The football club, located at the end of an industrial estate on the edge of the nearby town, had transformed the large function room into a Winter Wonderland. Two large snow-covered Christmas trees dominated the corners of the room, with white tinsel strewn liberally across the walls and the ceiling. The club had set up several large, round tables for the hundred-plus guests.
The footballers, dressed in smart tuxedos, strode into their Christmas dinner, as if they were James Bond. Several ladies entered the room, draped on the arms of the suave athletes. Clare and Victoria both wore short scarlet dresses, trimmed with white fur and a Santa hat. My fiancée winked at me as Anthony rubbed the red velvet material on her backside.
I recognised a few of the Coach's harem in the room, but there were over a dozen women - all clothed in risque, short dresses - that I had not seen before.
None of the players had brought their female partners to the event. No footballer had risked their wives, girlfriends or fiancées at the Christmas festivities. While performing an errand, I had met Ray's girlfriend in the supermarket with him, and the blonde beauty's derriere he fondled at the party, was not the young lady I had seen him with at the checkout with the pots of yoghurts. Nor too was Billy's wife or Cameron's girlfriend.
However, a few had brought "plus-ones" to the party: male friends or acquaintances, doubtless intrigued by the promises of free food, beer and boundless amounts of sex.
I had been seated in the far corner of the room, next to the most impressive ivory tree, along with two women who I had not seen before, Scott, Ben, Isaac and the beefy attacking coach, Calvin.
Scott's eyes had watched Iain traverse the room. The assistant coach had taken a shine to the gay man, and Scott's boyfriend was being idly fondled. "Such a slut," my friend joked as he sat down next to me at the table and put his hands on the hem of my kilt. "Oh, still doing it properly."
"Do you mind?" I squealed as he lifted the kilt to my waist. "That's ..."
"Proper Scotswear," Scott interrupted. "Fancy tossing my caber? I have the horn like you wouldn't believe!" He looked at the ladies sitting opposite us and then turned back to me. "Watching Iain getting groped really turns me on."
"Later," I teased and ran my tongue over my lips.
"Yeah, Coach says no fucking until after the meal," the nephew of the aforementioned manager snapped. Scott shrugged and muttered something under his breath. The meal was fantastic. A local catering firm supplied an amazing three-course spread, topped with lashings of wine and beer, and finished with a delightful apéritif. Scott's gaze was constantly fixed on his boyfriend, clearly enthralled by the large, muscular assistant manager. Bruce definitely swung both ways, and he had his eyes firmly on Iain's assets that evening.
Clare had been seated between Anthony and Ricky, and had captured the attentions of the married men. They were both endowed with fine bodies, incredible stamina and amazing cocks - and my partner had a beaming smile as they suggestively flirted with her. They were both the sorts of men who she adored screwing. They were her type.
I spent the evening chatting to Scott, Calvin, and Kitty. Calvin, the fitness coach, was a muscle-bound man with cappuccino skin and a cheeky laugh. He had been the top scorer in a Caribbean football league when he was younger and had been called up to represent Montserrat, before he left the island after the volcanic eruption buried his home.
Kitty was, as I suspected, an escort hired by the football club. The fiery brunette was in her early twenties and was studying for a post-doctorate degree in Mathematics, while using her voracious sexual appetite to keep herself debt-free. "I have a partner too, but he's like you," she giggled as she finished her glass of wine. "He's a cuck. It's OK. The manager told me all about the guys in kilts." I must have blushed because she nudged Scott. "Doesn't he look cute when he goes red?"
"He could have been here if he's a cuck."
She pouted. "He doesn't play that way. He knows I play away, and he doesn't have any choice in that, but my boy ain't sucking cock, even to get 'em ready for me. That ain't happening and many of my guys are punters who don't want another guy anywhere near 'em, anyway."
After the catering firm cleared away the last of the plates, the tension in the room rose. The Coach tapped his glass and stood up, beaming at the room as he got to his feet.
The room fell silent. "Another year, another promotion. That's three promotions in four seasons, and we're on course for another. This is the most talented squad this club has ever produced. This is the strongest, most skilful, most tactically aware, most successful squad in this team's history. We are at a higher level than we have ever played before." He paused and took a sip of his beer. "But that cannot be the end of the story. That will not be the tale that I want told. This squad, and this team, with the achievements we've had, is not my legacy. This is the beginning of our adventure. This is the start of our journey. In May, if we stay top of the league, we will be one level below the regional league. And three levels below the Football League. And professional football. That's where I want to be. Not here. So this party is to celebrate our progress. And the gains we have made. But after this revelry has ended, and the hangovers subsided, know that we have eighteen games to win, so we top the league. And three more seasons of hard work, continual success and promotion. Because we are getting noticed. Our success is getting attention. And I want to be with the big boys. We all do."
He smiled and sighed. "Our party, is like our Saturday afternoons. Those of you, here tonight, who are wearing trousers, you will receive a party bag. Six free drinks at the bar, a betting slip and six tokens to spend with our underwearless whores. For those of you here tonight wearing skirts or kilts, you too will receive a party bag. Six drinks for the bar and as much lube as you need!" He laughed as the raucous cheer enveloped the room. "And the ladies and cucks will enjoy taking your tokens. For the one with the most coins at the end of the night gets a prize." He chuckled to himself, raised his glass and roared. "To Ashfield Rangers!" He clinked his glass with Victoria's almost-empty wine goblet as the team shouted back his rousing toast.
I hadn't seen Kitty leave the table, but she returned with five small black gift bags and three bright pink ones. She smiled at me as I opened the magenta mesh bag - a large bottle of anal lubricant, six condoms, six silver coins with beer glasses printed on them, and an elastic garter with a zipped pocket. "For all those fuck tokens you are going to get," Scott told me as I hitched my kilt to fasten it to my thigh. "Will it be big enough to hold all your tokens?" He chuckled and spun a shiny pink disc in his hand. "They've only given us six fuck tokens and condoms," he moaned, peering into his black paper bag. "Not sure it will be enough!"
"Where do you find the energy?" I mused. "You came twice yesterday and Iain said you dicked him this morning."
"And I wanna come again." He looked at the escort, and then Isaac. "That was twelve hours ago. I can go again and again. Hey Kitty, why don't we give you a tour of the stadium. Including the dressing room."
"You're obsessed. You're always thinking about getting your end away," I joked.
As the men rose from the table, we headed towards the stairs behind us. "C'mon, I got tokens to spend," he told me and squeezed my backside through my kilt as I walked through the open door
"On me? But you get me all the time?"
"That's just for show!" He snorted and glanced at Iain on another table. "I best not be seen looking too hard at the pussy in here." He grinned at the blonde-haired woman in pigtails and a low cut black evening dress walking past him. "Let's nip off to the changing rooms. And Jon, there's eight prossies, four wives and seventy-odd guys. I'm sure you cucks will get banged into next year. You'll have a hole as red as Rudolph's hooter."
