The Summerhouse: Chapter 09 (Mason)

The football club, located at the end of an industrial estate on the edge of the nearby town, had transformed the large function room into a Winter Wonderland. Two large snow-covered Christmas trees dominated the corners of the room, with white tinsel strewn liberally across the walls and the ceiling. The club had set up several large, round tables for the hundred-plus guests.

The footballers, dressed in smart tuxedos, strode into their Christmas dinner, as if they were James Bond. Several ladies entered the room, draped on the arms of the suave athletes. Clare and Victoria both wore short scarlet dresses, trimmed with white fur and a Santa hat. My fiancée winked at me as Anthony rubbed the red velvet material on her backside.

I recognised a few of the Coach’s harem in the room, but there were over a dozen women – all clothed in risque, short dresses – that I had not seen before.

None of the players had brought their female partners to the event. No footballer had risked their wives, girlfriends or fiancées at the Christmas festivities. While performing an errand, I had met Ray’s girlfriend in the supermarket with him, and the blonde beauty’s derriere he fondled at the party, was not the young lady I had seen him with at the checkout with the pots of yoghurts. Nor too was Billy’s wife or Cameron’s girlfriend.

However, a few had brought “plus-ones” to the party: male friends or acquaintances, doubtless intrigued by the promises of free food, beer and boundless amounts of sex.

I had been seated in the far corner of the room, next to the most impressive ivory tree, along with two women who I had not seen before, Scott, Ben, Isaac and the beefy attacking coach, Calvin.

Scott’s eyes had watched Iain traverse the room. The assistant coach had taken a shine to the gay man, and Scott’s boyfriend was being idly fondled. “Such a slut,” my friend joked as he sat down next to me at the table and put his hands on the hem of my kilt. “Oh, still doing it properly.”

“Do you mind?” I squealed as he lifted the kilt to my waist. “That’s …”

“Proper Scotswear,” Scott interrupted. “Fancy tossing my caber? I have the horn like you wouldn’t believe!” He looked at the ladies sitting opposite us and then turned back to me. “Watching Iain getting groped really turns me on.”

“Later,” I teased and ran my tongue over my lips.

“Yeah, Coach says no fucking until after the meal,” the nephew of the aforementioned manager snapped. Scott shrugged and muttered something under his breath. The meal was fantastic. A local catering firm supplied an amazing three-course spread, topped with lashings of wine and beer, and finished with a delightful apéritif. Scott’s gaze was constantly fixed on his boyfriend, clearly enthralled by the large, muscular assistant manager. Bruce definitely swung both ways, and he had his eyes firmly on Iain’s assets that evening.

Clare had been seated between Anthony and Ricky, and had captured the attentions of the married men. They were both endowed with fine bodies, incredible stamina and amazing cocks – and my partner had a beaming smile as they suggestively flirted with her. They were both the sorts of men who she adored screwing. They were her type.

I spent the evening chatting to Scott, Calvin, and Kitty. Calvin, the fitness coach, was a muscle-bound man with cappuccino skin and a cheeky laugh. He had been the top scorer in a Caribbean football league when he was younger and had been called up to represent Montserrat, before he left the island after the volcanic eruption buried his home.

Kitty was, as I suspected, an escort hired by the football club. The fiery brunette was in her early twenties and was studying for a post-doctorate degree in Mathematics, while using her voracious sexual appetite to keep herself debt-free. “I have a partner too, but he’s like you,” she giggled as she finished her glass of wine. “He’s a cuck. It’s OK. The manager told me all about the guys in kilts.” I must have blushed because she nudged Scott. “Doesn’t he look cute when he goes red?”

“He could have been here if he’s a cuck.”

She pouted. “He doesn’t play that way. He knows I play away, and he doesn’t have any choice in that, but my boy ain’t sucking cock, even to get ‘em ready for me. That ain’t happening and many of my guys are punters who don’t want another guy anywhere near ’em, anyway.”

After the catering firm cleared away the last of the plates, the tension in the room rose. The Coach tapped his glass and stood up, beaming at the room as he got to his feet.

The room fell silent. “Another year, another promotion. That’s three promotions in four seasons, and we’re on course for another. This is the most talented squad this club has ever produced. This is the strongest, most skilful, most tactically aware, most successful squad in this team’s history. We are at a higher level than we have ever played before.” He paused and took a sip of his beer. “But that cannot be the end of the story. That will not be the tale that I want told. This squad, and this team, with the achievements we’ve had, is not my legacy. This is the beginning of our adventure. This is the start of our journey. In May, if we stay top of the league, we will be one level below the regional league. And three levels below the Football League. And professional football. That’s where I want to be. Not here. So this party is to celebrate our progress. And the gains we have made. But after this revelry has ended, and the hangovers subsided, know that we have eighteen games to win, so we top the league. And three more seasons of hard work, continual success and promotion. Because we are getting noticed. Our success is getting attention. And I want to be with the big boys. We all do.”

He smiled and sighed. “Our party, is like our Saturday afternoons. Those of you, here tonight, who are wearing trousers, you will receive a party bag. Six free drinks at the bar, a betting slip and six tokens to spend with our underwearless whores. For those of you here tonight wearing skirts or kilts, you too will receive a party bag. Six drinks for the bar and as much lube as you need!” He laughed as the raucous cheer enveloped the room. “And the ladies and cucks will enjoy taking your tokens. For the one with the most coins at the end of the night gets a prize.” He chuckled to himself, raised his glass and roared. “To Ashfield Rangers!” He clinked his glass with Victoria’s almost-empty wine goblet as the team shouted back his rousing toast.

I hadn’t seen Kitty leave the table, but she returned with five small black gift bags and three bright pink ones. She smiled at me as I opened the magenta mesh bag – a large bottle of anal lubricant, six condoms, six silver coins with beer glasses printed on them, and an elastic garter with a zipped pocket. “For all those fuck tokens you are going to get,” Scott told me as I hitched my kilt to fasten it to my thigh. “Will it be big enough to hold all your tokens?” He chuckled and spun a shiny pink disc in his hand. “They’ve only given us six fuck tokens and condoms,” he moaned, peering into his black paper bag. “Not sure it will be enough!”

“Where do you find the energy?” I mused. “You came twice yesterday and Iain said you dicked him this morning.”

“And I wanna come again.” He looked at the escort, and then Isaac. “That was twelve hours ago. I can go again and again. Hey Kitty, why don’t we give you a tour of the stadium. Including the dressing room.”

“You’re obsessed. You’re always thinking about getting your end away,” I joked.

As the men rose from the table, we headed towards the stairs behind us. “C’mon, I got tokens to spend,” he told me and squeezed my backside through my kilt as I walked through the open door

“On me? But you get me all the time?”

“That’s just for show!” He snorted and glanced at Iain on another table. “I best not be seen looking too hard at the pussy in here.” He grinned at the blonde-haired woman in pigtails and a low cut black evening dress walking past him. “Let’s nip off to the changing rooms. And Jon, there’s eight prossies, four wives and seventy-odd guys. I’m sure you cucks will get banged into next year. You’ll have a hole as red as Rudolph’s hooter.”

The large dressing room with Ashfield Rangers emblem on the front was silent. Scott flicked the switch and the strip lighting bathed the harshly decorated room in aggressive white lighting.

White tiles on the wall and varnished oak benches. Minimalist, functional, and utilitarian. Clinically clean. The room smelt of disinfectant. Scott wheeled a raised stretcher from the corner of the room and ran his hands across the black padded leather top.

The Coach’s nephew dropped his trousers as I watched Scott. The bald-headed defender, with hickory skin, stood akimbo with his erect prick sticking from underneath his shirt tails. Isaac was a squad player. He lacked the stamina, technique and abilities to compete with the first choice players, but Ben’s best friend possessed a stout, firm prick and an expression swimming with filthy lust.

He wanted me to sate his desire, and he held out a token. A solitary token, but I would have done it for free. He didn’t have to say a word as I dropped to my knees and reached for his turgid dick.

It oozed power. This thick black rod summoned me and the twenty-something footballer put his hands on the back of my head to bring my lips to his engorged prick.

Soft, warm, yet slightly rigid to the touch. He grunted as my mouth slipped over his dark member and my hands danced across his veined, ribbed tool.

He had fucked me with his epic member on a previous weekend, but apart from Ricky, Devon and Wes, he had the biggest cock in the team. The confidence, swagger and poise came from a man who might have been wanting on the pitch but demanded respect off of it.

He knew how to plough a bottom and have him screaming in ecstasy. He was one of Martin’s favourite fucks, and he knew how much the bisexual slut adored feeling the stiff dick pounding into him.

My fingers slipped underneath his balls and I rubbed his perineum, as my lips massaged the coffee-coloured glans at the tip of his dick. Subtly moist and delicately fragranced with his masculine scent.

I became oblivious to Scott and activity beside the door; my eyes focussed on the solid piece of black meat that my face bobbed on. My mouth could only take two-thirds of his lengthy, girthy monster, and my left hand gently stroked his magnificent beast while my tongue worked his tip.

Pre-cum leaked from his dick. Salty, musky, nasty and delicious. His hand positioned at the back of my head to command me. It reinforced that I had no power. All the footballers had authority over us. I needed to cede all control to Clare, Victoria, and any dominant male or female who wanted it. I needed release sexual autonomy on these sorts of nights and find myself used.

That was in Isaac’s nature. The gay top grunted as my lips swirled over his frenulum and my mouth sucked on the mushroom head of his elongated prick. His hips bucked to force his manhood further and further into my throat. I tilted my head back to accommodate him as best I could, groaning into his thick tool.

He was close; the firm strokes of my tongue had taken him to his first climax of the night. His first squirt of cum smashed into the back of my throat. I sucked on his prick and wrapped my tongue over the eye to direct his juice into my mouth.

I wanted to taste him. I wanted to feel his eruption against my mouth and to savour every drop of his masculinity. Isaac sighed, stumbled backwards on his trousers around his ankles and landed on the seat that ran around the changing room.

Ryan and Cameron spit-roasted Kitty. Scott was balls-deep into another woman, the lithe lady with the blonde pigtails. He smiled at me as Isaac paid me the single token which I put in the garter pocket.

The youngest of the coach’s three assistants stood in the doorway. Naked, except for a pair of bright yellow boxer shorts, he smiled at me and then at the two girls. “You’ll have to do. My bird gave me serious horn before I came out,” Xavier moaned, and showed the stretched cotton in his sunshine yellow underwear.

I didn’t need to prepare his dick. My lips went to close over his young meat and he shook his head. “I want Anal. Brittany won’t give me anal, I’m fucking you up the chuff.”

He flicked a solitary token towards me, that I caught, as I put my hands on the tiles and presented my hairless backside to him. An open invitation that the 21-year-old would not refuse.

He took the anal lubricant from me and drizzled an excessive amount down the crack of my butt. Cold sensations caused an involuntary shiver. My forehead rested on the wall as I steadied myself for Xavier. For a man I hardly knew, to impale my arse on his tool.

He stood behind me and his hands man-handled my buttcheeks. Exposing my innermost sanctum for penetration. I relaxed; I was in my sanctuary, awash with submissive feelings and tendencies.

I wanted to feel the plundering of my backside and the stout dick slide against my lubricated hole. I groaned as his smooth prick pressed against my opening. The tattooed twink had been here before.

Sexually, he preferred pussy, but was rarely chosen by the coach for the hot-tub. As an assistant he could never be a man-of-the-match or an outstanding performer, so when he came to Victoria’s mansion, the Coach relegated him to Martin, myself and any other male slut who wanted two hours of bottoming for hot football players.

Even with the room stuffed full of escorts, he was still going to fuck my backside. Scott had explained it to me the week before: some of the footballers, who were in a serious relationship, believed that sodomising and using cuckold husbands was not cheating on their partner. Screwing men was not a sexual act they needed to feel guilt for. Whether their girlfriends and wives would feel the same has not been tested.

His condom-covered cock weighed against my hole, as he applied gentle pressure to open up my ring for him. He rocked softly as my body took the entire length of his smooth dick. He didn’t need to ram or to force himself into my butt, he slipped smoothly.

I looked across the room at Scott kissing the unknown escort, and Kitty taking Ryan’s dick in her backside. Her wild pants and loud yells suggested she was enjoying the animalistic thrusts into her butt.

I knew how good it felt. I willed Xavier to pound his dick into me. I wanted the alpha male to ravish my backside. I watched Kitty squirm and squeal, moan and pant, as the young eighteen-year-old winger slammed his dick into her, I wanted that. I needed it.

“Faster,” I muttered to demand stronger hits from Xavier. I needed him to seize, pummel and thrash my backside, and he slowly ramped up his pace.

Slowly, he drilled my open invitation to him. My body sizzled with horniness as he ploughed into me. No respite, just scorching lust and passion. Xavier needed an outlet, I needed to be taken.

His dick rubbed against my prostate, causing my soft dick to soak the front of my kilt and drip onto the white tiles below. His hands gripped my waist tightly, forcing his finger tips against my flesh. The room was awash with furious grunting and groaning.

I felt Xavier’s cock pulse and the thin Latex shield trapped several waves of cum. I yearned for more, but no more men were around. I slipped my second token into the garter, watched Kitty for a moment, and slipped out of the changing room.

“You going back upstairs?” The blonde woman called out to me; she stepped out of the room at the same time and closed the door behind her. “Virginia.” The green-eyed girl was naked, except for her pink garter that bulged with tokens and the bottle of lubricant. She spoke with a strong London accent, and her sparkling white teeth glistened as she smiled.

“Yeah. I’m not going to win any more tokens down there.” We could hear the noise of music coming from the suite and I followed the sound of the aggressive beat. “You were getting into it? You gay?”

“No, my fiancée is here tonight too. I’m bi.”

“That’s very … understanding.”

“And Scott is a very good fuck.” She giggled when I said that, and pushed open the door to the raucous function room, transformed into a hedonistic disco.
“I know,” she replied. “I’ve had the pleasure. More than once.”
Two couples were wildly fucking in the corner over chairs, while a naked prostitute’s mouth was lusciously kissing Luis’s dick. She looked old enough to be his mother. Speakers pounded loud music from the DJ in the corner of the room. Clare, almost naked, was being taken by Anthony in the far corner. The married man had an impressive physique, and I nodded towards the two of them. “That’s my fiancée.”

“She’s having fun.”

“She always does.”

I stopped to have a drink and to go to the toilet; in the side rooms there were games where we could get tokens. A couple I couldn’t do, as I did not possess the required anatomy, but the gloryhole, which had three booths, was free and I slipped inside.

Sean and an escort had knelt in front of the first two holes. The large piece of fabric, stretched across the small room, and nailed to the wall and ceiling, had three side-plate sized gaps cut in the white material, and three smaller spaces above it. I removed my shirt while I waited.

The first cock I had was a long, thick black prick, and I guessed it was Theo’s tool. A token came through the smaller slot and my lips engaged immediately.

I would have wrapped my tongue around that cock without a token, but I tasted the feint aroma of cum on his dick. Slightly sweaty, that added to his masculinity.

I was a cocksucker and a slave to the schlong; I never tired of sucking dick or bored with coaxing a semi-erect cock in my mouth to a full erection and bobbing up and down the shaft.

Enthusiastically, I rocked my mouth up and down his dick, sucking on his cockhead, and feeling the soft, velvety skin of his shaft. I groaned into his cock and ran my tongue over his cock head, flicking his sensitive underside. I worshipped his glorious dick with my mouth and I made him whimper and groan.

He mewed, and I felt the fabric bulge as his hands reached out. His cock pulsed, and I got my first taste of cum at the gloryhole. Swallowed, like a good little slut.

Another replaced him, and then another. Each of the ten cocks that I serviced made me hornier and hornier. Each of the men groaned and squealed as I my lips cajoled and enticed their climax from their dripping dicks.

Like a snake charmer, they were under my spell, beguiled by lips working their pricks. I loved giving head, and thanks to the boys in the summerhouse, I had been having a lot of practice. I used every bit of that experience to leave ten men squirming, squealing and satisfied.

With cum on my chest, I got myself a drink with one of my beer tokens and washed my face in the toilets, before returning to the side rooms. The other extra activity which could yield me points was the private calendar which the club would give to everyone associated with the football team.

If I was prepared to have my photograph taken, I would get a token. There were a row of chairs outside the photography room, and there was one person in front of me. I sat on the chair next to a naked woman who I had not seen before. She held a mask in her hand and said nothing as she looked around the room. Her garter bulged. She was tall, especially for a woman, but she looked like a typical twenty-something girl next door. There were no immaculate legs or big breasts, and bikini tan lines marked on her skin.

She scowled slightly too as a Barbie-doll lookalike tottered into the room wearing high-heels, giggled and left. “Hi, I’m Jon.”

She forced an uncomfortable smile. “Erika.” She exhaled and looked straight at the wall opposite and jolted as two flashes from the camera lit up the room we were about to enter.

“I guess you are part of the entertainment.”

She looked at my short kilt and raised her eyebrows. “So are you.”

“Indeed! So is my fiancée.” She paused for a moment and then looked at me.

“One of the escorts?”

“No. She isn’t getting paid. I’m a cuckold, and she is a hotwife. I was watching her getting screwed before I came in here.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “I couldn’t do that.” She gulped and took another deep breath. “My boyfriend cheated on me. This is my …”

“Revenge?” She looked uncomfortable, and I corrected myself. “Opportunity to experience other partners.”

“Yeah, that’ll do. It was Virginia’s idea.”

“Oh, I saw her. How are you finding it? A few hours sucking and fucking, it’s normal, right?”

“It’s intense. Too much. You guys are crazy.”

“You can leave or stop if you want to.”

She sighed and put her hand on my knee. “If you were two grand in debt and can take a lot off that off by having a bit of sex, would you?”

“Definitely. But then I would, even if I wasn’t in debt.”

“Erika, you’re next!” She woman smiled at me as she got up from the chair.

“Time to pay off a bit more debt,” she mumbled.

It was a shame that she was working at the party out of a fiscal obligation rather than an enjoyment. It came naturally to me. I had spent my teenage and most of my University years as mostly chaste, by accident, but was more than making up for my dry youth with a soaked adulthood.

The photographer called me into the room a few minutes after Erika entered his studio. “Naked, one token. Sex toy, two tokens. What’s it to be?”

“Pass me the sex toys,” I said, smiling at young man, doubtless a University student. The young man was short, with a boyband haircut that was quiffed to the right, and had a stud earring in his left ear. He was what Martin would call, cute, and what Scott would call, fuckable.

“OK, wear this please!” He threw one of Ashfield Rangers old football shirts that had been deliberately cut short, and I idly slipped it over my hairless, shirtless torso. “And lose the kilt.”

The photographer hummed as he searched in a small blue box, and selected a large pink dildo with replica testicles, and threw it underarm at me. I caught it and spotted a bottle of lubricant and a pack of condoms on a table. He nodded when I went to speak.

It was a little surreal having a normal conversation with a clothed stranger as I impaled my dick on a large seven inch dildo. He fiddled with his camera and I prepared my arse for its intruder. I learned that he was gay, studying photography at the local university, and had been offered the role at the party due to a chance encounter with Martin at the local sauna.

My cock was stiff when I lay on my back, my legs akimbo, and I had to slowly pump the dildo in and out of my arse as the photographer took numerous photographs of my degradation. The toy slid against my prostate, definitely, but as I lay in the chaise-lounge, I felt a stirring of humiliation and exhibitionism. I was being used and exploited. I was having my intimate sordid sexuality recorded on camera for a couple of worthless tokens, and that made me hornier than ever.

If the photographer, with his youthful body, had ripped out the dildo and plunged his cock between my buttcheeks, I would have done nothing but moan and scream in ecstasy. He could have had me if he wanted; he could have taken me as my imagination fuelled my lust.

“OK, we’re done now,” he shouted, and shook his head. “Weren’t you listening?” I took a deep breath and let the dildo fall from my backside. “Please stick used sex toys in the black bucket.”

He sniggered at me, lying on the chair with a flushed expression. “Sorry, just found the right spot for a moment.”

“Sure. But hurry up, I got people waiting.” He nodded towards the door at the back of the room, and I hurriedly dressed in my kilt, taking the two tokens from his hand and stashing them in my garter.

I entered the large room as I needed to sate my arousal. I wanted someone to fuck me. Use me. Debase me.
I caught the young man’s eye rather easily; he looked lost, and he looked horny. My lips, drooling and ajar, with a finger slipping into it, told him what I wanted. The unknown man smiled back at me. His shirt had been ripped open and his body was lithe, not muscular. Short dark hair, smooth skin, and not a hint of facial stubble. He had a clean-cut, boyish charm that oozed innocent sex appeal.

I made my way to the bar where he was standing and pulled out two drinks tokens. “Let me get you a drink.”

“I’m … sure.”

“What drinks makes you especially horny?” I asked, ogling his half-naked body. He was nervous, and he coughed. “Which one is going to make your balls weigh heavy.”

He gulped. “Um, cider please.”

I ordered two ciders and passed one to him. His hands shook as he held the glass and his eyes looked me up and down. “Nathaniel told me about you guys in the kilts.”

I gestured to any empty corner of the room, away from the bar, and he leant against the wall as he spoke to me. “What did he say?”

“You’ll suck anyone. Or get fucked by them,” he panted. “And you watch your wife getting fucked, and that turns you on, and … stuff.”

“Yeah.” I looked across the bar to see my fiancée in the arms of Wes and Devon, the inseparable pair of best friends that made up the centre-back pairing of the team. “That’s her, there. Have you had the pleasure?”

“No,” he muttered. “I’m not on the team.”

“So?”

“Well, it’s … I … it’s …” He spluttered nervously and explained with shaking hands. The young man was Nathaniel’s best friend from the school, and the two had remained close ever since. Mason was not a footballer, but he regularly watched his friend play the game. He drank his cider quickly and panted as he spoke. He was twitchy and nervous.”

“Have you had the pleasure of anyone yet?”

“No, I don’t …” His voice petered out, and he coughed. “ I’m not on the team, am I? I can’t, can I? Can I? I haven’t yet. I might do. I could do, maybe later,” he gibbered, and I downed my drink and took his hand. I guided Mason into an empty spare room and let the light from the streetlamp opposite give feint illumination to the spartan and unused office.

“What are you going …”

I silenced him with a kiss on the lips. Kissing men was something I rarely did, as it felt like an over-intimate line to cross. I would happily suck on their cocks, rim their arseholes, and have their thick, meaty cocks plunder me, but I rarely offered the faintest kiss.

This time, it felt right. With the soft hum of the party in the background and the gentle lighting, it felt perfect. There was something about this guy that made me believe that he enjoyed and wanted it.

I was right; he did. His protestations ceased the moment my lips touched his. The twink melted under my touch as my hands touched his smooth, hairless body and he exhaled sharply as my fingers danced over his warm torso and gently rubbed his nipples. Mason sighed as my fingers unlocked his belt and unfastened his trousers so they fell to the floor.

I wasn’t so keen to dive straight to his prick. I wanted to seduce him. Charm him. Beguile this inexperienced and nervous man. His cock twitched as my lips sucked on his nipples and kissed his silky flesh that wrapped around his chest. Flawless skin, deliciously hairless and glassy. He panted as his hands were flat against the wall.

“Oh shit!” He groaned, as my tongue flicked his nipples. His cock twitched, and he shifted his bodyweight. One hand tentatively touched my shoulder.

As I slid down his body, onto my knees, I came face-to-face with his cock. My lips felt it as I could not see it. Circumcised, with a length that filled my mouth and a shaved pubis that didn’t tickle my nose.

He gasped as my mouth expertly teased him. It coaxed him into a groaning, leaking, gasping mess of arousal that made him buck his hips. It was a glorious pleasure, and a wonderful treat. My fingers spiralled across his shaft as my lips worked the sensitive cock head and licked his swollen balls.

He tasted of cleanliness. Everything about him was spotless and pure. There was a virtuous innocence about him that I was spoiling.

I wrapped my lips around his shaft and pumped my mouth over his pre-cum covered dick, bobbing on his cock. My hands cupped his balls and pressed against his perineum. They rubbed his chest and stroked his nipples. They pressed him against the wall as his pelvic muscles contracted and he squirmed.

His hips bucked, and he squealed, crying out that he was about to orgasm.

If he expected me to release my mouth from his cock, he was more naïve that I thought. My lips sucked on that cock, eager to get a fill of the salty reward and his masculinity. I groaned into his prick as his climax swept through his balls and crotch and swelled inside of him.

He shuddered, panting and breathless as the euphoria cascaded across his body, electrifying every pore in his body and the first of half-a-dozen waves of cum hit my tongue.

My treat and my reward. His present to me for giving him fellatio. I cleaned his prick with my mouth and let his dick fall from my lips. I sat on the carpeted floor and looked up at him, leaning against the wall with the light of the street lights barely illuminating his frame.

The silhouette gave a deep pant, and I held my hand out to him. “Sit down here, for a moment,” I offered. “And take off those clothes.”

“Um …” He hesitated. “I’ve not said I’m gay.”

“Neither am I. You’ve seen my fiancée.”

He was apprehensive and hesitant, but I laid on the cool, rough carpet and stared at the ceiling. The taste of his cum lingered – a delicate, almost floral, thick juice that was deliciously piquant. He took a moment and then joined me, tense when I put my hand on his chest. “I’m Jon and I’m guessing you weren’t expecting that.”

“No,” he muttered and sighed. “Yeah, Nate thought I should come here to experience … well, that I think! He said it would help me.”

“Has it?”

“That was incredible. But I am attracted to women.”

“Yeah, me too. One woman, really. I can see the attraction of other women, and boobs are great. Who doesn’t like breasts? And going down on a cunt is sheer heaven. But I also enjoy going down on cocks. And more.”

“I’ve been wanting to try that for years,” he admitted.

“Have you ever fucked a guy?” He snorted when I asked and then shook his head. “I’ve not done a girl up there, let alone a guy.” He hummed. “I’ve not done a girl anywhere.”

“It’s dark, and I’m sort of wearing a skirt. I can be whoever you want me to be in your imagination!”

Mason shuddered, but I felt his cock twitch underneath my fingers. “Well … I … I mean …” he spluttered.

I turned to face him and swung my hairless leg over his body. He whimpered as my hands grabbed his wrists and my lips met his. He returned my kiss as our lips passionately caressed.

I embraced him with a charged move. I was horny, and I wanted his dick. I knew I was acting as a wanton slut, but I needed it. And so did he.

He broke his hands free of mine and wrapped him around my body, squeezing me. The low lighting may have helped. My own glabrous frame would have assisted matters too. For a man, barely coming to terms with his own sexuality, the ability to lose himself in the passion of the moment with no jarring reminders of the situation was ideal.

His hips ground against mine. His body rubbed against mine flesh as his cock rose against my skin. Our tongues massaged each other. His smooth body felt wonderful, and Mason was an epic kisser. His erotic motions were fiery and fervent.

He groaned as my lips worked his, and my hands explored his body. “How does this work?” He asked. “You win. How does this work?” I smiled at him and fished out a condom from my garter belt. I said nothing as I applied it in the dark.

I had had too much practise and could stick a johnny on an erect prick with my eyes closed. A squirt of lube and a gentle pump of his prick with my hands left him squirming.

With my feet either side of him, I squatted over his prick and slowly lowered myself onto his sheathed member.

We both groaned. We both gave a satisfied mew as his dick filled my arse. His erect cock slipped inside another person for the first time. I slowly rocked my hips, feeling his cock encircle my used, greased butt.

My fingers ran over his erect nipples, and I nuzzled them as I slowly and rhythmically squirmed on his young dick. Sensual and erotic.

I treasured that moment. He may not have seen me looking into his face, lit up by the feint streak of light from the window, but I was. I enjoyed every moment of that beautiful deflowering of that hesitant, horny man. He raised his legs and began a gentle, bucking motion. Eager and impatient. I leaned forwards, resting my weight on my arms and whispered to him. “Do you want to do it doggy style and pound me, like the slag that I am.”

He groaned. “Ahh yeah.”

“Go on then.” I moved forward, feeling the strain in my thighs as I moved from that position and knelt in front of him. He struggled to position his dick in the dark, and I had no hesitation in lining his cock up with my hole.

And then it came. All the nervousness and anxiety disappeared as a horny, desperate top replaced the hesitant skeptic. A furious, fervid, intense hammering of his cock into my butt was an unexpected bliss.

He removed the kilt from my body as he drove his dick deep into my bowels. I gasped, not to please his ego but because he was pleasuring me. That frenzied attack on my hole was what I craved and wanted. I need that treatment, and he understood.

He may have been satisfying himself, but he was more than satisfying me. His dick slammed into my butt, slaking a thirst for shameless and lewd treatment. He could do no wrong. He knew how to fuck a slutty bottom. His fingertips dug into my waist, causing a glorious, desperate pain.

Every breath was a gasp. My cock sizzled with horniness, as his dick flicked my prostate and my body swam with submissive feelings. His cock twitched, and he slammed his meat deep inside me and filled the condom with a few pulses.

He froze, panting and then withdrew. Empty, I wanted him back again.

“Sorry, I got a bit …”

“That was wonderful,” I gasped and fell forward onto my front. I turned onto my side to see his face framed against the feint light and smiled at him. “Seriously good.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Was good. Tight too.”

He sat on his haunches and fished in his pocket for some tokens. “Here you go,” he said and threw me all six. “I ain’t gonna be doing anyone else tonight.”

“You sure? My partner is a very good fuck.”

“Yeah. That was … wow!” I picked up a piece of card and passed it back to him. “That’s the betting slip. We have to guess who will get the most tokens. Winner gets a hundred notes.”

“OK, Martin for the cucks. He’s a desperate slut.”

“And the escorts?”

“I’ve only met two – try Virginia, but it could be anyone. I don’t know.”

“And the hotwives?”

“Clare or Victoria. Probably Clare.”

He thanked me and I banked his tokens in my garter belt. We got up and got dressed once more. I patted him on the bum as we left and slipped quietly into the corridor and party once more.

I had four more dalliances in the main hall; it was weird to be under the table sucking cock or on the chair being nailed by dominant footballers as others looked on, but half the escorts, hotwives and cucks were doing the same. The action was near the bar, and we wanted tokens.

I also wanted the humiliation and embarrassment. I craved the look of lustful disapproval and sniggering from others as others rudely took and ravaged my body. It was my tonic and my lust.

As the clock ticked past ten, a bell sounded.

The Coach, in just his tight white underwear, that stretched to accommodate his impressive tool, called for quietness in the packed hall. He stood on the small stage, and his voice echoed around the room. He waited for a few moments for everyone to assemble and then addressed us all. “OK, well this brings the fun and games to a close.”

“Spoilsport,” someone shouted, and the Coach pointed at his dick.

“Any more interruptions and I will gag you! Let’s have wives first. That’s Victoria, Amy, Clare, Candice and Katherine.” He saw one of his assistants wave at him, and he nodded. “Of course, sorry. Those of you that haven’t submitted your betting slips, please do so now. The winner gets a hundred quid.” Several men moved to deposit a piece of coloured card in a box at the back of the room as the coach leered over them. “Some awesome pieces of white ass here.”

My fiancée was naked on stage, and joined by the blonde Amy, Victoria and two women I had seen on occasions in the hot-tubs on Saturday. Katherine was still wearing her fishnet bodystocking, but it had been ripped as dozens of men had frantically torn at it to sate themselves. The buxom, twenty-something smiled in her bunny ears and velvet collar.

Amy emptied her garter belt into the coach’s hands, and he counted 19 tokens; this was bettered by Victoria on 22 and Clare on 29. Her ruffled hair, beaming smile and dried cum on her skin, was proof that she had enjoyed herself. I felt my cock rise at the sight of my fiancée.

Katherine was just one token behind on 28, and the mature, thirty-something Candice was on 23. “So Clare, is the biggest slut for the night. And as a reward, she gets to get dressed. The rest of the ladies, we will take your clothes and you can go home … naked!”

There was a cheer in the room as he said this; Amy grimaced and Candice looked horrified.

“I came on public transport!”

“I came in your cunt!” Ricky screamed.

The anxious woman looked at the unrepentant Coach. “I need to get dressed to go home. Please!”

“Get your husband to come and pick you up!” Ricky interrupted.

Candice glared at the tipsy footballer. “My husband doesn’t know I am here. And if you don’t want him to find out, I need to get home without getting arrested.”

“I will take you home,” Paolo promised. “For a price.” She smiled at the shirtless Italian, with his chiselled body and impressive physique.

“Well I thought you’d never offer!”

The Coach rolled his eyes. “OK, you lot get naked, wait over there.” He addressed the room. “So escorts now. Can I have Kitty, Felicity, Virginia, Barbie, Coral and Erika to the stage.” There was a general murmuring as half-a-dozen prostitutes filtered their way through the crowd.

“You ain’t burning my clothes,” the Barbie doll told him with a wagging finger. The ultra-manicured woman with perfect nails, barked aggressively and the Coach just sighed.

“It’s payment time. Felicity, the older woman in her late forties, stepped first and passed her garter belt to the big, black manager. She was oiled, naked and winked at a couple of the guys in the room. She was old enough to be their mother, which I think was part of the appeal.

“21 tokens!” The coach countered. The Barbie doll got 16 and swore. Coral, the hippie with incredibly fair skin and welcoming eyes was on 20. She smiled at a small crowd of guys, lounging on a sofa and blew them a kiss.

Kitty gestured to the crowd as she tossed her garter belt to the coach. She cupped her breasts and made rude gestures as the coach counted her tokens. “24, as well.”

“You love, come here. I wanna make it 25.”

“I’m out of tokens.”

“Then owe me one.”

The coach swore at her and turned to Virginia. The young, pig-tailed minx licked her lips and unclipped her garter belt. “I think that’s 28,” she said. “I was counting.”

“Incorrectly,” the coach replied as he finished totalling her tokens. “31”

“I’m quite the slut!”

“And Erika?” My friend from earlier managed 20, and she shrugged. “OK, so we will give you your fee of £100 per hour, so that’s £300. Then we said £50 per token. The biggest slut gets another £250. If you’ll let us take your clothes, I’ll add another £250 to it.”

Apart from Barbie, all the women were happy to have the coach’s minions add their clothing to the pile from the hotwives, which had grown into quite a stash in the room’s corner. Cash had replaced tokens in the garter belts, with handbags locked in the office for safe-keeping.

“And finally, our cucks. These little filthy fuckers are already going home naked, so remove your little skirts, boys and come here.”

The jeering caused my cock to rise. The pats on my naked bum as I walked through the crowd. Martin got to the stage first and threw his kilt into the throng of jeering onlookers, as if he was a celebrating footballer throwing objects to an adoring audience.

“So this is Sean, Amy’s husband. Martin, Victoria’s husband. Jon, Clare’s fiancé. Jack, Jodie’s husband, who is too ill to attend. But we’ve promised her that we’ll take damn good care of her man. And Iain, who is Scott’s boyfriend.” The Coach gave a chuckle and took the garter belt from Martin’s outstretched hand.

“22,” he called. He beat the middle-aged Jack, who towered over everyone, and Sean, who only managed 14. Iain got 21 tokens, although he didn’t look finished for the evening. I passed him my bag, and he counted them and then double-checked. “We have a tie. 22 each. Each cuck gets one spank per token.” I looked at Martin who smiled at me. “And then we are going to put our top two cucks in a pool downstairs!”

Martin’s grin widened. I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and they pushed me towards the beefy goalkeeping coach, sat on a chair. The shirtless man had a slightly rotund figure, but he had impressive pectoral and arm muscles. He downed the beer in his hand and put the glass on the table. “22 was it?”

I nodded. Wayne had a powerful aura about him. He had a strength that I could only dream of and plenty of muscles were affixed to his colossal frame. But there was a confidence, and inner strength that was all-conquering. I couldn’t argue even if I wanted to.

A man had rarely beaten me; Victoria and Clare had reddened my skin many times, but the submission at the hands of my gender had been providing blowjobs, massages, handjobs and anal sex. I had always been the submissive partner in sex, but never submitted to them.

Publicly, Wayne leant forward, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threw me across his lap. His trousers were rough, but my erect cock slipped between his thighs. His left hand, across my back, held me in my place as his right hand circled my bare, hairless buttocks.

Warming me, preparing my skin for an onslaught. Reassuring touches that caused my mind to slip out of focus. I could feel the burn of the humiliation on my flesh, and the glances of a hundred pairs of eyes on my degrading ordeal. I sensed the smirking, grinning expressions and heard the first smack from a neighbouring chair. It sounded like Sean.

Then another, and another. Wayne said something but in my brain-addled state with my closed eyes, I never heard what it was. The maniacal laughter of the aroused hyenas as the smacks rained on Sean, Martin and Jack further drowned it out.

The first hit landed on the seat of my butt. Firm and strong, Wayne’s hand landed with a crack and my skin rippled from the strike. My body jerked and my cock rubbed against the smooth fabric of his black trousers.

But my mind swam. As the hits hammered down on my butt, my submission took me through on a dreamy voyage. I barely felt each smack, but I needed every single one. Every single strike on my backside took me further from the tawdry party and towards a state of euphoria. A heavenly, peaceful world.

Yet, twenty-two hits will not take me to the promised land, and it was over too soon. I could have stayed there for the rest of the evening. Wayne had timed his rhythm and cadence to perfection. The power behind each strike was delicious. It had left me panting.

The coach set up a pool in the visitors’ changing room. The eight foot by five foot inflatable had steps on one side and the photographer sat on steps by the door. They had erected a sign, “Those who use these toilets, have a free drinks token when you do.”

The Coach guided Martin and myself into the pool. “I knew you two would win. We know you love being dirty!”

“Yeah, but …” I said, but Martin interrupted.

“How long will be here?”

“Until the party ends,” the Coach replied and watched as we sat in the blue pool. “On your backs, heads at this end,” he demanded, and we did as he said. “Enjoy your evening, boys.”

He chuckled as he left the room. I looked at Martin who hummed. “Did you know they were going to do that?”

“Um … a bit.”

“A bit? I thought I might …”

“What?” Martin interrupted. “Get to fuck Clare? Sit down and have a drink with Scott and talk tactics while sharing a packet of Cheese and Onion? That’s not how the club works, Jon. And you know it. You knew coming to the party would mean sexual servitude, and you loved it. Sure, you’ll be sore tomorrow. We both will. And we will fart lube for hours. We know that, but that is the price we pay for fulfilling our needs.”

He was right, but I didn’t want to admit it. Of course, I knew the Christmas Party would be a humiliating, dirty, filthy orgy of vice and debauchery. But piss play was one of Martin’s favourite fetishes. It wasn’t mine. I tolerated it, because it came with the satisfaction of my other needs and because it was deeply degrading that ticked all of my submissive boxes.

“I hoped that we might get to feel a bit human.”

Martin sniggered. “You and I aren’t human. We are man-whores. And you wouldn’t change that for the world. And you and I are not getting off tonight, unless we do something in the summerhouse bedroom.” I snorted in derision and he tapped me on the torso. “Look, I paid twenty-five grand for tonight. This party is a personal gift from me to the club. I’ve paid for everyone else to have a great time and I’ve paid to be fucked and spanked and pissed on.”

“Worth it?”

“Every fucking penny,” Martin replied. We heard a noise above us and the coach’s two scrawny assistants smiled at us.

“We’re busting for a slash,” Xavier said and from a few feet above us, they aimed directly for my face. I closed my eyes, shut my mouth, but the warm stream hit the bridge of my nose, hair, and chin as the young man urinated over me. The pungent smell of his pee filled my nostrils, and even after he emptied his bladder, all I could smell and taste was his urine. It was disgusting, and I hated it.

Yet, my cock was erect. It was a nauseating, revolting and sickening abomination that would repulse any normal, sane person, yet my cock was stiff and my mind swam. As I lay next to Martin, in the cold piss of another man, my arousal sparked.

It did so again, when a tattooed friend of Tom swept his piss across my body, and then when footballer and footballer came to get a free drinks token and add their piss to the pool.

Sean smirked as he coated my face with his waste, that was stronger and more repugnant than any other piss that had bounced off my nostrils. Having another cuck, another submissive man, feel able to urinate over myself and Martin was especially humiliating and my cock was leaking pre-cum.

“Oh, boys!” Virginia cried as she peered into the pool. “I am busting. Which one of you most wants a bit of feminine pee.” She teased us with eeny-meeny-miny-mo and then sat on the steps, so her thighs were on the edge of the pool and her crotch was hanging over the inflatable wall.

She had a sharp intake of breath and released a jet of tepid pee into my lips. For the umpteenth time, I tasted it. Her piss seeped into my mouth and across my tongue.

Salty, caustic, nasty. A noxious, unpleasant, repulsive taste that lingered in the mouth and on the nose. When she stopped, I opened my eyes to see a globule of cum dribble from her cunt, and land in my hair. Her pussy puckered and several more drops of semen hit me.

“That’ll be Scott. He’s very fond of my assets. Such a pity you can’t clean me out properly. I know you quite like to swallow Scott’s emissions.”

It sounded so dirty when she said that. My cock was straining and leaking. We barely had two minutes peace as every man and woman used the pool when they had to go. The gift of a free drinks token made the extra stairs worthwhile.

My horniness never stopped. My thoughts of enduring piss play were not correct. I realised, as the Coach jettisoned a bladder full of piss onto my chest, that I enjoyed the degradation of it so much, I enjoyed the act itself. Watersports was not my thing, but humiliating watersports definitely was.

As Martin and I had two hours of pee bukkake, I knew that I would repeat this act on the lawn outside the summerhouse in an instant. When the weather was clement.

As the party drew to a close, Clare came down to see us. “The Coach said, if you two empty the paddling pool down the drain, he will let you have a shower. If you don’t have a shower, you are not coming home with us!”

It was an offer we wouldn’t refuse, and we stood up to see that there was at least an inch of pale yellow piss in the pool. We stunk, but we let some air out of the pool and carried it to the showers where we emptied it down the drain.

There was not enough mint shower gel for me to feel clean. I scrubbed my pores and my hair, coating my flesh liberally in the neon green soap, hoping to remove the smell and the taste from my skin. I felt as if my pores were sweating urine, and Martin laughed as I rubbed and washed every part of my body.

“It’ll go,” he told me. “Tomorrow, you’ll have a shower in the morning, and then change your bedding and it will be nothing but a horny memory,” he told me.

We nicked a couple of towels to dry off and found the party winding down. Victoria had a small sheet wrapped around her body. “I thought you were naked!”

“All the naked girls may take a sheet if they want, to make into a toga. All the naked boys are expected to deal with the cold like the brave little soldiers they aren’t,” she teased. “Come on, I want a cuppa. And I’m sure you boys want a release. Once you two have cleaned and sterilised all the sex toys the photographer used.” She passed Martin a clear plastic bag containing a dozen dildos.

Martin’s eyebrows raised. “Really? A release?”

“Of course, you two can go to the summerhouse and do whatever you want to your little winkies that make you happy,” she said cruelly. “You came last Easter. You can’t want it twice in a year from your wife? Stephen doesn’t even get that.”

Scott was behind us and he patted me on the backside. “You two fags deffo know how to look after each other’s winkies!” He chuckled and then looped his arm around Iain. “I’ve got someone who needs a lift home. See ya after Christmas, boys!”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”

“Merry Christmas and all that bollocks,” Scott replied and gave his desperate slut a pat on the bum. He giggled and slunk off into the car park to a waiting taxi.

* * * * *

The Christmas Party was the last occasion with the football team; they suspended the league for three weeks until mid-January.

Christmas at the Braithwaite household was a relaxed affair. It was just the four of us. The dominant women permitted Martin and me to stay in the main house on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day, and I loved waking up from a deep slumber cuddled with Clare.

We had spent a bit of money on our hosts. They had continued to refuse any payment towards our stay, the food, or even the sex toys, condoms and lubricant. This continued to make me feel like I was taking advantage of Victoria and Martin.

Therefore, both Clare and I agreed that we would spend a four figure sum on our hosts, and they unwrapped a fucking machine. We gave the dominatrix in the house, two handmade whips, a bottle of her favourite single malt and a new leather outfit, and the submissive also unwrapped a large technicolour dildo and his favourite cologne.

Victoria and Martin had chosen tattoo designs for each other, and they had made the appointment for the New Year at the tattooist. I bought my other half a new eBook Reader, and she got us a couple’s pass for unlimited film visits at the cinema. Time together was important in our lifestyle. Being in a cuckold relationship came with a lot of dangerous emotions and keeping them in check required effort.

The alcohol flowed liberally, and Martin cooked a wonderful Christmas goose. He was a superb cook, with rosemary salted roast potatoes, huge Yorkshire puddings topped with a hearty gravy, and a plethora of other vegetables.

I had expected some sort of debauchery on Christmas Day, but Victoria had made it clear to all her play partners, that they were explicitly instructed not to even contemplate contacting her. No texts, no messages, no contact. Just time spent with her husband and her friends. She didn’t even open the door to their huge dungeon.

It was just like being in a “normal” relationship. Almost.