Wrestling the coach (Coach Johnson meets Logan)

Special thanks to Coach Johnson for the idea for this story! If you (yes, I mean you, the one who loves wrestling and ballbusting!) would like to meet the Ballbusting Boys and see yourself in a story please read this post for more details.

Warning: Contains graphic homosexuality.

Featured in this story: Logan (click for pictures)

Coach Johnson cracked his knuckles. He could barely hide his anger. As an ex-marine, there was nothing that he loathed more than lack of discipline.

He watched the wrestling team warm up. Half a dozen juveniles in singlets running in circles.

“Come on!” Coach Johnson barked. “Don’t fall asleep!”

When the boys passed him, Coach Johnson let out a gruffy grunt that made them run a little faster.

He was 30 years old, a tall, muscled bear of a man. He was wearing sweat pants and a bright yellow tank top that contrasted nicely with his ebony skin and showed off his muscular biceps. His head was bald which was a constant source of amusement for his pupils since the rest of his body was very hairy. A recurring joke was that his body had run out of hair when it realized that there was a head to supply.

Come to think of it, there was one thing that Coach Johnson loathed more than lack of discipline: jokes about him.



Laughter filled the gym as the wrestling team suddenly stopped running and started laughing uncontrollably.

“Hey!” Coach Johnson yelled. “What’s so effing funny?” His facial expression darkened as he walked over to the group of guys. Had they been making fun of him?!

When he reached the group he saw the source of the boys’ amusement.

One of the guys was doubled over, clutching his crotch.

“He hit me in the fucking nutsack”, the boy groaned, looking equal parts amused and in pain.

There was one thing that Coach Johnson loathed more than lack of discipline and jokes about him: juveniles swearing.

“Language!” he barked.

The boys chuckled.

“He hit me in the effing nutsack”, the boy said a sneer while rubbing his crotch.

Coach Johnson’s eyes narrowed.

There was one thing that Coach Johnson loathed more than lack of discipline, jokes about him and swearing juveniles: fighting dirty.

He had experienced his fair share of nutshots disguised as male bonding in the marines. Some of his former buddies thought hitting each other in the nuts was funny. Coach Johnson disagreed. Targeting your opponent’s testicles was a disgraceful, shameful thing to do.

“Five extra rounds!” he yelled, causing the boys to groan.

The boy who had just had his maracas rattled rolled his eyes. “But Coach---"

“Ten!” Coach Johnson barked. “And I don’t want to hear another word.”

They boys knew better than to answer back. They started running, quietly griping among themselves.

Coach Johnson looked at his clipboard and checked off the names of his pupils.

One was missing.

Again.

“Hey! Where’s Kruger?” he yelled.

“Fucking!” one of the boys yelled.

“What!?!” Coach Johnson exploded.

“His girlfriend!” the boy replied brashly, followed by the exuberant laughter that only perpetually horny teenagers can produce.

“Language!” Coach Johnson yelled, boiling with anger, prompting the boys to laugh even louder.

Logan Kruger arrived half an hour late.

“Sorry, Coach”, the handsome 18 year old said matter-of-factly as entered the gym. “I had some… urgent business.”

His cocky grin told volumes, and his friends immediately knew that they had been right, and Logan had indeed just banged his girlfriend.

“Lucky bastard”, one of the guys mumbled.

“Shut up!” Coach Johnson grunted. He walked up to Logan until his face was only inches from the cocky teenager’s nose. “You. My office. Now.”

Logan pressed his lips together. It was hard taking Coach Johnson seriously. He was like a caricature of a drill sergeant. “Sure, Coach”, he said with an involuntary chuckle.

Coach Johnson ignored him and stomped out of the gym and into the adjacent office.

Logan looked at his friends and raised his eyebrows. He opened his mouth, brought his hand up to his face and stuck his tongue into his cheek, mimicking a blow job.

His friends burst out laughing at Logan’s audacity.

“Kruger!” Coach Johnson yelled.

“Coming!” Logan yelled cheerfully, grabbing his crotch in an obscene gesture that made his friends laugh out loud.

It wasn’t like Logan was a troublemaker. He was a nice kid, well-liked by everybody at Bartlet High. He was good-looking and popular, funny and attentive. Teachers loved him because he was smart and polite, and his peers liked him because he was a fun guy to hang out with.

The only one at Bartlet High who didn’t like Logan was Coach Johnson.

And the feeling was mutual.

Logan thought Coach Johnson was a cranky bully who made up for his personal failure by lashing out at his pupils for no reason whatsoever.

Coach Johnson thought that Logan was putting on an elaborate act, duping everybody into believing that he was a good guy when in fact he was a mischief-maker who got away with all kinds of transgressions by gaslighting the whole school.

“Coach”, Logan said cheerfully as he entered Coach Johnson’s office. “What can I do for you?”

Coach Johnson was sitting behind the desk, his hands behind his head. “I’m fed up with you, Kruger. You’re late. You fight dirty. You don’t take training seriously.”

Logan let out a laugh. “Gee, Coach, that doesn’t sound like me at all”, he said cheerfully.

Coach Johnson inhaled deeply and sat up straight. “Listen, Kruger, I don’t like that tone”, he grumbled, barely able to restrain himself.

Logan smiled cockily. “I’m sorry, Coach”, he said. “What tone is that?”

Coach Johnson let out a grunt. He sent his fist crashing down onto his desk and raised his voice to a thunderous bark. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Logan chuckled. “Language, Coach!” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Coach Johnson exploded with a string of expletives that made the boys in the gym stop their roughhousing and burst out laughing. They had never heard Coach Johnson this angry before.

A minute later, Logan came out of the office, a smug smile on his face.

Immediately, he was crowded by his friends who wanted to know what had happened.

“Apparently, Coach Johnson isn’t happy with my wrestling”, Logan said with a grin, eliciting a few incredulous laughs.

Logan was one of the most accomplished wrestlers in the history of the Bartlet High wrestling team.

Logan chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Well, long story short: I challenged him to a wrestling match tonight after practice, and he accepted.” Logan shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I’ll have to kick his fucking ass…”

***

When practice was over and the rest of the team had left the gym, Logan and Coach Johnson stood in the middle of the empty room.

Both of them were wearing singlets that clung to their muscular bodies.

Coach Johnson lowered his upper body, eyeing his opponent. He had the power, the stamina and the experience to show this cocky brat some respect.

Logan smiled confidently. Maybe Coach Johnson was a good wrestler – but Logan knew that he had the speed and the dirty tricks to defeat almost any opponent.

This was personal, and they both knew it.

The fight started off tamely enough, with a couple of cautious attempts from both wrestlers, but it heated up pretty quickly.

Logan just couldn’t resist smacking that big, bouncing package between Coach Johnson’s muscular thighs on the first chance he got, and Coach Johnson reacted with predictable anger and pain.

“So you like fighting dirty, huh?” he grunted as he rubbed his aching balls. “I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine!” With that, the heavy, hairy bull lunged at the athletic teenager, throwing him to the ground and bringing his knee up between Logan’s thighs, crushing his nuts and eliciting an anguished howl.

Now, the gloves were off.

All pretenses of a fair fight were dropped, and Logan went all in with his assault on Coach Johnson’s package. He attacked the big, hairy man’s sizeable gonads every which way he could, slapping the big, juicy nuggets and punching them, driving his knee into them and squeezing them, kicking them and ramming his elbow into them.

Coach Johnson tried to hold his own, gritting his teeth and grunting at the pain in his manhood while launching a series of deadly attacks against Logan’s own babymakers. Coach Johnson didn’t like fighting dirty – but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to take advantage of a man’s anatomical weakness. He followed Logan’s lead and attacked the 18 year old’s bread basket mercilessly, squishing and squashing his tender orbs with his bare hands, kicking and kneeing his balls with all the force he could muster, smacking and slapping and punching the life out of poor Logan’s most prized possessions.

They were rolling on the mat, two sweaty, heated men locked in a fierce ball bashing battle, grunting and groaning as they attacked their opponent’s nuts and had their own nuts viciously attacked.

For a little while, it wasn’t clear whether youth and agility would trump strength and experience, but then Logan managed to trap Coach Johnson in a rear naked choke/scissor combo, his back on the mat.

The older man let out a panicked, strangled scream as he realized that the teenager wrestler had him in a very vulnerable position. The scream turned into an anguished wail when Logan drove his heel into Coach Johnson’s balls.

“How do you like that, Coach”, Logan whispered into Coach Johnson’s ear as he squeezed the trapped man’s dick and balls with his feet and calves, crushing his most prized possessions.

Much to Coach Johnson’s embarrassment, his dick responded to the painful stimulation with the most natural and yet most inappropriate reaction possible: by growing harder and harder.

“Fuck, no!” he croaked breathlessly, completely forgetting about his usual aversion to swear words, as he felt his boner rise and create a big, proud tent in his singlet. “No, please, no!”

Logan tightened the chokehold, turning Coach Johnson’s protests into pathetic, throaty grunts as he manipulated the hairy bull’s erection with his feet.

“Wow, Coach, you’re a big guy”, Logan said with a mean sneer as Coach Johnson’s big, hard johnson sneaked out the leg opening of his singlet, smacking against his belly.

Logan was holding the coach tightly while he sent his foot down into his crotch, crushing his boner and his churning balls in the process.

Coach Johnson was on the verge of blacking out. He was mad with rage and humiliation and pain, and the unexpected, involuntary pleasure that Logan was giving him.

He wanted to give up but he didn’t have the strength or the breath to speak the words. He heard himself mewling and croaking and choking, and he grew even more mad with rage and humiliation and pain – and pleasure.

Logan knew exactly what he was doing. He had Coach Johnson exactly where he wanted him: completely at his mercy. And now he was going to take advantage of that.

He jerked him off with his foot, hitting him in the nuts with his heel whenever he felt the unmistakable twitches and throbs of an orgasm coming closer.

Coach Johnson was writhing and squirming, destroyed and humiliated, but not finished yet. He was hoping that Logan would stop short of putting him through the worst humiliation imaginable, a forced orgasm – but Logan was just stringing him along, bringing him close to the edge before ruining his pleasure with a well-placed heel to the nuts.

Coach Johnson’s first orgasm was a mistake.

Logan didn’t want him to cum yet – but the heel shot to the nuts was a split-second too late, and Coach Johnson’s big schlong erupted with a giant load of cum, shooting like a fire hose.

“Damn”, Logan grunted and vented his anger by crushing Coach Johnson’s busy balls with his foot.

The coach let out a gurgling moan, caught in a curious mix of pain and pleasure, barely conscious and sweating like a big, hairy pig. His face was a mask of pain as his dick shot jet after creamy jet of pent-up sperm that had been stored in his big, heavy babymakers for a couple of weeks now, ever since Mrs. Johnson had left him for one of his marine buddies. That, and the coach’s strong aversion against manual relief were the reason for a truly spectacular fountain of cum that seemed to last forever.

When the flood finally subsided, Coach Johnson thought he could finally drift off into sweet, peaceful unconsciousness – but Logan had other plans.

Without loosening the choke hole, Logan continued working Coach Johnson’s meaty dick with his cum-drenched feet, jerking it and milking it while crushing his nuts at the same time, until the hapless, helpless coach came again.

This time, the orgasm was less spectacular but Logan made up for it by trampling Coach Johnson’s nuts, making sure to squish every last drop of cum out of his battered, bloated balls.

With a miserable croak and a pathetic whimper, Coach Johnson passed out in Logan’s arms.

“You’re welcome, Coach”, the handsome high school wrestler chuckled and pushed the hairy bull’s body away.

He took a couple of pictures, stripping the coach naked and putting him in all kinds of compromising positions, saving the humiliating experience for all eternity.

Finally, Logan rolled Coach Johnson onto his front, making him lie in a puddle of his own cum. His eyes fell on the coach’s bubble butt. Almost unconsciously, Logan’s hand reached inside his singlet and he grabbed his hard dick.

He hesitated for a moment. Then he decided that it would be a shame to let a perfectly good erection go to waste.

He pulled his rock-hard dick out of his singlet and knelt down, spreading Coach Johnson’s cheeks and inspecting his puckered, virgin hole. “Bulls are for breeding”, he quipped to himself before scooping up some of Coach Johnson’s cum and lubing up his dick.

It was a quick, hard fuck, completely different from Logan’s passionate lovemaking with his girlfriend. He used Coach Johnson’s hole like others used a fleshlight, pounding him until he planted his seed deep inside him.

When he pulled out, his cum oozed out of Coach Johnson’s hole, and Logan rolled him onto his back to apply his finishing move.

Coach Johnson opened his eyes just in time to witness what Logan liked to call “the anvil and the hammer”.

Logan’s left hand was at the base of Coach Johnson’s nuts, holding the bloated, bruised balls in position. His right hand was a hammer fist, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how “the anvil and the hammer” worked…

“Kruger!” Coach Johnson croaked, his eyes widening in horror.

“Coach, right on time!” Logan replied cheerfully.

Then he brought his fist down, slamming it onto Coach Johnson’s trapped balls with perfect precision, hitting the two swollen testicles dead-on, flattening them like pancakes.

Coach Johnson’s jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide as an agonizing wave of pain washed through his body, paralyzing him and setting every fiber of his body on fire.

Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out again.

“Let’s do this again some time, Coach”, Logan chuckled as he got up and adjusted his singlet. “I think I’m gonna take a shower, now. See you in practice next week. I’ll get the rest of the team up to speed as to how our fight went…”

The handsome wrestler left, whistling happily, leaving Coach Johnson in a puddle of his own jizz, his balls bruised and bloated, his dick spent, cum leaking out of his hole, utterly defeated, used, thoroughly humiliated, destroyed.

Coach Johnson would never raise his voice to Logan or any other member of the wrestling team again.