DISLCAIMER: IF YOU ARE NOT OVER 18 YEARS OLD DO NOT READ THIS AND LEAVE THIS NEWSGROUP. THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY AND THE CHARACTERS DO NOT REPRESENT ANY REAL LIVE PERSON OR PERSONS.
The Freshman Written by Glaucon55
Comments or suggestions to Glaucon55@aol.com
I've been in the Lamba house for two years, a junior coxswain on the crew team. Coming to Agustana College was the smartest move I could have made. This small town college was perfect for me, and once you paid your fees, they pretty much made sure that you didn't flunk out. As for joining the crew team, where else could you work out with guys over six feet tall, with fine legs, muscular arms and built chests, who were half nude and wet most of the time. Jesus I loved walking into the showers after morning practice, especially in the winter. Beef would fill the small dump we called a boat house on the lake, and between the whirls of steam, I could see and smell the guys around me. As for me, well I'm 5'5", 134lbd, built like a small town full-back, with size 8 feet, and a size 8 cock. My eight inches curves wickedly to the right, with a fat plum on the end and surrounded by the black Irish hair that covers my head, is under my arms, trails down my chest, dusts my arms and legs, and is thick up the crack of my ass. My skin is pale, and ruddy, but during the summers I darken enough to get that black Irish tan with a pale, pink butt and feet.
I made sure that when we returned this past fall, I was assigned a junior college transfer who pledged the house for a roommate, and my luck was that he was coming out for crew. Now the coxswain is in charge of the team in the boat, and one of the reasons they chose me was cuz I love giving those big goofs orders and tons of shit. It's a rush watching those big hunks do whatever I tell 'em, and getting to chew out their asses if they make mistakes while we're on the water. Sometimes, when they really fuck up, I tell 'em the only way to get back into my good graces, and the coach's, is to meet with me for some private practice. The guys know that if they come, it's part of a come on, and I haven't missed yet. These guys enjoy the thought of me taking charge, and I enjoy the fact that some of these dick brains just want someone to tell them what to do.
A week ago, I had Riley Kramer in my room, working on more than his stroke, if you know what I mean. I had the big son of bitch stretched out against a rack on my closet door, tied to the four corners, with a quill feather in my hand, and him gagged. His big arms were stretched over the edge of the door, and secured so his hands could wiggle, but his body was completely vulnerable and exposed. His jutting tits rubbed against the rough pad I have attached on the upper part of the door, irritating the buds and making them pink and stiff. Standing next to the big oaf, I took the quill and slowly dragged in up and down his muscled sides. He groaned and hiccuped behind his gag, and when I took the sharpened end and scratched it in his hair tufted pit, he jumped to his toes, and clenched his butt, wrenching against his bonds desperately trying to avoid the maddening tickle. I alternated from side to side, and then used one in each hand from behind him so I could work both exposed arm pits at the same time. He looked like an oversized puppet, dancing on his toes, and wrenching to twist from the quills. I thought he might pull the door off the hinges, but I had made sure that door was strong and fixed to the frame. A high pitched whine and gasps came from behind his gag, along with choked pleading when he could catch his breath. There's something wonderful about a guy whose dick gets stiff when he's tied up, and he voluntarily submits to a work out session with me in charge. Each time I get Riley secured, my cock starts dripping scum in my briefs and aches from how hard it gets.
After letting him rest for a few moments, I got down on my knees behind him, and worked the inside of his thick, hairy thighs, drawing the quill along the taught muscles. When I was sure from his squealing he was exhausted from my use of the quill, I gently picked up a wicked little glass rod, covered like the body of a bee, with little bristles. I brought the thing up to Riley's face, so he could see it. A guy in Chemistry made it for me. Riley's eyes widened, and more perspiration dripped down the side of his face and from under his arms. He knew where the rod was going. I dipped the furry tip into a green gell which I had purchased over spring break in New Orleans. Then I gently lowered myself to my knees, behind Riley's taut butt cheeks. I blew into his crack, then gently used my fingernail to scratch at the hairy line. Riley thrust himself against the closet, and his dick, sticking through a hole I had in the door, waved hard and helplessly---drooling long streams of clear pre-scum to the floor. Finally, I parted the thick cheeks, and gently but insistently scratched and probed until I inserted my finger up into his hidden portal. With my finger lubed with grease, I tickled and rubbed his ass lining, until the blunt digit wormed its way slowly up the resisting hole. I could hear Riley gasp, then groan from behind his gag--- aaaahhh hhhh.....mmmmmmmm....mmmpppphhh -when my fingernail gently grazed his hard little prostrate. Nothing like having a big boy dangling on your finger, his ass feeling stuffed and his sore little nut getting poked and prodded. Again he banged against the door, but there was no where to go. For several minutes, I gently frigged the big junior's butt hole, making sure to touch all his most sensitive spots while he gasped and groaned from the need to cum, scum burping from the big pisshole in his dork each time I rubbed his joy nut. On the other side of the door, the big cock waved like a flag pole in the breeze, covered with the fuck slime I was massaging out of him, aching for a rough fist to relieve the swelling in his fat, hairy, balls. Good I love the smell of ball sweat and jizz starch.
Without warning, I slid my finger out of him. Then holding the cheeks open again with one hand, I slowly but deliberately inserted the furry rod coated in the slimy gel. The thin rod is only five inches long, just enough to get up Riley's butt, but not long enough to hurt or damage him. Once it was in, and I could hear old Rile groaning from the sensation of the ticklish little bristles screwing against the lining of his ass, I began sliding it back and forth. After about a minute or two, I screwed the base end of the rod into a harness made of leather which held it securely in place so he could not shit it out of his hole. The tickling bristles scratched and scraped in a maddening fashion along the soft lining of Riley's manhole, and the green gell slowly began to take its effect. Then I snapped a electric cord into a socket at the base, and went to a small console sitting on the floor where it was connected. The console was the old generator from my electric train when I was a kid. Still worked like a charm. I had used it first in this new role when I was in high school with some wires and clilps on the tits, balls, and foreskin of a dumb baseball player from our summer league team that I got drunk and took to my parents cabin one New Year's Eve. He was about twenty years old, and worked as a garage jockey in the town next to ours. By the time I was through, the dick-wad had sucked his own cock to two giant cums, while the charge ran from his big toe, his tits and his balls. He had a long think dick, and I'll bet he still sucks his own cock after I was through showin' him how good he could make himself...yeah!
Now, with some improvements, that old generator still worked to provide the power to my new toys. I turned up the dial slowly, and as I did so, the rod pulsed in Riley's butt, and began to jiggle. As it jiggled, so did Riley, boucing on his toes like a man with a bee up his butt. I loved watching the way his big feet strained to lift him up, as if to do so would relieve the maddening buzzing up his fuck hole. The big body bounced and banged, and I knew the fat dicked fucker was in heaven. This was the part of his training that he craved and longed for. The rumors about old Riley were all true. One of the guys in the boat had double-dated with him and leaned over the back seat to see old Riley with his head back and his dick down the throat of his date and her long nailed index finger rooting up his shit shute. Conner said Riley was totally in her control, head lolling back, shorts around his feet, dick rock hard down her vacuuming throat, and her finger frigging him out of his mind. Another guy who got Riley drunk, took him home, and had tied his legs over his head and butt frigged Riley for the good part of a night, making him cum three times without ever touching the big goof's cock. He said he loved the way Riley howled for someone to jerk his meat, but blasted cum anyway from the sensations up his hole.
Tonight though, I had a special treat to join with the thorough massage his prostrate was receiving from the maddening bristles. I sat cross legged around the other side of the door, and picking up and old electric toothbrush. I leaned around the edge of the door to let him see me switch it on. Riley's got this thing about his nine inches of prick. He can take all the rough fist sliding you can give him, but he can't stand any scratching or chaffing of his fat prick tip. Actually, that's what he digs the most, but he can't cum that way, just stay hard and drool with the tickling sensations on his fat knob driving him crazy. I dipped the end of the whirring toothbrush into the gel, then I took his log into my hands, bending the upcurved scimitar down slightly to work the bristles over and around the thick flange and the bulbous, meaty tip. Now old Riley bounced and strained to pull his prick away from the bristles whirring back and forth across his knob. Bbbbbbuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....went the sound of the brush as it I put it back and forth on old Riley's fuck stick. I stood up and removed his gag, while I held the brush at his piss lips, and roiled it back and forth on his circumscision scar. I wanted to hear each squeal, and his futile pleading.
He didn't disappoint. "Aaaaaahhhh fuckkkkkkkk, jeeeezzzzzz, ooooooohhhhh, Mack......., pllllleeeeeaaaasssseeee, get that thing outta my butt, I can't take it.......oooooooohhhhh, those bristles, sssssshhhhiiiiitttt! Getta it outta me, aaahhhhhhhh.....my, nut, my button, it's killin' meeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeee!" Daaaammmmnnn...my knob...nooooo... nnnnnnooooottttt my prick....nnnnooottt my big dick....my dick........its soooooo... helplllllesssss....nnnnooooo...mannnnn... ya gotta let me goooooo...aaaaaahhhhhh... jjjjeeeeeezzzzz you're working meeeeee, you're torturin' my big old dick knob.... aaaaaaggggghhhhh! The last cry came out as a high pitched squeal when I put the whirring bristles of the toothbrush right on the top of the head of Riley's unprotected fuck pole. I basted the dick head with gel, which causes harmless little red bumps to develop all around the knob that itch like a million little mosquito bites. Riley almost went mad, when the itching inside his asshole, which was alternately soothed and inflamed by the bristles up his shit shute, was added to the same sensation on his cock tip. I used my alternate thumb from the hand holding his dick, covered with a smooth, soft cotton finger glove, to gently rub where the stiff bristles of the electric toothbrush angrily agitated his prick tip. I wondered if Riley would go hoarse. He did begin to babble:
"MACK! Pppppllllleeeeaaassseee mmmmaaaaaannnnnn, aaaaagggggghhhhhhhh, nnnnnnnoooooooooo....not my prick heaaaadddddddd.......nnnnooooooooooo... I caaaanannnnnn't take it maaaaannnnnn.....pppleeeaaasseeee.....oooooooooohhhh fuck, ohhhh shit........yyyyyyooooooooouuuuuu got meeeeeeee mmaaaaannn.... I'll do anything......pppplllleeaaaaseeee....tell me what you want me to do.......... PLEASE MACK.....tttteeeel mmmeeeeeee......!"
I responded appropriately. "Riley, buddy, you gotta big dick and a small brain. For the next week, your dick is mine...understand you moron? I got this cock cage with your name on it. For the next two weeks, you don't cum unless I let you. And when you do, it'll be cause I let you jerk your meat in front of me with a finger or a vibrator up your butt. You're gonna spend the nights here, and when you go to bed, I'll tie your hands and feet down, and put a tent over your cock so the sheets won't touch you...and that dick better be hard and wet from need. If you have any wet dreams, then I'll borrow a bottle of mosquitos from the Bio Lab and stick your prick tip into it so they can feast on your knob...then I'll use some gel and my finger gloves with the denim tips or bristle tips to work you over, without letting you cum (that fantasy always got his dick on the verge of squirting). You got it dickwad? Does that little brain get the message....no soothing those bull balls without my permission and supervision. Someone needs to supervise that dick day and night...and I'm the guy to do it!"
Riley acquiesced right on schedule. OOOHHHHH FUCK MAAAACCCCK! I'll do anything you saaaaayyyyy.....aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh....aaaaagggggggghhhhhh... you just tell me....I'm yours maaaaaaannnn....you can do anything....you know my dick is always haaaarrrdddd...pppppllllleeeeaaasseeee, Mack, you can supervise my prick, I need it......just telllllll mmmmmeeeeee....aaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeee..... what you want....aaaaannnnd, just let me cum this once, oooooohhhhhh plllleeeeaaaseeee, just lemme cum...my balls are killing me! My dick is yours mannnnn...my dick is yours......ppppllleezzzzz, take control of my big hard dick Mack.....I need to be controlllllled.....aaaaaaaggggghhhhhhhh!"
His cock was completely swollen, the knob was covered in bumps and sloppy with gel and pre-cum. The slut was ready. I stood up and put the toothbrush down, then turned off the vibrator up his quim. He looked shocked, he pleaded with me to finish him. I told him I would.
Within five minutes, his feet were tied over his head and his wrists were tied to the corners of my bed head. I put a bolster under his lower back to support him. I had trussed his legs back until his dick tip was just over his mouth. I carefully cleaned the gel off his prick knob, but the angry bumps would not go away. Now, without any soothing ministrations, they were pebbled and hot to the touch. I picked up an anal probe, and slid it gently home with more gel on it, then turned on the vibrator, making sure to fuck him just right grazing and bumping his fuck nut deep up his butt. Using a bristle glove, I let him fuck my fist with his itchy cock. He fucked like a champ, driving that curved cock back and forth so the stiff bristles would soothe his cock and dick head. I would open the fist though, just enough to prevent him from getting relief too quickly. "Open your mouth sperm breath, time for your vitamins...." He howled, and opened his mouth the best he could between gasping for breath and yelling for me to make him cum. I made him promise to let me gag him and tickle his toes until his dick shot from the tickling alone, and to suck my toes for the rest of the semester whenever I asked him to, especially on the floor under a carol in the library. When he agreed to do it all, then I gave him the relief that he was begging for.
One last twist of my fist around the distended dork, and the scum began rocketing out of the tip. I jabbed the probe against his protrate and let the vibrator wring the stuff out of him. I aimed the jerking dong toward his mouth, and he slurped and lapped and gulped, swallowing down ten long shots of thick, white cum, and all the slimy dreggs, I kept nursing his flange and the piss lips with the bristles until he finally almost jumped out the restraints. Riley's gonna make some girl a good husband in a few years, and I intend to make sure he's "up" to the challenge.
Crew Team Discipline Part-II Written by Glaucon55
Comments or suggestions to Glaucon55@aol.com
As much as I liked my sessions with Riley. It was the freshman stroke that was assigned to me that made my junior year a dick dripping success. Spencer Harding III was eighteen years of Missouri cream, who came to me for training. He had heard that getting onto the team meant working with me, and after years of conservative home life he was looking for any port into which to shoot his scum. Without having to admit to any inappropriate feelings, Spencer could get his needs taken care of and still be just one of the guys. After all, this was college, and when you have to go through the rituals, what's a guy gonna do?
Spencer Harding III was just as tasty as he could be. He was blond, six foot three, size twelve feet, and a dick that was seven inches of perfectly formed Catholic prick whose guilt had kept it outta his fist and girl's pussies. Sure he'd gotten a blow job once at a gas station out of town when he was drunk, and Jenny Holcomb had jerked him off once, and let him rub against her so hard while they made out senior year that he'd creamed his jeans several times. But most of the time, without realizing it, he would walk around with a half hardon. A boy like that needs to be trained and supervised, and I was the little man to do the job.
The first week he was in school, I sized him up. The warmth of the early Fall saw him tanned and bleach blond. His buzz cut contrasted to the thick whorls of blond hair on his forearms, legs, fingers, toes, pits and ass. Around his dick, the hair was thick and blond, but it framed his balls, which hung like duck eggs in a sack below. Jeez he was hairy, but in a clean, glowing way. Those thick ass cheeks were covered in curly hair, which sunk deep into his crack. His cock was slightly curved up, and I learned that when it got hard, so did the curve; topped by a oversized helmet with a wide flange. I wondered how he'd get that thing inside some girl's cunt, with a head that wide, he'd have to pry it in.
The Saturday after our first home football game, I made sure that Riley and a couple of other guys on the crew got Spence good and tanked. He'd let on that anything went as long as he didn't have to remember it. I understood his meaning perfectly. He was open game, just as long as it was just between the guys. He was hooting and howling, his baseball cap on backwards, his shirt unbuttoned and his nipples jutting from his chest. Once during the night, I saw Riley grasp one of Spence's nips in jest, and the kid doubled over as if someone had hit him with a bolt of electricity. Those titties were going to get a good work-out before the end of the semester. But in their virgin condition they were all the more ripe for plucking. He later told me that a buddy had discovered just how sensitive his tits were during his junior year in high school. They'd go to the drive-in to talk smack about girls, but his buddy always managed to get his hands into his shirt and play with his tits. It never went beyond that, but he'd go home with a huge, sticky hardon that sometimes got relieved of a giant load in a wet dream. He didn't think anything of it, but his buddy never seemed to miss a chance to get his shirt unbuttoned, and his rough fingers plying Spence's pointy nubs in their dare/jock games.
Around 1:00 am, Riley and Carl Bendix brought the kid upstairs, stumbling and weak kneed. He was drunk as a skunk, and couldn't stand without help. They dumped him on his bed, and winked at me as they left. I closed and locked the door. It was time for Spencer to start his college education. I went to the bed and pulled off his high top sneakers and crew socks. His feet were damp, but not dank. No scent of athlete's foot, or evidence of hard callous; just clean strong jock feet that had run and worked out hard. I'd watched him in the house basketball games, and liked the way his big feet fit into his high tops, and how when he was bare foot, his pale feet muscled his flip-flops. The narrow heels, high arch and strong ankles were just my style, with long curved toes at the ends of the broad balls. I scratched a nail up one foot, and in his stupor he still jumped, pulling the sensitive foot away from the sensation.
I pulled off his shirt, then went for the baggy shorts. He tried to push my hands away, saying he was OK, but I knew he was more concerned about the boner he had in his briefs, than anything else. He didn't want me to embarrass him. I shoved his hands away, and pulled the shorts off, leaving his worn briefs with their swollen cock on. There was a large wet stain where his piss slit had leaked all night, and the smell of starch was in the air.
He burbled something unintelligent when I fastened his hands to the top of the bed frame, and was surprised when I looped his big legs over a bar which magically came from the ceiling of his own room, suspended by cables! Then I attached the legs, spread wide, and pushed the bar towards his chest so the legs splayed and the pink rosette of his ass pucker was just barely revealed behind the riot of blond curls that clung damply to his crack. I gave him one more drink, one laced with a potion I got on a trip to Mexico, that made him sappy and horny at the same time; safe but effective. In a minute, his nine inch dick curved up, wetting the top of his briefs, then poking up and out of the band, dripping clear pre-scum into his navel.
I started with his feet. His ankles were attached to the bar, and pulled back toward his chest as they were, they left his size twelve feet facing the ceiling. Spence's youth and innocence were evident. His feet were smooth and soft, high arched, heavily muscled, and with only the scent of sweat...more appealing than anything. You could see that these pale monsters had carried him for eighteen years without being molested. I drew my pudgy index finger up and down, the wide digit and rough nail, scratched and scabbarded over his sole, up into his instep, and under the long, thick toes. Spencer, did not know how to react. He was ticklish, but I don't think anyone had ever played with his feet. His slurred appeals were almost comical: Haaaaaayyyy Mack, whad'ya doin'! That feeels weird, hey...now...stop that will ya? Hey stop that....haaaahhhhhaaaahhh, ha, ha, that tickles man...hey Mack, will ya stop it....Jeez, ha, ha,ha,aaaaaahhhhhhhaaaa, that's makin' me feel weird, aaaaaaahhhhhhhaaaaieeee, stop it man...stopppittttt!
What was happening was that his dick was beginning to drool big strands of pre-cum. His knob had fattened up, and his balls were rolling in their sack. His big feet were tied to his dick, and he was just learning about it. I stood on the bed, grabbed the top of his foot, and stuck the toes in my mouth. Mmmmmmmmmmm....what a snack. I sucked the big jock's toes, worming my tongue between the thick piggies, sucking underneath them, and using my nails to scratch and tickle his exposed and helpless soles the entire time. The king size bed was surprisingly stable, and although, my young punk-toy was trying desperately to get his foot out of my grasp and away from the salacious licking and tickling he was receiving, his torso was unable to move much with the bolster keeping him from bouncing that big ass. I used my own size eight feet, with long toes, to grasp his near nipple and scratch the tiny erection with my toenail. Then I alternated between his tit and his dick knob, letting the nail scratch his big fuck tip, and along the flange, making him gasp and shout, each time.
After working both feet till he was almost completely disoriented between the sensations and the liquor, I sat down next to him. I slipped on a finger glove covered with bristles, and dipped the index finger and thumb of my hand into a little bottle of my famous green gel. I used the two fingers to roll Spence's near tit, the one I had been toying with using my toenail. It was already a bit sensitive from the scratching, but when I began to roll it, pull it, pluck it gently, and tug it gently, the big fucker arched his chest and let me have my way. I had him. He was an eighteen year old whore...and he didn't even know it.
His tits were like his key, and I could envision him tethered on my lap, legs separated by a weighted spreader bar at his feet, hands attached to a collar and me wearing a bristle condom with my eight inches up his shit chute. Gagged appropriately, I'd be roiling his dick head while I pinched and plucked his titties, working the big fucker to a giant cum, one of three or four he would endure on my lap some night. Make 'em cum, that's my philosophy...dick slaves, their the best kind. Some guys just need to be used, and I could see that Spence was my manna from heaven. I'd keep his cock under control during the days, and on the nights of my choice, I'd drain the spunk out his big, bull balls.
I had an old electric drill, mounted on a heavily weighted board, and placed it between his legs. The drill aimed down, rather than sideways, since his asshole was now raised up between his legs held up and apart by the spreader bar. Instead of a drill bit, at the end I had screwed on a short and very slender, but knobby, dildoe only about four inches long, with lots of bumps and ridges. On every bump and along each ridge, were short, stiff horse hairs or flexible quarter-inch plastic nodules, alternating from one to the other. The drill mechanism had been slowed down to two low speeds which caused the dildoe, attached where the bit once went, to rotate randomly from one direction to the other at the respective very slow, speeds. In addition, it could telescope in and out with a flick of a switch, slowly moving in and out of the rectum. After applying gel liberally on the dildoe, I used my finger with some grease to tickle and screw into Spence's tight ass pucker. His muscles initially clung to my finger like they were going to break it off. His ass had never been breached except by the doctor and then only reluctantly. But the gentle and insistent scratching of my nail, the unrelenting rubbing of the lining, the deliberate but gentle nudges of his prostrate, gradually caused Spence to begin a steady fuck on my finger even though he consciously whined and groaned. He wanted my finger out, and yet almost unconsciously the sensations made him want me to keep it in to soothe and grind what it itched and irritated. More than that, he just plain wanted the sensations coursing through his dick, causing it to rise off his stomach in a stiff, aching attempt to ejaculate without any stimulation. The knob would pulse and expand, but without some help, it would stay fat and swollen for two or three seconds, dripping with clear scum, then wilt slightly only to swell up again.
When I had his asshole loosened up considerably, I quickly slipped my finger out, and replaced it with the slender dildoe. I'm always gentle with the insertion, because the whole point was to get him going, not scare him off. This was all knew to him, and he was willing to try it as long as I did not hurt him. Jesus it was great to watch his ass grind, and move, trying to avoid the incredible sensations the bristles and nodules were causing within his bung as they slid home...and I hadn't even switched on the drill...FUCK, this was goin' to be fuckin' great! I flicked the switches, and the dildoe began to rotate back and forth, and run in and out gently and deliberately. He couldn't move away from the drill, and the whirring and grinding of the mechanism was matched by his pleas: OOOOOOHHHHHHH MOTHER FUCKER... AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH FUCK, SHIT.....GET-IT OUT, GET-IT OUT....OOOO OOOOOOOOOO....AAAAWW, MY HOLE, MY FUCKIN' HOLE....MACK... PLEAAASEEE! FUCK, GET-IT OUTTA ME....AAAAAAHHHHHHH! I CAN'T STAND IT.... AAAIIIIEEEEE...IT'S KILLIN' MEEEEEEEEE.....WHAD'YA DOING TO MEEEEEEE! AAAAAAAHHHHHH! While the little fuck head, screamed and pleaded, his hips moved like his asshole was being eaten from the inside by a marauding band of fire ants. Yeah, what a fuckin' turn-on. This big piece of blond, hairy meat was helpless, and his dick was just about to explode.
I continued to pinch and roll his tits, and then I took put on a bristle glove on the other hand. With his asshole fully occupied, his chest arching for more tit work, his dick was ready for a good rub. I grasped the nine inch rod, which was like steel. Pulling it off his stomach, where it had arched, I fitted the bristle palm and fingers around the stalk, and used just the thumb to rotate and roil the piss grove and circumcision scar. With his hips moving as best they could, Spence's dick fucked the bristly sleeve I had made with my hand, and the fat plum of his dick head, was scratched each time he fucked the schlong up an down in my snare. Within seconds, he was burping ropes of gism out the wide lips, coating his chest and face beyond. But the maddening dildoe did not stop, and neither could his hips. His dick was pistoning in and out of my fist, at the moment that his knob was the most sensitive, and he was helpless to stop the awful tickling. I kept at him until his dick went hard again, and ground itself to a second, excruciating ejaculation. He started to scream at that point, and so I stopped working his dork about a minute after the second cum, and turned off the drill.
That first weekend at college, Spencer Harding slept on his knees, legs kept apart with a spreader bar, hands secured behind his back, face down on his pillow. I attached a pulsing sleeve made from an automatic milking machine nozzle, to his cock. Once his dick went hard, it was stimulated all night long, not enough to ejaculate, but just enough times to keep his prick stiff, and to tickle his flange and prick tip. I slept with him, occasionally slipping my bristle covered index finger into his bung, to help him sleep well! Freshmen, they are made for breaking, and by the end of the year, this one would be crawling on his hands and knees to my bed at night to suck my cock or my toes, whichever, I had a mind for him to do. It would be some time before this big kid got a chance to decide when his balls were to be emptied, and that's the way it should be. Little Johnny needs to concentrate on his crewing and school work. I'd take care of that fat prick that had no conscience.