Already suffering the psychological effects of his first meeting with Joey, Coach Devereaux meets his sadistic student at an abandoned warehouse as instructed for another humiliating session. There he discovers that Joey has brought along an assistant and the two boys once again force the reluctant coach to strip for a thorough inspection.
Academy Thugs 5: Rendezvous at the Old Station House (Page 1)
by Amalaric
Art by Amalaric
Series: Academy Thugs
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After Pete Devereaux’s first late afternoon encounter with Joey Rosinsky, the passing days seemed to both linger with the acrid intensity of crusting lava and, incongruously, also to speed by in a kind of stuttering delirium. ‘Honey, what’s wrong!!?’ Lisa lay propped on one elbow, the diaphanous material of her night dress drooping sexily, exposing the pearly skin of a delicately rounded shoulder. On his side of the big double bed, Pete sat breathing hard, hunched in a near-fetal position with muscular arms clasped around his raised knees. ‘Another bad dream,’ he gasped as a shudder wracked the tensed muscles of his naked torso. Dressed only in his pajama bottoms, the blond PE coach’s upper body was coated in a light sheen of anxious sweat, which served to highlight his ripped physique. Despite her concern, Lisa felt a frisson of lust add a different sort of tremor to her own needy body, which only gave rise to bitter reflection. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening, Pete.’ Her plaintive voice held just the merest hint of reproach, ‘I mean…’ she paused, near tears, ‘we’ve been together, now, for almost five months and it’s been fantastic but…well, lately it’s like everything is under some kind of shadow or something…’ Never verbally articulate, Lisa was, nevertheless, skillfully expressive in other ways. Boldly shimmying across the wide expanse of the king-sized mattress she placed a hand against the warm, furry center of her man’s broad chest and gently pushed him onto his back. Pete lay passive, blue eyes oddly unfocused, as Lisa sensuously stroked the length of his tanned upper body, deftly probing previously explored erogenous zones, yet fingers skipping ever southward until, quick as a mischievous cat, her delicate hand plunged beneath the loose waistband of his pajamas. It’s been four goddam days, Lisa’s inward sigh of sensuous frustration, augmented by a tactile exploration of her partner’s well-remembered cock and big, low-hanging balls, aimed at reviving an inexplicably faltering flame. Pete savored her determined fondling, shuddering once again- this time with deep pleasure- as Lisa toyed with the sensitive head of his dick. ‘Oh…baby…’ he groaned, even as his rod began to thicken; until a leering vision of Joey Rosinsky blinkered his mind’s eye and the cold dread of their upcoming rendezvous at the Old Station House rolled in like freezing fog, ending the young stud’s stamina before it had even truly begun. It’s no fucking use…Pete’s inward groan was in direct antithesis to the rumble of arousal mere seconds before. ‘Not tonight, baby. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day and I’ve got to try, at least, to get some sleep.’ He rolled away from his disappointed partner, unwilling to meet the hurt and confused jumble of half-formed questions in her hardening eyes, and stared, unblinking, into the darkness of the silent bedroom.
Pete Devereaux did, indeed, manage to sleep through the rest of the night, albeit fitfully, and rose to the insistent command of the digital alarm clock at precisely 6:00 AM. Friday already! Whatever’s coming is practically here… The thought filled him with cold dread. Lisa reluctantly followed and the newly estranged couple dressed for their respective jobs in an awkward silence. A few clipped exchanges and a cup of coffee later saw the young PE coach behind the wheel of his SUV heading for school and a tight-lipped Lisa in her beloved Cooper mini on the way to a very lucrative office job, juggling sums in her head and idly considering an alternative lifestyle.
It wasn’t only Devereaux’s bed partner that had noticed the sudden changes in his behavior. Three other guys were employed as coaches by the Academy’s PE Department and, though the Pete’s demeanor hadn’t changed an iota regarding the students in his course, Harvey Wilder, Pete’s senior by a dozen years and also his supervisor, wondered at the younger man’s odd pensiveness. Usually the earnest young coach had impressed with an even temperament, uncompromising honesty and a genuine regard for doing the right thing. Of course, none of that had changed…and yet… Screw it, Wilder thought, the stud’s probably got more than he bargained for before and after work with that bombshell he picked up all of those months ago.
For his part, Pete Devereaux suddenly felt- as that Friday morning gathered to the strength of high noon- like a man perched on the edge of the proverbial precipice; staring into an abyss of malignant purpose commanding him to jump. And, perhaps, it was the overwhelming sense of wrongness, acting as a catalyst, that crystallized a decision in the young coach’s mind. Whatever the case, Devereaux made a set of resolutions sometime in the late afternoon of that fateful Friday that he would never submit to Joey Rosinsky’s sick demands or succumb to blackmail. The details that followed conflicted with every fiber of Devereaux’s sense of honor but, at the same time, also seemed to make perfect sense.
Dropping by his home after work. Pete prepared for the meeting at the old station house by packing the loaded pistol kept for security in the locked top drawer of the desk in his study. Joey Rosinsky would die under mysterious circumstances but not without first either proving that any and all incriminating evidence from their meeting the week before had been destroyed or revealing how that could be accomplished. Feeling as if an intolerable weight had been lifted from his broad shoulders, Devereaux returned to his parked SUV and, turning the key in the ignition, nosed into the late afternoon traffic heading for a derelict building on the east side of town.
The old station house had been abandoned for well over a decade and part of the reason was its secluded location; perfect, however, for select rendezvous of a nefarious kind. Pete arrived just before the appointed hour casually dressed in his ‘civvies’; faded denim levis and a short sleeved plaid shirt partially unbuttoned over a cotton tee. The loaded pistol was carefully packed into his back pocket. As the coach headed down a long ramp that would allow access to the lower part of the building designated earlier as the place of meeting, he was unaware that he was being tailed by Joey Rosinski, who had arrived considerably earlier. For his part, Joey had also had a lot of time to think things over and had decided, around mid-week, that the threat of blackmail might not represent enough persuasion- he licked his lips as he silently ducked into an open doorway, taking a shortcut through a different corridor that put him ahead, rather than behind, of Devereaux. No, something more, ah, direct was clearly in order to ensure the big stud’s total cooperation. Pete Devereaux reached the end of the ramp and, turning a corner, was briefly surprised by the sight of a grinning Joey Rosinsky brandishing a lethal-looking cattle prod. The shock of the unexpected encounter, though brief, was also intense because, without hesitation, Joey slapped the prod against the ambling buck’s right hip, sending him crashing to the pavement in writhing agony. The first jab was followed by another and the tall PE coach listened as his own ragged scream faded to the oblivion of unconsciousness.
Pete Devereaux clawed his way to horrified consciousness twenty minutes later in a dimly lit room deep in the bowels of the abandoned building. Disoriented at first, he pawed at a sheen of sweat on his forehead, gulping back a tide of nausea, and acutely disturbed by the mix of pain and fading numbness in his right leg. Suddenly an overhead flared to life revealing more details of his surroundings. The first thing Pete noticed was the presence of two observers, Joey Rosinsky and another, taller, guy with a pale complexion and sandy hair who now gripped the cattle prod. Joey had Pete’s loaded pistol with his finger on the trigger and the snub barrel pointed straight at the PE coach’s chest. ‘Welcome to the old station house, Coach- right on time!’ Joey grinned, ‘But I’m curious about something; what did you intend to do with this wicked-looking gun?’ ‘Self-defense…’ Pete mumbled and looked away as a fresh tide of anger and despair gripped him. Joey’s smile faded and he shook his head, ‘I wonder,’ his thoughtful tone might have been genuine, ‘really, these sorts of things are definitely not allowed. Obviously, some added punishment may be in order, but first things first- your team of one drew the short straw, boy, and that means ‘skins’ just like a week ago. ‘Strip down to your shorts…NOW!!’ he barked. ‘Fuck!’ Joey’s sandy-haired companion exclaimed, ‘You’re actually gonna make this big guy take off his clothes?’ ‘Hell, yeah,’ Joey chortled, ‘…and when that’s done I plan on making him do a whole lot more than that!!’ Never taking his eyes off of Pete, Joey cracked a fresh grin, ‘Sorry, I should have introduced you to each other- Coach Devereaux, meet my best friend Boz Harding.’ Pete merely shuffled in place, blue eyes averted, before mumbling a plea that burned like acid in his throat, ‘Please, Joey, let’s just call it quits; you can keep the gun but let me go…and no one needs to mention anything to anyone.’ ‘No chance,’ Joey spat, ‘you’ve got lots more dues to pay and the time to do that has definitely arrived.’ He nodded toward Boz, ‘And for what I have in mind, Coach Devereaux is definitely overdressed. Besides, I’ve been hankering for another look at his killer-good looking, hairy, muscular body all week long. So,’ Joey grabbed the prod from his amazed friend and took a step toward Pete, ‘I’ll give you a choice, stud- either strip down now or get another taste of the prod and have Boz and I do it for you. What’s it gonna be?’ Pete Devereaux swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
The first stage of the captive’s humiliation took place in relative silence, which only served to intensify the nearly overwhelming sense of shame as, first, Devereaux shrugged off his shirt before pulling the cotton tee slowly over his head and dropping it on the floor. ‘Damn,’ Boz whispered, ‘killer-good looking hardly does this one justice!’ Joey nodded silent agreement, savoring details of Pete Devereaux’s magnificent torso etched into his memory a mere week before. For his part, Pete’s handsome face flushed with bright shame at the close scrutiny of his upper body, also knowing full well that much more would soon have to be revealed. ‘Can I touch him?’ Boz Harding felt like a kid in a candy shop with a pecker already rock hard throbbing between his legs. ‘Yeah, sure,’ Joey drawled, ‘but be careful. Remember, dude; this big boy’s like a wild animal and would love to pound the shit out of the likes of you if given half a chance.’ Moving behind the trembling captive, Joey placed the tip of the deactivated prod against the small of Devereaux’s naked back. Noticing a tremor of anxiety (or anger?) course through the hard muscle, he modulated his voice to a stage whisper, ‘Try and relax, Coach, and let Boz have some fun…because one aggressive move or any sort of resistance and I flick the switch on this prod.’ He emphasized the point by scraping the cold tip along the sensitive skin of Pete’s lower back, tracing the outlines of twin dimples, fascinated by the gossamer-fine pelt of golden fur gathered just above the belt line (and, no doubt plunging below). ‘OK, Boz, he’s all yours- go for it.’ Boz stepped forward and almost shyly extended exploratory fingers as Pete stood rigidly passive, trying to focus on the feeling of the prod’s tip just above his belt line as a kind of atavistic justification for having to endure what was coming his way. ‘Damn, it would have been great to have lived hundreds of years ago and…and,’ he cupped both of Devereaux’s rounded shoulders in each hand, ‘examine and, um, assess big, strapping males at the slave market.’ Both hands travelled downward in graceful symmetry testing the width and firmness of Pete’s biceps and tanned forearms. ‘This one would cost a fortune,’ Boz breathlessly remarked, ‘well-built and muscular; he’s clearly capable of hard labor and that kind of physique coupled with near-perfect proportion, deep gold hair and a face fit to melt the coldest bitch’s heart…shit, put him to stud and he’d make a hell of a breeder as well.’ Barely able to control the tremble of pure rage and loathing that threatened to undermine his self-control, and chaffing at his forced passivity, Pete simply bowed his head, eyes averted and staring vaguely downward at the drab pattern of rubbish littering the floor. But Boz Harding had other ideas. Grasping Devereaux’s stubbled jaw firmly, the besotted young thug raised the captive’s head, commenting on the striking blue of his eyes, the straightness of his nose and, stroking Pete’s thick blond hair as if he were a dog, marveled at its thickness and texture. Finally, Devereaux’s wide mouth was levered open and Boz ran a dirty finger over the even whiteness of his barred teeth. ‘Never neglect an examination of a stud’s teeth,’ he chuckled, ‘at least that’s what all the Farmer’s Almanacs say.’
‘You know, I told him to strip off his levis, too,’ Joey drawled, ‘but while you’re at it, Boz, why don’t you do the honors?’ ‘Really??!’ Boz felt a hot prickle of anticipation, ‘You’d let me unzip him?’ Without waiting for an answer, he casually unbuckled Pete’s wide leather belt and followed that up by opening up the fly of his levis, spreading it as far as possible in order to expose a full view of the sweating coach’s tight briefs. ‘Nice,’ Boz sighed, as he paused for a few pregnant seconds, savoring the view, then hooked his thumbs into either side of the gaping denim waistband and hiked Pete’s levis down the long expanse of muscular, hairy legs to pool at his ankles. Though neither of the three participants in the ritual stripping of the captive PE coach was fully aware of it, a milestone had been reached in the sense that, for Pete Devereaux, there was now no going back. When the fucking pervert had opened the fly of his levis, for a few ticking seconds that felt like an eternity Pete had considered bolting…risking the searing pain of the prod that held him hostage. Still, he might have made it if, catching Joey by surprise, the ultra-fit PE coach had leapt free of the charged tip wedged against the small of his back and ran for an exit. He had always excelled at track and could easily outrun either of his younger antagonists. But a flicker of indecision, re-inforced by Joey’s intuitive nudge, communicating his readiness to activate the prod, caused the seconds- fleeting after all- to pass and, with his jeans pooled around booted ankles, Pete Devereaux’s ability to run simply vanished; he might as well have been hobbled by shackles. Somehow alerted by Pete’s body language, Joey decided on some extra insurance ensuring the captive’s obedience and, nodding toward a nearby bureau, instructed Boz to remove a shiny pair of stainless steel cuffs from one of the drawers and hand them to Devereaux. With the tip of the prod still in place against the big stud’s naked back, Joey removed Pete’s confiscated pistol from his pocket and, nudging the blunt barrel between his prisoner’s hairy legs, brought it straight up against the coach’s cotton clad balls. ‘Get yourself cuffed, coach, and do it quick,’ he edged the barrel impossibly forward, ‘or I’ll blow your big balls into the next county.’
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adrk - February 17, 2017, 5:44 am
perfection wow just awesome and the details specfics thank you for this