Patrick's Punishment

By PatrickNaked

* * * * *
This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and/or sexual activity of preteen and young teen children. This is fantasy, and the author in no way endorses or practices these things on real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.
* * * * *

Hi. My name is Darlene.

A few months back, me and four of my girlfriends (Janice, Ellen, Grace and Natalie) decided to go skinny dipping at a creek that was hidden deep in the woods outside of our town. Not many people knew about it, so we felt safe swimming au naturel. Kind of daring and adventurous, too. We were all 16 years old at the time. Coming along also were Ellen's younger sister Alison and Grace's younger sister, Corynn. These girls were 13 and 14 years old. Though they were two grades below us, we allowed them to hang out with us because they were cool.

It was a Saturday and we had the whole day to ourselves. School had been grueling all week, and we needed a reprieve. A slightly naughty nude swim was just the thing to set the world right again. The sun was blindingly bright that day, and even though it wasn’t yet noon we were already sweating as we made our down a little known trail to the creek. That creek was going to feel good.

We each carried a thick, rolled up exercise mat strapped to our backs. These were to lay out and relax on by the creek. We also carried large, hand-woven bags which held our cell phones, beach towels, sun screen, snacks, bottled water and energy drinks. But no swimsuits. This was going to be a carefree, swimsuit free day.

When we arrived, we dropped all our stuff on the shore and stood awhile to take in the scenery. The area was beautiful. The creek sparkling in the sun, the grassy shoreline, the green wall of trees encompassing it all like a barrier against the outside world. It felt safe and secluded. Tranquil, peaceful, quiet, placid and many other fancy, descriptive adjectives came to mind.

But we were about to find out that even the the most picture-postcard-perfect paradise can be desecrated and defiled by the rude intrusion of base, carnal cravings. Just when we were about to begin undressing, we heard some rustling from the nearby bushes, then an almost inaudible "Oh shit". My friend Janice yelled, “Who is that?”

With a burst of leaves, a blond haired boy took off running from the bushes back into the woods. Janice yelled, "Get him!" We all took off after him. The chase didn't last long... we older girls are all in track and cross country and he was no match for our strong, athletic legs.

It was Patrick Henley, a 14 year old who was in the same grade as Alison and Corynn. As we grabbed him, he dropped his cell phone. The camera app was open. I realized what the little devil was up to. He must’ve been somewhere nearby when we were talking about skinny dipping, so he had followed us all the way out here. Not only was he stalking us, he was planning on taking pictures of us naked!

Ellen and Grace grabbed him by each arm and marched him back to the shore. He tripped and stumbled all the way back as he tried to keep up with their faster pace. We made him stand before us as we considered what to do with him. He was obviously terrified. Like us, he was sweating from the heat, but he trembled as though it were freezing. His pale face and wide eyes still registered the shock of being discovered.

He was kind of cute, in a little brother sort of way. He was a bit small for his age, but not scrawny and gawky like so many young adolescent boys. His blond hair was trimmed short on the sides, but formed a thick, spiky thatch on top. He was clad in a dark gray t-shirt with a band logo on the front. The shirt was damp and clinging to his body with sweat. Below it were baggy tan shorts that ended just below his knees, white socks and multi-colored tennis shoes... the standard uniform for the younger boys at our school.

He didn't dare speak. Probably too scared to. Which was just as well. There was nothing he could say in his defense. His crime was too apparent. And trying to talk his way out of his predicament would only anger us more. And we were plenty angry enough already.

Janice, kind of the leader of our gang, called a conference. We whispered among ourselves while Patrick stood by looking more scared by the moment. As it turned out, he had a very good reason to be. We had come to a decision.

Janice told him he was a little perv for trying to spy on us, and he compounded his sin with the intention of taking photos as well. If he didn’t want us to tell his parents that their darling little boy was a sexual deviant who spyed on innocent girls, he was going to have to strip for us. All the way naked. We had all agreed this was a just punishment. He tried to see us naked, so we'd get to see HIM naked.

The two girls closest to his age were VERY enthusiastic about this. Apparently, he was in a number of their classes, and they loved the idea of him having to sit near them every day knowing they had seen him completely naked, weenie and all.

When he heard the sentence that had been passed upon him, Patrick's eyes got even wider. His mouth dropped open. He managed to sputter, "No... but... wait... you can't...please". Even knowing he was in a LOT of trouble, he hadn't thought the tables could be so completely turned on him this way. Whatever he had expected in way of retribution, it hadn't been exposing his entire naked self to a group of girls. He was another case of someone who could dish it out but not take it.

Natalie snapped at him, "Hurry up little boy. We want to see if ALL of you is little." This produced a wave of laughter from us. We all started taunting him, making catcalls. "Start the strip tease, baby!" "Come on, let's see what you've got!" "I think I've got a magnifying glass in my purse!" "You might need a microscope, instead!" "You got any hair down there?"

The boy wilted under this barrage of taunts and insults. He looked like he was about to cry. Once the jeering died down, Janice demanded an answer, "Time's up, Patrick. Are you going to strip or do we march you all the way back to town to let your parents know what a deviant they raised?"

Patrick's eyes darted back and forth, and he tensed up like he was intending to run again. So we surrounded him, moving in close to crowd him and invade his personal space. Everywhere he turned there was the face of one of his intended victims. He was smaller than even the two girls in his class, and he looked very intimidated. We were angry and it showed.

At that point, he actually did start crying. Big, heaving sobs. After a few moments, he regained enough composure to plead with us. He said it wasn’t fair. That we wouldn’t have known he had seen us naked, so we wouldn’t have been embarrassed. But he was certainly going to know that WE saw HIM! And he wasn’t going to show anyone else the pictures. He was afraid grownups would find out and he’d be in trouble. He said he probably would’ve deleted them right away. We didn’t believe a word of it.

He certainly looked pitiful, trapped in a circle of angry girls, crying like a baby. But we didn’t give in. Seeing that mercy was not a possibility, and not wanting his mom and dad to know what a perv he had been, he began to slowly undress. We backed away so we could all have a good view of his denuding.

Still crying and very subdued, he first peeled off his t-shirt. It took a while because it was wet and clung to him like a second skin. Once he finally pulled it over his head and dropped it to the ground, he stopped and looked at us hopefully, as if we’d actually let him off with just revealing his bare torso.

Sweat ran in rivulets down his arms, chest and stomach. I think he was sweating as much from anxiety as from the heat. Or more so. We girls were all sweating too, but didn't look like a drowned rat the way Patrick did. He was so obviously self conscious, this puny little boy standing before a group of taller and more athletic girls, that I almost felt sorry for him. I might’ve voted to let him off with just this moment and a stern warning if his sin had been less serious. But he had planned to violate our privacy and watch us while we were naked, and the punishment had to be nothing less.

Janice told him he’d better hurry up or that punishment would be worse. WAY worse.

He bent over to untie his tennis shoes, then kicked them off his feet. The socks were next. He pulled them off, slowly balled them up and stuffed them in his shoes. Then he straightened the shoes so they were sitting side by side. It was very apparent that he was dragging this out, unwilling to get to the part where real skin would be revealed.

Janice growled a low warning, "Patrick. . . "

He sighed and started to unbutton his shorts, but then hesitated. He looked at us again, beseeching. We just glared back. His silent plea was met with a silent answer. He finished unbuttoning. When he slid the zipper down, the big baggy shorts immediately dropped to his feet. He gingerly stepped out of them, then bent to toss them towards his other discarded clothes.

Now he was just left with his white briefs. He stood there looking miserable with his hands over his crotch. He was so obviously embarrassed to be seen in just his underpants that I couldn't imagine what total nudity was going to do to him. We might have to call the EMS.

His underpants were soaked with sweat. The thin fabric was almost transparent everywhere but the front, which was double layered. Ironically, this more opaque section was what he was trying to cover with his hands. His face was bright red and tears mixed with the sweat that ran down his cheeks.

Knowing the back of his underpants would be transparent too, I ordered him to turn around. He reluctantly began to shuffle his bare feet around till he was facing away from us. I told him to stop. He instinctively brought his hands around to cover his posterior, but I ordered him to drop them to his sides.

The wet, flimsy fabric of his briefs clung to his buttocks, making him look almost completely naked. It was tantalizing to see him so exposed, naked but for this thin, barely adequate bit of wet cloth.

Janice finally told him to turn back around and face us. I was slightly disappointed. Certainly, I wanted to see the part of his body that hadn't yet been revealed, but this moment of almost-but-not-quite nakedness excited me in a strange way. Especially since it was involuntary on his part.

He faced us again. Janice waved her hand vaguely at him, saying with a tone of feigned indifference, “All right, young man. Carry on”. Patrick just stood there, his hands once again covering his front and acting like he didn’t understand the command.

Her tone changed drastically. She told him, “You better hurry. We want to see more. We DESERVE to see more after what you did. You have five seconds to get naked. Remember, this can always get WAY worse.” She then added, just so there was no question what was required, "When the clocks runs out, you are to be naked. Completely naked. Everything you have will be ours to see. Those underpants you seem so attached to will be nowhere near your pint-sized bod."

She looked adamant. He knew he had five seconds and no more. He started hurriedly pulling his underpants down. He had no idea what the way worse punishment Janice threatened would be, and he didn’t want to find out. The current punishment was horrific enough.

He pulled the briefs down to his ankles. But with the way he had quickly bent over to do it, we had only gotten the most fleeting glimpse of his boy parts. Still bent over, he lifted one leg slightly to pull the wet briefs off that foot.

When he lifted his other leg to remove that last bit of modesty, disaster struck for poor Patrick. The underpants got tangled around his foot. In his struggle to free them, he overbalanced, and with a yelp fell over backwards on his bare bottom. His legs were flung wide as he hit the ground. We all got a much better look at everything hanging between those legs as it all flopped about.

He sat there kind of stunned for a moment, briefly unaware that everything was on display. I saw he had a small patch of curly blond hair between his legs. He wasn’t as endowed as the unknowing senior boys Janice and I had spied on last year in the gym showers, but he wasn’t tiny either.

He finally realized that not only were his legs still spread wide, giving all the girls an unobstructed view, but the underpants were still wrapped around his ankle. And the clock was running out. The way worse punishment was perilously close and his underpants were still attached to his pint-sized bod. He frantically untangled them, the action taking longer than it should due to his panicked state. He finally pulled them off and flung them away. He looked up at us hopefully, his eyes begging for a sympathetic verdict.

But the court did not rule in his favor. Janice announced that time had already run out. He had failed in the simple task of removing his underwear. She suggested that maybe he didn't change his underwear often, and so was unused to the process.

Patrick barely had time to make a noise of injured outrage, when Janice told us to go get our cell phones out of our bags.

His eyes got as big as saucers and his mouth dropped open as he realized what was about to happen. We were going to take pictures of HIM naked just like he had been planning to do to us. He scrambled back to his feet. Even in that moment of shock, his hands automatically flew back to cover himself. I noted that this time, he didn’t just shield his genitals like before, but cupped his hands around them in protection.

More than one of us let out a squeal of joy as we rushed to get our phones. Just as he was already stripped of all clothing, we were going to strip him of any dignity he might have left. I remembered the horror I had felt when I realized what would've happened had Patrick not unwittingly given himself away. He would have photos of me naked. Taken without my knowledge or permission. That alone was such a violation that it made me feel sick. And the possibility that he could've spread those photos around to who knew how many lascivious boys at school was beyond contemplation.

Patrick must've felt the same way now that HE was the helpless, hapless victim, because he argued and cried, begged and pleaded. “PLEASE don’t take pictures of me like this! You can't! You just can't!” All the while, his hands were firmly clasped between his legs, protecting his privates from our eyes and cameras.

It was fun to watch him beg, so we let him carry on for quite a while. And the whole time he was imploring us to have mercy, we were doing the very thing he begged us not to: taking pictures, and videos too, of the pervy little boy in his birthday suit.

The video I took of him standing there totally bare, sweating and crying, cupping his hands between his legs, is actually one of my favorites. The later images of him performing the demeaning things we made him do are much more revealing. But this was the first moment of his ordeal in the raw, so it held a special place for me.

Ellen and Grace, the two girls who had marched him back to shore earlier, took charge of him again. It seemed they had naturally slid into the role of his prison guards, just as Janice had become the Warden.

They got on either side of him and forcibly pulled his hands away and held them far out to his sides. He struggled, but was easily overpowered. As he squirmed in their grasp, the dangly parts of his anatomy swayed back and forth enticingly. His movements were drawing attention to the very things he didn't want us to see.

Janice commanded, “Stand still!” He struggled a bit more, but finally gave in. They still held his arms out, putting him on display. He was slick with sweat. I watched individual drops of it run down his chest and over his stomach. Some ran on down his legs. Some gathered in the little patch of hair above his penis. I watched one drop run down his penis and drip off of the tip to fall to the ground. I captured it all in closeup, high definition video. Very artsy stuff!

Janice told the two guards to turn him around. They changed their grip on his arms, sliding thier hands up to his armpits, and then they actually lifted him up, his feet dangling, to walk him around 180 degrees. This was an inspired move. It emphasized that we were bigger and stronger than him, and he was nothing but a small, naughty little boy who was completely within our power.

As they set his feet back on the ground, we got to see him from behind again, this time without the scant covering of his wet briefs.

I had to admit, even though he was two years younger than me, he WAS a cute boy. I would never lower myself to date a little 14 year old shrimp, but he was certainly fun to look at. His buttocks, now that I could see them unobstructed, were nicely formed. Overall, he wasn’t muscular. He would never be a jock. But he was slender and smooth and very boyish. It seems odd to say a boy is boyish, but it somehow fits.

Janice told the guards to let him go, warning him that if he ran, the way worse punishment would become way WAY worse. And if he didn’t do everything we said. . . way WAY worse. He got the message and remained in place. Where could he run, anyway? He was naked. As embarrassing as it was for seven girls to see him this way, what would it be like to run through town like that on a busy Saturday? Assuming he could even outrun us all the way through the woods to get there, which we all knew he couldn't.

Janice told him that if he cooperated and did everything we said, no matter how humiliating, we'd have our fun with him, we’d a take few days to look at all the photos and videos, but then we'd delete it all afterwards. And as a bonus for his good behavior, we wouldn’t tell anyone else about the events by the creek. It would be our collective secret. It would be enough for us just to remember forevermore all that we had seen. And to know that HE knew we remembered it.

But if he didn’t cooperate, if he balked at a single command, our benevolence would disappear. We’d not only tell others about his humiliation, but we’d back up our claims with hard evidence by emailing the images to every girl in our school. He knew we were serious. He could see it in our eyes. As much as we were enjoying the show, we were all still angry as hell.

THIS was the way WAY worse. Every girl in school having photos and video of his very naked self on their phones. He meekly agreed to cooperate.

Patrick’s comeuppance commenced. We took turns giving him commands, telling him how to pose for our cameras. We took pictures from the front, the side, from the back, we made him strike bodybuilder poses (though he was way too slender to make a convincing bodybuilder). We made him stand on one foot, made him touch his toes, touch his nose, do a handstand. We made him walk like a chicken, cluck like a chicken. Sing "I'm a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout". I'll let you guess where his spout was. And much, much more. He would've looked ridiculous performing all these antics fully clothed. Doing them naked was infinitely worse. He looked like an unhinged bare-assed buffoon. He was thoroughly degraded, and we had hardly even begun.

To reinforce his need for complete obedience, Janice asked him what he thought his life at school would be like from now on if his classmates saw even one of these videos. His answer was a renewed river of tears. He really was a little crybaby.

Grace made him jog in place so that the flopping up and down of his boy parts was almost a blur. This had the added feature of the very audible slapping sound of his penis continually smacking against his stomach.

All that movement was having the effect of making his penis grow. It wasn’t erect, but it was obviously thickening and lengthening just a bit. I don’t think he even noticed, but we certainly did.

After a while, Janice told him to cease jogging. He stood there panting and breathless, bent over with his hands on his knees. He wasn’t used to the kind of sustained activity like we performed every day in track. Jogging in the heat had taken its toll. I wouldn’t have thought he could get any sweatier than he was before, but now he was drenched.

Janice gave him some time to catch his breath. Corynn brought him over a bottle of water, advising him to drink it slowly. This amused me. I was beginning to think his classmate had a crush on him.

After giving him time to hydrate, Janice announced that break time was over. She said she wanted some pictures of him holding his penis. He looked at her, then down at his dangly, and that's when he noticed that it had grown a bit. He stared at it, stricken. Having to cavort before a group of girls naked was bad enough. But now they could see that he was halfway to an erection. "I'm not enjoying this. That's not why it's like that," he declared. "Sometime it just happens."

Janice ignored this and repeated the command to hold it. Then she said those dreaded words, “way WAY worse”. At that, he finally took it in hand.

The act of touching himself made it stiffen even more. He look at it, horrified, as if it had betrayed him. Unfortunately, it still wasn’t fully erect. It was definitely making the trip to full extension in stages.

We took a barrage of still shots. Patrick had to hold it up, to one side, then to the other. We all agreed this wasn't as exciting as expected. Then Grace had an idea. He would hold it while he peed. A boy having to pee in front of girls just HAD to be humiliating. And thereby exciting for us. Urine was the missing ingredient.

"Oh, come on," he cried. "That's going too far. I don't even like peeing in front of other guys." Yes, this was going to be fun.

After a couple of warnings about the way WAY worse, Patrick slumped his shoulders and turned sideways. He held it out from his body, and began to urinate. EVERYone switched from photo to video mode for that. I had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to. I had heard some boys had something called a “bashful kidney” and couldn’t pee in the presence of others. Luckily, even as embarrassed as he was, he was not so afflicted. I had never seen a boy pee before, and it was titillating. Even more so because he was so obviously humiliated by having to do it before a female audience. And on camera too. He had a LOT of pee. It streamed out of him for a while, first arcing a long way out in front of him, then gradually tapering off. I wouldn’t have thought he had that much fluid in him after sweating so profusely for so long.

After the stream stopped, he shook his penis a few times, throwing a few remaining drops out of it.

He turned back towards us, shamefaced. He had just peed before the watchful eyes of seven girls. And seven cell phone cameras. I’m sure he thought it couldn’t get any worse. He didn’t know US very well.

The next stage was so obvious that all of us thought of it in unison. I hadn’t realized till then that I wanted to take it that far. But I think it was in the back of all of our minds from the very beginning.

Janice put our desire into words. "Do what you were going to do while you looked at all those pictures you were going to take of us. . . masterbate." He stared at her dumbly, seemingly unable to comprehend what she said. Janice turned to us and said, "Girls, he apparently doesn't know the word. Let's phrase it in a way a teenage boy will understand."

We began peppering him synonyms of the more colloquial nature. Beat your meat! Choke your chicken! Rub it out! Whack off! Jack off! Jerk off! Yank your crank! Spank that monkey! Stroke the salami! And more.

Janice held her hand up for silence, then addressed Patrick. "Surely at least ONE of those was in your vocabulary. You know what to do. So do it!"

Then she added, “It’s not like you haven’t done it before. Right?” He thought it was a rhetorical question till she asked it again.

Knowing we’d never believe him if he denied it (he WAS 14 after all), he hung his head and mumbled an unintelligible answer. Janice asked “Didn’t your teachers ever tell you to speak up in class?” Then again asked him the question, much more loudly this time.

His head still down, he stated more clearly “Yes, I do it. . . sometimes.” I’m sure the “sometimes” was more accurately “all the time”. But having to admit even that much had to have galled him. Janice didn’t call him out on his half-lie, though. She just told him to demonstrate what he did “sometimes”.

He opened his mouth, starting to object. But then just as quickly closed it, resigned to the inevitable. Her earlier threat hung over his head like a scythe. It was mortifying. It was degrading. But he knew he had no control over any of these events. He was not in charge of his life at that moment. The longer he took to do it, the longer he would have to stand there naked and ashamed before these pitiless girls.

He wrapped his hand around his penis, then started sliding it back and forth. It responded, finally becoming completely hard. It stuck out and up from between his legs. It looked to be only about five inches long but was thicker than what I would've guessed. It was smooth and pink.

I had never seen an erect penis in person before. Only pictures of them online.
Even though Patrick’s penis was smaller than the ones on the web, his had the advantage of being right here in front of me. In the flesh. And that more than made up for it. Plus, the men online were proudly displaying theirs for the camera. They WANTED people to see what they had. Patrick’s exposure was involuntary and embarrassing. THAT made it so much more satisfying to observe.

He continued to stroke. Back and forth. We all watched through our viewfinders as our phones captured the action.

While he was doing it, Janice ordered him to tell us how often he masterbated, everywhere he had done it and what techniques he used. She hadn’t let him off lightly with his dubious confession of “sometimes” earlier. She was just going to hit him with a double whammy of forcing him to stroke himself for us while at the same time explaining all the illicit particulars of what were once his private, intimate acts. Those secret, personal times of self pleasure would be secret no longer. We were going to make him give us every juicy detail.

But Janice had one more admonition for him before he began his recital. She told him that she could always tell not only when someone was lying, but also if they were holding back any of the truth. ANY of it. Any detail, however slight it might be. And if he did either of those things, the consequences would be dire. We all immediately caught on and backed her up. "She's a human lie detector." He was convinced, so his confessions were extremely detailed indeed.

As his narration progressed, his words became more halting. His manipulations were having their intended effect. Sometimes words would turn into little gasps or moans. Every time this happened, he’d become even more embarrassed, knowing he was revealing an increasing pleasure even though the act producing it was coerced.

He wasn't the only one getting sexual satisfaction from the act. I was too just by watching. And a quick glance at the other girls around me confirmed that they too were feeling it. This was EXCITING.

When Janice and I had spied on those boys in the locker room showers, it was fun. Seeing them talking, laughing, jostling each other about while wet, soapy and naked was a thrill. All the more so because they didn’t know they were being observed. They were unknowing actors on stage in our R rated production. Secretly knowing what they looked like naked while we talked to them at lunch or in the halls roused something within me, and I had many times thought back on it later in my bedroom when I had my own private, intimate moments. That secret knowledge was just as stimulating as when we first saw them in the showers.

But watching Patrick, a KNOWING and reluctant actor in our play, turned out to be even more thrilling. Gone was the satisfaction of secret knowledge, but it was more than made up for by the palpable humiliation our little naked puppet was exuding. Shame oozed out of him like the sweat from his pores.

As for all the particulars Janice demanded of him. . . He explained, in that halting, gasping way, that he masterbated at least once a day. Sometimes, when the hormonal urges weren’t immediately sated by a single session, he’d do it twice in a row. Occasionally, there would be a day that demanded three. If he hadn't properly lubricated, this could leave him raw and sore the next day.

Over the course of just this year, he had done it four or five times in the school restroom when just the feeling of his jeans rubbing against his groin in class had caused a potentially embarrassing erection that wouldn’t go away on its own. On these occasions he had to cover his bulge with textbooks as made his way down the crowded halls after the class bell, desperately hoping no one would see or suspect and that no one he knew would stop him to talk.

He had done it once in a theater restroom when a scene in an R rated movie he and two friends had sneaked into proved too much for him. With the claim of having to pee, he left the auditorium mid-movie to address the situation. His friends HAD suspected on that occasion, but had let him off with gentle teasing afterwards. They had completely understood the dilemma.

He masterbated out in the woods once, in a peaceful clearing not far from this creek. He had taken off all his clothes to do it. It was pleasant lying in the grass feeling the warm sun on his body as a cool breeze blew across it, stroking himself languidly to orgasm. He did it three times that day. Each time his penis had erupted, a geyser of semen had splattered across his stomach and chest, leaving him in quite a mess. He hadn't had the forethought to bring a towel to clean himself up, so he had to use handfuls of grass to try and wipe the ejaculate away. He felt sticky and dirty all the way back home, with his t-shirt adhering unpleasantly to his torso. He hadn't known about our secluded creek, the perfect place to play with himself outdoors and wash up after.

The only other location he had done it besides his bedroom was in the boys shower room at the public pool. The sight of some many girls in skimpy bikinis had overwhelmed him and he had to scamper to the showers before someone noticed his erection. Luckily, the showers had individual stalls with curtains. He got in a stall, turned on the water, peeled off his swimsuit and stroked himself to ecstasy under the hot spray. He did it twice, all the while remembering those girls and their bikinis. And thinking of them without the bikinis, too.

As he was about to go into a third lap, imagining the prettiest girl from the pool slinking into the shower with him for a mutual hand wash, an older guy waiting outside the stall was growing impatient for his turn. He finally growled, “What are you doing in there? Playing with yourself?” It sounded more like sarcasm than an actual accusation. Little did he know. Or maybe he did. He was male and had a penis of his own that occasionally demanded attention, too.

Mostly when he masterbated, Patrick would just stroke it back and forth like he was doing for us. This was the plain vanilla sex version of self-stimulation. But some nights he’d try to mimic having actual sex with a someone besides himself. He'd pile pillows up on his bed and lay on top of them, humping as though there was a girl beneath him.

He was aware of how the bed springs squeaked when he did this, but he didn't realize how far the sound actually traveled through the rest of the house. His dad took him aside one day and suggested he only do this when he had the house to himself. If his dad had heard his amorous activities, then his mother certainly had too. And since the bedroom of his older sister (who I was slightly acquainted with) was much closer to his than their parents', she too knew when he was acting on his overpowering sexual urges in this manner. They ALL knew! Not only had they had heard him doing it, but when the squeaking stopped, they knew the very moment he had ejaculated. This was unbearable.

Though his dad had tried to make his suggestion as gently and diplomatically as possible, knowing the subject was an awkward and uncomfortable one for a boy Patrick's age, Patrick had nevertheless burst into mortified tears. Dad had to hold and comfort him through a ten minute crying bout, patting his head and saying "There, there. It's ok,". Patrick knew it was far from ok. He thought at the time that nothing could ever be further from ok than that moment. That was before he met US.

He swore to himself on that day that he would never masterbate in that manner again. That he'd never masterbate at ALL again. But that resolution didn't survive the very next erotic tickle he felt between his legs. Two days later he was pumping his penis like his dad's revelation had never occured. A day or so after that found him atop his mound of pillows, happily humping his imaginary girl. This time though, he did it in the afternoon when he had the house to himself as his dad had suggested. Father knows best. His sex life, such as it was, had quickly returned to normal, but it was still a week or so before he could look any of his family in the eye.

After each session with his surrogate, he’d have to secretly slip the resulting sticky pillow case into a load of dirty clothes slated for the washing machine. Before this, he had thought he was cleverly getting rid of the evidense. Now he knew that because of his bed's traitorous squeaking, his mother had known just when to watch out for his semen stained linens. He thought about this once, then vowed for the sake of his sanity to never think of it again.

Speaking of the washing machine, it was his partner in another method of masterbation. He would lean up against it while it was running and let the vibration bring him to a climax. Due to having to use the laundry room for this particular act, he had always done it when no one else was home.

But once, a few weeks after the awkward conversation with his dad, his sister had gotten home early and had caught him with the washer. While it vibrated against his penis, he was gently playing with one of his nipples with one hand while rubbing his bottom with the other. He was naked, with only a towel draped over the washer, hanging between him and the machine to catch his semen when it came. Which it did right as his sister walked into the laundry room. He hadn't even felt like he was ready to climax before that moment. He thought the shock of his sister's entrance must have startled him into an orgasm.

Upon seeing her, he lurched backwards, squirting his semen all over the washer and floor. And his stomach and legs too, just to make the situation even more degrading. He cried out, "Oh, oh, ohhhhh!" as he discharged. He fell against the dryer, trading astonished stares with his sister. But while he was staring in horror at her face, she was staring between his legs, where his penis was spurting out the last few strings of semen.

He had experienced a confusing, uncomfortable combination of an unusually intense, prolonged orgasm and the mortification of his sister seeing him having it. As singularly exquisite and powerful as it felt, it was a sensation he never wanted to revisit. Sanity required THIS, too.

Standing there with his juices dripping down his body and legs, he had burst into tears while she burst into laughter. He tried to escape, but she blocked the door and told him she wasn't budging until he had cleaned up himself and the mess he had made around him. And this was no quick wipe down. He had to use soapy water and a washrag on himself and the washing machine, and a mop and bucket for the floor.

While he was cleaning himself up, he turned away in an effort to retain as much modesty as possible while still presenting his bare bottom to her. She told him. "Patrick, you're my brother and I love you. But you are such a little degenerate. You sully your bedsheets practically every night and now you've ravished the washing machine." She sighed loudly in exasperation. "Now, every time I put a load of clothes in, I'm going to see my naked little brother squirting jizz all over it. Where is amnesia when you need it?"

As she berated him, he was having to squeeze the last vestiges of semen from his shaft into the washrag before turning his attention to the rest of the stuff running down his body. Once he had cleaned it away, and his sister had inspected him to make sure he did a proper job, she allowed him to wrap a towel around his waist before he began mopping up his spillage.

It had been YEARS since his sister had seen him naked. He was just a little boy the last time. Now, she had not only seen everything, front and back, but had seen him erect and spewing seminal fluid all over himself and everything around him. THEN she inspects him, still naked, as though he was still that little boy and couldn't be trusted to clean himself. And all of this only weeks after learning that she and everyone else in the household knew every time he pounded the pillows. How much humiliation could he take?

Only when the floor was clean did she let him scurry back to his bedroom to fling himself onto his bed and cry even more.

Patrick's life was a series of tragedies of his own making.

As with the incident of the pillows, he fervently vowed NEVER AGAIN! He would have no more illicit liasons with the washing machine. But just as with the previous vow, this one had a very short, unhappy life. Days later, he was back in the laundry room, grinding his hips into the washer, feeling the vibrations pulse through his penis.

Patrick didn't say it, but I suspect the danger of discovery, something he had learned was a very real possibility, added an extra sense of excitement to the act.

He had to do his sister's chores for two months so she wouldn’t tell their parents. He was afraid for a while, even so, that she wouldn’t keep his shameful secret. But it seemed she was true to her word. She still teased him unmercifully about it. Every now and then, she’d mime playing with a nipple and rubbing her butt, then burst into laughter all over again.

She may have kept his secret, but now WE knew about it, and we had no familial bonds to tie our hands. We knew it all, in excruciating detail. And we had it all on video too. This wasn’t just hearsay. It wasn't a rumor passed from one student to another. He told the story himself, while masterbating for the camera. The complete audio/video package. Could we keep something this delicious to ourselves? Wouldn't it be selfish not to share? Poor Patrick. We held his life in our hands. But we had promised to be discreet if he was completely obedient and did everything we said. I kind of hoped he was still in the rebellious, disobedient stage of adolecence.

Janice suddenly ordered him to stop mid-stroke. He looked confused, then grateful. He let out a long sigh, thinking his ordeal was somehow over. I was confused too, and had a momentary surge of anger. What was she doing? This was getting really good. It turned out she wanted to get lots of still shots of Patrick while he was still erect. Once he climaxed, it would go soft again.

So we all circled around him as he stood with his arms at his sides, breathing heavily, his head hanging down and his penis pointing up. We took lots of closeups and lots of full body shots. All the while he just stood meekly and waited for the next command.

Once we had plenty of photos, we switched back to video and made him start stroking himself again. As he got closer to touchdown, he began leaning his head back, eyes closed, pumping faster. He started making low moaning sounds and began thrusting his hips instinctively. After a couple of minutes, he suddenly threw his head back even further, crying out his signature catch phrase, “Oh, oh, ohhhhhhh”.

His pumping motions became furious. He arched his back violently and from his penis jetted long strings of milky white fluid. Four or five bursts. When it was over he slumped forward, his knees almost giving out, but he continued stroking, if somewhat slower than before. A few more squirts and his penis began to soften. All the while he still kept making those low moaning sounds of pleasure. Even after it became completely soft, he still massaged it leisurely, shuddering a couple of times. He had obviously completely forgotten about his audience for the moment, lost as he was in the pleasures of a hormonal 14 year old boy.

There was a long pause before he once again became aware of where he was and what he had been doing. The bright red blush returned, burning hotter than ever.

He reached down for his clothes, thinking that after what he had just done, the show was now over. He could finally get dressed, go home, crawl in bed and never come back out. He was mistaken. We were like wild insatiable animals that had scented blood. We wanted more.

To his dismay, it all began again. Each girl trying to outdo the others with ever more demeaning demands for our naked little plaything.

Since jogging in place had caused his penis and ballsack to flop around so energetically, we tried to think of activities that would produce similar results. We settled on jumping jacks. This proved even more visually appealing than the jogging, since now his knees never moved forward, obscuring the action of interest. Each time he would jump, his hands meeting over his head and his legs spreading wide, his pendulous boy parts would swing wildly forward and back, forward and back. We enjoyed this part of the show so much that we made him do it far too long. He actually collapsed on the ground once it was over, his chest heaving dramatically as he gasped for breath. This boy needed to exercise more often. Some cardio would do him good.

Corynn and Alison both brought him water this time.

He had long since stopped crying, kind of accepting the situation, at least as much as possible. I’m sure he had decided that we had already seen him naked and debased, doing all those humiliating things. Even seen him masterbating. Heard him telling all his most intimate acts and thoughts. The damage was already done. Finish it and move on. Try to forget it ever happened. These mean girls would have their fun, look at the photos, watch the videos. Then they would delete them all because he had done everything they said. No one else would know. He’d burn with shame every time he saw one of them. But it would be only the seven of them, not every girl in school.

But even though he had accepted it, he would still blush bright red while performing every new command. His acceptance went only so far. This was good. I didn't want him to be completely docile. I didn't want him to become nonchalant and indifferent to the indignities. I wanted him to burn with shame at every new act. To feel the humiliation that WE would've felt had he succeeded in his voyeuristic endeavor.

I had the bright idea of making him lick his armpits, which were still bare of any hair. We made him lick one for about five minutes, telling him to get more and more passionate about it. He licked all the sweat from it, sweated some more and licked that away too. Then we made him switch to the other.

We made him do something we KNEW he liked. Play with his nipples. Doing this, he couldn’t help but start getting hard again. Those nipples were sensitive. Still, he didn’t get fully hard, so we made him start massaging his bottom.

We lined up behind him as he squeezed his buttocks in each hand, massaging them deeply, cameras capturing all the action.

Moving around to his front again, we saw this had achieved the intended effect. His penis was fully hard once more. We decided that instead of making him masterbate again, we’d see how long it could stay that way.

Quite a while, as it turned out, but it was agony for him. After a while, he stopped performing his latest command (sucking his thumb as though it was a penis) and addressed us in a very plaintive voice, “I can’t stand it when it’s hard for this long! I’ve got to do something!” He was actually asking us to let him masterbate again. But he was asking without saying the words. So Janice told him if he asked nicely and with clarification, we would graciously give him our permission. His face turned an ever more amazing shade of red, but he managed to make a mumbling request. Of course, that wasn’t sufficient. We made him ask again, this time more loudly and clearly.

“Would you please let me jerk off? I can’t stand it. Please. Pleeeeeease!”

We conferred with each other and decided it was a polite and unambiguous request. So we allowed it. He would get blessed relief and we would get more video.

But during our conference, Natalie said we had already seen him jerking off. We needed variety. She suggested a different scenario for round two. She turned to Patrick and asked him if he had ever had a girlfriend. His answer was a very sheepish no, as we all knew it would be. So, being magnanimous, we made him one. We stacked all of the exercise mats, rolled them up and strapped them together. It made a nice, big, soft cushy cylindrical pillow, custom made for a horny boy to grind his passions into.

We made him lay on top of it and hump it like he did his pillows at home. At first, his humping motions were perfunctory. He was just mechanically following instructions. But as his penis rubbed against the soft foam of the mats, he became more enthusiastic and his thrusts became frenzied and urgent. Soon he was once again oblivious of his audience.

We had originally set the rolled mats down with the edges to the side. Patrick was currently laying across the curved circumference. But as Ellen watched the show, she suddenly realized a better setup would be to turn it over so the edges would be facing up. Those edges spiraled in to form an inviting hole in the center.

Ellen ordered Patrick to stop for a moment, but he was lost in coitus with his newfound love and was deaf to her command. Janice, ever the no-nonsense one, just stepped up behind the boy, grasped him under his arms, and lifted him off. While she was setting him on his feet, his lustful momentum carried him through a few more thrusting motions into the air before he stopped, chagrined at his lack of control. Even so, he started to reach for his erection to finish what had been started, but Janice snapped a warning at him. He dropped his hand, looking unhappy. His feet started doing a kind of impatient dance. He hopped from foot to foot, like a boy who desperately needed to pee and was about to lose control. But Patrick's agitation wasn't from the pressure of pee. He had an overpowering need to release an entirely different fluid from his little penis hole.

We took a little longer than we actually needed to reposition the roll of mats. It was too much fun watching Patrick's dance of distress. Each time he hopped, his stiffened penis would only bob up and down slightly while his ballsack flopped about freely like before. A nice study in contrasts.

Once we finally turned the mats over, there was the orifice in the center, awaiting penetration.

He lay across it again and inserted his eager appendage into the hole. It was practically a perfect fit. He immediately resumed his frantic pumping and thrusting as though he had never stopped. The boy was a slave to his hormones.

He soon arched his torso upwards, while pounding his pelvis ever more furiously into the mats. He let loose his victory cry of “Oh, oh, ohhhhhh!” and we knew he was spewing semen all over the inside of our rolled mats. Eww. We hadn’t exactly thought this one through.

The innermost mat was probably ruined, but we got some excellent video in return.

Patrick got up and staggered backwards from the roll. His slick, sweaty skin glistened in the sunlight. A single drop of white fluid hung from the end of his softening penis, stretching downward. I zoomed in for the closeup as it let go and fell. I really was getting into this videography thing.

Once again, as he realized what he had just done before a group of girls, girls with cameras, a wave of shame and self-loathing washed over his features. I caught THAT in my viewfinder, too.

No matter what anyone else did, I was NOT deleting this record of the day’s events. I suspected no one else would, either.

Even after this latest display, we weren't yet ready to cut the strings of our little marionnette. We were having too much fun. So the torments began anew.

Alison, one of the younger girls, made him crawl around on his hands and knees, barking like a dog. She made him hike his leg on a bush, but only a small dribble of pee came out. His bladder was almost empty from his earlier gusher. She told him to lick his ballsack like dogs do. He tried, bending forward and stretching his tongue out as far as it would go, but just couldn't reach. Even a failed attempt, though, could be fun to watch.

This type of thing all went on for over an hour. He was panting and exhausted. But he still cooperated, knowing the alternative would be much, much worse. If we hit SEND in our email apps, every girl in school would see those embarrassing images. Hear all his previous acts and thoughts from his own lips.

But towards the end, when we were all about to wrap it up, poor Patrick made a grievous mistake. Corynn announced that there was one spot on his body that we had somehow not gotten a good look at. Throughout all the various poses and ridiculous actions we made him perform, we had only seen brief glimpses of his butthole. Even when he was on his hands and knees, it had been hidden between his buttocks. I think he actually may have been unconsciously squeezing his buttocks together to protect it.

“His humiliation won’t be complete till we get a good, long look at his little heinie hole,” she declared. “I want him to know from now on that we’ve all seen him THERE.”

We all agreed this was the perfect way to top off the day.

Patrick looked like he had been staggered by a physical blow. He was practically panic stricken. Since he had become almost complacent till this point, a lot of the fun was wearing off. But his reaction to this new demand was so strong, so visceral, we knew that we could now induce a fresh wave of humiliation upon him. Maybe the biggest wave of all. A tsunami of shame.

Corynn told him to lay on his back and pull his knees to his chest so we could see his hole. He refused. And refusal was something he should’ve known he was NOT allowed to do. But after everything we had made him do, exposing his anus was somehow, for some reason, too much for him. Apparently he wasn’t out of tears either because he started crying again, pleading with us. “That area is more private than my privates!” he wailed.

We reminded him of the consequences of being disobedient. But he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. I could tell he wanted to so that this long ordeal would finally be over. And he knew a terrible fate lay waiting for him if he refused. But I could also tell that he would never concede. He didn't have a bashful kidney. He had a bashful butthole.

Janice made one last attempt to make him obey. He just shook his head violently, saying "No no no no no!" "Oh well" she stated. "I tried. Get him, girls!!!"

We were upon him before he could even think of running. We easily overpowered him and forced him to the ground. Pushing his knees to his chest proved to be a little more difficult. He fought frantically with a desperation that was impressive, crying out, "Please don't do this! Please stop! Pleeeease!". He was so slippery with sweat that holding onto him was like trying to wrestle a greased eel.

Finally we prevailed, though we were all much sweatier after all the exertion. We pushed his kness up to his chest, bringing his bottom way up in the air in a very undignified position. His buttocks naturally spread open, revealing everything to our eager eyes.

He was still struggling, so Janice slapped him on one butt cheek. Hard. Since his bottom was stuck straight up in the air, it made a very easy target. She smacked his other butt cheek. Then twice more on each buttock for good measure. "There's a lot more of that if you keep this nonsense up," she bellowed. "Unless you want every girl here to have her turn spanking your bare ass, you better quit it, NOW!"

The spanking he had just received and the threat of more cut through the mindless panic he had been overwhelmed by. Even after all we had subjected him to, the spanking came as a complete surprise. At 14 years old, his mother probably hadn't spanked him in years. Or ever. Maybe a lack of discipline is why he's the pervy little peeping-tom he is today.

His struggles ceased.The tension drained out of him and he lay back with a sob, awaiting the new assault on his dignity.

We didn’t just get to see his hole, but also his scrotum at a whole new angle as it flopped forward over his penis. We took lots of closeups. We talked about what a CUTE little hole he had, what a darling pink pucker. All the while his eyes were clenched shut, tears leaking down his temples into his wet, tousled hair. We commented on how hairless his balls and butt crack were. Didn’t most boys his age usually have more hair down there than this?

Even though we were being sarcastic while calling him cute, he actually WAS. He was cute all over. It was obvious all the other girls thought so too. He was a little doll. For some reason, this made controlling him much more satisfying. He was OUR little doll. To do with as we pleased.

After a while, we decided that we had done all we could do. I didn’t think it would be possible to degrade him any further. We had seen all there was to see and heard every intimate detail of his solo sexual excursions. That boy had no secrets left.

It was just as well as our phone batteries were almost drained.

Janice told Patrick to stand up. He did so timidly, then stood with his head down awaiting instructions. She told him he could finally get dressed. As he began, we held another hurried conference.

He was pulling up his underwear, now unfortunately dry, when Janice informed him that since he had refused to comply with the knees-to-chest pose, he was going to have to pay the price for disobedience. The way WAY worse had arrived. We were all going to upload the photos and videos to all the kids we knew. With instructions to send it to all the kids THEY knew. Within a couple of days at the the most, every student at our school, girls and boys alike, would have a treasure trove of images. They’d see every square inch of his body in extreme closeup, including his more-private-than-his-privates butthole. They’d see him stroking himself to orgasm. They'd see him crying like a baby. They’d hear him confessing all his nasty little acts of self-gratification. They’d hear about date nights with the washing machine.

We even showed him some of the most embarrassing episodes on our phones so he would know exactly what everyone else was going to see and hear. What they would think of every time they saw him at school. From now on he'd be that crying, naked, sweaty, masterbating boy who took up so much storage space in EVERYONE's cell phone photo album.

Still clad only in his briefs, he actually got down on his knees and begged us not to send the pictures. He said he'd do anything. ANYTHING! He said he'd be our plaything every weekend for the rest of the month. The rest of the year. Until he graduated! We could do anything we wanted to him. Just please, PLEEEEEASE don't email those pics. His life will be ruined! But none of us showed any mercy. We reminded him of what he had intended to do to US. He had chosen his fate.

Janice bent down to look him in the face. "Monday is two days away", she said. "And it's going be pure hell for pervy little Patrick Henley when he gets to school. And Monday is only the beginning. You have over three more years of high school to get through. Over three years to reflect on the choices you've made in life. Over three years to regret the one choice you made today when you decided to violate seven girls at once."

I added, "And just think. Every boy and girl at school will have all the blackmail material they need to make you do whatever they want. You may be putting on a lot of private shows for the next three years."

Ellen assumed an announcer's voice, "Patrick the Party Favor will liven up any gathering! He'll be your own naked, anatomically correct doll. Only available in size small. He'll sweat. He'll squirt. He'll cry. Wind him up and watch him hump every inanimate object in sight!"

Grace added, "You're going to be popular. REALLY popular. Your parents are going to be so proud that you're making new friends and getting invited to so many parties."

Natalie delivered the coup de grace, "And everyone there will have cell phones, too".

Patrick collapsed at our feet as the magnitude of what was about to happen hit him. He lay there, curled up in the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. He was still there after we had packed up our things and began our trip back to town.

We'd wait till Monday to tell him we weren't going to tell anyone else about our day at the creek. His shameful secrets were safe with us. And we wouldn't be emailing any of the evidence to anyone. It was enough for us that we had stripped him bare of all his clothes and all his dignity. Each time he saw one us in school, he'd experience that humiliation all over again. And it wasn't a large school. He'd see us often.

We'd be keeping the treaure trove, though. We'd trade the photos and videos among ourselves. We'd have an occasional movie night and watch it all on the big screen tv at my house when my parents were out. We might even sit him down (naked, of course) and make him watch them all with us, so he'd see everything WE saw. And believe me, we saw a LOT. He could sit between Alison and Corynn. I think they both were kind of sweet on him.

But we wouldn't be disseminating the images. We weren't going to ruin his life.

We're mean girls. But we're not THAT mean.

(End of File)