Ball Games Ch. 19: Betty, again!

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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In the heat of the battle, I had forgotten that the league liked to vary the "punishments" for cup games and the premise that the losing team should endure a significant violation for their semi-final failure was logical when we considered the escalation in intensity of the forfeits from the first round of the cup to the quarter final.

I guess that made the final game a "must-win" match, but then we wanted to win every match. Every game had our reputations and our bodies on the line. We showered, and I text Anna; we were each allowed to bring one "friend" to the games to watch and I reasoned that as Anna suffered at the arrogant tongue of Sunnyside Cross FC, it only fair that she be offered a chance to witness the plundering of the losing arrogant bastards.

ManLube had brought along six "delegates" to the Village Hall. I had not seen them in the crowd but then I had done my hardest to block out all external distraction. I reasoned that our Orange and Black-shirted opponents had also brought delegates to the match and they would be returning to their headquarters sorely disappointed that they did not get to witness their team screw us.

It was a victory that looked so certain at half-time. It was within their grasp in the penalty shoot-out. It had eluded them by the narrowest of margins and that fact would hurt more than anything, long after their sore bottoms had stopped being tender and the taste of cum had been rinsed from their mouths.

Anna met me outside the small village hall with the rest of my team. We were topless, wearing just clean white shorts and trainers, causing my fiancée to coo as she glanced around two dozen half-naked sportsmen in the cool drizzle of the springtime evening; two vans plastered with large rainbow-adorned GaySportsTV logos were parked outside with their garish logo prominent. "Let's not have any of that hetero shit 'round 'ere," the captain cried as we embraced. "We want some good old-fashioned buggery."

My fiancée wasn't the only woman invited; Sam came with Dmitri's invitation as did a few other partners. And Betty Maxx smiled at me as I entered the hall.

She had GaySportTV's logo inked upon her large bosom that provocatively dominated her frame, standing naked and statuesque as people milled around in front of her. Oblivious to her nudity, enjoying the attention.

"I was in the area," she admitted and my mind fleeted back to her last tweet - "in rainy Manchester for a TV interview and then dropping in to see an old friend."

"You here to join in?" I asked as I chatted to the International celebrity. "Because I'm here to dominate not to submit!"

"I'm here to host." Her eyes gleamed excitedly as they flicked towards the cameramen setting up their expensive equipment. "GaySportsTV needed someone at the last minute."

"And for the UK's biggest gay network, why not pick the UK's biggest heterosexual porn star?" I teased. She pouted at me.

"Bisexual," she corrected and giggled. "And I have a male co-star." My eyebrows raised as licked her lips.

"Anyone I know?"

"Someone who'd definitely let you get to know them." Her seductiveness was apparent; mystery and playful exuberance were engrained into her DNA as she waited for me to question her further.

I looked at her; she smiled as I ogled her naked frame. How could I not? She was sexy. A wonderful decoration of gentle curves and flawless skin. She was a beauty; a delightful, sexual erotic display of femininity that oozed a controlling seduction.

I guess I wanted her. Not like I wanted and cherished Anna, but more like when I desired a naked cock to suck, or to be taken by a rutting stud. I wanted to play and have fun, and nothing else. Sexual not sensual.

And she knew her seductive power. She knew the force of her bare bosom, albeit temporarily used as an advertising hoarding. She knew the power behind her cheeky smile, her elegant, wavy hair and the way my body pumped testosterone into my bloodstream when she flashed her nubile flesh.

She understood men.

She parted her legs slightly, running her hand across my bare chest. "Good luck out there," she innocently added, as if she was wiping fluff from my pectoral muscles but gently squeezed my nipples. "Be good for the camera."

I shivered as she walked away; a cold splash of ice flowing through my veins as I studied her arse walking towards a clipboard-wielding gentleman and a muscle-chiselled naked man.

The losing team were brought into the hall a few moments later. I sat down with my team, all in eager chat. We stared at the bedraggled losing team, still in their muddy football kit, albeit without boots, and shivering in the hall.

There was silence for a moment; only the low rumble of the fan heaters broke the noise as a hundred people looked at each other, waiting for someone to direct.

Two dozen cold, wet and scared men, standing in the centre of the village hall. Another two dozen excited, half-naked men, sat on benches in front of wives, girlfriends and delegates eager to witness vicious plundering while a handful of league and television representatives ran busily around the venue.

A big screen crackled into life, suspended to the right of me and behind the losing team. The GaySportsTV logo appeared on the screen and then Betty spoke.

"Hi, and welcome to GaySportsTV, the victors' party. I'm Betty Maxx ..."

" ... and I'm Joshua Steele." I focused on the young muscled man, oozing confidence. His cock, just in shot, was meaty and firm and I know I wasn't the only one ogling the two presenters.

My own dick rose at the sight of them, my mind fantasising while they did they interruptions. I cheered, along with the rest of the hall, when they mentioned Woodford Wanderers, and the bubbly presenters broke, each taking a cameraman and microphone with them.

Joshua interviewed a couple of the starstruck losers, asking them what they thought was coming and how they felt. Betty took great delight in interviewing our captain and leant across me to reach where he was sat.

Her shaved cunt was millimetres from my face; I blew gently on it, and with a streak of mischievousness, blew a raspberry on her bare mons as she finished her questioning. She shrieked as she backed away, glancing at me.

"Sorry, this is my friend Marc, midfield enforcer for Woodford, we've met before." She giggled as she stared into the camera and then at me. "Looking forward to fucking that losing team?"

"Absolutely," I replied to her, feeling the white heat of the camera lens staring at my topless body. "Sunnyside Cross were rather arrogant with us earlier in the season and we want to even the score."

"Because you've lost twice to them this season, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"So this has to feel pretty good."

"Sure does, Betty."

"We best not stop you. Over to Joshua ..."

Her naked male co-star was a few metres away and gestured to a small number of brightly coloured floor mats, each decorated with the television network's logo. "Boys, you're going to get fucked." The presenter gestured for us to join him and the camera men moved back to capture every single member of the Woodford Wanderers squad descend upon the scared losing team.

To say we were baying for blood would be untrue; we wanted to press our dominance and remind them of their victories past. We wanted to enjoy ourselves and I revelled in the fear flashing through their eyes.

Ben grabbed the first man, a brutish centre forward with thick muscles and there was resistance. A moment of rebellion, perhaps driven by fear of the unknown. Woodford had been on television before, we'd been in a hall where we'd been buggered and been live on the Internet. In Italy and in Britain. Sunnyside hadn't.

But I wasn't in a merciful mood; I found the sneering runt of a left back: a wiry young footballer with a scraggly, unkempt black hair and tanned skin and forced hold of his arm, pushing him towards the mats. No mercy, no pause to allow him to complain. "I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to ram my cock into you. I'm going to make you squeal."

My words were more for the camera, but his eyes swam with scared submission. No chance to object. No chance to fight. No chance to do anything but fall at the floor in front of alpha men.

My cock, already hard, ached. I pull down my shorts and stepped out of them, throwing them behind me and glaring at the wavy-haired loser. "Suck it!"

He did.

Not a word of objection as his lips closed around my cock. My thick, achingly-desperate cock. My victorious dick that delighted with orgasmic delight with every swish of his tongue.

He had enjoyed his domination with such relish before, but now there was hated. He despised me, knowing that I had beaten him and his team in front of the cameras. And he loathed me for evening up the score between us.

But I could tell the flash of excitement across his face. The feint aroma of arousal as his lips engulfed my aching prick. It was there in his eyes and I recognised the confusion. I felt it from time-to-time. Loving the act of submission, hating the reason for it.

But his innocent gaze tore at my arousal. I felt every movement on his lips against my cock, every lick of my glans from his tongue. I knew he could taste every drop of my pre-cum. He was breathing in my masculinity.

I was nearing my peak. I didn't want to cum in his mouth but savour his arse. I pushed him away and he knew what was coming. I tossed a couple of sachets of lube at him and he silently took them, glancing around me as the surrounding bodies were full of grunting gentlemen.

The condom unfurled down my cock as I watched, smearing a sachet of ManLube over my sheathed dick. Betty watched me. I smiled at her. She bit her lip as she ogled the plundering of the muddy left back.

His wet shorts were cold to the touch. Sensual, and textured. He'd slid them down a little, I yanked them to his knees as I knelt behind him. I presented my fettered penis to his puckering rosebud. Shiny, shimmering in the spotlights as I pressed against it.

I stared at Betty, making eye contact. We had a silent conversation; she longed for me to spear the diminutive runt, covered in mud and submission. I made her wait. I knew what she wanted to see, I knew she was itching to play with her cunt.

The camera was beside me; no doubt broadcasting live to tens of thousands of masturbating men and women. I grabbed hold of his hips, gently easing my cock past his ring for an inch and when he was relaxed, slammed my thick cock into his hole.

He yelped; more out of shock than pain. It looked good for the cameras but I'd not been forceful. He panted as I rocked back and forth, pushing my cock deeper and deeper into his backside. The cameraman moved to film the expression on the defeated man's face as I took him forcefully.

And I stared at Betty. I stared at her, and willed her to believe that I was fucking her. I was drilling my cock into her luscious backside and making her pant and squeal. It was her back my hands were on, pushing the wet football shirt to the shoulders and exposing acres of skin. It was her backside I was smacking as my cock thrust into the warm sanctuary and stole pleasure from the sphincter.

But it wasn't her.

She was just the spectator for the show; the host who introduced the proceedings, the ringmaster. Now redundant and forgotten as the two teams played out their second bout of entertainment.

I thought of the thousands of people, listening to the squeals, watching the fucking and dreaming what it felt like. Imagining a tight ring of muscle encasing their cock as they masturbated to the sight on their computer monitors; doubtlessly dreaming of what I feeling and enjoying with the pounding of his arse.

They'd not know, because only I did. A warm, fiery enjoyment as I savoured my dominance and the sex. A delicious heat of tension, building from my balls to my cock as I rammed my cock against his prostate and seized my enjoyment from the prostrated footballer.

A delicious feeling of superiority as my team-mates did the same and I was on live television fucking the arse of a player I hated. Of a team I hated. A beautiful moment, delivered as my body shivered and I came, filling the condom with my cum.

I slowly withdrew as the losing footballer fell forward and I got up from the mat. But GaySportsTV had two hours to fill and our visitors were invited onto the victory mat.

Anna was given a strapon to fuck their goalkeeper and half-an-hour later we kissed while we spit-roasted their midfielder. Clothing lay discarded as we plundered them, leaving the losing team ravaged.

Even Miss Clipboard was enticed and used a giant dildo to fill the rectum of a particularly odious player. We'd leave them with sore and ravaged backsides, remembering their fucking for days.

"Care for a rematch," Betty asked as the action was tailing off. "You know, when I beat you?"

"I don't think there're many people who could get it up!" I joked but Betty was serious.

Anna's eyes sparkled. She egged me on, and Betty teased. I felt pressured, but didn't really object. "OK. After this has finished, if we can find two guys who haven't come tonight." I paused and then added. "And aren't from Sunnyside Cross."

Betty scowled, but her annoyance didn't last too long and she appeared alongside Joshua as the evening drew to a close. She interviewed a couple of members of the losing team: both sweaty and bedraggled. They wanted to escape; meekly answering her questions as Joshua sauntered around my team, and interviewed Dmitri.

It was cheesy fayre, but I said nothing.

And then as the losing team skittishly departed with their wet clothing in hand, Betty and Joshua said goodbye to our viewers.

And then she came up to me. "Ben," she called at one of the cameramen. "Hasn't come today and neither has Joshua. I want a rematch."

"Oh, Betty," I cried. My team-mates jeered and whistled and she beamed broadly. "Or are you too chicken to take the challenge."

"You won last time," I reminded her.

"And I want another match. I want to face you off again." I sighed.

"OK then."

My reluctance was far from real; I eyed the bulge in Ben's tight-fitting shorts and the enticing cock swinging between Joshua's legs. I wanted to play as much as Betty, and she knew it. As I said, she understood men.

Even the bisexual ones.

She let me choose the cock I would suck; selected Joshua. Probably not much over 21 years old with a gym-defined body. Hairless, except for a well-trimmed fuzz that guarded the base of his cock.

An all-over tan gave his skin a slightly bronzed feel, a smooth, circumcised cock was achingly erect and itching to have my lips around his manhood.

I wanted him. The jeers of my team-mates, the teasing from Betty, the realisation that the other camera was still running panned into insignificance. All I saw was seven inches of meat, eager for a slutty mouth to wrap around and bring to a loud, rutting orgasm.

I wanted to taste cum in my mouth. I wanted to feel an erect cock and I wanted to dance in the light of submission. I wanted to feel like a worthless slut as I fellated a stranger to orgasm while the world looked on.

Betty unwrapped the thick manhood on the cameraman, winking at me as the gigantic cock swung from between his legs. We knelt on the mats, my heart beating. My eyes focused on the purple end of the presenter's cock.

"Go!" Someone called. My lips parted the moment his piss-slit touched me. My hands moved to his balls and his perineum, pressing on his taint as my mouth tasted him. My cock rose, my senses delighted as I deep-throated him, sliding my mouth and my tongue over his masculinity.

His fuzz tickled my nose, wetness cascaded down my chin and his muscular sweat filled my nostrils. And I wanted it more; going faster and faster. My tongue whirled over his frenulum and I suckled his manhood, eager to bring the host to a climax.

Eager to taste his seed.

My fiancée stood behind me, and pressed the back of my head further onto his cock, ramming my face further into his loins. His cock tickled the back of my throat. She wanted me to "do it properly" and she forced me to bring him closer and closer to his peak.

He panted, and grunted. For the camera, no doubt, as his cock pulsed and swelled in my mouth. He exhaled and then his thighs shocked. I felt a wave of warmth hit my throat and then several shots of musky, delicious cum.

I sucked eagerly, bringing the most of his seed into my mouth before I turned to Betty, still working on her cameraman's cock. "I win," I gargled and she sighed, angrily looking at the man in front of her. "Do you need any help with that?"

And for a split second, time stopped as I moved behind him and sat down, looking up at his hairy balls and gently kissed them.

A sweatiness; a warmth and a furious intense taste of manly exertion as his testicle slipped over my tongue. I could see Betty sliding over his cock with renewed vigour and could feel her saliva dripping over his balls.

I sucked the wetness from one, filling my mouth with his testicle and pulling gently on his scrotum. He whimpered; the cooperative blowjob drew his puckering anus and quivering balls towards a climax and he filled Betty's mouth with his cum.

"I've never needed help before!" She cried indignantly as we sat up.

"Ahh well ... I did tell you I was good."

"OK. Decider. Best of three," she panted, and looked menacingly at me. "At my studios."

I heard the cheers behind me as I licked my lips. "Maybe," I replied. "I'll think about it."

"Ahh come on!" She shrieked.

"I do believe that the world's post popular and famous porn star is the only person today who hasn't got off!" I teased, grabbed my shorts and with my fiancée's hand in mine, strode naked into the cool evening to go home.