The losers – story

Forced milking, chastity

The members of the Desert Colts are given a unique incentive to try harder.

See the accompanying art here. 

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The losers

2029 – Wilton College

Lucas watched the ball soar through the air. It was a Hail Mary. A last second for salvation. Their left winger Daniel had kicked it in from the edge of the pitch and the ball curved towards the goal. It was uncertain if it was intended as a direct shot at goal, or a cross intended for their striker to head in.

Alex ran forwards and timing his jump perfectly, pulled his head back ready to assist the shot into the back of the net. And then disaster. The ball was snatched from the air by the opposing goalkeeper.

The opposing team’s fans cheered with delight, but before the cheering had even stopped, the keeper quickly threw the ball out long to a player on his own team. There was no need to rush. His team was a goal up, but he wanted to give them a chance to assure their aggregate victory. One more goal would mean that they pulled ahead of the Colts and out of the relegation zone at the bottom of the league.

But before the player the keeper had thrown the ball to could even bring it under control, a long whistle from the referee signalled the end of the game.

Lucas was mortified. He’d done his part. As a defender, no players had passed on his side of the pitch, but it was a team game. They all shared the victories and they all paid the penalties for failure. He glanced at the scoreboard to confirm what he already knew. 3:2. It was a hard played match. This game was more important to both teams than most. They’d had years of rivalries with the Saints, but this season, neck and neck they both needed the win to avoid being dropped down to a lower division and out of the national league.

Lucas and his team walked despondently towards the edge of the pitch. Although it was the last thing any of them was in the mood for, sportsmanship demanded that they graciously congratulate the other team. The two lines passed each other, both sides offering cheap platitudes as their hands slapped each other.

Lucas was second to last in line. Only their keeper was in line behind him. The last player on the other team passed.

“Good game mate,” he said. “I hear you guys are gonna get drained.”

“Yeeeeah,” Lucas said and his head dropped at the thought.

This was going to be his third time. He hated it. Hated the way the inside of his thighs trembled and he could barely walk afterwards. Hated the way his dick shrivelled to a pathetic slug when the draining was over. Hated the way he couldn’t even so much as get a boner for months. But most of all, he hated the way that his own body was turned into a weapon against him.

 

Lucas followed his teammates into the changing rooms. Their coach followed them in. There was no shouting; no berating. He clinically dissected their performance, highlighting their failures, and singling out particular plays and players for analysis. He knew that the players were only too well aware of the cost of failure, and their minds were doubtless focussed on the coming punishment.

“Okay, you know what’s coming next. Have a quick shower, then I’ll see you all at the door to the centre.”

 

The players stripped down and walked into the showers. There was none of the playful ribaldry that followed a victory, nor even the surly recrimination that sometimes followed a loss.

“I fucking hate this,” Phil said. “It’s such a shitty punishment.”

“Yeah, no sex for six months,” Owen said.

“Like you were having sex anyway!” Joseph teased.

“Okay, well no wanking,” Owen conceded. “Just as bad.”

“How would you know?” Seb chimed in.

 

Like most of the players, Lucas was not in the mood for banter.

Alex looked down at his cock, then lifted it in his fist.

“Guess I won’t be needing you for a while,” he said, and despite the sad implications of his words, it still managed to raise an empathetic laugh.

Lucas looked around: half of the team’s dicks, including his, were already shrivelled in anticipation of the forthcoming ordeal. He looked down at himself. His cock was half foreskin, the rest retreated in fear into his body. His sack was pulled into a tight lump.

They finished their shower and quickly dried before making their way to the adjoining draining centre. They were all naked. There was no point getting dressed. The coach met them at the door and led them in.

On the other side of the door was a familiar sight. A large hall, with dozens of restraint frames standing in pairs, and between each frame, a device that a pair of boys would share; a pole, and on the end were two transparent rubber cones that looked like small megaphone speakers.

“Okay, you know the drill. Partner up and go stand at a wank pole.”

They were actually called “Stimulation stations” but the boys all called them wank poles, and it made it easier if he used their vernacular.

Lucas looked around for a partner. His eyes passed by several players but there was never really any doubt. He got on with most of the team, but if he was going to spend the next 12 hours looking into someone’s face while they both got their boners sucked, he preferred it to be someone he liked. He spotted Benjamin and raised his eyebrows in a question that asked “You okay to partner up?” Ben nodded and they made their way to one of the stations together.

“This is bullshit man,” Benjamin said, “I’m just a fucking sub. I didn’t even play!”

“Yeah, that is harsh. You haven’t been drained before have you?”

“Nah. It’s totally fucked up. I can’t believe this ever became normal.”

“Yeah, but you know, sports academy, they can do what they want. Don’t like it, you can always give up your scholarship, and your hope of playing in the premieres.”

“Great. Sub in the Premieres.”

Ben smiled ironically. He had a self-deprecating sense of humour. That was one of the reasons Lucas liked him.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Nah. It does drive you crazy though. Cumming that many times but still feeling mad-horny every second.”

“How many times do you cum?” Ben asked.

“I dunno. I lose count after about 5. It’s really hard to concentrate. About every ten minutes I guess.”

Ben quickly did the math in his head.

“Jesus, that’s like 72 times!”

“Yeah, maybe more.”

“The most I ever came in one day was maybe six times. It was a boring Saturday and my ‘rents were away all day. I did nothing but watch porn and jerk off the whole day. And that was hard enough. 72 times is gonna kill me!”

“Nah it won’t, but you ARE gonna have nuts like baked beans after.”

“Seriously?”

“Nah,” Lucas said grinning wryly, “not quite, but close.”

 

A member of the coaching staff approached, interrupting their conversation.

“Okay Ben, hands out in front.”

Benjamin complied and the man quickly secured hand cuffs around his wrists. There was a hook hanging from a height-adjustable horizontal metal bar. The bar was secured to a vertical pole. The entire arrangement looked like some kind of hangman’s gibbet.

“This is totally unfair John,” Benjamin said to the young man. “I didn’t even get to play, but still I have to be punished?”

The 27-year-old man moved in and spoke in a quiet voice.

“I agree, but you know how coach Randall is; all that three Musketeers shit. One for all and all for one. He says it builds esprit de corps.”

“Esprit de what?”

“De corps. It means team spirit.”

“I’m not feeling very team spirited right now.”

John looked at Ben with a sympathetic expression.

“At least you’re not the towel boy.”

He looked over at a skinny teen two rows over.

“Arms up,” he said, and Ben complied, raising his cuffed hands above his head.

The hook was just a foot above him and John wrapped the centre of the cuffs over it. Then he pressed a button on the vertical pole lifting the teenager until his feet were lifted off the floor. To Ben’s surprise, the cuffs had a flexible lining and they didn’t cut into his wrists, but he was not looking forwards to holding this position for twelve hours.

 

John turned to Lucas and Lucas soon found himself in the same position as Benjamin. The coaching assistant reached into a plastic box he’d brought with him and produced a 4-inch butt plug. There were chrome contacts in a ring around the top. He lubricated it with gel from a pot.

“You’ve been here before haven’t you Lucas? You know where this goes.”

“Yes.”

John moved behind him and spread Lucas’s buttocks to reveal his sphincter, then he pressed the plug into his hole. When it was in place, John pressed a small switch and the battery-operated unit started delivering a low voltage to Lucas’s prostate. Lucas felt it as a pleasant tingling inside his bottom.

“How many guys has that been inside?” he asked.

“No idea Lucas. Dozens. Hundreds maybe. But it’s sterilised after every use.”

“Hundreds?” Ben said, shocked.

“Last week it was the wrestling team, a few days before that, the science club. Any time a coach or teacher thinks performance is slipping, you can be sure the boys will soon be getting drained.”

Ben frowned.

“I don’t get it. How is this even a thing?”

“It’s pretty straight forwards really. Horny boys are distracted boys. By forcing you to have so many orgasms and draining your balls completely dry, they’re simply incapable of functioning for many months. This lowers testosterone production, and in conjunction with the MPA injection, it switches your libido off completely. No more ejaculations. Not even any erections. And at least you won’t have to worry about morning wood for a while.”

“How long?”

“Hmmm. Well, you’re down for 12 hours on maximum intensity, plus a slow-release subdermal MPA dose, so I think it’ll be 9 months to a year before you’ll be distracted by sex thoughts or boners again.”

“A year? I don’t want to go a year without a boner!”

“Too late for that now.”

 

John looked down at Lucas’s groin. The teenager’s penis was hard, protruding just above 90 degrees. The man pressed a switch to adjust the horizontal position of the hook that Lucas hung from until the boy’s belly was just short of the rubber funnel. John walked up to Lucas and wrapped his left arm around the boy’s thighs, pulling him at an angle away from it. With his right hand, he pulled the foreskin back from Lucas’s glans, then guided Lucas’s rigid dick towards the aperture, before swinging the boy back towards the unit.

Lucas watched his dick slide into the hole. At the end was some sort of soft rubber massager. He’d never actually seen it but it felt as though there were dozens of tiny slimy tongues pressing against his glans.

John released him. Now Lucas could not withdraw his penis without swinging his body backwards, and he knew from past experience, that if he did that, one of the staff would simply secure him against the massager, and that would be even worse, denying him a single millimetre of movement or the brief second of relief that it might afford him.

John produced a small medical gun from his box. It had a large needle on the end. He pulled at the skin to the inside of Lucas’s shoulder blade and pushed the needle into the flap of skin. When he pulled the trigger, the unit inserted a slow-release capsule under John’s skin.

“That will keep you soft for a good while,” John informed him.

 

Benjamin watched as John set Lucas up on the device. He was not keen on being nude around other guys at the best of the times. He had a problem that most guys wished they had; his dick was too large. It seemed like a great advantage in the locker room, walking around with a thick six inches flopping around, but his dick was ugly, brown, overly veined, dirty-looking even though he kept it scrupulously clean, with a heavy foreskin that looked perpetually moist. It was not a dick that girls saw and wanted to blow. Especially as he produced an excess of precum as well. With a boner, the situation was even worse. It turned into a nine-inch horse cock that looked like it would bring pain rather than pleasure. He was dreading his turn.

 

John moved behind him and Ben clenched against the plug as he felt the man spreading his butt cheeks. The plug had a narrow tip, and it didn’t matter how hard Ben clenched his puckered hole, he was not going to be able to resist it. The slimy tip slid into him easily, like a cool, greasy finger. He felt invaded. It was like a satisfying shit going the wrong way. In other circumstances, he might have explored the sensation, surprised at how pleasant it felt, but he was not interested in making discoveries about his body here surrounded by 15 members of the team.

The plug quickly forced its way into his rectum and his sphincter snapped shut on its narrow neck, holding it in place. He instinctively tried to shit it back out, but it was much wider past the neck and it wouldn’t move.

Then he felt the tingling sensation inside. He was unfamiliar with his prostate, but that was precisely where the tingling was occurring. It was strangely stimulating but not sexual. His body responded to it independently of his conscious desires. To his dismay, his cock grew, lifting like the long-necked head of a brontosaurus coming up to look around.

John moved to the side and did a double-take at the beast that lay before him.

“Damn Ben!” he said in awe.

They were not supposed to make physical comments about the students’ genitals in case they gave them hang-ups, but his reaction slipped out. Ben glowered down at him.

John glanced at the funnel. A classic line from the movie “Jaws” popped into his head.

“We’re going to need a bigger boat!”

He moved Ben close to the funnel, then gripped the boy’s cock in his fist. It felt like holding a roll of salami in his hand. He slid his fist towards the base, and the copious foreskin peeled stickily away from the head, revealing a dark purple, club-like glans that looked like it could be used to beat small animals to death. It was already wet and shining.

John guided Ben’s weapon into the funnel and the soft rubber cone stretched to accommodate it. Ben felt his glans being surrounded by moist nodules. It felt to him as though his helmet was being enfolded by a sea anemone or a sundew plant. At any other time, the mere thought of enclosing his dick head in a stinging sea animal or a carnivorous plant would have been enough to kill his boner, but thanks to the plug, he couldn’t get rid of his hard-on if his life depended upon it.

 

To their left, Ben heard soft moaning. He turned to see that Jae and Michael were squirming on the end of their poles, clearly in the throes of deep pleasure. Another pair joined, and Ben saw Phil and Theo had started squirming. Phil was a midfielder, with a physique like a body-builder and the personality of a bulldog, but now he was moaning like a virgin on her wedding night, a look of pained ecstasy on his face.

“Okay guys,” John said, drawing their attention back to him. “Here we go.”

He pressed a button on the central pole and immediately the inside of the two cones started moving. Ben’s body tensed almost comically as he felt the device come to life. The head started spinning; a quarter rotation clockwise, then a quarter back the other way as though polishing his glans. At the same time, the tiny rubber tendrils started to vibrate, and every so often, one of them would make its way into the eye of his urethra, sending painfully pleasant sensations along the inside of his penis, like a hot tongue forcing its way into him.

On the outside, Ben could feel the soft rubber beads slip-sliding all over his glans, brushing; stroking; softly rubbing every millimetre of his shiny skin.

He let out a long, deep, involuntary groan of pleasure.

“Ooooooooooooh.”

 

Opposite him, Lucas was also squirming. Although he had already endured this twice before, his prior experience did nothing to lessen the intense pleasure he was feeling. Naively, with two former drainings under his belt, he thought that it might be a little easier to bear on the third occasion, but the instant the helmet polisher started to spin, he realised that he was no better prepared than the first time. His balls clenched as the warm nodes forced his already hard penis to get harder still, straining against his will. He had the kind of achingly hard erection that occasionally prevented him from sleeping if he got one in the night. His glans, pressed irresistibly against the polisher head, and it teased him, sending tiny sparks of excitement along his shaft. His inner thighs trembled as though an electrical current was running through them, but there was no electricity, just constant, unavoidable euphoria across every part of his bloated helmet.

 

Lucas knew then, that this was going to be even worse than his previous milking. At least the first time, he did not know how hard it would be to endure this level of arousal. Twelve hours. TWELVE FUCKING HOURS! And he was already writhing. This was so much more painfully arousing than sex, or even a blowjob. Those activities did not touch every millimetre of his glans, and they certainly did not stimulate him unceasingly for even fifteen minutes, let alone half an entire day.

“Oh, Jesus fucking CHRIST,” he groaned, not caring if others found his words profane.

His words were an expression of the fact that he realised he was never going to endure this with his sanity intact. He was going to lose and zone out to his inner lust beast as the machine relentlessly forced him to orgasm. He knew that, just like the rest of the team, at some stage during the next 12 hours, probably in less than 3, he was going to turn into nothing more than a grunting, snarling, quivering animal. No longer would he be rational, as he was forced to come, time after time. Instead, he would feel as though he was nothing but a throbbing dick and a pair of balls. Nothing else would matter.

 

Opposite, Benjamin looked down at Lucas’s dick, as his own was polished. Lucas was nowhere near as big as him, but he sure looked hard. Lucas’s nuts slowly climbed higher and higher; tighter and tighter in his sack, then up either side of the root of his cock. Then they slipped up into his body, forming two bulges as they passed back into his inguinal canals, pulled there by over-powerful cremaster muscles. Ben frowned. It seemed rude to say anything, but he wondered if it hurt. Judging by the ecstatic expression on Lucas’s face, it did not. Quite the opposite.

 

Suddenly, Ben passed from stimulation to orgasm. The milker expertly forced his impressive meat to give up its seed. He threw his head back and tried to suppress a scream of euphoria as his nuts gave up their load of cream. He felt his balls vigorously contracting and relaxing sending his juice towards his dick. The thick, muscular cord that ran along the underside of his penis started pumping and pumping, helping to fire the semen forcefully from his dick and into the collector.

When the initial instinct to scream was past, he looked down at his dick. He was still pumping hard and he couldn’t help but look to see what was happening down below. A thin, transparent pipe lead from the cone to the post supporting it, and it was filled with white goo as it pumped his slop away. He watched as his balls were forced to give up their cargo.

Then he noticed that the pipe on Lucas’s side was full too. He looked up at his friend and Lucas stared back at him grimacing, his teeth ground together and lips bared in a snarl as he did his best not to advertise his own orgasm. But it was clear that it was every bit as powerful as Ben’s was.

 

Eventually, Ben’s orgasm passed and he sighed with a mixture of relief and sadness at its conclusion. But of course, the polisher kept twisting and turning, teasing him with mechanical relentlessness. Ben was used to surcease after he came. He might slow down, easing gradually towards inactivity, or if he was masturbating, he’d quickly come to a complete stop, but the milker was having none of it.

What had been fantastic arousal, quickly turned to incredible discomfort as the tiny rubber polisher arms continued to tickle his helmet.

“Oh no, stop, fuck!” he protested, as the milker showed no compassion for his refractory need.

Ben’s squirming magnified, and now he was writhing like an eel on a fishing line, desperate to reduce the contact on his glans.

All around him, his teammates were also moaning and wriggling now, most in discomfort as the devices worked their adolescent helmets.

 

By twisting his body, Ben was able to reduce the contact on one side of his glans for a couple of seconds, and then he would twist the other way to relieve the other side. By lifting his knees, he could even reduce the contact on the top of his shiny dome, but no matter how he twisted or turned, nothing relieved the constant massaging on the underside where his fraenulum was, and where he was most sensitive.

After a minute or so of nut-clenching dick massage, the post-orgasmic discomfort finally dropped away, only to be replaced by dick-throbbing excitement once again.

And so, the cycle repeated; back and forth, with Benjamin or Lucas coming intermittently; sometimes alone, but often, the orgasm of one added mental arousal that pushed the other over the edge.

They both felt the constant tingling up inside their assholes as the dildos sent a pleasurable electrical current into their prostates, guaranteeing that neither willpower nor exhaustion would allow their cocks to wilt.

 

A little after 90 minutes, the post-orgasmic torment became too much for Benjamin. Like a gymnast swinging on a high bar, he swang his legs a couple of times to gain momentum in order to pull his penis from the cone. With one more giant swing, he rocked his body backwards. His penis withdrew; 6 inches… 7… 8… and then, just short of freedom, he felt a hand on his bottom pushing him back in. It was John.

“Uh, uh. Come on Ben, you were warned about that.”

“Oh come ooooon!” Ben protested as his glans was buried back among the rubber tendrils. “I can’t take it any more John!”

“Yeah  you will. Thousands of boys of been through this in colleges all over the country. It won’t kill you Ben, but it will make you try harder.”

Before John had even finished speaking, Ben could feel the nodules tantalising his rigid cock, while the dildo in his ass kept him hard no matter how much he tried to will his erection away.

John wrapped a canvas harness around Ben’s buttocks. One strand of the webbing went around his waist and the other just below his bottom, meeting at the front. He attached a metal carabiner that pulled the two ends together by his pubis.

“This is just an old-school climbing harness,” he explained to Ben, “but it does the job.”

He attached the carabiner to an adjustable strap which he attached to the pole. He pulled the strap tight, Ben was pulled close to the pole, his dick pressed into the cone as tight as it could go. Ben grunted. The rubber polisher nodules were pressed against his dick more firmly now.

“Oh no, come on John, you don’t have to…”

John interrupted.

“It’s the rules. Sorry Ben.”

“Please man it’s…”

Before he could finish the sentence, the tube in front of him filled with white. John looked at it and smirked.

“Still squirting after 90 minutes. I wonder how long until your balls are dry, 3 more? 5 even. I don’t think anyone ever managed to spunk after 15.”

He looked at Ben’s testicles. They were as formidable as his penis. John wondered if there was any correlation between the size of a male’s testicles and the number of times he could squirt. He cupped them in his hand. It was like holding two soft, warm hen’s eggs. He nodded appreciatively.

“Maybe you’ll be the first.”

He resolved to return often to see how long Ben managed to keep squirting.

 

Ben did his best to adjust his position after his latest orgasm, but thanks to the harness, he now had almost no movement. He groaned with a mixture of frustration and discomfort. His dick felt so hard, but the head was so incredibly sensitive. He’d have given up his scholarship at the college on the spot if he could just remove his dick from the machine, but it wasn’t an option right now. Instead, he remained suspended while he was milked like a cow.

 

All around them, boys were groaning, and Ben was not the first nor the last to be strapped into place. The gym-sized hall started to fill with a potent scent of teen sweat and spunk as the draining continued.

 

Lucas didn’t know exactly when he ceased to become aware of the room, but he knew that Ben went a considerable time before him; due no doubt to the fact that he could not pull his helmet away from the polisher. One moment Ben was squirming and moaning after his latest orgasm, and the next his eyes stared into space, his legs went limp, and he he simply hung, no longer resisting as the polisher worked on him. A growling started deep in his throat.

Lucas saw; it was like the moment in a zombie movie when a bitten person suddenly changes, and you know that there’s no human consciousness left within. Ben didn’t seem like he was aware of the room any more.

“Ben, you okay?” Lucas asked.

Ben didn’t respond nor show any sign of having heard.

“Ben?” he prompted a little louder.

The truth was, if Ben HAD zoned out, it was the best thing for him. There was nothing either of them could do to stop the endless cycle of orgasms followed by a minute or so of painful recovery, then a slow, unbearably arousing build up to another orgasm. Lucas was panting himself with arousal as he neared his 27^th orgasm. But if Ben had gone into a boner-trance, at least he was no longer consciously aware of the discomfort, and the incessant horniness, and the repeated orgasms.

 

An indeterminate time later, Lucas became aware of the sound of groaning teens around him. He blinked and found himself staring at the ceiling. He was laying on the floor on his back. He’d obviously fallen into his own boner trance, although he’d had no sense of its impending arrival.

Now his ordeal was over. The coaching staff had obviously taken all the boys down and laid them out on the floor while they regained their senses. All around him his teen mates were coming around.

He tried to raise himself onto one arm, but a pang of pain shot through his shoulder from all the time suspended. He remembered that on the previous occasions it had been over half an hour before the pain dissipated, and a couple of hours after that before the pins and needles faded and he was able to use his arms properly.

The base of his dick was aching as though he’d used it to do a thousand pull ups. It was worst prolonged boner ache ever. There was deep feeling of exhaustion in his testicles. They felt hot, as though they were glowing inside his scrotum.

Around him, he could hear some of his teammates’ voices angrily raised. Then he heard the coach’s voice.

“Can I have your attention please.”

Lucas sat up without using his arms. Ben did the same next to him.

“Because this is the third milking session for the soccer team, the college has decided to supplement the treatment. As many of you have doubtless discovered, you are now wearing containment devices over your genitals.”

Lucas looked down. His penis was uncased in an unflatteringly small chastity device made of what appeared to be clear plastic. His testicles hung free, but the device was wrapped around the root of his penis in a ring too tight to remove without taking his nuts with it.

“These will remain in place for the next year to ensure that you do not waste your semen or your limited energy on any kind of sexual activity. IF you manage to place in the top 25% of the league next season, we will CONSIDER removing them.”

There was a ruckus of angry voices, and half a dozen of the players rose to their feet. Two of them fell straight back onto their asses as their legs gave way. 12 hours of continuous milking and a minimum of 50 orgasms had left even the strongest of them weak as kittens.

“You can’t do this to us!” Noah said.

“Actually, we can. You all knew what you signed up to when you came to this college. You get a first-class education, an excellent chance of going on to become professional soccer players, but we can use whatever methods we see fit to guarantee your optimal performance. And THIS is what we see fit. If you don’t like it, you can always surrender your scholarship, pay for the education and accommodation we’ve already provided and go back to whatever else you would sooner do instead. Now I suggest that you take it easy; slowly return to the locker room, get changed and try to enjoy the remains of your weekend.”

“How are we supposed to piss with these on?” Phil demanded.

“They have holes at the end. Just sit on the lavatory and piss away.”

“We have to piss sitting down? Like girls!” the speaker asked indignantly.

“If you play like girls, you can piss like them. But for the record, the national women’s soccer team is doing MUCH better than the men’s. You could take as leaf out of their book. Oh, and one more thing; those chastity cages are made of carbon fibre. We’ll be periodically and randomly checking to ensure that you are still wearing them. I don’t expect you’ll even want to THINK about touching your dicks for a good 4 or 5 months, but in case you are tempted to try to remove them, they have heat welded rivets and the carbon fibre splinters if you manage somehow to break it. It would NOT be safe for your dicks to try to remove them without the correct tools.”

Lucas looked down at his genitals. His balls had returned to his scrotum, and they now looked small and pathetic hanging in a plump teardrop-shaped bag of soft, wrinkled skin just below the chastity device. He glanced at Ben’s. They were considerably larger, but still significantly smaller than they had been twelve hours ago.

Lucas lifted the plastic cage and examined it. Ben looked at him with an expression distinctly lacking in humour.

With a sigh Lucas said, “Looks like we’re pissing sitting down for the next year then.”