Balls

BALLS - CHAPTER TWO By Stephen Nikolai

I'll begin with the usual warnings. If you're under 18, go away. If you're not into homosexuality, bondage, and light s/m, then why are you here? Go away. If you enjoy the story, let me know. If not, then don't read the follow-ups. This is a fictional story-no, I don't know any gay baseball players, I've never slept with any baseball players, and I sure as hell never played ball. The "I" in this story ain't me. But thanks for thinking it might be.

For David.

Well, my dreams of playing in the majors didn't exactly happen, as you probably know. I played college ball for a couple of years, but I wasn't much of a student, and I wanted to get on with things. After sophomore year, I dropped out and got into the major league draft. The Expos picked me. I thought that would be great, since the Expos are usually hurting for pitchers.

Five years later, in 1995, I had bounced from the Expos to the Padres to the Braves to the Tigers, and hadn't gotten higher than Double-A. I was good enough to keep around but not good enough to move up. And I was damn sick of the life, the bus rides, the crappy fast food, the moldy locker rooms, and the secrets.

See, in pro sports, you can't be gay. No question about it. If they even think you might be queer, you're done for. So during the season I was Mr. Conservative: short-haired, clean-shaven, and straight-arrow. During the off- season I went up to Chicago, worked in a brokerage house, and let my hair and beard grow out. The only hint my teammates might have had, if they'd been observant, were the tattoos I'd gotten on my upper arms, thick ropes that encircled my biceps and made them stand out. But no one ever said a word.

By '95 I was tired of having to be two people, and tired of spending six months a year going without sex. When the season ended, I was frustrated and thinking of quitting baseball altogether, and with a record of 8 and 15, I didnt expect the Tigers to put up a fight. I didn't care. I just wanted sex, bondage, and lots of it.

I'd discovered the Internet by then. Thank God for the Internet. During the season I could get on my laptop and exchange nasty chat notes with bondage- minded guys all over the country--hell, all over the world. I put a message on a bulletin board the minute I got back to Chicago that September: "Victim seeking rapist. 25 years old, 6'1", 185lbs., well-muscled, athletic, Jewish, blond hair, hairy chest, tattoos. You name it, you can have it. No limits." Hell, I didn't care what happened, I just wanted a good working over, and I didn't care if I died in the process.

I got a lot of bullshit responses, but one, from a man named Victor, who sounded legit. He described himself as Arab-American, 38 years old, 5'10", 190lbs., hairy, bearded, muscular, etc. Just the type I was looking for. I told him that I was looking for a full-on kidnapping and rape scene. After inquiring about my mental health (I told him that was none of his goddamn business), he told me he would enjoy doing what I wanted. He would break into my house, tie me up, take me away, and abuse me physically and sexually. We picked a weekend, since both of us had 9-to-5 jobs, and he sent me an e-mail with his name, address, and phone number. I sent it back to him unopened, but he persevered. "Send this to a friend of yours. If something should happen to you, I want your friends to be able to find you. This will tell you that you'll be safe with me, and then you can relax and enjoy the scene." Well, I couldn't think of anyone to send it to, and I didn't want to feel safe with Victor, so I destroyed his information.

We'd also set up code words. When he walked in he would ask, "Are you Andrew?" (If he wasn't interested, he'd say, "Sorry, I thought this was someone else's house.") My response was to be "Yes, and who the hell are you?" if interested, and "No, you have the wrong house" if not.

It was a cool mid-October Friday night, and I was thrilled and terrified. I'd bought a shirt, slacks, and shoes at a thrift shop so Victor could destroy them (or whatever he had planned). I sat in my living room trying to read, but unable to concentrate. Victor had said he'd be there sometime after dark, but as the hours went by I got more and more nervous. Had he chickened out? Had he actually been lying to me? And what the hell was he going to do?

Around ten-fifteen I heard the garage door. I'd parked my car on the street and left the garage open for Victor so he could transport me in and out of the house without attracting attention. It closed firmly. I heard deep voices. Shit, had Victor brought someone with him? I'd never been in a three-way before. Suddenly this was looking like a bad idea.

I heard footsteps coming through the pantry, into the kitchen, and then up the steps into the living room. I sat in my chair, unable to move or even breathe. This was it.

Victor had described himself accurately. He had thick black hair that fell to his shoulders, a full beard, and thick muscular arms bulging out of his polo shirt. He wasn't tall, but he was impressively strong and quiet. He stood there and looked at me. "Are you Andrew?" he asked, his accent harking from somewhere in the Middle East.

I couldn't open my mouth. He narrowed his eyes and asked again, this time more emphatic. "Are you Andrew?"

"Yes," I croaked, "and who the hell are you?"

He took out a gun and held it gently in his hand, not pointing it at me. He hadn't said anything in his e-mail about guns. "I am Victor, or at least that is what I have been calling myself. You are mine for this weekend. You are my captive. Come along."

I hesitated, then stood up. "You didn't say anything about a gun," I said softly.

"And how did you expect me to take you? Just ask you to come and you would come along?" Now he pointed the gun in my direction. "You will come with me now."

I walked toward him. He came closer to me, put the gun back in his pocket, and before I could react had me in a headlock. "You thought you would like this," he said as he pushed me to the ground, "but you will be very sorry." Then he barked out something in Arabic, and I heard more footsteps. Another man was there! I looked up to see the other man, another Arab, taller than Victor (was his name really Victor?), with close-cropped hair and a long, flowing beard that grew to the middle of his chest. He was carrying a large amount of rope.

Victor said, "This is Abdul. He does not speak English well. But you will understand him. And you will obey." Then he tore my shirt off, ripping it from my body. He took rope and tied my wrists and elbows behind me. Abdul pulled off my shoes, then tied my knees and ankles. Once I was completely tied up, they relaxed their grip on me and turned me over to face them. They were smiling.

"What's going on?"

"Quiet, Andrew," Victor said. He took out a leather bondage gag and forced it into my mouth, buckling the straps behind my head. Then he undid my belt and used his knife to cut off my pants and briefs. I was naked now, naked and very scared, suddenly thinking that "rapist" was perhaps the wrong thing to ask for. At least Victor was gentle, and he seemed amused by my fears; Abdul looked like he might just kill me.

They conversed again in Arabic, then Abdul went into my bedroom and emerged with the heavy comforter from my bed. They wrapped me in it, then tied something around it to keep me inside the roll. And then, well, I'm not sure what happened because I was wrapped up in the bedroll. I know they carried me out to their car, and I know they put me in the trunk, and then I must have passed out.

The next thing I remember was being slapped awake by Victor. I came to and started to speak, but that damn gag was still in my mouth. I was still naked and I was tightly and thoroughly tied to a chair. Victor sat across from me drinking whiskey and humming to himself. When he saw that I was awake, he said, "Well, good job, Andrew, you've survived. I wanted to be sure you were alive before I went to bed. We will begin the torture in the morning."

I grunted something into the gag. "You should stop that. You could hurt yourself," he said, laughing at his own joke. Then he came over and touched me on the cheek. "I hope you said goodbye to all your friends at the stock exchange. You won't be seeing them again."

With that, he left. I struggled in my bonds, but they'd done a damn good job of tying me up. I wasn't going anywhere, and I sure as hell wasn't going back to sleep. They hadn't blindfolded me, so I looked around the room. It was a windowless storage room with a table, a bed, and a few chairs. It was filthy, with dirt on the floor and stains on the bed sheets. There was a bare bulb in the ceiling that was kept on at all times. I had no clue what time it was or even what day it was. It felt like I'd been tied to that chair for days.

Victor and Abdul were attractive men. Too bad they were thugs. Suddenly I made the connection: I'd told them I was Jewish. Shit! Normally I don't bother about that, since I rarely go to temple and haven't kept kosher since my teens, but holy shit! Now I struggled and tried even harder to get free, with no success.

After a while, Abdul came into the room and looked me over carefully. He came to the chair and untied me from it, though leaving my hands and feet tied and my mouth gagged. I was weak from sitting all night in the chair, so he dragged me across the room and onto the bed, face down. "Now rape," he muttered, lubing my asshole with something and quickly sticking his finger up my ass. He wasn't gentle, that's for sure. Well, I'd asked for "now rape," and I was getting it. He stood up and threw off his clothes, revealing a skinny body with hairy pecs underneath that huge beard. His legs and arms were thin but wiry, and his cock was nothing special, though I hadn't been with a lot of uncut men. He put on a condom (thank God), jerked himself hard, then slapped me on the ass. He knelt on the bed, pulled my ass into position, and stuck his cock where he wanted it to go, as hard as possible, shoving all of it into me.

There was absolutely no emotion in it. You imagine rape to be an act of passion; this was more like a required bodily function. He didn't hurt me, but he didn't seem to give a damn either. He fucked me hard, ramming my face into the thin mattress, then shot his load into the condom, pulled his cock out, picked up his clothes, and left me alone.

At least now I was on the bed and could move around a little. I rolled over onto my side and tried to rest. The rubber plug in my mouth was hurting me, and I was pretty much out of saliva. I couldn't have made a sound even if I'd been ungagged. And I couldn't help wondering what the fuck these guys were up to.

Then Victor came in. He was shirtless, exposing the hairiest torso I'd ever seen; he was covered with thick black hair from shoulders to waist, front and back, and my cock stirred to see him. He had a pitcher of water in his hands, and I was even more lustful for that. He sat down on the bed and pulled me into a sitting position. "You will be quiet, yes, if I remove the gag?"

I nodded vehemently. He unbuckled the leather straps and removed the gag, then poured a glass of water and held it to my lips. I drank gratefully. When I'd emptied the glass, Victor put it down. "You did not expect this, did you? You wanted ravishment, not rape, yes? I'm almost sorry I got you into this. But you were clear about what you wanted, so you can't go back now. It's a shame, too, such a handsome young man."

"Please," I whispered.

Victor slapped me across the face, harder than I'd expected, but his face betrayed no anger. He was perfectly calm. "Now is my turn," he said, putting the water and glass on the table. He pulled me down to the floor roughly, then sat in the chair on the other side of the room. "Come here and suck my cock. Do it right and you will live."

Simple as that. I looked in his eyes, trying to decide whether he was serious or just playing the game we'd set up. Was it still a game? I wanted to ask him, but my head was still ringing from that slap and I didn't want to risk another. Instead, I pulled myself to my knees and struggled across the floor till my head was in his lap. Victor opened his zipper and took out his cock, which was huge, thick, and uncut. He was already hard and oozing precum. "You may be a Jew, but you are a handsome one," he said, pushing my face into his crotch. I regained my balance, then began sucking his cock, using every trick I'd learned. Over the years I'd gotten pretty good at giving head with my hands tied, and I did my best licking and sucking for Victor. He moaned as I deep- throated him, grabbing the back of my head to make sure I didn't stop. After what seemed like forever, he finally began shooting his load, splashing it deep into me; I could feel it sliding down inside me.

"I am clean," he said, zipping his pants and pushing me away. "You did all right. I will bring you food. Ham sandwich," he said, in what I hoped was an attempt at humor. I just lay there on the floor, not sure what to do next. My arms ached from being tied up for hours, and the glass of water had only just begun to quench my thirst. I looked up at Victor, who stroked his beard and shook his head. "Poor little Andrew. Doesn't know what the fuck he got himself into. And never will."

With that, he picked me up again and threw me roughly on the bed. The gag went back into my mouth, but he untied my wrists and ankles and retied me in a face- up spread-eagle, using soft leather straps that had been in his pocket. He was forceful, grabbing me and pushing me into position roughly, but I detected a tenderness under the violence. I had the feeling I was going to have to depend on that tenderness to get out of this room alive.

I was there for a long time. I have no idea how long. There was no clock in the room, no window, and no way for me to gauge time. Finally Abdul came in carrying a small paper bag. He untied me from the bed but made it clear that I was not going anywhere. He pulled me to the chair and tied me again, this time with my hands in front. "Food," he said in his heavy accent. "You eat." It seemed bizarre, but they'd gone to McDonald's, probably figuring that a stupid American like me wanted that stuff. Either that or it was another punishment. In any case, he sat down, watching me carefully and stroking that long dark beard of his. My hands were tied in front of me, with a rope connecting them to my knees that allowed just enough freedom for me to reach in front and grasp the bag. Inside was a Big Mac and fries that were still a little warm. I smiled at Abdul and said "Thank you." He did not acknowledge this. I began eating, trying not to eat too fast despite my hunger. Abdul saw that I couldn't reach the Coke he'd bought for me, so he pushed it closer. Again I said "Thank you," and again he did not respond. When I finished, he took the trash away and left me tied to the chair. I tried to look into the house when he opened the door, but he was too fast for me.

Left there with a bit of mobility, I tried to see if I could untie myself, but he was an expert. Besides, I thought, even if I got loose, they'd only punish me for it. After a few moments, Victor came back in. He'd gotten dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and he asked me if I was all right. "Um, I guess," I said.

"Of course you are not comfortable," he said. "You are not hurt?"

"No, but--"

He interrupted me. "That's enough. Abdul and I have decided that we will not have to gag you. The room is isolated enough. No one can hear you. This privilege will be taken away, however, if you abuse it. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Victor reached in front of me and untied my hands, then pulled them behind me and began tying them again. "Please," I said. "Can't I be in some other position?"

"Later, perhaps," he said. He blindfolded me again, then left me in the chair. Again time went by. I couldn't hear a thing outside the room. If Victor and Abdul were talking or watching television, or if anything was going on outside the house, I couldn't hear it. This wasn't rape. This was fucking boring, and I wasn't even scared any more. I was pissed off. I began working hard at untying myself, and I must have made some noise, because Victor was back in the room in a flash. "What are you doing?"

"I hate you," I said. I was tired of being polite and playing the victim. "I want out of here. I don't care what day it is, I want to go home!"

Victor slapped me again. "Shut the fuck up! You gave yourself to me for the weekend, you will obey. I was going to bring you water, but not now." And then he lapsed into Arabic, probably condemning me to some hell that looked a lot like this room. I was near tears now, exhausted and aching from being tied up for so long. I wanted a shower so bad I'd have done anything. After a moment I heard Victor leave the room, closing the door behind him.

Then I heard arguing. They were loud enough for me to hear, and while I had no idea what they were saying, it sounded like Abdul was pissed at Victor, who was losing the argument. I'd figured out that Abdul was the one in charge of whatever they did. At the end of the argument, Victor said, "Fuck you!" and I heard a door slam. Then I heard the door to the room open. Both of them were angry about something and I was afraid of what they might do to me in a bad mood.

"Andrew," Victor said softly.

"Yes?"

"I did not expect this to happen. Abdul is very angry. We found out you were a baseball player--"

"How did you find that out?"

"Never mind that now. We thought you were rich, like the famous players."

I realized what the whole thing had been about. "Oh, shit. You were expecting ransom or something."

"Yes." Victor came over and removed my blindfold. He looked very sad. "I am sorry, Andrew. Now that Abdul knows you have no money, I am afraid..."

"Oh, my God. Victor--what the hell can I do? Anything. Tell me."

Victor just shook his head. He came over to me and embraced me, his big hairy arms around me. He made no move to untie me, but just held me, then turned his face to mine and kissed me softly on the cheek. For some reason, I responded to his gentleness, and we kissed again, his beard brushing against mine as our lips and tongues met. His hand stroked my chest and my cock, for the first time all weekend, responded. "I'm so sorry," he said again, but I didn't care. His hand went for my cock and he whispered, "You didn't even get to come, did you?"

He started jerking me off, nuzzling his warm body against me and kissing my neck. I wriggled in my ropes, enjoying the attention, totally turned on not only by Victor's presence but by the danger in the situation. I was scared, but somehow Victor made me feel safe for just that moment.

Then Abdul walked in. He growled something in Arabic, then took out a gun. "Oh, shit," I said. Victor moved quickly away from me and stammered something in Arabic that sounded like an apology, but Abdul wasn't buying it. The gun was aimed at Victor, not at me. "Victor," I said softly.

Victor looked at me. "I'm sorry," he said. Abdul motioned for Victor to leave me and follow him into the other room. They closed the door, leaving me alone. This time I had to get free. I worked like hell trying to untie my hands, but they'd done a great job. My cock was still half hard, wondering what the hell was going on out there. I didn't hear a thing for what seemed like an hour.

Then the door opened again. Abdul walked in and looked at me. "You fuck," he said quietly. He walked over and untied me from the chair, though he left my hands tied behind me.

"What have you done with Victor?" I asked.

Abdul slapped me, then smiled. "You see," he said. Then he took the leather gag and stuffed it back in my mouth, buckling it tightly behind my head. His long beard brushed against me as he laid me down on the bed, tying my knees and ankles together with the rope he'd just removed from my body. Then he pulled me into a brutally tight hogtie, roping my elbows to my ankles and pulling me into a painful position. I moaned, but Abdul only laughed at my predicament. He left me on the bed, and I struggled for a bit, but I knew it was futile.

Then he led Victor into the room. There was no need for the gun now. Victor was tied up! He had a leather gag in his mouth just like the one in my mouth, and his upper body was bound tightly, his hands secured behind him with heavy rope. Victor looked at me nervously, and I tried to reassure him with my eyes, but there wasn't much I could do.

"You together," Abdul said in his accent as he set Victor on the bed next to me and proceeded to tie his legs, pulling him into a hogtie every bit as tight as the one I was in. Victor groaned with every knot, and it was obvious he wasn't used to being bound and gagged. When Abdul was finished, he pushed me over onto my side, then pushed Victor and I together, face to face. "You together," he said again, then said something in Arabic that made Victor go pale.

Abdul took another length of rope and tied it around my waist, then tied it around Victor's waist so he and I were face to face, lying on our sides, unable to move or help each other. The tightness of the hogtie meant we couldn't even enjoy each other's company. "Good night," Abdul said. "You die tomorrow."

He closed the door behind him as he left. Victor and I faced each other. Well, I thought, if we're gonna die, we may as well enjoy the last hours. I nuzzled his face as best I could, and he moaned. He was scared, I could see it in his eyes, and I gently touched my face to his, rubbing my nose against his, trying to make him comfortable. He responded after a moment, and I could feel his cock growing hard and rubbing against the hair on my stomach. My cock was getting hard too, and I was longing to cum. We rubbed together intensely, our bound bodies intimately connecting, Victor's thick fur brushing against my lighter coating of hair. And every movement, when you're hogtied, reverberates against your entire body; if you move one muscle in your arm, every other body part feels it, and now every movement Victor made echoed in my muscles as well.

Finally, I was getting close, and I moaned into my gag. Victor stopped moving and just gazed into my eyes, his dark brown eyes burning a hole in mine. I longed to kiss him, to be untied and free to touch him. And with that thought, I shot my load all over the both of us, coming all over the place, one of the biggest loads I'd ever had. Victor seemed to smile as he touched his bearded chin to mine, and then he shot his own load right where mine was. We had a big sticky mess between us, all over the bed. I thought of Abdul punishing us, and then I got scared again.

We must have fallen asleep in our ropes. I was startled to feel myself being moved, and when I opened my eyes I saw that Abdul had cut the hogties loose and tied Victor's feet and mine together. Victor was now lying on his back with me still tied to him. Abdul said simply "Fun" and began to whip me. I've never been into whipping, and I'm still not. This just hurt like hell, and every blow forced me into Victor's soft, hairy body. After about twenty strokes Abdul turned us over so that I was on my back, and Victor got twenty of his own. I looked over at Abdul, who was naked and stroking his hard cock. He reached over and grabbed Victor's ass, spread his hole wide, and began fucking Victor, who groaned painfully into his gag. My ass was sore, my whole body ached from being tied up for two days or longer, and now Victor was being shoved into me.

Finally Abdul finished fucking Victor, and he untied the ropes that held us together. He untied Victor's feet and legs, and pulled him into a standing position. "Now die," he said, pushing Victor out of the room. I writhed and struggled, trying to get free, trying to do something to save Victor, but I wasn't any closer to untying myself than I had been the first day.

Then I heard the gunshot. I screamed into my gag. What the fuck was going on?

Abdul returned. He looked at me and stroked his beard, holding the gun in his hand. I was whimpering now. He untied my legs and knees, then harshly pulled me to my feet and marched me out into the other room, the first time I'd seen it. I was terrified of what I might find out there, but it was just a normal living room with chairs and a couch and a TV, nicely decorated. What was going on? Then Abdul removed my gag and untied my wrists.

And in walked Victor with a plate of sandwiches and three cups of coffee on a tray. "Did we get you?" he asked in a new voice, one with no trace of an accent.

I couldn't respond. "I think he's still trying to figure us out," Abdul said, laughing a bit, with a bit of a Southern accent.

"What is this?"

Victor put the tray down and took me in his arms. "Hi. Did you enjoy your weekend? Or did we overdo it?

"What the fuck?" I still couldn't grasp it. Abdul came over and gave me a hug, his thick beard brushing against me. "You're not killers?"

"Hell, no," Abdul said. "My name isn't Abdul, it's Dave, and I'm from Pittsburgh. Vic's from Cleveland. We just like having fun. And you seemed like someone who wanted a big scene to play."

"But holy shit, all that kidnapping crap, you really had me going." My heart was pumping so hard now. I was angry at being deceived, or was I just angry that I'd fallen for them? By now they had bathrobes on, and Abdul, or Dave, whatever, was handing me one. I put it on, then sat down for lunch. "What time is it?"

"It's about two p.m. on Sunday," Victor said. "I'm sorry. We really fucked with your head, didn't we?"

I could only nod. They both apologized, and we talked for a long time. They were lovers, of course, and liked to have three-ways with guys like me. Dave brought out some salve for my rope burns, and Victor made sure I had plenty to eat and drink, and later that afternoon we had a nice three-way with no ropes at all. They turned out to be nice guys, and we've kept in touch. But now that I know who they really are, well, I'm not as excited, if you know what I mean. Who wants to be raped by a nice yuppie couple from Downers Grove, Illinois?

But I'll never forget how I felt in that storage room, tied and gagged and awaiting my execution. That's what a good top can do for a hot guy like me.