The Sports Enthusiast

Ms. Onslow's lips were glistening and her huge hazel eyes had born into Becks. He felt they were entime. Maybe after this, he could ask her out...

Ms. Onslow's fingers rubbed his traumatized glans and it began growing blue again with all the stimulation.

"C'mon, Mr. Hastings, what was this feminist's name? She was involved in helping with the 19th Amendment, giving women the right to vote."

"Right before the twenty-first, when Prohibition was repealed, you sad leettle wino."

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold always had a supportive comment, didn't she?

"C'mon, Mr. Hastings. She was a hottie. Not as hot as me, maybe-"

As Ms. Onslow said this, she unbuttoned her black silk blouse, two or three holes.

She picked up Beck's head and pushed his sweaty face into her soft, swelling cleavage.

This while her other hand continued its pull on his frustrated member.

"You know this, don't you, Mr. H? If you can answer me, it will go a long way to showing your sensitivity towards women's issues."

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold threw her empty Starbucks cup at Beck, but she missed.

"Um, Goldie Hawn?"

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold began laughing, which was a rare thing for her.

"Rosie O'Donnell? Ann Coulter?"

Enraged, Ms. Onslow dropped Beck's head away from her breasts to the floor, and Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold threw her pencil box at his head, and it connected.

Ms. Onslow took up her shoe by the tip and began pounding his balls with the heel.

"It's Susan B. Anthony, you pathetic chauvinist pig!" She pounded harder. "You are what's wrong with this country!"

"And finally the girl sees." Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold said with satisfaction. "Hit him harder, liebchen!"

Now, upside down from the ceiling, Beck was swinging naked and Cinnamon was regarding him balefully.

Cinn didn't give a shit about women's issues, really, but she was annoyed that he was such a sports fanatic.

Part of this was that Cinn resented it that her boyfriend/master loved sports as well...

So she took it out on Beck, every time the irritation came up. Those damned Superbowls!

Last year, Beck had agreed to suck the dick of his Latino gardener, while Cinni's gleaming ebony Pilates instructor, Ursinius, had corn holed him from behind.

Beck had been allowed to watch the three hour game as long as his jaws and anus were working overtime, making the homosexuals happy.

But sodomy apparently had not cooled Beck's football ardor...

The year before, Beck had watched the game through his chauffer's apartment window in the basement while he was shivering naked in the rain. (and of course that meant that he couldn't hear anything.)

And the year before that Becket had wanted an actual party with his buddies...a big football party!

So Cinnamon had quashed further parties by having the guys come over and making Becket serve them beer and chips in a French maid's outfit, and blowing a different friend after each first down.

Or was it after every field goal, something like that.

So his pals were no longer interested in Beck as a "guy"...no more football parties!

So why did he want to watch football again this year?

"It's just one game, Cinn." Beck begged , feeling the blood rushing to his head.

Hanging upside down was really strange, although he was enjoying the sight of his housemate, resplendent in fuchsia tee shirt and tight jeans.

Being at eye level with her crotch made him realize that-and this was an insight-she must lie down to pull her pants on.

And why didn't Cinnamon want to marry him? For seven years they'd been living together; he'd bought her a Nissan Altima for her last birthday.

Could he help it if Becket III had emptied his trust fund to buy her a Porsche for Valentine's?

She spent too much time with that boy. Maybe she'd like to be his stepmother.

And Beck had never gotten to see Cinn naked, although of course he himself was almost always naked.

Even when Beck wasn't being disciplined, whenever Cinn was going anywhere and couldn't keep an eye on him...

(Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had told Cinn there was no amount high enough for baby-sitting duties)..

Cinnamon would strip Beck and lock away his clothes so he couldn't sneak out to watch sports, play poker, or do anything else that would distract him from being a better person.

And of course since the Super Bowl-French Maid incident of 2017, he didn't really have any friends anymore.

The bastards had told everyone on the golf links, and at Buttermilk Tree Country Club.

Even homeless bums would scream "Wanna blow me, faggot?" as the formerly respected business tycoon slumped by in his so-called power suit.

Cinn was partly anti sports because her boyfriend who reportedly gave Cinn spankings and other torments, loved sports.

He also cheated on her with a dozen other submissives, some of whom paid him!

Master Tilkhaus loved football, and often would cancel dates with poor Cinnamon to go to games. He had full time Buccaneers season tickets, one of his subbie heiresses had bought him box seats.

Cinn had almost shot Beck when he'd asked if Master Tilk could take him instead to games, since she didn't want to go.

But Tilk didn't like Becket much, and he'd kind of put a bad pall on athletics as well.

Once Tilk had come over and made Becket do a little one-on-one with the yard hoop.

Becket was naked then, and sadly, when Tilk had "accidentally" kicked Beck in the bare nuts a few times.

After Beck lost, bitching about the fouls, had tied Beck over his own back fence and he and Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold, who had refereed the basketball game thrown some bar darts at Beck's rear while Cinn kept score.

Tilkhaus had actually used the very projectiles Beck didn't get to play with anymore since being forced to quit the Buttermilk Brewmaster's Quoits League, by Cinnamon, who felt the whole thing was a waste of time.

(Really, it was best that Beck spend that time studying up for Ms. Onslow's feminist quizzes, right?)

Now, Cinnamon kept up to where Beck was hanging. She apparently had tired of swinging him from the ceiling, which was good because he felt a bit nauseous.

Cinn casually began rubbing and tickling Beck's swelling penis.

"Don't you get it, Beck? We have all been trying so hard to leave all these sports behind, yes, an ungrateful shit-bag like you."

Beck used her little fit to punch Beck's nuts as a sort of punctuation to her statement. Beck felt like he was about to black out...

But then the massage continued...heaven!

Cinn continued to stroke Beck's cock carefully. "I do wish I could get Master Tilkhaus to give all that competitive crap up too, but who controls Tilk? He's a real man, you know?"

Unlike me. I'm not a man, right?

But Beck cheered as he looked up at Cinnamon's jutting breasts as she giggled.

"I owe you so much since you let me live here for so little, and it's really given me the freedom to pursue my art, no more cashiering at Wal-Mart. I am so pleased that I've been able to create these amazing punishment implements."

Beck's cock was growing thicker as Cinn's delicate digits continued their glorious kneading.

The tip of Beck's cock was drooling a bit of pre-ejaculate, and he wondered if he might get a squirt this time.

After Cinn had heard of Beck's hopes for a blowjob if he did well on Ms. Onslow's triva quiz, she'd been hurt and angry, (not at all at Ms.Onslow of course)

And Cinn had delayed Beck's next release for ninety days!

But maybe she'd get careless today. Who knew?

And then if she got into a good mood, maybe he could get a release AND watch the Superbowl, unencumbered by sodomy, rain or anything else.

Cinnamon reached into her very snug jeans pocket and took out a small bottle of lube, and coated Beck's penis and began jacking faster.

Beck was now caught between craning his head up to watch her boobs shake gently, and of course watching the crimson claws and lily white fingertips create a grand friction on his long neglected organ.

It was very peculiar, hanging upside down, getting a hand job.

The sensation of being dizzy wasn't pleasant, but the jerking off was so interesting and stimulating...

And course watching his attractive housemate made much of this worthwhile.

Beck of course felt embarrassed and ridiculous being exposed to his (slightly) clothed tenant, but it was something he could get used to, upside down, right?

But Beck really needed to make a case for the football, didn't he?

The Super Bowl was this Sunday!

"The Super Bowl is coming up and I know how you feel-" Beck began again.

"Oh boy, listen to the violin." Beck muttered. She caressed Beck's shaft a bit more, and pressed her innie navel against Beck's face, engulfing his nose.

Oh, the body wash!

"Could just watch maybe the last hour? Or the last thirty minutes?"

"Yeah, we know how long thirty minutes is in football speak, it lasts for hours. They always lie."

"No, that's not-"

"We haven't done much catheter play in a while, and I seem to have lost my little sounding rods."

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had borrowed them when she went to visit Beck Senior at the old folk's home.

"I wonder how this little hole of yours is doing. Did I permanently distend your urethra, I hope so."

As Cinn toyed with Beck's glans, he got a little nervous.

" Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold put a firecracker in Senior's wee-wee to encourage your dad's early retirement."

Looking down, Cinn laugh. "I'm kidding. Jesus, are you stupid."

"That's what Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold tells me."

" I think back when we were doing urethra and catheter play more, you were less spoiled and bitchy, making all these demands."

Cinn looked at Beck's cock meditatively, and rubbed faster.

"I'm not making demands, I just want to watch a football game and men aren't bitchy-Oooow!"

Cinn pushed her manicured forefinger, driving the nail directly into Beck's admittedly loose urethra. She twisted it as he shrieked.

Okay, his pee hole was sensitive!

Cinnamon began pushing her nail in and out of Beck's urethra, finger fucking it, as it were.

"Remember I used to stick all kinds of shit in this little hole, knitting needles, safety pins, small screwdrivers, then big screwdrivers, and pencils...

And I was regulating your pee breaks with the catheter for some time, right?"

Beck remembered that the catheter was instrumental in helping him give up drinking beer.

"I got Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold to lock your executive lavatory and I put the catheter on you and by lunch time, you'd rushed home, crying on your knees to be allowed to urinate...

And then guess what? You stopped drinking at lunch. No more beer, no more cocktails...and this was after the non-successful efforts of I think five detoxes and three treatment centers?"

Cinnamon did a high pitched imitation of Beck..."Cinnamon, let me in, my kidneys are floating!"

Cinn had taken Beck's house key, yes to his own domicile some time back so he wouldn't be tempted to leave without permission.

Cinn pulled her nail out of Beck's urethra and he gasped in relief.

Beck tried hard to forget those days when his kidneys had ached and he had to beg for bathroom breaks.

"Jump up and down" Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had dismissed him with. "You have a memo to finish. I refuse to let you go home to pee, dummkopf."

But the doctor said recently that Beck's liver was no longer enlarged, and his Hep C problem, caused by high school heroin follies, had mysteriously disappeared too.

Becket could breathe through his nose now, his deviated septum had been fixed and there was no problem anymore with "Bolivian Marching Powder" as Jay McInerney would say.

Now Beck was abstemious, not even drinking coffee or Cokes because Beck had felt caffeine made him too "jazzy".

"And you're so much more diligent about yard work. Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold told me she dropped by while Tilk and I were away this weekend, to check on your lawn mowing."

Yes, Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had found an errant blade of grass when Beck had been told to clip around the edge of the lawn.

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had used one of Cinnamon's creation, a "Jumping Python" which had been crafted from imported kangaroo hide to urge Beck to be more diligent in his landscaping efforts.

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had brought her "boy friend" over, the Hastings Amalgamated tax attorney, the timorous Allesandro Sniggs.

"See, the only way I can ensure you won't leave the yard to go watch sports, even though you have no clothes on, is to have Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold watch you, and why shouldn't she bring Sniggs, the pitiful little bastard." Cinn had explained helpfully.

Sniggs had briefly chuckled at the Big Boss getting his correction, but Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had been annoyed with Sniggs as well.

She had ordered Sniggs to sell copies of her privately printed feminist magazine door to door.

Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold co-produced this literary periodical with Ms. Onslow, and was very proud of it!

Sniggs had begged Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold to let him off the door to door subscription selling.

"But I make it easy for you, dummkopf, I have you wear a Girl Scout outfit."

But online reading was all the rage and "Femsplaining Monthly" was not online just yet.

Becket had watched happily while recovering from the welts and weals of his own whipping as Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had ordered Sniggs, after she'd discovered he didn't clip the hedges right, to strip naked as well.

"But it's outside, Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold, ma'am" Sniggs said, gasping.

Wow, so formal, Becket observed with interest.

"I am going to punish you and I do not want to get blood on my daughter's old Girl Scout uniform. It's a fenced yard and your employer is kept naked all the time here."

Sniggs was begging and pleading as he undressed, reminding Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold that he was paying the cost of the printing of "Femsplaining Monthly" or really sharing the expenses with the Hastings Amalgamated legal documents specialist...

Who apparently was locked in Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold's closet back home...

And of course he was not good at sales or pruning...

Sniggs was a tax attorney, damn it!

Yes, Beck had resentfully enjoyed Sniggs getting his thrashing, but hadn't been so happy when Mrs. Ingelsbretzvold had cuffed their cocks together...(Sniggs, a subordinate?) and made them stay out in the yard, nude, swatting mosquitoes...

But he'd not complained about any of this to Cinnamon, who had started spinning him around, yes, still hanging from the ceiling.

Cinn had re-locked on the chastity belt...

But still no complaints, damn it.

He had to get on Cinnamon's good side so he could watch the 2019 Super Bowl!