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Big athlete becomes a runt’s bitch
This is a true story, as told to me by an acquaintance. Names and locatioBaseball Star and the Little Guy ns have been changed.
I’m on a national league baseball team–we’ll let the name go unmentioned, and for a name for me, let’s just call me “Noname”–hey, “Nome” for short. Anyway, off the diamond, I’m in the most fucked-up situation I can imagine. Couldn’t tell it, though, by my play during games. I hit homers. We win. I get TV interviews. And pay raises.
The whole thing started about a year ago when alone in my hotel rooms on away games or in my condo at home, I kept thinking about sex. I mean, I’ve always wondered about fucking.
All right, I’m not a virgin, okay? I’ve had my share of hot ladies. But I always wondered. According to the stories, the woman always moans in pain as the guy sticks it to her. It always hurts.
It hurts them? Even when their cherries are long gone? Mine never complained. Did it hurt and they just didn’t let it show?
Did it always hurt? How much? It couldn’t be that bad–how did the population of the earth ever develop? On the other hand, why was “the woman screamed as I sank it into her” always a part of porn stories?
I’m not into conquest, victory, establishing my power over a partner, that sort of thing. I wouldn’t say this in the locker room, of course, but I didn’t want to hurt anybody.
Could a man fuck a woman without hurting her? Did it truly hurt? And how much? What did it feel like?
I decided to try something. I sent off for a dildo, a cock “modeled on Super-hero, himself!” The Super-hero in the picture was a guy posing in a red cape, but what stuck out from between his legs was a bar of pure Kryptonite.
When it came in the mail (in a plain, brown wrapper) I scurried up to my condo and locked the door. In my college critical-thinking classes, I learned the scientific way. I stripped down, noted how I felt at the moment (fine), and lay back on my bed.
I looked at the big dildo. Damn, that guy had a cock like this? Three times as long as mine and twice as thick. Wonder what it would feel like to suck it. What the hell, I tried it.
Nothing special, really. To feel my mouth wow out around a big, flaring cock was a minor turn-on but otherwise like sucking on a bicycle tire. If that was what blowjobs were like, I couldn’t understand the popularity. I knew what it felt like, of course, but why did women always want to do it?
The first time pressing the rubber cockhead against my ass was almost a deal-buster. The plastic head was slick from my spit and the Vaseline I slathered over it, but damn, it hurt! I couldn’t believe it. Worse than a runner sliding in to the plate with his spikes up to stab you in the balls.
It’s bullshit, all bullshit! Nobody could take it up the ass. All those porn stories about women moaning at first but then coming to love it–and the stories about guys loving it up the ass are lies! Nobody can stand this, let alone crave it!
Didn’t try it again for a week. But gradually my curiosity grew: Men do fuck each other, there’s no denying that. And women take it in the ass as well as the pussy. How can they stand it?
It had to be an acquired taste, something the victim is trained into. I could identify with that. Plenty of things in baseball aren’t “natural” motions. Everything takes training. I picked up the dildo again. Okay, let’s take it slow.
I pushed it against my asshole again. It hurt. I pushed harder. It hurt more. I gave up. This can’t work! Then it hit me: start smaller.
I grabbed a candle and slicked it up with Vaseline. Yeah! With just a little Yipe as it popped open my rectum, the candle slid into my ass easily. And once I held it in there for a few minutes, my hole got used to the stretch, and the burn faded away.
I still don’t get it. This just feels like I’ve got a candle up my butt, nothing more.
Then I pulled it back out. Oh–my–God!! Like a bow pulled across the violin strings of my ass, sizzling sensations shot through me, hardening my dick like intravenous Viagra! Damn, what a thrill! I played more with the candle, finally ending with a jackoff session splattering a giant load all over my chest.
After that I experimented with bigger stuff: sawed-off broom handle, a piece of PVC pipe, backing up to take the arm of the rocking chair up my ass. Always taking it slow, waiting, adjusting to the pain with each larger size. And as I got used to the bigger ones, I wanted to go still bigger.
The day I lay back on my bed, raised my legs, and got my tennis racket handle up my ass, I celebrated with a jackoff that ended in a toast–I drank my own cum, scooped up off my belly. I was ready to take on the Super-hero dildo again.
Once more, the big bazooka burned as I pushed it against my asshole, but I was trained: I could stand it, and–I’ll be damned–once it popped past my sphincter, the thing slid in me up to its rubber bahis firmaları balls! I did it! I took Super-hero.
Once I rested and allowed myself to get used to the big thing, sliding it in and out slowly radiated such hot sparks through me that I grabbed my cock and brought myself to a roaring orgasm in about three strokes!
Couldn’t believe it. Hottest jackoff in years just from stimulating my asshole. Much better than beating the meat by itself. It’s true! Men can fuck each other! I writhed over the bed, still pleasured from the rubber loverboy still up my ass. God, an afterglow from a rubber cock.
It felt wonderful, and I left it in for a long time. Even thought about leaving it in and spending the day with it up my ass. But when I stood up, the dildo, too slick with lube and my juices, slid from between my buttocks. Had to catch it before it hit the floor.
My newly trained asshole meant a big change in my thinking–I became a switch-hitter.
I started noticing guys in the locker room, in the shower, even on the street. Once always on the lookout for a woman with nice tits and a nice ass, I found myself admiring a guy with a nice cock and a nice ass.
But that was a real can of worms. If it got out that I was interested in cocks, my baseball career would be over. The negative publicity would end my contract, to say nothing of getting the shit beat out of me in the locker rooms.
I settled down to a secret life, an amazed time of enjoying the beauty around me–the world was full not only of beautiful women, but of beautiful men, too–and I had a pass-key to their inner world.
I got a hardon in the locker rooms, so I had to stay dressed, leave on my jockstrap, or cover myself with a towel nearly all the time. That was frustrating.
Since I had discovered what I could do with my asshole, I wondered how to take advantage of that discovery. Without ruining my career. Couldn’t figure out how to do it, though.
Then everything changed. They got a new towel guy.
After a home game, I passed by the new guy with the stack of towels, grabbed one, and glanced at him. A little guy (at first I thought he was just a kid) but no, he was about my age but short, very short. Probably not much more than five feet. A runt.
He wasn’t eye candy, so I passed on. Before I could open my locker, though, I got a call from the front office–I had to go back out to pose for some pictures with some civic group or other. The “photo opportunity” took longer than expected. It ended up in interviews with their magazine reporters, more pictures, etc, etc.
When I finally got back to the locker room, everyone had gone. Damn. I did enjoy my daily dose of naked men.
As I turned down the row with my locker, I spotted somebody–the new little towel runt about to take a shower after the team had finished. He’d put his shirt in an unused locker and was pulling off his shoes.
I looked at him more carefully. Italian descent–black hair, olive skin, hooked nose. Nice eyes: blue. His long, thick, curly hair didn’t look carefully cut. Lower class. Probably got the job from an employment agency.
The runt was more muscular than I thought, though. In fact, with his shirt off, the little fucker had a build like a brick shithouse. Weighed 125, maybe 150 pounds. Belly like a stone wall, pecs hard and jutting, two brown nipples that stuck out like olive pits. And everything perfectly in scale–a little guy, sure enough, but his body was perfect, in proportion, like a football linebacker or some of the big guys on my own team–but in miniature.
What a turn-on, a weird horniness unlike the clear, understandable arousal at seeing a naked big guy. Something about his economy-size body got to me. An eerie feeling like looking at a Ken doll and wanting to pull its Clothes off and pose it humping the Barbie.
He looked up, saw me, and said, “Oh, hi. Everybody’s gone. Didn’t think they’d mind if I–“
–“No, no problem.” I walked over to him. “You’re new. What’s your name?”
“Well, welcome to the XXXs, Pete.” We shook hands, and I went back to my own locker unbuttoning my uniform. I glanced back at the runt.
As he dropped his pants, my mouth dropped, too. What was in perfect scale above his waist was a mind-boggling monster below. Look at that thing!
A horse would be proud to own that cock, let alone any of us over six feet tall. And Pete stood just five feet! Damn, if they added the length of his cock, he would be over six feet like the rest of us!
Unbelievable. Damn! He had to be a good baseball player–had his own bat. You’re staring at it, stupid! Turn away! I turned my eyes away–but peeked back. Couldn’t help myself. Like lightning struck me or something. For some reason I just couldn’t stop looking. The weirdest, strongest arousal I ever felt in the locker room.
The guy was equipped better than anybody on the team (or any paratrooper I ever saw kaçak iddaa when I was in the Army) but he was such a little runt! I mean, trotting around with that thing had to be uncomfortable–like a woman with huge tits trying to run.
He walked away into the shower room, and I ripped off the rest of my clothes to get in there with him. I turned on a nozzle two down from where he stood–not at the far side of the room as if I were a prude or unwilling to shower with the hired help, but not so close that I looked like coming on to him.
Amazing. His head was about the level of my chest. I could look down on the top of it, which he began to shampoo. As the soap turned into a white foam, he brought the suds down to wash his face.
As he did, he rotated slightly to get out of the shower stream, which turned him to face me. I looked carefully–his eyes were Closed, covered with soap suds; he couldn’t see. My gaze dropped back down to his crotch. Damn, that cock is something else!
Not only was it long, it was thick. Possibly thicker than the broad end of a baseball bat, but certainly thicker than the handle-end. I bet that thing made the women scream.
He was uncut, but I saw the outline of his cockhead under it. Thicker even than the shaft. A club.
Suddenly one of his hands dropped down to it! I looked up at his face, but his left hand still rubbed around in the shampoo bubbles. He still couldn’t see. I looked back down.
To my astonishment, he was stroking himself! And it was growing. Longer. And thicker! And the foreskin was pulling back.
His cockhead was a colossal flare that would bring a gasp from any woman. Or hell, any man.
I felt funny. Dizzy like a double shot of rum. What in hell is wrong with him, he’s jacking off in the showers! Fucking pervert!
But I couldn’t stop staring. The big thing got hard, tawny brown, darker than his body, textured with big blue and maroon veins and smaller ripples of skin. Gouging up through a poor woman’s cunt, that thing would ream her out like an augur.
Pete kept stroking, and the big thing reached full hardness, the flare standing shiny purple, jutting proudly out of the folds of foreskin. Almost glowing.
It hit me: That’s the most erotic–no, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I looked up at his face. Oh, shit! The foam had rinsed away from his eyes, staring up at me.
“Like what you see, Nome?”
My face burning with embarrassment, I turned away.
“I said, do you like what you see?” The voice was much Closer, right behind me. Startled I turned around, and there he was, a step away.
He moved still closer, and the huge cock touched wetly against my thigh–his crotch didn’t reach high enough for him to touch my cock with his. But the touch of that thing on my inner thigh was like a huge soldering iron. Like straddling a blowtorch. I jumped back! “Hey, what the hell–“
–“You like it, don’t you, big guy?”
“Naw! Don’t mean nothing to me!”
“Then why are you breathing hard? Why don’t you tell me to get the hell away?”
I gulped. “Yeah. Get the hell away.” But my voice came out soft and weak.
And he didn’t move away. Kept rubbing that big, throbbing thing against my inner thighs. “Reach down and touch it,” he said in a low voice. “It’s okay. You know you want to.” He stepped back to give me access. “Go ahead, heft it.”
This is fucking insane! Anybody comes in here right now, and we’re caught dead to rights! “I ain’t queer, you little runt.” But my voice cracked and squeaked.
“Course you’re not. You just like my cock, and you want to touch it.” His voice was smooth and mellow. Probably had a good singing voice. “Go ahead. Touch it.”
Don’t do this, you stupid ass! Don’t! But my hand reached out, almost against my will, and I grasped Pete’s giant dong. Hot to the touch. God, it’s huge! Couldn’t close my hand around it, and I have big hands.
My pulse pounding in my ears, I slid the foreskin back and forth, and he let out a low groan. “Yeah,” he murmured, “that’s where your hand belongs, right?”
I felt drunk. I’ve got my hand on another man’s cock! My head spinning, I gulped, “Yeah.” Oh, shit! What the fuck did I just say?
As I struggled to get myself to let go of the damned thing, I felt Pete’s hand grasp my cock. Fuck, I was at full erection! “Yeah, you’re hard for me, man.” His voice smooth, Italian silk: “You like me, don’t you?”
Couldn’t think straight. My hand jacking Pete’s cock had my heart pounding, but his hand stroking my cock had me completely out of control. “Yeah,” I grunted, “you’re a nice guy.”
“You like my cock, don’t you?”
Again, I could hardly breathe. “Yeah. Nice one.”
His thumb diddled my piss-hole, sending electric shocks through me. “Why don’t you bend over and get a closer look?”
Somehow, in my aroused confusion, that sounded like a reasonable thing to do. I bent over to bring my head closer to Pete’s crotch, kaçak bahis then sank to my knees when I realized how low I’d have to bend over. Damn, it was handsome. Jutting up from the black thatch of his pubic hair. Beautiful. Like a painting. Up close, redder than a Cincinnati baseball cap. Strong. Powerful.
“Suck it.” His voice sounded in my brain almost like I hadn’t heard it through my ears. Booming. Echoing from one side of my skull to the other. Commanding. Ordering me.
My thought-processes came to a complete, frozen stop, and the huge cockhead came closer, closer, closer–I opened my mouth. Jesus God, I couldn’t get it into my mouth! I could only glom my lips over the glans, slobbering over it, licking at it with my tongue.
“Yeah, that’s it, Nome. Suck that big cock! Jack it with your hands.”
I did as I was told, kneeling in the warm spray of shower water, sucking at his cockhead while I stroked the shaft up and down. And faster than I thought he would, Pete crouched a little, stiffening for his orgasm. Before I could move my mouth away–I wanted to but for some reason didn’t–like a dam-burst, a tidal wave of hot, slimy sperm shot into my mouth, and I gulped it down in sheer self-preservation.
Gobs of it splashed around inside my mouth before I could swallow them, and I got to taste him. Strong taste. Heady. Male, pure male. Made me think of wife-beater shirts, wiry underarm hair, peace symbols tattooed on big shoulders, Western belt buckles, steak and beer.
And testicles. Broad, heavy balls writhing in their soft leather bag, pumping out the manseed to breed me. God, I love this stuff! At that instant I felt my own balls contract–I had been stroking myself as I brought Pete to his pleasure–and a muscle-hardening orgasm swept over me, spreading out from my cock in a wave of fiery heat and stunning pleasure. The last sober thought I had before I floated away into the ecstasy–the fucking little runt seduced me!
Like two dancers in an ancient ballet, a dance of iron, squared-off moves, Pete and I welded to each other in pleasure, my left hand and mouth urging his ecstasy to endure, my right hand powering my own rapture. His cock shot me the proof of his satisfaction with me. My own capitalized it. I loved it. God, I loved it.
I suddenly realized that what I had been yearning for in the months since my dildo discovery stood before me in the steamy shower room. That cock! Now that we’ve come this far, I want that cock up my ass!
When I sucked the last drops of cum from his big weapon, I sat back, catching my breath, relaxing. He, too, leaned back against the wall. “You’re one fine cocksucker, Nome. Who woulda known?”
My mind buzzed. All these months of jacking off in my hotel room with a big dildo up my ass led up to this! I had to have the real thing! I slowly leaned back until I lay in the water, looking up at him.
I smiled and spread my legs, lifting them so my asshole came into view. I took a deep breath. “How fast can you get that big thing back up, runt?”
“God!” He reached down, grabbing his big organ, which had already begun to fill out, and he worked it furiously. The foreskin pulled back from the big, purple nozzle, still slick from all the cum.
Then I suddenly looked up in horror. Fuck, am I crazy? Out of my mind? That goddamned thing will never fit in my ass! It was three times wider than anything I ever used! Bigger than Super-hero! Suddenly I got religion.
I lowered my legs. “Wait a minute,” I said stupidly. “That thing’s not going to fit!” Fuck, how am I going to get out of this now??
I wasn’t: Pete was on me in a flash, pulling my legs back up, and he pushed that big thing into my ass crack before I could struggle away–Damn! Quick reflexes. He would be a good shortstop–and suddenly he made horny, teasing sensations come from my crotch.
Damn, that felt good! Pete’s voice was low, a growl. “You want my cock up your ass, you really want it. You big cocksucker, you want my cock to show you who’s boss!”
The big thing thrilled me as it slid up and down my ass-crack. God, it’s true! I want him! Want him to–to overpower me!
At that moment, a red-hot bazooka rocket burned a hole in my ass! The pain was a motherfucker! My asshole on fire, all that “overpower,” “who’s boss,” psychological shit vanished like a drop of water on a hot grill. I was dying!
All I could think of was getting that big moose and his giant cock out of my ass!
I screamed! I yelled in agony! I wrenched and jerked, but the big man controlling me was stronger, quicker, outsmarting me! Suddenly he crammed a jockstrap into my mouth, turning my screams to muffled groans.
God, it was nasty! Soaking wet, it tasted like drinking from a toilet bowl. And where did it come from? I choked. God, it must be one of his! Brought it in here with him.
It hit me. He’s been planning this all along! I was his prey!
The taste in my mouth nauseated me. Is this what piss tastes like? Nothing like his cum. Pete’s jockstrap was base, vile, disgusting. But he didn’t care. His huge organ slid further in, spreading my asshole, rearranging my guts, skewering me.
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