I always get wet when my team makes the playoffs. Not because the opportunity to win the Super Bowl is back, but because it means a chance of dick. Wait. Chance—who am I kidding?—I will certainly be getting sticked. And with the Eagles victory over the Giants last week, my team was in the playoffs and my little cootie was hot and ready to be split.
As a season ticket holder, I get preferential treatment on playoff tickets and as the Stadium Slut, I come first. Everyone here knows me, and knows me as if not the horniest, then certainly the dirtiest Eagles fan as exists.
I was thrilled that the team's bye came in the 17th week of the season, which meant not only that the team (go team!) had time to rest their sore muscles before the big game, but also because it meant picking out a hot new outfit to strut around in. My skimpy outfits are nearly transparent anyway, but this is the playoffs and I needed something super cute!
My motto is this: the team is on the field, doing their best, toiling and sweating buckets, and the fans just sit there. It doesn't seem fair. So I take it upon myself to get them excited. I don't want to take the credit for the Eagles successful season thus far, but I do like to lay claim that when I'm in the stands the crowd is standing at attention—on all fronts!
Soon it was game day and with the action coming up I was feeling a little bristly. I usually keep my eagles nest spotless, but I wanted to be bald and hairless as a seal for the playoffs. I don't have hair anywhere below my shaped eyebrows so I'm more like a Sphynx that has alopecia! I keep a razor in my bag for those hairy situations on the flight between Philadelphia and Tampa Bay when you're feeling a little stubbly and you want to feel freshly bald all over again. Girls, you know what I'm talking about!
My detailed prune job celebrated both my team and my desire to be fucked silly.
In the parking lot, my leaky cuntch was flooded with swill because I was anxious for someone to snack on my clit. He or she will too, as soon as I could find a nice spot to hoist my skirt up. The Giants game was the first all season where I didn't get my pussy munched so I threw myself up on the hood of a nearby pickup truck. My exposed butt cheeks from my torn jeans quivered on the cold metal as I awaited a lucky passerby to realize that my panties were tight and far too small (they were visible from the holes in the front of my jeans) and that my left cunt lip had wiggled out of 'em hours ago!
My thick and plumped-up clit was also exposed. I could feel the meaty nub swell and it throbbed when each guy walked by, wondering if that hunk would be the one that would let me smear my goose grease on his face.
"Fuckin' eat that twattie!" I visualized myself squealing, juicing up at the thought of finally getting my cunt sucked.
My soggy panties were corded around my ankles and when they were within reach over my head I grabbed them between my teeth to taste my own cunny nectar and to make my ankle stayed fastened up past my head. Much like his stiff rod, it was far more savory than anything available at concessions.
"Your cunt looks like a turtle shell," a guy remarked as he walked by, and I giggled at the comment. He seemed surprised, like he wanted me to feel objectified, or offended. This may have had the reverse effect as now that he knew I had an open mind, he could probably assume my legs would be open as well.
He smuggled one of his thick fingers into my conch with ease and I felt my slutgrease ooze out around his hand as he pistoned into my hole. He inserted another finger and I began to coo. He tore my frayed jeans and when he wiggled his keys, I realized the truck behind us was his and soon we were in the cab. He eased his fat girth past my pristine prune job flicked my clit and into my slick bald cunt-tube that was just built to be invaded.
I was on my back across the bench seat taking his thick girth pound for pound, my white Keds making footprints on the windshield and drivers side window. I started talking dirty to him and it gave me a dirty idea.
"Eat it Eat it!" I instructed him between chews of gum with mounting urgency as I guided him into my ruffled flesh by the back of his head.
He pulled his mouth off me, snagging my clit in the process and as he unbuckled his belt I squirted a little at the jingling sound. He held himself at the thick base and rubbed his hot rubbery tip up and down the front of my slick oily hole. I begged him to shove his cuntstuffer in, talking dirty and showing him I was absolutely loving it.
"Oh my goodness" I fake pouted, and it wasn't long before I was begging him to pull it out and let me swallow the load I earned.
"Put on your rain gear!" he warned me, "I'm dropping a load!" before I could properly prepare. "Oh it feels so dirty," was all I could muster as he aimed his custard gun at me and dumped all over my titty tanks. He left me dripping.
I wiped up the mess and sucked my fingers clean, eating his jitz. Then I pulled my shirt back down and went off in search of more spunk. Keep in mind the game hadn't even started yet!
I was up one second later and although my little skirt was soaked through and my belly was empty too. I could smell BBQ a few camps away and when I approached the barbequing group of men, my idea was moments from becoming a reality.
The guys in the BBQ pit mocked my McNabb jersey. Not because he hasn't produced a Super Bowl victory (yet) but because of the state of the jersey itself. It was so mangled that it barely resembled a team jersey at all. It was cut short on all sides and the top neck hole was also shredded. It almost looked as though the incredible hulk had been wearing it.
The bottoms were worse—two small pieces of silky green mesh covering my cunt in the front and ass in the back. I wasn't wearing beaver covers for today's game.
Most of them were drunk—in fact they all were—the lone sober one was actually the cutest, and as he cooked, he wore a little chef's hat with a Tampa Bay logo on it.
None of them took me seriously when I told them I was there not for the hot links, or hot dogs—or even the cold beer. I told them if I could join their pit, they could put anything they wished in my pit. They seemed confused and didn't believe me but did when I said to hurry up and put brats in my twat. "Don't you know who I am? I'm the Seasoned Slut from Philadelphia. I don't take no for an answer."
"Oh yeah! Don't you suck for money?" one of them asked.
"Do I look like a whore? No. I didn't think so. I suck for free," I said with a smile. Then I giggled as their belt buckles jingled.
I picked up a nearby hamburger turner with a squarish wooden handle from the grill while these strangers got used to the idea that they would be fucking the Eagles girl. As I struggled to ignore the Tampa Bay logo on the handle, I got an idea. I lowered the souvenir to my cunt hole and sexily dragged the handle up my slick twat.
If they want to use a Buccaneers grill tool, I'm caking it in bald eagle drippings, I thought. I felt myself juicing up at the sight of so many gorgeous pricks. Mentally, I noted the one I wanted to suck, the one I wanted to fuck, the one I wanted to rinse my rack and the one who would get to goo in my face, all while I tampered with the Tampa Bay turner, smearing and staining the wooden handle with my pink bald creamed-up cunny hole.
I slid the tip into my hole and started fucking myself under my skirt, tossing the fabric back and forth. I corkscrewed the grilling utensil, really pounding my own cunt I began to notice. I pulled it out and examined the slick goose grease sliding all the way down to the metal. "I hope you boys like cuntburgers!"
I would have sat there on my knees, fucking myself all day if I didn't feel a fat hot tip nudge against my lips. With that, I opened my eyes.
I was on my shins and jerking four pricks; two with each of my hands, one with my face and the fourth beating his veiny fuckstick so close to my face I could feel the heat coming off of it. When the man down my throat tightened his grip on my braid and pushed me down his prick—and said he was going to dump a bucketload down my throat—I increased suction on him and turned my mouth into a vacuum. His slimy seed charged down into my belly without as much as a gulp and when the two in my fists timed their sticky eruptions so they could hose me at once my own cum started to dribble out.
I felt slightly amiss, bathed in the salty loads of the opposing team's fans, but sometimes your steamy twat leaves you with no choice. They wanted to take me up on the offer to nail my pit next, but at that point the guilt set in. I told them maybe next time. "Hey, if you were wearing green I'd bend over and spread like butter for all of you, but you're not." My tank was empty, and I needed a good filling. But the only boys whose goop I wanted as a refreshment chant "E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES!" on a regular basis.
The next guy to take advantage of my horniness was in fact an Eagles fan. I bumped into him with my water balloons and asked him why the hard face. I explained that I look at a man's package before anything else so I called that their face—and boy was he hard. He seemed unoptimistic about the Eagles chances, having their offensive line decimated by injuries the last third of the season.
He told he knew who I was, and that he jerked off to me at home, and that he could shoot 3 feet in the air or more when he was using me as a target and only imagining my pussy, much less poking his spike in it and ramming me like a dirty slut that hadn't been fucked in months.
He unzipped in no time flat and while he was fucking me from behind, I asked him what was it that made him spunk when he was jerking his prick and fantasizing about fucking me. He said he liked to imagine that I was on my knees, inhaling his dick as he used my long blonde hair as a guide, forcing his pork down my windpipe.
After a few fevered sucks, I pulled off his gorgeous dick and asked him all doe-eyed that if in his fantasies do I swallow the load and he nodded "of course."
If you haven't forgotten, you will be wondering if I have a problem sneaking a razor through the turnstiles of the the stadiums. Not to worry. I simply flash them the plump hair free reason I keep a razor with me at all times. In week 4 (of the NFL season) I realized that it was a woman that was working the entrance while we waited in line. When I got to the front she saw my razor and said she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. She was cute and petite, with fiery pink highlights and a Marilyn Monroe piercing so I figured what the hell. It was early September so I was wearing a skirt and when she saw how stubbly her hole felt compared to my own she smeared her fingers over it and was soon to be working my front entrance! Apparently, because I had a Hollywood, she knew that I was serious about keeping my cunt hole bald as an eagle's head.
I can be suspicious so I asked around a little. There was another girl in my section that I can only assume also keeps her cunt bald and instead of beating around the bush, I asked her if she could go to the bathroom with me. "Girl stuff," I told her boyfriend as I took her arm and it in fact was. In the Ladies, I asked her if she was wearing panties under her Houndstooth pleated skirt. Instead of answering she flipped them up. "I knew it!" I squealed and I asked her to give me the dirt before she gave me her squirts.
I straightened my skirt and as I was getting more beer I spotted a girl that was a true beauty. She had the hottest big brown eyes and model-pretty features. This one didn't have a mole piercing or labret stud, she was lucky enough to have the real thing. A beauty mark above her lip that I noticed right away, as she was speaking adamantly on her cell (with what was probably a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.)
