The Goalkeeper Accepted My Punishment After the Derby

I'd been boiling with anger all day. It wasn't just because of the draw or the shouting in the stands. It was because of her. The opposing goalkeeper had spent ninety minutes challenging the entire stadium with that insolent calm of someone who knows she has thousands of furious people in front of her and still refuses to shrink back. Every save she made pissed me off more than a goal against us.

When the match ended, I couldn't get her out of my head. Tall, strong, dark-haired, with a hard expression and that confidence that lit something inside me. She wasn't just any woman. You could see it in the way she walked, in how she answered the insults with a cold look, as if every man in the world could go fuck himself.

I heard near the stadium exit that she was openly lesbian. They said it as an insult. It affected me differently. I wasn't interested in humiliating her or forcing her, but in bringing down that arrogance and seeing what would happen if, face-to-face, she let me into her space. There was something in the way she challenged people that demanded a collision. And when I feel that, I don't usually back down.

Hours later I saw her walk into a bar downtown alone. She was no longer wearing her match uniform, but tight jeans, black boots, and a loose T-shirt that failed to conceal her body. She had let her hair down, and fatigue weighed on her eyes, but she still had the same presence. She ordered a drink like someone who needed to come down a few notches before she could sleep.

I approached without hurrying. Not with the violence of the stadium, but with a different energy. More restrained. More dangerous.

—Tough match, I said, leaning against the bar at a prudent distance.

She looked me up and down, assessing me. She probably saw a big, shaved-headed man with a beard and tattoos showing above the collar of his shirt. What she didn't see was that I'd been watching her long before then.

—I've had worse, she replied, and took a long sip from her glass.

I bought her next drink. Then another. We talked about football, travel, injuries, hotel nights, and the fucking misery of still having your body revved up after a major match. She didn't recognize me as one of the animals roaring from the stands. Or maybe she did, and didn't care. The point was that she relaxed.

She had a blunt way of speaking, with no easy flirting and no bullshit. I liked that even more. She didn't smile to please me. When she laughed, it was because I'd genuinely drawn something out of her. And I wanted to keep drawing things out.

I brushed her forearm while telling her an absurd story, and she didn't pull away. Later, when I leaned in to say something in her ear over the music, I felt her body tense—not in rejection, but in attention. That small change was enough for me to push a little further.

—It's impossible to talk in here anymore, I murmured. There's a patio out back. Quieter. If you want some air.

She held my gaze for two seconds. I didn't look away.

—Okay, she said at last.

We went out through a side door. It wasn't a filthy alley, but a narrow service patio with exposed brick, a couple of tall barrels, and a weak yellow light over the wall. It smelled of old tobacco and damp early morning. The music reached us muffled from inside.

She folded her arms and exhaled, as if she could finally loosen up. I closed the door behind me slowly. She turned at the click.

—Now then, she said. What did you really want?

I took a step toward her.

—To tell you I was watching you the entire match.

She raised an eyebrow, wholly unimpressed.

—You weren't the only one.

—No. But I might have been the only one who wanted to touch you instead of insult you.

Her expression changed. Not to fear. To alertness. I liked that she didn't step back.

—And does that usually work for you? she asked.

—Not always. Only when I sense there's hunger on the other side too.

A short, thick silence fell between us. She leaned her hip against the wall, still looking at me as if she were deciding whether to tell me to fuck off or give me a chance.

—I'll warn you about something, she said. I don't like men who think they're entitled to anything.

—Perfect, I replied. I like women who know how to say no. And also those who know how to say yes.

The corners of her lips lifted slightly. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was a challenge.

—I don't fuck men, she said, clear and direct.

—Maybe not. But you've been out here with me for ten minutes without leaving.

The tension drove itself between us. She moistened her lips. I saw her glance at my mouth for a second before looking back up. That was when something broke. Or opened.

—Don't mistake curiosity for permission, she said.

—Then give it to me or take it away. But say it.

She moved first. Barely one step. Just enough for her breath to brush my face.

—I'll give you one kiss, she murmured. Nothing more.

—For now.

She kissed me with the intention of someone who wanted to control the territory. Firm mouth, brief tongue, one hand pressed to my chest to maintain distance. I let her take the first moment. Then I grabbed the back of her neck and deepened the kiss, without roughness but without yielding. The kiss changed immediately. Her breathing grew uneven. The hand on my chest clenched the fabric of my shirt.

When we pulled apart, her lips were wet and her gaze darker.

—Fuck, she whispered, annoyed with herself.

—That didn't sound like nothing more.

—Don't get carried away.

But I could already see the pulse in her neck. I lowered my hand to her waist and waited. She didn't move it away. So I slid it around her back and pulled her close again. This time she was the one who opened her mouth first.

We kissed with more hunger, dirtier, more honestly. Her tongue stopped testing and began searching. My hands moved over her back, her firm ass beneath the jeans, the taut line of her muscles. I felt her moan softly when I bit her lip.

—I wasn't planning to end the night like this, she said, pressed against my mouth.

—You still don't know how it's going to end.

—Neither do you.

I liked that. I liked that she fought even while she was getting turned on.

I caught her jaw between two fingers.

—If we continue, we make things clear. No drunkenness as an excuse. No bullshit. I want to hear you say what you want.

Her chest rose and fell faster. She held my gaze stubbornly.

—I want to try, she said at last. But I don't want fake tenderness. And if I don't like it, you stop.

—Done.

—And one more thing, she added. I get turned on by being ordered around, but only if I allow it.

I smiled crookedly.

—Now that's interesting.

***

I took her to a small storage room the manager lent me some nights for smoking or storing boxes. It had an old sofa, a low table, and a bolt on the inside. Nothing romantic. Perfect for what was beginning to rise between us.

As soon as I closed the door, she shoved me against it and kissed me with a rage that had nothing to do with football anymore. She slipped her hands beneath my shirt, her nails scraping my abdomen, as if she wanted to check whether I really wanted her or was merely playing with the idea. I grabbed her ass with both hands and pressed her against my hard cock.

She went still when she felt it.

—So this is what you wanted, she murmured.

—This and more.

—Don't call me baby or any shit like that.

—I won't.

I lifted her shirt, revealing a black sports bra still damp with a faint scent of soap and hot skin. I kissed her neck while undoing the clasp. When the fabric fell away, her tits were free, large, firm, heavy in my hands. I sucked one nipple until it hardened, and she let out the first clear moan of the night, deep and involuntary.

—Fuck... she closed her eyes for a moment. I didn't expect this.

—You haven't seen anything yet.

I sucked her other tit, barely biting it, and she grabbed my short hair as if she wanted to push me harder against her body. Her skin was sensitive and heated. Every time my tongue circled her nipple, I felt her stomach tense.

I lowered one knee between her legs and pressed right there. Her reaction was immediate. She opened them slightly and exhaled through her nose.

—You're sensitive, I told her.

—I'm horny, not blind.

I undid her jeans. She looked at me without speaking, breathing deeply. I slipped my hand inside and found simple panties, wet in the center. Very wet. I stroked her through them slowly, feeling the heat gather beneath my fingers.

—I thought you didn't fuck men.

—I don't fuck just anyone, she replied. Keep touching me and stop talking.

I obeyed. I moved the fabric aside and slid two fingers between her wet lips. Her pussy was open, hot, receptive, her clitoris swollen and hard beneath the pad of my thumb. I barely brushed it and she shuddered from head to toe.

—Shit, she whispered, resting her head against the door.

—Look at me.

She did. I kept rubbing her clitoris in slow circles while sliding one finger inside her, then two. Her pussy squeezed me immediately. There was no doubt, no rejection, no confusion. Only pure arousal and a strange anger at feeling it with me.

—Like that? I asked.

—Harder.

I curled my fingers and searched for the spot that made her tremble. I found it quickly. Her legs buckled slightly and she dug her nails into my shoulder. I kept working that spot, moving in and out, while my thumb hammered her clitoris without gentleness.

—Ah... yes... fuck, yes... she moaned, all pride gone from her voice.

—Tell me what you want.

—Don't stop.

—And what else?

She swallowed. Her eyes shone, not with tears, but with desire held in too long.

—I want to come in your hand.

I increased the pace. Her hips began moving on their own, seeking my fingers. I slipped in a third finger just at the tip, combining the pressure with my thumb on her clitoris. Then she broke. She came with a hoarse moan, opening her mouth against my neck and squeezing my fingers inside her as her pussy pulsed again and again. She soaked my hand and trembled for a long time, unable to hold herself up completely.

I held her by the waist until she got her breath back. When she opened her eyes, she looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and anger.

—That was too fucking good, she said.

—And I haven't fucked you yet.

The words hit her directly. She looked down at my crotch and then back up.

—I want to taste your mouth first.

I turned her around and sat her on the edge of the sofa. I opened her legs wider and knelt between them. Her pussy was shiny, open, still throbbing from the orgasm. I gave her a long first lick, from underneath up to her clitoris, and she let out a sharp moan. I repeated it more slowly, running my tongue between her folds and savoring her wetness without hurry.

—Holy shit... she murmured. I didn't expect to like seeing you down there so much.

—That's because you like giving orders... and having them obeyed properly.

I held her thighs and started eating her pussy for real. Firm tongue on her clitoris, short licks, then deep ones, alternating with two fingers inside her. Her athletic body came apart on the sofa. She writhed, opened her legs wider, and pushed my head with her hand, lost in pleasure now. The wet sounds of oral sex filled the room along with her increasingly unrestrained moans.

—More... don't stop... like that, like that... she repeated.

I pushed my fingers all the way in and sucked her clitoris with steady pressure. Her abdomen tightened, her thighs trapped my head, and she came again in my mouth, shaking all over. I felt her wet my tongue and chin. I didn't pull away until I'd wrung the entire orgasm out of her.

When I let her breathe, she was disheveled, flushed, and looking at me as if she couldn't decide whether to hit me or kiss me.

—Now you, she said.

She pulled down my zipper and took out my already-hard cock, heavy and tense from having waited so long. She studied it for a second with that direct curiosity that made no attempt to fake experience she didn't have.

—I've never done this with a man, she admitted.

—You don't have to if you don't want to.

—I want to. But my way.

She knelt in front of me. She stroked me from base to tip, registering the thickness, the heat, the hardness. Then she ran her tongue slowly over the head, tasting it. She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the sensation. The next time she opened her mouth wider and took the tip in. I groaned softly, unable to stop myself.

She learned quickly. She sucked more decisively, moving up and down while working the base with her hand, mixing saliva with the motion. When I brushed her cheek and asked her to look at me, she did it without taking me from her mouth. That image alone brought me to the edge of coming.

—You've got a good mouth, I growled.

She released my cock for a moment and smiled defiantly.

—Don't come yet. I want to feel you inside me.

***

She stood up and took off her jeans and panties completely. I lowered my trousers and took a condom from my jacket pocket. She saw it and nodded, satisfied. No idiotic impulses. No losing our heads completely.

—Come here, I told her.

I drew her against my body and kissed her while putting on the condom. I noticed how she watched every gesture, every movement. There were nerves, yes, but also an almost aggressive excitement. I caught one of her legs and lifted it onto the sofa, leaving her open to me. My hand returned to her pussy and confirmed that she was still soaked.

—Last chance to say no.

—Put it in me already, she answered hoarsely.

I placed the tip at her entrance and began pushing it in slowly. Her body tensed at the first advance. I buried my face in her neck as I entered inch by inch. She was hot, tight, squeezing me in a way unlike any other woman I'd been with. Not from lack of desire, but from the intensity of something new.

—Breathe, I murmured.

She did. She gripped my forearm tightly and opened her legs wider. I kept entering slowly until I was completely inside her. We both stayed still for a second, feeling the weight of the moment.

—Fuck... she said through her teeth. It feels... huge.

—Too much?

She shook her head.

—No. Move.

I began with short, measured thrusts, letting her body adjust. Every time I withdrew and entered again, her pussy received me a little better, a little wider, a little more eagerly. Her moans shifted from tension to hunger. Soon she was the one asking me for a faster rhythm.

—Harder, she ordered. Don't treat me like I'm made of glass.

I smiled and obeyed. I gripped her hip with one hand and held the back of her neck with the other to kiss her while fucking her deeper. The sound of our bodies striking the sofa and her broken breathing filled the room. Every thrust pulled a dirtier moan from her.

—Like that... like that, fuck... she repeated.

I slipped my hand between her legs and began rubbing her clitoris while continuing to move in and out of her pussy. The combination undid her. Her back arched, her tits bounced freely, and she bit my shoulder to keep from screaming too loudly.

—Do you like me fucking you? I whispered in her ear.

—Yes.

—I want to hear it better.

She looked at me with her arrogance still alive, even like that, impaled on my cock.

—Yes, I like it. Happy?

—Not yet.

I turned her around and braced her hands against the wall. I opened her legs wider with my foot and entered her from behind again. This time it was different: deeper, rougher, more animal. She let out a long moan, almost a broken gasp, and pushed her ass back to take me better.

I grabbed her hair in an improvised ponytail and pulled just enough to tilt her head back.

—Now you look surrendered.

—Don't mistake surrendering for enjoying it, she spat, even though she was moaning.

—Then enjoy it while I take charge.

I gave it to her harder. My pelvis struck her ass with a wet, yet dry, smack. She clenched her fists against the wall and pushed back every time I advanced. I reached her clitoris from the front and rubbed it quickly, without mercy, while fucking her at a steady, serious, brutal pace.

—I'm going to come, she said, half-choked.

—Then do it.

She came with a muffled cry, her pussy squeezing me hard, her legs trembling so much that I had to hold her waist to keep her from collapsing to the floor. She was still pulsing when I withdrew for a moment and turned her around.

—On all fours on the sofa, I instructed.

She held my gaze for a few seconds. There it was again, the power game, clean and conscious. Finally she obeyed. She positioned herself as I told her, showing me her firm ass, arched back, and pussy still open and glistening.

I ran my hand along the cleft of her ass and felt her shudder.

—Do you like this too? I asked.

—I like that you ask.

I took lubricant from a small drawer in the table. I opened it and spread some over her asshole and my fingers. I began massaging slowly, first outside, then with the pad of one finger. She exhaled and gradually relaxed. I worked her anus patiently, sliding in one finger, then two, while stroking her pussy with my other hand to keep her aroused and open.

—Don't rush, she murmured. I want to feel it properly.

That's what I did. I prepared her thoroughly. When she was finally giving way, wet with lubricant and desire, I withdrew my fingers and placed the tip of my cock against her ass.

—Tell me.

—Put it in slowly.

I pushed in calmly. The initial resistance was strong, tight, burning. She buried her face in the back of the sofa and breathed deeply while I advanced very slowly. When I was finally all the way inside, she let out a trembling moan, a mixture of tension and dark pleasure.

—Fuck... she whispered. What a sensation.

I didn't move immediately. I stroked her back, her neck, her ass. Then I began with short, slow thrusts, letting her body grow accustomed to them. The room filled with wet sounds, ragged breathing, and little orders and responses.

—More, she asked after a while. You can give me more now.

I did. I withdrew almost all the way and entered again, firmer and deeper, feeling her ass swallow me better with every thrust. I slipped my hand underneath and rubbed her clitoris again. That was when she truly began to lose control.

—Yes... yes... don't stop... fuck me like this... she moaned, with no filters left.

—Look at you, I growled. Wide open for me and asking for more.

—Shut up and keep going.

I laughed and gave it to her even harder. The sofa creaked. My hand struck her hip with every thrust. Her whole body trembled, pushing back to take every entry as deep as possible. I pinched one nipple as I leaned over her back, and she nearly came apart then and there.

—Tell me who's in charge now, I said in her ear.

She bit her lip. She took a second to answer, just long enough to make me enjoy the wait.

—You... now you... fuck.

—And what do you want?

—I want to come again. I want to come while you're fucking my ass.

I hammered her clitoris with two fingers and kept up the hard, steady rhythm without easing off. Her body tightened completely, like a bow pulled taut and ready to break. And it broke. She came screaming my name, convulsing against me, her pussy dripping over my fingers while her ass squeezed me savagely.

I held out for a few more seconds, feeling her orgasm throughout my body, until I couldn't anymore. I pulled out of her ass, quickly removed the condom, and turned her toward me.

—Open your mouth.

She did it instantly, still panting. She gripped my cock and began jerking me firmly while sticking out her tongue. She needed no further instructions. I gave her a couple of strokes across her tongue, holding her jaw, and came with a hoarse growl. I filled her mouth and part of her chin. She swallowed without breaking eye contact. Then she ran two fingers along the corner of her lips and sucked them slowly.

We stayed still for a moment, breathing like animals after a fight well finished.

***

She dropped onto the sofa and let out an incredulous laugh. I sat beside her and handed her a bottle of water from the shelf. She took a long drink, her chest still rising and falling.

—Well, she said at last. This definitely wasn't in my plans after the derby.

—It was a little in mine.

She looked at me from the corner of her eye.

—I figured.

I wiped her chin with a napkin, slowly. She didn't move my hand away. She didn't soften completely either.

—Don't go thinking you've converted me into anything, she said.

—I'm not interested in converting you.

—Then what?

I looked straight at her.

—I was interested in tonight. Your yes. Your curiosity. The way you tense up when someone stands up to you.

She thought about it for a moment. Then she nodded, as if she appreciated the unadorned honesty.

—Then I'll tell you something, she murmured. I liked it more than I expected. Especially when you were in charge... and especially when you asked first.

—That's how the good stuff works.

She leaned in and kissed me again, softer this time, but nothing innocent about it. She tasted of water, saliva, and the echo of everything that had just happened.

—If you ever repeat that “open your mouth” thing, she said against my lips, make sure it's somewhere better than a storage room.

—Then there'll be a second time.

She smiled, tired and arrogantly herself again.

—Don't get excited. Let's just say there's a rematch pending.

I watched her dress without shame, with the physical confidence that had obsessed me since the stadium. Before leaving, she turned in the doorway.

—By the way, I recognize you now, she said. You were one of the bastards in the stands.

I laughed.

—And you're the goalkeeper who ruined my night.

—I don't think I ruined it that much.

She left before I could answer. I was left with her scent on my skin, her taste on my tongue, and the certainty that some rivalries don't end when the referee blows the whistle. Sometimes they begin right there, when two adults stop insulting each other from a distance and decide to find out, without lying to themselves, how far their desire can take them.