John jerks off while listening to the coach get a blowjob

John’s fingers tightened around his dick, the skin hot and slick under his palm. Coach Wilson’s belt buckle clinked again—metal on metal—and then the wet, sloppy sounds started. Lacey gagged once, high-pitched and fake, before settling into a rhythm. John could hear her spit dripping onto the tiles, the sticky plop of it hitting the floor between Coach’s polished loafers.

His own strokes were rough, ****. The stall reeked of bleach and piss, but underneath it—Lacey’s vanilla body spray mixed with Coach’s sweat. John bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, his free hand bracing against the graffiti-scratched stall wall.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” Coach grunted, his voice thick. A meaty slap echoed—probably his palm hitting the sink counter. “Use them teeth a little—ah, shit—”

Lacey’s giggles bubbled around whatever was in her mouth. “Mmmf—like that, Daddy?”

John’s hips jerked. The sound of her voice—nasal, teasing—sent a jolt through him. Precum beaded at his tip, smearing across his thumb when he swiped over it. His balls tightened, the ache sharp.

John’s breath came in short, ragged bursts as Lacey’s slurping filled the piss-stinking bathroom. Coach Wilson’s grunts got louder, his fat fingers probably tangled in her bleached-blonde hair. John’s grip tightened around his dick, the skin pulling taut with every rough stroke. Precum smeared across his knuckles, sticky and warm.

Lacey gagged again—fake as fuck—then moaned around Coach’s dick like some porn star. “Mmm, fuck, Daddy—” Her voice was all breathy, the same tone she used when mocking nerds in the hallway.

John’s balls drew up tight. His hips jerked forward, the tip of his dick brushing the cold stall door. Fuck. Fuck. He bit down on his fist to keep quiet, teeth sinking into skin.

Coach’s breathing turned ragged. “Gonna—ah, shit—” His loafers squeaked on the wet tile, his gut slapping against Lacey’s face.

John’s strokes turned frantic, his thumb rubbing rough over the leaking slit. The sound of Lacey swallowing—wet and greedy—sent a jolt through him. His back arched, toes curling in his sneakers.

At the same time, Coach let out a choked groan. “Take it, bitch—”

John’s vision whited out.