Incest/Taboo A Teacher's Sin Uncovered

Coach is based on a good friend who is not, by the way, a coach.

I am currently working on a Hurricane Katrina story and another chapter about Sam and Bella.

I wish all a Merry Christmas and, as always, all story characters, if they were actual people, would be eighteen years of age or older.
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* * * *​

On the way home I stopped at the gym; once home I went for a run. I finished a few blocks short of the house, walked back, taking the time to think. Andy was always two steps ahead of me, nothing I did or said affected him. He seemed to enjoy playing with me. Would I be less interesting if I surrendered, stopped resisting? Would he lose interest?

He also had me in a constant state of arousal. Was that his plan, to reduce me to a sexual frenzy, then fuck me? After that would he keep his word and let me go?

I had no plan to deal with Andy, I had no option other than to trust his assurance that whatever was going on was short term, then I'd be free.

I was turned-on. I'd need to induce Bruce back to bed. He was, however, already concerned about my raging libido, wondering what had gotten into me. I felt a sudden resentment. I was a babe; why didn't he just fuck me silly? Not a helpful thought; I pushed it from my head.

I sent him a text, "Can't wait for my man to get home, let's cook out tonight," threw two potatoes in the oven, filled a pot with water to steam broccoli, and lay two defrosted steaks in the sink. Red meat might get his motor running.

After showering I put on panties and a gray skirt he liked and, topless, did my make-up. At ten minutes to six I put on a bra, turned on the grill, heated the water. I was sitting in the living room, blow-drying my hair, when Bruce walked in.

He put his stuff down. I flipped off the blow dryer, hooked a finger under his belt, gave him a kiss.

"I turned the grill on baby; the steaks are in the sink; throw the broccoli in the steamer."

He pecked my lips, ducked into the kitchen, headed outside. I resumed blow drying my hair, making sure he could see me through the plate glass window while acting as if I didn't know he was following me with his eyes. When done I leaned forward and poured two glasses of wine, providing him a grade-A view of my butt, slithered into a yellow tank top, loaded two plates with broccoli and potatoes, joined him.

We ate on the patio. I ran my foot up his leg. I leaned forward, displayed some cleavage, checked his crotch. He was erect. When we finished he started to pick up his plate.

I stood, glided around the table, motioned for him to turn his chair to face me.

"Why don't we leave that for later?"

A bit uneasy, not one to delay cleaning up, he said, "Okay."

I knelt before him, undid his belt, reached inside.

"Honey, are you sure, out here, what if somebody sees us."

"Well, I hope they'll enjoy the show."

I didn't actually say that, I just thought that. What I said, not really caring whether it was true, was, "Don't worry baby, I checked, no one can see us."

I wrapped my fingers around his prick and pulled it out, stroked it. My tongue darted out for a quick lick.

"It's, it's so big baby. My baby's got a big," and, delaying for effect, added, "cock."

I took it in both hands, gave it a tight squeeze, massaged it, first with my palms, then my fingertips. I licked up its underside, kissed the cock-head, then let it go to toss aside my tank top and bra. I took several inches into my mouth and after throughly wetting it, leaned forward and captured it between my breasts. Looking into his eyes, I carefully rolled my breasts up and down his prick. At first he had glanced around, uncomfortable about being outdoors and being caught, but step-by-step his discomfort surrendered to the power of my mouth and tits. He leaned back, rested his hands on my shoulders, began humping my breasts.

"Do you like it baby? Do you like fucking my tits? Would you like to come all over my big fat titties"

Dirty talk wasn't Bruce's thing, but he didn't object.

"Maybe I should blow you. Imagine my lovely lips wrapped around your thick cock."

I released him from my tits, lowered my head, kissed the cock-head.

"So nice and big baby."

I closed my mouth around his dick, lashed it with my tongue, let it slowly slide out between compressed lips and pressed it to his belly while licking the shaft. Then I took about half of it back into my mouth, bobbed my head up and down, flicked my tongue on it, lubricated it with warm slippery saliva.

I definitely did not do this enough.

I ran my tongue around the blood-engorged head and stroked the shaft with my hand, then cupped and massaged his balls, my fingers groping with a firm but gentle touch. His testicles were big, the most impressive thing about his equipment. I let his dick slide from my face.

"Your balls are so full baby. Do you mind if I suck them?"

I didn't wait for an answer. Taking my time, making sure Bruce enjoyed every hot wet sensation, I licked a testicle with the tip, then the flat of my tongue, before enveloping it with my lips, sucking on it. I let it slide from my mouth and grasping his dick with my left hand, I cradled his ball sac with my right, opened my jaws wide and sucked both testicles into my mouth. I worked my tongue under each, slid it to the opening of my throat, hummed, imparting the delicate vibrations to his balls.

Bruce moaned,"Mmmmh...."

Saliva seeped from my mouth. My chin was wet, his groin was wet, my pussy was soaked. His balls started to tighten.

I pushed them past my lips, replaced them with his cock. It pulsated in time with his heart beat. I moved forward until it reached the entrance to my throat, then pulled back and licked the knob. Underscoring the obscene event with obscene noise, I lapped and gulped, then raised myself on my knees and took his entire dick into my mouth. I bobbed my head up and down.

I found myself hungry, desperate for my boyfriend's cum. I'd always loved sucking cock, loved filling my face with man meat. Why had I let it slip from my life?

Bruce took hold of my shoulders, stiffened and moaned; he was ready. I tightened my soft slippery lips over the head, lathered it with my tongue, twisted my hand on the shaft. Bruce grunted, jerked, exploded, filled my mouth with his hot warm thick cum. Longing for every salty sweet drop, I adjusted the angle of my head, but I was out of practice. Cum spilled past my lips, dripped down my chin.

I let his cock slip from my mouth, looked into his eyes, gave the cock-head a few last licks, stood. He was staring at me, mild disapproval in his eyes. I realized my face was wet with saliva and cum; he was not a fan of cum shots. I wiped my chin with my forearm.

I'd sucked his cock; it was time for him to eat my pussy. Bruce wasn't a fan of cunnilingus; something about getting hairs between his teeth. Well, that was not going to be a problem; I was clean shaven and in no mood for excuses.

"Come on dear, my cunt needs tending to."

Discarding clothes, I headed down the hall. While Bruce didn't like the word cunt, my stride and demeanor brooked no dissent and pulling up his pants, he stumbled after me. In the bedroom I lay down, spread my legs.

"Eat my pussy."

"Honey...."

"I need my cunt eaten, I need it eaten now. Don't give me any pubic hair bullshit, I shaved it clean for you.'

That was not actually true, but he didn't need to know that. I will confess, however, it was not my most romantic overture.

Bruce stripped, laid his clothes neatly over a chair, knelt between my legs. I arched my back, offering him my pussy.

He licked my clit, once, tentatively.

I squealed, "Oh, my."

He did it again.

"Ooooooooffff, harder baby, harder."

Again, still tentative.

"Put your finger in me."

He did.

"Wiggle it."

He did.

"Harder!"

He did, but not much.

I was a bitch in heat walking my boyfriend of three years through Cunnilingus 101. He licked me some here, stroked me some there. It was nice, but I needed him eating me like a starving man.

I wailed, "C'mon baby, eat my horny cunt."

He started munching, but not like a starving man, not even like a particularly hungry one. It was time to take things into my own hands. I pulled on my nipples, pain and pleasure combined into a single joyous sensation. Now we were heading in the right direction. Then he stopped and wiped pussy juice from his chin.

Anger welled inside me. I'd given him a superb blow job, sucked his nuts, swallowed his cum, let his jism roll down my face. Now he was objecting to a little cunt juice?

No, blowing my top would do my pussy no good. Shit, did a girl have to do everything herself?

"Baby lick my vagina."

He did. I reached for my clit, worked it hard. That felt good.

I gasped, "Oh baby, so good."

I trapped my clit to my body, moved it in hard wide circles. I yanked on my nipple. Bruce pushed his tongue inside my vagina. My hips started to shake. I thought of the last few days: about showing Andy my tits, about the nipple clamps, about the butt plug in my asshole, about the principal's cock and cum in my mouth, about Andy guarding my classroom while I masturbated. I pressed my clit to my body and squeezed a nipple. Damn, it was on me out of nowhere.

"Unnnh, uuunnnnnnnhhhhhhh, uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, fuck fuck fuck, I'm cominggggg."

My body shook, rocking the bed. I continued working my clit, gradually slowing the pace, decreasing the pressure, guiding myself through another sweet orgasm. I reached between my legs. Bruce's head was no longer between my legs. I didn't know when he'd stopped.

I opened my eyes. Bruce was at the foot of the bed, stark amazement on his face. I held out my hand. "Come here baby." He crawled forward and lay next to me, nestling his body to mine. He was a good man, just not much of a pussy eater. I lay an arm over him, complimented him. It felt good to have him close.

Then I remembered Saturday night.

"Oh baby, in all the excitement, I forgot."

Naked, I bounced from the bed and headed for the living room, returning with the invitation. I explained it as he opened the envelope.

"There's a fund raiser at the Mayor's Mansion. He's going to honor some city workers, firemen, policemen, etc. I've been selected as the teacher."

There was genuine enthusiasm on Bruce's face, "Honey, that's wonderful."

I frowned. "There's a problem. I get in for free, but you'd have to buy a ticket. Baby, they're $5,000.00."

His tone said he didn't want to hurt my feelings, "Honey that's a lot of money."

I leaned against him, touched his face with a finger. "Yeah, I know. There's something else. Principal Johnson's asked the faculty to go to the girl's basketball game Friday night. If we win we're in the playoffs."

He didn't need to tell me he hated basketball.

He started to say something, then stopped. I knew what he was thinking.

"You're wondering whether I'd be angry if you took care of your Mom this weekend?"

"Mind reader. Yeah."

"No problem." I kissed him.

We got dressed, cleaned up the remnants of dinner. Bruce scraped the grill, showered, we crawled into bed. He was soon asleep. I stared at the ceiling, wondering what Andy next had in mind for me, chastising myself when I realized I was more curious than angry.
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* * * *​

For the first time since our journey had begun Andy had not instructed me on what to wear. I dressed conservatively. Waiting for me at my classroom, he complimented my outfit, then said, "Nothing at school today, you have the day off. At the game tonight sit behind the bench. Wear the tee shirt Coach gave you, gym shorts, sneakers. She'll invite you back to her place to celebrate the win, pour you some champagne, ask if you've been with a woman, try to seduce you. Go with the flow, but when she gets you to her bedroom tell her no, you're not sure, you're thinking about Bruce."

"You're nuts. I can't do that." I sounded churlish. I took a breath and in a more measured voice said, "How do you know this will happen?"

"Let's just say she's got a history. Don't worry, we're almost through. This is the penultimate stop on our journey."

The day was, on its surface, uneventful. The kids were restless, looking forward to the weekend, but generally attentive; they gave me no trouble. My libido, however, had grown a mind of it's own. I was seeing my students through new eyes, wondering who was the best fuck, who had the biggest dick, which girls put out. At the end of third period, when Andrew got up to leave, I suddenly panicked. I had expected him to stand guard while I brought myself off.

I blurted out, "Andrew."

He, and several other kids, stopped and turned. I was flummoxed; what should I say? What wouldn't arouse suspicion? Andrew rode to the rescue.

"I'm sorry Ms. Kaminska, I forgot. I was supposed to show you that reference book from my father's library." He patted his bag, "It's right here."

He walked towards me. The other kids left; he pulled a finger vibrator from his bag. I grabbed the toy, rushed to my office, real nice orgasm, cleaned myself up, thanked Andrew, and headed for the teacher's lounge.
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* * * *​

That evening I skipped the gym to pack Bruce's things. Andy had said our journey would be over this weekend. He hadn't lied to me yet. By the time Bruce returned I'd, once again, be his devoted sweet girlfriend; no more lying, no more secret second life. How would Andy claim his final prize, my body? He didn't lack for imagination. Whatever it was, it would be original.

I kissed Bruce goodbye and put on red gym shorts, white socks, sneakers, and a bra. I examined the shirt I'd been provided. In school colors, it proclaimed my allegiance to the Panthers. It was also small, real small. I pulled it on, looked at myself in the mirror. A snug tank top, it clung to my skin and barely reached my waist. It wasn't obscene, but close.

The gym was packed and, thankfully, there were plenty of women dressed just like me; I wouldn't stand out. I heard a familiar voice. It was Principal Johnson, standing with his cheerleader daughter and an attractive middle-aged lady he introduced as his wife. I wondered how she and I compared as cock-suckers. I excused myself after a few moments polite conversation.

The lights dimmed and Coach, followed by the team, jogged out. She stopped in the middle of the floor; the girls huddled around her. Then she led them to the bench. She thanked me for coming.
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* * * *​

I ended up feeling sorry for the other team; our girls destroyed them. The Panthers were in constant motion, hounding their opponent on defense, flying down the court on offense. Coach pulled the starters at the beginning of the second half, but the second team was as well-drilled as the first and the lead expanded. And while Coach provided me occasional insights into the game, what I focused on was the beauty of these young women moving as a unit. I'd been forced to attend the game, but ended up enjoying myself.

As the game winded down Coach, as Andy predicted, asked me to join her for a celebratory glass of champagne. I said yes and followed her to her condominium. It was located in a renovated warehouse near the school. We took an elevator to the top floor, turned left. While her apartment was small, the exposed beams, high ceilings, arched french doors and windows, and skylight gave it a spacious feel. The furniture was mostly leather, which imparted its odor to the room, and the decorations sparse but tasteful; the emphasis was on the space itself.

I liked it. It reminded me of Coach, direct, to the point, no bullshit.

While Coach busied herself in the kitchen, I stepped out on the balcony, looking at the city's lights. Music came from hidden speakers, then I heard Coach's voice.

"You like the view?"

She stepped onto the balcony, handing me a glass of champagne.

"It's lovely." I held up my glass, touched it to hers. "To you, congratulations on the win."

"Thank you," she touched her glass to mine, "to my girls."

Pride in her team shone on her face. "To your girls," I echoed.

The champagne was excellent.

"So, what did you think of your first girl's basketball game?"

"I really enjoyed it. There's a beauty to basketball that doesn't come across on television."

Coach was genuinely pleased. "That's what I tell my girls, that when they're playing at their best, as a team, they're beautiful."

We sipped our champagne, talked. She was funny, brash, profane, her sentences liberally sprinkled with "son-of-a-bitch." When I spoke she, with intense green eyes, focused on me. She was genuine, comfortable in her own skin, making no attempt to hide what she was, from her unabashed sexuality to the gray in her hair. I found myself talking about Bruce, my frustrations with him evident, if not in my words, in my tone. Coach picked up on it, validated my feelings. I shivered, it was getting cold; she suggested we move inside for another glass of champagne. I agreed, said two was my limit.

She opened the door for me, then walked to the kitchen. I watched, her stride was strong and athletic. I could feel her confidence. We both knew why I was there. She would try to seduce me; I was, at least, curious.

She returned, handed me my glass. I sat on the couch. She sat next to me in the lotus position.

"Have you ever been with a woman?"

The directness of her question startled me; I stumbled through an answer. "No, no, I haven't."

She took my hand in hers, turned it over, ran a thumb across my palm. "Helga, I've wanted you from the moment we met. Do you remember? It was at a faculty party before the school year began three years ago. You were wearing a yellow pants suit."

I recalled the event; I was surprised she did.

"I remember, you were so...," I stopped, not sure of the right word.

"Gay?" she said.

I laughed. "Yeah, gay. I guess I was brought up thinking it was something you kept, well, private."

"Not me honey. Why should I?"

Squarely facing me, she slid close. She stroked my hair. Her short fingers were strong, her touch gentle. She kissed me. Just a peck. Heat simmered in my belly. Coach held my hair back, pressed her lips to my throat, just below my ear. My skin was sensitive; a light whimper escaped my lips.

"I'll stop if you want me too."

"No, I'm not sure, I mean this is all so new."

Coach moved closer. She ran a finger down my neck. I was certain she could feel my speeding pulse.

"You're sensitive here, aren't you?"

She leaned in, ran a series of kisses and nips up my neck. Her lips were forceful, her touch knowing. In three minutes she'd mastered an erogenous zone that had escaped Bruce's attention for three years.

I murmured my approval, "Aaaaahhhhhhhhh."

She touched my lips, whispered, "Shhhh." I whimpered. She kissed my neck; her lips leaving a small fire at each spot they touched my skin. She grazed on my earlobe; I let out a high-pitched shaky sigh. Her tongue caressed my ear, then traveled slowly, sensually, down my neck.

She bit my pulse point. I moaned, "Oh God."

My head dropped back; my body was going limp; new, unexpected sensations surged through me. Coach was so masculine, so direct. I'd expected the all-out assault of a horny boy, instead she played me with the care and understanding of a virtuoso; I felt appreciated, cherished.

She pressed her body to mine, licked my neck, jaw, earlobes. Her kisses were wet, expert, wonderful, exciting.

Her lips moved up and across my cheek, towards my lips. I was ready, suddenly rigid with anticipation. I considered pulling her mouth to mine, but so far she'd read me perfectly. She was in control. I'd do nothing to derail her.

Coach turned her body towards me, her face hovered before mine. Our breath mingled; our lips drew closer. Her scent was light. She paused. I reached up, caressed her cheek, said, "You're beautiful," meant it.

Coach's eyes lit up. She took my face between her hands, her thumbs stroked my cheeks. "It probably doesn't speak all that well of me, but I like being a woman's first."

I smiled; I don't know why. Coach's directness, her honesty about sex, was refreshing. Staring into my eyes, she took my hand in hers and pressed it to her lips, kissed my fingers, took the tip of my index finger into her mouth, rolled her tongue against it. No longer able to resist, I pulled her mouth to mine.

I expected Coach to maul my face, to take possession of my mouth like a frenzied teenager. Instead her kiss stretched my imagination. Her lips and tongue danced with mine, somehow both gentle and intense, pushing everything from my mind except the woman in my arms. At some point, I'm not sure when, we began kissing passionately, kissing lovingly, kissing desperately. I gripped Coach's thigh. She shuffled forward, straddled my legs, pushed her small powerful body against me.

She pressed her knee to my sex. I cried out. She rocked it on my pussy. It was unlike anything I'd ever known. Arching my hips and back, I pushed against her knee. Coach's hands became more aggressive, roamed up my back and arms, set my skin afire.

Then, to my dismay, Coach stood. I lunged for her, but she was too quick. She gave me a coy smile and pulled off her shirt and shorts, bra and panties. Her body was tight and muscular, her breasts small. There was a small tattoo on her side. She reached out her hand. I grabbed it and, effortlessly, she hauled me to my feet. We started for her bedroom.

My mind was clouded with desire, but I recalled Andrew's instructions. Part of me wanted to ignore them, but I shuddered at the consequences of disobedience.

When we reached her bedroom door. I stopped, turned towards her. "Coach, I'm not sure about this. I keep thinking about Bruce."

She stopped, looked at me, evaluating my statement. I continued, trying to justify myself.

"Coach, I mean, its just that, well Bruce and I have been together for years. I'm not sure I should do this."

She tilted her head to the side and said, more in determination than anger, "Bullshit girl, you're on fire, you want this. You're a cunt-teaser. I don't like cunt-teasers."

I started to move away, but she pressed her hand to my chest, pinning me to the wall. Fear rocketed through me.

"It's just that...."

Before I finished the sentence Coach stepped towards me, placed her hand on my back, and without apparent effort tossed me over her hip onto the bed. Grabbing several pieces of nylon cord from atop her dresser she sprang forward on top of me. I struggled, futilely, while she looped a length of cord around my wrist and tied my arm to the bed frame. Sitting on my chest, she did the same to my other arm. Then, launching herself from her knees, she spun 180 degrees in the air, landing on my stomach and knocking the wind out of me. Taking hold of my shorts, she rolled to the foot of the bed, dragging my shorts to my ankles. I pulled hard on the ties, trying to free my arms. She grabbed a leg, yanked it, straightened it out, looped the cord over my ankle, and secured my foot to the bed. I kicked at her with my other leg, but she bobbed to the left, lassoed it, and, pulling hard enough to stun me, tied it down. I was roped and spread-eagled, helpless.

I was also winded, breathing heavily. Coach, on the other hand, showed no signs of exertion. I would not panic. In an even tone I said, "Charlotte, are you out of your mind? Let me up."

Calmly, methodically, Coach opened a dresser drawer, pulled out some scissors, sat on the bed, and cut my tee-shirt off.

"Helga, I do not know what kind of game you're playing, but you're fucking with the wrong person. You ditch the boyfriend, come on to me, get me all hot and bothered, get yourself hot and bothered, then try to back out."

She cut off my panties.

"Naked pubes! You nasty little thing."

She cut off my bra, licked the tip of a finger, ran it across my breast. It exploded with goose bumps; the nipple hardened.

"My theory," she continued, "is you've heard how I tie girls up, have my way with them, and wanted the same treatment." An eyebrow arched. "Am I wrong?"

"If you don't untie me now I'll start screaming."

She stood, opened a drawer, pulled out some bundled silk stockings.

"If you do no one will hear you, but on general principle I'll fill your mouth with these. But you won't. Bruce and your little world could never stand the scandal."

She was right. I yanked on the straps securing my arms.

She sat back down, licked a finger, dragged it across my other breast. It blushed; my nipple jumped to attention.

Then, nonchalantly, as if there was nothing unusual about our situation, she perched herself between my legs, ran her tongue over her thin lips, smiled, and leaned forward. Her cheeks brushed against my inner thighs and she lashed her tongue across my pussy lips. She did it again, took hold of my breasts, winked, and said, "Honey, you ain't fooling nobody."

Sitting on her knees, looking down at me, she squeezed and kneaded my breasts, fingered my nipples. Her hands were strong, her touch wise, and electric shocks spread through my body. She winked and dropped her head to my sex. Her hand were still working my breasts. Staring into my eyes she forcefully licked my vulva, gradually moved up to my clitoris, leaving a trail of spittle behind. She never took her eyes off mine. I wanted to match her stare, but couldn't. Instead I closed my eyes, dropped my head to the pillow, imagined I was somewhere else, not strapped to a bed in a colleague's loft.

Coach was patient and meticulous, exploring my entire sex, sometimes licking, sometimes kissing, sometimes sucking, sometimes nibbling. It went on and on. She was a woman who loved eating pussy, who could spend hours with her face buried between a friend's legs, delivering hours of relentless delight to whomever shared her bed.

Why was I thinking this? I wasn't sharing her bed, I was tied to her fucking bed. I yanked on the ropes, then tried to concentrate on the humiliation, on the way I'd been restrained against my will, on Bruce, but Coach wouldn't stop and subject to the relentless assault of her talented mouth I'd relax, focus on the lips and tongue making expert love to my sex. My pussy lip swelled.

Coach understood what was happening to me. "Pretend all you want, you love this."

She french kissed my vagina; its growing secretions confirmed Coach's statement. She wiggled her tongue inside me, spread my pussy lips with her hands, took a deep whiff, then whipped her tongue over the pink folds of my inner vagina.

I tried to dredge up anger, build a mental defense to what was happening. Coach had ignored my request that she stop, had attacked me, manhandled me, tied me up, taken possession of me. But she'd called me a cunt-teaser and she was right, that's exactly what I'd been. I'd been turned on, been willing, I'd said no because Andy had told me to. He sent me to her apartment with the express instruction to tease, then refuse her. Andy knew this would happen, that Coach would tie me up and eat my pussy like no one had before. On each stop on our journey Andy had foreseen what would happened; he knew how I'd react to what Coach was doing. The pleasure erupting between my legs was part of his plan.

I moaned.

Coach pushed her face deeper into the slit between my legs, kissing and licking and nibbling cunt-flesh. She moved back to my clit, flicked her tongue over the tiny bud, clamped her lips around it, sucked it into her mouth, rolled it between her lips, lathered it with saliva. She soaked it in her spit, then sucked the spit away. She lashed it with her tongue and nibbled it with her teeth. She blew on it, sucked on it, worshiped it.

She was so unlike Bruce. Coach loved eating pussy, loved using her mouth to pleasure a woman, loved the taste and smell of cunt. Her unalloyed enjoyment was exciting, intoxicating. To her I was a sexual being who would eventually surrender to any joy her body could bring her.

I pulled on the ropes binding me to the bed. I was helpless, resistance was futile. Why fight it? It was pointless to fight. My sex was bubbling. Coach, her talented mouth, her obvious delight in my pussy, her strength and determination, were breaking down my will. It would feel so good to give in, to surrender, to let her take over. I pulled on the ties one last time, confirmed my helplessness, then moaned and squirmed, acknowledging my capitulation.

I raised my head, looked between my tits. Coach, gazing into my eyes, dragged her lower lip back and forth on my throbbing clit. She moved back down, pushed her tongue inside me, slurping up the flow of pussy cream that affirmed her victory over me. She opened her mouth wide, guzzled on my wet cunt.

I was a waterfall of lust; juice poured from me, washed over her face, flowed into her open mouth. Coach sucked it all down. Her hands went under my ass, lifted it; she dragged my bare pussy across her face. I thought how smooth her skin was. It was nice, Bruce would have stubble by this time of day.

She stopped. I looked at her; my juice covered her face.

"You dirty little whore. If I'd known how easy you are, I'd have seduced you a long time ago."

She plunged her face back in the marshy trough that was my pussy, fucking her seemingly inexhaustible tongue ever deeper in my cunt, feasting on sweet pussy cream. I was edging towards an orgasm; Coach slipped two fingers into me, effortlessly honed in on my g-spot, sucked my clitoris into her mouth, rolled it between her lips, battered it with her active tongue. I yanked on the ropes, loving the feeling of helplessness. I whipped my head back and forth, baying like a bitch in heat.

"Unnhhh, uuunnnnnhhhhhh, uuuuuunnnnnhhhhhhhhhh...."

She stopped. I jerked up my head. Her face was framed by my tits; my nipples and areolas hard, swollen, dark in color. Pussy juice covered her cheeks and lips. Why had she stopped? Was she punishing me? Should I beg? I was about to when she smiled, satisfied by the desperate look on my face, winked, and dropped her head to my pussy. Two strong fingers went back inside, palpitated by g-spot; her pinkie fingered my anus. She sucked my clit into her mouth, freed it from its hood, attacked it with her tongue. She made war on it, a relentless bombardment, coming from every angle, at every speed.

I strained at the ropes; the restraints had become intoxicating. Something about being helpless, at someone's mercy, deprived of choice. Now I could be myself. I pulled hard against them, felt them tighten; my pussy spasmed.

My body was an extension of my clit. My muscles spasmed; my pulse raced; my blood pressure spiked; my skin flushed; I gulped in air.

And then it all blew apart. My vagina contracted, strong and fast, trapping Coach's fingers inside me My uterus followed, irregular contractions starting at the top, working their way down. My sphincter repeatedly closed on Coach's pinkie, which she'd pushed inside me. Muscular tension flooded me, starting in my pelvis, going everywhere, neck, arms, hands, legs, feet. My pulse rate spiked; an orgasm ripped through me; the sudden powerful release of muscular and nervous tension blinded me to everything but my own body. Intense physical pleasure flooded through me; cream poured from my cunt.

I howled, I whimpered and whined, I cooed, whispered, gasped. Coach decreased the intensity of her attack, guiding me through a second, a third, then I lost track. The orgasms, which had started out mind-bending and powerful, ended gentle and flowing. I was panting, relaxed, at peace with the universe.

Coach got up on her knees, observed my spent body. My pulse, then my breathing, drifted back to normal. My pussy lips shrunk; my nipples softened.

I opened my eyes, looked at her. Her short powerful body was intoxicating and no one had ever eaten my pussy so well, no one had ever made me come like this. I started to say something, but Coach put her finger to her lips, instructing me to be quiet, then walked forward on her knees and lowered her very hairy pussy to my face.

I'd never given cunninlingus, but I knew better than to say no to Coach. I started out slow, avoiding the clitoris – I figured Coach would let me know when she was ready for that – and explored the nooks and crannies of her sex with my tongue. She moaned. I must have been doing something right.

She rocked forward, offered me her butt. I licked her anus, tried to force my tongue inside, but she was too tight. She moved her ass back and forth and I licked up and down the crevice. She returned the brown anal bud to my mouth. I licked it hard, but couldn't get my tongue inside. Wanting to spread her ass cheeks I pulled on the restraints, but couldn't reach her. I considered asking her to untie me, but she'd shushed me, instructed me to be quiet. Obedience seemed advised.

Coach, however, understood. She reached down and spread her ass cheeks. I licked her butt-hole and, after several tries, pushed my tongue inside. Coach groaned; it felt good to please her. Her anus was tight, her musculature well-developed, and soon my tongue was numb and my jaw ached, but Coach had given me a blindingly powerful orgasm, had shown me the joy a woman's mouth could bring. She was masterful and strong. She was the boss; she was in control; I owed her; I licked away.

She lifted herself up, pivoted back; her pussy dangled inches from my mouth. It was the perfect pussy. Why would she deny me her perfect pussy? I lunged for it, my tongue swinging in a wide arc, but she moved to the side.

"So Helga, you like my cunt?"

"Coach, it's beautiful."

She lowered her sex to my face. I explored every nook and cranny, licking, nurturing, worshiping. She centered her vagina on my face; I licked the lips, felt them swell, pushed my tongue inside, wished I could go deeper. Her juice covered my face, flowed down my cheeks, seeped into my nose.

She took hold of the bed frame and leaned forward, pressing her clit to my lips. I started slow, waiting to give her the same mind-bending pleasure she'd given me. I teased her clit with the tip of my tongue, licked it with the flat of my tongue, rolled it between my lips, sucked it into my mouth, swatted it back and forth.

Coach's movements became stronger, her groans more guttural and intense. I tracked her responses, determined what she liked best, delivered more of it. Her sounds took on a regular staccato pattern; I attacked her clit with sharp hard licks. She bucked and hunched on my face.

"That's it honey, eat my cunt, eat me."

She was jabbing her hips into my face. It hurt, but I deserved it. I'd been a cunt-teaser. I'd make up for it, show Coach I was a good little girl, an avid pussy-pleaser. I pressed my face to her sex, licked and sucked her clit. My tongue ached, my jaw hurt, but I wouldn't stop until Coach came and bathed me in her juice.

And that's what I did, and what she did. With a powerful grunt she pushed down, driving my head into the bed, then issued a long sweet sound, something between a groan and a wail, and flooded my face with a cascade of juice. I opened my mouth, let it wash over my tongue, drank it down. She covered her face with her hands, arched her back, babbled her joy, "Son-of-a-bitch, so good, so good, so fucking good," before sinking onto the bed. Eyes closed, breathing hard, she was inert. I was soaked in sticky pussy cream; in was in my hair, on my face. I looked at her, basking in the serene joy written on her face.

Finally she opened her eyes, rolled to her side, propped her head on an elbow, and played with my nipples, stroked them, pushed them into my breast, let go, watched them pop back up.

"Son-of-a-bitch, that was wonderful. Where'd you learn to eat pussy like that you hussy?"

"Don't know, it was my first time."

"Oh my, girl you're a natural. You did it just right and made me feel sooooo good. And I do so love breaking in a rookie."

Coach leaned in to kiss me; my open mouth joyfully met hers.

"Ready to be untied?"

"Yes ma'am."

We made love deep into the night.
​

* * * *​

I woke; Coach was caressing my breast, sitting on the bed, dressed for the gym. I was groggy; it felt like I'd barely slept.

She handed me a cup of green tea. "Good morning."

"What time is it?"

"Six A.M. Sorry to wake you so early, but high school association rules forbid practices within 72 hours of a play-off game. Our first game is set three days from today, at noon. I'm getting the girls in for an early practice."

I sat up, the sheet fell to my waist, my breasts were exposed. I noticed I was not embarrassed.

I turned my back and leaned against her. She ran her fingers through my thick black hair, played with the ends.

"Any time you want to get back together, let me know. And by the way, half the girls on the team have a thing for you. We could get a group together without much notice."

"I don't know, this is all so new."
​

* * * *​

On the way home I thought about Andy. Would he offer me to the team? The idea had appeal, but no, he'd said it would end this weekend. Then I thought about Bruce. His mouth did not equal Coach's, he did not understand my body like she did, but he was a sweet man. I loved him.​