Kilt-A-Whirl

Author's Note(s): Hey, folks. Sorry that I've been missing in action for so long. To be honest, I'd been struggling with severe writer's block. I'm hoping it has finally lifted, but only time will tell. This is the first thing I've been able to finish in nine months; please forgive me if it feels less polished than some of my previous works.

This story contains fetish content, including ENM, CMNM, and humiliation. There's also a soupçon of blasphemy near the end. Please refer to the tags if you are wanting more information to help you decide whether or not to give it a read. All characters in this story are eighteen years of age or older.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My emerald eyes told a story. Their hazy pink corners were the direct result of staying up until nearly 3 a. m. the night before downing glass after glass of Macallan neat. Each sip had contained a hint of freedom; my mom had always ranted about how only the "lazy" and "hopeless" drank more than an occasional celebratory flute of champagne.

I could hear my uncle and cousins out in the common area of the farmhouse we were staying in. Their hearty laughter was no match for the poorly insulated walls. The clinking sound of crystal and the booming echo of "sláinte" made it abundantly clear that they'd decided upon the "hair of the dog" approach.

I rubbed my broad jaw with my right hand. Even though I'd just turned eighteen the week before, I still couldn't grow facial hair to save my life. On that morning, it was a blessing since I hadn't brought a razor with me.

I splashed some cold water on my face as I leaned over the sink. My cheeks turned rosy from the shock. A few drops cascaded down onto my well-built chest, similarly bare.

I'd been wrestling, playing football, and training at the gym since I'd started high school. I had bulging pecs and six-pack abs to show for it. I gave myself a lot of credit for the latter; no other guy in my family was lean enough to not have a little layer of padding covering their abs.

I was slightly shocked, however, by just how pale I looked. The unflattering lighting made my nipples look like two bright pink gumdrops that had tumbled from a child's pocket into a snowdrift. Several bright blue veins popped with neon electric just below the surface of my skin.

BANG-BANG-BANG!

I nearly tumbled backwards feeling the vibrations from door violently shaking a few feet away. It straightened my spine with an unexplainable sense of anxiety.

"Move your ass, Lachlan" the groom, Stewart -- who also happened to be my eldest cousin -- hollered through the door. "Ain't got no time to spank the monkey this morning!"

A roar of laughter bounced off the tiled wall behind me. I could picture all the guys in the next room whooping it up. For the second time that morning, my cheeks filled with blood.

"The photographer is waiting," Stewart continued. "Get a move on."

"I'm... I'll be there soon!"

I glanced down at my lower half. I looked preposterous. I was wearing shiny black leather dress shoes, fancy white socks that were pulled up over my calves, and tattered plaid boxers. I turned around and studied my outfit, which was displayed on two hangers. On the left, there was a white dress shirt, a vest, and a jacket that didn't seem to be nearly as long as any of the other ones I'd ever worn to formal events. On a separate hanger to the right of the other items, there was a kilt in our family's tartan.

I scambled as quickly as I could. I tossed on the dress shirt; the fabric draped down over my boxers a little bit. When I put on the vest and jacket, it hit me just how odd the proportions were. Rather than extending down over the crotch area like a traditional suit, the jacket and vest combo ended an inch or so above my waistline. Maybe that's to better show off the kilt? I wondered with a nonplussed shrug.

There was a bowtie I hadn't noticed earier tucked behind the other items. I was relieved to see that it was the kind with a fastener on the back; I'd never worn a real one before in my life.

I turned my attention to the kilt. How does this thing even work? I pulled it off its hooks. There was still a lilttle purse-like bag secured to a chain left on the hanger, but I didn't know what that was for either.

I held the wool frabric in my hands like it was a bomb I was trying to defuse. Well, there's a strap on this side and two straps on that side. There's a clamp thingy here that kinda looks like a belt buckle. Then there's a hole on the inside that could fit one of the straps. I tried wrapping it around my waist, hoping that the act would help clear things up. It did not.

"For fuck's sake, Lachy," my cousin, Duncan, yelled through the door.

I heard the knob rattling before I had time to tell him I'd be out in a minute. I spun around on the balls of my feet; the slick bottoms of the dress shoes helped me glide. Right as Duncan was barging into the small bathroom, the kilt slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.

"I don't think that's the family tartan," Duncan said with a chuckle, nodding at my well-worn green plaid boxers. "What's taking you so long?"

"I'm... I'm just not very good with this thing?"

"What? The kilt? Is there something wrong with it?"

I shook my head; I felt more embarrased than it made sense to be. I looked at my twenty-three-year old cousin. He clearly wasn't mad, but he couldn't understand where I was coming from, either. The smirk on his face was all the evidence I needed to know that he thought the situation was funny.

"I've just never worn a kilt before," I mumbled.

"Never worn a kilt!" Duncan echoed back with shock in his voice.

Even admitting it, I felt a little sad. Duncan's dad -- my uncle -- had immersed all of his sons in Scottish culture from a young age. I remembered hearing about them taking traditional dance classes and bragging about how delicious their dad's stovies were. My dad hadn't cared as much; he'd taken to midwestern culture like a fish to water. Sometimes I wondered if he might have taught me more about my heritage if he hadn't passed away when I was only ten years old, but it was something I'd never know.

Duncan could have roasted me; he decided to take pity on me instead. He let out a mildly annoyed sigh before walking towards me. I scooped up the kilt from the floor as he approached.

"Just turn around," he instructed. "It's not rocket science."

He didn't take the time to explain. He just wrapped the fabric around me, slid one of the straps into the hole I'd noticed earlier, then adjusted the fastener. On the other side, he took two more straps and wove them through more traditional-looking buckles and secured them. What would have taken me ages took him less than a minute.

"Thanks," I said meekly.

"No problem. The photographer is waiting for us. He wants to shoot some group photos of the groomsmen before he heads over to get some shots of the bride getting ready."

As we began to walk out of the bathroom, I looked back to make sure I hadn't forgot anything. I saw the small black bag on a metal chain still draped over the hanger that the kilt had been on.

"Wait," I said as I jogged back to grab it. "What do I do with this?"

Duncan paused for a moment. He rubbed his temple with one of his hands. Was it really that dumb of a question?

"Just toss it over your shoulder like a purse," he said. "Well... obviously it's not a purse, but just like kilts aren't dresses, people mistake the two all the time."

I awkwardly positioned the chain over my shoulder. It wasn't really long enough to let the bag hang down all that far. I held onto the chain with one hand since I worried it might fall off if I didn't.

We scampered out to the main room. My uncle, Angus, was sitting on a plush leather chair with a large glass of scotch in his right hand. He was talking with his youngest son, Hamish, who was standing next to him. Stewart, the groom, who'd yelled at me through the door earlier, was chatting with his best friend, Callum.

"Look who I found," Duncan announced.

"There he is!" Hamish exclaimed. "The baby of the clan. How does he look more hung over than any of us? Kids these days!"

I just shook my head. I knew Hamish was just giving me a hard time. At twenty-one, he was the youngest of his siblings, so he'd always enjoyed having someone even younger to tease. My coming to visit had always seemed to be a rare treat for him in that way.

"What are you doing with your sporran?" Stewart asked with bewilderment in his eyes.

"What?" I asked.

"Your sporran!" he repeated while pointing at the small bag attached to the chain hanging by my side.

Sporran? Oh!

"The purse thing?" I asked.

Duncan covered his mouth to stifle a giggle. Callum shook his head and rolled his eyes. It was in that moment that I noticed that they all had one - a sporran - too. The difference was that they were all wearing them around their waists, while I was clutching onto mine like a girl would her favorite purse when she was getting ready to go hit up the club.

"Asshole," I whispered to Duncan as I removed the chain from my shoulder.

All of my cousins, as well as my uncle, burst out into laughter. I'd let on that I'd been actively set up, not merely ignorant. I had no idea why that had made it acceptable to join in, but it had. My uncle, in particular, seemed to be having a blast. He was slapping his knee and leaning forward like he couldn't catch his breath.

It's not that funny. Just how much has he been drinking?

"What did..." he started before having to pause to chortle. "What did the wee 'un think it was?"

"A purse, apparently," Stewart chimed in. "Girls always have to have somewhere to keep their lipstick in case they need to reapply."

He traipsed towards me and pinched my left cheek. It felt so infantilizing. I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. So funny. Just get it out of your system. I focused on putting the sporran on the way it was meant to be worn. I found a small hook on the back that allowed me to adjust it so I was wearing it like all the other men in the room.

"I couldn't resist," Duncan said. "It was too easy."

"Aye," my uncle proclaimed as he started to calm down. "You had your fun. Now go get the bairn a drink."

Wee 'un. Aye. Bairn. My uncle had been a teenager - even younger than I was then -- when he'd immigrated. He still had the accent, but his speech was far more American than Scottish. Only a few Scottish words remained sprinkled across his sentences. I had always wondered if he did it intentionally to remind himself where he came from, or if it was something he couldn't control.

Duncan returned and pushed a tumbler full of whiskey into my hand. I begrudgingly took a sip, even though my stomach was telling me not to.

I glanced around the room; it was my first time seeing the farmhouse during waking hours. It was clearly designed to be a space for men to gather. There were paintings of ships and horses on the walls. The furniture was all upholstered with a mahogany-colored leather. On the coffee table next to my uncle's seat, there was a humidor that was most certainly stocked with expensive cigars.

"Where's that photographer?" Hamish asked. "He was waiting around for us, and now when we're all here, he's disappeared."

I wasn't thinking when I took a bigger sip. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I grabbed the arm of the unoccupied sofa next to the armchair my uncle was occupying and nearly tossed myself down on it.

Stewart and Callum were talking about the reception. Apparently, there had been some issue with the cake. My uncle, Duncan, and Hamish were discussing something far more important than the wedding: rugby. My uncle had always been obsessed with it, and all three of my cousins had played since they were teens. They all had the classic rugby build, too - tall, massive chest, large biceps, and over-sized thighs.

"What's wrong with your kilt, lad?" my uncle suddenly asked.

"Huh?"

I quizzically glimpsed down at my lap. I was worried that maybe I'd spilled my drink on it, but there wasn't any stain that I could see.

"No, what's that?" he asked, pointing to the hem above my right knee.

"Oh, just my boxers," I said nonchalantly.

"Boxers!" my uncle exclaimed. "With a kilt? Ain't ye got any pride? No true Scotsman wears anything under his kilt. Nothing makes you feel more alive than the breeze sneaking up under your kilt and kissing your arse."

I just shook my head. I assumed he was playing around with me again. I wasn't about to be singled out as the laughingstock of the group... again.

"Duncan," my uncle said, "why didn't you tell your cousin that we don't wear anything under our kilts?"

"I already had to put the damn thing on for him," Duncan said. "You wanted me to take his underwear off for him, too? Next you're going to tell me that I'm in charge of changing his diapers and powdering his ass."

My stomach did a somersault. I felt like I'd committed another faux pas. It was just more proof of how much I didn't quite fit in with the other guys in my family.

The photographer entered the room right as my uncle was about to reply. He walked over to where Stewart was standing. We all looked at him expectantly.

"We're going to go outside and take some photos," he said. "I'll do a few combinations: groom and father, groom and best man, and we'll close with the entire group. I'll give you all guidance, but we're here to have fun on this special day. Remember, I work for you, so if you want a specific shot, just tell me."

Everyone acknowledged his spiel with a collective nod. My uncle and I started to get to our feet; my knees wobbled beneath me. I looked at the glass I'd just set on the coffee table. It was nearly empty. Did I really drink all of that? It took me a moment to realize that I'd taken a few gulps after having been picked on by the group.

"Take off your boxers, Lachlan," my uncle said. "We don't want them showing up in the pictures."

"I... I..." I started to say, suddenly feeling my heart thumping in my chest.

Everyone in the room was gawking at me, even the photographer. It felt like they were all waiting for me before we could go outside. I really did not want to take them off. I was already thinking of asking to go change into some boxer briefs that would be short enough to have no chance of being seen in the photos.

I didn't say any of that, though. I let my fingertips find the lower hem of my boxers. I tugged on them slowly, since I worried they might be tangled with the fabric at the waist of my kilt. It only took a moment before they fell the floor.

"That's it, lad!" my uncle said, slapping me on the back. "Time to air out the tadger and bawbag!"

All of my cousins and Callum started chuckling. My uncle looked genuinely proud, albeit still pretty buzzed. I carefully squatted down and grabbed my boxers from the floor. I began to walk back to my room so that I could toss them inside of my duffel bag.

"Just leave them on the table," Stewart commanded. "We're already running late."

I folded my boxers and set them down next to the glass I'd been drinking from. It felt odd leaving them out in the open, but I didn't want to piss off the groom on his wedding day.

As we exited the farmhouse, I shielded my eyes from the sun. It was the perfect spring day - just warm enough without crossing the threshold into "hot." I smelled some type of floral scent in the air, but wasn't sure what it was.

It took us about ten minutes to walk to the spot on the property the photographer thought would have the best backdrop for the shots. It was in front of a rustic looking barn that was constructed of sun-bleached pine boards. The structure looked about as sturdy as a house of cards.

"Okay," the photographer said. "First up, father and son."

We all watched as my uncles and Stewart took center stage. There was no denying the family resemblance. They both stood six-foot-two and had incredibly broad shoulders. My uncle, however, carried some extra weight in his belly. Probably from all the whiskey he's always tossing back, I thought.

The photographer had them pose naturally at first. They stood side by side, and while neither of them cracked a smile I could see the pride in their eyes. After that, the photographer told them what to do. First, he had my uncle "help" Steward with his bowtie. Then he instructed my uncle to tell a story about when Stewart was young so he could get some shots of them laughing. The whole process probably took about five minutes.

Next, the groom and best man stepped into the limelight. While they were being photographed, the rest of us stood in a semi-circle. My uncle pulled a silver flask from inside of his jacket. He cast his eyes in Stewart's direction as if to acknowledge that he knew his son would be pissed to see him drinking more so close to the ceremony.

"Dad," Hamish said, "don't you think you should slow down?"

"We're celebrating! It's only once you get to see your eldest son get married."

Hamish and Duncan both chuckled. It seemed like they knew that they weren't going to stop their dad from doing what he wanted to do. My uncle tilted his head back and placed the flask against his lips; his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he frantically drained the small container. Once he'd finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That's smashin'!" he exclaimed while already looking a little more soused than before.

The tops of my uncle's cheeks were turning bright red. He glanced over at me while I was staring at him. My mouth contorted into an awkward smile. Just have a good time, I reminded myself. Why do you care if he drinks too much?

My uncle took a step closer to me. Before he even started speaking, I could smell the booze on his warm breath.

"How's it feel, wee 'un?"

I didn't reply, even though it was clear he was speaking to me. I shook my head; I had no earthly idea what he was talking about.

"How's it feel?" he asked again.

"What?"

He took a step toward me so our bodies were almost touching. I thought he was going to wrap his arm around my shoulder. He probably needs it to steady himself. Even though I'd had a few shots worth of booze that morning, I was in far better shape than him.

Suddenly, I felt something grabbing at the back of my kilt. I craned my head over my shoulder. My uncle's large mitt had yanked up the hem so that my lily-white ass was on full display. My muscles turned to stone and I froze in place.

"The feeling of the wind on your arse?" my uncle stated. "Feels like freedom, huh, lad?"

"Jesus Christ," Duncan said with a titter. "You putting on a show for us, Lachy? Didn't know there was a full moon scheduled for today."

"There's not a hair on it!" Hamish belted out, as he moved in for a closer look. "Do you shave your ass, Lachy? Or haven't you gone through puberty yet?"

"If that's what his ass looks like," Duncan piled on, "he's probably still waiting for his pubes to come in."

My heart was pounding in my chest. My throat had gone dry. I wanted nothing more than to reach back and swat my uncle's hand away, but I couldn't for some reason. As if the gods had heard my prayer, my uncle suddenly dropped the hem of my kilt and it unfurled to cover my ass again.

"Don't tease the boy," he half-belched. "He'll grow up soon enough."

The three of them dove right into a different conversation. It was like they'd been interrupted earlier and were picking up where they'd left off. I nodded along; I was still confused about what had just happened. It had been mortifying in a way I'd never experienced before, but it had also made me feel a weird tingly sensation in my belly.

"Now everyone jump in," the photographer instructed, pulling me from my dazed state. "Time for the group pictures."

We all lined ourselves up. Stewart was in the middle with my uncle and his best man on either side of him. Duncan had opted for the right side next to Callum, whereas Hamish had placed himself next to his father. I stood next to him.

We moved through the same types of pictures I'd seen him take earlier. He'd give us individual feedback to make sure we all looked alike. Callum was told to stop squinting; Hamish needed to fix one of his socks since it had start to unroll itself over his calf.

We did some silly ones after that. I stuck out my tongue. My uncle pretended to strangle Hamish. I couldn't really see what everyone else was doing. I did notice that some of the tension that had been building in my shoulders was starting to dissipate after a few poses.

"Those look great," the photographer said, "but I'm not in love with lighting. It looks like there's a large cloud that's settled above you. Let's move to our next spot."

We walked another five minutes. I talked with Callum about my plans for college in the fall. He was more encouraging than any of my cousins, who would have just been trying to find ways to make a joke about the topic.

The next location was right next to the area where the reception was going to take place. There was cluster of birch trees and a formation of rocks that had a gentle waterfall cascading down it. I wondered if it was real or if they paid someone to build it for them.

From where we stood, I could see the back entrance to the reception hall. There was an entire crew of servicemen filtering in and out of the doors. Most of them were dressed up like they were working in the kitchen or helping manage the facilities. One or two of them would occasionally look over in our direction before carrying on about their business.

"Okay," the photographer said. "Let's try that again."

I'd expected him to want to start from the beginning with my uncle and Stewart, but he jumped right to the group shots. We reshot the more traditional pictures first. I found myself hoping the lighting was better, because the process was getting old.

"Duncan," my uncle said, "be a good lad and fetch me a chair from the reception hall. I need to sit down after we finish these pictures. I should've drunk more water."

Duncan sprinted away while Stewart checked in on his father. I'm sure the last thing he wanted was his dad passing out as he walked down the aisle. My uncle batted them all away. He was firm in the fact that he felt just as great as ever; he repeated that he just needed to sit a moment after we were done.

Duncan set up a folding wooden chair next to the photographer. He tapped the seat like he was inviting his dad to come over and rest.

"You're all acting like you need to call in a priest for last rites," my uncle said with a hearty chortle. "Get your arse over here before I stick my fancy shoe up it."

"He seems to be in better spirits," Callum said wryly; we all burst out laughing.

After we got back into formation, we reshot the funny photos again. My uncle even called Duncan over so that he could feign kicking him in the ass for one of the shots. The way we were whooping and hollering was attracting a lot of attention. About a dozen workers had taken a break to watch the spectacle.

"Nice," the photographer said. "Those are going to turn out perfect. Now, I want to get a shot with some motion. You, mister best man, step forward."

Callum moved away from the line. I couldn't tell how he felt about being singled out, but if it bothered him, he didn't let it show.

"Turn around and face your friends," the photographer said. "Then pivot on your left foot so that you spin all the way back around to facing the same direction you'd been before."

Callum appeared a little confused. He made eye contact with Stewart, seeking some kind of reassurance. Stewart just shrugged.

"Like this?"

Callum arched his right shoulder back like he was loading tension into his body. Then he used his right foot to launch himself before lifting it from the ground. He spun around a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees.

Part way through his revolution, the wind had caught his kilt. It fluttered and lifted a few inches showing off the skin directly above his knees. It took a second for me to realize that was the entire purpose of the photographer asking him to spin in the first place.

"Excellent," the photographer said. "The women love these kinds of shots. I have yet to meet a bride who hasn't gotten a kick out of seeing her husband mid twirl."

"Well," Stewart said, "who am I to deny my bride and her friends a view of these knees?"

He playfully hiked up his kilt a few inches to reveal his knees and the swath of dark hair directly above them. We all sniggered; my uncle gave him a swat on the back.

"Let's give it a try," the photographer said.

We all got back into our places. It was utter chaos. Some of us were starting to spin too early; others weren't making the full rotation. If nothing else, we were all working ourselves into a fit trying to do it in unison.

"My kilt is getting a little too much air," my uncle joked after one attempt. "They're going to confuse me with Marilyn Monroe."

I peered over at the workers. The seemed to be enjoying us making fools of ourselves as much as we were enjoying doing it. Even though they weren't exactly close, I could hear one of them cackling.

"We never learned this in our Scottish Country Dance classes," Stewart quipped.

"Okay," the photographer said. "One last spin. Put some extra oomph into it this time. Three. Two. One. Go!"

I tried to contort my back as skillfully as I could to build up the power needed for a world-class spin. I pushed off with my right foot and lifted it into the air. I couldn't help but squeal as I began my journey.

As my body started to face the photographer, I felt something happening at my waist. I assumed that it was the sporran jostling around, but then I felt something popping at my hip. I watched in terror as the fastener on my kilt gave way. The force from my spinning motion caused the piece of fabric to fly a solid ten feet before it crashed down onto the grass.

No. No. No. No. As I came to a stop, that was all I could think as I reached down to grab the fabric from my kilt that was no longer there. I looked down; the only thing covering my crotch was the sporran that I had mistaken for a purse.

"Look at the wee' un!" my uncle's voice boomed. "He's in the bare scud!"

"Holy shit!" Duncan cried out. "Lachy lost his kilt!"

Yet again, they all burst into hysterics. This isn't happening, I told myself in vain. This isn't happening. I used one hand to hold my sporran in place over my junk while using the other to pat at my ass. I'd been hoping that the fabric from my dress shirt was covering it. To my dismay, the back of my shirt had become badly bunched up underneath my vest as a result of all the spinning.

"Is he smacking his ass for the camera?" Hamish asked. "I didn't think you had it in you, cousin."

"You said the girls like knees," Stewart started. "How do they feel about barely-legal buns?"

My ears were ringing; the hair on my arms was standing on end. I moved both hands back to my crotch and used them to cling to my sporran like it was a proverbial life raft. I hunched over and scuttled towards where my kilt had splayed itself on the ground. I grabbed at it with one hand, while trying to protect my modesty with the other.

"This is the funniest shit I've seen in ages," Hamish said.

"Do you mind if we take a few more funny pictures?" Stewart asked.

"It's your wedding," the photographer said.

Meanwhile, I was regretting not getting a proper lesson earlier. What the fuck? Okay, there's the one strap. Where's the hole? Where's the fastener? My eyes were popping out of their sockets trying to make sense of the puzzle in front of me. It appeared that the one side of the kilt had stayed fastened while the other had malfunctioned. I remembered that the now-undone side had a cheap metal tab-style fastener to secure the strap. I kept looking for it, but I couldn't seem to find it.

"Come on, bud," Duncan said, crouching behind me. "We've got to finish the photos."

"Yeah," Hamish chimed in over my other shoulder. "Can't hold up the photo shoot."

They jerked me up with a hand under each armpit. "What? What are you talking about?" is what I would have cried out, but I literally couldn't speak.

"If we're doing this," the photographer interjected, "put him in the middle."

The line of men parted as I was pushed towards them. A space opened right at the center between my uncle and the groom.

"Let's just ditch this for now," Stewart teased taking the kilt from my hand.

He folded it a few times and lobbed it so that it landed onto the grass next to the wooden chair a few feet away. I instinctively tried to lunge forward to go after it, but there was a hand that wrapped itself around the back of my neck at that very moment.

"Lad is holding onto the sporran for dear life," my uncle said through his laughter.

What the fuck is going on? I'm naked from the waist down taking photos for my cousin's wedding. No. No. This isn't really happening.

I looked down. I could see a few of my trimmed black pubes barely visible behind my hands and the sporran. My thick, muscular thighs were nearly glowing from all of the light reflecting off of them. I looked like a complete idiot.

The same piercing cackle I'd heard earlier caught my attention. I gazed over at the group of workers to see that they were losing their minds. It surely wasn't every day that they saw one of the wedding guests that usually annoyed them stripped of his clothes and put on display.

"Now do one where you look surprised that one of you forgot to put on half his clothes," the photographer prompted.

I remained frozen. All of the men around me contorted their mouths into feigned gasps and opened their eyes wide in disbelief. My uncle wasn't pulling it off very well; his frame shook as he tried to stifle his glee.

My face had started to turn beet red. Oddly enough, I still had a smile plastered on my face. For some reason, my expression refused to reflect everything that I was feeling on the inside. The tingling electric crackle of mortification was lighting up all of my nerve endings. My lungs were working hard to take in each frantic, shallow breath. There was a lump the size of a golf ball lodged in my throat.

"How about the other side?" my uncle shouted with delight.

What? What's he saying?

His hands grabbed me by the shoulder. My legs almost got twisted up under me as he spun me so I was facing the opposite direction of everyone else in the line.

"Look at that arse!" my uncle said. "Pale as a pitcher full of milk fresh from the cow's teat."

Shoot me. I can't do this. I imagined myself darting away toward the farmhouse, but my legs remained paralyzed. I wasn't ashamed of my ass; in fact, I was quite proud of how muscular it looked from all the time I put in at the gym, but that didn't mean I wanted to be on display for everyone to gawk at.

"I can't believe it," Hamish said. "His ass is actually jiggling - like a bowl full of Jell-O."

I could feel those small tremors in my legs, but I refused to believe that it would make the ass quiver in any way that was noticeable to the naked eye.

"He may have those abs," Stewart teased, "but he's got some baby fat left on that ass."

"Come on, cousin," Duncan chimed in. "Tighten those glutes for the camera. Don't want people thinking the McDougall men all have flabby asses."

Flabby? I knew it wasn't true, but it still got under my skin. My backside was far more akin to a muscular bubble with a little padding on it than an unsculpted mass of fat. Without even thinking, I tensed my cheeks like I was a trained dog following his owner's command.

"That's a boy," Duncan praised me.

My humiliation grew as the group transitioned through several poses: a formal one that failed to acknowledge that I was there with my butt on display, another funny one with them all pointing at my tight buns, and one where they all turned around to pretend like they were going to moon the camera. They didn't though; it was too enjoyable for them having me being the only one exposed.

"We should probably get moving on," the photographer stated after what felt like forever.

"Just one more," my uncle said.

I was already back to facing the camera again; I'd been spun forward a few moments earlier. I just wanted it to end. I wanted to wrap the kilt around my waist and try to forget everything that had just happened.

"Arms around each other's shoulders, lads," my uncle instructed.

His arm left arm and Stewart's right arm snaked into the openings in the crooks of my elbows. I looked down in disbelief as my hands were wrenched away from the sporran they'd been clutching. My uncle and eldest cousin entangled their arms with mine to ensure that mine were trapped behind their shoulders.

The photographer snapped away while I gazed down. The sporran was precariously covering my genitals. I could still see the very top of my trimmed black pubes peeking out above the top of the pouch.

"I thought Lachy's hands were glued to that thing," Callum teased, nodding at my groin.

"The sporran or his cock?" Duncan joked.

"His cock!" Hamish yelled, which spurred some belly laughs.

The workers in the distance caught my eye again. The group of men was still there, although it appeared that people were filtering in and out. A couple of them were holding up their phones. Are they... are they filming this?

"You," the photographer said. "I'm getting a shadow."

I went to speak, but nothing came out. My mouth just hung open for a moment before I forced it shut again. His brow contorted as he stared at his camera with greater intensity. Suddenly, his expression changed completely; he looked bemused.

"I think that pouch isn't quite big enough to cover everything," he said.

Holy fuck! No way! Part of my cock is on display! There's going to be pictures of my dick out there! Right as the other guys were losing their shit, I tried to yank my arms free so I could cover myself again. I could sense my uncle and Stewart actively working to keep me locked in.

"He's a growing lad," my uncle teased. "Ain't got nothing to be ashamed of. Keep on shooting."

Stewart was leaning forward, trying to get a better look. The grin on his face told me how much of a kick he was getting out my misfortune. "I don't think there's all that much to hide," he said.

A moment later, I felt fingertips sliding across my lower back. It took me a moment to realize it couldn't be my uncle's or my eldest cousin's, so they have to be from one of the others.

I was fully expecting a firm swat on the ass. It would have given them all a kick to see me jump in shock. I prepared myself to fight against the urge to react; I didn't want to look any more ridiculous than I already had.

"Well..." Hamish said drawing out the word. "Let's see about that."

Something smacked against the top of my right shoe. Breaking eye contact with the camera, I glanced down. No. No. No. NO. NO! The sporran was on the ground between my feet. My asshole cousin had been undoing the hook.

Everyone stood in stunned silence for a moment. Unfortunately, it didn't last.

"Get a load of this," Duncan said. "Lachy's got his cock-y out."

"Trying to steal my bride?" Steward teased.

"Well done," Callum commented, nodding at my dick.

I peered down at it. I'd been blessed in more than one way. My cock was five-and-a-half inches soft. I knew that it was pretty thick, too; I could barely wrap my hand around it when it was flaccid. The bit of foreskin dangling from the end of my unit seemed to be ever-so-slightly swinging in the wind.

"Christ almighty!" my uncle said. "The wee 'un isn't so wee!"

The blood that was flooding into my face was making me feel hot. I could swear there were beads of sweat starting to form on my brow.

"Get a look at that thing!" he continued. "Must've gotten it from his mother's side. McDougall men are many things, but we're just happy if the lass can feel it when it goes in."

"Speak for yourself, old man," Hamish said.

"I've seen all my bairn in the flesh," my uncle replied. "Unless you've grown an extra two inches since we all showered after rugby last week, the wee' un has you beat."

"It may be small," Stewart began with a heap of self-deprecation, "but my wife-to-be doesn't have any complaints."

It might sound stupid, but I felt embarrassed by my size for the first time in my life. There was something about all the other men in my family talking about being normal, or perhaps smaller than average, that made me feel like I'd forever be the odd one out.

"Can you believe that thing?" my uncle asked the photographer.

I felt himself disentangling his arm from mine. As if he knew what I might do if given the opportunity, Hamish grabbed onto my wrist to make sure I remained trapped.

"Thick as a cricket bat," my uncle teased; the booze on his breath smacked me in the face. "The lad is going to score a century with this thing when he goes to university."

He reached down, grabbed my cock by the root, and pretended to swing it like a piece of sports equipment. His calloused fingertips scratched against my soft skin. I still couldn't process what had just happened when he let go of my dick and it began to swing between my legs like a pendulum.

"It's a hit for six!" he said, pretending to be a sports announcer.

The nerve endings in the base of my dick were sparking with energy from having been prodded. The howling from the men lined up by my side stirred up so many emotions within me - embarrassment, anxiety, shock, and something that felt kind of like excitement.

The vibrations from their laughter worked their way into my body. I suddenly felt blood starting to rush towards my groin. Jesus, no! This can't be happening. I was eighteen years old, though; my cock had a mind of its own.

I could feel it starting to get bigger, but I refused to look down at it. If I don't see it, it's not really happening. This isn't really happening. I felt my foreskin starting to get tighter against my cockhead as it plumped up and pushed itself into the sunlight.

I waited for someone to comment on it. Surely, Hamish will shout out that I'm getting a boner as soon as he sees -- another opportunity for him to humiliate me.

"Looks like the wee' un is a soft touch," my uncle said in a way that sounded more understanding than what I'd been expecting.

"Shit," Hamish said, "Lachy's getting a hard-on?"

"Naw," my uncle said. "It isn't even standing at attention. Still bigger than yours."

Hamish shook his head; he was clearly less than pleased that his attempt to start a pile-on hadn't worked. My uncle gave me a stealthy wink to let me know that it was all just tomfoolery to him.

"We really should get going," Callum said. "I'm sure Lachlan must be happy that we're running low on time."

Stewart unlocked his arm from mine, which made it easier to free my wrist from Hamish's grasp. I bolted over to where the kilt had been tossed on the ground next to the chair. I squatted down and frantically looked at it again.

I could hear my uncle settling down onto the seat next to me. He let out a loud sigh. Stewart was talking with the photographer about some details related to the ceremony.

"Let me see that," my uncle said.

I looked over my shoulder at him; he nodded at the kilt in my hands. I stood up and handed it to him. Once my hands were empty, I used them to cover myself.

"Didn't you just turn eighteen?" my uncle asked as he looked at one of the kilt's buckles.

"Last Sunday," I said, noticing how dry my throat was after going so long without speaking.

"Did you get your licks?"

"What?"

"Hamish! Duncan!" he called out; they quickly walked the few feet to us. A mischievous smile appeared on my uncle's face. "Lachy never got his birthday licks."

They all made eye contact with one another; they were speaking in that nonverbal way that only happens amongst family members. Duncan grabbed me by the scruff of my neck. I desperately wanted to scream at him to let go of me... but I didn't.

My uncle tossed my kilt onto the ground. Hamish grabbed my elbow. I tried to pull away; it all happened so fast.

"Can't let the wee 'un get away without his birthday licks!" my uncle cheered, calling the attention of Stewart, Callum, and the photographer. "And he's already bare-arsed."

They pushed me so that I nearly tumbled over my uncle. I ended up with my hands bracing myself against the grass on one side of his body and the toes of my shoes digging into the ground on the other. My ass was centered so it was on display over his lap.

Duncan was squatting down by my shoulders. He maintained his grip on my neck with one hand and used the other to press against my back; I could feel Hamish on the other side with one hand wrapped around each of my ankles.

"Get some photos of this," my uncle commanded. "Not every day a bairn becomes a man."

THWACK!

His giant mitt smacked down with an intensity I could have never imagined. My entire body shook. A shockwave cascaded through my groin. I could suddenly feel that my cock was wedged against the side of my uncle's bare thigh. His kilt must have ridden up during the commotion of ensnaring me. The top side of my semi-hard dick was pressed firmly against his hairy, well-muscled flesh.

THWACK! THWACK!

"Look at that handprint," Callum said. "Bright red on his lily-white ass."

"Arse feels as smooth as butter," my uncle teased. "How does the lad have a horse cock and a baby's bottom?"

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Holy shit! Fuck me! No. No. My asshole was beginning to tingle with each swat. My cock had grown to its full nine-inch potential, and it was as hard as a rock. I could feel it pulsing against my uncle's thigh. As warm as his skin felt, I knew that I was even hotter down there.

"Looks like the workers are enjoying the show," Stewart said.

"Come on over and take a closer look," my uncle playfully hollered. "Just showing the lad who's in charge."

I tilted my head to the side. My heartbeat was echoing in my ears from all the blood rushing to my head. I watched as a group of fifteen or so men between the ages of thirty and sixty made their way towards us. I couldn't help but focus in on the food stains on their aprons and smeared grease on their coveralls; they were men's men. And I felt like a little boy who'd been thrown over his daddy's lap.

THWACK! THWACK!

Oh, God! I can't. I can't. My cock had started full-on dribbling pre-cum. Its slit was sliding against my uncle's thigh with each jarring slap. My nuts were bouncing up and down too.

"I'd rather die than let myself get bare-assed whooped in public," one of the workers said to his friend.

"Su culo esta tan rojo comó un tomate," another one said while sniggering at me.

I just wanted to dig a hole and crawl deep into the ground. I felt mortified. I felt ashamed.

I also felt more turned on than I could remember ever feeling. What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Look that the wee 'un's arse," my uncle proclaimed to the group. "Eighteen years old and nary a hair on it."

Holy fuck! He began to rub his large hand on my right cheek in a circular motion like he was trying to show just how smooth my behind was. The butterflies in my stomach took to the sky.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

"Oh God," I whispered so low that barely I could hear myself. I bit down on my lip to make sure it wouldn't happen again.

My cock was throbbing. I had started thrusting my hips with each swat; it made my dick piston against my uncle's thigh in the smear of pre-cum that was leaking from its tip. An explosion was going off in my core. I could feel the ever-increasing warmth spinning out of control inside of me.

"I had more hairs on my arse before I snogged my first lass," my uncle teased. "Not even one. Not a single hair."

Holy shit! He planted one hand on each of my cheeks; then he scooped them up and gave them a little jiggle. All of the men started cackling. I turned my head back towards the workers; a few of their eyes were filling with tears.

"Not even in here," my uncle half-slurred.

No. No. No! I felt his hands wrenching open my cheeks. The warm breeze snaked its way down into my canyon and grazed my tenderest flesh. My asshole twitched like it was trying to lock itself tight. The rhythmic pulsing of my ring caused my dick to frantically tap against my uncle's thigh.

"Not... even... one!"

My eyes rolled back into my head as one of his large fingers pressed down on the spot between my asshole and balls. He's not. He can't. There's no fucking way. But I was wrong. Sparks ignited in my groin as he slowly dragged his finger towards my hole.

"Jesus," he said. "Pinker than a virgin's pussy."

The men, including my cousins, all roared again. Then my uncle's rough fingertip stopped directly on top of my pucker. Oh, God. Oh, yes. No. No. My ring was pulsing in time with my heartbeat. It felt like it was puffing up the same way my cock did when I got turned on. It was the first time I'd experienced the feeling.

My cock squeezed out a few more drops of pre-cum. The feeling of being touched there, along with everything else happening, was just too much. My breathing was getting faster and shallower as I desperately struggled to fight back against all the sensations.

Thank God! was all I could think as he pulled his hands away from my ass just as swiftly as he had assaulted it.

"What's the count?" my uncle asked. "Fifteen?"

"Twelve," Hamish said, happy to correct him. "Six more to go."

"Aye."

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Oh fuck! Yes. Yes. Yes! My hips were thrusting with all the force I could muster in time with each spank. The sticky goodness lubing up my cock felt amazing. My uncle's warm, muscular thigh had me so close to going past the point of no return. I can't. I won't. Don't let yourself do it. Don't give in.

My nuts had pulled up close against my body. My asshole was chaotically squeezing tight and releasing every few seconds. In that moment, I couldn't help but love what I was feeling. I was close to euphoric.

"Okay, wee 'un," my uncle proclaimed. "Eighteen!"

THWACK!

He swatted his hand down with twice as much intensity as he'd used for the other seventeen. In turn, I jammed my cock against his skin with an equal amount of force. As soon as I did it, I knew how stupid I had been. No. No. No. I felt my balls dancing like they always did right before I was about the cum. I breathed in deeply and used every ounce of willpower within myself to stop the process. Not now. Not now. Not now!

I tensed muscles I didn't even know I had. I would have turned off my heartbeat had it been an option. Right as I was about the pass the threshold, the wave pulled back in the other direction. Yes! Thank you! I would have died of embarrassment if I shot my load all over my uncle's thigh. Thank you, Jesus!

I exhaled deeply. I was still incredibly keyed up; it felt like my mind was moving faster than reality. I felt Duncan release my neck then remove his hands. A second later, Hamish let go of my ankles.

I turned my head towards the workers, Stewart, Callum, and the photographer who'd been watching the entire saga. They were all in the best of spirits. A few of the workers were even still filming me with their phones; they undoubtedly wanted to capture me shamefully skulking away after having gotten my ass whooped. It was the icing on the cake for them.

"Time to get up, lad," my uncle said.

I can't. I'm fucking hard as a rock. Everyone is going to see my cock head smeared with pre-cum. I glanced at where the kilt was a few feet away. I wondered if I could somehow cover myself with my hands long enough to grab it and wrap it around my waist.

While I was mid-calculation, my uncle started to stand up. I had little choice but to go along with him. As I was trying to grab onto the chair to help push myself up, Hamish grabbed me under the armpit and yanked me so hard that I shot to my feet.

SMACK!

That time it wasn't a hand on my ass. It was the sound of my throbbing cock slapping against my six-pack. I froze in place staring down at my bright-red beast. The helmet had an inch-long strand of pre-cum hanging from the slit.

"Holy shit!" Hamish exclaimed in disbelief.

"Fucking hell, lad!" my uncle yelled.

I don't know why, but he grabbed me at the crook of my waist. I tried to find my footing, but I went stumbling backwards. He wrapped his arms around me as I fell so that I was ultimately sitting on his lap. His arms squeezed me tight.

"Tell Santa what you want, wee 'un," he said with a chortle.

"Kid's gun is loaded," one of the workers whispered.

"What the fuck, Lachy?" Duncan said, looking utterly confounded.

My heart was smacking against my sternum with each beat. I suddenly felt light-headed, like I was on the verge of passing out. I went to speak, but couldn't find a single word.

"Maybe a pet dog?" my uncle chided, keeping up the Santa act. "Looks like you already have a big toy to play with."

The workers hooted at the line. My uncle unclasped his hands from where they'd been secured around me. I watched as his right mitt started to move toward my cock, which was pointing at my face like a rocket ready to launch.

Don't. Stop. No. My body knew what was about to happen. My balls started their dance again; my asshole tightened like a vice. My cock throbbed even harder; I could actually see the largest vein on the shaft expanding with each new pump of blood.

One hard teasing smack to the underside. That was all it took. No. No. Oh, God! Yes! Yes! Fucking amazing! Sweet fucking Jesus! I... I... I...

"I... I.... I..." I half-screamed, half-moaned.

I was just about to force the final word out when the first jet of cum blasted straight into my gaping mouth like it was a precision missile. The feeling of release was amazing. I was riding the wave. My eye began to flutter and I let out a series of subdued grunts.

My uncle did his best to pull his body away from mine. He placed his hand on my upper back to keep me from leaning into him. He was using me as a shield from the friendly fire.

It worked. I shot rope after rope of jizz all over myself. It took nine eruptions to completely empty my tank. There was cum all over my face, and enough had made it into my mouth that I was essentially forced to take a big gulp and swallow my own load. My jacket, vest, and dress shirt were drenched too. Thick strands of viscous white liquid zig-zagged across the fabric.

Once the intense fireworks of the orgasm had subsided, I looked out in front of me. A few of the workers were keeled over slapping their knees and roaring with delight. One of them was pointing at his phone; he must have been showing the other guy the footage he'd captured.

The photographer was hidden behind his camera. Oh god! He's got it on film. They've got it on video. My stomach did a somersault; the salty remnants of my cum tickled at the back of my throat.

Hamish and Duncan were standing next to one another. They both looked like they were the happiest I'd ever seen them; I knew they'd use what had just happened to make my life hell. Callum and Stewart looked amused, but they clearly had other things on their minds. After all, they were still the groom and the best man preparing for a wedding.

My uncle suddenly pushed me into a standing position. I was still in a state of shock; I didn't even try to cover my cock, which was still rock hard and jutting out in front of me.

My uncle took a step so he was next to me. He looked me the eyes and shook his head. There was a slight smirk on his face. He seemed to be trying to keep his mischievous delight from surfacing.

"Hamish," he barked. "Take Lachlan back to the farmhouse to get cleaned up. He can't attend the wedding like this."

I squatted down and scooped up the kilt. I began to pull it around my waist; I could just keep it closed with one hand.

"Give that here," my uncle demanded. "I'm going to have it sent over to the seamstress working with the bridal party. I'm sure she can get it right." He nearly yanked it from my hand.

The workers had already started to disperse. It was clear that the high point of my humiliation had passed. They'd literally already witnessed the climax. I looked down at my cum-covered boner and then back at my uncle to remind him I was exposed.

"Get going, bairn," he said, shaking his head. "We'll have someone bring the kilt to the farmhouse when it's mended."

Hamish and I started the walk back. I tried to cover my dick for a moment, but it looked too weird since it was still hard. Having my hands near it made it seem like I was trying to play with myself.

It was only once we got about a hundred feet away from the others that it clicked that we were a fifteen-minute walk from the farmhouse. I started to unbutton my jacket; I figured I could wrap it around my waist.

"No," Hamish said sternly. "That thing's already a mess. Don't make it any worse by smearing your jizz deeper into the fabric."

The redness returned to my face again. I just nodded that I understood. I'd kind of expected Hamish to spend the entire walk mercilessly mocking me, but he mostly just stared down at his phone.

"Dad says there's a change of plan," he said finally breaking the silence. "We're supposed to go to the church. He didn't realize how close it was to the start of the ceremony. He says the seamstress has already started working on the kilt."

At that point, we were less than five minutes from the farmhouse. I didn't care though. I just wanted everything to be over. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and this will have never happened?

As the church started to come into view, I looked over at Hamish. He must have known what I was thinking.

"I'm having us go through the back entrance," he said. "Nobody will see."

I gazed down at my crotch. At least, I'm not hard anymore. It was the only positive thought I could muster.

We entered through the back door of the brick building. I knew it had to be pretty large since the wedding was supposed to have two hundred people in attendance. Hamish quickly ushered me down a corridor into a small, dimly-lit room. It wasn't any bigger than a large closet; I was just happy there weren't any windows.

"Take off your clothes," Hamish said.

"What?" I asked.

"Take off the jacket, vest, and dress shirt -- and hurry up. Dad says I need to run them over to the room with the bridal party. They have some stuff they can use to clean it off, like some kind of steaming machine."

"Oh... uh, okay."

As I started to take off my jacket, Hamish picked up an empty small cardboard box from the corner of the room. When I went to hand him the jacket, he shook the box. The message that he didn't want to touch my soiled clothing was pretty clear.

It only took me a moment to remove everything he'd asked for. I tossed the bowtie in as well, since it would have been too dumb to put it back on after removing it with the dress shirt. I felt so fucking bizarre standing there in nothing but a pair of dress shoes and fancy white socks rolled up over my calves.

"There's a little room with a sink in it," he said. "I'm going to leave you there to clean up. You smell like a cum rag."

I was worried about walking around the church naked, but Hamish reassured me that it was just two doors down.

We completed the journey in no time at all. The room itself was rather nondescript. I wasn't sure what it was used for. It had a sink, but no shower or toilet.

"I'll be back a few minutes," he said, leaving me to my own devices.

I looked for soap but couldn't find any. I started by wiping away the globs of cum that were still attached to my face. The memory of what had just happened flooded back into my mind. It was nauseating. I did my best to rub the warm water all over my face, neck, and pecs. I needed to feel clean. I needed to wash away the past.

Next, I positioned my crotch over the sink and tried my best to clean it. It took me less than one minute of washing the cum off to get hard again. I felt ashamed; I tried to ignore the feeling.

Right after I'd finished, Hamish came back into the room. He scanned me up and down, like he was checking my work.

"Dad says it's going to take a while," he said. "He wants you to just wait here."

"Isn't there anything extra I can wear until it's ready?"

"Extra? What do you think we have extra wedding clothes laying around?"

He rolled his eyes like I'd said something completely absurd. I'd been thinking there might be a choir robe stashed in one of the church closets. I didn't have it in me to try to explain myself, though.

"Do you want me to lock you in?" he asked.

"What?" I asked.

"I have a key. I used to be an altar boy here a long time ago. I can either leave the door open, and you can risk someone walking in on you, or I can lock you inside?"

"Lock it."

As the key worked its way into the hole on the other side, I prepared myself to just wait. There wasn't really anything else I could do. I tried not to think about the humiliation I'd experienced. I tried to not remember twirling and having my kilt fly off of my body. I tried to not think about being forced to pose while everyone commented on the size of my penis. Most of all, I tried to push away any thought of my uncle holding me tight on his lap as my cock erupted all over my own face.

I don't know quite how much time passed. It somehow felt like five minutes and five days. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the key rattling in the lock again.

"Told you I'd be back," Hamish said, stepping inside the small space.

I scanned his hands. hoping to find my outfit looking just as pristine as when I'd put it on earlier that morning. He didn't have it. He took a few steps toward me before extending his hand. There was a smooth, bright green object balanced on his palm.

"It's soap," he said. "You still reek of cum."

His comment pierced me like an arrow. I instinctively inhaled deeply through my nose to see if I could smell any odor. I didn't pick up on anything, but then I wondered if it was like how smokers can never seem to smell the nicotine on their own clothes.

I reached out and took the partially-used bar from his hand. I turned on the water and fiddled with the knobs to get it to a reasonably warm temperature. Hamish just stood there and studied me. I vigorously pressed the bar into my right cheek trying to work up a lather.

"You should have seen yourself," he said. "You had so much fucking jizz all over your face."

I kept scrubbing; I tried to focus my attention on a scratch in the white porcelain sink basin as a way to distract myself from what Hamish was saying. I could already sense myself beginning to breathe a little more unevenly.

"You looked like a gay porn star. Maybe you could send in the photos from today as part of an application? You've already shown you're fine with swallowing a load - well, at least your own."

I shook my head, trying to let his words bounce off of me. I splashed water against the bubbles I'd accrued on my pecs. I kept dumping handful after handful of liquid on them. I knew that it'd never undo what had happened.

"Come on," Hamish said. "Pick up the pace."

"Okay, I think I'm done."

"Like fuck you are! Your pubes are practically still matted with crusty cum residue."

I looked down at them. Even though I knew it wasn't true, I still felt compelled to go along with what he was saying. I positioned myself so my dick and balls draped over the edge of the sink into the basin. I splashed some water on them and started working them over with the soap.

"I'm surprised you even lasted as long as you did. I could see everything from where I was sitting. Your cock getting harder with each spank. The way you were practically fucking my dad's thigh. Beyond twisted."

I pictured it as he spoke. I imagined what I looked like to everyone else. I could envision my alabaster bubble butt turning redder with each thwack. I could see the look of shame on my face. I envisioned my cock rubbing all over my uncle's hairy, tan thigh while he laughed; I could practically feel myself leaking the pre-cum I'd been pumping out in that moment.

Suddenly, my cock throbbed. I glanced down to see that it was back at full mast. The thick nine inches were throbbing between my fingers. No. What the hell? The bar of soap clattered into the basin as I dropped it in shock. How can I be hard again? It doesn't make any sense!

"What the fuck?" Hamish said. "I don't even know what to say."

He gave me a look that let me know I was a joke to him. On some level, I couldn't disagree. I felt like a joke. What kind of eighteen-year-old straight guy gets a boner thinking about humping his uncle's leg? I didn't have an answer.

It was surreal how quickly I'd gone from zero to sixty. My dick felt just as overstimulated as if I'd been repeatedly stroking it to the very edge and stopping before starting back up again. Did what happen earlier break something in me sexually - like the opposite of erectile dysfunction? Erectile hyperactivity?

"We gotta get going," Hamish said.

"Where... where are my clothes?"

"Dad texted me that they're over in the room with the groomsmen."

"Can't you bring them to me?"

Hamish gave me a withering look. I didn't even know why I'd asked the question. "Do I look like a fucking servant?" he retorted. "For fuck's sake, it's not like any of the groomsmen haven't already seen everything."

I guess... I guess that's true. They'd watched the worse thing I could imagine play out. I supposed that my fresh boner might raise some eyebrows, but it would be nothing in comparison to what I'd already endured and they'd already enjoyed.

I begrudgingly followed Hamish into the hallway. It felt weird being in the corridor with nearly nothing on. It seemed even more blasphemous to be doing it in a church.

It felt like he was walking really fast. We made a quick left turn at the first corner. I noticed that none of the doors had any markings on them. My cock was jostling up and down as I worked to match his speedy pace.

Suddenly, Duncan entered the hallway at the opposite end. He briskly marched towards us until we met up in the middle right next to two a pair of large oak doors.

"Mister horse-cock," Duncan said derisively. "Just can't keep that thing covered up, can you? Were you giving it a quick jerk, or did Hamish bend you over his knee and give you a nice spanking to get you all revved up?"

"In his dreams," Hamish said. "Lachy just likes to stroke that cocky. He was jerking it in the sink when I went back to get him."

I... I was not! The blood rushed to my face again. The timpani drum in my chest was banging up a storm. My cock was vibrating as my nervous system went into high alert. I could feel a drop of pre-cum slipping out of my slit.

"Is everything ready?" Hamish asked.

"Yep," Duncan replied with a devilish grin.

Thank God! I can't keep walking around this church with nothing on. I did, however, feel even more embarrassed when I imagined some woman stream cleaning the cum stains out of my clothes.

"Here," Duncan said, slamming something against my abs.

I took it into my grasp. It was clearly a book. I moved it close to my face so I could better see the title. The gold foil letters on the black leather cover read Holy Bible: King James Version.

"What's this?" I asked.

I heard a growing din behind me. I peered over my shoulder to see that Hamish was using his arm to open one of the double doors. The voices became clearer as the opening got wider; they barely overpowered the classical music playing in the background.

"It's your outfit," Duncan said with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

Before I could start to speak, he placed both his hands on my chest and pushed with all his might. I started to frantically stumbled backwards. I glanced to my left to see Hamish pushing one of the doors wide open.

Holy fuck! Is this what I think this is? No. No. No. They wouldn't do this. This is even too much for them!

I didn't have much time to make sense of what was happening. Most of my effort was focused on trying to steady myself as I hurtled backwards. The soles of my dress shoes couldn't gain traction against the slick floor.

The last thing I saw as I tumbled flat on my back was the door that I'd just been pushed through closing tight again.

My head had conked the floor; my ears were ringing. I clutched the Bible in my left hand while rubbing my temple with the right. I stared straight up into the sky. It took me a moment to realize that the twinkling lights were reflections from the crystal of a chandelier rather than being a sign I was concussed.

"There's a naked man!" a woman's voice shrieked.

"Someone call the police," an older man said. "Tell them there's a pervert running around at the church!"

No. No. No! I forced myself up off the floor so I was staring at the double doors. I refused to turn around. I couldn't bear seeing the reality behind me. I ran towards the exit. I grabbed onto the handles and yanked. I pulled harder, but they wouldn't budge.

Hamish and Duncan were howling on the other side. I started banging on the dense wood with my right fist.

"Open the doors! Let me in!"

As I pounded away, the commotion in the pews behind me grew. Gasps echoed through the large space. Wooden benches creaked from the sound of people shuffling to escape. Suddenly, a piercing whistle cut through the symphony of chaos.

"Shake that ass, baby!" a man's husky voice cat-called.

"Be quiet, John. Don't encourage him!"

"Kid was just trying to find somewhere to jerk it," he replied jokingly. "What better place than a church filled with wedding guests?"

"It's obscene," a woman's voice croaked. "His... his thing is hard!"

I was knocking on the door with so much intensity that I was working up a sweat. My face flushed with heat; my hairline was already damp. A storm was building inside of my core.

"Please!" I eked out. "Please. Please."

Each pounding thwack against the door sent a reverberation through my body. Oh, God! Oh, yes! My rigid cock was bouncing up and down; my balls were swinging like a pendulum.

I glanced down. Juice was oozing out of my slit. An ample portion of the pre-cum was clinging to my cock head. Enough had spilled onto the floor to create a spot the size of a quarter. My dick looked larger than it ever had.

Wake up, Lachlan. Wake up. This is a dream. A tidal wave hit me; it dialed up everything I was feeling to one-hundred-and-fifty percent. That's fucking amazing! Yes! My asshole clenched tight as a jolt of power overwhelmed my groin. Feels so good. The sensations distracted me from everything else for a mere moment. This can't be happening again.

It hit me that I couldn't just stand there beating on the door. If anything, each knock was arousing me just as much as each of my uncle's swats to my ass had. I realized that I was still holding the Bible in my left hand. I looked down at my monster cock again. I have to. There's no other choice.

I pressed the Bible against my cock. Oh, fuck. That feels like heaven. The thick pre-cum caused the underside of my shaft to feel incredibly slick as I tried to corral my boner with the good book. I pressed it into an upright position, flat against my six-pack abs. I attempted to adjust it to achieve full coverage, but it wasn't possible.

Head or base? It was my personal Sophie's Choice. I slid the Bible down to cover my balls; the top few inches of my leaking cock head remained exposed. No. No. I shifted the Bible up to the point where it just barely obscured my tip, but then my balls and two inches of my dick root were showing. Out of the shitty options, it was the better choice.

I want to disappear. I can't do this... but I have to. It was the last thing I thought before I turned to face the crowd behind me. The shock of seeing nearly two hundred men and women gawking at my aroused naked body hit me like a ton of bricks. The only saving grace was that my immediate family wasn't there. It looked like only distant relatives and friends had been seated so far.

There were people who looked utterly disgusted. There were others who appeared in a state of shock. There was even a group of young men sitting together who were taking great pleasure in my humiliation. They looked like guys from Stewart's rugby league, which explained the reaction.

I scanned the area looking for another door. There's got to be another exit nearby? As I tried to ignore all the guests in their fanciest formal attire to focus in on finding an escape route, I quickly realized that the only other way out was through the main entrance. I... I'd have to run down the aisle past hundreds of people. The very thought of it made more pre-cum ooze of out my slit.

Okay, I can do this. I have to do this!

I was about to start my charge when I saw something from the corner of my eye. It moved towards me with enough speed that it turned into a blur.

"Jesus Christ!" the priest yelled as he grabbed me by the left ear. "What are you doing? This is a place of God!"

His fingers felt like the teeth of a steel trap. He yanked my head down a few feet closer to the floor so that I was practically bowing to the guests. It was exactly like when I was a young child and my grandparents would drag me around the same way after I'd refused to listen to them.

Being hunched over forced the air from my lungs; I felt like I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I clutched the Bible closer to my dick. The supple leather felt fantastic against my pulsing rod.

"Don't you kids have any decency?" he asked. "This isn't TikTok or whatever nonsense you all do these pranks on. This is a church!"

"I... I..." I started to mutter.

"I don't want to hear it! I'm going to drag your perverted little ass outta here!"

I actually felt a sense of relief. I'd been planning to make a run for it anyways. The priest began to shuffle closer to the first row of pews. Forcing me to walk in a hunched over manner was incredibly slow, though. We'd only made it a few feet in ten second's time.

"What is that?" the priest screeched. "For the love of God almighty! Is that a Bible?"

He let go of my ear. I was too focused on the residual burning feeling to notice his right hand snatching at the book I was using to cover myself. The shock caused me to straighten my spine. I held on tightly to my only protection, but he had managed to grab part of it as well.

He pulled hard, trying to tear it away from me. The eyes of all the people in the crowd were watching our scuffle. I could only imagine their reaction to seeing my leaking cock bouncing around if he uncovered me. It was a mostly horrifying thought.

I pulled the Bible closer to my body. The leather massaged the underside of my shaft. I bit my lip, trying not to moan. The priest yanked harder; I pulled back. Once again, my conscious mind was one fatal step behind my body - and also, ironically enough, far less prurient. Even as all those familiar sensations built towards a natural, sinful end, I had trouble believing that I was, with a priest's unwitting assistance, fucking a Bible.

Each tug-o-war movement was making the top side of my cock nestle deeper into the well-lubed indentation in the middle of my six-pack abs. At the same time, the Bible's cover was gliding up and down the bottom side of my shaft. A steady stream of pre-cum was flowing out like a faucet that someone had forgot to turn off.

Oh yes! Fuck yeah! That's it! That spot feels so insane! I'm so fucking hard. I... I can't do this much longer. The rugby players were cheering us on; they were acting like it was a perverse Benny Hill skit. Everyone else had gone quiet from the shock of what they were witnessing.

"Give it to me, you little miscreant! I will not let you desecrate His sacred word!"

My balls pulled close to my body and started to make their tell-tale pumping contractions. My knees were shaking from all the stimulation. My asshole was malfunctioning; I could feel it spastically puckering and releasing every few seconds. My cock was throbbing with an intensity I'd only felt in my most vivid wet dreams.

Oh God! It's happening. It's happening again! I gotta run. I gotta get out of here.

I locked in on the open doors on the other end of the aisle. They seemed like they were miles away. In my moment of distraction, the priest jerked the Bible with all his might. The yanking motion sent one last cascade of pleasure into my cock. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Most of the crowd gasped in unison as my red-hot rocket sprung out into the open. I froze in place like a deer in the headlights. I peered down to discover it wildly bouncing up and down.

"Cover yourself with your hands, boy!" the priest commanded.

I thought about the doors behind me. I knew that they were almost certainly still locked, but I couldn't fathom making the longer trip down the aisle. I used the same technique I had earlier in the day to spin myself around, but the slick soles of my shoes started sliding like I was on an ice rink.

I tumbled backwards. No. No. No. I knew that I was falling; there was nothing I could do to stop it. My backside collided with the polished pine floor. The impact shook my body like an earthquake.

I managed to lift my head up just in time to see the first jet of cum erupt from my slit. It must have shot several feet into the air before it rained down all over my face. I shook, gasped, and moaned as the subsequent ten ropes of cum painted my entire body. Nothing was spared. My face was plastered with a thick coating. My abs had a pool of liquid in their grooves. My thighs were sticky with the mess I'd created.

That was fucking amazing! That was the best orgasm I've ever had. That was the first lucid thought that enter my mind as my post-nut haze began to lift. I was still riding a wave of bliss until I remembered the hundreds of people leering at me.

I full-on started hyperventilating; my heart jumped into overdrive. I scrambled to my feet and tried my best to cover myself by pushing my boner against my stomach with both of my hands. I raced down the aisle like I was in the hundred-meter dash at the Olympics.

Once I got outside, I kept running and running. I looped around to the rear of the church so that I could backtrack to the farmhouse. The gentle breeze enveloped my body; it was a constant reminder of my nudity. The viscous cum smeared all over my skin was no match for gravity. Globs of it started to drip from my jaw down onto my chest; the jizz on my thighs was oozing down onto my socks and making them both sticky and damp.

I simply could not believe what had just happened to me. It kept playing in my mind on a loop. The only interruptions were yet more images of myself, naked and aroused. They were like clips from a horror movie; each one made me feel a surge of intense nausea, as well as a confusing jolt of excitement.

I can't believe that just happened. It kept playing in my mind of a loop. Vivid images of myself naked and aroused would push their way into my mind. They were like clips from a horror movie; each one made me feel a surge of intense nausea, as well as a confusing jolt of excitement. I didn't know what it all meant. It was too much for me to make sense of in that moment.

There was one thing I knew for sure, though. I'm never going to live down this day for as long as I live.