It started my senior year in high school. My spanking fetish, I mean. I was fucking my track coach. Well, he was fucking me, I should say. I was bent over the side chair in his office, and he was giving it to me, really good. He had this super-thick cock, and it was stretching me really wide — way more than either of my previous boyfriends or my uncle had ever stretched me. And he had these really big, black balls, and they were banging my clit every time he slammed into me. It felt fantastic, and I was close to coming.

Until that day, I’d never cum while being fucked. I had only ever been able to get off with my hand, or with a hairbrush handle, or when Uncle Joe ate me out. But, I really wanted to cum on a cock. It seemed an important part of my development.

Coach Alonso was doing his best. He had my hips pinned down against the back of this disgusting, old, purple chair, and my face was pressed into the torn upholstery of the seat. If I had been able to stand up, his balls would have hit my clit at a slightly better angle, and I think I would have been able to get all the way there. I tried to tell Coach that, but he’d shoved my panties in my mouth, so it just sounded like, “Mmmph, ummm, argh.”

I swear, I could feel his giant dick get even bigger and harder at the same time as his pace doubled, a pretty good sign that he was going to blow before I ever would. I like getting fucked hard, though, even if I don’t cum, so I just relaxed and was looking forward to a big, sloppy cream pie, when that old, fat coach totally rocked my world.

Swat! A flash of pain tore through me as his big, bare hand came down against my right ass cheek, Just as the pain was replaced by a warm, soothing rush of blood—Splat!

My left cheek felt the force of his open palm. I whimpered and groaned through the musky lace in my mouth. It stung but didn’t really hurt, and it was so exciting. Hearing my apparent pleasure, Coach yanked my head back by my brown ponytail, and growled into my ear.

“Ha! The slut likes it rough! Don’t you, bitch?”

Though it pulled my hair even more, I nodded and grunted as I struggled against my thong gag.

“Yephh!” I moaned.

“Yeah, all you little sluts come looking for Coach’s cock, eventually,” he said as he pushed my face back into the cracked vinyl of the chair.

He fucked me with long strokes and gave my phat sprinter cheeks hard swats on every fifth thrust. It was like one of those stupid metronome things from music class was sitting on my lower back, timing them out for him. Right! Left! Right! Left!

I so wished I could get my fingers to my clit as I hung on the edge of what I was sure was the biggest orgasm of my young life. But, there was no way, given how he had me pinned down. Absent my own fingers, I concentrated on the steady slap of his balls against my swollen nub at the same time as I anticipated the sharp, scintillating flash of his rhythmic spanks.

Right! Left! Right! Oh god, I was so close!

Both! — Fuck!

He had brought both hands down, one on each firm, round cheek, at exactly the same time. Hard! That did it. That released the spring buried deep in my twat, and the contractions started like a goddam earthquake.

“Uuungh! Mmmph!” I yelled as my panties, now soaked in my own saliva, muffled my orgasmic announcement.

“Yeah! That’s it, track star! Squeeze this big dick with that tight, little cunt!” Coach groaned.

I didn’t have a choice at that point. The orgasm took over my body like I was fucking possessed or something, and I spasmed around on that chair like that chick in the Exorcist. His dick got squeezed, alright. My cunt grabbed onto that big, black rod like it was a giant finger cuff, and didn’t let go until I’d rolled through two or three giant, ecstatic waves of pleasure.

Coach pulled out of me with a long slurp, leaving my pussy pulsing for his meat. He moved in front of me, grabbing a handful of ponytail and yanking me to cock-height. He chuckled as if he’d forgotten that I had a mouth full of pink undies. He scooped them out with his index finger as he let out a full belly laugh. About a gallon of spit flowed out of my mouth and over my chin onto the chair seat below me as I struggled to take a deep breath. I managed only one or two saliva-infused gasps of air before his cunt-soaked head wedged its way between my lips.

I stuck my tongue out, the way Uncle Joe taught me, but it was no contest. I could barely get the thick, salty muffin-top of his fat head into my mouth. Coach was never one to take "no" for an answer, though, and he somehow pushed it in until I gagged, and then repeated the maneuver, over and over.

Swat! The now familiar sensation of his hand against the bare skin of my ass suddenly returned. I realized I had missed those slaps. I wanted those firm spanks against my ass. No, I needed them. I snuck a hand to my bare pussy, as Coach moved in and out of my mouth like that imaginary metronome on my back was set to full speed. I came darned close to another little orgasm before I was interrupted by the briny blast of Coach’s spunk against the back of my throat. He pulled out and finished with a full fire hose treatment of my face.

“Clean up this mess, and then go out there and give me ten good negative splits,” I heard him say as I wiped his ropes from my eyes.

After that afternoon in Coach’s office, there was no turning back. Hell, I couldn’t even make myself cum after that if I didn’t give my butt a good, hard slapping while jilling my clit. Uncle Joe took right to it, as later, so did several boyfriends and a couple of professors in college. My first boss after college, Meaghan, was quite good, even with her small hands. And, now, my fiancé knows my ass needs dedicated attention if he’s going to get me off.

I’ve moved on to enjoy a leather strap, a cat-o-nine-tails, a re-purposed, wooden spatula, and probably a half-dozen other tools of butt punishment. But, it’s still the hard slap of a bare hand on my bare ass that really does it for me. Thanks Coach Alonso.