Aaron stepped closer to James, his smirk widening as he leaned in, his voice a low, velvet threat. "Beg for mercy, James. Humiliate yourself. Maybe I'll go easy on you."

James clenched his jaw, his pride flaring even as his heart raced. "Go to hell," he spat, his voice trembling but defiant.

Aaron chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down James's spine. "Oh, I was hoping you'd say that." He reached behind him, pulling out a bottle of maple syrup. The sound of the cap twisting off was obscenely loud in the silence of the room.

The first splash of syrup hit the red lining of James's tuxedo jacket, the sticky liquid soaking into the fabric. James gasped, the cold shock of it making him flinch. Aaron's eyes gleamed as he poured more, the syrup dripping down the white shirt, staining it a sickly amber.

"Look at you," Aaron sneered, his voice carrying through the room. "So perfect, so untouchable. Not anymore."

The audience erupted into laughter and cheers, the sound feeding Aaron's cruelty. He stepped closer, his hand gripping James's waistband. James's breath hitched as Aaron pulled it back, the cool air hitting his skin before the syrup splashed inside his pants.

"No!" James choked out, his face burning with humiliation as the sticky liquid pooled against his skin, soaking into his red satin boxers. The bottle emptied slowly, Aaron holding it there, dragging out the torment.

When it was finally done, Aaron stepped back, his smile sharp as a knife. "Now, let's see the masterpiece." He pulled out a pair of scissors, the glint of the blades making James's stomach drop.

"No, please!" James begged, his voice breaking. "Not the tux!"
Aaron chuckled, the sound dark and mocking. "Oh, James. The tux is the least of your worries." He snipped the red silk braces, the sound of fabric tearing as James's pants fell to the floor, pooling around his ankles.

The audience roared with laughter, their jeers cutting through James's pride like a blade. His red satin boxers were on full display, stained with syrup and the unmistakable sheen of precum.
"Look at that," Aaron said, pointing with the scissors. "Hard as a rock. You're enjoying this, aren't you, James?"

James's face burned, his cock twitching despite his shame. He hated this. He hated them. But most of all, he hated how good it felt to be the center of attention, even like this.

Aaron stepped closer, his breath hot against James's ear. "Now for the finale."
He grabbed a pie from the cart, the creamy filling glistening under the lights. Without warning, he shoved it against James's satin-clad ass, the cool cream squishing against his skin. James gasped, the sensation sending a jolt of arousal through him.

Aaron chuckled, his hands already reaching for another pie. "Let's see how much you like this." He smashed it into James's crotch, the cream oozing into his boxers, mixing with the syrup and precum.
James moaned, the sound escaping before he could stop it. The laughter grew louder, the audience reveling in his humiliation.

"Oh, he's loving it!" someone shouted, the words making James's face burn even hotter.
Aaron grinned, his hands now covered in cream. He reached out, smearing it across the satin lapels of James's tuxedo jacket, the fabric sticking to his skin. "Beautiful," Aaron murmured, his voice dripping with malice.

The carts of pies were rolled out to the audience, Aaron's smile widening as he addressed the crowd. "When I count to ten, I want you all to let him have it. Don't hold back."

"One," Aaron began, his voice echoing through the room.
James's heart pounded, his cock throbbing despite the fear and humiliation coursing through him.

"Two."
The audience leaned forward, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Three."
James's breath quickened, his body trembling.

"Four."
The first pie hit him square in the chest, the cream splattering across his shirt.

"Five."
Another pie hit his face, the sweetness of the filling mingling with the salt of his sweat.

"Six."
Pies flew from every direction, the audience laughing and cheering as they pelted him. James's body was covered in cream, the sticky mess clinging to his skin and clothes.

"Seven."
His cock twitched, the sensation of the cool cream and the heat of his arousal overwhelming him.

"Eight."
Another pie hit his ass, the impact sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

"Nine."
He couldn't hold back anymore, his orgasm crashing over him as the pies rained down.

"Ten."
The room erupted into chaos, pies flying from every direction. James's body was wracked with pleasure and humiliation, his cries lost in the noise of the crowd.

"Look at him!" Aaron shouted, his voice cutting through the laughter. "He's cumming like a whore!"
The audience roared, their laughter ringing in James's ears as the pies kept coming. He was covered from head to toe, his tuxedo ruined, his pride shattered.

And yet, as he stood there, trembling and exposed, he couldn't deny the thrill of it all. The attention. The power. The shame.

Aaron leaned in close, his breath hot against James's ear. "Remember this moment, James. Remember what happens when you cross the wrong people."

James's body trembled, his cock still twitching as the pies kept flying.
"What do you say, boys?" Aaron called out to the audience. "Should we give him another round?"
The cheers were deafening, the audience's hunger for revenge far from satisfied.

Aaron's hand gripped James's shoulder, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "This isn't over. Not even close."

The room buzzed with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of sweat and the sugary residue of whipped cream. Aaron stepped back, leaving James tied to the platform, his tuxedo ripped and smeared with syrup and pie filling. The red lining of his jacket peeked through, a stark contrast to the mess of whites and yellows adorning his body.

"Let's have some fun," Aaron said, his voice dripping with malice, as he turned to the crowd. A tall man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo strode forward, a can of whipped cream in his hand. His predatory smile sent a shiver down James's spine.

The man, whom James vaguely recognized as Whipped Cream Man, stepped onto the platform, his eyes locked on James's trembling form. He sprayed a dollop of cream onto James's chest, the cold sensation making James gasp. "You always did like to look down on people, didn't you, James?" he taunted, spreading the cream with his fingers in slow, deliberate circles. James's jaw clenched, but the sensation was undeniably arousing, his cock twitching against the satin fabric of his boxers.

Another man joined in, this one with gleaming eyes and a cruel smirk. Angry Aaron, as James had come to think of him, grabbed a handful of cream and smeared it across James's face, pressing it into his skin. "Remember what you did to me, James? This is going to be so much worse." The crowd roared with laughter, the sound echoing in James's ears.

The men took turns, each one adding to the mess--cream on his stomach, his thighs, even in his hair. James's tuxedo, once a symbol of his wealth and arrogance, was now a canvas of humiliation. His jacket was streaked with white cream and splattered with syrup, and his shirt clung to his skin, the fabric sticky and wet. "Take it off," someone shouted from the crowd, and the chant began, growing louder and more insistent.

James's face burned with shame, but his body betrayed him, his cock straining against his red satin boxers. The men on the stage laughed, their laughter cruel and mocking. "Go on," the host said, his velvet voice cutting through the noise. "Show them what you're made of."

With trembling hands, James undid the buttons of his ruined shirt, the fabric peeling away from his skin. He shrugged off the jacket, the red lining now a mess of cream and syrup. The men cheered, their voices a cacophony of glee and malice. James's chest heaved as he stood there, exposed in his satin boxers and sheer socks, the garters digging into his thighs.

The spanking began with a sharp crack, the sound reverberating through the room. James cried out, the pain mingling with a strange, twisted pleasure. The men took turns, their hands landing on his ass with increasing force. Each slap sent a jolt through his body, his cock throbbing in response. The crowd watched, their jeers and shouts a soundtrack to his humiliation.

"Cum for us, James," someone shouted, and the command was picked up, the words echoing in his ears. He tried to resist, but the pleasure was too intense, his body betraying him once again. With a groan, he came, his boxers soaked with his release. The men laughed, their voices cruel and mocking, as James's body convulsed with the force of his orgasm.

One after another, the men stepped forward, their hands leaving red marks on his ass, their taunts cutting deeper than their blows. James's body was a mess of pain and pleasure, his mind a whirlwind of shame and arousal. He came again and again, his boxers sticky and wet, his body trembling with the force of his release.

By the time the men were done, James was a wreck--his body covered in welts, his ass red and throbbing, his red satin boxers a sticky, ruined mess. He stood on the platform, gasping for air, the crowd's laughter ringing in his ears. The sensation of the men's hands on his skin, the sting of the spankings, the humiliation of it all--it was intoxicating. James knew he should hate it, but he didn't. He loved it.

The host stepped forward, his smile sharp and knowing. "I think our James has learned his lesson" he said, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down James's spine. "Did you have enough, James?" James nodded The crowd cheered and James left the venue. He took his coat and under his coat, James was only dressed in his boxers and dripping of cream.