Short Story: Coach Drew Sullivan's Locker Room

Days had passed as Coach Drew Sullivan hopelessly walked around St Thomas Academy's Locker Room trying to quash his primal desire. However, between the Varsity athletic football team being in various stages of undress, and the scent of these youths allured Coach Sullivan further into a hormonal rage.

Coach picked-up a dirty jockstrap on the tile floor and yelled at those nearby, "What do I look like to you, guys? You're housekeeper. C'mon boys, you killing me here."

Sullivan chucked the jockstrap to nearby quarterback, Tony Cazzo, who's bare ass was on display facing Coach Sullivan as the kid slid off his socks, while balanced on the wooden bench.

"What the..." Tony said as he stood erected, and turned to Coach Sullivan's direction.
Boiling with emotions, Coach wanted to confront Tony right there.

And, show him who's the Boss around here, Sullivan thought to himself as he squeezed his dick under his gym shorts, Yeah, I'll show you how I'll explode someday, you freaking spoiled punk.

However, that was just a fleeting thought as Sullivan surveyed his desktop, and the mounting paperwork that required his immediate attention. Nope, it was going to be another long night.

Hopefully, he could bolt before Janitor Jackson arrived. Nice guy, and all, but Drew needed some alone time. And, Jackson surely knew how to talk, if you get my point.

Well, at least these kids will be gone soon enough.

The parking lot filled with high-end SUV's driven by their trophy wife mothers, who biggest decision was, What to wear tonight?

Trust me, Coach Sullivan knew for a fact, that many of those wives tried their damnedest to snare his attention. Married or not.

Time flew by, and soon Coach Sullivan heard tranquility. He loved the feeling. Alone in thought. No one to worry about. No juvenile chatter, jockish high jinks, or weights clanking.

Shit, maybe I take this moment and hit the weights.

I could use a
Holy, shit.

This feels incredible.

What the fuck have I've been missing. Drew's purple cockhead pushed through the waistband of his jockstrap and had begun leaking precum, as his balls clenched.

Cradling his massive frame forward riding his own finger followed by a secondary into his newly discovered ecstasy zone, Coach Sullivan had all, but forgotten that fact that Janitor Jackson already had begun his late night service.

In fact, Drew did not notice Janitor Jackson backing into the Weight Room with his bucket on rollers and wooden handle mop. Janitor Jackson was just a few years younger than the thirty-eight year old Coach, yet Jackson acted like one of the boys on his Varsity team. Jackson's head jiggled to the sound of his headphones, unaware of the situation in front of him.

Jackson eyes bugged out, once he saw this Herculean muscle strapping Coach Sullivan inserting two fingers into his manhole as precum seeped from his cockhead. Jackson froze. Wanting to run and forget this ever happened. Yet, he stood mesmerized. His own dick began to respond as it started snaking down his pant