Message-ID: <37280asstr$1026443404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Reply-To: "Trader_32" <Trader_32@yahoo.com>
From: "Trader_32" <Trader_32@yahoo.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 11 Jul 2002 19:05:32 CDT
Subject: {ASSM} Story: Str8 Boy Forced to Take Anal Beads
Date: Thu, 11 Jul 2002 23:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Just wrote this story.  If anyone has any comments or suggestions and wants
to hear more, send me an email.  Trader_32@yahoo.com.

TWO BALLS

Do I feel guilty about it?  Hell no!  It's just a job like any other.

The scenario was usually the same.  The guy would be in his twenties --
typically a former high school jock/pretty boy -- who married right out of
school and found himself with too many mouths to feed and no money.  He'd
typically do blue collar work for a living and spend his weekends arguing
about ESPN with his buddies and perusing Hustler magazines when no one was
looking.  I'd listen to his sob story for a while -- faking concern, of
course -- and then hand him my business card and make the offer:

I'll give him $2000 dollars.  All he has to do is  come to my house for two
hours and let me insert two golfball-sized rubber balls (connected by a
cord) into his rectum and pull them out.  That's it!

The response was always the same.  Laughter, surprise, shock, and then
disgust.  Some guys would call me names like "sick faggot" and "fucking
freak", and others would simply get up and walk away.  Yet, each of them
would call me a few days, weeks or months later and go into what I called
the "negotiation phase."  They'd ask if the offer still stood and then give
me multiple reasons for why they couldn't possibly do something like that.
After several minutes of "negotiating" and the realization that I would not
budge, they would use profane language and slam the phone down.  Some
threatened to kick my ass if they ever saw me again.  At this point, I would
begin making arrangements.  Several days later (sometimes sooner depending
on their level of desperation), they would call me back and ask when they
could show up.

Every guy laid down one requirement.  Absolutely no one could ever know this
took place.  Each of them was married, completely heterosexual and could not
take any chances.  They repeatedly told me that if they didn't need the
money so badly, they'd never agree to anything this "sick."

I did my best to assure these straight boys that only I would know and that
I would certainly never jeopardize my reputation in the community by telling
anyone about it.

When the doorbell rang, I glanced at my watch.

"2:00 right on the nose," I thought.  I opened the front door and invited
Brent in.

"Thanks," the young man said nervously, peering around the living room as
though the walls would come alive and devour him.  "I've really got to make
this fast, man.  Like we agreed, no more than 2 hours and NO ONE will ever
know.  Right?"

"Absolutely, Brent.  Don't worry about it.  It's really not a big deal.
It's the easiest money you'll ever make.  Just two little balls up your
butthole and right back out.  No one will ever know."

Brent had both hands in his pockets and looked like he could be delivering
newspapers if he were 20 years younger.  I glanced up and down his body,
feeling a rush of excitement that I was going to see him buck naked in a few
minutes.

"Can I see the money?"

"Of course."  I pulled a mirror off the wall and exposed a safe with a
glass-covered front door.  "There's $2000 right there.  It'll be yours by
4:00."

Brent stared at the money for a few seconds, as though he could teleport it
through the glass.  He took a deep breath.  "Ok, then, what do I have to
do?"

I had compiled quite a bit of information on Brent before today's meeting,
as I did before every session.  Twenty-six years old, sandy blond hair, blue
eyes, 5 11 and weighing 180 lbs.  Married for six years and two kids.  He
loads crates onto trucks at multiple warehouses throughout the week and
works as a security guard at the treatment plant on weekends.  He was a wide
receiver in high school and won a few trophies on the swim team.  Although
he planned to go to college for law enforcement, knocking up his girlfriend
meant getting a job and eeking out a living in this small town.

The years of hard labor had given his baby face a slightly rugged look and
his hands were brawny.  He seemed both rough and innocent at the same time.
I looked him over quickly, taking note of the baggy white t-shirt, blue
jeans, tennis shoes and blue baseball cap with "NY" on the front.

"Right in there," I said.

When Brent took his first look inside the room, his face turned ashen and I
thought he might run.  "What the fuck is this...?" he said, his voice
trailing at the end.

Standing behind him, I admired the way his t shirt outlined his shoulders
and back and his jeans hung lazily around his hips.  They looked like they
would drop to the ground with a slight tug.  I could feel my excitement
level rising as I grew curious as to what was under there.  How many people
knew the answer to that?

The room was covered on all sides with stainless steel and had a steel table
in the center which resembled a dentist chair with leather wrist straps at
the very top and two stirrups for legs.  I designed the room myself to be as
cold and uncomfortable as possible.  Just putting your hand on that icy
table made you shiver.

What he didn't see, of course, were the 15 small cameras hidden at various
points in the ceiling, walls, floor and table.  Each provided video to
paying customers all across the country and globe.  For just $500, each
customer received detailed bio information on the "performer," including his
name and contact information, and was able to video tape the events and use
them as they liked.  As I saw it, it was a pretty good deal for all of us.
To show my generosity and increase ratings, I gave discounts to former
classmates, neighbors and coworkers.

"I know it's a little spartan," I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.  "We
can do it on the couch, if you want, but I'm afraid someone might see us."

Brent hesitated for a few seconds and then stepped in slowly.  "No.. this is
ok, I guess," he said, reluctantly.

"Ok, great."  I closed the door behind us and turned on all the bright
overhead lights.  For a minute, I imagined all the people the world over who
were relaxing in their homes and watching.  Most, I guess, were studying the
bio and making sure their recording devices were working.

"You can take off your clothes and set them on the floor," I said.

"All of them?" he said, still trying to negotiate.

"You can keep your socks on," I replied.

Brent nodded nervously and took off his baseball cap.  His dirty blond hair
was plastered to his head and made him look even more boyish.  He kicked off
his shoes and said softly with a forced smile, "floor's cold."  I nodded,
but never stopped watching.  As he slowly raised his t shirt, his eyes
locked onto mine for a few seconds as though he thought he could stare me
down.  Knowing who was in control, I never blinked as he pulled the shirt
over his head and dropped it into a crumpled heap on the floor.  After that,
he rarely looked me straight in the eyes and his shyness seemed to increase.
He unbuttoned his jeans, pushed them down to his ankles, and stepped out of
them.

I immediately felt a familiar rush of raw power as the nervous young man
slipped his thumbs into the worn elastic of his graying briefs and pushed
them down to his ankles.  He stood up quickly -- giving me and everyone
watching -- our first complete look at his naked body.

I was instantly pleased with my choice.  His shoulders were broad and
muscular and his meaty pecs were crowned with dark quarter-sized nipples.  A
line of dirty blond hair ran down his stomach -- which still showed signs of
his former washboard abs -- and burst into a dense bush of curly pubic hair
sprouting around his sex organs.  His cock wasn't the largest I'd ever
seen -- about four or five inches -- but it was thick, with a bulbous
mushroom head, gaping pee slit with moist lips and a dark circumcision ring
which ran unevenly around the shaft.  Although soft, it mostly pointed
straight ahead, unlike longer dicks which pointed down.  His testicles hung
lower than I had expected -- the left one about an inch lower than the
right.  They looked like two large eggs suspended in wrinkled leather sacks.
Once on the table, they would have to be secured out of the way to not
interfere with my work on his virgin hole.

"Good man," I said, gently sliding his clothes out of the way with my foot.
"Now climb up on the table, put your feet in the stirrups and your wrists
together over your head."

"Can I see the balls first?" he asked, his voice slightly trembling.

"Perfect," I thought. My clients love talkative young men who wear their
emotions on their sleeves.  I could tell this boy was going to put on a good
show.

"Certainly," I replied, pulling them from my pocket and placing them in his
outstretched hand.  He examined them closely -- two red rubber balls --
about the size of golfballs connected by rubber tubing.

"You're going to use a lubricant, right?" he asked -- sounding like a little
boy afraid of being punished.

"Only if you'd like."

"Yea, definitely."

"There's really nothing to be afraid of," I assured him, my eyes wondering
from his face to his exposed penis and back.  "Have you ever shoved anything
up your butt before?"

"What do you think?!!" he snapped, indignantly.

"You'll wish you had...," I thought.

I rolled the rubber balls around in my hand and played with the small
attachment that allowed me to inflate them once inside.  A friend of mine in
Chicago made it for me.  You can't get this kind on the market.

"Ok.. jump up on the table."

Brent took a deep breath and placed a hand on the cold metal.  As he lifted
his leg to climb onto the table, I got my first look at his bubble butt.
The cheeks were firm and smooth, except for a burst of dark hair fanning out
from his crack and spreading across the lower part of the globes and the
upper part of his legs.  I considered asking him if he had been the first
boy in his class to grow a mat of hair around his butt hole, but decided not
to.

"This is fucking freezing!" he yelped as his ass cheeks pressed flat against
the metal.

I liked keeping the room nice and cold, because it made the guys' nipples
protrude and caused their sphincters to constrict, which ensured a better
performance for my customers.

"Put your wrists behind your head and your legs in the stirrups."

Brent raised his wrists, exposing the tufts of hair in his armpits and
causing his nipples to stretch slightly over his pecs.  I secured his wrists
into place and them moved between his hairy open legs.

He looked akward and uncomfortable with his legs raised and apart and his
penis and testicles hung low, masking the hair between his balls and hole.
I fastened the restraints around his ankles and watched him tug to see if
the could break free.

"Ok.. let's get started."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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