Team Mates

Thomas, our team captain, stood front and center of the room in front of a table with a large fishbowl. On his left was Miles, our co-captain, and to his right was Vince, the team treasurer. I sat on the floor, surrounded by my other team mates. Everyone was completely silent. It was the same scene every Saturday night after we returned home from our weekly rugby game.

Finally, Thomas spoke. "We fought hard today, but it wasn't quite enough. 26-23. I'm very disappointed. I'm sure everyone else is too."

Everyone nodded in agreement. A few let out a quiet "yes."

When the room was silent Thomas spoke again. "To whoever gets selected tonight... Good luck. You'll need it."

Thomas reached into the fishbowl, which was filled with small slips of paper that each had the name of a team mate scribbled on it. My name was listed on several slips of paper, though I thankfully have never been selected. Our team's tradition was that every Saturday, after our Rugby game, we would return to the Rugby house (an apartment that several team members lived in), have a few drinks, then begin what we call the Fuckening.

The Fuckening is when we select a name from the fishbowl. The unlucky soul who gets selected will then proceed to be gang banged by the other twenty-one members of the team for the remainder of the weekend.

All rookies immediately get five slips of paper with their name in the bowl upon joining the team, meaning your first semester, it's generally only a matter of time before you get fucked. Missing practice without a valid excuse means another entry is added. If you screw up during a match, the captains will document it and more than likely another entry is added. Some people get lucky and go several seasons without ever being selected, others are less lucky and are selected for multiple weeks in a row. It's like the world's most fucked up raffle.

This week was semi-finals, and we lost. Meaning it was the last game of the season for us. Meaning whoever was chosen today was in for a particularly brutal Fuckening. A knot built in my stomach as I knew I had probably been lucky for a little too long.

Finally, Thomas lifted a slip from the fish bowl and read aloud, "Patrick Burgess."

It was me. I stood up as my fellow team mates made a path for me to approach the table in the front of the room. Miles returned the fishbowl to the shelf in the corner.

Per tradition, I stood at the front of the room and turned around to face everyone.

Thomas spoke again, "Despite our loss, we did have an MVP today, and he will do the honors by fucking our victim first. Charlie, come on up. here"

The room cheered as my team mate, Charlie, stood up. My panic rose as he approached. Charlie was strong and brutal, both on the field and in the rugby house. He was an upperclassman that joined the team first thing freshman year. This fuckening was going to hurt from start to finish. I closed my eyes.

Without a word, Charlie approached me and unceremoniously yanked my pants down to my ankles, spun me around, and bent me over the table that previously held the fish bowl. He gave me several hard slaps on the ass until I let out a little yelp. The slapping ceased as I heard a fly unzip, a few squeezes of what I assumed to be our large bottle of lube, and a few steps towards me before I was penetrated for the first time. He quickly pushed his cock all the way inside me and paused when he made it all the way in.

I scrunched my face and took a few deep breaths as I tried to adjust to the new sensation. Before I was able to adjust, Charlie started to furiously thrust himself into me. It was even more painful than I imagined. My hole felt stretched and abused and the pain only intensified as the moments went on.

Charlie finally took his dick out and I breathed a small sigh of relief before he pushed me onto the floor several hands ripped all of my clothes clean off of me. Charlie laid me flat and entered me again, pounding me into the floor. I began to groan in pain until another team mate knelt next to my face and shut me up with his cock in my mouth. I couldn't tell who they were, but assumed they were fairly experienced as they had no qualms about fucking my face. The cock got closer and closer to the back of my throat until tears welled up in my eyes and I started to gag and drool.

After what felt like ages, I took my first loads. First Charlie came in my ass. I didn't realize it until he pulled out and I felt a warmth dripping from my hole. Then another load was shot into my throat. I realized it was Vince that had been fucking my face when I heard his voice, "drink up, bitch."

I brought myself up to my hands and knees but held my head down, unable to make eye contact with anyone out of humiliation. Only a few seconds passed before I was approached from both ends. Behind me I saw Fredderick, a tall and thin sophomore who was known for being particularly well-hung and taking an unusually long time to cum. In front of me was Blake- only a freshman, but naturally gifted at rugby. They entered me within moments of one another. Fredderick fucked hard and fast while Blake held still, allowing Fredderick's thrusts to launch my mouth forward onto his cock. After a while this wasn't enough and Blake grabbed my hair and rammed himself deeper and deeper into my throat. When he got closer to finishing, he pulled out of my mouth and came on my face. My face got hot and red in shame. I felt marked.

After a while I lost track of how many dicks I had taken, how long it had been, or how much cum was shot on me or into me. I felt like nothing more than a vessel for my team mates' anger, frustration, and horniness.

Out of pain and desperation I eventually began to turn my head away from the cocks as they were brought to my face and wriggle away from my team mates that tried to take me from behind. This was a mistake. Thomas brought out duct tape and taped my hands behind my back as my team mates took turns holding me down or grabbing me by the hair to push my mouth up and down on another cock.

Several hours passed and I glanced up at the clock. It was three AM. Several team mates had passed out on the couch or floor, a few went back to their own dorms or apartments, and the rest had grown tired. I was finally left alone after hours of nonstop fucking. Someone removed the tape from my wrists and I fell asleep on the floor, feeling completely spent, but knowing that it wasn't over quite yet. The fuckening always lasted until 11:59 the evening following our game. Some team mates hadn't yet gotten their chance to use me, and others were going to be ready for another round tomorrow. The anxiety about what was to come kept me up for a while, but eventually exhaustion won and I fell asleep, still aching, naked, and covered in cum.

I have no idea what time it was the next morning when I woke up to the feeling of another dick pressing up against my sore, abused ass, but I definitely wasn't ready. I kept my eyes closed, wishing I was still asleep, but knowing it would be a while before I did.

I felt myself growing red again when I realized I had woken up with a serious case of morning wood. My dick ached and throbbed as the person fucking me quickened their pace.

Slowly, one by one, the rest of my team woke up or returned from their apartments, fresh and ready for another day of abusing me.

To draw out my agony they began to do more than just fuck me senseless. Orion, a senior, took off his belt and my team mates took turns beating my ass with it until I was whimpering and scrambling to escape. Someone found some sharpies and soon after my body was covered in humiliating words and pictures. "Cum slut" across my face, "pretty boy" and "use me" on my chest and back respectively, and "open for business" across my beet red ass, among other things. Clothes pins found their way onto my nipples and my cock and balls were poked, prodded, and played with. My dick would get hard and I'd be teased for being turned on by the torture, then I would go soft and I'd be teased for being so much smaller than everyone else.

All of this, of course, was spread out across the day and interspersed with me being fucked in the mouth, the ass, or both at the same time. A few team mates who had already fucked me before came in for another round and I winced, remembering the previous encounter. It was as if each person was equally brutal in the way they fucked me, but in their own way. Some were slow but fucked me deeply, others gave quick, short thrusts, adding to the soreness of my already burning hole. Everything felt amplified today as I was already sore from yesterday's game, the desecration of my body that followed, the red welts across my ass, and my overall exhaustion.

By early evening I again lost count of how many cocks I had taken, how many I had taken more than once, and really lost all sense of anything other than a desire for my torture to end.

Miles and Thomas remained on the sidelines for the majority of the fuckening. It was customary for the captain and co-captain to do this, as they reserved the rights for the final fuck. That night they eventually came forward and laid me across the kitchen table, tying my arms and legs so I was spread eagle. I was already feeling vulnerable, but this added to the sense of helplessness.

Miles spoke. "Every fuckening is an important part of our team's operation. It relieves stress. It is an outlet for our frustration. It is a motivator for those who need a little extra motivation."

I pulled at the ropes around my wrists, knowing it was no use. I had no idea what direction Miles was taking this speech, but I didn't like it.

"A lesser-known part of our tradition is for the victim of the fuckening following a particularly bad loss is post cum torture. We've all had the chance to satisfy ourselves, now its our chance to satisfy Patrick here. Until he never wants to be satisfied again."

I still had no clue what Miles was talking about, but I was thrilled when he grasped my cock and began to run his hand up and down. Thomas joined, putting his mouth over my tip and teasing me with his tongue. I sighed. Despite my humiliation, the fucking left me feeling horny and desperate.

I felt myself getting ready to cum when suddenly Thomas and Miles stopped. I let out a loud sigh, wishing they would give me more. Then the hands and mouth returned and I breathed heavily. Maybe the fuckening wasn't so bad if I could get something out of it in the end. Again I was brought to the brink of cumming when they stopped, leaving me desperately thrusting into the air and panting. This continued for a while until I was sweating and whimpering and begging for them to let me cum. I wanted to go back to getting fucked. The pain made sense, but the agony of being pleasured without release was brutal in its own twisted way.

I was untied from my bonds but still not satisfied. Miles pulled me over to the couch, laid me on my back and began to fuck me, one hand still on my dick. Miles had an exceptionally thick cock so I gasped in pain and pleasure as he fucked me and played with me.

It took little time before the pain and pleasure overwhelmed me and I came all over myself. It was the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced.

But the pleasure didn't stop. Miles continued to fuck me and play with my cock which was growing more and more sensitive. My ass, which was sore but had grown accustomed to being penetrated, felt tighter and less amiable than before.

"Ahh, no, stop, no no no," I wept. "Please stop."

Miles fucked me harder and continued to play with my dick in response. He toyed with the head, which was particularly sensitive, and I felt tears streaming down my face.

"I can't. I need to stop. Fuck. Please. Please," I whispered.

Miles came inside me, so the fucking stopped, but he continued to rub and stroke my cock. I thrashed and screamed as I tried to get away.

Finally he stopped rubbing and I stopped thrashing. He stepped away from me as I breathed heavily on the couch, glad for it to all be over.

Then Thomas towered over me and his dick came into view. A tear dripped from my eye as I realized it wasn't over, but I remembered that Thomas would be the last. I was going to make it.

Thomas was strong and muscular. On the rugby pitch he was a particularly strong tackler and acted as a prop during our scrums. In the rugby house he was known for making even the toughest of team mates scream in agony.

His dick was bigger than anyone else's I had seen. I don't know if that had anything to do with him being team captain, but it was notable regardless. He grabbed my legs and brought them over my head so I laid in the most demeaning of positions as he entered me. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as I did my best to endure the grand finale of the fuckening.

Thomas fucked me so hard that I was certain the couch was going to break. I was bouncing and pressing deeply into the cushions. My pants turned into moans, and my moans turned into screams. My anus felt like it was tearing in half and his length entered deeper than any cock before it. My entire body protested.

The screaming only seemed to empower him and the fucking somehow got faster.

After what felt like an eternity, his load pushed into me. He thrust a few more times, making sure the cum was spread throughout my hole, and finally it was over. I looked over at a clock and sure enough, it was 11:59. Somehow Thomas always timed it perfectly.

I tried to sit up but was too exhausted and laid back down. My team mates left one by one, having lost interest now that the fuckening was over, and needing to finish a few last minute assignments before class the following day.

I wasn't worried about class. All I was worried about was resting, and basking in the relief and joy of the fuckening being over. I fell asleep on the couch where I was, feeling helpless, vulnerable, sore, and fatigued.

The next morning I awoke before anyone else. I silently found the clothes that had been discarded two evenings prior, dressed myself, and made my way to the door.

Before I left, however, I glanced at the fish bowl. Since the semester was over, it was going to be emptied before the next season, and I realized that all the entries I had in it were going to be removed. A part of me felt relieved and motivated to never miss a practice next season to avoid this ever happening again.

Another part of me wanted to miss practice, drop the ball a few times mid-game, and ensure that this would happen many more times to come.