Blondie's Humiliation Stories

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Chapter 8: Forced Orgasm
Thu Apr 25, 2013 4:51pm

Bruce’s Overture

As Tammy drives us home, the joviality continues. Everyone is recounting the events that just took place. It seems everyone has their own favorite scene, and each would describe it at length, to the amusement of all. While this is going on, to my dismay Bruce has moved his hands from my knees to the tops of my thighs. When I feel his hands move to the insides of my thighs I reach for them with my hands to pull them off. Bruce catches my wrists and lifts them up until my arms are stretched upwards and the palms of my hands are flat against the ceiling of the car. “Don’t move your hands again, Blondie,” Bruce says, with his mouth up against my right ear. I know better than to disobey him as I brace myself for another humiliation. Bruce strums his fingers around my nipples, then puts both hands on the insides of my knees, and with his fingertips he starts caressing my inner thighs. As his strokes near my groin, I involuntarily flinch, slightly lifting off Bruce’s lap. Bruce whispers in my ear again. “You like that, don’t you, Blondie?” I shake my head, hoping he will stop. Everyone else is still carrying on about the exhibition at the high school, so they’re yet unaware of Bruce’s advances. Bruce continues stroking my thighs. Then he ever so softly tickles my balls, running his fingertips and thumb back and forth, stimulating the entire sac. My shoulders contract to a shrugging position, and to my horror I feel myself becoming aroused.

“Oh, no,” I think to myself. “Please, don’t let this happen, not now, not here!” But thanks to Bruce’s continual foreplay, my level of excitement escalates. He strokes the underside of my penis a couple of times, and I become fully erect. Inevitably, someone notices.

“Hey, check it out, Smoothie’s got a stiffy!” squeals Donna, while pointing between my legs. The shrieks of surprise and laughter ring throughout the car. Bruce pulls his hands away momentarily while everyone focuses on my erection.

“Oh, how cute,” teases Tammy while staring at my prepubescent hard-on. “It looks like one of the little sausages we had for breakfast this morning.”

This brings on another chorus of rousing laughter, and my face burns yet brighter. I’m going through very conflicting emotions. On the one hand, I’m thoroughly humiliated to be naked in a car and brought to a state of sexual excitement—by a guy, no less, and in front of nine other people. On the other hand, I have never felt anything like this before, and I’m starting to get lost in the overpowering sensation. Bruce continues his relentless assault on my sensitivities. He toys with me, stroking my inner thighs, my balls, and occasionally brushing my now-throbbing penis. The other passengers are engrossed in the display as I sit there vulnerably, at the whims of Bruce’s touch and my involuntary reactions.

“I think Bruce has found himself a little boyfriend,” I hear someone say.

While the laughter continues, Bruce puts his mouth to my ear. “Tell me how good it feels, Blondie.” I remain silent and Bruce squeezes my balls lightly, but hard enough to get my attention. “Tell me,” he repeats. “Say, ‘Ooh, that feels really good.’”

“Ooh, that feels really good,” I say out loud. This brings on hoots and hollers from the unbelieving spectators.

“Say, ‘Oh God, I love the way you touch me, Bruce,’” he whispers to me while continuing to stroke my inner thighs and balls.

“Oh God, I love the way you touch me, Bruce,” I grudgingly repeat his words, to more laughter.

“Say, ‘I love being naked around you,’” he whispers.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath. “I love…I l-love being naked around you.”

“But I’m so embarrassed that Tammy and Donna are staring at my tiny little hairless weenie.” I open my mouth but nothing comes out. “Say it,” presses Bruce while gently squeezing my balls.

“I’m so embarrassed that…that Tammy and Donna are staring at my…my…at my…tiny l-little hairless w-weenie.” I couldn’t help but to look up at the two girls, who were both laughing hysterically—and yes, they were staring at my tiny little hairless weenie.

After the laughter dies down, he continues his tormenting. “Say, ‘I want to be your sex slave, Bruce.” I hesitate, and again he squeezes my balls, this time with a little more vigor.

“I—I want to be your sex slave, Bruce,” I relent.

“Louder, Blondie,” he whispers in my ear. “Shout it out.”

“I want to be your sex slave, Bruce!” I yell. The laughter increases, as does my state of sexual excitement, as Bruce continues fondling my hard-on.

“Good boy. Now tell me to make you cum.”

“Make me cum,” I say.

“Say please,” Bruce prompts. He strokes my penis lightly with his fingertips.

“Please.” The anguish in my voice is evident.

“Say ‘Oh, Bruce, please make me cum!’ Yell it out.” He now has his hand lightly wrapped around my penis and I begin pumping my hips back and forth, desperately seeking relief.

Sexual Frenzy

“Oh, Bruce, please make me cum!” I scream this out with a certain amount of sincerity. The group is now spellbound by the exhibition being put on. I’m on the verge of orgasm and somehow Bruce senses this and loosens his grip. I continue driving my hips back and forth until I realize I’m pumping at thin air. Completely frustrated, I settle back down on Bruce’s lap. When I do, I feel the unmistakable bulge in his pants. Bruce takes advantage of my weight and rotates his hips, and I feel his protrusion rubbing against my backside. He is now playing with my nipples, maintaining my level of sexual pleasure. He gradually lowers his caresses, ever so slowly inching down to my undersized but rock-hard penis. When I feel his fingers on my cock I become vocal without prompting.

“Please, let me cum,” I moan. He wraps his hand around my penis lightly and I pump my hips, more furiously this time.

“Whoa!” somebody cries out in amazement. “Blondie’s really into it!”

Once again, to my utter frustration, Bruce lets go and I collapse on his lap. “Oh God, please, I can’t take it anymore!” I implore. I need to explode so badly that I ache. Bruce is silent. He continues stroking my entire body, strategically avoiding my genitals that crave attention. The height of sexual heat he has brought me to is nearly unbearable. I try to take matters into my own hands, but he catches my right wrist and quickly puts it back up against the ceiling.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he admonishes. “Keep your hands right where they are.” Bruce continues his relentless teasing. As he strokes my inner thighs my whole body is moving about in a state of sexual frenzy. The group in the car is dead silent now, agape as they look on in fascination. They can’t quite believe what they’re seeing, and I’m sure the visual will remain with them forever. I’m fully aware of their attention, but my need for fulfillment has taken precedence over anything else.

Bruce then raises his right hand in the air, about a foot above my genitals. He cups his fingers, creating a canal with his hand. Taking the cue, I immediately raise my torso to his waiting hand. To achieve this most awkward position, my head is now upside down on Bruce’s lap and I’m supporting myself by putting my hands and feet on the seat; my body is forming an inverted U, facing the ceiling of the car. My hips are raised up as high as I can get them. I hear the giggling from the fellow passengers and am fully aware of how outrageous this scene must appear to them. But I’m on a mission now, and I know what I must do. My aggressor cups his hand around my erect penis.

“Go ahead, Blondie, ... my hand,” he says. I need no further prompting. While he holds his hand still, I wildly pump my hips up and down. I see the flash from Donna’s camera but don’t let it distract me. I’m just about to shoot my load, and once again Bruce lets go of my penis. Agonized beyond comprehension, I continue pumping my hips in midair, desperately hoping to feel his grip again. Bruce lowers his mouth down to my ear. “I want to hear you beg for it, Blondie.”

“Oh, please, Bruce, please, let me cum!” I shriek. “Please, Bruce, I’m begging you!” I stop rocking my hips but maintain my position. Bruce waits another twenty seconds or so while everybody waits with baited breath. I beg some more. “Please, Bruce, I’ll do anything, anything you want, please make me cum! Oh, please!” Then I feel his hand around my cock again, this time with a bit more pressure. Excited, I madly pump my hips. This time he doesn’t let go. I reach a state of ecstasy, the likes of which I’ve never felt before. “Ohhhhhhhh!” I moan as I squirt my load and feel its warmth land on my chest and roll down to my shoulder. I continue pumping Bruce’s hand, now at a slower pace. I stop, and he squeezes a little harder and strokes up and down a couple of times as the last of my juices drops on my midsection. Bruce releases my cock and I slump back down in his lap, now totally spent. I feel dampness from the protrusion in Bruce’s pants. I clench my eyes shut as I realize that the motion from my head on his lap has brought him to orgasm. For the second time that day, I’ve played an unwilling role in the sexual gratification my tormentor.

“Simultaneous orgasm, Blondie,” grins Bruce. “Isn’t that delightful?” He has rested his hands on my upper thighs. As I sit there and slowly recover from my orgasmic experience, the reality of what has transpired starts setting in. My humiliation is complete, and there is nothing else imaginable that they can do to me to add to it. The car is relatively silent the rest of the way as everyone else is seemingly drained from the day’s extraordinary activities. We pull into the driveway and start filing out. As we walk to the front door, I cover myself with my hands. Interestingly, even after all I’ve been through, I’m still self-conscious about my nudity. Everyone goes into the living room and plops down on the nearest vacant seat. I sit on the edge of the couch.

“Can somebody please give me my clothes now?” I ask feebly. Taking a cue from Bruce, one of the guys gets up and returns momentarily with my long-lost clothes. I don’t see my underpants and recall the dreadful memory of seeing them flying by the window of the station wagon many hours before. I quickly pull on my pants, a feeling that is practically foreign.

The Pictures

As I continue getting dressed, Bruce is holding up Donna's camera, apparently going through pictures of me. Everyone is standing behind him as he rolls through them, and the gaiety picks up again as they relive the incredible events of the day. I finish dressing, and Bruce says to me, "I just e-mailed you a few souvenirs, Blondie. I think you're going to like them."

I say nothing and shudder as I mentally visualize what some of the pictures portray. As I head towards the door everyone calls out, “Bye Blondie!”

I don’t look back until Bruce yells, “Hey Blondie!” When I stop at the door and look back at him he says, “Thanks,” and purses his lips as if to kiss me. I show no reaction and turn to walk out the door. As I exit I hear his parting shot. “What say you and I get together for a private party real soon, just you and me?” I ignore him and keep walking. “I'll get you naked again and you can use your cute little mouth to get me off next time.” I cringe at the repulsive mental image and break into a trot. The sound of his laughter gradually fades, and I don’t stop running until he is completely out of earshot.

On my way home I can’t stop myself from pulling my phone out. I open my e-mail account and see the subject matter "Sweetness." There are several attachments. All of them are pictures of me naked in the middle of some sort of humiliation. The first one I see is of me from the back, running during the Fire Drill. I quickly go to the next picture, which is a frontal view of me standing in a field, holding a Frisbee high above my head. The next one is taken from inside the station wagon. It’s a side shot of me standing on the hood. In the background you can see the high school students lining the sidewalk, all of them wide-eyed and agape, grinning freely. I quickly go through the rest of the pictures, difficult as it is for me. I put the phone back in my pocket, making a mental note to delete the e-mail when I get home. But of course I know the pictures are out there and there is nothing I can do about that. My only hope is that the pictures are not shared with anyone else, that they remain strictly with my fiendish friends.

I am unaware of the high price I will have to pay for this hope to become a reality.

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