Punishment in the Dorm: A Stern Coach

Fuck, that was so wild. Even now, when I think about it, I get goosebumps and something deep down inside me clenches. My name is Lisa, I'm a second-year student, and just so you understand, I've always been a good girl. Until I met him. Andrey Viktorovich, our track and field coach. A huge man of about forty, with arms the size of my thighs and a mug that never smiled. He was a real dictator in the gym. If you were late, he'd run extra laps; if you missed a time, he'd work you off twice as hard. In short, he was a butcher, not a coach. Honestly, I was terrified of him. But I also respected him, because thanks to his methods, I really got into shape. And that's where I got myself into trouble. I was hanging out with my girlfriends, then my exams came, and I just ditched three practices in a row. I thought, well, I'll go, apologize, make some excuse. Who cares. He caught me in the hallway after class. "Zaitseva," he barked, making me jump. "I'll see you at the gym this evening. At eight. To make up for missing time." - But Andrei Viktorovich, I... “At eight,” he snapped and left without even letting her finish. The gym was closed that evening. I stood there for half an hour, then received a text: "Dorm address: Building 2, Room 514. Waiting." I almost shit myself. A trainer in a dorm? Is that even legal? But my legs carried me there. It was strange, I was shaking with fear, but somewhere deep in my stomach, a tight knot of anticipation formed. I was such a fool, of course. His room was a real hovel: a narrow bunk, a desk piled high with books, a wall bar in the corner, and the smell of sweat and cheap cologne. He sat there in sweatpants and a tank top that clung tightly to his shoulders. "Come in, Zaitseva. Close the door," he commanded without even getting up. I walked in like a mouse, with my head hunched into my shoulders. - Andrey Viktorovich, well, I'm sorry, but really, it won't happen again. "Won't happen again?" He chuckled and stood up. He was nearly two meters tall, towering over me like a rock. "You let my team down, Zaitseva. The team. Because of you, we'll have to rearrange the participants at the competition. Do you understand the consequences?" “I’ll work in the field, I’ll run a hundred laps,” I babbled. "In the field?" He came closer. He smelled of sweat and tobacco. "Your field is here. Since you came to my house, it means you understand that the punishment will be different." And then a cold sweat broke out on me. I understood everything. But instead of turning and running, I stood rooted to the spot, staring into his hard eyes. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered curtly. “What?” I whispered. "You heard. You did something wrong, I'm punishing you. It's easier than chasing you around the stadium. Or do you want me to ban you from competitions forever?" Fucking blackmailer. And it worked. Sports were everything to me. With trembling hands, I pulled off my sweatshirt, then my jeans. I was left in my bra and thong. He looked at me intently, and his gaze felt like a physical touch. “Not enough,” he barked. I took everything off. I stood naked before him, covering my breasts and pubis with my hands. The room was cool, but my nipples stood up straight, like two pebbles. "Lie down on the bed, face down," he said, taking a jar of cream out of the cabinet. "Your muscles are sore from skipping school. I'll give you a massage." I obediently lay down on the narrow, sweat-scented bed, burying my nose in the pillow. And then it began. He sat on my legs, crushing me with his weight. His huge hands gripped my shoulders. At first, he simply pressed, kneading, and it was painful, but bearable. Then his hands moved lower. Down my back, down my lower back. “Mmm,” I exhaled involuntarily. He spread my buttocks. I jerked, but he pressed his foot harder on my hips, holding me in place. "Lie down," he ordered harshly. "You need to stretch your gluteal muscles, too." And his thumb, lubricated with cream, ran right over my hole. Right in the center, over my anus. It was like an electric shock. I gasped and clutched the pillow. "Don't tense up," he hissed. "Relax, or it will hurt more." I tried, but how can you relax when the trainer is groping you? His finger circled around, pressing, but didn't penetrate. Teasing. And with his other hand, he suddenly grabbed my pussy from the front, roughly squeezing my clit with his fingers. I screamed. "It's all completely neglected there," he chuckled. "It's as dry as a desert. But never mind, we'll fix it right away." He flipped me over onto my back. I lay spread-eagled beneath him, and he hovered over me, undoing his sweatpants. His dick slid out like a club. Thick, red-headed, veiny. I'd never even seen one like that in porn, only glimpses of guys in the shower, but then it was much more discreet. My mouth went dry. "You'll use your mouth first," he said, moving his balls towards my face. "Knead it so I can get inside you." I shook my head: “I can’t, I never…” He grabbed my hair, wrapped it around his fist and shoved his cock into my lips. "You need to study, Zaitseva. You have to pay for all the absences. Open your mouth." I opened it. The head burst into my mouth, filling it completely, pressing against my throat. I almost threw up. I wheezed, trying to pull away, but he held me in a death grip and began moving my head up and down, impaling my mouth on his shaft. "Suck," he growled. "Work your tongue, don't scrape your teeth, bitch." Tears sprang to my eyes, drool ran down my chin, but I did as he commanded. I licked that slippery head, tasting the salty precum. He groaned from above, his grip on my hair painfully tight. "Enough," he exhaled after a couple of minutes, pulling out his cock. "Or I'll cum prematurely." He flipped me over onto my stomach again, lifted my ass, and forced me to kneel and lie chest-down on the bed. The position was such that I felt like the ultimate slut. He splashed some cold liquid from the jar onto my hole, then spat right on my dick and smeared it. "This is going to hurt like hell," he warned, and I heard a smile in his voice. "But you're an athlete, be patient." He placed the head of his cock against my sphincter. I pressed my face into the pillow, expecting hell. He pressed down. The head entered—and the world around me exploded. It wasn't just pain, it was a rupture. It felt like a red-hot crowbar was being driven into my ass. I screamed at the top of my lungs, thrashing under him, trying to break free. "Stop!" he yelled back, giving me a resounding slap across my buttocks, making my skin burn. "Be patient, you creature! It's your own fault!" He drove even deeper. My anus burned like fire, stretching beyond all limits, but he didn't stop until he was almost all the way in. I felt his pubic hair tickling my ass. I sobbed into the pillow, but between the sobs, bitch, I started to feel something else. When he shifted back a little and entered again, not only pain but also a wild, forbidden wave ran through my walls. A spark struck the very bottom of my stomach and reverberated in my clit. “Oh, fuck…” I exhaled through tears. "You like it, bitch?" he growled, starting to move rhythmically. "Tell me, do you like being fucked like a total whore?" “Yes…” I whispered, not believing my own words. “Yes…” He fucked me hard and deep in the ass, driving my chest into the mattress with every thrust. His balls slapped against my wet pussy, creating this wet, lustful sound. I whined, pushing myself up to meet him, because the feeling of being filled, this incredible thickness inside me, was driving me crazy. “I’m going to cum,” he croaked. He pulled out instantly, turned me around, and thrust it back into my mouth. I barely had time to open up before he growled, and a hot, thick stream hit me. The cum was bitter and slippery, so much of it that I choked, but I swallowed and swallowed, feeling my empty hole pulsate and contract, dreaming of having him inside me again. He fell back onto the bed, breathing heavily. I lay next to him, smearing snot and his cum all over his face. The room reeked of sex. My ass was on fire, and everything between my legs was wet with my own juices. We were silent for a minute. Then he turned and took my chin in his hand, looking into my eyes. — Tomorrow at eight, Zaitseva. Work again. And no lateness. I nodded, still breathing heavily. I knew I was in trouble. This was punishment. But I liked it. I wanted more. I wanted him to break me again, punish me, and fill me with himself. I stood up, my legs shaking, and started getting dressed. He didn't even walk me out, just lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling. As I walked out of that stinking room, I felt something sticky leaking between my legs. It was either his sperm or my wetness. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and thought, "So who punished whom?" It seemed he had just given me the most powerful addiction of my life.