Ball Games Ch. 03: The Cock Inn

Many years ago, I wrote "Winners and Losers" that I never finished. I subsequently rewrote it in 2016, but never published the 27 chapters to Literotica.

This is the complete 70,000 word story from eight years ago.

* * * * *

My Anna gave me considerable respite that night; I'd contemplated my future after I had been fucked after that first league match and while I had strangely enjoyed the act of penetration, I was shamed by the violation.

My loving girlfriend talked me out of any rash decision and we made passionate love in the secluded garden of our townhouse. She squealed as my erect cock scythed into her unguarded pussy. Her eyes sparkled with lust as I pounded her cunt just as my butt had been pounded by my opponent. I held her hands above her head as I dominated my delightful Anna.

She breathlessly panted and cried, feeling every forceful thrust into her as I took my frustration of losing out on my girl. Her cunt flowed with arousal; her crack sodden with lust as I filled her pussy with my seed.

It was a much-needed fuck to remind to myself that, despite being screwed in the arse by another guy, I was very much not homosexual.

My girlfriend teased me relentlessly though. She never missed an opportunity to remind me that I had spent half-an-hour, along with most of my team-mates having the erect cocks of the victorious team in places where no straight man would voluntarily choose to have them. She found it funny, but also arousing; we had had sex every night for a whole week as she liked the idea of me having a "bisexual side." In truth, I was curious and didn't find the sexual acts totally unpleasant experiences, but my pride was damaged: as sportsmen we wanted to win on the sports field.

The second game of the campaign was another away match: our opponents took the name of and played in the grounds of a pub called The Cock Inn, which given the activities of the previous few matches could have been seen as a bit of an omen.

It was the first week of September and my defensive centre-back reminded me in training, that as we lost our last four matches of the previous campaign, plus the Summer break and the match this year, it had been almost six months since our team had last tasted victory.

Our opponents had finished only a couple of places above us in the league last year and we had high hopes of registering our first win of the campaign against them. They too had taken a battering in their first match, and the opening exchanges were dominated by a lack of confidence on each side. The scarlet-shirted opponents took the lead shortly before half-time and they doubled it as their muscular brute of a centre-forward towered above our defence to head home. We knocked in a couple of goals to level the match, but a final minute rasping drive after I failed to cut out a pass in midfield gave them victory and a precious three points.

It also meant that for the third match in succession, my team-mates and I would be providing sexual relief to the victors. There was mutterings of discontent in the changing room; player turned against player as tempers flared. I was not the only one at fault for conceding a goal, and we needed the coach to step in as our centre back squared up to our goalkeeper.

I was almost glad to get into our opponents' changing room. The temporary hut was small and rotten; a musty smell permeated everywhere and the sweaty odour of exercised athletes filled my nostrils. They jeered us as we entered; muscular men watching as our fragile confidence withered under their vocal humiliation.

I glanced around me, the benches surrounded us: several men were already naked, wanting to show off their oversized cocks to the men who would be buggered by their impressive specimens. "Come on ladies," their captain shouted. "Might as well played the girls team, be more of a challenge."

"Fuck off," a voice cried and the origin of the outburst was seized from the line as we were pushed into the centre of the tiled room.

Jostled and manhandled, squeezed and pulled, crying out as the wanton winners descended upon the huddle. It was a free-for-all. They all wanted someone to fuck, someone to subjugate themselves to the sexual pleasure of the testosterone filled beasts. Hands grabbed me, my football kit was pulled and my body fondled for their pleasure. I was in the mass of a melee: an uncontrolled orgy as horny men desperately reached for someone to fuck.

It was a meat market. There was no consideration as to whom they were going to select, just a bawdy scream of cries from the crowd of horny men. All they wanted was holes; that's all we were to them, a couple of orifices to bring them guilty pleasure. To boost their ego and to feel the consequences of their victory.

I got pulled towards the bench by their captain: a bald-headed half-naked man of imposing muscles and a deep, raspy voice. His pectoral muscles glistened in the faint light of the changing room. Sweat beaded on his chest.

I was envious: he possessed a definition I could only dream of achieving and his strong grip left me with little hope of escape, even if I wanted to. I could see an impressive bulge in his grass-stained white shorts. "Best give it a kiss, lad!" I glanced around the room at my team-mates, most of them were already on their knees fellating pricks.

He made eye contact with me as I fell to the cold, tiled floor and slowly pulled the drawstring on his muddy shorts. He said nothing as I lowered the flimsy garment, hooking the waistband of his stained jockstrap with my thumb as I brought both items to his ankles.

His circumcised cock bobbed free inches from my eyes. A smooth, erect shaft with a mass of dark pubic hair at the base was waiting for me to impale my mouth on. Both the room and his cock smelt of manly sweat: the odour of exertion and competition.

My heart pounded as my tongue poked forward to flick the purple head of his prick; I was doing it again. I had not touched another man's cock until last month and now I was on number three. I felt shamed and exhilarated. Degraded and humiliated yet excited. It was taboo.

He looked down at me swirling my tongue over his frenulum. "Suck it boy!" The middle-aged man ordered; I could not resist his dominant, imposing voice. I felt his fingers firmly grab my hair. He impatiently pulled the back of my head forward, to impale his six inch cock towards my gag reflex. He filled my mouth as I wrapped my lips around his shaft, gasping for air.

But he wanted to face-fuck me and the sounds around the room told me I was not the only person from my team getting abused in this way. He grunted as he slammed my face into his musky fuzz, rocking his hips and forcing his cock deep into my mouth.

He was guttural and raw, thrusting harder and faster as I tried to regulate my breathing to stop the gagging sensation. He was panting, gasping deeply when he withdrew, pulling me by the hair over the changing bench. "I'm going to fuck you."

Not a question, request or demand. But a statement of fact. He was going to do it. It felt like I had no say, and I didn't. I wouldn't have resisted anyway; not just because I played the game and had lost, but because I wanted to experience his cock. He was rough with his movements, forceful with his actions. He was going to seize his victory and subconsciously I liked that.

My shorts were painfully stripped; angrily ripped from my waist to my ankles. My underwear likewise. He already had a condom in his hand, the cool lube he drizzled down my butt crack, forcing his fingers into my waiting hole to smear the clear liquid into me.

I was erect and desperate: my cock had betrayed me as I had bent over to take his manhood. I waited. I knew what was coming. He rubbed his cock between my butt-cheeks and I gave a slight groan. My mouth felt empty; after being face-fucked by his cock I wanted something between my lips.

But that feeling was short-lived: he put pressure on the rose of my bud, firmly forcing his cock past my resistance and then slowly inch into me.

Like the week before, I felt incredibly full: it didn't hurt or feel particularly uncomfortable but there was a deep feeling of pressure from the sodomy. He took it slowly at first as I accommodated his cock and relaxed. His manhood rubbed against my prostate, I was eager for more. My traitorous cock leaked pre-cum onto the bench and I wanted my own pleasure, but I was about to be used. Nothing more than a fucktoy for their captain as he rhythmically slid his cock in and out of my arse.

It poked my prostate; pleasurable yet so very dirty. My mind spun, desperately confused as he started to pound my arse. His hands gripped my hips as he forced his cock deeper and deeper into me, faster and faster, harder and harder.

He was fucking me. I existed just for him and he was taking advantage of his victory, groaning as his sheathed cock rammed into his little bitch.

I heard him grunt, and his cock twitch; my arse the reason for him filling his condom with cum. He withdrew slowly, not looking at me in the eye as he tied a knot in the latex sheath and tossed it away.

My team-mates were being fucked; screams, cries and groans filled the room as The Cock Inn players claimed their victory with raw, passionate lustful exertion.

"Come have a drink with us?" The captain added with an awkward smile. "There's a pub next door. First drink is on us." I declined. I had no ill feeling towards him or his team; we would have done the same, but we had lost the match. It had been a crap day. I was not in the mood for drinking. I just wanted to get home to my girlfriend and have my cock sucked.

I'd earned it.