Tackling the Team (The Vassi Collection)

by Marco Vassi

  Sandy climbed off me and reached down to the floor by the side of the bed. When she straightened, she held a long, thick violet dildo in her hand, shaped like a cock. She leaned over and kissed me, but I could tell that she was just beginning to get warmed up sexually, and was ready to really swing out into something wild. Her eyes held a glint of humor laced with an erotic wickedness. I didn’t know what she had in mind but I was ready to go wherever she wanted to take me.

  “Do it,”‘ I whispered.

  I thought she was going to use the dildo to fuck my cunt—which she later did—but at first she had another idea. She brought it against my lips and pressed it gently to me. At first the obscenity of taking that rubber phallus in my mouth repulsed me, but it was the very salaciousness of the act that propelled me forward. I opened my mouth and she slid the big cock inside. I ran my tongue over the tip, feeling the slick surface and tasting the unmistakable tang of rubber. It was beautifully sculpted, and even had a hole in the tip.

  I ran my tongue over the hole, and Sandy pushed it more deeply inside of me. It slid down my tongue and nudged the back of my throat. It was bigger than any cock I had ever sucked and it filled my mouth completely.. I began to get off on the sensation of being stuffed by the lewd dildo and the image of myself lying naked with this immense artificial cock jamming my lips.

  Still looking down at me with a glint in her eyes, Sandy knelt over my head, one knee at each of my ears, and lowered herself until the other end of the dildo was at the top of her cunt. She pressed down further until her weight was slightly pushing the cock into me. And then she rose a bit, lifting the rod with her so that its flaring tip was just past my teeth.

  “Plug up the hole with your tongue,”‘ she instructed.

  I suppose I knew what she was about to do, although I didn’t articulate it to myself. I curled my tongue and pressed it against the hole in the tip of the cock. And then I heard the sound, the low hissing, and I saw her stomach contract, and realized that she was pissing into the tube.

  I could taste it with the very tip of my tongue and could feel its heat through the rubber against my lips. She went on a long time, pissing into the hollow cock, until it seemed completely full.

  “Now,”‘ she whispered, “it’s all up to you. Take away your tongue and you can drink as much of my piss as you want. Do you want it? Do you want it?”‘

  I moaned and I trembled and I closed my eyes. The cock seemed so huge and hot inside my mouth. My jaw felt it couldn’t hold its tension any more. My tongue was tired. I was sinking into a dreamy lethargy in which I would not be able to examine what I was doing. I was putting my critical faculty to sleep and letting my basest instincts take over, that part of me which revelled in wide erotic surrender.

  “Mmm,”‘ I whimpered, and let my tongue fall away.

  Immediately, the hot salty liquid trickled into my mouth. It was tangy on my tongue and soon filled my cheeks. I couldn’t breathe unless I swallowed, and to swallow was the final degradation. And that is what I was there for. So I gulped and Sandy’s piss burned its way down to my stomach. I grasped the tube with my lips and sucked at it like an infant at a tit, licking the head of the wide rubber cock, sucking at the hole, sucking the salty urine into my mouth, and swallowing it greedily.

  “That’s it, baby,”‘ Sandy crooned. “Yessss,”‘ she hissed. “Drink it, drink it, drink my hot piss. Drink it, Julie, drink my piss.”‘

  And when I had drained the entire tube and lay there gasping, Sandy came over and pressed her open lips to mine and licked the whole inside of my mouth.

  “Now I want yours,”‘ she said.

  I put my arms around her back and sighed, “Oh Sandy, I want to do everything. Everything.”‘

  “We will,”‘ she reassured me. “This is just the foreplay. We have five whole days to really get it on.”‘

  Then she eased me off the bed. “Let’s go into the bathroom,”‘ she said. “I want to lie in the tub while you squat over me.”‘

  Nine

  The week I spent with Sandy had a double effect. On the one hand it opened me even further erotically, for she brought me so far out and then peeled me so thoroughly, that when we returned to Seattle I was little more than a naked vibrating cunt. Any man or woman with eyes to see could have had me for the asking. But the experience also strengthened my growing dissatisfaction with impersonality in my sexual encounters. It’s true that when our fling ended Sandy reverted to simple friendship, but during our days and nights in San Francisco, I wasn’t just a body to her. I was the unique thing called Julie Ann DeWitt. And as we returned for the next game, I resolved that I would try to effect some kind of rapprochement with Tony, the man who had so roundly condemned me for my promiscuity.

  That did come about, but not as I imagined, and only later, after the terrible party when the team won the final game of the season and assured itself of participation in the superbowl. I made it my business to run into Tony one afternoon and after some awkwardnesss we went out for coffee together. His manner was very reserved, even though I could read the flicker of desire in his eyes.

  “Don’t you fuck at all?”‘ I asked him as we talked.

  “I haven’t for about eight months now,”‘ he said. “In fact, you’re the first woman who has even vaguely interested me.”‘

  “But why?”‘ I asked. “I mean, why such a long time, and why me?”‘

  “I told you,”‘ he explained. “A thing is made precious by its rarity. If I were to fuck every woman who was ready to open her gap for me, my cock would fall off in no time at all. I don’t want to be the anonymous stuffer, the hunk of meat that gets used to compensate for a woman’s lack of inner identity. And why you? I frankly don’t know. If I try to analyze it, it’s hopelesss. All I know is that my instincts point me toward you.”‘

  “Well, why don’t we do it?”‘ I said.

  “Because you haven’t finished your trip yet. You’ve understood how empty all that dumb frenzied fucking is, but you have one level of hunger that still hasn’t been satisfied. And until it is, you’ll be edgy with any man you make it with. When I get my cock into that sweet slit of yours, I don’t want to run into any barriers. Oh, I know there aren’t any physical blocks. At this point you could probably fuck an elephant without discomfort. But I won’t abide any emotional cheating, or intellectual shallowness. If I am to have you, I want the totality of you. What’s the point in possessing a woman if one only gets part of the goods.”‘

  “Aren’t you embarrassed to be talking about possession?”‘ I probed.

  “You mean because of the so-called liberation of women?”‘ He laughed. I wanted to reach out and hold his hand. His smile pierced my heart. His eyes looked into my soul. I barely knew him. Yet he seemed to have penetrated my very depths. I wanted desperately to love him. But he kept his distance. “A woman is, of course, free,”‘ he went on. “And when she gives herself, that is a free choice. But having made that choice, she is then possessed by the man. He literally invades her body. He burrows into her belly. He plants his seed in her deepest channel. After they disengage, naturally, he no longer possesses her. They regain autonomy. And she is free to make her next choice. To accept him inside her again, or not. Or perhaps to take another man. Or a woman. And the man has his yes and his no. And while my body says yes to you, Julie, my mouth says no. I don’t want you now because you aren’t really free. You are still obsessed. And when that final demon has left you, I will take you in my arms.”‘

  “And then?”‘ I asked.

  “That’s as far as we can know at this moment,”‘ he continued. “The chemistry that flows between us shall determine the shapes we assume.”‘

  I could have sat and talked with him for hours. Not only because it was the first real conversation I’d had with a man in years, but simply to be sharing his vibration, drinking in his face, soaring on the sound of his voi
ce.

  But he stood up abruptly. “Well, I must leave now. I’m glad we got this chance to talk,”‘ he said.

  “But can’t we . . . “‘ I began to protest.

  He fixed me with a stern stare. “I think I’ve made myself very clear, haven’t I?”‘

  I nodded in acquiescence and he turned quickly and walked out of the cafeteria. Subsequently I tried to remain celibate, but that made me too nervous. Tony was right; he had seen what I had known since the beginning: that I was working out some karmic cycle and could not rest until I had seen the end of it. I was afraid that if I fucked anyone else again, Tony would be turned off, but then I realized that he already knew in detail everything I had been doing all year, so nothing I did now could shock him.

  So it was that with a sense of randy resignation I re-entered my pattern of activities. Practice one day a week, a game on Sundays, and the rest of the time given over to one or another form of erotic gameplay. It went that way until the end of the season, when the gun went off signalling that Seattle had won the game and the division championship, that hell broke loose.

  The terrific tension that had been building all year, the balance between surging toward final victory and staying calm enough to play each game as it came, finally burst after the gun that signalled the end of the season. The fans swarmed out of the stands and roamed over the field, shouting, screaming, lifting players onto their shoulders. Three men rushed at me, picked me up bodily, and threw me into the air. They were good-natured enough, but when I landed in their arms, more than one hand grabbed my ass and squeezed my tits. But such was the exuberance of the moment that I didn’t mind, and in fact squirmed around a bit and let them enjoy their lusty feels. For more than an hour the stadium was a sea of sound and movement. The other cheerleaders and I finally managed to escape into the dugout, running the gauntlet through lines of men whose lust for victory had mingled with desire for our bodies.

  If I had thought the dugout would be a refuge, I was soon disillusioned. The place was packed with players, drinking champagne and emptying bottles of the foaming brew over one another’s heads. Reporters shouted questions and television cameras wormed their way through the wall of tightly packed flesh. I bumped into Jeff, and for the first time since our horrible breakup we smiled at one another, the team’s triumph dissolving all residual tension. He caught me in his arms and crushed me to him, my tits pinched by the equipment he still wore under his jersey. His hands cupped my ass and his mouth covered mine. I returned his kiss heartily and pushed my pelvis into his crotch.

  He finally released me and whispered, “See you later,”‘ before I was swept away, spun off by the tumultuous activity all around me. A hand caught my arm and I found myself looking up into the face of Roger Edwards, who had not said a word to me since I had refused to suck his dog’s cock.

  “How does it feel, Julie?”‘ he shouted above the roar, “the sweet smell of success, eh?”‘

  I was becoming so euphoric that I even had a kiss to spare for Roger, and as my mouth went on his, his tongue darted between my lips. At the same time he squeezed one of my tits, and then moved away quickly, leaving me gasping.

  From time to time I caught a glimpse of Sandy and the other cheerleaders weaving in and out of the male giants who dominated the relatively small space. Some of the wives were there, including Laura and the other women I had “swung”‘ with. I looked for Tony but couldn’t see him anywhere. Every three minutes more champagne was poured into my glass. And the room soon became a dizzy whirl of overheated vibrations and flashing glances.

  The mood was definitely orgiastic, although it never occurred to me that there could be any actual sexual activity in that space. When I thought about it at all, I imagined that I would wind up with a bunch of the men and a couple of women at someone’s apartment, fucking until dawn. But more time passed than I knew, and without my being aware of it, the camera crew slipped out, along with reporters, and everyone else who did not belong in one way or another to the team. How it occurred I will never understand, but a moment arrived in which I was the only woman left in the locker room. I had been drinking and flirting and kissing and dancing about, lost in the general uproar, and I guess Sandy and the other cheerleaders made their own connections and were whisked away to different pads.

  My first clue as to what was happening came when I glanced toward the opening of the dugout and saw that the doors had been closed. The radio was still blasting out a succession of harsh rock songs, and many of the men were still shouting and horsing around. But the crowd had definitely thinned, and a subtle change in the ambience crept over the space. More of the players were following me with their eyes and my ebullience lost some of its edge as I realized that I stood in the center of the locker room, dressed in my tight shirt and very brief skirt, while more than forty men gradually stopped their random celebrating and began to focus on me.

  They ranged from fully dressed, complete with shoulder pads and uniform, to wearing nothing but jock straps. The place smelled of booze and raw animal sweat. They were still covered with dirt from the field and they resembled nothing so much as a small army that had just spent a month in the trenches. And I appeared as the first woman they were setting their eyes on.

  Nervously, I began to back toward my dressing room, but as I moved sideways I bumped into Rick Folsom, the center. I looked up at him and saw the unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

  “Where you going, Julie?”‘ he said, leering.

  “Uh, just going to get dressed,”‘ I said in a low voice.

  “Got to get undressed first, don’t you?”‘ he taunted.

  “Well, yes,”‘ I mumbled,”‘ I was intending . . . “‘

  But I didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. “The least we can do is help you get undressed,”‘ he said in a loud voice. And then pitching his voice so that it covered the whole room, he added, “The least we can do is help Julie undress, can’t we boys? In appreciation for everything she’s done for us this season.”‘

  “Please,”‘ I said. The moment could have been overwhelmingly erotic, but as they massed and moved toward me, the only sensation I could feel was fear. There were at least forty of them, and they weren’t in a gentle mood.

  “Please what?”‘ John Carrol said as he stepped toward me. He was one of the men I had fucked during the year, and he had found his special form of enjoyment in hearing me beg for his cock. I knew that he was reminding me of that.

  “This can’t be happening,”‘ I thought, and tried to picture what might come to rescue me. But I knew that the stands were long since empty, and that no one would be coming through those locked doors.

  Rick slipped his hand under my shirt from behind and began to hoist it above my shoulders. I tried to push it down, but two men sprang forward to help him. In an instant seven or eight of them were holding me, grabbing me by the ankles and wrists and waist. I kicked and twisted, but it was of absolutely no use. Ineluctably, they got what they wanted, and I moaned as my shirt was ripped from my body, exposing my bare tits to their eyes. Quickly, my skirt was unhooked and my panties yanked off, and then I was naked, my cunt visible and accessible to the entire mob of lust-crazed football players.

  As a sage cynic once observed, part of being raped is getting fucked, and while I dreaded what was being done to me, I can’t deny that I responded to the intense massive erotic charge that was being poured into my pussy. Their eyes seemed to smolder and their faces were distorted into masks of sensual cunning. All their innate brutality rose to the surface, and I was aware that if they went berserk they could easily rip off one of my limbs without noticing.

  I decided to follow my father’s advice, which was to make the best of any situation. Resistance would breed violence and faced with more than eighty times my body weight in the form of a gang of huge fierce men, I realized that my best hope lay in surrender.

  So I stopp
ed struggling and let my head fall back and relaxed my stomach. I gave them the Julie that existed in their imaginations, the slut whose label was indelibly marked across the top of her pubic hair. I didn’t know if my body could take the punishment it would receive, but I had no choice.

  “That’s better,”‘ one of the men said. “You know you want it.”‘

  “Come on,”‘ another voice shouted. “Let’s fuck her.”‘

  One of the cots from the cheerleaders’ dressing room was brought out and I was tossed on it. I landed with legs apart, my tits flopping wildly. Not an instant passed before they were all over me. I felt like the victim of an automobile accident lying in the street while a crowd milled around to rubberneck at my body. Only they weren’t content with watching.

  Hard rough hands gripped my tits, pummeling the soft flesh and pinching the tender nipples. Fingers pulled at my cunt lips and poked insolently into my ass crack. A cock thrust itself between my lips and began fucking my face rapidly. Another cock slammed into my twat and started ramming in and out with pounding strokes. From the sheer impact of all that flesh, my cunt got wet and lubricated the stiff pole that ravaged it.

  “Oh yeah,”‘ hissed the man fucking me. “She’s getting wet. She’s getting hot.”‘

  The excitement must have been too much for him for he came almost at once, and I could feel his cum splashing inside me. Another took his place immediately. And once more my pussy yawned to take a savage prick inside itself. The man above me came in my mouth, forcing his cock into my throat so that it spurted down the tube and into my belly. I had to swallow to keep from choking. And again, no sooner had he finished than another took his place, sliding his thick cock on my slippery tongue.