Baker looked down at the bathroom floor. He could see some mud, piss, and now his idol's semen all mixed together on the floor. Even through the pot fog, Baker knew that he couldn't bring himself to lick it up. "No way. Not from there. It's too dirty," Jed said.
"Probably no dirtier than you sucking some stranger's cock through a glory hole. And we both know you've done that many, many times." Holman squeezed his cock one last time and a small drip of cum formed at the tip.
Baker looked at the clean, fresh cum on Sam's shaft then down to the thick white puddle on the dirty floor. His desire for cum was overpowering any remaining inhibitions he might still have had. But, he could easily smell the stale piss on the floor, and he knew he would have to lick that up as well. "Please, man. Not this," he asked.
"Your choice, Baker," Sam said.
"Thanks man." The sound of relief in Baker's voice was palpable.
"But, if you let this load go to waste, I'm not sure I should give you another. Lots of other cocksuckers out there. And they aren't as prissy as you are." Holman began to put his cock back in his jeans.
"What do you mean, Sam?"
"If you ever want to suck on my shaft again and taste my spooge, you're gonna lick that load all up, faggot," Holman said. It was delivered in a low, even tone. Jed knew Sam was completely serious. The two men stared at each other, an epic battle between masculinity and depravity raging within Jed, fueled by the mind-altering effects of the pot and his deep and almost limitless need for jizz. Baker had only a shred of control left, and it was no match for a simple order from Holman.
He leaned down, his right hand landing in a pool of cold urine. He put his face right up against the tile floor, feeling the last bits of heat from Sam's cum as it rapidly cooled against cold, hard tiles. His nose filled with the smell of piss, spit, and the rich scent of Sam's semen. Baker's insatiable need for sperm, and especially Sam's sweet and salty load took over. He leaned in with his mouth open and tongue out.
When his tongue was just barely touching the white beads of cum, Baker hesitated again. He knew that that it was now or never. In front of him, he could see Sam's feet, shoes and jeans still on, in contrast to his own total nakedness. "Well?" Sam said. Sam shifted his weight slightly, and Baker knew that he was starting to button up his jeans.
"Wait," Baker said. "I'll do it." Baker hadn't moved his head at all; he was still down against the tile, his hands and knees getting grimy with the dirt and filth.
"I'm not going to wait much longer, cocksucker," Sam replied. Baker knew he had gotten all the time he was ever going to get, and he couldn't delay any longer. He lowered his head the last agonizing and humiliating millimeter and the tip of his tongue hit Sam's thick cream. "All of it, now. Don't be a pussy about it."
Baker lapped it up. Baker had eaten enough of Sam's sperm to know how it tasted; it had a subtle, stunning sweetness. This time, there was a salty bitterness to it, and Baker knew it wasn't Holman's sperm. It was the dirt, the piss, and the who-knew-what-else on the floor. But, he had gotten his first taste of cum, and now he didn't care what else he was licking up. He needed every drop of the dominant man's spooge.
Sam watched with pleasure as Baker's tongue did long, broad strokes against the floor, licking up all of his cum. Sam could see the edges where Baker had licked up the filth from the floor: the tiles were a pure, clean white and no longer smeared with grime. "Fuck, that's low man," Sam said. He had seen Baker lick sperm off the floor of some sex clubs, but this, this ballpark restroom, was a new low for his toy. Even right after he had just come, his cock began to stiffen again, pleased by the power it exerted over Baker's every action.
Baker counted each lap of his tongue, knowing that the humiliation had to be finite. First one, then two, then five, and then ten strokes, the taste of the restroom dominated his mouth. Finally, at stroke sixteen, the sperm was gone, safe in Baker's stomach. Unfortunately, gone as well was the taste of Sam's cum. Baker knew, unfortunately, the taste of the floor would take much longer to disappear from his mouth. Jed finally felt worthy to look up at his male idol. "I can't believe you did that," Sam said, laughing.
"But you told me," Baker replied, still kneeling in the filth.
"I know. I wanted to see how far you'd go. And now I know." Sam's cock was still hanging out of his jeans, thick and heavy, but no longer erect. Baker was acutely aware of how hard his own cock was right now, betraying how much loosing this battle of wills had turned him on. Baker leaned in to lick the head of the other man's cock. "Not so fast, cocksucker. You're not gonna get anywhere close to my tool with that dirty fucking mouth."
Baker started to stand up, when Sam stopped him. "Where are you going, cocksucker?"
"There's a water fountain outside. I was going to rinse out my mouth."
"It's going to take a lot more than water to clean it out," Sam said. From his back pocket, Sam pulled Baker's jockstrap out of his back pocket and tossed it on the ground. With his foot, he pressed the white pouch into the floor and smeared it around in the muck. "I've got mouthwash back at the hotel. Get on your jock and come with me, cocksucker." He took his foot off the jock and both of them could see it was how damp and dirty it now was.
"Fuck, Sam, you want me to wear that? Into the hotel? And nothing else?" Baker picked up the skimpy bit of fabric, and out of habit, sniffed the pouch. He recoiled immediately, the smell of dirt, piss, spit, snot and even worse things overpowering his nose. But Baker knew his place, and, standing up, pulled on the jockstrap. Sam noted that despite his protests, Baker's cock was hard as a rock and straining against the damp and dirty fabric.
"Not quite nothing else, cocksucker. There's one more thing to complete the outfit," he said. Out of another pocket, Sam pulled out a pair of kneepads. They were perfunctorily tossed onto the floor next to Baker. Jed recognized them immediately; there had been many nights in strange parks with him on his knees, servicing Sam and the random strangers Sam found for him. They were already stained with grass and mud, and as Baker watched, Holman smeared them against the floor. "There you go. The perfect accessory to a dirty jock," Sam said as he kicked the kneepads towards Baker.
Sam watched Baker knelt back onto the floor, trying to stay as clean as possible while he pulled on the kneepads. The sight of the man on his knees, pulling on the kneepads was getting Baker hard again. Sam knew that further, anytime, anywhere he wanted, Baker would suck him off. Sam wished he could stick his cock back into Baker's mouth right then, but knew that the waiting would make the blowjob even better.
"Ready, cocksucker?" Sam asked Baker.
"Yeah, I guess," Baker replied. "Can I at least get my pants before we go back to the hotel?"
"Hmm," Sam paused. He could see Baker's face brighten at the chance of even the slightest bit of more clothing. But Sam had other ideas. The bait and switch that Holman was contemplating got his cock even harder. "Yeah, we shouldn't leave your clothes scattered over the field. Come with me." He quickly strode out of the restroom, and back onto the baseball diamond. Baker was nearly running to keep up with him, his cock still hard as a rock and bouncing in the jockstrap.
It didn't take long for them to reach the pile of clothes at second base. Baker went for the pants first, but Sam stopped him. "Shoes and socks only," he said, stressing the "only."
"But, Sam," Baker begged.
"Fold the rest of your clothes neatly. Show some respect for your uniform. And be thankful I'm letting you keep your jockstrap."
Baker kneeled down and quietly put on the socks and shoes. He folded the pants, then the shirt. "Thank-you, Sam," he finally said.