Tales of the Cursed Jockstrap
Chapter One - A Hot Shower
Collab written by Charn and Twinburner, all rights reserved 2013
All Character © their Owners

	Mister X hung in the middle of his room. He had been fed, at some point, his mouth zipper peeled open just enough for a nozzle to be jammed into his hollow ball gag. He had lurched, as the warm gruel slithered across his tongue, drooling down the back of his throat. Thick clots of it had been swallowed down, and as soon as he had gotten the last of it down, his zipper had been re-zipped, leaving him completely submerged in solitude.

	His equipment, which had been left in the snug clothing that his insane captor had fitted him with earlier that day, was nudged out - he felt the lolling weight of his limp sheath as it swung over the waistband, and then the persistent nudging under his testicles, until they flopped out as well. The waistband cupped underneath, the weight of his cock resting atop the neck of his sack, making it ache. The aching mixed with the dull sense of fullness he had gradually been becoming more and more aware of. He was going to have to find a way to get off, if he-
	
	Coldness enveloped his cock, ice splashing against his swollen, warm testicles. He shrieked, the unexpected sensations making his hips twist and twitch, trying to pull himself away from the glaring pressurized water stream. It followed, grinding against his tenders, until, sobbing, he stopped trying to escape and just tried to curl up, trying to protect himself.

	That’s when it stopped. The voice of his captor whispered out, seemingly just by his ear, though of course there was nobody around him - he was sure he would have felt them. A ghost, then, whispering in his ear.

“It’s fascinating, how temperamental our flesh can be, to the nuances of temperature. Why, a warm water bath would be positively delightful, wouldn’t it? And yet...” A fresh icy blast hit him from a different angle. Only it wasn’t icy - it was hot. So hot.

	Scalding fire doused over his almost numb equipment, and he shrieked anew, feeling the gruel he had just swallowed rise up in his throat. He shook his head, thighs trembling as the water dripped down his thighs like piss. For all he knew, it WAS piss.

“And yet, one should be careful what they wish for. Poor thing, is this too hot for you? Here. I’ll help you cool down.”

	The hot water had subsided, while the tiger talked, and now ice bathed over his equipment again. If having his numbed, half-frozen testicles heated up in nearly scalding water had burned, then having his heated, sagging, low hanging nuts suddenly caked in slushy ice water made his head spin. Convulsing, for a half a minute or so, the tied up figure went limp, as his steaming, frosted genitals tried to hide back into the protective custody of the worn jock.

	Ahh, and if we look away from the poor, unconscious Mister X, we can see his nemesis now. The striped demon Charn himself, lounging in his chair, two modified super soakers held in his paws. A coffee pot, freshly emptied, sat to one side, a cooler drained of all but it’s ice on the other. He smiles to you, putting the guns on the ground and gesturing you closer.

“Oh, hello there. Have you been there long? I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. As you can see, I’m just entertaining Mister X, while we wait for the first story to begin. Do you like horses? Proud, handsome things. Lots of dick between those legs.”

The tiger stands, moving over to the limp Mister X, and carefully, almost protectively tucking the unconscious stud’s equipment back into his jock. “I’d like to tell you a story about one of these big dumb beasts. He was a stallion named Paul, who has the dubious title of being the jock’s first confirmable owner. It being the first story, I being about jock’s first owner, well that seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Some time is spent adjusting the chilled, dripping jock, rubbing the swollen bulges inside it, checking for frostbite. “It took quite a bit of money to find out what happened with Paul after his little... incident. Changed his vocation, changed his location, even changed his name. Goes by the stage name of ‘Polly Bisquick’ now. He swears he has no idea how he got the jockstrap. He says he just found it in his gym bag one day. He says, that - heh, but I shouldn’t say any more. I wouldn’t want to give anything away. So. If you want to know how just a little bit of water, and a certain unlucky jock, helped change Paul the Linebacker into Polly the not-a-boy toi in a sleazy mid-west gay bar... well, this is your chance.”

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	

	Paul couldn’t believe how well he’d done. Neither had his teammates. He had gotten so many slaps that his shoulders (and ass!) were stinging and red. That didn’t bother the equine, though. The linebacker, was strutting his way through the lockerroom as his teammates cheered and jibed.

“Dude, how did you do it? You FLEW through that defense like they weren’t even there!”

Paul shrugged modestly, grinning as he stripped out of his jersey. “I didn’t even see them, honestly.” He hadn’t, in actuality. His mind had been caught on the sensation of his new jock, the way it had gripped and caressed and stroked and Rubbed along his fat horse-dick. Phantom hands touching him in that cloth prison. 

“Naw, it had to be SOMETHING... you on something? Aww come on, man, you gotta let me have it!” pleaded Lincoln, the panther twisting his towel up. “I need what you had out there, that mojo! Fuck, dude, even your junk looks bigger!”

“Must be my lucky jock,” Paul grinned. “Fuck, it’s not even mine. I opened my gym bag, and there it was. Put it on and it was like, Fuck, dude, there I was, right in the center of the world and on top of Everything.”

Lincoln gave him a skeptical, sideways look. “Yeah, right.” 

“It’s true.” Paul put a heavy hoof on top of the changing bench, grinning lewdly to the panther and pushing his hips forward. “You saying you still want a piece of it, Lincoln?”

The black cat’s tail frizzed. “Dude, NO HOMO. Gaw-damned.” He flung his towel at the ground and left in disgust. 

Paul had smirked, his junk feeling swollen, heavy, potent. He made a point of taking his time, as the rest of his buddies filed out. The last excited yips of Skeebe the fox being cut off by the heavy outside door slamming shut. 

Paul peered down the long row of lockers, making sure he was alone, then strutted over to the big mirror by the check in scales. 

He stood in front of a large mirror, his heavily muscled form showing the care he’d spent sculpting himself up to a true paragon of sports. .

“Heh heh. Tonight, I think I’m gonna tap every one of those slutty cheerleaders. Fuck!” He reached down and snickered as he tugged at his tight football shorts, the soft, worn, stretchy fabric snagging over that tightly parcelled equipment wound up in that comfortable white jock. “They’re going to be Begging for a piece of me tonight!” 

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of that. “I bet I could get four of them to get their mouths on my junk at once, All I gotta do is- Whoa!”, he cut off there, because he’d just peeled out of his shorts to look at himself. 

Paul had always been big - he was a horse, after all. The last time he’d been asked how big he was, he had smirked and said the ruler wasn’t long enough. When asked how thick, he’d make the A-OK symbol with his hand, then spread his thumb and finger a couple extra inches apart, and he’d had some complaints about the bruises his nuts had left on his last gal’s ass. 

Now, though... his nuts were big, thick Christmas oranges, jockeying for space between his powerful thighs. One was pushed out ahead of the other, and as he reached down to adjust, he found that there just wasn’t enough room for Both to hang between them. One had to rest on top of the other. His greasy, tacky horse cock was a veined python, still the same cock he had had yesterday, but... more There. Meatier. It hung a foot and a half down, nestled against his heavy sack, the limp, drooling tip steaming his sweat and musk. 

“Aww yeaaah!” he laughed, “This fucker’s gonna ruin fillies now! No bitch is gonna be able to take me twice!”, he couldn’t stop himself from stroking that big shaft, wide enough now that he could stroke his hand along the top, or the bottom, but not both. It responded instantly, as if it had been waiting, and he could feel the warm blood pushing into his cock. Just the sensation of it hardening, puffing up with warmth and heat, was arousing, and he found himself groaning as he got himself harder. Soon it jutted, proudly up from his groin, angled towards the wall like a tank’s turret. 

 He stopped there and admired himself. God-damn,  it was huge! He flexed, tightening his ass and grinned at the hearty THWAP of flesh against his belly. The cap Just nudged the underside of one meaty pectoral. 

“Yeah! Who wants a piece of Paul?” He thundered, grinning and rubbing his hand up the underside once more. He clenched his buttocks, eyes slitting as his cock flexed, and he felt his body pushing, something slithering up along his pisstube. Fuck, everything was so sensitive! It felt so good!
 He watched, as pre-cum bubbled from the pronounced hole at the tip, a thick blob of milky, nearly gelatinous fuck juice. He rubbed against it with a finger, chuckling as instead of smearing, it simply bulged. Concentrated Man Pudding. Not only was he bigger, he must be more potent, too. He pinched it between two finger tips, pulling at it, and his knees nearly collapsed... he felt that long stringy blob slither, all the way down his cock, and into his groin. 

He pulled it out, like a long gooey slippery booger, feeling it tickle and slide along the inside of his erection. He draped it around, flicking and twisting, coiling it around his erection from where it still sprouted from the tip, and then grasped that meaty stalk with both hands. He stroked it, grinding his own sour-musk pre-cheese into his thick flesh, making it glisten with an audible squelching noise. 

His cock pink, with black marbelizing. Black blotches splattered here and there, now gleaming with his precum. It was a beautiful, and impressive cock. Well, he had been impressive before, big by most male’s standards. Now, he thought, as he pumped his cock with both paws, there wasn’t a single male in the college who was bigger. He traced his fingers  along the veins, stroking that tough medial ring with his claloused palms. He panted hard, reaching down to hold the root of his cock, just squeezing the base.

Shelly would be first, that slutty piece of cheerleader. She’d be tightly wrapped around it, moaning, no, Screaming out as he pounded his hips against hers, cock driving deeply into her. The ‘end’ of that coagulated precum finally tickled out of his slit, and behind it came a slimy gush of normal precum, spurting and drooling out against the mirror he was posing in front of. He angled his cock, by the base, smearing and grinding his mushroomy cock head against the smooth, cool, solid surface, leaving a slug trail behind. It drooled down, pooling on the floor, thicker than lube. 

 He stopped, feeling himself getting close fast, TOO fast, and recollected himself. He panted, seeing the mess of musky pre on the mirror, the floor, grinning at his potency.  

“This thing’s gonna go off like a goddamn shotgun. If I cum here, I’m gonna soak my own gear and my bag!”, he snorted and wiped his paws off on his thighs, turning to trot towards the shower. His hoof skidded through the pool of pre, and he arched his back, nearly flipping onto his back as his foot shot out in front of him. His cock waggled back and forth as he flailed on one leg, before finally catching his balance. 

He snickered a bit, “Some poor nerd’s gonna face plant in that tomorrow, I bet, haha!” 

Straightening up, his hooves clopped along the flooring as he walked into the shower. He left the jockstrap behind. It of course, would be gone when he returned. 
It’s work was done.
	The old shower room echoed the big stud’s hooves as he clacked over the concrete floor. At one point, it had been roughly textured, but decades of scuffing from athlete’s feet, and the occasional buffing to clear up the athlete’s foot mildew, had left a good portion of the middle of it smooth and nearly shiny. 

	Dripping drooling slime drops of Paul’s arousal trailed behind him as he stomped up to the farthest shower. The hot water heater was literally on the other side of the wall, and if you wanted hot water, you practically HAD to have this faucet - all the old piping sucked the heat right out of the water by the time it got to the other faucets. Paul didn’t have TIME for lukewarm water.

	The tarnished copper wheel of the faucet creaked in complaint under the horse’s grip, and over his head, the wide saucer shaped dripping a bit before the water came pouring down on top of the musky jock. It sluiced down over wide, sloping pectorals, tickling over his abs, and drooled down along the veins of his massive, heavy shaft. 

	He pumped a paw along the underside, grinning widely to himself as he almost had to lean forward to reach the cap. He kneaded his thick fingers along the spongey mushroomcap, stroking a roughened fingertip along the ridge of his flare. 

“God damn. I wonder if even Amanda could take me without passin’ out. I bet she ain’t had nothing like this.” He panted to himself, his other arm bracing against the wall, leaning forward and stroking, sliming his precum into the barrel of his filly-fucker. Unlike that first clot in the lockerroom, it was oozing out easily now, gelatinous blobs pushing out from the engorged cap, to splat on the ground between his hooves. The water pouring down around his body, splashing and dripping from elbows and ass cheeks and chin and nut-sack, couldn’t even cut through the thick slime. He could feel every blob of it, seeping out through his meaty shaft, drooling, dripping from the tip. It felt so. Fucking. GOOD!

He curled his bracing arm at hte elbow, stroking his long, pointed ears, and then slammed arm against the wall. He tossed his head back, groaning out loudly as he hunched into his hand. Fuck! Thoughts of fucking the cheerleaders was escaping him, for now, Right now, all he wanted to do was squeeze out a load. He knew he’d have enough left over to plow through the first floor of the sorority house. 

His cock twitched, a warm flush of precum soaking the floor, a jellied coating that reached slimily from one hoof to the other. He clenched his hips, fucking into his hand, the hot water pouring over his body like the caressing fingers of a dozen hot chicks. Yeah, not one chick, not two, but All of them, the whole cheerleading team, just caressing and teasing and just ITCHING to get a piece of the big strong stud.

His arm flexed, and he slammed his fist against the wall, his nuts roiling and tightening in his fleshy pouch. Not only was he bigger, he must be stronger too - he could feel the flush of hormones, power, masculinity racing through his primed, powerful body. 
He didn’t even register that his last fist-pump had gone partially INTO the tiled wall - chips and bits of the ceramic tiling had rained down, a crack faulting from the impact up to the ceiling and down to the floor. It didn’t register, didn’t matter, because Paul could feel his body elevating, every muscle in his body trembling, almost queasy with how horny he was, so horny, he was going to cum-

He thrust into his hand, again, the cap of his dick smashing into the wide, copper faucet handle, actually pushing, recessing it into the wall. The shower head above him tottered, the water pipe wobbling as his cock pushed at it. He could feel the meaty weight of his nuts swaying, brushing against his inner thighs, the horse’s mouth opening as he shifted his feet to stab his cock into his hand.

He stepped right into the ooze, though, the slimy puddle of precum between his feet.
His eyes went open, as one hoof slid away from the other, his balance suddenly off. Coupled with the flexing of his body as it tried to penetrate into a hot slut, his disorientation as he was doused in the eyes with the steaming water, and the almost painful clenching of his ass against his prostate, the all star football played fudged the play.

One hoof slid one way, and the other slid the other, the horse finding himself doing a split - a gymnastic move he had not done since middle school ballet. He reached out, to save himself, and grabbed at the only thing that was within reach - the faucet of the shower. His weight pulled on it, and he brought it down with him, the whole pipe crashing through the fractured wall in a shower of tile and water. 

His weight pushed down against his thighs, his smoothly-groomed hooves frictionless on the concrete floor. His own precum smeared out beneath them, a slug trail that kept him just from being able to pull them back together. POP! POP! He felt the tendons in his groins rupture, not even painful yet, but the football player knew, then and there, that he was sitting out the rest of the season. A second later, his nuts smashed into the ground, and the rest of his body slammed down on top of them, making the horse’s eyes cross as his almost-orgasm was suddenly punted into the stratosphere. His balls squirted out from underneath him, flopping absurdishly large and floppy into the puddle of his precum, and his fist tightened around the faucet. 

With a complaining shriek, it twisted away in his hand, leaving the stud with a five inch wide piece of metal that wasn’t connected to anything to support himself with. He flopped onto his back.

“Urrgggh,” was all Paul could groan out, seeing stars, his cock waggling lewdly, still hard and ready to go despite the deep, convulsive aching in his guts. His vision cleared, eyes slowly focusing on the shower head as it grew larger and larger above him. No, wait. He sat up, reaching up to grab at it. It wasn’t getting larger, it was getting-

THUNK! The ancient, solid metal slammed into the disoriented stallion’s head, right between and slightly above his eyes, the shock of it jolting Paul’s brain. The stallion flopped back, this time for god, and his rock solid cock sagged towards his belly. 

The faucet continued to bend down, bending on it’s own, as if an invisible hand was dragging it towards the ground, and by some amazing coincidence... the wide head of the shower pressed flat against the horse’s stiff, flared cockhead. The fit was almost perfect, and water streamed down along his cock, a sensation he would have very much enjoyed if he had been awake. His cock flexed, his body shifting, the metal pipe pushing against the horse’s solid flesh. Paul’s cock bowed, just slightly, under the additional weight, buckling just enough that the steaming water that poured down along it no longer dripped onto his belly, but rather flushed down into his sheath.

It was a shame that the horse still had that valve in his hand. If he hadn’t torn it free, things may have gone differently for him. That valve controlled the access of the hot water to the shower, though. When he tore it, tore it right out, he removed the entire blocking system that kept the industrial sized hot water heated in the next room from pouring it’s water through that shower pipe.

The water was steaming powerfully, a column of smoke seeming to pour up from the unconscious stallion’s groin. The water was beyond scalding, now, as even the thick, slimy precum dissolved and separated under the the duress. The water pooled from the horse’s sheath, which, fulled to overflowing, vented the water downwards, between the stallion’s legs, and over the heavy testicles that still rested peacefully on the shower floor.

The water trickled between them, tickling juuust over the cleavage of the twin fruits before finally, safely trickling towards the drain.

Paul’s pink and black mottled cock was a lobstery red, now, the scalded flesh darkening by the second as the boiling water drooled and trickled down along it. Every so often, it would twitch, as if trying to push the shower head away on it’s own, and the water would change it’s paths, Just so, in order to cook another trail down that massive sausage. 

If only there was someone - anyone - left in the locker room. It would take little to no effort to save the horse’s handsome equipment. Even unconscious, the horse could be dragged to safety  - or a pervy janitor watching from a peep hole could turn off the water heated. If there was a janitor watching this terrible accident unfold, though, they did not make their presence known.

As Paul slept, the water cooked away that magnificent, glorious orgasm that he would have had.

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	Paul awoke with a start, groaning partly in pain from his head, and partly in lust. He was so horny. “..I..the hell...huppen...uh?”, he asked, his words as unfocused as his eyes.He looked up to a strong looking tiger doctor. His eyes were too fuzzy to read anything more than the name “Dr. Vorlan” over the green scrubs.

 The tiger smiled , “Welcome back. Can you tell me your name?” His brow furrowed, and he studied the woozy equine with professional patience.

“Uh...er,... I’m Paul.. Paul. Was I in an accident?” It all seemed so chaotic. The last thing he remembered, he had been on the field, clearing over the line backer, ready to-

“Yes, Paul,” the tiger interrupted his thoughts. “I’m glad you remember your name. Look,” He paused, as if mulling over something, then patted the horse’s hip. “There’s really no easy way to say this, Paul,” the doctor said. His lips peeled back in a grin. A grin that was a little too toothy, a little too dark, a little too smug to suggest he was having any difficulty with this at all. “You were found in the shower, giving yourself a boiling water whore bath.” 

Paul stammered, but his words didn’t make sense, in his mind or in his mouth. Boiling water? Whore bath? His body simmered with lust, and he pawed at his dressing gown with his heavy hands, weakly trying to claw it away. 

The doctor chuckled. “Now, now, you’re still sedated. Your mind probably is going to have a hard time accepting this. Let me help.” He grasped the horse’s gown, and with a flourish, pulled it up, and to the side, revealing the effects of the stallion’s accident to him. 

The stallion’s abs were clenched, his powerful adonis muscles tapering down to broad hips, all of it pointing like a rugged arrow towards... His huge beautiful cock, his massive powerful balls. Only they weren’t there. They were gone, nothing but a terrible dark line of stitches holding reddened, inflamed flesh together. There was a bit of medical tubing, a catheter, peeking jauntily from where a foot and a half of stud meat once branched. It curled coyishly against his inner thigh, like it belonged there. 

“Naturally the tubing can come out in a few days, once you heal proper, so that you can still pee and such. You’ll have to sit down of course, like a mare, but there won’t be any risk of infection.” The tiger did not both to replace the gown, even as the horse’s head shook, eyes transfixed on what was left of his ruined groin.

“Oh, I can see you are distressed. Are you worried about what happened with your balls, your cock?” The tiger licked at his lips, his fuzzy paw stroking along the ex-stud’s belly in a familiar way. “Oh, yes. Such a ... tender.. subject. Don’t you worry about them, by the time the ambulance got you here, they were... poached. Poached to perfection, really.”

 The doctor curled his hands under the big gelding’s hips and side, slowly lifting and rolling him onto his side. “It was a lucky thing, really, that Cheryl bought that bag of hot dog buns for the barbecue tonight. It gave us Such a fun idea.” That robe was pushed up, the horse’s mind reeling at the tiger’s casual discourse. “I think you should be proud, Paul - it took my whole nurse team to gobble all of your hot meat down. That’s something to be proud of. Bet you had no idea when you were going into that shower that your dick was gonna be in four different mouths at once, tonight, huh?” The doctor chuckled with a tone of camaraderie, as if it were all a pleasant joke, joshing between bros at the gym, and not revealing the casual consumption of his entire sexual package. “Well, enough of such tawdry talk. My nurses thank you for the free dinner, but I have more work to do. We have to make sure no deep tissue damage was done, so hold still.”

 Paul let out a gasp as Vorlan pushed two lube slicked fingers right into his tight virgin hole, prying in deep and working them firmly about within. Paul tried to resist, tried to shout at the doctor to stop, but the moment those fingers touched his prostate, he couldn’t help but moan out like a slut himself. With no other outlet for that tension to go, it surged into his ass, the poor jock’s brain searing with sudden intense heat as he felt the twiddling fingers work his tight jocknugget to completion. 

His legs kicked, his overheated body twitching around the tiger’s fingers, and the tiger stroked the horse’s shoulder with his free paw. “There you go... that’s a Very healthy sexual response. It looks like you’re going to be Juuuuust fine. Now relax, a little bit. I’m going to see if I can get the rest of my hand in.”

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

We come back, now, to the tiger and his bound beast, back in that hidden dungeon of lust and torment. The mysterious Mister X’s body shuddered, similarly to the horse’s in the previous story, his back arched, his arms clenched, trying to push up or away or towards or through... that devious thing that the tiger held in his hand. It was a tube, a solid tube of ice, and the beast’s shaft was jutting lewdly up into it. The tiger carefully adjusted, sliding the tube up, down, twisting it one way and then the other, and with each movement - each time that Mister X’s cock touched along one side or another of the inside of that ice-tube, his body clenched and tightened.

“They say that men are like noodles...” the tiger mused, as he brought the tube up and away, and ran the lip of it against the underside of the very tip of the beast’s maleness. “That they’re both straight, until you use some hot water.” 

He grinned deviously, and jammed the tube all the way down, until it just barely reached the beast’s groin, wedging his cock into that frozen fleshlight. “I’m sure Paul is enjoying his new position... as a bareback receiver, in that sleazy little bar in the deep midwest. Take care of YOUR noodles, kiddoes, until next time. I’ll be waiting for you...”