The Warped & Wicked Gym Coach Ch. 03

"Shhh," she soothed him as she placed one hand on his chest, and one on his forehead, brushing his hair, wiping a tear away. "Shhh, baby. It's okay. I know you can't help it. That first time, with the jock strap? I knew that would happen." She did? Then why did she . . .

"I was kinda testing you, to see how you would react. what you would do, how you would treat me. I needed to know who I was dealing with, okay? And you totally passed - you're a good guy. You are!" She continued to massage his chest and his arms. "Not everyone is suited for the kind of treatment I'm offering to you. Gosh, you remind me so much of myself when I was your age. What you need - what you've needed for so long - is release. I could tell that right away. Emotional release . . . physical release. Your repression is holding you back as an athlete and as a young man. I want to be the one who helps you. Do you trust me that I do?"

He nodded his head while crying, stoutly maintaining his erection. He felt the towel being pulled away from him. He gasped, and his hands shot up to cover himself as the towel fell to the floor. She sat down at the side of the table, and patted his hands, with a look of pity.

"Is it just that you don't want me to see your . . ." He nodded. She leaned in, her lips curling into a gruesome smile that made him feel ill. "Well, if that's the case," she whispered, "Too late."

Jake lifted his head up, confused. Did she mean . . . ""In, in the shower . . .?" he stammered.

She looked at him innocuously. "Uh-huh?"

"You . . saw . . .?"

"Aw, Jacob," she giggled again. It drove him crazy. "You had to know that, didn't you?"

He was turning red again. He knew, but he pretended he didn't, shaking his head.

"I must admit I was standing there for quite a while before I said anything," she grinned. Her hand still rested on his, which was all that covered him.

He found himself breathing faster. "I - I -" His hands stayed where they were. "You shouldn't have . . ."

"I guess," she shrugged, guiltily. "I may be your teacher, but I'm still a girl at heart. I . . . like looking at them. Not gonna lie - I'm glad I did it," she smiled, as she stroked the back of his hand. He was visibly burning with mortification.

She looked heartbreakingly pensive a moment. "Do you think that's unfair? That I've seen your penis? That I know what it looks like?" She reached up to her lips, thinking.

"Hmm . . . would you want to see what I look like? Maybe . . . it would help if I took off my clothes? Is that fair? Would that make you feel more comfortable?"

Shellshocked, he had no answer. His mouth fell open. "I mean, not totally naked, of course. You know how I feel about that; as your teacher, it's important that I establish boundaries," she spoke seriously; then a sly look appeared in her eye. "But maybe it'll relax you some, huh?"

She stood up and kicked off her sandals, putting them next to Jacob's clothes. She undid the fastener of her capri pants, and slowly opened the button fly as he watched, wide-eyed. Her purple lace panties became more visible as she took the buttons down, one by one; she turned around and then she dropped her pants and stepped out of them completely, revealing to him her perfect white buttocks and her dainty thong, which hid her almost-visible mound. She turned back and carefully grabbed the sides of her pink tank top between her fingers; her breasts gently lifted then fell as she pulled it off. She stood in front of him, posed like a goddess or a supermodel, or both - steamy eyes, hair wildly rustled, lips parted, nipples poking through her silky, tantalizingly see-through purple fabric; round, full breasts filling out the bra, contrasting with her narrow waist; her thin arms hugged around her shoulders, covering her breasts in a brief display of modesty before falling to her sides. Her tight stomach muscles, developed yet soft, contracted and expanded as she breathed. Her lovely hips barely covered by purple lace, her athletic legs rippling down from them. "Better?" she asked.

I'm doomed, he thought. "Yes," he spoke.

She stepped to him again, picking up the bottle, squirting oil into her palm. "Move your hands, please," she said, matter-of-factly, looking at her watch. He complied. His hands by his side, nothing remained between his full frontal nudity and her eyes. She seemed to take it in, like a sunset or a fond farewell, before rubbing her hands together.

He watched her left hand move between his legs. "I want you to remember that this is a massage; that this is only a massage," she stressed. He felt her hand lightly tickle his ball sack, and then cup them warmly.

"Oh my god," he let out.

"It's just a massage, Jake," she continued. "I'm releasing impurities, to clear your mind, so you can concentrate on what matters: winning." She slowly wrapped her right hand around the base of his cock.

"This . . . is a sin," he said.

She shushed him. "You'll still be a virgin. I promise you - that's the truth. We aren't betraying God." Her fingers felt warm as they worked up, inch by inch, to the foreskin, and back down again. "Wow . . . it must be nine and a half, ten inches," she gushed in a soft voice, as she manually stimulated the whole of his penis. "And thick . . . look at that . . ." She slid her oily forearms alongside both sides of it, comparing their similar circumferences, squeezing it between her wrists. Now she was wide-eyed, subtly moistening her lips with her tongue. "I've never seen one like this before."

Pride eclipsed his shame. Jake stared at her cleavage, pushed together as she worked, her naked thigh touching his naked thigh; his breath quickening, as a hunger grew inside of him, instinctively he clutched at her knee, her soft skin in his calloused palm. She gently removed his hand and held onto it. "Focus, Jake! Get it out of you," she demanded. "Come on, that's it . . . just let it happen . . ."

He began to hyperventilate, repeating over and over, "OhGodOhGodOhGod," inspiring Ms. Bandy to jerk him off faster, her left hand a blur as it moved up and down his shaft. His toes curled; his eyes shut hard; he grit his teeth. He let out a long cry of joy and sadness.

Jake came to, as he felt the warmth of his own jism pooled about his abdomen and chest. He inhaled deeply, exhaled completely. Ms. Bandy looked incredibly happy. "Good boy!" she exclaimed, and she kissed him on the cheek, right next to his mouth.

He managed to smile at her - his eyes, filled with emotion, looking up at hers, swimming in them. He looked lost and ecstatic. "Let me get you a hot towel."

From a small machine in the corner, she took out two small, rolled-up towelettes, steam rising up from them; she applied one of the towels to his stomach and pectoral muscles, cleaning up the spunk. She then took it and gently wiped the tip of his cock, squeezing it carefully and deliberately to get the rest of the mess out, causing him to moan; she left the towel there, partially covering his package. "Now close your eyes," she told him, and she placed the second-hot towel over his face. He lay there, in darkness. He felt her hot breath on his ear, as she leaned in to whisper: "Now, just relax. For five minutes. Then get up, take a shower, get dressed, and go kick some Buccaneer butt tonight!" He heard her move away, and he moved the towel a bit to see her, catching out of the corner of his eye a view of her near-naked bottom just before her pants covered them. He quickly put the towel back over his face. She walked toward the door, turning off the light, and left the room. Jake lay in darkness and silence as an unborn babe.

Later that night, the Franklin Blue Devils beat the Bridgeport Tech Buccaneers by thirty-seven points. Jacob Packert scored a career-high forty-one points, had six rebounds, three assists, two steals, and a block in the largest rout for a home opener in twenty-five years. The crowd chanted his name as the seconds clicked away to zero, Holly Morgan among the loudest voices.

He searched for Ms. Bandy among the faces circling around him, but he did not see her, until he looked up. She watched from her office, with the lights turned off, standing in the dark as an even darker silhouette.