Summer of Submitting

Summer of Submitting (Or helmets, bats and balls)

Overview and Descriptions

• Features young 17 y/o sub bottom boy, slim, brown hair 5"6, becoming involved with horny, manipulative middle aged men. Slow burn but gets very dirty. Based on real life.

• Key descriptors: Adult/Youth, domination, submission, blackmail, anal sex, oral sex. Features graphic consensual sex scenes between UK legal age young man and older men.

• Based on my real life experiences from a couple of years ago. I've sweetened some of the details to make it more articulate and cohesive as a story but the events are true.

• Location: Countryside, UK

• If you enjoy the story or have any thoughts you'd like to share then email me at sammythesub19@protonmail.com. I have plenty of stories to share but will only write more if people enjoy them! Would be great to meet people with similar interests as well...

• Visual references: if it's of interest to anyone, I have NSFW pictures of myself from the time that I'm happy to share with guys who really enjoyed hearing about my experiences. It'll help paint a clear picture of who's at the centre of the story and no doubt is better than how I can describe myself, just ask and I'll see what I can do!

• Also guys please support Nifty through donating if you can, it's a wonderful platform full of amazing stories and people: https://donate.nifty.org/

Chapter One: Saturdays

I hate Saturdays, I remember thinking. In fact, every time the weekend would come around again I would meet it with such resentment. But don't get me wrong, I loved the weekend, or the idea of one anyway... it should have finally been a break from school and the sports clubs I'm part of, oh and all the other responsibilities that crop up: homework, babysitting, chores; the freedom of the weekend should be a blessing. Or the freedom I should have been getting is a better way of putting it. I was 17 and it was the summer just after finishing the first year of sixth form, I had a precious few months of freedom before a year full of exams, so I should have been out enjoying myself doing whatever I want. Instead, we were on our way to cricket. Again.

Every Saturday, for it seemed liked the whole summer, every summer, we'd have a cricket match. And this wasn't just a few hours out of the day, this was a 50/50 match, which meant we'd arrive about 10am and leave 6pm if I was lucky and it was a whitewash. Goodbye Saturday. Goodbye every Saturday.

It was a beautiful Summers day in late June, not a cloud in the sky, which meant a 0% chance of the game being called off, we were going. As we were packing the cricket bags into the car Dad sarcastically noted `Alan might not be able to make it today after all so there might be the chance for you to step up'. That's right, not only was I going to cricket, I wasn't even in the team or guaranteed playing, I was the first reserve, well the only reserve.

But when I think about it, I guess it was the best of a bad situation. If there's anything worse than being at a cricket game and not playing cricket, it would actually be playing cricket. I would definitely class myself as sporty and good at most the ones I put my mind to. I was on the hockey, badminton, tennis, table tennis and football teams at school. But no matter how much my Dad pushed for it, I could never get my head around cricket.

To be a good batsman you needed to be strong, lots of upper body strength to really be able to connect the bat with ball and clear some boundaries, I was the opposite of that build. I guess I was what you'd expect, 17 years old but looking more like 15 at a push, not that I could admit that. I was from a short family and a late bloomer, I was about 5'6, white with a mop of long brown hair but apart from that and a little on my legs I was completely hairless. At the time looking at the other guys in my year it was embarrassing and a point of frustration, until I realised how some people idolised my look, but we'll get to that.

I was thin, small and cute looking with a button nose. Small to the point to the point where I'm sure a big man could fit his hand around my whole bicep. What I did have was a small but round and bouncy bum, from all the sport I played meant a lot of lunging and good stamina which led to a thin guy with muscle in the right places.

Anyway, this combination did not lend itself to being a good cricket player. Plus I didn't like fielding either, the hard ball hurt my hands and I wasn't in the market for that kind of pain.

So you can now understand why I was the reserve.

Honestly, I think the main reason Dad would make me come along was so he knew I wasn't just at home getting up to something he didn't know about. And also maybe be hoped through persistence and continuous exposure to the game, I would find the passion he and my brothers had for it. Not going to happen.

Even though he couldn't know for sure, his instincts were unfortunately right to avoid leaving me home alone on those Saturdays, considering what I'd got up to on the rare days I wasn't `needed' as the reserve. I had recently discovered a new interest. At school it was always about girls, having a fit girlfriend gave you status and I loved to flirt, it made sense to me within that world. The game of it, the chase, it all seemed so simple. But at home, late at night, every evening after school and on those precious free Saturdays I'd discovered my real sexual desires and my sexual goals, to be a complete submissive gay bottom for old filthy men.

I was addicted. I would be active on multiple online forums and dating sites at once looking for older men who were into young guys. I had Grindr open on my phone with the age range way up, minimum age 40, no max age (lol), logged into silverdaddies and other more questionable pages on my laptop, and emailing and chatting back and forth with guys. And Skyping when I found the time. Oh, and obviously a constant stream of old/young porn in the background.

It had slowly become more and more involved and fetishised. What started as a base curiosity of a teenage boy now became an obsession. It started innocently enough, when I was about 14 and watching some anal porn, shortly after discovering that corner of the internet, I wondered how that must feel for the girl. Until I slept with a girl, which at that point was way off as an idea, only then would I get to know what it was like to fuck someone and how a pussy or ass would feel. But then it clicked, what I did have was an asshole, and it was well within my power to find out what it's like from the other side, or to be fingered at the very least.

Like everyone at that age I'd heard stories of girls in my year trying it and not liking it one bit. The main reason was simply because it hurt, so I was prepared for a lot of pain, but finally burning curiosity got the better of me. I put my finger in my mouth to give it some natural lube and got in a cradle position on my bed, and what happened next I didn't expect. When I slipped my finger into my asshole I had no idea that not only would it be that easy and relatively painless to slide it in but it would feel that good.

Was it always this easy, were those girls being over dramatic, or was I just built for it? Did my desire override any real sense of pain? The answer to these questions didn't matter, this was moan out loud, eyes roll back good.

Sure it hurt a little but nowhere near what I thought, it felt so warm and gooey, no wonder guys wanted to fuck someone in the ass so badly. After continuing slowly and gently for a little bit I gradually used two fingers then three, pushing deeper and stretching my asshole. It was then that I realised something, what part I was actually enjoying. It wasn't what the fingers were feeling (although that did feel nice) but what I was feeling when getting fucked. And at the same time I could identify how good it must feel to fuck that, and I wanted to give that pleasure to someone else because I was enjoying the other side much more. Put simply I wanted to give pleasure by receiving pleasure. It was that switch in my head that led me down the path I'm on now.

So, of course, it started with evolving from just watching straight porn and wanking to incorporating ass play. Then I would try other objects that got progressively bigger and longer. It started as the end of a hairbrush, then a carrot, a cucumber, then a rolling pin (seriously...) to finally giving in and ordering my own dildo.

By that point I knew watching straight porn didn't make much sense and I didn't really know what to imagine at that point, there was a disconnect. Even though I liked the idea of being feminine I couldn't truly identify with the girl getting fucked in the ass, we just weren't the same.

Unsurprisingly, my first dive into gay porn was not a success to say the least. As soon as I logged onto any of the sites what I saw didn't interest me, I didn't feel seen. Big hairy guys or big muscly army guys fucking each other felt too removed to me. It would always end up with me closing the browser disappointed.

After a couple more tries a video finally cropped up on YouPorn's home page that clicked. It was a young smooth guy getting fucked by an older hairy guy, no production value, just clearly shot at home authentically. It was like another light switches was turned on. The contrast between the two guys was such a turn on, the hairy fat man using something so feminine and fragile but still a guy like me was what I was searching for.

This is where I learned all the proper terms, daddies, twinks, bears. I was hooked. I learned how to be a proper `sub bottom', I did my yoga stretches routinely to make sure I was flexible and had an impressive arch, I practiced my fellatio on all kinds of objects. I broke myself into all kinds of positions with my dildo to make sure I could take at least 8 inches in any given position. And last of all I read all the online articles about how to please your man, how to submit and how to be pretty.

It wasn't long before I was setting up profiles, talking to men and before you know it, stripping on Skype.

I would routinely strip for random guys over Skype and do whatever they asked of me, with my toys at the ready. By this point I was used to people thinking I was a catfish considering I was exactly what a lot of these guys were looking for. A sweet, young (and looks much younger) thin guy with messy hair and seemingly no boundaries or self respect. My favourite moment was always the mixed look of relief and excitement in the first few seconds of the call when they realise I was for real. Then the fun would begin.

On a number of different occasions the men would beg me to meet up with them, and of course I was always tempted. I would have gone if not for the fear of disappearing for a few hours to then return home with my Dad's car parked out front and having to explain where I'd been. It would have been impossible.

This fear was made worse by the previous close calls where the cricket had been called off for one reason or another and the worst I'd have to do was shut a call down and throw some clothes on. Returning from who knows where, hot and bothered with a belly full of cum, waddling down the drive would have been too much to deal with.

Like I said, he was right to want to keep an eye on me, even if he had no idea what for.

So back to that Saturday, after a 15 minute drive we arrived at the local cricket ground. It was down a classically obscure tree flanked gravel drive, most people got lost trying to find it. Once you were half a minute or so down the drive there was a small wooden gate to the right which took a skilled driver to swing into without pausing to adjust, and then the cricket pitch revealed itself. A beautiful green pitch, surrounded by lush forest and a farmers field directly behind the wicket.

There was a small bungalow adjacent to the pitch which housed the scoreboard, changing rooms and kitchens. Even though I hated the sport I loved the places it took us, always to a quaint little town and then a nicely kept cricket ground surrounded by beautiful forest or woods, it was in there I'd spend most of my time.

We pulled in and parked on the gravel, tires coming to a crunchy stand still. As we started unpacking the bags from the back of the car the customary hellos and welcome to the other team members began while we awaited for the opposition to arrive. There were three special moments I always enjoyed about the dull cricket days and one of them was about to take place.

After a quick walk around the pitch with Dad and a few of the other team members, they said the words I was waiting for: `best get into our whites before they arrive'.

In unison we headed to the changing rooms, needless to say it gave me endless pleasure to look at some of the men on the team changing, and I mean men. Cricket attracted predomaniantly ageing middle aged white men, my type. I had to be subtle in the way I looked, but the glances I got kept my mind racing throughout the day. Big hairy thighs and a sizeable bulge wrapped tightly in their tightly whities. A glance at a manly beer belly would be enough if I missed the real action but sometimes I got a real treat. whoever was up to bat first would take their underwear off to put in their protective box, giving me a glance of what I craved the most. I would think about that vision all day usually afterward, the heavy, hairy testicles with the large member resting on top, it looked at me and was aching for some attention they surely weren't getting from their wives. My tongue would wet just from a quick look.

But that wasn't all, my second favourite thing was to take extra long in my own undressing. Maybe I'd misplaced my shirt and my trousers, oh no what a silly mistake, I'd looked under the bench while I was wearing only my tight boxers and glance around to see if I got any attention. Sometimes I did, now and then If I was really lucky I would get an inappropriate comment from one of the more laddy members of the group which would make me blush.

But it was never anything concrete that I felt that I could act on, but I liked the feeling of their eyes on me, eye fucking me and objectifying me, even if they didn't mean to.

Then would come the third favourite part of my day, or at least the part I had to make the most of. While we were waiting to bat or they were out fielding I would just wander. I'd go through the fields and take pictures of the animals or sketch. Anything I could do to keep myself occupied, now and then I'd be texting with a guy and be sending quick spontaneous nudes but only on the occasions that I was really horny because it was so risky. It was just me, the beautiful forest and my imagination. You have to find a moment of bliss in these bad situations, otherwise you'll go mad.

I was just about to start my wander as our team headed out to field when one of the wives who helped with the teas asked for a favour.

Susan beckoned me over with a classic `would you mind...'

What now I thought.

"If you wouldn't mind helping packing away the practice kit from the nets and put them back in the storage cupboards behind the changing rooms. Thanks lovely it's really appreciated"

The thanks before I could say anything sealed the deal, a big Karen move, I couldn't do anything but help now otherwise it would be incredibly rude.

I looked around in dismay, there was balls, helmets, bats, stumps, all heavy and a lot of them. It was going to take me ages. I also wasn't completely sure where the cupboard was, it could have been a longer walk than I remembered. Urgh.

"Come on Sam, it won't take too long, there's nothing better for you to do..." she exclaimed.

"...No problem" I weakly responded. An older man from the other team must have heard the weak purpose in my tone and chimed in.

"Happy to help out if you need it lad, there's a lot of stuff to carry, we can get it done in no time if you need the help"

Usually I was averse to any kind of company or help, I didn't like the conversation and felt kind of awkward, I would get on with the task and be done with it to show I can be reliable.

...But there was a lot to carry, on my own it might have been five trips, maybe more, and I couldn't even remember how far the equipment shed was. The way I see it, the quicker it was done the quicker I could get away. Plus, it would be a good chance to talk to someone older to get more practice in flirting with older man. And he was hot.

Well I'm not sure hot is the right word but hot to me, well over 6ft, a bit of a belly on him, and on the chubbier side. A receding hairline but still a good head of hair, red in the face, large hairy arms and a big silver watch on his right wrist.

"Sure, whatever" I shrugged back.