Song of the South-Go, Bulldogs, Go!

Coach Richard Bender hit the "stop" button on the VCR remote and
yawned. He rubbed a hand over his face and stood up. The other
coaches were gone; their sexual shenanigans earlier in the day had worn
them out. Bender, on the other hand, was still watching tape of the
next opponent. Now his office was dark, save for the blue glow of the
TV screen.

He stretched and reached for the doorknob. The greasy burger and fries
seemed to have gone right through him. He crossed the darkened locker
room and entered the training room. The only illumination came from
the shower room. A few of the recessed lights were always on, just for
security. He didn't bother to turn on any more lights; he knew where
the crapper was. He turned left and went into the narrow hallway that
housed the urinals and toilets. He went to the last stall and unzipped
his shorts. He hunkered down in the dark and took a mammoth shit. He
remembered some comedian who asked if anyone had ever crapped so big
their pants fit better. Bender was pretty sure that his shorts would
look baggy after this. He grunted as he finished, then wiped himself
and stood up. He flushed the toilet with his foot and headed back
toward the office.

He was just turning toward the office when he realized that he heard
the sound of water running in the shower room. Probably some of the
guys working out late. The coach took a couple of steps toward the
showers and started to call out when he heard some other, indefinable
sound beneath the hammering of the water. Puzzled, he stepped around
to where he could, while still safely in shadow himself, see into the
shower room.

It was a big tiled room. Two large central pipes ran from floor to
ceiling. Showerheads were arranged around the pipes just above head
height. The jets were turned on full-blast on the near pipe and
billowing clouds of steam roiled through the room. Bender squinted at
the figure he saw and realized it was Jamil Whitaker.

Jamil was a junior, seventeen years old, about six-one, maybe six-two.
He weighed 205, a little undersized to play linebacker, but his
athleticism and speed made him valuable on special teams and in pass
coverage. When he filled out to his full adult bulk, he would be
formidable. Now he was a rangy, buff boy with dark-chocolate skin. He
was handsome, with clean-cut features and he wore his hair trimmed
close to his head.

What Bender noticed, though, was the boy's cock. The curving,
vein-wrapped member stood out a good nine inches. It was easy to tell
because Jamil was fully erect, his left hand wrapped around his prick
as he jacked off. Two huge balls swung freely in his wrinkled nutsack.
As his hand jerked back and forth it was obvious that he was
uncircumcised. His eyes fluttered and the hot water ran over his
sculpted pecs and muscular shoulders and arms as he pleasured himself.
He turned his head to look over his shoulder and Bender realized that
Jamil was not alone.

Eddie Robinette was Ambrosia's all-state tailback. He was guaranteed
to be playing Division 1 football the next year. He was shorter than
Jamil and more heavily muscled. He had a Superman logo tattooed on one
bicep and a ring of barbed wire tattooed around the opposite arm. He
sported his own pulsing hard-on. Eddie's cock was not as long as
Jamil's, but it was a good seven inches and thicker than the black
boy's prick. Eddie pulled his own pud as he spoke to Jamil. Bender
couldn't make out the words over the hissing of the shower, but he
saw Jamil turn slightly and shuffle his feet apart. This gave the
coach a better view as the black boy reached behind himself with his
right hand and began to push the middle finger into his asshole.
Jamil's face contorted into a grimace as he forced the digit between
his round, firm buns and into his puckered fudge tunnel. A cruel smile
played on Eddie's lips as he spoke again. Bender saw Jamil twist his
hand so as to thrust another finger into his rosebud.

Coach Bender became aware that his own cock was painfully hard, trapped
inside his shorts. As Eddie ordered Jamil to insert a third finger
into his asshole, Dick Bender slipped behind the trainer's table and
lowered his shorts to his ankles as he sat down on a chair. As he
watched the two boys in the shower he began to pull on his own crank.

By now, Jamil had all four fingers of his right hand crammed into his
butthole. He jerked off frantically, his balls dancing in time to his
tugging. Eddie watched for a while, then stepped around in front of
Jamil. He grabbed one of the black boy's nipples and twisted. Jamil
shuddered and began to pull his pud even harder. He thrust his right
hand back and forth, twisting his fingers inside his sphincter. Eddie
grinned and said something as he released Jamil's nipple.

Bender's hand moved faster on his prick as he watched Jamil get down
on all fours on the shower-room floor. Eddie moved behind him and
squatted a little. The tailback grabbed his cock to steady it, then
pushed it into the black boy's anus. Jamil's face twisted in
distress as Eddie slid his hard, throbbing pecker forward. When he was
fully socketed in Jamil's ass, he gave another command. Jamil
reached back and began to jack off as Eddie commenced butt-fucking.

Bender sat open-mouthed, his breathing shallow, fist pumping his boner
furiously as he watched his star tailback dominate his black teammate.
Every so often, Eddie would pull his cock out of the other boy's ass
and walk around in front of him. Jamil would suck the throbbing prick,
never missing a beat on his own member. Eddie would hold up his cock
to let Jamil suck his balls. Sometimes Eddie would stop in mid-thrust
and reach down, grabbing Jamil's enormous nuts and squeezing. The
black boy would gasp and his masturbation would almost falter.

The coach watched from the darkened training room, beating his own
meat. Eddie pulled out and slapped Jamil on the ass. The black boy
rolled over onto his back and pulled his knees up to his shoulders,
rolling his ass off the floor. Eddie placed the head of his cock
against Jamil's asshole and shoved it in. Once he had found his
rhythm, he ordered Jamil to begin masturbating again. The black boy
complied, his fist sliding up and down the hard, black shaft. A puddle
of his own pre-cum formed on his cobblestone abs to be washed away by
the pounding shower. Jamil's lips began to twitch. Eddie grinned
wickedly and began to pound harder. Jamil threw his head back against
the tiled floor, thrusting his hips into the air as his cock exploded,
thick jets of sticky white jizz splattering against his chest and
arcing up to splash onto his face. When Jamil's spurts finally
subsided, Eddie pulled his cock out of the black boy's asshole and
got to his feet. Straddling Jamil's face as the black boy lay
exhausted on the floor, Eddie jerked off until his own copious jets of
spunk burst from his prick and showered Jamil's face and chest.
Coach Bender gasped as his own orgasm arrived and he shot his sticky
man-batter onto the carpeted floor. As Eddie stepped back under the
shower to rinse off, Bender tucked his softening cock into his shorts
and crept back toward his office. As he settled in front of the VCR
again, he kept seeing his two players, Eddie mounting Jamil. He was
still thinking about it as Eddie Robinette walked through the locker
room, a towel wrapped around his waist. He didn't even glance toward
the coach's office; it was dark. After Eddie dressed and left, Jamil
wandered in, still nude, his limp cock bobbing, his pendulous balls
swinging. He dressed and left. Bender shook his head. He just might
have to talk to Jamil.

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