I was trying so hard to hold it in, I swear. But when Coach drove over a bump, my hand had to shoot out and grab the door handle as I steeled myself against the wave. It honestly felt like a wave, with the amount of juice I squirted out onto the puppy pad Coach had put on his car seat. Smart thinking, as expected of Coach.
I tried to bite down and stop myself from moaning as a rush of hunger took over me. I couldn't help but grind my ass into the passenger seat, wanting to feel something rubbing against my hole. I was at a complete loss. Ever since that dream, the one with the creepy janitor fucking me, my body has had a mind of its own. I'm basically leaking juice 24/7, and at random times I'll be taken over by this hunger that makes me squirt extra hard and crave something huge inside my hole. I almost jumped Coach in his office!
Luckily Coach was calm and understanding. I knew I could count on him. The next day, he invited me to his office and told me that he had been up all night trying to figure out what was wrong with me. To be honest, I never thought to ask the internet. I figured what was going on was so weird that I had to be the only person going through it. According to Coach, that wasn't true at all. He found some online groups for guys who described having similar experiences to me - and that led him to finding the only doctor who seemed to know what he was talking about.
The doctor - Carson was his name - lived a couple of hours away from us. Coach offered to take the day off and drive me to my appointment. He said this was a last-minute appointment that the doctor could squeeze me in for, since he set aside some time each day for emergencies.
So now here I was, riding along in Coach's car and trying not to turn the entire front seat into a major splash zone. I wanted to cry, it was torture. This deep empty feeling inside me that just made me feel like I needed to get FILLED. It was like my body was incomplete without something inside me. My hole was twitching, and worse than that, there was a throbbing, hungry, almost itchy sensation deep inside my ass.
Coach kept glancing over at me and putting his hand on my shoulder, giving me a little squeeze of encouragement. I felt calmer having Coach there, like he was going to help me out. I trusted him. Which just made me guilty, because every time I looked at him, my eyes immediately went to his crotch, and then that hungry feeling inside me got so strong I had to clench down on my hole as much as possible to stop the burst of juice that threatened to leak out.
God-fucking-damn, why the fuck was Coach packing? I always knew he had a big bulge - some of the guys on the team had jokingly called him "Coach Cuntwrecker" before. He was always wearing those tight little blue shorts, which left nothing to the imagination. Or the time I heard (and saw) it slapping against his thigh as he jogged by. But now, being so close to it, a million thoughts buzzed around my head.
I wanted to lean down and put my mouth on it. I wanted to stuff my face with it and taste his pre-cum. I wanted to climb over onto his lap and aim his rigid cock right at my hole so I could sink down on it. I wanted him to stop the car and pull me onto the hood and fuck me like an animal. I wanted him to mount me and fuck me, making my cheeks clap as he buried his cock inside me to the hilt.
Which is a fucking messed up thing to think about your Coach, who is also kinda like your dad. Not to mention I shouldn't want to do any of those things. After all, I'm not gay, despite whatever Sammy thinks.
Sammy.
Every time I thought about him, the emptiness inside me grew. And it wasn't just with a need to get stuffed and filled, even though I missed the way his cock seemed to slide right into my hole like a key to a lock. The emptiness I felt wasn't just physical but... emotional. I missed him. He is my best friend, or maybe he was my best friend, and this is the longest we've gone without talking to each other. Even when he spent that summer in Pakistan visiting his relatives, he still video called with me a couple of times.
Sammy was the voice of reason, but he was also always doing the wildest shit, just daring to get in trouble. No matter what, I knew joining in on his schemes would be lit. I remembered that time we snuck into some old guy's farm to see if you could actually tip a cow, Sammy's idea obviously. We didn't do it, but only because we heard the old guy yelling that he was going to shoot whoever was out there. We hightailed it back to Sammy's car, and as we jumped inside we both burst out laughing.
This time, I had to clench down and shut my eyes to stop the tears from forming in the corners. Coach already had a front row seat to me squirting an insane amount of juice out of my hole, he didn't need to see me crying too. Fuck, I need to stop being such a pussy.
"You alright there, Luke?" Coach asked, putting his hand on my shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. I shuddered and my eyes drifted back to his crotch. Coach's bulge was getting bigger, twitching, I could see it clearly outlined in those thin shorts. Coach's dick was snaking down his leg - almost poking out of the opening in his shorts. I had to grab the car door again and bear down.
"Ohhhh fuuuuuuuck!!!" I moaned as I felt a glob of juice squirt out of my hole and all over the carseat.
"God, I'm so sorry Coach! I know you just got this truck," I apologized, feeling like such a bitch. Coach didn't seem to mind though, he just gave my shoulder another squeeze.
"It's alright, Luke, that's why we put the puppy pads down. Hopefully they can handle your... situation. Just hang in there, we're almost there."
After what felt like several excruciating hours of me trying not to jump Coach and stop the unending stream of juice coming out of me, Coach finally pulled into the parking lot of some office building. From the looks of it, it seemed completely normal. I almost expected this "clinic" to be more like a hospital, but the only sign that it was a medical place was a sign that said Carson Clinic for Men.
Coach helped me out, and I felt like such a fucking baby to have to lean on him while he steadied me. I just told myself it was like that time I really cut my knee up when I slid to home plate. I was limping a bit and Coach helped me up just like this.
The whole place was kinda sus, to be honest. Like the kind of place you'd wake up in a bathtub with a missing kidney. I almost wanted to turn around, but I felt another wave of that hungry, neediness inside me and I almost dropped to my knees. And I couldn't help but notice that while Coach held me up, his bulge was pressed up against my thigh.
There was a dull buzz inside my head. Like chanting. Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me... I couldn't get it to stop.
