touching.

Caring. Affectionate.

More important. More desirable.

Sankha’s cock brought him a pleasure closer to joy than frenzy. More a celebration of affection than a human sacrifice on a pyre of flames and lust.

Tim fell asleep in Sankha’s arms, the first deep sleep he had enjoyed since he first discovered his father’s look-alike. But when Tim awoke the next morning, Sankha was already gone.


At sunrise, Sankha slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the next bedroom to the pile of suitcases and boxes of belongings. He rummaged quietly through his boxes until he found a carved sandalwood case with brass fittings. Inside were plastic bags with colored powders, seeds, and bits of bark.

Sankha pulled out a tiny, clear-plastic bag holding small seed-pods, little black balls about the size of a fingertip. Wrapping the bag with a rubber band, he put it into his pocket.


When Coach Gannefic pulled into the parking lot that morning, he didn’t notice the foreign exchange student loitering at the bike rack nearby. He paid no attention to the same Indian student watching him whenever he left his office.

At about 10:30, Coach Gannefic left his office and walked down to the dispensing machines near the building’s main door. He put in coins, pressed a few buttons, took out a plastic cup of coffee, and turned away–only to run into a foreign-exchange student clumsily falling against him and knocking the coffee cup from his hand.

As the cup splattered the coffee across the floor, the student barked, “Oh, sorry! So very sorry! Oh, this is terrible! Very terrible! Please to forgive me!” The student pulled out a handkerchief and mopped at the stain on the coach’s sleeve, then he ran to the coffee machine. “Here, sir, you are letting me to buy you another cup of coffee! Please, sir, please accept my most humble apology!”

“Well, okay,” Gannefic growled. “Black, two sugars.”

With the student’s back toward him, Gannefic did not see him pull a plastic bag from his pocket nor see the small, black ball dropped into the coffee.

“Here you are, sir, and again, a thousand apologies!”

“Okay, just be more careful next time.” Gannefic stalked back to his office.


As he sat filling out paperwork for the previous summer classes, Gannefic sipped the coffee. Dammit, stuff tastes like shit! Stupid fucking student hit the wrong buttons!

Still, coffee was coffee, and he was too busy to go get another cup.

A hour later, Coach Gannefic leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself. I’m going to enjoy that kid at lunchtime. I’m in a real mood for a blowjob.

In spite of the harem of students who eagerly kept him serviced, Gannefic was eager for more sex with his newest conquest–as a matter of fact, I might just fuck him on the desk again. Yeah, I’m going to fuck him. Too horny for just a blowjob.

With lunchtime still a half-hour away, Gannefic squirmed, so horny with anticipation of the noon rendezvous, his cock shoved painfully against his pants. Well, what the hell. He leaned back in his chair, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his big buddy.

He wanted a quick handjob, but as furiously as he stroked, and as horny as he was, he couldn’t get started, couldn’t feel his balls start the process. Nothing.

Shit! That kid better get here on time!

The minutes began to tick by in miserable, painful slow-motion. Sweating, Gannefic couldn’t keep his mind off the hot, tight, young asshole. Coming to see me. My new bitch.

His breathing grew faster, more labored. He tried jacking off again, but his arousal only grew worse, and as furiously as he beat at his throbbing meat, he could not reach a climax.

The room was a hot, dry, miserable desert, and Gannefic pulled his sweatshirt over his head, gasping with relief as he sat bare-chested at his desk. The fresh air on his nipples hardened them into itching bullets, and he felt fresh drools of precum oozing out into his underwear.

He got up and walked to the door, pulling it open just a crack, looking down the hallway. Fuck, only 11:50. Damn! Shit!

I know, I’ll get ready. He unbuckled his belt, pulled open his pants and shucked them down, then yanked down his underwear and kicked it off his foot. He stood stark naked, stroking his hard but strangely numb cock, which still sputtered out a gob of precum that sank into a silvery thread stretching all the way to the floor.

I’m going to skip the foreplay. The second that kid comes through the door, I’ll have my cock up his ass!

He stood waiting behind the door–also ready to bar it if anyone other than Tim should open it–and his balls heated up like steaks on a grill. The warmth spread to his cock then back to his asshole.

Gannefic licked his lips. His mouth was dry although his body glistened with a sheen of sweat. Damn, why am I breathing so hard?

The seconds dragged by, each one a fingernail scratching across a blackboard, and Gannefic’s frenzy grew until he felt something click, something go over the top, past the usual drive of conquest–even hotter, even more insane. Gannefic’s craving built to the total, all-consuming, end-all of sex–from deep inside, from the bottom of his balls, he was overwhelmed, out of control, completely consumed by fiery, craving, maddening need.

Gannefic swallowed, his throat dry and cracking, his brain on fire with new, strange thoughts. His asshole clenched and unclenched–Up my ass! God, yes, up my ass! Got to have a cock up my ass!


By the time Tim (finally!) knocked on the door, Gannefic was nearly insane. “Get in here!”

As he opened the door, Tim blinked. Jesus Christ!

The naked man ran to the desk and lay back on it. “Shut the fucking door!” He raised his legs and spread them. “Get over here and fuck me!

Tim was dumbfounded. “Got myself all lubed up,” the big man croaked, “so get over here and do it!”

Still speechless, Tim yanked off his clothes.

“Hurry! Hurry, you bastard! Gimme that cock! Hurry!”

So bewildered he almost lost his hardon, Tim stood between the legs of the panting man and positioned his cockhead at the virgin asshole. “You–sure you want me to do this, Coach?”

“Yeah, yeah! Stick it in!” The bass voice was cracking, hoarse, slurred with lust.

Tim pressed a finger against the coach’s pucker, which clenched repeatedly, eager for the touch, and when he thrust his finger into the hole, the coach barked, “No! Don’t tease me! Give it to me! Lemme feel it! Goddamn, ram that thing up my ass!”

“Your call, Coach.” Tim aligned his cockhead at the slimy rectum, touching it, teasing it, making Gannefic groan in fuck-crazed agony, then he pressed hard, shoving the bulb past the coach’s final gate, ramming it in, stretching the never-used passage.

“God, agh, God!”

“Want me to stop?”

“No! Keep going! Take me! Take me!”

Tim’s lunges drove his cock ever deeper, violating the big man, and he saw Gannefic biting his lip. Like father, like son.

No! He is not Dad! I am not fucking my father!

When Tim shoved in to the last inch, his cockhair ground into Gannefic’s ass, and in the dizzying rush of power he was a Roman gladiator looking down at the heaving body of a vanquished enemy, controlling the big body, commanding it, owning it.

And Tim got an idea.

He pulled his cock out of the coach’s writhing ass–“Hey, goddamnit, stick that thing back in!”–and Tim held open the side-door leading from the coach’s office to the locker room.

“Tell you what, Dad, let’s do it in a romantic spot. Get in there on the shower room floor!” Gannefic looked at him with horror. “Hey, no worries. It’s lunchtime. Nobody will be in there.”

Muttering and cursing, Gannefic got up and ran, naked, cock wagging in front of him, into the shower room to lie back on the wet floor. As he raised his legs again, he groaned, “Now do it! Fuck me to death!”

The smell of raunch was heavy in the air–sweat and steam from earlier athletes, the heavy musk of a two hot crotches, pheromones radiating from two boiling scrotums, and the foreign, tangy, peppery accent of the bleach used to scrub down the showers–the smell of cum magnified a hundred times.

Gannefic’s sexual rage was so violent, he drooled, almost foaming at the mouth. Tim, too, was drunk with power, but he forced himself to think–at least one level above Beast–and he knew what he had to do.

Fighting the demonic rage in him to ram and thrust, to fuck the big man’s brains out, Tim forced himself to stop–“Goddamnit! Oh, shit, don’t stop!”–and allow Gannefic’s tortured, newly opened tunnel to stretch itself to sheath Tim’s cock. To teach the suffering man what he was born for.

To lock him in.

Gannefic’s head rolled back and forth, his eyes up in his head, and he moaned long and low. “It hurts! God, it hurts! But don’t stop, you bastard!”

Yeah, Dad? How does it feel to be fucked? But Tim said nothing.

Gradually, slowly, Gannefic’s groans grew softer, and Tim felt the iron tension in the big body soften. Now. The pain’s fading away. He’s ready.

He began to move, slowly, gently pulling his cock back out of the coach’s ass and sinuously back in. And sure enough, he heard Gannefic catch his breath.

Feels good, doesn’t it? Surprised? But Tim remained silent.

Then Gannefic groaned, soft and low, “Wha–what’s going on–Oh, God! No! I’m being–fucked!” Sankha’s potion was wearing off, leaving the big man to fully conscious sensations. And an undeniable conversion.

Tim’s strokes became harder, from just his cockhead still inside Gannefic’s ass-ring to a thrust back in to the hilt, each time rewarded with a hissing gasp from the man below him. “No! God, you can’t–not fuck me! But Gannefic’s body was no longer under his control, and his hips lurched back at Tim with every in-stroke.

Gradually Tim increased the speed, and with every stroke, Gannefic’s arousal grew, wiping out his objections until he reached down to his knees, pulling his legs wider apart, almost back to his head, opening his fevered asshole for even deeper drives.

Tim watched for The Sign, looking down into Gannefic’s crotch. The coach’s huge cock bounced up and down in full, ruddy erection.

Not yet. Close, though.

Tim gripped both the man’s nipples and twisted them painfully, his voice a hoarse gasp. “You wanna be my bitch? Want me to fuck you to death?”

“Ah, God, yeah! Your bitch! Make me your bitch! Fuck me to death, you bastard!!” And with that, Gannefic let out a long, death-howl moan, and when Tim looked down, he saw the sign:

In long, almost solid ropes of pearly sperm, Gannefic ejaculated onto his chest and belly, his balls visibly convulsing as they pumped out his first load as the fuckee.

Like a slave-harness falling away from his shoulders, exhilarated with the greatest freedom of his life, Tim turned loose the Beast inside. With a growl he began violent, frenzied full-length strokes in machine-gun cadence, five thrusts every second, slamming his hips against Gannefic’s pelvis, jolting the big man’s body, skidding him across the wet floor.

A solar flare burned through Tim’s body from the fire in his balls, and the most intense orgasm of his life electrocuted him into an out-of-body experience. He floated above the earth, connected to Existence only by the throbbing piece of meat connected to his new bitch.

He undoubtedly ejaculated into Gannefic’s ass, but the ecstasy was so intense, he didn’t feel it. Only the gorgeous, insufferable flames of his orgasm.

When finally he came to, he found himself lying on Gannefic’s sweating chest, out of breath, drooling, limp as a rag. His cock still connected him to the coach, but as it gradually softened, it slipped out with a splurch.

Tim wanted nothing so much as to let himself slip off the big man’s body and fall to the floor to lie beside him in the afterglow, but he forced himself to rise up. He backed away, finally pulling himself to his feet.

Gannefic, on the other hand, lay panting, a stream of white jism running from his asshole to the tile floor. “Ah, God,” he moaned, “oh, God!” He rolled his head from side to side, his eyes still closed. “Greatest–hottest–thought I would die!” He reached down to the slime still drooling from his cock. “…s’true–almost died–saw bright, white light”–

–“Oh, that would be Mr. Krishnamirto’s camera.”

Gannefic opened his eyes just in time to look into the lens of Sankha’s camera as another flash went off. “Wha’–whazzat?”

“Check it out, Coach. I’m dropping your fucking tennis class, and you will give me an A grade for time spent. Think of these pictures–and that’s pictures with an ‘s’–as insurance. Think of them going to the college, to your wife, to the newspapers, everywhere!”

With that, Sankha walked out, and Tim followed. He stopped in the doorway, though, to look back at the sperm-covered man wallowing in a pool of the milt oozing from his ass. “Goodbye, Coach.” Then he mouthed silently, “Goodbye, Dad.”

They went back into the coach’s office, where Tim put on his clothes, and the two went out to their bikes.


That evening they rode downtown to the Hilton’s rooftop restaurant for a steak dinner–with Darjeeling tea, not champagne.

Later, in the warmth of the night, Tim looked up at Sankha. “That was the shock of my life. All the way over there, I knew he was going to steamroller me again. But when he wanted me to fuck him–God, my whole world turned around.”

“Little goolies are strange things, my friend. The coach’s goolies finally took control–maybe with the help of another little goolie.”

Tim didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter–Sankha’s gracefully thrusting cock baptized Tim’s grasping rectum again with what the two of them had come to refer to as “India’s finest tea.”

Leave a Reply* Marked items are required