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Lucinda glances over as Assistant Coach Bradley walks past the doorway. She acts nonchalant, like she hasn’t planned this. “Coach, coach!”

He’s twenty-eight years old, a former school athlete himself, with years of experience as a football linesman. But football team management positions are rare, and assisting with women’s soccer gets him valuable coaching experience, keeping his resume from having blank spots.

“Lucinda,” he smiles affably, pausing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, “What’re you still doing here?”

Practice ended over an hour ago, and the women’s locker room is besides Lucinda deserted. But still, he’s a man, and it’s a matter of propriety, so he doesn’t enter.

She rolls her eyes at his reticence. “Come closer. I need you here,” she demands, “I’ve told you before. Even if the other girls were here, they wouldn’t care.”

“Um,” he frowns, looks around, confirms no other women are using the space. He grits his teeth, carefully steps inside. “What’s going on? Did you get injured?”

She is doing a stretch, one knee up on the bench, other on the ground, leaning forward, extending her leg behind her. She looks at her knee like it’s in pain, but really, the position is to show off her ass, the butt-hugging blue-and-green-and-white fabric stretched taut and shiny, tight up in her crack.

“No, no injury,” she says, “Just stretching, you know?” She bends over at the waist, touching her toes easily, demonstrating her flexibility.

“So what do you need?” He’s built, broad and muscular, his green polo tucked neatly into his slacks.

She flashes a grin at him. She’s already put on her makeup, dark lipstick and eyeshadow, curls of hair teasing her forehead, blush accentuating her cheeks. “Do I have a knot here?” She rubs her side, just above her hip. “Maybe you could work it out for me?”

Coach Bradley shakes his head. “Why don’t you see the masseuse?”

Lucinda scoffs. “I don’t like her, she’s mean. Can’t you just help me? Your hands are so big.”

“I don’t think–”

“Please?” she says, “Don’t make me beg. You know I will.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. But just this once.”

She’s wearing only her undershirt, a thin cotton tank, white sports bra beneath. He reaches out, grips where she pointed.

“No,” she says, “Not through the shirt. Here.” She pulls the tank up and off, tossing it side.

“Lucinda, I–”

“C’mon,” she says, “What’s the problem?”

He grimaces, makes a point of looking away, and kneads her bare skin. “There, better?”

“Almost,” she says, “A little lower, maybe.”

His hand drops lower, nearing the hem of her shorts.

“Good,” she says, “Lower more, though.”

“I can’t go lower, Lucinda.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “That’s your butt.”

“It’s just the top of it,” she protests, “And it’s sore, you’ve almost got it.”

He pushes his fingers down, just barely over the fabric of her shorts. She moans, presses her hips into his side.

“C’mon,” she goads him, “Be a man, grab my ass.”

“What?” he exclaims.

Lucinda dreamed this plan up from a place of jealousy. The team had been chatting, gossiping, bullshitting. And as usual, their gossip was about boys and girls they found attractive, including one particular Assistant Coach Bradley. He was built, cute, and available, but none of the girls had yet seen a crack in his professional veneer, a sign that he saw them as anything more than his team. This is good, the girls concurred, this is what you want in a coach. Except, they lamented, why did they have to discover such stoicism in Coach Bradley, and not one of the other men and women who guided and managed their team. Even the best of the management was occasionally reported to be sneaking a glance, caught looking at certain firm, fit, young body parts. That Coach Bradley refused to partake made him almost inhuman in their eyes.

So when Gabby claimed to have fucked Coach Bradley, the other girls didn’t believe her. Gabby was loud, had a mean streak, and was known to make stuff up. And, sad to say, she wasn’t all that attractive. So of course she was lying. There was no way that Coach Bradley breached the taboo for Gabby. Right? The girls agreed, Gabby was full of it.

Except Lucinda couldn’t help but wonder. Gabby was determined, and when she wanted something, she usually found a way of getting it. So maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that Coach Bradley, actually did…

Lucinda looks at him over her shoulder, rolls her eyes. “My muscles are sore, Coach. Who cares if it’s on my ass. Certainly not me. Can’t you just help me out?”

He pinches his eyes closed, forces them open. “Fine. Whatever.” He brings his hand down. “Here?”

“Lower.”

“Here?”

“Lower.”

“Here?” he sighs.

“Perfect.”

His hand cups her ass cheek, fingers splayed. She leans over the bench, presses her butt into his palm. “Now squeeze it,” she says.

He grips her, hard, fingers digging in to her muscles. “Is this what you want?”

She giggles. “It’s the beginning,” she moans, “It’s taken me ages to get you here, though.”

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, but he doesn’t stop.

“Says who?”

“Says the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.”

“No,” he says, “I follow the rules.” And yet, his hand continues gripping her ass, squeezing and kneading her.

“What do the rules say grabbing my tits?”

“Oh, girl, you’re bad news.” But with his free hand he reaches around, fingers finding the swell of her sports bra, cupping her breasts.

For a while, they say nothing, Lucinda quietly moaning while he gropes her tits and ass, Coach Bradley wearing a guilty expression for doing so.

But, as these things happen, his fingers, which have been orbiting closer and closer to her asshole, eventually brush against her pucker.

She gasps.

“Sorry,” he says.

“No!” she almost shouts, “Not sorry! Do it again.”

And against his better judgment, his thumb works its way to her asshole and pushes inside.

“Yes!” she moans, “Use me. Use my body.”

His thumb pushing the fabric of her shorts into her ass, and he brings his other hand down to cup her pussy. He finds her hot and flush and willing.

Assistant Coach Bradley is not blind to the girls’ flirtation, he just knows better than to fall for it. It’s friendly, meaningless, just the way that school girls communicate. It isn’t like any of them actually are interested in him, he reasons, just that they fantasize about breaking the prohibition between coach and athlete. Actually realizing those fantasies will be a let down, and so he keeps his expression neutral, pretends not to find out their double-entenders, not to see their flirty glances.

But Lucinda… how did he let himself get tricked? Here he is, groping her. Yes, she’s pretty. Yes, she’s hot. Yes, he knows her reputation for chasing down guys she’s interested in. And yes, he’s enjoying groping the fuck out of her.

This will end badly, he knows, but here, now, in the moment…

He shoves his fingers into her pussy, stretching her shorts to their limit, making her gasp. She’s wet, so wet, and she moans as he touches her.

She loves this, it’s clear.

So he stops holding back.

His fingers, powerful from years of football. His grip, practiced and tried, muscular and iron. His arm, bulging and sinewy. He fucks her with his fingers, shoving her down onto the bench, driving his digits into her pussy and ass with the force she seems to be begging for.

He feels the fabric of her shorts rip, his fingers slide into her bare.

“Yes,” she screams, “Oh fuck yes!”

He grits his teeth, works his arm with furious speed and drive. She’s putty in his hands, his to play with and control. He penetrates her with his fingers, stretching her pussy and ass open with his powerful digits, violating her holes.

She loves it, the orgasm wrenching through her body. But he isn’t done. She opened this can of worms, there is no going back.

Lucinda cries out as she climaxes, Coach’s hand giving her more than she bargained for, more than she ever wondered efficient. It is amazing and exhilarating and inebriating to be got off by her coach, by his enormous arms. It’s what she dreamed of, and more.

And he’s not stopping. If anything, his hand fucks her harder, his fingers penetrate her deeper, giving her no reprieve, no break from the pleasure.

She wails, another orgasm, hot on the tails of the first, arresting her senses. She folds over reflexively, squeezing her thighs, pulling on his wrist. But it’s pointless, his grip is like iron, firm beyond belief. His fingers are inside her, just like she wanted, and the pleasure is overwhelming, her athletic frame turned into a plaything for his desires.

His thumbs are on her clit and in her ass, and a finger brushes her g-spot. Her eyes roll back in her head, a whimper escapes from her lips. A third climax takes control.

She blinks her eyes open, is surprised to discover herself pressed up against the lockers. She kicks her feet, but they barely reach the ground, can’t get any grip. Coach Bradley has her pinned in place, held against the metal doors. His fingers are absent, she misses them, his touch.

But then she feels it, a fat dick pushing up inside of her pussy. It’s the coach, she realizes with a jolt, hips hips against her ass, his cock skewering her.

“Oh fuck,” she moans.

His dick must be enormous, the way it fills her up, the way it stretches her wide, the way is shoves inside her and keeps going and going, fulfilling her in a way she’s never felt before.

He grunts as he fucks, a guttural groan with each thrust, each thrust a fresh burst of ecstasy, as profound as the first, never growing stale.

She’s orgasming again, she realizes, or maybe she never stopped. All she knows is dick and pleasure. He growls in her ear, his hot breath teasing her scalp.

And just when she thinks it doesn’t get better than this, he pulls her back, wraps his arms through her legs, and fucks her in mid-air. It’s more than she can take, a delirium of bliss unlike anything she’s ever experienced, a total surrender to pleasure.

When Lucinda comes to, she’s laying on the ground in front of her locker. Coach Bradley is gone, a coating of cum the only memento of his presence. Her shorts are torn, her bra missing, her makeup smeared.

She stumbles over to the showers to clean up. As the hot water pours down and the clouds of vapor billow around her, her fingers discover their way to her pussy. It’s sore, tender, but she can’t help herself. She masturbates, desperate for the return of even a fraction of the pleasure.

NSFW: yes

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