The Summerhouse Ch. 17: Victoria

Victoria plundered my arse twice more with her large dildo as a reminder that she was still waiting for an answer. When Clare joked that our tardiness led to an enjoyable, rewarding experience for me, Victoria threatened me with the cane once more. Both Victoria and Clare were true experts with their strapons, and I loved bending over for both of them.

"Victoria. Martin," Clare said at the dinner table. "Jon and I have spoken at length about your offer. It still feels really unreal and way too generous. But I think with a couple of kinky lodgers we'd be able to afford the upkeep, and with you two next door, it will be really, really cool. We still reckon you are utterly mad." Victoria squealed loudly and embraced her best friend.

"But," I added. "There is a proviso that you add us to the rotas. We both work full-time, but we expect to help you get your business up and running."

Victoria threw her arms around my fiancée, laughed loudly. "Oh, I will need the help to beat those dirty little fuckers to a pulp. We gonna make them squeal like pigs. And Martin'll always need a hand in the kitchen or cleaning rooms."

Martin nodded and smiled; he looked delighted by Clare's announcement, but I wondered if he was mentally calculating how many times a year I would suck his prick. He admitted I had caused more of his orgasms over the previous nine months than anyone else in his lifetime.

We had the last match of the season the following day after two weekends of no parties. Those matches were mid-afternoon long-distance away days, and the team would not have been back to our village before teatime. Ashfield Rangers clinched top spot and promotion at the start the month, as their eight point cushion to Wythenshawe Wanderers was unassailable.

I had subtly asked Martin about the companies he owned over lunch, especially after Victoria's admission in the dungeon, and he turned his laptop to show me a spreadsheet.

"When I sold my firm, I got a colossal stack of cash and some stock in the parent company. I bought lots of properties and that's run at arm's length. Just over a hundred houses and flats in Cheshire, Manchester and Liverpool. I spent half the remainder in buying shares in about three dozen companies. I have controlling stakes in two, but Clare's employer isn't one of them. We know the founder very well, and I just helped fund his expansion. We own a few percent of his firm and get a fat dividend every July."

"Was that before or after Clare started working there?"

Martin smiled. "Your fiancée came to a party in her final year at Uni with Victoria, when she was looking for graduate positions. They met the CEO. Clare and Victoria tag-teamed him and spit-roasted him. Afterwards, they had a chat and drink. Emit's a really good guy, and an old playmate. We helped him get his remote learning off the ground a couple of years ago. He's very kinky, and he put her name forward for an interview after that party."

"Does Clare know she got ahead because...?"

"She stuck a nine-inch dildo into her new boss's rectum until he squirted cum into my mouth?" He laughed. "She knows how she got the interview. But getting the job was her own abilities, and the promotion is just her hard work. I know Victoria was keen for her to come up to Manchester rather than the Norwich office, but her new management position is because she's damn good at what she does. The strapon got her a place at the restaurant, her intelligence got her into the seat at the top table. Don't do your fiancée down." He saw the uneasy expression on my face and shook his head. "Families with tons of money send their kids to Eton to get ahead. Others use familial connections and some women or men use their sex appeal. Or literally anything to get an edge. Why is it so wrong that Clare met a senior manager at a social event and used that chance meeting to her advantage and put a foot on the ladder?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Imagine, there is a guy you meet at the sauna and you blow him, he fucks you, and then you have a chat in the cafe afterwards. He mentions he runs an IT firm, or whatever the fuck you do, and gives you an interview. And you land a twenty grand pay rise because of it. Is that fair, or is that just you utilising your assets and skills to be the best of your abilities? Is it unfair on applicants who aren't complete sluts?"

"I guess."

My eyes glanced at the spreadsheet he had opened and my glance lingered at the top row. "Ashfield Rangers, 100%. Do you own the football club?" He nodded and grinned.

"Of course. They were about to go out of business. The coach was just screwing Victoria at that point, and he had a couple of the guys round for a party which got very bisexual. So, after the sucking and fucking, we had a drink in the hot-tub. I bought the club for a nominal sum. It was bankrupt anyway, and I helped turn it around. We made much more of the function rooms, and we hire that out to raise money for the team."

I snorted. "So the guys are coming round later to piss on their boss, and fuck him senseless?"

His smile turned to a broad beam. "Yeah, pretty much. Although the investment is in Victoria's name. Technically, she is the Coach's boss, and it's the only company that we have invested in which makes a loss. Not that I care, 'cause I get paid in other ways." He sighed and closed his computer. "Talking of which, we better get ready."

"Already douched," I replied.

"I haven't. And I have to get the food ready. And the porn." He said nothing as he got a bag from underneath his bed. "And Victoria has said we need to wear this. And only this." I looked inside the bag, and before I could speak, he added. "You are the black one. Bobby wants the pink one, if he gets here on time."

The mesh black singlet was short and only reached my belly button. I felt foolish in the preposterous outfit, but prepared the food and chairs while Martin showered, douched and dressed in the white singlet. Half-an-hour before their arrival, Andre knocked on the front door of the summerhouse. "What are you doing here?" I asked, and he raised his eyebrows when he saw my outfit.

"I came for the party. You said I could come if ever I was free." He sighed and stroked his hair back. "I split with my girlfriend last week. She found out about the sauna visits and stuff and accused me of being gay." He shrugged his shoulders. "I can't blame her. I did so much fooling around with guys and liked it so much. So next week I am moving back down South. I'm renting a room from a Uni mate of mine in Reading for a few months. Hopefully find a job quickly. But I thought I'd go one last time at the summerhouse. I'd never have gone... bi... or gay... if it wasn't for this place. Wasn't for you."

"You know the Ashfield Rangers footballers are coming?"

"I hope so! It's the final match of the season, isn't it?" He asked and tugged open his backpack to take out his Wythenshawe Wanderers football shirt. "I wanna wear this."

"You'll get spanked so much!"

"Great. And fucked. And so much. Just, give it to me!"

Martin embraced the bisexual footballer with a warm hug and a welcoming laugh. Andre recounted his story, as I put pizzas and finger food in the oven, and set up rows of plastic glasses.

Bobby arrived five minutes before the minibus did; the warehouse worker burst into the summerhouse and was still douching in the bathroom when the players from Ashfield Rangers strode into the room, chatting and laughing loudly. "Hello, faggots! Get your fill of cock before the summer!" The cheeky, young Ryan smacked Martin on the backside as he yelled, and took a front-row seat. "Lager and be quick about it!"

"Did you win?" I asked Scott.

"Oh yes. Nine goals to nil." I gulped as his eyes shone, and he added. "And the coach said we can all have some piss fun if we want. No limits."

"Where's...?" I looked around at the group of players settling into the leather chairs and then back at Scott.

"Theo, Devon, Wes, Ricky, Isaac and Anthony?" Scott finished for me. "The guys with the biggest meat are getting ready to fuck your fiancée. And Martin's wife. And to show them a good time that they don't get at home."

"You should have brought Virginia, then!" He glared at me and shook his head slowly.

"Comments like that will see your arsehole get very sore!" He slumped on the nearest sofa and wrapped his arm around the back of the chair. Robin and Phil sat next to him, and he glared at me. "Two pints of scrumpy. I need to replenish my bladder."

The first few minutes were rapid; almost the entire team had come for the last party of the season, and I had five men to wait on. I was somewhat relieved that Andre had shown up unannounced - although he was always welcome - and his scarlet red shirt was a magnet for abuse.

They recognised him, but never realised that he was a rival player until that point. The full-back in that decisive game, and their adversary, had turned into a submissive for them. The bawdy atmosphere intensified, and they subjected Andre to a never-ending battery of abusive comments, groping hands and fearsome smacks.

But he smiled through it all. The opposition footballer grinned at me as the young Cameron pushed him to the floor, fished out his cock and stuffed it into Andre's face. His fantasies were being sated and satisfied. Free of a relationship, he no longer felt guilty about surrendering to his dreams.

As the Premier League season had finished, Martin had put on some bisexual pornography with a female-domination bent; Latex-bound women with male submissives and alpha men. It was the sort of porn which we loved and had in abundance, but it held only brief interest for the dominant football players, who demanded that he change it to something more vanilla - busty girls, being screwed by dozens of men at an orgy.

The alcohol flowed, and the large spread of food did little to soak up the beer, cider, whisky, vodka and rum that was being consumed. Andre gave the first blowjob. His lips closed around the overconfident Cameron, and the inexperienced goalkeeper face-fucked his opponent until he had spilt cum on the front of the red football shirt.

The hollering rose; the laughter increased, and it was the cue to use the hosts. Jordan went first with me. The ginger-haired star striker of the team dropped his dark blue tracksuit bottoms. The polyester skated over thick, muscular thighs as the moody player wordlessly pointed to his semi-erect prick.

He wasn't a talker, but he didn't need to be; his cock was mesmerising. Behind me someone made a cheap jibe about the lust in my eyes as my mouth fell into the lap of the team's best hitman, and my lips swirled across the top of the long, thin prick. It tasted of sapid masculinity. A sexual jolt shot through me, and I groaned into the meaty specimen in my mouth.

Pre-cum oozed across my tongue. His cock hardened in my mouth as I slowly washed the delicious liquid from the head of his dick. He leant back in his seat, and I looked at him across the tracksuit top.

It felt wonderful. His hands rested on my shoulders and firmly kept me in place as my tongue worked his cock. Not that he needed to restrain me. I loved doing what I was doing, and everyone knew it. My face, buried into the crotch of a dominant footballer, turned me on. It made me even more horny and even more desperate.

My cock, unshackled in the bottomless attire, was proudly erect as my mouth bobbed on Jordan's meat. Each slide of my lips over his prick took more of his shaft in my mouth. My hands grabbed the base of his hairless dick and I slid my tongue over his glans, sucking as my fingers worked his shaft.

Jordan groaned. His hips bucked in tune with the rhythm I had set. My mouth set a quick cadence and the dominant man had squealed and groaned as my tongue glided over his most sensitive part.

He tried to jerk his cock from my lips, but I held firm. I felt his prick pulse and his muscles twitch, and I sucked desperately to summon his orgasm into my mouth. I wanted to taste his climax. I needed to feel the ejaculating dick squirt against the sides of my cheek. I needed that treat on my tongue.

I never tired of it. The onset of a cumming dick in my mouth always sent a shiver down my spine, and a firework to my cock. My prick sizzled as I tasted his emptying balls, and he roared with orgasmic delight.

I never asked Robin's permission. I yanked the bottoms of the guy next to Jordan, and the married man groaned as I wrapped my lips around his tiny package. Fully erect, he didn't even touch the back of my tongue and I sucked dinky dick with gleeful abandon. My arousal raged; my lust was overcharged and the abusive, jeering, humiliating comments only made me more horny.

My mind span with excitement and anticipation. My arse, inches from Scott, wagged expectantly as my mouth worked Robin's dick with frenzied delight. Scott's hand smashed against one of my cheeks and then he laughed. "Who wants to fuck this slut?" My friend asked.

I groaned into the micropenis barely filling my mouth. Scott's smacks continued, forcing my nose into Robin's hairless mons. He grunted with every strike on my butt. We both did.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, loving the firm dominance of my friend. His powerful pelts on my exposed skin as I fellated a puny prick were a delightful degradation. I knew what it looked like and what comments they would make. My intensity on Robin's dick increased as Scott's smacks got harder and harder. I needed to feel the cum once more, and to sate my inner slut. I wanted Scott to part my reddened cheeks and plunge his fat Geordie dick deep into my special place and roger me senseless.

I sucked Robin's dick hard and felt his cock quiver and then deliver several streaks of watery cum with just a few strokes of my mouth. I had barely cleaned him up when I looked over my shoulder and make eye contact with Scott.

He knew what I wanted, and as my mouth moved to the next man on the chair - Phil and his much more sizeable wang - Scott unfurled a condom over his dick to fuck me.

Scott knew how to take me; we had enough practice, but his had a steady, unyielding motion that pushed his cock into my welcoming hole. His hands firmly gripped my body - often my waist, or sometimes my shoulder - and he ground his dick into my desperate flesh.

I grunted onto Phil's large prick as Scott pounded by backside. Our thighs slapped together as he pivoted aggressively on my waist, thrusting deep into my butt.

He barely paused in his assault on my arse, but just ploughed his sheathed dick into me relentlessly until his cock shivered and his balls unloaded into the Latex teat.

Ben took Scott's place. The jeering and groaning underlined my place. I was present at the summerhouse to be a slut, but my cock tingled with every thrust against my prostate. My body shook as dominant men rocked their dick deep into my excited body.

Once Phil shot into my mouth, I put my head on the floor, and panted, squealing as someone else replaced Ben, and then another. I stopped caring who was ploughing me, and just rode every wave, felt every grip and loved every passionate, frenzied thrust into my wanton hole.

Andre had it more so. For a team, so focused on winning, to defile and desecrate their greatest rival, while wearing their opponent's scarlet shirt, was an offer too much to pass up. He was spit-roasted continuously and Martin served beer to the lines of men queueing to roger the unexpected visitor. Barely an erect cock passed the host's lips, and nothing went near his butt. He just watched his three guests receive lashings of cum and served refreshments.

There was a more intense atmosphere to the party. The porn film helped cause a more lustful energy, but season-ending match had created a hedonistic vibe. The players had won the league as champions and were spending their excitement.

After the fifth dick had unloaded in my mouth, Scott, tugged at my shoulder. "Watch this," he muttered, and I looked up to see Andre being carried outside. He didn't struggle, and the four drunk men dumped him on the lawn. Ray was the first one to dowse the red shirt in piss, followed by Jamie, Robin and then Charlie, the football coach.

Martin passed the back-up striker a bundle of tent pegs and rope to the tipsy, horny footballers and they staked him on the grass. He was "the new urinal." His cock was prominent, as thirty men covered his body in piss.

"That's hot," Scott whispered to me. "We should do that to you sometimes."

"More beer, fags!" Jamie cried. Martin and I scuttled inside and poured a dozen pints, carrying them out to the men in the late May sunshine. They abandoned the lacklustre, unimaginative pornography, and they sat on the grass, watching each other dowse Andre's face, body and dick in piss. Others squatted over him, and made him rim them, as they unloaded their bladder over his soaked clothing. It was sadistic, nasty and deeply arousing.

Ben made me rub his cock over the stricken footballer and jettison several waves of cum over Andre's face which Xavier hosed off. Those players turned that patch of grass to a marshy quagmire.

Still, Andre never stopped grinning or smiling. He continued to writhe in the mud, and his dick barely flagged. His arousal never sated. Homosexual submissiveness was his fantasy and his dream. His newly discovered sexuality was in full display as he revelled in the filth and disgusting behaviour of the men surrounding him.

Even the guys from the hot-tub dowsed him, and he gladly sucked the balls of Robin as the smallest dick on the team sprayed piss over his chest.

When the debauchery drew to a close, and the team boarded the minibus, the Coach thanked Martin and me. He squeezed my shoulder with a wide grin. "I'll see you next year. We'll need a bigger squad," he announced. "Which means, we'll need more girls, more boys, and you'll have a sorer arsehole." He smiled at Martin, thanked him once more for his "efforts this season" and left with the players.

Only Scott remained, and he knelt in the urine-soaked grass, and gently stroked Andre's cock. The rival footballer groaned and twisted his body. Unable to escape from Scott's fingers dancing over his prick. His groans were unmistakable. Scott smiled and watched as the filthy footballer squirted several waves of cum onto his chest, still wet from the drenchings he had received.

"Now," Scott said to Martin. "Go lick that up!" My host needed no more prompting and Scott grinned.

I chatted to Bobby after Scott had left and shared a beer with him. "Heather's quite happy for me to come here and the sauna once in a while to get my quota of gay-ness," he said with a grin. "We might even move out to this bit of the county."

"Oh, OK."

"Yeah, the nurseries in Cheshire pay better and there are opportunities for nannies around here. She will earn more money. And I can still get to work inside thirty minutes. She likes it away from the city, and we've seen we can rent the same size house in Scott's road with a pay rise that we can rent in Stockport with a lodger. It's not the nicest or trendiest part of town, but it's near the countryside. So, worth it."

I saw Clare striding down the path and the shadow of the house behind us. "When does your rent expire?" I asked.

"Oh, not for a few months."

"Then, perhaps consider moving in here," I said, and gestured at the building, before telling him the story of Victoria's gift to us. "And then you can be here every weekend."

"And what about Heather?"

"Does she like hot-tubs?" I asked with a gleam in my eye and he shook his head.

"She's not into me screwing other women, and her screwing other men."

"She's only known Clare for a few weeks," I mused. "Victoria even less. Give it time. They are terrible influences on upstanding young ladies."