The Football Player's Parallel Obsession Novels & Stories

Owen stayed on my right tit, switching between sucking and biting, while Marcus and Derek closed in closer, their cocks hard and ready, hands stroking slowly as they watched. I was surrounded. Six massive, sweaty football players using my body like I was made for it. Caleb’s long cock drilled me relentlessly, hitting that perfect spot over and over until my next orgasm started building fast. My moans around Bryan’s cock grew louder, more desperate. Drool ran down my chin and dripped on my tits, mixing with sweat. My nipples throbbed from all the mouths and fingers on them. Ty’s thick cock kept nudging my cheek, smearing more pre-cum across my flushed skin.

I say quietly, my anger folding away piece by piece and slipping into that horrible self-pity I despise. He closes his eyes and scrubs his face with those talented hands, strong and big and capable, skillful with a football. I’ve never met someone as devoted to a sport as he is. He doesn’t seem to get enough of training and working out. Perhaps all players are as focused as him; I don’t know. I do know I went to every home game he played at Waylon, way before we hooked up. Part of that was sorority driven—gotta support our players—but he was the one I watched. Number eighty-two. Someone slides by us, and I realize we’ve been standing here looking at each other for too long. It’s time to go.

"Like I said, it's a very peaceful place for me. I always loved to go to a beach but I hate crowded spaces, I love my privacy, that's why my father bought this beach for our private ownership." "Wow!" I nodded in confirmation and stopped to sit on the ground due to the pain I felt in my body. Justin didn't talk for a while then started growling loudly and I turned to look at him. "What are you doing?" I shouted and jumped to my feet. Justin had taken his trouser off and was struggling to get out of his T-shirt that was stuck by his neck and covering his face. His body was striking hot and the way his muscles moved from his aimless struggling was enough to set a lady's brain on fire. His thig

This cell, this physical torture was nothing compared to the guilt and regret in which he was drowning. And the more he drowned into that ocean, the more he got mesemerized by Sheharzaad and her antics. The more he would miss her. He had realized, anywhere without her was a cell in this world. "Sheharzaad," he whispered and a tear slipped out of his eye, "I need you," His obsession for her was endless... Going through the same pain as her, he fell hard. Harder for her.

"He didn't just want to win a football game. He wanted to see them destroyed. He’s been planning a way to backstab them all this while because his own life is a miserable fucking joke." "I always knew the guy was a bit of a tool," one of the guys muttered, shaking his head. "But if he's that obsessed with sabotaging his own teammates, he's a fucking liability to the whole team." "He is," I said, taking a slow sip of my drink. "He's a fucking coward." The whispers grew into a deafening roar. It was beautiful. Every single corner of the camp athletic department was starting to turn. Your move Ryan.

They carry me back to the main locker room, my body completely limp and trembling uncontrollably. My muscles have given out entirely, unable to support me, shaking with exhaustion and overstimulation. They lay me down on the bench where this all started, my legs hanging off one side, spread wide and completely exposed. Six football players stand above me in a circle. The starting lineup. The championship winners. My players. All season I've touched them professionally, keeping my hands clinical and my thoughts hidden. Now they're about to mark me as theirs forever.

I have suffered because now I'm a cripple. Sitting on this bed, crippled, makes me realize I've gotten what I always wanted. I will never play football again. Not that I hate football. Growing up, I always loved playing football with my peers on the street alleys at dusk, something that used to get us in trouble. I used to have fun playing back then because there was no pressure. I hate the pressure that comes with the stardom of a footballer. I will never get the pressure to get the award of player of the year or the youngest playback of all time.

The player pumps harder, now that it's just him and he moans loudly as he shoots his load into her tight asshole. Everyone gets a turn and Danae is moaning and cursing, as she sucks and fucks her way through the entire team. Her arousal is at a feverish peak and she is anxious to get to the last player. Ken is the tenth player that Danae gets off and he gives me thumbs up, as he shoots his load. He is the fourth or fifth player to cum in her ass and he is clearly enjoying himself. Naked football players lounge in the seats as Danae frantically looks around for more. One player is sitting in the back of the bus, fully dressed and reading a book. Danae runs towards him.

I feel seen. “Feels stupid.” I admitted. “Feels honest,” he countered. And damn it, that made my chest ache. “What about you?” I asked quickly, desperate to shift the focus. “Tell me something real.” His grin faltered, just a fraction. “Football isn’t everything for me.” That caught me off guard. Finn Anderson, Evergreen’s golden boy, not living for the game? “My parents want me to go pro,” he continued, gaze flicking away. “And maybe I could. But I don’t know if it’s… me. Sometimes I think there’s more out there than stadium lights and crowds screaming your name.”

He grins when he hears Isaac barrel his way back through the club. “Oi! I’m heading out early, yeah? You twats keep an eye on yourselves. Don’t cause any property damage! Mrs. Leslie is tired of handling it!” Callum poorly stifles a snicker at the chorus of agreement he hears from drunken footballers in the background. The property damage is mostly directed at Francisco, their striker from Guadalajara, and Joshua, their goalkeeper from Montreal. Somewhere between Joshua’s excessive height and Francisco’s excessive enthusiasm, they’ve managed to break a handful of tables at a handful of clubs, who were understandably less than pleased to deal with the aftermath. And god knows Mrs. Leslie does