Pantsing and Stripping Forums

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

© May 2004 by Blondie.

This is a work of fiction and is fantasy only. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or 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, and 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. Standing at only five feet, four inches and weighing just one hundred and seventeen pounds dripping wet, 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.

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 are 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.

He at first 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, saying 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 felt my shirttail lifting out of the back and then felt fingers reaching inside the back of my pants.

My white briefs were then pulled violently up my back. I was on my knees while the guy called Reggie held me in a headlock. The other attacker straddled my neck, facing toward his objective while pulling my underpants up my back.

"No! Please! I'm sorry!" I screamed, attracting more attention, as the baseball players stopped their game and were looking on in amusement.

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 real 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..

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.

I looked up and noticed quite a few people staring at me, including a group of about five girls who were giggling freely.

I felt my face turning 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 help you with that,” he said as he took two hands and tore the underpants from my neck.

“Thanks a lot,” I told him gratefully.

“No problem. My name’s Robert, what’s yours?”

“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 a newly waxed hallway. They made bets on how far the poor kid would slide. A crowd started gathering and they were making bets, too. Supposedly, the winning bet was forty-seven yards. Every time he got 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.

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.

TeenFan wrote: Sat Jan 06, 2024 3:35 am 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.

Chapter 2: Pantsless in Homeroom

Roosevelt Lore

Almost a month had passed since my humiliating encounter with Mitch and Reggie. I hadn’t been on the receiving end of anything since then, but that didn’t make me feel any safer. Roosevelt was starting to terrify me. In the past few weeks, I had witnessed—or heard about—at least three incidents where freshmen boys were publicly humiliated.

The first one happened after school at the old Roosevelt statue. A 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 kind of small and didn't weigh very much. 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. 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 this 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, I felt a strong sense of anxiety when I imagined myself in such a predicament—shivering, humiliated, exposed.

The third incident? That one happened in P.E., and 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 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, “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. “Dead serious. The guy thought she was joking, but she was not 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 felt my face getting hot just imagining it.

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

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

“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 everyone laughed at him.”

I couldn’t even respond. I was too busy imagining myself in that poor guy’s place—standing there in my underpants, the entire gym laughing at me, knowing there was nothing I could do.

But Robert wasn't done.

“It gets worse,” he continues. "After a minute or so—maybe less—I guess the humiliation was too much for him, so 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 kidding! Tell me you're making this up!"

"I kid 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. "Jesus Christ! 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 to see, 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. "Jesus, 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 got to me—it was who was behind it. The idea of getting stripped by a bunch of guys was terrifying enough. But girls? Girls doing it? That was a whole different level of humiliation.

And now it is apparent that the girls at this godforsaken place are just as apt as the boys are to humiliate a poor freshman boy like me. And it appeared that the girls might just be more fiendish than the boys in their means of inflicting humiliation.

And the worst part?

I had a gut feeling that my turn was coming soon.


Depantsed

Regrettably, my gut feeling would come to fruition. 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 school. I walked nervously and briskly through the front door, avoiding eye contact, hoping that they hadn’t seen me.

I walked up the stairs and looked 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. Suddenly I felt two strong arms wrapped around me in a bear hug, pulling me to the middle of the hallway. I looked back and recognized Reggie. Another set of hands grabbed my ankles and lifted me off the ground. I noticed Mitch going for my waist. I was expecting another wedgie.

“Please, no!” I shouted.

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

Mitch started undoing my belt. Petrified, I started kicking my legs wildly in an effort to fend him off. But he had brought some of his friends, so I was overwhelmed and pretty much defenseless. I felt my belt loosen and then felt Mitch’s fingers undoing the button on my corduroys.

At the same time someone else was pulling off my shoes, apparently to facilitate taking off my pants. For some reason, I guess for good measure, they also removed my socks.

Mitch had my button undone and started going to work on my zipper. I screamed bloody murder, and someone put his hand over my mouth. My zipper was down, and I felt my pants sliding 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 enjoying the proceedings. My pants were below my knees, and I feared the inevitable. Sure enough, Mitch pulled my pants inside out over my feet, and in a matter of seconds they were stripped off.

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 hold on me. “All right, Blondie, I’m giving you two choices. Your first choice is to walk to your homeroom just like you are, in just your tee shirt and your little tighty-whities. Otherwise, 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 weenie.

“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 get them in due time,” answered Mitch with a sly grin.


The Shameful Walk

Homeroom was all the way at the other end of the hallway.

I started the long, humiliating walk of shame.

The crowd of amused students parted in the middle, forming a path just for me. My face burned as I kept my head down, refusing to meet their eyes. I spotted my shoes and socks on the floor and picked them up as I went, though I didn't stop moving. Stopping would only make it worse.

I self-consciously tugged at my shirttail, but it was no use—it barely reached halfway down my underpants. I must have been a sight: red-faced, making my way through the hall in nothing but my underwear.

I finally reached my homeroom door, placed my hand on the knob, and hesitated.

I glanced back.

Mitch was trailing behind, grinning like a devil, my pants dangling mockingly from his fingers. He gave them a little wave. I didn’t even bother asking for them, knowing what the answer would be.

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


Homeroom Debasements

The room was about three-quarters full. My chair was right in the front, dead center.

I walked straight to it, keeping my head down, willing myself to disappear.

I heard it immediately—the buzzing whispers, then the 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 fire.

More students filed in, their reactions playing out in real-time. One by one, they followed the gazes of their classmates and 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.

Miss Farnsworth entered.

She was a tall, thin woman in her late forties, a veteran of Roosevelt High. No doubt she’d seen more than her fair share of pranks over the years, and she could immediately sense the unusual energy in the room. It only took a few seconds for her sharp 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 stood, embarrassed to the max. My hands hovered near my groin, as if to provide a shield.

Miss Farnsworth’s gaze traveled down my body, settling on my bare legs.

Then, with a teasing smile, she said, "You have very pretty legs, Mr. Haggerty."

Laughter echoed around me. I stood there, feeling my exposure, my face practically glowing. If her goal was to maximize my embarrassment—and I was pretty sure 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. They were staring out 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. Maybe someday—far in the future—I’d see the humor in it. But at that moment, 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, thinking she wouldn’t hear me over the laughter.

Big mistake.

Her eyes snapped to me. "What did you just say?"

She took a step closer.

Panic flared in my chest. "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."

My blood ran cold.

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.

I didn’t move.

Miss Farnsworth arched a brow. "Come on. Off with it. You need to be punished for your behavior. You’ll spend the rest of homeroom in just your underpants."

I swallowed hard.

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."

I felt like I might faint.

"And don’t think for a second that 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 this 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 Pants

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 pants. And I do hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson.”

Without answering, I reached down to pick up my shoes.

"Your shoes and shirt can wait."

I hesitated momentarily while digesting the ramifications of her statement. I would be forced to go outside in my underpants.

Best to hurry it up, I figured, lest the whole school sees me like this. To the accompaniment of hearty laughter, I bolted through the door. Barefoot, nearly naked, I ran through the hallway.

The hallway was empty but for two separate students (one male and one female) who were late for school. Both gave the classic look of open-mouthed surprise, followed by a huge grin of amusement as they discovered 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 clawing at the knot. I could sense the attention I was getting from the students in several classrooms on the first floor looking through their windows, but I refrained from looking at them.

Finally, I freed the knot and furiously pulled on the rope until my long-lost pants drew to the bottom. I removed them from the hook and quickly stepped into them. Never before had I been so grateful to be putting on an article of clothing.

As I started trotting back toward the building, the bell went off. 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 by one of the classroom windows, I couldn’t help but glance inside. To my chagrin I saw Mitch in a window seat, waving to me and grinning broadly.

I quickly averted my glance and made a dash through the front doors of Roosevelt High, my school of nightmares.

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. That’s 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 smoothly. “I’d like you to do something for me.”

I swallowed. “What’s that?” I asked warily.

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?’”

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

“You heard me,” Mitch said casually, like he was asking me to pass the salt. “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. I looked over at the girl. “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, horror creeping into my veins.

“Right now, Blondie,” Mitch said, standing up. “I’m heading over there, and you better get your little ass over there, too. And don’t forget—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.

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.

All I know is that I finally pried myself out of my chair and timidly walked over to their table, my entire body trembling. My breath was shaky. My heart pounded.

I stopped beside Joanna and stared at the table. My voice barely worked. “H-Hi, Joanna,” I stammered. “My name’s Blondie…”

And that’s as far as I got.

The scene is kind of vague, but I felt all eyes on me, and I heard a couple of people giggle. There was no way, under the circumstances, that I could ask this beautiful looking 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, and sat down, head in my hands. I stayed there for the next fifteen minutes, until the bell rang for the next period.

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. Suddenly a car screeched to a stop right next to me. Before I had a chance to run, Mitch and Reggie jumped out, and before I knew what hit me, they had me inside the car and we were speeding off.

Just like that, I'd basically been kidnapped—snatched right off the sidewalk, all in a matter of seconds.

There was a guy driving and a girl in the passenger seat, neither of whom I recognized. I was in the middle in the back seat, with Reggie on my left and Mitch on my right. 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 continued talking to me.

“It’s too bad you didn’t obey me during lunch today. Don’t say I didn’t warn you," Mitch said. "Now, the first thing you’re going to do is take all your clothes off."

I should’ve known. I guess I did know. But that didn’t make hearing the words any less of a gut punch.

To make things 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, resting her hands on the backrest, leering lasciviously at me. She 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.

I sat paralyzed, staring straight ahead, hoping—praying—this was just some awful nightmare I would jolt awake from at any moment.

But it was all too real. And Mitch wasn’t about to let up.

“Okay, Blondie, here’s your choice,” he 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 with their size, 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?”


The Stripping

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. I knew what I had to do.

With trembling hands, I reached for the buttons of my shirt, eliciting a delighted giggle from Marcia.

"I thought you’d come to your senses," Mitch said smugly. "Now, when you take off each piece of clothing, hand it to Marcia here. Marcia, have you met 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’s not very friendly," Mitch taunted. "Marcia went out of her way to join us when she heard you were going to do a striptease for her. She came along just to see you. The least you could do is tell her how glad you are that she’s here."

I swallowed hard. My voice barely worked. "I-I’m glad you came, Marcia," I mumbled.

"Me too, Blondie," she teased. "I’m looking forward to seeing all of you."

Laughter erupted around the car. My ears burned.

The strip would be excruciating, as you can well imagine.

As the vehicle rolled through a quiet residential area, I kept going, my movements stiff and mechanical. I finished unbuttoning my shirt, shrugged it off, and held it out. Marcia snatched it gleefully and tossed it behind her without a second glance.

I hesitated. My instinct was to go for my shoes instead of my t-shirt—like somehow delaying my inevitable half-nakedness would 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 sound I truly heard was Marcia’s occasional giggles and the murmurs of amusement from the others.

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. Granted, that should’ve been the least of my worries, but I must admit it was on my mind.

As soon as it was off, I handed it to Marcia, who, of course, was grinning like she’d won the lottery.

I sat there, arms folded across my chest, as if that would somehow make me invisible.

Mitch, clearly not wanting me to stall, took my hands and placed them on the waistband of my jeans.

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.

This provoked an animated reaction from my captors. Marcia clapped, giggling wildly. Reggie let out a whistle. The driver turned in his seat, laughing. And Mitch—he reached over and stroked my hairless thigh.

"Look at his pretty legs," he mused.

Revolted, I clenched my eyes tightly shut. I reached down to pull off my pants, brushing his hand away as I did. I handed the grinning Marcia my jeans, 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.

I remember thinking that if this was embarrassing, how would it be in a few moments, when I’d be naked?

Well, I’m here to tell you—it was horrible.

“Strip ‘em off, Blondie,” ordered Mitch.

I hesitated, having difficulty mustering up the courage to continue. 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 my underpants over the rearview mirror, where they swayed mockingly with every turn of the car.

Marcia turned around, taking a long, satisfied look at me. "Well, would you look at that," she cooed. "There’s a naked boy in our car."

More laughter. More teasing. The music blared, and the energy inside the car was electric with my humiliation. I curled forward, my head nearly at 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 at 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.

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.


The Threat of Public Nudity

"Okay, Blondie," Mitch continued. "Take a good look at this little area on your left. We’re going to turn left here, loop around the block, and when we get back, you’re getting out. Right in the middle of it. Then you’re on your own."

I felt my stomach drop.

I was horrified. 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. "Please, don’t do this. I swear I’ll do anything you say, just—please, don’t make me go out there like this!"

Mitch smirked. 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. It may have been a bluff all along, but he achieved his goal—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 fucking go against me ever 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.

“Okay then. 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!

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. I got my answer quickly.

"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. Marcia dumped my clothes onto my lap. I looked up at my underpants, which were still dangling tormentingly from the rearview mirror. Marcia followed my gaze.

"Those are mine now," grinned Marcia.

Without responding, I grabbed my jeans and started pulling them on.

“No time for that, Blondie, we gotta go. 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.

I was frantic 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. I wondered if at some point they all got a look at my naked crotch.

Reggie continued to pull, and Mitch continued to push. They were all laughing.

I hit the pavement in a graceless heap, while everyone roared with laughter.

As they sped off, I saw my jeans fly out of one window and my shoe from another. The driver leaned on the horn as they vanished into the distance.

Meanwhile, my ordeal wasn’t quite over. I scrambled to my feet, clutching my clothes to my front. I looked around, and to my chagrin there was a young woman, maybe twenty or so, who happened to be walking in my direction.

She stopped in her tracks to take in the unusual scene.

Then she grinned.

I turned and bolted.

I didn’t stop until I ducked behind a tree, hurriedly yanking on my clothes with shaky hands.

As I walked home, my heart was still pounding, I shivered at the prospect of the repercussions of what happened that day.

I was now at their mercy, and there was no telling what Mitch, Reggie, and whomever else they decided to include 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.

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?

TeenFan wrote: Mon Jan 08, 2024 2:19 am 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.

Chapter 4: The Naked Crawl

Still Shy of Puberty

It is now 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, much to my chagrin.

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, I left off with the story of how I ended up under the complete control of Mitch, Reggie, Marcia, and whoever else they decided to recruit into my ongoing torment. That fateful incident happened in December of my freshman year.

The next day I returned to school with a knot in my stomach. 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.

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, eliciting a loud chorus of laughter. I had thought that I had managed to cover myself up that day, 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, and stumbled to my feet. As I hurried toward the exit, the sound of their giggles followed me, ringing in my ears. Even now, just thinking about it makes my face burn all over again.

But that encounter—humiliating as it was—paled in comparison to what happened the following week.


Under Mitch’s Control

That was when Mitch decided to test his newfound power over me.

It was early afternoon during my free period. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, Mitch had a free period at the same time. I was leaning against a tree in the courtyard 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 knot. "No…no, I’m not," I answered, already knowing whatever was coming next wasn’t going to be good.

Mitch smirked. "Good. Because it’s time to put our new arrangement to the test."

He glanced around the grassy area, his eyes landing on a small group of girls standing about twenty-five yards away. My heart sank before he even opened his mouth.

"See those girls over there, Blondie?"

I nodded stiffly. 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.

I swallowed hard and nodded again.

Mitch grinned. "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."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Oh God," I whispered. My voice came out hoarse. "Please, Mitch—no, I can’t do that!"

Mitch simply pointed at the ground.

I stared at him, silently pleading, 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 froze. His smirk widened.

"I want you to crawl over there wearing just your underpants."

My breath caught. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I started to open my mouth and he put his hand on my lips, shaking his head.

“Not another word,” he said. “Get those clothes off now, or you’re nude on Main Street after school today.


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 pressed against my back, but the real discomfort came from Mitch’s unblinking stare. He watched me closely, savoring every second of my humiliation.

I swallowed hard. My only consolation 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.

Bracing myself, I dropped back down to my hands and knees.

And then, I crawled.

I moved as fast as I could, desperate to get this 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 step 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 my destination when one of the girls discovered me and screamed out.

“Holy shit, check this out!” she yelled while pointing at me.

All heads turned toward me, and I remember seeing looks of disbelief, followed by 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, 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 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’s shriek cut through the air. "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. A chorus of shrieks and laughter filled the air as I was yanked down onto my stomach, completely overpowered.

Hands clawed at my arms, my legs—everywhere. 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.

But 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 the fabric slipping down, past my hips, then my thighs, every inch exposing more of me to their eager eyes. Their laughter rang in my ears—sharp, delighted squeals mixed with gasps of amusement at my frantic, useless struggle.

Desperation took hold 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.

But it was futile. With one swift, merciless tug, the thin fabric was yanked past my feet, rendering me completely naked.

I thrashed, humiliated beyond belief, but it only seemed to fuel their amusement, as a fresh wave of laughter erupted, louder than before.

"Turn him over!" Joanna squealed with delight.

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

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. Despite my frantic, flailing resistance, they easily flipped me onto my back, stripping me of any last shred of dignity.

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 amusing sight before them.

"Aww, look at him," one of them cooed mockingly. "Poor little boy, all bare and helpless."

Joanna smirked and tilted her head. “Look at the pervert’s hairless little weenie,” Joanna cackled. “Hey little boy, the grammar school is down the street, what’re you doing here?”

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

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 smirked down at me, hands on her hips. “Okay, pervy, you can go now—but don’t think I’m done with you.”

She leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “If you think Mitch is bad, just wait till you see what I have planned for you.”

I swallowed hard.

"What's your name, little boy?" she asked, though I had no doubt she already knew.

"Blondie," I whispered, barely audible.

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 punctuated with laughter.

By the time I reached my clothes, all four of my cheeks were the same shade of bright red.

As I reached my pile of discarded clothing, I turned hesitantly toward Joanna, who was still holding my underpants.

Our eyes met for a brief moment before she grinned and 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.

I didn’t waste another second. I scrambled into my jeans, threw on my shirt, grabbed my shoes, and bolted. 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. It would serve as a grim reminder, not only of my ordeal, but of my enforced servitude to the bullies of Roosevelt High.

Chapter 5: Bus Stop Humiliation

Accosted

Let’s see, in my last communication I left you with that awful 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 my "sniffing" incident. I had tried to explain that Mitch had forced me into it, but she didn’t care. To tell you the truth, 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 made good on her promise.

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.

“Hi, Blondie,” she called sweetly from the window. “Want to go for a ride?” She was smiling, as I’m sure she had heard about my naked adventure in the car with Mitch, Marcia and company.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus,” I answered cautiously, already feeling a pit form in my stomach.

Joanna pouted dramatically. “Aww, that’s too bad. But before we go, I have a little request. Why don’t you drop your pants and give us a nice view of that cute little ass of yours?”

A roar of laughter erupted from inside the car. My entire body tensed. I was already planning to make 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 above a whisper.

Joanna’s smile widened. “Oh, Blondie,” she cooed mockingly, “we’re not going anywhere until we see your naked little ass. 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. My skin burned.

I glanced around in desperation. The car provided some cover from passing traffic, but not from the three other kids at the bus stop—two girls and one guy. I didn’t know them, but they were watching me now with undisguised curiosity. Their dull wait for the bus had suddenly become far more interesting.

And the worst part? 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. After fumbling with the button and zipper, I hesitated—one last, desperate second of dignity—before I lowered my pants to my thighs.

The eruption of laughter from the car was instant and merciless.

“All the way down to your ankles, Blondie!” Joanna sing-songed, her voice dripping with amusement.

Miserably, I complied, sliding my pants down the rest of the way, exposing my underpants to the world. I stared straight ahead, wishing I could disappear.

I wasn’t surprised at what I heard next. “Now pull down your underpants. I think your friends out there want to see what you’ve got under there,” continued Joanna. “Pull your little undies all the way down.”

I glanced up, heart sinking. The three bystanders had moved a little closer. They were wide-eyed and open-mouthed, drinking in the spectacle. Maybe it was my imagination, but one of the girls seemed to be smirking at the small protuberance in my underpants.

I took another panicked scan of my surroundings. A group of students—six, maybe seven—were heading my way from about a block and a half away. My stomach dropped. I needed to get this over with before my audience multiplied.

I swiftly lowered my underpants to my ankles and immediately covered my groin. Mortified, I reached down to lift my clothes back up.

“Uh-uh-uh, Blondie! We haven’t seen your whole ass yet—your shirt’s in the way,” Joanna shouted. “Lift your tee shirt up over your eyes and hold it there with both hands.”

Heat flooded my face as I obeyed, peeling my shirt up and over my eyes, effectively blindfolding myself—and exposing myself. What an awful feeling it was to stand there, for all intents and purposes naked, so submissively catering to the whims of my tormentor.

Joanna addressed one of the girls in front of me, who must have been looking on in wonder and fascination. "What does it look like?" asked Joanna.

"It's small!" squealed the girl.

"I know, I've seen it!" answered Joanna to considerable laughter. "And no hair, right?"

"No, he's completely hairless!" responded the grinning girl.


Shake That Ass!

And then, because she was truly diabolical, Joanna went in for the kill. “Okay, Blondie, now shake that ass for us. Shake it! Here—dance to the music!”

She cranked the car stereo up to full blast. Rihanna’s voice pulsed through the air.

“Shake it, Blondie!” Joanna whooped. “Shake that little ass!”

I groaned, but what choice did I have? My entire body was on fire with humiliation as I started shimmying my hips, hearing nothing but raucous laughter from the car and gasps of disbelief from the bystanders. I could only imagine how humorous a sight it must have been, blindly wiggling around while strangers stood there, watching like it was probably the best free entertainment they’d ever had.

My hidden face was extremely hot as I wallowed in my debasement, listening to the derisive laughter of the gleeful occupants of the car.

Fortunately, the piece ended quickly.

Joanna, still breathless with laughter, finally took mercy. “Okay, Blondie, we’re gonna go now,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “I want you to count to twenty—really slowly—before you pull 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.”

I swallowed hard.

“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, burning with shame, 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 head, 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).

The car engine revved, and I listened as my tormentors drove off, leaving me to count the aforementioned slowest twenty seconds of my life.

Finally, I yanked my shirt down, revealing my flaming red face to the three highly amused strangers still standing there, thoroughly entertained.

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.

Panic surged through me. I flicked my gaze up. The three strangers were watching intently, their amused smirks widening. 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.

I heard a car horn, and when I looked up, I saw Joanna leaning out of her window, laughing hysterically.

“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, I waited for the bus to pass, choosing to catch the next one. There was no way in hell I was getting on the next bus with the three witnesses to my humiliation.

* * * * * *

So that was Joanna’s revenge—at least up to that point. I had the feeling she had more shameful tricks up her sleeve.

And I wasn’t wrong.

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.

I shudder just thinking about it.

Chapter 6: Naked and Molested in the Auditorium

No Relief as a Sophomore

My freshman year at Roosevelt High mercifully ended without any further humiliations at the hands of my tormentors. I had high hopes that my suffering was finally behind me. With a fresh batch of clueless freshmen coming in, surely Mitch, Marcia, Joanna, and Reggie would find some new, ripe targets to amuse themselves with.

I should have known better.

It was only the second week of the new school year when I got my first ominous sign that my troubles weren’t over. I was at my locker, minding my own business, when I suddenly found myself flanked by Mitch, Marcia, and Joanna.

“Well, well, Blondie boy,” Joanna cooed. “Welcome back. It’s so nice to see you again.” 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. She reached up and pinched my cheeks between her fingers, giving them a playful wiggle. “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.

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

“Bye-bye, Blondie,” Marcia chirped as they sauntered off, still chuckling. “Let’s get together and have some fun real soon.”

I shuddered as I gathered myself and walked to my next class. Apparently, it didn’t matter that I was no longer a freshman. My indignities would continue, much to my chagrin.


Waylaid by Marcia and Mitch

It wasn’t until December that they made good on their desire to continue in their humiliation of me.

The annual Christmas play was about to take place in front of the entire student body, and I was heading into the auditorium with my friend Robert when I suddenly found myself trapped between Mitch and Marcia, each casually taking hold of one of my elbows.

“Come sit with us, Blondie,” Marcia purred. “We’d love to watch the play with you.”

Mitch turned to Robert. “Go find another playmate, buddy.”

Robert had the good sense not to interfere. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders apologetically as Mitch and Marcia escorted me into the auditorium.

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.

Her smile didn’t waver. “That wasn’t a request.”

“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.

Reluctantly, I unzipped my jacket and slipped it off, laying it in my lap.

“Let me help you with that,” Marcia chirped, snatching it from me before I could protest and placing it on the empty seat next to her.

I shifted uncomfortably, my unease growing by the second.


A Quiet, Most Humiliating Stripping

The lights dimmed, and the play 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 performance. For a fleeting moment, I dared to hope that maybe—just maybe—they had lost interest in tormenting me.

But then their depraved plan began to unfold. Marcia leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered the 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 any more horrified. My body froze in place. If I gave in, I had no idea how far it would go. But if I resisted….well, I knew from experience that resistance was futile.

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 tee shirt under my shirt that day. But I had the foreboding feeling that my tee shirt would eventually belong to Marcia.

I sat there, trembling in anticipation and dread. Minutes passed.

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.

Cringing, I leaned down, untying my shoes with trembling fingers. One by one, I peeled off my socks, stuffing them into my shoes before handing them 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 of how I was methodically being stripped down.

I looked around and was relieved that it was dark enough to obscure the sordid doings in the middle of the auditorium.

Five more minutes crawled by. Then Marcia took hold of the short sleeve of my tee shirt to pull me toward her and again spoke softly in my ear, in a very friendly tone of voice.

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

I hesitated, took a deep breath, then in resignation I complied. I leaned over, pulled the tee 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.

I crossed my arms over my chest, quivering with an extreme sense of dread. I remember what a naked feeling it was, even though I was still wearing my pants.

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.

Tantalizingly, she waited almost a full ten minutes before her next calculated move.

Again she pressed her lips to my left ear. “You can take your pants off for me now, sweetie,” she directed, again with a teasing, friendly 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.

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. Then, with a deep breath, I lifted my bum and slid my jeans down my legs. Marcia giggled as I bent over, slipping them off my feet before placing them into her waiting hands. I watched forlornly as my pants disappeared in the darkness.

Now I was sitting there—barefoot, bare-chested, and wearing nothing but my tighty-whities—surrounded by the entire student body. Compounding my distress, I had no idea when, or if, I was getting my clothes back.

Again I was made to wait for an extended period with no further word from Marcia.

At one point, to my horror, Mitch’s hand slid up and down my thigh. “Nice and smooth, Blondie,” he murmured in a husky tone.

I recoiled as he pulled his hand away, chuckling softly to himself.

After a few more excruciating minutes, the inevitable happened.

I felt Marcia’s hand on my bare shoulder. I didn't move or breathe, bracing myself for what almost assuredly was coming.

She leaned in, and in that same soft, taunting voice, 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, and sat paralyzed, hoping beyond hope that by ignoring her, the living nightmare would somehow go away.

But only a few seconds elapsed before she nudged me in the shoulder and reached down and flicked the elastic of my underpants, pressing for my compliance. 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—just not this.”

I squeezed her hand tightly, pouring every ounce of desperation into my grip, then then let go and leaned back in my chair, heart hammering.

There was no immediate response from Marcia, which gave me cause for optimism. Maybe—just maybe—she had a shred of mercy in her.

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 when—

She leaned toward me, putting her lips directly over my ear canal. This time the friendliness to her voice was gone, and she spoke the words very slowly, clearly, and authoritatively.

“Give.…me….your.…underpants………..now!”

I was devastated. My situation was hopeless. I closed my eyes tightly and braced myself for the abject humiliation.

I lifted my hips, incredulous at what I was about to do. My hands trembled as I grasped the waistband, hesitating for one last, desperate second.

Then, in one slow, mortifying motion, I slipped my underpants down my legs and off my feet. I let out a gasp while the sinister Marcia snatched them away.

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, even though it was too dark for anybody to see. My elbows dug into my sides as I hunched, my head nearly between my knees, my skin burning from sheer humiliation.

A warm hand landed on my back. I could sense her delight as she leaned in and tickled my ear with her soft, mellifluous voice.

“Excellent, Blondie. You’re naked, yes you are! Can’t you just die?”

My only response was rapid, heavy breathing.

She merrily repeated the word “naked” several times.

“Naked. Naked, naked, naked, nayked!”

As if I needed the reminder.

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 knees remained pressed together, my arms were stiff, and my hands still clenched my genitals. I made numerous glances at my clothes. I could only see their outline, but the knowledge that they were close by was my only ray of hope.

My apprehension was extreme, as I wondered if I would get them back before the lights came on. The play would surely be over within the next half hour.

At one point that ray of hope shined brighter. I saw Marcia sifting through my clothes. She turned toward me with my jacket in her hands. I reached for the jacket, but the sadistic Marcia pulled it close to her.

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

I sat there, naked and shivering, while Marcia, wrapped snugly in my jacket, giggled to herself in 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. His grip lingered as he leaned in. “Leave it there,” he instructed, his voice low, calm, and unquestionably in control.

A second later, Marcia’s fingers curled around my left wrist. I didn’t even have time to resist before she guided my arm to the other armrest. Her lips brushed my ear as she whispered, voice dripping with playful authority, “Don’t you dare move your hand.”

I swallowed hard. My heart pounded. The helplessness of my position sunk in—I was completely exposed, my hands immobilized.

Then, things got even worse.

The diabolical Marcia reached into her purse.

I didn’t see what she retrieved, but I heard the soft click before I realized what it was.

The small beam of a flashlight flicked on, cutting through the darkness, and landed right on my exposed genitals.

I jolted instinctively, every nerve in my body screaming at me to cover up.

But before I could, Mitch and Marcia’s grips tightened on my wrists, keeping me pinned 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,” she ordered, her voice teasing yet insistent. “I want a clear view of your little bits.”

I unclenched my knees and with considerable effort I spread them a few inches apart.

Marcia and Mitch finally relaxed their grips on my wrists, but I didn’t dare move them. I fought against the overwhelming impulse to shield myself as Marcia tilted the flashlight downward, the beam illuminating everything. Back then I still hadn’t grown any pubic hair, and my mortification was extreme, as Marcia and Mitch had a full view of my very naked genitals.

Both Marcia and Bruce were using the palm of their hand to muffle their laughter. Marcia leaned in close again, her voice full of 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 on my “little wee-wee” for a few more seconds while she giggled some more.

Again Marcia put her mouth to my ear. Then she shined the light on my blushing face and 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? Does wittle Blondie want his mommy?”

I managed to hold back the tears, knowing that would only make matters worse.

Then, to my great distress, Marcia shined the light at 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, while a girl from my homeroom—Brenda, I suddenly recalled—covered her mouth as she giggled. Next to her, a buxom blonde girl I didn’t recognize, but later learned was Cheryl, gave me a wide, entertained grin.

Marcia turned the light back on my face, letting them all take in my red-cheeked look of shock. “Oh Blondie, you’re just making their night,” she teased.

She then lowered the light back down to her target as I sat there and absorbed the overwhelming humiliation.


Sexually Aroused

Though it’s probably hard for you to believe, my plight was about to worsen.

Marcia took my left hand and wrapped my fingers around the flashlight.

“Keep this shining on your little wee-wee, Blondie,” she ordered.

So not only was I forced to sit there naked while at least five people stared at me, I had to suffer the further indignity of playing a role in my own humiliation. As I sat there holding the light, I remember thinking that the depravity couldn’t sink any lower.

But I’m sorry to tell you that I was wrong, as indeed it was lowered to another level.

A few minutes after Marcia handed off the flashlight, I felt her hand on the inside of my knee. She strummed her fingers while playfully working her way up the inside of my thigh.

I flinched and jerked my body back when her hand reached a sensitive spot high on my thigh, perilously close to my balls.

Marcia giggled and rested her hand high on my thigh.

That must have been a sign for Mitch, because he then took hold of my right wrist and pulled it toward him. At first I resisted, but then I succumbed, knowing that defiance would be fruitless.

Then—and it’s difficult for me to talk about this—he pulled my hand down to his crotch. He had unclasped and loosened his pants, 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, because his penis was already lubricated.

“Play with it, Blondie,” he whispered in my ear.

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, 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.”

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

I reached over and put my hand back inside Mitch’s shorts. Disgusted, I started fondling his penis. It was already semi-erect, but it really came to life with my touch. I was repulsed and stopped momentarily. Again Mitch leaned to my ear.

“Just keep stroking it, Blondie,” he commanded. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

I swallowed hard and continued to do his bidding.

“A little higher,” he instructed. “Yeah, that’s it…up and down…yeah, just like that…ohhh, yes, very nice,” he said before leaning back in sexual pleasure.

My left hand held the flashlight shining on my genitals as I continued caressing his now rock-hard, slimy penis with my right.

After a couple of minutes, I felt Mitch’s left hand stroking the inside of my right thigh.

Within seconds Marcia began stroking the inside of my left thigh. Her fingers would occasionally dart over to my balls, and I must say I’d never felt anything quite like that before—self-stimulation didn’t compare.

Then, much to my dismay, despite my mortification, I started to get aroused. As Marcia concentrated more on my balls, 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 into to my ear and whispered, “You like that, don’t you, my naked little pet.”

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 probably was just a little over half the size of Mitch.

Marcia's giggles 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 as I dutifully continued stimulating his raging penis.

Then Mitch squeezed something on his hand—probably Vaseline—and spread it all over my penis, a move that only enhanced my state of sexual excitement.

Marcia concentrated on my balls, gently tickling them with her fingers. 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. As I came closer to ejaculation I closed my eyes and got lost in the moment.

“Oh…oh…oh, God, please, no…” I moaned as softly as I could.

The four girls were trying to stifle their giggles, and I must have stopped my grudging servitude to Mitch, because he leaned to my ear again. “Don’t stop, Blondie!” he said, almost desperately. “Pump my cock. Pump it!”

I took hold of his penis and started jacking him off in earnest, disgusting as it was. 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. I lifted my hips off the seat and moaned, as the sensation was overwhelming. Marcia and Mitch didn’t let up until I finished, at which point I slumped back down in my seat.

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.


Frantic Recovery of Clothes

At that moment, the thunderous ovation from the entire student body jolted me back to reality. 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. I remember brushing across the wetness on his midsection and being disgusted with the stark realization that I had gotten him off.

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

Imagine my horror when I found only my shoes and socks. My clothes were gone!

Now in full panic mode, I put both of my hands on Marcia’s shoulders and shook them passionately. “Where are my clothes?!” I asked frantically. I lunged for my jacket, but she hugged it tightly to her chest, grinning. 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 had my pants. Cheryl dangled my shirt. And Brenda, looking especially pleased with herself, held my underpants. My tee shirt was casually draped around her neck.

I lunged for them, but the girls pulled back in unison, giggling.

“I guess you’ll have to go get them, Blondie,” laughed Marcia.

I started to climb over the seat when Marcia slapped one of my protruding ass cheeks and took hold of my leg, pulling me back. “Not that way, silly boy,” she chided. “You’ll have to go around.”

Dread filled my chest, but I had no choice. Heart pounding, I wove my way down the row, hoping—praying—no one would notice. But Marcia, ever the tormentor, shined the flashlight directly on my naked ass, sending a ripple of reaction through the audience.

“What the hell?” someone muttered.

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

I ducked low, but the applause drowned out most of the commotion. Reaching the row in front, I abandoned all dignity and dropped to my hands and knees, crawling toward Joanna. I snatched my pants from her grasp without a second thought for my underpants or tee shirt. I shoved my legs in as fast as humanly possible, the now-familiar sensation of going commando only adding to my mortification.

As the lights came up, Cheryl tossed my shirt at me. I scrambled to button it, feeling like a thousand eyes were burning into me. It probably wasn’t so, but it seemed like everybody in the auditorium was staring at me. My face felt like it was on fire; I’m sure it was tomato red.

Glancing back, I saw Marcia grinning as she handed me my shoes, socks, and jacket, her expression smug with victory. I yanked them on and hurried out with the rest of the crowd, my pulse still racing.

When I reached the hallway, I was surrounded by all five of the grinning culprits who had put me through the staggering humiliation. I looked straight down at the floor, too shamed to look any of them in the eyes.

“That was a very uplifting play, Blondie,” Mitch called out. “Don’t you think?”

To the sounds of laughter, I walked away speedily without answering.

* * * * *

The next morning, I walked into homeroom with considerable dread, knowing I’d have to face at least one of my tormentors from the night before.

My dread was justified.

When I reached my desk in the front row, my stomach twisted. There, laid out as if on display, were the very items I had unwillingly stripped off the night before. My tee shirt was draped over the back of my chair. My underpants were neatly spread across my desk.

I quickly grabbed them, shoving them into my backpack with frantic haste.

As I sat down, heart hammering, I couldn’t help but glance back at Brenda.

She was grinning.

And watching me turn beet red all over again.