He looked up and me with a smile on his face bigger than i'd ever seen. Like he wanted nothing more in the world than to pleasure me. "FUCK YOU JAMES, FUCKING TAKE MY COCK" the Coach yelled at him as his started to fuck his ass, "I saw you fucking goofing off here in the weight room today. None of my athletes are allowed to fuck off during practice and training! Now you're gonna pay" Yes sir!" James yelled back with a mouth full of my cock.The Coach continued to pound him and yell derogatory statements at him. "You didn't want to work out? Well how's this workout! Fucking tell me boy, you like this fucking workout?" Oh fuck Coach this workout is fucking amazing," He said, "I'll never workout again if you force me into this workout" "Yeah you'd fucking like that wouldn't you you little slut?" he said back."Hey, who you fucking calling a Coach," I said, joining the convo. I stood up and walked behind the Coach spitting into my hand and rubbing it on my cock. The Coach continued to fuck. Strange how fragile life can be—after all, aren’t we always and everywhere but a single motion from death? Linden wondered if he’d hear the gun go off. Pushing the barrel hard against him, he closed his eyes. Should he put the gun in his mouth instead? After all, what if he slipped and somehow managed to miss? What a horrible joke that would be—to spend the rest of the life he wanted so desperately to end, confined as a vegetable. He’d read somewhere that if you put the barrel to the roof of your mouth, the bullet would go straight up through the brain and out of the top of the skull. In fact, he’d seen it once on an episode of Faces Of Death. Some congressman killed himself right on television. During his speech, he’d pulled out a pistol, stuck it in his mouth and blew the top of his head all over the ceiling. In a strange way, Linden had admired the courage and conviction that it must have taken to do that, while at the same time concluding that the guy was an ass for splattering.
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