The Football Team Goes Down

"Listen up, team!"

We sat up in our seats, and paid attention. Coach stood in the aisle of the bus, examining the group of young men sitting in the seats in front of him.

"Seems traffic has been working against us, so we will have to stop at a hotel along the way. The first place we come across, we will lodge at. We stay there for the night, and then head towards Mandeville tomorrow."

Mandeville was the town in Jamaica where we were taking part in a football cup. Our team, 18-years old fresh seniors, would kick of the season by meeting an array of various teams in an informal, yet supposedly learning, gathering. It had been a long journey, but we were at that age where our energy was seemingly inexhaustible.

Our hotel was shaped as a perfect circle, with the lobby protruding in front of the building. Upon arrival the receptionist informed us that the rooms were still not ready, and suggested we use the hotel bar while we waiting. To a man, we teemed to the water hole.

We were not the only ones there, there were about as many locals present as our own number. All of them were male, and they stopped talking as we sauntered in. I could sense their eyes taking us in, gazing at us from top to bottom.

"You think they are looking for trouble?" I nervously asked Damian.

"Trouble? You wuzz." Damian retorted. Damian was always ridiculing me, whatever I said. I was used to the fact that nobody in my team ever paid attention to what I said, but still, I hated it. However, I was not in a position to object. The boys were all larger and stronger than me. They always got to play a lot more than me, the only times I was ever let out to the field by coach, was when our lead was so comfortable there was not even the slightest chance we would lose.

"Bring out the wimp!" one of my team mates would shout, and the rest of the team would snicker. Even coach Adams. Nobody respected me.

"Man, I am ready for a beer!" Matt exclaimed. The other boys chimed in. Nothing to state your coming of age, than drinking beer legitimately. We received our room keys, one to each room, numbered #1 through #12, coach Adams having the last one. And me having none.

"Hey, isn't there any room for me?" I asked concerned.

"Suck it up, weeny, you'll have to sleep on the couch!" Matt, the team striker, said contemptuously to me.

Nobody else on the team cared for my predicament, but I had already made up my mind to sleep in the bus instead. I would not be begging to sleep on the floor in the room of one of my team mates.

The hotel bar must have been some sort of sports pub, because the walls were draped withthe jerseys of several teams. We mused at the shirts, not immediately recognizing any of the names, even though some of the colours seemed familiar.

"What's the story about these teams?" coach Adams asked the bartender. "I can't say I recognize any of them."

The bartender smirked.

"Well, these are teams who have stayed at our hotel. The... best player on the team has had his shirt displayed here."

"Best player?" coach Adams asked.

That smirk again.

"Well... the one with the best stamina. The player to last the longest."

We must have looked confused, because the bartender added:

"Best stamina. Last to give in."

It still didn't make much sense to any of us, but we didn't really care.

"Hey, I know that team!" Landon suddenly exclaimed. "Donnerfeld, they're from Germany. We played them once. A bunch of cunts, if I remember correctly."

I glanced at the bartender, who was smiling. Briefly, he cupped his pelvis, and for a moment he seemed to give me a wink. Incredulously, I looked around at my team. Did that just happen? But nobody seemed to have registered; they were more occupied ordering and downing their beers as they were served.

In the pub I noticed something strange. The boys in our team started disappearing, one by one. I saw David leave with a young Jamaican, looking very content.

"Where are you going, David?" I asked as he passed me.

"Never you mind that, junior!" he replied with a smug tone.

I walked over to Tim, who was talking in a low voice with another of the locals. I could just pick up fragments of their conversation. The Jamaican was explaining something to my strawberry blond team mate.

"...will be girls there... sure... they are ready for action..."

Tim didn't need any further convincing, and he left along with his newfound, black, friend.

"Where did they all go...?" I asked, half loud. I was suddenly all alone in the bar, and with no place to go.

A strong hand grabbed my shoulder.

"You want to see your friends? Come, I will show you." a deep voice said behind me. I turned around, and gazed at a huge black man. His muscles bulged against the white shirt that was seemingly glue to his torso. I gulped, and let him lead me away. Me in front, him behind me, his hand still on my shoulder, directing me.

"I am Akoni." the man behind me suddenly said.

"Oh, eh, I am Sophus." I nervously answered.

"Sophie?"

"No, no, that's a girl's name. My name is Sophu..."

"Ok, Sophie, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl." he chuckled.

"What? No, I'm not a girl!" I protested.

Akoni didn't reply, just kept leading me down the corridor.

He led me into a narrow corridor between rooms 1 and 2. At the end there was a door that he unlocked. He gently pushed me into the dark room on the other side of the door.

"Uh, can we turn on some light...?" I asked. He just hushed at me.

"Quiet, boy. We don't want to disturb anyone."

In the middle of the room there was a table... or something that resembled a table. It consisted of a narrow wooden slate, with something that looked leather sleeves on each side. Akoni led me to the table, and pushed my upper body against it, so my body made a perfect 90 degrees angle. He buckled the leather sleeves around my wrists.

"You comfortable like that, Sophie?"

It was a very... weird position to be in, but it wasn't exactly uncomfortable. I nodded in response. The situation was surreal; I had just willingly let myself be buckled to the table, with no way of escaping. And I had not made the smallest sound of protest. Yet, even though I knew I couldn't get away, I strangely enough wasn't afraid.

My eyes started to adjust to the darkness. The room we were standing in was small, just a few meters across. I noticed the room was surrounded by small segments of walls, 12 in total. On each wall was a tv-monitor. Akoni picked up a remote control, and pushed a button. The screen lit up, and showed what was on the other side of the room. It was room #1.

"Here, let's take a look." he whispered. I gasped.

I could discern the familiar shape of Damon. He was tightly embracing one of the Jamaican men.

"Who... who is that?" I asked

Akoni chuckled.

"That's your friend, the athletic blond boy."

"Yeah, I see it's Damon, but... who is he there with?"

"Damon? That's his name? Oh, he's with Sanka."

On the screen marked with #2 I saw Francis. He was getting undressed. In front of the black man in the room with him.

"Why is Francis taking off his clothes?" I asked bewildered.

"And who's the guy in there together with him?" I asked Akoni, nodding to the screen where I saw the muscular black back of a man. It was if I needed some names to make some sense of it all.

"Tarone is in #2."

I was surprised Akoni knew without even looking.

"How do you know?"

"Tarone always choses #2."

"Always?"

"Yes, always. Tarone believes the number gives him good luck. And I have to give it to him, whenever he gets into that room, he gets what he wants."

"And...what does he want?"

I couldn't see Akoni from where I stood, but I knew he was smiling.

"Just wait and you will see. Don't you want to check the others?"

I swallowed. I was concerned what I would be seeing in the various rooms, but still, I nodded a silent acceptance.

#3. Tom was already naked, his clothes in a heap at his feet. And his cock was hard.

I turned my head towards Akoni.

"There must be some mistake." I stuttered.

"Mistake?"

"Yes, mistake! They are all boys. My team are all boys! Why would they be kissing other men? They're not gay!"

Akoni chuckled again, with that deep voice of his.

"Kissing? You think this is about kissing? Take another look."

I looked at the monitor again, and my heart stopped.

Damon was removing his clothes. His partner was standing motionless of him, looking amusedly as first his shirt came off, then his trousers. And then... I gulped... he removed his underwear. Damon was standing stark naked in front of the Jamaican!

"Don't you want to check on the rest of your mates?"

I heard the clicking sound at the same time as the table I was perched against suddenly started to move. Looking down, I realized I was on a disc. Every time we rotated, I would be face front to the next screen. Suddenly all the screens on all the walls came alive. They all showed the same: the inside of nearly identical rooms, with no other inventory than a bed, placed on the middle of the floor. Inside the rooms was one white man, and one black. And they were doing things together.

I was chocked over what I was witnessing. All of my team mates, each in their own rooms, passionately kissing other men. Slobbering over the mouths of the black Jamaicans. I couldn't understand it. Most of the boys on my team either had steady girlfriends, or were fucking girls left and right. I was the honourable exception. Small of stature and height, I was the least masculine and macho of the entire team.

Yet, there they were, on the screens in front of me. Everyone on my team, even coach Adams, were kissing other guys. And not just anybody: strangers they just met a few minutes earlier. Jamaican men that were obviously totally dominating my team mates. And me.

To each screen, Akoni would inform me, almost casually, which of the Jamaicans that were together with my team mates.

"So you have already been introduced to Sanka with your friend Damon... in #2 there is Tarone with Francis... Tom has company of Khenan. Your friend Alex will soon make the acquaintance of having Shamar and... his friend."

Akoni went through the entire team: his and ours. Although my team were obviously all playing defensive positions, and losing badly at it. Finally he came to the last one on our side. Coach Adams.

"Your Coach is having Delroy, our youngest one. But don't let that fool you. Delroy always choses the coach. He says he gets off watching his cock disappear into the willing hole of a grown-up, beefy man. Listening to the deep voice of an authoritarian he-man be reduced to whimpers. By the time Delroy is done with your coach, he will be nothing more than a shivering, cum-soaked cunt."

I was aghast over the words coming from my abductor. What did he imagine, that a full-grown man just give in to a stranger's advances and be dominated like that?

"And in the last room, the centre room, there is Sophie... and Akoni."

I heard a chuckle behind me.

As I was watching, hardly breathing, I felt the strong hands of Akoni around my waist. He unbuckled my belt, then, in one movement, slid my trousers and underwear down to the floor.

"What... what are you doing?" I asked bewildered. But I knew already what he was doing.

"Hush, baby." He said with a low voice. The sensation of cold cream against my ass jolted me awake.

"I... I never did anything like this!" I exclaimed.

"Something is telling me you never did anything at all." Akoni laughed.

And it was true. I had never had sex, I had hardly kissed a girl.

His fingers started applying the cream around my sphincter. One of his fingers pushed carefully against my hole. To my surprise, I didn't find it uncomfortable, or even outrageous. How was this possible? I was fastened to a wooden board, completely helpless, half naked, my ass exposed to the man behind me, and I didn't as much as object? Looking at the screens in front of me, neither were any of my team mates. One after another, they were getting undressed, and on their knees in front of the Jamaican men. They all seemed to be transfixed to what was straight in front of them, which were the groin area of the black men.

What was going on in this place?

"After tonight, you will always be lusting for cock. You might have a girl at some stage, but you will still be fantasizing back to when a real man tore a pussy of your ass."

Akoni brought me back to my own situation.

"Why...?" I stuttered.

"Why?" Akoni asked back.

"Why do you want to... to..."

"To fuck you?"

Akoni seemed amused.

"Because we enjoy impregnating small, white, boys with cocky attitudes."

I swallowed. I knew what was coming, but I couldn't find any words of protest. Whatever came next, I would take it. I would have to. What choice did I have? As my asshole slowly was accommodating the finger of Akoni, I heard a voice from the screen to room 5:

"Bring it out, boy."

"That's Donavan, by the way..." Akoni whispered.

"Seems like your boy Doug will be the first one to taste the goods. I'm sure he will make a good cocksucker."

It was indeed Doug's room. As the rest of the guys, he too was sitting on his knees in front of "his" Jamaican. As if hypnotized, he brought his hands to the hips of the black man. Then, slowly, he pulled down the pants of Donavan, a manoeuvre made difficult with a large, erected, cock jutting against. The pants came down as Donavans' cock smacked against his abdomen.

"Suck it."

The deep voice of Donavan came through the loudspeakers.

"No... no... no way Doug will suck a cock..." I said, more to myself, than to anyone else.

This was too wild. Doug was only the day before bragging about how he had made Lisa, the class sweetheart and presumed innocence, suck his cock during recess. Yet, here we were. Doug wasn't resisting the cock in front of him. Not at all. Slowly, he engulfed the large head in his mouth and descended. Halfway down the column of smouldering flesh, he stopped to work his tongue. Slowly, he went back up, and then he plunged all the way down, taking the cock into his throat to the hilt.

Donavan pressed down on Doug's head, holding him in place, keeping his cock deep inside the cocksucker's throat. Pubic hair tickled Doug's nostrils, filling them with a heady scent, and oversized testicles banged his chin.

"You're such a born cocksucker, boy, such a natural..." Donavan was grunting, lightly slapping the cheeks of a blushing Doug.

In room #2, Francis was squatting on the bed, with Tarone pumping his shaft into his ass, his hands firmly on the white boy's hips. Even as I was lost in the black cock disappearing and then reappearing out of Francis' accommodating butt, I was surprised over how he managed to stay in that position on bed. Low squatting was hard as shit on the thighs. But maybe Tarone had somehow figured out that our player with the most powerful thighs would also let himself fuck this way.

"You see, Sophie," Akoni breathed into my ear.

"When a busload with prime white meat comes to our town, we don't sit around just looking. Instead of having our powerful cocks resting against our thighs, we put them into use."

I gasped as he removed his finger from my cavity. After a few seconds, something else was pushing against my sphincter. I knew it would happen. He was going to fuck me in the ass. Like I was some slut. And I didn't even care. I was ready for it. I was ready for being his to use for the night.

"You think those football-jerseys hang in our bar because we were so enamoured over the teams' skills on the pitch?"

Akoni was grinding hard against me. Rocking and swaying his hips, gyrating them, forcing his monster fuck pole deep inside of me. By now my dick was hardened too. I began to squirm beneath the mighty mass of Akoni's muscled body and stiff rod.

"No... we welcome the teams into the hotel... then each of us picks who we want to take..."

Alex was over the lap of Shamar, ass up, and receiving the spanking of his life. His ass cheeks were already beet red, with Alex screaming out for every slap to descend on his bottom.

"God, stop it! Stop it! Aaaarrgh!" he shouted.

"Fuck my ass instead, please! Anything else but the spanking!"

But Shamar was grinning mischievously, relentlessly letting his hand rain new slaps over the smooth-skinned ass in front of him.

Akoni kept on whispering into my ear.

"Some of us wants the one with the roundest ass... or the strongest thighs... or the most macho guy... oooh you will never know the feeling of having a straight stud crushed under your weight as you molest his ass... knowing he will never again be able to be with a girl without remembering that time he got fucked like a two-bit whore... and screaming like one, too."

Tim, our team Captain, was on his knees on the bed, his face and torso smashed into the matrass as Lloyd was holding his victims's arms in a twisted gridlock behind his back, while pounding his meat into the exposed ass in front of him. Tim, always going on about how to never surrender during a game, was moaning loudly. There was no resistance in him. He had surrendered to the black meat.

Bernhard, the strawberry blond on the team, was the second smallest player after me. He was lifted clear off his feet, back against Tony's sculpted torso, Bernhard's legs latched around the thighs behind him for support. The tall black man was holding his arms in a grip around the neck of Bernhard, holding him tightly, while thrusting his hips against the tight little tush of Bernhard.

Trent was straddling Desomond, who was lying on his back. I could clearly see the benefit of Trent's legendary flexibility, as his legs were stretched out in an almost perfect split. He looked like a rider about to be thrown off a steed trying his best to dispatch of him. But this black stallion was gripping the hips of Trent so his ass stayed where it belonged - on his jutting pole.

Matt was face against the wall, balancing on just one leg, with Junior, his black conqueror lifting the other leg while he was mercilessly pounding him from behind.

When we rotated to coach Adams, I nearly couldn't believe what I was seeing. On the bed was Delroy, the youngest of the Jamaicans, lying on his back. The big, burly frame of coach Adams was heaving up and down, as he was impaling himself on the cock of his lover. Even though Delroy must have been 30 kilos the junior to Coach Adams, there was no doubt who the man was in this picture.

The rotating platform started moving faster and faster. The screens were flashing past me, still the images were seared into my retinas. Damon on his back, holding his legs up, as Sanka was pounding his ass. Francis, on all four, fucked by Tarone. Tom, hands against the wall, with a black cock pumping in and out of his hole. Alex was back against a wall, his legs straddling some burly man, plowing his ass while standing.

And so it kept on going. The accumulated sounds of moaning, slapping, pounding grew in intensity. And all the time, Akoni was going at me, fucking me senseless. I spotted coach. He was on his stomach, the thrusts to his ass so forceful he was nearly pushed straight off the bed. And as promised, coach wasn't moaning deep, manly moans no more. He was whimpering, like a bitch with all power fucked out of her.

The sounds started getting louder. The slapping of crotches against asses, the ruthless spanking of whites bottoms until they were beet red, moaning, sighing, grunting...

"Aw gad, aw gad, aw gad!"

Bernhard was on his back, hands covering his face, his ass pummelled by a black cock.

"Please, no more, no more!" cried Derreck, to no avail, lying over the lap of his young assailant, who was violently spanking his plump buttocks.