9/23 - Free Intro added!

Twisted-talez presents:

“Coach Nichols,” I called to him from across the crowded locker room at the gym. Jesus, he still looked hot after all these years. Sure, his hair and goatee had gone silver. But his body—Christ—his incredible body looked just the same. And back in high school, it was rumored he was hung like . 

“I’m Ted—Ted Parker,” I crossed over to his locker and extended my hand, my eyes covertly scanning his sweaty body. “I had you for PE at Central High—what?—like ten years ago? You remember me?”

“Sorry, son,” he said politely, hands on his hips. “I don’t remember you. I taught thousands of students in my time. I’m retired now, you know. The wife and I, we got us a little RV and do a bit of traveling, see the grandkids.”

“Good for you,” I feigned politely, for I truly didn’t give a shit. I had only approached him so I could ogle his phenomenal body up close. Sixty-five above the neck, twenty-five below if you ignored the peppering of silver on his chest. 

We stood there in awkward silence as he sized me up while I enjoyed a few more seconds of the view. Even after all these years, Coach Nichols could inspire some wicked fantasies. 

“Well, I’m gonna hit the sauna,” I finally announced. “Great seeing you again, Coach.”

“Sure thing,” he answered, turning to open his locker. “Take care, son.”

I retreated to the solace of the empty sauna, the warm air enveloping me. I was nearly dozing on the bench when the door opened and in walked Coach Nichols, a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“I actually do remember you, son,” he confessed, standing before me. “Just didn’t want to say anything out there in the locker room with everyone around.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You were that sissy boy I used to bust sucking dicks behind the bleachers during lunch every day,” he accused, hands on his hips again.  

“That was me,” I winked, flattered that he remembered. “I preferred over the mystery meat in the cafeteria.”

“You still doing that shit—sucking ?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “Sucking is one of those habits that is hard to break.”

And then it happened. 

“You wanna suck this ?” he offered, opening his towel. A thick eight-incher with a veiny shaft and a big mushroom head nearly smacked me in the face. 

I had barely nodded my consent, my mind reeling in disbelief, when Coach grabbed me by the back of the head and rammed that eight-incher down my throat. 

“That’s it, son. Take this —take this big, fuckin’ .”

He began to face me hard, his duck-egg balls smashed against my chin. His silver pubes were pressed against my nostrils, the heady aroma of his post-workout funk driving me wild. 

“I almost gave you this big back then,” he admitted as he continued his assault on my throat. “I wanted so bad to pump my nut down your sissy throat—and you were begging for it, the way you always looked at me. But I wasn’t gonna risk my job over some dumb .”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Then again, it was kind of hard to hear him, the way he was grabbing my ears, his a battering ram down my throat. 

“Open your jaw wider,” he ordered, his pushing into my esophagus. “I’m preparing to bust in you. You gonna swallow my load? You gonna eat my ?” he demanded.

“Mmpft mmpft,” I affirmed, barely able to breathe, tears streaming down my face. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughed maniacally, slapping my cheek. 

Holding the back of my head, he delivered a series of deep thrusts to my throat. His breathing intensified, his head swelling against my tonsils. 

“ ,” he suddenly grunted, a blast of his ball batter careening down my throat. I counted twelve forceful shots of jizz before his nuts were empty. Greedily, I swallowed every last drop. 

“Shit, I needed that,” he exhaled, finally extracting his big from my used throat. “You sure know how to throat a .”

“Thanks,” I gulped, trying to fill my oxygen-deprived lungs. 

“Can I ask you something?” he ventured, a drop of dangling from the tip of his wet . “Any chance you like it up the ass?”

“Uh—yeah,” I nodded emphatically, undoing my towel and bending over the sauna bench, presenting my eager hole to him. I couldn’t believe a man his age could have such stamina.

“No, son—no,” he grabbed me by the arm, pulling me back up. “I didn’t mean right now, you .”

“No worries,” I shrugged, crestfallen and embarrassed that I’d jumped to conclusions. 

“Listen, son—I’m taking my RV up to the lake next week for some fishing. You think you might wanna join me?”

“Thanks,” I replied. “But I’m not into fishing. I don’t even own a fishing pole.”

“Son, don’t be stupid. I ain’t asking you to fish,” he laughed. “The only pole you’ll need is the one hanging between my legs.”