The Coach's Boys

Wes Daniels struts like he owns the field, that cocky quarterback grin masking the fact his grades have tanked harder than his last pass. Scott Hardman, the iron-fisted coach, looms with a scowl, his finger itching to slash Wes from the roster. Unless the kid bends just right. Desperate to cling to his spot, Wes drops the bravado. He twists into positions that scream flexibility, his body a willing canvas for Coach's commands. Submission suits him, eyes locked on the prize as he kneels, lips parting to take on the thick, throbbing length of Coach Hardman's cock. He sucks with raw hunger, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, determined to earn every inch of favor. Hardman grips Wes's hair, thrusting deep, his grunts a rough symphony of approval. This is the special training—gagging chokes, slick slides, and the promise of first-string glory sealed in sweat and seed.