A Physical Education

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It was about 8:00 on a Friday night. Most people had long since left the school buildings, and I would have too but for the fact that I had an assignment to finish, which I couldn’t leave over the weekend. Even then, I didn’t feel I could leave without squeezing in an end-of-week session in the school weight room. I was feeling weary, but perhaps a quick muscle pump would re-invigorate me.

You weren’t really supposed to use the school weight room after hours, but I’d gotten special permission from Mr. Connors, the games master. I was one of his best pupils – a regular player on his football team – and I’d gone to him a few months before and said that I wanted to pump myself up a little. I was fit, and lean, with good muscle definition, but I’d seen some of the guys in the fitness magazines and thought how fine their bodies looked – thick, smooth and muscular. Not the outrageously pumped guys from Flex, but the hunky jock-types from the pages of Men’s Workout or Exercise For Men Only. In fact, I’d started buying these magazines regularly, and, I must confess, had one night ended up blowing a load over a picture of one such stud. I suppose I just got myself turned on by the thought of maybe one day having a big body like that.

Being a college student, I couldn’t really afford a proper gym membership, so Mr. Connors, on the quiet, had said I could go in and use the weight room a few nights a week, when everyone had gone home. The facilities were basic, but he scribbled me a few notes on how to get the most from the equipment, and it seemed to be paying dividends. I still had a long way to go before I could compare with the guys in the magazines, but I’d made progress.

In the locker room I changed into my velour gym shorts and school singlet, and wandered along the corridor to the weight room. When I opened the door, I was surprised to find the room occupied. Mr. Connors, clad only in a jockstrap, was pumping his pecs and biceps on the incline bench. He didn’t notice me at first, and I watched him pant through his exertions for a few moments, good honest sweat glistening on his body. Then, spotting me, he stopped, smiled a little sheepishly, and picked up a towel to wipe himself down.

“Hi, Rob, how are you?” Looking down at himself, he added: “I thought I had the place to myself, or I’d have found some kit to put on.”

“That’s all right, sir,” I answered. Don’t apologize, I thought; I’m enjoying the view. Mr. Connors was one hot stud. Usually, in PE lessons, he was clad head to toe in sweats, and though he was obviously a fit man, I’d never realized just what a hunky frame they concealed. He would certainly have not looked out of place on the pages of Men’s Workout, at any rate.

“You’re taking this working out very seriously, Rob, staying behind on a Friday night,” he said, reaching for his water bottle. “The only reason I’m here is that I couldn’t get to the gym last night, and I didn’t want to miss a workout. And I’ve got a date later on tonight, so I just thought I’d squeeze in an hour now here.”

“Yeah, it’s a terrible feeling when you miss a session,” I agreed. “I’ve just stayed back to finish an assignment, and I’m whacked, but I couldn’t go home until I’d done an hour or so in here.”

“That’s the spirit, son,” replied Connors, talking a swig from the bottle. I took in the sight of his body as he threw his head back, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and then feeling my eyes drawn towards another bulge, that in the front of his jock. I could see the outline of a six or seven-inch dick pressed downwards over his balls, and I was quite glad I was wearing loose-fitting shorts as my own cock started to harden in response.

Just then he set the bottle down and rose to continue his workout, and as he turned his back to me I was rewarded with the sight of one of the roundest, tightest pairs of glutes I’d ever seen. I couldn’t help but stare, but quickly averted my eyes as he looked back towards me. “Shall we begin?” he asked me as he installed himself on the squat machine in the corner.

I snapped out of my daydreaming and began exercising on the bench he’d vacated. The room was soon filled with the sounds of us grunting and exhaling as our exertions took their toll; tired as we were at the end of the school week, we kept pumping and changed machines every ten minutes or so. After about half an hour, Mr. Connors got to his feet again, wiped his wet frame down with his towel, and came and stood over me as I completed a set of curls on the preacher bench.

“You’re looking good, Rob,” he said as I ended my set. “Your hard work’s really been paying off. How many times a week have you been coming up here?”

“Three, usually – Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I try and do an hour or so.”

“You’ve really put on some mass by the looks of you. It’s not really been obvious through your football shirt, but wow, look at your biceps! And your pecs! Tell me, did you measure yourself when you started out, like I told you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And have you measured yourself lately?”

“No, sir, I guess I haven’t.”

“Well,” said Connors, enthusiastically. “Let’s see how you stack up. I’ve got a tape measure in the office next door; I’ll be right back.”

He reappeared with the tape after half a minute or so and asked me to stand upright. I did so and he asked me to flex my right biceps. 15” around, said the tape. He then took measurements of my neck and waist: 18” and 30” respectively. Next, he asked me to flex my quads (26” around), before wrapping the tape around my calf (19”). All showed substantial increases from six months before. Finally he asked me to remove my vest so he could take my chest measurement.

He pulled the tape tight around my pecs, just under the nipples, and I sighed. “43 inches,” announced Connors. “Not bad at all.” It felt good to have my big, hot PE teacher measuring my body like this, and he seemed to be getting off on it too. As he put the tape away, he ran a hand over my smooth chest and told me it had taken him much longer to get the same results in his youth.

Feeling emboldened by his blandishments, I asked if he knew his measurements. “No, actually, I haven’t taken them in a while,” he said. “Would you help me out?” It was just what I’d hoped he’d say. “Just lately I have been putting a few more hours in, so…”

He handed me the tape, and I began to measure him as he’d measured me: his biceps (18”), his neck (19”), his waist (32”), his thighs (29”), his calves (22”) and his chest (47”). He was a gorgeous specimen, but his pecs, in particular, were to die for: not the overdeveloped, bouncing tits you see on some gym bodies, but great slabs of hard, cut muscle, topped off with dark nipples, as big as thimbles.

“Oh, I love your pecs, sir,” I drooled, unable to help myself. “Er, I mean, I’d love pecs like yours.”

“Do you, Rob?” said Connors, looking down at my crotch and then straight into my eyes. “Do you really?”

A little shocked by his reply, I could only give a pathetic nod. It was then I realized that my cock was not only fully erect, but also oozing copious amounts of precum, which was making a noticeable wet spot in the front of my velour shorts.

“How much do you love them, Rob?” he went on, moving closer to me. “Why don't you show me how much you love them? They’re all yours.”

He pushed down on the top of my head so that my mouth was level with his right nipple, and instinctively I began to suck on it, drawing it fully into my mouth. He gave a low moan, and I reached for his other nipple with my right hand, pulling at it and feeling it fill with blood. Before long I was licking the whole of his right pec, tasting the sweat and feeling its hardness under my tongue, before moving over to the left.

He then flexed his right arm, and, attracted by its masculine funk, I licked out his armpit, tonguing the hair that grew there. I then coated the biceps itself with my hot saliva, before repeating my moves on his left arm. All the while Connors was gasping with pleasure, obviously delighted by this tongue-worshipping of his body. I looked down to see that his dick was now fully hard; in fact the head and about two further inches had burst out of the side of his jock pouch.

“My ass,” Connors suddenly groaned. “Work on my ass, boy.” He turned around, and I sank to my knees, holding onto the butt straps of his jock. I covered his baby-smooth buttocks with wet kisses, before parting them gently to reveal his pink manhole. I licked round the puckered muscle, and then pushed up beyond it with my tongue. I’d never done anything like this before, but I seemed instinctively to know how to please him, and I liked the raunchy taste that I discovered deep in his ass. He grunted his pleasure, and I pushed him further towards the edge by reaching between his legs and massaging his big sweaty balls, swollen in their tight sac.

Ready now to have me make him come, Connors swung around and slid his jock down his thighs, revealing a cock swollen to its full nine inches and dripping ropes of precum. He gripped my shoulders urgently, and I lapped at the purple head, licking off the silvery fluid, before taking the head in my mouth and letting my saliva run down the length of the shaft. It was a huge piece of equipment, and I wondered how much I was going to be able to take down my throat. I went down on him as far as I could, brushing the bulging veins roughly with the edge of my mouth, until my nose was just nudging against his bush. Coming back up to suck on just the head again, I only had to repeat this motion a few times before his face turned crimson and he began to shout.

“I’m gonna cum!” he bellowed. “I’m gonna blow my big creamy load in your fucking face!” He was still in my mouth when the first, biggest and creamiest spurt came flying out, and then, pulling out, he shot the rest of his glorious man milk over my cheeks and up into my hair.

It took us both a good couple of minutes to catch our breath. Then Connors drew me to my feet, took me in his big strong arms and began to lick his own cum off my face. When he’d cleaned me off, he pressed his lips to mine in a long, sensuous kiss, and smiled.

“I think we’d better hit the showers, Rob,” he whispered. “It’s almost half-nine, and they’ll be round to lock up at ten.

“Half-nine? What about your date?”

Connors laughed. “Forget it. I don’t think the lady in question will be half as much fun as you’ve been tonight.”

Extending his hand to me, he led me out of the weight room, pulling up his jock and picking up my sweaty vest from the floor on the way. On entering the locker room, I peeled off my damp velour shorts while Connors strode into the communal shower stall and turned on the water.

“Come on in, Rob,” I heard him shout. “It’s nice and hot.”

I stood next to Connors under the same jet and let the water cover me. As I closed my eyes, Connors lathered up a bar of soap in his hands and started to massage the foam over my body. His touch felt divine. He rubbed the soap over the shoulders and down my back before cupping my ass cheeks in his big hands, and slowly dragging a finger up through my crack. He then lifted my arms to work the lather into my armpits, and then worked down my torso with circular hand movements to where my cock, which was still hard from the muscle worship session, stuck proudly out from my wet bush.

Connors, still behind me, pressed my back against his chest with his left arm and took my seven inches in his right hand. He stroked me gently, causing the head to bulge and redden even more, and precum to start seeping out again. I had been hard for over an hour without getting to cum, and I was desperate for release. “Make me cum, sir,” I begged.

Connors began an expert hand-job, grasping my shaft tightly and pumping up and down on it, causing me to shudder with pleasure. Leaning back, I turned my face to his and locked lips with him, feeling him thrust his tongue aggressively into my mouth as my cock pulsed and throbbed in his grip. By that point it only took a few tugs on my right nipple to send me over the edge, and, with a roar, I shot more powerfully than ever before, six or seven jets of hot jism hitting the tiled wall in front of me.

When I’d recovered, we both quickly finished washing, toweled ourselves off, stuffed our dirty kit into our bags and stole off just before the caretaker came round to lock up.

But the evening didn’t end there. Having stood up his date, Connors had a free evening, and as we walked towards the car park, he told me he’d like nothing better than to spend it with me. And, believe me, I couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

It was just gone 11 PM when we got to Mr. Connors’ apartment. As he turned the key in the lock, I looked around the lobby, somehow convinced we were being spied on and that word would get out that I’d been at Coach’s house for sex late on Friday night. Indeed, the evening had moved so fast and in such a surprising direction that it was only now that I realized quite what I’d gotten myself into. I followed Connors through the door with a mixture of intense excitement and more than a little trepidation. He must have been able to hear my heart pound against my ribcage, I thought.

“Take a seat, Rob,” said Connors, showing me into the living room. “Wanna beer?”

Thinking it would chill me out a little, I agreed. A minute later he reappeared with two Budweisers and, handing one to me, sat down next to me on the sofa.

“Cheers, Rob,” he grinned, clinking glass. But then I guess he must have noticed my bottle shaking in my hand. “Jeez, Rob, what are you so nervous about? I’ve enjoyed the evening so far… just go with the flow, okay?” He leaned closer, putting his hand on my thigh and starting to rub. “We’re just two guys who enjoy working out and appreciate the male body… there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

The intoxicating masculine scent Connors was giving off made it impossible for me to disagree.

“Do you feel like going into the bedroom and doing some posing with me, Rob?”

“What do you mean?” Well, I pretty much knew what he meant; I just wanted to hear him explain exactly what he had in mind. Okay, so I had got to see my stud of a coach’s body – hell, I’d even blown him about an hour before - but to have him flex those big muscles of his and show off, especially for me, in the privacy of his own home, would be something else.

“You know, just showing off all that hard work we’ve been doing on our bodies. I went in for a couple of contests when I was younger; I’m sure I could still put together a little routine. Come on, it’ll be hot.” He rubbed my thigh again and took a long swig of beer. “I’ll strike some poses and you can follow my lead.”

After that we couldn’t finish our beers fast enough. Only minutes later, we were in the bedroom, Connors stripping down to the white cotton bikini briefs he had put on at school after our shower. I followed by peeling off my sweatshirt and shucking my jeans, only to be reminded that I was wearing the tattiest pair of boxers I owned. Connors smiled and fished in a drawer.

“Here,” he said, throwing me something that looked altogether more alluring. “It’s my old posing suit, from my contest days. I think you’ll look hot in it.”

I wasn’t used to wearing anything quite so, well, brief, but off came the shorts, and I carefully packed my dick and balls to the left in the high-cut suit, instantly quite liking the way they held me.

“There,” said Connors, admiringly. “I told you: hot! Now, the first thing we’ve got to do is get ourselves oiled up. Will you help me out, buddy?” He motioned toward a clear plastic container on the dresser. I picked up the bottle, squeezing some baby oil into my hands, dropped to my knees and started rubbing it into Connor’s shins and meaty, diamond-shaped calves. He stood completely still, letting me take my time: already, this was one of the most erotic experiences I had ever had. By way of his smooth, tree-trunk thighs, I progressed to his taut stomach, which I just couldn’t help kissing as I rubbed, and then up to those breathtaking pecs, where I’d started my worship of him a couple of hours before; I felt his nipples stiffen immediately as I caressed his perfect man-tits. Moving to his rear, I massaged his broad shoulders and the back of his neck before drizzling more oil down his sculpted back and making long, sensuous strokes up and down with both hands.

By the time I was through he positively glistened under the low lights of the bedroom. Then he took the bottle from me and slathered oil over my body in much the same way, working his way up from my lower legs to my shoulders and down my back. Already my cock was stirring in the posing suit, as he put his big hands all over me.

“Okay, Rob,” Connors said when he was done, stepping back from me, “check this out. This is a double-biceps pose.” He lifted his thick arms out and up from his body, and then he pushed them further upwards slightly to really show off his peaks. “Cool, huh? You wanna try?”

I certainly did. It felt good to flex the muscles I’d been working so hard to build all these months. And Connors took me through various poses, some of which I recognized from magazines and from a couple of contests I’d watched on the TV, and some of which were new to me. Occasionally, if I hadn’t quite got it right, he’d stroll over and adjust my posture himself manually, a couple of times taking the opportunity to feel me up through the suit. Not that I minded.

As time wore on, the exertion of our continued flexing caused us to break out into a sweat, which mingled with the oil and ran down our chests and began to seep into our posing wear. After a half an hour or so, Connors’ bikinis, being white cotton, had become completely transparent. I wasn’t copying him anymore by this stage; my eyes were instead fixed upon the sight of his swollen tool straining against the sodden fabric, my own cock achieving full hardness in response. However, determined perhaps to complete his routine, Connors ignored my piercing gaze and turned away from me.

“Okay, Rob, this is what they call a lat spread!” he grunted. I watched as his powerful arms rose in unison, and his spinal erectors separated to reveal a pair of shredded Christmas trees. After holding the pose for thirty seconds or so, he slowly peeled the underwear down his thighs from where it now so pointlessly clung and flexed his perfectly rounded glutes, which rose and tightened beautifully into the small of his back. As his kecks fell to the floor around his ankles, he moved his arms into a back double biceps pose.

“Would you mind rubbing some oil into my butt, Rob?” he asked, holding the pose, and without turning round.

Well, I didn’t need asking twice, and, after I’d fully coated those magnificent globes, I took the opportunity to work a finger a little way inside his glorious man-pussy and, pushing my hand between his thighs, fondle his scrotum from the back. I could feel his big, heavy eggs, no doubt bursting for release, drawn up tightly in his sac.

Connors then turned around to face me again, breathing very heavily now, his unfettered 9” erection bobbing in front of him. Staring into my eyes, he rolled those great slabs of pec, and then flexed them into hard mounds, fondling them slowly and deliberately before squeezing his nipples between the forefinger and thumb of each hand. He was unable to stop himself emitting a low moan. Finally, with what he announced as a vacuum pose, he shrank his waist down to ridiculously tiny dimensions, in stark contrast to his developed upper body.

By now we were both breathing hard and sweating profusely, and the bedroom was filled with a heady mixture of fresh, manly perspiration and more than a whiff of salty pre-cum. You could practically smell the anticipation of what was without doubt going to be some searing flex-sex in the air. I pushed my posing suit down my legs and began stroking my aching hard-on with my right hand.

Without a word, Connors relaxed and took a few steps forward, dropping to his knees in front of me, and closed his lips over the head of my cock. He took me slowly, inch by inch, into his warm mouth, and I luxuriated in the sensations of my first ever blowjob. Once he had wetted my tool all over with his devilish tongue and could slip his lips up and down my shaft with ease, he picked up speed and took big, hungry mouthfuls of me, making me cry out in ecstasy. He varied his techniques between just holding the head in his mouth and sucking hard on it, bobbing madly up and down over the top few inches, and swallowing me right up to the balls, but everything he did felt divine. But I decided I didn’t want to cum just at that moment, and so I asked him to stop sucking.

“Lick my balls,” I urged instead. And he took each big sperm factory between his lips in turn, rolling them around in his mouth, sucking on them like pieces of sweet, succulent fruit, nuzzling the whole area between my legs with his nose and stubbly jaw, coating my ball sac in his spittle – all the while roughly manipulating my buns with his powerful, oily hands. The feeling made me weak at the knees; I had to put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself.

“Okay,” breathed Connors at last as he stood up again, “I want you to do what I do. I want us to shoot our loads together, while we flex. I did this with a guy once after a contest; best sex I ever had.”

He lifted his right arm up, flexing his biceps and lats on that side, and I followed suit, copying the pose. Then, seemingly reading each other’s minds, we grasped each other’s engorged cocks in our left hands and worked up to a steady rhythm. Slick and shiny from the combination of sticky pre-cum, the copious amounts of baby oil we’d used and, in my case, fresh saliva, our schlongs were ready for some vigorous action. Our muscled arms seemed to flex involuntarily as they took long, steady strokes on our throbbing penises. As I jacked him I studied the veins that snaked all over Connors’ biceps and the shaft of his manhood.

“Feel like cumming now, Rob?” Connors gasped after a couple minutes of intense masturbation, as we feasted out eyes on one another’s bodies, our pecs rolling in rhythm with our stroking. “Fuck, yeah,” I groaned back. Moments later, he lifted both arms behind his head and crunched down into an abdominal pose, his chiseled six-pack rippling above his damp pubes. His huge, stiff prong pointed straight up and the gleaming, bulbous head looked like it would burst.

“Oh, I’m close, Rob!” he panted.

“Fuckin’ hot, sir!” I yelped, continuing to pound my coach’s meat as it pumped out bullets of thick man-cream. Deep rumbling sounds came from Connors’ throat. At the sight of his orgasm and flexing abs, my balls finally blew and my dick erupted with its second incredible load of the evening. My ball-juice rained down on Connors’ big chest, as he continued spraying his spooge all over my pecs and abs.

When we’d caught our breath, we once again rolled our pecs and spread our lats, starting to pose for each other again, covered with sperm. Our huge rods bounced and waved, still half-hard and dripping with thick tendrils of jizz...

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