“What?” Max asked. He was back on the corduroy couch, beer in hand, gaze fixed on the television.
“The cum dump just sucked your load out of the condom.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Aw, I think it’s kind of cute how eager he is. Come here, cum dump. I got what you need. You don’t mind if I go again, do you?” he asked. Max, not Alfie.
“Whatever. I’m done with him, man.” Max kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and paid Alfie no mind as he made his way reluctantly back to Bruiser. He couldn’t afford to get spanked again. His ass was killing him, both inside and out. But Bruiser pushed him down to his knees and fished his cock out of his pants and handed it over like Alfie would know what to do with it.
Bruiser’s cock had seemed big earlier, but it was nowhere near as big as Max’s, and it was still soft, which meant Alfie could start slow, which he appreciated because his throat hurt almost as much as his ass. Bruiser wasn’t in a hurry either, unlike Max. He was busy watching the game, exchanging comments about it with Max as if Alfie weren’t there except that his cock got rewardingly hard and he occasionally ruffled his hand through Alfie’s hair like he was petting a dog.
This was nice. Alfie hadn’t been too sure about more sexual activity, given everything that had already happened, but he was glad now to be ending the night like this—slowly sucking with the smell of a big man’s ball sack in his nose and his hands wrapped around a nice cock. It went on a long time, until the game ended. Then Bruiser held him down on his cock until he started crying again and came.
“All set?” Max asked.
“Good for now,” Bruiser agreed. He grabbed a handful of Alfie’s t-shirt, which Alfie had never removed because no one cared about that part of him, and used it to wipe off his cock.Then he got to his feet with a stretch and a yawn and ambled over to Max. “Thanks for hosting, dude. You really know how to show a guy a good time.”
The two of them laughed, Alfie forgotten, until Max noticed him still kneeling there on the floor and said, “It’s not a sleepover, cum dump.” So Alfie got to his feet and went home, cage clanking, balls in a turmoil, and brain in a state he could vaguely call satisfied.
Chapter 7
Eight days later, Alfie plowed into Coach Brady’s office at full steam. He’d had it, seriously had it. No one other than Max and Bruiser had used his phone number to summon him, but Max summoned him basically every other day. He was built like an ox with a sex drive like a rabbit’s, and he never took the least bit of time to open Alfie up, complaining about every moment Alfie spent doing it.
Saturday night, Max had banged on Alfie’s door at two in the morning, grumbling about an “ice princess” who’d refused to “give it up.” He’d been hard already, not needing Alfie to go down on him. He’d ranted, half drunk, about having blue balls, as if it wasn’t Alfie who had the blue balls, as he shoved his cock up Alfie’s ass without letting Alfie stretch himself at all. Alfie had literally shrieked, which Max had responded to by putting a hand over his mouth and saying, “shh, it’s a fucking dorm, you wanna summon the fucking police” before coming in about five strokes.
He’d pulled out, dumped the condom on Alfie’s desk without bothering to tie a knot in the end of it, zipped up his coat—which he hadn’t even taken off—and left. Alfie had licked the come off his desk, feeling stupid and horny and mad.
Then on Sunday Bruiser had been at Max’s. Apparently he wasn’t allowed to spank Alfie until Alfie’s previous bruises healed, and apparently Alfie wasn’t worth fucking around with unless Bruiser got to spank him, which he had on Sunday even harder and longer than he had the week before until he, once again, came all over Alfie’s stomach.
Max at first said he wasn’t going to bother since he’d gotten his rocks off the night before—implying that his date had put out, which Alfie knew wasn’t true—but Bruiser insisted on having Alfie hang around until he could get it up again andthen Max had decided he wanted a blowjob after all. Meaning it was another night of handing out orgasms while getting zero in return. And Alfie had had it. The cage was coming off.
Coach Brady glanced up when Alfie came charging in, but his expression shifted from curious to disinterested when he saw who it was. He flicked through scouting reports as Alfie delivered the righteously indignant speech he’d prepared about reciprocity and what he brought to the team, but when nothing he said got Coach to pay him any attention, his righteous indignation shifted into whiny incoherence. Coach finally pushed his chair back from his desk.
“Well, now, what did I tell you?”
“That the cage wasn’t coming off until I proved something or other. I don’t even know what. But if I haven’t proved it yet, then I quit. If you take off the cage, I’ll keep working here. I’ll service the team, whatever you want me to do. But I have to have it off. Ihaveto.” He was just about crying.
“You don’t need the cage off. You just need a little relief. Which is what I told you last week—that I know how to handle that. You shoulda come in here and asked days ago, before you got yourself all worked into a tizzy.”
Now Alfie reallywasabout to cry. Relief. Please, god, yes. He desperately needed relief. But when he saw Coach reach down to open a drawer, he understood what kind of relief Coach was offering.
Not that. Anything but that.
Coach removed the horrible wand thing and got to his feet. “Bend over the desk here.”
“I don’t want to,” Alfie sobbed. “Please, I don’t want to.”
“I know you don’t think you want to, but you’re going to feel better for it, I promise.” Coach pressed a hand between his shoulder blades, bending him into position, then yanked downhis pants and shoved the cold, inhuman steel wand up his ass to start its torturous rocking.
It was worse than last time, maybe because Alfie needed it so much more. His balls were absolutely full, and they emptied so slowly, one sorry drop at a time. Alfie watched his semen land, devoid of any pleasure or connection, on the ugly linoleum between his feet and cried into the cushion of his arms as Coach worked and worked and worked until a knock on Coach’s door made him jerk upright.
“Come in,” Coach called as he pressed harder between Alfie’s shoulder blades to put him back in position.
The guy who came in was called Nerves, though Alfie had no idea why.
“Sorry,” Nerves said. “Is this, like, personal?”
“Nah. Alfie’s just getting milked. Something a boy like him needs now and then. What’s up?”
