Playing Doubles

By TickledPink published October 5, 2018
Tom and Joel hired the Coach to help them with their doubles game.


The whistle operated as its name suggested, the sound piercing through the court. The two men approaching the court looked appraisingly at the figure standing on the sidelines, next to a dufflebag. The man was taller than the both of them, dark black hair over a strong frame. Honestly, he didn’t look much like a tennis player, too bulky, but he’d come highly recommended. Apparently he’d coached a lot of successful doubles pairings, and could make them “click like no one else”. And that, frankly, was exactly what Tom and Joel needed.

In turn, the man on the court observed the two men ambling, ever so slowly up to the court. He’d fix their lack of enthusiasm soon enough. The taller of the pair was fit, in a lean, sort of way. His calves were developed and he looked like he could put on a fair burst of speed when he needed to. He had red hair, and a thin, close-cropped beard, with a dusting of freckles across his face. Looked like he’d be needing a fair amount of sunscreen.

His doubles partner was slightly thicker built, with a bit more definition in the chest. His hair had obviously been black before, but he was greying, prematurely judging by his face, and it now appeared an almost uniform silver colour. He had dark eyes, and his features suggested some middle-eastern ancestry. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet as he walked up to the court. Deciding that he’d given them enough time to get their arses on the court, the Coach brought his whistle to his lips again.


“Get moving! Practice starts at 7 am and it’s already 6:55! We’ve got shit to get done here!”

Slightly taken aback by the intensity for so early in the morning Tom and Joel increased their pace to a jog.

“Come on! Hurry it up we don’t have all day.” When the two reached the court the Coach took another look at them, sizing them up. “Alright, you two. Now I understand one of you is Joel and one of you is Tom, yeah? Which one is Joel?”


TWZEET! The screech of the whistle cut the shorter of the two men off just as he began to speak.

“I didn’t say you could speak! Raise your hand!”

“Oi!” Started Tom, heatedly, “We’ve hired you, you can’t spe-”

TWZEET!! Tom’s mouth snapped shut at the noise, feeling as though he’d been slapped.

“I said, you will speak when I tell you to!” The Coach glowered at the two “Now, we’re going to go over some ground rules here. First, we’ve covered, no speaking unless spoken to. Second, if you must speak, you will address me as Coach. And the only things you must say, are ‘Yes, Coach!’ and ‘No, Coach!’. If I want something else from you I will tell you. And third, all of my instructions are to be carried out, immediately. No questions, no hesitation, just jump straight into it. Is that clear?”

The two remained silent, shocked.


“I said, is that clear?” the Coach roared.

“Yes, Coach!” the two men shouted, in unison.

“Good boys. Now don’t you worry, We’ll be getting you two in sync so much, you’ll be practically inside each other. Let’s get started. You two play a little warm-up match against each other and I’ll see what I’m dealing with.”

Tom and Joel, a bit dazed, began walking towards their sides of the court.


“I gave you boys an instruction here! What do you say when Coach tells you what to do?”

“Y… Yes, Coach!” the two said, before walking a little faster to their sides.



The game was called off quickly. It happened just after Joel had clapped hands with Tom, celebrating a particularly good shot they’d made.

“Rubbish! Garbage! You two call yourself tennis players?” the Coach thundered.

“Y… yes, Coach?” said Tom, hesitantly.

“Well it was pathetic. I can see why you two struggle in pairs, you can’t even get it together in singles. We’re going to have to rebuild your game from the ground up. Starting with these things.” The Coach roughly grabbed a handful of Joel’s white shirt. “How do you expect to improve your game unless you can see your muscles moving? You won’t know how to correct a thing without that. Luckily for you two, I came prepared.”

The Coach unzipped the duffle bag on the ground next to him, pulling out two handfuls of white fabric. And they were practically handfuls, their didn’t seem to be enough material in both hands to make a full outfit for one of them, let alone both. He thrust the garments at Tom and Joel, who took them cautiously. Unfurling them to see what they’d been given the confusion on their faces betrayed their thoughts.

They each held a matching pair of shorts, white and very finely meshed. You couldn’t tell when it was bunched up, but when Joel put a hand in one of the legs he could clearly see it through the fabric. The other items they held were a white jock-brief, unbranded, white knee-high socks, and matching white sweatbands, one for each wrist and one headband. That was all.

“Uh… Coach?” Joel started, questioningly.


“This had better not be a question, Joelly.” Joel snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head. “Good. Now the two of you may be confused by these outfits, but these are a tennis player’s best friend. Tennis players need to be able to see every muscle as it moves, and you need to be able to see each other’s as you play. Now get dressed!”

Tom and Joel began to make their way over to the change rooms when the whistle piped up again, stopping them in their tracks.


“No time for modesty there boys, just get changed here. No one is around, so you can protect your precious manhoods. Don’t worry about it.”

The two began hesitantly pulling their shirts off on the court.

“Good. Good.” began the Coach, softly. “Besides, you’ll two enjoy wearing these uniforms. They show your bodies off nicely, and you two have good bodies, you should enjoy showing them off, like all fit young men.”

Tom and Joel finished changing, pulling their tennis shoes back on. They stood, looking down at themselves, obviously confused, but unable to articulate exactly what was wrong. Tom’s red hair was long enough to fall slightly over the white headband on his forehead, creating a nice contrast. With his shirt off, the Coach could see that he had a thick coating of red hair across his chest. A red treasure trail led down to his white-mesh shorts, which covered down only to his upper thigh, as if highlighting the white jockbrief he wore.

Joel was matching, with patchier, but darker chest hair, which served almost to highlight the slight definition of his muscles. He was looking particularly confused.

“What is it Joel? Speak up.” Said the Coach, eager to hear the opinion of his client.

“I… uh.” Joel began, already unused to voicing a full question. The Coach’s eyes bored into him, as he stroked the whistle around his neck slowly. “I mean, we’re so… exposed.” He looked down at himself. “Which is… good? It’s good.” He spoke with increasing conviction, eyes tracing the light patterns reflecting from the whistle around Coach’s neck. “We should be dressed like this because…”

“Because?” Prompted the Coach.

“Because,” started Tom, uncertainly, “because, we’re fit young men? And fit young men should show their bodies off.”

“That’s true.” Said the Coach. “And what do you think of each other’s bodies in these outfits?”

“I mean… I can’t really say, because I’m not g-”


“Not gay? That’s what you were going to say wasn’t it?” Shouted the Coach.

“Y- yes Coach!” stammered Tom.

“Well, I’ve got news for you Tommy-boy, you don’t have to be gay to admire another man’s body. You two, look at each other here.”

They didn’t move.


“I said, face each other!” Roared the Coach. They swivelled on the spot to comply. “Good, now I want you two to take a good long look at each other. Let your eyes roam across each other, up and down, see the hard edges, the strong muscles, see where your uniforms tease and conceal, see what they reveal…” the Coach instructed them in their admiration of each other, where to look, where to touch, and how to feel about it, before asking their opinion.

“I… I like it.” Said Tom, tracing a finger over Joel’s pec. “He’s strong and fit, and…” he placed a hand on Joel’s side, feeling up and down.

Joel felt his cock jump at the touch. “I don’t normally, but it’s only natural right? We’re teammates, and teammates should be… should be checking out each other’s bodies. It helps with b-bonding.” His hands roamed across Tom’s frame, hesitating, before at the Coach’s insistence, pushing down through the waistband of his shorts. He fondled at Tom’s dick through the jockbrief.

Tom twitched at the contact, dick rapidly hardening from the attention.

“Now, that congratulations you gave each other earlier. That hand thing. All wrong. A celebration can only be expressed with a kiss.”

The two made no move to kiss. The Coach, frustrated with the slow learners he was saddled with strode over to them, placing a powerful hand on the back of each head.

“You two are celebrating a great shot. You’ve just achieved something remarkable and you need to express that. Now, KISS!” he pushed their faces together roughly.

The kiss was awkward and clumsy at first, but gradually deepened in intensity, before developing into a long, slow makeout session, tongues swirling and wrestling for dominance. The coach removed his hands, satisfied that they’d learned the proper way to celebrate.

“Now Tommy. It’s not fair that you get all the attention here, is it?”

Tommy came up for breath. “N… no Coach?”

“Right, right. Now picture this,” said the Coach, as Joel began to mouth at Tom’s neck. “You’re on the rear of the court, and Joel’s up front, he’s bending over for a shot, and you need to know which way he’ll run. You’ll need to know just from the muscles. Those tensing muscles.” Tom’s hands began tracing down Joel’s back. “That arse of Joel’s there. You need to know that arse inside-and-out. Don’t you?”

“I… I do?”

“You do. It’s all part of the game. So you need to spin your friend around here and you need to get down on your knees. I want you to look at his arse in front of you and learn it. Learn it’s shape, it’s texture, it’s taste. You’ll only get better when you know this arse like the back of your hand.”

“Yes, Coach.” Tom said, breathlessly, a clear patch appearing through his already see-through shorts.

Tom, slowly turned Joel around, who complied easily. He kneeled. And in front of him was his friend’s arse. He could see the straps of the jockbrief, peeking whitely through the mesh shorts, and he could see the outline of his friend’s crack, nestled between his cheeks. He reached up, pulling on the waistband of his friends shorts, and exposing his arse. He placed a hand on Joel’s lower back, and pushed him forwards, slightly. With both hands he pulled at the cheeks in front of him, revealing his hole.

He massaged the cheeks, squeezing and fondling them, barely listening to the instructions of the Coach in the background. Wetting his fingers with his saliva, he traced from the top to the bottom of his friend’s crack. Lingering, and tracing around his hole. He repeated this, each time adding saliva. Soon he took his index finger, wetting it up to the second knuckle, and swirled it at Joel’s entrance. He pushed his finger in, slowly, delicately opening his friend up.

“Do you like what he’s doing Joel?” Asked the Coach.


*TWZEET!! The noise was enough to surprise Tom, which in turn caused a concerned yelp from Joel.

“Joelly. That wasn’t a real question. I know the answer. Do you like what he’s doing to you Joel?”

Joel hesitated before answering, feeling Tom’s fingers probing and tickling at his hole. It had felt strange before, kind of unpleasant. He was going to tell the Coach that, and ask for some different training, but he knew the answer he needed to give. And once he knew that, he knew the truth of it.

“Y… yes, Coach!” He panted out.

“Good. Now Tommy. I believe I told you that you’d only improve when you knew every facet of this arse in front of you, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Coach!” Said Tom, with increasing enthusiasm.

“But how well do you know it? Do you know the smell of it? The taste of it?”

“N… no Coach?” Answered Tom, enthusiasm flagging immediately.

“Not yet. But you will. And don’t worry, this is the way to victory, and nothing tastes as good as victory, you’ll see.”

“Yes, Coach.” And with that, Tom removed his fingers from Joel’s hole, staring into the rosebud infront of him. He leaned forwards, and touched his nose to it. Rubbing his face into the crack of the man he played tennis with, he breathed in the smell. It was manly, and clean, their brief match wasn’t enough to have built up much of a sweat, so it mostly smelled of his soap. At the Coach’s instruction he extended his tongue forwards, licking delicately.

The Coach watched as Tom probed his tennis partner’s hole with his tongue. He’d instructed Joel that now was a good time to practice his shouting for when he was hitting the ball, and so Joel was grunting and moaning in time to the licks at his rosebud.

“So, Tommy, you’re enjoying yourself there?” Asked the coach. Tom pulled back as if to reply, but the Coach was too fast. Putting his hand on the back of his head he pushed Tom’s face back into Joel’s crack. “A nod will suffice Tommy-boy.” The Coach felt Tom nod slightly under his hand, returning to tongue fucking his partner with gusto. The Coach took a step back to admire his team-building exercise. These two would make excellent partners, he was sure of it.

Joel was hunched over, hands on his knees, which were quivering with the effort of keeping him upright with the sensations his arse was giving him. His cock was jumping with every intrusion Tom’s tongue made, and his moans were becoming more and more ragged. He’d always thought the shouting in tennis was a bit overplayed, but he now knew, thanks to this practice, the value of it. He felt his balls churn. With a final “NNNnarghhh…”, Joel came, soaking his jock in the process and shaking violently.


The two stopped moving, Tom’s tongue still embedded between Joel’s cheeks, Joel barely keeping from keeling over.

“I think Joelly has had about as much as he can stand for this session, so it’s time for a drinks break, and then it’s time for the two of you to swap. Doubles partners need to be versatile after all!”


Tom jogged over to his water bottle, while Joel stumbled over slightly less gracefully. They had a lot of training left to go.

When they’d had a full 30 seconds of drinking time the Coach put the whistle to his lips one more.


“Right! Get moving!”

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