Team Entrancement, Parts 1 - 10 by Wrestlr [M/M, MC, hypno] Disclaimer: There's sex, sodomy, and maybe a few other minor perversions in this. If you don't like that sort of thing, read something else. Everybody in the story is legal age. Parts of this story may be autobiographical, or it might be all fiction---who can say? This is a revised, expanded version of my story "Martin and Sean." Is it a sequel to my other story, "Jeremy's Story"? It's true that a few characters from "Jeremy's Story" reappear here, but this is not necessarily a sequel. Copyright - 1999 by Wrestlr. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of (and payment to) the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. Comments to wrestlr@iname.com Wrestlr's fiction is archived at the following URLs: o http://members.tripod.com/~Brock_J (MC and general M/M stories) o /~wrestlr o /~mcstories/Authors/Wrestlr.html * * * Team Entrancement, Parts 1 - 10 1. Martin Somebody said Coach's wife left him. Whatever the reason, he was busting our balls--but good, too. Me, I tried to stay out of his way and not fuck up. He was reaming guys new assholes over just about anything these days. This was my third year on the team here at college, and let me tell you, Coach Bradley wasn't like this at all before. Ballbuster Bradley. That's what we called him. He probably knew it too, and this year he was doing everything he could to surpass that reputation. Sean--he's like my best friend and my roommie as well as my teammate-- said Bradley and his wife had this huge fight right as pre-season practice was starting. He said she walked out on him--took their two little kids and just disappeared. All I knew was something was eating Coach Bradley alive, and he was sure as hell taking it out on us. Snarling and snapping at us, insulting us, blasting us with extra laps around the track for the smallest offenses. Half the team was ready to quit, and the other half, including me, wasn't far behind. News must have gotten back to the administration. Nothing makes the alumni more nervous than a threat to the football season, and nothing makes the administration sit up and take notice faster than something that threatens alumni donations. Anyway, just as suddenly as it started, it was over. I mean, like overnight. Coach was back to his old self. Smiling, laughing, still tough but back to that for-your-own-good kind of tough. Sean said the word had come down from the Board of Trustees, and the president of the university told Coach Bradley to get counseling or get out, immediately. Sean said they sent Coach to a guy in the Psychology department. He said he knew the guy was pretty well because he'd seen him himself some to help him deal with some grief issues after his father died last winter. That surprised me. I knew Sean had taken his father's death hard, but I didn't know he'd been seeing a therapist. Guess that just goes to show you--you can know a guy for years, even share living quarters together, and still not know all his secrets. Plus, I guess it's a man thing, and needing to see a therapist isn't the kind of thing a guy broadcasts to the whole fucking world, right? The counselor must have been really good. Like I said, just like that, it was over and Coach Bradley was back to his old self. Still busting our balls but not out of pure meanness anymore. When the counselor started coming by practice sometimes, I didn't know who he was, not until Sean pointed him out. I thought maybe he was just an alum or an administrator coming by to get the inside scoop on the team's potential. That happens a lot, and we've all learned to ignore people gawking at us during practice. Anyway, he wasn't around all that much at first. I guess I was stupid. Over the next week or so, I didn't see any kind of warnings, and I didn't have Clue 1 that anything was going on. When a guy would miss a day of practice, I didn't think anything about it--it happened sometimes. When I saw Coach Bradley looking kind of glassy- eyed, I just thought he was daydreaming or thinking up some wild new strategy. When I saw one of the guys looking glassy-eyed on the field during practice, I just thought he was focused on something else or was shaken up a little from taking a hard hit. Like I said, I didn't have a clue until it started hitting me in the face. The first time I saw it happen, I couldn't believe it. Hell, I barely even understood what I was seeing until after it was over. It was after practice, and we were all in the locker room changing. Coach Bradley stuck his head out of his office and yelled at Sean to come in there--wasn't unusual at all, since Coach was always calling us in to talk about this or that. Sean had just gotten stripped down to nothing but his jockstrap, but he knew better than to keep Ballbuster Bradley waiting. So he just hustled himself into Coach's office, and Coach shut the door after him. From were I was changing, by the window into Coach's office, I could see them through a gap between the blinds and the wall. That guy that Sean said was from the Psychology department was sitting behind Coach's desk, kicked back. Sean was standing on the other side of the desk, facing him. I could see part of Coach Bradley--he was leaning against that filing cabinet over there. Their mouths moved, but I couldn't hear a thing through the glass. The Psych guy was doing most of the talking. Sean laughed. They seemed to know each other pretty well. I guess I thought it was probably just them shooting the bull or a standard "good practice" pep talk. Sean flexed his shoulder, like it was sore. The Psych guy said something, and Sean said something--probably something like "Oh, just strained it a little in practice today." The Psych dude had something in his hand, and he's turning it over and over. I couldn't see what it was, but Sean was looking at it, real intent. Coach came around the desk. Sean didn't move. Coach stood behind him, started massaging Sean's neck and shoulder, gently, very gently. Sean said something like, "That feels good," but he didn't take his eyes off whatever that Psych dude had in his hand. Coach was standing awfully close to Sean. The Psych dude was leaning forward. He said something, and I saw it begin to happen. Sean's eyelids fluttered, and his head dipped forward, then jerked up, the way a guy's head will do when he's starting to doze off in a really boring lecture. I thought it was kind of weird that Sean would be ozing off while talking to Coach and the other guy. Coach continued to massage his shoulder. Sean's eyes finally shut and his head drooped all the way forward. They stayed there a minute like that, Coach rubbing, the Psych guy saying something, Sean standing there with his head bowed like he was asleep on his feet. This looked kinda ,,, well, hot. Kinda intense and a little erotic, you know? I was starting to get hard just from watching, and I had to hold my towel in front of me to hide it. Sean's hands started to move. He hooked the thumb of his left hand in the waistband of his strap, pulled it down, freeing his cock, already hard. I couldn't believe my fucking eyes! Coach slipped a hand around Sean's ribs and wrapped it around Sean's shaft and began a gentle, slow pumping, milking it like a cow's teat. Sean rocked a little under Coach's motions. It didn't take long--his cock spat out cum like a cobra, hurling rope after rope of cum onto the corner of Coach's desk. Coach pulled back his hand and continued to rub Sean's shoulder. Sean tucked away his softening cock. The Psych dude picked up a paper towel, wiped up the cum from the desk, and dropped the towel into the garbage can. Coach headed back around his desk, stood over by the filing cabinet again. The Psych guy said something to Sean for another moment. Then he snapped his fingers, and that seemed to wake Sean up. His head jerked up, eyes open. Sean grinned, flexed his shoulder, then nodded, like he was saying his shoulder sure felt a lot better. They chatted another minute or two, then Sean left Coach's office, whistling a little tune and grinning this shit-eating grin as he passed me, like nothing had happened but he was really happy for some reason. I showered and dressed in a hurry. Man, I'm not gay or nothing, but I barely managed to keep my cock under control until I got back to the small apartment I shared with Sean. When I opened the door, I saw a line of discarded clothes leading into Sean's bedroom. Obviously, he'd made it home before me somehow. Maybe he skipped showering? I don't know. I followed the line, peeked in through his cracked door. Sean was sprawled out on his back on his bed, taking a nap. He was naked, his hard cock jutting up along one hip. Sean is sandy blond and blue-eyed. He's got handsome All-American looks and this smile that lights up his face. He's about six feet tall and his body is buffed from working out all through high school and college. Wide shoulders and a muscular, smooth chest. I know he doesn't have any trouble with the ladies because he's always going out, though he never seems to keep a chick around for very long. He and I have double-dated a couple of times though, so I know the chicks dig him and he digs them. I never had a clue he was into guys, but he sure had let Coach jack him off with the Psych guy watched. Hell, I didn't know Coach was into guys either. I dig chicks myself, I guess. I had noticed Sean was cute but that was all-- I mean, you can't be on the team with a guy and live with him without checking out his package--but there'd never been any attraction there beyond just friendship. I'd seen him naked a lot, but I'd never seen him hard before, except for earlier in Coach's office. Seeing him on the bed there and seeing his rod made my cock shoot up hard as well. That freaked me out--I was supposed to be straight, right? I backed away quietly, sneaked off to my room. I grabbed a mag from my porn stash and flipped over to my favorite big-titted blonde. But the more I jacked off, the more I was thinking about what I had seen with Sean in Coach's office, not the girl in the magazine. Couldn't get it out of my head. I came like I was having seizures, real intense, and I just lay there for a while, panting, cum all over me, too spent to move. 2. Sean My name is Sean, but you already know that, huh? I'm a pretty normal guy, I think. I like sports a lot--not just football because I play on the team, but all of them--and I've always been athletic. I'm blond and I've got a good build. People say I'm good-looking, but it hasn't gone to my head or nothing. When my father died, that's when it all started. See, my mom left us when I was eleven; she just disappeared and never came back. I guess she couldn't take his drinking anymore. She and my dad, they'd been having some problems. Maybe my dad knew where she went, because he did try to find her, even hired a private investigator, but my dad always said he never could track her down. I barely remember her now. So anyway, my dad raised me on his own, and he was all I had. We never had much, but we got by. When I started getting involved in sports, and I was good at them and played a lot of different ones, my dad would be just about busting with pride at every game. I liked making him happy. When he just up and died, man, it was the worst thing I'd ever felt. Like the fire burned out in me, y'know? I didn't want to eat, or practice, or even get out of bed, but I did, and I kept going and I tried to make sure no one knew what I was going through, not even my best bud and roomie Martin. But when you keep something bottled up inside like that, it's never real good. After a while, I was just a mess. I was thinking things that weren't healthy and for a long time I was thinking like, I'll just tough it out, but everything started going wrong. I was needing some help and I knew it. So I swallowed my pride and got some help. So that's how I got hooked up with Doc. We hit it off from the start. We talked through a lot of my issues. It helped me a lot. But there was always something I couldn't get at no matter how hard I tried. Doc thought it was pretty central, but it was like a blank area for me. That's why Doc suggested it. He wanted to hypnotize me. He had me look at this watch. He didn't swing it, not like they do in movies or that kind of shit. He just held it. It had this real intricate pattern that cut the light into colored patterns. As much as I said I couldn't be hypnotized, he managed to get me right under pretty easy. That surprised me. I was also surprised by how relaxed it made me feel. It helped me relax more than I had in weeks, so I liked that. And focused. It didn't feel anything like I thought it would--just this really relaxed and concentrating feeling. Doc even helped me learn The Words, as I call them, a couple of words he used to put me back under quick when we were talking and he thought we were getting close to that issue I was blocking out. It took us a while before we had a breakthrough, but all of a sudden it was all there. I was under, and I remembered it all. It just opened up inside me. Felt just like it was happening to me right then and there, all over again. I must have been twelve or something like that. It was six or eight months after my mom disappeared. It was Saturday and my dad had been out drinking all night that night and the night before, which was just the way he was. All I remember was I was in my bedroom. I had just discovered jacking off and I was in my bedroom having some fun. I must have been so cross-eyed from the feeling I didn't hear him come in. All I remember was my bedroom door slamming open, and my dad standing there with the light behind him. Since I was sitting there in just my tee-shirt with my briefs around my ankles and my hand around my hard-on, he couldn't miss what I was doing. I tried to scramble away, but my briefs tangled my legs, and my dad grabbed me right up by the scruff of my neck. He was stinking drunk. He told me to get my underpants and tee-shirt off and get up on my hands and knees on the bed. I thought I was going to get whipped, and I was crying and begging him not to and saying how I'd never do it anymore. He got behind me, and his hands were stroking my back and my hair. I heard his clothes rustle, and I heard him spit on something. I was bawling and saying I'd never do it anymore, and he was saying shhh and telling me how much I looked like my mom, I guess 'cause I have blond hair just like hers. He said I better hush 'cause men don't cry, and I should bite the pillow if I needed to. That's when he stuck it in me, and I hollered 'cause it hurt like hell, and he cuffed me one across the back of my head, and I was seeing stars. I didn't connect what he was doing to me with sex at first. All I knew was it hurt like hell, and it was dirty--I was dirty. I thought it was punishment at first, like some new kind of whipping. He was grunting and telling me how sexy I was and calling me my mom's name. His big ol' cock up in my ass kept hitting this place, and after I got used to it I kept seeing stars of a different kind. I must've cum at least twice. I mean, really cum. My dick was still hard when he moaned like he was hurting. He shoved it in hard, real hard, a last time or two, then his whole weight fell across my back, slamming me down on the mattress. I figured that was it, and I was really going to get the shit beat outta me now, but he just pulled out, pulled up his pants, and staggered out. I remembered huddling there in my bed and crying myself to sleep. Next morning when I saw him, my dad was like nothing happened. Maybe he didn't remember, since he'd been so shit-faced drunk. He asked why I was limping, and I made up something about how I must've hurt myself playing some football with my friends the day before. He said football was a damn fine game, make a man out of me. When Doc woke me up, I was crying, just like it had just happened, and my ass hurt and it all came flooding back to me. Doc helped me deal with it. He helped me turn my life around, starting right then and there. No matter what happened, I knew he had my best interests at heart. And if I didn't always remember what we did in those sessions, or if sometimes I got a phone call late at night and all I heard was his voice saying The Words, it was all part of his way of helping me get my life and my game in gear. So when Coach Bradley's wife left him and he started taking it out on us, and I saw Coach at that bar near campus, drunk and holding that picture of her and crying into his beer, I told him to give Doc a call. Doc helped Coach just like he helped me, and we all saw the change in the Coach almost immediately. 3. Martin Sean was getting really good this year. Sure, he'd been good last year, but this year he was really good. It was like watching a totally different guy out there. He was making plays like he could do them in his sleep, even a lot of shit he'd never been able to do last year. He wasn't showing off either--he was just a helluva lot better than he used to be. We were in the locker room after practice, after our showers. Five of us-- Sean, me, Hec, Scott, and Will. Sean had done this wild-ass catch today, then he got around an opposing player with this twisting turn no one should have had the balls to make, and he slammed it all the way to the end zone for the points. We were ragging him about it, calling it luck, but the truth is we were all jealous as fuck. "Not luck, dudes; it was skill, all skill," Sean was saying as he pulled on his jeans. "Just admit it: I've gotten better than all you losers." We all laughed at that, but maybe we were afraid he had gotten better than us. It wasn't just this one play. He was a lot more confident on the field lately. So Will was wrestling his way into his tee-shirt, and he asked the question we were all thinking: "Yeah? How'd you get so good all of a sudden? This time last year, you weren't that kind of hot shit out there." Sean paused like he was considering it. "I got an ace now, something I didn't have last year." Hec chimed in with: "Yeah? Whazzat?" "I've learned how to concentrate better, that's all. It's a mental thing." Hec laughed. "Yeah? Well, concentrate on dis," and he flipped Sean the finger. We all laughed. "No, really," Scott said as he tied his shoe. "How did you get so good out there?" Where Hec was the cut-up among us, Scott was more like me, a little more serious about the game. Sean hesitated. "Well ... you know Dr. Clay?" That was the name of that guy from the Psychology Department who'd been hanging around. "Yeah?" "He's been helping me with some visualization techniques. You know, helping me learn to concentrate, shut out distractions, and picture the whole move in my mind before I do it. I think it's working okay for me out there." Hec exaggerated his words the way he does when he's making a joke. "Yeah? Vizyullization? What's up widdat?" Sean got a little defensive. "It's a proven tool, okay? It's like a kind of self-hypnosis but not exactly." "Hypnosis? You vizyullize y'rself crowing like a chick'n or sum'thin'?" Hec burst out laughing and Scott, Will, and I kind of joined in. "Listen, it's serious, okay? And it works. I'm proof of that. You can't argue with the results--you've seen them yourself. I got a real shot at the pros now." I guess he had us there; he had gotten a hell of a better somehow since last year. Hec said, "You gotta be shittin' us, dude." "Nope, I'm straight up with you," Sean said. Scott: "So ... would it work for me too?" Hec: "Yeah! How do I get me a piece of dis?" "You'd have to talk about that with Dr. Clay. I guess it might work for you. He says it doesn't work for everybody though. Or I guess I could ask him for you--I'm on my way to his office next." Hec said, "Well, hell, let's all go ask him. Right? Am I right?" Hec had this way about him--he could say things like that, and suddenly you'd find yourself being talked into something you'd never do on your own. Scott and Will were kind of iffy about it, but Hec kept saying "us, us, us," and the next thing I know, all five of us were walking across campus to the Psychology Building. We climbed up the stairs to the top floor. The Psych Building's laid out like a labyrinth, like one of those mazes they make mice run through to get the little piece of cheese. We wound our way around corridors. I would have sworn we were lost and entering a part of the building where nobody else ever went--it was quiet and I didn't see anyone else anywhere. But Sean knows where he's going. And someone inside said, "Come in," when he knocked. The first thing I see when we open the door is the far wall is nearly all windows. There's sunlight flooding in. All I can see of the guy sitting at the desk is his silhouette. We all filed in, and I shut the door behind us. Sean introduced us, and Dr. Clay shook our hands. He seemed glad to see us, almost like he was expecting us. He told us to pull up some chairs and have a seat, and we did. Hec was all over him with questions about "vizyullization," and Dr. Clay kept answering him with careful, measured tones. He sure seemed to know a lot about it. His expertise and his smooth voice kind of took some of the nervous edge off us. He was sitting on the edge of his desk in front of us. At some point, he picked up this little purple velvet pouch off his desk, though I couldn't tell what was inside it. He kept telling us about athletes he'd worked with before, the kind of results they got. I recognized plenty of the names too. "The human mind is a fascinating thing," he was saying. "And the athlete's mind in particular. Properly trained, it can make the difference between a talented player and a winner." He paused and looked right at me, and I could practically feel his eyes daring me to look away, "Do you want to be a winner, Martin?" It seemed like a dumb question. I said, "Well, yeah." He looked at Scott. "What about you, Scott?" "Yeah, I guess so. I mean, yes, I do." "Will?" "Yeah, of course I do." "Hec?" Hec shrugged. "Uh huh. I gotta make the pros--that's my ticket out." "Well, here's a news flash. Every member of the other team wants to be a winner too. Problem is, not everybody has what it takes to win. Everybody wants to be a winner, but only some people are winners." He paused to let that sink in. He looked right at Hec and said, "So I guess you're wondering what the next step is, aren't you?" "Yeah, I--" "The next step is for me to see if I can help turn you into a winner, Hec. And you, Will. And you, Scott." He looked right back at me. "And you, Martin." I said, "How--" Doc interrupted me with, "Shhh." I didn't like getting cut off like that, but I didn't say anything. I was pretty sure I was going to dislike this guy. He pulled something out of the pouch. Something round and metallic, some kind of pattern etched into it. The edges of the lines cut the sunlight into golden fire, like a prism or the back of a CD. "Have you ever heard of hypnosis, gentlemen? It's a very old and respected tool with a long history of helping athletes visualize themselves into winners." Hec said, "Yeah, we heard--" Doc's voice was smooth and deep, soothing as slumber: "Take a look at this." He held up the metallic thing from the pouch, held it up into the sunlight spilling through the window. It was a pocket watch of some kind- -larger than most, maybe a good five inches across. Gold or something like it, and highly polished. As it turned at the end of this little chain, the edges caught the light. The cover was engraved with this really intricate design; then the cover rotated into the light, the lines broke the glare like a prism, into a spray of reds and oranges and yellows, greens and blues and purples and white. His voice was low and even, purring like quiet music. "Hypnosis and visualization are not about watching the swinging coin. They're about focus. All you need is something to focus on. Just a focus." The deeper into the center of the pattern I tried to look, the deeper in it seemed to go, like there was always something else further in, just a little further in ... Dr. Clay snapped his fingers. "Wake up, guys." I blinked. Huh? What was that? I'd gotten kind of slouched down in my chair, so I sat up. I looked around. The rest of the guys were blinking and sitting up too. What was that all about? Dr. Clay slipped the watch back into its velvet pouch. "See? There's nothing to it. It's all about focus." I yawned. My body felt good, sluggish and relaxed, like I'd been asleep. The sun seemed lower too. Dr. Clay said, "Gentlemen, I'd love to continue this, but Sean and I have work to do. I'll be touch with each of you soon to set up individual training sessions." Dismissed, Will, Scott, Hec, and I shuffled out into the hall, leaving Sean in Dr Clay's office. We all looked a little sheepish, because none of us really knew what had just happened, any maybe we all felt a little foolish that he was able to catch us off-guard like that. We didn't talk much about it; we just headed to our favorite hang-out like usual, bullshitting about the team and about the girls we were going to do that weekend, like nothing had just happened. 4. Sean I knew what was happening. They didn't. It went down just like Dr. Clay told me it would. When I started dropping all these hints about how visualization got me up to pro quality, sure they were interested. Hec was the key--as long as I had him hooked, the others would follow too. He's a natural ringleader, and Doc told me just how to reel him in. It was a lot easier than I thought. I still wasn't sure why I couldn't just invite them to Doc's office, but he said it was better if they thought it was their idea from the get-go. He had had some problems at a school where he'd taught previously, and he wasn't eager to have to go through that again. So, fine--I played it Doc's way. When we got to Doc's office, he was in control from the start. He started telling them about it, just like he did with me the first time, way back then. Hec tried to get his two cents in and take charge like usual, but Doc kept shutting him down. Doc called it "neuro-linguistic programming techniques applied to alpha-male dominance dynamics," which is basically a fancy way of saying he did a lot of subliminal things with his words and voice that got Hec and the others to recognize that Doc was in charge. The others never gave him any trouble; I had thought Martin might, but he just sat there and took it all in. Anyway, once Doc made it clear he was running the show, it was all smooth sailing. He hauled out that watch and started talking about focusing. That was my cue to close my eyes and think about something else. Doc had promised me I could watch. They never saw it coming. Maybe they thought it would be like the hypnosis you see on TV or in the movie. They never thought it would creep up on you. They never thought it would be subtle, like that feeling of concentration when you're really engrossed in a TV show or a book or something. He talked them down gently. Once I missed his initial induction, I could sit back and watch as their expressions went slack, their glazed eyes closed, their heads bobbed and eventually slumped forward into sleep. Pretty soon they were following his instructions as he ran them through a series of tests and deepening exercises: arms lifting, feeling very warm, then very cold. That sort of thing. I wanted him to do more, go further, but Doc had this real clear agenda about that. He was going to take it slow. Easy tests for their first time, all the while telling them how good they felt, how much they enjoyed it, how easy it would be for them to come back to this relaxed, focused place in the future. Do it gradually and reel them in a little at a time. He wasn't going to repeat his previous mistakes. 5. Martin I answered the phone. A familiar purr in my ear: "Martin, this is Dr. Clay." "Hey. How's it--" "Martin, I want you to come by my office now, please." "Now?" I glanced at a clock: 8:35 p.m. "Yes, now. I'll expect you by 9:00 sharp." "But--" "Martin, listen to me," Doc said. "Focus on my voice." He said something else, and then I heard his next words like striking an anvil in my head. "Come--to--my--office--by--9:00." "... yessir ..." Was that my voice, so soft and far away? "Good boy, Martin. Now hang up and get over here." I put the phone down. I thought to myself, I guess it wouldn't hurt to go see Dr. Clay again--he seemed pretty cool this afternoon. So I pulled on some shoes and a tee-shirt, and that's what I did. Since I lived just a few blocks off-campus, I walked. Didn't take too long, less than fifteen minutes, I think. As I was heading up the steps of the Psych Building, the door opened and Hec burst out, grinning ear to ear. "Oh, hey, Martin," he said when he saw me. He was beaming, in a great mood. "Gonna up ta see the Doc?" "Yeah, he called me." "Yeah, I was just up there. He's pretty cool, for a faculty dude." Hec smacked me on the shoulder as he swaggered past. "Listen, I won't hold ya up, dude. See ya at practice tomorrow!" He headed off into the night, whistling a happy tune to himself. I went up and wound my way through the halls to Dr. Clay's office. His door was open. "Martin! Come on in," he called out to me, sounding real happy to see me. "Right on time--I like that." "Hey, Dr. Clay." "No need to be so formal. My friends call me Doc. We're friends, aren't we, Martin?" "Uh, yeah ... I guess so." He pushed the door shut behind me. "You guess so? Trust me, Martin-- after tonight, we're going to be good friends. Very good friends." He stood close to me, closer than my personal space would have liked, and that made me kind of edgy at first, but I took a deep breath and then that was okay. He was looking me right in the eye, and I was looking back. His one hand on my shoulder. His fingertips stroked my muscles gently but firmly, in slow, even motions. His voice was a low, steady drone. "I know, as an athlete, you like to be in control and call the shots. But I also know how much you like to give up that control sometimes and just relax and groove. Remember this afternoon? You gave up control this afternoon. Remember how good it felt? When I hypnotized you? You were able to focus and just relax and let go. Remember?" "... yeah ..." It was a real effort an answer. My voice felt so quiet and distant. His fingers continued to stroke my shoulder, in deep, even motions. "You were so very relaxed. You're feeling that way again. So pleasant and so relaxed. The same way you felt this afternoon when you let me hypnotize you. You're letting me hypnotize you again now, aren't you?" "... yeah ..." "Because it feels so good. You like feeling this relaxed, this deeply relaxed, don't you? Just let your thoughts drift back to this afternoon, Martin. Just listening to my voice helps you go back to that pleasantly relaxed feeling you felt this afternoon, doesn't it, Martin? The feeling you got when you were hypnotized. The feeling you're getting again now. So relaxed. Body so heavy. So relaxed. Getting so hard to think clearly. Like you're drifting off to sleep, drifting back into that pleasant state of hypnosis." I was finding it hard to think. Much easier to just let my thoughts go. I was looking right into his eyes; I was blinking a lot but I couldn't seem to make my eyes focus clearly. My body felt pleasantly loose, and I was very conscious of his fingertips gently stroking my shoulder, back and forth, back and forth. "You remember what it felt like to be hypnotized, don't you? It was a wonderful feeling, and you're feeling it come over you again now. Yes, it feels so good, so very relaxing. Yes. Just focusing on my voice helps you remember, and helps you feel that way again. I can see you remember how good it felt. To be so very deeply hypnotized. Just easily, easily letting go and doing what I tell you to do. I see you remember how good that felt. Yes, its all coming back to you now, isn't it? Such a relaxed and drowsy feeling. Your eyelids feel so heavy, so very, very heavy; they could close at any time now." My eyes did feel heavy. I could hardly keep them open. "But before your eyes close, let's walk over to this chair, Martin. That's it. Sit down. You eyes feel so heavy. You want to let them close and go into a very deep sleep. Just let them close. So easy. Letting them close helps you feel even better. And you go so much deeper. That's it." 6. Sean Martin was my price. Doc had me so deep, I wasn't thinking about consequences and shit like that. Instead, he told me that if I brought Hec and a couple of my other friends from the team to him, he'd give me Martin. Told me he'd fix it so Martin would do whatever I wanted. Man, I gotta tell you, I'm not made of stone. That was all I ever wanted. How could I say no? When Martin left a little before 9:00, I knew where he was going. I didn't know how long it would take. I didn't even know if Doc would be able to do it--he warned me sometimes it wouldn't happen right away. But I waited up until Martin got back. I was on the couch. It was getting late, and I had class in the morning. I was thinking of packing it in for the night, but the idea that maybe, just maybe--well, it wouldn't have let me sleep even if I tried. So instead I read an article in a sports magazine for the second time while some action flick played on cable in the background. Martin came in around 2:30 a.m. Doc must have had to work him an extra-long time. Martin looked kind of dazed, out of it, like maybe he was still under Doc's influence a little and not completely woke up yet. Anyway, I tried to play it cool and not let on how wired I was. "Hi, Martin. You were sure out late." His voice was kind of quiet. "I ... yeah ..." Doc told me just what to do, so I did it. I stood up and pulled off my shirt, trying to act cool about it. "Well, I guess it's nearly time for bed." I flexed a little, like I was stretching. "What do you think--do I have a nice chest? Do you like my chest, Martin? Do you like what you see?" Martin's eyes were glued to my chest. They looked more glassy than before. "Like what you see, Martin?" That was supposed to be the key phrase. I popped open the fly on my jeans and slid them down. I had an erection. Martin could sure see it through my white briefs. "Take a good look at me, Martin. Like what you see?" Martin's expression was groggy, going slack. I stepped out of my jeans. My erection was real obvious in my briefs. "Like what you see? Come over here, Martin." He sleepwalked over to me, not taking his eyes off mine. "That's it. Like what you see? Of course you do. Let me see your chest, Martin. Take off your shirt for me." Martin's hands rose slowly, and he pulled off his tee-shirt. Where I'm blond and my chest is smooth, Martin is dark and hairy. Very hairy. I eased my briefs down to mid-thigh, letting my erection bounce up into the space between us. I couldn't believe this was really happening, but it was. Doc sure did know his business. I said, "Like what you see, Martin? Just relax and go with the flow." I put my hands on his shoulders and pressed downward. "Get on your knees for me, Martin." He yielded and knelt. My dick was an inch from his face, and I eased my hips forward until it touched his lips. "Like what you see? I'm very horny, Martin, and I know you'd really like to help me out. We're buds, Martin. Nothing wrong with helping a bud get some relief." Martin's eyes never left mine. "Like what you see? Open your mouth, Martin. I'm very horny, and so are you. I want you to suck on it, just a little, Martin." Martin's mouth opened and my rigid cock slipped inside. Fit like a glove. Martin began to run his lips up and down my shaft. Kind of amateurish--I guess maybe he never did this before--but he was doing it now. I nearly busted my nut right then. "Like what you see? Are you hard, Martin? I bet you are. I bet you need some relief too. Pull down your shorts, Martin. I want you to jack off while you blow me." 7. Martin It was like some dream. You know the kind where you're kind of aware what's going on but there's nothing you can do to stop it, and it doesn't matter what happens 'cause you know it's just a dream? That's what it felt like. I wasn't sure where I'd been. One minute I was in Doc's office, and the next I'm walking through our front door again. Sean was sprawled out there on the couch, and the moment I saw him it was like ... damn!--like I never saw anyone so beautiful before in my life. I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was saying something, but I didn't catch a word of it. Then he stood up and took off his shirt. Oh, man! He was so ... so frickin' beautiful--there's no other word for it. I'd never had the guts to do anything with a guy before then, not even back in high school, but right then I couldn't stop myself. I knew Sean was cute but how could I have not seen how incredibly attractive Sean was before then? I walked over to him. He was saying something else, but I couldn't take my eyes off his chest, the way his muscles moved under his smooth, smooth skin. Then he took off his pants. I looked him right in the eye. He was looking right back. He kept saying something, but I didn't care what. All I cared about was how right this felt, like it was something that was supposed to happen and I'd been somehow expecting it, and now here it was. No one around but Sean and me. No danger. No fear. I took off my shirt too. He looked down at my chest and smiled, but I couldn't take my eyes off his. When he put his hands on my shoulders and tried to force me down, I hesitated. I'd never done this before, though I sure wanted to right then. But this was Sean, and I wanted to make him feel good 'cause we're friends. So when he poked at my mouth with his cock, I opened up and let him put it in my mouth. His was uncut, like mine, though a little longer than mine. And his balls with that silky blond hair on them. I pulled the front of my gym shorts down, my underwear too, and wrapped my hand around my cock. It's only average length, but it always works just right. I tried my best to give Sean the best blow-job I could, and I jacked myself off at the same time. Sean came first. All of a sudden, there's this salty, bitter taste in my mouth, and I didn't like it, but I knew what it was. I wanted to make Sean feel good, so I swallowed it. Sean took a step back that pulled his cock out of my mouth. He watched me jack myself off, and I spurted my load on the floor. 8. Coach "Ballbuster" Bradley I guess the problem was I never thought of them as real people with real lives. I always thought of them as players, game pieces to move here and there and do whatever it takes to win. Weapons to be used against the other team. What they did outside of practice or the games, I didn't want to know about. Their personal lives always seemed to be full of nothing but excuses for fucking up or not giving a hundred and ten percent. "But Coach, I got a hangover today," or "but Coach, my girlfriend broke up with me yesterday," that kind of shit just didn't cut it for me. At all. Leave your personal lives outside, I used to tell them, You want to be on this team, you're mine for the rest of the season. That changed when she left me. Just up and left. Took the babies with her. Most of the furniture too. She moved out and disappeared in an afternoon, so I know she's been planning it for a while. She left a note. Said she was tired of coming in last place behind my career and win record. The usual "Don't try to find me" crap. Said she even gave me extra innings but I never managed to kick the extra points. My first reaction was, Stupid cunt can't even get the sports right. So at first I was glad she was gone. That lasted about an hour. Then I looked around that near-empty house, and I guess I saw she was right about some things. I had my shot, and I blew it. Maybe I never reached out to her, but I always knew she was there. So after she left--when she wasn't there no more--I started reaching out instead for the booze. Drinking alone. That got me through the first couple of nights of sleeping on the floor--she took the bed and the couch, the selfish bitch--but that big, empty house just seemed to get bigger and emptier. So I started going out and drinking at bars. Yeah, like that solved anything. The bitches there were too stuck-up to even talk to me for long. I mean, I'm a good-looking guy, I got a job and a house, I'm good in bed--what more do they want? I never drank at work. That's one thing I'll always be able to hold up my head about. But truth is, I missed my wife and my kids, and I took it out on the team. After a while, I missed the bottle too, since I didn't touch a drop when I was at the school, and I took that out on the guys too. The President and the Dean gave me an ultimatum: Shape up, or ship out. Plain and simple. Trouble was, I'd been treating everyone like a game piece so long I didn't even know how to treat them any different. I didn't know how to treat myself any different. That night I went to a bar again. People around let me think I wasn't alone, but I was. I was sitting quietly at my end of the bar, getting drunk again. All of them had their lives--they were laughing with their friends, or picking up a new friend. Me, I had my best friend in a glass in front of me. That's when Sean appeared in the seat next to me. It must have been early still. I would have given him shit about being in a bar and drinking when he was supposed to be in training, but he ordered juice, and anyway I was glad to see someone familiar, even if I didn't know him that well outside of practice. There's that stereotype that drunks in bars always spill their business to anyone who will listen, and Sean listened. I ran down the list and then went down it all again, just in case I missed something the first time. Sean kind of interrupted me. "Listen, would you be willing to talk to this friend of mine in the Psychology Department? He's a really good listener, and he might be able to help." "I don't need ... no shrink." "I didn't say he was a shrink. He's a friend. I think you could use one right about now." "I guess so." "C'mon--let's get out of here." Sean put a bill in the bartender's tip jar. I tried to stand up, but I was a little worse off than I thought, even more than usual. Sean had to help me walk out. I thought we were heading to the car, but he took me across the street, to the school. I asked where we were heading and he said to see his friend. I tried to push off and I said I wanted to go home instead, but Sean was insistent. He didn't let me go. He's a strong guy, and a good player, and I guess I trained him pretty well, because he kept us heading for the Psych Building. He introduced me to this Dr. Clay. They poured me into a chair, poured me a cup of decaf. Nasty stuff, but I drank it. Doc and I talked. And talked. And talked. After a while I started sobering up. We talked for maybe three hours, with a couple of breaks to let the booze and coffee out of my nagging bladder. Sean didn't say anything the whole time--he just sat off to the side and listened to the Doc and me. I came back from a pee break. It must have been near midnight at least, and I was feeling pretty close to sober now, and more than a little embarrassed at myself. There was classical music playing very soft and low from somewhere. Doc asked me if I was feeling better, and I nodded, said yeah, I was. He said he had something he wanted to try, something that would help me relax and get past the pain so I could start concentrating on getting my life back in order. Was I willing to try it? I told him, fuck, that's why I'd been going to bars, and we all laughed. I figured it couldn't hurt, so I said sure. We sat in chairs facing each other. Sean was there too, sitting off to one side quietly. As Doc was getting settled, he said, "Do you mind the music? I find it very soothing very relaxing." "It's fine," I said, suddenly remembering it. I don't much care for classical music--it always seems like elevator music to me--and this was so soft I didn't have any trouble ignoring it. Doc switched on a desk light, then flipped off the cheap overhead florescent lights. The room plunged into a dim burnished glow from the desk lamp. "I want you to know there's no need to be nervous, okay?" "Sure." We talked some more about other stuff. Doc smiled a lot, and I felt pretty comfortable around him. He asked some questions and got me talking about my life, the parts not about my wife and our relationship. Stuff like, where I was from originally. How I got involved in sports. How I got into coaching. I was feeling much more relaxed, and Doc observed, "You seem a lot more comfortable now than when you first came in." "Yeah, I guess I got kinda fucked-up earlier. Thanks for talking me through it." "I understand," Doc said. He was smiling, looking me straight in the eyes. He took something from a deep purple pouch of some thick cloth--velvet, maybe? A round gold disk. He handed it to me and I turned it over in my hands. Kind of like a pocket watch but bigger, a chain fastened to a fob on one end. One side was etched with this design, the lines so sharp they shone with color even in this dim light. Real intricate and detailed, especially toward the center. Something about the pattern was drawing me in. Doc was droning on. "Sometimes talking to someone is just what you need. Just talking to someone can make you feel so comfortable, so relaxed. And I bet the music has helped, though you've probably forgotten it was even there. I know how that is--you can be so engrossed in someone, or something, and you just focus on it and forget about everything else in the background." "Yeah?" I wasn't paying much attention to him, I guess. I was trying to find the center of the design, but it seemed the further in I looked, the further away it got, always a little out of my reach. "That's a really intricate design, isn't it? Just study it for a moment. It's very detailed. Great craftsmanship. I bet you didn't know there's a story being told in that design. Just concentrate on it for a moment. Just shut out everything else and study it. Follow it toward the center. And the story it's telling. Focus on it. You can almost begin to see the story now, can't you. Yes. Just let everything else fade into the background and focus on the pattern. On the story. Just focus. It's about a man. A man lost in a maze. That's right--just focus, just relax. The man is all alone in the maze. You can see it now, can't you? Yes, just focus on the pattern. The maze is a very quiet place, so peaceful, so serene. He hears a voice, a deep, soft voice calling to him, leading him deeper toward the center of the maze. And he goes toward the voice. Deeper and deeper into the peaceful, dark maze he follows the voice, and he goes deeper ... and deeper ... and deeper." Doc's voice was falling so soft and deep I had listen carefully to hear it. "Yes, there is only the voice and the maze." The room was pretty dim, but I couldn't stop blinking my eyes. And I couldn't even keep them open all the way. "Very soothing," Doc continued. "Very soothing to just close your eyes and listen to the voice, my voice. Isn't it?" "Yeah," I said. My voice sounded really sleepy, and I felt really sleepy. "That's so good. I know how relaxed you are. Your eyes look so heavy. I bet you're having trouble keeping them open. That's okay. Whenever you want, just let your heavy eyes close. It's okay if you want to just let go and sleep. Just let go. Just sleep. Just follow deeper and deeper into my voice, and let your heavy, heavy eyes close, and sleep. Deep ... deep sleep." I guess I dozed off for a while then. I had a dream. I opened my eyes. My pants were open and my cock was hard. Sean was kneeling between my knees, blowing me. Blond hair, just like my wife's. The more I looked, I thought it was my wife kneeling there, giving me head just the way I like it. Better, in fact, the best mouth-job ever. Sean, my wife, I didn't care who it was as long as he kept making me feel this good. Then I blew my load and sank back into a sound sleep, until my alarm went off and I found myself back in my own house. I was all set to write it off as a dream--I mean, I had gotten shit-faced drunk the night before--when Doc shows up at my office. He says he's got a proposition for me and asks if I'd noticed how good Sean had gotten since last year. I'm thinking, when a good player turns into a great player almost overnight, how could a coach not notice? Doc says he can do that to the other team members, and am I interested? Shit, what coach wouldn't be? As long as it doesn't involve steroids or illegal stuff like drugs, I'm willing to listen. He asked who I thought had the most potential, and I said it was Hec and Martin. Hec had the makings of a pro, but he was too interested in grandstanding and calling attention to himself to live up to his potential as part of the team. Martin, he just had a motivation problem--he had the talent but he didn't work as hard as he could at using it. Sean, and Martin, Hec, and a couple of their buddies--they're this little clique of five who need someone to really get them up off their asses. Doc offered me a proposition. If I let him work with the five of them and didn't say a word about anything I saw or heard, he'd give me five world- class players. And if that worked, then we'd talk about the rest of the team. As an incentive, he'd also make sure I got plenty more of what I got the night before. I'd be lying if I said my cock didn't jump, remembering, when he said that. But to tell you the truth, just looking into his eyes and listening to his soothing, deep voice made me feel so relaxed and pleasant that I would have agreed to just about anything, even without his incentives. We shook on it. After that, I don't remember what happened the rest of that day. 9. Martin Practice went great. It was like from the moment I set foot out there I knew exactly what I should do, exactly where everyone would be, exactly how to do everything. I felt this calm, collected feeling come over me, and I just let it. It let me focus past every distraction and handle every situation perfectly. Practice drills? Ran through them like clockwork. Everything went my way. Will and Scott, they were having a great day too. And Hec--usually he's out there showing off and generally getting in the way nearly as much as he's contributing. This time, though, he was right in the pocket where he should have been, every time. Sean, Will, Scott, Hec, and me, we tore up the place. Like we were in synch somehow and able to play off each other almost by instinct. Back in the locker room after practice, right as I was coming out of the showers and wrapping my towel around my hips, Coach stuck his head out of his office and yelled, "Martin! In here, now." "On my way, Coach. Gimme a sec." "Now!" I changed course right away. In Coach's office, Doc was sitting behind the desk. Coach closed the door behind me, then leaned off to one side against a filing cabinet. He looked a little funny, like his attention was focused on something else or he was lost in a daydream or something. Doc was toying with something round and purple. I remembered seeing it before. He said, "You had a really great practice today, Martin. Coach and I wanted to congratulate you on your improvement." He pulled that watch out of the purple pouch. He turned it over and over in his hands. The pattern caught the light and drew my eyes in. I couldn't look away. I didn't want to. "A good hard practice like that must leave you very tired. That's okay. There's a time to work hard, and there's a time to relax. Now's the time to relax, don't you think? It feels so good to relax." I couldn't look away from the pattern, the way it sucked at my head, sucked my thoughts in. Hands on my shoulders. Coach's hands. Kneading deep into my muscles. The heat of his body nearly touching mine from behind. I felt this pleasant lethargy steal through me: a warm, weary feeling like I was too comfortable to move. Or just didn't want to. I moaned in spite of myself. Some part of me realized this seemed very familiar. Where had I seen something like this happen before? But it was so difficult to think clearly- -so much easier to just let go and ride the pleasantly heavy feeling that was numbing my head. Doc leaned forward. He said something I didn't catch, something that slipped away from me when I tried to dwell on it. My eyelids were so heavy, blinking rapidly. I couldn't keep them open for long. My head lolled forward a bit, then jerked up. I felt so drowsy. My eyes shut, and my head sagged all the way forward. I was floating in a comfortable dreamlike place. I felt my towel being unknotted, felt it slide from my hips. I felt Coach's hand coast around my ribcage and wrap it around my hard dick and begin this sweet, sweet pumping, so slow and gentle. I couldn't hold out for long. I felt my orgasm ripple through me like wavelets on a placid lake surface. I let the ripples carry me deeper into this dream place. A dream. That's what it had to be. I jerked my head up. I was still standing in front of Coach's desk, Doc seated there, Coach leaning against the filing cabinet. Towel snuggly knotted around my waist. Doc was congratulating me on practice like nothing had happened. There was no cum on the desk, but my body had that excellent just-cum afterglow all over. I felt really happy, glowing from Doc's praise. It wasn't until later, after I'd dressed and gone home, that I realized how close what happened to me had been to that scene before with Sean in Coach's office. 10. Hec No, man, it's just Hec. Not Hector, no shit like dat--just Hec. Like "give 'em heck," y'know? 'Cause when there's heck to be given, I'm all over it. Okay, okay, I'll "talk English," fucker. Martin and Sean? Way cool, I guess, for white dudes. Scott's cool, for'n Irish boy. He digs at my last frickin' nerve sometimes with all that middle class crap about workin' hard 'n getting ahead they shoved waaay up his ass when he was a kid, but he's cool. Will, he's Hispanic--he's cool too but sometimes I gotta remind him his brown skin ain't makin' him no brutha like me. Me, I'm gonna make the damn pros. Just watch me. I got the moves, 'n all I need is to catch some attention. Yeah, Sean told us 'bout his friend. Yeah--Doc--that's the one. First, when Sean was laying out what Doc done for him, I thought it was a load'a bull, y'know? Plus when we first met up with him, I was all set to hate him the way he kept interrupting me 'n shit. But Doc was on the up-'n-up. He sure delivered for me. That other stuff, the sex stuff? That's water under the bridge now. Maybe I wouldn't'a done it normally, but you can't argue with the results, right? Am I right? 'Course I'm right. Anyway, after that first time when we all went ov'r to Doc's, I started seein' him real regular. Think he took a shine to me. I knew 'bout the others was seein' him too. That's cool, y'know? If the team does better, that means more agents comin' 'n seein' me. Annnnyhoo, we was in the locker room after practice, getting' changed back into our regular civvies. I was seeing results in my game right off-- we all was--which is how I knew Doc know his shit. It was Scott, Will, Sean, and me. Martin was still in the showers. We was nearly dressed, just hangin' 'round and shootin' the shit 'bout practice while we waited for Martin. I said, "Man, that run I made to the end, that had'ta be Doc. Had'ta be! No fuckin' way I coulda made it 'round those guys otherwise." Will asked, "What you mean?" "That catch just weren't natural. No way anyone shoulda been able to make it. But it felt natural 'n so I went for it, 'n it was right there in my arms." I called out toward the office. "Thanks, Doc!" and we all laughed. Martin came over, pulled the towel from 'round his waist, started drying hisself off. Man, dude's one hairy muthafucker. I caught myself checkin' out his ass, then I thought, Where the fuck is that comin' from? 'Cause I never looked at no guy's ass before. But I sure had been checkin' Martin's out, 'n wonderin' what it would feel like, 'n guess what? I kind of liked it too. We were alone in the locker room, except for Doc and Coach Bradley, but they was back in Coach's office. Sean gave me this wink. Did he catch me checkin' out Martin's butt? Shit! "That's not all," Sean said. "Doc's got some other stuff that's pretty wild." "Yeah?" I said. "Like what?" "Watch this." Sean pulled off his shirt. "Hey, Martin! "Like what you see, Martin?" Okay, I didn't know what was supposed to happen, but Martin, he gets this real ... I dunno--glazed? A real glazed look on his face. He's drying his chest, and his hands kind of grind to a halt. He's staring at Sean like he can't take his eyes off him. Sean popped open his jeans and unzipped. He said it again, like he din't know if Martin heard him. "Like what you see, Martin?" What the fuck was going on here? The towel fell out of Martin's hands. He din't seem to notice. He was getting semi-hard too. Just standing there, starin' at Sean, getting' wood, acting like I don't know what. "Like what you see, Martin?" Sean pushed his pants down, underwear too, 'n his cock was half-hard already. There was this sex vibe in the air, 'n I started catchin' it too, 'cause my cock was startin' on the rise. Right then I thought it was just 'cause I was a horn-dog or som'thing. I din't know 'bout the other stuff 'til later. I never got wood for no guy before. Sean said it again. "Like what you see, Martin?" Martin took a step toward Sean. I could tell he was fightin' it, but I din't know 'xactly what "it" was yet. "Don't fight it, Martin. Doc's hold is too strong. Just let it happen. Like what you see, Martin?" Martin took another step, then another, then he was there. He went down on his knees, then he went down on Sean. Fuck! I nearly shit when he did that! Martin turning fag for Sean? No fuckin' way! But I saw it with my own eyes ... Martin givin' Sean a hummer. I had this feeling in the back of my head. I knew if I just gave in 'n relaxed 'n let that feeling take over, ever'thing would be cool. It felt like sinking. This relaxin' calm feelin' all over. I gave my cock a squeeze through my denim shorts. Scott and Will? They was gawkin' at Martin too. But when I looked over at them, I felt ... I dunno ... like some kind of connection. When Will looked over at me 'n gave hisself a grope too, all I felt was ... shit, I dunno ... like I done this before. I stood up 'n shoved down my shorts. Ain't no better goods to have than a good face, a six-pack of abs, and a hard dick, 'n man, I got the goods. My meat was standing proud 'n ready for some attention. Will licked his lips, then he put them on my dick. Man, I nearly jumped out of my skin 'cause it just felt so right. Scott worked open Will's pants 'n started in on blowing Will real slow 'n sweet while he jerked hisself off. Coach stuck his head out of his office. Doc too. "Holy shit," Coach said. "You weren't kidding." "Just boys relaxing and blowing off steam." Doc's rich voice filled my head like velvet. "Coach, you need to relax too. Wouldn't that feel nice?" Coach sounded rattled. "Huh? ... yeah ..." "Just relax. Why don't you go get a piece of the action? I know you'd like that." "... yeah ..." Coach came over to us like he was in a trance. He pulled off his shirt 'n he dropped his shorts. Sean took one look at Coach's boner, 'n his eyes kind of glazed over like the rest of us, 'n he bent over to blow Coach Bradley while Martin blew him. Doc din't come any closer, but he din't have to. His voice carried right through me. It carried me right through this. "That's right. Relax and make each other feel good. So easy just to help each other feel good." I felt my balls buzz. Doc said, "Pull out when you're ready to cum." So that's what I did. I pulled out of Will's sweet mouth 'n popped my load all over his face and hair. Then Will creamed all over Scott. Sean pulled off out without missin' a lick on Coach 'n he unloaded his wad on Martin's cheek 'n neck before he went back to blowin' the Coach. Scott stood up 'n he shot off on Will's shoulder. Coach grunted. Sean fell back, 'n Coach sprayed his jizz all over Sean's chest, a real geyser. Martin was the last one to blow his wad. Doc's voice said, "Very good, gentlemen. I'm sure you enjoyed that. Now, wouldn't it be nice to sleep for a while? Nothing feels better than a little nap after you cum. Sleep now." 'N that's what I did.