Ball Games Ch. 15: Familial Issues

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.

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Early in the morning, Ryan left the hotel with me, and I bought us a breakfast of instant porridge from the coffee shop at the vast Mancunian station. I could tell from his expression and demeanour that the morning had brought doubts and uncertainties. I knew and recognised them.

"Let me guess, you're straight, you've always been straight and you adore women. Your bashful antics were a symptom of the alcohol consumption and you'd write it off as drunken debauchery to be embarrassed about. But something you enjoyed last night doesn't make sense in the cold light of day and you're wondering is there something else there."

"Yeah," he muttered as he fidgeted on the train. "Something like that."

"And you have spent the last thirty minutes wanting to stop thinking about being fucked in the arse and giving blowjobs and not being able to. And then feeling guilty for it. You don't want to think about them. You don't want to have those feelings anymore."

"Hmmm."

"And right now, you're probably thinking a heterosexual fuck is the best thing you could do so are planning a one-night stand, possibly with a prostitute. But you also want to play with another guy again, so are a bit confused."

"Ummm ... yeah!"

"Then welcome to the world of being bisexual!" I meant it part in jest and part seriously. I took the time to explain what my feelings were in the period before I came to accept my new sexuality. I told him what I had done at the ManLube photography shoot and in Italy, and what I had enjoyed while doing it. He listened, and we reached our station long before I had finished.

"Is it OK if I come and watch?" He asked. "The football. I've nothing else to do. I'd rather not go home and just be alone with my thoughts."

"Sure."

I stopped at my house to retrieve my football kit and was surprised to find my fiancée not at home. I was even more surprised to see her at the stadium but she wouldn't tell me why. I had an uneasy feeling, but left my work colleague with her and went into the changing room to get changed, warm up and then listen to our coach distil tactics for our league match against Sunnyside Cross FC. A lot had changed since that first game of the league season and their 4-1 defeat of us had stayed long in the memory. It was a high-energy, ferocious game and we had deservedly lost but Sunnyside were not without their weaknesses.

They were, however, second in the league and rivalling AFC Kerlon for the top spot. The game was tough; Dmitri scored with a piledriving free-kick and they equalised with a header before half-time. Lee's second-half goal saw us heading for victory but an own goal levelled the score two minutes before full-time and the last kick of the game was a long-range effort from their striker that our goalkeeper fumbled into our net.

It was desperately unlucky. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him; it was a goalkeeping clanger of stunning ineptitude and it meant we lost the match 3-2.

It was also a "special weekend" and the flustered league representative strode onto the pitch with a megaphone to call for the attention. "Every team were instructed to send the girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands, wives and fiancées of the players to the match, and now the losers will pleasure the victors in front of their partners."

I gulped, glancing at the stands to see a gleeful Anna smiling broadly.

She knew; the little minx knew the league had planned this "surprise" for the team and had slipped along not to watch me play but to watch me be fucked.

I growled inside; I played football, it was my game and they were my forfeits. The league had dragged my family into my sexuality without my consent and it riled me. But I didn't have time to be angry; the Sunnyside Cross players were striding towards us forcefully and menacingly sizing us up. There was movement in the stands as our partners ambled down towards the changing room.

My arm was grabbed by their left back: a wiry, smarmy, snarling man with a curling smile of devious intent. He was a nasty, intimidating player.

My fiancée joined us as we entered our changing room; there was not enough room for everyone to be in the victor's changing room, and she smiled briefly as he snarled at me. "Oh, nice ring," he muttered as he slapped me painfully across the face. "On your knees, sunshine. Show your little girly what you do. He's a fucking faggot, love."

My scowl deepened. Sunnyside Cross were full of arrogant players who revelled in dishing out humiliation and the league had given them fantastic ammunition to use against us. He grabbed the back of my head and thrust his cock deep into my throat, causing me to gag.

"Steady on," my Anna cried.

"If you fuck me, I'll leave him alone." My hands instinctively rolled into a fist and I was ready to punch him in the low-hanging testicles; he was being a cunt.

"Touch me and I'll floor you," my fiancée warned as he thrust his cock deep into me. It was humiliation, it was submission, but I wasn't revelling in it.

"He's just a filthy little fag," he snapped. I was being degraded but it just felt dispassionate and inhuman. There was no connection between me and my tormentor. He spoke gruffly and angrily, calling me names that I easily blocked out. He pushed me onto the bench and made Anna prepare me for his "monster prick" but it wasn't that big and Anna had prepared me for her strap-on several times before; it was part of our play.

The thrusting of his cock to the hilt into my hole was rough, but I felt no satisfaction. I felt nothing but discomfort. I watched as he scissored into me, remaining silent as I glanced up at Anna. She smiled at me; the connection was with her, not with him. She ignored him holding my ankles splayed into the air as he fucked my butt. It meant nothing to her.

He came into the condom. "Fancy fucking a real man," he asked as he withdrew.

She snorted derisively. "I already do," she coolly replied and I laughed as his face fell. Rejected. "And you are a million miles away from being a real man."

It was harsh; he left immediately.

"Dmitri and you was hot," she said after the match as we walked back to the car. "And you in Italy on TV was fucking unreal. He was a jerk."

"Yep, he was a jerk," I replied, as we drove Ryan back to his house, and then had a celebratory meal together as a couple; it was two years since we had got together. An anniversary for two people in love and in tune with their sexuality. Quite what that player thought he could show Anna I will never know.

Despite our loss and "abject humiliation," I was surprised when Ryan asked how easy it was to join the team; he played at university and had represented his college in a number of leagues. "I might be a bit rusty," he admitted; he hadn't played for eighteen months, but I told him to come down to the training ground for a trial.

The coach was impressed by the accuracy of his passing, although his fitness levels were a little suspect. He needlessly explained about the forfeits and then offered my colleague a few matches on the bench to see how he fitted in: in training and on the field.

South End Harriers were the first team we had ever played under the new rules in a friendly and the first time I had ever given a blowjob to another man. We had beaten that team away from home earlier in the season, and therefore we were hoping to complete our first home-and-away double over our rivals for many a year. Ryan was on the bench but Dmitri was absent and Lee was ill.

We had no need to worry about the loss of our two key players, South End Harriers were down to nine men before half-time and in the second half our makeshift striker headed us in front before our wingers both scored. I completed the rout with a mis-hit pass that looked like a wonderful strike so I said nothing about my fluke and just celebrated as if I had meant to take aim and shoot.

Ryan played for the final fifteen minutes, but it was clear he was a little tired towards the end of the match.

However, we had won 4-0 and a thoroughly dejected and defeated South End Harriers filed into our dressing room after the match. We were the victors; we had to seize our victory from the despondent opponents and Ryan watched as we each grabbed a filthy, muddy man for our needs. "Go get one," I suggested, glancing at the naked goalkeeper on his knees and with his mouth inches from my cock.

My colleague and team mate found their substitute striker without a victor savouring their body and Ryan took advantage of his mouth. I loved the sound of the grunting, groaning and panting in the changing rooms after the matches; it was so intense, visceral and energetic. It was sinful and disgusting.

Writhing bodies, muddy skin, hard cocks and stretched holes. It was a filthy pervert's dream. It was my dream.

My loser's tongue swept over my balls causing me to groan. I loved the feeling as he licked the wrinkly, sweaty sacks of masculinity. His finger pressed against my taint as his tongue drew across the purple head of my cock.

My hands rubbed the hair of the defeated man, slowly bucking my hips as he worked his tongue around my cock. Slurping, groaning, sucking, crying. We were a cacophony of sinful sounds; two men playing. Two men having sex. Two men enjoying themselves.

And the goalkeeper was enjoying himself. He was playing with his hard cock as his tongue delighted mine, drawing his mouth over my dick with increasing speed and fervour. He clearly wanted my cum as much I wanted cum whenever I gave a blow-job. He wanted to feel the pulse of my cock and taste the musky dirtiness of my semen.

With some passionate sucks, I could not resist and squirted several waves of cum into his waiting mouth as he came over my feet; his orgasm triggered by mine. I took a few moments to compose myself, panting with deep breaths before I made him clean his mess.

It tickled; the feeling of his tongue sliding between my sweaty feet was a weird sensation and I squirmed as he gleefully licked his mess from my dirty toes.

We spanked them before we left; each member of their team receiving four hard, firm spanks on their bare arses turning them crimson.

Anna kissed me when I returned home. "We won."

She smiled. "Dinner'll be two minutes," she promised as my pocket vibrated and I took out my mobile phone, answering it before checking whom it was.

"Marc! Is that you?"

"Oh, hi Auntie," I muttered, glancing at the display for a moment.

"Marc. I've seen what you've done with those men," she snapped. My mother's sister shrilly blustered down the telephone. "You're on the computer. It's outrageous and it's got to stop Marc. Think of the family name and ..."

"Are you really worried that I'm bisexual?" I interrupted; there was silence.

"It's wrong, Marc," the religious zealot squealed. "It's so ... ungodly. Wait until the family hears this. Think of your mum and dad. What must they think?"

"I think they would be happy that I am happy," I suggested and continued before she could muster a retort. "And as I know them far better than you I think I'm right. But it's no-ones business but mine. Goodbye."

"Marc! Marc! Don't you dare put the 'phone down ..."

I never heard the rest of her objections and ignored her attempts at returning the call.

But suddenly, I had a very, very, very big problem.