The Summerhouse Ch. 05: Anthony

I was a slave to the degradation. I needed it more and more. As my mouth tasted like a mens' urinal and my psyche scorched with embarrassment, I wanted them to continue. "Next time you can take it direct from the tap," Scott taunted as I struggled to gulp the pungent fluid from his bladder. My stomach squirmed, my cheeks burnt. My eyes watered.

Yet, my cock sizzled. Every part of this humiliation was a tonic to my lust.

"Get me a fresh drink," Scott demanded, and I returned with a clean tankard of scrumpy cider. I thought they had lost interest in Martin's illegal feed, but just after the rowdy gulping of Scott's acrid waste, the Gunners scored once more, and their eyes went back to the large screen. We kept the tipsy footballers replenished with alcohol and snacks, and got to watch much of the engaging match ourselves.

The final few minutes were frantic. The laughter and good spirits had been replaced with anxious glances and desperate fingernail-biting. The referee's whistle was greeted with groans of relief.

A few snatched conversations around the game quickly ended, and five pairs of eyes turned to their naked hosts. They focused on me.

I recognised those looks. I saw the fiery anticipation and knew what they wanted. Martin's face broke into a smirk. A smile. A knowing realisation. An expectation.

Martin knelt in front of Ray. He took the weighty dick in his left hand and gently stroked the leaking prick.

Anthony did not want to wait. He clicked his fingers on an adjacent armchair, and I knelt on the seat, resting my hands on the back of the chair. I stared at Scott, twirling his erect cock in his hand.

Inches from my face. His cheeky expression met my gaze as Anthony touched my butt cheeks. His firm hands parted my buttocks. The rasping sound from a bottle of lubricant accompanied a stinging, cooling squirt of gel across my rosebud.

He was firm. Assertive. Dominant. But not rough. His fingers drove the slippery goo into my anus. Preparing me for the plundering I wanted.

Scott saw the look of anticipation in my expression and smiled. I loved the act of penetration - either from Clare's rubber dong or a stiff cock. I grunted as the head of his lubricated dick touched my anal hole. I cooed as he gently pressured my inner sanctuary and groaned as he slowly worked his prick into me.

He knew what he was doing. He understood what pleasure he caused in my loins as the alpha male pressed his thick black dick into me.

I expected Scott to feed me his prick. I peered at him and he smiled back. He ran his hands through my short hair. I opened my mouth, eager for his long, thin cock to touch my lips. It never came.

He just looked at me with a mildly sadistic smirk as Anthony's dark prick inched further and further into me. Parting my buttcheeks.

"You like that?" Anthony asked, and I grunted. I loved his firm grip on my buttocks, and the pressure on my hole. I groaned as his dick filled my arse and gently stroked my sensitive prostate.

The embracing lust of submission washed over me. I was a vessel for Anthony to sate his horniness and seize satisfaction from. I didn't need to think. I didn't need to do. I just needed to relax and enjoy the forceful dominance of the athletic alpha.

Every thrust into my butt slammed my body against the leather armchair. My dick rubbed against the furniture and I looked pleadingly at Scott. I wanted his dick. I wanted to be properly taken and spit-roasted for the first time.

Clare and a bull had done it several times with a strapon, but I had never experienced two cocks at the same time. Another of my fantasies tantalisingly close to being realised. Our eyes met, and he saw the pleading in my expression. He smiled at my salivating mouth and open invitation.

"He so wants it!" Scott laughed. I desperately wanted to fill his smooth dick slide between my lips and his hands ruffle my hair as my nose smashed into his mons. I longed to taste the musky scent of his masculinity and the drip of his pre-cum. I yearned for the smell of male arousal and the sight of his stiff cock, glistening from saliva as I fellated it.

I wanted his prick. But I didn't get it. The anticipation was an incredible torture; I gasped with every rough, forceful thrust into my butt.

"He's like Martin. A real slut!" Anthony replied, ploughing his dick harder and faster into my hole. Fierce pressure filled my loins as Anthony got closer and closer to his climax. Heavier grunting. Rapid gasping. Snatched breaths. And then his prick shuddered and quivered.

I lay immobile as he withdrew. I needed to recover, but I wanted more dick.

And then I saw him.

His crotch.

His erect cock jutted into my eyeline. "I've just fucked your girl," the black beast of the coach gruffly muttered. "Taste her climax."

He poked his glistening against my lips, and I didn't hesitate. I didn't see Scott walk behind me, but felt him push his covered prick against my prostate. I greedily wrapped my tongue against the chocolate lollipop presented to me.

The coach chuckled as my mouth slid down his veiny tool, tasting every drop of sex on his uncut manhood. The musky flavours of cum and arousal mixed with his dominant aroma of masculinity. I grunted as he laughed. "You cucks love cocks more than cunts!"

My dignity scorched with those comments. My ego burnt as he ran his huge hands through my hair. I wanted to bring this towering man to orgasm. I wanted to feel his cock pulse in my mouth and his balls pump hot cum down my throat. I needed it. My lust was out-of-control as Scott smashed the mushroom head of his lubricated cock against my prostate.

My own G-Spot. My special place. The very thing that was causing pre-cum to ooze onto the stool. And Scott knew this. The man ramming his prick into my arse knew what he was doing to me. How much I needed it.

His rampant pace slowed the moment I came close to squirting my load. His skilful cockmanship was leaving me on the very edge of my desperately needed orgasm.

I was a quivering mess. I groaned into the prick I was gleefully sucking. Scott's forceful thrusts pushed and pulled my lips over the coach's cock, jabbing against the back of my well-used throat. The gag reflex, a distant memory, untroubled by his monstrous member.

I was desperate to feel my mouth gather with his musky goo. The same cum that had been fired into the love of my life.

He grunted, and placed his bear paws on the back of my head, before grinding his cock into my willing mouth. It was too much. My body was awash with the submissive feelings of extreme humiliation. My prostate wept with arousal, my mind sizzled with the degradation.

Scott thrusted his prick deep into me, smashing the rounded head of his glorious cock against my prostate. In time with the coach, ramming his monster against the back of my throat.

My nose grazed the trimmed lawn of pubic hair. My thighs slapped against the powerful muscles of Scott's incredible legs.

I couldn't stop the explosion of lust inside my crotch. There was too much sensation, and too much enjoyment. I felt the Coach's cock pulse moments before Scott's. Sticky goo injected into me at both ends was enough to bring my own emission.

Waves and waves of desperate pleasure cascaded through my exhausted body as my cock squirted my cum into the black leather armchair.

The Coach laughed. "Your girl is a right slut for big dick," he roared. "She needs it."

I panted. "We both do!" I muttered, immobile on the stool. And I wasn't joking.