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.
