Dia's Coach (1): Dia 1

By Neale Sourna

Dia is a naughty cheerleader, who prefers older men, well, one particular older man. She wants everyone's favorite team coach and teacher, Mr. Dean. He's been strong, resisting her; but, he's weakening.... And lovely young Dia always gets what she wants. So, when she slips into Mr. Dean's home, in nothing but lace and desire, he'll break and tea

• Language: English
• Publisher: PIE: Perception Is Everything
• Release date: Feb 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781938903304

Neale Sourna

Neale Sourna (www.Neale-Sourna.com) is an award-winning author / publisher - screenwriter - game story narrative writer based in Cleveland, Ohio, USA, who "backed" into novel writing with self-prescribed short story exercises to work out ideas for TV scripts and feature screenplays. Neale's first published work was "Hesitation" for PLAYGIRL, May 2002. NS also edits and designs (ebook and book covers plus interior layouts) of the character-driven stories published through PIE: Perception Is Everything (www.PIE-Percept.com). Neale is a member of the Writer's Guild of America - West (WGA-w)'s Video Game Caucus.

Book preview

Dia’s Coach (1)

by Neale Sourna

School—Main Hall—Day

Hi, Mr. Dean.

She waited, with a knowing smile on her pretty lips, knowing he was closing his eyes, as if in prayer, and quietly sighing at hearing her voice behind him.

Dia wanted him; he knew that; there wasn’t any doubt.

All the boys of the team that he coached, all assumed one of them would get her—they were her age, after all; but, she didn’t like any of them all that much.

Mr. Dean turned around and finally looked her in the eyes. Good, he was having a hard time of it today.

Yes, Dia?

Mr. Dean’s voice was all teacherly and he was keeping his face blank, especially, with so many people around; but, she knew her affect; especially on him; the constant stiffening of his cock every time her aching little cunt came near, whispering promises to said cock, was probably a bit of a giveaway.

He had no desk, right now, to strategically place between him and her; to cover his lower, bulging half.

She glanced down. Yeah, stiff.

Dia!

He shifted and placed his briefcase in front of him.

Mr. Dean, I asked the boys if I could be the only cheerleader to ride the team bus, again, on the exhibition away game in two weeks. They said,  ‘Yeah!’ But, Stevie said I had to clear it with you."

It makes the other girls jealous.

Don’t care. I want what I want.

It’s bad for your reput—.

Dia stepped closer, and they were abruptly in one of those mysterious pockets of aloneness that happens in crowded places, after everyone seems to have turned a corner or ducked into a classroom.

I. Want. What. I. Want. Mr. Dean. His cock poked at his pants harder, and she glanced down, again, then gazed longer.

Oh, pants snake, she thought, I get it, now.

He sighed, deeper. And gave up.

Whatever you want, Dia.

Oh. Really? She stepped closer.

Mr. Dean was tired of his balls aching, his cock embarrassing him in public, and young Dia being relentlessly after him. One more try at responsible, adult teacher and coach.

Stevie loves you, Dia.

Stevie the Overly Optimistic loves that I let him front like he may have kissed me and felt me up once or twice. But, he’s never fucked me.

She saw it in his eyes, his mind straying at the idea of kissing her, and she smiled wickedly knowing his cock was throbbing to his pounding heartbeat to fuck her juicy cunt.

She leaned into him, her voice intimate, warm, and for him alone.

"I’ve had men fuck me, Mr. Dean. I love it when a smart, older man fucks me; a bunch of stupid boy cocks don’t mean shit to me; not unless you could lump ’em together into one useful fuck. Can you do that, Mr. Dean?"

She laughed, and was leaving, knowing he was staring, fascinated. Her face, her tits, her ass, he always stared at them, when he believed she didn’t know he was looking.

But, Dia always knew when Mr. Dean was looking at her, because he was always looking; his eyes followed her everywhere, one day, or one night, soon, his whole body would.

Mr. Dean’s House—Front Door—Friday Evening

Dia rang his bell, wearing a hooded cape, like the fine ladies in romance novels wear, when on an assignation. Mr. Dean, not knowing yet that he was about to have a secret and sexy meeting with a student, opened his house door.

Yes. Di—!

His eyes lit brightly at the sight of her, then sobered and darted around; especially, after she