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"Just a sore throat," he answers. I can tell he's purposefully avoiding my gaze, but when he thinks no one is looking, I see the way one side of his mouth turns up in a grin.
I also see the way he looks up at me every time he makes a good play, or makes a great time on his forty and hundred-yard sprints. Like a puppy, he's desperate for my approval. I keep my features schooled and indifferent, but inside I'm perhaps a little too pleased with myself.
He's so eager for a reward, and I'm just as eager to give it to him.
It's almost the end of the day before it occurs to me that he played just as well yesterday, when he was anticipating his punishment. That thought makes it hard to walk around for the rest of the scrimmage.
"Perry!" I bark out. "My office when you're done with your workout," I instruct him.
"Yes, Coach!" he answers, turning back to his friends on the team a little too casually. But another quick glance over his shoulder shows me how eager he is. His tongue darts out and licks his lips, and my rapidly hardening cock twitches.
At exactly one minute after the end of his scheduled workout, Perry knocks at my door. I call for him to enter, and he automatically closes and locks the door behind him. I quirk an eyebrow, but decide not to tease him about his eagerness. He's still in his workout shorts, no shirt. His body is still slick with sweat from his workout, abs glistening, making me want to run my tongue over them. I fight not to stare, finishing my email to the softball coach.
"Come," I say simply, pushing my chair out from my desk and angling towards him, but keeping my eyes on my computer screen.
Jack walks around the desk to stand next to me.
"Take your clothes off and get on your knees," I say quietly. I pretend not to watch from my peripherals as he cocks his head curiously before obeying. He steps out of his shoes and shorts before pulling his socks off and tossing them on top of the discarded pile. I'll have to teach him to be neater, but his obedience is enough for now.
"Good boy," I murmur as I exit out of my emails and finally turn my attention to him.
"You did well today," I tell him, my hands splayed out over my thighs. "But you fucked up big yesterday. You directly disobeyed me and came without my permission. I had to request a new keyboard from maintenance and make up an excuse for why I couldn't turn in the one I had. Tell me, Jack, did you come after I left last night?"
He shakes his head. I watch him and wait for an appropriate answer.
"I didn't," he says, defensively. I raise an eyebrow and run my eyes down his naked torso.
"Oh. Um. No, Coach. I didn't come without your permission."
"And how are you feeling?"
"Sore," he says honestly. "My balls ache." His hands squeeze the tops of his muscular thighs, like he's trying not to let himself react. His cock, on the other hand, twitches and bobs, dripping pre-cum onto my carpet.
"Would you like to come?"
"Yes, Coach," he answers, without hesitation.
I rub my thumb over my chin, considering him. I like him like this; down on his knees and waiting. For me.
I reach for my belt, watching how Jack's abs clench with anticipation. I imagine he's wondering if I'm going to bend him over and fuck him. Tear his ass apart like I threatened him with. I imagine he wants me to.
But I'm not going to fuck my student. What I've done already, what I’m about to do, is bad enough. Not that I can seem to make myself stop. I've always had ironclad self-control, aside from a short stint after my career-ending injury that resulted in me getting addicted to prescription painkillers and booze. I've been sober for almost seven years now, but what's happening here with Jack is worse than any drug I've ever come into contact with. As soon as he's in the room with me, taunting me, teasing me—it's like I have no willpower at all. All I can think of is making him submit to me. The punk kid that nearly turned me down out of spite has come a long way, and I think that's something—maybe something good is coming from the very wrong things that I’m doing.
Nevertheless, nothing is stopping me from pulling out my hard cock and running my fist down the length of it. And nothing is stopping Jack's hungry gaze as his tongue drags over his bottom lip.
"Suck me, Jack. And if you do a good job, I'll let you touch yourself while you do it."
A sound caught between a whimper and a grunt of frustration leaves Jack's lips, and I give him a look. But he's not looking at my eyes, his gaze is locked on my hard cock. He shuffles forward and I part my thighs so he can fit his body between them. He grips me in his fist, slowly stroking his hand up and down my length, almost like he's familiarizing himself with it. I stay stock-still, doing my best not to give into the urge to slam his face down and choke him with it.
I'm about to admonish him for not taking me in his mouth yet, but I have to suck in a breath as I watch Jack run the flat of his tongue from the bottom of my balls, all the way to the tip. He follows along the thick vein, and then circles the head, swirling his tongue over it. When he finally closes his mouth around the top, sucking and twirling his tongue around, I can’t stop my hips from bucking into his wet heat. I want so badly to plow into his throat. As excruciating as it is, this is his reward, so I clench my fists and let him do his thing the way he wants.
Pulling himself up taller on his knees, Jack begins to take me deeper into his mouth, experimenting with how much he can take, even though we both know very well that he can take it all. I suppose his throat must be bruised, having taken a beating two days in a row. My hand brushes his jaw and gently rubs against his neck, feeling his Adam's apple bob as he swallows down a gag.
"Relax your throat," I tell him. "That's it. Just open up and let me in."
Jack moans, and the vibrations create another layer of sensation that makes my cock pulse. He hollows out his cheeks and bobs more forcefully, taking me deep enough that his nose touches my pelvis.
"That's good, Jack. Just like that."
