The lights are on in the Fitness Center. That’s weird. It’s 2:00 am, and the campus is supposed to be closed. Completely closed. I’ve been a Campus Security Officer here at Davidson College in North Carolina for two months now – this is my first year on the job, and it’s October. It’s a crisp autumn evening, and strolling around this beautiful campus alone with my thoughts is an easy way to earn a paycheck. But now? I’ve never stumbled upon a potential situation. That is if you consider someone forgetting to turn some lights off a “situation.” I’m sure that’s all it is.

I am the youngest officer on our team—college-aged myself. I can’t afford the lofty tuition at Davidson, so I work here full-time and take online classes at the community college around my work schedule. Working on this campus with all of these kids makes me oddly feel like one of them—a commuter, but one of them, nonetheless.

Davidson College is a small college; the student body sits just below the two thousand mark. There are ten of us Security Officers. Each day, three of us are off, three work the first shift, three work the second shift, and since the campus is closed from 10:00 pm to 6:00 am, only one of us works the overnight shift. We rotate shifts weekly and all this week, I have overnight duty. Alone. I really don’t mind. I’ve always been a loner. A loner by choice because I’ve always felt like I’ve had to hide who I am.

I have a humiliation kink. A fetish, really. I yearn to be dominated, degraded, and minimized. I am turned on by being made to feel pathetic and helpless. Embarrassed, ridiculed, and emasculated. Being taken advantage of causes me sexual arousal. Cut in front of me in line at the movies nudging and elbowing me around like I’m nothing. Assess me from head to toe and tell me that if I have a problem with it, you’ll send your thirteen-year-old son to beat me up. Cut me off on the highway, beat me in a game (and cheat while doing it), rig the game against me – I never want to win. I win by losing. I love losing so much that even when my favorite sports teams lose games, I get a little hard on them.

Please steal my lunch money, knock my books out of my hands, plagiarize my homework, arm wrestle me into submission, run faster, jump higher, push harder, block all of my shots, slam dunk over me, throw your fastball by me, ace me with your serve, trample me, troll me, pants me, taunt me… I am the soft featherweight weakling on the beach that all of the other guys love to bully – stomp on my sandcastle. Swipe my sneakers right off my feet, tie the laces together, and throw them up into the gym rafters. “Out” me in any and every way a person can be outed. No matter how you choose to humiliate me, please do it in front of an audience. The more pointing and laughing, the better. It gives me a raging erection. My penis might be small, but it certainly works. It has a mind of its own, and it delights in its inadequacy. It basks in the mocking attention. It might not stand particularly tall, but shame it, and it surges in false pride.

A dream of mine is to be targeted by a big, beefy, manly bully of a TSA Agent at the airport. I want to be selected out of hundreds for examination for no other reason than I am perceived to be a weak, vulnerable, pathetic excuse for a man. I want him to pull me aside and wand me all over. I want him to pretend like he thinks I’m concealing something that I’m not. His suspicion can only be satisfied by a strip search, except he doesn’t pull me into a private room. He strips me right there in front of all of the hundreds of other people. Socks and all stripped stark naked. Drawing attention from the hundreds – preferably thousands – of surprised spectators. Pointing and laughing at my skinny body and my stiff little willy. That would be a dream come true.

Understand, I would never shame any characteristic of any other person ever. I am a shame receiver, not a giver. As a matter of fact, on the rare occasions that I’ve met weaker men than myself, what I’ve felt for them is envy and jealousy, not pity or shame. I want all of the world’s shame to be heaped solely on me and me alone. I yearn to be shamed for my sexual gratification. That’s who I am. I didn’t choose to be like this. I just am. Unlucky me.

But I have to keep my fetish to myself. People wouldn’t understand. It’s way too far out there. I don’t even understand it myself. But it’s also not my fault. I’ve tried ignoring my desires. I’ve tried tamping them down. They don’t go away. It’s simply how I’m wired to be. Since it’s not a choice, how can that be wrong?

I never understood how people are selectively proud of things that are not choices or accomplishments, like the size of your dick. It’s not something you work for or earn. It’s heredity or the luck of the draw. If some asshole can be proud of his huge dick, why shouldn’t I be proud of my small one? I believe that all fetishes are healthy. Most of us have them; we just either haven’t discovered them yet or won’t admit them to ourselves. The thing is, ignoring them won’t change them. I say, no matter what your fetish is, lean into it. If you like belly buttons, go to the beach. If you like feet, become a podiatrist. Whatever. Surely, bottling them up is an unhealthy choice.

Anyway.

I approach the Fitness Center door and find that it’s locked. I have very few tools for my trade. They call us Security Officers, but really, we can’t actually do much. What I have is one month of training, a navy blue uniform, keys to every door, a flashlight, and a cell phone. That’s it. No weapons of any kind. If I ever were to encounter any real trouble, I am trained to call the police. They pay me to be a glorified lookout. A weak, unarmed set of eyes and ears. Powerless to provide any real service. Paid to wait for the real men to swoop in, act, and save the day while I remained helpless. Feeble. Incapable. Emasculated. I imagine a big, muscly officer three times my size nudging my 5′ 7″ frame away and saying, “Step aside, kid. Pretend the time is over. An actual man is here now.” Thinking about it causes a stir in my crotch.

But I won’t need those manly police tonight simply because some lights were left on. I unlock the door and step inside. Something seems immediately off. I hear people. They’re not talking exactly. They’re…grunting. I take a right and head toward the main fitness room to find that two guys are wrestling on a floormat. They seem to be about my age – twentyish, though gigantically huge – and they also seem to be encouraging each other. Teaching each other. That’s when I realized that they’re actually teammates practicing and not opponents battling.

I find that I’m riveted watching the show. Something about these two guys… All the grabbing, touching, rolling around… I’m mesmerized. I realize that fifteen minutes have gone by, and I haven’t moved a muscle or said a word. Well, that’s not completely true. It’s more a bone than a muscle, but one thing has moved a little. I’m beginning to chub up in my pants. Uncomfortably so.

Being smaller and less athletic than all of the other boys growing up, I was the worst at sports. I loved being the worst. As the weakest, I was picked last every time. Lastly, because I’m useless, the humiliation was wonderful. I always made sure my team was Team Skins, proudly ripping my shirt right off and flaunting my underdeveloped physique. During the game, I was inevitably dominated and beaten in humiliatingly spectacular fashion. The locker room afterward was always my favorite part. I was never shy. Seeing how much bigger than me the other boys were was always exciting, but showing off my inadequacy was thrilling. Even the monitoring coach would snicker on occasion as I shamelessly paraded around.

But nothing more than far too few whispered comments or giggles has ever happened. It was mostly in my head, what I hoped they were all at least thinking. I guess that’s been the case for many aspects of my life. I live more in the fantasies in my head than in actual live experiences.

As I continue to firm up the inside of my pants, I shift my hips to adjust. When I do so, my key ring jingles, announcing my presence. Shit.

They stop wrestling and look my way. Seeing my uniform, they realize they’ve been caught. They approach me cautiously, not sure what I might do. They are completely unaware that I actually have so little power and so rarely do anything at all.

The one with the blond hair and blue eyes says, “Um… Hello there.”

I remember that to this point, they have assumed that I have the authority in this situation, and I clear my throat. “The building is closed,” I say with more confidence than I feel. The whole campus is closed. You need to head back to your dorms.”

The one with the black hair and the steel grey eyes says, “Sorry. There’s a big quad meet this weekend and we were just trying to get some extra practice time in.”

Blue Eyes adds, “We were pretty much done.” He raises his hands in surrender, “We’re on our way out.”

I quickly assessed that these guys weren’t causing any harm. There was no evidence of theft or vandalism. They were really just sneaking in some extra practice time. I’ll just let them go—not that anything else was ever an option anyway.

I say, “Well, that’s good timing since I just walked in.”

I jump as two large, strong hands clamp down on my shoulders from behind me.

A deep voice says, “He’s lying to you, boys.”

He steers me so we are all deeper in the room. He moves out from behind me, and the new guy is just as mammoth as the first two. All three of them stand in a row like linebackers.

This newcomer has brown hair and dark brown eyes. He, too, is wearing wrestling attire. He continues, “I was on my way back from the restroom and I noticed Mr. Security here watching you two. I stayed back to see what he’d do. Guess what? He watched the show for a good fifteen minutes before his keys gave him away.”

Now I raise my hands, “Look, guys, no one’s in trouble here. Let’s all just move on.”

Brown Eyes says, “We’re not in any trouble, but I think you just might be.”

My semi-erection from watching the wrestling practice is beginning to become not so semi. The thought of me being in trouble makes a tingle run up my spine. These guys are huge. What could they want to do to me? Most of the humiliation I have actually experienced has been verbal, with only occasional (and harmless) bumps and shoves. Physical domination has only happened in my wildest fantasies.

Grey Eyes looked me up and down, head to toe, and I visibly shivered. And get stiffer.

He says, “We can do whatever we want, and you are powerless to stop us.”

I love the word “Powerless,” and Grey Eyes is right. It’s practically in my job description. I love the feeling of being powerless, and with this job, I actually get to be.

“It’s not like you’re armed.” He looks to his companions, “They don’t give security guards weapons, do they?”

Blue Eyes shrugs, “Let’s find out.”

He places just an index finger on my sternum and pushes me against the wall behind me. He holds his finger there, and I know he can feel my heart pounding. A flush rolls through my whole body. This is by far the most exciting thing that’s ever actually happened to me. My biggest fear is that I won’t be interesting enough to hold their attention. If they were just to walk away, that would be devastating.

The shortest of these three guys is a good seven inches taller than me. Their legs are like six tree trunks, and their biceps are triple the circumference of mine. I already feel humiliated, and nothing has really happened yet. Just being close to these massive dudes is emasculating, and I love it. They reek of testosterone.

My arousal continues.

Brown Eyes orders me, “Hands up, legs spread apart.”

All pretense of me being the authority is completely gone, and that’s fine with me. I swallow and raise my arms. I feel the need to be compliant. I love being compliant. Helpless. A victim. A weak little man. He begins a cursory pat-down that starts at my shoulders and continues down to my ankles. His hands rolling down the length of my body has brought me close to full erection. He finds my cell phone in my back pocket, removes it, and tosses it on the floormat. Now, I couldn’t call for help if I wanted to. Good. He unclips my flashlight from my belt and drops that on the mat, too.

He tells his cohorts, “No weapons. He’s like a mall cop—Mall Cop Tom.”

They all laugh. These big men laughing at me make my rock-hard dick twitch.

At my hiring, I was given two uniform shirts. A short-sleeved button-down for warmer days and a sweatshirt for cooler days. It’s late October and I’ve opted for the sweatshirt today. It came with “Tom” stitched over the left breast. My name is not Tom, but the office didn’t care. It was the smallest shirt they had in stock, and it fit my diminutive frame. I know “Mall Cop” is meant to be an insult. I mentally beg them to keep the insults coming.

As Brown Eyes is turning away from me, he says to his friends, “He’s no threat. Let’s bounce.” He says to me, “Get out of here, Tom. Continue with your pretend safety patrol.” He squeezes my nonexistent bicep and shakes his head, “Keep us all safe from big bad guys.” He laughs and begins to leave.

That can’t be it. No. What about the trouble I’m in? I clear my throat, “I’m going to need your names. I am reporting all of you.” It’s all I can think to say to get their attention back on me.

“What the fuck did you say?” As Brown Eyes turns back, he’s still kneeling, and his elbow incidentally bumps into my protrusion. His eyes bulge in surprise. Nothing so firm is supposed to be in that location. He looks down at my bump. A grin slowly spreads across his face. Bingo! I am no longer bored.

“Hey, boys,” his grin widens. I will speak to you soon. Mall Cop Tom is indeed packing a weapon. He has a nightstick.” They don’t seem to want to leave now.

Grey Eyes asks, “What do you mean?”

Brown Eyes points to my tentpole. “It’s a concealed weapon.”

They all laugh again. I close my eyes and revel in the knowledge that I am the source of their laughter. They know it’s hard, but they don’t yet know it’s small. If they don’t make this discovery on their own, I’ll be forced to tell them myself. Hopefully, I’ll get to show them.

Brown Eyes says, “Looks like we gave him a boner. He must have really been enjoying the show while you two were wrestling. Either that or he enjoyed the pat-down.”

Blue Eyes steps up close enough for me to feel the heat radiating around him. “You like watching? Do you like guys touching other guys? Or are guys touching you?” He tentatively reaches for the bump in my pants and gives my handlebar a little poke. His finger might as well have been a Taser. “Oh, yeah,” he smiles. “You like it.”

Brown Eyes demands again, “Arms up! All the way!”

My arms were still up, but they had been bent at the elbows. Now I straighten them. I feel my sweatshirt ride up higher, and the cool air of the gym hits my skin above my waistband.

Blue Eyes makes a B-line. He pokes at my exposed strip of pale, smooth abdomen, and I giggle. He says, “You’re a little soft in the middle, aren’t you?”

Pathetically so. I nod eagerly. “Soft and weak.”

“Oh, I see,” he grins. “That’s how you like it.”

I blink. “I don’t work out.”

“How are you supposed to keep our student body safe? You look like you’re the one who needs protection. How old are you?”

“Twenty,” I gulp.

He chuckles, “Me too. Except I can fit you in my pocket.” He pokes at my muscle-free abdomen, and I giggle like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. “Do you even have muscles? And what do you weigh? 125?”

Grey Eyes says, “He probably doesn’t even set off automatic doors.”

Manhandling me, exposing my vulnerable soft middle, mocking my useless muscles, suggesting I need protecting, telling me I can’t do my job… All this degradation and humiliation has me turned on more than I’ve ever been turned on in my life. My boner is raging. Questioning my manhood makes my erection throb. My little guy might have a mind of his own, but he loves being called inadequate as much as the rest of me does. It makes him stand proud.

Blue Eyes’ hand goes back to my tummy, and he swipes a finger across the delicate, smooth skin. My knees fold as I bark out a laugh. I am super sensitive. One finger swipe, and I melt in a puddle.

As Grey Eyes helps me back to a standing position, Blue Eyes states the obvious, “He sure is ticklish.” He sticks his index finger in my half-inch-deep belly button, and I laugh and crumble again. No one had ever touched me in the belly button before, and it gave me a funny feeling. A feeling that crossed the line between tickling and sexual. It felt dangerous. Wonderfully dangerous.

Grey Eyes says, “He’s kind of cute too.”

Brown Eyes says, “You know, we owe it to our classmates to toughen this guy up some. He’s responsible for our student body’s safety, and he’s ridiculously weak and sensitive.”

His singsong voice tells me he’s thinking he’s about to have some fun. And I’m about to be the source of the fun. I hope so. Oh, please, please, please explore just how sensitive I am. Maneuver me at your whim. Examine me thoroughly everywhere. I will not resist. I will gladly be completely at your mercy.

These three dudes are in tight tank tops, tight shorts, and wrestling shoes. Two of them are still sweaty and flushed from the exertion of their practice. I can smell their sweat. I can smell the intoxicating musky funk of man. My dick grows stiffer still.

“How do we toughen up someone so weak?” asks Blue Eyes.

YES!!! I’m weak! I’m nothing! My face flushes, and my cock surges.

Brown Eyes says, “We already know he likes to watch. Maybe he’ll like participating even more.”

I lick my lips. My arms are still up and beginning to tire, but I keep them in place because I hope that the ongoing view of my smooth, vulnerable belly inspires them to do things to me. It works because Grey Eyes swirls a finger around my navel again. That funny feeling returns. Synapses between my belly button, my dick, and my brain are firing on all circuits.

He asks, “What do you mean?”

Brown Eyes grins maniacally, “There are only three of us. One of us has had to sit out while the other two practice. Mall Cop Tom evens us up. Now we all have a workout partner.”

Blue Eyes grins, too. “Okay, but we have to take turns. You have to share our new little buddy here.”

Brown Eyes nods, “We’ll pass him around like a joint.”

~~

I am 50% scared, shitless, and 50% excited about the thought of these masculine guys manhandling me. I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling these big dudes won’t hurt me.

Play with me? Yes.

Embarrass me? Definitely.

Keep me captive for the night and humiliate me over and over? I sure hope so.

But I don’t feel like I’m in danger.

The first thing they decide is that I am not properly dressed for a workout.

“Those khaki pants and high-tops… No way. Even the sweatshirt isn’t ideal,” says Grey Eyes.

Blue Eyes shrugs, “The solution is obvious. We have to strip him.”

Another option would be me voluntarily undressing, but being stripped sounds like more fun. Is it wrong that I want to be stripped? I’m still trying to decide when Brown Eyes, in one fluid (and impressive) motion, pulls my sweatshirt right off. My scrawny upper body is on full display in all of its delicate, feeble glory. I do not shy away from their staring eyes.

My whole life, I’ve always felt smaller and slighter than all the other boys. For a reason I can’t really explain, I’ve always liked it that way. I am obsessed with strong, manly men. Knowing that they can so easily dominate me is at the core of every fantasy in my head.

I may never have been strong, rugged, or manly myself, but I have been told many times that I’m cute. I like being seen as cute. Cute implies vulnerable and weak. And on the rare occasions that it was another boy who admitted my cuteness, it really turned me on. And just five minutes ago, Grey Eyes called me cute right here, right now. And the other two didn’t disagree.

Grey Eyes asks, “Just how sensitive do you think he is?”

“Let’s find out,” shrugs Blue Eyes.

Let’s. I take one pretend step backward. If they think I’m an unwilling participant, this will all be so much better.

Blue Eyes and Grey Eyes each grab me by an elbow and the upper arm while Brown Eyes pulls my ankles out from under me. Suddenly, I’m off the ground and being carried over to the floormat, where I am laid down on my back. It has been far too infrequent of an occurrence in my life that another boy has touched me. Right now, there are six manly hands on my bony body. I guess sometimes dreams do come true.

Grey and Blue Eyes each hold down one of my arms while they explore their captured prey with their free hands. Brown Eyes straddles me at the waist and concentrates both of his hands on my poor, vulnerable tummy. First, he squeezes my sides above the hip bones, and I squeal and squirm. He does this for what feels like several minutes, and I’m having trouble breathing. Meanwhile, higher up, the other two are drilling curious fingertips into my armpits and my ribs. This might be more than I bargained for. I actually might hyperventilate.

Verbal humiliation is my fetish. Physical domination is my fantasy. Combining the two, I just might be in over my head here. This tickling is extreme, and it takes me right up to the edge of my sanity. I have never been tickled before, so I, too, am curious about my limits. I never had many friends and I am an only child. I always wished I had an older brother. One who was older, taller, heavier, and a bully. I wanted him to want to dominate me and tickle me senselessly. Tickle me to the brink of a violent orgasm. But it never happened. Sadly, he never existed.

Blue Eyes comments, “We can see a clear definition of every single rib bone. And look! You can see his heart beating.”

It’s beating all available blood into my ever-hardening penis.

Brown Eyes is still mercilessly squeezing my sides. “His stomach is so smooth. Like a baby’s bottom. No hair, no muscle. Just an almond-shaped belly button. It’s like he’s a boy, not a man.”

As much as their probing fingers, those words make me shudder. The gym is now a science lab, and I am their experiment. Predicted results: Horny twenty-year-old virgin reaches swift orgasm due to relentless tickling and ruthless humiliation.

Grey Eyes asks me, “Are you naturally this hairless, or do you spend hours each week manscaping?”

The three of them chuckle. I continue to laugh from the extreme tickling.

Blue Eyes says, “Give the poor little dude a break. Maybe puberty just didn’t take the first time around. Maybe he’ll hit a second puberty by the time he’s twenty-five.”

I manage to squeak out, “I shave my face once a week.”

That really cracks them up.

The exposure, the vulnerability, the tickling, and – yes – the humiliation are all keeping my erection at full strength.

I realize that the three of them are enjoying this, but I wonder… Are they enjoying it? It’s not fair. They can all see my erection bulging under my khakis, but they are all surely wearing sports cups under their tight little shorts. If they have boners, too, I’ll never know. And the thought that pathetic little me could give one of these manly men an erection… I could die happy.

Brown Eyes releases my sides and returns to my lower abdomen. He begins with swipes across my stretched-out lower torso, and I quiver and jolt with every stroke. My laughter turns to howling screams. If I didn’t know it before, my lower abdomen is my weakness. I am rendered a boneless blob of jelly. Well, I still have one bone. And I have goosebumps everywhere.

Blue and Grey Eyes release my wrists and head down to my feet. Oh, shit. I want to tell them no. I need to beg them not to. But I can’t. Brown Eyes’ attack on my belly has me unable to speak words. As much as I’ve wanted this, the tickle torture is borderline too much. Involving my feet will only make it worse. I’m getting genuinely scared.

My arms are no longer pinned down, but really, what difference does that make? What really can I do? I have almost no strength left in my tortured body, not that I usually have much anyway. I’m a weakling. A proud weakling. Besides, the last thing I want to do is to anger them while the tickling is going on.

Blue and Grey each take a foot, all for themselves. My DC high-tops are still on for now.

Blue Eyes says, “These shoes are cool.” He lifts and angles my foot to get a good view from all perspectives. “I wouldn’t have pegged him as a skater, but I really love these.”

I don’t skate. In fact, I don’t look like anything that might involve strength, athleticism, or talent of any kind, but these shoes make my feet look cute. That’s why I bought them. I wear them loose and untied, so he easily slips the one he’s contemplating right off my foot.

Grey Eyes says, “Don’t bother stealing them. They’ve got to be six sizes too small for you.”

There is a pause, and I assume he’s checking the size label. He laughs, “Close. I’m a thirteen, and he’s an eight.”

My dick pulses again. I get a mental image of his giant manly feet busting out of my too-small shoes like he’s the Hulk. The thought makes me so hard. Every part of me is small, weak, and pathetic. Laugh at me some more. I am not an actual man.

Grey Eyes pulls the shoe on his side off. He looks confused as he sniffs at the air, “Where’s the funk?”

Blue Eyes buries his nose into my arch and inhales as deeply as his lungs will allow. “Nothing.” He shoves his face into my high-top and breathes in again. “Odor free. He really did miss puberty!” He grins at me, “You are a guy, right?”

A weak and pathetic guy.

“Your sneakers are battered and worn. Your socks are sweaty, but no smell? How is that possible? Are you devoid of male hormones?”

Oh god! Yes. I hardly have any body hair, my weak voice is whiny, and I don’t stink like a man. I am a twenty-year-old little boy.

“It’s basic biology, isn’t it?” Blue Eyes is perplexed. He practically shoves my toes up his nose. “Nothing.”

Grey Eyes laughs at Blue Eyes, “Fortunately, your feet stink enough for all of us.”

“And yours aren’t a bouquet of roses either.” Blue Eyes elbows him.

It’s not just that my feet don’t stink. The truth is that since the school only gave me two uniform shirts, I wear the same clothes for a full week at a time before doing laundry, and for convenience, that includes socks and underwear. It’s Thursday night, and these socks are on day four. Four long days in the same sweaty socks and no smell. Is something wrong with me? Maybe I do need a second puberty.

Grey Eyes adds, “He’s probably never needed deodorant, and his farts smell like freshly baked bread.”

Could they know the insults and humiliation are only making me harder? Are they intentionally fueling my fire? I kind of hope not. It is way more arousing to think they really think these things. My penis must be stabbing Brown Eyes in the ass as he continues to straddle me below the waist and torture my belly.

And then the attack on my feet begins. My feet that have been cooped up in confining shoes for sixteen hours now. They are tired and sensitive. My soles get all of the wrong kind of attention. Slow fingernail drags up my arches, causing tears to spring to my eyes. Faster fingernail drags make me scream louder than I was already screaming. I wildly thrash and jerk in a failed attempt to rip my feet away. And the torturous tickling of my feet is causing an involuntary reaction. And now, they each begin to peel off my socks. Oh no. Manly fingertips swipe up my arches and back down again, and I think I might die. I’m helpless against their firm grip. Then they bend back my toes and stretch my soles taught. Now, those fingertips scrape again, and electricity jolts through my body. I really might pass out.

By rational choice, I don’t want to be free; I desire to be their victim, but this might not be survivable. My extreme response is not making them want to stop anytime soon. One of them scratches circles into my heel while the other scratches circles into the ball of my foot. My toes get individually examined, flossed and (could it be?) sucked? Yes! My toes are being sucked and torture turns to extasy. But then those tongues leave my toes and travel down my arches and I’m back to feeling tortured. My smallish size eight feet are no match for these beefy hands and tongues.

Blue Eyes raises my foot to his face level. He contemplates it for a long moment and the suspense is killing me. Finally, he buries his face in my foot like he did earlier, but it’s naked this time. He blows a raspberry into my arch. Not what I was expecting and I howl in uncontrollable laughter.

Grey Eyes says, “His tiny feet are cute, soft, pink and delicate. I could tickle them all night.” And for the next twenty minutes, their four massive hands rape my virgin feet.

This is all going in my journal when I get home.

Brown Eyes decides that my belly button hasn’t suffered enough. He teases it with finger circles around the rim. That sexual feeling comes back and he seems to sense it. He stops in just enough time that I don’t blow my load in my pants. Next, he lowers his head and buries his whole face in my stomach. Apparently not wanting to be outdone by Blue Eyes, he inhales deeply and blows a huge raspberry into my belly like I’m a toddler.

I laugh uncontrollably.

Before removing his face, his tongue plunges into my navel and my eyes roll back into my head.

All three of them finally cease their attacks and Brown Eyes scooches lower down, closer to my knees. He tells me, “Sorry, little buddy. These really are the wrong pants for a workout. They’ve got to go.”

Blue Eyes asks, “What are the results of the sensitivity test so far?”

Grey Eyes grins, “On a scale of 1 to 10? I’d say a million.”

They all laugh and a tingle rolls up my spine. I love being a disappointment. I failed the sensitivity test. Make me retake the test, please.

Brown Eyes reaches for my fly, and Grey Eyes points out, “There’s one more important region of sensitivity that has yet to be measured.”

As he undoes my button and lowers my zipper, Brown Eyes says, “We’ll have to save that for after the workout. If we were to run that particular test now, he’d have no strength left for anything else. He would be a useless puddle on the floor.”

Yes. That’s how I already feel and it’s my dream come true. And these guys already know me well.

Blue Eyes grabs my pant legs and pulls. I’m left lying there in nothing but my underwear. I’m wearing a pair of navy blue Nike briefs. I know that the blue at the vertex of my steel rod is a darker blue than anywhere else because I can tell that it’s drenched with precum.

With my pants off, my erection is the elephant in the room.

Brown Eyes says, “Mall Cop Tom is clearly having a good time.”

Grey Eyes bends down, gently takes my hand and pulls me to a standing position. I have only just caught my breath from the relentless tickling. He leans into my ear so the others can’t hear, “You know you’re safe, right?”

I don’t say anything, but I think I unintentionally nod.

He whispers again, “You’re doing the right thing. Don’t fight it. The more you just let it happen, the easier for you it will be.

What he doesn’t realize is that not fighting it is not a choice. With their six manly hands on me, I’m barely a blob a jelly. Besides, I don’t want to fight it. I don’t want to miss a thing.

He adds, “I probably should have told you this a half hour ago before the tickling began, but after the workout, there’s one more – session, if you will – where it might come in handy.” He gently places his strong hand on my back and puts his lips right against my ear. “The safe word is Half-Nelson. Try not to need it. Only if you truly feel unsafe. But just know, if you say it, I will make sure it stops.”

His breath in my ear makes goosebumps flash down the right side of my body, all the way down to my toes.

~~

Before we pair-off for wrestling practice, it’s time for a workout. Something I haven’t remotely experienced since high school gym class. My bare feet feel tacky on the mat.

I ask, “May I put my socks back on? You guys are wearing socks and wrestling shoes. I’d rather not be barefoot.”

Brown Eyes answers, “Too bad. We’d rather you were.”

First up – Sit ups. I hold Brown Eyes’ ankles while he blows through an easy set of 100. I enjoy holding him. I enjoy the damp warmth of his socks. I’m touching pure masculinity. Blue Eyes switches with Grey Eyes and I am pushed flat on my back by Brown Eyes’ as he envelops my naked ankles with giant meaty paws. My eyes tell him that I’m not sure this will work out so well. He says, “You’ve gotta try. Look at it this way. If you try, we’re good. If you don’t… I was the only one who didn’t get to tickle your feet before. We are in the perfect position for me to right that wrong. And I will do it relentlessly until your neighbor buddy there finishes his set.”

I’m not sure I could handle more foot tickling right now. I look to my right and see that Blue Eyes is Holding Grey Eyes’ ankles. Grey Eyes gives me a discrete nod of encouragement and we begin our set in concert. I don’t make it to 100 like the other three (I collapse in defeat at 42), but my failure goes unpunished. Brown Eyes even gives me an, “Atta boy,” and a sporty pat on the ass.

Next up – the pull-up bar. I’m partnered with Grey Eyes for this one. I remember from gym class that pull-ups deceivingly look easy, but are nearly impossible. I look at my spaghetti arms and sigh. Grey Eyes goes first. He easily does fifty before he drops down.

When it’s my turn, I need help just reaching the bar. Grey Eyes grips me by the hips and lifts me. He doesn’t let go. As I attempt my first pull-up, I quickly realize that it’s hopeless. I won’t even be able to do one. But Grey Eyes’ hands still grip my hips and he discretely takes some of my weight. I realize what he’s doing and I try again. This time, I’m doing it. We’re facing each other so my tentpole within my briefs is rising and falling mere inches from his chest. He leans in and lets it rub against his body for a few strokes. He backs away just in time. One more stroke and I could have made a terrible mess. With Grey Eyes’ assistance, I manage to complete the exercise.

Last is bench pressing. I’m with Blue Eyes for this. He does five reps of ten at 250 pounds, then indicates for me to take his spot on the bench. He begins removing weights from the dumbbell and says, “A beginner is supposed to bench press his own weight. Do we need to weigh you?”

I nod, eager for more attention but Grey Eyes chimes in, “Beginners don’t start at their body weight. They work up to it. They start at half their weight. Give him sixty pounds.”

Blue Eyes scoffs. “Sixty! That’s ridiculous!” But he does it. I’m able to do three sets, mostly. By the final one, I’m struggling. Blue Eyes has to rush to my rescue.

Now it’s time to team up for wrestling. This is insane. Grey Eyes promised I wouldn’t get hurt, but how can I not? At the very least, I’m about to get tossed around the gym. Or squished.

Since I’m already with Blue Eyes, we stay together for the first pairing. He says he has specific moves that he wants to practice and he tells me what he wants me to do. Most of what he’s practicing is starting up. We practice what he calls the neutral position a few times. He has no trouble capturing me and I can’t imagine how this is helping him, but he insists that it is. Then we work on the referee position. He starts on the bottom with me on top. He easily maneuvers out from under me each time, turning the tables and pinning me down. Despite feeling like little more than a ragdoll in his clutches, he doesn’t hurt me. It’s actually kind of fun. And, with all of the burly man/scrawny man contact, if my hardon had begun to subside at all, it’s come back full force now.

Next up – Brown Eyes. He tells me he wants to work on the scissor hold. I take a step backwards and he laughs. “It’s okay, Mall Cop Tom. I’ll go easy. See, you’re so skinny that practicing with you will strengthen my hold against my normal sized opponents.

Like I’m not normal. Okay, fine. I’m not. But I didn’t choose who I am. And I’m not sorry.

There’s plenty more male/male contact as he carefully squeezes me between his legs. At various times my face is between his legs, between his feet, thrusted into his chest and at one point, practically in his crotch. Damn that sports cup. But all of this hugging and squeezing keeps me as hard as ever.

Last, it’s Grey Eyes’ turn. He’s the cutest of these three guys. I blush and ask, “And what do you want to practice?” All I can imagine that’s left is body slamming, but I can’t imagine that not hurting. A lot.

He leans in like before and asks, “You need your job, right?”

I nod, “I pay my own tuition and I pay my parents some rent.”

He nods back, “I don’t need to practice anything. You need to know how to protect yourself. Especially someone as cute as you. Tonight, this is all just for fun but you could find yourself someday in some situation where you’re not playing a game. Where the threat is real. People might think you’re an easy target. Don’t be.”

He seems to be genuinely concerned about me. And he called me cute again. It makes the seams of my Nike briefs strain.

He says, “I’m going to teach you some basic self-defense. Nothing too complicated. You don’t need to be a musclebound idiot like me to be able to protect yourself.”

I swallow. Why is he doing this? Does he…care?

So, that’s what he does. My time “wrestling” with Grey Eyes is spent by him teaching me how to use my elbows and knees. He teaches me about kicks and claws and palm strikes.

Eventually, practice is over. The other two guys walk over to us and all three of them fist bump me.

Brown Eyes looks down, “Little Buddy, your little buddy is still standing strong. It’s been over two hours. I have to say I’m impressed by your stamina.”

Impressed? By me? If he only knew. I am a weak wimpy little man. Well, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t know that being looked at, laughed at, touched, tickled, dominated and humiliated by these masculine, real men is what’s keeping me this way. If this were to continue for twelve hours, I would stay rock hard for every minute. It wouldn’t be a conscious effort to be proud of. It’s a matter of extreme arousal.

Blue Eyes says, “Don’t forget, we still have one place to test his sensitivity.”

Grey Eyes says, “Haven’t we put him through enough already? The guy was just doing his job. We really weren’t supposed to be here this late.”

Blue Eyes says, “It would be cruel of us not to finish what we started. Do you really think he wants to finish his shift with blue balls? Look at the poor guy. He’s dying for a release. Really, we owe it to him.”

Grey Eyes has almost become my protector as these hours have progressed. Needing a protector and being protected makes my little soldier stand taller. But at the same time, this is maybe the one thing I don’t want to be protected from. I want the domination to continue. Please violate me.

Brown Eyes sides with Blue Eyes and Grey Eyes is overruled. “The dude’s in obvious misery. Besides, I’ve gotta know if he’s as ticklish there as everywhere else. What did we decide? On a scale of 1 to 10 he was a million? This could be over really quickly.”

Blue Eyes laughs, “We might be able to make it happen just by looking at it. One stroke at the most? The dude is ready to blow.”

I really, really am.

I consider telling them that I’m a virgin, but they probably figured. It’s like telling someone that the sky is blue and water is wet. Do I want this to happen? I think so. I’ve never had an orgasm that wasn’t self-inflicted. I’ve also never had an orgasm in front of another person. Will this be embarrassing? Will it be humiliating? God, I hope so.

Brown Eyes indicates for me to lie down again and I do. I like doing what I’m told. I could obey orders all day. Blue Eyes goes down by my feet and holds down my ankles. Grey Eyes takes the spot up top and holds my wrists down over my head. Both of these things are unnecessary. I won’t be fighting. I don’t even want to. I am as curious as they are. I am a willing participant.

Grey Eyes gets close to my ear and reminds me that this is when the safe word is in play.

I won’t be needing it.

Brown Eyes explains, “Mall Cop Tom, your job, your goal, your objective is to hold out. Hold on as long as you can. Don’t blow your load until you can’t take it any longer. If you want to knock your sensitivity rating down some from that million, here’s your chance.”

I don’t give a shit about the sensitivity rating. I would happily be labeled as the most ticklish person on planet earth. I do, however, want to hold out on my pending orgasm as long as possible. It’s simple; I don’t want this to end. His fingers find the waistband of my briefs and as they graze my skin, I twist and giggle.

“Oh my god!” says Blue Eyes. “This is gonna be too easy. Let’s take bets! How long does he last? I say one minute tops.”

They look at Grey Eyes and he shrugs, “I have no idea.”

Brown Eyes shrugs too, “Then I just have to take the over or the under. I’ll take the under. No way Little Dude lasts a full minute.”

I get even stiffer.

My underwear gets pulled down and my erection slaps against my lower stomach before springing straight up, pointing skyward. My briefs pass over my knees and Blue Eyes takes them all the way off. I’ve been almost completely naked for over two hours at this point, just one small swath of blue fabric tented by my raging member, but now, I truly am naked and I feel it.

There’s one brief moment of silence before Blue Eyes and Brown Eyes bust out into raucous laughter.

My pulsing dick throbs and bobs as it gets scrutinized. All three of them stare at it like it’s an exhibit at the zoo. I can actually feel their six eyeballs on my steel shaft. It is being assessed, sized up, evaluated and judged. And it loves the attention. My heart is beating wildly in my chest. Of course my regular (okay, maybe even smallish) dick doesn’t compare to these masculine men. How could it? But it is literally standing up more than I ever thought possible.

The fact that my best, biggest, tallest, proudest erection of my life is laughable to these huge guys is delicious to me. It aches to be dominated and humiliated. Oh my god. I have never been so turned on. So ready. I notch up one last time and it is not possible for me to be any bigger or harder than I am right now.

Blue Eyes peers at it from around Brown Eyes’ back, “The underwear was deceiving. Little Dude’s little dude is crazy little!”

Yes! I am a tiny, puny, shell of a man. My little dude tries so hard and stands so proud, but comes up way short. Yet, he never gets discouraged. Shaming him only makes him prouder.

My heart pounds harder. It really is impossible to stiffen any more. A blob of precum rolls up my shaft, out my slit and down my apparently too-short length.

Brown Eyes is still giggling, “I thought he’d be bigger too.”

With each degradation, I pulse and bob.

“At least it appears to be in excellent working order.” Blue Eyes releases one ankle and picks up my work pants. “He has a 28 inch waist. I was in middle school when I last had a 28 inch waist and size eight shoes. He’s just small everywhere.”

My dick twitches three times.

Brown Eyes is still laughing, “He desperately needs that puberty re-do.”

My penis is absolutely humming. It’s begging to grow bigger and harder, but there’s just no more room. It’s maxed out.

Blue Eyes says, “Hey, let’s do a countdown of ways to know if you have a small penis. I’ll get it started. Number 10: If you can’t find it.”

My cheeks flush bright red and all three of them laugh.

Brown Eyes is in on the game. “Number 9: Naked, you can conceal yourself with just a soup spoon.”

Blue Eyes, “Number 8: If it’s smaller than a roll of dimes.”

And thinner, I want to add. I’m not sure I can make it through ten of these. I might just explode right here, right now.

Brown Eyes goes, “Number 7: Fully erect, you fail the toilet paper tube test.”

My cheeks redden. I tell them, “I’ve actually done that and the toilet paper tube has me beat by a good inch.”

All three of them crack up.

Blue Eyes needs a full minute to stop laughing, “Number 6: If when you pee, it hits your balls.”

Brown Eyes, “Number 5: You reach for it and miss.”

Oh my god! Yes! Shame my size. Humiliate my manhood. Tell me more!

Blue Eyes, “Number 4: When you run into the wall with a boner and you break your nose.”

Grey Eyes has stayed out of it, but even he snorts out a laugh at that one. Meanwhile, precum leaks from my dick like a faucet.

Brown Eyes, “Number 3: If you just thought you had two belly buttons.”

Blue Eyes says, “Number 2: If you feel you need to ask this question.”

Brown Eyes grins, “Number 1: If you go to a glory hole and you never get sucked because the guy on the other side of the hole can’t stop laughing.”

I’m panting, trying to not shoot my load. Ten humiliating insults in rapid fire succession. This might be the greatest moment of my life.

Blue Eyes guffaws. “Maybe we should keep tabs on our new friend here after tonight. We could monitor his progress weekly between now and his second puberty. We set out to toughen him up, right? Tonight could be just the beginning. A baseline. We could keep notes on tickle response, hair growth, how long he can hold his load…”

“And size,” says Brown Eyes. “We could take and track official measurements.”

My mouth falls open and I’m gasping for air. I imagine these guys with a tape measure, checking and double checking. Measuring and remeasuring. Bending me every which way. Trying to stretch me out, hoping for improbable growth as the days and weeks pile up. Whispering to my penis, begging it to measure up to a respectable length while it fights and strains and fails. Laughing at the humiliating results. Results that need to be shared. Charted and posted on the school website, with supporting photos. And a place to write comments. Oh, yes…comments. I want to hear from all two thousand students, my coworkers, my boss and as much of the faculty as possible.

My little dick would be proud of its shortcomings. These three guys would all be disappointed as it remains stubbornly small. They would have to punish me for failure to progress. I would love the punishment. Crave it, really. And they would never get the chance to measure me flaccid, because around these degrading burly guys, the constant humiliation keeps me rock hard night and day. 24/7. Constant arousal. And speaking of rock hard, I swear… I didn’t think it was possible but I just got even harder still. My skin might tear. I might pop like a balloon.

“Okay, but we do both length AND girth,” Blue Eyes points out.

I just might have a heart attack.

“Why stop there?” asks Brown Eyes. ” He can be our new workout buddy, we could measure his biceps and his waistline too. We’ll make spreadsheets. This could be a research project.”

“Make a foot odor tab on that spreadsheet. I doubt that dicklette gets bigger no matter what, but if his feet ever start to stink, that might be our only indicator that puberty number two has kicked in.”

The thought of being such a small, pathetic little man that I need a second puberty has me at the absolute brink. They may have been right before when they suggested they could make me cum without even touching me. It’s more their words than their eyes, but still.

For the first time since my briefs came off, Grey Eyes speaks, “Okay you guys. Ease up a little. He’s not a giant freak like we are. He’s a regular guy. Look, it’s not that small. He’s got a good five inches there.”

Hearing Grey Eyes compliment my manhood surprisingly turns me on almost as much as hearing the others degrade me. Almost, but not quite.

He goes on, “Seriously, those five inches on his smaller frame are as good as your eight inches on your massive body. He’s plenty big. It’s all relative.”

Is it?

Brown Eyes chuckles, “Maybe you’ve only got eight inches. I have ten.”

Does he really? That’s monstrous. Could I really only be half of his size? Half of a man? At his mercy? But it’s not the thought of his massive dick that has me at the edge of orgasm, it’s the thought of my little dick lined up next to his. Being compared. Mocked. Laughed at. Humiliated. Another rivulet of precum rolls down my shaft.

Grey Eyes scoffs, “Whatever, you’re twice his size.”

I let out a moan.

“You know I am.”

I let out a groan.

“No.” Grey Eyes blows out a breath. “What I mean is you’re more than twice his weight. Look, the poor guy is pretty much average. He’s only small compared to the wrestling team.”

Blue Eyes shakes his head, “There is no collection of adult males on God’s green earth where that miniscule thing is anywhere near average.”

My dick throbs in pride.

Blue Eyes adds, “And if that really is the new average, the male gender is in eminent danger of extinction.”

My whole body is buzzing.

Brown Eyes says, “One more game. Let’s list ten small things that are bigger than Mall Cop Tom’s erect penis.”

Blue Eyes giggles, “A baby carrot.”

Brown Eyes: “A matchstick.”

Blue Eyes: “A paperclip.”

Brown Eyes: “An Air Pod.”

Blue Eyes: “Chapstick.”

Brown Eyes: “My credit card.”

Blue Eyes: “My thumb.”

Brown Eyes: “My pinky finger.”

Blue Eyes: “My big toe.”

Brown Eyes: “My pinky toe.”

They are both laughing uncontrollably while my little soldier is bursting with pride. Not one of those was true, but I’m savoring the humiliation as if they all were.

“You want to talk about a real man?” Grey Eyes points to my pulsating erection. “Look at how raging hard that thing is. And he’s been battling and staving off his orgasm this whole time. He maintained an erection for close to three hours now. You can’t do that. He’s a real man.”

My dick is dancing. Grey Eyes is proud of me.

Brown Eyes asks, “Are you his lawyer or something? What’s with the case for the defense?”

“Nothing. It’s just getting late. I’m tired. Let’s get this over with.”

“Fine,” Brown Eyes places his hands on my ribs and strokes downward. At first it’s fine, but as his strokes approach my too skinny, too sensitive stretched out belly, the tickle sensations return. He grazes over my navel and continues to proceed southward below the waistline, through the light wispy pubic hair and finally, his rough manly meaty hand grasps my waiting, dripping steel rod. It ends up being a good thing that my wrists and ankles are being held down because had they not been, I would have jolted right off the floormat. The sensation is electric. I want to thrust my pathetic shaft up and down in his grasp, but I can’t. If they know I want this, then it won’t be nearly as degrading.

Brown Eyes chuckles again with his fist still tightly wrapped around my questionable manhood. “Look. He’s at full erection and his tip doesn’t even peek out of my hand. He’s completely concealed.”

I loll from side to side and moan some more, but I’m still holding my load. He slides his fist up and down my five inches and I still hold on. He repositions himself a little and wiggles his thumb up the underside of my shaft and I laugh, but I still don’t blow. He grunts and goes at me with two hands, like a baker kneading dough. I see skyrockets, but still, it doesn’t happen.

“Grey Eyes grins, “Hey, he’s way passed a minute!”

Brown Eyes releases me in defeat and my shaft bobs in rhythm with my heart beat. He plants both hands flat on the mat beside my hips and begins to lower his mouth toward me. I twitch in anticipation.

Just then, Grey Eyes releases my wrists and tells Brown Eyes, “Switch with me.”

He shakes his head, “I never leave a job unfinished.”

“You won’t. I’ll finish it for you. He beat you. You called less than a minute and he won. I’m tapping you out.”

Brown Eyes grunts, “Whatever.”

They trade places.

Grey Eyes gives me a discrete wink and I feel a flutter in my chest, among other places.

He puts his mouth on the side of my shaft and sucks and slithers his tongue up, across the head and down the other side.

I inhale sharply.

Next, he swallows me whole, lips pressing at my base. He holds it there as his tongue does things to me that should be illegal in most states. My eyes lose and regain focus. When he finally slides back up he concentrates just below the head. I have never felt anything close to this before. After spending enough time near the tip, he begins a relentless up and down slide. There is suction. There is rhythm. He turns his head from side to side as he glides up and down. And then he just keeps at it. A sheen of sweat covers my body from head to toe. My face flushes and my breath quickens. He continues to glide up and down while twisting all around. My toes curl. He tightens his pressure just a little and I’m in extasy, but still not climaxing. Then, one of his hands glides up my side, across my stomach and his index finger finds my belly button. Oh my God! The funny sensual feeling is back and the combination of sensations is becoming all too much. The finish line is finally in sight. I’ve been raging hard for hours now and the time has finally come. And so do I.

Once again, it’s a good thing that I’m being held down, because otherwise, I would have taken flight. He recognizes that I’m close and he goes back to the deep throat and takes all of me in. He holds it there and just sucks while his finger circles around in the oval crevice that bullseyes my belly. My dick pulsates and I actually yowl as I pump load after load down Grey Eyes’ throat. When I finally have nothing left to give, he sucks some more. He sucks until every last drop is drained. My whole body twitches like a live wire as post-orgasm shockwaves roll over me. When he at long last pulls off, I’m finally limp. My whole body is limp. I might need to be carried out of here. Grey Eyes just absolutely wrecked me. I have never felt such ecstasy. Real life is so much better than the fantasies in my head.

Grey Eyes says, “I think he just earned back some points on the sensitivity scale. He’s gone down from a million to a ten.”

With my erection gone, so are my five inches. My frightened, spent cock has deflated.

Blue Eyes releases my ankles and Brown Eyes releases my wrists. It doesn’t matter. I can’t move.

By the time the three of them grab their gym bags and leave, I’ve found the strength to sit up.

~~

I’m still naked, sitting hunched and pretzel-style on the mat with my limp, spent, tiny dick finally taking a well-deserved timeout. After a three hour erection followed by an earthshattering orgasm, my poor baby dick will probably be in a refractory period for a week. I look down at it. It’s hiding inside of itself like a frightened turtle. Too short to slope downward, it rests atop my balls, stubbily pointing straight ahead. Despite topping out around 5 inches, I am actually a “grower”. In my flaccid state, I look like I’m sporting a baby carrot.

Unexpectedly, Brown Eyes reappears, alone. He kneels down next to me and almost whispers, “I get it. I won’t deny that I had fun tonight, but really, it was all for you.”

I look up at him dumbly.

“You wanted this to happen. Before it ever got started, all you had to do was walk away. We wouldn’t have stopped you. Really, you could have gotten up and left at any point. You didn’t.”

I just nod.

He looks down at my pathetic spent and sleeping dick. He chuckles and says, “And if you want, you can get up and leave right now.”

“More please.” I look into his brown eyes, “It’s never enough.”

“I thought so.” He smiles, clears his throat and speaks up, “I’m not actually ten inches.”

“You’re not?” I ask.

“No,” he winks. “Eleven.”

That makes my dick, against all odds, begin to wake up.

“That’s right,” he says. “More than twice your size.”

Now it’s coming back to life fast.

“I’m way more than double the man you’ll ever be.”

I could hear that every day. I say, “Yes sir, you definitely are.” My little lightsaber has once again been unsheathed.

He’s enjoying watching the rapid transformation, “Compared to me, you’re not even a man at all.”

“No sir.” I’m pointing straight up at the ceiling again. Earlier, stretched out lying on my back, my five inches stood misleadingly tall and falsely proud. Now, with my back hunched and legs folded, my five inches presents more like four inches. Or maybe even three. I feel like a child and that thrills me to goosebumps.

I’m at full erection again, but it’s a pathetic display and we both know it. Brown Eyes stares down at it and giggles. Giggle, point, laugh…please. He holds his thumb and index figure out to me spread just one inch apart. The universal signal for tiny dick.

My face flushes in delicious humiliation. There’s a sheen of sweat on my forehead and my raging little member throbs.

Brown Eyes looks down at his handywork. His humiliating words made this happen. I’m as big as I ever get, but to him, I’m a pathetic joke. Helpless and cowardly. I moan softly. I will probably masturbate to tonight’s memories for the rest of my life.

My baby dick has been eyeing him this whole time, begging for his attention. He is still holding his thumb and index finger one inch apart in that “small dick” gesture when he finally reaches for me. My raging hardon embarrassingly fits in the narrow gap between his fingers. So mortifying! My heart and my dick both flutter. He clamps his fingers against my shaft and gives one small twist below the head. That’s it. A one-second, two-finger twist. This time I don’t have the strength to fight it. After the buckets of cum I shot down Grey Eye’s throat just minutes ago, all I can manage now is a pitiful little spurt that barely dribbles down my dick and onto his finger. He looks at me like a puppy who just peed on the carpet. And that look makes me blush and keeps me hard.

“There it is!” He teases. “One second! See? Where are the others? I can’t wait to tell them! One second, two fingers and hardly a teaspoon of jizz.”

My doubly spent cock wants to shrink down again, but it can’t. Not while it’s being talked about. Not when it’s being teased. It strains against its seams.

He places his fingertip at the apex of my mushroom cap and swirls around the slit. I last another two seconds before I shudder and cum again. His finger is tacky with my semen and he brings it to his lips and sucks it clean.

He says, “And you want me to tell the other guys about it too, don’t you?”

I nod and my dick, still as stiff as ever, bobs and nods too.

“You want them to know that you’re no man at all. You want them to know how quickly and easily I dominated you.”

“Yes, I do,” I say. “And not just the other guys, sir. I want the whole campus to know it. The girls too. I want one hundred girls watching other guys humiliate me and bring me to crippling orgasm. I want everyone to know it. Tell everyone you meet. Tell them all that you made me cum in one second from one touch.”

I have to stop for ten seconds as another climax shudders through me. Now I made myself cum with no physical stimulation. I held out forever earlier, but since that one big release, I have no control at all. A door has been opened and I’m not sure I can close it. Or if I even want to.

I continue, “Tell them I’m your little bitch. Show them my picture. Tell everyone about my tiny weak dick and laugh about me with them. Post it on social media. Tell them all to find me and whisper to me that they know. Tell them to degrade me. Tell them to demand to see it and to make it spurt too!”

He pulls out his phone and takes several pictures of my naked, pathetic display.

“I will. You can count on me.” He shakes his head, “Let me guess, you like accidentally being seen in locker rooms and public restrooms, don’t you? You’ll show your dicklette to everyone who will look.”

“Proudly, sir.”

“Wow.” He shakes his head. “It is cute, but real men’s dicks aren’t supposed to be cute. They’re supposed to be bats, hammers and snakes. Yours is a twig, a nail and a worm. Your itty bitty bump there isn’t even the same species as my monster cock. Your tiny guy could hardly even be called a cock compared to mine. Your shameful dick is an embarrassment to dicks everywhere.”

My little guy is almost purple, it’s so hard. I shudder and quake. When I catch my breath, I tell him, “Sir, when I don’t have a little stiffy, the ball pouch in my underwear is just an empty flap of fabric.”

“Fortunately for you, You seem to always be boned up.”

I bite my lower lip and nod. I’m so hard that my whole body thrums. I wish all the world could see my raging hardon. It’s dying to show off its shortcomings. It needs to be laughed at. It wants to be compared, judged and humiliated. It’s stands proud in inadequacy.

Brown Eyes is coming through for me big time and he’s not done yet, “It’s weak, like you. Pathetic. I’ve never seen smaller.”

I hope not, “Yes sir. I am so weak. An imitation man.” I want him to degrade me more. A lot more. I encourage him, “Sir? Sometimes my clothes still come from the boys department.”

He smiles, “Of course they do. Because your attempt at puberty failed. You’ve been cursed with a micro-penis. It’s like a disability or something. What is God punishing you for? You know, there’s an operation for that.”

Oh, fuck! I quiver and gasp and spurt again. My face is flushed and sweaty. My breathing is ragged. He did it. He really did it. He made me cum with just words. No contact. And even less cum than before. How is there even anything left? Aren’t I empty by now?

He grins down at his accomplishment. Drips and dribbles of cum clinging onto a short lead pipe. “I guess you’re right back to a million on the sensitivity scale.”

“A billion, sir,” I say.

“You’re welcome,” he says smugly. “I know you love it and you know you want it. Any time you crave more humiliation, I’m the man.”

Someone needs to be the man. It certainly isn’t me.

“Wherever you are, wherever you go, you are the smallest, most ridiculous excuse for a real man. Even in a room full of kindergarteners.”

Oh! More magic words. My inadequate penis hums and quivers as spittle oozes the short journey down its length.

“So easy,” Brown Eyes shakes his head. “Look ma, no hands.” He laughs at his own joke. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell everyone I meet that the cute, pathetic security guard we all see around campus is a useless disgrace. I’ll tell them that your erect cock is shorter than my thumb and skinnier than my pinky finger. I’ll tell them all to ask for Mall Cop Tom, shove you in a dark corner, yank down your pants and have a side by side comparison. They’ll tell their friends and soon all two thousand kids will know. Everyone will point and giggle and whisper every day.”

And I’ll have a permanent erection.

“You like being my little pussy boy, don’t you?”

I say, “Yes, I do. Tell everyone that too. Put an ad in the school paper. Hire a skywriter. Say that I’m a weak and pathetic little man. Make them report an incident requiring security and when I get there, have them lock me in their dorm room all night. Degrading me verbally. Violating me physically. Making me their play thing. Please! I want to be trampled. I want to be bound, tickled and milked. With an audience.”

“I will. And I’ll tell them that I made you cum with just words.”

It’s true. It’s running on fumes and desperately needs a nap, but every word is true.

He snags my earlier discarded underwear lying on the mat. They’re damp from tonight’s precum and crusty from the dried precum of the four nights before. He uses them to wipe up the pathetically small sticky mess I made on the mat, puts them in his gym bag and winks at me.

“A souvenir. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” He finally leaves.

~~

I track down my strewn about clothes and start with my socks, buying some time for my embattled cock to shrink back down. Pants without underwear feels bad. I slip into my shoes and pull on my sweatshirt. I turn off the lights and step outside, locking the door behind me.

It’s 5:30am and my shift ends in thirty minutes. I’ve done a shit job of making my rounds tonight, but the campus feels asleep and I don’t think anyone missed me. More evidence that I’m useless. I feel alive with electricity. This was the night of my life. My fantasies came true. Could it ever happen again? Could lightning possibly strike twice? Even the tickle torture was thrilling. I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.

As I follow the path toward the dorms, two hands grab my shoulders. I’m about to break out the defense moves that Grey Eyes taught me earlier when I get spun around and realize that it’s grey eyes that I’m looking into. I let out a sigh of relief.

He stands really close to me and almost whispers, “There’s something I forgot to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

Suddenly, he’s kissing me. My poor dick just can’t catch a break. A big strong burly man is kissing me and I am once again straining the seams of my pants. It’s abrasive without the undies.

When the kiss ends, I say, “The answer is yes.”

He laughs, “I didn’t ask the question yet.”

“It doesn’t matter. Yes.”

“Can you request the night shift permanently?”

I grin, “Everybody hates the night shift.”

“I might be able to make it worth your while.”

My dick twitches. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, we really could use a fourth for our workouts and practices. And I can continue your self-defense lessons.”

“So,” I ask, “then the other guys would be there?”

“Well, yeah. For that part. Do you mind?”

My cock presses harder against my zipper and I shake my head. “I really don’t.”

“Then maybe we could do some other parts alone in my dorm room after?”

Is he asking me out? This big hot guy? My heart flutters. I’ve come to realize that Grey Eyes is a nice guy. When he calls me “cute” and builds me up, he’s sincere and it does turn me on. A little. But not as much as when Brown Eyes humiliates me. Yet I really like Grey Eyes. All three of those studly men are gorgeous, but Grey Eyes was the most gorgeous and from the beginning, I’ve felt a natural pull to him. I’m just not sure he understands me. I don’t want someone to reassure me that my five inch cock is not that small. That it’s almost average. I know that already. I’ve looked into it. They say that the average erection is 5.2 inches long. That technically puts me just about in the neighborhood of average, though when I look at myself flaccid, that’s hard to imagine. I prefer to believe that I have the smallest dick in any room. And besides, don’t tell me that. I watch gay porn for the sole purpose of feeling inadequate at the sight of all of those giant cocks.

But I could try “nice”. Can’t I? After all, it was he who gave me the orgasm of my life just a little while ago. That orgasm woke something up in me. That has to count for something. And when it was winding down, he kept going at me, to near torturous levels that left my whole body twitching and drained. He could have stopped sooner. He probably should have stopped sooner, but he didn’t. Was the excess for me? That first one was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of an orgasm and now they keep coming.

I guess there’s no harm in trying. The alternative is loneliness and a return to my fantasies in my head.

I tell him, “I’ll talk to my boss. No one will fight me on that. Should I come back to the gym around 2:00am again?”

“Um, I was hoping you were free now. When does your shift end?”

I check my phone. Ten minutes. Close enough. It’s not like I’ve been working these last four hours. I smile and say, “Now.”

He smiles at that, then says and does nothing for almost a full minute before finally seeming to make some internal decision. He roughly grabs my shoulders and shoves me against the wall of the nearest building. He scrunches a fistful of my sweatshirt in one hand and pushes the fist into my chest. I feel the cool night air on my exposed stomach. His other hand finds that stomach and gropes around, exploring and tickling. It was the other two guys who traded off playing this role before. This is new for Grey Eyes.

I giggle uncontrollably and my dick continues to grow.

Grey Eyes says, “Hmm. A little soft in the middle for a protector of the people. Can such a piddly little weakling do a real man’s job? What kind of man are you?” He grins devilishly as his index finger finds its way back into my belly button and swirls around.

And right there, pressed against the wall of a building, outside on campus with Grey Eyes roughing me up, I have another orgasm. Right in my pants. Oh, yes! I think he can tell from my ragged breath, flushed face and pounding heart. I smile and nod encouragement at him.

He goes on, “I mean, seriously, cute and vulnerable doesn’t save lives.”

My cock fingerpaints in the sticky mess it made in my pants.

It’s still completely dark outside and no one else is around. I play it up with him, “I am a licensed officer. I have a weapon. I think it’s pretty big, but I have nothing to compare it too.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He lets his fingers slide down from my tummy and grapple at the firm rod between my legs. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Oh boy, I almost lose another load. “Yes sir. Is it not good enough?”

He shakes his head in mock disgust, “Look at you! Weak stomach, small feet, hairless body, wimpy arms… Of course your penis is inadequate. Everything else is, why should that one body part be any different?”

“But sir! It’s my only weapon and it feels so big to me.”

He scoffs, “You know nothing. I’ll show you big.”

And he does. He pulls down his shorts and drops his cup. A very large sword of a penis swings at me. Now out of its imprisoning cup, it too is at full erection. And truly a lethal weapon.

He looks me right in the eyes and says, “Ten inches. Twice your embarrassing, childlike size.”

Grey Eyes is delivering big time, and I just might be falling in love.

He says, “I’m double the man you are.” He unbuttons my button and slides down my zipper. In a flash, my pants are around my knees. He gives my steel rod an affectionate squeeze and finds my head to be a wet, sticky mess. He doesn’t care. He rubs his erection alongside mine and I have to physically brace myself against the wall. He reiterates, “Double. Look at the comical difference between the two.”

It is comical. And shocking. My little guy thrums and throbs in misplaced pride. His rubs against mine again and mine dry heaves in another pathetic display.

“How could you even look yourself in the mirror? You should be ashamed!”

I laugh. I’m breaking character, but I laugh. He gets me. Gorgeous Grey Eyes really gets me. And he seems to be up for playing along.

“You win.” I say. “You have the biggest dick in all of the land! And I submit to it.” I sink to my knees and go to work on his massive cock. I obviously can’t deep throat him like he did with my modest length but with both hands assisting my tongue and lips, I think I handle him just fine. Based on his response, I do more than fine. And just as his orgasm splashes the back of my throat, I ejaculate in the dirt between his feet. I’ll have to be sure to tell Brown Eyes tomorrow night that I spewed my seed while sucking someone else’s giant cock. I can only hope that he finds it pathetic enough to tell other people. Soon, just mentioning its existence will be enough to make it blow. So pitiful.

We pull each other’s pants back up and he says, “Let me show you my dorm room.”

The sun is just beginning to rise. “What are we going to do?”

“I was the only one who didn’t get to wrestle with you earlier. I think it’s my turn. One-on-one.”

I scoff, “You wrestled my dick with your tongue and you won in a total knockout.”

“First of all, that’s boxing. Second of all, you just got me back and tied up the score. We need a tiebreaker match.” He winks at me.

“That sounds like fun,” I say, meaning it.

“I feel like I would be remiss if I didn’t take lots of special, quality time to get better acquainted with your belly button.”

Just the thought almost makes my knees buckle.

He puts his arm around my shoulders and whispers in my ear, “I have a tape measure in my room. I will measure you daily. Every time you fail to measure up to my expectations, you will be punished! I have steep expectations and I exact extreme punishments when those expectations are not met.”

No refractory period for me anytime soon. Yeah. This is going to work out just fine.

 

The End.

 

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