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A Man's Decision 3
"Troy, Punk Boy"
by Emile
2009. This is a work of fantasy. You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.
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After I shaved, I looked at myself in the mirror and it was obscene - my hair was shaved to the scalp on both sides, leaving only a furry strip of dense hair that ran from my nape to my forehead. I felt like a punk kid. The 'snatch fuzz' as Rob called it had been trimmed to two inches long, and Rob had made me sure I dyed it bright, hot pink. With my angular jaw and clippered barrel chest, it was a real mindfuck - like a guy that would steal your wallet - and the tattooed sleeve and barbell piercing skewering my tit made me look even more like punk trash. But wasn't happy with just a punk look, he wanted dick trash too. The shave down didn't stop on my skull - he also insisted I shave smooth my hairy armpits, my belly, even clean up around my dickroot and arse, leaving just a V shaped wedge above my crotch. I'd heard of "manscaping", but I didn't know any straight buddies that would expose themselves like this. Naked, it was like I was advertising sex, and humiliatingly, when I saw myself, it only made my dick throb and leak more. It had been a while since my pork roll had spurted too, and it was fat and heavy in front of me. It looked bigger against my smooth skin, but the worst was the contrast between the fleshy brown cockskin and my blindingly hot pink crotch. Yep, Rob had dyed my man thatch pink as well! In public I still looked formidable - my hairy arms legs and chest bulging out of my clothing, only the mohawk and sleeves giving away another edge - which made it even more uncomfortable for me, my sore hole squeezed between smooth buttcheeks, now constantly moist with sweat from clenching, and my pornographic dork, highlighted against shaved flesh and its hot pink root.
Rob sauntered in, naked, dick swinging. "Hey Troyboy, so where should your first outing be" he chuckled, giving my ripe dork a squeeze. A dollop of precum spat out onto his hand, which he wiped on my hair. "How 'bout a swim at the Y?" he asked, holding up a bathing suit. No, actually, it was more of a thong - small, white, with a faggy red cross on the front. String back. He saw the horror on my face. "Ha, just kidding mate" he chucked again "for now anyway, like I'd be caught dead there! He stepped in the shower and turned the water on high, sudsing up his beefy body with broad soapy swirls. Nah the football's on, I figured we could still catch the game." I breathed out, relieved. "Maybe we can even get Joel Gonzalez's autograph this time" he added through the clouds of steam.
I walked out of the shower feeling pretty good, dick swinging as I padded around the flat. I mean, that what guys do, watch football games, that kind of shit, so what if I had a mohawk. How bad could it be? Then I got to the bedroom, and saw the clothes on the bed. The label on the bag was some Gen Y kids surf shop, I figured that's where the swim suit had come from. But there were other clothes too - laid out on the bed deliberately. It was 80's punk trash - a wide necked singlet, dog collar, black denim shorts - like skinny jean cutoffs, wallet chain and adidas trainers. Nothing else. He had to be kidding! I wasn't 15, and how the fuck was I supposed to fit my beefy thighs and swinging package in those spray on pants? I tugged the clothing on, my pecs pushing out the singlet like a second skin, nips highlighted against the thin fabric, while the pants could barely contain my hefty meat and veg. Eventually I arranged my cock so it pointed down the inner thigh, the only position in which it wasn't obscene, and slipped on the trainers. Then I picked up the wallet chain - the long chain had a keyring on one end and a long chrome. I was still staring at it, trying to figure out how to put it on, when Rob sauntered in, towelling off his growing hard-on. "Hey hey, you found it! It's a special chain just for you. That little prong is to plug your pisshole, stop you having any accidents..." I stared, slackjawed. It wasn't little at all, it was a fat, long chrome fucker, and he wanted me to ram it up my pisslips? But he just grinned, and started dressing himself in a team shirt for the game. I pleaded with him, that the chrome would rip my fragile skin apart, and damage my dickstalk for good. "Okay Troyboy" he shrugged, "but if I hear one complaint, you better plug that thing in, or I'll shove it in myself, and I won't be so gentle about it...". He slipped on his baggy pants, which still managed to give a vague outline of his hanging dork, without being nearly as filthy looking as me, and made for the door. I slipped the prong into my pocket, chain hanging down punk style, and we left.
As we drove to the game, Rob did his best to get me all hot and bothered, fingering my iron hard cock through the tight pants as I drove. Of course, trapped between my thighs with no-where to go, it soon became painfully constricted, and the seat became sticky as my prefuck slaked down the underside of my dork and dripped between my legs, coating my ballbag and the seat of the shorts. I just prayed none would leak through. We got inside just as the pre-game music began, and Rob sent me for beers. I ordered two large beers and walked to our seats, painfully rubbing my own dick raw as I went. When I got to the seats, Rob was unhappy. "That shit is like piss" he said, looking at the yellow liquid. "Here, get some of the premium stuff" I put down the two plastic cups and went back. When I returned, the game had started, and Rob was sprawled over the seats, forcing me to sit half hanging over the seat edge, balls uncomfortably mashed against the rim of the seat. The first part of the game was pretty uneventful. We chugged our beers, game was slow, and I began to relax. The beer was going straight to my head - partly the strength, partly the lack of food. Then as I finished, my bladder began to feel full. I held on, figuring I would go to the bathroom when I got the next round, but Rob just leant down and handed me one of the warm weak beers from earlier. "Here Troy my man, drink this." I was forced to chug the second beer, warm from being in the sun, draining it dry. Rob handed me the third. "Okay, Troy, just one more." I begged him, but he insisted, and I began drinking. He pushed up the base of the cup, forcing me to skull, but not fast enough, and the beer slaked over, soaking my chest and tank top. Now I really needed to piss. I sat there for a while, waiting for half time. It was agony. Finally, Rob saw me rubbing my cockhead through the shorts, the only way I knew to hold in the pressure. "Well buster, I told you so, now you're going to have to plug it". Then I realised this is the moment he meant - where I had to shove it in, or he would.
Sitting in the seat, thousands around, I had to discreetly feed the sound up the leg of my shorts, and pressing down on my dork with the other hand, to feed the fat fucker up my pisslit. The pain was awesome, and despite bringing tears to my eyes, I could barely whimper without drawing the attention of a dozen strangers to my perverted act. The thing must've been 8 inches long! As the plug hit bottom, my bladder went into overdrive, and my whole dork swelled with the pressure. I realise then that if I got up, everyone could tell what I've done, the chain dangling down from my dork to my knees before connecting to my waist. "Uh that won't do" Rob grinned, tugging at the chain for emphasis, forcing the sound to slip an inch out. "You'll have to pull the chain through a belt loop and inside your shorts, and connect it that way. Of course the next few minutes are agony, as I slip the sound slowly out, and have to thread the greasy dickstuffer through the loop and down into my crotch, until gravity drops it between my legs. It's getting close to half time, and Rob says "better hurry - we gotta Joel straight after the siren". Suddenly I'm racing to pull it through, forcing the blunt prong against my stinging pisslips, and thrusting it deep inside me. Tears cloud my eyes, but as the siren goes, it's buried in. Rob goes to get up, and glances down at my crotch. It's spattered with dick goop and prefuck from the double insertion, and the chain still hangs down. 'That won't do' he barks, yanking on the chain through the belt loop, which pulls the chain up, and jerks my dick too, so it's horizontal against my thigh. The whole fucking fleshtube is bulging out now, but with Rob's grip on the chain, I can't fix that now. He hauls me to my feet, dragging me towards the changerooms by the chain.
We got to the doors just as the players were going in, and Rob called out to Joey as he went by. The sexy player was running his hand through his matted hair, sweat slaking from his body. As he came over to us to, his eyes dropped to my bulging crotch. "Hey man, we're both big fans" Rob said as he shook hand hands with the player, but his eyes skated over both of our bodies before coming back to my crotch. I felt like meat. Rob must've known something, because he sported the biggest shit-packing grin I've ever seen. The other players had gone in by now, and the fans, after giving us some quizzical looks, had mostly gone back to their seats, leaving the three of us alone in the passage, "Troy here would really 'preciate an autograph." he said "... something personal..." Joey grinned, giving my cock a hard squeeze. I moaned involuntarily from the painful pressure on my cock, "Yeah man, meet me after" he said, sauntering off. As he left, I turned to Rob "man, really gotta piss...". Joey stopped in his tracks, and came back, slipping a digit between the buttons of my fly, fingering my plugged pisshole. "Okay guys, meet me at the player's entrance in 5 minutes." He jogged of with a whoop. Rob collared me with his beefy arm, hauling me towards the doors. "Yeah, I should've told you, word on the street is Joey is a big piss pig. It's not the filthy fucker's only habit, when he tops, he had a real brutal sawing fucking style. Must be cause his cock's so thick. Anyway, I thought he'd like to meet you..."
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