Pantsing and Stripping Forums

Chapter 2: A Mortifying Show-and-Tell

Ushered to the Car in My Underpants

The next morning I wake up, and the guys are putting their clothes on. “Let’s go, Blondie,” Bruce says. “Tammy’s taking us all to the grocery store to buy some food for breakfast.”

I look around hopefully, but my clothes are still missing. “Where are my clothes?” I ask Bruce.

“Don’t worry about it, you look just fine as you are,” replied Bruce.

“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. 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 of the room with their coats on, grinning widely. I suddenly realize that I could well be on my way to a living nightmare.

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

“I hope Blondie keeps this up,” Donna offers. “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 everyone else is fully dressed, coats and all.

The walk from the front door to the car is dreadful, as the cold air sends shivers up and down my near-naked body. Laughter follows me as I’m herded into the back seat of Tammy’s parents’ old station wagon, wedged between Bruce and one of the other guys. Tammy is driving and Donna is in the passenger seat. As we pull away, my mind races—I can’t believe I’m actually on the road in this state of undress.

It is a fifteen-minute drive to the store, but it seems much longer. Donna frequently turns around 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 glimpses back at me. “I’d really love to see you sitting there naked—totally nude, all embarrassed and squirming around."

She is grinning at me 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

When we reach our destination, Tammy finds a parking spot right in front of the store. She rolls down all the electric windows before taking the keys out of the ignition and putting them in her purse. I have goose bumps all over my body from the chilly air.

“We don’t want you to get too hot,” she says to me with a smile while they all pile out of the car.

“If you do, you can always just take your underpants off,” Donna teases as she exits the car. Everyone laughs heartily.

“Sit up straight, Blondie,” cautions Bruce. “And don’t even think about ducking down behind the seat. I’ll be able to see you from the store, and if I don’t see your head right where it is then I’m coming back out here and bringing you back in with me.”

The car doors slam shut, their laughter trailing off as they head toward the store. 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 space beside ours. The driver—an attractive woman in her mid to late twenties—steps out and lets her door lightly tap the station wagon. It is all I can do to keep from ducking down, but I know Bruce has already checked on me 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 am trembling. Despite the cold, I feel the perspiration under my arms, and beads of sweat have formed at the top of my forehead.

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 ducking to the floor of the car, but when I glance toward the store window, I catch Bruce’s grinning face, watching everything.

The girls are now approaching the front of the car. I don’t know how they could possibly overlook me. But still, I cling to the desperate hope that they might. “Oh, God, please,” I whisper out loud.

They are walking next to the car now, engaged in conversation one would expect from young teenyboppers. “I think Johnny’s a hunk,” one of them says. My pulse jumps. They’re practically at my window. Terrified, I sit as still as a statue, holding my breath so as not to make a sound or move a muscle.

“Yeah,” answers one of her companions. “He’s got the cutest ass, doesn’t he?” They are all giggling. Amazingly, they have 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. Sure enough, within seconds the girl is peering in my window. Our eyes lock. For an instant she only stares, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. When she takes in my red-faced, submissive expression she breaks into a delighted grin.

“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!” squeals one, bursting into laughter. Once she regains her breath, she asks, simply, “Why are you sitting there in just your underpants?”

I shake my head, mortified, and stammer, “Please... just go away!”

“Oh, I’ll bet his mommy is punishing him,” Wendy speculates with mock seriousness. The others all 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, subsequently introduced as Heather.

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 of the car. I am now 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 who is solo at the window. “What’s yours?”

She slips her hand through the window in offer of a handshake. I had no interest in moving my hand from my crotch or shaking her hand. “Please... I don’t want to talk. Just leave me alone.”

She has certainly ascertained that I am in a compromised position, and I am about to discover that she has a mean streak. “We’re not going anywhere, naughty little boy, until you play along. Now—what’s your name?”

“Blondie,” I reply uneasily without looking up. This brings giggles from all.

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

“This is Wendy, and that’s Melody.” I’m forced to shake hands with them also.

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

Heather tilts her head. “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. I know whatever she has in mind cannot bode well for me. Then, to my horror, she opens the car door and hops in, planting herself right next to me. The other girls follow her lead, and Melody gets in on my other side while Wendy opens the front door and slides into the front seat. She is on her knees facing me in the middle of the bench seat. She is grinning broadly as she looks me up and down.

“We just want to see what you’re sportin’ under there,” says Heather while reaching for my underpants. I grab her wrist to fend her off. Giggling, she says, “All you have to do is pull your underpants down, let us check you out, then we’ll leave you alone.” The interest level among the girls has taken a sudden, dramatic turn upward. I sit there 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?” says Heather while pointing 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 girls in front of the drug store 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 in no way do I want any more witnesses to my humiliating condition. I fight back the tears as I prepare myself 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 at the prospect.

I clench my eyes shut, lift up 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 the giggling Heather. “Pull them down below your knees and keep them there so we can have a good look.”

Again I sit there motionless, temporarily unable to do their bidding.

“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!” shrieks Heather excitedly as she grasps my right arm with both hands. Simultaneously Melody seizes my other arm, and they are pried apart. My knees are clenched 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. 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!” I hear Tammy hollering.

I look up and see the whole group coming toward the car, with Tammy leading the charge. The three giggling young girls quickly evacuate the car and scamper away, squealing with delight.

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

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

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

The sounds of their gleeful laughter resonate in my ears as they disappear from sight. I hurriedly reach down and pull up my underpants, feeling utterly violated by what has just transpired. And knowing that there is a picture out there for others' amusement only adds to my despair.

“Blondie, you little pervert!” taunts Tammy. “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, while everyone gets in the car and we start pulling out of the lot.

“What was he doing?” asks Donna eagerly.

“The little perv had his tighty-whities pulled down!” exclaims Tammy. “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.

Chapter 3: Naked in the Car

Forced to Strip

“So Blondie,” says Donna. “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 reaches over her seat and strokes my thigh. The level of interest among everyone around me has increased considerably. I push her hand away. I am becoming quite nervous at the direction this is heading.

“Tell him, Bruce,” persists Donna. “Tell him to pull his tighty-whities down for us.”

Bruce flicks the waistband of my underpants with his thumb. His words fill me with terror. “Take ‘em down, Blondie,” is his simple command.

“Please, you guys, don’t do...”

“Pull over, Tammy,” he interrupts. Tammy pulls over to the curb in front of a coffee shop. I notice several people sitting idly in their window seats, and a few people were waiting outside. Bruce opens his door and tugs on my arm. “Come on, Blondie, let’s go for a walk,” he says.

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

Bruce releases my arm and shuts the door. He nods to Tammy, who pulls back onto the road. My heart is beating a mile a minute. Everyone is silent. When I glance up, Donna is leering and grinning at me in eager anticipation. Tammy 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!” I lift my hips and lower my underpants to the tops of my thighs. In the same motion I cover my crotch with my hands before anyone can see my privates. I feel myself trembling. “More, Blondie!” commands the highly energized Donna. I use one hand to push them to mid-thigh. 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!” Donna is nearly out of breath in her excitement. Reluctantly I advance them to my knees. Donna is relentless. “All the way down! Down to your ankles!” she says quickly, her words running together. I sit motionless.

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

“NOW!” I reach over and slide them down to my ankles, being ever so careful to keep myself covered with my free hand. “Good boy, Blondie. Now strip ‘em off!”

I shouldn’t be surprised to hear the words, but they 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, unable to do her bidding. “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. It is just an awful, defenseless feeling to slip them off my feet, a feeling of... well, nakedness—pure nakedness—and the sense that there will be no turning back from this point forward.

Donna wastes no time—she reaches down and snatches my underpants from my grasp. 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 in the air. “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 with a wicked smile on her face. She rolls down her window, and while securing my underpants with the crook of her index finger, she stretches her arm out of the window. For the next few minutes we drive on, watching my underpants flap in the wind, much to the joviality of my tormentors.

Then she turns to look at me. “Say ‘Bye-bye, my precious little undies,’ ” she orders. I remain glumly silent. “Say it, Smoothie. ‘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 as if I’m about to cry.

The laughter is boisterous as Donna chimes in again. "Bye-bye, Blondie's underpants! Wheeee!" she squeals, flinging them out the window with gleeful abandon. It is a totally helpless feeling as I follow the flight of my underpants as they sail past the window, never to be seen again, other than by curious passersby.

There is raucous cheering and laughter throughout the car when Tammy stops at a stop sign and turns back to check me out. “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.” As she says the last three words she reaches back and playfully squeezes my burning cheeks between her thumb and index finger. I flush yet brighter.

The laughter continues. To my horror and disgust, I notice with my peripheral vision that Bruce uses his hand to adjust his erection. As the car continues on the journey home, I’m completely mortified and again I consider that if I could, I would choose to die on the spot.

I spend the rest of the trip hunched over in my seat, covering my naked crotch. Bruce runs the tips of his fingers up and down my back a couple of times, actually touching the top of the crack in my ass, much to my revulsion. Donna has turned around in her seat, 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 pulls back into the driveway. There is lots of chattering and amusement as everyone gets out. I sit there, not being able to muster up the courage to venture outside in my naked state. “Let’s go, Blondie. Donna and I need your help serving breakfast,” directs the grinning Tammy.

Bruce reaches in and pulls on my arm. I reluctantly slide out of the car and follow the group into the house. Everyone is looking back at me as I walk hunched over, both hands over my crotch. “See, I told you we’d make Blondie walk around nude,” says Bruce. He is obviously enjoying himself immensely, and I can’t help but notice the tenting in his sweatpants, which he seems entirely unbothered by.

I shudder. What an unbelievable feeling it is to be walking naked outside in this forced state of submission and humiliation. I am hoping beyond hope for this terrible ordeal to end, but intuition tells me that my humiliation is only beginning.

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.

Chapter 4: Naked Servant

Exposure

After being escorted into the house I am guided 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 utterly mortifying circumstances. Plus, I think in my embarrassment that my penis has shrunken to an even smaller size than usual, and I can feel my scrotum tightly wrapped around my balls. 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, while Tammy snaps another picture.

“He looks like he’s nine years old!” someone exclaims.

I remain in this position for a few more seconds until I can take no more and again cover myself with my hands, prompting Bruce to grab me by the wrist and pull me from 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 and next time it will be somebody else."

The grinning Tammy holds up the phone so I can see her latest photo. I cringe at the picture of my naked, prepubescent body. It hits me that there is no turning back now, and that I’m 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?” asks Donna.

“I know,” answers Tammy. “Actually he’s a teenager, but he sure looks like a little boy.” She looks me up and down, grins and adds, “Maybe more like a little girl.”

“I know,” laughs Donna. “He has a pretty face and he's blushing like a little girl." She looks down and stares 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 so hot it is pulsating from shame.


Forced to Serve

“Well don’t just stand there, Blondie,” says Tammy. “Make yourself useful and go set the table.” She grins fiendishly at me as she opens the silverware drawer. I see Bruce and a couple of the guys peeking at me through the door from their seats in the dining room. I wince and pull out enough silverware for 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, causing me to hop forward. I cringe as everyone at the table bursts out laughing.

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 on me. The torment is especially keen when I bend over to place the glasses, imagining Bruce’s probable hard-on—and shivering at the thought.

When I’m done setting the table Donna hands me a can of concentrated orange juice and instructs me to make it up. 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, and both girls bend down to pick it up. They purposely linger while they’re down there, their eyes inches from my crotch. They blatantly stare for a few seconds, and then Donna tickles my balls, and I let out a high-pitched yelp. Both girls are giggling.

They stand up and Donna playfully pinches the right side of my burning face. “Don’t feel bad, little boy,” she teases. “You have a cute little pee-pee, and it's almost as big as my eight-year-old brother's.” They break out into hysterical laughter. I feel emasculated as I stand there and soak up the biting ridicule. It seems my humiliation will have no bounds.

"I have to tell, you, Tammy," says Donna. "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... 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," says Tammy. "And we're just getting started. We're going to have so much fun with him today." They both stare at me with grins on their faces, while I wallow in humiliation.

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

I’m blushing brightly as I enter the dining room and proceed from seat to seat, pouring from the pitcher into each glass. While I pour into Bruce’s glass, to my horror I feel his fingers stroking my perineum. Startled, I squeal out loud and spill some juice on the table. Hearty laughter rings in my ears as I'm told to go get a towel to clean up the mess. The boys are thoroughly entertained as my degradation continues.

After I lay out platters of eggs, pancakes and mini sausages on the table I’m instructed to take my place at the head of the table. Someone has put a barstool there that is higher than the table, so I will be on display during the meal. I take my seat to the sounds of chuckling and giggling. Bruce instructs me to place my feet on the outside footrests of the stool, thus increasing my exposure. Everyone is in a positively giddy mood as I sit forlornly and start nibbling at my food without looking up from my plate.


Introducing Rhonda and Gail

I stiffen in my seat at the sound of the doorbell. Everyone looks at the door, then at me, wondering what will transpire. Tammy gets up and peeks through the curtain of a side window to see who it is. I’m all set to bail upstairs when Tammy turns back with a sly grin on her face. “Blondie, would you get the door, please?” she casually requests. I can’t move, I’m so horrified. The doorbell rings again and Tammy pulls me by the arm off the barstool.

“Please!” I plead with Tammy. “I can’t open the door like this!”

She gives me a stern look and spanks my ass with one hard slap that rings 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.”

I’m shaking and my ass is stinging as I walk towards the door. I know a red mark is materializing at the point of the slap, and I can sense that everyone is watching it change color. I hear the laughter and excitement behind me as Tammy whispers to the others, probably tipping them off about who’s waiting at the door.

I grip the doorknob, hesitating for a few seconds. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, summoning as much courage as possible before finally swinging the door open. 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 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 as I stand there like a naked statue. They both break into convulsive laughter, alternately looking at my anguished, bright red face and my underdeveloped, hairless genitals.

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

Tammy suddenly appears in the doorway, grinning. “Well, come on, Blondie, don’t leave our guests out in the cold,” she instructs.

I swallow hard. “Won’t you come in?” I ask meekly. That only sends them into another round of laughter.

“Blondie, meet Rhonda and Gail. Rhonda and Gail, this is Blondie,” Tammy announces, thoroughly enjoying herself. "He's fourteen, believe it or not. Both of them drop their jaws and gaze 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 attempt at humor, while Rhonda and Gail grin from ear to ear. They extend their hands, and I force myself to shake them.

“Pleased to meet you, Blondie,” Gail says, locking eyes with me before glancing down at my crotch. “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 so glad you could stop by,” Tammy says, leading us toward the dining room. “You’re just in time for breakfast. There’s plenty of food. Would you like to join us?”

“Well, we just ate,” Gail replies, her eyes still glued to 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, with the two newcomers looking absolutely delighted by the unexpected spectacle before them.

Tammy wastes no time putting me into action. “Blondie, be a good boy and get two glasses. Pour our guests some orange juice,” she instructs. I can almost feel every eye follows me as I retreat to the kitchen. When I return, I carefully pour juice into two glasses, my hands shaking with embarrassment.

“Thank you, Blondie,” says Gail. “You’re such a little sweetie.” She playfully pats my bare ass as I walk away. As impossible as it might seem, I feel my face turning yet redder.

I hurry to my seat at the barstool, literally shivering from the humiliation. Meanwhile, Rhonda and Gail exchange amused glances, grinning as they continue to leer at me. It’s clear they can’t believe the situation they happened upon, and they seem quite delighted that they have. Breakfast is lively—full of laughter and joking. Well, for everyone except me. I sit in silence, barely touching my food, while the conversation carries on 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. I’m sure they’re dying to hear the details—like how you ended up as our nude little servant.” At this, the entire table seems to sit up straighter. All eyes turn to me, filled with anticipation. I keep my head down, poking at my scrambled eggs.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, young man!” Donna presses. Still, I say nothing. It’s not just that I won’t answer—I can’t. My mouth feels glued shut, my humiliation making it impossible to speak.

Unfortunately for me, my silence won't be overlooked. And soon, I would be reprimanded in a most embarrassing fashion.

Chapter 5: A Nude Spanking

A Most Embarrassing Reprimand

“All right, that does it!” reprimands Donna. “I’ve had quite enough of your insolence. You get your little ass over here right now!” She stands up, pulls her chair away from the table and sits back down, facing me. I fidget in my seat, horrified at the likely degradation that lies in store for me.

“Now!” Donna screams while pointing to her lap with her index finger.

I slide off my barstool and with trepidation I approach the fiendish Donna. When I reach her chair she grabs me by the bicep and yanks me over her lap. I hold on to the legs of her chair while my feet are dangling in midair. She wastes no time, and immediately I feel the stings from her barehanded spanking. It is a quick, authoritative and decisive volley, alternating from cheek to cheek in perfect rhythm. The sound of each smack echoes throughout the dining room.

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

Towards the end of the punishment the pain is registering, and I am kicking my legs furiously.

“Now stand up, young man!” Donna commands. She pushes me off of her lap and I scramble to my feet. The stinging sensation has really set in and my backside is throbbing now. I clench my ass cheeks with both hands and jump up and down from the pain.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

“Oh, God, I’ve always wanted to do that to a boy,” proclaims Donna with a look on her face of sheer satisfaction. Her cheeks are flushed—partly from exertion, but mostly from delight. The room is filled with boisterous laughter, echoing off the walls. Tears streak down my face, not so much from the sting of the spanking, 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 against my newly warmed backside. I wipe the tears from my eyes with the fists of both hands. When I open them I see that everyone is grinning at me, their eyes twinkling with amusement. My face feels like it’s on fire.


Forced to Recount the Sordid Events

“Now then,” Donna continues. “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 and mutter, “I woke up, we went to the store, and now we’re eating breakfast.”

“I’m warning you, Blondie,” she says. “If I have to take you over my knee and spank you again, I’ll use a hairbrush, and I can promise that you won’t be sitting down for a week. We’d like to hear all the details, in your words. And don’t leave anything out. What were you wearing when you left for the store?”

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

“Your underpants! Weren’t you cold?”

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

Donna presses on, clearly relishing my discomfort. “And what did your little undies look like?”

I hesitate before mumbling, “White... briefs. Please...”

“Ohhh, 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 she won’t stop until she hears it. “On the way home I lost my underpants.” A fresh wave of laughter erupts.

“You ‘lost’ your underpants!” says Donna, 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.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” she persists.

“Yes... yes, I was naked.” Rhonda giggles, and Donna addresses her.

“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 for me. "I... was naked," I say softly.

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

"I was NAKED!" I submit.

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 felt very... naked.” The laughter gets louder.

“And what are you wearing now?”

“Noth—I’m still naked.”

“How old are you, Blondie?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen! 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. “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.

“Why, yes! Yes you do! You have an itty bitty hairless little pee-pee!”

The hilarity continues, my face burning hotter than ever. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Donna moves on, satisfied—for now. I poke at my food, nibbling absentmindedly, desperately wishing I could disappear.

When breakfast is finally over, 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.

“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 smirk knowingly, their amusement never fading. Each glance makes my face flare red, like a flashing Christmas light. I can only hope—pray—that they’ll eventually grow tired of this little game. I hope beyond hope that they will tire of using me and my nudity as their form of entertainment.

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

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. Of course, 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’s Donna who comes up with an idea to enhance my humiliation.

“Hey, I’ve got a great game we can play!” she exclaims, her eyes glinting with mischief. I stiffen. The last time she had a great idea, she wanted to strip me naked and make me put on a “nudie show.” I fear that 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 take turns acting something out—but 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 looks at me and smiles. “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. 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 pulsates with heat.

With no way out, I’m directed to a seat on Donna’s right. Tammy goes first, effortlessly miming a volleyball player. It takes mere seconds for someone to guess correctly. Then she hands Donna a slip of paper. Donna takes center stage and acts out a juggler—another easy one. Within moments, she’s sitting down again, victorious.

Then she hands me a slip of paper. It reads: basketball player. I take the dreaded walk to the center of the room, hyper-aware of every pair of eyes on me. My audience watches my every move, barely containing their amusement. 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 says.

“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 hear the constant laughter. Finally somebody guesses correctly, and I’m allowed to sit down.

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 glance at the paper: Donna’s little puppy dog. I groan. With an overwhelming sense of dread, I drop to all fours in the middle of the room. 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.

The amusement in the room intensifies. 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 correct guesses. Desperate, I get up on my knees and, cringing, 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.

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 wince as Donna situates me so I'm facing the group. She momentarily puts her hands behind her head and points to me. I take a deep breath and follow her lead, feeling quite vulnerable in this position.

"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, giving me a massage. 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 brush against my balls before her fingers are softly caressing 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 in a furnace.

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 has placed 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.

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

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.

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.

TeenFan wrote: Mon Nov 27, 2023 9:51 am 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!!