My Father Made Me Kneel in Front of the Team Coach

“You have to take my son onto the team,” Damián blurted out as soon as he sat down on the coach’s side of the table.

Rubén and Nicolás looked at each other in silence. The club tryouts had just ended and Bruno had been, without question, the worst of the candidates. His father had dragged him to the office almost by force, and now he was clinging to a conversation that smelled of humiliation from the very first second.

“Damián, your son is strong, I won’t deny that,” Rubén replied calmly. “But he doesn’t know how to play basketball. We can’t put someone on the team just because he lifts weights.”

“We need men, not extras,” Nicolás added, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

The captain was wearing shorts and a club T-shirt so tight it showed everything. When he finished speaking, he reached down and adjusted the bulge in his pants in front of everyone, shamelessly, looking first at the father and then at the son. Bruno swallowed. Damián looked for a moment that lasted far too long.

“Dad, drop it,” Bruno muttered. “I’m not interested in the team, seriously. You don’t have to…”

“Shut up, son,” Damián cut him off. “Let the adults sort this out.”

“But, Dad…”

Damián put a hand on the back of his neck, pulled him in, and covered his mouth with his own. He kissed him. Really kissed him, with tongue, in front of the coach and the captain, who stared without moving from where they were. Bruno tensed for two seconds and then let it happen, not really understanding what was going on. When his father pulled away, the two men on the other side of the table looked at each other like someone who has just discovered a shortcut.

“Well,” Rubén said, drawing out a slow smile. “That’s not what I expected.”

“My son is good,” Damián insisted, ignoring Bruno’s face. “He loves it. I hear him from my room when he brings someone home. He doesn’t care if I’m right next door. If what you need is a bastard you can empty out before and after training, my son is yours.”

“Dad!” Bruno went pale and red at the same time.

“Don’t make me say it again, Bruno.”

Rubén leaned back in his chair and rested a hand on Nicolás’s thigh as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The captain didn’t even flinch. It was clear there was history between them and that this scene was far from the first.

“You said ‘anything,’ right?” the coach asked in a calm voice.

“Anything,” Damián repeated.

“Then let’s see.”

***

Bruno still hadn’t moved when his father grabbed his shoulder and gently pushed him down in front of the bulge pressing against the captain’s shorts. Nicolás lowered his hand, stroked his head with two fingers, and smiled as if he’d been waiting for this moment for months.

“It’s all right, son,” Damián whispered in his ear, crouching beside him. “Do it. You know how. You always do.”

Bruno looked at him sourly, with that silent rage that settled in once he realized his father was more comfortable there than he was. But when he looked down, that cock straining against the fabric was calling to him too. The captain was an insufferable show-off in training, a blond guy with a crooked smile who thought he was God because he was the best. And now it was twenty centimeters from his face. And it was bulging.

“Come on, rookie,” Nicolás said, using two fingers to tug down his shorts. “Let’s see if that mouth’s good for anything other than showing off at the gym.”

The cock came out hard, thick, already half-risen. It smelled like game sweat. Bruno closed his eyes for a moment, opened his mouth, and took it in. Nicolás let out a long groan and rested a hand on the back of Bruno’s neck, not pressing, setting the rhythm with his fingers.

“Fuck,” the captain murmured. “I knew this mouth had to be good.”

“Mmm,” Bruno answered, not stopping sucking.

Damián had stood up and gone around the table. Rubén was waiting with the chair pushed back and his hand on his own bulge.

“And you?” the coach asked. “Are you just going to watch?”

“Anything,” Damián repeated, and knelt between the coach’s legs with the ease of someone used to it. He pulled down his pants and took him into his mouth without pause, looking Rubén in the eyes.

“Aaaah,” the coach gasped, throwing his head back. “Fuck, Damián. It’s been a long time.”

Bruno, sucking with an angry face and the captain’s cock deep in his throat, heard that line and rolled his eyes for a second. It’s been a long time. So this wasn’t the first time. So his father came to this office. So his father and the coach knew each other in a way his mother couldn’t even imagine in her dreams.

“Did you like it, son?” Damián whispered to him when he pulled away from the coach for a moment. “See how it’s done?”

“Mmm,” Bruno replied, less angry now.

“That’s it. Keep going. Lube it up well.”

Nicolás let out a short laugh and patted his cheek twice.

“Your dad’s a fucking ace, kid. Learn.”

The captain pulled Bruno up, ripped his T-shirt off in one motion, and tossed it aside. The boy’s body was laid bare: broad shoulders, carved pecs, abs built on gym work and protein. Nicolás ran a hand across his chest with an approving grunt.

“Fuck, what a body. I’ve been wanting to see this naked for months.”

On the other side of the table, Damián had also stood up and was taking off his shirt. He had the strong body of a man who takes care of himself in his forties, not as defined as his son’s but compact, with a broad chest and a stomach still hard. Rubén kissed him. He kissed him like one lover kisses another, without hiding it. Bruno glanced at them and something tightened in his stomach: he had never seen his father kiss his mother like that. Not even close.

“On the table, both of you,” Rubén ordered. “Lean over.”

Father and son took their places one in front of the other, both bent over the office table, their asses in the air. Bruno rested his forehead on the cold formica and took a deep breath. Nicolás spread his cheeks with both hands, spat, and slid a finger inside.

“Ahh!” Bruno moaned, clenching his jaw.

“Mmm, so tight,” the captain said. “Let’s see how far this resistance goes.”

Across from him, Rubén was doing the same to Damián, but more slowly, almost tenderly. Damián moaned softly, almost smiling, and Bruno understood that his father didn’t need much preparation. This was familiar work.

“Hold on, son,” Damián told him over the table, his face close to Bruno’s. “Hold on. You can do this.”

“Aaaah…” Bruno closed his eyes when Nicolás added a second finger and started moving them slowly.

***

The cocks went in almost at the same time. Rubén went slow, letting Damián settle around him with a deep grunt that ended in a smile. Nicolás did the opposite: one hard thrust and he was all the way in. Bruno bit his forearm to keep from yelling.

“Fuck!” the captain roared. “He’s taking it all. What a fucking ass.”

“I told you,” Damián replied with a strange calm, looking his son in the face while the coach began to pump into him from behind. “My boy can take it. My boy is good.”

Bruno looked up. His father was looking him in the eyes. His face was flushed from the thrusts, his jaw clenched, wearing a proud smile Bruno had never seen in his life. And for a second, that look wasn’t his father’s: it was a lover’s. Something moved inside him.

The thrusts kept a steady rhythm. The table began to shake, all four legs squeaking against the floor. Father and son moaned with the same expression, veins standing out in their forearms, their posture so identical it was almost laughable.

“Like father, like son,” Rubén laughed between gasps.

“And now they’re both ours,” Nicolás added.

Damián reached a hand over the table and grabbed Bruno by the neck. He pulled gently. Bruno leaned in. And they kissed. For real this time. Without the alibi of the first kiss from before, without the “shut up” and without any startled witnesses. They kissed because they wanted to. Their tongues searched, their lips bit slowly, and Bruno’s cock turned rock-hard under the table, hanging between his legs, dripping.

“Now that’s beautiful!” Rubén exclaimed. “Look at this, fuck. Now that’s teamwork.”

Nicolás let out a hoarse laugh and sped up, gripping Bruno by the hips with both hands. The thrusts turned shorter, deeper. When the captain slapped his left cheek, the sound cracked through the office like a gunshot. Bruno moaned against his father’s mouth.

“That’s it, my boy,” Damián murmured between kisses. “You can do it. You can do it.”

“What if we share them a little?” the coach suggested.

“Go on,” Nicolás answered, needing no further explanation.

***

They laid Damián flat on his back on the table, legs spread and ass on display for Rubén, and told Bruno to get on top in sixty-nine. The boy obeyed without arguing. When he settled in, his face was level with his father’s cock and his own with Damián’s mouth. Above him, Rubén was aiming his at Bruno’s face. Behind him, Nicolás was getting ready to go in again.

“Eat your father out, son,” the coach murmured. “Like you’re at the back of the line.”

Bruno grabbed Damián’s cock, hard as stone, and took it into his mouth. His father let out a long, blissful moan and immediately returned the favor: he ran his tongue over Bruno’s balls, licked his cock from top to bottom, covered him in saliva with a dedication that was almost obscene. Bruno closed his eyes. His father knew how to do it. He knew it too well.

“Mmm,” Bruno muttered, not knowing whether he meant the cock in his mouth or the tongue on his balls.

Rubén offered him his from above. Bruno swallowed it without thinking. It smelled like clean cock, like man, like coach. He moved from his father’s cock to the coach’s and back again, without pause. Damián was doing the same underneath, taking in everything he could get into his mouth: balls, shaft, glans.

“Fuck, you’re both so good,” Nicolás laughed, and pushed into Damián from above while Damián licked him from the side. “Fucking slut father, slut son. Best thing that’s happened to this club in years.”

When Nicolás got behind Bruno and pushed in again, things sped up. Bruno took his father to the hilt with a grunt and Damián gave him back his moan, sucking his balls from underneath. Rubén took Bruno by the chin, lifted his face, and shoved his cock all the way down his throat. Bruno held on. He wasn’t going to fail now.

“Aaaah!” Nicolás roared. “I’m coming, fuck. I’m coming!”

The captain drove it in to the base, held still for a second, and unloaded. Bruno felt the heat filling his ass, the pulse of the cock, the weight of Nicolás’s hands dug into his hips. Almost at the same time, Rubén threw his head back over Damián with an animal grunt and came into his father. Father and son looked at each other through the coach’s body with the same expression of pleasure.

***

“Baptism,” Rubén announced with a smile as he pulled away. “Both of you. On the floor.”

Damián and Bruno got down from the table and knelt side by side, shoulder to shoulder, in front of the coach. Nicolás sat on the table watching. Rubén stroked his cock slowly, looking at both of them in turn. When he came, he sprayed thick ropes onto father and son’s faces, splashing their cheeks, their chins, and their parted lips. Damián opened his mouth to catch it. Bruno did the same, without thinking.

When he was done, Rubén ran his still-hard cock across their faces, smearing what was left. Father and son leaned in at the same time and licked it together, one on each side, their tongues meeting at the base. When they lifted their heads, their eyes met. They moved closer. They kissed again, now with the coach’s cum covering their faces, licking it off each other, chuckling softly.

“Fuck, Dad,” Bruno muttered between kisses. “I liked this.”

“Me too, son,” Damián replied, eyes shining. “Me too.”

The coach and the captain looked at them over their heads, satisfied. Before leaving, Rubén stroked Damián’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Damián smiled. Bruno understood, without being told, that this scene would happen again. And that his father had been looking for an excuse to drag him into it for years.

***

The months passed. The team got used to Bruno so quickly that the transition was almost invisible. He played badly, yes, but he more than made up for it in other ways. Before every training session and before every game, the locker room turned into something else. A private routine, unwritten, that everyone respected and nobody discussed outside.

On the night of the first official match, Bruno was on all fours over two towels in the center of the locker room. Tomás was fucking his ass and Mateo was pushing his cock into his mouth, both of them half-dressed in the uniform. Iván, Joaquín, and Pablo were jerking off on the benches, waiting their turn, laughing among themselves as if it were the most normal thing in the world. For them, it already was.

“Fuck, Bru, what a mouth you’ve got,” Mateo gasped when he came. “Don’t you dare change teams ever.”

Bruno swallowed as much as he could, let the last spray hit his cheek, and smiled. Tomás kept going behind him for a few more minutes until he emptied himself too. By the time Joaquín’s turn came, Bruno had already lost count. He didn’t care. He knew how this worked.

“Come on, Bru,” Nicolás said from the locker room door in his shorts. “Shower. We’re out in ten.”

Bruno got up with his face and chest pearled with sweat, his ass dripping, his thighs trembling. Nicolás held out his hand and they bumped fists, complicit.

“Let’s wreck them, captain.”

“That’s the attitude, bastard,” Nicolás laughed. “We celebrate afterward.”

Under the water, with teammates coming and going around him, Bruno rinsed off quickly. He’d be going out onto the court in five minutes. He could still feel the cum inside him. He hadn’t washed it all away. He liked it that way. It was his way of starting the season.

When he jumped onto the court, the crowd welcomed them like heroes, having no idea what had happened a quarter hour earlier in the locker room. Bruno ran to his position, raised a hand toward the stands, and smiled. They were going to lose the game. He knew it. But the celebration — in the locker room, afterward — would be worth it.