Date: Sun, 14 Jun 2015 14:53:19 +0100
From: Lidon Dyte <lidon.dyte@gmail.com>
Subject: David Beckham In Miami Part 11

DISCLAIMER - This is a work of pure fiction and fantasy. David Beckham
would probably not do what I have them do as described below. He is not
gay.

Feedback to lidon.dyte@gmail.com

Here is Part 11

*****

David Beckham had just celebrated his 40th birthday, and the festivities
were underway. Not the official party, of course - a family do with all
smiles at a plush surrounds of a luxury Moroccan villa. They had been and
gone - and now the unoffical party was in progress. In a dingy basement
cellar in a leather club in a Miami suburb, the hunky millionaire was
"celebrating" with his new friends.

He knew that they were bound to have something special for his big day. He
had nervously stripped and entered the basement room as instructed, fully
expecting to see a room packed full - 20, 50, maybe a 100 dirty queers
eager to sample the delights of his godlike body. Instead, he was relieved
(but a little disappointed?) to see that it was just his main cabal of
owners - Carlo, Diego and Lidon Dyte, the scumbag who had originally turned
him out. Dyte had recently got back in contact and, whilst a little annoyed
at having to share his studly prize with the legions of other queers, was
delighted at the progress into sexual degeneracy that his protogee had
made.

They had instructed the hetero hunk to strap himself onto a bondage table
and, rather than delivering the solid fucking that Beckham was expecting
and secretly craving, had commenced a tortuous act of slow foreplay. Diego
started at his gracefully arched feet, tickling the soles, sucking lightly
at the toes, working his way soo slowly up those amazing legs. Dyte started
at the top, starting with the same passionate french kiss that had begun
the married stud's descent ("Remember this?" teased Dyte between kisses),
licking and nibbling at the perfectly chisled features of that perfect
face, tender teasing kisses and licks down that chorded slender neck.
Carlo started at the end of one of those beautifully tattooed arms,
enjoying the salty taste of those big manly hetero fingers, licking and
kissing his way tantalisingly up the intricate inkwork that adourned those
lithe muscular limbs. Beckham's fat hetero cock was hard and leaking even
before any of the queers made their way to his athletic torso.

"Geez, you guys weren't kidding," mused Dyte as his tongue loving coated
the bronzed hunk's gasping face in saliva. "He's become a total humiliation
whore. Ready to shoot his load before we get anywhere near his dick ... or
his big slutty ass!"

Carlo and Diego laughed as Beckham's treacherous cock twitched, flicking a
glob of precum over his lithe ripped abs, at the very mention of his major
weakness: his love of getting his horny bubble butt drilled!

"Please guys," breathed the helpless hunk. "I need it ... please ..."

"Oh, you'll get it," Carlo intoned. "But not for a while. There's a lot of
fun to have with you yet.  Heard of edging, Becks?"

"Mmmmph," Beckham could only groan and shake his head.

"Weeelll," Carlo said teasingly, "basically .. we take you to the
edge. Right to the edge, right on the cusp of shooting your biiig, manly
load ... but then, right at the last second, we pull you slowly back. And
we do that again. And again ..."

"Fuck!" spat Becks, frustrated. "Not that fucking ring again!"

Dyte looked puzzled.

"We used the no-gasm ring on him at his first bang," Diego explained,
referring to the orgasm denial device that the big stud had been forced to
wear at his initial gang bang.

"Oh, there won't be any ring," Carlo said. "The ring was different,
Becks. It kept you horny, for sure, but it didn't deny your orgasms - it
stored them up. This will take you beyond horny, beyond sanity. Right to
the edge. Let's see how you do, stud."

For the next couple of hours, the hunky millionaire found out all about
edging. His three masters were experts. Building up the sensations from
kissing and nibbling to more and more sensitive areas - on to nipples,
armpits, the soles of the feet. Next, a gentle teasing of the asshole - a
number of Dyte's special toys, designed to increase the stimulation slowly
but surely. Simultaneously, that big leaking cock was flicked, the flaming
cock head rubbed and circled with increasingly coarser materials -
combining pleasure and pain in perfect balance. A finger clad in a rough
leather glove slooowly tracing the path down from that leaking cockead down
all nine inches of that magnificent shaft, tugging agonisingly at the
chords above those heavy balls, and then sloooowly tracing its way back up
again, right up to the cock head ... then slowly around its mighty
ridge. Bringing the formerly straight stud into the most erotic state of
mind of his life ... keeping him there ... and then bringing him back down
just as the orgasm approached - slowly, teasingly, away from the
crazily-pulsating cock as it flicked goblets of precum, down the legs and
over the chest, withdrawing back to the first stage: the sucking of the
fingers, licking at the feet as the hunk moans pleadingly for release into
a slow sensual french kiss.  And then repeat.

The three torturers themselves were only human, of course, and needed to
get their own release despite denying Becks his. So to tease the stud at
the denial of release, they would take turns to jack themselves off noisly
- "Oh fuck yeah, feels so good to come ... ah, you should try it man!" -
allowing their ropes of fag cum to splat messily across that toned,
athletic torso, those colossal meaty thighs, even over the handsome chisled
face and rubbed into that expensively coiffed hair!

"OK, Becks, time for your present," gasped Carlo. The three torturers had
come at least twice each and they had just raised their helplessly horned
up but willing victim into the ecstacy zone for the eighth or ninth time
(they had all lost count) when the camp fashion queen stopped suddenly,
grasing the base of the big pulsating cock as he spoke. Beckham tried to
rock his groin into it, desparate for release.

"Oh no, not that. Not yet," said Carlo as the other two held down the
athlete's powerful thighs to stay the thrusting. "We have an idea."

Beckham was too horned up to talk so Carlo continued.

"You see, you're pretty fucking perfect Mr Beckham," he said. "One of the
greatest, most famous athletes in the world, an incredible body and face
and that ass ... my god, that ass. And you've decided to donate them all
for the pleasure of the gay men you used to tease and dominate. And some of
us girls got to thinking ... maybe you're a little *too* perfect."

Beckham's eyes widened with a mixture of anticipating and anxiety. What did
these fuckers have planned for him now?

"Yeah," chimed in Diego. "It's your face, man."

He moved over to stroke that perfect, handsome chisled face, admiring the
beauty of those sharply defined features.

"You see, Becks," Dyte joined in, "you're a complete ass slut, desparate to
pack as much cock as your big sweet booty can take. Right?"

The humiliated hunk could only blush as he nodded slightly in agreement.

"Problem is," Dyte continued, "you don't have the face of a fucked up cock
slut. It's the face of a strong, straight familiy man, not a hungry cock
whore."

"And you so damn handsome," Diego added. "I mean its like, I can ride your
white ass all night, make you my total bitch ... but you still got those
power looks on me man."

"Sooooo," cooed Carlo, "we thought it might be a good idea if you changed
your image. They do say life begins at 40, Becks - maybe it's time you
dropped the clean-cut, wholesome, square-jawed look and, you know, bitched
yourself up a bit?"

"Wha... what do you mean?" Becks gasped.

"Well," said Carlo, stroking along one of the stud's heavily tattooed
arms. "Looking at all this cool inkwork made us think ... why not get a bit
of that going on up top?"

Beckham gasped at the idea as his cock twitched. It was true that he loved
his ink - from the first tattoo on his arm he had been addicted. The buzz
of the needle, the jolt of the pain, metal on skin, had always given the
hunky athlete a rush like nothing else. It was one of his trademark
features: the way he had allowed the artwork to expand over the years,
claiming inch after inch of his beautiful bronzed skin - the back, the
arms, the chest. He had even courted contrversy with a bold eagle tattoo on
his neck, which combined with his shaved had prompted the media to comment
on the thug like image it created. After that, Victoria had ordered him: no
more ink above the neck line. The idea that he would let these faggots ink
up his godlike, chisled face .. just for their fucked up pleasure
... caused his fat cock to twitch harder and leak painfully.

"Oh yeah," Diego caressed that glorious face with his fag fingers. "That
would be so freakin' awesome. I can just see it man, a big spiderweb tatt
right over that hot face ... so fucking trashy man."

"Fffuuuckk," breathed the horny stud, "yeeahh.. fuck... do it...."

"Not so fast, Mr B," Carlo chimed. "The ink is a good start. But we gotta
accessorise that look. I always thought it was weird that a tatt freak like
you was never into metal."

Beckham blinked. It was true - although he had always had a couple of
discreet ear studs, he had never gone any further.

"It would look so cool with the ink," Carlo continued. "A couple of studs
through each eyebrow, ring through the nose and lips - top and bottom. And
a tongue stud too... man they are so hot!"

"And a couple of hoops for them lobes man," Diego joined in. "Stretch them
out nice a big!"

"We gotta go real big though," said Dyte. "That nose is too perfect, so it
needs a proper thick bull-ring, right through the center of it. And the
tongue stud has to be a proper, nice and heavy. It'll probably chip those
teeth a bit, messing up that stunning smile - but its a price worth paying
to bitch youself up, right Becks?"

The tanned hunk's cock twitched again at the thought of his perfect facial
features being permanently punked out ... the loss of control, the
sacrafice, took the intense mental humilition to a whole new level!

"Looks like he's cool with the idea," Carlo chuckeled, running his spindly
fag fingers through that perfectly coiffered mop of expensively cut
hair. "The final touch is the hair. It always looks so perfect ... you
spend shitloads on those designed cuts, and the world always wants to know
what style the great David Beckham is wearing. Well no more of that ... we
think that you should go bald - permanently!"

Dyte appeared brandishing a quart bottle of a light blue liquid. "Another
of my products, Becks," he smiled. "Liquid electrolytes. We'll just shave
your head down and rub this in ... hair gone for good!"

"Giving us more skin to ink!" grinned Diego. "So what do you say, Mr B?"

"Think about this carefully Becks," Dyte said. "We're talking about a
permanent conversion here - from hetero millionaire superstud to fucked-up
cum-slut... with the face to match. If you agree, we'll have one last fuck
session to enjoy that stunning, perfect face one final time before the
changes begin."

The bronzed god's mind was in a spin ... was he seriously considering
agreeing to this? He had given up his athletic body and big bubble butt
ass, allowing dozens of random queers to roughly fuck him as he begged for
more. He had heard his sexy Brit voice croak in shame as it offered up that
sexy mouth for blow jobs and dirty ass munchings in order to keep the
shameful sodomy coming, his perfect tan skin turning crimson as he listened
to the queers casually comparing notes on fucking his chunky married
ass. And at ever step as the humiliation increased, so did the raw erotic
power, devastating his heterosexual psyche as his famous millionaire body
descended to ever lower depths.

The temptation to go yet one step further was great. No matter how much the
faggots exploited and devoured his athletic, bronzed body and divine muscle
butt, he and they were still aware, at the back of their minds, that the
soccer god was a hetero superior by nature and his strikingly handsome face
was a constant reminder of that. By giving up those devastatingly chisled,
clean-cut alpha looks - allowing the sunkissed skin of that hunky face to
be conquered by ink, having the perfect lines of those chisled features
broken by brutal steel studs and rings, and turning that envious head of
hair into a permanent bare pate (to be covered in more crude inkwork) - he
could advance his shame and degradation more! It would mean changing his
life forever - giving himself over as a permanent sex toy, to be traded
from faggot to faggot. It would also force him to concentrate more on
developing his body and maintaining that big bouncy ass, given that he
would no longer have his world famous good looks to command attention and
envy with. Was he really prepared to sacrifice that supreme, sculpted,
godlike alpha face and become a depraved, ink-faced, perma-bald metal freak
... just to increase the erotic sexual kick he knew it would give him?