Message-ID: <26508asstr$969919808@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: rjnp@my-deja.com (Rui Jorge) X-Original-Message-ID: <39cfb333.754020@news.telepac.pt> Reply-To: rjnp@my-deja.com NNTP-Posting-Date: 25 Sep 2000 20:23:23 GMT Subject: {ASSM} 'Write Club' duel - Father Ignatius vs Jack of All Trades Date: Mon, 25 Sep 2000 18:10:08 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, newsman Write Club Duel Duellists: - Father Ignatius (FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com) - Jack of All Trades (jackofalltrades@post.com) Referee: Rui Jorge (rjnp@my-deja.com) Special rules: None Challenge Words: - Jack: quadrangle, infatuated, catalytic - Nat: armchair, bridge pencil, toothpick - Rui: tragicomedy, ninja, squeal NOTE: The referee's decision can be found on ASSD. 'Write Club' site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Rui_Favorites/www/Write_Club/ ----- Expanding Julie's Sexual Horizons (MF oral anal toys voy<*>) (c)September 2000 Father Ignatius FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com When I first introduced Julie to my friend Jim (who is a right bitch and doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut), he made some witty little comment to me under his breath about "Mud-wrestlers always did do it for you, didn't they?" Julie has excellent hearing, as it happens, and so it wasn't far enough under his breath. She didn't let on to have heard him, though. With a completely neutral expression on her Victorian porcelain-doll face, she made as if to shake hands with him. When he put his hand in hers, she dislocated his thumb. I found this both scary and a major turn-on. Okay, she's a pretty meaty girl. She won a lot of swimming trophies at school, anchored the freestyle relay team and so on. She has big, full, swimmer's shoulders; a broad, firm swimmer's back; her narrow waist flares out to wide, womanly hips and well- rounded, well-muscled buttocks above long, powerful legs. And she has large, business-like breasts. She characteristically wears some sort of a sports top as well as a bra to give them extra support. They get most distractingly--and not only for her--in the way when she's working on a drawing-board. "Thank God for CAD stations," she says. I told you she looked like a Victorian porcelain doll, and so she does, and so she says it through a very curved Cupid's-bow mouth under a snub nose under laser-like icy-blue eyes under brown, old-fashioned bangs. Eyes like that make a man want to do things for a woman. That, and not getting his thumbs dislocated. When she walks into a room, people notice. I was completely infatuated. The first time we had sex I discovered that she wasn't shy to tell me what she wanted. We spent Saturday afternoon together and were fooling around on the sofa after dinner. I had unbuttoned her shirt, revealing her ample frontage and was kissing her neck and the upper slopes of her ample breasts. When I started tickling their undersides, she came to a decision and stood up, lifting me to my feet. She shrugged the shirt onto the floor, took me by the hand and, reaching up behind her back to unhook her bra as she walked, led me into my bedroom. She dropped the bra on the floor and, turning to me, pulled me onto her front as she lay back on the bed. I burrowed like a happy puppy into her abundance and, in the following ecstatic minutes, worked my way from her glorious mouth down to her navel and below. Rubicon time. I edged the waistband of her tracksuit trousers down a cautious, gentlemanly half-inch, and licked politely. I felt the firm fingers of a firm hand close round the top of my skull and felt my face pushed further down her belly and further towards it. She lifted her buttocks off the bed as I straightened up to draw the trousers down to her thighs and then she lifted her feet off the bed to let me pull them off entirely, to drop them unregarded on the floor. I bent down again to business, to her pale yellow lacey panties that half-revealed the whorls of her brown pubic hair pressed back behind that dainty barrier. The hand appeared on top of my skull again and I felt my nose pressed firmly into service. Side to side we slowly went, to start with, and, after a sudden, sharp gasp from Julie we then up and down for a while, more gently. Finally, the team worked up to a little circular motion one way for my face and the other for her pelvis that made her breathe deep and fast. Abruptly, she caught her breath, lifted my face from her and again lifted her buttocks from the bed. I pulled the stained, soaking panties down her legs, leaving a trail of moisture down one thigh, past her ankles and heels and tossed them into oblivion. I bent again to her crotch but she grunted "Mm-mm" and closed her legs. I looked up at her face and she took my cheeks and jaw in her two hands and lifted me up her body, my eager cock straining in my jeans into the valley between her thighs until the tip butted into her curls. I felt her lift the hem of my tee-shirt and pushed up to let it free, lifting one arm and then the other to allow her to pull it off as our crotches ground eagerly together. Her hand in my back pulled me down again and her hand behind my head pushed my face into her broad shoulder. I felt her hands push in between us, beneath my belly. Her fingers slipped under the waistband of my jeans and met inside my underpants, either side of my frantic, imprisoned cock. I felt her thumbs undoing the single metal waist-button and then thumbs clamped fingers as she undid my zip in one smooth movement of pulling apart the fabric either side. With a "zip" sound, believe it or not. And pulled my underpants and jeans down around my thighs. My cock flopped eagerly out and burrowed into her crotch. I felt her thighs open under mine, felt her belly muscles contract under mine, her pelvis swivelled and her hands, under my buttocks, were pushing me firmly into her. "In," she said. I did it. Her hands moved to the underside of my rib-cage and her thighs gripped my pelvis and, between them and her, she set the rhythm she wanted, which was brutal. "Harder," she grunted, teeth clenched. I did it. I gripped her shoulders, swung back, swung forward and, impelled by her firm hands, thrust hard into her. She pushed me back and together we swung me forward again, encouraging me to wild, back-to-teenager thrusting, revelling in the honey feel of my cock sweeping roughly back and forth up her toned, gripping cunt, rushing and tumbling towards a hasty, inelegant, animal, glorious, shared, fun eruption of pleasure. The zip was never the same again and I eventually replaced the jeans and learned to get them off quickly myself when she got that look in her eye. But we always did much the same thing, in missionary position. Eventually, I made an elaborately casual remark about expanding her sexual horizons. She didn't say anything but looked thoughtful and uncharacteristically uneasy. * * * My casual remark had been catalytic, I eventually discovered. Eventual enlightenment began the next time I went to her flat to take her to the movies. I rang the bell a few times without getting any response. I eventually delivered a brisk, last-try rat-a-tat on the door-knocker. The door swung violently open and there stood Julie. She was naked except for stereotype-teenage-fantasy black fishnet stockings, stereotype-teenage-fantasy suspender belt and stereotype-teenage-fantasy strappy, red high- heels. I gaped. "Don't just stand there!" she snapped, "Do you want the whole neighbourhood to see me like this?" Her hand shot out. Two powerful fingers got into the waistband of my jeans behind my belt-buckle and she yanked. I disappeared, pubis first and still gaping, into her doorway like... like... Well, not a cork into a bottle. But you know what I mean. The door slammed behind me. The whole neighbourhood, at my guess, would have been fascinated to see her. While I carried on with the gaping, my cock got into the business of reacting to Julie's (I madly supposed) movie-going outfit. Her fingertips noticed my response and she smiled fondly and cupped her other hand under my balls, encouraging further action unlikely to lead to the movies. This made me nervous; she doesn't do fond smiling. She was acting a little bit off in other ways, too. She gave me a sweet, sweet smile--the first on record--and a deliciously memorable kiss, gentle as cigarette smoke. She usually kissed me as if she were attacking grapefruit. I noticed when she did it that we stood exactly eye-to-eye because of the high-heels. She smelled nice but not of perfume--which she didn't wear--but of something familiar but half-remembered. She backed down the passage into the living room, pulling me by my belt-buckle and, well, my balls. By the time we got there, my cock was once more trying to get out of my trousers and movies, I hoped, prayed, were off the agenda. She yanked the end of my belt out of the buckle and got down to dragging my nether clothing off. "Shoes off" she said. I did it, standing on the back of one with the toe of the other foot and wrenching my feet clear, the way it freaked my mom out when i did it on her budget as a kid. By the time I was barefoot, my jeans and pants were shackling me and I stumbled out of them hastily as Julie pulled my tee- shirt over my head. There was another whiff of the familiar, elusive odour. In no time, I was bare as a babe with my eager cock questing hungrily around, dragging me behind, in the direction of Julie. "Eager-beaver," said that little, irreverent internal voice that got me into such trouble before I learned not to let it out of my mouth. Hey, where's she gone? She hadn't gone anywhere; she had turned her back on me and bent forwards over the back of the armchair, gripping the arms in her hands, hair flopping down and obscuring her face. The high-heels lifted her just to the right height to allow her to do this; her lower belly nestled into the crumpling antimacassar. "I've been thinking about what you said about expanding my sexual horizons," came her slightly muffled voice as I leered at the marble roundness of her buttocks, the dark anal cleft, the suggestion of an anal opening, the glimpse of labia, the roughness of brown hair catching the light; the long, strong legs, held straight and plunging into the whore- sandals. "Start at the left." I pulled myself together. Got a grip on myself, you might say. Left? Left what? Next to the armchair, on the table, was a startling array of objects. A can of Crisco, courteously opened, standing on a housewifely Kleenex. A toothpick. A very thin. circular bridge pencil ("Hearts" noted the internal voice in tones of satisfaction). A regular, hexagonal, wooden pencil ("Staedtler HB" ticked off the internal voice). A quadrangular ballpoint pen, slightly thicker. A tiny little dildo--sort of pre-pubescent, I guess--I didn't know they came that small. "Trainer dildo" suggested the internal voice helpfully. Then a somewhat larger dildo, a gap and, finally, a really huge dildo. "To dream the impossible dream," hummed the internal voice, half to itself. And, finally, a whole box of Kleenex. All in a row, ends all lined up, equally spaced except for the gap. "Anal retentive?" suggested the internal voice. I realised in a rush that the gap was where my cock fitted into the series and what Julie expected of me. She was mysteriously patient and quiet. Looking back on it, that should have made me nervous, too. As it was, the bit I was thinking with was straining with renewed excitement and my brain only caught up much later. I dipped the toothpick into the Crisco and twiddled it in my fingers to get it thoroughly coated and bent to the wonderfully round, firm, strong buttocks. I eased them apart with thumb and forefinger. They tensed and resisted and I felt Julie's effort of will that relaxed them and allowed me to part them, revealing the puckered little rosebud of her ass-hole. I blew gently on it and watched it pull in and then relax like a sea-anemone when a diver swims past. A warning growl from the front of the armchair hastened me forward to my duty. I carefully introduced the toothpick a half-inch into her ass. It was too small for her to resist. I twiddled it again and was rewarded by a little gasp floating around the side of the chair. I transferred the toothpick from anus to Kleenex, generously Criscoed-up the thin, round little bridge pencil and pushed its rounded end firmly into the trying-not-to- resist rosebud. Twiddling it did nothing--it was too round--so I replaced it with the hexagonal Staedtler. This time, twiddling produced a squeal and the full hips writhed around on the back of the chair. Julie's knees bent for a fraction of a second and then resolutely straightened again. The quadrangular ballpoint was an even greater success. It was dildo time. The trainer dildo needed much more encouragement to go in than the writing implements had but once it was in it was obviously doing a much better job (pre-adolescents take heart) and I experimented for the first time with a back-and-forth motion. I had to put a hand on Julie's back to steady her but she writhed around so distractingly that I decided to skip the next dildo and get into action myself. I straightened and press my straining cock against the rosebud, holding her by the hips. She tensed and I felt the buttocks clamp closely and forbiddingly round the top of my cock. Encouraged, I pushed harder but, with a flicker of annoyance, she clamped harder. I bet you didn't know buttocks could clamp with a flicker of annoyance. Well, they can. "Crisco," said Julie. Ah, yes. I did it, my cock luxuriating in the lubricated touch of my fingers and palms. This time, I pressed firmly but patiently but relentlessly and eventually the relaxation came and I was able to force my cock slowly, slowly in. The tight band of her sphincter travelled slowly up my cock until it was firmly clamped round the very root as--gasping, eyes closed, head flung back, naked toes sliding slightly on the carpet, Crisco'd fingers slipping as I grasped her hips--I strained to get one more millimetre further inside her. * * * At this point, I later worked out, she must have fallen asleep. The intensely pleasurable gripping sensation around the base of my cock transformed into an intensely painful, much more powerful grip. "Ow! Ease up!" I said. No response. "Please?" "Please! Julie! You're hurting me!" No response. A gentle snore--yes, by God, a snore!-- drifted around the armchair. And there I stood, trapped. Horniness drained away but the blood in my cock didn't; it had no way to get out. As the minutes ticked by, it seemed to me that my trapped cock grew within her and pleasurable throbbing gave way to painful throbbing. Julie gave a little grunt and made, I guess, a turning-over-in-bed motion. For the sake of my un-conceived children I grabbed her firmly, Crisco-slippery, and held her onto the top of the chair. The hideous force of the clamping band eased momentarily but, before I could react, clamped down again double-hard. She slumped a bit further forward as she settled, raising me helplessly to tip-toe. I started to sweat. I grabbed the chair either side of her hips, heedless of Crisco marking the fabric, grateful for the greater friction with which to hold her steady. "Julie! Julie! Wake up!" I prodded her butt frantically. Not a hope. She was really out, drugged almost. How could this be? I braced my knees and pulled, trying to walk backwards on toe-tip. No change. I tried harder, recklessly throwing my torso back to get a bit of momentum. Ow! Don't try that again. I pulled back as hard as I could without jerking. The chair slid back across the carpet, loaded legs digging into the pile. Great. Really great. I put the heels of my hands on the back of the chair and pushed back, doing vertical press-ups on the chair-back. Nada. Harder. Julie slid a little bit back over the chair, to her original position. This was progress; I could get my heels onto the floor again. With a little sigh, she slipped back again, remorselessly pulling me to tip-toe once more. Damn and blast. I looked about for inspiration and caught sight of myself reflected in the flat's picture window that used to look out over Table Bay. I looked ridiculous: obscured (mercifully) from pubis down by Julie and the chair, I stood teetering with arms thrown back for balance looking (would you believe?) worried. I looked exactly what I was--a man with his cock trapped in the butt of a slumbering Juno. Well, at least it can't get worse, I thought, admiring the tragicomedy. Just then, it got worse. My gaze travelled through my reflection and focussed on the newer block of flats that is the reason Julie's flat doesn't look out over Table Bay any more. A family of interested tourists from Gauteng was gathered on the passageway leading from the lifts to the kitchen door of their hired holiday home (that does, on the other side, look out over Table Bay). Right now, they were finding me a lot better value than the view they'd paid for. "Vanderbijlpark can't offer anything like this," you could hear them thinking. Well, I should bloody well hope it can't. As I watched, aghast, the mother chivvied the under- age daughter indignantly through the kitchen door, followed her in and banged the door righteously. The father and the near-grown-up son continued to be rivetted, with idiot grins pasted over the front of their moron heads. After the briefest possible interval, the net curtain of a bedroom window flicked aside and the wide-eyed daughter returned unimpeded to her gaping. The mother, for her part, materialised discreetly in the kitchen, thin-lipped with self- righteous, wouldn't-miss-it-for-the-world disapproval. Her neighbours were certainly going to get chapter and verse on life in the decadent Cape when she got back home to Gauteng. And every second that passed, my poor captured cock got more and more and more painful. My dratted internal voice was making smart-arse remarks about dogs gnawing off their legs to escape traps when Julie snorted, raised herself up on her arms and looked about her, dazed. She obviously had no clue where she was. "Julie! For God's sake..!" She didn't seem to hear me. But, at least, she stood up. My heels greeted the floor once again, with affection. "Julie! Hey, Julie!" No dice. She shook her head, to clear the sound of dream voices, maybe, and obviously regretted it. "Ooooh, shit." she said and, gripping her head in her hands, strode off--in such a way, I have to tell you, that I formed the opinion that she'd completely forgotten she was wearing unaccustomed high-heels-- down the passage to her bedroom. Guess where I went? Yelping in pain and horrible anticipation of pain, I had an instant crash course in how to march in lockstep with stumbling stiletto heels. All in all, I did rather well: I only got a stiletto heel--driven by the full weight of this mysteriously groggy, drunk- stumbling hefty woman--onto my toes three times. At my three corresponding screams of agony, she gasped in pain and clasped her head afresh but otherwise behaved as if I wasn't there, Rather an insult, really, I've since thought, when I had leisure to consider. She dragged me into her room and, like an exhausted long-distance swimmer who has gone out too fast too soon, she "dragged the piano" (i.e. me) into the final lap and gratefully threw herself face-down onto her bed. I was painfully yanked with her and flipped forward as she crashed. Ow! And a split-second later, the teeth of my upper jaw met her skull with an explosion of blinding pain. Double, triple ow! Jesus bloody buggering Christ! Pity my top lip was in the way. There was a spatter of applause and a derisive cheer from outside the window. When I could again open my tear-spurting eyes I saw that the bedside light was on. Beyond the net curtain I dimly saw the Gauteng tourists had moved up to follow the show. The daughter was in the next bedroom, the mother had moved into the bedroom she'd just vacated and the two men had moved up the balcony. They rested their elbows on the parapet, hands hanging, watching the afternoon's entertainment as placidly as if it were a circus act on television. At least I could fix that. As I reached over to flip the switch of the bedside light I saw a near-empty bottle of sherry by it on the bedside table. She'd won it in a raffle. Didn't drink the stuff. It had been standing around unopened for months. As the room plunged into merciful darkness--eliciting a cheated groan of protest from the peanut gallery--I identified at last the elusive odour Julie was putting out: Bertram's Extra Dry Sherry. Julie, normally abstemious, had most of a pint of sherry in her. Calming herself for my expansion of her sexual horizons, no doubt. Pity her anal sphincter obviously wasn't calmed enough to expand. Hell, blast and double damnation. No wonder she was out. She was going to have the mother of all hangovers when she eventually came round. Serve her right, the bloody bitch, I thought vengefully. Me and my big mouth. I wasn't in a position to do much but at least I could kick myself, which I did. "The drink went to her head when she bent down?" said the internal voice helpfully. I shushed it. The pain in my cock was now beyond unbearable, to say nothing of my other wounds. I lay on Julie in what, normally, would have been a highly erotic position--nothing is sexier, I believe, than firm, round buttocks nestled into the lower belly--wondering frantically what to do. I wasn't well-placed for icy calmness but eventually I bethought myself of the shower. An icy cold shower was exactly what we both needed, in the worst way. Particularly the slumbering Julie, I thought bitterly. It was only a matter of getting there. I lay there contemplating a variety of bizarre ninja manoeuvres to achieve this but eventually I realised that it was a choice of carrying this Juno into the shower or dying of blood loss--merciful, merciful blood loss--following the regrettable explosion of my cock. If I could slide her gently half-off the bed with her knees on the floor, I could get enough leverage to lift her and all would be well--relatively well, anyway. If she slid past to point of no return and flopped onto the floor, I might as well be nailed to the floor by my scrotum until dead. I pulled experimentally. Ow, ow, bloody ow. That wasn't going to work. I rolled her to one side, got one arm around her waist, rolled back, pushed up with the other arm and, in exquisite agony, anti-humped her--you should pardon the expression--slowly backwards towards the edge of the bed. She slumberingly resisted every inch of the way while I sobbed and swore and gritted my teeth. When her knees went over the edge of the mattress, she suddenly went of her own accord and I was left with my fingernails clawing at the bedclothes like a cat being Velcroed off the sofa, trying to stop her before she pinned me to the floor for the rest of my short, unnatural life. Stiletto-stamped toes shrieking in protest, I stopped her at the last moment and, after a deep breath and a prayer (that God has a sense of humour) I braced myself on my wounded feet and, clasping her with both arms, humped her--this time you need not pardon the expression--to the door of the shower. God, she was a weight. As we reeled through the door my shoulder struck the light switch and a fluorescent light flickered horrifyingly to life. A crow of delight and some spontaneous applause indicated that the Gauteng Fan Club hadn't given up hope that we'd be re- illuminated before the show was over. I was beyond caring now and staggered grimly forward on my very last reserves of strength. I lifted her triumphantly over the sill of the shower cubicle and God--who does, it turns out, have a sense of humour--arranged for her heels to catch and over we went, twisting as we fell. Always the gentleman, I broke her fall with my body, smashing my head gallantly on the tiled wall in the process. Appreciative whistling came from the balcony opposite. When the flashes of light behind my eyelids eventually flicked out, I fought to roll Julie over on her front and, as she hung from my poor, abused cock, I kneeled and wrenched the cold tap with all the force I could muster. I was deluged in freezing, stinging water. So was Julie. She screamed angrily and threw her head back. This time my lower lip paid the price and got between ny teeth and her skull. "Fuck!" she screamed, not knowing where she was. "Fuck!" I mumbled resentfully, clasping my abused face. She realised fast enough that she someone naked was lying on her nakedness, though, and smashed her elbows backwards at me. The anal sphincter crushed me tighter than ever and I felt a rib crack before I could grab her arms. "Jesus, Julie, it's me! Relax! Stop!" She swung her head round as far as it would go and recognised me. She didn't seem to take it as a relief. "What the fuck are you doing?" she screamed. "I'm broadening your fucking sexual horizons, you dizzy bitch. Now let me go." "Let you go?" I saw her on her face the reflection of her physical stocktaking. Sexual horizons? asked her face. "Oh." She blushed, for the first time on record. "Do it, dammit. Let me go. I'm dying here." Pause "I can't." "You can. Bloody do it." "I can't." Then the bloody woman started to giggle helplessly. I was about to get her attention by the famous hangman's-noose-executed-with-soap-on-a-rope trick when, at least, the giggling allowed her to relax and the horrible clamping eased up. I didn't wait but wrenched myself free, sobbing with relief. My cock was unrecognisably huge, shaped and coloured like an aubergine. Appreciative whistles filtered across from the next block of flats. I lay and cried for a very long time while the cold water beat down on my distressed manhood. "Oh, God," said Julie, "I feel sick." And she vomited copiously onto the shower floor. the sweet, sick smell of half-digested sherry chokingly billowed out through the shower stall. "Ag, sies!" cried the peanut gallery, fascinated and affronted. Time and water eventually helped. Julie, staggering to stand and see straight, tried to be solicitous but spoiled it by giggling and the turned worm drove her away with harsh words. Much, much later I got dressed again. My cracked rib hurt damnably, putting on my underpants was exquisitely painful--but marginally better than the prospect of zipping my cock if I didn't--and I couldn't get my damaged toes into my shoes. Julie asked me to stay but I wanted to get my head, my rib and my toes to a doctor. Driving was horribly painful too but not as hard to bear as the appreciative whistling and applause I got from the Gautengers as I limped across the car park. They playfully tossed me a can of Castle lager, as a sort of street-theatre tip, I suppose. Unfortunately, I was looking shamefacedly down and not up at my third- floor tormentors. They throw accurately in Gauteng and the can ricochetted off the bonnet of my new BMW and cracked the windscreen. "Ag, kak. O! Sorry, hey, man," came a Gauteng voice, followed--not a moment too soon--by the sounds of hurried withdrawal. And, yes, when the doctor saw my other wounds, he suspected I'd been mugged and insisted on me stripping completely. And yes, he then insisted on a full and complete explanation of my empurpled penis. And yes, he then failed in his manful struggle not to roll around on the floor laughing. He nearly made it but made the mistake of catching the nursing sister's eye and then they were both gone, snorting and trying to say, "I'm sorry" and then giggling off again while I stared patiently at the wall waiting unsuccessfully for the ground to open up under me. The news spread through the hospital like wildfire and I was escorted off the premises by a goggle-eyed escort of wheelchaired and ambulant patients and every member of staff who could find an excuse for walking, whispering, behind me--about a hundred per cent of them, I judge. * * * The zip on those jeans was never the same again, either. And, if I ever get another erection ever again (and I'm not betting on it) and it isn't exquisitely painful (and I don't believe it won't be) there'll be no more broadening of sexual horizons. It's the missionary position for me, preferably with someone the size of Allie McBeal. And I'm never eating aubergine again either. ----- ENDS - The Stories of Father Ignatius are at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/FatherIgnatius/www/Writing/ - I would be pleased to hear from you, at FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com, about whether or not you liked this story, and why. - Thank you for reading me. *********************************************** "Fake Out" (MF, Rom) by Jack of All Trades (jackofalltrades@post.com) "Down," I shouted. My offensive line set in their positions. I scanned the defense, the left defensive back was cheating towards the center of the field, tipping off that he was rolling to a zone defense. That meant the outside linebacker would be rolling into the flat to take the short out coverage. The play I had called would work against the defense they were throwing at us. "Yellow, 54Z, blast," I shouted to both sides of the line. Unless the color was red or black, the audible I called was a dummy. I looked into the eyes of the linebacker across the line. They gleamed with malevolence. "Hut! Hut!" The ball was slammed up into my hands by Jimmy Rogers, my center, the laces automatically in position across my fingers. I pivoted and faked a handoff to Lance Gaines, the tailback. Lance dived into the line and was tackled by the linebacker, taking both out of the play. I rolled to the right, my eyes scanning for a downfield receiver. Leon Bridges flashed open and I brought the ball up to throw. As I started my delivery I saw the defensive back recover and make up the ground to cover him. I was just able to hang onto the ball as I pumped and brought it back in. "Look out, TD," I heard shouted to my left. I felt more than saw the defensive end bearing down on me. I ducked, his hand clubbed me in the head as he passed by. My time had run out, my protection was collapsing. "Fire! Fire!" I shouted to Fran Dreschetti, my left guard and personal blocker on this play. Fran took off downfield as I followed him. It was fourth and eight on Munchauk's 15, 15 seconds had remained on the clock before this play started. I estimated that I had used up five so far. Fran peeled off and took out the defensive back on the outside. I cut toward the middle and was drilled in the ribs by the safety. Fortunately, he didn't wrap me up and I stumbled forward until I was smacked under the chin by another players helmet, standing me straight up. Another player slammed into my legs on my right at the same time as a linebacker drove into me high from the left. We all collapsed into a pile, my face planted firmly into the ground, the stripe of the five-yard line under my facemask, as the whistle blew to end the play. Dimly I could hear someone screaming "timeout" as the players began to climb off me. I was dazed and confused when the ref finally took the ball. Coach was on the sidelines waving me toward him frantically. "You okay, TD?" Fran asked, concerned. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. "Yeah," I told him then started over to coach. He looked at me funny for a second, turned and said something to the trainer. "TD, that's the last timeout. We've got five seconds left on the clock. We have to go for the end zone on this play." An acrid smell permeated my nostrils, I shook my head and glanced down. The trainer had popped an ammonia capsule beneath my zone to help clear my head. I nodded in response to coach and in thanks to the trainer. Coach Grant tapped his bridge pencil against the clipboard in his hand nervously. "I want you to roll toward the wide side of the field. Look for Leon on the quick post, if he's covered look for Harlon dragging underneath." "Okay, Coach." "Use trips left, and for Christ sake get the damn line to block. You almost lost your head on that last play." "Okay." I turned and ran back to the huddle. "Snap. This is it guys, block your ass off and we party, you screw up and were done, got it?" The offensive linemen nodded. "Okay, trips left, K roll, on one. Gus, don't let them get me." Gus Fortney, my right guard, nodded at me. "Ready, break!" We clapped hands in unison and ran to the line of scrimmage. The team took their positions. "Down! Green, 48Q, brush! Set!" The linebacker covering the center began inching toward the line, they were going to blitz. I hoped Jimmy could pick him up. "Hut!" The ball hit my hands, and I turned to roll toward my left. I glanced toward the line and saw Jimmy had checked the linebacker, so I had some time. Leon was covered. I pumped toward him anyway while I looked for Harlon only to find him covered too. Gus was out in front of me, looking for someone to block and ready to take off downfield. Lance came open for a step then tripped and fell, and I was out of options. "Fire, fire," I yelled to Gus. I took a step forward to get on his butt, the defensive back covering Leon changed direction to try to tackle me. Without thinking I zipped the ball Leon's way just as a helmet buried itself into my ribs. Cheering and pain were the next things to register in my brain. The cheering was more important. Gingerly, I got up my ribs aching fiercely, and saw Leon in the end zone holding the ball high. I looked for flags, there were none. Then Gus grabbed and lifted me into a bear hug that took my breath away. "You did it! You did it! Way to go, TD. National championships, here we come." He dropped me to my feet. "We did it, Gus," I told him when I could breathe again. Christ my ribs hurt. Leon was being pummeled by the rest of the team. I jogged over to the sidelines. I grimaced as coach yanked me into a hug. "Great throw. I knew you could do it." I glanced up at the stands, the crowd was cheering lustily and dancing wildly. I saw Cherie with the cheerleaders, tears in her eyes as she blew me a kiss. I had met her in the quadrangle the first day of my freshman year. She was fresh, innocent and gorgeous. I'm tall, dark and handsome. She was a cheerleader, I'm a quarterback. It was cliche, it seemed perfect. For four years it had been. "Way to go, TD," she squealed in her sexy cheering voice. How the hell could I break up with her tonight, after all this, after four years together? But I had to. I wasn't looking forward to that. The last thing I did was look at the scoreboard to confirm what I already knew. Shinington State 27, Munchauk State 26. We were conference champions and qualified for the Division two playoffs. The locker room was wild with players yelling and screaming. Jimmy was grinning from ear-to-ear, in his mouth the toothpick he always was chewing on since he quit chewing snuff. "Great game, TD. You coming to the Kappa Sig party tonight?" "Yeah, I guess." "Great. Gonna be a hell of a bash. Too bad you're hooked to Cherie, you'd have your pick of any woman on campus tonight." "Yeah." I grabbed a towel and headed toward the showers. My ribs still ached, and now I had a headache to go with it. I showered, dried off, and headed back to my locker. Cal Bennet, the trainer was waiting on me. "You okay, TD?" he asked. "Yeah. My ribs hurt and I've got a headache, but I'm okay." "Let me just check to make sure." He took out a flashlight and shined it into my eyes. Then he began probing around on my ribs until I winced. He handed me two tablets. "Doesn't feel like anything's broken. Probably bruised pretty good though. You tell Cherie to take it easy on you tonight," he laughed. "Take those ibuprofen and see me when you wake up. I'll be at the field house." "Okay." I dressed in my pullover shirt and jeans. My chin hurt too, I forgot to tell Cal about that. It didn't really matter, there wasn't much treatment you could do for a sore chin. I tossed my bag of sweaty clothes into the laundry bin as I headed out of the locker room. "See you tonight, TD, some of my teammates called after me. Cherie was waiting for me outside the door. I knew she would be. "You were great, TD." "Thanks." "We going to the Kappa Sig party?" I shook my head. "Cherie, we need to end this, it isn't working. I think it would be best if we broke up." She stared at me with her mouth hanging open in surprise. "You. you bastard," she screamed, her hand flashed out and caught me flush against the cheek. Her eyes gleamed hotly at me. "You aren't that hot shit, Tony Dominici. I can't believe you'd do this. Shit," she said softly, then buried her head in her hands. Around me teammates and others were staring at us. "I'm sorry." "Yeah you are. I don't know why I stuck with you. You aren't even that good in bed. I faked half of it." That hurt. "Look, there's no need to get personal." "Hah! You started this shit. It's all about personal. You think I'd just walk away like a good little girl, you've got another thought coming." I started walking away from her and the Tragicomedy of our relationship. "Don't you walk away from me, you bastard. I'm not done!" But I was. I listened to her voice become more and more shrill until I climbed into my car. The car had been a gift from my father when I broke the school record and passed for 3,000 yards my senior year in high school. I went back to the athletic dorm and rested for a bit. I really didn't want to go to the Kappa Sig party and risk another confrontation with Cherie, but I had promised. Reluctantly, I went. The party was in full swing, and much to my relief, Cherie was nowhere in sight. I gravitated toward the kitchen and the keg, accepting congratulations along the way. I talked with friends and teammates while we drank a few beers and caught a good buzz. The beer got rid of the headache that the ibuprofen couldn't kill. Larry came into the kitchen all excited. "You should see the bitch that just got here, man. She's hot, got a body that will knock you out." "Is that right," I smiled at him. "Yeah, hey listen, I saw you and Cherie break up, you mind if I try for her?" "I'd give her a few days to settle down. I don't think she's going to be in a loving mood for a while." "You got that right, she was still screaming at you when you drove away. But it won't bother you?" "Nope. I'm comfortable with how things are." "Good, you better check that woman out before someone grabs her." I headed into the living room. Someone had already grabbed her and was dancing with her. I found a vacant armchair and collapsed into it while I watched her moves. She was dressed all in black, like a ninja. Her body was lithe and moved in ways that would make a dead man hard. She was simply gorgeous. Black hair, her lips a deep red, long black fingernails graced her hands. I quickly became infatuated with her. She danced for maybe fifteen minutes, all fast tunes, her body gyrating wildly in concert with her partner. I wanted her desperately when she was through, just like every other man in the room. I went back to the kitchen, got two beers, and came back to the room. She was talking to her dance partner about an economics class. She didn't look familiar, I couldn't recall ever seeing her before on campus. I handed a beer to her, she looked at me curiously while her partner glared at me. "Thanks," she said, turning to talk to me. Dance guy glared one last time then went off. "What's your name," she asked. Her voice was soft as velvet. It felt like a gentle caress. "Tony Dominici, but my friends call me TD." Her eyes narrowed. "You play ball." "Yeah, a little." "I'm not enamored of jocks." Christ, this wasn't supposed to be this hard. I thought it would be a sure thing. Now I was going to have to work. "I'm not fond of them myself, actually. But they tend to hang around the football field." She threw back her head and laughed, it was as pure a sound as I had ever heard. Cherie could laugh like that when she tried, but she hadn't tried much toward the end. I made up my mind to do whatever it took to get this woman. "A jock that doesn't like jocks, that's a first. Tell me jock, you any good at the game you play?" "I do all right." "Uh-huh. I'm very good at the games I play," she told me, licking her lips sexily. "And I play them all if I can find someone able to keep up with me. My name's Gretchen." "I'm pleased to meet you, Gretchen." "Hmmm, no obvious comeback at my double entendre, you sure you're a jock?" "Last time I checked." I watched her throat bob as she swallowed some beer. Everything she did was sexy. She looked at me appraisingly, then sat her beer down as if she'd made a decision. "You better not disappoint." She took my hand and led me toward the front door. "Where are we going?" I asked. "Someplace you'll be familiar with. You've got a car right?" "Right." "Give me the keys." "Look, I'm." "Give me the keys, or I go back inside and find someone else." I handed over the keys. "Good, you're doing well. Which one is it?" I pointed the car out to her. She walked over and got in the driver's side, pressing the button to unlock my side. I got in the car beside her. "Buckle up, I don't want anything bad to happen to you," she told me as she started the car. I was familiar with the town and the college, once we reached campus I knew she was heading for the football stadium. She didn't stop at the gates. Apparently the campus cleanup crew had forgotten to close them. She drove straight onto the field and parked at the fifty-yard line. "This is where you do your jock things?" she asked. "Yep." "We'll you're about to remember it for something else. Get out." I got out of the car and she did the same. I could smell the plastic melting on the Astroturf field from the heat of the catalytic converter. Gretchen smiled at me, then pulled her black pullover blouse over her head and tossed it away. Underneath was pale white flesh that glowed softly in the moonlight and breasts contained by a black bra. She kicked off her shoes, unhooked her slacks and wiggled out of them, revealing black French-cut panties. "You waiting for an invitation?" she asked. I quickly stripped down to my briefs. She smiled. "Them too," she demanded. I removed my briefs leaving my cock to bob in front of me in the cool night air. "Impressive," she commented, then unfastened her bra and let it drop to the turf. Jesus, they were gorgeous, coral pink nipples topped breasts that made my mouth water. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and slid them over her hips and let them fall to her feet. She was completely shaved and her lips glistened slightly in the pale moonlight. "If you catch me, you can fuck me," she said, then took off running. I chased her for ten minutes finally tackling her in the end zone. The heat of her body a bright contrast against the cool night air. "Fuck me," she moaned. My cock was rock hard as I aligned myself with her then slid inside. Her legs came up and wrapped around me. I grimaced as they squeezed my ribs, but hips moving in unison quickly distracted me from the pain. We both moaned at the pleasure. She rolled me over and took top, grinding herself against me in little circles until she shivered atop me. I took advantage of her and rolled over again, stroking franticly inside her. When she recovered she came back to me, arching into me with each stroke. "Fuck, fuck," she chanted with each stroke. I could feel myself getting close when she erupted under me, her body tight and hard as the tremors took her, and took me over as well. I stayed inside her until I couldn't support myself anymore. Then I collapsed beside her on the turf. She propped herself on an elbow and looked at me. "I imagine this might disrupt your concentration if you thought about it during the next game." "Just slightly." "Get dressed, we're going back to my place." We did, and for the rest of the night it was heaven. Her body responded to mine like we were made for each other. We collapsed into sleep sometime around 4 in the morning. I awoke beside her around 10 in the morning. She was awake, watching me, and smiled when I noticed. "You were great, that was the best ever." "You weren't faking it?" "Struck a nerve with that one, did I? I've never faked it, TD." "Good." "When you broke up with me, even though we planned it, it hurt. I was so mad at you I could barely get myself to come to the party." "Was it what you wanted?" "Oh, yeah. When I told you I hated jocks your face fell, it was priceless. The game was fun, but I don't think we'll play it again." "Good. I've got a game I want to play." "Seems fair. What is it?" "It's called marriage, will you marry me, Cherie?" She climbed onto me, planting her lips tightly to mine. "I'm not fond of jocks, but in your case I'll make an exception." "Forever," I whispered. "Forever," she agreed. ENDS -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+