Chapter 7: Brenda's Revenge
Payback
Unfortunately, I have yet another humiliation to recount. This one took place on the penultimate day of my sophomore year, courtesy of my new nemesis, Brenda—who, with the help of a few friends, made sure I paid dearly for my mistake.
As you may recall, Brenda is in my homeroom. She was the one who planted my underwear on my desk following my staggering humiliation in the auditorium. Since then, she had made it her mission to tease me about that mortifying ordeal at every opportunity. It had gotten to the point where all she had to do was slowly run her eyes up and down my body—peeling away my clothes with her eyes—before flashing a knowing grin. Without fail, my face would turn bright red, much to her delight.
After enduring several of these embarrassing encounters, I resolved to exact revenge. The payback was sweet while it lasted, but I'm sorry to say that ultimately, I paid dearly for it.
Three days before the end of the school year, I put my plan into action. You see, Brenda happens to have very small breasts, and I figured that must be a source of insecurity for her. So, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to exploit this probable source of embarrassment. That morning, I arrived at school early, making sure I was the first one in homeroom. Seizing the opportunity, I strode up to the chalkboard and, in large capital letters, wrote:
BRENDA HOLLISTER HAS TINY LITTLE TITTIES.
Smiling to myself, I dusted my hands off, admiring my handiwork. Oh, this was going to be good. This was going to be very good indeed.
To avoid suspicion, I stepped out into the hallway and waited for Brenda to arrive. The plan was simple: casually walk in beside her, act completely innocent, and bask in her embarrassment.
“Hi, Blondie,” she greeted me with a smirk the moment she spotted me. As always, her eyes flickered down to my crotch—just long enough to make me squirm—before locking onto mine with that knowing grin. Satisfied with the inevitable rush of color to my cheeks, she let out a soft giggle, turned, and walked into the room. I followed her in, anxiously anticipating the next few moments.
The classroom was already half full, with about twenty students scattered in their seats. A chorus of giggles rippled through the room as Brenda took her seat, though she didn’t immediately understand why. I kept my eyes fixed on her, watching as confusion crossed her face—her brow furrowing, her head tilting slightly. Then, right on cue, her gaze drifted toward the blackboard.
It was a precious moment for me as I reveled in her reaction. Her eyes widened in shock. Then, just as I had hoped, a deep crimson blush formed on her cheeks, spreading down her neck. She shot from her chair and stormed to the board, erasing my message with quick, frantic strokes.
To make things even better, she was wearing a snug white sweater, and the small nubs of her chest were just barely visible. When she reached her desk, she quickly folded her arms across herself, hunching her shoulders, her eyes darting around the room. She knew exactly where everyone's eyes had landed.
I leaned back in my chair, savoring the moment. Minutes later, I stole another glance at her. The blush on her face hadn’t faded. It wasn't nearly the level of humiliation I had suffered in the auditorium, yet for the first time, I tasted something like vindication.
A Reversal of Fortune
That would have been a great way to finish off the year, but to my utter regret, I made a colossal mistake. I got greedy. I wanted to relive that moment, to feel that rush again. The next morning, I arrived early once more. I had written only "BRENDA HOLLISTER HAS"—when I was startled by a sharp voice behind me.
“You little shit!” Brenda exclaimed. “I had a hunch it might be you, but I didn’t think you had it in you. Well, you’re about to pay, Blondie. Big time."
Shaken, I spun around. She stood near the doorway, blocking my escape, her eyes burning with a fury I'd never seen. I watched her reach into her purse and pull out a roll of bright orange yarn.
“Drop your pants,” she ordered.
"I... I can't do that here. Somebody might come in," I responded, my voice cracking, my eyes darting toward the door.
Brenda was undeterred. "I don't think you want Mitch and Reggie involved, do you, Blondie?"
Oh yes, the “stripped on Main Street” threat again. I swear, next time I might take my chances and call their bluff.
No, I knew better.
My fingers trembled as I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my trousers, and lowered them slightly, exposing my underpants. Brenda smiled and took the tops of my jeans in each of her hands and swiftly hauled them down to my ankles. Cold air hit my thighs. I watched apprehensively as she took a pair of scissors—child-sized, orange-handled, matching the yarn—and cut a length of about twenty feet from the yarn.
“Get those undies down too,” she directed.
I stood transfixed, unwilling (or, more accurately, unable) to do her bidding. “Please, Brenda, don’t do this to me!” I pleaded.
“Ah, the hell with it,” she said.
She simply snipped through my underpants and let them fall to the floor, where they grazed my feet as they pooled around my ankles. While I instinctively covered my crotch with my hands, Brenda, smiling with obvious enjoyment, picked up my severed underpants and paraded to my desk, placing them front and center for all to see.
Once again, thanks to Brenda, there was the ridiculous spectacle of my underpants displayed on my desk.
I looked around nervously as Brenda returned, yarn in hand. “Hands on your head,” she commanded.
I raised them, resigned, exposing myself completely to my tormentor.
"Well, well." She circled me slowly, examining her prey. A wicked grin spread across her face. "I see you're still as smooth as ever," she teased. “And look how tiny you are!" She pinched my penis between thumb and forefinger, tweaking it back and forth. I flinched, my hips retracting involuntarily from the sensation and the humiliation.
"Such a cute wittle boy,” said, Brenda giggling at my reaction. “What’s the matter, little boy? Are you embarrassed about your hairless little wee-wee?”
Yes, it was oh, so true. I still was completely hairless down there, a condition that caused me considerable angst. And having my small, hairless penis on display at this girl’s whim brought extreme embarrassment that burned through my entire body.
My embarrassment and apprehension increased as Brenda took the yarn and deftly wrapped one end around my penis and balls, tying a snug knot at the base of my penis.
"Okay, you can get dressed now, my little hairless one," she declared, stepping back to admire her work.
Red-faced, I hastily pulled on my jeans and buttoned them back up. But they didn’t stay buttoned for long, as the devilish Brenda immediately started unbuttoning my fly. I instinctively pulled my hips back, but Brenda was undeterred. She slipped her fingers into the opening, searching for the yarn, her fingers brushing against me, while I flinched at the intrusion. Finding her prize, she slowly threaded the yarn through, buttoning my fly with agonizing deliberation, her smirk never fading. The whole time, she acted like she had complete control over me—like I was hers to toy with. I must say it was quite humiliating having her fumbling around so close to my penis like she owned it.
She then took the roll of yarn and cut another short length and used it to tie my hands behind my back. It was soon apparent to me what wicked mischief she had up her sleeve.
The Obedient Puppy
“Let’s go for a walk." She pulled on the yarn dangling from my fly and headed for the door.
“Oh God, no, Brenda, please!” I implored, my face already burning. But she just laughed and continued walking, leaving me with no choice but to follow.
As we moved through the hallway, I could sense all eyes turning toward us. The giggles and whispers spread like wildfire, and soon enough, the noise level had risen as students pointed and laughed at the bizarre sight. Brenda strolled confidently, leading me along like a prized showpiece. I followed like an obedient puppy, my face scorching, my eyes fixed on the floor.
Courtyard Humiliation
She led me out to the main courtyard, where I was greeted with a similar response. There Brenda caught up with three of her friends, Joanna, Marcia, and Cheryl, who were standing and chatting next to the Roosevelt statue. Their mundane morning was about to become quite stimulating. As you know, I’ve had at least one humiliating experience with each of these girls, so they were predictably gleeful as they appraised my condition.
“Brenda, what have we here?” asked Joanna, relish in her voice.
“Oh, I’m just teaching Blondie a little lesson." Brenda's fingers toyed with the yarn. “Can you believe this little shit was the one who wrote about my tits on the board?"
Her friends laughed as Brenda jerked on the yarn, forcing me to awkwardly stumble forward, catching myself before I fell. Marcia, giggling freely, seized the yarn and merrily started trotting around the courtyard, her ponytail bouncing. Powerless, I was forced to follow her. There were at least two dozen other people in the area, and their laughter resonated throughout the courtyard as they enjoyed the comical sight.
Marcia stopped beside her friends and draped the yarn over Roosevelt's outstretched arm. She then pulled on the end of the yarn. I was drawn forward and upward, forced onto my tiptoes by the tug on my genitals. Marcia held me in that position while the girls chatted among themselves, ignoring me completely, while I stood red-faced and distressed.
My distress level intensified when their topic of conversation turned back to me.
Teased and Tormented
“So, Brenda,” asked Marcia while fingering the yarn and looking at my crotch, “What exactly is this tied to? Is it tied around his balls or his little dick? From what I saw in the auditorium a few months ago you didn’t have much to work with.” I blushed brighter while the four girls giggled.
"Actually," Brenda answered, “I managed to involve both his balls and his little dick. Would you like to see for yourselves?” Brenda moved toward me. My eyes widened in shock at this latest turn of events.
"Oh yes, let's see!" said Marcia, her voice rising with anticipation. "I've been wondering about that since you got here."
Of course, all three of them were in full agreement.
“No!” I yelped, the word tearing from my throat in desperation. "Brenda, please, don't do it!"
Brenda, without a word, crossed the remaining distance between us. Her fingers found the hem of my T-shirt where it tucked into my jeans, and with one smooth motion, she pulled it free, sliding it upward across my chest. I shivered involuntarily as the warm afternoon air touched my exposed skin. She pulled the shirt over my head, and I watched helplessly as she tugged it downward behind my back. With two hands, she scrunched the shirt at the small of my back, just above my tied wrists, effectively pinning my arms in place while leaving my torso completely bare.
“Excellent, my little hairless one,” she smiled while rubbing the palm of her hand back and forth across my bare chest. "So smooth. So boyish. You really do look like a child, don't you?"
I was unable to respond, and my silence only seemed to amuse her further. She lowered her hand until her fingers found my belt buckle. She began working it loose, her eyes never leaving mine as she spoke.
“What do you say we pull your pants down so they all can see what a little boy you look like down there,” she teased mercilessly. "Let's give them a proper show."
"No, Brenda! No! Please!" I begged frantically, my voice cracking embarrassingly on the final word. I looked around the courtyard, desperate for any sign of intervention, any teacher or administrator who might put a stop to this, but as usual, there would be no rescue. Instead, everyone was watching the two of us with fascination, their faces bearing the look of an audience witnessing something it wouldn't soon forget.
She ignored me completely, her attention shifting to the gathered audience as she slowly, deliberately went about her task of unbuttoning my jeans. Each movement was exaggerated, turning the simple act of undressing me into a theatrical production.
"This will be pretty easy," she announced to the crowd while undoing the first button, her voice carrying across the courtyard, "because he's not wearing any underpants."
Gleeful shouts rang out, the sound washing over me. The grins on the faces around me broadened. Brenda could sense that she had everyone’s attention, and she spoke a little louder, playing to her audience.
“You see, I took some scissors and snipped off his little tighty-whities when he refused to take them down for me like I asked him to,” she stated rather matter-of-factly, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather.
The second button came undone. She had the crowd in the palm of her hand, much to my wretchedness, and they were eating up every moment of it.
“Can you believe his impertinence? I give him a simple instruction, and he acts like he has a choice."
The third button surrendered to her fingers. My breathing quickened, my chest rising and falling with increasing speed as I watched helplessly.
“He's going to pay the price, though, because his little wee-wee is about to be put on display for all of us.” Laughter and cheering reverberated throughout the courtyard. "And I think we all have a pretty good idea what we're going to see, don't we?"
She unbuttoned the final button. I clenched my eyes shut, bracing myself for the next humiliation, my mind screaming for this to end. Brenda held onto the top of my trousers, holding the fly closed with maddening restraint. Of course, this would be a temporary situation. She looked up at me, grinning sadistically, clearly savoring every moment of my trepidation.
"Are you ready, big boy?" she teased, the irony of the nickname not lost on either of us. "Are you ready to show everyone what you're working with? To prove all those rumors true?"
“Please... Brenda, I’m begging you... don’t do it!” I pleaded, my voice shaking. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just not this. Please—not in front of everyone.”
“Oh, come on, sweetie, you don’t mean that. Look how much fun everybody is having. They can’t wait to see what you've got down there.” She paused, looked me in the eyes and smiled. “Boy, they’re in for a good laugh, aren’t they, Blondie boy?”
She slipped behind me, her arms circling my waist as she held my pants in place. Leaning in close, she brought her lips right to my ear, her breath warm against my skin, smelling faintly of peppermint gum.
"Prepare yourself, my little hairless one," she taunted, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me, tickling my ear in the process and making me shiver involuntarily. “In a few moments, I’m not just going to give everyone a quick little peek. I’m going to pull your pants aaaaaall the way down. And if the mood strikes me, I might just take them completely off!”
"Oh, God!" I squealed, the sound embarrassingly high-pitched. My anxiety was mounting with every passing second, and I swear I could hear my heart pounding against my sternum.
Brenda was relentless with her psychological torture. “Just think, your tiny little hairless bits are about to be exposed for all these people out here.” She paused for effect, letting the image settle in my mind. "They'll all be staring and laughing at you, and you'll be squirming around, totally helpless to do a thing about it."
"No! Brenda! Please!" The words came out of me automatically, even though I knew they would change nothing.
“Oh, yes, Blondie boy. This is going to be a moment you’ll remember for the rest of your life.” She paused, letting that sink in. “And so will all these people out here. Every time any of them sees you, they’re going to think, ‘There’s the guy who was stripped and humiliated by a girl in the courtyard.’” Brenda giggled and continued. “And they’ll always have the picture in their head of your teensy, hairless weenie bobbing about while you wiggle around helplessly.”
I was frantic, as it sunk in that she was absolutely right in that assessment. This wasn't just happening now. This would follow me forever. She took notice of my horrified look, and her smile widened with satisfaction.
“Ah, you know it’s true, don’t you, Blondie? Can’t you just picture the look on everybody’s face in just a few seconds when I pull your pants down? For all intents and purposes, you’ll be naked. And ohhhh, so naked you will look, with no hair on your body. I mean, think about it. You’re out here in broad daylight, and your tiny, hairless, little-boy penis will be on display for all these girls that you’ll have to face for the rest of your days at Roosevelt High." Her voice became almost sympathetic, which made it infinitely worse. "Every time they see you, either in the hallway, or maybe in the same class, they'll picture you naked. It'll almost be like you're reliving this all over again. The image will be burned into their brains. That's the guy with the baby dick. That's the guy who got stripped in the courtyard. Poor little Blondie."
"When I take these down, it should be quite comical, because you’ll be squirming around in absolute humiliation, and your little pee-pee will be jiggling around... oh, my, it will be quite the spectacle, don’t you think so?”
The Unveiling
Brenda pulled her mouth away from my ear, and I felt the inevitable closing in on me.
"Brenda, pl-" I started, but she cut me off.
“Here we go, folks,” she announced, her voice ringing with mischievous delight. "Is everybody ready? Is everyone prepared to witness the big reveal? The moment we've all been waiting for?"
A loud, enthusiastic cheer erupted from the gathered students, their excitement palpable. Brenda stepped back slightly, positioning herself for maximum dramatic effect. Panic surged through me, but all I could do was cry out in desperation.
“No! No!”
“Wheeeeee!” she yelled gleefully while sliding my pants all the way down to my ankles in one steady motion. I was exposed, the warm afternoon air touching places that had never been meant for public view.
The roar of laughter in the courtyard was riotous, immediate, and overwhelming. I writhed and twisted my body frantically, my hips bucking in desperate, futile attempts to conceal myself, but there was nowhere to hide. The yarn leash pulled taut, reminding me of my captivity, and I could only stand there, exposed and trembling.
“Look at that teeny, little thing!” laughed one of the girls. “It’s like a little clitty!” she exclaimed, drawing uproarious laughter from the crowd that seemed to go on forever.
"And he has no hair!" squealed another, her voice pitched high with delighted shock. "Not a single hair! He looks like a little kid!"
"Oh, this is too much!" someone else called out. "I can't believe this!"
Mortified to the max, I tried lifting each leg up one at a time in a frenzied attempt at covering up, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. But I soon abandoned that effort when I realized my frantic movements threatened to displace my pants altogether. Just as Brenda had predicted, I could only stand there, squirming helplessly, forced to endure the laughter and ridicule of the thoroughly entertained crowd.
Paraded to Homeroom
Mercifully, the warning bell rang out, signaling the end of my public torment. The crowd slowly began to disperse, though not before a few final glances and pointed comments were thrown my way. Marcia let go of the yarn, and Brenda bent down to button and buckle me up, making sure the yarn stuck out from my fly, displaying my continued submission. I was relieved that she didn’t make good on her threat to take my jeans completely off. But, to my dismay, she chose to leave my upper body exposed, my shirt still bunched at my back, my chest bare for everyone to see.
“Alright, girls, time to take my little doggy back to homeroom,” Brenda laughed, giving the yarn a playful tug as she started leading me toward the building. "Show's over for now, but don't worry. There will be encores."
“Thanks for the show, Blondie dearest! Let’s do this again soon!” Marcia called out, her words dripping with amusement as her friends burst into fresh laughter.
The giggling chorus followed me as Brenda paraded me back through the hallway, the same humiliating walk of shame as before—only this time, with my shirt missing, my embarrassment felt even worse. The cool air of the air-conditioned corridor raised gooseflesh on my bare skin, and I could feel the eyes of passing students on me, their gazes lingering on my exposed chest before dropping to the yarn leash that announced my humiliation.
We stepped into homeroom, where most of the students had already gathered. With Miss Farnsworth still absent, Brenda seized the opportunity to extend my humiliation, proudly parading me back and forth across the front of the room like a prize she was showing off. Laughter filled the air as my classmates soaked in the spectacle.
We reached my desk, and Brenda finally untied my hands. “All right, you can put your shirt back on now and tuck your little leash in your pants, my little pet,” she said with a smirk. “Oh, but before you sit down...” She leaned in, whispering her final instruction in my ear. I winced as she pulled away, her eyes dancing with malicious delight, then turned on her heel and strutted to her seat, leaving me to my fate.
With trembling hands, I slipped my shirt back on and stuffed the trailing yarn into my fly, but the worst was still to come. Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm my racing heart, I walked to the chalkboard. I hesitated, then reluctantly picked up a piece of chalk. My stomach twisted into knots as I forced myself to scrawl out the humiliating words in large, bold letters:
"BLONDIE HAS A TEENSY WEENSY HAIRLESS LITTLE PEE-PEE."
The room erupted into hysterical laughter, the sound crashing over me. I’m sure it was poetic justice for Brenda as I turned and walked briskly back to my seat, staring at the floor while blushing crimson. Waiting for me on my desk, like a final cruel reminder of everything that had happened, were my shredded underpants. Shamefaced, I snatched them up and stuffed them into my pocket, a routine I was growing far too accustomed to.
I couldn’t bear to look back, but I’m sure Brenda was basking in the moment, grinning from ear to ear while soaking in her revenge.