This story was supposed to be finished in order to coincide with the Winter Olympic Games however a life intervened, putting back the writing. Now it is finished and I hope you enjoy remembering the ice, snow and sport from a few months back…and if you’ve ever wondered what athletes get up to in their down time…

Winter Games

In those pre-pandemic days life was so much easier, especially if you were lucky enough to be an international sportsman. No masks, no endless Covid testing, no bubbles, no isolation, no quarantine. Mixing allowed with other teams and athletes, opportunities to watch events live not just from the room in the village. Yep, the Pyeongchang Winter Olympics were very different from Beijing. We even had natural snow!

It sounds glamorous, “international athlete” but believe me there was nothing glamorous about being the sole British representative in Men’s Luge. Men’s luge you ask? It’s the crazy thing where you lay down on a thing that looks like a tea tray with runners attached to whiz down an icy bobsleigh track feet first at speeds of 90mph. It’s equally as exhilarating as it is terrifying and an incredible adrenaline rush.

But being your nation’s only representative, self funded and mostly self coached is hard work and often lonely. Few winter sports have a high profile in the UK, only getting air time every four years at the Games and hardly ever making the back pages, especially in my case when I was very rarely making the top 10 at World Cups, let alone winning medals.

I didn’t really care about that, all I cared about was getting better and testing myself against the well funded Germans and Austrians. I’d progressed over the 5 years I’d been on the circuit from 87th in the world to top 20 and with that came a bit of funding that I’d used on a better sled, regular coaching and slightly improved accommodation. To give you an idea of that I’d moved from the youth hostel bunk house to cheapest room at the Bates Motel; it wasn’t glamorous.

It was a friendly sport though, all my rivals used to marvel at my lack of money and often passed me spare bits of kit. We’d talk after events and they were brilliant at giving advice. I guess we all shared the knowledge that what we were doing was exceedingly dangerous, so there was a lot of respect between rivals no matter how fast you went. We’d all seen some horrific crashes with guys coming off sleds at top speeds and helmets banging along ice walls for hundreds of meters. At any given time a third of competitors would be out with injuries, so we looked out for each other.

The Swedes and the Norwegians were particularly cool, happy to have a beer after events and I’d made some good friends. But friendship didn’t count when it was time to sit at the top of the run, adrenaline pumping and game face on, then it was all about trying to go as fast as possible and beat as many of them as possible.

I was therefore incredibly happy to be at the Games. Not only did I have a great room in a shared apartment with other athletes from the sliding squad, I had a lot of shiny new team kit and I’d convinced myself a chance of making top 5 maybe even the podium. Best of all I didn’t have to pay for food, (and there was a lot of food), I had access to physio’s and massages and even a laundry, (when you’re travelling constantly being able to wash your stinking kit feels amazing!) In fact it was better than my tiny flat at home.

I said best of all, but actually the real best thing was being in the village surrounded by hundreds of other athletes. Especially female athletes. Dutch speed skaters, Italian skiers, American snowboarders, Chinese figure skaters, Swedish cross-country skiers, German bobsledders, all kinds of amazing talented and very fit women.

And for once I was in the press, somehow I’d become a bit of a cause celebre, it seems that the tabloids back home were making me out to be the new “Eddie the Eagle.” If you’re unfamiliar with Eddie let me explain; he was the sole GB representative in the very dangerous sport of ski jumping at the 1988 Calgary Games and was a bit of a joke. Clearly out of his depth, though incredibly brave he was taken up by the tabloid press and became a proper British anti-hero. He came last in the “small” and “big” hill events by a distance but you know what, he competed and made his dreams come true. Though I admired him, and even though they made a feature film about him, I didn’t feel the comparison was fair, especially from a bunch of ignorant hacks looking for a cheap story.

However, the story had been taken up by the TV stations and suddenly my profile had gone from zero to hero. Not that I was being portrayed that way, it was a load of bullshit about the plucky Brit trying to beat the world, coming from nowhere with just a homemade sled and second hand kit, which may have been true a few years previously but certainly wasn’t now.

“Billy the Bullet” they dubbed me, though no one had ever called me Bill let alone Billy. I was always Will, or if you were my mother William! In a typical red top fashion, they ignored my history forgetting I was now in the top 20 and completely downplaying any chance I had. I hated it but put on a brave face, gave some interviews, smiled when I had to and just tried to concentrate on my performance.

Which interestingly is what the Latvian ice dancer also seemed to be interested in. My face had become familiar, I’d seen it on the big screens in the village occasionally, members of other teams had started shouting and smiling at me, “Hey Billy” and waving or giving me a thumbs up. The other GB Team members had started taking the piss. I was getting used to the fact that I wasn’t going to be Will for a while, and I even enjoyed my micro celebrity status with the other athletes, especially the smiles I was getting from the women.

I was sitting in the communal dining room after training, two days before my event started, refuelling on some pasta and watching the men’s downhill on a big screen. Those guys are crazy, I was thinking as a lowly ranked Estonian failed to land a jump and crashed into the safety netting, when I felt a presence beside me.

“Hello, you are Billy?” it was a question to which she seemed to know the answer.

“I am Stasya.” She held out a delicate hand, fingernails painted in glowing pink.

Suddenly she was sat beside me and smiling, lighting up a delightful face of high cheekbones, large blue eyes, a plump red mouth and a blonde mane held in a ponytail. She spoke good English with a strong Slavic accent.

“I have seen you on the television. You are famous. Correct?” she seemed to like to talk in statements and was still holding my hand.

“Well, no…” I stuttered a reply, being taken totally unaware by this beautiful girl suddenly beside me, but I wasn’t being allowed to speak.

“Yes, I have seen you on the TV, many interviews.” She smiled again and put a hand on my leg. “You are handsome, I am bored. Olympics are over for me, I hurt my leg. I can’t do it.” She swung round to face me and placed a shapely dancer’s leg across my lap, her ankle was bandaged. But that wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

Though her top half was encased in a white and burgundy team tracksuit her bottom half was in a small glittering skating skirt and what I assumed was a pink leotard. Though she was wearing tights under the outfit the contours of her Pussy were clearly visible as she waggled her foot at me.

I was still dumbstruck as she spoke again.

“I fell, it happens. I cannot skate, I cannot land the jumps, so I am bored. Sport does not interest me.” She removed her leg and leaned across, “But Mister Billy you interest me.” It was a whisper in my ear.

I was about to put her right, tell her that actually my name is Will, when her far hand reached across, landing at the top of my thigh. My heart suddenly beat faster, I could feel my cock thicken.

“Mister Billy the Bullet, when I’m bored,” she squeezed my inner thigh, then whispered very slowly directly into my ear “when I’m bored, I like to fuck.” As she said this last word her tongue darted out to slowly lick my earlobe.

“Fuck!” I exhaled, though I didn’t realise I had been holding my breath.

“Yes fuck” she giggled, “you are handsome, you are famous, I am bored. We will fuck.” Clearly this was a woman who knew what she wanted.

Her hand was still on my thigh and I could feel her warm breath against my neck as I tried to gather my thoughts. I began to stammer out a response.

“Now, um Stasya,” the name sounded strange in my mouth “that’s a very kind offer,” I was thinking hard as the words croaked out “I’m flattered, yes, um yes I really am.” I looked her in the eye as she squeezed my thigh once more while provocatively biting her pretty bottom lip, looking up through her eyelashes at me.

“But you see, the thing is…the thing is ah, Stasya, um, I have to rest, recover you see, before my event.”

I was tempted of course; she was quite stunning and clearly knew exactly what she wanted. But I had a chance and didn’t want to blow it just for a quicky with a stranger, albeit a very lovely stranger.

She looked at me, straight in the eye.

“You don’t like me?” she pouted, making her seem even more sultry.

“Or you don’t like girls?” As she asked that question the hand on my thigh slid across and very firmly gripped my swollen cock. She looked at me again and laughed.

“Oh yes, you like girls I think!” She gripped me a little harder and a little more blood rushed into my growing member. “I think Mister Billy the Bullet you have, how you say it in English…a stiffy!!” and she laughed, flashing a truly delightful smile as my cock grew to a throbbing erection in her hand.

“I think Mister Billy, this stiffy would fit very nicely in my tight Pussy.” She was still squeezing. “If you are worried about rest, I will do the work. You like that?” She asked as she traced the head of my aching cock with her thumb. “You think they give us all those condoms as souvenir? No, they have to be used!”

It was true at every Games the organisers handed out thousands of boxes of condoms, they knew exactly what hundreds of young fit athletes were liable to get up to.

Stasya leaned into my ear again.

“And now” she purred in my ear “you come to my room, and I will bring you much pleasure,” she paused and squeezed again “or you lose the chance forever and I find a nice big Dutchman.” She looked around, “like that one over there.” Pointing out a tall muscular speed skater.

Standing and stretching, Stasya revealed the full glory of her shapely legs. She performed a pirouette on her good foot, making her little skirt flare so I glimpsed her pert little bum encased in pink before facing me again.

“The choice is yours Mister Billy.” She smiled, turned and started to sashay away, her little skirt skimming her perfect butt cheeks.

A hundred thoughts went rapidly through my addled mind. I was hard, she was gorgeous, but I needed to rest before training again. But she said she’d do the work. But I could get on the podium. Yes, but did you see her arse. I haven’t had Sex in months. I need to visualise the track.

But in fact, all I could visualise was her sweet cunt sliding down my cock. And then when I saw the Dutch speed skater start to watch her walk, and she flashed him a smile, I knew there was only one decision.

I called after her trying not to be too loud in the echoing canteen, but wanting her to hear.

“Oh Stasya.” I coughed, sounding a little desperate. She stopped and turned, staring directly at my crotch.

“Yes, Mister Billy the Bullet, do you have something for me?”

I stood slightly uncomfortably, my erection forced down the side of my team track pants.

“I think I do” I replied, “I think I can help with your boredom.”

She practically squealed.

“Oh Billy, I will make you so happy.” With that she walked back towards me, looked me in the eye, then wrapped her arms around my waist, curled her bad leg round both of mine and planted a hard kiss directly on my lips. I could feel her groin pressing into my own, as her fingers went into my hair and her firm breasts squashed against my chest.

“Come then,” she hissed, a long stroke of her tongue gliding up my neck. “Already I am wet, my Pussy it aches, come fuck me.”

I was led, feeling slightly bewildered, out of the canteen. It felt as though the whole place was watching us, especially that speed skater. Then before I could draw breath we were across the campus and in a lift. Which was when she kissed me properly with a warm tongue deep in my mouth and a hand somehow slipped into my pants.

“I think you like to kiss?” she exclaimed as her hand wrapped around my straining tool. “You are so hard, I will do, how do you say in English?” she mused out loud, “Oh I know, I do blow job yes? I suck your cock.”

“No, no, no” I nearly shouted, “not here, not in the lift. What if we’re caught?”

“Who will catch us?” she slid her hand up and down my shaft. I was now of course completely hers.

“Just wait, please wait until the room” I pleaded as Stasya swirled a drop of pre-cum around my swollen head.

She pouted up at me, “Oh the big brave hero, is scared. I was thinking maybe you liked a little danger. We are nearly at my floor anyway. So you are lucky. But I think now you owe me.” Her smile this time was sly and I wondered exactly what it was she had in mind.

Within a few moments the doors slid open, revealing two attractive young women in similar tracksuits to Stasya’s, waiting for the lift. Stasya, with no rush ostentatiously withdrew her hand from my pants and delicately licked her fingers. I could only blush as the women exchanged a few words with her in a language I couldn’t follow while looking pointedly at us as we escaped the lift.

“You know them?” I whispered as we made our way along the corridor.

“My house mates,” she laughed “but do not worry they are not injured so are on their way to compete. We have apartment to ourselves.” Then she stopped and looked at me with a broad grin. “They are nice girls, maybe you fuck them too.”

I was a little shocked and must have shown it.

“Remember, Mister Billy, they have condoms too!!”

Then before I knew what was happening, I was inside her apartment and my track pants were being wrenched down. In moments, there just inside the doorway she was kneeling on the floor holding my rigid cock in a hand and darting her tongue out to lap around the head.

She held my heaving balls in her left hand, looked up at me and plunged her wet mouth around the length of my shaft. Looking down I seemed to totally fill her mouth. I’m probably an average guy but her whole face seemed to be filled with cock as her tongue continued to lap around me while she bobbed up and down.

It had been a long time since any hand apart from my own had touched me, let alone the mouth of a beautiful, erotic eastern European ice skater so it didn’t take much to get me to the edge. And she was relentless, never stopping as she stroked and sucked and swirled. I could feel the warm tingling as the pent up cum of months was encouraged from my balls to rise deliciously up my shaft. Within minutes of the first lick of her talented tongue I was desperate to explode and fill her Hot little mouth with jets of sticky cum.

And then suddenly she stopped, pulling her mouth away with a final ‘plop’.

“Mmmm, I like you in my mouth, but now Mister Billy I am very Hot.” I could understand why, she still had all her clothes on and had been working hard. She stood, kissed me while still holding my desperately enraged hard-on. Then dragged me by the cock to a door. I nearly tripped over my dragging track pants, staggering as we walked, but was pulled inside, making me groan with need.

“My room, you take off clothes.” It was a command “Then I undress for you.”

In seconds I was naked on the bed, still hard and desperate for relief. Now, Olympic athletes in most sports are pretty buff, we’re at the peak of our physical condition, as ripped as we’re ever going to get. I was muscular with broad shoulder and strong arms, my core was really needed in luge so I had a six pack. I’m not saying this to boast but just so you can picture the scene as my hard cock rose up my ripped stomach, a small trickle of saliva and pre-cum glistening in the dim light. I watched intently as the skater removed her tracksuit top.

She twirled on her undamaged foot, reaching her arms above her head, stretching the taut fabric of her glittering pale blue skaters outfit and making her little skirt flare again. It was the first time I properly noticed her breasts. Not large but prominent and shapely on her small frame, two buttons at their peaks poking against the lycra.

“You like me?” she asked.

“Very much” I responded.

She ran her hands down her sides and looked shy just for a moment, before asking me to unhook the clasp just beneath the nape of her neck. When she moved away again, she faced me, slipped first one and then the other pale shoulder from the outfit then rolled the tight material down to her waist, all the while maintaining eye contact with me.

Again she asked, “You like me?”

She wore no bra and her beautifully shaped C-cup breasts were now on display, she was breathing quite heavily and, as I watched her deep red nipples seemed to grow.

“Stasya,” I breathed, “I definitely like you.” It was a moment of unexpected tenderness amidst the whirl lust.

She smiled and resumed rolling the outfit down, first to her hips and then all the way down to her feet, taking the tights as she went. Stepping out of the mess of clothing she was left in simple high cut black panties and a bandage around her right ankle.

She turned around revealing her panties to be a thong, splitting her small round arse cheeks. She bent at the waist, running her hands all the way down her legs and placing them on the floor.

“Take them off for me.”

In seconds I was kneeling behind her, my fingers gripping the black fabric. The aroma of her arousal was obvious, and as I peeled the damp panties down her legs, revealing her swollen vulva, it was clear just how wet she had become.

“Now Engishman, remember you owe me?” she was still fully bent over, her bulging quim glowing with moisture “You must lick me.”

I was transfixed, taking in the glory of glistening swollen lips directly in my eyeline. She was perfectly shaved and as I gripped the top of each smooth leg a small viscous drop of arousal slipped from her tight little cunt, dripping slowly down the valley of her labia. Just before it fell from her body, I thrust out my tongue compelled to capture the drop, eliciting a small intake of breath from Stasya.

The first taste of elixir was enough, she now had me completely, sport didn’t matter just enjoying the moment and our Love making. I ran the hard tip of my tongue all the way from her clit to her sweet little rosebud, splitting her lips and sucking the dripping Love juice from her soaking hole. I licked her up and down stopping at the bottom of each stroke to roughly tongue her firm little clit.

She shuddered, still bent double, arse and cunt thrust into the air, my face buried into her, lapping at her pliant flesh, slurping at her dripping juice. I hardened my tongue again and slipped it just inside her Vagina, rimming her lovely hole. As I did so I slid a hand beneath her glistening mound so my thumb rested on her clit, and started a solid rhythm circling her nub as I thrust my tongue in and out of her cunt.

Stasya was panting now the repetitive lap of Will’s tongue and firm rub of his thumb coupled with her already heightened arousal had her on the verge of exploding. She screwed her eyes shut as the Englishman erotically assaulted her most sensitive places. That tongue was just enough for her to feel penetrated and she began to rock back and forth trying to get more of it into her which made his rough stubble brush along the length of her Pussy, adding a new sensation, bringing a further gasp.