Gallery Show

The complete Gallery Show story can now be downloaded along with nine other original bator tales in the Book Of Bate Vol.1 anthology!

This original collection includes ten great stories in various themes, from fraternity rituals to public masturbation between men, military hand jobs and sporty experiences.

You can download the very first Book Of Bate today and start your digital collection. We already have another NINE anthologies ready to go, with more than 90 fictional tales to enjoy.

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Excerpt from Gallery Show

The audience around me was hushed, whispering while they stared at the screen, commenting quietly to each other or simply just watching the jittery, blurring shadows of the participants in the other room. A young couple at the back seemed mischievous, the brunette in a sleek burgundy evening dress leaned in to speak in French to the tall handsome man standing beside her. I knew enough French to understand that she was telling him that he should go inside and participate, that it would be fun for them to have one of the prints for their bedroom wall.

He seemed reluctant, shaking his head and smiling incredulously, his cheeks flushed.

I turned back to the screen just in time to see one of the men pause his rapid movement, a streak of dark liquid erupting out over the light box in a blurry motion, his semen creating more lines and dots across the platform between the participants and blending into an existing patch of puddles within seconds of hitting the plastic.

I knew what to expect, of course. In moments of his release another one of the men seemed to grasp his own cock with his strong fist and in a flash more streaks and splashes appeared, reaching from the middle of the circular platform back to where his bulging cock swelled like a dark, rounded baton encroaching over the edge of the circular light. I’m more than familiar with the contagious nature of ejaculations. One by one each of the men in that room launched their own semen, seeing their peers delivering their explosive shots triggered their own one after the other.

We couldn’t hear them from our little observation room but I imagined their celebratory utterances, their subtle moans, their masculine grunts while they watched other penises erupt around them, unleashing their own powerful spurts in appreciation of the visual display.

Another two figures arrived just as the first shook his spent dick and put it away, his black shape stepping back from the circle and out of view in a jittery slow motion, like a ghostly figure caught on old CCTV. The remaining men waited for a few more seconds, presumably enjoying the bliss of their release, but soon they were retreating into the blackness around the circle too, heading out through the other door to either continue their walk around the gallery or depart for home or a nearby bar.

As I looked back to the French couple it appeared the young man had been convinced. He handed his partner his glass and maneuvered around the gathered viewers, passing by behind me to exit through the curtained door where I knew my assistant Toby was waiting to direct him.

We’d arranged it well, allowing for increased anonymity, or plausible deniability. The curtained little corridor allowed all guests to either leave the show, enter through a side exit to participate in the installation, or go through another curtain to rejoin the main gallery room. Once inside this little intersection no one knew where a man had gone.

My staff jokingly referred to this little space as “Schrödonger’s Airlock”.

It was single file. Once a man (and perhaps his partner or a friend) had entered this little closeted intersection they were alone to freely make their way through any of the other exits before the next person was permitted to enter.

After choosing to go right and participate in the work he would be given a numbered ticket and sent down another short corridor to the installation room. Upon arrival there he would encounter Ricardo and his details would be taken for the delivery of a well-earned print.

We did consider that some men might merely meander through and pretend to participate in order to get their hands on a free print, but my staff had assured me in the first few minutes that every man who’d entered had delivered on their part of the deal.

I stared at the screen as a sequence of moments of stillness rolled into each other, a little panic welling up inside at the thought that it might be over, that too many moments of nothing happening might lead to stagnation of the piece, like a lackluster party dissuading new arrivals. My fears were allayed a few moments later when another figure arrived at the side of the light and an incredibly long penis was produced, waving stiff and swollen over the glowing circle.

I looked back to the French woman and watched her smiling as she sipped her lover’s champagne, her eyes fixed on the familiar sight of his long penis being masturbated on the screen, enjoying the show while so many strangers observed his pleasure. His companion and I both knew who he was, but to anyone else it was an uncertainty. Perhaps the handsome young man had left, or rejoined the main room. Or, perhaps, that was the handsome young man’s long penis being rubbed so intently while he stared at the milky mass of semen splashes pumped out all over the platform in front of him, eager to add his own wet marks to the display.

Within seconds another figure arrived, stepping up right beside the Frenchman and producing his own thicker, shorter cock. I could only assume he had arrived from another entrance into that little airlock before making his way inside. Another moment passed, the two men shoulder-to-shoulder while they masturbated together.

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