Scoring Off The Pitch

I walk up to the railing on the balcony and take a deep breath. We have been out for ages, and my feet started to hurt hours ago.

I reach down to take off one of my shoes for that sweet moment of relief.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I spin around as the sudden voice startles me. Lounging on one of the chairs over by the planters sits a man I hadn’t seen when I walked out.

“Excuse me?”

“Your feet hurt, right?”

“I mean, yeah, what of it?”

“If you take your shoe off, you’re going to have to put it back on.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s always harder to start something again than to just keep doing something.”

I was going to say something, but stop. His logic is sound, and honestly, now that he’s brought it up, the thought of having to put them on again fills me with dread.

“I spend my life on my feet, so I thought you could learn from my mistakes.”

“On your feet, huh? Do you work in, like, hospitality or something?”

“No, not in a long time at least.”

“Oh, like sales then?”

“Nope.. Well, I’ve been used to selling things, I suppose.”

That was an odd answer, and part of me feels it’s a creepy one… yet somehow I don’t get that vibe from him.

“What does that mean?”

I couldn’t help myself; the question was out before I could think better of it.

“Sponsorships mean I do ads and appearances for products.”

I was going to ask another question… but the mention of sponsorship made me stop and think.

With the big soccer tournament going on at the moment, there were so many athletes around… but in a city this size, surely I haven’t accidentally met one. Right?

“Sponsorships, hm? Are you a soccer player?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.”

My mind is immediately whirring between disbelief and more questions, but before I can say anything, he’s walking toward me, phone in hand.

He offers his phone to me, and I take it.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“I figure, given you seem a bit unsure… It’s easy enough to provide proof… I’m sure I’m not the only guy in this city who’s saying he’s a footballer.”

Sure enough, the guy on the screen holding up a shirt with what I’m guessing is his name on the back is the same guy standing before me.

“Even I recognise that club name… so you’re like a real soccer player.”

“I am, yeah. Did you genuinely not recognise me?”

“No, I thought that was obvious by the fact you had to show me proof?”

“I mean, how am I supposed to know if you’re faking or not? Honestly, it wouldn't be the first time it’s happened since I arrived.”

That makes me kinda sad for him, because I’m absolutely positive that’s true.

“Well, hopefully it’s reassuring to know that I have no idea who you are… well, had no idea.

“It’s what every man wants to hear.”

He smiles at me, and even I have to admit that he’s handsome, and I think of how jealous my soccer-loving friends would be if they knew.

Our conversation flows easily, and we spend a long time out in the cool night air, so long I forget about my aching feet and my friends inside… He asks more questions about me and my life than I’d get from a Tinder date, let alone from someone who absolutely lives a far more interesting life.

“Oh really?”

Our conversation turns flirty… or maybe I just want it to be. I’m not very sure, until he leans forward, eyes sparkling in the low light.

“I uh, I actually have to be up kind of early tomorrow. But I was wondering if you wanted to keep talking. I can’t really hang out in the bar, but you’re welcome to come back to my hotel with me?”

I give him an arch look.

“Not like that, just… privacy’s important to me. And I’m enjoying spending time with you. No pressure, I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, like if you want, we can take a picture together, and you can send it to your friends so they know where you’ve gone, and with whom.”

The idea seems silly until I realise why he’s saying it. It’s not just for showing off, but a safety thing for me as well.

“Sure, where are you staying?”

“The Winchester, 4201.”

I pull out my phone and move to stand next to him, posing as I take a selfie and sending it to my friends along with the hotel and room number.

“Let’s go.”

His room is more spacious than I expected, since there must have been a lot of players travelling.

Even just for this team, I imagine they could have probably filled the hotel when you count players, support staff, management and the trainers. It makes me curious about how all this works.

“Do you not have to share?”

“No, some of the younger guys do, but I don’t have to.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, and it gets my guard up. Is he… bragging? Like he doesn’t need to share, because he’s too important? But I shake it off and ask the next question in my seemingly endless queue.

“I’m surprised you were out tonight. Isn’t there usually a curfew or something before games?”

“Yeah, but I can’t stand doing nothing… It’s not good for the brain or the body. Too much nervous energy.”

He stares out the window as he speaks, with this kind of faraway look in his eye.

He’s been polite, respectful even. And it seems like he doesn’t mean much more by what he says than just sharing. But I’m not naive about the ways an athlete might want to burn off nervous energy. And we’re in his hotel room after all. A particularly nice hotel room. He said it wasn’t like that. But maybe I want it to be. There’s no reason I can’t have a little fun with this…

He turns to look at me, and I maintain eye contact as I run my fingers lightly down his toned arm.

“Well, why don’t we do something with that nervous energy?”

He looks at me with genuine confusion; either that or his acting talent is wasted as a footballer.

“What do you mean?”

“You have all this nervous energy, and all this athletic stamina, and I feel there’s an excellent outlet for all of it.”

Oh god… he still looks confused, surely he hasn’t had to work too hard to get women into bed before. Or maybe he’s just not used to being the one getting asked.

I take his hand and lead him back towards the bed, maintaining eye contact as I close the space between us.

“Oh…”

“I think I can help with your… nervous… energy.”

There it is, there’s that recognition. No hesitation, though, as he reaches out and grabs me.

“That’s a good start… but I want more.”

He grins at me as he steps back, and in a fluid motion, he has his cock out in his hand, and I can’t help but bite my lips as he strokes it, watching as he gets hard.

“I want you to suck my cock.”

His voice is raw and a little arrogant, and he has a confidence that I’m surprised to notice I find arousing.

I take a half step forward and drop to my knees, taking his shaft in my hand as I look up at him.

“Mmm, Like this?”

“Fuck… yeah, like that.”

I run my tongue down the underside of his cock as I hear his breathing instantly get heavier.

Maybe I was already having an effect on him, or Maybe the vaunted athleticism wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“Fuck that feels good.”

“I’ve barely started.”

I run my tongue around the head of his cock, lightly placing my lips around it and gently sucking.

He runs his fingers through my hair, and I half expect him to push my head down, but am pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t.

“Is this how you expected your night to go?”

“No, I was going out to dance a bit, then wander around before coming back when I felt tired.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, I take his cock into my mouth, running my lips teasingly down the length of his shaft.

“Oh, fuck.”

I wrap my hand around his shaft and slowly start to move my hand in concert with my lips as I start into a steady rhythm.

My pace builds and builds until he pulls back enough that it forces me to slow down.

“Not yet.”

I look up at him again and slow down as he holds my hair out of my face.

“I don’t want to rush it.”

That may be true, but I want to have fun with him. So again, my rhythm starts to slowly build, and I can hear him start to get close again.

I admit I am enjoying this; it feels both forbidden and empowering to have a man at the peak of his apparently meteoric career at my whim.

Though I’d be lying as well if I didn’t admit that the whole thing had me incredibly turned on. Hearing him and feeling how he reacted, it was sexier than anything I think I’d experienced before.

“Whoa whoa, slow down, slow down.”

He has me back off, as we both know he was getting close to cumming. Something I attribute to my own skills.

One of us might be known for our skills on the pitch, but I’d say right here, and now, he’d weigh his talents against my hidden ones.

“Not want to cum just yet?”

He gives me this wicked grin that makes my pulse jump and sends a thrilling jolt through me.

“Not yet, I want more from you.”

He bends down and picks me up, which genuinely shocks and delights me, as he then places me down on the bed.

Before he can act further, I pull my skirt up and slip my panties to the side.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He looks genuinely surprised by my demand, but it only stops him for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to fuck all that nervous energy into me.”

Again seems surprised and delighted by my forthrightness, and maybe oddly, I find that endearing.

He flashes me that wicked grin again as he grasps my hips with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock slowly inside me.

He doesn’t waste time, though, and soon his thrusts are coming in fast and hard, and I am getting the full benefit of all that training.

“Your pussy feels absolutely incredible. SO fucking good.”

I feel myself bouncing off his hips as he thrusts forward, his powerful body moving so his cock fills me completely before he pulls me back to thrust into me again.

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

I can’t believe this is how my night is going. For a moment, I think about my phone, wondering how my friends have replied to the selfie I sent them.

No doubt they’ll be unimpressed by my disappearing act, but then again, they didn’t have the opportunity to get fucked by a professional athlete.

“So good for me. You feel so good.”

“Oh shit, yes, yes.”

He’s doing this thing as he rolls his hips… it… mmm, fuck. It changes the angle of his cock as he does it, and it feels phenomenal.

“Fuck, just, yes, fuck.”

Not my most eloquent sentence, not a sentence at all in fact, but I don’t care, this feels so fucking good.

“Oh, fuck, wait, oh, oh fuck.”

He pauses immediately, and honestly, I’m surprised at his quick reaction.

“No, no, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

My body pulses, and I try to catch my breath as he picks up the pace again and I work to stave off my orgasm… I never cum like this, but – It’s so good.

I know I’m not the only one enjoying it, as I can hear his moans change, and his body tensing up with each powerful thrust.

“You, you feel so good.”

“So do you, baby, fuck, so do you.”

I don’t know how much longer I can hold back, but honestly, why am I bothering?

He doesn’t change anything, though, his hips keep rolling the way that is driving me wild… and I know I’m not going to last.

“Fuck, I, I’m going to cum soon.”

“Yes, cum, cum for me.”

“Oh fuck, yes, keep going, keep going.”

I can feel it just as I tip over the edge and my back arches.

“Oh fuck.”

My own orgasm pushes him over the edge, and I feel smug as he pulses inside me.

(breathless) “That, that was fucking incredible.”

He looks almost a bit bashful at my enthusiasm, and in my post orgasm glow, that seems adorable.

We talk for a while longer, and at some point, I drift off with his arm around me and my head resting on his shoulder.

When I wake up, the sun is streaming in the windows, and I am alone.

“Well fuck.”

It annoys me for a moment, but I suppose I should have seen that coming.

Only as I sit up do I realise the kit bags that had been scattered around the room are gone.

“Oh shit, of course.”

It’s game day, he likely has training, and I assume it must be an early morning thing.

When I glance toward the nightstand, I see a note with my name written on it.

I reach for it and open it up and see what I will respectfully say is some interesting handwriting.

“Didn’t want to wake you when I left for training.”

Called it.

“But there’s tickets for you and your friends at the front desk.”