“United” by andy28_rl@yahoo.co.uk        

In 2034 football remains the sport of the people.  Despite the fact that the game has changed beyond all recognition since the early years of the twenty first century, the game is still revered by the fans and the media.

Gone are the days of multi million pound contracts and transfers.  Contracts and transfers no longer exist.  Players are of course unpaid, and once they are with a club, then there they will stay.  Literally marked as a player for life.  Gone are the superstar lifestyles of players of course.  Gone are the sponsorship deals and the wives who courted celebrity with their husband’s fame.  The players are now mere entertainment value for the crowds, the real winners in modern football.  Now the stadiums are designed for crowd comfort as all money is placed back for the benefit of the fans.

Welcome to Old Trafford.  Home of the Premier League Champions 2033.  Today is a big game for the fans, as United play their rivals from London, Arsenal.  It is two hours from kick off, and the fans are beginning to arrive at the stadium.

Deep below the pitch, it is time for the players to start their preparation.  A light flicks on in the storage room beneath the pitch and the trainers enter the cool room, ready to begin the pre-match training programme.  Around the edges of the room, the players stir.  Aware that their trainers have entered the room they prepare to be released from storage.  Their aching, honed torsos and muscles prepare to face battle.

The United players flex their muscles and stare at their trainers, their muscles straining against their bonds, and their eyes pleading for release.  With a quick security code the laser beams are released and the weary players slump forward from their imprisonment against the walls and kneel on the cold floor.  After a nod from their trainer, the players remove their mouth bits and stretch their tongues for the first time on match day.  None of them speak.  None are able to speak any more.

The trainers type in a further code and the air is filled with the sounds of 14 young men releasing their large metal butt plugs from their anal chutes.  United are proud of their team spirit and the trainers smile as they watch the players pass their butt plug to the player on their right.  Silently and diligently, each player licks clean the juices of his team mate from the plug and places it against the wall behind him for re-insertion after the game.

On command, the players rise and place their hands behind their stubbled heads.  Each slave faces forward, shaved chests flexed and displaying their team number etched in black between their powerful pecs.  A permanent reminder that they are the property of their football club and a reminder of their purpose in life as a form of entertainment.  No longer a man.  No longer free.

Slave number 3 closes his eyes momentarily in despair at his predicament.  The oldest slave on the team, he still remembers the time when he was free and a man.  A wealthy footballer with all the trappings that the game brought a young man of extreme talent.  He remembers when he spent the morning before a game driving to the game in his sports car, dressed in expensive clothes like a man.  Looking down at the fans as he passed them in the street.  The same fans who now own his body.  All of it.  Forever.

He remembers the team kit, the camaraderie with his team mates.  The feeling of being a pampered star and an idol to the fans.  How he yearns for a return to such freedom, as he stands stark naked, his abused arse twitching as it is free from its plug until this evening.  Forbidden to speak, now owned property and the property of his club.

Slave number 3 used to be called Tommy.  Now it seems absurd to think of having a name.  He isn’t human any more.  He looks into the sad eyes of the muscular black slave opposite him, the number 7 etched in his shaved body, legs apart and penis on display.  The youngster doesn’t even have a name, and Tommy never has the opportunity to discuss his past, and what made him into a slave player.  Speaking is for human beings, not slaves.  The permanent mouth guard welded around his teeth prevents any form of speech between the slave players, contorting slightly the handsome feature of each perfectly formed young hunk of meat in the room.

………………………

It is kick off time.  The United players have finished listening to the instructions of their Master Trainer and are ready to enter the stadium.  Slowly, each one rises from their seat, releasing the greased dildo that has pumped their body with vitamins and energy for the contest ahead.  Each slave player moves towards the tunnel and lines up.  The sound of the stadium ringing in his ears as he prepares to display himself to the crowd.  Ahead, the steward stands with whip in hand as each team captain stands at the head of his team.  Twenty two naked bodies quiver in anticipation of running out before over seventy thousand free people.  Each one of the players was once a free man, once a spectator himself.  Before he was purchased by the club.  Now he stood naked, quivering slightly in the cold Autumn air.  He feels the cold against his shaved torso, the air nipping the slab of meat above his cock, where once he was allowed pubic hair.  Naked as the day he was born, except for the large black numbers, the permanently coloured lower half of his legs and the similarly coloured penis.  Penis and lower legs permanently coloured in team colours to mark him as owned property.

The fanfare sounds.  With a crack of the steward’s whip, the players run onto the pitch as the crowd stand and roar.  The damp grass beneath each player’s bare feet shivers as a gust of autumnal wind shoots across the pitch.  Each player shudders as he sprints into position, penis thudding against his muscular thighs.  He remembers the warning of their Master Trainer and begs that tonight he will be locked away victorious.  He has grown accustomed to the regular serving as a naked waiter at the postmatch meal for sponsors and supporters.  He has grown accustomed to being selected as fuckmeat for anyone with the money to buy his body for an hour.  But he can never grow accustomed to the whipping and torture that he receives after a defeat.  As he stretches his naked torso in front of thousands of spectators, he steels his mind to win.  For his team.  For his owners.  United.