He pushed me against the locker roughly, hands frantically trying to undo the buttons on my top. So rough, I worried he might rip the buttons off.
Our mouths were locked together, my back pressed against the locker, held up in the air with my legs wrapped around him. At 6'2", over 200 pounds, he easily held me up.
My top, finally unbuttoned, with none ripped off, fell open, showing my red bra. He left my lips, kissing my exposed cleavage. I tried to take my top off as he kissed my breasts, but with me pinned to the locker, it didn't work, and I soon gave up to start working on his getting his jersey off.
His shirt came off with a slight grunt from him, and he was back to attacking my breasts. He lowered me down to the ground, setting me down, and I took off my top, trowing it to the side, then took off my top. He showed his appreciation of my freed breasts, not by staring, but by sucking. He grabbed my left breast while putting his mouth around my right nipple. His hand squeezed the one breast while his teeth bit down on the nipple. It hurt, my eyes tearing up slightly, but excited me.
His sweat hung on him like a cologne, pungent, yet intoxicating. It smelled manly, testosterone laced. I pulled his sweats down, exposing his boxers, and was rewarded with fingers grasping my panties under my skirt, the part covering my pussy, and him pulling. Hard. I heard them rip. It stung slightly, but mixed with the lust and drove me to return the favor, pulling his boxers down.
He quickly stepped out of them, and picked me up, pushing me against the locker again.
He buried his face in my breasts as I felt his stiff cock press against my pussy. He pushed in slightly, moistening the tip, and pulled back out. Pushed in again, deeper. Thrust in again, entering me further, a gasp escaping my lips. Two more thrusts, and he was in me completely. He thrust quickly, over and over, his cock almost out, then back in, almost to my cervix. Back out, and in again.
Meanwhile his mouth found mine, and we locked our lips together, tongues exploring, penetrating. Mine penetrating his mouth, his penetrating mine. His hands squeezed my breasts, caught my nipples, pulled them.
Already I felt myself close to orgasm, pushed over the edge when I felt his cum fill my pussy.
I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed tight as the orgasm rolled over me.
I stayed there as he thrust deep inside a couple more times, his cum warming my pussy, filling it to overflowing.
Putting me back down, my legs spread, the cum dripping from my lips, sticky, wet, hot.
"TJ, get out here, now," the coach yelled.
"Shit, he must have caught us," I said.
TJ just gave me a grin and started pulling on his clothes.
We left the locker room, and I gave him a quick kiss. From the office next to the hall, we heard "Get your ass in here and close the door."
I squeezed his hand and continued on, leaving the hall, to wait for him near his car.
I didn't wait that long for him. About 10 minutes later, he opened the door and walked across the parking lot.
"What did he say?" I asked, worried that one, or both, of us would be in trouble.
"That he needs me to come in this Saturday for practice. He is worried about my stance."
"What?" I asked, wonder what he was talking about.
My boyfriend laughed. "He didn't say anything about us having sex in the locker room. He was just worried about the next game, and wanted to work with me to improve."
I felt both relieved, and a little let down. "Oh."
TJ laughed again. "I am his best lineman. He wouldn't care if we had sex on his desk, as long as I get the job done."
I let out my own laugh, definitely not ladylike, and flashed him a grin. "So, when are we hitting his office?"
We were both high school students. While I might not have been the cheerleader type, I was still popular, and still dating TJ.
TJ was the biggest guy on the football team. He was almost ruggedly handsome, but not quite. In fact, TJ was mostly an almost when it came to looks. Almost attractive. His eyes almost an attractive color. His hair almost wavy, almost the right shade of dark brown.
The sad part was, TJ was just as close to ugly as attractive. He was...average, in every way. Until you got to his body.
He was big. As stated before, 6'2" tall. He was over 200 pounds, and not in fat. Pure muscle, he was the very essence of testosterone fueled men. While no one would ever call him handsome, no one would ever call him anything bad, at least not to his face.
I loved to run my hands over his chest, play with his pecs. Squeeze his tight ass. I felt safe with him, secure. No one tried to do shit to me, not with him around.
Lately though, it had not been going well. His temper seemed to have picked up. One time, we had an argument, and he hit me. He promised it would never happen again, so I let it slide. After all, I loved him. It seemed like we had sex less often, like he wasn't in the mood. I didn't understand why-until I caught him.
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