The Basetball Coach

Coach Mulligan wasn't your usual balding, middle aged man with a pot belly. He was about 30, tall, muscular without being a brick shithouse, and above all, handsome. He had a perfectly trimmed beard, and near symmetrical features - but it was his eyes that drew me in, seduced me with their blue-sea depth and made me lust...

'ANNA! PASS THE BALL!'

I heard the bellow and was snapped out of my daydream, right back smack in the middle of our college basketball playoff game against Arizona State. Fuck. What was I thinking, lusting after Coach at such an important moment. No time to dwell on it now though, PASS!

At the half, Coach pulled me to one side and put his hands on my shoulders. God...his hands, so close to my throat. It made it hard to focus on what he was saying.

"You're lost out there! What's got into you. Anna you're my best player, I need you!"

But all I heard was 'Anna' and 'I need you'.

'I need you too Coach!' I blurted out before I realised what I was saying.

He started, his mouth slightly open, visibly shocked at what I'd uttered - and something else. Did I detect a glimmer of something in his eye...something devilish?

But it was gone so quick I may have imagined it.

He rubbed his hands down my arms and shook me. 'Get your head in the game Anna, or I'll have to sideline you. Now go and get a pack of ice round your neck!'

Coach twisted me round, and as he did his hand brushed ever so lightly on my breast. It was probably an accident, but my heart leapt at the contact, and I could feel my nipple hardening against my cotton shirt.

As I jogged away, embarrassed at my sudden heat, I tilted my head back. This time, I was sure: he was definitely checking out my ass beneath my short pleated sports-skirt. My heart did a somersault and didn't stop turning. It was still pounding as I sat down in the locker room with a cold towel over my shoulders.

----

I had had people ogle me before. It didn't usually bother me. At 19 years old, I was a fairly attractive girl with long brown hair usually tied back in a ponytail. I was a petite 5 foot 1 but with curvy features. My boobs were a simple B-cup and perky, firm and bouncy. More than once I'd won volleyball points because boys on the opposite team were just staring at my chest jiggling as I set for my team. This coupled with the fact that I didn't always wear a bra, so my nipples would show through my shirt. On especially hot days, the boys didn't seem to get much done.

But it was my ass I was most proud of. Curvy and tight, it was a good two handfuls, and looked especially good in tight leggings. Which, of course, I wore as much as possible. I'm a firm believer in showing off what you've got, and teasing dumbstruck boys is just an added bonus.

I was fairly sure my ass was the reason the gymnastics team I joined first year of college had always had such a good crowd cheering us on at competitions (it certainly wasn't my acrobatic talents, which by my standards were average at best).

Nevertheless, to have my basketball coach staring at my ass, in such a way, not even trying to hide it, was outrageous and made me quite weak at the knees.

We lost the game (37-54, ouch) so on the trudge back to my dorm I had little to distract myself from thinking about Coach. At one point in the 4th quarter, he'd dropped his notes and had to squat down to pick them back up. My view, from just inside the 3-point line, was *tremendous*. Tight against his basketball shorts, the shape of his ass had imprinted itself in my mind. I felt sort of dazed thinking about it really. As I fumbled with my keys I wondered to myself - am I a whore? Or a slut even? I always got those two confused in my mind. Maybe I was both.

It didn't matter, I told myself. I needed to put him and his tight ass out of my mind, concentrate on my game and studies. It was wrong to be thinking about a member of staff like this! It was completely taboo, and almost certainly against college rules. And with that, as I pushed open my bedroom door I had a smile on my face, as I realised I was stronger than my sex-drive.

I was still smiling 25 minutes later as I gasped out "Coach!" in the shower, my juices pumping down my legs as my orgasm exploded. Legs quivering, I sank to my knees, water flowing over my head and neck, with one hand still softly rubbing my soft pink pussy, murmuring nonsense to the bathroom wall.

Drat. This getting over Coach business was going to be harder than I thought.

(Part 2 coming soon!)