Asserting Authority

Knock, knock.

Cheryl let me into her apartment and I could see immediately that something was wrong.

"What's up?" I asked, casually, trying to keep things on a relatively light level. Cheryl wasn't always pleasant company to be around when she was pissed. I just hoped she wasn't pissed at me.

"I had a bad day," she said. She grabbed me by the shirt and led me into the bedroom. "I need to work off some of this aggression," she said, unbuckling my pants.

Relationships are funny sometimes. Sometimes you have friends, sometimes you have lovers, sometimes you have deep, meaningful relationships. Sometimes you even have fuck-buddies, and sometimes relationships evolve over time from one type to another.

Such was my relationship with Cheryl. We tended to move from one type of relationship to another, but no matter what form it took it was always held together with a profound respect for each other's sexual nature. Right now we were in the "friends with extreme benefits" stage.

She was a freak and had a wicked imagination, something that I heartily encouraged. She found it easy to open up to me, and I was a safe outlet for her more wild sexual fantasies. This was a woman who pushed her sexual limits with gusto, and whenever she felt it was okay to let go she did, completely and totally.

With me, she knew she could always feel free to do whatever she wished, whenever she wished. Apparently right now she wished for my cock.

She reached into my underwear and pulled me out, still soft but I could feel the twinge of arousal beginning as I knew what was going to happen. Without any ceremony or teasing, she popped my head into her mouth, and sucked hard.

Now, I love the feeling of being soft in a woman's mouth and growing harder. In my experience it's not something that most women go for, so I never ask for it, but when it happens I'm always grateful. I like to play a little game with myself to see how long I can last soft before I finally give in.

This time, though, I lost immediately. Cheryl's talent was unmatchable and within seconds I was rock hard and throbbing.

"Oh, I love how hard you get," she said, more to my cock than to me.

It was true: the soft skin belied the turgid strength underneath. I don't know what happens with some other guys, other than what I've seen in porn, but for some reason I get very hard.

Cheryl continued to suck, pausing every once in a while to talk to me. "As soon as I taste your pre-come I'm going to jump on your cock and fuck you," she said, matter-of-factly.

Cheryl, as I mentioned, was a bit of a freak and loved the taste of my pre-come. To hear her it was the nectar of the gods. I never knew when it actually came out, as I never felt anything different or unusual, but she always treated it as if it were the smoothest ice cream, or richest chocolate.

"Mmmm," she moaned, closing her eyes and tilting her head sideways in ecstasy. "There it is. I love your pre-come."

She said it every time, but I never got tired of hearing it. There was something exotic about it that never got old.

True to her word, she stood up and shimmied out of her jeans and underwear. Her shaved pussy was viewable for only the briefest of seconds before she leaned over to crawl on top of me. Grabbing my dick in her hand, she shoved me into her pussy and slammed down hard onto my pelvis.

She took all of two seconds to register the feeling of this invasion, sighed, and then fucked the hell out of me.

She leaned on my chest with both hands, occasionally grabbing my shoulders for additional leverage. Her hips rammed down on my cock and then squeezed as she pulled up, doing so as fast as she could. She fucked me hard and violently, like a woman possessed.

I was just along for the ride, and it was all I could do to hang on. Her bed had rather overzealous springs and there were moments when I felt as if I were being fucked on a trampoline.

Her face was showcase of human emotion. Her eyes were squinted tightly shut, as obviously her mind was only partly in the here-and-now. She registered anger, frustration, sexual passion, and as her orgasm started to rise within her, an undeniable look of triumph.

Cheryl is the only woman with whom I had regular simultaneous orgasms. There was something about mine that set her off, and vice versa. This one was a quickie, a sprint to the finish line for her, and she brought me along with her.

As her pelvis slammed down onto my body, I felt her wetness seep down the base of my cock, encircling my balls, making it easier for her powerful muscles to slide along the shaft as she gripped me. Any less and I might have felt like she was ripping the skin clean off.

My own orgasm caught me by surprise, mostly because of how quickly it hit me. Usually I have to work it up, coax it out. This time, though, she sucked it out of me with her body. I barely had time to give a little cry of warning.

She threw her head back and sighed as she came. This was unusual, usually she let out a scream or moan or otherwise was far more vocal. She started to slow down as she rode through her climax and then collapsed on top of my chest, her hands still grabbing onto my shoulders for support.

She lifted her head up and flipped her hair over to one side. "Thanks," she said, starting to pull off me. "I needed that."

"Rough day?" I asked, my wet cock flopping out of her body and landing on my stomach with a soft slap.

"You could say that," she said, heading into the bathroom to get cleaned up. When she re-emerged, she was looking more relaxed, but still irritated.

"So," I said "What happened?"

She grabbed a robe from the back of her closet and put it on. She hadn't taken off her T-shirt but hadn't put on any pants either, so every once in a while I could see her bare thigh peek out from under the terrycloth.

"Sometimes I want to slap these little bitches," she said.

"Your soccer team?" I asked

She nodded. "A couple of them turned eighteen recently and now they think they can do anything they damn well please. Of course, their parents are no help whatsoever."

I'd heard this refrain before. Cheryl was the high school varsity girls' soccer coach, and dealing with bratty teenagers was an unfortunate part of the job.

Parents in particular were difficult to deal with. Instead of being a refuge for the overstressed teacher, like it used to be when she and I were in high school, they were in fact a teacher's nightmare. Every parent thought their precious little snowflake was the best player on the team, and demanded more playtime and attention from the coaches. If the little babies weren't happy, the parents weren't happy, and that meant that Cheryl wasn't happy.

"What happened?" I asked. I was a little nervous, because Cheryl wasn't always rational when she was angry, and I could see she was working herself up to being livid.

"There's no one thing," she began. "But Brooke has been the absolute worst. Ever since she turned eighteen she's been trying to pull rank and needs to be taken down a few notches."

"How so?"

"So, today I was having them run drills, and of course Brooke and her posse were standing around flirting with some of the varsity jocks. They like to show off their bodies and get them all drooling. I told them that if they didn't shut it and start working, they'd be doing double laps."

I nodded.

"So the bitch turned around," she continued, "and gave me this look that was the same as if you were talking to a small child. 'Now, Cheryl, I don't think that's really necessary, do you?' she said to me. Can you believe it? Calling me by my first name in front of her friends just to score points. I wanted to punch her in the mouth right there!"

Whenever Cheryl started a sentence with "So" more than once I knew she was really pissed off. In this case, though, I understood her frustration.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I told them to start running," she said, her jaw set firmly in determination. She started breathing heavy through her nose, just like one of those cartoon bulls preparing for a charge.

"Good call," I said. "I would have done the same thing."

"Yeah, except that she just started laughing, and then said, 'I don't think so,' and walked off the pitch."

"Oh," I said. That was bad. Not only did it confuse the hierarchy of order on the team, but it also meant that Cheryl would have been put in the position of doing something drastic to keep discipline. Knowing her, I knew that she would probably do something that would likely be very public.

"So I told them that if they left they would be benched," she said.

Bingo. It's not the way that I would have handled it, so I couldn't really be too judgmental. In today's climate, however, a public statement like that would have immediate repercussions given how sensitive the politics of high school can be.

Sure enough, I was right. "So when I got back to my office, I had an email from the vice principal," she said.

Ayup. There it is.

"Apparently the little bitch had called her mother, who had called the vice principal, who emailed me to tell me that I could not bench them from the game."

This, of course, was wrong on several levels. For one thing, if a parent called the vice principal then he should have had the parent talk to Cheryl first. Most administrators nowadays are complete pussies, though, and would rather do whatever it took to get parents off their backs, especially since parents will threaten lawsuits at the drop of a hat.

Second, as the coach Cheryl has every right to determine who plays and who does not. As it happens, Cheryl was a very good coach, and had taken her team to the championships the last five years running, winning four of those contests. At the very least the administration - which didn't pay her for her coaching duties in the first place - should have at least given her the autonomy to run her team as she saw fit.

This is, of course, above and beyond the very real problem of Brooke's mother not disciplining her own daughter, which was causing Cheryl the grief in the first place.

I nodded slowly in sympathy. I could understand exactly why Cheryl was pissed and needed to let off steam.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

She threw her hands up in the air, frustrated. The motion caused her robe to open up and I could see her pussy, still red and puffy from our fuck session. "I have no idea," she said. "All I know is that I can't bench her. Plus," she added grimly, "she's also the best forward I've got. She's the most fit, the fastest, and the most talented on the field."

She looked to the side, biting a knuckle in frustration. I felt for her, I really did, but found myself getting distracted by her inviting pussy which was now fully visible. She had turned sideways in the chair and propped one leg over the side, completely relaxed and comfortable in my presence.

"I'll tell you what," I said, my tone sounding like I was changing the subject, which I was. "I'll fuck you again and we'll go out and get some drinks. My treat."

She looked at me, considering my offer. "Yeah, all right," she said, and stood up. She dropped the robe and took off her T-shirt, then climbed onto the bed on all fours. She presented her wonderful ass to me as I positioned myself behind her.

I laid my hands on her ass and started pacing my thumbs around her ass and pussy holes. She wiggled her ass in appreciation.

"Careful," she warned.

I sighed, remembering. "Don't worry," I said. "I know."

Many years before Cheryl had a boyfriend who only liked anal sex, to the point that this was the only way he would have sex with her. She liked it too, until his size and desire started to irreparably damage her body. The doctor had told her that she could never have anal sex again.

It was such a shame, too. Cheryl had a phenomenal ass, and I would have loved to watch my cock sink slowly past that beautiful, inviting sphincter. Such a waste.

Sigh.

I slid into her pussy instead, and grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto me. I fucked her hard and before long we were both covered in sweat, working off her work frustration.

------------------------------------

I didn't get the chance to talk to Cheryl for several days, my own job taking up too much of my time. We exchanged a couple of texts now and then, but she didn't say anything further about the issues with her team.

Then one morning about a week and a half later I got a text from her, telling me to come over to her apartment that afternoon. She had something she wanted to show me. She told me to be there around 2:45.

I was a bit surprised at the specific time, but as it turned out I had no clients to see that afternoon, and could rearrange the remainder of my schedule without any issues.

When I arrived at her apartment she opened the door for me and waved me inside. She was dressed in her coach's gear: track pants and a tight tank-top T-shirt.

"Had practice today?" I asked, entering her apartment.

"Yup," she said, smiling wickedly. I had a feeling that she might have some role-play in mind, and we hadn't actually explored the whole "soccer coach" possibilities yet. Now that I saw her in her outfit, I was rather surprised we hadn't. It seemed so obvious, now.

"Come on in," she said. "I have someone to introduce you to."

I felt a bit dejected. Well, there goes the role-play idea, I thought. I hadn't thought about having sex with Cheryl when I came over - we often just hung out - but now that the thought had germinated in my head I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

She turned and led the way into her apartment. It wasn't very big, only a bedroom, a kitchen/dining/living area that was all one room, and a bathroom. She hesitated at the doorway to her bedroom and cracked a smirk of... triumph? It was hard to tell. In any case she was mighty pleased with herself.

I entered the doorway to her bedroom to see a young girl wearing Cheryl's high school's standard-issue athletic t-shirt and shorts, sitting on Cheryl's bed.

"Brooke," Cheryl said, addressing the girl. "This is Dr. O'Connor."

The girl regarded me with a strange look on her face. I could see that she didn't like me at all. She sat on the bed, both arms thrust down onto the edge of the bed, her posture hunched and slightly defiant.

"Hello," she said. Her voice came out a strange mixture of anger, sadness, hesitation and maybe even fear.

"Hello," I said. Then, immediately, "Excuse us for a second."

I pulled Cheryl outside the doorway, just out of eyesight from Brooke. I lowered my voice to an urgent whisper to avoid being overheard.

"Cheryl!" I hissed. "What are you doing?" I was no fool. Even though I had never seen this girl before in my life, I knew exactly who she was.

Cheryl's smile stayed put on her face, but her eyes were cold and calculating. "I told you I was going to teach this little bitch a lesson," she countered.

This was bad. Very bad. This was Cheryl's student. I began to wonder what kind of legal trouble I could be in just by being in this apartment at this point in time. I wasn't aware of which laws were being broken, but I'm sure there probably was at least one or two.

"Brooke and I have an understanding," Cheryl called out, loud enough for her voice to carry back not the bedroom. She smiled broadly and returned to the room. I followed behind, very hesitant. "Don't we, Brooke?"

Brooke looked directly at Cheryl, then lowered her eyes. "Yes, Ms. Jean."

I remembered Cheryl's story about how Brooke had called her by her first name in front of her friends. Obviously Cheryl had impressed upon this girl to use the appropriate title when addressing her.

Cheryl went over to the bed and sat next to Brooke, placing one arm around Brooke's shoulders. Brooke didn't flinch.

"We've been making progress," Cheryl said, looking at me. "Brooke now has proper... motivation... to be a team player. Isn't that right Brooke?"

Brooke looked at me and nodded.

"Brooke," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and safe-ish. I didn't want to piss off Cheryl, but for my own sanity I had to gauge Brooke's state of mind. She didn't have a "scared rabbit" quality but I wasn't sure what was going through her mind. "Do you want to be here?"

I cast a warning glance at Cheryl not to pressure Brooke for any specific answer, then returned my gaze to Brooke. To my utter surprise, her voice was resolute and confident. "Yes," she said, definitively.

Okay, I thought. I'm stumped.

"Brooke has a challenge," Cheryl said. "A bet, in a way."

In a way? I thought.

"Let him see you," Cheryl commanded.

"Yes, Ms. Jean," Brooke said, and stood up.

There was no question about it, the girl was phenomenally good-looking. Her long blonde hair cascaded straight down to the middle of her back, and a little wavy fold indicated that she usually wore it up in a ponytail. She was a tiny thing, couldn't weigh more than 100 lbs., but muscular and fit.

She turned around, letting me see all of her, and I stood there watching her, mesmerized. This was a girl I could never have had in high school, but every boy dreamed about. The muscles of her body, strong and developed from years of soccer and sports, gave her a predatory, feline quality.

At the tender age of eighteen she had already had several years experience knowing that she had an effect on men (and probably more than a few women, too). She had no shoes or socks on, so the tight legs tapered down to perfectly shaped feet.

Cheryl got up off the bed and walked over to me, took my hand, and led me to the chair facing Brooke and her modeling. "Now that Brooke is eighteen," Cheryl was saying, "She is an adult, and is eager to do adult things."

I sat down on the chair a little harder than I would have liked, Looking at Brooke showcase herself was starting to affect my libido, much stronger than I felt comfortable allowing myself to be given the circumstances.

"Adult... things," I repeated.

Brooke was starting to move a little differently now. Instead of merely turning around in place, showing me her body, she was starting to undulate. Her hands started to touch various parts of her body, directing my attention to her breasts, her hips, her legs. She pulled up the hem of her t-shirt and gave me a glimpse of her rock-hard six-pack abs.

Oh my god, I realized, the awareness hitting me like a ton of bricks. She's a true exhibitionist!

"Yes," Cheryl said. "Adult things. So her challenge is to win a race."

"A race?" I asked, now confused.

"Yes," Cheryl said, just as Brooke took a step towards me.

"If Brooke can suck you off before I bring myself off, she can stay on the team."

Holy shit! What?!

As if this was her cue, Brooke fell to her knees and started fumbling at my jeans. The girl had done this before, because soon my fly was wide open and my cock firmly embedded in her mouth.

Cheryl was already starting to slide her hands underneath the elastic of her coach's pants.

I found it hard to breathe. The girl was remarkably good. "And if she can't?" I gasped.

Cheryl smiled, barely able to contain her glee.

"You fuck her in the ass in order to stay on the team."

Brooke's eyes widened, and she looked at my face, my cock still halfway in her mouth. Apparently this was news to her. She looked at Cheryl, and then back at me, and then started sucking me even harder trying to get me off. The fact that she wasn't protesting told me something, but I had no idea what.

Cheryl watched Brooke's head bob up and down on my lap, but she took her time. Cheryl knew that she had the odds stacked in her factor, and she was right.