Pantsing and Stripping Forums

Chapter 7: Brenda's Revenge

Payback

Well, unfortunately I have another humiliation to recount. It took place on the penultimate day of my sophomore year at the hands of Brenda, my new nemesis, with the help of some of her friends.

As you may recall, I left you with Brenda, who is in my homeroom, leaving on my desk my underwear that she had kept during my staggering humiliation in the auditorium. It is quite apparent that she has a wicked streak, as since then she has taken great pleasure in teasing me about my most mortifying experience in the auditorium. It had gotten to the point that all she had to do was run her eyes up and down my body, figuratively undressing me, followed by a knowing grin. Invariably I would turn bright red, furthering her enjoyment.

After suffering a few of those embarrassing encounters with Brenda, I decided to exact some revenge. The payback was sweet while it lasted, but I’m sorry to say that ultimately, I paid the price—dearly—for this decision.

There were three days left in the school year when I acted out my plan. You see, Brenda happens to have very small breasts, which I had hoped she would be very self-conscious about. I thought it would be an excellent idea to exploit this probable source of embarrassment.

I purposefully arrived at school early that day, and, as planned, I was the first one in my homeroom class. I went to the chalkboard and wrote in large letters, “BRENDA HOLLISTER HAS TINY LITTLE TITTIES.” Full of myself over this slight but effective (I hoped) little scheme, I smiled, brushed my palms together back and forth a few times, and left the room. To avoid suspicion, I waited outside in the hallway for Brenda to arrive, so we could walk in together.

“Hi, Blondie,” she said when she spotted me. In her playful way, she looked down at my crotch, then back at my face and grinned. Satisfied with my inevitable blush, she giggled to herself, turned and entered the room. I followed her in, anxiously anticipating the next few moments.

There were about twenty or so students already in their seats, and they all giggled when Brenda entered the room. I kept a close eye on her as she sat down with a quizzical look on her face. It was only a matter of seconds before her gaze steered to the blackboard.

It was a precious moment for me as I reveled in her reaction. At first there was a look of shock before she started blushing. Then she jumped out of her chair and quickly marched to the blackboard, where she erased the offensive text. When she turned around, to my delight her face was a bright cherry red.

Plus, she was wearing a tight white sweater, and one could just make out the little nubs protruding from her chest. Certainly, she had to know that at that moment everyone was staring at her small breasts. Now extremely self-conscious, she folded her arms across her chest as she made her way back to her seat.

I looked back one more time a couple of minutes later and was quite pleased to see that the blush on her face was still evident. At that moment, although her humiliation paled in comparison to what I went through in the auditorium, I felt a wonderful sense of vindication.


A Reversal of Fortune

That would have been a great way to finish off the year, but to my utter regret I made the mistake of getting greedy. I wanted to relive that experience, so on the last day I again arrived early to school. I had just written the words “BRENDA HOLLISTER HAS” on the board when I was startled to hear Brenda’s voice. “You little shit!” she exclaimed. “I had a hunch it might be you, but I didn’t think you had it in you. Well, you’re about to pay, Blondie. Big time. Shaken, I watched her reach into her purse and pull out a roll of bright orange yarn. “Drop your pants,” she ordered.

“I…I can’t do that here. Somebody might come in,” I responded anxiously.

Brenda was undeterred. “I don’t think you want me to get Mitch and Reggie involved here, now Blondie, do you?” Oh yes, the “stripped on Main Street” threat again. I swear, next time I might take my chances and call their bluff.

No, I know better.

I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned and lowered my trousers slightly, exposing my underpants. Brenda smiled and took the tops of my jeans in each of her hands and swiftly hauled them down to my ankles. I watched as she took a pair of scissors and cut a length of about twenty feet from the yarn. “Get those undies down too,” she directed.

I stood transfixed, unwilling (or, more accurately, “unable”) to do her bidding. “Please, Brenda, don’t do this to me!” I pleaded.

“Ah, the hell with it,” she said. She simply used the scissors to cut my underpants off and let them fall to the floor, where I felt them graze me feet. While I instinctively covered my crotch with my hands Brenda, smiling with enjoyment, picked up my severed underpants and walked back to my seat, where she laid them on the desk.

Once again, thanks to Brenda, there was the unusual sight of a pair of underpants on my desk. I looked around nervously as Brenda came back to me, the length of yarn in her hand. “Hands on your head,” she commanded. Resignedly I raised my hands to my head, exposing myself to my tormentor. “Well, well, little boy, I see you’re still bald as a cucumber,” she teased. “And look how tiny you are! Such a cute wittle boy,” she taunted while taking my penis between her thumb and index finger and tweaking it back and forth. Startled, I flinched and retracted my hips involuntarily. Brenda giggled at my reaction. “What’s the matter, little boy? Are you embarrassed about your hairless little wee wee?”

Yes, it was oh, so true. I still was completely hairless down there, which was a condition that caused me considerable angst. And having my small, hairless penis on display at this girl’s whim caused me extreme embarrassment.

My embarrassment and apprehension increased as Brenda took the yarn and wrapped one end around my penis and balls, tying a snug knot at the base of my penis. “Okay, you can get dressed now, my little hairless one,” she declared.

Red-faced, I hastily donned my jeans and buttoned them back up. But they didn’t stay buttoned for long as the devilish Brenda immediately started unbuttoning my fly. I retracted my hips, but she reached into the opening and felt around for the yarn (her prying fingers causing me to flinch noticeably) and pulled the yarn through the opening before slowly buttoning my fly back up. She had a smile on her face while she performed the task. I must say it was quite humiliating having her fumbling around so close to my penis like she owned it.

She then took the roll of yarn and cut another short length and used it to tie my hands behind my back. It was soon apparent to me what wicked mischief she had up her sleeve.


The Obedient Puppy
“Let’s go for a walk, Blondie,” she said as she pulled on the length of yarn dangling from my fly and walked toward the door.

“Oh God, no, Brenda, please!” I implored.

But it was no use, as the grinning Brenda, without a word, continued on her way, tugging me behind her. She pulled me out the door and marched me through the hallway, much to the amusement of the bystanders. As word of my plight spread, the interest and noise level in the hallway escalated significantly. My face felt like it was on fire as I followed Brenda like an obedient puppy through the full length of the hallway while the students cheered and laughed at the bizarre spectacle.


Courtyard Humiliation

She then led me out to the main courtyard, where I was greeted with a similar response. There Brenda caught up with three of her friends, Joanna, Marcia, and Cheryl, who were standing and chatting next to the Roosevelt statue when their mundane morning suddenly became quite stimulating. As you know, I’ve had at least one humiliating experience with each of these girls, so they were predictably gleeful as they appraised my condition.

“Brenda, Brenda, what have we here?” asked Joanna, with relish in her voice.

“Oh, I’m just teaching Blondie here a little lesson,” answered Brenda. “Can you believe this little shit was the one who wrote on the blackboard about my tits?”

Brenda’s three friends laughed as she jerked on the yarn, forcing me to awkwardly jump forward a couple of steps. Marcia, giggling freely, took the yarn from Brenda’s hand and merrily started trotting around the courtyard. Powerless, I was forced to follow her. There were at least two dozen other people in the area, and their laughter resonated throughout the courtyard as they enjoyed the comical sight.

Marcia stopped next to her friends and draped her end of the yarn over the outstretched arm of the Roosevelt statue. She then pulled on the end of the yarn, drawing me forward and upwards, to a point where I was forced to stand on my tiptoes, as I felt the upward tug on my genitals. By now the four girls were really enjoying themselves, along with the rest of the spectators. Marcia held me in that position while the girls chatted among themselves.

I was physically and emotionally quite distressed. My distress level intensified when their topic of conversation turned to back to me.


Teased and Tormented

“So, Brenda,” asked Marcia while fingering the yarn and looking at my crotch, “What exactly is this tied to? Is it tied around his balls or his little dick? From what I saw in the auditorium a few months ago you didn’t have much to work with.” I blushed brighter while the four girls giggled.

“Actually,” answered Brenda, “I managed to involve both his balls and his little dick. Would you like to see for yourselves?” Brenda moved in my direction. My eyes widened in shock at this latest turn of events.

“Oh yes, let’s see!” Of course, all three of them were in full agreement.

“No!” I yelped.

Brenda, smiling, pulled my tee shirt from my jeans. She lifted it all the way up my chest and pulled it off my head. With two hands she tugged it downwards behind my back and scrunched it up at the small of my back, just above my tied wrists. I shivered involuntarily at the exposure. “Excellent, my little hairless one,” she smiled while rubbing the palm of her hand back and forth across my bare chest. She reached to my midsection and unbuckled my belt. She talked to me as she went about her task. “What do you say we pull your pants down so they all can see what a little boy you look like down there,” she teased mercilessly.

“No, Brenda! No! Please!” I begged frantically. I looked around the courtyard and everyone was looking at the two of us in fascination. She ignored me and addressed the girls while she slowly, deliberately went about her task of unbuttoning the four buttons.

“This will be pretty easy, because he’s not wearing any underpants,” she announced to the crowd while undoing the first button. A couple of gleeful shouts rang out. The grins broadened. She could sense that she had everyone’s attention and she spoke a little louder. “You see, I took some scissors and snipped off his little tighty-whities when he refused to take them down for me like I asked him to,” she stated rather matter-of-factly. The second button was undone now. She was playing the crowd, much to my wretchedness. “Can you believe his impertinence?” The third button was undone. My breathing quickened. “Now his little wee wee will be put on display for all of us.”

Laughter and cheering reverberated throughout the courtyard. She unbuttoned the final button. I clenched my eyes shut, bracing myself for the next humiliation. Brenda held onto the tops of my trousers, holding the fly closed. Of course, this would be a temporary situation. She looked up at me. She was grinning sadistically. “Are you ready, big boy?” she teased.

“Please…Brenda, I’m begging you…don’t do it!” I pleaded anxiously.

“Oh, come on, sweetie, you don’t mean that. Look how much fun everybody is having. They can’t wait to see what you've got down there.” She paused, looked me in the eyes and smiled. “Boy, they’re in for a good laugh, aren’t they, Blondie boy?” She stepped behind me. Her arms were around my waist, holding my pants up. She put her mouth directly to my right ear. “Prepare yourself, my little hairless one,” she taunted, tickling my ear in the process. “In a few moments, I’m not just going to give everyone a quick little peek. I’m going to pull your pants aaaaaall the way down. And if the mood strikes me, I might just take them completely off!”

“Oh, God!” I squealed. My anxiety was mounting, and I swear I could hear my heart pounding on my sternum.

Brenda was relentless with her psychological torture. “Just think, your tiny little hairless bits are about to be exposed for all these people out here.” She paused for effect. “They’ll all be staring and laughing at you, and you’ll be squirming around, totally helpless to do a thing about it.”

“No! Brenda! No! Please!”

“Oh, yes, Blondie boy. This is going to be a moment you’ll remember for the rest of your life.” She paused. “And so will all these people out here. Every time any of them sees you, they’re going to think, ‘There’s the guy who was stripped and humiliated by a girl in the courtyard.’ ” Brenda giggled and continued. “And they’ll always have the picture in their head of your teensy, hairless weenie bobbing about while you wiggle around helplessly.”

I was frantic now, as it sunk in that she was absolutely right in that assessment. She took notice of my look of horror. “Ah, you know it’s true, don’t you, Blondie? Can’t you just picture the look on everybody’s face in just a few seconds when I pull your pants down? For all intents and purposes, you’ll be naked. And ohhhh, so naked you will look, with no hair on your body. I mean, think about it. You’re out here in broad daylight, and your tiny, hairless, little-boy penis will be on display for all these girls that you’ll have to face for the rest of your days at Roosevelt High. Every time they see you, either in the hallway or maybe in the same class, they'll picture you naked. It'll almost be like you're reliving this all over again.

"When I take these down, it should be quite comical, because you’ll be squirming around in your absolute embarrassment, and your little pee pee will be jiggling around…oh, my, it will be quite the spectacle, don’t you think so?”


The Unveiling

She pulled her mouth away from my ear. “Here we go, folks,” she called out. “Is everybody ready?” A resounding affirmative emanated from the entertained students. Brenda stepped back slightly. I sensed my doom but cried out anyway in desperation.

“No! No!”

“Wheeeeee!” she yelled gleefully while sliding my pants all the way down to my ankles in one steady motion. The roar of laughter in the courtyard was riotous. I writhed and twisted my body frantically, but there was nowhere to hide.

“Look at that teeny little thing!” laughed one of the girls. “It’s like a little clitty!” she exclaimed, drawing uproarious laughter from the crowd.

“And he has no hair!” squealed another.

“Oh, this is too much!”

Mortified to the max, I tried lifting each leg up one at a time in a frenzied attempt at covering up. I soon abandoned that effort when I realized I was succeeding only in the process of possibly displacing my pants altogether. I was forced to just stand there and squirm helplessly, just as Brenda predicted, enduring the laughter and ridicule of the thoroughly entertained audience.


Paraded to Homeroom

Mercifully, the warning bell went off, and the crowd began to disperse. Marcia let go of the yarn, and Brenda buttoned and buckled me up, making sure the yarn stuck out from my fly. I was relieved that she didn’t make good on her threat to take my pants completely off. But, to my dismay, she chose to leave me naked from the waste up.

“Okay girls, it’s time to take my little doggy to back homeroom,” laughed Brenda as she took the yarn and started leading me towards the building.

“Thanks for the entertainment, Blondie dearest. Let’s do it again soon!” chortled Marcia, amongst laughter from her friends.

The giggling continued as I was forced to experience the same degradation as before while Brenda tugged me the length of the hallway. My humiliation was exacerbated somewhat since I wasn't wearing my shirt.

We entered the confines of my homeroom, which by now was nearly full of students. Miss Farnsworth hadn’t yet arrived, so Brenda, thriving on the attention and delight of the other students, paraded me back and forth a couple of times in the front of the room, much to everyone’s amusement. When we reached my desk, she untied my hands. “Okay, you can put your shirt back on and tuck your leash in your pants now, my little pet. Oh, and one more thing, before you sit down…” Brenda then whispered her instructions in my ear. I winced as she turned and strutted to her seat.

As I donned my shirt and tucked the yarn back in my fly, I made my way to the chalkboard. I hesitated, closed my eyes, then very reluctantly picked up the chalk and wrote on the board in very large letters, “BLONDIE HAS A TEENSY WEENSY HAIRLESS LITTLE PEE-PEE.”

Hysterical laughter filled the room. I’m sure it was poetic justice for Brenda as I turned and walked briskly back to my seat, staring at the floor while blushing crimson. My sheared underpants were still on the desk, and I quickly wadded them up and tucked them away, an experience I was becoming all too familiar with.

I couldn’t bear to look back, but I’m sure Brenda was basking in the moment, grinning from ear to ear.

Chapter 8: Classroom Humiliation

Miss Farnsworth Has Her Way With Me

Well, I suppose I should finish telling you about my next to last day as a sophomore. As you may recall, I left you with my experience in homeroom that morning. Brenda had cut off my underpants and tied a bright orange yarn around my dick and balls. As payback for writing on the board about her small titties she made me write on the board, “BLONDIE HAS A TEENSY WEENSY HAIRLESS LITTLE PEE-PEE.” I was sitting in my seat, blushing crimson while listening to the giggling from my fellow students.

Miss Farnsworth walked in and immediately caught sight of the writing on the board. I detected a slight smirk on her face, and when she turned and looked at me I swear she looked at my crotch. I caught myself self-consciously pushing my knees together. “Mr. Haggerty, can you tell me who is responsible for this?” she asked me while pointing to the board.

I turned and glanced at Brenda, who returned my gaze with a look that would have pierced my forehead if it was physically possible. I knew what I had to do. “I am, ma’am,” I replied timidly. I cringed, as I dreaded Miss Farnsworth’s reaction. I had already found out firsthand during my freshman year that she has a sadistic side to her. As the reader may remember, Mitch and Reggie forced me to go into homeroom without my pants. She furthered my humiliation by making me remove my shirt and remain clad in just my tighty whities for the remainder of the homeroom period. As I recall, the grin on her face when she looked me up and down suggested that she was deriving more than a little pleasure out of the experience.

Plus, I subsequently found out that she had the reputation of being quite creative in her manner of dishing out punishments to her students, all of which involved a certain amount of imposed humiliation, and usually had to do with clothing. There was the story about the coed in her third period English class who was acting immaturely and disrupting her class. Miss Farnsworth took her behind a partition and dressed her in a baby blue little girl’s party dress, complete with a petticoat. It had puffy sleeves and was very short. She added anklets, shiny black shoes that buckled, and a large blue bow in her hair to match the dress. She was forced to wear the ridiculous outfit for the remainder of her classes. I remember seeing her in the cafeteria during lunch that day. Her face was as red as can be, and she looked as if she just wanted to just crawl away and die.

But I digress. Now, it was about me, and I had an awful feeling that I was about to become the next victim of her depravity.

“Would you please stand up, Mr. Haggerty?” she demanded. Abashed, I slowly rose to my feet. “I have a tip for you, young man,” began Miss Farnsworth. “In the future it would be advisable not to advertise your shortcomings.” This brought on a chorus of laughter, and my face turned tomato red.


The Bra

Miss Farnsworth opened her bottom drawer to retrieve something. She spoke to me as she sorted through the drawer. My stomach tightened in fear when I heard the words. “Do you understand the meaning of ‘shame clothing,’ Mr. Haggerty?” Flustered, I was unable to answer her, though I had a pretty good idea what it meant. She continued rummaging through the drawer. “I have found the use of shame clothing to be a most effective means of punishment. I must say there is nothing quite like the sight of one of my students blushing ever so brightly while adorned in a humiliating article of.…” Her voice tailed off, and she seemed mesmerized when she pulled out a lacy, black bra and examined it closely. She looked up to take in my miserable expression, smiled, and looked back down at the bra. “Oh yes, I’m quite confident this will do just fine,” she said while stretching out the garment at eye level. She paused and waited for the lusty uproar from the students behind me to die down. “Would you please remove your shirt and come up here, Mr. Haggerty?”

I knew to defy the sadistic teacher would only further my torment. In the throes of wretchedness, I pulled my tee shirt over my head and off. The giggling behind me was relentless, and I could only imagine how much pleasure Brenda was getting out of this.

I trudged to the front of the room while holding my shirt. When I reached her, she took it from my grasp. “You won’t be needing this for a while,” she said while draping it over the back of her chair. She then took me by the shoulders and turned me around to face my classmates. My eyes were downcast, as I couldn’t bear to look any of them in the eyes.

“It’s quite apparent by what you wrote on the board about your 'teensy weensy' penis that you’re not feeling very manly today, are you Mr. Haggerty?” Once again, I was unable to answer. Even if I had, the laughter echoing throughout the room would have drowned me out. “Hold your arms out to the sides, please,” she directed. When I did, she reached around my chest from behind with both arms, holding both cups of the unclasped bra (it clasped in the front). She continued teasing me as she went about the task of fastening the cups together. She was standing very close to me, and her mouth was close to my ear as she looked over my shoulder. “This is quite the appropriate attire for someone who is not feeling very manly, don’t you think so, Mr. Haggerty?” The only response came from the giggling students. My face felt like it was on fire as she clasped the cups together and fiddled with the lace. “I like to keep this A-cup handy for my flatter-chested girls,” she remarked. Heavier laughter ensued. I couldn't help myself and stole a glance at Brenda, who was wiping away tears of laughter. I quickly looked down just as Miss Farnsworth was holding the shoulder straps out. “Put your arms through here, please……….excellent.” She took me by the shoulders and turned me around to face her. She pulled the straps up and fitted them on my shoulders. She then reached down and adjusted the cups, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Excellent!” she exclaimed with a smile, obviously satisfied with the results. “So pretty, and my, you’re blushing like a little schoolgirl!” I glanced up at her and saw that her demonic eyes were dancing with delight. I couldn’t imagine feeling more miserable, or more humiliated.


Trousers Down

Miss Farnsworth moved her gaze downward and fixed it on my lower body. She then cupped her left hand under her chin with her first two fingers over her lips, appearing to be deep in thought. I remember thinking this did not bode well for me, somehow.

Unfortunately, my sense of foreboding turned out to be fully warranted.

"Mr. Haggerty," began Miss Farnsworth. "As I recall from the last time I had to discipline you, you have very pretty legs. Since you're standing there on display wearing a pretty bra, I think it would be appropriate for you to put your pretty legs on display, also." She let that sit there momentarily while the ramifications of her proposal caused my jaw to drop and my eyes to widen. I was too flabbergasted to speak. "I'd like you to get your trousers down, Mr. Haggerty, so we can show off those pretty legs," directed Miss Farnsworth.

"I...I can't," I replied.

Slightly taken aback, she looked at me sternly. "What do you mean, you can't?" replied Miss Farnsworth, with more than a little irritation. "It's very simple, young man, you'll do exactly as I say and pull your trousers down. I'm sure you wouldn't like me to bring Mr. Jennings in here and show him what you wrote on the board now, would you, Mr. Haggerty?"

I didn't have to ponder that scenario for long. Mr. Jennings, the new school principal, had already built a reputation for being just as sadistic as Miss Farnsworth had demonstrated, if not more so. Plus, involving him would probably mean involving my parents, which would only worsen my already sorry plight. But I had to at least try to reason with her. "Please, Miss Farnsworth," I pleaded. "Don't make me do this." I spoke the next sentence very softly, so only she could hear me. "I'm not wearing any underpants."

My face, which I'm sure was already quite a dark shade of pink, must have turned bright red, and glowed even more when I saw the grin on her face. My hope that she would show compassion with the knowledge that that I was naked underneath my jeans was apparently wishful thinking. If anything, it whetted her appetite for more humiliation.

"Why aren't you wearing any underpants, Mr. Haggerty?" she said in a loud voice, as a chorus of guffaws broke out behind me.

As much as I wanted to tell the truth—that Brenda had cut them off me and that she made me write about my penis on the board—I knew that would come back to haunt me down the road, and in a very big way. "I....I didn't have any clean underwear this morning," I replied.

"Well, I guess that will be your regret and our windfall," said the smiling Miss Farnsworth. "Now we'll get to see if what you wrote on the board about your penis is really true. I must admit, I am skeptical about the hairlessness, considering your age. As for the size, I did see you in your underpants, so I think you might be accurate in that regard." She paused before continuing, allowing the laughter to die down. "Now let's get those jeans down."

Feeling like I was in the middle of a nightmare, I reached for my belt. But I couldn't bring myself to continue, and quickly crossed my arms over the bra on my chest.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," scolded Miss Farnsworth. "I've had just about enough of your insolence. I want these trousers down right now!" Much to my alarm and dismay Miss Farnsworth took a step forward and reached for my belt.

"No!" I screamed. I instinctively reached down and took hold of her wrists. She stopped and looked me in the eyes with a cold stare that seemed to sear its way into my core.

"If you ever dare touch me again, Mr. Haggerty, you will feel wrath and humiliation the likes of which you've never experienced."

Just as instinctively I dropped my hands to my sides, and without a word Miss Farnsworth swiftly undid my belt, unbuttoned my jeans and forcefully pushed them down to my ankles.

The uproar from my classmates behind me was almost deafening as they surveyed my naked backside. I swear I could hear Brenda over everybody; she most certainly was reveling in my degradation.

Meanwhile, I had quickly moved my hands to cover my crotch for dear life. When I did, I felt the bright orange yarn that was tied around my genitals and was now dangling to the floor. I had completely forgotten about it.

It certainly piqued the interest of the entertained Miss Farnsworth. She reached down and took some of the yarn in her hand. "Why, pray tell did you tie your genitals with yarn, Mr. Haggerty?"

It was a simple and legitimate question, one I couldn't answer truthfully, and one where I had no backup answer for the truthful one. "I-I-I....I don't know," I answered wittily.

"You don't know? You don't know? What are you, some sort of pervert?"

I could have thrown that same question right back at her, but I was in no position to do so. "No...I mean, I'm not...it...it was a silly game, and I forgot to take it off," I finally managed.

"Silly game, indeed," she responded, shaking her head. "Whatever. Now let's get those hands away from your privates."

"Oh, please!" I pleaded. "Don't make..."

She interrupted me and uttered her next words quite emphatically. "Put....your hands....on your hips, Mr. Haggerty. NOW!"

The forcefulness of her voice compelled me to quickly move my hands to my hips, exposing my nudity to the now very amused Miss Farnsworth, who was staring at my newly bared genitals with a devilish grin on her face. "My, my, Mr. Haggerty. I can see why you were so reluctant to show me your privates." She paused for effect. "You poor dear," she said while continuing to stare at my newly exposed intimate parts. Again she paused, while I stood there, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. "You must be awfully embarrassed."

Embarrassed? What is your first clue? Maybe my glowing, pulsating face?

Miss Farnsworth turned to look at the chalkboard, then back to me. "Mr. Haggerty, please read aloud what you've written on the board. And please be loud enough so all your classmates can hear you."

I winced, then carried out her directive. "Blondie has a teensy weensy hairless little pee pee." The laughter behind me was abounding, and my face felt like it might spontaneously combust.

Miss Farnsworth waited for the laughter to die down, then looked down at my penis. "Indeed, you do," she said while nodding, drawing out another chorus of laughter.


I Feel Pretty

“You look very pretty. Do you feel pretty, Mr. Haggerty?” asked Miss Farnsworth. I was quiet, but she demanded a response. “I asked you a question, Mr. Haggerty. Do you feel pretty?

“I….I….I don’t know,” was all I could muster.

“Well, you look pretty….hmm, maybe I can help. Did you ever see the movie ‘West Side Story?’”

I had no idea where she was going with this, but I figured I might as well tell her the truth. “Um…yes, I saw it in a school play.”

“Very good! Then surely you remember Maria singing the song, ‘I Feel Pretty.’ Can you sing it for us, Mr. Haggerty?” I shook my head back and forth. “Oh, but I’m sure you can, Mr. Haggerty. And you look so pretty, it would be wonderful if you could sing it for us.” I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. “Here, let me give you a refresher: ♬‘I feel pretty.…oh so pretty.…I feel pretty and witty and gay’…”♬ She sung with fervor, clearly taking enjoyment in humiliating me to the fullest. “Okay, now you try it, Mr. Haggerty.”

“Please, I…I can’t…I…I don’t know the words…”

“Well, we’re in luck! I just happen to have the sheet music,” she said while opening her middle drawer and pulling it out.

The witch actually PLANNED for this scenario.

“Now you can sing the whole song for us. Won’t that be wonderful?” She handed me the sheet, which I reluctantly accepted. “Now turn and face the class, Mr. Haggerty, and sing to us. Let us all know how pretty you feel.…and if you do a really nice job, I’ll let you put your shirt on and pull your pants up before you go to your next class.”

Singing the song was awful enough, but having to turn around and face my classmates was unthinkable. "But...but Miss Farnsworth," I pleaded desperately. "I'll sing the song, but may I please just....just face this way?"

"Nonsense, my child. That would be discourteous to your classmates. You have quite obviously captured their attention, and I think they would appreciate it if you would face them while you sing to them. Plus, you have written on the board that you have a teensy weensy hairless little pee-pee. So it would only be fitting for you to put what you call your teensy weensy hairless little pee-pee on display, so your classmates can make that judgment on their own. Don't you think so, Mr. Haggerty?"

I was so shaken, I couldn't speak. But I knew what I had to do. It took every ounce of fiber in my being to force myself to shift my feet and face my classmates, who were collectively wide-eyed and agape. Thirty sets of eyes immediately focused on the area below my mid-section. For now, all they could see down there was the sheet music that I was using to hide their object of attention, a situation that would, of course, be temporary, thanks to the demonic Miss Farnsworth.

"Mr. Haggerty, would you kindly hold your sheet music off to the side with one hand and keep your other hand behind your back? I've had enough of your impertinence. And if you think about it, you don't have much to hide down there anyway, do you, Mr. Haggerty?"

To the accompaniment of considerable laughter, I pulled the sheet music to the side and placed my other hand on the small of my back. My little penis was fully exposed, and there was no hair for it to hide behind.

Even after all I had endured at Roosevelt High up to that point, at that moment I was the most embarrassed that I had been in my entire life.

"Excellent!" cheered Miss Farnsworth, who had since taken a position in the back of the room. "Now let's hear how pretty you feel."

In the throes of wretchedness, I held the sheet music in front of my face and started singing. ♬“I feel pretty…”♬

"Hold it!" interrupted Miss Farnsworth. "Keep the sheet music off to the side so we can see your face." I did so, and the sadistic Miss Farnsworth continued her tormenting. “That's it, Mr. Haggerty. Oh my, you really are blushing now. Class, have you ever seen anybody’s face glow like that?” The giggles increased. “I do believe the shame clothing is working. Do you feel shamed, Mr. Haggerty?” I nodded disconsolately. “Excellent!….Okay now, from the top.” She motioned for me to begin again.

♬“I feel pretty…oh so pretty…I feel pretty and witty and gay…”♬ The laughter was spirited now. I hesitated.

“Continue, Mr. Haggerty!” bellowed Miss Farnsworth.

♬“And I pity.…any girl who isn’t me today.…I feel charming….oh so charming….it’s alarming how charming I feel….and so pretty…”♬

Mercifully, the bell signifying the end of homeroom sounded. Miss Farnsworth, while walking briskly toward the front of the room, started clapping, and was promptly joined in the ovation by the rest of the class. Thoroughly shamed, I turned away and bowed my head as the entertained students, now in a state of hilarity, gathered their books and slowly began to file out.

“That was well done, Mr. Haggerty,” said the smiling Miss Farnsworth as she took the sheet music from my hand. She snatched my tee shirt from the chair and offered it to me. “Here,” she said. “You’ve earned this. You can put this on and pull your pants up now.” I tucked the shirt under my elbow and hastily pulled my pants up, then anxiously went to work on the bra clasp. “Uh, uh, uh! I said you could have your shirt back. I didn’t give you permission to remove your bra.” She waited for my look of angst and said, “You’re to wear your pretty bra for the rest of the day, Mr. Haggerty. You can return it to me at the close of classes today.”

“But…”

“No arguments, Mr. Haggerty, or I’ll take your shirt back and you can show off your pretty bra for the rest of the day. Now be on your way please, or you’ll be late for your first class. And don’t you ever write on my board again about your physical deficiencies.”

She spotted the amused Brenda taking in the scene just a few feet away. “Brenda, if you’ll be so kind as to keep an eye on Mr. Haggerty today for me….his black bra should show up rather nicely through his white tee shirt. If at any time he’s not wearing it, be sure to let me know. I have a pair of panties for him to wear all day tomorrow for us if he disobeys me. I probably can't send him to classes with his little penis on display, but I can certainly send him off in a bra with matching panties.”

“Oh, it would be my pleasure, Miss Farnsworth,” said Brenda, grinning. "I hope he does take it off. I think Blondie would look very cute in a pair of panties," she said, eliciting a smile from Miss Farnsworth.

They both watched as I donned my tee shirt over the bra. I looked down at my chest and at my shoulder. Miss Farnsworth was right; to my utter chagrin, the bra stood out prominently.

“Tuck your shirt in, Mr. Haggerty, and keep it that way,” said Miss Farnsworth as I made my way out the door. “I want you to feel pretty all day long.”

The demented lady was cackling to herself as I walked out the doorway as fast as I could.

Chapter 9: Stripped on the Soccer Field

A Lunch Date with Brenda

I walked through the hallway as quickly as I could, somehow hoping I could put my ordeal in Miss Farnsworth's class behind me. But then I heard Brenda’s familiar voice calling out to me. “Oh, Blondie,” she called out, her voice singing my name. I stopped in my tracks and shut my eyes, sensing that my torment, dreadful as it was, was about to worsen. Brenda caught up to me and put her arm around my shoulder as we walked.

“I’d like you to meet me during lunch today, my pretty bra-wearing friend,” she instructed. “I’ll be with some of my friends on the north end of the soccer field at, say, 12:15. I expect to see you there. Oh, and make sure you’re still wearing your little leash I made for you. Don’t be late, sweetie! I don’t want to have to tell Mitch you’ve misbehaved. By the way, did I tell you Mitch is my cousin? He adores me and will do anything I ask him to.” With those last words she gently squeezed my ass and veered off in another direction.

“Oh, God,” I groaned to myself as I fearfully headed towards my first class. My consternation over spending the day wearing the bra was bad enough. But there was no telling what humiliations Brenda and her friends had in store for me.

The bra experience? I don’t think I need to go into detail about the harassment I dealt with throughout the day. Needless to say, the torment was ruthless and unrelenting. I constantly fought the urge to just reach under my shirt and rip the damn thing off. But at least the harassment was predictable. Of greater concern was what the devious Brenda had up her sleeve for me.

As 12:15 rolled around I made the dreaded trek to the soccer field. As I inched closer, to my dismay I discovered that Brenda was with Marcia, Joanna, and Cheryl. Marcia was the first to catch sight of me and I watched her point me out to the other girls, mouthing the words, “There he is.” This was followed by grins of anticipation from all four girls.

“Hi, Blondie!” the four of them cheerfully greeted me in synchronization.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to wear a white bra under a white shirt?” teased Joanna. Undoubtedly, Brenda had apprised them of my harrowing experience in homeroom.

Brenda wasted no time in carrying out her torment. She snuggled up to me and reached for the middle buttons on my fly. When she unbuttoned them and reached in and groped around for the yarn, I couldn’t restrain myself and I grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. Brenda simply looked me in the eyes and addressed the issue. “You’ll put your hands on your head and keep them there until I say otherwise if you know what’s good for you,” she said sternly. I complied, and Brenda again reached into my pants, this time finding the end of the yarn. She pulled it through the opening in my fly and started leading me down the soccer field. Her friends walked with us, giggling in their enjoyment. I kept my hands on my head, submissively being led down the length of the field like a trained puppy.

Gradually the bystanders became aware of the situation, and by the time we reached the other side all eyes were on my predicament.

At that point Brenda decided to take it to the next level. With a wicked grin on her face, she unbuckled my belt and undid the remaining two buttons of my jeans. My pants stayed up at that point, but I could see where this was heading. Once I started walking my pants were bound to start sliding down.

“Please, Brenda, I’m begging you, don’t do this to me, I’m not wearing any underpants,” I pleaded.

“You should’ve thought of that before you wrote on the board about my tits,” she answered. “Now raise your hands high in the air.” When I did, she pulled my tee shirt completely off and handed it to Marcia. I shivered, both from the chill in the air and the intense humiliation. The girls were whooping it up at the sight of a blushing teenage boy in a lacy black bra.


Pants Come Down

“Okay, pretty boy, you can put your hands back on your head,” said the giggling Brenda. “And if you move them your pants are coming completely off, never to be seen again.” With that Brenda turned around and started leading me back to the other end. She was walking backward, enabling her to keep a close eye on the status of my pants. She had an evil grin on her face, as did her three friends that were walking backward with her. I took a quick glance around, and I had an enraptured audience of forty or fifty people.

Brenda led me around slowly at first, and my pants stayed in place. But then she picked up the pace slightly, and I could feel my pants loosening around my waist. Within a matter of moments, the inevitable happened.

“They’re starting to come down!” Cheryl squealed with delight.

Indeed, she was right. It was an excruciating feeling as my pants slowly, teasingly started their inexorable descent. It was all I could do to keep my hands in place behind my head. I tried stretching my legs out to the sides in hopes of keeping my pants from falling, but I was just delaying the inevitable. They hovered momentarily halfway down my hips, but Brenda, sensing the kill like a shark circling a bleeding victim, sped up ever so slightly, and in one quick motion my pants dropped to my knees. In the next two or three steps they fell the rest of the way to my ankles.

The outcry from the girls in front of me and from the rest of the onlookers remains embedded in my memory to this day. What a sight I must have been, naked from the ankles up but for a black bra, awkwardly trying to keep pace with Brenda, my gathered pants inhibiting my steps.

“Look at his little weenie!” laughed Joanna.

“And ‘little’ is the operative word,” countered Marcia gleefully.

“It looks so cute, the little hairless thing bobbing around like that!” chimed in Cheryl.

The laughter and merriment at my expense continued as Brenda continued pulling me by the yarn. Before reaching the other side, she prolonged my agony by zigzagging sideways across the field. It took a major effort to keep up with her, as she was running at a fast pace, totally caught up in her amusement.


Naked But for a Black Bra

Finally, we reached the end, where she subjected me to yet another indignity. Leading me to the goal, she tied her end of the yarn securely to the net. She then kneeled and lifted my left leg by the ankle. “Hold your leg up,” she commanded. When I lifted my leg, she pulled off my tennis shoe and freed my pants leg from my foot. Almost as an afterthought, she decided to remove my sock. She grabbed my other ankle. “Leg up!”

“Please, Br…”

“LEG UP!” she screamed while giving my naked butt a hard swat with her bare hand. I complied, and Brenda repeated her task. When she removed my sock, I was left standing wearing only a black bra. My apprehension was extreme.

“You’ll find your clothes in the other goal,” she said while gathering my belongings and standing up. “After you untie yourself, I want you to crawl on your hands and knees like the nice doggie you are until you reach your.…goal.” She giggled. “And if you ever make another reference to my tits then today will seem like a day at the beach.”

The girls walked away, still laughing. As a thoroughly entertained crowd gathered around, I frantically worked at the knot at my groin. I spent a few agonizing minutes tugging at the tightly wound yarn. My face was flushing ever so brightly, and of course, no one tried to help me.

Finally, I worked the knot loose. I took a deep breath, got on my hands and knees, and started crawling across the field. My face continued to burn as I heard the laughter, which was the loudest it had been throughout the whole ordeal.

As I neared the goal—it seemed I had been crawling on my hands and knees forever—I caught sight of Brenda and her friends sitting on the sideline bench eating their lunch. They were laughing heartily as they took in my humiliation.

When I reached the goal, I started to panic when there was no sign of my clothes. I ran behind the goal. Still no luck.

“Yoo-hoo!” I heard Brenda call out. I looked over and Brenda was holding my pants up in the air with both hands. “Are you looking for these?” she cooed.

Chagrined, I ran over toward the girls. Unnerved by the ordeal, I unconsciously dropped my hands from behind my head and covered my crotch as I ran. When I reached the bench, Brenda admonished me. “Did I tell you that you could lower your hands?” she asked. With major effort, I raised my hands back to my head. I was facing the bench, and my crotch was at eye level with four pairs of staring eyes. I stood there, trembling.

“Please, Brenda, may I have my pants?” I asked miserably. All four of the girls were giggling freely.

“Okay, I’m almost done with you.…for today. Repeat after me: ‘You own me, Brenda, and I promise to obey you, no matter what.’ ”

“Y-you own me, Brenda, and I promise to obey you, no matter what.”

“Good boy. Now say, ‘I’m so embarrassed. I’m a boy wearing a bra, I have no hair on my body, and my teensy little wee wee looks like a little clitty.’ ”

Amid the uproarious laughter, I repeated the humiliating words. “I’m s-so embarrassed. I’m a boy wearing a bra....I have no hair on my body.…and my.…teeny.…little wee wee looks like a little.…a little c-clitty.” That was extremely difficult. And I wasn’t done.

“No, no,” scolded Brenda, while smiling deviously. “You said, ‘teeny,’ and I told you to say ‘teensy.’ Now try it again. Only this time, say, ‘I’m sooooo embarrassed—and make sure you say it like that—I’m sooooo embarrassed. I look like a little girl. I'm wearing a bra. I have no hair on my body, and my teensy weensy wittle wee wee looks like an itty bitty clitty.’ ”

The laughter was abounding. I struggled to stay composed. I had to get through the latest humiliation and get the hell away from the sinister Brenda. “I’m sooooo embarrassed,” I began. "I look like a little girl. I'm wearing a bra....I have….I have no hair on my body....I’m….my t-teensy weensy.…wittle w-wee wee looks like.…an itty b-bitty.…an itty bitty clitty.” My face was flushing, seemingly like it never had before.

“Excellent!” exclaimed the laughing Brenda while clapping her hands for me. “Now just one more thing. Your other girlfriends here didn’t get to hear you sing this morning. Sing your song for us and tell us how pretty you feel.”

“Please…I…I can’t remember the words…”

“You better sing, or I’ll tell Miss Farnsworth you took your pretty bra off. Do you want her to dress you in your matching panties in homeroom tomorrow?”

Of course, that is exactly what would happen if I didn’t do Brenda’s bidding. The image of standing before Miss Farnsworth wearing a bra and panty set was incentive enough. One more time, I sung the embarrassing lyrics. ♬“I feel pretty…oh so pretty…I feel pretty and witty and gay♬….please, I can’t remember any more…”

All four girls were laughing so hard that they couldn’t speak. Brenda simply tossed my bundle of clothes at my feet. I grabbed them and ran a few yards off to the side of the bench, where I hastily dressed and briskly walked away from the soccer field.

I endured my last two classes and, gratefully, returned the bra to Miss Farnsworth without further incident.

* * * * * *

By the end of my sophomore year, new bounds had been set for the extent of my humiliation. As I left the building at the end of the last day of school, I looked back at Roosevelt High and shuddered.

I’m here to tell you, I had never been so relieved to start my summer vacation.

Chapter 10: Forced Naked at a Public Beach

Starting Puberty

I’ve now completed my third year at Roosevelt High. The one positive is that at least physically I’m finally showing the beginnings of maturity. I’m a few inches taller since my last account and, though my development is still well behind what it should be, during the summer before my junior year I finally started sprouting some pubic hair, a change I was most grateful for.

I regret to report, though, that I have a few more tales to relate about more indignities suffered at the hands of my tormentors during my junior year.

I had made up my mind during the summer that I would not succumb to those assholes any longer. I had decided to put my foot down, regardless of whatever threats they used. The following is an account of how and why that objective failed miserably.


An Attempt at Defiance

As it happened, on the third day of school I was in the courtyard when I spotted Brenda and Joanna standing near the Roosevelt statue. I made eye contact with Brenda, and she used her index finger to motion me to come to her. My initial thought was to just ignore her, but I decided to put into force my new plan to not submit to them anymore.

“Hi, Blondie,” Brenda smiled as she greeted me. “It’s good to see you; we’ve missed you the last three months.”

“What do you want? I asked defiantly.

“Don’t you cop an attitude with me, Blondie Boy. My shoe’s untied. Would you kindly bend down and tie it for me?”

It was clear that Brenda wanted to re-establish her dominance over me. I tried to nip it in the bud. “Fuck off, I’m not your plaything anymore,” I boldly replied as I walked away.

“We’ll see what Mitch has to say about that,” she yelled back at me. “You’re in trou-ble.” The last word flowed mellifluously from her lips.

For the rest of the day I was a nervous wreck. I remembered all too well Mitch’s threat to tie me up naked on Main Street should I ever go against him. Though it was unspoken, the warning had evolved to include his cousin Brenda and her friends.

It so happened that I was getting a ride home from a friend that day. I darted straight from my last class to my friend’s car. Thankfully he was waiting there for me. We sped off, so at least temporarily I was spared.

That was a Wednesday, and I also escaped unscathed over the next two days. I was beginning to build up a comfortable feeling of complacency, thinking that maybe since I was sixteen years old and a junior that they would leave me alone and channel their sadistic interests to a freshman.

Oh, how wrong I was.


Introducing Becky

I guess at this point I’ll have to introduce you to another prominent character in this sordid humiliation I’ve been subjected to. I’ve been leaving this person out of this account, mainly because it hits a little too close to home, and it’ll be painful for me to write about. But maybe if I do it’ll be cathartic for me.

Well, here goes: The other character is my sister Becky. Becky is eleven and a half months younger than I. We’re at the same grade level, as we both just made the cutoff point in grade selection, her on the lower end and I on the upper end. In fact, she sits directly behind me in our homeroom class, and she has realized considerable enjoyment over my embarrassing episodes at the hands of Mitch, Brenda, Miss Farnsworth, et al. You see, a couple of years ago, when I was fourteen and she was thirteen, I did something pretty nasty to her, and she has never forgiven me.

It was a Saturday night, and our parents were out. I had a friend over. Becky was taking a bath. My sister and I had been fighting of late, as siblings often do. I wanted to piss her off, so I got the bright idea for my friend and I to go into the bathroom while she was laying in the tub. The lock on our bathroom door was one of those that could be tripped simply by inserting a knife into the keyhole. Successful with that, we barged in there and gazed wide-eyed at my naked sister.

I want to tell you, she screamed so loud I think the walls shook. Her legs were kicking wildly, water was splashing every which way, and she was swearing like a sailor. It was quite dramatic.

Of course, she told my parents, and I was grounded for the rest of the month.

But that punishment hardly appeased my sister. She swore she would get even with me. Up until that fateful day in September, she hadn’t taken an active role in my humiliations. She seemingly was content to sit back and enjoy herself by observing my many disgraces at the hands of my tormentors.

But unbeknownst to me she had linked up with Brenda and Mitch. She was soon to have the upper hand in our sibling rivalry—in a big way.


Stripped at the Beach

It was a Saturday, and three days had passed since I had stood up to Brenda. It was a warm, Indian Summer type day. I had been out late the night before, and I decided to take a drive to the coast and sack out on the beach. I remember Becky whispering on the phone as I was walking out the door. I realized later that she was probably informing either Brenda or Mitch of my plans.

The beach was crowded. I managed to find an open spot among a gaggle of sun worshipers, where I laid out my towel and plopped down on it. It wasn’t long before I dozed off.

I don’t know how long I was out before my sleep was rudely interrupted (now that’s an understatement!). I was on my stomach, and by the time I was awake enough to become responsive, my hands were handcuffed behind my back and my swimming trunks were being pulled down. They were already past my knees, and before I even had a chance to kick my legs, they were pulled off my feet.

To my utter horror, I was completely naked in the middle of a public beach.

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” I screamed.

The ensuing moments are a little vague, but I recall scrambling to my feet in an absolute panic. I remember the pain in my wrists as I pulled against the manacles of the handcuffs, trying desperately to cover my nudity. I bent over at the waist, trying to cover my modesty by lifting one leg across my crotch. I recognized the grinning faces of Mitch, Becky, Brenda, Marcia, Joanna and Cheryl. They had all come to witness my humiliation.

I looked around, and there was no place to hide. My only two options were to run into the water or in the opposite direction to the bathrooms. Either way I would have to run over fifty yards past dozens of very amused spectators.

I opted for the bathrooms. I looked straight ahead, not making any eye contact, but of course I knew that all eyes were on me. To this day I shudder as I replay the moment in my head. When I do, I can still hear the laughter from all around me.

I ran as fast as I could, frantically seeking shelter. I was hunched over, running with my knees together, trying to maintain as much modesty as possible. In retrospect, running in this position probably just made me look ridiculous, and thus even more entertaining for all the onlookers. Mitch and the girls were running alongside me and laughing heartily. Man, what a humiliating feeling!


Temporary Sanctity

At long last I reached the stairs that led to the bathrooms. I was relieved to find a bathroom door unlocked. I ran in there, but before I could close the door Mitch and the girls followed me in, locking the door behind them. I sat down on the toilet, leaning over with my chest on my knees. My tormentors were all laughing, reveling at the spectacle they had just witnessed.

“Please!” I cried out. “Unlock my wrists and let me get dressed!”

“We’ll do that, Blondie,” answered Mitch. “But you’re gonna have to do what we tell you to do from now on or it’s just going to get worse for you.”

“Okay, okay!” I answered. Near tears, I requested, “Just let me get dressed so I can go get my keys and go home!”

“You can do that. Give Blondie his swimsuit, Becky,” said Mitch as he unlocked the handcuffs.


The Swimsuit

I was relieved to have my hands free and I used one hand to cover my crotch and the other to reach out to Becky as she reached into her bag to pull out the suit. Becky had a mischievous grin on her face as she tantalized me, feigning that she couldn’t find them.

Finally, she pulled out a swimsuit, but to my horror, instead of my swimming trunks she pulled out a bright, neon yellow-colored girl’s two-piece swimsuit with a tie bikini. The bikini bottom was already tied. I recognized it as one of Becky’s. “Here you go, Blondie,” chortled Becky. “This color should look beautiful on you.” There was laughter all around.

“Come on, I can’t wear that. Please, can I have my trunks?”

“Okay, suit yourself,” answered Becky as she threw the swimsuit at me. She laughed. “Get it, Blondie? Suit yourself. Hahaha. You’re going back out there with us, either in your birthday suit or the swimsuit. You choose.”

“Make it snappy, Blondie,” pressed Mitch.

I momentarily sat there naked while pondering my hopeless plight. I couldn’t bear to go back out there naked again. I looked down at my feet, where the swimsuit lay on the ground. I shook my head at my desolate situation. I still had to go back to the beach and get my keys, knowing it would be futile to ask any of them to retrieve them for me. No matter what, my humiliation would be extreme.

Suddenly, Mitch grabbed my elbow. “All right, that’s it, we’re going out,” he said as he pulled on my arm.

“No! Okay, I’ll wear it!” I screamed while pulling my arm free.

I guess my decision was made. Amid the giggling, I turned my back to the group and reached down for the bikini bottom. Grimacing, I pulled it up my legs to my hips. I welcomed the coverage, though the femininely styled hipster would not have been my first choice. I looked down at the top and turned around to face my captors. “Please, can I just go like this?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” replied Becky as she reached down and picked up the top. “It’s a matching set,” she said with a giggle. She took my shoulders and turned me around. “Here, slip your arms through here,” she said, holding it in front of me. It had spaghetti shoulder straps and tied in the back. As I sullenly obeyed, she continued to tease me as she tied a bow at my back. “This isn’t a topless beach, silly girl. Everyone would see your little boobies.” The laughter continued at my expense. Becky steered me to the mirror above the sink. “Check it out, sweetie. You look hot!”

“Oh, shit,” I said to the tune of a chorus of laughter. My crimson-colored cheeks glowed as brightly as the neon suit. I looked down to see my small genitals outlined by the form-fitting spandex material. “Oh, God,” I muttered forlornly. There was more laughter as the group followed my gaze. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t so bad, but realistically I knew otherwise. The next few minutes would undoubtedly be all but unbearable. But I had to get it over with. I opened the door a crack and peeked through. The beach was as crowded as ever. I closed the door and closed my eyes momentarily.

It had to be done. I took a deep breath, opened the door and started running toward the beach.

“Don’t even think about taking your top off!” yelled Mitch.

What a sight I must have been. Mitch and company really whooped it up, clapping and cheering, drawing immediate attention to my mortifying predicament. I ran down the stairs and made a dash toward my towel and keys. Of course, all eyes were on me, and the laughter was coming from all sides. I even heard a couple of wolf whistles. It’s hard to say which was worse, the swimsuit or the nudity. I wouldn’t wish either on anybody.

I reached my destination and to my utter chagrin I couldn’t find my keys and towel. I ran around in circles, probably resembling a chicken with his head cut off, searching desperately. For the life of me I couldn’t find them! Then I heard Brenda’s voice calling out to me. “Yoo-hoo, Blondie!” she yelled. I turned around and saw her standing about twenty feet away from me. “Looking for these?” she asked teasingly as she dangled my keys in front of her.

I darted toward Brenda, and she took off running. For the next couple of minutes, I chased her as she zigzagged around the beach, laughing all the while. Finally, I caught her, tackling her down to the sand.

“Help! I’m being attacked by a lesbian!” she screamed.

She was laughing so hard it was easy for me to pry the keys from her grasp. I jumped up and started running toward the parking lot. Most of the sunbathers were laughing hysterically. Their day at the beach had become quite memorable.


A Most Embarrassing Drive Home

I finally reached my car. In my haste I fumbled with the lock and dropped the keys on the ground a couple of times. Once I got the door open, I sat down behind the wheel, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

But my torment wasn’t completely over, for sitting in the passenger seat was my sister Becky, smiling at me devilishly. “Well, what are you waiting for, sweetie? Take me home,” she said.

“Becky, please, do you have my trunks?” I pleaded. It had dawned on me that I had left my shirt, towel and flip-flops at the beach. I wasn't about to go back down there for them dressed as I was.

“I sure do, brother dear—or should I say ‘sister' dear?” She giggled to herself. “If you’re nice to me on the way home, maybe I’ll give them to you before we go in the house. I think Mom’s home; she’d love to see you like that. I know she always wanted another daughter.” Becky again giggled. She was having the time of her life.

Then Mitch came up to Becky’s open window and said, “See you girls around.” He laughed and started to walk away before turning back to Becky. “Make sure he doesn’t take his top off until you get home.”

“That’s the plan,” grinned Becky.

My mortification continued on the ride home. I felt so ridiculous in the swimsuit. Becky, of course, did all she could to enhance my feeling of humiliation. It seemed like she never took her eyes off me, and occasionally I would steal a glance at her to catch her grinning, and obviously enjoying herself immensely. I’m sure she felt vindicated from the time I walked in on her while she was in the bathtub. At one point she reached over and ran her hand up my leg. “When was the last time you shaved your legs?” she teased. “Maybe we should do that when we get home.” I flinched, praying to myself that she wouldn’t follow through with that disturbing notion. I had finally sprouted some hair on my body, and the thought of losing it was very unsettling.

When we stopped at a stoplight I ducked down, fearing the two people in the car next to me would see my attire. The maneuver was not lost on Becky. “Sit up straight, Blondie, or I’ll have you get out of the car and model for everyone.” She didn’t have to tell me twice. I sat up, staring straight ahead, my face flushing brightly. I glanced to my left, and fortunately the twosome in the car were too engaged in conversation to notice me.


The Gas Station

But I was about to have more pressing concerns. Becky leaned toward me to look at the gas gauge. “Oh,” she said. “We’re getting low on gas. You’d better stop at the next station.”

A feeling of trepidation swept over me. “N-No, I think we’re okay. Please, let’s just go home.”

“Nonsense, dear bro. It would be inconsiderate to give Mom and Dad the car back with an empty tank. Here, pull into that Fast Gas up ahead.” I looked at my devilish sister. I could tell by the grin of anticipation on her face that she had no intention of letting me off the hook. Reluctantly, I pulled into the station and up to a pump. I looked at her pleadingly. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked with an impish grin on her face. She held out our parents’ credit card. “Get out there and fill it up.”

I knew any defiance would only serve to exacerbate my sorry situation. I took the card from her hand and looked around anxiously. At that moment there was nobody else pumping gas. The sooner I got it over with the better. “Oh, God,” I cried as I bolted from the car.

Hurriedly, I inserted the card into the slot. Much to my dismay, a car pulled up on the opposite side of the pump. “Oh shit!” I exclaimed aloud as I clumsily shoved the pump into the receptacle. I took a nervous, furtive glance behind me. A young, plump brunette woman who appeared to be in her early twenties was getting out of her car. And, to further my anxiety, I noticed another young female in the passenger seat. Initially, neither one of them noticed me, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before they did. My best bet was to sit in the car until the gas was finished pumping. I scrambled to the door, but just as I was about to open it the devious Becky hit the lock button. She sat laughing at me while I frantically knocked on the window. “Please, Becky, let me in!” I screamed. Of course, that only succeeded in attracting attention to myself.

“Hey Tina, you’ve gotta check this out!” I heard the brunette say.

Moments later I heard their passenger door open. “Oh, how darling!” came another voice. I looked over to see a woman with purple streaks through her hair. “Hey, that’s a lovely swimsuit,” she said to me. “And such a pretty girl. Hey, do you want to join us for a threesome, sweetheart?”

Great, now I have a couple of lesbians harassing me.

I ignored them as best I could, and I hastily pulled out the gas pump and replaced it in its holder while the two women laughed freely. My face felt like it was on fire.

“Oh, she’s playing hard to get,” laughed the brunette.

I dashed to the door and feverishly pulled at the handle. “Please, Becky, let me in, you fucking bitch!” I screamed while banging furiously on the window.

That was a mistake. Becky calmly opened her purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. She leaned over and lowered the window on the driver’s side just wide enough to slip it through. “Not until you buy me a diet coke,” she said with a wry grin.

“Oh, shit, no! Please, Becky, I’m sorry. Please let me in! I apologize!” I screamed, ignoring the money. Becky didn’t budge. “Buy me some tampons, too,” she said.

“Oh, God!” I cried as I snatched the bill from her grasp.

I scampered past the two women (who now were in the throes of hysterical laughter) and into the convenience shop. A young, pretty, African American girl was behind the counter. Needless to say, she was quite amused when I came running in. Her jaw dropped in astonishment before she broke into a wide grin.

I ran past the counter, straight to the refrigerator and grabbed a diet coke. I knew I wouldn’t be allowed back in the car without the second part of Becky’s order, and I had no idea where to look. “Where are your tampons?” I called out breathlessly.

The girl could not hold back any longer and broke into convulsive laughter. She tried to speak but was unintelligible through her giddiness. She pointed to the aisle next to me.

It was another excruciating minute before I found them. I ran to the counter and slapped the twenty-dollar bill down. “Keep the change!” I shouted, but then thought better of it and turned back to her. “I’d better get the change.” Throughout the exchange, the girl never stopped laughing, and was so flabbergasted, she never said a word. She looked me up and down, handed me my change, and I scurried out to the sound of her energetic laughter.

The two women were waiting for me when I came out. They greeted me with more laughter, and one of them threw in a wolf whistle for good measure. Blushing crimson, I dashed past them. I mean, I couldn’t get to the car fast enough.

Thankfully, Becky let me in, and I dropped her purchase and her change on the floor at her feet before speeding out of the station like there was no tomorrow. Becky was laughing uncontrollably. “Oh, brother Blondie, that was a riot! Wait ‘till Brenda and the gang hear about this!”

I drove on, still breathing heavily. We made it the rest of the way without incident—that is, until we got home.

This is probably my favorite chapter I've read in a Blondie story so far. It feels more real, this chapter does.
Having to buy tampons at a convenience store, while wearing his sister's bikini is good enough to be a stand-alone short story.

Chapter 11: Maternal Discipline

Swimming Trunks Not Forthcoming

When I pulled into the garage, I looked at Becky imploringly, hoping she would hand over my swimming trunks. But apparently, she had something else in mind. "I'll take my swimsuit back now, please," she said.

"Can you give me back my swimming trunks first? You can go inside. I'll change here in the car and bring them in the house."

Becky would have none of it. “First of all, you are in no position or state of attire to tell me what to do. Second, I loaned you my swimsuit out of the kindness of my heart so you wouldn't have to go back out on the beach naked and expose your little bits to everyone. And now that I think about it, you never thanked me for it.” She looked at me expectantly. Did she really expect me to thank her? Apparently, she did, and in my compromised situation I had to do her bidding. "I'm waiting," she said.

"Thank you," I blurted out.

"For what?"

"For loaning me your swimsuit."

"You're welcome. Now please give it back."

Resigned, I started peeling off the swimsuit top. "May I please have my swimming trunks?" I asked as I handed her the discarded top.

"In due time," she responded. "But first I want the rest of my swimsuit back."

"Come on, Beck. Can you just hand me my trunks first?" Instead of answering, she reached over and pushed on the car horn, holding it down. Startled—and more importantly, worried that my mom or dad would be alerted—I frantically pushed her hand away. "Okay! Okay! I'll do it! Jesus, Beck, what if Mom or Dad came down?"

"Dad's playing golf. Not sure about Mom, but her car is here," she said.

Sure enough, the door at the top of the stairway opened, and my mom's head peeked out. "Is everything okay down there?" she yelled down.

"Fine, Mom!" I yelled anxiously through the window. "It's okay, I hit the horn by accident."

"Oh, okay," she said. She started to close the door, then stopped herself. "You really should wear your shirt when you are driving about. It's the respectable thing to do."

"Okay, Mom, I will do that from now on."

It was semi-dark in the garage, and I was hoping she wouldn't notice what I was wearing. "Is that a new swimsuit?" she said as she leaned forward and squinted into the car, trying to get a closer look. "I haven't seen that one."

"Um....yes, it's new," I said as I self-consciously lowered my hands to my lap.

"It looks small from up here. Are you wearing a Speedo?"

Shaking my head, I looked over at Becky, who looked like she was about to break out into a laughing fit. "No," I said. "They're just a little smaller than my old trunks."

"How was the beach?" she asked.

Oh, for fuck's sake! Can you just go back in the house?

Then Becky rolled down her window and decided to inject herself into the conversation. "It was very interesting, Mom," she said. "Blondie was the star of the whole beach."

"Becky! Please!" I whispered breathlessly to her.

"Oh, really," answered our mom curiously.

"Oh, yes, you should have seen him. I think he thought he was at a nude beach."

"Whaaaat?" answered my mom, who was agape.

"Oh, shit!" I whispered. "Becky! Knock it off!"

"Well, not really. But Brenda got mad at him about something, and they got into this wrestling match. While they were wrestling, Blondie tried to pull Brenda's top off. He momentarily exposed one of her breasts before she stopped him. Brenda got pretty mad, and she managed to pull his trunks down his legs."

"Oh, my!" said my mom. "Blondie, what in the world is the matter with you?"

"I....I wasn't trying to pull her top...."

"Well, it sounds like you got your comeuppance," she interrupted. "I'll bet you were pretty embarrassed."

I had bowed my head and had one hand over my eyes and was shaking my head.

"Oh yeah," said Becky. "Blondie was embarrassed, alright. Brenda had him in a hold and turned him face forward. His little bits were out there for all to see."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said our mom. "Well, it serves him right. Blondie, I'll deal with you later," she said, as she disappeared and closed the door.

"Well, that was fun," laughed Becky.

"Son of a bitch!" I said breathlessly. "Please, can I just get my trunks?" I asked.

"Not till I get my swimsuit back," repeated Becky.

Resignedly, under Becky's watchful eye, I started sliding down the swimsuit. From my standpoint, Becky was attaining way too much enjoyment from watching me strip at her behest. "You know what's pretty cool?" she asked as I pulled the garment down my legs. I didn't answer, but that didn't slow her down. "From now on I can make you get naked for me, anytime and anywhere—at my pleasure."

I slipped off the last of the swimsuit and handed it over to Becky. “Please, now may I have my trunks?”

Just then Becky's phone pinged a few times in succession. She became occupied, typing diligently on her phone. She was smiling.

"Becky?" I asked again.

"Hold on. I'm on a group text with Brenda, Joanna, Marcia, Cheryl and Mitch. They want to know how we're doing."

"Please, Beck. Let me get dressed."

But she ignored me and kept typing on her phone. "I just told them that we're sitting in the car in the garage, and that you’re naked." She then held up her phone to me and took a picture, then went back to her phone. "They wanted to see," she said with a grin. I sat there and listened to many more pings while Becky continued to text.

Finally, Becky reached into her bag and pulled out my long-lost trunks. I reached out to accept them, but they were not forthcoming. "I'll put these on your bed for you," she said, as she pulled on her door handle.

"No! Becky! Please! What if Mom sees me?"

"Well, she'll probably think she brought up some kind of pervert. She's still mad at you for walking in on me while I was in the tub. And now she thinks you were trying to take Brenda's top off.

"Besides, what's the big deal? She's seen you naked more than anybody."

"But....that was a long time....this is different!"

"Well, you best avoid her then," she said as she got out of the car with my trunks. She poked her head in and gave me one last instruction before closing the door. "Don't you dare try to cover yourself with something in the garage. I'd better see you running into your room naked. And it better be soon, or I'll have to text Mitch and tell him you disobeyed me." With that she climbed the stairs and disappeared into the house.


Making a Run For It

I sat there, naked—oh, so naked—for a minute or two, building up the courage to go into the house. I took a deep breath, got out of the car and climbed the stairs. I opened the door slowly and quietly. I peeked in, and breathed a sigh of relief to see that my mom was nowhere in sight. I did hear her bustling around in the kitchen, though.

Ahead of me was a long hallway that led to the living room and the stairway to my room. Toward the end of the hallway was a standard-size doorway to the kitchen. My only hope was to run as fast as I could past that doorway and hope to hell that she wouldn't see me. I thought the odds were in my favor.

I took another deep breath, closed the door softly behind me and started to make a run for it—and very quickly those good odds turned 100% against me.


Spotted by My Mother

I had run about halfway up the hallway, when, as fate would have it, my mother walked nonchalantly through the kitchen door into the hallway. That nonchalance quickly turned to surprise when she turned and saw her 16-year-old son, who had stopped suddenly with a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. He was naked.

When I saw her, I stood momentarily frozen, not knowing which way to turn. I quickly covered my modesty with my hands—though I think my mother might have managed to attain a quick glimpse of my genitals, something she hadn't seen since I was a child.

"Why are you naked, Blondie?" she asked curiously, when her surprise subsided. By then I had already turned around, having made the decision to retreat to the garage. "Hold it right there, young man!" she bellowed.

Now, my mother is normally as nice as can be, but during the rare times when her ire is up, she can be quite authoritative. I knew from her tone of voice that this was one of those times. I stopped in my tracks, my bare ass facing her.

"Turn around," she commanded firmly. I turned to face her, cowering with my hands clenched to my privates. "You stay right where you are, and don't move," she said while pointing at me. She turned and walked into the living room, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. "Becky, would you come down here, please?" she shouted in the direction of her bedroom.

I knew immediately where this was going, and it didn't bode well for me. It all goes back to the time I intentionally walked in on Becky while she was in the bathtub. My mom was pretty upset with me, and even though I was grounded for the rest of that month —my dad had decided on the punishment —I don't think she felt that the penalty fit the crime. Being of the female persuasion, she had felt more empathy for Becky than my dad or I did.

Compound that with Becky's bogus story about how I tried to pull off Brenda's top at the beach—well, I had a hunch that she planned on teaching me a lesson—the poetic justice variety.

Becky must have been listening at the top of the stairs, because she was down in a heartbeat. She followed my mom, who was walking briskly in my direction. They both stopped a few feet in front of me.

"Why is Blondie naked?" Becky asked innocently, with an impish grin on her face. I might have tried to strangle her if I wasn't in the predicament I was in.

"That's a good question, Becky, and I will discuss that with him at a later time. The fact of the matter is that he is naked, which is why I called you down here."

"I'm glad you did, Mom," said Becky as she stared at me, grinning.

Meanwhile, I'm still crouched over, with my hands firmly clenched to my groin.

"Yes, well," my mother continued, "Blondie's reprehensible conduct when he and his friend purposely walked in on you while you were in the tub....well, let's just say that this is his moment of reckoning."

"Thank you, Mother. This does make me feel a little better, though the scars from that day may never totally disappear."

Oh, please, just stop.

"I know, dear," she said while putting her arm around Becky and giving her a squeeze. "But I hope this helps." They both were quiet for a moment as they continued to stare at me. "What shall we do with him?" asked my mother. "Will this be good enough for you or is there something else you'd like?"

DO with him? Something else? What the fuck?

"Well, now that you mention it," responded Becky. "When he barged into the bathroom that night, he really got an eyeful. I happened to be washing my hair at the time, so I had my hands on my head and was fully exposed." Becky left that out there so my mom—and I—could digest the implications of her statement.

"Yes," said my mother thoughtfully. "I do see what you mean. He saw you in all your glory—sorry, Becky, I know it's hard for you to have to look back on that dreadful experience—whereas Blondie....even though he is naked....he saw a bit more of you than what you're seeing of him right now."

"Exactly," said Becky. "You really do understand, Mom."

"What's good for the goose is good for the gander, right?" said our mother.

"Yes! And I'd like to take a gander at his goose!" remarked Becky.

"Oh, that's a good one, Becky!" laughed my mom. They both laughed lustily, while I stood there immersed in my wretchedness.

"So, Blondie," said my mom when their laughter subsided. "Your sister has a good point. I think if justice is to be properly served, it's only fair that she gets to see you exposed, like you saw her that night."

"Please, can I just go get dressed?" I pleaded. "I'm really sorry for what I did, and....and I was already punished for it."

"You were," answered my mother. "But I never thought your punishment was harsh enough. Considering how shameful your action was, I think you deserve to be shamed. And Becky deserves to witness your shame, taking into account how you violated her." I glanced at Becky, whose smirk seemed to be permanently plastered on her face. "Now I'd like you to remove your hands from your privates and put them on your head," ordered my mother.

It looked like I was really going to have to go through with this. That being the case, I had to at least try to modify the conditions. The notion of exposing myself to my mother added considerably to my anxiety. "Mom, please. Can I....if I have to do this....can you please go away so just....just Becky will see?"

"Hmm, I do understand," said my mom. "You are a little old to be displaying yourself to your mother like that. But that puts me in a bit of a quandary. The intention of this little punishment session is to shame and embarrass you, as you did to Becky."

No! No quandary! You walk away, Becky looks at my dick and we're done with this madness.

She paused as she pondered my request. "What do you think we should do, Becky?" she asked.

Oh, shit. You're leaving it up to HER? What the hell do you THINK she's going to say?

"Well, I agree with you, Mom, that after what he did to me, we need to embarrass him. To that end, he's sixteen years old, and I think having his mother see his bare privates would be very embarrassing for him. And I caught a glimpse of his little bits when Brenda pulled down his trunks, so I understand why he wouldn't want anyone to see what he's got down there—or what he doesn't have, to be more accurate,” she said with a giggle.

"So you think I should stick around to witness his shame."

"I do, Mom. One hundred percent. Also, Blondie had a friend with him, so there were two witnesses to my nakedness.

Oh shit, I think that swayed her.

"That's a very good point. Okay, a witness I shall be. Blondie, let's get those hands on your head."


Exposed and Teased

"Mom, please....," I begged.

"NOW!" Her authoritative voice echoed throughout the hallway. My hands darted to my head. I remained hunched over, with my legs crossed.

"Can you get him to stand up straight and spread his legs?" asked Becky. "I can't really see between his legs."

"Stand up straight, Blondie," ordered my mom. "And uncross your legs." With extreme effort, I managed to lean back and plant my feet firmly on the floor. It was excruciating, as my mother and sister unabashedly stared straight down at my genitals. Both were smirking. After a tormenting silence, my mother spoke. "I see what you mean, Becky," was her biting remark.

"I know," said Becky with a giggle. "It's pretty small. No wonder his face is so red."

It was predictable that Becky would be having her fun, but it was quite disconcerting that clearly my mother was now enjoying my humiliation as well. It was all I could do to keep myself from turning around and running back into the garage. But I knew that defying my mother would only worsen my situation, and I had the sense that this would be over momentarily.

That sense would prove to be wishful thinking.

Chapter 12: A Very Embarrassing Spanking

Another Witness to My Humiliation

As I stood naked in front of Becky and my mother, I was dearly hoping that my mortifying ordeal would soon end, and that I could escape to the sanctity of my room. But just when I figured that we were about finished, the sound of the doorbell gave me a start. My eyes widened while the three of us exchanged open-mouthed glances. There was a momentary silence while all three of us pondered the ramifications of someone being at the door while a naked 16-year-old boy was being put through his paces.

Becky broke the silence, and it gave me another start. "Oh, that must be Brenda," she declared. "Shall I bring her back here?"

"No!" I shouted.

"Hmm," said my mother. "It might be good for Blondie to have another witness to his punishment—and someone from outside the family to boot, just like when you had your dreadful incident. Sure, have Brenda join us."

The giggling Becky practically skipped out of the room in her delight, leaving me alone, facing my mother. Naked. "Uncomfortable" doesn’t begin to explain how I felt at that moment.

I heard Becky whispering something to Brenda. I suspect she wanted to keep their stories straight and was apprising her of the phony account of how Brenda and I got in a wrestling match and that I tried to take her top off.

"I know this is embarrassing for you, Blondie," said my mother, in what might have been the understatement of the decade. "But when you think about it, this really is Karma at its finest. After what you did to Brenda today, I think it was fate that brought her here right now."

Or more likely a text from your diabolical daughter.

Just then, the gruesome twosome entered the hallway. "Oh, my goodness! Why is Blondie naked?" asked the delighted Brenda. I could tell by Brenda's genuine, astonished reaction that Becky had purposely neglected to tell her friend of my state of undress.

"That's the question of the day," responded my mother. "Brenda, Becky told me what happened at the beach today. I want to express my sincere apologies to you for my son's behavior."

"Oh, it's okay, Mrs. Haggerty. It was embarrassing, but I'm over it now." Grinning, she pointed at me. "This more than makes up for it," she said. The three of them laughed, adding fuel to my persistent blush.

"Yes, that's why I wanted you to come see this," said my mom. "It's the least I could do to make you feel better."

"Oh, yes, thank you! I'm feeling better by the second," laughed Brenda as she looked me up and down lewdly.

"I'm glad to hear it," said my mom. I shifted my feet and fidgeted anxiously, as the humiliation was becoming unbearable. "Judging by how red his face is, I'd say his punishment is having the desired effect," continued my mom.

"Oh, you're right, Mrs. Haggerty. I hadn't noticed. I couldn't take my eyes off his little bits." Again the three of them laughed, while I stood there and soaked up the mortification.

"Yes, they are on the small side," said my mom. "Becky and I were commenting on that earlier."

Oh, just shoot me. Now. Somebody. Please!

"What do you think he's more embarrassed about—the fact that he's standing there naked while we watch, or the fact that he has such a small penis?" asked Becky.

"I'd say both," answered Brenda. "He'd be embarrassed either way, but it might be a little less so for him if he had a normal-size penis."

"And it must be humiliating to stand there all naked and listen to us talk about his little bits," said Becky.

"I can't even imagine," agreed Brenda.

My mother decided to join in the conversation again. Her level of enjoyment seemed to be mounting, much to my chagrin. "Blondie," she said. "I can tell by the hair you've grown down there that you've started puberty. How long ago did it start for you, would you say?"

I really was in no mood or state of mind to partake in the sordid discussion. "I don't....please, I don't know. A while ago."

"There's not that much hair there," said Becky. "I don't think it's been that long."

"I can tell you for a fact that it hasn't," said Brenda. "My brother—he must have seen Blondie in the shower at school," she said. "It was less than a year ago, and he told me Blondie had no hair on his....on his genitals. He also told me how little—he used the word 'tiny,' actually—he mentioned how tiny his penis was. I guess he brought it up because Blondie was fifteen at the time, and he thought it was very unusual—and kind of amusing—for a boy that age to be so underdeveloped."

"I'll bet the other boys must have teased him about it," said Becky.

"So, Blondie," persisted my mother. "Would you say you started puberty sometime between your fifteenth and sixteenth birthday?"

"I....I guess," I answered softly while staring at a discolored fiber on the hallway carpet.

"It must have been hard for you to be fifteen years old and prepubescent," she commented.

"Just like it must be hard for him to be sixteen years old and have such tiny little bits," followed Becky devilishly. Brenda and Becky broke out into convulsive laughter while my mom looked at them and smiled.

After the laughter died down, my mother said, "Okay, girls, I think we've succeeded in giving Blondie his comeuppance. Are you satisfied now?"

About freaking time! Let me out of here!

After thinking for a moment, Becky said, "Mom, um....there is one other thing I'd like to see you do to him...."

See her DO to me? What the fuck? Just stop it!

Our mom looked at her curiously. "What would that be, Becky?" she asked with her head tilted to the side.

"Well, do you remember whenever Blondie was a bad little boy, how you would punish him?"

Oh, shit. I see where she's going with this. No fucking way!

"Yes," answered my mother. "I used to put him over my knees and give him a spanking."

"I would love to see that again," said Becky.

Becky looked at me and smiled impishly. I looked at Brenda, who was making eye contact with me, and had a lascivious grin on her face. I looked warily at my mother. My mother looked at me with a devilish grin of her own. I had a very bad feeling about this.

"We do still have that same armless chair in the living room that I used to use for his spankings," was my mother's response.

"Yes, we do!" said Becky. "You know, you always let Blondie keep his pants on when you gave him a spanking. I must confess—I always wanted you to do it on his bare bottom."

"Well, by golly," said my mother while looking at my midsection, "Then I think it's high time that we do just that."

Wait, no....you can't be serious!

"Mom! Wait, you can't be serious!" I said as I stood there agape, dropping my hands from my head. "I thought we were done here!"

"First of all," answered my mother, "I never told you to remove your hands from your head." She stopped and stared at me until I complied by slowly moving my hands back behind my head. "Second of all," she continued, "We are done with your punishment when I say we are done. What you did to Becky before, then today to Brenda deserves proper discipline. I'm glad Becky brought this up. Under the circumstances, a spanking on your bare bottom seems rather appropriate. After I'm done with you, I suspect you will be cured of your naughty behavior."

I stood there miserably, incredulous of what apparently was about to transpire.

"I never told you this, Becky, but one of the times I put him over my knees I actually did spank him on his bare bottom, said my mother." She looked at me and said, "I'm sure Blondie remembers it well." I didn't answer, but of course I remembered it well. It's not something one would ever forget.

"I'm so sorry I missed that!" said Becky.

"Yes, you were already asleep, or I would have let you watch. I only gave him a spanking a handful of times, and he was usually wearing a pair of pants. But one time it was at night, and he was wearing his pajamas, without any underwear. I think he was eight or nine at the time. Anyway, he was sitting in front of the TV, and I had told him numerous times that it was past his bedtime. I gave him one last warning, and he finally got up to go to bed, but not without using some foul language. It was very unbecoming for a young child."

"So he deserved to be spanked, just like now," said Becky.

"Absolutely. Well, he got my dander up, so I dragged him by the arm and put him over my knee. I spanked him a couple of times as before, and then—on a whim—I pushed his shirt up and pulled his pajama bottoms down."

"Oh, I wish you would have woken me up, Mom!" said Becky.

"I should have," laughed my mom. "Anyway, I still remember to this day how he was taken by surprise when I pulled down his pajamas bottoms. He let out this high-pitched little squeal."

"Oh, I love it!" exclaimed Becky.

"Delectable," chimed in Brenda.

"I have to admit, it was much more satisfying for me to spank his bare bottom instead of having the material in the way. The slaps had this nice, rich sound to them. I'm sure he felt it a little more than usual, too. That was nice, but I guarantee you that the embarrassment of having his mother baring his bottom had more impact than any pain he felt. So the punishment had the desired effect."

"Was he crying?" asked Becky.

"Not out loud. But when I let him up, he quickly pulled up his pajamas—that was his number one priority—and I had him turn and face me to apologize. He did have tears running down his face. And his face was just as red as it is right now.

"Anyway, he certainly learned his lesson, because that was the last time I had to spank him."

"Until now," corrected Becky.

"Until now," concurred our mother.


The Spanking

She turned and addressed me, pointing toward the living room. "You know where the chair is," said my mother. "I'd like you to lead the way and go stand next to the chair and await your punishment."

Oh my God, this is really going to happen!

My mother stepped aside to one side of the hallway, while Becky and Brenda did the same right across from her, clearing a path for me. With my hands still behind my head, I made the excruciating naked walk of shame. The girls were giggling freely as I passed by them, and as the three of them followed me into the living room.

I stopped next to the infamous chair and waited as my mother took her seat. She used both hands to smooth out her long, cotton skirt. She was ready. "Assume the position, please," she directed while gesturing to her lap.

There was a tantalizing, almost palpable feeling of anticipation in the air. For Becky, Brenda, and even my mother, one could probably describe it as delicious anticipation, whereas my anticipation was filled with profound apprehension.

Under the watchful eyes of the three females, I laid myself out over my mother's lap. Even though it had been many years, it was an all too familiar, ignominious position—though this was exponentially more humiliating than in the past.

I felt her use both hands to adjust my torso to her liking. A few seconds went by as I lay there in total silence. My heart was beating at an accelerated rate, and I suspect the same could be said for the other occupants of the room.

Without a word, my mother began. I heard the first slap reverberate throughout the room before I felt the stinging pain register. She continued with a slow but steady volley, alternating from one side to the other.

"Ooh, it's starting to turn pink!" observed Becky after several spanks evidently had begun to leave their mark.

"Oh, I think we can warm him up more than this," remarked my mother as she continued her onslaught.

"Yes, it's definitely getting redder," noted Brenda. "Oh, this is so much fun!"

The "fun" continued for a few more seconds before my mother stopped. I felt a slight sense of relief that my ordeal was finally over. That is, until my mother's next utterance. "Would you like to finish up, Becky?"

Noooooooo!

"Would I!" she said, and before I knew what hit me, Becky was in the chair, and I was face down on her lap. "Come help me, Brenda!" said my excited sister.

"Love to!" said Brenda, who instantly was on one knee next to me, facing Becky.

"I'll do the left cheek and you do the right," instructed Becky.

"Got it!" replied Brenda.

"Readyyyyy, go!" shouted Becky.

Without further ado, the girls went at it, and I felt a steady flow of simultaneous slaps on my now-traumatized backside.

"You're missing a spot!" said Becky at one point. "Just off to the side—it's not red yet."

"I'm on it!" said Brenda as I felt the slaps on a spot they had not yet covered.

They continued their barrage, and the pain was becoming unbearable. "Ow! Oh! Stop! Please! Mom, make 'em stop!"

"Alright, girls, I think Blondie has had enough," announced my mother. "Good job; you warmed him up quite nicely."

Indeed, the girls let up, and I clumsily extricated myself from my sister's lap. I turned away from everyone and held my backside with both hands. It felt like I had been set on fire back there. "Oh! Oh!" I said out loud while absorbing the pain.

"Mother, can you make Blondie go stand in the corner for a while for being the bad little boy he is? I remember you did that once after one of his spankings."

"Sure, I think that's appropriate. Blondie, go stand in that corner while you think about your naughty behavior and the consequences it brings." She pointed to a corner of the living room that was right next to the flat-screen TV, which was mounted to the wall. I quickly walked over there and planted my nose against the wall. My hands still covered my buttocks.

"Hands on your head," was my mother's somewhat predictable command. I did so and could almost feel three pairs of eyes zeroing in on my glowing rear end.

"Hey, wanna watch a Seinfeld?" said Becky.

"Sure, we could do that," answered my mother.

Within moments the TV was on, and they were all sitting on the sofa. Then, just as the episode was starting, the doorbell rang.

Uh-oh.


Yet More Visitors

"Oh, that must be Joanna and Marcia," said Becky as she got up from the sofa. "I told them if they came over it would be worth their while."

You've got to be KIDDING me!

I made a move away from the wall and was immediately reprimanded by my mother. "You stay right where you are!" she ordered.

"Please, Mom!" I pleaded while facing the wall again. "Let me go before they come in!"

"I don't think so," answered my mom. "I'm not quite done with you yet."

Within moments I recognized the voice of Joanna. It took her a couple of moments to notice that Becky's naked brother was in the room. "Thanks for inviting us over, Beck," she said. "I'm really curious why you said it would be worth......oh, my God!" Then, "Why is Blondie naked?"

"He's being punished," answered Becky merrily.

"Wow! I can see that. Look how red his little fanny is!" said Marcia.

"Did you do that, Mrs. Haggerty?" asked Joanna.

"I'd say we all had a hand in it," answered my mom, eliciting laughter from all.

"Hey, have a seat," offered Becky. "We're just about to watch a Seinfeld."

"Sounds good," said Joanna. "Though I think watching your brother might be more entertaining."

More laughter ensued, and I was forced to stand in the corner with my naked, glowing backside serving as side entertainment as they watched the episode.

I had to endure many cutting remarks throughout. For instance: The Seinfeld episode they watched was the one that took place in the Hamptons. In one scene the George character had gotten out of the pool and was changing in his bedroom. A woman walked in on him while he was fully exposed. Supposedly his penis had shrunk because of his extended pool time. The woman looked down at his penis and grinned while putting her fingers to her lips.

"It still was probably bigger than Blondie's," said Brenda, to the tune of more laughter. I felt my face flush; though no one could see it, I'm sure it was as bright as my ass cheeks.

Finally, the episode ended, and so would my ordeal. "Okay, Blondie, you can go get dressed now," declared my mother. "Say good-bye to your guests and go up to your room."

"Bye," I said as I put my hands over my crotch and dashed toward the stairs.

"Blondie! Don't be rude," called out my mother. "Turn and face your guests and thank them for coming."

I turned, and said, "Thank you for coming." Mercifully, my mother did not make me move my hands.

"No, thank you!" answered Marcia.

"Yes, the pleasure was all ours!" chimed in Joanna.

I turned once again and scampered up the stairs, leaving five delighted and amused females in my wake.


Owned by My Sister

About an hour later my door opened. I looked up to see a smiling Becky. Normally she would have been required to knock, but evidently that ship had sailed. "I own you now, Blondie,” was all she said before turning back and quietly closing the door.

As I lay on my bed still trying to process the abject humiliation I had endured, I considered what I had just heard. Much to my dismay, I recognized that indeed, it was oh, so true.

Chapter 13: Under My Sister’s Control

Becky’s Dominance

I know it’s been awhile since I’ve chronicled my latest disgraces at the hands of my sadistic tormentors. You see, it’s quite difficult for me to recount, as my humiliation intensified throughout my junior year. But I’m hoping it will be good therapy for me to continue with this account, so I’ll trudge on.

You may recall when we last connected that my sister Becky joined Mitch, Brenda and the gang in their fun at my expense. Since then, Becky has been a major thorn in my side. She still brings up the time my friend and I purposely walked in on her while she was taking a bath. That incident has really stuck with her, and she has been taking great pleasure in her retribution now that she has the upper hand on me.

She didn’t take long to use her newfound dominance over me. It was the morning after my mortifying experience at the beach, the gas station, and the god-awful encounter with my mother. I was sitting alone in my room reading the sports section. I was still trying to recover from the horrid events from the previous day. Suddenly, without knocking, Becky let herself in. “Brother Blondie,” she said, “Would you be so kind as to clear my dishes off the dining room table and wash them for me? Oh, and when you’re done with that you can make my bed.”

I sat dumbstruck and agape for a few seconds. “B-but…”

“No ‘buts’ about it, my little pet. I own you now, and unless you want to find yourself stark naked in public again, you’ll abide by my rules. Now I’m going on a bike ride, and when I get back I expect my chores to be done. And since you put up a fuss, you can clean up the mess I left in the bathroom, too. The sink in there is filthy. I swear, it seems like whenever I brush my hair, half of it ends up on the sink. And the toilet needs a good scrubbing, too. Make sure you scrub underneath the lip; it’s absolutely disgusting.

"Also, I noticed there are a couple of stray pubic hairs on the floor—they must be mine, ‘cuz they’re too long to belong to you—I don’t want to see those when I get back. You’ll find my panties on the floor; you can just put them in the hamper. And if I get any more backtalk, you’ll find yourself wearing them to school tomorrow.” She paused and smiled to herself. “Now that I think about it, I think you’d look rather cute in my panties.” With that she disappeared out the door, her laughter resonating throughout the hallway. My younger sister had become a little monster.

Reluctantly, I washed her dishes and made her bed. I then cleaned the dirty bathroom. I picked up her panties with my thumb and index finger, and while grimacing, I carried them through the hallway to the hamper. I shuddered while recalling her threat to make me wear them to school. At that point I wasn’t putting anything past her. And I'd probably be forced to show them to anyone who asked.


Lacy Anklets

For the next few weeks Becky continued having me do her chores for her. She told our parents that I had lost a bet, so they didn’t bat an eye at my subservience.

As much as I hated doing my sister’s bidding, I took solace in the fact that at least I was spared any major humiliation. But as you may have guessed, that would be a temporary situation, which ended one Saturday in late October. Our parents were away for the weekend, and I had decided to escape for a while and go take in a matinee. I tiptoed through the hallway and quietly turned the doorknob before I was interrupted.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” bellowed my sister from the other end of the hallway.

I jumped back in surprise. “I’m just going for a walk,” I lied. “I’ll be right back.”

“No, you stay here. I need you to drive me to the mall today. Mom gave me the use of her credit card, and I want to do some shopping.” I bowed my head and disconsolately came back in and sat down in the living room. “And how dare you try to go out without telling me,” Becky scolded. “Just for that you’ll have to be punished.” She paused and stood with her hand on her chin and her index finger over her lips, as if deep in thought. “Yes, I’ve got just the thing for you,” she said as she disappeared into her bedroom.

I remember cringing while wondering what the mischievous little devil had in mind for me. To my chagrin, she returned holding in her hand a pair of her girlish white tennis shoes, along with a pair of white anklets, complete with lace all around the tops. She dropped them at my feet. “Here you go, brother Blondie,” she said. “Now take off your shoes and socks and put these on. I want you to wear these today while we go shopping.”

I looked at her, horrified. I was wearing a pair of shorts, and the thought of wearing her shoes and very feminine socks out in public was incomprehensible. “Please, Becky, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you needed me today. I promise I’ll ask your permission from now on when I want to go out. Please don’t make me wear these,” I implored.

“I have a cute little skirt that would look darling with those shoes and socks,” was her response. “Would you like me to go get it or are you going to put those on without giving me any more lip?”

Without answering I forlornly leaned over and removed my shoes and socks. Reluctantly I pulled on the lacy anklets, followed by the tennis shoes, which unfortunately fitted me perfectly. I leaned back in my chair, trying not to look at my newly adorned feet and ankles.

“Stand up, Blondie,” ordered the grinning Becky. “Let’s have a look.” I stood up and Becky took my hand and led me to the middle of the living room. "Hmm," she said as she scrutinized my legs and footwear. "You look adorable, but we need to do something about those shorts. I'll be right back," she said as she headed back to her bedroom.

Wait, what's wrong with these shorts?

I waited anxiously, wondering what Becky had in mind. Surely she didn't expect me to wear a skirt out in public.

Becky reappeared momentarily. She didn't come back with a skirt, but it was probably the next worst thing. Smiling, she held up a pair of short, white shorts. The frayed inseam was probably no more than a couple of inches. To compare, the cargo shorts I was wearing went past my knees, whereas these wouldn't even come close to mid-thigh. "Put these on," she said. "This way you can show off more of your pretty legs."

I stood transfixed. "Oh, God, please, Becky," I pleaded. "I can't wear those out in public."

Becky turned and started walking toward her bedroom. "Okay," she said. "A skirt it shall be."

"No! Wait! Okay, I'll do it!"

Becky stopped and turned around with a grin on her face. She probably had a pretty good idea it would go that way.

I took the shorts from her hand and started to walk to my bedroom before Becky stopped me. "You can change right here, brother Blondie," she said. "No need to be shy. After all, I just recently saw you naked."

Defeated, I turned my back to Becky, dropped my shorts and stepped into the short shorts, while hearing Becky giggling behind me. They were tight, and indeed waaaay too short. I pulled on the hems in an effort to cover more skin, but it was fruitless. My long, slender legs would be fully exposed, all the way down to the fucking anklets.

“Oh, this is precious,” teased Becky as she did a 360 around me while staring at my legs and feet. "You need to tuck your shirt in, though." I was wearing a blue tee shirt that was hanging down almost to the hem of the shorts. I dutifully tucked it in. I just stood there, staring straight ahead and blushing profusely.

Becky kneeled and adjusted the anklets to her liking. “Come, you must have a look at this.” She was enjoying herself immensely as she again took my hand and led me to her bedroom, where she stood me in front of a full-length mirror. She continued taunting me, lightly holding my elbow and kissing me on the cheek. “Don’t you look just darling, brother Blondie?”

I couldn’t muster up an answer, as staring back at me was a tall, slim, red-faced sixteen-year-old boy wearing short shorts, lacy socks and girl’s tennis shoes. If Becky's aim was to make me look girlish, then she was successful, much to my embarrassment. I had grown some hair on my legs, but it wasn't much, and it was fine and very light-colored, so it was hardly noticeable. I turned away from the mirror, having seen quite enough.

“Too bad we don’t have time to shave your legs; that would be a nice touch. Maybe some other time. Time to go now.”


Brenda's House

With that she tossed the keys to the car to me and headed toward the door. I was about to argue, but the image of me in a skirt changed my mind, so I followed her out submissively. Once outside, I looked around nervously, as I was quite cognizant of my attire. Though the shoes and socks weighed only a few ounces, it felt like I was dragging a pair of balls and chains. And the breeze blowing on my bare thighs helped remind me of the short shorts—not that I needed a reminder!

I ran to the car in the driveway while Becky ambled slowly, grinning broadly. Once Becky got in, I started the car and backed out of the driveway, dreading what lay ahead for me.

“Take a left at the stop sign,” ordered Becky. “We have to go pick up Brenda.” She watched me as my shoulders slumped. My spirits were dampened even further, as it appeared that my other main nemesis was about to partake in whatever sordid events were about to unfold. Much to my consternation, Brenda and Becky had become good friends over the last month. They certainly had something in common, that being their unbridled enjoyment of my humiliation.

“I didn’t tell her about your attire; I thought we’d surprise her,” said Becky. I didn’t respond, and Becky pinched my cheek between her index finger and thumb and jiggled it back and forth. “We’re going to have so much fun today, brother Blondie!” I continued driving, looking straight ahead, longing for the day to end.

“Slow down, this is it,” declared Becky. "You can just pull into the driveway."

I did so, in front of a beautiful, sprawling, two-story house—a borderline mansion, in my estimation. I waited for Becky to get out, but instead she directed, “Why don’t you go ring the doorbell. Brenda’s expecting us.”

I looked at my sister pleadingly, but in short order I ascertained that she would be unyielding. I got out of the car and, still very self-conscious, looked around anxiously and trotted to the front door. I rang the doorbell and stiffened when a woman, decidedly Brenda’s mother, answered the door. She did a double take at my legs and feet, and a look of surprise came upon her face.

“Is Brenda here?” I asked.

“Um, yes, would you like to come in?” Again she eyed my feet curiously.

“No thanks, if you could just tell her that we’re here to pick her up…” My face was flushing, and I was fidgeting nervously.

She turned her head and yelled, “Brenda, there’s a young….” She turned back and looked closely at my face. “There’s a young man here to see you.”

Within moments Brenda appeared at the door. “Hi Blondie,” Brenda greeted with an effervescent smile. As her gaze inevitably lowered down my legs, her eyes lit up and she grinned widely. “Oh, what darling little socks! And they set off your pretty legs so nicely." She looked me up and down and grinned some more. "And such cute little shorts. Did Becky help you get dressed today?”

I glanced at Brenda’s mother, who now was also smiling. I had to get out of there, so without answering I turned and started running back to the car.

“He’s such a shy one, that Blondie,” I heard Brenda say as she shared a laugh with her mother.

As mortifying as that experience was, there was no rationale for me to think things would get any better as the three of us drove off to the mall.

Going shopping at the mall. I can see the girls wanting to check out the latest fashions in the Lingerie Department.
Or perhaps check out the swimsuits at the sporting goods section.
Blondie in a girl's tennis outfit, just to match the shoes, would work well...followed by wearing the outfit to the Food Court for lunch.

TeenFan wrote: ↑Tue Jan 16, 2024 6:28 pm Going shopping at the mall. I can see the girls wanting to check out the latest fashions in the Lingerie Department.
Or perhaps check out the swimsuits at the sporting goods section.
Blondie in a girl's tennis outfit, just to match the shoes, would work well...followed by wearing the outfit to the Food Court for lunch.

As you will see when I get a chance to edit and post, you are on the right track!