Soccer
Jock Slave
by Dick
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I
was always an extremely ticklish boy.
I don’t know why – I guess it was just one of those freak accidents
of nature. But whatever the reason, I was very ticklish . . . I mean, very. You
could attack the bellies or the feet of most boys with 10 wiggling fingers and
they’d probably start squirming and giggling, but all you had to do to
me was blow on my chest, or brush past the sole of my foot once ever so gently,
and I would literally curl up into a ball howling with laughter. I went to doctors
and everything – the universal diagnosis was simply that I’d been
born with overly reactive skin nerves, and was doomed to be freakishly ticklish
for the rest of my life.
Sad, huh?
My name’s Dick, and I’m not sure why I’m writing all this down,
but I really need to get it out somehow. I discovered this weakness pretty early.
I was really young and clowning around with a baby sitter, this guy in high school.
We were just playing, and suddenly he pinned me down and started doing the “type-writer” on
my stomach, and I almost passed out. My face turned bright red and I began to
shriek so loudly the neighbor came over to see what was wrong. It shook the babysitter
up pretty well, and he stopped right away.
I wish I’d been that lucky later on.
I’d always been a bit of a loner, not too many friends and not too popular.
I mean, I was cute – small and wiry, but with nice abs and sandy blond
hair, and there had always been a few girls with passing crushes on me, but for
some reason I had never really reciprocated. Anyway, later in high school, when
my troubles began, I got to be too pathetic a figure for any girl to have a crush
on.
My oversensitivity meant that I had to be a little more careful than most kids.
For starters, I had to be very careful to never, ever could go around barefoot,
because my feet were just too appallingly tender – shoes had to be worn
at all times. If I ever tried to walk barefoot, even on soft carpet or grass,
my feet immediately began to tingle wildly and I couldn’t stand up straight.
And so of course I could never go swimming with the other kids, or make paint
foot prints, or any of the other activities other young kids did. Still, I managed
to make it through middle school without anyone catching onto my condition – I
got lucky.
Then, my freshman in high school, all that changed.
Jack was two years older than me, and even back in high school he was one of
those star athletes who girls all adored and guys all worshipped, with a great
body and an incredible smile and a laid back coolness. He was a starter for varsity
soccer, which was huge at my high school, and his muscular body always flew down
the field with effortless ease.
He was also a huge asshole – he loved to haze younger teammates, mock ugly
girls, relentlessly pursue, fuck and discard the hot ones, and generally give
shit to anyone he judged less cool than himself. I didn’t play on a team,
was a lot less popular than all-American Jack, to whom I clearly fell in this
last category. Jack and some of his soccer team-mates used to enjoy giving me
shit at the end of school each day – my name was Dick, but they always
called me “tiny dick.”
“ Hey tiny dick, how tiny is it really?”
“ He tiny dick, keep an eye on it now . . . ya wouldn’t want it to
get lost.”
And so on. And as my freshmen year progressed, it began to escalate in small
ways; a shove here, a push there, always followed by a host of snickers.
And then one day it got much worse.
It all started in gym class. We were on the wrestling mat, and we were taking
turns tumbling – most of the guys had their shoes off, but I of course
didn’t and no one was giving me a hard time about it. I faced off against
another kid, and as we went down on the mat, his hand accidentally went up my
sleeve and brushed past my armpits, and I immediately doubled over in incapacitating
hysterics, my whole body going slack, and the other guy quickly gained the upper
hand in the match.
“ Hey . . . you alright man?” the kid asked.
I nodded weakly. “Yeah, yeah . . . don’t worry about it.”
But the damage had been done. A few hours later, as I was leaving school, I heard
Jack’s voice behind me.
“ Hey, tiny dick!” He strode up with an insufferable swagger, two
of his muscular team mates in toe. I recognized one of them as Larry. Larry was
Jack’s
best pal, another starter on the team – tall, with big blue eyes and closely
cropped blond hair. Girls loved him too – and I could see why. Both of
them seemed almost flawlessly built, equipped with uniformly muscular bodies.
Jack continued to talk. “I hear you had some trouble in gym class the other
day, Tiny!”
“ What’re talking about?” I wanted to know.
He looked innocent. “Oh, I just heard you were a little over . . . sensitive.”
Suddenly the three of them grabbed me, grinning like idiots. “Get his arms
up, get his arms up!” I heard Jack exclaim eagerly. Larry and the other
guy were on either side of me, and hoisted my arms into the air. Then, like a
searing jolt of electricity, I felt Jack’s finger tips dancing at my arm
pits. I went berserk – I screamed wildly, desperate to escape the torture,
but all three of my assailants were bigger than me, and it was to no avail. The
tickling had been going on for only a few moments and already it was unbearable – I
shut my eyes and shrieked louder.
“ Jesus . . . he’s SO fucking ticklish . . .” I heard Jack
say.
They let me go then, because they were afraid I was so loud that someone would
find us. But my reprieve was short; they were waiting for me on the way home
from school that afternoon. I rounded the corner, 10 blocks from my house, and
discovered to my horror that Jack was sitting lazily on the lawn of a neighborhood
park, chewing grass. His two buddies from the soccer team were there with him.
They were all in uniform, they looked like they had come directly from practice,
and they looked pretty excited to see me.
“ Now, let’s have some fun. Grab him!” Jack said.
They did.
This time they’d come more prepared. Larry took off his soccer cleat, pealed
off his sock, and stuffed it down my throat as a gag – Jack promptly yanked
a piece of duck tape over my lips. “Now he won’t be able to shriek
like a little girl. Will ya, tiny dick?”
I struggled hard and tried to say something through the gag.
“ What’s that?” Jack cupped his hand behind his ear. The other
guys
snickered. “Did you say ‘Please tickle me?’”
I struggled even harder and shook my head vigorously. “MMMHHMM!” I
groaned.
Jack grinned a sexy boyish grin. “I think he said ‘yes! Please tickle
me! Please tickle me everywhere you fucking can!’”
They grabbed me, lifted me up, and carried me deeper into the park so we were
hidden behind a grove of trees. I was dropped to the ground and I felt three
pairs of hands seize my body.
“ Where should we start?” I heard one of the boys ask.
“ Where’s he the most ticklish?”
“ Start with the armpits,” Jack instructed. “That’s what
we did
earlier. He can’t STAND that.”
I felt strong arms pull my hands unwillingly away from my head as other bodies
pinned mine tightly to the ground.
Then the torture started.
It was so much worse than anything I’d ever had to cope with – I
can’t describe the sensation. Jack’s nimble athletic hands flew back
and forth along my arm pits – every fiber in my body strained to escape
his awful fingers, but I was held immobile, my tender skin completely at his
mercy. I tried to scream but, with the gag, it came out as a dull “URRRRMMMM!” far
too soft to summon any help. I tried to kick, tried to roll over, strained to
do anything to get away from the awful tickling, but I couldn’t – and
I was laughing so hard my breath refused to go in and out like it was supposed
to. I gasped for air desperately, and found myself breathing in the foul stench
of the sock.
But it was about to get worse.
“ I think he likes it,” Larry opined.
“ Try his belly,” the other guy urged.
Jack shifted to the sides of my stomach, attacking the deadly tender spots right
above my hips. I convulsed again and again – I thought I would surely lose
consciousness. It was unbearable, the sheer agony of being completely out of
control, of being at the total mercy of a group of older boys who love humiliating
you.
Between the armpits and my belly, they kept themselves amused for over twenty
minutes. Then Jack said if I wanted him to stop tickling me, I would have to
kiss his feet.
I didn’t hesitate – as soon as they removed the gag, I eagerly leapt
forward and planted my lips on his soccer cleats. Anything to stop the horrible
sensation.
“ No no,” Jack snickered. “You gotta kiss my FEET.”
Again, I didn’t hesitate. He made me unlace his cleats, pull them off,
take off his sweat-soaked socks and then, with his two teammates looking on with
intense amusement, bow down and kiss his smelly toes.
“ Ahhh. That feels good,” Jack declared with satisfaction. “So
good
that you gotta kiss the soles of my feet now.”
I paused ever so slightly.
Jack shrugged. “Okay. Let’s tickle him some more.”
My eyes widened in horror and I immediately threw myself to the ground, enthusiastically
heading for Jack’s feet. All three laughed loudly now. Jack shrugged, raised
his foot into the air, then planted it down firmly onto my face. I kissed each
sole.
“ Do you like my feet?” Jack inquired.
“ Of course!”
“ That’s right. You better like my fucking feet. You’re gonna
be kissing
them a lot from now on. .”
Jack was right.
The ambush “tickling sessions” quickly became a near-weekly occurrence.
At first I of course tried to avoid them, finding new routes home, trying to
go home when I knew Jack and the team were in practice. But somehow they always
got me – whether by anticipating my route change, or by surprising me the
next day instead. And when I did get caught after trying to elude them, there
were always severe punishments.
“ Ya think you can get away from us?” Jack demanded the first time
this happened. By now the weekly tickling had been going on for over a month,
and the ambush group had grown to 5 or 6 guys, all studs from the soccer team,
all buddies of
the ever popular Jack. “Well, think again. We’re gonna tickle you
today for a solid hour.” Not only was he as good as his word, but that
day, for the first time, they pinned me down, dragged off my tennis shoes and
attacked the soles of my feet, protected by only my socks. I’d been dreading
the moment for a while – and it was worse than I had feared. Of course,
tickling my stomach was bad enough, tickling my armpits was excruciating, and
all the other places Jack had begun to target – behind my knee-cap, underneath
my chin, along my inner thighs – were equally unbearable.
But my tender feet, which had never once been exposed to the outside world, were
another matter altogether. Just lightly brushing the undersides of my soles,
with my socks on, was enough to drive me completely crazy. And now, as Jack ran
his finger tips gleefully up and down along my socked sole, it felt as though
knives were shooting up my legs. My feet writhed like fish on a hook, flipping
frantically back and forth as I screamed hysterically into my sockgag, but each
ankle was pinned down to the ground by a grinning midfielder, and Jack was taking
his sweet time tormenting my agonizingly ticklish soles.
“ Kootchy kootchy koo!” Jack exclaimed, as the other boys snickered.
And then, one of the midfielders said something chilling: “Take his socks
off, man!”
I broke down completely at that, sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down
my cheeks, shaking my head emphatically.
“ What . . . you don’t want me to tickle your feet?” Jack taunted
me.
I shook my head vigorously again.
“ You sure?”
An equally vigorous nod.
“ Wait . . . so you do want me to tickle your feet.” He began to
pull my
socks off.
From behind my gag, I sobbed again with frustration.
For that day, after a little more mockery of my sorry state, Jack – much
to the disappointment of his other eager team-mates, decided to spare my naked
feet, allowing me to meekly put the socks back on. But he made me kiss the soles
of his feet again, and this time . . .
“ I think you owe me a little more for my mercy today, don’t you,
tiny dick?”
“ Absolutely!”
He smirked. “So . . . from now on . . . call me ‘sir.’”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“ What do you say, Bitch?” Larry barked.
“ Thank you . . .sir,” I stammered.
“ Again!”
“ THANK YOU SIR! I APPRECIATE YOUR MERCY SIR!”
Before he let me go, Jack now made me kiss the sweaty feet of every boy there.
“ THANK YOU SIR! I ENJOY KISSING YOUR FEET SIR!!” I said each time.
I was tickled again the next week, and again the week after that. Each week the
crowd of eager boys seemed to grow by one person, and the duration of my ordeal
stretched on a little longer. They had never returned to my feet thank God, despite
the urgings of several on the team, but they showed me no mercy anywhere else.
My forearms, my back, every square inch of my belly and along my sides, up and
down the backs of my leg – their flying finger tips reached nearly every
square inch of my body, each region appallingly sensitive. Like a musician learning
to play his instrument with sadistic patience, Jack began to feel out my worse
spots and hit them with devastating effectiveness. By the end of each session,
I thought I would surely lose my mind.
The following week, unable to stand it any longer, I ditched my last class and
dashed home early, before school was out. As soon as I got home I hastily locked
the door, ran up to my room, and stayed there for the rest of the night. I didn’t
even come down for dinner.
I didn’t want to go to school at all the next day, but I didn’t have
a choice. I saw Jack pass me in the halls, smirking at me with a look of spine-chilling
pleasure. Again, that afternoon, I ditched my last class . . . or tried to. As
I was hurriedly leaving the building, I felt strong arms suddenly seize me.
“ Nice try,” I heard a deep voice say . . . it was one of the juniors
on
the team – the goalie, I recognized. The goalie was shorter than the others,
but powerfully muscular, with dark brown hair and a mischievous glimmer in his
green eyes that sometimes, to me, seemed to border on sadistic. Still, I had
to admit he was another hot stud. “But I don’t have class this time
of day, so Jack got me to keep an eye on you . . . don’t you know you should
stay in school?” He chuckled at his cleverness.
Before I knew what had happened, he had jammed another sock into my mouth and
spirited me away to the gym locker room. I tried to struggle, but as usual I
was much weaker than my attacker.
“ Enjoy,” he grinned, and with that he forcefully hefted me into
one of the
tiny lockers that lined the room. “This one’s been specially prepared
for you.”
I wouldn’t fit, and I was still fighting against his tight grasp, but he
pushed again, hard, and I slid into the tiny compartment as the locker door clanged
shut behind me. It didn’t take me long to discover what he meant by “specially
prepared” – the locker had been crammed ahead of time with a big
load of dirty socks.
I barely had room to move, and between my sock gag and the dirty laundry surrounding
me, the stench was stifling. Still, they made me wait in the locker until the
end of school – I could hear the bell ringing off in the distance – and
then all through a lengthy soccer practice. I could see their sweaty bodies filing
into the locker room through the slats in my door.
They waited for their coach and everyone else to leave. Then a huge group of
them – at least 12, probably more, crowded eagerly around my locker.
“ Ya ready to come out now, Tiny Dick?” Jack asked cheerfully, standing
in
front. Half of the entire team seemed to be there.
With the gag, all I could manage was a moan.
“ See . . . you escaped again yesterday, and we all wasted almost an hour
of our
time trying to find you,” Jack continued. “I warned you about that.
So today, we’re gonna get even.”
They did.
They kept me there for two hours. First they made me strip down to my underwear.
This time, they had gotten ahold of some rope, so they hogtied me. Then, after
all ruthlessly going after my pits, my belly, my thighs and my whole body relentlessly,
reducing me once again to a mass of tears, Jack declared it was time for the
main event.
“ We’re doing your feet now, little man,” he grinned. “But
first, your gonna thank us for tickling you, and ask us to tickle your feet for
a good
long hard time. And if you don’t, we’ll gag you, stick you back in
that fuckin’ smelly locker, and make you stay there until after practice
tomorrow night, when we’ll repeat the whole exercise again.”
He removed my gag.
“ Please, sir . . .” I swallowed, shutting my eyes. “Thank
you for
tickling me, sir.”
Jack stared down at me, waiting.
“ Please Sir,” I begged, desperately. “Please, have mercy on
me again.
Let me go home now.”
“ Dude, he’s so fucking pathetic,” I heard one of the forwards
say.
Jack shook his head and clucked disapprovingly with mock disappointment. “Now
tiny dick,” he said patiently, “that’s not what I told you
to say.”
“ Please don’t! Please! I’ll kiss your feet. I’ll LICK
your feet.
I’ll lick ALL your feet.”
Jack shrugged happily. “OK, we’ll make sure you do that. But we’re
still gonna tickle your little freshman feet.”
“ No! They’re too tender! I won’t be able to handle it . .
.”
I heard Larry snicker behind me. Some of the newbies who hadn’t been to
any of the earlier “sessions” were staring at me, slack-jawed, disbelieving.
This was proving much more entertaining than they could have imagined.
“ Say it,” the goalie rumbled in a threatening low voice. “Say
it,
say it . . .”
Now they were all chanting. “Say it! Say it!”
Still I resisted.
“ Say it! Say it!”
Over the din, the goalie bent over and whispered in my ear. “Listen, fucker,
you got five seconds, and then we’re gonna stick you back in the locker
for the night, and tomorrow we’re still gonna tickle your fucking feet.”
That did it. “Alright!” I shouted desperately. “Alright!”
A dramatic hush.
In a defeated whisper: “Please, sir, please tickle me feet.”
Jack was really enjoying himself now. “Should I take off your socks and
tickle your bare feet for 25 nonstop minutes?” he asked.
I shuddered. “Yes.”
“ Yes what?”
“ Yes sir. Please take off my socks and tickle my barefeet for 25 nonstop
minutes.”
“ You can do better than that!”
“ Please tickle my barefeet for 25 minutes, sir!” I shouted.
Larry, still behind me, spoke now. “You know Jack, on second thought, I
think we might want to go on for a little longer. Don't you, Tiny Dick?”
I hesitated again, then saw Jack’s steely stern gaze.
“ Yes Sir!” I said quickly
“ Maybe we should tickle your bare feet for 45 minutes,” Larry continued.
There was a pause.
“ I can’t HEAR you, bitch!” Jack roared.
“ YES SIR! PLEASE TICKLE MY BAREFEET FOR 45 MINUTES SIR!”
Like the executioner being led to the block, I watched them take off my shoes.
I watched them remove my socks.
Jack lifted my feet into the air and, with pure sadism, blew lightly on my soles.
I began to giggle uncontrollably.
“ Oh man, this is gonna be rough, boys . . . Gag him heavily and tie his
ankles
together,” Jack instructed his team mates.
They hurried to obey.
The minute Jack started in on the soles of my feet, the sheer sensory overload
literally almost knocked me out – all went black. I thought I would simply
lose consciousness . . . somehow I managed to hang on. Jack attacked enthusiastically – I
was beyond laughter, all I could do was scream continuously at the top of my
lunges. My whole body went absolutely rigid – it was on fire – it
was unbearable. Tears began to stream once again from my eyes uncontrollably – now
I really couldn’t breath. I couldn’t do anything, except sit there
and suffer in ticklish agony as Jack ran his evil fingertips along my soles.
I couldn’t think – my field of vision became a nonsensical blur of
taunting faces and swirling color.
Jack was relentless. His fingertips probed the soles of my feet, of course, but
they flared down around my ankles, up past the foot arch, along the balls of
the feet, and then still worse, in between my TOES! He traced a path up and down
along the crevices between each toe, prying his fingers into the deadly extra-sensitive
joints. Then he went after one foot at a time, using one strong hand to pry my
toes back, flaying them out so as to be totally exposed, then ruthlessly attacking
with his other hand. Even with two socks stuffed firmly into my mouth, I was
screaming audibly. “RAHHHHHHHHH!” I cried continuously.
“ Done!” Jack at last announced with satisfaction, like a boy who
has just taken a race car for a successful lap. My shoulders slumped with relief.
But
then: “Who else wants to give it a try?”
And then I heard 12 eager voices all chime in at once. My shoulders slumped again,
this time with despair.
Jack had said 45 minutes, and he was as good as his word . . . sort of. After
passing out again, I was revived and told that I would be released . . . if I
could pass a test. I was to be ungagged, and had to sit there for just thirty
seconds quietly, holding my feet motionless, while Larry gently poked them. Not
tickle. Not even brush . . . just poke.
“ I’ll time it with a stopwatch,” Jack promised. “If
ya can do
it, we’ll let you go and we’ll leave you alone for a whole fucking
month.”
I tried . . . really I did. Jack hit the stop watch button, and I gritted my
teeth, sucked in my breath, and tried to freeze my feet into position. But it
was no good. As soon as I felt Larry touch my feet, ever so gently, my legs involuntarily
rocked back, and I giggled.
“ Aww,” Jack said in mock sympathy. “We’ll give you another
chance.
Ya just screwed up on that one. Oh, by the way, fuck up again, and we’re
gonna tickle you for another 30 minutes.”
I held still this time for five whole seconds, before collapsing again into a
fit giggles.
I saw the guys standing around me, stunned.
“ Too bad . . .” Jack said with a sigh.
Someone stuck a sock into my mouth, one of the midfielders eagerly grabbed a
hold of my ankles, and the torture continued.
Even after that, my ordeal wasn’t over. “Now, tiny dick, I’m
pretty sure you said you’d lick my feet,” Jack said.
I stared at him.
He sat down on one of the locker room benches and thrust his cleats into my face.
“ But . . . but that was only if you wouldn’t tickle my feet . .
. sir.”
Again I heard the Larry’s voice behind me. “You stupid or something,
fuckface?”
The goalie grinned. “Yeah . . . I thought he’d have learned his lesson
by now . . .”
“ Maybe his feet haven’t been tickled enough . . .” a defensemen
suggested.
I practically dove for Jack’s cleat. “PLEASE SIR! PLEASE I’D
BE DELIGHTED TO LICK THE LINT FROM BETWEEN YOUR TOES SIR!!” I shouted.
I heard more hoots of laughter.
“ Untie my laces using only your teeth,” Jack instructed.
I did.
His socks were even more sweat-soaked than usual. He made me lie flat on my back
as he peeled them off. Then he stomped on my face . . . hard . . . with his barefoot.
I yelped with pain.
“ Lick it, boy!” he said. “Lick it good and clean.”
“ Lick it! Lick it!” I could hear the others chanting around me.
It tasted salty and incredibly bitter. I could smell the thick stench of sweat
and male odor, but I licked and licked, sweeping the sock lint away from between
his toes with my tongue.
“ Now the other one,” Jack said when I was done. “And then,
when you’re
done with that, everyone else on the team.”
They all cheered.
“ Oh . . . and tiny dick . . . don’t ever try to escape from us again.
Cuz
it’ll be much, much worse the next time.”
They stopped waiting in ambush for me on the way home. Now, Jack just picked
a day of the week and instructed me to wait quietly at school until practice
was over. Usually Jack made me wait for them in the locker room – you wouldn’t
have thought it mattered, but somehow waiting in the sweat-soaked room for 2
hours, all alone, prohibited from doing anything but waiting for them to come
in from the field and tickle me was especially humiliating. So that everyone
on the team would know which day was the special day, Jack made me wear the same
very tight, very gay pink shirt on the day of ever time. Whenever one of the
soccer guys saw me in the hallways with that pink shirt, he smirked knowingly
at me.
That wasn't all. Jack began to find other ways of illustrating that he had more
control over me, that I was more powerless than ever before, and he cooked up
all kinds of ways to do it. On arbitrary days he would make me wear flip-flops
to school, an agony for my overly sensitive feet, just to show that he could.
In a thousand trivial and not so trivial ways, he began to make my life more
unpleasant. He made me stick pink heart stickers on my school folders, made me
buy him and his buddies candy bars from the vending machines over lunch.
He would make me go eat lunch with the soccer team rather than with my few friends,
and then take my packed lunch, dump it onto the ground, and make me eat it off
the floor – or worse, off of his shoes. When he wanted to be especially
vindictive, before I could even eat, he would make me strip down to my boxers
in the middle of lunch, and then, chuckling with glee, he and his friends would
grab me and thrust me into a garbage can in the middle of the school . . . and
leave me there.
I’d have to wait there, terrified, unable to emerge in nothing but my underwear
for fear of being the laughingstock of the entire school, until at the end of
the day Jack and his buddies would return with my clothing – and once or
twice they simply forgot to come back at all, and I had to run home almost naked.
To get my pants back, they’d make me confess that I had a “tiny dick.” “Yes
sir! My dick’s tinier than a safety pin, sir!”
One day, a crowd of them gathered around the trashcan. Jack instructed me to
stick my bare feet out of the can; I did, and I felt him tie my ankles together
with twine. Then they tied the garbage bag around my ankles, and heaved the whole
garbage can outside behind the school building, onto the big back field where
the whole school sat eating lunch. Jack took a felt marker, had two of his buddies
hold my ankles firm so I couldn’t squirm too much, and wrote “ticklish” on
the soles of my feet in big black letters. Then he tied a big feather to the
twine around my ankles and, snickering, began inviting people to step up and “give
it a whirl.”
Before long, at his instruction, I was screaming out my name to whoever my assailant
at that moment happened to be. “But you can call me tiny dick! I don’t
know know who you are, but I know your dick is ten times bigger than mine!”
I wasn’t the only one who Jack picked on, of course – although clearly,
by this time, I was the most extreme example. There was a freshman on the team
named Tommy who was muscular and lean, but he was a little awkward, and clearly
trying to fit in with the older crowd of jocks on the team. Because it was becoming,
more and more, the “cool” thing to do, Tommy had started attending
and participating in my weekly torture sessions, grinning along the rest of the
guys as I was humiliated and abused.
One day, after the tickling had finished and I had been allowed to slowly, wordlessly
put on my clothes and limp out of the locker room, Jack noticed that Tommy had
stripped off his pants and was wearing whitey-tightie briefs. With the rest of
the team crowding around, Jack revealed to Tommy a new team initiation practice
of which Tommy had been previously unaware:
“ You gotta wear those briefs for as long as I say, kid,” Jack explained
casually, with condescending helpfulness, the air of an older brother about him. “Can’t
take em off to sleep, to eat, even to whack off. Only to shower . . . and you
certainly can’t wash ‘em. If you do change ‘em, or wash ‘em,
I’ll know. Got it?”
Tommy did.
Three weeks later, Jack pulled me aside in the halls, right after fourth period.
It had gotten to the point where all I had to do was see him coming to start
shivering with fear, and I started now.
“ ‘Sup, tiny dick?” he said cheerfully.
I cut to the chase. “When should I report to the locker room for tickling
this week, sir?” I asked, swallowing.
“ Well . . .” he said, lazily, “I was thinking about giving
you the
week off, my little freshman.”
My heart practically sang with joy. “Really?!” I gasped.
“ Yeah . . . only cuz I’m feeling especially generous this week.”
“ Thank you sir! That’s very generous of you!”
“ There’s just one thing . . . I think maybe you should get down
on your hands and knees and kiss my feet. Right now. Only to show how grateful
you are,
of course.” He pointed forcefully down toward the big red flip-flops he
was wearing on his otherwise barefeet.
I swallowed hard and looked around. The hallway was filled with students.
“ Couldn’t we . . . couldn’t we at least do it where there’s
more privacy?” I said in a low voice.
He grinned that infuriatingly sexy grin. “I don't know, tiny dick . . .
I don't think it's right for us to keep your love of my sweaty feet a secret
anymore . . . do you?”
I sighed, looking around at all the students, picturing their incredulous looks
of disgust. I looked back at Jack's stern face, and slowly began to sink to my
knees.
Jack stopped me. “You know, actually,” he said in a low voice, “it
might be a much better show if you beg me a little first.”
I blinked. “Whatya mean?”
He snickered. “Well, I want you to walk away, then come back here in a
minute and say in a really loud voice 'Please, Jack! I can't take it anymore!
I have to lick the sock lint from between your toes!' And then we'll argue for
a little bit, and then you can finally persuade me to let you lick my feet. And
then you can lick my feet.” He glanced around. “And be sure to make
it convincing, Tiny. I want this performance to be Oscar worthy.”
I stared at him, unbelieving.
His face darkened. “Well, whatya waiting for Tiny Dick . . .” he
smirked.
I swallowed. I tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. Something
in me, some scrap of public dignity, gave way, and turning, I fled down the hall,
too scared to look back behind me.
I didn't even want to imagine what they would do to me that afternoon.
But they didn't do anything. They left me alone.
And the next day.
And the next day too . . . which was a Friday. It was the end of the week now,
and somehow, despite the fact that I had not done Jack’s bidding, I had
managed to make it through the week alive. I was glad beyond words, but I also
had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was going to get my come-upance
very soon.
Sure enough, when I went to my locker to get my bags at the end of the day, I
saw a note which had been slipped into the crack. I unfolded it.
DEAR TINY DICK:
Hope you enjoyed the reprieve. Cuz next week we’re gonna more than make
up for it.
PS I have a new rule when, where, how and in what way you have to LICK my fucking
feet. By the end of next week, I think you’ll remember it.
The note wasn’t signed, but I had a pretty good idea who had written it.
I couldn’t eat for the whole weekend. I kept wondering what they were going
to do to me.
But Monday rolled around, and then Tuesday, and then Wednesday. Some of the soccer
players kept giving me looks of almost pity in the hallways and in the middle
of class, and the muscular goalie kept snickering uncontrollably whenever he
passed me by, but Jack completely ignored me. My sense of dread only grew.
Then, on Wednesday night, I got a call. The voice sounded like Larry’s.
“ Listen carefully, cuz we’re gonna punish you if you make any fucking
mistakes,” he
voice said as soon as I identified myself. “Tell your parents you hafta
go out of town, starting tomorrow, until Sunday for a school trip. You’ll
be back sometime on Sunday. Tell them you’re sorry but you forgot all about
it until now. Report to the locker room after school tomorrow.” The line
went dead.
I stood there staring at the phone. What the hell were they planning for me?
But I had learned my lesson by then. I told my folks I had forgotten to give
them the school trip permission slip – I even packed a small duffle bag
for show.
“ Long time no see, Tiny Dick!” Jack said the next day.
It was after practice, I was sitting obediently on the locker room bench, and
18 guys had crowded around to watch the big event – this time, not only
were all of Jack's buddies from the soccer team there, but 4 muscular jocks he
know from the varsity swim team were sitting in on the festivities as well.
“ Yes sir,” I mumbled. By now I new the drill. “Should I strip,
sir?”
Jack said that I should . . . and then, as usual, he grabbed me and pinned me
down when I was wearing nothing but my boxers and my socks. But the tickling
I’d been bracing myself for didn’t come.
“ So . . . you don’t like kissing my feet anymore, boy?”
“ No sir! I mean, yes sir . . . I love kissing your feet! I apologize deeply
for my earlier behavior, I should have never hesitated in kissing your feet regardless
of the humiliating way in which you asked me to do it, sir! I accept my punishment
whatever it is and it won’t happen again!!” All this came out in
rapid-fire succession. Everyone around me began to laugh.
“ Obedient little fucker!” I heard one of the swimmers snicker.
“ Not fucking obedient enough for me,” Jack said with a little grin. “Freshman,
from now on, you will not wait until you are asked to kiss my feet. From now
on, whenever you see me in the hallway, and there is not a teacher in the immediate
vicinity, you will bend over and kiss my feet!!!”
“ Yes sir.”
“ Moreover, from now on, whenever you see any of the soccer team juniors
or seniors in the hallway, or any of these fine four swimmers, you will bend
over and kiss their feet as well. If at any point you fail to do so, what is
about to happen
to you now will happen to you again.”
“ Yes sir.”
“ When I tell you to, you will make a big show out of begging me, or other
soccer team upperclassmen, to let us allow you to kiss our sweaty feet, and your
acting
better be pretty fucking convincing.”
“ YES SIR”
Jack smiled broadly now. “Commere, Tommy.”
The freshman Tommy stepped forward. I suddenly noticed that he was looking pretty
uncomfortable, and had been for the last two weeks or so.
“ Tommy, take off your pants and remove your tidey-whiteys.
Tommy did. I was pinned down on the bench, but even from where I was, a good
15 feet off, I could see that they were the nastiest set of briefs I had ever
laid eyes on. An entire side was light brown, the cloth was completely splotched
with dark icky stains, pubic hairs visibly littered the fabric, and even from
far away I could smell it – it reeked.
“ Tiny dick, this is what happens to underwear when you wear it for . .
. how long
has it been, Tommy?”
“ Uh . . . a month,” Tommy replied obediently. He looked overwhelmingly
glad
to take the vile things off.
“ 29 days, to be exact,” Jack continued.
There were whistles and murmurs of disgust from the pack of guys, all of whom
were staring at the underwear with a mixture of fascination and repulsion.
“ Tommy here has farted in those things,” Jack was saying. “He’s
sweated in them. And he’s even whacked off in them . . . how many times,
Tommy?”
Tommy looked down. “Uh, basically every night.”
There were shrieks of laughter. “Every night!” someone hooted.
“ And whatya use to clean up your cum?” someone asked.
Tommy pointed wordlessly toward the tidy whiteys.
Jack looked at me, and I didn’t like the _expression I saw. Gingerly, he
picked up the underwear, plucking it lightly between his thumb and forefinger
and holding it away from him from a distance as though it might be diseased – as
indeed, it probably was. “So, anyway . . . open up, Tiny Dick.”
I gaped at him. “What?” I exclaimed.
Jack stared back casually at me. “Well, frankly tiny dick, you’ve
got a really high pitched and girly-ass voice, and I don’t want to hafta
listen to it for the next four days when I don’t absolutely have to, and
neither do the boys here. So I’m gonna stuff Tommy’s tidey-wideys
down your girly ass throat.”
I heard laughter.
“ Oh, no. Please don’t make me do that,” I begged.
He shrugged. “Hey Tommy,” he said to his freshman teammate who had
just finished pulling his pants back on. “Why dontya drop those trousers
again and wipe your buttcrack with Tiny Dick’s new gag here while he tries
to make up his mind.”
He tossed the undies back to Tommy, who obediently bent over, balled his undies
up and ran them up and down his ass crack like a wad of toilet paper.
“ That’s good,” Jack said after a second. “Now, let’s
see
if Tiny Dick’s gonna take them like a good little slave, or whether we’re
gonna even more fun this weekend than we were already planning on.”
I heard scattered snickers. I realized it was useless to resist . . . I was going
to have to take whatever they had coming for me.
“ Alright,” I said. I slowly opened my mouth.
Grinning, Jack took the underwear and stuffed them into my mouth. The smell was
overpowering – I gagged violently. Jack kept stuffing them in. I convulsed
again, gagging a second time. I had never tasted anything so foul in my life.
But Jack already had the duct tape out, and was sealing my mouth shut.
“ D’ya like that, tiny dick?” Larry grinned.
At first I didn’t respond.
“ Answer his question!!” Jack barked at me, jerking me up off the
bench by
the scruff of my neck.
I had a month old pair of underwear stuffed down my throat, so all I could do
was shake my head.
Larry suddenly bitch slapped me across the face, hard. THWACK. It made a popping
sound. “That’s not the answer, BITCH,” he said. “Do you
LIKE that?”
I nodded slowly.
Jack chortled. “You’re gonna like it a lot more before we’re
done. Let me show ya something, Tiny.” He abruptly picked me up like a
sack of vegetables and, carrying me in his arms, headed down toward the other
end of the locker room. I could hear his herd of soccer jocks following behind.
I realized we were heading for the toilet stalls, and I wondered with a sense
of dread what was coming next. I didn’t have long to wait.
Jack threw the door open to one of the stalls and pushed me forward. I stumbled
in. He was right behind me. I felt him picking me up by my ankles; suddenly I
was dangling over the toilet bowl, staring down into the water.
“ Swirlie!” Jack shouted, and he lowered me in.
I felt the ice cold water envelope my head. There was a FLOOSH, a swirl of water,
and then I heard everyone laughing their heads off.
“ Do it again!” I heard someone shout.
Jack did.
Now I felt myself being set back down on the ground, but I had barely caught
my breath when I felt Jack’s forceful grip on my neck, and he dunked my
head back into the toilet bowl for a third time. This time, however, I was not
submerged – my nose was just half an inch away from the water level. Now
I heard the sound of duct tape again – the long, long stretching sound
of an entire role being unwound. The next thing I knew, five pairs of hands were
wrapping line after line of duct tape around my body, and then down underneath
me onto the toilet seat. Before long, almost my entire torso had been mummified – I
had been duct taped down securely to the toilet, so that I was standing on the
ground with my head dunked down into the toilet bowl, unable to escape, my ass
protruding out toward my tormentors. I felt my arms being tied down around the
base of the toilet, so that I couldn’t move them either.
“ Alright!” I heard Jack declare. “Hey . . . Hank, didya bring
the
paddle?”
I heard a shuffling sound. Then: “yup.”
“Alright . . . this is a frat paddle. Now, whoever can give the freshman
the hardest spanking doesn’t hafta run laps tomorrow at practice. Who wants
to go first?”
I felt someone peeling my underwear – my last shred of clothing, aside
from my socks – down to my ankles, making my tender bottom fully vulnerable
to their attack
I don’t know who won the contest – all I know is, for my money, each
of the soccer studs tried their hardest to win. There were 18 very loud THWACKS,
one after the other, and a lot of laughter and cheering after each one. Jack
went last – and beat me the hardest. My ass felt like it was on fire.
“ Oh man,” I heard one of the guys say – it sounded like one
of the
swimmers. “That was awesome. Can we go in for seconds?”
From inside the toilet bowl, I moaned in despair.
“ Awww . . . I don’t think tiny dick is having any fun! Maybe we
should wait
till tomorrow to spank him some more.”
One of the guys laughed. “Ya mean, we’re actually gonna leave him
here all night?”
Jack put on a voice of mock concern. “I think he likes it in there, man.
I’d just hate to pull him out before he’s ready.”
“ Dude, that’s so fucking evil.” More laughter.
“ What if someone finds him, though?”
“ That’s no problem,” Jack explained. “The janitor doesn’t
come tonight, see, and we’ll hang an ‘Out of Order’ sign on
the stall door to make sure Tiny Dick has his privacy.”
I heard the deep voice of the goalie. “It would be a shame, though, to
put the toilet to waste for a whole day . . .” his voice trailed off. I
heard a fly unzipping, followed by the sound of more hysterical laughter.
“ You’re not . . .”
“ Dude . . . when a guy’s gotta go . . . “ his voice trailed
off and I suddenly felt a warm trickle on my neck, splashing the back part of
my hair
and dribbling down my cheek into the toilet bowl.
“ Hey . . . I’ll do it too!” I heard Larry shout. “I
gotta piss
like a race horse.” I felt another warm trickle on my neck, this one much
longer and more forceful. The water below me had now turned completely yellow,
and the water level and risen a bit so that my nose was almost wet.
“ OK,” Jack said, laughing, when Larry had finished. “That’s
enough for now. We’ll leave tiny dick alone with his thoughts. But . .
.” and he paused, “I think we should all pay him a visit tomorrow
in between our classes. I mean, if we gotta go piss, we might as well keep him
company while we’re doin’ it. It could get lonely in here . . . “
They all laughed, and I heard them beginning to file out of the stall. I couldn’t
take it anymore . . . I began to moan as loudly as I could through my disgusting
gag.
“ Hey, cut that out,” Jack barked. I felt another searing THWACK
on my ass,
then another, from the paddle, and I winced. “Doya wanta have your feet
tickled too today, on top of everything else?” I felt his hands grab my
ankles, still sheathed in socks, and begin to heft them into the air.
I abruptly stopped moaning.
“ That’s what I thought.” My ankles were released and my feet
dropped
back to the ground. “Just stand there and take it like a man.” He
gave my ass a final smack, and then I heard the stall door swing shut. There
was the sound of fumbling, of lockers swinging open and shut in the distance.
I heard a lot of giggling, and a few whispers. Another scattered burst of locker
banging. Then . . . silence.
I stood there, my head bowed, the smell of urine powerful in my nostrils. The
locker room was a little chilly, and in nothing but socks, I began to shiver
a little. Tommy’s putrid underwear in my mouth still made me want to gag.
Suddenly, I heard a click, and the lights went out. I was left in total darkness.
Shit! It was one of those motion controlled lights.
I stood there, totally alone. I struggled and struggled, trying to free myself
from the duct tape, trying to work my arms free of the rope bondage, but it was
to no avail – I was securely stuck in the toilet prison Jack had devised
for me. The only thing I could move freely were my legs – but I could not
use them to struggle free from the duct tape. Shit.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
After a while, I had no idea what time it was. It seemed like I had been stuck
in that stall forever. My whole body felt like it was on fire. My ass hurt like
hell. I was getting damn thirsty, although I wasn’t yet ready to drink
the urine-filled toilet water – not that I could have if I had wanted to,
because of the putrid gag. And, ironically, I really had to piss.
I tried to hold it in. The time ticked past. It couldn’t be that long until
school started now, right?
But still there was only silence. And silence. And more silence.
I really had to go . . . and after all, since I was butt naked now, I couldn’t
piss my pants. So I just emptied my bladder on the ground.
School did finally start in the morning. I could hear people moving around outside
the locker room, and I heard the bell ring, marking the beginning of first hour.
Jack paid me a visit soon after that. “Hey buddy,” he snickered,
swinging open the stall door. “Sleep well?” I heard him chuckle louder. “Dude,
I really wish you could see how ridiculous you look.” I heard him unzipping. “Well,
I gotta piss, mind getting out of the way?” He paused. “Huh, guess
you can’t. Oh well . . .” he said again, and I felt the familiar
warm dribble on my back.
Jack left, but I had two more visitors from the soccer team the next period,
each with equally full bladders.
Thankfully, most people on the team did not come and piss on me that day, but
a few did . . . including, of course, the goalie. He showed up at lunch time;
after pissing, he paddled me about ten more times. Then he tickled me underneath
the armpits for just a few seconds, which caused me to thrash around frantically
in the toilet bowl.
Two of the swimmers came by as well. Neither of them pissed on me, but both were
still very impressed by the novelty of my ticklish body, since they hadn't been
in on all the earlier tickling sessions.
“ Hey man,” one of them said. He was actually pretty polite about
it. “Ya
mind if we tickle your feet, just for a few minutes?”
I groaned. Oh no, I thought. I grunted loudly and shook my body from side to
side, indicating as firmly as I could that I did indeed mind.
“ But we haven't gotten to see you tickled at all yet,” the swimmer
protested
reasonably . . . as though he wanted me to feel sorry for him. “Couldn't
we just try it for a little bit? I hear it's incredible.”
I had an idea. “Untie my first!” I tried to belt out through my disgusting
gag . . . but it came out as “ummpa ma ferf.”
“ What's he saying?
“ Umpa ma ferf! Umpa me ferf, pers!”
They hesitated. “Dude, I totally would, but Jack might get kinda pissed
. . .” the nice swimmer replied. “I'm only gonna tickle you for a
few minutes, OK?”
The second swimmer spoke. “Dude, it's not like he can do anything about
it.”
The first one: “That's true . . . sorry man, I promise it'll be quick.”
I felt big hands hefting my ankles up into the air, holding them firmly together.
Another set of fingers suddenly set to work on the soles of my feet.
Instantly I became animated, thrashing wildly from side to side. My face was
plunged in and out of the vile toilet water, now completely filled with urine,
and the urine splashed all over my face and into my eyes. I twisted violently,
energetically straining against the firm duct tape bonds holding me into place,
but I wasn't going anywhere. I kicked furiously at my two tormentors, but their
vice like grip on my ankles only tightenned.
“ Wow . . . this is incredible!” one of the swimmers declared.
“ Get him in between his toes.”
My head thwacked painfully into the porcelain side of the toilet, and I silently
cried out, but they kept going.
They had said a few minutes. But apparently, to swimmers, a “few” meant
20.
Finally, school was over. The lights went off again, and I waited for practice
to be over. For a second, it seemed like so long a wait that I wondered, with
a sudden rush of fear, whether they were planning on leaving me here for a second
night. The thought was too horrible to imagine.
But, finally, I heard the sound of locker doors slamming. And then:
“ Hello, tiny dick!” It was Jack’s voice.
“ Dude, he hasn’t MOVED,” one of the boys exclaimed. “Fuckin’ sick.
Man, that’s gotta hurt.”
Finally, I felt the duct tape being slowly peeled off. It hurt like hell – it
felt as though I was having my skin removed from my back as line after line was
torn away. Finally, my arms were released, and with a grunt of relief I stood
up and lifted my head out of that vile bowl.
I turned around and saw the whole group of them smirking at me – Jack,
Larry, the goalie, the whole team including Tommy, and the swimmers. I was completely
naked by now, but I was already so humiliated that I didn't care.
Jack tore the duct tape off my mouth, and I immediately spat out Tommy’s
whitey tideys. They still smelled putrid.
“ Well . . . didya enjoy your night, tiny dick?” Jack asked.
I wanted to kill him, but I knew better by now than to show him even a flicker
of resistance. “Yes sir! I loved it, sir!” I quickly remembered his
new rule, and immediately bent down on my knees. He still had his cleats on – I
was of course completely naked. “May I kiss your feet to show my gratitude,
sir!”
Jack smiled, clearly thoroughly enjoying his near total control over me. “You
may, freshman. Take off my cleats, strip off my socks and lick every last piece
of lint away.” He grinned at his team. “He likes it so much, maybe
we should duct tape him to the toilet for the rest of the weekend. Whatya say?”
I shuddered, but I knew it would do me no good to beg.
“ Whatya say, tiny dick?”
“ I’m sure you know best, sir,” I said obediently. His cleats
and socks were off now, and his feet were drenched with sweat from practice,
but compared with the underwear gag and the toilet this smelled like roses. I
inhaled deeply
and began to lick.
“ He’s starting to like it!” one of the guys exclaimed.
Jack made me lick everyone’s feet – all 18 pairs. The soccer team's
feet all smelled sweaty and sock-like – the four swimmers smelled more
like drain water. But it didn't matter – I licked them all clean.
I was beginning to think I was done. After all I’d been there the whole
night, I was exhausted, every muscle in my body ached . . . and to top it off,
I was hungry as hell, having not eaten in almost a day, and even thirstier. I
wanted a drink of water so badly I thought I’d surely collapse if I didn’t
get one right away.
Then I heard Jack say: “Alright, tiny, ready for the rest of the weekend?
It’s gonna be fun, I promise!”
I suddenly remembered that I had been warned that my punishment would take the
whole weekend, and a renewed sense of dread flooded me.
“ Well . . . can’t I at least eat something first?”
“ Maybe later,” Jack replied curtly. “Right now, we gotta get
moving.”
“ What about just a little drink of water then?” I asked. “I
promise,
I’ll be quick.”
I saw Larry suddenly get a funny smirk, and I instantly began to regret pressing
even this modest request. “Awww,” Larry cooed in mock sympathy. “Poor
tiny dick just wants a little drink, Jacky.” He paused, and gestured suddenly
at the toilet, still filled up with jock urine. “And the way I see it,
we got plenty of liquid left over.”
“ uh . . . that’s Ok, I can wait,” I said very, very quickly.
Too late. “You wanted a drink,” the goalie said with his sadistic
grin.
“ Yeah,” a forward agreed. “You said you wanted a drink.”
“ Ok, boys, let’s give tiny dick what he wants!” Jack exclaimed
gleefully.
I felt strong arms picking me up once again. Larry on one side, the goalie on
the other, and two others helping them in front or in back. I was turned upside
down, and the toilet prison in which I had spent the last twenty four hours loomed
once again in front of me.
My self control collapsed. “No,” I whimpered. “Please, no,
not again!!”
“ Hey, ya said you were thirsty,” Larry snickered. “We just
live to
fucking serve you, dicky.”
“ Not again . . .” I sobbed pathetically.
Now Jack spoke up. “I think what you’re trying to say, my little
man, is you want another night taped into the toilet bowl. Is that right?”
“ No! Please, let me lick your feet again . . . I want to lick your feet,
sir.”
A pregnant silence. And then . . . “Here’s what I’ll do Tiny,” Jack
said. I could tell he was loving every minute of this. “I’m a sweet
nice guy. So I’ll give you a sporting chance. Drop him, guys.”
I was dumped to the cold floor like I sack of flour, where I lay crumpled in
front of the toilet.
Jack nudged me with his bare foot. “OK, boy. Here’s the deal. Get
up. Crouch over the toilet, like you have been for the last day, except this
time without the duct tape, cuz I’m so sweet. In the next 10 minutes, you
gotta lap up the entire fucking bowl, piss and all. If you don’t, we strap
you back into your position, paddle your ass again, and leave you for another
night. Got it?”
“ Yes sir!”
“ Then GET UP!”
I leapt to my feet and, amid hoots and cat calls, rammed my face into the bowl
which smelled so strongly of piss.
“ Drink up, freshman!”
Like a little obedient puppy, I began to lap at the urine filled water with pathetic
desperation. It tasted so foul . . . but I couldn’t afford to think about
that. I couldn’t stay there another night. I couldn’t. I’d
go mad!
I heard Larry announce, from behind me, that a minute had passed, and then two.
I was so focused on drinking that I barely heard him . . . but when he said that
5 minutes were up, I realized I was fucked. There was no way I could do it – the
bowl wasn’t nearly half empty, and far from still feeling thirsty, my gut
felt as thought it would burst from piss-filled toilet water. Still, I didn’t
give up. I kept drinking. I kept drinking. Just another sip. Then another. Then
another.
“ Time!!” Jack suddenly barked. With amused curiosity: “Well?
Did he
do it.”
I felt Larry peering over me. “Nope. Fucking pathetic, man. Barely half
empty.”
“ I guess he really likes it in there.”
I felt myself begin to sob with frustration.
“ Awwww . . . Is little dicky not ready to give up?” Jack said with
mock
sympathy. “I guess we’ll give ya one last chance, my little loser.
We’ll give him some more time to drink up boys . . . but first, anyone
got to piss?” I heard him unzip his fly. “I know I do . . .”
As I stood there, still bent over double, my head buried in the toilet like an
ostrich in the sand, I felt a familiar warm stream of piss hit me in the head
from behind, dribble down my cheek and collect in the ever darkening toilet water
below.
“ Oh man . . . I gotta piss,” I heard Larry say eagerly.
“ Me too . . . again!” the goalie announced.
“ I gotta go so bad . . . my bladder’s killing me.” This was
one of
the swimmers.
Before long, seven streams of piss were rushing down my back, my forearms and
my forehead and dribbling into the disgusting toilet water that I was still,
against my desperate urges, trying to drink up. Trouble was, it was starting
to fill up again.
“ Hey, Jack!” one of the teammates shouted, as the piss began to
trickle
off. “You said we’d get to paddle him again today. What about that?”
“ Easy, buddy. I got the paddle right here. I think Tiny Dick’s taking
his sweet time drinking up our bladder juice . . . I say we motivate him a bit.
Every
one wind up and take aim at his bare ass, until that bowl is dry!”
It took me twenty more minutes to drink the bowl empty. By now, the water was
gone, and it was mostly pure urine, which made it far more difficult to drink
than even the foul mix from before. I was highly, highly motivated, however,
because every 20 seconds I could hear and feel a new eager teammate step up behind
me, take ahold of the paddle and gleefully give me a solid smack on my rearend
with a loud THWaAAK, followed immediately by the sound of laughter and loud congratulations.
My tormentors didn’t exactly pull their punches, and it didn’t take
long for my ass to feel as though it were coming off, burning furiously from
the relentless paddling.
I finally leaned back, yanked my head up, and collapsed again on the ground.
I could hardly move. “I’m . . . done,” I panted, holding my
bottom in pain.
Jack stepped forward to investigate my work – but I knew he would be satisfied.
I had drunk it all. . . somehow. As he stepped forward, he planted a big foot
firmly on my belly, and I gritted my teeth and winced.
“ Looks good,” Jack finally declared. From up above, he grinned down
at me. “Time
to go to the next phase!”
At that moment, before I could say anything else, Jack's friend, Larry, produced
sleeping bag. I was shoved into it, and the bag was tied shut.
I was carried some distance, and then the bag was thrown into the trunk of someone’s
car. I felt movement, then nothing . . . for a while. I was seriously beginning
to wonder if they were planning on leaving me here for a night again – the
idea was completely intolerable – when I heard people get back into the
car, and felt motion again.
We drove for a while, and then we stopped, and I heard the trunk pop. Amid laughter
and conversation, someone picked up the bag and carried up what felt like a long
flight of stairs. The next thing I knew, the bag was being untied, and I spilled
out onto the floor. I looked around and realized we were in an abandoned apartment
somewhere downtown. Obviously no one was living here at the moment.
Jack and the other 17 guys were standing around me. I was still butt naked, and
they were all fully clothed now, and I felt more exposed and humiliated than
ever. They all had wicked grins on.
“ Still hungry?” Jack asked me.
“ Um . . .” I didn’t like the way they were looking at me. “I
guess . . .”
“ Good!” he exclaimed. “We stopped at the store and bought
you a bunch
of food on the way over here. Each of us got you something!” He paused.
I waited for the other shoe to drop – and it did. “Just one thing – you
gotta lick everything off our feet.” He paused again. “Still want
dinner?”
I sighed, but I was really really hungry, and knew that I did. And after all,
I’d already licked all their feet several times today. “Fine, whatever,” I
grumbled.
Jack frowned at me. “Is that how you thank me?”
“ Sorry sir. Thank you, sir,” I said hastily.
They had an interesting idea of “dinner.” The items of choice were
three bananas, four jars of peanut butter and eleven cans of dog food. They poured
the dog food out onto the wooden floor in a big heap, then tossed on the bannas
and big globs of peanut butter. Then, grinning, each jock stomped around on the
mess, mashing it down onto the floor with their shoes. By the time they were
done, it looked like a big mound of shit.
“ Now, you better eat all of this,” Jack told me sternly. “We
paid
good money for this food.”
Each jock took off his shoes and began to wade around in the mess with their
barefeet. Jack instructed me to get down on my hands and knees. I tried two bites
from off his feet – it tasted absolutely revolting.
“ I’m not hungry any more,” I lied.
“ You better eat it . . . or there’s gonna be consequences.”
I stared at him. “Like what?”
As if on cue, all the jocks standing in front of me shuffled off to the side,
and for the first time I saw what stood behind them. I gulped. It looked like
Jack and his buddies and been to this apartment before – and had been hard
at work. I was staring at a big set of makeshift wooden stocks, standing next
to the doorway.
Jack walked over to it. “We built that last week, dude.”
I said nothing.
“ Now, we figured, it might be kinda fun to strap you into it, pull off
your socks,
tie your toes back, and gag you again with Tommy’s old briefs.” He
pulled out a stiff bristled hair brush. “Then, we thought we’d each
take turns running this up and down the soles of your feet for the rest of the
night.” He paused. “Whatya think? You wanna try finishing your dinner
now?”
I tried to eat it. I really did. I managed to get down a can or two. But there
was just so much – so much! And it tasted so foul – especially when
I was made to lick it off the smelly feet of my tormentors. My stomach was totally
full, and I tried to take more bites. But then I gagged. And gagged again. I
knew if I had any more I would throw up.
“ Whatsa matter?” one of the seniors taunted me. “Is tiny dick
feeling
full already?”
“ Better eat up, tiny dick,” the goalie agreed. “Better eat
up – unless
you want to be tickled for 12 hours.”
I looked down at the floor. “Please sir,” I said softly to Jack.
I was completely broken. “You can do whatever you want with me sir. But
haven't you punished me enough already?”
Jack shrugged. “Probably. But frankly tiny dick, punishing you is so fucking
fun that I'm not about to stop.”
“ Well . . .” I shuddered. “Maybe there's some other way you
can think
of punishing me?”
There was.
I was still completely naked. But now Jack and two other midfielders pinned me
down and wrote “cock-sucker” in magic marker on my forehead and across
my cheeks.
He drew a circle in chalk on the apartment floor, and instructed me to kneel
in it on my bare knees. Ever tried kneeling on a hard wood floor for any long
stretch of time, with nothing to cushion your knees.? If you haven't, don't start.
Jack pulled up a big easy chair along side my chalk circle. Then, with everyone
looking on, he made of big show of slowly peeling off his sweat soaked shirt,
athletic shorts and soccer cleat.
“ Alright, dudes,” he announced. “Tiny dick here doesn't want
to get
his feet tickled in our fucking stocks.” There were hisses all around.
“ So I'll make a deal with you, tiny dick. Every dude here is fucking horny,
and although we could all bang almost any girl in the school, that can be a whole
lot of work. We're all feeling kinda lazy tonight. We kinda want to chill out
here for the night.
“ So instead, your gonna kneel there. Your not gonna move for the next
six hours. And each of us is gonna take turns sitting in this chair while you
massage our feet, lick our hairy balls clean, lick our ass cracks even cleaner,
swallow our piss if we got any to get rid of, take our big jock dicks into your
mouth and suck us off one by one, swallowing all our cum like the little cock
slut you are. Your not gonna move until you've satisfied all 18 of us. If you
don't end the night with 18 highly satisfied customers, we're paddle your fucking
ass so hard that the locker-room will look like a game of paddy cake, and then
we're gonna lock your ass in the stocks and tickle the bare soles of your feet
until you beg us to paddle you some more. And then, your gonna suck us all off
again,
until you get it right.” He paused. “Got it?”
“ Yes sir!”
“ Say it louder!!”
“ YES SIR!! LET ME SWALLOW YOUR CUM, SIR!!”
Jack went first.
First he made me take off his tennis shoes and lick the mud out of their soles.
Then he made me peel of his sweaty athletic socks and massage his barefeet.
Then he stripped off his jeans and, with the other boys staring at me transfixed,
he ordered me to lick him in between his thighs. I obeyed.
Finally the boxers themselves came off, and I was staring at Jack's ramrod erect
8 inch cock. There were hoots.
Jack leered at me. “Ya see what a real man's package comes with, tiny dick?”
“ Yes sir.”
“ Do you want to suck on my enormous cock?”
“ Yes sir.”
“ Well, too bad. First lick my hairy balls.”
I began to roll my tongue around his balls, and as I did so he reclined lazily
into his big chair, stroking his shaft He stretched his legs up over my head
and put his feet down on my lower back, using me as a foot rest as I licked his
balls. They tasted salty and bitter, but I certainly wasn't about to complain – even
though my knees were already hurting like a mother.
“ Do you like my hairy balls?” Jack asked inquisitively.
“ Yes sir.”
“ What do you like, bitch?”
“ I LOVE licking your hairy balls, sir!” I exclaimed.
“ Good. Keep licking them.”
Amid the scattered laughter around me, I heard a few restless protests. “Hey
keep it moving, Jackie,” one of the seniors said. “We all want to
take our turn with the cocksucker.”
“ Yeah . . . I've got special plans for him,” the goalie announced
with a
glint in his eyes that I, as usual, didn't like.
“ Shut the fuck up,” Jack declared with another lazy smirk. “I'm
taking
my sweet fucking time.” He looked down at me, then lifted his legs higher
into the air and shifted position so that his ass was facing straight into my
face. “Now, lick my crack clean.”
It smelled, unsurprisingly, like shit. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and then
looked up at Jack's face. He had his no-nonsense _expression on. “NOW” he
said in a voice that dared me to defy him.
I didn't hesitate any longer. I moved in, below his crotch, and began to wiggle
my tongue back and forth along his ass crack, cleaning it for him.
“ Wowww!” I heard Jack moan. “You fellows all hafta try this.
You won't
believe how amazing it feels.”
“ Oh my God,” one of the swimmers gasped. “He has no dignity
at all.”
My knees were aching more than ever, and I had to relieve them some how. As I
licked, I leaned forward and placed by hands gently on the floor so I was crouching
on all floors. Jack didn't seem to notice – I was relieved.
He made me lick his crack for 10 minutes before finally directing me to move
on. “Alright, freshman, you can finally do it,” he said. “Take
my cock in your mouth and suck suck suck.” He studied me, and suddenly
kicked me in the face with his bare foot. “And what the fuck? Get back
on your knees, like I told you to.”
“ But . . . it's really, really uncomfortable. Couldn't I suck you off
from here?”
“ No tiny dick. I told you to kneel on your knees, and you better do what
I fucking tell you. In fact, after you suck me off you're gonna give me fifty
pushups for
disobeying me. Now, suck.”
Actually I did very little sucking. Jack was hard as a rock and much more turned
on than one, and as soon as I swallowed his shaft he began to violently thrust
his manhood in and out of my mouth, face fucking me and groaning with pleasure
as the rest of the team looked on in fascination. Before long he announced: “I'm
gonna blow!”
Then, to my surprise, he yanked his cock out of my mouth. “Hold still cocksucker,” he
groaned. A geyser of hot liquid cum spurted onto my face, and then a second shot
into my hair, and then a third and a fourth onto my face again, so that my face
was literally covered in cum.
Jack sat there panting. “That was amazing,” he declared. “Tiny
dick here has found his true calling.” He seemed for the moment to have
forgotten about the pushups. “Now, who's next?”
They all wanted to try it – and they all used my like their personal sex
toy. Most of them followed Jack's example of making me lick their ass cracks
clean first. Some of them made me drink their piss. The goalie shot his load
all over my chest, then rubbed his bare feet around on my chest and made me lick
every last drop of his cum from off the soles of his feet -- “I don't want
any of it lying around, fucker,” he smirked at me. Larry told me to swallow
every drop of his when he shot his load in my mouth or he would paddle me. When
I let one drop dribble to floor, Jack suddenly remembered about the pushups – he
and Larry made me do fifty good pushups, with Larry sitting happily in the chair,
his feet up on my back to keep it rigid, and Jack standing smugly behind me with
the paddle, slapping my ass every time I came up.
“ Count them!” Larry ordered me.
“ And then say, 'Please sir, may I have another Sir!'” Jack ordered.
They made me start over when I lost count at around 29. By the end, my arms were
so sore I literally couldn't move, and was unable to finish my 50.
“ Get up!” Jack barked.
“ I can't!” I gasped pathetically.
“ Finish your pushups now, pussyboy, or I'll strap you in the stocks for
the rest
of the night!”
I managed one more final pushup. Jack paddled me as I reached the top.
“ Whatya say, bitch?” he demanded.
“ Please sir, may I have another sir?” I collapsed onto the floor,
my arms
shaking uncontrollably.
After I had made the swimmers cum, I was allowed to at last leave my circle of
hell and plea for mercy.
“ Please sir, let me go home now,” I begged Jack, crouching pathetically
before him and grovelling at his feet. I knew he liked that. I had no idea what
time it was – I only knew it was getting late, the eighteen guys were still
hanging out with me at the abandoned apartment, and none of them showed any sign
of leaving anytime soon. Indeed, I was pretty sure a few new people had showed
up – music was blaring, pizza had been ordered, beer was flowing, and a
party thrown in honor of my total humiliation seemed to be underway. Nobody was
going anywhere – they were all enjoying themselves too much. I had the
sinking feeling that the nights festivities had only barely begun.
“ Ah, tiny dick . . . you dissapoint me,” Jack said with mock sorrow. “Everyone's
having such a good time, and here you want to be the party pooper.”
“ I sucked everyone off, like you told me to,” I pointed out.
“ Yeah . . . but even though Larry and I ordered you to complete the pushups,
you
pussied out on us.”
“ I was trying, sir!” I knew that I wasn't helping myself by arguing,
but
I was desperate.
“ There is no try, fucker. There is only do.” He grinned at me. “I've
tried so hard to be lenient with you, tiny dick, but I just don't think there's
any help for it. We're gonna hafta to put you in the stocks until you learn your
lesson.”
I tried to run for the door, but strong hands grasped me and pulled me back.
I was still butt naked, and my whole body felt flush and red with utter humiliation.
To peels of deep laughter, a group of five jocks pinned me down and heaved me
into the air.
“ The fucker's trying to run! The fucker's trying to run!” I heard
in the
background.
I struggled, but of course it was no good. I felt my body being lowered into
a chair, my ankles forced into the big wooden stocks standing in front of me
which Jack and his buddies had spent so long building. The stocks clamped shut,
and one of the defensemen bolted it into a locked position. I felt another set
of hands tie my wrists together behind me, and then someone else began to ducktape
me to the chair.
“ Where are Tommy's nasty ass undies?” the goalie gleefully demanded.
Someone pulled them out of a King Soopers bag. “Right here!”
“ Stuff 'em in,” Jack ordered. Someone forced the vile things back
into my mouth. Someone else wrapped a dirty, used sock around my head and tied
it in front of my eyes, so that I suddenly couldn't see. Someone else began to
tie my toes back, one by one, to the backboard of the stocks with little pieces
of
twine – soon all ten toes were splayed back all the way, revealing my completely
helpless tender feet to my horde of tormentors.
I heard Jack's voice. “Alright, boys, here's the deal. I have two thick
bristled hair brushes here and a bunch of electric toothbrushes. We've given
Tiny Dick here a lot of pretty bad ticklings, but we're gonna outdo ourselves
tonight. I want him pissing in his pants! I want his voice horse from screaming!
I want him fucking pleading with us to let him do fifty more pushups, with a
paddling at the top of each fucking pushup, and then begging us to let him get
down on his knees again and suck us all off, just to get a break from our fucking
tickling.” I heard a pause. “What doya think of all this, tiny?”
Through my gag, I began to moan.
I heard the sound of the electric toothbrushes starting up.
I felt them closing in around the stocks.
And then, suddenly, I began to feel the bristles. On my soles. By my ankles.
Along the sides of my feet. Across my arches. Worst of all, in between my toes,
along those horribly ticklish pockets that my toes could normally curl up and
defend, but which were now completely at the mercy of the tormentors.
I felt the bristles dig in, and I lost total, absolute control. I tried to scream
at the top of my lunges, but through my gag no sound came out.
They tickled me for the entire night. The party went on around me, for I could
hear the music and the noise, and I was the entertainment, Jack’s tied
up plaything. When they went to bed, Jack kept one person up in rotating shiffs
to “guard” me – which of course meant, torment me. There was
no rest. No mercy. No sleep. Only eight hours of pure torture for my poor feet.
Sometimes I would pass out – whoever was standing watch over me would simply
revive me and continue on as planned.
In the morning, Jack ungagged me only to let me beg him again for mercy.
“ Please stop! Stop! STOP!!” I sobbed as his fingers flirted lightly
over
my soles. Not REALLY tickling me – I wouldn’t be able to talk if
he were. Just teasing me.
“ What will you do if I stop?” Jack inquired.
“ I’ll . . . I’ll suck you all off again,” I gasped.
He kept brushing along my soles. “Will you beg us for that?”
“ Yes!”
“ Let’s here it then.”
“ Please! I’ll suck your dick! I’ll suck everyone’s dick!
Please
let me suck your massive cocks!”
“ You gotta beg us for more than that,” Larry declared from off on
the side.
“ Yah . . .what else will you do?” one of the swimmers grinned.
“ Please, please let me lick your smelly ass cracks! Let me massage your
hairy balls! I want to kneel for hours on the floor again while I swallow your
cum! Let me lick your cum from off your toes! Please let me lick your cum from
the
soles of your sweaty feet!”
He kept gently teasing the soles of my feet. “What else?”
I was getting desperate. “Please, paddle my ass again! Paddle my ass! Make
me do pushups as I lick the cum from between your toes, and paddle my ass hard
to punish me when I fuck up. Please sir!”
Jack shrugged. “Well . . . if the little bitch wants it so badly . . .
I guess we’ll let him have it.”
Everyone laughed. Jack looked at me. “But tiny dick . . . if you fuck up,
I’m putting you back in the stocks tonight.”
Jack and his buddies did finally take mercy on me. After I had swallowed all
their cum, and pleaded Jack again for leniency as I kissed his feet, he magnanimously
agreed to lock me in a dog cage for the rest of the weekend and leave me alone.
The rest of the team finally went home, but Jack stayed in the apartment for
the rest of the weekend. When I got hungry, of course, he still refused to give
me actual food – all he was willing to slip me was a dog dish filled with
the dog food mixed with peanut butter. But he also gave me a water dish. Compared
to what I had just been through, it was blissful heaven.
On Sunday evening, I was finally released from the cage and told I would now
be allowed to go home.
“ Thank you, Sir,” I murmured gratefully, as I licked his feet clean
for
a final time that weekend. “I’ve truly learned my lesson, Sir.”
Jack patted me patronizingly on the head and rubbed my hair. “That’s
good to hear, my little bitch. You did real good this weekend. Real good. You
made the team SO happy.”
I continued to lick obediently. “I’m very glad to hear that, Sir.” I
didn’t want him to give any excuse to change his mind about releasing me.
Jack continued as though I hadn’t said a word. “You were so good,
in fact, that we’re thanking of . . . extending things a little.”
I suddenly stopped licking and gazed up at Jack’s face. His eyes twinkled
mischievously.
“ What are your plans for this summer?” he asked me with sing-song
innocence.
I froze. “Uh . . . I’m going to camp,” I lied.
Jack grinned at me. “Not anymore. Tell your parents your plans have changed.
I think you and I are gonna room together in this apartment. I kind of like it
here. Of course, I call the bedroom . . . I’m afraid you get stuck with
the dog cage. Sorry, man.”
I was completely speechless.
“ Oh,” he added, as he continued to pat me on the head. “And
I think
we’re gonna be throwing a lot of parties.”
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