Page 23 of Thwack!

“Um, sir?”

“What is it, um…”

“Denny, sir.”

“Right, Denny.” Coach didn’t say anything else, just sat there in his large leather seat behind his large wood desk with a pencil clutched in one large, callused hand.

Denny opened his mouth, but no words came out. Coach raised his eyebrows. He dropped the pencil and leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn’t look more unwelcoming if he were trying, and he might be trying.

Denny should leave. Was it that big a deal if the team gave him good luck taps before a game? Truthfully, he’d sort of enjoyed it. Maybe this was something he should work out on his own. With some lube.

“Um.” He was about to say never mind, back away and close the door, but just then Coach barked out “what?!” and the sound was so loud and abrupt it startled Denny right into speaking.

“The team hit me.”

“The team,” Coach said flatly. “All of them. The team, as a collective, hit you.”

Denny nodded.

Coach sighed like Denny was the absolute last thing he needed today. And this was him after a victory. Imagine if they’d lost.

“Before the game,” Denny explained. “As a good luck thing. Everyone hit me. Here.” He turned to present his backside and pointed at it.

“They gave you a spanking?”

“A good luck spanking.”

“Okay, well, it seems to have worked.” Coach picked up his pencil and bent his head toward the papers covering his desk.

“But I don’t want to be spanked,” Denny blurted out, annoyed at having been dismissed so casually.

“We won, didn’t we?”

“Yes, but.” Denny didn’t see how whether or not they won could be the deciding factor in whether or not it was right for the team to hit him. “But I don’t want them to spank me.”

Coach dropped his pencil. “Let me get this straight. The guys gave you a tap on the ass, a thing they do to each other all the time, a thing I do to them, normal team camaraderie shit, because they thought it would increase the chances of the team winning, and then the team did win, and now you’re in here bitching to me about not wanting it to happen again? Is that what’s going on here?”

Denny was confused. Why did it sound like Coach was mad at him?

“Are you a part of this team or not?”

“I’m the equipment manager,” Denny said hesitantly, unsure if that made him part of the team.

“Then as part of this team”—okay, so apparently it did—“I expect you, like all the members of this team, to give a hundred percent. If something is going to help the team win, then you do it.”

“But they hit me. On the butt.”

“I’m going to hit you on the butt,” Coach threatened and before Denny could say that he didn’t think that would be appropriate, Coach grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him over his lap. Denny yelped. This was just as awkward as being over the OT’s arm and a lot more intimate. Plus, Coach didn’t just give him one swat and let him go. Coach started railing on him.

Denny thrashed, but Coach had him securely around the waist, and the more Denny thrashed, the more his dick, which had perked up the moment Coach started whaling on him, rubbed against Coach’s thigh, which had the effect of making him even harder. He started grinding. He couldn’t help it. Over the OT’s arm, there hadn’t been anything he could do except thrust wildly into the nothingness of air, but having a warm, hard body beneath him was irresistible.

Coach stopped slapping his meaty hand down on Denny’s sore ass, but it took a moment for Denny’s brain to catch up and he embarrassingly continued humping, his intent made more obvious by the lack of any other motion.

“What in tarnation is going on?” Coach lifted him to his feet so fast it took his breath away. When Coach glanced down, Denny followed his gaze to the unmissable erection distending his pants.

“You mean to tell me,” Coach said, “that you get off on being spanked?”

Shamefaced, Denny shook his head.