Disclaimer The following story is entirely fiction; any resembelance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. This story contains descriptions of sex between consenting, adult males. If such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, if you are under legal age, or if you are offended by such material DO NOT READ IT. The author retains all rights to this work and you may not copy or transmit it in any way except in it's entirety and with this disclaimer.
For as long as I could recall, I had always been a baseball fanatic. I played little league all the way through high school and managed to find my way to as many major league games as I could. Somewhere around puberty though, my interests started changing from examining the pitchers on the mound - to the mounds on the pitchers! I found my eyes locking in on the baskets of my favorite players and then later on, retrieving those very same images as I pounded my cock to a heated, heavy breathing spew. My entire adolescence was spent fantasizing about big league meat
Now I was 18, and standing just over 6'. I was the embodiment of the "All American Boy"; sandy blond hair, classic surfer-boy good looks and a body that showed years of steady, regimented exercise. The only part that didn't measure up was "lil Joe" - my dick, it measured just over 5 hard. When the other guys started to fill out, their cock's fell in step, growing steadily through high school. Mine just never caught on. Once when I was a junior, I remember the other guys comparing their new found manhood growth in the locker room after gym. I shrank away, embarrassed to take part. No one ever made note of my smaller endowment, but I knew that in that one small way, my peers would always be more manly than me.
Fortunately, I had always been popular throughout school, especially with the girls. Finding a date was never a problem, although dipping my love stick, well that was another story. The magic wand never worked its magic around the many girls I dated and the relationships never lasted very long. I suspected that I might be gay, but never let myself get hung up over it. I figured; "if it feels good, do it". I had a bunch of really tight buddies in high school. Both on and off the ball field we had good times, played lots of pranks and shared our hopes and goals.
But now, I was finally an official a college freshman. Fortunately, I had been recruited by more than a few universities on a full baseball scholarship and if my luck held out, I'd be drafted in a few years. For now, I was happy playing baseball in college and partying with my friends. Everything seemed to be going my way. I was in tip top shape, was doing okay in most of my courses, and training was a snap. My life seemed to be going in the right direction.
And then I met Chris Stone.
I had volunteered to help with a baseball camp for some disabled kids. It was out at the stadium and a lot of the MLB players were making cameo/PR appearances. The college had enlisted us to support the event and take care of the equipment. At first I was reluctant to go, but after learning that Chris Stone would be there, my cock lurched in my jeans. I signed up as fast as I could write my name.
Chris was a slugger, no doubt about it. Though only 5'11", he stood like a titan at the plate. He had dark brown buzz-cut hair, piercing blues eyes and chiseled features carving his face. I'd stared at him in lust for as long as I could remember and had every one of his massive muscles memorized. Born in New York, and raised in Florida, he was a curious mix of attitude and southern charm. His interviews were always peppered with quick jabs at the press, followed by a sly smile. Every time I saw that wicked grin, my dick would drool. And now, I was going to meet him up close.
The event started at noon. I was there at 11:15 soaking up the experience of being on the infield of a major league stadium. The sun gleamed across the infield, the smell of fresh cut grass in the air. I was alone, with the exception of a few groundkeepers were fussing about at the warning track. A few moments later, the director of the event appeared from the dug out.
"Hey!" he yelled across the field to me. "Help me out with the equipment will ya?" I trotted to the dug out and followed him through the door leading to the clubhouse. We walked down the cavernous corridors that led to the room I had fantasized about over and over. Entering the clubhouse, I inhaled deeply. My heart pounded a bit faster as we walked past the rows of chain-link lockers. As I read the names on the lockers, my mind relived every jack off fantasy I had ever had. One locker was wide open, and street clothing was draped across the bench before it. As I glimpsed at the name on the locker, my heart skipped a beat. Chris Stone.
As we turned the corner to the equipment area, I heard the sound of water, a shower running. The shower was out of view to me, but I quickly put 2 and 2 together; the man I worshipped since I knew how to jerk it was somewhere near - and naked! My pulse rate went sky high. I followed the director into the equipment room and he showed me the bats, balls, and other gear that had to be placed out on the field. While not heavy, the gear was bulky and worthy of a few trips. My mind raced.
"Look, why don't you let me get all this stuff" I offered. "You can get set up on the field."
The director looked sown at his clipboard and nodded. "Thanks. The counselors will be arriving shortly and I should be there to get them oriented." With that, he grabbed a bucket of balls and headed back out onto the field.
I waited in the doorway to the equipment room and waited for the shower to stop. The sound from the shower area was echoing. I could hear almost every movement. I closed my eyes and imagined Chris as he dragged the towel across his wet crotch. My own cock began to grow in my training shorts. I reached down into my shorts and gave my dick a few tugs. Precum was leaking like a faucet. I pulled my cock out from my shorts and shook off the slippery goo. My heart pounded. I heard footsteps coming near, put my cock back quickly and turned to face in a direction that would be less obvious. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he strode by. His towel strung over his shoulder, he was nearly naked. My neck snapped when he came into view, my eyes locking on his dick. Soft, it hung about 8 inches and was almost as thick as the grip on his bat!
"Who the hell are you?" he asked as he snapped the towel from behind his neck and quickly wrapped it around his waist. He stood there, the mound behind his towel prominently displayed.
"Ah...er.." My eyes moved up from his groin to his eyes. He wasn't pleased at my gaze. "I'm one of the volunteers for the event today." I stammered. "I'm just checking out the equipment!" I swallowed hard. It was an awkward, tense moment.
"Uh huh." He leaned forward and stared hard at me. He was close enough to me that I could smell the fresh soap on his body. Though I didn't dare look down again, I could tell that he was now grabbing his towel draped dick. "That what you like doing kid? Checking out equipment??"
I was speechless. I could feel myself starting to tremble. His stare was unrelenting, almost angry. "No sir." I blurted out, my voice cracking in a way that it hasn't since puberty. "I'm just trying to..." my voice trailed off as he narrowed the gap between us to less than two inches. My eyes crossed in his stare.
"See that mirror?" His arm raised and he pointed to a circular mirror mounted at the ceiling. It was concave, like those you see in a Supermarket. In the reflection, I saw the shower room. And then it occurred to me; he had been watching me from the shower the entire time!
"Yes. I see it" I stammered. His eyes grew wide. He closed the gap between us. I could feel his chest pressing against mine. His cock was pounding from beneath his towel and teasing me.
"How'd you like it if I told everyone out there today what equipment you were really checking out back here this morning? Huh?" His cock was pressing into me. I could smell stale alcohol on his breath. My own dick was raging but I was at a loss for words. A look of fear washed over my face.
"You're just a cocksucking faggot.... Aren't you?" He growled. I could feel my bottom lip quiver as he glared at me.
"No!" I wiggled out from behind his weight and stepped into the doorway of the equipment room.
"What the hell is this all about then?" He firmly slapped my tented shorts with the back of his hand. The sudden and direct impact to my hardon caught me by surprise. I stumbled backward, falling into the equipment. The stack of bats tumbled around me as I scrambled to gain composure. "Get the fuck outta here unless you want a piece of this!" He growled and with a firm grip, he wagged his towel-sheathed dick at me.
With that, he turned on his heels and walked away to the locker area. I watched as his massive glutes rose and fell. I could hear him growling "fuckin queers" as his voice trailed off. My heart pounded as I stood and gathered an armful of bats. Part of me was drowning in absolute terror. Sweat dripped from my forehead as I recalled his last words... The truth was...I did want that piece, his piece...more than I have ever wanted anything.
"Stay cool" I mumbled to myself. There were at least 3 trips back and forth hauling the equipment and each time I would have to cross his path. This was not the time to show weakness. Taking a deep breath, I cradled the bats and walked through to the locker area. He was still naked, facing his lockers as I scurried past him. He did not look up at me. As I neared the door, my inhibitions seemed to disappear. I turned back to sneak a peek at him. His eyes were locked on me like radar. I froze. My body trembled slightly and before I could do anything about it, the bats were dropping, one at a time, from my arms.
I could hear him chuckle as I scrambled onto my knees to pick up the bats. "That's where you belong you little fairy - on your knees!" He stood up and slowly, but with very obvious movement, reached down and scratched his bush. His massive cock bobbed up and down. He flashed that famous, wicked grin at me and with the tip of his finger, he traced the outline of his cock until it rested on the crown of his head. My mouth watered as I picked up the last bat into my arms. There were no more secrets between us. We both knew he could own me. I grabbed the last bat from the carpeted floor and darted from the locker room. Trotting down the dark tunnel to the dug out, my mind raced. The swelling in my training shorts was obscene. I could feel the precum oozing. I stepped out onto the field and walked to the area that the counselors were gathering.
"Thanks Joe." The director chirped. "Do you want some help with the rest of it?" he offered.
"No!" I answered quickly, almost too quickly. "I mean...I think I can handle it okay." I definitely did not want anyone to know what was transpiring in the clubhouse. I dropped the bats and returned back to the clubhouse. In the tunnel, I picked up the pace. In my mind, I prayed that Chris would still be there in all his glory, naked and waiting for me. The whole spectrum of fantasies played out in my head as I grabbed the door handle to the clubhouse.
Chris was standing at his locker and thankfully, still as naked as they day he was born. He was applying deodorant as I walked by him briskly.
"Couldn't get enough huh faggot?" he growled as I turned the corner into the equipment room. I glanced back and watched as he bent over to step into his briefs. The tight white cotton BVDs were pulled quickly up over his massive thighs. My eyes gazed on the beauty of his bubble butt so tightly wrapped in the cotton enclosure. He knew I was staring at him, yet mad no effort to acknowledge or interrupt it.
I returned to the equipment room. The vision of him now permanently locked in my conscience. The lust in my heart was so intense I could barely stand it. My cock raged so hard, it hurt. Against all better judgement, I reached back and pulled the door of the equipment room closed behind me. I fell to my knees and pulled the top of my shorts and briefs down, tucking the band under my nut sack. Cock drool oozed from my slit as I grabbed it firmly and began to jerk myself off. I closed my eyes and imagined Chris's cock in my mouth. It was the only picture I needed...my orgasm began to mount. I suppose I heard the creaking hinges of the door, but somewhere in my mind I erased it and continued to stroke.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing queerboy?" His voice boomed. I looked up to see Chris staring down at me in disgust. Still in his briefs, he towered above me. From my position he seemed even larger than I had ever fantasized.
"Shit!" I mumbled as I struggled to put my cock back into my shorts. The drawstring had tightened below and try as I might, the task was not a simple one. He stepped closer and the door closed behind him.
"You fucking little cocksucker!" He reached down and grabbed my shirt and yanked me up to him like a rag doll. "We don't like little faggots dropping their seed in our clubhouse."
"I'm sorry...sir" I mustered, barely able to speak. His eyes pierced through me like darts. He dropped me with a shove, forcing me awkwardly back onto my knees to the floor. A stack of practice gloves tumbled around me.
"We'll see how sorry you really are..." he snarled as he stepped closer and cupped his basket in his hand. The natural basket of his crotch had developed into an obscene bulge; his hardened cock throbbed beneath the white cotton. I stared at the outline of his cock and quickly mapped the distinct terrain of the veins and crown. "This is what you want - isn't it pussy?" He grabbed his throb through the fabric and wiggled it at me. "Isn't it??"
I nodded. I had no other response.
"Beg for it queer. You want it? BEG FOR IT!" he snarled at me.
"Please let me suck your cock sir?" I stammered. The word sir was rolling off my tongue although now I knew it served a much greater purpose to us both.
"You're gonna have to do better than that cocksucker...I hear that a dozen times a day..." He was not kidding. He wanted me to grovel. He wanted me to prove to him that I was worthy.
"I live for your cock sir..." I humbled myself, then bent over and kissed his feet. It was an act that somehow, as strange as it seems, came completely natural to me. "I will do anything you ask, whenever and wherever. Just please let me worship your cock!" As I kissed his feet, I felt his BVDs drop to the floor in a puddle around his ankles.
"Get that fairy ass mouth of yours up here NOW!" he growled. I moved in lightening speed. Within seconds, my mouth was tightly wrapped around his growing slab of manmeat. He positioned himself against the door and grabbed my ears. "Suck it you fucking homo - take my whole motherfucking dick!" He lunged his entire shaft down my throat in one fell swoop. Tears welled up in my eyes as his cock choked me. Now completely hard, his piece had swelled to over 10 inches. I felt my throat expand as his mushroom head lodged itself deep into my esophagus. He laughed as I gagged. "Too much for you cocksucker?? He began raping my mouth - violently. Using my ears as handles, he plunged in and out like a madman. His thrusts were unrelenting and angry. Over and over he kept groaning; "fucking fag...fucking fag...fucking fag." I had become a receptacle for him, nothing else. My mouth was like any other, simply there for his release.
The oral assault, went on and on. There was no pause in his manic rhythm. It felt like I had been there for hours when suddenly a low, guttural moan came. "Mother fuck!" he gasped in a low whisper like tone. "I'm gonna fucking cream down your fag pipe!" I never felt the first blast of his cum. "Take it you goddamn queer! Take my baby makers!" The second came like a gusher - flooding my mouth. He jammed his cock as deeply as he could down my throat and poured two, three, maybe four more loads into me. His spew overflowed from the sides of my mouth like molten lava, dripping onto my white T-shirt. His knees shook as the last ounces of his cum oozed onto my tongue. My own cum oozed from my unattended cock, drooling like honey all over my nylon training shorts.
He pulled his cock from my lips. It made an obscene "flop" sound. He flashed his wicked grin down at me and then, taking his slimy cock in his hand, wiped it across my face, leaving a trail of cum and spit across my cheek and forehead. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and looked down at his handiwork.
"Now what do you say?" He asked with one eyebrow cocked.
"Thank you sir" I spoke softly, obediently now. I reached up with my forearm to wipe the cum from my face. He grabbed it with a quick jerk.
"What? Too proud to wear my manhood??" he twisted my arm quickly, jerking me into a painful position. "You will wear me proudly all afternoon - You got that boy??" He jerked my arm tightly and the pain shot through me instantly.
"Yes sir! Yes sir!" I yelped like a puppy. I struggled to get free but his grip was firm. "I will do whatever you say sir!" I pleaded, and he released me onto the floor.
"You bet your ass you will you fucking faggot. I own you now. You're my personal ball boy from now on in. What I say - goes - You got that???"
I nodded up to him. There was really no other response. I stared up at him as he pulled his briefs back on. Here was the man that I had idolized since Junior High. I had just sucked his cock. I had just sold my soul to him, and there was no turning back.
"Now get the fucking equipment out onto the field. We'll continue this later." he spoke, snapping his underwear band against his taught waist. I watched as he opened the door and exited back to the clubhouse. "I own me a fuckin faggot!" I heard him say through muffled laughter.
I sat there stunned. I finally gathered all the protective gear in my arms and walked out to the locker room. Chris, now fully clothed sneered at me as I walked by him. "Don't get any of that queer jizz on our gear - you hear?" He laughed. I continued walking meekly and he fell in step behind me. As we neared the end of tunnel I felt Chris's hand grab my ass firmly. The sudden movement caused me to jerk, and again the equipment spilled from my arms. As I bent down to gather the gear, Chris pulled my shorts up into a sever wedgie. He laughed hard as pushed his finger up against my ass hole, pressing the fabric in. I turned to face him and he let out a sinister chuckle. "Get used to it ball boy, this hole is mine now."
As I picked up the equipment, he trotted out onto the field. I listened to the roar of adulation that he generated from those gathered for the event. For a fleeting moment, I realized what I had reduced myself to. Trembling, I stood and tried to collect my wits. Cum drooled from my face, and also from my shorts. There was no mistaking it for anything else. A surge of terror washed through me. I would have to walk back out onto that field, face my classmates, my coach and all the event coordinators. Chris Stone had marked me. I was his ball boy and he wanted everyone to know it.
To be continued.