Coach Rides The Goalposts

     Miguel is the 30-year-old college football coach at the local college in our town.  Unfortunately for Miguel, his team lost every game he coached, probably because he spent more time bedding the players than doing actual coaching. Following a third straight 0-12 season, the school president and board of trustees have decided to eliminate the football program and with it Miguel’s job. No other college wants a coach who has NEVER won a game. I came to his apartment under the pretext of being the athletic director of a college in a neighboring state interested in hiring Miguel. I asked to see his naked upper body, explaining that I wanted to see how important conditioning was to him. I guess he thought I was interested in more than football. He grabbed a pole with his hands, but let his dick escape its Speedo prison. Man, this guy has a one-track mind! Anyway, I suggest we have drinks while we discuss our plans. I brought a bottle of Miguel's favorite Scotch.

      "Hey, great idea. I love this brand." He pours himself a drink. I explain that I don't drink alcohol and have brought along some water for me. He downs his Scotch in one gulp.

     "Man, that is so good. I've been drinking other cheap stuff lately. When they announced the school was losing it’s football program and firing me, I had to switch to an off brand"

     "Well, once you sign our contract, you'll have enough money to buy it daily. Just sign here, it's a standard contract."

     "OK, great!" and he signs without reading the terms. Then I suggest a toast to celebrate.

     "Sure, I could use another drink, although I feel a little light headed."

     "That's just because you haven't had this brand in a while."

     "Yeah, that's right. Here's to our future success. Bottom's up, sir" and again he downs it in one gulp. What he doesn't know is the bottle has enough rohypnol in it to take down the whole football team!

      "Man, I don't feel so goo..." and he collapses into my arms. I quickly help him out to my car, and restrain him in the passenger seat. No one sees us. Miguel lives in a secluded area, better for his late night sex parties with the team. We get to my house, and I take him down to my soundproof basement. I tie him naked to a pole in a corner of the basement. Now I wait for him to wake up.

     When he does, he fights against the chains, and asks, "What the fuck is going on? Let me go!"

     "What, and break our contract?"

     "Contract, the only contract I signed was to coach your sorry football team! What the fuck are you talking about?"

     "You really should read things before signing them, Miguel! The contract states that you are nothing but a loser, as is evidenced by your never winning a single football game, and you agree that it would be best for all concerned if you were stripped, flogged and crucified until you die."

     "What are you, nuts? You can't do that. Even if you could, you need a cross and a place private enough to do it"

     "I have both."

     "Where?"

     "Here. If you'll look behind you, you should recognize the goal posts from your stadium. The school was only too glad to donate them to me, since the field is being torn down. I reinforced them with wood so the nails will hold. Your arms will be nailed to the uprights, your feet to the post that goes in the ground, and I've provided a nice spike for your ass to sit on. It’s metal, but in the shape of a 10” dick. I understand yours is 10” when erect. You’ll get a taste of the pain you’ve been giving these young men when you rape them. And since you never used lube when violating their virgin asses, this phallus won’t be lubed either. And this room will do nicely. It's soundproof, so you can yell as loud as you want. I even have a heat lamp in front of the cross to mimic the sun. It's on a timer, so it will go on and off in sync with the real sun outside. And it will deliver heat at the same temperature as outside so you can work on your tan. Now, Miguel, as to part one, the flogging. I have a nice homemade cat-o-nine tails here, and in addition to bits of glass and jagged metal, I've included football spikes from the shoes of the boys you bedded. See, this spike is from Jimmy, the quarterback, this one from Bobby the running back, and here’s one from Bubba, the defensive lineman and Homecoming King. Kind of a going away present."

     “You’ll never get away with it! When I get loose, I’m gonna go straight to the cops. You’ll be in prison for the rest of your sorry life!”

     “I assure you, Miguel, you will never get loose. Now, we need to begin fulfilling our contract, you fucker!”

     "No! Help! Save me! He's a madman!"

     "Shut up!" I scream, and my flogger flies through the air and strikes his bare back, ripping skin and muscle and causing immediate bleeding. He gasps in pain, but before he can cry out, I strike across his ass, giving him new pain to consider. I keep this up, alternating between back, ass, thighs and arms until he has received 40 lashes. I have to stop several times to wake him up, as he keeps passing out. At first, smelling salts did the trick, but then I found that rubbing salt in the wounds brought him around and gave him new pains to consider, so I abandoned the smelling salts. Finally I marched him to the goal post cross. He was way too weak to resist. I forced him up a ladder, then took his right wrist, and extended it out to the upright. I then tied it to the upright, and took a construction spike and hammered it through his wrist, the goalpost, and the wood reinforcement. He was screaming like crazy! I now take his left arm and repeat the procedure, bringing fresh cries of protest. The part of the post that goes in the ground, I had reinforced with a wooden center. I took one leg, bent it at the knee and tied it off at the ankle, repeating the procedure with the other leg. I then took two spikes, and nailed each ankle in place. Now I took the ladder away, and set the lamp for 9 am, the current time, with a temperature of 85. The lamp was programmed with information from the Weather Channel as to the current weather temperature, and its clock was set with the current information on sunrise and sunset, so it exactly mimicked the outside time and temperature. Fortunately for me, but not Miguel, the next three days were supposed to be bright and sunny with near record heat. I also let loose a few ravens, some nice underfed rats, and a case of cockroaches. I even set up a sprinkler near him, so that he would occasionally get sprayed with water, and not die of dehydration. I was not in danger, as I had a closed circuit TV set up, and could watch the proceedings from the comfort of my air-conditioned living room, on my wide-screen HD TV. It was so entertaining. I even ordered some beer and pizza and invited some of my closest friends over to watch. First, he'd try to raise himself up off the painful spike with his arms, but then his arms would give out, and he'd rest on his ankles, impaling his ass anew. The first day, the temperature hit 95, the second 98 and the third 104, all record highs. The lows only got down to around 80, so his body didn't have much cooling. The ravens and rats pecked and bit him, especially his eyes, ears, cock and balls. And the cockroaches attacked every orifice they could find, no matter how small. They crawled up his nose, in his ears, in his eye sockets after the ravens had eaten his eyes, and up both his ass and his cock slit. By day 2, he was delirious and probably insane. He kept muttering something about being a better coach that Vince Lombardi. His body tried to sustain itself, a tribute to his time in the gym, but on day 3 at 4pm, just as the high temperature of 104 was reached, he shuddered and died. I left the body hanging there another week until it was reduced to a skeleton, then took the bones out back, and put it through my wood chipper, and spread the powder over my rose garden.