Using Coach Devereaux's own high ethical values against him, Joey Rosinsky sets the trap and forces the reluctant coach to agree to an after-school meeting in the gym to surrender himself to punishment for swearing in class.
Academy Thugs 2: The Trap is Sprung
by Amalaric
Art by Amalaric
Series: Academy Thugs
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Joey Rosinsky, for all of his bravado and thuggish pranks, was, deep down, a dreamer or- perhaps better put- a creative schemer. Biding his time, he finally came to the conclusion that payback and long-nurtured jack off fantasies might, in the case of Coach Devereaux, be one and the same thing. With both subjects in mind he spent long hours considering his options, not really in a huge hurry, biding his time until the obvious occurred and Devereaux was delivered finally and irrevocably into his hands. In the meantime, Joey consoled himself with possibilities and the daily sight of his coach casually, and most likely unconsciously, strutting his stuff outside or in the cavernous gym. His already voracious appetite was whetted by one of Devereaux’s quirks; unlike most of the other coaches in the hot south western climate, Pete Devereaux almost never peeled off his tee, considering it somehow unprofessional to appear bare-chested in front of the students. His modest habit was occasionally remarked upon, with an undercurrent of unspoken disappointment in certain quarters because Coach Devereaux was really an awesome looking stud. Very occasionally, for unknown reasons, he did strip to the waist and the sight of his lean, muscular, well-defined torso dusted with a fine pelt of deep golden fur was a sight to cherish for the likes of Joey Rosinsky. Usually, though, Joey had to make due with intense, if surreptitious, observation of a more prosaic sort; teased to distraction by the sight of the older man usually clad in tee shirt, cotton or denim shorts or slacks, and scuffed white tennis shoes.
Still, even fully clothed, Pete Devereaux cut a fine figure, honed by a few years in the military followed by a major in Phys Ed, that was easily augmented- all of the blanks filled in so to speak- by an observant student’s imagination and, in that area at least, Joey was no slouch. He roughly imagined the handsome PE coach, guessing Devereaux had to be in his late twenties, maybe even thirty; a rutting buck in his proud prime with a dick like a battering ram and nuts packed with so much juice that if the coach didn’t score a babe every evening, he would (man of honor or not) be compelled to the solace of his calloused right hand and, in Joey’s estimation, when that happened, well, Coach Devereaux flat on his back with cock in hand never failed to ‘shoot the light bulb’. Or was it Joey that did all of the target practice...who cared? Fantasy knew no bounds and, speaking of bounds... Joey had developed a few tasty kinks in the course of his short but priviledged life and, more and more often, Pete Devereaux scored a starring role in the steamy mental drama playing behind Joey’s hot brow in ways that would have made the coach blush first and then ball both fists in self-defensive outrage. And it was that, of course, that was the problem but Joey (ever resourceful) also saw it as a challenge. As he gazed at the macho stud from a safe distance his mind was, nevertheless, endlessly turning over the possibilities of domination and the games that might follow. Yep, and first on the list (watch that spreading wet spot on your trousers, man!!) was to get the six foot, late twenty-something, hairy blond, former marine in position (so to speak) where he could be stripped down nice and slow- Joey blinked lazily at the sight of Devereaux all unaware not twenty yards away on the polished wood floor of the gym and mouthed the command to peel off that sweat soaked tee...and, while you’re at it, unzip the fly of your levis, that’s right...ah!!- as a prelude to the attendant games spiraling in steamy intensity that would finally see the arrogant coach stripped of far more than his clothes! No doubt about it; with Joey in the driver’s seat the big handsome stud could be goaded and made to perform in a variety of ways, and the show would go on, and on...and on.
And so it was one day, as Joey stared thoughtfully at his intended victim, the jist of Devereaux’s recent lecture still buzzing in his mind, that things finally began to gel. In true overgrown boy scout fashion the asshole had delivered a long moralizing lecture on the evils of foul language and backed it up with the threat of an ‘F’ for the day if any of his young bucks were heard swearing (Pretty clever, huh? An ‘F’ for the F-word, haha). Joey, ever the smart ass, had immediately piped up, ‘What about you, Coach? We hear you say a swear word then fair’s fair…but it’s no good giving you an ‘F’ for the day.’ The other guys had laughed and Coach Devereaux put on a handsome frown- both things gratifying to Joey who was only casually making some trouble…and yet.
‘DAMN IT, Rosinsky, I said…’ Devereaux swallowed the rest of the sentence but it was too late. That little fuck has been pushing me all week… And it was true but both the coach and the group of assembled young men, mouths open in stark amazement at what they had all just witnessed, knew that whatever Joey did to deserve the rebuke made no difference; the coach had uttered a solemn promise, not exempting himself from punishment if he screwed up (though he had NEVER expected that to happen), and Pete Devereaux was a man of his word. He would now have to keep that vow or lose all credibility in his own eyes and those of the young men he mentored. Joey broke the tense silence, ‘Looks like you...ah...messed up, Coach.’ Devereaux stood rock still, his handsome adam’s apple working hard as he frantically searched for a way to salvage the situation. Maybe he’ll let it go... Joey, however, was relentless, ‘Gonna keep your promise, Coach, or...’ he paused and shrugged in the direction of his amazed classmates, ‘was it all just a load of bull...er, I mean, made up school teacher stuff, you know?’ Pete Devereaux knew that he was trapped and, as yet not even close to realizing where it would take him in the end, decided on the honorable course (not least to spite that scumbag fuck Joey Rosinsky). ‘OK, Rosinsky,’ his rich barritone sent a secret thrill up some of the lads’ spines... ‘you think I’m not a man of my word?’ Devereaux fixed the whole class with his handsome, blue-eyed stare, ‘well, you’re wrong.’ He would have continued but Joey, so excited that he (unlike Devereaux) was unable to disguise the quaver in his voice, rudely interrupted. ‘Fine,’ he spat with a wicked smile, ‘meet me in the indoor gym at five sharp...as soon as the school closes for the night...and bring your keys to lock up, Coach...yeah, just me and you in the gym, five sharp.’ Pete Devereaux nodded and tried to move on but the nagging fear blossoming in his belly said otherwise and, filled with dread, he caught himself more than a dozen times in the course of the day watching various clocks with sick fascination as the minutes ticked inexorably by.
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MasterJon - February 13, 2017, 7:45 pm
You had something to hide
Should have hidden it, shouldn’t you
Now you’re not satisfied
With what you’re being put through
It’s just time to pay the price
For not listening to advice
And deciding in your youth
On the policy of truth
@MasterJon approved.