It’s early morning, and you quietly pack your bag, trying not to wake your teammates. The university gymnastics competition is today, and your coach suggested some extra practice in preparation. You double check that you’ve packed your whole outfit, knowing the coach’s views on incomplete uniform, before zipping up your tracksuit top and heading out the door.

The competition is in London, so you’d all travelled down the day before to make sure you had a good sleep before the big day. You check google maps for the route to your coach’s hotel and luckily it’s close enough to not need an Uber, so you set off at a gentle jog.

You cross the lobby and take the lift, the. knock on the door of his suite, slightly out of breath but nicely warmed up after the run. Coach opens the door and looks at his watch. “Good work, we’ve got plenty of time. Come on in.” He steps aside, letting you in. He takes your bag while you undo your laces, taking off your shoes before following him through into a small living room. He hands you your bag, before sitting on the sofa. “Go get changed and we’ll get started, the bathroom is on the right.”

Once in the bathroom, you take off your tracksuit, and wearing just a sports bra and a thong, start getting out your uniform. Frowning, you rummage through your bag again, before dumping the contents on the floor. Fuck - your undershorts are missing. You can’t believe you left them behind, you’d made a point of double checking everything. Angry at yourself, you slip on your top, skirt and knee-socks before heading back through to the sitting room.

“I’m really sorry coach, I forgot to pack my undershorts” you admit, standing shame faced in front of him. “What are my rules on uniform?” He says in frustration. “Full uniform at all times. If you’re sloppy about uniform, how can you be trusted in the finals? We’ll do 20m of extra stretching as a punishment, I know you hate it”.

He starts taking you through a series of upper body stretches, pushing you to the point of pain as you work your neck, shoulders, arms and stomach muscles. You’re glad you’d warmed up with the jog before arriving. Coach calls a break, getting you a glass of water, then starting again. “Now, lower body stretches” he says. You start with touching your toes, and suddenly remember you don’t have undershorts on. Blushing furiously, you pull down the bottom of your skirt, conscious of how short it is. “Aaaaah coach, i’m not really sure i’m dressed for these stretches” you say, not making eye contact. “That’s not my problem is it?” He replies. “I have a uniform requirement for exactly this reason. Now get on with it.”

Cringing, you stretch again, only going so far before stopping, not wanting your skirt to ride up. “That’s a joke, do it again” coach growls from behind you. You stretch again, stopping in the same place, cheeks blushing furiously. Then, a hand grabs the back of your neck, pushing down. “I said further” coach says angrily, holding your head down as your calves stretch painfully. He lets the pressure off, but only so far, his hand still gripping your neck as he holds you bent over. You feel him flip the back of your skirt up, exposing your arse. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” you shout in shock, trying to stand up. His hand grips tighter, pushing you forward. You stumble, arms out to stop from falling, and grip the arm of the sofa. Your heart starts to beat frantically as you hear the unmistakable sound of a zip being undone. Panicking, you start to plead with him. “Please let me stand up coach, i’m sorry for any misunderstanding but I really want to leave now.” His hand only grips harder, and you feel him pull your thong to one side. “No! I don’t want to, please stop” you sob, tears starting to run down your cheeks. You feel him pressing against you, and frantically try to stand up, but he’s too strong. You cry out as he enters you. He’s too big, and you weren’t ready, and it hurts as he pushes himself in. You continue to sob, moaning to yourself in disbelieving horror as he thrusts away, panting as he moves in and out of you, the pace building.

Abruptly, he lets go of your neck and takes a fistful of hair, making you cry out again as he twists your head back and round. He pulls out of you, turning your body and pushing you down onto your knees in front of him. Holding your head still, he grips his glistening shaft and strokes himself, moaning as he unloads all over your tear streaked face. You feel it covering you, in your hair, over your cheeks, over your lips and mouth, dripping off your chin down onto your top.

Groaning, he staggers back, sitting down hard on the sofa. You stay kneeling, crying and in shock, your face covered in cum and tears. He zips himself up, takes a few deep breaths and stands up, pulling something out of his pocket and tossing it to you. “Clean yourself up, you’re a mess” he says. With a trembling hand, you pick up the white cloth he threw you, and raise it to your face before pausing in dawning horror. Your undershorts. He’d thrown you your undershorts. Time slows as you play back in your mind handing him your bag when you arrived, taking off your trainers as he went through to the sitting room. “You had them the whole time?” You ask, voice cracking. He nods. “You didn’t really think I needed extra training?” He shakes his head. “You’d better get back to your room and have a shower, i’ll see you at the competition later” he says with a smile.

***i’m in London next month for a few days and would love to find someone to play this scenario out with.