Train: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Autumn Avery

  Bars? Not me. Picking up guys from there? Definitely not me. Bringing them home and blowing them? Really not me.

  I smacked my lips at the thought of being able to do it again. I had only gotten the slightest taste of his seed, and it was enough to somehow make me more.

  What was wrong with me? I was a teacher and not a porn star.

  He stood, picked me up with ease, and placed me down on the sofa, coming down on top of me horizontally. Another series of kisses, I still felt his girth press against me.

  That girth that really didn't seem like it should be possible.

  "You ready for this, Steph? You ready for the train?"

  "Is that what you call it?"

  He shook his head with a smirk. "That's right, you never heard my legend yet. Well, I guess you'll get to experience it firsthand."

  "Aren't you full of yourself?" Was it really ego, though, when he was smuggling a summer sausage in his pants?

  "The only person who's going to be full of the Train is you." Well, he had a point.

  He guided himself to my slit. I had to admit that I was a bit scared. It'd been so long since I had any man, let alone a behemoth like Trevor. Could my body manage to take such a thing, or have I made a horrible mistake?

  Well, I was pretty sure I already made a horrible mistake, but another mistake on top of that one.

  The head of his cock meets my entrance, and I start to realize exactly what I've gotten myself into. I almost panic as I feel him split me apart as he thrust inside of me, all of him, in the blink of an eye.

  I let out a high-pitched breath, my eyes rolling back. What the hell is happening to me, and why do I like it so much?

  He hooks my legs, spearing himself in, before starting to fuck me proper.

  It was that moment that I knew I was ruined. I was never going to be able to experience something quite like this again. This is how a man entrances you, keeps you.

  This is how a man makes you his.

  "You're going to milk me dry, Steph, you're strangling me already." He was gasping himself. Was I doing the same thing to him? I couldn't have.

  Then again I couldn't believe he'd want me in the first place. Maybe my pussy was tight enough that I was going to make him mine too.

  "I'm going to fuck you until you scream," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. "Then, and only then will I give you my cum."

  Did I want his cum? As he slid in and out of me, I shuddered with delight. I didn't want to stop this. No, not for anything. I was in for the long haul. I would get Plan B or whatever it was. Future me can deal with this nonsense.

  Present me didn't want to ruin this. Not for anything. Since present me was here right now, present me wins.

  Present me? Was very, very happy with how this was turning out. Trevor was fucking me hard, wasting little time setting a delightful and rapid pace inside me.

  His cock was like an orgasmic tidal wave rolling in, then rolling out, and then crashing right back into you with an even bigger impact than before.

  There's so much of it. It's overwhelming, and in a sense, painful. I squirm under him, but he pins me down, holds me steady, and forces me just to ride out this immense and blissful storm he's visiting on me. Crying out, I'm panting I'm sweating.

  I'm folded up like an accordion as he continues to fuck me, each and every penetration dragging me deeper into paradise. He rubs my clit as he takes me, because me just taking his cock wasn't enough for him. He has to make me climax so fucking hard that I'll pass out.

  There's no way I can hold on for long. I'm arching back, I'm bucking into this monster, but it's all too much. Biting my lip, I have no choice but to scream for him. "Fuck me, Trevor... please, just don't stop, whatever you do, don't you dare fucking stop."

  It really wasn't me, but I'd tell him anything I needed to in order to keep this all going.

  "You're already there, aren't you? Cum, Stephanie. Cum for me."

  I obeyed. God, did I obey.

  Trembling, I was almost there. Almost to my climax. One last thumb on my clit and I'm shaking like a lunatic, a blissful explosion unleashing on my body. I'm beating the shit out of my couch with my fists trying to cope with these sensations, my vision blurry.

  Yet he didn't stop. Trevor was still fucking me. This guy had ludicrous stamina, and that was something I definitely wasn't going to complain about, not one bit.

  "I need you, Stephanie. I need you, deeper, harder. Let me fuck you like the animals we both are."

  Breathing hard, I nodded, knowing I wanted more, in whatever form it would take. Woefully without his cock inside me for a brief moment, I turned myself over, presenting my backside to him, propping myself over the backrest of my couch.

  "Fucking hell, your ass is just.... it's just too perfect. You sure you're not some sort of dream, Stephanie?"

  "I could ask the same of you," I said, although in a much more exhausted tone.

  For my question, he pinched me in the ass.

  "Ow!"

  "Pinched myself too. Nope, I'm not a dream. Guess you're just this fucking hot in reality."

  He wasted little more time thrusting himself back inside of me. Deep, deeper than before, I knew why he wanted to change it up. God, he could really fuck me here. His rhythm didn't take long to get going, to get roaring and uncontrollably fast. I was letting out voiceless gasps seconds after he started again.

  Trevor drove it home further, slapping my ass like I really was in some sort of cheesy porno. Soon though, even he was proving he was just a mortal man. His brief foray into porn switched to gripping my hips tightly and fucking me harder, pushing how deep he could really go.

  I wanted him. Everything. "More," I mumbled.

  "You still want more? You get better by the second."

  He was pushing himself to the limit inside of me. I don't think it was physically possible for his cock to go any deeper, and I was feeling the full brunt of it.

  It would only be moments before he was going to send me over again, and this time, Trevor was going to be right there with me. My back arching toward him.

  "Cum for me, Stephanie. Cum with me."

  I never knew words could feel so good.

  The climax hits me, well, like a train. Rushing through my body at nearly the speed of sound, rumbling all the way through. I bend back into him, the sheer bliss making me shoot up rigidly right beside him, his hand across my breasts and holding me there.

  Deep within, I could feel myself close around him, squeezing his cock, yearning for it, desiring it, caring little for what the fallout would be.

  "Fuck... Fuck!" He gasped, then he quivered inside. Feeling his cock pulse, the warmth flood me in bursts, again and again. His orgasm was like a lion's roar,

  Our bodies, for a brief moment, were totally and completely one.

  Still holding me so close, he fell onto the sofa, pulling me into him. His cock was still well embedded inside of me, and I was in no rush to make him pull it out. There was a stupid smile on my face, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I look back at him. You rarely call a man beautiful, but at that moment, I couldn't think of any other word. The way he was looking at me, there truly was nothing more beautiful in the world.

  Exhausted, tired, I couldn't even think of a more comfortable place at that moment. I was falling asleep naked in the arms of a guy I just met.

  The guy I just fucked with wild abandon. The guy who I let cum inside me.

  I should have been worried and scared shitless.

  Yet there was only serenity when I was in Trevor's arms.

  10

  Trevor

  Trevor

  * * *

  Honestly? I can't believe my stupid gamble worked.

  Stephanie was way too smart for that. She probably saw right through me, and just gave me what I wanted because it's what she wanted to.

  That made her sexy as hell.

  Looking out the window, I saw the twilight of the early morning. The sun was on the horiz
on. I didn't feel like moving. She was in my arms, and more than anything, I wanted to fuck her again.

  Then again.

  Then probably more after that.

  Life's a bit of an asshole though. It gets in the way, makes demands of you, and sometimes you wonder if it's worth it if it tears you away from people like Stephanie.

  I didn't need my phone to know that practice was soon. This year was vital, so I couldn't just skip out.

  With great willpower, I pulled myself away from Stephanie. I let her sleep. Seeing her naked and sprawled out on the sofa like that, it was so fucking cute. This is what anyone should dream of waking up to.

  I found her bedroom easily enough, and grabbed her pillow and blanket, then returned to the sofa. Subtly, I slid the pillow under her head, and the blanket over her body. She was sleeping pretty deep, and I guess after what I did to her last night, she needed her rest.

  Finding my clothes, I slid them on. They were moist and kinda miserable to wear. I could cope for the fifteen minutes it took to get to the locker room and put on my gear.

  I head for the door. I look back on her. I realize that this could be bad. I never got her number and my phone was going to be out of commission for a while anyway. I knew where she lived, though. I could just pop by later and explain myself. She might hate me for a bit, but I had complete faith in my ability to win her back over.

  I figured after a night like last night, she'd be able to forgive a whole lot.

  Making sure the door locked behind me, I departed, yearning for when I would be able to smell, taste, feel, just enjoy Stephanie again.

  The school had a damn fine field. It wasn't a full-blown stadium, but it wasn't exactly just a set of bleachers either. There was an array of seating, a scoreboard with some sort of screen on it, a concession area, and everything else. Our games were a big deal, and I think being in the small town of Aaronsville was the only thing stopping the school from throwing the money at a full stadium outright.

  This was my office, where I did my business.

  I hit the field, charging down. Dustin had hit the stopwatch, and I was seeing if I could beat my sprint time. I was the guy they gave the ball to when they wanted a swift touchdown play. Usually people in my role are more of sprinters, but I was able to keep up despite having more weight than most of them.

  Fast, hard-hitting and powerful. The Train nickname was never more apt.

  I couldn't help feel distracted though. All while I was running, something stuck to my mind. Stephanie.

  One-night stands were my life. I hadn't had a normal girlfriend since the senior year in high school. I figured it was for the best. When you're offered as much poon as I was, temptation was high and I honestly didn't want to break anybody's heart.

  With Stephanie though, I really had to fight myself not to run off the field and back to her apartment to try to catch her before she woke up. Even football players have to be adults sometimes.

  Darting back to Dustin, I heaved out my breath.

  "Three seconds slow, man. You're losing your touch."

  "That's still like, four seconds faster than the league average." The cold air took some time to get used to breathing heavily. You'd think I'd get used to it, what with the sport primarily played in the fall and winter, but I guess humans were never meant to run a hundred yards down the field carrying a ball in a snowstorm.

  "When are you one not to embrace sheer overkill?"

  I slapped my thighs and stood up straight. "Maybe I'm just preoccupied. Maybe there's more to winning by a mile, and winning by three-quarters of a mile is sometimes okay?"

  "You sick man? Do I need to take you to the hospital?" His grin told me that his concern wasn't all that serious.

  "Nah, nah, maybe I just didn't get a whole lot of sleep. You know how it is." Yeah. While the first time we fell asleep was pretty early in the night, but the other times we went at it? I didn't really look at the clock, but I knew I didn't get the recommended eight hours, and neither did she. I figured she'd probably thank me when she got into work a little bit more rested than she should be.

  What did she do again? I forgot, and that made me feel a little like an asshole. I guess talking about careers and what you do for a living isn't what non-college girls want to talk about all the time anyway.

  "I know how it is? I guess you scored pretty big last night, huh?"

  "Dude, you really have no idea. It's... it's something."

  "Yeah. I guess I did myself too." He had that big smug look on his face.

  "Did you really get all four?"

  "Maybe not. One is all you need sometimes, though."

  "I can hear that." I wasn't going to get Stephanie out of my head talking to Dustin, sadly. Not if he wanted to keep talking about chicks, and Dustin fucking loved talking about chicks. I think it gave him affirmation. I wondered if he was a nerd in high school or something. "I'm not breathing like I'm smoking four packs a day anymore. Let's get me blowing out that time with another sprint."

  "Richards!" I turned to look for the coach. He's the only one who actually called me that. Even my professors called me Trev or Train at this point. "Richards, get your lazy ass in here!"

  "Guess I'm sprinting over there to get yelled at instead."

  "Oooh, someone's in trouble."

  "Shut up, Dustin."

  I rushed over the field to the office. Coach Boggs didn't do much to make you not think of him as a coach. He was a mostly in shape fifty-something, but with some pudge here and there, likely age just finally catching up with him. He had the school's baseball cap on, a red polo shirt, and white shorts.

  Never mind we've been out of shorts weather for a few months now, I guess he just liked the cold.

  "Come in, sit down. There's some shit, Richards."

  He led the way, coming to where he kept track of things. There were still file cabinets everywhere, but he had a ten-year-old laptop on the desk too. He plopped himself down behind the desk.

  "What's the problem, Coach?" I said, sitting across from him. God, it was cold outside but this chair was even colder.

  "You're the problem, Richards."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Me? What the hell did I do?"

  "You know why you're in college, boy?"

  "To prepare to become a national football star?"

  "You ain't gonna be the star of nothing if your grades keep being utter shit."

  My eyebrow stayed raised. "When do you care about my grades?"

  "When it keeps you off the fucking field, you moron." There was a fine line between abusive and affectionate, and Coach Hatch all too often tip-toed along it.

  "I've been doing as well as I've ever done. I don't know what the problem is."

  "Dumbass," he raised a hand, and I knew he would slap me across the head if he was still allowed to do that. "The only reason you've been barely passing with Cs is because your teachers know better than to fail the school's star player."

  "What, are you saying I should be failing?"

  "You should be. And now you are."

  I looked at him in silence for a moment. "I'm not following."

  "There's been pressure down from the accreditation boards. That certain people's grades aren't one-hundred percent authentic if you know what I mean. They're going to randomly audit some files of students, and now the fucking administration isn't going to be taking any chances, so no more treating playing football as a pass all your classes free card."

  I stared for a time, trying to put this together. I didn't think myself an idiot by any means. "So you're saying my grades have been fixed all these years?"

  "Wow, you can see the obvious."

  A sense of dread hit me. I knew I was privileged. I knew that I got special treatment. I just thought I was doing the bare minimum in my classes, and that was enough for me to not fail. "All of them?"

  "Luckily for you, no. You're only badly failing in one class. You're a star D-average student elsewhere. That's shit, but it's passing."

/>   "What class?"

  "English. You know. The thing that's technically your major."

  I grimaced. I thought it would be easy. I mean, I know how to speak English already, so how hard could it be? Apparently it's about literature and a general launching ground for creative writing and journalism and whatever else. "So it's just one class, it shouldn't cause any issues. I can fix that now that I know it's a problem."

  "You better. Cause that one class is a problem. The dean has ruled that if a player isn't passing on their own merits in all classes, I can't put them on the field. Your stupid ass can't seem to speak English, and that's enough to torpedo the team."

  I figured that Coach Boggs had to have been in college once, but I have no idea what academic major he had himself. Maybe the score fixing was more prevalent than I thought. "Fine, I'll talk to the professor, see what I need to do, and get back on the field, Coach. This is my last season here, so I can't afford to not be playing."

  "Damn right you can't." He took a breath. "I know you're smarter than your dumbass appears to be. Just fix this, Richards. You can be back on the field in time for the New Year’s game and you won't hurt your chances."

  "I will, Coach. Thanks for the heads up. I'll go talk to Professor Hatch now."

  "You better, Richards. You're the key cog that makes our fucking machine work."

  I pushed myself up, nodded at him, and left the office. I meant every word that I said.

  Professor Hatch seemed like a reasonable sort. I'll just bust my ass for him, and everything should be fine.

  I was nothing if I wasn't persistent.

  11

  Stephanie

  Stephanie

  * * *

  "Mmm," I hummed. The light was creeping through the drapes. I was still so warm. I didn't want to open my eyes. Not yet.

  I did, however, want to enjoy my situation just a little bit longer.

  Trevor did feel a lot fluffier than he was before, but damn if he wasn't super comfy to lay on anyway. He had wrapped me up like a blanket, and just remembering all of our fun throughout the night before was enough to make me let the night last a little longer.