By Watchfire
published August 27, 2006
1201 words
Published on:

Hockey-team starts cumming to the sound of their lecturer during class.

I don’t know how it happened. I’m sure it wasn’t always this way - only since I joined his tutorial group. All I know is that now when I hear him speaking I have a hard wet cock in my shorts that won’t go down without help. God, the first time it happened I thought I was going to shoot there and then - in front of everyone in the lecture hall. But that’s the thing. I can’t. I just get hard, so hard it feels like I going to burst out, like a damn third leg throbbing away.

So there I was, listening to this guy talk. He’s talking about - hell, I don’t really remember - politics in the twentieth century or something - and my prick is just getting fatter and longer. I have this faint memory of a bitter taste in my mouth and his voice much closer and quieter, telling me something, telling me something important. I still don’t know what he must have said to me, some kind of hypnotic suggestion thing I guess. Whatever it was, some part of it must have been to make me not care - or at least to make me so stiff I can’t think about anything else.

I shifted and looked around, hoping that the tent in my shorts wasn’t too noticeable. I caught one guys eye - someone I play on the hockey team with - but he looked away quickly. I planned to cut and run as soon as possible and find a bathroom I could jerk of in. But you can’t get up and leave when you’re sitting in the middle of a row, even if the lecture hall isn’t nearly half full and I knew for sure everyone would be able to see the pole sticking up in my sweatpants. It could have been worse - I was dressed for practice and my dark t-shirt hid the sweat that began to bead on my hard flat stomach and roll towards my pubes.

He talked for an hour. So I sat there, trying not to wriggle, sweating, and thinking that any moment my prong was going to poke the guy in front of me in the back of his head it felt so big. Ever sat with a proper hard-on for an hour? A big fat boner that won’t quit? When he started to wrap up I was practically scrambling to get my notes together. I was half way to the door when he said .. well, something.. when.. well, it was either the friction from walking or one last word because I shot all over myself, squirting into my jock. I made it to practice with cock-snot running down the inside of my right leg - I had to grab a quick shower less everyone see the dried evidence when we got changed after.

Okay, so that was embarrassing but not too bad. At least, that’s what I thought. Now I can’t.. well.. I can’t cum unless he gives me permission. Sometimes I cum in the middle of a lecture because he slips the magic word into the middle of a sentence - before I realise I’m twitching and spurting in my seat. Last week he didn’t use the word at all, just left me boned, his words stroking my smooth, hot meat and teasing my balls but never letting me get anywhere. It’s like the best jerk-off you’ve ever given yourself, the best lubed up hand-job you’ve served up. But you’re not touching yourself, in fact.. I’m not really.. allowed to touch myself, except to wash. Or rather, I don’t want to.

All I know is that it’s embarrassing as hell. I don’t want to be boned like this, under some guy’s control but I can’t seem to shake it off. And to make things worse, there are a couple of us, all guys on the hockey team. One day I was staring at the wall, trying not to cum, trying to resist the humiliation of another pair of sticky shorts while all the time needing to shoot harder and further than ever. I realised I was staring almost directly at Matt, a team-mate who had what must be my glazed look in his eyes. I’d seen him in the showers - toned and hard like me, like everyone on the team - but I’d never seen him erect. From the mound in his jeans, his rod must grow into a fat slab of meat.

Now we have a private tutorial with the Prof. The first time I was about to punch him and walk out, but he started talking and my cock took charge. He has these stools he likes us to sit on, slightly too tall for us to comfortably rest our feet on the ground. In the middle he screws a short fat ass-plug. Hell, that was another near punch-out but he’s persuasive, so persuasive, telling us just how sweet our cum-shot will be if we hop up onto the stools. So Matt, Davey and I are firmly plugged, stuffed up the ass with these rubberised prongs, our trousers around our ankles and our weight forcing us down, cocks iron-bar hard and, dripping and untouched. First time out, Davey - a blond heavy muscled farm guy - kept shifting around, trying to lift himself up but always slipping back down. Though we must be hypnotised - must be, must be - we feel wide awake, so we try to avoid eye contact as we groan and squirm as he teaches. If he thinks we’re not concentrating, he turns on the heavy vibrator in the bass of the plug, or drips this red gel over our cock heads. Don’t know what that stuff is but it makes you swell up and itch like nothing else. Now when I cum - if I cum - it’s on his desk with my legs my by ears as he tests me on my reading, licking my asslips and pointing my hot rod at my face. Davey and Matt are good guys, so they try to spare me, try to look away but it’s hard when you know it’s going to be you next. Sometimes Matt sits on Prof’s cock, having his balls oiled and rolled softly as he gives a presentation - a good mark might qualify for cum in my face, or Davey stands on his stool, bent over and fucking himself with a long, thin knobbed vibrating wand until he remembers an answer. I can give up the extra classes whenever I want - I know it, I’m in control - but all I really know is that locked in his desk is a picture of all three of us, boned and desperate, hands behind our heads and lips locked on his dick and balls. He’s a dedicated teacher.

Comments? Suggestions? Want me to write more?

Mind Control
Wanking material
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