Gullible Guy in Testosterone Trick

Enough said, he said, that he used to select just two of his more responsive pupils each sports season for advanced coaching back at his house but neither of them ever knew that the other was also getting the same personalised care. So Pop's perfectly bare as a baby's bum genitals was somehow his personal fantasy reminder of those earlier after hours sport days.

From then on too, he insisted that my penis be shaved perfectly clean so there was never to be a spare hair showing anywhere. I just figured that the older he got, the younger he wanted to get -- ah, the quest for eternal youth.

I got used to having to do this tasty testosterone chore minus my riding trunks so he could watch the way my shaft moved about like a candle in the wind. Having his big warm balls in my mouth for light sucking one at a time back and forth until he tugged my ears to move up the shaft was something I'll never forget.

To say in retrospect that I was really sucked in by this guy seems unfair as I was willing, and why not when he was going out of his way to help me. After all, he didn't want cash, cheque or credit card; I was lucky that all he did this for me cost free as there was really nothing in it for him.

Of course, he encouraged me to regard his sperm factory balls and commanding sized cock as a monument to my future success; it was to be my dearest so-called possession whereas my own penis was somewhat commandeered by him -- I was not to jerk off and waste my sperm -- that was for him to do if so, as he said, so he could recycle sperm back into his own system where it would not be wasted.

Recycling my sperm? I'd never heard of that before but then, who was I to know? All I know looking back was that Pop was a master of oral exercise as much as knowing how to pump his thighs to wind up bicycle pedals.

The hardest part was coping with his explosive burst when he released. Every time I tried to get it down in one gulp but it was nigh impossible with the overflow assured. But Pop always made sure I didn't waste a drop in cleaning him up. He was a stickler for cleanliness and after all, he was very fair to me by the same token.

He asked how long since I had a girlfriend go down on me, making me splutter with the admission that I was a total virgin in all things sexual prior to meeting him.

"Listen boy, that isn't fair you finishing school now you need to know these things," he said firmly. "Tell you what, I wouldn't do this for anyone else but for you I'll make an exception in the interests of good education since you don't have a girlfriend I'll do the honours right here and now so you don't have to wait for ages until you find yourself a sexy partner."

He called it the transfer of energy so that every time I performed it on him to get my testosterone top-up, he would go down on me until I blew, therefore putting my lesser volume of hot juice back into his system. It seemed to make sense at the time. Recycled man juice, how cute.

It was on the following Wednesday at my regular massage after training visit as Pop worked his magic hands all over my body that he asked how long since I had intercourse with a girlfriend -- or anyone. It made me wince again, having to remind him zero because I never had a partner old enough for sex. Didn't he listen the first time or was he just trying me out?

I remember him saying, "Hey boy, don't you ever wonder what it must be like for a chick to feel the power of your dick right up inside?" Well, I had to admit I used to wonder what it must be like because I'd seen porno pictures of some with heavenly and somewhat very emotional looks on their faces presumably at the point of orgasm or maybe the guy just pinched a nerve when the picture was taken.

That's when he said it seemed a shame I reached the end of adolescent age not having a clue how sex felt for a chick receiving a decent sized dick. "I shouldn't have to do this boy," he muttered in my ear, "but I'll go out of my way once again to help educate you what it's like if you miss out on something. Now I'm going to demonstrate and you can pretend you are the chick and I'm the guy giving her a pounding where she loves it."

My hardness hardly had a chance to weaken as this big man literally flipped my comparably small body on my side to rub some wet stuff over the sensitive spot under my legs. He started sliding two fingers in back and forth. "You like that huh?" he grinned.

"Hell yeah, what are you doing?" I answered.

"Listen boy, let's get this straight, I don't have to do this because it's extra work on my part for no reward but what the heck, you got to get more street smart about life for future opportunities." That randy old buzzard was so strong he just flipped me over on my back again before I knew what was happening and then pulled my backside to the edge of the massage table. I wasn't game to look as I saw his savage looking missile aiming up at close quarters. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.

Then I felt it, the gently probing underneath my balls where he smattered the penetrating lube. I can only imagine looking back at that time how it must have felt for the master of this ceremony as he seemed to gloat, his lips curling as he looked downwards at my submissive body so much smaller than his big build as he gradually got it inside and slowly at first, worked up to a pulsating rhythm.

He had my glistening erect penis and tight balls sitting up close like on parallel train tracks to his huge weapon and his factory balls. Is this what turning 18 is all about I thought as he kept groaning about me being so deliciously tight, so tight, so fucking good.

Once the initial shock was over of experiencing the immense feeling of a submarine-like shape plunging its entire eight or nine inch+ thickness into me it was a feeling I couldn't describe making me pant as my own stiff bobbed about. At times I thought his thrusts from those powerful thighs would push me right off the massage table.

It felt like he owned me and I'd do anything he demanded. He put his big hands under both my cheeks and lifted me off the massage table slightly and was literally thrashing me until I uncontrollably ejaculated big time. He didn't come inside me though, he pulled out and splattered it over my own cum and then dragged his still throbbing penis in it and put it to my face with orders to clean it up. I did every time -- there were weekly such happenings - until he was satisfied he got all of it from my lower abdomen.

As said, that was to be the first of many such occasions during that year with him insisting I concentrate on training and racing and he would take care of my sexual needs so I didn't miss out on that social aspect of my growing years. My job was to build the strength of my thigh muscles for greater pumping sprint prowess and his job was to develop race tactics and make sure I could receive as much additional sperm reserves as possible to lift my testosterone levels.

So standard practice each week after that when he finished the massage he'd give me oral followed by the full works. Two weeks later from that first occasion when I turned up after my Wednesday training ride for the massage, two other men were already there.

Pop introduced me to them as members of a "gentry" club he's been in for a while -- Oswald, the fairly fat bald older man looked about 50, and was a practising headmaster of a suburban school. The younger man Larry was about 40 and Pop described him as a great psychologist who could quickly get to the bottom of any young patients' problems.

How thoughtful of them I figured after Pop explained that both men wanted to donate some of their time and energy to follow my progress in cycling -- they even ended up trackside on race nights -- they just wanted to get behind me all the way.

Pop must have told them something for them to be so unusually keen to take a personal interest in my progress. That first evening I met them Pop had already invited them to hang about while he went through the regular routine of massaging my legs in my naked state -- oh yes, he never skipped making his energy drink that somehow made me get out of the shower with a roaring horn. It was embarrassing for me when I could hardly hide it as they sat just a few feet away watching Pop work me over.

Even though I'd made it clear I had just finished school and had to look for a job Oswald kept talking to me as though I was still in the classroom with a lot to learn, whatever that meant. I suppose he meant well because he said my dick was one of the more lustful sights he'd seen lately and was on par with a few of his own students who were apparently developing well ahead of the others in his class in his day job. I had no idea what he was talking about because I couldn't see what the sight of my upright hard cock had to do with the size of some of his students out of class.

Once Pop had explained to Oswald and Larry why I needed to absorb as much testosterone building sperm as possible -- even saying I couldn't get too much - both men agreed spontaneously to donate their time and sperm reserves into helping me get ahead at each mid-week appointment with the coach.

Just in case I was going to say it's not fair to expect them to be helping me every week Pop thanked them on my behalf and patted my bare arse saying again, how lucky I was to have people like them prepared to give of themselves when they don't even know me.

Pop even rubbed it in by saying that it was more than good luck on my part because it was pretty embarrassing for such older men to have to drop their pants and have someone so very junior to them kneeling before them using both hands to get them rock hard in turn and give them lusciously good head until they finished straight into my mouth.

I could hardly complain or else risk them changing their mind and I wanted all the drive power I could possibly get. Over the coming weeks and months there was a lot of coming involving Pop, Oswald and Larry as my lap times actually did improve bit by bit.

They'd always wait until the coach drained me dry orally at the end of my massage and they'd watch while the coach's whopper worked me over good and proper. And seeing how I moaned and groaned and panted while the coach pummelled me, the other two men wanted to offer their services only they wanted to exercise their right to do me in different positions "to be more fair about it."

For the life of me I couldn't understand why these two respectable occupation guys would want to bother putting themselves out so personally in these lengthy well and truly drawn-out physical sessions to help a stranger from the country try to realise his boyhood dream. After all, there was nothing in it for them because, still jobless, I couldn't afford to repay them anything.

Mind you, they did drop hints that I could return the favour the same way saying something about being bisexual as very acceptable. I'd never heard of bisexual and wasn't going to ask in case they sniggered at me being too wet behind the ears.

Anyway, I declined because as I told them, I didn't want to put them out any more than I had already. Besides they were old enough to know what it must have felt like without me having to show them. The truth was, I was in Pop's hands and he said it was okay not to have to do any more than make my young gun penis available to Oswald and Larry to play with and gobble off until they drained me dry again.

For some strange reason they got really turned on getting fresh young cum but taking their time to work me up ever so tantalising to make my burst all the bigger and stronger.

Despite my first six weeks of taking in all those extra loads of testosterone my track time trials showed only gradual improvement, but Pop wasn't worried at all. Some people respond faster than others and nature takes its own time is how he passed it off. Besides, he said my body couldn't be expected to be as strong as older riders so patience was the virtue I had to be patient.

Mind you, I did come good in the long run. It took several months to see the value of our mutual perseverance and by season end I was not just winning more races but my speed had improved out of sight. I suppose some might say that the placebo effect might be responsible for that just as much as me ingesting all those testosterone shots but in the end Pop's plan worked a treat.

I was so glad for him. It would have been terrible had he gone to all that trouble over an entire six months of personal indignity in having to watch me kneeling down to love up to his manly weapon and working it all over until he surrendered his built up tension across my tongue in such pulsating manner.

And that was only part of the embarrassment had Pop's plan not worked. Imagine what a waste of time for him looking after me right through those 30 weeks if I had not improved substantially as a sprinter. As for him being a successful coach I figured that I had hit the jackpot from that very night he first saw me, sized up my innocence and elected to steer me through the unknown future ahead.

How could I have ever compensated him for the cost of him time and unbelievable faith in me coming good by getting two of his friends to assist him? A team of three giving it to me, now that's unheard of for someone my age having that kind of coaching support. And all it cost me was fat nothing!

No wonder I ended up totally loving the sight of a man's big hard dick. Without those fat erections spilling their energy on me and into me I could not have gained the extra lengths' difference in track speed around the velodrome.

So not only did I end up excelling in senior ranks from my unusual and ever consistent coaching and training that began with me switching from the juniors under Pop's guidance, having those three older guys so interested to get behind me was a blessing in disguise.

Admittedly I had to endure that entire year of keeping my own hands off my dick when I felt randy but I didn't mind when they put such effort into looking after me twice a week. Or was I looking after them?

Oswald being the school headmaster that he was at the time really enjoyed these sessions. He was a lusting sort of overweight man lucky to have a menacing broad schlong that stood well away from his oversized gut. He called it his cannon.

Strangely too, like Pop and Larry, he had a totally hairless cock and balls that to them symbolised something in their own mind. It's probably why Pop made sure there wasn't a hair to spare on me either after he wanted my penis made to look like I was younger than springtime.

It seems as men get older their fantasies get more fantastic. Horny Oswald told me once after he gave me a good thrashing with his eager boner what he liked most about his day job was the opportunity to increase the after-hours education of what he called the better equipped males entrusted to him by the education department; whatever he meant by that I did not know.

Looking back those many years ago I can still visualise Pop with that hungry looking working tool of his that didn't retire for quite a long time after 65. Who said men are past it when they reach that age?

As for all that excitement-earned white gooey gifts of life these three guys gave me, it was more than enough to populate a barren planet -- just as well I wasn't a woman!