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The following is applicable to all chapters of “The Humidifiers:”

© November 2003 by Blondie.

This is a work of fiction, and is fantasy only. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For ages 18 and older only.

Introduction
Chapter 1: The Travails of Bobby Scully, Part 1
Chapter 2: The Travails of Bobby Scully, Part 2
Chapter 3: The Travails of Bobby Scully, Part 3



Introduction

Well, I must say, it’s been quite a run. It was quite a few years ago that I made the decision to go into the “humidifier” business. Since then, my employees and I have claimed many a victim, and we managed to have quite a bit of fun in the process. Now that I’m retired, I can kick back and enjoy the memories.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Allow me to back up and fill you in on the roots of this crazy idea I had many years ago.

You see, ever since I can remember, I have had this interest—maybe you could call it a fascination—with humiliation. I love hearing, reading and fantasizing about people being humiliated. Some may call it a fetish. I believe the experts in the field of sexual practices would call it paraphilic behavior. Well, they can call it whatever they want. The fact is that it has given me many hours of pleasure. Young people, old people, male, female, gay people, straight people—it doesn’t matter, if humiliation is in the equation. And if some form of coerced, non-consensual removal of the victim’s clothing takes place, then my interest level rises exponentially.

But I’m digressing. To get back on track, many years ago I was moderator for a site on the Internet called “Stripping and Humiliation.” When I started the site, I really wasn’t expecting much interest. Oh, how wrong I was! Gradually, people with the same proclivity came out of the woodwork. I never dreamed there were so many people with the same fascination. This discovery went a long way toward achieving my small fortune.

At the time I was in between jobs, and the idea occurred to me to find something I was genuinely interested in instead of just taking the first eight-to-five job that came around. I started racking my brain, and it hit me: Maybe there is money in humiliation.

Now bear with me here. At first I scoffed at myself. But think about it. How often has some asshole really pissed you off? Be it your boss, a co-worker, a fellow student, a friend, or even a family member that betrayed you—the possibilities are seemingly endless. And when this person pissed you off, how much would you have been willing to pay to see this asshole get his or her comeuppance? Well, I can tell you from years of experience that many people are willing to pay. A lot.

I’ll spare you most of the details of the foundation of my business venture, but my idea was to accommodate these pissed off people by carrying out their revenge for them. And what better way to carry out revenge than utilizing humiliation, I ask you?

I used the Stripping and Humiliation site to get the word out initially. Through that venue, I was able to gather up a few willing accomplices—a crew that grew over time. As word gradually spread about my endeavor, business started booming. We made quite a bit of money and had one hell of a good time in the process.

Originally, I planned on calling our company “The Humiliators.” But, realizing that some of our work may not be quite on the up and up as far as the law was concerned, I needed a cover. So I opened up a small shop selling humidifiers.

Okay, laugh if you want, but it proved to be quite effective. I sold enough humidifiers to more than cover my bills. My shop was in a dry, desert area, and I always managed to undercut my competition. And with the side humiliation business I was able to live quite comfortably. I would say that about one in every twenty or so customers came in shopping for humiliation instead of a humidifier. They had to use a secret code. I used my real name for the humidifier customers, but if someone was looking for some action they would say, “I need Blondie’s help.” I would set up a meeting with the client and get all the necessary details on the future victim. I’d come up with a plan, and if we agreed on a price—the range was from $5,000 to $50,000 per job, plus expenses, depending on the course of action—then we were good to go.

In the following chapters I will describe, in no particular order, some of the many different jobs we carried out. The only two rules I had were that the humiliation could not be carried out on pre-teens, and that no physical harm would be used—though the threat of physical harm was available for use, if necessary. Payment was up front in cash only. Expenses were collected when the job was done. Satisfaction was guaranteed.

I’m proud to say that no customer ever requested a refund.

For really super big jobs that would take a whole crew to accomplish, you could open a second business for selling amplifiers.

Cool beginning to the story.

YEEESSS! Love The Humidifiers
Possibly my favourite of yours

I have to confess that I have a soft spot for humiliation in a school setting. Perhaps it stems from being in a school when I witnessed my first full-blooded humiliation, that being a complete stripping and thorough humiliation of a fellow student.

So it will be my pleasure to describe to you in this first chapter a thorough humiliation of a student. And a deserving one at that, which makes it that much more appealing.

By the way, I have done several jobs involving humiliation in a school setting. I was fortunate to have in my employment a substitute teacher by the name of Helen Gandolf. Helen is quite the humiliation enthusiast, and a very creative one at that. It took some doing but we were able to place Helen in a classroom for more than one job. I’ll sprinkle in a chapter or two along the way illustrating the wonderful Helen Gandolf stories.

But I’ve gotten off track. Let’s get on with the story of Bobby Scully’s humiliation.

* * * * *

A well-dressed woman and her thirteen-year-old daughter dropped into my shop one fall day a few years ago. I was about to go into my spiel about the latest improvements on humidifiers when the woman surprised me with, “I need Blondie’s help.” I raised an eyebrow in surprise while looking warily at her young daughter.

“It’s okay,” said the lady. “I’ve told her all about your service. This is about her.” I nodded. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Elisa Carmichael, and this is my daughter Amy.”

“I’m Blondie,” I replied with a reassuring smile while shaking her hand. “It’s closing time, why don’t we go into my office.”

I put the “closed” sign on the glass door. After locking up, the three of us retired to the small office in the back of the store.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Soda?”

“No, thank you, I prefer to get right down to business.”

“Very well.” Truth be told, I was quite curious to hear what she had to say.

“Well, Mr.…” She looked at me for help.

“Please, call me Blondie.” She gave me a curious look. “It’s okay, I’m used to it, and it helps me get into character for this type of service.”

“Okay….Blondie….a few weeks ago a young hooligan from Amy’s school—Harrison High—took advantage of my daughter.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, as compassionately as possible while looking at the young girl.

“Yes, she went to a party—I really was hesitant to let her go in the first place—and somebody spiked her soda with Rohypnol.”

“The date rape drug,” I said.

“Yes. I have a good friend that works in a lab and I had her run the test on Amy’s blood. It was positive for Rohypnol. Amy doesn’t remember much…” She looked at her daughter. “Why don’t you tell Blondie what you remember, dear.”

“Okay,” answered Amy. She was somewhat reluctant, but handled herself well, all things considered. “I just remember talking to Suzie, and Suzie went to go get some food, and that’s when he—his name is Bobby Scully—he came over and started talking to me. I sort of knew him.…he’s a sophomore and I’m a freshman, but he lives on the same street as we do, a couple of blocks down. Anyway, I had to go to the bathroom. That must have been when he put the stuff in my Pepsi. When I came back he handed me my drink. I remember thinking that was nice of him. Little did I know what he was really doing. Anyway, sometime later I remember feeling a little woozy. He suggested I go lie down. The last thing I can recall is him walking me down the hallway…” She looked at her mother to take over.

“The little bastard took her in a bedroom and stripped her clothes off," related Mrs. Carmichael. The mother was sniffling and had trouble continuing. I handed her a Kleenex.

“Please, take your time, Mrs. Carmichael.”

“I’m sorry.…this is hard.…um.…he had her splayed out on the bed, completely naked. If it wasn’t for her friend Suzie, who knows how far this would have gone?”

“I take that her friend Suzie interrupted his.…plans,” I countered.

“Thank God, yes. When she walked in, he was in the process of pulling down his pants and underwear.” She paused to blow her nose. “Excuse me. I’m telling you, if he would have sexually violated her….oh, my, I can’t even bear to think…”

“Yes, it is quite fortunate that her friend walked in when she did. Now what did the young man in question do at this point?”

“Well, according to Suzie he acted just like a criminal who was caught red-handed. He hurriedly pulled his clothes back on, and before leaving he warned Suzie that she better not tell anybody, or she would be next.”

“Have you gone to the police?” I asked.

“No, I don’t want to put my daughter through that. You know how they are, what with making it seem like the victim is on trial. And Suzie pleaded with me not to report it. She seems quite scared that the scoundrel will come after her. Since she saved my daughter from an even more severe trauma, I deferred to her request. And besides, the type of vigilante justice that you could deliver might be even better in this case. I do want the bastard to pay, and I want my daughter to see it happen. I think it would be quite therapeutic.”

“I understand,” I said, all-knowingly.

“I have a friend who used your service in the past. She recommended you highly.”

“May I ask who your friend is?”

“Theresa Lansky. The guy that was bothering her was last seen tied naked to a telephone pole near the railroad tracks. Theresa told me when she went to check him out there was a pink, feathered boa wrapped around his neck and a matching ribbon tied around his testicles.” I detected a slight smirk forming on the corner of her lips as she relayed the story.

“Oh, yes,” I smiled. “It was over an hour before somebody rescued him. Quite a few trains passed by during that time. It was near one of the stops, so the train was going at a snail’s pace. The morning commuters got quite an eyeful. Needless to say, I don’t think he bothered Ms. Lansky after that.”

“No, I’m sure not," she said while giggling slightly. "So, can you help? Money is no object.”

“I’m sure I can. I think we can teach the young man a lesson he’ll never forget.”

“There is one thing.…” Mrs. Carmichael’s voice tailed off and it was apparent she wanted to tell me something, but was hesitant.

“Yes, Mrs. Carmichael? Anything you can tell me could be helpful.”

“Well, I’ve had a few conversations with Suzie about this, and, um….well, I don’t know how relevant this will be for you, but she did say that this Scully character has….you remember I told you that he was pulling his pants and underwear down when Suzie walked in….”

“Yes, I recall.”

“Well, again, I don’t know how helpful this is, but she did say that his penis is….I believe the words she used were ‘rather small.’ Also, that it appeared that he has not yet grown any hair down there.” Again she could not suppress a smile.

“I see,” I answered wisely. “Yes, that could be useful.”

“I thought it might. I didn’t know if you planned on.…relieving him of his clothes at some point.” She gave me what was unquestionably a hopeful look.

“Well, public nudity, specifically the forced variety, is probably the most effective form of humiliation there is. And an underdeveloped penis, in conjunction with the absence of hair can only add to the humiliation effect, especially when you’re talking about a young adolescent such as Mr. Scully. They’re so self-conscious about their bodies at that age. So yes, I would say that indeed we should employ the public stripping treatment in this case.”

“Excellent. I think so, too.” Mrs. Carmichael appeared quite satisfied with the way our meeting was transpiring.

“Very well, public nudity it is, then,” I stated. I gestured towards the young Amy Carmichael. “I will need to ask your daughter a few questions before we discuss payment, if you don’t mind.”

“Please, be my guest,” replied Mrs. Carmichael.

* * * * *

Over the next few minutes I was able to obtain most of the information I needed. Bobby Scully was fourteen years old, slight, and small for his age. This would make it easy for a few bigger kids to overpower him.

I was also able to ascertain that the faculty had a meeting on the last Friday of every month while the students were at lunch. A perfect time to do the dirty deed. A parent would be supervising. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too much to bribe him or her to look the other way, I thought.

We settled on a price of $15,000 for the job, plus expenses, which I estimated to be somewhere between $3000 and $4000. She agreed to bring the cash to the shop the following day.

“Believe me,” said Mrs. Carmichael. “If the little shit gets what he deserves then it’ll be the best money I ever spent.”

“You can count on it, ma’am. Amy, just be sure you’re in the cafeteria for lunch two weeks from tomorrow. You won’t want to miss the retaliation. Rest assured, Mr. Scully will forever regret the day took advantage of you.”

We shook hands and parted ways. I immediately picked up the phone and called one of my cohorts. “Jimbo,” I said when he picked up the phone. “I’ve got a job for you.”

Jim Marconi was my right-hand man. He never failed me, no matter what the request. No job was too big or too small for him. I paid him well for his services and he earned every penny of it.

I concocted a plan and put Jim to work. Within a week he had enlisted the aid of four seniors from Harrison High. They were big, burly linemen on the football team. When Jim explained what he would like them to do, they expressed interest, especially when they heard the story of the culprit’s violation of Amy Carmichael. When they were told they would receive $250 apiece for their services, it was a done deal.

The parent scheduled for duty during lunch period on Bobby Scully’s date with fate was a man by the name of Gerald Quackenbush. He also agreed to cooperate with the arrangement. His only role would be to conveniently disappear for a long spell at the beginning of the lunch period. Later, he would explain apologetically to the principal that he was called away for an emergency at home. Mr. Quackenbush was a tougher sell and negotiated a $2500 fee for his disappearing act.

I called Elisa Carmichael and told her everything was in place. I also spoke with Amy, explaining to her exactly what would be transpiring. I also offered her the opportunity to be an active participant in the young man’s humiliation. I must say, she seemed quite excited, and definitely wanted to be personally involved. I set her up for a meeting with the football players the day before the great event.

I wasn’t going to let Amy Carmichael down.

One of my favorite parts of any humiliation job was hearing the accounts of the humiliation from the participants and/or witnesses. After the dirty deed was done on young Mr. Scully, I heard all the details, quite vividly, from each of the four football players and from the delighted Amy Carmichael. Miss Carmichael’s narrative in particular was quite colorful. Through these accounts I can relate the story to you as if I was there in person, with an added dramatization of what was likely the state of mind of the victim. The following is the tale of Bobby Scully’s comeuppance.

When the bell indicating the end of the fourth period sounded at 11:45, Bobby Scully slammed his geometry book shut and bolted from his seat by the back door. Anxious to beat the rush to the cafeteria, he swung the door open. Mexican was on the menu for the day, and, having missed breakfast, foremost on his mind was a big, juicy, beef burrito. Within moments, though, his appetite would take a back seat to much more pressing matters.

“Hi, Bobby, what’s up?” was the greeting from his left, after he had made a few paces down the hallway.

Bobby Scully looked up, and was a little apprehensive to be faced with the intimidating figure of Rod Gunderson, the all-state left tackle on the school football team. His apprehension turned to trepidation when he suddenly found himself surrounded by three other figures, each similar in size and weight to the hefty Mr. Gunderson. Bobby continued walking, though at a faster pace. His uninvited company stayed with him at every pace.

“Wh-what do you guys want?” asked Bobby anxiously.

“You’ll find out,” answered Rod brusquely.

Bobby stopped in his tracks, hoping the four brutes that accosted him would move on. But as he would soon find out, his ordeal was only beginning. Two of the players picked him up by his elbows and carried him toward the cafeteria. Bobby remained silent, but his heart was racing. He had no clue what was going down, but he knew it couldn't be good.

When they reached the wide doorway to the cafeteria, his maltreatment escalated. While one of the thugs held his legs to keep him from kicking, the other three went to work on pulling off his tee shirt. Bobby was overpowered and was helpless to stop them.

“Please! Stop! Why are you doing this?!”

“Amy Carmichael, does that ring a bell?” came the reply. Bobby’s eyes widened. “Thought it might,” continued Rod as he pulled the tee shirt free from Bobby Scully’s slight frame. “You fucked with the wrong chick.”

With that Scully felt his arms lifted high above his head while someone else lifted him by the seat of his pants. He heard two clicks, and simultaneously felt his wrists being restrained. When they let his legs down, he found himself forced by the wrist restraints above to stand on his tiptoes. It suddenly hit him that he was tied up bare-chested in the middle of the doorway, facing the soon-to-be very populated cafeteria.

“Ohhhh, no! Please, don’t do this to me!”

Rod looked him up and down and laughed when he noticed his hairless armpits. “How old are you, eleven?” he taunted. Rod then bent down and without saying another word he quickly pulled off Bobby’s shoes and socks. He then unclasped his victim’s belt. Panic was starting to set in for the highly distressed lad.

“Oh God! No!” He was screaming bloody murder now. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t pull my pants down!”

“Don’t worry, Scully,” answered Rod. “I’m going to let that take care of itself.” Rod proceeded to undo the snap of Bobby’s corduroys and unzipped his zipper halfway down, effectively loosening his pants around his waist. Then he stopped. He stepped back and leered at his prey, grinning derisively. “The rest is up to you, pal. Unless you want the whole school to see your tighty-whities, you’d better be still.”

Meanwhile, a few entertained students had filtered into the cafeteria. The rest would be coming in droves very shortly. As planned, Amy Carmichael was leading a pack of some of the early arrivals. She was thrilled to see the scene laid out exactly as Blondie had told her it would be.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” teased the young Carmichael as she faced her captive. She was grinning broadly. Her subject most certainly was not. “What’s the matter, little boy? Are you feeling a little helpless? Oh, I’m so, so sorry.” She looked at his armpits and found them inviting. “Ooh, I’ll bet you’re a little ticklish, aren’t you?” She strummed her index finger, ever so softly and teasingly, up and down Bobby’s right armpit. She was pleased to see that he retracted somewhat, even at her gentle caress. “Oh, I can see you’re going to be in trouble, little boy. I think you’re going to be standing there in your little underpanties before too long.” She reached for his other armpit.

“Please, Amy.…no….please!”

Amy, with a devilish grin on her face, playfully ran her fingers across Bobby’s armpit, this time with a bit more verve. Her hapless victim twitched a little more vigorously this time. Amy looked down and was delighted to see that Bobby’s pants had slid down ever so slightly, revealing the band of his white briefs. She smiled while tweaking Bobby’s cheek between her thumb and index finger.

“Get ready, Scully,” she said. Her face was very close to his. “You’re about to be slowly but thoroughly humiliated in front of the whole school.”

With that she abruptly turned away. She walked a few short paces and sat at the first table, facing a very nervous Bobby Scully. For a while, at least, she would be content to observe the show.

And an entertaining show it would be.

* * * * *

Amy had given a heads up to a few of her girlfriends the day before. Upon entering the cafeteria, they were asked to do what they could to further along the descent of Bobby Scully’s trousers, a chore they were more than willing to help carry out.

Sure enough, in the middle of another sizable group of grinning students was Amy’s friend Catherine. She stopped, then looked Bobby up and down with a smirk on her face. “Goodgie-goodgie goo!” she happily chanted while stroking both of Bobby’s armpits. Amy watched with enjoyment as Bobby scrunched up his face while trying with all his might to keep still. It was to no avail, as his fidgeting was enough to cause his pants to drop another couple of inches. Catherine, content with her contribution, sauntered away, sharing a smile with Amy before joining her at the front table.

More and more students continued to stream in. Their look of amusement was in significant contrast to the miserable look on the face of the half-naked student fixed to the doorway.

Melody, another of Amy’s accomplices, was the next to torment the wretched Bobby. “Oh, how cute!” she exclaimed while surveying her target. “I heard a rumor that you’re a little ticklish. What say we find out, shall we?” Starting at his waist she slowly strummed his left side with her fingertips, gradually working her way up to her objective. Her victim squirmed ever so slightly.

“Please.…Melody, don’t.…” he tried.

Melody was unrelenting. When she reached his armpit she escalated the intensity of her tickling. Bobby wriggled heartily, and to his chagrin he felt his pants drop significantly.

Melody walked away, and Bobby looked down to assess the damage. His pants were hanging by a thread, or, more accurately, by the small protrusion in the front of his briefs. He, along with all the delighted onlookers in the cafeteria, was well aware that any movement now on his part would almost certainly cause his pants to drop down, to the point of no return. To add to his anxiety, he suddenly remembered the yellowish stain on the front of his well-worn briefs.

“Oh, God,” he whispered to himself.

He was left dangling there woefully for the better part of five minutes before Suzie, Amy’s best friend and savior, went in for the kill. Sneaking up from behind, she struck without warning by tickling his ribs mercilessly. Bobby was no match for her line of attack, and he entertained the festive lunch crowd by violently thrashing about, as much as his restraints would allow.

Laughter filled the large room when his pants sunk ever so swiftly. Within a matter of seconds, they were collected at his ankles. Suzie raised her arms up in the air and clenched her wrist with her opposite hand in a self-congratulatory pose. She looked Bobby Scully up and down and said, “Caught you with your pants down again, huh Scully? Don’t’ worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She joined her giggling friends at the front table to enjoy the spectacle.

The red-faced boy of the hour was forced to stand there and endure the humiliation for a period that for him must have felt like a lifetime.

But it wouldn't be long before his humiliation would escalate.

It was a few minutes later that Amy decided to continue with her participation. She finished her taco, wiped her lips with a napkin and slowly strolled over to the distraught Bobby Scully. She kneeled and took hold of the bunched pants at his ankles.

“Lift your leg,” she commanded without looking up.

“Please, Amy….” Bobby was on the verge of tears.

“Lift your leg now, or your underpants are coming off, too,” she responded. Her tone was matter-of-fact but forceful. Bobby lifted his right leg and Amy released the pants from his foot. “Now your other leg,” she commanded. Bobby complied submissively, and Amy stood up, holding a pair of corduroys. As she walked away with his pants, she turned back to Bobby and said, “Of course, your underpants are eventually coming off anyway.” She delighted in the look of horror that her remark elicited.

She walked a few paces and handed the pants to Rod Gunderson, who added them to the mounting pile of clothes on the floor in the corner. She walked purposely to her victim. She cupped her fingertips on the inside of the band on either side of his BVDs. “Let me hear you beg,” she demanded.

He needed no further prodding. “Oh, please, I’m begging you! I’m sorry! Really, I’m sorry! I’ll do anything, Amy, please! Don’t pull them down!” His voice betrayed his state of panic.

“Oh, you’ll do anything all right. But you’ll do it completely.....and totally.....nuuude,” replied Amy.

Amy stepped to the horrified lad's side to give the captivated audience a clear view, and in a tantalizing, slow but continuous motion she pulled Bobby’s underpants all the way down to his ankles, much to the amusement and excitation of the students in the now packed cafeteria. She backed off to observe his reaction—and in no small part to check out his attributes—or in this case, his shortcomings. When she did so, a smile formed on the corner of her lips.

While the sounds of laughter echoed throughout, the near-naked student frenetically tried—in vain—to return his underpants to his waist by lifting each leg one at a time and using his toes to raise them up. He was able to get them as far up as his knees, but his subsequent struggles would prove to be fruitless.

After allowing to play out what for her was a most delicious scene, Amy bent down and again lowered Bobby’s underpants to his ankles. “Leg up!” she commanded. Bobby was resigned to his dismal fate and complied obediently. Amy pulled the underpants free from his left foot and clutched his right ankle. “Leg up!” she again instructed. When her order was obeyed she took the underpants in her right hand, stood up and twirled them high above her head before flinging them as far as she could. They landed on the floor, and a coed pushed them under her table with her foot.

Bobby Scully was now as naked and helpless as the day he was born, only with a much larger audience.

Amy backed up a couple of paces and surveyed her agonized victim. The two made eye contact, and Amy grinned in total satisfaction. She looked down and glanced at his midsection before returning her gaze to his burning face. “How humiliating it must be for you to have your hairless little dick on display for the whole school.” While Bobby blushed even brighter, she turned and strutted triumphantly to her seat.

The cafeteria was buzzing now. The scene before them was one that would most assuredly be remembered and recounted in conversations for years to come.

But there would be even more that the mortified Bobby Scully would have to endure before all was said and done.

After standing naked for all to see for a full ten agonizing minutes, Bobby was approached by Rod Gunderson. “Okay, Scully,” he was told, “I’m going to undo your wrists. But here’s the deal. Before we let you leave the cafeteria, with your clothes, I want you to go over and climb on top of Amy’s table.” He noticed the frightened student’s wide-eyed reaction. “If you don’t, I’m leaving you here and dumping your clothes down the garbage chute. Got that?” Bobby nodded slowly, realizing he had no recourse.

“And that’s not all,” continued the football player. You’re to stay there.…let’s see,” he said as he looked up at the clock high on the wall. “It’s almost 12:15 right now. You can come down from the table at 12:30. Then you can grab your clothes and get the hell out of here if you want. I’m pretty sure that’s what you want, right?” Rod smiled, and again Bobby, now whimpering softly, nodded affirmatively.

“Hand me that can, Steve,” called Rod to one of his fellow football players. Rod’s teammate immediately produced a half-gallon sized can and handed it to Rod. The can was open, and a wooden tongue blade protruded from its contents. Bobby looked on horrified as he read the label of the can: “HEET!” He recognized it as a balm often applied to athletes to relieve sore muscles. When his antagonist dipped the stick into the paste and dug out a large amount, he cried out while retracting his hips.

“No! Please!” he pleaded.

But Rod was merciless. He kneeled to one knee and began applying the balm to Bobby’s scrotum. He spoke while carrying out his task. “One other thing, Bobby. When I let you down from here, I want you to put your hands on your head, and keep them there. If you move your hands even once, you’re coming back here, and you won’t see your clothes again.” Rod meticulously used the tongue blade to spread the balm, completely covering Bobby’s testicles. The pungent smell permeated the surrounding area. “I have to warn you, Bobby, this stuff gets pretty hot.” He dipped into the can again, coming up with a smallish wad of the contents. He reached between Bobby’s legs and behind his sac and started spreading the ointment. The naked student flinched at the contact.

“This is slow-acting stuff. You’ll be okay for a couple of minutes, but when it kicks in, you’re really going to feel it. I’m guessing you’ll be dancing around for everybody, putting on quite a show.” Rod chuckled to himself at the mental image. He looked up at his subject. He was not surprised to see the look of wretchedness on his face. He dipped one more time into the can, extracting a fair amount this time. He stood up and walked behind his victim.

“Hey Steve, do me a favor and pull his little ass cheeks apart for me.”

“NOOOOO!”

Rod heard the scream and smiled. Bobby felt his rear cheeks being spread, then felt the intrusion into his rectum. The feeling of being violated was almost as intense as his feeling of abject humiliation.

“This ought to really do the trick,” said Rod as used the tongue blade to delve into the exposed orifice. He seemed to take extra pleasure in smearing the balm all around the depths of Bobby’s anal canal. Rod stood up, and as a final gesture, shoved the tongue blade in a little further, electing to leave it embedded there. About two and a half inches of the stick protruded from Bobby’s buttocks. Rod laughed aloud at the comical sight before walking around to the other side of his angst-ridden prisoner. He reached up to undo the manacles.

“Remember, hands on your head until 12:30, or you’re back here and your clothes are history.”

After both of his wrists were freed, Bobby, who was breathing heavily in anticipation of the ghastliness that awaited him, put his hands on his head. Rod slapped him on his bum with an open palm and shoved him into the cafeteria. “Off you go, lover boy, up on the table,” he directed. “It’s show time.”

The besieged Bobby, while careful to leave his hands clasped behind his head, climbed up onto the long, rectangular-shaped table. There were fourteen female students seated there, seven on each side. They, along with over three hundred others, were laughing merrily. Bobby looked anxiously up at the clock. It was 12:17, which meant that he would have to endure the staggering humiliation for another thirteen minutes. As the seconds ticked off ever so slowly for him, he stood facing the doorway, perfectly still with his eyes clenched shut.

It was somewhere between 12:18 and 12:19 when that began to change.

It started as a slight itch on his scrotum. Bobby twitched slightly, then lifted his leg in an attempt to scratch himself. Then his whole groin, along with the nether regions of his anus, gradually became warmer and warmer. Bobby opened his eyes wide as the feeling became more intense. By 12:20 he felt like a fire had been set in his most private areas.

For the next ten minutes the students of Harrison High were treated to a mind-boggling performance, the likes of which they had never seen, nor would likely ever see again. A naked sophomore, with a small, flat stick jutting from his ass, staged what may have been the most passionate dance ever witnessed by mankind, all without the aid of music.

“Oh God!” he screamed as he ran from one end of the table to the other, then back again.

“Oh, shit!” he yelled, while hopping up and down in a magnificent impersonation of a man possessed.

Occasionally he would kick his leg back and forth, seemingly in an ill-fated attempt to dance the can-can. All the while he kept his hands clasped behind his head, while his miniature-sized genitals bounced around wildly.

If his objective was to entertain, then he achieved his goal to the utmost degree, if one was to use the laughter that resonated throughout the cafeteria as a barometer.

At precisely 12:30 Rod Gunderson stood at the head of Amy’s table and addressed the extremely agitated Bobby Scully. “Okay, Scully,” laughed Rod. “You’re almost done. But before you go, I want you to get down on your hands and knees and apologize to Amy.”

Bobby, already beside himself over the burning sensation and the overwhelming humiliation, would have to endure one final shame. He lowered to his hands and knees onto the table and found himself face-to-face with Amy Carmichael. Amy delighted in his flushing face and his agonized expression.

“I’m sorry, Amy,” he blurted out anxiously. He still felt like he was on fire, and he writhed and jerked his hips, much to the hilarity of the onlookers.

Amy decided to let the scene play out just a little bit longer. “I don’t know, bare Bobby, that doesn’t sound very sincere to me,” she answered with a grin.

Bobby continued to gyrate his hips feverishly. “Oh, please, Amy!” he pleaded. “I’m really, really, really, really sorry! Believe me, I’m sorry!”

“Okay, Scully,” laughed Amy. “Get out of my face. And don’t even think about ever coming near me again.”

With that, the totally beaten Bobby Scully jumped from the table and made a mad dash to the corner of the room, where he grabbed his clothes and made a hasty exit from the cafeteria. As he ran down the hallway toward the sanctity of the locker room, the laughter still ringing in his ears, he broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.

Amy, meanwhile, began working on her other taco. “Bare Bobby still hasn’t eaten his lunch,” she commented to her friends. “Do you think he’ll be coming back to join us?”

Amid the laughter, a wave of satisfaction swept through Amy Carmichael’s entire being.

End of Amy Carmichael case


Author's note: This is as far as I have gotten with "The Humidifiers." I enjoyed writing it and I do plan on picking it up again someday. The premise does lend itself to many juicy possibilities.

This has always been one of my favourite stories of yours. Good to see it reposted here. I do hope you'll continue it someday.