Chapter 1: Men vs Women: First Half

Author's Note: New chapter is updated every week, but if you want to skip the waiting period or simply support me, you can purchase the official e-book of Soccer in a Man's World: Men vs Women at arielbenson.com or Gumroad. Thank you very much.

The lingos switch a lot between American English and British English because I'm a non-native English speaker who follows both the NFL and Premier League at the same time. Forgive me if it gets confusing at times.

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Soccer in a Man's World: Men vs Women

Chapter 1: Men vs Women: First Half

*

In the press box, a man adjusts the lapels of his pinstripe suit while a team of makeup artists tends to two beautiful ladies on either side of him. In the background, golden sunlight fills the stadium, spiking the temperature of the already overenthusiastic crowd. He sits down on a chair and signals for the ladies to get on their knees.

He stares into the camera in front of him, and when the countdown goes to zero, he speaks, “Welcome along to the historic Haynes Stadium. Today, our noble annual competition between masculinity and femininity commences. I’m Jay Richardson. Between my legs are the fabulous two-time World Cup champions—Harriet Lane.” He looked down at the gorgeous blonde with her chic off-white blazer hovering over her bare breasts, who gingerly kissed his crotch as a greeting.

Harriet smiles against his loins, her eyes fixing on his expression. “It’s an honor, sir.”

James smirks and turns to the glaring redhead, whose raging breathing threatens to pop her bouncy melons out of her black, skin-tight dress. “And Agatha Smith who has made five appearances in the final of the biggest game.”

Agatha’s glare intensifies after the introduction rubs salt into her wound. She was to watch her hated rival lift the trophies twice while she had no silverware to show for. She bites her plump, red lips and runs her tongue along his zipper. “Thank you, sir.”

“My, aren’t my whores eager today?” James grins, sensing the wetness of her saliva on his expensive fabric. “You know you’re supposed to kiss and not drool all over my crotch?”

“My apologies, sir. I couldn’t help myself.” Agatha rubs her nose against the bulge in his pants. “Your scent is too enticing.”

James narrows his eyes, his gaze darkening. “Lucky day for you then. You get the privilege of cracking the window.”

“Thank you, sir!” Agatha beams and unzips his pants with her teeth. The fume of his spicy musk overwhelmed her nostrils. She buries her nose into the small crack of his zipper and inhales the intense, toasty musk inside the incubator of his crotch. Her eyes roll back into her head at the delicious scent as she moans like a dog in heat against his package.

He grins ear to ear and pulls her head away from his crotch. “Down girl. Let your sister have a turn.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harriet greedily huffs the diluting musk while silently cursing her rival out.

“You whores need to learn how to share.”

“Sorry, sir,” both women say in unison, with phony smiles plastered on their faces.

“Take a look at the lineups. Red Phoenix employs a 4-5-1 formation with Gabriel Smith, Rachel Hall, Debbie Brown, Anastasia Borys in the back line, Chiara Meyer, Tammy Partey, the captain—Morgana Miles, Wendy Harrington, Abina Osei in the midfield, and a single forward/striker in Danielle Costa. Meanwhile, Blue Devil sticks to their 4-3-3 formation with four defenders in John Rocks, Rob Parker, Kyle Sprint, Derek Washington, three midfielders in Kevin Matthews, Frank Giggs, Toni Hoddle, three forwards in Jack Gordon, Ron Ramsey, Martin White. Ron Ramsey is also the only striker. I expect a busy day for the Golden Glove Alyssa Solo while her fellow goalkeeper Lucas Ederson can kick back and relax. What do you think, whores?”

Harriet tucks a stray lock of her blonde hair behind her ear and peppers kisses on the growing bulge inside Jay’s zipper while answering with a sly smile on her lips. “The Blue Devil will stick to their ultra-offensive football, while the Red Phoenix will park the bus and aim for the quick counterattack. As predicted, the women have abandoned their possession football and tried to survive in their own half.”

Irked by the thought of being outdone, Agatha slips Jay’s left hand under her dress and caresses her bare breast and erect nipple. “I have to agree, sir. We can expect a one-sided match with the men’s team dominating most of the match and scoring a lot of goals.”

“Good answers.” Jay gives Agatha’s bosom one hard squeeze before stroking both of their heads. “You whores can taste my cock.”

“Thank you, sir.” Agatha and Harriet beam together, then gently slip their hands inside Jay’s zipper. The heaviness of his hardening and monstrous weaponry takes them by surprise. The moment his pole emerges from the confinement of his pants, they hold their breaths at its sheer length and girth. Their hands look puny compared to his glorious manhood. Only after years of experience and professionalism do they manage to compose themselves and properly greet the master of their pleasure for the day. Smiling sweetly, they trail soft kisses along every inch of his pole and say, “We’ll be in your care, sir.”

Jay runs his fingers through their hair and turns his attention back to the monitor. “Oh, here come the players. In light blue jerseys and shorts are the Blue Devil. In red jerseys and skirts are the Red Phoenix.”

In the tunnel, players line up in a straight line with referees at the front. The male players and referees have their penises and testicles fully on display through the special air holes in their shorts. Each male player is paired with a female player who is crawling behind him. The skin-tight jerseys hug the women’s torsos and highlight the bountiful bosom along with their stiffening nipples. The short pleated skirts hang loosely around their tail bones, exposing the soaking wet thong wedged between their labia. Their noses sink into the heavy testicles, with their lips cushioning the hefty poles. The men’s butt cheeks completely cover the women’s eyes; the smell of manly sweat and musk pierces their nostrils.

As the slutty ladies follow the swaying cocks and balls to the pitch on their hands and knees, Harriet comments since she is the only champion who has experienced the ceremonial match herself, much to Agatha’s envy. “There’s nothing quite like crawling out of the tunnel with heavy balls on my head and a big cock smacking my face.”

“Is that so?” Jay asks, plugging Agatha’s mouth with his mushroom head.

“Absolutely, sir. The tunnel’s floor must be slick with pussy juice by now.” Harriet winked. “Some players, whose names I shall not mention, do like to drag their nuts all over my head while we wait for good luck.”

“Then why don’t you polish my sacks today?”

“It’ll be my honor, sir.” Harriet cradles Jay’s scrotum in her hand and carefully worships every wrinkle with her tongue.

“Losing with anything less than ten goals would be considered a success for the ladies. Unfortunately, since the inception of the ceremonial match of champions, no women's team has ever scored any goals. I highly doubt it’ll change today.” Jay sighs in contentment and watches the players along with the referees line up for the national anthem. As the music fills the stadium, he dispenses a few facts about the game. “For the new viewers at home, you can see that the women’s team is still on their knees. Since this year, the federation has implemented a new rule called Talking with Cunts. All female athletes shall only speak with their skirt hiked up, legs spread, and vulva exposed. When talking, they shall move their labia with their fingers; otherwise, all their words and protests shall be dismissed and disregarded. Female mouths spew lies, but their pussies speak only the truth. The way to a whore’s heart is through her cunt. This rule also applies to singing the national anthem. It is also deemed unconstitutional for female athletes to stand on par with their male counterparts during such an essential ceremonial ritual as the national anthem. Therefore, the ladies shall remain on their knees for the duration of the anthem where they belong.”

On the pitch, the female players are kneeling tall in front of their male counterparts, with the massive cocks of their opponents resting on the top of their heads while keeping their backs straight, their thighs apart, their thongs hanging around their knees, and the front of their skirts tucked inside the waistbands. They sing along, their fingers moving their pussy lips as if they have another mouth between their legs. The camera moves from the men standing tall to zooming into an intimate close-up of every lady player’s vulva. Viewers at home and spectators in the stadium can see every slight twitch of their clitoris and every silver thread of juice clinging to their labia.

“The goalkeeper, Alyssa Solo, has the biggest clit in Red Phoenix at half an inch in diameter and one inch in length when erect, followed by Gabriel Smith, Rachel Hall, Debbie Brown, Anastasia Borys. All defensive players.” Jay pulls Agathe’s hungry mouth off of his manhood by her hair and asks, “Is it true that big clit girls get special treatment?”

“Yes, sir. Players and referees pay more attention to girls possessing bigger-than-average clits with frequent squeezes and love taps. Some referees will insist that their clits be exposed i.e. peeking out of their thongs when inspecting their uniforms.”

Jay shoves Agatha back down to his prick, sealing her lips. “Why do defenders always have huge clits?”

Harriet says, “It’s a defender’s job to defend, including committing fouls, which often result in their clits being abused. For the sake of entertainment, coaches often pick girls with huge clits to play defense.”

“No wonder. Now, the Red Phoenix shall greet the referees and the Blue Devil.” The women crawl on all fours and take turns kissing the tip of every man’s dick. Jay lifts Harriet’s chin with his index finger and says, “The ladies spend extra effort saying hello to the referees.”

“Yes, sir. Girls pay special attention to asking for mercy when the match commences. But we do linger on our favorite players.” Harriet smiles suggestively.

“Who are your favorite players?”

“My apologies, sir. It’s highly inappropriate to name names on international television.” Harriet flashes a coy smile at him and nuzzles against his steel pole.

“Fair point.” Jay gazes back at the monitor, narrating. Noticing the camera closing up on the wet patches on the female players, Jay grins. “For the past 20 years, the Ministry of Sport has required every female athlete to actively lactate while participating in any professional tournaments or leagues, courtesy of lactating pills. The pills ensure an abundance of milk production, regardless of pregnancy status. However, as a side effect, the lactating pills tend to make the breasts, especially the nipples, extra sensitive to the slightest stimulation. Nipple orgasm has tripled since the introduction of lactating pills.”

*

As part of the opening ceremony, a glass is presented to the head referee, Henry Griffin, who has the honor of milking the women straight from the source. Fortunately, the girls get to stand up for the first time with their jerseys hiked up above their nipples in order to accommodate the milking process. The referee begins with the captain, Morgana Miles, at the start of the line by fondling both of her breasts. Morgana moans aloud, savoring the fireworks emitting from her bosom. Satisfied with her reaction, the referee positions her nipple over the glass and gently squeezes a bit of milk out of her tit. The referee carefully extracts only a little of the nutritious nectar from each breast since he has twenty two tits to express. The small glass would soon overflow otherwise. The referee watches Morgana’s expression closely as it is his duty to prevent the female players from achieving orgasm before the match begins. His duty is made doubly hard considering the sensitive nature of the athletes’ jugs.

When the referee is done with Morgana’s udders, her breathing is labored, with her eyes glazed in sheer pleasure. “Present your cunt, whore.”

“R-right away, sir.” Morgana stutters as she struggles to regain her reasoning. She slowly spreads her pussy lips apart with both hands and shows off her slick, pink, tender flower.

The referee places the glass against Morgana’s vagina and rims the glass with her naughty juice. Then, he repeats the same process with the rest of the team, with each pussy wetter than the last. The milk from every member of the women’s starting lineup is shared between the primary referees and two assistant referees. Not only do referees get to sample the milk from every female player, they also get to taste every cunt along the way.

*

While the referees enjoy the first sip of milk, Jay says, “Girls, what is it like playing with milk dripping from your tits?”

“Amazing, sir! I love spraying my milk after every goal.” Harriet beams, recalling two jets of milk shooting from her swollen nipples while squirting all over the grass.

“Lovely.” Jay chuckles at the mental image.

Meanwhile, both teams huddle on their respective sides of the pitch while the camera delivers in detail the female players’ sweaty buttocks and rosy slits before dispersing to their positions.

“Per custom, the men’s team will kick off the match,” Jay says while the captain of the Blue Devil—Ron Ramsey places the ball in the center spot and waits for the whistle. “The head referee, Henry Griffin, signals the start of the twentieth Champion Cup. Ron passes the ball back to the goalkeeper, Lucas Ederson, who lofts a long ball deep into Red Phoenix’s half.”

In the final third of the Red Phoenix, Martin White is squaring off against Anatasia Borys for the ball falling in the air. His six-foot-three frame towers over her frail figure while she presses her jugs hard against his back in an attempt to distract him. Without much effort, he darts his eyes toward the sprinting teammate on his right and takes a leap.

“Martin White heads the ball to Ron Ramsey.” Jay grabs Agatha’s head with both hands and shoves his dick down her throat at the sight of Ron Ramsey shooting a beautiful volley past the flinching defenders and into the right corner of the net amid the helpless gaze of Alyssa. “And Ron scores! Goal! The first goal in the first minute. It will go down in history as one of the quickest goals ever scored.”

Ron Ramsey runs to the stand, sliding his knees on the grass, being swarmed by his teammates. The stadium roars to life with fists pumping in the air. Moments later, Ron makes a beeline to Alyssa and signals the goalkeeper down on her knees. Mercilessly, he slides his semi-erect sword onto her face, staring into her glare with a twisted glee. Soon, his two fellow strikers join in, flailing their shafts all over Allyssa’s face.

“Jack Gordon, Ron Ramsey, Martin White are performing their signature Scrubbing Slut celebration, where they use their magnificent manhood to scrub down the face of the opponent’s goalkeeper.” Jay smirks and dislodges his stiff rod from Agatha’s throat. Imitating the players, he wipes her face with his saliva-covered prick and spreads her drool on every inch of her skin.

*

When the celebration is coming to an end, Ron Ramsey discreetly shields the referee’s field of vision with his back. He snaps Alyssa’s elastic thong on her swollen slit and grins as she stumbles on the pitch, clutching her loins. “I’m only getting started.”

Alyssa’s misfortune has just begun when the referee notices her disheveled uniform and rushes toward her. He frowned at her crotch. “Why is your thong sliding around your cunt?”

Alyssa struggles to her feet. “Sorry, sir.”

However, once Alyssa manages to stand up, what awaits her is a slap to the cheek. The primary referee, Robert Griffin, strikes her ruthlessly with his palm, sending her cheek bright red. “Who allows you to talk with your mouth?”

Alyssa bites her lips; the sting on her face only deepens her shame. She hikes up her skirt and maneuvers her labia as if she has another mouth in her nether regions. Only when the wet and sloppy sound echoes from her groin does she see a wicked grin on the referee’s expression. “My deepest apologies, sir.”

“Stand for inspection.”

Alyssa lifts her skirt above her waist and spreads her legs wide, with hardened nipples straining her jersey. It is essential that she remain still and not interfere with his inspection; otherwise, she risks a yellow card or worse. The referee smirks, grabs a handful of her thong, and yanks it up, splitting her twat in half. Her breathing hitches in her throat; her face contorts from a mix of pain and bliss. Her glistening and fat flaps hug the skimpy bottom, which now resembles a string more than proper underwear.

“What’s your clit doing?” The referee rolls her engorged bud in his fingers.

“Throbbing, sir.” Alyssa’s legs tremble as she fights the urge to squeeze her thighs together and gets the sweet release.

“Why is that?”

“My filthy clit seeks attention, sir.”

Then, he tugs on her burly, throbbing knob with his fingers and slips it out of her thong. “It’ll be such a shame to hide this pretty pearl.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Alyssa grits her teeth and bites down on the pleasure scorching her loins. Her thighs tremble with her love juice watering the grass. “It-it’ll be my honor, sir.”

“Good whore.” Before signaling the resumption of the match, the referee wipes his sticky fingers on her jersey and gives her jug a few squeezes. Her moan is music to his ear as milk oozes from her pointy mountain top and leaves a damp patch on her sponsor logo.

The match restarts with the Red Phoenix initiating an attack. At the whistle, in the center of the pitch, Morgana Miles passes the ball to Tammy Partey, who delivers a long ball to the only striker of the Red Phoenix—Danielle Costa. Watching the descending ball, Danielle sprints up the middle of the field at full speed. She jumps and catches the ball with her bouncing, perky tits. The hem of her short skirt bounces with her every movement and briefly shows off her slick, bare mound to the entire world. Without bras, the heavy and round ball sinks into her sensitive flesh, igniting a flame in her loins. She eyes the two midfielders flocking toward her. Their gigantic poles swinging between their legs distract her for a moment before she comes to her senses and takes a shot. The ball curves beautifully toward the high corner of the Blue Devil’s goal. Unfortunately, goalkeeper Lucas reacts quickly and dives as high as possible. His gloved fingers barely manage to push the ball rolling away and out of the endline.

The referee signals a corner kick, much to the frustration of Danielle, who could have scored the first goal ever by a female player in the history of ceremonial matches.

*

Back in the press box, Jay has the world-class players kneeling on the floor and sharing his dick like a lollipop. “There’s a trick to the corner kick, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” Agatha looks up, glancing at the monitor in her peripheral vision. “It’s hard to jump high and receive the ball with our tits bouncing everywhere, so the girls clutch their boobs with both hands.”

As two waves of players crash in front of the Blue Devil’s goal, Harriet says, “Also, tits are just begging to be grabbed. The men tend to attack the jugs, especially in set pieces like this.”

“Speaking from experience, I see.” Jay smirks at Harriet and digs his shoe between her legs. Harriet gasps, her eyes rolling backward as she humps his leather footwear like a dog in heat.

“It doesn’t save our pussies, though.” Agatha winks when a Red Devil’s player discreetly slaps a girl’s vulva and sends her crumbling on her feet.

“Too bad, the new corner kick protocol very much negates all the advantages you girls have. To our new viewers at home, in soccer, corner kicks, along with other set pieces such as free kicks and penalty kicks, are where pure skills and tactics can triumph over physical advantages. However, the ceremonial match is a celebration of pure dominance. We cannot let a few clever tricks win. As the new protocol dictates, when a female player takes a corner kick, she must be launched from the penis of an assistant referee.” Jay flashes a knowing smirk at the camera, eagerly watching what is unfolding on the field. “Unfortunately, the protocol tends to make for horribly inaccurate passes.”

*

Danielle places the ball on the corner arch and takes a few steps back. Then, she slightly bends over, biting her lips, and raises one hand to signal that she is ready for the corner kick. Her pulse thrums in her veins as the assistant referee stands directly behind her, his breath on her hair. He slides his burning member between her sweaty thighs and mills her clit like a pebble getting caught in a flesh grinder while splitting her wet folds open. With a grin on his face, he smacks his meaty pole against her puffy labia, propelling her forward. Her steps stutter as she braces herself against the pleasure piercing her clitoris and takes the shot. The ball wobbles through the air, lands way outside of the penalty box, and is quickly recovered by one of the Blue Devil’s midfielders.

Within a few passes, the ball was in front of the Red Phoenix’s goal. to stop the goal, the center-back—Rachel tackles the left winger—Jack, sending him to the ground in agony a few inches away from the penalty box. The whistle blows, and she is quickly booked with a yellow card. She may have saved her team a goal, but the referee is notoriously strict with his punishment. She sighs and quickly stands up for inspection just in time for the referee to get to her. With her skirt hiked up, the bottom of her thong aside, and her twat apart, she takes a deep breath and awaits his fury.

“You could have broken his leg.” The referee glowers at Rachel and jogs down the details of her foul on a yellow card in his hand. His eyes dart toward the left winger who is still rolling on the pitch. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Rachel catches a smirk blooming on her supposed victim’s face before bracing herself for what to come. Her labia imitate the movements of her lips under the puppetry of her fingers. “It won’t happen again, sir. This whore deserves any punishment you see fit, sir.”

“Good.” The referee nods and yanks down her thong. But the sight doesn’t please him. He frowns at her big but flaccid clit. Rachel possesses a teardrop bulb that is half an inch in length unstimulated. It is an unwritten rule that all female players need to be in a state of constant arousal throughout the match. “You call that a good cunt?”

“I apologize for my shameful condition, sir.” She was hoping her sweat covered up her lack of excitement.

However, a good referee knows how to stimulate the players in the right direction. He flicks his middle finger on her big bud with increasing intensity and watches Rachel’s expression slowly melt into a puddle of pleasure. “There. Much better.” Then, he pulls out the clamp, which is attached to the yellow card via a yellow latex string, and fastens it to her swollen clit. “This clamp is to remind you to contain your aggression.”

Rachel’s breath hitches her throat as the metal teeth bite down on her sensitive flesh and yet she forces a smile and maintains a professionally cheerful expression. “Thank you for educating this undeserving cunt, sir.”

“Good slut. If you drop the card, you will receive ten kicks to your unworthy cunt.” The referee grins and rubs her glossy opening.

“Understood, sir.” Rachel takes a long and deep breath to quench her anxiety.

The referee makes sure to coat his hand in her juice as he announces her punishment. “Now you will receive ten blows to your tits for your dangerous play.”

“Thank you for disciplining my unruly boobs, sir!” Rachel pulls up her jersey above her breasts and juts out her modest yet perky bust. Her nipples poke the air, tingling with anticipation.

“Remember to count and state your appreciation; otherwise, I will have to start over.”

“Understood, sir.”

The referee concentrates the strength in his hand and starts with her right side. “Begin.”

Rachel’s flesh ripples under the of his slap. Her tits swing violently like two pendulums hitting each other. The lactating pills she took prior to the match have induced an overwhelming production of milk. The liquid sprays uncontrollably out of her nipples, soaking the referee’s hand together with the grass; some even land on his penis. She howls; her mind tingles in both pleasure and agony. The two-prong attack of humiliation and sexual gratification wipes her logical brain clean of coherent thoughts. Her voice breaks a little as the strike lands on her soft and pillowy bosom. “One. Th-thank you for dis-disciplining my boobs, sir.”

He stops and waits until she finishes her sentence, allowing the pain to fully impact her mind. He grins and repeats the process slowly and methodically. After the fifth slap, he switches to her left side, making sure he evenly distributes the agony. By the end, her jugs are covered in angry red handprints and her own white bodily fluids.

However, the ordeal doesn’t end there. Before Rachel can even cover up her battered tits and pull her thong up from the dirty grass, the referee signals, awarding a direct free kick to the Blue Devil, and he won’t wait for her. She runs to her teammates with a yellow card dangling between her thighs and a metal clamp biting down on her clit. The more she moves, the harder the gnaw on her poor bulb.

Waiting for Rachel in front of the goal are three of her fellow defenders. Before a direct kick can take place, the four of them have to form a wall between the kicker and the goal. Rachel quickly joins next to her teammates with her fingers spreading her slit wide open, and waits for the referee’s inspection. He has the right to disqualify them for any number of reasons and request adjustments to his heart’s content.

The referee starts with the bob-cut Gabriel and presses against her while slipping his entire hand under her skirt. His semi-erect cock dangles between her thighs as he pinches her clit. She yelps, her knees buckling and squeezing his prick. “Stand up straight.”

“Y-yes yes, sir.” Gabriel croaks with her mouth and her snatch, struggling to straighten her posture.

Then, the referee moves to Debbie and makes sure that his prick brushes up against her knee. He cups her pussy and orders. “Wider.”

“Yes, sir.” Debbie pulls her pussy lips as far apart as possible, allowing him unlimited access to her vulva. She can feel a warm breeze blowing past her flimsy thong to the inside of her vagina.

The referee’s fingers slip past her underwear and plunge inside her without warning. Before she can recover, he asks with a cheeky grin. “How many fingers are inside your pussy?”

Debbie braces herself and whimpers. Her passage involuntarily contracts around the foreign yet warm objects. “Th-three, s-sir.”

“Correct.” The referee smiles and glances at his next target—Anastasia, who is now flushed with excitement. “How about you?”

“Please use my filthy cunt to your heart’s content,” Anastasia says, parting her folds as wide as physically possible.

“Good whore.” The referee rubs his bulge on the inside of her thigh while sliding one finger inside her wet opening. “Which finger is inside your cunt?”

“In-index finger?” Anastasia inhales deeply and guesses. Her mind goes blurry with his wiggling digit hitting all the right spots.

“Wrong. Middle finger.” The referee scoffs and starts thrusting his finger fervently until she crumbles onto his hand. “How many times did my middle finger fuck you?”

Anastasia tries to squeeze her legs together for a bit of relief, but his burly hand blocks her. She groans and thrusts her hips forward to grind on his stubby digits.

The referee smirks, squeezing her throbbing knob, wrecking her mind with sheer pleasure. Keeping pressure on her bloating bean, he says, “Stand up straight and answer me. I don’t have all day.”

Anastasia struggles to control her wobbly legs with her quivering fingers spreading her slit open. Panting heavily, she manages to spit out an answer. “For-forty one, sir.”

“Wrong. Thirty two.” The referee chuckles and suddenly starts thrusting until Anastasia’s eyes are rolling in the back of her head. “Now you’re correct.” Then he turns to the horny mess waiting for his attention that was Rachel. He shoves his fingers, which are coated in at least three of her teammates’ bodily fluids deep within her passage. “You’re loving it, aren’t you?”

Where Rachel stands, a pool of her own juice collects on a patch of grass between her legs. Her throbbing knob makes the yellow card hanging between her thighs dance with desire. Her voice trembles. “Y-yes, sir.”

The referee uses his hand and meticulously wipes his wet digits on her lips as if he has been applying expensive lipstick. “Taste your sisters.”

Rachel beams, licking her shiny lips. “They’re delicious, sir.”

The referee blows his whistle, allowing Jack to take a direct free kick on the spot where he was fouled. Jack delivers a beautiful curve ball to the near post. The ball completely sails over the wall since the unique postures limit how high the wall can jump and diminish its effectiveness as a whole. But the goalie, Alyssa, gets her fingers on the ball and successfully pushes it away. Unfortunately for her, the ball rolls toward the Blue Devil’s striker—Ron, and he effortlessly smashes the ball in the back of her net.

The stadium roars to life in celebration of the second goal. Alyssa’s eyes are busy gluing the back of her net, contemplating her loss, when Ron gets on top of her and yanks down her thong. As far as the rules are concerned, anything a player commits nonviolently during a goal celebration is legal. She doesn’t bother to protest when he swings her thong around his forefinger for the whole world to see like some sort of perverted trophy. She feels strangely exposed, even though the skimpy underwear never covers much anyway. A warm heat rushes to her loins.

The moment the men are done posing for the fans and the cameras with her undergarment alongside his teammates, Alyssa approaches Ron, who has just delivered her all the humiliation in the world with her skirt up and twat spread. “May I please have my thong back, sir?”

Ron’s gaze glues to her rosy snatch as if he is talking to her nether regions. “Of course, you may.” Much to her surprise, he balls her thong and spits into the wrinkling fabric. “There you go.”

“Th-thank thank you, sir.” Alyssa swallows up the shame bubbling in her throat and retrieves her underwear.

“You love wearing my spit, don’t you?” Ron smirks.

Alyssa bites her lips and mutters as his saliva mingles with her love nectar. “I love wearing your spit on my pussy, sir.”

*

The match resumes with the Red Phoenix initiating an attack. From midfield, Morgana sends a quick pass to Tammy. Unfortunately, Tammy fails to notice Kevin closing in on her. In a split second, Kevin slams her to the ground, allowing his fellow midfielder to steal the ball from her. It would have been a foul had it not been for his prick sliding all over her scantily covered vulva.

Tammy groans, bracing herself for his hardening rod poking her canal. As long as his manhood touches her genitals even indirectly through a skimpy thong, his actions, no matter how unfair, are deemed legal. However, there is a twist, he can only embellish the rule so much. The referee’s eyes are soon upon him, and he starts his stopwatch. He will only have about thirty seconds to fool around.

Kevin’s fat crown hit her entrance again and again, shoving the tip of his shaft along with the bottom of her thong. As a result, Tammy gets fucked by her own underwear, and worse, she never gets the satisfaction. She lies helplessly on the grass and watches the Blue Devil’s drive the ball toward her goal.

It is very hard to wrestle the ball from an opponent who is far superior physically in both strength and speed, but there are still a few tricks the girls can pull. The only obvious weakness a man possesses is his genitals flapping in the wind.

Wendy must make her timing right. The moment her target, Toni, shields the ball away from the referee’s view, she makes her approach. Her little hand encircles the heavyweight pole sticking out of his shorts. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she kicks the ball out of bounds and saves her team from a dangerous attack. However, there is one problem she hasn’t considered. Toni is a man with the physique of a silverback gorilla. His hand is the size of her head, and he doesn’t take lightly to her little stunt. He gives his behemoth manhood a few strokes to coax it out of hibernation. With his triple-barreled shotgun locked and loaded, he grabs Wendy by her hips and slams her to the pitch, knocking the wind out of her. Her jumbo watermelons swing all over the place, threatening to spill out of her tight jersey.

Wendy’s eyes widen in horror at the image of his monstrous crown stretching her g-string and her entrance alike. “No, sir! You’re too big—”

“You wanted my cock, didn’t you?” Toni grins and rams his entire length inside her passage. The bottom of her g-string snaps in half, leaving two pieces of split latex string squished inside her canal; her mind becomes a wasteland. He doesn’t leave her any moment for a breather and yanks up her jersey, baring her enormous jugs. His hands squeeze her udders until milk shoots out of her nipples and right into his open mouth. At the same time, his hips don’t let up and literally drive her into the ground with each powerful thrust. He ignores the referee’s whistle and smacks her voluptuous bosom. His hand lands like a wrecking ball upon her fragile flesh, scorching the skin on her chest with the of his slap, turning her mammary glands into overinflated beach balls while warm milk pathetically spurts out of her swollen tits. Half a dozen of his teammates have to physically pull him off of her. His gigantic penis had dragged the petite Wendy a few feet on the grass before her teammates could successfully dislodge his huge plug from her vagina. Wendy’s gaping hole gasps for air with cameras zooming into her rosy canal and putting her cervix’s opening on full display.

With a player lying on the ground, the referee quickly summons the medics to assess the situation. There are two teams of medics catering to male and female players. Male medics tend to female players and vice versa.

Two medics jog down the pitch with their bright red medical kits and their dicks hanging out of their pants. A medic applies an olfactory pain reliever via his natural male’s body musk. He places his flaccid penis on Wendy’s nose and then gently taps her lips while his colleague checks her wide-open vulva with his fingers. “Kiss my cock if you hear me.”

The enticing scent of a man’s genitals coaxes Wendy back to reality. Her lips hungrily clamp down on his pink mushroom tip. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Welcome back.” The medic smiles and puts two small badges on her bloating nipples as the other medic removes her ruined g-string. Due to the sensitive nature of the affected areas, the medics use ice packs instead of a cold spray to relieve pain and swelling. Wendy lets out a cathartic sigh as the ice packs chill her abused bosom and twat. Once the redness subsides, the other medic puts a large bandage on her open slit to tighten her passage and carefully massages her pussy. Finally, she showers the members of both medics with gentle kisses in gratitude and puts on a spare thong from the medical kit. At the same time, her assailant, Toni, only receives a warning from the referee for excessive pleasuring.

*

Because the Red Phoenix kicks the ball out of bounds, the Blue Devil gets a throw-in. Toni takes a long approach run to the sideline, and tosses the ball directly toward the goal of his opponent where Ron has already been waiting. Without much effort, Ron heads in a third goal of the day. Ron stays true to his promise to the Red Phoenix’s goalie—Alyssa earlier, and makes her life a living hell. When Alyssa is still on the grass after the failed save, Ron pulls her jersey over her head, completely covering up her face, and baring her chest in the process. Then, he yanks down her thong, grabs both of her ankles, and drags her to the corner of the pitch. Green grass scrubs her tits raw and green. Next, in a twist of cruelty, Ron performs a wrestling hold called the Boston crab by hooking each of her legs in one of his arms with his testicles sitting on her buttocks and his semi-erect member dangling between her thighs. But unlike wrestlers who have their elbows to rest on, Alyssa has to put her weight on her voluptuous jugs as Ron bounces up and down, letting his pole repeatedly hit her bulging clit. To make it worse, his teammates gather around her and bounce their dicks on the top of her head with their sacks slapping her face. The celebration ends with Ron merrily tossing her thong to the stand.

Alyssa bites her lips and hurriedly sprints to the sidelines without noticing her breasts swinging in the air, seeking a spare pair of underwear when the referee stops her. “Where’s your thong?”

Alyssa presents her snatch, making sure the referee has a full view of her folds and impossibly pink entrance. “I-I … I lost it, sir.”

The referee smirks and milks her tits through her thin jersey. “This is your last warning. If I ever catch you disheveled again, you’ll get a yellow card.”

“Yes, sir!” Alyssa takes a deep breath and yells her sincere gratitude as her warm milk soaks her jersey and drips down her stomach, gradually wetting her mound. “Thank you for your benevolence!”

The referee takes a pair of new g-strings from the assistant coach with a devilish glint in his eyes. He brings the garment to his nose and frowns. “The smell of detergent is too strong. Let me flavor it for you.”

“Uhm … thank you, sir?” Her eyes widen, realizing his intention when he rubs her g-string along the length of his erect sword. He makes sure to wipe his pre-cum with her underwear and spits a significant amount of saliva into the skimpy g-string.

“There you go.” The referee grins and gallantly helps her put the thong on. After wedging the undergarment tightly between her folds, he spits a dollop of saliva straight onto her clit.

Alyssa mutters, mourning the prospect of a clean pair of thongs in this match. “Th-thank you, sir.”

*

Danielle glances at the scoreboard. The big, red numbers three and zero stare back at her. The time is ticking. She knows the longer the match wears on, the more disadvantageous her team is. Their stamina is no match to the muscular studs. Their objective from the beginning isn’t to win but to score a goal and make history. A single goal would make all the difference.

Danielle slowly backs away from the midfield in order not to draw attention from the defenders, making her way toward the Blue Devil’s goal. She glances at her captain, Morgana, who is waiting for the signal to restart the game. As soon as the referee blows the whistle, Morgana lobs the ball over the blue midfielders’ heads. The ball sails to Chiara in her stride. With a head start, Chiara dribbles past the left-back—John and comes face-to-face with the goalie—Lucas. Instead of taking the shot, Chiara passes to a sprinting Danielle who comes down the middle of the field, primed and ready. Without missing a beat, Danielle slides on the grass, hammering the ball into the net. Danielle jumps to her feet, ready to celebrate with her teammates. But her elation vanishes when the assistant referee raises his flag, indicating that she was in an offside position.

Danielle is certain her timing was right. She waited until the ball crossed in front of her before receiving the ball and passing the last defender. She roars at the main referee. “How can I be offside?”

The referee scowls; he doesn’t take insolence lightly. His hand immediately slaps Danielle across the face, and he doesn’t stop there. He smacks her modest breasts nonstop as he chews her out. “Is this how a lowly whore addresses her superior?”

“No, sir! Please forgive my ill manners! I let my emotions get the better of me.” Danielle bears the and presents her glistening slit.

The referee’s expression softens as he pokes his rock-hard rod at her mounds, spreading pre-cum on her thong-covered slit. “That’s better. I will check the VAR (Video Assistant Referee).”

“Thank you, sir.” Danielle lets out a sigh of relief; she has dodged a bullet.

The video feed from the VAR’s monitor is transmitted directly to the stadium’s LED screen and TV broadcaster. The computer draws a line from the tip of the boot of the last defender of the Blue Devil to Danielle’s chest. The stadium is in an uproar when VAR determines that her jiggling boobs have crossed past the last defender before receiving the ball, and in turn, she was in an offside position. Half an inch of her erect teat has cost her a historic goal.

“Ludicrous! How could I get offside from my nipples?” Danielle instantly makes a beeline for the referee and yaps in his ears.

The referee has had enough of Danielle's impertinence. He snaps, pointing at the grass field. “Kneel down!”

Danielle bites her lips and tentatively gets down on her knees, quietly regretting her actions.

The referee hoists her up by yanking Danielle’s hair, places his hard-on on her face, and whacks both of her cheeks with his steel prick relentlessly until he finishes speaking. “Let me enlighten your foolish mind. If you can score with your tits, you can get offside with her tits. Understood, whore?”

By the time the referee is done, Danielle’s face has turned flush and swollen. She mumbles, having trouble moving her lips due to her bulging cheeks. “Y-yes, sir. Pl-please take mercy on this dumb cunt.”

“Now, thank me. Properly.” The referee prods Danielle’s lips with his dick while pre-cum oozes from his urethra.

Danielle wraps her mouth around the referee’s bulbous head; her tongue flicks and digs into his piss slit, gathering the droplets of his come. “Thank you for educating this ignorant cunt.”

“And?” The referee smirks; his member jerks upward, hitting her nose.

Danielle inhales deeply; his intoxicating scent fills her nostrils. Then, she peppers kisses along his steaming length as she expresses her gratitude. “It’s my honor to have your cock knock some sense into me.”

“You’re welcome.” The referee smiles from ear to ear and glides his dick all over her face.

Because VAR has disallowed the Red Phoenix’s goal, the match restarts with an indirect free kick. The center-back, Rob, passes the ball back to his own goalie, Lucas, who scans the field in front of him. A devious gleam flashes in Lucas’s eyes when he notices his opponent’s goalkeeper has moved too far out of position. He drives the ball a few steps forward, just enough distance for him to loop the ball high up into the air. The ball sails almost the entire length of the pitch and heads straight past Red Phoenix’s goalie. By the time Alyssa realizes her mistake, she is too late. She hurries back, only to watch the ball heartlessly bounce right into the net.

*

“Four goals in fifteen minutes! It is raining goals at Haynes Stadium, whores and gentlemen!” Ron leaps from his seat; his hardness knocks his kneeling whores backward. “It is the longest goal ever recorded in the history of the Champions Cup. A magnificent goal from ninety meters, or about three hundred feet away. And from a goalkeeper no less.” His eyes glow as he glances at his eager sluts. “Why don’t we commemorate this joyous occasion?”

Smiling brightly, Harriet and Agatha say in unison, “Anything you desire, sir.”

“Harriet, stand up. Step forward about the length of nine soccer balls. Your back toward me and bend over. Present your cunt.”

“Right away, sir.” Harriet beams and complies with his wishes, displaying her slick heat for his enjoyment. She pries her tunnel open until her vulva is but a gaping rosy pit.

“Good. Let's see how far I can shoot my blessing.” Ron strokes the top of Agatha’s head. “Hum my cock.”

Agatha eagerly stands over his rock-hard pole with her knees slightly bent and her back facing his chest as she grinds her sopping twat back and forth like a dog in heat. “Your cock feels so good on my cunt, sir!”

Ron squeezes her tits with both hands, standing still and urging her on. “Faster!”

“Yes, sir!” Agatha takes a moment to circle his fat mushroom tip with her soaking wet rosebud, massaging his crown with her entrance alone. Then, her bulging bead slides along his length as she roars. “My clit is going to explode!”

“I’m close! Aim, bitch! Aim at your sister cunt!” Ron takes a deep breath and refrains from releasing his heavy artillery. “Don’t you dare stop humming!”

Agatha crushes her flesh harder against his rigid spear; her hands cradle the tip of his gun and point the muzzle at Harriet’s bottomless pit. “Target locked, sir!”

“Receive my blessing!” Ron’s testes contract as a stream of white launches at Harriet.

“Make me round with your babies, sir!” Harriet screams, parting herself wide open. A pail of hot and sticky semen lands on her vulva, penetrating the shallow pool of her vagina and drizzling on the floor.

“I’m coming too, sir!” Agatha hollers; her body convulses as his canon continues firing, and his strayed spurt paints her rival’s bottom white. She lifts herself up from him, showering his member in her juice, but her hands remain still, holding him in place, fearing his anger should she cause him to miss.

“Well done.” Ron relishes the sight of a world-class player drenched in his seed before him while another legend has just climaxed by humming his prick. His hot breath blows on Agatha’s ear. “Your cunt may share her cum.”

“Thank you, sir!” Agatha beams, glad to receive her turn since he is clearly favoring her nemesis.

Ron tuts with a wicked grin on his lips. “But there’s a catch. You can’t use your hands or tongue to scoop out my come. You want to get pregnant with my babies. You whores work it out.”

Then it dawns on Agatha. She bites her inner cheeks, staring at her rival’s hole doused in a strong man’s life-giving elixir; her gaze turns green with envy. Finally, she walks to Harriet. “Lay down on the floor.”

“Excuse me?” Harriet barks, not taking orders from a loser who has never hoisted a trophy.

“Where’s your cooperative spirit? Haven’t I taught you to share?” Ron smirks; he likes where this is going.

“As you wish, sir.” Harriet reluctantly complies, laying on the cold tiles, her bottom mostly bare; her skirt wrinkles around her waist. Agatha looms over and presses Harriet’s knees against her chest. To Harriet’s surprise, Agatha squats over her cum-filled vulva and swipes the precious semen away with her own pussy.

“Thank you for your generosity, Harriet!” Agatha bares her teeth, grinding her hips away, watching her rival’s expression darken and redden at the same time. “Our babies will be siblings!”

“Fuck you!” Harriet screams, coming to her own climax as both women squirt on each other in a sloppy mess.

*

Back at the pitch, the Blue Devil’s team gathers around the Red Phoenix’s goalkeeper to celebrate their goal. They hold her upside down with her legs apart and take turns spitting directly into her pussy while cheering and hollering along with the fans. After a short while, the goal scorer—Lucas drops his shorts and sits on her face.

“How’s my fart?” Lucas let out loud and wet flatulence under the thunderous laughter of his teammates.

Tears brim Alyssa’s eyes as she forces a smile. “In-intoxicating, sir.”

“Stick your nose in there.” Lucas cackles, pressing down on her head; his bare buttocks jiggle with laughter.

Alyssa inhales deeply and buries her nose into his ass crack, finding the noxious gas strangely titillating. At the same time, she can sense the many blobs of strangers’ saliva seeping into her womb, and blood quickly rushes to her loins.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Red Phoenix’s team gathers at the sideline to catch a breath and hydrate. Danielle is holding a water bottle in her hand and about to take a sip when her manager barks. “Who told you to drink with your mouth? Drink with your cunt! How can you run with a bloated belly?”

“Sorry, sir! I forgot!” Danielle immediately drops to her knees and profusely kisses his crotch.

“You want water so bad? Drink!” The Red Phoenix’s manager shoves her to the ground and jams the nozzle into her vagina. He empties the bottle and floods her canal with water.

“Ah!” Danielle wails, clawing at the grass. A shockwave rushes to her cervix, pushing her over the edge. Her body convulses, her urethra spurting jets of clear liquid uncontrollably.

The manager stands up and looks around at his players. “Anyone else thirsty?”

“No, sir!”

“Take your position.” The manager waits for the team to squat around him with their knees apart. His eyes scan every sweaty fold and beady knob before he addresses the squad. While speaking, he unzips his zipper and presses the head of the captain—Morgana against his loins. “Get aggressive. Fouls if you need to.”

Morgana hungrily huffs his musk, invigorating her will. Her tongue slips inside his zipper, and sensually licks his tented briefs. “Yes, sir!”

Along with words of encouragement, each girl also gets a good whiff of the manager’s groin before returning to the match. The logic is that the familiar scent of a superior figure would help clear their mind.

*

It is an unwritten agreement that the men allow the women to play the game, even though they can physically restrain them and bend the rules to their will. Because the fans enjoy watching scantily-clad, busty girls run around with their boobs jiggling while catching a glimpse of their bare pussies. But Danielle has committed an unforgivable sin. She has almost scored a goal.

As soon as the match resumes, a defender wraps his arms around her, hoisting her up by her modest bosom. He yanks her jersey over her head and exposes her bouncing breasts while blinding her with her own kit at the same time. His digits expertly work on her teats, milking her like a cow, watering the green grass with her nutritious body fluid.

Barely seeing anything through the thin material of her jersey, Danielle wails. She desperately needs her milk for the halftime ceremony since her production isn’t as abundant as that of her teammates. “Please no, sir!”

“See how well you can score with a cock between your legs.” The defender smirks. His ramming rod tears her thong apart with the alone. After about thirty seconds of furious fucking, he tosses her to the ground. Her body hit the field with a thud, landing on her boobs with her butts arching in the air.

However, as she crawls on the grass to get away, another defender forces her passage open with his thick shaft. His hips drive her into the dirt. Because the assailant always changes at thirty-second intervals, they can technically fuck her the entire game without committing any fouls. And they’re willing to lose one player just to humiliate her. After the third go-round, the defenders kick her butts and her to crawl around for their entertainment in between copulation, and the cycle continues until the first half ends.

(To be continued)