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From: Bawdy Bloke <nospam@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Winners and Losers Ch 08 (MM, MMMM/M, oral, anal, humil, sport, public)
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Date: Thu, 14 Aug 2014 08:10:39 -0400
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Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

If you have missed the previous instalments the premise of the story is 
that after a football match, the losing team must provide sexual relief 
for the victorious players.

Previous chapters for Winners and Losers are at 
http://bawdybloke.com/tag/winnersandlosers/

Chapter one is at http://bawdybloke.com/spank-z-fiction-winners-losers/

Chapter two is at http://bawdybloke.com/winners-losers-ch-02/

Chapter three is at http://bawdybloke.com/winners-losers-ch-03/

Chapter four is at http://bawdybloke.com/winners-losers-ch-04/

Chapter five is at http://bawdybloke.com/winners-losers-ch-05/

Chapter six is at http://bawdybloke.com/winners-losers-ch-06/

Chapter seven is at http://bawdybloke.com/winners-losers-ch-07/

* * * * *

Despite that narrow loss to Sutton, our league form was still good: only 
two losses from nine games and both of those defeats were by solitary 
goals. We "punished" our errant right back by making him train naked, 
which elicited wolf-whistling from the men and women observing our 
training session. They gleefully enjoyed the slapping cock of the young 
man as he ran, but we'd never had an audience for our training before.

We also had over 750 spectators for the next match. I didn't play as I 
twisted my ankle the day before during training and had to watch from 
the substitute bench: a 5-3 victory against Leyton Kennels, who had lost 
all but one of their matches and were struggling in the league. Their 
team was sponsored by PartyBoyz.com, and their gay video porn site 
sponsor had provided them with bright pink shirts, shorts, socks and boots.

Their defeat was inevitable although my team-mates did let their 
concentration slip in the final five minutes to concede two very soft 
goals; they clearly missed my commanding presence! I felt somewhat 
empathetic with the losing team, and a little guilty when they filed 
into the changing room. Even as an unused substitute, I still got to 
have my way with a loser.

I guessed it wasn't much fun losing each week, dressed in a neon pink 
kit, and took my inspiration from Sutton after the previous match. I 
disregarded the condom and lubricant, pushing the young defender onto 
his knees and letting my cock slide over his lips.

He gobbled it eagerly, sucking powerfully on my cock as his mouth bobbed 
on my turgid prick. His tongue swirled against the head, flicking 
against the underside as my orgasm roared from inside and I came with a 
grunt in his waiting mouth.

He sucked me dry and swallowed, leaving me breathless and exhausted. 
"Thanks," I muttered as he got to his feet. He expected me to plow his 
arse but I declined; I was spent.

As there were thirteen teams in the league, each team had two weekends 
in the season where they had no game scheduled and the following weekend 
was our first. A handful of our team had been invited to a ManLube event 
on the Saturday where the promotional adverts of their latest products 
were to be unveiled, including the pictures taken of us. They also 
wanted us to sign autographs and be visible to help promote their product.

It somewhat grated on me that I was being used so much by the company 
for profit, but they had been very generous with their sponsorship and 
our trip to the expansive sex toy roadshow did also involve an 
all-expenses paid visit to a restaurant and a hotel stay overnight. I 
guessed it would be fun and agreed to go.

The ManLube stand was big, covered in navy blue insignia with posters 
advertising their wares covering the walls. The owner welcomed us with a 
cheesy grin as seven men, dressed in football kit and trainers, 
approached him, looking a little lost in the conference venue. He had 
another seven men, dressed in just jockstraps, holding flyers and 
goldfish bowls containing miniature sachets of lube. I spotted Paul 
immediately, his chiselled torso looking more impressive than ever.

The picture at the centre of the stand was of Paul and me. My expression 
of my eyes closed and my mouth open as Paul's slightly blurred motion 
behind me was adorned with the phrase underneath, "When my team loses, I 
insist on MANLUBE."

"We've got these going out in magazines next week," the owner said as he 
showed the multitude of pictures from that day, although I was only on 
the central poster. I smiled at Dmitri's picture: his glossy hands 
sliding over his obviously erect cock, which was hidden from view by his 
fingers, and adorned with the tagline  -" "MANLUBE: Not just epic in my arse!"

I nodded towards Paul, he smiled back. The dance of awkwardness normally 
associated with one-night standards briefly apparent as he tore his eyes 
away from me. I wasn't sure what to say or do, and as the owner had 
prepared part of his stall with a squad poster of our team, I meandered 
away from my sodomite. "Come meet Woodford Wanderers," he offered as we 
milled around the stand.

The event was busy and the ManLube stand was extremely crowded. Hundreds 
of delegates wanted to talk to us, joke with us or just collect 
autographs. Dozens of beautiful models, dressed in the merest of 
lingerie and the hottest porn stars, sought us out; it was surreal. 
Several even offered to come down to our training to teach us good 
blow-job technique; I teased one, scoffing at her offer.

She was Betty Maxxx, a blonde-haired, big-chested star of hundreds of 
porn films, dressed in a tight corset that left little to the 
imagination. "I could teach you!" I joked; she twirled her long hair on 
her finger, pushing it behind her ear, as she considered her response.

"Listen, love. I've blown two thousand cocks on camera, probably ten 
times that off. If you think you can match me, bring it on! Bee-atch!"

My team-mates laughed at her attitude, eyes focusing on me as I 
self-consciously felt the centre of attention. I spluttered. "Sure," I 
heard myself saying, not really understanding the challenge Betty was 
making.

She chortled at me, either at my expression or my seriousness; I wasn't 
sure which. Her sparkling blue eyes focused on my nervousness. I rubbed 
my palms, shifting my weight anxiously from one foot to another. "First 
to get an orgasm?" She suggested, beckoning two of the male models 
towards us. I choose Paul; he looked a little flustered, but Betty 
acknowledged the assembled crowd.

ManLube sent their minions into the rapidly growing audience, handing 
out flyers advertising their products as Betty addressed the watching 
perverts. "May the best slut win," she cried with a chuckle, turning 
towards a gentleman holding a video camera. "That's me!" She added, 
tapping her breastbone with raised eyebrows. "I'm the biggest slut!"

Paul's navy jockstrap bulged as Betty and I sank to our knees. Our faces 
were inches away from the pricks. A voice yelled "go" and my hands 
yanked the underwear downwards, freeing the turgid cock of Paul. I 
glanced up at him as his prick slid between my lips: slightly sweaty, 
mildly moist but delightful.

I wanted to suck on his prick; I wanted to beat Betty but I wanted to 
feel the quiver of his orgasm in my mouth. I pushed my head back and 
gripped my left thumb to suppress my gag reflex as I impaled him against 
my soft-palette. I bobbed on his cock, sucking his glans as my right 
hand explored his balls. I pressed against his perineum, sliding over 
his anus as my tongue massaged the underside of his prick.

I savoured his scent from his pubes, smashing against my nose as his 
prick slid into my throat; I inhaled with every deep thrust, exhaled 
with every exit. I panted, I groaned as my own hardness pressed against 
my underwear. He was swimming with lust, his cock quivering as I sucked 
on his glans, flicking his slit with my tongue.

His buttocks clenched as my finger swirled on his perineum, pressing 
firmly to draw the orgasm from his body. I felt his balls contract, and 
his cock tremble and pulse in my mouth as I waited. Desperate for the 
first squirt of his cum onto my tongue. Desperate to taste the height of 
his pleasure and the feel of his spasming cock.

I glanced up at his orgasming face: his body on the brink of a powerful 
relief. He grunted, I was taking him there. My tongue felt the first 
wave of his cum, squirting onto the back of my throat as he came; 
several sprays of thick semen jettisoned into me, for the second time in 
a fortnight.

His spent cock fell from my mouth, leaving a little trail of wetness 
across my chin. I looked at Betty, waiting for me to finish and showing 
me the cum in her mouth. She giggled, swallowing dramatically as she 
looked up at the camera. "I am the biggest slut," she cried. "Me! Who 
else wants a blow-job?!"

Betty, ManLube and myself got a gentle reminder from the organisers that 
there should be no explicit sex at the event, and Betty admitted that 
she was only a few seconds ahead of me. I bought her a coffee from the 
venue cafĂ(C) and we sat down to talk: she was incredibly bright, a good 
laugh and she gave me a plethora of blow-job tips.

And she offered me a re-run of the challenge. On camera. At her porn 
studios. Diplomatically, I said I'd think about it.

My team-mates thought that the challenge had been set up with ManLube 
and that I had "taken one for the team" by agreeing to do it. I wasn't 
going to shatter their delusion and said nothing more. We were in 
constant demand to sign things; if it wasn't cards, it was T-Shirts, 
shorts or even bodies.

I'd never been so popular.

The ManLube entourage had ten twin rooms at the hotel next door 
reserved, and after we finished making money for the owner, we decamped 
into the hotel lobby, still barely dressed. The jockstrap guys shivered 
as we walked up to the receptionist; her eyes bulging with the sight of 
so many half-naked men in her hotel lobby.

I opted to share a room with Paul; at least one of the football team 
would have to share with a male model, and I was happy to do so. "Don't 
blow each other," my captain teased as we unlocked the door to our 
bedroom; it was spartan yet functional.

The provided meal was also basic, and by 11pm, we had all drunk a fair 
amount of beer before returning to our twin bedrooms.

Paul and I were both tipsy. I admired his naked body as he strode from 
the bathroom to his bed; talking to me as he shuffled past me: our naked 
torsos touching. He looked hot as his naked cock bounced in front of my 
eyes; I wanted to play with it again.

He caught me looking, but said nothing, winking as he wished me "sweet 
dreams." The rampant tease!

"Yeah, sweet dreams!" I replied, settling into the mattress.

The bright sunshine was joined by the loud cacophony of our phones. His 
alarm clock sounded first; mine sounded a few minutes later. He 
stretched loudly in the bed opposite, pushing his duvet to his waist as 
he groaned. "Morning horn," he moaned, glancing down at his firm dick. 
"Don't you hate it!"

The sight of his erect cock was a slap in the face; I woke instantly and 
ogled his muscular body. It taunted me. "Ummm ... yeah!"

"Unless you want to do something about it ..." His eyes sparkled 
mischievously as I squirmed, staring at his smooth appendage laying 
invitingly on his stomach.

"Well I've had you in my arse, in my mouth. Surely there's just my hands 
left for the hat-trick?" I asked. He said nothing, but smiled; words 
became unnecessary.

I grabbed hold of the trial size ManLube in the goody bag and advanced 
on my room-mate. I drizzled cold lube onto the bell of his erect prick, 
listening for his murmur of approval. The lubricant ran down his shaft 
as I emptied the sachet, grabbing hold of another man's cock to play; to 
jerk him to orgasm with a smile.

He wriggled on the bed as my hands glided effortlessly over his erect 
prick, my thumb sliding over his frenulum with the gentlest of touches. 
He groaned and bucked his hips, his buttocks bouncing to thrust his cock 
through my lubricated grip.

My hand cupped his balls as I watched his tortured face; he was eager to 
come. Desperate. I felt his cock twitch and he shuddered, groaning as 
his cum arced into the air and landed on my naked body. A few smaller 
squirts painted my hand as he threw his head back, panting. "Wow!" He 
muttered, sighing with his deep breathing.

We showered; he offered to sate my horniness, but there was little time 
and I waited until after the event, when we drove back to our hometown 
and my girlfriend had found the video of me racing Betty on the Internet.

She demanded satisfaction and was not satisfied with five or even ten 
climaxes; my tongue and fingers kept playing with her until she came 
with a screaming battery of panted yells before I got to plow her 
sopping pussy.

I could not remember ever having this much sex!

We only had two matches until the Christmas break and the first was a 
cup match against a lower-league side, Polyton Fireflies. They had three 
men suspended, players injured and could not field a regular goalkeeper: 
their left-back played between the sticks and was understandably 
calamitous. We trounced them; it was 4-0 at the break and 11-1 by full 
time; the match became ill-tempered as their players fought dirty on the 
pitch and had two men red-carded. It should have been more. The last 
goal of our eleven-goal rout was scored by me: a towering header into 
the far corner that wouldn't even have been saved by a regular goalie.

I felt embarrassed to be celebrating. It was too easy. Even more when 
the losing team filed into our changing room, naked, forlorn and 
well-beaten. We had never won a match by such a massive scoreline, and 
the celebratory mood was matched by surging testosterone from us. It had 
been a brutal, angry match and I was looking forward to retribution for 
the bruises on my legs. We liked a full-bloodied competition; we enjoyed 
fierce play and no-nonsense tackling. We didn't like dangerous play.

But because it was a Cup match, there was a "special event" planned, and 
the organisers summoned all of us onto the pitch. It was cold and wet; 
the English December weather lashing angrily onto the field of play. The 
floodlights illuminated the muddy pitch, the crowd surged impatiently; 
eager to see the debauchery. Two long benches were brought onto the 
pitch. All of the players stood and watched, a little bemused, as one by 
one the Polyton Fireflies players were called to the benches and 
handcuffed to them: their bare arses displayed for the victorious team: us.

I selected a leather paddle from a tray of weapons; Dmitri picked a 
wooden cane.

"Because Woodford Wanderers won by ten goals, each losing player will 
receive ten hits from each victorious player," the announcer shouted 
into his megaphone. The crowd urged us to start; our captain went first, 
drawing the wooden paddle over his left shoulder and bringing it down 
firmly on their striker's rump. He yelled in pain, the crowd cheered, 
laughing as our captain beat the losing player hard with another nine 
strikes.

I was nearer the end of the queue. His bottom was bloodied and beaten by 
the time I reached him. The air had been think with yells and cries, 
squeals and screams. Profanity filled my eardrums as player after player 
savaged the losing team, smashing their rumps with ever increasing 
harder implements.

Their striker at the front of the queue got the hardest hits: he was 
first victim for us all, when we were most enthusiastic with our weaponry.

His panted screams drowned out by others as my first hit on his right 
buttock had him yelping and crying. He begged for mercy, my hand showed 
him little, sweeping the blue leather paddle against his tortured posterior.

I smiled knowingly at his cries as I moved onto their captain: a wiry 
defender who had made several mistakes during the match. His hands were 
screwed into fists: his bottom a bruised mess of abused skin. My paddle 
smashed against his purple haze of agony, my eardrums receipt of his 
blue words, screaming abuse at me.

The cold rain may have helped them cope; the audience of their fans, 
their wives and their girlfriends probably didn't. We had humiliated 
them, reduced them to blubbering wrecks with a few dozen short smacks of 
the exposed rumps with our BDSM implements.

The sadist in me loved it; I saved my hardest hits for the players who 
had been sent off: one of them for an awful tackle on myself. His bottom 
was already seeping: he screamed into the stadium as my first pelt 
smashed into his defenceless behind, bringing the fresh scarlet to the 
surface.

He begged for mercy; his fist banged into the bench as my furious hits 
bounced painfully off his rear.

Justice done.

Our last game before the Christmas break was a home game against 
Ramplington Rovers: a team heralding from a working-class area of the 
neighbouring city. The players were honest and fair, but 
ultra-competitive. They arrived in a brand-new minibus, sponsored by 
Wondermen Spa: a sauna for the liberal man!

They played in the league's change kit of all white: their royal blue 
shirts were too similar to our navy and gold kit. The all-male spa's 
logo adorned their pristine shirts as they took to the field: the cold, 
wintery air bit into our sensitive skin.
It was not a day to stay still: we all ran around the pitch to keep warm 
as both teams played with energy: flying tackles and desperate lunges 
were everywhere. Dmitri scored a sublime goal to open the scoring; they 
equalised after the break and scored a second after I slipped while 
clearing the ball to concede possession. Dmitri saved my blushes with a 
final-minute free-kick that whipped over the wall and nestled in the far 
corner.

We drew 2-2.

But whereas we had previously worked out that there was a perverse 
incentive for all players to play for a draw as it meant that there was 
no loser, the league had concluded the lacunae in their new rules was 
detrimental to the spirit of the game. They had published an addendum 
effective immediately. Our coach read it out to us in the changing room; 
we had only been involved in one draw before that day but other teams 
were playing to not lose, rather than to win and the league had acted.

 From that day, when teams draw both captains and two other players from 
either side had to go into the opposition changing room to satisfy the 
other team. It left an element of jeopardy in the game and our captain 
looked around the changing room for volunteers.

"I'll go," I heard myself saying. My team-mates looked at me 
incredulously. "If I hadn't slipped for their second goal we'd have won."

"Yeah, I was at fault for their first," Connor, our left-back, admitted. 
"I'll go too."

Our team thanked us; we had slaps on the back as we left our changing 
room naked except for our golden socks, passing three nervous looking 
Ramplington Rovers players walking past us. "Well played guys." The 
captains shook hands as they passed each other, nodding respectfully.

Their door was ajar; the cries loud and boisterous. There was no losing 
team or winning team, but that made little difference: Ramplington had 
brought fifteen players and I had knew I would have four of them cumming 
inside me. It was the most I had ever taken in one sitting and my palms 
felt sweaty.

It was a lot of male arousal for one man to satisfy. I felt my heart 
quicken, my cock twitch at the prospect.

Their goalkeeper gestured for me to suck his cock, a click of his 
fingers and a fleeting point at his groin. My lips salivated at the 
prospect. Firm and stocky: wonderfully textured and gloriously slick 
with his endurance. My lips enveloped around his purple head, sucking 
his blunt glans with zeal as other fingers probed my arse with lubricant.

It excited me; my cock erect with the burning lust coursing through my 
body as I was hauled onto a small padded stool: perfectly engineered for 
the purpose. I tilted my head back to slide the goalkeeper's cock 
further into my mouth.

He grunted, holding the back of my head and thrusting deeper into me. I 
was being taken, roughly and forcefully, by the groaning player. His 
sweaty taste of pure man filled my senses as my nose buried into his 
pubic hair. His cock pulsed.

I felt his cum hit the back of my throat as he came; cum surged down my 
gullet as he unloaded several waves of his semen into me.

Two hands gripped my waist and the erection of an unknown man pushed 
against my sphincter. I relaxed; I tried to loosen my anus as his cock 
slipped past my lubed resistance and entered my inner sanctuary.

He grunts were manly; his actions powerful. He drove his cock deep into 
me, bringing my body back onto his impaling manhood. I was a rag-doll, 
mercilessly exploited for his pleasure as his fingertips dug painfully 
into my skin as he pulled me onto his cock. He dug harder with every 
smack of our skin: the deep slapping of muscular flesh became the 
musical arrangement for his fuck.

He jabbed against my prostate, poking me with muted grunts in tune with 
the rhythm of his thrusts. I was far more vocal: mews escaping with my 
pants, expectant squeals accompanying my cries. "Shut him up," he 
demanded as a fresh prick was stuffed into my mouth.

That didn't help!

I sucked the glorious stubby: a thick, short cock with smooth, soft 
skin. My head was sinking with lust: all I wanted was cum and I 
passionately sucked the intruding cock, longing for him to squirt into 
my mouth.

I grunted onto his cock as my prostate pulsed with the intruding cock: I 
was floating on desperate arousal as the guy buried his prick deep into 
my butt and his cock twitched. He filled the condom and withdrew slowly 
as I longed for it's return. My arse felt empty: my body wanted to feel 
an intruder in my slippery rectum. I got my wish as the fourth guy 
pressed against my ring.

"He's a slut!" One of the men above me observed: the addition of a prick 
had me groaning, glancing up at the hairy body of the man fucking my 
face. He grabbed the side of my cheeks and thrust his prick deeper and 
deeper into my mouth. I desperately tried to suck the pistoning cock 
sliding over my tongue.

The sheathed cock in my arse rammed against my prostate: I groaned as 
the two men fucked me. Not impaled but fucked me. Both of them had hands 
on my body and they ground their cocks deep into my orifices: my mouth 
and my arse wantonly taken by the two.

I was being used and abused. At that moment, it felt unbelievable as the 
two men came at the same time, my body feeling the spasm of two cocks 
simultaneously.

I whimpered into the dick as the prick was removed from my arse. I 
wanted more; but I had received all the sex I was going to get, and I 
waited until Connor and Ralph had been finished with before we returned 
to our changing room as heroes.

I got my sex that night from my girlfriend: a few chosen lines about the 
spit-roast and her panties were consigned to the floor and her ankles 
were being used as earmuffs. Gay and bisexual sex really did get her going!

A few days after the draw, Anna and I were invited to my employer's 
Christmas party at a local hotel and golf-course. It was an occasion 
where the beer and wine typically flowed liberally and the talk and 
behaviour became salaciously sexual and decadent as the alcohol intake 
rose. Previous events had seen streakers with the main course, adultery 
in the rookery and a very unfortunate incident with some candles and 
Deirdre's pubic hair.

I expected a degree of misbehaviour, and while my role as a midfield 
general for a weekend football team was known in the office, no-one to 
my knowledge had connected my pastime with the popularity of the league 
under the new rules.

It took ten minutes at the "meal" for that secret to be revealed; I 
hadn't even finished my starter when Emit, my undiplomatic colleague, 
drunkenly asked, "You ain't playing for the team that's gettin' buggered 
every time they lose, are ya?"

"Yes, that's the team," my girlfriend drunkenly slurred before I could 
answer. "It's so hot though. How many times have you lost this season, 
love?"

I groaned. "I've been involved in five losses," I replied counting out 
the defeats on my fingers. "Team's had eight. And seven victories. And 
two draws."

"And  -~e's on the new advertising for ..." My colleague swirled his drink 
as Anna blurted out more of my secrets. "... ManLube. And that Paul who 
he was with was so hot," my drunken girlfriend continued. "So very hot. 
He fucked him on that poster, it's not set up. He actually fucked him. 
I'd love to have seen him get fucked."

Emit blushed as I looked apologetically towards my colleague. "Wow, do 
you ... you know ... really have to, all the time?"

"Sort of," I mumbled; I had deliberately not revealed my membership of 
the team at work as I didn't know how my colleagues would react if they 
knew. "Friendlies were just oral, the cup game was bukkake which is men 
jacking over the loser and then spanking in the next round. But 
sometimes I've been taken from behind."

"Yeah, he likes giving head though! He raced a porn star to blow some 
fit dudes in ..." Anna shrank at her candid outburst when I glared at 
her; she sank in her seat as I shrugged at Emit.

"Yeah I have given a few blowjobs, but it's just a laugh. And anyway, 
it's not too bad at all. I've given enough that you just get used to 
them. Cum doesn't taste bad and it's just ... normal now."

"That's so ... gay!" Emit squealed. He muttered a muted apology when I 
shook my head. "OK. Well bi then." I shrugged again; what did he want me 
to say? Admit my bisexuality to him when I had not admitted it to 
myself. I had no qualms about bisexual sex, and quite enjoyed playing 
with cocks as well as pussies, but I had no romantic interest in men. I 
loved my girlfriend, and wanted a female soulmate. I did not have the 
same feelings towards men, and I was no longer sure what to label my 
sexuality as, so I left Emit thinking I was bisexual; it was easier than 
trying to explain something to him that I couldn't rationalise or 
explain to myself.

Emit left our table shortly afterwards and I saw him talking to many of 
my colleagues, walking slowly around the assorted tables to converse in 
hushed whispers. My heart sank as I finished our food. My girlfriend 
held my hand as I watched the gossip in my peripheral vision.

"We could go and fuck on the golf course," she whispered; aware that her 
candid outburst was the reason for the hushed whisperings. "I might let 
you do anal." Her eyes fluttered, her lips pouted, her fingers revealed 
the trial pack of the ManLube lubricant from her handbag. "I came 
planned for fun."

"Let's just go," I muttered, rising from the table as the DJ played his 
first "cheesy classic." Emit and Troy approached us as we made it to the 
cloakroom; they looked shiftily at each other.

"Hey, you're not leaving are you?"

"Yeah. Early night."

"Ummm ..." Emit swayed from one foot to another, rubbing his hands and 
then wiping his face; he was nervous as he glanced at Troy, spluttering 
incoherently. "It's just ... we were wondering if ... you ..."

"... yeah, if you wanted to and you said ... you know, and ..."

"... absolutely, totally up to you ... but, you know and it could be, 
well ..."

Anna giggled. "Guys, I'm totally pissed but even I can't understand what 
the fuck you want."

"Blow-jobs," Troy snapped.

"Pardon?" Anna and I asked in unison."

"Well you know ... it's just ..."

"Guys, don't start this again," my girlfriend hissed. "You want my 
boyfriend to blow you?"

They shifted uncomfortably as they looked each other; admitting by their 
nervousness that they were after sexual favours from me. I sighed; it 
was one of the reasons that I tried hard to keep my secrets away from 
them: I knew they wouldn't understand and make a deal of it. "Yeah, 
well, Troy was meant to order in a whore for upstairs and she ain't here."

Troy sheepishly looked away from them, muttering about a "mix up."

"Well, we were going to set up a gloryhole in the bedroom and then after 
it's all finished, a few of us pile up for a bit of a gangbang."

"Classy," Anna muttered, grinning as they squirmed. "Romance is so dead, 
isn't it, boys?"

"Hey, it's a bit of fun at a Christmas party. Whores don't expect 
roses," Troy snapped.

"And he's now your whore substitute?" She asked, confidently prodding my 
retreating colleagues. "Eh?"

They nodded. "Well, just, you said he liked it and he said it was nice. 
And he said he was bi."

"I said it wasn't bad," I reminded him. "I didn't say it was nice. And 
you said I was bi, not me."

"Will you do it?"

"Oh let me think," I taunted. "Will I be stuck up in a bedroom sucking 
off every guy in here until my jaw aches. And then get buggered by most 
of the company. Ummmm ..."

"Can I watch?" My girlfriend asked. "We'd definitely do it if I can watch."

"Anna: no. Troy: no. Emit: no." My answer was unambiguous and final. 
Non-negotiable. Only, Anna didn't see it with quite the same finality. 
She coaxed and pleaded, before finally promising me that I could have 
sex every day for a whole month if I did this for her. And let her watch.

I felt a little coerced by my three pimps and agreed to the gloryhole, 
until I got bored.

Troy and Emit had set up a small single room in the hotel by moving the 
bed into the corner of the room, and emptying the spacious 
wall-to-ceiling cupboard. A small stool was joined by another, and the 
doors replaced by a thick duvet: pinned to the top of the wardrobe frame.

About three feet from the floor was a dinner-plate sized hole in the 
duvet, that provided the majority of the light in the small space. My 
girlfriend tittered as she joined me, pulling the cord on the courtesy 
light inside the wardrobe so she could watch my gay acts.

I stripped to my underwear. It was warm behind the duvet and giving 
blow-jobs was exerting on so many muscles. Anna cooed; we talked in 
hushed whispers as we heard the voices of the two pimps talking in 
excited voices on the phone.

I recognised the darkened skin of Troy as the first prick was slid into 
the hole. I watched the veins pulse on the erect cock and traced the 
thick, bulbous head with my eyes. Anna held her breath as my lips moved 
towards the throbbing cock, taking the base of the long dick in my hand 
and flicking the piss slit with my tongue.

I tasted the unmistakable scent of man, the musky unami grunt of 
masculinity that oozed from every cock and seeped from Troy's bulging 
manhood. He grunted as my lips wrapped around his slippery glans, 
sucking gently as my tongue swirled over his sensitive frenulum. I 
listened for the whimpers from my girlfriend and my colleague as my hand 
rolled over his shaft and my mouth suckled on the purple tip of his 
rugged cock.

I slowly worked more of his cock into my mouth, guiding his prick over 
my tongue and towards the back of my throat. I could feel every pulse on 
his cock, every heartbeat and every ridge on his shaft. I could taste 
his arousal, smell it, see it, hear it and feel it. I could feel mine: 
the subtle hand of my girlfriend gripping my erect cock through my boxer 
shorts as I bobbed on Troy's dick, moving my head back and forth over 
his pulsating prick while my own manhood was pumped energetically.

Troy squealed as his arousal surged, my mouth sucking wantonly as his 
balls tightened, and his dick trembled. The first wave of his cum 
smacked against the back of my throat, the second, landed on my tongue. 
His salty semen pooled in my mouth as his satisfied sighs showed he was 
sated and he withdrew his dripping cock from my lips.

"Wow!" It was all Anna muttered as her fingers took me further and 
further towards my own orgasm.

"Stop," I reluctantly moaned, pushing her hand away. "If I come now, I 
won't want to suck any more dick." She pouted. "You know how my 
horniness disappears after I spurt." Her eyes twinkled as her dress 
pooled at her waist, her knickers at her ankles. She swirled her finger 
over her clitoris, sweeping up and down her crack.

My next customer was a long, thin, white cock, smooth and with 
blemish-free soft skin. I felt the dick harden in my mouth, a gentle 
sweep on the underside of his shaft with my tongue had the owner 
squealing with delight. He pressed his cock deep into my mouth, his 
heavy, pendulous balls coming through the hole in the duvet. I rubbed my 
finger over the hairy testicles, sweeping the wrinkled skin with my 
gentle touch as my mouth sucked on his salty aroma, bringing him to a 
gasping orgasm in minutes.

I lost count of the amount of orgasms I gave. I had cum on my chest and 
on my face, in my hair and coating my lips. There was a never ending 
stream of men who were desperate to have their cock sucked and my 
devilish girlfriend masturbated herself to dozens of climaxes, watching 
as every man's cock was taken by my mouth.

There was one guy who blew the moment my lips closed over his glans, 
crying out loudly as a few feeble squirts splattered against me. Very 
much premature as I had barely touched him."Bet you loved that," my 
girlfriend whispered as the man withdrew at the last moment and squirted 
into my face. I closed my eyes just in time, as the musky goo landed on 
my cheek.

"Kiss me," was all I said in reply and her tongue swept over my lips to 
pool the creamy deposits of my colleagues into her mouth with wanton 
lust consuming her every move.

It took another twenty minutes and eight blow-jobs for Troy and Emit to 
call "finished" and lift the side of the duvet. "All done."

"Not quite," I mused and demanded my wife's knickers from her. She 
passed them to me, giggling as I wiped my cum-splattered face and chest 
with her ruffled pink lace. I tossed them back to her as I rolled 
underneath the duvet and lowered my boxer shorts, poking my erect cock 
through the hole in the vertical duvet. "My turn," I muttered as I 
awaited for Anna to wrap her tongue over my rock-hard cock.

After all, I think I'd earned it.

To be continued ...

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