The Summerhouse Ch. 15: Stephen

I stepped into the cool afternoon air, shivering as thirty men piled from the minibus. It must have been well over its legal capacity. "Afternoon Scott, this is Bobby and Stephen. Afternoon Ryan, this is Bobby and Stephen." And so on.

Twenty-three times, I welcomed dominant men into Martin's abode. Coaches, assistants and players. Black, white and mixed-race. Enviously athletic and overweight. Eighteen-year-old teenager to forty-five-year-old defensive coach. The variety of masculinity was breathtaking and Bobby looked on, spellbound and open-mouthed.

"Oh, and I got two goals, Wes and Nathaniel grabbed one a piece too," Scott called out as he slouched on the settee in his tracksuit. "And get some tits and pussy on the screen, Martin. This is fucking awful service. I've a good mind to take my cock and balls elsewhere."

Martin raised his eyebrows at me. "We're just sorting it for you," the host replied as I tapped away at the media centre in the corner of the room. "Does Mr Kendall, with his amazingly stout dick, and his delicious testicles, loaded with thick, virile, juicy cum, want a cider?"

The brash winger snorted. "Yeah, him, his enormous cock and his weighty balls fucking do."

"And a beer, fag."

"Make that two beers, cuck."

"A whisky for me, sissy."

"A lager, cocksucker,"

Even Martin looked a little overwhelmed at the number of orders and abusive names being shouted at him. I started a porn video of a big-breasted woman at a gangbang, and slipped into the small kitchen, crowded with four bodies, to help the genial host. The food needed to go in the oven; we had two dozen drinks to prepare.

In the first ten minutes, Bobby had his mouth around Cameron's diminutive prick, Martin was spanked by Nathaniel and Stephen was given a glass of piss by Wes to down. He gulped his acrid, amber drink with a huge smile on his face.

The wild, febrile atmosphere calmed when the Premier League match, featuring Manchester United, started, and the dominant men watched it. We waited on them as they finished their drinks and my message to Scott, earlier in the day, about Bobby being a "truly excellent and enthusiastic cocksucker" had clearly been communicated by him to his team. Everyone wanted a bit of Bobby's mouth.

He obliged. Willingly.

Every man who demanded it and pushed their navy tracksuits to their ankles was treated to a sensual blowjob. His mouth wrapped around the gleaming head, and gentle, gradual sucks brought the prick to a full erection.

Then he bobbed; his tongue swirling over the head as his lips bounced over the cock to draw a toe-curling, grunting orgasm from the lucky man.

Each time he finished fellating a footballer, another would summon him, and then another. He was a blowjob machine, and his broad smile as every man covered his throat or his face in cum was infectious.

He was in heaven. It was his pipedream. If he could design a world from his fantasies, the very definition of his utopia, it would consist of a dozen alpha guys demanding luscious fellatio.

He was a cocksucking obsessive; every lick of another man's prick was a delicious enjoyment for him. He dreamt of going down on cocks, and he savoured every dick his lips had ever given pleasure to.

Stephen, too, was in his own personal nirvana. Once the teasing comments about his bloomers had finished, the nineteen-year-old younger brother of Ryan and Cameron, Tom, pulled the silky pink frilly underwear to the married man's ankles. He had only joined the team a few months ago and not seen a cock cage before. "What the fuck is that?" He pointed at the metal prison around Stephen's prick.

"It's a chastity device," his elder sibling called. "It means he can't get a boner. Or screw."

"No bird is gonna want to fuck 'im anyway," the nineteen-year-old replied as he gently stroked his teenage cock. "Look at the size of it. It's fuckin' tiny!" He snorted as Stephen stared longingly at his manhood. The laughter from the footballers was cruel and humiliating. But Stephen loved every snigger and every giggle. "Does anyone ever touch it?" Tom asked.

"No, Sir." Stephen muttered.

"When was the last time you got laid?"

"Four hundred and twenty-two days ago, Sir. My wedding night, Sir."

Tom's eyes widened. "Holy shitting fuck."

"My wife wants me to go five years, although I do get releases through anally induced ejaculation, Sir."

"You mean, by being a batty boy?"

"Prostate massage, strapon pegging and my faggotry, Sir." His eyes widened as Stephen turned. "You see, I have lubricated my hole and stretched it with a large plug before you came, Sir."

Stephen's demurring candour stunned Tom; the cocky, arrogant midfielder rose from his seat as his team mates watched. "Fuck 'im, Young Tom. Fuck 'im good!" His brother called in encouragement.

The nineteen-year-old grabbed Stephen by the back of the neck and threw him over an empty puffy. The cuckold stumbled as his pink frilly panties got caught between his ankles, but he landed with a thud over the soft seat with his arse in the air.

He grunted as Tom rolled a condom over his prick and landed on top of him, using his body weight and muscles to drive his covered cock into the squealing submissive.

Men took in turns to plunder his hole; Stephen was in a dreamland: shamelessly used as the alpha men degraded and disgraced him. His locked dick leaked as his they rammed past his prostate, leaving him a panting, filthy mess.

His Promised Land; his own Eden.

Martin was truly hospitable; he waited on everyone with a deferential air and beaming smile. He wanted every visitor to be satisfied, and he gleefully served food and drink that he had purchased to the dominant men.

As for me, I found my nose in Isaac's fuzz as his cock tickled the back of my throat and Ben's dick stroked my special spot. I was used and then discarded as the spent players returned to their drinks and the football.

During the first half, I cooked pizzas and nibbles, and I waited on the victorious footballers as Martin was rammed against the arm of an armchair.

After half-time, the overweight goalkeeping coach gestured for Bobby as he scoffed pizza, and pushed him onto his knees. Bobby's eyes met mine as the beefy, stocky man opened his thighs, expectantly.

Watching my friend impale his mouth onto Wayne's dick was an erotic sight. His expression screamed with excitement, as he acted as if the thick, stout cock from the oversized man was all he had ever wanted.

The cocksucker bestowed passionate worship on that stubby meat, squealing as he meticulously lavished slow, drawn out licks along the shaft, and wrapped his tongue over the sensile mushroom tip. Wayne ground his hips into the armchair, downing his beer as Bobby drove him closer to orgasm.

The space was thick with lust. The delicious aromas of male sexual release, the guttural sounds of buggery and blowjobs, the sights of the wanton debauchery and lewd behaviour, filled the room. Assistant coach, Xavier, saw me ogling Bobby's performance, and tugged at my arm.

Ten seconds later, he had bent me over a puffy and had thrusted his prick into me, sliding against my prostate. "Brittany says no anal," he told me, referring to his girlfriend. "But you never say no."

Saying "no" was not in my vocabulary at these events. I existed to be used, and I was available to all the alpha men. Not that I wanted to decline the tattooed man's muscular body pounding his chunky cock into my well-taken hole. Thick enough to give my butt a satisfying full sensation that swelled my lust.

I felt another person land on the puffy next to me and smiled at Bobby's gasping face. Late middle-aged reserve midfielder Phil, with his retreating hairline, chunky muscles and long, thin prick had thrown my friend onto the wide puffy and had lined up his fettered cock at my friend's open hole.

I squeezed Bobby's hand as he panted, groaning as the lengthy spear slammed past his resistance. Phil hammered and battered his dick into the young man's hole with fierce, powerful thrusts. Bobby squealed; there was no respite from the fucking machine old enough to be his Dad.

The ex-semi-professional player may have been the wrong side of forty, but he had the energy of a teenager and devoured Bobby's invitation with glee and gusto.

In my intimate sanctuary, Connor, and then Billy, replaced Xavier. Each time, I felt the cock pulse followed by a satisfied, relieved groan. Bobby had returned to oral duty on cocky Ricky's prick, and I dolled out more drinks.

Stephen's butt never stopped being used; the players formed a queue behind him to bury their dicks into his feminine body and lubricated hole. Wes and his freakishly large prick, Paolo and his impressive physique and cappuccino skin, American's Stan and Parker, with their inked bodies and Isaac with his thick, circumcised prick that stretched and satisfied any open hole. They waited, they fucked, they left.

Stephen was a free-to-use butt, Bobby was a blowjob purveyor, and I was a drinks provider. It was mechanical and so horny.

When the full-time whistle went, our guests were exhausted. They'd all blown their load at least once. The horny footballers had left Stephen as a sweaty, disgusting mess, Bobby covered in drying cum, and full condoms littered the summerhouse for us to clean.

"Thanks, fags," Ricky called as he left, grinning at the state of the room. "See ya next week."

"Maybe, Sir, would be given access to pussy next time," Stephen replied.

"Ahh, that was the best blowie I've had for months," he said and pointed to Bobby. "It's like he wants to do it, rather than he has to!"

"I do want to do it," Bobby said, with streaks of cum in his hair and on his skin. "I don't know why anyone doesn't."

"Yeah, see ya boys," Scott called out as he sauntered out of the summerhouse.

As the last player boarded the minibus, Charlotte summoned Martin and Stephen to the hot-tub. I heard cheering and laughter as I collected the used plates and beakers. "So, what do you think to Saturday Afternoon Football?" I asked Bobby.

"It's good, really good," he replied. "Great fun. My butt is sore now. A couple of them really pounded me. But it's the same problem, I have at the sauna. So many straight guys pull out as they spill their load. They don't get it, that their cum is part of the deal. Several of the guys tonight, jizzed over my face, or in my hair, or down my chest, and I'd rather have that on my tongue!" He chuckled and passed me a handful of stacked plates as we mopped the floor and tidied the cabin.

"I know. Have a quick shower if you want, while I wash up."

He grunted, thanked me and slipped into the bathroom. He returned a few minutes later with a towel wrapped around him. I had cleaned the kitchenette, and I felt his body come behind me. His hands touched my waist, and he pulled me gently into him. "That's a cute butt you have!"

"Offer is always open," I said. "You top wonderfully."

"I don't really," he muttered.

"You top me wonderfully, then!" I replied and turned to face him. We smiled at each other and our eyes met. We went to kiss when Stephen's voice interrupted.

Naked, except for an adult nappy, he coughed. "The ladies have said you two can join them in the hot-tub now." Bobby chortled and nodded.

"Come on," he called and held out his hand for me to take. "Let's meet your betrothed. I've heard enough about her." I introduced Clare to Bobby; the women were in the eight-person hot tub and she smiled as we walked up to the covered verandah with broad smiles.

"Get in," she offered to my cocksucking friend and hummed as she looked at me. "Go on, then, Jon. You too." Victoria allowed Martin into the bubbling whirlpool, while she dispatched Stephen, in his humiliating wear, to fetch drinks and tidy up from their tryst with the powerful footballers. I spied dozens of used condoms and the submissive husband happily cleaned the fruits of his wife's infidelity from the outdoor area.

Bobby sat close to me, and our hands wandered in the bubbles. His palm stroked my smooth leg under the water as we drank our alcoholic drinks. Clare and Victoria teased us: "There were lots of men in the summerhouse, did you have a really good time?"

Martin nodded. "Yes, Bobby and Stephen were very popular! They had queues."

"Oh Bobby," Clare cooed. "Tell me about yourself." The warehouse worker blushed and mumbled. My partner stood up in the jacuzzi and sat between myself and my friend, wiggling her naked bum until we shuffled and gave her room. "You a cuck or a fag?" She asked as she took a swig from her cocktail.

"Or neither," I replied. My fiancée glared at me and tapped me on the lips.

"I'm sort of very secretly bi," he admitted. "But my girlfriend isn't into other men. And I don't touch other women. That's... not for us."

"You in the closet, still?"

He blushed and nodded. I squeezed Clare's thigh under the water, and she took the hint. "It's lovely to meet you. I must ask, has any of the cucks finished you off, today?" He hesitated and shook his head. Clare patted me on the shoulder. "Job for you. You cannot invite guests over and not treat them right." Clare shrugged at Victoria. "I personally think we need to teach our boys a lesson later. We had six men in here, didn't we, Charlotte? Every single one shot their bolt! Multiple times. The cucks have visitors that helped them and then let them stay horny. That's not fair, is it?"

"No, it isn't," Charlotte replied and downed her drink. She held it out to her partner. "Refill, bitch!"

"Bobby dear," Clare replied. "Do you want my fiance's mouth or his butt?"

Bobby giggled. "I'm... I mean I wasn't expecting... I... I quite like blowjobs, but I didn't expect to get any tonight. We could do a mutual thing if..."

Clare squealed. "Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. Jon, get your lips around this magnificent specimen of bisexual manhood."

Bobby pushed his body up and seated himself on the edge of the hot-tub, I knelt on the seat in the water and looked at him the eyes as I extended my tongue and gave his semi-erect cock a long, luscious lick. Slow, gentle movement across the length of his shaft.

My gaze transfixed on his face as I swirled my mouth around my friend's stiffening glans. He groaned, and closed his eyes, exhaling sharply as I rubbed his sensitive spot.

I deftly moved further and further along his erect shaft. "That's good," he muttered. He gulped as I took all of his stiffness into my mouth and my finger pressed against his perineum.

This meant more than any other blowjob I had given that day. I liked Bobby and giving him pleasure was more satisfying and intimate than a random prick from the football club.

We had a good rhythm: long, luscious strokes of his dick with my lips, followed by a few swirls of his sensitive head with my tongue. I could taste his horniness and feel his lust boiling inside him. Ready to release.

He gasped, and his cock pulsed. I sucked the tip of his twitching prick, and he ran his hands through my hair as he squirted several surges of his viscous, musky juices into my throat. He looked at me, smiling with his dick on my tongue, and grinned. "Thanks," he muttered. "I better do you now."

"Cucks do not get blowjobs, except from other cucks," Clare cried. "House Rules. And as you are not a cuck, have another beer."

"I'm driving," he replied. "I can't drink any more or I'll be over the limit." Clare went to speak, as he slipped back into the water. "But thank you for the offer."

Stephen prepared burgers for tea with Martin's help, and we sat in the dining room laughing, drinking and chatting. Bobby relaxed, and Clare kept giving us a weird look as I spoke in conversation with my friend.

By early evening, he needed to leave and thanked Victoria for her hospitality. "Good meeting you all," he said, as he got up from the table. Martin took a large bottle of champagne from his wine cellar and held it out to Bobby. "Here, Jon said that you often buy your other half a bottle if you've been out having fun." My friend met my eyes and Martin added. "You can say you had a game of poker and won that."

"I... well... that's..."

"It's a hundred quid a bottle. It's nothing special, but it's a decent drop. That way you don't need to feel guilty."

Bobby took the offered wine and muttered thanks. I walked with him to the summerhouse and then his car, parked in the track at the rear of the wooden lodge. "I didn't know that Martin would do that," I said. "And I..."

"It's fine," the young warehouse worker interrupted. "And thanks. It's good fun here. I'd love to come again." He bit his lip and put the bottle of champagne on the gravel beside his car. He pressed his body against mine, and he gave me a pat on the back. "Thanks."

"You may give amazing oral but my butt still wants you to fuck it!" I told him, and he briefly kissed me on the lips, before he got into his car, with his bottle of fizz, and drove off towards Stockport.

Clare smiled at me from the garden. "You really like him, don't you?" She said as I walked back to her.

"Very much so."

"More than me?" She pouted.

"Never," I replied.

"You kiss him."

"You kiss every guy who fucks you." I raised my eyebrow at her. "He fucks me."

"But ..."

"OK, I really like him. You have your favourites too."

"Yeah, I know." She giggled. "You don't need to get defensive. It's rather sweet, actually. You two make a lovely couple. I'd love to see you screw each other. I bet it's really romantic and intimate. When Benji and Scott and all the other guys fuck you is passion and power, but if Bobby did it, it would be like a Mills and Boon novel."

I rolled my eyes, and I escorted my fiancée to her bedroom to give her a handful of orgasms through my fingers and my tongue, and then she wore my favourite strapon to pound my backside until my cock squirted over my chest.

We'd just had amazing, fantastic climaxes from incredible sex, and my manhood was most unneeded. As usual.

* * * * *

Stephen and Charlotte waved goodbye to our hosts the following morning. Stephen was dressed in a fishnet stockings, a short skirt and a crop top by the dominant women and they giggled as he struggled with the bags to the hatchback.

Victoria embraced him, kissed him on the cheek and spanked him on his bum, before he left her abode. "Come back soon," she shouted as their car drove down the driveway and she gave us a broad smile as she sat down on the verandah.

Scott and Virginia visited after lunch; they had taken a bike ride through the country lanes and had stopped off at the summerhouse to scrounge a drink in the tepid spring sunshine.

One beer quickly became two and then three, and the chatter turned bawdy and ribald as we moved into the hot-tub. "We've not seen Sean and Amy for a while. Are they still OK?" Clare asked.

Victoria nodded. "Yeah." She raised her glass at her husband with a wide smile on her face. "Little slut sent me a text yesterday. She got herself pregnant."

"Oh."

"And it ain't Sean's kiddy. The guy's dick hasn't seen any pussy for six months and he just fires blanks, anyway."

"How's he taken it?"

"He's over the moon. He's always wanted kids, but they've shelved their sex life for a bit. His family don't know and they will get a shock when the baby's born."

"Oh, is it... a different... y'know?"

"Oh yes! She went to a birthday party of a friend of a friend in Manchester, and it was black dudes who fucked her. A lot of them. So she's pretty certain she isn't going to be able to suggest it's Sean's. Not that she would. She tells the world that her partner is useless in bed and is as virile as a eunuch, so she has to get satisfied elsewhere, but he's not quite so keen on that being so public. Surprisingly."