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From: "Louis Nessus" <nessus29@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Coaching Technique Pt1 (CB)
Date: Sun, 11 Feb 2001 23:10:03 -0500
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This story is intended for the enjoyment of adults over the age of 18 or 
whatever the legal age is in your part of the universe. It contains fantasy 
scenes of graphic sexual activity.   Please, if you are under the age of 18, 
or if you may be offended by such material, use your intelligence and read 
no further - delete the file.  Otherwise ....enjoy!


A Coaching Technique Part 1

By Nessus

FD CB Humil Mast

Tennis has always been my life since I was a small boy in Mexico City. My 
father was the head gardener at an estate owned by a very important man and 
he used to take me with him so I could hit the balls on the court.

I had a talent and I used it to travel the world playing tennis and enjoying 
the young women who follow the game. Women were attracted to me and I easily 
won them but, after a while,  I stopped winning the tournaments. Now, at 
twenty-four I wondered if I had squandered my talent.

At least that's what my coach said as he walked out. "You've fucked it up, 
Emillio," he said as he walked out of the Paris hotel bedroom where he had 
found me with the wife of a tournament official. "You've lost the will to 
play and you're only interested in whores!" With that, he flew back to 
Mexico.

That night, I sought advice from a fellow player, Steve, a young Australian 
who has won two Grand Slam tournaments and I have never managed to beat.  
"Get a new coach," he said as he swigged on his mineral water and I noticed 
a young woman at the bar eyeing us.

"It is not that simple," I moaned.

"Don't get all fucking emotional on me, Em," he said calmly. "Just get a new 
coach and focus on the game, not on the women."

"Steve," I said, nudging his arm, "that blonde girl at the bar wants you. I 
can see it in her eyes."

"Not interested," he said matter of factly as he took another swig of the 
water. "I have a girl friend back in Brisbane and I'm getting married next 
September."

"She won't know," I urged, smiling at the girl.

"But I will. Look, Em, do you want to talk to me or do you want to fuck that 
girl?"

"Steve," I protested. "I'm a changed man."

"I bet," he said in that dry Australian tone. Do you know that Johnny has 
retired?'

"No!" I said shocked, as Johnny was only three years older than I was.

"Yep. Can't blame him. He's won it all. He's going back to New York. That 
means," he added meaningfully, "that Ingrid Svenson is free to take on other 
players."

Ingrid Svenson , the Iron Swede, was one of the few female coaches that 
worked with male players. She had been a cold disciplined player on the 
court and brought those same characteristics to her coaching. Every player 
she had worked with had won at least one big tournament but strangely, she 
never coached women.

"She wouldn't take me on," I said ruefully. "I'm not ranked high enough."

"Neither was Johnny when she started coaching him." We sat in silence for a 
moment. "Do you want me to talk to her?"

"You know her?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, she's a friend of mine and we have a similar approach 
to discipline. She's here in Paris and I can set up a meeting." Steve stood 
and looked down at me as I smiled again at the blonde girl at the bar. "Do 
you want me to set it up, Em?" he snapped.

"Why not?" I shrugged. "It can not hurt, my friend." Steve said goodnight 
and I headed over to the blonde girl.

The telephone bell sounded like a fire alarm as I struggled to wake up. 
"Allo," I said groggily into the phone by the bed, looking around to see if 
the blonde girl was still there. She wasn't, just a note on the pillow which 
I crumpled up without reading it and threw onto the floor.

"You awake?" Steve's Australian drawl sounded in my ear.

"Of course," I lied. "I've been up for hours."

"Bullshit," he said succinctly. "Ingrid will meet you on the terrace at one. 
Don't be late, Em. She's got a thing about being punctual."

For once, I was on time and I sat waiting for Ingrid as I surveyed the world 
through my sunglasses. Suddenly, she was standing in front of me, dressed in 
a black top and leather trousers. Her blonde hair was pulled back and gold 
jewellery glittered against her honey coloured skin, her eyes were hidden 
behind gold rimmed sunglasses. "Emillio Sanchez," she said coolly, extending 
her hand.

I took her hand. "It is exciting to meet you," I said, putting on my best 
boyish smile, which she totally ignored as she sat.

"I'm sure it is," she said sarcastically in that clipped accent Swedes adopt 
when they speak English. Could this woman be blind to my charm? Perhaps it 
is true she is a lesbian? "Steve tells me you are looking for a coach?"

"Yes, I am without a coach at the moment. And you are without players?"

"Johnny has announced his retirement according to our plan," she stated. "I 
have no plans to coach. I am seeing you because Steve is a great player and 
a good friend."

"I need a coach," I said.

"No one will coach you. You have no discipline," she said flatly.

"I will learn," I said dramatically.  "I need to learn as I can not return 
to Mexico a failure." For the next hour I attempted to persuade her as she 
sipped her juice and picked at a plate of fresh fruit. "You must help me or 
I am doomed!" I finally begged.

Ingrid laughed. "Such a passionate boy. However, I understand you can not 
follow rules?'

"Who would say such a thing! "

"Everybody," she said simply. "You would have to follow my rules. It is 
essential for my coaching technique to be successful."

"You have my word," I vowed, one hand raised.

She laughed coldly. "I will have more than that."

The contract was simple. She would get a very large percentage of my 
earnings, I would follow her every instruction and if I had not won a Grand 
Slam tournament within one year, the contract was void. I didn't need long 
to think it over and I didn't read it very carefully before I signed.

Ingrid flew back to Stockholm, leaving me with arrangements for a medical 
examination and plans to meet in Las Vegas for training in a week's time. 
The medical examination was very thorough and I was a little embarrassed 
when the doctor measured my cock and balls. What could that have to do with 
Ingrid's coaching technique, I wondered?

I flew into McCarran International in Vegas and took a limo to the address 
Ingrid had given me. Ingrid's coaching camp was not luxurious and was 
completely secluded from the temptations of the Vegas strip. I checked into 
a sparse bungalow, changed into my tennis gear and began warming up on the 
courts.

A beautiful young woman in tight white shorts and a blue top, which 
accentuated her large breasts, introduced herself. "I'm Kimberley," she said 
in a slow Southern drawl as she tied her thick dark hair into a ponytail. 
"Your fitness trainer."

"I am very pleased to meet you," I said taking her hand and kissing it. When 
I looked up I was surprised by her cool expression and I realised my charm 
was not working. She jammed a cap on her head and led me to the gym. For the 
next two hours, Kimberley tested every aspect of my fitness and I was 
sweating and exhausted when we finished.

I met with Ingrid in the afternoon and she was not impressed with Kimberley 
's report. "You are terribly unfit," she declared flatly. "You will never 
win with that level of fitness. Kimberley will improve you," she said with a 
heavy finality.

"I'll work hard," I said in a tone of voice that I hoped would persuade 
Ingrid of my humbleness. It was disturbing my charm was having no effect.

"I know you will," she said, leaning back in her chair, studying me across 
the desk. "It is time Emillio, to explain the technique I will use to coach 
you." Ingrid reached into a drawer and placed a tube made of thick perspex 
with an equally thick perspex ring attached to it.

"What is that?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"It is a chastity tube," she said calmly. "It fits over your penis to 
control your impulses. It is a very clever device that will be locked on and 
will still enable you to move freely around the tennis court and through 
airports.  We don't want the airport alarms to go off and for you to be 
searched." Her eyes glittered. "That would be embarrassing for you and, 
perhaps, appear in the gutter press."

"You can't be serious! You mean to take away my manhood?" I cried 
passionately.

"Your manhood as you call it has stopped you from concentrating on improving 
your fitness and your game. I remind you that you signed a contract. You 
must follow my instructions and I instruct you to wear this. I will leave 
the office and a nurse will fit it."

"But, how will I get it off?"

"By working hard and by winning. I will decide. Are you ready for me to call 
the nurse or do we have a legal discussion regarding your contract. I assume 
you've read the penalty clauses? You will never play tennis professionally 
again."

My head reeled. Penalty clauses, chastity tube? This was the most crazy and 
frightening thing I had ever heard. This woman was going to control my 
sexuality and I could not allow it! A small voice in my head pointed out she 
had the contract, I could not afford legal action and this was my last 
chance to be a winner. Slumping in the chair, realising I had no choice, I 
nodded and bowed my head.

Ingrid left the room and an older nurse in a starched uniform bustled in, 
carrying a bag. "I'm Nurse Wilkins. Please remove your clothing from your 
lower half." Numb, I dropped my shorts and jockstrap and she coolly threaded 
my cock through the tube, locking the ring in place between by balls and my 
crotch.

I stared down at the tube gripping my cock and I panicked. "Take it off," I 
screeched. "I've changed my mind!"

"Sorry", Nurse Wilkins said briskly. "Ms Svenson has the only key and no 
locksmith can break the code. Now," she said in a business like manner. 
"Remember to direct the shower nozzle onto your genitals to thoroughly clean 
the area every day. And," she added with a little smirk, "you will have to 
sit to urinate. Have a good day," she said as she left, leaving me pulling 
my shorts back up. The tube was not uncomfortable but it was tight and I 
suddenly realised that it would be impossible to get hard in this thing.

Ingrid smiled at me from the doorway and I flushed. "Now," she said evenly, 
"we work."

Nessus29@hotmail.com
(All Nessus stories are archived at www.asstr-mirror.org)



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