Chapter 3: Cock Inn

My Anna gave me considerable respite that night; I’d contemplated my future after I had been fucked after that first league match and while I had strangely enjoyed the act of penetration, I was shamed by the violation.

My loving girlfriend talked me out of any rash decision and we made passionate love in the secluded garden of our townhouse. She squealed as my erect cock scythed into her unguarded pussy. Her eyes sparkled with lust as I pounded her cunt just as my butt had been pounded by my opponent. I held her hands above her head as I dominated my delightful Anna.

She breathlessly panted and cried, feeling every forceful thrust into her as I took my frustration of losing out on my girl. Her cunt flowed with arousal; her crack sodden with lust as I filled her pussy with my seed.

It was a much-needed fuck to remind to myself that, despite being screwed in the arse by another guy, I was very much not homosexual.

My girlfriend teased me relentlessly though. She never missed an opportunity to remind me that I had spent half-an-hour, along with most of my team-mates having the erect cocks of the victorious team in places where no straight man would voluntarily choose to have them. She found it funny, but also arousing; we had had sex every night for a whole week as she liked the idea of me having a “bisexual side.” In truth, I was curious and didn’t find the sexual acts totally unpleasant experiences, but my pride was damaged: as sportsmen we wanted to win on the sports field.

The second game of the campaign was another away match: our opponents took the name of and played in the grounds of a pub called The Cock Inn, which given the activities of the previous few matches could have been seen as a bit of an omen.

It was the first week of September and my defensive centre-back reminded me in training, that as we lost our last four matches of the previous campaign, plus the Summer break and the match this year, it had been almost six months since our team had last tasted victory.

Our opponents had finished only a couple of places above us in the league last year and we had high hopes of registering our first win of the campaign against them. They too had taken a battering in their first match, and the opening exchanges were dominated by a lack of confidence on each side. The scarlet-shirted opponents took the lead shortly before half-time and they doubled it as their muscular brute of a centre-forward towered above our defence to head home. We knocked in a couple of goals to level the match, but a final minute rasping drive after I failed to cut out a pass in midfield gave them victory and a precious three points.

It also meant that for the third match in succession, my team-mates and I would be providing sexual relief to the victors. There was mutterings of discontent in the changing room; player turned against player as tempers flared. I was not the only one at fault for conceding a goal, and we needed the coach to step in as our centre back squared up to our goalkeeper.

I was almost glad to get into our opponents’ changing room. The temporary hut was small and rotten; a musty smell permeated everywhere and the sweaty odour of exercised athletes filled my nostrils. They jeered us as we entered; muscular men watching as our fragile confidence withered under their vocal humiliation.

I glanced around me, the benches surrounded us: several men were already naked, wanting to show off their oversized cocks to the men who would be buggered by their impressive specimens. “Come on ladies,” their captain shouted. “Might as well played the girls team, be more of a challenge.”

“Fuck off,” a voice cried and the origin of the outburst was seized from the line as we were pushed into the centre of the tiled room.

Jostled and manhandled, squeezed and pulled, crying out as the wanton winners descended upon the huddle. It was a free-for-all. They all wanted someone to fuck, someone to subjugate themselves to the sexual pleasure of the testosterone filled beasts. Hands grabbed me, my football kit was pulled and my body fondled for their pleasure. I was in the mass of a melee: an uncontrolled orgy as horny men desperately reached for someone to fuck.

It was a meat market. There was no consideration as to whom they were going to select, just a bawdy scream of cries from the crowd of horny men. All they wanted was holes; that’s all we were to them, a couple of orifices to bring them guilty pleasure. To boost their ego and to feel the consequences of their victory.

I got pulled towards the bench by their captain: a bald-headed half-naked man of imposing muscles and a deep, raspy voice. His pectoral muscles glistened in the faint light of the changing room. Sweat beaded on his chest.