A comforting sight that sends Emily into her nightly dream world is a huge glossy poster on the wall at the foot of her bed of a life-size All Blacks rugby warrior who is well into his fierce Hakka routine.
New Zealand’s national rugby team is feared all over the world because it’s usually beats the pants off any other national teams. And just to make sure of that the opposing teams know what they are in for, the monstrous players, both white and Maori, clad in black with a little delicate white fern on their bulging breasts, dance the Maori warriors’ confrontational “welcoming” dance, complete with tongues sticking out of grimacing faces and bulging eyes.
Emily’s Maori gladiator, whom she names Bruce, is doing just that, a big bulge in his shorts thrust out alarmingly from thighs the size of small tree trunks. But Bruce usually puts Emily nicely to bed.
Wrapped with her cherished All Blacks merino and possum woolen beanie hat and scarf, with their silver fern logos, well-hidden in her bedroom drawer, is a large shiny All Blacks dildo, complete with the little white fern, secretly bought some time ago in a Christchurch adult store. But Emily wishes to forget that particular embarrassing journey.
Many a night as she jerks, arches, thumps, groans and shouts in bed, Emily’ sight is lovingly glued to the pelvis and torso of the giant player packed solid with muscle, while his dildo is buzzing and probing away at its work between her legs and in her bum.
She often makes a pact with Bruce on how many orgasms she will give him in a week, pleasurably offered on her altar of national worship, which works out as once, and sometimes twice, a night for weeks on end.
Emily remembers many a wet Saturday afternoons in her teens stumbling back from long running and kicking, her long blond hair flying, in tiring soccer games on nearby soggy fields. The house would be empty with her parents at work as she flopped into the lounge chair with hot chocolate and toast.
To relax, she would put on her dad’s old videos of All Blacks rugby games. As the huge steaming torsos and thighs strain to push the opposing players in the numerous scrums, Emily found herself also admiring and rubbing her still-muddy thighs and crotch.
Then her fingers would find their way under her shorts and undies to very soon send her head banging repeatedly on the back of the lounge chair, sometimes synching to the fierce clashes of the scrums and the jarring tackles which spectacularly floored players into the muddy turf. Actually it wasn’t a bad way to spend the long empty afternoons of her youth.
On one of her frequent nocturnal trysts now with old Doug next door, Emily revealed this particular passion of hers for these rugby warriors. Doug took a particular note of this fetish, amused that a young woman should like rugby.
He then tried to be more vigorous that night in bed, humping and grabbing pathetically in bed on t op of her. But it was still the same bony shaft which took the usual long time to spurt, puffing out the would-be All Black, well into the next day. Emily nevertheless cradled his head on top on her shoulder like a father, or more accurately a grandfather, for his valiant effort.
Today is Emily’s birthday but there was nothing special to look forward to. A few happy birthdays from her friends at work and uni then her favourite roast lamb with mint sauce and roast potatoes, cooked by her mum for dinner. A cream cake with candles to blow off, to finish.
The only thought over dinner for Emily was how many times would she surrender up to the All Black tonight. It looks like a good night to try to break her all-time record of five orgasms, set one night with the help of Joanne from next door who was sleeping over in the same bed. The insatiable Joanne won that contest with six times, when Emily simply became too sore to vibrate any more down there. As it was, she could hardly walk the next day.
The birthday girl treats herself to a steaming bubble bath, leisurely rubbing every inch of herself as a congratulation for surviving another year of an indifferent world. Then she dries and powders herself, walking naked to bed with the All Black dildo held close. In passing she touches the All Blacks warrior poster in the crotch and kisses it on the mouth.
The electric blanket had been on full blast so the bed heats her up like breakfast toast. Very soon Emily is able to throw aside the thick doona, spreading her legs to present her downy mound to the rugby giant. She starts the machine and moan as she is well on her way to the first orgasm of the planned night marathon.
“Hi!,” comes a deep voice from the Maori face that she is looking at.
Emily refuses to believe her ears.
“Hi. Sorry to sneak in but your door wasn’t locked,” says the voice again. “Wow, that’s a sight for sore eyes, by the way.”
Shit, it’s speaking to me now, mumbles Emily.
But she sees now in the gloom that her bedroom door is ajar and a huge dark face floating at the top of the door is smiling at her.
Emily scrambles to pull the bed cover over herself, fumbling also to hide the dildo which continues to buzz despite her frantic moves to turn the damned thing off, finally shoving it under her pillow while still buzzing.
“Again, really sorry… I’m Utamara, a good friend of your friend Doug. He said you like the All Blacks and that it’s your birthday today so he says it would be nice for me to surprise you with a visit,“ says the giant who now looms at the end of her bed, his head of wild long curly hair is brushing her ceiling.
Emily is in no doubt that she is dreaming: the poster has come alive. The man now standing next to her poster is identical to her Bruce.
“Bruce…?,” she mumbles.
“No, Utamara. Nice to meet you,” the giant says, extending a huge fat hand for her to shake. He sits on her creaking bed and smiles.
“You know what that naughty Doug says I should do is to give you your birthday present in bed!,” he laughs. “Incorrigible, that guy.”
“We’ve got a game against Australia this weekend but getting in bed with a spunky white girl like you could do my game a lot of good.”
“…You…in bed… with me?,” stammers Emily, finally turning the knob of the dildo under her pillow to shut it up.
“If you want to? How about it? I’ll be gentle and I’ve got a nice bottle of red to help cerebrate your birthday. Plus I am getting a bit worked up now.”
The man puts his hand on her doona with the palm up. It presses down like a brick directly on pubic mound, making her jump. She hesitates then places her hand in his which he squeezes hard.
The giant unscrews the wine bottle and gives it to her to take a swig.
“Take a big mouthful, you deserve it.”
Then he pours almost half a bottle down his throat and gives the bottle back to Emily.
The Maori stands up now, again almost to the ceiling and fills the little room. He slowly removes his black jumper and T-shirt to reveal the unbelievable bulging muscles of his chest. Emily pulls her doona closer to her chin and takes in a long breath.
Then the man peels off his tight black trousers and red underpants with difficulty then stands up fully naked, his muscles gleaming in the gloom of the night light coming through the window. Emily nearly faints at the sight of his large long penis pointing threateningly at her face.
“Good God…” she can’t help whispering.
The man takes the wine bottle from her, drains it in his mouth and puts it aside. Then he simply pulls her doona aside to reveal her pale body, so very vulnerable and small now. He straddles her like a black bull, his thighs bulging, the bed creaking.
As the man lowers himself on to her, Emily feels crushed out of existence. All she can think of is that this must be like in a scrum. Her hands are caressing and grabbing his back and huge buttocks, but feeling granite instead of soft muscles. Then it feels like a hard blunt tree branch is pushing at the opening of her vagina.
“Don’t kill me,” she whispers as the huge penis somehow forces its way well into her.
“Fucking hell!,” Emily yells. This All Black tackle is surely obliterating her from this earth and the surging thrusts between her hopelessly spread legs very soon sets her screaming until she muffles it by pressing her mouth into his iron chest muscle, all in the spasms of her fearsome orgasm.
In this a topsy-turvy night of sweat and joyous tears, Emily again and again spins out like she has never spun out before. Her nightly record is blown away as the black stallion makes her orgasm at will while he himself keeps going tirelessly and only crosses the try line himself twice that long night. But what tries they are.
Emily remains amazed that she is not torn asunder and survives until morning. As the grey morning dawns, she holds on with her arms and legs wrapped tightly around her very own All Black.
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