Tackling the Team (The Vassi Collection)

by Marco Vassi

  I don’t know now why I reacted in that way, except that I had made the decision to take the experience on a purely physical level and let my body do what it wanted. I didn’t know how I was supposed to act in terms of Jeff’s scenario, but we weren’t precisely being sensitive to one another’s needs at that moment.

  For a second, he slumped, and then his eyes brightened. He looked down at me and his face hardened. “That’s the first part, Julie,”‘ he said. “Shooting all over your face and watching you lick it up, seeing what a slut you are. And now to make it official.”‘

  “What are you going to do?”‘ I asked, suddenly worried.

  He stood up, yanked me up by one arm, and then lifted me off the floor. He took me into the bathroom, stood me up, and went into the cabinet for a bottle of pills. “There’s something I’ve learned in pro football,”‘ he said, “although the coach would kill me if he knew. I’ve discovered that you can make up for the energy you lose sexually by taking just a little amphetamine, and then there are tablets to help you sleep when you get wound up by nighttime. And these little sleeping pills are for you, Julie, just four of them, so you’ll be knocked out enough to not know what’s happening to you.”‘

  I tried to pull back when he twisted one arm behind my back. “You can take them willingly, or I can knock out a few of your pretty teeth and then shove them down your throat. Which shall it be?”‘

  I had no choice, and I threw the four little pills onto my tongue and washed them down with a glass of water.

  “What are you going to do to me, Jeff?”‘ I asked, my voice subdued.

  “I’m not going to do anything,”‘ he said, “but I have a friend who will.”‘

  “What?”‘ I asked.

  But he wouldn’t say another word. He pushed me into the living room and told me to put on some clothes. I found a skirt and blouse and he watched as I put them on. I felt I had reached a base level of erotic despair, for overriding everything else was the certain sense inside me that I wanted more, that I hadn’t been satisfied. And I know that that was just what Jeff had intended, to open me up and then turn me loose, thus giving me the liberty I wanted, but with his own peculiar twist.

  I sat down and suddenly realized I was exhausted. The week’s activities, the emotional and physical drain of the evening, and, I suppose, the sleeping pills, were beginning to work. I fought to keep myself alert, but I knew it would be a vain struggle, so I simply closed my eyes and let myself drift. I don’t know how long it took, but within a short time I was foggy, bumping around in that pregnant state between sleep and waking. I heard Jeff making a phone call, but as though from a great distance. And then darkness descended, and I knew no more.

  I had odd jumbled dreams, and a vivid flash of seeing two men standing over me doing something to my stomach. I remember disconnected sounds, and jabbing stabs in my belly, but I couldn’t hold on to anything that was happening. As happens in such a condition, my thoughts merged with the symbols of the dream life, and the result was an incoherent stream of ideas and sensations which made no sense.

  And the next thing I knew, strong sunlight was shining in my eyes, and Sandy was standing over me.

  It took me a minute to clear my head, to figure out where I was, and to remember what had happened the previous night

  “What . . . ?”‘ I said.

  “It’s O.K.,”‘ Sandy told me. “You’re in my apartment. Jeff brought you here late last night.”‘

  I tried to sit up, but my body was one huge ache, and it felt as though I had stitches in my belly.

  Sandy sat next to me and gently pushed me back.

  “Let me guess,”‘ she said. “He found out about Roger, and you told him you were tired of him, and he went crackers, and worked you over. Right?”‘

  I nodded my head.

  “I thought so,”‘ she went on. “He carried you in here, tossed you on the bed, and said, ‘Here, another piece of ass to be used by the team’.”‘ Sandy bit her lower lip. “I could swear he had been crying,”‘ she added.

  “I didn’t know I had got in so deep so fast,”‘ I said between parched lips.

  She patted my hand. “But it’s over now,”‘ she said. “You can stay here and rest up, and he’ll cool down, and in a few days it will be as though it had never happened.”‘ She paused, looked at me, and said, “Do you think you still want to stay on as a cheerleader.”‘

  I blinked, and my eyes watered. “It’s strange,”‘ I told her. “Everything is happening so fast. I don’t feel like I’m in control of my life anymore. But it’s gripped me. I mean, I feel as though I’m hooked on some kind of weird excitement.”‘

  “I know, kid,”‘ she said. “It’s a lot of money and power and sex and glamor. But let it ride. If you’re meant to take the trip all the way, then do it. You’ll know when it’s time to cut out.”‘

  “There’s something,”‘ I said, “down here.”‘ And reached under the sheet to my stomach.

  “It’s a bandage,”‘ I exclaimed.

  Sandy threw the sheet back and we looked down at my body. “I saw that when I undressed you,”‘ she said, “but I thought you knew about it.”‘

  “No,”‘ I replied, suddenly frightened. I looked at Sandy. “Will you take it off for me?”‘ I asked, “I’m scared.”‘

  She reached down and gently pulled the tape off the skin, nipping the top edge of pubic hair. She lifted the bandage slowly and then looked down at what was underneath.

  “Oh my God!”‘ she said.

  “What is it?”‘ I asked.

  I glanced down and even though the word was upside down to my vision, I could read it at once. In three-inch blood-red letters, rising up out of my bush, Jeff had had tattooed a single word.

  “SLUT”‘ it read.

  I looked back up at Sandy, and for an instant we were at the edge of being horrified, but something clicked in our minds, and we turned the whole incident around, grasping it as something we couldn’t afford to take seriously.

  “Nice,”‘ Sandy said.

  “I think that sums it up, don’t you?”‘ I replied.

  “That Jeff really is a jerk,”‘ she added. “Everybody knows that the proper spelling for that thing is S-L-I-T.”‘

  “Oh Sandy,”‘ I said, halfway between laughter and tears.

  She took my head and held it to her breasts and patted my hair. My arms went around her waist and we hugged each other for a long time. Finally, she moved back, tilted my chin up, and kissed me tenderly on the lips.

  “Well,”‘ she said, “now you have a reputation to live up to. Let’s have breakfast and you take a shower and then we’ll re-arrange the place so that there’s space for both of us here.”‘

  I nodded and watched as she got up to go toward the kitchen. I had stepped on another rung of the ladder, but I wasn’t sure whether my direction was up or down.

  Six

  My father once said, in reference to the ending of his first marriage, that divorce is a form of death. That when a man and a woman form a bond, they create an entity, a gestalt, that is greater than both of them. And when they separate, each of the parts goes back to being itself; but the other thing, the living relationship, dies.

  I suppose I felt that about what happened with Jeff, although we had had so relatively little with each other. After that night, I went about more than a little subdued. Yet, I felt lucky, for if we had continued and gone on to live with one another, that embryonic bond that had already formed between us would have developed into a tie that might not have been sundered short of murder, either physical or psychological.

  But time worked its melancholy process, replacing pain with poignancy, poignancy with forgetfulness, and forgetfulness with new direction. The summer passed quickly, and I rarely saw Jeff except for fleeting moments on the field. During the day I went dutifully through my
practice sessions, and at night I took up the erotic games which constituted the leit-motif of the cheerleaders’ existence. Just before the first game of the season, I had been fucked by more than twenty of the players, in addition to several of the executive staff.

  But the two who attracted me most strongly remained distant. Jack, the volcanically virile trainer, came to take a fatherly attitude toward me that was strangely disturbing and made me feel vulnerable. Partly because I was goaded by the other girls and partly because I was curious, I set a collision course with him, and finally managed to be lying on the couch in the dressing room wearing nothing but a smile when he barged in. It was almost evening, and no one else was around, and I thought that he would take the opportunity to do his much-vaunted number.

  But he seemed totally impassive, and glanced at my body without desire or curiosity. Rather, he closed the door behind him, took a chair, and slid it under him, the back facing me so he could rest his chin on the top supporting rung.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,”‘ he said, his gravelly voice sounding almost tender. “But I’m not interested. You’ve been infected with this sickness, and you won’t rest until you’ve fucked every man in sight, at least everyone except those rare few who still hold the marriage vows sacred. But I don’t think that’s really you. It looks like some sort of game.”‘ I must have shown some consternation on my face for he hurriedly added, “And I don’t disapprove. I mean, you’re doing what you want to, or need to. But it’s just that when you get it all out of your system, or into your system, whichever it is, you won’t end up like Sandy and the others. They’re good people, and I like them, but they’re basically whores.”‘

  “And I’m just a slut,”‘ I said, thrusting out my belly so the tattoo surged toward him.

  “That’s what you tell yourself. And . . . look, it’s not my place to say these things, but since you offered yourself to me, I feel I should tell you what’s on my mind. I hope you work it all out without damaging yourself, and someday find someone you can love.”‘

  “Thanks for the advice, Dad,”‘ I snarled, trying to sound biting, but actually I was close to tears.

  He smiled, and stood to go. “O.K.,”‘ he said. “That’s all I have to say.”‘ He turned and walked to the door, but before going out he added, “But if any of those jokers gives you any trouble, or tries to beat up on you, let me know, and I’ll crack a few skulls.”‘

  After he left I almost succumbed to the sadness he had brought to the surface, but I bit my lip and determined that I would not let myself be washed down that particular stream. I hurled myself into an opposing mood, and went to the telephone to call Nick Johnston, a second-string tackle who had been trying to set up a scene with me and some of his friends. I told him I would be over that night, and that he could invite whomever he liked.

  I showered, dressed, and kept talking to myself to maintain my sense of aggression and control. I was riding too high over too dangerous a ground to allow myself to slip. I had no one to catch me. I put on my tightest pair of shorts and a halter, piled into the Kharmann-Gia I had already made two payments on, and drove to Nick’s apartment.

  Waiting with him were Sal Tancredi and Joey Washington, both guards. Nick stood almost six feet eight inches tall, and weighed nearly two hundred and seventy pounds. Each of the other men was about six feet tall, but they must have been nearly three hundred pounds apiece. They all stood up as I entered, and I was staggered by what I had agreed to take on. I felt frail and incredibly tiny when faced by almost a ton of muscle and bone coupled with the coiled fury each had had trained into his body. I could see their eyes glisten as they raked my thighs and breasts with hot glances. And as I walked past them I knew they were devouring the back of my body, watching the way my ass swayed and shook, cupped tightly in the clinging shorts.

  There was little point in extended preliminaries, since we all knew why we were there. The word was out that I was a hot bitch, a hungry twat. And, of course, my tattoo had made me nearly legendary. Sandy told me that the locker room talk had evaluated me as a wild cunt, who would take cock in the ass, down the throat, between the tits, in the hands, and was ready to wriggle, roll, grovel, beg, and suck anything from tongues to assholes.

  We sat around for fifteen or twenty minutes, drinking quickly, and killing a fifth of vodka in no time at all. Nick and Sal sat on either side of me on the couch, while Joey sat cross-legged on the floor in front of me, his eyes rarely leaving my crotch. I was aware of the strange power that is inherent in a woman, or how I could mesmerize and hold captive these three neo-Neanderthals with the simple promise of letting them stuff my holes with their rampaging cocks.

  The vibrations in the room got thicker and heavier, and it became difficult to talk. Even the fact that we were maintaining the pretense of polite company was highly electrifying, introducing a charged smuttiness into every word and gesture. My cunt went turgid and my ass seemed to melt. A deep lethargy stole over me and I let myself sink into the delicious space of surrender, knowing that they would take control, and I would need to do nothing but lie back and let them fill me with their extravagant energy. I wondered whether this was technically an act of vampirism on my part.

  I slid down on the seat and rested my head against the back, and then, boldly, closed my eyes. The following few seconds of silence was filled with intimations of movement, and I could almost hear them nodding to one another, congratulating themselves on my being precisely what they had heard I was, an open cunt, ready to spread my legs at the merest invitation.

  Then, abruptly, hands were on my tits and on my thighs. A sea of flesh broke over me, lips on mine, fingers tugging at my clothing. A tongue attacked my nippples as my shirt was raised over my head, and coarse knuckles pressed into my pussy as my shorts were tugged down my legs. I moaned and let myself sink into the vortex which had been formed by my self-abandonment.

  “Wow, she’s really a slut,”‘ said one of the men, “look at her.”‘

  “Yes,”‘ I thought, “look at me. Watch me writhe and claw the air. See my tits shake and my nipples wrinkle. Observe how my legs kick and how my cunt spreads. See my mouth purse and my tongue lick the air. Watch me go wild and thrash around on the floor. Do you want more? Let me turn over and you can feast your eyes on my lovely ass, that simple and mysterious shape which holds more power over a man than the wealth of the world. Is that enough? Does it drive you mad? Do you want to touch this wanton body? Run your fingers into my hot wet slit? Slide your tongues into my asshole? Pinch my nipples? Listen to me moan. Know that you can do whatever you want with me and let that thought inflame you. Are your cocks throbbing? Then put them where it will feel good. Bury them in my gaping pussy. Thrust them rudely and slowly into my asshole. Rub them on my tits. Cram them in my mouth. What else? Do you want to sit on my face? Do you want to whip me? Do you want to piss on me? Do it! Do all of it!”‘

  As had so often happened during sex, I could find no way this time to make any connection between my feeling of abandonment and the actual abandonment of my behavior. Paradoxically, although I was experiencing inside myself the same thing that was going on outside myself, it was as though I had been split into two separate people, unable to communicate with one another. I imagine the cause lay in my inability to speak my feelings, and since words are the bridge between the interior and exterior life, when they are blocked a chasm opens in the person.

  “Man, she’s really a sickie,”‘ Joey said.

  “Didn’t I tell you?”‘ Nick replied. “She loves it, she’ll do anything.”‘

  “That’s me they’re talking about,”‘ I said to myself, “and in their eyes I’m a ‘sickie.’”

  They then proceeded to use me as the fulfillment of their fantasies and projections. It’s almost impossible to describe how small I felt as they tossed me around and bent me into all sorts of lewd positions, holding me upside down and moving my leg
s to every conceivable angle so that my cunt would twist and gape and perform for their avid eyes. They threw me about as though I were a rag doll, and at one point two of them lifted me off the ground, bent me double with my forehead touching my shinbones, forcing my ass to its deepest curve, and then ran across the room with me, as though I were a battering ram. At the far end stood Sal, his cock stiff and pointed, and Nick and Joey swung me toward him and with a single careful thrust impaled me on his rock-hard rod.

  I screamed as the huge shaft burst inside me, but the two men holding me shook me up and down, spun me over, and whacked me again and again against Sal’s throbbing cock, giving it a massage with my ragged hole. It was obvious that the three of them were fixated at a level of adolescent homosexual horseplay, and didn’t have the faintest idea of how to relate to a woman except as a surrogate hand to whack off with. And lacking the simple decency to do it to one another, they sought out female bodies to hide behind.

  I suppose I got too far lost in my head because the boys began to grumble that I had become too passive in my body. The slightest hint that I was not flinging myself mindlessly into the fray would prove too threatening to their privacy, so they began to whip up a frenzy.

  I was hurled onto the rug and Nick threw himself heavily onto my shoulders, pinning them with his knees, and grinding his buttocks down on my face.

  “Lick it,”‘ he ordered, bringing his rough asshole to my lips. The force of his weight on me cowed me into submission and I curled up my tongue and slid it into the tight puckered opening, tasting the musky and rancid residue around the rim.

  One of the other men seized my legs and pulled them high and wide, forcing my cunt open, while the third knelt at my parted pussy and attacked it savagely with his teeth. I tried to yell as he tore into the tender lips roughly, licking, biting, sucking. He blew into the hole filling it with air and sending me into paroxysms of strained pleasure, and then sucked out noisily, draining me of the injected air and the juices that had started to flow despite myself. But whenever I opened my mouth to shout, Nick pressed down harder, and I could do nothing but attack my lips to his asshole and suck voraciously, all the while slipping my tongue rapidly in and out