Volleyball Girls
Copyright© 2026 by TheDarkKnight
Chapter 8: Tournament Nerves
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 8: Tournament Nerves - I wasn't athletic enough to play on any teams in high school, but I wanted to participate by being a volunteer equipment manager, maybe for the football or basketball team. When I asked our athletic director, he told me the team that really needed help was the girls' volleyball team. When I seemed reluctant, he said two words that convinced me, "Volleyball shorts."
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa Mult Consensual Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction School Group Sex Anal Sex First Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Voyeurism Leg Fetish Teacher/Student
On Monday, Carol was all business. She pushed the team harder than normal as we started gearing up for what we hoped would be a run at a state championship. Our first challenge was the district championships. If we didn’t win there, our season was over. We had played and beaten all the teams in our district that season, but nobody wanted to jinx it by mentioning that. Those matches were played at a school only half an hour or so away, which made it easy for students and families who wanted to support us to come. We had more spectators at those two games than we had seen all season. Having a lot of people cheering for the team seemed to energize the squad even more than usual. It paid off; we won both matches easily.
Next up were the quarterfinals. We had to travel an hour or so away for those two matches. Aside from a couple of minor injuries, it was another perfect weekend - two matches with 3-0 wins. We hadn’t lost a set so far, which only added to the team’s confidence. One of the local TV stations even did a story about the team. Carol and I were both beginning to worry that overconfidence would bite us again.
As we started getting ready for those matches, Carol grew even more stressed. Sports fans know that every team in every sport has that odd off day, where things just don’t go right, and that was the unspoken fear we all had. Add in a big dose of overconfidence, and it gave her a lot to worry about. I recommended that she ease up a bit during our last practices, not just for the players but her too, and she took my advice. We ran some lighter-than-normal drills the rest of the week, which gave everyone a chance to rest and eased tensions a bit.
On Tuesday, three days before the finals were to begin, when practice ended, Carol asked me to come to her office after I put the equipment away. “I need to talk to you about the weekend,” she explained.
When I got to her office, I was surprised to find Faith there; then I remembered that she and Carol shared the space. The three of us talked for a few minutes, like colleagues, which felt weird, especially given what had happened the last time we were together. Then, out of the blue, Faith asked, “Alex, is it true that you’re dating a fifteen-year-old?”
Oh, shit, apparently the whole school was thinking of me as a pedophile now. I had to defend myself. “She’s going to be sixteen in a couple of months, and Carol can tell you she’s mature for her age.” I looked at Carol and only got a shoulder shrug worthy of one of her players, so apparently she wasn’t coming to my defense.
“Not really any of my business,” Faith continued, “I just thought maybe you were into more mature women now.” She and Carol exchanged smiles, so then I knew she was just teasing. “Remember, dating teenage girls can be challenging, especially the younger ones, so if you ever feel like some no-strings-attached stress relief, you can always give me a call.”
“Faith, your slut side is showing again,” Carol said. “If Alex needs some stress relief, you know he’ll come to me.”
I was growing more and more uncomfortable, feeling like a ping-pong ball being batted back and forth between those two uninhibited teachers. Fortunately, that was the end of it. Faith went back to working on whatever was on her desk, and Carol got down to team business with me.
We started talking about strategies and lineups, which seemed weird because all of that had already been determined weeks ago. As the saying goes, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Finally, she got to the point.
“I have some good news,” she said. “Mr. Simmons told me this morning that he’s found enough money in the athletic budget for us to take a real bus, not a school bus, to the tournament, and he’s made reservations for us in a nice hotel. I was worried about that because I don’t like getting off a bus after a four-hour ride and having to play that same day. The plan now is for us to leave here Thursday after lunch. There’s even talk of a pep rally before we leave. We can have a big dinner, spend a quiet night in the hotel, and hopefully everyone can relax before our semifinal match on Friday.
“That’s great,” I told her. “I hope we win Friday, so that the team can spend the rest of the weekend there.” I meant it as a joke, but I should have known in her hyperanxious state Carol would see it that way.
“Alex!” she snapped, “way to drop a turd in the punch bowl. Of course we’re gonna win. I swear, if this school allowed corporal punishment, I’d take you over my knee.”
For some reason that comment excited me, so I said, “Well, you know what they say, what happens in the office stays in the office.”
I had almost forgotten that Faith was there when I heard her speak up. “You want me to give you guys the room? Or, I could hold him down for ya, Carol.”
“Stop it, both of you. I’m sorry I brought it up,” Carol muttered. “Alex, I want you to help me figure out the room assignments, two girls to a room. And there’s a slight problem. Bill could only get eight rooms for us, two girls to a room and one for me. He forgot about you.”
“Guess you two will have to share a room,” Faith said. “You can keep it platonic, right, Alex?”
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” Carol told her friend.
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” Faith said as she headed for the door. As she passed me, she paused and whispered, “I can’t wait until you graduate so that you won’t be a student here anymore, and we can have more fun.” I turned and looked at Carol, who was just shaking her head in a kind of ‘what are you gonna do’ motion.
After she left, I asked Carol, “Why do we have to assign rooms? Can’t you just let the girls figure it out by themselves?”
“No,” she snapped. “When I was in high school, we tried that a couple times, and it was a disaster. I thought you’d been around teenage girls long enough to understand that. It can be a real distraction at a time when we don’t need it. Trust me, it can get ugly.”
“Okay, but why do you need my help? You’re the coach.”
“And you’re my assistant,” she reminded me. “Besides, I think you know most of the girls even better than I do, some a lot better, right?” I let that reference to that crazy night on the bus go unanswered. “There’s another reason,” she told me, “if anybody is unhappy I can blame you.”
“Oh, so I’m your sacrificial lamb?”
Carol ignored that comment and turned her attention to her laptop. I stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, and saw that she had already started working on a spreadsheet of room assignments. We worked together to place the rest of the players. It didn’t take long, and after we finished she closed her computer, stood up, and started pacing back and forth in front of her desk.
“It really sucks that Bill forgot about getting a room for you,” she said. “Hell, it was his idea to send you to me to begin with,” a decision that had turned out to be great for me, but I didn’t mention that. “He said the hotel is full, but he’s still working on finding a room for you somewhere close to us. Damn, maybe Faith had the best idea.”
“You’re not serious, are you?”
“Nah, I like my job.”
Between getting the team ready for the most important matches of the year, making the room assignments, and now worrying about where I would stay, I could tell that Carol was getting really uptight. By this point in our relationship, I felt like I knew what she needed. I just had to gather enough confidence to go for it. “What are you doing this evening?” I asked.
She looked at me funny, like I had just asked what color panties she was wearing, then grinned. “Nothing special. What do you have in mind?”
I tried to give her one of my special Alex grins, then told her, “Well, I think you need some stress relief, so I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
“That’s all?” she asked, returning my grin with one of her own.
“No volleyball talk, no school talk at all, just a nice dinner, getting to know each other better. And if you need more relaxation after that, I’ve been told that I give pretty good massages.”
“Alex Reagan, are you asking me out on a date?”
“No ma’am, that would be totally inappropriate. I’m just offering some pre-tournament relaxation therapy.”
But of course, she was right. It sure sounded like a date.
After thinking it over, we decided it might be safer if I just went to KFC and got a bucket of chicken, with all the extras, and brought them to her home - no chance of us being seen by anyone from school. We ate on her back patio, watching the sun set, gorging ourselves on the Colonel’s secret recipe and sharing a bottle of beer. She tried to bring up volleyball a couple of times, and I quickly stopped her.
After we finished, she sat back, sighed, and said, “That was really good, Alex. Between the beer and a full belly, I could almost go to sleep right now, but that wouldn’t be very polite to my date.”
“Glad I could help,” I told her, “and if you want me just to tiptoe out silently, it’s fine. I’m just glad to see you happy.”
“No way. You promised me a massage, and I want one. Let me go grab a quick shower and get ready.”
I made myself comfortable on her sofa, wondering whether I could back up my claim about giving good massages. My only experience was the few minutes I had worked on Monica’s hamstring before Carol interrupted us. I finally convinced myself not to worry about it; a massage is not what Carol really needed, or expected. I had almost dozed off when I heard Carol calling from her bedroom. “Ready, Mr. Masseur.”
With a combination of nerves and excitement, I walked down the hall. I’d been in her bedroom before, when I showered after helping her paint her kitchen, but this time it looked different. It was semi-dark, the only light coming from a couple of scented candles, which gave the room a romantic vibe. Carol was lying on her bed, face down, with a towel draped over her hips. I was pretty sure she was naked under it.
“There’s some lotion on the table,” she said, “unless you brought your own.”
“I’ll probably use that, even though I might have some chicken grease left on my fingers I could use.”
“Go wash your hands,” she ordered.
“Just kidding.”
I found the jar, dipped my fingers into it, and spread the aromatic lotion over her back. I started running my hands over her shoulders, then slowly worked my way down, using her spine as a guide, only stopping when I reached her towel. The cream helped; my hands slid over her skin easily. I worked my way up and down her back several more times, increasing the pressure with my thumbs a little more each time. When she started moaning in an almost sexual way, I knew I was doing okay.