61.
When lunch had been cleared away by the maids, the party draped themselves about the room, chatting and drinking. After a while, someone suggested a karaoke competition, and soon the room was resounding to the strains of Abba and Sinatra, interspersed with hilariously bad singing. Mitch took the opportunity to use the toilet. He had some idea of allowing his overwrought member to soften up a bit. But try as he might, it refused to cooperate, and it was slimy with his juices, so he couldn’t even extract it from the central loop. He managed to aim it in roughly the right direction, however – quite an achievement, given his slightly intoxicated state – and to get it back in its little rubber hood. He tucked his shirt back in and did up his belt. He admired himself in the ladies’ room full-length mirror; for as well as inebriation, the champagne had had the complementary effect of dissipating most of his inhibitions.
He turned his left side to the glass. “They were definitely impressed,” he said to himself, viewing the two parallel lines of badges. “Yeah…Sharon particularly…she’s pretty cool…think she fancies me a bit…”
He pulled up his socks and adjusted the tabs. “These trainers…probably one of a kind….bet Danny would kill to get his hands on these…yeah, literally…better not let him see them…”
He swayed slightly. “I guess…guess these shorts…not bad, actually. Get me plenty of attention…women like that, don’t they…” He touched the vertical mound under its taut rubber skin, and groaned. “It’s so hard…dunno why it won’t…but then, it’s been a long time….wish I could…but not here. When I get home…” He stood back so the light fell full on him. “Look at it! So long…it’s right up in that hood now…and my balls! So big! Not surprising, though. Lucky it’s all neatly strapped up, or goodness knows…”
He hear someone approaching, and quickly turned and opened the door for them.
“Hello Mitch! Using the ladies now? Fine by me…”
He emerged into the room. Several heads turned and he felt eyes on him, but he’d lost all his self-consciousness now. He took his time returning to the guests, letting them have a good eyeful. And he went up to Edwina and started a conversation, standing in front of her so she had a clear view of his tumescent boyhood. She took full advantage of the opportunity.
“Well, Mitch, I’m so glad – we’re all glad – you could be here. You have something…something none of us possess…” She paused. He wondered what she was about to say. “Charisma,” she added, with a mischievous smile. “And I think it’s time you showed us some more of your talents…”
“Sure, Tabby… I’ll shtand up on the shtage…shall I…?”
“Great. Look, Milly’s just finished her song. Do some juggling for us. Do you have some balls?”
“What?”
“Juggling balls?”
“Oh, er, I don’t think so…”
“I’ve got some,” called out Sharon. “Susan found them for you. She and Pippy would like to watch, if you don’t mind…”
“Course not…”
He climbed the steps to the stage. The steady pulsing seemed stronger now, (though it was probably only the effect of the champagne), and his pen-is was achingly hard, and oozing prec-um freely. He didn’t care. In fact, when he saw all the smiling, expectant faces, and Anna diligently operating her video camera, he had an irresistible urge to show off all the more. So he took his time getting ready, making sure there was nothing in his way, turning his cap backwards so the peak couldn’t interfere with the trajectory of the balls, and adjusting the frills on his shorts, which, with the tops of his thighs, were already becoming slippery with his juices.
His first attempt was disastrous. The champagne had boosted his confidence to the point where he thought all he had to do was to throw the balls up and they’d fall naturally into his hands. The first part went okay, but the balls fell naturally, not into his hands, but into the audience, much to its amusement. After that, he concentrated. The alcohol did affect his coordination, but his exhibition was passably impressive. The round of applause that followed brought out the actor in him, and he threw the juggling balls aside and gave an emotional rendition of Juliet’s speech in scene two beginning,
“Thou know’st the mask of night is on my face…”
And truly in his state of heightened sensibilities this was impressive, and more than one of the women shed a tear.
He should have bowed out gracefully at that juncture, but vanity drove him on.
“I’ll finish with a little exbidition - I mean exhibition – of gymnashtics….”
He had had an idea. The stage curtains hung from a rail, to which were also attached tasselled cords. He drew one of these into the middle of the stage.
“Ladies! I will first demonstrate rope-climbing!”
Which he did, though with limited success. He followed up with star-jumps, which were rather erratic – he nearly fell more than once. His toe-touching was average, due to the stiff thing which dug into his tummy every time he bent forward. His hip twists, he discovered, were too arousing. So he decided to wind up with a bridge, which he thought would show off his boyhood to the best advantage. It was all going well until that last little push. A bridge too far, as it were. He could feel the glans straining against its rubber hood. He imagined how impressive it must look for his audience. But as he gave one final thrust of his hips, the unthinkable happened – something Alison could not have foreseen. The head of his pen-is, swollen and slick with juice, suddenly burst through the small opening at the top of the hood! The narrow lip snapped closed around the top of the shaft. With a cry, Mitch collapsed onto the floor, then sprang to his feet. He stood there for a second, thighs pressed together, bum stuck out, trying to understand what had happened. All he knew was, that the rubber loop had a firm stranglehold around the neck of his pen-is. When he tried to stand up straight in his tightly-belted shorts, the loop simply tightened, dilating the head even more, pulling it further up his tummy, and causing the raised seam to press hard into the cleft. He could see puzzled faces looking at him from below. He wanted to run away and try to release himself, but as a performer, he knew the show must go on. And go on it did, but not in quite the way he was intending.
Alison may not have foreseen the problem with the hood, but she needn’t have doubted the effectiveness of the emergency relief system built into the shorts. To Mitch’s surprise, the butt plug, which he had almost forgotten about, suddenly sprang into life. Not only did he feel the vibrations inside, but the seam itself began to buzz against his aching pen-is in strong, short bursts. There was no time to react. He was overtaken by a massive orgasm. At the first spasm he nearly blacked out, and only saved himself from sinking to his knees by grabbing onto his climbing-rope.
All those days of frustration were released in that one massive eruption. He gave a cry of surprise and dismay. Then wads of thick, hot sperm shot from his vertical pen-is, blasting their way out of the waistband of his shorts, spurting up his shirt even to his neckerchief, and bubbling out over his belt. It slid in big, slimy blobs down over the mauve rubber, down his thighs, and dripped from the tops of his socks onto his trainers. He would have turned away from the spectators, but it was all he could do to hang on to the cord without fainting. Sharon stared in disbelief as the c-um continued to pump from his shorts, Mitch himself emitting a series of pathetic little cries at each convulsion: “oh”… “oh”… “oh”… “no, please”… Of course, she had no idea of the deprivation he had suffered over the preceding days. Edwina was in raptures. Moira, who had been filming his whole act on her phone for the edification of the troop continued to do so, whilst making a mental resolution to contact Shirley as soon as possible.
It must have been nearly two minutes before his climax began to subside, leaving him a twitching, gasping mess. His lovely ironed shirt and his breast badges were smothered, the ends of his necker dripping. The last oozings were making their way slowly down the front of his shorts. Strings of sperm hung from the yellow frills. His socks and shoes were thoroughly slimed, and there were little blobs and pools around his feet. Edwina looked at Sharon.
“Wow!”
“That was some floor-show, Teddy! Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Moira? What badge is he going to get for that?”
Moira laughed. “Well he doesn’t have the ‘Entertainer’ one yet. But he’s certainly earned it now!”
Edwina turned to Susan and Pippy, watching open-mouthed from behind her chair. “Ladies? Is there a cleaner in the hotel?”
Susan was equal to the occasion.
“There is, Miss Brentford, but I think it would be better if we dealt with it.”
“Oh, I was only joking.”
“No. It’ll be a pleasure - won’t it Pippy?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“After all, it’s not often we get to see a show quite like that!” She advanced to the stage and made her way up the steps. She took Mitch gently by the hand. “Come on, young man. Hold onto me. Let’s go and get you cleaned up, shall we?”
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Topic: Mitch (Read 67319 times)
