The Summerhouse Ch. 08: Tom

Isaac bounced in his seat, thrusting his dick into my mouth, while Scott's expert fucking rhythmically played passionate tunes on my prostate. Scott varied his actions; he slowed down, sped up, passionately slammed his body against mine, and tenderly caressed my arse with this delicious prick. He drove me to repeated dry orgasms long after Isaac had emptied his balls down my gullet.

I was a slave to Scott's adept cockmanship. He had done this to me before, but never with such a large audience. I was squealing and grunting like a pig in heat as my friend gave me the best fuck I had ever received. My body sizzled with every movement, as his prick left me skating on the crest of my orgasm with his slick handiwork.

I felt his cock pulse and several waves of cum fill the teat on the end of his condom. He slapped me on the arse, knowing how horny his expertise had left me. He knew how close he had taken me, and how fierce his teasing had been.

"More drinks," Scott called as he used a tissue to wipe his dick. "And be quick about it!" I struggled to move; the desperation coursed through my veins as the pre-cum drooled from my cock. He had edged me and teased me. He had taken me to the edge of ecstasy, baited me with the promises within and then took the promised land away from me. "Good boys get great orgasms... eventually!" Scott told me, to raucous laughter.

"Oh, and get us our food too," Isaac demanded.

While the pizzas, chips and samosas cooked, I brought out the array of bowls and plates containing piles of unhealthy snacks that I placed at the side of the room.

"Chips, crisps, nachos, pepperoni pizza," Scott ordered. "Get it for me." I blushed as the Geordie winger demanded and I obliged.

He took the plate of food from me and clicked his fingers at the floor. When I knelt, he pushed on the back of my neck to force my nose to the ground. Then he put his feet on my back, stretching loudly as he tucked into the appetisers I had provided. "Stop moving," he demanded as I wriggled.

Even Iain sniggered when he saw me, crouched on the floor as a footrest for his boyfriend. He had reduced me to the role of an inanimate object, and as much as I hated it, my cock rose.

I loathed, but I adored every second of his degradation; Scott understood how not to push, but play with my buttons. He could get inside my head, in a way that only Clare could manage.

He watched the half-time analysis, joked with Isaac and Tom, and stretched his muscles, all while ignoring me. I was insignificant.

He called out to his boyfriend. "Iain, bring me a beer." Moments later, the young man returned with a bottle, and Scott stood up. "You," he told him. "Put your hands on the back of the chair and bend over." He looked at me and told me to kneel.

He pushed on my neck to thrust my face into Iain's spread butt cheeks. Hairless and pert. Iain groaned as Scott poured the first trickle of lager over Iain's butt crack.

"Drink that beer!" He laughed, as two other hands forced my face further into the crevice of Scott's boyfriend. Iain moaned as the cold liquid flowed over his butt and into my waiting mouth.

Everyone had crowded around Scott, Iain and myself. I was the centre of attention as I gulped the beer from Iain's arse. It was a nasty, filthy, awful humiliation as I tasted and smelt intimate scents of Scott's partner.

"That's it," Scott called. "Give Iain a lick clean!" He added to howls of derisive laughter. He was pushing my buttons again.

Scott and I had a quick shower after the "beer luge" game, and I returned to have a drinks order for four. The football match may have been an end-to-end classic, but the rowdy footballers had focused their attention on Martin; he was the centre of half-a-dozen guys wanking furiously in the middle of a plastic sheet.

Scott dragged me and Iain to the centre of the ring with a gleeful smirk. "Don't want to miss the fun, eh?"

"I've just had a shower," his partner moaned, but Jamie pushed the man in the scarlet Latex stockings to his knees and prodded his diminutive dick in the submissive's face. I stared into the bobbing prick of Wes. His dark hand jerked the thick meat while he swilled beer from the bottle in his other.

Laughing. Panting. Grunting.

He focussed his stare on me, stepped forward to line his prick with the centre of my face and sighed as the first spurt of cum landed on the top of my forehead. He fired several more ropes of his climax onto my flesh.

I went to wipe my skin, but Scott grabbed my forearm. A click of handcuffs around my wrists fixed my hands behind my back. A grunted squeal from Iain showed a similar fate had befallen him.

The twinkish Cameron came next, wanking his hairless prick to glaze my face in his sapid goo, followed by the American Parker, and the inexperienced Isaac. Just laughter, and smiles, as the twelve men decorated us with their jism.

Covered my hair, my naked body and my face in their musky seed, without consideration for the three submissives.

Scott put his hand on Isaac's back. "Need a piss? I got three goals saved from today. Let's clean these filthy fuckers!" Scott's eyes flicked to me and then to Iain, who grunted as a stream of pale yellow pee arched from the tip of Isaacs semi-erect cock and landed on Iain's mane of black hair.

He jerked his head backwards. I looked around to feel a forceful jet of warm piss break on my chest and Scott waved his spewing dick to coat my face, my hair and my stockings, washing the cum on the floor.

He laughed.

They all chuckled as they covered their hosts in their acrid liquid waste.

It was an act to humiliate and degrade. To demean us and show our worth.

Yet, it was done thoughtfully. Scott knew how horny it would make me. Every act he had done was teasing and playing with my sexuality. I needed to be the submissive, and I needed to be dominated.

And the alpha footballers chuckled as their three hosts showered again, and then cleaned up the large puddle of drying piss on the rubber sheet and varnished wooden floor, before returning with drinks once more.

But we had exhausted the twelve men for the afternoon, and as the match moved towards its dramatic conclusion, attention was no longer focused on the submissive hosts, but the exciting game, on the big screen.

When the Coach returned with the players who had been banging Clare and Victoria, most of the team went with him.

"Where's my clothes?" Scott's boyfriend asked him, as he searched frantically underneath the massage table. "I put them there." He looked at Martin and I, pushing the chairs to one side of the summerhouse.

Scott hummed, and his partner gestured towards him. Scott held out Iain's phone and then added. "Ben took them."

"Why?"

"Because I asked him too!"

"But... I can't walk home naked," Iain moaned.

"You're not naked." Iain snorted and pointed to the shiny scarlet stockings.

"The rozzers'll do me."

"It's OK. I took spare clothing for you."

"Not that."

"Oh yes! It was a gift and you've never worn it!" Iain blushed. I had never seen his cheeks redden or him to become flushed before. He was a bubbly, intense character who never flustered. Yet, as the cheeky winger reached into his kit bag and withdrew a transparent mac, a black jockstrap and a Grindr T-shirt with glow-in-the-dark lettering, Iain's eyes bulged. He gawped and said nothing. I tried not to snigger, but Scott glanced at his phone. "Of course, if you promise to come to the party tomorrow, I know Martin or Jon will drive us home. I happen to know that partners have been invited to the orgy - if we want them to be. And I very much do."

"You know I can't go. It's..."

"What?"

"I'll embarrass you," Iain mumbled.

"You won't!" Scott replied, with a tired, exasperated tone to his voice. "You haven't embarrassed me today. Or last week. Or the week before. It's fun. Yes, there's lots of bangin' but you like t'at. Everyone knows my boy likes it up the bum."

"You wouldn't exactly be compatible in bed if he wanted to be the top, would you?"

"Damn right!" Scott put his arms around his scowling boyfriend and squeezed his bare buttocks. "For me. You know I like seeing you being a nasty slut."

He hesitated once more, and both Martin and I highlighted the large group of very horny, drunk men at the party, eager to have a receptacle for their lust. He didn't like the option of walking in public with the outrageous clothing, and being that exposed was something he didn't want to countenance. After a little cajoling, he changed into the clothes Scott had brought and Martin drove them home.

* * * * *

On Sunday lunchtime, Iain knocked on the summerhouse door and we had a delightful afternoon of gaming on Martin's large television. I spoke to him about Scott's tricks, and he gave me a coy look. "I'm used to him. I know he means well. I know how much the coach likes his boys to screw, and it gets a bit too much. But Scott really wants me there, and he wants to see me enjoy myself. Express myself more. And he is right. That amount of cocks will make me horny. I'd never tell him, because he'd not stop banging on about it, but I am so looking forward to tonight."

We prepared ourselves with full enemas, before inserting butt-plugs to prepare for several hours of fun. While I waited for Scott and Iain, I restocked the bottles of lubricant and hundreds of condoms from our store throughout the spotless room as the dildo pressed against my prostate. The movement tickled my special place and it made me realise just how many latex sheaths and bottles of lube we had used in a fortnight; the shelves on the wall, and bowls on the tables were almost bare.

Our host had obtained three outfits - Scott had evidently discussed his plan - and the millionaire passed me a suit bag with my name on a label. "It's your size," he calmly said. It felt weighty.

I didn't dare look inside the black bag until after my second shower of the day. A kilt. A short, red tartan kilt with knee-high socks, a black sporran and a casual white shirt. No underwear. I studied the small kilt pin that was simply the word "CUCKOLD" in silver text. Iain's pin read "FAGGOT" and Martin had "SLUT."

"Where does Victoria find this stuff?" I asked, more in admiration than complaint. It was seriously impressive how adept Martin's wife was in finding degrading items for our lifestyle.

"You do not want to know!" Martin joked.