Ball Boy - Part oneSubmitted by: J.A. Loftin
If you follow womenıs professional tennis you may have heard of me, or even seen me on television sitting courtside at one of the major tournaments. I am the fitness trainer of several top players. Occasionally some scandal rag runs a story linking me romantically with one of my clients. Whereas there may be a kernel of accuracy to some of the rumors they print as fact, if they really knew the truth, THAT would be a story.
I first became involved with the WTA when I was seventeen. My father was an executive with a major sponsor of the San Diego Women's Claycourt Championship, and he wangled me a ball boy position on center court. The job wasnıt hard, but sometimes it got pretty hot kneeling by the net and running after stray tennis balls in the summer sun.
The payoff was being in close proximity to many very fit girls and women, and watching them battle one another on the court. Often it was difficult to keep from staring toward the end of matches when the players' nipples would become visible through their sweat-drenched tops. I had a tough time hiding the nearly ever-present hard-on in my shorts - I was seventeen, after all, and this was pretty racy stuff to me.
Since I was a fairly decent amateur tennis player, another perquisite of the job was being a practice partner for one of the qualifiers. I was assigned to work with M. Now she is a world-famous star, who has won seven grand slam events and countless other tournaments, but then she was relatively unknown and had yet to advance beyond the third round of a professional tournament. She was only two years older than me, but much more mature ... and very forceful and determined.
I'm sure I must have seemed pretty goofy the first time I ever saw M - hang-jawed and tongue-tied, seventeen going on twelve. One look at her tall, willowy body, fire-red hair, and piercing green eyes and I was a goner ... hopelessly in lust, and in love. I stammered something more or less unintelligible about how pleased I was to be able to practice with her, then I ran out on the court gripping my racket for dear life.
M really put me through my paces that day, demonstrating her trademark speed and agility as she whipsawed me around the court with an amazing array of shots. After an hour or so I was starting to drag, but she appeared stronger than when we began. Eventually she noticed my fatigue and signaled me to join her at the bench along the ad-court sideline. When I arrived, she placed a towel on the ground in front of her and told me to kneel on it. I did as she instructed, then watched as she slowly poured a bottle of Evian over her forehead and flushed cheeks, then poured another over her torso. Her already sweat-dampened top began to cling to her body, her breasts and nipples stared provocatively at me through the translucent cloth.
Picking up a third bottle, she asked me:
"Would you like some?"
I nodded, too mesmerized by her beautiful tits to be able to speak.
Instead of handing me the bottle, she pulled up her skirt and poured its entire contents over her panties.
"Drink your fill," she said, winking playfully.
And, after only the briefest hesitation, I did. I sucked dutifully on her panties and her pussy underneath until no more water was left. When it was clear that the liquid was exhausted, she pulled her panties to the side, revealing her silky red pubes, and poured yet another bottle of Evian between her legs. As I lapped up this refreshing fluid, M began to wriggle and moan each time my tongue flicked her clitoris. This encouraged me to suckle her sex enthusiastically, which in turn caused her to buck and twist and, finally, shudder as she climaxed dramatically.
She pushed me away gently after her orgasm subsided, and for several minutes I just watched M sitting there with her eyes closed, luxuriating in the afterglow. Finally she stirred herself and gathered up her equipment in preparation to leave. She nudged my painfully-hard cock with her racket and mouthed a kiss with her lips.
"Be here tomorrow at the same time," she said. "After that, I definitely will be winning my match this afternoon. That little Hungarian bitch doesn't stand a chance."
With that, she turned and headed for the locker room. And she was dead-on about her match, she crushed her opponent 6-0, 6-0 in thirty-nine minutes flat. The next few days followed that pattern, with some variations. M would utterly humiliate the players she went up against shortly after being serviced by me in a decidedly submissive fashion. She cruised through the qualifying rounds, and then began working her way through the regular draw.
As she went up against tougher and tougher women, she escalated her dominant sexual demeanor with me. Before the quarterfinals, for instance, she inserted a butt plug in my ass, placed nipple clamps on my tits, and peppered my butt with a paddle as I brought her to several intense orgasms orally. Just as before, she rolled over her opponent, a formidable tennis player who was then number five in the world.
I suppose I should have balked as things got increasingly bizarre, but somehow it seemed natural. Even though it was not reciprocal, it was sex, something I had never experienced before. M touched a dark side of me that I didn't know existed; she unlocked my submissive nature, helped me embrace it, allowed me to revel in it.
As preparation for the semifinals, M repeated the recipe she had used for the quarterfinals, only substituting a flogger for the paddle. Again she was triumphant, although this time her opponent made more of a contest of it before finally succumbing.
Naive as I was, I managed to figure out that M would pull out all the stops for the final - she was facing the top woman player in the world. Although I knew I would be experiencing extreme submission and pain, I accepted it with equanimity, knowing I was somehow helping M raise the level of her game. After the practice session, M's plans for me began to unfold. She had me lean over the bench from behind the backrest, then she secured my wrists to the frame of the bench with scarves. Next she pulled my shorts and briefs down and off before enclosing one of my ankles in each of the cuffs attached to the ends of a spreader bar. While I was becoming accustomed to this extremely vulnerable position, M shoved a tennis ball in my mouth and tied it in place with another scarf.
She stood in front of me admiring her handiwork for a few seconds, and then she went to her racket bag to retrieve a riding crop, which she waved before my eyes momentarily prior to walking around the bench and putting it to use. Just knowing what was coming caused my cock to spring to life, and the painful series of blows that eventually came did nothing to diminish its arousal. M was careful not to mark me anywhere that would show when I was wearing shorts since I still had to perform my ball boy duties for her upcoming match. But that didn't stop her from brutalizing the areas that wouldn't be visible. Were it not for the tennis ball stuffed in my mouth, I would have howled like a banshee from the excruciating pain she inflicted upon me. As it was, I was reduced to making barely audible grunts as tears streamed down my face.
The whipping suddenly stopped, and a few seconds later M appeared in front of me. Her hands were behind her back and she was smiling mischievously.
"Look what I have!" she exclaimed as she displayed a long, thick, ebony-colored dildo before my eyes.
"What a memorable day this will be. You're going to lose your virginity and I'm going to win my first championship."
She walked behind me and soon I felt her slathering lubricant on my anus and teasing a finger inside of me. Mercifully, she eased that black monster into me, allowing my sphincter muscles to relax and accept it with minimal discomfort. Once it was in, she began fucking me with abandon. At first there was some pain mixed with the pleasure, but then it was all pleasure. Each time that dildo stroked my prostate, my cock quivered. Before long, cum was oozing from the tip of my cock as I raced toward the first orgasm of my life that wasn't self-induced. When it finally hit, everything went white and electricity coursed through my nervous system. My limp body draped over the bench after it faded, an occasional residual twitch the only movement I could muster. As I slowly recovered, I knew that my life would never be the same, that I could never be "normal" in the sexual sense.
I was roused from my reverie by M untying the scarf and removing the tennis ball from my mouth. She leaned down and kissed me, slowly and sensuously. Then she raised up, stepped out of her panties, and pressed her dripping mons into my face.
"Now it's time for you to kiss your mistress, my little ball boy," she said, smiling in anticipation.
And I set about pleasuring her with a new-found zeal. I wanted to repay her for everything ... the orgasm ... the opportunity to serve her ... the awakening of my true nature ... and my transformation. Our souls meshed inextricably as my lips paid homage to her center and coaxed four exquisite orgasms from it.
The final was a classic match-up of a dominant champion and a streaking newcomer. M's prediction notwithstanding, it was a tooth-and-nail struggle that wasn't decided until a tie-breaker at the end of the third set. While the battle raged, my attention was distracted somewhat by the burning stripes on my ass and the pleasurable glowing of my prostate. It was extremely exciting watching the two woman duel on center court for mental and physical dominance over each other while people from around the world looked on. At last, though, M broke her opponent's serve and then served out the match at 6-4, 4-6, 7-6 (11-9). Before she left for the award ceremony, M came over to me and told me to meet her afterward.
About two hours later we met on the practice court where so much had transpired. M's hair was still wet from the shower she had taken after she finally finished up with the award ceremony and the obligatory media interviews. She looked beautiful, happy, exuberant, sexy ... and self-possessed.
She came up to me and, without saying a word, kissed me passionately. It was so intense, I nearly swooned. She held me such that her thigh pressed against my cock, immediately causing it to become hard. When she thrust her tongue down my throat, I nearly came right then and there. I was barely able to stop from staggering backward as she released me and motioned for me to sit on the bench beside her.
"Ball boy," she said, reaching over and stroking my temple with her hand, "you're really good for me. And I think I'm pretty good for you, too."
As she spoke, she kissed her fingers and touched them to my lips tenderly.
"I want you to come on the circuit with me. You're just what I need to focus on winning. And besides, I'm getting very attached to you ... and I'm certainly getting VERY fond of having you service me."
"Of course I'd love to, but I'll have to work it out with my parents." I replied, my mind working overtime figuring out just the perfect way to present the idea to them so they'd say yes.
"I'm sure you can be very persuasive when you're motivated, and you ARE motivated, aren't you?"
"Oh yes. Oh yes," I said, grinning broadly.
"Okay, that's settled then. But first things first. Tonight I want to celebrate, and I want you to celebrate with me. Go home and get cleaned up. I'll send a limo for you at seven. Perhaps that will influence your parents' decision, n'est-ce pas?"
At seven sharp a limousine pulled up in front of my house and a chauffeur in full livery came to the door to fetch me. My parents WERE duly impressed and, for that matter, so was I. M was waiting for me inside the car, and she looked stunning in a simple black evening dress. Also in the car was M's cousin Denise, who looked as if she could be M's sister, only her hair was blonde instead of red. As we became involved in an animated discussion about the day's events, I was oblivious to the direction the car was heading until it slowed down as we crossed the border into Mexico and turned onto the road that leads to Tijuana.
Eventually it stopped at a hacienda-style adobe building situated in an area a long way from any town or any other structures. The evening sky there was magnificent - a vast black dome filled with sparkling stars - as it can only be in areas far away from pollution and electric light. Faint sounds of crickets and owls could be detected as the subtle aromas of the foothills floated in on the desert wind.
Inside we were greeted by a maitre d' who led us to a dimly-lit, well-appointed dining room with perhaps ten tables spaced such that you had the illusion that your's was the only table there. The acoustics assisted this sensory deception - no other conversation but your own could be heard. Along one wall in the middle of the room was a small stage temporarily hidden by shadows.
Immediately upon being seated, the first serving of a lavish ten course meal arrived. Extremely discreet waiters fluttered in and out, bringing food and refreshments and removing utensils and plates that were no longer needed. All the while that we dined, soft strains of flamenco guitar music hovered at the edges of our conversation. Exquisite food, excellent service, enchanting company and an understated, elegant setting combined to make the entire meal a truly wondrous experience.
After the table was cleared, colored lights gradually began to illuminate the stage. Soon thereafter a drumroll broke the silence, and a spotlight shone on two figures standing at the far side of the room. Closest to us was a petite woman with waist-length black hair. Intense blue eyes were visible through holes cut in a black velvet band tied around her head at eye level. She wore a black-lace bustier - which supported but left exposed her perfectly shaped breasts - charcoal thigh-high stockings, and black patent leather, spike-heel shoes. Her mons was accentuated with a wispy tuft of hair and a delicate, yet fully engorged, pink clitoris.
Behind her was a large man whose head was encased in a leather hood with an opening for the nose and a zipper at the mouth. A metal collar was secured around his neck and attached to it was a leather leash, which the woman held firmly in her hand. The remainder of the man's body was covered by a black satin cloak.
After a few seconds, the woman tugged on the leash and began leading the man forward. When they reached the stage, the guitar music became much louder and dramatic. The woman released its ties and slowly peeled the cloak from the man's body. Even before the covering was completely removed, it was obvious that the man was physically fit. Well-defined muscles were evident on the arms, legs and trunk of his massive naked body.
But the most remarkable thing about him was that there was a compact stainless steel cage covering his penis, below which his hairless scrotum hung inconspicuously. Inexplicably, I got the quickest and hardest erection of my life as I realized his sexual organ was locked up. In my peripheral vision I saw M's hand reach under her dress and begin stroking her sex.
The woman subtly touched the man's hand and he immediately knelt on one knee. She unzipped the mouth opening and inserted a penis gag with a dildo attachment, and then tightened the straps of the device at the back of his head. Next she lifted one leg over his shoulder and lowered herself onto the dildo. Holding onto his head for balance, she brought her remaining leg over his other shoulder and squeezed her legs together. She proceeded to ride the phallus vigorously in this fashion, finally bringing herself to a satisfying orgasm. Afterward, she leaned back slowly until her head nearly touched the floor. She remained in this position while she recovered from the climax, and then suddenly cartwheeled off the man with a flourish.
Again she cued the man with a subtle touch of her hand, causing him to lower his other knee and bend over; his arms and head rested on the ground while his ass was presented to her as an offering. From a receptacle in the shadows, she produced a flogger and began putting it to use on the inviting flanks before her. As each blow fell, the man's testicles swayed side-to-side between his wide-spread legs. Once his backside had attained a bright shade of pink, she traded up to a riding crop and balanced her creation with two dozen evenly-spaced red weals.
With a theatrical flair, she stood to the side and admired the fruits of her labor, languidly running one hand along the contour of his buttocks. When she was through displaying her handiwork, slowly and deliberately she stepped into a strap-on harness with an enormous dildo already in place. Without any further theatrics, she brought the tip of the dildo to his obviously dilated orifice and began working it inside. His rectum was able to accept the entirety of the shaft surprisingly quickly, allowing her to start fucking him energetically. It appeared that some form of clitoral stimulation was occurring as she pounded into him, because her eyes lost their focus and she emitted the guttural growls of a person in the throes of ecstasy.
Before long, she extricated the dildo and disengaged herself from its harness. This act was the man's signal to lie on the floor with his feet facing the audience. The well-choreographed scene continued to flow flawlessly as she knelt down, removed the gag, and lowered her crotch over the open zipper. She remained there, facing the audience, a penis whip in her hand, as the man's long tongue worked its way out of the orifice in search of her sex. While he dutifully pleasured her, she flogged his balls in-synch to his ministrations. They began to rock rhythmically as she whipped and he licked, until, finally, simultaneously she let out an animal-like wail of pleasure and torrents of cum began to spew from the cage enclosing his sex.
The stage lights dimmed and then a video began playing on a very large monitor that had descended from the ceiling. On the screen the same couple appeared, dressed as they had last been seen. There was one significant difference to the man's appearance, however; there was an enormous, unrestricted penis hanging between his legs. Within a very short time, the woman handed a clear plastic bucket of ice and water to the man. He immediately brought the bucket to his crotch and submerged his member in the icy liquid. The camera zoomed in close so that only the man's penis was visible - within a very short time it had shriveled to a fraction of its previous length and girth.
The camera followed him as he walked to a nearby table, on which rested a small tube, constructed of crisscrossed, heavy metal wire, that was attached to a hinged circular base. He set down the bucket, picked up the device, and began shoving his shrunken penis into the tube and positioning the base around the back of his scrotum so that his testicles were visible directly below the tube. When he did this, my cock twitched and seemed to get even harder; both M and Denise sighed involuntarily.
And with no further ado, he snapped the device in place and locked it with a delicate gold key. Even though the actual securing and locking was shown in slow motion, it was over remarkably fast. I suspect everybody in that room orgasmed at that moment, certainly everyone at our table did. It was extremely difficult to refocus on the screen as the hooded man walked to his mistress, knelt, and presented the key to her.
There was just enough light from the video to see M's face as she looked over at me and winked. She continued gazing at me, licking her lips absently as she did, which sent a chill through me - and brought my erection back to life - as I surmised what she was contemplating. Gradually the houselights came on and everyone began to leave. M, Denise and I headed for the limousine, each of us lost in our own thoughts as we went.
Kids, do not try the things depicted in this story at home. They should only be performed by trained erotica writers. And please note that all the above-referenced individuals are fictional characters and that the events of this story did not happen to me or anyone else.
Page last updated 00-Jun-21 by: Altairboy@aol.com