“Atta boy. Bring ‘em on home!”

Coach Wallace was there at home plate to shake my hand as I followed the other three baserunners in after knocking one over the left field fence. It was my first base-clearing homer, and I was ecstatic. So was Coach Wallace. He’d been working with my batting all summer. I’d had everything else down pat before that, but he’d done wonders with me. I’d spent just about the whole summer with him.

The base clearer had made the difference and he was standing there, with another man—a tall, solidly built man who maybe was in his forties—when I came to the dugout as everyone was dispersing after the game. Coach Wallace was taking me to dinner before driving me home.

“This is Mr. Austin, Denny,” Coach Wallace said to me as I walked up. The man gave me a smile, and there was some other look in his eyes too, so I wasn’t all that surprised at where this went. “He’s here about what we talked about. I want you to go with him now. I’ll pick you up later.”

Just like that. We had discussed this, yes, several times. And it made sense. I was ready for it; we’d been building up to it all summer. But I had always assumed Coach Wallace would be first. But he had other ideas. He kept saying we could make money off the first and the first wouldn’t need to be last.

“When we did it, you then could tell me what you liked about before and didn’t,” he said. That certainly sounded reasonable and adult like. I didn’t want Coach to think I was a whiny little kid.

“How you doin’?” Mr. Austin said, touching my forearm with his hand. My instinct was to shy away, but there was no reason to. Coach Wallace and I had discussed this. I’d agreed. I didn’t want to embarrass Coach Wallace. Mr. Austin was a good-looking man. Just old, I guess. Coach hadn’t picked out a dog, though. Coach Wallace was in his early thirties. This man must be ten years older than that. And he was so tall and so big.

“Fine,” I answered, tentatively, not knowing how this was going to proceed from here. His hand moved to my shoulder and then glided, slowly down my chest to my belly, feeling me under my T-shirt.

“How old are you, Denny?” he asked.

“Fourteen,” I answered.

“As I told you, fourteen,” Coach Wallace said, a slight edge to his voice.

“Sweet,” Mr. Austin said, as his hand slid on down to my basket and he cupped my balls through the material of my baseball pants. All three of us looked around to see if someone could see, but the baseball field had cleared out. I was wearing a cup, so he wasn’t getting a good feel. Coach Wallace copped good feels, so this wasn’t really new for me. It was new being felt up by a stranger, and I had to resist not pulling away. I didn’t, though, because I knew Coach Wallace didn’t want me to. I did whatever Coach told me to do. He’d told me about master-slave relationships and I’d made my choice on that. He’d always be good to me.

“So, OK?” Coach Wallace said, sticking his hand out, palm up.

“Sure, OK. He’s a real looker,” Mr. Austin said. He pulled a wad of banknotes out of his pocket and handed them to Coach Wallace, who split the wad in two, handed me one wad and slipped the other in his pocket.

“Go with Mr. Austin, Denny,” Coach Wallace said. “Do what he wants.”

“I’ll call you when I’m done,” Mr. Austin said. His hand went to my shoulder, turning me to the steps out of the dugout.

I went with him

The motel was a small one out on the edge of town. Just one line of rooms, the back of the building toward the road. You drove around to the other side and parked in front of your room. The car wouldn’t be seen from the road. Mr. Austen had already rented the room, so he unlocked the door, palmed my butt, guided me in, and locked the door behind us. The first thing he did was pull the drapes over the picture window looking out at his car. The second thing he did was pull me to him, both of us standing in the center of the room that contained a queen-sized bed, a sort of sleek Italian shallowly curved chaise lounge, and a dresser, with a TV on it.

Holding me close to him, he kissed me and ran his hands all over my body, undressing me as he did so. He had me naked and was kissing my lips and throat and nipples, while his hands were cupping and squeezing and separating my butt cheeks. A finger from each of his hands was pressed at my hole, pulling it open.

I closed my eyes and pretended he was Coach Wallace.

I let him work me, getting hotter as he did so. Coach Wallace had gone this far with me. It was strange being like this with a stranger, but he was good-looking and, though heavy, not fat. More muscular. He had his shirt off, and his torso was heavy tanned. His pecs were covered in a swirl of curly hair that continued down the front of him to the waistband of his trousers. Coach Wallace was smooth bodied and not this tanned.

Saying, “We’ll shower first,” he pushed me away from him. “You go on in. Take a good piss and shower—clean yourself out well. Don’t close the door.” While I went to the bathroom, not closing the door, he fiddled with the TV and somehow got gay male vids on that kept going the whole time I was in the room.

I was in the shower when he came into the bathroom, naked. He had a good, muscular body. He wasn’t thin but he wasn’t too well padded either. His dick was half hard. The tan lines showed that he must do a lot of swimming or work outdoors just in shorts. The contrast between the heavy tan and the milky white midsection put the focus of attention on his cock and balls. He was hung about like Coach Wallace was. I’d seen other boys my age longer and thicker than this when we were in the communal showers together, but I’d seen ones with a lot less too.

He had a bottle of pills in his hand, and he shook a couple of them out at the basin and swallowed them. He fiddled around looking into the mirror, and when he turned, his dick no longer was sort of average for what I’d seen. He was longer and thicker, and it stood straight out, hard, from his body. I’d lain with Coach Wallace before, each of us slow jacking the other—that was as far as we’d gone—and he got big like this, but not quite this big. Mr. Austin remained fully erect like that for the whole time he was with me. He was still hard when he was dressing before he left. I think he got that hard and kept it because he took some of those pills.

He climbed into the shower with me, put his hands on my shoulders, and pressed down. “On your knees. Do it,” he said, and I knelt in front of him, took his erection in my mouth, and gave him head. Coach Wallace and I had gone this far—but, as yet, no further.

Coach Wallace told me to give the man what he wanted—that Coach would take care of me after that. I always did what Coach told me to do and I wanted him to take care of me.

Mr. Austin pulled me off my knees and turned me toward the tiled wall, grasping my wrists together in one hand and holding my arms above my head. He was close behind me, holding his cock and rubbing it on my buttocks and between my crack, rubbing it over my hole and making my sphincter muscle clutch and pucker. I wanted it. I wanted him inside me.

He was going to fuck me now. My first time.

He kissed the back of my neck and put his mouth next to my ear. “You want it in you, don’t you?” he whispered.

“Yes,” I moaned. This was what he was paying for—to fuck the male cherry out of a fourteen-year-old boy. To have first fuck.

“Say it. Say, please won’t you fuck me, Mr. Austin? Fuck me in the ass and pop my male cherry.”

“Please,” I whimpered.

“Say it.”

“Please fuck me Mr. Austin. Fuck me in the butt and pop my cherry.”

He laughed and released me. “Dry off and come into the room.”

He remained naked, his erection standing out hard and proud. He put me on the chaise lounge, belly down, knelt below it, ran his arms up the sides of my legs, and clasped my waist between his hands.

“Push it up. Raise your ass for me,” he growled.

Complying, I panted and moaned, throwing my arms up and grasping the top edge of the recliner, as he buried his face between my butt cheeks and ate me out. He pulled my cock under and through, and he took breaks from eating out my ass to lick and suck my balls and give me head. Coach Wallace had never done this to me before. We’d always had to do whatever we did fast and watching to see that we didn’t get caught. What Mr. Austin was doing to me—the time he was taking with it—put me in high moaning, panting, and whimpering heat. I’m not sure what I begged Mr. Austin to do, but I knew I’d never be able to say he took me without permission.

I bucked and jerked and came in his mouth. I almost said I was sorry, but he didn’t seem to be sorry about it.

He moved up to cover my body, and I felt his cockhead at my hole. My sphincter clutched and puckered again, wanting him inside, filling, stretching, sliding, rubbing, pumping.

“Oh, fuck, oh, shit,” I murmured and then I cried out “Oh Fuck!” as he penetrated maybe an inch, just the mushroom cap, and held there, waiting for me to adjust, and when I did, he penetrated another inch. He was paying for the deflowering. He obviously wanted to savor it. I wanted to think that he was concerned for me—not wanting to hurt me any more than necessary for my first time. That seemed comforting at the time, but it wasn’t long before I knew he wasn’t thinking of me at all—only about himself and getting the maximum pleasure from using me that he could get.

“Please,” I begged. “It hurts. Go slow.”

He laughed. “Your coach told you that when you get past this part you’ll learn to enjoy it, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” I knew he wouldn’t stop anyway, and I gasped as he gained another inch. He went no further at that point, although I knew he wasn’t even half inside yet. He grabbed my legs on either side, lifted them, and hooked my ankles on his shoulders. Then he laced his arms under my pits and back to clasping his fists behind my neck, arching my back, and putting me in a full Nelson. My body was bowed back taut, like an archer’s bow. He then rocked our bodies, his shaft going a bit deeper inside me and pulling back, fucking me at a shallow depth. I felt myself opening to the cock. I was panting and moaning and he was humming and groaning.