Coach Williamson was in his late 30s. He was balding, in good shape, but on the short side and hardly ever seemed to smile. But we loved him because he had a total desire to make our girls football team the most successful in the city. I didn’t know it when I joined the squad, but Coach Williamson also had a dirty secret that he shared with most of the team members, one on one after practice.As it turned out, it was 9 inches long, and completely insatiable. And it almost cost us the league title.
That whole season, we’d been gaining on the leaders. We started slow. For some reason our blonde striker wasn’t always herself in front of goal for the first half. Then again, our other striker could hardly move after half time, so we struggled to score goals.We talked about what was going wrong, and why our key players couldn’t perform when we needed them. The girls turned red, tried to explain their tiredness as due to illness or the time of the month, and we just got on with things.
After one game, Coach took me to one side. It had been a close game, and I’d missed a couple of chances. My legs ached and I was still covered in sweat from the match. I just wanted to slip into the hot changing room bath, but I knew that Coach needed to speak to me. I thought that he just wanted to discuss tactics or my shooting technique. But I was wrong. He was only interested in one thing – casual encounters with girls. The other girls had finished bathing and were leaving the changing rooms. A couple of them looked at me as they left, with a glint in their eye and a swagger in their step. What did that mean? I thought to myself, feeling a wetness between my legs that wasn’t sweat. I seem to have a sixth sense for sex. When men want it, I can feel it minutes before anything happens. I guess you can just tell. Now, my senses went into overdrive. “Look, Sarah, how do you think the game went today?” Asked Coach Williamson, leading me into the bathroom and holding onto my shoulders gently from behind. We stopped in front of the still steaming bath, which was big enough for three or four players to bathe. As I stopped, Coach’s momentum took him into my behind and I felt his cock, rock hard and massive. It slipped downwards and then up again almost imperceptibly. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised by its size. I love big cocks, and after a game, I experience a kind of erotic high that usually only masturbation can ease. Maybe this happens to all girls, and Coach knew it.“We played well” I stammered, turning to face Coach, “But you could do better?” He said, almost commandingly. “Yes, whatever you want” I replied, kneeling and pulling down his jogging trousers. “Anything that’s necessary” I murmured. I knew what he wanted.His cock must have been over 9 inches actually, and thick. It filled my mouth naturally, and at first I could hardly breathe. I didn’t care whether my team-mates had left. All I wanted was his penis inside me, it didn’t matter where.
After a few minutes going down on him. He lifted my head towards him and gently pulled me to my feet. He removed my kit, and I could hardly respond. I couldn’t seem to move normally, such was my desire and anticipation of pleasure. “The bath is still warm” he said, “Let’s get in.” In a few seconds, we were in the bath, water was all over the floor, sent tumbling in waves by our bodies during our pervert casual encounter. My head slipped underwater as he thrusted, then rose again like a ship in a storm. It didn’t feel like a cock inside me any more. It felt like a drug – sending me to ecstasy. It was like scoring a goal. But better. Much better. When he finished, he came in the water, mixing his semen with the bubbles and the steam. We held each other for a few minutes, letting our heart rates fall back to normal. “That was amazing” was all I could say. “If you miss so many chances next time, that will be the last after match training session you receive from me” said Coach. He wasn’t joking. That was how he had motivated us to improve. He was fucking the whole team, methodically, brutally. All of them were playing with memories of his cock stretching their pussies, sending them into ecstasy. And now I would be too.
Next week was going to be a title decider. We all arrived at the match eager with anticipation. We could feel the rewards that Coach Williamson would give us when we scored and lifted the trophy. Each one of us, I’m sure, had one thing on her mind – casual encounters. But by the time the game kicked off, Coach was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t turned up, and we were in agony. His deputy, a young guy called Steve, had run through the tactics and picked the team, but nobody had much respect for Steve. He seemed sexless, empty, even if he knew about football, he didn’t know much about women. So we started the game, and we struggled. The other team attacked and attacked. Scoring once and then twice. By half-time, we were two goals down and in chaos. None of us had any energy in our play. We seemed lost without Coach Williamson. As we trudged into the changing room, the mood was depressing. One of the girls actually told Steve to “fuck off” when he tried to comfort her. We all discussed what we could do. None of us wanted to admit the reason for our success. Then, five minutes before heading out for the second half, we heard a voice from the bathroom. “Girls, come in here.” It said. It was the Coach. When we got there, he was standing naked, with the biggest erection I’d ever seen. Sex toys were all over the floor. There was some sort of torture rack, a flat screen TV with pornographic movies in their cases, and what looked like eleven nurses outfits all ready to wear. “Look. I wanted to see if you had it in you to win without me. But let’s face it, this team is about more than football. Go out there and do your best and, if you win, this room will be yours to do what you want.” If it was anyone else, it would have been ridiculous. But it wasn’t. Seeing him there with his cock and his party all setup for casual encounters sent us into overdrive. We couldn’t be stopped. After every goal, we were practically fucking in front of the goal posts. Each tackle brought grunts of pleasure. And at the final whistle, we ran to the changing rooms victorious, our football kit ripped and lying on the grass. He was easily the best coach I ever had and it was the best casual encounter I ever had too.
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