Beware the Coach

He was already planning how to package Ken. That was a good sign. It was time to grasp the man’s sexual interest as well. As if it was an accident, Ken’s towel dropped. He remained in position long enough for the man to get a good look at his fully naked body from the front—Ken had given the Russian more tease looks at him while he was stripping for the shower. Then, in fumbling for the towel, he turned to give Tsarevich a butt shot. He even managed as he pretended to struggle to pick up the towel to pull a butt cheek aside. The intake of breath from across the room assured Ken that Tsarevich had taken in the hard work Ken had been coached by his father to put into opening his hole with a thick dildo.

“Come into my office,” Tsarevich said when the towel was back into place. “If you are to work with me, you will have to put yourself completely in my hands. I will assess your attributes and skills from the ground up, starting now. And I will only make my decision after a detailed assessment and after I’m completely satisfied that you are fully mine to form and use. Do you understand?”

“Yes . . . master.”

Tsarevich, who had been preceding Ken into the room off of the men’s locker room stopped, looked around, gave Ken a piercing look, and smiled. Score a point for Ken. The man had appreciated being called “master” rather than “coach.”