“Team medic reports quote injuries due to combination blue balls and stubbing dicks against steel jocks unquote.”
“Victor?” The Coach turned to me. You re supposed to be the expert. I can’t afford those kind of injuries. What’s going to happen when we play a real game?”
I was saved from having to admit I had no answer when the s.a.c. came flying into the room. “Coach! Coach!” He was very agitated. “Come quick! There’s a fuckin’ riot in the shower room!”
“What kind of riot?” the Coach wanted to know as we all followed the s.a.c. back towards the shower room.
“A fuckin’ riot, Coach. I told you.”
It was an accurate description. When we reached the shower room, there was a riot going on as well as some spectacular fucking. Both elements seemed to emanate from a hub which consisted of Terry Niemath, Nuke Outlaw, Luther the halfback, and redheaded linebacker Freck Foley.
Terry was on her hands and knees, her long, tanned, sinuous, naked body all slippery and shiny with soapsuds and drops of water. The way she was crouching, her large breasts with their bright red berry nipples swung athletically while her plump, sculpted, pink-clefted ass stuck up high in the air. Just below it, in her wide-stretched pussy, Nuke Outlaw’s donkey-size dong was pushing in and out with a rapid rhythm that threatened to split her luscious body in half.
Luther the halfback and Freck Foley were kneeling in front of Terry and attempting to push both their cocks at once into her wet, greedy, red-lipped mouth. Her tongue was extended full-length to lick the undersides of each of their scrotum sacs in turn. Her expression managed to be ravenous and blissful at the same time.
On either side of Terry there was an unconscious football player. Each of them had a slow-dying erection and a large, purple bruise where his jaw should have been.
As we stood staring in the doorway to the shower room, Nuke let out a bellow, slammed his cock hard all the way into Terry’s tight—-but oily and clutching quim, and threw a downward punch that caught Luther flush on the jaw. The halfback toppled like a tree and lay behind the other two downed players as Nuke proclaimed his property deed: “Terry is my girl!”
“Y’all shut up an’ keep fuckin’,” she told him. “I ain’t nobody’s girl! I’m a woman an’ the only one whose woman I am is my own!” She signalled to a waiting player to replace Luther.
“No!” Nuke swung and missed.
“Ooh! Sugah! That felt so good!”
Just beyond the two stiff pricks that Terry was sucking, a pair of guards were slugging it out to be next. Beyond them, other soapy, naked players were arguing and struggling to establish their places in line. There were three or four more unconscious bodies strewn around the shower room. Closest to us, defensive linebacker Simon Sabbath was trying to beat up a weak safety named Bubba Weaver. Although Simon had a good fifty to sixty pounds on Weaver, the weak safety was managing to dodge his punches easily. The reason for this was that Simon was fighting one-handed, his other hand forming a firm protective shield over his groin.
“Grinder!” Coach enlisted the aid of Grinder Meade, a black defensive tackle who was almost as large as Nuke Outlaw. “Help me break this up.” Coach was trying to get a handle on the overall situation, and Grinder was closest.
The Coach, the two assistants, and Grinder managed to separate Simon Sabbath and Bubba Weaver. Both players stood naked and panting as the Coach faced them down. Bubba, dwarfed by Grinder and Simon, had an impressive hard-on.
“I’ll kill him!” Simon Sabbath was in tears.
“Why?” the Coach asked.
“He tried to stick his-his-—in my—my-—”
“He came right over to me and turned around and faced the shower room wall and wagged his ass,” Bubba Weaver said. “I was provoked.”
“I wanted to get as far as possible from that depravity!” Simon pointed dramatically at Terry licking the two sets of prick-and-balls by turn as she slammed her ass back and forth on Nuke’s embedded cock. The look on her face was sheer bliss. “I turned around because I didn’t want to look at that Jezebel seducing my poor, flesh-tempted teammates.”
“You saying you didn’t wiggle your butt at me?” Bubba Weaver demanded.
“I always move like that. Serpentine. Evasive action. I trained myself to do it reflexively.”
“Why?” the Coach demanded. “You’re a defensive linebacker, Sabbath, not a ball carrier. Why should you be practicing offensive moves?”
“I don’t always want to play defense, Coach. I want to better myself.”
“Better yourself?”
“What he means, Coach,” Grinder explained drily, “is that offense gets paid better—which is probably why most of the brothers get stuck on defense.”
The Coach leaned over to Grinder and spoke in a low voice. “You think that one tried to stick his pecker in his bunghole?”
“Sure he did.”
“Why?”
“Old Bubba’s gay. Everybody knows that. He don’t keep it a secret. Waggin’ your ass at him like Simon did is just askin’ for it.”
We were distracted by the sound of two loud, crunching punches. Nuke was holding his fists up threateningly. In front of Terry’s now empty mouth there were two more unconscious bodies with slow-dying erections. “My woman!” Nuke was bellowing as his balls slapped hard against Terry’s hot-flushed and quivering ass and he prepared to come.
“Why is that tackle decking all my players?” Coach demanded.
Rhino explained about Terry rooming with Nuke. “Now he thinks she’s his property,” he concluded.
“I’ll put a stop to that!” Coach was firm.
“How?” I was curious.
“Outlaw and Niemath won’t room together any more. And, if he insists, I’ll suspend him. Don’t worry. Outlaw wants to play. He’ll fall into line.”
“Who is going to room with Terry?” I wondered.
“You’re some sex expert, Victor!” the Coach snorted at me. “That’s easy. And it solves the problem, too. The question is, why didn’t you think of it?”
“Think of what, Coach?”
“Having Terry Niemath and Bubba Weaver room together. He’s gay. Gay! Get it, Victor? No lech for women. Gay! Ergo, no problem!”
“Ergo!” I echoed, keeping any doubts I might have had to myself.
“Now, let’s break up this scene,” Coach ordered.
“How?”
“Throw cold water on them.”
And that’s what he did. He and the two assistants turned on the ice cold water full blast on all the showers. The fights and arguments tapered off. Finally even Terry screamed and achieved her icy orgasm. As she and Nuke finally uncoupled, Coach asked a question. “How did this start?” he demanded.
“It was my fault, Coach,” Terry admitted. “Sorry.”
“I guessed you provoked it. What I’m asking is how?”
“I dropped the soap.” Terry smiled her Cheshire smile. “I dropped the soap and when I bent down to pick it up, the orgy began.”
Events moved quickly after that. For one thing, the Whittier Stonewall cheerleaders arrived on the afternoon bus. They were not happy to learn that a member of their sex had been signed as a team quarterback. They went en masse to protest to the Coach. “Mr. Steve Victor deals with all matters having to do with sex and so forth,” he told them. “See him.” So they descended on me.
Their spokesperson was Buffy Smith, a brown-haired girl-next-door type with all-American breasts. “Two-four-six-eight, this we don’t appreciate,” she informed me. “Boys play football. Girls are cheerleaders. If you let a girl play footbal, then a boy might want to be a cheerleader. What about that?”
“There are lots of male cheerleaders,” I reminded her.
“Not on the Whittier Stonewalls cheerleading squad.”
“I should think you’d be glad to see a woman open up new horizons.”