Her Game Was Passion Ch 02

-one-

I got undressed, climbed into bed, turned the light out and tried to go to sleep. It wouldn't work. I kept thinking about her, how it all started, and the worst part, how it all finished. No, don't think about that, I told myself, think about making love to her, think about the sweet times.

But that only made it tougher to sleep, and it was no use not trying to think about her at all, no matter how hard I tried. I was all alone with her again in a dark motel room.

Joan Lennox. There, I'd done it, let myself say her full name. I started getting a hard-on thinking about her. I felt my cock getting harder and harder against the sheets, the damn shaft was straight up.

How long ago was it that she had stopped ignoring me? When had it first happened? Not the second time Lennox was in the hospital. No, it was the first time, in Pittsburgh, when he'd busted a couple of ribs. I went to see him and she was there in the room with him.

"Scott, I don't think you've ever met. This is my wife, Joan."

I looked at her, straight into those big blue eyes that just went on looking right through me.

"Oh, I think we've met," I said. "The team party."

"I don't remember," she said.

"How's it going?" I asked Lennox.

"Hell, I'll play in a week. Flying back tonight?"

I nodded and looked at Joan. I didn't expect to see her here. I figured she'd be back in Minneapolis with all the other Viking wives. Lennox must have seen my puzzled look because he said: "Joan's folks live just out of Pittsburgh, in Chatsworth, so she flew down for the game."

"How nice," I said.

"It was," she said. There was an edge in her voice.

"Ah, come on, honey," said Lennox. "I'm only in the hospital overnight."

"I know. I know," she said. "Then next month you'll be in again."

"Lay off," Lennox said in a weary voice.

"He'll be okay," I told her and she turned her face away and looked out the window while Lennox and I started talking about the game. We'd won 13-10, using screen passes to set up the running game, but Lennox had dropped a couple flare passes and I thought we better iron out the matter now, even if he were in the hospital.

"What was the trouble?" I asked. "You never drop that ball on a flare pass."

He looked away, ashamed, like I'd stuck a knife in him.

"Well, think about it," I said. "Stiff fingers?" "No, they're okay. Maybe I was just pressing."

"Hell, you've caught that flare too many times to press."

He shook his head and I saw his wife glance at him and then quickly look away.

"Forget it," I said. I looked at my watch. "I better get going. Have to check out and catch the plane."

I picked up the telephone and dialed for a taxi.

"Send a cab to -" I started to say when Lennox reached across to the stand, put his hand down on the phone and cut the connection.

"Save your money," he said. "Joan's got her father's car. She'll give you a lift."

I raised both hands to protest the offer.

"I'll be happy to," she said.

I damn near fell over. I know I blinked I was so damn astonished. I looked at her, but she didn't bat an eyelash. Just looked at me with that cool smile and said, "Really, no trouble at all."

She rose, leaned over the bed, kissed Lennox on the cheek and then on the lips, but it wasn't much of a kiss, not quite a peck, but not a real deep kiss, either, kind of a routine warm peck.

What the hell, I thought, maybe that beautiful body's frozen. Maybe that's why he's dropping passes. His old lady's got her legs crossed. All that body and She didn't say anything on the elevator going downstairs. Nor did I. She got in behind the wheel and I got in beside and told her the name of the motel but she knew it anyway. I thought it might break the ice, but the freeze was so deep in the car I thought it was February in Minnesota. She just nodded her head and we went tooling along the freeway, both of us looking straight ahead.

That beautiful ass and tits, I thought, and she's an iceberg. Ah, to hell with the bitch. I'd break her ice.

"I understand you won a lot of contests here down east before you were married," I said.

"What contests?" Her voice was cold, harsh, bitter.

"Miss Glacier of the Decade," I said.

"Don't be funny!" she said in a furious voice. "Don't you try to be funny with me for one second!"

"The guy's got busted ribs and maybe a concussion and you kiss him like he had a skin disease."

"A lot you know!" she said. Her-voice filled with cold rage.

"No wonder he drops flare passes."

"Shut up!"

"I know the type," I said. "Thinks her ass is Baked Alaska and we all ought to come running with spoons."

"Shut up!" she screamed, and lashed out with her right hand and back handed me across the mouth with her wrist. I tasted blood.

She was weaving all over the freeway and everybody in Pittsburgh was honking at her. I grabbed the wheel and she grabbed it back and steered us back into the lane where we belonged.

"If you want to commit suicide, I'll take a cab," I said.

"You and your big mouth."

"You and your frozen tits and ass. No wonder your husband's dropping easy passes."

"Just shut up, please," she said quietly, but I could hear her breathing fast, almost panting, controlling her rage, keeping her eyes straight ahead, her knuckles clenched white around the steering wheel. I watched her. She looked angry!

"I'm sorry," I said. "What's the trouble? What's eating him?"

She said, "Please. Just be quiet."

"Hell, if it's the team that's going to get hurt, maybe. I can do something about it."

"Just don't talk," she said. "I'll tell you. Not now."

"Where?"

"When we get to the motel. Please."

I let her think. She did about five minutes of thinking going along the freeway.

I didn't look at her, nor say anything. I just let her think, and then I heard this sound coming from her. At first I didn't know what it was.

I looked at her and I saw her crying.

"What the hell," I said, turning toward her. She was making a terrible noise, like crying, only like an animal crying.

She pushed me away. So I just sat back and let her cry. I listened to her cry all the way into the parking lot of the motel.

She stopped the car and I turned the keys in the ignition. And she was really letting it hang out all the way now. Whatever it was. God, I didn't know. She was sobbing, with her face down on her hands on the steering wheel, her shoulders shaking with each sob.

I put my arm around her. She just went on crying and shaking.

I got out of the car and went around to her side and opened her door. I put my hand on her shoulder and lifted her out. She leaned against me like she'd been shot, staggering a little, just limp, and I put my arm around her waist. She reminded me of helping a tackle off the field in college. He was gone, like he was completely air sick or half knocked out, with some legs left, but not much, just sagging against me. That's the way I got her to the door of the motel.

Inside she flopped away from me like a dead fish and fell face down on the bed. For a second I thought she was ill, not with tears, but with a fever or something like that.

But that wasn't it. Not quite. It was her heart, all right. The trouble was there was nothing wrong with it that her husband couldn't fix but he hadn't beep able to fix it.

I went into the bathroom and took a piss and got a couple of glasses. She was still lying on the bed when I walked past her and went outside and down to the end of the building where the ice machine stood.

She was still lying face down on the bed when I came back, but she wasn't making any noise, so I fixed a couple of drinks, just Old Crow and plain water.

I lifted her up. "Here." I put the glass in her hand. She looked dead, glassy eyeballs just staring, looking past over her hand with the glass in it, her wrist so limp I thought she'd drop the glass until I reached down and put the rim against her lips.

She took a big swallow, then another, then she sat blankly staring at the wall, only her eyes weren't quite as blank and gone looking as before the two big swallows.

"Take another drink," I said. I took one, but she didn't move. Just sat there staring at the wall.

"Come on," I said and lifted the glass to her lips.

She threw the glass of booze in my face and laughed, a real crazy laugh, almost cackling. I thought, Jesus, this is all I need, to call the men in their white suits and have her hauled away and some newspaper reporter picks up the story from the hospital.

I got up in a hurry and went .into the bathroom and toweled off my face and turned around to come out, but I couldn't get out of the bathroom.

She was standing right in the doorway, barring the door, with both hands on each side of the door. She looked glassy-eyed, and she was grinning.

"Those drinks really hammered you," I said nervously, thinking of the plane, the time. She was stiff. I'd have to get a taxi.

I knocked her right arm down and went straight past her to the telephone. I was just picking it up when she reached over my shoulder and knocked the telephone out of my hand. As I turned around to push her away, she put her mouth against my mouth and grabbed me with both arms. She put her arms around my neck and I went over backwards on the bed; she was lying on top of me, her mouth wild and gaping, her lips sloshing back and forth over my mouth, her firm big tits flattened against my chest.

"Listen, you silly bitch," I yelled. "I've got to catch a plane."

"Listen, you silly bastard," she said, "you're going to fuck me and fuck me good."

Wow!

What the hell? Was she trying to frame me in some way? But no reason. But how drunk could two big belts of booze make her.

I pushed her away. She came back again, reaching for my cock. I gave her a good arm shiver, the butt of my hands against her shoulders and she fell back on the bed and I got up. The shiver would have knocked a guard over.

"Come on, come on." I was sore. "What the hell kind of an act are you trying to pull?"

She turned over on her stomach and started crying. I slapped her on the ass hard and I slapped her again hard. It didn't help. She went on crying. So I reached down and turned her over, and she held her hands against her face, and I knelt down in front of her and pulled her hands away. Her face was smeared with tears.

"Fuck me," she sobbed. "Fuck me, please."

"Give me one good reason and I'll fuck you right through the wall."

"He won't."

Lennox's name was Bud.

"What's the matter with Bud?"

"He hasn't slept with me for eight weeks."

"Baby, it's been a tough season."

"Who've you screwed lately?"

I laughed at her.

"If you'd had your ass knocked off four days a week in practice and you got beat up every Sunday, how much screwing would you go for?"

"How would you know?" She sneered. "Mr. Quarterback!"

I wonder if she'd ever seen the scars and fractures. I hoped I could finish a successful career without getting beat up as bad as one of the all-time-great quarterbacks.

"You look like a great piece of ass to me," I said. "But maybe you're just another ice cube in bed.

Her eyes seemed to clear a little.

"Want to try?"

"Come on," I said, standing up. "You've got to get back to your folks, and I've got to catch a plane."

One thing I always kept right, don't screw a ,teammate's wife. No way. You could really fuck up doing that, but I wanted this broad how I wanted her!

"Who am I kidding?" I said aloud.

"What?"

"I've wanted to screw you like mad since the first time I saw you and I told myself I was going to make it if it's the last thing I did. Now I'm standing here playing all team spirit. To hell with it. Get your clothes off. I don't give a damn why you want to screw or why you aren't getting screwed. You're going to get fucked good right here."

Her tits were like beautiful white flowers with red centers. I sucked her nipples until she screamed. I dug my teeth into her big hard nipples. They were beautiful, creamy as hell, and I licked them and licked them, and her nipples never went down, just standing there rigid as flower stems, quivering to be sucked and sucked again. I brushed my eyelids back and forth over those beautiful nipples. I couldn't get enough of them. I stuck my tongue into her navel, and sloshed it round and round, listening to her now crying with delight, while I had the middle finger of my left hand right inside her cunt that was flowing with juice. I felt her hands clutching both sides of my head, pulling my head down. I ran my tongue through the furrows of flesh, those soft light creases marking the separation of her thigh where it joined her body.

My finger in her cunt felt the deep creamy warmth of her luscious pussy. Her stomach started to pump up and down; suddenly I didn't really want her, and I wondered what the hell I did want-only to get even with her because she had snubbed me the first time, only to fuck her because I hadn't made out with her right away?

"What's the matter, Scott?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," I said, and, my cock was going down. I couldn't believe it. I felt like a kid caught with his pants down pissing on the side of the school house.

"Darling," she said. Then she stood up and reached over and turned the light out and I felt rotten, the failed little boy. I'd never crapped out like this in my life. It was unbelievable, like getting shot, and lying in the street knowing you'd been shot, remembering the impact, but still not quite believing it had happened.

I'd never felt so much like nothing in my life.

"Come on," she said softly, gently. "There's worse things in life." She laughed softly. "A fractured skull?"

My whole body seemed to become smaller and smaller and smaller, and I wanted to leave her. No, to hell with that. You must always have hope, and you have to work at it. But I didn't need hope that night. She was my hope.

Her mouth engulfed me. It was the sweetest thing in the world, and I'd never needed it more. In fact, I'd never needed it before. Her lips took my cock-head into her mouth, and her lips worked along the shaft all the way. I felt her tongue cross the vein and suddenly my dick was alive, the knob pulsing. I was afraid if I let her stop it was going to quit on me again. Her wonderful lips went right up against my scrotum, then she nibbled right up the back of my cock, slowly and gently, until she put my cock right in her mouth again. My knees jerked and fluttered like I'd been knocked down on a busted play. I felt her kneeling between my knees, her nipples caressing my thighs. She lifted my organ in one hand and cupped my scrotum in the other. Then she began to suck me, compressing her lips. I felt my cock getting bigger and bigger, feeling strong again in her sweet saliva. Then she was sucking me right down to the root. I felt like my balls were going to burst, and then she sat up and called softly: "Fuck me now, you're ready."

I leaped on her like it was my first screw and I was out to prove myself to her, like I was sixteen years old and she was an old experienced woman. It was a strange, humiliating but exciting experience for me.

Who the hell did she think she was? She'd gimmicked me some way, some trick to make me feel small, but I couldn't remember what nor how. Well, it wasn't small now. Yes, I could thank her, but when she got finished with this shaft, she'd be on her knees like a lot of other broads, begging for my cock.

Take it, baby, I thought and thrust savagely again and again. Her pussy rose and ground against me with mounting frenzy. I got both hands under her buttocks and lifted her up. Her whole body was quivering. I poured the cock to her harder and faster.

Then her growing excitement began to reach me. It was sweet to savor it. The upward thrust of her buttocks felt as if they were going to go right through me. A smile lit her face when she felt the first hot, sharp spurts of come deep inside her cunt. She cried out in an agony of joy, panting and trembling. Then she just lay, moaning and shivering, quaking from the release of tension. When she thought I was finished, I rammed it deep into her and she jerked back with a cry almost of fear.

"Come on," I said. "You're such a big lover."

"Please, please, I've come," she said.

"I'm going to screw you right through this bed, baby."

I rammed it in and out furiously. I felt the head getting bigger and bigger and my balls hard as marbles flapping against her wet pussy and the come starting up through the shaft. Then again and again I rammed it in and out and damned if I didn't have her starting all over again, gliding easily with me, ready to come again, her whimpers of faint pain slowly changing to moans of deep pleasure. She reached up and dug her fingers into my armpits and drew herself up, her lips seeking my mouth. I rammed it to her good, sideways, up and down, around and around, exploring every membrane of that lovely pussy. And it was lovely. I had never felt so perfectly joined, but I didn't want to admit it then. All I wanted was some kind of revenge on her for being such a cool cucumber, pretending all the time she wasn't just another piece of tail, playing the gentle, refined lady. Bull shit. She was a hot cunt, and she wasn't going to kid me. I was going to wring it all out of her. She was a real fucking bitch and when I was finished with it, she would know it, and she would know I knew it. That's all that counted that time.

Then a wonderful spasm shot right through my cock like an electric shock and I felt the walls of her vagina squeezing and squeezing. It was sweet! Wow! I felt my spine was going to go out through the top of my skull and I kept going around and around, around, around ... then I whirl pooled down into her and lost myself. I fought against it but I was lost, deep inside her, letting out all my sexual hunger. She was draining me. I had not won the battle. She had won. My belly felt as if it had fallen right out of me, and I lay flat on top of her, her big warm mouth against my mouth, warm and loving. I couldn't move. I was paralyzed. Knocked out. I felt her lips curve in a smile and I lifted my head.

"How's that for a fuck?" I said, and pulled out and rolled on my side. She leaned across me and kissed my cheek.

"That wasn't just a fuck, was it?"

"Have you got a new name for it?"

"Nope. A fuck is a fuck is a fuck."

"No," she said softly, and stroked my hair.

I stared up at the ceiling.

"What's the hang up between you and hubby?"

She took her hand away. She put both hands behind her head and lay back and looked up at the ceiling.

"He hasn't made love to me for eight weeks. He can't. Not since that new boy joined the team."

"Bass?"

"He's after Johnny's position."

"Sure, but you want to remember, too, Johnny's had the hell knocked out of him in a couple of games."

She shook her head furiously.

"This isn't the first time. All he ever seems to care about during football season is his damn body. Taking vitamin pills day and night and always checking his body in the mirror."

Well, this wasn't new. I'd heard there was a lot of trouble with wives during season, and let's face it, you don't play football if you're not a body builder. But I never asked about those problems.

I didn't have those marital problems.

"You're a good lay," I said.

"I'm more than that," she said and turned and kissed my cheek gently. "You'll find out."

"No way," I said. "I'm not going to get hacked up between you and Johnny. If you need ass, you better check the rest of the team."

"I might just do that," she laughed.

I laughed at her because somewhere inside me I didn't believe her, but I wanted to believe her then because I guess even then I was afraid of falling in love.

-two-

I stood in the locker room in Kansas City waiting to get my ankles taped. Lennox was on the training table getting his shoulder taped. Jacko was still in the hospital and I was ready to go after working out a week with the squad. The locker room door was shut, but through it I, could hear the sound of the band, thudding. All the old locker room smells. I felt young again for a fraction of a second.