Coach

My name is Sarah and my boyfriend's name is Mitch. Most of the time I sleep over with him, and now that I have college classes in the afternoons, I workout with my old High School track coach in the mornings. His name is Jimmy. All through HS I fantasized about fucking him and his big black cock, and I he made it clear more than once that he would like to tap me. He is 31 (to my 20), about 5'10", with light brown skin and baby blue eyes framed in the most beautiful lashes I've ever known a man to have.

Jimmy and I are down in the High School weight room, he's fiddling with the stereo and I'm stretching out. He's around the corner, so I'm not being really self conscious about how I look. I'm laying on my back, one leg stretched out across my body, trying to stretch my thigh and lower back muscles. The music begins and I hum along with it -- a gangsta rap type. I stand up and move over to a bench no taller than my knees. I still don't see Jimmy, so I continue my stretches. I lean over at the waist, legs spread out past shoulder width, and put my hands on the bench. It's surprisingly cool, considering I was already sweating from the density of the air. I close my eyes and feel my muscles lengthen and tighten, reveling in the pleasure/pain the stretching causes. Then I felt hands on my hips, dangerously close to my ass cheeks.

"You need to keep your legs still," Jimmy's voice to my ears sounded like caramel.

"Oh...okay." I replied, my voice dusky with sudden desire. He stepped away and I straightened my legs, continuing to stretch, trying to keep then still and straight. They were sore, though, so they weren't wanting to keep straight.

"Here..." he said, kneeling behind me. His hands grazed my calves before resting on me, one on the front of my knee, the other on the back of my upper thigh. I was vividly aware that this position put his hand and eyes close to my crotch. My creeping shorts didn't help, either, and the line between my thigh and ass was almost visible. The most horrifying part, though, was that I hadn't worn any underwear. Coming from Mitch's house, I had used up all my clean underwear and, having no time to go home before my workout, had just decided it wouldn't hurt anyone for me to go commando. That was the WRONG decision. I was wet, and I knew at that close range he was going to be able to smell my need. I already could. His hands switched to the other leg, hands on the same places.

"This one's really tight," he said, and pushed on my thigh muscle, moving it up and down. This succeeded in moving my shorts ever so farther north. I could feel the air hit the bottom of my ass and I clenched my cheeks in response.

"Does that hurt?" he asked, worriedly.

"No," I responded. "It feels amazing." I knew that was going to far. "Amazing" is not how you describe the feeling of tension being worked out of muscles to a trainer. He moved back to the other side and did the same massaging pressure.

"That's why you couldn't stretch well," he said. "Your muscles are in knots."

"Oh," I said, distractedly. At this point I could concentrate on only his hands. He was working my inner thigh muscles now and every so often would accidently brush the crotch of my shorts. I felt gloriously relaxed and terribly tied up.

"Why don't you go into the training room and lay down on the table," he said, standing. " I'm not going to get anything out of you until your muscles are relaxed." He stood up all the way and as he turned, I felt his hand cup my ass. I stood quickly to look at him, but he was already moving in the other direction.

"Okay," I said, moving toward the room. I was suddenly unsure of whether or not he had actually done that. I looked at him as he went to turn the music up. I wasn't sure. I stepped into the room, up to the table and lay on my stomach, folding my arms under my head as a cushion. Jimmy stepped into the room and shut the door. A spark of excitement shot through me before I realized there was an A/C unit in the room and a sign next to the door asking people to keep it shut; he didn't do it for privacy. He walked across the room and stood next to the table, looking down at me.

"Tell me if it hurts," he said.

"I will, Jimmy." I replied.

He started with my upper back, hands digging in and moving up and down in a rhythmic way. I was sweaty, though, and I felt him struggle to do a decent job with an unruly piece of cloth hindering him. Wet cotton wasn't really conducive to a good rub-down.

"If this makes you uncomfortable, tell me, but I really can't do a good job with your shirt on," said Jimmy. "Would you take it off for the rubdown?"

"Um...sure," I said, slipping off the shirt. It wasn't like I was looking or smelling good at this point anyway. I wouldn't have to worry about him getting turned on. I lay back down and closed my eyes. His hands began working again; slow, deep circles across my back and shoulders. His fingers kept getting caught on my sportsbra, but I knew he would never ask for it to come off, too. So I made a sudden decision.

"Here," I said, lifting myself up. "You're not getting anywhere like this." I sat up on my knees and took the bra off over my head.

"There," I said, laying back down. "Now try." He continued his silence as his hands went back to work. It felt wonderful. His hands were working out all the hurt and soreness in my muscles. I let myself relax and enjoy it. Making circles with his hands he moved from shoulder to spine, spine to sides, sides to hips, and hips to the elastic on my shorts. He didn't even ask this time, he just took them off. When I discovered what he was trying to do, I helped him by lifting my hips and legs, heart racing all the while. I heard his intake of breath when he discovered I wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Um....yeah....I....uh..." I stuttered, forgetting momentarily how to speak English. Finally I recovered my head. "I didn't have any clean at Mitch's. Sorry."

He didn't say anything or move for what seemed like ages. Finally his hands started moving again. "Don't be sorry," he whispered. His hands started where they had left, the bottom of my back, moving softly over my dents and the top of my ass. It was so light, but I was hideously aware of it. They moved slowly down my cheeks, tentatively roving across the peach mounds with only fingertips. I had goosebumps. It was utterly delicious. His fingers caressed, ever so slightly, the crack of my ass, tracing downward toward the warm center of my body. I wanted him to feel me there, see how wet he had made me with just his hands. I parted my legs slightly, inviting him in with my body's language. He hesitated for a moment, seemingly deciding what to do. I pushed my ass up slightly to meet his hand, giving him a guilt-free taste of what I wanted him to have. He stayed there a moment, but pulled away. I lowered myself back to the table, preparing for the rub-down to be over.

"Turn over."

The command was jarring. His voice was solid and even, the exact opposite of how I was feeling. I hesitated, my heart and mind running a race.

"Turn. Over." it was not a suggestion. I turned over, careful to do it away from him. I lay down, legs slightly spread, eyes shut tight. There was a moment after I stopped moving that I heard him move, then I felt again his warm hands on me. They started on my upper chest, using again the relaxing circles. My tightly strung body started once more to relax. I almost forgot that I was naked. Then he moved his hands lower. He used his fingertips and traced the top of my tits, circled my nipples, making them throb and harden. I let out a small moan-whisper of pleasure. His hands then cupped my breasts, feeling their weight and texture, then finally his mouth found where they led.

It was amazing. My back arched up to press my breast into his mouth, forcing him to hold me. His hands burned like fire on my skin, and I cried out. I had never been so close to orgasm without genital stimulation before.

"Jimmy..." I whispered. His head moved to the other breast, treating it with the same gentle pressure as the first. He lifted up and gently trailed his fingers down my stomach. My abs clenched and pelvis lifted as it dragged lower, lower... It met the first lengths of my pubic hair. Realizing this, I felt sheepish. I had let my normally bald pussy grow a bit. I opened my eyes.

"I didn't know..." I tried to explain. I was interrupted immediately by a pair of lips cavorting on my own. My eyes closed once again. He opened his mouth, I opened my legs. I gave him my tongue, he gave me his fingers.

"Oooohhh..." I moaned into his mouth. "Jimmy...Jimmy...Jimmy..." became my mantra. I was so wet, so needy. His fingers inside me - it was like nothing I'd felt before. I had him, but it wasn't quenching my sex-thirst -- it was making me only needier. Our mouths were melded together, and I needed more of him than a finger. I needed him. Inside me. I pulled him down on top of me, happy to find that he had discarded all his clothes as well.

"PLEASE, JIMMY!" He found the place between my thighs and speared inside me. It was like lightning. I bucked up under him, wrapping my legs around his hips, taking each of his thrusts as deep inside me as possible. I needed him. Our kisses didn't match the rhythm of our thrusts -- they drove it. His tongue inside my mouth was like quicksilver, alternately thrusting and rolling on mine. I could feel my orgasm rising, so I drove my heels into his ass, pushing him further and harder into me.

"OOOh FUCK!" I screamed as I came. My body clenched tight around him and my hands groped for his flesh. My hips bucked and I buried my face into his neck. I felt his growl of release rather than heard it, "Grrrrrr...OH!" He pushed himself inside me, deep, one last time, then collapsed on top of me. We lay there for minutes, breathing heavily, sweat pouring off of us. He leaned up on one arm, looked down at me, and kissed me one more time.

"I think you've had enough of a workout today," he said, face sober as stone.

"Is that so?" I asked. He nodded. "Well, I don't!" I said, and pulled him back down on me once more.'

Needless to say, workouts were never the same after that.