Smash the Stripper (Part 2): A Male WAM Story

This is a continuation of Part 1 of the Smash the Stripper story. I recommend reading the first part if you haven't already; it sets the stage for this finale!

Scene 3: What Would You Do to Keep This Job?

Once again, the crowd’s murmurs became louder and louder. Archie handed the scissors to Mr. Johnson, then made a beeline toward Steven. He pocketed the handcuffs, took the ball gag – a bright red ball with a black strap – shoved the ball into Steven’s open mouth, and clasped it tight behind his head.

Steven continued to make desperate noises, only this time no one could understand a word he said. Archie’s betrayal continued, as he grabbed both of Steven’s wrists, yanked them behind the folding chair, and locked the handcuffs around his wrists.

Archie forced Steven to his feet. Steven began squirming as he spotted Mr. Johnson approaching with the scissors. For his part, Mr. Johnson made a couple of phantom snips as he approached. Steven knew exactly where this was going, and Mr. Johnson made sure to drag it out.

The crowd groaned as Mr. Johnson knelt down and snipped at the front of the pink-turned-green slimy top, right at Steven’s ribcage. The thick slime made it difficult to chop up at first, but with Mr. Johnson’s muscular hands, the thin fabric never really stood a chance. After a few cuts, Mr. Johnson pocketed the scissors, walked behind Steven’s back, grabbed each side of the frayed garment, and pulled out and up, ripping the top in two with a flourish.

The crowd shouted OHHHH in unison at the sign of disrespect. All Steven could do is collapse his shoulders and show a pained face as his clean chest was exposed for the first time. Drool started oozing out of his mouth.

But the ordeal was only half over. Mr. Johnson wanted to send one more message about his displeasure, so he turned Steven around, making his ass face the crowd. Steven’s yoga pants-covered ass still showed the splatter marks of the back-to-back pie spankings Archie and Mr. Johnson delivered earlier, only this time, there was no pie.

But there was a paddle.

Mr. Johnson shoved Steven’s bare back down, showing his small but perky butt to the crowd, took the wooden paddle from Archie’s frat, wound up with two hands, and smacked Steven’s ass with all the force he could muster. The smack was so hard that Steven’s feet shuffled forward a couple of steps just so he could maintain his balance.

Steven cried out through the ball gag in pain.

The crowd bayed for more, chanting, ONE MORE TIME! ONE MORE TIME! ONE MORE TIME!

Mr. Johnson had to oblige. Once more, he wound up, and somehow smacked Steven’s ass even harder. Steven stumbled forward again, this time almost falling into the chair and tumbling onto the floor.

With each spanking, Steven’s leggings visibly wobbled outward, his butt fat rippling in all directions from the force of the smacks.

Mr. Johnson stood Steven back up and turned him back around.

After delivering the spankings, Mr. Johnson went on to destroy Steven’s yoga pants once and for all. First, he opened up the front, getting a sneak peek of what Steven was wearing underneath. A wry smile grew across his face as he let go of the pants, making them snap back into place at Steven’s hips.

The crowd had waited long enough. Mr. Johnson yanked Steven’s pants open at the right hip; the stretchy waistband gave no resistance. As Steven shuddered in disgust, Mr. Johnson cut Steven’s pants down his right leg, cutting through slime, berries, and whipped cream all the way down to his ankle.

With the right leg in tatters, Mr. Johnson switched over to the other side, cutting straight down Steven’s left leg. It took mere seconds for him to cut to his left knee, and at that point, the ruined leggings gave way in both the front and back of Steven’s body, falling to the floor and revealing what made Mr. Johnson so happy.

Underneath Steven’s yoga pants was a glittery silver jockstrap. The crowd reacted to this with a roar.

Steven’s brand new outfit, which cost him nearly $200 yesterday, was shredded on the ground, mixing with and sopping up all the slop that had already collected at his feet. And now all that was left between him and complete nudity up here was a flimsy piece of shiny fabric that didn’t even cover his ass.

And Steven’s tormentors knew it. Once again, Mr. Johnson spun Steven around, this time, to show his plump, bare butt to the cameras. Since he got the job, Steven decided to put in time at the gym for the first time in his life. He was intimidated by it, with all the jocks and the hot girls in there; he had no idea where to start. But he knew he wanted his butt to look good, so he did squats. Lots of squats. So many squats.

Three weeks of squats wouldn’t give him the bubble butt he wanted, but he was proud of the progress he was making. He was also proud of the surprised whoaaaas he heard from the audience when he was spun around, as if they didn’t expect such a twinky guy to be packing such a dump truck.

But then he realized that there was really only one reason he was made to face the back of the audience. And it was not long before his back got forced down once more, this time making his cheeks spread wide. Not long after that, he heard the count of doom.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

GLOOP-BLOOK! Archie and Mr. Johnson tag teamed him yet again with another pair of pies, each one targeting one of Steven’s bare ass cheeks. Cream and blueberry pie filling exploded everywhere, totally smothering his glutes and sending gobs of pie mess up his butt. It felt a little tingly but a lot horrible. The pie tins were quickly taken away to reveal a gooey mess, blueberries and chunks of pie falling out from between his cheeks, sliding down his thighs, making a mess at his feet.

Steven got spun around again to face the audience, and even with his face covered in pie and green slime, his embarrassment was so apparent. He’d been up here for 15 minutes, his face and ass getting blasted over and over again with cream pies. He’d been slimed, he’d sat on a cake, and god knows what else was in store.

The crowd was getting riled up, and the next thing Steven knew, he heard Mr. Johnson tell them, “Let’s make this short king sit on his throne.”

And with that, Steven felt his knees buckle, as Archie took his shoulders and forced them downward once more. Even with two pies already splattered all over his butt, Steven felt the full squishiness of his seat, as his ass found its way right into the center of a massive sheet cake. The crowd OHHHH-ed yet again as they saw Steven’s ample butt cheeks flatten the six-inch tall dessert, sending chunks of pink frosting over the sides of his seat and shooting out from between his legs.

Even with the ball gag in his mouth, Steven couldn’t help but yell out another moan, as his butt slid all over the seat. He stumbled around to find his footing, smearing cake all around his bottom, his thighs, and, most uncomfortably, straight up his crack. He beat himself up for picking a jockstrap today. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and wished he could just disappear.

It took a few seconds, but Steven finally composed himself. He looked up, just in time to see that the pie throwing version of Nolan Ryan was about to deliver another strike. All Steven had time to do was shut his eyes and whimper before an overfilled whipped cream and butterscotch pudding pie wrecked his face for the umpteenth time. It nailed him between the eyes, blasting his hair, and splattering all over his chest. Gobs of gold-colored pudding tumbled into his lap, leaving a trail of goo all the way down and staining the crotch of his shimmery jockstrap for the very first time.

But it wouldn’t be the last. Steven opened his eyes to find another pie right at his chin, Mr. Johnson’s meaty hand just beneath the tin. Steven knew Mr. Johnson was doing this only to get a reaction, but he had already been pounded so many times that his instinctual reaction was to do exactly what Mr. Johnson wanted: beg for mercy.

Mm-mmmmm. Mm-mmmm!!!! Steven moaned through the ball gag.

MM-HMMMM!!! Mr. Johnson retorted. He reared back and plowed Steven’s face yet again, smearing the pie around and around before taking the crumpled tin and frisbeeing it into his chest, where it bounced off his left pec and flew to the side of the stage.

By now, Steven had lost count of how many desserts he’d been hit with, and was reduced to hoping that the audience was getting bored of this ritual execution. But with this event taking place once a month, and with the exorbitant entry fees that patrons had to pay just to enter the club, they were always looking to get their money’s worth. Expectations, as he was told multiple times, were very high.

And for this sadistic crowd, that meant getting the most pained reactions possible from the month’s honoree. While Mr. Johnson was working Steven’s face with his latest pie, Archie had already picked up another. Only this time, he figured he’d give Steven’s face a break.

With pie mess sealing his eyes shut, all Steven could do was hear the crowd getting louder and shouting their approval. What he didn’t see was Archie pointing directly between Steven’s legs. His knees were spread wide, giving the audience a tremendous view of his meaty crotch. With his silvery jockstrap shining like a disco ball underneath the spotlight, Archie couldn’t resist aiming for a new, more sensitive target.

Steven scrunched up his face when he heard the count, expecting another skull-shattering hit to the face.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

THOONK!

Steven felt the impact of his first-ever pie to the crotch, and let out a long, agonizing wail as if he’d been shot. Archie slammed a massive banana cream pie straight down onto Steven’s lap, making the shiny piece of cloth covering his manhood disappear completely. Though the jock protected his dick from mess, it couldn’t protect him from the pain, which shot up his spine and made his brain tingle.

Steven reacted by looking straight up at the heavens, where he only barely had time to close his eyes as he saw Mr. Johnson, armed with not one, but two pies, looking right back at him.

“Peekaboo!” he’d said, right before turning Steven’s lights out, spiking two chocolate cream pies straight down onto Steven’s face like a quarterback celebrating a touchdown.

BLAM. A brutal pie sandwich, deafening the young model for the very first time.

Steven’s body convulsed as another wave of mess came raining down onto his mostly naked body, mixing with the slime and berries to create a slurry of every color of the rainbow. He struggled and squirmed against the handcuffs, and his feet started pounding the stage floor, causing his balls to wobble from inside the jock, giving the audience another show.

But of course, the boys weren’t done yet. Despite still having over a dozen pies left, they decided to go bigger. Conveniently, two sheet cakes remained on the cart, and they weren’t about to go to waste.

The audience’s collective voice again began to reach a crescendo, except this time, Steven could barely hear it. He couldn’t see the boys either, with thick chocolate cream pie smothering his face and his hands unable to clear his eyes.

This time, there was no count; instead, what Steven couldn’t hear were the guys whispering to each other, “You go high, I’ll go low.”

Both Archie and Mr. Johnson reared back and let the cakes fly from a full five feet away, and both converged on Steven’s body with a force that nearly sent him toppling over the back of his chair.

As usual, Archie scored a direct hit, slamming Steven’s pie-covered face with a two-foot-long strawberry filled cake. Steven’s body jerked upward from the hit he didn’t see coming, as the entire thing exploded with a blast zone that no pie had achieved thus far. After the cake was done with him, his upper half from his nipples to his face, which had been covered in green slime and white whipped cream, became totally pink.

Steven had some fortuitous timing, because as his body jerked from the surprise and force of Archie’s cake, that was the moment when Mr. Johnson’s chocolate buttercream cake connected with Steven’s torso.

The hit took Steven’s breath away, all while coating everything from his diaphragm all the way to, yes, his balls, with chocolatey goodness. While it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the pie to his crotch, the feeling of thick cake smothering everything from his head to his dick made Steven groan so loud that even the guests in the back could hear his agony. Steven’s entire front was a thick, heavy, sweet, sticky mess.

As a final flourish, both guys took both of their hands and smeared the cake all over Steven’s chest and stomach. Archie even smeared his hand across the cup of Steven’s jock, knowing that this was something he could hold over him when both men were back on campus. Steven shuddered at the feeling, powerless to do anything about it.

Both men licked their fingers, tasting the bits of cake that had been all over Steven’s body. They approved of the taste and of their handiwork. Then, they wiped the remainder on whatever bits of clean skin they could find on Steven’s body.

And still, they weren’t done. Both men grabbed large, restaurant-size tubs full of chocolate syrup and caramel as Steven looked on in horror. But with the gag in his mouth and his hands behind his back, there was little he could do but kick his legs, squirm in his seat, and violently shake his head no. Naturally, the guys didn’t listen.

Archie threw his hands forward, splashing a wave of caramel right in Steven’s face. The viscous tan liquid seemed to seal his eyes shut, giving both men the chance to go to town on Steven’s helpless body. Both Archie and Mr. Johnson walked behind him, and slowly started to pour. The crowd ohhhhed in pity as Steven’s face slowly became engulfed in a mix of black and brown. The pink and brown of the cakes seemed to disappear under the thick, heavy syrups, turning Steven an ugly shade of black in the process. His shiny crotch cover took on more mess, the chocolate ensuring that this time, Steven’s sexy garment would be ruined permanently.

Just a few items remained on the cart, and Archie and Mr. Johnson were at the point when they wanted to savor every last moment; if Steven quit tonight, like they imagined he might after this public humiliation, it might be a while before they had a poor performer that deserved a trashing like this.

With that in mind, they finally took up the bazooka guns that were dipped in a bucket of watery whipped cream. Steven’s eyes stung from the ungodly amounts of chocolate syrup that got dumped on him, which meant he didn’t even stand a chance. The crowd began stomping their feet as Archie raised the double-barreled bazooka full of whipped cream. Like the pies and cakes before it, Archie took aim right between Steven’s eyes. Right as the noise reached a fever pitch, Archie suddenly pumped the barrel of the gun, sending two jets of pie filling screaming toward Steven’s face.

Screaming was the operative word, as that was the noise Steven made when he felt the force of the blast, like a shaken up soda whose cap was suddenly taken off. Steven’s body shook violently as the blast continued for what seemed like forever. The white of the cream mixed with the black of the chocolate syrup and the brown of the caramel to create swirls of color, smothering him from face to chest with all kinds of crazy colors. When the deluge finally stopped, Steven hung his head in shame, as cream fell off his face and out of all of his orifices, oozing their way down to his lap.

His lap, where Mr. Johnson was waiting with his double-barreled bazooka. Suddenly, Steven felt a rush of cool air on his dick. With his eyes still glued shut from the chocolate sauce, he resorted to using his shoulder to clear his eyes out. When he finally did, he looked up and saw a scene of horror: Mr. Johnson right in front of his face, and his jockstrap held open, two cream-filled barrels pointed right inside.

To this point, Steven’s dick had been spared direct punishment, but that was no longer the case. Steven screamed something incomprehensible. Mr. Johnson simply said, “Bye, bye.” And he fired.

BLOOOOOSH!!

Steven’s helpless dick got blown about from the sheer force of the two jets of cream fired straight into it. If Steven had any voice left, he used the rest of it here, crying out from the shock of the most horrifying thing he had ever felt. The combination of the pain, the embarrassment, the humiliation, and the crowd egging Mr. Johnson on was as much as he could take. He came to the club today thinking he was going to do another honest day’s work. Instead, now with runny whipped cream flooding out from between his legs, he felt like he’d been reduced to a carnival act. And still, it felt like there was no end in sight.

Not long after getting his crotch crammed with cream, Steven felt the warm embrace of even more slime being dumped on his head. He received three buckets in all – pink slime, then yellow, then green, each one mixing with the chocolate, caramel, and cream to create the ugliest looking shade of brown all over Steven’s once immaculate body.

Archie wouldn’t let him look this way. So he took the last bucket, a nice bold blue color, and, instead of dumping it over his head, he simply tossed the contents straight into Steven’s face. This left him looking like a smurf, his face unrecognizable, his body dripping all the colors of the rainbow.

“And that, my friends, is Smash the Stripper!” Mr. Johnson proclaimed triumphantly. “Can we have a round of applause for Steven?”

The crowd rose to give Steven a standing ovation. They even chanted his name, recognizing how much courage it took to simply sit there and take pie after pie, cake after cake, to get paddled multiple times, to have his clothes torn off, to take a cream blaster right to the nut sack. This was a gambit meant to get the weakest performers on staff to quit on the spot, but Steven didn’t. He considered it, but didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

After all of that, Steven appreciated the recognition, but wished that he could simply have been called into Mr. Johnson’s office and told that his performance needed to improve. Now, he had no clothes, smelled like the fucking Hershey Factory, and still had to work an entire shift. Not to mention that Archie was his classmate, so anytime they crossed paths on campus, sat together in class, or saw each other at parties, Steven would know Archie had dirt on him.

But that was for another day. Right now, he was just relieved that this brutal public humiliation was finally over.

Or so he thought.

The next thing he heard was Mr. Johnson’s deep baritone, which he had come to fear at this point.

“Can we get our VIP members up on stage, please?”

From his spent, slouched over position, Steven suddenly jerked back to attention. He looked around, and saw about 15 men, some on the younger side, but most middle-aged, balding, overweight – maybe not the most attractive in this straight guy’s book – leave their seats and approach the stage. Steven took note that none of the VIPs were any of his regular clients. These were the high rollers. Whatever they say goes, and they were about to have the final say in this month’s Smash the Stripper event.

Steven didn’t even need to look over at the cart to know what was going to happen next, but he did anyway. On the cart were a little over a dozen pies still left over. It didn’t require a college senior to connect the dots. Each man was handed a pie, and each faced the helpless, handcuffed, muzzled messy model like a firing squad. Many of the guys made lascivious gestures and faces at Steven, which somehow felt more humiliating than anything that had been done to him so far tonight.

Mr. Johnson said, “We love our members, especially our VIPs. Archie and I had most of the fun tonight, but this is one way we get to say thank you to our most generous members.

“So, Steven. Anything you have to say before this happens?”

All he could do was let out a panicked moan.

“Oh, right. You can’t speak, can you. Well, a little tip for you before we finish. If you want to avoid having all of this happen to you again, you might want to remember these faces. These are the guys whose generosity could get you out of the dog house next month. Got it?

Addressing the audience, Mr. Johnson said, “I just want to thank you all for attending this month’s Smash the Stripper, give yourselves a nice, warm round of applause!”

Hearty applause breaks out among the 40 or so left in the audience.

“Before we go, we have one more piece of business to take care of.

“Alright, guys. On the count of three, you know what to do. FINISH HIM.”

Steven’s moans and head nods escalated. His heart started racing faster and faster as the guys all took a step forward and cocked their arms back.

The remaining members of the audience, and all of the other performers, all counted together. This is it, Steven thought.

ONE!

Steven’s pleas for mercy fell silent.

TWO!

He shut his eyes, tensed his entire body, and prepared for the worst.

THREE!

Please god, don’t let this hurt.

SMASH THE STRIPPER!

A crowd of horny men unleashed their fury on the young, fit college student’s body, launching a barrage of pies like missiles hitting their targets. Steven’s head got knocked back several times from the force of the hits, as virtually all of the guys landed direct hits on his face and body.

A chocolate cream to the side of the head. A blueberry filled right between the eyes. A banana cream right in the mouth, sending sweet cream and banana pudding down his throat. A coconut cream straight to the chest, knocking the breath out of his lungs. And several others still, banging hard against his face, his head, his shoulders, and his chest.

When it was all said and done, everything from Steven’s navel up to his face was completely destroyed. It was as if he was handcuffed in a chair with Jigsaw from “Saw” watching him unsuccessfully try to escape his handcuffs and neutralize a whipped cream bomb that detonated right in his pathetic little face. To sum it up, Steven was completely annihilated.

But four guys held back. Of the 15 or so that took the stage, four of them still had pies in their hands. Steven could barely blink his eyes open, they were so far buried under mountains of cream and pie filling. But he blinked enough to be able to see out of one eye, and noticed the first of the four coming straight at him, pie in hand.

Steven barely had time to yell “Wai–” before he was silenced with another big hit. This one was a thick chocolate cream that whipped his neck back, and that the giver swirled around and around.

Another man noticed Steven’s face getting worked and took the opportunity to use the distraction to his advantage. He handed his pie to another of the four guys for a moment, took both hands, grabbed the waistband of Steven’s jockstrap at his hips, and yanked them down with a flourish.

The crowd jeered as Steven’s dick finally made an appearance! His dick wasn’t the largest amongst the performers, but it was sizable, and it looked so delectable covered in the whipped cream from the gun. As with the rest of his body, Steven took great care of this area too; he was virtually hairless.

With his face still getting pummeled with the first pie, all Steven could do was squirm in his chair. He could sense he was naked, but was too distracted to know what would happen next.

Until he felt it. With Steven’s underwear now down at his ankles, VIP #2 retook his pie and smashed it right onto Steven’s cock and balls. The pie exploded on impact, sending cherry pie filling, whipped cream, and crust in all directions, and sending Steven’s body into another round of convulsions. His hips buckled, he slid forward in his seat, and his head bucked, causing the first guy to finally relent with his pie and slide it over his head, into his hair until it fell to the floor on the other side.

Steven let out a noise that sounded vaguely like ‘UGH-HO-HOOOO-NOOOOO”, as he was quite literally stripped of the one tiny shred of dignity he had left.

Those wails would only get louder. Seeing the reaction the last guy got, VIP #3 took his pie and did the very same thing, except harder, slamming his blueberry filled pie straight down onto Steven’s nut sack. Steven cried out in a way that he hadn’t since he was a child, screaming in agony as he felt blueberries mixing with cherries, dark blue syrup mixing with red syrup. In his lap was a sludge that oozed from his hairless crotch onto the folding chair and straight down to the floor, where a pile of pie several inches high had begun to form.

With one extra pie left over on the cart, VIP #4 happily took it, walked right behind Steven, and as he was gasping for air from the second brutal hit to his balls, VIP #4 turned Steven’s lights out for good, burying his face with a devastating pie sandwich. Cream and key lime pie shot in all directions, even splattering one or two of the VIPs. But Steven clearly got the worst of it. His face seemed to have been rearranged, his eyes nowhere to be found, his hair as mangled as the dozens of pie tins surrounding his totally spent body.

VIP #4 finally let the pies fall to the floor, but not before the three other VIPs all picked up handfuls of the pie slop at Steven’s feet and began rubbing them sensuously into his chest and all over his face.

Sultry music came on over the loudspeakers as the guys smeared pie mess all over Steven for 15 seconds, before finally, the crowd began to applaud one final time, the guys took their cue, flicked the pie remnants on their hands right at Steven’s body, and took a bow.

Steven slumped in the chair, utterly humiliated and completely spent. His head hung low, all while clumps of pie continued falling from his head, either splattering in his lap or taking the long journey down his body, leaving sticky goo in its wake. His feet sunk into the pile of slop on the stage floor, soaking into his skin and between his toes. His ass was still stuck to the cake he’d sat on long ago, his dick and balls were now covered in pie, his jockstrap rested comically around his ankles. He could barely take in what had happened over the last 30 minutes (or was it an hour? Two?); all he could do was gasp for air and thank his lucky stars that the show was finally over.

After shaking people’s hands and thanking everyone for coming, Archie finally came over to unlock Steven from his handcuffs and remove the ball gag from his mouth. Rather than try to reclaim his modesty and pull his ruined jockstrap back up to cover his manhood, Steven simply stepped out of it, figuring everyone had already seen all there was to see. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Johnson was nowhere to be found, a phantom that Steven now knew only came around when someone on staff needed to be punished.

A plastic pathway was made for Steven to go back to the showers to clean up, but by the time he got back there, he remembered his only clothes; they were all torn up, somewhere beneath the piles of pies, slime, cakes, and syrup back on stage. So much money, all for nothing. And now, he had his jockstrap, and nothing else. Either he’d get a ride home, or take the worst bus trip back to campus.

But in the meantime, he still had a shift to do, tips to earn. No one would take it easy on him tonight just because he’d been used on stage for everyone to see. And with no other outfits available to him, Steven just made do with what he had: the jockstrap, once silvery and shimmery, now without any of the glitter it once had. Soggy, sticky, smelly. Just like him.

He stepped onto the floor with as much fake confidence as he could muster, but then he saw it: the spotlight still shining on the empty folding chair, a melange of sticky slop all over it. Goop all over the stage floor. It would stay there the rest of the night as a reminder to him. A sweet-smelling warning of what poor performance earned you around here.

Some of the regulars stuck around, and many of them were drawn to Steven, whether because of his guts, out of pity, or simply because he smelled like cake. But no matter the reason, he got a head start on escaping from becoming next month’s Smash the Stripper victim. By the end of the night, he had his best night of tips since starting at the club. He’d be able to replace his shredded outfit a few times over.

Maybe this was the start of something good. Or maybe the Smash the Stripper tip bump was exactly the kind of thing that kept below-average guys like him from ever leaving. Despite the ever-present possibility of losing every shred of dignity you’ve ever had, the money was simply too good to pass up. Archie was right after all.