The Summerhouse: Chapter 17 (Victoria)

Clare gasped. “You can’t be serious,” she squealed.

“We are,” Martin replied, and stared at my fiancée and myself. “It’ll be our wedding present to you. Well, I also want to arrange Jon’s stag do, which may or may not coincide with a pre-season tour. He will walk down the aisle with a sore arse and a massive smile on his face!”

Victoria eyed Clare and wiped the tears from my partner’s eyes. “This is massive. This… mansion… is anything beyond what we could afford and…”

“I know,” Victoria replied. “But I really need you as our neighbour. We are going to turn the estate next door into our kinky B&B. I want to convert the stable block and the outbuildings into something special. Just like we fantasised about when I was at University after we went to that party at the manor house near Lancaster. I will have a near limitless amount of men to beat and punish, and I’ll be able to explore and enjoy myself like never before.”

“Vics, we got so pissed when we said that. It was a fantasy because we saw that piece on Other World Kingdom. A nation where women lorded it over men. It’s not a reality.”

“But I am making it a reality,” Victoria squealed. “And I do not want my neighbour phoning the cops because she witnessed the lady of the house pulverise the backside of some oil executive in the back garden! Or that I whipped a misbehaving boy. Or plundered some jackass with a twenty-inch strapon.”

Clare laughed through her tears. “It’s just… I can’t… just… We can’t. We can’t take a three million pound house from you! That’s…”

Victoria snorted. “It was less than two when we bought it.” She shook her head and looked at her husband. “Do I need to take you down to my dungeon until you’ll accept my hospitality, Miss Clare Brownlees? I enjoy making men scream, but I will happily give you a damn good spanking. I have done it before. I am very versatile when it comes to my sexuality.”

Clare sniffed once more. “But Vics, c’mon. This is…”

“I am the Lady of the House,” Victoria interrupted. “And you are my best friend who I share, or want to share everything with. Surely, you can find a couple of kinky-minded lodgers to enjoy the house, the hot-tub, the summerhouse and the dungeon.”

“Victoria, do you…” I said, but the fearsome woman glared at me and interrupted.

“Ssshhh! This is between me and my best friend. When you become Mr Brownlees, then you can have a say.” She turned to my partner and held her hand. “C’mon Clare. This is our gift to you two. And I know you are not planning for a wedding for another eighteen months at least, but the day you walk down that aisle, I’ll sign over the house to you. And until that moment, you stay here, rent-free.”

“Martin, could…” I said, and the multi-millionaire just raised his finger to stop me.

“We both want to do this,” he snapped. “And if Victoria says that she is doing it, then she is doing it.”

“Let me show you,” the dominatrix said, and tugged Clare’s hand to make her stand up. Martin and I followed as she took my fiancée out of the front door and they walked through the gap in the hedges that separated the two properties.

“This – this will be the main house. Mostly private, but we are going to have a dungeon here, and some guest rooms for personal visitors. But over here…” She called and strode towards an unused stable block in a large U-Shape. “This is where the fun will be. I can convert these into half-a-dozen rooms right here. Hot-tub in the middle. And look at the views across the valley. It’s magnificent. And there’s still three barns and an old ramshackle cottage to think about. The possibilities are endless.”

“How does this…” Clare cried out to her excited friend.

“Because I will need you,” Victoria begged. “Do you think I can run this without your support? I need to unwind and escape. l need to share a bottle of Prosecco with my best friend in a hot-tub and tell her my secrets and insecurities. I am asking, please, stay in that wonderful house and help me. I can’t run this venue of ill-repute without my best friend at my side.”

“Oh, Victoria. I’ll always be around for you. But a three million pound house. It’s a massive, massive present.”

“And you a massive, massive friend.” Victoria sighed and looked at her husband. Clare had always been reticent at accepting financial gifts from the confident dominatrix. There was a vast difference in their wealth, and if Victoria had her way, my partner would live a luxurious life of leisure. But Clare was too independent for that and valued her career immensely. We had tentatively discussed moving to a nearby village when her company confirmed Clare’s promotion in Manchester, and we had hoped to purchase a two-bedroom townhouse or cottage. We had seen a few houses on the ‘net and had spoken tentatively to mortgage companies.

But Victoria and Martin’s old house was in a different world. “We’ll talk,” I promised Victoria, and she scowled further. “It’s really generous of you both.”

This was one argument that Victoria could not win with dominance, although she and Clare played in her dungeon for a couple of hours later that day. The lady of the house treated my fiancée to a massage and then numerous forced orgasms in a lesbian BDSM session and I wished I had been a witness to it.

Instead helped Martin in the kitchen. “I find it easier to accept that Victoria will get what Victoria wants. It’s much better just to give in at the beginning rather than the end,” Martin told me as we prepared dinner. “Do talk to Clare. Victoria would be delighted if you do accept.”

Clare and I discussed it repeatedly when we were alone. We could not escape the belief that we would be exploiting our friendship if we accepted. “I have an idea,” Martin suggested at the dinner table. Victoria glowered at him, and he gulped. “If Jon and Clare believe that accepting this house as a gift when they marry is using the relationship with us to get something, then why don’t you just agree that Clare and Jon are on the rota for the B&B.”

“What?” Victoria squealed.

“Well, you will have errant men to beat and whip. And I am sure you could do with an extra pair of hands for a few hours each week. And you have already said that I’ll be on the cleaning rota. So add Jon, too. That way, it is not just a gift. It’s also in part employee accommodation.”

Clare sniggered. “Honey,” she said and took Martin’s hand. “I can promise you I will always be around if there is an opportunity to beat a cocky arsehole to a simpering pulp. Especially if it is to help Vics!”

The hesitation that Clare and I had about accepting the enormous gift was more than just concern. We felt uncomfortable, and later that night Clare had a date with Kevin’s boss – the restaurant manager – and Victoria dispatched Martin to chauffeur them to and from the welcoming inn in the centre of the British countryside.

Victoria demanded my presence in her dungeon via a text, and she sat in a high-backed red and black leather chair when I arrived at her underground torture chamber. In her gloved hand, she held a long, thin cane. “I need a guinea-pig,” she replied curtly, and rose from her seat. The navy blue Latex bustier was enticing; her bottomless attire more so, and I glimpsed a flash of her pussy as she walked.

I gulped, and she backed away from me to a five-foot board with four fastenings on it, angled at around 30 degrees from the vertical. I realised that the spread-eagled position would display my arse or my cock for her torment. She sensed my fear immediately.

“Hands in these top two,” she ordered. “Face down.” I did as she commanded. Her padded restraints securely anchored my body to the wooden panel. “Now I saw this device on the ‘net and I’ve had Willie make this board for it. It’s a remote control spanker machine, and it looks fantastic. I’ll be nice and start you off gently.” She tittered as she set up the machinery behind my back. “It’s the latest invention by some sadistic woman in Germany, and they are amazing. The Germans lead the world in torturing misbehaving boys.”

“And I am here to test it?”

“I tested it on Martin yesterday, but I want to unleash it on my businessman tomorrow. He has just closed a shop and made four employees redundant. He doesn’t know it, but we’re going to be negotiating the redundancy settlements for those employees. And this will be one of my convincers.” Her voice radiated with glee as she described the pain she would inflict on the local entrepreneur who owned a string of companies and was amongst the richest people in the county.

My head was at the top of the board and looked directly at the chair where Victoria sat and put her legs on a stool. I stared at her cunt. She picked up the black remote control and pressed a button. I heard a beep from behind me and then a sharp, short whip across my backside, where a cane had lashed my unbroken flesh.

I squealed as the smack landed on the centre of my rump, and she smiled. A second later, the whirr of the motor preceded another fiery crack of the thin rod against my flesh. “Painful?”

“Yes!” I moaned.

“Excellent. I’ve set it to do one every four seconds at a low strength and to vary it slightly. I don’t want a thousand strikes in the same spot. It’ll break the skin and wear you down to the bone.”

“It’s very painful.”

“That’s the idea,” Victoria replied, and her fingers ran the length of her body to play with her swollen clit. “Don’t mind me. Errant boys getting smacks really does it for me. But then you like watching girls masturbate, don’t you? Or do you, we’ve not spoken much over the years. You’ve sucked cum from my cunt and I’ve beaten you and fucked you. I’ve tormented you. But we’ve never had a proper chat, and as the person engaged to marry my best friend, I think I should know more about you. So a nice, relaxing situation to have a wee chinwag.”

She reached underneath her chair and took out a large bottle of whisky and a crystal glass. The domme poured herself a generous measure and looked straight at me. “What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Everything.”

I had little to say; I grew up in London, had one sister, and attended a high-achieving secondary school. I got good grades in my exams and loved football in my youth. I had a natural flair for programming and found University easy. My parents helped support me in higher education, and Clare was my third girlfriend. Both my previous two relationships ended because of infidelity.

Victoria listened. She smiled when I said my last statement, pressed a button on her remote control and laughed when the cane ripped into my flesh at ten times the strength of the previous hits. “Your infidelity or theirs?”

“Once was hers and we split up because of it. She dumped me when I confronted her. I met Clare soon after. My first was at high school, when I got drunk with my girl’s best friend at a party and screwed her. Bridget chucked me when she caught us in bed. Well she chucked stuff at me first, but I sorta deserved it, I guess.”

Victoria said nothing and then leant back in her chair. “My story isn’t so middle class. My dad died when I was two, and my mum remarried. My stepdad was a total piece of scum, who stole the money my dad had left for me. When I was thirteen his brother, my step-uncle, tried it on with me, and went to touch me places no thirteen-year-old should be touched. I broke his fucking fingers, and I got a caution for assault. Because of that, my own mother, and her shitty husband, threw me out and I moved in with my aunt, on the other side of the country. She was a dominatrix and worked in a large house she got from her divorce. She couldn’t keep her sex work from me. But she showed me how to channel my anger and energy, and she had an amazing library of erotic books. Men came to her room and screamed in agony. It was delicious hearing that. The control, the power. I frigged myself every time she took a man into the Master Bedroom which was stuffed full of torture equipment. I read so much erotica.”

She pressed a button once more on the remote so that the cane whipped my backside in a quick salvo of excruciating pain. I yelled in agony, and she rubbed her clit for a few seconds before returning it to its previous speed.

“I went through the entire college on dates, because life’s too short, isn’t it? I never wanted a relationship, but I had some fun finding out that I am a pretty good domme. Hugh, and Stephen. Wonderful Stephen. So naïve, so obedient.” She giggled. “I got good grades in my exams and then my A-Levels. They offered me a place at Uni. I wasn’t going to go, but my aunt made me. But I couldn’t expect her to support me in Manchester. I had to make my own money, although I had a bit saved up. I took a few hours escorting each week that would take a lot out of my outgoings. I had to whip and beat men to get through my first year, but during that time I got involved with my aunt’s friend. I was an assistant to this amazing dominatrix when she came to Manchester on her trips. It gave me the confidence to find more of my own clients. I paid for my education by the screams and cries of chauvinistic bastards. The more misogynistic they were outside the bedroom, the more I hurt them inside, and the more they liked it. And the more they paid. Meanwhile, I still I did not want a relationship. People let you down, and they use you. I would not and could not fall in love.”

“I met Clare. She was a first year, and I was a second year. She helped me get through my aunt’s unexpected death and I made her burn her granny knickers. Because underneath her conservative bullshit, I found a slut like me and she loved being part of my world. She was the best friend I’ve ever had. You know she overheard some prick bad-mouthing me, so she seduced him, tied him to his bed, and then burnt off his pubes with a lighter. He wet himself with fear. You just can’t teach that, can you?”

“I guess not,” I said with a smile.

“And I came across Martin. He was a punter, but I enjoyed his company, and he was a profitable little earner. I didn’t want to fall for him. I didn’t do relationships. He just took anything I could do to him. Because it was me.” She took a gulp of her whisky and set the glass on the table before continuing. “But I fell for him. And I know it may not look like it as I cheat on him every day, I whip him, thrash him, humiliate him, piss on him. But I love him more than anything else in the world. No man has ever had my love, except him. And no woman alive has my love except Clare. Those two people mean the world to me. Growing up, I had nothing, except abuse and hand-me-downs until I moved to my aunt’s house. My childhood was blighted by toxic masculinity and bullies. Why do you think I work hard for food banks and charities? So, knowing that, can you see why I want to keep my friend close to me as I start my own business? You understand why I must help her? She’s picked me off the floor. She wiped the tears from my eyes and held me when I needed it. Do you understand?”

I nodded, and she raised her eyebrows. “Yes,” I muttered.

“Good. Because only four other people alive know that about my history from beginning to end. And if Clare says you are the one for her, then you must be a decent egg. Hurt her, and I will break you. And I am going to let you into a secret that if you tell Clare, I will dump your gonads into a blender.”

“Don’t!” I cried. I wriggled in the fastenings, desperate to rub my painfully sore backside. “I can’t keep secrets from her.”

A smile crept across her face. “Good. But you will keep this one. Martin and I own around eight percent of the company Clare works for. We didn’t plan it that way, but she got a job in one of the companies we have a stake in. We know the Chief Executive very, very well. Or more to the point, my strapon knows that kinky fucker very well. He was open to a little suggestion for Clare to get offered promotion to Manchester. It wasn’t entirely coincidence they chose that office when they planned for her to be fast-tracked to a management position. I need Clare and Martin around me. And Clare needs you. So please accept our offer of the house as your wedding present. This was Martin’s idea, and I think he loves having you around.” She sighed and pressed a button on the remote control; I braced myself, but the spanker machine stopped.

“OK, I’ll speak to Clare again.”

“You do that,” she muttered, and rose from her chair to walk behind me. I felt her hands grip my waist and then the cool sensation and unmistakable smell of lubricant land across my crack. “Whisky and toying with my cunt has left me all horny, and Clare says I can use you whenever I want. Because she’s a great friend. Like a sister. And it means we share everything: clothes, sex toys, men, cars, hot-tubs. Even houses.”

I didn’t see Victoria fasten the harness around her waist, or attach the dildo to it. She slowly parted my buttchecks and pushed the lubricant into my hole. The rounded head of her phallus nestled between my abused buttocks.

“But especially submissive men.” I groaned as the toy inched its way into me. She was tender and loving. Her hands gripped my shoulder and ran over my body until I felt her hot breath on the back of neck. “I’m all the way in,” she whispered. “How does it feel? Good?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Imagine being around women who would do this to you whenever you need it. Doesn’t that sound like heaven?”

I mewed as she slowly rotated her hips. The fake cock swirled against my insides and my prostate and my prick, pressed against the cool board, leaked pre-cum onto my naked skin. “Yeah!” I squealed. My body groaned and cried under the sexual pressure coming from my arse. Clare made it react that way too; when a dominant woman pegged me, my lust exploded into overdrive.

Victoria had fucked many, many men, and her skill was a joy to a watch and an incredible treat to experience. She ground her hips into my butt; I felt the warm Latex of her bustier press against my back and she pinned my body against the wooden board.

My cock rubbed against the smooth surface. My prostate tickled by the large dong nestled between my buttocks. I felt the hot whispering grunts of the dominatrix in my ear. “Do you like this?”

“Yeah.” I whimpered. My body shuddered as my lust built towards my apex.

I was going to cum; Victoria was going to fuck me to orgasm. My loins tingled. The electrifying tension behind my balls escalated. The head of my cock throbbed. I panted, groaning as my fiancée’s best friend pounded my backside with firm, energetic thrusts. “You going to squirt for me?”

“Yes,” I mewled. My body burnt with anticipation. The climax swelled and crashed into my body, radiating from my prostate and caused every atom of my being to bathe in orgasmic bliss. A cool rush of tingling, shivering pleasure.

And then my cock leaked; wave after wave of cum flowed from my dick, pressed against the board and my naked body, as my cries of ecstatic satisfaction caused the skilled dominatrix to giggle into my ear. “Happy, Jon?”

“Yeah,” I whispered and felt her bury her cock in my arse and hug me tight.

“Someone has some cleaning up to do, don’t they?” She unbuckled her strapon, and she stepped away from the board, with her smooth dildo hanging from my arse. I felt it slip, and I tried to grip the falling dildo with my butt, but gravity was too powerful and it landed by my feet with a thud. Victoria laughed and unfastened my right wrist. “You know where the cleaning stuff is, Jon!”

She left me to unbuckle my left hand and then each foot in turn, before removing the mess I had made from myself, the spanking machine, the board and the dildo.

I spoke further to Clare last night and over the following days about the wedding present offer. My fiancée was still hesitant, but when we looked at the houses we could afford, with our meagre deposit, she realised she would not likely to be in the village Victoria called home. The exclusive settlement demanded a premium price, outside the reach of any first-time buyer.

Victoria plundered my arse twice more with her large dildo as a reminder that she was still waiting for an answer. When Clare joked that our tardiness led to an enjoyable, rewarding experience for me, Victoria threatened me with the cane once more. Both Victoria and Clare were true experts with their strapons, and I loved bending over for both of them.

“Victoria. Martin,” Clare said at the dinner table. “Jon and I have spoken at length about your offer. It still feels really unreal and way too generous. But I think with a couple of kinky lodgers we’d be able to afford the upkeep, and with you two next door, it will be really, really cool. We still reckon you are utterly mad.” Victoria squealed loudly and embraced her best friend.

“But,” I added. “There is a proviso that you add us to the rotas. We both work full-time, but we expect to help you get your business up and running.”

Victoria threw her arms around my fiancée, laughed loudly. “Oh, I will need the help to beat those dirty little fuckers to a pulp. We gonna make them squeal like pigs. And Martin’ll always need a hand in the kitchen or cleaning rooms.”

Martin nodded and smiled; he looked delighted by Clare’s announcement, but I wondered if he was mentally calculating how many times a year I would suck his prick. He admitted I had caused more of his orgasms over the previous nine months than anyone else in his lifetime.

We had the last match of the season the following day after two weekends of no parties. Those matches were mid-afternoon long-distance away days, and the team would not have been back to our village before teatime. Ashfield Rangers clinched top spot and promotion at the start the month, as their eight point cushion to Wythenshawe Wanderers was unassailable.

I had subtly asked Martin about the companies he owned over lunch, especially after Victoria’s admission in the dungeon, and he turned his laptop to show me a spreadsheet.

“When I sold my firm, I got a colossal stack of cash and some stock in the parent company. I bought lots of properties and that’s run at arm’s length. Just over a hundred houses and flats in Cheshire, Manchester and Liverpool. I spent half the remainder in buying shares in about three dozen companies. I have controlling stakes in two, but Clare’s employer isn’t one of them. We know the founder very well, and I just helped fund his expansion. We own a few percent of his firm and get a fat dividend every July.”

“Was that before or after Clare started working there?”

Martin smiled. “Your fiancée came to a party in her final year at Uni with Victoria, when she was looking for graduate positions. They met the CEO. Clare and Victoria tag-teamed him and spit-roasted him. Afterwards, they had a chat and drink. Emit’s a really good guy, and an old playmate. We helped him get his remote learning off the ground a couple of years ago. He’s very kinky, and he put her name forward for an interview after that party.”

“Does Clare know she got ahead because…?”

“She stuck a nine-inch dildo into her new boss’s rectum until he squirted cum into my mouth?” He laughed. “She knows how she got the interview. But getting the job was her own abilities, and the promotion is just her hard work. I know Victoria was keen for her to come up to Manchester rather than the Norwich office, but her new management position is because she’s damn good at what she does. The strapon got her a place at the restaurant, her intelligence got her into the seat at the top table. Don’t do your fiancée down.” He saw the uneasy expression on my face and shook his head. “Families with tons of money send their kids to Eton to get ahead. Others use familial connections and some women or men use their sex appeal. Or literally anything to get an edge. Why is it so wrong that Clare met a senior manager at a social event and used that chance meeting to her advantage and put a foot on the ladder?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Imagine, there is a guy you meet at the sauna and you blow him, he fucks you, and then you have a chat in the cafe afterwards. He mentions he runs an IT firm, or whatever the fuck you do, and gives you an interview. And you land a twenty grand pay rise because of it. Is that fair, or is that just you utilising your assets and skills to be the best of your abilities? Is it unfair on applicants who aren’t complete sluts?”

“I guess.”

My eyes glanced at the spreadsheet he had opened and my glance lingered at the top row. “Ashfield Rangers, 100%. Do you own the football club?” He nodded and grinned.

“Of course. They were about to go out of business. The coach was just screwing Victoria at that point, and he had a couple of the guys round for a party which got very bisexual. So, after the sucking and fucking, we had a drink in the hot-tub. I bought the club for a nominal sum. It was bankrupt anyway, and I helped turn it around. We made much more of the function rooms, and we hire that out to raise money for the team.”

I snorted. “So the guys are coming round later to piss on their boss, and fuck him senseless?”

His smile turned to a broad beam. “Yeah, pretty much. Although the investment is in Victoria’s name. Technically, she is the Coach’s boss, and it’s the only company that we have invested in which makes a loss. Not that I care, ‘cause I get paid in other ways.” He sighed and closed his computer. “Talking of which, we better get ready.”

“Already douched,” I replied.

“I haven’t. And I have to get the food ready. And the porn.” He said nothing as he got a bag from underneath his bed. “And Victoria has said we need to wear this. And only this.” I looked inside the bag, and before I could speak, he added. “You are the black one. Bobby wants the pink one, if he gets here on time.”

The mesh black singlet was short and only reached my belly button. I felt foolish in the preposterous outfit, but prepared the food and chairs while Martin showered, douched and dressed in the white singlet. Half-an-hour before their arrival, Andre knocked on the front door of the summerhouse. “What are you doing here?” I asked, and he raised his eyebrows when he saw my outfit.

“I came for the party. You said I could come if ever I was free.” He sighed and stroked his hair back. “I split with my girlfriend last week. She found out about the sauna visits and stuff and accused me of being gay.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t blame her. I did so much fooling around with guys and liked it so much. So next week I am moving back down South. I’m renting a room from a Uni mate of mine in Reading for a few months. Hopefully find a job quickly. But I thought I’d go one last time at the summerhouse. I’d never have gone… bi… or gay… if it wasn’t for this place. Wasn’t for you.”

“You know the Ashfield Rangers footballers are coming?”

“I hope so! It’s the final match of the season, isn’t it?” He asked and tugged open his backpack to take out his Wythenshawe Wanderers football shirt. “I wanna wear this.”

“You’ll get spanked so much!”

“Great. And fucked. And so much. Just, give it to me!”

Martin embraced the bisexual footballer with a warm hug and a welcoming laugh. Andre recounted his story, as I put pizzas and finger food in the oven, and set up rows of plastic glasses.

Bobby arrived five minutes before the minibus did; the warehouse worker burst into the summerhouse and was still douching in the bathroom when the players from Ashfield Rangers strode into the room, chatting and laughing loudly. “Hello, faggots! Get your fill of cock before the summer!” The cheeky, young Ryan smacked Martin on the backside as he yelled, and took a front-row seat. “Lager and be quick about it!”

“Did you win?” I asked Scott.

“Oh yes. Nine goals to nil.” I gulped as his eyes shone, and he added. “And the coach said we can all have some piss fun if we want. No limits.”

“Where’s…?” I looked around at the group of players settling into the leather chairs and then back at Scott.

“Theo, Devon, Wes, Ricky, Isaac and Anthony?” Scott finished for me. “The guys with the biggest meat are getting ready to fuck your fiancée. And Martin’s wife. And to show them a good time that they don’t get at home.”

“You should have brought Virginia, then!” He glared at me and shook his head slowly.

“Comments like that will see your arsehole get very sore!” He slumped on the nearest sofa and wrapped his arm around the back of the chair. Robin and Phil sat next to him, and he glared at me. “Two pints of scrumpy. I need to replenish my bladder.”

The first few minutes were rapid; almost the entire team had come for the last party of the season, and I had five men to wait on. I was somewhat relieved that Andre had shown up unannounced – although he was always welcome – and his scarlet red shirt was a magnet for abuse.

They recognised him, but never realised that he was a rival player until that point. The full-back in that decisive game, and their adversary, had turned into a submissive for them. The bawdy atmosphere intensified, and they subjected Andre to a never-ending battery of abusive comments, groping hands and fearsome smacks.

But he smiled through it all. The opposition footballer grinned at me as the young Cameron pushed him to the floor, fished out his cock and stuffed it into Andre’s face. His fantasies were being sated and satisfied. Free of a relationship, he no longer felt guilty about surrendering to his dreams.

As the Premier League season had finished, Martin had put on some bisexual pornography with a female-domination bent; Latex-bound women with male submissives and alpha men. It was the sort of porn which we loved and had in abundance, but it held only brief interest for the dominant football players, who demanded that he change it to something more vanilla – busty girls, being screwed by dozens of men at an orgy.

The alcohol flowed, and the large spread of food did little to soak up the beer, cider, whisky, vodka and rum that was being consumed. Andre gave the first blowjob. His lips closed around the overconfident Cameron, and the inexperienced goalkeeper face-fucked his opponent until he had spilt cum on the front of the red football shirt.

The hollering rose; the laughter increased, and it was the cue to use the hosts. Jordan went first with me. The ginger-haired star striker of the team dropped his dark blue tracksuit bottoms. The polyester skated over thick, muscular thighs as the moody player wordlessly pointed to his semi-erect prick.

He wasn’t a talker, but he didn’t need to be; his cock was mesmerising. Behind me someone made a cheap jibe about the lust in my eyes as my mouth fell into the lap of the team’s best hitman, and my lips swirled across the top of the long, thin prick. It tasted of sapid masculinity. A sexual jolt shot through me, and I groaned into the meaty specimen in my mouth.

Pre-cum oozed across my tongue. His cock hardened in my mouth as I slowly washed the delicious liquid from the head of his dick. He leant back in his seat, and I looked at him across the tracksuit top.

It felt wonderful. His hands rested on my shoulders and firmly kept me in place as my tongue worked his cock. Not that he needed to restrain me. I loved doing what I was doing, and everyone knew it. My face, buried into the crotch of a dominant footballer, turned me on. It made me even more horny and even more desperate.

My cock, unshackled in the bottomless attire, was proudly erect as my mouth bobbed on Jordan’s meat. Each slide of my lips over his prick took more of his shaft in my mouth. My hands grabbed the base of his hairless dick and I slid my tongue over his glans, sucking as my fingers worked his shaft.

Jordan groaned. His hips bucked in tune with the rhythm I had set. My mouth set a quick cadence and the dominant man had squealed and groaned as my tongue glided over his most sensitive part.

He tried to jerk his cock from my lips, but I held firm. I felt his prick pulse and his muscles twitch, and I sucked desperately to summon his orgasm into my mouth. I wanted to taste his climax. I needed to feel the ejaculating dick squirt against the sides of my cheek. I needed that treat on my tongue.

I never tired of it. The onset of a cumming dick in my mouth always sent a shiver down my spine, and a firework to my cock. My prick sizzled as I tasted his emptying balls, and he roared with orgasmic delight.

I never asked Robin’s permission. I yanked the bottoms of the guy next to Jordan, and the married man groaned as I wrapped my lips around his tiny package. Fully erect, he didn’t even touch the back of my tongue and I sucked dinky dick with gleeful abandon. My arousal raged; my lust was overcharged and the abusive, jeering, humiliating comments only made me more horny.

My mind span with excitement and anticipation. My arse, inches from Scott, wagged expectantly as my mouth worked Robin’s dick with frenzied delight. Scott’s hand smashed against one of my cheeks and then he laughed. “Who wants to fuck this slut?” My friend asked.

I groaned into the micropenis barely filling my mouth. Scott’s smacks continued, forcing my nose into Robin’s hairless mons. He grunted with every strike on my butt. We both did.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, loving the firm dominance of my friend. His powerful pelts on my exposed skin as I fellated a puny prick were a delightful degradation. I knew what it looked like and what comments they would make. My intensity on Robin’s dick increased as Scott’s smacks got harder and harder. I needed to feel the cum once more, and to sate my inner slut. I wanted Scott to part my reddened cheeks and plunge his fat Geordie dick deep into my special place and roger me senseless.

I sucked Robin’s dick hard and felt his cock quiver and then deliver several streaks of watery cum with just a few strokes of my mouth. I had barely cleaned him up when I looked over my shoulder and make eye contact with Scott.

He knew what I wanted, and as my mouth moved to the next man on the chair – Phil and his much more sizeable wang – Scott unfurled a condom over his dick to fuck me.

Scott knew how to take me; we had enough practice, but his had a steady, unyielding motion that pushed his cock into my welcoming hole. His hands firmly gripped my body – often my waist, or sometimes my shoulder – and he ground his dick into my desperate flesh.

I grunted onto Phil’s large prick as Scott pounded by backside. Our thighs slapped together as he pivoted aggressively on my waist, thrusting deep into my butt.

He barely paused in his assault on my arse, but just ploughed his sheathed dick into me relentlessly until his cock shivered and his balls unloaded into the Latex teat.

Ben took Scott’s place. The jeering and groaning underlined my place. I was present at the summerhouse to be a slut, but my cock tingled with every thrust against my prostate. My body shook as dominant men rocked their dick deep into my excited body.

Once Phil shot into my mouth, I put my head on the floor, and panted, squealing as someone else replaced Ben, and then another. I stopped caring who was ploughing me, and just rode every wave, felt every grip and loved every passionate, frenzied thrust into my wanton hole.

Andre had it more so. For a team, so focused on winning, to defile and desecrate their greatest rival, while wearing their opponent’s scarlet shirt, was an offer too much to pass up. He was spit-roasted continuously and Martin served beer to the lines of men queueing to roger the unexpected visitor. Barely an erect cock passed the host’s lips, and nothing went near his butt. He just watched his three guests receive lashings of cum and served refreshments.

There was a more intense atmosphere to the party. The porn film helped cause a more lustful energy, but season-ending match had created a hedonistic vibe. The players had won the league as champions and were spending their excitement.

After the fifth dick had unloaded in my mouth, Scott, tugged at my shoulder. “Watch this,” he muttered, and I looked up to see Andre being carried outside. He didn’t struggle, and the four drunk men dumped him on the lawn. Ray was the first one to dowse the red shirt in piss, followed by Jamie, Robin and then Charlie, the football coach.

Martin passed the back-up striker a bundle of tent pegs and rope to the tipsy, horny footballers and they staked him on the grass. He was “the new urinal.” His cock was prominent, as thirty men covered his body in piss.

“That’s hot,” Scott whispered to me. “We should do that to you sometimes.”

“More beer, fags!” Jamie cried. Martin and I scuttled inside and poured a dozen pints, carrying them out to the men in the late May sunshine. They abandoned the lacklustre, unimaginative pornography, and they sat on the grass, watching each other dowse Andre’s face, body and dick in piss. Others squatted over him, and made him rim them, as they unloaded their bladder over his soaked clothing. It was sadistic, nasty and deeply arousing.

Ben made me rub his cock over the stricken footballer and jettison several waves of cum over Andre’s face which Xavier hosed off. Those players turned that patch of grass to a marshy quagmire.

Still, Andre never stopped grinning or smiling. He continued to writhe in the mud, and his dick barely flagged. His arousal never sated. Homosexual submissiveness was his fantasy and his dream. His newly discovered sexuality was in full display as he revelled in the filth and disgusting behaviour of the men surrounding him.

Even the guys from the hot-tub dowsed him, and he gladly sucked the balls of Robin as the smallest dick on the team sprayed piss over his chest.

When the debauchery drew to a close, and the team boarded the minibus, the Coach thanked Martin and me. He squeezed my shoulder with a wide grin. “I’ll see you next year. We’ll need a bigger squad,” he announced. “Which means, we’ll need more girls, more boys, and you’ll have a sorer arsehole.” He smiled at Martin, thanked him once more for his “efforts this season” and left with the players.

Only Scott remained, and he knelt in the urine-soaked grass, and gently stroked Andre’s cock. The rival footballer groaned and twisted his body. Unable to escape from Scott’s fingers dancing over his prick. His groans were unmistakable. Scott smiled and watched as the filthy footballer squirted several waves of cum onto his chest, still wet from the drenchings he had received.

“Now,” Scott said to Martin. “Go lick that up!” My host needed no more prompting and Scott grinned.

I chatted to Bobby after Scott had left and shared a beer with him. “Heather’s quite happy for me to come here and the sauna once in a while to get my quota of gay-ness,” he said with a grin. “We might even move out to this bit of the county.”

“Oh, OK.”

“Yeah, the nurseries in Cheshire pay better and there are opportunities for nannies around here. She will earn more money. And I can still get to work inside thirty minutes. She likes it away from the city, and we’ve seen we can rent the same size house in Scott’s road with a pay rise that we can rent in Stockport with a lodger. It’s not the nicest or trendiest part of town, but it’s near the countryside. So, worth it.”

I saw Clare striding down the path and the shadow of the house behind us. “When does your rent expire?” I asked.

“Oh, not for a few months.”

“Then, perhaps consider moving in here,” I said, and gestured at the building, before telling him the story of Victoria’s gift to us. “And then you can be here every weekend.”

“And what about Heather?”

“Does she like hot-tubs?” I asked with a gleam in my eye and he shook his head.

“She’s not into me screwing other women, and her screwing other men.”

“She’s only known Clare for a few weeks,” I mused. “Victoria even less. Give it time. They are terrible influences on upstanding young ladies.”

“Are they really?”

My naked fiancée smiled as she approached us. “Hello, love,” I called out.

She smiled. “Glad I caught you. Victoria is arranging for a little trip to the Med and I’m going. Virginia’s up for it. It’ll just be twelve of us sharing a villa.” She gestured at Bobby. “Ask Heather if she wants to come too, as I have reserved a space for her. She doesn’t need many clothes and I have a couple of beach dresses that will look divine on her. It’ll be next weekend. Leave on the Friday afternoon, get back on the Sunday. She said she wanted a girls’ night out. This will be two. And lots of talent.”

“Heather isn’t a party animal, like you,” I replied, and Clare shook her head. “Well, not that sort of party.”

“I know, she told me. We have talked together. And she doesn’t have to jump into bed with anyone. But I am sure she will.” She sat on the seat in front of us and rubbed her hands. “Listen, boys. I know Bobby has been exploring his sexuality for years.” She addressed my friend. “You’ve sucked off more guys than anyone else I know. You know what works for you. Heather’s never broken the leash. So I expect you to offer her support to experiment. She may not have fun on the beach and at the party. But she might. She may love being buggered by a Pedro, or being tag-teamed by a stag party from Northampton. She could find that lapping at the cunt of a Maria, or being spit-roasted by dominant lesbians sporting twelve-inch dildos really does it for her. But she doesn’t know. And it’s not right for her to feel guilty about fantasising. Or experimenting. I expect you to tell her you want her to have a wild time and not worry about what she does. Because that is what she has done for you, Bobby. Or else you wouldn’t be here. And not many women would be happy for you to do what you do. She’s a diamond, and you need to give her the same freedom she has given to you.”

“But what if she doesn’t want to,” I started and Clare tapped me on the knee.

“You don’t know what she wants. She won’t tell Bobby what she wants to try because it scares her. She has told me a tiny amount of it. So, give her the same freedom she gave you. She may hate it and never want to do it again. She may not want to try it. But she deserves the right to do it, if the opportunity presents itself.”

“And the opportunity will present itself?” I asked.

“Of course,” Clare replied, and smirked at me. “It always does, you know that. We make sure there is enough talent to go around. She’ll have every opportunity to explore her fantasies, I promise. She’ll be a changed woman by Monday.”

I didn’t doubt it for a moment. And personally, I blamed Victoria Braithwaite.