Page 53 of Gay Sex Club Collection

This next scene was a common one in the club. I’d seen dozens of this scene and they never disappointed.

The size-difference dynamic and power play was always popular.

Today’s scene was a student who failed his ancient history class.

I’d seen this guy a few times. He was popular, as the client who requested the scene or one who signed up as a participant. He was a very young-looking twenty-one-year-old. The definition of a twink.

When I’d first seen him last year, I damn near had a stroke trying to read the contract for his verification.

He damn near looked sixteen.

Five-foot-three, small build. Hell, I don’t even think he shaved yet, not his face, anyway. He did have a tattoo on the back of his calf, which was the only thing that made him not look like a boy.

It didn’t help that he shaved his balls. Zero pubic hair, and that helped with the daddy/boy fantasy. As did his big brown eyes and boyish looks.

So yes, he was popular.

Plenty of guys loved the teacher/student role-play, same with daddy/boy role-play, the scoutmaster/scout, or in this case, the coach/player.

The coach’s office fit-out was a classic scene. There were baseball bats and basketballs, pennants, and trophies. And a large sturdy desk with special padded edges.

The first man walked in. The coach. He was a biggish man, clearly athletic by the way he filled out his suit pants and tight button-down. With his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his muscular forearms were a sight to behold. He had dark hair, was maybe late thirties. He took his seat in the coach’s chair behind his desk.

Then his scene partner came in.

The baseball player, wearing his tight white pants and his baseball shirt. He even wore a baseball cap. He looked like he was straight off the pitch.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes, Joey, come in,” Coach said. He gestured to the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”

Joey walked in, his cleats clacking on the floor, and sat opposite his coach. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“We need to talk about your grades, Joey.”

He shrank. “I know, Coach. I’m sorry.”

“If you fail a class, you’ll lose your place on the team.”

“But sir, I’ve been tryin’ real hard.”

“Your teachers say you’re a good boy.”

“I am, sir.”

“And they say it’s not for the lack of trying.”

“Sir, I do try,” Joey said. He sounded so convincing. “I can’t fail. If I’m off the team, I’ll lose my scholarship and my parents will kill me. I’ll do anything, Coach. Anything.”

Coach studied him, sized him up, and smiled. “Anything?”

“Whatever it takes, Coach. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Coach smiled, then stood up and walked around to Joey’s side of the desk. He stood right in front of him, leaned his ass against the padded edges, hands beside him on the desktop.

“I can get you a pass in all your subjects, Joey,” Coach said.

“You can?” he asked excitedly.

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