Playing with the Big Boys


His façade was cracking. Slowly but surely, he felt like he was losing control. Every time they trained, Gus and Frank would find some way to torment him. Scrum practice, something he usually loved, had become torturous. Instead of hands efficiently binding on, they slid suggestively. More than one hand had cupped and patted his buttocks.

The banter was even more arousing. All talk of technique versus size and being dominated. Face down, arse up as they scrummed. Power. Thrusting. Squeezing. Driving. Every iffy rugby expression and suggestive phrase felt like he was being targeted ruthlessly.

Nothing was concrete enough to complain about, and George had a feeling he'd get short shrift if he did. Once the ground had softened, Tom had dictated extra scrummaging drills, with Gus and Frank opposing him on occasion. They were both excellent tacticians, along with Rob, one of the other props.

Yes, he had the focus for matches, and he was hitting more rucks than usual. But his normal placidity was AWOL and he'd come too close to being red carded. His compartmental abilities were failing, he had to turn his back on the rest of the showers to hide his near-constant stiffy. And he was sure it was no coincidence that Frank and Gus were constantly brushing against him.

Regardless of the onset of winter, Gus had taken to wandering around the flat with only a tiny towel over his groin. His whole body was a sexual powerhouse, covered in a dusting of sandy fur that thickened promisingly towards the towel. He could see the bulge underneath, and he knew that cock was a good size, and thick with it. It made his mouth water, and buttocks clench. More than once, he had been caught staring lustfully at the Scot.

The bathroom door had creaked ajar when Gus had been showering one day, and George had ogled through the gap in the doorjamb, catching glimpses of water streaming off his flatmate's bulk. George shoved his hand into his jeans, worked the hardness there, but just as he was about to come, the water cut off and he had to swiftly tiptoe to his room. He couldn't even finish off --a damp Gus had stuck his head around the door and chatted to him about the scrummaging in an upcoming match while he towelled off.

Gus' comments about Frank had opened his eyes to him, to realise he was as sexy as the prop, in his own way. Even before Frank stopped shaving and manscaping, and was on his way to having a full beard, saying it kept his face warmer.

And Frank had taken to dropping in, staying to watch films or sports. George would always commandeer the armchair instead of squeezing on the three-seater sofa, and try to concentrate on the flickering screen without popping a tell-tale erection. They both smelled so good, he'd space out, his imagination running riot.

That's how he'd ended up in a snoozing front row sandwich. It was tradition that on returning home, they take a post-match nap before going out. Instead, Gus had insisted they plant their battle-weary bodies on the sofa to watch Christmas films. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and the scarce decorations they'd scattered around the flat didn't exactly engender seasonal spirit.

For the last month, his teammates had been moaning about not having time off over the festive period. Training continued as normal, just as intense as before. However, their match had been scheduled for Christmas Eve instead of the more typical Boxing Day. George hadn't minded either way -- it wasn't as if he had anyone to miss him. His father was out of the picture -- had been his whole life -- and his mother was fond of joining relatives abroad.

Anyone without family or friends living nearby was attending the club's Christmas Day dinner. That included the three of them. Frank was staying over instead of driving home. Where he was sleeping, George didn't know. He quelled a bolt of jealousy at the thought that Gus and Frank had a thing going on. His eyes darted to them, but he couldn't tell.

Frank had brought a DVD player and a pile of classic Christmas films, and had been quoting lines from them all day. Bags of popcorn and other diet-breaking snacks and drinks littered the floor in front of them.

Despite the cold outside, the flat was toasty warm. George couldn't figure out what had gone wrong with the thermostat recently, but T-shirts and shorts had become de rigueur. Well, George had on combat shorts and a Tee. Frank sported the latest compression gear, the Lycra obscenely outlining every generous bulge. In the club, he wore jeans or baggy shorts on his lower half. In the privacy of the flat, he'd shucked them off.

George's mouth had gone dry. Even though weeks of showering together meant he knew precisely what was under there, the blatant sexuality added to the hum of anticipation already present in the room.

Gus was even worse. He always complained about trousers and shorts being too tight, so had stripped down to his boxers. Fur and flesh dominated -- George just wanted to rub himself up against him. And more besides.

He had been dismayed to discover the armchair he preferred had been casualty of a leaking water bottle. They had to squash up on the sofa. As much as the film playing was a classic, it didn't take long for them to start dozing, and for their bodies to snuggle closer.


George was the first to waken, his insistent cock happy to have fingers clasping it. And someone else's thick pipe pressed against his side. Hot breath in his ear. And another hard cock in his palm.

His eyes cautiously cracked open. Gus had twisted towards him, slinging a bulky arm across them both. In his sleep, George had lifted one hip up, allowing Gus access and turning him slightly. His was the meat pressing, no, rubbing against him.

Frank had also turned towards him, nestling his face into his neck and bringing his groin close enough for George's subconsciously travelling hand to reach, and be secured by Frank's own.

And the fingers on his crotch were two hands, one belonging to each of the men.

Fuck, he was hard. But he had to get out of there -- it couldn't happen!

George tried to slide free, with no success. Frank was threading his fingers through his, and pressing it tighter to his cock. He tried to turn, but this just meant bringing his face closer to Frank, and Gus took that opportunity to fit his cock between his buttocks.

'Oh!' he panted. His head dropped onto Frank's shoulder, and his entire body clenched. Including the hand around the blond's cock.

Frank arched. 'Please, please, please keep touching me,' he begged and moaned, dotting kisses down George's neck. 'At last.'

George's muddled mind couldn't process his comment. Gus was also awake, as his hand had delved into the combats, pulling them down and stripping them away.

'So gorgeous,' came a mutter from behind. 'I could eat you up.'

Hands on his balls, then his cheeks were parted, and hot breath blew on his pucker. Followed by the bristling of beard, and a hot, wet tongue.

'Oh, fuck!'

It licked at him, thrust inside. His balls were massaged, his aching cock grasped, but most of his attention was focussed on the delicious invasion of his arse.

George hadn't been rimmed in years, and never by as strong and insistent a tongue as Gus had. Time disappeared. He was naked, the body behind him was naked, the body under him was naked. A hard cock entered his mouth, a gentle hand holding it there. He sucked as he was licked and eaten out by the insistent muscle.

The world spun, carpet replaced sofa under his knees. The cock in his mouth changed angle and he deep throated it. The tongue lifted from his buttocks to be replaced by slippery fingers. George lifted his head to gasp for breath, just as the fingers scissored him open .

'Oh please!' The need was eating away at him. He writhed.

'Are you sure?'

George barely registered the question, and the crinkling of cellophane. 'Please. Fuck me.' He felt an interminable itch of desire, and knew a hard cock was the only answer.

'This first time is going to be hard and quick, and I don't want to hurt you.'

A wideness starting pressing at him, into him. He bore down, and relaxed. The head popped in. George breathed through a pinch of pain. The cock was wide, bigger than anything he'd taken in a while. It paused, letting him adjust. He was aware of being stroked, hands soothing him, helping him accept the invasion.

He needed more. He leant back, and the cock pushed further in. And in, filling him up, until he felt the bulky body behind surrounding him from knees to neck. A kiss on his shoulder. Fingers tweaking his nipples.

Instead of slamming into him, the hips flexed slowly, as if learning him. Minute movements, in and out, around, hands caressing his weeping cock and balls.

George shook. His lungs sucked for air. 'I thought you said hard and quick?' The ring of muscle was still tight, although he knew Gus' considerate pace at easing into him would reduce future discomfort.

Gus continued his slow movements. 'Patience you must have, my young padawan.'

The Yoda quote in Gus' gruff voice made George chuckle. 'We've not watched that movie yet.'

The involuntary clenching of certain muscles loosened the Scot's control. He thrust hard, again and again, deeper every time. Instinct took over, and they rutted. Two bodies, slapping together as hard as they could. Gus' cock taking him, hitting all the sweet spots.

George's body seized and the orgasm boiled up his spine. With a roar, he came, spurting endlessly. Gus bellowed as he shot into George.

His arms shook, and they dissolved in a sweaty heap.


Bare minutes passed before Gus eased out of him. George rolled over to find Gus' eyes on him.

'Can you take another?' Gus asked, watching George's face. 'I think you need more. And you can have more.'

The third in the orgy hadn't come yet -- George's blow job had dwindled when Gus had entered his arse. Frank sat on the sofa, reddened cock in hands.

George licked his lips and clenched his buttocks at the sight of another ready cock. After such a strong orgasm, he was surprised that he recovered so quickly, that he did want more. It just showed how frustrated he had been for weeks, even years, of unsatisfactory sexual congress. 'Yeah. More cock please.'

'Good boy.'

The praise came with a stroking hand, and George shuddered with delight.

Frank was marginally narrower than Gus, but slightly longer. His head was tapered, not the blunt weapon of Gus. The blond stood and made his way around, behind the splayed bodies.

'Condom and lube?'

A finger was pushed inside, and George keened. 'Like that.'

'You've stretched him out well, I think I can fit.'

Again, the burning as a cock pushed past the ring of muscle, but Frank was right. He smoothly slid all the way in.

'George, I don't want you to come yet.'

His dazed eyes met piercing blue. 'What?'

'Frank will fuck you, but you are not to come. I will help you when I think it's time.'

A feeling washed over George that he'd never felt before. Comfort. Security. Trust. Along with a spine-tingling jolt of electrical lust.

While he tried to deal with this new sensation, voices continued to talk. 'You were right, he's totally submissive. He's squeezing me to fuck now.'

'Yeah, despite his size, he needs to be dominated. Don't you, my brown bear?'

George grunted, his eyes unable to shift from the blue.

'Fuck, it's sexy when he's like this.'

'He's only halfway there though. How long will you take to recover?'

'Not long if I'm given a hand. Or a tongue.'

'Oh yeah.' A series of thrusts. 'Do it. I want to see that.'

'Spit roast? You could had your cock in his mouth when I was banging him.'

'I was saving myself for this, I'm not as young as you. Plus, I didn't want him chomping down when you were splitting him open.'

'Good point. Move him so I can get under there, I want to face-fuck him.'

George was manhandled again, and presented with a half-erect cock, still wet with come. He sniffed, burying his head between the hairy thighs, then began licking.

'Welcome to the party, pal. Fucking hell, that's hot.'

'Attaboy, George.'

The cock in his arse took up a regular rhythm, and George began to harden also. Gus' balls hung low. George sucked the furry sacks into his mouth, one by one, enjoying the salty male taste.

Frank's style of a series of long and short strokes was slightly different. It plainly worked for him, and for the others. His groans were echoed by Gus as he was swallowed down. The deep throating and deep dicking sent their victim into a gasping trance as he slobbered and gasped for air. It seemed to last forever, as he was drilled into submission.

'I need to come, are you ready?' puffed Frank.

'Not yet, but come anyway. I'll take over.'

Hips were ground against him, and Frank grunted, his strokes softening. Then the cock was withdrawn from his throat and George was turned over again.

Gus whispered, 'I wanna see those big, chocolate-brown eyes widening when I hammer into you.' He wrestled hairy calves over his shoulders and tunnelled inside the prepared channel, with little resistance.

The change in angle was just what George needed. He could see Gus' face, see the piercing blue eyes of the man taking him, felt mastered by him. And felt protected by him.

Then, the thick cock hit a spot which detonated an implosion. And another hand wormed its way between them, grabbed his cock, and milked it. He felt Gus come, then kiss him softly as he released his legs and they subsided, Gus' arms around all three.


George blinked as he came around from his stupor. Somehow, they had ended up in his bed, a man either side of him. Gus' hirsute bands were wrapped tightly around him from behind, and Frank had an arm and legs tangled up with them.

His bladder ached. His arse ached. One was bad, one was good.

He whispered, 'Loo,' hoping that was enough to be released. It worked, with grumbles from the two other men.

Naked, he answered the call of nature and returned to the darkened bedroom. He refused to think further about what had happened, knowing that there was going to be hell to pay when he dealt with it.

Gus sleepily patted the mattress, budging over for him to settle back down. 'Good boy. We'll talk in the morning.'

'OK.' He sighed.

'Wanna BJ to settle those nerves?'

He twitched slightly. 'You'd really...'

'I bet Frank would be willing for another round too, if he was awake.'

Frank let out a deep rattling snore. They choked guffaws of laughter, then George stifled a yawn.

'Or how about we just doze, my brown bear?' Gus secured an arm around him, and George relaxed back into sleep.


He woke between two snoring men. A glance at an alarm clock informed him that it wasn't even midnight. A time when he'd usually be hitting the bars and looking for a someone to relieve the itch.

He separated himself from the pungent heap on the bed, and headed for the shower. The water pouring down didn't do much for his peace of mind. Abrasions from sexual play marked his neck, his nipples still felt swollen, and his arse unbearably sensitive. Unbelievably, he was still horny.

What was he doing? What had he done?

He'd been fucked by two of his teammates. Passed between them. Begged for more.

George didn't think any more as he quietly yanked on a pair of jeans and T-shirt. He searched for his wallet and phone in the living room. The black and white film must have been on a loop, as it was playing again, with Jimmy Stewart leaning on a bridge and shouting into a blizzard.

Please! I wanna live again.

He didn't know how to live. He didn't know where he was going. Maybe for some fresh air. Maybe a drink. Something to stem the terror growing inside of him. The fear of something he wasn't able or willing to confront.

A rush of unpleasantly arctic air greeted him as he pulled the front door open.

A palm slapped it closed. 'Where are you going?'


'Out where?'

'I don't know!' He fought rising panic, pulling at the door. 'I can't do this right now. Let me go!'

'Let me tell you, you're not going to get fucked by an anonymous stranger. I won't allow it.'

'It's not up to you.' He gave up on the door, and turned to scowl at a naked Gus. He angrily stared at, then avoided those blue eyes. Frank was leaning against the bedroom doorway, rubbing his eyes and sporting a chubby. He couldn't look there either.

Gus cupped his chin, forcing him into confrontation. 'Oh yes, it is up to me. How many more visits to the clap clinic will it take? Are you really trying to kill yourself?'

'I'm not-I'm...' Was he? Had his shame caused his behaviour?

'We're your mates. We'll look after you.'

'And we're gonna fuck this attitude out of you.' Frank.

'Both of us. I don't care if you can't fucking think after.'

'Every night if needed. We won't hurt you.'

'Unless that's what you want.'

In the living room, the film must have been coming to an end and strains of Auld Lang Syne drifted out.

Frank smiled hopefully. 'Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends.'

'That's right.' Another wicked smile was in agreement. His watering eyes leapt wildly from one man to the other. Both of whom had looked after him. And the kindness and determination there was enough to destroy what was left of his composure. He cracked.

He didn't know how long he sobbed for, with two sets of arms around him, keeping him safe. Until he was finally able to speak. Frank brought a glass of water and a cold flannel to wipe his face, while George took several deep breaths.

The sofa seemed as good a place as any to make his revelation. Frank cracked open a few beers before he joined them. George drank half in one go, before Gus laid a hand on his and gave a warning glare. 'You ready?' Gus' inquiry received a tremulous nod. 'Tell us what happened?'

George took a smaller sip of his beer. 'I was young, it was my first club. There was an older prop, married, with kids. He...had some other friends. All big guys but not players. I had no dad, and they were like father figures. But, I was attracted to them.' He shrugged. 'I've always liked big guys, not twinks.'

'They came on to you?'

'Not obviously, most of them were married. Then one night, after a few beers, they passed me around.'

'They forced you?' Gus' knuckles bleached white on his bottle of beer.

'I didn't say no, not at first. Once it started, I couldn't...I wasn't able to. I thought I should be enjoying it. I mean, it sounds like a gay man's fantasy, to be shared.'


'But, it was horrible. I was over eighteen, nothing illegal had happened, but I felt filthy. I didn't turn up for training the next week, and the coach came looking for me. I couldn't hide it -- I could hardly walk.'

Frank swore, got up and started to pace.

George picked at the label on his bottle. 'Jim had a quiet word with a few of my teammates, and they put the shitters up the guy, forced him out of the club. There had been rumours before, but this was the first time they could do something. One of his copper friends helped me with an anonymous report. A few months later, the gang tried the same trick, but the lad they picked up was underage.'

'No fresh meat from the club anymore.'

'Yeah. Was their downfall.' George smiled wryly. 'Jim was great. He was supportive of me being gay but gave me some advice -- to keep away from fellow teammates. Taught me some mental techniques so it wouldn't be a problem. He wanted me to get counselling, but I never did.'

'I really think you should've,' rumbled Gus. 'You've left the job half done, closed yourself off from others.'

'It's been working for me.'

'No. It really hasn't. How many proper relationships have you had? Longer than a one-night-stand, I mean.'

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