Don't Drop the Ball

Sometimes, I have doubts about my own fetishes. Is it really a fetish, or is it a coincidence? Then I find myself walking somewhere and see a form down the stairs. All I can see is her legs and her boots, no hope of seeing anything more. And it still turns me on. So yep, that's a fetish.

There are a lot of things that we wonder about, that we're unsure if we really want to DO, or if we just like the idea. Are we afraid, or are we excited? 

Which brings me to dropping the ball. I really like that phrase... drop the ball. It can be used in so many contexts. I've never used it in the context of a gangbang before, I don't think. But hey, first time for everything.

Don't Drop the Ball

            Benny was shaking, uncertain whether it was fear or excitement. Not many people are ever involved in any form of gangbang. And even fewer end up as the bangee. It’s not a question of being a victim. Benny isn’t a victim; he volunteered. Even begged for it.

            It started a month ago, when Benny first met Roxanne. She seemed like a perfectly nice girl. A bit taller than most, a bit broader at the shoulder, but so well shaped that Benny hadn’t cared. In fact, the idea of a girl who might be able to overpower him, who was bigger and probably stronger than him, was really what had attracted him to her in the first place. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, but it was the idea of her kicking his ass in those beautiful dark blue Doc Martens that had given him the courage to ask her out in the first place.

            Their first date had been pretty straightforward, nothing worth mentioning. A good time, certainly, but nothing special. Not until the end of the night, anyway. Roxanne was about to get out of the car when she stopped and turned back to him. She’d asked him, with honest and frank curiosity, why he’d asked her out. And for some reason, Benny had told her the truth.

            “You looked like you could kick my ass,” he’d said with a shrug.

            “And you like that?”

            She hadn’t kissed him that night, or after their second date. He had been starting to think that she didn’t like him, that he had somehow freaked her out when saying that he liked the idea that she could beat him up. But on their third date, he discovered the truth. She hadn’t wanted to do anything until he knew who she was. Until he knew that she had been born male, and that biologically, she was still a man.

            Benny had been shocked, but not upset. He was surprised because it was so hard to tell. Even after she said it, he wasn’t sure he believed it. She just seemed so feminine. She had offered to show him, but warned him that she didn’t take her cock out unless she was going to use it.

            He’d shrugged at her, not sure how to take this, and agreed that was fair. “Get on your knees then,” she’d told him. And, not entirely knowing why, Benny had dropped to his knees. Sixty seconds later, he’d had his first cock in his mouth, sucking off the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

            And now, barely three weeks after giving his first blow job, he was getting ready to give a whole lot more.

            Roxanne had doused him in warm water and spread some kind of foam all over his body, one that had made every hair from the neck down fall out, leaving Benny smooth as the day he had been born. She had fastened a thick and heavy leather collar around his neck, then put a hood over his head. The leather smell permeated his nose and dug its way into his brain, and Benny was instantly as hard as he had ever been.

            Roxanne had put a small super ball into his hand. “You’re not really going to be able to talk,” she said. “So if you want to stop, just open your hand.”

            He’d nodded his understanding, and she had put a little ring of metal bound in leather into his mouth, just behind his teeth. He couldn’t close his mouth now if he wanted to. He’d moaned when she tightened the buckle behind his neck.

            “We’re going to play a game,” she’d said, showing him a thick mask of leather with snaps on the sides. “You’re not going to know if it’s a guy or a girl fucking you. You have to try to guess, or to wonder. Is that a real cock, or is it just a piece of rubber? You won’t know, at least, not until it spurts down your throat or up your ass. Won’t that be fun?”

            Benny hadn’t been able to respond with any kind of coherent sound. Roxanne had checked his hand to make sure it was still gripping the ball, then had snapped the mask over his eyes, plunging him into darkness.

            The ear plugs came next. Then the shackles at his wrists, the cushion under his hips, and the strip of leather around his cock and balls, tied tightly to the stool under him. Something was strapped to each shoulder, putting his upper arms into sheathes of leather and buckles, something flopping around the sides of his arms. Once his ankles were shackled down, there was nowhere for Benny to go. He couldn’t really move, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. And when the little cushion pressed under his chin, holding his head up and his mouth completely available, it had just hammered home the idea of what was about to happen.

            That was when he’d started shaking.

            It felt like hours had passed since then. Benny couldn’t hear anything but his own heartbeat. Even the sound of his breathing was muffled and seemed to be coming from a distance. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of light coming in through the blindfold, and he couldn’t feel any air on his face. He’d never really thought about how much he relied on that sort of thing.

            For all he knew, he was surrounded by hordes of men and women, people watching him shake and laughing at him, talking about all the terrible things they were going to do to him, about the trains they were going to be running on him, knowing that even if he could hear them, there was nothing he could do to stop them. Not anymore. They could be lining up, taking bets as to how many cocks it would take before he finally dropped the ball, before they left him in a pool of cum, wrecked and used up, torn apart and bathed in sweat and sex.

            There might be a dozen of them. A hundred.

            Benny wondered how long it would take before they finally started. How long had he been tied up? An hour? A minute? His muscles were already sore from the uncomfortable position and from the shaking. He was tired already, but he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to disappoint Roxanne, didn’t want to stop any of this from happening.

            He moaned loudly when the lube was first rubbed onto his ass. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment at the sound he made as soon as someone had touched him, and was grateful that the thick black leather made it impossible to see him blushing, glad that the earplugs hid any laughter at his expense, though his imagination provided plenty of it.

            Then something pushed its way gently into his ass, slowly working its way inside, a soft but insistent pressure. Benny suddenly wasn’t shaking anymore, but rather trying to push backwards, relaxing onto the cock that was pushing its way inside him, not caring if it was real or not.

            It had been excitement. Not fear. He wasn’t afraid, not anymore. There was no fear when the first cock slipped past his lips, between his teeth, and into his throat. No fear. He was certain that it was a real cock, could taste the tang of sweat and could smell the arousal of the man it was attached to as it began to move in and out. He moaned again, sucking as best he could, though there wasn’t much room for him to move or maneuver, not all that much he could really do.

            In fact, there was nothing he could do. He could feel the hands on his head through the hood, and he could feel and, obviously, taste the pounding cock as it slammed its way into his throat again and again. But all he could really do was relax. He could let the one behind him fuck his ass, could let the one in front of him fuck his face. And he could let the warmth at both shoulders pulse.

            It wasn’t until the first cock came, first down his throat and then out of his mouth, that he realized what was going on at his shoulders. With the scent of cock suddenly gone from his nose, Benny could smell the women on either side. He could smell their arousal, could smell their orgasms. And, he realized, he could feel their cum as it dripped down his arms. He imagined they were moaning as they fucked themselves on the two dildos that had been strapped onto him, one on each shoulder. He imagined them screaming in pleasure along with the thrusts of their pelvises against the harnesses that had been bound over his arms.

            He thought he could feel their fingernails digging into his skin, but suddenly had to wonder if those belonged to the girls fucking themselves on his shoulders or to the person attached to the new cock that had thrust its way into his mouth. The face fucking began again, and Benny couldn’t really tell if there was anyone pushing against his shoulders. His attention was locked on to the cock that was fucking his mouth, and the one that was pounding away at his ass.

            The cock behind him pulled out without a gush a cum, and another one replaced it almost immediately. It was as if they were making sure that his asshole wasn’t exposed to open air. He felt his ass gaping as the first one pulled out, and moaned onto the cock in his mouth as the second one thankfully filled him back up.

            Almost immediately, he felt himself cum, the orgasm sending him so high that he worried he would drown in a sea of pleasure. He might have floated away, but he had one thing to focus on, one thing he had to concentrate on. As relaxed as he could be, as much pleasure as he could feel, it was important, vital, that he not open his hand.

            He knew that the instant his fingers relaxed, the instant he let go, all of this would end. There would be no more girls fucking themselves against his shoulders, no more cock filling his ass and his mouth holes, no more cum, and no more orgasms. If he let go, Roxanne would stop it all. She would put an end to it, and he wouldn’t be wrecked and used up, wouldn’t be left in a pool of cum and sweat, reeking so heavily of sex that it would permeate his skin, leaving a constant reminder of the time he’d been fucked and fucked and fucked, relentlessly used like an object. He wouldn’t be sore from all the cocks, and he wouldn’t have lost count of how many people had used him. He wouldn’t have wondered if he’d ever get all the cum out of his ass, and he would probably never have this chance again.

            He held on tight, knowing what would happen if he let go.

            He focused on that, letting the pleasure ride him as hard as the people were riding him. The only thing he focused on was the ball itself.

            Don’t drop the ball.