Winners and Losers Ch. 11

His cock looked so sexy, shrinking in the latex sheath saturated with cum and hanging limply from his dick. I watched as he said nothing, avoided looking at me as he slipped into the bathroom to "clean up."

It was a task I would have happily done for him, but he became embarrassed by his sexuality. I felt a little rejected but understood why he was like that. Ultimately however, he had just had gay anal sex with a bisexual man; I was happy with that reality, he was clearly less so.

His actions didn't harm our relationship; I sucked him off to orgasm in the morning and we worked well during the day before returning home. He had the most wonderful of cocks and I spent the journey fantasising about it.

One of the matches I missed at the start of the season was against Burnden Town; the team lost 1-0 as they went five matches without a victory and the return match at their ground was a chance for the entire team to make amends on the narrow defeat.

The white and black striped team played their matches on a poorly-maintained pitch with just portacabins for changing areas that were surprisingly warm given the wintery February weather outside. The several heaters helped with that regard.

Burnden Town were a good team, just a point behind us in the league, and were itching to complete their first home and away win double over us in several seasons. The match was keenly-contested and spicy, and Lee struck a thunderbolt of a volley just before half-time to give us the lead. They got a deserved equaliser when our captain slipped to let in their pacy striker and they nearly scored a winner when our midfielder, Kevin, tripped their winger in the box. Fortunately, Hugh saved the resulting penalty, tipping the ball onto the post.

The 1-1 draw was a fair result, although their players grumbled at the scoreline and at their penalty-taker. The league representative came onto the cold pitch, taking the microphone for the PA system to announce the "after-match game" to the hundreds of spectators: the matches had certainly attracted a greater audience since the new rules became public.

"For the draws in League Week 18, we will randomly pair opposing players for cock size comparisons. The captains of each team will work as fluffers as both men are compared in size, in front of everyone as we measure each pair one-by-one. In each contest, the loser must satisfy the winner."

The vocal cheers were deafening; the crowd jeered and laughed as the players looked on horrified. It was the ultimate humiliation: I could be satisfying my opponent after the size of my cock, the measure of my masculinity, had been denigrated. I would be taken because my manhood was deemed inferior, and I knew the public measuring would be just as humiliating. We would be belittled. Smartphones would record the event, they would uploaded onto the Internet before the loser had finished sucking the winner. My colleagues would see and laugh, taunt and tease.

Only I wasn't that small. But nor was I that big. I wasn't sure where I would be in order, but I didn't know, and the uncertainty was unnerving. Even if I had a monster member, there would be people who had freakishly large cocks; it was a clever challenge from the league.

Our ten minutes to cool down was ended with a vicious rap of knuckles on the door; we joked with and teased our opponents as we ran down the steps to the impatient crowd, eager to see some male cock and taunt the opposition. Burnden were as nervous as we were.

They assembled both teams near the centre circle, called out players two-by-two to the touchline. The captains were given one minute to bring their team-mates to their full length before an independent adjudicator would measure the cocks in length and girth to determine a cylindrical value. It all seemed very complicated, but our left winger, goalkeeper, centre back and substitute striker all won their contests with ease, before Dmitri was called.

My friend was not massively endowed, but he had a sizeable cock that looked bigger than it was due to his shaved pubis. He was certainly bigger than me, and of many of the team, but he lost. And not just lost, but was well beaten: their centre-back was hung like an elephant and Dmitri stared wide-eyed at the massive member swinging between the legs of the footballer.

And then it was my turn: both of us had to strip bottomless, holding our shorts and underwear as our crotches were eagerly photographed by the appreciative crowd. I faced my midfield opponent with a steely grin. My captain, already on his knees, gently pumped my erect cock, stroking it gently to coax it into it's full length. I didn't look at him, I focused my eyes on the grunting opponent in front of me, glancing at his dick. "I'm going to have you sucking mine!" I yelled across at him. "Look at the size of that."

He sneered; it was for show: a show of confidence, but his cock looked no smaller or bigger than mine. The measuring tape wrapped coolly around my shaft and measured the length as I stared at him, arms crossed triumphantly. "Marc from Woodford Wanderers loses," the guy called out. "By 0.02 cubic inches!"

The victorious opponent sneered. "Shit!"

It was the narrowest of victories but the measurements were clear: I had a smaller cock. The walk of shame was far worse. The crowd taunted and sneered at me; I was "tiny cock" or worse; he was the champion. The partisan audience made gestures as I traipsed from the pitch, entering their dressing room on the right instead of our dressing room on the left.

"I thought you were going to win that," he confessed as he threw his dirty football kit onto a bag and reached for the small bowl of delights. Dmitri was already being pounded by the giant cock, groaning as the monstrous appendage stretched his hole. I knew my fate. "Suck it first," he demanded. He watched me as I sat on the bench, pulling his thighs towards me and felt the warm, moist tip of his cock bob against my lips.

I smelt his masculinity: a cool odour of sweat and mud. I sensed his power, his dominance and his arousal. I felt my own cock rise at the thought and eagerly allowed his purple glans to slide over my lips and delight my tongue with his manful taste.

My hands held his thighs as my tongue swept over his head, flicking his cock to delightful groans. He was panting already: my mouth sucking on his cock as I bobbed along his shaft. I relaxed the back of my throat to push the man further into me, pulling deeply on his muscles to impale him as deep as I could take him.

And I wanted to take him further and further; I felt the cool aura of submission wash over me as his cock filled my mouth and he quivered. His hips bucked slightly as I took the length of him into me, squawking rudely at me.

But I loved it. I should have felt degraded and I did. I was worthless and disgusting. Losing a cock size contest in front of hundreds of people and then sucking off the victorious cock. It was a debasement that had me feeling dirty and filthy. My cock tensed as my humiliation was furthered.

"I'm going to fuck you," he demanded.

Music to my ears. I wanted nothing more than to boost the desperate feelings of submission and eagerly presented my rear for his pleasure, coating my anus with lube. He chortled as he unfurled a condom along his shaft. "You're keen!" He joked.

But I was.

Keen for him to fill me and pleasure himself. Keen for him to use me and discard me. Keen for everything he wanted to do to me. His opened my resistance with ease, poking my lubricated whorl and easing it open with a gentle push.

My cock, pressed against the bench, flickered. I closed my eyes and imagined a battery of men and women watching and laughing. Teasing me. Tormenting me. Forcing me to orally satisfy their cunts and cocks as I was rodgered from behind. His cock stretched my hole as his rhythm paced, quickly filling my orifice and pressing against my prostate.

The pressure was intense; my pleasure floating. I was so close to an orgasm, so close to feeling satisfied and sated. Those imaginary cocks buffeted my face as I focused on the feelings on the real cock poking my hole. I wanted another one. I wanted another ten to satisfy; I needed to feel debased and revolting. I wanted to be a slut.

But I was a slut.

A complete and utter slut.

I was a disgusting piece of shit bouncing energetically as his arse was plowed as a punishment. A punishment, no less, and I was savouring every thrust of his manhood into me. My testicles were dancing, my cock was alive: tingling with orgasmic pleasure as he grunted and pressed his dick deep into me with a squeal, filling his condom with his cum as I squirted onto the bench, panting and exhausted.

"Wow!" It was all he could say when he saw. "Wow!"

I said nothing as I left his changing room: naked and yet still so very horny.

Although, there was no need for me to say so, I decided to come out to my team mates the following training session. I had finally come to terms with my sexuality and admitted it to my fiancée; I owed my team-mates the same respect.

It didn't change anything: all of them had had bisexual or gay experiences, and been filmed doing so. The difference was, was that I was comfortable to seek out repeat encounters away from the football pitch. It was part of me, and I hoped they would understand.

I waited until the end of the next training session, when the coach had finished talking to us. My heart was pounding and my chest clammy as I asked for everyone's attention before they reached the showers, and explained what I had told my wife-to-be. I assured everyone that I wanted to win as much, if not more, than them, but I couldn't deny that some of my bisexual adventures were fun, and that I had needs and itches that required scratching.

And that I would leave the team if they didn't want to play with a bisexual man with no hard feelings.

"You're bisexual?" Dmitri asked with a wry grin. "Well that makes two of us." He patted me on the shoulder as he spoke. "You don't think Sam has to try very hard for me to be 'forced' into bisexuality, do you?"

I nervously chortled.

"Actually Dmitri, that makes three of us," Lee spluttered and gripped the edge of the bench. "I ... well ... sometimes ... I've been ... out places." I smiled at him, stammering his words out as he shrugged. "It's hard to admit in a straight world, isn't it?"

"Yeah." I understood completely.

"Well, I guess I'm bi too," Connor, our Irish divorcee admitted. "I had some fun with a Police officer last week at a spa."

"Awesome," our captain cried, and looked at us. "We've got poofs in defence, midfield and attack!" He joked. "I don't think any one on the team cares what you lot do," our Captain decried. "Do we lads?"

There were mumblings of support and acknowledgement, shaking of heads and warm smiles.

"But we better have showers before the water gets cold. Go give 'em some eye candy, lads!"

I waited for the room to empty and looked across at the centre-back. "Thanks," I muttered.

"No problem." He held his hand out to pull me from the bench. "You OK?"

"Nervous," I admitted as I took a deep breath. "Well fuckin' terrified."

He gave a shrug. "To be honest, I think we all knew. After that race to suck off people at Manlube, it was pretty clear you were doing it for fun."

"Really? I wasn't bisexual then."

"You probably were," he airily disagreed. "You just hadn't realised."

Why, as everyone keeps telling me that they already knew, didn't they bloody say something to me?!