El-ay-a-na!
El-ay-a-na!
El-ay-a-na!
El-ay-a-na!
The chant was deafening. Easily 75,000 of the 82,000 people packed into the three-tiered stadium shouted their adoration for their favorite star. Even those supporting the other team applauded with respect.
Elena Leonor Anaya Nieves, known professionally as Elayana, sprang to her feet, basking in the accolades being showered upon her. Thirty seconds before, she had received a brilliant through ball from her teammate at the top of the 18-yard box, her first touch setting her up to cut and spin to the outside, then to the inside, turning world-class center back Justine Tollomeu inside out and leaving her literally on her ass. The striker had given herself the half-yard gap she needed to rocket the ball into the roof of the net past flailing six-foot keeper Saskia Berente at her near post.
Completing her brace in the 88th minute of the Final certainly sealed her team as champions, the score now 2-1 after having fought off a sustained attack in the closing minutes.
Having whipped off her jersey and sprinted toward the stands as the crowd roared, Elayana’s distinctive knee slide and two-handed grab of the corner flag led her team to celebrate with the fans. Popping to her feet, head down, she waited those tense three or four seconds so that everyone could ready their cameras to capture her next signature move.
El-ay-a-na!
El-ay-a-na!
El-ay-a-na!
El-ay-a-na!
Flipping her head back, her long ponytail arced over her head, leaving her standing with one arm outstretched and one raised, her gleaming smile radiating toward tens of thousands in the crowd and millions glued to their televisions and other streaming devices.
The crowd was not faceless to her. She made contact with not a few screaming fans, responding appreciatively to their admiration. Her smile widened a bit when her eyes found those of a particular admirer, a muscled, olive-skinned man with a thick, neatly-trimmed beard and dark, wavy hair, unashamedly wearing a replica of her jersey. His face disappeared and reappeared as banners and signs asking for her jersey or autograph danced in the jovial crowd.
In the two seconds her teammates gave her before piling on her, three dozen professional photographers and videographers, and three thousand amateur ones, captured the iconic moment. The flurry of clicks captured that classic swishing ponytail, those yellow boots that had manipulated footballs in magic ways for almost two decades, and everything in between. That sports bra that was crafted to restrain and display. Those snug shorts that had been the subject of scorn from a few detractors over the years. The grass on her knees. The mud on her socks. The sweat on her toned arms. The firm thighs and the curve of her hips, strong but still alluringly feminine. Those solid and defined abdominal muscles.
Elayana’s technical ability and tenacity were arguably the best the game had ever seen. But she was more than that. She was a media darling, never refusing an interview, interacting with fans personally and through a legendary social media following. Millions of girls and young women wanted to be her. Millions of men (and more than a few women) wanted to be with her. She wasn’t just admirable. She was fucking sexy.
Elayana loved the camera, and the camera loved Elayana. Sure, a few critics in the media derided her for seeking attention, but there were others who argued that her notoriety was well-deserved, her fame handled with class, humor, and deference to those from whom she drew support.
A few lucky photographers would have their photos from this match’s signature moment in media publications around the world. Some of them would refresh the images accompanying hackneyed bios adorning the top ten in the yearly “hottest female athletes” lists. Girls would have the beautiful and talented star on their phones to show their friends as proof that they were there. Men young and old would have her image to feed their fantasies of bedding a sexy celebrity athlete.
E-lay-a-na!
El-ay-a-na!
E-lay-a-na!
El-ay-a-na!
She and her teammates trotted back to the center circle after another minute or two of hugs and lifts, the celebration spilling also to the coaches and reserves. The referee gave her a smile and a wink along with showing the obligatory yellow card for the removal of her jersey, which she was in no hurry to pull back over her head.
Crushed but determined, her foes put up a foul-laden fight for the next few minutes until that final whistle, but couldn’t overcome the magic the Elayana and her team had produced.
That day, yet another championship and more individual achievements were added to Elayana’s legacy. Multiple World Cup trophies, multiple Olympic medals, multiple continental championships. Domestic cups and league championships followed her wherever she went. Taking meticulous care of her body in terms of nutrition and conditioning had helped her to thankfully avoid long-term injuries during her long career which had started in her teens, setting world records for appearances and goals scored internationally and for two club teams. No one could seriously doubt the evidence that the day solidified: Elayana was the Greatest Of All Time.
Throughout the post-match celebration and interviews, Elayana caught glimpses of the bearded man again. During the trophy celebration, she admired his strong arms as he single-handedly waved the huge banner with her likeness surrounded by the title “Elayana: GOAT”. As the victorious squad hopped off the team bus and streamed into their hotel lobby, he was there again among the excited fans who clamored for her autograph or just the touch of a high-five.
After the partying had wrapped up late at night at a nearby venue, the team made it back to their hotel. When the activity settled down, the sexy star was finally able to sneak off away from the rest of the team with a small group of friends. With her money, but of course not in her name, they had rented a suite for the night. Her bearded admirer was there among the exclusive guests, and finally they embraced. She has had a favorite man (actually, two or three) in every major city where she’s played over the years, and since she has had her pick of suitors wherever she’s gone, she’s always made arrangements ahead of time to hook up. Markus was the lucky one to receive the football star’s amorous attentions on this weekend of the big Final.
Ever since the myth of pre-competition sex sapping strength and stamina has been debunked, athletes around the world have been indulging the night before or the day of competitions at increasing rates, and have even found a good shagging to relieve stress and clear the mind. Elayana was no exception, but for her, post-match trysts were just as frequent. Savvy and careful enough to pick her partners and acquaintances well, her sexual exploits have not come to light, the occasional speculation not having gained much traction.
When team members had had some scarce free time the day before the game, after training and before strategy sessions, Markus had picked her up and taken her to his upscale flat, where the two had engaged in a sweaty, vigorous session of playfully aggressive sex. And after the game and post-victory celebrations, she needed to have her way with him again.
The hotel suite was quite the scene of after-midnight debauchery. More than one set of partners fucked in the master bedroom, and more than one at a time. Elayana’s friends using their favorite team’s win as an excuse to go wild to excess, but her demands were clear, as always: though alcohol was consumed in great quantities, no drugs of any kind were allowed. She wouldn’t risk her reputation, and the throng wanted her friendship more than they wanted a narcotic high. Naked fit bodies, drunk on victory and cocktails, assembled and frolicked in all corners of the suite.
Respecting her desire not to be disturbed after a while, Elayana’s friends cleared out of the luxurious master bedroom as she led the lucky Markus inside and bumped the door closed with her hip.
Half a world away, countless new Internet searches turned up photos of the famous footballer in her kit on the pitch, in bikinis on the beach, in provocative evening wear at media events, and even tastefully nude as the fitness community had paid tribute to her physique. As Markus’ stiff cock thrust against and inside of her naked body in that hotel suite, thousands of cocks a continent away were being jerked off to still images and video clips of the hottest football star, imagining their spew to be making a mess on her muscular body and smiling face rather than their own stomachs and tissues. Thousands of young ladies rubbed and penetrated their pussies as well, some dressed only in tall athletic socks and sports bras, knowing that Elayana wasn’t a lesbian but imagining that she was at least a little bi.
Champagne and beer were poured on Elayana’s and Markus’ naked bodies as he helped her celebrate, first in the tub in the bathroom, then even in the king-sized bed. She hadn’t been worried about money for well over a decade, thanks to her record club signings and steady stream of income from media appearances and product endorsements, so the cleaning bill was of no concern.
She picked Markus as her weekend sex partner partially for his excellent tongue, and employed him to kneel at the foot of the bed to swirl it in and around her pussy lips, which she spread lewdly for him, framed by her neatly-trimmed pubes. Slurping her pink insides and her prominent clit, he couldn’t help but stroke his raging boner while her fingers tightened in his hair. After her first cum of the night, he stood, masturbating for the smiling star, stopping short of emptying his aching balls on her heaving chest, powerful thighs, and rippling abs.
He was grateful to have a crack at such a sexy star, and even though he was a bit cocky and confident, he knew she was in her own league. She was an animal in bed, even after having trained hard all week and given it her all in the match and partied into the night. She wasn’t just the greatest footballer — she was the greatest fuck. Of all time, in the opinion of Markus and quite a few other studs throughout the world lucky enough to have been her sex partners.
They discarded the first condom for a wild skin-on-skin tittyfuck and spitty handjob after he spent a few minutes drilling her while she lay on her back. Even though he had tittyfucked his share of MILFs with soft double-Ds, there was nothing like jamming his stiff prick between his mature star athlete’s firm B cups. He rolled on a second condom to take her from behind while slapping her toned ass and roughly pulling her flowing hair into a makeshift ponytail like she wore on the pitch. On her knees, after clawing the second condom off, her mouth and fists sucking and gripping his cock reminded him of the signature two-handed, knee-sliding corner flag grab she’d display after scoring one of her record number of goals.
Another reason Elayana had Markus take care of her needs this weekend was his stamina and staying power. Early in her career, she had endured her share of guys who frankly were done before she started, but Markus’ strong, sturdy strokes were the gift that kept on giving. His powerful thrusts gave her hips and abs a workout, and his muscular biceps and glutes gave her plenty of meat to grip while she enjoyed her vigorous celebratory fuck. His trim and taut midsection was the perfect thickness for her to wrap around and clench with her muscular legs.
He no doubt had plenty of women to keep him in practice year-round between her visits, perhaps twice per year, and she appreciated his training regimen. An accomplished footballer himself, though never quite able to break in to his country’s top professional league, his legs and core kept up the pace as his stiff cock got masturbated, drove into her from above, fucked her from behind, and received pleasure from her fists and mouth.
But her riding him, a third condom wrapping his throbbing, thrusting dick, champagne drizzling over her quivering tits, ripped body bouncing and pounding and gyrating, was what got him off. The grace and power and confidence Elayana showed on the pitch transferred seamlessly into her sexual prowess. When she felt him buck and throb and tremble, loudly voicing his powerful orgasm, it was like a crowd dancing and cheering, driving her to grind her clit into the base of his cock. She was addicted to physical release, whether it was the joy of her and her fans and her teammates erupting in celebration of a victory, or her and her paramours erupting in gratifying sexual climax.
They fucked hard and noisily, tongues fighting for dominance through open, groaning mouths, for the duration of her orgasm until her tingling and trembling subsided. Spent and sated, she slumped off her favorite boy toy, lying face up with him, the ceiling fan attempting to cool them. He turned sideways, cum-filled condom starting to slide under the weight of the load of spunk, watching Elayana’s bare tits heave as if she were trying to gain back her breath after a box-to-box fast break sprint on the pitch. He leaned in to suck the erect nipples, still damp and sticky and tasty from the champagne spray.
Elayana fiddled with her lover’s dick until it started to go soft, then carefully detached the condom, dangling it as the healthy load of sperm inside weighed down the tip. Kneeling on the bed, she held the condom by the end upside down over her tilted-up face, letting the pearly gobs of thick and salty cum drench her tongue and pool in her mouth. After squeezing and sucking out the rest, she swallowed her tasty protein shake to a cascade of their shared laughter.
The sated star invited Markus to shower with her to end their night. She had taken everything out of his cock, so it could only make a weak attempt at stiffening again, but still, they enjoyed making out and groping as the water washed their sweat and sex away.
In the wee hours of the morning, the two stepped out to join the rest of her friends in the suite, Markus back in his smart trousers and button-down shirt, Elayana stylish as always in her wide-bottomed slacks and form-fitting top. They received knowing glances from her friends, and jealous stares from the other men who wished they could have been Markus that night. Most had hooked up with another woman, even two at a time, so they nonetheless counted themselves lucky to be in her inner circle. Two couples — a guy and a girl on the couch, and two topless thirtysomething women leaning against a window — were sleepily making out and feeling each other up. Through the secondary bedroom door, Elayana glimpsed a friend trying to pull her pants up while the guy who had apparently just fucked her stumbled naked into the bathroom.
Elayana shared goodbye hugs and kisses with her friends and boy toy, and reveled in a final round of congratulations for carrying her team to the championship. She rejoined her teammate and roommate, Lucila, in the room the team had provided; Lucila was aware of Elayana’s indiscretions, but would never make them known to the public.
Perhaps past her prime but still going strong, Elayana was now in her late thirties. Maybe another major tournament or two for her country, maybe another season or two for her club team, and her career would come to a close. But there surely was enough time for at least one last world tour, experiencing the mass adoration from tens of thousands of cheering fans in packed stadiums and millions more watching in homes and pubs, and the personal adoration and intimate attention from the boy toys she had waiting as she traveled the world.
