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This story is fiction and deals with teen paddling and sex.  If such a subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.

Locker Room Surprise


Ricky Trent did not have a choice.  The school required involvement in a sport as part of the PE program in order to graduate and he was totally inept at everything remotely athletic.  His failures were legendary and so Coach Kinnison made him the towel boy.  A team does not lose if one drops a towel except in boxing and that was not in the school's program.  Ricky thought it was a waste of time but he was trapped.  It did have a couple of nice extras however – he got to see all the other guys (not just from his class) and especially the jocks.  He got to see all of each of them.  Several of them were, to put it bluntly, excellent eye candy for him.  He saw who had well-developed bodies and who had unbalanced ones with uneven or grotesque development.  He even had wet dreams about fucking some of them.

There was another perk also.  The Coach was a strict taskmaster and expected the best from each and every man at all times.  He did not expect perfect results – after all there must be a loser as well as winner – but the best effort.  He had an assistant – Mr. Inspiration.  Mr. Inspiration was two feet by four inches by half an inch (61 x 10 x 1 cm) of solid oak.  Dropping a pass that should have been caught, missing a shot that should have been made, not paying attention and even being late earned a prize ticket.  One might even get such a prize coming in first if one merely ran fast enough just to win and not to beat one's own record.

With the squad in the showers, some days Ricky would be ordered to fetch Mr. Inspiration as the Coach talked about performance.  It was the end of the talk that Ricky was most interested in.  It was then that the prize winners would be called forward, ordered to bend over grasping their ankles with their butts facing their mates, their packages dangling below, for their pops.  Ricky loved hearing the CRACK and seeing the paddle flattening a wet boy butt.  He loved how there would be a wide red stripe where the paddle had kissed; the grunt of the prize winner as he suppressed the natural yell in honor of machismo.  Ricky thought that it was better when he couldn't, especially if the guy was older.  He noted that many of the witnesses were stiffer after compared to before the prize distribution.  Ricky had the advantage that he was always dressed and wore a jock to hide his own rising response.

Ricky was frequently the butt of jokes inviting him to join the group in the shower instead of just watching.  They promised they would show him a good time and he would not even have to drop the soap.  He always laughed when he declined.  He would have liked to but he wanted to play in another way.

Nothing unusual happened for months until one day the Coach had to leave five minutes early.  By then everyone was done with the shower and dressed.  Or so the Coach thought.  Ricky was doing his final sweep of the locker room to be sure he got all the towels when Calvin Gorton came in.  He was a senior.  He was a jock.  He had a fantastic body in perfect balance and symmetry.  He was one of Ricky's favorite wet dream players.  Of course, Ricky never expected even to shake hands with such an Adonis much less get close for anything more intimate.  Cal was muddy from his cross country run and more than a half hour late.  (Fortunately he had made it back or the Coach would have been in big trouble for losing a student.)© YLeeCoyote

Cal asked Ricky to get him a towel and to turn the water on.  Ricky was delighted for he would get to see the beautiful body once again and perhaps in more detail since others would not be watching for such rude homo behavior.  When Cal finished showering, Ricky closed the master valves again and approached him.

"You did not do your best today, did you?" Ricky asked holding two towels so as to hide Mr. Inspiration.

"I guess not." Cal sighed.

"You know the Coach's rules." Ricky said, showing him the paddle.

"Where's the Coach?" he asked.

"He had to leave.  Do you want to wait for tomorrow?" Ricky tapped his palm with the paddle.  He had set the trap.

"You mean…?" His prey was sniffing at the bait.

"It's up to you, Cal." Ricky's heart was racing for it was just one more step and the trap would snap closed.


"That's the usual.  Please lean over the bench with your legs spread as I'm a little shorter than the Coach."  Ricky's cock was so hard that it was hurting as he watched Cal take his position presenting his ass to him.  "Remember – don't get up until I say so."

Cal was sure that he had picked the right option.  Six from little faggy Ricky would be a piece of cake compared to only three from the Coach.  Also, he would not have to worry about it all of tomorrow nor would it be in front of the entire squad.  He wondered how many others had gotten pops from the towel boy.  He certainly never heard of it but no paddlee would mention it and apparently the towel boy kept his mouth shut.

Ricky admired the perfectly shaped butt cheeks so willingly offered up to him and Mr.  Inspiration as Cal got into position.  He made a point about getting everything just right to assure Cal that he would not miss the target.  He held back a bit for the first pop to lock the trap by making Cal think it was going to be easy.

CRACK.  Cal remained silent and decided that he had made the right choice.

"Last chance to wait for the Coach, Cal."

"You finish what you started, Ricky boy.  I don't want to wait."

Ricky smiled.  Cal could not change his mind now.  He asked for a paddling and he was going to get one.  "Whatever you say, Stud." Ricky rubbed his hard cock through his jeans.

CRACK!  The second pop was full strength.  Cal yelled.  He knew he had been suckered but it still was easier than the Coach's pops and he was not going to lose face to a mere junior three years younger by chickening out.  He did not notice that Ricky was freeing his own cock from his jeans.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  Cal grunted for each of them but took them well.  Ricky rolled a lubricated condom on his hard cock and then delivered the last pop.


He dropped the paddle and quickly rubbed some lube on Cal's hole and pressed forward.  A hard push and he penetrated as he hoped.  Cal was very surprised but his hands had been clamped so tightly since the second pop that he could not release his grasp immediately.  Ricky held his hips and pounded away.  Being paddled had always excited Cal and with Ricky's shaft hitting his prostate he was rock hard.  He was enjoying it.  He came even before Ricky filled the rubber with his spunk.

Ricky withdrew and told him to get up.  The two youths faced each other.  "That was great fun.  We should do it again.  Real soon."

The reply took a few minutes.  "I thought you were a fag but you're a stud."

"Yea, I'm a fag but I like to fuck; not be fucked like some jocks.  Now dry off and get dressed so we can get out of here before the janitor tells the Coach we were so late."

The End

© Copyright A.I.L., June 16, 2007

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Last updated:  September 15, 2023