Wedgie Bully

I read it somewhere else and now it’s all I can think about, but I love the idea of consensually trying to fight with your partner and they very quickly remind you why you’re the bottom in the dynamic.

What could this look like for me? I am not built super strong, but I’m not necessarily a bear, I’m a bit more average looking. In this scenario, I could imagine my partner, we will call him Davis, being bigger than me in multiple ways. Larger size, larger muscles, larger pecs, white but tan, just gorgeous with their shirt off and their muscles defined, like a strong twink or a large jock that’s into me.

Now in this scenario, I could daydream that we are both shirtless, wrestling and arguing playfully that I could beat him in a fight. Davis could let me pretend for a few seconds, and then put me in my place. I could see them straddling me, pinning my wrists to the bed next to my head, and sitting their whole body in my lap, making me unable to move, until I say “I give up!”

Now, if it’s a jock, Davis definitely knows that I’m into a bully and nerd fantasy and I have now given him the perfect approach. With my shirt off, I can only imagine that all of the movement has caused my underwear’s waistband to begin to be on display for him. From my dresser, the sexiest underwear that I have is a pair of Calvin Klein red briefs, with the bold waistband so of course, that’s the pair I’m wearing now.

I can see Davis putting both of my hands together and pinning them with his left hand above my head, then grabbing the middle of my brief’s waistband with his right hand and yanking upward, making me quiver and wriggle in pain and pleasure, with a mix of painful groans and pleasant moans, begging for him to continue. I can imagine Davis pulling my briefs up until the legholes begin to show out of my pants, and my cock is proudly on display in front of my glorious partner. It would only be then that he lets go of my briefs, and while I am still dazed from this Melvin, that he grabs my shoulders and flips me over, then flips himself so his knees are on my back and his ass is sitting on my head.

To keep the fantasy going, I would pretend to beg to make him stop. “Please, these are my favorite pair.” And Davis would lean close to my ear and whisper: “It’s Daddy’s favorite pair too and Daddy wants to see more of them.” He would then take the back of my waistband of my briefs and yank towards him, shifting the front of my briefs around my cock to be forced down and yanked up the other end and fueling the fire being given to my asshole. He would yank, stretch, and repeatedly pull to cause my briefs to go higher and higher up my back, causing my red briefs to shriek and pop up my back as he pulls them towards him. As he is also my partner, I could see Davis pulling my pants down and smacking my ass for additional pain and humiliation of what is happening in the fantasy.

Now, if Davis was truly merciless, he and I both know that I’m not going anywhere and love the feeling. I could see Davis pulling my pants down to my ankles, then taking his feet and pressing them into my shoulders, then taking my briefs with both hands and leaning back as hard and rough as possible, with both of us having the goal of these briefs going over my head. At this point, I would moan, punching my fists into the bed, and cry for more, asking him to get them atomic for the both of us. With his large, meaty hands, it’s really no match for him. He could take them atomic with really one hard pull, but the point is to make it take longer to cause me more pain, but to also extend the experience and truly stretch my fabric to where it belongs, either over my head or hanging on a hook.

To be honest though, I think the best way for Davis to have his fun would be to then grab me and flip me over again. Then, he would take my briefs from the front, as they are all stretched now, then take 2 seconds to quickly yank and heave them up the front of my body, both chest and face, as he watches me pant from this torment. He’d snap my briefs to the back of my head and have me completely blinded by my undies with Calvin Klein being “boldly” appearing on my head.

One afternoon, Billy caught Buck changing after work. Wrinkling his nose, he pointed at Buck’s worn jockstrap and laughed. “Man, that thing’s disgusting,” he said. “Why don’t you wear boxer briefs like everyone else our age?”

Buck shot him a hard look. “Working men and athletes wear jockstraps,” he snapped. “And those stains come from actual labor, not sitting around trying to look pretty.” Then, with a smirk, he added, “Besides, kid, you couldn’t fill out the pouch of a real man’s jockstrap if you tried.”

The comment lit a fuse. Billy lunged at him, and the two started wrestling in the middle of the barn while the other ranch hands gathered to watch and cheer. Buck’s years of ranch work gave him the advantage fast.

[This is another slapdash addition to a story I began a few days ago. It's probably rough around the edges as I kinda threw it together, like the last two parts. As always, feedback and suggestions are always welcome.]

Whatever it was that your bros found so compelling about your receptivity to wedgies, it was clear that they meant business. They must have privately coordinated the events immediately following your departure from the burger joint, though you couldn't even guess when or how they would have had time to do so.

The moment your seatbelt was fastened in its buckle, it suddenly and powerfully tightened against your torso. The guy behind you was pulling at the seatbelt from behind with all his might, securing you helplessly in place. Before you could even react, a second pair of hands had found their way around the seat and once again into the back of your pants, impressively maneuvering a massive wedgie as Damien, cackling along with the rest of them, started the engine and began to drive.

You kicked and thrashed in the limited legroom of the passenger seat as the waistband climbed with shocking rapidity and ease, quickly attaining the goal of being hooked over the top of the headrest. So powerful was the restraining force of your seatbelt, pulled from behind with immense force, that you couldn't even raise your arms to reach up and release the waistband from the headrest. But even if you could have, would you?

'You seriously need to stop squirming and chill out, wedgie boy,' Damien said, reaching across from the driver's seat to tousle your hair playfully, the way an uncle—or a bully—might have.

You could only stammer, the onslaught of sensations almost so intense as to impede coherent thought. 'I... oh, God... fuck, I'm not—'

'Damien's right, wedgie boy,' said Trevor's voice from behind you, followed by a wet, slippery POP noise that sounded like something being inserted into a mouth and quickly withdrawn. 'You need to chill the fuck out and try to enjoy yourself already.'

With no warning, a pair of big, meaty pinkie fingers, obviously coated with copious quantities of saliva, were jammed into both your ears at once. The involuntary full-body shudder that this triggered was humiliating enough, to say nothing of the groan of visceral, high-octane pleasure that this forced you to produce. The fingers did not retreat immediately but instead twisted and wriggled aggressively, as if to wring as many gasps and moans and expletives as possible from your mouth, by force. Though your ear canals were fully obstructed, you heard the entire car erupt with laughter at your ecstasy-torment. You didn't know if the constriction you felt in my crotch was due more to the gigantic wedgie you still had in, or to the fact that your erection, straining against your tighty whities, must have been hard enough to cut diamonds.

You shut your eyes, tight. You didn't entirely know why, but it felt like you had to, perhaps as an instinctive reflex to prevent your brain from literally short-circuiting on the veritable deluge of embarrassment, pain, helplessness, and extreme pleasure that was assaulting your neural pathways with unrelenting brutality.

'Dude, he fucking loves this so much, it's insane.'

'Our little wedgie boy's horned up out of his fucking mind right now.'

'Hey, wedgie boy, smile for the camera!'

You opened your eyes to see a phone being held in front of your face at arm's length. It was Jack who held the phone, as the only one in the van's middle row whose hands weren't fully occupied. The front-facing camera was on, and the second your eyes snapped open, the digitized camera shutter clicked, signalling that a photo had been captured.

Jack was leaning into the frame from the opposite side of the van, gesturing towards you with his thumb and an exaggerated facial expression that said 'Get a load of this!'

Visible directly behind you was Aiden, grinning maniacally as he continued to pull your seatbelt towards himself with incredible force, leaning back in his own seat to maximize his leverage.

Leaning in from the middle seat was Tyler, whose thick pinkie fingers still clogged your ears and who was beaming at the camera like he was at his high school graduation all over again.

In the back of the van were Adam and Chris, both laughing so hard that they looked like they were on the verge of passing out or giving themselves heart attacks.

Just barely in frame was Damien behind the wheel, eyes on the road and a jocular smirk on his face that said 'Boys will be boys!'

In the middle of the picture itself was, of course, you. The headrest was fully enveloped in the white fabric of your briefs, and Tyler's fingers were still plugged deep into your ears. Your face was flushed red, eyes wide with embarrassment and terror, but your pupils blown so wide as to make your arousal impossible to deny.

It was too much. It was too hot. You needed it to stop, soon, or else...

'Guys,' you pleaded, trying to wriggle free and actually managing to get Tyler to retract his saliva-covered fingers from your ears. You were so horrified by what you felt was going to happen that your voice was barely above a croak of timid protestation. 'Guys, I—'

'What is it, wedgie boy?' Damien asked. 'You'll have to speak up, we're having too much fun to hear you.'

You tried to keep your voice as level as you could, but it was becoming a mounting struggle. 'I... I can't... It's too much...'

'"Too much"? Tyler cut in, 'Bro, we've literally seen your locked photo gallery. There's no such thing as "too much wedgies" when it comes to your ass, that's for sure.'

'No, you don't understand,' you said. You felt the walls that had miraculously gotten you through the morning's earlier three-hour wedgie session beginning to crumble. 'If you don't stop, I'm gonna... gonna...' You fought hard against the waves of orgasm crashing against your consciousness, like you were an ancient mythic king in a parable, trying, in his hubris and vanity, to hold back the tides of the ocean.

'Gonna what? Cream your tighty whities just from a wedgie?' Amid the continued snickering from the bros at this comment, Aiden took the liberty of unhooking your waistband from the headrest and pulling viciously towards himself, suddenly intensifying an already monster wedgie without warning.

You groaned helplessly as the camel's back finally broke. Your overfull balls emptied impossible amounts of semen into your briefs, blasting rope after rope of pent-up jizz into your tautly pulled tighty whities. It was, by far, the most pleasurable climax you had ever experienced, tainted only by the horrifying reality of the context in which it had occurred.

A silence had fallen over the friend group. The car had come to a halt. Surely this was the end of the fantasy come to life, and also of your friendships with six other guys whom you had loved and trusted as brothers.

'Dude,' Tyler said, 'I didn't even know you could do that.' There was another pause. You said nothing. You wanted to disappear, to die. It was Tyler who broke the silence again, but now in a different tone. 'So I guess that gives us something to work towards with this wedgie boy, huh?'

There was a hearty wave of agreement that rocked through the car, and a resumption of the general, jovial atmosphere as before. You were in complete disbelief. 'Something to work towards'?

Damien clapped you on the shoulder. 'Bet you were holding that one in all morning, huh, wedgie boy?'

'He definitely sounded like it, from the way he was moaning back at your place,' Tyler added.

'Dude, I thought he was gonna bust when I gave him that piledriver wedgie back at your place,' chimed in Chris. 'He seemed so into it, but I guess he was actually holding back!'

With the parents out to dinner, your stepbro grinning mischievously…. It’s only a matter of time before he has his feet smothered against your face. Either pushing you into the cushions at the end of the couch or keeping you on the floor, his feet covering your face completely. You don’t know if he suspects you like this treatment or if it’s just his way of showing playful dominance over you. Ever since you told him that his feet smelled and to keep them away from your face, this has naturally been his go-to way of teasing you. The bottoms of his bare feet pushed into your face longer and longer, no matter how much they smell, you love that this is the routine he’s fallen into. Sometimes you think he forgets that you are there, his soles just used as your face's personal footrest.