"Mr. Johnson!"

The teacher looked up from his desk at the two-way television monitor where the principal's image appeared. "Yes, sir?"

"A prospective faculty member is being evaluated this after­noon. I'd appreciate it if you'd send three students to partici­pate."

David Johnson did not have to look at the list in his desk drawer. Two of the next three were experienced evaluators, and this would be the first time for the third one. "Michael and Rick Harris, and Terry Atwell." He looked at the three as they began clearing their desks. "You'd better leave now."

The teacher tried to keep his face blank as the twins rose from their seats near the back of the room. They were identical hunks ... slightly more than six feet tall, with curly dark brown hair, brown eyes framed with incredibly long lashes, thin, straight nose, high cheekbones, lips that were full yet very mas­culine, and lean, well-muscled bodies. Their long-sleeved shirts were rolled up over thick biceps, and the buttons were almost open to their belt buckles, re­vealing bulging pectorals and flat, ribbed stomachs. Their jeans were sprayed on over crotches that clearly showed Michael "dressed right" and Rick "dressed left". The seats of their jeans couldn't pos­sibly have more vividly shown the cracks of two matched sets of gor­geous buns as they walked past the desk to the door.

The third boy, also a junior, stopped at the desk. He was short and slen­der, with fine, light brown hair worn somewhat long, and smooth, young features. His jeans and T-shirt weren't skin tight by any means, but just tight enough to hint at something nice beneath them. David raised his eyes above zipper level as Terry stopped in front of the desk. "Uh, Mr. John­son..."

"Yes?"

"I ... Uh, I've never evaluated anyone before. What do I do?"

Whatever you're told, he thought. Aloud, he said, "Why don't you talk with Michael and Rick on the way to the principal's office? They've done this a number of times, and I'm sure they can fill you in."

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Johnson." Terry turned away and hurried after the twins. David watched him leave the room, and as he turned back to his work he noticed Tom Merritt staring at him intently. The boy was kind of lounging in the desk-chair, with his legs spread wide and as they made eye contact, Tom sat up straight, one hand brushing over his lap as though to remove crumbs. David's eyes dropped to follow the motion and then wid­ened slightly: the kid's hardon was almost as obvi­ous as if he were naked and jacking off in front of the class. David quickly turned back to his work. Tommy smiled and squeezed his randy dick. A large drop of precum stained his tan pants.

Out in the hall, Michael and Rick had waited for the new kid on the evaluation team. Terry caught up with them and the trio started down the hall, Terry in the middle. "Well, Terry, looking forward to the evaluation?" Michael casu­ally draped his right arm across the smaller boy's shoulders. Terry blushed fiercely, feel­ing the skin con­tact like a jolt of electricity, nervous, but not wanting it to end.

"Yeah, a little," said Terry. "What am I evaluating him on?"

"Not to worry, Terry," said Rick, his left hand briefly squeez­ing both Terry's shoulder and Michael's hand. "The princi­pal won't leave any doubt in your mind what this is all about, and we've done it often enough that we can get you started."

"Thanks, guys. I really appreciate this."

The three walked down several halls, the twins basically leading the way, until Terry realized they weren't headed to the principal's office.

"Where..."

"We're just taking you to the evaluation room, Terry. We can get started on things before the principal and the prospective teacher get there." Michael stopped speaking and walking at the same time, standing before a heavy door with a sign that said "Utility Room." Rick unlocked it with a key on his key-ring, opened it and stepped in­side, pulling a very surprised Terry with him into the darkness. Michael followed and shut the door, lock­ing it again with the key, and handing it back to Rick.

"What the hell..." Terry started to speak, but Michael's right hand came from behind him and clamped gently over his mouth.

"Shhh," Michael whispered in his ear, his breath warm and some­how sensual. "Just relax, and keep very quiet. No one's going to get hurt, but if you say anything it has to be in whis­pers. Okay?"

Terry was too stunned for a moment to think, much less reply. Michael's hand was only lightly holding his mouth shut, but what kept him still and unmov­ing was the sensation of Michael's body behind him, touching him. He could feel the heat off Michael's bare chest, and the hard-muscled thighs pressing against the backs of his own thighs, and the firm bulge of Michael's crotch against his ass. Con­fused, with his cock beginning to lengthen inside the loose-fitting pants he was wearing, Terry could only nod when Michael asked him again.

Terry found his eyes adjusting to the room. It wasn't pitch dark after all. There was light coming through a panel along the far wall—a large rectan­gular panel that actually seemed more like a win­dow. Although Michael had taken his hand away from Terry's mouth, neither of them had moved, and both of Michael's hands were grasping Terry's shoulders, gently massaging them. "Take a look," Michael breathed in his ear, and guided him toward the "window."

Terry found himself looking at a row of toilet stalls without doors, each one empty. He started to speak again, but suddenly heard the sound of a door opening. He almost turned around before he real­ized that the noise was coming from the john into which the three boys were looking. "Two-way mirror." Rick's voice was like a disem­bodied ghost in the dimness. "They can't see us, but they might hear us if we got too loud."

Two men had come into the restroom. One of them was the head coach, dressed in his usual sweat pants and sweatshirt, and the other was an unknown man, smaller, closer to Terry's size but with a stocky, mus­cular build evidenced by the slightly strained look of the dress shirt and suit coat he was wearing. There was a nice mound under his slacks, too.

The coach rested one brawny hand on the other's shoulders. "Well, Tom, how do you like the school so far?"

"Uh ... fine." Tom licked his lips quickly, almost as if he were more nervous than being interviewed called for. The coach's hand stayed where it was.

"You know, we've got a long evaluation session coming up, and after all the soda we've been drinking in this heat, I don't know about you, but I have to piss somethin' fierce. Take my advice, if you need to go, better do it now."

"No, I ... I don't think so."

"Okay. But you may regret later not taking this chance now." The coach squeezed Tom's shoulder and then sauntered toward the mir­ror. It was large enough that the three boys could see him from the top of his head to almost his knees. Clearly, he was standing in front of the trough type of urinal that was still in some of the school restrooms. First, he tucked up his sweat-shirt, re­vealing a tanned, hairy midriff, then he loosened the drawstrings at the waist and dropped his sweat pants out of sight.

Terry's gasp of surprise was nearly as loud as Tom's as the coach stood there with nothing on below the waist but a very full jockstrap. The coach's dick and balls had to be enormous, Terry thought to himself, to make that big a bulge. The coach hefted his balls and glanced in the mirror. Terry cringed as though he could be seen spying, then realized that the coach was using the mir­ror to make eye con­tact with the prospective teacher. When he was sure Tom was watching him, the coach bent forward, making his muscular buns taut, stretched upright, and then pulled the jock down onto his thighs. A fat, uncircumcised dick and enormous balls flopped out. Terry and Tom licked their lips.

Terry had all but forgotten there was anyone else with him, un­til the hands on his shoulders moved down and began to play with his nipples. No one had ever done that before, and he started to pull away when he realized they were getting hard. A guy's nip­ples get­ting hard? And then Michael's hands tweaked them harder so that a little pain shot through them. Again he started to pro­test and again his body responded with a lengthening of his dick, and breathing that started to get heavier. And now a second set of hands came out of the darkness, rubbing his waist, pulling his T-shirt out of his jeans and up until it was bunched up under his armpits and the hands had free access to his bare chest.

Michael's hands continued to rub and tweak Terry's chest and tits, while Rick moved lower and began fondling Terry's now hard prick through his pants. And while this was going on, Terry continued to stare at the action going on in the john. Tom just stood there, his face flushed, hands now at his sides, now in front as if to conceal his own rigid prick, as the coach pulled and stroked his dick before sud­denly letting loose with a loud, fierce stream of hot piss. "Ahhh, that feels good. Sure you don't want to join me?"

Almost as if against his will, Tom moved forward to stand beside the nearly naked coach. The coach's big, callused hand reached out and groped Tom's crotch, while his other hand stroked himself to a full hardon.

"Look, I ... you're ... I just can't. Christ! I need this job, and right here in the faculty john ... no ... no way."

The coach might as well not have heard a word. "Don't worry. No one ever comes in here this time of day."

In spite of himself, Tom was responding to the insistent hand, and then two hands as the coach turned toward him, a massive eight-inch dick pointing ramrod hard at him, while the coach's hands undid his belt and zipper and tugged on the pants until they dropped around his ankles. The coach played some more with Tom's prick through his white jockey shorts, and then pulled those down, too. Tom's own rag­ing hardon stood out between the sides of his dress shirt. It was long and gleaming white, with a thick, mush­room-shaped head and a slight curve to the left. The coach's hands were playing with Tom's big balls, and working their way up and down the teacher's cock.

And by this time, Terry's pants were also on the floor. So were the rest of his clothes. And Michael's. And Rick's. Terry wasn't sure just how that had happened either, but he wasn't com­plaining about the feel of a hard dick pressed against his butt and burning into his skin, or the warm mouth that was giving him his very first blow job.

Tom had stopped resisting, and was matching the coach stroke for stroke on the athlete's dick. Then the coach reached up and put his hand behind Tom's head and pushed it down. Tom went the rest of the way himself, kneeling before the fat, throbbing dick, licking the pre-fuck juice off the head, and then gulping it down into his throat. His hand was wrapped around his own meat, beat­ing it slowly and steadily as he sucked on the coach. The coach put both hands on the side of Tom's head and held tight, starting to fuck Tom's mouth with his hips and forcing Tom to the coach's pace. Tom began to struggle, but the coach held on tighter.

Terry didn't hear the sound of the door opening and closing be­hind him. He was too engrossed in watching the near-rape in the faculty john even though he was bent over, with Michael or Rick behind him, giving his ass its first tongue-fuck, slobbering and slurping, while the other twin was in front, working on his cock and balls. Balancing himself with one hand on the shoulder of the boy in front, Terry unconsciously reached behind to spread his ass cheeks wider to this invader. He didn't hear the rustle of clothing being discarded in an­other pile behind him. He didn't hear the slight hiss of a cap being twisted off a small bottle, but suddenly he smelled a strange odor. He tried to turn away, but a new, larger pair of hands held him, and a deep voice com­manded, "Inhale," while holding one nostril shut. He breathed in, and then again and again at the voice's orders ... and then there was a pause while the others breathed in the same strange odor ... and Terry's breathing got heavier and he drifted off into a mind-fogged state where his whole being was centered in his prick.