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Professor Nekane Lauretta walked briskly across the University of Southern California quad. She adjusted the stack of philosophy texts under her arm, her tailored navy blazer and pencil skirt clinging to her athletic frame, a professional armor that felt increasingly like a cage. At 34, er Basque beauty—long, thick blond hair tied back in a sleek ponytail, piercing blue eyes, and a presence that turned heads.
Nekane turned toward the music, a deep, rhythmic pulse, a primal beat. The sound of Zulu drums rolled across the quad like a summons. The drums carried a power, a force that tugged at something buried deep within her as if they were calling her name in a language she didn't understand. At that moment, the vision of the black stud from her dreams flashed before her, but now as a Zulu Warrior. She shook her head and looked at the open window of the music department's cultural class.
Nekane took a tentative step toward the music building, drawn by the rhythm as if it were a physical force. The drums seemed to speak of something ancient, something wild. She stopped and turned back, looking at her watch. "Let me try to leave early to beat the traffic before the game. This silly game glorifies brute force!" Nekane to herself.
The late September sun cast a molten golden haze over Crestwood Academy's football field in the heart of Bel Air, where the elite of Los Angeles' wealthiest burbs had gathered to watch their champions train earlier in the week before the big game. Professor Nekane Lauretta stood near the sidelines, her tailored blazer and pencil skirt a stark contrast to the casual dress of others, yet clinging to her curves in a way that felt revealing and caused glances. Glances, which Nekane ignored as usual. She was there at her husband's insistence, Gutxi Hortz IV, head of the board of trustees, who demanded her presence at the season's first game as the team sought to repeat as state champions for an unprecedented 4th time. It all started when some black jock became their QB, and he was the center of so much excitement - that did not interest her. She saw a banner with the number 10 - Victory. "Yes, the black jock's name is Victory." Nekane thought to herself. "Why do people make such a big deal over football players?"
At 34, Nekane was a vision of Basque beauty, long, thick blond hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken waterfall, blue eyes sharp and assessing yet smoldering with unspoken need, her athletic frame drawing admiring glances she barely acknowledged but secretly felt like sparks against her skin. Born in Spain to an old-money family. Her marriage to Gutxi, a man more consumed by legacy than love, left her yearning for something raw, something alive, a touch that could ignite her, a gaze that could see her. Like most men in her life, Gutxi placed her on a pedestal, treating her as a trophy to be admired rather than a woman to be indeed known, his worship of her beauty and status a hollow gesture that left her deeper desires untouched. She was struggling with an ever-increasing sex drive and the desire for a baby. Gutxi had a low sex drive, and his low sperm count resulted in no baby in 12 years of marriage.
Nekane arrived before Gutxi, whose last-minute client call had been delayed. She walked toward the field rather than heading directly to the VIP stands. The stadium was still largely empty, just a trickle of early arrivals. Out of boredom and curiosity, she approached the sidelines, and her breath caught because of the striking vision - an ebony vision. Johnny Victory was there, warming up, shirtless under the late afternoon sun, a vision of raw, masculine power that struck her like a physical blow. His dark skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, every muscle large, powerful, and ripped. A body even better than her fantasy black lover. She felt her body react and tried to suppress it, but it spread through her body and invaded her mind. Esp. as her eyes fell on the incredible shape of his butt! The thought entered her mind - how endowed is he?
Johnny turned with a cocky smile. He straightened, unabashed by his state of undress, his confidence as palpable as the heat radiating from his skin, a magnetic force that drew her in despite every warning screaming in her mind.
Nadia, a pretty cheerleader and Johnny's friend, notices Nekane's gaze. With a playful grin, she approaches Nekane. "Hey there! You seem to be enjoying the view. Do you want me to introduce you to Johnny?"
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