O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Crew Team Discipline 4: Marshall's Special Exercises

by Glaucon55

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One of the Junior Varsity boat's big strokes is a kid named Marshall Nichols, from the upper midwest. Marshall had looks right out of a clothing catalogue, the kind of natural good looks that drive girls wild and makes guys envious. He's small for a stroke, but his body was powerful which made up for his lack of physical continuity with the other bigger guys. He is 5'10" with a fullback body, strong legs, size 10 feet, with dark brown hair. He's got one of those sexy crew cuts, with the same dark hair in his armpits, and a thatch above his dick. Fat balls with a seven inch dick that stands straight up to his navel when he springs a boner, with a nice fat mushroom tip. His rubbery nipples are like little erasers that grow hard at the touch, and his arms, his powerful legs and ass, have hardly any discernible hair with just a few dark strands lining his pretty little butt hole near the ass lips.

I had discovered on one of the team's trips that Marshall liked to stroke his pud. Watching him one night through the windows of the cheap motel we stayed at, I saw how he worked that big meat and tugged at his spiky nipples. Mostly though, Marshall got a steady diet of pussy, making sure that his dick was dipped often enough to keep his hands away from his pork. There was no way I would get him like I did Tyler cause he seemed like the prototype good college jock, focused on his studies, his regular fuck schedule, and his rowing. But as fortune would have it, Marshall had a problem with which I decided I could help. As usual, Coach turned any team performance problem to me as Captain, and since Marshall wanted to make the varsity boat, I knew I would have a shot at getting into his shorts.

Marshall was having trouble with his timing on the strokes. His legs were powerful, and they determined his ability to get into the varsity boat. But his stroke timing was off just enough to result in a lack of synchronism for the whole boat. Marshall was just cocky enough and boy enough to want to make it right. He was determined to make varsity boat, and no technical problem was going to stop him. I arranged to have him come to my room, and discuss the problem. He walked in wearing a pair of worn button fly Levis, a t-shirt and flip-flops that showed his muscular, meaty feet, with his ball cap on backwards. I explained that his stroke timing was a serious matter, and that for a guy who seemed so disciplined, I was surprised that he was having problems. I went through a litany of possible causes, 'was he not getting enough sleep,' 'was his diet off,' 'was he lifting too much'...all the stuff I knew he would dismiss and I wanted to dismiss. Then came my almost casual reference to cunt. "So Marsh, you pounding pussy on a regular basis...I see you hanging with that gal pretty steady?"

He blushed, but confessed that his prick was getting regular attention, and in particular she would give him head when they could not find a place to fuck. I pressed, he blushed some more, and the details of how often she either had her lips smacking around his prick or had it wedged up her greasy slot, slowly came out. With a sanctimonious air, I said "that's it." He wondered with a quizzical look what I meant. "Marsh, you're not as focused as I thought. Guys like you sometimes lose concentration when you get too much of the tuna. You know in the old days, coaches used to keep their guys from getting pussy before football games and basketball, and all that crap. But ya know, there's some truth to that shit. You know Tyler Martin. He was having that very problem. Now I've got him on a 'squirt' regimen, and he's made wonderful progress."

Marshall looked perplexed, and then asked "a squirt regimen? What's that?" Looking away, and talking very casually, I explained that Tyler was getting ejaculation therapy, timed and controlled ejaculation so that he would not be worn out, and he would be in a strict discipline to ensure that his stroke was on par with the rest of the team. Marshall wondered if other guys were taking that kind of therapy, cause he'd never heard of it before. I said, naw, that some guys need it, and others don't. I told him with a kind of indifferent tone, that if he wanted to try the therapy, I'd be willing to take on his case just cause I liked the way he worked so hard, and thought he might make a valuable addition to the Varsity boat next year. He looked at me so earnestly, that handsome face and those gorgeous eyes, and said he'd really appreciate any help I could give him. I told him it wouldn't be easy: "Marsh, you're gonna have to take a break from pussy, and we're gonna do some stuff that'll be just between us so other guys on the team wouldn't ask funky questions." Then I told him, that the same regimen of cock control and timed ejaculation that I had been giving to Tyler would be given to him. He looked blankly at me, and then began to hem and haw. Maybe there was another way, he'd go and speak to the coach, and blah, blah, blah. I said fine, but I reminded him that the Coach had given me the responsibility for team discipline, and that the reason why Tyler Martin was undergoing this therapy was cause the Coach had asked me to take him on. Marshall looked at me again, then lowered his eyes to the ground, staring between his slightly spread legs, thumbs hooked on his belt loops.

"Shit, I guess I'll have to try... is it too weird...I've never had any guy mess with my cock...it's sure gonna be strange."

I responded with the voice of responsibility: "Hey, man I know where you're commin' from... that's why I suggested that we just keep this to ourselves. We'll try different approaches, cause I'm sure that what I've been doing for Tyler, won't necessary be what's best for you. Hey, you wanna start now, and ease into this?" Marshall looked at me innocently and with an air of apprehension said OK, reluctance giving way to resignation, realizing that I would be making the decisions on the Varsity boat and recommending them to the Coach. "Let's start with an interview Marsh...I try to get the facts so that whatever approach I take, it'll work for you. Let's do a physical while we talk...why don't you shuck your clothes, and I'll lock the door."

So began Marshall Nichols training. He looked overwhelmed at my suggestion, but followed each order obediently. He kicked off the flip-flops, and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Those lucious nipples erected when the material grazed them, causing the pebbled brown paps to jut deliciously from his pecs. He popped the buttons, and hauled down his levis and boxers, his slightly tumescent prick resting at comfortable angle from his body on his balls. I told him to sit back on the bed, and he did so, hands at his sides, and feet and legs slightly spread. I began the interview.

"O.K, Marsh, when's the last time you shot your spunk?" (hoping to see if I could get "rise" out of him)

"Sunday night...ah, we got together at her place like we usually do and after studying we got into bed and fucked." (I was glad he wasn't shy to use 'fuck talk')

"How long do you usually screw a chick, are you a wham bam kinda guy, or do you prong her for a while?

He looked genuinely uncomfortable, but he responded in what seemed to be a very honest, clinical tone: "I give her dick for a while. She likes me to eat her out first, and warm her up. So we usually fuck around for fifteen or twenty minutes, then she'll suck on my dick for a minute or two, and play with my balls and slip on a rubber, then I'll climb on board, or she'll get on top, and we'll go at it for about fifteen or twenty minutes until I pop." He looked down when he said pop, like he was embarrassed to talk about shooting his scum, but I noticed his dick had started to get hard..

"When was the last time you jerked your meat?" That definitely caused him to squirm. No guy wants to talk about jerking his rod to another guy.

"Fuck, Mac. I hate talking about this stuff...is this really necessary. Shit, I dunno when the last time I pulled my pud...maybe Friday night. We couldn't get together cause she went home to have dinner with her parents...so I went out with some of the guys, got drunk and went back to my room."

"Did you jerk to a picture, a fantasy...how did you do it?"

"Aw shit, Mac...this is weird...shit. Well, I've got this wash rag, and I put some hand cream that I got stashed away on the fucking rag, and I whacked my meat, just like any other guy."

"So you don't have a fantasy...you just get hard by playing with your dick?" He gave a big sigh, and then seemed to resign himself to full disclosure. "No, I don't just get hard and cum. I usually lie back and start thinking about some chick I've seen in class who makes my dick hard...and then I'll play a little with myself...like what?...I kinda play with my tits, and sometimes I'll spread my legs and tickle under my balls or rub the lips of my asshole...just on the outside...I've never even let my girl slip her finger up my butt though every time she sucks my dick she wants to try. Then when my dick gets hard, I use one hand to wrap the rag around my cock and start a slow slide. I try to avoid the knob of my prick cause it's so sensitive. When Mary sucks me, she loves to slurp on my prick tip and it drives me wild. I know I can't cum unless she uses her hand up and down the stalk, but when she let's her tongue drift back and forth over my knob and my piss lips it makes me fucking go wild."

"How long does it take you to cum when you jerk you meat?" I noticed that his dick had emerged from its halfway stage and was now resting firmly on his stomach, hard and dripping. He acted like nothing was happening, and ignored his dick, but the clear sap had totally filled the well of his piss lips and was rolling down the head towards his navel. He leaned back on his arms, and sort of spread his legs as he spoke, almost unconsciously giving in to the need to get off.

"I usually wack it for about ten minutes, and then the fucker shoots and I catch it with the rag by holding my dick head toward the material. I don't rub the knob cause it too sensitive. Yeah, I shoot a lot of spunk...usually enough that if I don't wash the rag, it'll be too hard and stuck together to use it again."

"OK, Marshall...lay back and show me how you do it."

He looked at me incredulously, but his dick was throbbing. He slowly lay back, and closing his eyes, he took his hard 7" in his rough palm and began a slow slide up and down the now stalk, stopping just below his flange and the engorged, purplish tip. He slipped the palm over his dick head each time his prick well filled with clear sap, and used that to grease his fist. But the sensations of rolling his palm over the flange and knob were so ticklish, that his legs bent, and his heels drove into the bedspread each time he did it.

I told him to use the other hand to pinch and pull his tits, and when he did, his stomach hunched, and his legs bent up again, toes now gripping into the bedspread. "Aaaaahhhhh fuck, Mac, this is weird shit....aaawwwwwww... guys don't do this kinda crap with one another...what fucking kind of therapy is this... ooohhhhhhhhhh shiiiittttt." I told him to shut the fuck up, and keep doing what I told him to do. He did, and for ten minutes he rolled his fist up and down the lubed stalk, making it glisten with the pre-cum that occasionally burped from the wide piss lips. He alternated plucking his tits, and soon they were red and irritated from his attention to them.

Jeez, I couldn't believe that Marshall Nichols was putting on a show for me. The hunky kid was pullin' his titties and stroking his pecker, ass grinding and toes curling. Shit what a fuckin' scene, stone cold stud pulls dick for team captain...YEAH! "OK, dick wad. That's it. No more. I'll take over from here." He opened his eyes wide and looked at me with complete surprise.

"What'ya mean, you'll take over from here?"

"I told you, this is therapy that I give. You're not gonna play with that prick for the next ten weeks, and during that time, I'll handle all the dick work just like I do for Tyler."

"Oh fuck Mac, this is too weird. Do I hafta do this crap. Can't I do some weight training and promise not to pull my pud or let Mary get on my dick...or something like that. I just never had any guy mess with my prong."

"It's up to you, Marsh. And there's more. When I administer this therapy, you got to be tied down cause otherwise you'll be too hard to manage. And when you go home, there'll be a little cage on you cock to keep you from playing with yourself. Now either let's keep going, or get out, and I'll tell Coach that you're happy with JV and will try to work things out on your own."

Defeated, he put his hand over his eyes, and spread his legs as if he was surrendering his dick to me for a blow-job. Little did he know that a simple blow-job would have been heaven compared to what he would endure for the next ten weeks.

I pulled out two spreader bars made from the remnants of our soccer goal cage at the house. I attached the first one two ropes suspended from my ceiling, and then attached his wrists to it, spread wide apart. Then I suspended the other bar to ropes from the ceiling near the bottom of the bed, and attached his slender ankles, and athletic feet. He was not on his back, arms spread wide over his head, and legs up in the air and spread wide with only his head, back and butt on the bed itself. I went to my closet and pulled out a box, and then crawled up between his legs. The games were about to begin.

In one hand I held a small vibrator with a french tickler on its end, lots of nubs and stiff little prongs. On the other hand, I put on a guitar pick on my index finger. Then I went to work. I used the buzzing little vibrator, not more than four inches long and a half inch wide to tickle Marshall's exposed abs, his taut nipples, under his chin, in his ears, under his exposed pits, and under his hanging balls. The guitar pick was for distraction. I scrathed here, then there, and even slipped the wicked little point just into his unsuspecting asslips. The constant movement of the irritating sensations had the trussed stud howling: "Mack! Jesus....stop it....fuck man...what the fucking hell do you think you're doin'....aaaaaggggghhhhhh....hahhhahhhhahhhahah, sttttoooopppp-iiiiiittttttt...nnnnnnoooooo....aaaaahhhhhaaaaaaaggggghhhhhh... you gotta stoppppp.....aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!" The big straight stud's pecker was rock hard, bouncing here there and everywhere as he tried vainly to escape the incessant tickling. As it bounced on his stomach, the fat knob, basted with pre-fuck slime made a splat as it hit his abs, throwing drops of the scum into his navel, and coating his stomach. When I used the pick to gently scratch at his dick flange, or scratch the head of his knob, he howled and whined, trying to lick if butt off the bed and move to avoid the excruciating sensation.

I played with him for fifteen minutes, hardly giving him a chance to breath. Now for the test. I had paid close attention when Marshall mentioned how sensitive his dick knob was, and watched as he avoided rubbing his flange or the piss lips while he whacked off for me. Taking a stiff parrot feather in my one hand, and using the guitar pick in the other, I made a 'two pronged' attack upon the helpless boy. I used the guitar pick to strum one then the other of his taut, thrusting nips. The using the feather, I danced up and down his fuck stick, and concentrated on his prick tip and piss lips. He yelled in desperation, begging me to leave his dick alone: OOOOOWWWWW ....MACK...aaaaghhhh, pleaaaaseeeeee mannnn. Leave my dick alone....stop it, STOP IT.....jeeeezzzzz...ooooohhh, fucking shit, piss, fuck....dooooonnnn't , not my dick.....!"

I calmly explained as he moaned and begged, that this was the start of his treatment. He needed to bring his dick under control so that he could bring some discipline to the rest of his life. With that, I used the pick hand to hold up his dick, as I explored every inch with the feather, spending patient minutes tickling the flange which would cause the entire knob to expand as if ready to ejaculate, but without more firm manipulation was unable to reach that plateau. I then used the pick to gently scratch up and down the stalk, while I inserted the feather tip between his sweating ass cheeks and tickled the never touched hole. The asslips contorted and he squeezed his big butt cheeks, hoping to keep the pesky invader from its appointed mission, but with relentless determination, I scratched and probed the nether portal, and used the pick to scratch at his flange when I wanted him to lose control of his muscles and allow me to slip the feather further into the opening. I kept this up for thirty minutes. I ended by merely rolling his nipples and rubbing my rough thumb up and down on the prick lips.

I decided to gag him. I thought by keeping him from howling his pleasure when he finally came, it would begin to teach him that his pleasure was not under his control any more. I buckled a ball gag into his protesting mouth, and then blindfolded him for effect. With his butt grinding on the bed, his toes curling and fingers flapping helplessly, I just teased and tickled the prick lips and rolled his tits one at a time. Like the dick brain he was, his hormones raging out of control, he climbed up the hill to explosion. Fuck I liked watching his dick head expand until it looked like it was about to burst...the skin stretched taut! Then finally, two or three more tantilizing rubs, and although he was accustomed to his prong being given a full body massage by Mary's clinging cunt muscles, the handsome fucker began to shoot streams of cum up into the air....landing over his head, up on his cheeks, and some falling back on his chest with a splat. His toes were spread and his hands too, everything completely tense and suspended from his control, as the cum just kept erupting. I massaged the tingling dick knob into a slimy submission, roiling the sensitive lips and flange, now too ticklish to be touched, until I thought he bite through the gag and grind his butt through the bed.

When I finally stopped, he began to gasp for breath, and I quickly snapped a cock cage like the one I had made for Tyler, onto him. Marshall was not going to get relief on his terms for a while. I already decided that I would bring him over one Saturday and tickle his boner well into the night, and his feet, and up his asshole. I figured using some of the wicked gel with a fine brush up his bung hole would add to the great effect of tickling his helpless boner. I also found out that Marshall had a buddy named Tyler who wanted to walk onto the Crew team. This big blond kid often got drunk with Marshall, and I worked it out one night to get them both up in my room, drunk and tied together on their backs with one index finger in each asshole with a thumb bristle itching each of their fuck nuts. I later masturbated them three times each, using separate hands in bristle gloves, watching as both dumb jocks shot fuck snot till the cows came home.

Once, I got them drunk and tied them facing each other's tethered feet. They were given toothbrushes and told that they had to tickle each other's feet, until I brought one of them to ejaculation. The first one to shoot cum, in essence the loser, would have to suck the toes of the other while the winner who had held off from squirting would get to use a finger bristle pad up the loser's butt hole, and a bristle glove on the losers dick. You should have seen Marsh work, like a champ. He got Tyler's big feet and worked them good, using the stiff bristles of the tooth brush into the meaty arch, under the heavy, long toes, and on the narrow sensitive heel. Tyler could not concentrate on Marsh the same way, and his use of the brush was often frustrated by his own howls of laughter and curses: aaaaaaiiiiiiieeeee.....ha,ha,ha,haaaaaaa......nnnoooooo ......Marsh, Marsh, stop...you fuck head...stop...not my feet....aaaaahhh, ha, ha, haaaaa ....ok, ok, ok, stop....aaaaahhhgggggggg, ha, ha, haaaaaaaa! You can be sure Marshall won, and enjoyed Tyler, legs tied to a spreader bar, his arms trussed up behind his back with a blindfold over his eyes, lying on top of Marsh's body, his head facing his feet. He was sucking Marsh's toes obediently, while Marsh had his long index finger deep up the beefy kid's rectum, giving his bud a butt frig to remember with the finger bristle and some gel. Tyler begged: Oh shit....oh jesus...fuck...nooooooo....pleeeezzze......please man...lemme go....lemme go....my butt, not my butt...jesus, not there...aaaaggghhhh....nnnnoooooo....my hole, JEEZ...what're doing up there....aaaaaggghhhh, you're hitting something....NOOOOO...NOOOO... Oh FUCK...aaaaaawwwwww...pleeeeeeeze....pleeeeeze...man, lemme go, lemme...goooooo!

In his other hand, Marsh held Tyler's eight inch boner up from behind, between the tethered kid's legs, facing Marshall's face. Using the bristle glove to slowly tickle the big boner for thirty agonizing minutes, he wanked the big kid's pussy porker until it shot copious wads of gism for our amusement. It was clear that Marsh liked working over his buddy, and gave the big dumb jock the same treatment he'd been getting, a slow, tantalizing hand job that the agonized Tyler was unable to resist nor make come to an end by a quick ejaculation. After Tyler came, he howled and begged while Marsh slowly roiled the over-wrought prick tip in his gloved, hairy fist, torturing the helpless prick tip now too sensitive to touch after the ejaculation. Later, we tied Tyler up spread eagle on the bed, and both worked him over while he was gagged with small had brushes, on his feet, under his exposed arm pits, across his taut abs, into his navel, under his chin, in his ears, on the inside of his thighs, and eventually all over his balls and cock meat. There were times I thought the tickling would cause him to bounce us off the bed, but we were trooper, keeping to our task until the helpless big kid fired more volleys of cum out of control as his body was tickled and his dick was errupting.

I've decided that even after the ten weeks are over, I will milk Marshall once per week to several thunderous ejaculations to keep him in awe. College boys, walking boners with no conscience and very little discipline.

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