*Note: None of this is true, it's all a work of fiction. Everyone here is of age or older. Thanks for reading, and would love to see reviews!*
***
I used to be an Olympic athlete, and I was good. For a few years it was a wild ride full of sweet sweet pussy, until I started getting older and hurt my knee.
I used to fuck the bodies of nubile volleyball players on the daily. But I wasn't around young players anymore, and my roguish charms didn't work as well. Instead of a suave hunk sweeping them off their feet, girls saw me as a creepy old man leering at them in a bar.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still relatively in shape, but I have a beer belly and a 40 year old can't pull like a 20-30 year old. I hadn't been laid in 6 months when my friend Swanson gave me an idea.
You see, he diagnosed my problem as reduced activity and self-imposed isolation. He insisted I start a volleyball league, since my home town didn't have one. My first instinct was to dismiss it, but the more I thought about it, the more I warmed up to the concept. I wasn't in for putting that much work in, but I could do something else...
I did research, and there were a few YA volleyball leagues set-up in neighbouring cities. I applied to be a rec coach for the more serious female and co-ed teams. I figured with those placements I could pull some hot moms. I eventually got a few interviews and was instantly offered a position. My record spoke for itself.
That's how I became the Head Coach for an all girls 18-24 year old division volleyball team.
2 weeks later, I drove down and the old coach was ready to show me the ropes and introduce the team. As soon as I saw them, I knew I didn't want to settle for their moms. These girls were gorgeous.
I watched them for a while, and then picked the slowest girl in class. Mentally of course. She was also extremely sheltered, which I learned from her parental interactions. Perfect.
I told Mary I was concerned about her being one of the youngest on the team, at only 18. I wanted her to be able to play on par with the other girls, and used it as a reason to suggest additional classes. She readily agreed. I knew from the moment she joined that she wanted to go pro, her family wanted her to go pro. I was going to use that to my advantage.
I booked a time for us to meet, and waited patiently. Finally the day came.
---- Day Of -----
I greeted her eagerly and ushered her into in the coach's room. I told her we'd do balance tests first because that was typically a weakness of new players. I had also asked her not to wear any "performance enhancing sports gear" or the tests wouldn't be accurate, and that I'd provide her with clothing myself.
I had asked for her sizes a few days earlier, and made a show of triple checking her measurements. I was going to get her expensive "custom clothing" for the day. I insisted on paying, citing it as an investment in her career. Mary was extremely excited.
When she walked in, I gave her tight crop top I had purchased for 4 dollars. It had spaghetti straps, and I predicted it could cut off just under her boobs. For her bottoms, I got loose shorts. As she changed, I made a big show again about how my contact almost couldn't get them because of the notice I gave, and how in demand they were, but they came through due to my insistence.
I also gave her a pill to take, to help with the tests. This is where I actually had to pull some strings. A friend of mine was working on the female equivalent of Viagra, and I managed to get a few pills out of him just for this occasion. He estimated they'd take effect in ~30 minutes. The result would be a combination of increased arousal and a mellowing muscle relaxant. Exactly what I wanted.
I could immediately tell Mary was uncomfortable with the clothing when she walked about, but after what was probably an internal debate, decided to put on a happy front and thanked me profusely.
I had purposely bought a smaller size and the top was stretched tightly across her boobs, her nipples plainly visible. it barely covered the bottom of her breasts, and from where I was sitting, I could see substantial under boob.
The shorts were too loose, in my hopes of catching a glance of her pussy, but I figured it wouldn't matter either way. I'd get them off eventually.
I told her I was going to take a day one shot and asked her to smile. She did so awkwardly. The flash shone right through her shirt - score.
After that, I had her do her "first test" composed of 30 jumping jacks, and asked she do it blindfolded to measure balance. I set up my own recording equipment once her vision was securely obscured.
She then started jumping, and by the second one, Mary appeared to realize that she wouldn't be able to do 10 without her top falling. She quickly paused to pull it up. I sharply asked her what she was doing, and she shakily mentioned the drooping top.
I scolded her asking if she had given me the correct measurements, and began to complain about the sizing and their expensive nature. Eventually, I told her not to touch it and to power through. We could check her measurements later.
She reluctantly agreed. By jump 8 the thin spaghetti straps were no match for her enormous breasts, and had allowed the material to pull down and expose the tops of her tits. When one of her nipples slipped out on the 9th jump, it was too much for her. She stopped abruptly. I pushed my chair over, making myself angry. "Mary, I have a 30 minute routine to carefully monitor and access you. I can't have you stopping because the measurements you gave me were wrong. Suck it up and keep going. Start again. "
She sniffled, and began jumping. Her boobs pooped out completely by jump 4. By jump 17 her shorts started to slip. I called out that she should keep going and try her best.