(Starring Michael Owen)
The next day, Michael had managed to avoid Johnny at home and showering at the club. He still felt pretty horny, and it showed. That wouldn't go down well in a locker room full of men. Now, after the last training session of the day, the locker room emptied quickly. It was Friday evening and everyone had to be somewhere.
Michael hung back until his last teammate had left, then started to get ready to shower. The door suddenly opened and in strode a tall, dark- haired man flanked by two suited men carrying identical kitbags.
"Can I help you?" he asked, trying not to sound nervous.
The tall man stepped forward. He was attired in black leathers and a black cotton rollneck. "Yes, you can. I assume you recognise my voice, Michael."
Michael couldn't place it, but the voice did sound familiar. It had given him instructions, instructions he had to obey if he were to be the best. "I do, sir."
"Good boy," replied Hunter. "Now come and get your vitamins."
"Yes, sir." Michael wasn't quite sure what he was doing as he came forward and knelt before this stranger's feet. All he knew was that it would make him a better player. He watched the man draw a bottle out of his pocket and unscrew the dropper top.
"Open wide, boy," said Hunter in a way he might have used with a dog. "Good boy."
Michael tilted his head upwards and lolled out his tongue. He followed the tip of the dropper closer and closer to the man's crotch, almost till his nose pressed against it. Two drops hit his tongue and he closed his mouth to swallow.
A tingling sensation came over his body, spreading downwards from his throat to his chest, right through to the tips of his toes. His cock was suddenly alive in his shorts, hard and throbbing.
Michael was also aware of the scent of the other man's penis, hidden behind the wall of leather. He brought his nose closer and sniffed. The smell seemed to become stronger and more irresistible. He found himself taking long, deep breaths through his nose, which was now pressed gently against his master's cock.
Hunter could scarcely believe this was happening. All the careful planning, the vast sums he had spent on this were all paying off. Michael Owens, the brightest star in English football, was on his knees and desperate for his cock. He could barely whisper to his lackeys, "Get set up."
One man pulled out a video camera, fully equipped with a sound pick-up while the other took a football from his bag.
"Get up, Michael," ordered Hunter. "Stand with your back against the locker."
Michael obeyed immediately. Hunter stepped back until he was next to the cameraman. The man with the football walked forward and stood in front of the lockers opposite Michael. Hunter nodded to the cameraman to start recording.
"Take this one on the head, Michael," said Hunter as his henchman tossed the ball forward.
Michael headed the ball back with ease. They repeated this three more times until Hunter nodded his head. The henchman understood the signal and bounced the ball against the floor so it shot up and hit Michael right in the crotch.
Michael cried out. His tormentor bounced the balls again. This time Michael thrust his hips forward to meet the ball, sending it back to the thrower.
"Faster," said Hunter, his voice barely above a whisper.
The ball bounced back and forth between Michael's crotch and the man's hands faster and faster. Michael's eyes were closed. His hands gripped a pair of locker handles desperately as the pangs of exquisite pain rocked through his body. Each time he prayed for the ball to return faster and harder.
Suddenly it stopped coming. He opened his eyes and found then man with the ball up close and rubbing it against the front of his shorts. Michael ground his horny loins against the muddy soccer ball without a care.
He didn't even protest when the man yanked his shorts and underwear down to his ankles. All he felt was the cold leather soothing his hot, throbbing shaft. Drops of precum trickled down the ball's surface.
And then the voice ordered him to turn around and start masturbating. Michael obeyed immediately. He needed to come, just like yesterday night in the shower. That had felt so good, he thought as he curled a hand round his meat and started rubbing. So good...
The ball struck his asscheeks hard. Michael yelped as it struck again. The sting spread across his buttocks and slowly found its way to the base of his cock. He jacked faster as the ball hit again.
Hunter watched with pleasure as his conquest stood in nothing but socks and a jersey, jacking his beautiful six inches as a ball belted his ass. This was definitely a day to remember.
It took twenty more solid shots before Michael finally blew his load over his hand and down onto the floor.
"Well done, Michael," said Hunter warmly. He actually meant it. "Now be a good boy and lick up your mess."
Michael didn't hesitate. He got down on his hands and knees and began licking the floor clean of his hot salty spunk. At the same time he could taste mud and sweaty feet on the cold tiled floor, but he didn't care. Orders were orders. When he looked up again, all three men were gone.
Did that really just happen? he wondered.
It wasn't until that night, looking at his reddened, bruised buttocks in the bathroom mirror, that he was convinced beyond all doubt that the incident had occurred.
Michael pulled on a small pair of white running shorts and a black vest then left the bathroom. Even after four long wanking sessions, there was still a tingle in his crotch. He needed to get off again.
Michael walking into the living room where Johnny was watching TV silently. And he knew exactly how.
* * * * *
The loud slap of leather on flesh brought a wide grin to Hunter's face. This was the third time he had played Michael's video with the volume on full, the sound system capturing every thud, every gasp, every sigh perfectly.
Everything was perfect. The trigger chemical had worked better than he had expected. Michael hadn't questioned his authority once, but then he supposed that was partly down to Michael's submissive personality or perhaps his desire to be the best.
It seemed the sex chemical phynlthylodine, which had also been incorported into the trigger, was functioning brilliantly. He had chosen it not only for its addictive nature, but also the cumulative effect it had. Soon Michael would be a sex-maniac, concerned only about orgasms and his next fix of "vitamins".
The next step would be even better. And the footage would be priceless. Hunter picked up the phone and dialled Dupret's number. His instructions were terse. "Two drops of the tonic to Jamie Redmond tomorrow morning. The payment will be made in the usual way."
* * * * *
Johnny tried not to raise his eyes as Michael walked over to the couch. They had barely said a word to each other all night. Johnny hadn't known what to say, but it was to late to take things back now. He looked up as Michael stood in front of him.
"We've got to get this sorted, Woody," said Michael.
Johnny shrugged. How they were going to do that, he didn't know.
Michael sat at the other end of the couch, wincing noticeaby. "I didn't mean to take it so badly the other night, it was just a big shock for me, you know. Are we still mates?"
"Yeah," smiled Johnny. Of course he was happy, but he wasn't sure how well he'd be able to handle his desires? Even now, his eyes were wandering down to Michael's chest where his left nipple peeked out from the side of his vest. His eyes snapped up as Michael shifted position, wincing again.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
"Bloody Jez Stevens kicked a ball right into my arse during training," replied Michael. "It still stings like hell."
Johnny didn't believe what happened next. Michael turned away, knelt on the couch with his ass in the air and pulled his shorts around his knees. Johnny's eyes shifted from each of his febrile asscheeks to the pink fist of puckered flesh between them. Michael had parted his knees a little so he could catch a glimpse of his loose-hanging balls between his thick, well muscled thighs. It took Johnny a moment to regain the power of speech.
"It looks pretty bad."
"I know. It kills right around here." Michael ran a hand over his right buttock in a way that made his asshole open momentarily.
Johnny decided to take another big risk. He was sure Michael was coming onto him. Then again, if he was wrong.....he reached out and laid his hand on Michael's left asscheek. As he stroked it gently, he heard Michael sigh, "I thought you'd never catch on, Woody."
Well if that wasn't a come-on, thought Johnny, placing both hands on Michael's ass. He brought his face in close and started kissing at the sore flesh, moving slowly inwards. All the while he could hear Michael's contented groans.
Johnny started planting soft kisses on Michael's pink anus. Each time it responded by squeezing closed even tighter, until he began dipping the wetted tip of his tongue inside. Michael encouraged him breathlessy to go deeper.
Sooon Johnny was thrusting his tongue right into Michael. He had never actually imagined what tasting Michael from this end might be like - and now he realised it wasn't an unpleasant experience at all.
Michael suddenly sat up. Johnny backed off, afraid he might have changed his mind about this.
"Get down in front of me," he told Johnny.
Johnny knelt down on the floor as Michael sat on the edge of the couch and raised his legs. His cock had turned a light crimson. Nothing like the usual colour, thought Johnny as he homed in Michael's exposed asshole again. But then, looking at how Michael was wanking his meat now, that was no surprise.
In addition to using his tongue, Johnny began rubbing his thumb over the moist flesh of Michael's anus. His nose was almost covered by the tightening pink ballsac to the point where he could smell the faint whiff of deodorant, musk and what he thought was cum.
Michael's cock was slick and shiny with precum by now. Beads of sweat were running off his forehead as he worked his hand tirelessy up and down his hard shaft, spurred on by the looming orgasm.
Johnny could see he was close, the way his jaw jutted out as a steady flow of grunts came from somewhere in his throat. He couldn't believe that the lad he had lusted after for so long, his best mate, was about to blow a load right in front of him.
At the last second, Johnny popped his thumb into Michael's ass and watched him come in a flurry of quakes. Johnny gripped his shaking left leg and held it in the air while the other rested on his shoulder. Michael's jism squirted out all over the front of his vest
Johnny withdrew his thumb and began nuzzling Michael's sticky cock with his cheek.
"Oh fuck, Woody!" gasped Michael at last. "That was un-fucking- believable."
Johnny just smiled and began unbuttoning his jeans. As he did, Michael got up, retreived his shorts and said, "Cheers mate, I knew I could rely on you. G'night."
With that, he sauntered off to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Johnny looked on, dumbfounded. The bastard!
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