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The Coach's Wife




The Coach’s Wife

By INtrinSicliValud










Copyright © 2023 INtrinSicliValud


All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: intrinsiclivalud100@yahoo.com

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Chapter 1  

As the setting sun smeared brilliant oranges and purples across the hazy horizon, my battered pickup rumbled along the highway. Between endless rows of thinning trees, its tires thunka-thunka’ed over the road’s evenly spaced concrete slabs. In either direction, cars were now rare and, that late in the day, trucks even sparser. With the visor down, I shifted to squint through the dusty windscreen’s clean—mostly clean—wiper arches.

Had all that really happened?

At the soft murmur from beneath a colorful but worn blanket, I looked over at the shapely lump beside me. When the silhouette snorted, then softly snored in her sleep, a grin slid across my face.

Yeah, it had. And if not for Coach’s wife…. Well, my world would’ve been completely different.


It’s funny. Everything that happened that night is etched in my mind with such clarity. As if the hand of God had crammed it into my dumb ass memory.

It’d been a normal night. Another evening under brilliant stars as I trudged along Highway 46, heading back into Alabama. Each heavy footfall of my boots kicked up little clouds of dust in my wake. A guy as large as me didn’t step lightly. Ever. A warm gentle breeze wafted over me as the world blurred. A slight wobble sent me stumbling across the roadside gravel. Though the party was continuing, I never stayed up during the season. Despite trying, I was forced to leave my ride at the house amidst the plentiful beer, friendly girls, and ganja. And it had been excellent weed.


Football was my ticket out of Burnham. I hoped. My momma hoped. Hell, all of us black kids in the South in the late ‘80s hoped. They said emancipation had happened, but what did that really mean? Well, we could vote, so there was that. But poor, educationally challenged, and black equaled a not so good life for any of us who remained. Sad, but true.

At least, I could claim a better-than-average chance.

People say when I shot from between my momma’s legs, my Pops gazed at her and called her a “cheatin’ ho.” Both were mahogany brown. That warm color of creamy milk chocolate. Also slim, if not downright skinny.

Not me. My fat ass came out like a bowling ball. One of the old-style orbs, not the fancy swirling pastel sparkly colored ones. Nope. Not me. I was coal black. And solid. I was not skinny. It wasn’t long before I also grew in height. Soon, I both towered over most folks, and, if anything, grew darker in the sunlight. Although momma taught me to—restrain myself—most people tended to move out of my way despite my easy smile.

Oh, and Pops? Turns out, he was the cheatin’ one. Never knew him, yet I kept his name: Hiram Thaddeus Boetticher. The third. Germanic, despite me being blacker than iron because of my great-grampa on my mother’s side. So much for that Aryan wonder-race crap.

Anyway, back to that first evening. While trying to clear my head of pungent smoke and a few too many beers, I noticed headlights approaching from behind. Although not unusual to see the occasional car, as it approached, my chest tightened. When the engine roared, I moved further from the cracked, dirt-strewn asphalt while glancing at a neighboring fallow field. No place to hide, but a roadside ditch would hinder any pursuers. As a young black man, walking along a lonely rural highway at night was not the safest thing. Not in that state.

Despite my mumbled prayers for it to glide past, the car slowed. In the light of its headlights, dust from its tires swirled around me. My heart raced. With my fingers curling ever tighter, I calculated the jump across the weed-choked gully. First, should I spin? See my attackers—my killers? With my heart hammering, I whirled to meet my fate.

As the car’s tires slowed, I forced a long exhale and plastered a grin on my face. Momma always said a smile would solve most things. Or at the very least, it could make you feel better. Right then, what actually made me feel better was the hood of the slow-rolling car emerging from a shadowy dust cloud. All the tension dropped from me. It was Coach Jenkins. Huge, chromed-out, and deep blue, his sedan crunched to a slow roll.

Though I could only see their shapes, his wife was talking to him as it slowed further. She gestured at me before returning to him. After the dust cloud glided past, their voices remained muffled as I shifted from foot to foot. Right when I was about to walk on, the car’s brakes released, and it rolled past. Once its thick white-wall tires munched from the dirt-covered roadway, it stopped on the rough grass verge. With a taut grin on his face, Coach waved from the window.

Well, my smile had gotten me a ride. I was such an idiot. Nah, that’s not fair. And not entirely true either. As I look back …. Well, okay, I’d no idea that my life was about to become something—different. More than different. More like it was going to fly off the rails. Or be driven off the rails. In the truest sense of the phrase.

Not that any of that was going through my head back then. As I jogged to the car; my head pounded. Though no longer high and not too woozy from the beers, running had been a bad idea. Dehydration sucked. That’d been my only thought.

“Get in, Hiram.”

As I ducked low to slide into the backseat, the car settled under my bulk. Even enormous cars like Coach’s kinda wrapped around me.

With the same slim smile, he gazed at me in the rearview mirror. Time sorta slowed as his eyebrows furled and his head cocked to one side. After glancing at his wife, she gave him a deliberate nod, pushed open the door, and stepped from the car. Perhaps she had to pee? Not that there were any bushes. In the ditch?

While he remained silent, Coach’s eyes tracked me in the mirror. My chest again tightened. Something was off. At the crunch of her footsteps, I looked up. Instead of moving away from it, she was walking around the vehicle. When the other rear door opened and she slipped inside, her face drawn, my heart stuttered and raced. As soon as she’d tugged the door closed and crossed her slender, shapely legs, Coach’s slim grin widened. Not by much, but still….

Although I’d no idea what was going on, I wasn’t getting murdered.

Maybe she was simply more comfortable in the back seat? While I couldn’t help but glance at her—a risk in those days—I kept my scan brief. The vibe was strange. At the shimmer of a tiny red minidress painted on the petite blonde’s lean body, I swallowed. In a swift flare, heat raced up my cheeks at glimpsing most of a black stocking-covered leg and toned shoulders. After returning to Coach, I gulped again. Loudly.

The soft jazz playing on the car stereo should’ve been calming. It wasn’t.

Yeah, weird vibe.

Before I could speak, or for that matter, form a decent question, the car lurched onto the road and rumbled into the darkness. Although I stared forward, splitting my view between Coach’s face in the mirror and the reddish dust-covered asphalt in the headlights, my peripheral sight caught every one of Mrs. Jenkins’ motions. The steady rise and fall of that incredible, curve-hugging dress. The glimmer of her lips in the reflected light. Long, thin fingers twirling in her glimmering blonde tresses. Oh, and her gaze—fixed on me.

“Hiram. You know I, uh, know your, um,….” At Coach’s low voice, his wife’s image blurred, and I locked onto his face. As if he was making a tough play call, he narrowed his eyes, before adding, “…your mommy, right?”

The way he’d chuckled after saying “mommy” was—unusual. Back then, I was clueless. A lot of folks seemed to know my momma ‘round those parts.

“Yes, Coach.” Even as I spoke, his wife’s abrupt nervous giggle had me glancing at her.

“And you’re a good kid, Hiram.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“I can trust you, right?” His voice was clipped, like during game reviews. Oh, okay. That was it. Maybe he wanted to go over plays for the upcoming game. He didn’t usually reveal them this early. Some kids blabbed.

“Sure, Coach. What’s up?”

“Well, Hiram.” His eyes flicked to Mrs. Jenkins, who was chewing on her glossy red lips. “My wife is…. Well, she’s, um, kinda, uh…. She’s sorta turned on right now.”

“Uh, huh,” I mumbled.

As I nodded like a moron, the car wobbled and time sorta slowed. Wait. What? For several seconds, closer to ten, my brain also wobbled. What had he just admitted? With adrenaline flooding my system, tremors sped through me. After a loud gulp, I pried my shaking lips apart to ask him something—anything. But he shifted the car into a higher gear before looking at me again in the mirror.

“We were gonna meet someone tonight, but they, uh…. Look, they bailed and my poor wife….” For the first time, a cloud passed over his eyes as he glanced at Mrs. Jenkins. “Well, she’s been waiting over a month for this.”

“What do, um…?” My brain had no clue what to ask. So she’s—aroused? What’s that got to do with me? A month? For what? And what would “someone” do for her? “What are you talking about, Coach?”

“My wife….” A bead of sweat trickled from his receding gray-black hair down his forehead to slide along a crinkled eyebrow. “Cindy…. Well, Cindy. My, uh, wife. She, um, has, uh, cravings. And, um…. Damn it. Hiram, would you fuck my wife?”

“Wha—” Even as the query morphed into all the air in my lungs hissing from my lips, I eased my gaze to her.

While she sat silent, her bright white teeth sinking deep into the corner of her lower lip, I let my eyes roam over her. Long, wavy blonde tresses, those not intertwined with her twirling fingers, covered her toned shoulders. Focused on me like glinting lasers, her brilliant green eyes were unblinking. Beneath the skintight red satin, with no sign of a bra, her full boobs jutted upwards, topped by thick protruding nipples. As she flashed a smile, she twisted her long, crossed legs. After sitting, she hadn’t adjusted her skirt. It remained high—very high—on her hips. Most of her muscled thighs were visible below the taut hem.

“Did you hear me, Hiram?”

“Huh? Uh, what, Coach?” I muttered before ripping my gaze from his wife.

“He said, sweetie, that I want you to rape me.” At her voice, I whipped back to Mrs. Jenkins.

“R—Rape?” I whispered.

Although a soft gasp escaped Coach, she flashed a raised eyebrow expression at him. He said nothing. I also had no more words. Really? Rape? Not simply fuck? Although, what the hell? Fuck—her? Why? Why me? Except for her patient visage, the world flip-flopped into a blur. Under my silent gaze, all the muscles in her red-wrapped frame were so tense she vibrated.

At that point, whatever my reply might’ve been, it was caught in a swirling mass of adrenaline. “Fight-or-flight” didn’t know what to do. Every type of alarm bell was clanging in my skull. Bright lights. Flashing. So many questions fought for answers. Although my lips kept opening to form words, each time they surrendered to the chaos in my mind. Oh, and the whole damned car kept doing that flipping around and wobbling thing.

Like a funhouse mirror.

Or Mindy LeBlanc’s bouncing titties. Incapable of processing anything more, my screaming mind fled to those memories.

While not much to it, she’d been my only previous experience. Late one night, the team had been rumbling home on a bus after making the playoffs. Everyone was celebrating. There was laughing, singing and dancing up front while in the back, there was drinking, joking, and Mindy, one of the finer cheerleaders. Buck naked. In a swirl of matted auburn hair, she was getting passed from lap to lap. While gulping from a bottle of tequila in her clawed hand, she’d bounce. To clarify, it wasn’t long before zippers dropped. And as she was impaled in laps, her gulps became ever louder moans.

Pretty sure I was sloppy thirds or fourths. Either way, Mindy clambered onto me, pulled out my shaft, gave me a wide-eyed, hungry gaze, and dropped. It only took a few bounces and a few deep swallows of tequila before she tensed. As her mouth opened wide, her little body raced. And man, did she ever scream. Only once I’d clamped her shoulders tight to thrust upwards and pump her full did she fall silent. With long lines of tequila-scented drool swaying from her quivering chin, she stared at me.

Next thing you know, even as she still shuddered, she was lifted away to become the bouncing, gulping, screaming vessel for sloppy fourths. Or fifths.

Mindy LeBlanc had to leave school several months later. I don’t think it was my baby.

Other than her and Cyril Dixon, the skinny white equipment boy who loved to play with our cocks—and had the softest mouth—I’d no other sexual experience. Girls tended to be—reticent.

“Oh, uh….” My brain decided on a response. The right answer. Times hadn’t changed that much. Any black man who was heard even muttering “rape” near a white woman would end up swinging from a tree. Real fast. “I, um…. I really don’t think—”

When Coach pulled to the side of the dark highway, my heart thumped so hard in my chest I was gasping for air. Welp, so much for my ride. He’d kick me out. But at least, this would all be forgotten in the morning. No problem: I’d continue home on foot. And Mrs. Jenkins? She could find her—jollies—somewhere else. With somebody else. Somebody far less likely to find themselves swinging from a large tree with his heels dragging in the dirt.

As my shaking fingers scrabbled, trying to find the door handle, I stared out at a shadowy, unfamiliar patch of dark woods. It was only as thicker dust swirled past us I realized we’d been traveling along a dirt road. Say what you want about her, but Mrs. Jenkins was that mesmerizing. I’d give her that. And nothing else. With a grunt, I tugged on the handle.

“Look, Hiram.” His voice rose as I flung the door wide. “She’s got fantasies. That’s all. And we, uh…. Well, we try to fulfill them. This time, the guy didn’t show. And…. Well, she needs—”

“I have cravings, Hiram. Please.” Just as the last word whispered from her parted lips, I tensed.

My gaze shifted to the gloomy woods. When her hand settled on my thigh and squeezed, a shudder tore through me. She had such beautiful nails. So shiny. Blood red. To match her sleek dress. Such sharp nipples. Her bare thighs—so muscular—could probably move her lithe frame awfully fast. Like bouncing-tittied Mindy LeBlanc.

Every muscle in my young frame tensing beneath her fingers, I glanced at her husband in the mirror. For the first time, his eyes softened, and a low hiss escaped his quavering lips. Momma told me if I wasn’t careful, I could be lynched one day. And this was, no joke, a lynching offense. Simply listening to this talk. Yet, despite the pounding of my heart, shivers continued to slice through me.

No. I needed to get away. My gaze flew to the darkened trees.

One surge and I’d be free. When my muscles again strained, Mrs. Jenkins’ fingers sank into my hardening thigh. Through the increased blurring around her, I stared at her. Glossy-eyed, she flashed Coach a worried expression.

“I’ve got an idea.” At Coach’s swift words, I flicked my view to him. With a nervous grin, he tugged open the glove compartment and pulled out a small recorder. Why he had it, I didn’t know, but he held it up. “Here, honey, speak into this.” After holding it over the seatback, he depressed a button. “Cindy, what would you like Hiram to do to you tonight, honey?”

“I want….” Her anxious look faded ever so slightly into a half-grin. At the sliding press of her hand into my crotch, a moan escaped me. When she pushed into me, I shoved into the seatback. “I want Hiram to rape me.” When her fingers tightened, air puffed from my lips like a stuttering machine-gun. “Right out there. In those woods. Under the stars. Tonight.”

“And what’s your safe word, honey?” Coach said, grinning into the mirror as her fingers started one long stroke along my hardening bulge.

“‘Purple’, dear.” She chuckled. It was kinda cute. “‘Purple’, just like I bet Hiram’s dick is right now.”

After a snorting laugh, Coach lifted the little device closer to his mouth.

“I, Coach Jenkins, recognize both parties and witness this agreement.”

“There.” As Coach nodded, he removed the tiny cassette and tossed it to me. Despite his wife’s stroking fingernails, I managed to snatch it from the air. Coach always said I had good hands. “If anyone ever complains, you’ve got evidence. So will you do it?”

No! This is stupid.


Really Stupid.

Really, really dangerous.

Really, really, really stupid.

Except, here’s the thing. As I scanned his earnest face, her hungry and—hopeful—smile, then down to where her palm was pressing inwards onto my pulsing mass, I nodded. Why? I didn’t know. To this day, I’ve no idea what possessed me to agree.

“Wonderful. See, honey?” Only when a moan escaped me and I arched upwards, shoving his wife’s arm skyward, did a slight flash of concern slide over his face. Although slimmer, he maintained his grin. “I told you Hiram wouldn’t mind.”

Wouldn’t mind?

While I breathed a million miles a minute, a sexy blonde, white woman was clawing at my dick. As her shiny green eyes blazed, her barely concealed chest shoved into my arm. One time during practice, she’d stopped by the field. As a lark, all us players had placed bets on her bra size. All I could do was pick the largest numbers and letters.

What did I understand about bra sizes?

At the time, they’d all laughed, but as my gaze locked on them, I wasn’t sure I was far off.

“Okay, then. I, uh, hunt around here, um, in the Fall.” Coach gestured at a shadowy split in the thick foliage. “Down that trail, right there, between those, um, those two tall trees…. Uh, there’s a small clearing—”

“Take me there, Hiram.” After leaning closer, his wife, sending hot breathy words across my neck, finished for him. Her fingers clamped harder on my swelling dick. “And use me.”

Even as she continued to pant and fondle me, Coach left the car.

“Hey, uh Coach. Are you, um, gonna be there?” I asked, while pulling from his wife to stumble onto the rocky dirt track. Close behind me, she slid from the car with her hands clawing along my hips.

“Oh. Um, yeah. I just gotta get some gear from the trunk. I’ll, uh…. I’ll catch up.”

In no time, with Mrs. Jenkins leading me by the hand down the trail, the thick canopy’s darkness swallowed us. When one of her high heels caught on a root, she stumbled and let out a muffled yelp. As soon as I grasped her around the waist, the yelp became a whimper. That whimper deepened as she shoved backwards to grind her tight, round butt into me.

“Are you okay, Ma’am?” I forced out over the hammering in my chest.

“Out here, Hiram….” With another, louder whimper, she pushed into me harder and looked over her shoulder through the swaying blonde tresses. Her pointed wet tongue glistened in the tree-shaded moonlight. “Out here, I’m your whore. Your cheap, trashy little white whore. Okay?”

“Yes, ma…. Uh, yes—whore.”

No sooner had the word left my lips than she mashed her quivering frame into me with a much louder, lengthier moan. After a quick claw at my rising shaft, she tugged on my hand and lurched down the dark trail. Since I was taller, thin branches and cobwebs brushed against my face and shoulders as I trailed behind her.

Once she’d staggered into the clearing, which was more like a bowl in the ground, surrounded by trees, Mrs. Jenkins released my hand. After whirling to face me, only narrow shafts of silvery starlight illuminated her compact, red-wrapped frame. In the shadow of her long blonde tresses, her eyes glimmered. The gloss on her full lips—expanded?

That image was seared into my mind. It’s still there.

At the sound of heavy footfalls and loud huffing, I turned as Coach emerged from the gloomy trail exit. He was struggling with several cases. One in each hand. Another under his flabby arm. That was one thing about Coach. Whatever muscles he’d once possessed had long since turned to fat. After only a quick salute, he stumbled around the edge of the clearing, gasping for air. Once he’d dropped the boxes, he removed a pair of cameras and tripods. One was an enormous VHS video recorder. The other an expensive Japanese still-frame camera.

Despite her feet shifting in the dried leaves and dirt behind me, only after Coach had set up and given me a thumbs up did I return to his wife. As she stood there—the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen—my brain froze. But for the pounding in my ears, Coach’s still heavy breathing, and a soft whir as the camera worked, the woods were utterly silent.

Committed? Yes. Out in the woods? Yes. Gorgeous white woman and her husband both rarin’ to go? Yes. Although what that would actually entail, I hadn’t yet grasped.

One thing though.

The extent of my acting career was one semester of theater class. And that was simply to get into Elaine Evans’ panties. Although I never got to feel her up, I did learn a few things. Okay, so I’d act my part. Play a role in their little fantasy. And get home.

As such, after a nervous swallow, I took a step towards her. Before my towering frame, Mrs. Jenkins appeared so small. Out there “alone” in the woods.

“No! Please!” flew from her once I’d stopped, blotting out the starlight as I loomed over her.

Despite sounding scared, she hadn’t moved. Well, her fingernails clicked as her hands kept clenching, but that was it. And her eyes took on a gleam. Even shadowed, they became molten green pools, drawing me into them.

Fight or flight?

Frozen, I glanced at her, then the surrounding trees. She wasn’t running. Why?

Oh, right? Duh. Yeah, what had I just got done thinking? We were supposed to be acting. As I sighed, my fists pounded my thighs. Sometimes I could be a bit slow.

“Go on. Do it, Hiram.” At Coach’s low quivering voice, I looked at him hunched behind the cameras. One pudgy hand waved me towards his wife.

He’d most likely edit that out later.

With a gulp, I returned to Mrs. Jenkins. Before she could react, I shot both hands out to grip her waist. Show time. With a cry, she tried to twist free, but I’d a firm grasp on her sleek, satin-covered frame. She was so warm. She wasn’t going anywhere.

“No! My husband!” Although she yelled at me, her eyes were wide and gazing deep into mine, not looking at Coach. Oh, yeah. He wasn’t supposed to be out here in the woods. “Hiram! You can’t. Please!”

As she trembled in my grip, I clenched her tighter, but…. Well, I’d raped no one before. What the hell was I expected to do? I mean, I understood the concept. Sorta. Duh. But what was I to do next?

Before my mind could envision a plan, Mrs. Jenkins made her move. After all, back there in those lonely woods, it was still only her fantasy. With a passionate moan, she drove her tiny frame into me. As her full chest mashed into mine, my hands slipped down her flanks to press into her round behind.

Just when she tensed, her eyes wide, readying to launch away and play her victim role, my fingertips found the zipper at the bottom of her bare back.

Chapter 2  

Weird. To this day, I can remember a loud cricket out in the shadowy trees just as Mrs. Jenkins braced. Although ready to flee as I “attacked” her, whatever cry she’d prepared died in a whimper at the brutal shove of my fingers into the low back of her dress.

With a growl, I yanked.


After only the slightest resistance, the zipper came apart in my fists. As her eyes widened, the little blonde’s jaw trembled for the first time. After her dress’s thin flapping halves shredded in my hands, I flung the material towards the ground. Once it’d dropped to the dirt, she stood in only black lace panties, taut over her pale pelvis. So firm, her bare tits mashed into me. Thick rubbery stems dragged along my shirt.

Notwithstanding the hammering of my heart, I leaned back to stare into her wide, glittering eyes. My hands gripped her lace-clad butt tighter.

“No!” After the sudden yell, Mrs. Jenkins tried to pull away while screaming and beating against my spine. “You fucking animal! You beast.”

Despite the screams and more curses, her tugging frame shuddered in my grip. In the dirty leaves, her stomping shoes dragged the red satin puddle encircling her ankles. At last, I mashed her hips into me. With an abrupt hiss, she stared at me as her eyes fluttered.

“Oh, fu—” Her high-pitched voice disappeared into a hitching moan as she ground herself against my fully engorged bulge. “No! Please, Hiram…. Oh—” Her protest died in another whimper when I spun her in my arms and clasped both tits.

When my fingertips found those thick, heated stems and twisted, a much louder winding cry tore from Mrs. Jenkins. Moan after moan pulled from her. All pretense of escape gone, she shifted from pulling away to pressing into me.

At his gasp, I looked at Coach’s shadowy silhouette. With his shorts crumpled at his feet, his breathing was labored. My chest tightened at the fist easing along his shaft. Okay. Well, at least he wasn’t complaining.

I was only an actor. Simply playing a role. And not a bad one, since Mrs. Jenkins’ warm body squirmed beneath my outstretched hands. Yeah, her whole “rape” idea had faded.

Still, time to put on that acting hat.

“Whore. You just gonna let me play with your titties?”

At my words, she snapped back into her part.

“No!” While trying to pull from me, she spat the rest towards the cameras. “Leave my breasts alone! You…. You filthy nigger.”

As my widespread fingers clamped her soft, firm tits, my chest seized.


Now, for the record, she’d never said anything…. Well, that anything racial was part of the deal. Neither of them had. And I hadn’t really thought through what this must’ve looked like. I mean, I saw myself swinging from a tree. But I couldn’t have imagined her tiny white frame slapping, or half-heartedly pulling from my towering muscled black frame. So, yeah, there may have been a racial undertone. Was the guy they’d been meeting also black?

Nonetheless, I’d agreed to her fantasy. So, with cameras rolling and Coach’s face reddening, I gulped. Okay. Duh, I could play that part, too.

“My full black nigger cock is getting so hard for you, little white whore,” I said while giving the thrusting firm flesh of her chest a squeeze.


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