Author's Note: My first Katie Blake story was well received, so I figured I'd do another. This is no attempt at great literature, but I hope someone out there enjoys it. Your feedback would be VERY, VERY APPRECIATED and I'll even do my very best to answer any emails I get (unless told not to). I'm on email email@example.com or you cna use the anonymous boxes that SOL and ASSTR make readily available.
This is slightly darker than the first Katie Blake story, but not as dark as some of my other work. I tried to keep it fun, but my instincts are a little twisted sometimes. The next one, which is already in the works, should be more fun (unless dark is what gets feedback, in which case I'm willing to whore myself to public opinion!). As always, suggestions and ideas would be very appreciated and enjoyed :)
The usual warnings: make love not war. Get help if you are actually considering sex with kids, and if you're not 18 or you're in a country where this sort of thing is illegal don't read it.
Harmony High hadn't won a state football title in ... well, ever. We hadn't even had a winning season since 1973, and then it was only because they had a fire over at Addington, and all their players got bussed in to Harmony for the year. Football just wasn't our thing.
Which is why it was sort of a huge deal when the team unexpectedly started winning. Going into November, they were 8-1 and on course to make a run at the state championship. Everyone was super excited about it.
Yes, even me.
I know. It surprised me, too. Pep rallies and school spirit definitely aren't my thing, and I only vaguely comprehend the game. There was just something very fun about seeing an underdog team win week after week like that. Getting to watch Hailey Miller bouncing and stretching around in her cheerleader outfit, the inescapable image of her gorgeous naked body getting fucked by the equally gorgeous Josh Gillen still seared into my memory, that was just a bonus.
That's why I was there in the stands, happily decked out in my bright orange and blue Harmony High T-Shirt.
Of course, I was also at least sort of totally responsible for the incredible winning streak.
That's why I was sitting there uncomfortably with a pussy full of Coach Tanner's sticky semen.
I was the "good luck charm", you see.
Coach paid me to have sex with him before the first game of the season. It wasn't for good luck that time--luck or no luck, everyone expected Harmony to lose that one spectacularly--it was just sex 'cause he was horny. Normal sex.
But then they won, even though everyone agreed that they shouldn't have. Harmony was still really terrible, but somehow they got lucky.
That got Coach all sorts of superstitious. He refused to change any part of his game day routine. He wore the same clothes, ate the same food, showed up at the exact same time. The kids in his gym classes played the exact same games of volleyball every game day even.
And, of course, he insisted on fucking me before every single game. Even that had to be the same--missionary style, on his desk, no condom. (Technically, the first time around we used a condom 'cause he was scared he'd get me pregnant and his wife would find out, but the damn thing broke, so we went without after that so as to not anger the football gods).
He insisted I dress the same, too: grey Harmony T-Shirt, khaki shorts, white sneakers and socks, with my ponytail pulled back through a white baseball cap. The outfit made a lot more sense at the start of the season, when it was warm, but Coach was too far gone to entertain the thought of sweatpants come fall. I was a good sport about it, at least until he finished, but in the bleachers, I bundled up like an Eskimo. That hadn't seemed to upset the balance of the universe. At least, it hadn't for the first 9 weeks.
Game 10, on the other hand, wasn't going well.
"They suck tonight," said Becky.
Becky knew even less about football than I did, but the observation was undeniably correct. Harmony, despite their record, was never especially good, but tonight they were especially awful. It was 21 to 6 as the first half winded down. They'd been near the opposing end zone exactly once--a touch down run on the opening drive--but they'd missed the extra point and five field goal attempts since. Tim Long, the kicker, was usually they're saving grace: it didn't matter that they couldn't run or throw, 'cause they got 3 points every time Tim came on the field. Usually that is.
"Maybe they're just warming up?" I offered.
Becky chuckled. "If only they had a better tight end!"
That was a joke. After the week four win, Coach Tanner got cute and listed me as a "tight end" on the game report that got filed with the Harmony Chronicle. It didn't actually say my name, since that would've been too obvious, but it said "the Warriors also got invaluable support from sophomore tight end K.Blake." I was mortified when I found out, but nobody else even noticed or realized I was the K.Blake in question, probably because nobody actually reads the Harmony Chronicle except Becky's family. Becky's parents are both librarians, so they read everything.
I laughed, but inside I was sort of worried: could this possibly be my fault? I was pretty sure Coach was just silly and superstitious, but the one time Harmony'd lost was the one week I was on my period, and Coach settled for a blowjob instead of sex. It's hard to argue with correlations like that. But I couldn't think of anything I'd done different at all today. If someone screwed up the magic, it probably definitely wasn't me!
The crowd around us was quiet and sort of bored. All the enthusiasm just up and vanished when Bailey scored that third freaking touchdown. When the halftime whistle blew, lots of people started picking up to leave. I felt bad for the marching band.
"Do you want to go?" asked Becky. "We could go see a movie or something. This is probably going to be kind of boring."
I didn't actually want to leave, but I didn't have much good reason to stay either. "I don't know," I said, stalling. "Maybe the second half will be better?"
Becky rolled her eyes. Her mind was already made up, I knew.
Right then, my cell phone buzzed. It was Coach Tanner ("Uncle Dale" in my contacts, to avoid suspicion). I couldn't answer in front of Becky, of course, but I wanted to. He NEVER called me during games. Was something wrong?
"I'll, um ... be right back," I said.
"Wait? What? Is something wrong?" I heard her, but I was halfway down the steps and pretending I didn't. She was my best friend and it wasn't the first time I'd been sort of rude; she'd forgive me.
While I searched for something approaching privacy, Coach Tanner called two more times. When I finally found a quiet spot around the other side of the school, he called again before I could even start to dial.
"Where have you been?!" he barked. "This is an emergency!"
"Sorry," I apologized. "I had to find someplace to call. What's going on?"
"Just get in here quick," he said. "I'll explain everything."
That was obviously strange. Emergencies aren't exactly my thing: you want doctors and firemen for emergencies. Call girls? We're really better suited for non-emergency situations.
But he was anxious, and I was curious.
Slipping into his office, which was right in the middle of the boys locker room, wasn't as tricky as you'd think. There was an air vent in the gym's back storeroom that backed into a cabinet in the gym teachers' office. You had to be really small to fit through--and even then it was sort of a squeeze--and it was sort of demeaning to have to literally sneak in and out through an air duct, but it beat the alternative.
Normally we've got a whole set of signals, once I'm in the cabinet to make sure he's alone before I pop out, but today the door was wide open when I dropped in.
Also, in an unprecedented twist, Coach wasn't alone. Mr. Jacobs, one of the assistant coaches and also my geometry teacher from last year, was standing there with him.
"Um, hi," I said shyly. I hadn't expected company.
Mr. Jacobs smiled awkwardly at me, I think because this was weird for him, too.
Too distraught to notice the awkwardness, Coach Tanner offered no explanations.
"Thank God, you're here!" he said. "We're getting killed out there!"
"I noticed," I said. "But it wasn't me. I did everything exactly the same as always. I swear!"
Coach shook his head. "It's not that. You were fine." He seemed to fade off and daydream as a pervy smile curled across his lips. "Very fine, actually."
I blushed. I think Mr. Jacobs did, too.
"It's Timmy, "said Coach at last. "He's a mess out there!"
"I noticed that, too," I said. "But, you know. I'm not much of a kicker. Short legs and all. Not sure how I can help."
Mr. Jacobs finally spoke. "Tim's having some, um, romantic troubles, you see. Jessica Hersch I guess dumped him last night. Really did a number on him. His head's just not in the game."
The poor math teacher could hardly look at me when he talked, so I started to guess where this was leading.
"Coach Tanner thought, maybe, if you were willing, and only if you were comfortable with it, that maybe you could help us, you know..."
"We need you to suck his dick," said Coach impatiently. Mr. Jacobs shyly nodded that his concurrence.
Even for me, this was weird. Teachers aren't supposed to arrange this sort of thing. I knew I was beat red.
"I don't know," I said. "I mean, Tim's a nice guy and all, but I, um ... I mean we go to school together, and stuff."
My only sexual experience with a guy my own age had been a night I wanted to forget entirely. The thought of actually doing something with a classmate for money, on orders from a teacher, was just a little mortifying. If nothing else, I didn't want to get a reputation.
"We thought of that," said Mr. Jacobs. "Tim wouldn't have to know it's you." He pulled out a small paper sack on which they'd cut two round eye holes and a big round mouth hole.
I cocked an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"
Coach looked desperate. "Please, Katie," he begged. "I just want one good year before they make me retire. This kid, he's all we've got. I'm a terrible coach. The team is awful."
The begging made it tough to say no. I really actually liked Coach Tanner. Even before he was a client, he was always nice to me, and to everyone really. He never gave bad grades, and he was Santa Claus for the elementary school kids every single year. He was the sort of big lovable doofus that you couldn't not want to help.
I sighed. "You really think it'll help?"
Mr. Jacobs at least was honest. "We hope? It can't hurt. We'll pay you, obviously."
Weirdly, I almost turned and ran when he brought up the money. It felt dirty enough before, but payment (which I still wanted, just didn't want to acknowledge) made it all feel a bit depraved.
I sighed again. "Fine," I said. "Give me the mask."
They were both elated, way happier than two public educators were supposed to be about making a teenage boy cum. They packed up to go back out on the field--halftime was ending, so they reminded me to be as quick as I could so Tim wouldn't miss too much of the game-- and then they gave me a few minutes alone to "get ready." I guessed that meant take my clothes off, so that's what I did.
It should've felt ridiculous, waiting there in nothing but a paper bag mask, but now that I'd agreed to it, it was sort of exciting. I mean, this is the sort of thing he'd probably fantasize and talk about for years. It's impossible to think about that and not feel sexy.
When Tim walked into the room hesitantly, my nipples were hard and my pussy was already soaked.
"Hey," he said. You could tell he was nervous. This was super weird for both of us.
"Hey," I said back, then I cringed. Would he recognize my voice? Had we talked before? I didn't think we really had, at least not much.
"So, Coach said you, um, wanted to see me?"