High School Reunion: Discovering Kinks.
- Southern Suitor
- Feb 4, 2022
- 9 min read
Suited Shower | Bondage | Submission
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Many of the suit and tie kinks are abstract. Nudity is so often the goal in most conceptions of sex, but suit and tie fetishists insist on staying fully clothed, even in improbable circumstances. This is a one-off story about that: a high school crush, finally realized after years of unspoken desire, ending in a shower fully suited, bound and blindfolded. This was my first attempt at writing a bondage-themed story.
Enjoy.
Ed closed Grindr. He couldn’t be distracted by all that, his anonymous explorations. It was a new thing he was trying, chatting with guys about his fantasies. A horny kind of therapy, and sometimes—when he wasn’t blocked on sight—with a reward of jerkoff material, sometimes. But he couldn’t think about all that right now.
He had to make an impression tonight at his 10-year high school reunion. Smoothing his lapels, his tan hands framed by crisp French cuffs, Ed puffed his chest in the mirror, proud of the sharp navy pinstripe suit he just ordered. Already a successful lawyer at 28, Ed was ready to show off to his former classmates: new car, new fit, new haircut. He loved the way that jacket accentuated his shoulders and showed off his inverted V. No longer the pretty high school jock, he was a success, and he had toned and sculpted his body throughout law school.
When he arrived at the reunion, Ed made a splash. He swaggered out of his Porsche and strutted to the gymnasium of his old stomping grounds. Seeing his former classmates—former football teammates, many with beer guts—the looks he was getting—damn, he thought again. I look good. Am I the only guy around here who set foot in a gym since high school?
All evening, Ed swaggered from one conversation to another, basking in complements. “That’s a sharp suit, Ed.” “What’s your secret? You’re jacked!” “Damn. What’s your training routine?.” Ed wasn’t here to reminisce about his glory days. These are his glory days, right now. He was here to prove that he was a success, an adult with money, looks, style—
—And an enduring, throbbing, aching crush on Coach Saeed Bronson.
That’s what struck Ed when he laid eyes on his former coach, in his gray double breasted pinstripe suit, cufflinks, tie, pocket square, gleaming double monkstraps, and gloves. For as long as Ed could remember, Coach Saeed (that was what he insisted his students call him) dressed like a boss.
On practice days, he always sported a French cuff shirt with cufflinks, suit trousers, braces, beautiful dress shoes, and gloves. On game days, he suited up, dressed to the nines, regardless of how hot it was. His suits were the armor he wore into battle, he would say. And he always wore fine leather gloves, too: motoring gloves that stretched over the mighty knuckles of his large, brown hands. His gloves were to show he meant business, he would say. And always plying a pair of resistance bands in his hands, snapping and twisting them, harder during practice. His resistance bands were to relieve stress, he would say.
So, after a few glasses of champagne, Ed sat down and recollected. He fought the urge to check his Grindr profile. It was a faceless profile, since Ed couldn’t risk getting caught perving around online, sharing his fantasies with handsome guys. Just the other day, he was chatting with some smoking hot Korean guy. Ed sent a few faceless pictures, and the guy responded with some smoldering fantasy about he wanted to tie Ed up in his suit. Ed couldn’t stop thinking about it ever since.
So Ed distracted himself by looking at the program for the reunion. Coach Saeed Bronson was now principal. Ten years on, the coach had gone bald, with two streaks of gray in his dense beard. He had also put on bulk, filling out his fine suit, beefier than Ed remembered. And he remembered. Coach Saeed was his jackoff material all through high school.
But Ed never acted on it. He'd heard of students and teachers getting into trouble in locker rooms before. So he took out his frustrations on fellow members of the football team—always sucking the cocks of burly quarterbacks in the showers when he didn't think Coach Saeed was looking. Always trying to blow one off after the horniness of practice.
Ed also remembered all those times he’d get hard in the shower after practice. Coach Saeed would always lean on the shower room door, making sure the players got out in a timely fashion. No shenanigans, he'd always say, snapping the pair of resistance bands in his gloved hands. He wanted to make sure the team got home from practice in time for homework. Scholar athletes and all.
The resistance bands, and those gloves. That Korean guy said something about being into gloves, as well. Ed's cock tingled in his suit trousers. Fuck, just the thought of it. Did gloves mean something, like the guy was into domination, or bondage, or something? Some kind of calling card among kinksters? All those times Ed tried working off his adolescent libido in the shower, his cock lubed by soap and water. Was he thinking about Coach Saeed’s pitchers’ mitt hands, clothed in gleaming leather? His cock would get so stiff he couldn’t even soap himself up, too much friction. Fuck. Was it getting stuffy in here? Not in front of coach.
So Ed excused himself. The locker rooms were nearby, just where he remembered them.
The odor—sweaty jockstraps, cheap soap and towels—it swept away ten years of education and accomplishment, bringing back that old athletic career of his. Humid, musky, horny. The successful hot-shot lawyer found himself weak in the knees, nostalgia weighing on him. All the times he performed at peak to make Coach Saeed happy. All the times coach would bark at him from the sidelines for missing a pass. Get your head in the game, coach would say. And all those times Ed was sure that Coach was watching him in the shower.
Ed’s gleaming whole cut laceups clicked across the floor tiles. Not a thing had changed. The air still felt steamy from when the athletes had been showering earlier in the day, causing a drop of sweat to slide down the back of Ed's neck.
“It’s due for a renovation,” said the coach.
Startled, Ed spun around. “C—Coach Saeed?”
The coach cracked a smile, wrinkles around his eyes, his bald head shining, and his gut straining at the buttons of his suit jacket. “It’s been a long time. Eduardo . . . Lopez, right?”
“Hah! You remembered my full name and everything.” Trying to keep cool, Ed laughed off his embarrassment, clapping the coach’s hand in a firm handshake. Ed’s palm felt moist against the warm leather of the coach’s glove. “I’m surprised you remembered me after all these years, coach.”
“I never forget my students.” The coach drew Ed in for a half hug, smacking the young lawyer on the shoulder. “You’re looking great, son. How’ve you been?”
“Uh, great! Busy, I mean, but—well—that’s why I’ve been hitting the gym harder. Working off the stress, you know.”
“I can see that,” said Coach Saeed, his eyes scanning Ed up and down. “That’s a sharp suit, too. I love those shoes.”
“Thanks! You know, all those times you told us we need to dress for the position we want?”
“Well, glad to see it paid off, son. You look real sharp. You look like you’ve really maintained your form under there, too.” The coach patted his gut self-consciously, a few beads of sweat dotting through his thin white dress shirt under his suit jacket. “Unlike me. I had to get this suit jacket taken out last week, you know.”
“Yeah, but you must’ve been bulking. I mean, your arms look even bigger than I remember.”
With a smirk, the coach flexed, balling his gloved fist, letting Ed admire the way his bicep filled the sleeve of his suit.
Ed laughed, then noticed a rack on the wall behind the coach, on which hung the resistance bands that Coach Saeed would always twist in his gloved hands when he waited for students to get out of the shower.
“You know,” said Coach Saeed, stepping over to the rack, “I’m really glad you came. I mean, not just to the reunion. But back here. Really brings back the memories, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does. It’s been a long time,” said Ed, stepping into the shower room. “I see you have your gloves and those resistance bands still.”
“Oh? So you remember that detail too, I see.” Collecting the resistance bands from the rack, Coach Saeed paced the showers, sharp monkstraps tapping on the moist tiles. He began stretching and twisting the bands between his gloved hands. “Always a stress reliever, these things. Helps develop wrist strength, too.”
Ed chuckled, following the coach into the shower room, watching the way the big man’s shoulders swayed under that suit jacket. “We must have really done a number on you, then. You were always stretching those things when you’d watch us at practice. With your murder gloves.”
“Murder gloves? Ha! So that’s what you called them?”
“Yes sir. ‘Coach Saeed has a posse.’ That’s what we’d say to each other when you got mad and snapped those bands against your wrists.”
“You know, too many guys peak in high school, then let themselves go. But you seem like you’ve gotten even bigger somehow. You were always big in the shoulders, but I remember you were always real lean down in the waist and abdominals.” Coach Saeed chuckled again, twisting the resistance bands in his fingers like worry beads. He then leaned on the wall, his elbow inches from one of the faucets. “I’m still thinking about that whole murder glove thing you mentioned a moment ago. Very funny.”
Ed cracked a smile, thinking about how the coach remembered his abs. So that’s what Coach was looking at all those times he’d watch the team showering after practice. Made Ed hot under the collar just thinking about it—the possibility of the coach just feasting his eyes on his muscular young students. Ed could feel his snug tie trapping a trace of moisture around his neck. “Thank you, sir. Uh, shouldn’t we be heading back to the reunion? In the gym?”
“It’s fine, son. Besides, they’re all starting to leave anyway, so I thought I’d come back in, lock up.” A twitch of an eyebrow, as he stretched the resistance bands between his gloved knuckles, cufflinks catching the dim light for just a moment before he let the bands snap against the wall. “You know, have some private time.”
Ed paused. Something about the way coach said “son.” A strange gleam in the coach’s eye, especially when he kept twanging those resistance bands against the wall. Ed thought about that kinky conversation with the hot Korean guy, his ears drinking in the creak of the coach’s fine leather gloves.
“A little . . . stress relief,” the coach repeated, stretching the resistance bands wide, biceps bulging in his pinstripes. “Like I said. Private time.”
Ed’s heart pounded in his ears as he watched the coach strain those bands. He remembered how the Korean guy’s hands looked so beefy and powerful in those gloves, and he was thinking about that right now, how Coach Saeed’s knuckles stretched the leather.
Coach Saeed wrapped the bands around his knuckles, quirking his eyebrow.
Ed chased back a gulp. Couldn’t seem nervous, not right now. But he really wanted to ask Coach the same kind of burning questions he’d been asking these kinky guys online. But how to broach the subject? What if Coach wasn’t . . . into it? So, smoothing his lapels, Ed stayed coy about it, swaggering across the tiles. “Wouldn’t you need me to get going, then? I mean, you said it was private time.”
“It doesn’t have to be completely private.” Perspiration glistened on the coach’s bald head. He unbuttoned his jacket, letting it hang open. The coach’s package filled his suit trousers—a half-erect shaft already tenting the pinstripes. “I’m willing to share a bit of that private time, if you are.”
Shit. Ed’s jaw hung open. He could feel the dampness gathering in his pits, a tepid drop gliding down the small of his back and soaking into his dress shirt. His cock stood at attention. “I—uh—you’re sure we won’t get caught?”
Coach Saeed let go of the resistance band and reached into his jacket pocket. With a naughty smirk, Coach Saeed held up the key. “Door’s already locked, stud.”
Ed stared at it, the coach’s throbbing shaft, still pitching its tent in the coach’s trousers. Fuck. This was happening. His heart racing, lips dry, Ed’s voice grew very quiet. “Do you know how many times I’ve jacked off to you, coach?”
“It was mutual, son.” The open jacket revealed spots of sweaty dress shirt on either side of Coach Saeed’s thick belly. Reaching into one of his trouser pockets, the coach started toying with his thick shaft. “You were a looker back then, and now you’ve grown into quite the handsome young hot shot.”
Ed took another half step closer. He was a few inches taller than Coach Saeed, but Coach Saeed was without a doubt the more solidly built. “I . . . used to jack off, here in the shower. I was—uh—scared to death you’d find out, sir—uh—Coach.”
“Please, son, just call me ‘Saeed.’” Standing with his legs shoulder width apart, Saeed kept stroking his cock through his pocket, making sure that all the groping was on full display. “We’re both adults now.”
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