By Strappeddown

Tuesday and Wednesday seemed normal considering the insane weekend I had experienced. The cup was easy to maintain, comfortable and pretty much low maintenance. I had to sit to pee, which took a little getting used to. The urine would pour out of the hole in the bottom of the cup. There was something about the experience that was humiliating despite it happening within the privacy of the bathroom stall.

Inside the cup I felt nothing: No buzzing, no slight movement. It almost was like an empty space between my legs. I found myself thinking about it less and less, and focusing more on work. In the evenings, I got caught up on several household chores I had been putting off … I even cleaned behind the refrigerator Wednesday night. I guess I wasted an inordinate amount of time masturbating to porn on the internet.

It wasn’t until Thursday morning at work that I felt the cup do anything unusual.

It was after a status meeting. I was heading back to my office when I was interrupted by Suzanne the “irritating” intern and a very handsome gentleman in a dark grey suit. “This is Larry Carter, he came to see Eric, but he’s out sick. Can you meet with him briefly?” she said, and then just walked away, leaving me to deal with him.

Secretly I was pleased. This guy was sexy. He had bright blue eyes, short cropped blond hair and was muscular in his impeccably tailored suit. I could barely see his thick biceps bulging from under his jacket sleeves.

Back in my office Larry the sexy-as-fuck sales rep pulled a bunch of printed materials out of his briefcase and started his presentation. It was some software that the company was considering purchasing. I knew I needed to pay attention because Eric would want a full report when he got back. Instead I found myself focusing on this guy’s eyes and his winning smile. I started imagining what he looks like under his suit. I pictured him standing there with his huge cock poking out of his slacks, ramming it down my throat.

That is when I felt a very gentle sensation from the cup.

This was the first time since Monday that I had felt even slightly horny. I could understand that, after being edged and milked all weekend there wasn’t much juice left in me.

Here I was though, feeling a little horny. As this guy droned on about his software capabilities I was fantasizing about having sex. I pictured his bright orange power tie brushing lightly against my forehead as I sucked on his cock.

But the cup had started doing something. I sat up tensely and pulled my chair up close against the edge of my desk trying to maintain eye contact with this handsome fucker as he pointed to some chart on his iPad. I was afraid I might be forced into an orgasm right here, right now, in my office, just like at the coffee shop.

But seconds later I realized it was doing something else. The pulses and rhythms I was feeling felt unusually relaxing and calming. It was almost a draining sensation. It was like that feeling you get when you are taking a long piss and you can feel your bladder slowly emptying. It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant … it was just tranquil.

As he started talking about installation and hardware, I honed in on what he was saying. A moment later I was leaning back in my chair, relaxed and focused. Though the sensations from the cup continued, they were not distracting me at all … in fact they somehow had the opposite effect. I completely fixated on every detail of the presentation.

When he was finished, I thanked him, shook his hand and he left. Even though he still seemed sexy to me, it seemed more like a simple fact and less like an irresistible attraction. I jumped back to my work and wrote up a detailed synopsis with my recommendation and sent it off to Eric. Then I continued working on other proposals until lunchtime.

It wasn’t until then that I remembered what I had experienced in the first few minutes of that meeting … when the cup started pulsing. I could distinctly remember being attracted to that guy, turned-on, a little horny. Somehow that impulse had faded. I went from imagining his cock down my throat to thinking only about software costs and return on investment figures.

The cup was still doing … something. But somehow what it was doing was not distracting. I’d think about what I was feeling … what it was doing … what was happening to me only briefly, for a fleeting few seconds before I’d think of something more important that needed my attention.

I wanted to ask Jim about this … find out what those computer charts that monitored this thing were revealing. Ask him how this worked. I was going to dial his number on my phone when I remembered his warning. If I called him before Friday he’d add another week to my sentence.

That evening I decided to try an experiment. I would try to make myself horny.

I sat down in front of my computer and pulled up my favorite porn site. It was called HardRoughBears and was mostly a BDSM site with beefy guys tied up with rope, chain and leather being fucked or forced to cum by brutal muscular tops.

There was a new video on the homepage. The preview pictures showed a dude trussed up in the air in an elaborate rope harness. His arms were pinioned behind his back and his legs were bent and tied tightly together upward, exposing his ass. The two hairy guys that were working him over were site regulars … one was my absolute favorite. The preview pictures showed them fucking him in the mouth while the other was fucking his ass.

This was a hot scene for me – right up my alley. I clicked through and the video started. It wasn’t on for ten seconds when I realized that the cup was maybe doing something again … or maybe it had never stopped … I couldn’t tell. I tried to ignore it and instead focus on the video … but somehow the scenario seemed fake and the dialog seemed empty and inane. I started thinking “These are terrible actors.” Then I noticed that one of the guys wasn’t all that muscular … and he had some hair growing on his back, which wasn’t very attractive.

I saw that there were differences in the lighting between the long shots and the close-up scenes … one of the cameras must have been using a different filter or something. The background music was kind of repetitive … and sort of poor quality.

Two minutes into the video I clicked it off and scanned through some of the other videos. None of them looked interesting at all. I started to wonder why I paid a monthly fee to watch this stuff.

I thought about the gutters on the side of my garage. One of the bolts had popped toward the back and it was sagging a little. I left the computer and went out to see if I could fix it. It was only as I was searching in my toolbox that I realized I had completely forgotten about my “experiment” to get horny. As I stood still and focused intensely, I could almost feel a slight, almost unnoticeable rhythmic pulse from inside the cup … it was hardly enough for me to register.

I returned to the house and went into my bedroom closet where I kept my hidden stash of magazines. There were all types, some of which I’d had since I was a teenager. I grabbed a pile and tossed them on my bed and started looking through them. I was getting nothing. Instead my mind kept going back to that gutter, and also how disorganized my toolbox was.

That evening I ended up fixing the gutter, organizing my toolbox, and even sorted my porn magazine collection by title and publishing date.

I couldn’t wait to talk to Jim about this. The chastity cup was actually changing my behavior. When I actively would think about something that normally would make me horny, the thoughts were somehow fleeting, and before I knew it I’d think of something more pressing. If I didn’t know better I’d swear it was controlling my mind.

As I lay in bed that night, I focused for a long time and realized that it was continuously and slowly pulsing … so slow it was almost unnoticeable, but it was constant and steady. I think it had pretty much started doing this when I met with that Sales rep and it had continued ever since. It was such a low, rhythmic and relaxing sensation that it was difficult for me to focus on.

I found my mind emptying and a sudden sleepiness came over me. I just drifted off … and slept soundly. I woke up refreshed ten minutes before my alarm went off. I vaguely remembered having pleasant and relaxing dreams.

All day Friday I hardly thought about the cup … or actually sex … at all. I was never really aware of the pulsing, except when I sat perfectly still, then I could barely sense its slow and relaxing rhythm.

I buzzed through my work and was surprised to find it was already 5:30 pm when my boss stopped in my office to compliment me. “I can’t believe how much you’ve accomplished this week!” he exclaimed. “You’ve done an excellent job…go home and enjoy the weekend!”

As I was logging off of my computer I realized that I had actually accomplished an amazing amount of work that week … both here and at home, and people had noticed a change in me. Earlier that day one of the interns asked if I had gotten a new haircut, and my coworker Erik asked if I was wearing a new suit. People were noticing something different about me … and I wondered if it was emanating from that ever so slight bulge between my legs.

Despite the weird milking ordeal that was the initial “training” period, being in chastity had been pretty good, and this first week was going great. I could definitely see the benefits of being so focused on my work. I couldn’t wait to finally talk to Jim about it. I figured I’d go by his place and discuss it with him there. I had a million questions for him and I’d finally be able to get them answered.

When I got to his place and rang his doorbell, he seemed surprised. I expected him to greet me and then invite me in, but instead he just stood at the door looking at me sternly. “Why are you here?” he suddenly barked.

I wasn’t sure how to respond, “You … you said to come talk to you Friday after work …” I stammered. I stepped back a little, not sure of myself. For some reason I was becoming a little nervous around him. We had been friends for years, and I’ve never felt like this.

He smiled slyly. “You didn’t listen did you, boy? I told you to CALL me after work on Friday. ‘CALL’ me. I never said to come over.”

Again he referred to me as boy. In all the time I’d known him he’d never called me boy before. Now it was becoming a regular thing. It wasn’t like it was an insult. It sort of seemed like a friendly nickname and I was kind of getting used to it.

“So, okay … sorry,” I blurted out. “I just wanted to talk to you about the cup and …”

He interrupted me, “Go home. Then call me.” With that he smiled briefly at me, and then he firmly shut the door.

I stood there for a second, not knowing what to think.

I walked back to the car feeling a little angry. Was this all part of his chastity game? It seemed more than that, as if our relationship was shifting, changing somehow. I was sort of disgusted … but I’d figure I’d play his game, get this cup off, and never do the chastity thing with him again. It was getting too weird.

By the time I got home I wasn’t as upset for some reason, in fact I had sort of remembered him saying to call. I must have just forgot in my excitement.   He probably had one of his boys over and I had interrupted him in the middle of something. It was really inconsiderate for me to just show up without calling.

When I got in the door, I promptly called him and apologized. “Hey, Jim,” I started, “Sorry about just showing up and all …”

Before I continued he broke in. “I’ve decided not to extend your sentence for disobeying me,” he said firmly. “But I am going to confine you to quarters.”

“Wait,” I said, “What?” and then cautiously, “What is this all about? You have been treating me weird ever since you put this thing on me…”

He chuckled, “I think I’m treating you exactly how you want to be treated. You’ll see. Now as punishment you are confined to your house for the next 24 hours. Remember what I said before, don’t call me during the edging period, or its two more weeks. Don’t call me until Sunday after 8 pm.” And with that he hung up.

I stood there for maybe a minute with the phone in my hand, a little in shock. The way he had said “edging period” sounded kind of ominous.

I shook it off and decided to make dinner. I had decided to make a mushroom risotto recipe I had researched earlier in the week. I started going through my pantry and refrigerator, grabbing the various ingredients. I had picked up everything I needed earlier and was looking forward to being my own “gourmet chef” for the evening.

As I was chopping onions I started to feel a little uneasy. This whole thing with Jim and his cup was turning into something that I wasn’t ready for. The onions were strong and had started to irritate my eyes, so I grabbed the wine, stepped away from the kitchen and took a swig from the bottle. I didn’t need or want him treating me like all his stupid “boys” that he locked up. We were supposed to be friends. None of this was fun anymore. I didn’t want to go another week with this stupid thing locked on my cock.

I returned to my onions and began chopping again. As I made each slice I found myself getting even angrier. I finished chopping and pushed the cutting board back on the counter. As I leaned forward, the cup caught on the front of my cabinet. It made a soft “thunk” through the fabric of the shorts I was wearing.

I was suddenly aware of it. The slight weight. The feeling of encasement. I stood extremely still and realized that the soft, slow, relaxing rhythm had stopped. It was inert. I had grown so accustomed to that relaxing sensation, that its absence had now become obvious.

I reached down and touched it. My hand felt it through the layers of cloth, my fingers ran up and down the surface … but it was as if it was empty inside … as if my balls and cock were packed solidly into some null space that existed in another dimension.

I was locked in it … securely … at the mercy of Jim. A guy I trusted. And despite his behavior in the past week, I did trust him. He actually had keys to my house. I didn’t trust any of my other friends like that. I thought about the fact that this was his cup … an obviously very expensive toy … and he had essentially leant it to me. It wasn’t that bad, in fact, wearing it had sort of become an interesting adventure.

I plopped a pat of butter into the hot pan and it started to hiss and sizzle. I was fine. Jim was playing an elaborate game … one that he obviously understood and enjoyed more than I did. I may as well let him have his fun.

As I added the onions to the pan, they hissed loudly and the sound was accompanied by an unusual and slight tickle.

It made me pause, wooden spoon in hand. I focused intensely for a second. I had felt something … right on the tip of my cock … or at least where I imagined my cock would be, packed somewhere within that brushed metal cup.

It felt as though it had been a sealed package that had suddenly been opened and exposed to the air. It was a very subtle sensation. I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t just imagined it.

I started to slowly stir the cooking onions … and then there was something else … the cup felt slightly tighter. Around the base … at least I thought that is what it was. It was so slight. I found myself focusing so much on what I was feeling I was neglected to stir the onions.

What was happening?

This was so much more subtle … not at all like the previous weekend, which had been like a roller coaster of sensations. This was quiet. Unobtrusive. Was I imagining it? Just a little … tickle.

There it was again. Right on the tip.

I had to stop focusing on this and add the rice and stir it for a minute. The rice kernels were supposed to become slightly translucent before I added the wine. I tossed them in and began swirling them around with the wooden spoon. Stir … stir … stir … TICKLE!

This was obvious. Before I couldn’t be sure if it was real or not. I had felt something definite. It was like a tiny tongue licking just inside the hole of my penis. It reminded me that I HAD a penis … locked away in that prison of silicone, rubber and aluminum.

My hand again found its way down to the cup and I pulled on it slightly. The grip remained firm … it had always remained firm. Ever since Jim had first clicked on that keyboard and its magic little orifice had closed down on me.

I realized I hadn’t seen my cock or balls in a week. In my entire life I had never gone a single day without touching my cock – to take a piss, to shower or bathe, and since I was a teen I masturbated practically every day.

The rice was translucent and the onions were brown and I was pouring in the wine. It smelled good. This was the lengthy part…I had to just stand here and stir and wait until the rice absorbed the liquid, then add chicken stock and stir and repeat.

Stir … stir … stir … STROKE.

Maybe “stroke” was not the correct word. It wasn’t like a real stroke. Not a firm, grip your cock and squeeze it tightly as you slide it up the shaft ‘STROKE.’ Not the kind of stroke you get when you are rock hard and lubed up, veins popping, ready to burst.

This was just a minor thing. Like the cup had changed size somehow, lengthening the shaft slightly inside, stretching, reconfiguring, and softly sucking my cock upward within its soft rubbery grip.

I kept stirring, focusing my eyes on the liquid in the pan, waiting for it to be absorbed … but my mind was somewhere else. I was imagining what was happening inside the cup, and my imagination was starting to throw ideas into my head at a rapid pace.

Could it be like last weekend? I might be stirring this rice one minute and the next be having an incredible orgasm on the floor, writhing in ecstasy. I realized I would fucking love it if it would do that. Right now. Forget the rice, forget dinner. I’d spill six coffees on me in public to have it happen right now.

And then I felt that familiar sensation I’d felt almost every day of my life. Most of the time in the morning, right after waking up. Or when you’d see a hot guy while jogging in the park … I was getting a boner, developing a hard-on, catching some wood. I knew I was getting a massive erection. I could feel the blood pumping.

Earlier that day the sensation from the cup was calming, keeping me focused on the task at hand. Now it was the opposite. I found my mind consumed with every little movement that was happening in there, and it was no longer relaxing. Every nasty thought that came to my head resulted in that glorious stiff feeling. Each fantasy resulted in a visceral response.

I was stirring faster, my pulse had quickened. The cookbook had warned about stirring to quickly … it would make the risotto starchy. I kept waiting for another STROKE or TICKLE. I had a hard-on, and I was enjoying it. It had been almost a week. I wanted to get off. I NEEDED to get off.

A moment later it started. It was no longer a stroke or a tickle. It was a slow, undulating pulse, and it felt incredible. I no longer cared about the risotto. I mindlessly turned off the stove. It would ruin it but I didn’t care. This cup was no longer being subtle, and it wasn’t my imagination. It was doing something obvious … and it felt GOOD.

I plopped down in the kitchen chair trying to comprehend what I was experiencing. It was so wonderful. Soft waves of pleasure. I looked around the kitchen as if I was in a daze. I was breathing heavier. It was like I was high on endorphins. Was this really happening? It felt so good … it couldn’t be too long before I got off. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and prepared myself.

Then it hit me.

I suddenly realized that it wasn’t going to get me off. It wasn’t going to be like last weekend.

Edging didn’t mean “get off,” it meant going to the edge, looking over and just hovering there, enjoying the view.

Jim had mentioned not to call him during “the edging period.” This thing was going to edge me. It was completely capable of edging me. It could fill and empty my passion like I was just a cog in some electronic clockwork system. In a way my cock WAS a cog in its system. Right now my cock was its entire reason for existing.

What I was experiencing physically felt really good … extremely good in fact. It was only in my mind that I was suddenly horrified by what was happening. This couldn’t be real could it? Is it possible to feel this good and not get off?

I pulled off my shorts. A small wet spot had formed in the grey spandex jock where the bottom hole was. I took it off and sat there looking at it. I didn’t bother to tug or pull on it … there was no use. A small stream of pre-cum started leaking out of that bottom hole, stretching down to the kitchen floor.

Visually it was motionless, but inside there was a flurry of sensation. I could tell I was hard … super hard. I tried to picture where and how my erect cock fit inside it. I slowly caressed it with my hand, in time to the undulations I was feeling. The metal was smooth and warm. My strokes did nothing to change or impact the lovely sensations that I kept feeling.

Damn this felt so fucking good. I stretched out my legs … stretched my arms backward behind the chair … every muscle felt wonderful as I flexed them, riding each slow wave of pleasure. Oh I wanted to cum so fucking bad right now. I don’t think I’d ever wanted to cum so badly.

The clock on my stove said 8:45. I had been sitting on the chair for over 30 minutes. I stood up. I would go over to Jim’s and demand that he remove it. Fuck the two weeks. This ends today. I wanted to get off … I ABSOLUTELY HAD to get off. If he refused, I would go to the damn emergency room to have it removed.

I pictured them cutting it off my cock in the E.R., and me just grasping my shaft with both hands and stroking it until it squirted all over the doctors as they looked at me in horror and shock.

I stood up … I was slightly dizzy … giddy maybe … absolutely fucking horny. I pulled up my shorts as I stumbled out of the house and into my car.

I started to pull the car out of the driveway when it hit me like a punch to the gut. A solid and extremely painful pulse to my balls. I doubled over in the car, hitting my head on the steering wheel and causing the horn to honk briefly. I managed to shut off the car and stumble out and back into the house. The pain was unbearable … DAMN! This hurt!

As soon as I stumbled back into the house the pain subsided.

But the edging sensation continued.

Was this thing hooked up to some kind of GPS? Did Jim know where I was at all times? I guess it had to have some sort of cellular hook-up … it sent and received signals to his computer. He must have programmed it to punish me with shocks if I left the house! That FUCKER. This is what he meant by “confined to quarters.”

It had been edging me for about an hour now, and I was going crazy with desire. I could feel what it was doing now, or at least imagining it. It was like bellows on the embers of a fire. It would slowly puff air, exciting the embers into a red-hot glow … but not enough to erupt into flames. Then it would pause … or retract somehow … let the embers fade just long enough to start again. An endless cycle … getting hotter and hotter … continuing to climb upward, ever upward, each minute that passed. Such a thing might drive a man insane. I began to question my own sanity.

I collapsed on the couch and found myself focusing on Jim. I thought of all the short and direct conversations we had had since Monday morning. His authoritative attitude. The way he called me “boy.” My emotions were jumbled. It pissed me off but at the same time gave me pleasure, or was it just this cup? It was giving me pleasure. I realized that everything and anything I thought about seemed to take on a sexy, pleasurable haze in my mind.

I got up and grabbed my laptop and pulled up the internet porn site. What had seemed banal and boring just a few nights before now looked incredibly fucking hot to me. I watched that video from earlier in the week and found myself literally drooling at the sight of those beefy guys working each other over. At one point they were mercilessly twisting his nipples and he was writhing in pain, unable to escape the rope binds. I found myself twisting my own nipples … hard … the pain felt exquisite.

As the video ended, and the guys each in turn ejaculated on each other, I sat there infinitely frustrated and horny, unable to do anything but rub my hands uselessly against that smooth aluminum cup.

An hour and half later I realized that these videos were exasperating my situation. I needed a distraction. I decided to eat something, and heated up some frozen lasagna. Each bite I took, each time I chewed and swallowed, was accompanied by an indescribable sensation of desire. It was as if the act of eating had somehow turned sexual. I left half of it on my plate and wandered into the bathroom.

I took a cold shower. It didn’t help.

It was getting late. I slid in bed and tossed and turned for half an hour. How was I going to get any sleep?

I then remembered I had sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. I got up, took one and washed it down with some cold water. It was just a little pill, but as I took it I was imagining sucking a cock and swallowing a load. For some reason I pictured Jim’s cock. I imagined him wearing the leather chaps and vest from the porn video I had watched earlier. I was the stud trussed up in ropes, my holes open and available for use and abuse.

I stumbled back into bed, fantasies swirling around in my head. I lay there for a while … just experiencing the frustration. I had ceased to become human, I was just a giant ball of unfulfilled desire. I could distinctly feel it now, it would build in waves and then recede. But each cycle seemed higher than the previous one.

The cup was leaking everywhere. Pre-cum had continued to slowly but steadily drip from that little hole in the bottom of the cup. I thought about getting up and putting on a jock or a pair of underwear … but the sleeping pill was starting to kick in. I was yawning. Even the yawn somehow felt sexual. I stretched my toes and it felt exuberant. I rolled over and humped the bed in time to the rhythm.

And then I must have fallen asleep. I was no longer in bed, I was standing on a platform above a swimming pool. It had to be a dream … I somehow knew I was in a dream.

It was bright, sunny and hot. I was wearing a pair of shiny blue speedos. They tightly encased my engorged cock … so tight you could clearly see the cock-head and bulging veins. The pool was some twenty feet below, looking cool and inviting. My body was taut, young and muscular … like back when I was 22 and on the diving team in college.

I looked around. There was a crowd below watching me. A hush had fallen over them. They were waiting for me to dive. I felt the heat on the back of my neck. It seemed to spread down my spine. My whole body was on fire. It felt good, but not as good as that cool water would feel when I hit the surface. That cold water would explode around me, instantly engulfing me.

I took a step backward on the platform, preparing. I could feel the heat from the concrete on my bare feet. It seemed to pulse through my body, from the soles of my feet to the nape of my neck. A beautiful hot glow. The feeling of the tight spandex encasing my cock seemed to add to the warmth.

I took a second and just basked in the glow, the hot bright sun burning all around me, burning through me.

I had practiced this dive a thousand times. It was simple: two steps forward onto the diving board, right – left – right, and then a short leap to the edge which would catapult me into the air … a count of three, and then a tight roll.

I took two deep breaths. It was time.

I started, right foot forward. It was as if I was moving in slow motion. My entire body felt the heat of the day, the engorged sun beating down on me.

Left foot down, I felt the gritty surface of the diving board on my heels. The slight tug of the speedo against my pulsing cock. The sound of the crowd below all taking a breath at the same time as they watched.

Right foot down, I prepared for the lunge.

Suddenly I felt my cock slide free from the confines of the speedo. It forced its way out and there it was, a huge erection for everyone to see.

A horrible distraction!

It was too late to stop. Now I had miscounted and my timing was off. I was tumbling in the warm air, high above the pool. My arms should have tucked, my torso should have pulled in tightly. Instead I was waffling in the air desperately trying to reach my crotch and tuck my privates back into my speedos before the crowd below saw.

But I somehow couldn’t reach my cock as I was spinning around in the air, my arms flailing out wildly.

I felt a dreaded flush of humiliation.

It was too late, my dive was ruined.

At least the cold water would hit me any second now. The relief from the oppressive sun. The blue ripples of the pool rushed toward me … but then they receded and dissolved away. I felt myself cry out in disappointment. I wanted that splash … I wanted that relief from the oppressive heat.

It had all dissolved out of my reach … of course it had dissolved … this was a dream. I knew for a fraction of a second that it was a dream. And then I was sitting in my jock on a bench in the locker room.

It was terribly hot. There was no air conditioning, just giant fans that blew nothing but hot air around. The coach was passing around the new track uniforms: tight spandex singlets in our school colors: maroon and gold.

Half of the guys hated them. I was in the group that liked them. The snug, tight, silky material hugged every muscle and left nothing to the imagination. Joseph’s locker was across from mine. He had already received his and had put it on. The new material had a shimmer to it. They were tight enough to see the elastic band of his jock strap and the soft mesh material that surrounded his semi-erect penis. I realized to my embarrassment, that I was erect as I sat there in my jock looking at him. He slipped me a knowing grin.

I was one of the last guys to finally have their name called. The coach tossed me a bag containing my brand new shiny uniform. I tore it open and pulled out the soft, stretchy material.

TWEET! TWEET! Coach blew the whistle around his neck. “Get geared up and head out to the track for photos,” he yelled. Most of the rest team was already dressed and were finishing lacing up their running shoes to head out of the oppressive heat of the locker room.

I unfolded the singlet and opened it up to put it on. It seemed small. I looked at the tag, it read SMALL.

I was a medium. “Hey Coach…” I called.

He turned around, but it wasn’t Coach Dillan. It was Jim. He was standing there in the same tight maroon polo shirt and black polyester shorts that Coach Dillan wore every time I saw him for all four years of college. “Don’t waste my time, boy,” he barked. “Put it on and get out on the track, or its two more laps for you.”

I grabbed the singlet and pushed my feet through the legs. It was tight, but the material was really stretchy. As I pulled it up I realized I was no longer wearing a jock. I had been wearing a jock just moments before, but now it was gone.

“Let’s go! I don’t have all day!” Coach Jim yelled. TWEET! TWEET! “Don’t make me add another two laps to your sentence!”

I was sweating in the heat. Despite being very stretch, I could barely squeeze the shoulder straps over my arms. It pulled taught all over my torso … particularly tugging at my fully erect cock. I could feel myself pulsing in the material as it rubbed and squeezed it against my stomach. I reached down and tried to adjust it. I pushed it down the left side of the leg, but it only seemed to make it seem larger and more pronounced.

“Let’s MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” Coach Jim shouted behind me. TWEET! TWEET! TWEET! The sound of the whistle was excruciating and seemed to pulse through my head. My running shoes were already on. I didn’t remember putting them on or tying them. I dashed up and sprinted out of the locker room. The material rubbing my cock against my left leg as I ran. It was too tight, but it felt so good.

Outside the guys were being lined up by height for the photograph. Guys were glistening in the heat, both from their shiny uniforms and from the sweat forming on their skin. None of them had uniforms on that were as tight as mine. I was immediately ashamed and put my hands down to cover my cock … only my cock wasn’t there. A smooth cup was in its place, tucked tightly behind the tight layer of spandex.

“Why’d you wear that cup?” Joseph asked me.

We were back in the blazingly hot locker room somehow. I was sitting on the bench again, still wearing that singlet. Joseph stood in front of me, his singlet pulled half off and hanging down exposing his abs. He was drenched in sweat. I could see the outline of his jock more than ever.

I shook my head, I was about to say I didn’t know, but from behind me I heard Coach ‘Jim’ call out, “I made him wear it.” He walked around and leaned against the frame of the lockers.

“He masturbates too much,” he said. I noticed the glimmer of his whistle hanging around his neck … although now it wasn’t a whistle, it was a key.

“He’ll wear the cup for two weeks unless I extend his sentence.”

“So he’s not allowed to get off until after State Finals?” Joseph asked. He had moved closer to me. The bulge of his cock behind his uniform had come closer to my face.

“That’s right. He runs faster that way.” Coach Jim slapped his hand on a locker door, it echoed through the empty locker room.

“You, Joseph, on the other hand, should get off as often as you can.” With that he turned and strolled away.

Joseph grinned at me. He had pulled his singlet down the rest of the way, and his cock was out. I felt a surge of desire. I leaned forward and started sucking on it insatiably.

As he pumped it down my throat, I tried to take off my tight singlet … I had to get my cup off, had to get out of this singlet. But it was too tight, and I was too sweaty. I kept grasping at the material, but my fingers kept slipping, unable to get a grip on it. Meanwhile Joseph kept pumping his cock into me.

I started rubbing my hands on my groin … but all I could feel was that fucking cup. I was so horny, I would have sucked ten cocks to just get one stroke on my own shaft.

And then I was awake, lying in bed and my hands grasping at that infernal cup.

I sat up, groggy. It was 10:30 am. The bed was soaked with sweat and pre-cum. Every muscle in my body seemed sore, like I had been hit by a car. I dragged myself into the shower and again sprayed on the cold water. It didn’t do any good. I fell to my knees and sobbed. I wanted it to get me off … I wanted to it to stop. I had become a giant mess of insane desire.

And then, suddenly it stopped. I gasped. I was still horny as hell, but the cup had stopped the horrific undulating torture.

I realized the phone was ringing.

I pulled myself out of the shower and stumbled down the hallway, naked, to the phone. “Hello?” I weakly gasped.

“Good Morning, boy.” Jim said. “You have thirty minutes to be at my front door.”

And then he hung up.