Girls Who Score

by Ily Goyanes

  I stretched one last time, edged up to the player dribbling the ball between her clever feet, swept out my foot—catching her ankle and sending her sprawling—then stole the ball.

  I wasn’t the most graceful player, wasn’t the star, but I had the goddamn ball now. I lowered my shoulder and bumped a Viper out of they way, then pivoted on my toes and aimed myself and the ball toward the opposite end of the field.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her, backing up toward the other team’s goalie box.

  Vicky Moldina gave me a little wave, and I tipped my chin but didn’t want anyone catching my intent, so I ran to the right, skirting their players, lowering my shoulders and putting on the bulldog face I’d been told intimidated the hell out of other teams—something that always set my own team to laughing, because they knew me better.

  However, if they’d read the deadly intent in my heart, the searing determination, they’d have wondered who the hell I was.

  My thoughts and heart slowed. I repelled the next player who moved in to steal the ball with a sharp, sly elbow. I charged forward, then zagged to the left, leaving two opponents to tumble over each other, and headed on a parallel path with their goalie.

  Vicky backed up again, then shot toward the goal.

  I kept on my parallel path, then tried a move I’d failed more often than I’d completed, kicking the ball with my heel to send it like a bullet to Vicky who was poised in front of the goalie’s box.

  Our star striker grinned, swept out her foot to catch it—but something happened.

  Usually so graceful, her foot rolled over the top of the ball and her ankle turned. She fell in a heap to her knees, then beat her palms against the grass as a green-shirted bitch gave a whoop and stole the ball away, racing toward the other end of the field.

  Three short whistles blew. I bent at the waist, hands braced on my knees as I dragged in deep breaths. My gaze remained on Vicky who pushed herself up from the ground. She met my gaze and mouthed, “Fuck.”

  I shrugged and forced a smile. “Just a game.”

  We shared small smiles while our teammates pulled together, remembered their manners, and gave Vicky halfhearted pats to console her before lining up to run past the other team, slapping hands and offering insincere congratulations.

  I ran behind Vicky, wishing I hadn’t passed the ball to her. Not because I was disappointed with the outcome, but because I didn’t want this to be the memory she took away from the game. I didn’t want our friendship tainted even a little bit.

  After we huddled with the coach and offered each other hugs, I trudged toward the showers in the rec center.

  “Dinner at Hooters!” Coach called out, and I grinned. We’d have had Outback if we’d won; Hooters had been meant to spur us toward victory.

  As players headed to their lockers, Vicky limped toward the coach’s wire equipment cage. She dug beneath balls and netting, then pulled out the first aid bag.

  “Did you hurt yourself when you took that tumble?” I asked, my voice a little thick because hell, it was her I was talking to.

  “It’s my knee. I felt something pull.”

  “Do you need to go to the emergency room?”

  She shook her head, sweaty tendrils of chin-length black hair shaking against her cheeks. “It’s probably just a sprain. I’ll wrap it after I shower.” She pulled a rolled ACE bandage from the pack and started to put the bag back into the cage.

  I reached for the bag, taking it from her, then grabbed a small jar of Tiger Balm and held it up. “I’ll massage it before you wrap. It’ll feel better faster.”

  Her brows furrowed—just a subtle motion, almost indiscernible, but the glance that swept my body was less so. Subtle, that is. “All right. After we shower.”

  After we shower. I know my jaw sagged just a bit at the way she’d emphasized that one little word. Drool pooled in my mouth. I followed her as she turned away, heading to her locker to pull out a plastic bag with her toiletries and a fluffy white towel. I did the same, hurriedly, a little nervous now.

  I was reading too much into her words. Still, when we entered the open shower room, I hesitated before setting my items on the slatted wooden bench beside hers. When she raked her jersey over her head, I followed suit and stripped.

  Most of the girls had already finished up. One by one, spigots turned off, towels slid around nude bodies, and they trailed out the door, leaving us alone.

  Good locker room etiquette would have been to choose a spigot on the opposite side of the room, but when she strode to the far corner, out of sight of the open doorway, I followed, choosing one right beside her.

  A small half smile kicked up one corner of her mouth before she turned her head, closed her eyes and let the hot water sluice over her hair and face, giving me the perfect opportunity to ogle her long, lithe body.

  She squeezed shampoo into her palm, then handed me the bottle. With our gazes locked, we began to soap our hair.

  Nothing had ever been this hot.

  We’d both no doubt showered in open stalls in high school—naked women with slippery bodies—but I, for one, had never been this aware. With her hands raised, massaging her scalp, soap slithered down in long, winding ropes that caressed her shoulders, her small round breasts and taut belly. Her legs parted, widening her stance a little so that I could admire the small, smooth labia framed so perfectly by her muscular thighs.

  “My knee’s throbbing,” she whispered.

  My gaze darted up, and soap slid into my eyes. I grimaced and turned my red face into the spray before blinking back at her. Her lips were pursed in a smile; her eyes wrinkled at the corners with silent laughter.

  God, if she was teasing me because she knew I was queer I thought I might never get over the embarrassment. But she turned, showing me her ass, and then glanced over a shoulder, one dark, arched brow raised. “It’s okay for you to wash it. The others are gone.”

  “You sprain your hand, too?” I blurted.

  Although my voice was gruff, she didn’t seem put off. She squeezed soap from her short hair to trail down her back, then faced the white tiles.

  I glanced toward the open doorway, but our teammates’ voices faded away as they left. We were alone now. Free to do whatever pleased us.

  I swallowed to hydrate my dry mouth, then turned back. Suds snaked toward her buttocks, and before they could disappear, I cupped them against her skin. Then I trailed my hands lower, enjoying the feel of her soft, tanned skin, which cloaked a muscular, rounded butt. My fingers dipped lower, raised each globe so my fingers could trace the creases at the tops of her thighs. Then emboldened by her soft murmurs, I slid a finger up her crack, pausing to play with the tight rosette before drawing away to dispense more soap into my palm.

  Sliding up against her back, I reached around her, soaping her small breasts, my slippery fingers plucking her tight nipples. My touch grew firmer, more assertive, and I glided my palms down her belly.

  Just when my fingers touched her mound, she turned her head. “Are you going to the dinner?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, letting her know I was available for whatever she had in mind.

  “Good. I could really use those hands of yours. My knee.”

  I withdrew my hands and stood back, a little confused. She’d allowed so much, invited it, but was she teasing?

  I finished washing up as she walked away. She picked up her towel and watched me as I efficiently finished my shower then joined her. We both toweled off, then I followed her lead, wrapping myself in my towel and trailing behind her as we reentered the locker room.

  She chose a padded bench and sat.

  I picked up the Tiger Balm, grabbed another towel and folded it for padding, then knelt on the tiles in front of her. I lifted her leg and placed her foot in my lap, then unscrewed the balm and dug two fingers into the ointment. My thoughts calmed as I began to work it gently into the muscles around her knee, swirling it in circles.

  “Have you ever touched you
r clit with that?”

  Shock halted my fingers. “The Tiger Balm?” I snorted. “It burns.”

  “Be sure to wipe it off.”

  I swallowed hard again and kept my head down, because my cheeks had caught fire. I deepened my massage, digging in my fingertips and the heels of my palm to ease the knotted muscles.

  “Sometime, you’ll have to give me a full body massage. You’ve got great hands.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, careful not to let my rising excitement show too much.

  When I’d finished, I leaned away to reach for the bandage, but halted when Vicky opened her towel and let it drape toward the floor. Her whole body was exposed, her legs parted, her pussy was warmly scented, smelling of soap, and right there.

  “Your hands…”

  I wiped them carefully on my towel, and then glanced up. “Is this just an after-game fuck?”

  “Do you want it to be more?”

  I nodded, holding her gaze.

  “I liked the way you looked when you plowed through their defenses. Your expression was sooo…intense. I think that’s what put me off my game.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “It turned me on.”

  “Oh.”

  “I wondered if you’d be the same, that strong when you got a girl alone.”

  Straightening my back, I met her dark gaze. “I can be. I like it a little rough.”

  “So do I.”

  I canted my head, confidence at last soaring. This was going to happen, and she was giving me permission to take charge. “I’m gonna lock the door. Why don’t you lie down on the bench? Make sure your ass is at the edge.”

  I stood, dropped my towel then strode to the locker room door. I peeked outside, but everything was quiet. I locked the door, knowing the coach had the only key, and that she’d already left for the after-game dinner.

  When I returned, Vicky was lying on the bench, her hands resting on the floor. Her slender body was stretched, her back arched a little off the bench, her legs spread and her ass right at the end of the bench.

  “Just like I like it.” I came down in front of her atop my towel. Leaning toward her smooth cunt, I licked the length of her lips, enjoying the silky, pliant skin that was already reddening and growing engorged.

  She tasted fresh, like seawater with a slight feminine tang. I burrowed my tongue between her lips and caressed her thighs as I delved deep into her opening, my eyes watching how her belly tightened and her nipples spiked.

  Her legs moved restlessly apart, and I eased her thighs over my shoulders, taking control. I parted her lips, and plunged in again, rubbing my face into her slick folds, letting her juices coat my skin while my tongue flicked and lashed at the thin edges of her inner lips and her hard, hooded clit.

  I cupped her bottom, then slid my thumb into her crack, pressing on her asshole as I centered my mouth over her clit and drew on it, sucking gradually harder and harder. I pushed my thumb inside her ass, then pulled and pushed the fat pad in and out. Between my thumb teasing her ass and my mouth drawing on her clit, her whole body vibrated with her building arousal.

  Her hands came up and cupped my wet hair. Her fingertips dug into my scalp.

  I pulled free, leaning back to watch until her eyelids fluttered open. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do with you.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to bend over the bench.”

  “You gonna spank me?” she asked, her voice deepening.

  “It’s my thing.”

  “You’re a nasty little dyke.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I like sex. Guys, girls.”

  “I don’t mind sharing.”

  “Or watching? That’s my thing.”

  I grinned wide, suddenly happier than I’d felt in long time. Freer. “We’ll negotiate.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “Bend over the bench.” I helped her into place—straight-legged so her ass rose high, and she balanced with her hands on the cold tile at the other side. I walked around to her and bent down as she looked up. I kissed her, letting her taste herself on my mouth, stroking my tongue into hers. When I drew away, I pulled on her bottom lip and bit it. “I love your mouth. After—I’ll let it eat me right up. That knee going to be all right?”

  Her lush mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Thought it was my ass at risk.”

  I dug into my locker for a shin guard, stripped the fabric from the padded, curved side, and slapped the plastic against my palm.

  Both of her brows shot up.

  I shrugged. “So I’ll buy a new pair. It’ll be worth it.”

  I walked around the bench, smoothed a hand over her pretty butt then drew back and gave her bottom a swat with the unprotected guard. It was flimsier than I liked, but still raised a nice pink line. Her pussy contracted. I stroked her cloaked clit with my thumb and laid another stripe on her bare butt.

  Her ass tilted higher; her legs inched wider apart. I kissed her pussy, then stood slightly to the side to lay more narrow welts across both buttocks and the backs of her thighs while she grunted and mewled, her legs tensing, quivering, her heels rising off the floor then lowering as she tried to guess where I’d strike her next.

  When I swatted low, grazing both thighs and her slick labia, she cried out. “Jesus, Carly! Fuck!”

  Again, I swatted her cunt, then tossed down the shin guard, narrowed my fingers and thrust all four into her pussy. She was tight, but soaking wet, when I entered her, pushing inside while her flesh tunnel clamped around me. I feathered her clit with my thumb, then pulled my hand free, only to plunge deeper.

  Her bottom rose and fell with each shallow thrust. Her feet braced wider apart. With everything exposed, cunt to pretty asshole, I folded my thumb into my palm and burrowed into her, ignoring her gasps. I swatted her buttocks with my free hand, light taps really, but enough to confuse her into relaxing, and at last, my fist slid inside her tight hole.

  Her whole body quivered, and she whimpered. I bent, turning awkwardly, but got beneath her and stuck out my tongue to lick her clit while I screwed my hand slowly in and out.

  “Carly, fuck…”

  I felt a hot gush of fluid, wishing my face had been there to experience it and wondering if it would have squirted. I latched my lips to the top of her labia and sucked hard.

  Her strangled shout echoed against the tile. Her knees gave, pulling her from my mouth, and I slowly withdrew my slippery fist.

  When she lay sprawled across the bench, her pussy gaping, her ass a pretty, mottled pink, I bent over her and tongued every stripe then kissed her pussy, before pushing off her rump and walking away.

  I pulled the netting from the coach’s cage, and folded it, bunching it into a bed. I dragged it toward the metal whirlpool bath and placed my closed gym bag beside the pallet I’d made.

  Vicky sat slumped beside the bench, eying my preparation. “That for me?”

  “It’s for me. I don’t want you to hurt your knees.”

  Her dark eyes turned to smoke.

  Following my instructions, she lay down on the net pallet, her head raised on a makeshift pillow.

  I stepped over her, my feet on either side of her head, then wrapping my hands around the cool metal pipes running into the bath, I squatted over her face. “Now, lick me.”

  A fingertip trailed my slit. “I like your bush. It’s bristly like a man’s moustache.”

  I’d left a narrow fringe along my lips and atop my mound. “Tug it. I like a little sting.”

  Her fingers gripped the short curls and pulled. My cunt clenched.

  “Baby, do that again.”

  Another reflexive clench tightened me right up. A finger entered me, swirling in my juices, then withdrew. I heard a sucking sound, but since I felt nothing, I guessed she’d licked her own finger.

  I gazed down, amused to see just the top half of her face between my splayed knees.

  Her head tilted, her tongue stroked
out and caught the edge of the fleshy hood protecting my clit. She teased it with a flat-tongued stroke, then wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never been very obedient.”

  “You do know I’ll have to punish you.”

  “I’ll look forward to you trying.”

  Her face was so cocky, so assured, but she didn’t know what kind of equipment I kept in my apartment. She also didn’t know what I had inside my gym bag.

  “Get me juiced up with that dirty mouth of yours. When I’m ready I’m gonna fuck you, Vicky. Better than you’ve ever been fucked before.”

  “That’s a big brag. Sure you can?”

  I flexed my ass and rose an inch, then dropped slowly back down until my pussy rested on her mouth.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Suck it. Now.”

  She did better than that. Fingers prodded my ass and sank inside, her mouth latched on to my labia and wagged, tugging the engorged folds side to side. Then she nibbled them, making me jump and groan.

  When her tongue stroked my clit, I drew in a deep breath and rocked on her mouth.

  Too soon, the strokes fired me up. I straightened away from her. “Get your pussy on the hump. I need it up high.”

  Her face was a pretty rose, her lips swollen and wet. Her eyes were half-lidded and warm. She moved around, crab-like, laying her head so that it was lower than her hips. She braced her feet against the tile to either side of me.

  I patted her plump pussy, gently at first, then with sharper slaps. Her legs tensed, toes curling against the tile. When she was juiced up, I bent over her body, against her open crotch, and reached for my bag. I unzipped it, fished inside and pulled out a long two-headed dildo.

  Her eyes widened. Her breaths grew choppy. Her hands cupped her breasts and tweaked her nipples as she watched me push one end into my mouth to wet it, then feed the thick cock into her pussy.

  I stepped outside her thighs, my legs bowed, and curved the dildo until the other end slid between my folds. Then with my hands gripping the pipes behind me, I raised and lowered myself, each downward motion pushing the cock deeper inside us both.

  Her feet left the tile and her thighs splayed wide behind me. Only the cock connected us. I pulsed down, then up, then down again. When I ground down, our pussies consumed every inch of the flexible, thick shaft. Her taut, muscular belly flexed, lifting her hips to meet my thrusts; her legs swung upward and down, dancing her pussy against mine, grinding my bristly hairs against her engorged clit.