Ping-Pong Decision Point

We were in Mitch's gym, the one attached to his school, which wasn't open today. He'd said it was a good session--only an hour for the same fee if we went to dinner and on the town with the guys and then a hotel room. But it would be rough, he said. And he was damn right about that.

I was high on a bar-lift machine, my legs spread and hanging over the handle bars and bound there. And my arms raised over my head, restrained at the top of column the weights were attached to. I had a ball gag in my mouth. The gym was closed, but Mitch didn't want any screaming to be heard out in the street.

I did a little screaming into the ball gag. I couldn't help myself on that.

Eddie Teng, the other table tennis guy I'd played against in the exhibition that afternoon, was across the gym floor, tied down on his belly on a bench press, his ankles restrained on one leg on either side of the bench at the bottom and his wrists to the bottoms of the legs at the top. His guy was mounted on top of him, clutching his shoulders, and rising and falling in the fuck.

Eddie was getting it a lot better than I was and his guy was a lot better looking, younger, and not as fat as mine. Mine was the one with the fancy fetishes--at least for now. Mine was a lot more interesting. I had to give him that.

And then there was Mitch. Mitch, our coach and pimp in the Los Angeles table tennis club, was there, too, over in the shadows, making sure this didn't get too rough. He wanted Eddie and me--and the other guys on the team--in good enough condition to play. And he wanted us in good enough condition for him to be able to fuck too.

I did a little of that muffled screaming when, crouching over me and leering into my face, my guy--probably in his fifties, muscular but beer-belly fat, balding, and with an ugly mug--pushed the black, tear-shaped butt plug up my ass. We were both naked. What he was packing wasn't anything to write home about and it wasn't going to full erection very fast. This was probably why he had to work up to it as he was.

The way I was bound to the machine, my butt was just hanging there, spread because my legs were bent over the handlebars of the weight-lift machine. He could just crouch in front of me and shove the butt plug up into me. It was lubed but he didn't take his time pushing it in, so it was painful and I let him know that as I could while chomping down hard on the rubber of the ball gag. Worse than that, it was just a simple butt plug. It was an inflatable vibrating one. Once he'd gotten it up into me, he turned the damn thing on and it was pulsating in my ass.

I couldn't help myself. I went hard, rocked up and down on the handlebars, and moaned.

He liked that and started stroking my cock with one beefy hand and rhythmically squeezing on the ball that inflated the plug in my ass with the other. He was stretching my channel and causing the plug to pulsate inside me, as he crouched over me, looking close into my face, licking his lips, dipping down occasionally to kiss me here and there. His hand on my cock moved to lacing his fingers through the base of my balls and distending them. He squeezed and I screamed into the ball gag. He laughed and went back to stroking me with one hand and working the butt plug controls with the other. I couldn't help it. I shot my load in short order. He laughed, released my dick, and moved his hand to his, doing what he could to work up an ejaculation.

He was at least sort of hard when he took the butt plug out, crowned himself with a condom, moved into position, and penetrated. I was hanging at a level that he didn't need to crouch to belly up to me, But bellying up to me wasn't easy, as he had a big belly and not the longest dick. He had to sort of push his hips under me and lean his torso back, thrusting up. That was fine with me, he couldn't get his face in close to mine that way.

He managed, however, and once saddled, he grasped my hips between his hands, and fucked up inside me. He got harder as he thrusted, and once he set up a rhythm of the thrusts, he let his hands roam all over my body, going to my pecs and worrying my nipples. I got into the rhythm too. I could feel him inside me and I knew I was being fucked. I like to be fucked, or I wouldn't agree to this no matter how much I did it to keep being able to play table tennis competitively with Mitch as my coach. This guy was nothing to write home about in terms of a fit body, but he had a cock and he was using it.

We got into the groove, and he went back to holding my hips, squeezing my butt cheeks apart and moving me back and forth on the thrusting cock with nothing getting in the way of me not fully enjoying taking the cock bound as I was except for the pressing of his belly into mine and the sensation that I could take him deeper if it weren't for that mound of flesh--and he would have aroused me more if he were, younger, fitter, and better looking, like the guy who was pounding Eddie's ass over on the bench press. That guy has a monster of cock. That guy could fill a hole to maximum stretch. That guy could make you cry. That guy was making Eddie cry.

I came again up my guy's belly, and then he came too, I suppose. There was nothing special marking his release. I had the impression that he couldn't get much of one off anymore and that was why he liked this bondage and vibrating butt plug stuff.

Afterward, he stood back from me, moving his left hand under my balls and penetrating and working my ass channel with his fingers. He alternated stroking me off with his right hand with stroking his own cock. He couldn't make himself come, but, as I writhed within his control and bit into the rubber ball of the ball gag, he brought me hard again, knelt and took my cock in his throat, and I had a third ejaculation.

I'd moan and groan about it, but I kind of liked the bondage and vibrating butt plug stuff myself. I would have liked it a lot if I had a younger hunk doing it to me, one who could compete with the inflated butt plug in stretch when he was inside me.

But I wouldn't let Mitch know this wasn't so bad. If he thought he was pushing the limit to put me in a position like this, maybe my cut of take would be bigger.

He was cooing to me and telling me how good I'd been when the johns were gone and he was releasing me from the weight machine. "There, Sean, that wasn't too bad was it? And it was over in the hour. You don't have to take it all night," Mitch said.

"He was a pig," I said, doing a sullen routine to make him think it was awful. I was somewhat surprised that I hadn't found it awful. And maybe a little scared about that too. "I can't wait to get the smell of him off me," I added.

"He made you come, though, didn't he?" he asked.

"It was a chore," I answered. I wasn't about to let Mitch know that the toad had made me come three times. That was a surprise too. That certainly was something to think about--that bondage sex like that could make me come three times, not that I wasn't young and fit enough to come repeatedly. What if he had been a young stud? Could I have fired off all night long trussed up and treated like that? It certainly was something to think about.

"Well, you can get a shower here in the gym, but you're not finished yet."

"Not finished? I have to take another john this evening?" I asked.

"Yes, an important one. But I can tell you he's no pig--although I've heard he can be rough."

Well, shit, I thought. I didn't know what I thought about that now, not after how this fat dude did me on the weightlifter. I never would have known how arousing that would be--how many times it could make me come.

* * * *

I hadn't been the best scholar in the high school I attended in the Glendora section of Los Angeles, up against the mountains below the Morris Reservoir. And I'd been too small for the football or basketball teams. But I was flexible and fast and thus excelled at gymnastics and what was called ping-pong at that level. There was no formal sports program for this, but we played in clubs intramurally and with neighboring schools. One of those was in the next town over, toward the ocean, Rosemead, where there was an adult table tennis association. Mitch Wilson, one of the coaches at the California Table Tennis Club--the CTTC--there, saw me play, decided I could play at that level, and started to court me.

He courted me for more than playing table tennis, and thus I went straight into his care from high school, bypassing college. Since leaving high school I was taking some Internet courses toward a degree at Phoenix University, but that was mostly to be able to tell my relatives that I was in college. After seeing me play against the Rosemead High School ping-pong club late in my senior year when I was undecided on what to do after high school and really loving only ping-pong, Wilson invited me to try out for the CTTC program and to get coaching at his Rosemead gym. I was prone to liking men anyway, but he was smooth enough to have me on my belly over the arm of the couch in his office and his dick inside me before I realized what was happening. He popped my male cherry and had me crossed over that line without any meaningful resistance from me. But he was cajoling me all the time about offering me a new life developing as a table tennis star.

He gave me what I wanted and I gave him what he wanted. And what Mitch Wilson wanted was to finance his work with table tennis by sexually dominating his players and pimping them to paying men. He made more money as a pimp than as a coach. I can't say that I didn't smoothly work into that system.

When I was brought into the California Table Tennis Club I found a whole new world of semiprofessional sport that extended across the United States and beyond, with the most serious competition being in Asia. I was partnered with the Chinese-American guy, Eddie Teng, and, together, we were becoming almost unbeatable. Eddie was one of Mitch's boys in his pimping sideline. It wasn't long before I realized that he was good, but that he wasn't great. I wanted to be good enough to play in Asia. Money was being pumped into the U.S. programs that filtered down to living wages for the players--barely living wages. There was bigger money for players in the East, especially Texas, and even more in Asia, where the sport was really taken seriously.

To move forward, I needed to move up in programs and get a better partner to double with than Eddie. To break loose of Mitch Wilson, who had taught me about as much as I could learn from him, I had to boost my income. Most of what I made now was from being pimped by Wilson. As I saw it, I had two choices in going from here, if I was going to go from here. I could either move up to a club with better benefits to the players or I could find a sugar daddy to support me who was willing to promote a career for me in table tennis.

Each time Mitch matched me with a man, most of whom came from those who were following table tennis, I assessed him as a possible sugar daddy.

One of these days, I reasoned, I would find what I needed.

* * * *

Mitch drove me toward downtown L.A. from his gym in Rosemead, taking me to the three-star-and-working-its-way-down eight-story Embassy Suites by Hilton in Downey, on Firestone Boulevard, with me waiting in the Brickstones Bar until he had checked me in. He took me up to an eighth-floor room, with a balcony and tired-looking furniture, looking out north toward the downtown L.A. area.

"Wait for him here, Sean," Mitch said when we got into the room. It was dimly lit, drawing one's eyes out to and beyond the balcony to the lights of the city beyond. "He'll come in about an hour. Remember that he's important. You need to impress him."

"Who is he? Why do I need to impress him?" I asked, but Mitch was already gone, leaving me alone in the room. I stripped down and took a shower, and when I came out of that and dried off, I pulled my bikini briefs back on and padded out to the balcony to take in the sights of the city in the early evening when traffic was still bustling. Off to my left I could see the ocean shore and, beyond that, only dark-blue ocean dotted with white yachts. From here the world looked quite prosperous. I wanted to be part of that richer world.

But I wanted to continue experiencing the exhilaration and vigor of pounding the ball across a table tennis surface. And I wanted to compete at an ever-higher level.

It was while I was standing at the balcony railing taking in the lights of the deepening evening and the breeze from off the ocean, that strong, muscular arms encircling me from behind, and lips from a man's face nestled into the hollow of my throat. It was dark and he was behind me, so I couldn't see him, but I could feel his naked body. He was hard-bodied and muscular, taller than I was, not young, but powerfully built. I could tell that he was bald--and Asian, from the tone of his skin and what little I could make out of his facial features when I was able to see them in my peripheral vision.

I gripped the railing and held steady in place while, still nuzzling his face into the hollow of my throat, his hands slowly moved down my body, one hand palming my belly to hold me in place while the other pushed the hem of my bikini briefs down until they slid down my legs and I stepped out of them. His hand moved his erection to where the underside of it was rubbing across my hole. Then the hand snaked around, gathered and weighed my balls, and then grasped my cock and stroked me off.

He held me, sighing and moaning, in place while he jacked me off, not relenting until, writhing and moving rhythmically against him, the underside of his cock stroking up and down over my blossoming hole, giving a little cry and collapsing within his control, I released my seed through the open railing of the balcony and down onto whatever lay below me in the darkness.

Then and only then did he fuck me, right there on the balcony, still not revealing more of himself to me except for his powerful body from behind, his kissing and sucking lips, and his thick shaft.

"Jutt your tail back. Give me your hole," he growled, in accented English, and I complied, pushing my butt back and lifting it. As I did that, the bulb of his cock moved into position. I writhed, breathed heavily, and gave little yipping sounds as he penetrated. He was huge, and though I had slackened as he was rubbing his cock on the hole and jacking me off, he was still almost impossible to take.

But take him, I did, slowly, at full, insisting stretch. He embraced me close at the balcony railing, relentlessly pushing up inside me, letting me struggle, but not letting me moved out of his control.

"Shit, fuck," I cried out. "You're so big. You're too big."

"Take it. Take it," he growled.

And I took it--to the hilt. He began to slowly pump me, reaching down and raising my feet off the floor of the balcony, hooking my knees on his hips--and thrusting, thrusting. I crossed my ankles above the top of his plump buttocks, fully under his control, hanging onto the railing with my hands, with his hands cupping my pecs and pulling me back from the railing, as his pumping increased in intensity, speed, and depth.

With a tensing, a jerk, and a little cry of release, he came--once, twice, a third time. I came again with him.

Withdrawing from me, he picked me up, slung me over his shoulder, carried me back into room, and lowered me onto my back on the bed.

I saw his full, magnificently cut, body from the front now in the atmospheric lighting of the room. I gasped, realizing that it was Gon Wu, a major table tennis champion in the States, who had been a leading player in China and, in his late forties, had immigrated to California and formed the AMDT Ping Pong Club in San Franciso, a rival organization to the one in L.A. and one who usually bested the Rosemead team in regional competitions.

He was tall and well-muscled. His body, including his head, was smooth skinned. He wasn't a handsome man, but he was hard-bodied, powerful, and one of the best table tennis players who had played in the States. The men he coached went far.

He also was massively endowed, both long and thick. His balls were the size of lemons and hung low. He had just fucked me from behind. I had been royally fucked.

It wasn't over.

He hovered over me for a few minutes after laying me on the bed, presumably to be sure I'd stay in place and wouldn't bolt. I wouldn't bolt. He'd conquered me. I'd surrendered. His huge cock owned me. I saw with a bit of relief, though, that he'd worn a condom. He rolled the spent one off, tossed it in a wastebasket and, while he was turned to do that, took a length of black plastic material out of a briefcase open on a chair next to the bed. It was some sort of stretching restraint, with two loops at each end.

I lay there, eyes wide open and watching him work as he looped the stretchy band behind my neck and methodically trussed me up, my left ankle and wrist being bound together in the loops at one end of the band and my right ankle and wrist to the loops on the other end. It was a good thing was as limber as I was, a trait that helped me in moving rapidly to the bouncing ball on one end of a ping-pong table.

I was bound, on my back, completely defenseless, open and vulnerable. Gon Wu, stood between my raised and spread legs, my buttocks on the edge of the mattress, completely accessible to him. He went down on his knees, moving his hands up my torso, caressing me and working my nubs as his face went to my balls, cock, and hole. He ate me out and sucked me off, as I gently rocked against him as best I could, moaned and groaned at the attention he was giving me, and arched my back and cried out in ecstasy as I came for him in his throat.

By then he was in erection again. He stood, hovering over me, feasting on my vulnerable body with his eyes, and rolled on another condom and lubed himself up.

Leaning over me, he clutched my throat with one hand while he put himself in position with the other one. He mounted, penetrated deep and swift, and fucked the hell out of me.

Afterward, as I lay on my back on the bed, freed finally, and mentally checking over my body for damage--which, whatever I found, didn't match the glorious fucking I'd just received, he stood at the door to the balcony, looking out over the city, and sipping on a beer from the hotel room refrigerator.

"You take cock as well as you play table tennis," he said at last.

"Thank you--I think," I replied.

"I've been watching you. I think you only get better and better on the table. I'd like you to come to San Franciso and play on my team."

"And that's a reason for this--for what we did here?"

"I'm on as much a budget as Wilson is here in L.A. If you come to San Franciso, you'll have to turn tricks for both of us like you do here. I needed to know how well you do at that."

"And...?"

"And I'm inviting you to come to San Francisco and work with me. There's a tournament coming up in the Philippines. I want to enter you in that."

Mitch Wilson hadn't said he'd do that for me. "I'm under contract here. I'd have to pay $10,000 to get out of it."

"I'd pay that. I'm going for a shower now. Think about it."

When he came out of the bathroom and was dressing, he said, "Well?"

"I have to think some more about it," I answered.

"Don't take too long. My card is there on the nightstand. I need to know within ten days, or I'll have to work with someone else for the Manila meet."

And then he was gone, and I was left with an option I hadn't had before coming up to this hotel room, a glow from having been well fucked--better than Mitch Wilson did me--and the need to make a decision. I hated having to make a choice.

* * * *

"You're Sean Hampton, aren't you? I liked how you played. I've kept track of your rise in the competitions."