Extra Pratice with Coach Marxx

I stayed late after soccer practice, my muscles aching from the drills, but Coach Marxx called me over with that intense stare of his. "You need extra practice, kid," he growled, his voice low and commanding as he locked the locker room door behind us. Sweat dripped down my chest, my shorts clinging to my thighs, and I could feel his eyes devouring me. He pushed me against the lockers, his massive hands gripping my hips, pulling me close until I felt the hard bulge in his track pants pressing against my ass. "Show me how bad you want to make the team," he whispered, his breath hot on my neck. I nodded, heart pounding, as he yanked my shorts down, exposing my tight hole. His fingers, rough from years of coaching, teased my entrance, slicking me up with spit before shoving two inside, stretching me wide. "Fuck, you're tight," he grunted, spinning me around to face him. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, at least nine inches—throbbing as he slapped it against my lips. I opened wide, gagging as he fucked my throat, his balls slapping my chin, drool spilling down my chest. He face-fucked me relentlessly, calling me his "star player slut," until tears streamed from my eyes. Then he bent me over the bench, spreading my cheeks. No mercy—he rammed in balls-deep on the first thrust, his girth splitting me open. I screamed, but it turned to moans as he pounded my ass, hips slamming like a piston, his sweat-slick body dominating mine. "Take it, boy. Earn that spot," he barked, reaching around to jerk my leaking cock in rhythm with his brutal thrusts. He flipped me onto my back, legs over his shoulders, drilling deeper, hitting my prostate until I exploded, cum shooting across my abs. Coach didn't stop—his grunts grew feral as he flooded my guts with hot ropes of seed, breeding me like his personal fucktoy. We collapsed, panting, his cock still twitching inside me. "Good practice," he smirked. "Come back tomorrow for more."