Team Players

Team PlayersWritten by CamScorp
Every off-season of high school baseball, the players got together after school and worked out in the weight room. Some workouts were intense, others were a waste of time. This was going to be my last year playing; the odds of moving on to play college ball were not very good for any of the five seniors on the team, except one, a pitcher. The previous year, a few players were able to get junior college scholarships, but this year seemed to be a down year for that.


I was a first baseman that was actually tired of the game. I had blown my knee out sophomore year, and it had never fully recovered. It was difficult, having to play with the fear that my knee was going to go out on me at any moment. I was growing tired of putting extra weight on my good leg, while trying to do everything I had done on the field before.

On this Friday, there were just a couple of us in the weight-room; the music was on full-blast, and we were trying our best to get through a tedious workout. No one was really motivated to get anything done. There was an away basketball game that night, which meant that some baseball players, that also played basketball, were gone. The school was pretty much empty.

I was trying to get through my chest workout, while across from me, Patrick, the lone senior with interest from a college, was working out on the leg machine. We were both nineteen years old. I was watching how his light blonde hair was looking darker now that it was wet with sweat and water from the drinking fountain, that he had splashed on his face and hair.

Patrick was the coach's son, so he pretty much felt as though he was entitled to whatever he deemed was his by that right; although he really could have lorded over us a little more, he really only slacked off on the amount of laps he ran and was often late for practices. He was tall, at 6'3" and looked impressive on the pitcher's mound. The rumor was that if he improved from last year, he would have an offer.

I watched as he lay on his stomach and was doing leg curls. I knew, from having watched him in the past, that he would be getting on one of the stationary bikes next. We had always been around each other, but had never really been that friendly; we tried, no doubt, but it never amounted to anything. Maybe because it was going to be our last season playing together, but I felt compelled to try to connect with him one more time. Joining him at the bike station was a start.

After he was done, I followed him to the drinking fountain; I made it seem like I was exhausted from the weights and would just naturally hit the exercise bikes for a post workout cool down.

"No motivation today; I'd rather be at the game," Patrick said.

"Same here," I said.

The few other guys in the room were also winding down: a couple of them were already showering.

I followed Patrick over to the bicycles and sat on the one next to him.

Patrick was wearing a pair of long, white shorts and a gray t-shirt that was soaked through; his torso looked muscular. He adjusted his crotch region before he got on the bike; that was a move he also used before he would head out to the field before every first inning and occasionally would do it while on the mound. It seemed to be his big stud move. He was always confident, regardless of the competition that day.

His cock was actually very long when soft; I had only seen it in the showers, as it and his balls hung menacingly under the rush of water. I had no idea how much it grew when hard, but it was already pretty long in its flaccid state.

The looks we exchanged in the shower were always different from the ones we exchanged otherwise. There had been a rumor that earlier in the year, he and a football player had been seen naked and standing very close to each other in the locker room. The image of that always made me wonder what anything like that would be like with him.

That had been a rumor, but according to an ex-teammate, Patrick enjoyed comparing his hard cock to other guys, and the bigger one would get sucked off. No other details were provided about what may have transpired.

"Has your dad hired a new assistant coach yet?" I said loudly, trying to make myself heard over the music and whirring of the exercise bikes.

"Not yet; he was talking to some friend from high school who just moved back to area," Patrick said.

"I read on some blog that we are ranked third in our division."

"I saw that too."

"Had us ahead of last year's district champ."

"Some other blog has them ahead of us. I don't believe any of it."

Patrick seemed to suddenly concentrate on finishing up his workout. He pedaled faster and concentrated on what he was doing. His blonde hair moving in rhythm with his forced movements.

The room was emptying; we were the last two left. I wanted to continue our conversation, but he was putting all the effort he had not use earlier, into these last moments and would not be able to hear me.

After he was done, he got up and cleaned his sweat of the seat, then strutted off to the locker rooms.

I finished up a few minutes later; I didn't want to make him think that I was following him into the showers.

There was only one guy left in the locker room, and he was almost finished dressing.

"Later, Chris," he said to me.

I undressed and walked into the showers. Patrick had his back to me, but I could see he was soaping up his privates. He was humming or singing something. I was in his sight line, if he were to turn around. The water was warm, as I started to lather up my body. I could sense my cock getting harder, as the idea of just the two of us in the shower excited me.

Finally, Patrick turned around, and the look on his face said that he expected me to be right where I was at. We faced off in a silent acknowledgment of what might lay ahead; expectations were rising up quickly.

Patrick turned off his shower and slowly walked past me. His manhood dangling, enticing. I rinsed off hurriedly and followed him into the locker room. He stood by his locker and was drying himself off. His profile was athletic and capable.

We finished drying and dressing before he received a text on his phone.

"Game has not even started," he said.

I knew that he meant we had plenty of time to be alone. I knew that he had keys to the athletic area that his father had given him, or that he had taken.

"We can hang out in the athletic director's office," he said, not really hinting to what a couple of guys might get up to.

It felt strange having control over when we had to leave the building. Surely, there had to be a janitor or security person somewhere. I expected a raised voice telling me to leave the building or risk being reported and then reprimanded; however, I knew that his family had plenty of pull on and off school grounds.

The athletic director's office was very messy; papers were stacked in corners and on desks. There were plaques on the wall, and a few trophies that had not made their way into the trophy case rested on tables.

Through a window, I saw steady snow falling. I had a short walk home, but it would not be much fun in the snow.

Patrick did not say anything when he took off his jacket and tossed it on a chair. His hair was slowly getting lighter; his blue eyes looked at me very coldly. He had definitely used this room for whatever purpose he may have had with others. This was practically his office to use it as he wished.

He waked over to the window and lowered the blinds.

He started to lower his sweat pants and easily stepped out of them, after he kicked off his shoes. Patrick looked at me, as if telling me that it was my turn; I did not have a problem with that and did the same.

Briefs were next and we both stood as if readying for a cock fight. I appeared to be undersized, but I was a grower and was looking forward to seeing who was bigger. It felt implicit that bigger was going to be given a blow job by smaller guy. I was fine going either way, but having the coach's son on his knees was an added incentive to coming out ahead in the battle of/for inches.

As if responding to a starter's pistol, we both began to tug at our cocks; I was tugging, he was using more of a stroking motion. He was growing some, both in length and thickness, but it was not an explosion of more size.

I wanted to wink at myself or pat myself on the back, because I was right on schedule to deliver a full cock to rival his.

His eyes were watching my growing member with a level of unease; he obviously knew when there was still room for expansion.

We walked closer to each other for comparison's sake; cocks side by side, and it was obvious that I had bested him by a little. His eyes grew somewhat somber, and I wondered if he had not been on the losing end of a battle before. The stud pitcher looked as downcast as he did when getting shelled in the first inning.

"I was not expecting this," he said.

I felt, since I had him, the less said the better. No reason to push the matter, since he had already realized what had happened.

"You wanna sit or stand?" he asked, in a raw and unfamiliar tone.

I figured either way he was going to be on his knees, but looking down at him was much more satisfying, so I said, "I want to stand."

So, the guy who possessed an 85 mph fastball, that I could not hit solidly, was about to get on his knees and suck my cock while my balls hung as manly reminders of his defeat.

Patrick wasted no time; he grabbed my cock and held it tightly at the base; his fingers serving almost as a cock ring. He squeezed my dick maybe a little too hard; anymore and it would have required my saying something.

His countenance was one of resignation, as he opened his mouth wide and slowly took me in. In no time it felt that I had reached the back of his mouth and still had a little more to give, but the base was too thick to go in comfortably; it was an amazing struggle for him and watching it was incredible to witness.

He was mumbling something, or perhaps he was gagging some.

Finally, I grabbed a bunch of blonde hair and pushed him in a little more. I maneuvered his head around as if it were a fleshlight. The control over his movements was another victory for me.

I decided to concentrate on getting off now. I used both hands on his hair. I was not yanking his hair, that would not have been easy for him to take, but I did have a commanding hold that allowed me to face fuck him.

Patrick started to work his still hard penis now. He was jerking in consistent rhythm to his forced, facial submission.

He mumbles became louder. I wanted to encourage him, because I could tell that he was getting closer, but let him handle his own business as a solitary effort, befitting of no help, since he was the day's loser.

I did not see his cum shot, but felt some of it on my leg.

He looked tired of being used by me and probably wished that I had finished up as well, but I was having too much fun with him under my control.

"You came already?" I said, implying that he did not have staying power.

His eyes looked angry when I said that.

I thrust my hips now and held his head steady. I as trying hard to reach the back of his mouth and snake a little down his throat; this caused him to gag, so I eased off. He released me and started to cough. He spat out some saliva along with some pre-cum. My cock looked impressive all lathered up. Patrick was trying to regain his composure by taking long, deep breaths.

"Can I just jerk you off?" he said.

"No. Le's try again," I said, emphatically, "I won't be as rough."

I stroked myself to insure a full erection and let him watch as I did; my balls felt full and annoyed by having been denied release. I stepped closer to him, and he opened his mouth. I resumed with my hands on his head, but was not forcing myself all the way in; I slid in and out a few times before taking up residence in his mouth.

His yes looked impatient and he seemed to want to be done with me.

I found a groove; both in cadence and restrained aggression.

I felt a wave of orgasmic justification coming. I pulled out and lent a few quick jerks to my cause, and I was cumming. The first shot was errant and sailed to the right, just clipping his hair. I quickly readjusted my aim and it went straight between his eyes. Two lesser shots found his cheek and shirt.

Release/relief felt well earned, and I knew that the though of what just happened would comfort me on my windy and snowy walk home. I was not expecting any words to come from him, because he never spoke much under normal circumstances, but he appeared to have something to say to me. I awaited whatever that was.

"That was my firs time sucking a guy off. It felt so different and was not easy, being on that end of it, but I actually enjoyed myself," he said.

"Any time, Patrick," I said.

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