bianchi_andreas
Slut
The Usual disclaimer-- this is a work of fiction and is not intended to portray any real people, especially not litigious athletes with deep pockets and cranky libel attorneys on retainer.
Quarterback Draw
To an outside observer, my agitation that night would be chalked up to the fact that after fighting to the pinnacle of the sports world, I was on the verge of losing the first game I had played as a starting quarterback in the NFL, but it was more complicated that just that.
The moment I had been dreading during the seven months since Aruba had finally arrived.
As the last seconds ticked away in the football game, the crowd of Saints fans in the stands behind me yowled in frustration over the impending loss to the Chicago Bears, and I paced the sideline angrily, screaming at our defense to get the ball back so I could go in and try to salvage a win.
Deep inside, I knew I wouldn’t have the opportunity to be the hero tonight. As our chances melted away like an ice cube in August, I watched as the Bears' quarterback methodically and efficiently picked the defense apart and moved his team down the field and kept the football out of my hands.
Jason Fuckin’ Riggs. As badly as I wanted to win this game, I was more desperate that he wouldn't remember Aruba. It was not enough that he came from a great football family, fourth generation of star players, the closest thing to royalty the league had. It wasn't enough that he had been an All-American in college and six-time All-Pro in the league or that he had led his team to the championship last year. It wasn't enough that he had a swimsuit model for a wife. It wasn't enough that every other commercial on television showed him shilling for some mega-corporation.
No, Jason Fuckin’ Riggs was going to win this game, and there was nothing I could do about it except trot out to meet him at midfield, smile through clinched teeth, and pray that he didn’t remember Aruba.
The last shreds of hope for a win for the home team shriveled and died as time ran out.
As the final whistle sounded, both teams flood the field, some headed to the locker rooms, some to find guys they used to play with, some for those quick post-game interviews with the press.
A microphone is thrust towards me, and a leering reporter leans in get his mug in the camera shot as he yells the question, "Will, how does it feel to lose such a close game in front of this big home crowd?"
I think, Let me knee you in the balls and see how that feels, but I say, "I'm real sorry that we couldn't get it done for our great fans, but that Jason Fu... uh Jason Riggs is a great quarterback and he kept us on our heels all night. " I pretended I didn’t hear any follow up questions and walked off, scanning the field for Riggs. I could see him moving in my direction, his distinctive loping stride easy to pick out.
I greeted their coach. Riggs shook hands with our wide receiver. I slapped the shoulder pads of the bastard of a linebacker that was in my face all night and muttered, "Good game." . Riggs had not so much as looked in my direction. I kept telling myself there was no way he remembered Aruba.
Suddenly, we were face to face. He moved closer to emphasize his height advantage. He was so close, my nose was full of his smell --- adrenaline, sweat and testosterone. As flashbulbs popped all around us, capturing for posterity my humiliation as the losing quarterback, I looked in his eyes. All I saw in their cool grey depths was pure Alpha Male Domination.
His lips curled in the famous crooked grin. "You guys gave us all we could handle."
"Thanks," I mumble. "Good game."
"Good luck during the season, dude," he said, pounding his fist lightly on my chest.
As I replied, "Yeah, you, too," he started walking away.
Relieved, I thought--- he doesn't remember Aruba. Before I could react, Jason Riggs leaned down to whisper in my ear, "Room 432, Royal Orleans Hotel. Thirty minutes after the press conference," and he was gone, a trail of reporters yelling after him.
Fuck! He remembered.
Like a zombie, I went through all the post-game rituals— shower, team meeting, press conference, Each passing minute weighed heavily on me. As I smiled for the cameras and gave my stock answers to reporters’ questions: yes, we’ll be ready for Denver next week; no, until I look at the game films I can’t say what happened on the interception; absolutely, the coaching staff has the trust of the players. All that is running through my mind is– Jason Riggs remembers Aruba.
Seven months ago, after last season’s final game, we left our boys with their grandmother and my wife, Stephanie, and I went for a much-needed vacation in the Caribbean. For ten days we went from one island paradise to another, snorkeling and parasailing by day and fucking like newlywed rabbits by night. At a luxurious resort in Aruba, Linda finally gave up one night and collapsed into bed after dinner and told me all she wanted was a good night’s sleep. I wandered down to the beach for a while, but it was boring, so I went to one of the bars in the hotel.
It was a Monday night, so the place was practically deserted. I intended to nurse a beer for a while and then call it a night myself, but the bartender urged me to have a shot of tequila. That led to a second and then a third, and before too much time had passed I was pretty much pain-free. The guy flipped on the TV to an American sports show, and I watched it while I had another shot of tequila.
One of the stories was about some award was given to Jason Riggs, Mr. Humanitarian of the Year or some such crap, and the screen was filled with the smirking face of the honoree. I flipped the image a one-fingered salute and growled, “Pussy!”
The bar tender flashed me an indulgent grin and poured another shot.
“Wha’s your name?” I asked.
“Carl, sir.”
“Carl, it’s true, ya know,” I told him. “He’s nothin’ special. Jason Riggs. I could beat him with one hand tied behind my back.” I beckoned him closer with a crooked finger and grinned, “You and me, Carl, we could beat Jason Fucken Riggs any day of the week.
“Oh, I don’t know. I hear he’s a very good player.”He was very experienced dealing with large American drunks.
“Umph!” I grunted. “An overpaid pussy prima donna pussy. And if he could beat me, I would ... I would... “ It took a few tries to think of anything daring enough to show my confidence.” I would suck his big ol’ Bear dick,.” I exclaimed triumphantly.
A voice behind me asked, “Would you say that to his face?”
“Fuck, yeah!” I barked enthusiastically, trying to keep my balance while I turned around.
I had some trouble focusing on the man watching me with an amused smirk.
“Has anyone ever tol’ you,” I slurred, “that you look exac’ly like Jason Riggs.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I get that from time to time, “ he said as he sat down next to me.
Being about half shit-faced, it took me a while to get my mind around the fact that I was actually talking to Jason Riggs live and in the flesh. I interrupted him in the middle of a story about a game to tell him again, “I think that you are nothing but an overpaid pussy.” jabbing a finger into his chest with each word to emphasize my point.
He grinned. “I have a Super Bowl ring and a pocket full of records and awards that say different.”
I grunted in dissent as he continued his story about the game. Then we talked about players and coaches we both knew, and how to attack certain defenses, and about good investments for the boat load of money we earn as starting quarterbacks in the league. Well, mostly Jason Riggs talked, while I muttered incoherently from time to time.
Then after we paid the tab and were walking through lobby to return to our rooms, the talk turned, as it always does to sex. Every player in the league has seen the throngs of young, nubile women willing to give up the goodies to one – or more– of the world’s highest-paid athletes., and many, if not most, of the men seized the opportunity when it appeared.
We talked about how beautiful the honeys were outside the locker room door in Los Angeles and how aggressive the women were in Philadelphia.
“Did you ever. uh...?” I asked.
“What? With one of those women?” Jason asked. “No, my wife keeps me on a short leash. You?”
Then it happened. My tequila-fueled tongue flapped on long after my tequila-soaked brain shut down. Open mouth, insert foot.
“You kidding?” I scoffed. “If I so much as look at a girl or a man, Steph gives me the freeze eye for a week.”
“Really?” he asked, not especially shocked. “You go both ways?”
“Huh?”
“You said that your wife is jealous of both girls and men.”
Even in my somewhat befuddled state, I could see the abyss yawning before me.
“No, no. I said ‘girls or women', “ I protested.
“Oh, yeah, I guess. My bad,” he said doubtfully. “Well, good night. See you around, Will,” Jason said as he got into the elevator that led to his room.
Jason was right to be skeptical. In my wild youth, I banged anyone that was willing– men, women, everything in between. That all came to an end one afternoon in my Freshmen year in college when Stephanie let herself into my apartment and surprised me in bed with the very cute but very male star of the tennis team. She broke up with me on the spot and agreed to take me back only after weeks of teary begging on my part. The one condition that she imposed was absolutely no more boys whatsoever. If I ever wondered at the time why she did not also ban other women, I don’t remember it. To date, I had remained completely committed to the promises I made to her then. Not even so much as a flirtatious glance towards another man.
Until now.
With all these thoughts spinning around in my head, I drove out of the player’s parking lot at the stadium and turned towards the river. The traffic light at St Charles Avenue was red, so I idled, thinking that if I turned right, it was a few blocks Uptown to the restored antebellum mansion in the Garden District where my beautiful wife waited for me with a thick steak marinating in the refrigerator and a bottle of Pinot Noir breathing on the counter. Upstairs, our two sons were tucked into bed in little replicas of my jersey, dreaming of the heroic exploits of their rough, tough, swaggering, macho football-player father. If I turned left, it was a few blocks into the French Quarter to the Royal Orleans, where the man many were starting to call the best quarterback ever in the league was waiting to plow his big cock into my ass.
The light turned green. I turned left.
On the drive to the hotel, I thought of Riggs’ tight, muscular body and lopsided, boyish grin, and butterflies stirred in my stomach. My cock strained against my jeans as I thought about the musky masculine taste that I really missed after all these years.
I called home and left a message for Stephanie, telling her a lie that I was staying late at the stadium for some PT on my aching back.
At the hotel. I stood for a moment at the door to room 432, thinking that it was not too late to walk away, not too late to return to the life Uptown where I was a faithful husband whose dabbling in dangerous waters was long behind him. Almost without being aware, though, I rapped on the door and shuffled my feet nervously.
The door swung open, and I was rewarded with one of Jason Rigg’s famous smiles. He motioned me in as he continued talking on a cell phone. I sat on a sofa next to the only lamp that lit the suite, watching Riggs pace the room as he finished a talk about a hot investment. He was wearing a skin-tight shirt that showed off his muscular physique to perfection. I stole a glance at the bulge in his jeans and almost gasped aloud, thinking that either he was really hung or Jason Riggs had stuffed at least two socks in there.
“Give me a call on Wednesday and let me know how it goes. Later.” He tossed the phone on the desk and turned to me, exclaiming, “Hey! You made it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I can’t stay long.”
Holding up a bottle of tequila, he asked,”Still your brand, Will?”
I am pretty sure that the sickliest smile in the world crossed my face as I nodded. He memory of Aruba was too damned good.
Sitting next to me on the sofa, Riggs poured a couple of shots that we tossed back.
“How’s TyJuan Sanders working out?”
“What?” I asked, my mind drifting back to Jason’s question from Jason’s body-his thick thighs, calves and ass, his beautifully chiseled upper body.
"You know, your wide receiver?”
“Oh, yeah.” I had forgotten that they Riggs and Sanders played college ball together. “Okay, I guess. A lotta talent.”
“Still have trouble making it to meetings on time?”
“S-s-somtimes,” I stuttered, suddenly aware that Jason’s fingers were lightly brushing the back of my neck. I held my empty glass out to him, asking,”This shindig have an open bar?” in a too-loud voice.
He laughed softly, and as he leaned forward to pick up the bottle from the coffee table, his hand fell onto my thigh and remained there. My nearly irrepressible boner was pushing hard against my jeans.
Settle down, tiger, I thought. As he poured another couple of drinks, I tried to think of something un-sexy, but I kept my eyes on that strong, massive hand and imagined it burrowing deep into my crotch.
With agility that didn’t fit with such a big man, Jason stood up and pulled me to my feet. He pulled me into a tight embrace with one hand and held my head close with the other so that I had to look into his eyes. Just like on the field, I can see that he is totally in control, but behind that dominant gaze, there is an ogling leer that is full of desire.
I am accustomed to being in charge myself, and having this powerful demand for submission weirds me out a little. My first impulse is to bolt for the exit and not stop until I am at home with Stephanie, but I quickly gathered my wits and return his gaze back.
Jason’s rock-hard cock is pressed against my leg, and it seems to swell even larger in response to my challenge.
“First time I saw you,” he growls, “I knew you were a horny stud just like me.” I thrust my hard-on against him, and I felt his powerful hips and thighs against mine as he continued, “and I bet you like it hot and rough.”
My hands were against his muscled torso and shoulders, and his brawny delts and pecs tensed and flexed at the contact. I slowly moved my hands to Jason’s bulging biceps as he slipped his behind me to grab my ass. I nearly blew a load right there in my jeans.
“I had seen you on TV and always thought you were hotter than hell, but when I saw you in that bar... man,” he sighed.
“What bar?”
“In Aruba. All drunk and bleary eyed, yelling at the television. You were one sexy-looking lunatic.
Mmnfff!" Jason let out a muffled grunt of surprise I grabbed his right pec and twisted it through the tight shirt.
“If you keep up the insults, bro, I’ll be out of here so fast, it’ll set off the smoke detector.”I threatened.
With a completely erotic grin, Jason slid one hand to rest squarely on my throbbing erection. “The needle on the lie detector seems to indicate that was total bullshit.”
“Maybe,” I moaned as he rubbed me through my jeans.
Jason pinned me against the wall, and his eager hands wasted no time--he slipped them up from around my waist to massage my abs, then, pushing my shirt along with them, ran up to grip my bulging pecs. My nipples were hard, and I moaned softly, arching my back, as Jason licked them.
My breath was ragged as Riggs stood up and slipped his lips up along my throat and chin to meet my slowly opening mouth. His hands were still exploring beneath my shirt and caressing my chest hungrily, and my aching cock ground against his, the two layers of denim separating us not dulling the heightened sense of pleasure.
"Fuck, Riggs," was all I could get out as he pulled my shirt off over my head. I stood, embarrassed under his avid look of admiration for a few seconds before he stripped off his own shirt, revealing his tanned and muscled torso.
"Damn, you are one hot fuckin' stud, dude,” said Jason.
The compliment jacked up my already high level of desire, especially since Jason was busy stripping off my jeans and tight boxer briefs. His tongue slowly ran the length of my cock and swirled around the head.
The crooked smile was gone from Riggs's lips. I couldn’t believe that this man sucking my cock was the most recognized quarterback in the league, the All-Pro jock stud that everyone idolized.
For a moment, I felt like pushing him away . . . this is not how the fans and press thought an NFL quarterback was supposed to act.. But I only had to look at Jason’s hard, well-defined muscles once before realizing what I had missed during my long rejection of this side of me and what I wanted, fuck the public image. Without any hesitation, Jason Riggs closed his eyes, grabbed a double handful of my ass and eased the entire length of my cock into his mouth.
We were completely obsessed with each other and had lost any inhibitions or doubts about what we wanted to do in this hotel room.
I moaned loudly enough to be heard by the revelers on Bourbon Street four stories below as I felt my hard dick enveloped bu the wet heat of Jason's mouth. I closed my eyes, lost in the pleasure of the
moment, running my hands run through Riggs's short brown hair. I was in heaven--this steamy jock I'd secretly lusted over since high school was now enthusiastically and expertly sucking my cock, his massive hands pawing my ass.
"That feels so fucking good,” I whispered, nearing the edge as Jason's hands fingers forced between my tightly-clinched ass muscles to explore the tender crevice.
"Fuck!" I moaned suddenly as two of the hot studs fingers slipped quickly into my hole. It was weirdly familiar yet strange, but felt really good— Stephanie would never go near that part of my body not even if she was really drunk. Why had I waited so long for this?
Jason continued finger-fucking my ass, and licking and squeezing my cock with his tongue and lips until I had to pull away. He looked up, his cheeks flushed , his bare chest heaving. I saw in his handsome face and pleading eyes how much he wanted me.
“Looks like I can call the plays now, huh?” I said deviously.
“Please...” he begged hungrily..
"You want my load, dude, you have to fuck it out of me."
Jason didn't miss a beat, ripping open his fly and sliding his jeans down. I stared in awe at the monstrous bulge that was tearing free of his white boxers. He was huge--at least 9 inches--with a flaring cock head that was oozing precum down his cut, muscular abs. I was not intimidated by the sight of all that meat. I wanted him in my eager ass that much more.
As Riggs pulled down the boxers, his huge erection sprang free, and I fell onto his bed and watched as the idol of millions of fans approached his rock-hard cock bobbing, his hand rubbing his left pec, his biceps and delts bulging..
"Oh, fuck, man," I groaned, totally consumed by lust at the sight of his massive piece.
"I gotta have that dick in me now, dude.”
"You’ll get it all and then some," promised Jason arrogantly now that he felt back in control. "I’ll take my own sweet time to ream that hot ass."
He leaned over the bed and tongued my cock again while slipping my jeans and black boxer briefs the rest of the way off. I couldn't believe that my aching dick wasn’t blowing my load all over the walls right then. It was only my need for Jason to be inside me that held me back. .
Jason Riggs loomed over me, his eyes raking my naked body greedily, taking in every detail from my heaving torso down to my throbbing cock. “As soon as I saw how your ass looked in those tight uniform pants, dude, I knew I had to do this...”
After pushing me onto my back, his jock dick was tunneling into my hole, pressing through the pucker to shove about 3 inches in. I groaned as much in deep pleasure as pain. Jason stroked my cock softly, waiting with the patience he displayed in the face of a blitzing defense as I relaxed around him before he slid further in. His massive head of his dick grazed my prostate, and I breathed out hard. I was very close.
Jason pulled out almost all the way, then rammed most of his 9 thick inches into my starving ass. I inhaled sharply. As I looked at Jason Riggs's handsome, confident face, I felt his cock slide out, then all the way back in, nailing me to the bed. I looked straight into Jason's dominating eyes as my prick exploded, globs of cum flying onto my chest and abs, onto Jason's chiseled stomach, all over the bed.
My ass had tightened around Jason's pumping dick, encouraging Jason to fuck me harder. My dick was still rock hard as I watched the straining star QB, pound my ass with the same air of macho confidence and power on he had on the field. He was the master, and I was only the canvas for his artistry. His entire body, from his chiseled features to his tanned pecs, expanding with his heaving breath, to his sculpted abdomen to his pumping cock, was magnificent as I lay immobilized by the hot experience of being fucked by Jason Riggs.
"You are hot as hell, dude," said Jason, increasing the pounding stroke of his pistoning hips as he scooped some of my projectile cum off his chest and licked his fingers. “Your ass is so tight”
He leaned deeper into my body, pressing me against his solid chest and stomach, my legs wrapped around him to his powerful back. We were connected as fully and as intimately as we could be. I was pinned to the bed by this strong jock, completely in his power. I writhed and twisted in pleasure beneath him as my again-aching cock rubbed against his hard abs, Jason’s hard meat slid up and down my fully opened asshole. I grabbed him with both hands, squeezing his bulging biceps against his taut sides, and he reached between us to caress my hard, leaking prick with one hand while the
other tweaked my nipples.
Jason held his breath. He was ready.
The championship-winning quarterback groaned softly as he pushed even deeper inside me. His grip on my cock tightened as he determined that he had fucked me good and hard. The slow strokes had given way to a fast and furious pace now that the goal line was in sight. He had fucked me into submission, no easy task, and having earned the prize, it was time to collect.
In a low, husky voice that pumped me up even more, Jason whispered, “Come here”
Ramming his cock hard into me, he pulled my face up to his and jammed his mouth over mine, the stubble on his chin rasping my skin, his tongue thrusting into my mouth with as much authority as his cock had aas it reamed my ass..He kissed me so deeply that I had to kiss him back, each of us moaning softly.
Arching his back, Jason’s contorted face pulled away from mine, as with a loud groan, he exploded in a wave of pleasure, sending shot after shot of his thick Trojan cum pouring deep inside me until the last of his load was squeezed out. He pulled his cock free of my pucker and collapsed in the bed beside me, totally spent.
The sudden silence of the room was broken only by our ragged breath. We looked at each other, big grins creasing our faces.
I licked the sweat off his chest and said, “You taste great.”
He gave me one of his crooked grins and eased over for a slow and relaxed kiss. We were wrapped together on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs I the hot wetness of Jason Fucking Riggs’ mouth and tongue. His hands were in my hair; mine were on his hard chest, one rubbing over a nipple, the other tracing the sharp definition of his obliques. Our powerful legs were twisted together, so that rock-hard cocks were also rubbing together again.
My lips ran along Jason's stubbled jaw and down his thick neck and throat as I said, “You are even better in bed than on the field.”
Jason smirked, “How can you say that when I haven’t had you on a field yet?”
I laughed and looked away.”That’s not likely to happen, and you know it.”
"You make it sound like we’re done here," Jason answered.
I was a little slow on the uptake.”What?”
“I believe that the boast you made in Aruba was that if I won the game that you would...” he trailed off in mock delicacy.
I groaned, kissing Jason again, savoring the hot, sweet taste of his jock mouth.
"You are so fucking hot," I said, “but I can’t get that Bad Puppy in my mouth.”
With a powerful move, Jason flipped me around, so that my face was directly in front of his pulsing cock. After only a second’s hesitation, I put my mouth to the wet knob and started tonguing
it gently.
Jason moaned, and his eyes fluttered closed. I licked and slurped over his tasty prick and tried a couple of times to get it all into my mouth, without much success. I stretched my lips over his thick meat, working it from the leaking tip to his heavy balls. Considering how forcefully he had fucked me, Jason was surprisingly gentle and patient with my attempt to suck him off.
In spite of my less-than-skilled effort, Jason’s body soon tensed with the electricity of an orgasm that was nearly as powerful as the first one, his massive balls churning another load deep into my aching throat. I milked his cock, running my mouth along the veiny shaft trying to squeeze every last drop of hot stud cream..
"Fuckin' hot, bro," Jason sighed. “You are too fuckin’ hot.”
He pulled me onto the bed, and we lay there, kissing and running our hands slowly over each other’s hard muscular bodies for a long time.
Reluctantly, I pulled away for a second, looking into Jason’s eyes.
"You know I can't stay," I said. "My wife is waiting."
"Sure," Jason. "We'll talk soon." He shoved me with a cheerful grunt out of the bed and watched as I dressed. I felt an odd yearning as I eyed the great quarterback in all his naked glory stretched out on the bed. As I slipped on my boxer briefs and jeans, he pulled himself out of bed and put on a tight white undershirt and a pair of red gym shorts— not the brand he made commercials for, I noted— looking every bit the masculine, all-jock hero that the fans adored and admired.
He was staring at me with that crooked grin.
“What are you staring at?” I demanded.
“Just thinking that you look like another satisfied customer.”
I thought for a moment and walked to him. “I don’t know.” I said in a husky voice. “Having had a taste of this...” my hand snaked up his leg to grasp his hard dick through the gym shorts, "...I don’t know if I can ever be satisfied.”
"Fuck, I..." Jason whispered. He folded me into his arms and grabbed my ass again, holding me close.
I broke the clinch. "Fuck it," I said, stripping out of my jeans, "Stephanie’s been mad at me before. One more can't hurt."
Jason laughed and stepped out of the gym shorts, then, suddenly serious, said, “This isn’t just a one-night stand, you know, unless that’s what you want.”
"Not if I can help it," I said, and pulled the sheets over us.
Quarterback Draw
To an outside observer, my agitation that night would be chalked up to the fact that after fighting to the pinnacle of the sports world, I was on the verge of losing the first game I had played as a starting quarterback in the NFL, but it was more complicated that just that.
The moment I had been dreading during the seven months since Aruba had finally arrived.
As the last seconds ticked away in the football game, the crowd of Saints fans in the stands behind me yowled in frustration over the impending loss to the Chicago Bears, and I paced the sideline angrily, screaming at our defense to get the ball back so I could go in and try to salvage a win.
Deep inside, I knew I wouldn’t have the opportunity to be the hero tonight. As our chances melted away like an ice cube in August, I watched as the Bears' quarterback methodically and efficiently picked the defense apart and moved his team down the field and kept the football out of my hands.
Jason Fuckin’ Riggs. As badly as I wanted to win this game, I was more desperate that he wouldn't remember Aruba. It was not enough that he came from a great football family, fourth generation of star players, the closest thing to royalty the league had. It wasn't enough that he had been an All-American in college and six-time All-Pro in the league or that he had led his team to the championship last year. It wasn't enough that he had a swimsuit model for a wife. It wasn't enough that every other commercial on television showed him shilling for some mega-corporation.
No, Jason Fuckin’ Riggs was going to win this game, and there was nothing I could do about it except trot out to meet him at midfield, smile through clinched teeth, and pray that he didn’t remember Aruba.
The last shreds of hope for a win for the home team shriveled and died as time ran out.
As the final whistle sounded, both teams flood the field, some headed to the locker rooms, some to find guys they used to play with, some for those quick post-game interviews with the press.
A microphone is thrust towards me, and a leering reporter leans in get his mug in the camera shot as he yells the question, "Will, how does it feel to lose such a close game in front of this big home crowd?"
I think, Let me knee you in the balls and see how that feels, but I say, "I'm real sorry that we couldn't get it done for our great fans, but that Jason Fu... uh Jason Riggs is a great quarterback and he kept us on our heels all night. " I pretended I didn’t hear any follow up questions and walked off, scanning the field for Riggs. I could see him moving in my direction, his distinctive loping stride easy to pick out.
I greeted their coach. Riggs shook hands with our wide receiver. I slapped the shoulder pads of the bastard of a linebacker that was in my face all night and muttered, "Good game." . Riggs had not so much as looked in my direction. I kept telling myself there was no way he remembered Aruba.
Suddenly, we were face to face. He moved closer to emphasize his height advantage. He was so close, my nose was full of his smell --- adrenaline, sweat and testosterone. As flashbulbs popped all around us, capturing for posterity my humiliation as the losing quarterback, I looked in his eyes. All I saw in their cool grey depths was pure Alpha Male Domination.
His lips curled in the famous crooked grin. "You guys gave us all we could handle."
"Thanks," I mumble. "Good game."
"Good luck during the season, dude," he said, pounding his fist lightly on my chest.
As I replied, "Yeah, you, too," he started walking away.
Relieved, I thought--- he doesn't remember Aruba. Before I could react, Jason Riggs leaned down to whisper in my ear, "Room 432, Royal Orleans Hotel. Thirty minutes after the press conference," and he was gone, a trail of reporters yelling after him.
Fuck! He remembered.
Like a zombie, I went through all the post-game rituals— shower, team meeting, press conference, Each passing minute weighed heavily on me. As I smiled for the cameras and gave my stock answers to reporters’ questions: yes, we’ll be ready for Denver next week; no, until I look at the game films I can’t say what happened on the interception; absolutely, the coaching staff has the trust of the players. All that is running through my mind is– Jason Riggs remembers Aruba.
Seven months ago, after last season’s final game, we left our boys with their grandmother and my wife, Stephanie, and I went for a much-needed vacation in the Caribbean. For ten days we went from one island paradise to another, snorkeling and parasailing by day and fucking like newlywed rabbits by night. At a luxurious resort in Aruba, Linda finally gave up one night and collapsed into bed after dinner and told me all she wanted was a good night’s sleep. I wandered down to the beach for a while, but it was boring, so I went to one of the bars in the hotel.
It was a Monday night, so the place was practically deserted. I intended to nurse a beer for a while and then call it a night myself, but the bartender urged me to have a shot of tequila. That led to a second and then a third, and before too much time had passed I was pretty much pain-free. The guy flipped on the TV to an American sports show, and I watched it while I had another shot of tequila.
One of the stories was about some award was given to Jason Riggs, Mr. Humanitarian of the Year or some such crap, and the screen was filled with the smirking face of the honoree. I flipped the image a one-fingered salute and growled, “Pussy!”
The bar tender flashed me an indulgent grin and poured another shot.
“Wha’s your name?” I asked.
“Carl, sir.”
“Carl, it’s true, ya know,” I told him. “He’s nothin’ special. Jason Riggs. I could beat him with one hand tied behind my back.” I beckoned him closer with a crooked finger and grinned, “You and me, Carl, we could beat Jason Fucken Riggs any day of the week.
“Oh, I don’t know. I hear he’s a very good player.”He was very experienced dealing with large American drunks.
“Umph!” I grunted. “An overpaid pussy prima donna pussy. And if he could beat me, I would ... I would... “ It took a few tries to think of anything daring enough to show my confidence.” I would suck his big ol’ Bear dick,.” I exclaimed triumphantly.
A voice behind me asked, “Would you say that to his face?”
“Fuck, yeah!” I barked enthusiastically, trying to keep my balance while I turned around.
I had some trouble focusing on the man watching me with an amused smirk.
“Has anyone ever tol’ you,” I slurred, “that you look exac’ly like Jason Riggs.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I get that from time to time, “ he said as he sat down next to me.
Being about half shit-faced, it took me a while to get my mind around the fact that I was actually talking to Jason Riggs live and in the flesh. I interrupted him in the middle of a story about a game to tell him again, “I think that you are nothing but an overpaid pussy.” jabbing a finger into his chest with each word to emphasize my point.
He grinned. “I have a Super Bowl ring and a pocket full of records and awards that say different.”
I grunted in dissent as he continued his story about the game. Then we talked about players and coaches we both knew, and how to attack certain defenses, and about good investments for the boat load of money we earn as starting quarterbacks in the league. Well, mostly Jason Riggs talked, while I muttered incoherently from time to time.
Then after we paid the tab and were walking through lobby to return to our rooms, the talk turned, as it always does to sex. Every player in the league has seen the throngs of young, nubile women willing to give up the goodies to one – or more– of the world’s highest-paid athletes., and many, if not most, of the men seized the opportunity when it appeared.
We talked about how beautiful the honeys were outside the locker room door in Los Angeles and how aggressive the women were in Philadelphia.
“Did you ever. uh...?” I asked.
“What? With one of those women?” Jason asked. “No, my wife keeps me on a short leash. You?”
Then it happened. My tequila-fueled tongue flapped on long after my tequila-soaked brain shut down. Open mouth, insert foot.
“You kidding?” I scoffed. “If I so much as look at a girl or a man, Steph gives me the freeze eye for a week.”
“Really?” he asked, not especially shocked. “You go both ways?”
“Huh?”
“You said that your wife is jealous of both girls and men.”
Even in my somewhat befuddled state, I could see the abyss yawning before me.
“No, no. I said ‘girls or women', “ I protested.
“Oh, yeah, I guess. My bad,” he said doubtfully. “Well, good night. See you around, Will,” Jason said as he got into the elevator that led to his room.
Jason was right to be skeptical. In my wild youth, I banged anyone that was willing– men, women, everything in between. That all came to an end one afternoon in my Freshmen year in college when Stephanie let herself into my apartment and surprised me in bed with the very cute but very male star of the tennis team. She broke up with me on the spot and agreed to take me back only after weeks of teary begging on my part. The one condition that she imposed was absolutely no more boys whatsoever. If I ever wondered at the time why she did not also ban other women, I don’t remember it. To date, I had remained completely committed to the promises I made to her then. Not even so much as a flirtatious glance towards another man.
Until now.
With all these thoughts spinning around in my head, I drove out of the player’s parking lot at the stadium and turned towards the river. The traffic light at St Charles Avenue was red, so I idled, thinking that if I turned right, it was a few blocks Uptown to the restored antebellum mansion in the Garden District where my beautiful wife waited for me with a thick steak marinating in the refrigerator and a bottle of Pinot Noir breathing on the counter. Upstairs, our two sons were tucked into bed in little replicas of my jersey, dreaming of the heroic exploits of their rough, tough, swaggering, macho football-player father. If I turned left, it was a few blocks into the French Quarter to the Royal Orleans, where the man many were starting to call the best quarterback ever in the league was waiting to plow his big cock into my ass.
The light turned green. I turned left.
On the drive to the hotel, I thought of Riggs’ tight, muscular body and lopsided, boyish grin, and butterflies stirred in my stomach. My cock strained against my jeans as I thought about the musky masculine taste that I really missed after all these years.
I called home and left a message for Stephanie, telling her a lie that I was staying late at the stadium for some PT on my aching back.
At the hotel. I stood for a moment at the door to room 432, thinking that it was not too late to walk away, not too late to return to the life Uptown where I was a faithful husband whose dabbling in dangerous waters was long behind him. Almost without being aware, though, I rapped on the door and shuffled my feet nervously.
The door swung open, and I was rewarded with one of Jason Rigg’s famous smiles. He motioned me in as he continued talking on a cell phone. I sat on a sofa next to the only lamp that lit the suite, watching Riggs pace the room as he finished a talk about a hot investment. He was wearing a skin-tight shirt that showed off his muscular physique to perfection. I stole a glance at the bulge in his jeans and almost gasped aloud, thinking that either he was really hung or Jason Riggs had stuffed at least two socks in there.
“Give me a call on Wednesday and let me know how it goes. Later.” He tossed the phone on the desk and turned to me, exclaiming, “Hey! You made it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I can’t stay long.”
Holding up a bottle of tequila, he asked,”Still your brand, Will?”
I am pretty sure that the sickliest smile in the world crossed my face as I nodded. He memory of Aruba was too damned good.
Sitting next to me on the sofa, Riggs poured a couple of shots that we tossed back.
“How’s TyJuan Sanders working out?”
“What?” I asked, my mind drifting back to Jason’s question from Jason’s body-his thick thighs, calves and ass, his beautifully chiseled upper body.
"You know, your wide receiver?”
“Oh, yeah.” I had forgotten that they Riggs and Sanders played college ball together. “Okay, I guess. A lotta talent.”
“Still have trouble making it to meetings on time?”
“S-s-somtimes,” I stuttered, suddenly aware that Jason’s fingers were lightly brushing the back of my neck. I held my empty glass out to him, asking,”This shindig have an open bar?” in a too-loud voice.
He laughed softly, and as he leaned forward to pick up the bottle from the coffee table, his hand fell onto my thigh and remained there. My nearly irrepressible boner was pushing hard against my jeans.
Settle down, tiger, I thought. As he poured another couple of drinks, I tried to think of something un-sexy, but I kept my eyes on that strong, massive hand and imagined it burrowing deep into my crotch.
With agility that didn’t fit with such a big man, Jason stood up and pulled me to my feet. He pulled me into a tight embrace with one hand and held my head close with the other so that I had to look into his eyes. Just like on the field, I can see that he is totally in control, but behind that dominant gaze, there is an ogling leer that is full of desire.
I am accustomed to being in charge myself, and having this powerful demand for submission weirds me out a little. My first impulse is to bolt for the exit and not stop until I am at home with Stephanie, but I quickly gathered my wits and return his gaze back.
Jason’s rock-hard cock is pressed against my leg, and it seems to swell even larger in response to my challenge.
“First time I saw you,” he growls, “I knew you were a horny stud just like me.” I thrust my hard-on against him, and I felt his powerful hips and thighs against mine as he continued, “and I bet you like it hot and rough.”
My hands were against his muscled torso and shoulders, and his brawny delts and pecs tensed and flexed at the contact. I slowly moved my hands to Jason’s bulging biceps as he slipped his behind me to grab my ass. I nearly blew a load right there in my jeans.
“I had seen you on TV and always thought you were hotter than hell, but when I saw you in that bar... man,” he sighed.
“What bar?”
“In Aruba. All drunk and bleary eyed, yelling at the television. You were one sexy-looking lunatic.
Mmnfff!" Jason let out a muffled grunt of surprise I grabbed his right pec and twisted it through the tight shirt.
“If you keep up the insults, bro, I’ll be out of here so fast, it’ll set off the smoke detector.”I threatened.
With a completely erotic grin, Jason slid one hand to rest squarely on my throbbing erection. “The needle on the lie detector seems to indicate that was total bullshit.”
“Maybe,” I moaned as he rubbed me through my jeans.
Jason pinned me against the wall, and his eager hands wasted no time--he slipped them up from around my waist to massage my abs, then, pushing my shirt along with them, ran up to grip my bulging pecs. My nipples were hard, and I moaned softly, arching my back, as Jason licked them.
My breath was ragged as Riggs stood up and slipped his lips up along my throat and chin to meet my slowly opening mouth. His hands were still exploring beneath my shirt and caressing my chest hungrily, and my aching cock ground against his, the two layers of denim separating us not dulling the heightened sense of pleasure.
"Fuck, Riggs," was all I could get out as he pulled my shirt off over my head. I stood, embarrassed under his avid look of admiration for a few seconds before he stripped off his own shirt, revealing his tanned and muscled torso.
"Damn, you are one hot fuckin' stud, dude,” said Jason.
The compliment jacked up my already high level of desire, especially since Jason was busy stripping off my jeans and tight boxer briefs. His tongue slowly ran the length of my cock and swirled around the head.
The crooked smile was gone from Riggs's lips. I couldn’t believe that this man sucking my cock was the most recognized quarterback in the league, the All-Pro jock stud that everyone idolized.
For a moment, I felt like pushing him away . . . this is not how the fans and press thought an NFL quarterback was supposed to act.. But I only had to look at Jason’s hard, well-defined muscles once before realizing what I had missed during my long rejection of this side of me and what I wanted, fuck the public image. Without any hesitation, Jason Riggs closed his eyes, grabbed a double handful of my ass and eased the entire length of my cock into his mouth.
We were completely obsessed with each other and had lost any inhibitions or doubts about what we wanted to do in this hotel room.
I moaned loudly enough to be heard by the revelers on Bourbon Street four stories below as I felt my hard dick enveloped bu the wet heat of Jason's mouth. I closed my eyes, lost in the pleasure of the
moment, running my hands run through Riggs's short brown hair. I was in heaven--this steamy jock I'd secretly lusted over since high school was now enthusiastically and expertly sucking my cock, his massive hands pawing my ass.
"That feels so fucking good,” I whispered, nearing the edge as Jason's hands fingers forced between my tightly-clinched ass muscles to explore the tender crevice.
"Fuck!" I moaned suddenly as two of the hot studs fingers slipped quickly into my hole. It was weirdly familiar yet strange, but felt really good— Stephanie would never go near that part of my body not even if she was really drunk. Why had I waited so long for this?
Jason continued finger-fucking my ass, and licking and squeezing my cock with his tongue and lips until I had to pull away. He looked up, his cheeks flushed , his bare chest heaving. I saw in his handsome face and pleading eyes how much he wanted me.
“Looks like I can call the plays now, huh?” I said deviously.
“Please...” he begged hungrily..
"You want my load, dude, you have to fuck it out of me."
Jason didn't miss a beat, ripping open his fly and sliding his jeans down. I stared in awe at the monstrous bulge that was tearing free of his white boxers. He was huge--at least 9 inches--with a flaring cock head that was oozing precum down his cut, muscular abs. I was not intimidated by the sight of all that meat. I wanted him in my eager ass that much more.
As Riggs pulled down the boxers, his huge erection sprang free, and I fell onto his bed and watched as the idol of millions of fans approached his rock-hard cock bobbing, his hand rubbing his left pec, his biceps and delts bulging..
"Oh, fuck, man," I groaned, totally consumed by lust at the sight of his massive piece.
"I gotta have that dick in me now, dude.”
"You’ll get it all and then some," promised Jason arrogantly now that he felt back in control. "I’ll take my own sweet time to ream that hot ass."
He leaned over the bed and tongued my cock again while slipping my jeans and black boxer briefs the rest of the way off. I couldn't believe that my aching dick wasn’t blowing my load all over the walls right then. It was only my need for Jason to be inside me that held me back. .
Jason Riggs loomed over me, his eyes raking my naked body greedily, taking in every detail from my heaving torso down to my throbbing cock. “As soon as I saw how your ass looked in those tight uniform pants, dude, I knew I had to do this...”
After pushing me onto my back, his jock dick was tunneling into my hole, pressing through the pucker to shove about 3 inches in. I groaned as much in deep pleasure as pain. Jason stroked my cock softly, waiting with the patience he displayed in the face of a blitzing defense as I relaxed around him before he slid further in. His massive head of his dick grazed my prostate, and I breathed out hard. I was very close.
Jason pulled out almost all the way, then rammed most of his 9 thick inches into my starving ass. I inhaled sharply. As I looked at Jason Riggs's handsome, confident face, I felt his cock slide out, then all the way back in, nailing me to the bed. I looked straight into Jason's dominating eyes as my prick exploded, globs of cum flying onto my chest and abs, onto Jason's chiseled stomach, all over the bed.
My ass had tightened around Jason's pumping dick, encouraging Jason to fuck me harder. My dick was still rock hard as I watched the straining star QB, pound my ass with the same air of macho confidence and power on he had on the field. He was the master, and I was only the canvas for his artistry. His entire body, from his chiseled features to his tanned pecs, expanding with his heaving breath, to his sculpted abdomen to his pumping cock, was magnificent as I lay immobilized by the hot experience of being fucked by Jason Riggs.
"You are hot as hell, dude," said Jason, increasing the pounding stroke of his pistoning hips as he scooped some of my projectile cum off his chest and licked his fingers. “Your ass is so tight”
He leaned deeper into my body, pressing me against his solid chest and stomach, my legs wrapped around him to his powerful back. We were connected as fully and as intimately as we could be. I was pinned to the bed by this strong jock, completely in his power. I writhed and twisted in pleasure beneath him as my again-aching cock rubbed against his hard abs, Jason’s hard meat slid up and down my fully opened asshole. I grabbed him with both hands, squeezing his bulging biceps against his taut sides, and he reached between us to caress my hard, leaking prick with one hand while the
other tweaked my nipples.
Jason held his breath. He was ready.
The championship-winning quarterback groaned softly as he pushed even deeper inside me. His grip on my cock tightened as he determined that he had fucked me good and hard. The slow strokes had given way to a fast and furious pace now that the goal line was in sight. He had fucked me into submission, no easy task, and having earned the prize, it was time to collect.
In a low, husky voice that pumped me up even more, Jason whispered, “Come here”
Ramming his cock hard into me, he pulled my face up to his and jammed his mouth over mine, the stubble on his chin rasping my skin, his tongue thrusting into my mouth with as much authority as his cock had aas it reamed my ass..He kissed me so deeply that I had to kiss him back, each of us moaning softly.
Arching his back, Jason’s contorted face pulled away from mine, as with a loud groan, he exploded in a wave of pleasure, sending shot after shot of his thick Trojan cum pouring deep inside me until the last of his load was squeezed out. He pulled his cock free of my pucker and collapsed in the bed beside me, totally spent.
The sudden silence of the room was broken only by our ragged breath. We looked at each other, big grins creasing our faces.
I licked the sweat off his chest and said, “You taste great.”
He gave me one of his crooked grins and eased over for a slow and relaxed kiss. We were wrapped together on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs I the hot wetness of Jason Fucking Riggs’ mouth and tongue. His hands were in my hair; mine were on his hard chest, one rubbing over a nipple, the other tracing the sharp definition of his obliques. Our powerful legs were twisted together, so that rock-hard cocks were also rubbing together again.
My lips ran along Jason's stubbled jaw and down his thick neck and throat as I said, “You are even better in bed than on the field.”
Jason smirked, “How can you say that when I haven’t had you on a field yet?”
I laughed and looked away.”That’s not likely to happen, and you know it.”
"You make it sound like we’re done here," Jason answered.
I was a little slow on the uptake.”What?”
“I believe that the boast you made in Aruba was that if I won the game that you would...” he trailed off in mock delicacy.
I groaned, kissing Jason again, savoring the hot, sweet taste of his jock mouth.
"You are so fucking hot," I said, “but I can’t get that Bad Puppy in my mouth.”
With a powerful move, Jason flipped me around, so that my face was directly in front of his pulsing cock. After only a second’s hesitation, I put my mouth to the wet knob and started tonguing
it gently.
Jason moaned, and his eyes fluttered closed. I licked and slurped over his tasty prick and tried a couple of times to get it all into my mouth, without much success. I stretched my lips over his thick meat, working it from the leaking tip to his heavy balls. Considering how forcefully he had fucked me, Jason was surprisingly gentle and patient with my attempt to suck him off.
In spite of my less-than-skilled effort, Jason’s body soon tensed with the electricity of an orgasm that was nearly as powerful as the first one, his massive balls churning another load deep into my aching throat. I milked his cock, running my mouth along the veiny shaft trying to squeeze every last drop of hot stud cream..
"Fuckin' hot, bro," Jason sighed. “You are too fuckin’ hot.”
He pulled me onto the bed, and we lay there, kissing and running our hands slowly over each other’s hard muscular bodies for a long time.
Reluctantly, I pulled away for a second, looking into Jason’s eyes.
"You know I can't stay," I said. "My wife is waiting."
"Sure," Jason. "We'll talk soon." He shoved me with a cheerful grunt out of the bed and watched as I dressed. I felt an odd yearning as I eyed the great quarterback in all his naked glory stretched out on the bed. As I slipped on my boxer briefs and jeans, he pulled himself out of bed and put on a tight white undershirt and a pair of red gym shorts— not the brand he made commercials for, I noted— looking every bit the masculine, all-jock hero that the fans adored and admired.
He was staring at me with that crooked grin.
“What are you staring at?” I demanded.
“Just thinking that you look like another satisfied customer.”
I thought for a moment and walked to him. “I don’t know.” I said in a husky voice. “Having had a taste of this...” my hand snaked up his leg to grasp his hard dick through the gym shorts, "...I don’t know if I can ever be satisfied.”
"Fuck, I..." Jason whispered. He folded me into his arms and grabbed my ass again, holding me close.
I broke the clinch. "Fuck it," I said, stripping out of my jeans, "Stephanie’s been mad at me before. One more can't hurt."
Jason laughed and stepped out of the gym shorts, then, suddenly serious, said, “This isn’t just a one-night stand, you know, unless that’s what you want.”
"Not if I can help it," I said, and pulled the sheets over us.
