Date: Fri, 27 Feb 2015 19:06:27 +0000
From: Lidon Dyte <lidon.dyte@gmail.com>
Subject: David Beckham In Miami Part 9

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.

Thanks for the comments and suggestions, please keep em coming.

Here is Part 9, let me know what you think: lidon.dyte@gmail.com


*****


"Dr. Prew will see you now, Mr Beckham."

It was a little after 2 on a sunny Friday afternoon. Soccer hunk David
Beckham found himself in the plush surrounds of the executive waiting room
at the exclusive Harley Street practice of Dr. Julius Prew - the man who
had solved a lot of problems for famous but closeted sportsmen and, Beckham
hoped, could do the same for him.

Almost six months had passed since the handsome stud had first agreed to
give up his gorgeous, tanned married body for the enjoyment of a gay
man. Thinking that it would be a one-off event that he could easily
dismiss, the shamed star was badly mistaken. His experiences had awakened a
primal, animal urge to have that big beefy ass of his roughly taken. To
make matters worse, he was still mentally a straight man and so his
newfound addiction was utterly humiliating to his hetero psyche. But it
didn't stop there. The disgraced toned hunk came to realise that it was not
merely the physical stimulation of a good anal pounding (although his
chunky bubble butt certaily loved being well-stuffed) but also the mental
aspect: the more humiliating and degrading the situation, the more erotic
the sensations, and the harder his fat nine inch hetero cock would get.

Leaving Miami had not helped. The plane had not been in the air for an hour
before the hunky millionaire had been taken by the nobody gay flight
attendant, first with a highly risky make-out session as the two men
passionately frenched right next to Beckham's sleeping wife, the married
hunk's aching cock released from the tightly strethced denim of his
designer jeans, leaking and pulsating treacherously as the delighted queen
played with it. Then, ushered into the restroom for a good fucking. The
camp queer had then revealed that his ordeal was not over - four rich
businessmen also travelling on the plane had paid for a piece of Beckham's
heavenly ass. The sheer shame and humiliation of knowing that his perfectly
tanned and toned body, sharly chilsed facial features, and glorious bubble
butt ass were now property of these queers, traded like cheap whore, only
had the effect of getting the helpless stud even harder and hornier!

And so the star allowed his amazing body to be used and abused by four
ugly, overweight, middle aged businessmen, burying those beautiful defined
facial features into the flabby flesh of their smelly butts, blowing their
stubby, sweaty cocks with that perfect mouth, and taking that same cock
between the hard muscular spheres of that incredible ass, his manly Brit
voice spurring his fucker on.

When he finally retured to his seat, well-fucked and sheen with sweat, his
wife was awake and eyeing him suspiciously.

"You were in the toilet a long time," she intoned, arching an eyebrow.

"I, er, was feeling a bit queezy," stammered Beckham. "I'm OK now."

Victoria narrowed her eyes - her handsome husband had played away before
and stewardesses were always flirting with the star, but she had been
careful to arrange the private cabin with male staff only, so he must be
telling the truth. If only she knew!

As the Beckhams disembarked the plane, the cabin crew were lined up in the
usual way to thank the passengers for travelling with them. Beckham dropped
his gaze and flushed slightly as Ben flashed him a broad grin, taking
delight in the look of pure shame that crossed those handsome chisled
features that he had taken a few hours ago.

"Hope to see you again soon, Mr Beckham!" he trilled.

"Um ... yeah, thanks," Beckham mumbled, nervously shaking Ben's
outstretched hand.

Victoria had turned away and was heading down the gangway - the other cabin
crew had moved off. Seizing the moment, Ben leaned in towards the hunk.

"Your ass was fucking awesome," he whispered, treating himself to a cheeky
lick along Beckham's perfect jawline as he moved out, just to reinforce the
fact that the big stud's heavenly body had been his personal property for a
few moments at least. Beckham said nothing, staring furiously at the floor
as his beautifully chisled face flushed red with shame. As he turned to
leave, Ben completed the humiliation with a quick but firm grope of that
immense muscle butt. To his horror, Beckham's fat cock plumped slightly at
the intrusion.

That was just two weeks ago - two weeks since that chunky bubble butt had
last been plundered. Now the handsome star found himself sitting in the
office of Dr. Julius Prew. The expert. The man who had helped many confused
young soccer hopefuls to deal with their gay feelings and ultimately
supress them. Such a valuable service, and a successful one - so far, there
was only one openly gay professional footballer in the world, in the lowly
Scandanavian leagues - and if he had had enough money, and the right
connections, then Prew could have "helped" him too.

"Mr. Beckham," Prew smiled pleasantly. "I must say, I am surprised that you
asked to see me. How can I help?"

"It's, um, a bit personal," Beckham said. "I need your help to, you know
... sort my head out..." he looked up hopefully, praying that Prew would
take the hint.

"Erm ... do you mean ... inappropriate urges?" Prew raised an eyebrow.

Beckham just nodded.

"Well, this is quite unusual," said Prew. "Most young gentlemen who come to
me with this problem are, well, young. Eighteen, nineteen, maybe
twenty. You are what ... nearly forty? And, I mean, married with four
children ..."

Beckham could only stare at the floor and mumble, "yeah .. I know."

"So, when did these urges begin?" Prew asked, taking out his pen.

"About six months ago," said Beckham.

"Go on," Prew said. "Tell me what happened."

Beckham sighed. "This guy," he said. "It was a business thing. My stadium
project in Miami ... he had some land we needed. He was driving a real hard
bargin and wouldn't sell unless ..."

"Unless what?" Prew prompted as the tanned hunk fell silent.

"I had to agree to do stuff," Beckham whined. "You know ... gay shit. He
wanted to make out with me and, um, lick my ass. And stuff. I thought it
would be over in a few minutes ... it seemed so easy..."

"But ... you enjoyed it?" Prew asked, raising an eyebrow. "You went
further?"

"He tricked me!" Beckham exclaimed, suddenly indignant. "He used some
... weird chemical on me. To, you know ... turn me on and shit. It wasn't
me."

"He drugged you?" Prew's voice was raised in concern.

"Yeah!" Beckham said. "Well ... kind of ... at first..."

"Look, Mr Beckham," Prew sighed. "You can speak in absolute confidence in
this office. Just tell me what happened. And please, be completely honest -
it's the only way that I can help you."

Beckham's confidence subsided. "My ass," he croaked. "He ... he fucked my
ass. First with like ... a small dildo or something. The shit he used on me
... it had me totally turned on, like nothing before. I had to ... I mean,
I needed him to ... and he did. He fucked my ass."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"No!"

"So you did not have an erection?"

"Well ... yeah, I did, but..."

"And did you come?" Prew was being blunt now. "Did he make you shoot?"

Beckham nodded.

"This is very important," Prew said. "Did he stimulate your penis at all?
Or did you shoot just from being fucked?"

Beckham's voice was trembling as he admitted the truth: "Just .... from the
fuck..."

"Look Mr Beckham," said Prew. "Many men find anal stimulation
pleasurable. A single encounter like this, especially with chemical
assistance, is not unusual. You should not worry. Is that all?"

Beckham shook his head.

"You ... did it more than once?"

A nod.

"With ... more than one other man?"

Another nod.

Prew's concern grew. "How many?" he asked.

"I ... I don't ... I don't know..."

Prew put down his pen and paper. "Mr Beckham, I am the best at what I do. I
can help you as I have helped others. But please, I cannot help unless you
are completely honest and open. Tell me everything, and do not omit a
single detail."

The shamed stud raised his handsome face to meet the doctor's gaze - and he
began talking.

Over the next half hour, Prew listened with increasing incredulity and
shock and the famous David Beckham, millionaire hetero superstud, recalled
the events of the past six months: the brutal fucking from a "fellow
professional" (he did not name Ronaldo), the filthy group sex, the blow
jobs, the rimmings, the double penetration ... everything.  By the end,
Prew could barely speak himself.

"Is that it?" the stunned doctor asked after Beckham had finished.

The shamed married hunk nodded slowly.

"Well," said Prew. "This is a most unusual case. I have not seen anything
like this."

"Can you help me?" Beckham pleaded.

Prew hesitated slightly. "Mr Beckham ... I think I can. But there is one
issue we must address first. Please ... look down to your crotch area."

Having been completely absorbed in telling his humiliating and shameful
story, Beckham had been completely oblivious to his current state. Jolted
from his haze by Prew's comment, the stud suddenly realised what had
attracted the doctor's attention. To his utter horror, his colossal nine
inch fuckpole had risen to its full impressive plumpness, and was straining
HARD against the tight denim of his expensive Armani jeans. But that was
not all. His treacherous tool had leaked ... badly. The denim was heavily
stained with the bronzed god's fuckjuice, hot sticky precum that had seeped
copiously from that magnificent organ, through the Calvins and the jeans.

"Oh .. er... shit," Beckham mumbled, turning beet red. "I'm , uh, sorry
doctor ..."

"I'm afraid this is a problem," Prew said. "The young men who come to see
me sit there and tell their story to get out their shame. To talk out their
feelings. When they hear themselves talking about their lust for other men,
their penises shrink in shame ... the mental humiliaiton attacks the
urge. With you, I am sorry, it seems to have had the opposite effect."

Beckham listened in silence, not moving except for the involuntary
twitching of his monster cock.

"You have just recounted to me how your proud body has been used and abused
by multiple gay men," Prew continued. "And just telling that story has
driven you to a state of extreme sexual excitement."

"But you said you could help me!" Beckham protested. "You have to!"

"I cure gay men, Mr Beckham, but the problem is that you are not a gay
man. You have a fetish for extreme humiliation, combined with a strong
addiction to anal play. I can help you here and now ... but not by curing
you."

Beckham's handsome features contorted into a frown as he realised the
doctor's meaning. "No fucking way!" he spat. "Not again!"

Prew said nothing as he opened a draw in his desk and took out a large
black rubber dildo. He placed it on the desk in silence as Beckham stared,
wide-eyed.

"All that I can do now is help you with release," Prew said cooly. "It's a
simple choice, Mr Beckham. You can get up and leave now, and I will refund
your consultation fee as I cannot cure your problem. Or I can use this," he
tapped the menacing looking dildo, "on you here and now. But if you want
that, I will increase your fee. You will write me a check now for twenty
thousand pounds, you will remove your clothes and you will lie face down on
my desk. What is it to be?"

Within ten seconds, the fucked up hunk had furiously pulled out his check
book and scrawled out a check for £20,000 - ten times the original
consultation fee. Within thirty seconds, in a beautifully erotic flurry of
toned, tanned musclature, tattoos and sweat, he had stripped naked. Within
a minute, the hunky married soccer hero was straddled over Prew's large
desk, his chunkky bubble butt ass hoised upwards as it hungrily absorbed
the sizeable dildo.

"Your friends in Miami called me in advance," whispered Prew as he
ruthlessly drilled the handsome stud's arse with the obscene sex toy. "They
thought you might come here."

"Aaaaaaahhhh! YEAH FUCK MY ASS!" the helpless stud moaned loudly, his
beautiful chisled facial features contorted in a mixture of shame and pure
pleasure as his big, beefy ass received the filling and pounding it so
sorely needed.

"Oh, I will," smiled Prew. "And so will many others. Your body ... all of
it ... it's now property of gay men. Do you understand?"

"YES!" bellowed the dangerously horny hunk. "PLEASE! HARDER!"

Prew chuckled. "So, do you still want to be cured?!"

"FUCK NO!" howled the sex crazed god. "I need to be FUCKED!"

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that," Prew said slyly. "Mr. Beckham,
you have spent your career cultivating a gay following and teasing them
with those homoerotic photoshoots, with your cruel flirtations. You have
built your success on your perfect body, your strikingly handsome face and
your extremely muscular behind. All of those things no longer belong to you
... they are the property of an elite group of gay men now, to enjoy at
their pleasure. Do you understand? Do you agree?"

"YES!" cried Beckham. "FUCK YES! Use my fucking body ... every fucking day,
FUCK ME YES!"

Prew smiled. Not gay himself, but appreciating the sheer power trip of
having one of the world's most famous and powerful icons at his mercy, he
was more than happy to help out his influential gay friends. Part of him
almost felt sorry for Beckham ... despite being relatiely old at almost
forty, the guy was in incredible shape with a fantastic body and of course
that famous, perfectly chisled face ... not a single gay man on the planet
would turn down the chance to enjoy it. And to pay for it. With his
position and connections, Prew had secured 5% of the proceeds of whoring
out Beckham's big slutty ass.  It would more than pay for his retirement,
he mused, as the married hunk's seed spewed messily over his desk.