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Imagine, for the birthday of a friend you trust, typing up a coupon that lets your friend or partner know they have some power over your body and your humiliation. You type up the coupon carefully, designing it on Canva: “This coupon entitles you to one free...” strip tease? Naked movie night (clothing optional for the coupon holder, clothing forbidden for the coupon giver)? Outfit off my back? Opportunity to give me dissolvable swimming trunks? The world is yours to choose. You pick an expiration date. Could they get you in a week? A month? That day? Does the coupon even have an expiration date, or could they present it to you decades down the line, after you’ve forgotten they even had the coupon?

Imagine sliding that coupon about that thing that turns you on so desperately into a Birthday card, licking the envelope closed, and walking up to your friend, your heart pounding. That friend will open the card at the birthday party. Will they read the coupon out loud to everyone in the room, or will they keep it a secret between you with a nod or subtle wink to assure you they will use the coupon.

Does your heart rate pick up as you wonder if they’ll use it right that second, right at their birthday party, when they could make you the parties entertainment? Do you trust your friend to save it for a time where it’s just you? Do you trust your friend to use it then, when humiliation is at it’s most optimal level? You didn’t give any instructions about how they could use it.

And you didn’t tell them that they couldn’t make copies and give the coupons to everyone they know. Maybe more of your friends will be in on it, copies of those coupons ending up in every friend’s birthday card, so all of your friends know that you’re a kinky freak who will get naked at the promise of eyes tracing the curves of your body, lingering on your cock, your pubic hair, your ass.

Once your friend has that coupon, it’s open season on your body. You didn’t specify that they couldn’t take pictures of you naked, fulfilling the promises of your coupon. You didn’t specify that they couldn’t post that coupon online. You didn’t specify that they couldn’t make copies of the coupon so that anytime between now and its expiration they could whip out another coupon and have you whipping out your cock on their command.

Imagine this friend looking at you for the rest of the party, their eyes traveling up and down your body, their tongue darting over their lips while you and they both know that they could see all of you at any second. Imagine watching them lean in and whisper to another friend, to show that friend a scrap of paper. Imagine both friends looking at you hungrily.

Imagine as you gather for cake and ice cream, your friend says, the real dessert for the night came from your card. Your cock jumping to attention before you can even help it, before your friend even confirms what you know: that you are the dessert, that your clothing isn’t yours anymore.

Imagine him reading that coupon that you wrote about that deepest fantasy out loud to everyone at the party, and even though you only did it as kind of a joke, now there’s too much pressure, and all eyes are staring at you. Some curious. Some annoyed. Some disgusted. But some, more than you expected, are looking at you hungry, in a way they’ve never let themselves look at you because they didn’t know how easy you actually are.

And you have to take off your clothes. You have to peel off your shirt. You have to kick off your shoes. You have to lift each foot to slip off your socks. You have to wedge your thumbs into your pants, and you have to debate if it’s worth holding onto your underwear as one final reveal, or if you just want to get it over with. And you have to lose it all anyway. Within moments, you have gone from just a guy at the party to the naked guy at the party. Cock out. Hands at your sides, grin plastered on your face, half apologetic, half blissful because here you are, hard as a rock, making a scene at your best friend’s birthday party because you had the courage to ask, and he wanted to see you. All of you.

Now imagine he orders his friends to grab your arms while he claims your clothing (whether you allowed him to by coupon or not) and he insists that the clothes off your back are the best present he’s gotten today.

And you know, he’ll send you home tonight naked. After everyone has ogled your body. Squeezed wherever and whatever they want. After you’ve been milked once, twice, potentially even three times, and everyone who has wanted to taste your cum has taken a taste, and everyone who has wanted to watch your face scrunch up in the pleasure and agony of orgasm has watched your muscles tense before release, and everyone who has wanted to spread those cheeks and look at, finger, or even insert into your asshole has done so, once you have finally been used, humiliated, and pleasured beyond your wildest dream, you are allowed to get in your car, butt naked, and drive home.

How will you get from your car to your room, past your roommates or parents or neighbors?

'We passed by that area a hundred times already. Just admit it. You don't know where you hid our clothes. Let's just call it a day, head back to the car, and change into our spare clothes. The longer we stay here by the park map, the more likely we'll get caught naked!'

'No, we can still find out clothes. We just need to keep looking...'

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!'