When I was 18 years old, I took part in The London Federation of Boys' Clubs Annual Atheletic Championships, which were held at The Southbank Arena on a wet and windy day in September. I was running in the Four by Hundred and Ten Yards Sprint Relay, the last track event of the afternnon. By the time that we got on the track, most of the crowd and competitors had already gone home, the weather was so bad.
I was running the second leg, so after the gun went off, I waited for my teammate to pass me the baton. When he did, I ran with the rain in my face, making it difficult to see. I made the mistake of turning too sharply and accidentally crossed over into the lane on my left. I heard the runner in that lane swear as he was forced to pull up sharp in order to avoid running onto my spikes.
I handed over the baton to the next runner who got us into the lead, where we stayed for the rest of the race. As we went to collect our winners medals we were confronted by the runner that I had faulted and his three teammates. They were all big, black guys from The Peckam Harriers club, and they were as angry as hell.
When the event organizers heard their complaint, they asked the guy who I had pulled up to stay with me whilst they sorted it out, but while my teammates went to get showered, his mates stayed with him. Eventually, the officials decided that as nobody had seen the incident, my team was confirmed as the winner.
The black guys went ballistic, and as my mates were ready to go home, I collected my medal and made my lonely way to the dressing rooms accompanied by four very angry athletes. After I had showered, I made my way back to the dressing room with just a towel round me, when I was grabbed and frog marched to a storeroom. My assailants were groping my ass, and I was very fearful of what they were going to do. In the storeroom was a vaulting horse, the type with a leather covered cushion sitting on top of a triangular base.
They forced me to sit astride the horse, and my struggles and shouts did not help me at all. One of the runners sat astride the horse behind me, and the other three pulled on my wrists so that I was almost lying forward. "Ok, Whitey," one of them said. "This is where you earn your medal."
The guy sitting behind me started to finger my ass with Vasaline covered fingers, making sure that plenty of the lubricant coated my rear passage. I now had a good idea of what they were going to do, and I am loath to admit I was more than a little excited. The guy's cock started to push in between my bum cheeks. I almost screamed as the black monster reached my rosebud, fearing that it would rip me up, but due to good luck and lubricant the cock continued on it's way until it was ball's deep inside me.
He then started to move inside me, slowly at first, then picking up speed and power. "I think this guy's a virgin," he told his mates, as he leaned forward to grab my shoulders. If he only knew... He was now like a jockey riding my bottom with almost religious enthusiasm. The pain was still bad, but as my poor abused ass got used to the invasion, it slowly turned to something approaching pleasure.
