Boys Every Which Way

by ChrisCross

Copyright© 2018 by ChrisCross

Erotica Sex Story: The New Hope Academy is a fourteen-year-old-entry prep high school, where boys learn man-on-boy and boy-on-boy sexuality for the first time and where everyone is doing everyone else.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma   Ma/mt   Teenagers   Consensual   Gay   Fiction   School   MaleDom   Anal Sex   Analingus   First   Oral Sex   Voyeurism   Public Sex   Teacher/Student   .

We stood there in the parking lot of the Stoney Hill Park parking lot, the three of us, watching the last of the cars picking up the soccer team of the fall New Hope recreation league take off in the late afternoon waning sun. Petey Parker and I, both students at the New Hope Academy, a boy’s prep school, Petey fourteen and I fifteen, were staying back because Coach Campbell was driving us home. He’d said he had to stay here until the rest had gone.

That wasn’t really why we were hanging back, but that’s what Coach had told the others. Petey and I knew otherwise. We both had every reason to know Coach Campbell’s moves.

Buck Campbell, at twenty-four, wasn’t that much older than the guys on the team he was coaching. We all were all students at the New Hope Academy in eastern Pennsylvania, as Coach Campbell had been. He’d gone to Penn State after leaving New Hope, but he had married our friend, Craig Fortner’s, mother and come back to town to work in Mrs. Fortner’s real estate firm. She was old enough to be Coach’s mother, and just about everyone wondered what was up with that marriage other than that she was rich as sin and was still a good looker. Some of us at the prep school had very good reason to wonder why he’d gone after that tail, unless it was for protective coloring.

Craig, seventeen, was a senior at the New Hope Academy. He was working for a landscaping company into the fall, so he wasn’t playing soccer with us. I worked off and on there too, mainly off now that school had started, but I didn’t put in the hours that Craig did. I also hadn’t muscled up like Craig had from the hard manual yardwork, but I didn’t have a boy’s body anymore, either. In one way, that wasn’t working in my favor. But the change was inevitable, I know. One can’t stay in a fourteen-year-old’s body forever.

Coach Campbell was coaching the academy team in the league to, he said, give back to his old prep school, but Petey and I knew he had other reasons. Mrs. Fortner was a lot older than he was. The chatter between us guys in the school was that Campbell hadn’t come back for Mrs. Fortner—he’d come back for his boys at the prep school.

“What say we take a run on the paths through the wooded section of the park here next to the playing field before we knock off,” Coach said to Petey and me when the last of the cars exited the parking lot. It wasn’t really a question. Coach was stripping his athletic shirt off his chest. He was an athlete. He’d played both soccer and football at Penn State and was in great shape, muscular and not an ounce of fat on him. He had a swirling black and blue tattoo covering his left breast and down that arm to his elbow, which made him look mean and dangerous—and cool.

He wasn’t tall. He was more compact and solid and was built close to the ground, which had made him hard to bring down when he was carrying the ball at Penn State. It also emphasized how muscled up he was. But he was a handsome, square-jawed guy, who exuded robust sexuality. That went a long way with the boys at the prep school, who were raging with hormones and imagination.

The chatter in the school was Mrs. Fortner had bought him to be her boy toy. When he and Craig, Mrs. Fortner’s son from her previous marriage and seven years younger than Buck Campbell was, stood side by side, they looked more like brothers than stepdad and stepson. Craig even promised to grow into the same solid, athletic frame that Coach had.

“Sure, Coach,” Petey said, his voice a little uncertain, although I was sure he knew what we were doing here. It wasn’t his first time. Last year, when Campbell had first coached the team, it had been me who played the rabbit here. It was no secret in the school that Coach cultivated fourteen-year-old boys. It had just been a shock to me that he moved on as soon as his boy of the moment started to show signs of the “into a man” change. I was growing out of what he preferred when he could get what he wanted. And, here in New Hope, Buck Campbell could get what he wanted. It’s probably why he came back.

Petey spoke up, a bit uncertain, although I could see his body trembling in anticipation of what consumed his thoughts these days—as it did mine. “So, you want me to—?”

“You can take out first, Pete,” Coach said. “Jerry and I’ll follow on. There’s a bench near the water fountain half way into the woods. You remember where it is, I’m sure.”

Petey stood there. He was wearing just athletic shorts and running shoes. We’d all ended practice with running two laps around the field. Coach had run along with us, being no more winded when we were done than any of the guys were.

All of the guys had stripped off their T-shirts. I had too. Pete was just fourteen—just starting to develop—but he was a good-looking guy. His people were Greek, so he was olive-skinned, with dark hair. Short and slim, but he’d been starting to muscle up and looked real good. I didn’t have any trouble knowing why coach was interested in him. I was him last year, but a blond, Nordic version of him. I’d muscled up well in the last year, though, and sprouted up a good four inches to where I was as tall as Coach. Coach was still interested in me, but not like he was interested in Petey—and not like he’d been interested in me when I was fourteen and just starting at the prep school and he’d held me back in the boy’s locker room at the soccer field and covered me and popped my male cherry. He just obviously preferred fourteen-year-olds, guys just starting to become men.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Take off.”

Petey turned and ran on the path into the woods.

“Give me five minutes and then follow us in,” Coach said to me after we’d stood there, not looking at each other, for a couple of minutes after Petey disappeared into the woods.

“Whatever you want, Coach,” I said.

“That’s right. Always remember that. It’s whatever I want,” Campbell said, as he grinned at me, turned, and loped down the path and into the trees.

When I got to the bench, it had already begun. Petey lay, naked, on his back along the bench, panting, his butt on the end of the bench and his legs raised, spread, and bent. One arm was raised over his head, his fingers gripping the edge of the bench over his head, to hold himself steady on the wooden plank. The fingers of his other hand were buried in the reddish-brown curls on Coach’s head as Coach crouched in the dirt at the end of the bench, held Petey’s legs up and out with a grip under his knees on either side, and buried his face in Petey’s crack, eating the boy’s ass out.

Petey turned his head toward me as I entered the small clearing. As Coach’s mouth came up and enveloped Petey’s boy’s cock and started to suck him off, Petey arched his back, moaned, and gave me a look that conveyed that he was getting what he wanted. At the edge of the clearing, I went down on my haunches, pulled the waistband of my athletic shorts under my balls, fished my engorging cock out of the shorts, and began to stroke myself.

Still new to this and consumed by imagination, Petey didn’t last long. When Coach felt the boy was going to blow, he pulled his mouth off, laughed, and hand stroked Petey. The boy blew on the third pull.

God, I wished it was me rather than Petey. Petey was on his own. This wasn’t his first time, I knew. He wanted what he was getting from Coach. It had taken longer when Coach had initiated me; Petey had opened his legs right up for it. This year, what Coach liked and would do was more common knowledge than it had been last year when he’d chosen me. This year the boys, like Petey, who wanted it had known Coach would give it. They went right to him and begged for it. He worked his way inside them before they realized they could have started off with a cock that was a lot more manageable than his was.

Campbell pulled away from his crouching position when the boy had come, which was almost immediately, rose, and moved along the bench toward Petey’s head, keeping the boy’s legs running up his torso. When he was in position above Petey’s head, he grabbed the boy’s head by the hair, pulled Petey’s face up, and pushed his thick cock between Petey’s lips. With a moan and a groan, Petey opened his mouth to the cock and gave Coach head.

Sitting a bit off on my haunches, I moaned and groaned too—and pulled on my cock. Shit I wished it was me.

When Coach moved back down Petey’s body, he took his time getting his shaft inside Petey’s ass, while the boy writhed under him, panted hard, and palmed Campbell’s heaving, bulbous pecs. Campbell’s tattoo fascinated Petey as much as it did me, but it was Petey, not me, who was able to run his hands over it as Coach worked his cock in. As Coach fucked him in a missionary, again holding the boy’s legs raised and spread with a grip under his knees on both sides, Petey turned his face toward me and gave me a dreamy, it’s me, not you, expression that had me groaning and spilling my seed on the ground.

Coach let loose of the leg on my side of the bench, which dropped, Petey’s heel pressing into the earth by the bench and giving him leverage to join in the rhythm of thrusts of the cock inside his passage, and Campbell run the fingers of his freed hand into the map of hair on Petey’s head and pulled the boy’s chest up toward his, making Petey look directly into Campbell’s eyes, showing him the pain-pleasure of the fuck in Petey’s eyes, while Coach picked up the pace of vigorous, deep strokes. Petey was moving with him. He wasn’t just submissively being fucked. He was fucking Coach back. There was no doubt that Petey was lost to Buck—that this was what Petey wanted from the coach.

We drove in Coach’s double-cab Dodge Ram to Petey’s house to the west of New Hope, near the Delaware Valley College campus, where Petey’s mother taught. His stepfather, Raymond, taught English at the boy’s academy we went to. We drove in silence, but that Petey had been fully satisfied was obvious. He was humming to himself and reaching over and touching Campbell on the arm and on the thigh and on the tattoo as if to assure himself the man was still there, as Coach drove the truck. Coach had fucked him good, and he obviously had been just fine with that.

I, of course, sitting in the backseat, seemingly odd guy out and neglected, was consumed by jealousy, want, and wondering why I was there at all. Coach could have taken me home first—I lived across the Delaware River, in New Jersey, in Lambertville, but everything was close to everything else here despite there being two states with a river running between them. New Hope was on the cheaper side, with state taxes taken into consideration, so my dad, a doctor, wanted to live on the side with more money floating around.

Coach let Petey out a block from his house.

“Should I come up to the front seat while we’re stopped,” I asked. I wanted to touch him too while he drove. I wanted to run my fingers over his tattoo and to feel how hard bodied he was.

“No, stay back there. We aren’t going far,” he said. That deflated me. He was keeping me at arms’ length. It wasn’t my fault I wasn’t fourteen anymore or that I was beginning to mature and muscle up—that my body wasn’t boyish and my cock and balls weren’t those of a boy, like Petey’s were, anymore—or that I know was well used, that he didn’t have to work hard to get his shaft inside me. That he was no longer fucking a boy, like Petey was, when he was on top of me.

I was festering for no good reason, though. We indeed were only driving a short distance—not even across the river into Lambertville. He drove to the grounds of the New Hope Academy and into a vehicle garage that he had a garage opener to. As he lowered the garage door behind the tail end of the Dodge truck, he was getting out of the front seat and moving to the backseat.

In the backseat, he laid me on my back across the seat, pulled my athletic shorts off my legs while he possessed my mouth in a deep kiss, came down between my spread legs, thrust his hard cock into my channel, as I cried out for it, and fucked the shit out of me. I was in heaven. I fit him like a glove now. He slid right in and back out and then in deeper, and, with me moving with him, we became one efficient fucking machine. He put his forehead against mine and looked straight into my eyes, concentrating on me and only me as he pulled back and then thrust forward with his thick and cock, pushing in deep, and beginning to pump. We did it smoother and more intense than he’d done it with Petey. We were better at it. I lay back on the seat, slit my eyes, and moaned deeply as he reached into the very center of me and fucked me and fucked me and fucked me.

Buck Campbell still wanted me.


Everyone said the Parkers had the best-kept lawn of anyone in New Hope. Mr. Parker—Raymond Parker—an English teacher and head of the department at New Hope Academy for the last fourteen years was the reason for that. He had Stimpson Landscaping in at least once a week to mow and trim his yard. The Parkers were prominent in the community. Mrs. Parker was a professor at the nearby Delaware Valley College and was president of the New Hope Academy Parents, Teachers, and Students Association. Their fourteen-year-old son, Petey, who had just started at the academy and was on the academy’s summer league soccer team, was the lad Buck Campbell, coach of the soccer team, was fucking this year.

Raymond Parker, pushing forty, wasn’t pushing it too hard. He was an unusually handsome man. He was tall and slim—one could say willowy—and had a Peter O’Toole look about him, which meant you couldn’t really tell whether he just moved with grace or whether he was a bit fey, a little limp wristed. The fact was that if he had a choice of being on top of—or under, as she was a strong woman—his wife, Susan, and pumping away or having a man on top of him, between his legs, he’d go with the man every time. And he’d happily be submissive to that man.

The reason Raymond Parker’s lawn was so immaculate was because he requested the services of hunky Stimpson Landscaping Community employee seventeen-year-old Craig Fortner, stepson of soccer coach Buck Campbell, every week—and sometimes more often—so that Ray could stand in an upstairs window and watch perfectly formed, hard-bodied Craig mow is lawn in just athletic shorts and sneakers—and then, when he could, find an excuse to come down to the garden shed while Craig was putting the mower away.

Craig was fucking Raymond Parker. Craig was also fucking Raymond’s son, Petey. For that matter, Craig was fucking me too. Craig was an aggressive top.

Craig had been fucking me since I was fourteen and he was fifteen. He took after his stepfather, Buck, in that fetish. He was still fucking me, just like his stepdad was, but he was fucking Petey now too—just like his stepdad was. I knew he was doing that because, although school had started now and Petey wasn’t around as much as he had been in the summer, on warm days in the summer when we came over to do the Parkers’ lawn—I came with Craig a couple of times a month to trim the bushes while he mowed—Petey managed to be around and out by their backyard pool, posing in nothing but a skimpy Speedo, and Craig would take him into the woods, lay him on the ground, strip off Petey’s Speedo, and fuck him hard. Craig didn’t care if I saw them doing it—and like his stepdad did the other day after soccer practice, it didn’t stop Craig from fucking me in the landscape truck before we took it back to the company garage that same day.

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