Coaches Arch Their Backs As Well
I almost step back when I see who the two clients are waiting for me at the introduction area of Le Penthouse Suite, the Gold Coast’s longest established and finest high-class bordello. I primp my strawberry blonde hair so that it flatters my shapely shoulders, briefly check the black and red lingerie piece I’m wearing, adjusting the garter belt a little, and sway my slender hips as I approach the man and women standing there.
“Hi, I’m Belle,” I smile warmly and offer my hand to the lady first, because she is older than the young man, old enough to be his mother? They are both wearing track suit clothing, and in the soft lighting I can see the Commonwealth Games logo design on their blue T-shirts. The man is tall and handsome, with a strong physique, broad shoulders and powerful chest, but he doesn’t smile.
“Just call me Coach,” the woman smiles and takes my hand, “And this is my student, we’re part of the Commonwealth Diving Team.” Now the young man glances at me and a gentle smile turns the corner of his lips. He takes my hand and kisses it, like a true gentleman.
“So you’re wanting a ménage-a-trois?” I hazard a guess as to their intent. And the young man chuckles a little and says, “No, she’ll just watch, she wants to improve my breathing technique and back arch, for a difficult dive we want to do in competition.”
“Back arch?” And now I am smiling. And now he is checking out my figure, my perfect breasts with sweet strawberry nipples poking through the transparent fabric of the brassiere, my slender waist and cute belly-button, and his linger for a longer moment on the G-string, my hairless tight pussy partially visible through the transparent fabric of the crotch.
His breathing becomes a little deeper, and there is a change in his eyes, so we move now, past Hayley, our manageress who is checking an account book at reception. She glances up at us and smiles at me, gives me an okay sign with her thumb and forefinger.
We move up the stairs with myself in the lead, heading for Suite One, the deluxe boudoir with marble Jacuzzi, king-sized double bed, and dancing pole. The Commonwealth Diver is behind me, and the coach is last in line. I can feel the diver’s urgency, know that he is checking out my sweet buttocks because I am emphasising the sway of my hips, I can almost imagine him licking his lips.
Upon entering the room, the coach takes a seat, and the diver starts to take off his track suit, “Just a moment big boy,” I say to him, “I can do that for you, just give me a moment to make the bed. I’ve noticed a bulge in the crotch of his track pants and I think this guy must be built in more ways than one.
As I make the bed, I once again emphasize the shapely curve of my sweet buttocks, knowing that the diver is watching, and sure enough he can’t resist the urge to approach me, and I soon feel the strength of his arms encircling my waist, the hot breath and touch of his lips against the nape of my neck, the powerful bulge of his erection pressing against the small of my back through the fabric of his track pants. He has already taken his T-shirt off because I can feel the strong smooth skin of his pectorals against my upper back, so defined and hard as rock, nearly as hard as his erection which throbs against me even through his pants.
I struggle to tuck the last corner of the satin sheets under the mattress, because the diver is man-handling me from behind, like some prisoner that’s been denied a sexual encounter for years and I wonder at how strict the coach and the training schedule are. As if the coach has heard me, I hear her cough little. Is she a little embarrassed by our foreplay?
I turn into the aggressive embrace of the diver and now he starts kissing me deeply on the lips, tonguing my tongue, now on the neck, his hands around my waist. He reaches up and pulls aside my brassiere and starts to suck my now exposed young and tender nipples and breasts.
“Slow down, discipline is key to our training.” The coach says this from the love seat. And the diver slows just a little, his breathing deepens a bit, and the moment of heat is dampened a bit. I’m a little disappointed, talk about cramping someone’s style I think.
But soon enough, the diver’s urgency overtakes any sense of steady measure, and he’s pushed me onto the bed, pulled aside my G-string and sucking and licking my tight pussy lips, making tight hard circles around my clitoris with his tongue so that it is stiff and erect, and then he nibbles just a little on the sensitive clit and I shudder with almost delirious pleasure.
He continues the cunnilingus on my wet tight pussy for endless moments, with one hand fondling my breasts and the other stroking his thick and long erection. The coach has been calling out words like, “breathing, and discipline”, but her voice is distant in the back ground, as myself and the diver are consumed by our mutual lust, the blood rushing through our eyes, the panting of our breath almost in chaotic unison.
He moves up now, and he places his thick and hard manhood against the fabric of my G-string, the length resting along the groove of my pussy lips, and I remember we need protection. I say, “Condom,” and motion to the close by bed table and he quickly reaches for a packet. I tear it open with my teeth and start fitting the condom onto his throbbing length with my lips and mouth, aware of the glistening pre-cum that dangles in a droplet from the head of his manhood. As I fit the condom over his thick meat pole, I bite down hard several times, a response to his nibbling of my clit and he too shudders and groans in pleasure. I fit the entire condom onto his length and start sucking his erection deep and long, back and forth, continually biting so he continually shudders, taking it so deep that I gag saliva onto his thighs and the bed. His hands clasped around the back of my skull, ruffling up my hair.
I keep sucking harder and faster and he is nearing climax, when the coach’s voice interrupts, mumbling something incoherent. So he pulls back, and now I guess he wants to penetrate me, and maybe practice his breathing and back arch.
I move back a little on the bed and he straddles my thighs, then decides it’s better if he is standing; the urgency he has for coming inside me is still causing him to move frantically but an awareness of the coach has measured his breathing and his choice of positioning. He stands at the edge of the bed, and while my ankles are hooked around his waist, he positions his thick length against my pussy lips, then he pushes past the popping point and penetrates me once, then twice, then deeper, then deeper still. And now he is moving back and forth and into me, pushing it all the way so that it plunges into my deepest sex centre, my G-spot, and I moan with delirious pleasure.
Back and forth, in and out, and I think I hear the coach saying, “Breathe, make sure you arch your back,” and I think I notice a difference, I think he plunges even deeper into me, and I nearly black out, because I’ve reached climax and experienced an orgasm so blissful it takes a moment for me to realize my own back is arched and I am shuddering and moaning with delight. And he is still pounding me, faster now, so fast and deep, and then in three stabbing, thrusting penetrations I feel his orgasm blossom inside of me and he groans like a bull, his breathing so deep, his back fully arched, the coach obviously happy.
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