Player Takes a Pounding
By Bruce Watson
All rights reserved.
He was pounding her, really letting her have it. His muscled body, hardened by countless hours in the gym, on the field. Thrusting into her. Giving her his all.
Giving her what her husband couldn't.
He said the line, automatically. "Whose pussy is this?"
"Yours!" she shrieked. "It's all yours!"
He remembered her name was Linda and her husband's name was Jim or John or something like that. The weird thing was, he couldn't recall his own name. His face forced itself into a grin, a dreadful smirk pasted over the sour sickness he felt burrowing deeper into his soul.
The next line popped out of his lips: "Does your cuck hubby fuck you like this?"
"No!" It was somewhere between a moan and a sob, dripping with excitement and amazement and disbelief. Under the joy, the player thought he heard something else: a darker note, something that said it had never been this good before and probably never would be again. And he knew--she knew--that his cock was breaking something in her, some connection to her husband that could never be fixed.
Or maybe he was just reading too much into it. God knows he'd had more than enough time to think it over.
Once the words were out, she couldn't stop them, and they poured forth in a torrent: "Never fucked like this! Never fucked this good! Oh, my God, fuck meeee!"
He felt the familiar pull, the ache in the base of his balls that told him he was about to cum--
*
He was propping his head up on a school desk, one of those cheap plastic deals with the seat attached to the desktop. It was another team meeting. Coach Nussbaum was in front of the room, so it must have been high school. The chalkboard was covered in Xs and Os.
Nussbaum droned on, and the player once again heard the words that changed his life.
"People will tell you that champions are born. Men, that's bullshit." The coach snorted as the boys chuckled at the surprising profanity. "Champions are built. One pushup at a time. One practice. One scrimmage." He looked around the room, at the players staring at him with rapt attention. "Men, the difference between a champion and a loser isn't genes. It's determination. It's guts. It's plain old stubbornness."
Nussbaum wasn't much to look at--crooked teeth, ugly bowl haircut, bullet-shaped head and a body like a fireplug. The player figured he was pretty much indistinguishable from hundreds of other coaches yelling at thousands of boys in rooms like this around the world. But on that day, in that classroom, Nussbaum's words changed his life forever.
"For champions, there is one thing--JUST one thing--in the world. It doesn't matter if it's football or basketball or playing the fucking guitar." The players laughed appreciatively. "Whatever it is, they focus on that one thing. JUST that one thing. Until they're the best in the world."
"What if that one thing is girls, coach?" That was Johnson, the QB. A handsome kid--blond hair, blue eyes, good hands and a limitless future. A high school king.
The player remembered that Johnson's future ended when he knocked up his girlfriend in college, then blew out his knee. Last the player heard, Johnson was selling cars in their old hometown.
Shoulda spent more time in the gym
, the player thought.
I guess Johnson wasn't a champion
.
"The best at girls?" The coach guffawed. "Sorry, son, that job's taken." He puffed out his chest and the boys chuckled. But Nussbam's smile disappeared as he glared around the room. "Men, I know you're not a bunch of monks. Do what you gotta do. But remember this: the day you take up with a girl full time is the day your career starts to end. You want to be a champion? Keep the pussy on the sidelines."
The player nodded his head at the coach's wisdom. There'd be plenty of time for a wife and kids when he left the field and put on a sportscaster's jacket. Or opened a restaurant. One or the other.
*
The woman--Linda--was screaming out her excitement, and the player felt the words coming out of her mouth.
His mouth. Their mouth.
He hated this part.
