Tackling the Team (The Vassi Collection)

by Marco Vassi

  Some were sucking my tits, biting the nipples, causing more pain than pleasure. I groaned but the sound was stifled by the pole of meat stuffing my face. Calloused fingers dug into my ass as a third man started to fuck me, the second having already deposited his sperm in my cunt. My cheeks were pulled apart and a finger rudely thrust into the asshole.

  “I want to fuck her butt,”‘ a rough voice said. “Hurry up and finish so I can have her ass.”‘

  Almost more than the specific actions of the men who were fucking and feeling me, I could feel the urgency of the others, the almost two score who pushed in from behind, watching with avid looks as I was split apart, my legs held high in the air. I could feel their eyes ravishing my bruised tits, lapping at my pussy, boring into my ass, hungering after my mouth.

  “Tits and ass and mouth and cunt,”‘ I sang to myself as they humped me into oblivion.

  I was rudely shocked out of my inner reverie by a hard slap across the face. “Come on, you bitch,”‘ someone rasped. “Stop playing dead. Start pumping that pussy.”‘

  I didn’t move and I was slapped again, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, and then the hand hit me in a regular rhythm, back and forth, until I was sobbing.

  “Hey, man,”‘ someone said, “Let’s keep it friendly.”‘

  “Shut your hole,”‘ the first man said, “I want to see this cunt get hot.”‘

  I couldn’t take any more of the beating so I began to pump my pelvis back and forth, and to roll my hips around on the cot. The movement sparked something in me, and I felt the first rushes of genital pleasure as the fourth man mounted me and started his ride. They were all cumming quickly, probably due to the white-heat intensity of excitement in the room. For so many men to gang-bang a pretty young girl must have roused all their archetypal modalities of male sexuality.

  After a while I lost count of numbers and lost track of time. I don’t know how many entered me, or what hour it was. It occurred to me that when they finished, those who had gone first would be ready for seconds. My mouth was a pool of semen. It caked on my gums and lodged under my tongue and stuck to the roof of my mouth and splashed up my nose. Men came in my mouth and on my lips and all over my face. My tits were a single shriek of agony as they were pummeled and slapped and pinched and mauled by immense hands.

  A dozen times I was turned over, sometimes to be fucked from behind, but more often to have my asshole split and reamed. I cried out at first but by the third man my anus was as loose as my pussy, and they fucked me there with total ease. I was stood up and bent over, rolled to my side, made to kneel, and screwed from every conceivable angle.

  As the thing hit full stride, I could not remain passive even if I had wanted to. So much energy, so much power, so much consistent and terrible penetration in all my openings had weakened a final wall of reserve, probably the spot Tony had mentioned. And I knew that this was the moment when I would have to break through once and for all, to irrevocably take my fill of sexual excitement so that it would no longer drive me.

  I started to move with the men fucking me, humping my cunt into the succession of cocks that entered me, sucking on the pricks that slid into my mouth and tonguing them avidly. When I was fucked in the ass, I bucked my hips back and slammed my buttocks into the thighs of whichever man was behind me, clamping my muscles tight and draining his cock dry.

  In short, I let myself go wild. I became a mindless, moaning, gurgling spasm of sexual frenzy. I flailed about, shaking my ass violently, licking my tongue up to lap whatever was placed there, cock or asshole or foot. I grabbed cocks with my hand and jerked them back and forth with total abandon, giving all the handjobs I had never given as a teenager, forgiving myself for all the boys I had left hanging after a night of heavy petting.

  The sounds that came from my throat were something that no animal could ever make; the howls of a human who had rescended to a level below beasts. I didn’t care anymore, didn’t care if I died. This was the logical conclusion of my decision to follow Jeff, and I would live it to its fullest. I begged, I bleated, I crawled. And still they came, their livid cocks piercing me again and again, until I was little more than a twitching rag doll, fluttering aimlessly to each intrusion.

  But after a while, I noticed a change in the tempo, and realized that there weren’t as many men as there had been. I heard showers running in the distance and figured that some were washing and dressing and leaving. I was as one drugged, and my thoughts were sparse and foggy. One more man came in my mouth, perhaps the thirtieth load of sperm that had exploded on my tongue, and the next cock that went into me was limp. I started to suck it and a thick stream of hot piss shot down my throat. I spluttered and coughed but he held my head to his crotch until he had emptied himself entirely.

  One of the men had taken off his belt and was whacking me steadily across the ass.

  “What do you want?”‘ I screamed. “Do it, take it, do whatever you want. Kill me, fuck me, kill me, fuck me.”‘ My voice was a hoarse wail that echoed off the metal lockers.

  And still the number of men decreased. One muttered, “Jesus, this is really sick,”‘ his voice tinged with disgust as he went.

  I thrashed about howling for more. I had drained a platoon and was now hitting my own stride. I had leaped over the hurdle of my own fear and was soaring into free space. I spread my cunt with my hands and hurled my challenge. “Come on! Aren’t there any more? I thought you were men.”‘

  Another man mounted me, his throbbing cock plunging deep into my pussy, hitting bottom causing me to bend in two. He put his arms behind my knees and pushed my thighs to my chest, exposing my ass and cunt in their most vulnerable position. He rammed into me again and again, sending bolts of pain into my belly as the friction from his rod had my cunt swarming with flashes of heat. Although my cunt was wet, I was experiencing a rather dry eroticism. Sensations were there, and movement was there, and pleasure was there, and even climaxes occurred, but every aspect remained separate from every other. I was in a state in which extreme clarity and heavy grogginess co-existed with equal impact.

  Finally, he came inside me, and released my legs. I lay back on the cot waiting for the next onslaught, but nothing happened. I opened my eyes and saw that the dugout was almost empty. Two men were standing by their lockers and putting on their clothes, and only one person remained over me: Brock Reynolds, one of the half-backs and the only man I had spurned of all those who had made a pass at me. There was something so evil about him, so inhumanly degraded, that even at the height of my debauchery I would not put myself in his hands, Sandy had warned me against him saying, “He’s not just a pervert, baby, but a real sadist. The kind that will go after you with a razor blade.”‘ And now I was alone with him, lying naked and spent under his raging eyes. I tried to call out to one of the other players, but he put his hand over my mouth and forced me to lie still. I didn’t even have the strength to try to push his hand away.

  He waited until the others left, one of them calling out, “One last piece, eh Brock?”‘ And Brock called back in a voice that chilled my spine, “Yeah, one last piece.”‘

  When the dugout was totally empty he took his hand away and stared down at me. His eyes went over my face, caked with sperm, over my tits, showing black-and-blue marks, over the tattoo on my belly, and finally to my raw and ragged cunt. He smiled, his lips like pencil lines.

  “Well, what are you waiting for,”‘ I said, “why don’t you fuck me and get it over with?”‘ I hoped my voice carried the ring of bravado I wanted to hide behind.

  “Fuck you?”‘ he said. “Do you think I’d put my nice clean cock in that stinking hole of yours? Not a chance. But I’m going to give you something better. Something that’s going to make you forget every cock you’ve ever had.”‘

  It was then that I looked down at his hands. He was holding a football. For a second I didn’t make the connection, but when I realized
what he intended, I started to scream in sheer raging terror. But he merely reached across and slammed the back of his hand across my mouth, sending stars through my brain and almost knocking me unconscious.

  “Not here,”‘ he said, and reached down, slipped one arm under my waist, and tossed me easily over his shoulder. I moaned and felt blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. He walked slowly and steadily to the end of the dugout, bent down to pick up some rope, kicked the doors open, and stepped out onto the field.

  The stadium was completely empty and totally silent. The night air held a bitter chill, and the stars burned brightly in the black sky. The park was without light, and we moved like ghosts over the hard ground, gliding past the chalk lines which marked the five-yard intervals. I wondered if there was anything I could do, but at once understood that it was hopeless. Not only because I was alone and in his power, but because I was reaching the final act, the ultimate destination of the road I had chosen when I left school.

  Brock stopped at the goalposts and tossed me onto the cold earth. I lay in a twisted heap at his feet, while he towered over me, his uniform still on, the padding making him seem grotesque and enormous.

  “You rotten cunts,”‘ he said. “Always strutting your asses around, driving me crazy with your pussies, pushing your tits under our eyes. You’re all the same. And when you get what you want, you drain a man of his strength, you suck the sperm out of him and leave him weak. And you’re never satisfied. You’ll drag one man down and then move on to the next.”‘ He looked down, and then deliberately spit on me, the glob landing between my breasts. “Forty men tonight,”‘ he went on in a harsh throbbing voice. I could hear a lifetime’s pent-up emotion in his chest and realized that I was not only a specific target, a woman who had rejected him, but a symbol for all the women he had known, probably beginning with his mother. “And after all that fucking, all we have to show for it is soft dicks. While you’re all bloated with our cum. Vampire. Cocksucker.”‘ He spat on me again and kicked my ass, his rubber cleats cutting the skin.

  I realized that this was the personification of my demon, my counterpart. The same lust that had driven me to such excesses was taking him to the ultimate conclusion of his own insanity, and the awareness filled me with a strange calm that stilled my fear.

  He tied a length of rope to each of my wrists and then secured the end of each to one of the vertical bars of the goalpost, so that I lay on my back on the ground, my arms pulled wide. He returned and stood in front of me. His eyes were narrow slits of hate, and in a flash I understood that this was the same look, modified to one degree or another, I had seen in the eyes of every man who had ever fucked me. This was the final curtain I needed to part, to make the absolute distinction between those who would use me and those who would love me. It was a simple lesson, but earned with terrible struggle, and one which I was not sure I would survive.

  For already Brock was kneeling on the turf, placing the football between my legs.

  “Spread,”‘ he commanded.

  I parted my legs very wide, and lay there, awaiting what my destiny had prepared for me.

  He placed the tip of the football at the opening of my cunt, and began to press it in slowly. At first I yielded easily; my cunt was extremely slack from all that fucking. But past a certain point, it seemed to have reached its mark of maximum entry. Brock pulled my pussy lips apart with his fingers, stretching them over the smooth leather. And then he pushed some more. The ball sank in another inch, and now I was convinced it could go no further.

  He continued his pressure and I felt my cunt spread still more. I lifted my head and looked down. It was only a fourth of the way in. And already I felt as though I were bursting my seams.

  “It’s like childbirth,”‘ I told myself. “Don’t panic. A baby is just as big when it comes out. The cunt can stretch that far. Don’t tense or he’ll tear you in half.”‘

  His face was a single point of concentration, his eyes riveted on the spot where my cunt grasped the ball. He put his shoulders behind the next push, and jammed the spheroid yet another inch into me. I felt as though I were being pried apart. My pussy ached, and still he drove forward. The ball oozed in yet another fraction of an inch. The image of a boa swallowing a large pig went through my mind, and I giddily thought that somehow I would have to unhinge the joints of my mouth to take it in. But my mouth was the snake’s mouth, and the snake’s mouth was my cunt. I was becoming delirious with the strain.

  Brock spun the ball around, trying to screw it inside me, but that did nothing but burn the insides of my cunt lips.

  “Brock,”‘ I pleaded, “Don’t.”‘

  It was as though he were deaf. With a fanatic single-mindedness he thrust the ball harder into my snatch. My legs could stretch no more. I began to bleat in anguish.

  “Stop that noise!”‘ he screamed. “I can’t stand it, stop that noise. Stop doing that, leave her alone, leave my sister alone.”‘ His voice rang out in the huge empty arena, and I knew that he had flipped out. Some excruciating scene from his past had superimposed itself on the reality, and he was no longer in touch with even a shadow of the actuality in front of him.

  He looked down at me and in his eyes I saw nothing but the distorted flame of sheer madness.

  “You enjoyed it,”‘ he accused. “You wanted him to do that to you.”‘

  And with that he lifted his right foot far behind him.

  “Wait,”‘ I screamed, “I’m not your sister.”‘

  But he was beyond hearing, and he swung his leg in a long driving arc, smashing his foot into the exposed tip of the ball, propelling it with explosive force deep between my thighs.

  A sheet of black pain flooded my entire body. My breath left me, and I jerked like a puppet suddenly yanked by its strings. I soared backwards, as far as the ropes tied to my wrists would allow, lilted physically from the ground by the power of his kick.

  I landed on my back, hitting the earth heavily. I could not keep my eyes open and something kept tugging at my brain, pulling it into unconsciousness. Brock leapt up and down, shouting “Touchdown, touchdown,”‘ in a crazed voice.

  And finally I passed out, tied to the goalposts, naked on the playing field, caked with dried sperm, the word slut tattooed on my belly, and an entire football, a thick, long spheroid of taut leather, lodged completely inside my cunt.

  Ten

  I awoke to the sound of temple bells and Buddhist chanting. I opened my eyes and found myself lying on a very low bed in a large cheerful room. One entire wall was glass and opened onto a vista of distant mountains. It was a clear blue day and the sun seemed to be directly overhead.

  “It must be about noon,”‘ I thought.

  I tried to move and found that my body was a vast complex of aches. Easing myself slowly, I slid another pillow under my head so I could half sit up. I lifted the sheet covering me and looked down on my body. Black-and-blue marks dotted the skin. My breasts especially seemed a mass of bruises, and when I brushed a finger over my nipples I shuddered with the memory of pain. I could almost see the thumb prints embedded in the pink tips.

  From the next room the deep rumble of a single monotonous chant rose and fell, interspersed with the clacking of beads and the ringing of a small bell. I could smell the faint aroma of incense.

  “Where the devil am I now?”‘ I thought.

  I slid my hand down and tentatively touched my pussy. It seemed intact. I slid one finger inside, and realized that it had been coated with a soothing balm. The membrane was extremely sore and tender, but the organ was resilient and firm. I realized that I had been bathed, dabbed with antiseptic ointments, and bandaged in several spots.

  I took a deep breath and was surprised that despite everything else, basically I felt healthy and refreshed. I was warm and comfortable, and filled with that joyous sense of well-being that comes after a high fever has broken. I was clea
n, not only outside, but in my soul. I had been purged; I knew that as sharply as the reality of the strong light that poured in through the window.

  I drifted off to sleep again, dozed for a few moments, and when I awoke again the sounds from the next room had stopped. I slid back a bit more to raise myself to a sitting position, deciding to wait to see what happened.

  Within a few minutes, the door opened. I looked over and saw a tall thin man, dressed in a yukata, the informal kimono that Japanese wear around the house, walking toward me. He was carrying a tray holding two huge tumblers of freshly squeezed orange juice and two mugs of steaming coffee. The apparition was so startling that for a few seconds I didn’t recognize who it was, but then his features suddenly snapped into place and I gasped with surprise.

  “Tony,”‘ I breathed, “it’s you.”‘

  “I trust you slept well,”‘ he said in an easy conversational tone as he knelt by the bed and placed the tray on the floor next to me.

  “What are you doing here?”‘ I exclaimed.

  “Why, I live here!”‘ he replied. And then with a playful smile, added, “And what, may I ask, are you doing here?”‘

  “I don’t know,”‘ I said, my eyes wide with wonder.

  “Well, I do,”‘ he answered, “and as soon as you drink your juice I’ll tell you.”‘

  He handed me a glass and I sipped the delicious chilled pulpy juice down, feeling its revitalizing power fill my body. I was amazed at how good I felt.

  “I got an insane phone call from Brock sometime around midnight,”‘ he said. “He was shouting, ‘I’ve killed her, I’ve killed her.’ It took me ten minutes to sort out the story, but when he told me what had happened, I rushed over to the stadium and found you where he had left you. For a minute I was afraid you really were dead, but I realized that it would take more than a forty-man gangbang and a football kicked up your snatch to do you in.”‘