Leading the swim team wasn’t for the weak. I had to prove I was ruthless enough to command respect—whether that meant sabotaging rivals with hair removal cream or spiking their suits with pepper spray. But this time, I fucked up. The coach caught me, threatened to strip me of my title, and gave me one way out: submit to his “brat-taming program.” Fine. If obeying his every filthy order kept me in charge, I’d play along.
The first lesson? Holding her breath wasn’t just for laps anymore. He tested my lung capacity with his cock shoved down my throat, his grip tight in my hair as I choked. Turns out, I’m a fucking overachiever—shattered the state record before gagging on his cum. Next came “fitness evaluations”: naked cardio, bending over for flexibility checks, his eyes raking over every inch of me. But the real test was his “inspection.”
Two fingers buried deep in my pussy weren’t enough—he needed to search harder. So he split me open with his thick cock, stretching me until I whimpered, his growl in my ear: “Still think you’re in control, Captain?”
God, I should’ve let him “discipline” me sooner.
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