by Lexi Wilson
At the same time, he tore off his shirt and tossed it onto the vanity, exposing the full glory of his upper body. Impaled on his impossible prick, with his pecs and arms now revealed to me, I was afraid I would now melt and go running down the sink.
But instead, I grabbed onto those muscles, clutching at his arms and shoulders, letting him pull me all the way to him. Totally possessed by Barrett, I let him start to fuck my pussy. I buried my head on his shoulder and just whimpered and half-sobbed at him. I didn’t know why I wasn’t passing out from the pleasure of the way he slid that monster dick in and out of me.
How could his dick be so huge? It was as huge as his body was perfect. How could anything in the world feel so good?
Hardly able to believe that my pussy could stretch itself to let that monstrous thing all the way into me, knowing it must be going all the way to my womb, I just held on to Barrett, made noises of indescribable pleasure at him, and received the deep, powerful strokes of his cock.
He began to kiss my lips as if he’d devour them while driving in and out of me. He breathed hotly at me, “Yeah, babe, this is good. This is what I need. Mmm, good pussy. Good pussy. You like this big fucking dick, huh? What’d I tell you about this bug fucking dick?”
I couldn’t answer him. I was consumed and overwhelmed by pleasure, by the rhythm plunging into my clutching wetness. All I could moan over and over was, “Oh, Barrett… Oh, Barrett…”
“That’s it, baby,” he grunted, raining kisses and bites onto my neck. “Take this big hard cock. Give me that wet little pussy. Mmm yeah, let me fuck that pussy…”
Barrett took what he wanted, and I gave it freely. I’d lost any vestige of restraint the moment I saw it hanging gigantically erect and ready for me down there. Without question, I wanted his body. I wanted his cock. I wanted him inside me, penetrating me, fucking me, claiming me. I gave myself over to what he was doing to me.
His body was like a bronze sculpture of an ancient god come to life. His enormous cock was like a thermonuclear weapon. And, I wanted him to fire it into me over and over, just as he was doing.
He must have felt my heightening desire and my complete surrender because he braced his hands on the top of the vanity and leaned forward, easing me backwards as I clung to him, and started to piston his immense rod harder, driving his cock into my pussy faster and more forcefully. My voice turned to a long moan. He was intoxicating me much more than anything I’d drunk at the party.
He groaned away at me, “Yeah, baby… Oh yeah, good pussy… Good pussy…” Our hot breaths seemed to come into sync together with the rhythm of his hard, urgent fucking. He was going faster, harder, plundering my pussy relentlessly, filling me with blinding pleasure. I could feel him building up to his moment--that moment.
Barrett let loose with a beastly moan that I was afraid people would hear over the noise of the party. Then, it happened. I felt it get even wetter down there than it had been from the wetness of my pussy alone –wetter with a slippery warmth. I knew Barrett must be coming. He must be pouring out big, sticky gobs of cream all the way into my womb and all over my labia and my mound. He must be coming enough to fill up shot glasses. There was so much of it, so thick and slippery, so warm and wonderful. It made me tingle from between my legs all the way up to my head. He captured my mouth in the steamiest kiss yet, a kiss of total satisfaction.
My pussy and his throbbing cock had become a slippery, sticky mess. He kept pumping it and out of me, more slowly now, as he took my mouth in one wet, torrid kiss after another.
I had done it. I had actually taken Barrett’s monster cock inside me. And, it was incredible. It was a spontaneous and completely unromantic thing. But, the way Barrett had just fucked me was the best fuck of my life. I almost felt like crying at the thought of his cock getting soft. As afraid as I’d been when this started, I was now afraid for it to end.
He beat slowly inside me a few more times yet, and kept kissing me. “That was good,” he said, slurping at my mouth. “That’s what I needed. Good pussy. A nice hot fuck. Thank you.” He sucked tenderly at my lower lip. “Thank you for that.”
Barrett’s cock slowly softened, and I could sense our shared reluctance at his pulling it out of me. When he finally did, it hung there, still long and maybe more than six inches thick, glistening with a mix of my inner moisture and his cum, still drooling and drizzling cum from the tip. Lord, but it was good, I thought.
I let out a long exhale, reliving the pleasure of having that dick inside me, not wanting to take my eyes off it. He reached over onto the vanity and picked up my panties, and handed them to me. “Here you go,” he said. “And...thanks. Really.”
“You’re welcome,” I gulped, thinking the interaction almost absurd, the two of us being polite as if he’s passed me something over the dinner table. He had passed me something, all right: the hottest meat I’d ever had.
Almost gallantly, Barrett took the panties from me again and said, “On second thought, let me. It’s the least I can do.” He knelt down and slipped them back up my legs to my upper thighs, and helped me up from the vanity and let me put them all the way back on. As I got back into my shoes, I wept a little inside at the sight of Barrett somehow managing to stuff himself back into his briefs and get his jeans back up and zipped and buttoned and his belt buckled again.
And just like that, the monster that had given me a pleasure beyond belief was caged up again – until the time very soon when he would unleash it to do to some other woman what he’d just done to me. Whoever she was, I envied her.
“Thanks, Bama,” said Barrett with a grin. He leaned over and kissed me one more time. “I’ll go out first. I’ll see you at the game.”
A bit breathlessly, I replied, “See you at the game.” I let him go, leaving me alone in the bathroom. I leaned back against the vanity, savoring the slick, sticky feeling between my thighs. The game, I thought. The game, indeed.
Tomorrow, the Rangers would play hard – as hard as Barrett had just fucked me. And they’d play to win. But no matter who won tomorrow, I knew, tonight Brianna “Bama” Majors had just taken home the trophy.
Chapter 2
Barrett
When my phone chirped out its sharp alarm and I reached over to my night table to grab it and turn it off, I immediately knew three things.
One: from the time I saw on the phone, I had overslept. On Super Bowl morning, of all days, I’d slept in too late. Fine thing for the starting quarterback to do. That’s not how championships get won, and I cursed at myself while a couple of other things came through the curtains of sleep opening up in my head.
Two: I had my usual morning wood. And, there was no one lying next to me to take care of it. The perfect way for me to start Super Bowl morning was with a blow job and a hot fuck before a shower. Maybe a blow job and a hot fuck in the shower, to save time, I considered. But there was no one here to oblige me. Which brought me to one more thing.
Three: I always liked to get some pussy before a game – Super Bowl or otherwise – and it came to me that I’d done so last night. And done it damn well, if I say so, in spite of how drunk I was. But, I hadn’t brought the girl back here to bed. I’d done it at the party. In the penthouse bathroom. And then, I remembered whose pussy it was.
Rubbing a hand across my face, I mumbled, “Oh, shit. I fucked Bama at the party, didn’t I? Oh, shit…” I sat up in my bed, naked, the way I always slept with or without someone else. “Shit, Barrett, you got your head cheerleader’s pussy at the party.”
If I hadn’t been so wasted, I’d never have done it. We had this rule that we mostly stuck with: Rangers do not fuck their cheerleaders. There was a line. We knew it. The cheerleaders knew it. Sometimes, it happened because we were guys and they were...well, they were cheerleaders. But, it was frowned on.
Though, I had to admit I was only half-frowning. I’d broken the rule and crossed the line. And, I wasn’t exactly sorry because even though it was a crazy, drunken slam-bang on the bath
room sink...it was good. Damn good. My cock and Bama’s pussy had felt great together. So great that on some level, I wished I’d said to hell with the rule and taken her back here to my bed, to lie on top of her and stuff her cunt all night long.
It was a good thing that I hadn’t, though. All things considered, it was a good thing that it was just a crazy, drunken slam-bang on the bathroom sink.
I only knew Bama casually – as casually as I’d fucked her – but from what I knew of her, she wasn’t the kind of girl to have flings just for fucking. My impression was that she was the kind of girl who expected something more from a guy. And that would have gotten messy because expectations that aren’t the same on both sides mean complications, resentments, and hurt feelings.
And the quarterback slipping the lead cheerleader his cock when she wanted more than he cock, but he wasn’t planning to give anything more... Well, that was the kind of thing that was bad for morale. That was the reason we had the rule. That was the reason the line was there. And, that was why, for the most part, we did not go over that line.
For years, I’d been a one-night kind of guy. I’d been between the legs of every girl and every woman I’d wanted since I was sixteen. Pussy was the only thing I loved better than football. But I did not do relationships. I let that happen to me just once, and from that one experience, I learned better of it.
When I first turned pro, the whole experience of being in the NFL came rushing at me like a tsunami. I went from being a kid in college to being a star player on the Rangers, with all the money and everything it could buy, all the attention from the press, and all the praise from crowds of fans...and all the women.
It wasn’t that I was vain, but when you look like me and have that kind of status and money, women throw themselves at you the way I’d make a long pass on the field. And I intercepted every pass, believe me. James Bond thought he had “Pussy Galore.” He should have been in the NFL.
And then, there was that one woman. She was a blonde who seemed to me like another Marilyn Monroe. And, she was totally into me. This woman worshipped me. She would throw herself down at my feet, not just to suck my cock (which she did really well), but to adore me. Night after night, I’d hold her in my arms after the most insane, unreal fucking I’d ever had, and she’d tell me I was the most wonderful thing in the world. She’d tell me that I was perfect, that I was everything she’d ever wanted or dreamed of, and that she’d be mine and I could do whatever I wanted to her, as much as I wanted, forever.
The whole thing went to my head – both of my heads, upstairs and downstairs. And with her, I let something happen that I’d never let happen before. I didn’t just give her my boner. I gave her my heart. I fell in love with her. And, I soon learned my mistake.
She knew I was young, just out of school and hurled right into this life that was everything I’d ever imagined for myself. And, she knew just what a guy like me would want to hear. She knew that if I could get all the worship and adoration that the whole world seemed to be giving me from just one woman like her, it would be like taking a hard tackle and not being able to get up from it.
That’s what she did. She tackled me. Smashed me right into the turf. And while I was lying there, tackled and dazed, I found out what else she was doing now that she’d scored.
The pictures started showing up online, in the magazines, in the papers – the pictures of my “Marilyn” with me. She’d made deals with paparazzi behind my back. And, those piranhas with the cameras got what they wanted: not only shots of the two of us out together, but shots of what should have been the two of us in private together. She’d finagled it so that they could snap us at the beach, at the pool, in the hot tub, tanning out on a deck, even sneaking off together at parties. It was a miracle that my dick somehow didn’t end up all over the Internet. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a player in a spectator sport; I was a spectator sport.
I felt tackled all over again, but not in a good way. Loving my body and my cock was one thing. Pumping my fame for money, pimping me out to paparazzi behind my back and taking a cut for herself...that was another. When I finally pulled myself up from the turf, I walked away from this tackle alone.
That was my one and only brush with love. From then to now, I got my priorities settled. Giving up pussy was definitely not an option; I loved sticking my dick in beautiful women too much. But, after that fiasco, I went back to that and that alone. The women came flying at me again when they learned I was available. And, I kept intercepting every pass.
Now, though, I kept my defense up. No more vulnerability, on or off the field. It was one date, then right to bed. Fuck ‘em good, fuck ‘em hard, fuck ‘em all night – and in the morning it was goodbye. The woman and I both got something out of it. I got pussy, which I loved more than anything else. She got the experience of being fucked by an NFL quarterback who was, as I’ve been told many times, one of the hottest men in pro sports. And the next morning, we both climbed out of bed as winners.
That was my rule, and I was sticking with it. I’d stick with it even though Bama was the head cheerleader and the hottest woman on the squad, bar none. I’d stick with it in spite of the fact of how good it had been.
I was buzzing drunk, and I assumed she was drunk, too, but that didn’t change the fact that when I slid my cock into Bama, her pussy felt better than any I’d had since my blonde tackler. Booze dulls and clouds your mind, for sure, but the way it felt fucking Bama burned the clouds away from the first thrust to the squirting of my cream when I came. I’d never had it like that.
And, I’d probably never have it like that again because I had no intention of an encore. My own rule, more firm than the rule we had on the team, was in place and it wasn’t moving. I would never, ever let myself be tackled again. One woman had used me one time. From now on, the “using” would take place only in bed. Or, wherever I happened to fuck someone, including penthouse bathroom sinks.
Understanding the rule, I climbed out of bed, boner and all, and headed for my shower. I had a game to play today – the biggest game of my life.
_______________
Long story short, we won the Super Bowl.
Let me repeat that. We won the fucking Super Bowl! We were the champions of the world. It might never happen again, but it happened today. The Dallas Rangers won the goddamn Super Bowl!
As you’d expect, things got ridiculous. We’d won it, and we’d won it on our own home turf. The fans in Dallas went nuts, jumping out of their seats and throwing things. The noise of the screaming went right through you. It was like what religious people talk about, “making a joyful noise.” Except they weren’t making a joyful noise for the Lord. This joyful noise, which sounded like all the noise in the world, was for us. And it’s fair to say some of it was for me.
I looked up into the stands and watched all those jumping, screaming, hollering people, throwing things down at the field, and felt thousands of eyes on me, and multiplied those thousands of eyes in the stands by the millions of people at home.
I listened to all that screaming, and it fell down on me like a warm rain. I felt drenched in all those people’s love. I started playing football and wanted to turn pro for the love of the game. But if I’m honest, one of the things I loved best about the game was what I was getting from those people as I stood on that field as the quarterback who’d led my team to the world championship. No matter what else I did in my life, I’d always be a winner of the Super Bowl.
It was the only thing in the world that had ever felt nearly as good to me as sex.
With that thought, I looked back across the field to the cheerleaders, jumping up and down in celebration of our triumph, shaking their pom poms – shaking things besides their pom poms. Hugging each other. Hugging my teammates.
One of them was Bama, with her friend Kira nearby as she most often was. Bama and Kira laughed and hugged each other, and when one of my teammates came near, they threw their arms around them, too. There were laughs and whoops and leap
s, and some of my teammates picked up cheerleaders and swung them around, carried them around the field in their arms or on their shoulders. Everyone was congratulating everyone else.
While I stood there dazed by what I’d just accomplished and bombarded by the uproar of joy all around me, I kept seeing Bama pausing during the merry-making and wondered what she was thinking.
Every time my eyes fell on her, my mind flashed on the memory of going into the bathroom last night. I hadn’t even gone into the bathroom for that, but there she was, and the impulse took hold of me. I completely forgot about what I was there for, and did what my big Long Island iced tea and my big long dick told me to do.
Even caught up in our victory the way everyone was, I was reliving what happened in the penthouse bathroom, just like I’d relived it when I woke up this morning. And now, for some reason, I couldn’t help wondering if Bama had relived it, too.
She must have gone back to it in her own mind, just as I did in mine. That’s the way women are, even more than men. I couldn’t count the number of women I’d fucked, and I couldn’t count the number of women who wanted me to fuck them again. It wasn’t ego. It was my life.
She must know my reputation, I thought. Everyone talked about it. Everyone knew Barrett Porter was a one-night, no-regrets kind of guy. If there was any trace of regret about what happened with Bama, it was only that I’d done it to her in a bathroom and not in my bed and I’d only done it to her one time instead of all night long. But, that was all. It happened, I loved it, I could tell she loved it, and it was over. And if she asked me, I’d confirm it for her.
That was my last thought before the press and their cameras came charging onto the field, holding up their microphones and lights, shouting questions. The coach pulled me away and out of my thoughts to talk to them. The press would be all over us as we left the field and went into the showers and the locker room. But before we got off the field, I knew I’d get my moment in front of a camera with someone asking me what I’d do now that I’d won the Super Bowl, and I’d give the standard answer: “I’m going to Disney World.”