Stories About Humiliation

The bar we went into was packed, forcing us to stand two deep around the bar. My hardon was tenting my jeans for everyone to see. I was humiliated, and my buddies, making it worse, told everyone around us. Soon, tons of drunk folks were all staring at my clearly obvious and obscene boner. My friends constantly simulated jerking me off, rubbing my cock through my Wranglers, pushing me closer to the edge until it was too late. My cock, having been hard now for more than an hour, exploded with a massive amount of jizz, filling my briefs. My head tilted back, eyes rolled back, people laughed as the massive load soaked through my light-colored Wranglers, causing a dark patch where my visible cock head rested.

Hidden from view, Ali slipped a finger into Mehmet's asshole. Mehmet froze, his eyes widening in shock. The crowd, unaware of the intimate violation, continued to cheer. Mehmet's mind raced, but his body remained rigid, unable to react. Ali, taking advantage of his opponent's paralysis, began to finger fuck him, his movements deliberate and humiliating. Ali continued his assault, adding another finger, and then another, until his entire hand slipped inside Mehmet's asshole, bringing tears to his eyes. The crowd, still unaware, cheered, their excitement reaching a fever pitch.

I’d seen him around the gym enough to know he was your typical big, dumb jock. All he cared about was getting a pump, strutting in shorts so tight you could see the seams of his jockstrap in back and practically count the threads in the bulge up front. He thought nothing of swatting guys on the ass after a heavy lift, make homophobic jokes, he was cocky and all laughs. The last time I caught him in the locker room, it was packed, and he was stripped down to just his jockstrap. I struck up a conversation, told him he was looking swole but a bit tight. He nodded, clueless. I lied, said I was a physical therapist, and before he could think twice, I had my hands on his delts, “loosening him up” while everyone else watched. He shrugged, dumb grin, letting me manipulate him before he ignorantly said he just hit legs.

Without another word, I pushed him forward, bending him at the waist, his bubble butt framed perfectly by the white jockstrap. I started massaging his hamstrings, then moved up to his glutes, squeezing and kneading his ass. I even sounded alarmed, telling him he was way too tight and needed to spread his legs a bit further. He obeyed, exposing his puckered asshole, still clueless, while I worked his twin globs like I was stretching him out.

Every guy in the gym was grinning, watching, winking at me, and nodding approval. They knew exactly what was happening. This cocky, dumb jock, always smacking asses and being a dick, was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. And I was the one serving it up, center stage.

The dumb jock stayed bent over, while I worked a finger deep into his asshole. A couple of guys nearby leaned in and asked, “What stretch is that?” I told them with authority it was a vital recovery move he’d been missing, probably the very thing holding back his gains. That was all it took. Soon more and more men crowded around, nodding, asking me to show them how. Within minutes, more than twenty guys were taking turns pressing one and sometimes a second finger, stretching out the dumb jock’s asshole.

The poor meathead just grunted and stiffly moaned, his face red as every man in the locker room had a go at “working out the tension.” By the time the last guy stepped back, the jock stood up in complete humiliation, his jockstrap pouch stretched tight by the remnants of an boner, a clearly visible wet cum spot marking the front.

I clapped him on the shoulder, assuring him it was perfectly normal after a proper glute stretch. Then I casually tossed him a dildo, telling him it was a glute foam roller, and it would help with his recovery. I said to make sure he used it in the gym showers after each workout. Red-faced, the dumb jock actually thanked me and the others before bolting off toward the communal showers, dildo in hand.

Twenty guys following behind, snickering and egging him on, he marched into the communal showers clutching the dildo. Steam filled the tiled room, and everyone circled in, arms crossed, waiting to see if he’d actually go through with it.

The big lug planted his feet wide under the spray, bent forward like I’d shown him earlier, and—dead serious—started working the dildo into his asshole, grunting and muttering that he could “already feel the tension releasing.” The shower erupted with laughter, guys tried to cover for the outburst, chanting his name and encouragement like he was hitting a new PR

Every grunt and moan he made just made the crowd howl. His jockstrap pouch, already soaked, sagged heavy, before a new load of cum appeared, dripping as his “recovery” carried on. By the end, he pulled himself upright, water pouring off his swollen body, red-faced and breathing hard. The guys roared of applause, delivering ass-swats as they congratulated him.

Tyler had exactly two minutes of peace after the locker room door slammed shut behind him. He had just finished changing when the locker room pranksters struck. With a swift shove, they tossed him out into the hallway, laughing as they locked the door behind him.

Wearing nothing but his white Jockey briefs and a panicked expression, he pounded on the door. “Guys, come on! This isn’t funny!”

Muffled laughter echoed from the other side. Classic prank. The team’s favorite—tossing someone out in their underwear and locking the door. Tyler had hoped being new wouldn’t make him a target. He was wrong.

Then it happened.

BRRRRRRING!

The bell. The one that signaled the end of sixth period. The one that meant hundreds of students were about to flood the hallways.

Tyler froze. His eyes widened. “Oh no.”

He bolted.

With only seconds to spare, he dashed down the hall, bare feet squeaking against the linoleum as he ducked around a corner. He pressed himself against a wall, praying no one had seen him yet. The hallway remained eerily quiet… for now.

He peeked out, looking for an open door or a janitor’s closet—anything.

Then came the sound of voices. Deep, familiar ones.

Tyler turned and nearly ran straight into a group of senior guys. Tall. Loud. Confident. They stopped mid-conversation, staring at him in disbelief.

“Are you seriously out here in your tighty whities?” one of them said, squinting.

Tyler felt his face turn scarlet. He opened his mouth, then closed it. There was no explaining this.

Another senior smirked, crossing his arms. “Dude, you look like a kid who lost a bet. What’s next, a cape?”

Tyler backed up, his heart racing. “I—I got locked out.”

“Oh, we figured,” one of them replied with a laugh. “Who thought it was a good idea to send you out like that? You’re practically begging for a wedgie!”

“Seriously, man,” another senior chimed in, grinning. “Those are little kid undies! What are you, five years old? You might as well be wearing superhero pajamas!”

The group erupted in laughter, and Tyler tried to shield himself with his arms, but it was futile. The seniors stepped closer, their taunts continuing.

“Look at this nerd! Running around in his tighty whities like it’s totally normal,” one said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “I bet you’ve got matching socks with cartoon characters on them too!”

Tyler felt his cheeks burn as the laughter surrounded him. He could barely think as they closed in on him, grabbing his arms and pulling him forward.

“Come on, let’s show everyone!” one of them shouted as they dragged him toward the exit.

“Wait, no! Guys, don’t!” Tyler protested, but their laughter drowned out his pleas.

They burst through the doors and headed straight for the flagpole. Tyler tried to wriggle free, but their grip was too strong.

“Up you go!” one of them said, hoisting him up by the waistband of his briefs.

Tyler’s cheeks burned hotter than ever as he dangled in the air, the crowd of students gathering below, pointing and laughing.

“Look, it’s our very own flagpole decoration!” another senior shouted, and the crowd erupted in laughter.

As the seniors stood back, leaving Tyler suspended there, he felt a mix of humiliation and disbelief. The laughter echoed around him, but all he could think about was how to get down.

“Come on, guys! This isn’t funny!” he shouted, but they just continued to laugh and take pictures.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, one of the seniors smirked. “Alright, we’ll leave you up there for a while. Enjoy the view, kid!”

And with that, they turned and walked away, leaving Tyler hanging there, the laughter of his classmates ringing in his ears.

Feeling embarrassed, he rushed back to his car to get dressed and leave, but then a crowd followed him, watching as he slipped off his Speedo under the towel. The crowd kept calling to him, 'No need to be shy, big boy. Just show it to us!'

After the crabs outbreak, the Captain started performing random "tool inspections" around the ship to ensure his men's reproductive health. With their pants to the ground and their shirts lifted up, the Captain personally inspected each sailor's rod for any evident health concerns.