Chapter 11: The Italian Job

I was certainly more than a little nervous about returning to work a few hours after sucking most of my colleagues in a hotel bedroom behind a gloryhole constructed from a vandalised hotel duvet. I had swallowed a lot of cum that night, and had even more splattered over my body; the mere thought made me scared and horny.

I found myself awoken the following morning with a longing to give oral sex. I swirled my tongue against the clit of my girlfriend as my finger pressed against her G-Spot, waking her with a squirting orgasm that propelled her cum into my face.

But my thirst for sex was near constant: I just wanted some action. Anything, to relieve the tedium of work. I walked into the office desperately horny, despite fucking Anna before leaving the house, and I barely concentrated on my employment as I ogled the women in short-skirts and the men in tight trousers. I was a walking sex addict, imagining several orgies where I was fucking and being fucked, sucking and being sucked.

“What’s up?” Emit asked me after lunch; my attention had been away with the fairies all day and he crouched down at my desk asking in hushed whisperings. “Is it about ... the party? Are you ... OK?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, glancing at our boss leaving the open-plan office for a meeting. “Can I borrow you? In private.”

He glanced up; I could see the scared expression on his face as he pondered what I could want with him. I detected a fear that another person may want to talk about emotions or their feelings with him. He tentatively agreed, following me into the tiny meeting room and I locked the door; his words asked me questions that remained unanswered, as I sent a video chat request to Anna on my smartphone. “I’m going to blow you.”

“What?” He spluttered, as I knelt in front of his crotch and passed him my phone. Not a request or an enquiry. Not a ponderous suggestion but a command: I was going to give him a blowjob. I was going to suck on his cock and bring him to an orgasm. “And record it.” I heard the distinctive voice of my girlfriend splutter as I yanked the zip of his fly and removed his cock from his red boxer shorts.

It was already filling with blood, the warmth and aroma of his dick stoking my senses as my tongue swirled lustfully over the purple head. My nose nestled against his trousers, my lips sliding over his tumescent cock that filled my mouth.

It was disgraceful behaviour at work; I was providing gay oral sex to a colleague to fulfil my needs. I wanted someone to rip my trousers away and plunge a thick slippery cock against my butt hole, thrusting deep into me to excite my prostate. I wanted someone to breathe warmth onto my balls and then float their lips over my genitals to kiss my shaft, sucking the pre-cum leaking into my briefs as I worked Emit into a groaning mess of desperate lust. He squealed as he approached his peak, gasping heavily.

I tasted the beads of pre-cum on my tongue. I felt the quivers of his prick and heard the feverish panting as I sucked, flicking the underside of his sensitive cock until he issued a battery of profanity and came on my tongue. He squirted several waves of cum into my mouth with a febrile grunt.

I smiled at my phone, licked my lips and showed my girlfriend the cum in my mouth before swallowing Emit’s semen.

If I expected the giving a random blowjob to a colleague would satisfy my lust, I was mistaken. My mind fantasised even more about sex, and I skipped dinner when I arrived home, jumping on my masturbating girlfriend to ram my dick into her moist hole until we both came to our ferocious climaxes.

I knew I had set a precedent with Emit. My girlfriend adored the show I had performed, I had certainly enjoyed doing it and my colleague loved the passionate blowjob I had given. He asked for an encore the following day, begging me to suck him to orgasm in the meeting room adjacent to our desks. I obliged, unable to resist sending my girlfriend another show that translated into a four hour sex session when I returned home from training.

And that continued: meeting rooms, stationery cupboards, the gymnasium changing rooms opposite our work and even once at 7am underneath his desk. We were friends before, and we came friends with benefits. Or more to the point, I became his friend with a benefit and each time we gave Anna a show.

The league had finished for Christmas, but the team trained hard when we weren’t away with our families. Our mid-table position was respectable, and far higher than where we thought we would be. We certainly had our eyes on the cup as a possible trophy, even if the league was out of our reach this year.

At Christmas, I proposed to my girlfriend, getting down on one knee as the snow tumbled around us and asked for her to marry me. It was romantic, tears tumbled down her cheek as she mumbled “yes.” As we returned to the warmth of our blazing hearth, she asked, “will my husband suck as much cock, get fucked by as much dick and give me as many orgasms as my boyfriend did?”

“Of course,” I replied as she giggled. “More, possibly!”

“Then yes, we better get married tomorrow.”

After our New Year celebrations had come and gone, the team was invited to an exhibition event in Palermo on the Italian island of Sicily. The tournament, organised by state-side broadcaster GaySportsTV, had suffered a couple of withdrawals and the coach had received a pleading phone conversation two days before the first match asking if we could take one of the spare places at the event.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go, but the prize fund on offer was significant and my new fiancée liked the idea of both the games and the forfeits being broadcast on live, albeit pay-per-view, television. The twelve teams playing represented countries in America, Russia, the Far East and Europe and as well as ourselves, AFC Kerlon had been invited to represent England, as well as the league we played in.

For attending, the broadcaster paid for our flights, accommodation and food. We were informed that a couple of the teams were “mixed-gender” and “participants should be prepared to have sexual relations with both sexes.” I pondered this before discussing it with my new fiancée, trying to guess what she would say.

It was a very different dynamic playing with other men, compared to women. There was no way Anna could give me what Emit or Paul or Dmitri or any of my other partners had given me, but with a woman it was different.

She was blasé when I brought it up. “Fuck ‘em,” she casually demanded. “It’s just your hobby. You’re not going there to find another girlfriend or wife, enjoy yourself.”

Her only payment was another session via live video chat with myself and Emit: our sessions had become so regular and I played with his testicles in my mouth as I sucked hard on his delicate orbs before savouring his prick into a spasming relief for my understanding fiancée.

We were drawn in Group III with Tallinn New Boys from Estonia and Pride of St David from Wales. Not all of our players travelled but the core spine of our team came and we flew with the cocky AFC Kerlon players from Manchester Airport who were certain that they were going to win all of their games and take the top prize of $100,000: to be split between the victorious team and the players.

The tournament was a much bigger event than I expected. Posters and banners lined the Mediterranean streets as a minibus drove us towards our accommodation: the event brought tourists and the tourists brought money to the island. Our group games were to be played at a small, provincial stadium on the outskirts of the town, and our hotel was situated opposite the venue.

Dmitri and I took a walk around the stadium and the area after we arrived and were stopped for autographs when two young Italian ladies recognised us: I ogled their arses as they walked away from me! There were strange benefits to being a bisexual sports icon!

The first match in the group was us, Woodford Wanderers, against Tallinn New Boys of Estonia. We met them when the hotel served breakfast and the half-naked men and women crashed into the dining room. They joked in Estonian, laughed and spoke to us in broken English: all of their players topless. Some had rippling six packs, some had paunches and some had bare breasts. I ogled the girls, smiling at one as she blew me a kiss and rubbed her pierced nipples. I felt my cock harden as she pouted at me.

Tallinn New Boys were a mixed gender team, a founder member of the new “Ultimate Humiliation League” that was due to start in February and follow the model of “our” league in England. This tournament was part of their pre-season.

It was easily the best stadium we had ever played in; the expansive changing rooms were ten times the size of our ramshackle facilities in England and our coach had a whiteboard to convey his tactics to us. We felt like proper footballers.