Date: Sun, 7 Nov 1999 16:23:17 -0800
From: Country Guys <j_and_g@telis.org>
Subject: Team Effort

Team Effort
by Greg Bowden
j_and_g@telis.org

"God damn it Ferguson, just what does it take to get your attention out
there anyway?"

Coach Bowers was pissed and I guess he had every right to be.  We had just
lost a game we should have won and we lost it through a series of really
stupid mistakes and, as he said, not paying attention.  It was a lousy end
to a lousy season and now we had just one game left -- the biggest game of
all: the Alumni Homecoming game against Crocket.

"Don't yell at me, Coach.  I tried.  All of us did but it just..."

"Ferguson," he spun around and glared at each one of us.  "All of you.
Let's get a few things straight around here.  First of all, as a ball team
you stink!  Ferguson here couldn't hit the God damned ball if his mother
threw it to him..."

We all laughed at that which was the wrong thing to do.  Coach Bowers went
ballistic.

"And the rest of you dickheads couldn't catch it if it fell into your
glove.  Baker," he snapped at me, "what the hell was the point of that
little juggling demonstration out there?  Is it really too much to ask you
to just hold on to the ball?"

I guess I blushed.  I'd had a perfect set up -- the ball practically homed
in on my glove but I'd been thinking about something else and when I caught
it I just couldn't seem to hang on to it.  They scored twice before I
managed to get the ball to Adam at third base.

Coach's voice suddenly got low and ugly, almost a growl.  "And am I to
understand, Mr. Garcia, that what you were doing out there is called
pitching?"  Billy Garcia hung his head and mumbled something but the coach
had moved on to Garret Hammond, the second baseman.

I felt kind of sorry for Coach Bowers.  I mean, here he was just out of
college, not much older than we were, and he's trying to make us into a
baseball team.  Not that it couldn't be done I guess.  We all played some
in high school but somehow now that we were in college lots of other things
seemed more important than playing ball.  But the poor coach was trying to
prove himself to the administration and I guess we weren't helping him
much.

"Guys, look." The coach's voice lost its sarcastic edge and became almost
pleading.  "In just 8 days -- a week and one day from this moment -- we
play Crocket College.  We have not won a game with Crocket in over ten
years and I really wanted this to be the year we did it."  He balled up his
fist and smacked it into the palm of his other hand.  "If I could only
think of some incentive to get you to pull together as a team, I know we
could do it.  I just know it."  He looked around at us.  "What would it
take, men?  What do you want?"

We stood in silence for a moment, hanging our heads and wishing this was
over.  Then, very quietly someone said, "Me, I want your ass."

"What?  Who...  My ass?"

"Yea, your ass."  It was Randy Sloan, the catcher.  "Gettin' my dick up
your ass would be a real incentive to play good ball.  Right guys?"

Most of the guys laughed nervously but quite a few of them nodded, too.
Including me.  I mean, Coach Bowers is one hell of a good looking man and
he has a grin that always reminds me of my dad.  I guess I'll work that out
in Psych III when I'm a Junior but in the mean time, the idea of sliding my
cock in between Coach Bowers buns put me well on the way to a hard-on.

The coach stood there for a long time, staring at us.  Finally he let out a
long sigh and nodded.  "Shit.  Okay.  If that's what it takes, that's what
it takes."

Randy took a step towards him.  "You meant it?"  He had an odd look in his
eyes; I guess maybe it was lust.

"Yea, I mean it."  He held up his hand and waited for us to quiet down.
"But only on my terms."  He looked around as he spoke, locking eyes with
each of us, one by one.  "First my part.  If you guys can pull this team
together and win that game with Crocket then whoever wants it can have my
ass.  In here, after the game."  He paused for a moment, thinking.  "Now
your part.  You're gonna work.  You're gonna practice.  If necessary you're
gonna bust your asses but you're going to become a team."  He waited a
second, his mouth slowly breaking into a smile.  "Oh, and one other little
thing gentlemen.  Between now and the end of that game -- for the next
eight days -- you don't so much as touch your dicks.  You also don't let
anyone else touch them.  You got that?  I mean no jacking off, no rub jobs,
no milking it down, no girlfriends or boyfriends getting it off for you.  I
mean no sex of any kind!  None.  You got that?"

Now it was our turn to stand and stare but then, slowly, the guys nodded,
one by one.  Adam, the third baseman, poked the man next to him with his
elbow and said, "Geeze, Randy, I don't know if I can go eight days without,
you know, without relevin' myself a time or two."

Several guys laughed and someone said, "Probably more like twenty times,"
but Randy just fixed him with a hard stare.  "You mess up this deal Adam
and it's your ass I'll be getting after that game.  You got that?"  Adam
just shut up and nodded.

"Okay, then, I guess we have a deal?"  The coach looked around the group
again and everyone nodded.  Then he sighed and shook his head.  "God I hope
this works," he said under his breath and then, to us, "all right, that's
enough standing around.  Hit the showers and then get out of here.  Go
study or something.  Just be ready to work your butts off as a team at
practice tomorrow."

Practice for the next five days was sheer hell.  Coach Bowers cursed and
swore and screamed at us like a mad man.  Drop the ball and you were a
shit-faced stupid prick and you had to do twenty five pushups right then
and there and God help you if another ball came your way while you were
doing them.  Miss that one and it was fifty or sixty pushups.  A couple of
times he made me so mad it was all I could do not to slug him one -- or
cry.  Poor Kirt Daly actually did cry a couple of times, once not even
trying to hide it, just standing there at first base banging his fist into
his glove, tears running down his face.

Then the coach kind of backed off, suddenly hollering "Good catch, Baker,"
or "Great hit, Ferguson, good work."  A couple of days before the game he
brought a cooler full of cokes and stuff for after practice and made sure
everyone got all they wanted.

He dressed different, too.  At first he'd wear these baggy sweats but then,
about the time he brought the cokes, he showed up in some sort of knit gym
shorts and a tank top that really showed off his physique.  The shorts were
cut extra snug across the butt too, as if he was showing us what we were
working for.

We changed, too.  At first all we did was bitch about what a lousy deal
this was and how horny we were and how that made us walk around with half a
hard-on all the time.  Then we began to see that somehow this was paying
off; we were actually beginning to operate as a real team out there on the
field.  Finally, when the coach began being a human being again, I think a
lot of us began to seriously anticipate the pay off.  We all dealt with it
differently (I decided it was just a phase I was going through) but most of
us were developing a serious case of the hornys -- for Coach Bowers.

The day of the game finally arrived; a warm, windless, perfect day for
baseball.  We all showed up for the morning rally, cheered a hokey speech
by the college president and generally strutted our stuff for the other
kids and the Alumni.  Later, in the locker room getting into our uniforms,
the coach gave us a short inspirational talk wearing nothing but white
socks and a jockstrap.  When he turned around and walked down the hallway
to his office Randy Sloan quietly said, "Oh, don't you worry Coach.  We'll
win this game if we have to kill Crocket to do it."  The bulge at his
crotch was obvious.

The guys on the Crocket team were a pretty cocky bunch when the game
started and I suppose they had good reason to be.  After all, they hadn't
lost a game to us in years and we had a reputation for being the absolute
worst team on the circuit.  I guess they thought the only way they could
loose was by not showing up.  Anyway, they spent the first couple of
innings fooling around, acting like a team of dads playing with their
twelve year old boys, always shouting advice and instructions to us.  Then,
around the fourth inning, it began to get serious.

About that time too, Coach Bowers began to pace up and down in the dugout,
flexing his buns and telling us we were doing okay.  And we were; no game
with Crocket had ever gotten to the fifth inning nothing to nothing.  In
the top of the sixth we thought we might have it when Cliff Ferguson
connected with the ball and sent it way out in center field but their guy
managed to catch it and then shot it to third where Kirt Daly got caught
and was called out.  Jerry Evans jumped up and screamed "Shit!"  I could
see that he had the pretty good beginnings of a hard-on.

At the middle of the eighth, when we were coming in from the field with the
score still zip, I heard Peter Warner say, "I don't care.  I just want it
to end.  I've got to get my rocks off, I don't care how."  Someone
answered, I think Billy Garcia, "I know.  I got the worst case of blue
balls ever and damn it, they hurt."  We went into extra innings.  At the
top if the tenth it was still zero to zero and I think we were getting a
little desperate.  I know the Crocket guys were.  They were beginning to
pick at each other and the field chatter had turned a little ugly.  And
then we did it.

Randy Sloan, on the first pitch, connected with the ball so hard that he
cracked the bat; he also sent that ball across the field, over the fence
and across the road.  For a moment he just stood there, watching the ball
sail through the air.  Then he turned around and grinned at the coach
before trotting slowly around the bases.

Adam, sitting on the bench next to me sighed, "Oh, Jesus, we did it.  We
did it."  Then he suddenly doubled over, groaning and I thought he was
having an attack of some sort until I got a whiff of him.  He was coming in
his pants.

We dispatched the rest of the game with three quick strikeouts.  1 - 0 was
good enough.

Back in the locker room one of the guys handled the folks who came to
congratulate us by telling them we had to have a private debriefing session
and we would see them at the dinner planned for that evening.  Once the
door was closed -- and locked - - the coach began a speech of thanks but
Randy cut him off.

"The reward, Coach.  Remember the reward?  I think we're ready."  He proved
it by pushing down his pants and letting his dick slip out of his jock.  It
was hard and leaking some white fluid which Randy smeared all over the
head.  The coach looked a little shaken but nodded his head.  "Yea, I know.
Okay."  He stripped down to nothing but his white socks and then looked
around at us.  "Where?"

"Right here," Randy said, indicating a pile of towels laid out on the bench
between the lockers.  "Prepared 'specially for you.  I also brought this,"
he held up a large tube of lubricant, "which I think you're going to need."

Coach Bowers straddled the bench and then laid himself over the pile of
towels.  His buns opened up giving us a good view of the little brown
pucker between them.  I looked over at Randy and then back to the coach's
ass; it didn't seem possible he was going to take anything the size of
Randy's hard dick up there.

Someone called out, "Come on, Randy, get on with it before I come in my
pants like Adam did."

"That doesn't count, does it?  I still get my turn don't I?"  "Sure you do,
Adam.  Sure you do."  Randy coated his cock with the lube and then kneeled
between the coach's legs.  "So I'm a slimy shit eating prick face am I?" he
said in a low, dark voice.  "Well, my man, I'm also a big dicked ass
fucking stud and yours," he rubbed the head of his dick against the coach's
ass pucker, "is the ass I'm going to fuck!"  Then he shoved his dick into
the coach, all the way to the hilt.

The coach yelled.  "Easy, Randy.  Go easy."

"Easy your ass!"  Randy pulled himself back and then shoved in again
connecting with a loud smack.  The coach sucked in his breath but didn't
say anything more.  It didn't take long before Randy went all rigid and
then let out a groan and you could tell he was coming.  It seemed to take a
long time before he caught his breath and then slowly pulled his dick out
of the coach.  I went around to the other end of the bench and straddled it
by the coach's head, to see how he was doing.  "You all right?"  He had a
grim look on his face but I swear there was a twinkle in his eyes too.
"Yea, Baker, I'm okay.  Who's next?"

Garret was slicking some of the lube on his dick but I guess he was too
close because he suddenly arched his back and shot his wad all over the
coach's back.  There was a lot of it, more than I ever knew a man had in
him.  He got up with a sheepish look and Cliff took his place.

I guess I'd seen Cliff a hundred times in the shower and I never thought he
had anything special as far as his dick goes; I mean it was just an average
dick, like we all got.  But I'd never seen it ready for action.  Up and
hard it looked to be the biggest, fattest dick any man ever had on him.  I
kind of worried for the coach but he took it like -- well, like a man.
Cliff pushed it in real slow, giving Coach Bowers time to get used to it as
it worked it's way up his ass.  Then when it was all the way in Cliff just
braced himself and didn't move for the longest time.

The coach was sweating like crazy so I picked up my tee shirt and wiped his
face.  For a man just laying there he sure looked like he was working hard.
Cliff leaned down and whispered in the coach's ear.  Sitting where I was at
the coach's head I heard what he said: "I don't know what muscles you have
up there or what you're doing with them but it's going to bring me off.
Yes sir..."

The coach looked up and gave me that grin that turns me on so.  Then Cliff
let out a low growl and began to shiver all over.  He pulled his dick a
little way out and I could see it throb as he shot his juice up the coach's
ass.  When he was finished he patted the coach on the buns and looked
around at the other guys.  "Best fuck I ever had, bar none."  He reached
out and grabbed on to Jerry Evans' hard cock.  "Go on, man.  Get in there."

Jerry didn't even bother with the lube but just began feeding his dick up
the coach's ass.  As soon as he was all the way in he slid it back out and
then pushed in again.  He went on like that, fucking in long strokes
without a pause until he called out, "Gonna come, gonna come now," and
switched to short, jerky strokes.  A moment later he pulled out, his cock
still dribbling out cum.

The rest of the guys took their turns, including Adam who went off before
he'd even gotten it all the way in.  At one point the coach reached up and
took hold of my balls.  "When's it your turn Baker?"

"Pretty soon now."  I brushed his hair out off his eyes.

He grinned at me and then laid his head back down on the bench but he
didn't let go of my balls.  Randy came back, fresh from the showers and
smelling of cologne.  As Billy Garcia pulled his cock out of the coach
Randy took his place, gently patting the coach's ass.  "I did it in anger
before," he said.  "Now the other way."  Very gently he pushed his dick
into the coach and, when it was all the way in, he began to massage the
coach's back, working his hands along the muscles to ease the tension in
them.  He leaned forward and kissed the coach's neck while he established a
slow, easy rhythm with his dick, pulling out until just the head was inside
and then slowly pushing back in until his bush rubbed against the coach's
ass.

All the while Randy was fucking the coach that second time the coach held
on to my balls, gently kneading them and rolling them around in their sack.
Randy caught my eye and smiled at me, then leaned down and kissed the
coach's neck again before putting his lips close to the coach's ear.  "Go
on, coach.  It's okay.  You know you want it."

The coach raised his head up and nodded.  "Yea.  I do."  He let go of my
balls and put his arm around my butt, making me scoot forward.  The next
thing I knew he had the head of my cock in his mouth and was slowly sucking
in the length of my shaft until his nose was buried in my pubic hair and
the head of my cock was part way into his throat.  Randy began to fuck
faster and the coach began to moan and squirm around on the bench.  He
pulled up on my dick and worked his tongue along the shaft until he found
that really sensitive place just under the head.  He played there for a bit
and then took my dick back into his throat.  Then he began to swallow.
After that I don't know who did what because I was in another world, a
world where the only thing there was my dick and Coach's mouth and the
biggest, longest orgasm of my life.

Somewhere along there Randy started groaning and shooting his second load
into the coach and the coach began making a lot of noise of his own.  Randy
finally quieted down and then he pulled himself out of the coach.  "I think
we all need a shower, don't you?" he said, helping the coach up off the
bench.  I don't know why but it surprised me to see that the coach's dick
was slowly coming down from being hard and that it was dripping cum.

Coach Bowers put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a little hug as we
followed Randy down the hall to the showers.  I surprised myself by
speaking out.  "I didn't get your ass, you know.  Like you promised."

He laughed.  "I know.  You'll get it though.  Tonight.  After the dinner
and all the celebrating."  He hugged me again.  "Now we both have something
to look forward to."


Team Effort
by Greg Bowden