Sunday Tradition

Sunday, December 1

Brandon watched as Ashley sunk to her knees in front of him. Unzipping his pants, she fished out his huge cock, slathering her tongue around its crown. The intense pleasure led him to close his eyes and savor the incredible increases in skill that his girlfriend displayed.

"Damn, Ash, did you take blowjobs lessons last night?"

"She did, Brandon. I showed her how to worship such a monster of a cock," a sultry voice said into his right ear.

Shooting his eyes open, Brandon gasped in shock to see Heather Ravers rubbing her cheerleader uniform covered tits against his right arm. Further shocking the quarterback, a tongue snaked itself around his left ear. Turning to identify the owner, Brandon nearly fainted to see Victoria Walker panting in desire.

"Vicky?"

"Yes, Brandon, I showed Ashley how to deep throat last night too," purred the girl he viewed as innocent, while his girlfriend inhaled every inch of his cock down below.

"But you're a virgin," he moaned in pleasure.

"Oh, Brandon, that's all an act. I'm the biggest blowjob queen at school," Victoria laughed. Heather quickly joined the laughter, in-between kisses of his neck.

"Brandon," the blonde on his left breathed huskily.

"Brandon!" the brunette on his right moaned.

"BRANDON!" shrieked the petite blonde down between his legs as she orgasmed merely from sucking his dick.

"Trent's on the phone!"

"What?" Brandon mumbled as his trio of hotness vanished.

"Brandon, Trent is on the phone," Waldon Cole yelled from down the hallway.

"Alright, I heard you!" the son loudly replied. Rolling over onto his back, Brandon attempted to blink away the urge to fall back asleep. "Damn. That was turning out good."

Stumbling out his bed, the teen scanned the room for his cell phone. It wasn't in any of its usual spots as the nightstand, desk, and dresser top were all empty. Grabbing the pair of jeans he wore last night, Brandon found his phone inside a pocket. Only now he discovered a new problem as the phone wouldn't turn on. In his sleepiness, he stared in confusion as he kept pushing the button to turn it on.

How did Trent call me?

"Oh!" Brandon exclaimed, feeling like an idiot. Trent must have called the house. Heading over to the corner of his room with his football memorabilia. There on the shelf, sat the cordless phone. A device he so rarely used that he left the ringer turned off.

"Trent?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?" Trent replied. The teen immediately regretted his language when he heard the click from Brandon's father hanging up the other extension. "Bro, you still sick?"

"No, I'm good."

"Then why the fuck aren't you answering any of my messages?" Trent questioned in exasperation.

Not fully awake yet, Brandon swayed on his feet as he too wondered why he didn't answer the message. Looking down, he realized he still held his cell phone in his other hand. Oh, right!

"My battery is dead."

"Shit, you need to put that on the charger every night before bed," Trent said, acting as if he was sharing a life lesson. "If I screwed up like that, I might miss one of my girls calling me for some fun."

"Yeah, yeah, what's so important?" Brandon asked, not in the mood for Trent's vague bragging about nameless girls.

"When you picking me up?"

"Picking you up?" Brandon repeated.

"Dude, don't tell me you forgot? It's Sunday! We got that thing at Coach's house," Trent reminded him.

"Yeah, that's right," Brandon recalled. Every Sunday during the NFL season, Coach Thorne would have various members of the team over to watch the early game and have lunch. He usually alternated weeks between the offense and defense, but as the quarterback, Brandon had a standing offer to show up every week. "Wait, I thought last week was our week?"

"Bro, it's the Browns and Steelers! You know how Coach gets for the rivalry," Trent spoke slowly as if speaking to a child.

"Right, I'm still half-asleep," Brandon explained. Coach Thorne grew up in Ohio, leading him to become a diehard Cleveland Browns fan. Something most of the team either felt sympathy for him or loved to mock him for as the Browns had been the worst team in the league since they restarted. "Uh, what time is it?"

"Don't you have any clocks in your room? Geesh! It's already getting late. You know how he gets about being where you need to be a good thirty minutes early. So get your ass in gear!" Trent ordered, hanging up.

Walking over to his dresser and then to the closet, Brandon gathered clothes to change into after his shower. Wait, I took a shower late last night. Figuring he was okay, Brandon brushed his teeth before heading downstairs.

In the kitchen, he found Madison eating a bowl of cereal. She flashed him a dirty look but didn't speak. His mother raced through the kitchen while searching for her purse. Caching sight of Brandon's outfit, she stopped to look him over.

"Honey, I hope you aren't planning on going anywhere," Vanessa stated, reaching up to feel his forehead. "You didn't look well yesterday."

"It's Sunday," her son responded with a shrug. "I'm going to watch football at the coach's house."

"Oh, no, Bran. You need to stay home and rest."

"Mom, I have to go! I'm the team leader," Brandon whined.

"Isn't the team done for the year?" Madison challenged under her breath.

"You wouldn't understand, Mads. You quit volleyball."

"Mostly because your girlfriend pressured me to join cheerleading. Or is she your ex-girlfriend now?"

"Brandon, did you and Ashley have a fight?" Vanessa asked in concern.

"It's not a big deal, Mom. Where's Dad?" Brandon inquired to his mother, but his eyes glared at his sister. She caught the unspoken threat, countering with mouthing the word that he called Ashley the night before.

"Your father is out in the car already. We're having brunch with some business friends of his," Vanessa explained, checking the wall clock. "You can go to Coach Thorne's, but take it easy. And have some breakfast."

"But we're eating over there."

"You shouldn't go over there on an empty stomach. Have a piece of toast, and make sure to drink some orange juice," the mother hurriedly explained as her husband honked the car horn. "Madison, what were you saying earlier?"

"I have a cheer squad meeting at school, then a drama club one, and finally, I have to study at Delilah's for our test. It sure would be nice if I had a car," the teenager complained, motioning in the direction of her brother.

"Now, we've discussed this. Your father feels that you don't need a car. You—"

"Yeah, I know. If I had a car, then I might actually have some freedom," Madison interrupted.

"I don't have time for this argument again," Vanessa replied. "Do you need your brother to drop you off?"

"Mom, I don't have time!" Brandon insisted.

"No, I have a ride. One of the girls is picking me up. I had to ask for a ride from a sophomore, Mother!" Madison answered.

"Well, you both need to be home by dinner tonight. Your father wants everyone here." Both twins moaned and complained. "Enough of that. Brandon, I want you to pick your sister up from the O'Dells on your way home." After another round of whining, Vanessa added, "Yes, you have to do it."

As their mother walked out the door to join their father, the twins continued to glare at each other for another thirty seconds. Brandon ended their staring contest when he went to pour himself a glass of orange juice. Sitting down at the kitchen island, he skimmed the Sunday newspaper.

"Mom said you should eat toast," Madison reminded him from the kitchen table.

"Coach's wife always has snacks for us before we eat lunch," Brandon responded, not looking up from the paper.

"The coach's wife," Madison said, using air quotes. "Please. Most of your team only goes there to drool over her."

"Well, I don't. Wait, you never have meetings for cheerleading on a Sunday," Brandon realized, looking at his sister in suspicion. "You better not be meeting this date again."

"He's none of your business," she hissed at him. "If you must know, Heather called this emergency meeting last night. One of the juniors got in trouble."

"Which one?"

"I don't know, I don't care. One of the bitchier ones, I guess," Madison answered with a shrug.

Brandon thought that sounded believable. The junior class of cheerleaders had several stuck-up bitches on the squad. He knew from Ashley's stories that they drove Heather nuts. Next, he moved onto the other suspicious meeting.

"Didn't you have a drama club meeting yesterday afternoon?"

"This better not be twenty questions time, Brandon!" Madison growled between spoonfuls of cereal. "Yesterday was only a small gathering. Today is a meeting for the full club. We do have our new play starting up, you know. Oh, you wouldn't know as you didn't come to our first play this year."

"I was busy with football!"

"We performed the play for more than one night!"

"I said I was sorry," Brandon insisted.

"Yeah, and I'm sorry that my brother is such a selfish asshole," Madison remarked, getting up from the table. In record time, she rinsed her bowl out, placing it in the dishwasher, and stormed upstairs to her room.

Muttering to himself, Brandon grabbed his coat and keys and stormed out of the house himself. Deep down, he did feel guilty for not attending her play, but he wouldn't admit that out loud. These last few months had been stressful. Losing in the state playoffs, while waiting to see if his preferred college would offer him a scholarship left him little extra time. And he spent that limited time with Ashley.

Feeling unappreciated, Brandon pulled up to Trent's house in a foul mood. Fortunately, he didn't need to get out of his SUV as his friend waited on his porch. He raced over and hopped onto the passenger seat.

"Brrr, it's cold out," Trent complained, rubbing his hands together in front of the heat vent.

"Don't wait for me on your porch then," Brandon remarked.

"I'd rather freeze my ass off, then sit inside and deal with Trish's bullshit," Trent explained.

"Yeah, I hear you. Madison was on my case again for not seeing her last play."

"That was pretty shitty of you," Trent agreed. He considered pointing out that he went to see the play, but decided not to needle his friend on the topic.

"Thanks," Brandon said sarcastically.

"Hey! We're picking up Max," Trent reminded him, pointing back to the turn that Brandon failed to take.

Braking, Brandon pulled the vehicle into a driveway, backed up, and proceeded to head to the street he missed. The whole time Trent shook his head at his friend.

"Boy, you really are a mess this morning. You better not give me the flu or anything," Trent warned.

"Maybe you should drive yourself. Oh, wait, you can't. That's right, your dad won't let you after all those speeding tickets."

"Fuck you, Cole."

Brandon chuckled as his usually boisterous friend sulked, remaining silent until they traveled the few blocks to the Moxey home. Max actually lived closer to Brandon than Trent did, so he cost some time by picking up Trent first. An unspoken point that Trent made by tapping the radio clock on the dashboard.

"We have plenty of time. Coach might live on the other side of town, but traffic is always light at this time on Sundays," Brandon insisted as they neared Max's house.

As one of his oldest friends, Brandon knew he didn't need to honk or go ring the doorbell. Like clockwork, the door opened, and a cute older brunette leaned out to raise a finger to indicate one moment. Brandon and Trent both waved at Mrs. Moxey. Trent murmured as she closed to the door.

"Come on, man," Brandon complained, assuming that Trent was about to make a crack about their friend's mom.

"Whoa! I didn't say shit. Max's mom is a sweetheart. I wouldn't disrespect her like that," Trent protested. "Now, your mom I would...ow!"

"You deserved it," Brandon stated, while Trent rubbed the shoulder that his friend punched.

"What's up your butt this morning? You're acting like a bitch," Trent commented.

"Nothing."

"Nothing, my ass. Ashley hold out on you last night because of your flu?" Trent asked, grinning at the thought.

"Nah, we did it, but she's now mad at me. Bitching about how my dad and I treat Madison," Brandon explained.

The rear passenger door opened, letting in a blast of cold air.

"You two do treat her wrong," Trent stated.

"Treat who wrong?" Max inquired from the back seat.

Often overlooked by girls because of his two charismatic friends, Max had light brown hair that was buzzcut, green eyes, and a slim, lanky build. A clutch wide receiver on the Azure Rocks Bears, Max had been catching passes from Brandon since he first picked up a football. Considered the good kid in their trio of friendship, Max often missed out on Brandon and Trent's wilder adventures. A smart, quiet teen, it often fell on him to talk his two friends out of trouble he foresaw them getting into. Unfortunately, as he did this in private, and because of his quiet demeanor, people often mistook Max as their sidekick or lackey.

"Madison," Trent answered.

"Yeah, your dad needs to lighten up," Max stated, putting on his seatbelt. "So, did Ashley say yes?"

"Yes, to what?" Brandon questioned, glancing into the backseat.

"Damn, right to it, huh, Max?" Trent laughed. "If you had seen your messages, bro, then you would've known that a few of us went to check out Sharon's house last night."

"What did you think?" Brandon asked

"What did we think? Shit, it was hot as fuck!" Trent enthusiastically declared. "I thought you over-exaggerated about the costumes but—goddamn!"

"They looked really cute," Max chimed in from the back.

"Cute? Cute?! Amber and Tanya looked hot as hell. And Sharon looked even more down to fuck than ever. I want her working my cock the way she worked that candy cane," Trent barked, laughing.

"Did you hook up with Sharon last night?" Brandon asked, his eyes focused on traffic as he turned.

"I wish. Don't get me wrong, I tried, and she wanted to, but she couldn't slip away," Trent relayed. "Her parents were there and all that."

"Uh, I don't remember it happening like that," Max pointed out. "Sharon spent her time flirting with Owen Nevin."

"Owen Nevin? He was there?" Brandon questioned, recalling one of his predecessors as starting quarterback for Azure Rocks High.

"That wholesome whitebread wouldn't know what to do with a girl like Sharon," Trent proclaimed. "Sharon just wanted to piss off his girlfriend that stood next to him."

"Even if so, Sharon didn't seem to say a word to you," Max persisted in his assertion over Sharon's level of interest in Trent.

"She doesn't need to say anything. It's in her eyes, Max. Her eyes practically raped me."

Brandon couldn't help but laugh at Trent's bullshit. He ignored his friend's continued insistence by turning to ask what Max meant before.

"Uh, Trent mentioned that you might convince Ashley and some of her friends to help out Sharon," Max awkwardly answered, leaning forward.

"By some of her friends, he means Heather," Trent teased.

Max didn't reply as he sat back. His crush on the captain of the cheerleading squad was well known among his friends. Unfortunately for him, Heather knew of it too and consistently shot down any attempt he made to get her to change her mind.

"I don't know. Ash mentioned that she brought it up Friday night. Some of the squad seemed interested, but not Heather," Brandon revealed.

"C'mon, Max, it's time to stop pining for Miss I-Don't-Date-High-Schoolers. I'll let you come out with me, and scoop up some of my leftovers," Trent suggested.

His offer earned a groan from Brandon, and a strong counter suggestion from Max over what Trent could do to himself. The conversation shifted to other events in their lives. Trent complained about his sisters both being home for holidays. He basically meant Trishelle as Tiara still lived at home. Max mentioned what happened with his relatives at Thanksgiving, but Brandon didn't want to talk about his family. Instead, he wanted to talk about football.

"Crap, we're late," Trent grumbled as they turned onto Coach Thorne's street.

"Traffic was busier than I expected. Must be due to the holidays," Brandon said.

"Hurry up and park. Maybe no one will notice," Trent remarked.

"Why do you care if we're five minutes late? The game's not on yet," Brandon pointed out.

"He doesn't care what Coach Thorne thinks, he cares what his wife thinks," Max stated from the back.

"Zip it, Max. I can—damn, who's ride is that?" Trent started to reply until a bright object caught his attention.

A bright orange Corvette sat in the driveway of Coach Thorne's small bungalow. None of the teens had seen the sports car around town before, and it looked brand spanking new.

"I have no clue," Brandon responded. The Corvette sat in his usually reserved spot in the driveway. A fact that slightly annoyed the starting quarterback as he parked on the street in front of the home.

"Maybe it's the car of a college recruiter?" Max speculated.

"Or one of Thorne's old football buddies from his college days?" Trent countered.

The three teens jumped out of Brandon's suddenly less impressive SUV, scrambling to reach the front door. Ringing the doorbell, they huddled together as the cold wind blasted them. Shivering, Trent thanked the local weatherman for the cold front not arriving until early this morning.

"If it were this cold last night, Sharon and the girls would've had to cover up."

Brandon nor Max had time to reply as the bungalow's door opened, revealing a vision that warmed them up. A breathtaking woman in her late twenties with alabaster skin shook her head at them. The motion caused her long, pitch-black hair to sway back and forth hypnotically.

"You boys are tardy. That's disappointing."