Chapter 10
Well, that had been a shit game. It was the last regular season game, and they’d gone into it poised to earn top seed in the championship tournament.
Riding high on a winning streak and facing an opponent way below them in the rankings, they’d assumed victory would be easy.
But that wasn’t what had happened. They’d lost. Not just lost but been creamed.
They still had a spot in the tournament, but they wouldn’t be going into it with the same swagger they’d had a few hours ago.
At the beginning of the season, Alfie hadn’t cared whether the team won or lost, but once he’d started acting as cum dump, he’d grown a lot more invested, and hanging out with Ryan had kicked him all the way from invested into caring.
The guys were happier when they won, which meant harder dicks and more jokes, less of a mopey who-cares attitude toward getting off.
But the main reason he cared was because of Ryan.
He loved spending time with Ryan. He loved the kisses and the cuddling and especially loved coming.
When Ryan was in a bad mood, Alfie couldn’t help being in a bad mood too.
He wanted to make Ryan feel good, the way Ryan made him feel good.
He never went to Coach for milking anymore, despite Coach’s broad hints that he must be past due.
He gave Coach regular blowjobs, which he figured was what Coach was really angling for, but as far as the milking went, he didn’t need it.
Because Ryan expertly milked his prostate on the regular.
The only troubling spot in his relationship with Ryan was the maneuvering that went into preventing him from finding out about the cage.
Alfie couldn’t say why he didn’t want Ryan to know about the cage, given that everyone else knew.
But he and Ryan were almost like boyfriends—like non-exclusive boyfriends, obviously—and boyfriends didn’t lock each other’s dicks up.
Well, some did. Alfie had found his way to enough chastity porn to know that much.
He knew he wasn’t the only guy who could come while locked up either.
He’d just needed someone who cared enough to make it happen, and Ryan cared.
Ryan put so much effort into him, fingering him open and drilling down into him, always wanting to make sure Alfie came before he came himself.
He was the best guy on the team, maybe the best guy in the world, and if it were up to Alfie, he would never be sad.
But today he was sad, and Alfie couldn’t even go over and give him a hug because Ryan was still pretending he didn’t make use of Alfie even as a cum dump, never mind treat him like a boyfriend. All Alfie could do was send Ryan the occasional sympathetic glance and try to stay out of everyone’s way.
Bruiser especially looked ready to explode, and Max grumbled through his entire shower about what this or that team member had done wrong.
When they were finished showering, Coach came out to give them the post-game talk, which was unsurprisingly harsh.
He agreed with a fair amount of Max’s grumbling, but Max came in for his share of criticism too, which made Max glower almost as fearsomely as Bruiser.
By the time Coach finished, there wasn’t a smile to be seen.
Alfie was anxious to get out of there. He knew what he could do to make the team—and most especially Ryan—feel better, but it couldn’t be done here, so he cruised around the locker room collecting the team’s discarded towels at top speed so he could finish up and wait for his first summons.
He must not have been watching where he was going carefully enough because he tripped, his back foot caught by one of Bruiser’s. He stumbled forward a few steps and practically landed in Max’s lap.
“Did you just kick me?” Bruiser asked with enough malice that Alfie understood he’d been set up.
“Someone ought to teach him a lesson.” Max pushed Alfie back at Bruiser.
“Fucking right. Fucking cum dump ought to know his place.”
“Show him.” Max didn’t usually treat Alfie roughly, but he sounded rough today, and Bruiser was Bruiser, even on a good day.
“Don’t worry, I will.” Bruiser ripped Alfie’s pants down and flipped him over his knee so fast Alfie didn’t have a chance to object. He hadn’t even gotten his mouth open before the first slap landed.
The sound cracked into the already subdued locker room like a pistol firing.
All heads turned in their direction as Bruiser laid into Alfie in earnest. Smack, smack, smack.
Full speed, full fury. Alfie was howling, and the team was cheering, standing in a semi-circle around the bench where Bruiser had him pinned over his lap, egging Bruiser on.
“That fucking cum dump is supposed to be keeping the team happy,” Max said, as if it could really be Alfie’s fault they’d lost. But the team seemed to agree with him. Their enthusiasm for Bruiser’s assault grew louder.
“Give him here,” someone said. “Let me have a turn at him.”
The next thing Alfie knew, he was being dragged out of Bruiser’s arms. Bruiser, who hadn’t gotten off yet, which was his usual MO—to spank Alfie with increasing fervor until he came—tried to hang on to him.
The result was that Alfie’s pants, shoes, jock—all of it—got ripped off, left behind with Bruiser, while Alfie himself ended up over the lap of a guy they called JoJo.
JoJo had never spanked Alfie before, but he set to it with a vengeance now, absolutely whaling on Alfie’s ass with zero finesse.
Alfie wailed back, kicking his now-bare legs in a half-hearted attempt to escape.
He could feel JoJo’s cock firming up, which only seemed to drive JoJo harder, much like when Bruiser really got going.
“My turn,” someone said, and from there it was a free-for-all with guys grabbing Alfie and passing him around, always a fresh hand, and all of them aiming for the same spot right on the high points of his ass, which felt red and worked, stinging like fire, until Coach came out of his office and asked what the ruckus was about.
The guys backed out of the semi-circle they’d formed around Alfie and the guy currently spanking him as Coach surveyed the scene sternly. He stood Alfie on his feet and frog-marched him to a wall and pushed him spread-eagle against it like Alfie was about to get frisked.
“Look at that,” Coach said, gesturing to the crimson redness of Alfie’s ass, which Alfie could see himself in one of the mirrors on the wall behind him. “Is that any way to administer discipline? Bruiser, what’s wrong here?”
“Not spread out enough,” Bruiser said gruffly, clearly still annoyed at having had Alfie snatched from him.
“Not spread out enough,” Coach repeated. “This ass can’t take anymore. I told you not to damage him. Didn’t I tell you that?”
The guys glanced around, unsure about the answer, but Bruiser nodded. “You told us.”
“You see here?” Coach pointed to the tops of Alfie’s thighs. “Barely pink. It’s that coverage problem I was talking about all over again. You can’t bunch up on the ice, and you can’t bunch up here. Cover the whole area. Who’s next?”
Lemieux, who’d never used Alfie as a cum dump but who’d had a particularly bad game, raised his hand. “I’ll do his thighs. I don’t want to touch his ass anyway.”
“All right then.” Coach spun Alfie around to face the crowd and gave him a push toward Lemieux, then headed for his office like his work was done here.
“What’s that thing?” Lemieux asked. He was pointing at Alfie’s crotch, making Alfie remember that his lower half was totally nude, which meant a bunch of guys who’d already seen all there was of him to see were seeing it again but also meant that the guys who’d never seen the cage before were seeing it for the first time.
One of those guys was Lemieux. The other was Ryan.
Ryan stood along the far wall gaping, absolutely horrified. Alfie had known better than to let him see the cage. He crossed his hands in front of him, but Max grabbed one and yanked it away.
“It keeps his dick locked up,” he explained. “So it doesn’t touch you.”
“I wasn’t going to put him over my lap anyway,” Lemieux said. “He can take it up against the wall.”
“Whatever,” Max said. “It’s just to make sure he’s not getting off on any of this. Because otherwise he would, trust me.”
Bruiser nodded. “He loves it.” Bruiser gave his cock a squeeze because he loved it too. “So if you’re doing it, do it. Otherwise, it’s my turn.”
“I’m doing it.” Lemieux gestured for Alfie to get back in place against the wall, then took a spot way to the side of him as if even incidental contact would be too much.
He swung wildly for the tops of Alfie’s thighs.
Despite saying he didn’t want to touch Alfie’s ass, his aim wasn’t that good, so Alfie’s butt cheeks got yet more action, which set him to yelping again.
Lemieux seemed to like hearing him yelp because he swung even more wildly, over and over with a speed and force Alfie wouldn’t have expected from a goalie until Coach came back in.
“Now another option,” he said, “when the ass cheeks are getting over-cooked, is the space between the cheeks. Pull those back for me, Alfie.”
“What?” Alfie had been watching the action through the mirror, but now he cranked his head the other way to stare directly at Coach.
“Your cheeks, boy. Pull them apart.”
Slowly, he complied. Most of the guys in the room had seen his hole, but not like this and not all at once.
“You see that white space?” Coach asked. “That’s what this is for.” He flourished a ruler in his right hand. “You can get right in there. Who wants to try?”
Lemieux shook his head and stepped away, but Bruiser was at Coach’s elbow in a heartbeat.
“Right in there, huh?” He sounded dazzled, like he’d just been gifted a new car. Coach didn’t even answer, just handed Bruiser the ruler, and Bruiser didn’t need any more prompting than that.
Alfie shrieked bloody murder at the first flick of the ruler into his crack. The edge of the ruler landed right on his hole, and the rest of it landed on tender, unmarked skin.
“Nice,” Bruiser said, admiring the red streak he’d raised.
“Gotta have him over my lap though.” He picked Alfie up and hauled him to one of the benches and let loose, grinding and humping and thwacking and pinching until he gave a scream almost as loud as the ones Alfie had been letting out and came.
“Phew. That was good. Now I need another shower.” He stood Alfie on his feet and strolled casually toward the showers, practically whistling.
“What I need is a good orgasm,” Max said. “Blow me, cum dump.” He pushed Alfie to his knees and Alfie blew him, surrounded by the rest of the team. The rest of the team except Ryan.
As Alfie went through the locker room making men come, Lemieux disappeared too, but it was Ryan who Alfie cared about. The cage, the spankings, the endless succession of blowjobs. It was too much to hope that Ryan could ever see him as boyfriend material again.
When the locker room was empty, Alfie went into Coach’s office and gave one more blowjob.
He was full of come and horny. That had been a good scene—so much angry testosterone, all aimed his way—and every inch of his thighs and ass, including his crack and hole, throbbed with a reminder of how hot it had been.
But even as he was going down on Coach, he couldn’t stop thinking about Ryan.