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o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o
o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o
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Friday 13 - Itchin' For It (M+, MF, dom, spank, hum)
By Stroker Al
**
"Tom's turn!" announced Mickey to his cabinmates. "And I've got
the spermy hand to prove it, " he said, clapping his semen-sopped hand
wetly against the lazily reclining Mark's nearest tit. "What a load!
Didn't know the kid had it in him!"
"Fucker!" cried Mark, jumping up and trying to grab Mickey by his
long hair. "You lick that off, 'Asshole Rose.' You're the one who made
him come, with your hand AND your story! It's all yours!"
Counselor Jim took his time before ordering the boys to break up
their rough-housing. He liked to watch how the young bodies of his boys
so gracefully expressed their playfull aggression and affection for one
another simultaneously. But he was in charge, and couldn't really allow
it to get out of hand. Mark had Mickey in a headlock and had forced his
cabinmate's laughing, gasping red face to within a half inch of his
glistening nipple before Jim broke them up.
"Come on boys, it's getting late, and we've got two more stories
to be told." he said. "What about it, Tom"
They all looked at Tom now, as he finished up wiping his glasses,
trying to get a couple of cum drops off of the lenzes. As slight of
build, pale and delicate as he appeared now at "18", they could all see
clearer, without his glasses, that he was going to be a handsome young
man one of these years. All the more reason to give him a hard time now,
a few of the boys reasoned.
"Yeah, I've got one." he said finally, sounding
uncharacteristically mellow in his post-orgasmic state. "But it's
long."
"Ya mean it's longer than your dick?" guffawed Eddie, but nobody
laughed. They were mostly just looking at Tom, as if noticing him for
the first time, and curious to hear what he'd come up with. He began
telling his tale then, and as he spoke, Jim and the boys each gradually
settled on a position to relax in and a nearby dick to stroke.
ITCHIN' FOR IT (Tom's story)
Suddenly, the man driving the big rig down Minnesota 151 spotted
the pretty young thing standing up ahead on the highway shoulder, looking
distressed with one thumb sticking out.
He slowed the truck down and as he approached, and took a good
look at this hitchhiking vision, who would soon be sharing the truck cab
with him. Shoulder-length straight brown hair, bright red-painted
lips, a red dress that stopped just above the knees, and long, full legs
in sheer nylon. The lovely creature clutched a pair of broken high
heels, obviously destroyed from walking too far along the highway. On
the ground behind the shapely legs lay some kind of laundry sack or
duffle bag.
"Hop in, darlin'" he called , swinging the lever that opened the
rig's passenger door. The brunette climbed up with little difficulty and
hauled the door shut behind.
"Thank you. I couldn't have walked another step."
The driver cocked his head and eyed his passenger expectantly.
Then he reached over and lightly tickled under the hitchhiker's chin with
one finger.
"So WHAT is a PRETTY GIRL like YOU doing walking around in the
Minnesota countryside on a hot day like this?" he grinned.
His passenger stiffened and pushed the driver's finger away.
With a sigh, he pulled off his brown wig and turned to glare at his
rescuer. Even in anger, with his completely-shaved head exposed, he
looked lovely as ever .
"Oh, cut the crap. You know damned well I'm not a woman, " he
snapped. "I could never have pulled it off in a million years. I'm just
too masculine-looking. Now are you gonna give me a ride or not?"
The driver howled with laughter while his fuming passenger waited
for him to get over his fun and give him an answer. It was true, after
all, that the driver had known all along, but he was finding his
passenger's unlady-like frustration to be amusing. "Well," he choked,
attempting to stifle his hearty laughter, "that depends where you're
headed. And whether you're willing to explain what you're doing
hitchhiking in ladies' clothes."
"It's too long of a story," said the young man in the dress,
his arms folded across his falsely padded chest.
"Oh? Where are you headed?"
"Camp Christopher, for boys. On Christopher Lake. That's where
I'm working this summer, " he smiled sarcastically, "as a counselor."
The driver laughed some more. "Well I bet you'll have all those
little boys creamin' in their jeans when they get a look at you."
The young man sneered but didn't reply.
"Christopher Lake is 45 minutes away, darlin'," the driver said,
shifting the idling truck back into gear and letting it creep forward.
"That's enough time for even a long story, don't you think?"
He waited for his perfumed companion to reply.
"Don't call me darling," the young man finally said. "My name's
Stuart, and at this point I'd tell you anything you fuckin' want to hear
for some goddamn smokes. You got any?"
The driver winked and flipped Stuart an open pack of Marlboro
reds from the dashboard. Then he produced a book of matches.
"Allow me, Stuart." he said, striking a match and lighting
Stuart's cigarette for him. Then, the driver moved the rig back out on
the open highway, as Stuart gratefully sucked in lungfuls of smoke and
sat back for the ride.
Now that he had a cigarette in his hand , Stuart was ready to
bitch like Bette Davis. Even though it was the first time he had ever
worn drag in his life, it felt completely appropriate for him to be
dolled up in makeup, a dress, stockings, lingerie, and especially to have
this cigarette to wave around while giving his scathing, detailed account
of the humiliating circumstances that led up to his present feminization.
"I have these two buddies back at camp, Dale and Rick," he
began. "We were sitting around bored yesterday, as we sometimes are
during weeks when we don't have cabin assignments. One of us, Rick I
believe, came up with the bright idea of sneaking off to the girls' camp,
Camp Radclyffe, to execute a panty raid."
"Boys will be boys," said the driver.
Stuart exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Please don't interrupt," he
snapped tartly. "or this will take forever.'
The driver put up his hands and hunched his shoulders
appologetically. Stuart continued.
"Well, contrary to my appearance today, I was not particularly
interested in stealing pairs of panties. But Dale was keen on the idea,
and I was keen on Dale, If you know what I mean, so I would have gone
along with just about anything he wanted us to do together."
The driver seemed to take Stuart's referrence to manlust in
stride, so he relaxed and continued the tale more freely.
"So, while the rest of the camp was busy down by the lake in the
moonlight singing 'Kum Bay Ya' or some such rot , we put Rick's Camaro
into neutral and pushed it noiselessy along the gravel drive out of the
camp and on to the highway. Then, after coasting a quarter mile without
headlights, we started up and drove the 50 miles to Radclyffe. Naturally
Rick and Dale insisted on stopping at Woody's for a six pack and both
made a big show of flirting with the blonde behind the bar, but as the
evening wore on, we were all dropping little clues that the underlying
agenda of the evening was male bonding."
The driver, who was well acquainted with Woody's bar, seemed
particularly amused by this part of the story, but just chuckled and held
on to his resolve not to interrupt Stuart.
"I was up front with Dale, holding his beer and watching him
shift gears. Every couple minutes or so I would glance back to check out
Rick, who would just grin at me in between swigs and drum his big fingers
on the car seat in front of his crotch. With his arm thus draped over
the fly of his khaki shorts, Rick was probably already covering up a hard
on. That made me a little nervous, because I didn't want him to come
between Dale and me.
"When we got to Radclyffe we cut the engine and headlights and
rolled into the roadside ditch outside the camp entrance. There, we
finished our beers and discussed strategy. Rick really took charge then,
like he'd done this kind of thing a million times before. He said our
best chance to make the biggest haul of panties was to split up and
systematically cover the camp. One of us would concentrate outdoors and
snatch up all the panties that he said were bound to be hanging out to
dry on clothes wires and cabin porch railings on such a nice night. The
other two were to start from opposite ends of the camp and stealthly
strike inside each cabin one by one until they met at the center of camp,
by the bell and the dining hall.
"So who's gonna do what?" Dale asked.
"Dale, you be the outside man," Rick ordered. "You can start
from either end, but just go all the way through and then come back to
the bell when you're done. You'll have twice as many cabins as Stuart
and I, but it should be faster work, and hopefully we'll all be done at
the same time."
"No." I cried, suddenly really nervous about this whole thing.
"Let me do the outside stuff. I can't go into those cabins. I'll fuck
it up and get caught."
Rick looked disappointed or mildly annoyed at me, but before he
could say anything, Dale broke in. "That's okay Stuart, Rick and I will
do the cabins. Meet us back at the bell when you're done. Then we'll all
go to the car."
"Rick shrugged. I was relieved, but a little wary. Dale seemed
pretty eager to share brave man duties with Rick. Was he after him, I
wondered?
"Okay, let's do it, " said Rick, getting out of the car. As Dale
opened his door to climb out, I leaned over and said to him, "Let's start
at the same end, okay?" He paused, looking a little blank, and then
said, rather indifferently "Okay." My heart sunk. I could tell he
wasn't after me. In fact it looked, ironically, like each one of us had
designs on a guy who was more interested in somebody else.
I think Rick overheard our agreement, because he remained
standing there next to the car even after Dale and I had walked a few
paces towards the grounds of the camp. Suddenly he called out in a loud
whisper, "Where do you think you guys are going dressed like that?"
Dale and I stopped and turned toward him, puzzled. He was
pulling his sweatshirt over his head. "Dressed like what?" I asked. We
were all just in our typical Khaki shorts and sweatshirts with t-shirts
underneath, and boots with white socks. What was the problem?
"This is a panty raid, guys," he said, pulling off his t-shirt
next. "Panty raids are done in the nude. ALWAYS!"
Our mouths dropped open. While Dale ogled Rick's admirably
smooth chest under the moonlight, I started arguing.
"That's bull shit, Rick, " I hissed. "If you think we're gonna
strip naked and sneak around this damned camp full of girls, you're
nuts! We'll get arrested if we're caught! "
"No we won't, Stu," he countered, calmly, appropriating a
nick-name of mine that I felt he hadn't earned. "That's just the beauty
of it. If we ARE caught, none of these girls will dare touch us.
They'll just scream when they see our dicks and let us get away. "
I thought Dale was going to scream as he watched Rick unzip and
drop his shorts down his smooth, muscular legs and peel his white breifs
down to expose his semi-arroused dick lolling in a halo of blonde bush hair.
"Damn it, Rick," I persisted. "Why couldn't you have just been
honest in the first place and admit this whole thing was only about
showin' off your meat to- "
"Come on, Stuart, " Dale interrupted. " Rick's right. This is
the best way." He pulled his own sweatshirt off. "Besides, it'll be
more fun. I've always wanted to streak a bunch of girls. I kind of hope
some of them DO wake up."
"Don't be getting any ideas about waking any of them up, Dale,"
said Rick. "Oh, and leave your socks on. We'll be quieter that way. "
"But..." I said, not knowing what to say. Then it was my turn to
drool as Dale stripped down to a pair of those big, baggy boxers that he
always kept on at night in our cabin. In this light he looked more than
ever like a younger Alec Baldwin who'd had his chest hair thinned out a
little. I knew I was outvoted then, but I didn't start to undress until
after I'd watched him pull off his boxers and expose a thickening,
swaying cock and loose, bobbing balls, surounded by a nest of curly dark
hair that overflowed out onto his well-formed thighs.
Finally, after Dale endured watching Rick watching ME strip, we
were finally ready. "If there's any trouble, head right for the car,
and honk, and we'll all come back and split." Rick said as we walked into
camp. "If anyone gets caught and somehow detained, as unlikely as that
is, just flick the lights of the cabin you're in on and off repeatedly,
and the other two will drive the car right up to it for a quick rescue
and getaway. The keys are under the mat on the driver's side."
And so we took off, Dale and I to the west end of the row of
cabins, and Rick to the east. I caught an excellent view of Dale's
hairy ass as he slipped up the first cabin stairs and crept inside the
door. After pulling four pairs of panties off a line in the back and
running them up my arm through one leg hole, I couldn't resist lingering,
against instruction, in order to see Dale reappear. When he did, emerge,
with a handful of panties, he frowned at me and waved me on. As I
progressed along the row of cabins, I looked back occasionally and saw
one or two glimpses of his studly nakedness from an increasing distance,
but soon I was totally alone.
Rick must have been inside one of the cabins when I passed him
coming from the east, because I never saw him. My arms were carrying
dozens and dozens of panties already, and still there were many to be
"harvested" They had an amazing variety of smells, mostly fresh and
flowery, but I swear, there were also some with deeper, moister and more
pungent aromas that hinted at the presence of young pussies against the
fabric.
I don't really go for girls any more, even though I fucked and
ate out a couple in highschool, but the idea of "pussy" still sometimes
turns me on in an abstract way. I'd sprung a real hard on along the way
of those cabins, and I think the panties had a lot to do with it. But it
also was the barely conscious fantasy going through my head of HAVING a
pussy and wondering what it would feel like to have a nice hard dick
slide into it. I wondered if I felt as nice as a dick does up my
asshole. Probably better, I figured, but you have to work with what
you've got. So as I day dreamed about "pussy" in this way, I gradually
found myself bringing Dale and Rick into the picture, as I speculated
that they might also thinking about pussy as they gathered their
panties. I wondered if there was a way I could get Dale interested in MY
pussy. If not, I had the consolation of knowing that Rick was probably
already after my hot slit.
Was all this panty raiding making them as hard as it was making
me, I wondered? Then I got this wild idea and started hanging the next
several pairs of panties I found onto my erect prick, letting my upright
shaft poke through one leghole of each, like I was some kind of fuckin'
hat rack or something. I thought how fun it would be to meet the other
guys by the bell like that. And I imagined them arriving doing the same
thing, too, and it made me all the hotter and stiffer. It was just one
of those times when you're really glad you have a dick, you know?
Finally, I had about three cabins to go, when I started to get a
little more nervous than before. I thought I could hear sounds inside
the cabin whose clothesline I was raiding. I stopped and was extra
quiet, but couldn't be sure what I had heard, so I moved on. At the next
cabin I thought I heard more sounds, so I got even more nervous. My dick
started going limp and the panties that were hung there fell to the
ground.
As I gathered them up I noticed that there was a bra hanging on
this cabin's clothesline, just as there had been several others on lines
I'd already raided. But this one caught my eye because it was really
big. It HAD to belong to a counselor, and she must have had enourmous
tits. I pictured a set of tits that would have fit into these huge cups,
and I started to get a little arroused again. Then I imagined the
comments that Dale and Rick would have made seeing tits that size, and
then I pictured them each sucking on the nipple of one of these tits, and
my dick stood all the way back up again. I hung the panties back on my
erect rod, and then laughed to myself thinking how funny it would be for
me to put this bra on and wear it back to the bell for those guys to
see. They'd probably split a gut laughing and wake everybody up. And
we'd have to race to the car laughing, and as we'd be tearing away, both
guys would be copping feels under my bra for the big tits that it looked
like I had. Mmmm, it was a pleasant thought."
Stuart felt the the driver's hand cup the left side of his phony
bust.
"Stop that," he snarled, with exagerated indignance. "Pay
attention to your driving."
The driver laughed. "Yes sir, I mean, yes ma'm."
Stuart adjust his crumpled bust and continued the story.
"Needless to say, by the time I reached the next cabin I was
wearing the bra. This time, with only one more cabin to go, I distinctly
heard a noise inside. It occurred to me suddenly that every one of these
eastern cabins had already been entered by Rick and that the possibility
of someone being awake inside them now was greater than in the other
cabins I'd been to. Yes, here were dark, private, feminine spaces that
Rick the Prick had already violated, and no doubt every sensitive
receptor inside them had become arroused and stimulated and perked up and
all the more attentive for the next stimulus.
My dick dropped again with anxiety, and at that moment I started
behaving defensively. So when I made the decision to pull on my first
pair of girls's panties, it was less out of sexual desire, than out of
hope that if I were spotted through one of those darkened windows, that I
could pass in the dark as a girl. You see, I was becoming just about
nervous enough right then to run back to the car. But once I pulled on
these pink, lacey panties, everything changed. I was suddenly able to
stay and finish the job. I pick up the dropped panties and move on to the
last cabin and raided the last line.
"There I was, Stuart Carson, a handsome 22 year old tennis
athlete with a trim, Pete Sampras build and his looks (though you
wouldn't know it dolled up like this!), complete with the dark, hairy
legs and a reasonably big dick, on the verge of getting caught wearing
girls' underwear in the great outdoors. Queer boy though I am, It was
still a most potentially compromising, humiliating situation, and yet,
perversely, in those panties and bra I was feeling more comfortable and
at home with myself than ever in my life.
"I would be shown soon enough what a beautiful, vivacious
creature the "woman" in me was, but even as early as that first
panty-assed moment, she gave me a stiff clue. Not only did she unfurl my
fuckpole one more time inside those flimsy panties, but she made it stand
up straighter and more like steel than ever before.
"It was as though my masculinity was combusting in a white heat
blaze of testosterone, whose fueling source, at the very bottom, so to
speak, was merely her insatiable desire to be fucked the way a woman
wants. She wanted it so badly that my dick became her swollen clitoris,
ready to explode at a touch. She was more woman than I could have ever
satisfied myself, I'm afraid, but as it happened, we both had the same
man in mind for the job.
And if he couldn't cut it, we'd let his obnoxious but serviceable and
horny buddy have a crack at our crack. They were probably waiting for us
now back at the bell, so she and I, now one, collected the final handful
of panties, pulled them up my arms, and sauntered back towards the bell.
That's when I met my Radclyffe 'sisters' coming around the side
of the last cabin, armed with flashlights, baseball bats, croquet mallets
and sticks.
"Look! Here he is, girls!" shouted a female voice.
I cried out and tried to run, but they surrounded me. They
actually started swinging those things at me, the wenches! So I
concentrated on dodging them and calling out for Rick and Dale to help
me. Rick had been half right, it turned out, because these girls were
screaming in apparent shock, fear, excitement & repulsion at the sight of
a young man in women's underwear sporting a 7 inch erection. Yep, this
time my hard-on was here for the long haul. As womanish as I felt,
getting caught erect in nothing but lingerie, it occured to me that my
womanliness was a more of a strength than a weekness. I was not just any
woman, after all, but a dick-wielding Diva . I stood my ground against
this unruly mob of rough girls with an almost regal dignity and grace.
Nevertheless, they eventually overpowered me through sheer numbers and
brutality and like the space alien cliche, took me to their leaders.
Where on earth were my companions when I needed them, I wondered?
The girls hauled me, complete with my phallo-testicular-stuffed
panties and flat-chest-concealing bra, into the dining hall, where the
rest of the camp began assembling as they were awakend cabin by cabin.
Finally there were about 40 girls gathered in that hall to gawk
at me, most of them about "18" or "18" years old, and of course
extremely giggly. They seemed equally delighted and mortified by the
sight of such a handsome guy like me being forced to stand in from of
them practically naked except for women's underwear.
The counseling staff were all in their 20's and much less
ambivalent about their delight at this find.
"Hey sailor, on shore leave?" laughed one.
They circled me and laughed, poked and prodded me, and
scornfully squeezed any hunk of my flesh that momentarily attracted
their curiousity.
Now you have to understand their situation. These young women in
charge were college sorority types who were used to spending the other
three quarters of the year struggling under a social regimen that
demanded a veneer of perfection combined with a 1950's style
subordination to their male Fraternity counterparts. While at college,
all of them had to follow this path to a large degree if they wanted to
be "successful" in the Greek system. Their social currency, their ability
to network, marry well, advance in a carreer through the 'right' kind of
connections: all of this depended on how well they played the sorority game.
But here they were now, in the Minnesota woods, in the middle of
their summer off, with virtually no outside pressures to force them to
toe the line of the american ideal of femininity . They didn't need or
depend on men here, because they were running it themselves, which was no
easy task. All of them were hard working, smart and resourceful women,
who'd just been woken up in the middle of the night after a long, hard
day, by some dick-brained little fuck in lingerie.
Here was some pipsqueak, who thinking himself a man, had come to
steal PANTIES from them like godamned Wally or Beaver Cleaver or
something. No doubt each one of them cherished the memory of her own
such special jerk from one of the frats back at college, who'd drunkenly
and clumsily groped her or otherwise approached her with this level of
mentality, and had embarrassed her in front of her friends at a party or
some other social situation that restricted the woman's response to
actions employing only tact, grace and all too often, submissiveness.
No such restrictions applied at Camp Radclyffe, however. Here
they could handle me any way they chose, and handle me they did. Very
quickly I realized that I was out of my league. These were REAL women.
My proud erection began to shrivel, much to the delight of my audience.
"Hey, the worm's turning, girls!" cried one of them.
Their contempt for me, as a male transgressor, was expressed
effortlessly under the circumstances, with this kind of jeering, taunts,
demasculizing remarks, laughter, slaps and shoving. But my utter
insignificance for them on the other hand, caused them to temper their
annoyance with glee at the prospect for their having a little fun at my
expense and exploitation.
"So," began a tall redhead with her hair tied back in a pony
tail, "You were on a panty raid. How quaint! All by yourself? Where
are your friends?" she said, pulling my panty waist out with one crooked
finger to peer at my nervous nuts.
"I'm alone," I lied, hoping to be rescued soon by the others,
while not giving away their presence.
"He's lying," jeered a young blonde girl who had begun shooting
pictures of me with a polaroid camera. She had just come in the door
minutes ago with a group of four or five others. They were giggling and
passing a snapshot around, which they finally handed to me. My face
turned pussy pink with shock, resentment and embarassment when I
recognized the two big, busy boys in the photo as Rick and Dale.
As I gaped at this visual aid, the blonde proceeded to describe
the activity they had just witnessed between my two would-be rescuers.
The girls screamed with laughter and presumeable disgust over such
unheard of male to male antics.
This eye-witness account by spying Radclyffe campers educated me
as to why Rick and Dale COULDN'T have heard my cries for help. It was
because they'd been busy making too much noise themselves. Between
Dale's grunting and thrusting and Rick's moaning, my distant voice had
been drowned out.
As I'd imagined, both had gotten horny as hell while tiptoeing
around buck naked among all those sleeping girls and stealing their
panties, and both had, (as Dale, I think, had been hoping) reached the
bell long before I'd come close to finishing. But get this: both of them
had put on a pair of the panties, too, though apparently more as a joke
than as a disguise. So naturally being as insecure as they were horny,
they'd begun exchanging sexual taunts from the minute they met at the
bell and first laid eyes on each other. While having to wait around for
me, though they grew gradually more playful and daring and progressed
into some grab-ass fooling around. At one point, Rick had started
struting like a model up and down the camp commons for Dale's titilation,
coyly covering his bare "breasts" with crossed arms, and wiggling his ass
provokatively in the panties until his erotically inflamed buddy
couldn't take any more.
Dale, my crotch-throb, chased that slut Rick out through the the
gravel entrance of the camp, closing in on him more with each sprinting
gasp of night air that he sucked into his heaving, predatory lungs. The
pursuer finally overtook the pursued at the parked Camaro, where the
momentum of his pounce flung both of them across the engine hood in a
sprawling tangle. There, under the brilliant moon, and over much false
protestation, Dale ripped the panties off of Rick's teasing little ass
and spanked him hard ten or twelve times with the flat of his big right
hand, all the time telling him what a fucking slut he was being and that
he was going to be taught a lesson. For his part, Rick managed to appear
convincingly helpless as he lay there trying to simultaneously catch his
breath and stifle his howling while getting spanked. Next, Dale parted
Rick's stinging, lunar-lit butt cheeks with his probing tongue and rough
chin, depositing there for lubricant the largest mouthful of spit that he
could manage to work up in his impatient passion. Then Dale stood up,
still in his own panties (black lace, the photo revealed) and, grabbing
Rick by the hips, and hauling his buddy's ass back to meet his jutting
cock, began fucking the moonlights out of him.
While Rick was submitting manfully to Dale's assult on his ass,
he kept his head turned over his shoulders the whole time, looking back
towards the camp. This is how the photograph captured him, his
flash-filled eyes a split second away from comprehending his exposure
before a gang of spying girls. Obviously he was looking for me, hoping
that I'd be jealous as hell that HE was getting fucked by my stud and I
wasn't, and that maybe that jealousy would eventually engender a desire
in me to come and top off the sandwich. Rick understood me pretty well,
it seems. 'Cause I'l tell you, if I hadn't been detained by the girls, I
would have come and skewered my beefcake boy's butt and appropriated his
fine body to use as a dick extension for mercilessly ramming the
deserving downy ass of his blonde bitch. That would have been as close
as that man-stealing queen would ever have gotten to being fucked by me!
"You should have seen their faces when they noticed us watching
them," laughed the blonde girl as she snatched the photo back from me. "
They fell all over each other trying to get inside the car and they took
off down the road going about 70! "
Great, I thought to myself. My heros! The nutless fuckers left
me there to take all the heat myself!
The redhead and the other counselors huddled together a few feet
away from me, while some five or six younger girls manhandled me and
prevented me from escaping. The leaders laughed intermittently and
occassionally turned to look at me, as they discussed my fate. Finally
they broke up their huddle and approached me. A brunette blew a whistle
and addressed the crowd.
"Girls, attention! The counselors have been discussing how
we're going to deal with this sissy-boy we caught stealing our panties.
In additon to this crime, he has also exposed his beastly penis without
our invitation and flouted his perverted sexual arrousal in front of us.
What we've decided, first of all, is that since he's been such a bad boy,
we're all going to punish him together, taking turns until you've all had
a chance. "
"What's your name, you little wuss?" she demanded, grabbling me
by the arm. I instinctively said, "ow!" and the room erupted in laughter.
The brunette leaned in toward me and said, "Better tell me your
name, faggot, or we'll be mericless."
I was red as a lobster and sweating now. My dick was stiffening
as well, with excitement and expectation of my unknown punishment. I
decided to answer her in case the punishment might otherwise be more than
I could bear with dignity.
"It's Rick," I lied.
"Well, Rick, take off that pussy-boy bra right now." she
barked. I sheepishly complied and handed the bra to her. There was
silence for a moment as all the girls looked my chest over, remarking
upon with apparently approving "ah"s the brown hair that mats my chest
between my nipples and points down in a treasure trail all the way to my
navel. "Think you're a big man with your hairy chest, don't you,
Rick?" she said.
"N-no, " I said, trying not to be antagonistic.
"Oh yes you do, pussy boy, You think you're a big man, but
you're wrong. You're a little sissy. In fact, you're really a girl
inside. and we'll prove it to you later. Right now you come over here,
" she said, indicating a chair facing away from us near the front of the
room.
"Now stand behind that chair, facing away from us." she ordered.
I walked over and stood there, looking back over my shoulder at them.
Suddenly I thought of the real Rick looking over his shoulder, and
instinctively I covered my panty-clad butt with one hand.
"Now drop those panties to the floor, Rick. Boys aren't supposed
to wear panties, even sissy boys."
I swallowed and delicately slipped the panties down my legs to
the floor. I was shaking with embarassment now, and my hard dick was
bobbing up and down, The girls tittered at the sight.
"Boys aren't supposed to steal panties, either. Now you are going to be
punished for being a very bad sissy boy. Now bend over the chair, Rick."
she said.
Oh. I thought. Now I knew what was going to happen next. I started to
bend over the chair, but it was uncomfortable against my belly, and my
erection jutted right into it. I winced and stood up again. Just then
one of the counselors came up with a pillow and smilingly draped it over
the back of the chair. I nodded thanks to her and then assumed my bent
over, bare-assed postition. I supported myself with my hands flat on the
seat of the chair and spread my legs slightly-without even being told
to-so I would'nt have to strain to support my weight.
"Okay girls, let's all line up by cabin groups and by height
within your groups. Cabins will file alphabetically past Rick and each
girl will deliver to him the punishment she deems appropriate. You have
half a minute to dole out your punishment. Tina will stand guard to
facillite your actions and to make sure none of the punishments gets...
well, out of hand. " she said.
The counselor named Tina came to stand next to me with her hands
clasped behind her back. "Your ass is grass, Ricky boy," she whispered
to me. I knew she was right.
The first cabin, Ash, had already lined up and were heading my
way. My knees started to tremble and my prick throbbed against the
pillow in its forced downward pointing, which all the girls could see
displayed between my parted thighs.
"D-dont' let them hurt me, Tina," I gulped as the troup of young
women approached me to dish out their revenge on the uninvited
intruder.
"Relax, baby," she hissed at me, and set her stop watch for the
first punishment.
(end part one of three)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)
Date: Fri, 14 Jul 1995 19:43:49 UTC
Subject: FRIDAY 13" #6 ITCHIN' FOR IT 2/3 M/M
(M/M in drag, M/M/M, M/F/fx40, M/Mx 24 panty fetishism, feminine
domination, spanking, humiliation, forced femininization, cross-dressing,
horticultural revenge,'train' fucking, etc. )
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING
ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES..
To the alt.sex.stories reader:
This is the 6th in a series of stories dealing mainly with male
to male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex
and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as well.
Friday 13" #6 Itchin' for it (Tom's story)
by Stroker Al
(part two of three)
The first girl did the predictable thing by giving me a vigorous
bare-handed spanking on my exposed, naked ass. She managed to get 40 or
so wacks in during her alloted 30 seconds. When else would she ever get
such an opportunity to spank the firm, hairy ass of a full grown man as
though he were a naughty boy? Naturally she tried to get the most out of
it that she could. I could imagine her smiling as she stepped away to
let the next girl in, but I kept my eyes closed through most of it. I
was suprised at how much my ass stung even after one round of this.
Since about three quarters of the other 40 or so girls followed her
example, I went quickly from surprise to soreness to tolerable pain to
near numbness as dozens of young, delicatly formed hands took turns
spanking my tender, reddening bare butt with surprising power.
Of course in every group there are those who are more original,
more daring, or just more lucky to be struck with clever ideas as they
watch others go before them. So my punishments were not restricted to
hand spanking. One little darling thrashed my victimized rump with a
ping pong paddle, the kind with the little rubber dots on it. That hurt
my bad boy bottom like hell!
Another used a tennis racquet, which I didn't think I'd mind at
first, because it reminded me of the time I'd had one used on me the
exact same way once before. My earlier racquet spanking had been part of
the winner's spoils that went to this really hot guy with a superior
backhand, after he beat me in a pick-up set one night really late at the
city park courts back home. Although THAT time I kept my little white
tennis shorts on. That is, until the automatic trip off of the lights
left us in darkness. That's when I decided to lose my shorts voluntarily
and see if I couldn't feel his swing a liitle better in just my
jockstrap. He liked that move, as I thought he might, and soon he was
showing me some even better form than he had in the last match. Then,
before you could say love-love, we were fucking on the abandoned court.
But this girl, despite her maccaroni elbow, really meant
business, and she whipped my athletic ass untill it felt like I'd backed
my buns into a hot waffle iron.
"Another used a pretty pink BARBIE'S Dream belt, only about a
half an inch wide and with a tiny brass buckly smaller than a quarter.
But boy, did that little thing sting my seat as it hissed and whipped
through the air at me. I can't imagine how KEN could stand such abuse on
a regular basis!
"Some punishments were much stranger. One girl, a tom-boyish
looking one in a t-shirt and cuttoff shorts and cowboy boots was allowed
to lower me to all fours and ride me around the dining room floor. She
smacked my raw ass repeatedly to get me to move faster, and she tugged my
hair in whatever direction she wanted me to turn. Tina stayed right
with us but never actually stopped anything.
"After that one, I was afraid I was going to have to be ridden
everyone, but no one else ended up doing anything quite like that.
The absolute worst one was near the end. I was blubbering
through my tears by then with almost every blow, and when I saw this girl
come around in front of the chair to cram something into my mouth, I
assumed it was a gag. It turned out to be an unused tampon. In
seconds it swelled up with my saliva and filled my mouth like a gag. As
she went behind me, I noticed she had something else in her other hand.
It was about an inch around, five inches long, blue and wet looking. It
wasn't until she pushed it firmly into my asshole that I realized it was
a popsicle. Raspberry, no less!
A couple of them had to hold me down to get through the thirty
seconds with that popsicle up my ass, cause I was really fighting. Tina
didn't stop the girl from plugging my ass with the damned thing, but she
did tell her, "Don't pull it out right away, Sara. Give it a chance to
melt a little first." Having had my tongue freeze to a jungle-gym bar
once, I appreciated her wisdom.
A few tugged on my dick and balls before and after spanking me.
One girl, a counselor, and maybe the owner of the bra, I think, had me
stand up, and had Tina hold my arms while she pinched and twisted my
tits. Before her time was up, she'd had both of my nipples in her mouth
and had bitten and nibbled at them rougly .
Tina only stopped one girl's punishment completely. I remembered
seeing her standing with the girls who had watched Rick and Dale fucking,
but she had entered the hall alone after them.
She came up behind me with a plastic bag filled with leaves and
started to reach in to get them.
"Let me see those, Connie," Tina said, stepping between us.
"Why? No! Let me !" she whined.
"This is poison ivy, isn't it?" said Tina.
I jumped and sucked my breath in with disbelief. Poison Ivy? UP
MY ASSHOLE?
"Yeah, it's poison ivy. So?"
"Girls. We have a problem here," announced Tina. "Connie wants
to punish the sissy boy by shoving poison ivy up his rectum. Is this
appropriate punishment for Rick's crimes?"
The girls began yelling all kinds of things. My knees went weak
and I almost wet mysef on the floor when I heard several shouts of
encouragment for Connie giving me a poison ivy fisting.
"Can you imagine what it would feel like to have poison ivy
shoved up your ass?" Stuart said to the truck driver. "How it would
itch until you would feel like you wanted to die? It boggles the
imagination."
The trucker was speechless, so Stuart continued.
"Fortunately for me and my ass there were more cries of disgust
and rejection of the idea. Apparently most of the girls felt that such
treatment would not reflect well on their identities as Radclyffe ladies.
"I'm sorry, Connie, but the majority doesn't agree that your
punishment is appropriate. Besides, our sissy boy's suffering would have
far exceeded 30 seconds if we'd allowed it!" Tina said, consolingly.
"But I have to! I'm SUPPOSED to do it! I promised!" she
whispered harshly to Tina.
"Well, you had no business promising anyone any such thing. What
do you think we're running here, a good old boy's club? Majority rules,
darling." said Tina sharply.
Connie was ordered to choose another punishment. So she really
beat my ass good. My butt skin really smarted under her mean spanking.
She was pissed. She gave my balls a nasty yank, too when Tina called time.
Finally punishment was over, and I managed to stop bawling after
a few more minutes. Everyone clapped when the last girl finished whipping
my butt.
"Okay girls, " said the redhead. " I think we've thrashed the
bad boy out of Rick here. Now. Since its clear from his wearing our
underwear that he wishes he were a girl, we're going to grant his wish
tonight and turn him into one. We'll call her Rita. Once again you'll
all get to help!"
The girls cheered with glee and their eyes beemed at me nastily.
I thrilled and shuddered at the same time, assuming I wasn't going to be
physically mutilated, at least, but apprehensive nonetheless about just
how far they might go to feminize me in one night.
Then they went to work on me. Each cabin was assigned some
aspect of my demasculization and feminization. Ash cabin collected
ladies shaving implements and lotions and creams and circled around me to
begin removing all of my body hair. I was too tired and sore by then to
resist at all. I raised my underarms for their razors and watched as
tufts of underarm hair, chest hair, and my unruly, thick bush hair fell
to the ground along with the last vestiges of my male pride, only to be
swept up my another cabin group. It was so incredibly humiliating that
my erection snapped up again. My normally forrested nipples were made
bald and pink, my thighs began to rub smoothly together for the first
time since seventh grade, and my ass became as smooth as the butt of a
baby, that is, all except for the crack of my ass, which they left hairy
("his twat" giggled one of the counselors.) Not used to the perfectly
respectable kind of smoothness all over my body that many men normally
had, I felt like I had become the totally pussified wuss that the girls
suspected me to be.
They plucked my eyebrows and attempted to shave my face closely,
but I was eventually allowed to finish it myself after they nicked me
twice.
I was dragged to a shower and lathered up and cleaned, than
powdered and perfumed. They fussed with my hair for over an hour, but
gave up on it. It was just too thick and shapeless to make feminine.
They finally decided to shave my whole head and put a wig on me. The
head shaving was to encourage me to keep the wig on for when I would
eventually be out of their sight and control. I hated the way I looked
bald when I saw it, so their reasoning worked.
Next a group did my makeup. They spent about an hour also, and
I was totally unprepared for what a good job they did when they showed me
the mirror. I looked like a model or something.! It was amazing. If
only it had been someone else's face, a less masculine looking face, I
would have been totally convinced of my womanhood. As it was, though I
felt almost ashamed at my remaining masculinity. But the woman inside
me was thrilled, and I secretly began to relax and enjoy the process
even as it seemed to degrade my male self-image.
Finally they dressed me, and I even got to choose from among the
outfits. It was as though I'd had the instinct all along for what would
look good on me as a woman, and that now I was finally getting the
opportunity. Under my skirt they fixed up an elastic contraption that
pulled the head of my dick back between my thighs and held it in place
almost all the way back to my asshole, so even to the closest observer, i
would appear to be as dickless as any other woman. My poor nuts
positively shrunk with embarrasment at my passivity in letting myself be
de-cocked by these laughing girls, and my untesty testes finally slunk
away up into their sockets out of the pure shame of it all, just as
though they'd never descended in the first place!
Finally, I insisted on the very pair of panties that I'd
originally chosen. The ones I'm wearing now.
When we were done they had me parade up and down on dining tables
in front of them, and I felt like a top model going down the runway.
They cheered me on, but after a while, by the looks on a few faces, I
guessed that some of them were starting to get jealous of me, believe it
or not.
That's when the counselors announced the final stage of my
punishment. I was presented with this laundry sack full of all the
panties I stole, plus more. I was told that I would be realeased
tomorrow morning and that I would have to hitchhike back to my camp. I
was also made to promise that during the next night I would perform a
reverse panty raid upon Camp Christopher."
"A reverse panty raid?" the truck driver asked. "What does that
mean? Put em back?"
"Well, not exactly, " said Stuart. He explained what a reverse
panty raid was, and the driver laughed uproariously. "It's going to be
very tricky. and I'm sure I'll be caught, " added Stuart.
"Well, as clever as that would be, you're free now. Why do you
have to go along with it?" the driver asked.
"Photographs." Stuart said. "They took HUNDREDS of me in every
conceivable stage. Including one with the popsicle up my ass! I don't
want anybody at Camp Christopher to lay eyes on them."
"I see" said the driver.
"So anyway, they put me in a cabin with some of the counselors
where they could watch me and make sure I didn't leave till morning.
Then, they helped me freshen up, gave me breakfast and sent me on my
way. And that's where you came in." Stuart grinned.
"Well, I'll be," sighed the driver. "Stuart, you're one hell of
a good sport. A lota guys would be ruined by something like this. I
gotta hand it to ya, you must be pretty comfortable with your manhood."
"I suppose. " Stuart said. "Either that or I'm just extra
comfortable with my femininity."
"Well I hope you're not offended, but I don't agree with what you
say about your face looking so masculine. I think you have a very
androgenous face. Your makeup and hair turn it towards the feminine
side. I think it works real well. It was only the way you were standing
that gave you away to me."
"Really. Hmmmm. That's interesting. I'll have to work on
that." Stuart said.
"Well speaking of good sports, can you be one again and wait for
me while I make a pit stop?" asked the driver.
"Sure, no problem." said Stuart, instinctively looking at the
guy's crotch as if a full bladder would have been visible there.
The truck screeched over to the roadside and halted. The driver
grabbed something from the glove compartment, which looked like a pair of
gloves to Stuart, and climbed down out of the cab. he then disappeared
into the woods.
Stuart sat in the cab waiting for the driver to return. He
picked the wig up from his lap and began to smooth out some of the
tangles that were now twisting the long brown locks in his hands. When
he got it somewhat straightened out he placed it instinctively back upon
his head, carefully positioning it using the mirror on the back of the
passenger side sunshade. Then he studied his looks in the mirror for a
while. He WAS more androgenous-looking, after all, than he had thought,
the driver was right.
Finally the driver emerged from the curtain of shade-darkened
woods and paused at the edge of the road. He stood at the spot where the
deep angle of the late afternoon sun's rays just cleared the woods and
outlined his large, nicely built figure with a aura of golden light. His
wild, brown hair seemed ringed with flame, and his unshaven jaws bristled
with light. When Stuart sheilded his eyes he was able to see the driver's
pleasingly rugged form and features in the softly muted light reflecting
off of the bright red rig. He watched him do himself up after his piss,
grinning there in his nonchalant exhibitionism.
Stuart's gaze moved down the half unbuttoned front of the man's
comfortably ragged red plaid flannel shirt, where he was displaying dark
curls of chest hair with the kind of eye-pleasing intent that a homemaker
employs when arranging a flower box in a window. Farther down, the
man's ripped and faded levis hovered unzipped and parted at his hips
while he tucked the shirt in. He was wearing snapless, buttonless white
boxer shorts with the gaping fly that usually results from lack of
ironing. Through this opportune opening, Stuart spied the brown
bush-nestled root of what hinted at being an impressive endowment of
cock.
Stuart involuntarily licked his lips, and then quickly looked up
at the driver's face to see if he'd noticed his lustful reaction . The
driver was now leering back at him playfully, as he zipped up and
approached the truck.
Stuart's 7inch rod began to stiffen inside his lacey, flimsy
panties as the anticipation of possible sex became stronger. Naturally,
he'd gotten rid of the elastic dick yanker the minute he'd left
Radclyffe. The driver came around and climbed into the cab and just sat
there with his legs apart and knees up against the dash, looking
contented. he left the truck idiling and looked over to Stuart.
"You sure are beautiful dressed up like that, Stuart." he said.
"You know for a minute out there when you were looking at me I could have
sworn you were a gorgeous babe I'd picked up. "
Stuart actually blushed. "Well.....I uh..... Well, thank you."
he tittered nervously. Waves of arousal radiated through his body. If
there had been an actual pussy between those nyloned legs under his
dress, it would have started getting wet then. He swallowed and smiled
seductively at the driver. "Well what would you and this gorgeous babe
be doing now if she were here?," he asked coyly, surprising himself.
The driver relaxed his body, tilted his head back and rolled his
eyes heavenward, taking a deep breath, and then exhaling. Then, still in
this languid position, he turned his head to lock eyes with his
passenger. His big, callused left hand moved to his crotch and began to
rub the mound of his denim fly. "That would depend on what the lady
wanted," he replied in a deep, quiet voice.
Stuart shuddered with excitement as his own dick completely
uncoiled in his panties. "This lady would like to see what a truck
driver's dick looks like up close," he said, almost whispering. The
driver blinked at the sweet thing's boldness and smiled. "Mmmm," he
murmered, as he unzipped his jeans. "Coming right up, for your inspection."
Stuart swiveled his weight onto his left hip so he could face the
driver and watch as he undid his pants and fished his rod out of the fly
of his boxers with his powerful hands. When Stuart saw the large, fat
prick bobbing semi-hard over the driver's encircling fingers he nearly
gasped. The magnificent thing was not yet even fully erect, but already
much bigger than any dick Stuart had ever laid eyes or hands on. He
reached out toward it instinctively.
"May I?" he asked.
"If you would be so kind," grinned the driver, relinquishing
control over his burgeoning cock to his to the grasping, red-nailed
fingers of his eager passenger. Stuart gripped and stroked the big rod
and felt it stiffen and lengthen in his hand. Within seconds the
hitchhiker had coaxed the driver's prick into full, rock hard erection.
Surely it was a foot long, Stuart thought to himself. He shimmied his
dress-encased ass across the vinyl seat so he could be closer to it. He
leaned his bewigged head downward to examine the pulsating prick point
blank. Locks of long hair brushed over and tickled the driver's cock,
making him moan.
Stuart's mouth watered as the penisy scent of dickmeat reached
his nostrils, and his crimson-glossed lips parted in anticipation. He
was beyond asking permission to proceed, but he hesitated anyway, when he
noticed the tattoo on the fat knob of the driver's dick head. It was the
number "13," he could now see, and though he was normally superstitious,
the bad luck of the previous 24 hours gave him momentary pause. The
moment of doubt passed as the driver's firm hand guided Stuart's head
downward into his lap.
The help of the driver's hand proved superflous, however, because
Stuart began sucking his dick with intensely autonomous passion. He
pulled both nylon-covered knees forward onto the passenger seat so he
could more comfortably hover over the driver's crotch. The driver's
right hand strayed to the backs of Stuart's stockinged legs., which he
carressed affectionately as the young man gave him head. Before long the
driver's hand had crept up the pretty cocksucker's thighs to his
lace-panty covered ass. He hiked the dress up over Stuart's back so he
could carress the fellator's fanny unobstructed.
Stuart wriggled with pleasure with the combined sensation of
the warm hand and the summer breeze through the truck window carressing
his ass. He deep throated the mega-cock with skill and enthusiasm,
having to continually move wig hair out of his way. Naturally while
sucking the cock he couldn't get his lips within even a couple inches of
the man's dickroot, so he spent part of the time licking and stroking the
full length of the shaft.
Meanwhile the driver worked Stuart's lacey panties down past the
beefy but smooth, baby-powdered globes of his shaved young-man's ass and
left them clinging to his now hairless thighs . The warm, rough hand
kneaded and caressed the now totally exposed, firm and shapely ass. As
the driver circled and prodded his vulnerable, and now sweaty,
still-hairy ass pucker with an insistant finger, the busy hitchiker
moaned and intesified his cocksucking. The driver interpreted this -
correctly - as encouragement from Stuart for him to proceded.
By the time the next truck passed them, blaring the horn loudly,
the driver had his big index finger all the way inside Stuart's manhole.
"Ah," he purred. "Your pussy's so hot and so tight."
Stuart released the dick from his mouth just long enough to
reply. "That's 'cause I haven't let anybody fuck me in a while. But I'll
tell you it would be a lot 'hotter' right now if those crazy Radcliffe
girls had let that girl cram it full of P.I.! Boy did I narrowly escape
THAT fate!" He said, swallowing the mighty knob of the driver's dick once
more.
The driver moaned and revelled in the resumed pleasure of getting
his dick sucked. He continued playing with Stuart's ass in silence for a
while, introducing a second and then a third finger. Finally he spoke
again.
"You know, you really seem obsessed with that poison ivy thing,
" he said. "I'd almost wonder if you weren't a little disappointed they
didn't let her go through with it."
Stuart snorted dismissively, but kept the driver's erection in
his throat.
"No? Well you could have fooled me. You keep mentioning it,
after all. People who talk excessively about one feeling are often
covering up a conflicting one. Maybe you're curious about how it would
have felt to have your asshole so itchy that you couldn't stand not to
scratch it."
Stuart snorted again.
"Well, you sure seem to enjoy my fingers up your ass. They must
be scratching SOME kind of itch, don't you think, sweetheart?"
he murmurred.
Stuart moaned softly and began stroking his own hard rod.
"Oh yes, you're itching for it aren't you?" purred the driver. "
Imagine how good these fingers would feel scratching your ivy-poisoned
pussy, darlin."
Stuart came up for air again, the saliva soaked cock slapping out
of his lips. "You know you're not supposed to scratch poison ivy," he
said with perverse coyness.
The driver grinned. "Sweetie, there's a LOT of things we're not
supposed to do. That doesn't mean we don't sometimes want things bad
enough that what we're "supposed to do" doesn't stop us, does it?"
"Well.....no," said Stuart, closing his eyes, jacking his own
cock harder, and tensing his ass muscles around the driver's invading
fingers. He liked to hear the driver talk, but it was starting to getr
mildly annoyed by what sounded like patronizing provocation. As someone
who was begining to feel as comfortable with the idea of having a pussy
as he was having a dick, this macho know-itallness was a bit irritating.
"Well, I wanna hear you say it, Stuart. Didn't you really, in
the back of your dirty little mind, kind of want those humiliating girls
to go ahead and cram those poison ivy leaves - all crinkly and scratchy -
up your tight, bad boy asshole? Isn't it making you all hot wondering
just how intense that itching in your boy pussy would have gotten if
you'd not missed out on the opportunity to find out? Doesn't it make
your knees weak to think of the lengths you'd have gone to to relieve
that intense itching?"
"Yes," moaned Stuart softly, his eyes still closed , his lips
wetly grazing the driver's dickhead. "I'd be stuffing my ass with
everything to get at it - your fingers, all of them. Your big stiff
dick, fucking me for hours..."
"I thought so, Stuart," the driver cooed.
"That's another reason I went so far out there in the woods to
take a piss. Cause there was something else I needed to do. Something I
wanted to bring back just for you,' he said, patting a bulge in his pocket.
He laughed and rubbed the inner walls of Stuart's hole. "Now all
you have to do is convince me that you really want it up your ass and beg
a man to finish the job that the girls couldn't."
Stuart looked up at him incredulously and then looked down at the
single glove that protruded from the driver's left pants pocket, and then
at the small bulge that showed in the pocket on the left. It was
POSSIBLE that he could be serious, but the idea was so outrageous that
Stuart decided to call his bluff.
"You're' all talk, mister." he said finally. "You might have the
dick of a big man, but not even you have the balls to fuck my ass with
poison ivy, any more than those girls did!" He kissed and licked the
driver's enormous erection teasingly.
"Nor do I believe that you have the finesse and stamina to make
sure the itch you'd give me would get scratched for as long as I needed
it. Like all night, for example."
The driver smiled devilishly and drove his big, calloused fingers
as deep as he could into Stuart's yielding ass, making the pretty young
man yelp. "Just try me, sweetheart," he hissed into Stuart's ear just
before tonguing it wetly. "I've got all the equipment I need for the job
right here. Just give me the word, and your hitchhikin' ass is gonna be
in for a night of a lifetime!"
"I don't believe you, you lying fucker, " Stuart hissed in a
lustful, daring voice. "You're bluffing. You just like to get your
boys all hot and begging for your big dick up their asses, don't you?"
"Listen, you pretty little bitch, don't mouth me like that," said
the driver, sounding serious. "You're gonna get more than you can handle
if you 're not careful."
"OOH, I'm scared big man." taunted Stuart. "Your dick is a
lethal weapon, I'm sure. But if anyone is obsessed with Poison ivy,
It's you. Well, I'll tell you now there's only one way I'd ever let you
put poison ivy up my ass, big man, and that's if you use your naked prick
to stuff it all the way in.."
The trucker looked at him blankly. "No condom?" he stuttered.
"I'm HIV negative and all, but that would be pretty risky."
Stuart laughed. "I knew it. You're just as scared as the rest of
us! What happened to the big ballsy guy who was telling me a few minutes
ago about how what he was "supposed to do" wouldn't stop him?"
The trucker said nothing, hesitating.
"Yeah, I thought so, Mr. crazy, daring big rig trucker fucker is
full of shit." Stuart lifted up and turned away to lean out the
passenger side window. He wiggled his exposed ass at the driver and
went in for the kill. " Well, my ass is ready for you baby. I'm feeling
even sluttier than that blonde sleaze at Woody's that the guys are always
scoring with. It's your choice, stud: no condom, or no poison ivy."
"I'll give you three seconds to take that back." said the truck
driver, his eyes aflame, his face red with agitation.
"Why would I take it back? I meant it, " said Stuart. "Remember,
I'm a good sport. Win or lose."
Stuart clung to the window frame and braced himelf. As the rough
hands tore the panties from his parted thighs and spread his ass cheeks
he gasped in anticipation.
"I'll show you who the sleaze is, you dick-loving little cunt!"
roared the driver as he yanked down his own jeans and boxers and loomed
behind Stuart to mount him.
Stuart shivered as he anticipated how his little gamble was about
to pay-off big time, combining the ardor of a wounded ego with a raging
dick of gargantuan proportions. As his man-pussy twitched hungrily, he
heard the crinkling and fumbling behind him that he usuallly associated
with the opening and putting on of a condom. And though he didn't suppose
the sound could have come from anything else, a part of him did at that
moment believe he might actually have submitted to an unprotected poison
ivy fuck if such a hung stud like this truck driver had been sadistic
(and masochistic!) enough to attempt such a thing.
Then Stuart felt pressure against his asshole and hot, angry
breathing on his neck. Yessss, he cried, yes. But as driven by hunger
and horniness as his lustful expections of the driver had been, there, in
the cab, on the highway, for the next 20 minutes of wild, ecstatic
penetration, (punctuated by loud horn blasts of half a dozen gawking
truckers passing by from the other direction) all of Stuart's
expectations (of his partner and of himself) were exceeded in quite an
exceptional manner.
(end part two of three)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)
Date: Fri, 14 Jul 1995 22:47:01 UTC
Subject: FRIDAY 13" #6 Itchin' for It 3/3 M/M
(M/M in drag, M/M/M, M/F/fx40, M/Mx 24 panty fetishism, feminine
domination, spanking, humiliation, forced femininization, cross-dressing,
horticultural revenge, rimming, 'train' fucking, etc. )
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING
ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES..
To the alt.sex.stories reader:
This is the 6th in a series of stories dealing mainly with male
to male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex
and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as well.
Friday 13" #6 Itchin' for it (Tom's Story)
by Stroker Al
(part three of three)
The irony of finding himself to be both a 'good sport' and a
'sore loser' at the same time struck Stuart an hour later as he was
showering alone in the bath house back at Christopher Lake Camp.
The good sportsmanship was a question of taking responsibility for the
consequences of his sexual provocation. The trucker had not, after all,
pressed a gun to his head, but instead had stuffed a clump of volatile
leafy weeds up his ass with his erect, condomless prick, just as Stuart
had dared him to do. Doubting that the crazy fucker would ever do such a
thing was no excuse now. Stuart had called his bluff and lost, and was
now 'sore' as hell.
This was not, however, because the unshaven lug hadn't used the
most incredible restraint with Stuart, even as he'd run his camp
counselor ass up the flagpole of his dick. Obviously the fucker was
used to holding back anywhere from a half to a third of his penile length
when fucking a guy, even as the ample allotment of dick (with it's
equally impressive girth) that he no doubt delivered to all of his
screaming bottoms had been wielded with the authoritative dominance of a
caveman's club. No, Stuart was sore due to the natural consequences of
getting fucked AND because of the onset of the itching.
But had the gamble been worth it? It remained to be seen, Stuart
decided. Right now the rest of him felt like felt a million bucks!
Thank goodness the girls at Radcliffe had sent an evening dress
along with Stuart, because his outfit was literally in tatters. In the
process of having his whole body pawed, mauled and penetrated by the
trucker, Stuart's dress had gotten pushed all the way up around his neck
in a wrinkled twist of tortured fabric. In addition, the bra had been
pulled off and tossed aside, the stockings laced with runs and rubbed all
the way down to his knees, and his heels knocked to the floor of the cab
next to his torn panties.
Stuart's prostate had been punted like a football through the
goal posts of his buttucks. The piston-powered force that had squeezed
his love-gland into an explosive reaction had only taken five or six
minutes to drive Stuart into orgasm and fire more than a dozen sizzling
squirts of his white-hot come all over the vinyl inside of the passenger
door that the she-male was clinging to for his life. But of course the
roughest ride of this sweet hitchhiker's life hadn't ended there. For
about fifteen more minutes, the girly-boy had been forced to endure
thrust after thrust of the trucker's ass-punishing fuck, which through
the merciless banging of balls, hips and thighs against his ill-used butt
brought back vivid memories of the previous night's ass-assaults. It was
like being gangbanged by the whole world.
Luckily, though, thanks to a combination of Stuart's mental
(slut) and physical (hot man-pussy) receptiveness and the sexual skill of
the driver, the pain of getting dicked by this bull had essentially
vanished after the first minute, though ocassionaly thereafter the
trucker would accidentally veer into killer-fuck territory. Fortunately,
his quick reaction time in correcting his course according to Stuart's
cries was as good as that of a vacationing husband behind the wheel
responding to his vocal, map-navigating wife.
By the time he came the first time, Stuart felt like he'd been
born with the man's cock up his ass, and after 10 more minutes or so
began to get erect again himself. Incredibly, Stuart came again just
before the trucker climaxed. But by then, his tangled wig had tumbled
off amidst all the passion and down into harms way, where Stuart's second
flood of jizz gave the hairpiece a spontaneous frost job.
Less than a minute later, the trucker was gasping and moaning and
gripping Stuarts nipples between his vice-like thumbs and fingers. And
finally, he came inside Stuart's pounded ass in a gushing, unrestrained,
spermy fountain of semen that Stuart felt inside with a condomless
clarity he had never previously experienced .
And still the trucker continued to thrust. "Take it, cunt, take
it!" he cried. The first wads of his come were now squirting out of
Stuart's slickening pussy-ass and lubing it up for the grand finale of
the trucker's lingering assault. Come shot out of the trucker's bazooka
prick with increasing intensity as the slickness of his warm splooge
increased his pleasure and prolonged the climax.
He thrust and thrust and thrust and thrust again until finally he
was spent, and he plopped his sweat-matted hairy chest down onto Stuart's
back. After a minute of rest, he looked down at the sight of his cock
piercing Stuart's blistered ass and slowly began to withdraw his
gradually softening prick. He was not surprised to see the high volume
of his savage semen glistening along the length of his dick and dribbling
out of stuart's worn out manpussy, but he was suprised at the color.
His jizz was a grassy green. For some reason he had not
expected the poison ivy leaves to become so pulverized in twenty minutes
of fucking that they would liquify to the point of blending with his
cock-juice. But they had, all except for some fibrous bits and flecks of
more solid ivy debris. The sight roused him to action.
"Okay bitch, if you know what's good for you you'll do the
Summer's Eve routine" said the trucker. Stuart hadn't understood at
first what he meant, but when the trucker reached behind the seat and
withdrew a frosty 16 oz. bottle of Pepsicola from a concealed cooler,
Stuart got the picture. He was being offered a 1950's-style douche.
"Uh, I think I'm gonna need some help with this," he said.
"She-it!" said the the driver, making a face, but finally he
nodded and they both climbed out of the truck and headed toward the tall
grasses in the ditch near the edge of the woods.
Back on the road, with both passenger and driver fully dressed
again, the effects of the poison ivy had begun. The trucker was
constantly adjusting his crotch for comfort, and intermittently indulging
in furtive scratching down the front of his pants, while Stuart was just
squirming a little and shifting in his seat, feeling something that was
so far more like a tickle than an itch.
Stuart laughed. "What in the hell made you do it, you horny
lunatic? Your dick is going to be useless for days!"
The trucker kept his eyes on the road and didn't answer for a
while "Let's just say I decided you had it coming. And It unfortunately
turned out that I was the only one capable of giving it to you. I gave
that little brat back at camp Radcliffe 20 bucks to do it, and she
failed. "
"Wait a minute," cried Stuart. "YOU were there? You KNEW the
whole story already?" He stared at the man next to him as though seeing
him for the first time. "Who the hell are you? And just exactly WHEN
did you decide I had THAT coming to me?"
"The name's Friday," he said. "I watched you and your friends
behave very disrespectfully toward someone I care very much about. Next
time you guys want to get into each others' pants I hope you'll be a
little more honest and direct and you wont use the people around you as
though they were props. "
"The barmaid at Woody's?" Stuart gasped. "You know her? You
were THERE?"
He nodded. "Your friends were downright raunchy to her. You
were just rude. "
"So why do I get all of the payback and they get off scott
free?" Stuart cried. "I mean, I'm sorry, I know I said some bad things
about her, but I never would have if I'd known you cared about her. Why
aim the vendetta only at me?"
"Oh, I think you'll be able to think of something more devious
for your friends then I ever could. After all, I think they wronged you
even more than they wronged me and my girl." he said.
When the truck finally arrived at Camp Christopher, the main
grounds appeared mostly abandoned. The campers and staff were doing the
water games down at the beach. The driver opened the door for Stuart,
but made no move to get out himself."
"So what happened to the rest of the bargain? You were supposed
to make sure my itch got scratched all night? " Stuart said.
"Oh, but I will, I will. I told you I had all the necessary
equipment." He reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a
rectangular box. "Here's a present for you."
Stuart made a skeptical, dissapointed face and opened the box.
Inside he found a dildo, a large bottle of calamine lotion, several dozen
french tickler condoms (purched patiently one by one, apparently, from
the coin vending machine in the bathroom at Woody's) and a small pad of
paper and pen. "What the fuck is all this?" he sneered. "Are you
telling me I'm gonna have to take care of my own needs tonight with THIS
crap ? You impotent little liar!"
"Now hold on a minute there, girly. " said the driver. "I told
you I'd see to it that you'd get fucked all night, and you're gonna get
fucked all night. Now just listen to me, and I'll tell you what you need
to do...."
* * *
After his shower, Stuart sneaked back to his cabin and dressed
himself in a fresh set of sexy evening wear the girls had sent with him.
He brushed all the dried cum out of the wig and redid his shaving and
makeup the way he had been taught, and before long he was looking even
more stunning than he had been that morning.
But oh, how his hot slit was starting to itch! The irritated
walls of his inner asshole were swelling and reddening and tightening
up. He needed constant, vigorous friction against his itchy sore
poison ivy spots. But it was still an hour or so before he would be able
to make his move according to the trucker's plan. He spent that hour
sitting on a butt plug and writing out the little notes on paper as he'd
been instructed. After completing each one, he folded one of the french
ticklers inside of it and popped it into his bag.
Finally it was dark and time for the talent show. He stayed out
of sight, outside, near the back of the hall and watched the proceedings
from a window. It was the usual awful, interminably tedious string of
cliched routines and bad renditions of camp songs. Boys of all ages
purposely singing off key in that way they do in order not to be
considered unmasculine.
There was the grinning face of Jeff Waldman MC-ing as usual, but
acting so much more chipper and energetic tonight. Even from his
distant vantage point, Stuart noticed that the guy's fly was undone, and
that a bit of his shirttail was visible through it.
SOMEBODY had hastily pulled up their pants, he noted, but the
question was, after doing what? Stuart speculated on ways that the
trucker might have persuaded Waldman to add a last minute act to the
evening's entertainment, and most of them included Waldman's exposed cock
in their scenarios.
Then Stuart heard Waldman say his name, and he knew that the
driver had indeed been good to his word. Stuart was going to very soon
have everything he needed to get his itch scratched all night.
Confident in this knowledge, the cross-dressed cock lover
sauntered into the hall at the signal of confused applause that had
greeted the announcement of his participation in the show. It was the
first time the boys had seen him in 24 hours, so it took them a few
seconds to take in the change that had occurred with him. But within
seconds, the anticipated howls and hoots of testosterone-charged sexual
bluster burst forth from the crowd of fellow counselors and support
staff, and in turn, the camper boys of whom they were in charge.
Stuart sashayed up the center aisle toward the stage area,
looking fabulous and making every movement count. His wiggling ass
combined his sexual determination with his irrepressible urge to
compensate for the increasingly intense itching in his love canal. Those
eye-catching tennis boy legs displayed a different though no-less
powerful appeal tonight in their shaved and stockinged appearance. On
stage and facing his audience at last, he flashed the roomful of
laughing, leering, nervous men a smile to die for, and let his whole
being illuminate the room with the searing light of the hot woman
within. But the clincher came when the tape player started and Stuart
began lip-syncing that he could tell for sure that he had them all in the
palm of his hand.
"Sitting here eatin' my heart out, baby, waitin' for some lover
to call..." Stuart mimicked his image of her as Donna Summer wailed the
smouldering words of "Hot Stuff" under the driving beat and mean guitars
and synthesizer.
As he channeled Donna , Stuart began to work the room exactly as
he had been instructed by Friday, making heavy eye contact and pressing
face with his coworkers, burrowing his ass down into each reflexively
tenting denim and khaki covered laps, kicking his legs high, wrapping his
arms around chests and shoulders heaving with nervous hilarity and
excitement. And almost unnoticed, in between his moves, Stuart would
extract the "French letters" one at a time from his bosom and tuck them
discreetly into the most accessible pocket of each man that he showered
with his attentions.
Stuart especially relished his turns with Dale and Rick, who,
sitting together near the back, couldn't hide their guilt and
apprehension even as they attempted to keep in tune with the night's
camaraderie by pawing their previously abandoned buddy when he climbed
into their laps for a show of affection.
"I've missed you," whispered Stuart to Dale teasingly. "Can't
wait to see you tonight."
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, Stuart. I'd like that a lot. I was wanting to
talk to you anyway, to explain- ," Dale began, but Stuart cut him off by
springing from his arroused lap and into Rick's.
After Stuart moved on to the other men, the guilty pair examined
the tiny packages that he had thrust into their posession. Inside the
gaudily red-tinged French ticklers, they found a carefully folded,
shockingly worded note, that being essentially identical to the others,
was equal part invitation and challenge. In order to remain secure in
their manhood, each staff member found themselves both privaleged and
obliged to come to Stuart's cabin at an individually appointed time, for
a promised twenty minutes of ecstasy. The only price mentioned for a
rendezvous with the alluring she-male was that each man "relinquish the
underwear off his ass" to Stuart.
They were a bit unnerved, however, when they noticed that they
were apparently to be the first (Dale) and second (Rick) of Stuart's
visitors for the evening. In fact, the time marked on Dale's note was 10
p.m., immediately after the show! Neither of them, of course, had
noticed that Stuart had pulled these specially targeted invitations out
from under his garter instead of his bosom. It was no coincidence that
they were to go first.
When the song ended, Stuart blew kisses to the now wild crowd and
hurried out a side exit and away to his cabin to prepare. The counselors
and support staff spent the next half hour trying to calm their agitated
kids down and and get them bedded down for the night. Only Rick and
Dale managed to slip away without being shanghaied into helping one of
the overworked, overstimulated counselors with his unruly mob.
Minutes later they arrived at the cabin they shared with Stuart's
cabin, whose windows now glowed with the muted red light of a lampshade
draped with a bandana. "Wow, he really is playing the whore tonight,"
Rick laughed nervously.
"And a cheap one at that," Dale added, checking his underwear
waistband to remind him which pair of boxers he'd put on that morning.
"Looks like the Radcliffe girls made an impression on him. He doesn't
seem pissed at us at all."
"I know!" Rick agreed. "If this is payback, it's pretty painless."
They started up the steps to the cabin together, but Dale turned
to rick and gave him a look. "Hey. Wait your turn. You're not on for
twenty minutes."
Inside, peering through the drapes, Stuart spied and
eavesdropped upon the breif exchange between the two fuckbuddies who had
become unexpectedly territorial a mere 24 hours since their first fuck.
After a minute Rick was stepping down, looking a little hurt, and Dale
was knocking on the door. At this cue, Stuart primped his phony hair,
straightened his bogus bust, and lastly, reached under his dress, between
his legs, to remove and discard the butt plug that had allowed him to get
this far without going insane from the itching in his ass. He then
opened the door for his first guest and shut it behind him.
Like any whore, Stuart demanded payment up front. Dale chuckled,
still nervous, as he shucked his shirt, shoes, shorts, socks and boxers,
and handed the latter to Stuart. "What are you going to do with 'em,
Stu?" he asked.
"They'll be sent to camp Radcliffe, in exchange for some services
they provided me," he smiled.
"Oh." said Dale, cautiously approaching his ravishingly crossed
dressed friend in his hirsuite nakedness and putting a hand on Stuart's
shoulder. "So it's a kind of a reverse panty raid on Camp Christopher,
right?"
Stuart smiled wickedly. "Well, no, actually, Dale. This would be
a men's underwear raid, if anything. A reverse panty raid would be
something else...."
Dale , somewhat more relaxed now, pressed forward, wrapped his
arms around his friend and brought his lips within an inch of Stuart's.
"No, baby *you're* something else," he whispered, and kissed Stuart
deeply. Stuart's head began to spin as he devoured the big wet tongue
of the man he'd been after for weeks, and for a second or two, considered
bolting the door and spending the night with Dale and to hell with the
others. But only for a second or two. Then he smiled and pulled Dale
down onto the bed with him, and spread his nyloned legs open for the
night's business. "Fuck me, you big-dicked stud," Stuart hissed, as Dale
pulled off the beauty's panties to reveal the glistening, wet and hairy
cleft of his man pussy. Dale saw that juices were already flowing from
his honey's pussy and he licked his lips in anticipation.
"Put on your tickler first, sweetheart," Stuart reminded him, and
Dale obeyed, fumblingly. Stuart helped him slip the bumpy rubber sheath
over his plump, stiff cock. In his passion, Dale didn't notice the small
slit of scoring that Stuart had previously engraved across the head of
the tickler, insuring that the condom would break during intercourse.
Then, Stuart lay back and waited for Dale to mount him, but his
partner had other ideas and suddenly lunged forward between his legs to
bury his face in Stuart's pungent, savory fuck-well. Stuart gasped in
shock and pleasure and nearly cried out a warning to Dale, but managed to
stifle it as the stud's deftly moving tongue started digging and slurping
at his butt-cunt. Just as his rival, Rick,the man stealing bitch had
found out, Stuart's crotch-throb had quite a taste for man-pussy. Of
course this time the poor, dumb fucker didn't have a clue what was on the
menu or what the prices would be. Or didn't care. A pity, because
Stuart had certainly cooked it all up with love, and had gone through
much trouble and discomfort to save helpings for both of his cabin mates,
although he hadn't anticipated that his sex and revenge stew was going to
be sampled orally. But no problem. There was PLENTY for two, even with
such a hungry lad as this one between his legs. How tickled Stuart was
now that he'd decided at the last minute, with the trucker's amused
encouragment, , to save the Pepsi douche for later. But as good as
Dale's tongue felt, it wasn't scratching enough of the itch for Stuart's
comfort.
Finally, when Stuart could stand it no more, he pulled Dale up on
top of him and got him to start fucking. The tickler on his dick felt
great scratching up and down stuart's itchy love tunnel. He rocked and
bucked in a frenzy that threatened to wear out his partner too soon.
After a few minutes, Stuart could feel that the tickler had split and was
getting peeled down the shaft of Dale's prick. The thrusting still felt
good, but the itching increased. If Dale noticed the breakage, he didn't
acknowledge it. He did, however, acknowledge his heightened pleasure and
increased the pace of his fucking in response. He tried to kiss Stuart a
number of times, but Stuart refused and dodged his mouth. Thinking
Stuart merely squeamish about butt licking, Dale stopped trying and
concentrated on his fucking.
That's when Rick came into the room. Dale's twenty minutes were
not up yet, but he'd been watching the whole thing through the window and
couldn't wait. He wanted in on the action now.
The first thing he did was hop onto the bed behind Stuart's head
and lean down to kiss Dale deeply as he continued fucking Stuart. The
panty-raid lovers were joined once again at the mouth, exchanging between
their interlocked tongues the lingering flavors from Stuart's twat.
Dale moaned into Rick's mouth as he pumped and pumped and finally
climaxed into Stuart's pussy-ass. Dale had no sooner begun to go limp
and slip out of Stu's butt when Rick seized his chance to be next at the
feeding trough. Rick licked and sucked at Stuart's frothing pussy,
trying to eat every drop of Dale's spermy splooge and unwittingly getting
nearly as large a portion of another man's butt-ripened wad, and of
course not to mention a mouthful of liquified poison ivy.
By the time Rick had gotten his fill of mouth love and had
mounted Stuart (with an equally faulty tickler)and had begun dicking him,
Dale was erect again and set his sights once again on Rick's supple
butt. So, lubricated only by the cumy, volatile ass juices that still
glistened over his cock, Dale made Rick take it up the ass again. and
play "sandwich meat" between him and Stu.
And so this pair of greedy, hungry boy betrayers overindulged
their appetites with Stuart for more than a half hour. Dale and Rick
traded places once again so that Dale could get another mouthful from
Stu's tasty cunt cornucopia (now freshly wet with Rick's oystery semen)
and Rick's tireless and sex-slimey cock up his own tight butt. But once
forty minutes were up, Stuart unceremoniously threw the pair of them out.
"But Stuey, we've just begun..." whined Rick as he reluctantly
handed over his white breifs to Stuart before being pushed out the door.
"You're the best, babe," said Dale before getting the door closed
in his face.
Stuart spent the next 10 minutes attending to his "toilette" as
the French say. He made use of the Pepsicola douche at last, bubbling
away the last vestiges of poison ivy-laced cum from his ass. It
wouldn't be fair, after all, for him to risk any of his other customers
having to innocently suffer what Dale and Rick had coming to them.
Minutes later, Stu was letting another man in the door for a
crack at him, in the hopes of satisfying the infernal itch. Luckily the
director, Dave Kaplan, happened to be next, making it highly unlikely
that any "official" action on the part of the camp staff would derail the
assembly line fucking machine that Stuart had set in motion. Kaplan
seemed embarassed for having shown up, but fortunately was horny enough
to overcome it. One pair of his loose, old Munsingwear breifs seemed a
small price to pay for what appeared to be the least potentially
complicated chance he was going to get for a long time to bang a hole
other than that of his vigilant wife. Twenty minutes out of her sight
was about all he could manage. Stuart, for his part, was not the type
to normally let himself be fucked by his boss, but his ass itched so
badly that he wouldn't have refused an erect prick that night under any
circumstances.
For the rest of the night and into the morning, Stuart let man
after man into his cabin, greeting each of his suitors (after Kaplan)
with a big wide open kiss and hurriedly pulling them onto the bed as soon
as they'd surrendered their underwear. He spread his legs for some 25 of
his horny young coworkers, many of whom were risking their jobs by
leaving their sleeping campers alone back in the cabins while they went
to fuck a man wearing a dress. Most were ushered out so promptly at the
end of their 20 minutes that they had to carry their clothes in the dark
and stealthily return to their cabins, leaving behind both their
underwear and a major wad. In their exhaustion and due to the
increasingly late hour, none took the time to put on a fresh pair, but
instead crashed in the buff.
Stuart's laundry sack filled with assorted breifs, boxers and
jockstraps, even as his bedside wastebasket filled with used,
cum-brimming french tickler condoms. His frictionalized hole was getting
a nice, fairly dry workout that was finally relieving his itch.
Rick and Dale, meanwhile, were trying to get some sleep in the
tent they'd pitched at the bottom of the hill. They'd gone to bed
uncannily thirsty, despite numerous swigs of canteen water, and were now
tossing and turning and scratching their dicks and asses in
semi-consciousness.
Finally came the dawn, rosy pink like the traditional color
reserved for newborn girls. And it was kind of a birth, you could say,
for the two dozen or so young men of the Camp Christopher staff who awoke
groggily and disoriented from their night of vigorously fucking the same
insatiable she-male ass, only to discover that it was now each one of
them who was, in a different sense, "fucked." Every one of them, to a
man, had been the victim of a nocturnal "reverse" panty raid.
Gone was every pair of pridefully collected and worn pairs 501
jeans, every rolled Levi shorts, every Gap polo shirt, every Calvin
Klein boxer and brief. In short, each man's entire wardrobe for the
summer had been stolen..... and replaced by a single pair of women's
panties for each.
This discovery triggered not only an embarassed rush of blood to
every one of their drop-jawed, morning-stubbled male faces, but also, for
several of the men, an equally stimulating flow to the ostensibly
exhausted appendages that bobbed between their legs. Ordinary specimens
of young American manhood that they were, their arrousal only intensified
as one after another of them helplessly resigned himself to the
unavoidable consequences of having been mysteriously outfoxed in this
manner. Seeing no other options for leaving the cabin without risking
getting fired for indecent exposure, they finally each pulled their
scant, flimsy and lacey pairs of women's lingerie up their tanned, sturdy
and youthfully masculine legs.
Naturally the delicate, frilly garments had to stretch tightly in
back to accomodate their beefy boy asses, which in turn stretched the
front panels into obscenely low-slung triangles of fabric which were
barely adequate to hold back the protrusions of their involuntarily
burgeoning cocks, and left each man's sex-gnarled bush fully exposed.
One could say that the extra support staff cabinmates were the
luckiest, at least temporarily, having only one another as witnesses to
this forced panty donning. They at least had the comfort of sharing
equally in their humiliation, since the provocativeness of each man's
all-but-naked appearance varied only to the degree that his hairiness or
smoothness contrasted with his feminine adornment.
Less fortunate were the cabin counselors, who, shivering with
indignation, had to endure the jeering laughter of fully-dressed
third-grade boys as they were forced to put on girls' underwear in front
of them. Plus, not knowing any better, these isolated panty-clad
staffers assumed their fate to be unique until later, when they bravely
marched their giggling charges up the hill to the commons and were
somewhat relieved to discover the universal nature of the prank.
Of course for some of those grown men, being so humiliated in
front the boys only added to their arrousal, for which reason they were
ultimately grateful for even the small bit of cock-cover the panties
provided. In fact, George, the 22 year old brown eyed engineering major
counseling Mohawk cabin, found the situation so arousing that it
eventually led to his being repremanded a week later for letting things
go too far. Kaplan, the director, would discover George behind the
dockhouse sprawled over an upside down canoe with the pair of girl's
panties down around his ankles and his cabin boys taking turns smacking
his reddened ass with the flat end of a canoe paddle. George would argue
later that he had merely been instructing them in a lesson on
discipline. Indeed!
In all cases, the panties proved to be the only article of
clothing available that even came close to fitting the men. All
attempts to fit into borrowed pairs of even the baggiest of third grade
camper's extra Khaki shorts failed miserably. A few halfhearted attempts
to fashion loincloths out of boy's t-shirts eventually were abandoned as
a curious sort of helplessness and acceptance of the morning's fate sunk
in.
Many would have chosen to stay indoors that morning if they'd
could have, but the shrill sound of the camp director's whistle shattered
hopes for such a refuge. Kaplan never blew that whistle unless he meant
business, and the business that the whistle was supposed to signal
happened to be the orderly assembly of the entire staff on the commons.
Though the scene of the gathering men in panties on the commons
was even now being secretly documented in full color photographs (which
still decorate the bulletin board of the staff lounge at Radcliffe and
are cherished by the girls each summer) detailing every blush, bulge and
stricken look and smirk, no photographic emulsion could reveal how many
of these lingeried young men, standing out there in the clearing in
almost military formation, were getting their most secret fantasies
fulfilled without the risk of being singled out.
Kaplan was the shockingest sight of all. His sturdy arms
crossed, his silver whistle on silver chain nestling against the thick
salt and pepper matt of hair on his tanned chest, he stood looking
angry, his powerful legs planted firmly on the ground about two feet
apart. He was wearing only a pair of silk lavender crotchless panties,
through which his dick and balls dangled immodestly yet unimpressively.
For truly, as it had been previously rumored but was now clear for all to
see, the director, while retaining with dignity his endowments of
organizational, leadership and teamwork building skills, his phallic
shortcomings had been hoplessly exposed. One could only speculate what
caused this man to put anything on at all, given such a pair to wear,
since total nudity would have been less humiliating.
"Okay, men, he barked. "We've apparently gotten a late start
this morning because someone has set back all the clocks in camp an hour.
Instead of being able to sit down to our usuall saturday morning cinnamon
roll breakfast, we are going to have to work together to find out where
our clothes are and get them back as soon as possible. The families of
the boys could be here any minute."
The men looked around at each other in panic, looking at the sun
that had after all, seemed too high in the sky for the supposed hour, and
futily adjusting their scant. skimpy micro-drag outfits to hold back
their confused baskets.
"We can start by answering the first obvious question-WHO did
this to us?" Kaplan said.
"Stuart!" cried a muffled voice from the back rows. The crowd
turned to look back and beheld the steely-blue-eyed, tousled,
black-mop-topped Dale looking back at them.
"It had to be him!" he gurgled over his swollen, itching tongue
that protruded through his equally inflamed ass-kissing lips " He must
have done it to get back at us for leaving him at Radclyffe after the
panty raid," He was hopping uncomfortably from one foot to another, as
was Rick next to him, and both were being hardly discreet about the
intermittent deep dipping into their panties to scratch their
mysteriously irritated dicks and assholes.
"Panty raid?" said Kaplan. Are you telling me YOU guys stole
these panties from Radclyffe and brought them here?"
"No!" said Rick. "We lost all the pairs we collected. It must
have been Stuart! "
"Yeah, it had to be Stuart! Stuart brought these and swiped our
clothes!" cried one of the counselors. Within seconds, everybody was
shouting his name,
Then he appeared from the woods and stepped out among them on the
commons. With his totally shaved head, grittily whiskered jaw and the
plain grey sweatsuit he was wearing, he looked strikingly like a
prisoner, already charged, tried, found guilty and imprisoned by the
acusations of the others. But in fact, he felt freer than he ever had
in his life, and never so much of a man. He may have spent the whole
night as the camp whore getting fucked flat on his back by every ready
dick in the place, but today HE was the one wearing the pants.
"Now every one of you panty-wearing cocksuckers knows I had
NOTHING to do with the theft of your clothes, " Stuart began, as he began
to walk among them as they stood in place, wary but hesitant..
"Every man on this commons knows EXACTLY where I was and what I
was doing all night! You fuckers didn't leave me alone for one minute,
and you're ALL my witnesses!"
Naturally Stuart knew exactly who had done the raid, but none of
his coworkers were able to read the knowledge in his face. Similarly, no
one who observed his relaxed confident amble among their ranks could have
guessed that Stuart was even now soothing his itch with a
calamine-coated dildo held in by jockstrap He looked at each of his
fellow counselors in turn for a glimpse a spark of that passion from the
night before, and in every case was able to call forth at least one image
of their unique coupling. There was always at least one moment in each
fuck that that had made an impression on him at least as deep as the ones
his press-on nails had made on the guy's ass.
Many who beheld the once again masculine-looking Stuart were
nonetheless stirred by their own memories of banging his hot pussy the
night before. Most of these guys, like Ben and Rusty of Chippewa cabin,
would manage at some time or other during the following weeks to waylay
Stuart and get him to spread for an encore fuck.
Yet there were others, trailmasters Scott and Tim among them, who
despite having most manfully dicked the twitching hole of Stuart's whore
persona of the night before, now found themselves unexpectedly leaking
supmissive little squirts of pee into their panties as the leering Stuart
passed them by with the attitude of an inspecting drill seargent. These
were the guys who weren't sure, even after the stolen laundry had been
recovered, why they were voluntarily choosing to keep the panties on
underneath their clothes. That is, until each of them wound up in bed
showing them off to Stuart, and he was peeling them off their asses and
positioning his rod for a ramming, retroactively reciprocal fuck.
"But you have a sack full of our underwear!" cried another
counselor. "Where is it?"
"Gone." replied Stuart. "Like all the other clothes in my
cabin. All I have besides the dress are these sweats I wore to the
showers. It wasn't me."
Suddenly there was the sound of an engine starting.
"Look! The laundry truck!" cried one of the counselors, pointing
at the bulky open-bed vehicle that could be seen passing behind the short
row of support staff buildings on the back lane out of the camp.
Glimpses of several full laundry sacks could be seen heaped up in the
back of the truck, fueling the suspicion that this was indeed where all
of the mens' clothes had been stashed. And here it was no doubt heading
for its usual Saturday morning desitination St. Cloud Laundry service,
one hour away.
"Stop him! Stop the truck!" shouted Kaplan and blew his whistle
once again piercingly before tearing off into a panicked dash. The truck
was going to get away if it wasn't flagged down immediately! Most of the
men on the field took off after him in hot, cock flopping, ball bouncing
pursuit. What a sight they were, so young, tanned athletic, screaming
like all-but naked warriors after a rogue elephant. They gained enough
on the truck that they seemed to be within certain hearing range, if not
sighting range of the driver but it was to no avail, because the truck
lurched into a hard left turn as soon as it hit the highway and roared
off and away from them. It had gotten away. A phone call to the laundry
service would easily set things right, but it would be a minimum of two
hours before the Camp Christopher men would get their clothes back.
They hurded together at the camp entrance, panting, swearing,
cursing at their slow reactivity, the driver's seemingly willful
deafness, and the craftiness of the unidentified tormentors who'd driven
them to wild prancing outdoors practically in the altogether. How could
they have known that the driver had indeed seen and heard them but had
been paid to pretend he hadn't?
It was at that moment that the final straw broke the camel's
back. A line of automobiles appeared at the crest of the hill and drove
up to the camp. There was one car after another, bumper to bumper, due
to the long, long freight train crossing two miles back that had caused
the families picking up thir boys to back up dozens and dozens of car
lengths waiting. Now they were all arriving together, many of them
Christopher/Radcliffe board members but all of them frowning at the
scandalous sight of the cross-undressed, lingerie-loined college boy
sexual deviates in whose hands they had left their children.
Kaplan literally burst into tears as he recognized face after
face of his board of directors behind the windsheilds of these
cars.
"Oh fucking, fucking SHITTTT!!" he screamed, flinging first his
whistle and then his cap down hard onto the dust in front of him before
flinging himself face down onto the ground after them where he pounded
the earth with his fists and howled and kicked his legs wildly with utter
defeat. The humiliated men in panties just stood there dumbly in their
embarassment, and parted ranks to allow the cars by. Too rattled to even
stop, the cars and their scandalized occupants rolled one by one past the
scene of Kaplan's tantrum, where the dust raised by his flailing limbs
gradually obscured everything but the twin globes of his pink silk
covered soon-to be-unemployed ass.
* * *
"Oh, and another thing," said Michelle as she collected her keys
and purse and headed toward the door. "Arnie asked me to pass on a little
message to you."
He paused for a moment in the middle of applying the calamine
lotion and looked up sheepishly at her. Living with a nurse all these
years, he wasn't used to having to see to his own first aid needs, but
once she'd heard what he'd done, she adamantly refused to help him.
"He requests that next time you borrow his rig you lay out the
blanket he keeps in the rear compartment to protect the upholstry," she
said, brightly.
"Oh, god! Tell him I'm sorry" he said.
His reddening face completed the picture before her of her
twenty-eight year-old lover being his perpetualy adolescent self, sitting
up on the bathroom counter with his pants down around his ankles as if
waiting for mommy to put a bandaid on a skinned knee or something. Well,
this was one 'owee' mommy wasn't going to kiss and make better.
"He really provoked me, you know, Michelle. You know I don't
just fuck anybody under any old circumstances-- "
"You're provoking me, buster," she snapped, cutting him off.
"You're getting too carried away with these boys lately! You're supposed
to be calling the shots, not getting dragged around by your dick. I
swear you're regressing! You had more self-control when you were "18".
What's up with you, honey?"
He hung his head and shook it
"He implied that you were a slut," he murmurred
She looked at him incredulously and burst out laughing. "And you
were protecting my honor, right? By ramming a fistful of poison ivy up
his ass with your dick! And you think I need YOU to protect ME?"
She laughed despite herself and put her hands on her hips. "We
got you the video camera, all of the magazines, I let you play with the
boys whenever you want, I even play along when you need me to. what
else could you possibly want?"
He looked up at her cautiously, and then down and muttered something.
"What did you say? I didn't hear you, hon, say that again," she said.
He looked up at her again and said, "Family."
She stared at him for a moment and then rolled her eyes upward.
"Oh for god's sake!" she hissed, turning and marching toward the
front door. "You can forget even thinking about THAT until your dick
completely clears up. That might take two weeks if you can't keep your
hands off it, which I know you CAN'T."
She was out the door to head for Woody's, but then popped her
head back in for a second.
"You," she narrowed her eyes at him, "have been watching the 700
Club again, haven't you?"
He just looked at her, his lower lip thickening.
"Well STOP it!" she cried.