David Crane: Scandal school

He loved it. He was not, however, a sadist.

He was just manly.

Red's office was a stark room with pale green walls, and had a metal desk and filing cabinet and footlocker. He liked it stark, and shunned luxury and comfort. He did have quite a few centerfold from Playboy magazine taped, on the walls, as befitted a man, though, and he liked to look at all that soft, naked flesh while he exercised his hard, brawny body. He liked the contrast between women and men, the soft curves and the lean planes that fit together so well during that carnal jigsaw puzzle that was sex.

Red got very excited when he looked at the photos, and thought about fucking.

But he was not the sort of ungenuine, phony man who would do something he didn't allow others to do and, all ethical points aside, he firmly and honestly believed that masturbation sapped a man's vitality.

Red did not jerk off.

Red exercised, instead.

He was a bit worked-up at the moment.

He'd gotten excited about the new, brutal line plunge, and it had brought his thoughts, by some devious path, around to thoughts of sex, and his eyes directly to the centerfolds on the walls. Red did not think that fucking sapped vitality the way that jacking off did, although he wasn't sure why that should be, since the effort of ejaculating was very similar. That was simply the way things were, was all. It was the nature of life. Thus, when Red happened to have a woman available, he fucked with all the vigor and endurance and stamina of his well-trained and carefully maintained body. When he had no woman, he exercised.

Red felt the need of some exercise right now, as he gazed at Miss September, his tongue lolling out like a panting hound.

He got up from his desk and stripped for action. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head, and pushed his gym shorts down. He always exercised naked, not wanting any garments to hinder the smooth flow of his muscles. He still had his jock strap on as he did his limbering-up maneuvers. His huge cock bulged out inside the pouch, a great thick link of pork coiled like a python in his athletic supporter.

His arms flew about. He bent to touch his toes, arching backwards until his torso was horizontal with the floor. He swung from side to side at the hips. He did deep knee bends and deep breathing exercises. He shadow boxed, snorting. Muscles popped out all over him. Even his beer belly was muscular, even his ears were muscular. His head came out of his shoulders with no discernable neck, and his shoulders sloped away, heavily laden with power. His stomach was like a washboard, rippled with flat oblong muscles that were as demarcated as farmland seen from an airplane. His thighs were massive slabs of iron.

His head and face were well suited to this body. His head was square, and his haircut was square, a World War Two brushcut that showed his pink scalp through his ginger-colored bristles. The short, spiky hair stood up on top and lay flat at the sides so that his head looked like a toilet brush. He had a square jaw and a pug nose, bushy red eyebrows and small, piggish eyes. He needed eyeglasses, but refused to admit this, squinting instead. He thought that it was manly to squint. It gave him the far-sighted look of a frontiersman gazing across wide-open prairies.

He finished his limbering up exercises, then got the barbell and weights out and easily ran through his routine of presses, cleans, jerks and curls.

Then it was time to do the very special exercise that he had devised for himself.

Red patted the swollen pouch of his athletic supporter. His cock strained against the elastic. He tugged the jock strap down.

Red's cock was a joy to behold. It was a foot long and as thick as a woman's forearm, a dynamic slab of sinew seamed with delineated veins. His balls were as big as a strong man's biceps. His knob was like a wedge of iron in a purple velvet sheath, and his cock was like a crowbar when it was erect.

He did not have a hard-on at the moment, not quite.

His gigantic pecker was quivering, preparing to flex. It coiled out in a great loop from his loins. If he had ears on his hips, he would have looked much like an elephant.

His cock was… muscular.

It bulged with power, and it rippled and flexed. As he worked his cock muscles, the massive rod pumped itself up like a bodybuilder preparing to exhibit.

Red gazed lovingly down at his dick, looking along the hard plane of his chest and the slight protuberance of his beer belly. He glowed with pride as he admired his pecker. It was quite the finest prick he had ever seen, no doubt of that – and he had seen pricks a-plenty through the years as class after class moved on through the locker room and showers. Red was vain about his cock, but there was certainly good reason for his pride. It was a masterpiece of a meaty member. If ever he should be unfortunate enough to have it shot by an irate husband, he just knew that the husband would have it mounted as a trophy. It would not, he figured, look at all out of place alongside a stuffed marlin or a heavy-horned water buffalo.

Red had even written to the Metropolitan Museum, inquiring whether they would care to have his cock after his demise, and had received a polite, if ambiguous, reply.

Red had worked long and hard to get his pecker to its present state of splendor. On the principle of use-or-lose, he worked out every day to keep his dick fit and shapely. He knew that a huge muscle like that would sag terribly, were it allowed to atrophy.

He got his pecker exerciser out. It was a clever device, with a five-pound weight suspended from a leather strap. The strap had an adjustable loop at the top so that it could be secured around his cock, just behind the ledge of the head, so that the vast knob held it firmly on the shaft and prevented it from slipping off.

Red wrapped a big, blunt hand around his pecker and pumped it up and down. It surged up, stiff as a flagpole and damned near as thick.

It felt so nice to pump his cock up that Red was sorely tempted to carry on with it, but he knew the honors of masturbation, and he was a man of willpower.

He stopped jacking his cock and fitted the leather loop around the shaft. He put his hands on his hips and leaned slightly backwards from the waist, pushing his hips forward. Then he began to tense his cock muscles.

His cock rode up like a lever, lifting the dangling weight from the floor.

Red worked for power; first, holding the heavy weight up as long as he could.

Then he worked for stamina and definition, lifting the weight up and down in quick repetitions.

His mighty pecker rose like a derrick, hauling the heavy iron weight upwards. It dipped down and rose again. The weight swung at his shins, and his cock strained and throbbed.

His balls began to tingle.

Red knew that, presently, a great creamy spurt of spunk would explode from the head of his prick. It always happened when he exercised, but he didn't mind.

That wasn't the same as masturbating, and it was more manly, to boot.

Amanda Bridewell could feel her pussy squish between her sleek thighs as she walked. She could hear it, as well. It made a soft, moist, squishing sound at every stride.

She was not wearing panties. Her black bikinis had been soaked by Skip's ejaculation, and because she was neat and fastidious, she had removed them. It was better to be pantyless than to wear them with congealed cum on the crotch, she thought.

She had licked the crotchband a little, savoring the flavor of dried spunk. That made her hot. She rather regretted not having drank Skip's creamy wad. She'd certainly slipped up there. If she had been thinking right, she could have easily made some excuse why it was necessary for him to come in her mouth. He had no handkerchief, for instance… all she would have had to do was volunteer her mouth on the logical grounds that it would keep her desk, thighs and panties from getting soiled. No one would quibble with that. She could have been able to swallow all that lovely spunk while still retaining her dignity, if only she had thought of it in time. Yes, she had certainly slipped up there, the school mistress conceded.