Mr Milky Way -- part 6 -- the end

The crowd roared. Somebody in the front road yelled, "Hit me again!" Then Vince let loose a splurge that hit the stage floor like a glass of spilled milk. Mike matched that with a thicker, smaller wad, and then kept pumping his dick, spitting saliva onto his glans to lube his strokes with a steady ratchet that made his nuts chum. Then cum spewed from his dick a third time, and Mike copped his most muscular pose, the crab, for the crowd, his dick equally hard and proud.

Now Vince was ready to go again. He slicked his palm with spit. Stroked his dick once; then a second time. His entire body made quick, small jolt. Then his pecker twitched and spurted thick, ropy cum. Vince wiped his hands on his thighs, and then spit on both palms. He wrapped his fingers around his pecker shaft, left hand at the base, right above. He pumped his arms in unison, massive triceps extending as biceps contracted. Up and down like he was holding his dick to do curls. Ten reps. Then Vince released his hands, widened his stance the better to display his dick. Thick curds of jiss oozed from its slit. Vince flicked them to the floor with his thumb and forefinger. He eased back. He was spent.

Dick in hand, Mike stepped forward. He massaged his cock, slow and steady, smooth. He swayed his whole body with the in a gentle, rocking rhythm. He tightened his grip. Mike yelped. He felt himself ready for orgasm, but he didn't want it to be dry. If held back, if he gave himself another dozen strokes, he could really drain his nuts. Not a geyser, but a molten flow, the cum soaked his fingers and fist. Long seconds of ecstasy and ejaculation. Mike lifted his cum-slathered hand from his dick and raised his creamy, wet palm toward the audience.

Hooting and hollering. Cheers and pandemonium. Mike Miller had made it: Mr Milky Way.