
Message-ID: <53115asstr$1140178203@assm.asstr.org>
From: dante_32708 <dante_32708@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Special Detention Redo story of bad boys(M F Mb b solo ir bdsm Humiliation Torture)
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Date: Fri, 17 Feb 2006 07:10:03 -0500
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===================

Special Detention (redo by Shadow)

   "I'm not going in there!" screamed twelve year old Harry, struggling to
escape his father's strong grip.  "Me, neither!" hollered Harry's twin
brother Barry, futilely fighting his uncle's firm hold.  "I'm not getting
naked for everyone to see!" "Oh, yes you are," said their mother, walking
with the twin's aunt and two cousins.  Giggling female cousins ages
thirteen and ten.  "Mom, please," begged the desperate Harry, "the Games
are going to hurt us really bad." "You'll have to stand it and take it like
a man," responded their father, "because you're in, and that's that." "We
warned you two this would happen if you didn't straighten out your act,"
said their mother.

   "You can't do this, it has to be against the law!" fourteen year old
Matthew complained to the two police officers in the front seat of the
patrol car.  "Son," said the officer on the passenger side, "this is what
the judge said you were going to do, and you are." "Or," said the other
officer, "you go to the juvenile center for six months.  I guarantee you if
that happens, they'll find a reason to send you here every single month."

   Several other discipline cases where on their way and protesting as well
to their parents.

   * * *

   In all, eighteen boys were gathered in the locker room.  The youngest
ten, the oldest fourteen.  Some were crying, some were nervously talking
with neighbors, some were silent, some were fidgeting.

   "Okay boys, listen up," said one of several men in the room.  "You nine
on this side are the Red team," he instructed, pointing to the group that
included Matthew, Harry and Michael.  Altogether, the team had two fourteen
year olds, two thirteens, two twelves, an eleven, and two tens.  "And you
nine," he indicated the team with Gary, Barry and Timmy, "are the Blue
team." Blue consisted of three thirteen year olds, three twelves, two
elevens, and a ten year old.

   "These ladies have your uniforms," said another man.  "Uniforms,"
Michael, the only naked boy in the room, said to the boy next to him, ten
year old Justin.  "Maybe my mom is wrong about us playing naked."

   "Everyone strip naked, everything off," commanded the first man,
obviously the adult in charge.  "Now!" "I can't do that," said Richard, the
other fourteen year old on the Red team.  "There's ladies here." "And you
don't think there's ladies out there?" countered the second man.  "But
we'll have our uniforms on out there," responded Richard.

   Once all eighteen boys were down to their bare skin most clutched at
their genitals, shielding them from view.  "Hands away," boomed the second
man, "you don't cover up unless told to as part of a Game."

   The uniform ladies distributed a pre-numbered bag to each boy, most
blushing at the close up looks the two females were getting of their varied
sized packages.  "Put all your clothing in the bags," instructed one of the
ladies.  "Even our shoes and socks?" asked the Blue team's twelve year old
Mark.  "Yes, those too," said the other lady.  "The number on the bag is
also your uniform number," said the first lady.  "Remember it, or you may
never see your clothes again."

   The filled bags were quickly whisked away, out of the boys' sight. 
Using push carts, the ladies quickly handed each boy a uniform of half
shirt and very short shorts, red in color for Red, of course, and blue for
Blue.  The back of each shirt had the same number as on that boy's clothing
bag.

   "What about underwear?" asked Frankie, Red's other twelve.  "Don't need
it, only gets in the way," said the second lady.  "Careful putting the
uniforms on," warned the first lady, "they rip real easy."

   As sizes had been previously obtained from parents, the uniforms fit
surprisingly well.  Except that the extremely short wide legged shorts
didn't do too well at keeping private boy parts private.  Simply sitting
caused Matthew's relatively large genitals to poke out the side.  Several
of the other older boys had the same problem.  For the other boys, even
slightly spreading their legs gave onlookers a clear shot of their no
longer so private privates.

   "We can't wear these," whined thirteen year old Toby from the Blue team.
"They don't cover our stuff." "Won't matter for long," smirked the second
man, "once the Games start." This remark had Michael third guessing his
earlier guess about being allowed to be dressed.

   "Oldest boy on each team is captain," said the man in charge.  "For Red,
that's you, Matthew.  And for Blue, that's Gary." "It's the captain's job,"
said the second man, "to make sure that all his players are doing their
best to win, and their best to help their teammates win."

   "That's important to you," said the head man, "because any Game your
team loses, you endure a penalty, one that hurts a lot, while the other
team rests for the next Game."

   "Not fair," protested Red team captain Matthew.  "I have the two
youngest boys here on my team." "That's right," chimed in Alan, one of
Red's two thirteens.  "It's not fair." "Actually," said the second man,
"you have the youngest, Michael, and the third youngest, Justin." "Stevie,"
said the first man, indicating Blue's only ten year old, "is in-between
those two." "Besides," the second man ended the debate, "you have two
fourteen year olds on your team, Blue has none."

   "Now, this is important," the man in charge lectured the two teams. 
"You don't won't to be the overall losing team for the day." "Why not?"
asked Red's other thirteen year old, David.  "Because that team suffers a
penalty more painful than anything that happens in the Games," said the
second man.  "And just to make sure you try your very best to win," said
the head man, "the losing team gets to come back in two weeks and do it all
over again." "And again, and again," said the second man, "until you manage
to win."

   "Now, are we ready for the Games to begin?" asked the man in charge of
getting the boys ready to compete.  "No!" shouted Red's eleven year old
Kevin in unison with Blue's other eleven, Aaron.  "Well, that's okay," said
the second man, "you have to get your medical exams first."

   "Uniforms back off," barked the boss man.

   * * *

   As soon as the last boy was again naked, as if on cue, the examining
staff entered the room.  "Ah," said the head man, "here's our senior
medical staff to do your exams." He pointed toward the male doctor, female
doctor, and two female nurses now approaching the boys.

   In short order, the exams commenced, at first very routine and familiar
to the boys .  Hearts and lungs were checked with a stethoscope.  Lower
backs were felt and probed for potential problems with internal organs. 
Temperatures taken with ear thermometers.  Nasal passages, ears, and mouths
were examined.  Necks were carefully palpitated for lumps and
abnormalities. Even a reflex check was performed, using the classic soft
hammer tap to the knee technique.  For some strange reason unknown to the
boys, considerable time was spent inspecting feet and toes.

   "Now to test if you're allergic to stings," said the male doctor to
Gary, shallowly injecting a small amount of fluid into his left arm. 
"Ouch, that stings!" protested Gary.

   Once the allergy testing was done, the very embarrassing genital exams
began, leaving all the boys red faced, even the three ten year olds.  Each
set of genitals was visually and tacitly scrutinized for any problem.  A
hernia check was performed, culminating in a very painful squeeze that had
each boy crying out in misery.  To finish, each penis was stroked to a full
erection.

   Pumping away on Gary, the male doctor said, "We need to know how big
this gets." When the thirteen year old was at full mast, the doctor who
also was chief of the medical team - used a tape measure to determine the
length and girth of the boy's boner.  He then used a green marker to write
the number "10" on Gary's right arm.

   "What's that for?" asked Gary.  "That's to make sure they don't stick
your dick into too small a hole," cheerfully replied the chief doctor as he
resumed pumping Gary's prick.  All the teens, and some of the younger boys,
grimaced at this announcement, realizing the implications.

   "Hey," protested Gary, "if you don't stop, I'm going to shoot." "That's
the idea," replied the doctor.  At the same time, Matthew complained to the
female doctor, "you're going to make me cum." "That's right," the assistant
chief of the medical team replied.  "It'd be better for you to save it till
you're out there on the field, but the exam rules say that I have to make
you do it now."

   Before long, both Matthew and Gary were cumming, Matthew's thicker
whiter output shooting much further than Gary's thinner less copious
release.  One by one, all the boys were brought off to unwilling red faced
climaxes.  Surprisingly, fourteen year old Richard left a smaller and
thinner deposit than the thirteen year old Gary, a deposit that just barely
spurted beyond the tip of his dick.  Of the other thirteen year olds, Alan,
Thomas and Toby all were white, ejaculating various distances.  The still
hairless thirteen year old David, genitals definitely larger than little
boy size, only managed a few watery drops.  As did the lightly haired
twelve year old twins Harry and Barry and the hairless eleven year old
Aaron, his genitals just slightly bigger than the other tens and elevens,
all who sported little boy privates.  All the tens and the remain eleven
and twelve year olds were dry cummers.  Of the dry twelves, Frankie and
Seth were still prepubescent sized, while Mark was noticeably larger,
almost as big as David's "tween" sized package.

   Satisfied that all the boys could satisfactory orgasm, the medical team
turned to the next embarrassing item on their checklist, the anal exams. 
Each boy was bent over a bench, hands firmly touching the floor, legs
spread wide.

   "Okay, little guy, this is going to feel a mite uncomfortable," said one
of the nurses as she inserted an anal speculum into Michael's bottom.  A
speculum that she quickly began dilating, opening the little boy up wider
and wider.  "Ow," complained the ten year old, "that's hurting me." "We
have to get you nice and wide open," the nurse replied, "so we can measure
your hole back there." Once she had his anus gaping wide, she inserted a
lubricated gloved finger into the boy's small tight rectum.

   "That hurts!" hollered little Michael, "take it out!" Undeterred, the
nurse continued her probing, feeling for his prostrate, assuring herself
that all was in good condition up the small hole for what was to come
during the Games.

   Michael's relief at the eventual withdrawal of the invading finger was
very short lived.  Almost immediately, the nurse commenced inserting a
series of slim cylinder probes up his rectum.  The last few were a tight
fit, not quite stretching the hole, but causing the boy much pain. 
Satisfied she'd found the maximum safe size, the nurse used a red marker to
write "75" on Michel's arm, right below the green "75."

   As Michael was undergoing this painful procedure, so were the other two
ten year olds, Justin and Stevie, as was one of the elevens, Kevin. 
Finishing with the first four boys, the team moved on to the next four.  In
groups of four, until only the two team captains were left to be done, the
boys all had their own turns of enduring painful anal probing and
measuring.

   "What do these numbers mean, anyway," the almost crying Red team Captain
Matthew asked as the chief doctor marked him with a red "18" to match his
green "18." "The first number tells us how close in size your dick is to
these," said the second man, pointing to three butt plugs that hadn't been
there a few minutes earlier.

   "And the second," said the head man, "tells us how big an object can go
up your asshole without putting you assholes in the hospital." "An
eighteen," said the second man, "means this size here." He pointed to the
largest plug.  "It has a one-and-an-eighth inch diameter.  Ten means this
one inch size, and seventy- five this three-quarter inch size."

   When their dicks and assholes were sized up and numbers recorded, the
medical team proceeded to the oral exam.  "Alright boys" yelled the head
man, "stand in one line and get to your knees".  At that moment the female
doctor rolled out a cart with seven various sized dildos molded to look
like really penises, lined up from smallest, being 6 by 2 inches, to the
largest, being 12 by 8 inches.

   The female doctor join the male doctor with the dildo filled cart in
front of the first kneeling boy.  "open your mouth as wide as you can and
say AHHH" instructed the doctor.  He then took out a tongue depressor and
looked into the youths mouth say "HMM, and I see".  Next he said to the
female doctor "I think a number 7 will do" and with that she handed the
male doctor the 7 by 3 inch dildo and the doctor than placed it into the
boys outstretched mouth pushing it in and out.  "UGGHH FGGGG IIDDJKK"
mumbled the first boy.

   "What the hell is this for" shouted the next boy in line?  "To see how
wide your mouths are of course" answered the doctor, "We don't want your
jaws to lock now do we" answered the female doctor, and at that she took a
black marker and put the number 7 under the other two numbers previously
placed on the arm.  The male doctor continued down the line doing the same
measuring on the remainder of the boys.  He continued to insert the dildos
in each of the boy's mouth and at times having to use 2 or even 3 to find
the maximum fit that each young mouth could hold.  When the exam was
finished, each boy looked at each other with a frightened look, wondering
what awaiting them on the field.  The oldest boys who were 14, had numbers
like 9 and 10, and the largest of the older boys had the number 12.  The
remainder of the boys had numbers ranging from 6 to 8.  A nurse who was
recording the size number dildos to the boy's uniform numbers said "OK I
have the numbers.  I will go give them to the coach".

   Oral exam finished, the man in charge of the locker room gave his final
order.  "Okay, get your uniforms back on, it's time for the Games to
begin."

   * * *

   To the host college's fight song, the eighteen scantily clad barefoot
boys ran out onto the field, to the thunderous applause of the 12,000
spectators overflowing the small stadium's packed stands.  Already nervous
wrecks from their exams and what they'd been told in the locker room, the
boys anxiety immediately increased considerably when they saw the large
crowd and heard the applause raining down.  Anxiety that grew even more
when they spotted the very large video screens displaying the proceedings
at many times real life size.

   "Please welcome the Red team to the first ever playing of the Games,"
intoned a sports announcer type, standing midfield with microphone in hand.
Television cameras and boom mikes were all over the place, ensuring that
home viewers didn't miss any of the gory details to come.  As previously
instructed, as his number and name was announced each blushing player took
a spot facing the Announcer, forming a parallel line.  "And now, for the
Blue team!"

   By the time the last boy had been announced, Blue's ten year old Stevie,
wooden frames had been wheeled into position behind the boys.  Standing by
each frame was a smiling high school girl.  To the vast relief of the
organizers, recruiting volunteer assistants had proven much easier than
anticipated.

   "Okay boys," said the Announcer, his voice booming throughout the
stadium, "back up and let the girls tie you into your frames." At that
precise moment, a group of twenty girls in cheerleader uniforms entered the
field, taking up positions on the sidelines, clearly visible to the boys.

   "Why?" asked the always defiant Gary.  To his dismay, the sensitive
microphones picked up his comment.  "Because you were told to," said a
woman now standing near the Announcer, a woman holding an ominous looking
multi- stranded bullwhip.  A bullwhip that she immediately forcefully
whipped down onto the ground, the resulting cracking sound, aided by the
mikes, echoing loudly throughout the stadium.  That had all the boys moving
toward the frames, fast.

   It didn't take long for the cheerleaders to have the standing spread
eagled boys securely attached to their frames.  "Why are we tied up?" Gary
again asked.  "Because," said the smiling Announcer, "we have a little
problem that we have to fix before we can begin the Games."

   "What's that?" asked Barry.  "Yeah, what?" Harry supported his twin. 
"You're wearing uniforms," said the now smirking Announcer, "but the rules
say you have to be naked for the Games." Little Michael groaned, his faint
hopes of modesty dashed.

   "So, of course, we have to take them off," said the Bullwhip Lady. 
"How?" asked Red's David.  "Why, with these, of course," replied the Lady,
holding up a bullwhip flogger.  A string of small metal shards marched up
the length of each strand.  Despite it being relatively lightweight, to the
boys it looked like the most fearsome chastisement instrument imaginable.
If only they knew.  "Each girl," said the Lady, "has been specially trained
in effective painful but safe use of their whips." "Safe," shouted Matthew,
"how can those things be safe?" "Like I said," said the Announcer, "they
won't kill you, or for that matter, permanently main you." "You might end
up with a scar or two," said the Lady, "but that won't be on purpose."

   "Okay, ladies," boomed the Announcer, "begin undressing your boys." And
so it began.  Whip strike after whip strike tearing away at the flimsy
clothing.  More and more boys screaming and then screaming some more, ever
louder, until all were howling in pain, pain more intense than they knew
they could resist.  Pain they would discover as the day progressed was but
the tip of the iceberg.  As the boys' ripped to shreds uniforms began
falling away, more and more of the red welts now marking their bodies were
exposed, some lightly bleeding.  The girls were unmerciful, taking
seriously their duty of whipping every last stitch of clothing off the
boys. That meant not ignoring any covered part of their bodies, no matter
how little or sensitive that part.

   Soon, all the welted, lightly bleeding, occasionally bruised boys were
completely devoid of their uniforms.  Many, especially the younger ones,
were still screaming their lungs out.  All were crying and sobbing.  Gary
was especially distressed, realizing that despite his earlier bravado, this
indeed was not going to be a piece of cake.

   "Now boys," said the Announcer, "while you're still tied up, we have
another little matter to take care of." "And what would that be?" asked the
smiling Lady, brandishing her bullwhip idly in the air.  "Can't tell the
players without their numbers," said the Announcer.  "And with their
uniforms gone, the boys don't have their numbers on.  With that the
cheerleaders with blue and red cans of spray paint, sprayed the numbers on
each boy's chest and back.  Red for the red team and blue for the blue
team. As the numbers were sprayed on, some of the boys with the worst welds
and bruises from the flogging began to howl at the stinging of the paint.

   "Oh, that's going to hurt," prophesied the Lady.  "Absolutely," agreed
the Announcer, "but than, pain is the name of the game." "You can say that
again,"said the Lady.

   "Pain is the name of the game," again said the Announcer.  "Now,
everyone, please welcome our medical team.  Because we care about our boys,
the medical staff is here to ensure the boys' lives and limbs aren't
endangered." "And to help ensure they endure the maximum pain possible,"
added the chuckling Lady, again cracking her whip on the ground.

   Each member of the full medical team, eighteen physicians, nurses and
paramedics, made their way to their assigned boy.  They each immediately
began examining the welts, marks and cuts on the boys' bodies, ascertaining
that other than considerable pain, no serious long lasting damage was done.

   "Okay, boys," the announcer bellowed.  He instructed the now being
released boys, "gather in your team areas.  Captains, you have five minutes
to calm your teams down and prepare for our first Game of the day, Butt
Hole Wrestling, or as we like to call it around here, Stuff the Asshole's
Asshole."

   The large volunteer field crew quickly had the playing area set up for
the tournament of assholes.  Nine mats had been placed on the field.  Two
butt plugs, appropriately sized for that mat's competitors, one red, one
blue, had been fastened opposite end from each other on the out of bounds
circle.  A uniformed referee stood on each mat; alongside each mat two
large college football player types stood.

   "The rules of this Game are quite simple," the Announcer announced the
rules.  "Anything goes that our referees feel isn't dangerous in terms of
causing serious injury other than pain.  Matter of fact, the more pain, the
better!"

   "Pain is the name of the game!" snapped the Bullwhip Lady, snapping her
whip on the field.

   "Boys, the objective," continued the Announcer, "is for each of you to
force your opponents's asshole all the way down on his team's color plug
before he can put you on yours."

   "What if they're not strong enough to push the other boy down?" asked
the Lady.

   "If you get your opponent fully down on the plug on your own, you get
ten points," explained the Announcer.  "Or, once the top of the plug
touches any part of your opponents bottom, you can get seven points by
letting the two gentleman on the side push your boy down for you.  Simply
ask them by saying 'help please' and they will."

   "Can the boys resist or fight off the big jocks?" queried Bullwhip Lady.

   "No, they can't," the Announcer elaborated on the rules of competition,
"they have to let the men put them down, or they might find themselves
sitting on one of these.  As might any boy we feel isn't trying hard enough
to stick his opponent." He pointed to three large plugs, four inches, three
inches and two inches in diameter.

   "No way am I going on those things," hollered Harry.  "They'll rip us
apart," Barry backed up his twin.

   "Well then," said the Announcer, "you're have to do your best to get the
other boy on his plug, which for you two means each other.  And you better
not resist the men in any way."

   "Or," commented the Lady to the two reluctant to hurt each other twins,
"you just might find out how much these can hurt ripping you apart." Both
the Announcer's and the Lady's words had been carefully tailored to create
the impression in the boys' minds that slackers would be riding the huge
invaders, without actually stating this as being a certainty.  Neither the
rules of the Games nor the medical staff permitted the use of such huge
monstrosities, as they most definitely would do major damage.  The large
plugs were on display mostly for the psychological effect on the boys and
as a motivator for them to do their utmost best.

   "But," the Announcer resumed announcing the rules, "don't you winners
think you're escaping pain free.  Once your opponent is impaled, on the
referee's signal you must immediately position yourself over your own plug
and within ten seconds sit all the way down on it."

   "What happens if they don't?" asked the Lady.

   "For each second over ten that they take," answered the Announcer, "they
lose one point, which is given to their opponent.  When they run out of
points, the gentlemen will make sure they go down on their plug." Then,
just to add fuel to the fire and the boys' anxiety, "or maybe even one of
these big boys here," pointing to the large plugs, hinting at what would
not, could not, actually be the case.

   "How about team scoring?" asked Bullwhip Lady.

   "Winning team gets ten points, losing team," announced the Announcer,
"gets no points and a pain penalty."

   "Boys, to your mats," ordered the Lady, once again cracking her fearsome
whip.

   "And, one last thing," added the Announcer, "you have five minutes to
get your opponent on the plug.  If not, neither of you get any points and
the gentlemen will make sure you both go onto your plugs."

   "Any boy on the winning team who has zero points will join the losing
team in suffering the penalty," warned the Lady, whip yet once more
cracking.

   * * *

   "More action, try harder," the referee warned the twins.  "You don't
want to know what a four incher feels like going up your little butts."

   This warning spurned the duo to triple their efforts, Barry immediately
grabbing and squeezing his twin's balls.  Harry, the natural leader and
usually more dominant of the pair, retaliated by kneeing his brother
squarely in the nuts, doubling him over in pain.

   Immediately the whistle blew.  "Potentially dangerous," declared the
referee, "don't knee again, or you're disqualified." Harry backed away from
his brother, having no desire to discover what dire, and undoubtedly very
painful, fate befell the disqualified.  "Center and restart," ordered the
ref.

   On and on the two brothers battled, neither able to get the other's bare
bottom to touch the plug.  Time expired without either twin scoring. 
Immediately upon the horn sounding, the two football players grabbed Barry
and started the struggling screaming boy on his downward journey.

   "Don't fight us now, boy," demanded one of the jocks, "you know the
rules." Barry, reluctantly, gave up the fight and ceased resisting his
swift painful impalement on the slick lubricated plug.  His screams,
conveniently picked up by mat side microphones, resounded throughout the
stadium.  The cameras made sure to show his contorted in pain tear streaked
face.  "Stay there," ordered the other jock when they had the hurting boy's
butt cheeks firmly pressing onto the mat, "don't move."

   Now, they moved toward Harry.  Harry who was grateful that no one had
brought out any of the monster sized plugs.  Harry who wisely didn't
resist. Harry who just as quickly as his twin had an one inch diameter butt
plug jammed up his now very sore hole.  A Harry who reacted just like his
twin, screaming bloody murder, face contorting in agony.  "You stay there,
too," he was commanded.

   Over on another mat, little Michael and Blue's ten year old Stevie were
putting on a spectator show, both aided by their now almost year long
wrestling club memberships.  This was far from the first time the two had
grappled; each was very familiar with the other's moves and skills.

   The two little tens seesawed back and forth across the mat, neither
quite able to get the other's bare behind to touch the top of the
three-quarter inch plug.  That is, until Michael remembered that "anything
goes." As Barry had done in his match, Michael reached out and gave little
Stevie's little jewels a strong squeeze.  Distracted from defending against
his attacker to dealing with the sudden sharp pain in his balls, Stevie
didn't react quickly enough to Michael's next move, rapid and decisive.  In
fact, Stevie didn't begin to counter till he felt the plug touching his
butt.

   Michael was determined to show team captain Matthew that he was wrong
about him, that despite being the youngest boy on Red, he could help the
team win.  He wasn't going to call for help, he was going to stick Stevie
himself.  Michael's next move completely took Stevie by surprise,
unbalancing the still not fully resisting boy.  Michael jumped onto Stevie,
wrapping his arms and legs around the soon to be impaled boy.  Somehow,
Michael was able to maneuver Stevie's behind just right so the plug was
dead center on his hole.  Michael's full weight on Stevie quickly did the
job, the loudly screaming Stevie's bottom quickly touching bottom.

   "Break!" barked the referee, whistle blowing.  "Blue," pointing at
Stevie, "stay.  Red," pointing at Michael, "to your plug.  On my whistle,
you have ten seconds to be on it, all the way."

   The whistle blew, the now screaming Michael began his own painful
descent.  Still determined to prove Matthew wrong, Michael was fiercely
fighting the blinding pain in order to impale himself without the help of
the adults.  It hurt, it hurt really bad, even worse than that time when he
was eight and broke his arm playing soccer, a shard of bone sticking
through the skin.  He didn't care, he was going to do this, he had to do
this.  Drawing on a degree of will power he didn't know he had and exerting
by far the greatest effort to succeed of his young life, he did do it. 
Wildly screaming, partly in triumph but mostly in excruciating pain, the
butt plug fully stuffed his butt hole in eleven seconds.  He had only
forfeited one of his points to Stevie.  Match to Michael, nine points to
one.

   Up in the stands, Michael's parents and siblings were very proud and
impressed with their little warrior, especially his dad and younger
brother. "Wow," exclaimed dad, "he's growing into one tough little dude,
isn't he?" "Sure is," agreed his mother.  "That has to hurt really bad,"
said younger brother.  "I couldn't do that, no way." "Well," warned his
mother, "when you get a little older, behave like Mike did in school this
week and we'll find out if you can or can't."

   On the field, the two team captains, Red's Matthew and Blue's Gary were
warring.  Both were playing rough, realizing that they needed to lead by
example.  Both boys had several nicks and cuts, fortunately, none bleeding.
As in regular scholastic wrestling, for health and safety reasons, bleeding
would require an automatic stoppage to stem the flow and for clean up.  In
such a close contact sport, there was just too much danger of contaminated
blood infecting another.  Matthew got Gary to the mat, immediately dragging
him toward the blue plug.  Gary managed an escape; now he was pulling
Matthew toward the red plug.  Matthew eluded this hold, gained control of
Gary, and started moving him to the other plug.  The battle royale
continued in this fashion for slightly more than four minutes, with it
appearing neither boy would be able to score.  That is, until Matthew's
stamina and endurance was the first to wane.

   To the spectators surprising turn of events, Gary very quickly had
Matthew hovering over his soon to be plug of doom.  Matthew's bottom
touched plug.  Gary hollered, "Help, please." It didn't take the men long
to have the loudly sobbing Matthew jammed all the way down on the
one-and-an- eighth inch diameter intruder.  Despite the intense pain,
Matthew somehow managed to be one of the few boys not to scream upon
impalement.

   Gary, knowing that Blue's honor and his duty as captain demanded it,
impaled himself.  Like Matthew a few seconds before, and like at the patch
suturing, he managed to avoid screaming at the deliberating pain, but the
sobs were loud, the tears continuous.  It took him thirteen seconds, barely
giving his blue team a 4-3 victory for the match.

   ****

   The final tally was announced.  "The winner is," the Announcer
proclaimed, "the Blue team, 25-20." The stands erupted into applause, many
of the Blue parents and supporters joyful over their victory, many of the
Red shaking their heads in disgust at their "little wimps" as one father
put it.

   "Red team," declared the Lady, cracking her bullwhip, "go to the table
in the middle of the field for your penalty.  Your pain penalty!"
Dejectedly, the Reds made their way to the table.  Standing by the table
were the four doctors and nurses from the locker room, as well as three
security officers.  Cotton swabs, various bottles, and several bowls
arrayed the table.

   "From the Blue team," said the Announcer, "for scoring zero points Mark,
Barry, and Timmy need to also go to the table."

   "The rest of you boys," stated the Lady, "can rest for a few moments
before we start our next contest, Skin the Dick's Dick!"

   "All right boys," said the chief doctor, "half of you line up facing the
stands on this side, the rest facing the other side." That task quickly
accomplished, the next command came.  "Start jerking off, you need your
little dicks hard for this."

   "So get them that way, and keep them that way," demanded the assistant
chief physician, the female doctor.  Twelve hands went to work on twelve
varied sized dicks, most of the owners faces red.  Of course, the cameras
and microphones made sure to get up close and personal on all the action.

   As they made their preparations, mixing ingredients into the bowls and
opening the package of swabs, the medical professionals joked, the mikes
overhearing all.

   "Boys, turn around," ordered the assistant chief.  "Good," said the
chief, "you all have boners.  Don't lose them now while you wait your
turn." "Or else," warned the female doctor.

   "You four, come up here," said one of the nurses, pointing to four of
the smaller boys who had naturally clustered together.  Michael, Justin,
Kevin and Timmy all reluctantly shuffled forward.  "What are you going to
do to us?" a nervous Justin nervously asked.

   "We're just going to swab you with this mixture," said the other nurse,
pointing to the four bowls.

   "What is that stuff?" asked an equally nervous Kevin."

   "It' just a combination of Methyl Salicylate and Menthol," said the
chief doctor.

   "What's it used for?" asked the very apprehensive Michael, having no
idea what Methyl Salicylate and Menthol were or what they were used for.

   "That's the stuff," explained the assistant chief, "that they put in the
ointments your parents or grandparents might buy to ease muscle or
arthritis pain."

   "Oh, we are going to make you hurt," the female doctor reaffirmed, "just
like this." With that, she firmly grasped Michael's hard little member,
jamming the swab deep down inside his urethra.

   "Eeeoowie, owwwww," he immediately shouted in a panic, "take it out,
take it out, it stings, it's burning up my peehole."

   Slowly, methodically, twisting and turning, the doctor pulled the swab
up and out of the almost hysterical boy.  She was amused at his gyrations,
knowing that this new pain was no where near as bad as those he'd already
suffered, nor as painful as the next planned penalty.  It didn't take long
for all twelve boys to receive their stinging cleansing swabs, the bigger
boys having to take two swabs at once.  Soon, amid repeated admonishments
of "no touching, no covering up," twelve sets of legs were madly gyrating
in an effort to ease the sting, twelve sets of boy genitals jiggling not so
merrily.

   "And now," boomed the Announcer's voice, "it's Game time!"

   "This Game is for five team points," announced the Lady, bullwhip
cracking.

   * * * Team captains Gary and Matthew were again battling it out, each
furiously rubbing the other's boner.  Boners that grew sorer and sorer, as
the opponent's gloved hand thoroughly worked a slightly abrasive lotion
into the other's dick.

   "Shit, take it easy," screamed Matthew at Gary, "I need my dick!" Gary
didn't bother to answer or slow down, determined to win by leaving
Matthew's dick rawer than his own.

   "Oh, no, I'm cumming," shouted Matthew, alerting all to his cum that was
more pain than pleasure.

   "No stopping," shouted a whip wielding high school girl, soundly
smacking Gary's behind.  "Time's not up yet."

   No sooner had the girl ceased speaking then the red faced Gary had his
own cum.  The embarrassed sobbing boy salvaged some pride from having
managed to avoid screaming throughout the savage ravishing of his most
prized toy.

   The twins were tearing up each other's abraded dicks, scratches and
speckles of blood clearly visible to the prying television cameras.  Each
had already cum twice, only adding to the sensitivity and agony
overwhelming their young cocks.

   Michael was determined to do more damage to Stevie's little dick than
was done to his.  And he was again determined to prove team captain Matthew
wrong, to prove that he indeed was a help to the Red team.  He couldn't
help but cry and scream as his own little dick was rendered red and raw,
but he never slowed down on doing Stevie's dick in, not even during his
several dry cums, or Stevie's.

   "Wow," said Michael's father, "I'd never thought that he'd have it in
him to be so tough." "Me neither," agreed his mother.  "Guess I'll have to
stop calling him a sissy," said his older sister.  "No one's doing that to
my dickie," said his younger brother.  "Well, then," his mother repeated
her earlier warning, "you better make sure you stay out of trouble at
school." "Or they will be doing that to you," father reinforced mother,
"with our blessing."

   On the field, Blue's Timmy was hysterical at what Justin was doing to
his little boy penis.  "Don't tear it up, don't rip it to shreds, please
don't," he repeatedly begged through his screams and sobs, only
halfheartedly attacking Justin's own diminutive member.

   Halfheartedly that is, until the whip blows raining down spurred him on
to his best possible effort.  "Get moving," shouted the girl at his mat,
snapping her punishing strands of leather down onto his belly.  "Faster,"
she demanded, whipping his thighs.  "You can do better," she hollered,
snapping the whip across Timmy's bare bottom, catching on both cheeks the
outer lower edges of his still visible nettle rashes.

   By the time the siren sounded, after eight long painful moments, every
boys' dick was a sorry sore looking mess, red, raw, and some lightly
bleeding.  Every boy was crying, none daring to risk the consequences of
touching their publically displayed privates.

   The judges trotted onto the field, a team of five boys, the youngest
ten, the oldest fourteen, with an eleven, a twelve and a thirteen
sandwiched in between.  As previously rehearsed, the judges made a show of
inspecting each ravished penis, looking, touching, lifting.  Being from the
same school, some of the judges knew some of the now extremely embarrassed
boys.  As each judge inspected each boy, he made a note on his clipboard.
Clipboards that were soon turned in for tallying.

   "The judges have decided," said the Announcer, "that the Red team is the
winner!"

   "That makes our team score," said Bullwhip Lady, "Blue ten, Red five."

   "Blue team, go get your penalty," demanded the Announcer.

   * * *

   Approaching the table, Barry stopped in his tracks, causing Timmy to
bump into him.  "Whoa, Nelly," said Barry, "look at those."

   "No, way!  " shouted Timmy, panicking at the sight of the pinwheels
scattered upon the table.  Around the outer edge of each wheel protruded a
continuous row of sharp half inch needles.  Each pinwheel was attached to a
sturdy seven inch long handle.  "They ain't cutting my dickie off with
those things!"

   Timmy madly dashed toward the sidelines, only to be quickly caught by
several security officers.  Crying, screaming, and vainly kicking all the
way, he was dragged back to the table."

   "No, no!" he shouted as the female assistant chief physician roughly
grabbed his little dick.  "These are called neurowheels," she explained to
the too hysterical to listen boy.  "As beat up as your little penises are,"
said the chief doctor, "I don't think they'll feel too good when we roll
these all over them." Several of the older boys blushed at the "little"
insult to their boyhoods, compared to the younger kids on the field, they
weren't so little, at least in their minds.

   "Shall we find out how they feel?" asked one of the nurses.  "No!"
shouted Timmy.  "Yes," said the assistant chief doctor, "let's find out."
Immediately, she began running the needle sharp wheel all across Timmy's
already very sore dick.  "Eeow, that hurts," he screamed, finding this new
pain on his already damaged dick to be excruciatingly unbearable.

   "Can't hurt that bad," said his torturer, "I'm not even cutting into
you. Like this," she added, applying extra pressure for a few seconds,
causing the needles to prick the little boy's prick, resulting in several
drops of blood.

   Released from his torture, Timmy launched into a wild dance of pain,
shaking and wiggling his genitals in a fruitless effort to ease the pain in
his penis.  A penis he dare not touch in fear of the repercussions for
"covering up."

   It wasn't long before all the other eight members of Blue joined in
Timmy's dance, some more animatedly than others.  In all nine teammates the
neurological pinwheels awakened their penile pain to even greater, even
sharper levels of nearly unbearable hurting.

   "Now, for our last Game of today's event," announced the Announcer, "a
little gagging and choking we call Stuff the Smart Mouths Mouth."

   * * * The volunteer field crew quickly had the playing area set up for
the next game.  Two time clocks one red and one blue were set on a table in
the middle of the field.  Numbers painted on small boards were placed down
the center on the field spaced evenly from the timers table.  Each numbered
board corresponded to each team number painted on the boy's chest and back.
Two uniformed referees stood at the timers table to be the official timer
of the next event.

   "The rules of this Game are quite simple," the Announcer announced the
rules.  "Each boy will take his position aside his number facing away from
the timer's table!"

   "I wonder why they need to face away from the timers table?" snapped the
Bullwhip Lady, snapping her whip on the field.

   "So the referee can see when the boys meet the objective" said the
Announcer

   "Boys, the objective," continued the Announcer, "is for each of you,
while on yours knees, to provide your mouth for use to the hosting college
football players."

   "What?  Provide their mouth for use?" asked the Lady.

   "That is right.  Earlier in the preparation of the games each boy's
mouth was sized to a specific sized dildo.  These sizes where matched to
the host college foot ball players and here the come" At that the stadium
erupted in applause and cheers as the host college theme song was played.
Out of the locker room entrance came the cheerleaders who assisted earlier
and behind them the foot ball players.  Each player was wearing a jersey
with the numbers 6 through 12 on them.  Their jerseys where tied put tight
around their waists and they were nude from the waist down.

   As the players arrived at the middle of the field, in different states
of arousal, the coach read off their names and assigned them to a red and
blue team number.  As the players took their positions at the numbers they
were instructed to face the timer's table.  By each side of the players,
one cheerleader joined him there.

   "This looks to be very promising" said the lady.  "Look at all those
lovely penises".

   "We don't call this Stuff the Smart Mouths Mouth for nothing" said the
Announcer.

   At that, each cheerleader then leaned over and began to stroke the
player's penises to erection.  When all the players were erect, the
Announcer said "OK boys, go to you numbers and kneel down in front of the
players with your backs to the timer's table"

   "No, way!  " shouted Timmy.  "I am not going to do this".

   "Me either" chimed in the boys.  With that, the cheerleaders picked up
the whips again and grabbed each of the boys and dragged them to their team
number positions, forcing them to kneel by wiping and prodding.  Each boy
in position facing the penis that will soon have him in tears, the
Announcer continued with the rules.  "Each boy will be required to kneel as
still as possible as each football player stuffs his mouth with their
encouraged penises".  He continued, "This is a team time score event.  The
first team to have all their players ejaculate their sperm on the boys will
win the game.  The team with the worst time, of course, will go to the
penalty table".

   "Wow" said the Lady.  "Stuffing the Smart Mouths Mouth is right!" she
exclaimed.

   "Can the boys resist or fight off the penises pumping in and out of
their mouths??" queried Lady.

   "No, they can't," the Announcer elaborated on the rules of competition,
"They have to let the football players pump their mouths until they
ejaculate".  He continued "If they try to stand or lean away or pull their
heads away, the cheerleaders will administer lashes with the whips until
the boys get back into position".

   "Oh my, choking, gagging, and welts.  This is sure to hurt" snapped the
lady.

   The boys knelt in shock, unable to utter a single word.  Then finally it
was heard "I am not gay" said the red team captain Matthew as he kneeled in
front of the biggest penis that he or anyone has ever seen.  It was Tyrone,
the offensive tackle.  He stood 6 foot 5 250 pounds and the little
cheerleader next to him was stroking up his massive 12 inch black penis. 
She smiled at Matthew and said "See honey?  The number 12 in black ink on
your arm?  That is this thing right here"

   "This game has nothing to do with being gay.  It has everything to do
with punishing your mouths for back talk and other nasty things that you
boys say" said the Announcer.

   "If you little mouths are going to say nasty filthy things, then they
are going to do nasty filthy things" said the Lady.

   Up in the stands Matthews's mother leaned over to her husband and said
"This will fix his back talk.  I wonder if he slips again that we can get
Tyrone to come over and remind him".  "I'll ask after the game" said her
husband.

   All the boys were confronted with various erect penises whose sizes
corresponded to the numbers on their arms.  The smallest of the boys were
facing 6 and 7 inches, all of them belonging to the white players, and the
middle aged boys were facing 8 and 9 inch penises, some white but most were
the black players.  The older boys were paired up with the huge black
players the 10 and the massive 12 inch Tyrone.

   The cheerleaders then began to administer whips to the boys.

   "EOOWWW" cried little Timmy as he looked at the 7 inch penis oozing
clear gobs of precum, being stroked in front of his face.

   "That" said the Announcer "Is to remind you not to pull away when the
penises are inserted into your mouths".

   When all the football players were erect the Announcer said "Ok men,
stuff the mouths" and with that the line of players jammed their veiny
blood encouraged penises into the boys mouths as a tremendous cheer rocked
through the stadium.  The camera men were going from boy to boy showing the
video feed on the big screen.  Matthew was in agony and could barely
breathe as he tried to accommodate the hideously massive penis now pushing
deeper into the back of his throat.  When all players were inserted in the
now stretched out mouths, cries and whimpers were heard as the cheerleaders
had to remind some of the boys about the rules.

   "When all penises are comfortably in" said the Announcer "At the
whistle" he continued, "Stuff the Smart Mouths Mouth".

   The whistle blew, the clocks started, and the players butts began to
rock back and forth pouring their penises in and out, in and out, of the
tear stained boys faces.  Cheers and hollers came from the stands "Suck
those cocks you little bastards" and "Serves you right you little smarty
pants".  Matthew, the one with the huge 12 inch monster, his mother stood
up and yelled "Go honey, making mommy proud of you".

   Up and down the line went the camera crew.  Filming and displaying on
the big screen.  The cheerleaders were continually whipping the boys back
into position.  Matthew had the hardest time.  Tyrone's long thick monster
keep pushing Matthew's head back each time he sunk it into the 14 year olds
mouth.  The cheerleader assigned to Matthew had to use the palm of her hand
on the back of his head pushing it forward.

   The film crew zeroed in on Justin, the third youngest, he had a 7 inch
white penis stretching his mouth.  The tears where gushing and he to had to
have his head held in position by the cheerleader.  The film crew paned
down to Justin's groin, where the young boy was sporting a boner.

   "Looks like the little ones are enjoying it" Shouted the Lady.

   "Hey look closer" said the Announcer "About half of them have boners"

   Matthew began crying louder as Tyrone's massive penis stretched and
bounced in and out of his mouth.  He to had a boner to.  If fact, he began
to leak out precum.

   "5 minutes" shouted the timer referee.

   The player using Justin's mouth was the first to cum.  He pulled out as
the sperm began to ejaculate in the boy's mouth.  As his penis exited the
strained and sore jaws of the boy, his sperm gushed out in spurt after
spurt of thick ropey cum strands, splattering the boys face and head.  All
players were instructed by their coach two days prior, not to ejaculate. 
He told them they needed to save it for the game so when they did cum, it
would be seen by the timer referee.

   "One down and eight to go for the red team" said the timer referee.

   At 6 minutes three more players began to ejaculate.  Two for the red
team and one for the blue team.

   "Three down for the red team, and one down for the blue" Shouted the
timer referee.

   At 9 minutes into the game, 6 more players had released their sperm
covering the faces and heads of the boys they were stuffing.

   A black player with 10 inch penis using the mouth of a 13 year old red
team player had missed his mark.  His sperm had ejaculated mostly in the
boy's mouth and had gushed out the sides of his cheeks dribbling down his
neck.  The cheerleader assigned to the position, scooped up a handful and
splattered it onto the boys head.  The boy fell back onto his ass and the
film crew zoomed in on his face.  oOn the big screen the cheers went up as
the image of the boy crying, panting, and wiping the huge globs of thick
white sperm ejaculated by the 10 inch black penis off his cheek.

   "What a picture of discipline" pinned the Lady.

   "That one will learn to keep his mouth shut from now on" said the
Announcer

   At 12 minutes, 5 more players ejaculated their sperm after pulling their
penises from the tormented mouths of the boys.  Each spurting large amounts
of pent up sperm cover the faces and head of the boys.

   "It is starting to look like a cum party" said the Lady.

   At 14 minutes, only two players where left pumping their massive black
penises into the to oldest boys, and team captains mouths.

   "We are down to two folks" exclaimed the Announcer.  "The two captains
are left battling it out".

   Captains indeed.  Matthew's jaws were numb as Tyrone was giving him a
sever mouth pumping.  He kept trying not to cry but the pain he was
suffering was too much.  He hated himself for this, showing his boner like
that as this monster penis worked his mouth.  It got the better of him. 
Matthew could not hold back.  Little drops of cum began to shoot from his
boner.

   "Tyrone's huge monster has scared the cum out of the boy" cried the
Lady.

   That was all the motivation Tyrone needed.  At 15 minutes into the game
his thighs tightened and he began to grunt like a bull.  At that moment,
his penis erupted in the hugest ejaculation he ever had.  The force was so
powerful that when he pulled his penis from the wore-out and stretched
mouth of the 14 year old, he had left a huge glob as big as a golf ball in
the boy's mouth.  When Tyrone's thick monster head passed by the boy's
lips, with an audible "plop" the ball of sperm leaked out over Mathew's
lower lip and came to rest on his chin.  By this time Tyrone's throbbing
monster penis was unleashing the biggest ejaculation ever seen during the
games.  String after string spurted out of the enormous hole in the head of
his 12 inch black penis.  Mathew collapsed forward to the floor as torrents
of sperm erupted cover his back and dripping and sliding into the crack of
his ass.

   "Yeah" screened Mathew's mother.  "He did it.  He won the game"

   "Who would have thought the boy had that kind of discipline" said her
husband.

   "It is not over yet folks" reminded the Announcer.  "The rules say all
boys must finish the players".

   "Indeed they do" agreed the lady.  "The blue team captain must finish
the last player".

   Barely conscience the cheerleader assigned to his position requested
assistance from and another.  The two girls held up the boy as his player
continued with the mouth stuffing.  The barely conscience boy's cheeks
where puffing out as wide as could be seen each time the black player's 10
inch penis drove it.

   At 18 minutes, he erupted.  The player did not pull out as was required.
Instead he grasped the back of the boys head and with his free hand, he
began stroking his blood encouraged black penis, as his penis, head of it
deep in the boys mouth, unleashed its sperm.  The boy had no choice but to
swallow the unusually large amount of thick white sperm flooding the back
of his throat as he tried to breath.  Pump after pump of sperm was gulped
by the boy as the mad with lust black player continued to empty his golf
ball sized balls of its seed.

   "Need to see the sperm" reminded the timer referee.

   At that moment, the boy leaned over on his hands and knee's and with a
gut wrenching heave, expelled all the sperm that had been deposited in his
stomach.  Crying and shaking, he wretched not once, but three times,
producing a puddle of sperm intermixed with what looked like cheerios.

   "Looks like he had cereal for breakfast" cried the Lady.

   "Yes he did" yelled the boys mother from the stands, and the whole
stadium erupted in laughter and cheers.

   "And there you have it folks" broke in the Announcer.  "The last game is
over and so is the event.  Red Team has won the Stuff the Smart Mouths
Mouth"

   "Yes they did" said the Lady.  "It was the efforts of the red team's
captain that won it"

   "Let us not forget the unbelievable finish of the blue team's captain"
chimed in the Announcer.  "It will forever be remembered as one of the most
exciting finishes to Stuff the Smart Mouths Mouth".

   "So that means he is exempt from the pain penalty?" asked the Lady.

   "Hell no!" exclaimed the Announcer.  He continued "Blue team to the
penalty table".  With that the cheerleaders ushered the blue team to the
center of the field to receive their punishment.

   "Let's give the football players a round of applause for such great
performances today" said the Announcer.

   The players were all grinning and raising there hands and waving to the
crowd.  Some of the players still had semi erect penises and leaking sperm,
as they walked off the field back to the locker room.

   * * *

   With much trepidation, Blue approached the penalty table as the timer
referee tallied the team time score.  Four tea kettles sat on glowing red
hot plates.  "I don't like the looks of this," captain Gary muttered to his
teammates.  "It has something to do with our dickies, I just know it!"
screamed the again panicking Timmy.  "Every penalty seems to have something
to do with our dicks," commented Barry.

   This time, the two oldest and two youngest boys were called forward
first.  Gary and Thomas were directed to the left end of the table, where
the chief doctor and assistant head nurse awaited.  Stevie and Aaron were
sent to the right side, attended by the assistant chief and the head nurse.

   "What, what, are you going to do to us?" the teeth chattering Stevie
stammered.

   "Oh, just pour this hot water on you dickheads, on your dickheads,"
answered the assistant chief.  "Actually, just behind your dickheads,"
cheerfully pronounced the head nurse.

   "You can't do that, that'll burn us bad," Gary protested the danger to
his own and his teammates' most important appendage.

   "Actually burn, no," said the chief doctor, "hurt like hell, yes."

   "The water on this side for you big boys is only 124 degrees," explained
the assistant head nurse.  "And for you little boys," the head nurse did
nothing to reassure the little boys, "your water is 115 degrees."

   "Let's begin," said the physician-in-charge, grabbing hold of Gary's
dick and roughly peeling the boy's foreskin back to fully expose his glans.
Gary was one of the six boys on the field who wasn't circumcised.

   "Hey," shouted Gary to his handler, "you don't have to be so rough,
you're a doctor for cripes sakes."

   "If you didn't like that," replied the doctor, "you sure won't like
this." Using a pair of serrated biting forceps, the nurse firmly and
somewhat painfully pinched his glans, stretching the young teen's dick
taut. Grabbing a kettle, the doctor, slowly counting to ten, poured a thin
stream of water onto the young offender's penis, right at the juncture of
glans and shaft.

   "Owwwwwww!" screamed Gary in immediate response, this latest torture
proving too much for his resolve to react as little as possible.  As his
principal had predicted, the boy was now screaming his head off and wailing
like a baby.

   All nine boys suitably penalized, the Announcer announced, "Time for the
final team tally."

   * * *

   "Our final time score of Stuff the Smart Mouths Mouth," announced Mr. 
Announcer, "is Red 15 minutes, Blue 18 minutes.  Red wins!"

   As best as they could force their abused bodies, the Reds jumped for
joy, jubilantly celebrating, their pain momentarily forgotten.  They were
done, they didn't have to suffer anymore today, nor come back to suffer
another day.

   "Our final team score," the Lady told all interested parties, "is Red
20, Blue 15.  Red wins the Games!"

   Stupendous applause greeted this proclamation, the Reds smiling and
waving in acknowledgment, the Blues hanging their heads low to avoid
displaying their despair.

   Up in the stands, Michael's proud big sister grudgingly conceded, "they
couldn't have done it without Mikey." Privately, she noted that perhaps she
needed to pick on her oldest brother less, that he was much less a baby
than she had thought.

   "Mike was great!" Michael's little brother agreed with both boys' big
sister.  "He was super fantastic!" the little boy added, reaping more
accolades on his new found hero, his big brother.

   Michael's parents were too busy cheering and clapping to respond to his
siblings high praise of their brother.

   "Blue team, penalty time for losing the Stuff the Smart Mouths Mouth,"
the Announcer reminded the Blues that their suffering was far from over. 
Blue's penalty turned out to be a repeat of the stinging burning cotton
swab in the peehole that had been Red's first penalty for losing the Stuff
the Asshole's Asshole contest.

   Penalty duly administered to the Blue's it was now time to end the game.

   "Before we proceed," the Announcer announced, "a few announcements.  Red
team, you have to remain naked until after you get home from school on
Monday."

   "That's so everyone can see what happens to boys who break the rules,"
said the Lady, bullwhip cracking for emphasis.

   "Blue Team," resumed the Announcer, "you have to remain naked till you
win the Games."

   "After your final penalty, you might just be glad that's the case," said
the Lady.

   "Be sure to come back in two weeks," promoted the Announcer to the
departing crowd, "when today's Blue team takes on a brand new Red team."
"There'll be new surprises, new tortures galore," chimed in the Lady,
cracking her whip for the final time that day.  "Stop by the ticket office
on your way out," extolled the Announcer, "and pick up your tickets now at
a special discount price."

   "And be sure to ask about our special family packages," the Lady got in
the last word on her husband the Announcer, as usual.

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
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Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

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20060217071003
