Date: Sun, 5 Jan 2014 16:32:51 -0500 (EST)
From: Chris Thomas <f27s@aol.com>
Subject: Coach Part 5

While driving home, my mind was a little more clear; that tends to be the
case for any man after he has an orgasm.  I knew that I needed to figure
some things out before my hormones began took charge of my intellect again.
Looking down at my pants, I noticed my first problem.  I used a towel I
kept in the car and cleaned myself up the best I could; then I drove to a
department store and bought a few packs of kid-sized socks.  Hopefully no
one would ever find out that I was wearing a miniature sock over my cock,
but I figured this would stay on and between it and my underwear, provide
me some protection from noticeable cum stains.

With that checked off my list, I tackled the weightier matter: the fact
that I had just given my wife's phone number to another man.  Did I just
tacitly give permission to fuck my wife to a man that I can neither compete
with nor stand up to?  This idea scared me and at the same time aroused me.
I wasn't ready to admit it, but I got off on the idea of being helpless in
this situation.  If he wanted her, he could have her and I couldn't stop
him.  This unleashed another flood of emotions that I wasn't ready for.  I
needed to be more rational.  First, Sophia wouldn't cheat on me.  There was
no denying that last night's sex was fueled by her having met Coach, but
there's no harm in being turned on by another person, especially an alpha
male like Coach.  If I'm this mesmerized by him, I couldn't expect her to
not even notice him.  What she had done, however, was come home to me, have
sex with me.  Secondly, Coach could have any woman he wants.  Sophia is
hot, out of my league even, but there are plenty of hot women out there.
As I thought about it, I realized that I was being paranoid.  Asking for
her number was just a means of asserting his dominance over me.  It's all
about getting his papers graded by the new teacher at school.  With that
rationalized, I went home and took a much needed nap.

When Sophia arrived home at 6:30, I had dinner prepared.  We dined by
candlelight, with her sitting not across from me, but right beside me as we
still did as newlyweds.  She told me about her day while I occasionally
rubbed her leg under the table.  Afterward, I did the dishes and she -
exhausted from a long day - lay down on the couch playing a game on her
cell phone.  When I came into the living room, she looked so comfortable
and at rest, so I didn't disturb her; I just sat in my recliner next to the
couch, smiled at her, and began to read.  It was exactly 8:00 when the
background music of her game was interrupted by a text message tone.
Normally this isn't something I would take note of, but my mind immediately
returned to the parking lot where Coach's hand held my car door closed as
he demanded her number.  She smiled and began to type back, stopping
occasionally and pressing her well-manicured index finger to her lips as
she obviously put great thought into her response.

"Who's that?"  I asked innocently.

"No one.  Just a friend."  She removed her index finger from her lip and
pressed send with a look of triumph, as if the text she'd just proofread
was being sent to the President.

"Okay," I conceded.  She continued texting, giggling sometimes and
appearing restless, turning back and forth as she read and typed.  "A
friend you haven't heard from in a while?" I probed.  If this was Coach,
she should tell me.  Don't make me a goddamn e-cuckold.

"Just a friend!"  Her tone was clearly annoyed.  This was a very different
woman from the one who stared into my eyes at dinner just an hour earlier.
I thought it best to give her the benefit of the doubt.  She deserved that
much.  I should read my book and not let my paranoia ruin a great evening.

At 9:00, I closed my book loudly, hoping to get her attention.  "I think
I'm going to get to bed early.  How about you?"

"Go ahead.  I'm not quite ready for bed yet.  I'll join you later," she
said, never looking up from her phone.

"Are you sure?  You had a long day.  Maybe I could give you a massage or
something."  I waited for her response, but she apparently didn't even hear
me.  "So, is that a no to the massage?"

"No thanks.  I'm fine.  Just go to bed."  She continued texting.

"On second thought, maybe I'll read another chapter or two, and stay up
with you a little while longer."  As I sat down again, clearly annoyed and
trying to console myself, my phone buzzed in my pocket.  I opened it.
"Message from Coach Carlson"

(COACH CARLSON) SHUT THE FUCK UP!  TRYIN TO CHAT W/ UR WIFE!

For a moment, all the breath left my body.  I sat paralyzed.  I knew I
should raise hell.  My wife is texting another guy right here in my house.
But I couldn't.  Coach told me to shut up, so I shut up.  My mind granted
my fingers permission to respond.

(JASON) YES SIR.  I AM SORRY.

I hit the "send" key.  In a few seconds, Sophia's phone sounded.  She put
her hand to her mouth, at first in disbelief, then to muffle her laughter.
My phone buzzed again

(COACH CARLSON) DON'T SAY ANYTHING TO YOUR WIFE.  GET UP. GO TO BED.

I didn't think.  My body just responded as if under hypnosis.  My cock
throbbed; the rest of my body rose and walked to my bedroom as I responded
to Coach's order.

(JASON) YES SIR.

I didn't know if my obedience was a result of my knowing that fighting was
futile or because I was so aroused by what was going on.  Nevertheless, I
went to my room, undressed, and lay down in bed.  BUZZ!  My body oozed
precut as I grabbed my phone from the nightstand.

(COACH CARLSON) DO NOT TOUCH YOURSELF.  DO NOT SPEAK A WORD TO HER ABOUT
THIS.  DO NOT TREAT HER WITH ANY INDIFFERENCE OR PETTY BITTERNESS.  JUST GO
TO SLEEP, BOY!

My body, which had taken on a subservient role before my mind was willing
to fully surrender, immediately fell asleep.

The next morning I awoke and dressed without waking Sophia.  She had the
day off, which she would no doubt spend preparing for dinner with Coach.  I
felt a strange lack of anxiety about tonight's dinner guest.  I resigned
myself to the fact that there was nothing I could do to control what would
happen.  I couldn't un-invite Coach, and I certainly couldn't influence the
events of the evening once he arrived.  I would just ride this out and see
what happens.  "He's probably just having fun with me." I told myself.
"He's a bully that never got it all out of his system.  When he's done
here, he'll move on."

School went incredibly well.  As teachers, we have our regular days, our
horrible days, and then what I call "rockstar days" when every kid seems is
engaged and learning.  I had a rockstar day.  Even my worst students were
on the ball.  During my last period, one kid put his head down, and before
I had a chance to give my usual speech ("If you're sick, go to the nurse.
If you're tired stand up.  Never put your head down in my class.), one of
my lead juvenile delinquents intervened for me.  Otis is an obnoxious,
indigent prick.  He's only 16 and already on probation.  Usually he's the
one I'm fighting with to try to make him do any work at all, so I couldn't
believe when he kicked his neighbor's desk and railed, "Hey!  Wake up.  You
know you don't sleep in Mr. Rogers' class."  Otis scanned the class to make
sure everyone else was in line, and then continued his assignment.  It
seemed the universe knew I needed to have an easy day.

After school, I stayed and graded papers for as long as possible.  I didn't
want to face Sophia yet.  I had been instructed to not be indifferent or
bitter, so I thought it best to just avoid the awkwardness as long as
possible.  I stopped for wine on the way home, and just to show that I held
no ill feelings about last night, I bought Sophia a half dozen red roses.
I didn't arrive home until 5:30, which only gave me an hour until our
guest's anticipated arrival.  The house looked and smelled immaculate.  The
table was set with china and candles I had never seen before.  We had
really nice dinner plates given to us as a wedding gift, so she had no
reason to buy new China, especially as expensive as this looked, for one
dinner guest.  I ignored the implication and went to the bedroom to get
ready.  Sophia was in the master bath with the door locked, so I used the
guest bathroom to shower and get dressed.  At 6:15, I was dressed and
nervously awaiting our dinner guest; however, Sophia was still in the
bathroom.  I poured myself a glass of merlot to calm myself and turned on
the news to divert my attention.

At 6:30, Sophia still had not emerged from the bathroom.  I took a deep
breath, knowing that at any moment Coach Carlson would ring my doorbell.  I
felt like a high school girl awaiting her prom date.  The doorbell never
rang, though.  Instead, at 6:35, the door knob turned and the door swung
open.  There Coach stood, entering my home as if it were his own.  With the
evening sun behind him, the sight of his massive frame filling the doorway
was divine.  He wore a white, crew neck shirt covered by a well-fitted
sports coat.  My eyes moved slowly down the muscle god.  The shirt met a
pair of dark bluejeans where it was tucked in just north of a black leather
belt.  His jeans hugged his enormous crotch and wrapped around his massive
thighs that were literally bigger than my waist.  I continued to follow
every inch of his 6'4" muscled body down to his dress loafers, which I
estimated were a size 13 or 14.

After a few moments of allowing me to take him in, he entered and closed
the door, looking around and sizing up my humble home.  "Nice place you've
got here, boy.  Very comfortable."  Not caring that I was just called "boy"
in my own home, I beamed with pride at his compliment.  Coach walked past
me and began to give himself a tour of the home.  Rather than lead the
tour, I followed behind him.

"May I take your coat," I asked not to be polite, but because it partially
concealed the muscular glutes I followed.

"Not yet," he said, continuing to walk in and out of rooms opening closets,
and cabinets as if he were considering buying the house.  When he got to
our bedroom, he turned the bathroom door to find it still locked.  He
smiled and turned, walking past me out of the room.  "Offer me a drink like
you've got some damn manners!"

"I'm sorry, would you like a glass of wine?  a beer?  I have some Vodka and
Gin also with the standard mixers."

"Just give me what you're drinking."  I poured him a glass of merlot, and
delivered it to him in the living room.  He sipped and nodded with
approval.  Just as I sat in my recliner adjacent from him, Coach stood,
looking past me.  I turned to see Sophia standing in the living room door
way.  She wore a new dress.  It was casual, but elegant, off-white and made
of some silky fabric.  It was sleeveless and cut to show just a hint of
cleavage and to hug her nice breasts and thin body.  Stopping just above
the knees, it was the perfect combination of classy and erotic.  Clearly it
got Coach's attention; their eyes were locked.  Coach sipped his wine
again, but never removed his eyes from my wife.  Setting the wine glass
down, he pealed off his sports coat.  Sophia and I both let out a
simultaneous gasp as he tossed me the coat.  Coach not only matched, but
surpassed Sophia in aesthetic grandeur.  The shirt was a failed attempt to
conceal Coach's size and power.  His shoulders, biceps, and pecs strained
every fiber of the shirt.  The remainder of Coach's cannon-like biceps
escaped from the border of the white, short sleeves.  My eyes zeroed in on
and followed a single vain from his bicep down his forearms.

Realizing the need to break myself from this trance, I stood and turned to
Sophia, "You look amazing, babe."  I wanted so badly to tell Coach that he
was truly the stunning image in the room.

She didn't seem to hear me or even notice that I was in the room, but
apparently my compliment conjured enough feelings of pity for me that she
broke the awkwardness of her and Coach's sex stair: "Thanks.  Everything is
ready, if you all are hungry now.  If you'd rather we chat a while and eat
later, though, it can wait."

Before I could suggest the customary time of conversation before dinner,
Coach responded.  "I'm hungry now.  We can chat while we eat."

Coach and I sat across from one another with Sophia in between.  At first,
conversation was light as we ate.  I tried not to stare at Coach, but it
was difficult with him directly in my line of vision.  Sophia, on the
either hand, took every opportunity to stare at him.  I decided I should do
something to spark conversation.  "So, Coach, how's school going for you so
far this year?"

Coach looked at Sophia instead of me, "No shop talk tonight.  Instead, tell
me how you two met."

I liked his suggestion better.  "We met in college," I responded smiling at
her.  "We both went to USC.  We had freshman biology together."

"Lab partners," she interrupted.

"Well, that took some workÉ" My anecdote about bribing a classmate to
switch lab partners was interrupted as Coach raised his index fingers and
eyebrows, silencing me.

"Don't interrupt, boy.  What were you saying, Sophia?" He turned to her,
and she continued the story.  Everyone in the room, including myself,
behaved as if it were perfectly appropriate for a guest to silence his host
and refer to him as "boy" in front of his wife.  She went on with the
story, highlighting the fact that I refused to dissect on grounds that it
was immoral, but really because I couldn't stomach it.  "God, what a
pussy," he replied laughing as he pushed his now finished plate back and
laid his powerful arm on the table in its place.  Conversation continued
another twenty minutes.  I spoke only when spoken to.  Coach told us about
his high school and college athletic feats as well as recent bodybuilding
championships as my wife and I sat entranced by him.

I rose without being asked and cleared the plates after Coach declined
dessert; then I stood waiting for Coach to direct the evening.  He finally
stood and walked to me giving me a look I could not decipher.  I was again
overwhelmed by the difference between him and me.  I stood only at chest
level with him and in every other sense, I was less than half of this man.
Moving in the direction of the living room, Coach walked right into me, my
nose to his chest.  He was too superior to walk around me, and I was too
entranced to move out of his way; so instead, he grabbed me by the waist,
easily lifting me moving me to the side.

Sophia and I followed with our eyes locked on his muscled ass.  Coach
reclaimed his seat on the loveseat.  I sat on the couch, and Sophia
followed.  Before she sat, though, Coach patted the seat next to him.
Taking the cue, Sophia sat next to Coach.  At that point I mentally
admitted to myself what I already knew - I had become a cuckold.

*** Thanks for all the emails.  I welcome them, especially from any
"Coach-like" guys out there.  The story gets much more exciting with the
next section.  ***