College girl, masturbation, changerooms, threesome,
The moment belonged to Imogen. The spotlight was on her. She had the skill. She held her nerve. It came down to technique in the end.
She held in her edgy energy and focussed on her immediate goal.
Wow, did she feel great as she scored?
The keeper didn't stand a chance.
The soccer match was into extra time, but the thrill was high, very much like an orgasm.
The tension builds and builds and is then released. Then, the euphoric state erupts.
And Imogen had, during the premiership season, enjoyed a few private celebratory, under-the-sheet, masturbatory festivities.
Yeah, the usual: a successful girl at sport being too intimidating for your rugby-surfer dudes and the always whispered; she must be a lesbian; by the vacuous blonde dollies in the college locker bays.
However, in the scoring moment, her teammates were all around her in her triumphal instant — that all-embracing and exuberant all-girl squeeze.
They would play the lead team next week for a shot at the inter-college regional soccer cup.
The hugs were close and breast brushing. A tingle of sexual excitement was there for Imogen, as well as the dominating rapturous team spirit.
Allie was closest to her, and Imogen was sure she enjoyed the close breast brush.
Well, it stirred our striker for a moment. And she knew she rubbed back in the centre of that tightest of tight girly huddles.
Feigning accidental, but to the knowing eye, deliberate contact.
Allie nudged deliciously as the heated pack split.
Imogen focused on the remaining few minutes of the game till the referee blew the final whistle.
Wow, she was still caught in the excited buzz of her teammate's euphoria at her match-winning solo effort, breaking the deadlock with a stunning goal.
Everyone had dreaded the seemingly looming penalty shootout.
Instead, The Phoenix had won decisively, with their star striker delivering her magic as she often had all season.
The team gathered on the centre of the pitch, long shadows under the tower lights of the Friday evening game. They put arms around each other and gave a rousing rendition of their team song.
Allie in close proximity to Imogen in the circle.
Then, it was over to the edge of the field to get their bags and head for the grungy council change rooms.
Imogen felt a soft pat on the lower back.
She hoped — Allie.
"Imogen," a moment of your time said an unfamiliar female voice.
She paused and turned.
She recognised her idol, Fiona Street, the current coach of the league team, The Knights, and a former state player.
Also, a state player scout.
Fiona talked about how well Imogen had played, focusing on something other than the goal, such as her forward defensive pressure and ability to bring other players into the game.
She wanted Imogen to sign with The Knights next year, a solid youth financial contact because she was eighteen, hone her skills, and maybe push for the under-twenty-one state squad.
She finished, "Though no promises with that, but your work ethic is great. Bye, I need to go."
They had a top thirty-minute conversation before Fiona left.
Imogen still had to get changed and then drive herself home.
The evening kept getting better, it seemed to Imogen.
The field lights were suddenly switched off, though, and it caught Imogen initially by surprise.
Then she realised the Council and their frickin cost-cutting and everyone else had changed and gone.
She could just see her bag.
She got it and headed to the changing room facilities across the darkened oval.
Her eyes adjusted slightly under the faint, thin, crescent moon.
Imogen hesitated; fuck vandalism; the bloody male and female signage were black sprayed, and she couldn't remember from two weeks ago which change room was which!.
Like every other player she had arrived in her gear, they hated these substandard west-side facilities.
It probably wasn't going to matter where she changed; she was the only one about; both changerooms were standard brick entrances, side by side. A change room is a changeroom.
She nearly changed outside in the shadows and left, showering for home.
Nah, too sticky.
Imogen pushed the timer light; well, she better be all finished in fifteen, or she would be fumbling around here naked in the dark.
There was a row of benches, toilets, and sinks at the end, and the shower entrance was off to the side.
It looked right, but these cheap amenities blocks were all designed to the same plan at every council venue around the city.
Imogen quickly stripped out of her now sweaty, cold, clammy gear.
She decided on a quick shower; time to get the sweat off and get girly refreshed.
'Oh shit,' she realised there were no shower cubicles.
Only a line of shower heads.
It was guys changing rooms, after all.
Nothin' for it.
She hit the five-minute hot water timer and got underway.
There was no one around.
Keep it quick.
However, the water was soothing as she let it unwind her muscles.
She hadn't had time for stretch downs immediately after the game, team euphoria and then because of Fiona.
She was now lathering her body with soap and lost the intensity for the quick, short wash, courtesy of the tingling touch of her own smallish but sensitive nipples.
Then she was wayward, touching her pussy, thinking of what some guy was missing out on.
The cute hockey player Simon was on the next lab bench in science. He was shy, but maybe he would ask her to the next college social, and then, it was fingers blurring through her fur.
She was rubbing fast; too much had happened tonight, and more would happen fast.
Imogen was finger fucking herself and moaning.
"Mm, mmm, mmm, uh, uh, uh!"
Time was unimportant; the need for her orgasm was dominating the minutes.
Damn! the water dribbled to a stop.
She hit the hot flow knob again, then slammed her petite button between her legs forcefully.
She was in a zone of intensity that was way more focused than any soccer match.
Her intimately shaped pleasure precinct had her attention under the open, high, yet fast-flowing warm shower head.
It was the excitement of The Knights selection, the need for a reward, a moment of indulgence, as an athlete, because chocolate or a tub of ice cream are off limits; so, God, masturbation is great; burn a few calories in pleasure too.
Imogen's fingers were all pace, rapidly circulating over her clit hood, sweet sensations rising. Her vertex of pleasure rewarding touch as it always does and building to sensational delight through repeated touch and thinking of cock.
In her virginal state, just a generic cock pumping into her uninitiated hole.
Then she was finger fucking herself and moaning.
"Uuugh, uughh," —until!
"Screw the council," she said out loud before she climaxed.
The frickin main lights went out.
Shit, no way was that fifteen minutes; maybe ten, she thought as the hot water dribbled to a stop again.
Council sneaky limited timers!
Then she heard male voices in the dark.
Damn it; just my luck, vandals or graffiti taggers.
Imogen was more pissed off than realising she was vulnerably naked in the dark.
The lights were back on, and a guy's voice told a rude joke from the changing room area.
"And the ref said to the hot chick, after the match, I will rescide your red card if you lift your shirt!
And the girl replied, "But no hands."
"Oh sure, no hands!"
He used his tongue and then his dick for a titty fuck!"
Gawffing!
Imogen listened as she heard another male voice start, "Always some guy leaves their gear behind. Wait; it's girly stuff; get a look at these."
Imogen could only imagine what was happening till she sidled up to the dividing wall between the shower bay and benches and peered around.
There were two council cleaners; they had uniforms; shit; she was naked, and they had her panties.
Well, one guy was modelling her pink knickers over his crotch for the other cleaner.
Guy Morris was modelling the panties, and Porter Lucas was laughing.
Guy and Porter were in their early thirties, married, with mortgages and car repayments, one with two kids, one with one, but both with wives with a bun in the oven. The whale body territory at around eight months; and arrival dates very close too. Both joked about giving the missus the stick at the same hour on the same night.
They were good mates, a bit rough around the edges with their jokes, but good dads. However, there was nothing like a couple of beers together at the local topless joint after finishing the sports council change rooms blocks on a Friday night.
Imogen was trapped. The guys were more interested in her gear than cleaning.
Shit, she realised they would hose out the shower area soon and see her.
"Getting a bit of boner there, mate," said Porter, "Been a while, eh, with the Mrs up the duff."
"Yeah, God, I'd love to see the pussy that rests inside these cute frilly knickers."
Imogen blushed; nothing was covering her well-trimmed pink bits.
She was also getting a bit cold out of the shower.
She needed her towel.
If only she had taken her towel with her.
Porter said: "Mate, put the gear in the bag, and we'll drop in at Council lost property. Okay."
"After I take a sniff, mate."
And he did.
Well, some temptations are pure temptations.
Imogen saw the cleaner put her panties to his face.
"Wow," said Guy as he got all of the soccer star's ninety minutes of on-field private musk and her leaky excitement at the moment of being selected for The Knights.
Imogen wanted to kick the prick in his balls, but her soccer boots were in her bag.
"Geez, Guy, Hold on; it's all a bit strange; just what did they wear out of here.?"
"Nothing," said Imogen, deciding attack was the best form of defence.
The two guys saw a cute head peering around from the shower bay.
She had to be starkers. Her towel was by her bag.
"Hate to tell you, but the girl's change room was next door," said Porter, wishing the wall wasn't there.
Her cute, sharp features and shortish hair, then her slight cold shiver, made her look vulnerable and attractive.
Plus, she was still facially heated from her near-stunning approaching but delayed orgasmic blush. Imogen didn't know she had that nearly flushed, sexy look.
"Yeah, you guys should fix the crappy signs. Throw over my towel"; these last words were worth a try.
"I think you should just come over and get it," weighed in Guy
"Yeah, you'd like that, "said Imogen, and from God knows where, probably the confident prima donna deep inside her, she added: "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
Really, Imogen, if there's one instruction males follow quicker than a flasher opening his coat, it's the command to get their heated meat stick out, and, hey presto, there were two very shapely appendages pointing directly towards her.
And well, Imogen realised that was it and walked out full frontal.
Nice shapely tits and cute awesomely girly pouty mons pubis complete with a fuzzy trimmed mound.
Of course, her dangly pink bits, usually folded and overlaying each other, having just been excited under the shower, were more than a bit tacky visible.
Porter and Guy, even with hard-ons, were reasonable blokes, and one threw Imogen her towel and the other her knickers.
They had seen more than what was offered at the topless bar down the road on a Friday night, yet they had enjoyed the sheer audacity of the young Miss.
However, as Imogen went to catch her gear, all she got to think was, screw the bloody council and their timer light switches in change rooms.
It was pitch dark again, and all three sets of their eyes had those seconds of near blindness before they adjusted.
Imogen bent, scrabbling for her panties or her towel or both.
The guys were forward, scrambling to help her pick up the towel for her.
In the mayhem, three bodies were sandwiched in the dark. One was very young and very naked, and two, though clothed, had erect peckers pointing outwardly, ready.
Body forms were shaped in the murkiness, but hands were way ahead, already groping. And it was Imogen who had a pecker in her hand, Porter who had his hands on a peachy arse, and Guy was fondling boobs.
Talk about not needing to see the action, just understanding the need.
That's sex.
Guy's hand was drawn to the cute creased fuzzy pubic haze between her legs and those moistly felt pleats of skin designed for cock. He searched for and found the button that appreciates an invite to every sexual encounter.
The lass moaned as he worked her clit.
"Uhh, uh, uuh, uh!"
Imogen was stroking cock. Luxuriating in her first held pecker. While another cock was nuzzling between her arse cheeks. There were male hands all over her body. She knew herself and her shape, but these male hands were defining her whole shape sexually and sensually in an unlit area.
Her body was blissful in its felt shape.
Here was her moment when her pussy was ready for her first cock; not fully revealed with nowhere to hide; yet even in a murky setting; the focus was her body; her body took over; it orchestrated all the pleasure stuff instantly.
Guy eased into her slit, holding her leg up, while Porter was fingering her cute arsehole from behind.
Imogen moaned as she thought, cock was good; cock was great.
She was flexing and pushing her young body into Guy's and enjoying every stroke as he thrust in and out.
At first, slowly, then quicker, and then Porter's finger was deeper in her butt hole, creating a double pleasure experience.
Cock, beautiful pounding, hammering cock. Finger ferreting in her backside. Imogen gasped repeatedly in self-delight.
"Raah, aah, raah, ahh, ah!"
A pleasure burst of rapid thrusting brought Imogen close to a climax as Guy groaned and was out of her.
Imogen felt the stunning saturated wholeness of being a woman — creamed by cock, and it was amazing, but her girly selfishness cried internally — orgasm; the climax denied under the shower was still cruising her body, so close to release.
"Oh God…Ah…Ah, " was all Imogen articulated before she was moaning loudly, and her thrilling orgasm was travelling in its intended avalanching direction.
Porter's prick was in her sodden pussy from behind.
He squeezed between her butt cheeks, and his fingers were manipulating her swollen, sensitive clit.
Imogen's pussy had shaped one cock; now it shaped a second, but she wasn't the regulator.
Porter drilled.
He pounded.
He thrust.
Imogen was her base carnal self.
A girl reduced to her filled pussy.
Her mind was overpowered by a stunning full-body climax of coursing, stimulating richness. The flooding desire for self exploded in breath-sapping contractions.
If Porter hadn't held her body, she would have collapsed; so complete was her falling into herself in teeming spiky pleasure waves, then the jellied relaxed mellowness that followed.
"Ah, ah, ah, " dove cooed sighs.
It was, in fact, that moment when Imogen's true womanly body shined. The focus was on her. Her body did its stuff sensationally; she more than scored.
Guy turned the lights back on.
By then, Imogen had her towel covering herself.
Their cocks were packed away.
The dudes were both polite and knew this unexpected sensational encounter could turn into a mutual embarrassment.
What the fuck had they all just done in the dark?
Guy and Porter professionally grabbed their cleaning gear, told Imogen she was great, and said they would first clean the girl's changing room.
Give her time to dress undisturbed, and off they went.
Both whistling.
Imogen cleaned herself up at the sink and quickly combed her hair in the inadequate shiny metal —called a mirror, but she knew her best moments of this evening were one hell of a highlights reel.
Speed, reaction, adroitness, the perfect soccer feint, and the perfect strike. Her moment and the winning goal. Then, her likely future contract. But topped by her undreamt sexual goal, a double play, her body beautiful in a yet-to-be-fully-digested awesome revelation of self, she was already enjoying a mental replay.
The drive home was a buzzy, warm, fuzzy happiness with self.
Life couldn't get better than the changing rooms, could it?
Talk about peaking early; a true athlete's dread.
Her phone was buzzing, but she was a responsible driver and too preoccupied with recalling that second cock between her legs from behind.
Imogen parked in her home driveway.
She checked her text message.
Mmm, best moments were seemingly multiplying: she thought as her mind shifted suddenly from cock; to breasts and not her own.
She texted in reply: "Can't wait."
Allie had invited Imogen for a sleepover tomorrow night.
The happy scorer of the night sauntered inside, planning her tactics.
Game on, Allie.