The Cock Curse

By S. Q. Neemie - sqneemie@gmail.com
published July 2, 2020
6400 words
Summary

Can Tyrone’s wrestling buddy, the team doctor, and the coach undo the spell placed on him by his girlfriend?

TYRONE

“C’mon, babe,” said Tyrone Fetterman to his girlfriend Keesha, “it was just a dick pic. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Didn’t fucking mean anything?” shouted Keesha. “You sent a picture of your prick to some slut and you think it didn’t mean anything?”

“Shit, I was just–you know, showing off,” said Tyrone. “It’s what guys do.”

“You fucking dick,” snarled Keesha. “You think that makes it all right? Well, fine. If that thing between your legs is more important than me, then you know what? I’m gonna curse you so everyone will know where your priorities are.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” said Tyrone. “C’mon, babe, calm down.”

“Oh, I’m not even upset yet,” muttered Keesha, yanking out the book of spells she kept in her locker. “Just you wait, Tyrone William Fetterman. Just you fucking wait.”


HARRINGTON

“Hey, Coach?” said Tyrone, the next day. “Can I talk to you for a sec? I’ve got a problem.”

Coach Harrington glanced up to see his star wrestler peering into his office, standing stopped and holding his baggy hoodie in front of him.

“You’re not dressed, Fetterman,” Harrington barked. “Practice is in ten minutes. Get your singlet on and we’ll talk.”

“But, Coach–”

“The only butt I want to hear is your butt getting into gear, Fetterman,” said Harrington, turning back to his paperwork. “You may have won the championship last year but in my gym you hop to when I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yeah, but Coach–”

“Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Tyrone as he waddled away. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“Did I just hear profanity in my locker room?” shouted Harrington after him.

“No way, coach,” shouted Tyrone back. “I was just–talking about a duck I saw.”

Three minutes later Tyrone was back in the office doorway, wearing the red-and-purple school singlet. “Just remember you fuck–flipping asked for it, Coach,” he said.

“Discipline, Fetterman,” said Harrington, shoving his paperwork into the filing cabinet next to his desk. “A good warrior doesn’t need to swear to make his point. Discipline is the difference between a losing team and a five-year unbeaten championship recor–Jesus Christ, Fetterman! What in hell happened to you?”

“I dunno, Coach,” said Tyrone, his voice wavering. “It started growing yesterday and it won’t go down.”

Coach Harrington blinked at him. Most of the star athlete looked the same as he did yesterday–handsome face with his mouth set in a permanent smirk, broad shoulders, narrow waist, beefy thighs that had pinned many competitors to the mat. But curving underneath the spandex if Tyrone’s singlet was the fattest, thickest cock Harrington had ever seen. It looked like it was nearly eighteen inches long. Trapped under the stretchy fabric of the singlet, it curled up over Tyrone’s abs, reaching well past his bellybutton.

“Well, good grief, Fetterman,” said Harrington, regaining hold on his own discipline. “How’d you get yourself a dick like that?”

“I said I dunno, Coach,” said Tyrone. “My girl said she was gonna curse me until I could think of something other than my dick. I guess maybe–”

“Don’t be stupid, Fetterman, magic isn’t real,” said Harrington, standing up. “There must be a scientific explanation. Let me call Dr. Blaylock and he’ll get you checked out.” He grabbed his office phone and dialed the team doctor’s number. “Sean? Harrington here. Need you to pop on over to the locker room. Fetterman has some sort of weird reaction going on. Serious enough we can’t practice today with him till it’s seen to. No, he seems healthy otherwise, maybe a little too healthy–” Harrington gave Tyrone a sideways glance and jumped. “Holy cats, Fetterman, what just happened?” The spandex-framed prick had just jumped and Tyrone’s fat cockhead wormed forward as the wrestler’s obscene sausage added another couple inches of dickflesh.

“It keeps growing, Coach,” said Tyrone, turning green. “I can’t stop it.”

“Look, Sean, just get yourself down here,” growled Harrington into the receiver. “If this thing turns out to be contagious we’re gonna have a heck of a time in practice today.”

"Am I dying, Coach? asked Tyrone, his eyes wide.

“Of course not, Fetterman,” said Harrington. “Don’t get all weepy. Doc Blaylock will fix you up and you’ll be in practice before you know it. Let’s get you on one of the therapy tables, though. You wander round with that thing you’re going to cause a riot. You look like you’re trying to smuggle a fire hydrant out of the building.”

They went to the team therapy room and Tyrone jumped up on one of the tables. As soon as his ass hit the table, the straining fabric around his crotch gave way and his swollen balls and cockroot burst through to fall heavily on the table.

“God Almighty,” said Harrington. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, Fetterman. You overdose on vitamins or something?”

“It’s a curse,” said Tyrone hopelessly, lying down on the table. The singlet tore a little more in a line down the veiny slab of cock beneath it.“What am I gonna do, Coach? No girl’s gonna let me get near her with this thing. I can barely even get my hand around it!”

“Now, don’t start panicking,” said Harrington. “Look, you’ve already broken through, so might as well fish that thing out. Let it breathe and let you breathe and we’ll figure this out.”

Tyrone gulped and reached into the torn shreds of his singlet, tugging and pulling until the fat, wrist-thick cock was in the air and waving slightly above the stretched spandex clinging to his stomach.

“Well, hell, Fetterman,” said Harrington, pulling up a chair. “If we let you wrestle packing that monster, we’d have to change the school mascot to a donkey.”

“Not funny, Coach,” groaned Tyrone. “I’m freaking out over here.”

Harrington was looking thoughtfully at Tyrone’s exposed balls and slowly growing shaft. “I got a theory, Fetterman–you want to hear it?” he said.

“Anything, Coach,” said Tyrone. “Anything to make this stop.”

“I think what we’ve got here is an excess of testosterone,” said Harrington. “Think about it–you’re all man, a wrestling super stud. You follow me?”

“I–I guess?” said Tyrone.

Harrington grunted. “So of course your body’s confused–it’s pumping out so much testosterone and it’s got nowhere to go but that python you’re growing. You gotta get some other hormones in the mix, even out your body chemistry.”

“How are we gonna do that, Coach?” said Tyrone. “Do I need to take supplements or something?”

Harrington frowned. “No, if I’m right–and I’m just spitballing here–it needs to be something you experience. Let me try something.” Stepping up to the table, he said, “Tell me how this feels, Fetterman.” He ran his hands lightly up the inside of Tyrone’s spandex-clad thighs. Although his hands didn’t come anywhere close to the swollen orbs of Tyrone’s balls, Tyrone still moaned and bucked his hips, and his fat cock plumped up another inch.

“Just what I thought,” said Harrington, still kneading Tyrone’s thick thighs. “You’re pent up with testosterone, Fetterman. No wonder you’re shooting out cock like it’s going out of style.”

“Fuck, Coach, your hands are–really intense,” said Tyrone, gripping the sides of the table.

“Let’s see what we can do,” said Harrington to himself. “Experience–experience–Fetterman! What’s the thing you do to your girlfriend she likes the best?”

“Eating her out, I guess,” said Tyrone, still writhing a little on the table. “What’s that got to do with it, Coach?”

“It’s what I thought,” grunted Harrington. “Well, new experiences all round. You trust me, Fetterman?”

“Sure thing, Coach,” said Tyrone. “But wh-what–”

“Spread your legs, then,” said Harrington. Grimacing, he pulled apart Tyrone thighs and pushed them up until the star wrestler’s ass was displayed in front of him. Harrington yanked roughly at the bits of spandex stretched between Tyrone’s cheeks, widening the hole Tyrone’s cock had punched through until Tyrone’s dark brown pucker was revealed.

“Um, Coach?” said Tyrone uncertainly.

“This sensitive, Fetterman?” asked Harrington, stroking the snarl of muscle.

“Oh my God,” shuddered Tyrone as the older man stroked his asshole. “What the–what the fuck–”

“Profanity, Fetterman,” growled Harrington. “Now, I’m going to eat you out, and I don’t want you to make a big deal of it, okay?”

“Wh-what?” peeped Tyrone, his dark brown eyes huge.

“Yeah, I probably won’t like it either,” said Harrington with a glower. “But it works on my wife and we might as well try it. Scientific method, Fetterman.” His fingers were actively rubbing Tyrone’s fistlike pucker as the young man squirmed.

“Jesus, Coach,” gasped Tyrone. “I dunno–”

“Discipline, Fetterman,” growled Harrington. “Now, shut up and take your licks.”

The beefy ex-jock coach bent over the table and inhaled the musky ass of his star player. He swiped the wrestler’s asshole with his tongue and Tyrone howled, the sensitive knot of muscle pulsing against Harrington’s taste buds. Harrington smiled a bit as he licked again, and soon he was nose-deep in jock ass, hungrily pummeling Tyrone’s sphincter with a surprisingly talented tongue. Tyrone’s naked soles flapped in the air as his ass was expertly swabbed by his coach, and he bit his lip and whimpered as his coach’s tongue explored his insides.

At last Harrington came up for air. He was grinning wildly. “Jesus fuck, Fetterman,” he growled.

“P-p-profanity, Coach,” moaned Tyrone.

Harrington scowled. “Oh. Right. I just–didnt expect you to be so–fucking tasty down there.” He dove in again and Tyrone bucked on the table with a high-pitched cry.


BLAYLOCK

Dr. Sean Blaylock was a good-looking man, and he knew it. More than one girl on campus had fallen for his crow-black hair and beard, bright green eyes, and calm, professional manner. He had been texting his latest girlfriend some pictures of himself sporting nothing but his white coat and a hard-on when Harrington called, so he’d had to dress quickly in his office. He could still feel the fat weight of his semi shifting around in his briefs under his silky gray dress pants.

He turned the corner into the team’s therapy room and stopped dead in his tracks. Tyrone Fetterman, the fit wrestler at the top of Coach Harrington’s line-up, was lying on one of the therapy tables with his feet in the air, ripped halfway out of his singlet. The hugest cock Blaylock had ever seen was laying over Tyrone’s spandex-clad torso, so long and thick its glistening head reached the underside of Tyrone’s lean pecs.

But the headline of the scene was definitely Coach Harrington, who was on his knees next to the table, his ex-jock mitts holding Tyrone’s thighs up and apart as he greedily munched away at the young man’s ass.

Dr. Blaylock stood frozen with his mouth open. Harrington was about a decade older than the young doctor, and Blaylock had always looked up to him as a father figure in the office. Although he was growing a paunch in middle age, the beefy ex-jock was still an imposing figure of masculinity. To see the same man who single-handedly won the faculty softball tournament last year squeezed between two round jock ass-cheeks was so out of the blue Blaylock didn’t know how to react.

Harrington came up for air and caught sight of him. “Doc!” he barked. “Glad you made it. Take a look at this craziness.” He waved his hand at Tyrone’s gargantuan, straining cock.

“Um, Coach,” said Blaylock, stepping forward, “not to be critical or anything, but–why are you licking Tyrone’s asshole?”

“Had to, Doc,” grunted Harrington. “Look at him! You can see plain as day he’s got too much testosterone pumping through him. I was doing my part to siphon it off him.”

“Testosterone doesn’t really work that way, Harrington,” said Blaylock, coming closer. “And, besides–” He caught a glimpse of Tyrone’s tight pucker, slimed with coach-spit, and stopped in his tracks, swallowing hard.

“Ah, c’mon, Doc,” said Harrington. “Look at how much progress I’ve made.” He pointed at Tyrone’s cock, which was almost as big as his forearm. “It’s been getting back to normal ever since I started.”

“Is that true, Tyrone?” asked Blaylock.

“Actually, I think it’s getting bigger,” said Tyrone in a small voice.

“Don’t be silly,” said Harrington. “It’s practically the right size now. Blaylock, look how sensitive he is. It’s got to mean something.” He ran a thick thumb over Tyrone’s licked-over asshole, and the young man squirmed and moaned.

Without realizing it, Blaylock stepped even closer to get a better view, so near he could feel Harrington’s breath on his neck. The view of Tyrone’s dark asshole was mesmerizing. He swallowed hard again.

“C’mon, Sean,” said Harrington in Blaylock’s ear. “Give him a lick. You’ll see what I mean.”

Still staring at Tyrone’s pulsing sphincter, Blaylock nodded and dropped slowly to his knees. Harrington grinned and lay his hand on the back of Blaylock’s black-haired head as the handsome doctor leaned forward and licked his very first asshole.

Tyrone howled and kicked his legs in the air, bucking violently on the table. “Your beard, Doc,” he gasped. “Fu-fucking ticklish.”

“Hold still, Fetterman,” barked Harrington. “Doc’s trying to help you here,”

“Can’t help it, Coach,” gasped Tyrone. “I’m so goddamn sensitive.”

“We’ll need someone to hold him down,” said Harrington to Blaylock. “Let me go get one of the guys.”

“I don’t think–” said Blaylock, but Harrington was already out the door.

“Fuck, you gotta help me, Doc,” said Tyrone. “My dick isn’t going down at all. My girl fucking cursed me.”

“Calm down, Tyrone,” said Blaylock. “Close your eyes and breathe. I got this.”

Tyrone nodded and closed his eyes, starting up the breath routines the team used to center themselves before a match. Blaylock lightly touched the young man’s dick and it twitched in his hand, gaining another half inch and squeezing a shining drop of precum out of the piss-slit. Blaylock swabbed the drop with his finger, quickly enough that Tyrone barely shuddered. The drop of man-juice looked normal, and there was no smell of infection. And it tasted–

Blaylock stopped with his finger in his mouth. What the fuck was this? Tasting cum was in no way part of a medical examination–and how was he to know what healthy pre tasted like? He never had tasted it before. To his surprise, it wasn’t awful. In fact, the salty taste of the pre combined with the meaty memory of Tyrone’s asshole on his tongue created an intoxicating taste of manhood that made him–Blaylock pulled his finger from his mouth and looked at it. What the fuck was going on?

Get it together, Sean, he told himself. He started in on a quick diagnostic exam, putting his still-wet fingers under the wrestler’s jawbone to check his glands. Tyrone was still doing his breathing exercises, his heavy lips blowing out with each exhalation. Maybe Harrington was right. The stud was a mess of testosterone, after all. It wasn’t a medically sound diagnosis, but Tyrone’s cock growth was unprecedented. Maybe a little–non-typical male action really would help. Harrington had said it was helping. Blaylock unconsciously adjusted his crotch. It could be a new breakthrough in medical science. He’d be famous. He smiled, imagining his picture next to the headline Team Doctor Saves Patient’s Life and Cock with Hot Man-on-Man Action.

Fuck, was he really going to do this?

Tyrone still had his eyes closed. Blaylock cleared his throat and said, in his best professional voice, “All right, Tyrone, open your mouth and say Ahhh.” Corny doctor line, but it got results–Tyrone opened his mouth to reveal his white teeth and pink tongue. Blaylock slid his finger into Tyrone’s mouth and gasped. The jock’s mouth was hotter, silkier, and smoother than you’d ever expect from someone who could bodily flip a 200-lb bruiser on the wrestling mat.

One of Tyrone’s eyes popped open. “What’s going on, Doc?” he asked around Blaylock’s finger.

“Just keep your eyes closed, Tyrone,” said Blaylock soothingly, rubbing Tyrone’s tongue with his finger as he used his other hand to unbuckle his belt. “Turn your head a little, just like that. We’re going to follow Coach Harrington’s line of inquiry. You trust him, right?”

“Sure, Doc, but–”

“Of course you do,” grinned Blaylock. “Now, say Ahhh again.”

Tyrone opened his mouth wide. Blaylock pulled his now-throbbing cock out of his briefs and stepped up to the table. It was just at the right height for him to push his aching cockhead into the warm opening of Tyrone’s jock mouth.

Tyrone’s eyes flew open as the team doctor’s fat piece brushed his tongue. He looked up at Blaylock, his lips drawn away from the dick in his mouth.

“Trust me, Tyrone,” growled Blaylock as he inched forward into the young man’s mouth. “This is gonna stop that nasty testosterone in your system. All you gotta do is–fuck, that’s nice–suck it, show a little–mmph–dedication to your treatment, and–oh, wow, that tongue.”

For a second Tyrone’s anguished eyes stared at the doctor’s. Then at last he gave a little nod and relaxed his lips so that they sealed around the veiny flesh of the team doctor’s dick. Blaylock moaned and gripped Tyrone’s head as the wrestling star began sucking him, slowly at first and then greedily as the doctor’s respectable cock slid deeper into him. Grunting, Blaylock began fucking Tyrone’s face in earnest, making the table shake as his gray suit pants-covered ass drove his needy cock into the handsome jock’s mouth. Tyrone’s own swollen cock waved wildly in the air, spattering hot salty drops of pre over his sculpted abs and throat.

“Now that–” crowed Blaylock as he ground his black pubes against Tyrone’s lips, “is what I call–oh Jesus!–a therapeutic regime!”


EDDIE

Eddie Kowalski had just finished his pre-practice warmups when Coach Harrington called him over.

“Need your help for a delicate job, Kowalski,” he said, looking the wrestler over. Eddie was a stocky guy with a low center of gravity, and the freckles spread over his face and down his bull-like shoulders. Kid would do just fine, thought Harrington. Besides, he and Fetterman were friends.

“Sure thing, Coach,” said Eddie with an eager grin. “Need me to change out of my singlet?”

“Naw, keep it on,” said Harrington. “You’re going to be doing some holds practice in the team therapy room.”

“O–okay?” said Eddie, blinking. “If you think it’ll help me, Coach.”

“It’s not for you, Kowalski,” said Harrington, already striding away. “Quick march, now.” Eddie scrambled to keep up with him, a puzzled look on his face.

The puzzled look turned to one of shock when they arrived at the team therapy room. “Oh my God, Coach,” squeaked Eddie as they faced the table. “Tyrone is–um, sucking Doc Blaylock’s dick!” He then glanced down at Tyrone’s three-foot cock and actually jumped in the air. “Holy mother of Christ!” he yelped.

“Blaylock!” barked Harrington with a glower. “What is all this?”

“Just taking your theory to its next level,” gasped Blaylock, slowly pulling his slimy cock out of Tyrone’s mouth. The cockhead popped out of Tyrone’s lips and came to rest on Tyrone’s nose, smearing it with spit and pre. “Figured I could get the testosterone moving up and out of his system.”

“Say, that’s not a bad idea,” said Harrington. “Probably get it going all the faster if we work him from both ends.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” grinned Blaylock.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Coach,” said Eddie, his blue eyes wide. “Ty, you all right, man? What’s going on?”

“Jesus! Eddie,” said Tyrone, seeing his friend for the first time. “My cock is outta control, dude.”

“No fucking joke,” said Eddie, nodding and swallowing hard. He crossed over to the table and grabbed his friend’s hand. “I’m here, man–what can I do?”

“Profanity, Kowalski,” growled Harrington.

“You gotta help me, Ed,” said Tyrone, biting his lip and squeezing Ed’s hand. “You gotta go find Kesha. She cursed me, dude. She cursed me till I can think about something other than my dick, but–fuck. If I don’t turn this around soon I won’t be able to fucking walk, Ed. Please, dude.” He rubbed his eyes angrily. “I’m freaking out over here.”

“Don’t listen to that nonsense, Kowalski,” growled Harrington. “This whole situation has a scientific explanation and solution. Now, hold Fetterman down so the doc and I can help him shed all that testosterone he’s flinging every whichway.”

“But–” started Eddie.

“Dude, they’re not gonna listen,” moaned Tyrone. “Just do what they say so we can get this over with and go get Kesha.”

Eddie paled but nodded his head. “Okay, Ty–but sing out if they go too far, yeah?”

“Fuck, man, I just want my dick back,” said Tyrone miserably, and then, “Oh, Jesus, here comes the cock again…”

Eddie’s eyes got wider. From where he stood holding Tyrone’s hand, he had a front-row view of his friend’s lips taking in the length of Blaylock’s dick. Tyrone gripped his hand tighter as his cheeks puffed out, stuffed with a meaty shaft of doctor cock.

“Oh, geez,” whispered Eddie as Tyrone’s eyes met his, even as Dr. Blaylock began slowly fucking into his friend’s jock mouth. Eddie swallowed but couldn’t keep his eyes away from the thick cock taking control of Tyrone’s handsome face.

“All right, hold him, Kowalski,” said Harrington, stepping up to the table and pulling Tyrone’s legs apart. “He gets a little jumpy when I eat him out.”

“When you what??” shrieked Eddie turning , but his coach was already buried in Tyrone’s ass. Tyrone howled into Blaylock’s cock, making the young doctor gasp. Tyrone thrashed about on the table as Harrington’s tongue poked at his sensitive pucker. Eddie barely had enough time grab his friend by the shoulders to keep him still, Tyrone’s mammoth cockhead smearing a line down Eddie’s muscled arm as he reached past it.

“That’s not going to do the trick, Kowalski,” growled Harrington, looking up from between Tyrone’s thighs. “Pin him!”

Eddie had spent so much time following his coach’s orders that he was up on the table before he even knew he’d done it. Securing Tyrone’s torso with his thighs, he slid the round globes of his spandex-covered ass onto Tyrone’s chest, pinning him to the table. Tyrone’s huge cock had nowhere to go but up Eddie’s body, and it sat curved over his lap and up toward his face.

“Oh my God,” muttered Eddie, blinking at the dark cockhead right in his vision. “Oh my God.”

From his vantage point he could see the top of Harrington’s salt-and-pepper head as he worked his tongue into Tyrone’s spread-open asshole. From the way the underside of Tyrone’s thighs were trembling it looked like his buddy was enjoying the tongue-lashing, and the sight of the stud wrestler of the team opening up his rosebud to the talented tongue of Coach Harrington made Eddie’s own tight pucker clench inside his singlet.

After a few minutes, Harrington looked up at Eddie. “Status report, Kowalski!” he barked. “We reduced the beast, yet?”

Eddie reached out and pulled Tyrone’s cock to its length, so huge now that it took two hands to wrestle it. “Huger than ever, coach!” he said.

“Damn,” muttered Harrington, frowning at Tyrone’s spit-slopped asshole. “We need to up the ante. What else could I–”

“Oh, fuck, Coach,” said Eddie, wide-eyed as he watched Harrington stand up and begin to unbuckle his belt. “That’s a little–extreme, maybe?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” grunted Harrington, yanking down his pants to reveal a blunt cock at full mast. “You just keep him pinned, Kowalski. He is definitely gonna squirm with this one.”

“Jesus, Coach, I dunno–” whimpered Eddie as Harrington lined up his cock against Tyrone’s pulsing pucker.

“Profanity, Kowalski,” growled Harrington, and then, “Oh Jesus God that is tight!

Tyrone bolted as his coach’s cock slid into his asshole and then groaned, his voice vibrating Eddie’s ass where it sat on his chest.

“Who would have guessed your star player would feel so good inside, Harrington?” said Blaylock, long-dicking his slimy dick in and out of Tyrone’s mouth.

“I sure as fuck wouldn’t, Doc,” grunted Harrington as he sank deeper into Tyrone’s clenching ass. “Fuck, if I’d known how tight and smooth and–mmph–wet it’d be after a little licking, I’d have–fuck.”

Eddie and Harrington were face to face over Tyrone’s body, the anaconda length of Tyrone’s cock between them. Eddie stared at his coach’s face as the man grunted at the pleasure of ass-fucking his star athlete.

At last Harrington’s eyes focused enough to see Eddie staring at him with wide blue eyes. “For God’s sake, Kowalski,” he growled. “Don’t just–unnh–stare like a gobsmacked fish. Help your teammate out.”

“Wh-what am I supposed to do, Coach?” asked Eddie, swallowing hard.

“The doc and I are doing a pretty good job of stirring up Fetterman’s testosterone–” said Harrington.

“You fucking got that right, Coach,” grinned Blaylock. He was holding himself up by his arms on the table to give his dick a better angle into Tyrone’s mouth. His pants had fallen all the way to the floor, revealing a surprisingly white, bubbly ass that clenched as he pile-drove Tyrone’s mouth.

“–but we need to give all that energy somewhere to go.” Harrington half closed his eyes as Tyrone’s stretched-out asshole gripped along his cock. “That’s on you, Kowalski.”

“But what–”

“Suck him, Kowalski,” growled Harrington. “Help your teammate out.”

Eddie looked at Tyrone’s cockhead and his eyes got wider. “B-but, Coach–”

“The only butt I care about,” growled Harrington, “is this fucking amazing jock-chute that’s squeezing my dick like a desperate hooker when rent’s due. No excuses, Kowalski! Suck!”

Swallowing hard, Eddie leaned forward to Tyrone’s cockhead, now swollen almost as large as Eddie’s own head. Watching Harrington for approval, he opened his mouth as wide as he could and settled his lips around the engorged piss-slit. Tyrone gave another muffled howl and grabbed Eddie’s thighs, squeezing his buddy’s thick muscles even as Eddie carefully slobbered over the enormous cockhead.

Eddie was surprised at how good his friend’s silky cockhead tasted, and how musky and manly his cock felt now that it was blasting Tyrone’s body heat at Eddie’s face. He began licking and sucking in earnest, still watching his coach to make sure his form was good. Finally, he closed his eyes and stretched his lips as wide as he could around the coconut-sized cockhead, letting his mouth distort as he tried to cover as much of his friend’s cock as he could. He grabbed on the thick pillar of cock in front of him and then began instinctively massaging it, running his hands up and down the veiny flesh.

Just when he thought that his lips were going to burst over the swollen cockhead, the length of Tyrone’s cock shuddered and the monster prick suddenly shrunk by one inch.

“Fuck, Coach! Fuck! We did it!” said Eddie excitedly, pulling off Tyrone’s cockhead with a slurp. “It went down some!”

“Good job, Kowalski,” grunted Harrington, slamming his hips against Tyrone’s ass. “Don’t stop now, though. We’ve got feet of cock still to go.”

Eddie nodded, a determined look in his eye. He attacked Tyrone’s cock again, trying to stretch his lips around the still-enormous dickhead. After a few moments, he pulled off again. “It’s too big, Coach,” he complained. “I can’t cover it enough. I need better purchase.”

“Well, you can’t give up,” grunted Harrington as he rooted around Tyrone’s ass, “so think of something.”

Eddie glanced down where Tyrone’s thick balls barely obscured the sight of Harrington’s coach-dick pummelling the jock pussy beneath them. “Of fucking course,” he breathed. The next moment he was on his feet on the table, yanking off his singlet to reveal his compact, freckled body. Harrington noticed the wrestler’s chubby dick waving hard in the air and suppressed a smile as he sank again into Tyrone’s hot fuckchute.

“Here goes,” said Eddie, crouching down so that the enormous head of Tyrone’s cock nestled between his ass-cheeks, looking like a third leg.

“No!” shouted Tyrone, pushing Blaylock out of his mouth. “No way, Ed. It’s too much.”

“I just wanna help, Ty,” said Eddie, still crouched over his friend’s cock. “It won’t be so bad. You can imagine it’s Kesha.”

“Fuck, I don’t care about that,” said Tyrone. “I’ll fucking hurt you, dude. I’ll split you in half. C’mon coach, tell him.”

“He wants to help, Fetterman,” said Harrington, holding himself balls-deep in Tyrone’s ass by force of will while the two young men looked at each other expectantly.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” said Tyrone again. “I don’t want to hurt my bro.”

Eddie, naked and hard, blushed under his freckles. “I’ll be all right, dude,” he said. “And it’ll help, I know it will.”

Tyrone bit his lip and then nodded. “But, fuck it, Coach, you gotta slick him up or something. Make it a little easier, yeah?”

Harrington looked up. Crouched over Tyrone’s cock, Eddie’s ass was already almost level with Harrington’s face. “Good call, Fetterman,” the ex-jock growled. “A coach should always help prepare his players.” He reached up and grabbed Eddie by his thick waist, guiding the younger man’s round ass to his tongue even as he returned to his fuck rhythm into Tyrone’s ass. Tyrone, his mouth no longer suckling on Blaylock’s cock, moaned as the coach’s blunt cock battered the boy buzzer in his ass. Eddie matched his moans above him as his virgin asshole was explored by his coach’s tongue. Blaylock watched the two athletes impaled on Harrington’s cock and tongue and pulled on his own fat dick, a far-off grin on his face.

At last Harrington pulled sloppily off Eddie’s ass and gave the fat globes a sharp slap. “All right, Kowalski, you’re slicked up and ready. Show your coach how to sit on a cock.”

“S-sure, Coach,” said Eddie, grimacing as he once again straddled Tyrone’s impossible cock. Scowling with concentration, he began to press his coach-lapped asshole down on Tyrone’s dickhead, biting his lip as the head wedged itself deeper toward his fist-hard asshole.

“Please go slow, Ed,” said Tyrone, watching his friend with a worried look. “Stop if it hurts, I mean it.”

“Fuck, dude, you’re worth a little hurt,” said Eddie with a grin. “I can’t let my bro go around with this thing in his shorts, yeah?” He sank a millimeter, the head nestling halfway into his ring. “Shit, Ty, this thing is a fucking beast.”

“I know,” said Tyrone. “You’re a hero, Ed. Seriously.”

“Look–mmph–who’s talking,” said Eddie, pressing himself a few more inches down the pillar of Tyrone’s cock. “Taking Coach’s cock like a stud.”

Tyrone smiled sheepishly. “It–actually feels pretty good, once you get used to it.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I’m into it or anything.”

“Nah, no–oh God–way, man. Still a super stud,” said Eddie, breathing through his mouth as he posted himself more firmly on Tyrone’s cock. The wrestler’s dick was slowly shrinking, giving Eddie more space to wedge himself down on his buddy’s hot python. Eddie crouched down further, following the dick as it flexed inside his ass. “It’s working, Coach!” he said, flashing a grin at Harrington.

“Fuck, Fetterman, all I want to do is fucking plow you into this table,” growled Harrington as he slammed his dick into his player’s ass one last time, “but you and Kowalski figured it out. Good on you.” With a regretful look he pulled out of Tyrone’s ass just as Eddie settled down to sit his ass fully on Tyrone’s now-manageable cock.

Tyrone sat up as Eddie bottomed out, grabbing his stocky friend around the waist and humping into him, growling as his cock banged through Eddie’s fuckchute and rang him from the inside. Eddie growled back as Tyrone hammered at his prostate, his curvy butt slamming against Tyrone’s balls as he rode the wrestling’s star’s raging cock.

“Fuck, gonna cum, Ed,” said Tyrone, staring into Eddie’s eyes.

“Me too, Ty,” said Eddie, gripping Tyrone’s shoulders. “Dude, I don’t wanna make it weird, but I fucking love being fucked by you. Hope that’s cool.”

Tyrone smirked and slammed his buddy hard, flipping him over on the table so he could use gravity to make the last few fucks into him full-dick pounds. Eddie hollered in delight and grabbed the edges of the table as Tyrone fucked him, and then howled again as the last stroke went right through to his prostate and began soaking it in quarts of jock cum. Eddie’s asshole stretched again as it filled with Tyrone’s baby batter, and the press of hot cum and Tyrone’s cock on his prostate set his own cock, and he whined as the table beneath him was drenched with a hands-free cum.

“Good job, Coach,” said Blaylock, as the two pantsless men watched the young men on the table creaming each other. “Your theory panned out. Kinda leaves me with blue balls, though.”

Coach Harrington looked over at his colleague, noting his white round ass and sticky, swaying cock, still hard. The next second the doctor was slammed against the row of lockers as Harrington’s own slobbery cock opened him up. It only took five viscous pumps of Harrington’s cock to send Blaylock over the edge, spraying the locker combinations with his seed, and his ass’s cum-clench finally wrenched the cocksnot from Harrington’s own blunt monster. The two men clutched each other as they dropped to the cum-smeared floor, roughly making out.

“Doc Blaylock’s lucky,” said Tyrone to Eddie as they sat on the table and watched their coach and team doctor roll on the floor. “Coach knows his way around an ass, no lie.”

Eddie snorted with laughter, then glanced down at Tyrone’s naked body. “Jesus, Ty!” he said. “The fucking thing’s growing again.”

Tyrone looked down too. The cock was growing more slowly than before, but it was definitely inching its way back up. “Dammit, Kesha,” Tyrone growled. “Fucking bitch.”

“Um–I could–I mean, if it’s cool,” said Eddie, blushing again. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind taking another one for the team.”

“You fuckwad,” said Tyrone with a smirk, ruffling his friend’s hair. “Okay. Let’s go again, then we can see if I can even walk out of here.” He lay back down on the table, rubbing his growing cum-slimed dick with both hands.

“Hey, Ty?” asked Eddie, his eyes fixed on Tyrone’s growing dick.

“Yeah, dude?”

“Do you–do you mind if we let it grow a little more before I get on again?”

Tyrone looked at his friend, who blushed and looked away.

“It just–felt really good when it was fucking huge,” he mumbled.

“You’re a fucking freak, Ed,” said Tyrone with a smile, “but I love you, man. You go ahead and hop on whenever it’s big enough for you, dude.” He put his arms behind his head, closed his eyes, and smiled.


EPILOGUE

“Hey babe,” said Tyrone into the phone.

“You ready to apologize yet?” said Kesha’s voice on the other line.

“Apologize? What do I have to apologize for?”

“C’mon, Tyrone. If I did the curse right you got royally fucked today and so now you know how it feels. So since you learned your lesson, I forgive you and you can come over.”

“Really don’t know what you’re talking about, babe. And thanks for the offer and all, but I’m snuggled down with my bro Eddie and we’re watching a movie, so I can’t make it.”

“You’re fucking blowing me off?”

“It’s Bro Night, babe. Me and Eddie. Get with the schedule, yeah? Besides, there’s about five feet of cock between us that needs some fucking attention. Talk at you later.”

“Oh, no, you cannot hang up on me. I will curse you so bad, Tyrone William Fetterman, you don’t even know–"

click

*END

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