The Sports Enthusiast

Becket Hastings hung upside down, suspended by his ankles. Becket's hands were cuffed behind his back, and he was utterly naked.

This seemed to happen every sports season. Cinnamon, Becket's enchanting "platonic" housemate was a "sports atheist" and couldn't stand him running the idiot box, watching those damned games.

At the same time, Cinnamon didn't want poor Beck to waste his time watching sports elsewhere. (She really cared about him.)

She didn't trust Beck out on his own She felt he'd get into trouble. Becket had pointed out more than once that he'd existed forty-two years before meeting Cinnamon, but she knew better.

After all, she knew his true nature.

Since Becket had rented the room to Cinnamon (well, several rooms, she had a workshop) people often asked why he gave her such a great price in a very competitive neighborhood.

Also, why he'd put up with her being so damned high maintenance!

"I get that she's hot" Beck's brother had said once, when he'd seen Beck polishing Cinnamon's family silver while wearing a tutu, "But is this really worth it?"

Beck's brother had dropped by to escort Beck to a boxing match, but again, Cinni knew better, right?

But Becket had met Cinnamon in an interesting way.

Cinnamon had been hawking a variety of implements that she had personally crafted, at the Dungeonopolis Gift Shop Market Expo held in the basement of the Paincafe, the hometown leather lovers BDSM hostel and restaurant.

And Cinnamon and Beck had bonded after a fashion.

However, gorgeous as she was, Cinnamon was having a difficult time enticing volunteers to do demonstrations on, as she was a crafter of whips, crops, floggers and scourges...and sometimes knouts and tawses if she had the energy.

Her first subject had been reduced to tears and screaming after Cinni had licked him only four or five times with her whippy martinet "school cane"

When Cinni had attempted to demonstrate the effects of her paracord bullwhip, a corporal enforcer that she'd woven carefully with sensitivity and love...

The big, burly biker bastard had jumped up and ran to hide under a table.

But Becket had stepped up. Unlike the previous big strong leathermen, Beck was chubby, lumpy and short, and he'd immediately undressed on stage to mass clapping.

"You don't have to get it on the bare." Cinni had said, grinning at Beck's impudent erection. "The others didn't...and I can pay you."

He seemed like an unlikely prospect.

"I need discipline" Beck had said. "I feel guilty, I lost a bunch of money on a racing trifecta at mybookie dot--"

And that had been enough for Cinn. Her dad was a degenerate gambler.

Becket smiled up at the tall valkyrie as she picked up the next weapon of worry, a nice tight sjambok.

"A craftswoman as beautiful and talented as you deserves-"

But Cinn was impatient at his "soft sawder" and began using the sjambok with true vigor.

And he'd gone through a series of punishments stoically as Cinn had left marks, and then welts, and more than a few blisters.

He'd grabbed his ankles and not even asked for a gag as Cinn had tried out all her inventions on him, not even minding when a big gay man asked if he could take a crack at it...

Most guys would have taken off after the gay Master had enjoyed the effects of Cinnamon's Suede Lovin' Fisting Glove, but Beck took it all so well.

After it all was over, Cinn had made quite a haul, and offered Becket a percentage.

He was dressed now, but fortunately, not sitting down.

"It's such a great thing, because I don't make a lot of money and I still live with my folks in this miserable trailer park."

Beck had not only refused Cinn's money, but he'd offered her a suite of rooms in his big house in West Buttermilk Falls, at an insanely good price.

"Just, of course, until you are "Discovered" by the outer kink community, Cinn." he'd said with a smile.

But Cinnamon, grateful to a point, had been disenchanted by Beck's fascination with sports, online porn, and other time-wasters.

"You actually went to a dwarf tossing contest instead of visiting your Nana in the nursing home?" she asked incredulously.

Beck's ex-wife had locked him in a chastity device for a while, and Cinn demanded he dig this thing out of storage.

"Are we dating, then, Cinni?" But she'd backhanded Beck for being "fresh".

"I am doing this all for your own good, Beck" Cinn had said testily as she locked the chastity belt on and dropped the key in her blouse cleavage.

"You really should feel lucky that I'm trying to help you focus on the healthy things, to have a growth experience, to dabble in creativity, truth, beauty, culture...

Now vacuum the house, damn it!"

Cinnamon had fired Beck's housekeeper and donated her salary to an abused women's shelter, and given Beck a list of chores.

This was a great way to try the effectiveness of her created implements right after she'd finished them!

Beck had even licked out the toilet bowl after Cinnamon had used her "Electric Slide Lasher" (batteries not included) and thanked her for putting it back in her workshop.

So Cinn had a no sports in the house rule, and a "no leaving the house without a good reason for Beck" rule.

She couldn't be too careful!

Beck was terribly enamored of his beautiful housemate, and although it was hands-off most of the time, sometimes Cinn would come out in a bathrobe and sit on Beck's lap as they watched the Nightly News, or catch some Netflix.

Every six weeks or so, she'd unlock Beck and he'd beat his meat as she and her girlfriends sat and watched and critiqued his efforts...coordination and all that.

They'd sit there, four to seven women, flashing their cleavage or pulling up their skirts and opening the gorgeous thighs...

"Ooops, you're going too fast, Beck. Stop for a moment. Now rub with your thumb. Just one thumb. Let's see how that works."

And Beck knew in instances like this, he couldn't get impatient with Marsha or Phoebe or whoever Cinn invited...

Just one pout and Cinn would lock him up with no release for ANOTHER six weeks!

And he lived for when Cinnamon would take the belt off to clean Beck in the bathtub.

She would generally do this wearing a one-piece bathing costume, and she'd put her naked landlord in the tub, remove the belt and clean him thoroughly, while the belt was in the dishwasher.

Then, sometimes, Cinn would take Beck out of the tub and cuff his hands, and give him a hot enema, just to cleanse the blockages.

After this, she'd bring Beck to her nice, feminine, scented bedroom and make him lie on his cuffed wrists, and she'd shave his crotch completely.

And then using some helpful creams, would do "Skincare" for about an hour and a half, which of course also was a lovely if frustrating hand job.

So Beck was getting "Skincare" twice a week (Wednesday nights and Saturday afternoons) and then release every six weeks or so in front of the lovely ladies.

Beck was doing all the housework and some of the cooking...

But he was quite happy with things.

The chastity device seemed to keep Beck from dating, but since Cinn demanded he be in the house within twenty minute of leaving work (he had to sign in) that seemed like a moot point.

But there was still the problem of the sports watching!

Last year Beck pleaded with Cinnamon to at least let him watch the World Series this year. "It's been seven years of us living together and I haven't seen the Series."

Cinn had responded by putting Beck in a diaper, blindfolding him, and just letting him listen to every third game.

When he'd bitched about that, Cinn had attempted (with some success) to put a silver Louisville Slugger up Beck's ass, if that was a comfort.

For hockey season, Cinn, feeling badly for the "cold" players, had decreed that Beck had to skate around Buttermilk Pond in the nude for an hour before every game he watched, and miraculously, he lost interest after about two games.

It was sort of a shame since Cinn, a former figure skater of the Tonya Harding variety, had enjoyed chasing him with her new Plexiglas riding crop and whacking his blubbery butt to make him skate faster, Mats Zuccarello did.

This year, when Becket approached Cinni about the Superbowl, he was nervous.

He of course hadn't seen any of the OTHER games in the season. He'd spent every Sunday afternoon (and some Monday nights)assisting with Cinnamon's manicures while they watched "The Bachelor"

"I've been so good, Cinn. Can't I just watch the Superbowl?" Becket said with tears in his eyes. "I even blew your gay cousin last week because he said I was cute."

Cinn regarded Beck with a jaundiced eye. She tossed down the rawhide flagellum she was stitching and stood up. "Go downstairs to the Rec Room and take off all your clothes."

"But-I just-"

"Now. Or I test this flagellum thing before I'm done with it."

Weeping bitterly and resentfully, Beck turned and went downstairs, where he stripped off his clothes and knelt on the floor.

The rec room had once been Beck's man-cave, with a huge TV screen, some video games, a Wii, and various pool tables and other effluvia.

But much of that had been cleared out, shortly after Cinnamon moved in, and now it boasted a St. Andrew's Cross, a ducking stool, three pillories, and some interesting electrical torture gadgets.

Becket heard Cinn's high heels clicking as she came downstairs. She'd been wearing Keds when he'd approached her in the living room. The heels meant she was serious.

And of course, unwillingly, Beck admitted to himself that now he was getting aroused, his penis was shifting unpleasantly against the chastity belt.

It was a snug plastic thing. Cinni had decided, after the first year of their living together that the belt that Beck's wife had left was just too loose, and so she'd been making the plastic uh, holders smaller and smaller.

When Cinn got downstairs, she ignored Beck and went to the ceiling chain crank, and used a remote control to make the chain come down.

"Put on those ankle bracelets, Beck."

Before Beck knew it, he was suspended by the ankles from the ceiling, and she'd cuffed his wrists behind his back!

"Don't babble at me. This is what we are going to go through while I make my decision on this difficult matter of the Super Bowl. You just can't give up your sports obsession, can you?"

Casually, Cinnamon carefully unlocked the chastity belt, and Beck breathed easy as his cock popped out.

"The ladies at work tell me that you are just incorrigible, and that you were watching pre-game highlights or some nonsense in an associate's office. It's got to stop, Becket."

Beck looked at darling Cinnamon with mixture of fear and love as she locked a couple of mousetraps on his nipples.

She looked like Jennifer Aniston, but with way more self-confidence.

Cinn pushed Beck's chest and he swung back and forth from the ceiling like pendulum.

"Mrs. Ingelbretsvold and Ms. Onslow are going to get a call from me to step up their game." She pushed Beck harder, and he swung more, feeling very dizzy.

As he swung by, she tweaked one of the mousetraps and he screamed.

It was true, for the longest time, Beckett's Chief of Staff, Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold, had tried to curb Beck's interest in porn and sports.

More than once, after seeing what was on his screen, Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had unzipped his pants, pulled his penis out and whipped it with the office fly swatter to curb this perversion.

After Cinn had put Beck in the chastity belt, this problem had blessedly ceased, but the sports betting was terribly annoying and Beck spent way too much time with his pals talking about the games.

The athletic obsession was really destructive. Beck was a genius capitalist, but really needed to focus on making moolah for the company, right?

Mrs. I. was a dutiful old bag, and when she'd caught Becket discussing fantasy football or a sports pool around the water cooler, she'd drag him back to his office by his ear.

Making him drop his pants, Mrs. I. would thrash Becket with something called a "Fives bat" a big thick looking paddle from her years in the U.K., where they played "Fives".

The Fives Bat was a bit bigger and thicker than a Ping Pong paddle, and after fifty shots to his bare butt, Beck would be more than blistered.

He would sob and plead forgiveness, and it really helped him forget all about his picks for the Oakland-Green Bay game at 7:20 pm or whatever.

Ms. Onslow, who was a twenty year old typist and strident feminist, was quite pretty with tousled blonde curls and a formidable bosom.

She was truly grateful for being hired at Becket Hastings Amalgamated Holdings right out of high school.

Even then she had a record, Miss Onslow did, for bar fighting, but Beck had been quite impressed with her in the interview.

Ms. Onslow felt that Beckett's interest in football was truly misogynistic, and she wanted him to focus on being a better man.

Once, Beck had made his secretary quit by snapping her bra strap, and another had fled after he'd tossed her his pants and told her to get them dry cleaned.

Ms. Onslow knew part of his problem was bad attitudes, and the other was his fascination with the manly arts of sports.

This really had to be nipped in the bud.

She genuinely liked Beck and wanted to show her appreciation for the marvelous career opportunity.

Once, after burning some notes from Beck's fantasy draft picks, Ms. Onslow ordered her boss to strip and laid him on the floor, his wrists and ankles bound together so he was sort of in an outward fetal position, with his penis and balls sticking out.

As the office girls now had a key to Beck's chastity device with the codicil that they could tease him but not to release, Ms. Onslow unlocked Beck that day, so there he was...

On the floor, his arms and legs cruelly locked behind him, and quite naked.

Melba, the African American bookkeeper, who had always thought her employer racist kept crossing the floor, "accidentally" kicking Beck in the balls.

What would happen?

Apparently, Ms. Onslow had decided the best way to re-focus Beck was to have him learn about feminism, and why not ask him trivia questions?

At first she just sat on an office chair (Becks, because it had good lumbar support) and used her long legs in those seamed stockings to stroke Becket's cock affectionately as he was trapped on the floor.

"Ing" Ms. Onslow said to the chief of staff, "Just give me a few minutes with him."

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold humphed. "Your efforts vill be in vain." she said contemptuously as she surveyed her naked, humiliated boss. "Meester Hastings vill never change, liebchen. Ju might as well geev up. But beat him teel three o'clock, then he must meet with the boart of deerectors."

"Great!" Ms. Onslow had chuckled, and she'd smiled down at Beck, who was mortified, but enjoying himself in spite of it.

She was really rubbing his cock a lot. It was a fun massage, the stocking covered red-tipped toes tickling his long denied penis...

And of course Beck had enjoyed staring up Ms. Onslow's dress and alternately, checking out her full cleavage which seemed to nearly burst from her black silk blouse.

It had been 27 days since he'd last been allowed to jack, and at that time Cinn had invited Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold to the "viewing party" and the old battleaxe had thrown a vase at Beck as he'd cum, nearly ruining his orgasm.

Ms. Onslow rubbed faster with her nimble toes, and Beck was sure he was about to cum...

But suddenly her right foot left its spot on Beck's shaft and moved back into her spike pump.

"Okay, trivia time!" Smiling beneficently down at the boss Ms. Onslow had said,

"If you get this one right-"

"I always used to win bar trivia contests." grinned Beck from the floor.

"Thanks for mansplaining and interrupting. If you get even one of these questions right, I'll blow you in the bathroom, Mr. Hastings, no matter what Cinnamon or Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold say."

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold, always ready with an editorial comment, said "He ees so stoopid. I eemagine he cannot even remember what hees middle name ees."

"Okay, who was the first woman chief of the Cherokee nation, Mr. Hastings?"

"Umm, I don't..."

Ms. Onslow's high heel so very gently began pushing on Beck's testicles as the other foot moved away from massaging his cock and got into its shoe.

"C'mon, remember that movie, Mr. Hastings? "The Cherokee word for water."

Ms. Onslow's right heel slowly pushed into his cockhead.

"Becket the Third is no better, I understand hees assistant has diapered him down in the junior partner's office after she catch heem playing de Pokemon " Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold observed.

Oh, Jeez, Beck thought. Trey had just gotten his M.B.A. and my sick company has warped my twenty-five year old son."

"I think I peed on him last week, Trey Hastings," Melba reminisced.

But then Beck forgot time and space as he looked up at Ms. Onslow.

Who was the um, Native American princess, Chief, whatsit?

"Anything? For these lips..." Ms. Onslow made a smoochy face and Beck gloriously dreamed of a nice beejay in the bathroom.

"Uh, Tecumseh?"

"That was a man." The heel began pushing into glans.

"Running Bull?" Now the heel stomped Beck's cock tip quite hard.

"Those are both old, dead men!" Ms. Onslow was enraged. She jammed the heel so it crushed Beck's glans into the floor like a three penny nail, and the left heel repeatedly jammed into his scrotum till it felt like jelly

"Vat deed I tell you, the dummkopf?" Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold's voice floated over the file cabinet.

The girl stomped, Beck screamed, and the other ladies chortled merrily.

She had not been this angry since her performance review, when she'd closed a drawer on Becket's cock after he denied her the cost-of-living raise because she still couldn't keyboard faster than eighteen words a minute with five mistakes.

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold stepped over and looked down at the flustered prisoner and spat directly into his screaming mouth.

But Beck didn't care.

"P-please Ms. Onslow, ask me another one."

Beck's eyes were watering from the pain and his poor, empurpled penis had been singed from the word processor's heel efforts.

Still, he was tremendously aroused by the fact that he was being put through this. It was truly a shame he knew so little about women's issues.

He hoped the next question would be an easy one, maybe about menstruation.

Becket knew a great deal about a girl's period, because Cinnamon always made him suck out her tampons.

"Dis blace has become a bear garden since Becket,Senior died." Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold mused sadly. "And I yoosed to shove habaneras peppers up Senior's rectum."

"Now, Mr.Hastings, this is really, really easy. You were in high school when the event I'm going to ask you about happened."

Ms. Onslow was cheerful once more. "This happened, like, before I was born, but I know about it."

Ms. Onslow came down on the floor next to the bound man and she began rubbing her long, blue nails on Beck's injured groin.

Becket began enjoying the penis massage, though he realized that it was so apt that the Cherokee woman's name was "mankiller". There is no hope for us gents today...

Ms. Onslow drummed her smooth fingertips on his shaft.

"You lost your chance for fellatio, Mr. Hastings, but I'll let you jerk off on my shoes if you get this one right. Ing says that's interesting to watch."

"Ha! Dummkopf!" Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold said loudly. "Beckett Senior could do it faster, with one hand-his left."

"Okay, when you were in high school, in 1979, the U.S. Mint made a dollar coin with an important historical feminist's face on it."

"Right...they discontinued it because it was too much like a quarter. It wouldn't go into the Pac-Man machine." Beck remembered.