Betrayed

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A young athlete gets taken by her coach.
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It wasn't my choice, standing here with my heart thumping. Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I felt Coach's hands move from my ribcage up to my breasts. Those hands were foreign, not my own. They kneaded my breasts through my shirt, pinched my nipples. The hands moved to my shoulders, where the fingers stretched to my collarbone and stroked my trembling neck.

As Coach grabbed a handful of my long, thick black hair and yanked my head back, my mind flashed over the events that led up to this situation.

I had just finished track practice and went back to the locker room to change only to discover the doors were locked. At eighteen years old, I was a senior on the girls varsity long distance team and good race times meant extra hours on the track. It was often just me and Coach walking in at 5 p.m., and we'd always had a healthy rapport until tonight. Finding the locker room doors locked, I knocked at his office to see if he'd let me borrow the space to change.

"Sure, come on in, Becks. Those janitors are morons--they know we always stay til five. Take your time, I'll just call my wife and tell her I'm running a little late today."

"Thanks so much, Coach. It's too cold outside to go home in my practice clothes!"

As he waited in the hallway, I quickly stripped down and rummaged in my bag for street clothes. Suddenly, a glint caught the corner of my eye. My heart stopped as I looked up to find what appeared to be the lens of a camera directed at me, partially hidden in sports equipment that was piled in the corner of his office. The red recording light was on.

What the fuck.

The discovery of the camera left me feeling shocked and violated. My brother and I had grown up in a very sheltered household. Uncertain what to do, nervousness set in when I heard Coach's voice talking on the phone in the hallway.

He'd always seemed so nice. That prick. How dare he?

Half-dressed and confused about Coach's intentions, I quickly debated my options. I dressed swiftly, then shakily picked up the phone on his desk. As I began dialing the cops, a knock loudly shook the door. Nearing a panic, I fought it down and answered, "Yes?"

Teasingly Coach called out, "You pass out in there, Becks? What's taking you so long?"

"N-nothing. Almost done."

Hurriedly, I slammed the phone down without meaning to. Hearing the noise, he barged in. Caught with my hand on the phone, Coach turned his gaze to my face, his once friendly eyes now tinged with a creepy menace. Chills went down my back. Taking stock of my flushed cheeks and translucent, after-workout glow, he slowly and deliberately closed and locked the door behind him. Trapped in this confined space, my breathing grew rapid. My thin 5'4" frame was no match for his 6' muscular build. Never having so much as kissed a boy, I was a late bloomer, and as he approached me, I felt a sickening dread in the pit of my stomach.

"Rebecca, who were you calling?"

Why is he using my full name?

Summoning my courage, I confronted him, "C-coach, what the hell is that camera doing over there?"

He chuckled softly, menacingly, "Oh Rebecca, what do you think it's for? Do you really think the janitors would lock up so early without someone telling them to?"

As he slowly drew nearer, I kept backing up until I hit the wall. My clammy hands pressed against the wooden paneling.

Tanned from hours spent outdoors, Coach wasn't a bad looking guy, in a five-o'clock-shadow kind of way. I knew from our runs that his broad chest was dusted with golden hair, lighter than the chestnut brown on his head. His hands were strong and deft, but I didn't want them touching me now, not like this: alone in an empty building, with no one to hear me cry out.

One hand suddenly went up to my throat, pinning me to the wall, his hazel eyes piercing my large, dark brown ones. Suddenly my red plaid shirt and skinny indigo jeans felt uncomfortable, as a prickly heat spread over my body. My breath caught in my throat and I managed to whisper, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because now that you're legal, I can," he said with a low laugh.

Then he spun me around and pulled me against his chest as his hands began to explore my breasts, my neck, my soft stomach. Yanking my hair, he pulled my entire body into a tight hold with both arms, and he lowered his head to my neck, breathing in my scent. I knew it was soft, musky, sweet. I felt the prickle of his stubble first, then the pressure of his lips behind my ear. His tongue, wet and soft.

I had never thought of Coach in this way. Had never let my mind wander into sexual territory when thinking of him. He was a figure of authority, a friendly mentor. He had a wife and family for God's sake!

But with his mouth on my neck, his body pressed against mine, and a bulge jutting into my butt through his jeans, my mind was no longer thinking rationally. As if under a spell, I inhaled his scent: sweat, sun, grass, laundry detergent from his t-shirt, something else, something intoxicating.

Unbuttoning my shirt, he drew back to peel it off me and tossed it to the floor. Then he unhooked my bra, and shame washed over me as it fell away.

This is my coach! I'm a good girl, and only an equally wholesome and caring guy should be touching me like this. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Cheeks burning, I choked back a sob. Being touched by him felt so good, but so deeply wrong at the same time.

Now bare, he massaged my breasts more roughly. Pinched the erect nipples so hard my eyes watered and my nose began to run.

"You're so hot, I've been wanting to do this for so long," he breathed into my hair.

Then, hands on my hips, he turned me around and assaulted me with a deep, passionate kiss. Awakening some primal urge inside me, I kissed back, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. Fingers hooked tightly through the belt loops of my jeans, he pulled my pelvis into him and ground against me. The bulge in his pants rubbed my clit through our clothes.

So good, it feels so good.

Breaking the kiss, his eyes traveled down my body. As if deciding suddenly to feast, he tore my fly open and pulled my jeans halfway down my thighs. Massaging the soft white flesh of my buttocks, the tips of his fingers felt me through my panties, dipping into the hot, damp crevice between my legs.

Moaning involuntarily, my hands went to his shoulders to steady my balance. As his fingers continued to rub the crack between my butt cheeks, down to my pussy and back up again, I unconsciously wrapped my arms around his back and closed my eyes. Reveling in the raw pleasure, my hands traveled down his back and gripped his buttocks, pulling him against me.

Suddenly he stepped back and, caught up in the moment, I protested. "Look at you," he snickered. "You fucking slut." He quickly pulled off his t-shirt, revealing his hardened chest, his abs sculpted by miles of running.

In my shame and confusion, my heart ran, too. The little girl inside me was now miles and miles away. Broken, perhaps gone forever.

Upset and angry at this fucked up situation, I decided he would not take my virginity without a fight. Savagely, I pushed him back, and slapped him with all my strength.

Startled by the force of my slap, he stopped for a second. Breathing hard, my eyes leveled with his, daring him breach to me again. Then anger contorted his face like a hurricane and he slapped me back. Hard.

Stunned, I stood there for a moment, as the pain pulsed through my jaw. I thought that would be it, but my slap had unleashed something inside him. He slapped me again from the other side, the blow sending me staggering as I threw a hand on his desk for support.

Rage animating his movements, Coach threw me on his desk, pulled off my jeans, and tore off my cotton panties. I was now splayed across his desk completely naked. Grabbing the backs of my knees, he dragged me to the edge of the cold wooden desk and ground his crotch into my sex. The rough denim scraped the folds of my pussy. Despite myself, I began to get even wetter, leaving a stain on the front of his jeans.

Lowering his face to only inches from mine he said with his voice low, "Rebecca, if you ever raise a hand to me like that again, you'll regret it."

Cold fear rising in my throat, I could feel myself falling apart. "Please don't hurt me," I pleaded hoarsely. "Coach," I said, hoping to snap him out of this madness. "Please don't hurt me," I repeated in a whisper.

In response, he brusquely undid his belt buckle, took off his jeans, and flung them aside, his face a mask of fury. This man was a far cry from supportive, good-humored coach I had grown to look up to and trust. As he pulled his boxers down, his cock sprang into view. It was thick, a full eight inches, and terrifying. Though I'd often masturbated to fantasies of various crushes, I'd never ventured to insert anything larger than a finger into my pussy.

Grabbing the backs of my knees again, he spread my legs open wide. His cock hovered at the mouth of my pussy, his precum mixing with my juice. The smooth head of his penis stirred the folds of my pussy, parting them wider and wider. It felt so intimate, so desperately wrong, so delicious.

Then he plunged all the way in, the pain ripping through me as I cried out. Tears escaped from the corners of my closed eyes. Sensations of fullness, violation, and desire swam through me.

I'm not a virgin anymore.

"You're so tight," he exhaled.

He pulled out almost all the way, then plunged deep into my pussy again. With long, savage strokes, he hammered my pussy. I could feel him hit my womb. My feet had found the edge of the desk, and my knees were bent in the air, waving like the wings of a butterfly with every stroke. My back flat on the desk, I wrapped my hands around his muscled forearms for leverage.

Coach's face reflected the intense pleasure he derived from fucking his star athlete on his desk.

The initial pain that had torn through my body dulled to a numbed pounding. Then an animal lust gradually took hold and I began responding to his thrusts.

As if in a trance, I moaned, "Coach."

I had begun to enjoy him raping me. Past the point of redemption now, I spiraled into ecstasy.

"That's it, Becks. You like me fucking you, huh."

"Harder...deeper," I moaned.

Pounding into me so hard now that the desk rattled, we held onto each other in the throes of desire until neither of us could take any more. Moving one hand to my asshole and inserting a finger, he pushed me over the edge, and I came in a shuddering heap. Fingers clamped around his shoulders, my back arched and my pussy spasmed around his shaft.

With long thrusts, he came a moment after, his cock pulsing inside of me, the jizz coating my unprotected womb. He collapsed on top of me and I fell limp.

Slowly regaining my breath and my consciousness, I stared blankly at the plaster ceiling, wondering how something so pleasurable could make me feel so degraded.

Then I recalled the camera in the corner of his room.Fuck. As if reading my thoughts, he murmured into my ear, "Tomorrow we'll watch our little video."

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