© 2000 by Maletrain
All rights reserved.
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After the gymnast finished his season and his male equipment was released, he was able to go back to filling my hole when I needed it. It turned out that each of us three buddies: Brent, Jason and I; we had all made special arrangements for getting live male poles up our holes. I forget how I found out, but somehow Jason let it slip that those two wrestlers with the macho muscled bodies, the guys who taunted us when we first lost the use of our cocks, well, he had hooked up with them and the two of them would come over to his house and take turns riding his butt for him. I was sort of envious of those wrestlers because that reminded me how nice Jason 's hole had been to my cock too. Well, I couldn't blame Jason, I knew he was as bad off as I was and just now I couldn't help him out in a personal but manly way.
Jason and I had both wondered why Brent was going to the Marines and not going to college to play sports. Still we knew he would win "most athletic" in boot camp, and could probably earn enough benefits to go on to college later. Also, come to think of it, Brent sort of looked like a Marine. He had those three sizes too small ears that stuck almost straight out from the head. That, and his whole head sort of looked small, I mean when you looked up from his narrow waist, then the flared lats and pecs with his nipples set right at the edges, the nipples actually past the bend in the muscle, like a pair of corner turning headlights that had loosened in their brackets and tilted down; his nipples pointed down and to the side, sort of aiming at the floor just outside where he feet would have been had he been standing "at ease". At 18 he had the same type of shoulders as that GM gymhog stud Tony. Brent's 45-degree slope shoulders tilted down from a very thick neck. It was probably that thick neck, something you might find on a large fighting dog, that made Brent's head look small. The small head, wide neck, tiny ears, double-peaked biceps, honed body and physical attitude. Yes, it did make sense, this former ladies-fucker would make a good Marine.
Although we three jock-locked buddies had tried to keep a part of our sex lives private, the part where other guys were mounting us and we were liking it, well, since we were spending so much time together and reading each other like open books, we eventually too were able to hear Brent's story about joining the Marines.
He told us he had seen one of the recruiting officers at a desk in the hall at school one day, picked up some brochures and then went down to talk some more at the recruiting office. The recruiter asked him if he had a criminal record and Brent told him no but almost. The recruiter asked him to explain, and Brent told the whole story from the rape to the steel jock trap. The recruiter wanted to see the jock and Brent dropped his pants to show him. The recruiter couldn't believe it and of course immediately asked Brent how it was to not have sex for so long. Brent told him about the rubber dong sessions and the joint buddy-fuck sessions we had been having during the basketball season. It must have been one of those times when none of us made the goals and so Brent had not been man-fucked in several weeks.
At this point the recruiter asked Brent if he needed some Marine-to-Marine help. Brent said he could use some. And the recruiter, not wanting to let an unsatisfied customer out of his office, the Marine dropped his own pants and plugged Brent's hole for him. Ever the salesman, the officer said that Marines always helped each other out, that this manly asshole riding would be a regular feature of life in the Marines, and so on the strength of the recruiter's hot-throbbing cock up his hole, Brent signed on. Brent told us that after that he had a standing appointment with the officer. Every few days, Brent said, he would drive over to the recruiting station, park and trot in for his Marine fucking.
So the three of us got through the basketball season and the track season in good shape, just enough load shoots to keep us goal oriented, just enough real guys up our holes to keep us feeling good. The sessions in the coach's office helped make us three guys even better buddies and closer friends.
I had told you earlier that my mother actually sort of preferred that I wear only my steel jock around the house. Perhaps she liked to look at my muscular butt, but I think the real reason was that although she did not hold the key to my cock and balls, she had totally supported the idea when the coach called. I think she felt as long as she could see that jock locked on me, I would be safe from disease, safe from causing unwanted pregnancies, safe from being trapped in a forced marriage. There would be time enough later for me to meet a nice girl, fall in love, and have children, but in the meantime, I was safe from making any youthful mistakes. I was graduating from high school, I had lettered in three sports, I was earning a scholar-athlete award, and I had earned a full scholarship to college. For her, it was important that that chastity cup be secure every day until the last day of school. That I was taking guys up my ass, and once in a while getting to fuck Brent and Jason, well, that was not compromising my grades, my scholarships, my letters, my awards or my graduation. There were some things a mother didn't need to know.
Wearing only the cup around the house lead to a few experiences. They would have been more uplifting had my cock not been forced down permanently small. As the weather got better in the Spring, I found that a couple times I was standing at the curb having brought out the trash for our pick-up day and only then realizing I was not wearing anything above my socks but the steel cup. No problem, if the neighbors saw anything, they didn't complain. I had a nice body, a nice butt, they probably enjoyed it.
The second type of thing was that a couple of times at night when I was studying in my room in my cup and got hungry, I jumped in my car and went to the drive-through at McDonald's. Now this was not a big thing as my privates were covered and I was sitting on my naked butt. I think the kid at the window when he handed me the order gave me a hard crotch-stare and whistled and went "So that's how those jocks look!" Pimpled-faced pencil-necked underclassman geek, I doubted if he would ever do anything to earn a chastity cup. Yeah! That's it, the cup was sort of a medal, a medal of honor, a sign that the guy wearing it was a stud, an athlete, a "danger" to women! We three guys, cock-confined the longest, our school's most "dangerous" men! I liked that.
Well, we didn't go to the school prom, but we did make it to the last day of school, and since all the other sports programs had ended, it was just the senior basketball guys and Brent, Jason and I that were released together in the coach's office and had our official farewell load shoot. That damn Brent won again, just like a fucking future jarhead.
Our relationship with the coach and the school was over, but we were given our cups and the keys. We had earned them. Also, we had told the principal we wanted to use the cups as motivation for doing well in summer school in retaking pre-calculus. The intern was returning to the university in another city, but he agreed to be our key holder. He would come back in one week to lock us in, but then we would be only able to get out once in three weeks, at the mid-term of the intensive course, and only if we were doing well. At the end of the term, any guy not passing would remain locked for three more weeks, but then be released. There was one week between the end of school and the start of summer school. So there it was, a week of freedom, followed by three weeks castration, and then perhaps a few minutes release, three more weeks of sexual confinement, and then total fucking freedom or at the worst one more three week period and then it would finally all be over and we would be remasculated.
We turned our jocks and keys over to the university intern for inspection, repair, and safekeeping. We didn't need them now; we would be feeling their tight grip on our crotches soon enough. We started off our freedom week with a party in which we invited the gymnast, the two wrestlers, and the Marine. This was quite an orgy. I enjoyed fucking the gymnast most, and these other guys, well, I did a fuck or two just because they were there but I let Brent spend most of the time in the Marine's hole and Jason I let work the two wrestlers. This was also the first time that I was able to take the wrestlers and the Marine up my butt.
I will have to say that the wrestlers had a much more vicious and punishing technique than did the gymnast. The wrestlers were mean, hard, and quick, sort of like Brent before he had learned how to make love. As far as fucking, I would have to rank the gymnast as best because of his love of my total body, but the Marine was a close second. He was as rough as the wrestlers, but somehow more serious. It wasn't a game with him, it was a job. Sort of like he was following orders: "Go kill the enemy!" "Sir!, Yes, Sir!" "Go fuck the guy over there!" "Sir!, Yes, Sir!" I really liked the extremely masculine way he fucked me too. Steady, slow, strong, and thorough. He did a good job. Not too much love there, in the sense of romantic love, but a lot of respect. He expected me to take it like a man and I did. I especially liked the very manly noises he made: the low hard grunts, the barely audible animal moans, the noise the air made rushing in and out of his mouth as his abs contracted to help drive his tool deep.
During the week the three of us buddies decided to go our separate ways to try to plow as much cunt as we could before we were put back into our cups. It might surprise you but we did plow cunt this time. Probably not as many ladies as we had been imagining all this long and chaste school year, but cunt none the less. We had agreed to save Sunday for just the three of us again, just before we got cock-locked at school on Monday morning.
By noon on Monday the keys to our privates were already 150 miles away and going even farther. No way out now, we were locked in for at least the initial full three weeks. Monday night as I was lying in bed, hands on the metal jock, warmed by the heat of my cock and balls trapped inside, I began thinking about the week just past. I had gone to movies, gone to restaurants, gone to rock concerts, gone swimming, and fucked about 10 different girls. Of course I had also fucked a Marine, two wrestlers, a gymnast and Brent and Jason. In addition I had been fucked in both ends by all of these men. I reviewed the mental videotape of the week's action. The action I could see clearly. But I was also reviewing my feelings in each situation. What was I thinking of when the wrestlers were fucking me? What was I thinking of when I was ramming my prod into the Marine? How about that blonde broad with the giggle? The nice girl with the librarian glasses but the big tits? It hit me! Each time I shot a load into one of those cunts I was pretending it was a guy's ass. Each time I kissed a girl, I was missing that feeling of a hard cock rubbing on the roof of my mouth. And each time I left my female date's house and trotted back to my car, my asshole was clenching closed and then springing open and wishing for a hard manly pole to clamp down tight on.
With no school sports to practice, we three guys had a little more free time than before. We put most of our effort in on the studies, trying to earn our 5-minute load shoots that would be coming up in three weeks. Still, there were more outdoor activities. Brent's family had a cabin up by the lake and on several occasions the three of us would drive up in his pickup. As it was getting warm and we wanted to get a good tan, not to waste any sun-time we would each leave our houses in just our jock cups, shoes and socks, or maybe just sandals. No clothes to worry about getting wet or torn or dirty. We would meet at Brent 's house, put a jetski in the back and one on the trailer, hook the trailer to the pickup and then pile into the compact truck cab and be off. The cab was sort of narrow and with three V-torsoed guys crammed in we were pretty much constantly having a war of shoulders and triceps to see who would get to sit back straight and not have to ride with his abs pulling his upper body in a slight twist. This bracing caused our legs to spread out in a V too. We sat if not naked hip to naked hip, then certainly bare thigh to bare thigh. Our upper body V's pointed down and our spread-leg V's pointed back and both visual V's met at the shiny silver steel jock cups: the frustrating central focus of our lives; our publicly acknowledged "most dangerous fucker" medals.
The rough riding truck buzzed our balls a little. If we had been cock free we could have each jerked the other off as we drove, but as it was, we sat there as perfect gentlemen, cocks down and out of sight, chaste.
We liked to ride those jetskis around the lake and our steel cups were about like a thong in their coverage and as long as we were sitting astride the watercrafts' seats we weren't really showing our holes. Of course we tried to create the roughest water for each other and then ride through the foaming green. The bucking, bouncing and tossing of the personal watercraft every once in a while did tap our balls for us. We could and did go water skiing with no fear of falling off and into the water at high speed, our genitals were very well protected.
We got a good tan on every body part except two. However, we had to watch ourselves during the heat of the day. When the sun was really intense, those cups tended to heat up like the hood of a car and we didn't want to broil our balls. We played a lot of volleyball and basketball and the pull of the steel jocks as we jumped and ran was really nice and of course we could play like fools and dive for low balls with no fear of hurting our cocks or smashing our nuts. There were several nature trails and we liked to go jogging there: the motivation was that nice up and down pull on our groins that the heavy metal jock made.
We did have one or two slight embarrassing incidents while we were going up to the lake. Both are related to gasoline. In the first case Brent was driving us up to the lake and we were sitting there in our worked-out bodies, triceps touching, pushing our legs together while we held our hands on our cups. Hands on our cups when we weren't just being straight-teen-guy-typical playful with our hands and fingers on the other guy's nipples, or abs or well really, any exposed body part was fair game. Then a red light went on and Brent said we needed gas. Unfortunately we were in an area with a lot of houses lining the highway and cars on the roads. Fortunately there was a station just up the road. We pulled in and noticed it was one where you could pay at the pump. So Brent got his dad's credit card out of the glove box, and jumped out to get the pump going and then rejoined us back in the cab until it filled. Then he jumped out, hit the no receipt button, shut off the pump, and we were off. The way we had parked and with the door to the truck open we doubted that the clerk inside or anyone else had seen any butt and certainly not any rectal opening. Just an adrenaline check, nothing more.
In the second case, it actually led to something. On another trip Brent again got the red light showing only one gallon left. This time we were not so lucky. We were a little bit closer to the lake and so the population density was down to where not too many gas stations could be supported. As you might expect, about 15 minutes later we coughed to a stop. Now we were carrying extra cans of gas for the jetskis so we were not going to be stopped for long, just a matter of getting out and pouring a can of gas in the tank. But while we were stopped by the side of the road, a sheriff's car came up and it would have looked dumb if Brent had jumped back into the truck, and which ever way he stood was going to attract the road patrol's attention: muscular naked butt out and the law man would probably not see the jock, but then he would think Brent was naked. Shiny steel jock out and the deputy might have a question or two. In the truck? Butt out? Or crotch forward? Brent selected choice "c".
As the red and blue flashing lights began reflecting off the rearview mirrors a rather young reserve patrol officer came up next to Brent. Well, it wasn't long before we three crotch-controlled studs were lined up with our hands wide and flat on the hood of Brent's truck. We were really sweating it as the officer was telling us what was going to happen to guys driving naked on a public road. I think the ass holes on all three of us had been pulsing, trying to decide if being raped by sex-crazed criminals in the county jail would be a fun thing or not.
But then the officer just laughed and told us that he had played football for Pineville last fall and that he knew about us being locked in the jocks. He said he thought that was just for the football season, god! How did we survive with them on this long? What did we do for sex? Well, we twisted our upper bodies around not knowing if we should shake hands or continue to assume the off-balance spread of the prisoner's pre-handcuff position. With our mouths more like 90 degrees to the man in blue we told him about the rubber dongs and the Marine fuckings and such. Even in my bent-over subdued stance I could twist my head and roll my eyes around to catch his eyes gleaming, and I recognized him as one of the goddamn football players in that game who had offered to fuck our holes for us. He was very courteous but he made his old scrimmage line anal relief offer again, and instead of rejecting it by smashing his body into the ground as we did last fall, this time we accepted it with our sphincters tingling. As we were drawing straws to decide whose rectum would be first, the young reserve officer was calling in to report that he would be taking a short rest break. He then used his cell phone and before he had finished his first hole, a car with two more former Pineville football players came rolling up.
We got to the lake late that day.
© 2000 by Maletrain
All rights reserved.