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Date: Tue, 8 Apr 2025 01:08:20 +0200
From: "outandwriting@gmail.com" <outandwriting@gmail.com>
Subject: The Coach's Curveball - Chapter 1: Loosen Up (Bisexual > Authoritarian)

This story is comprised of multiple chapters, and the summary and tags
reflect the overall story arc, encompassing all chapters.

SUMMARY::
A high school sophomore struggles with feelings of inadequacies until his
baseball coach and girlfriend step in to help him find himself.

PAIRING AND ORIENTATION:
M/m, M/f, M/f/m, f/m

CATEGORY, GENRE, AND THEME:
Bisexual > Authoritarian, AgeGap, PowerPlay, Control, Dom/Sub, Chastity,
Cuckold, Sissification

DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction intended for adults aged 18 and over. It
includes consensual relationships between adult and teenage characters.
All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to real individuals is
purely coincidental. If material involving any pairing, orientation,
category, genre, or theme described above offend you, or are illegal in
your area, please do not read further.

COPYRIGHT © 2025 by outandwriting@gmail.com
All rights reserved. This story may not be copied, shared, or reposted
without permission from the author.

MESSAGE TO READERS, FEEDBACK AND CONTRIBUTIONS:
Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I love
hearing from readers, so feel free to reach out with any comments,
feedback, thoughts or suggestions. And, If you have ideas for future
chapters, or if there's a particular direction you'd like to see the
story take, I'd be happy to consider them. I'm also open to new story
ideas if you'd like to collaborate or suggest something fresh!

You can contact me at outandwriting@gmail.com

Now on to the story!





THE COACH'S CURVEBALL
Chapter 1: Loosen Up
by outandwriting@gmail.com




Ethan stood at home plate, bracing himself for the coach's curveball.
Despite being just 16, his years of practice were evident in his form,
but the stiffness in his movements revealed his inner hesitation.
Standing at 5'7" with a lean, wiry frame, he had the athletic build of a
shortstop, but his boyish features made him seem younger than his actual
age. His dark brown hair always had a slightly unruly quality to it,
often falling into his eyes or sticking out from under his cap as though
he hadn't bothered to smooth it down. His hazel eyes, wide and
expressive, held an innocence that made him look a little out of place
among the older, more mature athletes he competed with. A light dusting
of freckles crossed his nose, and his smooth, youthful skin made him
appear almost like a kid who'd simply stumbled onto the field by
accident.

He wasn't tall like some of the others, but there was an undeniable
sharpness in his movements when he played. Ethan wore oversized hoodies,
jeans, and well-worn sneakers--clothes that seemed to match the
easy-going, slightly awkward air he carried with him wherever he went.
Despite his stature, there was a quiet intensity in the way he played,
his natural talent on the field belying the vulnerability that was so
evident in his appearance. He was a kid, yes--but he was a kid who was
undeniably good at the game. As the sun began to set, casting long
shadows across the field, Ethan remained focused, determined to work on
his swing. The field was nearly empty now, the other players long gone,
but he stayed behind. Coach Daniels was on the pitching mound, tossing
curveballs at him. The ball broke sharply, dipping and twisting in
unpredictable ways, and Ethan was struggling to get a clean hit. His body
was too stiff, too rigid for the quick, fluid adjustments needed to
master the pitch.

Ethan had always been a driven kid, but off the baseball field, he
carried a weight that he never discussed--not with his teammates, not
with his friends, and certainly not with his girlfriend, Jessica. They'd
been together for almost a year, but their relationship had never
progressed to the intimacy he knew she wanted. It wasn't that he didn't
care about her--he did, deeply. But every time the opportunity arose,
Ethan would freeze, his mind spiraling into a pit of insecurity. What if
she's disappointed? What if she laughs? His biggest fear--a secret he'd
carried since puberty--was his size. He'd convinced himself it was too
small, that no girl could ever truly want him because of it. It wasn't
something he could talk about, not even with the guys on the team, who
boasted and joked about their conquests like it was nothing. So, he
buried it, throwing himself into baseball instead, the one place where he
felt in control. But even on the field, the doubt lingered. It was why he
stayed late, why he pushed himself harder than anyone else. If he
couldn't be enough in one way, he'd damn well make sure he was in
another.

The crack of the bat echoed across the empty field, but Ethan's swing
was off again. He gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance as he tried to
time the curveball. It didn't matter how much he practiced--there was a
stiffness in his movements that he couldn't shake. His hands gripped the
bat too tightly, his body too rigid as he tried to make adjustments, but
it wasn't working. The ball curved wide, and the bat swished through
empty air. He cursed under his breath, frustration mounting.

Coach Daniels stood tall on the pitching mound, watching Ethan closely
with a calculating gaze. He had thrown dozens of curveballs now, testing
Ethan's reaction. There was talent there, no question, but something was
wrong. Ethan wasn't getting the proper mechanics--his swings were
off-balance, stiff. It wasn't about form, strength, or ability. It was
deeper. That kind of tension came from doubt, from fear of failure, from
being afraid of not being enough. It wasn't the first time Coach had
seen someone fight their own fear. He knew how to turn that into
something else.

"Ethan," Coach called out, his voice low and commanding. It wasn't a
shout, but it carried across the field with the weight of authority.
Ethan froze mid-swing, his bat still suspended in the air. He turned,
wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, Coach?"

"Come here a second."

Ethan hesitated, then trotted over, his cleats crunching against the
dirt. He stopped a few feet away, his face flushed from the exertion.
"What's up?"

Coach Daniels stood on the mound, his broad frame elevated by its rise,
making him seem even more imposing. At 6'3", he was a big man--muscular,
solid, with a presence that demanded attention. His eyes were sharp, his
expression intense as he studied Ethan.

"You're too stiff," Coach said, his voice low but firm. "Your swing,
your body--you're not allowing yourself to adjust. You're trying to
force it." He stepped down from the mound, walking toward Ethan.
"Baseball's not just about raw strength. It's about fluidity."

Ethan's brow furrowed as he stared at his coach, trying to understand.

Coach paused a few feet away. "The curveball's a mental game. The best
hitters don't just react to it--they let it come to them. Relax. Trust
your instincts. Loosen up." He placed a hand briefly on Ethan's
shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. "The more you fight it, the worse
it's going to get. Baseball's about letting go of that control. You
can't force it."

Ethan blinked, trying to process what Coach was saying. His heart was
still racing from the intensity of the pitch and the tightness in his
chest. But Coach's words settled in, quiet and sure.

"Loosen up," Coach repeated, his tone almost intimate, a quiet order.
"I've got some techniques that'll help with that, Ethan. They're
unconventional, but they work."

Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his
throat. He wasn't sure what Coach meant, or what he was being asked to
do, but there was something about Coach's calm, steady presence that
made him want to try. To trust.

"I'll show you tomorrow. After practice," Coach said, his voice still
low and controlled. "Come to my office. No distractions. Just you and
me."

"Okay," Ethan replied, nodding. His chest fluttered with a quiet
thrill--a rush of gratitude with undeniable curiosity. He didn't know
what Coach had in mind, but what did he have to lose?

Coach clapped him on the shoulder, the force of it making Ethan take a
small step back. "Good kid," Coach said, his hand lingering for a
moment before he turned and made his way off the field. "We'll work on
it tomorrow."

The next day, Ethan stayed behind after practice, just like Coach had
asked. The field was deserted, the last light of day stretching long
across the grass as the sun sank lower behind the trees. He walked toward
the building, but an unfamiliar unease settled deep in his stomach. It
wasn't like this was anything new--he'd had private sessions with
coaches before. But this time felt... different.

Ethan paused at the door, his hand hovering just above the doorknob. He
gave a hesitant knock, the sound carrying far down the quiet hallway,
louder than he'd intended. His heartbeat quickened at the noise, the
silence afterward almost unbearable.

A few moments later, Coach's voice filtered through the door, low and
steady.

"Come on in."

Ethan swallowed hard. He felt the knot in his throat, the weight of
something he couldn't define pressing against his chest. With shaky
fingers, he turned the doorknob, stepping inside for the first time since
joining the varsity team.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the room seemed to envelop him, its
walls closing off everything outside, shielding them from the world,
creating an intimate, private space. The office was small but well-kept,
its walls lined with a mix of old and new baseball memorabilia. Framed
photographs of the team's most successful seasons hung beside vintage
bats and signed balls. A desk sat near the back of the room, cluttered
with papers but still maintaining a sense of order. The air was thick
with the scent of leather and wood, mingling with a faint trace of
cologne that lingered like a second skin. The dim lighting added to the
room's stillness, casting long shadows across the floor and giving it a
quiet, almost suffocating atmosphere. Then, something caught Ethan's
eye. Perched atop a gleaming trophy, was a pair of black lace panties,
casually draped over the top. The fabric caught the dim light, almost
deliberately, giving off an air of defiance, as if the panties were
another bizarre kind of trophy. Ethan's gaze lingered, confusion
swirling in his chest. Why would a coach have something like that here?
It felt out of place, even unsettling.

Coach Daniels stood by the desk. He was dressed in a tight-fitting polo
and shorts. Ethan's gaze lingered on the way the fabric hugged his
biceps, the muscles defined and impressive. His pulse quickened, a
strange heat rising in his chest as he realized he was staring. When
Coach's sharp eyes locked onto his, Ethan quickly looked away, but the
intensity of that gaze left an unspoken tension in the air, stirring
something unsettling and unfamiliar inside him.

Coach wasn't just a coach. He was... well, he was the Coach. There was a
magnetism to him that couldn't be ignored. His presence was both calm
and commanding, the quiet power of his movements making Ethan acutely
aware of how easily Coach could overwhelm the space.

Coach crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles shifting beneath the
fabric, and his gaze didn't waver. It felt like he could see straight
through Ethan, into the core of him.

"Ethan, do you trust me?" His voice was calm but full of weight, the
question landing with a gravity that felt as if it held more than just
the usual meaning.

Ethan hesitated, his heart pounding, but he followed through, though his
words came out quieter than expected. "I... yeah. Of course."

Coach's expression softened slightly, but his eyes remained sharp,
unyielding. "Good," he said, the firmness in his voice oddly
reassuring. "Because what I'm about to show you... it's not just about
baseball. It's about you. Who you are. Who you could be."

Ethan's brow furrowed in confusion, unease creeping in. "I don't... I
don't understand."

Coach stepped closer, his presence growing in a way that was more felt
than seen. The scent of his cologne, laced with the faint trace of sweat
from the gym, created a strange pull--one that Ethan couldn't quite
explain. He felt the warmth radiating from Coach, a steady heat that
reached him without a single touch. The sound of Coach's voice resonated
deep within him, vibrating through his chest like an echo. Something
about his presence stirred his senses in ways he didn't fully
understand. It felt like admiration--the kind a boy might feel for a man
who embodied everything he aspired to be, but deep down knew he could
never quite become.

"You will," Coach said, voice lowering to a near whisper. "But first,
you need to let go. Let go of all the noise. All the distractions. Just...
listen."

Ethan's chest tightened, but Coach's hand settled on his shoulder. The
touch was solid, grounding in a way that seemed to calm the racing
thoughts in Ethan's head, though a flutter of something unfamiliar
lingered just beneath the surface. It wasn't a bad feeling, but it was
new. And unsettling.

Coach's hand rested there, not just as a coach's touch, but as
something more, like an anchor in a storm. Ethan's body went still
beneath it, the tension in his chest slowly unwinding, though his mind
was still spinning with questions.

"Close your eyes," his voice calm and insistent. There was a soft
command in the way he spoke, one that made Ethan hesitate for only a
second before he obeyed, his eyelids fluttering shut. A strange sense of
calm swept over him, as though the room had shrunk to just the two of
them. He could feel the rush of his pulse in his ears, but there was
something grounding about Coach's presence. It was like the weight of
his hand on Ethan's shoulder was enough to hold him steady.

Coach's hand slid down Ethan's arm, his fingers brushing lightly
against the skin. Ethan could feel the deliberate nature of the touch,
the carefulness with which Coach moved. The warmth of his palm against
Ethan's arm sent a subtle jolt through him. Every nerve in Ethan's body
seemed to wake up, and though his mind screamed for him to pull away, his
body remained rooted in place.

"Breathe," Coach instructed, his voice soft but commanding. "In...
out... just breathe."

Ethan did as he was told, his breath catching in his throat as his chest
rose and fell in time with Coach's steady rhythm. His body was
responding without his consent. It was as if his senses were sharpening
to every slight movement, every shift in Coach's stance. The air between
them was thick, alive, and every second that passed only seemed to make
Ethan more aware of how close Coach was standing.

Coach's hand moved again, this time to the small of Ethan's back. The
touch was light, almost teasing, and it sent a thrill that rushed through
him like electricity. His breath hitched, his body instinctively leaning
into the touch, and he felt his knees weaken.

Coach's voice was low, warm, close. "Relax," he said, his hand still
resting at the small of Ethan's back, steady and assuring. "I've got
you."

Ethan swallowed, his mind racing, heart pounding. What was happening?
This wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before. His body felt on fire,
every inch of his skin acutely aware of Coach's every move. There was
something magnetic in the air, something that made it impossible for
Ethan to resist.

Then, Coach's other hand cupped the back of Ethan's neck, the fingers
firm yet gentle, sending a wave of warmth through him. His knees
threatened to buckle under the sensation. The contact, though simple,
felt more intimate than anything he'd ever known. He leaned in, almost
instinctively, as though his body had a mind of its own.

"That's it," Coach whispered, his lips so close to Ethan's ear that
the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down Ethan's spine. "Just let
go."

Ethan's mouth went dry, his mind a whirlwind of questions. Was this
normal? But before he could process, Coach's lips brushed lightly
against the side of Ethan's neck. The contact soft but deliberate--like
an invitation. Ethan's entire body seized up, heat rushing to his face
as confusion and panic swirled inside him. His mind screamed that this
wasn't right. But it felt so... good.

"Coach..." Ethan whispered, his voice trembling. It wasn't a protest,
but a question--an unspoken plea for understanding.

"Relax, kid," Coach murmured, his lips moving closer to Ethan's ear,
his breath hot against his skin. "You're overthinking it. Just feel.
That's all I'm asking."

Ethan stood frozen, his heart pounding, his skin tingling with an
unfamiliar tension. His mind was screaming to pull away, to stop this
before it went too far. But his body refused to listen, leaning in just
slightly, craving more of the touch, more of the heat. His confusion
deepened, but buried beneath it was a quiet longing he didn't quite
understand.

"Coach..." Ethan's voice faltered, his words caught in his throat.
"I... I don't know..."

"You don't need to know," Coach replied, his tone both commanding and
reassuring. "This is about trust. About letting go. About finding out
what you're really capable of."



TO BE CONTINUED