Maring Her Man

MARKING HER MAN

By J. Intrigued

Stable. Laid-back. Unflappable. These were words that described Alex's personality quite accurately. But an elbow to the head could put anyone off their game.

One moment she'd been defending the 18-yard box from a corner kick, the next she was flat on her back in a stupor. A keen attacker had leapt in to meet the ball and carelessly struck Alex in the face, knocking her to the pitch. She'd gone down hard and had no opportunity to brace for the fall; the impact took the wind right out of her.

Shock and embarrassment swirled in her brain as she lay looking up at the girls standing over. Worst of all, she discovered, as they pulled her to her feet, the assistant coaches officiating the intra-squad match had somehow missed the blatant foul. One curse-laden outburst later, Alex was sent off the field, fuming and indignant.

The cavernous stadium felt lonelier than it had minutes ago. Alex retrieved an icepack from a cooler on the sidelines and retreated down the tunnel towards the locker room. Pressing the ice gingerly to her cheek, she ignored the pairs of eyes watching as she passed. The juniors would have something juicy to gossip about, if nothing else.

She caught the sight of her scowling face in a mirrored section of hallway. Alex was of Scandinavian descent, blonde and slim, but had inherited none of the height that normally came with her heritage. She was the shortest woman in her extended family, and the shortest member of the senior squad by some margin, making it all the more strange that she'd been positioned as a fullback of late.

Alex had spent most of her teens being told she was a natural winger, small and shifty, with a talent for running the ball forward and setting up an attack from the edges of the field. Defending at close quarters against girls of greater size seemed like a poor fit for her abilities.

What do I know anyway

, she thought, sitting down in front of her locker, resting her elbows on her knees.

I'm fortunate to be here

. Being selected to attend The Sports Institute was an opportunity she'd worked hard for. If she kept her head down, she could earn a valuable degree and still have a realistic chance of turning pro. And yet it proved difficult to feel grateful amidst the throbbing pain and anger.

As privileged a position as it was, daily reality in the school could grate. Alex had endured the first two years of her adulthood in a tightly regimented environment. Now nearing her twentieth birthday, there were precious few opportunities to escape from all the discipline and routine. She yearned for the relative freedom that high school had offered, now a distant memory.

Lost in thought, and still stewing on the plain wooden bench, Alex barely registered the team's eventual return. It seemed that staff and players alike were happy to give her a wide berth. Even her roommate Lily, probably her closest friend at the institute, had kept her distance. For someone of Alex's near-faultless disciplinary record, there were unlikely to be any further consequences for her behaviour--the coaches could overlook a rare individual infraction. Knowing this did little to lessen the sting of the incident.

A half-hour later, the locker room had all but cleared out for the afternoon, and Alex was left alone with her sour mood, a melted icepack, and half-remembered pieces of conversation. She'd waved off one coach's suggestion about getting her face looked at and grumbled in response to a question about going clubbing that night from several teammates. Finally, after tiring of the sound of a dripping faucet in the background, Alex peeled off her jersey and tossed it against the door of her locker. It was time for an overdue shower.

Removing her cleats, Alex stripped out of the rest of her soccer kit and added her sports bra and underwear to the pile. The soggy tiles underfoot were cool and soothing as she strode naked around a corner into the rows of shower stalls. The water pressure soon brought her back to life as she took a deep breath of steamy air. After standing in place under the spray for a while, an urge to get moving took over.

Ignoring the tender spot where she'd absorbed the elbow, Alex rubbed her face and body vigorously with her hands, slowing as her palms passed over her breasts; her nipples hardened immediately. The sensation snapped her eyes open, and she leaned out to spy up and down the empty stalls. Resting her hands on her toned stomach, she resolved to act.

I want to cum

.

I dare anyone to try and stop me

.

Desperate to feel anything other than what she currently felt, Alex let one hand slide down to her now slippery folds to begin massaging her clit. The relief was near instantaneous, and she cracked a wicked smile. But after a long, delicious minute of rising pleasure, it was clear that this wouldn't be enough. She needed to cum

hard

. Lacking any apparatus within reach, she dove another hand between her legs and forced a finger inside her pussy. Between her internal swooning and the heat of the water, Alex started to feel her balance waning and pressed her forehead on the shower wall to steady herself. The pressure on her clit and the rhythmic finger fucking were getting her closer to climax each second, but she needed one final ingredient: a target to focus on.

From the recesses of her mind, a man appeared, Mr. Stafford the sports medicine instructor--she'd been in his classroom that very morning. The image was so unexpected that Alex almost pulled out of her trance in surprise. Soon enough, there was no stopping her momentum, and she mentally latched onto the teacher, picturing him taking her atop a desk in some delirium of lust. Without a spare hand to cover her mouth, she cried out in ecstasy, voice echoing around the hard surfaces of the showers.

Shutting the water off, Alex collapsed to her knees atop the drain and caught her breath.

That's strange

, she thought, wondering where the impulse had drawn from. She'd crushed on male teachers before, but rarely masturbated thinking about them.

Hmmm. Any port in a storm?

When was the last time she'd orgasmed that hard, she wondered, drawing a blank. Perhaps during the summer break, relapsing with an old ex-boyfriend, some minor mistake she'd later regretted. There had been infrequent hook-ups throughout her residency at the institute, though none had led anywhere meaningful, and few resulted in repeat business.

Cumming had evidently been just what she'd needed, and Alex returned to her locker satisfied, though still confused about where her mind had ventured.

I'm overthinking it

, she decided, donning some loose-fitting track wear after towelling off. She looked a damp, bedraggled mess, but only a short walk to her dorm awaited. At this hour, there was little chance of an encounter with someone of importance. Piling her kit into a gym bag, Alex stuffed her feet into a pair of slip-on sneakers and headed out into the hallway towards the stadium's rear exit.

Head swimming from the release of endorphins, Alex smiled as she walked, letting the bag sway with each step. Then, from a side-passage, a voice called out, "Miss Amundsen?" Startled, Alex spun in fright to meet the familiar voice. Her jaw dropped.

"Mr. Stafford?" Here stood the sports medicine instructor himself, as if conjured directly from her thoughts. Alex felt herself turning red; to see him so soon after having imagined him fucking her

madly

set the ground beneath shaking. Per usual, He wore a fitted shirt, light blue, with the crest of the institute over the heart, and a pair of khaki pants, belted at the waist. Notably, in a workplace where cross-trainers or athletic sneakers were the norm, he wore brown dress shoes with tidy laces. He was tall, with lean muscle and a tapered body that hinted at his background as a competitive swimmer; dark eyes sat below darker curls, a curious, kindly expression on his face.

"Sorry to frighten you," he said, scanning the hall. "Is Coach Deevers around here somewhere? I have to return her spare facility keys."

"N, no, she's gone," stammered Alex, blood racing. She felt completely exposed.

Can he tell I was just thinking about him?

It was an insane thought, but still, it gained traction. Suddenly, the shabby outfit she was wearing came to mind. Her whole body sagged.

Of all the people to see me like this. I look like a drowned rat.

"Damn," he whispered, seemingly resigned. "Well, I'll just have to find her tomorrow." He paused, gesturing towards the bruise on her cheek. "You took a knock?"

"Yes--I'm fine," she said, almost convincingly.

"Good." To her relief, Mr. Stafford turned to head back the way he'd came. Yet before she could take a breath, he stopped and swivelled towards her again. "Your first name is 'Alex', isn't it?"

God, what now?

"Yes?"

He smiled. "Alex Amundsen. 'AA'. I believe you forgot your textbook in class earlier today, judging from the letters written on the inside cover."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, finally grasping what he meant. Come to think of it, her backpack had felt lighter than in should have. "I'm sorry..."

"No problem. Would hate for you to miss out on the assigned reading. If you want to collect it, I have office hours this evening from 5:30 to 7:30. Room 385, down the hall from the kinesiology labs."

"Thank you," said Alex, as he made his exit with a nod. She put a finger to her neck, confirming her pulse in a heightened state. Relieved to have escaped without further embarrassment, Alex was oddly unable to get Mr. Stafford out of her head on the way home. His first name was 'Tag', she knew, though what it was shortened from wasn't clear. Gossip among the seniors suggested he was newly divorced, with two children, and in his late thirties or early forties. It was widely agreed that there were perhaps hotter teachers on the staff, but none quite as approachable. She'd never been nervous in his presence before.

The late autumn twilight was crisp, and though the sun had barely set, Alex clouded the air with each breath. Thoughts of Mr. Stafford followed her through the dorm's foyer, and when she closed her eyes in the elevator, the teacher stared back behind her lids. A warmth was growing inside even as she fumbled for her keys at the apartment door. Setting her gym bag down heavily by the entrance, she turned the latch and kicked off her shoes, then pricked up her ears at a faint sound.

Halfway down the hall, as a closed bedroom door neared, the source of the sound revealed itself--her roommate's boyfriend was fucking Lily as if their lives both depended on it. Such an occurrence wasn't unusual at any hour; the girl had a voracious appetite for sex. Alex normally did her best to stay out of sight when they were at it, but today, for some reason, she lingered to listen. Tiptoeing closer, she cupped a hand and pressed her unbruised cheek to the door, biting her tongue all while. There was nothing sensual about the noises they made, a near constant stream of grunting, panting and pornographic commentary.

And then, in a piercing voice that startled Alex with its suddenness, Lily shouted, "Oh Daddy! Fuck me, Daddy!" Between the fact the girl's boyfriend wasn't a day over twenty-two, and the harsh tone of her Australian accent, it made for an unintentionally comedic scene. Alex pursed her lips shut to stifle a bout of laughter.

Daddy? Ridiculous

. There were green teaching assistants at the institute who were more of a daddy than that young fool. With any further enjoyment now spoiled by Lily's comical dirty talk, Alex padded around the corner and retreated chuckling into her own bedroom.

Diving onto the bed, she rolled to her side after an ungraceful bounce. Retrieving her smartphone from a pocket, a group text, already twelve messages deep awaited on the lockscreen. Alex's friend group was barrelling ahead with proposed nightclub plans. Underneath a sense of fatigue, some unknown energy stirred. Half of her was listening to the call of the bedcovers, the other half tempted by the promise of fun and frolic at the clubs. And yet, neither was precisely what she wanted.

What do I want?

There was a craving inside, something without a name. She didn't want some skinny man-child like Lily's brainless beau. It had to be someone who knew what he was doing. To be sure, she definitely didn't want anything to do with following the rules. Doing what she was told all the time was no more pleasant than the elbow to the face had been. Occasionally, life needed to be about short-term pleasure rather than long-term reward. Tonight, could be

that

kind of night.

So, what do I want?

She turned the smartphone face down and closed her eyes. And there he was again to greet her--Tag Stafford, the dreamy teacher, with a kindly expression and...newly available. There were strict regulations banning this sort of thing. That didn't stop it happening

entirely

, of course--school guidelines could only be so much of a bulwark against the desires of dozens of hormonal young women. Half-truths and breathless stories of affairs or scandals were passed down from graduates to seniors to juniors, some of which should have been enough to give Alex pause. But with each passing moment, she became more set on her course.

She wanted to see him. She would prepare for a night of clubbing and stop by right at the close of his office hours, dressed to kill. She would make her intentions plain. If he turned her down, the clubs would await, and some other passable option would present itself--a meagre alternative, but enough to satisfy her appetites for one night at least. There would be no consequences regardless. Mr. Stafford was smart, a private man, so there would be no complaints or reports. If need be, he would pretend her advance had never happened and go back to being an innocent, albeit hot instructor.

Leaping up from the bed, Alex tore apart her closet to search for the right outfit, settling on a short, lace-trimmed black dress with a plunging neckline. A pair of gold earrings would highlight the golden, straw-colour of her hair, and--she hoped--the mischievous sparkle in her blue-grey eyes. Dark black nail polish was expertly applied, and four decorative rings that contrasted nicely were slipped on to elevate the look. She kept her neck bare, and unadorned, designed to invite the attentions of her preferred suitor. Her hottest pair of strappy heels would complete the outfit, adding two inches of height, and putting her calves on display.

Lastly, a neutralizing concealer covered her facial bruising before Alex set about doing her makeup and hair, responding here and there to texts with non-committal maybes. A glance at the clock brought her to her feet to quickly transfer key items into a clutch purse. With one last kiss directed at the mirror, Alex sashayed down the hall and out the door.

The east wing of the sports sciences building looked essentially deserted when she arrived, and Alex ducked unseen into the first stairwell she encountered. For all her exterior confidence, her stomach fluttered with each step as she gripped the handrail. A lone janitor jockeyed a buffing machine in the hallway when she emerged on the third floor, never lifting his eyes as she made her way past the labs.

His loss

, she thought, certain that the next man to see her would be more appreciative.

The door to room 385 was ajar as she slowed on approach, a guest chair empty from her present angle. Mr. Stafford sat alone, concentrating on his laptop, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. The office was spartan, apart from some colourful children's drawings and school photos decorating the walls. Alex exhaled and strolled inside as nonchalantly as she could, heels clicking on the floor.

"One moment," he mumbled, fixated on a document onscreen, and with a last keystroke, saved his work. The look he gave as he turned in the office chair was a mixture of confusion and half-recognition, followed by a slight gaping of the mouth. Mr. Stafford then removed his spectacles and set them down on the desk without a word.

Alex smiled a broadening smile and gave a toss of the head. "I'm not too late?"

"Miss Amundsen!" he finally said, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. The chair squeaked as his weight shifted in the seat. "Your textbook...it's right here." Mr. Stafford reached out to pat the front cover with a palm, smiling back as best he could manage, and clearing his throat.

"Thank you

so

much," said Alex, sweetening her words. She could feel his gaze struggling to keep on hers while his skin reddened, just as hers had earlier.

I've got him

, she thought. Alex could recognize when a man was sizing her up. Older men were typically more subtle, but then perhaps poor Tag was out of practice. Perhaps he'd not yet been with anyone else since splitting with his wife? The mere possibility filled her with a lustful intent.

Clearly trying to smooth over his awkwardness, Mr. Stafford pointed at Alex's face and beamed. "It's a marvel what you ladies can do with makeup!" He paused briefly and cleared his throat again. "To cover the

bruise

, I mean."

I think it's time to put him out of his misery

. Alex grabbed the door without breaking eye contact and slowly pushed it shut, turning the lock. Mr. Stafford looked at a loss; she gave him no chance to react, stepping forwards and tossing her purse atop the textbook. Staring down at him in his chair, she placed a hand on her neck and languidly slid her fingertips down her collarbone to between the cleft in her breasts.

"Miss Amundsen," he said, failing to deepen his tone. "We shou--"

"Alex," she corrected. "My name is Alex."

"Alex...this isn't..."

"Isn't what?" she asked, fearless. "Isn't

right

? Against the rules? I need this.

You

need this, I can see that already. The only question is, how bad do you

want

this?" One finger toyed at a lacey edge of the dress, tugging gently, hinting at the promise of what lay beneath.

Mr. Stafford's eyes were locked on hers, dilated, and intense, chest rising and falling in steady breaths. He was rattled, but unafraid. An expression of wariness was soon replaced by something more akin to hunger; Alex almost drew back when he pushed out his chair and lifted himself to his feet to tower over her. Even wearing the heels, she barely reached the height of his chin.

They stood an arm's length apart for a tense moment, until he reached out for her right triceps and closed a hand around it. His touch felt clammy, but firm, stronger than she'd imagined. "I should..." he started, trailing off without finishing the thought.

"Should what?" she taunted, making no attempt to resist his grip on her. Mr. Stafford leaned down slowly until his face loomed inches away, eyes steely and unflinching. And then his lips were on hers, warm and forceful, but surprisingly tender. Alex swayed into his body while the kiss deepened, and the hand that had held her arm let go to drift to the small of her back. She met the embrace eagerly, pressing tight to his chest and wrapping her hands around his shoulders.

The room was silent apart from heavy breathing and the occasional murmur that escaped the seal of their lips. Alex sensed herself being shuffled backwards, until she came up against the metal handle of a low filing cabinet. Mr. Stafford's hands glided over her shapely behind, squeezing once, then disappearing under the skirt. She giggled into his mouth as he found the band of her underwear and pulled down in one motion, sending the black panties past her knees.

No sooner had she kicked one foot out of the g-string than the muscled teacher broke the kiss and lifted her by the waist onto the cabinet. He smiled as he tore at his belt and untucked his shirt from his pants, then leaned into her and resumed the kiss. Alex moaned and instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips to draw him closer, heart rate spiking. He felt hot to the touch, positively burning with passion, and she was already so wet there was little need for extended foreplay.