Crew Team Discipline 2

NOTICE: All the Standard warnings about being of age, being aware of your community standards apply to the following story! Please read no further if you are underage 18/21--or live in a conservative area--or are offended by explicit sexual stories. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone is strictly coincidental. Any reprints with attribution to author.

Synopsis: The coxswain of a college crew team takes on the responsibility of keeping jocks on campus in line.

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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, 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.

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