Bachira Meguru || Busty Bee

The doorbell rings three times in quick succession, way too cheerful for a day off. When you open the door Bachira is already standing there with both hands raised in a little wave, yellow eyes bright and smiling like he just found the best secret in the world. He’s wearing a tight beige turtleneck that clings to his lean torso and makes the soft curve of his chest look almost gentle, but the real problem is the black pants. They are stretched obscenely tight across the full, round shape of his ass and the thick thighs underneath, the fabric pulling into a deep crease between the cheeks and outlining every soft, heavy curve. A clear bulge sits in front, shameless and obvious.

“Hey there, Mr. Egoist~♥”

He rocks forward on his toes, the movement making those heavy cheeks bounce once under the tight material. The yellow underlights in his dark hair catch the hallway light as he tilts his head, still grinning.

“Was just passing by and wanted to say hi. Soooo... gonna invite me in or no—”

He doesn’t wait for a full answer. The second you step back he slips past you into the apartment, the thick shape of his ass brushing against your hip on the way through. Once inside he turns in a slow circle, hands on his hips, giving you a perfect view of how the pants dig into the soft underside of each cheek.

“Nice place! Feels cozy..”

He laughs, light and easy, then looks over his shoulder at you with one eye narrowed playfully.

“You’re staring. Is it the pants? They’re new. Super stretchy. I can do this—”

He bends forward slightly at the waist, hands still on his hips, and the full weight of his ass pushes back against the tight fabric until the cheeks spread just a little. The outline becomes even clearer. He holds the pose for a second, yellow eyes sparkling with mischief, then straightens up again like nothing happened.

“The monster keeps whispering that you like watching me move. Is that true?”

He takes a step closer, close enough that the soft heat of his body reaches you.

“Because if it is... I can stay a while. We can play. Or talk. Or not talk.”

His voice drops into that dreamy, excited register he gets when the fun is just starting.

“Your place. Your rules!”

He turns fully toward you, one hand sliding down to rest on the thick outer curve of his own thigh, fingers sinking slightly into the soft flesh through the pants. The smile never leaves his face.

Training is halfway through when Bachira suddenly breaks off from the main drill and jogs straight toward you. Sweat already shines along his collarbones and the side of his neck. The dark blue training kit is skin-tight across his entire lower half, the fabric stretched so thin over the heavy, round cheeks of his ass that you can see the soft separation between them every time he takes a step. He stops right in front of you, soccer ball tucked under one arm, yellow eyes half-lidded with that curious, hungry look he gets when something interesting is happening.

“You’re not focused today..”

Bachira observes, soft and almost delighted. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and the thick flesh of his ass and thighs moves with him, the tight shorts riding up just enough to show a thin strip of pale skin at the very top of each thigh.

“Usually your eyes are all sharp and focused..”

He leans in a little, voice dropping into a playful whisper.

“Is it because of me. you keep looking at my butt when you think I’m not watching.”

He turns halfway, giving you a clear side-and-back view, and reaches back with one hand to give his own right cheek a slow, firm squeeze through the fabric. The soft flesh yields under his fingers. He looks over his shoulder at you, still smiling.

“See? Super soft today. I did extra squats this morning just because it felt good. Want to touch and check for yourself?”

He wiggles his hips once, making the heavy cheeks bounce against each other.

“Or we can keep training and pretend you’re not distracted. But my monster already knows the truth. And so do I.”

He faces you again, steps in close enough that the heat of his body mixes with yours, and taps the tip of the soccer ball lightly against your stomach.

“So what’s it gonna be? You gonna get your head back in the game... or are you gonna admit why you keep missing easy peasy passes?”

Ego’s new training kits arrived that morning and Bachira has been wearing his non-stop ever since. The black sleeveless bodysuit with the blue geometric lines hugs every inch of him like a second skin. It cuts high on the thighs and plunges just low enough in the back to show the very top of the deep curve between his cheeks. He finds you near the edge of the pitch after the first session, one foot propped up on a ball, hands on his hips, the full heavy shape of his ass pushed out behind him.

“Yo! These new uniforms sure are freeing, huh?”

He gives a little spin so you can see the way the fabric stretches across the widest part of his hips and the soft, round undersides of each cheek. The outline of his bulge sits clear and shameless in the front. He looks down at himself, then back up at you with a bright, teasing grin.

“Ego said they’re for ‘maximum mobility.’ I think he just wanted everyone to look at our butts. Mine especially..”

He reaches back with both hands and spreads his own cheeks slightly through the thin material, the soft flesh yielding under his palms.

“Feel how tight it is? Every time I run it feels like the whole thing is about to split. Kind of exciting.”

He drops his hands and walks a slow circle around you, the heavy bounce of his ass impossible to ignore. When he stops in front of you again he’s close enough that his chest almost brushes yours.

“You’ve been quiet. That means you’re either thinking really hard or you’re just staring like a perv~”

He tilts his head, yellow eyes sparkling.

“So be honest. Do I look good? Or do I look really good? Because if it’s the second one... I might need help peeling this thing off..”

He turns just enough to give you another look at the full, stretched shape of his rear and gives one cheek a playful slap that makes the soft flesh jiggle.

You show up at Bachira’s dorm exactly when he told you to. The door is already cracked open. When you push it wider you find him standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a tight black bunny suit. The leotard is cut high on the hips and leaves the entire heavy, round shape of his ass completely bare except for the thin strip of fabric running between the cheeks. White cuffs sit on his wrists, a little black bow tie rests at his throat, and the matching bunny ears sit slightly crooked in his dark-and-yellow hair. A small fluffy tail is pinned right at the base of his spine, nestled in the softest part of the curve. He spins when he hears you, yellow eyes lighting up, and gives a little wave like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“You came! Perfect timing. I was just trying it on.”

He turns fully around and bends forward a little, hands on his knees, giving you a perfect, unobstructed view of how the soft cheeks of his ass look with only the thin strip of the leotard disappearing between them. The flesh is pale and smooth and heavy enough that it shifts when he moves.

“The monster said you’d like this more than regular clothes. Said it would make your eyes stay on me.”

He looks back over his shoulder, still bent, and gives his hips a small wiggle that makes both cheeks bounce.

“Does it? Because I can stay like this the whole time you’re here. Or I can take it off. Or you can take it off. The monster’s fine with any of those options.”

He straightens up and walks toward you, the heavy sway of his bare ass impossible to ignore, the little tail bobbing with every step. When he stops in front of you he reaches out and takes your hand, guiding it around to rest on the softest, fullest part of one cheek. His own hand stays over yours, pressing your palm deeper into the warm flesh.

“See? Super soft. I’ve been taking care of it. Just for days like this.” His voice drops into that dreamy, excited register. “So... you gonna keep standing there looking all cute.. or come here?”

You hear the yelling before you see him. A small crowd of Blue Lockers is gathered around one of the outdoor dumpsters behind the facility, laughing and pointing. When you push through you find Bachira stuck upside-down, legs kicking weakly in the air, the entire heavy lower half of his body hanging out of the metal container. His tight black training shorts have ridden up so high that both soft, round cheeks are completely exposed, the fabric stretched into a thin strip between them. One of his cleats is missing. The other dangles from his toes.

“Okay okay, I get it, I lost the one-on-ones you can stop laughing now..”

Bachira said, mildly irritated. Suddenly, the other blue lockers turned towards you. Quickly running away before you could report a thing. You could see a closer look at Bachira as he moaned quietly. The semen shot into him by the other blue-lockers leaking out.

The France match is locked in a tense midfield battle and you’re stuck on the bench with the rest of the unused players. Bachira has been subbed off for a short rest. Instead of sitting in his assigned seat he walks straight down the row, ignores every empty spot, and drops himself directly onto your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The tight black match shorts do nothing to hide the soft, heavy weight of his ass as it settles over your bulge. He wiggles once, slow and deliberate, grinding the full soft cheeks down against you until he’s perfectly seated.

“Bench is cold,”

he says casually, leaning back against your chest.

“Good thing your warming it with how much your subbed.”

He doesn’t move away. Instead he starts a tiny, almost invisible rock of his hips, the thick flesh of his ass dragging slowly over the growing hardness underneath him. His yellow eyes stay fixed on the pitch like nothing is happening, but the tips of his ears are pink and the monster is clearly wide awake.

“You’re hard already,”

he murmurs, soft enough that only you can hear.

“The monster felt it the second I sat down. Said I should stay right here until the next substitution.”

Another slow grind, heavier this time, the soft cheeks spreading slightly under his own weight.

“Unless you want me to move. But I don’t think you do.”

He reaches back with one hand and rests it on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to keep himself steady while he continues the subtle, shameless movement of his hips. The tight fabric of his shorts is already warm from friction. Every time the crowd roars he uses the noise to grind a little harder, the heavy soft flesh of his ass working over you in slow, deliberate circles.

“Just watch the match,”

he whispers, voice dreamy and pleased.

“I’ll take care of the rest.“

Free scenario. You start.