Jan. Week 3: A Long Weekend-It was short (Luck: +10, Suspicion, +5)

Leah figured...well why not stay for a little bit. After all--she was soaking wet and Reed had gotten his rocks off and she was longing for it. Leah already knew he didn’t eat pussy—not from all her interactions with him but she was more than willing to forego that if it meant a good lay. Besides, his subtle command as he got comfortable on the bed reminded her of exactly how wet she was to be told what to do.

"I can't stay too long...so going to have to make it quick." she said as she crawled onto the bed.

"Well I guess that depends on you if you want...a quick...workout." he chuckled.

“Oh? And what do we call this workout—Coach?” She asked and took his semi-hard member into one hand and rubbed it.

“Pre-game warm-up,” he said with a moan of pleasure. “Remember—the harder you get him the harder I’ll be fuckin’ you.”

Leah stroked him a half dozen times or so then moved her mouth to his semi-flaccid cock and began to suck him. She wanted him hard again so he COULD fuck her. She needed a great lay, or at least that was what the wetness between her legs was telling her. She was obviously out of her mind to be doing any of this.

She moved her mouth slowly to his cock’s head. Her tongue danced around the tip of Coach Reed's growing member, eliciting a groan from him. She took him deeper into her mouth, her wetness coating him as she bobbed her head up and down in a rhythmic motion. His hands gripped the sheets, and he moaned with mounting pleasure.

"Fuck, Leaahh," he groaned, his voice strained. "You're such a goddamn pro at this." His praise spurred her on, and she increased her pace, **** to please him and feel his hardness inside her. Finally, Coach Reed pushed Leah away, his breath ragged.

"Enough of the pep rally," he growled. "I want you on your back." He flipped her over onto her back even as he spoke, his muscles dominating her womanly frame with ease. It only made her wetter for him.

Coach Reed wasted no time pinning Leah’s wrists to the mattress, spreading her wide under the brunt of his body. His cock, already slick from her mouth, sought out her pussy with animalistic confidence. The way he pressed into her—slow at first, savoring her tightness before slamming in with a grunt—made Leah’s toes curl and her scalp tingle. Each thrust was aggressive, the kind of fucking that demanded everything: her breath, her pride, her composure.

“God, you’re tight,” Reed murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “You like getting used like this, don’t you?”

She tried to answer, but the only sounds she could make were helpless, mewling whimpers. He moved inside her with an expert’s rhythm: deep, punishing strokes interspersed with slow, grinding plunges that let her feel every throb of his cock. Leah’s legs trembled on either side of his waist, her hips bucking to meet every slap of flesh. The pleasure was overwhelming, sharp and bright, slicing through her like a live current.

He let go of her wrists, grabbing instead at her ass, lifting her hips off the bed so he could fuck her even deeper. The new angle set her off like a firecracker; she clung to his neck and bit down on his shoulder, stifling a scream.

“Ohh, fuck, Reed—” she gasped, ****.

“That’s it,” he grunted in reply, “cum for me, show me how much you love getting fucked by Pleasant Plain’s head football coach.” Each word was a jolt, a filthy push over the edge. Leah squeezed her eyes shut as her orgasm crashed through her, every muscle seizing and then dissolving all at once. Her nails raked down his back, leaving livid stripes.

He didn’t stop. Reed kept going, rutting into her spent body with what felt like renewed determination. Each throb sent a wave of heat flooding through her, his cock swelling and pulsing as he filled her completely. She felt him stiffen and then by the way he shuddered, moaned and stopped thrusting so fiercely, she knew he had released himself inside of her. It wasn't the massive warm load that had covered her earlier of course, which was nice for less clean up--but in that moment there "clean" was the last thing on her mind as he spasmed with his orgasm.

Coach Reed collapsed next to her. Not in the way of romantic comedies, with a careful shuffle and a reverent embrace, but like a felled Redwood: no fanfare, just a dull tremor in the bed as his mass threatened to displace all remaining oxygen from the room. He lay there, half-sprawled, staring at the ceiling with the glassy-eyed awe of a man who’d just experienced something bordering on religious.

Leah, meanwhile, floated somewhere between elation and existential nausea. Her body tingled, post-orgasmic and completely spent, every muscle humming with aftershocks. But her mind—her mind did what it always did: compounded every second of pleasure with a new tonnage of shame. She was engaged, for fuck’s sake. She was supposed to be picking out Pinterest wedding colors, not collecting new notches on the gym teacher’s bench-press bar.

She rolled onto her back and tried to focus on the ceiling, as if she could meditate through the moral hangover. Coach Reed’s arm, thick and still warm, lay heavy across her stomach.

“Jesus,” she whispered, “that was good..."

“Hell yeah it was. You wrung me dry. That was some next-level shit.” He gave her a lazy, sideways look.

Leah wasn’t sure what to say to that. She had it in her, all right; the problem was, she couldn’t seem to keep it from coming out at the worst possible times. Her brain threw her a highlight reel of the last hour, each cut more explicit than the last: her back arched, his hands bruising her hips, her own wet gasps echoing in her ears. It was like watching someone else’s sex tape. Someone less responsible, less engaged, less… Leah.

She sat up abruptly, the bedsheet clinging to her skin. The whole room reeked of sweat and cheap cologne and something deeper, muskier, the unmistakable stench of guilt and spent lust. She needed to get clean in every sense of the word.

“Is it cool if I take a shower before I go?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. Towels are in the closet.” He waved a hand, dismissive.

The bathroom was a crime scene. Damp towels, crusted toothpaste in the sink, and a scattering of travel-sized Axe products that looked like they’d been pilfered from a Walgreens end cap. She considered just splashing her face and fleeing, but the memory of Reed’s come dripping down her thigh **** her to reconsider. She stepped into the shower, muttering a prayer that whatever fungus lived in the grout hadn’t yet developed a taste for human flesh.

The water pressure was laughably bad—less rainfall, more nervous spit—but she made do, scrubbing herself raw with a bar of soap labeled “Maximum Blast” in neon blue. There was no conditioner, but the shelf held three bottles of “5-in-1 Male Shower Experience” gels, all variations on the scent “Arctic Justice.” Leah picked one at random and tried not to gag at the chemical burn in her nostrils. At least nothing smelled like her, anymore.

She toweled off and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, eyeliner smudged halfway down her cheeks, hickeys blooming at the base of her neck like angry little love notes. She almost laughed, it was so perfectly on-the-nose. She’d have to tell Jonathan she’d fallen asleep in her car or gotten caught in a hailstorm or some other lie that didn’t reek of the gym teacher’s cheap body wash.

Leah tiptoed back into the bedroom, pulling her clothes on with the haste of a thief making her getaway. Coach Reed watched her, unashamed and amused, his eyes tracking every movement as he lounged like a sultan surveying his conquest. He finally rolled out of bed, slipping into a pair of boxers before trailing her to the door.

“See you around, Williams,” he said, scratching his chest, the very picture of casual. The effortless way he’d dismissed her—not cruelly, just pragmatically—only made her want him more.