DISCLAIMER - This is a work of pure fiction and fantasy. David Beckham would probably not do what I have him do as described below. He isn't gay.
Here is Part 1, let me know what you think: lidon.dyte@gmail.com
And let me know if you want to see a Part 2!
DAVID BECKHAM IN MIAMI - PART ONE
"Sorry, Mr Beckham, but you won't be getting that new stadium. It's not gonna happen."
David Beckham sat in the office of Lidon Dyte and was now fuming. Since retiring from professional soccer his dream was to establish a new soccer team and Miami was the perfect location. After months of legal bullshit, arguments and bribes, he and his team had gotten the approval of the Port Authority and the local businesses ... except one.
Lidon Dyte was a 30-year-old business school dropout turned smalltime property investor. His various business ventures had mostly turned sour and he was contemplating giving it all up ... until he spotted an opportunity that would change his life, and that of David Beckham. He had seen the stadium development depended on a crucial strip of land, which Dyte had scraped together $10,000 to acquire.
When Beckham's people found out, they offered him $100,000 for a fast sale. He declined. Further offers, then threats, followed but Dyte was a tough bastard. His final demand was a cool $1m ... and Beckham himself would have to meet him, alone and in person, to sign the deal.
As it was as business meeting, Beckham had turned up in his trademark grey suit. The $5,000 Armani effort was cut perfectly to his athletic physique. A crisp white shirt framed his slim yet nicely muscled torso, with a fashionable skinny black tie completing the look. The material of the suit pants clung tightly to his muscular bubble but and thick footballer's thighs. As he sat down now in the chair in Dyte's small office, those magnificent thighs framed a nicely bulging crotch, which those tight suit pants did everything to accentuate. "For a 39-year old multi-millionare and father of four kids," thought Dyte lustily, "this guy sure doesn't mind whoring off his body."
Having dragged his impressive ass to Dyte's crummy office and spent 30 minutes trying to charm the bastard, Dyte had just smiled and shook his head has he delivered the news: there was to be no stadium. Beckham's handsome face flushed with anger.
"Why the fuck did you drag me here then," the angry Brit said in soft clipped tones.
Dyte smiled again. "Calm down, Mr. Beckham. Let me finish. It's not gonna happen ... on the current terms. I changed my mind about the million dollars."
"Look," said Beckham, "I've said we can go to one and a quarter ... but that really is it. We'll go for mandatory purchase if you say no, even if it takes a year. I don't want to delay this but I will if I have to give you a cent more."
"Mr. Beckham," Dyte sighed with mock weariness, "you misunderstood. I don't want a million or a million quarter dollars. I don't want any money at all. The one thing I want money can't buy ... but you can give it to me."
Beckham paused, sensing a trap. "What is it," he asked suspiciously.
Dyte, who had been resting on his desk, pulled a chair round and sat opposite Beckham, facing the soccer stud directly.
"Your body for one hour," he said.
Beckham gulped. He thought it might be something like this. "Mate," he said with soft anger in his voice, "No way I'm letting some pervert fuck my ass. I guess the deal's off."
"Hold on," Dyte said calmly. "Who said anything about fucking? I'm being realistic Mr Beckham. Truth is, you've got a great body and you know it. You love showing it off. Those adverts ... jeez, you're nearly forty with a wife and kids and you don't mind stripping down to your briefs for millions of people to perve over. You're an attention whore and you know it. I just want to get a little bit closer."
"You just want to ... see me get naked then?" Beckham sounded hopeful. "What?"
"Let me explain," Dyte said. "I'll tell you in detail what I want us to do. Then you can decide if it's worth doing for your stadium. OK?"
Beckham nodded.
"First, we kiss. Properly. Your face is fucking beautiful and I want it pressed against mine as we french each other. Next, I strip off your shirt and get to admire that amazing ink. Yeah, I'll lick and kiss your tight upper body for a bit, that'll be cool. Next your pants. I want to bury my face in that famous crotch and grope it, feel it first hand. I'll suck your cock for a bit ... then move around to your ass."
Beckham had been looking mildly grossed out. Now he spoke up. "No way you're getting in my ass," he said sternly.
Dyte's smile grew. So he's OK with the kissing, licking and blow-job then! he thought.
"Becks," he said, addressing him informally for the first time, "did you really think that this was not going to involve that ass in any way? Look at it man. Come on, stand up."
Hesitently, Becks stood up and allowed himself to be shepherded over to a full-length mirror on the wall of Dyte's office. Dyte positioned him sideways-on and both men gazed into the mirror. Not wearing his suit jacket, the stunning cut of Beckham's figure was impossible to miss: the graceful, lithe upper body tapering down and expanding into a big, full bubble butt, the grey fabric of the suit pants stretched sooo tightly over it.
"You have to admit it don't you," teased Dyte.
Beckham gave a rueful smirk. "Yeah, it looks great mate." Now it was his turn to tease: "But you are not touching it!" And just to tease Dyte some more, he twitched his ass slightly, causing those huge taut buns to shift under that tight fabric and Dyte's cock to go semi-hard.
Dyte kept his nerve. "This is the deal, Becks. I want that ass in my face. I want to kiss it and tongue it. That's all. I'll worship it, not fuck it. Then, I'll go back to your cock and finish you off. You come in my mouth. Then we're almost done. I keep hold of your jizz in my mouth and come in for one last kiss. Heard of snowballing, Becks?"
A mixture of disgust and annoyance came over the soccer stud's handsome features. "Fucking gross!" he spat.
"It's your own jizz, dude," Dyte reasoned. "You fucking made it. And I'll bet tons of women have swallowed it with no ill effects. We'll just kiss for a while and swap it between our mouths. We'll finish up by taking half each and swallowing. Then that's it. I sign the papers, you have your stadium. No million dollars. At worst its just a few moments of being grossed out, at best you might actually enjoy it."
Beckham resumed his seat in silence. His hand rested clenched under his nose as he frowned deep in thought. This was crazy but ... it didn't involve his ass getting fucked or anything painful or damaging ... could it be that much more gross than some of the initiaion rituals he had endured as a youth player at Manchester United?
Finally he said, "Look. This is pretty fucking odd. Give me a bit to think about this."
Dyte siezed on the hunky athlete's hesitation. "No, it happens now or not at all. I can see you're thinking about it - if you lose your nerve, then we lose this deal. Sure you can get the mandatory purchase - but with the delay and lawyer's fees, plus you'll have to pay me anyway ... or you can end it here, right now, leave this office with a done deal, for the sake of a few moments of discomfort." He looked at his watch for dramatic effect. "In fact, you have thirty seconds."
The handsome soccer stud breathed heavily, shaking his head slightly. It sounded so easy ... it would all be over in less than a half hour and he could press on with his dreams. His thoughts were interrupted by Dyte offering him a large scotch. Well ... if he was going to do it, he would at least be needing that. As he drained the glass, Dyte demanded: "Time's up. What's it to be."
Feeling emboldened slighty by the alcohol, Beckham stood up decisively. "Fine," he said. "Let's get this over with."
Dyte's cocked twitched. He could hardly believe it had worked! This world-famous star was actually going to let him have his way with his beautiful face, toned body and well-muscled butt. He took a swig of scotch himself and gestured to a doorway that lead into a smaller room just off his office.
"This way," he said.
Becks made his way into the smaller room as Dyte followed, enjoying the sight of the athlete's beefy ass as it swayed under the tight pant material. The room was well lit with a reclining leather seat and another large, full-length mirror. The two men stood in the middle of the room facing each other and Dyte moved in close to Beckham for the kiss.
Dyte took a moment to admire the beautiful hunky face that was now inches from his own. Becks had his hair swept back on top, shorter at the sides. A few days of facial hair growth had produced a decent stubble. The facial features were of course stunning - nicely sunkissed skin, perfectly sculpted nose and cheekbones, with the look of discomfort and reluctance resulting in a slight frown that gave a sexy menacing look to the stud's piercing eyes. The eyes slowly closed and the mouth opened as Dyte finally leant in. He felt a jolt of electricity as their lips connected and tongues clashed. Dyte took a moment to draw his tongue around the inside of the straight stud's mouth, savouring the fact that he was the first man to explore it. Then the passion overtook him - he ran his hands through Beckham's luxurious hair and grasped the back of his head, pulling the hunk in as he increased the passion of the kiss. He moaned into the hetero star's sexy mouth and, caught in the sheer intensity of the moment, the hunky soccer star moaned back!
As the two men made out like a pair of horny teenagers, Dyte occasionally pulling away to linger over those famous handsome features as they flushed slightly red with shame, sometimes licking at the well-sculpted cheekbones, nose and chin, enjoying the star's clear discomfort as his famous millionaire face was used for the gratification of another man. Smiling, Dyte would then pull the stud back in for another wet, horny kiss.
After a good ten minutes, Dyte reluctantly pulled away, knowing that there was much more of this buff soccer god's body to explore.
In silence, he relieved Becks of his skinny fashion tie and slowly undid the buttons of his crisp white shirt. As much as he wanted to tear the garment off, Dyte was keen to relish the sexy celeb's humiliation as another man tenderly undressed him. As the buttons came undone, revealing the toned, tattoed chest and nicely rippling abdomen, Dyte would sometimes pause to run a hand over the tanned skin, enjoying the look of shame on Beckham's face at the tender caresses of another man.
Finally the shirt of was off. Dyte drank in the sight he'd only seen on commercials and posters before - the tanned, lithe torso of David Beckham, the arms, chest and flanks decorated with intricate tattoos, the rippling stomach and slim waist disappearing into the expensive suit trousers which bulged out in contrast to accomodate the hefty muscular ass and packed crotch. Dyte spent a good ten minutes licking at the smooth, tanned skin, enjoying the reluctant sighs and moans from the straight stud as he flicked and lightly bit at his nipples.
"Sounds like you are enjoying this, Becks," teased Dyte. "At little bit, at least."
Beckham's voice was low and croaking with a mixture of disgust and shame. "Just fucking get on with it."
Dyte got to his knees in front of Becks and buried his face in the bulging crotch area of the designed suit pants. He could feel the plump cock, limp but clearly sizeable, even through the material. He shuffled around to the ass and pressed his face between the two steely globes, moaning softly as he ground his face into the crevice.
"Shit, your ass feels as good as it looks," Dyte said, pinching and groping the bubble butt. "I can't wait to get my tongue up there." He couldn't see it, but the handome star's face was crimson with shame. As Dyte returned to his front to peel off those expensive suit pants, he saw why.
"Fucking hell, Becks," he gasped. "You're ... you're not wearing any underwear!?"
Dyte had unclipped and unzipped the pants to slide them down over the big bubble butt ass and thick, muscular thighs of the soccer star - and instead of being confronted with that famous bulding underwear, had come face-to-face with the thick, cut cock and low-handing egg-sized balls of David Beckham!
IN THE NEXT PART : Becks discovers that he LOVES having his big ass played with ... as much as he may hate to admit it. Dyte changes the deal a little bit ... and Becks agrees to let our hero slip a bit more than his hungry tongue up his famous sexy butt.