Meatballs, pt2

[manlion]

Here's the next part. Just so you guys know, this isn't a quick-growth scenario, some of my favorite stories are the slow progressions like Wish Cards and Second Puberty, where the characters deal with the everyday consequences of the story. (With as much build-up as I put into the first half of part 1, I'm not gonna blow it all for one quick resolution.) Plus I love it when there's attitude shifts, where the guy doesn't even realize his basic thinking is altered, or can't do anything about it, even if he does.

---

As Coach Michael Redgrove entered the locker room, he noticed an uncharacteristic quiet amongst his students. They were getting changed, and while they didn't seem depressed or visible angry about anything, there was an obvious unease.

He shook it off. Must be the new schedule, it WAS a bit daunting. Three hours of practice every day seemed excessive to him, but Brad had assured him they would be able to handle it. Plus, it's not like they would be exhausting themselves every second, part of the expanded schedule was in talks and demonstrations, and there would be breaks throughout.

As he gathered them up and led them out into the gymnasium, he was surprised by the continued lack of jokes and horseplay, the kind of jocularity he'd become accustomed to over the years. They seemed quiet, attentive, and even a little antsy; all of them stood during his opening talk, and not a few of them were lightly bouncing from one foot to another.

Mike had just gotten back from talking with one of the school's cafeteria staff. According to her, she'd had repeated requests from the wrestlers for second helpings, which she had to deny due to the dietary requirements, not to mention limited supply. She'd also noticed that, while the long lunch period was generally spent waiting in line for food, with only the team eating, they'd wolfed down the prescribed food in minutes, and wound up wandering out of the cafeteria shortly after. One or two students had been sighted sitting around reading, but who knows where the rest went.

He started them on the warm-up routine. Basic stretching, jumping jacks, and a quick lap around the gym. He expected this to burn off a little of this energy, but it seemed to only drive them further. After that run, he noticed a few of the guys, when standing idle, rather than sit around waiting for the next segment, were standing around, breathing deeply. He watched them, worried about hyperventilation, but they seemed fine, if a little self-focused. He watched one, Edd Werner, his son's friend, standing off in a corner, staring rather blankly into space, one hand on the wall over his head. He was doing the same deep breathing, but as Michael watched, he noticed the boy's muscles tensing, repeatedly.

"Werner, you okay over there?" The boy didn't turn around. Mike approached, the boy was breathing deeply, but he wasn't sweating. That was good, at least it didn't seem like some kind of allergic reaction. He reached out a hand.

"Werner!" Before he could touch him, Edd's head turned, and Mike had to back off a second. The boy's face was contracted, every muscle tensed, as if he was in a rage or in pain. That wasn't what startled him, however.

What got him was the blank look in his eyes, the way he looked right at Mike and then on through him, as if he wasn't there, as if he didn't recognize a real person. That combined with the angry contraction of his face and the heavy breathing reminded Michael of a wild animal about to lash out and kill someone.

Suddenly, as quickly as it had shocked him, the look faded. It was just Edd standing there, still breathing deeply, but a little confused.

"Coach?"

The one other thing Mike noticed about the now-normal wrestler was his groin. The tank-tops and mesh shorts that were standard for practice were loose on the boy, but not THAT loose, and there was the boy's rod poking straight up out of his athletic cup, creating a vertical groove that his shirt draped around. Mike had to remind himself that Edd's arm had been hanging at his side the whole time he'd been staring at the wall, it wasn't as if he'd been playing with himself.

"Ahh, hmm. Werner, hit the showers-- Wait, no, hit the weight room. Check the exercise board and don't come back until you've done five sets or that," he nodded mildly, "goes down. Check with me when you're finished."

Mike had been given the recommendation to send anyone who got out of line to the weight room rather than sit them out. Better to work off any anger or excess energy on exercise than to sit it out cooling heels on the bleachers. Reportedly, part of the sauce's effects was an increase in metabolism and energy, with direct exercise as the best use of this energy. Mike hoped it would do the same for surging hormones.

He gathered the rest with a short blast of his whistle, and started them on some basic response drills. He noticed the same heavy breathing, which intensified with the activity, but as he barked the orders, they responded faster than ever before. Left, right, down, up, the whole team was quicker on its feet than he'd ever seen them, although when he ordered them to drop, a full-body belly-drop, he heard more than one noticeable groan and pained expression. Still, when ordered back to their feet with a quick, "Up!", not a one of them failed to rise quickly, and he could swear there were one or two guys he didn't even notice them climb to their feet, it was like they were on kung-fu wires.

Mike had to suppress a grin, as he noticed his son working in the second row, moving around just as quick as everyone else.

---

Freddie tried three keys at his own front door, only finding success after a numb-fingered scramble with the key ring. He was exhausted. Practice had gone well, he had to admit, but the whole ordeal had him beat. He stumbled into the front hall, dropping his bag and only barely remembering to lock the door.

His father was still at the school, but he'd be home in an hour. That left open Freddie's favorite option of the hour, a nice heavy nap. He trudged up the hall, closed his door, and collapsed back on his bed. Momentary pain flashed through his behind as his wallet and keys, mashed underneath him, poked upward. He managed to get upright long enough to shuck his pants, and pulled off his shirt while he was at it.

It was then that his ever-present dilemma of the afternoon presented itself. That little stab of pain had shot enough adrenaline into him to keep him from instantly drifting off, though he was still exhausted. He found his hand casually gripping the crotch of his underwear, the mild erection that for some reason had never fully subsided after lunch stiffening up into full mast. He had noticed it, he wasn't the only one who'd had the same problem, and he'd been one of the more vocal ones when the coach had ordered the whole team to drop during drills. His father had hesitated at the noise, but Freddie had noticed everyone acting as if their balls had been crushed, as he had, as well as the feeling of the cup driving up into the underside of his half-hard dick as it pointed skyward.

Edd wasn't the only one to be sent to the weight room to 'work off excess energy', and although Freddie himself hadn't been called out, he'd noticed about three quarters of the team had, at some point during the day. At the end of the day, in the locker room, conspiratorial looks had been shared, as well as open relief when the coach was absent.

Freddie had noticed something as everyone had showered. Everyone was at full mast, but nobody seemed to really care, and even he himself had felt no anxiety about it at the time, as he reflected back, although after the fact he was a little more shocked. The other thing that everyone shared was that their balls had seemed swollen, even a bit sensitive. Nobody said anything, but more than one guy left for the supply closet, coming back with a cup a size or two up.

He stroked his erect dick through his underwear with one hand as he fondled his balls with the other. They DID seem swollen, but the sensitivity he felt right now was nothing but erotic. His breathing increased as he stripped off his underwear, lying naked on his bed. He reached behind a book on the shelf attached to his headboard, pulling out the bottle of lotion he kept hidden for such occasions.

As he gripped his slick erect rod, his breathing once again filled his ears, but somewhere in his sex-addled brain, he noticed a difference. His panting had taken on some voice, and he found himself verbally moaning, something he'd trained himself to avoid ever since he started masturbating. This time, he wasn't worried about getting caught, and it just FELT right.

Unlike before, he didn't find himself zoning out, instead he felt each second that much more vividly, each stroke was a different sensation, and he could swear his dick felt a little bigger. Maybe it was over-stretched because he'd been hard all day. His other hand wandered around, feeling himself, not only his sensitive balls, but feeling every muscle between his dick and his shoulder, feeling each muscle as it contracted during the strokes. He wasn't sweaty, but he could still feel the mild soreness in his muscles from practice. Each one was tensed, straining just a little, and everything felt more firm after the workout.

He'd reached his shoulder and was starting down his bicep when he felt the pressure build. He stopped, gripping his armpit with his arm wrapped tight to his chest, as he held off orgasm as long as he could...

Collapse.

He tensed as his dick spewed all over his belly and chest, a bigger load than he remembered ever giving. He sighed in relief, and felt his eyes droop. He caught sight of the clock, it'd only been ten minutes, his dad wasn't due yet for another forty-five.

His eyelids closed, and he began to snore as the cum cooled on his chest.

---

More to come. I'm enjoying this, and I've got plots dancing in my head for future chapters.

[artwork314]

really enjoy your description and pace- it sucks the reader in, and the premise is truly erotic. great writing!

[philat99]

It's taking shape nicely. Keep up the great writing. You mention "plots" for future chapters. I think you should concentrate on just one overall plot and form each chapter as an episode progressing toward your eventual climax. I'm looking forward to your next chapters.
Mike

[manlion]

Well, by plots I mean story threads, little elements to the tale that'll add to the main direction. You'll see what I mean when I get there.

I hope I don't come off as green as I made myself out to be at the start, I've had some experience writing, just nothing in this domain.

[dolphinbad]

Very,very,very hot. Great job, guy! More please!

[Maverick0095875]

im am definitly liking this i ould like more stories to follow along like this more drawn out not just be 4 chapters and be done