A couple of weeks ago I wrote a short story called “Winners and Losers” about a losing football team having to give sexual rewards to the winning team. Even though the acts contained in the story are gay, and I am straight, it received lots of feedback and it has become one of my most popular stories so I must have done something right! I've followed it up with more chapters and I have around a dozen chapters planned if there is the demand. Let me know what you think!
Other Chapters: All Chapters - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11- 12
My “coming out” to my team mates went a lot better than I expected. There was some changing room humour the following training session when I came into the dressing room to find a pink tutu on my peg. I wasn’t bothered about it but the Captain was, and he made the perpetrator, Ben, wear it for the entire evening as we practised our distribution around the pitch.
I owed our Captain a lot. He held the team together through his strong leadership and his rejection of Ben’s misguided actions was firm and decisive. As he demanded in his forceful tone, “there’ll be no homophobia on my watch.”
Our next match was our first live television broadcast, and the cup quarter-final. We had been drawn to play Elvedon Bridge Warriors at home. The league winners from the previous season had already played us twice, beating us at home and drawing with us away, and they were one of the toughest teams to play against.
Our pitch had suffered greatly from a handful of downpours, and the slippery grass was almost bog-like. The league and the referee surveyed the playing surface before kick-off and despite the opposition complaining that it was “unplayable,” the referee disagreed.
I was interviewed before the match by GaySportsTV; I was the “midfield general” of the team and the muscular ex-professional was as interested in my thoughts of the opposition as much as my views on the obvious sexual content post-game. There was humour as my answers went from “penetrating their back line” to “penetrating their backsides!”
Their team line-up lacked balance; their pacy forward runners were being fed long, aimless punts and our stocky defenders easily gathered the long-balls as they towered over the diminutive but agile strikers. Dmitri opened the scoring from a clever turn and Lee doubled our advantage before half-time after some clever interplay between our attackers.
The partisan crowd were delighted, the cameras were filming a one-sided game of football. Although the opposition pulled one back after the restart when Ben sliced a clearance into our goal, our right winger restored a two goal advantage moments later. Despite twenty minutes of non-stop pressure they could only force a consolation goal seconds from full-time.
We had won 3-2, but that told only a fraction of the story. We had outplayed and outfought them for most of the match. We had dominated them and their makeshift team were lucky we didn’t score more than three. The league representative skidded onto the pitch, clipboard in hand and with a microphone for the PA system; it was a cup game so slightly different rules applied.
“The losing team will each run from one side of the pitch to the other. The slowest player will be gang-banged by the victorious team.”
We sat back and watched, eyeing the players and making wagers as to which one would lose. There were a few wheezing players towards the end of full-time.
The losing player was a young, fit, agile and nimble striker. He raced into a small lead, was tripped from behind and the rest of his team pushed him back to the mud as they ran past him; he swore at them, they laughed sadistically.
It was a great example of their failure as a team: the teamwork and camaraderie was non-existent. His team had intentionally chosen him to be slaughtered because he was faster than them. I felt somewhat sorry for the loser, and continued to do so until I heard his arrogance in our dressing room. His over-confident demeanour was unwelcome, unrequired and very ill-advised. He was being fucked moments later as we took turns in plowing the young man’s hole. His grunts filled the room, as he coughed on the dicks rammed down his throat.
His eyes streamed as cock after cock came in his mouth and his hole became well fucked. All captured from three angles by GaySportsTV in glorious High Definition and streamed live onto the Internet.
It was a complete humiliation; the plundering of his masculinity being so public. We all knew men and women across the world were masturbating to the sight of him being taken so overwhelmingly. They would be loving the desperate grunts and groans from us all. They would be adoring the sweaty sheen and muddy bodies of the seventeen men fucking the helpless loser. But most of all, they would be wanking to the expressions of utter debauchery and strained submission plastered onto the strained face of the arrogant boy.
I smacked his buttocks before I plundered his booty, pushing my sheathed cock into his lubricated hole and filling his arse with my erect manhood. He grunted into Dmitri’s cock stuffing his mouth. We worked a good rhythm with each other, pushing against his wriggling body with deep, passionate thrusts at the same time.
I laughed with Dmitri; we high-fived each other, as was becoming a common trait in the League’s new rules after-match parties. It was captured by the cameras, and it showed the contempt the victorious team had for the losing players; it objectified them. It highlighted our dominance.
And our bitch was wriggling underneath us, squealing as I felt my orgasm approach. I grabbed his hips, drawing myself deep into his rectum with my thrusts into his backside until I came with a desperate pant.
It was fantastic, and as I slid away from the man, another of my colleagues took my place. The young loser was being well fucked; it was addictive viewing and a desperately hot sight.
“You were fantastic!” Emit’s summation of my weekend performance in the office on Monday morning was limited in as much as its praising overtones. “And the commentators said you were the engine of the team!”
“Yeah well …” I blushed; I had recorded and watched the GaySportsTV analysis of the game more than once since the match. Having an ex-professional describe my performance in positive terms was Oxygen to the ego.
Emit waited for the lull in the conversation to invite me to his birthday celebrations. “We are just going for a few beers on Friday,” he promised and then shrugged. “And then onto a strip bar in Manchester. I’ve got a couple of hotel rooms booked.”
“I can’t get pissed.” He pouted forlornly at me, begging me to reconsider. “If I do, then I’ll be tired for the match, and then we’ll lose and I’ll be buggered by a giant brute called Jason or Tyler or something …”
After all, I was the midfield general. My team needed me! But Emit was a colleague and I agreed to go for the evening and leave first thing in the morning. He gave me a knowing glance and I guessed what he wanted from me.
Emit’s birthday booze-up started at lunchtime with the smuggling of beer into the office. Our manager turned a blind eye to obvious rowdiness around Emit’s desk and the celebrations continued at a local bar. The train to Manchester caused a small interrupt in the alcohol consumption, before the dozen boozy blokes checked into one of Emit’s four rooms in a motel-like establishment to dump their belongings.
The meal was loud and bawdy; the alcohol flowed and the food was unhealthy. I had to be careful what I ate and drank, or else I knew I would feel the effects on my legs the following day; I wasn’t 21 any more. I was recognised too: several men and women squinted and stared at me as their minds whirred and they desperately tried to remember where they had seen me before.
I approached one such group; several of them had cast glances our way and my ego tickled with delight at the thought of fame. Or infamy, which was probably more accurate. In truth, I got buggered and fucked to arouse others, which was a scandalously scintillating thought. “I play for Woodford Wanderers,” I explained to one of the women when I introduced myself.
Her expression changed instantly. “Your trip to Italy. That was sooooooo sexy! Oh My God!” It felt good to be admired and liked in that way; I signed dozens of autographs, posed half-naked for more selfies and completely naked for a few more in restaurant’s toilets. It was fun, I was drunk.
The strip club was fun too; the dancers sliding and gyrating their pelvises into our laps while dressed in seductive clothing, before they became very much undressed. I felt a cool breeze in the club and instantly sympathised with the naked dancer: we had the same problems in some of the changing rooms.
And, as expected, Emit was horny. And he obviously hadn’t brought his girlfriend. Indeed all of our colleagues were horny; two hours of sexy strippers, sensually and seductively casting their magical spells of sweet lust and temptation engorged many cocks. I could feel the desire building. The desperation seeping from their pores as they watched open-mouthed at the sinful display in front of them. They wanted to fuck something.
Emit didn’t have to ask; we fell into the crowded motel rooms with expectation and I knew what he wanted to happen. A couple of our colleagues left to find the local massage parlour, but I had half-a-dozen men eager to have their cocks sated but too embarrassed to ask me. They looked at each other, hoping someone else would suggest that my orifices are used to continue the party.
But deep down I wanted to do it. I loved the idea of satisfying a group of men. I wanted to have them seize their sexual satisfaction from my body and toss me around for their gratification. I wanted to have several thick, hard cocks pounding into me and bringing me to untold feelings of sexual submission. I wanted it, but it could come with a catch. “I’ll do a party if someone does it with me.”
Emit looked horrified, but I wasn’t going to back down. I wanted the fun too, but I was not going to get a reputation as being an easy receptacle for cum. One of our ex-secretaries slept her way through the management team and Kelly was hounded out of the company by sly whispers and rumours; I wasn’t being another Kelly. “Ummm …”
“I’ll show them what to do, but I am not the only one being sodomised tonight. Either someone else is, or I don’t get fucked. And neither do you lot.” There was deep discomfort from the drunken men in the room; Paul swore at me, Emit pleaded. “Emit, why don’t you do it?” I teased. “Let your colleagues give you a present!”
I got called something unmentionable and I was tempted to walk to the station to go home until Ryan squeaked. “I’ll do it,” I muttered. All eyes looked at the young engineer; we had hardly heard him speak all night and the quiet man’s hands trembled as he felt the focus of six gazes.
“Awesome …” Paul squealed.
“Ummm … you sure?” I asked; I was expecting to coerce Emit into playing his own game and never expected anyone else to volunteer. Ryan just looked unsure and worried at the prospect of fulfilling his promise. He nodded, unable to muster the words he needed to communicate. He grunted as my eyes read his anxious body language. “You won’t regret it?”
He shook his head; Paul told me to “stop being a baby and get on with it.” I told the obnoxious man to back off; he hadn’t offered his orifices for mutual enjoyment!
“Go next door,” I demanded, snapping at my impatient colleagues. “We’ll be in, in a minute.” They grumbled as they left Ryan alone with me.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, smiling after they left. “I saw your match at the weekend. It looks fun and I just thought it’d be different and if you can do it, so can I and …” He blurted, pre-empting my question.
“Hey kid, sure. Shall we get ready then?” I wasn’t about to dictate someone else’s sex life to them. We stripped naked, folding our clothes next to our rucksacks, and I took out a small bag of condoms as I described the basics of giving a blow-job. His eyes widened as I passed him a small bottle of Manlube. “For the back-door. It’s the best …” I promised.
I had too: I was a product advocate!
Walking naked in the budget hotel corridor felt so normal for me; Ryan panicked and then smiled as I closed the door behind us. I could feel the excitement in his body language. His golden mop of unruly gossamer was the only hair on his glabrous body. The feint ridges of his muscles barely visible underneath his boyish youthful exterior and his cock looked enticing and delicious.
I wanted to take him at that moment; pushing him up against the 1970’s textured wallpaper and sink my lips over his circumsized head. To bring the smooth, hairless shaft into my mouth and inhale the delicious scent of masculinity through my nostrils as his young cock bobbed against the back of my throat.
He was sexy. Incredibly sexy. Hot. His smile was boyishly sanguine, his eyes naïve. Youthfully innocent and yet full of filthy promise. I wanted him, but I had a promise to keep, fantasies to indulge.
We had other men to satisfy; my knocking loudly on the door made him startle. “Who is it?” A voice needlessly answered.
“Two naked sluts,” I replied, a little too loudly but the corridor was deserted.
They teased us; they told us to kiss before we were allowed in, and in all my experiences with bisexuality, a kiss was the last thing I had been asked to do.
It felt, weird. Far weirder than allowing grunting, rutting men to plow my backside, but to kiss another man had my stomach flickering. My cock rose as my hands held his hips, facing the young man with excitement. He licked his lips as we stared at each other in the eyes, watching for the other one to make the first move. Our cocks touched as I pulled on his smooth skin, our lips touching for a fleeting moment.
My hands snaked around his body, holding him into my frame and pawed at his delicate buttocks; they were gorgeously pliant and delightfully soft. He gave a mild grunt as our lips melted again, pressing our kisses together as I squeezed his lithe, sexy body against my hairy skin.
“What a pair of homos,” Paul cried from behind me, but he could not spoil an intimate moment. Ryan’s body was warm and sensual, an incredible feeling of lust and contentment surged through me as I held him against my body and I wasn’t prepared to have a drunken letch spoil that. “After you,” I gestured as we parted, stepping aside to allow Ryan into the room of clothed, drunken men.
It was a powerful psychological statement. Their fun for the evening were naked. Sluts, submissives, worthless, mere holes for their entertainment. And not needing clothing and dressed in nothingness to underline our worth. They, the dominants and the penetrators, were clothed. They may have removed their trousers, but they were clothed. Superior, alpha men ready to debase and defile the beta boys offering their bodies to them.
They shouted and grunted obscene comments; Ryan shrank under their excitement. It was intense; more intense than a dressing room as the drink had caused confidence to surge and expectations to rise; there was too much energy to expend.
I saw Ryan checking out the packages in front of him. I saw a tinge of doubt in his eyes and fleeting grasp of fear. “Emit,” I called, gesturing our colleague to the front of the room. “And … Oliver.” I had picked the two calmest men in the room. I had to show Ryan what to do; I had given broad instructions as we got undressed but it was different now.
Oliver’s cock quivered under my touch; his check shirt hanging over his member as I removed his thin, long dick from his brightly coloured boxer shorts and flicked my warm tongue over the tip. He tasted of excited man; a musky, deep flavour of pre-cum that oozed sinfulness and fizzed on the tastebuds. Of nastiness and of lust. Of passion. Of intense fire, and a million other things that sounded wrong but felt so fucking right.
Ryan eyed me as I sank my lips over the erect cock impatiently waiting in front of me. I sucked the tip, swept my lips over his shaft and delighted his foreskin. I wanted to make him squeal and cry, passionately shrieking as my lips took him to orgasm. His cum on my lips, that was all I wanted at that moment; man after man to come to orgasm and offer me the gift of their cum.
And the slut was getting what he wanted and didn’t deserve. He was getting the smooth cock of his colleague, rutting into his mouth as his hips bucked to the rhythm of sin.
They watched; all of my colleagues did. I didn’t care what they saw or thought, I wanted more cock. I threw a condom between the legs of Oliver, groaning as my mouth sucked him towards his climax. His cock quivered as my hands gripped his muscular thighs, pulling the grunting man closer towards me. I wanted his cum, I needed it. My head was awash with submissive needs, and sexual wants, and I sucked harder, slid faster and expected more.
As another of my colleagues waited behind me, Oliver grunted and squealed, filling my mouth with a piston squirt of his cum. He panted as my lips sucked the rest of his salty, musky seed from his cock, pulsing with a dozen sprays of my treat.
I glanced behind me, Paul was waiting. I said nothing as I took my lubricant and squirted it onto my fingers to lubricate my anus. I glanced at Ryan smoothly fellating my colleague and smiled: he was a natural.
I flung my body over the nearest single bed and told Paul to be “gentle.” I had another cock thrust into my mouth although I never saw who it was; it didn’t matter. I would sate anything put inside me that needed satisfying.
I was in that space.
Paul was surprisingly gentle as he parted my buttocks; his body weight leaning on me as his cock slid between my buttcheeks and against my anus. I felt helpless, feeling the weight of him pushing my body into the mattress as his dick slowly penetrated me. It was a new feeling of submission; an intimate feeling of dominance as my colleague pressed his body against my back.
The cock was thrust into my mouth; this was no blowjob but I was being face-fucked. I was having a thick, erect cock rammed into my mouth and against my gag reflex, and I was powerless to stop it. And I loved it. I loved the passionate grunting and energetic disgusting lust of it all. I loved the pace of Paul’s cock bobbing against my hole, thrusting deeper and deeper into my inner sanctum. I loved the pure passion of the two men and I adored the lack of control that I had.
I loved being a slut.
Paul grunted and filled the condom moments before the cock in my mouth spewed several streaks of cum into my throat and then onto my face. His seed, his warm goo, oozing down my face had my cock leaking pre-cum copiously as my backside was replaced with another sheathed cock, parting my buttcheeks with impatient fingers and sliding their manhood into my butt.
My groans and cries were real; his cock was big and stretched my hole in a wonderful way. “Take it,” he grunted. Forcefully. Commandingly. I wanted to and I did, feeling and savouring the wild lust from the rutting gentleman poking his cock deep into me. My head was spinning; the room was alive with manful grunts and groans, thrusts and squeals as Ryan got pounded on the other bed.
I was in another place; I was floating and dreaming, my rectum sparking with lust with every thrust into my orifice. He high-fived over me; they were celebrating his taking of my hole. I was objectified, a mere container for him to expel his horniness into. It made my cock surge. I was in heaven.
So was he. He filled his condom with a grunt, sliding out and leaving my butt with a vacancy. Alas, there were no more unsated men and I watched as Ryan was spit-roasted on the other bed. It was a gorgeous sight: two older men being pleasured by the young junior engineer. Two men, with wrinkled and scarred bodies using the youthful, radiant boy as their fucktoy, thrusting deep into him with fiery grunts.
It was a scene from Greek or Roman folklore; it was hot. Very hot. My mind felt every pound of their cocks into their young charge. I felt the pulsing and quivering of the dicks, filled with cum as the milky delicacy surged through their manhoods and spewed into the young Ryan.
I saw the look in his face; the smile, the relief, the satisfaction.
The two of us, with cum on our faces and sweat on our bodies left the room to get cleaned up. We walked nonchalantly down the hotel corridor, oblivious to the shocked look from a couple walking towards us.
“What you expected?” He nodded, as I closed the door.
“It was fun. I … I … It was …”
He groaned as I sank to my knees; I could resist no more, and took the length of his boyish cock in my mouth, sucking the tip of his manhood and plunging my lips down his shaft. He grunted, and squealed, tensing his buttocks as my fingers explored his perineum.
He tasted of pure man. The musky taste of pre-cum swept through my tongue. I wanted it. I wanted the full course and I sucked and tickled his cock with my lips, eager to bring him to orgasm. I wanted him to come in my mouth. Eager to feel his pulsing manhood squirt his sticky lust into me.
His muscles flexed as he panted, his eyes meeting mine as I bobbed my mouth over his smooth dick. He glanced away, groaning as my hands cupped his balls and my tongue swirled messages of admiration on his purple head.
His hands screwed into fists as his body twitched and shook, and his cock spasmed, delivering me a delicacy of delicious masculinity on my tongue. It oozed from his cock; endlessly oozed. I had more than a mouthful of smooth, delicious cum sliding down my throat.
And still it kept coming; more and more of his semen squirted from his cock, every spasm greeted by a grunt and a cry from my orgasming colleague.
Eventually, he slumped against the wall, sated, and his cock slipped from my lips. “Fun, you were saying?”
“Yeah,” he muttered and gulped.
He masturbated me with a copious amount of lubricant, watching my cum arc into the air and splatter across my chest. We showered as a handful of our colleagues entered the room; they said nothing as we dried ourselves off, and drifted into a slumber.
Ryan left the hotel early in the morning with me, and I bought us a breakfast of instant porridge from the coffee shop. I could tell from his expression and demeanour that the morning had brought doubts and uncertainties. I knew and recognised them.
“Let me guess, you’re straight, you’ve always been straight and you adore women. But something you enjoyed last night didn’t make sense and you’re wondering is there something else there.”
“Yeah,” he muttered as he fidgeted on the train. “Something like that.”
“And you have spent the last thirty minutes wanting to stop thinking about being fucked in the arse and giving blowjobs and not being able to. And then feeling guilty for it.”
“And right now, you’re probably thinking a heterosexual fuck is the best thing you could do so are planning a one-night stand, but also want to play with another guy again, so are a bit confused.”
“Ummm … yeah!”
“Then welcome to the world of being bisexual!” I meant it part in jest and part seriously. I took the time to explain what my feelings were in the period before I came to accept my new sexuality. I told him what I had done at the Manlube photography shoot and in Italy and what I had enjoyed while doing it. He listened, and we reached our station long before I had finished.
“Can I come and watch?” He asked. “The football. I’ve nothing else to do. I’d rather not go home and just be alone with my thoughts.”
I stopped at my house to retrieve my football kit and was surprised to find my fiancée not at home. I was even more surprised to see her at the stadium but she wouldn’t tell me why. I had an uneasy feeling, but left my work colleague with her and went into the changing room to get changed, warm up and then listen to our coach distil tactics for our league match against Sunnyside Cross FC. A lot had changed since that first game of the league season and their 4-1 defeat of us had stayed long in the memory. It was a high-energy, ferocious game and we had deservedly lost but Sunnyside were not without their weaknesses.
They were, however, second in the league and rivalling AFC Kerlon for the top spot. The game was tough; Dmitri scored with a piledriving free-kick and they equalised with a header before half-time. Lee’s second-half goal saw us heading for victory but an own goal levelled the score two minutes before full-time and the last kick of the game was a long-range effort from their striker that our goalkeeper fumbled into our net.
It was desperately unlucky. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him; it was a goalkeeping clanger of stunning ineptitude and it meant we lost the match 3-2.
It was also a “special weekend” and the flustered league representative strode onto the pitch with a megaphone to call for the attention. “Every team were instructed to send the girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands, wives and fiancées of the players to the match, and now the losers will pleasure the victors in front of their partners.”
I gulped, glancing at the stands to see a gleeful Anna smiling broadly.
She knew; the little minx knew the league had planned this “surprise” for the team and had slipped along not to watch me play but to watch me be fucked.
I growled inside; I played football, it was my game and they were my forfeits. The league had dragged my family into my sexuality without my consent and it riled me. But I didn’t have time to be angry; the Sunnyside Cross players were striding towards us forcefully and menacingly sizing us up. There was movement in the stands as our partners ambled down towards the changing room.
My arm was grabbed by their left back: a wiry, smarmy, snarling man with a curling smile of devious intent. He was a nasty, intimidating player.
My fiancée joined us as we entered our changing room; there was not enough room for everyone to be in the victor’s changing room, and she smiled briefly as he snarled at me. “Oh, nice ring,” he muttered as he slapped me painfully across the face. “On your knees, sunshine. Show your little girly what you do. He’s a fucking faggot, love.”
My scowl deepened. Sunnyside Cross were full of arrogant players who revelled in dishing out humiliation and the league had given them fantastic ammunition to use against us. He grabbed the back of my head and thrust his cock deep into my throat, causing me to gag.
“Steady on,” my Anna cried.
“If you fuck me, I’ll leave him alone.” My hands instinctively rolled into a fist and I was ready to punch him in the low-hanging testicles; he was being a cunt.
“Touch me and I’ll floor you,” my fiancée warned as he thrust his cock deep into me. It was humiliation, it was submission, but I wasn’t revelling in it.
“He’s just a filthy little fag,” he snapped. I was being degraded but it just felt dispassionate and inhuman. There was no connection between me and my tormentor. He spoke gruffly and angrily, calling me names that I easily blocked out. He pushed me onto the bench and made Anna prepare me for his “monster prick” but it wasn’t that big and Anna had prepared me for her strap-on several times before; it was part of our play.
The thrusting of his cock to the hilt into my hole was rough, but I felt no satisfaction. I felt nothing. I watched as he scissored into me, remaining silent as I glanced up at Anna. She smiled at me; the connection was with her, not with him. She ignored him holding my ankles splayed into the air as he fucked my butt. It meant nothing to her.
He came into the condom. “Fancy fucking a real man,” he asked as he withdrew.
She snorted derisively. “I already do,” she coolly replied and I laughed as his face fell. Rejected. “And you are a million miles away from being a real man.”
It was harsh; he left immediately.
“Dmitri and you was hot,” she said after the match as we walked back to the car. “And you in Italy on TV was fucking unreal. He was a jerk.”
“Yep, he was a jerk,” I replied, as we drove Ryan back to his house, and then had a celebratory meal together as a couple; it was two years since we had got together. An anniversary for two people in love and in tune with their sexuality. Quite what that player thought he could show Anna I will never know.
Despite our loss and “abject humiliation,” I was surprised when Ryan asked how easy it was to join the team; he played at University and had represented them in a number of leagues. “I might be a bit rusty,” he admitted; he hadn’t played for eighteen months, but I told him to come down to the training ground for a trial.
The coach was impressed by the accuracy of his passing, although his fitness levels were a little suspect. He needlessly explained about the forfeits and then offered my colleague a few matches on the bench to see how he fitted in: in training and on the field.
South End Harriers were the first team we had ever played under the new rules in a friendly and the first time I had ever given a blowjob to another man. Although we had beaten them away from home, we had the opportunity to repeat that at home, and complete our first home-and-away double over our rivals in several seasons. Ryan was on the bench but Dmitri was absent and Lee was ill.
We had no need to worry about the loss of our two key players, South End Harriers were down to nine men before half-time and in the second half our makeshift striker headed us in front before our wingers both scored. I completed the rout with a mishit pass that looked like a wonderful strike so I said nothing about my fluke and just celebrated as if I had meant to take aim and shoot.
Ryan played for the final fifteen minutes, but it was clear he was a little tired towards the end of the match.
However, we had won 4-0 and a thoroughly dejected and defeated South End Harriers filed into our dressing room after the match. We were the victors; we had to seize our victory from the despondent opponents and Ryan watched as we each grabbed a filthy, muddy man for our needs. “Go get one,” I suggested, glancing at the naked goalkeeper on his knees and with his mouth inches from my cock.
My colleague and team mate found their substitute striker without a victor savouring their body and Ryan took advantage of his mouth. I loved the sound of the grunting, groaning and panting in the changing rooms after the matches; it was so intense, visceral and energetic. It was sinful and disgusting.
Writhing bodies, muddy skin, hard cocks and stretched holes. It was a filthy pervert’s dream. It was my dream.
My loser’s tongue swept over my balls as I groaned, licking the wrinkly, sweaty sacks of masculinity. His finger pressed against my taint as his tongue drew across the purple head of my cock.
My hands rubbed the hair of the defeated man, slowly bucking my hips as he worked his tongue around my cock. Slurping, groaning, sucking, crying. We were a cacophony of sinful sounds; two men playing. Two men having sex. Two men enjoying themselves.
And the goalkeeper was enjoying himself. He was playing with his hard cock as his tongue delighted mine, drawing his mouth over my dick with increasing speed and fervour. He wanted my cum as much I wanted to cum when I was giving a blow-job. He wanted to feel the pulse of my cock and taste the musky dirtiness of my semen.
With some passionate sucks, I could not resist and squirted several waves of cum into his waiting mouth as he came over my feet; his orgasm triggered by mine. I took a few moments to compose myself, panting with deep breaths before I made him clean his mess.
It tickled; the feeling of his tongue sliding between my sweaty feet tickled and I writhed as he gleefully licked his mess from my dirty toes.
We spanked them before we left; each member of their team receiving four hard, firm spanks on their bare arses turning them crimson.
Anna kissed me when I returned home. “We won.”
She smiled. “Dinner’ll be two minutes,” she promised as my pocket vibrated and I took out my mobile phone, answering it before checking whom it was.
“Marc! Is that you?”
“Oh, hi Auntie,” I muttered, glancing at the display for a moment.
“Marc. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing with those men,” she snapped. My mother’s sister shrilly blustered down the telephone. “You’re on the computer. It’s outrageous and it’s got to stop Marc. Think of the family name and …”
“Are you really worried that I’m bisexual?” I interrupted; there was silence.
“It’s wrong, Marc,” the religious zealot squealed. “It’s so … ungodly. Wait until the family hears this. Think of your mum and dad. What must they think?”
“I think they would be happy that I am happy,” I suggested and continued before she could muster a retort. “And as I know them far better than you I think I’m right. But it’s no-ones business but mine. Goodbye.”
“Marc! Marc! Don’t you dare put the ‘phone down …”
I never heard the rest of her objections and ignored her telephoning me back. Suddenly, I had a very big problem.
To be continued …
Featured image from here and used under as CC-license.