Chapter 14: Locker Room Conquest
The steam hung thick and cloying, obscuring the far end of the tiled corridor. The rhythmic drip-drip-drip of water echoed like a metronome, punctuated by the distant, muffled baritone of men’s voices – Neuer shouting about weekend plans, Müller’s distinctive laugh bouncing off the tiles. Vanja’s bare feet were cold against the wet ceramic despite the humid air. Water streamed down her naked body, plastering strands of her dark blonde and red hair to her flushed skin, running in rivulets between her breasts. She’d never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, yet the danger was an electric current crackling under her skin. This was Joshua’s domain. Cold. Controlled. Utilitarian. And she was trespassing in the most obscene way possible.
He stood under the heavy spray a few feet away, his back to her, muscles rippling under the sheen of water as he soaped his neck. The legendary discipline, the focus that marked him on the pitch, was palpable even here. He hadn’t acknowledged her since she’d slipped silently into the showers after sneaking past an oblivious groundskeeper. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the steady hiss of water. The diamond on her finger, a cold, hard reminder of the night before in her penthouse sanctuary, felt heavy, alien in this stark environment.
"Knew you’d come." His voice cut through the steam, low, calm, without turning. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact that sent a jolt straight to her core. "Couldn’t stay away from my cock, could you, draga?" The Serbian endearment, spoken in his precise German accent, was a weapon.
She didn’t speak. The voices of his teammates seemed terrifyingly close now. She could make out Goretzka’s distinct rumble. Taking a breath that shuddered in her lungs, Vanja moved. She closed the distance on silent feet, the water sluicing over her. She sank to her knees on the hard, wet floor, the cold tile biting into her skin. The position was submissive, degrading, and it ignited a fire in her belly that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
Her trembling hands found his hips, fingers splaying over the defined ridges of muscle leading down to his thighs. He turned then, just enough, letting the water cascade over his shoulders, his expression unreadable as his gaze locked onto hers. His cock, thick and already half-hard, jutted out just inches from her face. The scent of soap, chlorine, and pure, musky male filled her nostrils. The diamonds in the ring on her finger winked coldly in the fluorescent light filtering through the steam.
"No one knows you’re here," he stated, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper barely audible over the water. "Just you. Me. Them," he jerked his head slightly towards the echoing voices. "And my cock." His hand slid into her wet hair, not gently, fingers tangling deep, gripping near the roots. He guided her head forward. "Open."
Vanja obeyed instantly, her mouth parting. The broad, flared head bumped against her lips. She took him in, the taste salt and skin and water, her tongue flattening against the rigid underside as he pushed deeper. He was thick, stretching her lips wide. She remembered the brutal fullness from the night before, the feeling of being owned, claimed. This was different. Raw. Dangerous. Her muffled groan vibrated around him.
"Good girl," he murmured, the praise rough, possessive. His grip in her hair tightened, controlling the pace. "Take it all. Like you did last night. Every fucking inch."
He fed his cock deeper into her mouth, the head nudging the back of her throat. Vanja’s eyes watered. She fought the instinct to gag, forcing her jaw wider, relaxing her throat muscles. He pushed relentlessly, the thick shaft sliding past her teeth, filling her mouth, pressing down into her throat. It was suffocating, overwhelming, an exquisite violation. Saliva mixed with the shower water, dripping down her chin, her throat working desperately around the intrusion. Her nails dug into the hard muscle of his thighs, anchoring herself.
He held her there, impaled, for a long, agonizing moment. She could hear the voices clearly now – someone complaining about the physio, another talking tactics. They were maybe two showers down. Terror and arousal warred within her, tightening her stomach, making her pussy clench emptily. The scrape of Joshua's pubic bone against her chin was rough. His grip was iron in her hair.
"Now suck," he commanded, his voice tight. "Like your life depends on it. Show me how much you need it."
Vanja hollowed her cheeks, applying fierce suction. She moved her head back slightly, letting him slide almost all the way out, then plunged forward again, taking him deep, her tongue swirling and pressing hard against his shaft on every pull. She focused on the sensations: the hot, rigid flesh filling her, the salty taste, the way his thighs tensed under her nails, the terrifying proximity of his oblivious teammates. The cold floor, the steam, the water pelting her back – it all faded, consumed by the singular act of servicing him. She sucked like a woman possessed, desperate for his approval, desperate for the release she knew was building. The metallic tang of pre-come hit her tongue.
He started to move his hips, meeting her bobs with shallow thrusts, fucking her face in a relentless rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart. His grunts were low, primal sounds lost under the shower's roar. "Yes... fuck... just like that..." he rasped, his grip tightening painfully. "Use that pretty throat. Milk me dry."
The thrusts became harder, faster. The head of his cock battered the back of her throat with each deep plunge. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, mingling with the water. She couldn’t breathe through her nose; every gasp was a desperate, wet sound choked around his girth. Her jaw ached. Her throat burned. The voices seemed to fade, replaced by the roaring in her own ears and the slick, obscene sounds of her mouth stretched around his cock. She could feel the tension coiling in him, the way his balls drew up tight against her chin.
"Gonna come," he growled, a warning and a promise. He slammed deep, holding her head hard against him, grinding his pubic bone into her face. "Deep inside that greedy fucking throat. Swallow. Every. Single. Drop."
The first thick, hot pulse hit the back of her throat with shocking force. Vanja’s eyes flew wide. She gagged reflexively, but his grip was unyielding. Another searing jet followed, flooding her mouth, coating her tongue, thick and salty-bitter. She struggled to swallow, the sheer volume overwhelming. It pulsed again and again, rope after rope of his release firing down her esophagus. She gulped frantically, convulsively, trying to obey, tears streaming as his cock throbbed relentlessly, filling her mouth, her throat, her stomach. The taste was overwhelming, the sensation of being force-fed his essence utterly degrading, utterly intoxicating. Her pussy clenched violently, a sharp, unexpected spasm of pleasure shooting through her core at the sheer surrender of it.
Finally, the pulses subsided to weak spurts, then drips. He held her there for a long moment, buried to the hilt, letting her feel the last tremors course through him. The only sound was her choked, ragged breathing around him, the water, and the distant, mundane locker room chatter. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his softening cock from her abused throat. A thick strand of saliva and come stretched between his tip and her swollen, reddened lips before snapping.
Vanja gasped for air, coughing weakly, her throat raw. She stayed on her knees, trembling violently, water plastering her hair to her face. Spit and his seed slicked her chin, dripping onto her breasts and the cold tile floor. She felt utterly used. Hollowed out. And impossibly, perversely, fulfilled.
Joshua looked down at her, his breathing still heavy, his expression unreadable except for the dark fire in his eyes. He didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t offer comfort. He simply reached down, not touching her skin, but gripping the hand wearing his ring. He brought it to his lips and pressed a hard, possessive kiss against the cold diamond.
The diamond felt like ice against his lips, a stark contrast to the steam burning his lungs. He released Vanja’s hand, letting it fall limp to the wet tile, the ring gleaming obscenely under the harsh fluorescent lights leaking through the vapor. His gaze held hers, that unnerving blue seeing everything – her tear-streaked face, the mess on her chin, the raw vulnerability she tried to hide behind defiance. "Still want more, draga?" His voice was gravel, low and dangerous. "Or was that enough humiliation for one day?" He took a step back under the punishing spray, water sluicing down his sculpted chest, washing away the evidence of her mouth but not the claim.
Vanja coughed, the sound wet and painful, her throat scraped raw. The cold tile bit deeper into her knees. Humiliation was a hot coal in her gut, yes, but beneath it roared something hotter, hungrier. The way he’d used her, the sheer fucking power in his indifference even as he came down her throat… it hadn’t satiated her. It had fanned the flames. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, smearing white streaks across her skin. "You think…," she rasped, her voice wrecked, "…that was humiliation?" She forced her trembling legs to push her upright, ignoring the scream of muscles protesting the hard floor. Water plastered her hair flat, streamed over her nakedness. She stood, swaying slightly, facing him. "That was just the appetizer, liebling. You haven’t seen humiliation yet." Her chin lifted, defiance warring with the raw need he’d carved into her. The voices of Müller and Goretzka seemed suddenly distant, irrelevant background noise to this primal standoff.
Joshua watched her, a ghost of something unreadable flickering in his eyes before the usual steel shutters slammed down. He didn’t move. "Is that so?" The words were quiet, almost drowned by the hissing water. "Prove it." He remained under the cascade, a statue carved from muscle and discipline, waiting. Challenging. The air crackled with unsaid violence, the steam thickening like fog on a battlefield. Vanja took a staggering step forward, then another, closing the gap. Her hand, the one bearing his diamond, reached out, not for his cock, but for his chest. She pressed her palm flat against the hard plane of his pectoral muscle, feeling the powerful beat of his heart beneath wet skin and the residual tremors of his recent release. Water beat down on her head and shoulders.
"Turn around," she commanded, her voice gaining strength, a raspy authority she didn't entirely feel. "Face the wall." For a heartbeat, suspended in the rushing water and steam, he didn’t move. His eyes held hers, a silent duel raging. Then, with a deliberation that sent a fresh wave of shivering heat through her core, he turned. He presented his back to her: the defined muscles of his shoulders, the taper to his narrow waist, the powerful curves of his glutes slick with water. He planted his hands flat against the cold, wet tiles, arms straight, locking himself in position. The submission was absolute, deliberate. Utterly disorienting. Vanja stared, momentarily breathless. This was the disciplined titan, the man who commanded a football pitch and had just commanded her mouth, now yielding.
She stepped closer, her bare skin inches from his, the heat radiating off him intense. Her gaze travelled down the long line of his spine to where his powerful thighs met the tight clench of his ass. Her own arousal, sharp and demanding, pulsed between her legs. She let her fingertips trail lightly down the valley of his spine, feeling the water-slick skin, the hard muscle beneath. "You feel that?" she murmured, her breath hot against his shoulder blade. "The cold tiles? The water? That's nothing. You want to see humiliation?" Her hand drifted lower, over the swell of his ass. She didn't touch his cock, still hanging heavy between his legs. "Kneel."
A tremor ran through him. Not fear, she sensed, but pure, incandescent fury battling with something else. His knuckles whitened where they pressed against the tile. The shower roared. Distantly, a locker slammed. The tension coiled tight enough to snap bones.
HE KNEELS, TREMBLING. Not with weakness, but with the seismic effort of forcing his formidable body into this position of utter supplication. His descent was slow, agonizingly controlled, every muscle in his legs and back rigidly protesting. Water streamed over his bowed head, down his neck, over the tense planes of his shoulders. His knees hit the wet tiles with a dull thud, echoing slightly in the tiled chamber. He knelt before her, naked and magnificent, head slightly bowed, spine still straight with crippling tension. The tremors in his thighs were visible now, a fine, constant vibration betraying the immense strain of holding himself there, of submitting. He didn't look up. His breathing, though measured, hitched slightly. The raw power of him, humbled, kneeling in the shower spray at her feet, was a sight more potent, more viscerally shocking than any act of dominance he’d inflicted. Vanja stared down at the crown of his wet, blond head, the powerful shoulders now bowed, the sculpted back taut with suppressed energy. A strangled sound escaped her, part gasp, part moan. This was it. This was the edge. She reached out, her fingers trembling now too, and threaded them through his wet hair. "Good," she breathed, the word almost lost in the steam. "Now stay."
The water thundered down, a relentless curtain separating them from the distant locker room clamor. Vanja’s fingers tightened in Joshua’s wet blond hair, holding the kneeling titan in place before her. The tremor running through his powerful frame wasn't fear; it was fury barely leashed, vibrating like a plucked guitar string tuned too tight. His stillness was profound, the rigid line of his bowed back radiating silent rebellion against the cold tile floor and her command. Steam choked the air, thick and cloying, carrying the scent of chlorine and male sweat. "Look at you," she breathed, her voice raspy from his earlier violation, yet thick with triumph. "The great Joshua Kimmich, on his knees. My knees." She shifted her stance slightly, bringing the soft, wet heat of her inner thigh against the side of his bowed head. "Is this what you wanted? To break? Or be broken?"
He didn't lift his head. A low, "Fuck you," rumbled from him, muffled against the slick muscle of her leg. It lacked conviction, laced instead with a raw frustration that sent a pulse of wet heat straight to her core.
She pressed her thigh harder against his temple. "No," Vanja corrected, her free hand drifting down, fingertips tracing the shell of his ear, his jawline, rough with stubble. "Not fuck me. Serve me." Her touch trailed lower, skimming the powerful cords of his neck, down over the hard plane of hiss shoulder. "You buried your cock down my throat like you owned it. You came so hard you fucking choked me on it." Her fingers dipped lower, tracing the valley of his spine, feeling the water stream over her knuckles and his skin. "Now, it's my turn to take." Her hand slid lower still, over the swell of his ass. She didn't touch his cock, hanging heavy and thick between his spread thighs. "Show me what that legendary discipline is really for, liebling. Hold. Your. Position."
A sharp, explosive breath hissed from him. His knuckles, pressed white against the tile, tensed further. The fine tremors intensified, rippling through the muscles of his back and shoulders. He stayed. Kneeling. Head bowed against her thigh. Utterly still except for those betraying shivers. Vanja watched the water cascade over the sculpted landscape of his back, over the taut curve of his ass. The sheer, impossible sight of his submission, this controlled force held captive by her command, ignited a wildfire within her. Her cunt clenched, empty and aching. She stepped fractionally closer, her slick mound now hovering near his face, the dark blonde curls plastered wetly to her skin. The scent of her arousal, sharp and musky, mingled defiantly with the steam and chlorine. "Smell it?" she whispered, her voice dropping to a husky taunt. "That’s what you did to me in the penthouse. That's what you do when you treat me like your filthy little whore. Does it excite you? Knowing you made me this wet? This fucking desperate?"
He shuddered violently. A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat – frustration, desire, fury distilled into one primal noise. His head jerked slightly, his nose almost brushing her damp curls, nostrils flaring wide as he inhaled deeply. His breath was ragged, hot against her skin. "Vanja..." Her name was a strained groan, ripped from him.
"Beg." The word was a whip-crack in the humid air. "Beg to taste it. Beg like you meant it when you shoved your cock down my throat."
He fought it. She saw the tension rocketing through him, the sheer force of will battling the humiliation, the need. His jaw clenched so hard she thought she heard his teeth grind. The seconds stretched, thick with the roar of water and the pounding of two hearts. His voice, when it finally came, was a wrecked, gravelly scrape, barely audible. "Please... draga... let me... taste you." The admission was agony. Defeat. Fuel.
She didn't move immediately. Let him stew in it. Let the burn of his forced plea sear him. Then, with deliberate slowness, she shifted her stance, bringing her dripping cunt directly level with his bowed head. "Open your mouth, sluga," she commanded, the Serbian word for 'servant' dripping with derision. "And worship."
He lifted his head the barest inch. His eyes, usually icy blue and controlled, were molten, blazing with a mix of fury and raw, undisguised hunger. He opened his mouth, his tongue sliding out, thick and demanding. Vanja pressed forward, grinding her pussy hard against his waiting face. A harsh groan vibrated against her sensitive flesh as his tongue speared deep, lashing her opening with brutal, possessive strokes. He didn't tease. He devoured. His tongue plunged inside her, fucking her cunt with the same relentless intensity he’d fucked her throat. It was messy, aggressive, devoid of finesse, pure raw claiming. He sucked on her clit with bruising pressure, his nose buried in her curls, his fingers digging into her hips now, pulling her harder onto his face. his mouth. "Fuck! Yes! Just like that!" Vanja gasped, arching her back, her fingers tightening painfully in his hair, holding him exactly where she wanted him. "Taste it, you arrogant prick! Taste what you fucking do to me!"
He growled against her flesh, the sound vibrating through her core, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating outwards. His tongue worked furiously, lapping at her juices, spearing deep, then swirling hard around her swollen clit. He feasted on her like a starving man, his discipline shattered, replaced by a raw, desperate need to make her scream. Her thighs trembled violently around his head. The pressure built, relentless, a coil winding tighter and tighter until it snapped. Pleasure detonated through her, white-hot and blinding. She cried out, a sharp, guttural sound that echoed off the tiles, her body jerking against his face as the orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave of intense, shuddering release. His mouth stayed locked on her, drinking her down, his tongue relentlessly milking every last pulse until she was gasping, weak-kneed, trembling from the aftershocks.
He pulled back slowly, his mouth and chin glistening wet with her juices. He looked up at her, his chest heaving, water streaming down a face transformed. Fury still burned, but beneath it lay a terrifying vulnerability, a raw exposure she’d never seen. He surged upward in one powerful motion, his body slamming against hers, pinning her back against the cold, wet tiles. His cock, harder than she’d ever felt it, thick and rigid, pressed against her anointing belly. One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back, his mouth crashing down on hers. The kiss was brutal, possessive, tasting of her own arousal and his desperation. His other hand slid down, fingers finding her soaked, swollen cunt, sliding through her folds with rough urgency. "Mine," he growled against her lips, his voice shredded. "This fucking cunt is mine." He positioned the broad, blunt head of his cock at her entrance, his eyes locked onto hers, burning with a terrifying intensity she couldn't decipher. "Say it."
She was still dazed from her climax, her body humming, but the challenge in his eyes ignited her. "Yours," she gasped, defiant even as her hips arched to meet him. "Only fucking yours. Now claim it properly, you disciplined arschloch."
He slammed into her. No finesse. No gentleness. This wasn't the penthouse. It was raw, primal claiming. One powerful thrust buried him to the hilt, stretching her wide, filling her impossibly deep against the cold tile. Vanja screamed, the sound swallowed by the shower's roar and his mouth on hers again. He fucked her with punishing, relentless strokes, each deep drive grinding her against the hard ceramic wall. His grip on her hip was bruising, his hand fisted in her hair holding her captive for his onslaught of kisses and thrusts. "Fuck! So tight! Taking me so fucking deep!" he groaned against her mouth, his hips pistoning, driving into her wet heat with savage force. The slap of skin on wet skin mingled with the water's hiss and their ragged breaths. He was everywhere, his scent, his taste, the overwhelming power of his body pinning her, possessing her. It was brutal. It was perfect. She met every thrust, her nails raking down his wet back, urging him on, lost in the exquisite violence of it.
He shifted his angle slightly, driving harder, deeper. The head of his cock hammered against her cervix with every plunge, sending sharp bursts of pleasure-pain radiating through her belly. Her cries became high-pitched gasps, torn from her throat with each powerful stroke. He was relentless, his control utterly abandoned, fucking her with the single-minded intensity he brought to the pitch, but stripped bare of any strategy. Pure, raw need. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath scorching her skin. "You... fucking... ruin me..." The words were gritted out between thrusts, raw and strained. "Every fucking time... Vanja..." He lifted his head, meeting her eyes again, his expression raw, stripped bare, his thrusts becoming frantic, losing rhythm, slamming into her harder, faster. "I LOVE U," he rasped, the words shocking in their intensity, ripped from deep within. "I FUCKING LOVE U." The confession exploded from him, raw and desperate, just as his body locked against hers. He drove impossibly deep, grinding his pelvis against her clit as his cock erupted violently inside her. Hot, thick pulses flooded her depths, jet after jet of his release pumping into her clenching heat as his whole body shuddered, his face buried against her neck again, his grip on her almost painful. "Fuck... love you... draga..." he gasped against her skin, the words muffled, trembling as the last aftershocks wracked him. His weight pressed her hard into the cold tiles, his body still spasming weakly within hers, his confession hanging like smoke in the steam-filled air, sharp and undeniable. Vanja froze, the cold diamond of the ring on her finger pressed sharply against his wet back, her body still pulsing around his, her mind reeling. The water cascaded over them, relentless and cold, washing over the sweat and the come and the impossible, terrifying words he’d just uttered.