A Great Moment in Sex Sport

(Note to readers: This story is near-future SF, but it has so much group sex that I'll try it here. All sex acts involve people at least 18 years old, and everyone involved gives full consent. There are no characters from countries where English is the first language. The science fiction may be soft (socio/anthro/political), but there's plenty of hardness in the action.)

For years I've told myself, 'Pavel, you're good for something.' Ludmilla needs me to fuck her ass, with the entire world watching. I can do that. I do it so fast and so often that Ludie, a superstar in the world's biggest sex sport, keeps me on her team. The fact that she barely feels my small penis is a key to success. I also told myself, 'So what if I never give her an orgasm? I earn a good living.'

But something strange has happened. I still don't understand it. Through some fluke of human anatomy, Ludmilla now doesn't just need me, she also wants me.

Our sport is called Podushetchka. People all over the world, and above it, masturbate to our competitions. A beautiful woman bares her body and takes as many penises as she can. You, desperate man, don't have to admit that you watch, and jizz on your screen, because your 'Net provider probably already knows you do. (Not just watching, but jizzing. That's the world we live in, we have no secrets.)

Ludmilla Shevchenko excels at Six-Prick, the highest level of Podushetchka. She's great at both Flash (quickest to a single orgasm by each of the Pricks) and Peak (most total orgasms by all six of us in ten minutes). On the World Optimum Sex Sport Tour, we place high every week, and sometimes win. Team Ludmilla won the world championship in 2036, and she has kept all six of us Pricks from that season. Three years later, she's under pressure to rethink that decision.

I wear a black mask over my whole head. I'm one of the anonymous Pricks who spew semen in, on, and around Ludie's beautiful body. Some Pricks want to show off who they are, but why would I? My maximum erection is 11 centimeters long. That's four and a half inches, for those of you still living in the Dark Ages. Yes, Americans, I'm talking to you. Must I also explain that the English word for Podushetchka is Pincushion?

I don't want anybody to laugh at me and my tiny tool. Also, since my task is to get my glans inside Ludie's anus and immediately cum, I perform like an incompetent lover. Damn right I don't want anyone to see my face. Fortunately, nobody has ever gone to the trouble of hacking through the firewalls to reveal my identity.

Ludmilla takes my cock in her ass, Gregor's in her pussy, Bogdan's in her mouth, and Karl's, Fyodor's, and Maxim's in rotation, in each hand and between her tits. The last three guys have the huge dicks, because they're the most visible. They aren't a problem for Ludie, because they stay outside her body. Gregor and Bogdan are around average length and width, because she takes them inside and doesn't want to get destroyed. In Peak, their penises (and mine) can enter and cum several times.

In her ordinary life, Ludmilla sleeps with one guy at a time, or none. She sometimes takes Karl, Fyodor, or Maxim to bed. She tells social media that she likes a big dick when she wants to have fun, but it's also part of her training. A stretch now and then helps keep her pussy limber, and able to get a tight squeeze on Gregor, and a quick cum from him, without her getting sore. So we don't have ordinary lives. Podushetchka, and what we must do in the sport, are always in the background for us, 24/7.

Ludie and I have a special arrangement. My goal is to get five or more fucks in her ass in Peak, and cum enough every time to show up in the condoms, before time expires. If I do that, she takes me to bed that night, gives me a really terrific blowjob, and lets me sleep with her, burying my face between her tits if I like. Hey, I'll take it. It's quality time with a tall, buxom, gorgeous, platinum-blonde, alabaster-skin amazon, to whom billions of men jerk off. Better than you'll ever do, loser.

But now, Ludie and I may have an entirely different arrangement. Unless I had some sort of hallucination last night, and what I think happened, didn't really happen.

***

If, for some reason, you didn't watch last weekend's tournaments, I'll summarize our part in them. We were in Helsinki, Finland. Ludie is a top pro, so she didn't have to go through qualifying rounds. Our team went straight to the finals, with Flash on Saturday.

Our Flash began, as always, with her show dance. Around the Gangbang Grid on the platform in the center of the arena, there's a ring-shaped dance floor. First, we six Pricks marched in from the tunnel, wearing black masks, shorts, and sneakers, our muscles oiled to pick up the arena's lights. We took positions equally spaced at the back of the dance ring, standing at parade rest. Our bodybuilding is for show only. It has nothing to do with our skill in the sport, and in fact we have to work constantly on getting muscle definition just from exercise, power lifting, and proper diet. In Podushetchka, the effects of anabolic steroids on men would be disastrous.

Then, as recorded music blasted through the arena, Ludie dashed up the tunnel, waving and smiling to the crowd and the cameras. She wore her usual glittery black wrap dress and thigh-high boots, and strip-danced two full times around the ring, shedding the dress, then her bra, then her velcroed underwear, and finally the boots.

Then she took another turn around the ring, fondling and groping each of us, undulating against us, and tearing away our velcroed shorts.

I am always the third to be denuded by her. Yes, there is laughter when my putz is exposed. I credit Ludie for never playing that up, and always showing respect for me. I remained still and stoical. The last three stripped men are the ones with the largest penises.

All of this happened with camera drones swooping through the space, strobe lights and lasers threatening our vision, and bass-boosted music rattling our skeletons.

Ludie then took one last nude stroll around the ring, waving to the screaming crowd and picking up tip chips thrown from the audience and scanned in flight. The chips landed on the netting overhead, which widened to let pass those chips shown by the scan to be harmless, and loaded with money (usually electronic EuCryptos).

While this was going on, I and the other men got our final checks to ensure we weren't cheating. Blood was drawn by tour officials (known, of course, as 'vampires'), and our bodies were scanned to confirm that we had no objects pressing on our prostates to make us cum faster. When this was done, we took our positions around the Gangbang Grid (one of the few terms in this sport derived from the English language). During this time, we were allowed to stroke our dicks as needed. Once Ludie is in place and the pre-start clock begins to tick, our hands must never touch our jewels except to allow initial insertion.

Some of the men must be strapped into place to position their cocks where Ludie wants them. What I do is lie on my back on the floor, beneath the gap in the Grid which allows access to Ludie's derriere.

At last, the prestart clock began to count down. I and the other men rolled condoms onto our ivanovitches (or as Americans would say, 'johnsons'). Ludie gathered her long, flowing hair into a ponytail, to get it out of her way and improve the sight lines for the audience and the cameras. She settled in to the Grid, adjusting the padding and arranging strap loops. We had sixty seconds to get ready, and the game clock started when she yelled "Fick!" That's a carryover from the sport's origin in Germany.

We started on her as soon as she yelled. I saw almost none of the action from where I was. Her flaxen ponytail hung down through a gap in the Grid, to the level of my face. In this Flash, as in most others, I spread her cheeks and leaned my prick into her anus in less than three seconds. (I learned this later from the arena's detectors.) Holding the sides of her butt fondly, spreading my fingers along her skin and caressing it, leaning my head up to feel her hair and breathe in its fragrance, I started cumming on my eighth thrust.

Four thrusts later I knew I had spurted plenty into the condom, and I pulled out. I rolled to the side, into the view of the official with perhaps the most degrading job on the tour. He stood on a platform below stage level, and was eye-level with me. He looked at the condom, then nodded. I rolled off the sheath. The official took it, and dropped it into a detector-laden receptacle. He was still stripping off his gloves, which had contacted my semen and Ludie's E. coli, when a green light glowed on the receptacle. There was a loud chime in the arena, and somewhere out of my line of vision a scoreboard showed completion of my orgasm.

I got out from under the Grid and walked to the sani-wipe dispenser, along the outer edge of the Grid platform. Fyodor was already there. In this Flash he was on Ludie's right hand, which is her stronger one. He wiped gently a prick that showed some red marks.

"You okay?" I asked, trying not to smirk.

"Part of the job," he said, wincing.

Three of the other four joined us shortly. With each Prick departure, I gained more sight of this beautiful, hard-working woman. I am not especially fond of anal sex, with her or anyone else, but I certainly don't mind giving it. I must say that feeling Ludie's butt in my hands, and her hair on my face, while I bang her, is enjoyable, but not deeply satisfying.

The last to finish was Bogdan, in her mouth. This had happened often lately, and Ludie's jaw was getting sore. Five of us stood watching, masked and naked, while more and more seconds were added to the team's time. There is a weighted algorithm in the scoring that accounts for how soon each of us cums, but a long wait for the sixth cum is still bad for the score.

Ludie sucked so hard that her cavitating cheeks showed shadows even in the arena's lights. Bogdan, above her head and suspended by straps, looked like an insect trapped in a spider web. Finally, at a minute and twenty-three seconds, Bogdan hauled up on his straps and leaned his prick towards the official responsible for checking his condom.

"Thirty-eight seconds," muttered Karl, which was how long Ludie had worked on Bogdan after Karl had cum between her tits, for the team's fifth orgasm.

There was no further discussion when we returned to the locker room, but we were all aware of the numbers. If Bogdan had cum within five seconds after Karl, we would have finished in second place. In the real world, we finished ninth.

The next day was the final in Peak. More time is required for each team, so there are no dances or other bits of showmanship. We entered the arena, satisfied the officials, took our positions, and began swiving Ludie for as many ejaculations as the team could get in ten minutes. In Peak, the Pricks are permitted to stroke themselves as needed to get erections after the first one.

I got six. My body is weird that way, able to spurt several times, but through a meager spurter. I might have achieved a seventh erection, but there were only twenty seconds left, so I let Ludie's asshole have a break. For what it's worth, I rank fourth in the world in Peak Anus. Beyond the fact that this means I'm justifying my place on Team Ludmilla, I don't care about this at all.

Our total was 21 orgasms, good enough for third place. Once again, however, there was something we couldn't mention in the locker room. Bogdan came only once, and wasn't even close to a second orgasm in Ludie's mouth when time expired. If he'd come twice, we would have tied for second, important for both prize money and world ranking.

***

That night, after the award presentation banquet and a cocktail hour that took many hours, my phone chimed, and showed the access code for Ludie's hotel suite.

She had the lights set low and indirect. Soft, sensuous music played through the air. She approached me in the silver gown she had worn that evening, but now her feet were bare. In her highest platform heels, she is taller than I, and I am almost two meters.

She slowly wrapped her arms around me.

I said, "You don't have to."

She drew back, surprised. "We have an agreement."

"And you have a sore jaw." I looked at her ardently, but spoke neutrally. "If you need an injection, it should be confirmed as necessary under Tour rules. Not so you can blow your Assfucker."

She hissed, "You shouldn't have to suffer because of Bogdan!"

I held her close, feeling her sleek skin as it yielded slightly over her toned muscles. "I'm not suffering," I told her. The smell of her hair, now loose and tumbling, made my heart thump. "I can be happy holding you close all night."

She parted the seam at the top of my tunic and kissed my collarbone. She whispered, "I can be happy with that ev—" Then she stopped, and coughed. "Sorry, my throat's still sore," she said quickly.

I didn't pursue what she'd almost said. I believe that people shouldn't be held to rash impulses, as much as I wanted this one to be true.

I see her nude so often, yet I am never jaded. Her natural hair is a Slavic light brown, but her blondness does not look wrong. The body plan of Nordics, who invaded our land many centuries ago, lives on in her long torso and legs. They help her with the sport's configurations (such as a man straddling to fuck her breasts, out of the way of her arms and belly). Asiatic invaders into Russia, more recent but still ancient, persist in her large, exotic eyes. The invaders she brought in herself, advanced biotic implants in her chest, are well shaped and do not look or feel discordant. And thus she masters her phallic invaders.

There was enough light for me to see her smile. She said, "People who fuck for a living should find other ways to enjoy themselves."

And so we spent the night together in bed, naked, entangled. We were both tired. Replacing sexual athleticism with tender affection was a pleasure that gave us comfort.

But innocence had limits. We fingered each other. Slowly, gently, with many soulful kisses. We shared ecstasy. Not at all like fucking for a living.

***

The World Optimum Tour runs for eighteen weeks, in cities where commercialized sex is legal or, as the sport's many lawyers put it, 'legal enough.' On Monday we arrived in Hamburg, Germany. The legal prostitution district has expanded beyond the Reeperbahn and Grosse Freiheit, to include gleaming pleasure palaces that replaced crumbling Elbe River warehouses in the early 2030s.

The preliminaries in a tour stop include events that allow the superstars to participate more in promotional show business than in sex sport, but our first event as a team was neither glamorous nor good for our conditioning. Ludmilla's manager gave us a severe dressing-down.

"No finishes in the top two in the last six weeks," said Dmitri Ryazan, ceiling light gleaming off his shaven head. "You rank seventh overall, with five events to go." He then patronized us. "Do you by chance understand what would happen if you fall below eighth?"

"We won't," said Ludie dismissively. She deals with him on behalf of all of us.

"You will not qualify for the Championship Tourney!" Ryazan bellowed at the rest of us, ignoring what Ludie had said. He believed that we Pricks, along with the team's performers in other sex sports, and our trainers, massage therapists, doctors, and other support staff, were easier to intimidate than she was.

Ryazan, to his very tiny credit, was at least not obvious in directing his ire at Bogdan. Still, it probably did no good for Bogdan's morale that the rest of us stole glances his way, especially when Ryazan said, "Nobody cares that you were the dream team of 2036! If 2039 is a nightmare, there will be changes!"

Then, rather than letting him vent, Ludmilla surprised us all by standing regally and fixing him with an icy stare. "Do what you know how to do, Dmitri. And leave the sex to the experts." Then she spun on her platform heel and left the room.

***

I'm curious about many aspects of sex sport: What other competitors do, what the metrics show about the popularity of different practices, and what the spectators think. Perhaps 'think' isn't the right word for what affects their gonads.

Sport bars draw mostly men, as they have always done. A sport bar in a red-light district draws perhaps an even higher percentage of men, if one overlooks the presence of sex workers plying their trade. In an enormous sport bar in Hamburg, sex acts by service providers and their customers were confined to curtained booths. Customers not engaged that way could observe dozens of flatscreens and arcscreens, which showed more Podushetchka and other sex events than they did football (even with Eurasia Cup qualifying in progress), or other 'legitimate' sports.

On Monday night, I was on a stool in this bar, my face exposed. I enjoyed the anonymity enabled by my workday black mask. My Russian-accented German drew no special attention, because Hamburg is always full of male tourists. I sipped beer and watched a flatscreen showing highlights from Helsinki. There are many events that are not Podushetchka, but are popular enough to be lucrative for the competitors and the Tour.

Shown at that time was the final in Female Multiorgasm. Park SuYi, from Korea, was stretched out on her back, writhing and whimpering as her Oralist licked her vulva. The Cumcrown on SuYi's head showed brightening yellow lights where the detectors were affixed to her forehead. The statistics bar along the bottom of the screen showed that she had already achieved six orgasms, with more than seventeen of the event's twenty minutes elapsed.

"All she does is lie there!" came a grumble from a stout middle-aged man two stools away. "What is the sport in this? Why does she win money?"

"She is blessed in her ability to achieve ecstasy," I said, partly conceding his point. "But millions of people love to watch her cum." And when I said 'love,' I was of course being euphemistic.

A loud chime rang from the screen. The Cumcrown lights had gone white, and the officials registered SuYi's seventh orgasm. I already knew how this ended, because it affected Team Ludmilla's Ecstasist, Natasha Lubin.

Now the woman who'd eaten SuYi's pussy hurried away, replaced by her Bosomist, and old man with sparse gray hair. He edged against her left side, scooped up her far breast in one hand, and put his other hand and mouth on her near breast. There were only ninety-four seconds left.

"Why is he there?" asked the stout man loudly. "I am a better man than that! I should be sucking those jugs!"

I heard enough slurring in his speech to know that there was no point in my explaining things to him. SuYi knew her body, and so did her Bosomist. I saw her lips move, and the old man drew back. When the Cumcrown detectors had faded to red, and then went dark, she mouthed something else (I don't speak Korean) and he returned to his clearly enjoyable work. At 34, SuYi remains very pretty, and her orgasm face is transcendent. In her climaxes, the Cumcrown, really more of a tiara, looks truly regal. She blazed to her eighth orgasm with nineteen seconds left.

Our Natasha had also achieved eight, but eleven seconds later than SuYi. Still, her second place finish put Natasha on the podium, while Viktor Grushkov, Team Ludmilla's Satyr, was a disappointing sixth in his event (Vaginal Insertion With Clitoris Fingering). He complained later that the Finnish women who officiated were frigid ballbusters, and thus he was only able to get seven of the ten to orgasm from his fucking. (Our Doctor Andreyev said openly, during the hovercraft trip across the Baltic Sea, that Viktor came twice during the competition, and that lately Viktor's third erections have been less rigid that they once were. Dmitri Ryazan surely knew this.)