(Story) Rower boy loses control of his tiny cock to dominant cox and butch coach (F/m)

"Right, you, we're going to see Coach." I might have been stronger than Coxie by a mile, but I knew better than to resist her insistent grasp on my bicep. That would be futile. She'd take it out of me in sweat, extra training, belittling verbal affirmations. I got up and crab-shuffled after her, trying to hide my shame from the rest of the crew. Their complete lack of mockery didn't bode well. Coach looked me up and down with her flamethrower eyes. "For god's sake, stand up straight," said Coxie. "Have a little respect." I gave up and assumed the position, back straight, hands lightly clasped behind my back. I kept my eyes on the floor, though. "Hmm," said Coach. The most innocent of sounds. "And that makes three, doesn't it, Coxie?" "Coach," she affirmed. "Both times before were in training, though, so I thought..." "Yes, yes," Coach cut her off. "What I would have done. But now, in a race." If I could have shrunk to the size of a pea and rolled out of there. If I could have sublimed directly into smoke and breezed through the vents. Anything to escape their combined attention to the square inch of stain at my crotch. "Sorry, Coach," I muttered. "Sorry, Coxie." "Good lad," said Coach, dismissively. "Now, what're we going to with him?" Like I wasn't there. "I just don't get it," said Coxie. "At that size it should barely even touch the sides!" Coach blinked slowly, twice. "Well, let's take a closer look, shall we? Figure something out." Coxie was in front of me, looking up, sterner than I'd ever seen her. Like an angry chipmunk. I still shrank from her. "Well, you heard. Come on then!" I took off my lycra one-piece. Nothing they hadn't seen before, naturally. My well-below-average dick hung soft. Hard, I was barely three inches. Soft, you could be forgiven for thinking I had three balls. I was hard a lot of the time though. The slightest friction would dominate my attention. It was worse in lycra. It was hell on the rowing machine, or in the boat, the rhythm driving me closer with every stroke, so tantalisingly slow compared to the finger and thumb I usually employed, like being teased until I was a mass of screaming nerves from my nipples to my knees... "Ooo-er," said Coach. "I see." "Oh, you really are such a twat," huffed Coxie. I looked down to find my cock stiff and twitching, a glistening pearl already at its tip. "Now, now," said Coach. "The lad can't help it. Imagine having all those nerve endings packed into such a tiny little thing. Her eyes roved over me. "Nipples too?" she asked me. My hard little nips ached for attention. "Yes, Coach," I whispered. "Sorry, Coach." "Hmm." I stood there and my erection gradually retreated while they had a hurried conference over by the window. Coach opened up the locked cupboard in her office. "Let's see now," she said, pulling out small plastic-wrapped packages. "What do you think?" "Smaller," Coxie replied, each time. Then Coxie came over to stand by me with their selections. "Right. New kit for you," she said. "Against my better judgement, since you have so thoroughly disgraced yours..." "Coxie," warned Coach, pointing. My little cock was standing again, Coxie's abrasive words having much the same effect as a firm but slippery fabric. "Oh, grief," Coxie said. "Fine, this first." She unwrapped one item. "Arms." I obediently put my arms out in front of me as she shimmied the garment down over my head and across my shoulders. She smoothed down the tight sports bra over my chest. It held my nips flat and made it slightly harder to breathe. She flicked her fingers at my pecs. "Feel that?" she asked. "Better?" "Um," I replied. My nipples didn't seem quite so vulnerable. But the tightness was exciting in a different way. I nodded my assent in any case. Disagreement was not in my nature. Then came a pair of... speedos? "Briefs, we call 'em," said Coach. "Team issue." Rower girls wore them under their lycra suits, for whatever reason girls do things. My cock had retreated again somewhat but it still hurt when Coxie shoved it back between my thighs, then pulled the briefs up the rest of the way. Too fast for me to register. Or spunk. "You can do this one yourself," said Coxie, handing me an un-spunked lycra suit. I pulled it on and only had a little trouble with the racer back. It was different. Less roomy in the crotch. Shorter in the torso. "How's that?" asked Coach. "Bit more comfy?" "Uh..." I said. Coxie's nimble fingers ran over my chest, sliding down between legs. My cock struggled for freedom, but it was tucked back and held firm under two layers of lycra that hadn't been designed to accommodate such a thing, even one as small as mine. "Unnh," I said. It wasn't painful exactly. "Think you can row like that?" asked Coach. "Without creaming yourself? Again?" My voice was the voice of the smallest pea in the pod. The wispiest of wisps of smoke. "Yes Coach, sorry Coach." Coach looked at me long and hard. "Try him on the erg," she said. Coxie gripped me by the bicep again and installed me on the rowing machine. The rest of the crew had showered and gone. Coach followed us, eyes roving. Coxie gave me the pace, slow and steady like when it usually happened. This time, though. The lycra was tight around me. It gave, it stretched, but it didn't rub. My cock still ached, but it had nowhere to go. My nipples were desperate for the slightest friction, but the layers of lycra didn't slip and slide like my old suit had. I pulled harder at the handle, my thighs pumping the seat back and forth. Eventually, as my muscles demanded more and more, the ache withdrew. I felt streamlined. Energised. Finally, I was giving one hundred percent, nothing held back by my pleasure centers. Coach moved around so she could watch me from all angles, but she settled on standing by Coxie in front of me. She crouched lower, her thighs straining her team trackies. Once our eyes had locked I couldn't look away. She willed me to go faster, harder. I obeyed as best I could. She took over from Coxie, and started calling the stroke in more detail than I really needed. "Catch... return... release... catch... now give me ten hard ones... one ... nice ... two ... good ... three ... straight back ... four ... from the legs ... five ... yes ... six ... very good ... seven ... good boy ... eight ... nearly there ... nine ... almost ... ten! Come home for me!" I whimpered. I bucked. Something happened that I couldn't explain. I was sure I was soft, completely soft, but somehow. Something still throbbed inside me when I heard those last words. Heat squirted between my legs. I whimpered and lost the rhythm. Coach straightened up. Her eyebrows quirked with surprise. Her lips smirked. "Comes like a girl," she said. "Hmm." Coxie looked thunderously at me as Coach led me back to her office by the bicep. Coach looked over at her dismissively. "Oh don't be like that, Coxie," she said. "I'll still have time for you." Rocking on Coach's thick thigh, I imagined Coxie's murderous gaze. Her chipmunk scowl, mouth wide in ecstasy as Coach's thick fingers probed her. That, and the slippage between Coach's nylon trackies and my girlie lycra had me squirting again. And again. And again. Until Coach had milked me dry, and beyond, to painful conclusions I was powerless to deny. I wear a lot more pink these days, now I row on the girl's team.

Great! Looking forward for the next story!