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She reminisces while waiting for him.
He reached over to take the bottle of lubricant into his hand.
My heart quickened as I felt something fall onto my anus: a cheeky giggle accompanied the shivering rush of the cold sensation. He said nothing as his finger worked the clearless gloop into my butt. I hoped. The bottle was returned to it's place on the muddy ground before the photographer returned, screwing a new lens onto his camera. Paul's clandestine activities had not been noticed.
Not that I cared if it had. "Go on," I whispered, my mind screaming at Paul to impale his thick cock into me. "Do it." He did nothing, rubbing his impressive tool along my perineum as he rocked on his haunches. The rain didn't matter, the unsuspecting audience didn't matter, the location in the centre of the pitch didn't matter, in that glorious moment I just wanted to be taken.
"OK sorry guys, let's get this wrapped up! Sure you don't want to be out here any longer than necessary." Another time, the photographer's cheery innocence would have been comical. Instead, it grated: he was interrupting my moment with the model. Paul pulled his hips back and pushed the blunt head of his unfettered cock against my lubricated hole. I felt it straining; the resistance disappearing as I felt his hands pulling my hips back onto him. He was piercing me, pulling me into his crotch, guiding my body back as his cock slid slowly into my butt.
But it was my choice: I craved for it. Unlike our forfeits after losing matches, I chose to allow him. I became oblivious to the world around me as I gasped with every rock of his hips, pushing his cock deeper and deeper, faster and faster into me.
The flashes in my eyes were possibly the camera, or maybe I was seeing stars. I heard a multitude of cries escape from my mouth as he plowed my arse. My cock danced to his tune, bobbing with every thrust as my hands and knees slipped in the mud. I heard little grunts on the autumn wind, felt every slide on his thick cock and savoured every touch on my prostate.
With a merest gasp, I felt his cock quiver and he buried his prick balls-deep into my arse. A flood of warmth filled my rectum.
"OK thanks guys," the photographer shouted over the rain, getting to his feet and wiping his muddy knees. My arousal flitted with my peak, flickering at the cliff and desperate for a merest stroke of my cock. "That was pretty awesome. They'll come out fantastically!"
I took some deep breaths as he eagerly jogged to our pavilion to escape from the rain. I leaned forward, feeling empty as Paul's shrivelled member glided out of me. I was wet, the slime of his cum lining my whirl.
"I've never fucked a celebrity before," Paul joked as he helped me to my feet. "That was pretty intense."
I couldn't disagree.
The team were at our floodlit ground for over four hours as the photographer took dozens of promotional pictures. The rest of the pictures were faked homosexual or masturbatory acts: Manlube couldn't advertise their products with explicit sex knowingly. The darkness of the night-time pitch had masked our original fun that the light of the changing room wouldn't do. Paul later confessed I was the first man he had taken, and had the strangest conversation as two "straight guys" sat in the changing room naked while talking about the secret gay sex we had just had and had both wanted.
He offered to sneak off to the other changing rooms with me if I wanted to "even it up" but I politely declined. I needed to understand why I wanted penetration at that moment: I wasn't compelled to let him do anything but I had needed it, I had been desperate for him to ram his prick into me.
I confessed all to my girlfriend when I got home, not sure what she would say. She jumped me.
After I assured her that I wasn't joking, she jumped me, desperate for sex.