Unspoken Pleasure

My name is Jenna and I couldn’t believe it when I learned I could make a date with a professional football player or coach — and we’re talking about a SERIOUS date. I found out from a friend who was positively glowing — and it was 24 hours later. You know, that happy glow that an experienced guy can give a girl.

So I asked her what had set her aglow and she said that a friend of hers would need to help me explore, but bottom line, you get to spend some quality time with a hunk. So I asked her, “Quality time as in ‘the whole nine yards’. And she just smiled and said, “Oh yeah.”

Here’s the thing. Since I was a young girl, I’ve thought that guy-butts in football uniforms are awesome. As a sexually curious student, college and high, I discovered that buff athletes are way more interesting to me that the guys on the debate team or most of the professors. So I have an ongoing fantasy about football players.

And here it was, out of the blue, a possible fantasy come true. As arranged by my friend, a woman named Patricia called me, verified that I was me, and said, “This is a very select, very hush program, informally approved by the team. Players who have a high need for, shall we say, ‘regular release’ can participate. We find that it keeps them closer to home in terms of focus on their football. Are you following me?”

“Yes,” I said seriously, “I’m following,” and my inner college slut was shouting, ‘WHOO-E-BABY, THIS IS COOL.’

“At 10:55 tonight, I will message you a link. You can access the site starting at 11:00. It will vanish at 11:30. We do view your participation as something of a community service, so you’ll find opportunities to state preferences. At this time, I simply need two affirmatives from you. Do you intend to participate and do you swear secrecy about any details of this program.”

“Yes and yes,” I said solemnly.

________________________

Needless to say, at 10:55 my fully charged phone and I were waiting impatiently at my desktop computer. The dinger dinged and I opened my message, then waited for a very long five minutes to be able to access the website.

The home page was cool looking and thanked me for participating in their Fan Appreciation Program, The next page included 15 guy-photos, all without shirts. 12 were players, including some names I had heard. They wore those wonderful uniform pants. Three were coaches, wearing brief athletic shorts. Nine black players, one black coach. It was like looking at a menu in the world’s greatest restaurant.

I decided I had time, so messaged my friend quickly, “I’m here, onsite, now. Is there a chance I can get invited back?” She replied right away, a laughing emoji and ‘I can’t reveal details, but YES!!!.’ I loved that answer. I had thought about the best looking of the white coaches, but decided a chance to fulfill a fantasy just couldn’t be passed up. My guy was 6’4″, 225 pounds — a tight end with a killer smile. Name was Quinten, called Quint. After clicking on his photo — actually, I clicked on the photo’s crotch — a note popped up. “Quint’s favorite outfit will be waiting for you on arrival. A football jersey with his name and number on it. NOTHING else will be needed. He enjoys playful wrestling and resistance against his seduction efforts.’

Damn, that was definitely enough to get this girl moist. I’m 5’3”, slender but nicely rounded, I’m told. So I assessed low odds that I would resist Quinten for long. I picked from a selection of three dates, the first available, ten days from now. I was given a favorite drink and appetizer menu, which didn’t exactly surprise me, as our team is known as a classy outfit. Well, it actually, did surprise me. Until the moment of their interest in my favorite drink, this seemed sexy and mysterious but a bit slutty. I was already talking myself into believing I could be a valuable part of the team — helping the players focus!

__________________

As you can imagine, the days passed slowly for me, and it was hard not to talk about it, but I kept my vows. In the bathtub, on game-day, I made sure that everything was fresh and clean and smooth, but I also laid my head back against the tub rim, and fantasized. The idea that I would soon be naked for Quint, #86, was delicious.

I arrived ten minutes early at the training facility, a huge complex in a west suburb, and drove along an access road at the very back edge of the complex. I entered a pass-code into a gate device, it opened, and there was a small parking lot ahead with the sign “Fan Appreciation.” I parked, entered the only available door, and found myself in a large room with hallways leading in every direction. A young man looked up and smiled a cute but knowing smile, “And who will you be appreciating tonight.” I couldn’t help smiling back. “I’ll be appreciating number 86.” He looked at a computer screen. “Yes, Jenna. That will be in Bravo 4, and he gestured to my left.

I remembered an important detail: “Where do I find my outfit?” He told me it was in the closet, just inside the Bravo 4 door. I walked down a long hallway with doors that began Bravo 1. I knocked on Bravo 4. The door opened and I was looking up into Quinten’s face. He smiled a dazzling smile and said, “No need to knock Sweet Jenna, you are welcome here.” I was deeply in love already.

I managed a reasonably cool, “It’s nice to meet you, Number 86,” which earned a deep manly chuckle and a smile and made me feel good. He opened the door to a huge walk-in closet. “You can suit-up here.” I was wearing a jogging suit, braless, but I had decided to wear my normal bikini panties as I was still not 100% sure that the website’s NOTHING meant commando. I slipped into the bright blue jersey and decided immediately that Quinten had never worn it. It fit me perfectly, and was SHORT, barely below my butt cheeks. I figured that he would know, soon enough, that I was still wearing panties, so could correct `me If I was wrong.

——————

Bravo 4 looked something like a small apartment, except that kitchen, sitting area, and bedroom were all visible to me from the entrance. The big difference was a full gymnastic mat adjacent to the bedroom. I wondered if all this could possibly be for the fan appreciation program and decided probably not. Maybe lodging for visiting referees or league officials?

We sat on opposite ends of the sitting-area couch, turned toward each other, sipping our drinks. and munching on Mozzerella sticks. He told me he had read my portfolio and he asked about my cheerleading career at my small Midwestern college. I admitted I knew more about basketball cheering than about football, but I did understand that ‘Hold that line’ meant they had the ball, and ‘First and ten, do it again,’ meant we had the ball. I also told him that I had studied up on the role of tight ends.

He smiled, “So what is the role of the tight end?”‘

“You can block like a lineman on running plays and block to protect the quarterback on some passing plays and’ catch passes like a receiver on other passing plays.” I looked at him hopefully.

He chuckled, but it seemed like a friendly chuckle. “And how many touchdown passes did I catch last year.”

‘Busted,’ I thought. I just smiled, brightly I hoped, “Lots and lots.”

That caused me to blush when he laughed out loud, but it seemed like we were getting along well. I definitely liked him, a laid back, easy charm that was really likable.

“You are a beautiful girl.”

“Thank you. You’re a beautiful guy.” Another warm laugh. I felt like I was on a roll.

“Great legs — a cheerleader’s legs but I couldn’t help noticing that you’re out of uniform.”

Of course, I wasn’t surprised that he knew, still it was embarrassing for some strange reason. “I wasn’t sure… should I… you, know… now?”

“It’s okay, I’ll handle it.” That casual comment sent a visual into my brain that caused my heart to beat faster. I decided to play bold.

“Maybe you won’t be able to, I’m pretty tough,”

He chuckled again, a deep rich laugh that was truly manly. “I’ll be impressed if you’re that tough. Ready?”

I got up, trying for a determined look, and headed straight toward the mat, aware again of how short my #86 jersey was. “Ready.”

I watched him unzip and remove the jacket of his sweatsuit, then pull down the pants, leaving him in very brief athletic shorts, V slit. It was a true OMG moment: chest and shoulders lean but chiseled, arms and legs with sharply defined muscles, not bulging, just powerful looking. Part of him was bulging, and I wondered how everything was staying inside the shorts.

I had done some homework by watching a couple MF erotic wrestling videos, so I knew enough to circle the mat a couple times, trying to look like a lady tiger ready to attack. I also knew that any chance I had depended on getting my hands, or my mouth, on his manhood, which can cause guys to lose focus on fighting.

When we quit circling and closed in on each other, I tried to find a way to get to his shorts, but he collected both my wrists in one giant hand and used his lower leg to take my legs out from under me. I landed on my butt on the mat, and he smoothly laid me flat on my back, my arms stretched over my head. I could feel the hem of my jersey at my waist. “Oh, man,” I groaned, “I wasn’t ready for that.” I twisted and squirmed, but could find no way to escape his grip. I was looking up into eyes obviously enjoying the moment, but warm, almost gentle.

His other hand was suddenly on my stomach, lightly caressing as it slid under the jersey and up to my breasts. He cupped me with the giant hand, then teased me with his palm, and finger-teased my nipple. Then he shifted to my other breast, teasing me, then back and forth. I knew that round one was about over for me. “No, stop, stop,” I whispered hoarsely, twisting and writhing, but I I realized that every twist and turn just increased the sensations in my breasts.

I felt his hand sliding down my stomach, into my panties, pausing to tease my clit, then two fingers were in me, My back arched, hips way off the mat, actuallly searching for more contact with his fingers. He went deeper, I spread myself for him wider, he thrust powerfully, over and over, until my orgasm overpowered me. I finally sank back onto the mat, legs still spread, thighs quivering, struggling to catch my breath. ]

“You lost,” he said simply.

“I know,” I panted between gasps, ” but I didn’t try very hard that time.”

“I noticed that, from about breast-touch on. “I’ll collect your panties now.”

I sat up and pulled my jersey down, from wrapped around my shoulders to panty coverage, as well as I could, “Give my one more chance to keep them.”

He smiled at me, warmly I thought, “Okay, you are a good loser.”

This time my 30 seconds of circling like a tigress became a position, face down, ass-up, feeling his thigh under my hips. I could feel the jersey at mid-back. SMACK, his giant hand came down on my butt, causing me to yelp. Then again, SMACK — not really painful, but stinging. I felt my hips and thighs quiver on their own.

I tried to turn toward him, but I couldn’t turn my head enough. “Is this legal?” I whimpered, at the same time I felt him grasp the waistband of my panties. “Oh yes, Sweet Jenna, legal.” Then he pulled the panties over my hips, leaving them at my knees, so the next SMACK was on bare skin, then another. I yelped both times, my body jerked and squirmed. My ass was tingling from the smacks, but my pussy was tingling in its own way, aware that his huge hand was still on my ass, caressing while exploring curves and crevises. Then fingers were between my legs, spreading me. My hips were moving on their own, seeking him. “This isn’t fair,” I whimpered, while the fingers moved from the soft flesh of my upper thigh to again tease my clit.

The warm chuckle again, “I know.” And two long fingers went into me from behind, stroking deep and hard from the beginning, his hand smacking against my ass wiith every stroke. My hips were thrashing, my back arched, I was gasping, I knew my orgasm was only seconds away, but he suddenly pushed me away from him, rolling my onto the mat. I thought it might be a chance to get up and try again, but his hand clamped around my ankle, freezing me on my back. Then with moves that were smooth, athletic, he was beside me, slowly collecting my panties while our eyes met, his smile the victor’s smile. Then my legs were spread, and he was on his knees, between my legs, and I was looking up at him, practically begging. Then his mouth was between my legs, kissing, tonguing. Then huge hands were under me, fingers teasing my ass, lifting my hips while spreading me. Then his tongue was in me, then deeper, then deeper than I ever imagined. And I bucked, and moaned, then screamed as he finished me.

He moved again, now sitting beside me, legs pointed toward my head, one hand on my upper thigh, feeling me still quivering as I tried to get breathing back to normal. Our eyes met. I loved the warmth in his expression. “You lost again.”

“I know. Big time.”

“I think you may do better next round.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Just a hunch.”

His prediction came true. Somehow little Jenna’s tigress managed to wrestle him to the mat and get her hand onto his shorts. Then to pull down the shorts enough to release his cock. It was an OMG moment that I’ll never forget. I began stroking, realizing that my whole hand, from thumb to palm to pinkie, was involved. I heard a manly, ‘UUUHH,’ took a moment to cup and caress his balls, then returned to stroking. He moaned again.

Now I looked down into his eyes. “You seem to have burned up all your energy.”

His eyes closed, he grimaced, body jerking. “Apparently I have.”

I teased the head of his cock. “I think I might win.”

His voice had gone soft, just above a whisper. “I think you might. But I’ll fight back, soon.”

“No you won’t,” I said, with determination. Without stopping my stroking, I climbed over a huge thigh, pushed his legs apart, got both knees between his legs, and replaced my hand with my mouth. He moaned, louder now. I struggled to get him deeper in my mouth, but could squeeze and stroke his length with both hands. His cock was getting even bigger. I released my mouth, looked down at him and smiled a victor’s smile. “I’m gonna make you cum, big guy.” He lifted his head to meet my eyes, but I swirled his cock with my hands and again teased the head. His eyes closed, his head fell back.

I surrounded him with my mouth again, stroking, caressing, teasing, The giant body was squirming, teeth clenched, chiseled shoulders, chest and arms glistening with sweat, now under my control. He reached toward me, both hands holding onto my hair, but gently. I could see him beginning to flinch and go tense. I worked hands and mouth faster, harder. Then his whole body went rigid. His back arched. And he exploded in my mouth, way more than I could swallow, but I tried.

I kept stroking as I moved to beside him again. His cock remained amazingly hard, and big. I used my left hand to stroke his cheek and down onto his chest. I looked into his eyes. “You lost.”

He put both hands behind his head, half-smiling, looking content. “You were a worthy competitor, Sweet Jenna.” I felt warm all over, my hand encircled him, stroking again. His cock was growing in my hand. But he sat up and made the T for time-out sign with his hands. “Let’s take a break.”

_______________________

We returned to the couch, with Quinten back inside his athletic shorts and me walking in front of him, knowing my jersey was SHORT. Honestly I didn’t mind at all. I had nothing left to hide from him, and the thought of his eyes studying me, thinking about me and the time ahead, was a huge turn-on.

I accepted his suggestion that a couple cold beers felt right, because of all the physical effort we were putting into the keep-players-focused program. I saluted smartly and said, “Always willing to do my part for the team.”

As we sipped, he studied me, approvingly it seemed. He gestured toward the mat. “You were really hot over there.”

We realized the accidental double meaning at about the same time. I laughed out loud, he chuckled but almost sheepishly. I smiled slyly. “Which of my orgasms gave you your first clue, Number 86.”

“Sorry — to clarify. You and your body and your spirit were very hot, to me.”

I was glowing again. “Thank you? It was a very special time for me, too.”

“Why so?”

“When I walked in the door, I wasn’t sure whether I would be viewed as your slut, performing for you. I was okay with that, I’m a big girl who isn’t clueless. But you made me feel welcome, almost like a friend rather than a toy. I really liked that.”

He looked thoughtful then curious. “Why do you do this?” I knew what he meant, but I had to resist another double-meaning moment — it was tempting to slide to his end of the couch and release his cock from the shorts again.

“I like sex, a lot. I like adventure. This is surely as good as it gets.”

“No husband or boyfriend?”

I hesitated. I hadn’t been entirely honest on my profile. “My significant other knows I’m here… he, uh, he’s cool with it.”

“Turned on by it?”

“Yes.”

Quint frowned and shook his head. “I don’t get that.”

“I don’t either. I just know it’s true and now he’s letting me be like a kid in a candy store.”

“So you’ll go home tonight and tell him all about this?”Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

“Yes.”

He stood, walked toward me, held out his hand and pulled me to my feet. “Then let’s be sure you have a helluva story to tell him”

And we headed toward the bedroom.

———————————

While Quint visited the attached bathroom, I hopped backward onto the oversized king bed and sat there surveying the surroundings, very sparse actually. I guessed that Bravo 4 serves a motel-like function for the team’s visiting guests. Lighting was dim now, likely for my visit. One feature seemed custom for this occasion: wrist and ankle binding straps, ready at two corners and the headboard.

As Quint walked toward me, looking big and manly and muscled, I said, “Planning to tie me up?”

“That would be a maybe. I enjoy it, but it’s gotta be good for you.”

“So I’d have even less chance to resist you than on the mat, right?”

He smiled, “That would be the case..”

“Okay, I’ll do it, but I’m not going to let you make me cum.”

He smiled a confident smile. “I like your tries to resist..”

He went to work, binding my wrists together over my head, then visiting both corners of the bed to bind my ankles. I was about two-thirds of the way to full spread-eagle. “Why do you like this so much?” I asked.

He sat on the bed, feet still on the floor, but beside me, our eyes met. “The vulnerability, I think. Your inability to resist. My total control of your body.”

“Okay, Mr. Football Man, Give it your best shot.” He slowly pulled my jersey up, over my breasts, where he paused to tease me, then over my head, clear to my elbows already held high over my head. My feeling of helplessness was near-complete, and my pussy was throbbing, I could feel my juices on my thighs. I wasn”t expecting what happened next. For five incredible minutes, he light-massaged me from feet to neck. He seemed to take all the time in I the world, caressing gently up both inner thighs, the huge hands and fingers as light as silk on the soft skin next to my pussy, then a finger lightly finger-teasing my clit.

“God, Quint,.” I whispered, “this is incredible.” I was beginning to wriggle and squirm, stretching against the tie-binds,” trying to find ways to get closer to his hands. I looked into his eyes, “Why are you doing this for me?”

He smiled while continuing his light-touch. “I want you to think of me as a gentle giant, at least part of the time.” I just moaned and purred.

He continued, all over my body, lightly touching me, teasing me deliciously. I whispered between deep breaths, “Quint we have an urgent matter to discuss.”