Chapter 19: Betty, again!

In the heat of the battle, I had forgotten that the league liked to vary the “punishments” for cup games and the premise that the losing team should endure a significant violation for their semi-final failure was logical when we considered the escalation in intensity of the forfeits from the first round of the cup to the quarter final.

I guess that made the final game a “must-win” match, but then we wanted to win every match. Every game had our reputations and our bodies on the line. We showered, and I text Anna; we were each allowed to bring one “friend” to the games to watch and I reasoned that as Anna suffered at the arrogant tongue of Sunnyside Cross FC, it only fair that she be offered a chance to witness the plundering of the losing arrogant bastards.

ManLube had brought along six “delegates” to the Village Hall. I had not seen them in the crowd but then I had done my hardest to block out all external distraction. I reasoned that our Orange and Black-shirted opponents had also brought delegates to the match and they would be returning to their headquarters sorely disappointed that they did not get to witness their team screw us.

It was a victory that looked so certain at half-time. It was within their grasp in the penalty shoot-out. It had eluded them by the narrowest of margins and that fact would hurt more than anything, long after their sore bottoms had stopped being tender and the taste of cum had been rinsed from their mouths.

Anna met me outside the small village hall with the rest of my team. We were topless, wearing just clean white shorts and trainers, causing my fiancée to coo as she glanced around two dozen half-naked sportsmen in the cool drizzle of the springtime evening; two vans plastered with large rainbow-adorned GaySportsTV logos were parked outside with their garish logo prominent. “Let’s not have any of that hetero shit ‘round ‘ere,” the captain cried as we embraced. “We want some good old-fashioned buggery.”

My fiancée wasn’t the only woman invited; Sam came with Dmitri’s invitation as did a few other partners. And Betty Maxx smiled at me as I entered the hall.

She had GaySportTV’s logo inked upon her large bosom that provocatively dominated her frame, standing naked and statuesque as people milled around in front of her. Oblivious to her nudity, enjoying the attention.

“I was in the area,” she admitted and my mind fleeted back to her last tweet - “in rainy Manchester for a TV interview and then dropping in to see an old friend.”

“You here to join in?” I asked as I chatted to the International celebrity. “Because I’m here to dominate not to submit!”

“I’m here to host.” Her eyes gleamed excitedly as they flicked towards the cameramen setting up their expensive equipment. “GaySportsTV needed someone at the last minute.”

“And for the UK’s biggest gay network, why not pick the UK’s biggest heterosexual porn star?” I teased. She pouted at me.

“Bisexual,” she corrected and giggled. “And I have a male co-star.” My eyebrows raised as licked her lips.

“Anyone I know?”

“Someone who’d definitely let you get to know them.” Her seductiveness was apparent; mystery and playful exuberance were engrained into her DNA as she waited for me to question her further.

I looked at her; she smiled as I ogled her naked frame. How could I not? She was sexy. A wonderful decoration of gentle curves and flawless skin. She was a beauty; a delightful, sexual erotic display of femininity that oozed a controlling seduction.

I guess I wanted her. Not like I wanted and cherished Anna, but more like when I desired a naked cock to suck, or to be taken by a rutting stud. I wanted to play and have fun, and nothing else. Sexual not sensual.

And she knew her seductive power. She knew the force of her bare bosom, albeit temporarily used as an advertising hoarding. She knew the power behind her cheeky smile, her elegant, wavy hair and the way my body pumped testosterone into my bloodstream when she flashed her nubile flesh.

She understood men.

She parted her legs slightly, running her hand across my bare chest. “Good luck out there,” she innocently added, as if she was wiping fluff from my pectoral muscles but gently squeezed my nipples. “Be good for the camera.”

I shivered as she walked away; a cold splash of ice flowing through my veins as I studied her arse walking towards a clipboard-wielding gentleman and a muscle-chiselled naked man.

The losing team were brought into the hall a few moments later. I sat down with my team, all in eager chat. We stared at the bedraggled losing team, still in their muddy football kit, albeit without boots, and shivering in the hall.

There was silence for a moment; only the low rumble of the fan heaters broke the noise as a hundred people looked at each other, waiting for someone to direct.

Two dozen cold, wet and scared men, standing in the centre of the village hall. Another two dozen excited, half-naked men, sat on benches in front of wives, girlfriends and delegates eager to witness vicious plundering while a handful of league and television representatives ran busily around the venue.

A big screen crackled into life, suspended to the right of me and behind the losing team. The GaySportsTV logo appeared on the screen and then Betty spoke.

“Hi, and welcome to GaySportsTV, the victors’ party. I’m Betty Maxx...”

“ ... and I’m Joshua Steele.” I focused on the young muscled man, oozing confidence. His cock, just in shot, was meaty and firm and I know I wasn’t the only one ogling the two presenters.

My own dick rose at the sight of them, my mind fantasising while they did they interruptions. I cheered, along with the rest of the hall, when they mentioned Woodford Wanderers, and the bubbly presenters broke, each taking a cameraman and microphone with them.

Joshua interviewed a couple of the starstruck losers, asking them what they thought was coming and how they felt. Betty took great delight in interviewing our captain and leant across me to reach where he was sat.

Her shaved cunt was millimetres from my face; I blew gently on it, and with a streak of mischievousness, blew a raspberry on her bare mons as she finished her questioning. She shrieked as she backed away, glancing at me.

“Sorry, this is my friend Marc, midfield enforcer for Woodford, we’ve met before.” She giggled as she stared into the camera and then at me. “Looking forward to fucking that losing team?”

“Absolutely,” I replied to her, feeling the white heat of the camera lens staring at my topless body. “Sunnyside Cross were rather arrogant with us earlier in the season and we want to even the score.”

“Because you’ve lost twice to them this season, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So this has to feel pretty good.”

“Sure does, Betty.”

“We best not stop you. Over to Joshua...”

Her naked male co-star was a few metres away and gestured to a small number of brightly coloured floor mats, each decorated with the television network’s logo. “Boys, you’re going to get fucked.” The presenter gestured for us to join him and the camera men moved back to capture every single member of the Woodford Wanderers squad descend upon the scared losing team.

To say we were baying for blood would be untrue; we wanted to press our dominance and remind them of their victories past. We wanted to enjoy ourselves and I revelled in the fear flashing through their eyes.

Ben grabbed the first man, a brutish centre forward with thick muscles and there was resistance. A moment of rebellion, perhaps driven by fear of the unknown. Woodford had been on television before, we’d been in a hall where we’d been buggered and been live on the Internet. In Italy and in Britain. Sunnyside hadn’t.

But I wasn’t in a merciful mood; I found the sneering runt of a left back: a wiry young footballer with a scraggly, unkempt black hair and tanned skin and forced hold of his arm, pushing him towards the mats. No mercy, no pause to allow him to complain. “I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to ram my cock into you. I’m going to make you squeal.”

My words were more for the camera, but his eyes swam with scared submission. No chance to object. No chance to fight. No chance to do anything but fall at the floor in front of alpha men.

My cock, already hard, ached. I pull down my shorts and stepped out of them, throwing them behind me and glaring at the wavy-haired loser. “Suck it!”

He did.

Not a word of objection as his lips closed around my cock. My thick, achingly-desperate cock. My victorious dick that delighted with orgasmic delight with every swish of his tongue.

He had enjoyed his domination with such relish before, but now there was hated. He despised me, knowing that I had beaten him and his team in front of the cameras. And he loathed me for evening up the score between us.

But I could tell the flash of excitement across his face. The feint aroma of arousal as his lips engulfed my aching prick. It was there in his eyes and I recognised the confusion. I felt it from time-to-time. Loving the act of submission, hating the reason for it.