DISCLAIMER: The writer in no way questions the actual sexuality of the athletes/celebrities involved. Any situations and incidents are purely fictional and in no way reflect actual events. The writer also holds no license agreement to the following actors, teams, organizations and/or movies that may be mentioned. All persons and films are a copy write and/or are the property of the people, organizations and films themselves. The author in no way holds or maintains any rights to films, athletes and actors.
Author's note; thanks for the patience awaiting follow-ups!
Chapter Seven
A Jet prepared to leave the runway at Kennedy National Airport.
Troy Aikman observed the over head flashing light indicating the need to fasten his seat belt. The NFL star was seated in a comfortable seat in first class. On the aisle seat, Aikman briefly glanced at the wealthy matron seated between him and the window. She was popping a few tranquilizers. Noting his curious glance she wanly smiled.
"Flights terrify me." She sipped from a small expensive looking flask. "I need the....rest to endure long flights."
Troy nodded and smiled politely before turning his attention to the other visible seats in first class. He grimaced at the usual uptight matrons and spoiled heirs. He sighed in resignation and was about to close his eyes hoping for his companions sleep, but only naturally.
"This way sir," a flight attendant's voice broke Aikman's forced revere.
He opened his eyes to observe the woman helping a vaguely familiar man to the seat opposite of his over the aisle. Aikman took in the man's solid built form and handsome features as he sank in his seat. The man briefly noted Aikman and nodded in pleasant acknowledgement. Aikman found the man exceedingly sexy but couldn't pin down the niggling recognition. The man was in his late thirties or very early forties, like Aikman with almost similar hair coloring. His features were chiseled and his eyes were a fair color. Aikman couldn't quite see them directly to judge if they were blue or green, or perhaps gray. Nevertheless, the man was incredibly sexy. Aikman chagrined his luck as he adjusted his straining boner, seated next to a hot stud to ensure torment throughout the flight. He definitely couldn't wait to get to London so he could fuck the shit out of Beckham's tight soccer ass!
London, England;
David Beckham entered the BBC studios casually dressed in jeans and silk shirt. He was greeted by a studio assistant who directed him to the appropriate studio for the shoot. The fragrance line he and Victoria backed was filming a series of TV spots to fight off the plethora of knock off scents that had recently hit the market.
"Becks," the director gushed as Beckham entered the lighted studio sound stage. The over head lights were intense and Beckham had to squint briefly before his eyes adjusted to the lighting.
"Clive," Beckham greeted the flouncy director.
"The ad agency has come up with a great by line." Clive ushered Beckham toward a set graced with a white dais and several white cubicle pieces. "Its very cheeky," he assured with a glint, "the women and poofters are going to eat it up."
"Yeah," Beckham replied with less enthusiasm. "Tell me a bit more."
"Well," he chided, "why don't I show you a bit of our game plan." Clive turned to an assistant. "Can you get Ben out here?"
The assistant nodded and soon disappeared off set through a door on the far side of the studio. She returned several minutes later with a man at her side. Beckham tilted his head back and pursed his lips at the sight of the man. Actor Ben Price, formerly with the series 'Footballers' Wives' nodded to Clive as he drew near. Since the series wrap-up, Price had allowed his hair to go back to its natural color, but now he was dolled up as 'Wives'' character Conrad Gates, metero-sexual clone of Beckham-bleached locks and all.
Clive introduced the two men. "David," he grinned, "this is Ben Price."
He glanced from Beckham to Price. "Ben, David Beckham."
Ben Price extended a hand and Beckham grasped in with his own in greeting. "Mr. Beckham," he grinned, "it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Like wise mate," Beckham lifted one side of his mouth into a lopsided grin, "but please, call me David."
Price nodded.
"Now," Clive ushered the two men closer to the white platform. "Picture it, you and Ben, of course the audience sees him as Conrad Gates, in a cheeky pose with a bit of arse flesh shown.
Price and Beckham exchanged a humorous glance.
"The voice over urges the audience to be sure of an original." Clive nodded his head confidently, "now here's the clinch, make up is going to apply similar henna tattoos to your exposed arse flesh. Becks," he demonstratively emphasized, "yours will say arse by David Beckham while Ben's will say arse by BBC."
The two younger men exchanged speculative but interested glances.
"Fantastic," he gushed, "right?"
Beckham lightly chuckled but continued to hold Price's gaze. It was like looking in a distorted mirror. Suddenly Becks was overcome by a narcissistic thought. What would it be like to fuck him self?
Chicago;
Josh Matthews had his pants down around his ankles and was bent over one of the seats in the stand overlooking the arena. His creamy bubble butt was preferred to John Cena and his jutting hard cock.
Cena looked at the creamy globes and sneered in pleasure, "you ready for it boi?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Matthews said gripping the backs of the seats on either side of the seat he was pressed over.
Cena chuckled. "You sound a bit scared pussy boi."
"I can take it dude," he muttered in false bravado. His entire body was trembling, with anticipation and trepidation. Matthews had sucked off a few dudes before, Test and Randy Orton came to mind with their hard veiny cocks. But.....He'd never been fucked before. Still....Cena was one hot stud and he wasn't willing to pass up the chance of a life time. "Give it to me bro'," Matthews urged.
Cena stroked his cock as he squatted before Matthews' cheeks. Palming each globe, he tugged them apart exposing Matthews pink quivering hole. Cena spit on the pulsing ring. "Got to lube you up," he murmured before he spit again.
Matthews shivered at the contact of the spittle mingled with the rush of Cena's warm breath. "Ohhhh," he gasped and blinked in surprise when he felt Cena's tongue stroke his sensitive pucker.
Cena lapped the ring a few times; up and down and then traced it with just the tip of his tongue in hot circular flecks. Matthews wiggled back against his face in response. Cena pursed his tongue and gently poked at the aperture. It resisted the pressure a bit but Cena thrust harder. The warm vacuum of the boi's chute clung to his tongue and sucked him up.
Cena felt the warm ass walls cling to his tongue. He rasped the moist flesh with quick hot strokes, burrowing deeper each time. Matthews bucked back harder and soon Cena's entire face was pressed within the warm cheeks.
Matthews' eyelids fluttered as Cena's hot tongue worked his sensitive chute flesh in circular motions. He bit his lower lip and ground back against Cena's sexy face. Cena's razor stubble tickled his butt cheeks, sending shivers up his spine. When Cena's tongue zeroed in on his prostate, Matthews gripped the wooden seats more tightly. Cena concentrated stroking and pressing Matthews pulsing nub and Matthews flushed, his breathing deepening in response. Matthews cock was rock hard, aiming down to the floor, pressed against the lifted seat bottom.
Cena thrust his tongue faster and pressed harder against the boi's prostrate. Moving one hand down from Matthews' now flushed butt cheek, he gently massaged Matthews balls within his palm. Matthews apparently waxed his pubic hair. That was the way it should be with all pussy bois, Cena reasoned. The wrestler pressed his lips tightly against Matthews ring and sucked against the chute as well as fucking it with his tongue. Frenching the kids' ass wasn't enough, so Cena gripped the base of Matthews cock and roughly jerked it. His palm was smeared with pre-cum as he covered and squeezed Matthews' flared pulsing cock head.
Matthews' eyes were closed. He was panting and his balls were churning.
Fuck! He was already close to shooting. Cena was one hell of a butt muncher! Matthews shivered and his cock jerked in Cena's grasp. His balls were tightening. He was gonna'.......abruptly Cena gripped and pressed the base of Matthews cock with his fingers, stopping the approach of ejaculate. Matthews blinked a bit in surprise and slight discomfort as his cock was forced to hold back.
Cena moved his head back, extricating his tongue from Matthews' throbbing chute. Spittle seeped from the flushed ring and drizzled down the boi's butt crack. "Not yet baby," Cena soothed. Play time has only begun."
Cena continued to squeeze Matthews' cock until he felt the kid's efforts to climax recede. He released the enflamed cock and rose back upright. "Now," he spit in the palm of one hand and began slicking up his thick veiny shaft. "Now the real fun begins."
Los Angeles;
Nick Lachey was running late. After his extended session with Justin Timberlake he'd realized the time and headed out to his buddy Josh Reynolds home. As he pulled his sports' car in the drive of Reynolds' home he reflected on the sexy Timberlake. It had definitely been a hot recording session. He'd have to hook up with Timberlake again.
Lachey climbed out of the car and bounded up to the house's front door. Reynolds had pumped up a hot bod over the last few years, but recently he'd begun to let it go so Lachey had been training with him, getting Reynolds ready for his next film, another action adventure where Reynolds was required to be shirtless most of the time. Pressing the doorbell, Lachey grinned in confidence. Over the last six weeks he'd helped Reynolds almost match his previous physique peak.
The door abruptly swung open. Reynolds greeted Lachey with a grin, wearing nothing but a pair of track pants. His tanned torso was wide, powerful and ripped. His pecs were hard and pretty impressive with his waist narrowed down to an incredible six pack. Yeah, Lachey congratulated himself. He'd done a hell of a job on his buddy.
"What's up bro'?" Reynolds merrily greeted ushering Lachey into his home.
"Just chillin'," Lachey grinned walking into the home. "Had a pretty intense recording session with that dog Timberlake," he chatted.
Reynolds nodded, "cool." He began to lead Lachey to the home gym both were very familiar with.
"Ready for some intense training pussy," Lachey teased.
"Pussy my ass," Reynolds scoffed. "Are you ready?"
"Hell yeah," Lachey enthused. "That session with Timberlake wore me out. I need to get revved back up for tonight."
"Yeah?" Reynolds queried.
Lachey nodded and rolled his eyes. "My agent booked me to host some reunion special for that VH1 shit 'I love New York.""
Reynolds chuckled. "No shit!" Reynolds playfully punched Lachey in the stomach. "I guess you really need to be at your best. That queer dude 'Twelve pack' might show you up."
"Bull shit!" Lachey scoffed. "He'll get his speedoes all twisted when he sees the master," Lachey hedged in humor, "twenty-four pack!"
The two studs laughed as they entered the gym.
A passenger jet in route to London;
Daniel Craig was finally winding down. He'd been tense all day from his busy schedule and nearly missed his flight due to an over long interview he'd granted Bryan Phillips of NBC to discuss his next 'Bond' feature. Craig shifted to get more comfortable. He would have much preferred a window seat but his late arrival only offered up an aisle seat next to some dignitary. Well, he admonished inwardly, he'd just have to make the best of it.
After several moments of attempting to sleep, Craig opened his eyes and irritably glanced at the snoring dignitary at his side. If the over blown politician would only shut up.......
"Gentlemen," a female voice intruded, "would you care for a drink?"
Craig swept his head around to the aisle to respond to the flight attendant and his gaze clashed with the man directly across the aisle. He was big buff and blonde, Craig took in, and some what familiar. He smiled politely at the man, who nodded and returned the smile. Craig directed his gaze up to the flight attendant. "Scotch on the rocks," he replied smoothly.
"And I'll have a beer," the other man replied in an American accent.
The flight attendant noted the drinks and briefly glanced to the sleeping dignitary next to Craig and the sleeping woman next to the American man before moving on. At that moment, the woman at the American's side shifted, thrusting an arm across the man at her side and nearly striking him across the face. He winced in response and simultaneously the man at Craig's side let out a loud nasally snore that sounded more like the squeal of a pig. Both men laughed at the humor of their situation.
"It would appear that we're both destined to endure a long flight with our pleasant seat mates, Craig drawled. They both chuckled again and Craig extended an arm across to the American in greeting. "I'm Daniel Craig."
The American clasped Craig's hand within his own in a firm grip, "Troy Aikman," he returned.
"Ahh," Craig pinpointed the recognition now, "the American football player."
"Retired presently," Aikman amended in good nature. "Now I simply do the rounds of publicity and lecturing to aspiring college athletes."
"A heavy burden," Craig chuckled.
"Heavy flying," Aikman corrected with a grin. "And what do you do Mr. Craig?"
Craig was not offended that Aikman did not recognize him. Though he'd been in the acting profession for a number of years, he was still relatively unknown to Americans. "I'm an actor."
"Yeah," Aikman lifted a hand to his chin thoughtfully, "that would explain the familiarity." He pursed his lips a moment. "Your last film," he struggled to pigeon hole the familiarity, "I might have seen it?" he queried.
"I would likely believe so," Craig smiled. "It is a rather familiar franchise." Craig was not one of those prima-donna actors. Vanity was not his style.
"What a minute," Aikman slowly began to register. "Bond!" he categorized. "You're the new James Bond."
"Yes," Craig's gaze warmly flowed over the American football star.
"Well I'll be damned," Aikman chuckled. An image of Craig's hot muscular form rising up out of the water sizzled in his mind. "Great film Mr. Craig," Aikman enthused.
"Please," Craig extended an arm across the aisle, "Daniel."
Aikman reached out and clasped the man's hand warmly in greeting. "Right," the handshake lingered a bit, "Daniel."
London, England
Beckham's advertising shoot had run about two hours but now it was wrapping up. The over head lights were making Price and Becks perspire so that their bare torso's glistened under the brightness.
"Ok," Clive instructed, "now for the last two shots. First, guys I need you to unbutton your jeans and pull the crotch open a bit," the two men looked at one another and shrugged as they complied. "Open the fly enough to show just enough flesh to tease the consumer."
Becks and Price did, exposing tanned flat skin lightly dusted with trimmed pubes.
"Beautiful," Clive cried dramatically.
"Beautiful isn't quite the adjective I'd use to describe this," Price murmured low to Becks. The other man grinned in response.
"Now," Clive swooped up a bottle of Becks marketed cologne and walked to the athlete. "David," he instructed, take the bottle and reach over and press it against Price's exposed pelvis.
"Like this mate," Beckham reached over and pressed the bottle flat against Price's exposed flesh.
Price shivered, "Easy mate," Price murmured low, "that bottle is cold."
"David, push it a bit lower so that it rubs Price's' arse," Clive ordered
"Becks complied and Price shivered again. "Bet you'd prefer something hot but just as hard against you skin versus the bottle," Becks hissed conspiratorially. Price chuckled in response.
"Good," Clive barked. "Keep looking at each other." Clive lifted a hand as indication to the photographer that he should start shooting.
The repetitive click of the camera sounded but neither man much paid attention what was actually going on. They held one another's gaze hotly, their minds wandering to sexual fantasies about the other. Becks, again was struck with the thought of getting to fuck himself while Price thought about the thrill of getting fucked by an international footballer star.
"Fantastic!" Clive's enthusiasm broke the revere between the men. "Now, for the final scene I want you both to get up on the platform on your knees with your arses facing the camera.
Becks gave a lopsided grin to Price who shrugged and moved to the wooden dais. Both got down and rested upon their knees atop the platform.
"Ok," Clive walked to the men. "First we need to lower the band of your jeans a bit," he tugged down Price's first exposing nearly all of his bubble butt. "Got to make sure," he moved to Becks, "those tats are visible."
Clive slipped Becks pants equally low so his hard muscular glutes were visible for the shot. "David," Clive gently grasped the wrist of the arm closest to Price, I need you to rest your hand like this." Clive maneuvered Becks hand so the palm was resting flat against Price's clear butt cheek. His finger tips rested on the curve of Price's arse crack.
"Ben," Clive concentrated on how Becks' palm was resting against Price's arse. "Do the same to Becks."
Price frowned but moved the arm closest to the athlete down until his finger tips grazed the athlete's hard glute. The men looked at each other a bit in sexual frustration.
"A little lower Ben." Clive was oblivious to the building sexual tension between the two subjects.
"Um," Price's cock was stirring and he was afraid that his boner might slip free from his unbuttoned jeans. "Clive, don't you think that this is a bit....homo erotic?"
"Yeah mate," Becks' boner was already surging hot. He looked down to his waist and noted that his stiff cock was partially exposed by his open fly.
"Ben," Clive reprimanded, "you know perfectly well that poofters concentrate the largest portion of the viewing base of 'Footballers' Wives.'" He moved his gaze to Beckham. "And David," his tone was incredulous. "Who the hell do you think buys your cologne?"
"Gotcha Clive," Becks reluctantly agreed.
Price released a resigned sigh, quickly looking down to his waist as his hard cock nudged a bit free from the open fly of his denim.
"Ok," Clive moved back to the photographer. "Now that we've squared that away, just hold that pose guys, but turn your heads toward each other a bit." Price and Becks turned to each other and both nearly burst out in laughter. "Start shooting," Clive instructed the photographer.
The repetitive click filled the studio again. Becks couldn't help but lower his gaze to Price's waist. The actor's boner was thick and appealing. Price blushed a bit at Becks' scrutiny but couldn't help but glance down to Becks hard shaft. A drop of pre-cum glistened at the tip.
Price unconsciously ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip. The men moved their gazes upward again and unflinchingly looked at one another.
The photographer continued shooting. Clive instructed him to get an extra amount of shoots for the print ads. Price's throat was dry and he roughly convulsed his throat. Becks' lips held the hint of a promising grin. Color started to flood Price's cheeks with the knowledge that he WAS going to get fucked by Beckham. Becks winked conspiratorially at Price.
"Hold it," Clive suddenly barked at the photographer. "Mates," he looked to Becks and Price, "keep it this way for a moment while I speak with the photographer." Clive walked to the photographer and soon the two had bent heads together deep in hushed discussion. Becks and Price both looked at the two other men and then looked back at one another. Neither man smiled but something hungry was alight in their eyes. Becks' eyes widened a bit as he felt Price's hand gently slide down the slope of his arse crack to push between the two hard glutes. Price gave Becks a lazy grin as he ran the tips of his fingers along the arse crack, before zeroing in on Becks pulsing arse lips. Becks looked back to Clive and the photographer quickly as one of Price's fingers nudged against his arse ring. Becks shuddered and bit his lower lip to suppress a groan as Price worked the digit between the clenched muscular ring. Becks closed his eyes and inhaled sharply as the finger nudged deeper. Price's grin turned sly as he withdrew the finger and worked two fingers within at once. Becks swallowed convulsively and moved his arse back against the digits that filled him, stroking and stretching his chute.
"Ok mates," Clive turned back to Price and Becks and Becks blushed as Price simply slipped the two fingers deeper. Becks clenched his muscles tightly around the probing fingers and expelled a hot breath. Price's grin slipped away but the intensity of his gaze remained upon Becks.
"Hold that pose a bit longer." If Clive was aware of Price gently finger fucking Becks right in front of him, he gave no indication. "Start shooting again," Clive called to the photographer.
The sound of the repetitive clicks was droned out by the heavy thud of heartbeat within Becks' ear as Price rubbed and stretched the slick chute. Becks suppressed another groan when Price's finger tips deliberately stroked his prostrate, the wetness on the front of Becks open jeans gradually grew to a larger circle. Becks clenched his rectum walls tighter around the digits. If he wasn't careful, Becks realized, he'd shoot a huge load right there in front of Clive and the photographer. He concentrated on his physical control which wasn't easy since Price obviously was trying to drive him wild.
"Ok gentlemen," Clive barked, momentarily diverting the men's attention, "that about wraps this up." Clive moved to the photographer who was collecting his equipment. Becks and Price remained where they were.
"Just a second, mates," Clive called to Becks and Price before helping the photographer with his equipment pack everything up and carry it to the studio doors.
"Fuck me, mate," Becks chuckled at Price as the man slightly withdrew his fingers.
"No Dave," Price gave Becks a cheeky grin, "fuck you." Price thrust the two fingers deep again and Becks jerked his arse back.
"Ughh," Becks lifted a hand to his lips to drown out his grunt of approval.
"David," Clive called, "Ben. I'm going to have to help Owen here," he shrugged to the photographer as he picked up several of the equipment cases, "with his equipment down to his van." Becks and Price looked to Clive tensely and Price's fingers momentarily stilled.... "Do you think the two of you can see yourselves out?" Clive chatted on obliviously to Price's fingers jammed up becks' chute.
"Sure mate," Price answered while Becks merely nodded, his throat dry from the intense stimulation of Price's fingers.
"Great," Clive smiled. "I'll call you both later to go over the final shots when everything is developed and on print." Becks and Price both nodded. "Cheers mates," Clive nodded in departure as he and the photographer walked through the studio's double doors.
"Now," Price ventured warmly, "where were we mate?"
"Enough with the fingers," Becks instructed as he sprawled out upon the dais and raised his hips a bit to uplift his arse. "I need you to fuck my arse," he grinned looking back at Price over his shoulder as he reached back and pulled his muscular glutes further apart revealing his twitching quim.
"Right," Price stood and fully withdrew his hard cock free of the jeans.
It jutted hard and proud upward and Price stroked it gently as he climbed up behind Becks' upturned arse. "Now we're going to have a real shoot," he sniggered as he nudged his mushroom shaped cock head against Becks' pulsing arse lips.
To be continued....