The After-game Special
Monday 26th of March 2018 05:41:24 AM CDT
“Cleaning the locker rooms…what shit.” Erhard Kadelburg grumbled under his breath.
As he trudged towards the Away Team’s lockers he couldn’t help but feel cheated. Six long months working at Averland Green’s BloodBowl stadium and he had been reduced to a glorified janitor. Six long, grueling months of studying finances, working with the maintenance crews, learning about concession working, all of his efforts into hopefully turning his lackluster internship into something worthwhile had been dashed and ruined on account of his father's own incompetence.
Gambling debts, a fondness for liquor, and fierce pride did not a great man make, and attempting to blackmail his own father, and owner of the stadium, with his debt to Goblin Gambling in order to advance his career had backfired horrifically, with his old man declaring that Erhard would spend the next three months working as a janitor for the stadium without pay. Honestly it could have been worse, and the only reason he was still working there at all was most likely the fact that his father had been absolutely soaked.
Erhard stomped his way to the locker room as his mood further soured. Dragging his mop, bucket, and metaphorical badge of dishonor alongside him with a huff. In a flash of anger he kicked the door to the room aside, and stepped into a thick fug of a most alien fragrance. He froze, and then almost gagged, then almost choked, before finally opting to breath.
It was as thick as soup, and hung heavy in the air like an acrobatically inclined dwarf. While it wasn’t unpleasant, it was impossible to ignore, and threatened to overtake one's senses. Taking slow, steady breaths as to not overexpose himself to it, Erhard took to his work with the resignation of a man scheduled to hang. “Demeaning work, and an ungodly smell.” he thought to himself bitterly, not daring to open his mouth, even to mumble and gripe. As he worked soapy water over the smooth floor of the locker room, he struggled to remember about which team had last used this room.
Averland Green was busy even in the off-season, being at a sweet-spot between trade-routes and not so high-class as to turn away more rookie teams. But even with the high level of traffic, Erhard tried to memorize the weekly schedule. However, his sour mood and the cloying odor proved a mighty distraction. He knew the Greenskins hadn’t played this week but if they had it would have rendered the room uninhabitable. The room didn’t smell like death so that ruled out the teams of undead…
His thoughts drifted and he took a long, greedy breath of the stuff and gave an involuntary shudder. He honestly had started to like the smell. It was rich and complex and filled him with this warmth that settled in his chest nicely. Was it some new body spray some Empire team was trying? He could see that. A big, buff team like the ones in his Rieksmen magazines that he kept around for the articles. Good, long, hard articles about...shoulder pad maintenance. Yes. Those articles.
Erhard looked around a moment, his cleaning efforts momentarily forgotten as he settled himself down on a bench. He rather liked the idea of the air being saturated by the scent of muscular men of the Empire, as depraved and debased as it was. He imagined their muscular, sweaty bodies as they stretched and prepared for another brutal game, their tight jockstraps and barrel-chests…
He was hard as a rock before he knew it, his member straining against the leg of his trousers as he absentmindedly stroked the head of his c*ck through the fabric. He fantasized about beefy rieksmen and idly tried to remember which team had last used this locker-room as he pleasured himself as his eyes drifted shut. A pleasured grunt escaping him.
His fantasizing moved forward, as did his arousal. He took a moment to start grasping at his belt buckle, and looked down at it to undo the simple device. Instead, he came face-to-muzzle with the smug grin of the biggest rat he had ever seen.
Panic took him off the bench and sprawling out on the floor behind him, looking up at the intruder. Erhards brain sputtered and struggled, one part wanting to continue his masturbation and the other trying to understand how a rat that big snuck up on him. All the while his face burned in intense embarrassment.
Erhard’s mind caught up with his racing heart soon enough and he deciphered the sight before him. Giant rat. Two legs. Smug-*ss grin. Not a rat, but a Skaven. Important distinction, rats are small and kind of cute. Skaven are big, (relative to a rat) and like cheating. Erhard chose to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind that whispered ‘and still kind of cute’.
His breathing calmed down from the panic hyperventilation it had been, but the Skaven broke the awkward silence first.
“Man-thing sneaks into my locker-room and stroke-pumps at his c*ck in front of me.”
The rat resting a foot on the bench as he leans in.
“How absolutely disgusting.”
Erhards face was pinker than an enraged squig, and his mouth was pursed, ready to belt out a harsh response. But too much was happening in his flustered brain. He wanted to scream and berate the intruding vermin, to correct him on who was invading whose space, and to demand who he was and why he was here. At the same time he observed how well the rat had spoken Riekspiel, his black fur, and just how big and muscular he was even for a stormvermin, how naked he was save for his jockstrap and perhaps most horribly, just how much more that awesome smell had intensified now that he was standing so close.
But before he could voice any of this, the blackfurred skaven took a step forward, clearing the bench and standing over Erhard as that smug grin only got wider.
“I’m the owners son! You can’t hurt me or your team will never play in this town again!”
Erhard was shocked to hear his voice. And scared to see the skaven’s insufferable grin pull itself even wider over his face.
“Man-things are so-so predictable, owners son cleaning locker-rooms? Did daddy punish-ground you? Does daddy know you love skaven-scent?”
Oh sweet merciful gods.
Any doubt that the scent had been anything other than the scent of sweaty, worked-up Skaven evaporated even as sweat began to bead on Erhards forehead.
“No, daddy doesn’t know his child-thing likes huffing rat-stink. Wouldn’t have sent you in here if he did-did. Daddy’s just angry-mad with his spoiled little brat of a child-thing.”
With that hurtful truth ringing in his ears, Erhard watched as the skaven squatted down, bringing his straining jockstrap mere inches away from his face. The scent alone sending a shudder down from his nose to his c*ck, with his mouth moaning as it passed.
“Daddy doesn’t need to know about your nasty-sick habits. But Krissik Scargiver need-needs something from you…” the stormvermins wide hips gave a meaningful wiggle. Erhard couldn’t think of anything to say. Somehow, this rat-man had picked him like a grape. His father despised the rat-men more than any other race, and only let them play because of how much coinage Skaven fans bring to the stands. If his father knew about any of this, he would most likely disown him on the spot, and then Erhards plan to inherit this field would go out the window.
Impatiently, the rat continued.
“Or I can march-walk up to daddy’s office and tell him about the little sneak-freak who broke into an occupied locker-room to harass-accost the teams star player…” the rat said, savoring the term ‘star player’ like one might savor a wine. But the stormvermin didn’t wait for an answer. Dropping his hips and driving them forward, Erhards face was suddenly pressed up against the damp, musky jockstrap of a Skaven BloodBowl player.
Erhard gave an involuntary shudder, moaning into the obscenely large, rat-like balls of the blackfur who was currently grinding his sack and sheath into his face. The pace the rat humped at was slow and steady, almost painfully so, as his c*ck throbbed and began to push its way out of his sheath. Erhard could feel it pulsing even before it appeared.
“Pull my jock down, man-thing.” the rat commanded airily. Erhard complied, only finding shame in how he could find no issue with following the vermins orders.
With shaking hands, he peeled the jockstrap down past the rats hips, watching in awe at the intimidating, conical length of rat-c*ck and seeing a drop of precum drip down it’s twitching length as it frantically bobbed with the rats racing heart. He tugged the jock down to the rats ankles, watching Krissik’s balls swing freely, and heavily in the rat-musk saturated air of the locker-room. Again the stormvermin pushed his balls into Erhards face, the young man taking a drag of the scent and almost c*mming then and there, his trousers straining painfully against his tortured shaft, an obscene stain forming at his head as precum pulsed out of his length.
A few more humps from the stormvermin before he unceremoniously pulled back, positioning the slick, absurd length of his c*ck before Erhards mouth. His hesitation lasting only a moment before he swallowed his pride, and a few inches of musky rat-c*ck. He struggled to adapt, breathing hard through his nose as he began lubing the prick in his mouth with dutiful laps of his tongue. It’s taste was salty, warm, and the flesh itself was harder than any man’s. Erhard thinking in terrible clarity how content he was to be sucking down on a Skaven c*ck. A filthy, inhuman, cruel monster that spent it’s life cheating and killing it's fellows.
None of this bothered him as he attentively sucked and bobbed his head along the shaft, prodding his throat as he almost casually ignored his gag-reflex. If anything, there was a scandalous edge to this forbidden behavior. Taking note of his own twisted pride when a strong tail wrapped itself around his leg, and clawed fingers gripped the back of his head, pushing him down the c*ck a few more precious inches. He was rewarded with the hips of the rat-man giving a shudder as his thrusting began to take a more frantic pace.
“G-good Man-thing, know your place-”
The stormvermin never finished his sentence when Erhard swallowed down every last inch of Krissiks length. His prize was the Skaven letting out a genuine squeak of pleasure-drunk surprise and feeling that hot, conical c*ck pump skaven spunk into his stomach, the indescribable, heady flavor coating his throat and pooling warmth in his stomach, each throb complimented by the rat giving a needy hump at his mouth.
He took a short moment to revel in the sensation before pushing at the Skaven’s hips, pulling Krissiks c*ck out of his throat and mouth. The Skaven grunted as the tip slid out of Erhards mouth and fell back, supporting himself on the bench as he panted, smug smile still present, his hands already stroking his c*ck back to hardness even as spit and c*m dripped off of it.
It was at that moment the illusion shattered. Erhard stared in unblinking horror at the distended and obscene length of the Stormvermins member. Realizing he had forced every inch of it down his throat, and drank the rat-man's spunk and liked it. He felt like he was going to be ill as the gravity of what exactly he had done set in. As panic set in he made to flee the locker room in a madcap scramble.
He failed to get more than a dozen feet from the rat before the Skaven’s inhuman speed caught up with him and pinned him down. He struggled against his captor, but the Rat didn’t budge, the differences in the lifestyle of a athlete and a scribe making themselves known. Krissik brought his head down to his captives ear before whispering a sickly-sweet whisper to the struggling human.
“I’m not done-finished yet man-thing. Krissik Scargiver has gone too long without a breeder…” the rat trailed off, words dripping with lustful intent.
Erhards blood ran cold, the rat couldn’t possibly mean what he said! There was no way that thing would fit inside him! He writhed and bucked under the weight of the rat, but nothing worked as the vermin casually rolled with every attempt at escape seemingly at second nature. His struggle stopped as fear took hold of him when the muscular rat slid the young-mans trousers past the swell of his hips, revealing his juicy, round *ss.
The manager-hopeful attempted to squawk out some bargain, an offer, anything to avoid his fate when a long, slimy tongue made a trip from his taint to the top of his *ss. Nothing but a whimper escaped him as the tongue went in for another go. Erhard kept himself clean as could be as a point of pride, but he got the distinct impression that the rat-man would have gone ahead with his depraved act even if he didn't. Halfway through the third lick, the tongue pushed at the puckered rim of his *sshole, Erhard giving an involuntary jump.
He hadn’t noticed exactly how horny he had been, never having c*m during his earlier blowjob. And now that a muscular tongue was diligently lapping at his *ss, each centimeter that entered him sparked something inside him, an awful, indecent desire to be mounted like a giggling bride and f*cked into a stupor.
The skaven pulled his *sscheeks further apart, pushing his tongue inches deep inside the shuddering man beneath him, giving a scant few moments for his lover to adapt before pushing his tongue in and out, lapping and prodding his insides in a decadent show of prowess. All the while Erhard gasped and moaned openly, all rational thought dissolved and pulled out of him as the Skaven played with his hole. He wrenched an arm free, and went to grab at his aching prick when the Stormvermin snatched his wrist.
“N-no! Please let me touch it! I’m so close!” he cried, desperate for release. The only response was the points of sharp teeth pushing dangerously against his rump. The grasp on his wrist tightened as the tongue dived, every available inch sliding into the tight confines of his *ss, the muscle thrashing and squirming against his surroundings. The girly moans of before matured into a scrambled mess of obscenities and cries as the bookworm rode the ragged edge of orgasm.
But release didn’t come, in fact the skaven kept his grip on him tight as he withdrew his tongue.
“Man-thing doesn’t come until generous Krissik let’s him, understand?” without thinking Erhard spat back on reflex.
“Let me c*m you f*cking rat!”
A terribly long moment of silence followed, but before Erhard even had time to feel regret the Skaven brought a clawed hand down across his *ss. Once, twice, three, and then four times as the pristine flesh reddened, pinpricks of blood appearing where claw met rump. Erhard bit back tears as the Skaven wordlessly moved into position.
“Know your place, man-thing.” he started, Erhard gasping in equal parts anticipation and horror as he felt the tip of the rats c*ck push against his *sshole.
“And that is under me-me!” cried the vermin victoriously, emphasizing the last word with a violent thrust. As well lubricated as both parties were with slimy skaven-spit and c*m, Erhard simply wasn’t prepared for his anal virginity to be taken away like this.
Pain was the only thing he could perceive, his *ss pushing back at the intruder. But he wasn’t getting out of this, there was no way for him to escape what was coming to him. Drawing on an inner well of willpower he didn’t know he had, he took deep, calming breaths as he relaxed himself and was unexpectedly rewarded with a sensation of fullness.
The conical c*ck of his verminous lover reached deep inside of him, but it’s broad base stretched him out in a way that felt entirely too ‘right’, it was easy to let his hole be shifted to these dimensions, and easy to feel the pleasure that came from being stuffed. But Krissik had other plans for how this was going as he drew his hips back with a hiss, Erhard groaning as he felt some sort of nub inside of him grind against the c*ck as it left, drippy, white-hot pleasure branching from it through his taint and c*ck.
The same nub was again pushed against when Krissik thrust back into the pliant hole. The sensation only growing in intensity as the rat found a rhythm to his f*cking, rolling his hips with control Erhard hadn’t expected from the warrior. The young man was shook bodily from every high-powered thrust, the Skaven above him endeavoring to reach further on every downward stroke, and was soon abusing his lovers *ss with the slapping of his bloated balls against his captive plaything.
Erhard was biting hard against his sleeve, something within him desperate to resist the sensations that played upon him, as good as they felt. He found himself trying to paint the scene in his mind as a nightmare, to convert the experience from a joy to a horror, but his body betrayed him as his c*ck leaked and throbbed, pumping out clear, generous shots of precum on to the stone floors of the locker room.
The pace of the f*cking increased, as Krissik panted and groaned openly into the steamy air.
“Much-much better than Cheer-slave. Ooh much-much better.”
The vermin again leaned closely, breathily panting as he spoke.
“You should be proud-happy, you make great athlete Krissik feel good! How’s that-that make you feel, new-new cheer-slave?”
Erhard opened his mouth to protest just as the weighty stormvermin dropped his hips down with his full body weight behind the thrust. Instead of any human language, Erhard released a strangled cry. His eyes unfocused, his jaw went slack, and his muscles react as pleasure shocked his brain into submission. His body gave up, and his c*ck sprung into action, spraying long, pure-white ropes of c*m uselessly into his trousers. The Skaven ground his teeth in satisfaction, before pulling out to his tip, and repeating the brutal thrust that had knocked Erhard stupid. Again he pulled back, and Erhard felt his *ss try to follow his c*ck out, and Krissiks’ thick, slimy precum oozing out at the seams.
Again and again the rat-man brought his hips down, pounding into once pristine flesh and reveling in the debauchery openly panting, gasping and squeaking as he explored the flesh beneath him. Nibbling, biting, pinching and prodding at the stunned man beneath him in a manic way that filled Erhards mind with the reality that he was being f*cked by a Skaven. There was no shame left in him, no strength left to resist, no will to draw on. His *ss was being stretched and f*cked so hard as his c*ck and balls pumped and throbbed, working themselves sore as he came again and again from the world-shaking thrusts of his verminous lover even as his *ss accepted the rats prick without issue.
A frustrated groan, and clawed fingers digging into his shoulders alerted the small part of Erhards mind that still functioned that something was changing, Krissik was shuddering, twitching, and panting in fatigue as his thrusts grew shorter and shorter. In a primal way, Erhard knew what this meant.
“Please.” he almost whispered at first
“Please c*m inside of me Krissik.” he panted. In his mind it was more valuable than gold. He needed to feel him c*m. The Skaven let out a snicker, and then a cackle as he realized what was happening.
“Yes-yes! Beg for my seed, beg mighty Krissik to c*m inside of your useless man-thing body!”
There was no resistance. Erhard called out, girlish moans and depraved ramblings poured out of him as Krissik f*cked his way to the finish line, laughing in a fiendish, manic way as he finally ground his hips into the abused hole beneath him as the laughter turned into a cackling, manic grunting. Erhard felt nothing at first, and then a dribble, and then a shot, which grew into a pool of what could only be Skaven c*m. It was hot, almost uncomfortably so, and seemed to settle into his guts with an unnatural weight to it as more and more of the stuff was pumped inside him, his own load already spent down to the last drop, ruining the front of his trousers and underwear.
Afterglow replaced detail, and pleasure blurred out what remained. With no ceremony or parting words, Erhard slipped into a blissful sleep. He did not know how long he had been asleep, but when he awoke the room was still empty. His *ss felt like he had used it as the support for a cannon, and an unpleasant wetness in his trousers brought a blush to his face when he remembered exactly what had brought him here. He struggled to his feet, pulling his trousers back up trying to ignore the sticky sensation as it stuck to his *ss. He noticed, as he sneaked out of the room a small note, on poorly-made parchment left on the bench he had been asleep near.
On it, in abysmal handwriting was an address and a mailing line, and a few skaven runes the human did not recognize. A moment passed before his heart gave an involuntary pang of want. A want for a sequel to today's degeneracy.
“Sigmar forgive me.” the young man whispered as his body began to ache in equal parts soreness and want.