The Spirit Girl

I fully intended to lick up her juices until I felt the bed shaking, but she had other ideas. She wanted to feel me inside her belly. She pressed her thighs together and guided me up with her hands. I wore a beard of love juice, but she nary even flinched as she kissed me. Then she bent low and took my penis into her sweet mouth again. It was thoroughly unnecessary as I remained hard as a railroad spike, but her saliva wetted--and whetted--me anew. Once again I really had to concentrate to not prematurely ejaculate in her warm, unbelievably wonderful mouth.

It didn't take long for her to be satisfied with my readiness for the main event. She lay back on the bed again, effortlessly splitting her legs wide apart with her strong dancer's thighs. There could not possibly have been a more inviting sight. Her sex glistening with desire, her thighs open like a wide valley... shaking with excitement I pressed my penis against the partly exposed opening and drove myself home.

Oh my god! Her pussy was even more of a silk heaven than her mouth! I slipped in easily because of its wetness, but I felt a constant, gentle squeeze from the soft flesh. I pressed my pubic bone against hers, pushing my penis as far into her belly as possible, wishing I had more length just so that I could feel even more of the wondrous sensation of her pussy. And she was so beautiful as she lay there, receiving me, opening up her most private of treasures for my enjoyment.

Our eyes met--and I noticed a vulnerability in them. She was looking up at me as I penetrated her most private sanctum, and I sensed she had some mixed emotions. Probably something to do with Marshall Jacobs... then I remembered her asking me to go slow. Without hesitation, I bent down over her, and kissed her deeply while thrusting slowly and easily. Our mouths opened, our tongues met; I felt her put her arms around me and run her nails down my back. That seemed to ease whatever concern was worrying her. Her hesitation was gradually replaced by wanton lust, her fears driven away by the pleasure she felt from our sexual union. She released her tight grip, putting her arms around me loosely. The look in her eyes now--the only way I can describe it is part love, part lust, but best of all, entirely directed towards me. I began to thrust with renewed intensity, drinking in the heady sensation that came with each new penetration.

There are cars, and then there are Ferraris; I would likewise say there is sex, and then there is Samantha. Her body was almost surreal, both as an object of beauty to behold and as an provider of pleasurable sensations. But she didn't just lay there and take it; she was constantly active, involved, actively working to increase both her own and her partner's pleasure. And she whispered sexy encouragements like "oh baby, that feels so good... oh god... please give me more...oh..." These energized me, such that I expended more and more lovemaking effort without feeling fatigue. We were in full-fledged fuck mode, and it was mind-blowingly awesome.

Then all at once, the open and inviting arms and legs all closed around me like a Venus flytrap. She locked her legs around my waist, and lifted herself entirely off the bed clinging to my torso. I couldn't see her face because she was holding me to tight and her head was on my shoulder, but I could feel her body shudder in orgasm. Attached to me and lifted from the bed, she shook like a leaf, held tight to the tree by the stem that was my penis. It was incredible. Time slowed and the world melted away; all that was real was her orgasm, shaking and taking me with it.

I felt a strong sense of protective tenderness towards her after the orgasm passed and she lowered herself back onto the bed. I bent down and kissed her passionately. I would have kept on kissing, but she wanted to finish what we had started. Next thing I knew I was on the bottom, and she was thrusting up and down on my penis with her strong legs. The unobstructed view of the naked symphony of her muscles working in harmony as she moved was a wonder to watch. I touched her smooth legs, her belly, her breasts as they sped by; I was getting massively stimulated without having to move a muscle. A fleeting thought passed, wondering if this too was something that Marshall Jacobs would have liked--receiving all of the pleasure without having to do any of the work. But once again, I reminded myself that that didn't matter, because it was my knob she was impaling herself on. Wow. Just how much DID this girl work out, not only to have a body like that but the stamina...

Again I felt myself coming close the brink of climax, and this time I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it back any longer. Because I preferred to finish on top, I rolled her back over. She spread her legs wide again, and I made love to her with intense single-mindedness of purpose. Her eyes met mine again, not only encouraging me but in a strange way almost challenging me to fuck her harder. I did my best to meet that challenge. I fucked her like a madman until I could delay nirvana no longer, the pleasures of her body were just too overpowering. I pushed as far as could reach and exploded into the depths of her belly with an ecstasy the likes of which I could not recall. For what seemed like a very long time I had dreamed of making love to the sexy dancer. Actually doing it was SO much better than I had ever dreamed.

---------

For the remainder of the month, Sam (as she now wanted me to refer to her) and I got used to be being a new boyfriend and girlfriend. We knew each other somewhat from going out and stats tutoring, but being a couple is different. Game nights and weekends we still spent at the 5th Quarter hanging with the girls from the team, but now Sam was constantly at my side. I usually had my arm around her protectively, by which I mean protecting her from being looked at too closely by the admiring eyes of every other guy in the joint. The players would usually come out too Marshall seemed to be a bit slow to catch on that things had changed. For the next three or four games he kept sending Sam his booty calls, even though she was no longer responding to any of his communications. When she didn't respond he'd come to the bar. When she was him, Sam would press even closer to me, and made a point to give me long, sloppy kisses in plain sight of him. Marshall just pretended that he didn't even see her, but really he was watching everything that was going on.

Finally, one day Marshall cornered Sam as she was making her way back towards me from the bathroom. Fortunately girls never go alone, and Jenna was with her to back her up. I didn't learn about it until later; all I knew was Sam suddenly came back from the bathroom looking shaken and wanting to leave immediately. I took her home, and as we lay in bed later that night she told me that he'd confronted her. She recounted what he said: "Hey baby, how you been? I been lookin' for ya. I see you got a new boy; hey, that's great. But just cuz you got someone else, that don't mean you and I gots to stop meetin', you know what I mean? I'm cool with you seein' someone else too." Then she continued "so I said no, Marshall, I don't fuck around like you do. I'm a one-man woman, I'm dating someone else, and you and I are THROUGH. So from now on, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE." I kissed her; I was so happy to hear that she'd told him off and explicitly chosen me over him. In retrospect, I suppose we could have predicted that Marshall Jacobs wouldn't take being told off in public very well. Even so, I wouldn't have thought that the dickhead would stoop so low as to turn Samantha in.

That Friday night Sam and I had gone out with some of the Spirit girls that didn't usually go out after games their significant others, a couples kind of thing (Jenna didn't go, because her boyfriend was in Texas). Afterwards we were at her place; we had been alternating whose bed we would share, and that night was her turn. Since there was a Saturday game the next day, I was hanging out in the girls' apartment all day, watching games on TV and helping her with stats until it was time to go. That's the only reason I was around when the call came.

The Jammer Spirit team leader, Susie, called and told Samantha she needed to meet with her a half-hour before the time the girls were supposed to report. Sam sensed right away that it sounded like she was in trouble. If so, we could only think of one reason why. I tried to be supportive, but I feared she was right. I drove her to the arena and showed her exactly where my office was; I told her I'd be waiting for her, and she should come by after her meeting one way or another.

She was back not 20 minutes later. I had my back turned at first because I was using the computer, then spun my chair around. The tearful look in her eyes told me all I needed to know. "Like I thought... I've been kicked off the team."

I frowned sympathetically. "I'm so sorry Sam."

She walked in to my office, dropping her clothes bag on the floor and sitting in one of the two cheap chairs set out on the visitor's side of my basic battleship-gray desk. "It's my own fault. The contract is very clear that fraternizing with the players is forbidden and grounds for termination. It's also a joke, because girls and players hook up all the time. Susie knows it, the club know is, and as long as no one complains everyone looks the other way. Susie wouldn't tell me who said what, but none of the girls on the squad would ever turn me in. There's only one person that had a reason to do that."

"Marshall Jacobs," I finished for her. She just nodded, then hid her face in her hands. I stood up, walked around the desk, crouched next to her chair and put my arms around her to hold her as she sobbed. "I'm sorry, honey. You know, the Spirit is an independent organization, but that rule is there because the organization requires it." And then, I was so focused on trying to comfort her that before I caught myself, I blurted out "I could maybe talk to my dad and see if we can do something about it. Hell, you're not even seeing him anymore..."

It only took her a minute or two to regain composure. "There's no point. There's only three games left in the season anyway. It's just done. My days as a Spirit girl are over." She wiped her eyes and sighed bravely. "What would your dad have to do with anything, anyway?"

What happened next seemed to me to be taking place in slow-motion, Matrix-like. I could see her eyes scanning my simple bare office. I was leaning on my desk right next to the one "nice" thing in my office, so naturally her eyes were drawn to it. It was a heavy oak name plate with brass engraved lettering. Dad said I'd keep that thing forever, so we may as well buy me a good one right off the bat. It seemed like I could see her eyes take in each individual letter. There was a micro-pause as it registered, and then her eyes grew big as saucers. "Davis Rutherford III????" I made kind of a guilty face. "DavIS? I just assumed that Dave was short for David. I knew your name was Rutherford, but I just figured that was a coincidence. But if you're Davis Rutherford... THE THIRD... "

"My grandfather is Davis Rutherford Sr. Owner of the Jammers. My dad is club president," I said quietly, almost whispering.

She turned her doe-eyes towards me, mouth hanging open incredulously. "If you're... what are you doing down here?"

"I really am just an intern, like I've always said. My grandfather wants me to work my way through the organization, learning how the business works before eventually I take it over..."

"Take it over?" She was having trouble swallowing all this new information.

" Yes. I'm the eldest son of the eldest son, so I'm the heir to the team." I said softly.

"But... but..." she stammered.

"I know what you're thinking. Yes, I have a crappy office, I drive a crappy car, and I go to State for the cheap in-state tuition. Probably not what you'd expect from the team owner's grandson—but there's a good reason for that. Since someday I'll inherit the most valuable piece of the family fortune, I don't have a trust fund or anything, like all my cousins do. "

"YOU'RE going to own the TEAM? Oh my god... Dave... I LOVE the Jammers... why didn't you TELL me?" She didn't know what to think.

I answered solemnly. "When I was younger, I had some trouble... differentiating who my true friends were from the hangers-on. So when I went away to college, I started introducing myself to everyone as just 'Dave.' If people asked me I wouldn't lie, but I liked it better if most people just didn't know."

"So..." she thought out loud "if people like you without knowing who you are... you feel you can trust them... but if they know who you are... you can't? Dave, I swear to you, I had NO idea that your family owned the team..."

"I believe you," I said gently.

"Do you?" her eyes search me anxiously.

I returned her gaze. Her reaction just now... I just had to believe that was real. "Yes," I responded resolutely, "I do." Then I kissed her. "Come on... let's go upstairs and watch the game. One of the perks of dating the owner's grandson--you get to see games from the owner's box."

She let me take her hand and start walking. "The owner's box... of course. How stupid could I be? You have the same name as the owner... and then for that concert you got us into the owner's box... and yet it never dawned on me that it might mean something?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself... Jenna knew all those things too, and it never dawned on her, either. You'd be SURPRISED how many people just assume my name is David." She gave me a smile. I put my arm around her waist and we boarded the elevator.

I took her up to the suite and introduced her to Grandpa, who was sitting in his usual chair by the window. "Hey grandpa," I announced as we came in, "I want you to meet someone." Sam was walking in behind me. "This is Samantha, my new girlfriend. Samantha, this is my grandfather."

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Rutherford. I've been a Jammers fan since I was a little girl." She held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you, young lady. Welcome to the best seats in the house." I sat between them at the counter as we settled in for the game. When the fresh cold beers came, I handed one to Sam and commented "here's one of the benefits of not having to work during games."

She gave me a smile and took the beer. Then her phone buzzed; there was a text from Jenna: Susie told us you were cut. Sry gf. She responded It OK. I'm watching the game with Dave... in the owner's box. "That ought to pique her curiosity," she commented. It did. A half-hour later, the Spirit Team was doing its rounds, raising the eyebrows and pulses of the rich guys in the suites. Jenna broke away for a second to peek into the owner's box to see if indeed Sam was there. Sam caught a glimpse of her, and went running out to hug her bff. Grandpa turned around briefly. The two went out into the hall to chat quickly. That's when my grandfather blew my fucking mind.

"I thought she looked familiar..." he commented. "She was one of the Jammer Spirit girls, right?" I just nodded, not wanting this conversation to go very far. She was still wearing the team's warm-up suit over her uniform, so it wasn't too hard to guess that part. But then when he added "was she the one... in the middle row, right side? With the flat belly and cute smile?" my jaw dropped open. Grandpa chuckled. "What, you think I don't notice these things? The spirit is willing long after the flesh is too weak, Davey. And now that your grandma is gone, I don't even have to feel guilty about it! So then why isn't she performing with the team... oh, I get it. Let me guess: she the one that Marshall Jacobs kept chirping about sleeping with, and someone found out about it."

I was beyond flabbergasted. He wasn't even in town most of the time--how the HELL did he know all that? Grandpa took a look at my face and burst out laughing more heartily than I'd ever heard in my life. "Oh... that look on your face is just precious... wish I had a camera. Just remember--when it's your turn to run this team, you had better have your finger on everything that goes on around here, too, or you'll never have a winning organization." I nodded, yet another lesson learned. Then my grandfather's demeanor changed to concern. "She's not still messing around with that Jacobs fella, is she?"

"No," I said confidently. "I was there when she told him off. We think that that got him angry, and we think he's actually the one that turned her in and got her fired."

He shook his head. "Ah, well... that Jacobs kid--he's got potential, but he need to grow up a little. That's pretty small-time, getting revenge on a girl because she got tired of being one of his brood mares. All the REAL players through the years have known to keep their skeletons firmly locked in the closet." And by players, he didn't mean basketball. Then he clucked approvingly "well, I do hope that you're right that she's through with Jacobs, because you've chosen well, Davey. She was my favorite dancer on the team this year--and wasn't she on the team last year too?" I nodded agreement. He remembered that? I hadn't even noticed her. "Yes, I thought so. She was my favorite last year, too. She's a memorable girl. But please do me a favor--don't go screwing around in the bathroom during the game like your cousin Ricky does?" Once again my jaw was firmly on the floor, to my grandfather's immense entertainment. I had a thought: never, ever play poker against your grandfather!

Sam came back. As she sat, she playfully punched me in the arm. "That's from Jenna," she kidded, "she said I should smack you for not telling her were the heir to the team!" Grandfather's gaze remained fixed on the floor like he wasn't paying attention, but I could hear him muffle a snicker and he elbowed me in the ribs. Something told me he approved of my under-the-radar approach.

Because Grandpa was in town, dad came down to the box. He took the nearest available seat, which was to Sam's left. I introduced her as my new girlfriend. He didn't seem to recognize her; as club president, he probably had a lot of other things on his mind. She answered the usual polite questions gracefully; where she was from, where she went to school, that sort of thing. Then the game started and everyone watched. The Jammer's back was against the wall; our slim playoff hopes were hanging by a thread, and we were playing the team we needed to catch. In the first quarter, Jacobs played well and was clicking with Jefferson, but there were too many defensive lapses leading to easy scores. Samantha burst out "we have GOT to defend the pick and roll better!" She was absolutely right, but it surprised me that she knew that. A short time later, Jacobs drove the ball into the lane, where his shot was easily blocked by the center. I heard her grumble "grr... there's a wide open shooter on the wing! PASS THE BALL." It's funny, as much time as we'd spent around basketball, I'd never had the chance to sit next to her during a game. I'd seen her shoot, but I hadn't appreciated just how into the game she really was. It certainly wasn't lost on my dad.

"You seem to really know your basketball, young lady."

Sam shrugged. "My dad was a coach. I was all-conference in high school."

"What position?" Dad seemed interested.

"Point guard," she replied offhandedly, eyes still fixed on the game.

I turned my chair towards her. "So that's why you're so deadly on the pop-a-shot?"

"Guess so," she answered offhandedly. Then she bent over to whisper to me. "Did you just assume that none of the Spirit girls really understood the game?"

"No, my dear," I whispered back, "I've seen you shoot; I knew you had to have been a player. But I did assume that you didn't get to be as good of a dancer as you are without having been a cheerleader or something in high school, so I didn't know what to think."