FRIDAY 13" #6 Itchin' for it 1/3 M/M

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

(M/M in drag, M/M/M, M/F/fx40, M/Mx 24 panty fetishism, feminine domination, spanking, humiliation, forced femininization, cross-dressing, horticultural revenge,'train' fucking, etc. )

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES..

To the alt.sex.stories reader:

This is the 6th in a series of stories dealing mainly with maleto male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as well.

Friday 13" #6 ITCHIN' FOR IT (Tom's Story)

By Stroker Al

"Tom's turn!" announced Mickey to his cabinmates. "And I've got the spermy hand to prove it, " he said, clapping his semen-sopped hand wetly against the lazily reclining Mark's nearest tit. "What a load! Didn't know the kid had it in him!"

"Fucker!" cried Mark, jumping up and trying to grab Mickey by his long hair. "You lick that off, 'Asshole Rose.' You're the one who made him come, with your hand AND your story! It's all yours!"

Counselor Jim took his time before ordering the boys to break up their rough-housing. He liked to watch how the young bodies of his boys so gracefully expressed their playfull aggression and affection for one another simultaneously. But he was in charge, and couldn't really allow it to get out of hand. Mark had Mickey in a headlock and had forced his cabinmate's laughing, gasping red face to within a half inch of his glistening nipple before Jim broke them up.

"Come on boys, it's getting late, and we've got two more stories to be told." he said. "What about it, Tom"

They all looked at Tom now, as he finished up wiping his glasses, trying to get a couple of cum drops off of the lenzes. As slight of build, pale and delicate as he appeared now at "18", they could all see clearer, without his glasses, that he was going to be a handsome young man one of these years. All the more reason to give him a hard time now, a few of the boys reasoned.

"Yeah, I've got one." he said finally, sounding uncharacteristically mellow in his post-orgasmic state. "But it's long."

"Ya mean it's longer than your dick?" guffawed Eddie, but nobody laughed. They were mostly just looking at Tom, as if noticing him for the first time, and curious to hear what he'd come up with. He began telling his tale then, and as he spoke, Jim and the boys each gradually settled on a position to relax in and a nearby dick to stroke.

ITCHIN' FOR IT (Tom's story)

Suddenly, the man driving the big rig down Minnesota 151 spotted the pretty young thing standing up ahead on the highway shoulder, looking distressed with one thumb sticking out.

He slowed the truck down and as he approached, and took a good look at this hitchhiking vision, who would soon be sharing the truck cab with him. Shoulder-length straight brown hair, bright red-painted lips, a red dress that stopped just above the knees, and long, full legs in sheer nylon. The lovely creature clutched a pair of broken high heels, obviously destroyed from walking too far along the highway. On the ground behind the shapely legs lay some kind of laundry sack or duffle bag.

"Hop in, darlin'" he called , swinging the lever that opened the rig's passenger door. The brunette climbed up with little difficulty and hauled the door shut behind.

"Thank you. I couldn't have walked another step."

The driver cocked his head and eyed his passenger expectantly. Then he reached over and lightly tickled under the hitchhiker's chin with one finger.

"So WHAT is a PRETTY GIRL like YOU doing walking around in the Minnesota countryside on a hot day like this?" he grinned.

His passenger stiffened and pushed the driver's finger away. With a sigh, he pulled off his brown wig and turned to glare at his rescuer. Even in anger, with his completely-shaved head exposed, he looked lovely as ever .

"Oh, cut the crap. You know damned well I'm not a woman, " he snapped. "I could never have pulled it off in a million years. I'm just too masculine-looking. Now are you gonna give me a ride or not?"

The driver howled with laughter while his fuming passenger waited for him to get over his fun and give him an answer. It was true, after all, that the driver had known all along, but he was finding his passenger's unlady-like frustration to be amusing. "Well," he choked, attempting to stifle his hearty laughter, "that depends where you're headed. And whether you're willing to explain what you're doing hitchhiking in ladies' clothes."

"It's too long of a story," said the young man in the dress, his arms folded across his falsely padded chest.

"Oh? Where are you headed?"

"Camp Christopher, for boys. On Christopher Lake. That's where I'm working this summer, " he smiled sarcastically, "as a counselor."

The driver laughed some more. "Well I bet you'll have all those little boys creamin' in their jeans when they get a look at you."

The young man sneered but didn't reply.

"Christopher Lake is 45 minutes away, darlin'," the driver said, shifting the idling truck back into gear and letting it creep forward. "That's enough time for even a long story, don't you think?"

He waited for his perfumed companion to reply.

"Don't call me darling," the young man finally said. "My name's Stuart, and at this point I'd tell you anything you fuckin' want to hear for some goddamn smokes. You got any?"

The driver winked and flipped Stuart an open pack of Marlboro reds from the dashboard. Then he produced a book of matches.

"Allow me, Stuart." he said, striking a match and lighting Stuart's cigarette for him. Then, the driver moved the rig back out on the open highway, as Stuart gratefully sucked in lungfuls of smoke and sat back for the ride.

Now that he had a cigarette in his hand , Stuart was ready to bitch like Bette Davis. Even though it was the first time he had ever worn drag in his life, it felt completely appropriate for him to be dolled up in makeup, a dress, stockings, lingerie, and especially to have this cigarette to wave around while giving his scathing, detailed account of the humiliating circumstances that led up to his present feminization.

"I have these two buddies back at camp, Dale and Rick," he began. "We were sitting around bored yesterday, as we sometimes are during weeks when we don't have cabin assignments. One of us, Rick I believe, came up with the bright idea of sneaking off to the girls' camp, Camp Radclyffe, to execute a panty raid."

"Boys will be boys," said the driver.

Stuart exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Please don't interrupt," he snapped tartly. "or this will take forever.'

The driver put up his hands and hunched his shoulders appologetically. Stuart continued.

"Well, contrary to my appearance today, I was not particularly interested in stealing pairs of panties. But Dale was keen on the idea, and I was keen on Dale, If you know what I mean, so I would have gone along with just about anything he wanted us to do together."

The driver seemed to take Stuart's referrence to manlust in stride, so he relaxed and continued the tale more freely.

"So, while the rest of the camp was busy down by the lake in the moonlight singing 'Kum Bay Ya' or some such rot , we put Rick's Camaro into neutral and pushed it noiselessy along the gravel drive out of the camp and on to the highway. Then, after coasting a quarter mile without headlights, we started up and drove the 50 miles to Radclyffe. Naturally Rick and Dale insisted on stopping at Woody's for a six pack and both made a big show of flirting with the blonde behind the bar, but as the evening wore on, we were all dropping little clues that the underlying agenda of the evening was male bonding."

The driver, who was well acquainted with Woody's bar, seemed particularly amused by this part of the story, but just chuckled and held on to his resolve not to interrupt Stuart.

"I was up front with Dale, holding his beer and watching him shift gears. Every couple minutes or so I would glance back to check out Rick, who would just grin at me in between swigs and drum his big fingers on the car seat in front of his crotch. With his arm thus draped over the fly of his khaki shorts, Rick was probably already covering up a hard on. That made me a little nervous, because I didn't want him to come between Dale and me.

"When we got to Radclyffe we cut the engine and headlights and rolled into the roadside ditch outside the camp entrance. There, we finished our beers and discussed strategy. Rick really took charge then, like he'd done this kind of thing a million times before. He said our best chance to make the biggest haul of panties was to split up and systematically cover the camp. One of us would concentrate outdoors and snatch up all the panties that he said were bound to be hanging out to dry on clothes wires and cabin porch railings on such a nice night. The other two were to start from opposite ends of the camp and stealthly strike inside each cabin one by one until they met at the center of camp, by the bell and the dining hall.

"So who's gonna do what?" Dale asked.

"Dale, you be the outside man," Rick ordered. "You can start from either end, but just go all the way through and then come back to the bell when you're done. You'll have twice as many cabins as Stuart and I, but it should be faster work, and hopefully we'll all be done at the same time."

"No." I cried, suddenly really nervous about this whole thing. "Let me do the outside stuff. I can't go into those cabins. I'll fuck it up and get caught."

Rick looked disappointed or mildly annoyed at me, but before he could say anything, Dale broke in. "That's okay Stuart, Rick and I will do the cabins. Meet us back at the bell when you're done. Then we'll all go to the car."

"Rick shrugged. I was relieved, but a little wary. Dale seemed pretty eager to share brave man duties with Rick. Was he after him, I wondered?

"Okay, let's do it, " said Rick, getting out of the car. As Dale opened his door to climb out, I leaned over and said to him, "Let's start at the same end, okay?" He paused, looking a little blank, and then said, rather indifferently "Okay." My heart sunk. I could tell he wasn't after me. In fact it looked, ironically, like each one of us had designs on a guy who was more interested in somebody else.

I think Rick overheard our agreement, because he remained standing there next to the car even after Dale and I had walked a few paces towards the grounds of the camp. Suddenly he called out in a loud whisper, "Where do you think you guys are going dressed like that?"

Dale and I stopped and turned toward him, puzzled. He was pulling his sweatshirt over his head. "Dressed like what?" I asked. We were all just in our typical Khaki shorts and sweatshirts with t-shirts underneath, and boots with white socks. What was the problem?

"This is a panty raid, guys," he said, pulling off his t-shirt next. "Panty raids are done in the nude. ALWAYS!"

Our mouths dropped open. While Dale ogled Rick's admirably smooth chest under the moonlight, I started arguing.

"That's bull shit, Rick, " I hissed. "If you think we're gonna strip naked and sneak around this damned camp full of girls, you're nuts! We'll get arrested if we're caught! "

"No we won't, Stu," he countered, calmly, appropriating a nick-name of mine that I felt he hadn't earned. "That's just the beauty of it. If we ARE caught, none of these girls will dare touch us. They'll just scream when they see our dicks and let us get away. "

I thought Dale was going to scream as he watched Rick unzip and drop his shorts down his smooth, muscular legs and peel his white breifs down to expose his semi-arroused dick lolling in a halo of blonde bush hair.

"Damn it, Rick," I persisted. "Why couldn't you have just been honest in the first place and admit this whole thing was only about showin' off your meat to- "

"Come on, Stuart, " Dale interrupted. " Rick's right. This is the best way." He pulled his own sweatshirt off. "Besides, it'll be more fun. I've always wanted to streak a bunch of girls. I kind of hope some of them DO wake up."

"Don't be getting any ideas about waking any of them up, Dale," said Rick. "Oh, and leave your socks on. We'll be quieter that way. "

"But..." I said, not knowing what to say. Then it was my turn to drool as Dale stripped down to a pair of those big, baggy boxers that he always kept on at night in our cabin. In this light he looked more than ever like a younger Alec Baldwin who'd had his chest hair thinned out a little. I knew I was outvoted then, but I didn't start to undress until after I'd watched him pull off his boxers and expose a thickening, swaying cock and loose, bobbing balls, surounded by a nest of curly dark hair that overflowed out onto his well-formed thighs.

Finally, after Dale endured watching Rick watching ME strip, we were finally ready. "If there's any trouble, head right for the car, and honk, and we'll all come back and split." Rick said as we walked into camp. "If anyone gets caught and somehow detained, as unlikely as that is, just flick the lights of the cabin you're in on and off repeatedly, and the other two will drive the car right up to it for a quick rescue and getaway. The keys are under the mat on the driver's side."

And so we took off, Dale and I to the west end of the row of cabins, and Rick to the east. I caught an excellent view of Dale's hairy ass as he slipped up the first cabin stairs and crept inside the door. After pulling four pairs of panties off a line in the back and running them up my arm through one leg hole, I couldn't resist lingering, against instruction, in order to see Dale reappear. When he did, emerge, with a handful of panties, he frowned at me and waved me on. As I progressed along the row of cabins, I looked back occasionally and saw one or two glimpses of his studly nakedness from an increasing distance, but soon I was totally alone.

Rick must have been inside one of the cabins when I passed him coming from the east, because I never saw him. My arms were carrying dozens and dozens of panties already, and still there were many to be "harvested" They had an amazing variety of smells, mostly fresh and flowery, but I swear, there were also some with deeper, moister and more pungent aromas that hinted at the presence of young pussies against the fabric.

I don't really go for girls any more, even though I fucked and ate out a couple in highschool, but the idea of "pussy" still sometimes turns me on in an abstract way. I'd sprung a real hard on along the way of those cabins, and I think the panties had a lot to do with it. But it also was the barely conscious fantasy going through my head of HAVING a pussy and wondering what it would feel like to have a nice hard dick slide into it. I wondered if I felt as nice as a dick does up my asshole. Probably better, I figured, but you have to work with what you've got. So as I day dreamed about "pussy" in this way, I gradually found myself bringing Dale and Rick into the picture, as I speculated that they might also thinking about pussy as they gathered their panties. I wondered if there was a way I could get Dale interested in MY pussy. If not, I had the consolation of knowing that Rick was probably already after my hot slit.

Was all this panty raiding making them as hard as it was making me, I wondered? Then I got this wild idea and started hanging the next several pairs of panties I found onto my erect prick, letting my upright shaft poke through one leghole of each, like I was some kind of fuckin' hat rack or something. I thought how fun it would be to meet the other guys by the bell like that. And I imagined them arriving doing the same thing, too, and it made me all the hotter and stiffer. It was just one of those times when you're really glad you have a dick, you know?

Finally, I had about three cabins to go, when I started to get a little more nervous than before. I thought I could hear sounds inside the cabin whose clothesline I was raiding. I stopped and was extra quiet, but couldn't be sure what I had heard, so I moved on. At the next cabin I thought I heard more sounds, so I got even more nervous. My dick started going limp and the panties that were hung there fell to the ground.

As I gathered them up I noticed that there was a bra hanging on this cabin's clothesline, just as there had been several others on lines I'd already raided. But this one caught my eye because it was really big. It HAD to belong to a counselor, and she must have had enourmous tits. I pictured a set of tits that would have fit into these huge cups, and I started to get a little arroused again. Then I imagined the comments that Dale and Rick would have made seeing tits that size, and then I pictured them each sucking on the nipple of one of these tits, and my dick stood all the way back up again. I hung the panties back on my erect rod, and then laughed to myself thinking how funny it would be for me to put this bra on and wear it back to the bell for those guys to see. They'd probably split a gut laughing and wake everybody up. And we'd have to race to the car laughing, and as we'd be tearing away, both guys would be copping feels under my bra for the big tits that it looked like I had. Mmmm, it was a pleasant thought."

Stuart felt the the driver's hand cup the left side of his phony bust.

"Stop that," he snarled, with exagerated indignance. "Pay attention to your driving."

The driver laughed. "Yes sir, I mean, yes ma'm."

Stuart adjust his crumpled bust and continued the story.

"Needless to say, by the time I reached the next cabin I was wearing the bra. This time, with only one more cabin to go, I distinctly heard a noise inside. It occurred to me suddenly that every one of these eastern cabins had already been entered by Rick and that the possibility of someone being awake inside them now was greater than in the other cabins I'd been to. Yes, here were dark, private, feminine spaces that Rick the Prick had already violated, and no doubt every sensitive receptor inside them had become arroused and stimulated and perked up and all the more attentive for the next stimulus.

My dick dropped again with anxiety, and at that moment I started behaving defensively. So when I made the decision to pull on my first pair of girls's panties, it was less out of sexual desire, than out of hope that if I were spotted through one of those darkened windows, that I could pass in the dark as a girl. You see, I was becoming just about nervous enough right then to run back to the car. But once I pulled on these pink, lacey panties, everything changed. I was suddenly able to stay and finish the job. I pick up the dropped panties and move on to the last cabin and raided the last line.

"There I was, Stuart Carson, a handsome 22 year old tennis athlete with a trim, Pete Sampras build and his looks (though you wouldn't know it dolled up like this!), complete with the dark, hairy legs and a reasonably big dick, on the verge of getting caught wearing girls' underwear in the great outdoors. Queer boy though I am, It was still a most potentially compromising, humiliating situation, and yet, perversely, in those panties and bra I was feeling more comfortable and at home with myself than ever in my life.

"I would be shown soon enough what a beautiful, vivacious creature the "woman" in me was, but even as early as that first panty-assed moment, she gave me a stiff clue. Not only did she unfurl my fuckpole one more time inside those flimsy panties, but she made it stand up straighter and more like steel than ever before.

"It was as though my masculinity was combusting in a white heat blaze of testosterone, whose fueling source, at the very bottom, so to speak, was merely her insatiable desire to be fucked the way a woman wants. She wanted it so badly that my dick became her swollen clitoris, ready to explode at a touch. She was more woman than I could have ever satisfied myself, I'm afraid, but as it happened, we both had the same man in mind for the job. And if he couldn't cut it, we'd let his obnoxious but serviceable and horny buddy have a crack at our crack. They were probably waiting for us now back at the bell, so she and I, now one, collected the final handful of panties, pulled them up my arms, and sauntered back towards the bell.

That's when I met my Radclyffe 'sisters' coming around the side of the last cabin, armed with flashlights, baseball bats, croquet mallets and sticks.

"Look! Here he is, girls!" shouted a female voice.

I cried out and tried to run, but they surrounded me. They actually started swinging those things at me, the wenches! So I concentrated on dodging them and calling out for Rick and Dale to help me. Rick had been half right, it turned out, because these girls were screaming in apparent shock, fear, excitement & repulsion at the sight of a young man in women's underwear sporting a 7 inch erection. Yep, this time my hard-on was here for the long haul. As womanish as I felt, getting caught erect in nothing but lingerie, it occured to me that my womanliness was a more of a strength than a weekness. I was not just any woman, after all, but a dick-wielding Diva . I stood my ground against this unruly mob of rough girls with an almost regal dignity and grace. Nevertheless, they eventually overpowered me through sheer numbers and brutality and like the space alien cliche, took me to their leaders. Where on earth were my companions when I needed them, I wondered?

The girls hauled me, complete with my phallo-testicular-stuffed panties and flat-chest-concealing bra, into the dining hall, where the rest of the camp began assembling as they were awakend cabin by cabin.

Finally there were about 40 girls gathered in that hall to gawk at me, most of them about "18" or "18" years old, and of course extremely giggly. They seemed equally delighted and mortified by the sight of such a handsome guy like me being forced to stand in from of them practically naked except for women's underwear.

The counseling staff were all in their 20's and much less ambivalent about their delight at this find.

"Hey sailor, on shore leave?" laughed one.

They circled me and laughed, poked and prodded me, and scornfully squeezed any hunk of my flesh that momentarily attracted their curiousity.

Now you have to understand their situation. These young women in charge were college sorority types who were used to spending the other three quarters of the year struggling under a social regimen that demanded a veneer of perfection combined with a 1950's style subordination to their male Fraternity counterparts. While at college, all of them had to follow this path to a large degree if they wanted to be "successful" in the Greek system. Their social currency, their ability to network, marry well, advance in a carreer through the 'right' kind of connections: all of this depended on how well they played the sorority game.

But here they were now, in the Minnesota woods, in the middle of their summer off, with virtually no outside pressures to force them to toe the line of the american ideal of femininity . They didn't need or depend on men here, because they were running it themselves, which was no easy task. All of them were hard working, smart and resourceful women, who'd just been woken up in the middle of the night after a long, hard day, by some dick-brained little fuck in lingerie.

Here was some pipsqueak, who thinking himself a man, had come to steal PANTIES from them like godamned Wally or Beaver Cleaver or something. No doubt each one of them cherished the memory of her own such special jerk from one of the frats back at college, who'd drunkenly and clumsily groped her or otherwise approached her with this level of mentality, and had embarrassed her in front of her friends at a party or some other social situation that restricted the woman's response to actions employing only tact, grace and all too often, submissiveness.

No such restrictions applied at Camp Radclyffe, however. Here they could handle me any way they chose, and handle me they did. Very quickly I realized that I was out of my league. These were REAL women. My proud erection began to shrivel, much to the delight of my audience.

"Hey, the worm's turning, girls!" cried one of them.

Their contempt for me, as a male transgressor, was expressed effortlessly under the circumstances, with this kind of jeering, taunts, demasculizing remarks, laughter, slaps and shoving. But my utter insignificance for them on the other hand, caused them to temper their annoyance with glee at the prospect for their having a little fun at my expense and exploitation.

"So," began a tall redhead with her hair tied back in a pony tail, "You were on a panty raid. How quaint! All by yourself? Where are your friends?" she said, pulling my panty waist out with one crooked finger to peer at my nervous nuts.

"I'm alone," I lied, hoping to be rescued soon by the others, while not giving away their presence.

"He's lying," jeered a young blonde girl who had begun shooting pictures of me with a polaroid camera. She had just come in the door minutes ago with a group of four or five others. They were giggling and passing a snapshot around, which they finally handed to me. My face turned pussy pink with shock, resentment and embarassment when I recognized the two big, busy boys in the photo as Rick and Dale.

As I gaped at this visual aid, the blonde proceeded to describe the activity they had just witnessed between my two would-be rescuers. The girls screamed with laughter and presumeable disgust over such unheard of male to male antics.

This eye-witness account by spying Radclyffe campers educated me as to why Rick and Dale COULDN'T have heard my cries for help. It was because they'd been busy making too much noise themselves. Between Dale's grunting and thrusting and Rick's moaning, my distant voice had been drowned out.

As I'd imagined, both had gotten horny as hell while tiptoeing around buck naked among all those sleeping girls and stealing their panties, and both had, (as Dale, I think, had been hoping) reached the bell long before I'd come close to finishing. But get this: both of them had put on a pair of the panties, too, though apparently more as a joke than as a disguise. So naturally being as insecure as they were horny, they'd begun exchanging sexual taunts from the minute they met at the bell and first laid eyes on each other. While having to wait around for me, though they grew gradually more playful and daring and progressed into some grab-ass fooling around. At one point, Rick had started struting like a model up and down the camp commons for Dale's titilation, coyly covering his bare "breasts" with crossed arms, and wiggling his ass provokatively in the panties until his erotically inflamed buddy couldn't take any more.

Dale, my crotch-throb, chased that slut Rick out through the the gravel entrance of the camp, closing in on him more with each sprinting gasp of night air that he sucked into his heaving, predatory lungs. The pursuer finally overtook the pursued at the parked Camaro, where the momentum of his pounce flung both of them across the engine hood in a sprawling tangle. There, under the brilliant moon, and over much false protestation, Dale ripped the panties off of Rick's teasing little ass and spanked him hard ten or twelve times with the flat of his big right hand, all the time telling him what a fucking slut he was being and that he was going to be taught a lesson. For his part, Rick managed to appear convincingly helpless as he lay there trying to simultaneously catch his breath and stifle his howling while getting spanked. Next, Dale parted Rick's stinging, lunar-lit butt cheeks with his probing tongue and rough chin, depositing there for lubricant the largest mouthful of spit that he could manage to work up in his impatient passion. Then Dale stood up, still in his own panties (black lace, the photo revealed) and, grabbing Rick by the hips, and hauling his buddy's ass back to meet his jutting cock, began fucking the moonlights out of him.

While Rick was submitting manfully to Dale's assult on his ass, he kept his head turned over his shoulders the whole time, looking back towards the camp. This is how the photograph captured him, his flash-filled eyes a split second away from comprehending his exposure before a gang of spying girls. Obviously he was looking for me, hoping that I'd be jealous as hell that HE was getting fucked by my stud and I wasn't, and that maybe that jealousy would eventually engender a desire in me to come and top off the sandwich. Rick understood me pretty well, it seems. 'Cause I'l tell you, if I hadn't been detained by the girls, I would have come and skewered my beefcake boy's butt and appropriated his fine body to use as a dick extension for mercilessly ramming the deserving downy ass of his blonde bitch. That would have been as close as that man-stealing queen would ever have gotten to being fucked by me!

"You should have seen their faces when they noticed us watching them," laughed the blonde girl as she snatched the photo back from me. " They fell all over each other trying to get inside the car and they took off down the road going about 70! "

Great, I thought to myself. My heros! The nutless fuckers left me there to take all the heat myself!

The redhead and the other counselors huddled together a few feet away from me, while some five or six younger girls manhandled me and prevented me from escaping. The leaders laughed intermittently and occassionally turned to look at me, as they discussed my fate. Finally they broke up their huddle and approached me. A brunette blew a whistle and addressed the crowd.

"Girls, attention! The counselors have been discussing how we're going to deal with this sissy-boy we caught stealing our panties. In additon to this crime, he has also exposed his beastly penis without our invitation and flouted his perverted sexual arrousal in front of us. What we've decided, first of all, is that since he's been such a bad boy, we're all going to punish him together, taking turns until you've all had a chance. "

"What's your name, you little wuss?" she demanded, grabbling me by the arm. I instinctively said, "ow!" and the room erupted in laughter.

The brunette leaned in toward me and said, "Better tell me your name, faggot, or we'll be mericless."

I was red as a lobster and sweating now. My dick was stiffening as well, with excitement and expectation of my unknown punishment. I decided to answer her in case the punishment might otherwise be more than I could bear with dignity.

"It's Rick," I lied.

"Well, Rick, take off that pussy-boy bra right now." she barked. I sheepishly complied and handed the bra to her. There was silence for a moment as all the girls looked my chest over, remarking upon with apparently approving "ah"s the brown hair that mats my chest between my nipples and points down in a treasure trail all the way to my navel. "Think you're a big man with your hairy chest, don't you, Rick?" she said.

"N-no, " I said, trying not to be antagonistic.

"Oh yes you do, pussy boy, You think you're a big man, but you're wrong. You're a little sissy. In fact, you're really a girl inside. and we'll prove it to you later. Right now you come over here, " she said, indicating a chair facing away from us near the front of the room.

"Now stand behind that chair, facing away from us." she ordered. I walked over and stood there, looking back over my shoulder at them. Suddenly I thought of the real Rick looking over his shoulder, and instinctively I covered my panty-clad butt with one hand.

"Now drop those panties to the floor, Rick. Boys aren't supposed to wear panties, even sissy boys."

I swallowed and delicately slipped the panties down my legs to the floor. I was shaking with embarassment now, and my hard dick was bobbing up and down, The girls tittered at the sight.

"Boys aren't supposed to steal panties, either. Now you are going to be punished for being a very bad sissy boy. Now bend over the chair, Rick." she said.

Oh. I thought. Now I knew what was going to happen next. I started to bend over the chair, but it was uncomfortable against my belly, and my erection jutted right into it. I winced and stood up again. Just then one of the counselors came up with a pillow and smilingly draped it over the back of the chair. I nodded thanks to her and then assumed my bent over, bare-assed postition. I supported myself with my hands flat on the seat of the chair and spread my legs slightly-without even being told to-so I would'nt have to strain to support my weight.

"Okay girls, let's all line up by cabin groups and by height within your groups. Cabins will file alphabetically past Rick and each girl will deliver to him the punishment she deems appropriate. You have half a minute to dole out your punishment. Tina will stand guard to facillite your actions and to make sure none of the punishments gets... well, out of hand. " she said.

The counselor named Tina came to stand next to me with her hands clasped behind her back. "Your ass is grass, Ricky boy," she whispered to me. I knew she was right.

The first cabin, Ash, had already lined up and were heading my way. My knees started to tremble and my prick throbbed against the pillow in its forced downward pointing, which all the girls could see displayed between my parted thighs.

"D-dont' let them hurt me, Tina," I gulped as the troup of young women approached me to dish out their revenge on the uninvited intruder.

"Relax, baby," she hissed at me, and set her stop watch for the first punishment.

(end part one of three)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al) Date: Fri, 14 Jul 1995 19:43:49 UTC Subject: FRIDAY 13" #6 ITCHIN' FOR IT 2/3 M/M

(M/M in drag, M/M/M, M/F/fx40, M/Mx 24 panty fetishism, feminine domination, spanking, humiliation, forced femininization, cross-dressing, horticultural revenge,'train' fucking, etc. )

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES..

To the alt.sex.stories reader:

This is the 6th in a series of stories dealing mainly with male to male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as well.

Friday 13" #6 Itchin' for it (Tom's story) by Stroker Al

(part two of three)

The first girl did the predictable thing by giving me a vigorous bare-handed spanking on my exposed, naked ass. She managed to get 40 or so wacks in during her alloted 30 seconds. When else would she ever get such an opportunity to spank the firm, hairy ass of a full grown man as though he were a naughty boy? Naturally she tried to get the most out of it that she could. I could imagine her smiling as she stepped away to let the next girl in, but I kept my eyes closed through most of it. I was suprised at how much my ass stung even after one round of this. Since about three quarters of the other 40 or so girls followed her example, I went quickly from surprise to soreness to tolerable pain to near numbness as dozens of young, delicatly formed hands took turns spanking my tender, reddening bare butt with surprising power.

Of course in every group there are those who are more original, more daring, or just more lucky to be struck with clever ideas as they watch others go before them. So my punishments were not restricted to hand spanking. One little darling thrashed my victimized rump with a ping pong paddle, the kind with the little rubber dots on it. That hurt my bad boy bottom like hell!

Another used a tennis racquet, which I didn't think I'd mind at first, because it reminded me of the time I'd had one used on me the exact same way once before. My earlier racquet spanking had been part of the winner's spoils that went to this really hot guy with a superior backhand, after he beat me in a pick-up set one night really late at the city park courts back home. Although THAT time I kept my little white tennis shorts on. That is, until the automatic trip off of the lights left us in darkness. That's when I decided to lose my shorts voluntarily and see if I couldn't feel his swing a liitle better in just my jockstrap. He liked that move, as I thought he might, and soon he was showing me some even better form than he had in the last match. Then, before you could say love-love, we were fucking on the abandoned court.

But this girl, despite her maccaroni elbow, really meant business, and she whipped my athletic ass untill it felt like I'd backed my buns into a hot waffle iron.

"Another used a pretty pink BARBIE'S Dream belt, only about a half an inch wide and with a tiny brass buckly smaller than a quarter. But boy, did that little thing sting my seat as it hissed and whipped through the air at me. I can't imagine how KEN could stand such abuse on a regular basis!

"Some punishments were much stranger. One girl, a tom-boyish looking one in a t-shirt and cuttoff shorts and cowboy boots was allowed to lower me to all fours and ride me around the dining room floor. She smacked my raw ass repeatedly to get me to move faster, and she tugged my hair in whatever direction she wanted me to turn. Tina stayed right with us but never actually stopped anything.

"After that one, I was afraid I was going to have to be ridden everyone, but no one else ended up doing anything quite like that.

The absolute worst one was near the end. I was blubbering through my tears by then with almost every blow, and when I saw this girl come around in front of the chair to cram something into my mouth, I assumed it was a gag. It turned out to be an unused tampon. In seconds it swelled up with my saliva and filled my mouth like a gag. As she went behind me, I noticed she had something else in her other hand. It was about an inch around, five inches long, blue and wet looking. It wasn't until she pushed it firmly into my asshole that I realized it was a popsicle. Raspberry, no less!

A couple of them had to hold me down to get through the thirty seconds with that popsicle up my ass, cause I was really fighting. Tina didn't stop the girl from plugging my ass with the damned thing, but she did tell her, "Don't pull it out right away, Sara. Give it a chance to melt a little first." Having had my tongue freeze to a jungle-gym bar once, I appreciated her wisdom.

A few tugged on my dick and balls before and after spanking me. One girl, a counselor, and maybe the owner of the bra, I think, had me stand up, and had Tina hold my arms while she pinched and twisted my tits. Before her time was up, she'd had both of my nipples in her mouth and had bitten and nibbled at them rougly .

Tina only stopped one girl's punishment completely. I remembered seeing her standing with the girls who had watched Rick and Dale fucking, but she had entered the hall alone after them.

She came up behind me with a plastic bag filled with leaves and started to reach in to get them.

"Let me see those, Connie," Tina said, stepping between us.

"Why? No! Let me !" she whined.

"This is poison ivy, isn't it?" said Tina.

I jumped and sucked my breath in with disbelief. Poison Ivy? UP MY ASSHOLE?

"Yeah, it's poison ivy. So?"

"Girls. We have a problem here," announced Tina. "Connie wants to punish the sissy boy by shoving poison ivy up his rectum. Is this appropriate punishment for Rick's crimes?"

The girls began yelling all kinds of things. My knees went weak and I almost wet mysef on the floor when I heard several shouts of encouragment for Connie giving me a poison ivy fisting.

"Can you imagine what it would feel like to have poison ivy shoved up your ass?" Stuart said to the truck driver. "How it would itch until you would feel like you wanted to die? It boggles the imagination."

The trucker was speechless, so Stuart continued.

"Fortunately for me and my ass there were more cries of disgust and rejection of the idea. Apparently most of the girls felt that such treatment would not reflect well on their identities as Radclyffe ladies.

"I'm sorry, Connie, but the majority doesn't agree that your punishment is appropriate. Besides, our sissy boy's suffering would have far exceeded 30 seconds if we'd allowed it!" Tina said, consolingly.

"But I have to! I'm SUPPOSED to do it! I promised!" she whispered harshly to Tina.

"Well, you had no business promising anyone any such thing. What do you think we're running here, a good old boy's club? Majority rules, darling." said Tina sharply.

Connie was ordered to choose another punishment. So she really beat my ass good. My butt skin really smarted under her mean spanking. She was pissed. She gave my balls a nasty yank, too when Tina called time.

Finally punishment was over, and I managed to stop bawling after a few more minutes. Everyone clapped when the last girl finished whipping my butt.

"Okay girls, " said the redhead. " I think we've thrashed the bad boy out of Rick here. Now. Since its clear from his wearing our underwear that he wishes he were a girl, we're going to grant his wish tonight and turn him into one. We'll call her Rita. Once again you'll all get to help!"

The girls cheered with glee and their eyes beemed at me nastily. I thrilled and shuddered at the same time, assuming I wasn't going to be physically mutilated, at least, but apprehensive nonetheless about just how far they might go to feminize me in one night.

Then they went to work on me. Each cabin was assigned some aspect of my demasculization and feminization. Ash cabin collected ladies shaving implements and lotions and creams and circled around me to begin removing all of my body hair. I was too tired and sore by then to resist at all. I raised my underarms for their razors and watched as tufts of underarm hair, chest hair, and my unruly, thick bush hair fell to the ground along with the last vestiges of my male pride, only to be swept up my another cabin group. It was so incredibly humiliating that my erection snapped up again. My normally forrested nipples were made bald and pink, my thighs began to rub smoothly together for the first time since seventh grade, and my ass became as smooth as the butt of a baby, that is, all except for the crack of my ass, which they left hairy ("his twat" giggled one of the counselors.) Not used to the perfectly respectable kind of smoothness all over my body that many men normally had, I felt like I had become the totally pussified wuss that the girls suspected me to be.

They plucked my eyebrows and attempted to shave my face closely, but I was eventually allowed to finish it myself after they nicked me twice.

I was dragged to a shower and lathered up and cleaned, than powdered and perfumed. They fussed with my hair for over an hour, but gave up on it. It was just too thick and shapeless to make feminine. They finally decided to shave my whole head and put a wig on me. The head shaving was to encourage me to keep the wig on for when I would eventually be out of their sight and control. I hated the way I looked bald when I saw it, so their reasoning worked.

Next a group did my makeup. They spent about an hour also, and I was totally unprepared for what a good job they did when they showed me the mirror. I looked like a model or something.! It was amazing. If only it had been someone else's face, a less masculine looking face, I would have been totally convinced of my womanhood. As it was, though I felt almost ashamed at my remaining masculinity. But the woman inside me was thrilled, and I secretly began to relax and enjoy the process even as it seemed to degrade my male self-image.

Finally they dressed me, and I even got to choose from among the outfits. It was as though I'd had the instinct all along for what would look good on me as a woman, and that now I was finally getting the opportunity. Under my skirt they fixed up an elastic contraption that pulled the head of my dick back between my thighs and held it in place almost all the way back to my asshole, so even to the closest observer, i would appear to be as dickless as any other woman. My poor nuts positively shrunk with embarrasment at my passivity in letting myself be de-cocked by these laughing girls, and my untesty testes finally slunk away up into their sockets out of the pure shame of it all, just as though they'd never descended in the first place!

Finally, I insisted on the very pair of panties that I'd originally chosen. The ones I'm wearing now.

When we were done they had me parade up and down on dining tables in front of them, and I felt like a top model going down the runway. They cheered me on, but after a while, by the looks on a few faces, I guessed that some of them were starting to get jealous of me, believe it or not.

That's when the counselors announced the final stage of my punishment. I was presented with this laundry sack full of all the panties I stole, plus more. I was told that I would be realeased tomorrow morning and that I would have to hitchhike back to my camp. I was also made to promise that during the next night I would perform a reverse panty raid upon Camp Christopher."

"A reverse panty raid?" the truck driver asked. "What does that mean? Put em back?"

"Well, not exactly, " said Stuart. He explained what a reverse panty raid was, and the driver laughed uproariously. "It's going to be very tricky. and I'm sure I'll be caught, " added Stuart.

"Well, as clever as that would be, you're free now. Why do you have to go along with it?" the driver asked.

"Photographs." Stuart said. "They took HUNDREDS of me in every conceivable stage. Including one with the popsicle up my ass! I don't want anybody at Camp Christopher to lay eyes on them."

"I see" said the driver.

"So anyway, they put me in a cabin with some of the counselors where they could watch me and make sure I didn't leave till morning. Then, they helped me freshen up, gave me breakfast and sent me on my way. And that's where you came in." Stuart grinned.

"Well, I'll be," sighed the driver. "Stuart, you're one hell of a good sport. A lota guys would be ruined by something like this. I gotta hand it to ya, you must be pretty comfortable with your manhood."

"I suppose. " Stuart said. "Either that or I'm just extra comfortable with my femininity."

"Well I hope you're not offended, but I don't agree with what you say about your face looking so masculine. I think you have a very androgenous face. Your makeup and hair turn it towards the feminine side. I think it works real well. It was only the way you were standing that gave you away to me."

"Really. Hmmmm. That's interesting. I'll have to work on that." Stuart said.

"Well speaking of good sports, can you be one again and wait for me while I make a pit stop?" asked the driver.

"Sure, no problem." said Stuart, instinctively looking at the guy's crotch as if a full bladder would have been visible there.

The truck screeched over to the roadside and halted. The driver grabbed something from the glove compartment, which looked like a pair of gloves to Stuart, and climbed down out of the cab. he then disappeared into the woods.

Stuart sat in the cab waiting for the driver to return. He picked the wig up from his lap and began to smooth out some of the tangles that were now twisting the long brown locks in his hands. When he got it somewhat straightened out he placed it instinctively back upon his head, carefully positioning it using the mirror on the back of the passenger side sunshade. Then he studied his looks in the mirror for a while. He WAS more androgenous-looking, after all, than he had thought, the driver was right.

Finally the driver emerged from the curtain of shade-darkened woods and paused at the edge of the road. He stood at the spot where the deep angle of the late afternoon sun's rays just cleared the woods and outlined his large, nicely built figure with a aura of golden light. His wild, brown hair seemed ringed with flame, and his unshaven jaws bristled with light. When Stuart sheilded his eyes he was able to see the driver's pleasingly rugged form and features in the softly muted light reflecting off of the bright red rig. He watched him do himself up after his piss, grinning there in his nonchalant exhibitionism.

Stuart's gaze moved down the half unbuttoned front of the man's comfortably ragged red plaid flannel shirt, where he was displaying dark curls of chest hair with the kind of eye-pleasing intent that a homemaker employs when arranging a flower box in a window. Farther down, the man's ripped and faded levis hovered unzipped and parted at his hips while he tucked the shirt in. He was wearing snapless, buttonless white boxer shorts with the gaping fly that usually results from lack of ironing. Through this opportune opening, Stuart spied the brown bush-nestled root of what hinted at being an impressive endowment of cock.

Stuart involuntarily licked his lips, and then quickly looked up at the driver's face to see if he'd noticed his lustful reaction . The driver was now leering back at him playfully, as he zipped up and approached the truck.

Stuart's 7inch rod began to stiffen inside his lacey, flimsy panties as the anticipation of possible sex became stronger. Naturally, he'd gotten rid of the elastic dick yanker the minute he'd left Radclyffe. The driver came around and climbed into the cab and just sat there with his legs apart and knees up against the dash, looking contented. he left the truck idiling and looked over to Stuart.

"You sure are beautiful dressed up like that, Stuart." he said. "You know for a minute out there when you were looking at me I could have sworn you were a gorgeous babe I'd picked up. "

Stuart actually blushed. "Well.....I uh..... Well, thank you." he tittered nervously. Waves of arousal radiated through his body. If there had been an actual pussy between those nyloned legs under his dress, it would have started getting wet then. He swallowed and smiled seductively at the driver. "Well what would you and this gorgeous babe be doing now if she were here?," he asked coyly, surprising himself.

The driver relaxed his body, tilted his head back and rolled his eyes heavenward, taking a deep breath, and then exhaling. Then, still in this languid position, he turned his head to lock eyes with his passenger. His big, callused left hand moved to his crotch and began to rub the mound of his denim fly. "That would depend on what the lady wanted," he replied in a deep, quiet voice.

Stuart shuddered with excitement as his own dick completely uncoiled in his panties. "This lady would like to see what a truck driver's dick looks like up close," he said, almost whispering. The driver blinked at the sweet thing's boldness and smiled. "Mmmm," he murmered, as he unzipped his jeans. "Coming right up, for your inspection."

Stuart swiveled his weight onto his left hip so he could face the driver and watch as he undid his pants and fished his rod out of the fly of his boxers with his powerful hands. When Stuart saw the large, fat prick bobbing semi-hard over the driver's encircling fingers he nearly gasped. The magnificent thing was not yet even fully erect, but already much bigger than any dick Stuart had ever laid eyes or hands on. He reached out toward it instinctively.

"May I?" he asked.

"If you would be so kind," grinned the driver, relinquishing control over his burgeoning cock to his to the grasping, red-nailed fingers of his eager passenger. Stuart gripped and stroked the big rod and felt it stiffen and lengthen in his hand. Within seconds the hitchhiker had coaxed the driver's prick into full, rock hard erection. Surely it was a foot long, Stuart thought to himself. He shimmied his dress-encased ass across the vinyl seat so he could be closer to it. He leaned his bewigged head downward to examine the pulsating prick point blank. Locks of long hair brushed over and tickled the driver's cock, making him moan.

Stuart's mouth watered as the penisy scent of dickmeat reached his nostrils, and his crimson-glossed lips parted in anticipation. He was beyond asking permission to proceed, but he hesitated anyway, when he noticed the tattoo on the fat knob of the driver's dick head. It was the number "13," he could now see, and though he was normally superstitious, the bad luck of the previous 24 hours gave him momentary pause. The moment of doubt passed as the driver's firm hand guided Stuart's head downward into his lap.

The help of the driver's hand proved superflous, however, because Stuart began sucking his dick with intensely autonomous passion. He pulled both nylon-covered knees forward onto the passenger seat so he could more comfortably hover over the driver's crotch. The driver's right hand strayed to the backs of Stuart's stockinged legs., which he carressed affectionately as the young man gave him head. Before long the driver's hand had crept up the pretty cocksucker's thighs to his lace-panty covered ass. He hiked the dress up over Stuart's back so he could carress the fellator's fanny unobstructed.

Stuart wriggled with pleasure with the combined sensation of the warm hand and the summer breeze through the truck window carressing his ass. He deep throated the mega-cock with skill and enthusiasm, having to continually move wig hair out of his way. Naturally while sucking the cock he couldn't get his lips within even a couple inches of the man's dickroot, so he spent part of the time licking and stroking the full length of the shaft.

Meanwhile the driver worked Stuart's lacey panties down past the beefy but smooth, baby-powdered globes of his shaved young-man's ass and left them clinging to his now hairless thighs . The warm, rough hand kneaded and caressed the now totally exposed, firm and shapely ass. As the driver circled and prodded his vulnerable, and now sweaty, still-hairy ass pucker with an insistant finger, the busy hitchiker moaned and intesified his cocksucking. The driver interpreted this - correctly - as encouragement from Stuart for him to proceded.

By the time the next truck passed them, blaring the horn loudly, the driver had his big index finger all the way inside Stuart's manhole. "Ah," he purred. "Your pussy's so hot and so tight."

Stuart released the dick from his mouth just long enough to reply. "That's 'cause I haven't let anybody fuck me in a while. But I'll tell you it would be a lot 'hotter' right now if those crazy Radcliffe girls had let that girl cram it full of P.I.! Boy did I narrowly escape THAT fate!" He said, swallowing the mighty knob of the driver's dick once more.

The driver moaned and revelled in the resumed pleasure of getting his dick sucked. He continued playing with Stuart's ass in silence for a while, introducing a second and then a third finger. Finally he spoke again.

"You know, you really seem obsessed with that poison ivy thing, " he said. "I'd almost wonder if you weren't a little disappointed they didn't let her go through with it."

Stuart snorted dismissively, but kept the driver's erection in his throat.

"No? Well you could have fooled me. You keep mentioning it, after all. People who talk excessively about one feeling are often covering up a conflicting one. Maybe you're curious about how it would have felt to have your asshole so itchy that you couldn't stand not to scratch it."

Stuart snorted again.

"Well, you sure seem to enjoy my fingers up your ass. They must be scratching SOME kind of itch, don't you think, sweetheart?" he murmurred.

Stuart moaned softly and began stroking his own hard rod.

"Oh yes, you're itching for it aren't you?" purred the driver. " Imagine how good these fingers would feel scratching your ivy-poisoned pussy, darlin."

Stuart came up for air again, the saliva soaked cock slapping out of his lips. "You know you're not supposed to scratch poison ivy," he said with perverse coyness.

The driver grinned. "Sweetie, there's a LOT of things we're not supposed to do. That doesn't mean we don't sometimes want things bad enough that what we're "supposed to do" doesn't stop us, does it?"

"Well.....no," said Stuart, closing his eyes, jacking his own cock harder, and tensing his ass muscles around the driver's invading fingers. He liked to hear the driver talk, but it was starting to getr mildly annoyed by what sounded like patronizing provocation. As someone who was begining to feel as comfortable with the idea of having a pussy as he was having a dick, this macho know-itallness was a bit irritating.

"Well, I wanna hear you say it, Stuart. Didn't you really, in the back of your dirty little mind, kind of want those humiliating girls to go ahead and cram those poison ivy leaves - all crinkly and scratchy - up your tight, bad boy asshole? Isn't it making you all hot wondering just how intense that itching in your boy pussy would have gotten if you'd not missed out on the opportunity to find out? Doesn't it make your knees weak to think of the lengths you'd have gone to to relieve that intense itching?"

"Yes," moaned Stuart softly, his eyes still closed , his lips wetly grazing the driver's dickhead. "I'd be stuffing my ass with everything to get at it - your fingers, all of them. Your big stiff dick, fucking me for hours..."

"I thought so, Stuart," the driver cooed.

"That's another reason I went so far out there in the woods to take a piss. Cause there was something else I needed to do. Something I wanted to bring back just for you,' he said, patting a bulge in his pocket.

He laughed and rubbed the inner walls of Stuart's hole. "Now all you have to do is convince me that you really want it up your ass and beg a man to finish the job that the girls couldn't."

Stuart looked up at him incredulously and then looked down at the single glove that protruded from the driver's left pants pocket, and then at the small bulge that showed in the pocket on the left. It was POSSIBLE that he could be serious, but the idea was so outrageous that Stuart decided to call his bluff.

"You're' all talk, mister." he said finally. "You might have the dick of a big man, but not even you have the balls to fuck my ass with poison ivy, any more than those girls did!" He kissed and licked the driver's enormous erection teasingly.

"Nor do I believe that you have the finesse and stamina to make sure the itch you'd give me would get scratched for as long as I needed it. Like all night, for example."

The driver smiled devilishly and drove his big, calloused fingers as deep as he could into Stuart's yielding ass, making the pretty young man yelp. "Just try me, sweetheart," he hissed into Stuart's ear just before tonguing it wetly. "I've got all the equipment I need for the job right here. Just give me the word, and your hitchhikin' ass is gonna be in for a night of a lifetime!"

"I don't believe you, you lying fucker, " Stuart hissed in a lustful, daring voice. "You're bluffing. You just like to get your boys all hot and begging for your big dick up their asses, don't you?"

"Listen, you pretty little bitch, don't mouth me like that," said the driver, sounding serious. "You're gonna get more than you can handle if you 're not careful."

"OOH, I'm scared big man." taunted Stuart. "Your dick is a lethal weapon, I'm sure. But if anyone is obsessed with Poison ivy, It's you. Well, I'll tell you now there's only one way I'd ever let you put poison ivy up my ass, big man, and that's if you use your naked prick to stuff it all the way in.."

The trucker looked at him blankly. "No condom?" he stuttered. "I'm HIV negative and all, but that would be pretty risky."

Stuart laughed. "I knew it. You're just as scared as the rest of us! What happened to the big ballsy guy who was telling me a few minutes ago about how what he was "supposed to do" wouldn't stop him?"

The trucker said nothing, hesitating.

"Yeah, I thought so, Mr. crazy, daring big rig trucker fucker is full of shit." Stuart lifted up and turned away to lean out the passenger side window. He wiggled his exposed ass at the driver and went in for the kill. " Well, my ass is ready for you baby. I'm feeling even sluttier than that blonde sleaze at Woody's that the guys are always scoring with. It's your choice, stud: no condom, or no poison ivy."

"I'll give you three seconds to take that back." said the truck driver, his eyes aflame, his face red with agitation.

"Why would I take it back? I meant it, " said Stuart. "Remember, I'm a good sport. Win or lose."

Stuart clung to the window frame and braced himelf. As the rough hands tore the panties from his parted thighs and spread his ass cheeks he gasped in anticipation.

"I'll show you who the sleaze is, you dick-loving little cunt!" roared the driver as he yanked down his own jeans and boxers and loomed behind Stuart to mount him.

Stuart shivered as he anticipated how his little gamble was about to pay-off big time, combining the ardor of a wounded ego with a raging dick of gargantuan proportions. As his man-pussy twitched hungrily, he heard the crinkling and fumbling behind him that he usuallly associated with the opening and putting on of a condom. And though he didn't suppose the sound could have come from anything else, a part of him did at that moment believe he might actually have submitted to an unprotected poison ivy fuck if such a hung stud like this truck driver had been sadistic (and masochistic!) enough to attempt such a thing.

Then Stuart felt pressure against his asshole and hot, angry breathing on his neck. Yessss, he cried, yes. But as driven by hunger and horniness as his lustful expections of the driver had been, there, in the cab, on the highway, for the next 20 minutes of wild, ecstatic penetration, (punctuated by loud horn blasts of half a dozen gawking truckers passing by from the other direction) all of Stuart's expectations (of his partner and of himself) were exceeded in quite an exceptional manner.

(end part two of three)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al) Date: Fri, 14 Jul 1995 22:47:01 UTC Subject: FRIDAY 13" #6 Itchin' for It 3/3 M/M

(M/M in drag, M/M/M, M/F/fx40, M/Mx 24 panty fetishism, feminine domination, spanking, humiliation, forced femininization, cross-dressing, horticultural revenge, rimming, 'train' fucking, etc. )

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES..

To the alt.sex.stories reader:

This is the 6th in a series of stories dealing mainly with male to male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as well.

Friday 13" #6 Itchin' for it (Tom's Story)

by Stroker Al

(part three of three)

The irony of finding himself to be both a 'good sport' and a 'sore loser' at the same time struck Stuart an hour later as he was showering alone in the bath house back at Christopher Lake Camp. The good sportsmanship was a question of taking responsibility for the consequences of his sexual provocation. The trucker had not, after all, pressed a gun to his head, but instead had stuffed a clump of volatile leafy weeds up his ass with his erect, condomless prick, just as Stuart had dared him to do. Doubting that the crazy fucker would ever do such a thing was no excuse now. Stuart had called his bluff and lost, and was now 'sore' as hell.

This was not, however, because the unshaven lug hadn't used the most incredible restraint with Stuart, even as he'd run his camp counselor ass up the flagpole of his dick. Obviously the fucker was used to holding back anywhere from a half to a third of his penile length when fucking a guy, even as the ample allotment of dick (with it's equally impressive girth) that he no doubt delivered to all of his screaming bottoms had been wielded with the authoritative dominance of a caveman's club. No, Stuart was sore due to the natural consequences of getting fucked AND because of the onset of the itching.

But had the gamble been worth it? It remained to be seen, Stuart decided. Right now the rest of him felt like felt a million bucks!

Thank goodness the girls at Radcliffe had sent an evening dress along with Stuart, because his outfit was literally in tatters. In the process of having his whole body pawed, mauled and penetrated by the trucker, Stuart's dress had gotten pushed all the way up around his neck in a wrinkled twist of tortured fabric. In addition, the bra had been pulled off and tossed aside, the stockings laced with runs and rubbed all the way down to his knees, and his heels knocked to the floor of the cab next to his torn panties.

Stuart's prostate had been punted like a football through the goal posts of his buttucks. The piston-powered force that had squeezed his love-gland into an explosive reaction had only taken five or six minutes to drive Stuart into orgasm and fire more than a dozen sizzling squirts of his white-hot come all over the vinyl inside of the passenger door that the she-male was clinging to for his life. But of course the roughest ride of this sweet hitchhiker's life hadn't ended there. For about fifteen more minutes, the girly-boy had been forced to endure thrust after thrust of the trucker's ass-punishing fuck, which through the merciless banging of balls, hips and thighs against his ill-used butt brought back vivid memories of the previous night's ass-assaults. It was like being gangbanged by the whole world.

Luckily, though, thanks to a combination of Stuart's mental (slut) and physical (hot man-pussy) receptiveness and the sexual skill of the driver, the pain of getting dicked by this bull had essentially vanished after the first minute, though ocassionaly thereafter the trucker would accidentally veer into killer-fuck territory. Fortunately, his quick reaction time in correcting his course according to Stuart's cries was as good as that of a vacationing husband behind the wheel responding to his vocal, map-navigating wife.

By the time he came the first time, Stuart felt like he'd been born with the man's cock up his ass, and after 10 more minutes or so began to get erect again himself. Incredibly, Stuart came again just before the trucker climaxed. But by then, his tangled wig had tumbled off amidst all the passion and down into harms way, where Stuart's second flood of jizz gave the hairpiece a spontaneous frost job.

Less than a minute later, the trucker was gasping and moaning and gripping Stuarts nipples between his vice-like thumbs and fingers. And finally, he came inside Stuart's pounded ass in a gushing, unrestrained, spermy fountain of semen that Stuart felt inside with a condomless clarity he had never previously experienced .

And still the trucker continued to thrust. "Take it, cunt, take it!" he cried. The first wads of his come were now squirting out of Stuart's slickening pussy-ass and lubing it up for the grand finale of the trucker's lingering assault. Come shot out of the trucker's bazooka prick with increasing intensity as the slickness of his warm splooge increased his pleasure and prolonged the climax.

He thrust and thrust and thrust and thrust again until finally he was spent, and he plopped his sweat-matted hairy chest down onto Stuart's back. After a minute of rest, he looked down at the sight of his cock piercing Stuart's blistered ass and slowly began to withdraw his gradually softening prick. He was not surprised to see the high volume of his savage semen glistening along the length of his dick and dribbling out of stuart's worn out manpussy, but he was suprised at the color.

His jizz was a grassy green. For some reason he had not expected the poison ivy leaves to become so pulverized in twenty minutes of fucking that they would liquify to the point of blending with his cock-juice. But they had, all except for some fibrous bits and flecks of more solid ivy debris. The sight roused him to action.

"Okay bitch, if you know what's good for you you'll do the Summer's Eve routine" said the trucker. Stuart hadn't understood at first what he meant, but when the trucker reached behind the seat and withdrew a frosty 16 oz. bottle of Pepsicola from a concealed cooler, Stuart got the picture. He was being offered a 1950's-style douche.

"Uh, I think I'm gonna need some help with this," he said.

"She-it!" said the the driver, making a face, but finally he nodded and they both climbed out of the truck and headed toward the tall grasses in the ditch near the edge of the woods.

Back on the road, with both passenger and driver fully dressed again, the effects of the poison ivy had begun. The trucker was constantly adjusting his crotch for comfort, and intermittently indulging in furtive scratching down the front of his pants, while Stuart was just squirming a little and shifting in his seat, feeling something that was so far more like a tickle than an itch.

Stuart laughed. "What in the hell made you do it, you horny lunatic? Your dick is going to be useless for days!"

The trucker kept his eyes on the road and didn't answer for a while "Let's just say I decided you had it coming. And It unfortunately turned out that I was the only one capable of giving it to you. I gave that little brat back at camp Radcliffe 20 bucks to do it, and she failed. "

"Wait a minute," cried Stuart. "YOU were there? You KNEW the whole story already?" He stared at the man next to him as though seeing him for the first time. "Who the hell are you? And just exactly WHEN did you decide I had THAT coming to me?"

"The name's Friday," he said. "I watched you and your friends behave very disrespectfully toward someone I care very much about. Next time you guys want to get into each others' pants I hope you'll be a little more honest and direct and you wont use the people around you as though they were props. "

"The barmaid at Woody's?" Stuart gasped. "You know her? You were THERE?"

He nodded. "Your friends were downright raunchy to her. You were just rude. "

"So why do I get all of the payback and they get off scott free?" Stuart cried. "I mean, I'm sorry, I know I said some bad things about her, but I never would have if I'd known you cared about her. Why aim the vendetta only at me?"

"Oh, I think you'll be able to think of something more devious for your friends then I ever could. After all, I think they wronged you even more than they wronged me and my girl." he said.

When the truck finally arrived at Camp Christopher, the main grounds appeared mostly abandoned. The campers and staff were doing the water games down at the beach. The driver opened the door for Stuart, but made no move to get out himself."

"So what happened to the rest of the bargain? You were supposed to make sure my itch got scratched all night? " Stuart said.

"Oh, but I will, I will. I told you I had all the necessary equipment." He reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a rectangular box. "Here's a present for you."

Stuart made a skeptical, dissapointed face and opened the box. Inside he found a dildo, a large bottle of calamine lotion, several dozen french tickler condoms (purched patiently one by one, apparently, from the coin vending machine in the bathroom at Woody's) and a small pad of paper and pen. "What the fuck is all this?" he sneered. "Are you telling me I'm gonna have to take care of my own needs tonight with THIS crap ? You impotent little liar!"

"Now hold on a minute there, girly. " said the driver. "I told you I'd see to it that you'd get fucked all night, and you're gonna get fucked all night. Now just listen to me, and I'll tell you what you need to do...."

After his shower, Stuart sneaked back to his cabin and dressed himself in a fresh set of sexy evening wear the girls had sent with him. He brushed all the dried cum out of the wig and redid his shaving and makeup the way he had been taught, and before long he was looking even more stunning than he had been that morning.

But oh, how his hot slit was starting to itch! The irritated walls of his inner asshole were swelling and reddening and tightening up. He needed constant, vigorous friction against his itchy sore poison ivy spots. But it was still an hour or so before he would be able to make his move according to the trucker's plan. He spent that hour sitting on a butt plug and writing out the little notes on paper as he'd been instructed. After completing each one, he folded one of the french ticklers inside of it and popped it into his bag.

Finally it was dark and time for the talent show. He stayed out of sight, outside, near the back of the hall and watched the proceedings from a window. It was the usual awful, interminably tedious string of cliched routines and bad renditions of camp songs. Boys of all ages purposely singing off key in that way they do in order not to be considered unmasculine.

There was the grinning face of Jeff Waldman MC-ing as usual, but acting so much more chipper and energetic tonight. Even from his distant vantage point, Stuart noticed that the guy's fly was undone, and that a bit of his shirttail was visible through it.

SOMEBODY had hastily pulled up their pants, he noted, but the question was, after doing what? Stuart speculated on ways that the trucker might have persuaded Waldman to add a last minute act to the evening's entertainment, and most of them included Waldman's exposed cock in their scenarios.

Then Stuart heard Waldman say his name, and he knew that the driver had indeed been good to his word. Stuart was going to very soon have everything he needed to get his itch scratched all night.

Confident in this knowledge, the cross-dressed cock lover sauntered into the hall at the signal of confused applause that had greeted the announcement of his participation in the show. It was the first time the boys had seen him in 24 hours, so it took them a few seconds to take in the change that had occurred with him. But within seconds, the anticipated howls and hoots of testosterone-charged sexual bluster burst forth from the crowd of fellow counselors and support staff, and in turn, the camper boys of whom they were in charge.

Stuart sashayed up the center aisle toward the stage area, looking fabulous and making every movement count. His wiggling ass combined his sexual determination with his irrepressible urge to compensate for the increasingly intense itching in his love canal. Those eye-catching tennis boy legs displayed a different though no-less powerful appeal tonight in their shaved and stockinged appearance. On stage and facing his audience at last, he flashed the roomful of laughing, leering, nervous men a smile to die for, and let his whole being illuminate the room with the searing light of the hot woman within. But the clincher came when the tape player started and Stuart began lip-syncing that he could tell for sure that he had them all in the palm of his hand.

"Sitting here eatin' my heart out, baby, waitin' for some lover to call..." Stuart mimicked his image of her as Donna Summer wailed the smouldering words of "Hot Stuff" under the driving beat and mean guitars and synthesizer.

As he channeled Donna , Stuart began to work the room exactly as he had been instructed by Friday, making heavy eye contact and pressing face with his coworkers, burrowing his ass down into each reflexively tenting denim and khaki covered laps, kicking his legs high, wrapping his arms around chests and shoulders heaving with nervous hilarity and excitement. And almost unnoticed, in between his moves, Stuart would extract the "French letters" one at a time from his bosom and tuck them discreetly into the most accessible pocket of each man that he showered with his attentions.

Stuart especially relished his turns with Dale and Rick, who, sitting together near the back, couldn't hide their guilt and apprehension even as they attempted to keep in tune with the night's camaraderie by pawing their previously abandoned buddy when he climbed into their laps for a show of affection.

"I've missed you," whispered Stuart to Dale teasingly. "Can't wait to see you tonight."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, Stuart. I'd like that a lot. I was wanting to talk to you anyway, to explain- ," Dale began, but Stuart cut him off by springing from his arroused lap and into Rick's.

After Stuart moved on to the other men, the guilty pair examined the tiny packages that he had thrust into their posession. Inside the gaudily red-tinged French ticklers, they found a carefully folded, shockingly worded note, that being essentially identical to the others, was equal part invitation and challenge. In order to remain secure in their manhood, each staff member found themselves both privaleged and obliged to come to Stuart's cabin at an individually appointed time, for a promised twenty minutes of ecstasy. The only price mentioned for a rendezvous with the alluring she-male was that each man "relinquish the underwear off his ass" to Stuart.

They were a bit unnerved, however, when they noticed that they were apparently to be the first (Dale) and second (Rick) of Stuart's visitors for the evening. In fact, the time marked on Dale's note was 10 p.m., immediately after the show! Neither of them, of course, had noticed that Stuart had pulled these specially targeted invitations out from under his garter instead of his bosom. It was no coincidence that they were to go first.

When the song ended, Stuart blew kisses to the now wild crowd and hurried out a side exit and away to his cabin to prepare. The counselors and support staff spent the next half hour trying to calm their agitated kids down and and get them bedded down for the night. Only Rick and Dale managed to slip away without being shanghaied into helping one of the overworked, overstimulated counselors with his unruly mob.

Minutes later they arrived at the cabin they shared with Stuart's cabin, whose windows now glowed with the muted red light of a lampshade draped with a bandana. "Wow, he really is playing the whore tonight," Rick laughed nervously.

"And a cheap one at that," Dale added, checking his underwear waistband to remind him which pair of boxers he'd put on that morning. "Looks like the Radcliffe girls made an impression on him. He doesn't seem pissed at us at all."

"I know!" Rick agreed. "If this is payback, it's pretty painless."

They started up the steps to the cabin together, but Dale turned to rick and gave him a look. "Hey. Wait your turn. You're not on for twenty minutes."

Inside, peering through the drapes, Stuart spied and eavesdropped upon the breif exchange between the two fuckbuddies who had become unexpectedly territorial a mere 24 hours since their first fuck. After a minute Rick was stepping down, looking a little hurt, and Dale was knocking on the door. At this cue, Stuart primped his phony hair, straightened his bogus bust, and lastly, reached under his dress, between his legs, to remove and discard the butt plug that had allowed him to get this far without going insane from the itching in his ass. He then opened the door for his first guest and shut it behind him.

Like any whore, Stuart demanded payment up front. Dale chuckled, still nervous, as he shucked his shirt, shoes, shorts, socks and boxers, and handed the latter to Stuart. "What are you going to do with 'em, Stu?" he asked.

"They'll be sent to camp Radcliffe, in exchange for some services they provided me," he smiled.

"Oh." said Dale, cautiously approaching his ravishingly crossed dressed friend in his hirsuite nakedness and putting a hand on Stuart's shoulder. "So it's a kind of a reverse panty raid on Camp Christopher, right?"

Stuart smiled wickedly. "Well, no, actually, Dale. This would be a men's underwear raid, if anything. A reverse panty raid would be something else...."

Dale , somewhat more relaxed now, pressed forward, wrapped his arms around his friend and brought his lips within an inch of Stuart's. "No, baby you're something else," he whispered, and kissed Stuart deeply. Stuart's head began to spin as he devoured the big wet tongue of the man he'd been after for weeks, and for a second or two, considered bolting the door and spending the night with Dale and to hell with the others. But only for a second or two. Then he smiled and pulled Dale down onto the bed with him, and spread his nyloned legs open for the night's business. "Fuck me, you big-dicked stud," Stuart hissed, as Dale pulled off the beauty's panties to reveal the glistening, wet and hairy cleft of his man pussy. Dale saw that juices were already flowing from his honey's pussy and he licked his lips in anticipation.

"Put on your tickler first, sweetheart," Stuart reminded him, and Dale obeyed, fumblingly. Stuart helped him slip the bumpy rubber sheath over his plump, stiff cock. In his passion, Dale didn't notice the small slit of scoring that Stuart had previously engraved across the head of the tickler, insuring that the condom would break during intercourse.

Then, Stuart lay back and waited for Dale to mount him, but his partner had other ideas and suddenly lunged forward between his legs to bury his face in Stuart's pungent, savory fuck-well. Stuart gasped in shock and pleasure and nearly cried out a warning to Dale, but managed to stifle it as the stud's deftly moving tongue started digging and slurping at his butt-cunt. Just as his rival, Rick,the man stealing bitch had found out, Stuart's crotch-throb had quite a taste for man-pussy. Of course this time the poor, dumb fucker didn't have a clue what was on the menu or what the prices would be. Or didn't care. A pity, because Stuart had certainly cooked it all up with love, and had gone through much trouble and discomfort to save helpings for both of his cabin mates, although he hadn't anticipated that his sex and revenge stew was going to be sampled orally. But no problem. There was PLENTY for two, even with such a hungry lad as this one between his legs. How tickled Stuart was now that he'd decided at the last minute, with the trucker's amused encouragment, , to save the Pepsi douche for later. But as good as Dale's tongue felt, it wasn't scratching enough of the itch for Stuart's comfort.

Finally, when Stuart could stand it no more, he pulled Dale up on top of him and got him to start fucking. The tickler on his dick felt great scratching up and down stuart's itchy love tunnel. He rocked and bucked in a frenzy that threatened to wear out his partner too soon. After a few minutes, Stuart could feel that the tickler had split and was getting peeled down the shaft of Dale's prick. The thrusting still felt good, but the itching increased. If Dale noticed the breakage, he didn't acknowledge it. He did, however, acknowledge his heightened pleasure and increased the pace of his fucking in response. He tried to kiss Stuart a number of times, but Stuart refused and dodged his mouth. Thinking Stuart merely squeamish about butt licking, Dale stopped trying and concentrated on his fucking.

That's when Rick came into the room. Dale's twenty minutes were not up yet, but he'd been watching the whole thing through the window and couldn't wait. He wanted in on the action now.

The first thing he did was hop onto the bed behind Stuart's head and lean down to kiss Dale deeply as he continued fucking Stuart. The panty-raid lovers were joined once again at the mouth, exchanging between their interlocked tongues the lingering flavors from Stuart's twat. Dale moaned into Rick's mouth as he pumped and pumped and finally climaxed into Stuart's pussy-ass. Dale had no sooner begun to go limp and slip out of Stu's butt when Rick seized his chance to be next at the feeding trough. Rick licked and sucked at Stuart's frothing pussy, trying to eat every drop of Dale's spermy splooge and unwittingly getting nearly as large a portion of another man's butt-ripened wad, and of course not to mention a mouthful of liquified poison ivy.

By the time Rick had gotten his fill of mouth love and had mounted Stuart (with an equally faulty tickler)and had begun dicking him, Dale was erect again and set his sights once again on Rick's supple butt. So, lubricated only by the cumy, volatile ass juices that still glistened over his cock, Dale made Rick take it up the ass again. and play "sandwich meat" between him and Stu.

And so this pair of greedy, hungry boy betrayers overindulged their appetites with Stuart for more than a half hour. Dale and Rick traded places once again so that Dale could get another mouthful from Stu's tasty cunt cornucopia (now freshly wet with Rick's oystery semen) and Rick's tireless and sex-slimey cock up his own tight butt. But once forty minutes were up, Stuart unceremoniously threw the pair of them out.

"But Stuey, we've just begun..." whined Rick as he reluctantly handed over his white breifs to Stuart before being pushed out the door.

"You're the best, babe," said Dale before getting the door closed in his face.

Stuart spent the next 10 minutes attending to his "toilette" as the French say. He made use of the Pepsicola douche at last, bubbling away the last vestiges of poison ivy-laced cum from his ass. It wouldn't be fair, after all, for him to risk any of his other customers having to innocently suffer what Dale and Rick had coming to them.

Minutes later, Stu was letting another man in the door for a crack at him, in the hopes of satisfying the infernal itch. Luckily the director, Dave Kaplan, happened to be next, making it highly unlikely that any "official" action on the part of the camp staff would derail the assembly line fucking machine that Stuart had set in motion. Kaplan seemed embarassed for having shown up, but fortunately was horny enough to overcome it. One pair of his loose, old Munsingwear breifs seemed a small price to pay for what appeared to be the least potentially complicated chance he was going to get for a long time to bang a hole other than that of his vigilant wife. Twenty minutes out of her sight was about all he could manage. Stuart, for his part, was not the type to normally let himself be fucked by his boss, but his ass itched so badly that he wouldn't have refused an erect prick that night under any circumstances.

For the rest of the night and into the morning, Stuart let man after man into his cabin, greeting each of his suitors (after Kaplan) with a big wide open kiss and hurriedly pulling them onto the bed as soon as they'd surrendered their underwear. He spread his legs for some 25 of his horny young coworkers, many of whom were risking their jobs by leaving their sleeping campers alone back in the cabins while they went to fuck a man wearing a dress. Most were ushered out so promptly at the end of their 20 minutes that they had to carry their clothes in the dark and stealthily return to their cabins, leaving behind both their underwear and a major wad. In their exhaustion and due to the increasingly late hour, none took the time to put on a fresh pair, but instead crashed in the buff.

Stuart's laundry sack filled with assorted breifs, boxers and jockstraps, even as his bedside wastebasket filled with used, cum-brimming french tickler condoms. His frictionalized hole was getting a nice, fairly dry workout that was finally relieving his itch.

Rick and Dale, meanwhile, were trying to get some sleep in the tent they'd pitched at the bottom of the hill. They'd gone to bed uncannily thirsty, despite numerous swigs of canteen water, and were now tossing and turning and scratching their dicks and asses in semi-consciousness.

Finally came the dawn, rosy pink like the traditional color reserved for newborn girls. And it was kind of a birth, you could say, for the two dozen or so young men of the Camp Christopher staff who awoke groggily and disoriented from their night of vigorously fucking the same insatiable she-male ass, only to discover that it was now each one of them who was, in a different sense, "fucked." Every one of them, to a man, had been the victim of a nocturnal "reverse" panty raid.

Gone was every pair of pridefully collected and worn pairs 501 jeans, every rolled Levi shorts, every Gap polo shirt, every Calvin Klein boxer and brief. In short, each man's entire wardrobe for the summer had been stolen..... and replaced by a single pair of women's panties for each.

This discovery triggered not only an embarassed rush of blood to every one of their drop-jawed, morning-stubbled male faces, but also, for several of the men, an equally stimulating flow to the ostensibly exhausted appendages that bobbed between their legs. Ordinary specimens of young American manhood that they were, their arrousal only intensified as one after another of them helplessly resigned himself to the unavoidable consequences of having been mysteriously outfoxed in this manner. Seeing no other options for leaving the cabin without risking getting fired for indecent exposure, they finally each pulled their scant, flimsy and lacey pairs of women's lingerie up their tanned, sturdy and youthfully masculine legs.

Naturally the delicate, frilly garments had to stretch tightly in back to accomodate their beefy boy asses, which in turn stretched the front panels into obscenely low-slung triangles of fabric which were barely adequate to hold back the protrusions of their involuntarily burgeoning cocks, and left each man's sex-gnarled bush fully exposed.

One could say that the extra support staff cabinmates were the luckiest, at least temporarily, having only one another as witnesses to this forced panty donning. They at least had the comfort of sharing equally in their humiliation, since the provocativeness of each man's all-but-naked appearance varied only to the degree that his hairiness or smoothness contrasted with his feminine adornment.

Less fortunate were the cabin counselors, who, shivering with indignation, had to endure the jeering laughter of fully-dressed third-grade boys as they were forced to put on girls' underwear in front of them. Plus, not knowing any better, these isolated panty-clad staffers assumed their fate to be unique until later, when they bravely marched their giggling charges up the hill to the commons and were somewhat relieved to discover the universal nature of the prank.

Of course for some of those grown men, being so humiliated in front the boys only added to their arrousal, for which reason they were ultimately grateful for even the small bit of cock-cover the panties provided. In fact, George, the 22 year old brown eyed engineering major counseling Mohawk cabin, found the situation so arousing that it eventually led to his being repremanded a week later for letting things go too far. Kaplan, the director, would discover George behind the dockhouse sprawled over an upside down canoe with the pair of girl's panties down around his ankles and his cabin boys taking turns smacking his reddened ass with the flat end of a canoe paddle. George would argue later that he had merely been instructing them in a lesson on discipline. Indeed!

In all cases, the panties proved to be the only article of clothing available that even came close to fitting the men. All attempts to fit into borrowed pairs of even the baggiest of third grade camper's extra Khaki shorts failed miserably. A few halfhearted attempts to fashion loincloths out of boy's t-shirts eventually were abandoned as a curious sort of helplessness and acceptance of the morning's fate sunk in.

Many would have chosen to stay indoors that morning if they'd could have, but the shrill sound of the camp director's whistle shattered hopes for such a refuge. Kaplan never blew that whistle unless he meant business, and the business that the whistle was supposed to signal happened to be the orderly assembly of the entire staff on the commons.

Though the scene of the gathering men in panties on the commons was even now being secretly documented in full color photographs (which still decorate the bulletin board of the staff lounge at Radcliffe and are cherished by the girls each summer) detailing every blush, bulge and stricken look and smirk, no photographic emulsion could reveal how many of these lingeried young men, standing out there in the clearing in almost military formation, were getting their most secret fantasies fulfilled without the risk of being singled out.

Kaplan was the shockingest sight of all. His sturdy arms crossed, his silver whistle on silver chain nestling against the thick salt and pepper matt of hair on his tanned chest, he stood looking angry, his powerful legs planted firmly on the ground about two feet apart. He was wearing only a pair of silk lavender crotchless panties, through which his dick and balls dangled immodestly yet unimpressively. For truly, as it had been previously rumored but was now clear for all to see, the director, while retaining with dignity his endowments of organizational, leadership and teamwork building skills, his phallic shortcomings had been hoplessly exposed. One could only speculate what caused this man to put anything on at all, given such a pair to wear, since total nudity would have been less humiliating.

"Okay, men, he barked. "We've apparently gotten a late start this morning because someone has set back all the clocks in camp an hour. Instead of being able to sit down to our usuall saturday morning cinnamon roll breakfast, we are going to have to work together to find out where our clothes are and get them back as soon as possible. The families of the boys could be here any minute."

The men looked around at each other in panic, looking at the sun that had after all, seemed too high in the sky for the supposed hour, and futily adjusting their scant. skimpy micro-drag outfits to hold back their confused baskets.

"We can start by answering the first obvious question-WHO did this to us?" Kaplan said.

"Stuart!" cried a muffled voice from the back rows. The crowd turned to look back and beheld the steely-blue-eyed, tousled, black-mop-topped Dale looking back at them.

"It had to be him!" he gurgled over his swollen, itching tongue that protruded through his equally inflamed ass-kissing lips " He must have done it to get back at us for leaving him at Radclyffe after the panty raid," He was hopping uncomfortably from one foot to another, as was Rick next to him, and both were being hardly discreet about the intermittent deep dipping into their panties to scratch their mysteriously irritated dicks and assholes.

"Panty raid?" said Kaplan. Are you telling me YOU guys stole these panties from Radclyffe and brought them here?"

"No!" said Rick. "We lost all the pairs we collected. It must have been Stuart! "

"Yeah, it had to be Stuart! Stuart brought these and swiped our clothes!" cried one of the counselors. Within seconds, everybody was shouting his name,

Then he appeared from the woods and stepped out among them on the commons. With his totally shaved head, grittily whiskered jaw and the plain grey sweatsuit he was wearing, he looked strikingly like a prisoner, already charged, tried, found guilty and imprisoned by the acusations of the others. But in fact, he felt freer than he ever had in his life, and never so much of a man. He may have spent the whole night as the camp whore getting fucked flat on his back by every ready dick in the place, but today HE was the one wearing the pants.

"Now every one of you panty-wearing cocksuckers knows I had NOTHING to do with the theft of your clothes, " Stuart began, as he began to walk among them as they stood in place, wary but hesitant..

"Every man on this commons knows EXACTLY where I was and what I was doing all night! You fuckers didn't leave me alone for one minute, and you're ALL my witnesses!"

Naturally Stuart knew exactly who had done the raid, but none of his coworkers were able to read the knowledge in his face. Similarly, no one who observed his relaxed confident amble among their ranks could have guessed that Stuart was even now soothing his itch with a calamine-coated dildo held in by jockstrap He looked at each of his fellow counselors in turn for a glimpse a spark of that passion from the night before, and in every case was able to call forth at least one image of their unique coupling. There was always at least one moment in each fuck that that had made an impression on him at least as deep as the ones his press-on nails had made on the guy's ass.

Many who beheld the once again masculine-looking Stuart were nonetheless stirred by their own memories of banging his hot pussy the night before. Most of these guys, like Ben and Rusty of Chippewa cabin, would manage at some time or other during the following weeks to waylay Stuart and get him to spread for an encore fuck.

Yet there were others, trailmasters Scott and Tim among them, who despite having most manfully dicked the twitching hole of Stuart's whore persona of the night before, now found themselves unexpectedly leaking supmissive little squirts of pee into their panties as the leering Stuart passed them by with the attitude of an inspecting drill seargent. These were the guys who weren't sure, even after the stolen laundry had been recovered, why they were voluntarily choosing to keep the panties on underneath their clothes. That is, until each of them wound up in bed showing them off to Stuart, and he was peeling them off their asses and positioning his rod for a ramming, retroactively reciprocal fuck.

"But you have a sack full of our underwear!" cried another counselor. "Where is it?"

"Gone." replied Stuart. "Like all the other clothes in my cabin. All I have besides the dress are these sweats I wore to the showers. It wasn't me."

Suddenly there was the sound of an engine starting.

"Look! The laundry truck!" cried one of the counselors, pointing at the bulky open-bed vehicle that could be seen passing behind the short row of support staff buildings on the back lane out of the camp. Glimpses of several full laundry sacks could be seen heaped up in the back of the truck, fueling the suspicion that this was indeed where all of the mens' clothes had been stashed. And here it was no doubt heading for its usual Saturday morning desitination St. Cloud Laundry service, one hour away.

"Stop him! Stop the truck!" shouted Kaplan and blew his whistle once again piercingly before tearing off into a panicked dash. The truck was going to get away if it wasn't flagged down immediately! Most of the men on the field took off after him in hot, cock flopping, ball bouncing pursuit. What a sight they were, so young, tanned athletic, screaming like all-but naked warriors after a rogue elephant. They gained enough on the truck that they seemed to be within certain hearing range, if not sighting range of the driver but it was to no avail, because the truck lurched into a hard left turn as soon as it hit the highway and roared off and away from them. It had gotten away. A phone call to the laundry service would easily set things right, but it would be a minimum of two hours before the Camp Christopher men would get their clothes back.

They hurded together at the camp entrance, panting, swearing, cursing at their slow reactivity, the driver's seemingly willful deafness, and the craftiness of the unidentified tormentors who'd driven them to wild prancing outdoors practically in the altogether. How could they have known that the driver had indeed seen and heard them but had been paid to pretend he hadn't?

It was at that moment that the final straw broke the camel's back. A line of automobiles appeared at the crest of the hill and drove up to the camp. There was one car after another, bumper to bumper, due to the long, long freight train crossing two miles back that had caused the families picking up thir boys to back up dozens and dozens of car lengths waiting. Now they were all arriving together, many of them Christopher/Radcliffe board members but all of them frowning at the scandalous sight of the cross-undressed, lingerie-loined college boy sexual deviates in whose hands they had left their children.

Kaplan literally burst into tears as he recognized face after face of his board of directors behind the windsheilds of these cars.

"Oh fucking, fucking SHITTTT!!" he screamed, flinging first his whistle and then his cap down hard onto the dust in front of him before flinging himself face down onto the ground after them where he pounded the earth with his fists and howled and kicked his legs wildly with utter defeat. The humiliated men in panties just stood there dumbly in their embarassment, and parted ranks to allow the cars by. Too rattled to even stop, the cars and their scandalized occupants rolled one by one past the scene of Kaplan's tantrum, where the dust raised by his flailing limbs gradually obscured everything but the twin globes of his pink silk covered soon-to be-unemployed ass.

"Oh, and another thing," said Michelle as she collected her keys and purse and headed toward the door. "Arnie asked me to pass on a little message to you."

He paused for a moment in the middle of applying the calamine lotion and looked up sheepishly at her. Living with a nurse all these years, he wasn't used to having to see to his own first aid needs, but once she'd heard what he'd done, she adamantly refused to help him.

"He requests that next time you borrow his rig you lay out the blanket he keeps in the rear compartment to protect the upholstry," she said, brightly.

"Oh, god! Tell him I'm sorry" he said.

His reddening face completed the picture before her of her twenty-eight year-old lover being his perpetualy adolescent self, sitting up on the bathroom counter with his pants down around his ankles as if waiting for mommy to put a bandaid on a skinned knee or something. Well, this was one 'owee' mommy wasn't going to kiss and make better.

"He really provoked me, you know, Michelle. You know I don't just fuck anybody under any old circumstances-- "

"You're provoking me, buster," she snapped, cutting him off. "You're getting too carried away with these boys lately! You're supposed to be calling the shots, not getting dragged around by your dick. I swear you're regressing! You had more self-control when you were "18". What's up with you, honey?"

He hung his head and shook it "He implied that you were a slut," he murmurred

She looked at him incredulously and burst out laughing. "And you were protecting my honor, right? By ramming a fistful of poison ivy up his ass with your dick! And you think I need YOU to protect ME?"

She laughed despite herself and put her hands on her hips. "We got you the video camera, all of the magazines, I let you play with the boys whenever you want, I even play along when you need me to. what else could you possibly want?"

He looked up at her cautiously, and then down and muttered something.

"What did you say? I didn't hear you, hon, say that again," she said.

He looked up at her again and said, "Family."

She stared at him for a moment and then rolled her eyes upward.

"Oh for god's sake!" she hissed, turning and marching toward the front door. "You can forget even thinking about THAT until your dick completely clears up. That might take two weeks if you can't keep your hands off it, which I know you CAN'T."

She was out the door to head for Woody's, but then popped her head back in for a second.

"You," she narrowed her eyes at him, "have been watching the 700 Club again, haven't you?"

He just looked at her, his lower lip thickening.

"Well STOP it!" she cried.

(end part 3 of 3)

Look for further tales of Friday 13"