In The Zone 1 — Game
Sally needed a new tennis coach. She hadn’t won any competitions this season, and her University bursary depended on her winning at least one. She was worried about losing the income, and about failing her final year exams too. To top it all off her current coach kept telling her that she was playing was “just fine,” and that she was doing badly competitively because she was stressed.
They had got into a row, with Sally accusing her coach of failing to do her job and that all this ‘stress’ bullshit was just an excuse for bad coaching. In response, her coach had said that if Sally wasn’t satisfied then she could damn well find herself another coach. The result was that Sally had stormed off to the University Sports Association to do just that.
The secretary had been somewhat sympathetic to Sally’s situation but was somewhat taken aback when Sally presented her non-negotiable list of requirements. “I need a new coach; they have to be female and they have to know what they are talking about. I don’t need another moron like my last coach. And I want one of the ex-professionals,” Sally demanded, still angry from her argument. “I need them to be available four nights a week, from 10pm to midnight; I’m far too busy with my studies to be able to manage an earlier time. That’s the only time I can do,” she repeated condescendingly, when the secretary raised her eyebrows. Sally crossed her arms; “You’re just going to have to find someone; I need a new coach, now.”
The secretary had found Sally to be totally inflexible about the times, and extremely unwilling to attempt to patch things up with her last coach, who was the only ex-pro female coach who met all Sally’s requirements. There was another coach on the University’s books who fulfilled all but one of her requirements; he was male.
“No,” said Sally, crossing her arms. “I told you, I want a female coach. Find someone else.”
“Please consider him Sally,” said the secretary kindly, “His record is very good, he has coached many students here, some of whom have gone on to play professionally themselves. Plus,” she added sincerely, “just because he is male doesn’t mean he can’t coach women. He is entirely professional, if that is your concern; and in fact many of his best students in the past have been women.”
Sally wasn’t thrilled. She didn’t like male coaches. She thought they got distracted looking at her body instead of watching her play tennis. She was tall, supple and big breasted, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. The way her toned ass flexed as she ran around the court and the satisfied, feminine grunts she made when she hit the ball were all far too distracting for men. Sally didn’t want a male coach. But if the Sports Association was so poorly organised that they weren’t willing to try and find her a proper coach then he would have to do, for now.
“Fine,” Sally said. “I’ll give him a trial.” Then come back in a couple of days, say it’s not working out, and make you find someone else, she added in her own head. The secretary smiled at Sally’s acceptance and handed her a card.
“That’s John’s number,” said the secretary. “I’ll tell him to meet you at 10 tomorrow at the indoor courts.”
The next day Sally rushed to the court – she was late. She had been studying solidly for 6 hours (at least she had been trying to study, but nothing seemed to be going in) and afterwards she had rushed a snack and headed straight for the courts. She arrived with red cheeks and her hair slipping out of her ponytail, hurried to the changing rooms to quickly change into her tracksuit and draw her hair back tightly.
She entered the gym. It was empty apart from a man knocking a tennis ball back and forth off the wall with loud thwacks.
“John?” said Sally, and he turned, stopping the ball expertly with a downward stroke of his racquet, catching it as he walked towards her.
“That’s me,” he said. “Are you Sally?” He approached, and Sally saw that he was a good looking man in perhaps his mid thirties with dark brown hair and light brown eyes. He was well muscled across his arms and chest, still in shape from his days as a professional player.
“Yes” Sally replied.
“Nice to meet you Sally. You’re late,” said the man matter-of-factly, holding out a hand which Sally shook as her brow creased in irritation.
“I was studying,” Sally said, as if it was obvious. “I have to do exams as well as practice tennis, you know,” she said crossly.
“This is my last session of the night, everyone else has gone home,” said John, “I want to give you a full two hours of coaching and I don’t want to be kept here beyond midnight because you’ve shown up late. Be on time on Friday.” He said firmly. He looked Sally up and down and she felt a surge of annoyance at his stare.
She was about to fire back a sarcastic reply, but she was heartened by what he had said about making sure she got her a full two hours of coaching. Finally, a coach who sounded dedicated and took her training seriously. She made an attempt to be conciliatory. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “Sorry,” she added.
“That’s alright,” John said warmly, “Now, let’s warm up. Show me your stretch routine.”
Sally was annoyed that John watched her as she stretched. While she bent forwards, sticking out her toned ass and stretching her long tanned legs, John walked around her, looking at her in a manner that could simply be the innocuous attention of a coach hoping to improve his student’s stretch routine but alternatively could be that of a pervert trying to get a better view of Sally’s firm, lithe body. She finished by stretching her shoulders and arms, and tried to do so without giving John a good look at her breasts.
“Stick your chest out more,” John said, and Sally shot him a glare. “You’re not loosening up enough, and you’ll get stiff shoulders tomorrow,” John explained, and Sarah grudgingly complied. She thrust out her chest, her large breasts straining against her sports bra. John watched her carefully as she finished her routine by stretching her neck.
“Good,” John said. “We will work more on your stretching later, but that’s fine for now. Let’s hit the court and talk about how we’re going to improve your game.”
Sally took the opposite side, and they began to hit a ball back and forth, John testing Sally by returning it to every position of her side of the court. Sally was impressed with his accuracy as he tested her abilities to the limit. After a few minutes, John began to ask Sally about her game, and what she felt she needed to work on, and Sally immediately told him about her anxieties about failing to win a competition this year.
“I get so frustrated when I go to these competitions. I should be playing better, but I can’t. I need to train different techniques,” she added, “I need you to tell me what I’m doing wrong, and I need to improve my skill at everything I’m not doing well enough.”
“You said you get frustrated,” said John, “do you play worse when you get worried about your performance?”
“I guess,” replied Sally, feeling the conversation was moving away from the direction she’d wanted.
“And you are worried about your University work too,” John mused. “You’re under a lot of pressure at the moment. To be honest, it sounds like stress,” John said.
“That’s the same bullshit excuse my last coach gave me,” Sally snapped angrily. “I need help improving my tennis; I don’t need to be told I’m stressed. How the hell is that even supposed to help?” she demanded.
“Sally, Sally, listen,” John said placatingly, raising his voice just enough to be heard over her complaints. “It is stress,” he said firmly, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t work on it. Stress commonly affects athletes, and you are stressed because of your exams and because of your need to perform competitively. I can help you.”
“I know stress affects athletes,” Sally muttered, but she accepted that John may be right.
“I can help you,” John repeated, “but I require a lot of effort on your part. I need you to follow my instructions, with diet, with exercise, and during our sessions here. If you can do that then I guarantee you will be able to conquer your fears.”
Sally nodded, she secretly felt a little bit glad that John was being firm and precise about what he intended to do to help her. It took some of the burden of worrying away from her.
“Let’s practise some returns,” John said, stopping the rally. He wheeled a tennis machine onto the court, loaded with dozens of yellow balls. “I am going to set this to hit the same spot every time, and I want you to think only about returning the ball. Think about nothing else; concentrate so hard on the ball that nothing else enters your mind. If you want to be able to deal with fear, you need to concentrate so hard on playing that you forget all about your worries. Only think about playing tennis.”
“Ok,” said Sally dubiously.
“It will be hard at first,” said John, switching on the machine, which rumbled into life, “but you’ll soon find yourself in the zone. Just concentrate on hitting the ball, and listen to me.”
Sally nodded. John engaged the mechanism and the first ball arced out of the machine quite slowly, landing near the centre of Sally’s court. She returned it easily with a forehand strike.
“Good,” said John, “keep doing exactly the same thing.”
The machine fired out balls at a rate of about one every two seconds, slow enough for Sally to easily hit every one but frequent enough that she felt herself concentrating only on returning the ball. John spoke as she hit the ball, telling her to relax, try to return the ball to the same spot every time, to feel the rhythm and let her body respond naturally.
When the machine was empty John emptied another bag of balls into it and started the whole process again, now walking around the court collecting the used balls as he continued to guide her.
“Listen to the noises, the rhythm. Relax. Don’t tense your muscles; you know where it’s going to land, you don’t need to worry. Just concentrate on the rhythm.”
Sally had felt herself tiring, but when she let herself relax she felt a new surge of strength, as if she could keep doing this for hours.
“Change to backhand,” John said, and Sally hesitated, missing a ball.
“Don’t think, just do as I say,” John said, and Sally shifted position, hitting the next ball with a backhanded stroke.
Again and again she hit it, with John’s voice calmly talking in the background, telling her to follow his instructions if she wanted to get into the zone; to think of nothing but returning the ball and listening to him.
John was now filling the machine periodically so that it was never empty, and Sally no longer felt as if she was returning each ball separately; it just felt like one continuous action, a natural flow.
The thwacking noise of machine was followed by the hollow bounce of the ball on the floor, then the smack of the racquet and the diminishing bounce of the ball masked by the next thwack of the machine; the same pattern, over and over again. Sally was sweating and hot, but she didn’t stop to wipe her brow. John had not told her she could stop.
“Change to forehand,” John said, and this time Sally obeyed instantly.
“Good girl,” he said. “Don’t think, just obey.”
Sally had no idea how much time had passed, it could have been hours for all she knew, and John continued to pace around the court, picking up handfuls of balls and returning them to he machine, keeping up the constant, rhythmic barrage.
John’s voice was clear over the noise of the machine, and he spoke again to the relaxed girl. “In the zone,” he said. “Trust me. You are in the zone. When you are in the zone, you will obey.”
Sally felt totally relaxed, her body was performing automatically, even changing stance to forehand or backhand happened as soon as John instructed, with no need to think.
“You will find that this state becomes easier and easier to achieve, Sally,” said John, “When I say “in the zone” you will return to this relaxed state. You will think of nothing but whatever I tell you to think. You will obey.”
Sally felt nothing but a deep contentment. She was following instructions perfectly, and it was so easy, she wasn’t anxious at all. All she had to do was follow John’s instructions, and although she was barely registering his voice, his words were sinking deep into her mind.
“Repeat;” said John, “Obey, obey, in the zone.”
Sally did so, and didn’t think it was at all odd that she was breathlessly chanting after John “obey, obey, in the zone.”
Eventually John told her to stop, and switched off the machine. “Well done Sally,” he said to the panting, sweaty girl. “You did very well.”
Sally felt wonderful. Her muscles felt warm and satisfied, and although she was exhausted she felt as if the training had been really worthwhile. She could feel the single minded purpose of the session giving way to reality, but despite the worry of impending exams and competitions she felt calmer than she had for weeks. She slowly broke into a smile as she flexed her shoulders and sighed.
“Stretches,” John instructed, and Sally immediately complied, laying down her racquet so she could go through her routine. “In the zone,” John added, and Sally felt a delightful sense of purpose course through her. She didn’t mind John watching her. She didn’t really think about anything as she felt herself really getting into her routine, forgetting about everything else.
“Let’s work on your stretches,” said John. “Sit down,” he added, and Sally sank to the floor.
“You need to stretch your thighs more,” said John. “Spread your legs.” The girl opened her legs, her tracksuit pulling tight around her crotch. “Stretch,” John said, and Sally began to tighten her thighs.
John kneeled between Sally’s legs, and put a hand on her thigh, pushing it further back. “Like this,” he said, and the deeply relaxed girl simply nodded agreement.
“Straighten your back more,” John said, his hands moving to her shoulders and guiding her to the correct position. “Don’t arch your back,” he added, as his hands slid down her warm back to her ass. As his hands touched her firm buttocks she looked up, her deep state of relaxation giving way to a nagging feeling that she didn’t want a male coach to touch her in this way.
“Don’t stop the stretch, stay in the zone,” John said, and Sally’s head drooped a little as her mind returned to the blank, empty state she had honed earlier that evening.
“You need to do as I say if you want to be a successful player,” John said. “And that means you need a good stretch routine. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” said Sally, and she straightened her back again, letting John shape her stance throughout the rest of her warm down. Eventually, they were finished. It was twenty minutes past midnight, and she had been at the court for a full two hours.
“Let’s get changed,” said John, and they both left. John switched off the court lights after them.
Sally walked dazedly, still enjoying the mental relaxation she felt and feeling very satisfied with her first session with John. Her reverie was interrupted when John followed her into the female changing room.
“This is for women,” Sally said eventually, emerging from her daze enough to register her surprise.
John smiled as if she was being silly. “Sally, it’s after midnight; the rest of the changing rooms are locked. I promise I’ll look the other way when you’re changing, but we need to talk about your session. Surely you did that with your last coach?”
What John said sounded perfectly reasonable, but Sally was unconvinced. “Well, yeah, but she was female and you’re not,” she countered.
“Sally, listen to me. I am your instructor, and you need to trust me to help you get the best out of your potential. Remember what it felt like to be in the zone. Trust me.”
Sally did remember, and realised that John was right; there was nothing improper about her coach getting changed with her so they could discuss the training. She slipped off her court shoes and John turned around as promised, slipping off his own shoes and socks. Sally turned away as John began to remove his shorts, and the two of them faced opposite directions to the sound of rustling clothing.
Sally peeled off her top to reveal a toned stomach still glistening with sweat. She was hot and wet and needed a shower. She shook her hair free of her ponytail and ran a hand through it. It too was soaked. She removed her bra and her large breasts sprang free, revealing a chest shiny with sweat but with only a hint of dampness on her breasts and nipples where her bra had absorbed most of the moisture. Now naked, she hesitated. Would John also want a shower?
“Have your shower,” said John from over her shoulder. “I’ll speak to you from through here. Honestly Sally, you have to trust me; I’ll not look.”
Sally obeyed, padding on bare feet to the adjacent showers and enjoying the first spray of hot water, cleaning the sweat from her skin. She lathered herself in soap as she listened to John tell her about how well she had done. He said that to be playing almost instinctively after just one session meant that she would be an excellent student. She was pleased to hear that she had been particularly good at following his instructions, and smiled as the hot water and John’s encouragement caused her to slip away into a serene trance of contentment.
“Sally?” said John.
“Mmm,” she said.
“Are you pleased with how the session went?” John asked.
“Oh yes,” said Sally enthusiastically, “I really enjoyed it.”
“Enjoyment is one thing, but I hope you learned something,” said John. “That’s what you’re here for, after all.”
“Yes, of course,” said Sally. “I learned a lot. In fact that’s why I enjoyed it so much,” she explained as she stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel and running a hand through her hair to draw out some of the water. When she stepped back into the changing room John was ready to go, and had his sports bag over one shoulder.
“Think about our session, and remember what it felt like to be in the zone,” he said to Sally, who felt herself slipping back into deep relaxation at the words. “Pull the door behind you when you leave.” Sally nodded vaguely, still enjoying being re-immersed into a trance state.
“See you on Friday. Until then, study hard.” John said as he left, leaving Sally sitting on the changing room benches, happy and hazy, until she finally stood and finished drying herself, pulled her normal clothes on, and left. Sally slept very well that night, and woke feeling ready for a day of studying.
The next couple of days went very well for Sally. She felt herself able to study much more effectively, John’s parting words to her had really stuck and she felt the same single-minded concentration from her tennis session coming to her during her reading and writing. Studying felt almost enjoyable, and she felt much less stressed before her next session on Friday. In fact, she was looking forward to training for the first time in ages.
She left her house with lots of time to spare, changed and entered the court a full five minutes early, ready to start as soon as the last stragglers left the court at 10pm, leaving her and John to another two hour training session in peace.
John arrived just before 10, and as they waited for the others to leave he pleasantly asked Sally how she was coping with her studies, and looked pleased to hear her say that they were going very well. The other courts cleared, leaving just Sally and John.
“Stretches,” said John simply, and Sally immediately began her routine. John watched her closely as she went through each exercise. She completed the new thigh stretches John had recommended by sitting down and spreading her legs. “Very good,” he said softly. Sally felt thankful that John was watching her so closely. He was a very attentive coach.
“On court,” John said, and Sally complied. They began a volley. The echoing noise of the ball reminded Sally of the feeling of relaxed bliss she had felt during the last session, but the variation in John’s returns kept her scanning the court, keeping her from sinking into a state of single-minded obedient serenity. John called out where he wanted her to move as he returned the ball, but although she was trying to move as soon as she heard the instruction she sometimes didn’t quite get there in time.
After a while, John stopped. “Good girl,” he said. “But we can do better. You still aren’t following my instructions instantly, without question. You need to play without conscious thought. Only then will you be able to play in competitions without letting stress affect your skill.”
Sally nodded, and John wheeled out the tennis machine. “You’ll get into the rhythm much quicker this time,” he promised, switching it on. The rattling hum of the machine immediately focused Sally’s mind on nothing but returning the ball. Returning the ball and listening to John. And she began to return them. Again and again, over and over as John walked around the court, talking to her, telling her to get “in the zone.” After a while she found herself chanting her mantra, “obey, obey, in the zone,” in time with the strokes of her racquet. She shifted position without thought when John ordered, and felt a pulse of joy when he said “good girl,” after every change of position. Training was going really well.
She felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into relaxation, thinking of nothing but the game and subconsciously responding to John’s instructions. He wanted her to relax more, get into the zone. If she did that then she would be a good girl.
Sally felt time passing slowly, as every single return felt like an eternity of focussed concentration. Sally moved deliberately, precisely, robotically, knowing exactly when the ball would land and swinging in perfect time. But in other ways the time also went quickly, as every swing felt the same and her mind concentrated on only the next hit, so when John told her to stop she was surprised at how much time had passed. It was midnight.
As Sally’s mind took in her surroundings she smiled happily, dropping her arms to her sides. She felt even better than she had done after the last session, somehow more relaxed but less exhausted. Just content.
“Stretches,” ordered John, and Sally began her routine, still lost in a satisfied haze.
“Good, but we can do better,” said John, but bit his lip as if in contemplation. Sally paused, waiting for him to speak. “I just can’t think of any improvements without more information,” John said. Take your tracksuit off so I can get a better look.”
Sally wanted John to help her with her routine, so she immediately shrugged her tracksuit over her head, revealing her shiny naked torso. She began to undo the drawstring on the lower half when she hesitated. She wasn’t quite sure why she had hesitated.
“Get in the zone, and take them off,” said John pleasantly. “Come on. I’m your coach.”
Sally nodded in agreement, and pulled the material down her legs, fumbling to get it over her shoes as she revealed her long, smooth thighs. When she was finally free of the damp fabric she stood up, hands back by her sides, ready for John to tell her what to do next. She was now wearing only her white sports bra and white cotton panties, her socks and her shoes.
“Much better,” John said. “Continue stretching.”
Sally complied, thrusting out her chest for her shoulder exercises and bending forwards to touch her toes. John walked behind her, and Sally knew he would be getting a very good view of her slightly spread legs and panty-clad ass. She didn’t mind or feel embarrassed though, as it was all to make her a better player.
John showed her how to make her stretches even more effective, using his hands to pull her thighs a little further apart, his hands on her bare flesh, making the position harder to hold and causing her to stick her ass up in the air.
“Try to keep a straight back,” John said, running his hands onto her firm, taut buttocks. “Like this. Feel the stretch, get in the zone.”
“Mmm,” said Sally, concentrating so hard on holding the stretch that she couldn’t manage a coherent reply.
“Good girl,” said John. “That’s excellent. Now you can relax.”
Sally exhaled, straightening up and finishing with a few neck stretches as John assured her that she was making great progress.
“Changing rooms,” John said, and Sally wheeled around and walked towards the exit, feeling her toned ass flex with her steps. John followed, carrying Sally’s forgotten tracksuit under his arm.
Sally held the door to the female changing room open for John, and he thanked her as he entered and sat down, facing her. Sally removed her shoes and socks, and stood to remove her hair band, letting her blonde hair spill over her shoulders. She paused. She was only wearing her panties and bra, and removing them would expose her breasts and pussy to her coach. She wasn’t sure she should do that.
“Um,” she said, “aren’t you going to turn around?”
“Don’t be silly,” John said, laughing gently at Sally’s question. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“I suppose, but…” said Sally, tailing off without removing any more of her clothing.
“Sally, you have to trust me. Remember how good it feels to be in the zone?” John asked. “It’s normal for your coach to see you naked. Now strip.” Sally felt her unease melting away to a feeling of intense satisfaction. John’s my coach, she thought. What am I getting so worked up about? She almost didn’t realise it but as she had been thinking this her hands had unclasped her bra, letting it fall and her breasts spring out of their tight confinement. She hooked her fingers round the waistband of her panties and slid those off too, exposing her pussy, which too was damp with sweat. Her blonde pubic hair was matted and damp.
“You are in excellent shape,” said John, admiring the curves of her nude body, her firm legs and stomach, the widening of her hips, and her large breasts sitting firm on her chest. “I can’t think why you wouldn’t want your coach to see you naked.”
“Um, thank you, John,” she said, blushing at the compliment. She worked hard to keep her athletic figure, and was pleased that John was pleased.
“You’re welcome, but you’ve reminded me of another thing,” said John.
“Yes,” said Sally, wondering if John would let her have her shower in a minute, as she didn’t usually stand around naked in the changing room after removing her training clothes. She could feel the mild air causing her nipples to perk up. She felt like covering them, but that would be foolish – after all, it was only her and her coach in here.
“I’ve let you get away with it until now, but you should really address me as sir. I am your coach, after all.”
Of course! Sally thought. She had been so rude. It seemed amazing to her that she hadn’t realised this; how strange it was that she would instantly follow his orders but still wasn’t referring to him as sir – what a contradiction! “Yes sir,” she said. “Sorry sir.”
“Quite alright Sally,” said John magnanimously. “Now go and have your shower.”
“Yes sir,” said Sally gratefully, turning her naked ass to him as she entered the showers. The water felt marvellous, and Sally let her mind wander as John told her how well she was doing, that stress would soon not affect her game at all, and that she was following orders almost with no conscious thought.
Sally closed her eyes in bliss, letting her hands roam over her body, soaping her slippery breasts and stomach, working up a foamy lather between her legs, cleaning away all the sweat from a hard session. When she stepped out of the shower she felt dazed but happy, warm and clean. She noticed with some surprise that John was standing near the showers, where he could quite clearly see Sally. He nodded to show her that he was pleased with her performance.
He’s my coach, Sally thought. This is normal, why was I even surprised? Sally walked past John to pick up her towel and dried herself off. She dressed, and John sat back down, reminding her of their next session and that he expected her to perform even better, to follow his instructions with no hesitation.
“Yes, sir,” said Sally earnestly, pulling on her outside clothes. They both prepared to leave. As before, John told Sally to study hard, and that he looked forward to their next session.
“Yes sir. Me too,” said Sally happily.