Date: Wed, 14 Nov 2007 11:53:29 +0000
From: Stevie Zadara <zadara1@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Offender Relief Day Part 1

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