Smashwords

Coach studied Jeramie for a moment. Slowly, he bent over slightly so as to look Jeramie in the eye.

“Listen,” he said in a gentle voice, placing a big hand down on Jeramie’s slender shoulder. “What goes on between Shaffeur and I… well, it’s not your fault, and it’s not your problem.”

Jeramie raised his head. “Really?” he asked, feeling uncertain. “Because…”

“Because nothing.” Coach didn’t give Jeramie the chance to recover. “He and I have some things to work out. Maybe I should have been clearer to him. About… a lot of things. But you didn’t make things bad between us. That’s on me.”

Jeramie couldn’t help himself. Coach was naked. He knew Coach’s smell drove him wild and made his cock spring to life and bounce in his pants. Spreading his arms wide, Jeramie reached out and gave Coach a big hug. The two boxes of underwear—his father’s birthday present––that he had been carrying around with him fell to the floor, forgotten.

Immediately, Jeramie felt himself drowning in Coach’s sweat and scent. The changing room tilted. Before he knew it, Jeramie was on his knees. Coach Ramirez’s cock was right in front of him. The thick tube of man meat was starting to fill out. A thick runny line of precum was already drooling down out of the piss slit, making a stain there on the carpet.

Jeramie couldn’t resist anymore. He launched forward like a young man starved and inhaled Coach’s big cock down his throat. The precum flooded his mouth at once, coating his tongue. Jeramie moaned deeply at the taste. It was like heaven and fireworks going off on his tongue.

“Fuuucckkkk,” Coach groaned, louder than he’d meant to. “You are one insatiable little faggot, ain’cha?”

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Thunder shook the Lecleaux residence.

Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the clouds for an instant. The gale cried out as the wind whipped through the neighborhood, scattering children’s toys and shingles to the four corners. Rain battered against the roof and the sides of the house. It was as if some ancient monster was beating its eldritch fists against sheetrock and masonry, trying to claw its way inside.

Jeramie lay bundled up under his covers. He didn’t believe in fairy tale monsters anymore. Since his Daddy started pounding his tight little faggot boypussy, Jeramie didn’t have nightmares. He never felt afraid so long as Detective Lecleaux’s warmth was pressed deep inside of him.

Tonight, however, Jeramie was asleep in his own bedroom. Daddy was in the room next door sleeping with his mom. Faintly, against the pounding of the rain and the rattling of the thunder, Jeramie could hear his father’s light snoring. He could almost picture the slow rise and fall of his father’s muscular, hairy chest.

Thinking about Daddy made Jeramie’s body ache. He wanted to be next to Daddy so badly. His hands needed to explore his father’s chest and stomach, to run his fingers all the way down to where Daddy’s hard cock stuck out from that thick patch of hair. He needed to cup Daddy’s huge balls in both hands and feel how heavy with cum they were.

Thoughts of Daddy made his little boypussy twitch. Jeramie knew that sensation well. He had been taking Daddy’s cock for a while now. That hard meat had carved a path inside of him, forming a groove where the thick, manly cudgel fit perfectly.

Jeramie started to get out of bed, but another clap of thunder shook the house, so he stayed put. He wasn’t usually this afraid of thunder. It was loud, certainly, and that brought with it a degree of caution. But this storm was different somehow. Jeramie could sense it.

The storm was bringing something to Pembrooke Falls—Jeramie’s hometown—and Jeramie wasn’t sure that he liked it.

To calm himself, the eighteen-year-old sleuth began counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. Jeramie had learned this trick years ago. One second equaled approximately one mile.

Of course, the storm was right on top of him. He could figure out that much without counting. Primarily, Jeramie wanted something to keep himself occupied. The storm would blow over eventually. He simply had to ride it out.

Gradually, Jeramie became aware of a sound. It was difficult to make out at first. The thunder and the rain together made it hard to hear. Jeramie raised up off his pillow and listened closely. For a moment, though, he thought that he’d heard footsteps.

Every so often, he would hear it again. The thunder would shake the house and mask every other sound, including the rain hitting the roof. As Jeramie continued to listen, he made out a step or two.

Someone was making their way up the staircase from the first floor, stepping in time with the thunder. Except, every so often, they would miscalculate. Jeramie felt sure of it.

Daddy was still asleep. Jeramie could hear his father’s light snores more easily now. It was like his senses were dialed up, on fire and alert for the slightest change. He could make out the footfalls on the soft carpet as they ascended the staircase. Whoever it was turned at the top and headed down the hallway toward him.

Jeramie tried to think, but it was like a fog had encased his skull. He couldn’t put together a plan of action. Nothing on his body wanted to cooperate either. Jeramie struggled to move, as though his bed sheet now weighed a ton.

A blinding flash of lightning shot down out of the sky, streaking past his window. Jeramie turned his head at the exact moment. The window on the right side of his room next to the closet was lit up. Light spilled out toward the bedroom door where a hulking shadow stood.

Jeramie’s eyes widened in shock. He thought he felt his heart skip a beat. The breath in his lungs seized up. His entire body went rigid.

It was Kent, the convict who had broken into his home a couple of weeks ago.

“Hello, bitch!” said Kent. A wide smile, exposing white teeth beamed, spread across the giant of a black man as he took a step into the room. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Something jumped through Jeramie’s body. It felt like a small electric shock. Whatever it was, the sensation did the trick. At last, he could move. Jeramie had enough time to rise up before Kent was on him. The enormous Black convict reached out with two massive hands, seizing Jeramie in both of them. Jeramie tried to scream, but one hand came down hard over his mouth.

“You ain’t going nowhere, lil’ man!” The strength in Kent’s hands held Jeramie fast. He could feel them squeeze his smaller body. The darkness of his skin—like obsidian—stood out against Jeramie’s pale flesh. “Not until I’ve gotten my piece of boypussy again!”

Jeramie felt himself being lifted into the air. Kent dragged him out of the bed. Jeramie was thrown against the foot, lying face down with his legs hanging off.

“And this time,” Kent said, the hunger in his voice evident, “I ain’t sharing this faggot cunt with nobody!”

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He decided to go look for Shaffeur. There was a possibility that the star dodgeball player hadn’t gone back to class yet. If so, Jeramie could ask him directly.

“Here’s hoping Shaffeur hasn’t finished changing,” he mumbled, beginning the short trek.

The locker room was located on the right side of the gym, near the Visitor bleachers. Jeramie noticed a strange noise as he drew closer to the entrance. The door was cracked ever so slightly. Whoever shut it didn’t make sure the door was closed all the way.

Even better, Jeramie recognized the sounds.

“Fuck me, Coach!” cried a familiar voice, deepening the boyslut detective’s suspicions.

The locker room carried the unmistakable fragrance of young males. Despite this, Jeramie detected a faint trace of something denser. It was heavier and held a much stronger musk which tickled the hairs in his nose.

This confirmed what Jeramie already knew was happening. He could hear deep grunts from far on the other side of the locker area. Heavy breaths came through the thick, moist air. There was the noticeable sound of thick hairy flesh smacking hard against the smooth, tender thighs of a much younger man.

“Please! Please! Please!” cried Shaffer, begging for more. “Fuck me, Coach!”

This left no doubt in his mind. Coach Ramirez was fucking Timothy Shaffer. And, from the sound of things, this wasn’t their first time.

A hot shiver of lust rolled down Jeramie’s spine. He felt the world tilt around him. The smells coming from the locker room were intoxicating, especially for a lusty little slut puppy like himself. Jeramie could feel his cock grow hard in his shorts. His faggot boypussy flexed and puckered, suddenly alive and slick with need.

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