Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2014 00:24:21 +0100
From: Lidon Dyte <lidon.dyte@gmail.com>
Subject: David Beckham In Miami Part 2

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

Here is Part 2, let me know what you think: lidon.dyte@gmail.com


DAVID BECKHAM IN MIAMI - PART TWO

IN PART ONE : David Beckham, keen to secure the development for a stadium
for his new MLS team in Miami, has made a deal with Lidon Dyte, a
30-year-old business school dropout turned two-bit real estate investor.
The deal is that Dyte gets to enjoy the sexy celeb's fit, toned body for
one hour ... and Beckham get's Dyte's land so that his stadium can be
built.

So far Dyte and Becks have made out like horny teenagers, much to the shame
of the multi-millionaire soccer stud; Dyte has slowly undressed the
humiliated hunk to find that the star is going commando.

HERE IS PART TWO

Dyte stood up, with a stunned smile, and faced the soccer star, who by now
was looking down at the floor. His face red with shame, and his suit pants
now around his ankles, the hunky millionaire looked like he wanted the
ground to swallow him up.

"O...K," Dyte said slowly. "This just got a lot more interesting. Why are
you not wearing any underwear?"

Becks spoke softly, not looking at his tormentor. "Does it matter," he
pleaded. "Just do what you want to do, like you said."

Dyte cocked his head to one side, smirking. "Well ... I'm super-stoked that
you are so keen for me to rim you, suck you off and then have us snowball
your spunk," he said, as Beckham blushed even deeper at the realisaiton of
what he had just asked for, "but I do need to know why you turned up to
meet me with no underwear. I mean, were you ... actually hoping for
something like this?"

That last comment stung the hunky athlete to attention, Beckham fixing him
with a cold stare.

"No!" he thundered. "I had no idea you would be a fucking pervert."

"Then ... why?"

"I was going to surprise Victoria," Beckham said slowly. He fixed Dyte with
an indignant gaze: "My *wife*." The stud feigned a slight smirk, hoping
that emphasising his macho heterosexuality in contrast to the gay loner
would sting Dyte into backing down.

Dyte cocked an eyebrow. "But your wife is in Paris," he said. "At a fashion
show. It was on the news last night. I suggest you stop lying and tell me
the truth."

The handsome stud cursed his stupidity, sighing softly. Fuck it, he would
have to tell the truth.

"Look," he said. "I have papparazzi everywhere, every day. Photos being
taken all the time, whether I'm out shopping, getting coffee, or ..." he
trailed off.

"Or - going to a business meeting?" Dyte offered.

Becks nodded his head slowly. "Some of the press had got hold of this," he
said. "Not a big story. But knew they'd maybe try just to grab a shot of me
arriving ... here."

The stud fell silent. Dyte's eyes widened in realisation. He thought back
to those photos of Beckham in China, in those tight suit pants, knocking a
soccer ball around, falling over. The way his ass looked was phenominal,
almost too perfect. The next day, every gay website and blog was posting
the photos as comments poured in on how incredible his beefy butt had
looked.

"You knew the papps would be grabbing a photo of you this afternoon?"

Becks nodded.

"And ... and you didn't wear underwear ... because ... because, what? You
wanted your butt to look good on camera? Really!? How much fucking
differnce does underwear make?" Dyte was almost laughing.

Beckam was still looking at the floor. "Pressing your tongue into the roof
of your mouth," he whispered.

"What?"

Now the stud looked up. "One of Victoria's tricks. Pressing your tongue
into the roof of your mouth, as they take a photo. Gives you better
definition between your chin and neck. It's a tiny thing but it makes the
difference. She knows loads of little tricks like that. She saw a shot of
me in my suit at some FA awards and said that the outline of my boxers
ruined the line a little bit."

"Well, that wouldn't happen if you didn't wear such tight pants now, would
it Becks?" Dyte said mockingly. The shamed soccer hero felt like a naughty
miscreant, barely able to mumble: "I guess not."

Dyte decided to build Becks up with a bit of sympathy before laying on the
next humiliation. "OK. I see that," he said in a lighter tone. "You're a
businessman now ... " he trailed off to let the irony of that remark sink
in for a second, as the "businessman" contemplated his shirt thrown across
the room and his expensive Armani pants in a heap around his ankles -
"... and you depend on your image. So I can see that, yeah, you would do
certain things to make sure your image was the best it could be. That's
fine."

The two men stared at each other for a moment. A slight look of relief of
Beck's face - but slightly apprehensive as he sensed a further trap.

"So just tell me then," Dyte said. "Just say it, out loud. Say it in full
and we can move on."

Beckham bit his lip for a second before slowly speaking the truth that he
knew and that he knew Dyte wanted to hear.

"I am not wearing underwear," he tanned hunk breathed with a slight whine,
"because I wanted to make sure that if I got snapped, that I would look
..." (a cough from Dyte) "... that ... that my *ass* would look ... as good
as possible."

It slowly sunk in that Beckham had referred to his own ass seriously as a
sex object. That the soccer stud was actually aware of his ass and how it
looked ... and how to make it look good. Shit, thought Becks, Maybe I am an
attention whore.

Dyte said nothing as he slowly moved around behind Beckham, drinking in the
sight of that lithe back, beautifully decorated with ink with the
well-honed musclature and nicely tanned skin rippling underneath. He kissed
tenderly at the footballer's neck, shaming the hetero millionaire stud with
the tenderness of the intimate moment, enjoying the heavy discomforted
breathing. Then he kissed and licked his way down that amazing back,
admiring the intricate artwork on the way down. The nicely toned muscles
were firm and warm; a clean smell emanated from the soft tanned skin,
indicating that the star had recently showered. The occasional soft sigh
from the humiliated hunk.

He finally made his way down to where those amazing ass globes began to
shelf out from the lower back. Dyte moved back slightly to appreciate the
impressive sight: the way that muscled back tapered to a slim, sexy waist
(the soccer stud had certainly maintained his trim figure well after
quitting the sport) which then expanded out obscenely into those colossal,
powerful spheres, was truly incredible. The contrast between the graceful,
lithe athleticism of the upper body and the sheer brute masculine power of
the well-muscled bubble butt and thick, steely thighs ... wow.

Dyte could not believe his luck - he, a dropout nobody from nowhere, was
about to invade the big, muscled ass of one of the most famous, most
lusted-after celebs in the world. He savoured the moment as he connected
his tongue quite firmly, with the lower of David's spine, a little above
where those hefty globes began to rise. He pressed quite firmly - he wanted
Becks to anticipate what was coming, that the wet pressure he felt on his
lower back would be slowly slicking its way down between his taut steel
buns and down towards his tight, virgin hole. He wanted him to feel that it
was a penetrating pressure, and that it was only a matter of moments before
that warm, wet firmness would be inside his studly man ass.

As Dyte began to move into that ass, he had to force himself to tune out
the sensory overload. The steel muscle of those huge ass mounds pressing
against the side of his face, fighting and losing the battle with his
firmly-pressed tongue as it continued its invasion. The manly musk of the
hetero hunk, his own natural scent combined with the smell of the recent
shower, the perfect combination of aromas. As Dyte got deeper into the
muscled valley, the intoxicating odour of pure, 100% hetero man ass grew
stronger. The crevice was hairless - back, sack and crack, thought Dyte,
although Beck's pubes were neatly trimmed rather than completely shaved
off.

Dyte was now in sensitive territory, not quite at the knot of the hunky
millionaire's sphincter, but very close. Becks had been trying to supress
his moans at the intrusion but was losing the fight. The first horny groan
escaped from the sexy stud's parted lips, causing Dyte to smile slightly
into the ass he was eating. He now altered the motion of his tongue
slighty, darting it around a little, teasing with flickig and circling
motions and pressure as he approached the hole. Another moan from Beckham -
a little louder, a little longer, a lot hornier.

"Fuuuuuck," the soccer god moaned softly. "Maaaaan..." But it was nothing
compared to the reaction as Dyte drew his tongue over the tight anal knot
for the first time, tasting the tangy inner ass of David Beckham.

"MMMMMMMMFFFFFFHHHH!" Beckham jolted at the contact of his first
rimming. Dyte, expecting this, had taken hold of the hunk's beefy, lightly
haired thighs to stop the star moving away and Dyte from losing any ground
in his hard-fought battle for Beck's ass.

"Shhhiiiit ... Aaaahhhhh..." the hunk was practically writhing as the
tongue now darted back and forth over his sensitive hole.

After slicking up the hole for a few minutes to the increasingly horny and
vocal moans of the studly hetero athlete, Dyte began to probe into the hole
itself. He felt Becks tense up as the tip of his tongue began to push and
drill at the now slick wet hole. As he probed and pushed, slowly but
determindly, he began to produce even hornier sounds from the helpless
hunk.

The intensity of the sensations was driving Beckham out of his mind. He had
been expected to be slightly grossed out, but to be able to tune it all out
and move on. But the wet pressure and erotic motion of Dyte's tongue had
forced his ass into betraying him. Each flick and stab of that tongue was
sending jolts of pure sexual energy throughout every inch of his tanned,
muscled godlike jock body.

"Oooooh shiiiit ... fuuuucck.."

To his utter shame, his cock had began to rise and was now fully hard - the
impressive thick nine inches, testament to his hetero manliness, was stiff
and pulsating at the invasion of his hunky ass! Becks tried to tell himself
that it was just a physical reaction, that it meant nothing.

"Aaaaahhhhh... jeeees..."

The first glob of precum began to form at the flared piss-slit of that
mighty cut cock. Becks broke into a sweat. His big, heavy balls churned.

"Yyyeeeeessss," he breathed at last. "Fuuuck .... yyyeeeeeeeeeeeesss"

Dyte knew that was the sound of victory. No longer just loud moans or
cursing. Now the hunky footballer was completing his humiliation further,
acknowledging the pleasure, no longer able or willing to pretend that he
was not enjoying what was happening to him. As his tongue inched further
in, Dyte knew that the pleasure would intensify further.

"Shiiit man," Beckham moaned. "Pleeease .. oh god, pleease."

Dyte suddenly withdrew, leaving the stud shocked and gasping for air.

"Please, what?"

"Just ... come on. Please."

Dyte stood up and moved around to face the hunk. A combination of shame and
confused arousal was etched across the handsome, chisled face. Dyte ran a
hand through the perfectly coiffed, luxuriant hair on the star's head
finally brought his hand under the strong, handsome chin, lifting it
slightly so that the stud was looking at him.

"You want me to stop?"

Beckham's eyes dropped in shame as he slowly shook his head.

"You want me to carry on ... you're loving this aren't you." Becks said
nothing. "Well, your cock is hard as a rock and leaking. Come on, this will
be more enjoyable."

Dyte took Beckham's hand and lead the naked athlete over to the leather
recliner. Becks said nothing, his head bowed in shame. He looked quite a
sight, completely naked, allowing the fully-clothed Dyte to guide him by
the hand like a lost puppy. His massive cock bounced obscenely as he
walked.

The recliner had a curved, sloping seat with no arms. Layed back on it,
Beckham was at an incline, his head forced slightly up to look down the
rippling, tanned landscape of his famous torso. The pose made his abs
contract and stand out, just like in that famous Armani shot. And of
course, he was confronted with the shame of his still-hard dick.

Dyte arranged the stud so that his legs were handing either side of the
seat, spread invitingly.

"Now, let's get those impressive thigh muscles to work," said Dyte. "Lift
up your legs, stud, and hold them up."

Beckham complied in silence, hitching up those hefty, muscular legs,
pulling them up spread out towards him, and holding them in place with his
arms resting on the sides of the seat. Dyte moved to the base of the seat,
where that great ass now lay exposed. He drank in the sight - the
impressive V of solid muscle formed by the thick legs down towards the
butt, the fat cock flat against the rippled stomach. Those famous tattooed
arms, so used to posing in fashionable photoshoots, now straining in order
to allow a gay man access to their owner's virgin hole. The posture was
also putting a strain on the lithe muscles of Beckham's torso; even his
slight chest was standing nicely proud. The statuesque handsome head was
back slightly, that famous sculpted nose pointing upwards, the nostrils
flaring slightly at the laboured breathing of the fit stud.

Dyte leant down to the exposed ass, pushing the legs back slightly
futher. His tongue went back to work, flicking around the hole, circling
it, occasionally probing its silky tightness. Beckham no longer tried to
hide his pleasure.

"Fuuuck yeeah man," he whined in that softly erotic Brit voice. "Aaaah,
yeeeah."

"Say it," Dyte gasped between licks. "Say it."

"Aaahhh," the horny stud writhed. "Tongue my ass ... yeeah ... aaah,
fuuucck... feels fucking good man..."

The soccer stud's big balls churned, full of his hetero manly seed that the
straight hunk was getting desparate to shoot out of his thick, meaty
cock. He couldn't take much more. "Please man," he whispered between moans,
"I need to shoot. Fuuucck..."

Dyte stopped and stood up. Becks let out an involuntary moan of
disappointment. "Wait here," Dyte said, "and hold that position."

Dyte went to his desk. Becks obeyed the order, straining as he maintained
his whorish pose, his slender athletic torso covered with a sheen of sweat
from his exertions.

Dyte came back holding a white object, roughly cylindrical about the size
of a marker pen, with an intricate contoured surface. It glistened as if
wet - Dyte had coated it in a lubricant, but a special one that unbeknownst
to Becks contained a gel that had devastating properties.

Applied to any part of the skin, it increased sexual sensitivity and
capacity for erotic stimulation to incredible levels. The more sensitive
the area to start with, the greater the effect of the gel. Dyte had come
across it as part of one of his many failed business ventures; he had
partnered up with a chemistry grad looking to create a potent sexual
stimulant to rival Viagra by enhancing the erotic senses rather than merely
forcing blood into the penis. The gel was successful - but it relied on a
chemical prohibited by the FDA. The chemistry grad had taken it underground
and, to Dyte's knowledge, was distributing the stuff through illegal
channels in South America. Dyte had declined - he'd had his misfortunes but
wasn't stupid or desparate enough to get involved in anything outright
criminal. The gel hadn't caught on generally yet, but it certainly
would. It was just too powerful to keep down. Dyte himself had lost $50,000
backing the venture only to end up with nothing - except for a decent
supply of the prototype product.

He pulled up a chair and sat to Beckham's side. The desparate stud's eyes
widened as he saw the object and he glanced at Dyte with a mixture of
apprhension ... and hunger. Dyte smiled.

"Slight change of plan, Mr. Beckham," Dyte said mockingly. "Turns out
you're quite into having that big muscle butt played with, so we're going
to take it a step further. Don't worry, this little gizmo is lubed up and
will slip nicely into your hungry ass."

He leant over the naked hunk, bringing the object close to the star's
handsome face to show him it more clearly.

"See the design? It works so that when I turn it around in your ass ... it
will deliver the maximum pleasure."

Leant in close, Dyte could feel the hot, sweet breath of the hetero hunk as
he studied the glistening object. He looked again at that stunning,
handsome face, now sheen with sweat, flushed slightly red through
exhaustion at maintaining the awkward yet highly erotic pose he was forced
to adopt. He wanted to have a bit more fun with that sexy face first. That
beefy ass could wait for a moment - it wasn't going anywhere.

He moved in closer so that the object and his own face were in close
proximity to Beckham's hunky visage. Slowly, he traced the slicked up
object over the lips of that famous mouth, trailing the gel over
them. Becks closed his eyes slowly. Dyte used a finger to lightly rub the
gel into the soccer stud's lips. It soon began to have its effect as a sexy
low moan rattled from the straight hunk below him.

"Nice, huh?" said Dyte. "Now, you're going to look me in the eyes ... and
beg me to fuck your ass with this."

Beckham's inked chest, glistening with sweat, moved heavily as he
breathed. He opened his sexy, piercing eyes and looked directly at
Dyte. The gel had side effect away from the immediate area - it increased
general sexual arousal, giving rise to a particularly submissive
horniness. A desire to be taken. It was beginning to awake in Becks.

"Please," he said slowly through gritted teeth. "I need it. I don't know
why ... I'm 100% straight. But I need you to finish this. Please ... just
fuck my ass with that thing."

Dyte smiled as he moved just his hand with the object down to the hunky
athlete's exposed hole. He stretched down, remaining leaned over Beckham's
face. He wanted to see close up that famous, beautiful face as the object
did its work.

He slowly teased it into the tight, virgin hole, rotating it to spread the
gel and increase the erotic sensations. Beckham let loose a long, low moan
of surrender, with Dyte inhaling the hot, sweet-smelling breath of the
athelete as it escaped the sexy mouth. As Beckham writed and moaned, Dyte
decided to increase the intimacy of the moment, not wanting the hetero hunk
to forget that it was a gay man that was giving him this pleasure.
Nuzzling at the chorded neck, kissing and licking along that strong jawline
and chisled cheekbones, even deciding to suck and nibble lightly on that
well-sculpted nose. Beckham groaned at the realisation that his sexy,
statue-like facial features - seen around the world in commercials and on
billboards staring down at the little people with that intense,
smouldering, sexy look, teasing yet utterly out-of-reach to the minnions
who worshipped him - were now being humiliated and abused like the rest of
him for the gratification of a complete nobody.

At least when his ass was being eaten, he was receiving the pleasure, with
Dyte working hard (albeit very happily so!) to provide it. But everything
with the face - the hungry wet tongue lapping at his chisled features,
slicks of saliva left across that fleshy, perfectly-formed nose so that he
was forced to smell the other man every time he took a breath - was purely
for Dyte's pleasure. Even when Dyte leaned back to enjoy the horny
expressions as they played across those chisled features - the mouth
gasping erotically, the perfectly shaped eyebrows contracting above those
piercing sexy eyes as his manly brow occasionally furrowed with the
intensity of the stimulation, the cute way that the sexy scultped nose was
stretched slightly, the nostrils flaring, when Becks occasionally bit and
pulled down on his top lip - the display was a massive turn on for Dyte,
from which he got nothing. His famous handsome features being used to put
on a sexy show for a gay man he had just met - he was being manipulated
purely as a sex toy.  The stud flushed with pure humiliation and shame at
the idea!

Dyte did have to move back a bit thought, after a while, as the effect of
the gel took hold. Applied to the sensitive flesh of the superstar's silky
anal passage, the combined effect of the gel and the twizzling object were
causing the stud to howl loudly in pleasure. His cock was now impossibly
hard, leaking a steady string of precum which flicked onto his hard, hot
stomach and chest as it bounced around helplessly.

Completely lost in helpless, horny surrender, Becks could no longer hold
back with his words, prompted by Dyte's verbal encouragement.

"You're really fucking loving this, you slut," spat Dyte. "Tell me!"

"YES!" Beckham roared back. "FUCK! DON'T FUCKING STOP!"

"Stop what?" teased Dyte. "Tell me what you want me to keep doing!"

"FUCKING MY ASS!" bellowed the impossibly hot and horny stud. "FUCK
... AAAAHH! HARDER!"

"You love having your big ass played with, huh, Becks?" Dyte continued.

"SSSHHHHIT YESFUCKYES" cried the helpless stud. "SOOOO FUCKING
HOT... Aaaaahhh"

His last cry tailed off, his voice hoarse. "Please," he began to wheeze as
Dyte slowed down to a teasing rhythm designed to keep him painfully on the
edge. He looked at his tormentor, his sexy eyes pleading as his thick cock
leaked obscene amounts of precum, completely betraying its hetero stud
owner. "Please I need to fucking cum. I'm going fucking mad, mate. You win,
OK? Please I need to cum. God. Please."

"Weeelll," Dyte pondered as he continued the intense agonising slow fuck of
the star's hungry asshole. "The thing is, I know exactly what I'm
doing. I'm in complete control of your body, Becks. I can make you cum any
time I want ... I can take you to any level of horniness and keep you there
for as long as I like. And there's nothing you can do about it."

Beckham was almost sobbing now. He knew Dyte was completely right. Beckham
had walked into Dyte's office sharply dressed, full of confidence, almost
arrogance, cocky and feeling completely superior to this bastard who was
taking up his precious time. He had been mildly annoyed that he would have
to grace this nobody with his famous presence. He didn't know at that point
of course whether Dyte was gay - but that didn't matter. Straight or gay,
all men who were mere mortals were in awe of him and he knew it. It would
be a privilege for this little shit just to get a few minutes in a room
with me, he had thought, to shake my hand, actually touch my famous
perfectly tanned skin, and for me to grace his cheap office seat with my
world-famous ass clad in my Armani suit pants. Now his Armani suit was
crumpled on the floor, his sexy athletic body splayed out in full glory for
a gay man's pleasure, and his world-famous ass getting deflowered by a
pervert's sex toy. Worst of all, totally turned on against his will, the
tanned, inked, muscled hetero stud was crying out and begging like a cheap
whore for more!


IN THE NEXT PART: The hunky athlete is desparate to cum ... and there's
only one way Dyte's letting that happen! Beckham's humiliation is complete
as his horny lust forces him to BEG Dyte to take his cherry ... first, with
a slow, romantic fuck, the two men kissing passionately like lovers as the
hetero superstar is deflowered in the most shameful way ... and then doggy
style, Becks on all fours in front of the full-length mirror, with Dyte
grabbing hold of his expensive designer haircut to force the formerly
straight stud to watch himself being roughly taken!