This story is copyrighted (c) 2002 to rugbystud@hotmail.com and first posted on the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website. It may not be copied or posted or transmitted in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer.
Here's the third part of the Rugby Weekend Tour story. Sorry for taking so long in furthering the tale, it's been a very busy year. It was going to be only three parts, but in writing it I've remembered a few more details and been reminded of some by Baz, so it's gonna be four now.
Usual conditions apply i.e. don't read this if you're under whatever legal age you have to be in your area to be able to read this in the first place. Or don't like rugby, for some bizarre reason.
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"Dave, bus'll be here in 5 minutes so get your arse in gear."
It was Dan. That brought me back down to earth, but I didn't mind. I'd dealt with my hormone rush in a very pleasant way and we were now off for a game, then an afternoon and evening of beer, jokes, the usual nakedness and bonding rituals. And I had Baz and Mike to look forward to as well. Not that I consciously wanted a threesome, I just wanted them both.
I picked up my kit-bag and boots (I was wearing trainers till we got to the pitch) and left the room, heading downstairs to the bus with the others. I think some of the others noticed I was still glowing, but I didn't care. I felt great.
The bus arrived and we piled on and though the journey was less than ten minutes, by the time we'd got to the clubhouse and pitch, our coach had reminded us of the importance of "retaliating first". This is a fine tradition in rugby in the UK (probably everywhere), dating back centuries to the various ball games played in those times (in Wales it was a game called "cnapan"). Basically, any minor affront by the player of one team is built up to Biblical and Satanic Proportions by the coach in readiness for the next game against them. Then you go on to the pitch and beat the living fuck out of the perpetrator whilst the rest of the team pretend to chase the ball. Simple.
This extreme version was unlikely to happen today as both teams had played against each other so many times over the years that we'd all lost track of who'd done what. The down-side of this was that if anyone was in a bad mood at all, anyone on the opposing team was fair game for any number of insults, high-tackles, spilled pints in the bar, the list was endless. I hadn't actually forgotten Baz's tackle that wrenched my knee, ripped my shorts and left me bare-arsed in our first ever game, but the blow-job he'd given me afterwards more than made up for the indignity and injury.
The team trouped in to the changing room and dumped the various kit bags around and made final adjustments to boots, laces and jerseys. I was on the bench next to Paul, doing up my bootlaces and putting the trainers I'd worn back in my bag. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Paul's shorts were around his ankles and then I heard Simon ask "Paul, what the fuck are you doing?".
I looked up and saw Paul standing there in his jersey and jockstrap, doing fuck knows what in the pouch as he seemed to have both hands in there.
"Just adjusting myself, got to keep my pride and joy safe, ready for some northern lasses to fight over later," he said, only half joking as his biggest flaw is that he can be an arrogant twat, no matter how much I'd love to fight over his dick as well. But bursting his bubble was more important to me than my own naughty lustful thoughts at that point.
"Yeah, so many girls need toothpicks, I can see why you'd be their number one choice."
The others who'd heard started to laugh, spoiling Paul's moment of self-admiration. In all fairness, he did laugh too, but you could tell that a part of it was forced. But his next comment floored me.
"Come on Dave, you know that's not true, you stare at my dick enough to know it's no toothpick, more like a fucking toothpaste dispenser."
I was slightly stunned by this - had I been staring? Was I that obvious? But luckily, Dan inadvertently came to my rescue.
"Paul, we've all had to stare at your dick as you do nothing but flash it every chance you get. Us lot know what your dick looks like better than your girlfriend does and I bet she's fucking sick of it too!"
"She's never sick of my dick and neither are you lot, you bunch of poofters.
I know how many of you lot have had a good grope in the scrum, pretending like you're just trying to get a better grip."
"Paul, shut the fuck up about your dick," - a new voice in the conversation. It was the coach, Gareth Jones. Not Gareth Jones the player, sharing the room with Dan, another one. Wales has many rugby myths but also has many other kinds of myth too. One is to do with the lack of names in the country. Everyone, according to one myth, is called Jones, Thomas, Evans or Williams and we all know each other. To an extent this is true - during World War Two, the Welsh, in true wartime spirit, rationed names as well as food to ensure there were enough to go around. And Wales is a small country after all, a smaller total population than London, so knowing each other is hardly surprising.
(Part of that was a joke, in case I have to spell it out to anyone.)
Gareth Jones the coach had come in to give us a last minute bloodcurdling speech about defeating the enemy and winning the war. Sorry, the game. He'd be good during a war actually as his ability to rally the troops in to a fighting mood is excellent.
He'd clearly been rallying around the drinks cabinet too, a few whiskies with the club chairman judging by the fumes. By the end of the strategy speech, he'd gone from being the team's sergeant major to being, bless him, the team's proud dad, eyes swimming with tears of passion for the game and for how proud he was of each and every his boys, even Paul and his dick.
And then it was time. Out of the changing rooms we trooped, passed the communal showers and baths and out on to the pitch.
Our Northern opponents were already out, doing warm-up stretches in a vain attempt to look athletic and capable. Of course, our team followed suit and I began to imagine how we must have looked from above, the UK's version of (rather hefty) synchronised swimmers I suppose. I was still smiling at the thought when I caught sight of Baz talking to someone in the crowd. OK, "crowd" may be overstating it a little. Scattered individuals and a few dogs is probably closer to the truth. Which is why I could see exactly who Baz was talking to - Mike!
They seemed very deep in conversation, not that I minded, but I started to get an oddly unnerved sensation when they both looked over to me and smiled in a very knowing sort of way. "Shit" I muttered to myself, "What the fuck are they doing, swapping stories?"
I didn't have much time to think about it, as the game was about to begin. It started very well, but we rapidly became, well, shit. No two ways about it. Not that our opponents were the cream of English Rugby, far from it, but they'd have to have been unconscious to have lost against us. We were so bad, it was almost like a scripted comedy - after all, since when has a rugby team's most impressive move been to run around in aimless circles, confusing everyone including your own team-mates, until one of you drops the ball? I wasn't perfect, but I was better than some. I wish playing on the wing meant I had a pair of them, because flying away seemed like a good idea.
I won't go in to details, suffice it to say that our Northern friends beat the crap out of us, much like Australia did with Wales in their World Cup game later that day. But the fact that we lost our matches at both levels helps to explain why certain people took great delight in winding me up, though in a sympathetic way, later on that evening.
After the game was over I was glad to sink in to the hot bathwater, enjoying (honestly without any thought of sex) the relaxation of being in a big warm bath with dozens of blokes. Some of the players on both teams were in the showers, which is why I'd sat down in the bath facing them, thinking I might as well have a good view while I soaked. Anything to cheer me up. The rest had just collapsed in the water, roughly in two rows of five or six; Simon was on one side of me, Paul on the other with Baz facing me. Still smiling knowingly too, the bastard.
I'd leaned back to relax but became aware of Paul making a fair amount of splashing and Simon muttering. Baz's voice broke my relaxation.
"Paul, if you're gonna have a wank, there are bogs round the corner. None of us want to watch you play with yourself, or sit in water with your manky cum floating about."
I opened my eyes and looked at Paul. He wasn't exactly wanking, but he was washing his foreskin and knob by stroking soapy water back and forth and rubbing soap over his cockhead. He'd filled out a little I suppose as his dick did look bigger than normal.
"You'd know if I was wanking, Baz, my dick would be over your side of the bath," he said.
"Oh shut up for fuck's sake, why are you so fuckin' obsessed with your cock lately" said Simon.
"It's because his girlfriend's pregnant and he hasn't had a shag since she found out. He's got to pay attention to his dick coz no one else will" I said.
"Fuck off, my old boy's seen plenty of action lately, not just from my hands, you know how many girls have been begging for me to shag them." I hated to admit it but Paul was right, he was popular with the ladies (the main reason why was bobbing about in the water), but he knew it. Horny and arrogant with a big dick make for an attractive if annoying combination.
Baz smiled at me, having also been watching Paul's cock flop about in the water. Though neither of us were small, Paul's was something to behold and in its current chubby state, looked even better.
Gareth, who'd been in the shower, had wandered over and was standing by the edge of the bath. "You're not still talking about Paul's dick are you, ya bunch of shirtlifters, I've got something better for us to discuss - look." He pointed behind him and to the right slightly.
While we'd been talking cock some of the home team had brought in crates of lager for us all. Some of them had got some cans out already, shaken them and before we could react, those of us in the bath got showered in lager foam.
Laughing, Baz, Simon and me got on all fours in the bath, lined up like three dogs and Gareth, still standing over us, got some cans and poured lager back and forth in to our open mouths, though a lot went over our faces too. The "dogshow" attracted the attention of a few others and before we knew it, about four of five guys from both teams were pouring or spraying lager at us. It's not the sort of thing you'd ever discover normally, but I confess to having enjoyed the sensation of being covered in foaming beer quite a lot.
After a while of this typically mature rugby male behaviour, the bath was pretty unusable for its main purpose and so the bathers trooped to the showers to rinse off the foam. We didn't have much time as we all wanted to be back in the clubhouse for the Wales vs. Australia match. Of course, one or two of us were feeling a little light-headed already and it was only lunchtime.
I won't go in to the actual World Cup game; Wales lost, it was a piss-poor effort really, despite some moments of greatness. Moments aren't enough though against the sheer discipline of the Southern Hemisphere, so despite being the host nation, Wales were out of the Rugby World Cup.
I could write up what the clubhouse was like during the afternoon and early evening, but truth is I can't remember. I drank far too much Caffreys and fuck knows what else and I have a black hole where the afternoon should be, apart from vague flashes of talking to a few people and pissing in the sink in the men's bogs because the urinals were blocked. Typical Saturday for a lot of people I suppose. I may have fallen asleep for a while. None of my mates remember either, as they were pissed up too.
I did come round a bit to get the bus back to the B&B, the fresh air probably woke me a little. That and the prospect of a nap before doing the whole alcohol thing again later, for the Big Saturday Night Out.
I climbed the stairs, unlocked the door and chucked my bag onto the floor by the bottom of my bed. Despite the loss against Baz's team and Wales' result in the World Cup, I wasn't feeling as bad as I expected and it was only early evening. But having downed so much alcohol already, I went in to the tiny en suite, pulled down my joggers and jock and relaxed in to another badly needed pee.
The relaxation that peeing gave me suddenly disappeared as I caught sight of a sheet of paper by the sink unit. Looking more closely at it, I saw that written on it in black felt tip was a question.
"Care to explain this????" it read. An arrow pointed down to the sink's bowl. With mounting horror I realised that in the rush to catch the bus earlier, I'd neglected to clean up after my morning wank and the dried and crusty white streaks were very visible running down the sides of the enamel.
Oh fuck.
It had to be Mike that had left me the note and with a sudden light-bulb flash of realisation, I now knew why Mike and Baz had been grinning at me all day. Oh fuck indeed.
I flushed the toilet, wiped my hands, but before I could clean the sink, there was a knock on the door. I closed my eyes and shook my head. Despite needing sleep, I knew what was coming. I opened the door.
"Come in" I said to the grinning pair standing there. Grin or smirk, I couldn't tell the difference but both looked very pleased with themselves.
I closed the door behind them, but Mike leaned past me and locked it.
"Everyone's crashed out, but we don't want to be disturbed, do we?" he said, looking at me but I knew he was asking Baz the question.
"Nope, we want peace and quiet for we have to do." Baz grinned his cute grin at me, winked at Mike and nodded towards the bed. No, hang on, not the bed - the en suite.
"What have you two been planning?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"We want to see for ourselves just what attraction that sink holds for you," said Mike, keeping his face very serious. "See, me and Baz are jealous guys, we both like you, but the sink has stolen you away from us and we need to see the sink in action to make sure we can make you come just as well." He nearly said the whole sentence without laughing.
"You pair of bastards," I said, totally failing to keep a straight face, "What the fuck are you going to make me do?"
They were both laughing by now, but moved in on me. "You'll see. just strip down to your jock OK?" said Baz.
I did as I was told and in less than a minute I was standing in front of my torturers in only my jockstrap. They were both smiling broadly at me, not entirely in a torturing way, but I could tell they were going to get their own way, whatever that was.
"OK, so what now?" I asked.
"Assume the position", said Baz, nodding again at the en-suite. "We want to see exactly what you and the sink got up to earlier".
"You want to watch me having a wank in to the sink?" I asked, disbelievingly. "You guys have spent all day thinking about this and the best you can do is to ask for an action replay???"
Baz ignored this and turned to Mike with a raised eyebrow. Mike looked back at me and said "I don't think you appreciate how bad your crime is, mate. Apart from wasting yourself when you've got two guys who'd have helped, what makes you think I'm gonna clean up your spunk? Get your arse in there now!"
Had they not been two mates smiling lustily at me, I suppose the situation could have been threatening. As it was, the situation was horny more than anything. I dutifully went in to the en-suite and if I thought it was small earlier, with three guys in there it was tiny. I stood in front of the sink, looking at the reflection of the three of us, the dirty part of my mind wondering what this would have looked like as a film or photo.
Baz and Mike were either side of me, still fully dressed but I noticed that both of them were showing signs of interest in the cock department. Baz was wearing jogging shorts and Mike was in pale denims and both were slowly tenting.
"So come on then, you two are obviously getting off on seeing me like this, what do I do now." I was trying to be cocky and pretend I didn't care.
"Mike, I don't think Dave's hard enough to wank himself off yet, we'll have to help out I suppose", said Baz.
"Definitely agree, and I know exactly where to start." Mike stood closer to me, on my right and Baz moved closer to my left. They were so close I could feel their bulges pressing against my thighs. Mike's left hand began to rub my arsecheek in slow caressing circles. Baz mirrored his actions and also with his left hand, began to rub my stomach, his little finger just brushing through my pubes under the elastic of my jock. Mike's left hand found its way to my chest and began to run his fingers through my chest hair.
I think it's probably lucky that my jock had strong elastic, because my cock responded to this like a cannon ball being fired. I don't think I've ever got so hard so fast. Between the sensation of four hands slowly rubbing me, the sound of slightly heavy breathing and the scene I was watching in the mirror, my cock was like an iron girder straining the soft pouch material of my jock so much it was almost see-through.
"Come on Dave, show us what you did", Baz's voice was low and slightly husky, one that I knew as his "I'm fucking horny, make me cum now" voice. Mike had begun to kiss my shoulder, but both were watching me in the mirror.
I pulled my jockstrap down and kicked it off and leaned in over the sink, pressing my hard dick-root on to the cool enamel and letting my hairy balls rest against the curve of the bowl.
I grabbed my cock and slowly pulled the skin over the bell-end, an easy job given the amount of sticky fluid I was oozing. My two mates pressed in closer as I began to stroke my shaft, slowly at first but the situation was too much for me. I began to speed up, wanting to make this last but knowing I had to give in to what my lust demanded. So I gave in. In what felt like only seconds, I could feel my balls tighten against the sink and my cock get harder and longer, my dickhead so big I thought it would burst.
Baz and Mike were still smoothing my arse, chest and stomach and my legs began to shake as I got close. Then my knees almost gave way as my cock began to spray pre-cum before I actually began to cum. My balls seemed to vanish as if the pressure was so much - then I came, shot after shot on to the taps, the tiles, and even the mirror with the first two sticky white volleys. I nearly fell, but two pairs of arms held me up in a very close embrace.
We stood there for a few minutes, I was still shuddering as the last drops spurted from my dick. Then they sat me down on the toilet seat.
"Now it's our turn" said Mike. Baz just dropped his shorts and briefs to his knees and Mike unbuttoned his jeans and did the same. Then they began to kiss each other in front of me and stroke each other's cocks, really getting in to it and obviously turned on by my wanking efforts. I reached out to touch them but Baz slapped my hand away.
"Uh-uh, mate. This is part of the punishment too - you wanted the solo effort earlier, we want to share, so you can look but can't touch."
So I sat there and had to watch while they kissed, groped, sucked and fingered each other. They finished up by standing there, grinding their cocks against each other's legs and groins, I could see their skin glistening with pre-cum. Mike came first, spurting over Baz's stomach and abs, then he used his come to wank Baz's big hard cock. A few strokes later and Baz shot his load over Mike's arm and stomach. Despite having cum very hard not so long ago, I was sporting a very rigid dick from watching them satisfy each other in front of me.
Baz looked down, still breathing hard.
"Mike, I think Dave needs another lesson, look at how our punishment and nakedness has given him another hard-on."
They lifted me up and the three of us went back in to the bedroom, their cum was being rubbed off on me and the room must have smelled like a teenager's bedroom.
Baz sat down on the bed and made me kneel in front of him. Was I going to have to give him a blow job? He held out his hands and winked at Mike as I reached out my hands to him. In one sudden move, Baz grabbed my hands and pulled me forwards; he was now flat on his back on the bed with his feet on the floor and was really stretching my arms. Before I could do anything , Mike knelt behind me and forced his knees together either side of my feet. Other than wriggling my arse a lot, I couldn't straighten or get up so I was effectively pinned between them.
Then Mike began to slap my arse - left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek. I think to start with I was more amused than angry as I couldn't believe they were spanking my arse for being a bad boy. After a while, my cheeks felt like they were glowing and I was starting to get a bit pissed off. Baz sensed this and let me go, saying to Mike that I'd had enough.
I jumped to my feet and walked to the window, flushed and angry at being held down. When I turned back to them, both Baz and Mike were sitting on my bed, waving their cocks at me and smiling. My anger just went. I tried to call them every ugly name I could think of but I couldn't pretend I was mad for too long, as they could see me having trouble keeping my pissed off face from turning in to a big smiley one. Plus they looked so fucking gorgeous, I was getting horny again. I did what any self-respecting gay rugby player would do when faced with two naked guys on a bed. I tackled them.
The three of us when down on the bed with a thump, but straight away I was tickling Baz's ribs (which almost makes him pee with laughter), then doing the same to Mike. "Bastards" I was shouting, over and over. Eventually, the three of us lay in a heap on the bed, all three with boners like steel despite only recently cumming.
Baz looked at me and ruffled my fringe, something I hate anyone doing, with only a very few exceptions.
"No hard feelings, mate?" he asked.
Pointing at our dicks, I said "Only three things hard around here and none of them are my feelings."
"Good, we were only messing about, I started to wonder if we'd gone too far" said Mike. I shook my head.
"Nah, I think we'd know how far to take things with each other and in which direction. Speaking of which, my mind is going in a certain direction at the moment . . . . ."
Mike just smiled but Baz had bad news. "Sorry both, I've gotta go, things to do before tonight's events, even though my body will never forgive me for turning down a threesome with you two."
"Neither will we mate," said Mike, "I could stay here with you two for the next week and not get bored!"
"Well you two have fun then and I'll see you both later, you can fill me in." Baz caught both our grins, "I meant on what happens. Fuck don't you two ever stop thinking with your dicks?" Mike and I shook our heads. I leant over to Baz and kissed him. Then I shifted down and swallowed his cock whole, humming as I did so. Mike leant over and kissed Baz, then scooted down until his head was level with mine and began to lick Baz's balls and crotch as I kept on working on his dick. Baz began to groan.
"No, no, stop it, I have to go and I haven't got time to come before I go," he said, pushing us both off him. "I don't want to, but I have to. Besides, Dave, you need some kip before tonight and aren't you working tonight Mike?"
Reluctantly, Mike and I stopped. Baz began to dress while Mike and I lay on the bed, watching him and making over-the-top lustful remarks about how that arse of his needed a going shagging and how we'd love to lick his balls and suck on his big dick. Baz, not surprisingly, had trouble covering himself with his briefs and shorts, his dick was stiffening again even though he was laughing. After he'd dresses, I could see the outline of his big shaft held by his briefs and pointing towards his right hip.
Mike said "Baz, you'd better use the fire escape or the whole place will see that cock of yours. Not that most haven't anyway, but not like that I wouldn't think."
Baz smiled, leaned over and gave Mike a kiss, then did the same to me, giving me a hug as well. "See you both later then. God I must be out of my fucking mind leaving you two here."
He unlocked the door and left without looking back. I closed and locked the door behind him. I checked my travel alarm and saw that I had about two and a half hours before we were all out again. Such is life on tour.
"I've gotta get some sleep, mate" I said to Mike. He just nodded and motioned for me to get in to bed with him. I set my travel alarm for an hour and a half's time. Whatever either of us may have wanted to do in bed, within a few minutes I was asleep and apparently so was Mike.
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Any comments you have about this or any of my other rugby tales are always welcome (the hornier the better!!), so please e-mail me at rugbystud@hotmail.com