m/m "The Anatomy Lesson"

[Luvsmusl]

“THE ANATOMY LESSON”

by LuvsMusl

 

“Brian?”

 

He was surprised to hear Coach Porter calling him from the other end of the locker room.  Brian had taken to putting in extra sessions in the weight room after practice.  The school’s compact but well equipped gym was usually packed with other kids, football players and wrestlers, mostly, until six o’clock or so. He would take a half hour break after football practice, gulp a mix of high energy carbs and BCAA’s, and then grab an hour or so in the gym by himself, lifting intensely without any distractions. Lifting was his passion, his obsession.  He had no particular plans to seriously pursue bodybuilding or any other sport.  He just loved the feel of the iron, and seeing himself get stronger week by week, and watching his muscles grow steadily bigger and harder.   He looked up and smiled as Porter strolled toward him.  “You’re here pretty late, Coach. Prepping for Friday night?”  A jayvee game was being played the following evening.

 

“No, just catching up on lesson plans and stuff.  That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”   Brian shrugged slightly, pantomiming ‘what do you mean?’ 

 

“I’m about to do Anatomy with my senior Men’s Health class.  Our class, I should say, since you’re in it.”

 

“Okay…”

 

“I was watching you in the weight room earlier…”  Brian reddened a little, somewhat disconcerted at the thought that Coach had been secretly spying on him while he trained.  “…And I was thinking.  What if instead of just using those dumb charts, like every year, I get an actual guy, one of my athletes, to stand in front of the class and model the different joints and muscle groups as I point them out?” 

 

“Y’ mean –“

 

Porter chuckled at the anxious look on Brian’s face.  “Yeah, dummy, I mean you.  Just look at how well-defined your muscles are.  It’ll be much clearer to people what I’m talking about than if I just point at flat diagrams on a chart.  Am I right?”

 

Brian went into his own head for a moment.  He wasn’t much of an exhibitionist.  Of course, it always made him feel good when girls, or other guys, made comments about how great his body looked. But now he pictured himself standing naked, or almost naked, in front of a room full of his classmates and teammates, being made to pose and flex.  He couldn’t quite decide whether he hated the idea… or if…

 

Porter decided for him.  “Let’s just spend half an hour and see if we can plan it out.  Grab a quick shower and then come on back to my office.  Just your briefs.  We can do a Speedo or something on Monday.”  Without giving Brian a chance to answer, the coach turned and strode back toward his office.

 

In the shower Brian thought more about the idea as he soaped himself up and started rinsing off.  He was suddenly more focused than normal on his hard-earned eight pack, his thick pecs, his muscled arms and legs… all the while imagining the other guys in class staring at him in astonishment. In envy.  Fuck, he suddenly thought. Why am I hard?  A little disturbed that the image of himself preening and flexing in front of the twenty other men in his health class turned him on so much, he got to work furiously stroking his meaty cock (“My best body part,” he would joke whenever a girlfriend saw his thick 9.5 inches for the first time.) The giant boner was refusing to cooperate. He had to turn off the shower head and keep grabbing more palmfuls of pink liquid soap. Coach is waiting, he thought.  How long have I been in here? Finally, to get the job done, Brian turned his mind back to the image of him flexing his massive physique in front of a roomful of admiring, lesser men.  This got him a little closer.  To cross the finish line he had to flex his pumped-up left bicep, and stare hard at the thick vein that crossed the deep, perfect separation between the muscle’s two heads. At the same time cranking his swollen tool with the other hand until finally, thankfully, he came, in a series of five emphatic spurts.  Red-faced and breathless, he turned on the cold water to rinse his river of cum off the shower tiles, and off where it had splattered back onto his thighs.

 

 

Porter sat at his desk, nervously laying out his anatomy notes.  What’s taking him?

 

“Coach?”

 

He looked up and saw Brian, a little shy in skimpy red briefs, filling his office doorway.  Filling was the right word.  Dirty blond hair still wet from the shower, the kid, without gym shorts or a tank top interrupting the flow of his physique, looked like a young god.  Porter felt something stirring downtown, and reflexively averted his eyes, glancing, for a moment, at the framed photo of his wife and two kids on the desk.

 

“I’m, uh… ready when you are,” Brian mumbled, the hesitation in his voice suggesting otherwise.

 

“Good.  Good. We’ll get started in a sec.”  Porter stood up, not sure how to begin. He found it literally impossible to avoid staring at the kid’s beautifully symmetrical, exquisitely sculpted body.  He’d seen Brian in clothes, or in his football uniform, a thousand times. But seeing him now, like this, he realized that the boy’s perfect proportions disguised the reality of how big and full his muscles actually were.  “My God, Brian, you really do have an amazing physique.  What are you weighing right now?”

 

“One ninety-seven, Coach,” Brian offered proudly.  “My goal is to hit two ten by the end of the school year. Without sacrificing this…”  He ran his palm over his flat, shredded midsection.

 

Coach smiled. “A hard two ten, huh?  And you’re what? Five eleven?”

 

“Five nine.”

 

Porter let out an impressed whistle. “That’ll be quite an accomplishment.  Especially for a 17 year-old.”

 

“I’m 18, actually.  I missed a lot of school the year my family moved here, so I repeated fourth grade.”

 

Porter felt himself blushing bright red and it terrified him, sickened him even, that his heart had leapt when he heard that Brian was over 18.  What was he thinking? 

 

Brian noticed it, too.  Was Coach turned on by him?  Could Jack Porter, the school’s famously tough, macho, hard ass football coach possibly be aroused by the sight of his shirtless body?  Were his muscles that impressive?  He had no conscious intention to test this. But, apparently, there was an unconscious urge, because without any thought Brian tensed his pecs and they jumped for a second, ever so subtly, briefly revealing the nice separation between his upper and lower chest, and the deep indentations where the side of his pectoral muscles flowed into his delts.

 

The look that flashed momentarily in Porter’s eyes told Brian everything.  Oddly, instead of feeling uncomfortable he found himself growing more relaxed.  Fully on purpose this time he lifted his arms and clasped his hands casually behind his head, knowing full well that this would accentuate the V-taper of his torso, bring his obliques into high relief, and flex his biceps into perfect, solid globes beside his head.  “Let’s do this,” he said, suddenly sounding like the man in charge.

 

Porter cleared his throat, knowing that if he didn’t his voice would break.  “Um… I usually start with the midsection.”  Brian moved to lower his hands, but the coach stopped him. “No, keep ‘em like they were, that’s perfect.” 

 

Brian interlaced his fingers behind his head again, this time tensing his body so that everything popped.  “Yes, yes, that’s good,” Porter said, his words colored with way more excitement than he’d intended to convey.  “I won’t do my whole spiel. But I’ll start by talking about your... your…  uh… rectus abdominus… upper obliques… serratus anterior…”   As he listed the muscles Porter’s hands moved over Brian’s body, gently at first, outlining each muscle as he named it, then pointing out all the individual examples of that type.  “Very impressive, Brian,” he said, unable to stop himself from commenting. “Looks like every muscle in your body is perfectly developed.”

 

“Thanks, I work hard at it.”  Throughout the process Brian had kept watching the coach’s face, his eyes, enjoying the extreme reaction his physique was causing in the older man.  It wasn’t clear whether Porter noticed his own breathing  getting heavier, or his fingers spending more and more time on each of the muscles he enumerated… stroking and feeling its density, its elegant shape, its meaty perfection.  But Brian noticed, and it thrilled him to his core.  I fucking own this guy, he thought.  I bet I could get him to do anything.

 

As if sensing Brian’s thoughts the coach’s voice got a little soft and dreamy as he continued his exploration:  “External intercostals. Beautiful.”  He forgot to talk for the next minute or so as his hands continued wandering, tracing the transversus abdominus  -- the muscular V that framed Brian’s lower abs -- and finally rested, once again, in the middle of  the boy’s phenomenal, marble sculpture of a stomach.

 

“Punch me,” Brian said.

 

“What?”

 

“Hit me, Coach, with your closed fist, as hard as you can.”

 

Porter chuckled nervously.  “I boxed in college, Brian. I had twenty-two amateur fights, I won most of them.  Trust me, you don’t want me to hit you.”

 

“If you want to touch any more of my muscles you’ll do it. And not a love tap, either. I want you to pull back and slam me with 100% of your full strength.”

 

The coach was incredibly aroused by Brian’s confidence.  And he craved seeing just how strong, how rock solid the kid’s magnificent eight pack was.  He set his stance for maximum leverage, pulled his big fist back, and torqued his entire, solid 230 pounds toward Brian’s midsection.  The 18 year-old didn’t budge, not a centimeter, didn’t  register the blow at all, as Porter’s fist connected with the cinder-block wall that was his midsection.  “Fuck!” Coach shouted in pain and pulled his arm back, moving his fingers to see whether any of the bones in his hand had cracked or even broken.

 

Brian laughed, reveling more and more in his newfound power.  “Pretty fucking hard, right?  Tell the truth.  You’ve never anyone with a body like this, let alone a kid.”  He put his hands on his 28 inch waist and flared his lats, creating a mind-blowing V in a move that also showcased his spectacular, pumped-up delts, biceps, triceps, pecs… and of course that stone wall of a stomach.

 

The coach was momentarily speechless.  “N… No, Sir.”   The ‘Sir’ surprised Brian.  But no less than it shocked Porter, who had no idea why it had come out of his mouth.  Well, he had some idea.

 

Emboldened, Brian bent his right arm under his chin and flexed it, causing a diamond hard, perfectly shaped bicep peak to rise like a steely half moon above his brachialis.  “Hey, Coach,” he teased. “Feel that shit. You know you want to.”

 

Coach put his still-aching hand on the boy’s bicep and squeezed it, flushing with delight at how insanely hard and ungiving it was.  He might as well have been squeezing a cue ball or a trailer hitch.

 

“Go ahead, kiss it if you want.  Put it in your mouth.”

 

Porter met the boy’s gleaming eyes, which showed just how much Brian was getting off on teasing and dominating him.  He leaned forward and kissed the stunningly perfect bicep as Brian flexed it again, making it even harder.  Porter put his mouth around the granite sphere and sucked it as if it were a thick, juicy cock, slurping and moaning in delight.  He would have gone on forever if Brian hadn’t finally stopped him, pushing  the coach’s head away, disappointment and frustration darkening  the older man’s face.

 

“You like that,  don’t you,” Brian teased, now “popping” the beautiful peak, making it jump, over and over, from flaccid to granite hard, a perfectly shaped beef balloon bouncing  and swelling. “Boom! Boom! Boom!”

 

“I like it very much, Sir.”

 

“I’m a thousand times the man you’ll ever be. You know that, don’t you? And I’m still in fucking high school.”   Brian was on auto-pilot now, improvising, riding his muscle bronco for all it was worth.

 

“Yes, Brian. I mean, yes, Sir. It’s true.”

 

“Fucking right it’s true.  You’re hardly a man at all, compared to me. More like a worm. An insect. Next to this you’re nothing.“  He hit a tight most-muscular pose and his 18 year-old body congealed into an edifice of powerful, carved-up beef, veins like quarter-inch pipes throbbing in his thick neck, his brutal shoulders, his ungodly muscular arms.

 

As the boy held the pose, twisting slightly left and right to deliver the full measure of his intimidating virility, Porter couldn’t keep himself from reaching down and stroking the excited thing that was growing inside his gym shorts.  Seeing this, Brian stopped flexing, pushed the coach’s hand aside and grabbed  hold of the man’s hard cock through his pants.  “Is that what my big muscles do to you?”  He squeezed Porter’s dick a little harder.

 

“Yes, Sir.  I love your big muscles. I live for your muscles.”

 

Brian grinned, still not letting go.  “Does it ever get this hard for Mrs. Porter?” He tightened his grip even more, staring into the coach’s eyes, grinning with amused contempt, a bald challenge.

 

A surge of fury formed in the older man’s gut and rose to his throat, an instinctive reaction to his pupil’s brazen disrespect.  But before Coach could act on this Brian lifted his callused palm to the coach’s cheek and gave it a patronizing pat.  “It’s okay, Jack.  My body has reduced better men than you to complete submission.  Much better men.”  Porter’s anger instantly shrank to a tiny pebble, washed away in the tidal wave of the muscleboy’s cockiness, his effortless dominance.  A wet spot of pre-cum had started growing on the front of the coach’s pants.

 

“Okay, let’s finish the lesson.  I’ll flex my big teenage muscles and you tell my homies what they’re looking at.”  Brian turned his back on Porter and unpacked a masterful rear biceps shot, a sweeping landscape of sculpted flesh that caused the coach to grab his desk for support.   The boy reached his hands up and pulled his back into a tighter version of the pose, forcing even deeper valleys in the mountain range of thick muscle:  “I’m waiting.” 

 

 “Sorry, Sir.  I’m sorry…”  He had to catch his breath before he could start. “Well, um… those are your… your...”

 

“Yeah, yeah, my fucking traps.  My fucking lats.  My beautiful fucking rhomboids.  You’re boring me.”

 

“But –“

 

“Shut up, worm.  What about my glutes?  …Are we going to talk about my glutes, Coach?”  Without turning back around Brian pulled his briefs down and kicked them out of the way. 

 

Porter found himself staring at the most staggeringly beautiful 18 year-old muscle ass in the history of human asses.  His knees buckled and he was on the floor, reduced to servitude by the sheer force of youthful male perfection that loomed in front of him.  Brian clenched his curvaceous onion and it consolidated into a rock hard matrix of gluteal magnificence – deep grooves and solid ridges striping his shapely butt like the protective armor of some prehistoric creature. 

 

Coach made a little noise, from deep in his throat, like the cry of a dying loon. And then he lunged forward, propelling his face toward the tawny curve, the shadowy crescent that promised the fulfillment of his darkest, most joyful and secret dreams.

 

But before Porter’s tongue could find its target Brian pivoted around and whacked Coach in the jaw with his massive billy club of an erect cock. When the older man recovered Brian grinned and wagged his big piece in Coach’s face, making it bounce with pure muscle control, which left his hands free to stroke his abs seductively.  “It’s quite a bit bigger than yours, Jack.  I guess that’s no surprise.”

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“Maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll let you suck this muscle cock.”

 

“I’ll be a good boy, Sir.  I promise.”

 

“Who owns you, little man?”

 

“You do, Sir.”  Coach jerked a little, he was starting to cum in spite of himself.

 

“Who’s your muscle master?”

 

“You are!”

 

“Who?”

 

“You, Sir! Brian! Brian Hansen!”

 

Brian laughed and shoved his battering ram of a tool into Coach’s mouth.  He grabbed the back of Porter’s head and slammed it repeatedly against his own hard abs, rhythmically fucking the older man’s face as Porter gagged and choked in delirious ecstasy… holding on for dear life to the teen muscleman’s flaring vastus lateralis.

 

With each hard thrust Brian yelled out a command:  “Take that teenage cock!  Eat that nasty dick muscle!  Brian Hansen is God!  Brian’s muscles rule your worthless life.”

 

Coach gargled a worshipful assent, somehow forcing it past the wide pillar of cock that filled his throat.

 

Suddenly Brian pulled out, stepping back and stroking his swollen red erection, which was still slick with the coach’s saliva.  “You want some of this hot muscleboy cum?”

 

“Yes, Sir!”

 

 “How bad do you want it?”

 

“More than anything!  A million times more than anything I’ve ever wanted!”

 

“Then work for it. Talk about my muscles.”

 

Brian continued massaging his engorged cock, no longer looking at Coach but instead giving full attention to his raging boner as Porter clamored to gather his thoughts and began talking:

 

“You’re the king of muscle.  You’re a boy with the body of a god.  Your biceps are giant mountains of male power.  Your body is the Master of all men.  Every time you flex your giant muscles it’s like you’re fucking my brain, my heart, my soul. Fuck me, Muscle God!  Fuck me with your big, powerful, fucking muscles!”

 

Brian was getting closer.  “Don’t stop!  Grab hold of my balls.”

 

The coach happily did what he was told. “I want your muscles, Brian. I love your muscles. Your muscles own me. I’m a lowly slave to your giant teenage muscles.”

 

Brian was now really close.  “Whose teenage muscles?”

 

“Your teen age muscles!  Muscle God Brian’s fucking powerful, godlike teenage muscles!”

 

About to cum, Brian shoved the coach aside and continued the chant himself, crying out triumphantly with each stroke of his truly magnificent cock:  “My muscles!... My muscles!... “Brian’s!... “Fucking!...Powerful!”... “Godlike!”….”MUSCLES!”  And with that he shot, his 18 year-old firehose spewing thick muscleboy cum on the coach’s face, in his cum-hungry mouth, on his shirt, across the desk, drowning the anatomy notes in a huge pool of hot, creamy spooj.

 

For a long moment they just sat there, man and boy (though it’s not entirely clear which was which), physically and emotionally spent.   After a while Porter grabbed a gym towel and wiped the cum off his face.  He smiled, shyly.  “Thank you, Brian.  I really mean it.”

 

Brian shrugged.  “No worries.” He stood up and noticed that his dick, still semi-erect, was continuing to drip cum on the coach’s carpet.   Porter saw it, also.

 

“Don’t bother about that.  I’ll have the cleaning crew come in and spruce this place up on Saturday.  Or maybe I’ll have the jayvee squad do it.”  He chuckled at his own joke.

 

“I guess I better go shower.” 

 

Porter looked up at the kid, who was more pumped and shredded than ever after the intense flexing session.   Mother of Christ, he thought.  That boy truly is a god.

 

 “Oh, Coach, one more thing.  Could you maybe write me a pass to get out of fifth period on Monday?  That way I can come here and pump up before Health class.”  Porter grabbed his pad and scrawled out the note.  He presented it to Brian, noticing the way the kid’s triceps flared into a huge, striated horseshoe as he leaned on the desk to take it from his hand.”

 

“Thanks.”  He flashed Porter a dazzling, toothy grin.  “I can’t wait for Monday.”

 

“Neither can I.”

 

“And don’t worry, Coach.  I won’t tell anyone you’re a fag.”   He winked playfully and swaggered out of the office.  His dimpled glutes seemed to mock Porter as they bounced and flexed into the darknesss of the locker room.