Stripped By Friends

[Blondie]

Chapter 2: A Mortifying Show-and-Tell

Ushered to the Car in My Underpants

Morning arrives, and the guys are already pulling on jeans and sweatshirts. "Rise and shine, Blondie," Bruce calls out. "Tammy's driving us to the grocery store for breakfast supplies."

I look around hopefully, but my clothes are still missing. “Where are my clothes?"

Bruce shrugs. "Don't worry about it," he replies, his grin spreading. "You look just fine as you are."

“But I can’t go outside like this!”

“Ah, but you can, Blondie boy... well, actually you don’t have to if you don’t want to." He pauses. "In fact, you have a choice. Either you come out willingly dressed as you are, or you can refuse—in which case we’ll yank off your underpants and drag you out there bare-assed.”

Everyone laughs at the prospect. Tammy and Donna are standing at the doorway, coats already on, grinning widely. I suddenly realize that I could well be on my way to a living nightmare.

“So it’s your call, Blondie,” Bruce continues. “Are you coming with us in your underpants are or are you coming with us nude?”

"I hope Blondie keeps this up," Donna adds, her eyes gleaming. "I want to see him naked."

In the midst of the giggling, I muster the nerve to climb out of bed, realizing I have no choice but to go along with their scheme—or risk even greater humiliation. All eyes are on me, every face grinning as I shuffle toward the door. It is a very naked feeling as I walk down the stairs in the middle of the pack, clad only in my underpants while surrounded by fully dressed people, coats and all.

The walk from the front door to the car is dreadful, as the cold air sends shivers racing across my skin. Laughter follows me as I’m herded into the back seat of Tammy’s parents’ old station wagon, where I'm wedged into the back seat between Bruce and another guy. Tammy takes the wheel, while Donna slides into the passenger seat. As we pull away, my mind races—I can’t believe I’m actually on the road in my underpants.

It is a fifteen-minute drive to the store, but it seems much longer. Donna twists around constantly to look at me, smiling wickedly. “Are you sure you don’t want to take off your undies, Blondie?” she teases during one of her many backward glances. “I’d really love to see you sitting there naked—totally nude, all embarrassed and squirming around."

She grins while I blush profusely. I see Tammy catching quick looks at me in her rearview mirror. It is obvious that both girls are fully enjoying my humiliation. Bruce teases me mercilessly, and twice he runs his hand up and down my bare thigh. I want to just die on the spot.


The Teenyboppers

Tammy finds parking directly in front of the store. Before exiting, she rolls down every electric window, then pockets the keys. Goosebumps cover my entire body.

"We don't want you getting too hot," she tells me, smiling, as they pile out of the car.

"If you do," Donna adds, pausing at her door, "you can always just take your underpants off." Everyone laughs heartily.

"Sit up straight, Blondie," Bruce warns. “And don’t even think about ducking down. I’ll be able to see you from the store. If your head isn't exactly where it is now, I'm coming back out and dragging you inside with me."

The car doors slam shut. Their laughter fades as they head toward the entrance. A few of them turn back and look at me as they enter the store. I am absolutely miserable. Here I am in a cold car stripped to my underpants, and am really dreading whatever might be in store for me when my “friends” return.

Then, to my horror, another car slides into the adjacent space. The driver—an attractive woman in her mid to late twenties—steps out and lets her door lightly tap the station wagon. Every instinct screams at me to duck down, but Bruce has already checked from the store window more than once. I am breathing heavily. Though I’m almost sure she will spot me, miraculously she doesn’t. When she closes her door and walks toward the store, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I'm trembling. Despite the cold, I feel the perspiration under my arms, and beads of sweat have formed at my hairline.

I barely have a chance to recover from the scare when there is cause for even greater concern. Three girls—twelve or thirteen at most—emerge from the store, walking slowly, giggling, and they’re headed in my direction! My body tenses, and feel like I’m ready to break out into a cold sweat.

There is an open parking space on my immediate left, and it appears they will be using that space as a passageway. I seriously consider diving to the floor, but when I glance toward the store window, I catch Bruce’s grinning face, watching everything.

They're approaching the front of the car now. How could they possibly overlook me? Yet I cling to desperate hope. "Oh, God, please," I whisper aloud.

They're walking beside the car, engaged in conversation typical of young teenyboppers. "I think Johnny's a hunk," one says. My pulse jumps. They’re practically at my window. Terrified, I freeze like a statue, holding my breath, not moving a muscle.

"Yeah," another answers. "He's got the cutest ass, doesn't he?" Giggles all around. Amazingly, they've passed my window. I’m just about to let out another huge sigh of relief when I hear the fateful words: “Wait a minute... Melody! Heather! You’re not going to believe what I just saw!"

My stomach plummets. I let out my breath and brace myself for a fate that is now almost certain. Within seconds, a face appears at my window. Our eyes lock. For an instant she simply stares, mouth slightly open in disbelief. Then she takes in my red-faced, submissive expression, and a delighted grin breaks across her face.

“What? What is it, Wendy?” one of the others calls out.

She motions excitedly for her friends to join her. Within moments, three wide-eyed, laughing girls are crowded at the glass, drinking in the sight of me.

"Oh, my God!" one squeals, bursting into laughter. Once she catches her breath, she asks simply, "Why are you sitting there in just your underpants?"

I shake my head, mortified, stammering, "Please... just go away!"

“Oh, I’ll bet his mommy is punishing him,” Wendy speculates with mock seriousness. The others giggle. “Is that right—is your mommy disciplining you for being a bad little boy? Is she going to take you over her knee, pull down your underpants and give you a spanking on your bare bottom when you get home?”

“No... please, just leave me alone.”

“I think his mommy should’ve made him sit here completely naked,” Wendy adds, smirking.

"Maybe we should make him sit here completely naked," counters one of the other girls.

Their laughter is relentless. I am close to tears, and my anxiety level is climbing off the charts. My knees are clenched together, and my hands are tucked between my thighs, covering the small protrusion in my underpants. I look up and Bruce is still taking in the scene from the store window. He is laughing hysterically.

One of the girls runs around to the other side. Now I'm being gawked at from both sides. I wish I could crawl through a hole in the floor of the car and never resurface.

"My name's Heather," says the girl now alone at my window. "What's yours?" She slips her hand through the open window, offering a handshake. I have zero interest in moving my hand from my crotch or touching hers.

“Please... I don’t want to talk. Just leave me alone.”

She has certainly ascertained my compromised position, and I'm about to discover her mean streak. "We're not going anywhere, naughty little boy, until you play along. Now—what’s your name?”

"Blondie," I reply uneasily, not looking up. Giggles erupt from all three.

"Hi, Blondie," Heather laughs, thrusting her hand in again. Reluctantly, I peel one hand free and shake meekly. She gestures toward her friends.

"This is Wendy, and that's Melody." I'm forced to shake hands with them too.

“Please,” I beg, my voice cracking. “I’m begging you—just go away.”

Heather tilts her head, considering. “Hmm, I’ll tell you what—we’ll go away and leave you alone. But first... you have to do something for us.”

I don't answer. Whatever she has in mind cannot bode well. Then, to my horror, she opens the car door and hops in, planting herself right beside me. The others follow—Melody on my other side, Wendy opening the front door and sliding onto the bench seat on her knees, facing me, grinning broadly as she looks me up and down.

"We just want to see what you're sportin' under there," Heather says, reaching for my underpants. I grab her wrist to fend her off. Giggling, she continues, "All you have to do is pull your underpants down, let us check you out, then we'll leave you alone." Interest among the girls has spiked dramatically. I sit helplessly, blushing crimson.

“No... please don’t make...”

“Make him do it, Heather, make him do it!” Wendy interrupts excitedly.

"See those girls over there, Blondie?" Heather points to a group of five or six teenage girls standing in front of the nearby drug store. "If you don't pull down your underpants for us right now and show us your goodies, I'm calling them over here."

I sit frozen, petrified. Wendy reaches back and honks the horn. The drug store girls look our way.

"Stop! Okay! I'll do it!"

I really have no choice. The thought of lowering my underpants for these girls is horrifying, but more witnesses would be infinitely worse. I fight back tears as I prepare for the dirty deed. I place my hands on the waistband of my underpants and take a deep breath. The tension is palpable as the girls look on in gleeful anticipation.

"He's really gonna do it!" shrieks Wendy, who I'm sure is incredulous.

I clench my eyes shut, lift my hips, and quickly yank my underpants down to my upper thighs. Just as quickly, I yank them back up.

"No, no, no, not good enough!" squeals Heather. "Pull them down below your knees and keep them there so we can have a good look."

Again I sit motionless, temporarily unable to comply.

“Now, bad little boy, or I’m calling them over.”

Wendy makes a motion toward the horn. I know what I have to do. Again I reach for my underpants, and this time I lower them to the tops of my knees. Heather promptly pushes them down to my calves. My hands immediately cover my modesty.

"Move your hands!" Heather shrieks excitedly, grasping my right arm with both hands. Simultaneously Melody seizes my other arm, and they're pried apart. My knees clench together tightly.

"Spread your legs!" commands Heather. "We want a good look!"

When I hesitate, Wendy taps the horn again. I pull my knees apart. Three sets of eyes are focused between my legs as I am momentarily exposed. Fresh giggles erupt around me. Melody snaps a picture with her cell phone. Overwhelmed with mortification, I quickly break free from their grasp and cover myself with my hands.

"Blondie, you have visitors!" Tammy's voice carries from across the lot.

I look up and see the whole group approaching, Tammy leading the charge. The three giggling girls evacuate the car instantly, scampering away squealing with delight.

“Did you see it? Did you see how tiny it was?” one shouts.

“I saw it, and there was no hair!” cries another.

"And I got a picture!" squeals the third.

Their gleeful laughter resonates in my ears as they disappear. I hurriedly reach down and pull up my underpants, feeling utterly violated. Knowing that a picture exists for others' amusement only deepens my despair.

"Blondie, you little pervert!" Tammy taunts. "You guys missed it," she tells the rest, "but I think our little friend here was playing 'show and tell' while we were gone. Did they get a good look, Blondie?"

I stare downward without answering as everyone piles into the car and we start pulling out.

"What was he doing?" Donna asks eagerly.

"The little perv had his tighty-whities pulled down!" Tammy exclaims. "He was covering up for dear life, but still..."

As we pull out of the parking lot Donna gets on her knees in the front seat and faces me with a mischievous grin. “So Blondie,” she says. “How ‘bout putting on a little show for us?”

My eyes widen as I brace myself for the inevitable.

[Blondie]

Chapter 3: Naked in the Car

Forced to Strip

"So Blondie," Donna purrs, twisting around in her seat. “How ‘bout putting on a little show for us?” I shake my head vigorously. “Oh, come on, Blondie, won’t you pull down your little undies for us like you did for your new girlfriends?” she taunts, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She reaches over her seat and strokes my thigh. The level of interest among everyone around me has increased considerably. I shove her hand away. I am becoming quite nervous at the direction this is heading.

“Come on, Bruce,” Donna persists, not taking her eyes off me. "Tell him to pull his tighty-whities down for us."

Bruce doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he hooks his thumb under the waistband of my underpants and flicks it against my skin. When he speaks, his words fill me with terror. “Take ‘em down, Blondie,” is his simple command.

“Please, you guys, don’t do...”

"Pull over, Tammy," Bruce interrupts, already reaching for the door handle.

Tammy pulls over to the curb in front of a coffee shop. I catch sight of several people lounging in window seats, while a few others wait outside. Bruce opens his door and tugs on my arm. “Come on, Blondie, let’s take a little walk,” he says, tugging at my arm with a firm grip.

“No! Okay! Okay, I’ll do it!” I scream.

Bruce releases my arm and shuts the door. He nods to Tammy, who merges back onto the road. My heart is racing. Everyone is silent. When I dare to glance up, Donna is leering and grinning at me in eager anticipation. Tammy deliberately adjusts her rearview mirror so she can watch my every move. I sit there in trepidation, delaying the inevitable.

Donna, ready to exercise her control, breaks the silence. “Now, Blondie! Do it! Take those undies down. NOW!” she commands, her voice sharp and demanding.

I lift my hips, trembling. Hooking my thumbs in the waistband, I lower my underpants to the tops of my thighs, my heart pounding in my chest. In the same motion my hands fly to cover my crotch before anyone can see my privates. I'm trembling. I can feel it in my shoulders, my knees, my jaw.

“More, Blondie!” Donna urges, her excitement bubbling over. "Keep going!"

I manage to push them to mid-thigh with one hand while the other stays clamped over my crotch. I am breathing rapidly, and my heartbeat rate is off the charts. The energy surrounding me is palpable.

“Keep going, Blondie! I want you naked!” She's nearly panting now, her face flushed, her eyes bright. Reluctantly, I inch them to my knees. The air conditioning vents blow cold air across my exposed skin.

Donna is relentless. “All the way down! Down to your ankles!” she demands, her words running together. I sit motionless.

“No, please...” My voice wavers. I am on the verge of tears.

“NOW!”

I reach down with one hand and slide the underpants to my ankles, being ever so careful to keep myself covered with my free hand. My underpants are pooled at my feet.

“Good boy, Blondie. Now strip ‘em off!”

I shouldn't be surprised. I knew this was coming. But the words still make me recoil. “Please... I can’t... please don’t make...”

My desperate entreaty is interrupted by a stern warning from Donna. “Strip off your undies—now—or I'll have Bruce do it and throw you outside. I want you completely naked!” I hesitate, paralyzed. “That does it. Pull over, Tammy. He’s going out there.”

“Okay! Oh, God,” I moan as I lean down and pull off my underpants, one leg at a time. The feeling is devastating—the awful, defenseless sensation of slipping them off my feet—a feeling of... well, nakedness—pure, irrevocable nakedness—and the sense that there is no going back from this point forward.

Donna wastes no time—she reaches down and snatches the underpants from my grasp before I can clutch them to myself. And there I sit, in a moving car, completely naked before a group of laughing, delighted spectators who are reveling in my shame.


Underpants Gone with the Wind

I watch desolately as Donna gleefully waves my underpants back and forth above her head. “Blondie’s naked, Blondie’s naked,” she sings merrily. Everyone is applauding and laughing. Donna, her face flushed with excitement, is staring me up and down, her smile wicked and satisfied. She rolls down her window. With the crook of her index finger, she secures my underpants and stretches her arm into the rushing air. For minutes we drive like this, my underpants flapping in the wind, much to the joviality of my tormentors.

Then she turns back to me. “Say ‘Bye-bye, my precious little undies,’” she orders. I remain glumly silent. “Say it, Smoothie." She leans closer. "'Bye-bye, my precious little undies.'"

“Bye-bye, my precious little undies,” I submit, my voice cracking.

"Say, 'I'm really going to miss you, my dear, sweet underpants,'" she says to the accompaniment of giddy laughter.

"I'm really going to miss you, my dear, sweet underpants," I say, sounding like I might cry.

The laughter booms through the car. Donna's eyes dance. "Bye-bye, Blondie's underpants! Wheeee!" she squeals, and with a flick of her wrist, she flings them out the window with gleeful abandon. It is a totally helpless feeling as I follow the flight of my underpants sailing past the window, never to be seen again—except perhaps by some curious passerby left wondering what story lay behind a stray pair of white briefs.

Raucous cheering erupts. Tammy stops at a stop sign and twists around in her seat, her gaze sweeping over me. “Oh my goodness, Blondie,” she teases. “Look at you! You’re naked!” She pauses and looks me up and down with a devilish grin. “My, my, look how red your face is! And why are you covering up your goodies? You’re quite the bashful one, little boy, yes you are.” On the last three words, she reaches back and pinches my burning cheek between her thumb and index finger, squeezing gently. I flush deeper, if that's possible.

The laughter continues. To my horror and disgust, I notice with my peripheral vision Bruce shifting in his seat. His hand moves to the front of his sweatpants, adjusting himself. The tenting is obvious.

I spend the rest of the trip hunched over in my seat, both hands clamped over my nakedness. Bruce's fingertips trace up and down my spine, once slipping low enough to touch the top of my ass crack. I flinch away, repulsed. Donna has turned forward again, but she steals frequent glances back at me. I hear her and Tammy laughing and giggling like little schoolgirls. Everyone is having a marvelous time over my humiliation.

The car turns into the driveway. Chatter and amusement bubble as doors open and bodies pile out. I remain frozen, unable to summon the courage to step outside, to expose myself to the open air.

“Let’s go, Blondie. Donna and I need your help serving breakfast,” Tammy directs.

Bruce reaches in and wraps his hand around my arm, pulling. I slide out of the car and follow the group toward the house, moving in a hunched, protective shuffle, both hands shielding my crotch. Every few steps, someone looks back at me, grinning,

“See, I told you we’d make Blondie walk around nude,” Bruce announces to no one in particular. He's enjoying himself immensely. The tent in his sweatpants has not diminished. If anything, it's more pronounced, and he seems entirely unconcerned by it.

I shudder, following them inside. What an unbelievable feeling it is to be walking naked outside in this forced state of submission and humiliation. I am hoping beyond hope that this ordeal will end, that I might find some mercy. But something in my gut tells me otherwise—that my humiliation is only beginning.

[TeenFan]

Blondie is literally out of the frying pan and into the fire, serving breakfast to a bunch of bullying teens, while wearing no clothes.
Good thing the boy has no pubes. Imagine what would happen if one of the diners found a curly hair on their plate.

[Blondie]

Chapter 4: Naked Servant

Exposure

After being escorted into the house, I am led into the kitchen. I again shiver as my feet hit the cold linoleum floor. I’m still covering my crotch, and to this point nobody has really seen how underdeveloped I am down there.

But then Bruce tells me to go stand in front of the sink. There is a small step stool there, and I’m told to stand on it. The group stands in a semi-circle around me, and Bruce tells me to raise my hands as high in the air as I can. I cower on the stool, still holding my privates.

“Please, I can't do that!” I plead.

But my pleas go unanswered. Tammy holds up her cell phone and takes a picture of me. Everyone huddles around the phone and looks at the picture with amusement. Bruce holds the phone up to me. “Would you like me to send this to your sister and some of her friends?” he asks.

I need no further prodding. Resigned to my awful fate, I slowly raise my arms until they are fully extended. The humiliation is staggering—completely naked before someone for the first time in memory, and under circumstances so mortifying I can barely process them. Plus, I think in my embarrassment that my penis has shrunken to an even smaller size than usual, and I can feel my scrotum tight against my body. The girls laugh so hard they lean into each other with one hand over their mouths and one pointing between my legs. The guys are wide-eyed and in a state of hilarity. My face feels like it is on fire.

“He looks like he’s eight years old!” someone shouts.

I hold the position until I cannot bear it another second. My hands drop to cover myself again. Bruce seizes my wrist and yanks me off the stool.

“Okay, Blondie, here’s the deal,” he admonishes. “Every time you try to cover up, one of these pictures goes out. I'll start with your sister. Next time, it will be somebody else."

Tammy grins and holds up her phone. I cringe at the image on the screen—my naked, prepubescent body captured forever. The realization crashes over me: There is no turning back. I am completely at their mercy.

In a state of total despair, I drop my hands to my sides. The feeling of nakedness and vulnerability is excruciating.

Tammy and Donna start preparing breakfast, and the guys take a seat in the dining room. I’m standing naked in the middle of the kitchen. Self-conscious can’t begin to describe how I feel, as I stand there not knowing what to do, fighting to keep my hands at my sides.

The girls move about in the kitchen, looking at me and smiling every chance they get. Their conversation as they go about their business exacerbates my humiliation.

“Can you believe we’ve got a naked little boy in your kitchen?” Donna asks.

"I know," Tammy answers, measuring coffee into the filter. "Actually he's a teenager. But he sure looks like a little boy.” She pauses to look me up and down, her grin widening. “Maybe more like a little girl.”

"I know," Donna laughs, cracking eggs into a bowl. "He has such a pretty face. And he's blushing like a little girl." She sets down the bowl and stares directly at my crotch. "And his dick is so tiny. It looks like he has a hairless little clitty between his legs.”

Both girls are now in a giggling fit while I stand there, my face throbbing with heat, pulsing with shame.


Forced to Serve

“Well don’t just stand there, Blondie,” says Tammy, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Make yourself useful. Go set the table."

She opens the silverware drawer with a fiendish smile. Through the doorway, I catch Bruce and a couple of the other guys watching from their seats. I wince and count out nine place settings. Donna pats my naked ass before I make the torturous walk to the dining room.

My anguish intensifies as I lay out the silverware in front of each seat. I’m sure most of the guys can’t believe what is transpiring. I feel everyone's stares—especially Bruce’s. His setting is the last, and as I turn to walk away from him towards the kitchen I feel his fingers pinch my ass cheek. I hop forward, and the table erupts in laughter.

Tammy instructs me to continue setting the table, showing me where the napkins and glasses are. It doesn’t get any easier as I make several trips back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, feeling the eyes of everyone in both rooms. When I bend to place the glasses on the table, I imagine Bruce's arousal, and I shiver at the thought.

Donna hands me a can of concentrated orange juice. "Make this up," she instructs. I stand at the counter naked, stirring up orange juice with a girl on either side of me, both visibly amused. Tammy drops a spoon on the floor right at my feet. "Oops," she says, and both girls bend down to pick it up. They linger there, their faces inches from my crotch, staring blatantly for several long seconds. Then Donna's finger tickles my balls, and I let out a high-pitched yelp. They straighten up, giggling.

Donna pinches my burning cheek playfully. "Don't feel bad, little boy," she teases. "You have a cute little pee-pee. It's even cuter than my nine-year-old brother's." She pauses for effect. "And it's smaller, too." Hysterical laughter follows. I stand there, soaking in the ridicule, feeling utterly emasculated. It seems my humiliation will have no bounds.

"I have to tell you, Tammy," Donna says, lowering her voice, though I can still hear. "This whole thing is making me horny." She pauses while Tammy tilts her head and looks at her curiously. "No, not like that. Not horny for Blondie. Just... having a naked boy at our disposal—naked against his will—and we can make him do anything we want... I don't know, I find it... it's kind of a turn-on, to be honest with you."

"I know exactly what you mean," Tammy says. She pauses. "I think Bruce feels the same way—only he's definitely horny for Blondie." The two of them burst into raucous laughter as they take in my glowing face.

Donna looks at me, her grin predatory. "Oh, we're going to have so much fun with you today, Blondie. And so it Bruce." They continue staring at me with matching grins while my humiliation deepens by the second.

"Well?" Donna finally says. "What are you waiting for, Smoothie? The boys are waiting for their orange juice."

I enter the dining room blushing brightly, moving from seat to seat with the pitcher. While I pour into Bruce’s glass, to my horror I feel his fingers stroking my perineum. Startled, I squeal, jump, and spill juice across the table. Hearty laughter rings in my ears. Someone orders me to fetch a towel. The boys watch, thoroughly entertained, as my degradation continues.

After I lay out platters of eggs, pancakes, and mini sausages, I'm directed to the head of the table. Someone has positioned a barstool there, higher than the dining surface, ensuring I remain on display throughout the meal. I climb up to the sound of chuckling. Bruce instructs me to place my feet on the outside footrests, spreading me further open. Everyone is in a positively giddy mood as I sit forlornly and pick at my food, eyes fixed on my plate.


Introducing Rhonda and Gail

I stiffen in my seat at the sound of the doorbell. Everyone turns toward the door, then back to me, wondering what’s about to happen. Tammy gets to her feet and peeks through the curtain covering the narrow side window. I’m already considering a dash upstairs when she turns back.

"Blondie," she says casually, "would you get the door, please?"

I can’t move, I’m so horrified. The doorbell rings again and Tammy pulls me by the arm off the barstool.

"Please!" I beg her. "I can't open the door like this!"

She gives me a stern look and spanks my ass with one hard slap that echoes across the room, eliciting guffaws from all. She points at the door.

“You go answer that door right this minute!” she orders. “And don’t try to hide behind the door. Just open it wide and greet our guests properly.”

I’m shaking and my ass still stings as I walk toward the door. I know a red mark is forming where I was slapped, and I can practically feel everyone watching it darken. Behind me, laughter and excited whispers fill the room as Tammy whispers to the others, probably tipping them off about who’s waiting at the door.

My hand closes on the doorknob. I hesitate, eyes squeezed shut, summoning what courage I can find. It doesn't help that Tammy indicated there is more than one person waiting on the other side.

I take a deep breath, then swing the door open wide. I know better than to cover myself, so I stand there burning with shame as my eyes meet the stunned faces of two attractive sixteen-year-old girls—Tammy and Donna’s friends, who’ve arrived unannounced to find me utterly, completely exposed.

For a moment, they stare in complete shock. Then, their gazes sweep up and down my frozen form, taking in every humiliating detail. My face burns crimson. I stand like a naked statue while they break into convulsive laughter, their eyes alternating between my anguished, bright red face and my underdeveloped, hairless genitals.

When one finally catches her breath, she gasps, “My, oh my... where are your clothes, little boy?” Her wide eyes display both disbelief and amusement.

Tammy appears in the doorway, grinning. "Well, come on, Blondie. Don't leave our guests out in the cold."

I swallow hard. “Won’t you come in?” I ask meekly. My politeness sends them into fresh peals of laughter.

"Blondie, meet Rhonda and Gail," Tammy announces, clearly savoring every moment. "Rhonda and Gail, this is Blondie." She pauses for effect. "He's fourteen, believe it or not."

Both girls drop their jaws, staring at my hairless penis.

“He had no idea you’d be stopping by today, so excuse him if he’s a little... underdressed.” Tammy laughs exuberantly at her own joke while Rhonda and Gail grin from ear to ear. They extend their hands. I force myself to shake them.

"Pleased to meet you, Blondie," Gail says, locking eyes with me before her gaze drifts downward. "How's every little thing with you?" I don’t respond to the cutting remark as Rhonda shakes my hand, still laughing too hard to speak.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Tammy says, leading us toward the dining room. “You’re just in time for breakfast. There’s plenty of food. Come join us.”

"Well, we just ate," Gail replies, her eyes never leaving me, “but if you don’t mind, we’d love to sit down and get to know your naked friend a little better.”

Rhonda and Gail take their seats, exchanging greetings with the rest of the group. The energy in the room has shifted—there’s a new level of excitement as the two newcomers take in the extraordinary spectacle they’ve stumbled upon, both looking absolutely delighted.

Tammy wastes no time putting me into action. “Blondie, be a good boy and go get two glasses and pour our our guests some orange juice.”

I can almost feel every eye tracking me as I retreat to the kitchen. When I return, I carefully pour juice into the glasses, my hands shaking with embarrassment.

"Thank you, Blondie," Gail says. “You’re such a little sweetie.” She playfully pats my bare ass as I walk away. Impossibly, I feel my face flush even redder.

I hurry to my barstool, literally shivering with humiliation. Rhonda and Gail exchange amused glances, grinning, continuing to leer at me. They clearly cannot believe the situation they happened upon, and they seem quite delighted by it.

Breakfast proceeds with lively conversation, laughter, and joking. Well, for everyone except me. I sit in silence, barely touching my food, while the conversation flows around me. Donna, however, seems determined to pull me into the spotlight.

“So, Blondie,” she says, “I think you should tell our new friends all about your... well, about the very interesting day you’ve had." She pauses, letting the anticipation build. "I’m sure they’re dying to hear the details—like how you ended up as our nude little servant.”

The entire table seems to sit up straighter. All eyes turn to me, bright with anticipation. I keep my head down, poking at my scrambled eggs with my fork.

"Hey," Donna presses. "I'm talking to you, young man!"

Still, I say nothing. It is not that I won't answer. I can't. My mouth feels glued shut, my humiliation rendering me mute.

Unfortunately for me, my reticence will not be overlooked. And soon, I will be reprimanded in a most embarrassing fashion.

[Blondie]

Chapter 5: A Nude Spanking

A Most Embarrassing Reprimand

“All right, that does it!” Donna reprimands. “I’ve had quite enough of your insolence. You get your little ass over here right now!”

She rises from her chair, the wooden legs scraping against the hardwood floor. She repositions the chair, turning it to face me directly, and settles back down. I fidget in my seat, my heart hammering against my ribs, horrified at the degradation that surely awaits me.

"Now!" Donna screams, her index finger pointing toward her lap.

I slide off the barstool, my legs trembling, and with trepidation I approach the fiendish girl who has become my tormentor. When I reach her chair she grabs me by the bicep and yanks me over her lap. I clutch the wooden legs of her chair for support while my feet dangle helplessly in midair. She wastes no time, and immediately I feel the sharp stings of her bare hand against my exposed skin. The spanking comes in quick, authoritative volleys, each smack alternating from cheek to cheek in perfect rhythm, the sound echoing through the dining room.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

Toward the end of my punishment, the pain registers in full force. I kick my legs furiously, unable to contain my distress.

“Now stand up, young man!” Donna commands. She pushes me off her lap, and I scramble to my feet, unsteady and disoriented. The stinging sensation has truly set in now, and my backside throbs with heat. I clench my ass cheeks with both hands and hop up and down, desperate to ease the burning.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

"Oh, God," Donna says, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I've always wanted to do that to a boy." Her cheeks are flushed, partly from exertion, but mostly, I suspect, from sheer delight. The room erupts with boisterous laughter, the sound bouncing off the walls. Tears streak down my face, not so much from the physical sting, but from the unbearable humiliation of being taken over the knee, bare-bottomed, before an eager audience, by a sixteen-year-old girl.

“Now get your little ass back in your chair,” Donna instructs. “And this time, you’d better be ready to converse with us.”

I gingerly retake my place at the head of the table. The barstool feels cold and unforgiving against my newly warmed backside. I wipe the tears from my eyes with my fists, sniffling quietly. When I open them I I find everyone grinning at me, their eyes twinkling with amusement. My face feels as though it might burst into flames.


Forced to Recount the Sordid Events

"Now then," Donna continues, settling back comfortably. "Let's tell Gail and Rhonda all about your day, Smoothie. Start from the very beginning, when you woke up."

I keep my head down, staring at my plate. "I woke up," I mutter. "We went to the store. Now we're eating breakfast."

"I'm warning you, Blondie," she says, her tone sharpening dangerously. "If I have to take you over my knee and spank you again, I'll use a hairbrush. I can promise you won't be sitting down for a week." She pauses, letting the threat sink in. "We'd like to hear all the details, in your own words. And don’t leave anything out." She leans forward slightly. "What were you wearing when you left for the store?”

My stomach clenches. I swallow hard, my throat tight. “My underpants.” A chorus of giggles erupts around the table.

"Your underpants!" Donna exclaims, pressing her hand to her chest in mock surprise. "Weren't you cold?"

“Yes. Please, just... don't make me do this.”

Donna presses on, clearly savoring every moment of my discomfort. "And what did your little undies look like?"

I hesitate, my face burning. "White... briefs. Please—"

"Ohhh," she drawls, her smile widening. "You mean tighty-whities, don't you?"

"Yes.” My eyes remain glued to my plate, my appetite long gone.

“So then what happened?”

I squirm on the bar stool. I know what she wants to hear. And I know that she won't stop until she hears every humiliating word. "On the way home I lost my underpants."

A fresh wave of laughter erupts, louder than before.

“You lost your underpants!” Donna cries, feigning shock. “How in the world did that happen?”

I fidget in my seat. Resignedly I answer. “Y-You made me take them off.”

“Yes, I did,” Donna confirms smugly. “And let me tell you, it was so much fun to make you strip. So then what happened to your little underpanties?”

“You... you threw them out the window.”

"Well, that wasn’t very nice of me, was it?” I shake my head glumly. “So then what were you wearing?”

“N-Nothing.”

"Nothing? You mean you were naked?”

I nod my head without answering vocally. I am very close to outright bawling.

"Let me hear you say it," she insists.

“Yes.”

"Yes, what?" she persists, relentless.

I know what I have to say. “Yes... yes, I was naked.”

Rhonda giggles beside her, and Donna turns to address her directly. "Don't you just love that word, Rhonda? Especially when he's sitting there naked, and he's totally humiliated, and then you make him say it."

Without waiting for an answer from Rhonda, Donna turns her attention back to me. "Tell us again what you were after I made your strip off your underpants, Blondie."

It is becoming unbearable. My chest feels tight, my breathing shallow. "I... was naked," I say softly.

The demonic girl pushes harder. "Louder, please."

"I was NAKED!" I submit, my voice cracking.

Donna grins. “How did that feel? Weren’t you embarrassed?”

“Yes,” I respond cheerlessly.

“Tell us what it felt like to be stripped completely naked in the back seat of a car, watching your underpants flapping in the wind.”

"I... I don't know..." I stammer. "I felt very... naked." The laughter swells.

“And what are you wearing now?”

“Noth—I’m still naked.”

“How old are you, Blondie?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen!" Her eyes widen. "You’re fourteen years old and you still have a hairless little pee-pee?”

Donna is staring at my crotch now, as is everyone else. I don’t answer, and Donna perseveres, her voice taking on a harder edge. “I asked you a question, Smoothie.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I know what I have to say. “I’m fourteen years old and I still have a hairless little pee-pee.” The laughter is almost deafening now.

"Why, yes! Yes you do!" Donna crows. "You have an itty bitty hairless little pee-pee!"

The hilarity continues unabated, my face burning hotter than ever. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of suffering, Donna moves on, satisfied—for now. I poke at my food, nibbling absentmindedly, desperately wishing I could simply vanish into thin air.

When breakfast finally ends, I barely have time to breathe before I’m given my next task. “Alright, Blondie,” Tammy announces. “Clear the table for us.” I wordlessly obey, collecting plates and utensils while they sit back, chatting and joking among themselves.

“Look, his little ass is still red from your spanking, Donna,” I hear Gail proclaim exuberantly on one of my trips back to the kitchen. The stinging seems to resurface as I sense all eyes on Donna’s earlier target.

I have to scrub dishes alongside Tammy and Donna while they steal glances at me over and over again. Every time I meet their gaze, they respond with knowing smirks, their amusement seemingly inexhaustible. Each look makes my face flare red like a flashing Christmas light. All I can do is hope—pray—that they'll eventually tire of using me and my nudity as their personal source of entertainment.

But I have a sinking feeling that my ordeal is far from over.

[Blondie]

Chapter 6: The Sordid Game

Charades

After the dishes are done, we all retire to the living room. The air is electric with laughter and conversation—everyone is in a celebratory mood. Unfortunately, that celebration seems to revolve entirely around my ongoing humiliation.

The TV hums in the background, but no one is really watching. A couple of times, I’m ordered to get up and adjust the volume or change the channel, each request met with amused grins. My embarrassment never wanes. If anything, it’s about to reach a whole new level. Not surprisingly, it is Donna who comes up with an idea to enhance my degradation.

She claps her hands and stands, instantly commanding everyone’s attention. “Okay, people, I have a game for us!” she exclaims, her eyes glinting with mischief. I stiffen immediately. The last time she had a "great idea," she wanted to strip me naked and make me put on a “nudie show.” I fear something similar is about to take place.

“Let’s play Charades,” she continues, “but with a penalty phase.” The others perk up, intrigued.

“Here’s how it works,” Donna explains. “We’ll take turns acting things out. The person to your right gets to pick what it is and write it down for you. You have five minutes to get someone to guess correctly. If nobody gets it... well, there’s a penalty.” She pauses for dramatic effect before flashing me a wicked grin. “We won’t make it too harsh... tell you what, if anyone loses they have to run around the block.”

I shudder. The game hasn’t even started, and I already know exactly where it is going.

Donna leans toward me, lowering her voice but making sure everyone can hear. “Blondie, you’d better be good at this game. It’s a little too chilly for you to be running around naked out there.” She pauses momentarily while everyone giggles. Then she purposely looks down at my penis. “If you do, the cold air might cause that little nub between your legs to disappear completely.”

The room explodes with laughter as my face burns with embarrassment. Donna’s gaze lingers on my penis, which responds with an embarrassing twitch.

"Oh my god, did you see that?" Donna shrieks, pointing. "It moved!"

"Oh, shoot, I missed it," Tammy says, sounding genuinely disappointed. "What did it do?"

Donna giggles, still staring. "It moved! It made this little wiggle—or a jiggle—all by itself. It was hilarious!"

"Maybe it'll happen again," Tammy says hopefully. The two of them lean in for a closer look, hands resting on their knees, as though trying will my penis to dance for their entertainment. They continue staring for what feels like an eternity, and my mortification becomes almost unbearable.

Mercifully, they finally straighten up. I don't think there was any further movement, but it felt to me that it might have shrunk under their scrutiny.

"I didn't see it jiggle," Tammy says. She pauses. "But I think it got smaller." Both girls laugh as they take in my profusely blushing face.

"Alright, alright," Donna says, clapping her hands again. "On with the game. Tammy, you're up first.

With no way out, I’m directed to a seat on Donna’s right. Tammy's prompt is “volleyball player,” which she nails with an over-the-top pantomime of spiking and serving. The group guesses in seconds.

Donna’s turn comes next. She receives her slip of paper, glances at it, and immediately begins juggling invisible balls. “Juggler,” someone shouts, and it’s over before it starts.

Then she hands me a slip of paper. It reads: basketball player. The room goes silent. I take the dreaded walk to the center of the room, hyper-aware of every pair of eyes on me. I take a deep breath and fake a dribble, then a shot. I feel my penis bobbing up and down, much to everyone's amusement, I'm sure.

“You’re a doctor!” someone yells, cackling.

“No, no, he’s a squirrel,” another chimes in, struggling not to laugh.

It is quite obvious that they are going to draw out my part as long as they can. My face is turning redder by the minute.

The timer is down to two minutes as I go up for a jump shot. I feel my genitals bouncing around and I hear the laughter. Finally, someone guesses, “Basketball player!” and I all but collapse onto the couch, breathing hard.

The game continues, and the pattern continues—everyone else gets ridiculously easy prompts. No one is up for more than thirty seconds. Clearly, they’re all leading up to my next turn. And soon enough, it comes.


Crawling on All Fours

Donna grins devilishly as she scribbles something down and hands it to me. I open the folded paper, heart sinking: Donna’s little puppy dog. I groan. With an overwhelming sense of dread, I drop to all fours, the rug rough against my knees. My humiliation increases as I crawl back and forth. I can imagine how laughable I look and feel very naked with my ass, probably still pink, sticking out for all to see, not to mention my little balls hanging down. I tentatively pant like a dog, hoping that someone—anyone—will take pity and guess correctly.

Instead... “You’re a chicken!” someone calls out.

“No, no, he’s a hyena!” another shouts, barely getting the words out through their laughter.

"Is he doing yoga?" someone asks.

"Look at him crawl," someone else remarks. "Maybe he's a baby learning to walk?"

The amusement in the room intensifies. I crawl in a circle, whimpering softly. Less than two minutes remain. Donna leans in, smirking. “Your time’s running out, Blondie. You’d better get a little more convincing.”

My stomach tightens. I squeeze my eyes shut before forcing myself to bark. “Arf! Arf!” The laughter somehow grows even louder. Still, no one guesses. Desperate, I get up on my knees and, cringing, I lick Donna’s hand.

"Ahh, how cute," she coos, stroking my burning cheek with the back of her fingers. But still—no one says the right answer.

Less than a minute left. Then Donna, grinning from ear to ear, slips off her sandal and flings it across the room. It is obvious what I have to do. I crawl as fast as I can across the floor to fetch it. As I’m bending over I feel the crack in my ass open up for all to see. I lean down, grip Donna's smelly sandal between my teeth, and scurry back toward her. By the time I reach Donna, everyone is practically doubled over with laughter. My face burns hotter than ever as I drop the sandal into her lap.

She pats my head. “You’re my good little puppy dog, yes you are,” she coos, her voice thick with teasing delight. "Such a good boy."

I swallow hard, knowing full well that the game is likely not over.

Sure enough, the game goes around again—very quickly, I might add—and before I even recover from the dog experience Donna is writing on a piece of paper again. She hands it to me with a devilish smirk on her face. I open it up and it reads: Client for masseuse. Client should remain standing with hands interlocked behind head.

I want to die.

Donna stands and positions me in front of the group. She demonstrates the pose: feet apart, hands laced behind head, chest out. I mimic her, feeling every inch of my nudity.

"He's the Statue of David, only with a smaller dick!" someone shouts, generating boisterous laughter.

The grinning Donna moves behind me, exposing me to all. I feel her hands on my shoulders, kneading the muscles. Then she takes her fingers and slowly strums them down my sides. I shiver from her touch. She presses her body against mine and soon I feel her fingers stroking my inner thighs. Her hands move upward and she cups my balls, rolling them between her fingers. My knees nearly buckle. The room is dead silent, every eye glued to my humiliating predicament. I clench my teeth, determined not to react, but a strangled whimper escapes my throat.

Then her fingers softly caress the skin around my penis. No matter how desperately I resist, I feel myself becoming aroused. I mean, I can't help myself! I've never been touched like this by anyone but myself, and the fact that it is an attractive girl doing the dirty deed makes my arousal all the more unavoidable.

Oh, no! Please, don’t let this happen—not here, not NOW!

But Donna is relentless, and her fingers continue to mercilessly toy with me. Much to the merriment of the giggling spectators, my erection swells. When she teases the sensitive underside of my penis, it jerks upward, leaving me with a full, humiliating hard-on—such as it is. Satisfied with her accomplishment, the grinning Donna backs off.

"I know—he's an eight-year-old with his first boner!" someone calls out. The laughter is deafening, and my face feels like it is inside a furnace.

"More like a three-year-old," someone else corrects, to even louder guffaws.

Evidently Donna wants to move on, so she ends this part of the charade. "No, you silly people," says the laughing Donna. "I'm a professional masseuse and Blondie is my favorite client. As you can see, he likes me, too."


Lap Dancing

The laughter takes a while to die down as I am allowed to take my seat, my face flushing ever so brightly. I’m hoping they have had enough of the sordid game, but evidently they want to go around one more time. It is a very minor consolation, but at least during that time my erection has completely subsided.

Again it takes only a few short minutes to get around to my turn. Donna hands me another piece of paper and grins at my horrified reaction as I read the text: Bruce’s lap dancer

I can’t believe this is happening. I look at Bruce, who is sitting on an armless chair. I rise to my feet, burying my face in my hands, wishing I could die on the spot. I try to think of a way out of the awful predicament, but there is none. Donna taps her phone a few times—it's already linked to Tammy's stereo—and within moments, a pulsing hip-hop beat fills the room. The song is SexyBack by Justin Timberlake.

To my dismay—and of course, this is exactly what Donna has in mind—the beat is perfect for grinding on Bruce’s lap.

Here is what it sounds like: SexyBack

To shrieks of shock and amusement, I shuffle over, straddle the surprised yet delighted Bruce, and lower my naked body onto his lap.

♬ Let me see what you're twerking with (go 'head be gone with it) ♬

I dutifully move my hips to the music, much to Bruce's pleasure. He is wearing loose black sweatpants—it feels like he's not wearing any underwear—and to my revulsion I can feel his hard cock as roll against him.

♬ Look at those hips (go 'head be gone with it) ♬

Everyone is so blown away by the scene that nobody even ventures a guess. I’m forced to continue servicing him with my body, grinding against him.

♬ You make me smile (go 'head be gone with it) ♬

He places my hands on his shoulders, and his hands are on my hips, guiding me in a circular motion to the beat of the music.

♬ And, get your sexy on (go 'head be gone with it) ♬

I can’t believe I’m performing this extremely distasteful act, and I’m sure everyone is incredulous at what they are witnessing.

♬ Get your sexy on (go 'head be gone with it) ♬

I glance at Bruce’s face—his eyes are glazed, and his mouth is slightly open. His breathing is quickening as he grips my hips, moving them faster and faster while rotating his own in perfect synch with mine.

♬ Get your sexy on (go 'head be gone with it) ♬

To my repugnance I feel his cock start to pulsate, and I wince in disgust as he groans in pleasure. I feel dampness around my perineum, confirming my mortifying realization that I have gotten him off. He presses me harder against him, savoring the finish, while I burn with shame.

When it looks like he’s thoroughly satisfied, someone yells out, “You’re a lap dancer!”

Completely debased, I take my seat, certain that this last experience has to be the “climax” to my dreadful, naked ordeal.

But as I am about to discover, the humiliation gods are far from finished with me.

[Qwerto1232]

If I remember corectly, this story has eight chapters. Do you just repost them here. Or can we expect new chapters.

[Blondie]

It is the original story (with minor modifications) posted here for the first time. There will be ten chapters in total, as I split a couple of them because they were rather lengthy.

[TeenFan]

I could tell this story was written some time ago.
Youngsters today have no idea that people used to get off the sofa to go to the tv to change the channel.
Don't ask me what type of tv we had when I was a child...I'm not telling.

I wrote a chapter that has a boy sitting on a boy lap dance (well, similar to a lap dance) in my last written story of the Justin Maxwell topic.
Certainly a different type of action, and not one that is seen here often. Don't know of any other such scenes in a story in the ENM section.
Correct me, anyone, if I am wrong in that. I want to know if I missed something like that.

[Robert Brooks]

I wrote a chapter that has a boy sitting on a boy lap dance (well, similar to a lap dance) in my last written story of the Justin Maxwell topic.
Certainly a different type of action, and not one that is seen here often. Don't know of any other such scenes in a story in the ENM section.

I’m not aware of much boy on boy content here (as of course the title of this board suggests), but I would totally read that AND LOVE IT!!