Happy father’s day weekend to each and every one of you. I..

Happy father’s day weekend to each and every one of you. In honor of those of you who’ve successfully creampied a willing little bitch into motherhood, I’m going to tell a story that I haven’t up to this point in my life told one single other soul. When I was l6 I had a slightly “inappropriate relationship.” The offender was my high school cheerleading coach. He was also one of the physics teachers at my school, but I never had a class with him. It all started during the summer of 1992. At the week-long cheerleading camp we hosted at our school. And since I was one of the less fortunate girls on the squad, the only mode of transportation I had at my disposal was my trusty 10-speed bike. I’ll never forget how it started. It was the second day of camp (a Tuesday), and coach pulled me aside after the final session. “Hey Kat, the weather report’s not looking too good for tomorrow morning,” he casually proffered. “How about I pick you up around 7:30 and give you ride. Can’t have my sophomore sensation getting struck by lightning, now can I.” We both laughed. If I’m being honest, his suggestion to pick me up at my trailer at a time of day when my parents had already left for work opened a spigot in my cotton panties. The thought of him crawling into my bed on a stormy June morning, already hard and in need of a girI, was never completely out of my head for the rest of the night, and the abject remoteness of the possibility of it even occurring was no deterrent to the insomnia that gripped both me and my only recently-deflowered little pussy. For some reason, I was absolutely fascinated by precum at that stage of my life, and all I could think about was the tip of his erection glistening with it as it disappeared into the welcoming little crevice between my thighs. And I would also posit that any other girI on the team that year would have had the same exact physiological response as the one I’d had. Why? Because Coach Thompson (not his real name) was flat-out hot as fuck. He was probably around 34 or 35 at time, had a very Magnum P.I.-ish 6’4 frame with a gorgeous little wife to match (a pediatrician in our burb) and two beautiful y0ung daughters. Needless to say, I never got the chance to take care of coach’s morning wood (that day, anyway 😉), but I was a nervous wreck crawling into the passenger seat of his red Volkswagen Sciracco nonetheless. The sessions ended that Wednesday at 2:30 pm on the nose, and I remember dragging my still-sweaty little body into his car at around 3pm. The first thing I said after he crawled in on the driver’s side a few seconds later was how dire in need of a shower I was, and – waving his hand in front of his face - he immediately quipped that he could tell. We both laughed at his joke, but the mere possibility of him being able to smell my arousal in the supremely confined space of his little turbocharged sports car was making me just about as wet as I’d ever been in my entire life. At one point during the short ride to my trailer park, I became absolutely certain that I could smell my own pussy, and I remember blushing reflexively with the type of embarrassment on which Massengill had built its empire. “Fuck, he must think I’m such a dirty little slut,” I remember thinking to myself. Fortunately, it was less than a minute later that we pulling into the entrance to the park, and I was so relieved at the prospect of finally getting out of the car and into a hot shower. My hand had just found the lever to the passenger-side door when I heard him utter the two sentences that would kick the entire affair off… “So, when do your parents get home? Because I could definitely use a quick rinse myself.” The rest will be you father’s day treat for tomorrow 😊