Pat0421 wrote: Shy Boy's "Play"ful Stripping by Pat0421
On the surface, Ian was not your typical nerd. He was very skinny, but somehow managed to pull it off as sexy instead of weak, possibly because of his years of lacrosse before the school cut that team due to budget; he had light shaggy hair, a sharp pretty face and long neck, bony hands, stylish jeans custom ordered to fit his long legs and small waist; he stood 5'11" teetering on 6 feet, and from afar he might look like one of the cool kids.
The reality was, as previously mentioned, he was a nerd. He didn't wear glasses, but he did wear his stylish jeans up above his belly button; he stilled watched cartoons and drew them as well, always very silly but surprisingly well done; he spent the majority of his free time on his computer, playing games, and the majority of the rest on other video games; he had toys all across the floor of his room; he was a constant goof among his friends, making faces and putting on silly voices, sometimes to be funny and sometimes to be annoying, though he was very shy with people outside of that circle, usually found at lunch or after school; at 17 years old he had never smoked, never had a kiss that included tongue, never had one drop of alcohol, and did not have a drivers license.
The fact the he had remained relatively un-bullied his entire life was mainly due to his older brother, a towering 6'6", 300 pound monster of a boy, kind but protective of his brother. As such, Ian went through his first 17 years of life calmly, without much embarrassment or remarkable upset.
This all changed when his brother graduated to college, and Ian tried out for the play.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I threw my backpack off my shoulders and into a chair, slipping into the one beside it, waiting for Mr. Clark to come in and tell us what we were doing that day. It was month or two past auditions, so I was used to spending a couple hours after school practicing for the play. I had made one of the lead roles, giving me lots of lines to memorize. I glanced through them while I waited, but didn't make it very far until our music teacher came in the room, pulling a rack of clothes behind him. They were not modern clothes, some colorful and elaborate, some cheap and monochrome: jackets and capes, rough tunics and trousers, even a couple dresses. On the bottom was a large collection of shoes, from lavish high heels and boots to the simplest stitched leather.
"Alright, everyone!" he called out to the class. Everybody stopped talking or looked up from their phones at the sound of his voice, loud and commanding even for such a small man. "We're finding costumes for you today. We're going to take the first hour to have you all try things on. Try on things your character would wear, please. Girls, if you'd follow me, you'll be changing in the cafeteria from now on. Guys will be in here." The girls rose and filed out the door, while the guys gathered around the rack, thumbing through, looking for something their size and their characters style.
A couple minutes after Mr. Clark had left, many of the boys took something off the rack and brought it back to their seat, where they started to undress. All around I saw them strip their shirts and pants off, idly chatting just like before in their boxers or boxer briefs, some of the more nervous ones making a joke out of it, teasing one another about their bodies or their underwear, others still focusing on the task and staying near the rack, so if the costume didn't work they could return it right away.
I stayed in my seat, rooted to the spot, unaware that I was folding my arms up across my stomach, gripping my elbows. I was terrified of changing in front of others ever since an accident in gym class years ago, and now I was expected to do it for an *hour*? And I knew that meant we'd change everyday, since he'd want us to practice in costume. The thought paralyzed me. Would they mock me? Would Mr. Clark kick me out? No, we'd gone too far to find someone else to play my part.
Just as the idea of going and finding him to ask about changing elsewhere came to me, my friend Eric came up to me, tapping my shoulder to get my attention. I turned to see him shirtless, wearing one of the fancier pairs of pants from the rack. His muscled arms and toned chest with a patch of hair in the middle seemed to mock my frail, smooth body, but he seemed perfectly fine. "You alright, man? You've been sitting there for, like, fifteen minutes... you might want to at least try something on before Mr. Clark comes back, ya know?"
I swallowed what little saliva I had in my dry mouth, my throat clicking a bit. "I, uh... I'm not changing."
"What? Dude, you have to. You've gotta find a costume. I mean, you could give him your sizes and he could try and find something, but..." He seemed puzzled, even a little irritated.
"No. I mean... I... I can't." A couple other guys were looking at us now, aware that I was the only one still fully dressed and not near the rack.
"Why not? What's wrong?" He furrowed his eyebrows, lowering his voice. "Is it, like... are you wearing tighty whities? Cause I get it if you don't want the guys to see that..."
I blushed a bit, hating the way some people assumed I wore briefs just because of my weight. "No. And you aren't finding out what I'm wearing, either." I turned myself away, staring at the desk, deciding to simply wait it out and see what happens.
That was my first big mistake, because what ended up happening was worse than anything I had imagined.
I clasped my hands together in my lap, setting my face to a blank stare, studying the surface of the desk intently. I could still feel the eyes of some of the other boys on me, but I was sure they'd grow bored and go back to their business. So I surprised when someone spoke to me again, his voice nowhere near as friendly as Eric's had been.
"Yeah? And if we wanna see what you're wearing...?" One of the bigger guys stepped forward, blond and muscular, wearing just his boxers so I could see exactly how muscular. A bit of darker hair trailed up out of those boxers, going about an inch or two up his stomach, stopping just before his abs. I couldn't remember his name (Dave? Daniel?), but I couldn't mistake his part in the play: the main villain. Behind him, on top of his books, lay a bright red cloak with green and gold trim; I doubted that Mr. Clark would allow him that one, since he gets stabbed near the end and the blood wouldn't show up against the red of the cloth.
As he was then and there, he looked the part: sizing me up, half smirking and half sneering, subtly cracking his knuckles one at a time against his thighs. I was sure I looked my part as well: a meek prince, shrieking with the women when trouble starts and fainting more than a couple times over the course of the play.
I moved my hands off my lap and down to my pockets, ready to reach in if things got nasty. One had a pen and pencil; the other my phone. I'd reach for the phone first, calling my brother. The pen was a last resort that I hoped I wouldn't need to take.
"Yeah, man, what makes you so special?" More boys stepped forward now, first one or two, then four or five. Most of the guys ignored it, but other watched, either glancing over curiously or stopped and alerting their friends, one pair of boys even taking a seat on their desk, ready to watch.
I wasn't very afraid yet, since I had my phone within reach, and I could still feel Eric hovering behind me. I was sure he'd help me if somebody made a move. The blond boy was right in front of my desk now, looking down at me. "Why aren'tcha getting changed? Think you're better than us?"
"N-no..."
"You a homophobe or somethin'? Don't want us getting a look at you?" He and a few other boys snickered. "Man, get off ya high horse. You aren't that good."
I blushed again, unsure if he was joking or not. I didn't know if he was gay or not, but he didn't seem it, and either way, I knew not everybody in the room could be gay. "No! I don't..."
"Then what? Are *you* a queer, is that it? Trying to hide your hard-on from us, ya fag?" This riled up some of the other guys, shouting out how unfair that was, sitting there watching while they all put on a show.
Now a got a little angry. "N-no, God no! I'm not a fag!" At that word, the blond guy lashed out, slapping me hard across the face. I reeled back, reaching up to touch the red spot already forming fast.
Someone else spoke now. "C'mon man, let's teach this asshole a lesson." I heard the other boys agree, and at that point I made my move. I reached into my pocket, quickly pulling out my phone with the intention of quietly texting my brother for help.
But before I could even unlock it, a hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me upward, making me cry out as I was lifted from me seat, as well as causing my phone to clatter to the ground. I could almost hear the screen cracking; then I definitely heard the screen crack as Blondy stepped on it. I felt another hand grip my other wrist, then yank me backwards, trapping my hands between my back and the front of whoever grabbed me.
Then that person spoke. "What should we do, guys?" It was Eric. My lone friend in the play, and he had betrayed me, simply for not getting changed. I tried to fight against his grip, but he was stronger than me and held me well as I tried kicking to get leverage. Suggestions were shouted out, the guys trying to one up each other: someone beat him up; everyone beat him up; break his nose; make him break his own nose.
My eyes kept growing wider and wider in fear, knowing Mr. Clark wouldn't be back for at least forty minutes, during which anything could happen. I knew there weren't cameras in this room, since it's used as a changing room by guys for the play and musical. Whatever they did would go unpunished, so the sky was the limit. I started growing tired from struggling with Eric, but found a sudden burst of energy when Blondy finally spoke up.
"I say we change him ourselves."
All the boys around me liked this idea greatly: some laughed, others just smiled, but they all seemed to agree that this was what I deserved. One of them moved forward, grinning, reaching out towards me. I kicked out at him, driving my foot into his leg, and he backed off some.
At the same time, another boy stepped forward from the other side, and I felt him grip the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I started wrestling against Eric again, harder than ever before, and I felt his hands not weaken but start getting slick with sweat. I was able to get my left wrist free, and I drove my palm into the face of the guy to my right, pushing him back and away from me. I turned my head to the left again, my neck craning over the boys gathered around, trying to see if there was a path to the door.
Unfortunately, they had thought this through, and somebody was already over by the door, blocking it. He was already dressed in his costume, and every once and a while he opened the door and peeked out: checking for Mr. Clark to come back, most likely, or any teacher. That was my only escape, and it seemed less and less likely I'd be able to take it with every passing moment.
With one of my arms free, I decided I would try to loosen Eric's grip on the other. Before I could turn around to face him, though, he looped his arm up around me, trapping my entire arm now, up by the shoulder. I struggled even harder, trashing around, my neck straining as I attempted to pull away. I kept kicking at any guy who approached, keeping them at bay for the moment. By now all the other boys were watching, their costumes or states of undress forgotten.
Any hope that this might all be a big, unfunny joke disappeared when I felt Eric release my right wrist and loop his arm around mine, trapping both my arms firmly behind me. Then, while he held me in place with his elbows and upped arms, he reached around to my front and gripped the hem of my hoodie, lifting it up. My hoodie came up past my chest, and I could feel my shirt pull up as well, showing off the bottom of my scrawny stomach. The noises the boys made clearly said they saw. Even this smallest bit of exposed skin made me yell and blush.
At this point, I summoned up strength I wasn't entirely sure I had, ducking and pulling my arms hard. I felt them slip out of Eric's grip, but I lost my hoodie in the process: it pulled up over my face, which was a dangerous situation to be in, then over my head; I felt it slip off my arms as I scrambled away, getting clumsily to my feet a backing away from them. I saw Eric hand Blondy my sweatshirt, and he smiled and placed it inside of his backpack. I cringed: I really liked that sweatshirt, and now it seemed I wasn't getting it back regardless of how things went from there.
I was down one article of clothing, and I quickly counted the rest I had on: my t shirt, my belt, my jeans, my socks and shoes. I couldn't handle thinking about whether or not my underwear was something to consider. If it reached that point, I doubted I would care, anyway. The thought of losing anything else, except maybe my belt, was already terrifying me.
The guys seemed more eager after that, like an animal that tastes blood and goes into a frenzy. They started making more and more swipes at me, egging me on, taunting me, trying to get me on the offensive. I knew that would be a huge mistake, so I stayed away, backing up slowly and dodging their grabbing hands. I soon realized the mistake of this as well: I had backed myself into the corner of the room.
I knew I only had one chance to save my dignity, so I willed myself to stand up a bit straighter, putting a bit of bass into my voice, which just sounded pathetic with how much it was shaking. "I-I'll... you guys shouldn't d-do this. You'll p-pay." Most of them just laughed at me.
One of them, a very tall guy with shoulder length hair, made his move then. He lunged forward and grasped my arm, up near the elbow, one with hand, and with the other took hold of the back of the neck of my shirt. He yanked, and I felt the neck pull up to the top of my head, with the rest of my shirt pulling up several inches in the back, as well as a tiny bit in the front, too. I knew if he got it over my head I would lose it, so I did the first thing that came into my head. I brought my knee up, telling myself I was aiming for his gut but knowing better. It sank into his groin, and through his boxer-briefs I felt his dick and balls force up into him, disgustingly squishy. He immediately folding in on himself, a hacking breath forcing its way out of him as he doubled over into the corner and released my shirt, which dropped back down.
This was my second big mistake. As soon as the other boys realized what happened, they started screaming bloody murder. Apparently, I had broken a cardinal sin of fighting: Nothing below the belt. They all rushed on me at once, and I, stupidly, tried to force my way through them, thinking in the confusion I could reach the door, or maybe the window. I promptly ran right into Blondy, and then they were all upon me, some reaching for my clothes to continue the stripping, others simply hitting me, returning to the original idea of kicking my ass. I felt two different people grab hold of my shirt, and then heard it ripping. "No!" I screamed out, but that only alerted the other boys to what happened, and they all pitched in then, tearing the shirt off my body. I never even found the pieces of them; I assume they went into Blondy's backpack, but they just seemed to disappear the moment the left me.
I was down two articles now, and the last one was a big one. My ribs showed plainly through my chest and stomach, and my arms were like sticks. Nobody had seen me with my shirt off in years, not even my family, and here was a whole room of my peers getting a good look. I tried to cover up, but my arms were grabbed again. I kicked out again, feebly, and Blondy took hold of my foot, then the other, lifting my up my the ankles. With the other boys having a hold of my wrists, I was trapped, held up in the air. I knew I was really in trouble now.
Pat0421 wrote: Shy Boy's "Play"ful Stripping, part 2 by Pat0421
"Please," I begged, "please just let me go. I'll change, please, don't do this..." My pleas fell on deaf ears. Blondy wrapped one of his arms around my lower legs, still holding them up, and methodically took of my shoes, then my socks, stuffing them into his backpack. It hurt to see my shoes disappear; I had gotten them for my birthday, and from what my dad told me they weren't cheap. I was one article of clothing away from my underwear. And, a little voice in the back of my head said, two away from completely naked.
Blondy motioned to another boy, and he stepped forward, grinning. I noticed with a touch of horror the hard line in his underwear, whimpering a bit when it touched my leg. He reached forward, unhooking my belt and snaking it out of its loops, all while I trashed, my hips and stomach and legs throwing a fit. Just as he unbuttoned my jeans, I found some success and pulled my hands free. This of course caused me to crash to the floor, my shoulders taking the bulk of the fall, the back of my head also smacking off the hard concrete floor. It ached for days after, but at the time I was more worried about keeping some of my dignity.
I grabbed the waistband of my jeans, pulling them up hard, and then it became a game of tug of war, the boy with the boner grabbing the cuffs of my jeans and pulling, while I kept them up at my waist. During all this pulling, my zipper came down, so every once and a while when he pulled especially hard and they came down farther than normal, the tiniest sliver of the waistband of my underwear showed. There was no way they saw this, but I did, and it made a ball of lead drop into my stomach, pure terror coursing through my veins. I was losing. More and more of my underwear began to peek through as I grew weaker, but I knew I couldn't give up. However sore my arms would be tomorrow didn't matter, as long as these boys didn't strip me today. A victory would prove I wasn't the loser I had made myself out to be thus far; a loss would follow me all throughout high school. I wasn't sure how long it would be until Mr. Clark returned, but some dim hope awakened in me, thinking that I could keep my jeans on until then. I believed I could do this.
Until the boy with the shoulder length hair came back, his face still contorted in pain, only now mixed with anger. He stepped up next to the boy trying to pants me, and sentenced my fate with three words. "Spread his legs." The boy with the hard-on (which I gladly noticed had gone down during our lengthy struggle) did just that, and I didn't realize what he had planned until it was too late. He raised his foot and positioned it over my crotch. "DON'T!" I yelled, and I released my grip on my pants to try and cover myself, but he brought his foot down faster than my hands.
I felt a white bolt of pain shoot into my brain, and for a little while everything seemed to float far off. He hadn't just kicked them, he had stomped on my balls, and it brought with it the worst pain I had ever and have ever felt. It somehow made my entire body hurt, my stomach ache and my head blossom into a migraine, but the base of it was still between my legs: I was sure they had both been destroyed, popped and leaking a life-times worth of sperm, or perhaps blood, though when I came back to my senses everything was dry down there; my dick seemed to be crushed, and to this day I still check it every once and a while for dents.
I barely felt my jeans come down and off my legs, and cared even less. I dimly heard the boys cheer, celebrating my humiliation. I was living the nightmare that had haunted me for years, being seen in my underwear, and it didn't even matter; every problem and issue I'd ever had was suddenly absolved by the pain in my nuts. I couldn't understand how some guys actually liked having that done to them.
I felt myself being lifting, then placed down. The pain had faded some, and I was able to slowly take reality back in to view. I glanced down and, yes, I was in my underwear, and every boy in the room was looking. I hadn't been able to recall what kind I had worn, and was happy to see I wasn't wearing briefs like Eric had thought. I did wear them, but I wore boxers and boxer-briefs as well, and today I had on dark grey boxer-briefs. "At least something went right today," I thought dimly. Other than that, my small, scrawny body, hairless other than my arm and legs, my armpits, and a small dusting of a happy trail, was on full display. Truly on display, as I had been put on a cleared off table, laid out. I was indifferent to my underwear at this point: if they kept them on, good, if they wanted them off, whatever. I had lost. They could take nothing else away from me.
Oh, how wrong I was.
I looked to the right and saw Blondy's backpack, the leg of my jeans sticking out. See the design of the cuff, I remembered I had gotten those for my birthday as well, with my own money: $87, before shipping or tax. A hundred dollar jeans, stripped from me, so close but at the same time gone forever. I never figured out what he did with my clothes, and I hope I never do. I like to think he threw them out, or even burned them, which I was okay with; it's the thought that he might still have them that creeps me out.
Most of the guys had gone back to talking or getting changed. Blondy, however, now in his cloak and boots, kept his eye on me, to make sure I stayed put or just to look at me I don't know. Eventually, he must have either thought I couldn't be trusted, or decided I hadn't been taught my lesson. He was wrong either way. He reached into his backpack and fished out my shoes, then untied them, then started pulling out the laces. When he was done he came to me, long strings in hand.
"Sorry, man. Nothing personal this time." He took my wrists and one of the shoelaces and tied me up, knotting two or three times. Then he moved down to my ankles, tying them as well. I didn't care. I wasn't going to move anyway, and if he felt like degrading me a little more, he must not have known he had already hit rock bottom. Just as he finished, the boy he had put near the door clapped, once and loud. "They're coming, guys! Get in your costumes!" Then, almost as an afterthought: "Someone cover Ian!"
"They..?" I managed to croak out, but then something was shoved into my mouth and I couldn't talk. For a second I wasn't sure what it was, then I started tasting some foul, and I realized they had gagged me with one of my socks. I would have started thrashing around again, but I was weak, and Blondy had grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me a little.
"Don't make a noise, got that? You make one sound and we'll take pictures and put them all over Facebook. Understood?" I nodded, eyes wide, trying to assure him I'd be quiet but only making a "mmph" sound. "Good," he said, then stepped away. I had a few moments to watch everybody rush into their outfits, adjusting their hats or their shoes, when I saw something: Blondy's backpack, right there on the desk with all my clothes inside of it. I raised my head some, trying to make sure it was open, and I just barely managed to see that it was before I was taken by the armpits and pulled off the table, my ass hitting the ground hard, making me cry out against my gag as I was dragged into the back room, where Mr. Clark kept the things for physics class.
Blondy actually gave me a smile before turning off the light and closing the door, putting a finger up to his lips and nodding at me. I closed my eyes, half to get him out of my sight, half to pray that his stupidity saved me. I heard the door open, and a lot of voices muted by the wall, and the fatigue from the fight washed over me. Somehow, on the cold floor of a closet, sitting uncomfortably against the wall, bound and gagged in just my underwear with dozens of peers on the other side of the door, I fell asleep.