By: rick_licks_dick
My heart sank when I saw Whittaker crumple up and hit the field like a wounded animal. He was my champion athlete and I was counting on him to pull us through in the regional finals next week. Now, he was flat on his back, both hands cupping the considerable bulge in his groin. I got up off the bench and loped across the field to find out what had happened.
"Pulled a muscle in my groin, Coach," he groaned, tears welling up in his eyes. He was a big, strong, eighteen year old man, but right now he looked as helpless as a baby. I helped him up, and slipped an arm around him, half-carrying him back to the locker room.
"Pulled a muscle in my groin, Coach," he groaned, tears welling up in his eyes. He was a big, strong, eighteen year old man, but right now he looked as helpless as a baby. I helped him up, and slipped an arm around him, half-carrying him back to the locker room.
Touching Whittaker was unlike touching any of the other young men I've coached over the years. Many of them had had great bodies, but Whittaker's was almost too much to take. His arms and shoulders were tight and thick with muscle, and his chest was a true masterpiece. Right now my fingers were curving under the rise of his big pec and it felt like a warm rock. When he moved it was sheer poetry in motion, and I was convinced that he had a great athletic career ahead of him.
"It really hurts, Coach," he groaned, looking over at me with his big brown eyes. Whittaker's arm felt good against my neck, his sweat soaking through my t-shirt and rapidly making me a whole lot hotter than the cool fall weather could justify. "You have to make it better. I have to be able to compete this weekend."
"We'll worry about that later," I reassured him, giving him a friendly squeeze. "Right now I want to get you inside so I can see how badly you're hurt." I tightened my grip on him and bore most of his weight as we descended the stairs.
"Let's get these clothes off you," I said, helping him into my office. "Can you get your shoes off?"
"Ouch!" he yelped as he tried to bend down and untie his shoe. He looked at me and attempted a smile that crumpled quickly into a grimace of pain.
"I'll do it, Whittaker," I said, kneeling to untie his shoes.
He put his hands on my shoulders and I pulled his foot up onto my knee and began working with the lace. The guy's calves were incredible - thick knots of muscle networked with veins and dusted with fine hair. I gripped the hard mass of flesh when I pulled off his shoe and felt a dangerous fluttering deep in my groin.
By the time I had his shoes off he had stripped out of his shirt and was slipping his shorts down over his hips, and then he pulled his jock down over his hips, too. Most of the guys would've left their jock on, but not Whittaker. The guy didn't have an ounce of modesty in his body and thought nothing of parading around naked.
Of course, who could blame him - he wasn't obnoxiously vain, but he obviously knew his body was as close to perfect as nature and exercise could make it. The cock, balls, and ass were no exception. He had a fat, stubby prick, nestled in a curly bush of brown hair, backed by a good-sized pair of nuts.
By the time I'd helped him up onto the massage table in the corner of my office I was well on my way to springing a rod, in spite of my efforts to be professional.
"Where does it hurt?" I asked, my voice sounding hoarse.
"Up in here," he said, pressing his thick fingers right up into his groin. This was going to be a tough one.
Lay down," I ordered, putting my hand on his hard chest and pushing him back flat. I slipped my fingers up the inside of his thigh, burrowing in next to his nuts. His pubes curled around my fingers and I damned near lost it. I probed gently and determined where the pain was originating.
"It feels better when you put pressure there," he said softly. I nudged upwards gently and he sighed. "That's good, coach." I ended up with both hands right in his crotch.
His balls were resting against my knuckles, and the gentle movement of my hands quickly translated into a roaring teenage hard-on that pointed eagerly up toward Whittaker's sculpted belly. There was no way I could avoid touching his nuts, but I wasn't quite ready when the guy reached down and grabbed my hand, then pulled it up over his throbbing prick. "This is what I really wanted to show you, coach," he whispered. "Help me take the swelling out of that. Please."
I'd never done it before with one of my students, but with Whittaker splayed out on the table before me, I simply couldn't resist. I leaned down and licked him from his balls to the arrow-shaped knob capping the end of his meat. He shuddered and his abs ridged up tight. Another lick and he was whimpering, his fingers curling against my neck. I started to pull away, but I'd already gone too far, so why stop now?
I took one last look at his magnificent torso and swallowed him right down to the root. His dick was a perfect fit, the knob just nudging my tonsils. I sucked my cheeks in tight and started giving him head, paying special attention to his cockhead and the knotted trigger of nerves under it. He bucked his hips and his hot nuts rolled up on the shaft of his dick, pressing tight against my lips.
I opened wide and sucked his tender balls into my mouth as well, slowly raising my head until his cords were stretched taut, flicking my tongue all around the hot, silky surface of his equipment.
In typical teenage fashion, he went from soft, to stiff, to shooting in about three minutes, filling my mouth all too quickly with his hot, creamy jizz. I swallowed his generous load greedily, and then let his jewels pop out of my mouth.
Afterwards, he grinned at me goofily and jumped down off the bench so easily I began to suspect he hadn't pulled a muscle at all. I couldn't stay angry though.
Whittaker won the match for us that weekend, and I've treated him for groin problems many times since.
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