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 My Coach - Part Three - The Party

   The following is a work of fiction, meant for adults.  If you are under
18, or under the age of consent where you live, stop reading now and do not
download this story.

   This work of fiction involves sexual contact, including bondage and
discipline, between multiple men and a teenaged boy.  The story is set in
the early 1970s, so even if it was true, the teen would be in his 50s now,
and the men would likely be dead.  Nevertheless, if such stories offend
you, stop reading now and do not download this story.

   If such stories are illegal where you live, stop reading now, do not
download this story and consider moving to a less repressive country.

   I really like SPECIFIC feedback on my writing (i.e., what did you like,
what did you not like?).  Good or bad, it helps me improve.  I also like
story ideas, though I can't guarantee that I will use every suggestion.

   If all you want is to tell me I'm a sick son of a bitch for imagining
such a story, don't bother; I already know that.

   Email me at jordan.bradders@writeme.com

   NOTE: You will find that this story makes more sense if you read parts
one and two first.  They are creatively titled "My Coach - Part 1 -
Freshman Year" and "My Coach - Part 2 - The Initiation."
Parts one and two of this story, as well as all of the other fiction I
have published to ASSTR can be found at

http://authors.asstr.org/cgi-bin/filemanager/filemanager.cgi?curdir=0

   ===================================================

   My Coach - Part Three - The Party

   By Jordan Bradders

   (c)Copyright 2013 Jordan Bradders.  The author reserves all rights. 
Permission is granted to download this story for personal use only.  It may
not be published in any other forum, web site, magazine, granite blocks,
golden tablets, parchment, papyrus scrolls or book without my prior written
permission.





   Coach Duffy was my Dom, teacher and mentor for the rest of my "football
career," which consisted of the rest of my freshman year and all of the
next.  He was both brutal and loving.  After that first night I never again
had any doubt that he cared about me and would never harm me.  But he sure
did hurt me!  He taught me so much about myself.  He really did know me
better than I knew myself.

   When I first wrote this story, it moved quickly from the paragraph above
to the end of my relationship with Coach.  But when I moved on to writing
about the third man who mentored and guided me through my teens, I realized
that I had left a good deal out.  The purpose of Parts Three and Four,
then, is to tell the rest of that story.

   Coach and I spent as much time together as we could, but we had to work
around his work schedule, my school and activities schedules, and the
demands of my family.  My mother wasn't much of an obstacle.  She loved me
but as a single mother, she was deeply concerned about my lack of positive
male role models.  As a result, she was thrilled that a second such man was
taking an interest and encouraged me to spend as much time as possible with
Coach.

   I could try to provide a blow-by-blow (pun intended) account of
everything that happened during that almost two year period, but that was a
long time ago and my memories are more episodic than comprehensive.  So, I
will describe several anecdotes that are representative of our time
together.

   Coach spent the first few months after football season training me as
his "sub." It was exciting for me and I enjoyed serving him.  I was a
bright kid and quickly learned how to serve him.  The moment I walked in
his door, I started stripping off my clothes, and was generally naked
within about 30 seconds.  Then, without reminders from him, I would put my
things in a dresser drawer he had cleared for me, get him a beer, and kneel
at his feet to await instructions.  Sometimes I would stay in that
position, waiting, for as long as an hour.  But that usually wasn't the
case because Coach was sensitive to my knee problems.  Besides, we had
little time together and Coach always had new things to teach me.

   Of course, sometimes I would mess up.  Forget to do something.  Do it
too slowly.  Spill something.  Often, I would do these things deliberately.
Surely, Coach knew this, but he didn't care.  He always had such creative
ways to punish me for these failures.  Sometimes, he would take me over his
knees and spank me.  The sound of his big hands slapping my butt cheeks
continues to echo in my mind, and the idea of a spanking still gets me
hard. Other times, he would make me hold an uncomfortable position for an
extended period of time.  Or he might insert a butt plug and then have me
eat something sure to "run right through me." Of course, he also might just
bend me over the couch or some other piece of furniture and fuck me.  I
never knew what he might do, but I loved all of it.  I knew he'd never do
anything to harm me, or that I didn't deserve.

   One day, he called me into his office after gym class.  Closing the
door, he kissed me and then told me he wanted me to spend the weekend with
him.  I was excited, but wondered how I would explain this to my mother. 
He suggested that I tell her he needed help closing up his parents' cabin
in the mountains.  My mother was, of course, delighted; she loved Coach
Duffy.

   This weekend was to be the next step in my training.  We left from
school that Friday.  Our destination really was a cabin in the mountains,
though it didn't belong to Coach's parents and it was very large.  And we
really did spend a few hours on Sunday working around the place; at least
some of us did.

   I don't recall exactly, but it was after Christmas so must have been
January or February of my freshman year of high school.  The drive was
beautiful.  All of the mountains were covered with snow, and unlike closer
to home, that snow was a pristine white.  Though we ended up on small,
two-lane country roads, they were clear of snow and ice.  Even crisp and
clean air seemed better.  Coach parked the car behind the house and told me
I was not to speak unless he asked me a direct question.  I was not to make
eye contact with anyone in the house without his permission, and was to
keep my eyes on the floor at all times.  Most important, I was to ask no
questions of anyone.  As we approached the door, he said "Don't forget your
training, boy."

   I followed him into the house, walking two paces behind him and to his
left as I'd been taught.  I was, of course, carrying our bags.  In spite of
my intense curiosity, I kept my eyes on the floor and asked no questions as
he spoke with the man I assumed was our host.  Then I followed him up the
stairs to our room.

   Once in the room, I dropped the bags and stripped off my clothes, as
usual.  He smiled at me, obviously pleased, and said "I'll let it go this
time, but you should have stripped as soon as we came in the front door of
the house." I know I must have blushed, but I remembered the rules and
didn't speak.

   He sat down and turned on the TV.  I took my position at his feet. 
Grinning, he asked "Where's my beer?" I looked around the room for a
refrigerator, and then looked back at him, bewildered.  "Well?  Don't just
kneel there.  Go get me a beer!"

   I got up and opened the drawer in which I had stored my things.  He
laughed and said "No clothes this weekend unless I give them to you.  Now,
go to the kitchen and get me a beer." I looked from him to the door and
back, my eyes pleading, but he said only "You can get one for yourself,
too." Embarrassed, I opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

   I walked down the hall and down the stairs, my eyes on the floor in
front of me.  The man I assumed to be our host was still in the foyer.  I
could feel his eyes on me, but he didn't say a word.  I'd walked around
naked many times before, in locker rooms, Coach's apartment, and even
occasionally outside, but I'd never felt this exposed before.  I quickly
went to the kitchen, which was equipped with two large refrigerators, one
of which was completely filled with cans of beer.  I selected two cans of
Budweiser, Coach's favorite brand, and then made my way back to our room,
my eyes still on the floor.

   I knelt in front of Coach and handed him his beer, keeping my eyes on
the floor in front of me.  I wanted desperately to ask what was going on
but remembered the rule.  Assuming that this was a test, I kept my mouth
shut, assuming that Coach would tell me what I needed to know.  Finally,
Coach told me to sit in his lap.  Then he gave me a sip of his beer and
said "You've done well.  Don't worry, we're among friends." Then he kissed
me and told me to open my beer.  I wrapped my arms around him and we
cuddled.

   I must have fallen asleep.  Coach woke me and told me it was time to get
ready to go down to dinner.  Bewildered and hungry, I looked at the bedside
table and saw that it was almost 10 PM.  I looked at him, and then at the
drawer containing my clothes, but he shook his head.  "Take a shower.  I
want you nice and clean."

   When I came out of the bathroom, he had me sit down on the bed and
inspected me.  Shaking his head but still smiling, he clipped my toenails
and then turned back to his bag to put the clippers away.  When he turned
back, he showed me a leather dog collar.  Without a word, he put it around
my neck and slipped a leash into his pocket.  He swatted me on the ass
playfully and said "Remember.  Don't look at anyone.  Don't speak to anyone
without my permission, and don't speak to me unless I ask you a direct
question." Moving toward the door, he swatted my ass again, this time a bit
harder, and said "Let's go, boy."

   As we walked down the hallway, he told me one more thing, his voice low.
"We have no names here.  I will call you `boy,' and you will call me `Sir'.
Speak only to me, and don't answer any questions except from me." When we
reached the bottom of the stairs I saw that all of the seats around the
dinner table were occupied by men, each with a naked boy standing behind
him, his hands clasped behind his back.  Taking my cue from the setting, I
pulled out Coach's chair for him, and then took up my station behind him in
the same pose.  Afraid to look anywhere else, I kept my eyes on the back of
Coach's head and awaited instructions.  Embarrassed, I was quickly hard.

   The men sat and talked as if it was the most natural thing in the world
to have naked boys standing behind them.  Every once in a while, Coach
would reach back and touch me, stroking or patting my leg reassuringly.  I
heard Coach assure them that I could be trusted, but didn't look up or
react in any way.

   Finally, a bell rang, and the other boys turned and walked through a
door which led to the kitchen.  Coach told me to follow them and do as they
did.  Once in the kitchen, I saw that the other boys, most of whom were
actually young or young looking men in their 20s or perhaps older, were
making up plates for the men they served.  I did the same.  Though the food
was obviously freshly prepared, no cook was present.  I would later learn
that this was the arrangement.  The cook would prepare the meal then
retreat.  We never saw her, and she never saw us.

   We each served our Master, and then stood behind them while they ate,
silently refilling their drinks and then bringing them their desserts.  My
mouth was watering and my stomach growling by the time the men had
finished. The host stood and announced that the men would retire to the
sitting room, and the boys could eat, clean up, and then join them.  The
men stood and left the room.  Coach smiled at me but didn't say a word.

   This time, when we went into the kitchen, the "boys" spoke in quiet
voices.  They all seemed very curious about me, but they asked no
questions. Though some of them touched one another in various ways, none
touched me.  We made up plates for ourselves then went out and sat in
silence at the dining room table to eat.  By this time, I was getting used
to being naked.  Seeing that everyone else was staring at his plate, I did
the same, eating quickly.  I wanted to ask what would happen next but
decided to wait until we were back in the kitchen, where it was apparently
OK to talk.

   We cleared our places and retreated to the kitchen.  I rinsed, while
another boy loaded the dishwasher.  Two more wiped the table, and the rest
busied themselves wiping counters, sweeping floors, and generally cleaning
the kitchen.  When I asked what would happen next, all I got in response
was chuckles and smiles.  As we filed out, one of the older boys, who was
probably in his 30s, whispered "Don't worry.  You're doing fine."

   When we joined the men in the smoke-filled sitting room, each of the
older boys curled up on the floor in front of his master, like dogs.  I did
the same, and was rewarded by Coach reaching down and petting the back of
my neck; again, much like a dog.  I still remember the wave of pleasure I
felt at that gesture.  The men continued to talk as if we weren't there,
and I quickly realized that they had been talking about me.  Coach repeated
his assurances that I could be trusted, but some of the other men seemed
worried.

   We passed the rest of the evening that way, the men talking, the "boys"
curled up at their feet.  Some slept, but I remained awake and alert,
trying to follow the conversation.  Though I kept my eyes down, I could see
that one man after another glanced at me, then at Coach.

   Finally, the host stood and ordered the boys to go upstairs and prepare
the bedrooms.  I looked up at Coach and he nodded.  I learned later that
this was a breach of etiquette.  I was about to stand when I realized that
the other boys were crawling toward the door.  I followed their example, my
face close to the floor, my ass high in the air.  Once we were in the hall
the others stood and walked silently to the stairs.  Again, I followed and
went directly to our bedroom.

   I brushed my teeth, urinated, and cleaned myself up, then knelt on the
floor in front of the easy chair to wait for Coach.  Apparently, the men
remained in the sitting room for another hour, still talking about me. 
Coach explained that bringing me to this party had been a breach of
etiquette on his part; that he should have brought me to a smaller event
first so the other men could get to know me.  One man, who had been
scheduled to arrive Saturday, had decided not to attend when he learned
that I was there.  I wouldn't understand that reaction until almost a year
later.  I blushed when Coach explained that we would have been sent home,
but several of the men had argued that I was "too beautiful" to send away.

   He got cleaned up and pulled me into his arms.  Whispering, he praised
me, saying that he had been very proud of my deportment.  The Priests who
ran my school spoke often about "demeanor and deportment," so the word was
familiar to me.  He was very gentle and affectionate with me and said that
we should sleep; that I had a long day ahead of me the next day.  I fell
asleep in his arms; my favorite place to be.

   Coach got me up at 6AM on Saturday.  I felt like I was hung over; we
hadn't gone to sleep until 2AM.  He'd already showered and dressed, and
said that he'd allowed me to sleep as long as he could.  Breakfast was at
6:30, so I'd better shower quickly.  I guess it was lucky that I didn't
have to take time to shave.

   Breakfast was much like dinner the night before.  The men sat, and the
"boys" stood behind them and served them.  We ate after the men had moved
to the sitting room.  When we joined them, the host announced that the boys
would be participating in a series of classes, each taught by one of the
men.  We were told to remain where we were, seated on the floor.  All of
the men but the host left the room.

   That first class was on the relationship between Dom and sub; Master and
slave.  I learned that some of the "boys" thought of themselves as slaves,
while others, like me, thought of ourselves as subs.  The next class was on
consent, and the importance of communication between Dom and sub.  I nodded
off repeatedly over the course of the day, each time earning myself a
paddling or some other punishment.  The rest of the classes are a blur, but
they were all interesting.  I was pleased that I learned little new
information that day; Coach had been a very good teacher.

   We broke for lunch, which was conducted exactly like the two prior
meals, then returned to our classes.  Coach taught a class on corporal
punishment.  I remember some of the "boys" gasping when he described some
of the things he had done to me.  Several of them looked at me with new
respect.

   After dinner, we went to our bedrooms for some "rest and relaxation."
Coach ordered me to take a nap, explaining that I still had many hours
ahead of me, and that I might find some of the evening's activities
"draining." I did as I was told and was asleep in seconds.

   I slept about three hours, until Coach woke me at 10PM.  He explained
that a party would start at midnight, and the "boys" were to be the
entertainment.  He told me to take a very careful shower, warning that I
would be "on display," and told me to be sure to "void my bladder and
bowels carefully." I was bewildered, but by this time I had learned to ask
no questions.

   When we went downstairs I joined the other "boys" in setting up for the
party under the direction of the host.  If I hadn't been scared, I might
have laughed at the sight of the naked furniture movers.

   Once everything was in place and the buffet table had been set up, Coach
beckoned me over.  He asked again if I needed to use the bathroom.  When I
declined, he pointed at a nearby table and told me to lie on my back.  He
secured my arms and legs so I was spread eagled, then some of the other
boys brought various food items over and arranged them around and on me. 
Apparently, I was to be the soup and salad bar!

   Looking around the room, I was relieved to see that some of the other
"boys" were set up in similar ways.  The rest were taken to other parts of
the house to be used in other ways.  I would learn later that the men were
still nervous about me.  They didn't believe Coach when he said I was
eighteen, and had decided to keep me away from the activities in the other
rooms.

   Shortly before midnight, other men started to arrive.  Coach later told
me that thirty men had come, some from hundreds of miles away.  Many of
them seemed very interested in me, touching me in various ways, but Coach
was never more than a few feet away.  Some stroked my penis or fondled my
balls.  One unzipped his pants, apparently planning to have me fellate him,
but Coach shook his head "no," and the man walked away.  I noticed that the
other "boys" were similarly attended by their Masters.

   I could hear moaning and groaning, and the familiar sounds of floggers
and canes from other rooms, but none of that affected me.  The party
continued for several hours.  Toward the end of the night several men
gathered around me; with Coaches' permission, they took turns fellating me
until I ejaculated.  By that time I wasn't all that surprised when the men
picked up crackers and scooped the semen off my belly like dip and ate it.
One of the men then licked my belly clean.

   Finally, Coach released me and helped me up.  I was stiff and could
barely stand.  When I told Coach that I felt like I might have a leg cramp,
he said his farewells and took me upstairs.  While he stripped off his
clothes, I ran into the bathroom.  He had been right, of course.  I'd
needed to pee for hours.  When the men had fellated me, I'd been afraid I'd
urinate in their mouths.  He had me lie down on the bed and gave me a
wonderful full-body massage.  I must have fallen asleep, because I woke in
his arms.  The sun was shining.  I loved the feel of his big body wrapped
around me so didn't move a muscle.  I was in good shape, but was 6'1" and
180 pounds, so he was about the only person in my life big enough to hug me
like that, and I loved it.

   When Coach woke up, we got cleaned up and went downstairs.  Some of the
men and "boys" were already gone, but the rest of us cleaned up, replacing
the furniture, vacuuming, etc.  This time, it was much more egalitarian,
the men and "boys" pitching in together.

   Then it was time to get dressed and go home.  Coach explained that this
party was an annual affair to which he had felt he had to take me, even
though he hadn't felt I'd been ready for any of the local parties.  He
didn't explain his sense of urgency but I said that I was glad he had taken
me.

   We attended several local "play parties" after that.  During each, I was
part of the entertainment.  Coach would put me through my paces in
different ways.  I was often bound and blindfolded, but I didn't find that
unusual.  I assumed that the same was happening to the other "boys," but
was to learn later that it was not.  I was singled out for special
treatment because Coach was trying to find me another Dom.  The man who was
to be my next mentor and Master was quietly observing me.  He had special
concerns about taking me on and wanted to be certain before he revealed
himself to me.

   Of course, I knew none of this.  At the end of my 10th grade year, when
I was fifteen, Coach told me that he had taken a college coaching job.  I
was crushed.  I talked about visiting him and perhaps attending that
college, but he said "no." He was gentle but firm.  He didn't feel that
continuing our relationship would be practical, and he thought I needed to
"move on." Besides, as a college coach he couldn't have an unrelated high
school kid visiting him.

   I was deeply hurt by his decision at the time, but have come to
understand that he did the right thing.  He behaved like a good Dom.  He'd
trained me.  Taught me all he could.  And it was time for me, and him, to
move on.

   But he did do one last thing for me before he moved away.  He introduced
me to my next Dom.  But that's another story.

   I never saw Coach Duffy again after that year.  I will be eternally
grateful to him for everything he taught me, and for loving me in a very
special way.  He died of AIDS in 1986, like many good men.



   ============================================

   This is the end of the story of Jordy and Coach, his first Dom.  If you
are interested in reading about his experiences with his second Dom, please
email me at jordan.bradders@writeme.com and let me know.

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