© 2001 by Blondie.
This is a work of fiction and is pure fantasy. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For ages 18 and older only.
Chapter 1: Stripped of Pajamas
Chapter 2: A Mortifying Show-and-Tell
Chapter 3: Naked in the Car
Chapter 4: Naked Servant
Chapter 5: A Nude Spanking
Chapter 6: The Sordid Game
Chapter 7: Public Nudity at the Drive-Through
Chapter 8: Naked Ordeal in the City Park
Chapter 9: Paraded Naked
Chapter 10: Forced Orgasm
Chapter 1: Stripped of Pajamas
The Attack
Let’s go back a few years to when I’m 14 years old and a freshman in high school. I’m small for my age, and a very late developer. All the other guys in my class have developed body hair and their penises have gotten bigger. But puberty hasn’t even started for me, a fact that has caused me considerable grief and anguish. I don’t even go to a PE class—fortunately my school gives me the choice—for fear of anybody seeing my prepubescent body.
It is the beginning of Spring Break and I’m sleeping over at a friend’s house along with five other guys from my class. The parents are away, but the sister and one of her friends are in the next room. They’re two years older than we are. Before crashing I change into a pair of pajamas. I do this in the bathroom, so I have privacy. I realize that the others will just strip down to their underwear, but I don’t even want my legs exposed, so I put my pjs on over my underpants.
When I exit the bathroom there are a few snickers. I try to ignore them and climb into my bed. Suddenly one guy, Bruce, says, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s make Blondie walk around nude.”
Bruce has pretty much made his homosexual tendencies public—and I know from things he has said in the past that he has a sadistic streak to him—so I’m sure he would really love to see this happen. I tense up inside and act like I don’t hear him. Everybody just chuckles, thinking he’s kidding, but he repeats himself. “No, I’m serious,” he continues. “Let’s really make Blondie walk around nude.”
After a little more prodding, Bruce and a couple of other guys start making their way toward my bed. I grab onto the covers and hold on for dear life. I’m putting up a surprisingly good struggle as I frantically hang onto the covers as they try to tear them away. The three guys are pulling at the covers while the other three watch with great interest.
I was outnumbered, and finally the inevitable happens. The covers give way and are torn off the bed. I plead with them to leave me alone, but somebody grabs my legs, and I’m dragged down to the floor. My arms are pinned above my head while somebody else holds my ankles. Bruce has a sly grin on his face as he stands over me. I’m struggling mightily but to no avail. Bruce kneels down and starts unbuttoning my pajama top, and I’m screaming bloody murder.
At that moment the sister, Tammy, barges into the room to see what the commotion is all about. She surveys the scene with an impish grin of her own. “What in the world are you guys doing to Blondie?” she inquires.
“We’re going to make him walk around nude,” responds Bruce in a matter-of-fact manner as if it was a normal, everyday occurrence.
Everyone looks to Tammy for a reaction. I am dearly hoping that the big sister puts an abrupt end to the sordid proceedings. But to my consternation Tammy’s eyes light up and she yells toward her bedroom. “Hey Donna, you gotta come in here and check this out! If I know you—and I think I do (she giggles)—I think you’ll want to see this!”
Donna, a very attractive Asian girl, enters posthaste. I had seen her once before and felt an attraction—I remember wishing that she was a couple of years younger. I also remember that she has a devilish smile. I could sense right away that her presence did not bode well for me. Little did I know at the time that she had a strong predilection toward humiliation.
“What’s up?” she asks as she peruses the room.
Tammy explains with a grin on her face, “They’re going to make Blondie walk around nude!”
Donna looks at me and grins. “Oh, this is too precious!” she exclaims excitedly while walking closer for a better view. “I’ve always wanted to see a boy get stripped!” She looks me up and down and grins her devilish grin. “And I think he’ll be perfect!”
What's that supposed to mean?
I’m getting very nervous about the possibility of her wishes actually coming true. It would be traumatic enough to be stripped in front of my friends—but with the two girls in the room, it would be utterly devastating.
Tammy and Donna stand over me, watching with sharp-eyed interest, while everyone else looks on as though it’s some kind of performance. Meanwhile, Bruce calmly works at the buttons of my pajama top, while I thrash and struggle as hard as I can.
But my struggles are in vain; the pajama top is yanked over my head and stripped from my arms with humiliating ease. For the first time in years, I find myself exposed like this to anyone other than a doctor, and the shame is unbearable.
“Oh, I can’t resist,” Donna chirps, swooping down to tickle at my ribs and bare, hairless armpits.
“Look at him squirming around!” cries Donna gleefully.
I’m very ticklish and I’m sure it is a humorous sight—me thrashing around like a fish on a boat deck, helpless under Donna’s relentless fingers while my so-called friends hold me down. Everyone seems to be having the time of their lives—at my expense.
Meanwhile, the grinning Bruce wastes no time. To my horror, he goes to work on my pajama bottoms. I’m still flapping around when he pops open the snaps, exposing my underpants for all to see.
“Oh God, please stop!” I shriek..
Donna finally relents, withdrawing her tickling hands—but Bruce is just getting started. He slowly, teasingly begins to lower my pajama bottoms.
“Are you really going to strip him naked?” Donna asks, her eyes wide-eyed with excitement. “I want to see him squirming around naked!” she adds with a mischievous grin.
"We're going to make him walk around nude," Bruce repeats, yet again.
At that moment I realize just how serious he is about stripping me naked—and making me walk around nude—and I am absolutely terrified at the notion. “Please, Bruce—please! No!” I shriek, thrashing my legs in desperation.
“Oh my, aren’t we the feisty one?” teases Donna crouching down with a sly grin as she reaches to assist.
Bruce steps back and lets her take over, probably sensing that my humiliation would be intensified if a girl does the dirty deed. I fight wildly, but it’s hopeless. My pajama bottoms continue their tantalizingly slow descent at Donna’s hands. I feel my thighs exposed as my pajamas are lowered to my knees.
"Your undies are showing," Donna sing-songs, her smile wicked as she tugs again. "How embarrassing," she giggles while pulling my pajamas down further. “Oooh, look at these pretty little girly legs,” she coos, running her fingertips deliberately from my thighs to my calves. I shudder at her touch. "So nice and smooth,” she teases. "Did you shave them this morning?"
While the room erupts in laughter, I thrash helplessly, kicking and screaming in vain. My pajama bottoms are now tangled at my ankles, leaving me utterly vulnerable. Donna rises to finish the job, and the guys restraining my legs release me just long enough for her to pull them free.
“Off they go!” exults Donna as she yanks my pajama bottoms inside out off my feet and tosses them aside. My ankles are grabbed again and I’m now lying spread-eagled, clad only in my tighty-whities. There is considerable hollering and cheering, and the sight of Donna standing over me and leering at my near nakedness is excruciating. It is by far the most humiliating feeling I’ve ever experienced. I clench my eyes shut in anguish, as I can’t bear to look at the grinning faces staring down at me.
"Just as I thought,” comments Bruce. “He’s smooth as a babe."
“Maybe we should make him strut around for us in his little tighty-whities first,” Donna suggests wickedly.
"But I want to see what he's got under here," Bruce says, snapping the elastic waistband of my underpants with a flick of his finger.
I’m ready to die of mortification on the spot, screaming and flailing like there’s no tomorrow.
“Oh, yes!” squeals Donna. “Let’s strip off his undies and make him parade around naked for us!” She grins wider. And after that—we’ll make him do a little nudie show for us! You know—a dance, where he can shake his naked little bootie for us.” The image alone terrifies me. I can barely process the idea of parading naked, let alone being forced to perform.
“Are you really gonna do it?” asks the grinning, obviously titillated Tammy.
Donna looks up at her friend and smiles wickedly. “What, you think I'm gonna stop now?” replies Donna, eliciting a laugh from Tammy.
“Are you ready, Blondie boy?” she teases, brushing her nose against mine. “Are you ready to get naked for me? I want to see you all naked. All naked and embarrassed." She pauses, smiles devilishly again and says, "I'm about to see your little goodies, yes I am!”
She draws back, her gaze dropping to the small bulge in my underpants. “Hmm,” she muses. “It doesn't look like there's much there, little boy. I’ll bet you haven’t even started puberty, have you? Are you hairless all over?” I don’t answer, and she says, “Well, I think it’s time we find out!”
I glance at Bruce, and he is standing over me, grinning lasciviously. To my disgust, he is kneading his crotch. “Blondie’s about to walk around for us, totally nude,” he declares.
“No! No! No!” I scream frantically.
They Back Off
Then a very curious thing happens. Bruce puts a hand on Donna’s shoulder, holding her back. He leans in and whispers to her and the others. After a hushed discussion, they all start giggling and nodding in agreement.
Then, to my surprise—and utmost relief—they suddenly let me go. I open my eyes, and an uneasy feeling comes over me when I notice one of the guys casually walking out of the room with my pajamas in hand.
“We were just having some fun with you, Blondie. It’s late. Let’s all get some sleep,” Bruce says. “We’ve got all day tomorrow to play with you.”
The giggling girls leave, and the guys head toward their respective beds. I dearly want to put my pajamas back on for reassurance.“ May I please have my pajamas back?” I plead.
“Pajamas?” answers Bruce. “I don’t remember seeing any pajamas. You guys see a pair of pajamas?”
Everyone just chuckles, and it is apparent I won’t be seeing my pajamas again tonight. I dash to the bathroom in search of my clothes, only to find them missing too. When I return, I can hardly keep the panic from my voice. “Come on, you guys—what did you do with my clothes?”
“Go to bed, Blondie,” Bruce says. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
Everybody laughs. I go to bed, feeling very ill at ease. I wonder why a couple of the guys that I considered my friends didn’t come to my aid. But it dawns on me that if I were in their shoes I would probably do likewise—better that than risk becoming the next target. Still, it is disturbing that they seemed to derive a certain secret pleasure from my humiliation. Is that just human nature? I wonder to myself if I would feel the same way if this was happening to somebody else. I have to admit that though I can't explain why, I almost certainly would.
But this isn't happening to somebody else. It's happening to me!
And what did Bruce mean about having all day tomorrow to play with me? I shudder at the thought.
Finally, I manage to fall asleep, but I have a very restless slumber, as I am very apprehensive about what tomorrow might bring.
. Nice set-up... wonder if the victim would have the balls, to try and 'strike first' and get everyone to gang up on, umm, thingymabob, i forgot the bully's name...
- only thing that's certain at this point is that he survives the day, unless this is narrated by his ghost 
