Tonight was the night of the big game, with two of the best hockey teams going head-to-head for the championship. On one side was Coach Robert Kelvin's team, the Blackouts, versus my team, the Sabres. I had been coaching them for weeks, all the while bragging to that jerk Kelvin and the other coaches and managers that my team would take the championship trophy. It was going to be the sweetest moment of my coaching career.

Then we went and lost by one point.

The team took it in stride, but I was the one running my mouth about our certain victory. That, coupled with all the press conferences I had to do right after our loss, was humiliating enough, but it wasn't over yet. When I bragged to Coach Kelvin about how the Sabres and I would beat his team out, he goaded me into making a bet. The loser had to do whatever the winner said. I didn't even ask what losing would mean, I just took him up on it. I planned to make Kelvin walk around with a clown wig and a "kick me" sign on his back, but I had no idea what Kelvin planned. After the press and fans finally cleared out of the venue, I started to make my way to the meeting spot. I could just renege on the bet, but I have more dignity than that.

Standing in front of the door to the locker room, I take a deep breath to brace myself. I'm wearing a dark gray double-breasted suit with matching pleated pants, a white shirt, and a dark purple tie. I have on a pair of brown loafers and some clean white socks. I made sure I had one of my best suits on today so I'd look good holding up a trophy in front of the cameras. So much for that. Either way, it's time for me to face the music. I brace myself and walk into the locker room.

I see Coach Robert Kelvin standing in there, chatting up some other men. He's wearing a black suit with a patterned red tie, a crisp white shirt, and some shiny black loafers. His salt-and-pepper hair is combed back, and he has a triumphant look on his face. He's surrounded by about five other men in suits and ties; managers for the Blackouts and some other coaches from other teams. He wanted to have an audience for this it seems. He gives me a victorious smile and greets me.

"Coach Byron Lace! There you are! I was starting to think you wouldn't show up for the bet!" He puts his hands in his pockets and looks me up and down. "Not that I'd blame you for runnin' home and hiding after a loss like that." He grins as the other men chuckle at my expense. I grit my teeth and feel a bit of blood rush to my face. This guy is milking it for all it's worth.

"Shut up, Rob! You beat my boys by the skin of your ass." I retort.

"A loss is still a loss, Byron ol' buddy!" He walks over and pats me on the shoulder. "And a bet is a bet! So I suggest you take it like the man you are!" I press my mouth shut and avert my eyes from him. I can't even stand to look at his smarmy face. Just because he got one over on me this one time he's acting all high and mighty. I hold my anger in and fix my tie to keep my hands busy.
"Whatever, Rob! So what are ya gonna make me do? Dance the hula for you lot or something?"

Coach Kelvin laughs and steps away from me. "The bet was that the loser does whatever the winner says. I say, stand right there and don't move."

I look down at my shoes and where I'm standing, a little confused. What was he planning? I look around and get no clues, so I just huff and stuff my hands into my pockets. "Fine, whatever. Now what?"

"Nowfor the fun part!" Kelvin walks to the back of the room and starts to wheel something in on a cart. It looks like a four-tier cart with something on it. The rest of the guys look and chuckle, almost giddy with what they see. It takes me a minute to see it in the light, but it looks to be some sort of dessert cart full of pies.

"What? You want me to serve you a victory meal like some sort of waiter?" I ask. Kelvin just laughs again.

"Oh no, nothing like that. I was thinking something more likethis!" Before I can react, I see Kelvin swiftly pick up one of the custard cream pies and then toss it right into my face! My vision goes black as I feel the pie splatter over my face, engulfing it with the thick vanilla cream. I feel the cream's weight plop down onto my tie and the lapels of my suit, before feeling a large clump of it roll off my pant leg and down onto my shoe. My body is rigid as I try to keep my balance and take in what Kelvin just did. The pie tin falls off my face, clattering to the ground, and the crust and cream crumbles off my face and onto my chest. My mouth hangs open in shock, and with trembling hands, I wipe the contents of the pie from my eyes and look down at my suit. Thick vanilla blobs of cream and crust hang off my double-breasted suit jacket, some of it sliding down the inside and getting on my shirt. My tie has goop slipping down it too, and some of it splattered onto my shoulder pads. I feel my face blushing under my mask of cream as I start to hear the rest of the room break into laughter. I look up at that bastard Kelvin as I flick off the cream on my hand in a frenzy.

"W-what the hell what that?! You asshole!" I cry out. "What kind of joke is this?! And my suit! Do you know how much this cost?!" I kick that blob off my shoe as I try to wipe the cream off my suit, only succeeding in smearing it onto the wool more.

"Not my fault you decided to wear your favorite monkey suit to the bet." Kelvin responds nonchalantly.

"You didn't tell me you were gonna do some childish prank you fu-" My tirade is cut short by another pie to the face. More vanilla custard splatters across my face as new blobs of pudding splatter onto my suit, covering more spots that were initially spared by the first pie. I rip the tin off and throw it to the floor as I wipe my eyes off again. The rest of the room is elated with laughter and I feel my face burning with anger and shame. "Bastards! All of you! I can't believe this!" Angrily, I try to wipe the cream off my suit, hoping that the dry cleaners can do something about it. "This is horse-shit! I'm not doing this!" I turn to leave.

"Walkin' out on the bet, Bryce? What a poor sport! You're supposed to stay!" Kelvin says in a mocking voice. The other men are jeering at me and egging him on too.

"Shut up! Why the hell would I stay and let you do this to me?!" I snap back.

"Because, if you stay here like a good boy and take this punishment like a man, then maybe I'll put in a good word for you with the sports commission." My slimy hand hovers over the door handle as he says this. "They probably have doubts about keeping a coach who let his team choke on the last point. Of course, if the coach of the champions has only good things to say about him, maybe that will change their minds." I can feel the satisfied gin on Kelvin's face as I look down at the door handle. I should tell him to go kick rocks for thisbut the offer is too good. I grit my teeth and ball up my fists before I walk back to where I was standing.

"I'll stay." I tell him with a strained tone. "Just get it over with."

"Ha! Bryce, buddy, we're just getting started!" He waves one of the spectators over, who pushes a chair behind me. "Take a seat." He commands. I wanna swing on him, but I can't refuse him either. I drop myself into the seat, before I hear and feel a wet SQUISH.

"Ah!" My eyes go wide and my jaw hits the floor as I grip the arms of the chair. This bastard had a pie on the seat! I look down and see the cream squeezing up through my thighs, staining my suit pants from behind! "Y-You!" I try to stand back up to wipe my ass, but Kelvin's palm presses on my shoulder and pushes me back down with a squish. I can't help but grunt in embarrassment as I look at everyone's laughing faces.

"You stand when I tell you to, Bryce. That's part of the bet." His tone is stern, but I can tell how much he's enjoying this. "Now, give me these." He reaches down and pulls off one of my loafers.

"Wha- Hey!" I complain, struggling a bit as he takes my second shoe. He sets them both on the ground in front of me before he holds out his hand. One of the team managers hands him a jar of strawberry sauce, while another hands him a jar of chocolate sauce. "W-what are you- Hey! Those are my favorite shoes! You can't-" My words die out as I see Kelvin start to empty the jar's contents into my loafers. They're soon filled with thick, sugary goop, and then he tops it all off with a mound of whipped cream too. Once he's done, he slides the loafers back to me.

"Put them on." He orders. I look down at my sloppy shoes with dread. I feel all the blood running to my face, and then an odd feeling as it runs down the rest of my body. I squish my legs together to hide a confusing pressure that's building in me.

"C-come on Robcan't I?" I look up at him with pleading eyes but I find no sympathy. "F-fine!" I gulp and slip my feet back into my loafers. I wince as I hear my shoes squelch and see the cream balloon out from the lips of my shoes and up my pants. The chocolate and strawberry sauce paints my white dress socks, straining them beyond repair as my feet get sticky and wet with goop. Every man in this room is either mocking me or just laughing at my misfortune. It's driving me crazy! I'm so angry and humiliated I can barely think straight!

"F-fuck, man! My shoes! Rob, you gotta-" He cuts me off again, by dropping a pie right into my lap. It's a strawberry cream pie, splattering a thick pink pudding into my double-breasted jacket and my pleated pants. "Ahh! N-No!" I pull the pie tin off my lap, the crust and pudding tumbling over my suit. I panic a bit as I stand up suddenly, knocking my chair over. I put all my weight into my loafers, which squish and squirt sugary mess from any hole it can escape from. I hear the pie tin that was on my ass clatter to the floor, and I start to try and wipe off the seat of my pants. This was one of my favorite suits, my victory suit! And now it's getting trashed in front of all these jerks! I'm breathing heavily, furious at how small I feel, and worse yeta little bit hard! I tug the hem of my suit jacket down over my crotch to hide the tent that's forming in my sticky pants.

"Alright! You got me good! Now we're done.right?!"

"Oh, Brycewe still got the rest of the tray left!" He motions to the tray, still full of pies, and then the rest of the men start grabbing some. "Now, remember what I said about taking this punishment like a man? I won't ask again." Kelvin holds a pie in his hand as he awaits my response. I should tell him to go to hell and throw a pie of my own in his face, but he's my ticket to staying coach for the Sabres. So I just bite my tongue, cross my arms and pout.

"W-whatever. Do your worst." I say, trying to stay strong. At least they can't see how hard I'm blushing under all this cream.

With that, they open fire. Pie after pie is flung at me, clocking me in the face, shoulder, legs, you name it. I try to just take it, but the feeling of getting my best suit covered in chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry goop does something to my cock. I feel myself leaking pre into my ruined suit pants, and I bawk with surprise and ecstasy whenever a pie flies into my crotch. My long hair is caked with cream and custard, and my suit is soon turned into a slimy Neapolitan mass. I feel the wool fabric soaking up all the sticky goo, making my form droop and drip. I try to keep myself standing proud and stoic, but inside I'm losing control. The men continue to laugh and mock me, telling me what a mess I've made of my suit.

Then they start to pull out more jars of sauce. One by one each man in the room, aside from me of course, takes turns walking over and dumping jars of strawberry or chocolate over my head, over my chest, and even down my breast pocket. Kelvin comes over, and presses his hand into my breast pocket, making its contents ooze up and squirt over me. Some of it lands on his suit too, but he doesn't seem to care. He has a bit of backsplash on him, specks and blobs that must have come from slapping those pies into me. He wipes his messy hand on the side of his suit pants, leaving an oily and streaky mark.

"You got a real big mouth, Coach Lace. You had a lotta fun talkin' down to me, my team, and the rest of the guys here." He has a satisfactory look on his face as he looks me up and down. "Maybe if you weren't such a blowhard, I'd have thought of a punishment that didn't involve ruining your nice suit." He grins and gets closer before whispering. "Though, it seems you like this kinda thing, huh?"

"S-shut up. Of course I don't. I-" Once again, he cuts me off, this time by slapping the last pie right into my crotch. He locks eyes with me as he does, and I can't hide my shockor my pleasure. He presses it in harder with a smile, and I can't control it anymore! I grit my teeth as my eyes go wide and my body tenses up. My cock starts to pulse as I begin to jizz uncontrollably into my slimy wet pants. I orgasm as silently as I can, hoping none of the other men can tell, only letting out a strained grunt or two. Kelvin watches my face with glee as I cream my pants, now knowing a new dark secret of mine. Once I'm done and let out a sharp breath he steps back and lets the pie tin fall to the ground.

"Well, Bryce, you really made quite a mess of yourself tonight!" He shamelessly wipes his other hand off on his jacket, leaving another creamy stain. "But at least I know you're a man of your word! I look forward to next year!"

"N-Next year?! What makes you think I'll do this shit again?!" I exclaim.

"Well, we're gonna beat you again, might as well right?"

"The Sabres would never lose to your Blackout screwups!"

"Wanna bet?"

"Yeah! I-" I almost immediately realize what I just said, but Kelvin pounces on it before I can speak.

"Great! Blackouts vs Sabres! The loser does whatever the winner says! Sounds good?" The other men in the room nod and cheer in agreement. "Excellent! It's a bet!" Kelvin gives me a wicked grin, once again triumphant. "Let's see what happens, eh coach?"

Kelvin pats me on the shoulder, my suit squishing in response.
"Why don't you hit the showers, eh bud?" He slaps my ass and leaves out the door. They all start to file out of the locker room, leaving me dumbfounded, covered in gunk, and dripping cum down my pant leg.

My head is swimming as I look down at myself in shame. I'm not sure what's worse, what they did to me, or how much I enjoyed it. I squelch over to the showers, leaving a trail of cream and custard, before turning it on and washing my suit. I let the water run over me as I jack off two more times. I take off my loafers and pour the sloshing remains over me, before putting them back on. My the time I'm done, my suit is covered in streaks and stains. The shower soaked it, rumpling and ruining the fabric, but I don't even care at this point. I walk out of the locker room and just start to walk home. Maybe I'm a loser tonight, after all, I sure look like one, but next year I plan to make Coach Robert Kelvin feel twice as bad as this. He can count on that.