Squats challenge

“You wanted to see me, Coach Nelson?" A young woman stood in the doorway to the coach's office; her jet black hair damp with sweat, bangs messily matted upon her forehead and the rest of her hair pulled back into a purely functional ponytail. The white cotton fabric of her shirt clung to her skin, following her lithe figure down to the waist, where it gave way to some hot pink nylon running shorts that had certainly earned their name; they were taught and filled with the mass of her well toned bottom and thighs. “Something about some extra training, I think you said?”

Mouth curling into a sly, crooked smile, the coach rose from the desk he sat at. He was swarthy, olive-skinned and with his dense, black body hair curling out around the fabric of the lime tank top he wore, crawling all up and down both of his brawny arms, and even protruding from his face in a rustic beard and mustache. “That's right, Carly,” he crooned, his voice a rich bass, smooth like caramel. “With the semifinals coming up, I want you to be in tip-top shape. So today we're going to have a little squats workshop, just you and me.”

Moving around the desk to meet her on the soft, blue vinyl matting, the difference between the two became obvious. Carly was shorter, leaner, and most of her muscle mass lay in her quads and glutes; he was built like a wall, muscle covering his body from calves up to his pecs and all down his arms, and hands almost the size of her head.
The two locked eyes, Nelson's stern mahogany eyes communicating his expectations to her wordlessly.  As she stared back, ocean blue irises dazzled by a captive gaze, Carly slid her thumbs into the elastic waistband of his basketball shorts and eased them down, her own body following suit into a makeshift squat.

With an almost imperceptible hesitation she tore her eyes away and refocused on the object of desire that laid before her now. Her comparatively small fingers began to encircle his length, and though Nelson's cock was not yet rigid and inflexible, it fit her hand perfectly.

Nelson watched on as she began to massage his flaccid cock tenderly. Tender, oblong strokes kneaded arousal right into his flesh, while her serpentine tongue flicked out and danced across the very tip. Fingertips tickled along the topography of his testicles, softly rolling along their contours. His length throbbed, yielding to the skill of Carly’s hands as it approached the zenith of its size.

I fucking love teenagers, he silently mused as her soft lips engulfed the swollen, purple tip, sending a shiver of pleasure coursing throughout his body as they popped over the ridge. They work so much harder for the attention.

It was only then that her attack began in earnest; her cheeks had turned concave from the voracious suction, and the stroking had turned ravenous and aggressive. Her tongue assaulted the slit of his cock and stole a series of low, animalistic groans that even took Nelson by surprise.

The muscles in his legs were weakening, buckling under the pressure of ecstacy and he could only think to steady himself by placing his hands on her head. As his fingers burrowed their way deep into the long, mussed licorice locks, it was unclear if it was meant to encourage, to yield, or merely an attempt to abate his climax.

Whatever Nelson's intentions, the vigorous tongue lashing had pushed his cock over the edge of the precipice of pleasure. Every muscle in his groin braced for impact as his cock swelled to capacity; his testicles fought to tighten in preparation for release, but Carly’s possessive fingertips held their ground and wrung from Nelson's lips a moan that swiftly crescendoed into a series of whimpers uncharacteristic for a man of his build.

A pained wince came to dominate Nelson's countenance, eyes clamped shut so firmly everything turned white in Nelson's field of vision as the pearl-toned fluids rose in his urethra and erupted in syncopated rhythmic pulses to coat the back of Carly’s throat.

However, the viscous fluid and the symphony of submissive tones did little to calm the tongue that swarmed around the pliant, purple membranous corona. Sensory overload quickly devastated Nelson's nervous system, surging neural impulses through his extremities that left him a quivering mess in the proverbial palm of her hand.

A series of unintelligible, guttural grunts soared from his lungs as he pleaded for mercy, but Carly was so pleased by his reactions that even the softening of his cock in the domain of her supple lips and darting tongue was enough to sate her sadistic streak.

Using the abundant mix of saliva and semen present as lubricant, she worked a finger between Nelson's taught ass cheeks. With slow, swirling motions and gentle probing strokes she worked her finger past his resistance and plumbed the depths until the firmness of his prostate resisted her probing and caused his dwindling cock to jump. Carly redoubled the efforts of her oral massage as the pad of her finger caressed down the walnut-shaped gland's length, as if trying to herd the blood in his arteries back into the captivity of his penis. Her measured palpation was causing a steady growing stream of moans escaping his mouth as the fleshy member grew and filled hers.

Satisfied with the fruits of her labor, Carly pulled her mouth back from Nelson's renewed hardness, a single stand of the seminal-saliva mix hanging perilously between her chin and his throbbing cock. “Lie down on the mat,” she commanded, the calm demand of her voice belied by both the strand of juices connecting them and her position squatted before his muscular form.

With unfettered, wordless compliance Nelson quickly arranged himself supine on the mat before locking his eyes with hers sheepishly. A crooked smile twisted Carly's lips, still coated with the drying frothy cocktail of their bodily fluids.

“Now, raise your legs up and bring your knees into your chest.” Again, he obeyed her command, clenching his core and pulling his knees up and nearer to his pectorals; Carly stood up from her crouched position and moved astride his bent legs with her ample bottom pointed towards him. “I want you to spot me, Coach. So I'm going to use your thighs to help with my squats."

Visually impaired by the round, toned ass before him, all Nelson could see of the action unfolding before him was the group of fingers entwining around his shaft as it was pulled away from him, aimed between his thighs. And as a sensation of warmth, moisture, and undulating flesh engulfed the sensitive, engorged head of his cock he groaned, deeply, from his very core. It was guttural, borne of surprise and anticipation; and the sheer force of its escape flattened his body upon the mat.

Carly was sure to toy with her prey, using the strength in her thighs and abdomen to her advantage as she turned the process of impaling herself on his length into a torturously drawn out affair. Her hips rolled like the waves of the ocean, claiming his manhood as the sea would a sinking ship; slowly, perilously, breaking him upon her body; sinking further and further into the moist depths, until there would be no hope of rescue from her grasp. Nelson squirmed and shifted restlessly under her devilish torment until finally, her hips found landfall on his thighs. He could not help but attempt to buck his hips, a crude byproduct of her whimsy.

Feeling his feeble attempt to drag some stimulation out of his circumstance, Carly closed her eyes and let her head fall back, reveling in her conquest. She pulled her lips into a smile before entrapping the bottom one between her teeth; and breathing a contented sigh through her nose, she ground her hips back against him; her movements slight and calculated, moving with the flow instead of against it, attempting to make Nelson's efforts fruitless.

A desperate nasal whimper was Carly's reward, as Nelson slowed his futile efforts. "Come on, Coach. You know that's not going to get you anywhere," she cooed with a singsong lilt, "this was supposed to be about helping me with my squats!"

Nelson dared not answer. In the back of his mind the thought that it might jeopardize their farcical training session and land him in the dog house - literally - was reigning supreme. Instead, he merely pressed his thighs against her bottom, a wordless signal to start the set of squats.

She obliged, beginning a set of equally farcical pseudo squats that ranged only as long as Nelson's cock did. With each passing stroke, she raised her hips just until she could feel the ridge of his cock head barely start to escape, and then slid back down until Nelson's "spotting" kept her from losing her farcical form.

Nonetheless, Nelson's chest heaved with labored breaths, their fucking slow and metered, her walls so slathered with the nectar of arousal that each passing contour and fold seemed to roll and conform to his shape in the most cruel way possible. Instincts were beginning to take control, demanding more; more speed, more friction, more pleasure, more anything.

The war raged on in his mind, as the primal instinct to pump his semen as deep into her pussy as he possibly could fought for purchase against his want, *need* to be at this girl's beck and call; to be used as her plaything; to grant her pleasure and partake of her moans of ecstacy, her scents and flavors, the pain and pleasure of her whimsy