Chapter 2

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. He’s Mall Cop Tom.”

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

At my hiring, I was given two uniform shirts. A short sleeve 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 on 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 gonna 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 boring.

“Hey boys,” His grin widens. “I spoke to 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 its 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? You like guys touching other guys? Or 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 protecting. How old are you?”

He chuckles, “Me too. Except I can fit you in my pocket.” He pokes at my muscle-free abdomen and I giggle like the Pilsbury 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 has 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 fellow 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.

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 serious 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 of 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. And knowing that they can so easily dominate me is at the core of every fantasy in my head.

I may never have been strong or 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 backwards. 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 gaunt 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 violent orgasm. But it never happened. Sadly, he never existed.

Blue Eyes comments, “We can see 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 goes back 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.