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His breath tickles against the shell of my ear, sending a fresh rush of blood straight to my aching balls. "Look at that," he says, his voice a low rasp. "Look at my cum pouring out of your perfect little fuckboy asshole." A full body shiver wrenches over me. He lays the phone just under my face and reaches down. "I was going to make you wait, but you followed instructions like such a good boy, and this picture pleases me." His hand, big and slick with steam, sweat, and cum, wraps around my cock. He pumps me with slow strokes, murmuring dirty, humiliating words that drive me wild with need. My hips buck into his grip, and I cry out when his other hand cradles my aching balls, gently tugging and massaging them.
"I'm going to save this picture, and whenever you try to pull your baby bulldog bullshit, I'm going to pull it out and remind you that you're nothing more than my toy to play with. You catch the ball when I tell you to, you run as fast as I tell you to, and you take my big cock when and how I tell you to. Isn't that right, Jack?" I'm assuming this is all rhetorical, because I'm past the point of being capable of speech.
Wrong. He squeezes me again and I almost sob like a fucking baby. "Yes, Coach!"
"Good boy," he says, and then his gravelly voice murmurs the words I've been waiting to hear all fucking week. "Come for me, Jack."
CHAPTER 22
BRYANT
The bus is loaded and I'm reminded why I don't typically ride with the players when we travel. Their rowdy asses are loud, like the bus is full of a bunch of middle schoolers rather than grown ass men.
"Calm the fuck down, you Jackals!" I yell. As usual, they laugh at the way I use our mascot as a pun, but they do calm down. Some, at least.
"Surprised you're riding with the team," Tuck Sanders observes, sitting across from me and stretching out his legs. He and I are taking advantage of the extra room our bus has, since only the first-string players are riding with us. We have four charter buses just for the team, and another three buses for the band and cheerleaders, plus a big box truck for equipment. It's a big production.
"I have some work I need to do, thought I'd make use of the downtime." It's a ten-hour drive to Manhattan, Kansas. Plenty of time to catch up on some emails and letters I've been sending out to the NFL scouts I know. Riding on the bus will give me plenty of time to work on all of it, leaving me more time to rest when we make it to our hotel.
I’ve sent out a few videos of game footage, and people are starting to show a lot of interest in Jack. Some of them found out about his antics at his last school, so I've had to assure them and show proof of his complete change in attitude since coming to Groveton. I have leaned heavily on letting them know that, while Jack's behavior was inexcusable, it wasn't without reason; citing the lack of charges brought against him and his old coach's propensity for being an asshole with an ego bigger than the state of Texas.
I might have also sent a few emails back and forth with Tim Worth, not-so-casually letting him know that his threats to ruin Jack are not only baseless, but that if he tried anything, I'd ruin him after finding out the truth of what happened with his nephew and daughter. I might have given him the impression that I had proof that his nephew tried to drug his daughter, so if he tried to turn around and press charges against Jack, he'd be publicly shamed for his abysmal parenting choices. The promise of scandal and the might of the Groveton legal team have him pretty well in hand, and I’m confident he'll have nothing but good things to say when interviewed about his former player.
I haven’t told Jack about any of my exchanges with his former coach. For some reason, it feels awkward admitting how much I’ve gone overboard in securing his future.
My eyes cut to Jack, stretched out in the very back corner of the bus. He picked the short straw and has to sit across from the small bathroom, but gets the benefit of not having to share a seat, so he has more room to stretch out. The seat in front of him is just an open space, made to fit a wheelchair, so he's a bit cut off from the bustle and conversation with the rest of the team.
He catches my eye and winks. I frown, because what if someone saw him, but no one is paying attention. They're all laughing and discussing some party they went to the other night. A party Jack apparently missed because he was still recovering, but I happen to know that it's because he was at my house. That was the night he brought me soup and a blow job, which, consequently, did make me feel better. That was the night that I decided not to fight this thing.
It's just like he said, a diversion. We'll be discreet.
I'm starting to nod off when my phone buzzes with a text from Jack. He's sent me a link to download something, but with no explanation of what it is. I look up. Jack meets my eyes with a mischievous glint in his own. The bus is dark and quiet, and most everyone is asleep or watching a movie. Tuck is snoring across from me. My phone buzzes again.
JP: Download it.
BN: What is it?
JP: The reason I decided sitting next to the shitter was worth picking the short straw.
He sat there on purpose? Now I'm intrigued.
The app turns out to be some kind of remote control. I download without reading what it's for, so it takes me a minute to figure out what it is. There's a control for intensity and different pulses. What…
I chance a glance back at Jack, who licks his lips before putting something in his mouth. He wets it and holds it up, without an ounce of fear that someone other than me might look back. It's too dark for me to see exactly what he has. My phone buzzes, a video call coming through. I put earbuds in before accepting it. Jack's face is illuminated for a moment, but then the screen is dark. I look across the bus to see him fumbling under a blanket. What the fuck is he up to?
The screen illuminates again. Jack has the flashlight on under the blanket, and he's pulling his shorts down. His big cock is hard, and I think for a moment that he's going to jerk off into the camera like we've done before. Instead, he holds the phone at an odd angle, pulling one of his knees up so I'm looking at his balls and asshole. My cock jumps, and I scramble to pull my jacket over my lap to hide my erection.
Then Jack holds an object up to the camera. It's only a few inches long and tapered. It takes far too long for my brain to catch up with what I'm seeing, only realizing what it is when he angles the camera so I can watch him slowly push the plug into his asshole.
Fucking hell.
Once it's all the way in, the bottom of it flush with his ass, I notice that there's a blinking light just before the call disconnects and I'm looking down at the remote control again.
Oh, holy fuck.
JP: It's nowhere near as big as you, but it vibrates ;)
BN: No.
