sem-ra

Mike watched you wiping your tears from across the field, your teammates consoling you a little. At first, you tried lying, saying it’s the sun, the migraine, the period, but your friends knew better. He knew better. Mike gripped his clipboard, a frown marking his face. He hated seeing you like this. Against his better judgment, he decided to come closer.

“You said it yourself, babes,” your best friend had her arm around you, moving tear-soaked strands from your face, “he never wanted to fuck you. It’s important, you know it is.”

You just nodded, that pain half-laugh momentarily escaping your mouth.

“I just didn’t think it would hurt this bad,” you mumbled, trying not to burst into another crying fit. “We’ve been together for so long, and otherwise he was perf-”

“No. Fuck no,” your friend immediately interrupted. “Your needs were not met. And you don’t owe him a relationship just because he didn’t force fuck you when you were tired or sick. And didn’t you say that even when you did manage to do the nasty, he’d only cum jerking off? Come on, you owe yourself someone better.”

Mike had to admit, he wholeheartedly agreed. Someone better, how nicely put. Him.

“Stop clucking,” Mike growled at you two, waving at your friend to get lost.

“Coach, no, please, she’s really not-,” she tried, she really tried standing her ground for you, but you knew it was futile.

“Don’t make me fucking tell you again.”

With that, she mouthed a pitiful sorry at you and made herself scarce. You wiped your tears, tried to fix your hair a little. You could have carried on with your relationship, pretending nothing happened, not provoke Mike anymore and then think of him every time your boyfriend managed to get his dick up for you.

Except you couldn’t, for two reasons. First being that Mike wouldn’t stop, provoked or not. Second, you weren’t sure you wanted him to stop. The guilt was eating at you, absolutely, but there was also something freeing about the whole situation that Mike forced on you.

“I’m sorry, Coach,” you mumbled, your eyes momentarily drifting to his.

Mike didn’t say anything, his expression unreadable. And then, just as you wanted to do more drills, he grabbed your face, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his long fingers pressing into your throat.

The reaction in you was immediate: breath hitching, heart beating, palms sweating… And pussy wetting.

Mike was looking at you from behind his glasses like he wanted to eat you or drag you into the locker room to fuck the tears out of you. Instead, his lips curved into a rather smug smile.

“Good girl,” he whispered, sending another pleasurable jolt through you.

It didn’t take long for him to start screaming at you again when, not even forty-five minutes later, you kept missing your free kicks. Literally all of them would go wide over the net, not even close to the beam.

“Stop over-extending your fucking leg!” Mike yelled, already halfway to you, watching you fumble yet another kick. “These are rookie fucking kicks, what the fuck are you doing?”

You could hear him working himself into another hoarse throat situation, straining his vocal cords to the maximum. Not that you weren’t frustrated with yourself and your lack of follow-through and precision, mangling something that usually came with such ease to you. You felt pathetic. You were pathetic.

Even your teammates were at a loss for words, probably ascribing your lack of performance to your temporary emotional upset. You just wanted Mike to stop screaming at you, because if he managed to get you in your usual state, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut.

“What now, Micha-,” you cut yourself off in the middle of the yell, swallowing the rest of his government name, reminding yourself he asked you not to use it. 

“Other goal,” Mike growled, staring daggers at you. “Now.”

Just what you needed, spending the rest of the practice running drills with Mike. Alone.

“This is all your fault,” you spat out bitterly, watching Mike’s knuckles turn white and the clipboard caving under his grasp.

“Shut. Up. Fucking brat.”

It wasn’t that bad, actually, once you cooled off. Well, partially at least, still pressing your jaw shut, feeling the burn in your calf after repeated shots. You were tired, sweaty, and frustrated, and more tears threatened to burst out of you any second now. Luckily, the coach called the whistle, but before you even blinked in that direction, Mike crowded you.

Standing in front of you, making sure no one could see you from that side of the field, his eyes quickly darted around to see if anyone was paying attention.

Then, he turned back to you, brows furrowed, jaw clenched, and that flush spreading all over his face and neck.

“From now on, you will keep your mouth shut. You don’t talk back, and you don’t speak when I speak. Got it, angel?” his voice dropped on the last word to a throaty whisper.

You noticed how big his pupils were and how his lower left eyelid twitched. Mike took a step towards you, your nose almost touching his chest. Your breathing deepened again, and you looked up at him, wondering what he had on his mind.

“Open your mouth,” Mike whispered, his voice making you tremble. 

You had no idea what he wanted, but you obeyed. Slowly, you relaxed your jaw, eyes still trained on Mike’s. 

“More,” he mumbled, his eyes falling to your lips, watching your tensed tongue resting behind your teeth.

When he was finally happy, he spat in your mouth without a warning. Wet warmth spread across your tongue, drops landing over your lips and around them. 

Sharply inhaling through your nose, your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed and aroused.

“Every time you open your mouth,” he watched you swallow every last drop, your tongue  greedily dragging across your lips, “remember that only good girls get this.”

“Yes, Coach,” your eyes were still closed, the musky scent of Mike’s sweat still reaching your nose.

“Off you go then.”

**

“You okay?” your teammates rallied around you in the locker room, some faces concerned, some curious, some rather smug.

“Hm? Yeah, of course,” you dismissed them, but they still prodded.

“Why did he grab your face like that?” one voice asked, and you couldn’t really pinpoint who brought it up. 

“He did what?” another voice piped up, and suddenly everyone was crowding around you like you were a wise old grandmother telling a scary story to a bunch of wide-eyed children.

“Ughh,” you growled, irritated to the bone. “I just struck a nerve, and he lost it a little. What’s new, right?” you laughed it off, putting on your best nonchalant face, shrugging. 

The voices started again, everyone talking over each other, and not even your friend could tell them off. Clucking, as Mike said, was the correct word. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to breathe.

“All right!” you finally yelled. “I get it, this is obviously taking too much attention from the game and the team. “I promise…” your eyes drifted from face to face, and then you looked at your captain, a woman you expected much more of than to allow these verbal offences, “that I will set all my differences aside and talk to Mike. And now, if you excuse me, I need to cry a little bit more.”

It worked, their excitement immediately dropped in disappointment that you wouldn’t trash Mike some more. You suddenly felt stupid for even doing so; venting in the locker room was common, but this personal beef you and Mike had for literal years had obviously been nothing but entertainment. 

No one cared how much you suffered when his comments started, no one cared about your problems and issues; you were nothing but a class clown, a court jester. It washed over you, the wave of realisation, followed by sadness, disappointment, and emptiness.

You took a deep breath. No more.

**

It was two in the morning, and you were still tossing and turning, trying to sleep. Mike still hasn’t kept up with his promise, and you started to believe he only said it in the heat of the moment. 

Pulling your eye mask down your face, you turned around, happy that at least you didn’t feel like crying anymore. And then you heard it, a beep and a door creak, but you still decided to pretend you were asleep, deep breathing and all.

Mike laid down next to you, gently, his arm enveloping you, immediately settling between your tits, before grabbing one.

“You smell so good, angel,” he whispered against your neck, inhaling deeply. He was hard already, again, pressing his cock against your ass.

You finally stirred, trying to reach for your mask, but Mike caught your wrist.

“Leave it on,” he chuckled, his lips dragging over the strained muscles of your neck, enjoying the warmth of your skin. 

“I’m gonna make you so happy, angel, I know I can,” Mike cooed, pushing his tongue in your slightly open mouth, teasing a breathy moan out of you.

“Yes, Coach,” you mumbled between sloppy kisses, your hands dragging Mike closer and closer, until he was on top of you.

And then he started moaning, deep, throaty sounds that sent little jolts through your whole body, pooling heat directly in your pussy, tiny little spasms shocking their way through your abdomen. 

His fingers, extended, drew a line starting at your throat, going lower, playing with your nipple, and even lower, slowly dragging over the thin fabric of your tank top, until he reached your panties, an obvious wet spot blooming.

He teased you through the soft cotton, his fingers pushing in a little, then dragging all the way up towards your clit, then back down again; you arched your back into Mike, begging in your mind for him to just move your panties to the side and stick his cock back in, and stay like that until morning, fuck you into the mattress.

“Did you wear these for me?” he teased, his fingers playing with the bow on your panties and sliding over the lacy parts.

“Yes, Coach,” you whispered, enjoying the way his tongue dragged over your throat, your heart hitching even higher at the vibrations his chuckle made against your sweaty skin. 

“Good girl.”

And then he slid lower, his lips leaving sticky wet kisses on your collarbone; somehow he managed to pull off your tanktop without disturbing the mask, his mouth immediately closing around your nipple, his teeth grazing it.

He grabbed both of your tits, pressing and massaging, and you couldn’t do anything but moan, enjoying how much Mike wanted you.

“So pretty when you’re so needy,” he breathed out, going lower and lower, until he reached your panties. Mike started sucking and teasing your clit through the fabric.

Your whole body writhed in pleasure as you reflexively pushed your hips towards Mike’s mouth.

“Let me hear you, angel,” he mumbled, hastily removing your panties too, guiding both of your legs over his shoulders. He gently pushed one finger inside you, then the second one too, laughing at how greedily your pussy swallowed them. 

You whimpered, jerking your hips, when he tried to push the third one.

“I know, angel, I know,” he cooed, “but we need to stretch you properly, don’t we? It barely fit the last time.”

He returned his attention to your clit, goading you towards the orgasm, feeling how your pussywalls started to tense and flutter around his fingers, listening to how your moans fell into needy whimpers; your hand grabbed his hair, and Mike couldn’t help himself but moan against your pussy.

“You taste so fucking good, angel, I can’t get enough,” he mumbled, his thumb now drawing tight little circles over your clit. 

“Mike,” you moaned, overwhelmed, immediately biting your tongue. For a moment, you got scared he’d punish you, especially now since you were so close, that knot in your stomach threatening to explode.

“Good girl,” Mike moaned against your mound. “My good girl.”

When he felt you coming, he immediately lowered his head, greedily lapping up your juices as your body trembled in the best orgasm of your life. You had no idea how loud you were or what exactly you were saying, so thoroughly overwhelmed and overstimulated. But Mike wasn’t finished with you, far from it.

As your body relaxed, he pulled out his fingers, sucking on them, watching as your pussy glistened. You whined a little at a loss, but he replaced it with his cock soon enough, your legs still draped over his broad shoulders.

In one quick thrust, he pushed in and folded you up, hitting deeper than before. It was still a stretch, his big, fat cock spearing you in half. You whined in pleasure, begging Mike to fuck you hard.

“Fuck, angel, I can’t even think,” Mike kept snapping his hips, barely delaying his own pleasure to watch your tits bounce up and down and feel your nails against his skin. You lost all sense of time, tasting yourself repeatedly on Mike’s tongue, your hands pulling at his hair and drawing blood on his shoulders, as you kept begging and begging.

“Tell me you’re close,” Mike whispered, “because I want to flood your pussy so badly.”

“No, Coach,” you mumbled in response, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, my poor baby angel,” he teased a little, “how about you take that mask off, let me see those pretty eyes, hm?”

“Please come into my mouth,” you begged, finally looking at Mike’s flushed, sweaty face.

“What?” his hips stuttered, slowing down.

“I want to taste you, please,” you pulled him in another desperate kiss.

Mike tried, he really wanted to indulge you, but before your lips even touched, he started coming with long, hoarse grunts, his mind and body overcome by the amount of your desire for him. You could feel it, Mike emptying his balls, the hot sticky seed spilling in you, dripping out of you.

“I’m sorry, angel,” Mike mumbled, falling forward after freeing your legs from his feverish hold. “Next time, I promise.” His lips went back to the same spot where they were the last time, just behind your ear, as he started to suck tiny bruises into your skin. 

You groaned.

“Tell me I don’t have to wait three to five business days again. Didn’t you boast every night, angel, I want you to come around my cock every night?” you mocked him, imitating his manner of speech.

“Behave,” he breathed, somewhat amused.

“Yeah, yeah,” you countered, rolling your eyes and pouting. 

You could still feel his cum dripping out of you, sticking you two together, his hot breath on your neck making your nipples harden again. You were so insanely insatiable, needing Mike to go again, last longer, fuck all your holes, or at least the ones his cock could fit into. 

“Behave,” he gritted out, his hand falling onto your throat.

You smiled smugly at him, suddenly feeling his limp cock twitching against your thigh.

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“What the fuck did I tell you?” Coach Mike screamed at you, his voice going high in his everlasting irritation. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed him, rolling your eyes, causing that smug giggle in your teammates. Not that any of them would ever dare to disobey him or any other coaches.

“Stop being such a fucking bitch,” he said through his teeth, his face grimacing, jaw clenching impossibly tight. He was holding his glasses in his fist so tight you were sure he had already broken them.

“Takes one to know one, Michael,” you spat back, a vicious sneer lighting your face.

“How many fucking times,” he got in your face, tensions growing so high your teammates were already stepping in, “did I tell you to stop calling me that?”

Your lips formed in an exaggerated pout, mocking Coach Mike, as your teammates dragged you away, still amused, but asking you to dial it down a couple of notches.

You were a topic often discussed between the staff, your sharp tongue and aversion to authority becoming almost mythical. Your personality quite entertained most, but Mike had taken a particular dislike to your attitude, and although he initially tried to resist, he started to take it quite personally when your hurled insults reached him. 

So much so, in fact, that he decided to teach you some manners.

You could swear you heard a faint sound of your hotel door opening, but surely, it was just your imagination playing tricks on you, that treacherous in-between feeling before completely falling asleep deceiving you. Except when you felt a warm body slide in next to you, sleep already having taken you so deep you were unable to move, you knew you weren’t imagining it.

Your heart rate spiked in seconds, then calmed somewhat when a familiar scent reached you, then spiked again, confused why Coach Mike would enter your room in such a manner. 

He pressed himself against you, his hand resting snug against your mouth; all sound, if you made one, would come out muffled, but at least you were jerked fully awake. 

“Not so mouthy now, are we?” you could hear his smug, sanctimonious sneer as his hips ground against your ass in shallow thrusts. He was already hard, so hard you wondered if anyone had ever been so hard just getting in bed with you.

“You smell so fucking delicious,” he whispered against your ear, “I should have done this sooner.”

Alarms started to go off in your head immediately, and you tried to move, but Mike leveraged his whole body to quickly get on top of you, pressing you hard into the mattress, his hand still glued against your mouth.

“This will be the last time I tell you, hm,” he muttered, his lips finding your neck, pressing hot kisses that gave you goosebumps, “stop mouthing off, and stop fucking calling me Michael.”

His hand gave way a little, just enough so you could speak.

“Do you get paid to assault the players, Michael, or is it just a hobby?” you couldn’t help yourself, bitterly spitting out the first thing that went through your mind, still desperately trying to get him off yourself, jerking and thrashing your whole body, trying to move.

He groaned, pressing his forehead to the back of your head, pushing you even deeper into the mattress, his chest pressing against your back.

“What the fuck,” he said through gritted teeth, “did I just tell you, hm, angel?”

His hips continued their little thrusts, his hand snaking its way around your throat, putting you in a tight headlock. His voice and that mocking nickname he used rang in your ears.

“From now on, it’s yes, Coach, and no, Coach, got it?” As he was saying it, he flexed his muscles, effectively tightening his grip around your throat.

You strained to breathe, gulping for air, tiny tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Yes, Coach,” you whimpered, defeated and deflated.

Mike immediately relaxed his arm, leaning closer.

“I’m just teaching you a lesson, you annoying spoiled fucking brat. And you are the only one that needs to be taught, because everyone else knows how to behave.”

“Yes, Coach,” you whimpered again, your throat nestled in the crook of his elbow.

Leaning slightly on his side, his legs still enveloping yours, he pushed his other hand under your shirt, groping your tits and rolling your nipples under his fingers.

“Do you like that, hm?” his mouth continued leaving wet marks all over your neck and shoulder, his sneer filling your ears.

“No, Coach,” you whispered out, unsure if Mike was even listening to you.

“No? Are you sure, angel?” his hand slid down into your wet panties; he moaned loudly into your ear, pleased with what he found there. 

“No, Coach,” escaped your lips as you closed your eyes.

Mike finally kissed you, claiming your mouth in a sloppy, aggressive, almost bruising kiss as his fingers explored your pussy; one of his long fingers gently penetrated you, his thumb rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, “how the fuck will it fit, hm? Do you think I’m too big for you?” Mike continued to ignore your rigid body under him, thin fabric doing nothing to stop the sliding of his cock between your ass cheeks.

“Yes, Coach,” you whispered, barely audible.

“You are dripping. Are you that desperate to be fucked, angel?” he continued talking, biting at your lips, pushing his tongue in and out of your mouth, his spit spreading all over your cheek. He pushed another finger into you, slowly massaging your tight walls, preparing you for his throbbing cock. 

A lone whimper escaped your lips.

“Fuck, angel,” Mike breathed out, fevershily pulling his cock out of its confines. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it, warm, heavy, and leaking against your bare ass. Mike quickly pushed your panties aside and snapped his hips, sheathing himself all the way in.

The stretch burned, sending a quick bolt of pain through your pussy, and you yelled out, causing Mike to extend and push a couple of his fingers into your mouth. They lay heavy on your tongue, and you bit down, cautiously first but harder after, in one last, desperate try to fight back.

Unfazed, Mike simply tightened his arm around your throat without a warning, causing you to desperately open your mouth seeking more air. 

He kept thrusting, splitting you on his cock, moaning your name, still holding you in a headlock. His cock spread you so deliciously, and it felt so agonisingly good to be punished by Mike in this way, even if you were feeling so guilty about it.

“Does your boyfriend fuck you like this, angel?” he taunted, capturing your surprised exhale with his mouth. He continued to fuck you hard, slowing down from time to time to drag his cock halfway out before pushing all the way back in, almost like he was rubbing it in, the fact that you were obviously enjoying him so much.

“No, Coach,” you finally admitted, more tears flooding your face, “he doesn’t really fuck me at all.” Your voice was hoarse, but at least you felt a little better, admitting something that was weighing so heavily on you for so long, even if that admission was to Coach fucking Mike, who was currently fucking you under his full weight, his arm around your neck making you feel deliciously dizzy.

“Oh, angel,” he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, “you should have come to me sooner.” You couldn’t tell anymore if he was making fun of you or not, his cock making you feel so insanely, devastatingly good. You wondered how he was pounding into you for so long and so hard, not losing an ounce of his strength or determination.

“Coach?” you whined, biting at his flexed bicep. You couldn’t think at all anymore; your mind was lost, floating, and your body palatably overwhelmed.

“Yes, angel?” Mike laughed, his hand groping at your tits again, pushing your tank top up. 

He was still in his official team kit; hell, he didn’t even bother to take off his shoes, so consumed by trying to, in his own words, teach you a lesson. He did mean what he said - he should have done it sooner. He wished he had done it sooner, not to teach a brat like you manners. No, Mike regretted not enjoying your tight little cunt earlier, listening to those obscene wet sounds it was making under the constant assault of his fat cock.

“No one ever fucked me like this before,” you immediately buried your face away from him, pressing it against his arm, your cheeks burning.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, sweat from his head and neck dripping all over you, “poor, poor baby angel. Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you yelled immediately, before biting your tongue. “No, Coach,” you tried to play it off, but Mike was already chuckling in your ear.

“You look so good under me, angel,” Mike was babbling now, his hand pulling both of your wrists, pressing them together against the pillow. “Every night, angel, I promise you. I want to feel you come around my cock, pretty girl, I want to hear all those little pleas from those pretty lips,” he kissed you again, moaning at the same time, looking at your fucked out, cock-drunk face.

You didn’t want it to stop, the heat in your cunt giving you one of the best feelings you’ve ever experienced, topping even some mediocre orgasms you had. You now moaned and whimpered freely, your teeth grazing at Mike’s lips and chin, your tongue darting out trying to find his. Unable to form any words anymore, you’d only let out tiny sounds that seemed to encourage Mike to be even rougher, snapping his hips at you, burying you further into the mattress.

“I’m coming, angel,” he muttered into your ear, biting at your earlobe, pressing his nose there. “I’m coming, and I’m coming in deep.” His breath was hot, his deep voice thundering through you as Mike chased his final pleasure, his final claim.

Mike started cuming into you, but still thrusted shallowly, trying to enjoy everything your pussy would give him. His groans filled the room as he stilled on top of you, his sticky seed spilling deep inside your battered walls, and then leaking out around his cock.

He stayed on top of you for a while, relaxing, listening to you trying to breathe, and then, with a long groan, lay down next to you, his arm still wedged under your neck. 

“You can tell that loser of yours to fuck off,” he muttered, his voice falling into that angry growl, “because I’m not giving up on that cunt.”

He pulled you closer, observing your red eyes and puffy lips with great attention, tangling his fingers into your hair. He wasn’t frowning, but you knew he was completely serious. What his deluded mind initially envisioned as a punishment unleashed something in him, and you knew that when Mike wanted something, he’d always get it.

And what if deep down, you wanted it as well? What if you too wanted to feel your panties soaked with his cum night after night, Mike on top of you fucking you into the mattress until the only thing on your mind was his cock? What then? You bit your bruised lip, your mind scrambling like crazy. Are you really going to put your pleasure, yourself, first? For a crazy fuck like Coach Mike?

“Yes, Coach,” you whispered, awfully close to dissociating.

Mike smiled.

“Good girl,” he whispered back.

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