Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Katie Blake: Schoolgirl Whore in Go Team Go!  By Little Bree
(LttlBree@Yahoo.com) (M/f, m/f teen, reluc, nc, prost, football, creampie)
--------------------------------------------------- Author's Note: My first
Katie Blake story was well received, so I figured I'd do another.  This is
no attempt at great literature, but I hope someone out there enjoys it. 
Your feedback would be VERY, VERY APPRECIATED and I'll even do my very best
to answer any emails I get (unless told not to).  I'm on email
lttlbree@yahoo.com or you cna use the anonymous boxes that SOL and ASSTR
make readily available.

   This is slightly darker than the first Katie Blake story, but not as
dark as some of my other work.  I tried to keep it fun, but my instincts
are a little twisted sometimes.  The next one, which is already in the
works, should be more fun (unless dark is what gets feedback, in which case
I'm willing to whore myself to public opinion!) .  As always, suggestions
and ideas would be very appreciated and enjoyed :)

   The usual warnings: make love not war.  Get help if you are actually
considering sex with kids, and if you're not 18 or you're in a country
where this sort of thing is illegal don't read it.

   Thanks Bree ---------------------------------------------------

   Harmony High hadn't won a state football title in...well, ever.  We
hadn't even had a winning season since 1973, and then it was only because
they had a fire over at Addington, and all their players got bussed in to
Harmony for the year.  Football just wasn't our thing.

   Which is why it was sort of a huge deal when the team unexpectedly
started winning.  Going into November, they were 8-1 and on course to make
a run at the state championship.  Everyone was super excited about it.

   Yes, even me.

   I know.  It surprised me, too.  Pep rallies and school spirit definitely
aren't my thing, and I only vaguely comprehend the game.  There was just
something very fun about seeing an underdog team win week after week like
that.  Getting to watch Hailey Miller bouncing and stretching around in her
cheerleader outfit, the inescapable image of her gorgeous naked body
getting fucked by the equally gorgeous Josh Gillen still seared into my
memory, that was just a bonus.

   That's why I was there in the stands, happily decked out in my bright
orange and blue Harmony High T-Shirt.

   Of course, I was also at least sort of totally responsible for the
incredible winning streak.

   That's why I was sitting there uncomfortably with a pussy full of Coach
Tanner's sticky semen.

   I was the "good luck charm", you see.

   Coach paid me to have sex with him before the first game of the season.
It wasn't for good luck that time--luck or no luck, everyone expected
Harmony to lose that one spectacularly--it was just sex 'cause he was
horny. Normal sex.

   But then they won, even though everyone agreed that they shouldn't have.
Harmony was still really terrible, but somehow they got lucky.

   That got Coach all sorts of superstitious.  He refused to change any
part of his game day routine.  He wore the same clothes, ate the same food,
showed up at the exact same time.  The kids in his gym classes played the
exact same games of volleyball every game day even.

   And, of course, he insisted on fucking me before every single game. 
Even that had to be the same--missionary style, on his desk, no condom. 
(Technically, the first time around we used a condom 'cause he was scared
he'd get me pregnant and his wife would find out, but the damn thing broke,
so we went without after that so as to not anger the football gods).

   He insisted I dress the same, too: grey Harmony T-Shirt, khaki shorts,
white sneakers and socks, with my ponytail pulled back through a white
baseball cap.  The outfit made a lot more sense at the start of the season,
when it was warm, but Coach was too far gone to entertain the thought of
sweatpants come fall.  I was a good sport about it, at least until he
finished, but in the bleachers, I bundled up like an Eskimo.  That hadn't
seemed to upset the balance of the universe.  At least, it hadn't for the
first 9 weeks.

   Game 10, on the other hand, wasn't going well.

   "They suck tonight," said Becky.

   Becky knew even less about football than I did, but the observation was
undeniably correct.  Harmony, despite their record, was never especially
good, but tonight they were especially awful.  It was 21 to 6 as the first
half winded down.  They'd been near the opposing end zone exactly once--a
touch down run on the opening drive--but they'd missed the extra point and
five field goal attempts since.  Tim Long, the kicker, was usually they're
saving grace: it didn't matter that they couldn't run or throw, 'cause they
got 3 points every time Tim came on the field.  Usually that is.

   "Maybe they're just warming up?" I offered.

   Becky chuckled.  "If only they had a better tight end!"

   That was a joke.  After the week four win, Coach Tanner got cute and
listed me as a "tight end" on the game report that got filed with the
Harmony Chronicle.  It didn't actually say my name, since that would've
been too obvious, but it said "the Warriors also got invaluable support
from sophomore tight end K.Blake." I was mortified when I found out, but
nobody else even noticed or realized I was the K.Blake in question,
probably because nobody actually reads the Harmony Chronicle except Becky's
family.  Becky's parents are both librarians, so they read everything.

   I laughed, but inside I was sort of worried: could this possibly be my
fault?  I was pretty sure Coach was just silly and superstitious, but the
one time Harmony'd lost was the one week I was on my period, and Coach
settled for a blowjob instead of sex.  It's hard to argue with correlations
like that.  But I couldn't think of anything I'd done different at all
today.  If someone screwed up the magic, it probably definitely wasn't me!

   The crowd around us was quiet and sort of bored.  All the enthusiasm
just up and vanished when Bailey scored that third freaking touchdown. 
When the halftime whistle blew, lots of people started picking up to leave.
I felt bad for the marching band.

   "Do you want to go?" asked Becky.  "We could go see a movie or
something. This is probably going to be kind of boring."

   I didn't actually want to leave, but I didn't have much good reason to
stay either.  "I don't know," I said, stalling.  "Maybe the second half
will be better?"

   Becky rolled her eyes.  Her mind was already made up, I knew.

   Right then, my cell phone buzzed.  It was Coach Tanner ("Uncle Dale" in
my contacts, to avoid suspicion).  I couldn't answer in front of Becky, of
course, but I wanted to.  He NEVER called me during games.  Was something
wrong?

   "I'll, um....be right back," I said.

   "Wait?  What?  Is something wrong?" I heard her, but I was halfway down
the steps and pretending I didn't.  She was my best friend and it wasn't
the first time I'd been sort of rude; she'd forgive me.

   While I searched for something approaching privacy, Coach Tanner called
two more times.  When I finally found a quiet spot around the other side of
the school, he called again before I could even start to dial.

   "Where have you been?!" he barked.  "This is an emergency!"

   "Sorry," I apologized.  "I had to find someplace to call.  What's going
on?"

   "Just get in here quick," he said.  "I'll explain everything."

   That was obviously strange.  Emergencies aren't exactly my thing: you
want doctors and firemen for emergencies.  Call girls?  We're really better
suited for non-emergency situations.

   But he was anxious, and I was curious.

   Slipping into his office, which was right in the middle of the boys
locker room, wasn't as tricky as you'd think.  There was an air vent in the
gym's back storeroom that backed into a cabinet in the gym teachers'
office. You had to be really small to fit through--and even then it was
sort of a squeeze--and it was sort of demeaning to have to literally sneak
in and out through an air duct, but it beat the alternative.

   Normally we've got a whole set of signals, once I'm in the cabinet to
make sure he's alone before I pop out, but today the door was wide open
when I dropped in.

   Also, in an unprecedented twist, Coach wasn't alone.  Mr.  Jacobs, one
of the assistant coaches and also my geometry teacher from last year, was
standing there with him.

   "Um, hi," I said shyly.  I hadn't expected company.

   Mr.  Jacobs smiled awkwardly at me, I think because this was weird for
him, too.  Too distraught to notice the awkwardness, Coach Tanner offered
no explanations.

   "Thank God, you're here!" he said.  "We're getting killed out there!"

   "I noticed," I said.  "But it wasn't me.  I did everything exactly the
same as always.  I swear!"

   Coach shook his head.  "It's not that.  You were fine." He seemed to
fade off and daydream as a pervy smile curled across his lips.  "Very fine,
actually."

   I blushed.  I think Mr.  Jacobs did, too.

   "It's Timmy, "said Coach at last.  "He's a mess out there!"

   "I noticed that, too," I said.  "But, you know.  I'm not much of a
kicker.  Short legs and all.  Not sure how I can help."

   Mr.  Jacobs finally spoke.  "Tim's having some, um, romantic troubles,
you see.  Jessica Hersch I guess dumped him last night.  Really did a
number on him.  His head's just not in the game."

   The poor math teacher could hardly look at me when he talked, so I
started to guess where this was leading.

   "Coach Tanner thought, maybe, if you were willing, and only if you were
comfortable with it, that maybe you could help us, you know...."

   "We need you to suck his dick," said Coach impatiently.  Mr.  Jacobs
shyly nodded that his concurrence.

   Even for me, this was weird.  Teachers aren't supposed to arrange this
sort of thing.  I knew I was beat red.

   "I don't know," I said.  "I mean, Tim's a nice guy and all, but I,
um...I mean we go to school together, and stuff."

   My only sexual experience with a guy my own age had been a night I
wanted to forget entirely.  The thought of actually doing something with a
classmate for money, on orders from a teacher, was just a little
mortifying. If nothing else, I didn't want to get a reputation.

   "We thought of that," said Mr.  Jacobs.  "Tim wouldn't have to know it's
you." He pulled out a small paper sack on which they'd cut two round eye
holes and a big round mouth hole.

   I cocked an eyebrow.  "You're kidding, right?"

   Coach looked desperate.  "Please, Katie," he begged.  "I just want one
good year before they make me retire.  This kid, he's all we've got.  I'm a
terrible coach.  The team is awful."

   The begging made it tough to say no.  I really actually liked Coach
Tanner.  Even before he was a client, he was always nice to me, and to
everyone really.  He never gave bad grades, and he was Santa Claus for the
elementary school kids every single year.  He was the sort of big lovable
doofus that you couldn't not want to help.

   I sighed.  "You really think it'll help?"

   Mr.  Jacobs at least was honest.  "We hope?  It can't hurt.  We'll pay
you, obviously."

   Weirdly, I almost turned and ran when he brought up the money.  It felt
dirty enough before, but payment (which I still wanted, just didn't want to
acknowledge) made it all feel a bit depraved.

   I sighed again.  "Fine," I said.  "Give me the mask."

   They were both elated, way happier than two public educators were
supposed to be about making a teenage boy cum.  They packed up to go back
out on the field--halftime was ending, so they reminded me to be as quick
as I could so Tim wouldn't miss too much of the game-- and then they gave
me a few minutes alone to "get ready." I guessed that meant take my clothes
off, so that's what I did.

   It should've felt ridiculous, waiting there in nothing but a paper bag
mask, but now that I'd agreed to it, it was sort of exciting.  I mean, this
is the sort of thing he'd probably fantasize and talk about for years. 
It's impossible to think about that and not feel sexy.

   When Tim walked into the room hesitantly, my nipples were hard and my
pussy was already soaked.

   "Hey," he said.  You could tell he was nervous.  This was super weird
for both of us.

   "Hey," I said back, then I cringed.  Would he recognize my voice?  Had
we talked before?  I didn't think we really had, at least not much.

   "So, Coach said you, um, wanted to see me?"

   I nodded my head and stepped close to him.  Without a word, I grabbed at
his crotch.  The gesture would've been sexier if he wasn't wearing a jock
strap, but he got the idea.

   "Oh," he said.  "I see." He smiled and slid his pants down.  "It's going
to be like that, huh?"

   His cock was hard and standing erect.  I guess that was a compliment,
since I was the only naked girl in the room.  While I wrapped my hands
around it and stroked, he not-very-subtley rested a hand on my shoulder to
push me onto my knees.

   As his cock bopped against my bag mask, I couldn't help but be
disappointed.  There I was, my whole naked body on display for him, and he
hadn't even copped a feel or squeezed a breast.  He was almost
businesslike.

   I tried not to let it bother me as I slipped him nonchalantly into my
mouth.  This was supposed to be strictly business for both of us, right?

   He'd been running around for half a game in a jock strap and tight
football pants, so his dick was caked with sweat and it made me gag.  While
I spit and coughed and nearly vomitted, Tim laughed.

   "C'mon, honey," he taunted.  "You can do better than that!"

   I silently fumed.  A guy should know better than to insult a girl whose
got her teeth on his dick.  I could've taught him the lesson the hard way,
but I chickened out and resumed sucking like a good little girl.

   Now, I don't have many talents I can actually brag about.  I'm smart,
but not a genius.  I'm fit, but not athletic.  I'm cute but not gorgeous.
I'm amusing but not funny.  The one thing I'm absolutely sure I'm good at,
though, is giving a blow job.  I'm seriously awesome at that, and lots of
guys have told me so.

   Tim, though, was vocally unimpressed.  "C'mon, bitch," he said.  "Suck
it like your mama taught you." I pursed my lips and tried moving faster,
but even that didn't do it.

   "Are you sucking it or just slobbering on it?" The taunts continued.  I
probably should've just walked away and been done with it, but I felt
weirdly compelled to prove to this obnoxious asshole that I was good at
this.

   So for several long minutes, I sucked as eagerly and hard as I could.

   His cock barely twitched.

   "Jesus, bitch," he said, still laughing like a creep.  "I guess that
hole's out of order!"

   This had never happened to me before.  Ever.  Even when I was 12 and
barely knew enough about the male body to find a cock, I always managed to
make guys cum if I tried long enough.

   His patience lost, Tim shoved me back onto the floor.  I flailed back
onto my butt, and he was on me before I even grasped what had happened.

   "Hope your cunt's wet, hon," he said, "cause ready or not, here it
comes."

   I yelped out loud as he plunged himself all the way into me.  "Wait,
no!" I squealed, but by that point he was already pumping in and out.

   "Whores don't get to say no, honey!" he grunted.

   "Not...technically.....true," I panted, though the bag over my head may
have stifled that.

   I couldn't believe how rapidly he'd shifted gears.  I was like a
dumbfounded deer in headlights as he'd gone from an awkward hello to pretty
much just raping me.  I cursed myself for being naked, and for even
agreeing to this stupid scheme.

   Plus, seriously, who fucks a masked stranger without a condom?!

   Fighting him off wasn't an option, though--he was a kicker, sure, but
still a football player, and I barely crested five feet--so I gritted my
teeth and hoped for a speedy end.  He was at least sort of good at it,
raising his hips up so that he rubbed me just right and pushing in long and
deep on every stroke.  He obviously wasn't deliberately pleasuring me, but
his instincts were good.

   "Oh yeah, whore," he said.  "You're so fucking wet!  You like choking on
dick like that, don't you?"

   I didn't answer.  He probably didn't expect me to.



   I don't know if there's a way to measure this sort of thing, so you'll
have to take my word for it, but I have a really tight pussy.  I mean, I'm
obviously not a virgin, but I am more discriminating than most
cheerleaders. Plus I'm 15 and petite.  Guys with big dicks usually groan
when they push into me.

   Maybe that rant sounds a bit way-too-defensive, and it is, but Tim Long
carried on like I was frictionless down there.

   "You're like the wettest fucking bitch I ever fucked!" he said.  "Fuck!
It feels like somebody already came in there."

   It was weird, I think, that he knew what that felt like.  But it was
true; I hadn't exactly had time to shower after me and coach finished up.

   He pumped away like a jack rabbit, but he cursed and moaned like I was
somehow letting him down.  "Christ, it's like fucking a wet breeze!" he
said.

   "You're fucking me?  I hadn't noticed," I mumbled, but I was still too
scared of being found out to say it loud enough for him to hear.  On the
record, though, Tim Long had a small dick.  No wonder Jessica Hersch dumped
him.

   He continued to mutter about the injustice of my too-slippery pussy, and
I mostly tuned him out.  He was a creep.  I didn't even want them to win
anymore.  I wanted him to slip and fall on his way out and break his...

   SWEET MOTHER OF OMG THAT FUCKING HURTS!

   I was so detached and checked out that I didn't even notice him slip out
and shift lower, pointing his cock straight at my unprepared and
way-too-tight asshole.  He shoved himself forward in one vicious,
unhesitant thrust that felt like it was splitting me in two.

   "You fucking asshole!" I screamed.

   "Fuck off, bitch," he snarled.  "I'll fuck any hole I want!"

   Anal sex was one of the few unpleasant novelties I'd managed to
otherwise avoid, and with good reason.  It hurt as much as I expected, and
even more because the only lube involved was the moisture from my own
pussy. There was no way Tim Long's tiny dick could possibly feel so huge,
but it somehow did.

   "You're hurting me!" I squealed, though he probably knew that.

   "I know," he said, confirming that.

   He ground his hips, giddy and gleeful in his torture.  "That's so much
better, cunt," he squealed.

   The minutes turned to hours, but the pain didn't numb.  It sounds silly,
but when he finally tensed and exploded, spilling a load of gross, sticky
jizz deep into my bowels, it was almost a relief.

   He collapsed on top of me then, panting and exhausted.  He was done with
me, but he still didn't have the decency to let me just go away.

   "You're an asshole," I reiterated.

   He chuckled.  "Well, then your asshole just got fucked by an asshole."

   He thought he was hilarious.  "Did you pretend I was a boy the whole
time?  I've heard kickers do that."

   He laughed again.  "You're so funny, Katie.  A real comedian."

   I lay slack jawed and terrified as he rolled away and pulled up his
pants.  He'd never even taken off his pads and jersey.

   "You...you knew?"

   He smiled.  "There's only like three other girls as short as you in the
whole school," he said, "and you're the only one with tits that big.  Did
you really think the stupid bag would fool me?"

   For the first time in a very long half-time, I wanted to cry.

   "Don't worry, though," he said with a smirk as he started to leave. 
"It's our little secret.  As long as your nice to me, that is."

   That didn't make me feel any better.

   I actually did cry then, after he left, and cursed myself a lot for
getting talked into this.  That sort of thing is never the girl's fault and
all the stuff they tell you in health class, but this was kind of sort of
totally my fault.  How could I have been so stupid?

   I braved the empty locker room long enough to get washed up and put my
clothes back on.

   I shimmied back out through the vent and tiptoed out of the store room,
the way I'd doze plenty of times before.

   Back in the bleachers, Becky was mad.  She'd called and texted like
thirty times, but I didn't have the energy to invent an excuse so I just
didn't.  She'd get over it.

   On the field, Harmony was up by three, a miraculous second half recovery
that pumped life back into the crowd.  Hailey Miller was bouncing around on
the sidelines with renewed vigor.

   Looking across the stands, I somehow locked eyes with Jessica Hersh. 
She wasn't smiling either.  No wonder she dumped his ass.