Roosevelt Humiliations

[Blondie]

The following is applicable to all chapters of “Roosevelt Humiliations:”

© May 2004 by Blondie.

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

For ages 18 and older only.

Chapter 1: The Wedgie
Chapter 2: Pantsless in Homeroom
Chapter 3: Stripped in the Car
Chapter 4: The Naked Crawl
Chapter 5: Bus Stop Humiliation
Chapter 6: Naked and Molested in the Auditorium
Chapter 7: Brenda's Revenge
Chapter 8: Classroom Humiliation
Chapter 9: Stripped on the Soccer Field
Chapter 10: Forced Naked at a Public Beach
Chapter 11: Maternal Discipline
Chapter 12: A Very Embarrassing Spanking
Chapter 13: Under My Sister's Control
Chapter 14: Victoria's Secret
Chapter 15: A Mortifying Measurement
Chapter 16: Tormented by Becky and Brenda
Chapter 17: The Bubble Bath
Chapter 18: Spanked and Pantied
Chapter 19: The Slumber Party Begins
Chapter 20: Petticoated
Chapter 21: Felicity
Chapter 22: Denuded by a Thirteen-Year-Old
Chapter 23: Shake That Ass!
Chapter 24: Hairlessness Revealed
Chapter 25: Shrinkage
Chapter 26: Forced Orgasm

Author's Note: In Chapter 13 there is a scene where Becky stops at Brenda's house to pick her up on the way to the mall. She makes Blondie ring the doorbell, and Brenda's mother answers. She is quite intrigued—and amused—by Blondie's attire, which consisted partly of short shorts, frilly socks and Becky's tennis shoes. I always thought I could do more with that scene, so some fifteen years later I sat down and started writing a modification to that scene—then proceeded to get completely carried away. Long story short, Blondie ends up being thoroughly humiliated by a few of Brenda's mother's friends that were there for a tea party.

The "modification" turned into a five-chapter story of its own. If you are interested in checking it out, you can find it here: Roosevelt Humiliation: The Missing Chapters



Chapter 1: The Wedgie

Intro

It was my first week at Roosevelt High School, and I was scared. I had heard stories about how the smaller kids were tormented by the bigger ones. Unfortunately, I was one of the smaller kids. I'm only five feet, four inches tall and I weigh just one hundred and seventeen pounds dripping wet. I have what my mom calls “angelic features.” I knew I was an easy target. I had already seen some of the older, bigger students, and maybe it was just my imagination, but I felt like they were sizing me up, their amused smirks making me uneasy. Whenever I caught one looking at me, I found myself walking a little faster, my heart pounding. Even the girls watched me sometimes, but not with sympathy—more like they were waiting for a show.

And sure enough, my time would come


My Humiliation Begins

It was lunchtime on Friday, and I was standing by myself watching a group of kids play baseball. The week was almost over, and so far I had escaped unscathed, so I was thinking that maybe those stories were just unfounded rumors.

I was starting to feel a little more comfortable with that thought when out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone kneeling on his hands and knees right behind me. Before I had time to react, another student pushed me backward by the shoulders and I fell to the ground. That was when I made a fateful mistake that probably went a long way toward inviting future torment. Without thinking, I vented my anger by getting up and kicking dirt on the guy who was on his hands and knees.

At first he had an incredulous look on his face, probably because a little freshman like me had dared to lash back. That look was instantly replaced by one of anger, and the next thing I knew, he grabbed my ankles and hauled me back down to the ground, growling to his friend, “Come on, Reggie, let's teach this little shit a lesson.”

Struggle as I might, I couldn’t fight off the two attackers, as they were almost twice my size. I was on my knees while the guy called Reggie held me in a headlock. The other attacker straddled my neck, facing his objective. I felt my shirttail lifting out of the back and then felt fingers reaching inside the back of my jeans. The guy fished around for a second and then found my underpants, which he grabbed and started to pull. Hard.

"No! Please! I'm sorry!" I screamed, attracting more attention. The baseball players stopped their game and were looking on in amusement. I heard a couple of them hoot and whistle, egging on my tormentors.

Before I knew it, the leg holes of my underpants were completely outside of my pants. Reggie’s friend was relentless. He grabbed the leg holes and pulled even harder. My balls were starting to hurt from the pressure when the unmistakable sound of ripping fabric could be heard. He kept pulling and before long my underpants were ripped completely off. He then took my torn underpants and wrapped them around my neck, tying them in a knot.

They both got up, full of themselves from their accomplishment. My main attacker addressed me. “What the fuck were you thinking, you little shit?” he said. “Nobody fucks with Mitch, especially a freshman. What’s your name?”

I gave him my nickname without thinking, which I immediately regretted. “Blondie,” I answered tearfully.

Mitch's grin widened. “Blondie, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, Blondie, you and I are gonna get to know each other really well.” He turned to Reggie and added with a glint in his eye, “I think we’ve found ourselves our freshman plaything.”

Reggie looked me up and down, his smirk matching Mitch’s. “Yeah, we’ll have some fun with him, alright.”

My face burned as they walked away, their laughter lingering in the air until Mitch glanced back over his shoulder. “Watch your back, Blondie. I’ll probably be there.”


Recovery

I had to put my worries about Mitch aside, as I had more immediate concerns. I tugged at the underpants wrapped around my neck, but the knot was very tight. Looking up, I noticed quite a few people staring at me, including a group of about five girls who were giggling freely. My face turned bright red as I sat on the ground and struggled with the knot. After a couple of agonizing minutes, a compassionate fellow freshman came to my rescue.

“Here, let me do it,” he said, and with a quick twist, he yanked the briefs from my neck. “Man, they really did a number on you.”

“Thanks a lot,” I told him gratefully.

“No problem. I'm Robert.”

“Most people call me Blondie.”

“I can see why,” he said with a grin, eyeing my shock of light blond hair. “A pretty unnerving experience, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard about this place. I should have known better. I was an idiot for fighting back.”

“You’d better be careful, Blondie,” Robert warned. “From what I hear, next time they’re liable to take off your pants.”

“Oh, God,” I muttered, literally quivering at the thought. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I don’t mean to scare you, but my brother is a senior here, and he's told me a few stories. For instance, last year they stripped a freshman completely naked and greased him from head to toe with baby oil. Then they took turns sliding him down the hallway like a bowling ball. They made bets on how far the poor kid would slide. A crowd started gathering, and they were making bets. Supposedly, the winning bet was forty-seven yards. Every time he tried to get up, he just kept slipping all over the place. Can you imagine the humiliation?”

“Oh, God,” was all I could say.

“The scary thing is,” Robert continued, “when these guys got caught, they got in trouble—not for stripping and humiliating the freshman, but for greasing up the hallway.”

“Oh, man,” I groaned. “Why don’t the teachers do something about it?”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Robert said. “A couple of years ago, a bunch of seniors stripped a freshman near the football field. They made him walk naked the full length of the field with his hands behind his head.”

"Oh, shit," I said.

“Yeah. One of the teachers—a woman—reported the incident to the principal. He had to act on it, and there was a full investigation. One guy already had a history, and he was expelled. Three others got suspended.”

“That’s a good thing,” I said, hopefully.

“Well, here’s the deal,” Robert continued. “The guy who got expelled was out for vengeance, and his three friends felt the same way.”

“Uh-oh,” I said.

"Uh-oh is right. They stalked the female teacher, and about a month after the incident she was attacked."

"Oh, jeez, what did they do?"

"Well, she wasn't physically harmed, but I guarantee you there are emotional scars. She was working late in her classroom after school one day, and they burst in, ganged up on her and stripped her naked."

“Whoa,” I murmured, wide-eyed.

"They tied her up with rope from a fixture on the ceiling, then took pictures. They told her that if she ever told anyone who did it, they would release the pictures, and that she could expect much worse—and that they knew where she lived."

"Holy shit!"

"They left her tied up there with the door open. At some point a couple of students saw her from the hallway and rescued her. Word got around the school quickly, including to the faculty.

“She never gave them up, but everyone had a pretty good idea who did it and why. In any case, the boys got off scot-free. Ever since then, the teachers turn a blind eye when anything like what happened to you today—or worse—takes place.”

“Oh, God. Um, which teacher was it?”

“Her name was Miss Hartford. She’s not here anymore. She took a leave of absence and never came back. I’m guessing she left town. I mean, can you blame her?”

“No, I guess not,” I said, shaking my head.

“And there’s more,” Robert went on. “It involves Mr. Radcliffe. He was the principal then—and still is. My brother never got the full story of how they got to him. More naked pictures? He’s not a big guy, so they could have easily overpowered him if they wanted to. In any case, about a week after Miss Hartford’s naked episode, Mr. Radcliffe reinstated the guy who was expelled.”

"Jeez, that's crazy."

“And just to show that they had free rein to do whatever they wanted, they found that same freshman—he helped with the investigation, so they weren’t happy with him—and they stripped him naked and made him walk the length of the football field again. This time, they didn’t give him back his clothes.”

“Holy shit!” I said. “What did the kid do?”

“I don’t know how he finally got some clothes, but he had to go back into the building naked. I’m sure it was a very humiliating experience.”

“Oh, man,” was all I could say as I imagined myself in the same position as that unfortunate freshman.

“Anyway,” Robert sighed, “watch yourself, Blondie. The inmates are running the asylum here.”

The warning bell sounded, and Robert and I went our separate ways. As I tried to shake off my awful experience and Robert’s harrowing stories, I shuddered at what might lie in store for me in my future at Roosevelt High.

[TeenFan]

I'm hoping Blondie gets to witness some humiliations dealt out to other underclassmen. But I'm sure Blondie will end up having his fair share
of trouble.

[Blondie]

I'm hoping Blondie gets to witness some humiliations dealt out to other underclassmen. But I'm sure Blondie will end up having his fair share
of trouble.

In the very next chapter, Blondie does describe some humiliations to the other freshmen that he witnessed. It's been a few years since I've read this, but as I recall, much like Tommy in "Tommy's Debasement," the story focuses mainly on the humiliations suffered by the Blondie character, mostly at the hands of females.

[Blondie]

Chapter 2: Pantsless in Homeroom

Roosevelt Lore

Almost a month had passed since my humiliating encounter with Mitch and Reggie. I hadn't faced any humiliations since that day, but the absence of incidents did little to ease my anxiety.

Roosevelt was starting to terrify me. In the past few weeks, I had either witnessed or heard of at least three incidents where freshmen boys were publicly humiliated, serving as a reminder that I could easily be their next victim at any time.

The first incident that I witnessed happened after school at the old Roosevelt statue. Some poor kid got a wedgie like I did, only it was much worse. The older guys didn’t just yank up his briefs—they hoisted him up and hung him from Roosevelt’s outstretched arm by his underpants. He dangled helplessly, arms flailing, legs kicking, his face turning redder by the second as an amused crowd gathered around to laugh at his predicament. I thought for sure that his underpants were going to rip, but he was small and light enough that they held. After a while he just gave up and hung there limply and helplessly. It was over ten minutes before a teacher came out and rescued him.

I must admit I was chuckling to myself at the comical sight, but that tiny laugh died in my throat the second I realized—it could have just as easily been me hanging up there.

The second incident happened between second and third period. As I made my way to class, I noticed a loud crowd gathered outside the boys’ locker room, whooping and cheering like they'd just witnessed a game-winning touchdown. I pushed my way through to see what was going on—and there he was. Some poor freshman, frantically pounding on the locker room door with his foot. He had been thrown out there, completely naked with his hands tied behind his back with one of those plastic zip ties. He was practically dancing in place, shifting side to side in panic.

I stood transfixed at the scene until the warning bell sounded for the next class. The crowd dispersed, leaving the distressed kid to himself. I don’t know how long it was before somebody let him in.

Again, a wave of anxiety washed over me as I envisioned myself in that same predicament—shivering, utterly humiliated, and exposed for all to see.

The third incident happened in P.E. class. I didn’t see it firsthand, but Robert did. He told me all about it over lunch one day. Here is how our conversation went:

“So, I’m in my P.E. class yesterday,” he started, talking through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “We’re in the gym, playing five-on-five, half-court basketball, right? Shirts vs. skins. And one of the guys playing shirtless was... well, pretty small.”

I swallowed hard. Like me.

“Anyway,” Robert continued, wiping a crumb from his chin, “I happened to notice that three senior girls had stopped doing their calisthenics and were watching our game. One of them was pointing at the smaller kid. They were all grinning. I didn’t know why at the time, but oh, man, I do now. They were scheming on him, and I don't mean in a good way—at least for him.”

I shifted in my seat, already feeling secondhand embarrassment creeping up my spine. “What happened?”

“Well, as fate would have it, the ball gets away and rolls right to where they were standing. The small kid goes to get it—totally oblivious to the fact that the girls were keying on him. One of the girls picks up the ball and tells him he can have it... in exchange for his shorts.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Whaaaat?!”

Robert nodded, his eyes wide with the memory. “Dead serious. The guy thought she was joking, but she wasn't messing around. I could tell by the way she was looking at him that she was hell-bent on seeing him in his underpants.

"So he asks her to just give him the ball, and she goes, ‘Sure. Just hand over your shorts first.’”

I shook my head, cringing. “No way. Did he actually—”

“No, he didn’t. At least, not willingly.” Robert said. “He turned to walk away, and while he was shrugging his shoulders, one of the girls sneaks up behind him and yanks his shorts right down to his ankles.”

“Oh, wow!” I said, feeling my face grow hot as I pictured the scene.

“But they weren’t done—not even close.” Robert continued, leaning in closer. “He tries to pull them back up, but one of the girls was standing on them. He pushes at her, but then her two friends jump in. One of them—a big girl—lifts him off the ground while another strips his shorts completely off.”

“Oh, shit!” I gasped, my stomach twisting into knots.

“Yep. They were the standard Roosevelt gym shorts—probably two sizes too big for him—so they came off pretty easily. He was just standing there, frozen, in his tighty-whities.

"We're all watching—and to be honest, it was pretty funny—while the guy frantically chases them while they play keep-away with his shorts. He finally gives up and decides his best course of action is to escape to the locker room where his clothes are."

"Yeah, that's what I would have done," I said.

“But here’s the kicker,” Robert said, smirking. “He tries to run for the locker room, but they cut him off. They tell him if he doesn't go back and finish the basketball game like that, they’ll take off his underpants, too.”

I groaned, my face in my hands. “Oh, man. That’s brutal.”

"I know. Anyway, he took them seriously this time. So guess what? He had to go back out there and play the rest of the game in just his tighty-whities while the entire gym laughed at him.”

I was left speechless. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Instead, I found myself imagining what it would have been like to be in that poor guy’s place—standing there in my underpants while the entire gym laughed, knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

But Robert wasn't finished.

“It gets worse,” he continued. “After a minute or so—maybe less—the humiliation must have become too much for him, because he makes another run for the locker room.

"Again, exactly what I would have done."

"But these girls were mean, and they were having fun. They weren't going to let up. So again they catch the guy, but this time, while the big girl holds him up, another girl pulls his underpants down his thighs."

"No!"

"Yes. And they tell him if he doesn't go back and finish the game, that they would take them completely off, and do the same thing every day until he did what they said."

"Holy shit! So did he play?"

"He felt like he had no choice," Robert said. "Unless he wanted to be stripped naked on the spot, plus be humiliated by these girls every day."

I swallowed hard. Just the thought of being in that position made my stomach turn.

"So they let him go, and he pulls up his underpants and goes back to the game. But then they tell him—" Robert paused for effect, grinning slightly. "They never said he could pull them back up. He had to finish the game with his tighty-whities pulled down."

"You're shitting me! Tell me you're making this up!"

"I shit you not."

I covered my face with both hands. "Oh my God. Did he do it?!"

Robert let out a low whistle, shaking his head as if he still couldn't believe what he had witnessed. "He did." I stared at him in disbelief. "We're all standing there, just waiting to see what he was going to do. You could see the panic in his eyes. He hesitated for a solid minute, like he was trying to will himself to wake up from a nightmare. But then—and I couldn't believe what I was seeing—he starts pulling his underpants down."

I smacked the table. "Holy shit! This is insane!"

"It was." Robert let out a short laugh, shaking his head again. "At first, he only pulled them down a little bit to where he was showing most of his ass, but not his dick. But the girls wanted more. They kept yelling, ‘Further! Further!’—and they wouldn’t stop until he had them most of the way down his thighs."

I was speechless. "And then?" I finally croaked.

Robert sighed. "And then... he played basketball."

I gaped at him. "Oh. My. God."

"I know. It was surreal." Robert exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was on the other team, and I had to defend him. Poor guy was trying so hard to cover up, but his teammates kept passing him the ball." He gave me a knowing look. "Which, honestly, felt a little cruel on their part."

I nodded. "Yeah, no kidding."

"It must have been especially agonizing for the guy—I mean, he had this... well, to be blunt, he had this little dick with no hair on it (just like me, I thought once again), something the girls had a good time teasing him about. And it was bobbing around while he played, which made them laugh even harder. It was amusing, I have to admit. I probably would have been laughing too if I didn't feel so sorry for him.”

I let out a breath. "Geez, he must have been so fucking embarrassed."

"Totally. I’ve never seen anyone’s face that red in my life, or anybody so humiliated. And to make it worse? Every single girl stopped their calisthenics to watch. They were all laughing. Even the guys from the other court had stopped their game to enjoy the show."

I groaned. "That’s brutal."

"Somehow—somehow—he managed to finish the game. The moment it ended, he yanked his underpants back up, and the girls finally tossed him his shorts." Robert shook his head, still in awe. "It was unbelievable. But I saw it with my own eyes."

I sat there for a moment, just absorbing the sheer horror of it all. And then a thought struck me. "Wait," I said, frowning. "Where was the P.E. teacher during all of this?"

Robert smirked. "Oh, Mr. Dunlop? He conveniently disappeared into the locker room."

Of course. "And their teacher?" I asked.

Robert’s smirk deepened. "It looked like she was heading into the locker room too. But..." He let the sentence hang.

I narrowed my eyes. "But... what?"

He shrugged, but there was something mischievous in his expression. "I glanced over a couple times. She wasn’t in the locker room." He leaned forward slightly. "She was still standing in the doorway. Watching the whole thing. And I swear..." he chuckled, shaking his head. "I swear she was smiling."

I felt a shiver run down my spine. "Oh, man, this place is unreal," I muttered.

"You got that right."

As I left the cafeteria, my stomach churned uneasily. It wasn’t just the excruciating humiliation that unsettled me—it was who had inflicted it. The idea of being stripped by a bunch of guys was terrifying enough. But girls? Girls doing it? That was an entirely different level of humiliation.

And now it was painfully clear that the girls at this godforsaken place were just as apt to humiliate a freshman like me as the boys were. If anything, they seemed even more fiendish in the methods they employed. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that the girls might actually be worse.

And the worst part? I had a gut feeling that my turn was coming soon.


Depantsed

Regrettably, my gut feeling would prove correct.

It was an unusually warm Tuesday morning in early October. My mother dropped me off at school about thirty minutes early so she could meet a client. As I closed the car door, I spotted Mitch and Reggie standing near the drinking fountain in front of the building. Keeping my head down, I hurried through the front entrance, avoiding eye contact and hoping they hadn’t noticed me.

I climbed the stairs and glanced back. There was no sign of them, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Ten minutes later I was at my locker in the busy corridor, when it happened.

I never saw them coming. Without warning, two strong arms wrapped around me in a bear hug and dragged me toward the middle of the hallway. Twisting around, I recognized Reggie. Before I could react, another pair of hands seized my ankles and lifted me off the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mitch reaching for my waist.

I braced myself for another wedgie.

“Please, no!” I shouted.

But they had something else in mind—something far more humiliating.

Mitch started unfastening my belt. Petrified, I kicked my legs wildly, trying to fend him off. It was hopeless. He had brought several friends with him, and I was badly outnumbered. Held firmly in place, I was all but defenseless.

I felt my belt loosen, followed by Mitch’s fingers working the button on my corduroys. At the same time, someone else pulled off my shoes, apparently to make it easier to remove my pants. For some reason—I guess just because they could—they took my socks as well.

The button came undone. Mitch immediately went to work on my zipper. I screamed bloody murder, but a hand quickly clamped over my mouth. A moment later, my zipper was down, and I felt my corduroys beginning to slide down my thighs.

Someone shouted out, “Hey, they’re pantsing him! Check it out!”

I noticed a large group of students forming around me, all of them clearly enjoying the spectacle. My pants were already below my knees, and I feared the inevitable. Sure enough, Mitch peeled them inside out over my feet, and within seconds they were gone. A cheer went up in the corridor. Several girls were giggling.

“Strip him naked!” I heard one of them yell. I remembered the naked freshman outside the locker room and wondered if that could happen to me. I was in a panic, red-faced and terrified.

Mitch addressed me while Reggie maintained his grip on me. “All right, Blondie, I’m giving you two choices. Option one: You walk to your homeroom exactly as you are, wearing nothing but your T-shirt and those little tighty-whities. Option two: Everything comes off and we throw you in there butt naked.”

To my horror, he pulled out the front of the waistband of my underpants and peeked inside. Grinning, he continued. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d love to show everyone your hairless little dick.

“So what’s it gonna be, Blondie?”

“Oh please, don’t do this to me!” was all I could muster.

“Let’s strip him, Reggie,” said Mitch as he reached for my underpants.

“No! Stop! I’ll do it!” I screamed. Mitch withdrew and Reggie released me. “When can I get my pants back?” I asked pleadingly.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll see them eventually,” answered Mitch with a sly grin.


The Shameful Walk

Homeroom was all the way on the other end of the hallway. I started the long, humiliating walk of shame. Self-consciously, I tugged at the hem of my T-shirt, but it was no use—it barely reached halfway down my underpants. I must have been quite a sight: red-faced and shuffling through the hall in nothing but my underwear.

The crowd of amused students parted down the middle, creating a path just for me. My face burned as I kept my head lowered, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Along the way, I spotted my shoes and socks lying on the floor and scooped them up without breaking stride. Stopping would only have made the ordeal worse.

At last, I reached the door to my homeroom. I placed a hand on the knob and hesitated. Glancing back, I saw Mitch trailing behind me with a devilish grin, my pants dangling mockingly from his fingers. He gave them a little wave. I didn’t even bother asking for them. I already knew what the answer would be.

Drawing a deep breath, I pulled open the door and stepped inside.


Homeroom Debasements

The room was about three-quarters full. My desk sat right at the front, dead center. I made a beeline for it, keeping my head down and willing myself to disappear.

I heard it immediately—the buzzing whispers, then giggles, then the unmistakable laughter of students realizing that, yes, some guy had just walked into class in his underwear. I sank into my seat, my face burning like it was on fire. More students filed in, and one by one their eyes followed the gazes of their classmates until they landed on me—wide-eyed at first, then smirking.

"Blondie, where the hell are your pants?" I barely glanced at the guy to my left. I just waved my hand dismissively, too mortified to speak.

Then the bell rang, and Miss Farnsworth entered. She was a tall, thin woman in her late forties, a veteran of Roosevelt High. No doubt she had seen more than her fair share of pranks over the years, and she immediately sensed the unusual energy in the room. It only took a few seconds for her eyes to land on me. For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised. Then a wry smile crept across her face.

"Mr. Haggerty, would you stand up, please?"

I rose reluctantly. My hands hovered near my groin as though they could somehow shield me. Miss Farnsworth’s gaze traveled down my body before settling on my bare legs.

“You have very pretty legs, Mr. Haggerty,” she said with a teasing smile.

Laughter echoed around me. I stood there acutely aware of my exposure, my face blazing. If her goal was to maximize my embarrassment—and I was fairly certain it was—she had succeeded.

"But I hardly think this is the time or place to be showing them off," she continued. "I think we all deserve an explanation, Mr. Haggerty."

I opened my mouth, but nothing coherent came out. "I-I-I—"

Before I could get another syllable out, the class burst into fresh laughter. But they weren't looking at me anymore, and neither was Miss Farnsworth. Their attention was fixed on something outside the window.

I followed their gaze and made what can best be described as a bittersweet discovery. There, hanging from the top of the flagpole, just beneath the American flag, were my beloved corduroys. I'm sure it was a hilarious sight. For me, it was pure agony. Perhaps someday—far in the future—I’d be able to appreciate the humor. At that moment, though, the only thing I cared about was getting my damn pants back on.

Miss Farnsworth smirked. "I’d venture to say those belong to you, Mr. Haggerty."

I clenched my jaw. "Fucking genius," I muttered under my breath, assuming she wouldn’t hear me over the laughter.

Big mistake. Her eyes snapped to me. She took a step closer. "What did you just say?"

My chest tightened with panic. "N-nothing, Miss Farnsworth."

She crossed her arms. "I heard you loud and clear, Mr. Haggerty. That is no way to speak to your teacher."

"Yes, Miss Farnsworth. Sorry, Miss Farnsworth."

She studied me for a moment, deciding what to do. I could tell she wanted to make an example out of me. So, in my most apologetic voice, I tried again. "Really, Miss Farnsworth, I apologize. It won’t happen again."

But my attempt at placation would be unsuccessful, and my sorry plight was about to worsen. She tilted her head slightly. Then, with a look of almost amused authority, she delivered her response.

"Take off your shirt."

The class gasped, then giggled. I stared at her, dumbfounded. I’d heard rumors that Roosevelt teachers tended to look the other way during a typical Roosevelt hazing, but this? It appeared that this teacher would take it a step further and be actively involved in the depravity.

Miss Farnsworth was persistent. "Come on. Off with it. You need to be punished for your behavior. You’ll spend the rest of homeroom in just your underpants." Then she added, "And if you push your luck any further, I will have those removed, too." The giggling increased. "If you don’t believe me, buster, just try me. You’ll be standing before me naked as the day you were born before you know what hit you. And don’t think for a second you’re too old to be taken over my knee for a bare-bottomed spanking in front of all your classmates, either."

The room exploded with laughter.

At that point, I knew I had no choice. With trembling hands, I peeled off my shirt. Miss Farnsworth snatched it from me, opened her desk drawer, and slam-dunked it inside before kicking the drawer shut. I stood before my peers, clad only in my tighty-whities. Instinctively I covered the small protrusion in my underpants with both hands. My face was burning. I slid back into my chair, praying for the nightmare to end.

"Excuse me?" Miss Farnsworth’s sharp voice cut through the room. "Did I tell you to sit down, Mr. Haggerty?" I shot back up. "You’ll remain standing during roll call, so everyone can see what happens to unruly students." I wanted to die. "What happens is they get shamed. Do you feel shamed, Mr. Haggerty?"

"Yes," I mumbled, my head down.

"Yes, I’m quite sure you do. My, how you’re blushing. Please turn around and face your classmates, Mr. Haggerty. Let them see just how ashamed you are."

I wanted to refuse, but I knew better. Slowly, I turned, staring at the floor with my hands crossed over the front of my underpants. That simple, but worthwhile effort to help protect what little modesty I had left would be short-lived.

"Hands at your sides," she ordered. I hesitated. "Now."

I obeyed, and giggles erupted all around me. Thirty-one pairs of eyes locked onto my crotch, eliciting fiendish grins, mostly from the girls.


Recovering my Corduroys

It felt like forever before she finally let me go. "You have five minutes before the bell, Mr. Haggerty. I suggest you go rescue your trousers. And I do hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson.”

Without replying, I bent down and grabbed my shoes.

"Your shoes and shirt can wait."

I hesitated, weighing what that meant. I would be forced to go outside in my underpants. I clearly needed to move quickly if I didn’t want the entire school seeing me like this.

To the accompaniment of hearty laughter, I bolted out of the room. Barefoot and nearly naked, I ran through the hallway. It was empty but for two separate students (one male and one female) who were late. Both gave the classic look of open-mouthed surprise, followed by huge grins as they delighted in my state of undress, along with my panicked, embarrassed expression.

I reached the flagpole and was quite anguished to discover a nasty knot at the base of the pulley. I spent a couple of agonizing minutes working it loose, acutely aware that I was being watched from several classroom windows. I kept my focus forward and didn’t look up.

At last, the knot gave way, and I furiously hauled the rope down until my long-lost pants dropped within reach. I grabbed them quickly and stepped back into them with relief I’d never felt before.

As I started trotting back toward the building, the bell rang. I groaned, knowing the hallways would be crowded while I would have to maneuver my way through the masses, barefoot and naked from the waist up.

As I ran past one of the classroom windows, I couldn’t help glancing inside. To my chagrin, I spotted Mitch seated by the window, grinning and waving. I quickly averted my gaze and made a dash toward the front doors of Roosevelt High—my school of nightmares.

[Blondie]

Chapter 3: Stripped in the Car

Cafeteria Humiliation

I’m now completely under the power of Mitch and Reggie, and probably Reggie’s girlfriend, if she’s so inclined—and I think she probably is. I remember when I was stripped of my corduroys in the hallway she seemed to get as big of a kick out of my humiliation as anybody. This is a most unsettling turn of events, and now I walk around with an eye over my shoulder, praying that none of my tormentors are lurking nearby.

But instead of carrying on, I should probably backtrack and recount what transpired recently to put me in this state of hopelessness. This will be painful, as I cringe just thinking about that dreadful day.

Well, here goes:

It was lunchtime at Roosevelt High, and I was sitting in the cafeteria with my friend Robert, just trying to eat in peace. I had my head down, picking at my food, when Mitch plopped down beside me, slinging an arm around my shoulders like we were old pals. I stiffened immediately.

“Hi there, Blondie,” he said. “I’d like you to do something for me.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. "What's that?" I asked warily, already knowing nothing good was coming.

Mitch jerked his head toward another table. “You see my buddy Reggie over there?”

I followed his gaze. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now, do you see the pretty girl sitting with him?” I nodded again, my stomach sinking. She wasn’t just pretty—she was gorgeous. Easily one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen. Mitch smirked.

“That’s Joanna. Reggie’s girlfriend. And here’s what I want you to do: Walk over there, introduce yourself, and say, ‘Hi, Joanna, my name’s Blondie. Would you like to see my underpants?’”

My face drained of color, then immediately flushed bright red. “What?”

“You heard me,” Mitch said. “Go on over and offer her a peek at your tighty-whities.” He gave me a firm pat on the back. “And make it good.”

I shook my head rapidly, my pulse hammering. I looked over at the girl again. “No way. Please, Mitch, I can't... I can't do that.”

“Suit yourself, Blondie,” Mitch countered. “I’m sure you remember me stripping your pants off. Trust me, if you don’t do what I say you’re gonna lose more than your pants.”

I stared at him, horrified.

“Right now, Blondie,” Mitch said, standing up. “I’m heading over there, and you better get your little ass over there, too. Her name’s Joanna, and you want to show her your underpants.”

With that, he strolled away and took a seat at Reggie’s table, glancing back at me expectantly. I just sat there, frozen in panic, not knowing where to turn.

“I hate to say it, Blondie,” Robert muttered, “but I think you’d better do what he says. There’s no telling what he’ll do if you don’t. You saw what he did to you in the hallway. If you piss him off, he might just strip you totally naked next time. In fact, I’m sure that’s what he’ll do.”

I swallowed hard. My palms were clammy, and my stomach was twisting itself into knots. “Oh, God,” I whispered. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

I sat there for a couple of more minutes, my mind in a state of turmoil. More than once I tried to get up, but it was like I was bolted to my chair, my legs refusing to cooperate.

Now, you’re probably thinking, What’s the big deal? Just go do it and get it over with, especially considering the consequences if I didn’t. And in retrospect I certainly agree with you. But in that moment, the idea of walking up to a girl like Joanna and asking her to look at my underwear felt like being asked to jump off a cliff. All I know is that I finally pried myself out of my chair, my legs wobbling like jelly, and timidly walked over to their table. My breath was shaky. My heart pounded. I stopped beside Joanna and stared at the table. My voice barely worked, my throat tight with fear.

"H-Hi, Joanna," I stammered, my voice cracking. "My name's Blondie..."

And that’s as far as I got.

The scene is kind of a blur now, but I remember the way the cafeteria seemed to go quiet, the way all eyes turned toward me. I heard a couple of people giggling. Joanna looked up at me, her expression a mix of confusion and amusement. There was no way, under the circumstances, that I could finish the sentence. No way I could ask this beautiful, perfect stranger if she wanted to see my underpants. I remember freezing there, my face as hot as the stovetop in the kitchen behind me.

After what felt like an eternity, I just turned and walked away—no, bolted—staring straight at the floor, seeing nothing. The sound of laughter followed me, ringing in my ears. I didn’t stop until I reached the bathroom. I scurried into a stall, slammed the door shut behind me, and sat down on the toilet, my head in my hands. I stayed there for the next fifteen minutes, until the bell rang for the next period. Even then, I didn't move right away. I just sat there, my mind racing.

When I finally emerged, I peeked around the corner, scanning the area. No sign of Mitch, Reggie or Joanna. Only then did I let out a breath of relief. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.


Kidnapped

To my dismay, my respite would only last a few more hours, until that fateful encounter with my antagonists—the one that left me in my present state of submission. It happened after school as I was walking alone to the bus stop. I was lost in thought, my eyes on the ground, when suddenly a car screeched to a stop right next to me. Before I had a chance to react, Mitch and Reggie jumped out, and in the blink of an eye they had me inside the car, the door slamming shut behind me as we sped off. Just like that, I'd basically been kidnapped—snatched right off the sidewalk in a matter of seconds.

I was in the middle of the back seat, with Reggie on my left and Mitch on my right, their bodies crowding me. There was a guy driving and a girl in the passenger seat, neither of whom I recognized. The girl looked to be about sixteen, with long blonde hair, a somewhat plain face, but a pretty smile. Unfortunately, the reason for that smile was a source of extreme apprehension for me.

It was Mitch’s voice I heard first. “Well, hello, Blondie, nice to see you again,” he said with a grin. “We thought we’d save you the bus money and give you a lift, nice guys that we are.” I didn’t say anything as I sat there, terrified. Mitch leaned in. “It’s too bad you didn’t obey me during lunch today. Don’t say I didn’t warn you." He sat back, his grin widening. "Now, the first thing you're going to do is take off all your clothes."

I should’ve known. I guess I did know. But that didn’t make hearing the words any less of a gut punch. My stomach lurched, nausea rising in my throat. To make matters worse, the girl in the front seat—Marcia, I would soon learn—suddenly became very interested in my predicament. She turned around in her seat, her elbows resting on the backrest, her chin propped up on her hands. She leered at me lasciviously, her eyes raking over my body, sizing me up.

"Ooooh, this is gonna be fun," she cooed.

Mitch chuckled. "Marcia, this is Blondie."

Marcia extended her hand, her grin widening. "Nice to meet you, Blondie." I feebly shook her hand, keeping my gaze down, unable to speak. That didn't slow her down. "You're gonna do it right here, right? In the car?"

Again Mitch chuckled. "That's the plan, babe. Blondie gonna give us a little striptease. Aren't you, Blondie?"

I sat paralyzed, staring straight ahead without responding.

"I’m looking forward to seeing all of you." Marcia teased, her eyes sparkling with cruel delight. She leaned in closer. "I bet you're gonna look adorable naked."

Laughter erupted around the car. My ears burned, the heat spreading down my neck. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the seat, to cease to exist.

"P-please," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Don't make me do this."

Reggie snorted. "Oh, you're gonna do it, all right. And you're gonna do it now." He reached over and grabbed the hem of my shirt. "Start with this."

I hesitated, terrified. “Okay, Blondie, here’s your choice,” Mitch said. “You can take off your clothes yourself, or Reggie and I will do it for you. Don’t think we can’t—we’ll have you bare-ass naked within a minute.”

I didn’t doubt that for a second, as they have demonstrated already that they can overpower me.

“Now, if you take your clothes off yourself, we’ll give them back before you go home. But if you make Reggie and me strip you, your clothes are going out the window, piece by piece as we take them off. In which case you’re walking home naked."

I sat wide-eyed, still unable to move.

"So what’d it gonna be, Blondie?”

It wasn’t much of a choice. What could I do? I sure as hell didn’t want to run home naked, but could I trust that these assholes would give my clothes back if I took them off myself? That was a chance I'd have to take.

Again the relentless Mitch badgered me. “I’ll give you five seconds to start stripping,” he demanded.

I squeezed my eyes shut. My mind raced, searching for a way out, but there was none. I was trapped, outnumbered, and at their mercy.


The Stripping

I knew what I had to do. With trembling hands, I reached for the buttons of my shirt, eliciting a delighted giggle from Marcia.

"That's it," she purred. "Take it off. Nice and slow."

I closed my eyes again, my face burning with humiliation. This couldn't be happening. But it was. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

The strip would be excruciating, as you can well imagine. As the vehicle rolled through a quiet residential area, I kept going. I finished unbuttoning my shirt and shrugged it off my shoulders. Marcia snatched it from me with obvious glee. "Oh, we're going to have so much fun doing this," she chirped, and tossed it behind her without so much as a backward glance.

I hesitated. My instinct was to go for my shoes instead of my tee shirt, as though somehow delaying my inevitable half-nakedness might make a difference. I guess I was in no hurry to allow the girl to ogle my bare torso. I kicked off my sneakers, handed them over one by one, then peeled off my socks. The feeling of helplessness only deepened. The radio was blaring, but I couldn’t process the song. The only sounds that truly registered were Marcia's occasional giggles and the and the faint sounds of amused conversation.

I reached for the hem of my t-shirt, but at the last second, I pulled it up from the back instead of over my front. I remember thinking if I pulled it from the bottom, I’d have to lift my arms over my head, exposing my hairless armpits to their hungry eyes. Granted, that should've been the least of my worries in that moment, but I must admit it was on my mind.

As soon as the shirt was off, I handed it to Marcia, who was grinning like she'd won the lottery. I sat there, arms folded across my chest, as if that would somehow render me invisible, would shield me from their gazes. Mitch, clearly not wanting me to stall any longer, took hold of my wrists and placed my hands firmly on the waistband of my jeans.

"Don't make me tell you twice," he said.

I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaled sharply, and unbuckled my belt. There was no point in dragging it out any longer. I popped the button, unzipped the fly, lifted my hips, and slid my jeans down past my knees. This provoked an animated reaction from my captors, as though I'd finally given them the show they'd been waiting for. Marcia clapped her hands, giggling wildly like a child at a carnival. Reggie let out a whistle. The driver turned in his seat, laughing. And Mitch—he reached over and stroked my hairless thigh.

"Look at these pretty legs," he mused, his fingers lingering on my skin. "Smooth as a baby's ass."

Revolted, I clenched my eyes tightly shut. I reached down to pull off my jeans, brushing his hand away as I did. I handed them to the grinning Marcia, and she threw them behind her without taking her eyes off me. I could see her gazing back and forth from my burning face to my tighty-whities, to my legs and back up my near-naked body, her eyes tracking each exposed inch with obvious enjoyment. I remember thinking that if this was embarrassing, how would it be in a few moments, when I'd be completely naked, when there would be nothing left to hide behind?

Well, I’m here to tell you—it was horrible. Worse than I'd imagined. Worse than I have words for.

“Strip ‘em off, Blondie,” ordered Mitch. "Don't be shy—we're all friends here."

I hesitated, having difficulty mustering up the courage to continue. My hands hovered at the elastic band of my underwear, trembling. I took a deep breath, slipped my underpants down my legs and pulled them off. I don’t think I handed them to Marcia as much as she plucked them out of my hands. For whatever reason, she draped them over the rearview mirror, where they swayed mockingly with every turn of the car. She turned around in her seat, taking a long, delighted look at what she'd helped reduce me to.

"Well, would you look at that," she cooed. "There’s a naked boy in our car." She leaned in closer, her eyes taking in my hunched form with obvious amusement. "And he's blushing bright red!" she giggled. "How cute."

More laughter. More teasing. The music blared on, and the energy inside the car was electric with my humiliation. I curled forward, my head nearly touching my knees, arms clutching my front like my life depended on it. Words cannot begin to describe the mortification I felt at that moment.

Eventually, the noise died down, and someone turned down the radio. I felt a tug on my shoulders.

"Sit up straight, Blondie," Mitch ordered. "You need to see what you're going to do."

I sat up stiffly, hands still securely covering myself. I was ever so thankful they didn’t make me remove my hands, though Reggie playfully tried to pull them away one time, but not with much effort. I don't know if it was in deference to Marcia—although I got the impression that she would have thoroughly enjoyed my naked exposure—or if they had just an ounce of compassion in their blood. More likely, I think they were saving it up for another time when it would serve them better.

In any case, like I say, I was relieved that they didn’t make me expose my prepubescent package for their ridicule.

Anyway, when I sat up, to my chagrin I noticed that we were in the middle of Main Street in the busy downtown. We were stopped in the left lane at a red light, and there was a median grade on our left. It was the busiest intersection in town, and there were quite a few cars and a considerable number of people bustling about, going about their ordinary days, completely unaware of the naked boy in their midst.


The Threat of Public Nudity

"Okay, Blondie," Mitch continued. "Take a good look at this little area on your left." He gestured toward the intersection with a wave of his hand. "We’re going to turn left here, loop around the block, and when we get back, you’re going out. Right in the middle of it." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Then you’re on your own."

I felt my stomach drop. I was horrified, truly horrified in a way I hadn't been even during the stripping. The experience in the car was traumatic enough, but to get thrown out naked in public? My God, that was beyond comprehension. Tears welled up in my eyes.

"Oh, please," I pleaded, my voice trembling so badly I barely recognized it as my own. "Please, don’t do this. I swear I’ll do anything you say, just—don’t make me go out there like this! I'll do whatever you want. Please."

"Anything?" Marcia piped up from the front seat. "Hmm, let me think about that."

Mitch smirked. He held all the cards and was enjoying every moment of it. He knew he had me right where he wanted. We both knew that if at any time I didn’t do exactly what he said, then he could easily have me in this very same predicament again, or worse. It may have been a bluff all along, this threat of public exposure, but he achieved his goal regardless—my complete, unconditional compliance.

"All right, Blondie," he finally said. "Since you were such a good boy and stripped down yourself, I’ll be true to my word. But remember, if you ever fucking go against me again, I’ll put your naked ass out here in broad daylight, and I’ll tie your hands behind your back to the light post. Got that?” I nodded my head disconsolately.

"Say it," he pressed. "Say you understand."

"I understand," I managed.

"Okay then." Mitch turned to the driver. "Joey, take a right at the next light. We're getting close to Blondie's house. We can let him off up the street."

Great, he even knows where I live. I won't be safe anywhere! Not at school, not at home, not anywhere.

The driver followed instructions and turned into the residential area toward my house. I was still wondering when and if I would get my clothes back, whether this was all some elaborate setup to leave me stranded naked blocks from home. The uncertainty gnawed at me, my hands clutching my naked front with desperation. I got my answer quickly, though it brought little comfort.

"Stop here, Joey," Mitch said. "Marcia, give Blondie his clothes."

Joey braked in the middle of a quiet street, just a couple of blocks from my house. The sudden stop sent me lurching forward. Marcia twisted in her seat and dumped my clothes onto my lap in a heap—shirt, shoes, socks, jeans, all tangled together. I looked up at my underpants, which were still dangling tormentingly from the rearview mirror,. Marcia followed my gaze, her smile widening.

"Those are mine now," she grinned. "A little souvenir. Something to remember you by."

Without responding—what could I possibly say?—I grabbed my jeans and started pulling them on, my movements frantic and clumsy.

"No time for that, Blondie, we gotta go," said Mitch, and his hand was on my arm, insistent. "You’re outta here. Reggie, let him out.”


Released

Reggie proceeded to open his door. He pulled on my left arm while Mitch backed up against his door and used his foot to help push me out, his shoe pressing against my bare hip. I was frantic, my heart hammering against my ribs, as I dropped a shoe and my jeans as I was trying to keep myself covered and at the same time hold on to my clothes with my one free hand.

"Come on, Blondie, move it!" Reggie laughed, his grip tightening.

"Wait, my clothes—" I screamed, but my words were cut off by Mitch's foot pressing against my back.

"Out!"

During the struggle, I wondered if at some point they all got a look at my naked crotch. Reggie continued to pull, and Mitch continued to push, their combined efforts overwhelming my desperate resistance.

I hit the pavement in a graceless heap, skin scraping against concrete, while everyone roared with laughter. As they sped off, I watched my jeans fly out one window and my shoe out another. The driver leaned on the horn, a long blast that echoed through the quiet neighborhood as the car disappeared into the distance.

My ordeal, however, wasn't quite over.

I scrambled to my feet, clutching my clothes against my front, my shirt, lone shoe, and socks bundled protectively against my nakedness. Glancing around, I discovered—to my dismay—that I wasn't alone. A young woman, maybe twenty or so, was walking in my direction. She wore yoga pants and a tank top, with a pair of headphones hanging around her neck. She stopped short when she spotted me. For a moment, she simply took in the scene. Then she grinned. Not a sympathetic smile. A grin. The kind of grin that suggested she had just stumbled across the funniest thing she'd seen all week.

I turned and bolted. After a brief detour to snatch up my jeans and missing shoe, I sprinted for the nearest tree and ducked behind it. There, with trembling hands, I hurriedly pulled my clothes back on. My fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers, clumsy with panic and desperate to be dressed before anyone else came along.

As I walked home, my heart still pounding, I shivered at the thought of the repercussions of what had happened that day. The worst part was knowing that it wasn't over. If anything, it had only just begun. I was now completely at their mercy, and there was no way of knowing what Mitch, Reggie, and whoever else they decided to recruit would have in store for me.

I had a nasty feeling in my gut that this was only the beginning of my torment at Roosevelt High.

[TeenFan]

In "Stripped by Friends" Blondie is a 14 year old Freshman in High School.
He is forced to strip during a car ride.

In "Roosevelt Humiliations" Blondie is in the first week of Freshman year.
He is forced to strip during a car ride.

Is this the same character in both stories?
Physically the character is the same in each story, and I'm assuming this Roosevelt story pre-dates the "Stripped by Friends" (in Blondie's life).

Assuming again, if this is the same Blondie in all stories using this character name, will there be references to events that happen in previous
stories using the character?

[Blondie]

In "Stripped by Friends" Blondie is a 14 year old Freshman in High School.
He is forced to strip during a car ride.

In "Roosevelt Humiliations" Blondie is in the first week of Freshman year.
He is forced to strip during a car ride.

Is this the same character in both stories?
Physically the character is the same in each story, and I'm assuming this Roosevelt story pre-dates the "Stripped by Friends" (in Blondie's life).

Assuming again, if this is the same Blondie in all stories using this character name, will there be references to events that happen in previous
stories using the character?

Good assumption, TeenFan, and the answer is "yes" to both questions. As you will see, this story follows Blondie's travails through his junior year at Roosevelt High. We can assume it is the same character who was forced to spend the day naked in "Stripped by Friends"—just with a different group of "friends." Yes, that guy had a pretty rough time of it in high school.

There will be an upcoming story entitled "The Felicity Chronicles: My Exploits as a Humiliator" in which the Blondie character and his tribulations at Roosevelt High are referenced many times. In fact, several chapters are dedicated to Felicity's (as you will see, the Felicity character plays a main role in Blondie's humiliations) perspective on her experiences dominating Blondie in "Roosevelt Humiliations."

In case anyone is wondering—I have been asked several times in the past—the Blondie character is not based on my personal experiences in high school. Fortunately for me, nothing like that ever happened to me. When I write stories like this I do my best to try to get into the mindset in the character I am writing about, so using the Blondie moniker helped me get into that mentality. Of course, I also try to get in the mindset of the aggressor in the story—and I enjoy that just as much—but obviously I wouldn't use the same name.

Would I want anything like that to happen to me? That's a resounding "Hell, no!" Do I fantasize about that? Sure (sorry if that's TMI). I also fantasize about being on the aggressor's end. What can I say, I really enjoy humiliation scenarios.

[Blondie]

Chapter 4: The Naked Crawl

Still Shy of Puberty

It was the last month of my freshman year at Roosevelt High. Much has happened since my last entry in this chronicle of my harrowing humiliations. I regret to say that my physical development is still way behind that of the other boys, as I still have not begun puberty.

Even more regrettably, my underdeveloped body has been put on display against my will on more than one occasion. As painful as it may be, I feel I should bring the reader up to speed on these most unfortunate occurrences.


Small Penis Humiliation

As you may recall, my last entry ended with the moment I fell under the complete control of Mitch, Reggie, Marcia, and whoever else they decided to recruit into my ongoing torment. That particular disaster had unfolded in December, early in my freshman year.

The following morning, I walked through Roosevelt High's front doors with a knot in my stomach so tight I could barely swallow my breakfast. I half-expected Mitch and the others to ambush me the second I walked through the doors, but for three whole days, I somehow managed to avoid them. I even dared to hope—foolishly—that maybe they had gotten bored and moved on to fresher prey.

That illusion shattered on the fourth day.

I was sitting alone in the cafeteria, quietly eating my lunch, when a chorus of giggles erupted from a table across from me. I glanced up, and to my chagrin I spotted Marcia with three of her girlfriends. She was talking animatedly, and they were all looking directly at me, laughing way too hard for it to be a coincidence. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the topic of conversation was.

My face went beet red. I tried to look away, but when I dared to glance back, Marcia was holding her index finger and thumb less than two inches apart, and the resulting shriek of laughter from her friends echoed through the cafeteria. I had thought, foolishly, that I had managed to cover myself that day in the car, but apparently Marcia had caught a glimpse of my manhood—or in this case, my boyhood.

In any case, the embarrassment was more than I could take. I shoved my chair back, leaving my half-eaten lunch behind as I stumbled to my feet. The exit seemed miles away. As I hurried toward it, the sound of their giggles followed me, ringing in my ears. Even now, sitting here writing this, my face burns at the memory.

But that encounter, humiliating as it was, paled in comparison to what happened the following week. That was when Mitch decided to truly test the limits of his newfound power over me.


Under Mitch’s Control

It was early afternoon, that dead zone between lunch and final bell when I had a free period. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, Mitch had a free period at the same time.

I was leaning against an oak tree in the courtyard, eyes closed, catching a few rays when a shadow loomed over me. I cracked one eye open.

"Well, well, Blondie," Mitch drawled. "I’ve been looking for you the past few days. You’re not trying to avoid me, are you?"

My stomach twisted into a now-familiar knot. "No... no, I’m not," I answered, already knowing whatever came next wasn’t going to be good.

Mitch smirked. "Good. Because it's time to put our new arrangement to the test. You remember our arrangement, don't you?"

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "I remember."

"That's what I like to hear." He glanced around the grassy courtyard, his eyes landing on a small cluster of girls standing about twenty-five yards away near a fountain. My heart sank before he even opened his mouth again.

"See those girls over there, Blondie?" He waited until I nodded. A familiar sense of dread settled over me. "I’m sure you recognize Joanna," Mitch continued, "Reggie’s girlfriend. You remember her, don’t you? She’s the one you refused to go ask if she wanted to see your underpants the other day."

I definitely remembered. That refusal had led to me being stripped naked in the back of a car, driven around town, and very nearly dumped onto Main Street for anyone to see. I swallowed hard and nodded again.

Mitch's grin sharpened. "Good. Now, here's what you're going to do. You're going to crawl over there on all fours, right up to Joanna. You're going to put your nose right on her crotch, take a couple of sniffs like you're trying to smell her pussy, then come crawling back."

The blood drained from my face so fast I felt dizzy. "Oh God," I whispered. My voice came out hoarse, barely audible. "Please, Mitch, no, I can't do that. Please, I'll do anything else, just not—"

"Anything else?" Mitch cut me off. He leaned in closer. "You think you get to negotiate? You think you're in a position to make demands?" He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "Let me remind you how this works, Blondie. I say jump, you ask how high. I say crawl, you ask how far. That's the deal. That's the only deal."

Mitch simply pointed at the ground. I stared at him, silently pleading with my eyes, but deep down, I knew it was useless. My shoulders slumped in resignation. Slowly, I started to lower myself to my hands and knees.

“Wait, I’m not finished,” said Mitch. I stopped, frozen in a half-crouch, looking up at him anxiously. His smirk widened. "I want you to crawl over there wearing just your underpants."

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I started to open my mouth, to beg, to bargain, to do anything, and he put his hand over my lips, shaking his head slowly.

“Not another word,” he said. “Get those clothes off now, or you’re nude on Main Street after school today. Your choice, Blondie. What's it going to be? You want to strip down to your tighty-whities here, or you want to be tied up naked in front of rush hour traffic?"


The Crawl

I knew I was in a no-win situation. With my heart hammering in my chest, I stood up and moved behind the tree, using it as a shield as I stripped down to my underpants. The rough bark brushed against my back, but the real discomfort came from Mitch’s stare. He watched me closely, savoring every second of my humiliation.

I swallowed hard. My only consolation, if it could be called that, was that there weren't any other people around besides Mitch and the five girls. But that was hardly a comfort. Six witnesses were still six too many.

"All right, Blondie," Mitch said, clapping his hands together once. "Showtime. On your knees, and make it good."

Bracing myself, I dropped down to my hands and knees. And then, I crawled. I moved as fast as I could, desperate to get it over with before my brain had time to process just how humiliating it really was. The cool grass tickled against my bare knees and palms as I scurried forward, each movement bringing me closer to my dreadful destination. I kept my eyes locked downward, focusing only on the distance between me and Joanna.

I was about twenty feet from them when one of the girls discovered me. “Holy shit, check this out!” she screamed while pointing directly at me. "What the hell is that?"

All heads turned toward me in unison. I remember seeing looks of disbelief, followed by slow-spreading grins of amusement. Then I heard the laughter. My ears burned as I forced myself to keep crawling. I had come too far to stop now. I clenched my jaw, pushed forward through the shame, and completed the final few feet to Joanna.

With my entire body screaming in protest, I put my face to the crotch of her jeans and sniffed.

"What the...?" said Joanna, incredulously.

I didn’t dare look up. My entire face felt like it was on fire as I spun around as quickly as I could and began my hasty retreat, scrambling away as fast as my arms and knees could carry me.

But I didn't get very far.


Stripped of Underpants

"You fucking pervert!" Joanna shrieked. "Did he seriously just sniff my crotch? Oh, hell no. Let's get him, girls!"

Panic surged through me. I barely made it five more feet before I felt hands latch onto me from all sides, grabbing my arms, my legs, my waist. A chorus of shrieks and laughter filled the air as I was yanked down onto my stomach, completely overpowered. Hands clawed at me everywhere, holding me down, pinning me to the grass.

Then, I felt fingers hook onto the waistband of my underpants. As if that wasn't terrifying enough, that was quickly followed by words that sent ice through my veins.

"Let's strip him naked!"

"No! No! Please!" I screamed, my voice breaking. "Please don't! I'm sorry!"

"Oh, you're gonna be sorry,, all right," one of them laughed, her voice breathless with exertion and excitement.

They were on a mission, and I was hopelessly outmatched. I thrashed wildly, kicking and twisting in sheer desperation, but they had me pinned. I felt my underpants slipping down, past my hips, then my thighs. Their laughter rang in my ears—sharp, delighted squeals mixed with gasps of amusement at my frantic, useless struggle.

"Look at him squirm!"

"Hold still, you little freak!"

Desperation surged through me as I felt my underpants sliding down my shins. When they reached my ankles, I instinctively tried spreading my legs, a last-ditch effort to keep them from going past the point of no return, to keep some fragment of dignity intact.

But it was futile. With one swift, merciless tug, my underpants were yanked past my feet, rendering me completely naked on the grass in front of the five girls. I thrashed, humiliated beyond belief, but it only seemed to fuel their amusement, as a fresh wave of laughter erupted, louder than before.

"We did it! He's naked!"

"Turn him over!" Joanna squealed with delight. "I want to see the front!"

"Oh! No!" Oh, God, please don't!" I begged, panic rising in my voice. "Please, I'm begging you, don't!"

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. Despite my frantic, flailing resistance, they easily flipped me onto my back. I lay there, paralyzed by mortification, my exposed body burning with shame. The girls stood over me, their grins widening as they took in the sight before them.

"Aww, look at him," one of them cooed mockingly. "Poor little boy, all bare and helpless. Look at that smooth skin. He hasn't even hit puberty."

Joanna grinned down at me, her eyes gleaming. “Look at the pervert’s hairless little weenie,” she cackled. She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, examining me like I was some kind of specimen. “Hey little boy, the grammar school is down the street. What’re you doing here? Did you get lost? Did your mommy drop you off at the wrong school?"”

The laughter intensified. My face burned hotter than the sun, tears welling in my eyes as I pleaded, "Please, let me go! Mitch made me do it! He forced me! Please, you have to believe me!"

We all looked over at Mitch. Through teary eyes, I could see him on the ground by the tree, clutching his stomach, doubled over in pure, hysterical laughter.

Joanna looked down at me, hands still on her hips. “Okay, pervy, you can go now—but don’t think I’m done with you.” She leaned in closer, grinning with wicked amusement. “If you think Mitch is bad, just wait till you see what I have planned for you. I've got so many ideas." I swallowed hard. "What's your name, little boy?" she asked, though I had no doubt she already knew.

"Blondie," I whispered, barely audible, the name feeling like an admission of defeat.

She chuckled. “All right, Blondie. We shall meet again.” Then, as if I hadn’t been degraded enough, she instructed, "Now get on your hands and knees and crawl."

Just what I need. Another tormentor—and a girl, to boot.

Trembling, I obeyed. As I crawled back toward Mitch and my clothes, Joanna and her friends trailed behind me, their giggles ringing in my ears. A sharp sting jolted through me as one of them delivered a playful slap to my bare backside. Another followed, then another, each one accompanied by laughter.

"Look at that pale little butt!" one of them called out.

"So smooth!" another added.

"Like a baby!" from yet another.

"It's not so pale anymore," Joanna giggled.

By the time I reached my clothes, all four of my cheeks were the same shade of bright red. I turned hesitantly toward Joanna, who was still holding my underpants, dangling them from one finger. Our eyes met for a brief moment before she grinned and, with a flick of the wrist, tossed them high into the air. I watched in horror as they snagged onto a tree branch, twisting and flapping in the breeze, far out of my reach. The girls howled with laughter, pointing at my underwear swaying above us.

I didn't waste another second. I scrambled into my jeans, threw on my shirt, grabbed my shoes without bothering to put them on, and bolted.

"Run, little Blondie, run!" Joanna called after me gleefully. "I can't wait to see you again! I've got such plans for us!"

Their laughter followed me, echoing in my ears as I disappeared behind a building, trembling with humiliation.


A Grim Reminder

My underpants remained in the tree for the better part of two months, until a heavy windstorm finally blew them down.

Until then, as I walked to and from class, I had to pass by that tree twice a day. Invariably I would sneak a peek at my underpants, which were often swaying in the breeze, visible to anyone who bothered to look up. It served as a grim reminder, not only of my ordeal, but of my enforced servitude to the bullies of Roosevelt High.

And somewhere out there, Joanna was waiting, her promised ideas lurking on the horizon.

[Blondie]

Chapter 5: Bus Stop Humiliation

Accosted

Let’s see, in my last communication I left you with that mortifying experience when I had to crawl naked across the lawn in front of Mitch, Joanna and her friends. As you may recall, Joanna had promised that she’d come up with something particularly humiliating as payback for that whole “sniffing” incident. I tried to explain—begged, really—that Mitch had forced me into it, but she didn’t care. Not one bit. To be honest, I think she gets off on it. I think she has a sadistic side and welcomed an excuse to pounce on a ripe victim such as myself.

Unsurprisingly, a couple of months later she made good on her threat. It was a warm late-February afternoon, and I was waiting at the bus stop after school. That’s when a car pulled up right in front of me. Joanna was in the passenger seat, surrounded by a group of guys, and from the smirk on her face, I knew trouble was coming.

“Hey there, Blondie,” she called cheerfully from the window. “Wanna go for a ride?” She leaned out the window, her smile widening as she took in my expression. I’m sure she’d heard all about my little naked adventure in Mitch’s car—Marcia and the others probably couldn’t wait to spill the details.

“No thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll wait for the bus.” I could already feel a pit forming in my stomach, my palms slick with sweat.

Joanna pouted, feigning disappointment. “Aww, that’s too bad. But before we go, I’ve got a little request.” She paused, letting the silence stretch until it was almost unbearable. “Why don’t you drop your pants and give us a nice view of that cute little ass of yours?”

The car erupted into laughter, a chorus of jeers and catcalls. My entire body tensed. For a second, I actually considered making a run for it—until I spotted Mitch’s grinning face in the back seat. My mouth went dry.

“Please, just leave me alone,” I croaked, my voice barely audible.

Joanna’s smile widened. “Oh, Blondie,” she cooed, “we’re not going anywhere until we see your naked little butt. Now be a good boy and drop your pants—or we’ll just kidnap you and strip you ourselves.” She gave me a wink. “I hear you’re already pretty used to that.”

The laughter swelled again, louder this time. My skin burned. I glanced around desperately, my eyes darting from the car to the three other kids at the bus stop—a guy and two girls, all of them watching me with a mix of shock and fascination. Their dull, monotonous wait for the bus had just become the most interesting thing to happen to them all week. And I could see the question in their eyes: Is he really going to do it?


Dropping My Pants in Public

Well, I really had no choice. It was either that or Mitch would absolutely follow through on his threat to leave me tied up, naked, in the middle of downtown. So, with a deep breath and a burning face, I turned my back to the car and unbuckled my belt. I could feel the weight of their stares on my back. After fumbling with the button and zipper, I hesitated, my hands hovering over the waistband of my jeans. The laughter from the car had died down, replaced by a tense, expectant silence. Swallowing hard, I pushed my pants down to my thighs, where they pooled around my knees.

The eruption of laughter from the car was instant, a cacophony of jeers and wolf whistles that made my face burn. “All the way down to your ankles, Blondie!” Joanna sing-songed, her voice thick with amusement. “Don’t be shy now. We want the full show.”

Miserably, I complied, sliding my pants down the rest of the way until they were bunched around my ankles. The cool air hit my legs, making me shiver. I stared straight ahead, my eyes fixed on a crack in the pavement, wishing I could melt into it and disappear.

I wasn’t a bit surprised at what I heard next. “Now pull down your underpants,” Joanna continued. "I think your friends out there want to see what you’ve got under there. Pull your little undies all the way down, Blondie. Let them see what you're working with.”

I glanced up anxiously, my eyes locking onto the three bystanders. They had inched closer, their expressions a mix of shock, amusement, and something else—something that made my stomach twist. One of the girls was smirking, her eyes flicking down to the small protuberance in my underpants before snapping back up to my face.

I took another panicked scan of my surroundings. A group of students—six, maybe seven—were heading my way from about a block away, their laughter and chatter growing louder with each passing second. I needed to get this over with before my audience multiplied. With a swift, jerky motion, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my underpants and yanked them down to my ankles. The cool air hit my most private parts, and I immediately covered my groin with my hands, my face burning with humiliation.

Mortified, I immediately reached down to pull my clothes back up, but Joanna’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Uh-uh-uh, Blondie! We haven’t seen your whole ass yet—your shirt’s in the way. Lift your tee shirt up over your eyes and hold it there with both hands. Let’s get a good, long look at you.”

Heat flooded my face. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, my hands trembling. Then, with a whimper, I peeled my shirt up and over my eyes, effectively blindfolding myself—and exposing myself. I was left standing there, naked from the waist down, my most private parts exposed to the world. What an awful, helpless feeling it was—to stand there, blind and vulnerable, so submissively catering to the whims of my tormentor.

Joanna called out to one of the girls in front of me, who must have been looking on in wonder and fascination. “Hey, you! What does it look like?"

There was a pause, and then the girl’s voice, high and excited, rang out. “It’s tiny! Like, really small!”

Joanna’s laughter was immediate. "I know, I've seen it!" she crowed. “And no hair, right? Smooth as a baby’s bottom?”

"No, totally hairless!" responded the grinning girl. "Like a baby's."

The sounds of laughter hit me like a sledgehammer.


Shake That Ass!

And then, because she was truly diabolical, Joanna went in for the kill. "Okay, Blondie," she said, her voice dripping with sadistic glee. "Now shake that ass for us. Shake it! Here, dance to the music!" She cranked the car stereo up to full blast, and Rihanna's voice pulsed through the air. "Shake it, Blondie!" Joanna whooped, her voice rising above the music, practically vibrating with delight. "Shake that little ass! Let's see what you've got!"

I groaned, my entire body tensing with dread. But what choice did I have? My entire body was on fire with humiliation as I started shimmying my hips, the movement awkward and uncoordinated, hearing nothing but raucous laughter from the car and gasps of disbelief from the bystanders. I could only imagine how ridiculous I looked—blindfolded by my own shirt, naked from the waist down, wiggling around pathetically while strangers stood there, watching and laughing like it was the best show they’d ever seen.

"That's it, Blondie!" Joanna shrieked, clapping her hands together. "Work it!"

"Oh my god, he actually did it," one of the other girls chimed in, her voice high with delighted shock.

Fortunately, the song ended quickly. Joanna, still breathless with laughter, finally took mercy on me. “Okay, Blondie, we’re gonna go now,” she said. "But I want you to count to twenty, really slowly, before you pull your shirt down and your pants up. I'll be watching you as we drive away, and if you get dressed too fast, we're coming right back to have some more fun with you." She paused, letting the threat sink in. “Got it?”

I swallowed hard. “Y-yes,” I managed to choke out.

"Good boy," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction, with ownership. “Thanks for the show, Blondie,” she added with a final wicked giggle. “You were awesome!” And with that, the car roared to life, leaving me standing there, blind and humiliated, counting down the longest twenty seconds of my life.


A Knotty Situation

(Now, I should point out to the reader that something rather devious occurred while I was busy putting on my little performance. Since my shirt was over my eyes, I couldn’t see a thing, but I distinctly heard one of the car doors slam shut near the end of the song. I didn’t realize it until a few moments later when I reached down to pull up my pants, but someone—probably Mitch, that bastard—had used a piece of rope to tie the bundle of my underpants and pants together in between my legs. If you haven’t already figured it out, you’ll see shortly how that added considerably to my humiliation.)

I listened as my tormentors drove off, leaving me to count the aforementioned slowest twenty seconds of my life. I muttered the numbers under my breath, keenly aware that I was still exposed, still vulnerable, still the object of someone's entertainment.

Finally, I yanked my shirt down, revealing my flaming red face to the three highly amused strangers still standing there, thoroughly entertained by my degradation. I reached down to yank my pants back up—only to freeze at the sight of the rope. My pulse skyrocketed. Dread creeping in, I pulled harder, but my pants wouldn’t budge past my thighs. The knot was too tight, too perfectly cruel.

Panic surged through me. I glanced up and the three strangers were watching intently, their amused grins widening at my predicament. Worse, the group of students down the street was now even closer, and I think they may have seen the latter part of my exhibition. I had to get the hell out of there. I grabbed my backpack, flung it over my shoulders, and with my hands gripping my pants at mid-thigh, I made a run for it. Or at least I tried to. It was more like a waddle. A very awkward, ridiculous, penguin-like waddle that drew even more attention to my state of undress.

"Good luck with that!" one of the girls called after me, her voice filled with laughter.

I heard a car horn, and when I looked up, I saw Joanna leaning out of her window, her face flushed with hysterical laughter. “Nice moves, Blondie!” she howled.

I nearly tripped over my own feet in my scramble for cover. Spotting a nearby fence, I ducked behind it and immediately set to work on the knot, my fingers fumbling in my desperation.

Successful at last, the rope falling away in my trembling hands, I waited for the bus to pass, choosing to catch the next one. There was no way in hell I was getting on the bus with the three witnesses to my humiliation.

* * * * * *

So that was Joanna's revenge—at least up to that point. I had a feeling she still had more shameful tricks up her sleeve. In hindsight, I should have been far more worried.

In our next communication, I'll tell you about a truly humiliating experience I had at the hands of Mitch and Marcia in the Roosevelt auditorium. Even now, the memory is enough to make my face burn.

[Blondie]

Chapter 6: Naked and Molested in the Auditorium

No Relief as a Sophomore

My freshman year at Roosevelt High had ended without further humiliation, and I had allowed myself to hope. With a fresh batch of freshmen arriving in September, surely Mitch, Marcia, Joanna, and Reggie would find new targets to amuse themselves with.

That fantasy shattered in the second week of September.

I was at my locker, minding my own business, when I suddenly found myself flanked by Mitch, Marcia, and Joanna.

"Well, well, well," Joanna's voice purred. "Look who it is. Our favorite little Blondie boy."

I turned slowly. Joanna stood dead center, smiling brightly. Mitch loomed to her left, arms crossed, the usual smirk on his face. Marcia stared me down with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

"Welcome back to Roosevelt," Joanna continued, stepping closer. "Did you miss us over the summer? I know we missed you. Summer's so boring without our little plaything." She grinned wickedly. “It’s been a while. Why don’t you drop your pants and shake that little ass for us again?”

Before I could react, she placed both hands on my waist and gave my hips an exaggerated shake. Laughter erupted around me as I twisted out of her grip, my face instantly heating up.

“Hey, come on,” I protested. “I’m a sophomore now. Why don’t you go pick on one of the new kids?”

“Oh, but we have so much more fun with you, Blondie,” Marcia teased, stepping forward to join Joanna. She reached up and pinched my cheeks between her fingers, giving them a playful wiggle that made me feel about five years old. “We just love watching you blush like a little schoolgirl. Just like you’re doing right now.”

My cheeks were indeed burning, much to the amusement of the three antagonists. I could feel the heat spreading down my neck, which only made them laugh harder

"Look at him," Joanna chuckled. "Still the same blushing Blondie."

"Please," I muttered, trying to turn away. "I have to get to class."

"Not so fast," Joanna said, blocking my path with an outstretched arm. "We haven't caught up properly. Tell us, Blondie, did you miss us over the summer? Did you lie awake at night thinking about us?"

"Dreaming about us, maybe?" Marcia added with a sly smile.

"Leave me alone," I said, the words sounding weak even to my own ears.

Luckily, before they could take things any further, the bell rang for the next class, much to my relief.

"Saved by the bell," Marcia chirped as they sauntered off, still chuckling. "Let's get together and have some fun real soon."

"Real soon," Joanna echoed, blowing me a mocking kiss over her shoulder.

I shuddered as I gathered myself and walked to my next class, my hands still trembling slightly as I clutched my books. Apparently, leaving freshman year behind hadn't changed a thing. My tormentors had no intention of letting my humiliations come to an end.


Waylaid by Marcia and Mitch

It wasn't until December that they finally made good on their desire to continue humiliating me. The annual Christmas play was about to begin, and the entire student body was filing into the auditorium. I was heading inside with my friend Robert when I suddenly found myself trapped between Mitch and Marcia, each of them casually taking hold of one of my elbows.

"Well, well, well," Marcia said. "Look who we found." Her grip tightened. "Come sit with us, Blondie,” she purred. “We’d love to watch the play with you.”

"Actually, I was going to sit with—" I started to say, but Mitch cut me off.

Mitch turned to Robert. “Go find another playmate, buddy. Blondie's sitting with us today."

Robert had the good sense not to interfere. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders apologetically, his eyes showing genuine sympathy, but also the clear understanding that he couldn't help me. As Mitch and Marcia escorted me into the auditorium, I cast one last desperate glance back at my friend, but he had already melted into the crowd.

"Don't look so sad," Marcia said, squeezing my arm. "We're going to have such a nice time together. The three of us."

"Yeah," Mitch added. "Just like old times."

We found three seats in the center of the spacious room. I was in the middle of the two with Marcia on my left. The seats on either side of them were vacant. Marcia turned to me with an innocent smile.

“Why don’t you take off your jacket and make yourself comfortable?”

I had no desire to remove any of my clothing, and it certainly wouldn’t have made me any more comfortable. “I’m fine, thanks,” I responded, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage.

Her smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew brighter. "That wasn't a request, Blondie."

"May I please keep it on?" I tried to reason with her. "It's cold in here."

“You better do what she says, Blondie,” intervened Mitch. “Or 'you know what' happens after school today.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. He didn’t have to elaborate—I knew exactly what he was referring to. Yes, a not-so-subtle reminder of his threat to tie me up naked in the middle of Main Street. The image flashed through my mind, me bound and exposed for the whole town to see, and I felt my resolve crumble.

Reluctantly, I unzipped my jacket and slipped it off my shoulders, feeling the cooler air hit my arms, and laid it in my lap.

"Let me help you with that," Marcia chirped, her hand grabbing the jacket faster than I could react. She plucked it from my lap and placed it on the empty seat beside her, well out of my reach.

I shifted in my seat, my unease growing by the second, painfully aware of how exposed I already felt. As the lights began to dim, I had the sickening feeling that I was trapped in a nightmare that was just beginning.


A Quiet, Most Humiliating Stripping

The auditorium darkened, and the performance began. I didn't know what to expect, but I was extremely nervous. Mitch and Marcia, for the first fifteen minutes, seemed genuinely absorbed in the play. For a fleeting moment, I dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, they had lost interest in tormenting me. Maybe the jacket was enough. Maybe they would let me watch the play in peace.

But then their depraved plan began to unfold. Marcia leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear, and whispered words that caused me to bolt upright in my seat.

“Give me your shirt.”

She could have announced the start of a nuclear war, and I wouldn’t have been more horrified. My body went rigid, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Please," I whispered back, turning slightly toward her. "Not here. Not now. The whole school is—"

"Exactly," she interrupted with a wicked grin. "That's what makes it fun. Now give me the shirt."

For a moment, I sat frozen, my mind racing. If I gave in, I had no idea how far this would go. But if I refused... well, I knew from experience that resistance was usually the worse option.

I knew what I had to do. Incredibly, I was about to start stripping in the middle of the auditorium. I reluctantly unbuttoned my shirt, slipping it off my shoulders. Through the darkness, I barely made out Marcia’s open palm, waiting expectantly. Gritting my teeth, I placed the shirt in her hand, watching helplessly as she laid it neatly on the seat beside my jacket. I remember thinking how fortuitous it was that I wore a T-shirt under my shirt that day. But I had the foreboding feeling that my T-shirt would eventually belong to Marcia.

"Good boy," she whispered. "See? That wasn't so hard."

I sat there, trembling in anticipation and dread, my arms crossed over my chest. Minutes passed, each one an eternity. Then, just as my heartbeat began to slow, Marcia struck again.

“I’ll take your shoes and socks now, pumpkin.” Her voice was sweet—mockingly so—as she rested a hand on my shoulder. "Off they come."

"Marcia, please," I pleaded. I'll do anything else, just—"

"Shoes and socks," she repeated, her tone firm.

Cringing, I leaned down, my fingers finding the shoelaces as they worked the knots, trembling the entire time. One shoe, then the other. I peeled off my socks and stuffed them into the shoes before handing the bundle over to Marcia, who added them to her growing collection. The moment my bare feet touched the cold floor, a shiver ran through me—not just from the chill, but from the realization that I was being methodically stripped down. I looked around, relieved that it was dark enough to obscure what was happening in the middle of the auditorium.

Five more minutes crawled by. Then Marcia took hold of the short sleeve of my T-shirt to pull me toward her. Again she spoke softly in my ear, in that same very friendly tone.

“I’ll take your undershirt now, darling.”

I shook my head without thinking, squeezing my arms tighter across my chest.

"Come on, don't be difficult, Blondie," Marcia chided. "We've come this far."

I hesitated, my breaths coming fast. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, then in resignation I complied. I leaned over, pulled the T-shirt from the collar over my head and off my arms. When Marcia tried to take it from me, I temporarily resisted before opening my palm in surrender.

“That’s a good boy,” said the amused Marcia in a throaty whisper as she patted my bare chest. "So obedient. So submissive."

I crossed my arms over my chest again, quivering with an extreme sense of dread. I remember what a naked feeling it was, even though I was still wearing my jeans. Of course, I knew what was coming next—it was just a question of when the devilish Marcia would hit me with her next shot.

"You're doing great," she whispered, as if encouraging a child. "So cooperative. Mitch is very pleased."

I didn't dare look at Mitch. Instead, I stared straight ahead at the stage, though I couldn't have said what was happening in the play if my life depended on it.

Tantalizingly, she waited almost a full ten minutes before her next calculated move. Again she pressed her lips to my left ear, her breath tickling the skin.

"You can take your jeans off for me now, sweetie," she directed, again with a teasing, friendly, but utterly merciless voice.

The words, though expected, hit me like a sledgehammer. I was about to be stripped to my tighty-whities with the whole student body surrounding me.

"Marcia, no," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Please. I'll give you money. Whatever you want."

I was obviously desperate. The absurdity of the offer wasn't lost on me. Not only was Marcia having far too much fun to be bought off, but I didn't have nearly enough money to tempt her anyway.

"Shh," she soothed, patting my arm. "Money can't buy what we're getting here." She paused, then added, her voice less friendly than before, "Jeans. Off. Now."

I hesitated momentarily before being nudged on my right arm by Mitch, who was obviously in tune with his partner-in-mischief.

With a pit growing in my stomach, I reached for my belt, undoing it with slow, deliberate motions. Then the button. And the zipper, the sound surprisingly loud in the darkness. Then, with a deep breath, I lifted my hips and slid my jeans down my legs. Marcia giggled as I bent over, sounding delighted. I slipped them off my feet, one leg then the other, and placed them into her waiting hands. I watched forlornly as my they disappeared in the darkness, added to the pile of my clothing that now belonged to her.

Now I was sitting there—barefoot, bare-chested, and wearing nothing but my tighty-whities. Compounding my distress, I had no idea when—or if—I would be getting my clothes back.

Again, I was made to wait, half-naked and exposed, for what felt like an eternity, with no further word from Marcia.

At one point, to my horror, Mitch's hand slid casually up and down my thigh, his fingers exploring my bare skin,

“Nice and smooth, Blondie,” he murmured in a husky tone. "Soft as a girl."

I flinched, recoiling as he withdrew, chuckling softly to himself. My hands clenched into fists in my lap, my nails digging into my palms.

The minutes dragged, each one pure torture. Then the inevitable happened. I felt Marcia’s hand on my bare shoulder. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I braced myself for what I was almost certain would come next.

She leaned in, so close I could feel her cheek, smell her perfume. In that same soft, taunting voice, she delivered the crushing blow.

“Take off your underpants.”

It was only four words, but they were oh, so potent. I flushed intensely from head to toe, my entire body burning. For a moment, I sat paralyzed, hoping beyond hope that by ignoring her—by pretending I hadn't heard, by willing myself invisible—the living nightmare would somehow go away.

But only a few seconds elapsed before she nudged me in the shoulder and reached down to flick the elastic of my underpants with her finger, pressing for my compliance. The elastic snapped against my skin, and I jerked at the sensation, my stomach in knots over my impending fate.

Desperate, I grabbed her hand, turning toward her with wide, pleading eyes.

“Please, Marcia,” I whispered, voice shaking. “I’m begging you—please... please don’t make me do this. I’ll do anything, just—not this.” I squeezed her hand tightly in desperation, then let go and leaned back in my chair, my heart pounding. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't look at the stage. I couldn't look anywhere except at my own bare knees, pale and exposed before me.

There was no immediate response from Marcia, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of optimism. Maybe—just maybe—she had a shred of mercy in her after all. Two minutes passed. Then three. The tension in my chest began to ease. My breathing steadied. I was just about to risk asking for my clothes back—just about to form the words—when she moved. I felt her lean closer. Her lips were directly over my ear canal, her breath hot. This time the friendliness to her voice was completely gone, and she spoke the words very slowly, clearly, and with unmistakable authority.

“Give... me... your... underpants. Now!”

I was devastated. My situation was hopeless. I closed my eyes tightly and braced myself for the abject humiliation to come. Shaking uncontrollably, I lifted my hips, incredulous at what I was about to do, at what I was about to become. My hands trembled as I grasped the waistband, hesitating for one last, desperate second. Then, in one slow, humiliating motion, I slid my underpants down my thighs, past my knees, over my calves, and finally off my feet—first one, then the other. I let out a gasp as the sinister Marcia snatched them away the moment they cleared my toes, letting out a triumphant giggle.

I was completely naked in the auditorium, surrounded by the entire student body.

Instinct took over. I clamped my knees together, curled forward, and locked my hands over my crotch. My elbows dug into my sides as I hunched, head nearly between my knees, my skin burning from sheer humiliation. It was too dark for anyone to see, I told myself. Too dark. But that didn't help. I knew I was exposed, and that knowledge burned like a spotlight.

A warm hand settled on my back. I could hear the delight in her voice as she leaned close, her soft, mellifluous words brushing against my ear. “Excellent, Blondie. You’re naked, yes you are! Completely, totally, utterly naked." She paused just long enough to let the words sink in, then let out a short, satisfied giggle. "Can’t you just die?”

My only response was rapid, heavy breathing. She merrily repeated the word naked several times—as if I needed a reminder.

“Naked. Naked, naked, naked, nayked!”

She gave my back a little pat. “Now sit up straight like the good naked boy you are and enjoy the play.”

I obeyed by sitting up, but enjoying the play was clearly out of the question.

“Oh, God,” I whispered to no one in particular, my eyes clenched shut. “Oh, God.”

My knees stayed pressed together, arms rigid, hands still clamped over my genitals. Every few seconds, my eyes darted toward the dark lump that marked where my clothes lay. I could only make out their outline, but knowing they were close by was my only ray of hope. My apprehension was extreme, as I wondered when I would get them back. The play would end soon, surely within the next half hour. And when those lights came on...

At one point that tiny ray of hope flickered brighter. Marcia was sifting through my clothes, bending over the pile. She turned toward me, my jacket clutched in her hands, and for one delirious moment I thought mercy had arrived. I reached for it—but the sadistic Marcia yanked it back, hugging it to her chest.

“It’s a little chilly in here, Blondie," she said with a smile. "I hope you don’t mind if I borrow your coat.”

I sat there, naked and shivering, while Marcia wrapped herself snugly in my jacket and giggled to herself with pure, fiendish delight.


The Flashlight

For a stretch of time—about fifteen agonizingly long minutes—nothing happened. But then, my sorry situation took a turn for the worse. First, I felt Mitch’s hand take my right wrist and pull it toward him, resting it on the armrest between us. His grip lingered as he leaned in.

“Leave it there,” he instructed, his voice low, and unquestionably in control.

A second later, Marcia’s draped her fingers over my left wrist. I didn’t even have time to resist before she guided my arm to the opposite armrest. Her lips brushed my ear as she whispered, “Don’t you dare move your arm.”

I swallowed hard. My heart pounded. The helplessness of my position sank in—I was completely exposed, my hands immobilized, and entirely at their mercy.

Then things got worse.

The diabolical Marcia reached into her purse. I didn’t see what she took out, but I heard a soft click a split second before I realized what it was. A small flashlight snapped on. The small beam landed squarely on my exposed genitals.

I jolted instinctively, every nerve screaming at me to cover myself. But before I could move, Mitch and Marcia's grips tightened on my wrists, pinning me in place.

Marcia giggled in my ear, positively gleeful. “Uh-uh, Blondie,” she cooed. “If you cover yourself up, you’ll never see your clothes again.” She reached down with her free hand and gave my left knee a firm tug. "Spread your knees out. I want a clear view of your little bits."

I unclenched my knees. With considerable effort, I spread them a few inches apart. Marcia and Mitch finally relaxed their grips, but I didn't dare move my hands. I fought the overwhelming impulse to shield myself as Marcia tilted the flashlight downward, the beam illuminating everything.

Marcia and Mitch had a full, unobstructed view of my naked genitals. Back then I still hadn't grown any pubic hair, and my mortification was absolute. Both pressed their palms against their mouths to muffle their laughter.

Marcia leaned in again, her voice thick with mischief. “Such a cute wittle naked boy you are, Blondie,” she taunted. “And you have such a teensy wittle wee-wee, yes you do!.” She held the light steady on my "little wee-wee" for several seconds, giggling.

Again, Marcia pressed her mouth to my ear, her breath hot and moist against my skin. Then she angled the flashlight upward, and the beam caught my face full-on. She must have noticed that I looked like I could start crying at any second.

"Oh, you're not going to cwy, wittle boy, are you?" she cooed. "Does wittle Blondie want his mommy? Does he need his mommy to come make it all better?"

I managed to hold back the tears, knowing that if I cried, it would only give her another reason to tease me.

Then, to my great and mounting distress, Marcia pivoted the flashlight toward the row in front of me. I barely had time to process what was happening before I saw three grinning faces turned in my direction. Joanna smirked knowingly. Beside her, a girl from my homeroom—Brenda, I recalled—covered her mouth with one hand as her shoulders trembled with suppressed giggles. And next to her, a well-endowed blonde I didn't recognize at the time, but later learned was Cheryl, gave me a wide, entertained grin.

Then Marcia swung the beam back to my face, giving them all a look at my crimson-faced look of shock, my mouth hanging slightly open in mortified disbelief.

"Oh Blondie," she teased, loud enough that the others could hear, "you're just making their night. Look at you, making all these girls so happy. You're such a good little entertainer, aren't you?"

Then she lowered the beam back down to her target, and I sat there, utterly exposed, forced to absorb the overwhelming humiliation of five people staring at my nakedness while I did nothing—could do nothing—to stop it.


Sexually Aroused

Though it's probably hard for you to believe, my plight was about to worsen in ways I couldn't have imagined. Marcia took my left hand and wrapped my trembling fingers around the flashlight and pointed it at my crotch.

“Keep this shining right there, Blondie,” she ordered. "I want to see everything—every little twitch of your little wee-wee."

So not only was I forced to sit there naked while at least five people stared at me, but I had to suffer the further indignity of playing an active role in my own humiliation. As I sat there holding the light, I remember thinking that the depravity couldn’t possibly sink any lower. But I’m sorry to tell you that I was wrong, as indeed it was lowered to another level entirely.

A few minutes after Marcia handed off the flashlight, I felt her hand return to the inside of my knee. She strummed her fingers in a slow, teasing rhythm, playfully working her way up the inside of my thigh. I flinched when she reached a sensitive spot high on my thigh, perilously close to my balls, and I jerked my body back instinctively, letting out an involuntary high-pitched squeal. Marcia giggled, a low, throaty sound, and rested her hand there.

"Shhh," she whispered. "Just relax, Blondie. You're doing so well."

That must have been some kind of signal for Mitch, because he then took hold of my right wrist and pulled it toward him. At first I resisted, my mind screaming at me to pull away. But then I succumbed, knowing with a sinking heart that defiance would be fruitless, that resistance would only make things worse. Then—and it’s difficult for me to talk about this even now—he pulled my hand down to his crotch. He had unclasped and loosened his pants without me noticing, and to my utter horror he directed my hand inside his boxer shorts and straight to his penis. He must have brought a small tube of Vaseline or something similar, because it was already slick and lubricated, already waiting for me.

“Play with it, Blondie,” he whispered in my ear. "You know what to do. Don't pretend you don't."

He let go of my wrist and waited for me to perform the distasteful act. I couldn’t compel myself to submit to him. I retracted my hand from the warm, repulsive flesh, knowing full well that it would provoke a reprisal.

Sure enough, Mitch leaned forward and spoke loud enough for Marcia to hear. “Marcia, give me his clothes. All of them.”

“Okay! Okay, I’ll do it!” I whispered in a semi-panic, my voice cracking.

I reached over and put my hand back inside Mitch's shorts, my stomach turning. Disgusted, fighting back the urge to retch, I started fondling his penis. It was already semi-erect, but it really came to life with my touch, growing harder with each reluctant stroke. I was repulsed and stopped momentarily, my hand hovering, my whole body trembling.

Again Mitch leaned to my ear. “Just keep stroking it, Blondie,” he commanded. “I’ll tell you when to stop. That's it, be a good boy." I swallowed hard and continued to do his bidding, my movements mechanical, my mind trying to go somewhere else. “A little higher,” he instructed, his breath coming faster now. “Yeah, that’s it... up and down... yeah, just like that... wrap your fingers tighter... ohhh, yes, very nice,” he said before leaning back, his head falling against the seat, lost in sexual pleasure.

I continued caressing his now rock-hard, slimy penis with my right hand, while my left hand held the flashlight shining on my genitals, completing the spectacle of my degradation.

After a couple of minutes that felt like hours, I felt Mitch's left hand begin stroking the inside of my right thigh, his touch mirroring Marcia's earlier movements. Within seconds Marcia began stroking the inside of my left thigh, her fingers occasionally darting over to my balls with teasing, feather-light touches. I must admit, I'd never felt anything quite like it before—self-stimulation simply didn't compare to the sensation of someone else's touch. Much to my dismay—and despite my profound mortification—I started to get aroused. As Marcia concentrated more on my balls, her fingers dancing and tickling, no matter how hard I fought it, I was becoming more erect. I heard Marcia and the girls in front of me giggle, while Mitch was moaning pleasurably.

Marcia put her lips right up to my ear and whispered, “You like that, don’t you, my naked little pet. You're getting all hard for us, aren't you? Such a dirty little boy.”

She then wiggled her tongue all around the inside of my ear, and I had a tingling sensation throughout my whole body, the likes of which I’d never experienced before.

Then Mitch started stroking the underside of my penis, and within a few seconds I had a full-fledged hard-on—such as it was. I was probably just a little over half the size of Mitch, though in that moment it didn't seem to matter. Marcia's giggling continued, and judging by the amused laughter from the row in front of me, Joanna, Brenda, and Cheryl were thoroughly enjoying the show, too—and I don't mean the play.

All I could hear from Mitch were groans of pleasure, low and guttural, as I dutifully continued stimulating his raging penis. Then he squeezed a lubricant on his palm and spread it all over my penis, only enhancing my state of sexual excitement. Marcia focused on my balls, gently tickling them with her fingers, her touch maddeningly light. I must admit that, at that point, I momentarily forgot about my dreadful situation—that of being naked in a crowded auditorium while being molested by two students—and got lost in the moment, my body betraying me completely.

"Oh... oh... oh, God, please, no..." I moaned as softly as I could, though the words came out more like a plea than a protest.

The four girls were trying to stifle their giggles, and I must have stopped my grudging servitude to Mitch, my hand slowing, because he leaned to my ear again, urgent and demanding.

"Don't stop, Blondie!" he said, almost desperately, his hips bucking slightly. "Pump my cock. Pump it harder! I'm ready to cum!”

I took hold of his penis and started jacking him off in earnest, disgusting as it was, my hand moving faster now. Mitch proceeded to do the same to me. I remember losing focus of the flashlight and feeling Marcia guiding it toward her mark with one hand while massaging my balls with the other. I felt Mitch’s penis start to pulsate right about the same time that I reached orgasm, my body convulsing with the intensity of it. I lifted my hips off the seat and moaned, unable to contain myself, as the sensation was overwhelming, drowning out everything else. Marcia and Mitch didn't let up until I finished, their hands continuing to work me even as I spasmed, at which point I slumped back down in my seat, spent and trembling.

A few seconds went by before Mitch leaned over and spoke quietly in my ear. “Nothing quite like simultaneous orgasm, huh, Blondie?” he said while patting my thigh. "You and me, we're connected now."


Frantic Recovery of Clothes

I didn't get a chance to register my repugnance, because at that moment, the thunderous ovation from the entire student body jolted me back to reality like a bucket of ice water. For one horrifying moment I actually thought they were cheering my orgasm, but then I realized the play had ended, and they were clapping for the curtain call.

That was only a minor consolation, since I was still naked, and the lights would be coming on any second. I pulled my hand out from Mitch's pants, my fingers sticky and shameful. I remember brushing across the wetness on his midsection and being disgusted with the stark realization that I had gotten him off, that my hand had done that, even as he had done the same to me.

That disgust immediately turned into panic. I needed to get dressed. Fast. Wasting no time, I reached around Marcia, fumbling blindly for my clothes.

Imagine my horror when I found only my shoes and socks. My clothes were gone! Now in full panic mode, my heart hammering against my ribs, I put both of my hands on Marcia’s shoulders and shook them vigorously.

"Where are my clothes?!" I asked frantically, my voice high and breaking. "Marcia, please, where are they?!"

I lunged for my jacket, but she hugged it tightly to her chest, grinning with amusement. Instead of answering, she flicked on her flashlight and illuminated the row in front of me.

My stomach dropped. Joanna, Cheryl, and Brenda each held an article of my clothing, proudly suspending them just below their chins like prized trophies. Joanna held out my jeans. Cheryl had my shirt, dangling from one finger. And Brenda, looking especially pleased with herself, held my underpants, stretched between her hands for maximum display. My T-shirt was casually draped around her neck like some kind of scarf. I lunged for them, but the girls pulled back in unison, giggling.

“I guess you’ll have to go get them, Blondie,” laughed Marcia. "Go on, they're right there. Unless you want to walk out like that?"

I started to climb over the seat, desperate and reckless, when Marcia slapped one of my protruding ass cheeks with a sharp crack and took hold of my leg, pulling me back down.

“Not that way, silly boy,” she chided. "You'll have to go around. Through the aisle."

I was filled with dread, but I had no choice. Heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, I wove my way down the row, hunched over, hoping, praying, that no one would notice the naked boy creeping through the seats. But Marcia, ever the tormentor, shined the flashlight directly on my naked bum, sending a ripple of reaction through the audience around us.

"What the hell?" someone muttered.

“Hey, that guy’s naked!” another voice exclaimed.

I ducked low, my face burning, but the applause drowned out most of the commotion, mercifully masking my embarrassment. Reaching the row in front, I abandoned all dignity and dropped to my hands and knees, crawling toward Joanna like an animal.

I snatched my jeans from her grasp without a second thought for my underpants or T-shirt, caring about nothing except getting covered. I jammed my legs into them as fast as humanly possible. The now-familiar sensation of going commando only deepened my humiliation, the rough denim chafing against my sensitive skin.

As the lights came up, Cheryl tossed my shirt at me. I scrambled to button it, my fingers clumsy and trembling. It probably wasn't true, but I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone in the auditorium was staring at me, knowing exactly what had happened. My face felt like it was on fire—I’m sure it was tomato red, visible to everyone.

Glancing back, I saw Marcia grinning as she handed me my shoes, socks, and jacket, her expression smug with victory—and a sense of ownership. I yanked them on and hurried out with the rest of the crowd, my pulse still racing, my whole body trembling. When I reached the hallway, I found myself surrounded by all five of the grinning culprits responsible for my staggering humiliation. I stared straight down at the floor, too ashamed to look any of them in the eye.

“That was a very uplifting play, Blondie,” Mitch called out. "Don't you think? Really moving. Really... satisfying."

To the sound of their laughter, I hurried away without answering, my shoes barely tied and my jacket clutched tightly around me.

* * * * *

The next morning, I walked into homeroom with considerable dread. I would have to face at least one of my tormentors from the day before, and by now everyone knew what had happened. Nothing would ever be the same.

My dread proved fully justified. When I reached my desk in the front row, my stomach lurched. There, laid out as though on display and arranged with deliberate care, were the very items I had unwillingly stripped off the day before. My T-shirt was draped over the back of my chair. My underpants were neatly spread across my desk, positioned center stage. I snatched them up and shoved them into my backpack with frantic haste.

As I sat down, my heart still hammering, I couldn't help glancing back at Brenda. She was grinning. Her eyes met mine with knowing amusement as she watched my face turn bright red all over again.