The dim lights of the underground club pulsed with a seedy energy, the air thick with the scent of cheap beer, sweat, and anticipation. It was one of those adult dodgy stage shows-- the kind advertised in the back pages of free weeklies, where the crowd was a mix of curious thrill-seekers, rowdy groups on dares, and the occasional lone wolf nursing a drink. The stage was a rickety platform draped in faded red curtains, flanked by neon signs flickering "Live Adult Fun" and "No Limits." The host, a slick-talking guy named Ben, strutted around in a shiny suit that screamed discount rack, microphone in hand, cracking jokes laced with innuendo that drew raucous laughter from the packed house.

"Tonight, folks, we've got a game that'll test your limits--and maybe soak you in more ways than one!" Ben boomed, his voice echoing off the graffiti-covered walls. The audience whooped, clinking glasses. "We're calling it 'Hold It or Hose It'! And I need a volunteer. Let's see... you! Yeah, the cute blond in the third row. Jack, is it? Get up here, buddy!"

Jack froze in his seat, his green eyes widening under the spotlight that suddenly swung his way. He was young, tall and lanky at about 6'2", with shaggy blond hair that fell messily over his forehead, framing a face that was boyishly handsome--high cheekbones, a button nose that gave him an almost innocent look, and those piercing emerald eyes that sparkled with a mix of surprise and nervousness. He was dressed casually for what he thought was just a night out: a fitted black t-shirt hugging his lean torso, faded jeans that clung to his long legs, and scuffed black boots over white socks. His friends nudged him, chanting his name, and with a sheepish grin, he stood up, cheeks flushing pink as he made his way to the stage amid cheers and catcalls. "Look at this guy, folks! Adorable, right? Like a lost puppy who's about to get a treat... or a trick," Ben teased, slapping Jack on the back as he climbed the steps.

Jack laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, his shaggy hair bouncing slightly. He felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with embarrassment--his heart pounding, palms a little sweaty. What had he gotten himself into? The stage lights were hot on his skin, making him feel exposed already.

"Alright, Jack, first things first: kick off those boots and socks. We need you barefoot for this one--adds to the vulnerability, y'know?" Ben winked at the crowd, who erupted in laughter. Jack hesitated, glancing down at his feet, but the energy of the room pushed him forward. He bent down, unlacing his boots with fumbling fingers, revealing plain white crew socks that were slightly worn from the day. He peeled them off next, stuffing them into his boots and setting them aside. His feet were size 12s, pale with a few freckles on the tops, toes flexing nervously against the cool, sticky stage floor. The audience hooted as he wiggled them self-consciously, his button nose wrinkling in mild discomfort. "Feels weird up here without 'em," he muttered, his voice light but edged with nerves.

Ben guided him to a high stool in the center of the stage, the kind with no backrest, forcing him to sit straight. Jack perched on it, his tall frame making his knees bend high, bare feet dangling just above the floor. Two assistants--burly guys in black tees--approached with the "device": a sleek, remote-controlled penis stroker, a high-tech toy shaped like a discreet sleeve with vibrating ridges inside, connected to a wireless controller Ben held like a trophy. Jack's eyes went wide as they explained the rules in hushed tones: survive 10 minutes as it ramps up in intensity without cumming in his pants. Fail, and gallons of green slime dump from the rigged bucket overhead.

" Pants down just a bit, champ--no peeking for the crowd, we promise," one assistant said with a grin. Jack swallowed hard, his green eyes darting to the audience, feeling a hot wave of humiliation wash over him. He unbuttoned his jeans with trembling hands, sliding them and his boxers down enough to expose himself briefly to the assistants, who quickly slipped the stroker over his semi-erect cock--it fit snugly, the soft silicone warming against his skin. They tucked it into his underwear, zipping him back up so nothing showed. Jack shifted on the stool, the device feeling foreign and intrusive, a slight buzz of anticipation already stirring in his groin. His face was beet red now, shaggy blond hair sticking to his forehead from the lights, his cute button nose flaring as he breathed deeply. "This is insane," he whispered, half-laughing, half-panicked, his tall body tensing as the crowd chanted "Go! Go! Go!"

The timer started on a big screen behind him: 10:00. Ben hit the remote, and the stroker hummed to life at level 1--a gentle vibration that sent a subtle tingle through Jack's shaft. He gripped the edges of the stool, bare toes curling against the air, trying to play it cool. "Okay, not bad," he thought, forcing a grin for the audience. But as the minutes ticked by, the intensity ramped up every 60 seconds.

At 9:00, level 2 kicked in, the vibrations pulsing rhythmically. Jack's green eyes fluttered slightly, a soft gasp escaping his lips. He felt warmth building in his lower belly, his cock twitching inside the device. He shifted on the stool, his casual t-shirt riding up a bit to show a sliver of toned abs, sweat beading on his neck. "Focus, dude," he muttered to himself, biting his lower lip-- that cute, boyish face starting to contort with effort.

By 7:00, level 4 hit, the stroker now stroking in waves, squeezing and releasing. Jack's breath quickened, his shaggy hair damp with perspiration, falling into his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, bare feet planting flat on the stage for stability, toes spreading wide. A low moan slipped out, muffled by the crowd's cheers. Embarrassment burned in his cheeks--he could feel himself hardening fully, the pressure mounting, his mind racing with thoughts of holding back. "Shit, this feels too good," he admitted inwardly, panic mixing with unwanted pleasure.

At 5:00, level 6: intense, rapid vibrations with a twisting motion. Jack's body jerked involuntarily, his tall frame arching on the stool. His green eyes squeezed shut, button nose wrinkling as he fought the building orgasm. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking his t-shirt, and his hands clenched so hard his knuckles whitened. "Oh god, no... not yet," he gasped audibly now, the audience roaring. His hips bucked subtly, betraying him, bare toes gripping the floor like claws. The sensation was overwhelming--electric waves radiating from his groin, making his thighs quiver.

3:00, level 8: full throttle, the device milking him relentlessly. Jack was a mess--shaggy blond hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed crimson, green eyes glazed with desperation. He panted heavily, cute features twisted in ecstasy and torment, a string of whimpers escaping. "I can't... fuck..." he groaned, rocking on the stool, feet sliding slickly on the stage. The pressure was unbearable, his balls tightening, every nerve on fire.

1:00, level 10: maximum speed and suction. Jack threw his head back, a loud cry tearing from his throat. His body convulsed, tall frame shuddering as the orgasm crashed over him--hot spurts filling his underwear, the stroker amplifying every pulse. He collapsed forward, gasping, humiliated yet euphoric, the crowd exploding in applause. The timer hit zero with a buzz, but he'd failed.

Ben laughed maniacally, hitting another button. From above, gallons of thick, neon-green slime cascaded down like a waterfall--cold, gooey, and relentless. It hit Jack square on the head first, drenching his shaggy blond hair into sticky clumps, running down his face and stinging his green eyes. He sputtered, mouth agape, the slime coating his button nose and dripping off his chin. It soaked through his t-shirt, turning it translucent against his heaving chest, and poured into his jeans, mixing with the mess in his pants. His bare feet were splattered, toes webbed with the stuff as it pooled around the stool.
Jack sat there, slimed from head to toe, a glistening, defeated mess--looking equal parts adorable and utterly wrecked, laughing weakly through the humiliation as the crowd cheered wildly.