There are different levels of Roller Derby fans. There are the casual fans who catch a game now and then so they can brag about out cool they are on Facebook. There are the family fans that come out every match to support their mom, sister, daughter, girlfriend, wife or ex. There are the hardcore fans who come to every game and scream with joy every time the jammer break out of the pack.
And then there are the true fans like me; the Derby Lickers.
I waited in the dressing room. My cock pulsed with anticipation. To my left, Sheryl was licking her lips, trying hard not to rub her crotch in front of every body. To my right, Bobby was stretching his jaw, preparing himself mentally for our ordeal.
“Three minutes before the end of the half,” the announcer said over the loudspeakers.
The water girl walked the line of lickers. She checked our leg restraints. She double checked our handcuffs. She triple checked the collars that held our heads perfectly still. Finally, she slipped the blindfolds over our heads.
“And that is it for the half, folks! The score is Rocket Angels, one-twenty versus the Murder Mavens’ fifty-four. Join us back in fifteen minutes!”
I let out a groan. The Rocket Angels were killing it today. They were going to come in happy and high on endorphins. They were going to want to celebrate.
I heard the players come in. I could picture them in my heads. I knew them all by heart. I knew their tattoos, I knew their game statistics and I knew the way they looked as they zoomed past as untouchable beauties of the roller ring.
“We kicked ass!” someone yelled. It might have been Lez Fairy or it might have been Judge Julie. It was hard to tell the difference with the blood pounding in my ears.
Someone answered and someone laughed. My heart pounded. Maybe they were too happy to get a licking? It has happened before.
I felt the chair shift as someone leaned on it. I smelled the wonderful musk of thighs soaked in sweat. I opened my mouth as a furry pussy pressed down on me.
The Rocket Angel let out a moan. I couldn’t tell who it was. I mean, obviously it wasn’t one of the lesbians but you never know. There was no judgment in Roller Derby and if a lesbian wanted to try a guy’s mouth, her teammates weren’t going to judge.
It wasn’t likely, but I still jack off to the thought sometimes.
The Rocket Angel grinded against my face. I stuck my tongue out and tried to fuck her with it. I licked sweat from her pussy. I licked desire from inside her pussy. The taste was overwhelming but I kept licking.
As I sat in my restraints, licking the Rocket Angel’s pussy, I imagined it was Red Pwn-ya; She was my favorite. I adored the curly red hair that peeked out from under her helmet. I loved the tattoo of the space girl on her right bicep. I dreamed of one day touching the tattoo of the dolphin on her left thigh.
I licked with a special fury. Maybe, just maybe, if I licked hard enough and brought her so much pleasure, that she would want to know the name of the Derby Licker that she sat on today. She would invite me back home and I would live a lifetime of service using my tongue.
It could happen.
The unknown Rocket Angel grinded faster. I had trouble breathing but I suffered quietly. This wasn’t about me; it was about her. She had played hard, taken numerous bumps and fell on the unforgiving floor. Tonight she would have a dozen new bruises and parts of her will ache for weeks to come. This is the sacrifice she makes for her team and her fans; the least I can do is make a sacrifice with my mouth.
The change came over me. I stopped wishing it was Red Pwn-ya. I didn’t care who it was. I was just happy to serve. I was happy to give back to this wonderful sport the only way I could. I licked sweaty pussy not because it was delicious, but because I wanted to be of use to my favorite team.
The Rocket Angel suddenly stopped. I kept licking until she quickly lifted away from my face. I reached out with my tongue but there was nothing there.
“Good mouth,” the Rocket Angel said. Her hand patted my wet face. I smiled with pride.
“Time’s up, ladies!” the coach said. I heard the groans of tired players followed by the rolling of many wheels.
When they were gone, the water girl came by. She pulled off our blindfolds. I looked to see Sheryl’s face was soaked and red; much like how I imagined mine was. Bobby’s face was dry and untouched but he was trying not to show his disappointment.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll get used.”
“They just want my mouth rested for the after game,” he said.
We laughed and it was probably true. A quick pussy eating helped some Rocket Angels relax during halftime while others preferred to rest or get a quick massage. After the game was a whole other matter. No Rocket Angel turned down a pussy eating then.
The next thirty minutes went by far too slowly.