Masculine Olympiad Ch. 02

Tyler awoke the next morning with a rock hard erection. It pushed the sheets into a sharp pyramid over his body in the warm AM light that dripped through the shades. The shower was on; his coach's bed was neatly made beside him. He resisted the urge to reach down and stroke his penis, today was the most important day of the competition for him and he was already well behind the leader despite being tied for second place.

He knew that Germany was a sprinting team. They always have been. They gather as many points as possible on the first day and hope it becomes an insurmountable lead despite being unable to win any of the latter days. Tyler pulled the stale hotel air into his lungs and stretched his legs below him. His arms were pulled up and tied to the headboard above him. A precautionary measure by his coach to ensure he was ready for the marathon today. Some coaches trusted their athletes blindly only to be disappointed by their performance in the competition. Others fitted small chastity belts over their precious sporting equipment.

In time, Tyler's coach came out of the steaming bathroom with a towel in her hair. She had dressed in the bathroom in an all black tracksuit and sneakers. Without looking at Tyler and his morning wood, she said, "Ahhh, I see you're both awake. Let the games begin. Want to talk strategy?"

"I'm ready coach, today is my day. There is no need to worry."

"I know you are, but it wouldn't be the first time that penis has disappointed me," she fired back.

She neatly placed her carefully folded clothes into her suitcase and zipped it up on her bed. She walked over to the television and turned on the news, then walked to the window and pulled the blinds open all the way. They both squinted at the skyline outside. "Well, let's do this," she said. She walked over to Paul's bed and untied him, gently pulled the sheets off of his body so as not to stimulate his penis at all and they walked into the warm bathroom where Tyler stood over the toilet with his hands on his head. His coach stood beside him waiting expectantly while reading her morning text messages.

"Coach, you can trust me today."

"Nice try sport, but I'm not leaving you two to your own devices," she said with a gesture towards his cock. It pointed to the ceiling defiantly. "Too much touching and you'll be so horny you'll be like one of those sprinters." Then she reached over to the sink and turned the water on, "Inspiration," she said.

Tyler rarely got used to this, but after about a minute of standing there, his penis began to relax towards the toilet bowl. In the other room, the television announcers were doing a round up of the sporting events of the previous day. "The German team with their tiny penis are leading the competition, but I don't think they have the longevity to make it through today's marathon. Katie, what do you think?" One anchor asked another.

"Well Tammy, it doesn't look very good if we look at the replay here from yesterday's competition. Watch this. This is an iso cam on the German competitor between the javelin and the sprint and watch this. Zoom in here. Okay, as you can see he is already leaking an immense amount of pre-cum and he hasn't even touched his little guy yet! This is merely after doing some jumping jacks, which we should..."

In the bathroom Tyler's organ had finally relaxed enough that he could relieve himself. Once his flow began his coach raised her eyebrows and said, "about time." To shake him off, the coach simply smacked his ass hard and walked out of the bathroom. He turned to follow her out. On the television the anchors were watching slow motion replays of the ruined orgasms from the sprint competition. "Look! Look Tammy," one anchor said, "watch how his penis flexes three times before finally drooling out its seed." The hosts let out hoots of laughter between their analyses. "Ideally you want as many flexes before the ejaculation as possible as this means the man had less pleasure and will be more ready to cum in the second and especially the third day of competition." More footage played and it showed more and more spooge spilling to the floor from every possible angle.

Tyler's coach turned off the television. "Today is your day, let's hit it," she said.

He got dressed and they drove to the stadium in an uneventful, but tense silence. Windows gleamed in sunlight. Crowds of fans piled through security checks. The back entrance of the garage was shrouded in shadow. The reparation tunnel under the stadium was steamy. Competitors trickled in over the course of the morning. The anticipation tightened their testicles and closed their throats. Many of the coaches were standoffish this morning. They wanted their men as flaccid and far from orgasm as possible. Some had even put sleep masks over the eyes of their athletes so as to minimize visual stimulation before the big event.

Fluorescent lights. Linoleum tiled floor. Air tinged with oil and body heat. The walls shook with cheers from above. There were fewer competitors than yesterday. Some athletes made small talk other athletes listened to music. All failed to slow their heart rates.

In time, the short woman with the clipboard and earpiece came in. She smiled and said, "looks like we lost a few boys from yesterday." There was no response other than shuffling of feet. Tyler looked over at his coach. She was facing forward proudly. Other men breathed deep. "When I finish talking, I need the German competitor, our points leader from day one, to come to the front. Followed by USA, and France. Then Jamaica, Canada, Panama, and everyone else will line up behind them. Okay, Germany, bring that baby penis up here."

There was a minute of shuffling as everyone got into position for the entrance. On the signal they all walked up stairs, around corners, and down halls to the side wings of the stage. The nude male athletes stood on one side, the clothed coaches on the other. The crowd grew louder and louder until the only discernible noise was the unified cheer, "come, come, come, come." Everyone stopped just short of entering the stage.

"Alright boys, you remember the rules of the day shouted the clipboard carrying leader of the group. Every competition of today is contingent on the other so if you miss one, you miss them all. Respect your referees and let's have a good clean marathon." She turned her back to them and faced the stage. Tyler looked down at his penis, it was semi-erect already, a bad sign if he was looking to last. His coach caught his eye and shook her head angrily.

Finally the loudspeaker boomed a welcome and the men ran onto the stage. The German man led the charge all the way to the far end of the stage and stood at a baseline facing the crowd. Every other man lined up beside him. The cheers of the crowd reached new heights. Tyler set his feet on the line a foot beside the German and the French man set his feet on Tyler's other side. While the other men found their spot Tyler surveyed the stadium.

In front of him the stage extended about eleven feet with thick black lines every foot. Every few feet ahead of each competitor sat a small red and blue bulls-eye. There were four targets per competitor. Past the final target, the crowd swayed and tried to steal his attention. Every row and every aisle was filled past capacity with women in every provocative outfit imaginable. Bikini-clad women waved and shouted at the men. Some women wore nurse outfits and others wore cowboy getups. As the final competitor found his spot on the baseline and put his hands behind his back, the PA boomed. It had a long message and did not translate to every language anymore, everyone there already knew what today was all about.

"Ladies, welcome to the marathon," Thousands of women shouted at the sky. "Today we will be testing the true performance of our men. Through rigorous vetting, we have found the greatest stimulators across the globe to truly put the competition on their toes. Every stimulation referee will have two minutes with each man, then the horn will sound and they will rotate to the next man. The only way a man may stop the stimulation is to put both of his hands in the air over his head in an X." The women of the crowd mimed the motion mindlessly, they could barely wait for the competition to begin. "Once a man has requested a stop in stimulation, the competition is over for him. ARE. YOU. READY? Please welcome our stimulators."

The crowd regained its fervor. Behind tyler, the beautiful red haired referee took her place and waved to the crowd. She whispered a sensual, "hello," into his ear and a shudder ran down his back. He could hear the sound of the lube bottles behind the competitors being overturned and hands being rubbed together. "Competition will begin in one minute," the announcer said.

The crowd shouted, Tyler scanned the lusty faces for his coach, but couldn't find her. He looked down the line of men beside him. Some of their penises were already facing the sky above them. He spied a close-up of his own penis on a jumbotron and gave it a crowd-pleasing flex. Beside him the German competitor moaned. Tyler looked quickly and saw he was already breathing deep over his leaking penis. "Under my hands, I'll have you squirting long before him," Tyler's referee said from behind him. Tyler started feeling a deep longing to turn around and ogle the woman behind him. How would she have adjusted her uniform to make it uniquely sexy? Did she forget the top button intentionally today? Did she forgo a sports bra for a more natural look? Was her hair down from the tight bun of yesterday?

The minute crawled by.

"Set," the announcer said, all business now. The referees stepped up behind the male athletes and reached around their bodies to grasp hold of their penises. Tyler gasped as cold hands wrapped wholly around his dick and cupped his balls simultaneously. The crowd grew quiet. Down the line a moan was heard. Every head twisted around to see the Brazilian competitor with his hands over his head in an X. His referee quickly removed her hand per his request and his dick bounced in the air. He jutted his pelvis out, shut his eyes tight and screamed. The women in the crowd couldn't hold back their laughter. His body flexed one final time and a splatter of semen fired out of the end of his dick. A horn blew and Brazil popped up on the marathon leaderboard with a time of 0:00. The crowd could not stop laughing and almost didn't realize that the gun had fired and the marathon had begun.

Tyler looked down at the hand coming around his right hip. It was heavily lubricated and slowly squeezed and twisted around his shaft. It hardly moved up and down his semi erection, as he didn't have enough length just yet to be fully stroked. He sighed and his thoughts drifted to his strategy. His distraction was a field of snow in which his mind stood alone. It was cold and the wind blew the cotton white ground into waves. this is where he would try and let his thoughts roam to avoid an embarrassing premature ejaculation.

On the stage two women escorted the crying Brazilian competitor to his seat to watch the action unfold. Another two women wearing tight yellow bikinis pulled out their special radar guns and pointed them at his spent load on the ground. Above them, Brazil popped up on the shot-put leaderboard with a score of 3 ml. Then again his score showed up on the weight lifting leaderboard with a distance of 4.5 feet. Then finally the flag and name appeared on the skeet shooting leaderboard with a score of zero. His targets were as clean as the rest of the men's.

At the same time, the rest of the stage had men moaning and breathing deep in an attempt to relax and escape the gently stroking hands. Tyler was pulled back from his forced reverie when his referee began stroking up towards the head with both hands and twisting. Her hands would release from the end of his cock then reset themselves at the very base, only to travel upwards again. "A woman on the floor near the stage shouted, "he likes that! That is going to do him in."

The hands on Tyler's cock sped up and his thoughts tried and failed to escape the moment again. To his right, the German competitor's breath caught and his hands flew into the air. The crowd watched as his referee removed her hand. His penis bobbed and weaved in front of him until a neat stream of cum shot out and knocked over his targets at the four feet, then the two feet mark. As his measurements were recorded, his country was announced on the leaderboards ahead of the Brazilian.

Tyler felt his dick flex in sympathetic vibration and his handler snickered behind him. With that, the horn sounded and the first two minutes was up. "I'll see you soon baby," the referee said behind him.

In a rapid controlled exchange, every referee switched over to their next competitor and began jerking within seconds. The referee from behind Germany ran to Tyler and he felt new, drier hands wrap around his penis. These hands moved up and down rapidly without a hint of twist and Tyler felt hid his sigh of relief. At home, listeners heard recounts of the early action and watched instant replays. "Can you believe how fast these men have been cumming today? We already have two men out, Germany is clearly trying to live on their accuracy as there was not a lot of distance on their shot-put, or a lot of weight in their lift, but watch again in slow motion as he knocked over target two with the force of his load. Quite impressive for such a small and quick shooter."

In the arena, all that could be heard were fans of each country going wild. The schlocking sound of lubed hands was drowned out in distracting shouts from the crowd. They rotated again and Tyler felt the twisting hands of the Korean stimulator on his cock. He panicked. "I know you like the twist baby," she said with a hint of her accent coming through below the crowd noise. She was a talker too.

"What if I were to just give a twist here," she said into his ear and he bucked in her grasp, "Oooh, yeah and maybe a flick here?" She reached down and flicked his left testicle hard.

Tyler moaned in delicious agony. This was his specialty competition and here he was about to finish at the bottom of the pack. But then the women were forced to rotate and he had a string of straight jerkers. "No twisting, no problem." was always what his coach told him. After ten minutes, many more competitors had spent their load; none had reached the eight-foot mark yet. The French competitor, another sprinter with a fairly cavalier attitude, decided to change up his strategy on the fly.

Tyler looked over as the Frenchman grunted and orgasmed hard. His stimulator kept stroking fast and he tried and failed to angle his orgasm for best possible distance and accuracy at the targets. When she realized what was happening, the woman stroking his penis quickly pointed it towards the ground so his distance would come up very low on the leaderboard. He did not show up on the marathon leaderboard with a time yet because he had not requested a stop in stimulation. The women were forced to rotate and the Frenchman hoped the angry head of his penis would recover in the few seconds it took to switch women and then he would be able to endure a full day of stroking before requesting a stop in stimulation.

He was wrong.

At home the viewers heard this analysis. "Here is the Frenchman with a bold strategy, what is he doing here Katie?"

"Well Tammy, just like any man thinking with the wrong head, he clearly believes he can withstand the post orgasm torment to extend his marathon time and have the longest time of all the men. Watch though, this will be hilarious, the women are switching. Now they are in position and-" she was cut off by her own uproarious laughter as the Frenchman bucked and jumped in the tight grip of his new handler. She focused especially on the head and the athlete screamed and gritted his teeth in a grimace.

In the stadium women jeered that he couldn't handle it and lauded his poor decision as it raised their chances of winning. Finally, after some rough palming on his fiery cockhead, the competitor yielded and put his hands in the air. He was out, but his bold strategy had gained him about thirty seconds, putting him past a few other competitors.

Tyler pulled his thoughts back to his own penis. Now he was in a good headspace and felt he could be stroked for hours without pause and not even feel the need to flex his body or curl his toes. Competitor after competitor caved in. Some didn't have the self-control to put their arms up for their orgasms to be ruined. All of these had poor scores in the shot-put and skeet shooting because the women handling their penises would inevitably aim their cum into the floor right in front of them. They bargained with themselves saying that at least they had a satisfying climax.

Athletes who successfully called for a cease of stimulation would angle their penises as close to 45 degrees as their bodies would allow and tried to shoot as far as they possibly could. One man shot his just past the ten-foot marker and women at the edge of the stage flinched back as it almost splashed onto their exposed skin.

Finally, after about thirty minutes of stroking from the most talented penis whisperers across the world, the competition was down to the final ten. Across the stage were puddles of ejaculate drying up and puddles of sweat slowly growing. Tyler's skin was slick with lube and sweat. So far, women had reached between his legs to stroke him off from below, others had hardly stroked him at all and only toyed with his nipples and thighs, and even more had just stroked him in a classic full hand grip. He was starting to feel the inevitable approach with every woman. His penis was uncontrollably throbbing now. Veins he hadn't even known about hours ago popped out everywhere on his genitals.

Soon, it was down to three. Tyler from the USA was at one end of the stage. Near the center of the stage were Kenya and Lesotho, moaning and pumping in and out of the hands of their women. As each woman made a man spill his ejaculate, they would stay in the rotation. This meant that as there were fewer men being jerked, the women got longer and longer breaks while waiting for their turn in the rotation. The penis stroking got better and better as the competition soldiered on.

In a jerky motion, the Kenyan man thrust his long arms into the air and aimed his spent orgasm along the graduated runway. It was down to the final two.

Tyler looked at his rival. The penis at the far end of the stage was almost twice the size of his own in length and girth. He pulled his eyes from the brilliant specimen and saw that most of the crowd was looking at the other man as well.

The women kept rotating and the men kept moaning. Tyler was not going to lose. His breathing was labored. Every muscle was tense. Somewhere far away from his mind the crowd was chanting their favorite chant: "cum, cum, cum, cum." Slowly they were picking up the pace. After an indecipherable amount of time to Tyler, he felt the familiar hands of his original red-haired referee again. "I'm back baby," she said into his ear.

Within seconds he was on the edge. The crowd knew it too. But his opposition on the stage let out a yelp and put his hands in the air. Tyler momentarily forgot his own pleasure as he looked over and saw the other woman release her athlete's throbbing penis. The crowd sent up a cheer and watched the long thick cock bounce once, then again, then again, and again. Soon boos began to spring up from the corners of the stadium. The representative from Lesotho had a panicked look across his face as he realized he was not going to orgasm. He had misjudged the timing of his edge. The crowd started booing vehemently. His shaft began to slacken, a horn sounded and DNF came up next to his name on every leaderboard.