The Substitute Coach I Couldn’t Ignore

When Carlos left the team, no one expected someone like Rodrigo to replace him. He was a final-year Physical Education intern at the university; they had chosen him because he was from the town and the director thought he would be easier to handle than someone from outside. That’s how things are in small provincial teams: personal ties matter more than merit.

I was the team assistant along with Sofía and Camila. We handled the equipment: organizing the cones, bibs, and balls; bringing water during hot-weather practices; writing up the match reports when nobody else wanted to. It was invisible work, the kind that never appears in any official photo, but without which nothing works. I was good at it and I knew it. I also knew several of the players weren’t looking at me because of how efficiently I stacked the bibs. They looked at my tits when I bent over, looked at my ass when I turned around, and I acted like I didn’t notice even though I noticed perfectly well.

Rodrigo was dark-haired, tall, lean for someone studying Physical Education. He didn’t have Carlos’s body, broad and athletic the way you’d expect from an experienced coach. Rodrigo was a different type: lanky, with those big hands that don’t quite fit those long arms, and a way of moving that always seemed like he was late for somewhere. But when he stopped to look at you, he stopped completely. He had that.

He looked at me from the first day as if he already knew me. It wasn’t the quick, discreet glance most people do: it was direct, slow, the kind that starts at your feet and three seconds later reaches your eyes without ever having hurried along the way. That kind of look always stirs something in me, even if I’d rather not admit it out loud. My pussy would get wet just from feeling those eyes run over me, and I had to press my thighs together so it wouldn’t show.

***

Sofía was the first to say it, as always.

—See how he keeps following you with his eyes? —she asked me one afternoon while I was putting the equipment away after practice.

—I noticed —I replied, without lifting my head.

—He looks at your ass when you’re turned away. Every time you bend over, there he is.

—Sofía, stop.

—What? It’s a completely observable fact. His dick shows in his pants, Valentina. In sweatpants, you can see everything on him.

I went red, even though my back was turned to her so she wouldn’t see it. It was true, and the truth was that it didn’t bother me nearly as much as it should have. Those days my head was somewhere else: Tomás, a new guy who had joined the team a few weeks earlier, took up almost all my attention. He was handsome in that simple, confident way that makes you realize you’re looking at him too much. Rodrigo was another story, or that’s what I told myself.

One day he found Mateo and me kissing in the PE room. It wasn’t awkward for us, but it was for him: he called us out with that new authoritative voice he was trying on since he started as an intern, telling us to respect the space. His eyes were saying something completely different. His eyes were saying he wanted to be the one with me against the wall, his hand under my skirt, my mouth open.

A few days later I was alone in that same room putting the equipment away. Rodrigo was at the desk with some papers when I came in. That day I was wearing a denim miniskirt, very short, and a white crop top that wasn’t provocative in the catalog but was if you had a certain figure. Rodrigo noticed it the moment he saw me walk in.

—Hi, Rodrigo —I said, because he’d already told me not to call him sir or professor.

He looked me over slowly, from head to toe, with no hurry at all.

—Hi, Valentina.

I bent down to organize the balls in the bag. The skirt was what it was: it rode up to the middle of my ass and my white thong showed, the fabric tight against my pussy. Rodrigo didn’t look away. I held that position longer than necessary, knowing what I was doing to him, feeling that gaze on my ass like a finger. Sofía and Camila came in just at that moment and caught him with his eyes where they were and his hand subtly adjusting the bulge in his pants. He left the room quickly, nervous, without saying anything. My friends looked at me. I shrugged.

From that day on, every time we were alone for a moment, Rodrigo took some small liberty. A hand on my waist that lasted a second too long. A hand that slid down and brushed the edge of my ass before pulling away. A comment said in a low voice with an obvious second meaning: “That skirt suits you,” with a thick voice. I let him, because what he gave me in those moments was enough to keep me thinking about him when I got home, to make me slip two fingers into myself that same night in bed thinking of his mouth, even though I was still convinced Tomás was the one I wanted.

***

The away match was the turning point.

It was in a town three hours from ours, with humid heat from early morning, and the hotel had a pool. They told us to bring summer clothes. I put on a lilac bikini that Sofía, when she saw me at the hotel, said ought to have its own name for how little it covered. The top covered what it needed to and nothing more: my nipples showed through the wet fabric as soon as it brushed the water. I got to the edge of the pool and within two seconds I understood from the looks that the bikini had done its job.

The water was full of teammates with too much energy and too few inhibitions. Mateo yanked my hair from the water. Sebastián grabbed me around the waist from behind and I felt perfectly how hard his dick was against my ass under his swimsuit, just for a second, but enough to know it. At one point someone untied the knot at the back of my bikini top and it took me a second to cover myself with my hands while Camila yelled at Mateo to give it back. For a good while I was without the top, covering myself as best I could, my tits pressed against my palms, my nipples hard from the cold water peeking between my fingers, and Rodrigo, who was sitting on the pool edge, saw everything without taking his eyes off me. I saw the bulge in his swimsuit from where I was.

Then he got into the water.

I moved away toward the quieter corner of the pool. Rodrigo followed, slowly, without making it look intentional. When we were far enough from the group, I felt his hands on my waist from behind, slow and firm at the same time. They went lower. One slipped under the water and squeezed one cheek of my ass, whole, with his open palm. The other went up to brush my breast under my arm.

—What are you doing? —I asked, not moving.

He didn’t say anything. He pressed me against him, palms flat on my stomach, and I felt what I felt: his hard dick against my ass, separated only by two wet fabrics, and him rubbing against me very slowly, a small movement of the hips that was barely visible from outside but that I felt perfectly between my cheeks. The fingers of one hand slid up my stomach and brushed my nipple under the bikini. A soft moan escaped me that I swallowed immediately. There was little room for doubt about what he was thinking at that moment.

—I’ll wreck you later —he whispered in my ear, voice rough, and bit my earlobe.

Camila interrupted from the other side, shouting for me. Rodrigo let me go. I turned and looked at him before swimming toward where they were calling me.

—Later —I told him, and left, my pussy throbbing under the water.

***

The night changed the pace of everything.

I put on a white dress for dinner: thin straps, generous neckline, thin fabric that outlined every curve without hiding anything. Under it, just a black thong that showed through a little in the white of the fabric. No bra. My nipples showed through the dress every time the air conditioning brushed me. Camila looked at me when I came down to the hotel lobby and opened her mouth.

—I’m comfortable —I said before she could start.

—Your thong shows, Valentina. And your tits are visible.

—I know, Camila.

Rodrigo was at a table with several players. He saw me arrive from far away, in the middle of a sentence he was saying to someone, and left it unfinished. The other guy had to repeat what he’d said.

There were three men in the restaurant who had been watching our table for a while. They were strangers, good-looking, with that relaxed attitude of people who are just passing through and have nothing to lose. I smiled at them a couple of times. Sofía squeezed my arm under the table.

—Stop —she said.

—Why?

—Because Rodrigo hasn’t listened to a word anyone’s said to him for five minutes.

I looked over at his table. He had that expression of someone who would rather be doing anything else. Or, rather, having someone do anything else to him.

After dinner, on the way to the rooms, Sofía and I stopped to talk to the three men. Camila kept going alone, annoyed, without turning around. The guys were direct: names, where we were from, whether we had boyfriends. We said no. They invited us to dance.

We went.

The music was loud and the space was dark and hot. The three guys knew what they were doing: they danced close, with their hands in the right places for that kind of music. The one dancing with me had his hand on my hip and slowly kept moving it lower; once he brushed my ass over the dress and I didn’t move it away. One of them suggested I go up to his room in that low voice that was no longer just let’s dance for a while. Another whispered something in Sofía’s ear and she looked at me for an answer. I nodded yes.

We were leaving when Rodrigo and Mateo showed up.

I don’t know how they found us. Mateo took Sofía away without a word. Rodrigo took my hand and pulled me out of there with a firmness that left no room for argument. The three men stayed there watching us, not quite understanding what had happened.

***

We walked back to the hotel in silence.

—Why aren’t you talking to me? —I asked.

—For no reason —he said, without looking at me—. For leaving without saying anything.

—You’re jealous.

He didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened a little more.

We reached my room door. Rodrigo told Mateo to leave. The two of us were left alone in the hallway, with the dim lights of that hotel lighting that never quite lights anything. Rodrigo looked at the door, then at me, and took a step back.

—You’re just going to go? —I said.

—We have to get up early.

—And you’re leaving me like this?

He stopped.

—Like what?

I lifted the dress just enough. The thong was soaked, and that was obvious. A dark stain marked the center of the black fabric, and the smell of wet pussy must have reached him from where he was because I saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall in a swallow. I ran a finger over the thong, pressing it against my lips, and showed it to him wet.

—Like this —I said.

Rodrigo stayed still for a moment, then looked down the hallway in both directions.

***

It was one in the morning and the corridor was completely empty.

He took me by the wrist and led me to the darkest part of the hallway, beside an emergency door that didn’t lead anywhere visible from where we were. He slammed me against the wall. There was no preamble: he kissed me in that way some men have, as if they were in a hurry and had all the time in the world at once, one hand at the back of my neck, grabbing my hair hard, the other pressing my waist against his. I felt his hard dick against my stomach through his pants, a thick, hot bulge pressing into me with every movement.

I kissed him back without thinking. I found his tongue with mine and bit his lower lip. I slid one hand down and squeezed his dick over his pants. It was huge, hard as a rock, throbbing beneath my palm.

—Whore —he murmured into my mouth.

—Shut up and take it out.

He pulled down one strap of the dress. Then the other. The fabric fell to my waist and I was left topless in that hotel hallway, back against the cold wall. My nipples went hard instantly in the air conditioning. He looked at me for a moment with that expression of a man who has spent weeks thinking about this exact moment and now that it’s in front of him is in no hurry at all. He grabbed one breast with his whole hand and pinched my nipple between his fingers, hard, until I jerked.

—Shhh —he said, and covered my mouth for a second with his other hand.

He lowered his head and started at my neck. He sucked under my ear, bit, left a mark. He went slowly, taking his time, down to my collarbone, until his mouth closed over one of my nipples and licked it all over before taking it into his mouth. He sucked hard, tongue and teeth at the same time, alternating from one breast to the other without rushing. All I could do was lean my head back against the wall and control the noise I wanted to make but couldn’t, because we were in a hotel and people were sleeping on the other side of those doors. I grabbed his head with both hands and pressed it against my tits, biting my lip until I drew blood.

He slipped one hand under the dress, under the thong. He found it soaked through, dripping. There was nothing tentative about that gesture: he found the clit, found it, and started rubbing it in quick, precise circles with his middle finger while he pushed two fingers deep inside me with the same hand. My hip bent against his hand, riding his fingers, and I had to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming. His fingers went in and out making wet noises, a damp, filthy sound that echoed loudly in the silent hallway.

—You’re dripping —he told me in my ear, pulling the glossy fingers out and shoving them into my mouth—. Suck them.

I sucked them like they were his dick, never taking my eyes off him. I cleaned them with my tongue, with my lips, and he watched me, jaw tight.

He got down on his knees on the hallway floor.

He lifted my dress to my waist and tore the thong off me in one yank. The fabric snapped with a soft crack and he tucked it into his pants pocket without saying anything. He put one leg over his shoulder, opened me with his thumbs, and licked me from bottom to clit in one long stroke. A moan escaped me that sounded too loud and I had to cover my mouth with both hands.

He ate me like he was genuinely hungry. He licked with his whole tongue, sucked my lips, took my clit all the way into his mouth and worked it with his lips. He pushed his tongue inside me, pulled it out, went back up to the clit. He put his fingers back in while he was licking me, two, then three, curling them upward, searching for that spot that made my thighs shake. His face was soaked in me, and I saw it gleam in the dim light whenever he lifted his eyes to look at me without stopping eating me out.

He took long enough for me to lose track of any coherent thought. I came all over his mouth with one hand over my own and the other in his hair, pressing his face against my pussy while the orgasm hit me in waves. He kept licking, slower, sucking me through the last contraction, until my legs could no longer hold me.

When he stood up and pressed me back against the wall, his mouth was shining and he wiped it by passing it over my lips, forcing me to taste myself. He kissed me with my taste on his tongue and I bit his mouth.

—Take it out already —I told him.

He lowered his pants to his knees. His dick sprang out hard, long, thick at the base, the glans red and already with a bright drop at the tip. I grabbed it with my hand and squeezed; I moved it up and down two, three times, feeling it hot and throbbing in my palm. A low growl slipped out from between his teeth.

He turned me around.

He put my palms on the wall and pulled my ass back with both hands on my hips. He lifted my dress to my waist and gave me a sharp slap on the ass that echoed down the hallway. He opened me with one hand and with the other he set himself at the entrance. I felt the tip resting there, thick, pushing, and then the full shove: he drove it in all at once and I opened my mouth soundlessly, both hands pressed against the wall, my forehead against the cold plaster.

—Fuck —he growled in my ear—. You’re so tight.

He started slowly, with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then shoving back in to the hilt. I had no interest in staying quiet anymore, so he took care of covering my mouth with his palm when he really started moving. He pressed against my back, slid his fingers between my lips so I’d suck them while he drove into me, and he fucked me hard, every thrust sounding on my ass, a wet, dull smack mixed with the sound of my wet pussy swallowing him.

He grabbed one breast with his other hand, pinched my nipple, twisted it while he kept fucking me. He gave me another slap on the ass. He yanked my hair until he made me arch my back. His mouth was against my ear and he was saying broken things: whore, how tight you are, who’s your teacher, say it. I nodded, biting his fingers.

He pulled out, turned me around, lifted one leg and put it against the wall, and drove into me from the front again. Now I could see his face, red, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, jaw tight as he fucked me standing up against the hallway wall. I grabbed his neck with both hands and bit his mouth, his tongue, his lower lip. His dick went in and out with a wet sound so loud that someone could have heard us at any moment and I didn’t care.

—I’m going to come —he said.

—Inside —I told him—. Inside, all of it.

He came inside. It was rough and hot and lasted long enough that when he finished, my legs were truly shaking. I felt every hot spurt hitting deep inside me, four, five bursts, while he squeezed my waist against his and growled against my neck, biting me. He stayed like that for a moment, inside, throbbing, until he had emptied completely.

He pulled out slowly. I felt the semen start running down my thigh as soon as the tip came out. Rodrigo crouched down, grabbed the torn thong from his pocket, and wiped me between the legs with it, slowly, looking at me while he did it. Then he tucked it away again.

—I’m keeping it —he said.

I stayed leaning against the wall, my tits still out and my dress hiked up, catching my breath. Rodrigo looked at me with that expression men have when they’ve just gotten something they’ve wanted for a long time.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

—Perfectly —I replied.

And it was completely true.

***

I fixed my dress in the hallway and went into the room with semen still dripping between my thighs. Sofía and Camila were awake, each in her own bed, with that expression of people who have been waiting a while for someone to get back.

—Rodrigo? —Sofía asked.

—Don’t ask.

—Valentina.

—Don’t ask, Sofía.

I went into the bathroom. In the mirror my hair was a complete mess, my lips darker than when I left, a red mark on my neck, and another barely visible on my left breast. I pulled my dress down and looked at myself: the insides of my thighs were shiny and sticky. I brushed my teeth looking at myself and thinking of Tomás, who was still handsome, and Rodrigo, who turned out to be something different from what I’d calculated.

The next day Rodrigo behaved with complete normality during the trip back. He greeted me as always. He looked at me as always. Only now I knew exactly what was behind that look, and that changes how you receive things. At one point during the trip, when he passed by me on his way to the bus bathroom, he brushed my shoulder with his hand and I felt my pussy clench on its own.

It wasn’t the last time. It happened three more times after that, in different circumstances and different places, always with that same quality of something neither of us had planned but both of us knew was going to happen. Still, the hotel night is the one that comes back to me when I least expect it: in the middle of a boring conversation, waiting for the water to boil, any time the noise dies down and the mind goes off where it wants on its own.

The dark hallway. My legs shaking. His hand over my mouth. His dick driven all the way in. Semen running down my thigh while I fixed my dress.

Some things stay etched in you even if you never asked for them to stay.