And oh god, I wanted it so bad that I went for it without a second thought. With trembling hands, I got out the syringe and pushed the head into the small cup of jism, withdrawing the plunger to suck the precious fluid inside. And then I sheathed the syringe in the rubber dildo, the inseminator finally complete with all working parts in place.
I considered doing it in bed, spreading my legs and pushing the dildo in deep there, where we’d spent so many hours coupling, the big man taking me to Heaven and back, again and again, riding my body hard, both of us tangling, twisting, spasming with ecstasy and joy, pure unadulterated pleasure at the togetherness, the amazing electricity of meeting the one.
But I couldn’t for some reason, I didn’t want to get back in the sheets that smelled of Trent still, the musk heavy with our sex scent. So I stepped into the shower instead, cranking the water extra hot and let the spray pound my body. Oh yes, this was the way to go. Moaning, I pretended the big man was here with me, running his hands over my curves, teasing my nips, pulling at each one, twisting the hard nubs before popping off the tips. I pretended that his hand was between my legs, his dicktip pressed against my asshole, ready to take me again. And inevitably, my body began to pulse, my pussy moistening, growing hotly wet as my fingers slid over my private parts, imagining it was Trent.
Seizing the dildo from the shower ledge, I did it then. I pressed it into my pussy, spreading my lips, edging my hot cunt down on the thick rubber, squeezing, taking it deep within myself, moaning lustily as I thought of my lover. Oh god, yes, yes, yes, this was it.
Picturing the big man, his hot, throbbing dick, the way it owned me every which way, pressed against my lips, in my mouth, up my back end, rubbing between my thighs, pushed me over the edge immediately. I came so hard, pussy squeezing furiously, clenching and spasming that I almost forced the dildo out, it literally slipped a few inches from my cunt, slippery and slick. But with the last remnants of self-control, I grabbed it and pushed it back in before taking a deep breath and depressing the plunger. Immediately, liquid spurted. Oh yes, oh yes. A huge, hot gust of Trent’s semen splashed into my cunt, my hot, slutty pussy convulsing even harder, knowing what it was, eating it, drawing it deep into my fertile insides. Because I wanted it. I wanted his semen in me, I wanted to have his baby, and by leaving a sample his sperm for me, still warm, still bubbly, Trent was telling me that he wanted it too.
I breathed hard, letting my body ride the waves, eyes opening slowly even as my pussy twitched reflexively, the dildo still in deep. Oh god, it was so good and I braced a hand against the wall unsteadily, trembling, feeling the sweet ooze within myself, what I’d craved for the last week. Because I wanted a baby, and more specifically, I wanted a baby with Trent. It was the culmination to this taboo week, to the hours of loving, of hot coupling, the entanglement with the big man. Because despite everything, I’d lost myself … heart, mind and soul to my son’s best friend.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Trent
I looked out the bus window. Normally the lights of the city would have had me excited, I’m a wanderer by heart, I fucking love traveling, the intensity, never having much but the clothes on my back. But this time it was different. We’d finished a game in Baltimore, and fuck, it’d been a blow-out, my performance stand-out.
“You got a check with your name on it comin’,” drawled Sandy, our first base coach, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Nice work man,” grunted Marquise, our pitcher, and I nodded in return. Must have meant something, that mofo never compliments anyone, he’s a surly motherfucker.
But coming off a career-defining game, I don’t know, I just felt moody and pissed. I should have been hyped, excited as all get-out, ready to go to the strip club with my buddies, but instead I was headed up to my room to sulk.
“You sure dude?” asked Leon, our left outfielder. I don’t have many friends, it’s too tough given that we’re all in competition with one another, that any of us could be cut at any hour of any day. But Leon was okay, he was an easygoing guy despite the grind, and I chatted with him sometimes.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I grunted. “You guys go, I’m gonna have some drinks in my room.” More like I was going to masturbate like crazy thinking about Marie, sniffing the lace panties I’d stolen from her laundry hamper, wrapping them around my dick as I blasted off. Oh fuck, even the thought of the silk nothing, its crotch aromatic with her cream made my cock hard, weeping, lusting for the beautiful woman.
But Leon cocked an eyebrow at me, nodding knowingly.
“Shit buddy, don’t drink on your own, there ain’t that much in the mini-bar anyways,” he drawled. “Use the hotel bar, that’s what it’s there for.”
And I grunted, silent and dour, taking the elevator up to my room. But yeah, Leon was right. Upon opening the mini-bar, there were only tiny bottles of liquor, like what you got on the plane, probably three shots total in this fucking fridge. It’d take shit ton to knock me out, to take my mind off the woman, so I stomped my way down to the hotel bar, seating myself like a fucking angry bull, huge, looming on the bar stool.
And a couple drinks made things better, high-end bourbon will do that to you, that shit’s potent. The lights started dimming, the atmosphere hazy as I looked around. Hmm, very nice. Huge portraits of ancient guys in suits hung on the wall with eyes that watched you, plus a giant sculpture of a cow in one corner. This place was modern and trendy, with a touch of old school elegance, the chairs purple velvet, the bar a huge piece of lumber, varnished until it was a glossy black.
And sure enough, a woman appeared out of the woodwork, sliding onto the bar stool next to mine. Knowing I was watching, she leaned forwards and ordered a drink, her big boobies pressing against the wood, like two huge sacks of cream, sitting there begging to be touched. I felt my dick twitch slightly. The resemblance to Marie was astonishing, her hair a curly brown, the small mouth, the curvy figure.
But when she turned to me, it was all wrong. Because instead of wide, innocent brown, this woman’s eyes were filled with calculating greed, gleaming with hunger for money. Shit, even her eyes were green, the color of money.
“Hey big guy,” she purred. “I hear a team’s in town, you part of that?”
I snorted. Another groupie. Another woman who’d give her body for the opportunity to say she slept with a ballplayer. Shit, what was it with these hos? Did they really think I was a notch of their bedpost, bragging to their friends, saying, “Oh, I got Number Nineteen’s dick in me last night, it was so good because he hit a triple?”
So I shook my head, disgusted at myself more than anything else. Because yeah, I’ve indulged in the past, I love good pussy, I love feeling hot cunt wrapped around my dick, shooting my sperm into strange multiple times, but it’d lost its appeal. Because how good could it be? For the first time, it repulsed me. Meaningless sex, I didn’t care about the ho and they sure as hell didn’t care about me. All these women cared about was the uniform, it could have been any dick inside, any random male cock ready to ream.
So I smiled back coldly.
“Yeah, I’m here with the team,” I said, clipping my words. “You looking for action?”
And the woman’s eyes gleamed brighter then, narrowing like a cat. How had I ever thought she looked like Marie? I could see now that the tits were fake, the huge monsters rubbery and perfectly circular, like overblown water balloons. And shit, as the light glanced over her face, her skin looked cakey and powdery at once, loaded with layer after layer make-up, none of the glowing freshness that I associated with my best girl.
But she pressed on, her tits almost falling out of her dress.
“I am looking for action,” she purred, trailing a long red fingernail up my arm, almost to my elbow. My skin crawled although I remained perfectly still, letting her do her thing. “Where you staying?”
And I snorted then. Shit, groupies really weren’t in it for the banter, for the foreplay, for everything that made loving loving. They were in i
t for the sex, pure, hard, and cold, and what the hell, they’d find it, there were plenty of guys who’d eat that shit up. Just not me. Not tonight. I couldn’t stomach the thought, wasn’t even sure I’d be able to finish with a woman like this, her cunt was wet for all the wrong reasons, dripping with some rancid liquid, nasty and fishy, totally unlike the brunette I’d just left. So I shook my head curtly.
“Sorry, no go,” I drawled. “Not tonight honey.”
And the woman pouted, still caressing my arm with that red fingernail, her other hand now dropping to my thigh.
“Mister,” she breathed, the hot gust of her breath like spoiled garbage on my face. “I can do things no other woman can, just try me,” she purred again, winking. “Just try it and see.”
And now, despite the fact that we were in public, a bar with plenty of other people, her hand literally slid up my thigh until she was cupping my crotch, running a nail over the curve of my dick, lightly tickling the bottom through the canvas fabric of my pants. The old me would have been on it. The old me would have groped a breast right there, maybe even twisted a nipple, reaching into her dress to feel that rubbery hardness. But fuck, it wasn’t the old Trent anymore. I didn’t want it, the thought of another woman was fucking disgusting, like I’d be bathing myself in a cesspool, some decayed shit that I’d never get clean from.
So instead, I stood up abruptly.
“Sorry, married,” I ground out, pulling some bills from my wallet and tossing them on the bar. Never mind that I didn’t have a wedding band on my finger. “No can do.”
The hoochie wasn’t deterred at all.
“So what?” she whined plaintively, reaching to grab me with those long fingernails again, her hands like claws. “I’ve done plenty of married men before, it’s never made a difference. My cunt likes married cock,” she added slyly, “The sex feels even better when he’s married,” she winked coyly.
And I was beyond disgusted now. I’m not passing judgment on anyone, other peoples’ relationships aren’t my business. But this tramp took the cake. Shit, throwing it out there that was she was a ho, that she craved married men, that she specialized in married cock? Shit, that was fucking disgusting. Even if you like it, even if that’s your thing, don’t put it out there. It’s not like Michael Jackson’s nose, you don’t have to wear it on your face for the whole world to see.
But I’d already spent enough time with this woman, her presence was totally toxic, making me nauseous with its lust for married ballplayers. What the hell, this fucking sucked, and I’d already gotten enough alcohol in me, and what the fuck, Marie’s panties were still waiting. In fact, I had them in my pocket, the wisp of nothing my memento of her, my link to the gorgeous girl, everything that this tramp wasn’t.
So I shot the no-name hooker an disgusted look and took off, striding to the elevator, my long legs eating up the distance before the doors slid shut. And once I was alone, my hand reached for the slip of silk, lightly caressing the fabric as if it really were her cunt, that wet, engorged sweetness ready for me all the time, whenever I wanted it, her heaving form at my knees, on the bed, on her back, available throughout the night, so intense, so willing.
But as I let myself into the room, a thought caught in my mind. I’ve been approached a million times on the road, at bars, right outside the stadium, shit anywhere women were. And I’ve turned a lot of them down, hey, even I’ve got to sleep sometimes, you can’t be fucking every single minute of the night, every night, a ballplayer’s got to be rested for games. But this time, I’d done something different. I’d played the married card, like I really was a married man, like I had a honey at home, a sweet, willing woman waiting for me, arms warm, breasts soft, cunt wet.
And it shook me, for sure. Because that sweet willing woman had Marie’s face, it was her breasts I stroked, her soft, wet pussy I touched, her tiny asshole that I kissed. I’d pretended that Marie was my wife to the other woman, and the crazy part? It didn’t feel wrong. It felt amazingly right, like I wanted the brunette to wait for me, I wanted her to keep her pussy safe, I wanted to be the only man plumbing those sweet depths, the only man allowed to shoot my sperm inside.
But that was the irony of all this. At this very moment, the woman of my dreams was probably at a sperm bank, picking out some anonymous donor and getting ready to take his semen into herself in the hopes of having a child. The thought made my body go cold, literally chills running down my spine, my chest beating with pain. Because fuck, I didn’t want some other guy’s sperm in her … I only wanted mine. Marie was mine, and even though I had no right to tell her, of speaking my hopes, dreams, my desire to her, the brunette was mine, absolutely, completely mine.
But what did I have to offer a woman? I was a journeyman athlete at the beginning of my career, making practically nothing with no stable home, no home base even, just a man with a suitcase pursuing my dream of playing pro sports. And Marie was a woman worth far more than that. She deserved more, she was catnip to billionaires, I’d witnessed Vincent hitting on her with my own eyes. I had nothing to offer in comparison except a hard body, a devoted heart, my absolute passion for her sweetness, her willingness, that curvy form. And unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Marie deserved more, she deserved better … and I’d come up short.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marie
Robbie came down into the kitchen while I stirred my tea, using a little more sugar than usual. I needed the sugar, needed the high, given how terrible I’d been feeling lately.
“You okay, Mom?” he asked off-handedly, opening the fridge and peering inside. Pulling out a carton of juice, he took a swig before putting it back. “Mm, this shit is good.”
I mock frowned at him.
“Robbie, you know you’re not supposed to drink from the carton,” I scolded lightly, my heart not in it. “The juice’ll spoil that much faster.”
He nodded, already moving to the front door, hand outstretched to the knob.
“Sure Ma, no worries, next time I won’t,” he said. But then he paused and spun around, looking at me suddenly, eyeing my make-up less face, the way my hair was caught in a sad ponytail, the curls deflated and worn unlike my usual bouncy brown. “You sure you’re okay Mom?”
The truth was that I wasn’t. I missed Trent desperately. I missed the alpha, I missed Trent’s looming presence, the way he made me feel small, I was positively petite in comparison. Even more, I craved that deep growl, the humor in those blue eyes, the way he held me close to his hardness at night, his long legs tangling with mine. I was in love with my son’s best friend, it’d happened during our sinful week together, and there was no way my son could ever know.
“Yeah I’m fine,” I said in a chirpy tone, pasting a smile on my face. “All good, no worries.”
But Robbie looked at me carefully again. Single moms often have a close relationship with their kids and Robbie was no exception. Even though he was an adolescent male, twenty years old and chasing skirt, still, my son was perceptive, he knew me in and out even when it was uncomfortable. So he cocked his head, eyeing me speculatively, before turning away.
“I know something’s up, Ma, we’ll talk about it when I’m back okay?” he said, fixing me with another look. “Clarisse is waiting at the mall already, so not now, but when I’m back.”
And I flashed him a real smile then. Even if my love life was a wreck, I was happy for my son. I was glad he was out there, getting to know pretty girls, doing what it is that kids do these days, seeing movies, hanging at the mall, hell, even having sex, he was old enough. So I blushed a little, involuntarily, at the thought of my son getting naked with a girl. God, Robbie was so young, and where would they do it? In his car? Her car? I really had no idea.
But that was the thing. Trent was the same age as Robbie, and Trent was old enough, absolutely. My lover was charismatic, magnetic, sure of himself, he had a dream to play ball and was pursuing it with a single-mindedness that I had to respect. So Trent was old enough to handle him
self, and my son probably was too. After all, there was no reason to think otherwise either. Robbie was doing well in college, a double-major at that, with every sign that he was succeeding, forging a path for himself in this game called life.
So I smiled at the boy again. Robbie was my other amazing love, just in a different way, the baby I’d raised since birth.
“Go, have fun,” I said gently. “Meet up with your friend, what’s her name again? Clarisse? Sounds exciting,” I smiled.
My son grinned back at me.
“Clarisse is more than exciting, she’s incredible,” he grunted. “But more on that later. When I’m back, Mom. We’ll talk when I’m back,” he said firmly, stepping out.
And I sighed as his car rumbled and then took off down the street. Because I had a shift coming up, I’d taken an afternoon shift at the hospital and this was no way to walk in, gloomy, schleppy, lonely and sad. I worked in the maternity ward, a place filled with joy, moms and their new babies, and I needed to be peppy and happy, a ray of light, not all gloom and doom.
God, what was wrong with me? In the course of a week, I’d done crazy u-turns, one moment joyful, ecstatic, coupling with an insanely gorgeous man, welcoming him into myself over and over, sure I could handle the consequences. But now that it’d ended, I was a mess, it’d been a terrible miscalculation. Plain and simple, I was worse off than when I started, I’d veered between the highest highs and the lowest lows, and had hit rock bottom now. Before, I’d been wallflower Marie, a little shy, a little afraid sure, but still protected, my heart cocooned so that I’d never feel pain. And now that I’d put myself out there, it seared so badly, tearing me apart. I missed Trent so much, mourned his absence, the fact that I’d probably never see him again.
Claiming His Virgin In the Ring: The Filthy Wrestling Club Page 82
