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Free Stories... Female Domination... Male Submission Return to Femdom Stories Paperbacks Home Page EBook Home Page
From Tabitha's Tease... Copyrighted © 2008
by
Robin Wilde, all rights reserved. Caught With His Pants Down They caught Robin masturbating behind the bleachers. As one of the first three males ever admitted to the highly exclusive Valentine Academy, all-female for over one hundred years, Robin thought he’d discovered the scam of the century. Now, it looked like he was the victim. Instead of being king cock of the walk, he was suffering the torments of Tantalus. A campus of all-American cockteasers, flush with Daddy’s money and an unshakeable faith in their own sexuality, at turns demure and outrageous, had been turning him inside out ever since he’d arrived. He wore a perpetual hard-on with few opportunities to do anything to relieve the pressure. With only a few males around, he was closeted in a girl’s dorm. Enemy territory. Watching the cheerleader practice was too much for any normal male. Twelve young nymphets with that too-wholesome girl-next-door sexuality, fresh wriggling bodies and budding breasts covered by tight letter sweaters, long silky legs under scandalously short skirts, showing off their moves with knowing glances, driving him to a hard-on before he had a chance. He had to do something. He had to. Cautiously, he peered around, and then sneaked underneath the bleachers, discovering that he could peer out between the seats at their hip-swinging dance. He reached down to shift his tumescent organ, and the touch was so unbelievably pleasant he had to unzip his pants, slide them down over his hips, pull his penis out of his too-tight shorts, pull it out, just for a minute, then stroked it faster and faster, abusing it toward a quick, explosive release, gazing with tongue lolling out, panting, getting close, oh god... “Well, what have we here?” On the culminating brink of his needed explosion, his straining erection dripping pre-come under the steady strokes of his hand, he swiveled in shock to see three gorgeous, deadly cheerleaders giving him a disapproving once-over. His other hand flew to cover up his flopping, turgid organ as his pants slipped humiliatingly to puddle around his knees. A blush started at his forehead and burned its shaming way down his exposed torso, making him stammer lamely. “I...I had an itch...I...” His stuttering explanation drew gales of laughter. “Sure, you had an itch. We saw you scratching it,” snickered one cheerleader, an astoundingly cute redhead with a huge chest and a tiny waist, her laughing green eyes mocking him. His eyes darted from side to side. He was desperate to escape, to run away and hide forever. He lunged past the co-eds, searching for an opening. “Not so fast, little boy,” the raven-haired cheerleader jeered, grabbing him. The other two piled in, grasping his arms, holding him prisoner. Futilely, he struggled, trying to get away, but they were too strong for him. The girls pushed him hard; he stumbled, tripped by his hobbling trousers. They stood dominatingly over him, wickedly stern in their scrutiny. “Better do exactly what we say, little boy, or we’ll have you expelled.” Scared, humiliated, despairing, he nodded, sniffling. “O-okay. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell on me.” “We’ll do exactly what we choose,” the raven-haired cheerleader said firmly. “Your only chance is to follow our orders.” Meekly, Robin nodded. His captors each wore the distinctive uniform of the Valentine Academy pom-pom squad. Tight, white short-sleeve sweaters with a deep red “V” stretching over the cleavage. Tiny pleated skirt, also in white, with a red trim and white reversed-out hearts along the hemline. The skirts flared out, exposing a good four inches of luscious girl-girl thigh. Bobbie sox and saddle oxfords completed the outfit. Beneath the fetishistic pleated miniskirts, Robin knew, were red cotton panties that flashed with every jump or split. The dominating raven-haired vixen, Loni, had dark almond eyes and jet black eyebrows. Her shoulder-length tresses were windblown; one strand hung over her face. Her mouth was slightly open, her lips full and cruel. Her body was lean, with cupcake tits and long, sensual legs. Kerri’s golden mane flowed in soft waves to the small of her back. She had a thin, sensual face with startling pale blue eyes that looked down at him with condescension. Her taut athletic legs were her best feature, but her breasts were large and full. The third cheerleader was Tiffany, a petite hipsy-tailsy redhead, an action-packed bundle of dynamite. More cute than beautiful, she had a sly smile packed with lust. As the helpless victim sat on the chilly concrete, vainly concealing his privates, his three sexy captors conferred in whispers, glancing at him from time to time with an amused sparkle in their eyes. “All right,” Loni declared, “we won’t turn you in. But we will have to punish you for this indiscretion. Understand?” “Y-yes,” he whispered, looking at his feet in painful embarrassment. “That’s ‘yes, ma’am,’” Kerri added. “Y-yes, ma’am,” he whispered. “Okay, stand up.” When he complied, Loni continued, “Now, take off your clothes. We want to see what you’ve got.” He knew he had no choice. With trembling, numb fingers, he unbuttoned his shirt, slid off his shoes and pushed his pants off. He stood with his hands barely covering his erect, jutting pole. The three pom-pom girls stared with kittenish glee. “Hands behind your back. Now!” Loni barked. They circled him slowly, checking him out like a side of beef. “Put your hands over your head,” Loni ordered. He trembled as he submitted to their teasing commands. Then they explored his nude form, caressing his ticklish sides, his tiny erect nipples, his dangling testicles. He squirmed under the tantalizing attention until a firm spank on his bare butt commanded him to be still. His eyes fastened on the saddle oxford shoes of the sadistic cheerleader who orchestrated his public torment. The curving line of her ankle drew his eyes up the shapely calf and to the warm thighs vanishing under her pleated miniskirt, then to the narrow waist above rounded hips, and on to the letter sweater straining to contain her round, soft bosom, then to her face, angelic yet cold. “Well, little boy, how are you feeling?” With mock sympathy, Loni stood in front of him as her companions snickered at his discomfiture. She tickled her soft hands over his naked torso, touching his nipples, sending waves of shameful pleasure coursing through him. “Ooh, is that better? Yes, it is. Your little penis likes it.” His shame and vulnerability were evident. She petted his nipples slowly, rubbing the rigid nubs in a circle. His half-mast erection pulsed to firmness almost instantly and he let out an agonized moan of frustration. She chuckled. “Yes. Yes. Come on, little toy. That’s right.” She grabbed his cock in one hand. He could feel her heat inflaming him. His hands held rigidly above his head, he could only whimper as she masturbated him with one hand and toyed with his maddeningly sensitive nipples with the other. “Oh, god...” he pleaded, “oh god...oh god...please...yes...oh...yes...oh...” “Horny little bastard, aren’t you?” she asked. He groaned with mortified desire, but did not reply. She dug her red painted talons into his shaft, making him wince, and asked again, “Horny little bastard, aren’t you?” “Y-yes...yes...I’m a horny little bastard,” he moaned in abject agreement. “How long has it been since you’ve shot off?” she asked, continuing her voluptuous torment. “Days...I don’t know...aah!” “Did you beat your meat last time you came or did a girl get you off?” “I-I did it myself.” “Oh?” She tantalized him devilishly with her innocent questioning and her inflaming hands on his nipples and cock. He was quickly climbing the slippery slope of sensual delight to an explosive orgasm. “You did yourself. You took your dick in your hand and rubbed it like I’m doing.” He nodded, red-faced and gasping for breath. He was rocking back and forth on his knees, dangerously close to falling. His mind was reeling. “And you kept it up until all that nasty white cream spurted out of it, didn’t you?” “Y-yes.” “Who were you thinking about?” “The g-girls...” “Which girls?” “A-all the girls...all the co-eds...the c-cheerleaders...” “You were thinking about cheerleaders? Were you thinking about us?” “Y-yes.” The other vixens, watching with undisguised and devilish delight, giggled knowingly. “Careful. Careful. If you get any of that nasty white stuff on me, you’re going to regret it big time.” She dug her sharp crimson talons into his exposed flesh until he winced with the sudden pain, then returned to her casual stroking. He bit his lower lip to keep from going over the edge. Mercilessly, she continued her stimulation and her questions. “Did you ever make it with a cheerleader?” “N-no.” “Did you ever make it with anyone at Valentine Academy?” “N-no.” “Did you ever shoot that dick off inside a girl’s pussy?” He blushed beet red. They now knew his secret shame. “N-no.” “You’re a virgin?” she said, with roguish incredulity. His hangdog expression was confirmation. The news made the three uniformed witches uncontrollably. “We’ve got a virgin pervert, girls!” she announced. The humiliating comments echoed in his sex-tormented brain while the cold-hearted minx continued her slow, devastating tease. Clear seminal fluid began to leak from the purple cap of his penis. Then she stood up, stopping the stimulation suddenly, leaving him stirred once again to the crumbling edge of relief, desperate for fulfillment denied. He whined with misery and desperation. She ignored him. “What do you think, girls?” “Well, if he’s a virgin, he sure can’t handle what I had in mind,” Tiffany, the big-titted redhead chortled wickedly. Kerri giggled in response. “Yeah. He’d probably shoot off before we were even half-started. Let’s make him jerk off for us.” Blushing, unbelieving, Robin hardly heard the order. “Yeah, Robin, jerk off for us. That’s what you wanted to do anyway, wasn’t it? Jerk it off.” The three cheerleaders purred and cooed in unison. “Jerk off. Jerk off. Jerk off.” They chanted rhythmically as he hesitantly took his prick in his hand. After Loni’s tantalizing cocktease, the swollen and purple-helmeted organ pulsed in his own hand. He gaped at the three sly temptresses, wanting them, needing them. “Go ahead. Do it. You know you want to. Jerk off for us. Do it now. Jerk it. Jerk it.” Obediently, he tugged at his humiliated erection, displayed for the amused titillation of his feminine captors, the veined skin sliding up and swallowing the cap, then skinning it again. His knees were weak; he felt faint, unable to stand. “Whip that cock. Make it spurt. Yeah.” Toying with his enraged desire, Tiffany flipped up her skirt, showing off her panties. Loni blew him kisses. Kerri smiled and licked her lips with outrageously exaggerated sexuality. He worked his shaft harder and harder in his masturbating fist. “Yeah. That’s the way. Spank your hamster. Beat your meat. Flog your monkey.” They laughed derisively at him as he grunted in growing passion. He was close...nearly there... “Stop. Right this second. Now!” He groaned with frustration as Loni forced him to stop right before the culminating moment. When he calmed down for a second, she smiled with cruel glee. “Now start again. Beat your meat some more for us.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. He started pushing his twitching, dripping tool back up the slippery Sisiphyean slope to the orgasm his tormentors might deny him yet again. He looked from one diabolical cheerleader to another. He was sweating. He speeded up as they chanted, “Jerk it off. Jerk it off. Jerk it off.” Again he approached the moment of culmination. His bloated, twitching tool was purple with its terrible craving. “Ah. Ah. Ah.” His breath came in pants. He was ready, so ready... “Stop it. Stop it right now,” Kerri ordered sternly. The other two giggled. “Hands behind your neck. Now.” They circled him like jungle cats surrounding their prey, their wicked, teasing eyes devouring his degradation. They petted and tickled at him, wickedly avoiding his twitching organ. His hips bucked uncontrollably; his legs trembled with weakness. “Please...please,” he whimpered in the grip of helpless lust, craving his denied climax. “He wants to jerk off for us. He’s just a little jerk-off boy, isn’t he? Aren’t you?” Tiffany scorned. He could only nod, begging, as she made fun of his desperation. Finally, Kerri smirked, “Okay. You can start again. Jerk off for us.” The other girls chanted, “Jerk off. Jerk off. Jerk off.” As he edged closer and closer to his long-denied explosion, he started to worry. Would they let him finish this time, or stop him again? Their expressions gave him no clue. His trembling knees got weaker and weaker; his body strained with urgent rut. “Oh...oh...please...oh! Now! Yes!” He moaned with helpless lust. The three cheerleaders continued to chant their mantra. Finally, he began to spurt, his seed jetting out a full six inches, spattering on the cold, dirty floor. His legs could no longer support him and he collapsed to his knees, gasping with the draining intensity of his rutting orgasm. His heart pounded. He recovered, only to see Tiffany finish gathering up his clothes. “Bye-bye,” Loni snickered. “You’d better be on your toes when you sneak back to your dorm room. Wouldn’t want some wicked girls to catch you stark naked on this campus. You never know what could happen, do you?” His protest died in his
throat as the devilish vixens slipped quickly through a metal door into the
bowels of the stadium. He was alone, naked, with a puddle of white sperm cooling
on the rough gray concrete.
From Tabitha's
Tickle Sharon’s fingers crawled slowly up Bobby’s leg. “What are you thinking about?” she teased. Even with his eyes closed, he began to blush. “Was it being in Orlando with a thousand cheerleaders? Did you like that?” She giggled as she watched his erection lurch in his pants. Bobby went wild for cheerleading outfits and Orlando was the site for the National Cheerleading and Dance Team Competitions. They were returning from a long week there in which Sharon’s team had been second runner up. Furtively, Bobby opened his eyes and glanced around the train compartment. There were few people in the car. “Shh,” he complained. “You’re embarrassing me.” Sharon laughed again, throatily. “It’s not me that gets hard every time a cheerleader walks by. Some of the girls in my squad nicknamed you ‘Woody.’” His blush grew deeper but his erection continued to swell under her teasing fingers. She shifted her position to face her boyfriend as he slipped down in his seat, legs falling open. She smiled with smug superiority. He was so predictable and helpless when she teased him. She pressed the palm of her hand against his shaft through his pants and rubbed in a slow circle. “Mmm, that’s nice,” Bobby said. “I wish we were alone in a hotel room right now.” “Me, too,” Sharon replied, “but we’re on a rocking train instead. Like the movement? Like how the car sways?” Her hand continued its slow rotation. Bobby’s lips parted as he gave himself to her touch. “Don’t tease me, Sharon,” he said, rocking his hips to press harder against her hand. “I thought I’d die from not getting you alone last week.” She pouted prettily. “It wasn’t my idea. All the girls had to room together. Besides, you wouldn’t be so nuts if you didn’t have a raging cheerleader fetish. Sometimes I think if it wasn’t for my costume, you wouldn’t want me at all.” “That’s not true,” he replied hastily, distracted by the continuing motion of her hand. “You’re the sexiest girl in the world. I love you. I love everything about you.” “Yeah, especially my costume,” she said sarcastically. It was a cute costume. A very short pleated skirt with two-color contrasting pleats—purple and white, the school colors—a tight high-necked sleeveless sweater with “Kittens,” the team name, in bold letters, also purple and white. Tennis shoes, anklet socks and matching purple panties that flashed with nearly every move. It showed off her athletic, trim dancer’s body very well. Sharon had long, wavy brown hair, now tied up with a red scrunchie. Currently, she looked great in a short red skirt, open-toed white sandals, and a midriff-length white T-shirt that hugged her shapely breasts. Bobby wore madras shorts, tented out with his hard-on, an oversize T-shirt, and tennis shoes without socks. He was tall, with light blond hair and a good runner’s body. They had been dating for about six months. Their sex was good, but restricted by college life’s lack of opportunities, especially with the various cheerleader road trips. Sharon made up for it by teasing Bobby at every opportunity, which she enjoyed a lot. She assumed he did too—at least given the lack of other options most of the time. Bobby’s cock was giving him fits. It was true that being around so many costumed cheerleaders had driven him crazy. Worse, he also had a roommate situation so he hadn’t even been able to jerk off. And he needed to. He could already feel the first ooze of pre-come fluid. Just her hand could make him spurt buckets, and soon. “Let me get some tissue,” he whispered, “and then you can finish me. I really need it badly.” “Finish you?” she said with mock anger. “Who said anything about finishing you? I’m pretty horny myself, and I don’t know why I should do you when I’m going to have to wait too.” “I’ll do you next,” he whispered. “It’ll be great. Or I’ll even do you first. Right here. Okay?” “I don’t think so,” she smiled, but not releasing the pressure on his cock. “It’s too public and too messy. You’ll just have to take what you can get.” He moaned as the rotating motion of her hand drove him slowly to the brink of much-needed orgasm. “Please...” he moaned, “Please...” She regarded him with careful scrutiny, watching his muscles tense with his approaching climax. “I don’t think so,” she repeated firmly. “You’ll just have to wait until tonight.” “Please!” he begged again, opening his eyes to plead for his orgasm. He looked into her lovely blue eyes, sparkling with cynical amusement. She enjoyed her sense of control, her sense of what she was doing to him. The brief smile playing about the corners of her red lips was nearly enough to trigger him right there. Slowly, slowly she continued the circular motion of her hand grinding against his cock. She could see a slight wet spot where his pre-come had leaked through his shorts. “Almost time to stop,” she teased. “No...please...just a little more...I’m almost there...I need it so badly...yes...yes...yes...” He gasped as the inevitable moment arrived; he was so close...and then she stopped. He moaned with sensual agony; his balls were sucked up and taut with need; his cock twitched and pulsed in desperate rhythm. “Please...please...” his voice croaked dryly. Her hand was still resting on his cock, so he squirmed up against it. She pulled away. Her skirt had ridden up to the tops of her thighs so he could get a brief glimpse of white panties; then she shifted position, pulling her skirt down. Before he could continue his desperate plea for an orgasm, the train’s PA system announced, “Next stop, Valentine College Station! Valentine College Station!” Sharon giggled. “Sorry, Bobby baby. We’re almost here. Maybe later.” He groaned with frustration and some embarrassment as he began to shift his cock around in his shorts so he could stand up without advertising his horniness to the world. Sharon was no help, standing on her seat to reach the overhead racks with their backpacks, showing off her long legs in her miniskirt. She looked down at him, catching him staring at her. She smiled wickedly. “Time to get ready. Just wait; you’ll meet even more cute cheerleaders!”
Valentine College was a heavily endowed private all-girl academy with a reputation for producing models, actresses, and high-powered female executives, all with unusual self-assurance and a sense of their own sexual power. Their varsity cheerleading squad was nationally recognized for excellence; their dance team was always in contention for every award. The school was selective about admissions and Sharon was pleased not only to be asked to apply, but also to pledge Tau Zeta Rho, the most exclusive Valentine sorority. It had all happened quite suddenly at Orlando, and the invitation included train tickets to the small town where the college was located. Bobby wasn’t happy about her attending an all-girl school, but Valentine College was only about two hours’ drive from Tech, where he went. Plus, there were the cheerleaders to watch, and the thought of Sharon with a new cheerleading outfit. The train pulled into the station. A pink Cadillac convertible, license plate TZR, was waiting. Bobby’s eyes bugged out just a little bit at the sight of the occupants—three fully costumed cheerleaders who were totally hot. The first had long, silky, light blonde center-parted straight hair, a long, athletic body with endless legs, piercing blue eyes, and a wide, sensual mouth. The second was short and voluptuous, thick waves of raven hair spilling over a round face, deep red pouting lips, large, pillowy breasts and hips, curved thighs holding rich promise. And the third—the third had a sensual little rosebud mouth and laughing blue eyes, golden hair cropped in a pixie cut, cupcake breasts and hot legs, and a strange radiant energy promising cruel delights and wicked games. She was no more beautiful than the other cheerleaders, certainly no more lovely than his Sharon, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. And the outfits: Valentine’s cheerleading uniforms were scandalously sexy—a hot scarlet with white trim, flouncy pleated skirts barely twelve inches long, midriff sweaters just a size too tight with a slashing “Valentine” in white script that drew your eyes to breasts threatening any second to burst free, white athletic knee socks and red tennis shoes—so sexy they radiated total confidence. “I know you want me. You can look, but you can’t touch.” Bobby’s cock was again rampant in his shorts just from the sight of the uniformed cheerleaders, made even harder by Sharon’s train tease. The girls were perched on the top of the back seat, lively and gorgeous in the bright sunlight. They waved and cheered at the sight of Sharon. “C’mon,” Sharon said to Bobby. “Here’s our ride.” She glanced at his pants with a giggle. “Shove your hands in your pockets. You’re sticking out big time.” Bobby reddened with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Sharon took pity on him. “S’okay. They’re really hot. But just wait till you see me in that outfit. You’ll totally die.” The poleaxed look on his blushing face as he visualized her was the confirmation her ego wanted. She laughed, rich and deep. “I guess that doesn’t help your woody, does it?” Bobby shifted their suitcases in front of him to conceal his obvious erection and followed her to the car. She bounced cheerfully ahead; her skirt revealing legs and emphasizing her lovely rear. By the time he reached the Cadillac, the girls were hugging each other and exchanging introductions. “This is Kelly,” Sharon said, introducing the tall long-haired blonde, “and this is Tiffany,” the raven-haired one, “and Susan,” the hot pixie blonde. “Hi,” he said, his face deepening in redness, and shuffled around to the trunk to load the luggage. It was Susan who said, with wicked glee, “What are you blushing about?” Of course, that only made his face flush crimson, and worse, he had just lifted the final suitcase into the Cadillac trunk. He had to turn, and the unmistakable evidence of his desire jutted out the front of his shorts. Susan noticed it immediately. “Oh, he’s got a huge woody! What’s the matter; are you a cheerleader freak?” His mute redness and downward glance confirmed it and all the girls, including his own Sharon, began laughing hysterically. To his further embarrassment, Sharon began describing his cheerleader fetish in humiliating detail to the girls as he stumbled into the back seat of the Cadillac. He was in the middle; Sharon on his left and Susan, worse luck, on his right. Kelly drove and Tiffany rode with her in the front. “He was right up front for every dance competition,” Sharon laughed, “drooling over the outfits. Actually, he was quite an inspiration for my squad. They nicknamed him Woody, and he was nearly our unofficial mascot.” “Ooh, Woody,” Susan teased, leaning up against him. “That’s a great name for you. Would you like to be our mascot?” The torture of
embarrassment and arousal had overloaded his blushing mechanism and he was
permanently red, but the thought of being a cheerleading mascot sent his cock
into a dangerous lurch. To his utter amazement, Susan looked boldly down at his
lap, reached over and gave his cock a firm squeeze. Sharon just looked on in
amusement; to his surprise she patted him on the arm and laughed. “He’d be your
mascot any time, wouldn’t you, Bobby?” Bobby glanced over at Sharon, who simply patted his red face. “Just enjoy yourself,” she smiled. “You’re at Valentine College now.” He didn’t understand her lack of possessiveness; although his cheerleader fetish was a running joke, she wanted him to confine himself to “look, but don’t touch.” Susan’s hand now rested on his bare thigh, inches from the swollen tip of his shaft. He glanced down and was suddenly aware of a growing wet spot, sign of his leaking arousal, on his shorts. This was some sort of tease, some sort of trick, and Sharon was in on it. He was still embarrassed, still a little bit humiliated, but if it wasn’t upsetting Sharon he realized he’d just have to deal with it...and it was very sexy. Susan’s perfume, sweet and slightly musky, filled his nostrils. Miles of bare girl-leg were visible on each side of him; scantily-clad coeds were paying attention to him. There was probably some hidden trick, but how bad could it be? The two-lane road wound into the countryside through miles of trees and fields; the wind swept through the open car. Tiffany pulled a joint out of the glove compartment and popped the cigarette lighter. “Here,” she said with a tight voice, holding in her toke. “Have a hit.” Susan took the joint and toked deeply, then passed it to Bobby. Marijuana always affected him strongly, especially in the sensuality area, which was all he needed under the circumstances, but he felt he couldn’t easily refuse, so he took a hit and passed the joint to Sharon. Sharon seldom smoked, but this time she did, as did Kelly in the driver’s seat. The first joint was followed by a second and then a third, and all the car’s occupants were high. Both Sharon and Susan snuggled with Bobby. Feeling like king of the world, he draped an arm around each girl. They didn’t seem to mind. Susan’s hand crawled up his leg and up over his shirt, rubbing gently. He gave up worrying about his hard-on until Susan found his nipple under his T-shirt. He had excruciatingly sensitive nipples that were tied directly into his cock and he moaned as she flicked her fingernail over the hard nub. Susan grinned at Sharon, who immediately attacked his other nipple. The erotic overload was too much, especially under the influence of the pot; it began to tickle. He tried to squirm away as the fingers tickled his nipples and his face returned to its beet-red condition, but Susan wouldn’t let him. “Are you ticklish?” she asked with surprised glee. “You wouldn’t believe how ticklish he his,” giggled Sharon knowingly. She dug her fingers into his side and he yelped with surprise. Then he convulsed as suddenly two sets of girl fingers began to tickle him senseless in the back seat of the pink Cadillac. “Oh god stop! Stop! Oh god! Ha-ha-ha-ha! No!” He choked out his pleas for mercy in between bursts of convulsive, helpless laughter, but mercy was the last thing on the minds of his seatmates. They were getting into it, goosing his ribs, wiggling their fingers around in spite of everything he could do to twist and turn and escape. He was not very well coordinated and the two girls were trained athletes; he could not defend himself successfully. Laughing and pleading and struggling, he no sooner defended one portion of his ticklish anatomy when they found another—ribs, kneecaps, stomach, nipples, armpits. Kelly just kept driving; Tiffany leaned over the front seat to watch and encourage the girls in their attack. Soon Bobby was out of breath, gasping, on the verge of hysteria. His cock was still an iron bar, but now it was seized with a nearly uncontrollable desire to piss; he was terrified that he would wet himself in the car, a humiliation from which he’d never recover. “Uncle!” he cried. “I give up! I surrender...ha ha ha! Please stop! I’ll do anything you like! HA HA HA HA!” The girls finally decided to accept his surrender. “Anything?” Susan said demandingly, holding her hands as claws above his helpless torso. “Sharon, what do you think?” Sharon looked at her helpless boyfriend and laughed. “I think you’ve got yourself a new mascot. Right, Woody?” She emphasized the humiliating nickname. He was wheezing and panting with his near-hysteria and looked up into the face of his girlfriend. She was still smiling, smug and in control. This was a game, a trick. He was suddenly frightened, but it was too late for him. He had already been set up for whatever mischief she had planned, and the alternative, clearly, was to be tickled to death. “O-okay,” he gasped. “I’ll be your mascot—anything you want if you just don’t tickle me.” “No deals,” Susan said with dominating emphasis, giving him a quick tickle in the ribs as proof. “Unconditional surrender, that’s what we want.” Over the back of the front seat, Tiffany chimed in. “Welcome to Valentine College,” she said in her husky contralto. “Enter freely and of your own will.” Sharon and Bobby looked up. A high brick wall surrounded the campus enclave. The iron entry gate swung open silently. It had tall brick pillars on either side, “Valentine College” in metal script in an arch. The pink Cadillac pulled into a tree-lined drive and the metal gates swung closed behind them with a clang.
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