Stripped By Friends

[Blondie]

I am definitely one who can't help but love when fictional straight guys are humiliated at the hand of other guys. Technically the category on this site is "ENM Stories", so that leaves it up for interpretation. I hope others who don't like the theme can just move on by our stories. I don't think they would have a problem if a female is humiliating other females, after all

Valid point!

For me, like I say, it's all about the humiliation. Male, female, old, young (I will say I have a strong affinity to stripping and humiliation in the school setting), gay, straight....all good with me. I think I've said this before, but I consider myself an equal opportunity humiliator.

[imanewb]

Bit late to the party, but catching up after a week in bed, migraine - go figure...

Got to agree with pretty much all of the comments... generally don't have a problem who's doing the humiliating (no gender bias), people can skip past bits / whole stories they don't like, etc, etc... appreciated the 'realistic' outcome - the 'shutting down', hiding the rest of break, etc, etc.

That said, maybe as a prompt for another story involving the same characters?, could have maybe had a different 'ending' in so far as 'creepy Bruce makes demands for sex slave' -- hey I have the evidence right here, hey parents/police.... look what he did to me... easy win in court... judge decides unusual crimes call for unusual punishments...

Just a thought

[Blondie]

Chapter 7: Public Nudity at the Drive-Through

Lunch

Donna claps her hands together excitedly. “Let’s all go out to lunch!” she announces, her voice brimming with mischief.

Bruce stretches and nods. “Yeah, I just need to change first.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for another perilous, humiliating, nude venture. Donna is smiling brightly as she takes my hand and pulls me out of my chair.

“Let’s go, my little naked friend,” she teases, her eyes sparkling with amusement. As I stand, she places both hands on my shoulders, leans in close, and says with glee, “We’re really gonna have some fun now, sweetheart.”

She merrily leads me toward the front door. The moment we step outside, I really feel my nakedness when a gust of cold air washes over me, sending shivers up my spine.

This time, I’m guided straight to the front bench seat of the station wagon, where I’m made to sit in the middle—sandwiched between Tammy and Donna. Both of them giggle as they slide in beside me, clearly delighted by my predicament. Behind me, Bruce and the guys take their seats, while Rhonda and Gail follow in their own car.

Instinctively, I move to cover myself, clasping my hands over my lap in a desperate attempt at modesty.

“Uh-uh-uh, there'll be none of that,” Tammy chides, shaking her head.

She grabs my left wrist and pulls my arm up, stretching it across the top of the seat behind her. Donna immediately follows suit with my right arm, leaving me feeling completely exposed. I press my knees together, only for Donna to gently but firmly separate them, placing my feet on either side of the hump in the floor.

Donna grins wickedly as she watches me squirm. “There, Smoothie, isn’t that better? Now we have a nice view of your hairless little wee-wee,” she taunts. "And it's such a cute little thing!" she says as she takes my penis in her fingers and jiggles it around, causing me to almost jump out of my seat.

"Hey, that's not fair! I get to play with it, too," Tammy declares, glancing away from the road just long enough to reach over with her free hand. I stiffen in my seat while she boldly explores my penis and balls.

"You're right, his dick is is such a cutesy little thing. And his little balls....they're cute, too. And they're so smooth! You should feel them, Donna."

Tammy puts her hand back on the wheel and Donna immediately picks up where Tammy left off. I squirm around while Donna has her way with my balls, caressing them like she owns them.

"Ooh, yes," coos Donna."I see what you mean. They're darling little things.

"And I really like playing with his little pee-pee," continues Donna as she moves her hand upwards and starts fondling my penis. "I love how I can make it grow."

Sure enough, for the second time that day I feel a stirring in my loins, thanks to Donna's manipulations. Her unrelenting and skillful fondling of my ever-reactive penis is quite stimulating, and in short order I have a hard-on, much to Donna's delight.

"Blondie's got another woodie," declares Donna. "Check it out."

Tammy looks down, and while giggling says, "Indeed he does! It looks like one of those mini sausages we had for breakfast."

Once again the sounds of laughter echo through the car. Tammy has her eyes back on the road and reaches down. Donna defers to her and allows Tammy to fondle my penis while driving.

"Oh, you have such a darling, petite little penis, Blondie. It's so fun to play with," she says as she runs her fingers all around my hard-on.

I'm really squirming around now. I feel if she keeps this up I could lose it right here in the car.

"Please," I urge. "Please stop!"

"You be careful, Blondie," says the giggling Tammy as she mercifully lets go of my penis and puts her hand back on the steering wheel. "Don't you go spurting off in my parents' car, you naughty little boy."

Bruce leans in close, his breath tickling my ear. “Thanks for the show, Blondie. I can’t tell you how excited you’re making me.” His voice drips with delight, and before I can react, he reaches over and gives a quick, teasing tweak to my nipple. I shudder, squeezing my eyes shut for a brief moment, praying that when I open them I'll wake up from a nightmare.

But when I open my eyes, we’re cruising down a busy street and I’m still naked. My heart pounds as I wonder what fresh embarrassment awaits.

We reach the downtown area, and Tammy turns into a fast-food joint. I expect her to pull into a parking space, but to my horror, she steers directly into the drive-through lane. I tense up as I realize the ramifications of this maneuver.

“Tammy, no—please, come on, not this!” I beg, my voice cracking with desperation.

The only response is a chorus of laughter.

We roll up to the speaker, and the perky voice of a young girl crackles through. “Welcome to Burger Shack! Can I take your order?”

I shiver at the realization that in just a few moments, the owner of that voice will see me naked. Instinctively, I start to move my hands to cover myself, but Bruce intercepts my wrists with a firm grip.

“If you try to cover up once more, Blondie, we’re hauling you out of the car and dragging you into the middle of the restaurant,” he warns. “In case you didn’t notice when we drove by, there are a lot of people in there.”

I stay put while Tammy looks down and sees that my erection has started to subside. She multitasks by playing with my penis while ordering food and drinks for everyone. It wasn't long before I was completely hard again.

Tammy continues toying with me while we inch our way up the line. When we get close she moves her hand away, exposing my state of arousal for all to see. I am near a state of panic as the car pulls up to the window.

I’m practically vibrating with anxiety.

Everyone watches for the pretty young girl’s reaction. She opens her window and starts to pass a bag to Tammy. Then she sees me. The bag drops to the ground as her jaw opens wide in a classic expression of shock.

“Oh my GOD!” she squeals.

She covers her mouth with her hands and is laughing uncontrollably while she continues to stare at me. She’s laughing so hard that one of the guys at the counter comes over to see what the source of the hilarity is. He sees me, naked with a little hard-on and red as a beet.

He grins widely. I feel like I could possibly die from embarrassment.

"Why is he naked?" she asks, still grinning as she looks from me to Tammy.

Tammy smirks. “Oh, we’re just having a little fun with him.” She gives my crimson face a quick glance. “We’re definitely having a lot more fun than he is.”

The girl giggles.

“His name is Blondie,” Tammy adds.

"Hi, Blondie! I’m Trudy," the girl chirps, leaning out the window a little more to get a better look. Of course I am in no mood—or state of dress—to be making new acquaintances.

Tammy nudges me in the ribs. "Say hi, Blondie."

"Hi," I mumble, without looking up.

Tammy clicks her tongue. "Not good enough. Look up at her and ask how her day is going."

I swallow hard, forcing myself to lift my gaze. “H-how’s your day going?” I stammer.

Trudy giggles. “Oh, it just got way better, thanks to you!” She pauses, eyes twinkling. “The real question is—how’s your day going?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Tammy’s elbow digs into my ribs again, more insistently this time.

"It’s... it’s fine, thanks," I manage weakly.

Laughter erupts around me as Tammy opens the door to grab the bag off the ground. She notices the spilled drink and hands the empty cup back to Trudy.

"Could you get us another Coke?" she asks sweetly.

Trudy disappears inside, but not before shooting me one last amused grin. I can hear the commotion as she rushes to the back, no doubt telling her co-workers about the naked boy in the drive-through with a little hard-on.

Donna again reaches down and plays with my penis.

"I just want to make sure you keep showing Trudy how happy you are to see her," laughs Donna.

When Trudy returns, she isn’t alone. A small crowd of her co-workers have gathered behind her, all craning their necks to gawk at me through the drive-through window. Their expressions range from wide-eyed disbelief to outright amusement. The laughter is immediate and relentless.

Even a couple of customers inside the restaurant catch wind of the spectacle and rise onto their tiptoes, peering over the counter to get a better look at me.

“He doesn’t want to be naked,” Trudy announces. “They’re making him do this.”

“Oh, this is too much!” one of the employees howls, clutching her stomach.

“His name is Blondie,” Trudy adds helpfully.

"Hi, Blondie!" a chorus of voices chimes in.

"Look at his little boner!" squeals a grinning young female employee.

"He must be cold. Maybe that's why it's so small," teases Trudy.

The laughter rings in my ears as my face burns even hotter


Forced out of the Car

Finally, Trudy hands over the Coke and says, “That’ll be $10.95.”

A quick collection is taken, but they only manage to scrounge up a little over ten dollars.

“Blondie, do you have an extra dollar?” asks Tammy facetiously.

Laughter erupts once again. She steps out of the car to fetch the remaining money from the others, leaving me even more exposed. The door is wide open, and grinning faces keep appearing at the pay window, eager for another peek. Tammy, of course, takes her sweet time, chatting and laughing with her friends while I sit there, squirming.

At last, she returns, pays Trudy, and just as I think we’re finally escaping, she turns to me with a mischievous smile.

“Blondie, Gail and Rhonda are going to need this to pay for their food,” she says, handing me two quarters. “Would you be a dear and run this back to them?”

I blink at her, thinking she must be joking. She is not. The energy in the car shifts—everyone sensing the inevitable. Donna grins as she swings open her door, stepping out to give me room. I freeze for a split second before Tammy gives me a shove, and I stumble out into the open.

A line of cars stretches behind us. I brace myself, then bolt toward Gail and Rhonda’s car, my bare legs pumping furiously. I look down and see that my penis is returning to its normal size—not that it is making this any less painful.

A couple of people honk their horns merrily when they see me.

I reach their window and bang on it desperately. Ever so slowly, Gail rolls it down.

“Hi, Blondie, can I help you with something?” she inquires with a devilish grin.

I thrust the money toward her, eager to get this over with.

“Oh, you should give that to Rhonda, sweetie,” Gail says with a laugh. “She’s the one paying.”

I lean across the seat to pass the quarters to Rhonda, but she twirls her finger in the air, signaling for me to come around. My stomach plummets. More honking. More laughter. My pulse pounds in my ears as I sprint around to the other side.

On my way, I catch a glimpse of the people in the car ahead of me—laughing uproariously at the scene. Over at the restaurant, three highly amused employees have crammed into the drive-thru window, while several customers have even stepped outside to witness the spectacle firsthand. The entire drive-thru has turned into my fan club.

Rhonda finally rolls down her window, plucks the coins from my palm, and pats the back seat.

“Hop in, Blondie.”

Relief floods through me as I scramble inside. But as the car inches forward toward the window, my relief is quickly replaced by dread—I have to pass by them again.

By now, the entire fast-food staff seems to be in on the fun. We get to the window and by everyone is having a high old time at my expense. Trudy is over her shock and is getting the most out of my humiliation, as she is grinning from ear to ear, staring at me while handing Rhonda her food.

As Rhonda reaches out to pay, she “accidentally” drops a quarter onto the pavement.

“Oh, Blondie,” she coos. “Would you be a sweetie and grab that for me?”

With trepidation, I step out of the car and have an extremely anxious moment when I can’t find the quarter. My heart pounds. I glance under the vehicle. Nothing.

Then I see it.

It has rolled right next to the car behind us.

I swallow hard, then sprint back there, acutely aware of the thoroughly entertained foursome inside—two guys, two girls, all grinning and laughing uproariously. I snatch up the quarter and rush back, eager to disappear.

I try handing it to Rhonda, but she shakes her head.

“Well, don’t give it to me, silly boy,” she says airily. “Pay the nice girl in the window.”

I hand over the coin without making eye contact with Trudy, but I can still see her broad smile and can sense her eyes looking me up and down.

“Thanks, Blondie, and thanks a lot for the entertainment!” she gleefully says. "And good luck with puberty," she adds, just for good measure.

Behind her, the restaurant erupts into cheers and applause.

My face burns hotter than ever as I clamber back into the car.

Mercifully, we drive off.

But of course my reprieve would be short-lived.

[Blondie]

Chapter 8: Naked Ordeal in the City Park

Chained to the Car

Gail glances back at me, still laughing wildly. We follow the group in front of us and pull into a parking space along the curb of the city park. Everyone piles out of the two cars, stretching and chatting as they gather near the benches.

“You’re welcome to come join us, Blondie,” Gail says, smirking.

I shake my head immediately—grateful beyond words that, for once, I’m being given a choice.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs, tossing a hamburger into my lap. Then, with a glint of mischief in her eye, she adds, “But we need to make sure you don’t try to run away from us.”

Before I can react, she reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a set of straps connected by a short chain. In one swift motion, she secures one strap around my ankle and fastens the other to a metal bar beneath the windshield. Now, I’m stuck in the passenger seat with my leg stretched awkwardly across the dashboard, my toes pointed helplessly toward the windshield.

“Don’t you dare take this strap off, Blondie,” Gail warns, grinning. “Or else, you’ll have to come out there and eat with us.

“Now sit up straight, and keep your hands away from your little weenie.”

She and Rhonda burst into laughter before skipping off to join the rest of the group at the picnic benches, about fifteen yards away. As they settle in, I realize that they’ve positioned themselves directly in front of the car—facing me.

They make a spectacle of their enjoyment, tearing into their food while casting amused glances my way, laughing joyfully at my predicament.

I shift uncomfortably, the leather seat cold against my bare skin.

It’s a chilly day, and thankfully, the park isn’t too crowded. A couple of guys and a girl are tossing a Frisbee nearby, and every now and then, a pedestrian strolls past.

Each time someone walks by, I freeze, my pulse spiking.

But miraculously, no one seems to notice me. The car windows are tinted just enough to keep me from being immediately obvious.

I feel relatively safe—as safe as one could possibly feel while sitting naked against his will in a car at a city park.


Visitors

At one point, I notice Rhonda making a call on her cell phone. I don’t think much of it—probably just chatting with a friend. What I don’t realize is that she’s summoning reinforcements.

Within minutes, four girls stroll by, chattering and giggling. To my dismay, they stop right in front of the car.

Why the hell do they have to stop here?

I press myself against the seat, praying they’ll keep moving. They seem oblivious to my presence—just standing there, caught up in their conversation. Maybe, just maybe, they won’t notice me.

Then I see Rhonda reaching for her keys.

But she’s not coming back to the car.

Instead, she casually presses a button on her key fob.

A soft mechanical whir fills the air. A second later, I feel a shift in the car. A rumbling noise. Then—

Oh, my God!

The top is opening!

I wasn’t even aware this was a convertible!

I’m frozen in horror as the roof retracts, exposing me to the open air. But my terror multiplies when I remember—my ankle is still strapped to the bar of the slowly rising top.

My leg is lifting. And the rest of me is going with it.

The four “strangers” finally glance over, alerted by the movement. Their conversation dies instantly, replaced by looks of wide-eyed astonishment.

I flail in a desperate attempt to free myself, my hands scrambling at the strap, but it’s too late—the top keeps rising. Soon, I’m practically upside down, kicking wildly, my arms flapping like a panicked bird.

Frantically, I slap buttons on the dash, hoping—praying—that one of them will reverse this most distressing turn of events.

Instead, I activate the windshield wiper spray, and cold mist hits me—squarely on my balls.

I hear the unbridled laughter as the top continues its inexorable climb.

The top finally completes its journey, folding neatly into the back of the car, and I’m left lying on my back, one leg sticking awkwardly in the air.

I groan, yank my ankle free, and scurry into the back seat, curling into myself, my hands locked over my crotch. My entire body feels like it’s on fire.

The laughter finally dies down—only to be replaced by something even worse.

The four girls approach.

I shrink into the seat as they encircle the car, two on each side, peering at me with curious, amused grins.

“Well, well,” one of them purrs. She’s stunning—long dark hair, bright eyes, and a wicked little smirk. “What have we here? What have you done with your clothes, little boy?”

I barely manage to mumble, “Please… just leave me alone.”

Before I can react, she swings the car door open and plops down right next to me.

I practically jump out of my skin.

She drapes an arm around my shoulder, her other hand casually resting on my naked thigh.

I look to Rhonda for help, but she and the rest of the gang are too busy howling with laughter. Even the Frisbee players have caught on—conveniently moving their game closer, eyes locked on the unfolding spectacle.

I’m feeling more naked by the second as the girl puts her arm around me and says, “Hi, my name’s Jill, what’s yours?”

I’m horrified, and I wriggle free from her advance. Again I plead. “Please, just go away, I’m begging you!”

“Well, you’re not being very friendly, are you?” she replies.

I squirm away from her touch, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please… just go away. I’m begging you.”

Jill only giggles and slides her hand right back onto my thigh. “Now, now, is that any way to treat someone trying to be your friend?” She glances at my tightly clasped hands. “And you’re being much too modest. My friends here would love to see what you’re hiding.”

Before I can react, she grabs one of my wrists and gives it a playful tug.

I immediately tighten my grip, bending over at the waist like my life depends on it.

“Wow,” Jill teases, still tugging at my hand. “There must be something really special under there, the way you’re being so protective.”

Funny, even after all I've been through my level of embarrassment has not subsided in the least. I still am completely humiliated to be naked, and I just can’t bear to expose my little package to yet another stranger.


Naked Frisbee

At this point, my tormentors, having finished their lunch, saunter over to the car. The Frisbee players, having long abandoned the pretense of actually playing, eagerly join the crowd.

There are now fourteen people—six guys and eight girls—crowded around the car staring at me sitting naked next to a beautiful, smiling girl. I just can’t believe what is happening.

Tammy is the first to break the silence. “Blondie, what exactly is going on here?” she asks, feigning innocence.

Before I can stammer out a response, one of Rhonda’s friends chimes in with a giggle. “Well, we were just wondering what your little friend here—I guess his name is Blondie (she giggles)—we’re just dying to see what he’s hiding underneath his hands. She smiles at the crowd. “Jill asked him very politely, but he’s not being very friendly.”

Amid the giggling from the spectators, Tammy pulls out her cell phone, taps it a couple of times and holds it up for me to see.

“Blondie, do you want these pictures to go out to everyone at school?”

I shake my head disconsolately.

“Well then you’d better start behaving like a good boy.” Tammy points to the ground at her feet. “Now you get your naked little butt out here right now.”

She swings the car door open. Everyone, especially the newcomers, soak up the scene with relish.

I hesitate, but I know I have no choice. With my head bowed and my hands still firmly in place, I step out of the car, my entire body burning with embarrassment.

Bruce is the next to speak. He turns to one of the Frisbee players. “Hey, you mind if I borrow that?”

The girl grins and hands over the Frisbee without hesitation.

Bruce takes it, winds up his arm, and hurls it across the park. It soars through the air, landing about thirty yards away.

Then he turns back to me with a smirk.

“Alright, Blondie, here’s what you’re gonna do. Run as fast as you can and fetch that Frisbee for us. When you pick it up, I want you to hold it high above your head with both hands. Then, you’re going to walk, not run, back to us. And don’t you dare lower your hands until I say so, or we’ll do it all over again.”

The crowd erupts into laughter and cheers.

I stand there, dumbstruck.

Bruce yells, “What are you waiting for? Go get it!” as he slaps my bare ass with a hard swat that stings considerably, awakening me from my stupor.

With a deep breath, I take off across the grass. I hear the hilarity from behind, and I’m sure I’m a very amusing sight to behold..

I reach down and pick up the Frisbee. I hesitate, close my eyes for a second and grasp the Frisbee with both hands, lifting it high above my head. I feel extremely exposed.

Every step back feels worse than the last as I approach the waiting group. I can almost feel my crotch burning, as fifteen pairs of eyes seem focused on it.

By the time I reach them, my face is practically glowing as I continue to hole the Frisbee high while everyone laughs with delight.


A Ticklish Situation

Bruce claps his hands. “That was fantastic, Blondie! But I think we should make this a little more fun. How about this—you might even get your clothes back.”

Hope flickers in my chest.

Bruce smirks. “We’re gonna see just how ticklish you are.”

The crowd cheers in approval.

“You keep holding the Frisbee up. I’ll tickle you. If you can keep your arms up for five minutes, you get your clothes back. If you can’t….well, let's just say you’ll be providing us some more naked entertainment for the rest of the afternoon.”

I cringe, knowing that my chances of lasting five minutes under Bruce’s tickling assault is highly improbable. Plus, it means remaining in this exposed position before the grinning faces of my tormentors. But I figure it’s certainly worth a try—not that I really have any choice.

Everyone watches with anticipation as the satanic Bruce steps behind me, thus leaving me fully exposed to the enthralled audience.

His fingers make the first move—trailing lightly along my sides.

I twitch.

Bruce continues, teasingly circling my ribs, then ghosting his fingertips across my stomach. I wriggle involuntarily, my hips shifting in response, much to the delight of the audience.

Then, to my revulsion I feel his fingers stroking my ass, then the insides of my thighs. When he reaches under and starts tickling my balls I flinch noticeably, rising to my tiptoes while gritting my teeth and clenching my eyes tightly shut.

To my horror, I feel myself becoming slightly aroused. I hear the hearty laughter.

"I think Blondie's getting another little woody!" laughs Donna.

Under the circumstances I do not get a full erection, but there is just enough movement to add to my considerable shame. Somehow I manage to continue holding the Frisbee high in the air with both hands.

“Halfway there, Blondie,” Bruce whispers in my ear.

But his attack becomes more aggressive. While his left hand continues caressing my balls, his right hand rises to my side and his index finger digs into my ribcage and wiggles back and forth. I contract my hips and writhe my torso vigorously.

The laughter is getting louder.

Then both of his hands slowly creep up my sides and he softly teases my armpits. I’m really squirming now, barely holding on. He continues this line of attack for some time while I wriggle and twist about, struggling with all my might to maintain my posture. The spectators are whooping it up, enjoying themselves immensely.

“Just thirty more seconds, Blondie.”

For the first time since being stripped naked that morning I’m holding out hope that my ordeal might be over.

But then Bruce changes tactics. His fingers dig into my ribs, wiggling mercilessly.

I jerk instinctively, clamping my elbows down.

The Frisbee drops to the ground.

The crowd explodes into laughter.

Bruce sighs dramatically. “Oh, bummer, Blondie. Looks like you’ll be our naked pet for the rest of the day.”

With that he reaches around me and clenches my ass with both hands while planting a big wet kiss squarely on my lips.

Everyone laughs uproariously as I turn yet a deeper shade of red.

[Blondie]

Chapter 9: Paraded Naked

Fire Drill

"Okay, Blondie, you can get back in Rhonda’s car," Tammy announces with a smirk. "Time to go home. And if you do whatever Rhonda and Gail tell you the rest of the way, we’ll consider giving you back your clothes."

A flicker of hope stirs in me, but it’s quickly overshadowed by a sinking feeling in my stomach. Do whatever Rhonda and Gail tell me? That sounds ominous. Still, I climb into the back seat, hyper-aware of my nakedness. Rhonda and Gail slide in, shutting the top of the convertible—it is a cold day, after all. Meanwhile, Tammy, Donna, Bruce, and the rest of my so-called “friends” pile into the station wagon behind us, ready to enjoy the show.

Once again, I find myself sitting naked in a car, cruising through town. Gail, grinning ear to ear, spins around in her seat to face me.

"Tell me, Blondie, do you know how to do a fire drill from a car?"

I don’t like the sound of this. At all. "No…" I answer hesitantly.

Her grin widens. "Oh, it’s simple, sweetie. When the car comes to a stop, someone yells ‘Fire Drill!’ and whoever I choose has to jump out, do a full 360 around the car, and hop back in. And it's your lucky day, because I choose you!"

I swallow hard as I glance out the window at the bustling street.

"But wait, there’s more!" Gail continues, practically bouncing in her seat. "Since our friends are right behind us, you might as well circle their car too. And no covering up your little wee-wee. Keep your hands clasped behind your head the whole time. And you’d better do it just like I said, or when you come back, you'll find the door locked."

My stomach knots. I stare ahead, dreading every approaching stoplight, silently praying for a stretch of uninterrupted green lights. But of course, fate isn’t that kind.

We roll up to a red light.

And then, the inevitable:

"Fire Drill!"

Pure panic floods my system. My body moves before my brain can catch up—I fling open the door, jump out, and immediately clasp my hands behind my head, leaving myself utterly exposed.

The cold air hits me, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of sheer mortification.

"Oh, God," I mutter, breaking into an awkward, frantic jog around the front of the car. I feel my genitals bobbing about as I run, and I know that must generate an amusing effect.

Rhonda honks the horn. I glance inside and see both her and Gail absolutely losing it. The sound of laughter isn’t just coming from them—other car horns are blaring, and as I dart past the stopped traffic, I catch sight of drivers and passengers that are fully entertained by my naked exhibition.

I reach the station wagon and see Bruce and the rest of the gang in fits of laughter, cheering me on.

I push forward, my heart pounding as I round the final stretch. Finally I reach the door, fling it open, and dive into the seat, slumping down as low as possible.

I barely have time to catch my breath before I hear more laughter from my right. I lift up and lock eyes with two young women in the car next to us, both giggling uncontrollably. One of them waves.

I quickly avert my glance and slink down in my seat.

Gail, still laughing, reaches back and gives my thigh a playful pat. "Good boy, Blondie, you were awesome! We might just have to do that again.”

I let out a quiet whimper and bury my face in my hands.


The High School

We continue driving, but my nerves spike when Rhonda takes a right turn, and I realize where we’re headed.

The local high school.

A very busy local high school. The school is in a different district than ours, and they are in session, even though it is spring break for us.

“Check it out,” Rhonda says with a mischievous grin. “Looks like they’re just getting out.”

She’s right. The sidewalks and crosswalks are swarming with students pouring out of buildings, scattering in every direction. Laughter, conversation, and the general commotion of high school life fill the air.

My stomach tightens into a knot. If I had any hope of making it home without further humiliation, it vanishes in an instant.

Rhonda slows the car to a crawl—five miles per hour, maybe—as I sit there in a severe state of high anxiety.

And then—right in the middle of the street—she hits the brakes.

"Fire Drill!"

Rhonda and Gail both turn to me expectantly. I stay rooted in place, my body refusing to comply.

“You better get your little ass out there right now, Blondie, or we’re dumping you out and taking off!” warned Rhonda. "And just for that, you have to run around Tammy's car, too."

With a deep, shaky breath, I push open the door and step out.

Immediately, heads turn.

Horns honk.

Laughter erupts.

The crisp air bites at my exposed skin, but the heat of embarrassment burns even more.

Hands clasped behind my head as ordered, I break into a frantic jog around the front of Rhonda’s car, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes locking onto my naked form.

I hear somebody yell out. “Hey look, the kid’s naked!”

That’s all it takes. The laughter swells, rippling through the crowd like wildfire.

I round the side of the car, trying to block out the whistles and cheers. I make the turn around the station wagon, where Bruce’s grinning face appears in the back window. As I pass him I feel his hand grab my ass.

Groaning, I sprint the final stretch back to Rhonda’s car, reach for the handle, and—

It’s locked!

I frantically pull on it again and again, to no avail.

I whirl around to see the crowd has almost doubled in size as word spread. More students gather, pointing, laughing, relishing the spectacle unfolding before them.

I bang on Gail’s window, pleading for mercy. She meets my desperate gaze, but my appeals are answered only by laughter, as Gail alternates her glances from my burning face, to my hairless genitals, and to the gathering crowd in front of the school.

She then glances past me—to the growing sea of entertained students—and laughs even harder.

I press my forehead against the glass and let out a whimper.

Then, to my absolute horror, the car starts moving.

I have no choice but to run.

By now I’ve given up keeping my hands behind my head—I’m in full survival mode, sprinting alongside the car, yelling frantically and yanking at the door handle in sheer desperation.

“Please! Open the door! Let me in! Please!” I beg, my voice rising to a feverish pitch.

Rhonda speeds up just enough to make keeping up impossible, and I stumble to a stop, panting. Before I can process my next move, the station wagon pulls up beside me.

I rush over and yank on the door handle. Locked.

“Bruce!” I plead, slapping the window. “Let me in! Please!”

But the station wagon lurches forward.

Fear grips me as the distance between me and both cars grows. Panic fuels my legs as I sprint to catch up. I do, and with no better option, I make a desperate leap—right onto the hood of the station wagon.

What an amusing spectacle I must be. I’m on my knees, clinging to the windshield wipers for dear life, my face burning hotter than the sun. Inside the car, Bruce and the others are howling with laughter, and from the sidewalk, the spectacle is clearly the highlight of everyone’s year.

I see Donna snapping a picture from her front row seat.

Tammy cruises to the end of the block before making a slow U-turn, following Rhonda’s lead.

As we creep back past the same crowd of students, Bruce leans out the window.

“Stand up, Blondie!”

I pretend not to hear him.

“Blondie, I said stand up, and put your hands behind your head. You better do it, or else!”

I squeeze my eyes shut, somehow hoping beyond hope that if I don’t move, this will all just disappear.

“Do it, Blondie!” Donna chimes in, giggling.

With a defeated whimper, I push myself up, wobbling slightly as I straighten. My hands go behind my head.

The laughter from in front of the school is boisterous, and my humiliation has reached yet another level.

The car is rolling along at a gradual, parade-like pace. For the most part my eyes are squeezed shut, but I can’t help the occasional glimpse at the thoroughly amused onlookers. I notice that a group of football players, decked out in full uniform, are practically falling over each other with laughter. Several cheerleaders are nearby in a similar state of merriment, as are a growing number of highly entertained students.

Again I press my eyes shut as the parade of humiliation continues. It feels like this mortifying spectacle will never end as I stand there, drowning in unbearable humiliation while the station wagon crawls forward at an agonizingly slow pace.

Then, much to my apprehension, the car comes to a complete stop. I open my eyes to see that we are in the middle of the street, directly in front of the school.

All four windows roll down, and suddenly, music blasts from the speakers. I recognize the song—something high-energy from the artist Kesha.

And then Donna sticks her head out, grinning like the devil.

“Dance, Blondie!”

My entire body locks up in horror. I mean, it would be humiliating enough to be forced to dance up here with all of my clothes on, but to dance naked? It is unimaginable.

“Dance, Blondie!” she repeats, louder this time. “We’re not moving until you dance for us!”

I have no reason to doubt her, and I want more than anything to get away from here as quickly as possible.

I take a deep breath, summoning whatever shred of dignity I have left.

And then, against every ounce of my will—I start to dance.

The reaction is instantaneous.

The laughter explodes to a level I didn’t even know was possible.

“Faster, Blondie! Faster!” Donna shrieks through her fits of laughter. “Shake those hips for us!”

I pick up my pace and start shimmying my hips. I feel my little bits bouncing around.

It’s chaos.

People are doubled over, clutching their stomachs. Several phones are held high, recording video of my epic humiliation. The sound of uproarious laughter rings in my ears as I continue to dance naked to the beat of the music.

I am certain that it is not humanly possible to feel any more humiliated than I do at this moment.

At long last, the song ends.

I stop dancing. My whole body feels like it is in a furnace, such is the state of my shame and humiliation.

The car begins to move again, much to my relief. But in a few seconds it is making another U-turn.

“Oh, God, no. Not again,” I whisper in pure dread.

But then I hear Bruce yelling, “Come on, Blondie, hop in.”

Grateful, I jump down and run over to Bruce’s door. But the door is still locked. The window is down all the way and Bruce reaches out and grabs me by my armpits.

“Just come in through the window, Blondie.”

I try to jump in the window, but Bruce stops me when I’m halfway in and holds me there by wrapping his arm around my neck. My midsection is on the windowsill and my ass and legs are dangling outside the window.

I feel the car again make the drive up the street, very slowly. I’m kicking my legs furiously, fighting to climb the rest of the way into the car, but Bruce has a good grip on me, and I’m stuck in the shameful position. I hear the laughter, both from inside the car and out as I envision what it must look like to the observers on the outside.

I finally give up kicking my legs and prop my knees against the side of the door, affording the spectators another comical view.

When we reach the end of the block, Bruce pulls me the rest of the way into the car. He lets go and I sit up, still on his lap.

Rhonda’s friend Jill has joined the group and there is no room for me to sit. I try to move off Bruce’s lap, but he holds me there, putting both arms around me and resting his hands on my knees.

The laughter still hasn’t died down. Everyone is wiping tears from their eyes, gasping for breath, reliving every humiliating second of what just happened.

I sit there, slumped in my seat, face redder than a tomato.

Donna turns to me, grinning ear to ear.

“Oh, Smoothie,” she sighs, shaking her head. “That was incredible. And wait ‘till you see some of these pictures. You’ll just want to die!”

I have no doubt whatsoever that she is right in that assessment.

[Blondie]

Chapter 10: Forced Orgasm

Bruce’s Overture

As Tammy drives us home, the joviality continues. Everyone is recounting the events that have just transpired. It seems everyone has their own favorite scene, and each would describe it at length, to the amusement of all.

While this is going on, to my dismay Bruce has moved his hands from my knees to the tops of my thighs. When I feel his hands move to the insides of my thighs I reach for them with my hands to pull them off. Bruce catches my wrists and lifts them up until my arms are stretched upwards and the palms of my hands are flat against the ceiling of the car.

“Leave your hands there and don't move them again, Blondie,” Bruce says, with his mouth up against my right ear.

I know better than to disobey him as I brace myself for another humiliation. Bruce strums his fingers around my nipples, down my sides, then puts both hands on the insides of my knees, and with his fingertips he starts caressing my inner thighs. As his strokes near my groin, I involuntarily flinch, slightly lifting off Bruce’s lap. Bruce whispers in my ear again.

“You like that, don’t you, Blondie?”

I shake my head, hoping he will stop.

Everyone else is still carrying on about the exhibition at the high school, so they’re yet unaware of Bruce’s advances.

He continues stroking my thighs. Then he ever so softly tickles my balls, running his fingertips and thumb back and forth, stimulating the entire sac. My shoulders contract to a shrugging position, and to my utter horror I feel myself becoming aroused yet again.

I fight against the feeling with all my might, but I can't suppress it, even as repulsive as my situation is. Thanks to Bruce’s continual foreplay, my level of excitement escalates. He strokes the underside of my penis a couple of times, and in a matter of moments I become fully erect.

Inevitably, someone notices.

“Hey, check it out, Smoothie’s got a little stiffy again!” squeals Donna, while pointing between my legs.

The shrieks of surprise and laughter ring throughout the car. Bruce pulls his hands away momentarily so everyone can have a good look at my erection. My face burns yet brighter.

I’m going through very conflicting emotions. On the one hand, I’m thoroughly humiliated to be naked in a car and brought to a state of sexual excitement—by a guy, no less, and in front of nine other people.

On the other hand, Bruce really knows what he's doing, and I’m starting to get lost in the overpowering sensation.

Bruce continues toying with me, stroking my inner thighs, my balls, and occasionally brushing my now-throbbing penis.

The other passengers are engrossed in the display as I sit there vulnerably, at the whims of Bruce’s touch and my involuntary arousal.

“I think Bruce has found himself a little boyfriend,” I hear someone say.

While the laughter continues, Bruce puts his mouth to my ear.

“Tell me how good it feels, Blondie.”

I remain silent, and Bruce squeezes my balls lightly, but hard enough to get my attention.

“Tell me,” he repeats. “Say, ‘Ooh, that feels really good.’”

“Ooh, that feels really good,” I say out loud.

This brings on hoots and hollers from the unbelieving spectators.

“Say, ‘Oh God, I love the way you touch me, Bruce,’” he whispers to me while continuing to stroke my inner thighs and balls.

I grudgingly repeat his words, to more laughter.

“Oh God, I love the way you touch me, Bruce.”

“Say, ‘I love being naked around you,’” he whispers.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Say it,” presses Bruce while gently squeezing my balls.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath. “I love.…I l-love being naked around you.”

“But I’m so embarrassed that Tammy and Donna are staring at my hairless little weenie.”

“I’m so embarrassed that.…that Tammy and Donna are staring at my…my…at my hairless little weenie.”

I can't help but look up at the two girls, who are both laughing hysterically—and yes, they are staring at my hairless little weenie.

After the laughter dies down, he continues his tormenting.

“Say, ‘I want to be your sex slave, Bruce.”

I hesitate, and again he squeezes my balls, this time with a little more vigor.

“I—I want to be your sex slave, Bruce,” I relent.

“Louder, Blondie,” he whispers in my ear. “Shout it out.”

“I want to be your sex slave, Bruce!” I yell.

The laughter increases, as does my state of sexual excitement, as Bruce continues fondling me.

“Good boy. Now tell me to make you come.”

“Make me come,” I say.

“Say please,” Bruce prompts.

He strokes my penis lightly with his fingertips.

“Please.” The anguish in my voice is evident.

“Say ‘Oh, Bruce, please make me come!’ Yell it out.”

He now has his hand lightly wrapped around my penis and I begin pumping my hips back and forth, desperately seeking relief.

“Oh, Bruce, please make me come!” I scream this out, now with a certain amount of sincerity.


Sexual Frenzy

The group is now spellbound by the exhibition being put on.

I’m on the verge of orgasm, and somehow Bruce senses this and loosens his grip. I continue driving my hips back and forth until I realize I’m pumping at thin air. Completely frustrated, I settle back down on Bruce’s lap.

When I do, I feel the unmistakable bulge in his pants. Bruce takes advantage of my weight and rotates his hips, and I feel his protrusion rubbing against my backside.

He is now stroking my balls, maintaining my level of sexual pleasure. He gradually raises his hand, inching toward my undersized but rock-hard penis. When I feel his fingers on my cock I become vocal without prompting.

“Please, let me come,” I moan.

He wraps his hand around my penis lightly, and I pump my hips, more furiously this time.

“Whoa!” somebody cries out in amazement. “Blondie’s really into it!”

Once again, to my utter frustration, Bruce lets go and I collapse on his lap.

“Oh God, please, I can’t take it anymore!” I implore.

I need to explode so badly that I ache. I dearly want to reach down and use my own hand, but I'm pretty certain that won't be allowed.

He continues stroking my entire body, strategically avoiding my genitals that crave attention. The height of my sexual heat that he has kindled is nearly unbearable.

I try to take matters into my own hands, but he catches my right wrist and quickly puts it back up against the ceiling.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he admonishes. “Keep your hands right where they are.”

Bruce continues his relentless teasing. As he strokes my inner thighs, my whole body is moving about in a state of sexual frenzy.

The group in the car is dead silent now, agape as they look on in fascination. They can’t quite believe what they’re seeing, and I’m sure the visual will remain with them forever. I’m fully aware of their attention, but my need for fulfillment has taken priority over anything else.

Bruce then raises his right hand in the air, about a foot above my genitals. He cups his fingers, creating a canal with his hand.

Taking the cue, I immediately raise my torso to his waiting hand. To achieve this most awkward position my head is now upside down on Bruce’s lap, and I’m supporting myself by putting my hands and feet on the seat; my body is forming an inverted U, facing the ceiling of the car. My hips are raised up as high as I can get them.

I hear the giggling from the fellow passengers and am fully aware of how outrageous this scene must appear to them. But I have one objective in mind, and I know what I must do.

My aggressor cups his hand around my erect penis. “Go ahead, Blondie, fuck my hand,” he says.

I need no further prompting. While he holds his hand still, I wildly pump my hips up and down. I see the flash from Donna’s camera but don’t let it distract me. I’m just about to climax, and once again Bruce lets go of my penis. Agonized to the max, I continue pumping my hips in midair, desperately hoping to feel his grip again.

Bruce lowers his mouth down to my ear. “I want to hear you beg for it, Blondie.”

“Oh, please, Bruce, please, let me come!” I shriek. “Please, Bruce, I’m begging you!”

I stop rocking my hips but maintain my position. Bruce pauses for a few seconds, while everybody waits with bated breath.

I beg some more.

“Please, Bruce, I need to come! Please make me come! Oh, please!”

Then I feel his hand around my cock again, but with a little bit of a squeeze. I feverishly pump my hips.

This time he doesn’t let go. I reach a state of ecstasy, the likes of which I’ve never felt before.

“Ohhhhhhhh!” I moan as my body convulses wildly as a wave of sexual gratification sweeps over me.

Because I am prepubescent there is no ejaculate, but it is quite evident to all that I am in the throes of (coerced) sexual bliss. I continue pumping Bruce’s hand until I am completely satisfied.

When I'm done, Bruce releases my cock and I slump back down in his lap, now totally spent. I feel dampness from the protrusion in Bruce’s pants. I clench my eyes shut as I realize that the motion from my head on his lap has brought him to orgasm.

For the second time that day, I’ve played an reluctant role in the sexual gratification my tormentor.

“Simultaneous orgasm, Blondie,” grins Bruce. “Isn’t that awesome?”

He has rested his hands on my upper thighs. As I sit there and slowly recover from my sexually gratifying, but profoundly mortifying orgasm, the reality of what has transpired starts setting in. My humiliation is complete, and seemingly there is nothing else imaginable that they can do to me to further it.

The car ride home is uncharacteristically quiet, the earlier hysteria giving way to exhaustion after the day's outrageous antics.

When we pull into the driveway, I step out cautiously, still instinctively covering myself with my hands. Curiously, even after all I’ve been through, I’m still self-conscious about my nudity.

Inside, everyone collapses into the nearest available seat, their laughter finally subdued. I perch on the edge of the couch, barely able to find my voice.

“Can somebody please give me my clothes?” I ask weakly.

Taking a cue from Bruce, one of the guys gets up and returns momentarily with my long-lost clothes. I don’t see my underpants and recall the dreadful memory of seeing them flying by the window of the station wagon hours before, though that feels like a different lifetime ago.

Without hesitation, I grab my pants and pull them on—an act so simple, yet after everything, it feels almost foreign.


The Pictures

As I continue getting dressed, Bruce is holding up Donna's phone, apparently going through the pictures of me. Everyone is standing behind him as he rolls through them, and the gaiety picks up again as they relive the incredible events of the day.

I finish dressing, and Bruce says to me, "I just emailed you a few souvenirs, Blondie. I think you're going to like them."

I say nothing, and shudder as I mentally visualize what some of the pictures must portray. As I head towards the door everyone calls out, “Bye Blondie!”

I don’t look back until Bruce yells, “Hey Blondie!”

When I stop at the door and look back at him he says, "Thanks," he says, then puckers his lips in an exaggerated mock kiss.

I show no reaction and turn to walk out the door. As I exit I hear his parting shot.

“What say you and I get together for a private party real soon, just you and me?”

I ignore him and keep walking.

“I'll get you naked again, and you can use your cute little mouth to get me off next time.”

I cringe at the repulsive mental image and break into a trot. The sound of his laughter gradually fades, and I don’t stop running until he is completely out of earshot.

On my way home, I can’t stop myself from pulling my phone out. I open my e-mail account and see the subject matter: "Naked."

There are several attachments. All of them are pictures of me naked in the middle of some sort of humiliation.

The first one is of me from the back, running during the fire drill.

I quickly go to the next picture, which is a frontal view of me standing naked in the park, holding a Frisbee high above my head.

The next one was taken from inside the station wagon. It’s a side shot of me standing on the hood. In the background you can see the high school students lining the sidewalk, all of them wide-eyed and agape, grinning freely.

I quickly go through the rest of the pictures, difficult as it is for me. I put the phone back in my pocket, making a mental note to delete the email when I get home.

But of course I know the pictures are out there, and there is nothing I can do about that. My only hope is that the pictures are not shared with anyone else, that they remain strictly with my fiendish friends.

Little do I know the high price I will have to pay for this hope to become a reality.


Epilogue

For the rest of spring break I pretty much stay within the confines of my room, trying to mentally recover from the devastating ordeal I have experienced. I feel a little better as each day passes, although I know it will be a long time, if ever, before I fully get over the trauma.

I get out of the shower on Friday morning and decide to face the day. I get dressed and go downstairs, ready to venture outside. I pick up my phone and, much to my apprehension there is an email from Bruce. In the subject box is written "To My Naked Slave."

I cringe as I reluctantly open it.

Attached are three pictures.

The first one is a close-up of my prepubescent genitals.

The next one is the full, naked shot of me holding the Frisbee high over my head

The third one is a shot of me and my slender four-inch hard-on. My mouth is wide open, and my eyes are clenched shut—the classic expression of someone in the throes of orgasm.

In the text of the message, Bruce writes that he is pretty sure I wouldn’t want any of the pictures to be sent to my sister and her friends.

Evidently his parents will be out of town for a while, and he is hoping I can come over tonight and spend the long three-day weekend with him.

He says I owe him for jacking me off in the car the other day, and that he has some wonderful ideas on how I can repay him.

His slightly older sister and her best friend will be at the house, but he doesn't expect them to get in our way all that much.

He goes on to say that he has derived considerable pleasure throughout the week with the visual aid of the attached pictures, and that he thinks it will be much more enjoyable if I can assist him with his pleasure “in the flesh.” He adds that the pun is intended.

Also included in the email are the phrases “private nudie shows,” “sensuous lap dances,” "naked videos," and “cute little sex slave.”

I am given explicit instructions: I am to borrow one of my sister's bras and a pair of her panties. It should be a matching set, and he says I would look adorable in pink, and sexy in black. He also says "virgin white" would be appropriate for me, but if I choose white it should have lots of lace.

Also, if my sister doesn't own a set in any of those three colors, then I would have to purchase my own.

I am to put them on under my regular clothes before walking the three blocks to his house.

When I arrive at his house (at precisely 6 p.m.), I will see a garbage bin out by the sidewalk. I am to take off all of my boy clothes and deposit them in the bin, since I won't be needing them anymore.

Then I am to clasp my hands behind my head and walk—very slowly—down the long walkway. He says the three of them will be enjoying the scene from an upstairs window, and that there is a slight chance that his next-door neighbor would see me if she happens to be near her window, but that she is a nice lady and most certainly would be entertained by the spectacle.

He says not to worry about the dog, that she won't bite, but will probably sniff my crotch while I walk, and that I'm to make sure my hands remain clasped behind my head until I reach the door.

I'm to ring the doorbell, and the two girls will answer. Maybe not right away but wait patiently; they will eventually be there.

Evidently he has shown his sister and her friend the pictures, and he says they are big fans of mine. They can't wait to meet me in person and are very much looking forward to capturing a video of me dancing naked for them, and that they'll be sure to share the video with me. They think it will be quite amusing to watch my "hairless little pee-pee" jiggling around when we watch the video later that weekend on their big screen, and that watching in slow motion mode would be quite entertaining.

They promise to leave us two "lovebirds" alone for the night after I dance around in my bra and panties for a while, perform a striptease, then dance naked for them.

He says that it goes without saying that once the girls have the video in hand that I will be at their mercy forever, and that knowing them, they will not hesitate to take full advantage of their newfound leverage over me and will make me cater to their devious whims whenever they please.

He says that when he told them how Donna and Tammy played with my penis, they got excited and said they couldn't wait to do the same, and that they were looking forward to seeing my cute little hard-on and playing with it. He says they might even make me come, or instead they might have me jack off while I'm dancing for them.

In any case, I can expect the girls to have their way with me for the foreseeable future.

He added that I shouldn't worry, that he would only allow this to happen on days I wasn't busy entertaining him, and that when we all get together we can work out a fair schedule.

Bruce says that after my performance I'm to spend the rest of the weekend in the nude, and that the three of them would be delighted if I could cook and serve their meals. He says the girls have never had a naked boy serve them before, and that they were very excited and giggly when they came up with the idea.

They told Bruce to tell me not to fret, that I won't have to be completely naked, since they have a pretty, frilly maid's cap for me to wear while serving them.

He adds that he is getting hard just imagining the visual, and that when he finishes writing this email he will probably pleasure himself while fantasizing about my naked servitude.

Finally, he says he is especially looking forward to teaching me the fine art of administering the perfect blow job after I get him all horny with my sexy, naked dances. He is quite graphic, saying he is certain that he can show me how to use my mouth and tongue just the right way, that I can start by licking and sucking his balls until he is "really worked up." Then he'll teach me how to "lick his cock all over," how to caress it with kisses from my "sensuous lips," and how my "cute little mouth" will envelop his "throbbing love tool."

Yes, he actually wrote that.

He'll also show me how to lovingly stroke his balls with my "dancing fingers" while I'm busy sucking his cock. For the grand finale, he knows I will really enjoy swallowing his "love juices" when I bring him to a screaming orgasm.

Though I am positively revolted by the whole scenario, suffice it to say that I would probably do just about anything to keep those pictures from going public.

End