Health Class at the Academy

by Mr. Creamjeans

Devon was running toward the academyís chapel. He was late for class. He would have been only a couple of minutes late if his class had been in its usual location, but when he got to the regular classroom, there were painters inside and a note on the door saying that todayís class had been moved to the only available room, the chapel. And it was all the way across campus. Devon was in trouble.

The class was "health class." It was a half-semester course, taught by one of the physical education teachers, Coach Wagner. So far, it had been a crashing bore. The coach, obviously as bored as the boys, instructed them on things like hygiene and nutrition, things that most adolescent boys had no interest in at all.

Huffing and puffing, Devon entered the anteroom and carefully peeked through the small window in the door to the main part of the chapel. All his classmates were there, and it looked like Mr. Wagner was looking down into a book. Devon hoped he could sneak in unnoticed. He stealthily opened the door and quickly tip-toed to the last unoccupied row of pews.

Mr. Wagner didnít even look up from his book. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Williams."

Devonís heart sank. "Sorry, Mr. Wagner. I didnít know the room was closed."

Wagner sighed. "Iíll let you off this hook this time," he said with a menacing edge in his voice.

"OK, now that weíre all hereÖ, letís get started. Weíre going to cover today the stuff thatís hanging between your legs. The male reproductive organs."

There were murmurs and titters of laughter throughout the class.

"All right, thatís enough," the coach said. "Letís see if we can be grown up about this. Turn to page 86 in your books. Thereís youíll see a diagram of the male sexual organs, the most obvious of which are the penis and the testicles."

"More obvious on some than on others," one student quipped.

After the giggles settled down, Mr. Wagner said, "Yes, youíre right. And thatís one thing weíre going to learn today; that everybody develops at different rates. This is probably something youíve already noticed in the showers. Whatever state of development youíre in, thatís whatís normal for you, and you shouldnít feel like you have to compare yourself with others."

The coach went on to describe the anatomical features in rather clinical detail. Then he sighed again and braced himself for what he knew was coming. "OK, now weíre going to talk about erections. You should all know what those are by now." More giggling from the adolescent boys. "Thatís when your penis gets stiff. You boys might refer to them as boners." More giggling. "Well, thereís no bones down there. Your penis gets hard because some spongy tissue fills with blood."

Adolescent boys need very little excuse to get hard. Devonís cock was already responding to this talk by swelling and throbbing, and he couldnít help notice that several boys in front of him were becoming fidgety in their seats, some reaching into their crotches to adjust themselves. It was then that some motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked across the aisle and saw the class bully, Steve, as he, too, was adjusting his swelling cock. Devon suddenly realized that because of his tardy arrival, he was sitting in the back of the class with the bad boys, instead of at the front where he usually sat. He glanced at Steveís pants and noticed with some satisfaction that Steve had a pretty small cock Ė nowhere near the size of his own. it poked straight out against his fly, something that Devonís could only do in the loosest pants.

Devon and Steve had never gotten along with each other. Steve had always been a bully, but lately heíd been picking on Devon about the frequent erections Devon got and how badly his pants bulged when he got hard. He also teased Devon relentlessly about jacking off in Mr. Hoenerís class. Devon had been looking for something he could use to get back at Steve. Maybe this class would provide it.

"So why do we get erect?" Mr. Wagner continued. "The penis gets erect to make it possible to have sexual intercourse. Now, unfortunately, state law prevents me from discussing this with you, so if you donít know what Iím talking about, I suggest you talk to your father or a trusted male relative to learn the details.

"Now when the penis gets erect, it gets more sensitive to stimulation, and that stimulation can cause intense pleasure. Iím sure most of you have already found this out, too." More giggles. "And the point of that is to cause you to ejaculate your semen."

Devon certainly knew about stimulation and ejaculation. His cock was now painfully hard in his school trousers and his double underwear. As had become his custom, he was wearing a pair of briefs under his boxer shorts. He did this partly to help conceal his frequent boners, but also to soak up the results of his ejaculations in Mr. Hoenerís classes. Normally by this time of the day, he would have already had a couple of orgasms Ė one in bed, and one in Mr. Hoenerís class. But today heíd had neither. He didnít have time this morning before school, and Mr. Hoener was out sick today (and the substitute teacher was an old woman). So at this point, Devonís cock was wondering when it was going to be able to release its load. And Mr. Wagnerís discussion of boners, ejaculation and semen was providing just enough spark to make things really uncomfortable for the boy.

Some motion from across the aisle once again caught Devonís attention. Steve had shoved both hands into his trouser pockets, and Devon could see a very slight rhythmic motion under the stretched fabric. ĎWow,í he thought. ĎSteveís really playing with it!í Of course, that only made Devonís cock harder.

Mr. Wagner was talking about how semen came from the testicles and the prostate, and that it contained spermatazoa, blah, blah, blah. Then suddenly, he stopped talking. There was about 30 seconds of silence. Finally he spoke again, sounding much more like the football coach he was rather than an academic.

"Boys, what Iím about to tell you is not in your textbook. But itís something that every boy on his way to manhood needs to know. Itís about what I call ĎMasculine Self Control.í" With that, the coach wheeled in a portable blackboard, and wrote those words across the top.

"What youíve got are the real menÖ" he said, writing REAL MEN on one side of the board, "Öand Wimps." He wrote WIMPS in the middle.
"The first thing a real man learns to control is his erections," he said, writing CONTROLS ERECTIONS under REAL MEN.

"Wimps," he continued, "walk around with embarrassing boners all the time." Under WIMPS he wrote in large letters, BONERS. Next to that he wrote LUMPY PANTS, AT SCHOOL, IN SHOWERS, and MEETING GIRLS.

"Their pants stick out, they get erections in the showers, and they embarrass themselves when they meet girls with an obvious unwanted boner."

Devon could hardly believe his eyes or ears. He wondered if the entire class was as hard as he was. He figured they probably werenít, but he felt strange that the coach was up there describing him perfectly Ė under the Wimps category.

"When you feel yourself getting an unwanted erection, you have to learn how to make it go away. Think about something thatís completely non-sexual: sports, math, fishing, whatever. Donít let your penis get all the way stiff; it will go down quicker if it got only part-way hard. If it does get all the way hard, and itís comfortable to point it up toward your stomach, you can try to tuck it under the elastic of your undershorts to make it less obvious."

"The next part of Masculine Self Control is controlling masturbation." This was added to the REAL MEN column. "Wimps are always jacking off." Now JACKING OFF was added to the WIMPS column. Next to that, the coach added EVERY DAY, IN CLASS and WHENEVER.

"Masturbation is when you provide pleasure to your penis with your own hand or by rubbing it against something, like maybe your bed. Itís a different thing than the sexual pleasure you can get with a girl. Masturbation is sometimes called Ďself abuse,í and thatís the way you should think about it. Youíre doing something to your body thatís not the best thing for it. Now, real men do masturbate, but only when they have to. Youíll have to learn through experience how long you should go before you have to masturbate. It should only be done as a result of overwhelming need. Now, Wimps masturbate whenever they feel like it. They spill their seed all the time, which saps their masculine energy.

"Now, listen up. I want you boys to know that I tell our football team that they cannot masturbate for at least three days before a game. Youíre sharper when you donít masturbate. But sometimes my boys have their overwhelming needs during these three days. You might see them around school with erections in their pants. But these are not wimps. These are real men, fighting their needs in pursuit of Masculine Self Control. So I donít want to hear about anyone making fun of the bulges in their pants."

Devonís head was spinning. He knew who the football players were, and imagined them walking around the academy with big hard-ons in their pants. He also imagined them masturbating like he did. He blushed hotly as he felt a big blob of clear juice soak into his briefs.

"The Wimps are always doing it. I know some of you boys even masturbate in class. If I ever catch you doing that, youíre going to get paddled, you understand?

"Some of you think youíre getting away with something by playing pocket pool," the coach continued as he added that to the list. Several boys snickered. "Thatís when you stimulate your penis inside your pants through your pockets. Well, thatís masturbation, too, and itís incompatible with Masculine Self-Control."

Devon couldnít help but look over at Steve. The motion under his pants continued unabated.

"Finally, real men control their ejaculation," the coach said, writing on the board. "Wimps shoot off with no control." NO CONTROL went under the WIMPS column. As he wrote PREMATURE EJACULATION next to that, the coach said, "Premature ejaculation is when your semen comes out before you want it to. You might be in a situation with a girl, you didnít control your boner, youíve been masturbating all the time, and before you know it, your semen comes out before youíre ready."

Devon knew all about semen coming out when he didnít want it to. He still remembered that day after Mr. Hoenerís class when he ejaculated into his pants without even touching his throbbing cock. Even though no one else knew about this, Devon was mortified that the coach was describing his problem to the whole class. Still, his cock remained impossibly hard, straining intensely against the three layers of fabric that covered it, and dribbling what seemed like streams of pre-cum juice.

Steve cock was in a similar condition. The differences were that Steve was actively stimulating his cloth-covered boner, he was wearing only loose boxers under his school trousers, and his cock wasnít big enough to be really uncomfortable while trapped in his pants like that.

But what Steve was thinking was a world apart from Devon. The coach was saying exactly what Steve told himself he believed. And this was just what turned him on so powerfully when he saw another boy with an unwanted boner, or when Mr. Hoener or the boys in his Geography class creamed their pants. Even though he was tremendously aroused by these sights, by concentrating his focus on the other guysí embarrassing situation, he was able to get very stimulated himself, usually to the point of creaming his own pants, without any guilt or even any recognition that he was doing it.

ĎYeah, Wimps get boners all the time. And they jack off, too. Mr. Hoenerís a big wimp cuz he canít hold his cum,í Steve was thinking. ĎAnd that Devon kid Ė heís always doing that self-abuse thing.í Steve suddenly remembered that Devon was sitting next to him, so he looked over and stared at Devonís swollen crotch.

ĎLook at that wimp,í he thought. ĎHeís got this big boner. Right in class.í Steveís rhythmic rubbing of his cock through his pocket became even more intense.

Meanwhile, Mr. Wagner was writing one more thing on the board. "And the most embarrassing, most un-masculine loss of controlÖ" He finished his sentence by writing on the board CREAMING THEIR PANTS.

Several boys giggled. Others shifted uncomfortably in the hard pews. Not everyone was also in Mr. Hoenerís "special" class, but enough of them had "had an accident" in their pants that this was a sensitive subject.

"Iíve seen some boys walking around this school with very suspicious-looking stains on the front of their pants. I want you all to know Ė and tell your friends -- Iíve alerted all the faculty to be on the lookout for masturbatory activity in their classrooms. So if youíre masturbating and spilling your seed in your pants in class, you better be ready to accept the consequences if youíre caught."

Devon didnít even hear the warning. He was transfixed by the message on the blackboard. Yes, it described him, but the coach wouldnít be talking about it if it didnít describe others as well. He read down the list: BONERS, LUMPY PANTS, AT SCHOOL, IN THE SHOWERS, MEETING GIRLS; JACKING OFF, EVERY DAY, IN CLASS, WHENEVER, POCKET POOL; NO CONTROL, PREMATURE EJACULATION, CREAMING IN THEIR PANTS. He read it over and over again. His cock began jumping uncontrollably. He needed to do something about this quickly or it would be all over soon. He raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Williams," the coach said.

"Mr. Wagner," Devon began, his voice cracking and trembling with tension. "What about wet dreams?"

"Good question, Mr. Williams," Mr. Wagner replied. "What about wet dreams? Well, you remember I talked about overwhelming needs? Sometimes your body will take care of your needs all by itself while you sleep. This is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, itís something to be thankful for. If you have a wet dream, you wonít need to indulge in self-abuse to take care of an overwhelming need. Did that answer your question?"

"Um, kinda," Devon said. "But canít you have, like, a wet dream when youíre, like, awake?"

"Thatís ridiculous!" the coach thundered. "If you spill your seed while youíre awake, you must be doing something to stimulate your erect penis. Otherwise it canít happen."

Well, Devon knew better, but decided to keep his mouth shut. But then he heard Steve next to him snickering.

"What a wimp," Steve whispered. "Creaming his pants all the time. No self-control." Of course, all the while, Steve was frantically masturbating through his pockets. The fingertips of each hand were in contact with the sides of his cock shaft. His cock had actually worked its way out of the fly of his boxers and was separated from his fingers by just the thin fabric of his pockets. In addition, the head of his cock was now sliding against the soft material of his schoolboy trousers. He wasnít really concentrating on it, but his cock was about to stain the front of his pants big time.

"Now, boys with an overwhelming need might experience the loss of some lubricating fluid. This is a clear, slippery substance thatís properly called pre-ejaculatory fluid. This can come out whether youíre masturbating or not. It can even come out in your pants. Since you have no control over this, itís nothing to be concerned about except that itís warning you that youíre about to spill your seed."

Both Devon and Steve were about to spill their seed. Wetness had soaked through both pairs of Devonís underwear and had stained his pants at the tip of his massive bulge. Similarly, the tip of Steveís little tent was glistening with a blob of clear pre-cum.

"But when youíre about to spill your seed, and you donít want to give in to that urge, what do you do?" the coach asked rhetorically. "You must shift your concentration away from your penis. Just like when youíre trying to control your boner, thinking about something else can help. Then you must contract the muscles that hold back your semen. Be careful how you do this, though. Those same muscles can also cause some of your semen to escape.

"The periodís about over boys. I know this has been a difficult subject for some of you, but I just want to review. Masculine Self Control. Control your boners, donít allow your penis to get hard when you walk around school or take showers with the other boys. Control your masturbation. Donít practice self abuse unless you have an overwhelming need. Donít masturbate in class. And most importantly, learn how to hold your semen. Only Wimps let their semen out too soon. Only Wimps ejaculate inside their pants."

Devon once again looked over at Steve. He could tell Steve was muttering something to himself, but couldnít make out any of the words. The activity in Steveís pants was unmistakable, and the pre-cum at the tip of his bulge had actually begun to drip down one side of the tent. Suddenly, Steve closed his eyes for just a moment. Devon wondered if he was trying to hold back his semen the way Mr. Wagner had just instructed. But the next moment, a blob of pearly white juice oozed through his school trousers. Steve made himself cream in his pants!

Steve was overwhelmed with the coachís warped affirmation of his own warped views. What he had been muttering were things like, ĎWimps get boners all the time. Wimps jack themselves off and canít hold their cum. Wimps cream in their pants.í The name calling, the embarrassment of lack of control, the humiliation of cumming prematurely all excited Steve beyond belief. And now, more cum than he had ever produced before was being ejected directly into the front of his pants. While some of it ran down the shaft, wetting his fingertips through the cotton fabric of his pockets, most of it was bubbling and gushing out right through the material of his pants right where the tip of his cock was pressed into the cloth.

But just as before, Steve wouldnít let himself be aware of his own seminal emission. On some level he had to know this was one of the most intensely pleasurable ejaculations heíd ever had in class, but he kept his focus on the erotic messages on the blackboard and the coachís lecture. He thought about how Mr. Hoener and his classmates all creamed in their pants, what wimps they were, and how they had no self control. Every image brought forth another large gush of his semen.

Devon was amazed at the mess Steve was making of the front of his pants. White goo was running all down the front. Mr. Hoener had been right Ė Steve did masturbate Ė and Devon had been able to watch it happen, start to finish. Devonís cock throbbed and throbbed as he watched the class bully ejaculate into his pants like the wimps coach Wagner described. But Devon desperately wanted to be good, to hold his semen the way he had just been instructed. He clenched the holding muscle hard, even though he knew it would ultimately be useless. Still staring at the front of Steveís pants, a grimace of pain crossed Devonís face as he desperately tried to hold on.

Mr. Wagner saw this from the front of the chapel. He knew what was going on. Heíd given this lecture many times before, and invariably, one or more of the boys would ejaculate during the lesson. Such boys became part of the lesson.

"Mr. Francelli! Come up here right now!" he demanded of Steve. The sudden look of sheer panic on Steveís face almost brought a smile to the coachís face, but he kept that in check. "At once, do you hear me?"

Steve kept his hand in his pockets, thinking that he was going to hide his still-stiff and ejaculating cock. But that only made it completely apparent what he had been doing in the back pew of the school chapel. As he made his way to the front, with sperm still flowing from his out of control boner, all eyes were on the completely messy crotch of his pants. Laughter broke out as the white goo began running down his fly and dripping on the floor. Still unaware of the extent of his cum problem, Steve figured they were laughing because his boner was showing, so he balled his fists in his pocket in a vain attempt to hide it.

When he arrived at the front, the coach grabbed Steve by the shoulders and spun him around so he was facing all his classmates.

"This is what Iím talking about, gentleman," he shouted over the laughter and hollering. "This is what you get when you have no Masculine Self Control!"

Finally, Steve couldnít help but look down at the front of his pants. He was completely mortified to see the slimy mess heíd made. He looked at the coach, then at his classmates, then back at his pants, as if to confirm that this wasnít a bad dream.

"I told you boys I would not have anyone masturbating in class," the coach announced. He walked over to his large briefcase and pulled out what looked like an oversized ping-pong paddle. Steve was in for some swats! The paddle wasnít really designed for pain, it was more about the humiliation.

"Are you ready for your punishment, wimp?" the coach asked. Steve just looked down at the ground. "Iíll take that as a yes." Coach Wagner lifted the paddle up behind Steve. It came down sharply onto Steveís backside with a loud "whap!"

Steve winced as the coach announced, "Thatís for not controlling your boner." Whap! "Thatís for masturbating in class!" Whap! "Thatís for spilling your seed!" Whap! "And thatís an extra one of doing it in your pants! You may sit down now, Mr. Francelli."

Devon was on the verge of cumming when Mr. Wagner called Steve to the front of the room. But it wasnít until Steve was forced to face the room, with his pants bulging obscenely, stained and drenched and dripping cum, with the entire class laughing at him, that Devon felt the first squirt of semen escape into his tight and already pre-cum soaked briefs.

ĎOh jeez, hold it!í Devon thought when that first thin stream of cum shot from his cock. He clamped down on his holding-back muscles. This actually worked for a little while, but when Devon saw the utter humiliation Steve was undergoing as he was so publicly paddled for losing control, the dam burst. With each swat Steve received, Devonís cock ejected a huge spurt of semen into his shorts. One, two, three! And the fourth, where Steve was derided for creaming his pants, was even more intense, causing a sloshing noise in Devonís soaked crotch. More cum gushed into his briefs, boxers and pants as he watched Steve, nearly in tears, make his way to the back pew. Devon was convulsing, sweating and breathing heavily, but he managed to join in the general laughter as Steve concluded his walk of shame. His release and Steveís embarrassment left Devon giddy. The laughter was as much about Steveís disgrace as Devonís completely satisfying orgasm.

"Now Iím not kidding here, boys. I will not tolerate masturbating in class," Mr. Wagner said. "Masturbation, when you absolutely must do it, should be done in the privacy of your own bed, or when youíre showering alone. OK, class is over. See you tomorrow in our regular classroom."

Most of the boys jumped up and started making their way out of the chapel. Some sat there, uneasily arranging books, hoping their boners would go down quickly. Devon wasnít about to stand up right away Ė even though there wasnít any white slime soaking through his pants, they were every bit as wet as Steveís, and that was through two layers of underwear!

The first boys who filed out were the ones that seemed to have the most "Masculine Self Control." Their pants were prefectly presentable, and as they filed by, they hurled insults at Steve: "Way to go, wimp." "Canít control your dick, Steve?" "What a fag!"

Devon looked over at Steve. He was sitting in stunned silence, gaze fixed on the back of the pew in front of him, looking for all the world like a person in deep shock.

After the first group of boys filed past, the second group (the book arrangers) began walking by. Devon couldnít help glancing at their crotches. Sure enough, they were all sporting large bulges. A boy named Danny was bringing up the rear. Devon was excited to see that Danny not only had a big bulge, but a wet spot about the size of a can of tuna fish at the end! Danny creamed his pants, too!

As Danny walked by, Devon stood and quickly covered his crotch with his books, ready to make his escape.

"Not so fast, Mr. Williams," the coach called out. "Come up here."

Devon heart raced. He knew he was in trouble now. He walked up to the front of the chapel as Steve made his hasty exit. He stood in front of the stern looking football coach.

"Put the books down, boy," he said.

Reluctantly, Devon did as he was told. He revealed a huge, shiny wet patch where his semen had soaked through. He couldnít look the coach in the eye.

"I thought so," Mr. Wagner said. "Youíre another one with no Masculine Self Control. You think you can get away with masturbating in my class like that?"

"No sir," Devon said quietly, still looking at the floor. "I didnít masturbate."

"Donít bullshit me, boy! That ainít piss in your pants." And with that, the coach reached out and grasped Devonís cock and balls through his pants. Startled, Devon jumped back.

"You stay put, Mr. Williams," the coach shouted. Devon stood still as the coach resumed feeling the front of his pants. "Jesus, boy! You mustíve shot a gallon in those pants. You still going to tell me you didnít masturbate?"

"Yes sir," Devon said.

"So howíd you get all that semen in your pants?"

"It just came out by itself. I never touched it," Devon insisted. "Itís happened to me before, that why I asked about it."

"I canít believe that, young man," the coach said. "If thereís even a chance that you could ejaculate like that, that would be the most pitiful lack of self-control Iíve ever heard of. No, you need to be taught a lesson about masturbating in class. Now whereíd I put that paddle?"

The pit of Devonís stomach fell through the floor when he heard that. Heíd never been paddled before, mainly because heíd always been a good kid. He stood motionless, staring at his feet as he awaited the coachís discipline. The only saving grace was that he wouldnít be humiliated in front of all his classmates like Steve was.

Coach Wagner picked up the paddle and sat down in a chair without arms. "Come here, boy." he commanded. Devon walked to where he was sitting. "Now lay across my lap. Youíre going to get a proper paddling."

Devon was horrified, but he did as the coach instructed.

"Now are you going to admit to masturbating in class?" Mr. Wagner asked.

"No sir." Whap!

"Are you going to admit to ejaculating in your pants?"

"Yes sir." Whap!

Devon was surprised that the swats didnít hurt more than they did. Sure, it stung a little, but the pain was tolerable. The other thing that surprised the boy was something rigid poking into his left hip. At first he thought it might be something in the coachís pocket, but it was in the wrong place for that. It was too large and stiff to be just a seam or the fly of his pants. It was during the second swat that Devon suddenly realized what it was. The rigid lump jumped! It was the coachís hard-on!

"Are you going to admit to having no masculine self control?"

"Y-yes sir." Whap! {Throb)

The realization was exciting to Devon. He squirmed against the coachís lap to see if he could get a better feel for what was going on down there.

What none of the boys knew was that during the entire class, the schoolís icon of masculinity, the football coach, had been sporting wood. It was held tightly in the jock strap he wore under his pants that day. Each time he gave this lecture, it was one of the erotic highlights of his year. He loved making the "wimps" squirm with detailed discussion of boners, masturbation, and ejaculation. And invariably, he got to administer a paddling to one of the boys who had lost control during class.

Now it was the coachís turn to satisfy his overwhelming need. He had been saving his cum for weeks in anticipation of this day, so it wasnít going to take very long before he could release his pent-up load. Adding to his excitement was the fact that Devonís massive load was beginning to soak through his own trousers; he could feel the dampness against his thigh, and smell the scent of boy-cum filling the air.

"Are you one of those boys who masturbates in other classes?"

Devon knew he should deny this, but he was never good at lying, plus he wanted to feel the coachís reaction against his hip. He said, "Yes, Coach Wagner. I do masturbate in class. (Whap!) My boner just wonít go away unless I do. (Whap!) I just canít control it. . (Whap!)"

Devon felt the coachís hard cock throb mightily when he made that confession. Without a word, the paddle came down again, and again. Each time, the coachís erection jumped wildly. Devon could hear the coachís breathing become ragged. The paddling stopped, but the insistent throbbing against his hip increased. Devon mischievously wiggled against the coach, knowing he was helping to make the coachís clothed orgasm more intense.

Yes, the coach was spilling his seed right into his jock strap. When Devon admitted his classroom masturbation, and even added that he couldnít control it, that pushed him right over the edge. Here he had a cute adolescent boy taking a paddling, wriggling in his lap, spreading his boy juice over his pant legs, and rubbing against his trapped cock. It was a fantasy come true for coach Wagner.

Devon looked up over his shoulder at the heavily breathing man and smiled. The coach smiled back. Still trying to catch his breath, Mr. Wagner said, "Youíve taken your punishment like a man, Mr. Williams. Let me write you a pass so you can go back and change your pants."

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