Sweltings Academy Ch. 10

Chapter 10: Fire and Ice

I was a wreck by 9:00 the next morning when I met Coach Marshal at his office. After Mr. Ash's unexpected visit on the heels of the terrifying and exhilarating day I had spent with Coach Marshal, I had needed Aubrey desperately. She had never come in. My best guess is that she went out for the weekend. Goody.

With plodding steps, I approached the gray metal door to Coach Marshal's office. I resented coming here. I resented having to look at the bastard who was blackmailing me. I made up my mind. I wasn't going to take it.

He opened the door and gave me a smug head-to-toe once-over. He looked confident of his power over me, and even though I was disgusted with him, my body responded. Stupid hormones.

"I'm not going," I said.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me into his office, shutting the door behind us. He did not release my arm, and he bent me forward over his desk to spank me. His left hand bit into my arm as his right hand slapped against my ass, sending a resounding smack through the room ten times. Heat began to gather deep inside me, but my stomach clenched with nausea at the thought of everything Coach Marshal had forced me to do yesterday.

He bent over me, pressing my stinging ass against his hardening prick. Then he spoke. "Damn it, whore, you will call me sir."

"Fine, sir." Fury writhed inside me. He released me, and I turned to glare at him. "I apologize for my lack of respect, sir. Allow me to rephrase what I said earlier, sir. I am not going. SIR."

I'm not sure anyone has ever flatly refused to do what he said before. His face turned red and a vein began to pulse in his forehead. I swallowed. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to piss him off. The anger pulsing inside my own body refused to be ignored, though, and I stood my ground.

"Listen, you little bitch. You will do what I tell you to do. If I tell you to get down on your knees right now and suck my cock, you better damn well do it. If I tell you to walk down the hall naked, you better damn well do it. If I tell you to fuck the first guy you see walking down the street, you better damn well do it. And if I tell you that you are going with me today, you are going to fucking go with me."

"Or else what?"

"You know what," he spat. "I'll show your beloved Mr. Ash what a disgusting little whore you are."

"Big fucking deal," I shouted. "Do you really think for one fucking second that he's going to care? You know that you are going to be in so much more trouble than I would be. You think Mr. Ash would just let it go that you tied me to a table, or hid me under your desk and made me suck your dick during class? Or that you fucked me up the ass? Let's not forget that. You know Mr. Ash has a thing about taking a girl's virginity in every way."

Coach Marshal turned pale, but when he finally spoke, his voice was even. "Maybe Mr. Ash would fire me. But he wouldn't stop me from sending these videos to your parents."

It was my turn to go pale. "I hate you," I finally replied.

He closed the distance between us and thrust his hand between my legs, rubbing my clit through my panties. "No you don't," he said. "You just can't stand that you want to fuck me."

The wetness of my panties seemed to support his assumption, but it was wrong. Maybe I wanted to fuck him. But I hated him, too. My body was tense, but it wasn't with need, it was with rage. It didn't matter, though. I was going to have to go with him today, and I needed to relieve the tension curled inside me. I couldn't deny that Coach Marshal could fuck it out of me.

"You bastard," I growled, and then I pressed myself against him, frantically trying to peel his clothes off as I kissed and licked every inch of skin I could see. The hand between my legs was still between us, and he began pressing his fingers harder against my cunt. I moaned, dizzy with my body's response, but finally managed to get his shirt and mine off. He leaned down and used his teeth to drag my right bra strap down my arm. Then he captured my tit in his mouth, pressing me against him with his free hand. My left tit was pressed between us, the nipple hardening against his bare skin. While he worked my breasts, he pressed his panty-covered finger inside my cunt. The sensation was enough to buckle my knees, so he pushed me against the desk and continued finger-fucking me while he buried his face in my tits.

I ran my hands over his broad back as he made me quiver with desire, the tension in my body nearly ready to break. I wanted to grab his cock and stroke it, but his hand between my legs kept me from doing it. I finally settled for dipping my hands into the back of his jeans and kneading the flesh of his ass. He growled into my breasts, and I screamed as he managed to ram two of his fingers all the way into my cunt.

He raised his head and ripped into me with his eyes. "Try to tell me you don't want me to fuck you, whore. Just fucking TRY. You want me so bad you can taste it."

"I want you to fuck me, sir," I said. "But I still hate you."

"Fine," he snapped.

Then he pulled his fingers out of me, spun me around, and grabbed my wrists, pulling me to stand with my back against him. He pushed me toward the window. The window in Coach Marshal's office had both a huge windowsill and a view of the practice field that Sweltings Academy shared with the football team of the local high school. The field was vacant, but I could tell the windowsill was about to be occupied.

Coach Marshal tore my panties off, remarking, "I'm going to have a huge collection of your wet panties before I'm done with you, slut." I was only wearing my skirt, and he left it that way. Then he pushed me toward the windowsill, and barked, "Okay slut, I'm going to fuck you where your precious Mr. Ash can see, if he happens to walk by. Then we'll see who he gets more pissed at. Now bend over the windowsill."

Shit. I think the worst part about all of this was that the idea of someone walking by and watching Coach Marshal plowing into me actually made me wetter.

I bent over at about a 140 degree angle, but Coach Marshal pressed me down into a 90 degree angle so that my breasts were pressed firmly against the cold stone of the windowsill, my nipples jutting against the frigid glass of the window. My forehead was also against the window. The only thing I could find to do with my hands was grab the edge of the windowsill. It was cold, and I shivered.

Then I heard Coach Marshal's voice, and the heat of anger returned. "Harmony, you look like a fucking porn star." The swish of his zipper grated across my nerves. "You look like you can't wait for me to plow into that cunt. You like it when I make you feel like a whore. You can pretend you hate me, but if you wanted to get rid of me, you would have ratted me out last night. You want me more than you hate me."

"No," I gasped as I felt him stand behind me. He pressed his cock against my slick opening and I shuddered. My voice came out in a whisper. "No, I hate you more than I want you."

He slammed into me, and I screamed, "Fuck, that's good!"

He laughed as he pulled back and pounded in again. He drove me harder against the window, and anyone walking by would have seen my tits pressed against the glass and my face contorted in ecstasy.

"Your little protests are sexy as hell, bitch, but you love what I'm doing to you," he said. He left his cock where it was and reached in front of me to stroke my clit as he continued. "It's nearly 9:30, and if we don't finish soon, the football boys are going to show up to see what I'm doing to you."

"No," I gasped. His hand on me shot fire through my body, and I moaned.

"Yes," he said. He pulled back and rammed into me again, bringing another scream from my mouth. "Yeah, those guys would love to see a whore like you in action."

I came in a screaming orgasm, but he wasn't done with me yet. His smug laughter whipped through my body. He never stopped his slow, hard thrusts as I pulsed around him. When I stopped screaming, he laughed, "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like it if the whole fucking football team came in here and watched me fuck you." I whimpered, tried to say no, but couldn't. Probably because he wasn't wrong. At least, not in theory.

I realized with horror that the theory was about to become reality. A truck pulled up at the football field. Then a second and a third. Within minutes, thirty guys plus five coaches had arrived and were getting ready to practice.

Coach Marshal laughed as he thrust into me. "Well, Harmony, how does this make you feel?"

"Oh fuck," I said. There was an edge of frenzy in my voice. "Sir, you feel so amazing. I fucking hate how you do this to me."

"I know. What else?"

"I want you to do it faster, harder. I want them to see you fucking me."

"I know." Smug asshole. "And they will." Shit.

He finally abandoned his restraint and pounded me hard and fast. I couldn't control my screams of pleasure as he rammed into my pussy. My eyes were squeezed shut at the pressure of my building orgasm. Coach Marshal grunted, "Open your eyes, slut. They're watching you."

They were. The field was easily 200 yards away, but I could feel the eyes of the entire team raking across my flattened tits, my wild face. They were taking in the way I was being pounded against the glass. I looked straight into the face of one of them, a solid-looking guy who seemed built for the uniform he wore. Heat tore through me that was completely unrelated to Coach Marshal's thrusting force. I knew that this guy I had never met wanted to be the one behind me, plowing into me.

I came again, abruptly and intensely. Behind me, Coach Marshal tensed and poured his cum into me, grunting about what a dirty slut I was. He moved his hips against me two or three more times, and the sensation was amazing. Then he pulled out and pulled me to a standing position so that my back was against him again. He cupped my tits in his hands, massaging them gently to warm them.

I sighed. The tension was gone. A coal of hatred still burned in my belly, but I was too satiated to want to bodyslam him anymore. I was ready to do what he asked of me.

He leaned forward and opened the window. The team was applauding. A few of them whistled and asked for my number. I blushed and tried to get away.

"Whoa, now, Harmony," Coach Marshal said. "You have a fan club. I think you need to meet them."

Ah. There was that hatred I knew and loved so well.

***

Ten minutes later, I was out on the field in my school uniform. Without the panties, which were ripped beyond repair. Coach Marshal went over to talk to the coaches, and I stood in the middle of a huddle of guys.

A tall, clean-cut blonde guy whose gorgeousness was like a sledgehammer turned his five-hundred watt smile on me. "Hey, beautiful, I bet I could show you a good time. Why don't you come over to my place?"

I returned his smile, privately thinking that if he was anything like the other arrogant five-hundred watt smile guys I'd known, he probably had a tiny dick. "We're not allowed to leave campus," I answered, lowering my eyelids demurely.

"Oh, right, but you're allowed to fuck some guy where thirty other guys can watch," joked a short, stocky player with short, stocky hair. His tone was playful, and so were his eyes.

"Well, not strictly speaking," I said.

Smiley Small-Dick (as I had come to think of the gorgeous blonde guy) said, "See? I bet I could make you scream like that other guy."

"Actually, he didn't scream that much," I said.

Someone behind me laughed, a clean, rich sound. It's been a while since someone laughed at my jokes instead of my response to their sexual advances. I turned to see who it was, and found myself staring into the light brown eyes of the perfect football player I had been staring at while I came. The amused, impressed expression on his face was a hurricane that tore through me and stole my breath.

Short-and-Stocky said, "Yeah, Kyle, she's got you on that one."

I tore my eyes away from the mystery guy and smirked at Kyle (I still wanted to call him Smiley Small-Dick, but I tried to restrain myself). He looked like he didn't understand what I had said. I clarified, "See, you said you could make me scream like that other guy, but that other guy didn't scream."

His eyebrows contracted. "Yeah, but you did."

Another five-hundred-watt smile guy with black hair smacked Kyle in the back of the head. "Dumbass, she's saying that what you said didn't make any sense. Geez, no wonder you're like our fourth string quarterback. God help us if you ever end up starting." He ran a hand through his own perfectly styled spiky hair. With all of the product he had used, if I fell at the wrong angle, I could have put my eye out on his stiff hair.

"Shut up, Justin," Kyle said. Great comeback.

"Hey, have you ever given head?" a scrawny player with longish red hair asked.

I blushed. "Yes."

The player beamed. "That's awesome." He and several others were looking at me like I was a goddess.

"Did you swallow?" I wasn't sure who asked the question, and maybe that was best.

"Sometimes."

"You mean you've done it more than once??" This question came from Red-Hair.

"Yeah."

"Can I touch your tits?"

"No."

"Damn."

Coach Marshal pushed into the crowd of testosterone-driven guys and broke up the crowd. "I've got to take Miss Adair back to the school," he explained. "And also, you guys have to practice."

They groaned, but they hustled to get into position when their coach blew the whistle. Coach Marshal murmured to me, "Every one of those guys is going to whack off thinking about you tonight. They'll probably do it lots of times. Tell me you don't enjoy that."

I didn't answer.

***

The silken darkness of the blindfold sharpened my senses, and in the room Coach Marshal had guided me to, every noise danced across my skin like wind. The sharp smell of ointment was pungent. Turns out that by "back to the school," Coach Marshal meant "back to THEIR school." He took me to their locker room, blindfolded me, and told me that I would have company in a couple of hours. Whoever the coaches decided deserved a reward. With the luck I'd been having lately, my money was on Smiley Small-Dick.

With a sharp click, the door opened, and even if I hadn't heard the footsteps, I would have known someone was coming toward me because I felt a wave of warm, glowing heat crash into my body. I had been slightly chilly until the unknown person had entered the room, but suddenly I felt warm and comfortable.

Whoever it was circled to stand behind me. I could feel energy steadily, gently flowing from him to me. His warm breath brushed my neck, and any tension, fear, and disgust I had been holding onto melted away. Two thumbs slipped underneath my blindfold, and then it was gone. A soft light filtered through the window, and even though it was just an empty locker room, it felt like a foreign world. Definitely not my world, the world in which anyone and everyone could use me however they wanted to.

I turned my head to try to catch a glimpse of my newest master, and what I found behind me were two light brown eyes sparking with a soft vigor that took my breath. They belonged to a guy who was smiling playfully, completely at ease. A guy with long, shaggy, brown hair the color of his eyes. A guy with richly tanned skin that smelled like summer. He couldn't have been much older than I am, but he seemed so sure of himself. He was the guy who laughed at my joke earlier.

With a start, I realized that I had actually turned around and was staring at him with my mouth slightly open. I closed it abruptly, hoping he hadn't noticed. But apparently he had--his grin became more lopsided, and he might even have been blushing. Then he shrugged and simply said, "Hey."

My breath came back in a rush. "Hey," I stammered. Oh God. This guy had just watched me fuck Coach Marshal. He totally knew what a slut I was. There was no way he would ever see me as anything else. Why on earth was he being so... normal?

"Umm... I guess I won the next four hours of your company," he said.

"Oh... right," I replied. I looked down, trying to hide my disappointment. For a second it had seemed like he wasn't after sex. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

He cleared his throat, maybe nervously, but I didn't dare look up at him. Maybe he just swallowed a bug or something. His voice came out sounding too casual. "I kind of thought it would be cool to go back to my place and just hang out. If that's okay with you." I looked up sharply. He was fidgeting, looking intensely uncomfortable.

I couldn't help smiling at his boyishness. Having been around so many men lately, I had no idea that guys my age could be so adorably vulnerable but equally sexy. "Yeah, that sounds great!" I reassured him. His face broke into a grin, and he reached for my hand. When his hand closed over mind, a shiver went through my body. It wasn't because I thought he was going to press me against the wall and take me. It was because I responded to him. I realized suddenly that I was grinning like an idiot as we walked toward the door of the locker room.

I came to an abrupt halt and looked at him curiously. "Hey... you saw what just happened, right? You know what I am?"

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Umm, a girl?" I glared at him playfully, and he rolled his eyes. Then he added, "Yeah, I know what they expect you to be. But you're not that girl. And I want to get to know the girl you actually are. Or, I guess if you actually are just that girl, I could fuck you now and get it over with."

I stuck my tongue out at him and punched him in the arm. He laughed and put his right arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick hug. I put my left arm around his waist and remarked, "You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl." Then we walked out of the locker room.

***

Three and a half hours later, he had kept to his word. We had settled down to watch the crap that came on MTV until we were nearly comatose. It was a marathon of __Parental Control__, and we took turns commenting on how stupid the various girls and guys were for staying with or leaving their boyfriends or girlfriends. Finally, after the seventh episode, Ty flipped off the TV and looked at me.

Shit, I thought. I knew it was too good to be true.

"Harmony... I want to tell you something."

I studied his face. He wasn't looking at me. "Yes?"

"I hate playing football." He was squeezing the remote control so hard that his knuckles were white.

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because I've always done it. I pretend to suck so that I won't have to play, but I'm good at it--the best in fact. That's how I got this time with you today." He turned to look at me, and his eyes looked like melting chocolate.

"Just because you're good at something doesn't mean you have to do it," I murmured. He dropped his eyes and sighed. "Hey, what do you love to do, Ty?"

He smiled, and even while he was staring fixedly at the ground, I saw his eyes lighten. "Play the guitar. There's nothing in the world I love more." He was caressing the remote control now. I swallowed.

"Well, you could always break your ankle," I suggested. "Or maybe if you cuss out your coach he would kick you off the team." He laughed sharply and looked at me again.

"I'm really glad you came over," he said. His eyes sparked suddenly, and I felt mine widen at the expression I thought I saw there. He began to reach his hand toward my face, but dropped it before he got close. "Hey, Harmony?"

"Yeah?" I licked my lips, feeling the tension between us pulse over me like a heartbeat.

He licked his own lips and looked away from me, fixing his eyes on his shoes. "Can I kiss you?"

I smiled and rested my left hand on his cheek. His silky hair fell over my fingers. He looked at me from the corner of his eye. "Yes," I replied.