Keeping Score - Chapter One
“Easy there,” I grunted, “It’s a mouthful.”
The boi’s eyes had gone completely blank, his subconscious taking over as he dutifully slurped his wet lips all over my sack. As my personal ball-boi, it was his job to keep me polished and warm as I worked the evening away.
“Mhmmaahh,” He groaned, long ago having lost the ability to form coherent words. He was good at his job, and it didn’t require him to speak.
My scent had always been heady, but it wasn’t until I began to date that I noticed the affect it had on lesser males. My early conquests would simply be enamored, doting on me and agreeing with my every sentence.
My ball-boi began to use his tongue, carefully licking every crease of my sack. It was heaven.
Longer term effects included a noticeable drop in IQ and a heightened need for sex. It made conditioning and training easy.
“Coach?” There was a knock at my door, “Are you in there?”
I looked down at my ball-boi’s vacant eyes. He was blissfully unaware of anything but his duty.
“Yes,” I called back, “Come in.”
One of my newest recruits entered the office. His six-foot-four, powerfully built frame was impressive, as was the amount of sweat dripping off his bare chest.
“Did you enjoy practice today?” I asked him cordially.
“Yes, Coach.” He grinned, his sandy blonde curls tossing about as he spoke. “Your assistants worked us to the bone, but I think we’ll be ready for the playoffs.”
“Good,” I shuffled some of my paperwork around on the desk, “But do you think you’re ready to win?”
He considered the question for a long while, “Yes, Coach. We’ll destroy the other team.”
Soft whimpers escaped from my ball-boi’s pouty lips as he began to trace them down my shaft. He was completely in-tune with my needs and could tell I was getting horny.
“Have you met my ball-boi?” I asked the recruit.
“No, Coach,” He responded, seeming to sweat even more.
I grinned, “Do you want to?”
The recruit’s blonde curls flopped about as he trembled. My ball-boi was between his legs, milking the stud with his well-practiced mouth.
“F-fuck, Coach.” The player groaned, his rod repeatedly disappearing down the boi’s throat.
“Lean back,” I ordered, standing behind the seated recruit. “I haven’t properly welcomed you to the team.”
The stud was hesitant at first. Getting head from Coach’s whore was one thing, but what was expected in return?
“It’s okay,” I massaged my sack, coating each of my fingers in pheromones, “You just have to relax.”
The blonde’s pupils dilated as I cupped his nose. My scent was filling him, heightening the pleasure he felt coursing through his loins. The jock was powerless to resist me now; I could make him my star player, or I could transform him into an eager slut. Maybe I would do both?
“Andrew…” I practically whispered his name, “I need you to trust me.”
“I trust you, Coach,” he responded hypnotically.
“There’s something I need to show you,” Tilting his head back over the chair, I coaxed my cock towards his slacked jaw, “Something I want you to take good care of.”
He was hardly breathing, “A-anything, Coach…”
His mouth was warm, wet. He welcomed my length timidly, gagging as I teased it down his throat. All of my players learned to worship their Coach. All of my players learned to swallow.
“That’s it,” I cooed, slowly beginning to thrust. “Show me your dedication.”
Andrew shuddered as his cock exploded. All he knew was the pleasure in his loins and the scent of Coach in his nostrils. His throat relaxed and allowed me deeper.
“That boi may not have many brain cells left,” I teased, “But he knows how to milk a cock.”
My ball-boi used his tonsils to polish the athlete’s tip, gratefully swallowing each milky spurt Andrew had to offer. Once a boi was that far gone, I could easily pass him around. Other men’s scent wasn’t as powerful, but it was enough to keep the boi’s mind dull and his body quivering.
“You’re welcome, Andrew,” I grunted, spooge-ing the athlete’s previously un-plundered mouth. “You’re going to be an asset to the team.”
Andrew left my office that evening looking humbled and confused. The twenty-two-year-old had never dreamed he was capable of submitting to another man, and the memories of my scent would do haunt him for hours afterward. His brain would be hard-wired to serve me, to serve his Coach.
In the heat of the moment I had worked up a quite a sweat, and my ball-boi immediately went to work cleaning me with his tongue.
“You’re a good boi,” I offered, enjoying the way his tongue felt between my toes. His lifeless and subservient eyes were intensely erotic, and made me long to reward him. Reaching down, I cupped his chin, and lifted him toward my pits.
He lapped eagerly, burying his head in the furry chasm beneath my bicep. He quivered, soaking up my lusty stench.
“Careful, boi,” I pulled him onto my lap, kneading the soft flesh of his rear. “Coach’s spunk’ll get you drunk again. You shouldn’t tempt me…”
The last time I’d fucked the boi he’d been useless for hours. He’d lain on the floor clutching his tummy and rocking his hips back and forth. My pheromones leeched into his system and kept him on edge, his soft moans distracting me as I tried to work.
“Oh well,” I chuckled, lifting him onto my desk. The boi never stopped worshiping my pits, “What kind of Coach would I be if I didn’t let you score every now and again?”
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