Unexpected Relief

Chasity's phone buzzed on her dorm desk during a late-night cram session, the screen lighting up with a message from an unknown number: "Massage? Team party after win. Address?" She recognized the broken phrasing immediately—Tomohiro, probably fumbling through some app. The team had crushed their rivals that Friday, and now the post-game bash was at a rundown frat house off-campus, the kind with peeling paint and a backyard that doubled as a makeshift bonfire pit. Her back had twinged again during the match, a reminder of those brutal tackles, but the real ache was lower, a restless throb she'd been ignoring since the van.

She typed back yes, attaching the address, then tossed the phone aside. Guilt nipped at her—her parents were out of town for the weekend, some conference for her dad's job, leaving her free but also unsupervised in a way that felt too tempting. The shame from their last hookup lingered like a bruise, especially the close call with her mom at the game, but it only sharpened the edge of wanting more. Tomohiro's silence, his unreadable eyes, made it easy to dive back in without overthinking.

The party was already heaving when she arrived around ten, bass thumping from speakers jury-rigged to a generator, red Solo cups littering the lawn like confetti. Teammates milled around, jerseys swapped for tank tops, laughter cutting through the chill night air. Chasity grabbed a beer from a cooler, nodding at her striker buddy Mia, who was shotgunning one with exaggerated flair. "You look tense," Mia teased, wiping her mouth. "That slide in the second half wrecked you." Chasity shrugged it off, scanning the shadows beyond the firelight. No van yet, but the anticipation coiled in her gut, mixing with the beer's warmth.

An hour in, the crowd thickened—guys from the men's team crashing, girls dancing on a picnic table, the bonfire spitting sparks into the dark. Chasity slipped away to the side yard, pretending to check her phone, when headlights swept the gravel drive. The van pulled up discreetly, parking at the treeline where the property butted against a cornfield. Tomohiro emerged, same polo stretched over his belly, a duffel slung over his shoulder like he was here for legit work. He spotted her immediately, nodding once, and she felt that familiar heat rush up her neck.

She waved him over, heart picking up as she led him around the back of the house, past a cluster of keg stands. "In here," she muttered, pushing open a creaky shed door—the kind used for storing lawnmowers and holiday decorations, now empty except for stacks of cardboard boxes and a single bare bulb swinging overhead. It smelled like dust and old paint, the noise from the party muffled to a dull roar. Tomohiro stepped inside without question, setting his bag down and unfolding a portable mat he'd clearly packed for this. No words, just that steady gaze as he gestured for her to lie down.

Chasity kicked the door shut, the latch clicking softly, and peeled off her hoodie, the cool air hitting her sports bra. Her shorts came next, leaving her in just the thin fabric clinging to her hips. She dropped face-down on the mat, the rough weave scratching her skin, and waited. His hands were on her right away—warm, heavy, starting at her shoulders with those deep presses that bordered on pain. She groaned into the mat, the knots from the game unraveling under his thumbs, but her mind raced ahead, remembering how those same fingers had slipped inside her last time, no hesitation.

He worked methodically, oil from a bottle in his bag slicking her skin, sliding down her spine to her lower back. The spot that always seized up after practices got special attention, his palms grinding in circles that made her arch involuntarily. "Shit, right there," she whispered, even though he wouldn't catch it. The shed's walls were thin—laughter and music seeped through, a reminder that anyone could wander over for a smoke or a hookup of their own. That risk, the sneaky thrill of it all, had her thighs pressing together, the dampness building fast.

Tomohiro's touch shifted lower, kneading her ass cheeks with firm squeezes, pulling them apart just enough to expose her. She bit her lip when his thumb grazed her asshole, circling the tight ring with oil-slick pressure. It wasn't gentle; he pushed in slow, the intrusion burning at first, then settling into a full, insistent stretch. Her pussy clenched in response, empty and aching, and she spread her legs wider, inviting more. He added a finger to her slit, thick and probing, curling inside to hit that spot that made her hips buck. "Fuck, yes," she hissed, face heating with the shame of how eagerly her body responded, just like in her bedroom with her parents downstairs.

He flipped her over without warning, the mat crinkling under her. Tomohiro's shirt was off now, his gut hanging soft as he loomed over her, unbuckling his pants. His dick sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip—and he stroked it once, eyes locked on hers. Chasity reached for it, wrapping her hand around the girth, pumping slow while he oiled her tits, pinching her nipples until they peaked hard. The bulb overhead cast harsh shadows, highlighting the sweat beading on his forehead, and she guided him down, wanting his mouth on her.

He obliged, lips latching onto one nipple, sucking with wet pulls that sent jolts straight to her core. His free hand worked between her legs, two fingers now plunging into her pussy, thumb rubbing her clit in rough circles. She was soaked, the sounds obscene—squishing with each thrust—and she ground against his palm, chasing the build. "Don't stop," she breathed, tangling her fingers in his hair, the party noise spiking with a cheer outside. Someone's voice called out, close enough to make her freeze for a second, but Tomohiro didn't pause, his tongue flicking her other nipple while his fingers fucked her deeper.

The edge hit her fast, orgasm ripping through like a cramp releasing, her walls clamping down on his hand as she came with a muffled whimper. Cum slicked his fingers when he pulled out, and she grabbed his wrist, sucking them clean without thinking—salty, her own taste mixing with the oil. Shame flickered, hot and familiar, but it only fueled her, making her push him back onto the mat. She straddled his thighs, grinding her wet pussy along his dick, coating it before sinking down.

He filled her completely, the stretch making her gasp, her back arching as she adjusted. Tomohiro's hands gripped her hips, guiding her rhythm—up and down, slow at first, then faster, her ass slapping against his belly with each drop. The shed shook faintly, boxes rattling, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the moans. His thumb found her clit again, rubbing in time with her bounces, and she rode him harder, tits jiggling, sweat dripping between them. "God, your dick feels so good," she panted, the words spilling out despite his silence.

He grunted low, thrusting up to meet her, the angle hitting deep. She leaned forward, bracing on his chest, feeling the soft give of his body under her palms. The party's bass pulsed like a heartbeat, syncing with their rhythm, and she imagined Mia or the coach stumbling upon them— the shock, the scandal—but it just made her clench tighter around him. Tomohiro's breaths grew ragged, his grip bruising her hips, and she whispered, "Come inside me," remembering the van, the risk of it all.

He did, with a muffled groan, his dick pulsing as hot spurts filled her, leaking out around the base as she kept rocking through it. Her own release followed, smaller but sharp, pussy milking him dry. They stayed like that for a minute, her collapsed on his chest, the air thick with sweat and sex. Then voices approached—teammates heading to the fire, footsteps crunching leaves—and Chasity scrambled off, grabbing her clothes. Tomohiro tucked himself away quick, zipping up as she yanked on her shorts, the cum still warm between her thighs.

She cracked the door, peeking out—no one in sight—and he slipped past her into the night, vanishing toward the van like a ghost. Chasity smoothed her hair, rejoining the party with flushed cheeks and a slight limp, the ache in her back finally gone. Mia slung an arm around her. "Where'd you disappear to? You look wrecked—in a good way." Chasity laughed it off, grabbing another beer. "Just needed to work out some tension. You know how it is."

By midnight, the bonfire was dying down, couples pairing off into corners, and Chasity's phone buzzed again: "Good recovery. Next game?" She smirked, typing yes, already plotting how to sneak him into the locker room afterward. Turns out, the real MVP wasn't on the field—it was the guy who could fuck the soreness right out of her, one hidden spot at a time.

But the night wasn't over yet. As the crowd thinned, Chasity lingered by the keg, chatting with a few lingering teammates, when she spotted Mia eyeing her curiously. "Seriously, you okay? You've been weirdly glowy all night." Before she could deflect, Mia pulled her aside to the porch, the screen door slamming behind them. The house was quieter inside, most partiers scattered, and Mia's hand brushed Chasity's arm—lingering a beat too long. They'd always had that easy chemistry on the field, shared showers after practice where glances turned appraising, but nothing more.

"You smell like... oil or something," Mia said, stepping closer, her breath warm with beer. Chasity's pulse jumped, the fresh cum still sticky in her panties making her hyper-aware. "Yeah, uh, tried a new lotion." Mia's eyes narrowed, playful, and she tugged at Chasity's tank top strap. "Liar. Show me." It was half-joke, but the air shifted, charged, and Chasity didn't pull away when Mia's lips brushed her neck.

They tumbled into an empty bedroom upstairs, the door locking with a click, posters of old bands peeling from the walls. Mia was all energy—pushing Chasity onto the bed, yanking off her top to expose her bra, still marked with faint red from Tomohiro's pinches. "Fuck, your tits are perfect," Mia murmured, mouth latching on, sucking hard enough to make Chasity arch. No slow build; Mia's hands were everywhere, shoving down Chasity's shorts, fingers diving into the mess between her legs. "Holy shit, you're soaked—and what's this?" She scooped some of the leaking cum, eyes widening, but instead of pulling back, she grinned wickedly. "Someone got lucky tonight. Share the details later?"

Chasity moaned, spreading her legs as Mia's tongue replaced her fingers, lapping at the mix of her and Tomohiro's release. It was messy, eager—Mia swirling around her clit, then plunging deep, tasting everything. Chasity's hands fisted the sheets, the contrast hitting her hard: Tomohiro's silent intensity versus Mia's bold licks. "Don't stop—fuck, eat me out," she gasped, hips grinding up. Mia added teeth, nipping her inner thighs, then slid two fingers in, curling them while her tongue flicked relentlessly.

The orgasm built fast, shame twisting with the pleasure—getting off again so soon, with her teammate no less, cum from another guy still inside her. But it crashed over her, thighs quaking as she came on Mia's mouth, squirting a little that Mia lapped up with a hum. "Tastes like trouble," Mia said, wiping her chin, then kissing Chasity deep, sharing the flavor.

They lay tangled for a bit, breaths syncing, until Mia propped