Your check-in time was over, and you’d put on another pound of muscle during the week. Now it was time for you to get some bonding in with the old man.

He might have you chew on his nipples, or else lap at his balls, or suck his dick, or just worship his glorious manliness. He’d never give you his cum though. Coach may be a superman, but he has a lot of jocks, and a lot of check-ins, and even he can’t cum ten times a day. But he’d give you what he could, cause he’s like a father to his jocks, and a father always provides.

Check-ins were a thrilling part of your week. To spend thirty minutes alone with the legend himself. His invasive, brutish hands studying your body in detail. Massaging every muscle to see what’s growing and what’s lagging behind. No stone unturned, no part of your body left unexamined. It was at once uncomfortable and deeply arousing. To be given such attention from someone you admired so much.

Coach wouldn’t cum at these check-ins, but you would, if you were out of chastity. Coach would make you bro-out in front he mirror, egging you on to show off and be cocky while he fondled your dick and balls. When he told you to bust your load and show your jock seed, you’d do it on cue. So ready to blow as you always were, and completely attuned to his command after months or years of his voice in your ear every night, listening to the jock files and falling deeper and deeper into jockhood.

Check-in time wasn’t the best time with Coach. No, that came roughly once a month when it was your turn to share his bed for the night and be utterly cunted by his huge cock. But second to that treat, check-ins were your favorite part of the week.

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