A young jock is twice dominated by a mysterious biker in this hot erotic short both written and illustrated by Dixon.

Winning Shot - Part 1
Story & Art by Dixon
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It wasn’t a championship game, but the way the Rockets had overcome a three goal deficit to defeat their rivals in the recreation commission league gave Frank the kind of rush every wanna be jock gets from winning in athletic competition. Better yet, he had scored two of the goals, including the game winner.

He was glad he had signed up, and that the team had accepted him in his first year. His contribution today had made it clear that they counted on him. They had hoisted him up on their shoulders on the field, and every one of them must have slapped him on the back or the ass in the locker room.

They all decided they needed to celebrate with a beer, but Frank had to beg out. He was supposed to head out to his older brother’s place for dinner. He couldn’t make the game, but would be pissed that he missed it when Frank gave him the play by play.

The rec commission wouldn’t lock up until 7:00 p.m. so Frank planned to take a shower and then head out to his brother’s. He hadn’t expected any fan to barge in to congratulate him on his game.

“Where’s that star, that hell-of-a-shot Harry!”

Harry didn’t recognize the man’s voice, but reached for a towel to wrap around his waist. A minute later and he would have been buck naked in the shower.

Grover Kelley barged through the door, bare-chested with his usual leather pants and cap. Harry recognized him instantly, remembering when his brother had ridden with Grover’s motley crew, until he realized the gang was a bunch of bullies. Harry remembered, all right, Grover having hazed him, strong arming him and calling him Little Good Ass. Harry never told his brother about any of that, knowing he’d take Grover on. He just steered clear and was real glad when his brother outgrew motorcycles.

“Just look at you,” Grover gloated, “Growing up, putting on some muscle, becoming a soccer star. Why you’ve turned into a might fine ass.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Harry responded, bracing as far away from the rogue as he could. “What are you doing here?”

Grover threw a leg up on the bench between him and Harry, propping his elbow down while he reached for his back pocket. He pulled out something Harry thought was a pair of gloves, then looked up at Harry with a devilish grin.

“Why I’m one of your fans, kiddo. I was riding through and saw a crowd in the park, so I pulled in to see what action was going on, and there you were. I’d recognize that little
ass anywhere.”

Harry couldn’t think fast enough of how to grab his clothes and slip past Grover without him grabbing him. The man was four or five years older with a reputation of being a brawler, a street fighter. Without much of a tussle he moved in, wrapped his arms around Harry, taking control. He pushed his jock strap down, getting resistance when he grabbed his junk until he clinched his fist around Harry’s nuts.

“Now, boy, you know you’re no match for me,” he said. “Besides, I brought you a present – something you’re gonna love.”

He hadn’t pulled gloves out of his pocket. He unfolded a weird piece of leather, with straps. Holding Harry’s right arm behind him, he dropped the leather down to his groin, saying it was going to fit just fine. Harry looked down and saw the rigid piece had holes in the center, learning real quick how Grover wanted him to slip it on – or he would do it for him.

Not seeing any options, Harry unfolded he cod piece, figuring out to slip the strap behind his neck, stretching the leather piece down where his could slip his dick through the top hole. He tugged the shaft through, the snugness causing it to fill out, almost erect.

“See, I told you that you would like this little bone board.”

Grover didn’t explain the second hole, but knelt down reaching under the contraption to grab Harry’s balls again. He stretched the scrotum down, tugging one testicle up into the lower hole, pushing it through. The second testicle was a tight squeeze, but once it popped through the codpiece gave Harry a genuine hard on.

Embarrassed being so manhandled, Harry expected Grover to grab his shaft, possibly try to jerk him off. But he wasn’t finished.

Harry hadn’t noticed the fanny pack around his waist, and wouldn’t have imagined what torturous device he was packing. He pulled out a long roll of thinly twisted electrical cord, some tape, and what looked like a head band. The head band went on first, a weight embedded in one side.

It took Grover a full ten minutes to get Harry wired – the cord connected to a clamp taped down on his left nipple, then down the strap around his boner, back up the strap to a clamp on the other nipple, then up to the head band. The instant Grover plugged the cord into the battery embedded in the head band Harry felt the buzz.

“That’s it, boy, dance for me,” Grover chided. “Sling that thing!”

Harry wasn’t trying to dance, unaware that buzzing jolts had every part of his body moving. His legs spread, anticipating shooting his load, while the stinging in his nipples made his raise his arms trying to flex his chest to pop the clamps loose.

If Grover thought Harry would like his gift he was dead wrong. Well, maybe if he wasn’t anxious about the bastard’s abusive behavior, his bullish assumption he could do whatever he pleased with him. The buzzing stimulation was damn arousing, the tingling in his tits running straight down to his dick.

The charge to the shaft of his cock should have launched his wad, he thought. Then he realized the damn codpiece had his balls knotted up tight. Hell, he could be dancing without getting his rocks off for….as long as that battery kept going and going.

Grover was thoroughly enjoying watching Harry’s edging, his wild thrashing trying to ejaculate, his obvious conflict about being forced into this predicament. He had unzipped his leather pants, pulling out his man-sized pecker, stroking it in tempo with some of Harry’s moves.

He watched Harry try to reduce the stimulation by changing positions. He’d forget having an audience to reach down and try to jerk out relief. Then he’d throw both arms behind his back, throwing his pelvis out as if fucking some imaginary piece of ass. Grover sure had the boy wound up.

He didn’t want the boy toy to pop his wad. He was churning cream, not ice cream, but hot cherry cream curdling in his trapped balls. Too much longer and the forced pleasure he was supposed to be having would turn to pain. Blue balls are no fun.

Grover moved in as Harry slumped forward, reaching for his still rigid boner, but Grover pulled his hand away. reached up to the head band, flipping a button on the battery that kept buzzing and buzzing Harry to the brink of ejaculation.

“Not yet, kiddo,” Grover said, that devilish grin spreading across his face again.

He told Harry to bend over, Harry complying with hopes Grover was going to be discon-necting the codpiece. His cock arched downward slightly, but was still choked at the base, still primed.

Grover groped both buttocks, then reached around to invert him, Harry instinctively spreading his arms to balance himself, his legs falling back against Grover’s upper body.

Feeling Grover lock his arms around his waist, he tensed as he felt his breath blowing warm air in his nether region. He didn’t pro-test, didn’t try to beg Grover to stop, to let him go.

His cock was going rigid again, betraying him. The man’s tongue licking at his ass hole was worse than the damn electric current.

Grover’s rim job was invading inside Harry, a place he’d never felt throbbing the way Grover was making him pulse. He couldn’t speak, and didn’t want to.

He came before Grover fucked him, a painful eruption finally forcing its way up from below his balls, through the constraint of the codpiece and the cord choking his shaft. His semen burst through his slit in a tsunami, a wave of relief flooding down his entire torso. His body went limp, putty in Grover’s grip as he rose up to penetrate, pile driving into Harry’s body cradled against the floor.

He doubled him over, ramming in hard, knocking short shouts out of Harry’s crimped body. His floppy dick swung over his face, suddenly buzzing without the electrical current. Harry came again, Grover knocking out the last spurts of cherry cream, the kid grunting from the pain as his dick shot blanks. Harry forgot about scoring the winning soccer goal, fully aware that the biker bastard had the last shot, unloading his lust load deep inside him with a lot of shouting. “Mighty fine pussy boy” was his last insult before he ripped off the codpiece and all its accessories, leaving Harry curled up in a umbilical position on the floor.

Harry took a long shower, directing a stream of the warm water on his battered balls, soaping up his ass three times. He’d arrive at his brother’s place a little late, his play-by-play of the game less animated than he had originally planned. His brother raved, unaware that Harry had left out the part about Grover’s final score. He’d never tell him, but dreaded the day Grover boasted about it to someone. Hopefully that someone would consider it another of Grover’s tall tales and not spread it around where his brother might hear of it. He really didn’t want his brother taking Grover on, fighting his battles for him.


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