jeramie-lecleaux-3

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Subject: Jeramie LeCleaux: Boyslut Detective Chaprer 3 Jeramie LeCleaux Boyslut Detective Case File 003 The Case of the Big Dodgeball Bamboozle Written by Daddy-Chief Feel free to donate to Nifty so that stories keep fty/donate.html Synopsis: Jeramie LeCleaux is a ten-year old kid detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his wits and his well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects. Dodgeball season is almost over and the championship is coming up. Pembrooke Falls Elementary School is a shoe-in to win, but on the afternoon of the tournament, disaster strikes. Jeramie thinks the score was tampered with, but there may be no way to prove his theory since the crowd's attention was conveniently diverted. It will take all his brains, and every trick his boypussy can do, to work out what really happened. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ "Foul!" The referee's whistle sent a sharp, piercing note throughout the gym, causing a number of people in the front row to cringe. Ricky was among the number. He and Jeramie sat next to one another on the left side of the bleachers. All around them, people booed and hissed. Some leaped up out of their seats, giving the referee that had made the call a thumbs down. One or two, Jeramie noticed, risked using a much more colorful gesture instead. "Sucks!" Ricky declared. "The ball barely touched him!" "It bounced off his head," Jeramie reminded, much more calmly than his friend, or anyone else around them. "He landed on his butt and got hit a second time. In the head again!" Ricky made a face. "That's only a tech... tacti... techni..." "Technicality," Jeramie finished for him, smiling slightly now. "That," Ricky said, looking murderous as the game resumed. "I'll be the referee is secretly rooting for the other team." Ricky's elbow dug into Jeramie's side, making him wince. "You're the detective. Help me find proof!" Jeramie rolled his eyes and kept watching. Across the basketball court, the spectators occupying the opposite bleachers had risen to their feet. People cheered and howled, overjoyed by the sight of the fourth grader--who had been fouled--as he trudged dejectedly over to his other teammates. "Their coach is taking it well," Jeramie noted dryly, watching as Lakeview Elementary's coach began screaming. The poor player looked looked ready to cry. The other team members looked on sympathetically. It was a notorious fact that Lakeview Elementary had the worst coaches in the district. Their teams usually did well during competing events, but only because the players were terrified of the ramifications of failure. Jeramie was happy his father had never sent him to school there. "He'll be fine," Ricky grumbled. Though, his eyes softened the longer the Lakeview coach yelled. "Sheesh, give the poor guy a break!" The referee came to the boy's rescue, blowing his whistle. The coach had stepped over the dividing line. One foot of his had been planted on the shiny surface of the basketball court--currently serving as the dodgeball field. "That's better," said Rick when the coach backed away. "Yeah," Jeramie agreed as the game resumed. It was the penultimate tournament of the regional elementary school dodgeball teams. Pembrooke Falls was in the lead, but the opposing team had been catching up. This game would determine who would go on to square off against Brickwood Academy in the finals. Brickwood had been the reigning champions for several years in a row, and more than a few of their rivals wanted to see the private school topple. "Finally!" Ricky said, applauding. The rest of the crowd on their side were doing the same. A familiar figure strode out onto the dodgeball court. Jeramie recognized the dark-haired young lad. It was Timothy Shaffeur, the star of the Pembrooke Falls dodgeball team. "He's the best," Ricky gushed, clapping even louder. "I love you, Tim!" a girl from somewhere higher up in the bleachers squealed, unable to hide her glee. It was true, of course. Timothy Shaffeur was the reason the dodgeball team had gotten as far as they did. The fifth-grader was a natural on the court. He could move around flying red balls like they were standing still in the air. More than one person had commented on his grace and balance. On the court, Timothy moved like he was dancing. It was a wonder to behold. Jeramie didn't know the boy personally. He and Timothy were in different classrooms. Jeramie and Ricky had been sorted into 5A at the start of the year, whereas Timothy was in 5C. What he did know was likable enough. Timothy was a quiet kid who had been playing dodgeball for three years. His parents hired a trainer--in reality, the school's coach, though no one was supposed to know that--to better prepare him over the summer. All of the extra work had paid off. Timothy was now a sports star, and there were rumors that his parents had been contacted by an exclusive preparatory academy upstate. If Timothy Shaffeur won the championship, he might get a scholarship. "Dammit!" cried Ricky when another player from Pembrooke Falls was tagged out. "Well, at least they didn't hit Shaffeur. As long as we have him--" The rest of the crowd seemed to think so as well. People were chanting Shaffeur's name over and over. Many had risen out of their seats. They were clapping as well, stomping their feet, and raising a ruckus. "Let's hope the pressure doesn't get to him," Jeramie said, watching the game closely. The score was currently tied, and there was less than a minute left on the clock. Shaffeur was squaring off against two players from Lakeview. Each of them had a ball, whereas Shaffeur's hands were empty. If it were anyone other than Shaffeur, Jeramie would say that the match had been decided. Shaffeur, however, kept moving. His little coltish legs flexed as he scampered to the left and to the right in a repeated pattern. The gray boy shorts he wore rose up when Shaffeur leaped into the air, giving his audience a glimpse of those soft, muscular thights. Shaffeur was trying to trick the Lakeview players into giving up their balls. If they missed, the advantage would be in Shaffeur's court. "Let's go, Shaffeur!" one of Timothy's teammates shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "Yeah, you can do it!" another called out, clapping. Jeramie turned his head toward the row of metal folding chairs in the enclosure at the bottom of the bleachers. This area was where the Pembrooke team had gathered. Those that had been tagged out, or who were benched, sat watching the game from the front lines. A tall, blond boy with feathered hair, some of which lay flat due to boy sweat, stared out across the court. Bradley Cotton was a member of the dodgeball team. Jeramie recalled that his old nemesis had been playing since third grade, the same year that Timothy Shaffeur started. Bradley was watching Shaffeur move. A sharp scowl marred his otherwise distinctly handsome American good looks. This wasn't usual, of course. Bradley could be considered quite attractive, but his personality eclipsed whatever fine features he had been blessed with. He was always scowling at something. "C'mon, Shaffeur!" Ricky shouted, snapping Jeramie out of his dark thoughts. Ricky was on the edge of his seat, hands sweating as they clapped together manically. Jeramie watched closely. The first Lakeview opponent telegraphed his throw. This was just what Shaffeur needed. He spun on the heel of one foot and turned. The ball flew right past his torso. Even Jeramie found himself holding his breath in anticipation. This was it, the deciding moment! A loud squawk suddenly cut through the air. The PA speakers had come to life, spreading a high-pitched shrill tone throughout the gymnasium. People turned, first in confusion and then in horror. The noise did not stop there. It carried up into the rafters and down low onto the court. Jeramie could not take anymore. He, like everyone else, turned his head toward the nearest PA speaker. The noise seemed to grow even louder. "Shut it off!" Ricky howled in pain, covering his ears. As if hearing his request, the noise was abruptly cut off. Silence fell across the bleachers on both sides. People turned to one another in shock. Everyone wore a slightly dazed expression. Jeramie was among the first to notice. Something had happened on the dodgeball court. Timothy Shaffeur had fallen to the ground. A red dodgeball was lying next to his head. He was clutching his chest in pain, like he had just been struck there. The referee noticed as well. His head turned, taking in the sight of Shaffeur lying on his back. Jeramie, and everyone else, looked on in horror as the referee raised the whistle around his neck up. The cool metal touched his lips. A sharp, piercing note echoed through the hush of the gym. "You're out!" the referee called, ending the match. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ "Dammit!" Ricky's foot connected solidly against the wall. The ten-year old boy with close-shaved dark hair then immediately looked around. His eyes flashed with fear, scared that someone--most likely a teacher--had overheard him. He and Jeramie were alone, however, meaning Ricky could relax. "It's just not fair," Ricky moaned. "How could he choke in the last few seconds?" "Good question," Jeramie replied thoughtfully. "Was the referee blind?" Ricky began to pace back and forth, grinding his teeth together in frustration. "And what about that noise that came through the speakers, huh?" "Again," Jeramie said, thinking hard. "Very good questions." The bell that signaled the end of the period rang. Jeramie and Ricky had slipped away after the dodgeball match concluded, using the excuse of needing to use the bathroom. At the moment, they were still hiding out in the Boys room. Ricky had been pacing over by the urinals while Jeramie leaned up against the brick walls that were painted a sickly green color. None of them were terribly worried about the time. The bell was more of a formality, really. Students at Pembrooke Elementary didn't switch classes. It was meant to signal when school began, ended, and how long each subject was supposed to be taught. Except teachers rarely, if ever, followed along. In third grade, English could go on for over an hour, whereas Science lasted maybe a half-hour, and Spelling went on for as long as it took everyone to copy down all of the words in the week's vocabulary. Which meant students got to listen to an annoying sound several times throughout the day for no reason. "Speaking of annoying sounds," Jeramie said aloud, stopping Ricky in his tracks. "What was that noise anyway?" Ricky's nose crinkled in disgust. "I dunno," he admitted. "It reminded me of that sound speakers make when you hold a microphone up next to them." "Feedback," Jeramie clarified. "It's called `feedback'." "Right!" Ricky nodded. "That." Jeramie continued to mull over the problem. "But why come through a PA system?" he wondered. "And why at that exact moment, when the game was nearly over?" Ricky grinned. "You know something, don'cha?" "Not yet," Jeramie said, pushing away from the wall. "But I'm going to find out. Let's see whether or not the rest of the school has filed out of the bleachers yet." Both boys stuck their heads out through the door. The Boys room they'd been lurking in was inside of the gymnasium. Each set of bleachers, they saw, were deserted. The guests had left as well, no doubt to celebrate their victory. "The coast is clear," Jeramie said, pleased. "Yeah, but this means we've gotta get back to class," Ricky reminded him. "Mr. Drexell will be pissed if we're gone for too long." "Can't." Jeramie's voice was resolute as he stepped out of the Boys room. "Not when there's a mystery to solve." Ricky's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. "What?" he exclaimed, aghast. "You're ditching school?" Jeramie kept right on walking. "Do me a favor," he said calmly, in contrast with Ricky's borderline panic. "Go back to class and tell Mr. Drexell that I wasn't feeling good. I've called my Dad and asked him to take me to the doctor's office." "Oh, c'mon!" Ricky said, exasperated. Looking one more time to ensure the coast was clear, he took off after his friend. "No one is gonna buy that excuse." "Mr. Drexell will," Jeramie replied. "I'm the famous Detective LeCleaux's son, remember?" Ricky made a sour face, then. "Yeah, okay," he admitted, slowing down. "Maybe he will. But you'll be the one making up the `surprise' quiz he's got for us." Jeramie felt a twinge of guilt, but there was no time to worry about his friend's delicate feelings. He had a mystery to solve. Jeramie knew he needed to be quick, too. This one would require everything he had. If he didn't solve it before the school day was over, it might be too late. "Better get started, then," he said to himself, moving out onto the basketball court. Behind him, there came the sound of Ricky slamming the door shut. The gym was now deserted. In his mind, Jeramie reconstructed the position of all the players during the last minute of the game. There had been two players on the court from Lakeview. Timothy Shaffeur was the only one left playing for Pembrooke Falls. Both sides had been squaring off. The referee had been standing a few feet away. Coach Ramirez was over with the remaining Pembrooke team members. The coach in charge of Lakeview had been standing next to his own squad. Neither coach could have disrupted the game. They were too far away. The same went for both teams. If any of the sidelined players had rushed out on to the court, they would have been spotted. The noise that had come through the PA system only lasted a few seconds. There wasn't enough time for a player to reach the court where the remaining team members were, push Shaffeur down, make it look like he had been hit, and then go back to where they were without being spotted. And then, there was the matter of Shaffeur himself. He hadn't protested when the referee made the call. That made the referee the most likely suspect. "No," Jeramie decided, thinking hard. "That's not quite right either." Shaffeur might have been intimidated by the older man. That could explain why he didn't protest. However, the referee had been looking away. He noticed that Shaffeur was down when the rest of the gym did. True, the referee might have knocked Shaffeur down, but it would take incredible timing and skill to pull that off, not to mention acting chops. The movement alone should have drawn someone's eye. If anyone in the Home bleachers had noticed, they would have said something. "Not the coaches," Jeramie decided. "Not the players. And not the referee. That only leaves the noise we all heard." It was the noise that made Jeramie think there was more to the game's outcome than a cursory glance suggested. The timing of the sound--right when the game was about to conclude--was too convenient. Jeramie's gut told him someone had made the sound to distract the crowd. "But how?" he wondered. "The PA system is in the main office. Someone would have to be in there to turn it on. And they'd have to be watching the game to know when to distract everybody." Unless, Jeramie realized, it was a two-person job. Someone could have broken into the office and set off the PA system so the sound would turn everyone's attention away from the game momentarily. The other culprit would be watching the game, letting the one in the office know when the time was right. "But they'd still need a way to communicate," Jeramie said, feeling frustrated. "Walkie-Talkies, maybe? That seems kinda conspicuous, though." He decided to go look for Shaffeur. There was a possibility that the star dodgeball player hadn't gone back to class yet. If so, Jeramie could ask him directly. "Here's hoping Shaffeur hasn't finished changing," he mumbled, beginning the short trek. The Boys locker room was located on the right side of the gym, near the Visitor bleachers. Jeramie noticed a strange noise as he drew closer to the entrance. The door was cracked ever so slightly. Whoever had shut it didn't make sure the door was closed all the way. Even better, Jeramie recognized the sounds. "Fuck me, Coach!" cried a familiar voice, confirming the boyslut detective's suspicions. The locker room carried the unmistakable fragrance of pure boy. Despite this, Jeramie detected a faint trace of something denser. It was heavier and held a much stronger musk, which tickled the hairs in his nose. This confirmed what Jeramie already knew was happening. He could hear deep grunts from far on the other side of the locker area. Heavy breaths came through the thick, moist air. There was the noticeable sound of thick hairy flesh smacking hard against the smooth, tender thighs of a pre-teen boy. "Please! Please! Please!" cried Shaffer, begging for more. "Fuck me, Coach!" This left no doubt in his mind. Coach Ramirez was fucking Timothy Shaffer. And, from the sound of things, this wasn't their first time. Not by half! A hot shiver of lust rolled down Jeramie's spine. He felt the world tilt around him. The smells coming from the locker room were intoxicating, especially for a lusty little slut puppy like himself. Jeramie could feel his boy cocklet growing hard in his shorts. His faggot boypussy flexed and puckered, suddenly alive and slick with need. Jeramie realized he had stuffed one hand down the front of his shorts. He couldn't recall doing that. The sounds of man-on-boy fucking in the next room had taken control of him. Each time he breathed in, Jeramie's body was suffused with renewed thirst. His boypussy opened wider on its own. Jeramie could feel the itch beginning. It burned him deep inside, begging to be scratched. Jeramie needed a hard adult male cock inside of him. He wanted to be bred hard and deep, the same way that Coach Ramirez seemed to be doing to Shaffeur. "More!" whimpered Shaffeur on the other side of the door, his voice taking on a high-pitched squeal. "Almost there!" came Coach's response, confirming Jeramie's suspicions. With one hand still down his shorts, Jeramie eased the door open. He remembered from gym class that the Boys locker room door squeaked once it was open far enough. Thus, Jeramie controlled himself, only pushing far enough to let his slender body slip inside. His honey-colored hair fell around his face. It was thick with sweat, despite the fact that Jeramie hadn't been listening for long. He knew that his şişli travesti (https://www.istanbulbilgileri.com/) face was flushed too. The need to get fucked was making him weak. Jeramie had to struggle to keep a steady hold on the door so that it didn't slam shut. Once the coast was clear, Jeramie peeked around the divider wall. The locker room had been designed with a boarder wall that acted as a kind of half-foyer. To get inside the locker room properly, one had to walk to the end and turn sharply to the right. It was there, as far as Jeramie knew, to provide privacy to anyone that was changing. "I love you, Coach!" Timothy squealed out while Jeramie crept down along the dividing wall. "Ohh, that's my boy!" said Coach in response. "Fuck, tell me again, son!" That last statement made Jeramie give pause, but Timothy kept right on going. "I love you so much, Coach!" Shaffeur repeated. "Oh, please cum in me, Coach! Please, give me your milk!" "You want your Papi's leche, huh?" Jeramie knelt down onto the floor. He had reached the turn where the divider opened out into the locker room. Cautiously, the little slut puppy peered around. He didn't have to look far. The locker room wasn't very big. Coach Ramirez was stretched out across a wooden bench on the other end of the room. The young, hairy latino bull was nude save for a pair of socks. A discarded jock strap, soaked with sweat and reeking enough that Jeramie could smell it from his hiding place, lay on the floor nearby. Timothy's clothes had been scattered all around them. The ten-year old dodgeball player was riding on top of the thirty-three year old man. Coach Ramirez had his cock buried up inside of Shaffeur. Shaffeur, in turn, was bouncing up and down in a mad fit of unadulterated boy lust. "I need my Papi's milk!" Shaffeur declared, tossing his head back. Jeramie saw that Shaffeur's eyes had rolled back into his skull. "Give me your milk, Papi! Give it all to me!" Coach Ramirez seized hold of Shaffeur's hips in response. His thick, meaty fingers dug deep into the tender, pale flesh. The coach thrust his own hips up off the bench, rattling Shaffeur enough that his teeth chattered. The fifth-grader's entire body was rocked from the force of Coach's cock drilling up into his boypussy. "FUCK!" Coach Ramirez howled, his voice echoing off the walls. "PLEASE, DADDY! PLEASE!" screamed Shaffeur at the same time. Jeramie knew what was happening. His mind played out the events as they unfolded in front of him. He could picture Coach Ramirez's cock, thick and full of cum, firing off inside of the dodgeball player. Shaffer's boycunt would be spread wide open, eager and hungry for the ropes of cum that were invading him. He could practically taste Coach Ramirez's spicy load. It would be warm and thick for sure, flowing up inside of Shaffeur. The virile potency of it no doubt scalde Shaffeur's love tunnel, making it spasm. His classmate would have the coach's cum inside of him for the rest of the school day, easily. "Fuck, I love you, son!" cried Ramirez. Jeramie pictured Coach Ramirez's cock painting the walls inside of Shaffeur's well-used cunt. Those heavy, bouncing balls were unloading their contents, hosing the inside of Shaffeur's quivering cunt. The feeling of being bred made Shaffeur shake as his own boygasm rocked him. Juices from inside Shaffeur's boypussy would be coating the Coach's thick, mighty rod. Shaffeur would be trying to milk more seed with his cunt muscles out of Coach's balls to breed him all the better with. It made Jeramie's boy cocklet ache with need. He wanted to feel the same thing. Jeramie's boypussy puckered again, begging to be filled. "I love you, Papi," said Shaffeur more quietly. Shaffeur's hands were resting on Coach Ramirez's chest. The small fingers of the boy tangled into the thick, coarse hair of the bigger, older man. Coach's arms rose up, running along the length of Shaffeur's arms, helping him stay upright. The two were looking into each other's eyes. Jeramie recognized that look. He had given it to his Daddy many times before. Detective LeCleaux, in turn, had looked at him the same way. This was what helped Jeramie reach his decision. Quickly, he pulled the hand out of his shorts. Jeramie then tiptoed as quietly as he could back to the door and locked it. The two lovers were still staring into each other's eyes when he returned. Jeramie peeked around the corner once to be sure, then started stripping down. Once Jeramie was naked, he stepped around the corner. He had left his clothes in a neat pile on one of the wooden benches nearby. Coach Ramirez and Shaffeur were still wrapped up in one another. It looked like they might start fucking again, so Jeramie cleared his throat. "Oh, shit!" Coach Ramirez cried out. "Oh, no!" Shaffeur practically fell off of Coach and over to the side. This dislodged the older man's cock out of his used boypussy with a loud `pop'. "LeCleaux!" "Relax!" Jeramie held up a hand to stop both of them from panicking, but neither one of them noticed. "I won't tell anyone!" Neither seemed to hear him. Coach was doing his best to cover himself. He had raised up off the bench and was looking around frantically for his clothes--none of which were there. Shaffeur had gathered half of his up in a pile. He seemed to be trying to dress himself, but was too frazzled to realize that he was pulling his arms through the leggings of his shorts. "Stop!" Jeramie ordered. Each of them froze. "I said," he repeated, "that I am not going to tell anyone. Here, I'll even prove it to both of you." Jeramie began moving toward Coach Ramirez, who looked at him like a dee caught in headlights. It was an expression that Jeramie was intimately familiar with. A lot of older men reacted this way whenever Jeramie came on to them. Even the ones who were no stranger to boy fucking got scared. They weren't used to Jeramie making the first move, or having as much experience with sex as he did. Jeramie liked it that way, though. It gave him the upper hand in the situation. It was also very useful for getting information. "Lay back," Jeramie instructed as he crawled into the coach's lap. "Like you were before. I promise you'll like this." As if in a trance, Coach Ramirez did as he was told. Jeramie waited until the coach was fully reclined on the wooden bench. Then, he reached back for the coach's cock. It was still hard and slick with juice from Shaffeur's boypussy. "Mmm!" Jeramie moaned. "You're lucky, Shaffeur." In one smooth movement, Jeramie lowered himself down. The thick, hot piece of man meat speared him through instantly. Jeramie sat himself all the way down, resting his smooth boy asscheeks on the hairy bush at the bottom of Ramirez's latino boyfucker. Coach's cock was spreading him wide, and curved in such a way that it immediately hit his special spot. "Oooohhhhh, sooooo lucky!" he moaned, taking a moment to savor the feel of having the thick Mexican-American man muscle inside of him. Shaffeur stared on in shock. His eyes almost doubled in size when he saw how easily Jeramie had taken the coach's hard cock. "How..." the fifth-grader from 5C asked. "...how'd you do that?" Jeramie moaned as he began to rise and fall on the coach's big cock. "Practice," Jeramie answered. "Lots an... ohhh! Fuck, lots of practice!" The coach had at least one more load in him. Jeramie was sure of that. The door to the locker room was locked. He had made sure of it, but there was always a possibility that someone might come looking for them. Even if the door didn't open, someone could hear what was going on inside. Therefore, they had to be quick. Jeramie gripped hold of his latest conquest's shaft, using the muscles in his experienced boypussy to squeeze Coach Ramirez. He coaxed the load hiding in Ramirez's balls out, wanting to feel the same thing that Shaffer had. "Now... ahhhhhh!" Jeramie cried out. "Mmm, I can't tell anyone... fuck, right?" Coach Ramirez's eyes widened slowly. He was looking up into Jeramie's face as the little faggot slut puppy worked his cock over. Coach's breathing became heavy. His eyes lidded slightly. Jeramie could feel the older man's hands exploring his body. The rough callouses scratched Jeramie's youthful pale flesh, sending goosebumps down his arms. "I love it," he whispered, glancing toward Shaffeur, who was still watching. "Fuuuuckkk," moaned the coach as his cock jumped inside of Jeramie's boypussy. The way his cock bounced inside of Jeramie struck the trained slut boy right in the prostate. Jeramie felt the head of Ramirez's cock strike his joy spot again and again, sending shivers up his spine. "Mmmoooooorrreeee!" Jeramie pleaded, eyes glazing over with lust. Coach Ramirez nodded. "I'll give you more," he said, sweat glistening off his chest and rock-hard abs. "Papi's got plenty for you! Gonna fill your lil' faggot cunt up good!" Jeramie felt Ramirez's fingers dig into his hips. Ramirez bounced Jeramie up and down on his cock, flexing it each time Jeramie's used cunt sank all the way back onto the base. Each time, Jeramie felt the tip strike his spot deep inside. Starbursts exploded in front of his eyes, causing him to drool. Over and over, Coach Ramirez rocked Jeramie's body. Their breaths came in deep gasps. Sweat rained down Jeramie's face. His honey-colored mane of hair was soaked all the way through, coloring it a dark brown that almost matched Coach Ramirez's olive skin. "You want Papi's leche too?" Coach demanded, gripping Jeramie harder. "Yes, sir!" Jeramie squealed, high in the grips of a fabulous boygasm. "S?, Papi te quiero tan mal! Quiero tanto la leche de pap?!" Shaffeur watched, lost in a mixture of lust and envy as teared rolled down Jeramie's face. He and Coach Ramirez came at the same time. Jeramie's body rocked back and forth, caught in a maelstrom of orgasmic pleasure as the latino hunk underneath him unloaded the contents of his twin globes deep inside. Jeramie felt the thick club paint his insides white. Coach's boypussy plunger hosed his guts with thick, potent seed. The heat from it made Jeramie's cunt burn. "Fuuuckkkk," Coach moaned. "Mmmmm!" Jeramie whined, still blissed out from the sensations caused by the Coach's thick cock buried deep inside of his well-used slutty hole. Jeramie took several minutes to catch his breath. He and the Coach were breathing hard, gasping like sprinters. At last, though, they came down from the intense orgasms that each of them had given the other. Jeramie grinned, then slowly raised himself up off Coach's cock, letting it fall out of him. A good bit of cum leaked out. Jeramie tried to close his boypussy back up, but the faggot hole had been wrecked good. A glob fell out and landed with a splat in the dense fur adorning Coach's washboard abs. "Here," said Shaffeur, looking around. "You need to clean up!" Jeramie nodded in appreciation when Shaffeur returned, bringing a roll of toilet paper. Coach raised up off the bench and reached over for a towel. While Jeramie cleaned out his abused cunt, Coach Ramirez wiped the sweat off his face and chest. "That was good," Jeramie said, sighing in satisfaction. "Like I said, now you'll never have to worry about me telling anyone." "Yeah." Shaffeur didn't sound thrilled, yet he still smiled slightly. "I guess not." "What a day." Coach let out a long-suffering sigh of his own. "First we lose our shot at the championship, and then we get caught. I could go to prison, you know." "You won't," Jeramie assured him. "But, you might want to start locking that door. I saw you two because someone left it cracked." Shaffeur actually rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "I've warned him about that before," he grumbled softly. The three of them dressed in silence. Coach had to retrieve his clothes from a locker where he had stuffed them. This struck Jeramie as a dumb idea. If it had been anyone else, Coach wouldn't have time to retrieve them. "I do have a question, though," he said, looking to Shaffeur. "Why did you throw the game at the end?" Jeramie didn't actually know that for certain. He was making a semi-educated guess. The moment he asked, however, Shaffeur's eyes went wide. The poor kid actually turned pale. Through this, Jeramie knew he had been right. "What?" Coach Ramirez demanded. "You threw the game on purpose?" Tears welled up in Timothy's eyes. Jeramie felt a pang of guilt as, one after the other, they rolled down his face. Tim's breathing came in short gasps. It sounded as if he were panicking. "Ah... I'm..." he croaked out. "I'm sorry... C-c-coach!" Jeramie reached out, intending to place a hand on Tim's shoulder. Before he could, however, Coach Ramirez pushed him aside. Jeramie watched as the coach picked Tim up in his thick arms, holding the ten-year old to his chest. "Shhh!" Coach Ramirez shushed gently. "Shh! Hey, what have I always told you? It's just a game, remember. This is only a game." Tim's limbs circled around his coach. Those coltish legs that moved so gracefully on the court wrapped tightly around the big man's waist. Tim's arms squeezed Coach's chest tightly. They were too small to get all the way around, but Jeramie could tell Tim was doing his best. Neither one asked Jeramie to leave. In fact, they acted as if the slut puppy sleuth weren't in the room. Nevertheless, he felt as though he were intruding on something private. Jeramie watched Tim let go with one arm. The dodgeball star reached down in-between them. Coach shifted as well, releasing Tim enough so that there was a gab between their bodies. Through there, Jeramie could see what the dodgeball star was doing. Tim had freed Coach's cock from his jeans. Coach was hard again, despite having fucked and cum inside of both boys. Tim eased his shorts down next, enough to free his beautiful bottom. The twin mounds jiggled as they were freed from the material. Coach seized his shaft by the base, pointing it up. Once it was aimed at the little faggot dodgeball player's cunt hole, Tim sank himself all the way down, as if sensing it was there. The two lovers moaned together. Jeramie stood back, watching the show in front of him. The two were moving together as one. Coach bounced Tim up and down, faster and faster. It wasn't a gentle fuck. The two were clearly in a hurry to get off. And yet, the whole time Coach tossed Tim up and down on his big piece of latino man meat, their eyes stayed fixed on one another. "Coach!" Tim croaked out. Coach let out a sharp grunt as he held Tim down on his fuckstick. "Mmm! Fuck, boy!" Tim's head came to rest on Coach Ramirez's chest again. They held on to one another, still joined through the Coach's cock lodged inside of his best player. Tim's legs clung to the Coach's waist, desperately holding it tightly inside of him. Reluctantly, Jeramie cleared his throat, alerting them to his presence. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "But, why did you throw the game?" Tim hid his face in Coach's chest, ashamed. "I didn't wanna," he moaned softly, forcing Jeramie to move closer so he would hear. "They said... they said they'd tell. If I didn't." "Who?" the Coach asked before Jeramie could. Tim shrugged. "Dunno," he mumbled. "I found a note. In my desk. There was one every couple of days. I got scared, so..." "Do you have them?" Jeramie asked, interrupting. Tim hesitated, then gave Coach a squeeze. He indicated that he wanted to be let down. Coach Ramirez obliged, though he planted a kiss on the top of Tim's head before setting him on the floor. In the process, Coach's cock popped out of Tim's hole, fucked loose from having Coach cum inside of him twice in such a short time. The wet noise was like a cork coming out of a bottle, and it echoed off the walls. Tim blushed as he moved over to his locker. Jeramie waited while Tim pulled out a gym bag. Tim reached inside and fumbled around for a moment, retrieving a handful of folded notes. Jeramie took them and began reading. BEWARE! RUN FROM BALLS ALL YOU WANT! DON'T THINK I DON'T KNOW YOUR SECRET! LOSE THE MATCH BEFORE THE CHAMPIONSHIP! EVERYONE WILL KNOW IF YOU DON'T! Jeramie's eyes widened. He flipped through each note, unfolding them one after another. They all said the same thing. Coach Ramirez and Tim both watched, their eyes meeting every so often while Jeramie worked. Neither moved to disturb him. When Jeramie finished, he placed the notes into a pile, then thought hard for several minutes. "Tell me what really happened on the court," he said. "Right before the match ended." "The other guy," Tim began, wiping the remaining tears off his face. "I don't know his name. He was the one on the left." "Anderson," Coach verified. "His name's Anderson, I think." "Yeah," Tim agreed. "Him. He threw the ball at me. The referee wasn't watching, though. This was when that... that sound, whatever it was, came through the speakers." Jeramie nodded. "And since no one was watching, you decided to drop the ball and pretend like he'd tagged you out. Right?" "That's... yeah, that was it." Tim was back to looking ashamed. "I was afraid, though. If someone had found out about... about me and... Coach. Well, we'd both get in trouble." Jeramie smiled. "I understand," he told Tim sympathetically. "But, there might be a way to fix this. Will the two of you trust me?" Tim immediately looked to his Coach. Coach Ramirez thought for a moment, studying Jeramie closely. "What did you have in mind?" he asked. "I know what happened," Jeramie explained, pointing to the threatening notes. "And you both know what happened. We need proof that it did happen, though. And we need a way to prove that Tim was being blackmailed without giving away the two of you." Coach Ramirez looked dumbfounded. "How are we supposed to do that?" "Coach, I need you to go to the main office," Jeramie ordered. "Find out from there if the PA system was tampered with in any way. It'll look less suspicious of you do it." Tim smiled. "You can act all mad because you thought the noise was what made us lose the game," he offered. "They'll buy that." Coach Ramirez rolled his eyes, but complied. "You've got a point," he muttered angrily. "But, all right. I think I can do that." "Tim," Jeramie went on, turning his cherubic face to the ten-year old stud. "Ask anyone on the team if they saw something. People were distracted by the PA system going off, but maybe some of the other players saw what really happened." Tim made a face. "I doubt it," he said. "If they had, someone should have said something before now." beylikdüzü travesti (https://www.istanbulbilgileri.com/) "Just be sure," Jeramie insisted. "Trust me." With a nod, Coach tucked his deflating cock--at last tired from three rounds with two different boysluts--back into his pants. Seeing this, Tim went over to the sink and washed his face. He then dried off and straightened his clothes. One after the other, they left the locker room. Coach's hand trailed down Tim's back reassuringly before they disappeared out of sight. Now alone, Jeramie got out a pencil and some notebook paper. He spent a long time studying the threatening messages. They were all written in the same block letter style. It was easy enough to copy. Feeling confident, Jeramie began writing a message of his own. The whole time, the boyslut sleuth stayed naked, feeling Coach's cum drip slowly out of his well-used cunt hole. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ It was a little while later when the door to the locker area opened. Jeramie had already wrapped up his work. He was putting his notebook away when the door swung inward. Looking up, Jeramie saw Coach Ramirez enter, followed closely behind by Tim. "I... we were worried you might have run off," Coach said nervously. "I didn't," Jeramie stated, zipping his bag shut. "What did Mrs. Claire have to say?" Mrs. Claire was the receptionist in the main office. Among her other duties, she worked the PA system. She was also the unofficial watchdog who guarded the door leading into the principal's office. "She'd already checked," Coach Ramirez answered. "The principal asked her to look over the PA system before I got there. Nothing was wrong with it." "Nothing," Jeramie repeated, biting his lower lip worriedly. "It didn't look as if it'd been touched," the Coach went on. "Or so she said." "I asked around," Tim spoke up. His face was contorted with worry as well. "The players were having a late lunch because of the game. No one saw anything, though." Jeramie started to speak, but Tim quickly added, "Well, Bradley said he saw me get hit upside the head and fall on my ass, but I think he was lying." Jeramie smiled, then. "Yeah, that sounds like him," he said, before looking at Coach. "Is there anywhere else in the school where the PA system can be used from?" "My office," Coach Ramirez answered at once. "There's a backup that I use to call players in when I wanna speak privately." A look passed between he and Tim. Jeramie had a sneaky suspicion that the PA system in Coach's office had been used to page Tim so that he and the Coach could have a quick fuck session. He also suspected that it had been used recently, and not by Coach Ramirez. "Show me," Jeramie asked. Jeramie followed behind Tim as Coach Ramirez led them out of the locker area. The Coach's office was just a few doors down. He watched while Ramirez fished a set of keys out of his pocket. "Does anyone else have a copy?" Jeramie asked as Coach unlocked the door. "Just the principal," Coach Ramirez replied. "And the janitors, I guess." "Coach keeps it unlocked most of the time, though," Tim revealed, going in first. "In case anyone on the dodgeball team needs something." "I lock it when I'm in here with one of the players, though." Coach gestured for Jeramie to enter next, closing the door shut behind them. "It... looks less suspicious that way." "I'll bet," Jeramie said dryly. The backup PA system wasn't hard to find. Coach Ramirez had set it up behind his desk. Jeramie went over and began examining the setup. "There's a timer on this," the boyslut detective said, pointing to a clock. "Someone set it to go off right around the time the match would have ended." Tim and Coach Ramirez both looked surprised. "Then," Tim began, "the sound that played..." "A tape," Jeramie finished, pressing the `Play' button. "Put in here ahead of time to play when the PA system turned on." The cassette tape came on, broadcasting a familiar sound out of the speakers. All three covered their ears. Feedback blared until Jeramie reached out and hit the `Eject' button, silencing the tape. It popped out of the drawer at once. Jeramie set his bag down and reached inside, pulling out a latex glove. It was the smallest size available, but still dwarfed his little hand by a bit. "What's that?" Tim wondered. "It's for forensic work," Jeramie explained, taking the tape out carefully. "So my fingerprints don't get on the cassette tape. It also means that the fingerprints of the culprit won't smudge." Coach Ramirez smiled. "I bet you learned that from your Dad, huh?" "Yup," Jeramie said proudly. "And now, we have proof. We just need to get everyone together and show the principal what we've found." Coach Ramirez and Tim both looked aghast. Clearly, informing the principal was the last thing they expected, or wanted to do. "But first," Jeramie went on, ignoring them. "I'll need a couple of things. Namely, a sheet of black construction paper, a roll of Scotch tape, and some white cocoa powder. Chalk dust should work too." Coach Ramirez stared at Jeramie's expectant expression for a long time. "Um," the coach said finally. "I think I've got some tape in a drawer of my desk." "The kindergarten class has construction paper," Tim pointed out, turning toward the door. "I'll check." "Look in the cafeteria for cocoa powder while you're at it," Jeramie said as Tim exited the office. "Please!" Jeramie lay the cassette tape on the surface of Coach's desk. It was surprisingly clean. For some reason, Jeramie had imagined a coach's desk being messy. Ramirez had very little on it, however, save for one corner where several photographs of his family had been clumped together. "What are you up to?" Coach asked. "You'll see soon enough," Jeramie answered evasively. "This won't take long. Once I finish, take Tim and me both back to class. It'll be better if we're escorted. Instead of risking getting caught wandering around." "Um, okay?" Coach Ramirez's face wrinkled ever so slightly as he frowned. "Then what?" "Give me about a half-hour," Jeramie instructed, taking a seat in the Coach's desk. "Then go to the principal's office and have him page me, Tim, and Bradley Cotton. I'll be able to prove everything then." Coach opened his mouth to speak. "And don't worry," Jeramie added. "No one will find out about you two. I've already figured out a way around that." Tim returned a moment later, bringing with him several sheets of black construction paper and a small container of white cocoa powder. "The cafeteria lady grilled me for ten minutes," Tim grumbled while Jeramie lay out all the items. "I don't think she bought that Coach asked me for white Cocoa mix." "Don't worry about it," Jeramie said, getting to work. "Everything will be fine soon." Jeramie took the Scotch tape out of the drawer. It was right where Coach Ramirez had said it would be. From his bag, he took out a small brush. He had forgotten to replace his stash of powder for his homemade fingerprinting kit. Fortunately, cocoa powder would work just as well. Jeramie dusted a light coating over the whole cassette, making sure he got the powder everywhere. A quick puff of air blew the excess away. It didn't take Jeramie long to find what he needed. Carefully, he tore off several strips of Scotch tape and began pressing them to the cassette. One after the other, Jeramie placed the strips of tape onto the black construction paper. Each strip contained at least one fingerprint. "There," Jeramie declared. "Now we just need to get back to class." Per Jeramie's instructions, Coach Ramirez escorted he and Tim back to their rooms. Coach was even nice enough to provide Jeramie with an excuse. Tim's teacher didn't seem to require one, though. Jeramie wondered if maybe Coach had brought Tim back late before. Either way, it didn't matter for the moment. Once Jeramie was in his seat, he got out his books and notebook. It was time for Math, and the teacher was gearing up for a surprise quiz. Jeramie already knew about it, though. He'd sneaked a peek at Mr. Drexell's schedule after faking ill a week ago. It had been just before recess, which was near the end of the day, so Mr. Drexell let Jeramie stay in the classroom while everyone went out and played. It paid to be prepared. Both he and Ricky had studied the night before. They were sure to get good grades. And all of this was playing right into Jeramie's plan. "Mr. Drexell?" Jeramie called out as their teacher began passing out the quiz papers. "My pencil broke. Can I borrow one from Bradley, please?" Bradley sat in the next row, two desks up from where Jeramie was. At the start of the year, he and Ricky had been separated. Mr. Drexell put Ricky near his desk at the back while placing Bradley and Jeramie across from one another. However, this proved disastrous. Unsurprising to anyone who had been in fourth grade with them last year, Bradley caused Jeramie no end of grief. It got so bad that the teacher was forced to move Bradley up several desks. Now, Jeramie needed Bradley to complete his plan. "Go ahead, I guess." Mr. Drexell seemed surprised, but nodded in Bradley's direction. "Mr. Cotton, would you loan Jeramie LeCleaux a pencil, please?" Jeramie was banking on Bradley not wanting to make a scene while the teacher watched. It wasn't the blond-haired boy's style. Sure enough, Bradley scowled, but didn't protest. Jeramie carefully took the pencil by the tip when Bradley passed it back to him. His rival's eyes narrowed, glaring suspiciously the whole time. "Thanks," Jeramie said, smiling innocently. Once the teacher called for the quiz to begin, Jeramie placed Bradley's pencil in his lap. He then took out his own lead pen and began marking down answers on his test paper. Mr. Drexell moved around the room, looking over each student's shoulders to make sure no one was cheating. He did, Jeramie noted, spend longer than usual over by Ricky's desk. Ricky looked uncomfortable the whole time. Concerned, Jeramie watched, but Mr. Drexell did nothing. After a moment more, the teacher whispered something in Ricky's ear and moved on. Jeramie shrugged and went back to his test, determined to finish ahead of the others. Mr. Drexell passed by his desk a moment later, but barely glanced at him. Once Jeramie was finished, he pulled the black construction paper with the fingerprints taped to it out from underneath his test paper. He then reached down between his legs for Bradley's pencil. Getting the Scotch tape that he had smuggled out of Coach's office was a bit trickier. Jeramie had placed it in his bag. He managed to sneak it out while faking a sneezing fit along with the brush and cocoa powder. Quietly, while making sure no one was watching, Jeramie dusted the pencil and retrieved a perfect set of prints off it. Unfortunately, he almost dropped the pencil. Fortunately, it landed back in his lap instead of on the floor. Someone might have picked it up if that had happened. It was important that no one else handle the pencil. "Mr. LeCleaux, is there a problem?" Jeramie raised up and found Mr. Drexell watching him. "I finished my quiz," he said, holding the paper up. "Sorry, I almost dropped the pencil Bradley let me borrow." "Mr. Drexell," Bradley called out. "Can I get my pencil back now?" The teacher opened his mouth, but was cut off by the PA speaker on the wall above his head. It crackled to life, and there were some voices in the background before Mrs. Claire came through. "Mr. Drexell, do you have Bradley Cotton and Jeramie LeCleaux?" she said, her voice slightly distorted through the speakers. "I do," Mr. Drexell answered at once, his eyes never leaving the two boys. "Send both to the office, please." Jeramie stood up, taking the quiz paper with him. The black construction paper with all of the fingerprints was tucked underneath his shirt. He had pocketed the pencil as well for good measure. Bradley followed him, taking his own test paper. They were the only ones who had finished so far. "Go on, then." Mr. Drexell took the papers from them and gestured toward the door. "Don't be too long." Bradley didn't speak to Jeramie until they were out in the hallway. "I want my pencil back, LeCleaux," he hissed, keeping his voice down. "You'll get it back," Jeramie replied calmly. "Very soon." It didn't look as though Bradley liked the sound of that, judging by his expression. The two made their way down the corridor in silence. Coach Ramirez was waiting in the reception area with Principal Maizer. Both men were wearing very severe expressions. "Thank you, gentlemen," said Principal Maizer. In Jeramie's experience, the principal only referred to the male students as `gentleman/gentlemen' whenever it was something serious. "Is Tim here?" Jeramie asked. Bradley's eyes widened in surprise, but Coach Ramirez shook his head. "He's on his way," the dodgeball coach answered. Jeramie nodded. "Good. I guess we can go ahead and get started. I wanted to show this to Principal Maizer first, since it concerns the school." Bradley scowled as Jeramie passed the cassette over to Principal Maizer on top of the black construction paper with the fingerprints. "I found the cassette in Coach Ramirez's office," Jeramie explained. "He let me in. I thought it was weird that the PA system came on right as the game was about to end. The cassette has the feedback sound recorded on it." "So?" Bradley demanded. "What's that got to do with anything?" Jeramie smiled. "Someone wanted Timothy Shaffeur to throw the dodgeball game. They sent him a threatening letter to scare him." Reaching into his pocket, Jeramie held up the letter he had written. "It was someone who had access to Coach Ramirez's office. He only locks it when he wants to talk with a team member privately. The rest of the time, it's open." Principal Maizer took the note out of Jeramie's hand. "What's this got to do with Mr. Cotton, though?" "Bradley's on the dodgeball team," Jeramie explained while Bradley stood stiffly next to him, flexing his fingers. "He started playing the same year..." Jeramie paused as the door opened behind him. Tim eased himself inside, cracking the door enough to slide his lithe frame through. "...the same year Tim did," Jeramie finished. "And he knew something about Tim that Tim didn't want anyone to know." "I don't know what you're talking about," Bradley spat. Jeramie noticed that he shot Tim a threatening look briefly. "None of that proves I had anything to do with it." "He's right," Principal Maizer said. "Mr. LeCleaux, I respect what you're father has done for this city, but... anyone could have written this." To emphasize his point, Principal Maizer held the note up for everyone to see. BEWARE! YOUR PARENTS ARE READY TO GET DIVORCED! SOON ALL WILL FIND OUT! DON'T THINK I DON'T KNOW YOUR SECRET! LOSE THE MATCH BEFORE THE CHAMPIONSHIP! EVERYONE WILL KNOW IF YOU DON'T! "No," Jeramie argued, shaking his head. "Only one person could have written that note. Spell out the first letter of each word at the beginning of each sentence." A great big bead of sweat rolled down the side of Bradley's temple. Jeramie watched, smirking to himself. Principal Maizer, meanwhile, did as Jeramie asked. "B-R-A-D-L-E-Y," said the principal. "You always try to show off," Jeramie chided his classmate, who was shaking with unvoiced rage. "I knew you were behind everything the minute Tim showed me the threatening note." Coach Ramirez and Tim said nothing. Principal Maizer stared Bradley in the face. Quite a few more droplets of sweat had joined the first one. Bradley looked very worried now. "But," Bradley tried. "That still doesn't prove it was me." "I took a fingerprint off the cassette," Jeramie explained. "There were no others like it." He then paused, reaching into his pocket for Bradley's pencil. "I borrowed this pencil from Bradley during class. The teacher and everyone else there saw me. It came from him, and it has his fingerprints on it." Jeramie pointed with the pencil at the sheet of construction paper. "Look at the fingerprints that I took from the pencil and the cassette tape. They match up." Principal Maizer did. When he raised up again, his expression was grave. "But that's not the note I left!" Bradley exclaimed. Quickly, he covered his mouth with one hand. "I mean..." "Bradley blackmailed Tim into throwing the match," Jeramie explained. "He recorded the feedback audio and then left the tape inside the backup PA system inside of Coach Ramirez's office. It was programmed ahead of time to turn on when the match was almost over. Bradley wanted to distract everyone so that no one would actually see Tim throw the game." "Is this true?" Principal Maizer asked. Tim hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. I found the note in my desk a couple of weeks ago. I was scared and... when the PA went off and everyone looked away, I... just sort of panicked." "Pretending you'd been hit in the chest," Coach Ramirez said gently. Jeramie noticed that the man was hard again. His cock stretched against the fabric of his windbreaker. "When you'd really caught the ball." Principal Maizer continued to stare at Bradley, who looked like he wanted to disappear into the Earth. "Tim, you and Jeramie can go back to your classrooms," said the principal. "Coach Ramirez and I have to have a word with Mr. Cotton." ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ "Yes!" Jeramie watched as Ricky leaped to his feet, punching the air with his fist. On the court, the Pembrooke Falls dodgeball team were in the midst of practice. "Go! Go! Go!" Ricky cried out. Jeramie shook his head while Ricky's attention was diverted. The dodgeball team had split itself into two groups. Both sides were squaring off on the basketball court, ducking and dodging--per the name of the game--as red balls went flying. Among them was a very familiar figure. Timothy Shaffeur spun on his little coltish legs out of the path of a red ball that had been launched by one of his teammates on the other side. Another ball was rocketing toward him at the same time. Shaffeur bent his knees, sticking his bubble butt out slightly, and leaped high into the air. The ball flew right into his arms before he landed in a graceful crouch. Several team members on both sides cheered. Shaffeur gave them all a big grin, then tossed the ball back. None of the players were keeping score. It was about the exercise and building up their skills. One noticeably absent player was Bradley Cotton. istanbul travesti (https://www.istanbulbilgileri.com/) "Ahh!" Ricky sighed happily, falling back onto the bleacher next to Jeramie. "That's more like it." "Looks like he's doing a lot better," Jeramie noted, smiling. "It helps that no one on the team held a grudge." Principal Maizer had wanted what happened on the court to remain a secret. Therefore, word spread like wildfire that Bradley had been responsible for Pembrooke Falls losing the dodgeball match. Of course, Shaffeur had thrown the match on purpose. However, more students focused on the fact that Bradley had betrayed his own team, rather than Shaffeur's part in it. Jeramie felt this was a suitable reaction, honestly. Within two days, the team at Lakeview had gotten wind of it as well. Their coach wanted to proceed, but was overruled--in a surprising turn--by the students. The Lakeview dodgeball team had gotten together and decided that what happened wasn't fair play. They went as far as to threaten to recede from the championship unless a rematch took place. In the end, a compromise was made. Lakeview would go on to the championship, but afterward, they would face off against Pembrooke Falls in a rematch. No matter who won, it wouldn't affect the outcome of the championship, but this was good enough to satisfy both teams. "There's one thing I don't understand, though," Ricky said thoughtfully, his eyes still glued to the court. "Why did Bradley do it? I mean, why wait until the season was almost over." Jeramie sighed. "I think it was more about bringing down his competition," he explained. "Remember, Bradley and Shaffeur were more or less even for the first couple of years. Shaffeur got better because his parents paid Coach Ramirez to give him extra lessons." "Yeah." Ricky nodded in understanding. "If there's one thing Bradley can't stomach, it's... whadaya call it? `Preferential treatment'?" Jeramie nodded. "Unless he's the one getting it," he added, to which they both laughed. "But, yeah. Ruining Shaffeur right when the school was about to go to the championships would turn him into a pariah." "What's that?" Ricky wondered, cutting Jeramie off. "It's when everyone hates you for no good reason," Jeramie explained quickly. "I'm sure that Bradley was gonna help with that." "No doubt," Ricky agreed. "But how'd Bradley find out about Shaffeur's parents getting divorced?" "Dunno," Jeramie admitted. He'd only been guessing when he wrote the replacement blackmail note. "Maybe one of his relatives told him. Or maybe he overheard something." Shaffeur's parents had separated at the start of the school year. He had been keeping it quiet the whole time. They had moved back in with one another over the past month, but were sleeping in separate rooms. Shaffeur had described them as being more like roommates now than a couple, but he wasn't complaining. Jeramie supposed that it was preferable to them fighting all the time. "So Bradley found out," Ricky rattled off, counting down on his fingers. "Sent the blackmail note, snuck into Coach Ramirez's office to rig the PA system in there, and then waited for Shaffeur to throw the match." "That's it." Jeramie started to add something less, but movement out the corner of his eye made him pause. "Wait here. I'll be right back. There's something I need to wrap up!" "Sure," Ricky said, waving him away. His attention was back on the court. "I wanna see how many more balls Shaffer can grab. Wow, did you see that one?" Jeramie didn't answer. He was already making his way down the stairs and out of the bleachers. The door to Coach Ramirez's office was closed, but a quick check confirmed that it was unlocked. Jeramie felt a shiver roll down his spine, reaching his hole and making it tingle, as he stepped inside without knocking. Coach Ramirez was sitting behind his desk. The man had foregone his usual windbreaker. He was dressed today in a sheer, white t-shirt. A pair of tight gym shorts covered the upper half of his legs. Jeramie could see Coach's thick bulge. The man wasn't hard, yet his package threatened to tear the fabric. "I thought of something," Jeramie said, leaning his weight against the closed door. Coach Ramirez raised up, startled. "Oh, Jeramie!" he said, before giving the boy a nervous smile. "You got me. I thought someone from the team--" "When we were in Principal Maizer's office," Jeramie cut in, knowing he was being rude, "you said something. I can't get it out of my head." Coach Ramirez frowned. "What's that?" he asked, genuinely trying to recall what was so significant. "You described what happened to Shaffeur on the court," Jeramie explained, moving toward the desk slowly. "Shaffeur caught the ball, then pretended to get hit in the chest. That was what you said." "Right." Coach Ramirez nodded, looking confused. "Like Tim said." Jeramie shook his head as he marched around the desk to stand beside the Coach. "Except," he said slowly. "He didn't. Tim never said what actually happened. Just that he'd thrown the game." Coach Ramirez blinked. "He didn't?" "No, he didn't," Jeramie said confidently. "I think you saw what really happened. You were upset when Shaffeur first said that he'd thrown the game, but for the rest of the day, you seemed fine." "Well..." Coach Ramirez hesitated. "I just... it didn't seem important." "Or," Jeramie countered, reaching out to touch Coach Ramirez's bulge. "Maybe you already knew. Because, unlike everyone else, you kept watching the game." Coach Ramirez's mouth opened slightly, drawing in a sharp breath. Jeramie smiled as his small fingers closed around the thick, hardening shaft concealed by the tight shorts. He could feel Coach's heartbeat in there, pounding away as blood pumped into the thick piece of manhood. "Coaches have to watch the game closely," Jeramie said, his own voice having taken on a deeper, huskier tone. "Make sure the players are doing what they're supposed to. The PA system going off like it did wouldn't have distracted you." Coach Ramirez said nothing. "But," Jeramie went on, moving his hand up and down, "if Pembrooke Falls won the game, Shaffeur would leave." The little slut puppy watched while Coach Ramirez's chest rose and fell. "He was going to get a scholarship if we won. Losing the game meant that Shaffeur might stay in town." "I..." Coach Ramirez stammered. "I... uuhhh, I know it was wrong!" Jeramie looked Coach Ramirez deep in the eye. "Shaffer threw the game either way. That's just how it is. I don't plan on telling him." It took a moment for Jeramie's words to catch up with Coach. He was breathing heavily now. A wet stain had formed on the front of his shorts. "Why, then?" Coach Ramirez croaked out. "I just wanted you to know that I know," Jeramie replied sweetly. "Shaffer will do whatever he wants to do, and whatever his parents decide to do. As for me..." The honey-haired boy removed his hand from the front of Coach's shorts. The outline was painfully visible. It looked as though Coach's shorts might tear at any moment. Jeramie began to slowly peel off his clothes. "I just thought you might like to play with me one last time," he said while stripping down for the handsome man. "While Shaffeur is busy." Coach's eyes flickered past Jeramie's head. "The door..." "I locked it," Jeramie replied, stepping out of his jeans. "No one's coming in. And they'll just assume you're talking privately with someone, like always." Jeramie's hand reached out to touch Coach's thick cock again. "I'm sure that's the whole reason why you started doing that," he added, grinning. "You and Shaffeur must play in here lots." His tiny fingers reached past the thick, throbbing shaft. Jeramie hooked them on the waistband of the shorts, pulling them down. Coach's cock popped free, waving in the cool air of the room. Precum was already drizzling down. The Coach's balls had swollen to nearly twice their normal size. Shaffeur must not have had time to play with Coach the past couple of days, Jeramie thought. Bradley's scheme probably spooked them both. Slowly, like he was in a trance, Coach Ramirez reached down and grasped hold of the hem of his shirt. Jeramie watched as the older man pulled it up over his head, exposing the rich, olive chest and forest of dark hair underneath. Coach then stood up, dropping his shorts to the floor in a single push. The big man stepped out of them, leaving himself naked save for his shoes. Jeramie licked his lips. "You look so good, Coach," he whispered. Coach didn't answer. His big, meaty paw reached out and seized hold of Jeramie by the back of the head. Jeramie found himself being pulled forward toward Coach's huge cock. His mouth opened at once. Jeramie gobbled up the thick, plum-sized head of Ramirez's cudgel in a single stroke, swallowing it. He could feel the heavy helmet attached to the long, uncunt cock push at the back of his throat. "Swallow it," Coach ordered. Jeramie did as the Coach asked. He began deep throating as much as he could. Pretty soon, Jeramie had almost half the shaft inside of him. He could feet it trying to force it's way down his esophagus, attempting to push out into his stomach. "Goddamn!" Ramirez cried out. "Even Shaffer's not this good!" Jeramie felt his chest swell with pride over that. He was getting more aroused by the thought of Shaffer playing dodgeball right outside their door. It excited him to know that Shaffeur was none the wiser. He could feel his body temperature on the rise. Jeramie's little faggot hole flexed, puckering at the idea of Coach pounding a loud inside of him while Shaffeur practiced. Coach's star player had no idea what was going on. It gave Jeramie so many naughty tingles just thinking about it. "Here," Coach said suddenly, hooking his hands underneath Jeramie's armpits. Jeramie found himself being pulled off Coach Ramirez's cock. It popped out of his throat with a gagging sound. Jeramie realized he was being raised into the air. A second later, the wind whipped around him. Something cold and hard touched Jeramie's butt, making him shiver. Coach had set Jeramie down on top of his desk. The big, hairy man then reached back behind the lustful slut puppy, clearing away the desk with a sweep of his arm. All of the photos of Coach's family in their perfect frames were strewn to the floor, cracking the glass, but the big latino beast gave them no notice. "I am so fucking horny," Coach moaned. Jeramie stared across the small gap that separated them. He could feel the heat radiating off of Coach's body. He could almost taste the sweat running down the man's hairy muscles. "Me too," Jeramie confessed. "Will you fuck me now, sir? Please?" Coach Ramirez moaned, and a fresh dollop of precum fell from the tip of his cock, splattering against the floor. "Not yet," he said softly, his voice husky with need. Jeramie's lower lip stuck out in a pout. It was something he'd learned to do with his Dad--not a stunt that he pulled on the regular, but effective when executed. Coach, however, was unmoved. "C'mere and breathe in deep," Coach instructed, having dealt with far more unruly boys than Jeramie before. His meaty paw reached out again, grasping Jeramie by the back of the head. Jeramie did as he was instructed, inhaling as his nose was pressed into Coach's hairy chest. The rich, sharp musk suffused his nostrils, filling his body and sending fresh naughty shivers down Jeramie's body. He felt his toes curl and his little boy cocklet jump. Saliva poured into his mouth. Without thinking, Jeramie stuck his tongue out. The little pink appendage lapped at the hairs between the crevices of Coach's twin pecs. "That's what real men smell like," Coach said, watching Jeramie lick away at his flesh like a hungry kitten. "So... good!" Jeramie moaned between licks. Jeramie's little hands began exploring Ramirez's body. The heat make the tips of his fingers tingle as well. Jeramie reached up to brush both thumbs across the Coach's thick nipples, which had swollen and were hard from arousal. "You need to be fucked now, putito?" Coach asked. Jeramie moaned in response. "I do," he answered. "My boypussy needs your cock inside me again. I don't know how I'll get on without it after today." Coach Ramirez placed his hand on Jeramie's chest, pushing him back so that he lay across the desk. Jeramie felt the cold metal surface along his spine, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the Coach's body. Coach then seized both of Jeramie's legs, pulling him forward so that the ten-year old slut puppy's ass hung off the edge. "Well," Coach Ramirez said slowly, drinking in the boyslut detective spread out across the surface of his desk. "If this is our last day, I'd best make it memorable." Jeramie watched, stroking his little boynail the whole time, as Coach knelt down behind the desk. A moment later, Ramirez's tongue touched him in the most private of places. Jeramie felt the thick, wet tongue snake inside of his aching boypussy. Stars exploded over his vision from the contact alone. New tingles went through his body as Coach ate him out. It felt extra naughty because they were doing this in Coach's office while the dodgeball team practiced. Jeramie couldn't suppress a moan. He could feel Coach's tongue moving in deeper, paving a path that would soon be replaced by the thick shaft between Coach Ramirez's legs. "Please, Coach!" Jeramie begged, whimpering as his mind clouded with lust. Coach removed his tongue and gave the little slut puppy's cunt hole a lick. "Please, what?" he demanded. "Tell me what this putito pussy needs?" "Your cock," Jeramie whispered, conscious of the players outside on the court. "It needs your cock, sir." "Sorry," the Coach answered mockingly, running a finger in a circle around Jeramie's quivering hole. "Didn't catch that. You need what?" "I need your cock, sir!" Jeramie said, risking being a bit louder. "I need to get fucked by you again, sir! Please, put your cock in me and fuck me like you did before!" Coach stood up. Jeramie heard him open a drawer and fumble around for something in his desk. There was a sharp `clack' sound, like plastic. A moment later, Coach's cock was pressing against Jeramie's entrance, having been greased up with lubricant. "You are like Shaffeur, yes?" Coach taunted, still nudging the outer rim of Jeramie's hole with his fat cock helmet. "A putito. A fag boy in need of real men to fuck you." Jeramie whimpered. "Yes," he confessed as sweat rolled down his face. "Please, sir. I need it inside of me. Please!" The first inch or so went in. Jeramie felt his boypussy bloom open like a flower, sucking in the Coach's thick cock greedily. Coach Ramirez moaned at the sensation of being back inside of Jeramie's cunt hole again. In truth, it was even better than Shaffeur's. Though, he would never tell his young lover that. "More!" Jeramie whimpered urgently. "Keep telling me," Ramirez demanded, rocking the first couple of inches in and out of the slick, wet, hungry boycunt. "I want to hear it as I give you what you need. What you came here for, faggot!" "It feels so good," Jeramie gasped, feeling his toes flex. "And?" "It gives me naughty tingles," Jeramie went on, feeling his own cocklet ache. "Makes me feel so good!" "Does it make you feel like a slut?" "It does." Jeramie didn't try to hide the fact. "It does, so much!" "Have you ever been fucked before?" Jeramie's eyes widened in panic. "I can't... ohhh, fuck! I can't... say!" "It's okay," Ramirez promised, feeding more inches into the delicious boypussy that had been offered up to his manhood. "I can tell already. Your pussy knows how to treat a man cock." Jeramie's eyes rolled upward into the back of his skull. Coach Ramirez was hitting his special spot now. He could barely think clearly. The way Coach's shaft was shaped meant that it hit his spot at just the right angle. It made stars burst behind his eyes! "Shaffeur took a while," Coach revealed as he rocked the length of his cock in and out. "To get used to it. To learn how to service a man's cock." Coach Ramirez seized both of Jeramie's legs and spread them wider. "But you," he went on. "You already know. Someone trained this boypussy good to take huge cock. Who was it?" "Can't..." Jeramie's voice was hoarse from pleasure. "...say!" Coach laughed. "That's okay," he said, picking up speed. "I'll find out one day. No boy has ever been able to stay away from my cock." To emphasize this point, he plunged the full length of himself balls deep into Jeramie's warm boycunt. The shock of this knocked the wind right out of Jeramie. He lay helplessly on the desk while Coach Ramirez pushed his legs forward, bending him in half. "You'll be back," Coach Ramirez said, his eyes shining with wicked glee. Something triggered inside of Jeramie. He felt Coach's cock expand. To both of their surprise, the Coach came hard. His balls drained themselves of their precious seed, flooding the inside of Jeramie's cunt until it dripped out. This was not the same as before. Coach had already fucked Shaffeur in the locker room once when Jeramie arrived. Jeramie realized he had been getting the leftovers. This time, the Coach had at least a couple of days worth of cum built up. His balls were fully loaded and ready to breed a boy's pussy until it couldn't hold anymore. The shock made Jeramie's cunt shiver. He felt his body tremble and shake, as though in the midst of a seizure. Jeramie didn't panic, though. He knew what the feeling was. Coach cumming so much inside of him had triggered the faggot slut puppy's own boygasm. Jeramie's mouth hung open wide. Wave after wave of pure ecstasy rolled over him, crashed into him, as if his whole being were suffused with the Coach's primal essence. His legs tried to kick out, but Coach had them pinned tightly with the force of his weight. A bit of slimy spittle drizzled down onto Jeramie's tongue. He realized that Coach had spit in him. The flavor sparked a fresh electric wave through Jeramie's small body. Soon, he was at the peak of orgasmic bliss. The room swam, replaced by a bright climactic light that rocked Jeramie to his core. His body kept moving, riding back and forth on the cock speared inside him, trying to coax more cum out of those heavy, swinging balls. At last, it was over. Jeramie came down from the cloud he had been lifted up and carried to by Coach's magnificent body and fantastic shaft. His vision began to clear. Coach Ramirez was looking down on him wearing a knowing smirk. "Yeeaahhhh," said Coach, his voice carrying an edge of triumph. His breath came in heavy gasps, which shook sweat off his chest onto Jeramie's soaked body. "No way you can resist this." Their eyes locked. "Soon," Ramirez promised. "You'll be back for more breeding like this."