Date: Sun, 8 Apr 2012 03:56:09 -0500
From: Jason Villen <jason.villen@gmail.com>
Subject: Wrestlemania (bb inc ped)

Disclaimer: this story is entirely fictional and involves sexual activity
between a man and a preadolescent boy. If you are offended by this content
or are under the legal age in your area, please leave now and come back
when you are willing/older.

If you're still here, welcome, enjoy, and send me any comments, feedback,
or praise to my email at jason.villen@gmail.com. But please - lots of
praise. Don't be stingy on that.


Wrestlemania

"Hey, Justin! You going to be at practice today?" I head Paul yell from
across the room.

"Of course!" I answered cheerfully. "The meet is tomorrow - I wouldn't miss
it!"

That was partly a lie. Yes, there was a meet tomorrow, but that was only
part of the reason I was going.

...

I joined the wrestling team when I transferred over to middle school in
grade 6. My parents told me that it would be good for meeting new friends,
and they were right! Since the teams are separated out by grade, I met
seven other boys my age who had also joined the team.

The coach told us that we were one of the smaller teams he had coached in
terms of weight. We were only 11 and 12, so I don't know how big he
expected us to be, but he said that in order for us to win we would have to
want it more than the other teams. By the end of Friday practices, we
wanted nothing more.

Practice was held every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after school, with
the Friday practices being two hours long instead of one. This gave us time
for the program Coach had put in place to make sure that we, more than any
other team, wanted to win.

From the start, he declared that he owned or bodies. The first thing we did
in our first practice of the year was strip completely our of the wrestling
gear we had just donned in the locker room and stand with our hands at our
sides while he paced back and forth, lecturing the way coaches do. Several
of the boys, including myself, went red in the face as soon as the command
was issued, but we knew to respect and obey the coach and so down our
uniforms went. Shoes were kicked into the corner.

"I expect complete obedience from every one of you," he had said. "You will
answer any question I ask without hesitation and you will obey any command
I give with the same speed. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" we dutifully replied.

"Good. Now, since we're on the same page... By show of hands, how many of
you masturbate?"

The question took us by surprise, but since we had all given our word we
collectively and silently decided to tell the truth. Every single one of us
raised our hands.

"I thought so. From now on, you will not touch yourselves unless I say
to. That applies at home, too, and before you get any smart ideas about
trying to cheat the system think about which is more important - your
cocks, or the team?"

None of us replied. We knew the point he was trying to get across: If he
found out we disobeyed, we were off the team. No one wanted that. This was
six months ago.

Since then, I have ached for an orgasm almost nonstop. I was one of the
smaller members of our small team, and the pattern in Coach's practices
quickly developed: Monday and Wednesday were regular wrestling training
days, with Coach teaching us proper pins, grapples, and throws. Fridays
were the day everyone looked forward to.

When we entered the wrestling room on Fridays, we repeated the Day One
gesture of removing all of our clothes. Our bare feet squished on the
plush, blue mats under our feet as we walked out into the middle of the
room and stood at attention as Coach announced the lineup for the
day. "Jack and Paul, Blake and Kent, Dylan and Justin..." The combinations
changed weekly, but he was announcing the competitors for the weekly
tournament.

Since there were eight of us, it made for a perfect tournament bracket. One
preliminary round, one semifinal, and one final. The prize was simple:
whoever won the whole thing got to cum, sometimes for the first time in
months. Needless to say, you wanted to win.

Like I said before, I was the smallest member of the team. Since Coach
implemented the cumming law six months ago, I've only been allowed to cum
three times - once from practice and twice from a meet. Since meets were
more important than practice, each win there granted you an orgasm. We
definitely wanted to win more than the other teams.

…

This was our first week back in school after the winter holiday. No
wrestling practice over the break meant no opportunity to win an orgasm, so
nobody on the team had cum for a month. On top of that, the only practice
tournament I had ever won was only the second practice. Since no one knew
how to wrestle, I got lucky three times and ended up taking the prize. It
was intense; the first time I had gone for more than a day or two since I
had discovered the amazing hobby ensured that I would remember it. The
meets are fairly infrequent as well, only occurring once every three to
four weeks, and the last one I won anything in I ended up placing second in
my weight division. I beat Dylan, another member of the team, in the
semifinals but lost to a bigger kid from another school. The two orgasms I
had stocked up were cashed in at home while I couldn't contain myself. Like
an idiot, I used them both in one day.

All of this combined means that I had been denied an orgasm for four
months. Most days it was all I could think about - I had to wear my
wrestling cup around school so that people wouldn't see my nearly constant
boner through my shorts. To top it off, each loss you suffered also added
something to your stock.

Any loss, whether it was in a meet or in the practice tournament, meant
that you had to edge yourself for thirty minutes. I was unfamiliar with
that term before this year, but how I understand it now is that you
masturbate for the allotted time (in this case, half an hour) but aren't
allowed to cum at the end of it. By the end, my cock is always super hard,
sensitive, and twitchy - none of which make it easier to focus on the
upcoming round.

At practice, the half hour was performed in front of everyone immediately
after you lost. If you were unlucky enough to lose in a meet, you had to
add on the thirty minutes from that at the end of Friday practice. No one
wanted to lose, but inevitably most of us had to.

The winner usually came from one of a group of three: Johnny, a big kid
from a farm, Paul, my friend in class who was really good at throwing
people bigger than him, and Cody, who was fast enough to slip out of most
pins. The rest of us were relegated to being horny all the time.

...

We entered the wrestling room twenty minutes after school let out on
Friday. Excited chatter filled our ranks as we wandered over to the big
double doors and pried them open, the familiar, sweaty scent assaulting our
nostrils. "Evening, gentlemen," Coach called from across the mats, his
broad arms crossed. "You know the drill."

We did. As soon as the door closed, we hustled to tear our clothes off and
stand in front of the coach. Every singe one of us was full-mast hard as
soon as we got into position.

"I can see you're all looking forward to today's practice," he
chuckled. "That month-long break was tough, huh?"

"Yes sir!"

"Well, here's your chance to make up for lost time." He consulted his
clipboard. "Johnny with Dylan. Kent with Justin. Paul with Kevin..."

Kent - I had Kent. He and I were in a constant race to see who was no
longer the smallest, so I had a chance of at least advancing one round. My
little dick twitched in anticipation.

"To your circles!" he called, blowing his whistle. We ran to our stations
and got down on all fours, the room filling with sixteen creamy butt cheeks
rising into the air as we took our positions. This was a basic
shoulder-to-shoulder start, so I could see that Kent's 2.5in (6.3cm) cock
was twitching just as much as my 2.2in (5.6cm) one was. Both of us were
uncircumcised, and our tiny, reddish heads were poking out from under the
skin. We were already super sensitive from the lack of attention we had
gotten over the break.

The whistle blew and we were off. Grapples were initiated all around the
room, and several of the battles were over within a few seconds. The losers
dejectedly crawled over to the exhibition side of the room and waited,
kneeling down with their butts on their ankles and their hands on their
thighs as per the assigned position.

I was battling hard, but the only thing I could focus on was my neglected
cock rubbing constantly against my leg, Kent's back, or the mat as we went
at it. I was afraid that the tournament itself was going to make me cum,
but I was determined to fight my hardest. I became aware that everyone else
had finished, and I realized that if my game went much longer I would be
too tired to compete. I had to hurry.

I threw everything I had into one final move, lunging at Kent, but he saw
it coming and sprung out of the way just in time. He used my momentum
against me and I toppled out of the ring. It was going to be at least
another day before I could cum for the first time in months. I took my
place over by Jack, Cody, and Dylan. Cody had been unlucky enough to get
paired up with Johnny at the start, and he was the first one to
lose. Jack's dick was the biggest out of ours, coming in at 3in
(10.6cm). We were all twitching spastically.

Coach looked down at his watch, pressed a button, and announced, "Begin!"
We took our dicks in our hands and began toying with ourselves.

The rules at this point were simple as well: the first ten minutes were
spent stroking the length of our tiny cocks to get the blood flowing to
them, making them even more sensitive. The next ten we had to move
exclusively to the head, which was even more difficult for the uncut boys
like me since we weren't keratinzed. The last ten were hellish: we put a
rubber band tightly around the base of our shafts, making an improvised and
super tight cockring. This kept all of the blood in our dicks, making them
even harder, more sensitive, and less likely to jump at a near
orgasm. Since we were allowed to pause only when we couldn't hold on any
more, the last ten minutes, when we were already squirming with sexual
tension, made sure that we didn't get to pause and take a break. The
technique we had to use was equally torturous: we combined the two from
earlier and were forced to stroke the head. The boys lucky enough to win
the round got to sit off to the side and watch, so they stayed hard but not
tormented.

We raised ourselves up, still kneeling but now with out butts in the air,
grasped our thin shafts at Coach's order, and started pumping slowly. The
goal was to keep stimulation going as continuously as possible, since Coach
reserved the right to extend our punishment time as he saw fit if he didn't
like our technique. Our high-pitched moans filled the room and, since there
was no clock, we had no idea how long our punishment would go for.

I was in sexual hell. Every week for four months the tension had built up
inside me, and now I was ignoring everything my dick was yelling at my
brain and tormenting myself even more. My fingers, loosely laced around the
silky shaft, pumped incessantly under Coach's watchful eye. I got even
harder, twitching at every pump and squirming around in my place. My toes
clenched and unclenched as I worked. Everything inside of me was screaming
for a chance to cum, but I knew it wasn't going to happen and fought the
urges down.

My heart raced and I breathed sharply, soft, pleading moans and squeals
escaping my lips. I didn't know how I was going to last through the next
twenty minutes.

Coach blew his whistle again, signaling us to switch entirely to head
stimulation. I made the "OK" shape with my fingers and started going up and
down right along the corona, holding my foreskin back with the index and
thumb of my left hand to avoid penalty time. My cock swelled and I hissed
breath in through my teeth as an urge to cum came over me. I rapidly
removed my right back and squeezed my shaft with my left to get the feeling
to subside. It passed within a couple of seconds and I went back to teasing
myself, slower this time so that I wouldn't have to stop again. Coach was
keeping an eye on me.

Every nerve was firing at full blast as I went on. My dick almost burned
wherever I touched it, the sensations taking over and consuming my
brain. It was all I could think: "I have to win tomorrow. I have to win
tomorrow. I have to win tomorrow."

The whistle sounded again and the four of us reached down for the rubber
bands on the floor by our side. We doubled them up to that they would be
tight enough and slipped them over our jumping cocks, gasping when we
accidentally touched the now purple heads. Careful not to pop ourselves, we
released the bands and went to work again. Impossibly, I got even harder
and more sensitive, but Coach knew that the rubber bands made it more
difficult to cum so I had to pick up my pace.

I stroked my head with two fingers and my thumb, coming into contact with
as much skin as I could just like Coach wanted. I was constantly twisting
around and groaning now, wanting nothing in the world but to cum. It had
been so long I had almost forgotten what it felt like, and the ring around
my shaft made it impossible to do what I most wanted to do.

I fought through it, like I always did, until the heavenly whistle sounded
and released my from my torture. I gingerly picked the rubber band off and
set it aside, my fully engorged member jumping and twitching at the room. I
was afraid to go on to the next round for fear of my intensely sensitive
head touching my opponent and setting me off, but I lined up anyway and was
paired with Dylan for the next round. Even the losers had to keep going -
if you lost all three of your spars, you had to edge for ninety
minutes. This had happened to me many times in the last four months, and I
didn't think I could handle it again.

I lost against Dylan quickly and whimpered in frustration and desperation
as I crawled over to the corner. I engrossed myself in watching the
matches, trying to take my mind off of the impending thirty minutes, but
every sight of a bobbing butt or jumping cock brought me back. My cute
classmates were working against me.

After all of the second round matches had started, I began to tear up. I
got up on my knees just as a tear began to roll down my cheek, and it
didn't go unnoticed in a room full of 6th graders.

"Hey, Justin's crying!" Johnny yelled from the winner's side, setting off a
bout of laughter among every wrestler. This made me red in the face and
caused even more tears to form, and I wished more than ever that I was
somewhere else. Despite the embarrassment, I didn't soften up at all.

"Shut up!" Coach yelled. The laughter died down immediately. My sobs were
the only sound in the room. "Justin, stop crying right now."

"P-pleae don't m-make me go again," I pleaded through the tears.

"Stop talking our stop crying. Your choice."

I sniffled a few times and got it back together enough to stop the
stuttering. "I haven't been allowed to cum in four months," I
complained. My dick nodded in agreement, jumping again despite the lack of
stimulation. "I can't go again." I bowed my head and the tears came anew.

Without a word, Coach walked over to the supply closet, unlocked it, and
pulled out what looked like a wide, metal "I" with straps hanging off of
it. He set it in the front of the room. "Come here."

I stood and walked over to him without hesitation. "Kneel down." I did. He
grabbed my roughly and dragged me over to the contraption, which I now
noticed had a pad all along the vertical part. He turned me around so that
my back was to the machine and dragged in towards me, the pad now touching
my spine. I had stopped crying, wondering what was going to happen next.

Coach grabbed both of my arms and lifted them up and over the top bar of
the "I," fastening my wrists tightly. I realized what was going on too
late. He moved down to my waist, where another strap was waiting, and
fastened that one as well. He finished off with my feet and I was helpless,
tied down fully erect in front of the whole team.

"You four!" he called to the winners. They scampered over. "Since Justin
couldn't do it himself, you're taking over." He tossed a rubber band down
in front of me. "That goes on after ten minutes. Don't let him cum, or
you're next."

My eyes got wide and opened my mouth to protest, but I was cut off by the
coach telling me, "Call out to them when you're about to cum. If you do get
off on this, I'll make sure you never see this team again. After another
punishment, that is."

I couldn't imagine what could possibly be worse than this, but I loved
wrestling even if I lost all the time. I steeled myself as the whistle blew
and the four boys went to work.

I had never had anyone else touch me like this before, and it was even more
erotic than doing it myself. They also weren't gentle like I was - eight
hands were busy fondling my tiny balls, cock, and nipples, and special
attention was being paid to the head. I was unbelievably sensitive, my
organ jumping at almost every touch. I moaned loudly and strained against
the straps, but I knew that I was helpless.

"I'm gonna cum!" I called after only a couple of minutes. All the hands on
my dick backed off, but the fingers tracing circles around my nipples,
stomach, and inner thighs were still at work. I clenched my eyes shut and
waited for the feeling to pass, nodding at them to keep going. Despite what
I was going through, I wouldn't let Coach win.

I was brought to the edge six times in only ten minutes and I was harder
than I had ever been before. A lot harder. It felt like I was going to
burst, and there were still twenty minutes left. Twenty terrible minutes of
head treatment with the rubber band in place.

The whistle blew and Johnny, who was the self-declared and accepted leader
of the winners that round, grabbed the band and put it in place. "Hey," he
smirked to the others, "Let's each take turns almost making him cum and see
how many times we can do it!"

"Yeah!" they called, moving back so Johnny could get in. I was shivering
even though it wasn't cold, knowing that this would be the most intense
treatment I had ever gotten - and there was nothing I could do about it.

Johnny spit in his hand to lube it up and made a cup shape, putting it on
top of my head. He started twisting his arm around, the shape he made with
his hand making sure that every bit of skin was being stimulated. I
squealed, moaned, pulled against the straps, pleaded with Johnny to stop,
and everything else I could think of, but nothing worked. He kept at it and
relished my helplessness, loving the feeling of control.

I finally called out that I was going to cum and he let up, giving me only
a few seconds to cool down before Paul came over and started going. His
style was different but no less terrible - he also spit in his hand for
lube and did ten quick strokes and twenty slow strokes on my head, nearly
making me call out on the first ten but then letting the feeling subside
with the slow twenty. Each time he did ten I almost felt like making him
get away, but I knew that Coach might kick me off the team if I cheated so
I let him continue.

He got me all the way until Coach blew the twenty-minute whistle before I
said I was going to cum, this time in a desperate, hoarse yell. I sobbed as
he went away and was replaced by Bryant, the rubber band squeezing the
would-be orgasm away.

The final ten minutes were a lightning round of edging, and all my months
of abstinence and frustration came out. I openly sobbed, breaking my
pattern only to yell "I'm gonna cum!" to whoever happened to be torturing
me at the time. Those last minutes they brought me to the edge eight times,
and my face was plastered with dried tears. I was a mess, and my incredibly
sensitive dick was doing nothing to help. Every touch was a lightning bolt
of sensation, and the unbearable urge to cum was quickly taking over as
Coach blew the final whistle.

Johnny removed my cockring and went back to the voyeur side with the other
three current winners and waited to see who he would be battling for the
right to orgasm.

I steadied my breath and waited for Coach to come over and let me down for
the final round, but he didn't. "Kevin," he called out instead.

Kevin came running over, his fully erect shaft bouncing with his
steps. "Yes, Coach?" he answered in the high voice of a prepubescent boy.

"Since Justin is a little busy right now, he'll have to concede the next
round to you."

"What!?" I yelled. "That's not fair!"

"Don't talk back to me. Kevin, keep constant stimulation on his head, but
don't let him get close to cumming. Take it nice and slow. Start now and
put the band on him when everyone else puts theirs on."

"Yes sir." He started lightly and slowly running his fingertips around my
corona and glans, once again pumping more blood down to my dick. This was
torture like I had never felt before - a full hour of stimulation and
edging after four months of no release.

Kevin did a masterful job of not building me up enough to make me call out,
but keeping just enough going to drive me crazy. I was moaning and gasping
nonstop through the entire final round or sparring, my eyes tightly closed
to prevent any more tears.

Johnny ended up winning the tournament, as usual. Bryant moved over to the
exhibition side and got ready while Johnny cheered.

"Johnny," Coach called to him. He ran over. "Since we have a ready and
willing subject with nothing better to do, we're going to give you an even
better orgasm today. Justin!"

"Yes Coach?" I gasped.

"You're going to give our winner here a blowjob until he cums."

I just nodded, too exhausted to do anything else. Kevin kept going down on
my head, which felt like it was burning. By this time I had resigned myself
to my fate.

Johnny hustled over triumphantly and stuck his 4in (10cm) cock in my
face. I opened my mouth and did what I thought was the right thing to do
based on the porn I had watched.

Kevin kept going on me as Coach blew the first whistle. I bobbed my head
back and forth, twirling my tongue around Johnny's circumcised head as I
went. "Slow down," said Coach. "Make sure he enjoys it."

I obeyed - there was nothing else to do. Johnny grunted with pleasure as
his first orgasm in over a month built up and, after ten minutes, he let
loose a thin, watery version of what the guys in the porn videos do. I
couldn't help but notice that the sparse orgasms from my tiny cock were
still dry.

I barely even noticed the cockring being put back on. Kevin sped up a bit,
but it didn't matter - I had taken all I could take and I was zoning out to
avoid any more.

The final ten minutes were up and Kevin removed the rubber band. I looked
around to see everyone watching me and I realized that I was the show this
entire time. Bryant also finished up and walked shakily over to the rest of
the group to wait to be dismissed.

"I hope you have all learned a lesson, with Justin as the example, not to
talk back or go against what I say. Starting now and until the next meet,
Justin will also follow orders from you seven. With the exception of class
and practice, you, Justin, must edge yourself whenever they tell you
to. This includes through call, text, email, or anything else. Is that
understood?"

"Yes sir," I replied weakly. The next meet wasn't until two months from
now.

"To make things more fun and to make sure you've learned your lesson,"
Coach said as he walked to me and undid the straps, "If anyone else tells
you to do something for them like what you did for Johnny, you have to, no
questions. Spread the word, everyone. Justin is the school's sex slave
until the next meet." The rest of the team giggled. I cried.

The straps were finally undone and I slumped to the ground, rolling over
onto my back. "Hey, Justin," Johnny sneered. I looked up at him. "Go ahead
and edge yourself for a little while."

I looked at the coach with cloudy, teary eyes. "You heard him," he said
before walking out and back to the locker room. "Make sure he gets home on
time, though," he called as he walked out of the door.

To the tune of the laughter of my teammates, I reached down and started
rubbing. This was going to be a long two months.