Chapter Five

Part Two

“O.M.G. That’s hilarious!” Gina blurted. “You’re telling me my guy was a no-show, so you hooked up with the plumber instead?”

Kira rolled her eyes at her friend’s unladylike cackling. She should have known their coffee date would inevitably come to this.

Refined and genteel were not words anyone would ever use to describe Gina, despite her polite Southern upbringing. She was brash to the point of rudeness, gifted with neither an internal filter nor a volume control.

“The repairman—well, more like repair boy," Kira corrected, lowering her voice slightly. “He couldn’t have been older than twenty. He’s in college. Honestly, I thought he was one of yours, showing up on my doorstep looking like that…”

“Like what?” Gina demanded, leaning across the small round table between them. Their coffees rattled as she planted her elbows on the table. “Deets, girl. I need deets.”

Her fashion sense was nearly as loud as her personality.

The bombastic bombshell was squeezed into a suffocatingly tight micro-minidress made from several ambitious inches of emerald-green faux leather. Her extreme hourglass figure taxed the synthetic fabric—threatening to burst at the bust, hips, and rear. Colorful floral tattoos curled across her bare arms, while precariously tall glass stripper heels added at least five inches to her height.

She looked ready to climb onto a pole rather than meet a friend for morning coffee.

Kira knew the look was deliberate: outrageously hot, intentionally trashy. The Gucci sunglasses and Prada purse resting beside Gina’s triple-shot hazelnut macchiato—topped with whipped cream and chocolate flakes—gave away the truth beneath the performance.

Or, as the brazen redhead liked to say: It costs money to look this cheap.

“What deets?” Kira sighed, stirring her chai latte. “He was built like an Adonis. Handsome, but also cute in that way younger guys can be. Smooth skin the shade of mocha, thick black curls, and dark eyes you could practically drown in—”

“Heavens, darlin’, listen to yourself,” Gina drawled, grinning widely. “You are smitten.”

“Am not,” Kira replied, a touch too defensive. “He was just… sweet. That’s all. It does a girl good to meet a genuinely nice guy every now and then.”

“Sweet? Nice?” Gina scoffed. “Now I really regret missing that stream. You wouldn’t be this cagey if he wasn’t something special.” She leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially. “Don’t lie to me, girlfriend. How much was he packing?”

Without thinking, Kira’s eyes drifted toward the bakery window beside the café patio—specifically to the long French baguette displayed behind the glass.

Gina followed her gaze.

Her jaw dropped so fast it nearly bounced off the table.

“No. Fucking. Way.” The bodacious redhead nearly toppled off her stool. “You bagged a serious stud? Nabbed him right off the street? Girl, if that’s true, you need to buy a lottery ticket. That is a once-in-a-lifetime find.”

Kira wisely chose not to mention the slight age gap, the moment she’d started calling Lance daddy toward the end of their hour-long fuck-a-thon, or her difficulty walking afterward.

Gina would have a field day with those damning details.

“So when do I meet Mr Hunky?” The tattooed beauty enquired, batting her batwing lashes coquettishly. “I gotta inspect the merchandise. Quality control. Best-friend duties.”

“That’s the problem—he’s a student. Still in college.” Kira sighed. “He doesn’t know what he wants yet. He’s doing great with his athletic scholarship, keeping his grades up… and you know this business isn’t for everyone.”

The admission brought a quiet stab of regret.

“Horse apples,” Gina snorted, stabbing the tabletop with a crimson fingernail. “That’s fear talking. Sure, most folks couldn’t handle our lifestyle—but some people are born to it. Look at us. Can you picture either of us working in an office doing anything other than smoking the boss’s dick under his desk?

She leaned closer, eyes gleaming with wicked glee.

“God created some folks to fuck and be fucked, and it sounds like this young man of yours is one of our ilk. You harpooned a whale, honey. Now all you gotta do is reel him in.”

Kira resisted the urge to point out that she had been the one who had been thoroughly harpooned.

Lance lingered vividly in her memory—his strength, his warmth, the way he’d looked at her like she was more than a pretty face with big tits, a narrow waist, and a fat ass.

His meaty immensity had been indelibly imprinted on her pussy. Her largest toys, ludicrous by normal standards, barely scratched the itch anymore. Getting herself across the carnal finish line had become a real challenge.

These days, the process typically involved moaning “daddy” entirely too loudly while imagining a certain chiseled track-and-field star driving her into the mattress.

“What happened to your guy anyway?” She accused, trying to banish the horny thoughts. “He would’ve left me completely hanging.”

“Jackson Stone? Please.” Gina waved dismissively. “His girlfriend’s nagging him about work again. Like the man doesn’t pay all her bills.” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t you dare change the subject. Are you still in contact with Captain Cockadoodle? We should speak to him in person. Teach him that adult entertainment doesn’t have to be sleazy anymore. Show him the safe, profitable side of online porn.”

Kira sipped her steaming chai as she deliberated.

Lance had left her his digits, if only so she could Venmo him his share of the profits–a not insignificant sum. He’d even sent a brief thank-you afterward.

And then silence.

She completely understood. Once the facts had come to light and he realized what they’d done, the poor guy had looked poleaxed. Nobody was to blame; it was an honest case of mistaken identity.

Lance had stammered something between an apology and a farewell before racing off in his uncle’s beat-up truck.

Over the past two weeks, she’d sent a few casual texts. Friendly messages. Nothing pushy.

No replies.

Though once—just once—Kira saw the ellipses of him typing in the app appear… and vanish.

On one hand, Lance was a genuinely good guy, and Kira hated the idea of disrupting his life any further.

On the other…

She missed his easy smile. Missed the way they fit perfectly together, like two missing puzzle pieces. And if an agreement could be reached… they’d make out like bandits doing something they both excelled at and clearly enjoyed.

Her pussy actually squelched at the prospect.

Kira’s thoughts must have shown on her face, because when she looked up, Gina was grinning like a hungry piranha.

“Say,” The mischievous Southerner purred in her Barton Rouge twang, “I hear tuition is real expensive these days…”

She let the sentence dangle like a baited hook.

Kira huffed a laugh, hiding a flicker of hope behind another sip of spiced latte.

“I’ll message him,” she conceded. “No promises.”

“I never doubted you for a second, girlfriend.”

Coach Veronica Velasquez waited in the corridor outside the men’s locker room, offering brief words to athletes as they filtered out after practice.

“Good showing today, Thornton. Bring that same grit on Friday, okay?” she called to a young hurdler jogging past.

He was the second last to leave.

Veronica knew this because she was keeping track of who came and went. A teacher learned to be observant. Attention to detail was part of the job.

And right then, the lion’s share of her attention was fixated on one target.

Lance.

Until two weeks ago, the middle-distance sprinter had been just another athlete under her supervision. Another promising talent to hone. Gifted, certainly—but still a freshman. Unrefined iron to forge into steel.

Yes, Lance technically stood apart. Holding the national 400-meter record for his age bracket was no small feat. But records at that level were only potential making itself known. Until he proved himself against older competitors, he remained a medium fish in a very large pond.

Two weeks before all this, Coach Velasquez would have given him exactly the professional attention he warranted and nothing more. She would have watched, evaluated, and waited to see whether he possessed the intangible quality that separated good athletes from great ones.

Because true stars shone under pressure.

After all, nearly forty percent of junior track and field athletes never reached senior year, their careers derailed by injury-related issues or burnout.

Veronica had learned long ago to invest her emotional energy carefully. Hope was reserved for those nearing the finish line—not those still learning how to run the race.

Too many would-be champions faltered just short of greatness.

Two weeks ago, she would not have spared a second thought for the broad-shouldered young man with mocha skin and an easy smile that seemed to brighten his increasingly masculine features like dawn breaking. Lance had been another young stallion testing himself against the herd, jockeying for position among his peers.

Promising.

Handsome.

But green as a sapling.

Until two weeks ago, when Coach Velasquez had been locked in her office after hours, enjoying her favourite adult content via live stream. Kira Bubblez was something of a name in size-queen circles, with a collection of outlandishly huge sextoys she eagerly demonstrated online.

Veronica privately considered herself a two—perhaps a two-and-a-half—on the Kinesy scale, but watching the curvy streamer’s expressive face while she crammed her pretty pussy to the limits awakened something intensely visceral in the normally disciplined coach.

It wasn’t just the spectacle. It was the total abandon. The bulletproof confidence. The way Kira seemed utterly unashamed of her own pleasure that revved Veronica’s engine.

And perhaps a smidge of envy?

Then a sudden notification had flashed across the screen.

Kira announced a first: a spontaneous live performance featuring an unnamed male co-star. The chat exploded instantly, viewers scrambling for privacy, headphones, and secure wifi connections.

That was when a familiar face had made an unexpected appearance.

Heels planted against the edge of the desk, her ergonomic chair tilted back in full recline, Veronica’s spine arched like a drawn bow as she’d fingered herself feverishly while staring unblinking at the monitor where Kira was getting railed by the biggest cock she’d ever seen.

The ebony-skinned blonde wailed like a banshee. Her ecstatic face and bouncing tits filling the screen, cumming uncontrollably on that pussy-pounding fuckpole, dirty talk of the filthiest variety spilling from her drooling lips.

“Fuck me harder, Daddy. Pleeease~! Never stop fucking me!”

Veronica had been naked from the waist down, sweatpants and sports briefs discarded on the linoleum floor, trimming her butter bean like a maniac when it happened…

Kira’s eyes had rolled in her skull, the anonymous superstud driving her through another bone-melting climax until the thicc-bodied streamer collapsed over a makeup table, leaving his face and carved physique exposed to the camera.

“L-Lance?!”

The shock of recognition struck Coach Velasquez just as she came messily, squirting hot juices all over the office chair.

By the time the firework display in her loins had faded and reality reasserted itself, the camera angle had shifted downward, focusing on an upended table leg. Muffled cursing in the background signaled the abrupt end of the stream.

Yet a fortnight later, Veronica remained almost certain the man she’d witnessed utterly impaling Kira Bubblez on his humongous hog had been Lance.

The sight had been seared into her mind’s eye, branded into her brain until she was borderline obsessed with unmasking the secret stud.

To the point she was now loitering outside the men’s locker room like a damn voyeur, preparing to confirm her suspicion in a move reckless enough to jeopardize her career as an educator.

In hindsight, certain details suddenly made sense. Lance’s preference for sweatpants instead of the running shorts favored by the other sprinters—even during peak summer heat. The whispered locker-room gossip about his supposed body shyness, which had always struck her as absurd given his well-honed physique. Teammates teased him for using private shower stalls instead of communal ones, recycling the same juvenile jokes about dropping the soap that young men never seemed to outgrow.

No, Lance wasn’t body-shy.

Not in the conventional sense.

He was smuggling a goddamn python down his pant leg and went to great lengths to conceal the fact.

After checking both directions to ensure the corridor was empty, Veronica slowly pushed open the locker room door. The familiar assault of sweat, damp fabric, and humid air hit her immediately—but the smell barely registered.

Women’s changing rooms were little better.

She knew locker-room conditions intimately.

In her competitive days, she’d started in soccer before transitioning to track, eventually dominating the long jump and triple jump with her long, muscular legs and powerful glutes. Regardless of sport—or gender—locker rooms shared a universal stank: wet socks, cheap antiperspirant, and stubborn, unmistakable body odor.

She stepped inside.

Almost unconsciously, she unzipped the top of her tracksuit jacket, shucking it down to reveal a fitted black sports bra and tanned, four-pack abs. Veronica maintained her conditioning with near-religious commitment, unlike many coaches who barked orders from the sidelines while letting themselves go.

Leading by example mattered.

It was one of the many ways she distinguished herself—alongside being the only woman under forty trusted to wear the coveted whistle of authority.

Only one shower stall remained occupied.

Steam curled beneath the privacy divider, rolling across the tiled floor. The steady sound of running water echoed through the empty space.

And beneath it—splashing.

A repetitive wet slapping.

And were those… grunts?

Veronica felt the hairs along her arms rise as she listened.

Was he…?

“Awww, fuck. Kira… baby, you’re such a hot piece of ass. Yeah, give it up for daddy.”

The words were barely more than a groan under the rushing water, but Coach Velasquez’s prickling ears picked them up like satellite dishes.

A slightly manic grin tugged at her lips, and butterflies took flight in her stomach.

Hot damn, the game was afoot!

And we're back with Lance and Kira! The original commissioner enjoyed the first part so much, they requested a second installment. Let's do this!

If you are enjoying my silly smut, why not support my writing aspirations by joining my Patreon? All subscriptions go towards purchasing high-octane coffee to keep me writing and treats for my two adorable furballs. Patreon members get early access to stories like this one (and more) on my exclusive Discord server.