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“Don’t ask him bitch-boy, we’re the ones holding your leash now and if you want to remain on the team, you will drop to your knees and get this tryout started. Once again Jody glanced over at her roommate. She wondered if this was some kind of sellout on Brandon’s part, however the thought vanished as Webster slapped her face sharply and then ordered. Brandon threw up his hands in a ‘what the hell’ sign. “Please coach, I’m not sure…”“Enough talking bitch-boy,” he took Jody’s hand and placed it on his own hard bulge and stated, “The next time you open that pretty little mouth of yours, I want this in it. Now assume the position and get down on your knees before a superior man and let’s start this workout.” Warren barked. As Jody dropped to his knees he turned toward Brandon but was prevented from doing so by the head coach’s large dark hand that first slapped, then held her face firmly. “Enough of that shit boy, you do what sissies all do in the presence of a real man. Now suck that. He wished, if he could, to just sit down one day and comb it, comb it all day for her, put it up in braids like she’d had the other night, run his fingers through it, pull it up to his nose and smell it. She was sound asleep, but hardly making a sound. She didn’t snore. He didn’t know, but he couldn’t imagine a woman who snored. He snored, at least his grandfather said he did. Shit, if she wanted to snore he wouldn’t care, any sound she made would be good, though he was still glad she wasn’t snoring. Her face was all made up, dark lashes, ruby lips, exotic looking eye liner. It was like looking at a more beautiful, prettier, Mona Lisa. He scouted out what she was wearing. The nightgown felt soft, like silk. It was silk. He could see her boobs. God they looked succulent. He wondered if that was an appropriate way to describe them. He knew they sure looked luscious, gorgeous: positively, absolutely edible. He watched and listened to her slow shallow rhythmic breathing. Should he wake.
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