This story was written to go with the picture above, by Dream and Nightmare.
I’ve played in countless matches and scored countless goals, but even I can still get a little anxious before a big championship match like this one. Standing in the tunnel all alone before the game, I take in the frenzied atmosphere. It’ll still be some time before kickoff, but the home crowd is filled with such fervor that I can feel my blood charging through my veins. It’s impossible not to feel pumped up. And it seems my cock feels the same way — I can sense it beginning to stir, pressing against my already-tight jockstrap.
I take another look out the tunnel. The crowd is mostly focused on the pre-match entertainment, and will be for the next few minutes. That’s enough for me. I pull down my shorts and jockstrap, letting my enormous shaft flop out and quickly rise to full mast. Anyone could see me, tucked just behind a concrete wall that conceals me from most, but not all of the stadium. A teammate or opponent could walk up the tunnel at any time. But what’s most important in this moment is taking care of my own needs: relieving my stress so I can play the upcoming match with a clear head.
Besides, aren’t all of these fans here to see me? Aren’t they all here to see their star player put on a show? This perfect body, this body that I’ve spent years training and sculpting to the pinnacle of fitness, was meant to be on display. I lift my jersey, already stretched tight across my torso, above my heavy pecs, revealing my washboard abs. If I become part of the pre-match entertainment, so be it.
My weighty balls slap against my thick thighs as I begin to stroke. They probably needed some emptying, anyway — let your nuts get too heavy, and they’ll just slow you down on the pitch. Instinctively, my free hand finds its way up to my chest, giving my left nipple a firm squeeze. These nips could cut diamonds, and the pleasure they provide only fuel my lust. The outside world fades as my pleasure becomes my singular focus; the crowd noise blends into a dull roar that I no longer consciously hear. The cold concrete against which I lean might as well be my bed at home. And when this orgasm comes, it will mean that I’ve reached a state of comfort and focus that the players on the other team could never hope to match.
A low moan escapes my beak as it arrives. Thick, hot ropes of eagle cum splatter the wall on the opposite side of the tunnel, a powerful load that the opposition should perhaps take as a statement of intent. Satisfied, I pull my shorts back up and let my jersey fall back over my chest.
I’m ready.