Blondie's Humiliation Stories

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Chapter 11: Blondie
Thu Feb 8, 2018 9:57am

When I last left you in the Blondie saga, he was standing on a stool with his hands behind his head wearing only a pair of panties––a delectable vision that will forever be etched in my brain––slightly trembling in anticipation of being stripped naked by me. My level of anticipation was probably equal to his, only on the other side of the spectrum. Here is more of Blondie's account from the Stripping and Humiliation site, along with my input:

“I just had a wonderful idea, Blondie. It’s my birthday, right?”

I nodded glumly.

“Think about it: You’re just about to be in your birthday suit, right?”

Again I nodded, dreading what might be coming out of her mouth next.

“If you could sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me while your panties are coming down it would make the moment really special for me. Will you do that for me, Blondie?”

I nodded resignedly. What else could I do?

“Okay, whenever you’re ready…”

She approached me and again had her fingers on the hem of the panties. She looked up at me in expectation. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. I closed my eyes tightly and began to sing.

Think about this. Blondie was about to be bared naked by a 13-year-old girl, he had to beg for it to happen, and now he had to sing to me for the pleasure. I have to pat myself on the back for this brilliant inspiration.

And that moment when I put my fingers inside the band of his panties...he flinched, and I felt a rush as I sensed his smooth skin on my fingers, skin that in a few seconds would become more and more exposed, until he was naked, and quivering from humiliation. Absolutely delicious.

“Happy birthday to you.”

I felt the panties begin their inexorable descent.

“A little slower, Blondie.” I could tell by the excitement in her voice that she was really getting caught up in the moment.

I have to say that my heart was beating a mile a minute at this point. I could barely contain myself.

“Happy birthday to you.”

The panties were now slipping past my penis. I heard Felicity giggle with delight. It was all I could do to keep my hands on my head.

I absolutely was giggling with delight when I slipped his panties down and first exposed his little penis, knowing that he knew I was staring at his shortcoming that undoubtedly had caused him anxiety for years. Oh, and did I tell you that he was singing?

“Happy birthday, dear Felicity.”

The panties were at my knees, beyond the point of return. I opened my eyes to a squint and looked down at a girl who was nearly beside herself in ecstasy.

“Happy birthday to you.”

The panties were at my ankles. Felicity stepped back and clapped her hands in jubilation.

“Bravo, Blondie, bravo!”

I was so excited, it really was a spontaneous, genuine cheer. I think I was actually jumping up and down. I mean, I was looking at my first naked boy (my little brother doesn't count), it was completely against his will, he was embarrassed to the max, and it was all my doing. And he was blushing up a storm, with his fingers interlocked behind his head, because he knew he had to obey me. Of course I was excited!

Felicity grinned wickedly at me for a few more seconds. Without a word, she lifted one leg, then the other, freeing the panties from my feet. I was now completely naked and at her mercy. She dropped the panties on the floor and reached out for my hand. “Come, sweetie, let’s chitchat over on the bed for a while.” My torture at the hands of this cruel little girl was going to carry on.

Yes, I enjoyed reading how he called me wicked and cruel. I mean, those are traits of a good humiliator, right? And his phrase "completely naked and at her mercy" really struck a pleasant chord for me. I think I'm really in my element when I have someone completely naked and at my mercy.

When I have someone naked and at my mercy––can you tell I enjoy saying that?––I do enjoy carrying on dialogue with them. As embarrassed as they are, with me teasing them and forcing them to engage in conversation with me, it really can ratchet up the humiliation. For example:

She looked between my legs and smiled. “Tell me about Mitch.” I flinched, which did not go unnoticed. She pounced on the moment. “I hear he likes boys. Is that true?”

Another wonderful trait about Blondie is that he cannot hide his emotions from me, hard as he may try. His body language always betrays him, and the slightest little flinch––like when I brought Mitch up––does not go unnoticed by me.

“Y-yes, I think that’s true.”

“I hear he likes you, Blondie.” I didn’t reply. “Does he like you, Blondie?”

“Please, I don’t know…”

“Come on, Blondie, don’t hold back. That’s why he’s here tonight, isn’t it, to see you?” I couldn’t answer. She motioned to the babydoll that was draped over a chair by the bed. “Mitch will be all excited to see you in that, won’t he, Blondie?”


Talking about Mitch made Blondie considerably uncomfortable. Mitch is openly gay, on the aggressive side, and didn't hide his interest in Blondie. Blondie is straight and not at all interested. Under the circumstances of Blondie's current state of submission, the potential humiliation consequences loomed large.

And, of course, I had no problem exploiting that possibility.

“Or maybe you can go out just like you are. Would you like to do that?”

“No!” My head shot up and Felicity smiled at my quick exclamation.

“Okay, relax, sweetheart, you can wear the babydoll. Would you like to wear the babydoll?” The evil little thing was ruthless. I nodded. “Tell me, Blondie, what do you want to wear when we go out there.”

“The babydoll.”

“Say, ‘Please, Felicity, may I wear the babydoll for Mitch?’”

It was becoming excruciating. “P-Please, Felicity, may I wear the babydoll for Mitch?”

“Why of course you can, darling. Mitch will be very excited to see you in your sexy babydoll.” She grinned at me, then looked down at my legs. “It’ll really show off your pretty legs.” She let go of my left hand and stroked my leg. “He’s going to love your silky, slender legs. Don’t you think so, Blondie?”

“Oh, God, please, no…”

I must say I really did enjoy caressing his smooth skin. And it was plain for me to see that he was quite self-conscious about his hairless legs. I found them quite fetching, and his self-consciousness only added to my stimulation.

She continued stroking my leg, and ventured up to the top of my thigh. Under these humiliating circumstances, I felt no sexual pleasure at all. “How did your legs get so smooth, Blondie? Did you shave them?”

“No…I, uh…please, I’d rather not talk about it.”

She lifted my right arm and stroked it up and down with her other hand. “And you have such smooth, girlie arms. Pretty, pretty.”

I fidgeted; I was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable, and she knew it. She lifted my arm high in the air and zeroed in on my hairless armpit.

“And your underarms are nice and smooth, too.” She lowered my arm and looked me right in the eyes. “Tell me how you got so pretty, Blondie.”

“B-Becky and Brenda did it to me.”

Ah, I finally got the story of why he was so hairless. I only wished I could have been at the scene to lend a hand. Imagining that scene really excites me.

“Oh, and a wonderful job they did.” She looked at my pubic hair. “Why did they leave your hair down there?” I didn’t answer. “Shall we get rid of it now?”

“NO!” I cried, my eyes widening in horror. That was probably a fatal mistake; I could tell by the smile on her face that she knew she had struck a nerve. She left it alone for the moment, but I had a haunting feeling she would revisit it.

Very, perceptive, Blondie. <giggle>

“Don’t you think you’re a little small down there for a sixteen-year-old?” I fidgeted some more, much to her delight. She knew which buttons to push. “I told you about Joey, my ten-year-old brother. I saw his little thing the other day, and yours is as small as his.”

That was at least the third time she had reminded me of this unpleasant bit of information.

That's an easy tactic for me, and one I always enjoy and utilize whenever I can.. If the boy has an undersized penis like Blondie's, you know he is embarrassed about it. When I focused on it and teased him about it while trying to draw him into the conversation, he became quite agitated and was blushing ever so adorably. Naked and blushing. It just doesn't get any better than that.

“Have you ever measured yourself down there? It can’t be more than a couple of inches.”

“No…please.” I was looking off to my right, staring at the floor, unable to make eye contact with the little devil.

“Look at me, Blondie.” I forced myself to look. Her eyes were dancing with delight. “Aren’t you embarrassed to show the other boys your little pee pee in the locker room?”

“I don’t know…please, can we talk about something else?”

I was ready to talk about something else. And he wasn't going to like it.

“Tell me the story about the auditorium.”

The reader might remember the scene I'm referring to that Julie told me about, probably my favorite scene of something I wasn't' involved in. It was when Blondie was fourteen, and Julie's friend Marcia (along with Mitch) made him do a slow strip in the dark auditorium during the school play. They got him completely nude and he had to be in a panic, wondering if he would get his clothes back before the lights came on. He was ultimately molested with the whole (unknowing) student body surrounding him. I have actually gotten myself off fantasizing about that on more than one occasion, so making Blondie talk about it was quite stimulating.

I probably would have been more comfortable talking about my penis. “What story?” I’m sure that my body language belied my feigned ignorance.

“You know, when Mitch and Marcia made you strip during the play. Julie told me, and she heard it second hand. I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Th-they made me take my clothes off. That’s it.”

“You mean you were naked with all those people in the auditorium?”

I nodded gloomily. “But it was dark,” I said.

“I heard something about a flashlight. Didn’t Marcia make you shine the flashlight on your little pee pee?”

What a creative idea that was on Marcia's part to use the flashlight. Then to make him hold it and focus it on his little weenie? That was a stroke of genius.

“Yes.” I was speaking softly and again, staring at the floor.

“Ooh, I wish I could have been there, it sounds delicious. Weren’t you like, just absolutely mortified?”

“It w-wasn’t fun. Please, you know the story.”

“The story goes that you didn’t have any hair down there back then. Is that true, Blondie, was the light shining on your hairless little wee wee?”

“I don’t remember,” I lied (it was true).

Once again, the mention of hairlessness embarrassed him to no end. I was ready to go in for the kill.

She pointed between my legs. “Shall we remove that unsightly hair before we go out there, sweetie?”

My startled reaction played right into her hands.

“Ah, I think we’ve struck a nerve, haven’t we, Blondie? Well you know, I don’t have any hair on my privates, so it’s only fair that you don’t, either.”

She paused, eyeing me for a reaction. There was none; I was still stunned by the latest turn in the conversation.

I thought it would intensify his humiliation if he knew that he was being controlled by someone who hadn't yet reached puberty. And his pubic hair, which was the only evidence of his own achievement of adolescence––the size of his genitals certainly didn't qualify <giggle>––was being severely threatened. His state of wretchedness was increasing ever so deliciously.

“Doesn’t that surprise you, Blondie? After all, I’m thirteen now. Most girls have reached puberty long before that. Not I. Physically, I have the body of an eleven-year-old, but emotionally I’m probably right at my age. And I’ve been told that intellectually I’m as smart as a lot of college students.”

I was in no mood to listen to her self-assessment. And the fact that she had the body of an eleven-year-old somehow only made my abject submission to her that much more humiliating. Which, now that I think about it, is probably the reason she was telling me. Like I said before, she was perceptive well beyond her years.

Thanks for the compliment, Blondie. You were getting to know me quite well. <giggle>

In any case, I had to try to appeal to her, hoping she had at least one ounce of compassion.

“Felicity, I’m begging you, please, PLEASE let me keep my pubic hair. I’ll do anything, but please don’t do that to me!”

Of course, his pleas were to go unheeded. No way was I letting that opportunity pass me by. I can't wait to tell you about it.

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