The adventures of a bunch of cocky lads aged 18-22 at an offenders institute on charity day. All similarities with any real life situation unintended. Feedback and ideas for future instalments welcome to author spunkymonkey at zadara1@hotmail.co.uk
Enjoy!
OFFENDER RELIEF DAY PART 1
Michael Upton had been pleased with the way the fun night at Jack's night club had gone. He had every reason to be. Not only had the club generated a healthy revenue, each member having contributed a hefty sum for the pleasure of seeing the six little thugs thoroughly humiliated, degraded and put through their paces, but it had given him ideas for more. More ideas for making the lives of these arrogant little fucks a bit more unbearable during the time they were detained. Zach, Ricky, Shane, Luke, Chris and Andy, who had now returned to finish their sentence at the Loch Awe Young Offenders Detention Institution, LAYODI as it was known, had sure enough learned their lesson at the gay club, but there were plenty more unruly and insolent lads out there who needed seeing to, and needed taking down a peg or two. They deserved to pay for their behaviour, and Michael was determined to ensure that they did.
Michael was a judge at the local court. He had been the one who suggested that part of the lads' sentence for attacking Jack's gay nightclub should be to provide entertainment for the club members. He also had friends in other high places. One of these was the governor at the offenders' institute, Dave Richards. The two of them got together to plan a day of fun and frolics involving more of the pretty young criminals in their charge. Offences ranged from petty theft to sexually assaulting young women, but one thing they all had in common was a need to be taken down a peg or two. Michael and Dave decided upon an ingenious day at the institute, which had a number of halls, a gym, a large recreation area, showers, a whole variety of possibilities and settings for all manner of depraved happenings. They set the day for the middle of June. It would be warm and hopefully dry, even in deepest Scotland. By then it would be light 20 hours a day. A perfect setting for some fun with the detainees. Even better, the goings-on would be in the name of charity. The fittest, dumbest, most recalcitrant, cockiest lads would be selected to take part in the festivities, and a specially invited audience would pay to see them put through their paces.
Months of organisation took place until Michael and Dave were satisfied that everything was ready. Elaborate machinery and equipment was brought in thanks to generous sponsorship from those likely to benefit, and those who were keen to support the gay charities nominated to gain from the day's events. All the guys from Jack's club were invited. Word got around, friends of friends, it was going to be an extravaganza. No-one knew quite what to expect. Stalls, sideshows, events, games were all set up to give the rough boys something to think about and the gay boys something to drool over.
The institute gates were under guard by four, straight, but complicit, guards, who, sick of the disobedience they had to cope with day after day, loved the idea of these cocky little shits getting their comeuppance from their gay friends. The first guests drove through the impressive iron gates, as they were opened at 12 noon. A queue of traffic had backed up down the road, a rare sight in this isolated part of the shore of Loch Awe, an hour's drive northwest of Glasgow and easily remote enough to ensure that there were no intruders or uninvited guests. The guards took the entrance fee of £100 per person from those invited to be spectators and enjoy the fun. The first cars entered the compound and, to their surprise, were immediately greeted by the first delight of the day. Nineteen year old surferboy type Tim was on hand to wash each car windscreen for a further donation of £10. Of course, a strawberry blond with cute baby shell-like ears, a delicious snub nose, his hair gelled up at the front, Tim, of course, was wearing an obscenely provocative costume, and kitted out especially for the event. Lightly muscled, smooth, and athletic, he wore grey Nike trainers with a black trim, white running socks, and just a sheer white jockstrap with thin ass-straps but a two inch band at his waist. The poor jock had been deprived of wearing any shorts at all for the fun and amusement of the guests. Over his chest he wore a pale lilac gym vest which barely came down to his navel, round his neck a chunky metal link chain . His nips jutted out provocatively and his chest, tapering gently to his 28 inch waist, was a joy to behold. As instructed, the boy keenly bounced up to the first few cars, whose occupants could hardly believe their eyes. The boy's jockstrap bounced obscenely, as his shapely hips jogged up to their car, his jewels clearly delineated in his brief pouch, as he offered his on the spot valet services. There were no shortage of takers for his work, as he keenly collected the money, sponged down the windscreens, and stretched sexily across the cars, the drivers and passengers ogling his lithe, young body hungrily, devouring the sight of his taut thighs and juicy butt as the whole lot jiggled and flexed before them like firm jelly on a plate. He smiled as he carried out his duties. Naturally, of course, he accidentally spilt large quantities of the soapy water all down himself and down his outfit, which started to make his jockstrap translucent. His little vest clung suggestively to his body. By the fifth car he was dripping wet, much to the amusement of the paying customers, who commented lewdly on what they could see.
"Looks like you've been a careless boy today. Got your nice new outfit all dirty and messy? Naughty lad!",
Tim had been told he must please all the guests and offer them what they wanted.
"Yes sir, I must try not to get wet and I promise I am trying to behave myself," retorted the dumb, scared little jockie. None of the customers bothered or cared to ask why the juvenile was doing time in the institute, but it didn't much matter to them. They were far too busy taking in the scenery.
The next car to enter, about number ten, laughed at the boy as he desperately offered his valeting service.
"I don't think you really need that vest on, do you^Å er^Å", remarked the the driver
"Tim, sir. I'm called Tim."
"More like "Asswipe", that would be rather more appropriate, sniggered the passenger, as Tim pretended in vain not to notice.
"Well, Timmy, I don't think you really need that stupid vest on, do you lad? It's getting pretty hot today, you're soaked through, and we can't see your pretty little chest. Why don't you take it off so that we can all get a better view?"
"Er, I suppose so. But I mustn't lose any clothes, I have to pay for them if I do."
"We'll look after them, give them to us," joked the passenger, a fifty year old guy in a dinner jacket, dressed up for the ball to come.
"Right, sir." Tim slid his vest up over his muscled shoulders and arms, revealing his bare, smooth, upper chest, and handed it to the driver,
"You won't be seeing this again," joked the driver, as he ripped up the vest before the boy's terrified eyes, and, through the car window, squeezed Tim's busting, sopping jockstrap packet for extra amusement as the boy flinched.
"Hope you don't get too badly punished later for losing your top, you careless wanker", mocked the driver, as he leaned out the car window and slapped the hapless lad soundly across his pert little butt. Tim threw his sponge furiously back into his bucket as the car drove off, leaving him in just his jockstrap, Nike hi-tops and socks. The humiliation had already started. The cars were ushered into the parking area by two hunks in soccer strips. Pete and Gary, a pair of horny looking 20 year olds,
wore the institute strip, black football boots, yellow socks with black trim, pale yellow nylon Umbro shorts with a white drawstring and a yellow shirt with blue collar and cuff edging. Gary had a crew cut, slightly longer on top and with a small earring in his right ear. The shorts, specially ordered by the governor, were skimpy and came down only barely a third of the way down the boys' thighs. Pete looked almost like Gary's twin, except at 5' 7" was a little bit shorter and slightly stockier. But he had the footie player's legs that so turned on the expectant perverts who were coming along to have a good look at their humiliation. The guys in the cars whistled and cheered at these sexy car park attendants, who leaned into the car windows to direct them. More than one of the drivers stuck their hands out of the windows to grab a handful of leg and shorts, whooping with delight when they managed to yank the shorts down far enough to see the sexy black briefs, wedged halfway up their delicious asscracks, that both boys sported under their shorts. The outline of the underwear itself was enough to create quite a stir in the pants of the guys queuing up to enter the parking lot, as the sexy lads bent over to give directions through the car windows. All the paying customers hoped they'd be seeing a lot more of these two thoroughly straight, sporting toughies as the day wore on. They wouldn't be disappointed, naturally. The lads even smirked at the thought that these sad queens would pay to come and see them. But then they didn't know quite what was in store, for them or anyone else. By 1.30 in the afternoon, the guests had all arrived. Around sixty cars and a hundred guys to join in the festivities. From the valeting and window cleaning alone, not to mention the tips stuffed down the soccer playing car park attendant's knickers, over ten thousand pounds had already been raised for the charity funds.
The guests made their way through the car park to the main entrance to the institute, where food, cocktails and wine were laid out and served by more cute 18 year olds in tight outfits. The boys were made to dress in provocative but humiliating elf outfits, with just a brief green tunic, a dumb pointed hat, tight green speedoes and velvet elf boots. They looked ridiculous and they knew it. As the invitees went through the foyer into the first of several playing fields, the sight of four 20 year old lads wearing nothing but thin, tight, white briefs, red soccer socks and hi-top sneakers awaited them. Each, however, sported a white dunce cap with the huge letter "D" in the centre. A 60 year old maths teacher presided over a huge bowl of eggs placed on a table some distance away from the lads. As they went in, the teacher explained that the boys, despite their age, had still not passed their elementary maths exams, and had consistently finished bottom of the class.
"Too much time in the gym, playing soccer and discussing girls", explained George, the maths tutor. "They need to be taught a quick lesson. Help yourselves."
Their punishment would be to have rotten eggs ^Ö and whatever else came to hand, for that matter ^Ö pelted at them, until they remembered it wouldn't be a good idea to not pay attention in class in future, and got the idea instilled into them that they needed to pass these exams if they were to stand any chance of success in the outside world. The little punks had no choice but to stand there like dumb fucks as the guests lobbed eggs at the shining, smooth chests of these athletic brats. Quickly they became coated in the stinking egg gunk. The shiny liquid slid down the front of their briefs and the boys' cocks started to stir from the feeling of the warm, slimy liquid coating their balls.
"Turn round guys, lets get a go as those pretty little asses. Wiggle `em and make it harder for the gentlemen to score a direct hit, that's good lads."
The horny little assholes shook their babybutts at the guests, who shrieked and laughed as they threw yet more ammunition at the moving, shaking targets. Soon the pants became loaded with gunk as it slid down the boys' smooth, tapering backs and started to weigh down the underwear until it hung halfway down their butts. On and on the boys were made to pose and revolve until the weight of the gloop began to pull their briefs off altogether. The guests competed to catch the twenty year olds in the balls, to dislodge their caps and break eggs all over their pretty roughboy faces. It was turning out to be quite a day. And it had barely started.
The first of the guests emerged from the foyer detention centre out into the bright afternoon light. The summer sun shimmered through the dark green of the forest pines, the still water of the loch glittering beyond. The guys were salivating at the thought of the fun and games before them as, one after the other, they passed the dumb jocks in red socks and dunce caps and pelted a few eggs at them for a good laugh, and to add just a bit more to their level of punishment.
Outside on the first games field, elaborate plans had been made for the first outside performance of the day. The governor was holding forth on the microphone.
"Welcome, welcome to this beautiful afternoon of Highland Games. Of course, you all know that my boys have been waiting and anticipating for weeks now to bring you the best in visual entertainment for the benefit of our favourite good causes."
The four boys lined up at the starting blocks didn't look quite so sure, but had been warned of the consequences if they didn't go along with the fun.
"So first," continued the governor, a man in his middle fifties, who was, to put it mildly, clearly getting his rocks off over this entertainment, introducing the lads who were going to give the paying guests their first thrill, "welcome to our little assault course. As you well know, only the prettiest, fittest, meanest lads have been selected to give you your money's worth today. The ugly bastards around here have been given weekend midsummer release to their families, but our hunkiest boys have been retained for our delectation and general delight. Before you, you see what can only be described as an assault course with very special twists," the governor went on.
Four boys lined up and waited for a starting pistol to get them moving, as the audience gathered at a respectful distance to follow the proceedings as closely as they could. About 60 guys had arrived to watch what the governor introduced as the go-go challenge. The boys were dressed as go-go dancers and the game was as follows. They were to jump, in their revealing costumes, into a shallow foot deep tank of slimy foam, then dance provocatively up a sloping ramp, go-go style, as the audience cheered them on. They would then jump off the ramp, raised at its furthest end about ten feet in the air, into a foot deep bubble bath. The assault course continued onwards onto another posing go-go catwalk, on which the guys would be forced to pretend they were dancing and enjoying themselves, before they swung over a rope ladder, hopefully revealing much of their splendidly taut anatomies en route, over a six inch beam stretched across a six foot deep trench of cold muddy water, down another go-go walk, and onto a surprise ending that even they didn't know about.
"The loser will give us a special performance at the end of the test," enthused the governor. Otherwise it's just cold porridge every meal for him for four weeks. The audience laughed heartily at this latest suggestion of humiliation, while the boys danced uneasily from foot to foot at the thought of coming last and being made to perform or face the porridge forfeit. They had no idea what the performance might entail.
"So let me introduce you to our happy contestants in their go-go outfits, especially supplied by Chapps nightclub in Manchester. First we have Ed, who's 20 and from Galashiels. Take a bow Ed."
Ed looked a sheer delight in his costume. A complete fantasy hunk, he wore a green camouflage combat baseball cap, matching with the briefest pair of combat trunks imaginable. They finished in a white stretch band just at the top of his smooth, muscled swimmer's thighs. He had a chiselled face, aquiline nose, thin lips, short dark hair and dark eyebrows, not unlike a young Midge Ure. To top off his outfit, he wore a black leather strip around his right bicep, leather stud cuffs around each wrist, and, piece de resistance, a thick metal chain around his neck, from which a two inch padlock was suspended between his luscious bare chest, level with his nips. Like all the boys, he wore regulation black army boots and white slave socks protruding just an inch above the laces. The audience cheered and Ed took a bow.
"Our second contestant is young Jake. from Aberdeen. Jake is 19 years old and he' s a real muscleboy, aren't you Jakey?"
Jake smiled nervously, his piercing brown eyes inherited from his Scottish ^Ö Italian immigrant father. He was a preppie muscled type, almost embarrassed about how good he looked. He had perfect gelled hair, perfect little ears and a cute smile. He was edible. His pumped up arms bore a scrumptious little cartoon weightlifter tattoo in the middle of his upper right arm. He wore a grey cut off T-shirt which came down to just above his fabulous sixpack. His shorts, hanging just below his waist, were slit at either side and gave tantalising glimpses of his smooth muscled buttocks, themselves encased in a pair of thin white briefs.
"Our third boy is young blond Ric, who is just 18 and from Carlisle. An English boy, should you want to select a scapegoat to jeer at."
Ric was only 5'6" tall, completely smooth, and his go-go outfit consisted of just a pair of turquoise speedoes, which barely concealed a quite gigantic cock, clearly visible to the audience, who giggled and pointed the monster out to each other.
"Give the guys a show," ordered the governor. Little Ric bounced around and flicked his tight little ass at the guys, which summoned a roar of approval. This was a complete sexpot, anyone could see that. He thrust his crotch suggestively at the crowd and pulled Elvis lips at them, which drove them wild. The thin silver chain around his neck bounced in the sunlight. This was a show-off, if ever they had seen one.
"Lastly, but me no means, as they say, leastly, take a bow please Sean, who's 21, and from Glasgow."
Sean did his thing in his outfit. Perfect abs, 5'8", a compact little parcel of fun, Sean wore a white navy style cap, a camp white metal chain around his neck and wrists, and paraded in just a pair of Tommy Hilfiger Y front briefs, the trade name and cock pouch clear for all to drool over.
"OK lads, you're all natural born athletes, let's see you do your stuff. Remember you have to go-go dance up to the first ramp to the hurdle, we have some special music for you, and then on to the end. Last one to end is a sissy!" "On your marks, get set, go!"
The crowd gathered close as the young men gyrated and posed, pulling suggestively at their crotches and swirling round. They were told that any tips stuffed into their underwear by the paying punters could be kept as pocket money. Which meant buying chocolates, cigarettes, the occasional wank mag. And they desperately needed more than just the occasional wank mag so they were dead keen to make a bit of extra money. What they didn't know was that the visitors had been instructed not to give the arrogant little miscreants any cash under any circumstances. A bit like not feeding monkeys in the zoo. No, they were told that any tips should be handed to stewards, who were to ensure that the money went to good charitable causes, not to fund these cocky thugs' stomachs and jerkoff magazine fantasies. But there was no reason for the boys to know they weren't going to get any tips. They were just told if they weren't earning anything then they weren't trying hard enough.
The boys shook their buts as they went through the first dip of slimy white foam onto the catwalk and started to try to bop and gyrate to Kylie's "Can't Get You Out Of My Head". What they hadn't reckoned on, of course, being stupid little jocks, was that even in their army slave boots the slippy foam would make it hard to keep a grip on the ramp up to the first ten foot jump. They tried to pose about and show off to earn a bit of money, but the audience just pointed and shrieked in gales of laughter at the babes as they tried to keep their grip. First Ed in his combat shorts and baseball cap tumbled and was back down ass first in the foam. It looked hilarious as he stumbled out and tried to get his footing back. Of course, the oily foam he brought with him slicked up the track some more, rendered his trunks half see-through, and he found it hard to keep his balance as his cocky chain and padlock weighed heavily round his neck.
"Come on, you can do it," mocked the governor, slapping him over the butt in a supposed gesture of assistance. This had the effect simply of knocking him into little Sean and sending both dudes cascading back into the drink as poor Kylie droned on encouragingly. Soon, all four boys had been up and down the slope at least twice when, as if in relief, Ric in his blue speedoes hauled himself up over the top of the ramp. His little blue trunks were now covered in oil and all the tumbles and sliding down the ramp had forced the poor lad's swim kit right up his ass crack so it was on full view to our paying guests, already quite happy that they had gotten most of their money's worth. Suddenly, with all the oil, as Jake boogied up the slope once more, Sean tripped, grabbed hold of Jake's shorts for support, accidentally ripped the material in two, and took his mate's shorts clean off him . Jake, who blushed pink as he stood in just his slim white briefs, tumbled back too, his big pink cock clearly visible beneath the sheer diaphanous cotton. As the music changed to, somewhat amusingly Curtis Mayfield's "Move On Up", the remaining three guys made one last effort to shimmy up the ramp and down into the bubble bath. Meanwhile, leader Ed had already bopped across the next catwalk, inadvertently making it somewhat slippy for his precious mates, and was grappling with the rope ladder as the remaining three guys flung themselves like lemmings over the first precipice and into the foam tank. The audience of forty, fifty and sixty somethings roared their approval, especially as they got a worm's eye view of cheeky Ed's ass jiggling and smiling at them as he obliviously coped with the rope ladder set up. As he swung over the apex of the rope rigging, his oiled muscles flexing joyously, his half naked friends simultaneously joined him at the end of the rope work and tugged at it furiously to get a hold. By then, though, Ed had leapt over and was balancing precariously on the six inch beam suspended over the 6 foot trench of muddy water. He had almost made it across when "Ooooh!" the governor produced some bags of flour for the audience to fling at the lads as they made their way treacherously over the swampy gunk.
"Whapp!" a clump of flour caught Ed on the left thigh. He tried desperately to hold his concentration but "bapp!" another caught him in almost the same place and he flew into the mucky trench. He audience hollered and roared as by now the boys all jostled for position to cross the ditch. Sean was up next but, oh dear, he lost his footing as a bag caught him smack on the right cheek. Then Jake too went splat into the drink. As the boys shucked out of the water, it was quickly evident, much to his continued embarrassment, that not only had the muscleboy athlete had his shorts ripped off on the first go-go ramp, but now he had lost his little white knickers in the mud. The guys hollered as they saw the big boys bubblerump appear out on the deck, his big purple, half-hard cock swinging free for all to see. It was a sight to cherish.
Eventually, little Ric, whose speedoes has now caught right up his asscrack, giving a beautiful rear view of butt, made it onto the last ramp. He even remembered to shimmy across it as the music played a club version, amusingly enough again, of "When Will I See You Again." Amusing because at the end of the final slope was a glass bead curtain through which the guys had to jump.
"And the lucky winner," yelled the governor, as Ric in his skimpy outfit leaped through the curtain and dropped ten feet into a 7 foot deep trench, at the bottom of which was a foot of soaking mud.
"Ha ha!" laughed the governor, evilly, as the poor lad struggled hopelessly to get out of the pit and the guests craned in their fine jackets and bow ties to ogle and gasp at the proceedings as they sipped their champagne and munched on their canapés.
They all watched excitedly as, next, young, pantless Jake jigged up the ramp, waving his cock at the crowd inadvertently to loud applause, and flung himself through the curtain to join hapless Ric in the pit. Next, Sean, with his Tommy Hilfigers strapped halfway down his butt, exposing six inches of ass crack, sashayed up the final ramp to ^Ö croonch ^Ö join his mates in the mud pit. They looked up at the crowd, desperate to get out.
The last boy new he had lost the game. It was poor Ed, the leader from the start, overtaken on the beam, who brought up the rear, and leapt through the curtain in his combat lyrca shorts to join his mates.
The boys were all trapped in the mud pit, which had taken a long while and a mechanical digger to excavate. The governor wasn't going to waste this opportunity to teach his boys another little lesson for showing off. As they were ordered to struggle to climb out, with the promise that the winner would win five pounds, the boys, to much laughter, attempted the impossible task of climbing, without assistance, up the side of the pit. They jostled and pushed each other over in the scramble to get out of the pit. Poor little Ric's posh speedoes were yanked off in the confusion, spilling out his naked cock and trim blond bush for all the world to see. His pink cockhead exposed a flaring pee-slit. "The carpets do match the drapes," announced someone in the audience, to much hilarity.
"Now, gentlemen, the hose," chirped the governor mischievously. He had hired an industrial strength riot control hose from Germany and turned it full on, aiming at the boys in the mud pit. Their hats flew off, their shorts and briefs got caught in the flow and were soon blown away with the force of the jet blast as the boys struggled to retain their balance in the mud pool. Soon they were literally mud wrestling to keep their balance, and all of them had lost their underwear completely, as the water rose up to their thighs, about a third of the way up the ditch. The spectators were given a wheelbarrow of old leftover food and fruit to hurl into the pit as they saw fit, and were rewarded with the delicious sight of the now naked little punks getting cake, soup, bananas and puree in their hair, cocks and all over their hunky chests. It was totally erotic. The governor made them dance and gyrate for everyone's entertainment. He ordered them to jerk on their cocks and get hard so everyone could see they were really thoroughly enjoying their little toughie thug selves, as the water was turned on again. More spluttering and protests from the hunk Sean that he couldn't swim, as the water filled the ditch bit by bit until the babes were able to float to the surface and grab their way onto the lawns. Now only in their drenched boots and socks, the audience watched avidly as each boy slumped onto the grass, unknowingly displaying their plump spherical glutes to the avid onlookers, who savoured every inch of teen flesh.
"Thanks for the show boys, and well done!" announced the governor in mock approval, as if they had just completed a serious relay race. Three of you may go and get showered, but the loser, that's you Ed, will pay a forfeit." The others slipped gleefully off, their little footie player legs taking them to the shower rooms as fast as they could run. They weren't to know that other visitors would be awaiting them there to watch every moment of their bathtime for their own prurient pleasure.
"Ed, it's quite simple, you will simply masturbate for us all here, to get the ball, as it were, rolling for the day."
"Oh but sir^Å" protested the arrogant youth, as he stood up and his pecs caught the early afternoon sunlight. His dick flopped expectantly as he gestured disobediently towards, well, nothing in particular."
"Come here this instant and start to pull your cock for us, you nasty, disobedient young rascal. I will not accept any recalcitrant attitude from a little snot like you. And you will WHACK! stand here WHACK! still while you give us "WHACK!" a damn good show of how much "WHACK" "OW" spunk you have in that disgusting great cock of yours."
The little punk was being soundly spanked for showing a lack of obedience. The governor carried his special tawse rope for the specific purpose.
"Now, you little horny worm," Whack!, "jerk yourself off for these nice gentlemen, and I want you to describe IN DETAIL what you are doing as you do so." Whack! went the tawse once more across the humpy dude's reddening asscheeks.
Ed started to massage his cock on the final ramp as the audience craned to see. Soon it was up and raring.
"Tell the gentlemen what you are doing and how disgusting you are, you shitface."
"My cock is getting hard and look, in my balls I have got so much spunk I can hardly keep it in. Look at my helmet flaring out. I am starting to get some drops of clear goop out my piss channel."
Goop and piss channel were new endearing words for it. The visitors could hardly contain their mirth as this little runt spouted filth for their entertainment.
"Show the men your red butt, Ed," taunted the governor, "and don't stop whacking on your pud, either."
It was much as one of these little brats could do to do two things at once, but somehow he managed it.
"How long is it since you last milked that baby, Ed?" asked the governor.
"Oh, two days or so, sir", replied Ed.
"There had better not be any milky stains on your bedsheets my boy, or there'll be big trouble."
"Oh no, sir, certainly not sir, no, ooh, ow, I think I'm going to spurt sir."
"Well, I think you should ask these gentlemens' permission first. They might not want to see your dirty semen all over the front of their nice dinner jackets."
"Go on, ask them for permission. Nicely."
"Please, gentlemen, do you mind if I let my balls go," said Ed as he played lewdly with his cock. "I promise not to spoil your suits."
"Yeeaaah! We want to see the boy spew!" cheered the visitors, the elder among them particularly keen to see how far this little cocky brat could shoot, and jokingly offering out their tuxedoed chests at him to see if he could reach that far.
The boy tugged eagerly away at his seven inch tool for two or three minutes, but it was quite clear the horny little fucker could cum virtually at will and certainly wouldn't be able to wait two days in between whackoffs. "Unghh! Agh. Oogh!", I'm going to shoot my baby juice. "Oh fuck. Fuck, Fuck. Agh!", hollered the rude boy as his cockhead flared and bolts of cream zipped out of his cock in silver streams. It spurted like a geyser, all over the shirts of the men brave enough to offer a landing for it on their shirts. The filthy older men in the audience greedily scooped up the boy's generous globs of spoo off their jackets and licked it up avidly.
"You filthy shit," look what you've done to those nice mens' shirts. "What do you say?"
"Sorry, gentlemen. I didn't mean to get my cum all over you but.."
"I should damn well hope not, you disgusting boy. And there'd better not be any horrid stains on your crisp, clean sheets, or I shall make you explain to the governess how they go there. Now get out of here and I don't want to hear a peep out of you until you're asked for your worthless opinions."
"Yes sir, certainly sir. Whatever you say," said the boy, as he leapt off for a shower, the visitors eyes clamped on the long spool of cummy liquid bouncing down off his cock.
"Thank you gentlemen for your attention and for putting up with that nasty little show off. Refreshments are available in the tent, or of course, you may go and watch the boys shower, but please only ten or twelve at a time, as space is limited.
Champagne glasses clinked and eyes darted across the playing fields to the next event. Boy, it was just hotting up.
End Of Part 1