Character Building
I desperately needed some spunk and I needed it now.

But I was distracted. It was the first time I'd ever rolled a condom over my cock; a big deal in the life of any young man. I remember looking down at my little fella and thinking: It’s a stick up! and sniggering to myself like a drunken lunatic. The wee chap looked forlorn, scared, almost trembling like a small blind animal in my hand, and he also looked like he was wearing stockings over his head and was about to hold up a bank.

But, back to the job in hand, I thought, and I started pulling the pud furiously. I hate to admit it, but this was an angry wank. There was no enjoyment in this. None at all. So, locked in a cubicle in the bogs at half midnight, having had far too much Skol for a fifteen year old, I wanked furiously to an inevitable, sticky, salty conclusion.

I was on a residential trip to Wales with my school to help 'build our characters'. We’d arrived earlier in the day and set about doing a range of character building trust exercises which culminated in the ultimate test - standing in front of another kid and falling backwards so they could catch you. Fuck that. After five or six kids had sustained what in medical circles they refer to as ‘severely bruised arses’, we gave that up. Then we moved onto some healthy hill walking interspersed with our own inner City twist of chain smoking, spitting, and swearing like pissed up Irish nuns on St. Patricks Day.

The walk was going ok, well, as ok as being forced to march up and down mountains can be when your fifteen and as lazy as fuck, when suddenly something, some horrible wet object landed on my head with a sticky splat. I reached up, thinking a mighty mountain bird had shat on me, and recoiled in horror as I removed a used condom full of spunk from my bonce.

“Urggggghhhhhh!!!” I said, chucking the damn thing onto the unspoilt ground.

And then a load more used johnnies rained down, hitting my mates and I in the ultimate barrage of biological warfare. It was not nice. Not nice at all. And when the barrage stopped we turned to see Rik and his crew laugh at us menacingly. Rik was the uber bully at my all boys comprehensive. A big thick twat who could crush walnuts in his bare hands. He liked nothing more than fucking with everyone and everything - he was our very own James Dean, our very own rebel without a cause; only Rik didn't have a motorbike and had been well and truly tickled with the ugly stick; he had a face like a slapped arse.

“Plenty more where they came from you faggots!” Rik reasoned.
And there were.

We spent the next hour or so trudging and slipping through the mud while a barrage of spunk-filled prophylactics rained down on us – it was like the First World War trenches, only instead of dodging the high explosives we had to contend with little rubber cock socks filled with premium weapons-grade man milk.

And I remember all I kept thinking was: Where the fuck are they getting all this cum from? Rik and his merry band of teenage dad cretins must’ve had testicles the size of cannonballs!

And the solitary teacher we had with us, a newly qualified airhead named Mr James, either chose to ignore what was going on or genuinely didn’t give a fuck. It was a pretty miserable experience. I was remember afterwards feeling lucky that I hadn't inadvertently gotten pregnant.

Later back at the lodge when Mr James and the rest of the teaching staff (the ones who couldn’t be bothered to go mountain trudging) had fucked off to the local, Rik and his posse cracked open the crate of Skol they’d smuggled in with them and set about drinking. Rik sidled up to me and gave me a beer, put one of his butcher-sized arms round me and said:

“No hard feelings, Spanky – but you’ve gotta admit that was funny as fuck, mate.” Oh, yes – Rik was the kind of fucking comedy. I could hardly contain myself from laughing til my sides split. I imagined he’d soon be on stage lobbing used cock raincoats into the crowd.

Oh, how they’d laugh. Oh, how they'd cheer...

I grunted an acknowledgement of just how funny Rik was and pissed off. A plan forming in my booze-addled brain. (I was only fifteen and at this time even a whiff of beer would get me absolutely wankered).

Fast-forward to half past midnight, Rik and his crew are hammered on illicit beer and have retired to their bunks in the big dorm we’d invaded for the week. I’ve sneaked cat burglar style into Rik’s bag and helped myself to a small square foil packet containing something round and rubbery, and I’ve padded off to the bogs...

I return, a little sweaty and red faced from my exertions, holding aloft the still hot crinkly efforts of my labours for all to see like a fisherman proudly displaying a prize fishy catch. Then I tip toe over to Rik asleep in his bunk and place the fucker squarely on his face. He moves a bit, mutters, but doesn’t wake up. And the rest of us gather round, silently, not to do anything much really – just to have a look.

And the condom, placed with loving tender care over the bridge of Rik's nose, leaks some of its spunky contents down Rik’s face, a thin river of testicle tadpoles trickles ever-so-slowly directly

into

Rik's

open

mouth...

Rik splutters a bit, rubs his face with a hand, and manages to splat a load more of the lumpy white contents onto his lips and cheeks as if he’s squeezing out the final contents of a sachet of mayonnaise. A wave of exited muttering breaks out amoung the gathered watchers as Rik proceeds to coat his nose, lips, cheeks and chin in a fine layer of gonad glaze.

It really was an awsome sight...

Eventually my mate Greg whispers to me: “That’s ace, Spanky! Don’t forget to put the can of shaving cream back in that cunt’s bag - if he finds it in your stuff he'll rip your fucking arms off.”

I whisper back, not able to take my eyes from the strangely alluring homoerotic display before my eyes: “Shaving cream?”

“Yeah, you know – what these cunts were chucking at us earlier today...” and – as Greg clocks the instant panic spread over my face he utters four little but incredibly insightful words: “You sick, sick fucker...” Greg says.

I then spent the next half an hour trying to clean my cum from the school bullies face while trying not to wake him up - now that's fucking character building, I can tell you...
( SpankyHanky, Tue 19 May 2009, 10:30, 7 replies)

Oh you went to Glasbury too then
good times
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Tue 19 May 2009, 10:43, closed)

Another quality submission
from the jizzmeister himself.

*clicks*
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Tue 19 May 2009, 10:47, closed)

Incidentally
Crushing walnuts with bare hands isn't actually that hard (unless you only use one hand. That's hard). It's the splinters of wood in the palms that get to you.
( MatJ LOOK, Tue 19 May 2009, 11:46, closed)

"swearing like pissed up Irish nuns on St. Patricks Day"
This gets my click!

(Thank god we have at least a couple of posts this week that make us laugh.)
(MichaelS wasn't picked again, Tue 19 May 2009, 12:15, closed)

Classy
Spanky does it again, :)
clicks
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Tue 19 May 2009, 12:28, closed)

Oh Spanky, when will you learn?
Almost all of your posts follow the same basic formula,

1. Spanky puts his jizz somewhere.
2. Spanky realises he shouldn't have put his jizz there.
3. Shame ensues.

And we love it. Top work as usual sir.
(Uncle Comrade, Tue 19 May 2009, 22:59, closed)

You left out copious amounts
of vomit that do seem to populate/permeate many of Lord Spanky's posts.
(MichaelS wasn't picked again, Wed 20 May 2009, 2:31, closed)