Nope.

Ding Ding Ding.

"Okay class, remember to read chapter 1 of your textbooks." You call out as the student heads for the exits.

After the door closes behind the last of your students, you collapse onto your chair, loosening your tie.

Taking your phone out of your desk, you turn it on, bringing up the picture of Jennifer's pussy with your cum leaking out of it. You notice the number sent you another text scrolling down.

Next is a selfie of Jennifer either in the restroom or the gym locker room. You could see the bruise you left on her neck, another on her right breast, plus the clear outline of a bite mark on her left shoulder. The message with it was, 'Kat and Janna are really curious about my new boyfriend; they asked when I was done with him if they could get his number. Should I tell them?' with an eye-winking emoji.

Turning the phone off, you pocket it and grab your satchel. Turning off the lights, you exit your classroom, heading for the football field.

First day on the job and you fucked a student, you ponder. If that gets out, your career is over before it began, in addition to your freedom. Strangely, you realize you don't regret fucking Jennifer at all. In fact, you were looking forward to another go, that is, once you could get it up again.

Stopping in the quad, you watch a group of freshman girls just talking. Pulling your phone back out, you open the app for your doctor's practice and send in a request for Viagra. Exiting the quad, you pass through the lunchroom heading out to the football field and baseball diamond.

Walking onto the field, you could see a group of about 30 young women and 10 guys. If Jennifer was serious about turning the cheer team into your harem, you need to make sure only those who were 18 plus were in it. If you got caught, the last thing you needed was a charge for doing minors in addition to students.

You could see Jennifer talking with what you assume was your assistant coach. As you got within hearing range, you caught the tail end of the women's conversation: "Everything about this is irregular."

"Good afternoon," joining the two women.

Shaking the brunette's hand, you remark, "You would be Madelyn, I take it."

"Yup, call me Maddie, but to everyone else I'm Coach Smalley."

You take a deep breath and say, "Okay, let's do this."

Turning to the group, you raise your voice, making sure to be heard. "Good afternoon, team. I'm Mr. Clarkson. As I'm sure you've heard by now, your former head coach, Donna Rodriguez, passed away last week in a car accident."

Pausing momentarily, you let that sink in. "Unfortunately the school didn't learn of this till the day before yesterday. As some of you already know, I was hired to take over as a US history teacher. I was also asked to be your new head coach for now."

You look over at Maddie and Jennifer. "I'm not going to lie; I know nothing of running a cheerleader team." You hear some rumblings come from the group, one person going so far as to say, "This is bullshit."

"You're right, this is bullshit." You say, "In a perfect world I would be driving home right now, and someone fully qualified would be getting you hyped up for the year. But we're in a world of budgets and government mandates."

"I'm going to need all your help. Hopefully Principal Smalley will be able to get the resources from the district to get a real coach by the end of football season. What that means is I'm going to need your help teaching me this job while I have it. It also means that I'm going to be really leaning on Coach Smalley and your head cheerleader." The crowd start rumbling amongst themselves, and you count to 5 before continuing.

"But who's going to be the head cheerleader?" you may be asking. Normally I understand you would be electing her now. But we're handicapped enough without the games; an election can start, so I will choose her myself."

The group erupts; listening to the chatter, some of the team are understanding, and some think they should complain to the principal. You could see Miss Torres and Ruchenko, who hadn't said anything; they were just staring really intently at their friend.

"My choice for head cheerleader is Jennifer Marlow, who literally bowled me over." You quip.

Someone in the crowd snorts, "Don't you mean laid you out like a tackling dummy?"

Observing the crowd, from what you could see, two girls who were really unhappy, but most looked okay with it. Jennifer's two friends, though. They were staring at you with thoughtful looks. You could almost see the wheels start turning in their minds.

Stepping up, Jennifer addresses her team: "Listen up, guys, I got some kick-ass ideas for this year, and if we can pull them off, we'll definitely take state this year."

The talk goes into practice scheduling, exercise, and weight room times. Things that were beyond you at this time. Your phone buzzed, and pulling it out, you saw that Dr. Halani signed off on the request, and the office was faxing over the prescription to your pharmacy.

"You're definitely going to need those." A voice says, startling you.

Looking up, you see Miss Marlow sporting that same sexy smirk.

"What, are you a ninja now too?" You say putting your phone away."

"I'm a great many things," she replies.

She nods at two angry girls on the bleachers. "That's Beth Anne Riley and Lili Lee; they really wanted to be cheer captain. I would expect you'll be hearing from their parents tomorrow night at open house.

Acting nonchalant, you nod, saying, "I'm sure they would have been excellent cheer captains, but your argument was breathtaking."

Jennifer gives you a very direct look, saying, "I'm looking forward to sharing all my ideas with you."

Raising your voice, you call out, "Okay, team, that's a wrap. See you Tuesday for practice."

The meeting over, you head for your car. Turning on the engine, the AC begins to wash over you. Your phone buzzes again; checking it, you see a message from Jennifer. It says, "To inspire you."

The picture appears to be from a month or two ago. Your mouth goes dry. Posing by a lake are Jennifer, Kat, and Janna, and none of them had a stitch of clothing on.