It took my breath away, how good it looked. The music was deep, resonating. Spotlights ran in random patterns across the front of the screen. Footlights swivelled up, casting columns of light that danced and played across the screen. It slid apart and the players walked out. I say walk out, but it was more of a saunter, so casual, so indifferent, so naked, so explicit. I hit pause just to take it in. They were immaculate.
In all my years as a connoisseur of porn and more latterly a producer of I have never seen anything like this. The gunge productions I had seen, enjoyed, and more recently made, although good, you could never lose yourself in a reality. No matter how much you tried you could never shake off the feeling that the production was fake, contrived or with people that didn't really fit, or didn't want to be there.
Suddenly in a flash, everything else by comparison looked terrible. I was aware that I would have to overhaul my site and it's content to reflect where I now wanted to go. There was a yawning chasm created by these six men. In the three games so far, between them, they had redefined everything.
They stood front of stage, steady, proud and immovable. No one covered themselves, they allowed everything to be seen, consumed. Yet during poses like this it was they that held the power. They were in control of us, we were their bitches. That would flip on its head when the games started and the viewer took the upper hand, as they succumbed to the gunge, the mess, and the abuse of their bodies. I say abuse, but it's not abuse in a Sub Dom way, they were party to it, agreeing to be used as our toys, to satisfy our fetish. We were taking, they were happy to give.
The two additions to full nudity stood proud and received the glare of the camera inspection. Ian had called for a cut of a view of Jez first. A tall guy but so developed he looked squat in a strange way. Only when you saw him in comparison to the tallest player Sam, could you see the size of the guy. A large bald head, expressive brown eyes. A broken nose, reset crooked, created an almost criminal air. Square jaw and a neck so built it was as thick as my leg. Massive shoulders, hair crawling up from his chest, coating his entire front. The six pack of his team mates was absent, he was charged with carrying weight that would bludgeon opponents in the scrum. A large pubic bush blossomed above a thick stubby penis, the shortest of the six, but still impressive in its weight and girth. Massive legs, furry and powerful completed the aura of testosterone infused perfection. Again not my type per se, but I could appreciate that many men would be struggling not to come on his first reveal.
Similarly Kevin was equally intimidating. Wild unkempt hair, full beard circling a mean pair of eyes. With a chest not as hairy, the definition was more pronounced than Jez, a thick trail of black hair penetrated his pubes as it snaked its way down from his navel. His cock was long, heavy, the foreskin snugly covering the tip. Hairy balls nestled behind the cock, pushing it out, making it sway from side to side as he sauntered out. He stood staring ahead, hands on hips. Oblivious or just uncaring that the audience were lapping him up.
The camera jumped back to wide view and we drank them in once again, then panned off to locate Dave, in a different suit, Malcolm and Gerry stood by his side.
"Here we are then game show fans" Dave shouted, "ready for some more games?"
The crowd yelled back, and Dave moved to stand amongst the naked players.
"What do we have here?" he asked moving between Jez and Kevin, "looks like we have evened it up. Three hairy and three smooth now. So, tell us what lies in store in this game!"
VT was rolled again "Welcome to Rugby Rumble Quiz!" The screen pixilated and regrouped to a view of rugby balls, on a kicking tee, standing on end. The voiceover continued, "each of our contestants will be asked two questions. Each correct answer wins a ball. The players will kick the balls into the audience. The people who catch the balls will be invited on stage" an animation demonstrated this.
"Written on the ball is the type of gunge the player will face. All the catcher needs to decide is which player gets it!"
As suggested, Ian cuts to close up of the players, each pointing to each other.

The questions were rugby based which allowed some interplay between contestants and players. With Gerry and Malcolm hopelessly out of their depth, the players gave the answers to them for the contestants to declare as 'their final answer'. I smiled watching this, the players were in effect helping the contestants to score points and at the same time guaranteeing their own gunging. I liked that a lot, watching the players seal their own fate was hot. The longer this went on, the more I got drawn in, and drawn to the players. As each game played out, their different characters were emerging. Mark, up for anything, bit of a loose cannon as he threw himself into the gungings with a wild grin and wilder abandon. Kev and Jez, the silent hulks, so masculine it was almost impossible to believe they were doing this. Chris, the most classically beautiful of them all who's enjoyment of being on the show shone through. He was loving it. By comparison, Mark was running at this hard, wheareas Chris was more laid back, but enjoying it equally in his own quieter more measured way. Jon was the enigma. This boy surprised me, he had seemed really game during the sign up meeting and subsequent production meetings. Now he was here, he seemed far more reticent. Not stand off-ish but more embarrassed. If he was playing that as a part, he was doing it well.
Finally Sam, along with Mark the most developed physically, but obviously the captain. He wore his leadership as a badge, guiding and supportive. Even though he was around the same age as the team he exuded a calm, confident, authoritative almost paternal air. Sure, he could play to the camera and obviously had no issue with his body, or showing it. And why would he, everything about him was pretty perfect. He even had nice feet, a body part that normally turns me right off. He was the epitome of leading by example. Six men, wildly different in body, character and motivation. Again, the perfect ingredients for the perfect show.

With the questions out of the way, four rugby balls are lined across the front of the stage, standing proud on their stands, just waiting to be kicked. I imagined thousands of my subscribers cocks standing equally as proud watching this show, as was mine. I was holding back my orgasm, edging throughout the segments as they passed.
Kevin started on the right of the line, with Jez booting balls into the crowd from the left. Their bodies were a study in power and control as the hunkered down slightly, positioning themselves for the kick. It looked just like the videos of rugby I had watched trying to understand the game, and trying to get into the minds of these men, who were appearing on the show. The only difference was that these players on my screen now were naked. Ball after ball arced and tumbled through the air. Audience members craned, and reached, lunging for a ball if it came their way. There was a cacophony of shouts and yells as the audience first sought, then clung onto the prize that would beckon them forward into the action.
The prize winners were called forward, and they left their seats and headed down, clutching their golden ticket rugby balls. One looked a bit dazed, one nervous, the other two grinning grins that threatened to cut their heads in half. The atmosphere was giddy, a carnival of sorts, as they celebrated their fetish, with me and many viewers holding our own remote, more private celebrations.
The athletes stood centre stage, waiting with Dave, as the winners were briefed and guided. We had cut this preamble out for the final cut, and the scene cut to the first victorious winner walking on clutching his winning ball. Never had the coupling of man with ball looked so out of kilter. Small and stick thin, black jeans drain piped over slender feminine legs, a tight white T-shirt, hugging, but displaying nothing other than bone, rib cage and joints, his elbows angular and jutting out as he strode in, grinning like a splosh fan who had just won a prize to gunge a naked professional rugby league player. If he could of written a more perfect day, he couldn't think on how he would better this.
"Nicholas" he breathed into the microphone in response to Dave's question, his eyes not leaving the nudity before him, eyes scanning the line up, so much more erotic now he was close up. He looked like he was panting, or at least out of breath. Mark caught a sideways glance from Chris who raised one eye brow. Mark hid his smile with his hand. Chris faced back forward to Nicholas, an amused half smile on his face
Dave took the ball from Nicholas' sweaty grip and spun in round to face the camera. "Custard pies!" Dave exclaimed as the camera zoomed into the ball, confirming the ball did indeed carry the sticker denoting the weapon of choice for the winner.
An assistant, in matching dapper suit as Dave's rolled on a two tier stainless steel trolley. Both top and bottom shelf were home to the custard pies. Some traditional yellow custard, others a more freaky green, red, even blue. Some had toppings, some were plain. All of them wobbled to a standstill as the trolley was parked, and the assistant departed, a comedy ass slap from Dave sending him back off stage.
Nicholas eyed them, the camera picking up a small speeding up of breath, his small chest rising more rapidly. He licked his lips. Mark feigned a cough to disguise his giggle. This was like watching a dog straining to get at a treat, but waiting for the command from its owner to give it permission to take it.
"Now then, we have our winner!" Dave extended an open palm to introduce Nicholas once more, "We have our pies!" A flourish towards the trolley, "All we need now is our victim!" A final flourish towards the line up of athletes. "Nicholas, who do you want to pie?"
He had been briefed to pause, raise the tension, allow the crowd to yell suggestions. Carried away with the moment, Nicholas blurted out immediately "Sam, please". The crowd still cheered and Sam stepped forward and performed an off the cuff, unplanned theatrical bow.
The other five trooped off stage, Chris jumped, piggy back onto Mark, who carried him off and they all stood stage right, watching.
Sam was limbering up, a few stretches, knuckle pops, his trademark jumps, all within a foot of Nicholas who stood spellbound, watching.
"Over to you Nicholas" announced Dave and left to join the other players at the side, leaving the towering naked captain and tiny prize winner.
Nicholas turned and selected this first pie, traditional yellow, creamy topping and held it in one hand. "He's very tall" he said looking up at Sam who was smiling down at him. Without any prompting, Sam dropped to his knees, levelling the height differential. Even now, they were almost the same height. He crossed his hands behind his back, face forward and waited. Nicholas levelled the pie infront of Sam's face, the crowd egging the winner on. In a fluid movement, Nicholas pushed the pie into Sam's face. Custard dripped out, over his shoulders, down his chest, more rising up, coating his hair. Nicholas rotated his wrist, gently before removing the pie and returning the empty base to the trolley. Another pie, this time blue was selected and was up ended over Sam's head, the thick oozy custard falling down all sides of his body, front and back, it ran down his broad back, coating his hands which he still held there. Sam remained expressionless, save for a sparkling of his eyes, as he glanced to Nicholas and saw his face of rapture.
A third pie was selected. "You want me to stand?" Sam asked.
Nicholas nodded quickly and Sam obliged. "Where you going next?" Sam enquired. It was so conversational, that both Mark and Chris were in danger of bursting out laughing. They held it together.
"Your cock now" Nicholas said, which was met with cheers and whistles.
"Foreskin back or forward?" Sam asked immediately, off script and renegade. He fought back a smile, the corners of his custard covered mouth twitching up slightly. From the control room Ian commanded a close of Nicholas' face. It looked a cross between pleasure and fear.
"Um..back please" Nicholas stuttered, the pie in his hand was wobbling as his hand shook.
"Well I'm not doing it, you'll have to" goaded Sam, running so off piste, he was in danger of running this segment right off course. From the control room Ian shouted, "Genius!"
Cameras zoomed in on Nicholas, eyes wide, almost frozen on the spot, as the segment veered wildly from the pep talk he had received at the side of the stage a few minutes before.
The crowd bellowed and cat called, and Nicholas looked around at the production crew for support. This hadn't been explained at all. He caught a puzzled look from the production assistant, the curly haired woman from the time check earlier. She checked her clipboard and shrugged. Nicholas turned back, and silently sought help from Dave, who was standing amid the players at stage side. Even Jez was smiling.
"Nicholas, just do it" muttered Sam, just loud enough to reach the paralysed winner over the screaming of the crowd. His words broke Nicholas reverie, and he reached out, trembling hands pulling the players foreskin back gently. It rolled back, exposing the bellend. Sam could see Nicholas' chest heaving, as he raised his pie and pushed it onto Sam's groin. With shaking hand he squished the pie around and removed it gently to expose Sam's pubes, engulfed in custard. His cock, long, thick, coated, the foreskin back, the end plastered in custard. The crowd reached fever pitch.
Nicholas reached for his last but one pie. Slowly he smeared it over Sam's entire body, starting at chest where it oozed down, with Nicholas following the seepage, caressing it into Sam's belly, over his cock again and down the sculpted legs. Sam turned around without asking expecting the same treatment for his back. Nicholas obliged and rubbed the final green coloured pie across Sam's enormous back, following the tapering off to his waist and finally covering his ass with the final remnants. Seeing the arsenal of pies had gone, Nicholas retired off stage, still shaking, his ears ringing from the noise in the room.
The other players resumed their positions around Sam.
Dave appeared back in shot, "Bring on the next lucky winner!"
The walk on music thumped and lights flashed energetically as the second winner almost skipped on, ball under his arm and a massive grin plastering his face. Shaking the hand of Dave first, he moved down the line of players shaking hands. Even Sam with his messy hands got a handshake, then the winner rubbed his custard covered hand over Jez's furry chest as he moved on. Jez snarled and pantomimed chasing after the winner, only to be pulled back by Jon, who was over dramatically signalling a calm down gesture. Pure theatre, but the crowd, and the cameras loved it.
"And you are...."
"Ben" the winner crowed, and added unnecessarily, "from London!"
He tossed the ball at Dave who spun it and held to camera, "Cold showers" he shouted.
The same assistant rolled out a massive barrel of water. He ran back off stage and came back, staggering under the weight of two buckets of ice. He dumped both in, and walked off, leaving the empty buckets. This time exiting backwards facing Dave, so he wouldn't get another ass slap on his departure.
"Ben I want you to just put your hand in the water just to confirm to everyone that this water is just a teeny weeny bit above freezing point".
Ben obliged, pulling his hand back out the water quickly, "Ow! Yes, that's freezing cold"
"Now then, take this" Dave said handing him one of the empty buckets, "fill it from there", a finger point at the barrel of water, ice bobbing menacingly on its surface, "and throw it over one of them!" Another point, this time at the team.
"You have thirty seconds to get as many throws in as you can! Which player would you like to play with?"
Ben had the same briefing as the others so ummed and aahed, asking the audience, asking the players who should take the bath. Dave hushed the audience.
"Well Dave, I made Jez's chest a bit messy just then so I suppose I owe it to him to clean it off"
The audience laughed as Jez made his way centre stage, shooting Ben a menacing stare as he grounded his stance, legs at shoulder width, braced. His cock hung down, shorter stubbier waiting for a size limiting cold wash.
With bucket in hand, Ben waited for his timer bell to signal the start. It dinged and the audience burst to life egging the winner on. Needing no encouragement he plunged the bucket into the barrel and it emerged, full, a few cubes of ice caught in the fill.
Knowing he only had thirty seconds he swept the bucket towards Jez and the water fanned out. Freezing cold water and a few ice cubes pelted Jez's face, the studio lights shimmering off his wet skin. Water skidded out behind him, streaking the studio floor. Ben filled the bucket again and approaching the player closer this time, with less force he threw it over his chest. The dense covering of chest fur flattened, the water pulling the hair into lines as it ran down his body. To his credit, despite the freezing cold, Jez braced himself and barely flinched. Showing shock was not in his nature. Strangely the water felt coldest on his feet. He moved position slightly.
Another bucket full was collected and Ben approached the huge giant of player. His prize. He eyed Jez's cock. Jez eyed him back. The crowd bayed.
"Pull his foreskin back" yelled Mark. There was no way he would be heard though. It's hard to mic up a naked man, and the noise in the studio was immense.
The water was launched at his privates, and his cock jolted to one side as the water fired against it, returning to its normal hanging position. Water ran down from his pubes, along his shaft and dripped from the end of his penis.
With enough time for one more, Ben gestured for Jez to kneel. He took a while to get there and the buzzer rang, signalling time over. Ben stood poised, bucket full ready to fire.
"Do it anyway!" shouted Chris. Approaching the kneeling player, encouraged by crowd and other players alike, Ben slowly tipped the bucket over Jez's head. It cascaded out and down over his back, shoulders and chest. Ben danced away from the splashes and placed the bucket down. He saluted the crowd, both arms aloft, and left, getting back slaps from Mark, Chris, Jon and Kevin as he left the stage. The messy Sam just applauded.

The stage was immediately invaded by the third winner, tossing his ball confidently to Dave as he reached the centre.
"Hi everyone I'm Justin" he said in a very camp, effeminate voice. Mark looked down at his toes, just in case he cracked.
"Ooh so macho" Kevin whispered in the campest voice he could muster, just enough so Mark would hear. Mark snorted. Turning it into a cough.
"Let's have a look at your ball" Dave announced. Mark coughed again. Chris slapped his bare back to help him recover from his pretend coughing fit.

"Rainbow gunging" cried Dave in delight, spinning the ball to show camera. A row of buckets were wheeled on, each one full with garishly coloured gunge. Red, blue, orange, yellow, green, purple, black, Sam noted.
"Pretty obvious this one! Another thirty seconds. Choose your player!" Dave signalled the line of players, one wet, one custard coated, the rest standing either stock still glaring, or biting lips trying not to laugh.
"Ooh let me think," pondered Justin, drumming his fingers on his chin in contemplation, "as I'm a size queen it's got to be Mark"
Running from the line up, Mark bounded across the stage, bear hugging the shocked, but delighted Justin, who wrapped his arms around the bulging shoulders of the player, returning the hug. Cut to camera, shooting Sam's reaction, the rolling eyes 'typical Mark' look captured perfectly.

"You want me on my knees?" Mark asked, straight faced. It was Chris' turn to look at his feet just in case.
"Please" said Justin, already reaching for his first bucket, "actually change of plan, lie down"
Mark obliged, face up on the floor, looking up into the lighting rig. He saw a camera man approach from the wings, portable camera in hand to take a live feed to the control room and also to the large screens behind the stage. It flickered to life and Mark appeared. He stuck his tongue out.
The bell sounded and Justin went straight for Marks cock. He slopped bright blue gunge over the players privates. It splattered over his belly, coating his chest and Justin moved the bucket up over the prone players body's as he emptied it. Mark thought he heard Chris shout "pull his foreskin back". From the floor he flipped his friend the middle finger then moved his hand to his cock to retract his foreskin whether he'd been asked or not.
Justin, seeing the retraction made a second pass with orange gunge, covering his cock and chest again. The next one started at Marks face, the black gunge entirely covering his head, hair, nose, eyes and mouth. Holding his breath until gravity cleared his nose and mouth, he let out air between his lips slow, gunge bubbling. He could feel the goo running down his sides, tickling as it made its decent, a weird unusual feeling between his legs as it dribbled between them. He could feel it ooze over his asshole.
"Arms behind head" Justin commanded, the effeminate voice rubbing the authoritative edge off the order. Mark obliged anyway.
A final bucket flooded his face, flattening his armpit hair, coating his six pack and running slowly from his trimmed pubes to his defined oblique muscles. To please Justin, Mark grabbed his cock, massaging the gunge into his cock, foreskin rolling back and forth,his other hand rubbing the mixed colours of gunge over his balls.
The buzzer rang, signalling the end. Mark stood and outstretched his arms, "Gimme a cuddle" he crooned at Justin, who turned and ran off. Even his run was camp.

Mark returned to his team, leaving a trail of gunge streaked on the floor and across to his team. Dodging the increasingly wet and messy floor Dave navigated to stage left to welcome the final winner. A large guy walked on, his belly bulging a T-shirt that was really a size or two too small. Taking the offered ball, the winner introduced himself as Billy, as the ball was spun to show his prize "Fireman's hose"

The final prop was introduced, a long snaking thick hose that led to a big steel nozzle. "Now Bill, this hose is connected to a tank of gunge, the largest ever used in a game show. It will fire out a litre a second. Choose wisely"
Dave retreated to allow Bill to ponder his choice. The crowd assisted as best they could.
"I think I'll choose Jon please" Bill announced. The crowd saluted his choice. Jon stepped forward. As he passed the team, his eyes met Sam's. Walking into position in the centre of the stage, naked, exposed again, he took another brief look over to his captain.
Sam stepped forward, knowing he had to act. He knew he couldn't pull Jon away from his fate, Jon would never forgive him for making him look weak in front the camera, the audience or more importantly his team.
"Hold up, hold up," Sam shouted stepping from his position, leaving a few drops of custard on the increasingly messy floor, joining Jon centre stage. "As this is the last game, and them two over there," he pointed at Chris and Kevin, "have escaped, I think we should all do this one. What d'ya think?"
The roar back was hard to argue with and the wet Jez, the dripping Mark, and the clean Kevin and Chris joined them centre stage. Kevin muttered "cunt" as he passed his captain and adopted his position. Mark seemed delighted, clasping his coated arms around Kevin transferring some of his gunge to the clean skinned team mate.

"Go!" Squeaked Dave and Billy pulled the handle back. It jolted back in his hand, and an arc of blue gunge spluttered from the end, rising, then falling as it snaked its way across the studio. Getting the hose under control, Billy refined his aim, concentrating on the clean players. Jon was first, leaning into the gush, the force trying but failing to push him back. His dense body hair flattened and covered instantly. Kevin was next, Billy obviously favoured the cleaner guys, his beard plastered back on his face as Billy aimed more accurately. Up and down his body he went, concentrating on his chest and cock. Back to Jon again, his circumcised penis the victim again. Finally onto the smoother Chris who lifted his arms and posed for Billy, gyrating his hips and thrusting his hips encouraging Billy to aim at his cock. The winner obliged and coated his cock then entire body with the blue coating. The tattoo on his chest vanished under the deluge. His skin now looked glassily smooth, the only bristly area of his pubes providing any contour and contrast.
Billy sprayed left and right, covering the team, Jez, face to feet, Mark, arms outstretched welcoming the gunge. He spun round presenting his huge back for coverage. Onto Sam, the custard blown away by the force of the flow, his blonde hair at first pushed up by the power, then settling back heavy and laden. Billy traced his body with the jet, left pec, right pec, belly, cock and down to legs. He turned and presented his rear. The crowd reaching fever pitch as Billy coated his buttocks. Back and forth he went, aiming at faces, then lowering to chests, six cocks the next target, then legs and feet. Nothing was missed.
Sam called the team close, and they linked arms behind each others shoulders, a chain of comradeship. They stood as one as the jet powered before petering out, the tank empty. This part of the show over.