12-24-2019, 04:36 AM
Grease Ball 2
a gladiator fantasy by member bare chested warrior
My name is Arnold. I work for the garbage company. The boss ordered me to attend the next
Grease Ball game along with five garbage workers. He says we can watch from the sides. There’s
a catch. There’s always a catch. We have to wear black shorts, our heavy industrial boots, and
nothing else. Correction: three workers add a black band around the top right arm. At any point in
the game umpires can call on us to join in the game and supplement the numbers. In truth the
garbage workers are tough, rough and ready for the occasional fight. They are not fazed if the
game is terminal.
Garbage employment has kept their bodies dirty most of the time. For this reason they are curious
about the players who seem to be turned on with greasing one another. In some circles the word
“greasing” meant “killing”. The five workers and I welcome the chance to do exactly that. The
playing ground is part of a garbage land-fill area. I spoke with Frank, the waste disposal truck
driver who had cleaned up after the first game. In his opinion the game needed more balls on
hand. He speculated that the players could form up in closed circles. The ball could then be thrown
from player to player with greater accuracy. It was important to grease chests as soon as possible.
After that the players are familiar with the grease and can focus below. The game still needed
players to advance into dangerous territory. Hunting down players in groups was the way to go. A
minimum of two players was required to raise, lower upside down and secure the player in the
body of grease. He didn’t know how long it took to lose consciousness. A number of players had
fallen on ground away from the big vats. He was surprised that none of them had grease shoved
into their mouths. He guessed they had been strangled. The boss took away the ball for laboratory
inspection; He was pleased that the particular grease worked so well. The winning team captain
must have the second umpire’s whistle. A player named Victor has the first whistle. It was easier to
remove the bodies, leave the vats in position and top up the grease. His co-workers recycled the
cans. They covered the vats with tent sheeting to protect the grease from rain water. He refused to
elaborate when asked what happened to the bodies.
“None of your business, Arnold.”
How did the survivors clean up? The garbage company supplied a shower room, anti-greasers and
some soap. The soap was a token gesture in case the survivors wanted to fuck each other up the
arse. They did. This was no surprise as killers crave relief from the high.
The makeshift viewing seats were two long, wooden, planks secured at either end on top of empty
drums. Maybe the drums once held the grease to be used in today’s game. The position was
centred immediately in front of the two vats. The drums were high enough to let us hang our legs
and feel the heavy boots in the air. Once the game started I doubted that we would be here long.
Obviously we have been “set up” and can expect to fight shortly.
The macho quality of the two teams took our breath away. The thirty two fighters looked
magnificent. The preliminaries were different from the previous game. The two teams lined up
facing each other but behind a large vat. Umpires ordered all players to lower their black shorts.
They could now see—at a distance—the cocks and balls they were shortly to grease. My chest
was non-hairy—more’s the pity. The grease would present a cleaning problem when smeared over
the hairy chests. I remembered the hazing for new garbage company employees. Chests were
thoroughly smeared. Then, the hazers used wire brushes to untangle any hairs. Ouch!
The two umpires walked across to us. There was no fence or barrier of any kind.
“Arnold, identify yourself, put your hand up.” He looked closely at my shorts but there was no bulge
yet.
“All of you are players in reserve. As umpires we have the authority to order you onto the field. I
can see that three of you are wearing black bands. Good. If called you will support that team. The
members will welcome you. In the event that you all fight, remember, no more “Mr. Nice Guy”. If
necessary you will fight and kill even your co-workers. Understood? I’m the umpire for the team
wearing the black bands. For what it’s worth my name is David; my nickname is Killer Grease. I
can boast three scores. The other umpire, Victor, will fuck the arse off you in the cleaning showers.
That’s if he makes it alive. I’m not sure what his past score is but you can be confident that he will
score today. We have to appoint captains for the respective teams.”
The team members pointed out candidates. They were almost clones of each other—thick, hairy
chests, tall, completely macho with strong arms and legs. Victor pronounced Ray as the captain of
his team. David pronounced Carlos as the captain wearing the black band. The teams moved to
the far end of their areas, assembled for instructions from the respective captains. It turned out that
both were seasoned killers and well-informed about team tactics.
The second Grease Ball game was more physically demanding. The players ran further distances;
the grease ball had to be thrown as it absorbed thick grease; the thirty two players themselves
were heavier. By comparison the garbage co-workers were lightweight. This time there was a
conventional goal post area except that there were no goalkeepers. The umpires could keep tab of
any goal scores. That’s where it was useful to have additional balls on hand. The players fooled
themselves at the beginning that they were playing an ordinary match. Their illusions were
shattered with the first killing.
Carlos and three black band players circled a clumsy bear type player. Ray, his captain, was
unable to come to the rescue. Names count for little when players are out to score. Ray thought
the bear’s name was Rufus. The hairy chest was standard for a bear. Carlos’s team greased it
thoroughly. Rufus would miss out on the pain of a wire brush untangling the greasy hairs. The
black shorts fell down of their own accord. His cock, well shaped, thick, circumcised sat on top of
two oversized balls. It was a joy to manhandle them both with extra grease and brutal hands. They
taunted him about the size of the cock but that was something that all players indulge in. The cock
came good and moved into full erection. Carlos couldn’t resist punching Rufus’s gut. Rufus cried
out. The cock spurted. Another black band player took the cue from Carlos and punched Rufus’s
gut. The cock spurted again. A third black bank player punched Rufus’s gut. That was enough for
Rufus to get the gut message. They picked him up, carried him on their shoulders quite a distance
to the immediate vat. Holy shit, the grease smelt. The inhaled toxic fumes as they dumped Rufus
upside down into the vat. They held him up by the heavy boots for the necessary few minutes.
Carlos congratulated the three black band players who returned to throw the ball.
I looked across to two of my garbage company co-workers. They had already put their hands
inside the black shorts and grabbed hold of their cocks. They had a way to go but watching the
game progress forced them to clutch their balls as well. One of them fell off the plank and had to
reseat himself.
The rules of the Grease Game, if any, didn’t stop the ball from greasing many chests. Within a
short time at least six or seven players sported greased chests from handling the ball. The real
game was players co-operating with one another to hunt down opposing players. The hunt
involved concentration, team worker and a degree of bravado.
Umpire Victor had an usual problem. The shorts of one of his players fell down. Victor stopped the
player whom he forced to remove the shorts completely. The player complained but Victor said
everybody wanted to size up his cock and balls for greasing. The same thing happened to two
players on the opposing side. Umpire David was insistent that they take their shorts fully off. He
was less tactful with the players. He said everybody wanted to see whether their cocks and balls
were worth greasing. Yes, they were and would be in due course. The shorts were left on the
ground.
The small cans of grease had unexpected side effects. The smell clogged up the airwaves. Players
wanted to blow their noses and clear the airways. Nobody thought of including tissues in the black
shorts. They had to blow their noses and wipe the snot on the black shorts or their chests.
There was no room for consensual sex in a game full of aggressive players. Rape was the way to
go. Fucking in particular was best carried out early in the game. The umpires were envious of two
rapes. The attackers stretched the players’ arms and rested them on the top edge of the large vat.
Then, pinning them down securely each attacker inserted his cock into the exposed arse. The
umpires wondered whether both targets had ever been fucked—they were so dominant it was
possible. The targets screamed out in pain. This verbal gesture excited the rapists even more.
When the cocks were spent the rapists did their duty. They picked up more grease in their bare
hands and worked over the chests, cocks and balls. The climax was the necessary execution.
Forget about fucking. Executing was thrilling. The executioners held the heads firmly and slowly
inserted them into the grease mass below. The targets tried everything to escape while the
executioners laughed.
Throwing the ball from player to opposite player and dumping it in the vat and/or can kept the
grease circulating. The chests started to look as if there were in a grease game. The game was
flagging a little when a black band player scored a goal. Umpire Victor failed to stop the first goal.
Black band players rallied around and scored a second goal. It was quite difficult to push the
players back to the centre. The situation became tense when two black band players confronted an
opposing player. He ran for his life into the arms of two other black band players. They were happy
to work him over. They poured a can over his head. He cried out “No! No!” as losers do. Within a
short time he was unable to see and staggered around as if blindfolded. They took him back into
their arms, spread the grease over the non-hairy chest, pulled down the black shorts. The cock and
balls were worth greasing. They took the time to pull off the cock. This was only fair as the cock
was fully erect. Dragging him across to the vat was awkward but they managed. They asked for
help to heave him up off the ground. He looked like a trophy when held up high. They held him
upside down by the heavy boots. Nothing original. Standard Operating Procedure.
For a garbage disposal employee I was getting too comfortable sitting with the dangling heavy
boots. Umpire Victor shouted across to us. He ordered two reservists to join in. The order was a
shock to them but they had no other options. Umpire David followed suit ordering two reservists to
join in. That left me and one other reservist to ponder our fate.
Something unexpected happened. I found it hard to believe but Frank, the driver, returned early to
the site. Two passengers sat huddled together in the truck cabin. They were late arrivals, dumb but
hunky, and prepared for serious fighting. Umpire David commandeered them but didn’t have any
spare black bands for them to wear. This was a minor inconvenience for them. They quickly settled
into the grease ball and execution scene. They simply did not care whom they executed.
I noticed that Frank was wearing only the black shorts and the heavy boots. He saw me looking
closely at his impressive chest. I wondered whether he wanted to keep his cake and eat it too as
the saying goes. He hoped to be drawn into the grease game because he wanted to grease
players and secretly hoped to execute somebody.
Umpire Victor beckoned both of us to join his side. I focused on becoming a real gladiator. Frank
smiled: he would fulfil a dream to fight beside and against such as array of macho men. The sixth
garbage worker remained aloof from the game and ready to drive the vehicle if necessary.
Gladiators beware of friendships in killing game areas. Nevertheless, I welcomed the help of the
two players. They pinned back the target such that I had unhindered access to the front of his
body. There’s a saying to the effect “When you grab a man by the balls his heart and mind will
follow”. In this case I grabbed, greased and squeezed the balls. He cried out in pain followed by
yelling out “No!” He attempted to break away. No go. He tried to kick me. Missed. It was clear what
would happen and it did. The two players and I raised him up off the ground, let him look at the
executed players’s boots sticking out in the air. It was a treat to lower him into the vat. Greasing
balls appealed to most players for the rest of the game.
Frank carried out his secret wish within a short time of entering the grease game field. He threw
the ball directly at an opponent. The ball knocked the player over. Frank moved forward, filled his
hands with thick grease and attacked whilst the player lay on the ground. i envied the way he
spreadeagled the opponent. Two players bent down to support him but securing the arms and feet
of the opponent. Frank very thoroughly greased the chest, pulled down the black shorts, and
grabbed the cock and balls. The opponent was unable to resist. Frank and the two players had a
few uncomfortable moments lifting the opponent up and dragging him across to the nearest vat.
They slid him over the vat’s edge and held him up by the legs. In a surprise twist he held out both
arms on a dead body and kept himself raised above the bulk of the grease. He threw off his
attackers and stumbled back onto the field. Frank was no wimp when it came to fist fights, kicking
in the balls and gut punches. The opponent found there would be no rescue from his gladiator’s
fate. The three of them captured him back again. This time they raised him up high, carried him
across to the vat and pushed his head into the grease. They held on until there were no further
signs of life.
Both umpires failed to impress the players. Neither were wimps but gladiators respect
uncompromising killing. That’s what they want to do.
The two late arrivals sabotaged the Grease Game. They decided to void any umpire ruling about
winning or losing. Their idea of a gladiator game was to kill opponents and stop when exhausted.
In this case it might be practical to stop when the vats were full. It was a little tricky working out
how to make this happen. The obvious move was to remove the umpires permanently. Shrewd
gladiators create opportunities for such moves.
The immediate climax of today’s grease ball game was unexpected. Yes, the vats filled up with
vanquished fighters. The victors enjoyed the sight of grease filled boots jutting out into the air. It
was touch and go about who would be the last fighter to soak up the grease. In the end it was
Umpire David. He struggled bravely but was unable to overcome his attackers.
The sixth garbage worker drove the victors back to the home base. Watching the grease game
was a moving experience for him. His cock was still rigid. I could tell by his looks that he intended
to do something about it. During the showers the survivors might put down their guard. He
sounded me out. I said “Go for it!” I was happy to help him if necessary. At first I thought he would
be happy to fuck one of the survivors. That was part of his wishes. He imagined that the Boss
would promote him when he went a step further. In truth I and the other garbage workers were
disposable. The Boss, himself, would find that out in the future.
Tressle tables were positioned in front of the showers. Survivors could then sit on them as the hot
showers washed away some of the grease. Three survivors duly sat on them. I watched the sixth
garbage worker move in on a victor. He carefully positioned his arms around the neck and struck.
Other victors saw immediately what he was doing. They moved in on the other two survivors.
There was considerable resistance: two attackers were kneed in the balls. Nice work but not
enough to stop the attackers. The killing during the grease game stimulated them. Everybody was
wound up.
I saw Umpire Victor inserting a cleaned up cock into an arse. I couldn’t resist the temptation. He
felt my strong arms putting pressure on his neck. Whilst he fucked the arse off I forced him to gasp
for breath. He thought I was play acting. No way. His cock shot for the last time. Frank joined in
and finished off the Umpire’s fuck.
The garbage company kindly provided towels recycled from the previous grease game, shorts and
T-shirts. All of us were amused with the logo on the T-shirts—“We greased them”. Our boots
stayed dirty in spite of using the anti-greasers and soap.
a gladiator fantasy by member bare chested warrior
My name is Arnold. I work for the garbage company. The boss ordered me to attend the next
Grease Ball game along with five garbage workers. He says we can watch from the sides. There’s
a catch. There’s always a catch. We have to wear black shorts, our heavy industrial boots, and
nothing else. Correction: three workers add a black band around the top right arm. At any point in
the game umpires can call on us to join in the game and supplement the numbers. In truth the
garbage workers are tough, rough and ready for the occasional fight. They are not fazed if the
game is terminal.
Garbage employment has kept their bodies dirty most of the time. For this reason they are curious
about the players who seem to be turned on with greasing one another. In some circles the word
“greasing” meant “killing”. The five workers and I welcome the chance to do exactly that. The
playing ground is part of a garbage land-fill area. I spoke with Frank, the waste disposal truck
driver who had cleaned up after the first game. In his opinion the game needed more balls on
hand. He speculated that the players could form up in closed circles. The ball could then be thrown
from player to player with greater accuracy. It was important to grease chests as soon as possible.
After that the players are familiar with the grease and can focus below. The game still needed
players to advance into dangerous territory. Hunting down players in groups was the way to go. A
minimum of two players was required to raise, lower upside down and secure the player in the
body of grease. He didn’t know how long it took to lose consciousness. A number of players had
fallen on ground away from the big vats. He was surprised that none of them had grease shoved
into their mouths. He guessed they had been strangled. The boss took away the ball for laboratory
inspection; He was pleased that the particular grease worked so well. The winning team captain
must have the second umpire’s whistle. A player named Victor has the first whistle. It was easier to
remove the bodies, leave the vats in position and top up the grease. His co-workers recycled the
cans. They covered the vats with tent sheeting to protect the grease from rain water. He refused to
elaborate when asked what happened to the bodies.
“None of your business, Arnold.”
How did the survivors clean up? The garbage company supplied a shower room, anti-greasers and
some soap. The soap was a token gesture in case the survivors wanted to fuck each other up the
arse. They did. This was no surprise as killers crave relief from the high.
The makeshift viewing seats were two long, wooden, planks secured at either end on top of empty
drums. Maybe the drums once held the grease to be used in today’s game. The position was
centred immediately in front of the two vats. The drums were high enough to let us hang our legs
and feel the heavy boots in the air. Once the game started I doubted that we would be here long.
Obviously we have been “set up” and can expect to fight shortly.
The macho quality of the two teams took our breath away. The thirty two fighters looked
magnificent. The preliminaries were different from the previous game. The two teams lined up
facing each other but behind a large vat. Umpires ordered all players to lower their black shorts.
They could now see—at a distance—the cocks and balls they were shortly to grease. My chest
was non-hairy—more’s the pity. The grease would present a cleaning problem when smeared over
the hairy chests. I remembered the hazing for new garbage company employees. Chests were
thoroughly smeared. Then, the hazers used wire brushes to untangle any hairs. Ouch!
The two umpires walked across to us. There was no fence or barrier of any kind.
“Arnold, identify yourself, put your hand up.” He looked closely at my shorts but there was no bulge
yet.
“All of you are players in reserve. As umpires we have the authority to order you onto the field. I
can see that three of you are wearing black bands. Good. If called you will support that team. The
members will welcome you. In the event that you all fight, remember, no more “Mr. Nice Guy”. If
necessary you will fight and kill even your co-workers. Understood? I’m the umpire for the team
wearing the black bands. For what it’s worth my name is David; my nickname is Killer Grease. I
can boast three scores. The other umpire, Victor, will fuck the arse off you in the cleaning showers.
That’s if he makes it alive. I’m not sure what his past score is but you can be confident that he will
score today. We have to appoint captains for the respective teams.”
The team members pointed out candidates. They were almost clones of each other—thick, hairy
chests, tall, completely macho with strong arms and legs. Victor pronounced Ray as the captain of
his team. David pronounced Carlos as the captain wearing the black band. The teams moved to
the far end of their areas, assembled for instructions from the respective captains. It turned out that
both were seasoned killers and well-informed about team tactics.
The second Grease Ball game was more physically demanding. The players ran further distances;
the grease ball had to be thrown as it absorbed thick grease; the thirty two players themselves
were heavier. By comparison the garbage co-workers were lightweight. This time there was a
conventional goal post area except that there were no goalkeepers. The umpires could keep tab of
any goal scores. That’s where it was useful to have additional balls on hand. The players fooled
themselves at the beginning that they were playing an ordinary match. Their illusions were
shattered with the first killing.
Carlos and three black band players circled a clumsy bear type player. Ray, his captain, was
unable to come to the rescue. Names count for little when players are out to score. Ray thought
the bear’s name was Rufus. The hairy chest was standard for a bear. Carlos’s team greased it
thoroughly. Rufus would miss out on the pain of a wire brush untangling the greasy hairs. The
black shorts fell down of their own accord. His cock, well shaped, thick, circumcised sat on top of
two oversized balls. It was a joy to manhandle them both with extra grease and brutal hands. They
taunted him about the size of the cock but that was something that all players indulge in. The cock
came good and moved into full erection. Carlos couldn’t resist punching Rufus’s gut. Rufus cried
out. The cock spurted. Another black band player took the cue from Carlos and punched Rufus’s
gut. The cock spurted again. A third black bank player punched Rufus’s gut. That was enough for
Rufus to get the gut message. They picked him up, carried him on their shoulders quite a distance
to the immediate vat. Holy shit, the grease smelt. The inhaled toxic fumes as they dumped Rufus
upside down into the vat. They held him up by the heavy boots for the necessary few minutes.
Carlos congratulated the three black band players who returned to throw the ball.
I looked across to two of my garbage company co-workers. They had already put their hands
inside the black shorts and grabbed hold of their cocks. They had a way to go but watching the
game progress forced them to clutch their balls as well. One of them fell off the plank and had to
reseat himself.
The rules of the Grease Game, if any, didn’t stop the ball from greasing many chests. Within a
short time at least six or seven players sported greased chests from handling the ball. The real
game was players co-operating with one another to hunt down opposing players. The hunt
involved concentration, team worker and a degree of bravado.
Umpire Victor had an usual problem. The shorts of one of his players fell down. Victor stopped the
player whom he forced to remove the shorts completely. The player complained but Victor said
everybody wanted to size up his cock and balls for greasing. The same thing happened to two
players on the opposing side. Umpire David was insistent that they take their shorts fully off. He
was less tactful with the players. He said everybody wanted to see whether their cocks and balls
were worth greasing. Yes, they were and would be in due course. The shorts were left on the
ground.
The small cans of grease had unexpected side effects. The smell clogged up the airwaves. Players
wanted to blow their noses and clear the airways. Nobody thought of including tissues in the black
shorts. They had to blow their noses and wipe the snot on the black shorts or their chests.
There was no room for consensual sex in a game full of aggressive players. Rape was the way to
go. Fucking in particular was best carried out early in the game. The umpires were envious of two
rapes. The attackers stretched the players’ arms and rested them on the top edge of the large vat.
Then, pinning them down securely each attacker inserted his cock into the exposed arse. The
umpires wondered whether both targets had ever been fucked—they were so dominant it was
possible. The targets screamed out in pain. This verbal gesture excited the rapists even more.
When the cocks were spent the rapists did their duty. They picked up more grease in their bare
hands and worked over the chests, cocks and balls. The climax was the necessary execution.
Forget about fucking. Executing was thrilling. The executioners held the heads firmly and slowly
inserted them into the grease mass below. The targets tried everything to escape while the
executioners laughed.
Throwing the ball from player to opposite player and dumping it in the vat and/or can kept the
grease circulating. The chests started to look as if there were in a grease game. The game was
flagging a little when a black band player scored a goal. Umpire Victor failed to stop the first goal.
Black band players rallied around and scored a second goal. It was quite difficult to push the
players back to the centre. The situation became tense when two black band players confronted an
opposing player. He ran for his life into the arms of two other black band players. They were happy
to work him over. They poured a can over his head. He cried out “No! No!” as losers do. Within a
short time he was unable to see and staggered around as if blindfolded. They took him back into
their arms, spread the grease over the non-hairy chest, pulled down the black shorts. The cock and
balls were worth greasing. They took the time to pull off the cock. This was only fair as the cock
was fully erect. Dragging him across to the vat was awkward but they managed. They asked for
help to heave him up off the ground. He looked like a trophy when held up high. They held him
upside down by the heavy boots. Nothing original. Standard Operating Procedure.
For a garbage disposal employee I was getting too comfortable sitting with the dangling heavy
boots. Umpire Victor shouted across to us. He ordered two reservists to join in. The order was a
shock to them but they had no other options. Umpire David followed suit ordering two reservists to
join in. That left me and one other reservist to ponder our fate.
Something unexpected happened. I found it hard to believe but Frank, the driver, returned early to
the site. Two passengers sat huddled together in the truck cabin. They were late arrivals, dumb but
hunky, and prepared for serious fighting. Umpire David commandeered them but didn’t have any
spare black bands for them to wear. This was a minor inconvenience for them. They quickly settled
into the grease ball and execution scene. They simply did not care whom they executed.
I noticed that Frank was wearing only the black shorts and the heavy boots. He saw me looking
closely at his impressive chest. I wondered whether he wanted to keep his cake and eat it too as
the saying goes. He hoped to be drawn into the grease game because he wanted to grease
players and secretly hoped to execute somebody.
Umpire Victor beckoned both of us to join his side. I focused on becoming a real gladiator. Frank
smiled: he would fulfil a dream to fight beside and against such as array of macho men. The sixth
garbage worker remained aloof from the game and ready to drive the vehicle if necessary.
Gladiators beware of friendships in killing game areas. Nevertheless, I welcomed the help of the
two players. They pinned back the target such that I had unhindered access to the front of his
body. There’s a saying to the effect “When you grab a man by the balls his heart and mind will
follow”. In this case I grabbed, greased and squeezed the balls. He cried out in pain followed by
yelling out “No!” He attempted to break away. No go. He tried to kick me. Missed. It was clear what
would happen and it did. The two players and I raised him up off the ground, let him look at the
executed players’s boots sticking out in the air. It was a treat to lower him into the vat. Greasing
balls appealed to most players for the rest of the game.
Frank carried out his secret wish within a short time of entering the grease game field. He threw
the ball directly at an opponent. The ball knocked the player over. Frank moved forward, filled his
hands with thick grease and attacked whilst the player lay on the ground. i envied the way he
spreadeagled the opponent. Two players bent down to support him but securing the arms and feet
of the opponent. Frank very thoroughly greased the chest, pulled down the black shorts, and
grabbed the cock and balls. The opponent was unable to resist. Frank and the two players had a
few uncomfortable moments lifting the opponent up and dragging him across to the nearest vat.
They slid him over the vat’s edge and held him up by the legs. In a surprise twist he held out both
arms on a dead body and kept himself raised above the bulk of the grease. He threw off his
attackers and stumbled back onto the field. Frank was no wimp when it came to fist fights, kicking
in the balls and gut punches. The opponent found there would be no rescue from his gladiator’s
fate. The three of them captured him back again. This time they raised him up high, carried him
across to the vat and pushed his head into the grease. They held on until there were no further
signs of life.
Both umpires failed to impress the players. Neither were wimps but gladiators respect
uncompromising killing. That’s what they want to do.
The two late arrivals sabotaged the Grease Game. They decided to void any umpire ruling about
winning or losing. Their idea of a gladiator game was to kill opponents and stop when exhausted.
In this case it might be practical to stop when the vats were full. It was a little tricky working out
how to make this happen. The obvious move was to remove the umpires permanently. Shrewd
gladiators create opportunities for such moves.
The immediate climax of today’s grease ball game was unexpected. Yes, the vats filled up with
vanquished fighters. The victors enjoyed the sight of grease filled boots jutting out into the air. It
was touch and go about who would be the last fighter to soak up the grease. In the end it was
Umpire David. He struggled bravely but was unable to overcome his attackers.
The sixth garbage worker drove the victors back to the home base. Watching the grease game
was a moving experience for him. His cock was still rigid. I could tell by his looks that he intended
to do something about it. During the showers the survivors might put down their guard. He
sounded me out. I said “Go for it!” I was happy to help him if necessary. At first I thought he would
be happy to fuck one of the survivors. That was part of his wishes. He imagined that the Boss
would promote him when he went a step further. In truth I and the other garbage workers were
disposable. The Boss, himself, would find that out in the future.
Tressle tables were positioned in front of the showers. Survivors could then sit on them as the hot
showers washed away some of the grease. Three survivors duly sat on them. I watched the sixth
garbage worker move in on a victor. He carefully positioned his arms around the neck and struck.
Other victors saw immediately what he was doing. They moved in on the other two survivors.
There was considerable resistance: two attackers were kneed in the balls. Nice work but not
enough to stop the attackers. The killing during the grease game stimulated them. Everybody was
wound up.
I saw Umpire Victor inserting a cleaned up cock into an arse. I couldn’t resist the temptation. He
felt my strong arms putting pressure on his neck. Whilst he fucked the arse off I forced him to gasp
for breath. He thought I was play acting. No way. His cock shot for the last time. Frank joined in
and finished off the Umpire’s fuck.
The garbage company kindly provided towels recycled from the previous grease game, shorts and
T-shirts. All of us were amused with the logo on the T-shirts—“We greased them”. Our boots
stayed dirty in spite of using the anti-greasers and soap.