Showtime, Kid

Soarin's lungs heaved out a huge sigh of relief. The crowd didn't exactly go nuts at his first show, but the applause and cheer were still loud enough. Taking a towel to his head, he dried the sweat off of his head and neck. The suit peeled off his body with the sound of an adhesive being stripped off and releasing an odor that could only be described as unholy. Hitting the shower seemed like a good idea.

The hot water running down his body felt like heaven. Each drop tingled across his, melting away all the nerves he had been feeling only fifteen minutes ago. His hands ruffled through his long, dark hair which had the slightest navy tint to it. The captain said the dye job would help it stand out on stage, and it wasn't like Soarin had any grounds to disagree. The soap lathered up his body, giving his muscles a healthy glow. Most Wonderbolts packed their sinews onto their legs, but Soarin somehow had most of them on his chest and arms. It was why his suit had to be custom tailored, and possibly why he had been the most popular background performer.

He rubbed the soap lower down his body. They passed over his rippling abdominal muscles and began to rub between his legs. That feeling brought his mind back to before the show. Believing that the captain had sucked his dick was difficult enough, but the claim that she would fuck him after the show was outright ludicrous. There's no way she was actually going to do that, was she? Hell, it was probably bait for some kind of hazing ritual where he'd have to bend over and be ridden one by of the senior male members while she watched. All Soarin could hope was that it was all a joke and he'd get to go home undisturbed.

Still, the reminder sent the blood rushing below his waist. The mixture of hot water, cold soap, and the memory of that bossy redhead swallowing his entire length was irresistible. The suds created a natural lubricant, and Soarin wasted no time. Wrapping his left hand around his manhood, he began to pump with one powerful arm. Delicacy and finesse were concepts left to lovemaking. Right now, Soarin was jerking himself off, and he sailed ahead full speed from the start. The squelching sounds of soap sliding around his shaft and head had to be echoing through the showers and locker room, but he was sure he was the last one there. His ragged breath danced down his heaving pecs as he looked down at himself, trying to imagine Spitfire's mouth in place of his hand. He could see his own tip, swollen red with lust. He twisted his hands around, creating circular friction around his cock's circumference. His eyes closed, trying to tune out reality so he could engross himself in fantasy. The feeling of her wet, warm mouth engulfing him whole, her throat massaging him and sending vibrations up his spine, her hand clenching his testicles, all while she gave him that look letting him know who was the boss. He yelled out her name as the pressure broke and he was about to paint the walls of the shower stall with his semen.

“Did I tell you to get started without me?” A pair of hands shoved him down. His back slapped against the back of the stall, and his legs lost balance. Next thing he knew, he was sitting up against the wall with an ache in his back, looking up at Spitfire. She still wore her spandex uniform, looking simultaneously annoyed and mischievous with crossed arms. The heel of her boot dug between his legs. Normally, that would have been painful, but the confused torrent of thoughts in Soarin's heads – both the one on his neck and the one between his legs – crossed some kind of wires. As sharp as the pain in his groin was, the sight of of his coach and captain standing over him, looking down at him like a subordinate as she dug her foot into him, he didn't last a second.

As her heel dug into his manhood, he groaned at the heat bundling and exploding between his legs. His juices erupted all over himself. The first glob hit him in the face, a warm sticky surprise. Several more rained down on his chest and a few more streams decorated his abs. All the while, Spitfire continued to give his genitals a rough massage with her shoe. Her rough treatment blended the pain and orgasmic pleasure into one heady cocktail that scrambled Soarin's brain.

“Well, I might be able to forgive you after a show like that,” Spitfire said. “And I don't mean the one on stage, you dope.”

“Hey boss, nothing goin' on here. Just uh, cleanin' and...” Soarin's excuse, patterned with pants between each word, was cut off by a yelp when her boot pressed between his legs again. Strangely enough, being literally beneath her boot like this made his skin tingle.

“Shut up, get up, and take my clothes off, rookie.” Spitfire turned around, flashing her spandex-covered posterior at him. She looked over her shoulder, giving him a coy look as he stood up. Her hips swayed from side to side a bit, dangling the prize in front of her subordinate's eyes. It didn't take long for his arms to slide under hers. Her hands laid atop his, absolutely dainty in comparison, while he tugged away at her zipper. The kid had zero finesse, like he was trying his best to ruin the mood, but nothing short of a penis inside of her was going to relieve Spitfire at this point. After polishing off Soarin's cock before the show, she was burning for the favor to be repaid, and she was going to cash in with interest now.

The zipper stopped just short of her pubic hair. Her hands guided his to her shoulders, and a brush of the fingers exposed most of her upper body. Soarin's head was leaning over her now, desperate to get a good look. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she gave him a whisper to seduce him into going further. Not that he needed the help. “Come on, kid. With feeling.” Her tongue flicked against his cheek as she breathed the words into his ear.

“Yes ma'am,” Soarin said reflexively. His hands immediately went to her breasts. They may have been small, but that was expected on a professional athlete. They still looked good in uniform, and they felt firm and supple as ever beneath his fingers. Palming one with each hand, he pinched away at her nipples, pulling with none of the grace of a Wonderbolts performer. A coo from Spitfire's lips urged him on, and he obliged by grinding himself up against her. His bare, still slightly lathered cock stroked its length against her buttocks, hardened with layers of muscle. She gave him approval by rubbing back against him, feeling his hard pecs against her back. Two pair continued their sensual dance under the running water for a few moments, Spitfire reveling in Soarin's breath on her neck.

When Soarin's hands finished stripping the spandex off of his partner's legs, she shook his body off of hers. Spitfire shoved him again, with a little more force than she would if she were playing around. The dark haired Wonderbolt fell flat on his ass, propped up by his hands, staring back up at her. A leg draped over each of his shoulders as she mounted his face, wrapping her toned thighs around his head. Her hands pulled his head in, burying his nose in her bright red pubic hair. Breathing was difficult for Soarin, but he was content to suffocate on Spitfire's musky scent.

“I expect 110%, just like in practice,” Spitfire said. She put on her voice that meant twenty laps and laundry duty if anyone fucked up. To show that she meant business, she thrust her hips forward and squeezed her legs together. The rookie's muffled cry of distress into her flesh, followed by the way his fingers dug into her thighs, let her know that he was having trouble breathing. This was just the way she wanted it. “Listen up, you only get air when I think you're doing a good job. Lick me like a good boy and you breathe. If you don't, you choke until you shape up. Grab my ass if you understand.” The slap of hands on her rump echoed alongside her approving squeal.

The junior Wonderbolt's tongue dove into her wet folds. Surrounded on all sides by his captain's heat, Soarin had no space of mind for technique or refinement. Pushing deep into her tunnel, he sucked hungrily on her pussy lips while his tongue ran circles inside of her. The stench of her body odor, wafting from her hair, flooded his nostrils as he lapped at her juices like a hungry dog. Her powerful legs squeezed around his neck, momentarily cutting of his air. For a moment he panicked, unable to breathe, before fingernails dug into his scalp to remind him of his task. His own grip returned the favor, clutching at her buttocks and forcing her to smother his face as his lips sucked away at her pussy.

“Like you mean it!” Spitfire yelled at her teammate. With the pent up horniness that was in every fiber of her body, a tame licking was the last thing she wanted. She yanked on his wet mane of hair, using them like reins to guide him deeper into her slit. Warm water caressed her skin as his tongue did the same inside her. His tongue, warm and eager, ran laps around inner walls, tracing circles in her pussy. With a coo of approval, she tightened her grip around him. Her thighs, toned, rippling, and glistening in the shower, squeezed a choked cough out of his throat. As his hot breath brushed and danced against her swelling clit, every muscle tensed and she tightened around him in reflex. Moaning without a hint of shame, she began bucking her hips, riding his face like it was a helpless toy.

Unable to see, Soarin was lost and confused in an ocean of sensations. His tongue could only flex and thrash about inside of her as her tangy flavor flooded his mouth. With the water running all over his body and his struggle for oxygen, he should have felt like it was drowning. Instead, every lick of her delightfully sloppy pussy, every thrust of her crotch into his face, and every moan muffled out by the legs clamped around his ears drove more blood into his member. The thrill of of being pinned down and controlled made his heart pound and his cock ache. If anything more than the drizzle of water were to touch his engorged member now, he would surely blow another load.

“Not until I get mine!” Spitfire yelled, as if she could read his mind. Leaning against the tiled wall, the captain forced the entire weight of her body onto the rookie. Without the focus to hold himself up, he slid down until he was prone, Spitfire straddling his face with her sex mounted firmly on top of his mouth. Not missing a beat, the senior Wonderbolt continued to grind her hips into her object of submission, riding him like a mechanical bull. Every smear of his tongue inside her tunnel and every brush of his skin against her button made the sensations in her chest even stronger. Lost in the pleasure of forcing Soarin to serve her, she grabbed a clump of hair in each hand and pulled with every muscle in her arms.

“Fucking hell, Soarin!” she screamed as her legs began to quiver around Soarin's ears. “Eat my pussy, newbie!” With his new view, the prone man could see Spitfire's entire body tremble. Her pert breasts jiggled under the force, nipples standing to the sky. Shivers ran through her body and into his, as he was forced to absorb every vibration that her spasming legs gave off. Fluids began to pour out from her already soaked hole. Her hips lifted into her air, finally giving him a moment to breathe, only to have his air cut off once more by a torrent of juices. As she latched onto his head once more, lost in the euphoria pummeling her body, her wet arousal sprayed all over his face. Each wave of ejaculation made Soarin's cock throb, now drooling fluids of anticipation. Every time he thought she had finished, another gush squirted out, dousing him in another layer. This time, Soarin was almost certain that he was going to drown, but at least he was going to drown in heaven. He only knew it ended because of the tug on his hair, forcing him back into her slit for some post-game cleaning.

“I have never seen a man so ripe for fucking,” Spitfire said. She looked over her shoulder at the upright pole between her partner's legs. It was red as anything and looked ready to pop. Standing up, she looked down at her work. Soarin was red in the face, painted with her feminine juices, and his cut physique was a mess of excitement and exhaustion. “You think you're ready for the big time, kid?” The redhead squatted down, hovering her sopping vagina over Soarin's tip, watching the glimmer of hope in his eyes. She wanted to ride him too, but making him linger was more fun. “You're gonna have to prove you can take it before you can dish it out,” she said with a wicked grin as she stood up.

Soarin was flabbergasted. He didn't know if this was some kind of grand tease. He didn't know much of anything at that moment, other than the incredible strain between his legs that he needed released right then. As he stood up with her, she bent over to pick up their uniforms, teasing him with a perfect view of her tight rear and soaked pussy. When she stood up, her hand grabbed a palm full of his ass, making him jump. The next thing he knew, he felt a finger diving between his cheeks, tickling away at his anus. He had no idea why, but that just made even more precum drip out.

“Come to my office if you think you can handle it, kid.” She brushed another finger against his puckered hole to let him know exactly what she had in mind. If he couldn't figure it out, then he deserved what was coming to him anyway. “If you're good, I'll let you turn the tables on me.” She walked away, her hips swaying from side to side in a hypnotizing dance. Soarin knew that following her would be a mistake, but the head between his legs only had one thought: Go to her office and take it like a man.