Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“I know -- it’s like a train wreck,” Valenti replied weakly, his eyes glued to the stage and his cock protesting vigorously in his pants. He stole a surreptitious glance at his partner’s shorts to see if he was similarly affected and was slightly reassured to see the evidence of O’Brian’s arousal pressing against the thin denim. So he wasn’t the only one. He wondered why his partner was hard -- the excitement of the moment? The anticipation of performing for the crowd? Or just nerves? Sometimes he thought O’Brian got a hard-on the way other people got the hiccups or stuttered -- as a nervous reaction to certain situations.
The contest ended abruptly when one of the twinks pulled back, grinning, the evidence of his victory still in his mouth.
“What’s the matter with you -- didn’t your mother teach you never to talk with your mouth full?” Peter scolded him. The boy swallowed as obviously as possible, licking his lips for added effect, and the crowd went wild. “Team two, claim your prize,” Peter said. He handed each of the winning contestants white T-shirts with black lettering and urged the men to show them off to the crowd. One read “I got blown at the RamJack,” and the other read “I’m a sucker for the RamJack.”
“Geeze, pretty cheesy,” O’Brian commented, reading the shirts.
“Just watch yourself, partner, or you’re liable to get one like it. Maybe it’ll say, ‘Wankathon Winner,’ or ‘Number One Wanker,’ something classy like that. You can wear it to the next O’Brian family reunion. Should be a real conversation piece,” Valenti whispered back, grinning, feeling more at ease when he could joke with his partner.
“Yeah, yeah, keep talkin’, babe. I’m gonna show you how it’s done.” O’Brian squeezed Valenti’s knee, an intimate gesture that brought his cock back to life harder than ever.
“All right now, gentlemen, that was just the beginning. For our next event, may I present to you a RamJack tradition -- the Wankathon!” Peter’s voice rang out over the buzz of the crowd, and O’Brian got to his feet, rubbing the bulge in his shorts reflexively. “Will the wankers and the wankees please come to the stage.” Peter continued.
“The ... what?” Valenti could only stare as a new group of men filed onto the stage, O’Brian among them.
“Ah, we appear to have an odd number here, gentlemen.” Peter was looking over the men on the stage. “We can’t have that, now, can we? Young man ...” He gestured for O’Brian, who came obligingly forward. “Will your sponsor be performing with you, or will you have a substitute wanker?”
“Uh ...” O’Brian looked as close to panicked as Valenti had ever seen him.
“I’ll do it!” It was the voice of Harry, the Neanderthal, and Valenti saw the involuntary tic of his partner’s facial muscles as the huge man began to wade through the seats nearest the stage. O’Brian’s green eyes were huge, and his normally tan face was pale as paper.
“That won’t be necessary,” Valenti heard himself saying. Rising to his feet, he made his way to the stage, vowing that he would kill O’Brian for getting them into this in the first place. “I’ll do it,” he said, reaching his partner’s side and laying a possessive hand on O’Brian’s arm. He could feel the tension thrumming through the compact frame, and he knew his friend was drawn as tight as a wire.
“Sorry, Valenti. Had no idea,” O’Brian muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
“Neither one of us did. But I think it’s too late to back out now,” Valenti whispered back. The lights pointed at the stage were hot. Now that he was up on it, he realized he was sweating freely. There was a loud buzzing sound in his ears that must have been Peter talking because Valenti could see his mouth moving. But nothing the tiny man was saying was registering as words. He saw the other contestants begin to get into position and suddenly had to fight the panic that wanted to crawl up the back of his throat like bile.
“What the hell are we supposed to be doing, anyway?” he whispered desperately to O’Brian.
“Uh, I think you’re s’posed to jerk me off.” His partner already had his shorts unzipped and was standing with strong legs braced apart and his heavy shaft in one hand. Trying to make it easy for me, Valenti thought and was grateful. If he’d had to unzip O’Brian himself and then fumble around in the confines of those tight shorts for his partner’s dick ... well, the stage fright was already bad enough. At least all he had to do was step up behind O’Brian as he saw the other sponsors doing behind their boys and take his friend’s cock in his hand.
Listen to me --“that’s all I have to do”? Once again he had the sensation that his universe was turning inside out. He’d never handled another man before, and now he was expected to manipulate his partner to orgasm, and in front of a crowd, no less. It was all so surreal.