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Message-ID: <63060asstr$1408608601@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Bawdy Bloke <nospam@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Winners and Losers 09 (MM-anal, MM-oral, humil, public)
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Date: Thu, 21 Aug 2014 04:10:01 -0400
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Taken from my blog at http://bawdybloke.com/story-winners-and-losers-ch-09/

* * * * *

I was certainly a little nervous about returning to work a few hours 
after sucking most of my colleagues in a hotel bedroom behind a 
gloryhole constructed from a vandalised hotel duvet. I had swallowed a 
lot of cum that night, and I found myself awoken the following with a 
longing to give oral sex. I swirled my tongue against the clit of my 
girlfriend as my finger pressed against her G-Spot, waking her with a 
squirting orgasm that propelled her cum into my face.

But my thirst for sex was near constant: I just wanted some action. 
Anything, to relieve the tedium of work. I walked into the office 
desperately horny, despite fucking Anna before leaving the house, and I 
barely concentrated on my employment as I ogled the women in 
short-skirts and the men in tight trousers. I was a walking sex addict, 
imagining several orgies where I was fucking and being fucked, sucking 
and being sucked.

"What's up?" Emit asked after lunch; my attention had been away with the 
fairies all day and he crouched down at my desk asking in hushed 
whisperings. "Is it about ... the party? Are you ... OK?"

"I'm fine," I muttered, glancing at our boss leaving our office for a 
meeting. "Can I borrow you?"

He tentatively agreed, following me into the tiny meeting room and I 
locked the door; his words asking me questions as I sent a video chat 
request to Anna on my smartphone. "I'm going to blow you."

"What?" He spluttered, as I knelt in front of his crotch and passed him 
my phone. Not a request or an enquiry. Not a ponderous suggestion but a 
command: I was going to give him a blowjob. "And record it." I heard the 
distinctive voice of my girlfriend splutter as I yanked the zip of his 
fly and removed his cock from his red boxer shorts.

It was already filling with blood, the warmth and aroma of his dick 
stoking my senses as my tongue swirled lustfully over the purple head. 
My nose nestled against his trousers, my lips sliding over his tumescent 
cock that filled my mouth.

It was disgraceful behaviour at work; I was providing gay oral sex to a 
colleague to fulfil my needs. I wanted someone to rip my trousers away 
and plunge a thick slippery cock against my butt hole, thrusting deep 
into me to excite my prostate. I wanted someone to breathe warmth onto 
my balls and then float their lips over my genitals to kiss my shaft, 
sucking the pre-cum leaking into my briefs as I worked Emit into a 
groaning mess of desperate lust. He squealed as he approached his peak, 
gasping heavily.

I tasted the beads of pre-cum on my tongue. I felt the quivers of his 
prick and heard the feverish panting as I sucked, flicking the underside 
of his sensitive cock until he issued a battery of profanity and came on 
my tongue. He squirted several waves of cum into my mouth with a febrile 
grunt.

I smiled at my phone, licked my lips and showed my girlfriend the cum in 
my mouth before swallowing Emit's semen.

If I expected the giving a random blowjob to a colleague would satisfy 
my lust, I was mistaken. My mind fantasised even more about sex, and I 
skipped dinner when I arrived home, jumping on my masturbating 
girlfriend to ram my dick into her moist hole until we both came to our 
ferocious climaxes.

I knew I had set a precedent with Emit. My girlfriend adored the show I 
had performed, I had certainly enjoyed doing it and my colleague loved 
the passionate blowjob I had given. He asked for an encore the following 
day, begging me to suck him to orgasm in the meeting room next door. I 
obliged, unable to resist sending my girlfriend another show that 
translated into a four hour sex session when I returned home from training.

The league had finished for Christmas, but the team trained hard when we 
weren't away with our families. Our mid-table position was respectable, 
and far higher than where we thought we would be. We certainly had our 
eyes on the cup as a possible trophy, even if the league was out of our 
reach this year.

At Christmas, I proposed to my girlfriend, getting down on one knee as 
the snow tumbled around us and asked for her to marry me. It was 
romantic, tears tumbled down her cheek as she mumbled "yes." As we 
returned to the warmth of our blazing hearth, she asked, "will my 
husband and fiance suck as much cock, get fucked by as much dick and 
give me as many orgasms as my boyfriend does?"

"Of course," I replied as she giggled. "More, possibly!"

"Then yes, we better get married tomorrow."

After our New Year celebrations had come and gone, the team was invited 
to an exhibition event in Palermo on the Italian island of Sicily. The 
tournament, organised by state-side broadcaster GaySportsTV, had 
suffered a couple of withdrawals and the coach had received a pleading 
phone conversation two days before the first match asking if we could 
take the spare place at the event.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to go, but the prize fund on offer was 
significant and my new fiancee liked the idea of both the games and the 
forfeits being broadcast on live, albeit pay-per-view, television. The 
twelve teams playing were representing countries in America, Russia, the 
Far East and Europe and as well as ourselves, AFC Kerlon had been 
invited to represent England, and the league we played in.

For attending, the broadcaster paid for our flights, accommodation and 
food. I left work early after blowing Emit into a spasming relief on 
live video chat for Anna, to fly to the Southern tip of Italy.

We were drawn in Group III with Tallinn New Boys from Estonia and Pride 
of St David from Wales. Not all of our players travelled but the core 
spine of our team came and we flew with the cocky AFC Kerlon players who 
were certain that they were going to win all of their games and take the 
top prize of $100,000: to be split between the team and the players.

The tournament was a much bigger event than I expected. Posters and 
banners lined the Mediterranean streets as a minibus drove us towards 
our accommodation, but the event brought tourists and the tourists 
brought money to the island. Our group games were to be played at a 
small, provincial stadium on the outskirts of the town, and our hotel 
was situated opposite the venue.

Dmitri and I took a walk around the stadium and the area after we 
arrived and were stopped for autographs when two young Italian ladies 
recognised us: I ogled their arses as they walked away from me! There 
were stange benefits to being a bisexual sports icon!

The first match in the group was us, Woodford Wanderers, against Tallinn 
New Boys of Estonia. We met them when the hotel served breakfast and the 
half-naked men and women crashed into the dining room. They joked in 
Estonian, laughed and spoke to us in broken English: all of their 
players topless. Some had rippling six packs, some had paunches and some 
had bare breasts. I ogled the girls, smiling at one as she blew me a 
kiss and rubbed her pierced nipples. I felt my cock harden as she pouted 
at me.

Tallinn New Boys were a mixed gender team, a founder member of the new 
"Ultimate Humiliation League" that was due to start in February and 
follow the model of "our" league in England. This tournament was part of 
their pre-season, and they were the only mixed gender team in the 
competition.

They played in the colours of their national flag: royal blue shirts, 
black shorts and white socks, and the young lady who caught my eye 
looked sexy as she lined up in the midfield, barely looking at me as 
Tallinn New Boys started the game to rapturous cheering from the crowd. 
The girl was good, scything my legs away with a crunching tackle and 
opening the scoring from thirty yards with a thunderous drive into the 
top corner. However, our superior fitness showed and two goals in the 
closing fifteen minutes from Dmitri gave us a 2-1 win in front of a 
packed, and appreciative, crowd.

Dmitri and our captain was interviewed after the match for the cameras, 
before we swapped our tiny changing room for the "victory tent:" a 
marquee set up in the corner of the car park. Sixteen naked football 
players waited for us, as did two benches, a sex swing, four buckets of 
condoms with bottles of lubricant, six multi-coloured GaySportTV 
cushions, two screens showing homosexual pornography and three cameramen.

I wanted "her": she was the midfield maestro who had given me bruises 
and the hardest match of the season. She was the one who had turned from 
a pleasant flirt at breakfast into a Roy Keane nutter when crossing the 
white line onto the pitch. I wanted to fuck her.

So did Dmitri, and as man of the match, he got to choose first. This was 
unfair: she hadn't fouled him!

Indeed, all five of the girls were seized by other players before I got 
to choose. I picked a slender eighteen year old with boyish charm and a 
worried look. He also didn't speak much English, but being pushed onto 
the green cushion by a naked and victorious player had his tongue 
tentatively poking out beyond his lips to flick at my cock.

"'E's never done it before," the girl explained to me, as she knelt in 
front of Dmitri. She spoke to him in Estonian and he nodded with a 
worried look on his face, watching her as her mouth slid over Dmitri's 
prick.

My team mate sighed as she sucked on the underside of his erect cock, 
groaning as her mouth coasted up and down the manhood I had once pleasured.

It seemed such a long time ago; I felt a pang of jealousy as I watched 
her suckle my friend's dick. I remembered the tastes and sensations as 
he mewled under my touch, feeling my erection harden for my young loser 
watching intently.

It was his turn now. I was about to take his oral virginity. He 
tentatively brought his lips to the tip of my cock, pushing his tongue 
underneath my prick and allowing my purple dickhead to glide into his 
mouth. He grunted as he sucked, grabbing hold of my thigh with his left 
hand and rubbing my balls with his right.

His uncertain sucking became more relaxed and passionate as his anxiety 
drifted away; his cock became hard as his fingers rubbed against my 
perineum. It felt fantastic: I felt powerful. The all-conquering warrior 
taking satisfaction from the plundered losers. Them subjugating 
themselves to my will and my pleasure as my subjects watched my victory 
via live streaming.

I smiled towards the cameraman capturing the deflowering of my loser's 
mouth: the innocent man with his hairless body sucking with lustful 
zeal. His fingers left my thigh and tugged at his erect cock; smooth 
except for a splash of blonde teenage fuzz.

"Wank yourself off, slut!"

I wasn't sure where the words came from, but the camera blatantly 
focused on us, capturing the furious masturbation and passionate oral 
from my inexperienced opponent. I grabbed hold of the sides of his head, 
pressing his blonde locks and began to impale his mouth onto my manhood.

Not roughly, not angrily, but to increase the pace of his lips sliding 
over my shaft.

He sucked; squealing as I pushed my cock deeper into his mouth, drawing 
passionate mews and cries. His fingers blurred over his dick as he 
pumped his manhood faster, lapped at my frenulum harder and pressed his 
fingers onto the bud of my arse.

My body surged past the point of inevitability with a desperate swirl of 
lust. I whimpered, tensing my muscles as I held onto my orgasm, delaying 
my eruption to intensify the rush of climatic explosion.

I felt his cum land on my bare feet, the groaning of his ecstasy 
vibrating my cock as I squirted cum into him.

For the first time, he tasted cum from the source.

For the first time, he blew a man.

His oral innocence lost, on live television.

His humiliation complete, for everyone to see.

His dreamy eyes looked up at me: his female team-mate watching as I 
clicked my fingers and pointed to the cum on my feet. "Clean them up, slut!"

The cameraman, considering moving on to another frantic tryst for their 
viewers, filmed the wicked smile on my face. I really didn't mean him 
to, but the young lad threw his face into his feet, pressing his tongue 
against my sweaty limbs and sucking his deposit from my toes.

It tickled. His mouth swiping over my skin tickled. I squirmed, Dmitri 
laughed.

I got interviewed by GaySportTV after the session: I gave "my" man, a 
full ten out of ten with a cheesy grin. I meant it too: he sucked good!

Two hours after we finished, I watched Tallinn New Boys put six goals 
past The Pride of St David: the Welsh team. They were hideously out of 
condition, and it was painful as they were outclassed. Dmitri loaded the 
website onto his tablet after the match and we watched the live 
streaming as we munched on lunch. We laughed: several proud Welshmen 
were debased by being "forced" into homosexual acts. I enjoyed the 
spit-roast and the spankings given: the players from Tallinn enjoyed 
their victorious treat, especially my midfield girl who rammed an 
impressive strapon into the arse of an indignant Welshman.

In the late afternoon, it was our turn to play: if we beat Pride of St 
David then we would win our group and advance to the semi-finals the 
following day; if we lost, then Tallinn would probably progress.

We didn't lose; we were four goals up by half-time and finished the game 
at 9-0. The Welsh team were hopeless; wheezing and coughing as they 
half-heartedly ran with the ball. Most of them were hideously unfit and 
unable to tackle. It was easy.

I got a hairy, rotund Welshman in the victory tent: ten years older than 
me and coughing as I wordlessly gave him the lube to apply. He 
complained we were "too lucky" but we weren't: his team were just too bad!

I made my sheathed cock slippery and parted his buttocks as he leant 
over a cushion, grunting as my dick penetrated his anus. It was soulless 
and emotionless. There was no joking or laughter from them, like Tallinn 
New Boys. There was no willingness to admit they had been beaten, they 
were just in denial that we had trounced them.

It took the enjoyment out of the fuck, and made it about imposing our 
victory onto him. And he was tight: his ring of muscle gripping my cock 
as I slid into him and rocked to a powerful rhythm. I pulled him onto my 
dick by the thighs, listening to his reedy panting over the desperate 
grunts in the tent.

The camera crew watched the young Lee and Dmitri spit-roast their Welsh 
captain, while another filmed the passionate oral given by their 
cock-loving goalkeeper. But my loser was being fucked by me; his tight 
muscles massaged my intruding dick in a tent smelling of sex, 
testosterone and sweat.

He squealed as I pounded him, thrusting my cock deep into his arse as 
our skin slapped. He was pushed forward with the force of my hammering 
dick, powering into him with keen ardour. I wanted to seize my orgasm 
from him. I wanted him to be responsible for filling my condom with my 
seed, and for him to know it.

I wanted him to remember the furious fucking I'd given him and 
remembered that he had been fucked. On the pitch, and off of it.

I felt my prick surge with lust and arousal, my balls contract and 
quiver as my second orgasm of the day crept up underneath me and surged 
into a smattering of cum into the condom.

I barely said nothing: he slipped off my prick with the merest squeal. 
Not even able to admit that he was beaten at the end.

We spanked them each nine times, due to our emphatic victory: bare 
bottom spanks issued for the camera that had them yelling with 
discomfort as we turned their arses the same colour as their shirts.

They had come to "win the competition for Wales," but had been 
humiliated twice and were leaving a broken team. Albeit a little bit richer.

We, on the other hand, had a semi-final to prepare for. At the big 
stadium in the town. And we wanted to win the competition for us, and 
our fans.

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