Tackling the Team (The Vassi Collection)

by Marco Vassi

  But as he burst into the house, I knew that I wouldn’t have a chance to even attempt my plan. He was seething with anger, a rage that must have been building for days. His face was twisted and his whole body was tense with the threat of imminent violence. I blanched and became fearful for my very life.

  He rushed across the kitchen floor and without breaking stride drew up his right hand and swung it through the air, clipping me backhanded across the face. The blow spun me around three times, sent stars shooting across my eyes, caused an explosive ringing in my ears, and finally had me crashing to the floor.

  “You bitch,”‘ he yelled, “you slut, you scummy rotten cunt!”‘

  The words poured down on me like fists. He reached down, grabbed my shirt, yanked me to my feet, and began slapping my face again, back and forth until I was screaming with pain and terror.

  “Jeff, STOP,”‘ I yelled, “you’ll kill me, Jeff!”‘

  “I ought to kill you,”‘ he rasped.

  “Why are you doing this?”‘ I sobbed, holding on to him, forcing myself close to him so he wouldn’t hit me any more.

  He grabbed my shoulders, shook me harshly, and then threw me to one side. I caromed off the refrigerator, staggered back into the center of the room, and finally sank onto one of the chairs.

  “Oh, you really can play the innocent,”‘ he said, his voice dripping with scorn. “You know what the word is around the locker room? They’re saying that you let Roger Edwards piss on you in his bathtub.”‘

  I saw him standing there, his face beet red, and although I was literally horrified that he might really damage me, I couldn’t help but see how ridiculous he was. He resembled nothing so much as a frustrated adolescent.

  I laughed hysterically. “And what about you? Kicking me in the cunt, tying me up, whipping me. And what did you have planned tonight, to punch me to death. My God, after your brutality, Roger’s little perversions seem the soul of tenderness.”‘

  “But you’re my girl, not anyone else’s,”‘ he shouted.

  “And as far as locker room talk is concerned,”‘ I went on, recklessly, “who was it that told the boys how I suck cock, and what my pussy tastes like, and how much I like getting it in the ass? Who set me up?”‘

  I could see that my words were getting to him, and he was losing his sense of righteous indignation. But I got carried away by my turning the tide of battle and rushed on. “And anyway, I’m not your girl or anyone else’s girl. I’m not property. Nobody owns me, especially not you. And I’m going to pack my things and get out of this tacky little house and your tacky little car and your tacky little mind, and you can take all your repressed homosexual machismo and shove it up your ass. Or better still, go back to the locker room and have one of the boys do it for you.”‘

  I knew I had made a mistake when I saw what little intelligence had been left in his eyes go dim and be replaced by a look of sheer black brutality. I had wounded him too deeply for him to be able to deal with me rationally, and he was forced to revert to the mode of behavior which would give him back his ego, something that he valued, obviously, much more than anything that I might offer.

  His face became a mask of violence, purpled with cruel lust. He regressed instantaneously back to a Stone Age mentality, which, given the fact that he was, after all, a football player, had never been too far beneath the surface to begin with. He advanced on me like a cave man, his shoulders hunched, his fingers curled, his brow thickened. He snorted through his nose and his mouth was a scar of menacing lupine pincers.

  “All right,”‘ he said in a low hoarse voice, “all right. Go ahead. Do what you want. Fuck who you want. I don’t own you. But before you walk out of here, you’re going to have my brand on you. And for the rest of your life, you will always have my mark burned in your skin.”‘

  He stood in front of me, shot out one hand, grasped me by the throat, and lifted me to my feet. I gasped for breath. He brought his face to within an inch of mine. “I don’t even want you any more, you little whore. So I’ll throw you to the pack. But anyone who has you will always know that I was here first.”‘

  “What are you going to do?”‘ I rasped.

  He smiled, a hideous grin. “First I’m going to use your luscious little body, and then you’ll see what I’m going to do.”‘

  It’s difficult to describe what followed as fucking. Certainly, all the machinery and motion was present, but there was no meaning. Long before I lost my virginity, I had let myself be lost in the myth of love which has haunted us since the Romantic Period. There would be a man, I thought, and he would somehow be my other, my completion. We would complement one another perfectly, and yet he would be a b!t stronger, a bit wiser in the ways of the world, while I provided a greater balance of stability, of home-sense, of—dare I use the word?—spirituality.

  I knew I would be attracted on all levels: our minds would mesh, our bodies would merge, and our hearts would beat as one. And when we wished to feel and express the totality of our union, of our love, we would take to one another’s arms, and shed our clothing, and give one another the rare gift of complete nakedness and vulnerability. Then there would be no games, no thoughts, no structure, but the simple unadorned flow of the life energy itself. And with that we would know rapture, and ecstasy, and passion, and finally, death itself.

  Somewhere along the line between early teenage and age seventeen, I suppose I was infected with the modern illness which substitutes one model of reality for another without understanding that it is doing so, and thus invests us with a worldview that is not only less efficient but less aesthetically gratifying. In this way I came to view love as “old fashioned,”‘ even though I had not yet found anything as worthwhile to use as an operative paradigm. Slowly, I succumbed to my father’s cynicism, my mother’s indifference, and the general shabbiness of life in the twentieth century. And ultimately fell into the trap of divorcing eros from philos, and both from caritas.

  The logical conclusion of this line of development now stood before me, a crazed demon that I had to take full responsibility for helping to conjure up. Once again I could only pray that his vehemence did not explode into the berserk, and that I came through with all my bones unbroken.

  And yet, so much was I a slave to the pull of sensuality, that even as I stepped back in trepidation, my knees were shaking with muted desire and my cunt quivered in anticipation. I had a picture of myself, lips trembling, backing away, my eyes wide in horror, while my nipples hardened under the cloth of my blouse and my thighs flashed beneath the miniskirt. When I saw the gleam of lust in his eyes, I relaxed a bit, for it meant that libido had begun to take the reins away from mortido.

  As he passed the kitchen table, he picked up a long wicked looking carving knife. I gasped. He lunged forward with his left hand and grabbed me by the belt. I was pulled tightly up against him, and grew weak as I was flooded with his powerful vibrations.

  “Don’t kill me,”‘ I pleaded.

  “No, Julie,”‘ he said, “I’m not crazy. Just pissed off.”‘

  And with that he brought the knife between us and slid it under my skirt, yanked upward and cut the fabric neatly. It fell to the floor and I was nude from the waist down, my pussy suddenly shy in the light. He reached the knife behind me and slit the shirt down the back, and then pulled it off from in front. Now I had nothing on, and he was fully dressed.

  He pushed me hard and I stumbled and fell on the cold kitchen linoleum. He stood over me and slowly unzipped his pants, and let his cock spring out. It was three-quarters hard and stiffening. As always, I was overwhelmed by its sheer mass.

  “You’re such a little slut,”‘ he said as he saw me involuntarily squirm on the floor. “Go ahead, rub your pretty little ass on the ground and get yourself hot. It’ll save me the trouble of getting you wet. Come on, stick your finger in your slit and slosh it around. I want to hear your pussy garg
le.”‘

  I fixed in my mind the idea that what was happening was not something I should identify with, that I could take the experience so long as I didn’t let it wipe out my deeper and as yet untested sense of what sex is about. The reason Roger had so intensely attracted and then repelled me was that he was not satisfied with behavior, he wanted total commitment. The body was not enough for his jaded sensibilities, he needed to rape the soul. And yet, what was he looking for except what we all wanted: the totality of love.

  Jeff knelt down between my thighs and watched with smoldering eyes as I slipped two fingers into my cunt and began sliding them in and out. The slim pussy lips parted around my hand, fluttering as I rubbed in and out, and by the third stroke, my fingers were already glistening with secretions. I brought my other hand around and took the lips of my cunt in my fingers and pulled in opposite directions, spreading the hole wide, letting him see the pink inner petals and the serrated tiny hole.

  “This is cunt,”‘ I thought, “this is my cunt. And it has sent this mammoth of a man into paroxysms of jealousy and anger, and has now brought him to his knees.”‘

  My cunt parted like a great blind eye, sensitive but unseeing. I closed my eyes and let my cunt become the central organ of perception. It reached out its sensors, it quivered with radar vibrations, beaming out toward the beacon of his cock, and relaying messages of heat and proximity. My cunt could feel his cock approaching, knew when it moved in close, was aware of the angle.

  “Julie,”‘ Jeff said in a strangled voice, “I . . . “‘

  But the words didn’t come, and for an instant I hovered on the brink of submission. I knew that if I wanted, I could have this man, could let him into me and let that entrance be the mark of possession. He would possess me, but I would also own him. And if he had been another man, a man I had never seen and didn’t know existed, a man who brought to life the as yet unformed image of the one who was my true mate, I would have opened my eyes, and offered my lips, and given my heart.

  But Jeff was not the one, and I knew that the pain and violence we had shared was simply the anger born of realizing that no matter how deeply we fucked, the primal connection would not be made.

  Thus, with cold-blooded awareness, I rejected the implied request in his tone, and instead screwed myself into hardness and whispered, out of the corners of my mouth, “Come on, you cock stud, shove that hunk of meat inside me and stuff me with sperm.”‘

  There was a moment of skewed silence, and then he exploded, “You rotten whore, you slimy bitch, you cunt, you scum,”‘ and with that plowed his rod straight into the farthest recesses of my twat.

  I gasped for air and my legs jackknifed high above my head. He drove mercilessly into the folds of my pussy, and his entrance was like a stab from a knife.

  “Arghh,”‘ I moaned and brought my hands up to his shoulders. But he slapped them away. “Don’t touch me,”‘ he said, “I don’t want to touch any part of you but your hole. That’s the only thing you’re interested in, isn’t it?”‘

  His words cleared the way for him to rape me, and that is the only way to describe what happened. He would not let me enjoy a moment of it. Each time I veered toward pleasure, he turned me to one side, or tilted my legs at a different angle. He shifted his weight so he could bear down on me with full power, and his enormous cock, growing out of his powerful body, beat into me with a terrible rhythm. He slammed into my snatch, pumping furiously, driving my ass into the floor. He took his hands off the tiles and pressed them down on my breasts, letting the full weight of his upper body drive into my tits, squashing the round orbs onto my chest, grinding the nipples.

  When he had punished me enough in that way, he pulled out and roughly turned me over, exposing my bare ass to his lust. I didn’t think he would do what he did then, for he had not lubricated my asshole at all. But he guided the tip of his cock to the small opening, and then with a massive thrust pierced me clean into the bowels.

  I screamed and fainted, never having known such a searing pain in my life. He pulled my hair and slapped my cheeks until I came to, and as I swam into consciousness my first awareness was of a gnawing burning between my buttocks, a fiery throbbing that went beyond anything I had ever experienced before.

  When my eyes opened, he pushed my shoulders into the floor, rocked back on his thighs, and grabbed my hips with his hands. My ass was curved high, ravished and gaping. I imagined that this is what it would feel like to lose one’s virginity to a man who didn’t know how to be gentle, and while Manfred had parted my maidenhead with the most delicate ease, I felt I was now paying the karmic dues I had coming to me.

  Jeffs huge hands tightened and he clasped me firmly, lifting my ass off the ground. And then he used it to masturbate with. Holding me lightly, he lifted and dropped and rotated and shifted my buttocks so that I did a dance around his cock, but no movement that I was responsible for. In one sense it was highly degrading, to have my bottom used simply as a hand to bring him off. But in addition, and partly because of that, the thing became very erotic.

  As my sphincter muscles relaxed, I began to feel the glow of pleasure in the sensations, and could allow myself the laziness of just letting him run the entire number. I could hear him breathing more heavily, panting. He pulled me into him until his balls slapped against my pussy and his bush rubbed into my ass crack, the head of his cock prodding up to my belly, while the thick base of the shaft stretched my asshole to the limit.

  “God but it feels good to have a cock up my ass,”‘ I thought to myself, “no matter what the circumstances.”‘

  But Jeff was determined to take his climax without imparting anything but pain to me. My cunt already ached and I knew that my anus would be bleeding and my tits felt horribly sore from having him squash them. There was really only one thing left for him to do, and he pulled out of me sharply, leaving me gaping like a landed fish, the sudden void between my cheeks throbbing with desire to be filled.

  He put one arm under me and threw me over onto my back. I flopped over and in a flash he was on top of me, his knees into my armpits, his cock, smeared and steaming, pulsating over my face.

  “Lick it,”‘ he ordered.

  Involuntarily, I gagged, but that was precisely what he wanted, to force me into something repulsive. I clamped my lips shut, but his open hand swung down and slapped my right cheek with stunning force. My mouth flew open and my eyes watered.

  “Now,”‘ he said, and tilted forward, bringing the besmirched prick to my lips. He pushed forward and it slid slowly into my mouth. He took each of my hands in one of his, and pinned my arms over my head. He leaned into me and started fucking my mouth. I tried to turn my face away but he was too strong, his rod like an iron bar prying my jaws apart, pressing my tongue down, opening my throat. The taste was acrid, the smell as rancid as spoiled butter.

  “Now,”‘ he repeated, “you little cocksucker, you little tramp, take it in the mouth.”‘

  My lips flapped back and forth as he slid in and out of me, and his cock plunged more deeply into my throat. My legs curled and my knees hit against his back. My cunt opened and my asshole throbbed. He had done what he had wanted, reduced me to the status of open hole, and now he was taking revenge for what he felt was a terrible injury to his ego, but was really more serious than that, a refusal to accept him as my man.

  “Fuck you . . . fuck . . . mouth . . . bitch . . . “‘ he chanted as his ass flexed and he drove his hips forward ramming his hot rod down my throat. I began to gag because he didn’t leave me time to breathe, and each time my stomach convulsed I could feel the thin vomit rising in my gorge. He was relentless, and kept pressing, until I was retching around his cock. At once he pulled out, leaving me gasping. To my astonishment, my tongue shot out and began to lap the air while my mouth made sucking noises. It was as though he had pressed a reflex button which triggered me into sucking motions. Following the James-Lange
notion, the movement gave birth to the feeling, and suddenly I was hungry to have his cock in my mouth again. I reached up but my head could only come a few inches off the floor.

  “Aahhh,”‘ I moaned, trying to lick the underbelly of his cock.

  “Beg me,”‘ he said.

  In reply I ran my tongue over my lips, wetting them lasciviously, and curled my tongue toward him, flicking it back and forth. I offered him a face of cocksucking salaciousness, silently imploring him to fuck my mouth and have it be all the dirty things that were going through his mind.

  He released my hands and sat down on my tits, his hard buttocks flattening the soft squishy breasts into my chest. I reached my head forward, but he pushed it back. “If you move, I’ll slug you,”‘ he said.

  And then he wrapped his right hand around his tool and started jerking it back and forth. I watched with open eyes, seeing it tingle into super hardness, the crown flaring to its full hooded width and becoming purple with blood. My mouth took on a life of its own, hungry for the splash of sperm. I tried to cover the head of his cock with my lips, but he kept it a few inches away. Finally, I could do no more but to lie back, my head resting on the floor, my mouth wide open, waiting for him to cum. I could already taste the sperm, feel its pungent flavor on my tongue, smell its sharp aroma at the back of my nose. I pictured him spurting, great globs of semen shooting into the air and dropping into my mouth. My throat ached, and I swallowed in anticipation.

  His face contorted and his chest tightened and I knew he was close to orgasm. He jerked more and more rapidly, his hand now flying, until he reached a peak. His spine stiffened, his head flew back, and he let out a loud wail as his buttocks contracted and his cock exploded. Thick white jets flew out of the slit in the head and splashed all over me.

  The first volley sailed over my head and I moaned in disappointment, but then he began a second series of spurts, and the sticky drops fell on my forehead, onto my chin, and finally on my lips and onto my waiting tongue. As I gobbled the precious fluid, he continued to cum, now dribbling on my throat. I ran my hands over all the places he had splashed and scooped up the sperm with my fingers, and then sucked my fingers dry.