Submitting to my Coach (rewritten)

I’ve loved cheer-leading ever since I got into middle school. I feel like I’ve progressed a lot. If I’m ever feeling a bit down and think about skipping after-school practice, I just remind myself of my coach. He’s older, strict, tall and so very handsome. With him staring at me in my short skirt, and inspecting my small titties on top, I get so wet that I’ve gotten used to bringing a spare pair of panties with me to practice. I routinely excuse myself half way through and change in the bathroom so he doesn’t notice a damp spot.

My 8th grade boyfriend is the total opposite of him: immature, weak, and lacking confidence. Recently I haven’t been able to cum when we have been together, unless I fantasize about Mr. Johnson using his hands to excite me.

Coach and I have gotten used to chatting a bit in his office after each practice, and its always pretty flirty stuff and so much fun. After changing out of my cheer-leading outfit, I’m sitting in his office now, wearing my thin top (less a bra of course) and winter warm fleece lined elastic black leggings. It’s feels so intimate, just me and him.

“You’re getting to be really good at this sport. I think we should try and take this to the next level,” he says, and I blush wondering what he means.

“You really think so? That means so much, especially from you!” I reply.

“I worked you quite hard today . . . is your body feeling it?” he asks, running his eyes over me. While his eyes inspect my titties, I fantasize about holding my naked body up next to him.

“Um, yeah actually, I feel kind of tired.” I answer. My muscles are a bit fatigued, and with coach looking at me . . . my legs are feeling weaker.

“Okay, well, a massage can really help with that kind of thing. I’ll write you a note so you can get one up . . . front near the locker room,” he says and grabs a pen.

“Could . . . uh . . . you possibly do it . . . instead?” I ask and immediately realize how forward I’m being. He turns to look at me and suddenly . . . I panic. I continue:

“It’s just I don’t want some stranger’s hands all over me . . . I’d much rather it be you,” I admit. “Do you know how to give one?” I ask. He thinks for a second and puts the pen down.

“It’s been a little while, but yes, I do know how. Tell you what . . . if you’re ready, lay down here.” He gestures to the massage bed in his office and I’m lying on my stomach almost before he can finish his sentence. He presses his strong hands into my shoulder blades, firmly working the knots out with his fingers. A cute sigh slips out of my lips, but luckily he doesn’t stop. I love when a man treats me firmly. In fact, it feels like my boyfriend is always afraid of breaking me.

As coach’s fingers explore my shoulders and back . . . kneading my tired skin . . . I’m filled with tingles and it feels amazing. I can feel myself getting slightly wet down below, but there’s no way I can help with that, as I continue to feel his powerful hands squeeze my body. My phone buzzes and he pauses for a moment. I check it and I have a text from my boyfriend.

*When are you getting home? * says his message.

“Who is that?” Mr. Johnson asks while he resumes his almost orgasmic massage.

“My boyfriend. When is he going to learn . . . that being so needy . . . is a serious turn off?” I answer and start texting back.

*Coach is giving me a massage. It shouldn’t be too much longer.* I send the text and put my phone down on the side of the desk. I smile and focus on the massage. It feels like my body just melts in his grip. Each time I exhale, it’s sounding more and more like a soft moan. His hands slowly traverse down my back, leaving behind a trail of ecstasy. My heart-rate increases when I think he’s about to squeeze my butt, as his hands descend from the small of my back. But he stops just before doing so . . .and I sigh.

“It’s also important I massage your legs Missy. You’ve used them a lot today. Would that be okay?” he asks . . . in his sexy, commanding voice.

“Please feel free to do so. Your hands feel so . . . great on my body!” I reply in a cute, out-of-breath voice and he starts rubbing my calves . . . gradually climbing up my legs.

A deep sigh escapes my lungs when he starts squeezing my thighs, his fingers pressing into my sensitive skin is really turning me on, and my pussy is now begging to be touched.