COACHING THE CHEERLEADER

College, Virgin, Young and Old, Butt-delight

Coach Roberts was so attentive. He always had my best interests at heart. He treated me like he would his daughter, had he had one. I suppose he was my substitute father figure, given my pricks absence since my parents break-up in early high school.

I was on the cusp of being appointed head cheerleader at the start of my senior year because of my diligent efforts throughout high school and college. So, it was shaping as the perfect present for my eighteenth birthday today before my big party tonight and Brad, the quarterback, finally getting my virginity.

For the anticipated good news, Coach Roberts told me to stay back after practice. Well, I think I knew what he had on his mind. He would praise my poise under pressure, team spirit, cooperative nature, willingness to learn, and obvious natural talents. I was a cheer princess in the making.

He saw the best in me. My hidden qualities exposed. I liked him for that. I didn't feel uncomfortable when he had said: 'See you in the change rooms in a while'.

It seemed natural for good private news, and after all, I treated him like a dad, and he was solicitous of my needs like a caring father.

We were a team.

I tidied my locker while waiting. I wondered why I suddenly wanted to make a good impression. I told myself it was that I wished for the head job.

I wanted him to think of me as a grown–up. I wasn't on an ego trip rooting for myself; I deserved the best because I had worked hard for it.

I had that; mmm, I wonder what he would think, as I had a pin-up from the local firefighter's charity fundraising calendar inside my locker. Brad, a tasteful Mr May, stripped to his waist, letting spray with a fire hose.

It was probably time to grow up and ask Mr Robert like I would a dad, what he thought of my Brad: Was he the right guy for me?

Or was he just another immature jock?

I could trust Mr Roberts with the big directions of my life.

I'm unsure why I turned and looked at my profile in the fullish mirror in the changing rooms.

Time on my hands.

Thoughts of Brad touching my nipples tonight after my party.

I wanted to look my best, better than my best, for my coach and what I was sure he would give me: the job I craved.

My long, now loosened brunette hair did compliment my Egyptian Blue cheer uniform. My cheer top was tight across my cute C cups, and my short skirt revealed my great thighs and my great flat tummy. I was a fit, good-looking lass and the perfect height for guys at five-six.

And my cornflower blue eyes were a softly matching compliment for my cheer uniform. So yeah, life was good, and I was looking good, and the goodies of life were coming my way today, courtesy of my coach. Well, Brad didn't know yet what he would enjoy giving me.

I was happy, so I cupped my hands under my tits — lifting them.

Geez, I looked great in profile.

I was hot.

I shouldn't have picked this moment while waiting, but I was distracted with my beautiful self and getting my confidence up for sex with Brad. It was a private girly get-your-self-belief-up moment in the female change rooms.

Oh, but I forgot in my haste to enjoy myself — Coach Roberts was coming in here, too.

Of course, Coach Roberts came in at that moment.

I saw him in the back of the mirror. I should have stopped preening myself, my hands still under my cupped, raised, pushed-up cute bust.

In that instant of selfish bodily delight, I saw my coach as more than a coach. He was male, ogling me. I realised he was enjoying me as a hot young woman.

I was suddenly aware of my sexual power and presence with any male.

Again, I should have stopped, but I didn't. Neither did my coach cough or call my name, but his hand rubbed his groin through his shorts as I pushed, lifted and separated my soft, fullish chest muffins under my tight cheer top.

I felt good. I was naughtily enjoying an audience for my body.

I wanted the head cheer role, but I didn't do what followed because of that. I was young and sexy and wanted to see how far I could tease my coach. I was mischievous because I believed he wouldn't cross the line.

After all, he was trapped in his coaching role. So I pretended he wasn't there, though I had caught his eye, and he knew I knew he was watching.

Still, I stretched and removed my cheer top like I was getting changed. I saw my girly assets in all their fleshy glory cupped nice and high in my white lacey bra in the change room mirror, and as I looked down at my softness and cleavage, I saw the boner in my coach's pants, too, courtesy of the mirror.

I put two of my fingers in my mouth and licked them, getting spit, then my fingers were flexing over my quickly hard nipple inside my bra cup. My teat was suddenly aching to be sucked though it had never been.

I stopped because I didn't want poor Coach Roberts creaming his pants.

And if I didn't stop, I didn't know what I might do next. However, I was so randy.

I reached for my school uniform top in my locker but never got there.

God, my coach was a fast-mover.

He was behind me and had my hands under his but back over my bra cups. He was kneading my fingers into my tits and pressing with his hands to push into my weighty malleable spongy chest, getting me aroused.

I moaned.

I couldn't help it.

I mean, I should have stopped him. I mean, he should have known better. I mean, I started it, but where was this going?

He popped both my breasts over my bra cups so quickly. I saw my pink nipples hard between his tweaking, rubbing fingers.

Fuck, it felt good.

Of course, it felt good when I touched them, but to have a guy touch them was sensational. I mean, my pussy got so wet so quickly between my legs while this was happening.

He coaxed my body into a sexual agreement. He kissed my neck. My earlobes. He turned me around and pushed me hard while still tweaking my nipples.

Then his mouth was down, kissing my breasts and sucking my nipples and pulling out my teats with his pursed lips. Then while not losing contact with my boobs, he had me on the extended bench between the lockers and my legs were parted so easily by his firm guiding hand.

I loved the attention to my inner thighs. My short cheer skirt was no defence against prying, teasing male fingers.

His hand rubbed over my thin white panties, pushing and manipulating my soft, trimmed mound. I was lost in my randy self.

Suddenly his fingers were inside my knickers, my mushy moist lipettes exposed to his finger play, my pussy wet and accepting of touch.

His finger was then sliding in and out of my slit so easily.

I softly moaned.

I was in the pleasure zone. I shut my eyes. I sighed and moaned. My pussy needed something hard in it fast.

However, it was my mouth that got his cock knob, and to my surprise, I opened my eyes. His big hard cock was all mine. My coach dropped his shorts and underwear right in front of me.

"Suck it, baby…suck it," he said.

I already basically was. I had mentally rehearsed this for Brad, but boy, did Coach Roberts have a huge stiff cock. I held it and sucked his head. He liked that. I liked it too. I enjoyed the taste and the mouth-filling girth of cock.

"Good girl, Verity," he said, then added with a groan, "I knew you were talented", as I sucked his cock backwards and forwards in my mouth.

Then, like a dexterously practised cheer manoeuvre, my legs were spread-eagled on the bench, and my knickers and cheer skirt were lying on the floor.

My manicured pubes and puffy pink opening were beckoning for cock, but I got a delicate, decadent, delving tongue licking me out, which was terrific.

My coach licked me out. My legs spread high and wide. My pussy greedily accepted each sweeping lick over and in my girly play hole and around my clitty. I repeatedly moaned in fulsome, explicit, open delight.

I wanted to be fucked.

Mr Roberts was on the bench beside me. He urged me to face away but sit on his cock. I spiked down with urgency on it. Nothing virginal or modest in my action. I craved cock.

I got my craving answered.

It was instantly addictive as he pushed my pussy up and down off his cock, holding my hips. I couldn't believe how sensationally powerful the pleasure felt in my body and how it expanded from my pussy and coursed up into my brain.

My pussy was incredibly receptive to his thrusting: so wet, so wet, a lush accommodating holding flesh tube of complete fem-satisfaction.

Before I knew it, I was in a cheer routine whir. I was urged up and manipulated by my coach and leaning over, holding the bench with my legs spread and my pussy so vulnerable.

But it wasn't my pussy that was helpless between my exposed arse cheeks; it was my pink puckered back crack.

My arse was being licked. I had never thought about my arse being licked, but I liked my arsehole being licked. It was instantly addictive. His tongue tip was rimming and prodding around my sensitive hole. Shards of pleasure were trilling through and around my anus. I felt naughty in the best of ways.

I expressed it as a girl should on her first time; "Oh my…oh yeah…oh fuck that's good…oh my…oh my…oh my god…oh…yah…yah…mmm…mmm…"

Endless degenerate fully arsehole degraded 'mmm's'.

As he eased a wet probing finger in and around my tight receptive delighted anus, I was in the delirium of pleasure that I didn't know my second hole could give.

"Orrgh…yes…yes…OrRGH fuck…yes…yes."

And as he spread me wider and inserted a second finger, I was base: "Arragh…Oh My God…oh fuck…oh fuck…oh yes…oh yes…"

My cute little arsehole had me pleading for a buggering; "Oh fuck my arse…fuck my arse…please fuck my arse."

My coach eased his cock head into my demanding back crack, and I was both assuaged and assaulted in equal proportions. The pleasure was mind-numbingly good and the wincing constriction strange.

It was like for something to be this badly good, it had to come with a penalty. I felt like I would burst my anus in happiness and from a flinching smarting.

Then his cock pummelled deeper, and my arse opening held his cock in a sensitive euphoria while I kept flinching like I had to explode back there.

My coach was in indecently deep, and I loved it. My arse was taking each hard thrust with absolute joy.

"Oh yeah…oh fuck me…oh fuck me…yeah ….yeah…mmm…mmmm."

Then panting grunts: "Orrgh …Urrgh…Arragh…OrRGH," as my arse was nailed like he was shooting into my butt with a nail gun.

Pressure, speed and penetration triggered my fulfilled response.

"Fuck, you have a great arse," he said as he drilled me.

All I could do was grunt.

I was enjoying the direction of my pleasure, straight in and up my arse.

My life had meaning only in a cock shaped arse. A pulsing perfect pleasure pinnacle. My butthole was getting the cock job it secretly craved.

"Fuck, you are one talented hussy," he added as I felt his cock jack and stiffen in me, and then he groaned and groaned.

The jacking jag made me go: "Orrgh. ooh, ooh!"

My arsehole was a smarting sweet slurry of cum slop as he eased out of me.

I felt both an ache and a total satisfaction at the same time in my butthole.

He turned me around and sat me down on the bench next to his sweat-soaked body.

I was warmly flushed.

"Oh, by the way," he said after he gave me a sweet peck on the cheek, "Verity, you deserve to be the head cheerleader this season."

He hesitated, then added, "And not just because your body is" he paused, searching for, I felt, a polite, nice coachword: "....sensational."

"Oh, Mr Roberts," I said back, "Don't be coy, you like my arse, admit it, it's okay to admit it…you love my hiney."

He touched my breast and then said, "Yeah, you're right. So why be polite about it? I like your arse. I love your tight crack, your gorgeous cock squeezing hiney."

"Mmm, that's better, "I said, flicking his relaxed cum stained cock; because I knew already my coach was getting my tight crack again, but in the meantime, Brad was getting it tonight.