“Coach… please…” I begged, my voice breaking, hoarse and desperate. I didn’t even know what I was pleading for—more pain, more stretch, or something bigger to fill the void he was creating.

He understood perfectly, his chuckle low and predatory. He withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, leaving me feeling empty and clenching around nothing. I heard the soft rustle of his sweatpants sliding down his muscular thighs, the fabric pooling at his ankles. 

Then the sharp tear of the foil packet, the crinkle of the condom wrapper echoing in the empty space. My heart pounded in my ears as I waited, ass presented to him, vulnerable and exposed....