Page 40 of Coach Me

Her walls were squeezing my fingers so hard I thought of a Venus fly trap. Whatever — I’d gladly be eaten alive by Catya’s pussy.

She grasped my hair, and lifted her lips up to my ear to whisper, “Fuck me.”

I grinned, and thrust my fingers in deeper just one more time.

She groaned, “You have to fuck me right now, like right now. Okay?”

Smirking at her total need for me, I removed my fingers from her pussy and licked them clean with my tongue. Her eyes went wide, then slitted until they were almost closed, as if she were a jaguar who had scented her prey.

“You taste delicious,” I said. It was true. I’d always willingly eaten pussy, but never had the smell thrilled me until now. Maybe it was just her special blend of pheromones that locked perfectly into my nasal receptors. That would make sense — after all, we seemed to be made for one another.

She brought her mouth to mine once more, and the taste of her passed between us like a secret.

I pushed back, stood and snatched off my joggers, tossing them in the general direction of the pile of clothes that was growing around us by the minute. I loomed above Catya, and from this height, I could see her splayed out, American Beauty style, on the forest floor, her legs tucked against one another, her hips curving out in an S-shape. Could I be this lucky, me, a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, an ocean away from his home? My life wasn’t playing out as expected, and for that, I was eternally grateful.

“Hold on,” Catya said, her chin raising to the sky, eyes angling to meet my own.

“Is everything okay?” I inquired hurriedly, concerned that I might have crossed a line, one of many.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I just… you look so hot, or handsome, whatever you call it, and, and… I want to remember this.”

Laughing, I struck a pose, one leg to the side, hand resting on my chin in the position of The Thinker, and said, “Take a mental picture.”

Her hair was tangled with the leaves on the ground, but she didn’t seem to care as she held up her long, muscled arms and used her fingers to mime snapping a picture of me.

“Say cheese,” she joked, then, “click.”

You know how the Amish don’t allow pictures, because they believe photos capture a part of their soul? Well, Catya hadn’t even taken a real picture, but I knew that it had trapped some portion of me in her head forever, a fragment of myself that now belonged to her and I suspected it was one of many such fragments.

While I was busy wondering which part of myself I’d just ceded to her control, Catya commanded, in a faux-serious tone, “Now take that underwear off.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I replied.

I slipped my tight dark blue boxers down to my hip bones, and then very slowly past my groin, at last revealing my impressive dick. I took my hands away from the underwear for a moment, and grasped my cock in both hands, twisting them around the length of my shaft.

I took hold of the underwear once more and slid them completely off. I bent down, picked them up and then lazily threw the garment to the side. My entire naked body was on display for Catya’s pleasure, and hers alone.

“Wow,” she said, eyeing my cock.

Kneeling until I was hovering over her once more, my body straddling hers, I replied, “Yeah, you like it, baby?”

“How’d you manage to fit all that under one tiny towel?” she asked, genuinely interested.

I guffawed, and rather than answer her question, said, “Well, it wasn’t easy. Hiding a boner like this is challenging at the best of times.”

“You had one?” she asked, politely skirting around my use of the word. So ladylike.

“You bet.”

“Really?”

I leaned in closer, and replied, “Yes, really. And it was all your fault. If that towel had moved one centimeter, I would’ve been out of a job.”

She grinned, her eyes lighting up and her body flushing with delight.

“Do you wanna talk more about the towel,” I began, “or should I fuck you so hard you forget your own name?”

She playfully considered this for a moment, then said, “Hmm, I think the second. Yup, definitely the second.”

“Good answer.”

“Here, I don’t want to get pregnant,” Catya pulled a condom out of a hidden pocket in her PJs.

I made a bit of a show rolling it on as Catya was watching me hungrily. With one hand on my cock, I maneuvered my member until it just barely brushed against her opening, tickling the edges of her. She bit her lip, anxious to feel me, her hips subconsciously tilting up to force my dick inside her.

“I want you,” she whimpered, verbally affirming what had been written all over her face. “Please. Please just… fuck me. I need it.”

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