The Summerhouse Ch. 09: Mason

The football club, located at the end of an industrial estate on the edge of the nearby town, had transformed the large function room into a Winter Wonderland. Two large snow-covered Christmas trees dominated the corners of the room, with white tinsel strewn liberally across the walls and the ceiling. The club had set up several large, round tables for the hundred-plus guests.

The footballers, dressed in smart tuxedos, strode into their Christmas dinner, as if they were James Bond. Several ladies entered the room, draped on the arms of the suave athletes. Clare and Victoria both wore short scarlet dresses, trimmed with white fur and a Santa hat. My fiancée winked at me as Anthony rubbed the red velvet material on her backside.

I recognised a few of the Coach's harem in the room, but there were over a dozen women - all clothed in risque, short dresses - that I had not seen before.

None of the players had brought their female partners to the event. No footballer had risked their wives, girlfriends or fiancées at the Christmas festivities. While performing an errand, I had met Ray's girlfriend in the supermarket with him, and the blonde beauty's derriere he fondled at the party, was not the young lady I had seen him with at the checkout with the pots of yoghurts. Nor too was Billy's wife or Cameron's girlfriend.

However, a few had brought "plus-ones" to the party: male friends or acquaintances, doubtless intrigued by the promises of free food, beer and boundless amounts of sex.

I had been seated in the far corner of the room, next to the most impressive ivory tree, along with two women who I had not seen before, Scott, Ben, Isaac and the beefy attacking coach, Calvin.

Scott's eyes had watched Iain traverse the room. The assistant coach had taken a shine to the gay man, and Scott's boyfriend was being idly fondled. "Such a slut," my friend joked as he sat down next to me at the table and put his hands on the hem of my kilt. "Oh, still doing it properly."

"Do you mind?" I squealed as he lifted the kilt to my waist. "That's ..."

"Proper Scotswear," Scott interrupted. "Fancy tossing my caber? I have the horn like you wouldn't believe!" He looked at the ladies sitting opposite us and then turned back to me. "Watching Iain getting groped really turns me on."

"Later," I teased and ran my tongue over my lips.

"Yeah, Coach says no fucking until after the meal," the nephew of the aforementioned manager snapped. Scott shrugged and muttered something under his breath. The meal was fantastic. A local catering firm supplied an amazing three-course spread, topped with lashings of wine and beer, and finished with a delightful apéritif. Scott's gaze was constantly fixed on his boyfriend, clearly enthralled by the large, muscular assistant manager. Bruce definitely swung both ways, and he had his eyes firmly on Iain's assets that evening.

Clare had been seated between Anthony and Ricky, and had captured the attentions of the married men. They were both endowed with fine bodies, incredible stamina and amazing cocks - and my partner had a beaming smile as they suggestively flirted with her. They were both the sorts of men who she adored screwing. They were her type.

I spent the evening chatting to Scott, Calvin, and Kitty. Calvin, the fitness coach, was a muscle-bound man with cappuccino skin and a cheeky laugh. He had been the top scorer in a Caribbean football league when he was younger and had been called up to represent Montserrat, before he left the island after the volcanic eruption buried his home.

Kitty was, as I suspected, an escort hired by the football club. The fiery brunette was in her early twenties and was studying for a post-doctorate degree in Mathematics, while using her voracious sexual appetite to keep herself debt-free. "I have a partner too, but he's like you," she giggled as she finished her glass of wine. "He's a cuck. It's OK. The manager told me all about the guys in kilts." I must have blushed because she nudged Scott. "Doesn't he look cute when he goes red?"

"He could have been here if he's a cuck."

She pouted. "He doesn't play that way. He knows I play away, and he doesn't have any choice in that, but my boy ain't sucking cock, even to get 'em ready for me. That ain't happening and many of my guys are punters who don't want another guy anywhere near 'em, anyway."

After the catering firm cleared away the last of the plates, the tension in the room rose. The Coach tapped his glass and stood up, beaming at the room as he got to his feet.

The room fell silent. "Another year, another promotion. That's three promotions in four seasons, and we're on course for another. This is the most talented squad this club has ever produced. This is the strongest, most skilful, most tactically aware, most successful squad in this team's history. We are at a higher level than we have ever played before." He paused and took a sip of his beer. "But that cannot be the end of the story. That will not be the tale that I want told. This squad, and this team, with the achievements we've had, is not my legacy. This is the beginning of our adventure. This is the start of our journey. In May, if we stay top of the league, we will be one level below the regional league. And three levels below the Football League. And professional football. That's where I want to be. Not here. So this party is to celebrate our progress. And the gains we have made. But after this revelry has ended, and the hangovers subsided, know that we have eighteen games to win, so we top the league. And three more seasons of hard work, continual success and promotion. Because we are getting noticed. Our success is getting attention. And I want to be with the big boys. We all do."

He smiled and sighed. "Our party, is like our Saturday afternoons. Those of you, here tonight, who are wearing trousers, you will receive a party bag. Six free drinks at the bar, a betting slip and six tokens to spend with our underwearless whores. For those of you here tonight wearing skirts or kilts, you too will receive a party bag. Six drinks for the bar and as much lube as you need!" He laughed as the raucous cheer enveloped the room. "And the ladies and cucks will enjoy taking your tokens. For the one with the most coins at the end of the night gets a prize." He chuckled to himself, raised his glass and roared. "To Ashfield Rangers!" He clinked his glass with Victoria's almost-empty wine goblet as the team shouted back his rousing toast.

I hadn't seen Kitty leave the table, but she returned with five small black gift bags and three bright pink ones. She smiled at me as I opened the magenta mesh bag - a large bottle of anal lubricant, six condoms, six silver coins with beer glasses printed on them, and an elastic garter with a zipped pocket. "For all those fuck tokens you are going to get," Scott told me as I hitched my kilt to fasten it to my thigh. "Will it be big enough to hold all your tokens?" He chuckled and spun a shiny pink disc in his hand. "They've only given us six fuck tokens and condoms," he moaned, peering into his black paper bag. "Not sure it will be enough!"

"Where do you find the energy?" I mused. "You came twice yesterday and Iain said you dicked him this morning."

"And I wanna come again." He looked at the escort, and then Isaac. "That was twelve hours ago. I can go again and again. Hey Kitty, why don't we give you a tour of the stadium. Including the dressing room."

"You're obsessed. You're always thinking about getting your end away," I joked.

As the men rose from the table, we headed towards the stairs behind us. "C'mon, I got tokens to spend," he told me and squeezed my backside through my kilt as I walked through the open door

"On me? But you get me all the time?"

"That's just for show!" He snorted and glanced at Iain on another table. "I best not be seen looking too hard at the pussy in here." He grinned at the blonde-haired woman in pigtails and a low cut black evening dress walking past him. "Let's nip off to the changing rooms. And Jon, there's eight prossies, four wives and seventy-odd guys. I'm sure you cucks will get banged into next year. You'll have a hole as red as Rudolph's hooter."

The large dressing room with Ashfield Rangers emblem on the front was silent. Scott flicked the switch and the strip lighting bathed the harshly decorated room in aggressive white lighting.

White tiles on the wall and varnished oak benches. Minimalist, functional, and utilitarian. Clinically clean. The room smelt of disinfectant. Scott wheeled a raised stretcher from the corner of the room and ran his hands across the black padded leather top.

The Coach's nephew dropped his trousers as I watched Scott. The bald-headed defender, with hickory skin, stood akimbo with his erect prick sticking from underneath his shirt tails. Isaac was a squad player. He lacked the stamina, technique and abilities to compete with the first choice players, but Ben's best friend possessed a stout, firm prick and an expression swimming with filthy lust.

He wanted me to sate his desire, and he held out a token. A solitary token, but I would have done it for free. He didn't have to say a word as I dropped to my knees and reached for his turgid dick.

It oozed power. This thick black rod summoned me and the twenty-something footballer put his hands on the back of my head to bring my lips to his engorged prick.

Soft, warm, yet slightly rigid to the touch. He grunted as my mouth slipped over his dark member and my hands danced across his veined, ribbed tool.

He had fucked me with his epic member on a previous weekend, but apart from Ricky, Devon and Wes, he had the biggest cock in the team. The confidence, swagger and poise came from a man who might have been wanting on the pitch but demanded respect off of it.

He knew how to plough a bottom and have him screaming in ecstasy. He was one of Martin's favourite fucks, and he knew how much the bisexual slut adored feeling the stiff dick pounding into him.

My fingers slipped underneath his balls and I rubbed his perineum, as my lips massaged the coffee-coloured glans at the tip of his dick. Subtly moist and delicately fragranced with his masculine scent.

I became oblivious to Scott and activity beside the door; my eyes focussed on the solid piece of black meat that my face bobbed on. My mouth could only take two-thirds of his lengthy, girthy monster, and my left hand gently stroked his magnificent beast while my tongue worked his tip.

Pre-cum leaked from his dick. Salty, musky, nasty and delicious. His hand positioned at the back of my head to command me. It reinforced that I had no power. All the footballers had authority over us. I needed to cede all control to Clare, Victoria, and any dominant male or female who wanted it. I needed release sexual autonomy on these sorts of nights and find myself used.

That was in Isaac's nature. The gay top grunted as my lips swirled over his frenulum and my mouth sucked on the mushroom head of his elongated prick. His hips bucked to force his manhood further and further into my throat. I tilted my head back to accommodate him as best I could, groaning into his thick tool.

He was close; the firm strokes of my tongue had taken him to his first climax of the night. His first squirt of cum smashed into the back of my throat. I sucked on his prick and wrapped my tongue over the eye to direct his juice into my mouth.

I wanted to taste him. I wanted to feel his eruption against my mouth and to savour every drop of his masculinity. Isaac sighed, stumbled backwards on his trousers around his ankles and landed on the seat that ran around the changing room.

Ryan and Cameron spit-roasted Kitty. Scott was balls-deep into another woman, the lithe lady with the blonde pigtails. He smiled at me as Isaac paid me the single token which I put in the garter pocket.

The youngest of the coach's three assistants stood in the doorway. Naked, except for a pair of bright yellow boxer shorts, he smiled at me and then at the two girls. "You'll have to do. My bird gave me serious horn before I came out," Xavier moaned, and showed the stretched cotton in his sunshine yellow underwear.

I didn't need to prepare his dick. My lips went to close over his young meat and he shook his head. "I want Anal. Brittany won't give me anal, I'm fucking you up the chuff."

He flicked a solitary token towards me, that I caught, as I put my hands on the tiles and presented my hairless backside to him. An open invitation that the 21-year-old would not refuse.

He took the anal lubricant from me and drizzled an excessive amount down the crack of my butt. Cold sensations caused an involuntary shiver. My forehead rested on the wall as I steadied myself for Xavier. For a man I hardly knew, to impale my arse on his tool.

He stood behind me and his hands man-handled my buttcheeks. Exposing my innermost sanctum for penetration. I relaxed; I was in my sanctuary, awash with submissive feelings and tendencies.

I wanted to feel the plundering of my backside and the stout dick slide against my lubricated hole. I groaned as his smooth prick pressed against my opening. The tattooed twink had been here before.

Sexually, he preferred pussy, but was rarely chosen by the coach for the hot-tub. As an assistant he could never be a man-of-the-match or an outstanding performer, so when he came to Victoria's mansion, the Coach relegated him to Martin, myself and any other male slut who wanted two hours of bottoming for hot football players.

Even with the room stuffed full of escorts, he was still going to fuck my backside. Scott had explained it to me the week before: some of the footballers, who were in a serious relationship, believed that sodomising and using cuckold husbands was not cheating on their partner. Screwing men was not a sexual act they needed to feel guilt for. Whether their girlfriends and wives would feel the same has not been tested.

His condom-covered cock weighed against my hole, as he applied gentle pressure to open up my ring for him. He rocked softly as my body took the entire length of his smooth dick. He didn't need to ram or to force himself into my butt, he slipped smoothly.

I looked across the room at Scott kissing the unknown escort, and Kitty taking Ryan's dick in her backside. Her wild pants and loud yells suggested she was enjoying the animalistic thrusts into her butt.

I knew how good it felt. I willed Xavier to pound his dick into me. I wanted the alpha male to ravish my backside. I watched Kitty squirm and squeal, moan and pant, as the young eighteen-year-old winger slammed his dick into her, I wanted that. I needed it.

"Faster," I muttered to demand stronger hits from Xavier. I needed him to seize, pummel and thrash my backside, and he slowly ramped up his pace.

Slowly, he drilled my open invitation to him. My body sizzled with horniness as he ploughed into me. No respite, just scorching lust and passion. Xavier needed an outlet, I needed to be taken.

His dick rubbed against my prostate, causing my soft dick to soak the front of my kilt and drip onto the white tiles below. His hands gripped my waist tightly, forcing his finger tips against my flesh. The room was awash with furious grunting and groaning.

I felt Xavier's cock pulse and the thin Latex shield trapped several waves of cum. I yearned for more, but no more men were around. I slipped my second token into the garter, watched Kitty for a moment, and slipped out of the changing room.

"You going back upstairs?" The blonde woman called out to me; she stepped out of the room at the same time and closed the door behind her. "Virginia." The green-eyed girl was naked, except for her pink garter that bulged with tokens and the bottle of lubricant. She spoke with a strong London accent, and her sparkling white teeth glistened as she smiled.

"Yeah. I'm not going to win any more tokens down there." We could hear the noise of music coming from the suite and I followed the sound of the aggressive beat. "You were getting into it? You gay?"

"No, my fiancée is here tonight too. I'm bi."

"That's very ... understanding."

"And Scott is a very good fuck." She giggled when I said that, and pushed open the door to the raucous function room, transformed into a hedonistic disco.

"I know," she replied. "I've had the pleasure. More than once."

Two couples were wildly fucking in the corner over chairs, while a naked prostitute's mouth was lusciously kissing Luis's dick. She looked old enough to be his mother. Speakers pounded loud music from the DJ in the corner of the room. Clare, almost naked, was being taken by Anthony in the far corner. The married man had an impressive physique, and I nodded towards the two of them. "That's my fiancée."

"She's having fun."

"She always does."

I stopped to have a drink and to go to the toilet; in the side rooms there were games where we could get tokens. A couple I couldn't do, as I did not possess the required anatomy, but the gloryhole, which had three booths, was free and I slipped inside.

Sean and an escort had knelt in front of the first two holes. The large piece of fabric, stretched across the small room, and nailed to the wall and ceiling, had three side-plate sized gaps cut in the white material, and three smaller spaces above it. I removed my shirt while I waited.

The first cock I had was a long, thick black prick, and I guessed it was Theo's tool. A token came through the smaller slot and my lips engaged immediately.

I would have wrapped my tongue around that cock without a token, but I tasted the feint aroma of cum on his dick. Slightly sweaty, that added to his masculinity.

I was a cocksucker and a slave to the schlong; I never tired of sucking dick or bored with coaxing a semi-erect cock in my mouth to a full erection and bobbing up and down the shaft.

Enthusiastically, I rocked my mouth up and down his dick, sucking on his cockhead, and feeling the soft, velvety skin of his shaft. I groaned into his cock and ran my tongue over his cock head, flicking his sensitive underside. I worshipped his glorious dick with my mouth and I made him whimper and groan.

He mewed, and I felt the fabric bulge as his hands reached out. His cock pulsed, and I got my first taste of cum at the gloryhole. Swallowed, like a good little slut.

Another replaced him, and then another. Each of the ten cocks that I serviced made me hornier and hornier. Each of the men groaned and squealed as I my lips cajoled and enticed their climax from their dripping dicks.

Like a snake charmer, they were under my spell, beguiled by lips working their pricks. I loved giving head, and thanks to the boys in the summerhouse, I had been having a lot of practice. I used every bit of that experience to leave ten men squirming, squealing and satisfied.

With cum on my chest, I got myself a drink with one of my beer tokens and washed my face in the toilets, before returning to the side rooms. The other extra activity which could yield me points was the private calendar which the club would give to everyone associated with the football team.

If I was prepared to have my photograph taken, I would get a token. There were a row of chairs outside the photography room, and there was one person in front of me. I sat on the chair next to a naked woman who I had not seen before. She held a mask in her hand and said nothing as she looked around the room. Her garter bulged. She was tall, especially for a woman, but she looked like a typical twenty-something girl next door. There were no immaculate legs or big breasts, and bikini tan lines marked on her skin.

She scowled slightly too as a Barbie-doll lookalike tottered into the room wearing high-heels, giggled and left. "Hi, I'm Jon."

She forced an uncomfortable smile. "Erika." She exhaled and looked straight at the wall opposite and jolted as two flashes from the camera lit up the room we were about to enter.