She can do better!

Turning back to the kneeling coach, he let his smirk widen. “Then worship me properly,” he ordered, his tone sharp but steady. “Press your face against me. Smell me. Feel me. Stay in your pose and show me the devotion I deserve.”

Camila obeyed instantly. She bent forward, her hands still locked tightly behind her head, chest thrust out, her naked body trembling with fervor. Her cheek pressed against the bulge of his cock straining at the front of his pants, her breath catching as she nuzzled into it. Slowly, reverently, she dragged her face along the length of his cock through the fabric, rubbing her cheekbone against it as though she were rubbing herself against something holy.

She inhaled deeply, her voice quivering with awe. “Your scent… oh God, your cock smells divine even through your clothes.” Her lips brushed the outline, kissing the hardness beneath the fabric, a soft whimper escaping her throat. She tilted her head and pressed the other side of her face against him, eyes closed, letting herself bask in the heat and the weight of him against her skin.

Each movement was slow, deliberate, as if she wanted to etch the shape of his cock into her memory through touch alone. “You are perfect,” she whispered between breaths, her words muffled against his lap. “Even the feel of you through your pants is a blessing. Your cock… it’s my salvation, my proof that you are truly God.” Her nose pressed firmly against him as she drew in another long breath, moaning softly at the mix of heat and musk that clung to the fabric.

Tears welled again at the corners of her eyes, from the overwhelming rush of devotion. “Thank you,” she breathed, lips kissing along his length once more. “Thank you for letting me near your cock… for letting me touch what I don’t deserve.”

Lucas looked down at her, watching the once-proud coach reduced to a trembling worshipper, her face buried against him, and felt the kind of satisfaction words couldn’t quite capture.

Lucas’s eyes shifted from the coach to the unsuspecting witnesses who just stood and watched, suddenly he heard a strange sound when he looked down, he caught it, Camila’s lips were parted, her teeth tugging insistently at the metal zipper of his pants. She was frantic, ****, her devotion spilling over into raw hunger as she tried to work the chain open just enough to free his cock. The sight of her once-proud mouth gnawing and fumbling at the zipper like some eager animal made his lip curl in amusement.

He stepped back.

Immediately, Camila’s eyes went wide, panic flooding her face as she shuffled forward on her knees, still locked in the pose he had demanded. Her hands remained behind her head, her back straight as her naked body strained with the effort, but she refused to stop following him, inching across the floor with a pathetic kind of desperation. Each movement was clumsy and frantic, her tear-streaked face never pulling away from its focus on his crotch, as though the thought of being denied him was unbearable.

“Halt.”

Lucas’s voice cracked out like a whip, sharp and cutting through the air. Camila froze immediately. Her body recoiled, shoulders trembling, her chin lowering toward her chest as shame washed over her. She cowered in place, her proud figure reduced to a pitiful, trembling supplicant caught in the act of a grave sin.

“I didn’t ask you to move,” Lucas said, his tone dripping with mock anger, each word deliberate. “And yet you disobeyed me.”

Camila’s lips quivered as she looked up at him, her voice breaking under the weight of her devotion and her guilt. “Please… forgive me… I was wrong, I was weak,” she begged, more tears streaming down her cheeks, her entire body shuddering with the intensity of her remorse. “Don’t cast me out, I’ll never disobey again, I swear.”

Lucas raised a hand, silencing her instantly. The gesture alone was enough to clamp her words in her throat, her wide, wet eyes staring up at him, **** for mercy but too terrified to speak. He let the silence linger, savoring her shame, before glancing back at Megan.

“Secretary,” he said coldly, “fetch a kendo stick. Ensure our dear coach is properly punished for her misdeed.”

Megan straightened at once, snapping her notepad shut with efficient precision. “At once, sir,” she replied crisply, her tone carrying no hesitation, no doubt. Without another word, she turned on her heel, her professional stride clicking across the gym floor as she went to locate the instrument of punishment that was requested.

Camila remained kneeling where she was, shoulders shaking, her face wet with tears as she waited, naked and trembling, for her God’s judgment.

Megan returned swiftly, the slender kendo stick held neatly in her hand, its polished length catching the gym’s harsh light. She came to stand beside him, shoulders square, her expression calm but with that faint, dark edge that always seemed to linger in her eyes.

Lucas’s smirk deepened. “Fifty strikes to her tits, fifty more to her ass,” he instructed smoothly. “Start slow. Every ten, increase the intensity. Do not harm her, but make sure she learns her lesson.” His tone carried both authority and amusement, each word deliberate, absolute.

Megan dipped her head in acknowledgment, fingers adjusting her grip on the stick with ease.

Lucas crouched slightly, reaching down to brush away the fresh tears clinging to Camila’s flushed cheeks. His touch was almost gentle, a mockery of comfort that made her tremble even harder. “As your merciful God,” he said softly, voice curling with cruel sweetness, “I am giving you the opportunity to repent.”

Camila’s lips parted, her voice catching as gratitude poured out of her in broken gasps. “Th-thank you… thank you, Lord Lucas, for your mercy… thank you for letting me repent.”

The sight of her, once so untouchable, now weeping and grateful for the chance to be punished, made Lucas chuckle under his breath. “Good,” he said. “With every strike, you will profess your faith and love for Lord Lucas. Every single time. No hesitation, no failure. Do you understand?”

Camila nodded quickly, eyes wide, voice cracking but sure. “Yes, Lord Lucas. I will. I swear.”

Satisfied, Lucas straightened and gave Megan a simple nod.

Megan’s arm moved smoothly, the first strike landing with a sharp crack across Camila’s bare tits. The coach flinched, gasped, but immediately cried out, “I love you, Lord Lucas! You are my God!” Her words rang **** but unbroken, the declaration echoing against the walls.

Another strike followed, slightly firmer this time, snapping against her flesh. Camila whimpered, tears streaking down her face, but again her voice rose, shaking yet fervent: “I love you, Lord Lucas! I worship you!”

Watching Megan, his goth best friend, composed and elegant in her strict teacher’s clothes, discipline the once-unreachable coach like this made Lucas feel as though he was walking through a fantasy made real. The sound of each strike, the cries of devotion after, the sight of Camila’s proud body reduced to trembling worship, all of it was intoxicating.

He had only just begun to savor it when a voice cut through the air.

“Lucas?”

He turned. Jenna Blake, leaning against another girl with her arms crossed, her sharp features betraying both irritation and amusement, looked past him at the humiliating display. “As fun as this looks,” she said dryly, “can you move your little worship session somewhere else? We actually need the space to practice.”

Lucas tilted his head, meeting Jenna’s steady gaze with a lazy smirk. “Tell me,” he asked, his voice calm but edged with mockery, “do you think there’s something wrong with the way Coach Torres is worshiping me?”

Jenna didn’t blink. The dice’s subtle magic warped her sharp mind, twisting her words into dutiful logic. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” she replied smoothly, her tone as if she were explaining something self-evident. “If a woman wants to worship her God, that’s her right. And Coach Torres is clearly devoted.”

CRACK.

Megan’s kendo stick landed across Camila’s tits again, the sharp sound slicing through the gym. Camila cried out, voice raw with devotion: “I love you, Lord Lucas! You are my God!”

The echo of her proclamation filled the air, vibrating between them. Jenna didn’t even flinch, continuing matter-of-factly, “But the cheer squad does need this space to practice our routine. If your worship session could be… relocated, maybe to the dressing room, we’d all appreciate it.”

CRACK.

Camila’s body jolted under another strike. “I love you, Lord Lucas! I will always worship you!” she shouted, her voice cracking with both pain and fervor. Lucas glanced down at her, her proud, sculpted tits now reddened with visible marks, proof of Megan’s disciplined hand. The sight was delicious, her body betraying the punishment even as her lips couldn’t stop praising him.

He turned his eyes back to Jenna, that same smug curve to his lips. He already knew how to make this more entertaining.

Slowly, almost theatrically, he brought the whistle back up to his mouth.

He just had to find the right words again.