Coach Me

by Lulu Pratt

  We’d all spent the bulk of the day with the team, doing pretty much what Simon advised — a light workout, then lots of food. In between those two activities, we just shot the shit.

  But now it was eight, and the four of us had decided it was time to start getting ready for bed. We’d leave for the game tomorrow at six in the morning.

  Well, they’d decided it was bedtime. My night was just getting started.

  “It’s your turn to use the bathroom,” Sharon-Ann called out to me. Perfect.

  I snatched some of the lingerie out of my bag and slipped it into the folds of my hotel robe. Not all hotels gave us robes, so this was a special treat. Going into the bathroom, I immediately locked the door, shucked the robe and began the process of putting on the silky bits.

  Did that go here? Or did it go there? And what was this buckle for? Was that supposed to do this, or that?

  I didn’t have much time before they realized something was up, so I hastened my pace until suddenly it was all on and at least superficially secure.

  I turned to look at myself in the mirror, and was momentarily stunned.

  Is that me? I wondered.

  Because the woman looking back was a firecracker. I’d put on a deep red, silk demi-cup bra that had black-lace scalloping around the edges, and red underwear so small it seemed almost inaccurate to call it underwear. Around my waist was wrapped a matching garter belt that stood in gorgeous contrast to the abrupt curve of my larger hips. To finish it off, I rolled the stockings up my legs, letting their lovely fabric embrace my flesh. Using a trick Grace had taught me when we first purchased the goodies — I thought of her now with a pang, and how much she’d enjoy this moment — I hooked the stockings into the garters.

  For maybe the first time in my life, I knew without a doubt that I was sexy. Not some little girl playing at sexuality, but really, undeniably hot.

  The outfit was only missing one thing — heels. Which I’d left in the bedroom.

  Sighing, I put the robe back on, opened the bathroom door and entered the room. Here’s hoping they didn’t notice the sheer black tights under my robe. I wasn’t sure how I could possibly explain that away.

  “Hey Riri,” I said to the other girl, who was lounging in bed. “You can use the bathroom now.”

  She hopped out of the sheets, saying, “Great, thanks,” and scurrying off.

  Grace and Sharon-Ann were also tucked in bed, playing on their computers and not doing much of anything. Grace and I were sharing a bed, like usual, and she yawned sleepily and asked me:

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  I shook my head a little too much, and replied, “I have to go downstairs to the hotel shop and get tampons.”

  She said, “Oh, don’t bother, I have some.”

  “I need the special kind. Thanks, though,” I replied.

  The flicker in Grace’s eyes told me she knew something was up. “What special kind?” she asked. “You don’t use a special kind.”

  “It’s a really heavy flow today,” I explained, the lie almost getting stuck between my teeth. It was almost physically painful to lie to Grace, my closest friend.

  Her eyes were sad, but her tone was cheery as she accepted my obvious fabrication. “Okay,” Grace replied. “Have fun!”

  I wanted to apologize, to say I’m sorry, to tell her everything — but instead, I subtly grabbed my heels from my bag, tucked them into the pockets of the robe, and slipped out into the hall.

  And was immediately confronted by Beth, who was also in the hallway.

  “Hi,” she twittered. “What’s up?”

  “Oh nothing,” I said, and repeated the lie I’d told Grace, “just going to get some tampons.”

  She looked at my feet and asked, “In stockings?”

  Fuck. How was I going to worm my way out of this one?

  “Uh, yeah. They’re good for… circulation.”

  Beth, not the brightest of the bunch, looked at me with surprise and exclaimed, “Wow, that’s so cool! I guess you learned that being pre-med, huh?”

  Oh man, was I about to tell her a lie that would literally change her already minimal understanding of anatomy?

  Guess so, because I responded, “Yup, sure did.”

  She smiled guilelessly and bid me good night. Jeez, close call.

  My heart pounding, I screwed my courage to the sticking place and continued to make my way down the hall, counting the numbers on the door as I looked for Simon’s room, and silently cursing myself for not locating it earlier in the day, when it would’ve been less conspicuous.

  At last, I found his room. I was just about to pull my heels out of my robe when a voice behind me said:

  “Why are you at Simon’s door?”

  I pivoted around and saw Neidin, her head peeking out of her own room. She looked confused, but not suspicious.

  “Er, I just had some last-minute thoughts for the game tomorrow,” I returned.

  She checked her phone, and then said, “At this hour?”

  I nodded, and she added, “Why didn’t you just text him?”

  Great question, Neidin, great question. Shit, how was I going to dodge this bullet? I thought quickly, and responded:

  “Because I had to draw out some plays on paper.”

  There. That was a good answer.

  Not good enough, though, because Neidin queried, “Why didn’t you just sketch them out in Snapchat, take a screenshot and send them to him?”

  Now this was an opportunity for, at last, an ounce of truth.

  “Because that sounded about ten times harder than just walking down the hall.”

  She shrugged in agreement. “Fair enough. Okay, g’night.”

  Neidin closed the door, and I was safe — well, safe-ish. Three different people had asked me what I was up to, and I’m not sure any of them had fully bought my story. I didn’t think they’d do anything about it, but I was also certain I’d raised suspicions. That was going to have to be a problem for Future Me.

  Checking once, then twice, to make sure that the hallway was empty, I slipped on my heels and knocked furtively at Simon’s door.

  The door instantly slid open to reveal an illuminated paradise.

  Chapter 23

  Simon

  While the girls had spent the day doing God knows what — hopefully resting and not doing anything too stupid — I had spent the time setting up.

  My first time with Catya had been remarkably special, of course, but the setting had been… less than romantic. A forest was nice and all, but it was a bit barbaric. I wanted to treat Catya like a lady, the way she ought to be treated.

  So I’d littered the entire room in rose petals, and brought with me dozens of votives, each of which I’d carefully lit that evening. It looked like something out of The Bachelor — a program I never reference if I can help it, but that was an accurate description of the scenery I’d wrought. I hadn’t done something properly romantic before, not really. Fucking someone on a forest was closer to my usual style.

  But Catya brought out something in me, made me want to go old school.

  And the look on her face when she entered the room was worth it.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped. “It’s… it’s…”

  “Do you like it?” I asked.

  She whirled to me, and I could see that her eyes were glinting with tears of happiness.

  “Simon,” she said, “I love it. This is amazing. Thank you. Nobody’s ever done something like this for me before.”

  I stepped closer and took her face in my hands before replying, “You should have something romantic done for you every day. You deserve that, love.”

  For a moment, I hoped she’d understand that ‘love’ was a common term used to refer to someone in British parlance, and didn’t actually mean “I’m in love with you.” But then again, even if she misunderstood… well, it was still accurate. Because I was starting to suspect that I was, you know — in love with her.

  She stepped awa
y from me, moving backwards, and I worried that she was upset over my phrasing. I was about to speak when she uttered:

  “I have a surprise for you, too.”

  Without warning, she flung open her robe and let it drop in the corner behind the door.

  Well, fuck.

  She was kitted out in incredible lingerie from head to toe, all the way from the tops of her silky red bra straps to the point of her black stilettos. Catya looked as if she’d just walked off the Victoria’s Secret runway after putting the other models to shame and stepped into my meager hotel room.

  “Holy shit,” I said aloud. “You’re beautiful.”

  She looked down at her body, as if she too were admiring its dips and curves. She reached down to fix a seam on her tights, then slowly rolled back up, giving me a full view of the way her assets moved in the low light of the candles.

  “Do you want me?” she asked, her voice low.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “How?”

  I let my gaze rove over her, deciding just how I’d like to take Catya, thinking of all the different ways I could pleasure her.

  “Take your bra off,” I instructed. She reached behind quickly to unclasp it, but I said, “No, do it slowly.”

  Understanding, she made eye contact with me and never broke it as she deliberately undid the bra. She held her arm across her chest as she took the bra off, careful to never show me her nipples. Then, when the bra was completely done with, she moved her arm, revealing her perfect brown nipples, which were fully erect. I swallowed hard.

  “Touch them,” I managed to say. “Touch your nipples.”

  Following my orders, she took one nipple between two small fingers and squeezed it timidly, as though she were afraid to be in such close communion with her body.

  “Pinch it harder,” I said, and she complied. The pinch made her gasp with delight, and a flush spread over her body, a color that lit up against the red of the outfit. I was the one giving directions, but she was in total control. The balance of power was precarious and hot.

  How long could I watch this for before I came in my pants? Not much longer, my brain offered. But I was having too much fun to stop.

  “Take off your… belt,” I said, indicating the thing around her waist. She expertly undid a series of intricate clasps, and threw it to the side. All that was left now were stockings, heels and a very tiny pair of underwear.

  I knew exactly what I wanted her to do. “Turn around, bend over and slowly, slowly pull your underwear down,” I ordered.

  Catya turned, never taking her eyes from me until she at last pivoted her neck to match her body’s alignment. She then bent over, red silk flashing from between her thighs. She hooked two thumbs in the edges of the panty and slid it down her ass, one single millimeter at a time. My cock strained against its cotton sheath as she at last revealed her perfect pussy, calling to me out from the gap between her legs.

  I wanted to cross the room right now and put my mouth against that sensitive flesh and lick her to completion, but I held back.

  She dropped the underwear to the ground, where it pooled around her feet like a crimson lagoon.

  Still leaning over, she asked me through her legs, “Now the stockings?”

  I shook my head. “Leave those on.”

  With that, I finally gave into my temptation. I strode across the room, grabbed her ass, and pressed my mouth to her lips — her pussy lips, that is.

  She moaned with pleasure, bent over at the waist and helpless to the flicking of my tongue. I made circles, squares, the whole alphabet on her lips, and felt her slickness against my dry mouth. She became shaky on her heels, her legs quivering with pleasure, so I laid on my back and pulled her ass down to meet me, until she was sitting on my face and I was eating her pussy like it was a late night snack. Her taste was even better than I remembered from in the forest.

  “Yes, yes,” she moaned. “Yes, Simon, don’t stop.”

  She ground her pussy against my mouth, using me as her own personal tool of pleasure. Her heels were inches from my ears, their lethal points caging my head.

  She leaned forward, bracing herself against my legs as I quickened my pace, thrusting my tongue in and out, then focusing on her clit, licking it over and over.

  “I’m gonna come,” she whispered.

  I responded by pulling her closer, then reaching my hand over her thigh and around to her front, where my finger latched onto the small pearl that was her clit. I was eating her out from behind and plucking her from the front.

  Catya was helpless, stimulated beyond belief, and at my complete mercy.

  She cried out my name, then doubled forward, her body quaking as orgasm after orgasm rolled through her. I kept my tongue and finger in place, working her over, forcing her to a second orgasm. Her screams were vigorous enough to snuff out a couple of nearby votives.

  At last, she sat up from her place on my knees, then untangled our limbs so that she could turn around and face me.

  “Okay,” she said, her face red and bosom heaving. “Your turn.”

  The rest of the evening was a blur. A delicious blur.

  We had sex on the bed, on the floor, in the shower, up against the sink, and possibly other places that I’ve since forgotten, as there were just too many for one man to remember. There were also too many orgasms for one man to remember, and certainly more than any one man deserves. We came again and again and again in each other’s arms, our stamina stretching into the wee hours as though we were on meth or GHB. But no, it was a stronger drug — sexual attraction.

  I touched Catya in all the ways she yearned to be touched. We learned things about one another’s bodies that I’d remember for the rest of my life, played back like a movie on my deathbed — the exact spot on her ass where she enjoyed being slapped, the place on her lower back where my hand should go, the rhythm her pussy responded to. It felt as though I were Indiana Jones, discovering within an ancient temple the secrets of life and of pleasure. Had I even lived before today? I certainly hadn’t fucked, not really, until now.

  At last, we landed in bed and rolled off one another, panting and heaving, our eyes staring up at the stucco ceiling as we caught our breath. In the corner of my vision, I could see her chest rising and falling, the way it had after we’d run through the woods.

  “Gatorade?” I asked.

  She nodded, and I reached over to my night stand, grabbed a bottle of the blue drink, and threw it in her direction. Catya took a few gulps, then passed it back to me, and I in turn drank deeply from it.

  “Good work,” she said mildly as I held the bottle to my lips.

  I lowered it, and replied, “Why thank you, madam. My pleasure.”

  “Oh no, no, the pleasure was all mine,” she grinned. “You know, if coaching doesn’t work out, you could always be a, like, love guru, or sex therapist.”

  “You mean like somebody who fucks people to make their problems go away?” I chuckled. “I don’t know if that’s in my wheelhouse.”

  She shrugged. “I mean, your dick just improved my mental health, probably even cleared my skin, so, I dunno. Look into it.”

  I let out one more guffaw, then we went silent — not an awkward silence, but the kind that happens between two people who know each other so well, they don’t even have to speak to convey what they’re thinking.

  Reluctantly, I sat up to put the Gatorade away in the side table. As I was screwing the cap back on, Catya shrieked.

  “What, what is it?” I asked, concerned at her sudden outburst, stark as it was against the silence of only moments ago.

  “Three! It’s three!” she cried.

  Shit.

  We had lost complete track of time, and now we had approximately three hours until we needed to board the bus for Catya’s game. How could I have let this happen? Oh my God, I was the most irresponsible person on earth, a terrible coach, a horrible friend and an even worse lover. I wished for a hair shirt and a cat o’tails with which to op
en up my back and bleed penitence.

  “I’m so sorry,” I apologized, desperate to make things right somehow. By way of solution — not that anything was going to solve this, but worth a shot — I offered, “You can stay here, if that helps, and then we’ll just—”

  “Simon, I can’t possibly stay. Are you serious?” she interrupted. “I know you don’t understand how hard it was for me to even get here, but I nearly got caught by like three different girls. And who the hell knows how I’ll explain getting back this late to my roommates. It’s not like they won’t notice, I was supposed to share a bed with Grace. How did I let this get so out of hand? What have I done?”

  She looked near tears. I got out of bed to join her in the center of the room, and moved to put an arm around her shoulder. She shrugged it off, which stung, and said:

  “I can’t, Simon, not right now.” She shook her head, angry and scared.

  I’d known when I was about to do it that I shouldn’t try to touch her, but some instinct in me just wanted to protect Catya, to sooth and hold her, to kiss her boo-boos and put on emotional Band-Aids covered in unicorns. But that was selfish, trying to ‘help’ in a way I’d known wouldn’t be helpful. Again, I longed for a way to fully and painfully punish myself.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, looking around the floor of the room, which was covered in now burnt out candles and piles of rose petals. “There’s too many roses, I can’t see it.”

  Hours ago, those roses had brought tears of happiness to her eyes. She’d loved the gesture. Now, it was all spoiled by my own carelessness.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “My robe, obviously,” she said, looking under a chair, then under the bed.

  “Hold on.”

  I picked the discarded garment up from the corner and brought it to Catya, hands outstretched like it was a humble offering.

  “Thanks,” she said briskly, slipping her arms into the robe and tying it in an efficient knot. “I’ll get the underwear some other time. It doesn’t matter.”

  With no other words, she moved to the door of the room, opened it a crack and checked the hallway. Having ascertained that the coast was clear, she slipped out, and disappeared. My door closed with a dull thud.