10:00am. Ford squirmed uncomfortably as the seam of the way-too-snug singlet dug sharply into his ass crack. It was only Monday and he wished the week was over already.

Standing at attention with the rest of the wrestling team, he was listening to the Coach congratulate them on winning Sectionals that Saturday.

Ford’s scandalous win over Troy Adams from The Prep had put the team over the top.

Of course, the Coach being the Coach, his congratulation technique left something to be desired.

“Okay, Ladies, listen up! You won Sectionals. Great. Effing great. But if you expect another slipshod performance like that to win us State, think again, Ladies! The only one who gave it his all was Ford Spencer, here!”

Ford blushed to the roots of his hair as several of his teammates giggled and whispered to each other, led by the Russell Twins, as usual:

“Really left it all on the MAT!” Snicker.

“Actually, left it all on ADAMS!” Guffaw.

Actually, most of that huge—and hugely humiliating—ejaculation had been trapped in the fabric of the singlet, which had been ripped to shreds in his subsequent encounter with the referee.

Ergo his being in an old—and way too tight—singlet today.

At least Nick wasn’t here to gloat over his humiliation. Yesterday Nick had flow down to Florida for 10 days with his folks.

Must be nice to have money.

“Ford! Are you paying attention? What did I just say?”

“Um... I... uh...”

“Pair up, Ford, pair up! Whip it into shape for State!”

The other guys scrambled to find a partner—avoiding Ford like the plaque. The only other unpaired guy was Jorden Blaine. Usually the last one chosen.

Ford felt a little sorry for the husky redhead. He was strong, but slow and awkward, at wrestling as with just about everything else. Rumor had it his father—a widowed farmer—was a pretty mean bastard. Jorden was a member of Ford’s father’s church, and more than usually devout.

Obviously Jorden had heard about Ford’s scandalous performance the previous Saturday, even though he hadn’t witnessed it, and was eyeing Ford’s groin area nervously.

“For Christ’s sake, Jorden! He isn’t going to bite! Here!”

To Ford’s amazement the Coach dug one beefy hand into his ass crack, and the other into Jorden’s, and pushed them both together, groin to groin.

Jorden gasped and instinctively tried to pull away. The Coach just pushed them together harder, grinding their pubic areas against each other even more.

“Don’t be a pussy, Jorden! It’s just wrestling another guy, get over it. If you’re face to face with another guy’s junk, who cares? You just get the job done and win your match! Got it?”

Jorden squirmed in intense discomfort as the Coach’s strong fingers dug into his thinly-clad butt crack, causing a surprisingly ticklish sensation to shoot through his gut.

“Coach, I -”


“Y-y-yes. Yes, sir! Got it.”


After a resounding slap to each of the boys’ butts, the Coach stalked off.

Jorden looked down in embarrassment, giving a discreet tug to the back of his singlet to free it from his ass crack.

Ford heard one of the Russell twins chortle.

It was going to be a long week.


8:00pm. At the frat house, Luke smiled in satisfaction at the new recording studio he had set up. Over the weekend, he and Steve had installed high-speed networking cable between their two rooms, and had concealed 5 high-quality mini-cams aimed at the bed. Luke had even given Steve some money to buy fancier restraints and sex toys.

And boy, was it going to pay off.

The several flat-screen monitors showed different live views of Steve’s ‘workshop’. Tied to the bed was a huge, butch Italian jock named Tony who looked like Superman, complete with forehead hair curl. All he had on was an hour’s worth of sweat.

The totally straight stud was secretly into getting his cock milked by an expert while having his tight ass plowed by giant dildos. He was also a talker, babbling in a high voice things like ‘oh, fuck, ya got me, oh yeah, work me, work my nut, get me going, oh yeah, milk that fat cock, make me shoot, oh yeah, baby, that’s it, push it in harder, yeah, deeper, all the way in, stretch my hole, baby, yeah...’. he yelled breathily like a girl when he came, which so far had been four times...

Steve said the big-dicked bull could usually spit out five or six loads per session. After that he would tie the dude face down and use a high-power Hitachi wand on the guy’s butthole as he humped himself to two more dry cums.

Luke adjusted the remotes so that the cameras caught good close-ups of Tony’s begging face as well as his wide-stretched asshole.

The film they had made of Brian was already getting a lot of attention. The hunk had happily made another appointment, not realizing that he was digging himself in deeper and deeper. Step by step they would get each of these guys to go further... until they had enough ammo to force them into full hardcore.

He could hardly wait for Wednesday night... the O’Rourke twins were coming: both of them members of the North Prairie swim team.

It was going to be a good week.




Ford woke with a start, heart pounding. “Wh-what?”

“Your paper, Mr. Spencer. Your four-page essay. The one that is due TODAY!”

Ford jerked upright as Mr. Lang’s hand slammed onto his desk. He blinked, getting his bearings as he realized he must have nodded off in English class. Hi eyes widened further as he remembered about the essay. The one he hadn’t written last night.

His shoulders slumped. “Fuck.”

Snorts from behind him. He hadn’t said that out loud, had he?

Mr. Lang stalked back to his desk, scribbled something a pink note pad, tore off the sheet, and held it out.

Apparently he had. Fuck.

Ford got up and walked to the front of the room, shielding his groin with his book bag. Having overslept, he had barely made it to school in time, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and without taking a shower or giving himself his usual morning hand-job. As result, he was still sporting a morning woody.

“Sorry, Mr. Lang, I -”

“Dean’s office, Ford. That’s the second assignment missed this year. Which, I will remind you, is only two weeks old. All right class, settle down.”

Ford loped into the hall, closing the door behind him.


The Coach had kept him until six o-clock the day before, making him crouch unseen under his desk, licking his sweaty balls and quietly sucking his dick as he met individually with members of the basketball team. Ford’s heart had been pounding the whole time, certain that one of the guys would put his head down and see that he was under there. After that he had barely had time to wolf down some fast food on the way to the frat house, where he had performed in a live-broadcast internet sex show. He got home (with a pair of thoroughly-drained balls!) at 11pm, only to get an hour-long lecture for being out past curfew. He had tumbled into bed without even thinking about homework.


Ford was handing the disciplinary note to the secretary when the Dean’s door opened.

“Ah yes, Miss Beadle, I’ll take care of this myself, thank you. This way, Mr. Spencer.”

Two minutes later, Ford, completely nude, bent over the Dean’s desk, his own socks and underwear stuffed in his mouth so Miss Beadle wouldn’t hear the noise.

The first, hot smack of the paddle on his buttocks drove the breath from his lungs, just as he felt the icy touch of Dean Flagely’s fingers as they began to milk his jutting erection.

Ford drew a deep breath through the gag as he heard the Dean raise the paddle high.

Eww. He really wished he had put on fresh underwear.



The O’Rourke twins arrived at the frat house for their mutual session with Steve.

They were regulars, coming by about every two weeks. Fierce competitors, they often vied for the top spot on the North Prairie College Swim Team, and they looked it: lithe and smooth-muscled, both with cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and clear, innocent faces. They kept their bodies completely hairless from the neck down, helping each other shave their ass cracks and other hard-to-reach places.

They were straight, but could only have real satisfaction if they were watching each other cum, competing to see who could shoot first. Their girlfriends didn’t approve of this arrangement, therefore... enter Steve.

Luke watched over the network as the two guys stood nervously in the middle of Steve’s room, watching him flip a coin. When they saw the result of the toss, one brother shuddered deeply and put his head in his hands.

In previous sessions Steve had gotten them to divulge their dirty little secret... that from the time they hit puberty, they would jack off at night, in their bunk beds, racing to see who could cum first. The loser had to stop jerking and leave his cock unsatisfied for the night, a fate enforced by having his hands tied to the bed rails until morning.

Luke knew about the twins’ fetish, but he could still hardly believe it. Each session, they would flip a coin. The loser would strip and bend over as Steve inserted a fat, vibrating plug into his tight, pink sphincter and turned it on. He would then put his clothes back on, leaving his hardening cock sticking out his fly, and allow Steve to cuff his hands behind him. All of his clothes except his socks and underwear, that is.

Those were stuffed in his mouth as a gag.

With a few expert strokes, Steve would bring him to full erection and watch for the first bubble of pre-cum, then stop, leaving him unsatisfied. The hapless twin would then be forced to seat himself on Steve’s bondage chair, a tall-narrow ladder back with a padded leather seat. The back of the chair would be slid in between his arms as he sat, so that they were cuffed behind it, and the back corners of the seat each had a padded cuff. These were used to secure the guy’s ankles up off the floor, so that his full weight was on his butt.

All he could do was squirm in the chair, working his ass on the fat, remorseless plug, driving a steady drool of sap from his wide piss lips. With his cock sticking out, he could not even get the minor relief of rubbing himself on the rough denim of his tight jeans.

All he could do was watch in envy as his twin was milked to as many cums as possible.

Before their bi-monthly session, the two denied themselves orgasms for three days, so that they would be randy and raring to go.

Which made it that much more satisfying for the winner. And worse for the loser.

Luke aimed the cameras so that he could also film the seated twin as he stared at the bed. His face was a mask of frustrated lust as he watched Steve lick his twin’s beautiful body, driving him to the first of many orgasms. The blond on the bed had both wrists tied to the headboard, but his legs were free to thrash about. The twins loved oral stimulation, and Steve used his tongue expertly, dancing in and out of the hairless ass hole, tongue-teasing his piss slit, lapping at his nipples, burrowing into his ticklish navel... the blond sighed, gasped, moaned and cooed with pleasure.

Fuck, it was hot, Luke thought.

The helpless twin looked on, humping up and down in his chair as the powerful vibrator buzzed his prostate to the melting point, mentally sharing his brother’s orgasms but unable to cum himself. The camera pointed at this face captured every nuance of his exquisite sexual torment. Including his periodic spasms of disgust at the taste of his own socks and underwear.

Because this time, Steve had added a twist to their game: not only would they not cum for three days prior, but they also were told to keep the same socks and underwear on that whole time.

As twin #2 bounced in the chair, his saliva dissolved the stale sweat from his socks and briefs, turning it into a ripe, heady broth.

Eww. He really wished he had put on fresh underwear.




“That’s right, guys, all of this week’s sweaty straps, in the hamper, let’s go...”

Ford stood at attention next to Coach MacAnally, wearing a tight, hot pink tee-shirt and matching pink athletic supporter. The garish shirt was cut high to show off his belly-button and clashed horribly with the crimson glow of his full-body blush.

He was only glad that Nick was not there to smirk at his embarrassment.

Unfortunately for Ford, Nick’s absence meant that the Coach was giving him his full attention. Wednesday he had barged into the Dean’s office mid-way through Ford’s ‘punishment’ — as a result of which the paddle handle ‘accidentally’ wound up buried in his butt — and had been more than usually sadistic about devising humiliating games for Ford to play during his ‘study periods’ each day.

Friday’s seventh-hour senior class was a new low.

The Coach announced that, as punishment for Ford’s outrageous behavior during the now-infamous wrestling match the previous Saturday, he had been assigned jock strap duty. This entailed hand-washing the jock straps for the entire senior class every Friday, while wearing the new uniform Coach MacAnally had concocted.

Ford kept his hands behind his head and eyes raised to heaven, trying to ignore the line of guys coming up to drop wads of stinking, crusty, stained supporters into the hamper at his feet, many of them whistling at his girlish uniform.

Finally, the group of sniggering guys had changed into fresh kit and started to file out to the gym.

“Ten minutes of the usual workout, guys, I’ll be out in a minute!”

Ford watched in apprehensive silence as the older man sidled up to him. He felt the Coach’s coarse fingers brush the small of his back.

“Keep those hands up until I tell you, boy... and those legs spread...”

Ford felt the Coach’s hand caressing his tense buttocks.

The Coach kicked the hamper over, sending its aromatic contents into a heap on the floor.

“The laundry routine is simple, Ford... you put the straps in a pile, and you lay down on top and hump on them until you cum... you pull the pink strap down around your ankles so your dick is right in the pile of dirty jocks... with one hand, you take a nice, crusty, jock and hold it to your mouth and nose, and you sniff it and chew on it until it’s all wet...

“... and with the other hand, your finger-fuck your ass, like this...”

Ford shuddered as a strong, calloused digit pushed into his hole.

“And you keep doing all that until you cum. So if you take more than 30 minutes to cum, you’re going be lying there humping the straps and fingering your asscunt when the guys come back to shower. Got it?”

“Coach! You can’t—Please!!!”

MacAnally pushed him roughly to the floor, leaving him sprawled in the heap of straps.

“Just 27 minutes left, Ford. Better get humping!”

Chortling at his own joke, the Coach slapped his beefy thigh and went into his office. Ford knew he would be watching the whole thing on his secret cameras, so faking wasn’t an option.

Reluctantly, he chose a strap at random and held it to his mouth.

The reek of horny 18-yr-old ball sweat and stale semen filled his nostrils, and Ford groaned as he felt his cock spring to instant hardness. The Coach was very lenient about letting guys spend time in the toilet stalls, and as a result most of the guys snuck a quick jerk once or twice a week, wiping up the mess with their jock straps.

Ford bit down, drawing a wad of crunchy fabric into his mouth, tasting the acrid accumulation of pre-cum mixed with the ripe, rancid-butter flavor of old jism.

Ford tugged the silly pink strap down around his ankles, rolled over, and began to hump, thrusting his rigid cock amongst the straps. He spread his legs, and let his left hand move behind so he could wriggle a strong finger up his horny butt...

The Coach certainly knew how to push all his dirty little buttons, and the thought of what he must look like on the secret cameras, the thought of the Coach watching his writhing, sluttish self-abuse, put Ford’s hormones into overdrive, pushing him toward the edge...

But, as it turned out, it was surprisingly hard to cum.

Not that Ford wasn’t up for it. But sprawled on the hard terrazzo floor, his knees were taking a beating, and there was no good posture to really work his hips without bruising the rest of his body on the floor, and the Coach had expressly forbidden him to use his hands to get off.

Besides that, the straps kept scooting out from under his humping groin, so that he was whacking his knob painfully on the floor, and he had to stop and put them back in a pile every few seconds.

It wound up being better after he kicked off the pink strap entirely, spread his legs really wide, and balanced on his flexed toes to keep his knees from chafing on the floor.

He found himself wondering whose strap he was chewing on, and imagined the guy knowing about it, maybe watching...

He groaned and jammed the finger in his ass really hard, so close to cumming, but not quite...

He wished he had started out in a different position, so he could see the door, but unfortunately his spread ass was pointed in that direction, and he couldn’t see the clock, either...

In his imagination, he heard the door open. Was there a quick intake of breath? A slight creak as someone let the door shut quietly? Stealthy footfalls, coming nearer?

He could practically feel someone staring at his violated butt hole...

Writhing like a maniac, half in terror, half in mindless lust, he pounded his groin against the floor, heedless of the pain as his body bounced on the unyielding floor, grinding and bucking and moaning and clenching and twisting and gasping and cumming and cumming and CUMMING—

His body froze in a series of spastic poses as each ejaculation wracked his body, and his trapped cock shot bolt after bolt of hot boy snot on the rough, crumpled jocks. Ford clenched his teeth to keep quiet during the intense cum as he rode it out.

Finally, his orgasm subsided, and he lay still, breathing hard.

God, that fantasy of someone watching had put him right over the edge.

Ford head a cough, and spun around in stark terror.

Towering above him was the ramrod-straight form and chiseled face of Ryan Van Dyne. The cold grey eyes bored into his like an icy laser.

Those same narrowed eyes had witnessed his humiliation on the mat a week earlier. And now, this.

Blind panic seized Ford, and he scrabbled sideways like a crab, crashing against the wall of lockers, ready to die of shame.

Not a single dull, ash-blond hair of the graduate’s head was out of place. He gave a small, cat-like smile, and turned and walked quietly back into the gym.

Ryan had taken early graduation in December, but was allowed to finish out the athletic year as part of the basketball team, for which Senior PE was a requirement. It was the only class Ryan attended.

Just his luck.

Ford rolled into a ball on the floor, and it was some minutes before he could move. He only barely managed to get himself—and the heap of cum-spattered straps—into the store cupboard before the boys came in to strip and shower.



7:00pm. North Prairie College Clinic. After hours.

Steve, dressed in a lab coat and sporting the cliché stethoscope, opened the door to Exam Room C, followed by John, kitted out in full orderly rig.

On the raised exam bench sat a young man in dress shirt, tie, and slacks, holding his hands modestly over his bulging crotch. He blushed fetchingly.

“Hi, Doctor. Thanks for fitting me in tonight.”

“No trouble at all, Erik. Now just sign this consent form and we’ll get started.”

Erik Ransome was an avowed 19-year-old virgin with no steady girlfriend, a devout Baptist who attended Ford’s daddy’s church and spent all his free time doing good works. A freshman history major at North Prairie College, he was trying to decide if he wanted to go to seminary after he graduated.

And he had never masturbated. Not once. Ever.

He had shown up at the frat house the day before, in an expensive but very plain suit, his short, light brown hair neatly combed, explaining that he was committed to never having sex outside marriage. Period. And he couldn’t masturbate - spill his own seed, was the term Erik used - because it was a grave sin, absolutely forbidden in Holy Scripture.

After much hemming and hawing, Erik told Steve about a certain Dr. Sacks, who went to the same church and understood Erik’s predicament and offered to help. For the past three years, he had been reporting to the doctor every four weeks to have his balls drained. Dr. Sacks had explained that the procedure was necessary to his health, and since it was performed by a doctor, it was not a sin.

Steve had thought: Uh huh.

But three months ago, Dr. Sacks and his wife had retired and moved to Sarasota. And Erik was getting desperate to find a new ‘doctor.’

At first, Steve had been inclined to send him packing. After all, Erik wasn’t seeking cum control or milking - just a quick ‘medical’ procedure and out the door. Plus, he wanted the ‘procedure’ to take place in a proper examining room, not the frat house.

But there had been something appealing about the guy, a deep-seated need to please authority that would be fun to mess with. And the religious angle might present interesting hooks... plus, he sensed that there was more to the Dr. Sacks story.

So Steve had agreed to try to set something up for Friday night, and showed Erik out.

As Erik headed down the sidewalk, Steve had noticed how the guy’s butt poked at the tails of his suit coat, promising a pair of perky globes underneath.

Steve had told Luke to get extra cameras for ‘field work,’ and told John to start looking for a venue.

Fortunately, John used to date a guy who worked at the college clinic, and everything was set for Friday night.

In Exam Room C, Erik signed the check-in forms without noticing that a porn modeling agreement lurked in the fine print.

At ‘Nurse’ John’s direction, he shyly peeled off his outer clothing, unaware of the hidden cameras recording his every move.

In the next room, Luke watched on the monitors as Erik shucked off his shirt, shoes, and slacks, leaving himself in a spotless and very tight-fitting sleeveless tee, black dress socks, and tighty-white briefs which clung to his bubble butt like a coat of paint. He was fit-looking without being overly muscular.

‘Doctor’ Steve made a show of checking Erik’s pulse and listening to his chest, then taking his temperature with an ear probe before looking down his throat with a flashlight. Then he snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

“All right, Erik, lose the undies, and get up on the exam table.” The patient hesitated, clearly uncomfortable that John was still in the room. “I don’t have all day, Erik.”

Blushing, Erik shimmied out of the briefs, then got up on the padded exam bench on all fours as ordered.

Steve suppressed a whistle. Even soft, the dangling cock was surprisingly impressive for Erik’s size. And fuck, the guy’s ass was a perfect beauty. This was going to be fun.

Erik froze as the cold latex glove closed around his balls.

Steve palpitated the guy’s balls, which were swollen with three month’s pent-up sperm, making Erik wince with discomfort. He then announced that it was time for the digital prostate exam.

“Um - is that really necessary? Doctor? I-aahhhhhhEEEEE!”

“Keep your hair on, Erik, it’s just a finger up your ass. Nothing to be worried about.”

Erik’s shriek subsided to a low whimper and he twitched helplessly as Steve gave him a VERY thorough exam, poking and scratching the swollen love gland. After about 30 seconds, the guy’s cock began to twitch and grow, making Erik blush scarlet.

“Uh - um - doctor, I’m sorry, I can’t help -”

“Perfectly normal, Erik, happens to everybody. Now hold still.”

He kept up the digital probe for three minutes, watching as Erik’s cock grew to full glory: thick, straight, 11 inches long, with a ribbed circumcision scar and a nicely flared helmet. He withdrew his finger and gave Erik a friendly slap on the butt.

It was time to see how far Erik would follow the fantasy scenario.

“Well Erik, I’m glad you came to me. You have a very serious prostate infection.”

To his amazement, Erik continued to treat him as if he were a real medic.

“I have - um - you mean - it’s serious?”

“Very. If it’s not treated, you could well become sterile in weeks. First, we need to ease the hypertrophied prostate pressure via ejaculation, then we need to repeat the procedure with prostate therapy. Nurse, will you restrain the patient, please?”

They rolled the stunned-looking Erik onto his back and John strapped his arms to the side restraints as Steve deployed the stirrups. Within seconds, Erik found himself fully restrained and helpless.

“Uh - doctor - I don’t know -”

“This is for your own good, Erik. You want to have kids, right? Once you meet the right girl?”

“Y-yes - of course.”

“Then keep still during the next procedure, okay? Just shut your eyes and relax.”

Steve scooted his desk chair between Erik’s thighs, squirted KY onto his gloved hand, and grabbed Erik’s penis.

After just a few seconds of stroking the massive cock began to drool presap. The guy was a real leaker.

Erik bit his lip and tried to control his moans of pleasure as the long-delayed orgasm began to build. His breathing quickly grew ragged and then all of a sudden he gasped and his eyes flew open and the geyser of white-hot cum blasted from his glassy knob, scorching the swollen piss lips and flying over his head to splatter the wall.

Crying out and banging his head on the flat pillow, Erik came and came, the white cream shooting in every direction like some mad fountain. Steve kept stroking until the last curd of semen oozed from the gaping slit.

“You made quite a mess, Erik.”

“S-ss-sorry... doctor...”

Nurse John cleaned Erik up as he blushed and looked sheepish. Steve snapped on a fresh glove and resumed his place between Erik’s legs. In one smooth move, he pushed a finger in to the hilt, and went to work. Almost instantly, Erik’s cock was drooling sap.

Amazing. Erik didn't seem to need a refractory period. His prostate was able to perform sexually just minutes after orgasm.

Steve smiled. Erik was an ideal milking subject.

Erik squirmed and cleared his throat several times, increasingly discombobulated by the anal frigging, but clearly afraid to question the ‘doctor.’

Finally, after several minutes:

“I - uh - ummm-oooOOOOOO - oh - uh - Doctor - I don't - I mean why -”

“The prostate has to be massaged for 30 minutes before we can apply the antibiotic treatment.”

“Th - thirty? But aren’t you going to - you know -” Erik nodded at his untouched, rampant cock.

“Settle down, cowboy. All in good time.”

Erik closed his eyes and bit his lip as Steve’s finger continued its work, driving waves of hitherto undreamed-of pleasure cascading through his gut. It was only by exercising his considerable self-control that Erik was able to avoid the humiliation of begging the doctor to stroke his cock.

Steve exchanged a smile with John over Erik’s heaving chest. Clearly, Erik had an unusually sensitive ass. The restrained, straight virgin was squirming in obvious lust, his nipples rosy, his cock dripping, and his hips moving unconsciously in a ‘fuck-me-harder’ figure-eight pattern.

Unfortunately for Erik, Steve decided that the procedure might have to be longer than usual.


Erik Ransome left the clinic in a daze, clutching his ‘Next Appointment’ card. Doctor Steve had told him he would have to come every Friday, until his prostate was better.

Within an hour, Luke had done a quick edit of the video footage and uploaded it to one of his web sites. Virgin Cum Clinic was a huge on-line success, drawing thousands of hits overnight.




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