I obediently put my hands behind my back. Coach Lafitte was obviously a man who liked to be in control. I gazed up at him, feeling terribly submissive, as I began to suck and lick up and down his sleek male organ.
I felt amazingly helpless and incredibly vulnerable, kneeling nude on the floor, my hands behind my back, utterly at the mercy of this powerful man who could make or break my whole future as a cheerleader. I had never been used in such a controlling and demeaning manner before, and yet his abrupt command sent a quiver of pleasure coursing through me, and I could feel a warm wetness seeping into my sex.
I was shocked at my own reactions. Could it be true that deep down I craved a man who would dominate, a man who would tell me what he wanted me to do, and would demand that I do it?
I tried to persuade myself that I was not that sort of girl at all, and yet I was unable to prevent a stifled moan as I sucked him, and even felt a little of my love fluid seep out of me. I desperately hoped that he wouldn't be able to sense my arousal. Why was I feeling and behaving like this? I was a nice, well mannered English girl - the sort that wouldn't say boo to a goose - and yet here I was, kneeling before a large black American man, sucking and licking him as if there were no tomorrow, and getting thoroughly turned on by the whole episode.
He was even bigger in my mouth than I had expected. His glans alone seemed to fill me. Yet even after I had opened as wide as I had ever opened, he continued to press forward. More and more of his shaft rammed into my face and throat until I feared that I might gag. I felt the throbbing power of him as he began to thrust into me.
His pace was fast and demanding, and he gripped my mane of blonde hair, using it simply as a handle, a device to pull my head to and fro, demonstrating to me the pace that he required of me.
It was hard work, and painful on my neck, but I compliantly accelerated to the rhythm that he demanded, his male member deep now in the back of my throat. I looked up at him once more, and saw his eyes, hard and masterful, dark brown, staring back down at me.
I felt another surge of moisture and a thrilling shudder pervade my naked body. When previously performing in this manner, I had always been able to suck and lick at my own pace. The English boys that I had known had hardly dared to breathe whilst I serviced them, almost as if they were in fear of annoying me somehow. Coach Lafitte, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and demanded simply that I supply it. And my whole future depended upon how well I pleased him!
I sucked eagerly, even devotedly, using my tongue and lips for all I was worth, concentrating on giving him as much pleasure as I possibly could. My head bobbing back and forth, my mouth gobbling and throat gurgling. My pert breasts jiggling fitfully with every vigorous jab of his thrusting, athletic hips.
There were electrifying tremors of excitement deep inside me now, perverse feelings of a kind that I had never felt before. Not being able to use my hands made my task more difficult, more onerous, yet somehow more exciting, more thrilling, more submissive, and even more appropriate, and I worked yearningly and sensuously, pleasuring him deep in my mouth and throat.
As I began to near breaking point, aghast at the possibility of finding myself climaxing whilst servicing him, I felt his huge manhood twitch and jerk, with the grunts coming from his throat suddenly turning louder and more urgent.
Then, to my joy and relief, he erupted - thick, viscous fluid pumping imperiously into the back of my begging throat. I struggled to take in his copious discharge, so warm and salty and masculine against my little lapping tongue.
"Swallow it, girl," he said, casually, "All of it."
I had never previously been given such a command. The English boys had always allowed me to spit out their ejaculate. Yet I was so desperate to please and obey this masterful man, that I tried frantically to swallow every drop of his male juice, looking up at him obediently from my knees as I did so, trying to show him my willingness to comply with his orders as I gulped it all down. Spurt after spurt flowed into me and despite my best efforts the warm fluid began leaking from the corners of my mouth, dribbling down my chin and onto the smooth white mounds of my bare breasts.
Coach Lafitte continued to pump his hips back and forth until every last drop of his semen had either disappeared down my throat, or was on my body. Only then did he release his iron grip of my blonde hair and ease his still twitching member from between my widely parted lips.
I remained where I was, kneeling before him, his semen running down me. I felt as if I could no longer as much as move without his express permission and I anxiously awaited his assessment of my performance. Had I done well enough that he would agree to sign my replacement visa application?
He took my blonde hair once more and, casually, as if my tresses were nothing more than a cloth or a rag, used them to wipe his member clean of my saliva and stray drops of his man juice.
It was such an offhand manner in which to use my prized locks, which mean more to me than anything, and I know that I should have been terribly horrified and offended about it, and yet I found it absolutely thrilling. My only regret and concern was that he hadn't paid any attention whatsoever to my own sex, now practically throbbing with desire, wet and hot, as if beseeching the penetration of a man.
My own desires seemed basically irrelevant to Coach Lafitte, as once he had completed wiping himself on my hair, he simply pulled up his zip.
"Well, Miss Pye," he said, "You certainly give very good head and most of the coaching staff agree that you're the hottest little number on the squad this year. Furthermore you can't even spell your own name correctly on an important form. From all of that I would say that you're definitely cheerleader material, wouldn't you?"
From my knees I looked down, blushing. Did this mean that he would sign?
"Sir, yes, Sir." I said meekly. I didn't know what else to say.
"Well, you can get up now and I'll sign your application."
I felt tears of gratitude prick my blue eyes. I picked up the discarded towel, rose to my feet, and wrapped it tightly around myself once more.
"Sir, thank you, Sir."
He scrawled a signature on a form. I saw my picture on it, and various of my details.
"I'll inform you when your new visa comes through. In the meantime, please bear in mind that you are technically here in America illegally. Do not attempt to leave the country. or have any dealings with the police or customs. You can't afford any more slip-ups - you are on your last chance now. Is that clear, Miss Pye?"
"Sir, yes, Sir. I promise i won't let you down, Sir," I had never been in any sort of trouble with the authorities, and certainly didn't expect to start now.
"See that you don't, girl. Don't bother closing the door on your way out, I am now leaving."
"Sir, Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," I replied, and walked slowly back to the changing rooms, my mind in a whirl of conflicting emotions.
Behind me I heard him leave his office and walk away in the opposite direction to the staff car park.
I was practically on fire with desire.
