Masculine Olympiad

By hodownnuzv

“Ladies and other ladies, welcome to the tenth quadrennial Masculinity Olympiad,” the loudspeaker boomed above the heads of thousands of screaming women.

They were dressed in jerseys from all different countries around the world and chanted with their fellow countrywomen in support of their finalists. The stadium held sixty thousand, and every seat was sold, but no one was being used as every woman in attendance was standing. The loudspeaker continued to boom as its message was translated to a slew of different languages. Each respective country let out a cheer as they were welcomed in their mother tongue. Underneath the stadium stood a line of naked men locked into fierce conversations with their coaches. Tyler stood about halfway down the fluorescent-lit hallway with his eyes trained on his coach.

She was looking up at him telling him, “We haven’t been through all of this pain for nothing. We haven’t wasted all of this sweat and lube and tears and time to come here and lose.”

“Yes, coach,” Tyler said.

“Who’s in charge?” she said, her voice reaching a fever pitch.

“I am,” he said.

“Who?” She yelled.

“I am,” he yelled back.

“Are you going to let this little dick get the better of you?” She punctuated her question by grabbing his flaccid penis and shaking it in her fingers. When she wrapped her hand around it, the dick disappeared entirely.

“I’m in charge,” Tyler said again.

All the way down this long hallway, representatives from different countries hyped themselves up and gave their body final preparations before the competition. Occasionally the booming from the stadium above shook the room, and the weight of the contest settled further onto the shoulders of the men and their coaches. Here a man was shaving the bottom of his ball sack while his coach held a mirror to help. There, a man was doing jumping jacks while his coach yelled in French that he better make his dick slap his stomach harder than ever before. Tyler was oblivious to all of this as he and his coach turned to review their final strategy. The contest was scored like a Grand Prix, with each event scoring points for the competitors.

“Okay, remember you need to place in both the marathon and the figure bating, or else we won’t have a chance of winning this thing. Remember to use your fetishes during the Hammer grow challenge and helicopter, no jumping jacks! They don’t work as well. What fetishes are you going to use?”

“Boobs and facial cum shots,” he replied.

“Damn, Tyler, you need to remember ballbusting too. Otherwise, we have no chance here!”

She smacked the head of his penis with her whiteboard marker.

Just then, a short woman with a clipboard and a Bluetooth earpiece walked into the hallway, and everybody quickly gave her their attention. The coaches on one side in full athletic garb faced the newcomer, and the men on the other side of the hall turned towards her. Tyler stared at the woman and waited. She was listening to something on her earpiece. As he waited, he glanced around at his competitors. Right in front of Tyler, the Canadian representative was always sporting a full baby boner before the entrance. It was his signature.

The athlete from India had his eyes closed and was muttering softly under his breath. The Australian’s greased skin glistened, and his fingertips dripped with anticipation. The booming of the crowd above them could not be ignored in these final stages of anticipation. It rattled through every contest down to his bones. Now the chanting across all of the countries’ fan sections had become unified, and they all were cheering together for one thing. The woman with the earpiece finally nodded and smiled at the competitors before her.

“Okay, competitors… Follow me. Coaches on the left and athletes on the right,” she said.

Everybody exhaled and began walking behind her. Tyler could feel the cold linoleum underneath his bare toes as he walked and deftly avoided the grease puddles from the Italian and Russian athletes who preferred to start with a brilliant sheen at every championship.

They approached the empty stage and waited in the wings. The sounds of the crowd washed up and over the stage like tidal waves of enthusiasm. Sixty thousand voices chanting one word, “Come … come … come … come….”

The sound grew and grew until the rumbling floor, and shivering architecture around them spoke as loud as the PA system. “Let the games begin!”

The men ran out into a single file. Each one was given a final parting gift from their coach in the form of a slap on the ass or chest. Some even flashed their breasts at the men before they jogged onto the stage, and the crowd roared. Tyler was momentarily blinded by the camera flashes mixing with the stage lights and slipped on a slick patch. Thousands of women in the crowd cackled, but he didn’t fall completely and was able to catch himself.

The referees gave every man a minute to get into their assigned position on the stage. Tyler found the podium marked, ‘The USA,’ stepped up onto it, and put his hands behind his back. In front of him was a stool with a small vat of water. He looked down into it and saw some chunks of ice still floating across the rippling surface. The South African man slapped his chest and shouted his fan section to his right. They responded in kind, and he smiled at their cameras. His penis was slowly ballooning in anticipation.

Tyler looked towards the USA fan section in the far corner of the stadium and gave a small nod. The women there blushed and giggled at the acknowledgment. As he scanned across other sections, he caught some of the jeerings from the rival Mexican fans. They held up two fingers close together and frowned. Others mimicked his cum face. One held a sign that said ‘Land of the premature.’ Tyler looked back down and sucked in a deep breath.

“The first competition will be the cry-Athlon,” the loudspeaker rumbled.

The athletes tried to calm their breathing and their dicks as much as possible while the announcement was made in every language needed. When it finished, the crowd filled the ensuing lull with raucous cheering. Finally, the referees turned towards the competitors and paused. Tyler noticed the referee assigned to him had her red hair in a tight bun. Her perky breasts pulled her shirt taut across her chest behind her clipboard. She raised a white flag in unison with the others and waved it downwards after a moment of hesitation.

Tyler’s adrenaline spiked, and he stepped towards the vat of ice water and crouched until his penis and balls were fully submerged below the surface. All around him, men gasped and yelped at the shock of the cold. The women in the crowd laughed hysterically at all of the reactions. Finally, after three minutes, a horn blew, and each man raised his penis and testicles out of the icy water. Then, in a flurry of motion, each referee pulled a device that looked like an officer’s radar gun out of a holster and aimed it at the nearest competitor. Everyone looked up at the leader boards scattered around the stadium and waited for the measurements to be recorded.

The stadium lingered anxiously. Here and there, a shrill voice shouted in support of her country. Then, the results came careening in. Brazil popped up onto the screen with a reading of 2.00 inches. The Brazilian fan section cheered wildly. Then Ireland appeared with a reading of 1.5 inches. The Brazilian cheering came even louder. More results came faster and faster as the measurement guns sent in their readings. Finally, they slowed to a stop, and the Germans were on top. The fans went crazy at the reading of minus 0.4 inches, and the German competitor blushed and looked down at his cold, flaccid inny.

The German is proud of his victory for the smallest soft dick yet saddened by its reality.

Tyler smiled and pumped his fist in the air. His result came in at second place with 0.0 inches, and the Panamanian was in third with 0.5 inches. The place erupted in applause and laughter when close-ups of the top three tiniest penises broadcasted on the jumbotrons. Tyler stepped back away from the water and breathed a sigh of relief. His second-place finish would earn him 18 points behind the 25 of the Germans. Around him, competitors were respectfully applauding and preparing for the second competition.

Tyler pulled his head back and forth in a quick search for his coach. He found her in the second row behind a line of beautiful brown-haired women wearing only bikinis. They had no doubt bought their tickets moments after they had gone on sale, hoping that they would be able to use their bodies to yank some of the competitors out of their element. Instead, they were jumping up and down cheering, and after Tyler gazed at their bouncing breasts for too long, he finally realized his coach was wildly waving to pull his attention back to reality.

When he looked at his coach, she gave him three signals. She hefted her boobs in her hands, mimed jerking a dick into her open mouth, and punched her hand hard. Tyler nodded and looked back down at his shrunken dick. He tuned out the shouts that assaulted his ears.

“We want dick, not little pricks.”

“I see your tiny balls Russia!”

“Why don’t you come over here and play with me, big boys!”


The woman on the loudspeaker began again, “The second competition will be the hammer-grow.”

The athletes waited patiently for every language to announce it. Then the referees turned back to the competitors. Tyler’s referee had a smirk on her face and her eyes glued to his penis. “Good luck with that thing,” she said.

She raised her white flag on a signal, and Tyler stepped up to the icy water again. After a long pause, the flags came down, and the men dip their balls and cocks in the icy water again. There were fewer yelps this time, but the women in the crowd still chattered at the predicament before them. Tyler’s eyes were closed, and he steadied his heart, time seemed to slow, and after an eternity of waiting, a horn blew, and he whipped his dick up and out of the water with a splash. The men all around jumped to their full height and began the hammer grow as a large clock before them began counting.

Tyler’s mind began filling with images of boobs juggling around before him. He looked out over the crowd and ogled the breasts being shaken and squeezed to entice the competitors. His penis began stirring from its extremely shrunken state. He squints and focuses on his hometown crowd as they helped him as much as they could. Beside him, a competitor began helicoptering his soft penis.

Each athlete had his own method of ‘growing his hammer,’ and this no doubt titillated the crowd spread before the stage. The key twist of the competition was that the men were not allowed to use their hands. Some immediately started jumping jacks, and their onlookers giggled and pulled out their phones to record the scene. Their cocks went from bouncing gently against their balls and groins to slapping sharply up and down against their thighs and stomachs.

Tyler felt his dick getting to its second stage of growth and went into a wild helicopter, much to the delight of his buxom referee. She stifled a laugh and kept her eyes on his dick. In the American fan section, women mimed receiving facials, and a few even faked kicks to the groin. They had watched hours of pre-game to know exactly what would entice their athlete the most.

Tyler’s penis whipped around. It grew with each rotation until he thought it might be almost to its final stage. Then, finally, the horn blew, his head whipped up to the leader board. The German again won this round after achieving a full erection in just under a minute. He was now fighting for second place. The horn went off again; France proudly showed off his erection and waved it to the fans.

Tyler whipped his penis faster and focused on his fetishes. It is mainly how it feels when he gets his balls smashed, he imagined his coach’s soft bare feet flying up into his crotch as she said, “Remember this!”

He could almost feel the pain blooming across his gut from the swift kick and imagined falling to his knees in front of her.

She laughed and said, “You have to do better than that if you want to win the masculine Olympiad, Tyler. Go again.”

His penis swelled to its peak, and his pink head finally reached towards the sky. A horn blew somewhere in the distance to declare him the third-place winner, and he pumped his fist in the air. He waited proudly with his erection in the air as the rest of the competitors popped up on the scoreboard. It didn’t take much longer, and soon the stage of flopping penises was a stage of stiff rods. Finally, there was one man left trying feebly to will his penis up off his balls. The crowd laughed and jeered at him, and he shuffled and shook to get the blood flowing in the right direction.

After many minutes of this, his name came up on the leader board, and the horn blew, besides it a dispiriting DNF. He stepped down off his podium and fell to his knees in disappointment. Four years of preparation came down to this failure. After a pause, his coach came running from her spot in the crowd and pulled him off stage by his dick. Most of the crowd fell to booing and laughing at his failure, but his fan section stood in stunned silence.

The men stood smugly with their erections stabbing out before them. Tyler gave a big smile to his referee and his fan section and jumped up and down to smack his stomach with his dick. On the landing, his penis came down and whapped his balls lightly. That smack, gentle as it may have been, still gives him a feeling of perfect pain in his balls. It made his dick throb with desire.


After a few minutes in which the referees were organizing themselves and preparing for the next competition, the loudspeaker said, “Now, for the javelin.”

This was usually the quickest of the competitions as it rode directly off the back of the previous. The referees quickly pulled their measurement guns from their holsters and pointed them at the dicks. When the horn blew, the crowd shouted, cheered, and screamed as the men onstage waited with their hands behind their backs. The measurements for who had the biggest erection came in almost all at once.

Tyler placed fifth when his measurement came up at 4.25 inches. No points, but Germany also scored zero points with a measurement of 3 inches, so the competition was still within reach. Around the stadium, there was some surprise that a man could come in second on the cry-athlon with a tiny soft dick and still be in the top ten of the javelin. There was no doubt the USA had a grower as their competitor.

After the first three competitions, the top standings were: Germany with 50, USA and France with 33, Jamaica with 25, Canada with 18, Panama with 15, and everyone else spread out below them.


The final competition of the day would be the sprint, Germany’s specialty. The announcer urged the crowd to make more noise, and the enthusiasm grew with every passing second. The referees walked along with the standing naked men, careful not to bump into any protruding penises. Half of the women removed the ice water buckets from the stage, and the other half were handing out the lube to the male competitors.

Tyler accepted lube into his right hand with a smile and spread it around his palms. His dick had begun drooping in the gap between the events, but his horniness only grew. A dot of pre-cum shone on the pink head of his dick and slowly moseyed its way through the air to the ground. His fan section went wild when the replay of his mess showed on the board; they knew he was ready to cum.

Finally, after endlessly waiting for the loudspeaker announced the sprint. The tension in the air was palpable, the crowd silenced in anticipation. Tyler held his hand a mere inch away from his drooping shaft and sent his mind back to that place where his balls ached from the angry foot of his coach.

“On your marks….”

He tensed his stomach and flexed his dick.

“Get set…”

He flexed his dick one more time.


Tyler grabbed his dick in both of his well-lubed hands as the crowd roared and cheered on their men. Across the stage, men grunted, and their hands flew up and down their throbbing dicks. The women watching at home heard the announcers carefully analyzing the techniques of some of the men.

The announcing women said things like, “Today, you will see Tyler’s patented two hands on the shaft and balls stroke. He certainly benefits from having a less than impressive-sized penis. But, oh my, he’s really going for it today. Just look at that head bouncing up and down with every downstroke.”

At about the five-second mark, Tyler snuck a peek at the competition to the sides of him to gauge how well he was doing. He knew he would be able to cum in about fifteen seconds, which should place him ahead of many competitors. Then, across the stage, a man gasped and shuddered. All eyes in the stadium trained on the German competitor as he jerked his three-inch penis one last time and then let go. There was a hush over the crowd as his penis twitched and held, one second, two seconds, and three seconds. The stadium waited for his load, and meanwhile, three other men moaned and released their cocks.

Finally, with a groan from the German competitor and a roar from the crowd, his penis flexed and released a long stream of cum that fell to the ground, followed by another and another and another. The man clutched his thighs with both hands, being sure not to accidentally grab his organ and complete his orgasm, for that would set him at a severe disadvantage for the following day of competition. Finally, the horn blew above, and Germany showed up on the leader board in first place with a sprint time of 10.98 seconds.

The crowd was happily bouncing between obscene laughter and uproarious applause as men all around the stage abandoned their pulsing penises. The horn repeatedly blew as cum load after cum load oozed out of the penises, bouncing freely in the breeze. Finally, Tyler felt a surge of ecstasy flood out of his balls, and with a grunt and all of his strength, he pulled his hand off his penis and put it on his head. His referee beamed at his dick as it bobbed, weaved, and juggled until it finally oozed a hot white load of cum onto the stage. The horn blew, and Tyler looked up. He didn’t place again; Germany was pulling away in the Olympiad.

To Tyler’s left, the man from France was reaching his orgasm. He grunted and bellowed and pulled his hand away from his penis for all of one second before suddenly gripping it tight and jerking it hard. His cheering section collectively shouted, “NO!”

But it was too late.

Thousands of women gasped and laughed. His dick shoots a long white rope of jizz that almost hit the competitor in the row in front of him but fell just short and splattered across the shoe of his referee. He moaned as his penis shot jet after jet, and the horn blew to sound his orgasm. As his penis softened and reality set in, he steeled himself for the harsh words his coach was about to give him—a full orgasm on day one usually spelled doom for competitors on days two and three.


After about a minute, every man on stage had either ruined his orgasm or pumped himself to satisfaction in a bout of immediate gratification. Tyler eyed his coach, and she gave him the thumbs up. They had practiced the sprint the most often of any event because it was usually his weakest. These competitors were some of the fastest ejaculators globally, and Tyler had always been more of an endurance competitor.

Once the sprint was over, the leader boards flashed up on the screen. Germany was completely dominating with 75 points. The USA and everyone else was falling even farther behind, but this was just day one, and Tyler would be ready for the next two days. The referees dismissed the competitors, and they stepped off their podiums and made their way around the puddles of cum to the wings of the stage. Tyler gave one last wave to his fan section and blew a kiss before disappearing behind the curtain.

His eyes adjusted to the dark wings, and he met up with his coach, who gave him a gentle high five to the testicles and said, “Good job today, Tyler, you kept yourself in it so you can go into your best days in a good position. Tonight I want you to go home and eat a nice full dinner because tomorrow we do it all again.


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’s my day. There’s no need to worry.”

“I know you are, but it wouldn’t be the first time that small 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 his penis began to relax towards the toilet bowl after about a minute of standing there. 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 baby penis are leading the competition, but I don’t think they have the longevity to make it through today’s marathon. So, Katie, what do you think?” One anchor asked another.

“Well, Tammy, it doesn’t look excellent 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’s already leaking an immense amount of precum, and he hasn’t even touched his baby dick yet! But, of course, 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 pathetic cummies.”

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 has 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 semen spilling to the floor from every possible angle. Then, finally, Tyler’s coach turned off the television.

“Today is your day. So let’s hit it,” she said.


He got dressed, and they drove to the stadium in an uneventful but tense silence. Windows gleamed in the 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 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 point’s leader from day one, to come to the front. Followed by the USA and France, 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. Then, on the signal, they all walked upstairs, 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.” Finally, everyone stopped just short of entering the stage.

“Alright boys, you remember the rules of the day shouted the clipboard carrying the leader of the group. Today’s competition is contingent on the other, so if you miss one, you miss them all. So 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. We have found the greatest stimulators across the globe through a rigorous vetting to put the competition on their toes. Every stimulation referee will have two minutes with each man, then the horn will sound, and then they’ll rotate to the next man. The only way a man may stop the stimulation is to cross 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.

The announcer continues, “Once a man has requested a stop in stimulation, the competition is over for him. So, ARE … YOU … READY … Please, welcome the 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 fingers wrapped wholly around his small dick and cupped his balls simultaneously. The crowd grew quiet. Down the line, a moans 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 baby dick. A horn blew, and Brazil popped up on the marathon leader board 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 fingers coming around his right hip. They’re 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 white cotton ground into waves. This is where he would try to let his thoughts roam to avoid 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 leader board with a score of 3mls. Then again, his score showed up on the weightlifting leader board with a distance of 4 feet. Then finally, the flag and name appeared on the skeet shooting leader board 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 deeply in an attempt to relax and escape the gently stroking hands. Finally, Tyler was pulled back from his forced reverie when his referee began stroking up towards the head with fingers twisting. Her fingers 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’s gonna do him in.”

The fingers on Tyler’s cock sped up, and his thoughts tried and failed to escape the moment again. Then, 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 leader boards 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 were up.

“I’ll see you soon, baby dick,” 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 fingers wrap around his tiny penis. These fingers 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 much 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, I think, for such a small, quick shooter.”

In the arena, all that could be heard were fans of each country going wild. The schlocking sound of lubed fingers was drowned out in distracting shouts from the crowd. They rotated again, and Tyler felt the twisting fingers of the Korean stimulator on his cock. He panicked.

“I know you like the twist, baby dick,” she said with a hint of her accent coming through below the crowd noise. She was a talker too. “What if I were just to give a twist here,” she said into his ear, and he bucked in her grasp, “Ooh, 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. 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. Finally, the French competitor, another sprinter with a 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 leader board. He did not show up on the marathon leader board 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 small 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, and the women are switching. Now they’re in position, and….”

Her own uproarious laughter cut her off 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 fingers 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. Finally, 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 worldwide, 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 handgrip. 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 fingers of their women. As each woman made a man spill his ejaculate, they would stay in the rotation. This meant that as fewer men were 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. Then, finally, it was down to the final two.

Tyler looked at his rival. The penis at the far end of the stage was the same size as his in length and girth. He pulled his eyes from the black baby dick 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. Then, after an indecipherable amount of time to Tyler, he felt the familiar fingers of his original red-haired referee again. “I’m back, baby,” she said into his ear.

Within seconds, he was on edge. The crowd knew it too. But his opposition on the stage let out a yelp and put his fingers 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. Finally, his shaft began to slacken, a horn sounded, and DNF came up next to his name on every leader board.

Tyler let out a scream and allowed the pleasure from his crotch to flood through him. It took him all the way to the peak of ecstasy, but then training took over, and he triumphantly put his fingers over his head. His body twisted at the sudden lack of stimulation right when he needed it most. He angled his throbbing small dick and tried to stem the need to thrust his hips and gluts. The booing in the crowd quickly became triumphant.

He had won.

Semen shot from his swaying penis in a glorious arc all the way to the ten-foot mark and knocked the small target there clean off its easel. Then, in another throb of joy, his spraying semen knocked over the eight-foot target, then the four, then the two-foot mark, and the long ooze began.

His competitive spirit was overjoyed, but Tyler collapsed to the ground in a cry of anguish. His testicles were angry, and their blue fury pummeled its way into his abdomen. He needed a full orgasm, and this triumphant abandonment of his sexual pleasure had wreaked havoc on his insides. The delegation from the USA was laughing and cheering. Tears shone on the faces of some women from the winning and the losing countries.

Tyler’s name came up in first place on the marathon leader board. Then, first on the skeet shooting, second on the shot-put, and ninth on the weightlifting. He was never one to have massive cum shots compared to the other men, just long accurate ones. As the referees unexceptionally mopped up the stage and themselves, the coaches walked up onto the stage to collect their men and wait for the final points to be tallied.

Tyler’s coached stood over him; she reached down between his wobbly legs with her toe and jiggled his completely shrunken and sore penis. Her toe shook through his balls and sent a fresh wave of blue ache up his spine.

“You got twenty-five for each first place spot and eighteen for your second place,” she said. “So you, my friend, are handsomely in the lead. Hey, are you with me? Hello?”

Tyler nodded, but his eyes were shut, and his fingers clutched his aching small gut. The women in the stadium let out a roar as the final scores of both days were tallied and shown on the screen above.

USA: 101, Germany, 75, and everyone else was almost out of reach below them. Tyler’s coach knew there were a few great figure baters that would still give them a run for their money, but barring perfect performances by them and a botched performance from Tyler, they were in perfect position for the gold medal.

The announcer in the stadium took up the reigns again. “Ladies, give your competitors a round of applause, wasn’t that something else?”

Then she began guiding everyone to the exits. Tyler finally was able to stand beside his coach, and they made their way around the frantically working referees to the side of the stage. All around the stage, men moaned at the pain in their balls. Two days of ruined orgasms in such spectacular fashion were beginning to take their toll. Some coaches promised them blowjobs for that night to prepare for tomorrow. Other coaches sarcastically sympathized with the aching balls of their men. They rolled their eyes at each other over the dramatic hunched bodies of the athletes.

Tonight, Tyler would prepare for the final two events of the competition: Figure bating and the always-dreaded relay.

to be continued…


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