I moved to the new city three days before school started and I was already stressed and sad about the whole thing. My parents transferred for work and suddenly I was eighteen and completely alone in a place where I knew nobody. The apartment felt empty. The streets looked wrong. Everything reminded me I had left my old life behind. First day of school started bad. People seemed strange in my eyes. The way they talked, the groups they walked in, the way they already knew each other. I couldn’t really make any new contacts yet. Every time I tried to say something it came out awkward and I just shut up again. At lunch I sat alone in the school mensa with my tray, eating without tasting anything, thinking about my ex-girlfriend who had broken up with me right before the move and about my buddies from my former city. I missed the easy jokes, the familiar faces, the feeling of belonging somewhere. Here I was just the new kid sitting by himself.
Soccer tryouts were after the last bell. I played back home and figured it was the fastest way to meet people even if I didn’t feel like talking much. The field smelled like fresh-cut grass and late summer heat. That was the first time I really saw Coach Rivera up close.
He was young, maybe early twenties, muscular without looking like he lived in the gym. Broad shoulders, solid chest, strong arms, thick legs that filled out his black soccer shorts. Friendly face, easy smile, dark hair pushed back, the kind of guy who looked approachable even while blowing the whistle. All the girls at school already talked about him. You could hear them in the hallways. He’s so hot. Did you see his arms. I would totally date the new coach. He was exactly that type.
What I noticed right away was how hairy he was. Dark hair on his forearms, a bit showing at the collar of his shirt, thick on his legs below the shorts. Not messy, just naturally very hairy in a masculine way. I’m not gay. I’ve never even thought of myself as bisexual. Girls are what I want. Meeting him was just nice. He shook my hand, asked where I transferred from, told me to work hard and have fun. Friendly, straightforward. No further thoughts of anything sexual. He was just the new coach, the kind of guy everyone already liked.
He ran us through drills hard. Sprints, passing lanes, possession games. I kept up. My legs burned, sweat soaked my shirt, but it felt good to move after days of boxes and silence and all that loneliness.
Near the end of practice he called for a final full-field run. I planted wrong on a wet patch of grass and my ankle rolled hard. Pain shot up my leg and I went down with a sharp yell. The whistle blew. The other guys slowed and looked over. Coach was at my side in seconds kneeling in the grass.
“Stay down. Don’t put weight on it.” His voice was calm but firm. He got an arm under my shoulders and helped me hop toward the equipment shed at the edge of the field. Inside it was dim and quiet, the air cooler, smelling of leather, grass clippings and old mesh bags. He lowered me onto a low wooden bench then knelt in front of me again.
He carefully unlaced my cleat and eased it off. The sock came next, peeled down slowly until both of my bare feet were free. My injured ankle was already starting to swell a little. Coach took it gently in both hands and began checking it fully, turning it carefully, pressing along the bones and tendons, feeling the range of motion. Then his strong fingers moved to the sole of my foot, the arch, the toes, massaging firmly but carefully to see how it responded.
He kept working my feet for a while, thumbs pressing into the arches, fingers rolling over the toes. Then he suddenly seemed irritated, like he didn’t know what to say next. His hands paused. He cleared his throat and looked up at me with a weird expression.
“Can I make you a compliment?” he asked. “Hoping you don’t get it wrong or anything.”
I shrugged. “Okay.”
He nodded once and said it. “You’ve got really nice feet. Huge and really well taken care of. Clean, smooth, strong. Most guys don’t look after them like this.”
The compliment still caught me off guard even after the awkward lead-in. He kept massaging, thumbs digging into the arch of my injured foot, then switching to the other one, working the ball of the foot, rolling each toe between his fingers. It felt surprisingly good. The sharp pain from the twist started to fade under the steady pressure of his hands. I looked down at him. My new soccer teacher kneeling right in front of me, both of my bare feet in his lap, his strong fingers working the soles and ankles like it was the most natural thing in the world. The pain was forgotten soon. All I felt was the warm firm pressure of his hands and the quiet concentration on his face.
“I’d like to keep going a bit longer if you don’t mind,” he said, glancing up. “Just to make sure everything’s loose and you’re fit for the upcoming games. No point risking it.”
I nodded. “Yeah, okay. Go ahead.”
He continued the massage, slower now, more thorough, pressing into the heels, sliding up along the Achilles, working every part of both feet. My eyes drifted half-closed for a second from how good it felt. That was when I first noticed the bulge.
His black soccer shorts were stretched tight across his lap while he knelt. The fabric pulled and shifted every time he moved his hands on my feet. At first it just looked like the normal outline of a guy adjusting himself, but the longer he massaged the more obvious it became. A thick, heavy shape pressed against the front of the shorts, growing fuller, the material tenting outward. I could see the clear ridge of the shaft and the rounded shape of the head pushing harder against the thin fabric. Dark hair peeked out along the edges of the leg openings. He shifted his weight to get a better angle on my arch and the shorts rode up higher on one side. The waistband dipped. The fabric gaped open just enough.
His uncut cock plopped out completely.
It happened slow enough that I saw every part of it. First the thick base appeared, surrounded by that dense dark bush of pubic hair. Then the long heavy shaft followed, soft but already starting to fill, the skin smooth and a little shiny from sweat. The beautiful soft overhang of foreskin covered most of the head, hanging loose and natural. His big low-hanging balls spilled out right after, heavy and full, the whole package covered in thick coarse hair that curled around the sac and ran up onto the shaft. The cock landed against his thigh with a soft weighty slap, then settled there, half-hard and exposed, the overhang shifting as it continued to thicken from the heat and the movement. He still hadn’t noticed. He just kept massaging my feet like nothing was wrong, his huge hairy uncut dick hanging out in the open right in front of me.
I stared. I couldn’t help it. I’m not gay. I’ve never even considered myself bisexual. Girls are what I want. But that thick uncut cock just sitting there, the beautiful overhang, the heavy low balls, all that dark hair framing it, made something twist low in my stomach. Curiosity, pure and sharp. I watched it twitch once, then again, the foreskin sliding a little as blood filled it more.
Finally he noticed my gaze and looked down.
“Shit, sorry,” he muttered, reaching to tuck it back, but he was still holding one of my feet and the movement only made the thick cock sway and slap lightly against his thigh again.
I couldn’t help myself. My bare sweaty foot shifted and brushed right along the length of it. The soft sole dragged across the heavy shaft, toes catching under the beautiful overhang. The contact was warm and slightly damp from my sweat.
The process of his arousal was immediate and detailed. First the thick shaft twitched hard under my foot, a visible pulse running from base to tip. Then it began to swell, slowly at first, the girth expanding, the veins along the underside standing out more clearly under the skin. The foreskin stretched tighter as the head pushed forward, the beautiful overhang sliding back little by little until the flushed shiny glans was fully exposed. A clear bead of pre-cum formed at the slit and smeared against the sole of my foot. His big low-hanging balls drew up slightly then dropped again heavier, the dense dark hair around them shifting and sticking together from the growing wetness. Within less than a minute his cock was fully hard, huge, thick, throbbing against my sweaty toes and sole, the overhang now stretched tight around the base of the exposed head, a steady drip of pre-cum wetting my skin and dripping down into his thick pubic hair.
Coach’s breathing had gone deeper. Then his eyes dropped to my lap. My own cock was rock-hard in my shorts, the thick bulge obvious and straining, a wet spot already forming at the tip. He didn’t say anything. He just leaned in, yanked my shorts and underwear down far enough to free my dick, and wrapped his mouth around it.
He sucked me hard right away. No teasing, no slow start. His lips sealed tight around the shaft, tongue working the underside while he bobbed fast and deep. The wet heat of his mouth was intense. He took me almost to the base, throat working around the head, spit running down my balls and soaking into the hair at the base of my cock. One hand stroked what he couldn’t fit, the other still resting on my bare foot, fingers pressing into the sole. The sight of my new soccer teacher on his knees with my cock stretching his lips, spit and pre-cum dripping down his chin, while his own huge hairy uncut dick stood hard and leaking between his legs pushed me over the edge fast.
I wasn't able to think clearly nor realize what was happening here but I was so fucking horny I couldn’t take it long. My balls tightened hard and I needed to unload. Without thinking about what I am doing I blasted thick ropes of cum across his face, coating his lips, his cheeks, his chin, some of it landing in his dark hair. More landed on his jersey, soaking into the fabric in long sticky white streaks. He kept sucking through the first few pulses, swallowing some, then pulled off and stroked the rest onto his face and chest until he was covered. Cum dripped from his chin onto the front of his jersey and down into the thick dark hair around his cock. His eyes stayed locked on mine while the last spurts landed and his tongue flicked out to taste some of it. "Wow, that looks really hot on him" I thought while I had always enjoyed covering my ex in cum, too.
He wiped some of it from his mouth with the back of his hand and gave a short rough laugh.
“Good start,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “But I want to cum too.”
He went back to massaging my feet again, slower this time, thumbs pressing deep into the soles, spreading the leftover spit and pre-cum around. Then he grabbed both of them, brought them together around his huge uncut cock, and started using them. He wrapped my sweaty soles around the thick shaft and made me give him a footjob. The soft skin of my feet slid up and down the length, toes catching under the beautiful overhang every time I pushed forward, squeezing the shiny head. His big low-hanging balls bounced against my heels with every stroke, the dense dark hair getting wetter and messier. Pre-cum dripped steadily from the slit in long clear strings, making everything slick and sticky. The thick pubic hair at the base got soaked and stuck to my soles. He groaned as he thrust between my feet, the thick cock throbbing harder, the overhang sliding back and forth over the shiny head, more pre-cum leaking down onto my toes.
“Fuck, just like that,” he muttered. “Keep going. Squeeze it harder.”
I worked my feet faster, squeezing the shaft between the soles, toes rubbing and pinching under the head. His cock dripped more and more, long clear strings stretching from the tip down onto my toes and between them. His balls drew up tight and heavy. He thrust harder between my feet, grunting, and then he came. A huge amount of thick hot cum shot all over my toes and soles in heavy ropes, coating the skin, running between my toes, dripping down onto the floor of the shed and into his own thick pubic hair. Pulse after pulse covered both feet until they were shiny and dripping with his load. Some of it landed on his hairy thighs and the base of his cock.
He stayed there for a few seconds catching his breath, still holding my cum-covered feet around his slowly softening cock. Then he leaned down and licked it off. His tongue dragged slowly across my toes, between them, over the soles, cleaning every drop of his own cum from my skin. He took his time, sucking lightly on a couple of toes, tasting the mix of his load and my sweat, while his fingers kept spreading the mess around in his thick pubic hair.
We heard voices outside. Other players calling for him.
“Coach? You in there? We’re looking for you.”
Shit. He moved fast. He wiped the rest of the cum from his face and chest with his jersey, scrubbing it into the fabric, then used the same jersey to clean the thick dark hair around his cock and balls, wiping away the spit and leftover cum until his hairy pubes looked mostly normal again. He cleaned my cum-covered feet quickly with the jersey too, rubbing the soles and between my toes until the worst of the sticky mess was gone. Then he pulled a fresh jersey from a bag in the corner, stripped off the stained one, and yanked the clean one on. We both got fully dressed in a hurry. I pulled my shorts and underwear back up, shoved my feet back into the socks and cleats as fast as my ankle allowed. He tucked his cock away and adjusted his shorts.
The door opened just as we finished. A couple of guys from the team stuck their heads in.
“There you are. We were searching everywhere. Everything okay?”
Coach nodded like nothing had happened. “Yeah. Just checking his ankle. He’s good. Ice and rest tonight.”
No one noticed the faint smell of sex in the air or the slightly damp spots on the floor. No one saw the crumpled stained jersey stuffed in the bag. We walked out together like it was just a normal injury check.
Before I left he looked at me and said, “This was a good start of the season.”
That night in my new empty apartment I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The bad feelings about the new school were blown away. I was already looking forward to the next training, hoping there were (no) new injuries. ;-)
Soccer tryouts were after the last bell. I played back home and figured it was the fastest way to meet people even if I didn’t feel like talking much. The field smelled like fresh-cut grass and late summer heat. That was the first time I really saw Coach Rivera up close.
He was young, maybe early twenties, muscular without looking like he lived in the gym. Broad shoulders, solid chest, strong arms, thick legs that filled out his black soccer shorts. Friendly face, easy smile, dark hair pushed back, the kind of guy who looked approachable even while blowing the whistle. All the girls at school already talked about him. You could hear them in the hallways. He’s so hot. Did you see his arms. I would totally date the new coach. He was exactly that type.
What I noticed right away was how hairy he was. Dark hair on his forearms, a bit showing at the collar of his shirt, thick on his legs below the shorts. Not messy, just naturally very hairy in a masculine way. I’m not gay. I’ve never even thought of myself as bisexual. Girls are what I want. Meeting him was just nice. He shook my hand, asked where I transferred from, told me to work hard and have fun. Friendly, straightforward. No further thoughts of anything sexual. He was just the new coach, the kind of guy everyone already liked.
He ran us through drills hard. Sprints, passing lanes, possession games. I kept up. My legs burned, sweat soaked my shirt, but it felt good to move after days of boxes and silence and all that loneliness.
Near the end of practice he called for a final full-field run. I planted wrong on a wet patch of grass and my ankle rolled hard. Pain shot up my leg and I went down with a sharp yell. The whistle blew. The other guys slowed and looked over. Coach was at my side in seconds kneeling in the grass.
“Stay down. Don’t put weight on it.” His voice was calm but firm. He got an arm under my shoulders and helped me hop toward the equipment shed at the edge of the field. Inside it was dim and quiet, the air cooler, smelling of leather, grass clippings and old mesh bags. He lowered me onto a low wooden bench then knelt in front of me again.
He carefully unlaced my cleat and eased it off. The sock came next, peeled down slowly until both of my bare feet were free. My injured ankle was already starting to swell a little. Coach took it gently in both hands and began checking it fully, turning it carefully, pressing along the bones and tendons, feeling the range of motion. Then his strong fingers moved to the sole of my foot, the arch, the toes, massaging firmly but carefully to see how it responded.
He kept working my feet for a while, thumbs pressing into the arches, fingers rolling over the toes. Then he suddenly seemed irritated, like he didn’t know what to say next. His hands paused. He cleared his throat and looked up at me with a weird expression.
“Can I make you a compliment?” he asked. “Hoping you don’t get it wrong or anything.”
I shrugged. “Okay.”
He nodded once and said it. “You’ve got really nice feet. Huge and really well taken care of. Clean, smooth, strong. Most guys don’t look after them like this.”
The compliment still caught me off guard even after the awkward lead-in. He kept massaging, thumbs digging into the arch of my injured foot, then switching to the other one, working the ball of the foot, rolling each toe between his fingers. It felt surprisingly good. The sharp pain from the twist started to fade under the steady pressure of his hands. I looked down at him. My new soccer teacher kneeling right in front of me, both of my bare feet in his lap, his strong fingers working the soles and ankles like it was the most natural thing in the world. The pain was forgotten soon. All I felt was the warm firm pressure of his hands and the quiet concentration on his face.
“I’d like to keep going a bit longer if you don’t mind,” he said, glancing up. “Just to make sure everything’s loose and you’re fit for the upcoming games. No point risking it.”
I nodded. “Yeah, okay. Go ahead.”
He continued the massage, slower now, more thorough, pressing into the heels, sliding up along the Achilles, working every part of both feet. My eyes drifted half-closed for a second from how good it felt. That was when I first noticed the bulge.
His black soccer shorts were stretched tight across his lap while he knelt. The fabric pulled and shifted every time he moved his hands on my feet. At first it just looked like the normal outline of a guy adjusting himself, but the longer he massaged the more obvious it became. A thick, heavy shape pressed against the front of the shorts, growing fuller, the material tenting outward. I could see the clear ridge of the shaft and the rounded shape of the head pushing harder against the thin fabric. Dark hair peeked out along the edges of the leg openings. He shifted his weight to get a better angle on my arch and the shorts rode up higher on one side. The waistband dipped. The fabric gaped open just enough.
His uncut cock plopped out completely.
It happened slow enough that I saw every part of it. First the thick base appeared, surrounded by that dense dark bush of pubic hair. Then the long heavy shaft followed, soft but already starting to fill, the skin smooth and a little shiny from sweat. The beautiful soft overhang of foreskin covered most of the head, hanging loose and natural. His big low-hanging balls spilled out right after, heavy and full, the whole package covered in thick coarse hair that curled around the sac and ran up onto the shaft. The cock landed against his thigh with a soft weighty slap, then settled there, half-hard and exposed, the overhang shifting as it continued to thicken from the heat and the movement. He still hadn’t noticed. He just kept massaging my feet like nothing was wrong, his huge hairy uncut dick hanging out in the open right in front of me.
I stared. I couldn’t help it. I’m not gay. I’ve never even considered myself bisexual. Girls are what I want. But that thick uncut cock just sitting there, the beautiful overhang, the heavy low balls, all that dark hair framing it, made something twist low in my stomach. Curiosity, pure and sharp. I watched it twitch once, then again, the foreskin sliding a little as blood filled it more.
Finally he noticed my gaze and looked down.
“Shit, sorry,” he muttered, reaching to tuck it back, but he was still holding one of my feet and the movement only made the thick cock sway and slap lightly against his thigh again.
I couldn’t help myself. My bare sweaty foot shifted and brushed right along the length of it. The soft sole dragged across the heavy shaft, toes catching under the beautiful overhang. The contact was warm and slightly damp from my sweat.
The process of his arousal was immediate and detailed. First the thick shaft twitched hard under my foot, a visible pulse running from base to tip. Then it began to swell, slowly at first, the girth expanding, the veins along the underside standing out more clearly under the skin. The foreskin stretched tighter as the head pushed forward, the beautiful overhang sliding back little by little until the flushed shiny glans was fully exposed. A clear bead of pre-cum formed at the slit and smeared against the sole of my foot. His big low-hanging balls drew up slightly then dropped again heavier, the dense dark hair around them shifting and sticking together from the growing wetness. Within less than a minute his cock was fully hard, huge, thick, throbbing against my sweaty toes and sole, the overhang now stretched tight around the base of the exposed head, a steady drip of pre-cum wetting my skin and dripping down into his thick pubic hair.
Coach’s breathing had gone deeper. Then his eyes dropped to my lap. My own cock was rock-hard in my shorts, the thick bulge obvious and straining, a wet spot already forming at the tip. He didn’t say anything. He just leaned in, yanked my shorts and underwear down far enough to free my dick, and wrapped his mouth around it.
He sucked me hard right away. No teasing, no slow start. His lips sealed tight around the shaft, tongue working the underside while he bobbed fast and deep. The wet heat of his mouth was intense. He took me almost to the base, throat working around the head, spit running down my balls and soaking into the hair at the base of my cock. One hand stroked what he couldn’t fit, the other still resting on my bare foot, fingers pressing into the sole. The sight of my new soccer teacher on his knees with my cock stretching his lips, spit and pre-cum dripping down his chin, while his own huge hairy uncut dick stood hard and leaking between his legs pushed me over the edge fast.
I wasn't able to think clearly nor realize what was happening here but I was so fucking horny I couldn’t take it long. My balls tightened hard and I needed to unload. Without thinking about what I am doing I blasted thick ropes of cum across his face, coating his lips, his cheeks, his chin, some of it landing in his dark hair. More landed on his jersey, soaking into the fabric in long sticky white streaks. He kept sucking through the first few pulses, swallowing some, then pulled off and stroked the rest onto his face and chest until he was covered. Cum dripped from his chin onto the front of his jersey and down into the thick dark hair around his cock. His eyes stayed locked on mine while the last spurts landed and his tongue flicked out to taste some of it. "Wow, that looks really hot on him" I thought while I had always enjoyed covering my ex in cum, too.
He wiped some of it from his mouth with the back of his hand and gave a short rough laugh.
“Good start,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “But I want to cum too.”
He went back to massaging my feet again, slower this time, thumbs pressing deep into the soles, spreading the leftover spit and pre-cum around. Then he grabbed both of them, brought them together around his huge uncut cock, and started using them. He wrapped my sweaty soles around the thick shaft and made me give him a footjob. The soft skin of my feet slid up and down the length, toes catching under the beautiful overhang every time I pushed forward, squeezing the shiny head. His big low-hanging balls bounced against my heels with every stroke, the dense dark hair getting wetter and messier. Pre-cum dripped steadily from the slit in long clear strings, making everything slick and sticky. The thick pubic hair at the base got soaked and stuck to my soles. He groaned as he thrust between my feet, the thick cock throbbing harder, the overhang sliding back and forth over the shiny head, more pre-cum leaking down onto my toes.
“Fuck, just like that,” he muttered. “Keep going. Squeeze it harder.”
I worked my feet faster, squeezing the shaft between the soles, toes rubbing and pinching under the head. His cock dripped more and more, long clear strings stretching from the tip down onto my toes and between them. His balls drew up tight and heavy. He thrust harder between my feet, grunting, and then he came. A huge amount of thick hot cum shot all over my toes and soles in heavy ropes, coating the skin, running between my toes, dripping down onto the floor of the shed and into his own thick pubic hair. Pulse after pulse covered both feet until they were shiny and dripping with his load. Some of it landed on his hairy thighs and the base of his cock.
He stayed there for a few seconds catching his breath, still holding my cum-covered feet around his slowly softening cock. Then he leaned down and licked it off. His tongue dragged slowly across my toes, between them, over the soles, cleaning every drop of his own cum from my skin. He took his time, sucking lightly on a couple of toes, tasting the mix of his load and my sweat, while his fingers kept spreading the mess around in his thick pubic hair.
We heard voices outside. Other players calling for him.
“Coach? You in there? We’re looking for you.”
Shit. He moved fast. He wiped the rest of the cum from his face and chest with his jersey, scrubbing it into the fabric, then used the same jersey to clean the thick dark hair around his cock and balls, wiping away the spit and leftover cum until his hairy pubes looked mostly normal again. He cleaned my cum-covered feet quickly with the jersey too, rubbing the soles and between my toes until the worst of the sticky mess was gone. Then he pulled a fresh jersey from a bag in the corner, stripped off the stained one, and yanked the clean one on. We both got fully dressed in a hurry. I pulled my shorts and underwear back up, shoved my feet back into the socks and cleats as fast as my ankle allowed. He tucked his cock away and adjusted his shorts.
The door opened just as we finished. A couple of guys from the team stuck their heads in.
“There you are. We were searching everywhere. Everything okay?”
Coach nodded like nothing had happened. “Yeah. Just checking his ankle. He’s good. Ice and rest tonight.”
No one noticed the faint smell of sex in the air or the slightly damp spots on the floor. No one saw the crumpled stained jersey stuffed in the bag. We walked out together like it was just a normal injury check.
Before I left he looked at me and said, “This was a good start of the season.”
That night in my new empty apartment I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The bad feelings about the new school were blown away. I was already looking forward to the next training, hoping there were (no) new injuries. ;-)
