League of Lust

In the dwindling days of late summer, as the sun began its descent behind the towering stadium, Coach Armand Reynolds stood at the edge of the field, a symphony of whistles and thuds enveloping the air. At 28, he was among the youngest head coaches in collegiate football, yet his eyes held a depth of experience that transcended his years. This wasn't just any team he was coaching—it was his own alma mater, a place where memories of his glory days mingled with the aspirations he now held for his players.

The field, once a stage for his personal triumphs, now became the canvas upon which he sought to sculpt a new narrative. He felt the weight of responsibility, not just to win games, but to shape young minds, instilling in them the values of discipline, teamwork, and resilience—lessons that football had taught him long before he stepped into the coaching role. He felt the weight of tradition intertwining with the winds of change sweeping through the sport. His gaze lingered on the players as they executed drills with precision. As he observed the players, a wave of nostalgia washed over Armand, carrying him back to his own college days—the thrill of victory, the bitter taste of defeat, and the unbreakable bond formed with teammates who had become brothers in the pursuit of a shared dream.

He saw himself as a young, ambitious player, filled with an unbridled passion for the game and an insatiable hunger for success. Andrew felt a rush of adrenaline as he reminisced about the game against Rushton's bitter rivals, Verdell University, where he sprinted for 40 yards, dodging defenders on his way to scoring the game winning touchdown.

But amid the nostalgia, his thoughts took an unexpected turn, veering towards the more colorful aspects of his college life. Armand Reynolds was a magnetic presence at Rushton, drawing the admiration and attention of many, especially the campus' female population. He represented a blend of athleticism and charm that was hard to resist. His on-field prowess was undoubtedly attractive, but it was his approachable nature and genuine kindness that endeared him to many. And his sex drive, penchant for eating pussy, and a cock that wasn't lacking in girth, length or any other category that engraved him into the memories of those who shared a "study session", a night, or a weekend with him.

Here he was, on the sidelines of the final practice before the start of the semester, as his players ran through the offensive packages he had spent years developing, with thoughts of fuckbuddies past dancing through his mind. At first, he tried to remain in the present. Yet, the allure of the past beckoned, its whispers growing louder as memories cascaded in.

The first name that passed through his mind was Lilyana Hawthorne.

He remembered her pillow-like tits softly jiggling as she lowered her soaking pussy down his shaft. She had grown up in a town near Rushton's campus, so they would fuck in her parent's house whenever they were out of town. Lilyana's parents were music afficionados and had the best speaker system Armand had ever listened to. He loved blasting whatever album he had in rotation at that moment while watching Lilyana decorate his cock with her juices. She was the first girl that he had ever smashed without a condom - whenever Armand was close to finishing, she would always cry out, "I want you to cum inside of me!" And he always did.

Then he remembered Soraya Abbasi.

They had met in a freshman survey class, before Armand became a star player. Soraya didn't know anything about football and that didn't really matter to Armand - she could take his whole cock down her throat, no questions asked, and took great pleasure in doing so. The thin dorm walls were no match for her voracious slurps and Armand would often get questions from his neighbors, asking if he had been vacuuming in the middle of the night. He never got to fuck her - she wanted to wait for a serious relationship and Armand, while incredibly gifted in many ways, had nothing to offer her in that department - but he always returned the favor by tongue fucking her sweet snatch.

Finally, he thought about Amara Deschamps.

Amara had been the grad student TA for a literature course on the Caribbean that Armand had taken as a senior. At first, Amara wouldn't show him the time of day. He couldn't blame her for that; even at Rushton, jocks were jocks and he was sure that she had low expectations for the star of the football team. But she started to warm up to him when he showed up to her office hours with questions, first about the books, then about her research and her interests. One thing led to another, and soon they were meeting in the depths of the stacks, where Armand would give Amara vigorous backstrokes as she held on to the bookshelves for dear life, desperately trying to not moan in order to not alert the security guards who occasionally made the rounds or the students working near by that she was getting her back blown out by one of her students.

"Hey, Coach! You with us?" The voice belonged to his assistant coach and old college buddy, Ryan. Tall and built like a linebacker, Marcus Thompson stood beside Armand, a grin playing on his lips as he tried to catch his friend’s attention.

Marcus was the yin to Armand’s yang, his closest confidant and the embodiment of unyielding loyalty. Clad in team gear, his vibrant energy and easygoing demeanor were a stark contrast to Armand’s introspective nature. With an exasperated chuckle, Marcus nudged Armand gently, drawing him back to the present.

"Earth to Coach! The team's looking sharp, don’t you think?" Marcus' voice held a hint of amusement, his eyes twinkling with the shared memories of their college days.

Armand blinked, shaking off the remnants of nostalgia. He met Marcus’ gaze and offered a faint smile, grateful for the anchor his friend provided in moments when the past threatened to overpower the present.

"Yeah, they're looking good," Armand replied, his mind slowly readjusting to the present, though traces of his reminiscence lingered in the recesses of his thoughts.