FP Chapter 10

Carly is a mess the next day. A disaster.

She pretends that nothing happened, and you and the team do the same, but your plan worked. It’s not just humiliation and embarrassment that she carries, it’s something worse: a secret. She can’t tell Dolly about this.

During practice and Tuesday’s event, your team is a raggedy mess. They don’t underperform deliberately, but they can only do so well when their captain is flustered and panicking at every little thing. Even at her best, Carly wasn’t good at being a captain. Not because there’s anything wrong with her, just because she has no leadership experience at all.

It’s a glorious dumpster fire, and all of FUTA gets to see it.

The other teams are in a similar situation. The various planted captains brought to FUTA by Holly and Dolly aren’t all as bad as Carly, but there’s a reason that they weren’t at FUTA already. Everything is sloppy. That, combined with the horrible, stifling sweatshirts that everyone is **** to wear during the event makes it an unholy shitshow.

Annette is probably thrilled. She’s lost a lot of FUTA’s sex appeal, but she’s gained such hilarious idiocy that people might watch just for the comedy. You’ve never seen this many angry players or heard so many shouting matches. There’s even a three-way catfight on Yellow Team.

As that’s happening by the lakeside where the event took place, you sidle up to Holly.

She’s watching worriedly, looking equal parts attractive and goofy in her gym teacher outfit. She was about to intervene, but some coaches beat her to it. She likes that FUTA is less sexy now, but she doesn’t like all this hostility.

“Hey, Holly.”

“Oh, hi. It’s Riley, right?” she asks, looking wary. Oh, yes. Your name was on the short list of trouble makers that must have informed their strategy here. But that’s OK.

You put your dom side away for the moment and wear a face of meek concern.

“I’m really worried about Carly,” you say.

Holly cringes and looks toward where your team is. Carly is away from the others, wiping her eyes. It’s the third time she’s cried today.

“I just want to support her. Can we talk about it later? I could use some advice,” you say.

As you suspected, Holly is much like Carly: very sweet. She immediately agrees to meet with you. You schedule the meeting for right after dinner.

While everyone eats, Holly does her daily run. As you leave the dining hall with your team, you see Holly waiting for you, face red, covered in sweat, and holding a bottle of water.

“Are we ready to go?” you murmur to Lara.

“Wilco. All systems go. The Ela has landed,” she replies with a straight face.

“OK.”

You break away from the team and go to Holly, wearing your apologetic smile.

“Thanks for making time for me,” you say. “It’s been a long one. Let’s go.”

“Go?” Holly looks puzzled, but you take her hand and lead her to the gym building. “Why here?” she asks as she realizes you’re leading her to the sauna.

“I always do the sauna after dinner,” you lie. “Something wrong?”

“No,” she says quickly, determined to help. Of course something is wrong; she just ran five miles in the heat. The last thing she wants is a sauna, but she won’t back down. You quickly strip and walk right in without a towel. She follows you with a towel wrapped around her body modestly, hiding upper and lower.

The sauna is already occupied. Ela lies on her side on the bench, nude, her back to the room. At the sight of Ela’s round ass, Holly almost trips and falls. She recovers, tries to play it cool, and sits down.

You sit right beside her, your body touching hers. She’s going to say something, but you speak first.

“Carly’s so sweet,” you say. “She worries about everyone. I think that’s why she’s so stressed out. And Max almost passed out from the heat. It’s hard to work out in those sweatshirts. I don’t know how you do it.” You reach over and touch her muscled arm. “Wow.”

“You get used to it,” Holly says modestly.

You stretch, arching your back. She mostly keeps her eyes off your naked body and Ela’s. Mostly.

“I think she’s not used to being in charge. But she’s getting the hang of it,” you add quickly, patting her bare thigh. “And she’s insecure about not being as good as everybody at soccer, but last night she practiced for hours after everything else. Extra practice, above and beyond. It really wore her out,” you add.

Ela gets up, stretching languidly. Holly’s eyes widen, and you make sure not to laugh.

Ela bends over at the waist to pick up her towel, then walks out, hips swaying. You can almost hear Holly’s heart racing.

“It’s just hard to watch her struggle like this, you know?” you say, a bit pleadingly, looking up at Holly, who focuses on you. Her face is now beet red. She’s overheated, and she still doesn’t realize that her chubby erection is sticking out from under her towel.

It’s your first time seeing it, and you would be lying if you didn’t admit that you like what you see. Unlike Zarya, FUTA’s other muscle goddess, Holly’s cock isn’t so huge that you feel stretched just looking at it. It’s thicker than yours, though. And the head is fat and purple. You love it.

“Holly,” you say. “You should put that away before I start getting ideas.”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she says, tugging down on her towel. But that just pulls it off her firm breasts. “Oh, drat,” she frets.

You laugh. “It’s OK. Maybe I messed up. Maybe we should have this conversation somewhere, you know, not naked.”

“No,” Holly says quickly. “It’s OK. I need to be more attentive, that’s all.”

She’s so earnest!

“No. I don’t want to cause problems.” You stand up and face her. Your body is right in front of her, and she is a deer in headlights. “Let’s cool off.”

She licks her lips. “OK.”

You turn to walk away, but feign a slip and fall. “Ow!”

“Oh no. Are you OK?”

“I think so.” You stand up, then do a little hop. “Ouch. Uh oh.”

You hop out of the sauna into the changing room, which is deserted. It will stay that way because Lara is standing guard out there.

“Ouch. Ouch.” You sit gingerly on the bench, touching your thigh. “I think I pulled something. Can you check it?”

“Um,” Holly says nervously.

“Please?” you plead.

“Um, OK,” she says, hurriedly tying her towel back on. You lie back on the bench and bend your knee. She leans over you nervously, grasping your bare leg and trying not to look at anything, but it’s hard for her to avoid it. Her erection is poking out again, but there’s nothing she can do about it. She lifts your leg, checking your range of motion very professionally. Or it would be professional if you couldn’t see fat droplets of precum dropping to the tiles.

You breathe hard, and her eyes linger on your rising and falling breasts for a moment.

“Ow! Ow!” you say. “It’s tight there.”

“Here?” she asks.

“Yeah. But that feels good,” you tell her.

“This?” Her hand is on your thigh. Of course, you are hard and wet as well. You look into her eyes, and she loses focus again. Saying nothing, you let your face tell her that you are as turned on as she is.

“You might have a,” she begins, but you grab her wrist.

“Don’t stop,” you tell her.

She swallows nervously.

“Your hands feel good,” you say.

Holly hesitates. Then she moves her hand toward your inner thigh.

“What are you doing?” you ask sharply, and she flinches, surprised. You push her off, hard. She falls backward onto the floor, and you stand up. “So that’s what you wanted to do, huh?” you demand, looming over her.

“I,” she begins, consumed by panic.

Her erection is out of her towel, sticking straight up and twitching. You stomp on it with your bare foot, crushing it against her hard abs. She cries out and shudders.

“This is what you’re thinking? It’s a sauna, not a strip club!” you rage at her.

“Ah!”

“You like that?”

Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. But she’s so hard and sensitive that any stimulation to her cock must be overwhelming. She doesn’t need a foot fetish to be feeling this.

You rub with your foot, leaning all your weight on her.

“You fucking pervert,” you snarl. “You came here to preach your purity bullshit while you’re jerking off over us in secret? God. Disgusting.” You stomp again.

“No,” she protests, starting to move like she’s going to scoot away, but you give her a rub with the pad of your foot that makes her gasp. She stops trying to get away.

“Take that towel off,” you order her.

“No. I…”

“Take it off!” you roar.

Shaking with fear, she opens it.

“You have a great body,” you tell her. “Why do you have to make it complicated? If you just told me you wanted to get laid, I’d be all over you.”

“What?”

“Shut up!” You press with your foot and her breath catches. “Or do you want me to stop?”

She’s frozen for a second. Then she shakes her head.

“That’s what I thought. Look at me. Look at me or I’ll stop,” you threaten, slowing down the motion of your foot.

Face burning, she licks her lips and gazes up at you, panting.

You make it last before you slip your toes up to her foreskin and start rolling it rhythmically. She makes a shockingly girly noise, but the amount of cum that she spurts all over her chest is absurd. Does this woman not jerk off?

You wipe off your sticky toes as she lies on the tile floor, wheezing and sparkling with her own cum. It doesn’t matter what her masturbation habits are; she’s yours now.

That’s two down.