by Alex Tryst
Copyright December 2008
Author's note: Originally I never was going to post this piece. However, after sitting on it for almost a year, I allowed one of my fans to read it, and she convinced me that I should post it, so I'm giving it a go. A couple of things to note here beforehand, though.
First, this is a PWP, meaning it has no plot whatsoever. Many times I have tapped into other people's fantasies for my work, but this one is entirely my own. Secondly, you'll find the writing has some masculine overtones to it, but don't let any references to “Sugar Daddy” mislead you. You get to make up your own mind if this story is about two women or not. Lastly, this piece is about a specific woman, but I have changed her name, so I don't get sued. Some of you footballers may be able to figure out who it is, though. One person has already guessed it on the first try. Feel free to email me your guesses, and I'll reveal her real name if you're curious.
If you have comments, let me know at firstname.lastname@example.org . I'm also now on Facebook (Alex Tryst), so if any of you all would like to know more about me, my work, gain insight into me as a person, see pictures of my various muses, or read some of my political essays, shoot me a friend request.
A field of blue and white captures my eyes. The back of your uniform covers your shoulders and your upper back like a blanket. There is little left to the imagination as my eyes slink to your bare skin and onward to your ass shrouded with a pair of microscopic white shorts. You're bent over at the waist pulling off those white cowboy boots that go with the uniform, and I hungrily watch. You know where my eyes are. You give your perfect backside a little shake for effect. I continue to watch the show as it enfolds. I can tell the music of the commercial coming from the TV is urging you onward. Next is your white and blue star-studded belt. You drop it on the floor next to your boots and then turn.
Your blue eyes flash playfully as you stand there in front of me. This is a game we like to play. I love seeing you in your cheerleading uniform, and you manage to sneak it out of the locker room as much as you can to tease me unmercifully for my weakness. There so much on visual offer that my eyes can't stay still. They're all over your body, my gaze caressing in ways my hands soon will. Next you slowly pull off that famous white vest with blue stars on it, leaving you in that blue shirt and those tiny white shorts. It's an unforgiving uniform, but you definitely have the body to carry it off without effort.
A moment passes between us before I lean further back in my chair and whisper, “Give me a little cheer, baby.” I take a sip from the longneck beer bottle I have in my hand as my eyes stay glued to you. I can hear the football game come back onto the TV, but I ignore it, hoping you will do the same.
You smile at me. I love this part of the game. Without further words between us, you do as I ask. You give me the cheer, moving to a rhythm in your head, as you slowly make your way across the room closer to me. When you are within reach, you lean over slightly, letting your breasts brush across my face. I inhale deeply taking in the scent of you after a workout. Game day always makes you perspire, and it's a glorious turn-on to smell how hard you worked on the field cheering on our favorite football team. Reaching up to the front tie on your blue shirt, I pull you by the knot down into my lap. You continue to grind slightly into my hips. When the cheer is finished, you take the beer from my hand and take a long sip from the bottle. You let the bottle skim over your skin between your breasts. My eyes are riveted to the movement. You give a little grin. I know you know that you hold all the power between us at the moment and that you enjoy teasing me. Rocking your hips forward and pressing them closer to mine, you moan a little.
“You want me, don't you?” you whisper. Your right hand trails over my t-shirt down between my legs. I groan when you reach your destination. You know all too well what you do to me. “Tell me what you want to do to me,” you demand.
“I want to fuck you so hard your neighbors can hear you,” I growl, finding the side of your neck with my mouth. My teeth scrape against the pulse. My hands run from your naked hips along your back, bringing you closer.
You moan and press closer to me. “I can certainly tell how badly you want me,” you say, rubbing between my legs harder.
“You haven't seen anything yet,” I answer, as my hands go to the knot on the front of your shirt. It takes a moment to undo it, but I'm rewarded when it comes free. Eagerly I shed it from your body and then go back for that skimpy bra you are required to wear with it. When you are bare from your waist up, I moan and smirk. “So sexy,” I whisper, as my mouth finds the slope of your left breast. Your hands come to my dark hair, pressing me closer as I find my target, the pale rigid tip.
“Baby, that feels so good,” you softly cry.
“I'm going to make you feel good all over,” I promise as my hands find the zipper of the shorts. When they are open, you rise from your spot on my lap. I watch as you rid yourself of the rest of the clothes, and then you stand naked in front of me. My eyes take in the inventory of what is in front of me as I always do, toned powerful legs with trimmed blonde curls at their apex, slim hips with profound ridges mapping the path to the treasure I seek, a flat stomach with the muscles barely hiding their definition under the soft taut skin, pert breasts that reveal your young nineteen years with stiff pale pink crests, a supple neckline and pretty face, lustful blue eyes, and light blonde hair. As much as I want to keep staring, I playfully look back at the TV a moment like I'm more interested in the game. The adorable pout you sport makes me chuckle a little.
Taking another long sip from the beer bottle, I put it on the table next to me and then reach for my own gym shorts. “You want to see what your sugar daddy has for you?” You slowly nod. Taking my time I undress until I am as bare as you are. Reaching out my hand for yours, I give a little grin as I say, “Come sit in my lap, little Becca, and tell your sugar daddy about your day.”
You comply but instead of sitting face to face, I spin you around, so we are both facing the TV. You moan deeply as I enter you from behind but settle against my lap. For a moment we just sit there and watch the football action on TV. I have yet to figure out why football turns you on so much. I only know that it does. You even have gone out of your way to have the special football cable channel at your apartment, so I have games on TV as much as I can around you. I figure it has something to do with the sounds of the game that get you going. I also figure that is why you have chosen to dedicate your free time to being a cheerleader for America's team. Outside of college you have nonstop football, and you seem to like it that way. Of course I don't mind, being that it is my favorite sport as well, and I'm sure to get laid almost any time football is on TV.
After a few moments I feel your body start to rock ever so slightly in my lap. I know it's trying to find the angle you want me inside of you, so I allow you to set your own pace at the moment. I simply stroke your back with my left hand while my mouth sucks the rim of your ear. “Did you miss your sugar daddy today?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” you pant lightly as your hips continue to rock. You seem to have positioned me just right as the pace picks up. I can sense you close to the edge already, but I am not about to let you have a release so quickly or easily.
“Easy there, Becca. Settle down,” I command taking a hold of your shoulder to stop your tempo. “That's way too quick. We're doing it my way this time.” You whimper but still your hips. Using my left hand, I pull your body back against mine, so we are tightly pressed together. My hand begins to tease first your left breast and then your right. All the while my eyes are on the TV as I know yours are. “Look at that hard hit,” I growl into your right ear. “You like that, don't you? You like seeing the players' bodies crush together. And that sound they make, those grunts of exertion. It makes you hot, doesn't it?” I question as I start the pace I want for you. You shiver and moan. “It reminds you of sex, doesn't it? Does it remind you of sex with me? Hard, heavy, heaving,” I breathe heavily as rock you back and forth against my lap with my left hand on your shoulder. Your hips try to find my pace, but I don't allow it as I change it up slightly to keep you off rhythm. “Answer me. Little Becca likes that, doesn't she?”
“Yes,” you hiss followed by a groan as I hit the spot you always like the best.
“That's daddy's good little girl,” I say.
After a few more minutes of that I decide to try something new. Securely holding you to my hips, I slip off the chair down to the floor onto my knees, which causes you to go down on all fours. I can tell you are surprised by this change, but you don't say anything. The movement gains an audience of your ever-present Labrador and Boxer, who have learned to ignore us when we had sex, but seeing you on all fours in the way you typically greet them, they seem confused as to whether they should draw near or not.
Deciding to inform you of your dogs' indecision, I lean over you, pressing all my weight into your back. “Keep your head down or else your babies are going to come start licking your face.” I know you won't be able to resist as you look up quickly. Sure enough they approach at the sight of you, and it is only with persistence that I manage to keep them from their goal. It is one thing to be raunchier with you, but I don't want them to be added to the mix. It is just a little too far for my taste. Shooing them away, I laugh. “I told you. Now keep that pretty blonde head down.” You comply with the directive.
Several minutes pass with me slowly thrusting into you while watching football. I know you can hear the action on the screen, but you can't watch it for yourself less you attract the attention of your dogs again. It's a delightful predicament I see you struggling with, so I decide to play commentator for you. Putting my weight on you again, I lean to your ear and start giving you the play by play as I have my way with you. You seem to like it as you push back against me, meeting my thrusts. I smile at this new side of you.
With you only being only nineteen, I had wondered about your sexual experience and ability to try new things when we started dating, but I quickly realized what you lacked in experience you more than made up for in vigor, and in fact you were an ardent pupil, taking us both in directions neither of us had gone previously with other lovers. Your playful sexual nature makes for a variety of encounters, and I know this new twist on an old favorite will be repeated in the future.
Your breathing begins to labor as I work you slowly and roughly with my pummeling. I know I could keep you on the edge for a long time this way, but I am not in the mood to be too torturous. I love seeing and hearing you climax too much not to give us both what we want. Focusing my energies on you instead of the game, I work you harder. You cry out lightly at first and then with more enthusiasm as our tempo increases. I just know your neighbors can hear us, and being the exhibitionists we are, it drives us both further.
“Louder, baby. The whole neighborhood can't hear you yet,” I encourage.
You don't seem to hear me as you are in your own zone with your pleading. “Please more! Harder! Harder! God, fuck me deeper!”
I am more than happy to oblige and do as you request. Your screaming reaches a peak of its own before you do. Your body convulses and shakes wildly, but I hold you steady. When the ride is over, I withdraw and slip back into the chair, leaving you on the floor for the moment to collect yourself. I watch you struggle to regain a normal breathing pattern as I go back to my beer.
It takes you several minutes before you rise to your knees and turn toward me. Your face is flush, but the smile you wear assures me we are not finished with our game. I know what I want next, so I scoot my hips to the edge of the chair and recline back. Spreading my legs, I rest my head back on my right arm and hold the beer bottle with my left. Then my eyes go back to the game, and I wait.
You don't even ask what comes next. My unspoken directions are enough. Your blonde head comes between my legs. Blue eyes look up at me a moment, and you grin. “Don't look at the TV, and I'll give you what you want,” you bargain.
I smile down at you and then put my right hand to the back of your head. “I think you should just get on with it and be happy that I let you do this,” I respond.
You do as you are told. I did not bother to shower after my own workout that day, so I know our combined sweat and fluids make for a less than appetizing meal, however, you make no comments and instead focus on my pleasure. I can tell you are trying to bring about a quick release from my body, but I do my best to withhold to add to your playful torment. It is useless though as I succumb to the talents of your mouth and tongue. You smile in satisfaction at my inability to control my body's needs above my willpower as you crawl back into my lap.
We just look at each other for a moment as you drink my beer. You play with the bottle running it suggestively across your body, starting with your breasts. I can see the tips react to the stimulation. However it moves on. I am intrigued as you move it lower until it's between your legs. A thought crosses my mind that you might be contemplating something truly naughty as I look to your face. Your eyes flutter closed as you moan, making me realize you have just defiled my beer bottle. I can feel your hips rock in my lap, but I am too stunned to try to stop you from having your way with it. I simply watch as you take yourself to pinnacle. When you settle, the beer bottle comes into view again, but the mouth of it holds the result of your exploration.
“I just thought you might like it a little better this way,” you say with a pretty smile as you bring it near my mouth. I allow you to feed it to me. Beer with the essence of Becca hits my mouth, but it only serves to heighten my lust. I can tell it's turning you on just as much. When I take a long swallow, you put the bottle aside again and lean to kiss my mouth. What we exchange is hard and full of ardor. You moan as you pull away and give me a little grin. “How about you give me some more sugar, daddy,” you propose in a sexy whisper.
I already know I'm going to give you exactly that, but I am tired of the games. I simply want to ravage you. I pick you up in my arms as I stand from the chair. “Enough of this,” I announce. “Time to shower. Then it's bed time.”
You grin as we walk back toward the bathroom. “Can we watch football in bed?” you ask.
I crack a grin in return. “We're going to watch it all night long,” I growl in promise. Both of us know what that means.
Back To Main Page