Date: Thu, 20 Jul 2023 15:08:29 +0000
From: Albator2122@proton.me
Subject: The fag contest part III

THE FAG CONTEST -- part 3

Category : gay/authoritarian

Author : Albator -- albator2122@proton.me

Please give to nifty, using the link : https//donate.nifty.org/  ...And so
... The show could go on ! And your fantasies will flourish ! And the
planet will be saved if you relieve your frustrations by fantasizing
rather than spending money in unneeded consumer goods !

Part 3 : All on stage

What a bitch ! fag-joe is going to win, that's for sure! He's super hot
and I can see all the jury members drooling as his half-brother paraded
him around the stage on a leash. He's the only one in pants so far, all
white, ultra-thin, almost see-through, ultra-tight, mega-low-waisted, and
stopping mid-calf. Half of his big, bouncy ass is up in the air and his
plug is visible and bobbing under the thin fabric as he walks; the
triangle of his pink lycra thong is fully visible and digs into his ass.
He has a red lace fly that he's tied in front, molding his compressed
package into the mini pocket of the perfectly visible pink thong. His
well-combed, pink-dyed pubic hair sticks out from the shorts. He's
wearing short, fringed white boots with heels that are at least four
inches high and don't even come up to his pants. He wears a very short
pink leather spencer that's completely open at the front; and on his
torso, you can read "ride me" as if he'd tanned himself with two
different shades of amber, the letters lighter than the rest of his
belly. Unless it's a tattoo, I can't see. He wears a red bandana over his
bitch collar and holds a riding crop with which he bangs his ass. He
drops it and gets down on all fours to pick it up with his mouth. An
opportunity to stretch his ass high and show it off from a new angle!
What a bitch!

The tension sensors on the jury members' cocks, which scientifically
assess their level of arousal, have just been activated, five minutes
after the start of the parade as for the other candidates. After two
minutes, each jury member's arousal score will be displayed, along with
the overall average. The four flower-boys with the highest score are then
auditioned. So far, the candidates have had very different scores, from
five to ten, depending on the jury. It often happens that a flower-boy
become the houseboy-wife of the jury's member he has excited to the
maximum of 10.

The two minutes are up and Fag joe takes the provisional lead with 87
points out of 100! That's huge, just two points short of the world
record. I knew it! After his performance in front of the jury, fag-joe
joins the ten other candidates already presented on a platform set back
from the theater stage, where he will stand and wait during the
competition of the two remaining contestants, including me. Slut-tim -
very hot in an ultra-tight, sophisticated black leather outfit, with a
slutty sm maso bondage tendency - then beach-adam - irresistible in her
kinky cheerleader outfit in the color of the soccer team, the azure blue
skirt at the very limit of the crotch - then pig-justin - adorable in a
romantic puppy ready to be screwed, wearing a leather jokes-strap, plush
tail riveted to his plug ; his thick bitch collar, wrist and ankle
bracelets and even the chain connecting his tits clamps are all covered
in pink plush - each in turn rushed over to fag-joe to kiss and
congratulate him. They could be mad about him, as they all lose a place
in the rankings and now only beach adam, as pervese chearleader, remains
in the top four selectables. Slut tim and pig justin will not be on the
podium. Fag joe is in the lead; a whore with a "daddy's think" in a
deviant schoolboy uniform (mega-tight mini-shorts showing a well-rounded
ass reddened by a good spanking, spencer with small tie, ultra-short and
tight leaving three-quarters of her torso uncovered, huge lollipop in her
mouth and a sign around her neck saying "daddy trains me hard",
ridiculous little hat and huge black leather high shoes), is in second
place; beach adam is third; the fourth is a very handsome, finely muscled
"bad boy", jet-black hair expertly ruffled, leather mini-shorts, high
boots, black necklace and wristbands, white crop top inscribed with
"Rebel to submit". Understand who can!

I have to say I'm proud of my friends, because they all stood out from
their competitors. And it wasn't easy, because all the competitors are
very hot, very beautiful and very sexy. It was the outfit that often made
the difference. And Supreme-Mother was quite right; flower boys in sluty
tiny miniskirts and panties are far too numerous and banal, even if
beach-adam, the slutty cheerleader, was able to reinterpret the sissy's
theme with a touch of originality and extra bitchiness. So it's true that
by opting for a pair of slutty pants, fag-joe has pulled off a surprise.
And all those barely-covering mini-shorts in denim, leather, Lycra, nylon
... are also a bit annoying, even if all the exposed asses have achieved
their cock-lifting purpose. And myself, I'm wearing shorts - a special
kind of shorts, but shorts anyway - and I'm afraid I'm not going to
surprise anyone!

But, well, it was going to be my turn to parade and there's no time for
mood swings. I'm about to be led on a leash by Allan and walk up and down
in front of the audience of the 0céanopolis 12 theater, equipped for the
occasion with cameras broadcasting the contest live to the twelve cities
of the United-Earth. In the front row, in huge black leather armchairs
with large armrests, sit the ten members of the jury, the most successful
Macho Apollons of the soccer team, each more handsome and virile than the
last. And of course my idol, my god, Albator, the team captain, is the
President of the Jury. In front of them, a large black table allows them
to take notes and hide their electrodes-covered dicks. Behind them are
the other team players, and all around them are the young alphas of the
city, aged between 18 and 28, who don't hesitate to encourage or
criticize the candidates, which influences the jury somewhat, I think.
Like when that poor candidate from flower boy training center n°1, as a
"savage" from a bygone era, dropped his penis holster and loincloth,
caught his feet in it and sprawled out to the boos and jeers of the
entire audience.

Oh, no, the jury unanimously asked for a release pose. Twenty minutes of
interruption! Sex-providers, completely naked except for a white tiny
thong, rush under the table to purge the Macho-Apollons. From backstage,
I can see what the audience can't, and the Machos-Apollons go wild in the
sex providers' mouths, grabbing them by their ears to pump them with
fury. They all unload in less than five minutes. Oh, no! As stipulated by
the contest rules, the jury allocates two extra points to fag-joe,
considering that he was the source of their release pose! He enters the
history books! He's reached the 89-point world record! Not seen for 120
years," announces the speaker. It's going to be impossible to match him.
I'm happy for him, but I'm brutally demoralized. I'll never be first
now.

During the break, messages from the Assembly of Supreme Sages are
broadcast, recalling the principles of the United Earth Constitution and
the progress made in the twelve cities. Patriotic songs are played. A boy
band composed of the winners from two years ago, in sober black lycra
shorts, perform a lap dance, spinning around steel poles lowered from the
sky and singing a patriotic tune about sexual order and the United Earth
Constitution.

I'm dejected and increasingly anxious. Allan orders me to remove my
outfit. Once naked, he coats me again with the shining slutty hot cream
and makes me do some stretching exercises, all the while reminding me of
my instructions: keep my mouth open, look each member of the jury
directly in the eye and then lower my gaze, stand with my back to the
jury to show off my ass. Soon I'm overexcited again, totally horny.

While the shining slutty hot cream seems to be multiplying its effects
like crazy, I get dressed with a terrible effort to concentrate on what I
have to do. I start by putting my anal jewelry back on, a big pink
diamond attached to a huge plug protruding from both my big globes. It
feels so good; I've never felt the pressure of the plug in my ass so
intensely. It's getting harder and harder to think. I just stand there
dumbfounded. Allan yells at me and tells me to put on my thong; I've made
it myself like the rest of my outfit: it consists of an ultra-shiny
fuchsia pink vinyl pouch whose low point is connected by a thin leather
cord to the base of the plug, while the other two ends are attached to
two rings pierced in my hips expressly for the occasion. The whole thing
is pretty tight and as soon as I get a hard-on, the pocket stretches
outrageously. This thong makes me feel slutty and I can't help but stroke
my cock. Allan slaps my hand. What should I do now? Ah yes, put on my
shorts! They're vinyl too, but this time totally transparent. They're
very short, literally stick to my skin and mold my ass like a second
skin. They is a slut at the back to reveal my anal diamond. The last
think to do is slip on my pink crop top, embroidered on the front and
back with a short inscription in silver thread. "Take All" on the front
and "holes to take" on the back. It was after some intense brainstorming
that I came up with these slogans, which sum up my inner self as a
cock-teaser open to all practices that will please my alpha without any
discrimination, and which symbolize my deep-seated willingness to take
any cock that comes my way at both ends. Allan arranged the whole thing a
little to make a game of words that took me a long time to understand.
I'd gone for "alpha whore", but Mother found it too vulgar; then "I do
whatever my alpha wants", but it was too long and not readable enough.
Allan came up with "take all". This inscription was, according to Mother,
very innovative and would undoubtedly support my interview. She couldn't
remember seeing it at a competition, and as her memory was infallible, it
was certainly true. I was proud to be breaking new ground. But the jury
might not like it.

On my feet, I wore what had made me so original over the last few years:
flip-flops that antique stores were selling for nothing. I'd often been
punished for substituting them in place of regulation sneakers. Mine were
white with a big daisy on top.

And now it was my turn to be paraded in front of the Macho-Apollons. My
head went completely blank, I didn't know what to do, I was overexcited
and super intimidated ... Luckily Master Allan was there and pulled my
leash to propel me onto the stage.