A plague of horniness starts to sweep the planet

Forced arousal, humiliation, kinky

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The event

It started almost imperceptibly small. So small that it was not even noticed beyond the building where it first occurred.

The single room school had been built by a Christian aid organisation 45 years ago. They had long since abandoned the small, impoverished Indian village in search of more glamourous charitable works, but the people of Sail, in Uttarakhand state, in the north of India, still saw the value in educating their children, even after the missionaries in their crisp white-shirts had moved on.
So now, eight boys and five girls sat in the classroom, its walls pitted and crumbling, the mottled whitewash now worn through to bare plaster in many places.

In front of the class, stood a teacher, paid a modest salary from the national education budget. He was explaining the way that crop rotation could keep the soil fertile. It was valuable information, and the teens listened with far more interest than the average pampered American student would have, but then, they knew that their futures depended upon absorbing what the teacher had to share.

Then something perhaps not that unusual started to happen. One of the students, Bhavesh, felt his dick stirring. Even flaccid, it pointed towards his head, held up by his snug briefs, but he felt it growing now. It was not the first time he’d gotten hard in class. He was a healthy teenaged male, so he was used to the experience, and he ignored it as best he could.

Next to him, Aarav’s dick also grew hard, and in front of them, Rishi’s dick also stiffened. In fact, all eight teenage males developed erections. Some noticed immediately, while others took a minute to become aware, but within a few minutes, each of them had brutally hard bones, straining within their underwear.

And they were not alone; the teacher, Mr Prasad was also hard. He wore a dhoti; the traditional loose ankle-length Indian breech cloth, and it gave him some cover as his meat grew stiff, but he knew that there would be no hiding his ling if it got fully hard. It tended to stick out from his groin at 90 degrees, and would be clearly visible. He sat before the situation grew awkward.

At 54 years old, he was not used to spontaneous erections, but he had been gifted with nine inches and he was not beyond a throbbing bone when the inspiration arose, and he certainly didn’t want his students to know that he had one now. Instead, he employed an old trick; he called upon one of the students to come to the board.

“Jai, would you come and draw a typical 4 field crop rotation on the board.”

“W… what, now sir?” the boy stammered.

“Yes, now please Jai, if you’d be so kind.”

“Ummm, erm, well, I’m uhhh, I’m not sure sir.”

“Not to worry, just do the best you can.”

Jai stood, his hands in front of his groin, and approached the board, then with his back to the class, he picked up the white chalk and drew the required diagram, drawing a quartered square, and wrote the names of different crops into each quadrant.

But it wasn’t the diagram that Mr Prasad was interested in. He noticed that the teenager’s cock had pitched a conspicuous tent at the front of his shorts, lifting the material away from his body.

The teacher pretended not to have seen; it was not the first time he’d noticed one of his students aroused. With such an obvious erection, the boy had to know that his teacher could see it, but they both acted as though it was not there.

The teacher watched as the 16-year-old completed the assignment, then he nodded, and gave a pleasant smile.

“Well done, Jai, that’s very good. Thank you.”

Jai nodded at him.

“May I sit down now please sir?”

“Of course.”

Jai dropped his hands to his groin, and returned to his seat. Around him, 8 hard cocks throbbed in fierce empathy.

The next time the event occurred was a little more public. It was at the State collegiate wrestling championships, held in the cavernous Delta Centre arena in Utah’s Salt Lake City.

Wrestling was particularly brutal on a male’s sense of masculinity. Thin, elasticated lycra singlets did absolutely nothing to hide their genitals. On one hand, nobody wanted to be flat down there. Yes, they could claim that they were a shrinker, with a dick that shrivelled during athletic activity, but that only went so far, and a tiny bulge was still an embarrassment. On the other hand, a huge bulge was also a liability. Large balls could easily could knocked, or “accidentally” grabbed during a match, and a large flaccid member was clearly visible through spandex, resting like a sleeping python. The worst of all was a member that was long, fat, AND circumcised, with a large head. That was so visible that it was almost begging to be filmed and photographed, and most were.

Erections were a risk of the sport, especially for gay guys, but most straight wrestlers had sprung at least one unwanted erection during their short careers. If it was during a match, they would simply ignore it and hope nobody was but the ref was paying attention, and nobody was recording on a phone.

Often as not, it would fade away within a minute. Sometimes, the victim would receive a few playful comments by teammates or even coaches afterwards, but they all knew it was one of the occupational hazards that went with the sport. Clad in spandex, groins sliding against soft asses sometimes caused biological reactions that the straightest of repressed Mormon males could not avoid.

A slightly more embarrassing occurrence was when a wrestler was not the first of the pair to get wood, rather, he got hard in response to the other guy’s boner. It was pretty hard to ignore a boner, especially if it was rubbing against your ass in bottom or hands and knees position. But if the other guy’s boner gave YOU a boner! Well, you were sure to hear about that for a week or two in the locker room.

The wrestlers understood that there was something about being in the mere presence of another aroused male was enough to make you horny; not in a faggy, want-to-get-fucked-by-you kind of way, but it took absolutely nothing to get guys in their sexual prime horny; a flash of tit, a sexy voice, the feel of another guy’s boner on your ass. Just the THOUGHT of sexual activity was enough.

At any given competition, comprising say 1000 wrestlers, at least 30 could be guaranteed to get hard during the meet. It was just a rite of passage and the young men laughed it off and got on with the day.

But this was different. All 617 lycra-clad wrestlers simultaneously sprang boners; boners that were painfully hard, and there was nowhere to hide them. The referees, coaches, and audience would normally have laughed it off, but their dicks throbbed just as hard in their own pants. The seated males could at least hide their erections, depending upon the angle their dicks protruded from their groins at. A couple of 8- and 9-inchers found it harder, but the unfortunate referees were almost as exposed as the wrestlers themselves. The last thing any adult wanted, was a conspicuous erection while watching teenaged boys wrestle, and the adults were far more mortified than the youngsters.

At first, each person thought that it was an isolated event, occurring just to them or on their mat, but a ripple gradually spread around the area as it became obvious that nearly 900 males were hard enough to punch holes in concrete.

The refs paused matches, the officials conferred, red-faced over what to do.

As with the event in India, the males were not just fantastically hard; they were horny; shockingly horny; hip-grindingly horny. Many of the adults had not felt that way in decades, and even the collegiate competitors struggled to deal with the intensity of their arousal. It started with an attempt to hide their boners, then escalated to pained faces and hunching as they became hornier and hornier. Within ten minutes, the entire male population of the arena was moaning and groaning as though they were recreating a scene from a zombie movie.

The females in the area watched, utterly bewildered by the sudden collective behaviour of their husbands, boyfriends and sons. At first, they thought it was some sort of elaborate prank, but the conspicuously hard dicks and blushing, sweaty faces, made it clear that there was something more significant at work.

Then things came to a climax; literally. 887 near simultaneous orgasms that dropped most of the wrestlers and officials to their backs, leaving them rolling on the ground, backs arched, hips thrust in the air, as their cream suddenly oozed through stretched fabric that was way too thin to hide it. To call the scene a mess, would be a massive understatement. Horny young men in their sexual prime, experiencing orgasms that continued uninterrupted for minutes on end, unloading every last drop of creamy sex juice through their uniforms, creating sticky, pearlescent puddles on the front of their wrestling singlets. The puddles grew as the young men came repeatedly, their balls pumping way past the point that there was nothing left to give.

In some ways, the audience had it even worst. Fathers, grandfathers, coaches, reporters, officials, and other adults had not orgasmed hard in many years, and none had ever experienced orgasms that lasted that long. They rolled around in the stands, and on the edge of the mats, and at officials’ desks, no more in control than the youngsters. True, their jeans, and trousers mostly did a better job at hiding the initial orgasms, but as the pumping continued for minute after ecstatic minute, their spunk worked its way through the fabric in glistening patches, slowly growing to form volley ball-sized wet patches.

Event two lasted 45 minutes. Male first responders were instantly overcome, experiencing the same symptoms. Gas masks were no help, and by the time two dozen first responders joined the writhing mass of males trapped in endless orgasms, they realised that females seemed immune. Many of the ones in the arena physically dragged their males outside. When they were 75 yards beyond the main arena floor, the symptoms quickly diminished, although it did take several hours for extremely persistent erections to finally dissipate.

On that day, eight men had heart attacks, five of whom could not be revived. It was reported in the news all over America, with graphic video showing hundreds of cum-soaked competitors, and people being carried away on stretchers. The government claimed that the event had been caused by a gas leak which acted as an aphrodisiac, although they never explained why every male sprang a boner, then came at exactly the same time, down to the second. Nor could they explain why the females experience no effects.

Event three happened in Moscow during the Victory Day parade in Red Square. A Putin look-alike stood in his presidential podium. Behind and beside him stood, almost 50 generals and other top ranked military personnel, each in their 60s and 70s.

They stood dutifully watching, and as dozens of blocks of 1500 soldiers, divided by sex, marched in perfect lock step past the podium, while thousands of citizens cheered in stands on the opposite side of an avenue that was wider than a football field.

The soldiers wore the same fake smiles as ballroom dance professionals, each showing in expression how happy they were to be part of the glorious Russian empire. As each block approached his podium, the soldiers turned as one, sharply lifting their right arm in a salute that they maintained until the entire block passed his position. On the stand, the Putin look-alike proudly grinned, sitting and taking the salute, and the staged adoration of the carefully-curated crowds.

Suddenly the males in the column of marching soldiers pulled to a stop in perfect unison, while the female blocks pulled up in confused response. Putin and his generals stood up, and the fans watched, expecting him to salute, or participate in some other kind of pageantry. Instead, the look-alike dropped his trousers and underwear exposing his genitals, and with a blank expression, started windmilling his flaccid cock before the cameras and eyes of the entire world. Around him, his generals followed suit; dozens of pathetic geriatric cocks whirling in circles. And on the highway, tens thousands of soldiers did the exact same thing, spinning their far younger members in circles, propelled only by the motion of their pelvises.

The crowds watched, stunned, unsure of what was happening. After 10 or 15 seconds, the crowd started to reach the conclusion that it was some kind of statement about the confidence and virility of the Russian army. A few discretely sniggered, but most started to cheer, applauding their figurehead and his generals.

Then Putin and his sycophantic retinue, as well as the soldiers on parade, stopped twirling. It was clear that they were by now, all savagely hard. Putin’s look-alike measured a humiliating 4 inches erect, although most of his young soldiers were more impressive, some considerably so. They all gripped their members in their fists. The crowd watched, wondering what was going to happen next. They only had to wait a few seconds to find out, then the soldiers and their commander in chief began pumping, starting slowly, but rapidly increasing pace until they matched the beat of the marching music that was blaring through speakers. They turned to the audience and the cameras, and continued masturbating, their fists pumping in perfect time to an instrumental version of a piece called “We need only victory.” The tune was characterised by a heavier pulse on every other beat, and the soldiers, smashed their fists towards their groins on the pulse. Balls rattled, foreskins were drawn fully back, members were engorged, helmets turned shades of purple, crimson, dark plum, as blood bloated them almost to bursting point.
The female soldiers stood in utterly stunned silence. It was beyond the authority of any squad leader to act, or question this unscheduled display. None of them had been forewarned, so instead, they waited, now standing at ease, as their male counterparts displayed the vigour of the Russian army.

The men hammered away. As though a command had been given, they doubled the pace of their pistoning fists, now pounding twice to every beat, fists smashing towards their bodies with an almost-Soviet stoicism. The soldiers were at a fever pitch, and each of them started to come when their libido could hold back the tide no longer, launching spunk all around them as their now-furiously flailing fists elevated their lust to grunting, screaming excitement. As each man ejaculated euphorically, they retained their plastic, Stepford smiles, staring out at the world, and continued masturbating, without so much as a moment’s rest. They came again, and again, and again, each orgasm producing less spunk, then none, and still they continued jacking, spraying their cream onto the tarmacadam ground, until every male in the parade, collapsed, physically exhausted to the floor, their dicks pounded almost raw.

“I just couldn’t stop myself,” a young Russian soldier said to a news interviewer later. “I knew what I was doing, but it was like my body was not under my control. As I started swinging my di… penis around, my mind was screaming at me “What the fuck…” Oops sorry, am I allowed to say that?”

The interviewer smiled and nodded.

“Oh good. So, I was thinking “What the fuck are you doing?!” but I couldn’t stop myself. I’ve never felt so humiliated in all my life.”

“Over 45,000 men joined you. There were even some men in crowd control and some of the presidential snipers, so at least you were not alone.”

“Yeah, that was the only saving grace. Although I still felt like everyone was looking at my dick.”

Footage zoomed in on the 23-year-old soldier swinging his dick appeared on the screen behind him.

“What happened next Maxim?”

“Well, you know, I just felt incredibly horny, like it was the most important thing ever; like if I didn’t masturbate, I was going to collapse or something.”

“Yes, we can all see how hard your penis was – quite impressive actually.”

The guest followed the interviewer’s eyes to the screen behind him, where the video now showed him furiously masturbating. His eyes grew large.

“Wait, is that me? You didn’t say you were going to show video of me!”

“We thought it was the best way to prove to Russia what happened.”

“No, no, this is bullshit!”

The man rose furiously from his chair.

“We cleared it with the ministry. They are alright with it.”

“I’M not alright with it. I didn’t want the whole world to see me jacking it! This is shit. You tricked me!”

“I’m sorry you feel…”

Maxim stood and stormed from the studio. The interviewer continued unflustered.

“There you have it ladies and gentlemen, straight from one of the participants. Tens of thousands of men, seem to have been overcome during yesterday’s Victory Day parade, by a strange compulsion and masturbated publicly. The president tells us that the Federal Security Service warned of a potential incident, but because it was not deemed life threatening, the parade was permitted to continue. He assures us that while the man standing in for him was a body double, the size of his penis was NOT a consideration when selecting a look alike…”

The most recent event occurred at a soccer match played at England’s premier international venue; Wembley Stadium. Arsenal was playing Paris Saint-Germain, and the game was in the last 25 minutes. 90,000 fans enthusiastically cheered. The score was tied at 1 apiece, but Arsenal’s winger had the ball just past the half way line. He passed perfectly towards the middle, and the ball slid along the grass to the centre forward’s feet. A roar of excitement rose in the crowd. Home nation ground meant that they always had a volume advantage, and they used it now.

The centre received the ball, and two players from Saint-Germain raced towards him. He effortlessly side-stepped one, the ball seemingly glued to his feet. The second player stepped into his path and then stopped in his tracks. The centre could have passed him, but the opposing player took a few faltering steps, moving as though he was dazed, before coming to an awkward stop.

In any normal match, the other players would have been dumbfounded, but not today. They looked around, as though unsure what to do, then as one they slowly dropped their shorts and underwear, pushing them past powerfully athletic thighs, to fall in puddles at their feet. They stepped away from the clothes discarded on the grass. In Europe, where circumcision was increasingly rare, most players had uncut flaccid cocks; some with tight balls, exertion-shrivelled cocks, and tight, puckered snouts; others with loose floppy meat, and equally relaxed and droopy foreskins.

The crowd watched, unsure what they were witnessing. Was it a coordinated joke on the world? But if so, this was way beyond anything that would be acceptable to the television cameras.

17 players and the referee stood around, looking at each other with flaccid genitals. The remainder, as well as coaches and officials ran towards their teammates to discern what they were doing. But as they got near, they too were overcome by the compulsion that caused the players to strip, and they too undressed.

As though a switch had been thrown, all 22 players, plus a handful of now-naked officials and support staff developed powerful erections.

The men seemed unconcerned. Some pumped their dicks gently in their fists, others seemed proud of them and left them for the capacity 90,000 fans to see in all their glory. The mood of the fans went from uncertain, to restless. There were thousands of families and young children in the stands.

The audience started jeering and booing, but the players didn’t react. Instead, they moved towards each other, each heading for the nearest man, or men. Then, as though their roles were scripted, one man dropped to his knees or bent over standing, presenting his ass. The other partner moved behind. With no foreplay or attempt at lubrication, the men behind pushed their hard dicks into the holes of the other.

In a couple of cases the men formed groups of three of four, forming fuck-trains, or 69s on the grass, fellating one another. In several cases, an odd man would drop to his knees and start blowing the man being fucked.

The fans were screaming now, outraged at the debauchery on display in front of their wives and kids. But the real offence was against their own masculinity. The vast majority of the fans were males, and it disgusted them to watch the scene of gay depravity unfolding before them.

Police and fans alike surged towards the players. The fans started to invade the pitch, jumping over the low metal crowd control barriers that separated them from the players. Hundreds of angry men streamed forwards, ready to lynch the players and officials, but they barely stepped foot onto the pitch, before they too came to a stop and started to undress.

Girlfriends, wives, and kids watched in horror as their fathers, husband, boyfriends, and brothers stripped naked before looking for the nearest available mouth or asshole.

The stands were rapidly filled with screaming, horrified, traumatised fans.

“It’s that Russian thing!” someone shouted, and word quickly spread through the stands, stopping further men from invading the pitch.

The people in the stands quickly put two and two together, realising that there was something about the pitch that was turning the players and rioting fans into gay fuck zombies.

“It’s gas!” someone else screamed. “Get out of the stadium.”

Their assessment of the cause was incorrect, but their actions were well justified. A surge of people retreating away from the pitch rapidly became a crush, and anyone who tripped on their way up the stands was quickly trampled beneath the feet of others.

Crowd control barriers, implemented after the Hillsborough tragedy reduced the deadliest force of the crush, but there was still a huge jam at the turnstiles as people tried desperately to escape from whatever was affecting the men on the pitch.

There was a limit to the rate at which that many people could leave, and soon every exit was backed up. The event slowly expanded, moving like lava, travelling at a slow walking pace, radiating outwards from the pitch. As it engulfed more and more males, each stopped in his tracks, disrobed, and immediately sought out the nearest male to copulate with, old fucking young, sons fucking fathers, friends and strangers copulating with equal enthusiasm.

The stadium turned into a mass of heaving, fucking, sucking bodies.  The instant one male had fucked another, he’d turn to someone else and offer up his own ass. It was a totally egalitarian orgy. Neither race, nor age, nor religion, nor attractiveness, nor relationships made any difference. Every asshole was a fair target, and every dick an eager missile. No male pushed away an attempt at copulation, and no male hesitated to penetrate whichever asshole was nearest and available.

Females became more enraged than their male companions, expressing fury as though the males chose to fuck each other. They tried to pull their males apart, but the males pushed them away, becoming violent when the women became more insistent.

Their rage turned into tears, knowing that they could do nothing to stop the adult males from debasing themselves on a truly astronomical scale.

The fourth event continued for a full hour, all caught on the camera, or high-def mobile phone. The incredible scene was broadcast all over the world, and uploaded to a dozen video sharing sites. More than 17,000 males, most in their late teens and early twenties, fucked, and sucked, and went buck wild in a scene that would have made Caligula’s wildest orgies look tame by comparison.

In a recently-built control room west of Beijing, a cluster of Chinese generals watched the satellite feed with smiles. The fourth test had been completely successful. The British males had been forced to abandon their most sacred inhibitions, fucking and rutting like crazed animals during the mating season.

The generals continued to feed instructions to the Starlink Cubesat that they had commandeered, and it sent the modulated signal to the arena below.

Elon Musk had littered the skies above Earth with more than 10,000 satellites, and China could take over any of the them at a moment’s notice. The satellites were completely defenceless against their active intrusion system, and the very AI system that Musk had developed, now worked in real-time to counter any automated systems designed to prevent their signal being closed down. The only defence was to permanently shut the satellite down, or shoot it down. The trouble was, the satellites failed with such frequency, Starlink had not even realised that any of them had even been commandeered, and it was all-but impossible to develop a defence against China’s intrusion system.

The generals laughed and congratulated themselves as they watched the stupid westerners fuck each other. Then they started planning their next experiment…