Chapter 2

I flinched as the big naked brute shouted, his voice booming off the locker room tiles like a thunderclap, holding his phone up to re-record me. This time, he just pointed it at me, and I could tell he was taking a video instead of just photos, the little red light blinking steadily like an accusatory eye.

The nausea from the bellyful of the old man’s jizz churned in my stomach, thick and slimy, making me want to retch, but I swallowed it down, the salty aftertaste lingering on my tongue.

As he barked his orders, his heavy hog swung between his legs like a cop’s holstered firearm, still semi-hard and glistening from my spit and his cum, the veiny shaft slapping against his hairy thighs with each emphatic gesture.

“You want to fap your little dick in public? You want men to see you pull your babydick? Then show it off. Show that little thing off, boy,” he snarled, his sour face twisted in cruel amusement, gray chest hair matted with sweat as he loomed closer, the phone held steady and close, capturing every inch of my exposed, trembling body in the mirror’s reflection.

I stood there awkwardly, willing myself to keep my hands by my sides, my lean frame slick and hairless, nipples pebbled from the cool air and his earlier pinches. I knew covering up my boner would lead to a swift blow across the back of my head or worse—his dominance had already beaten that lesson into me, my ass cheeks still throbbing from the spankings, red and inflamed like fresh welts.

“Come on, stand there and pull that little thing,” he commanded, his voice dripping with mockery, eyes leering savagely at my twitching cock, which bobbed shamefully between my spread legs.

I froze, heart pounding in my chest, the emotional storm raging inside—terror at the permanence of a video, the way it could shatter my life as the clean-cut finance guy from the city, clashing with that dark, exhibitionist thrill that made my pulse race. I couldn’t let him capture me doing that, not really, not like this.

“Please, I can’t...” I protested meekly, my voice cracking, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as humiliation burned through me.

He groaned in disgust, setting his phone down on the bench with a clatter, the screen still recording from that angle, and swiftly set upon me like a predator pouncing. He placed his thick leg up over the bench, the muscle bulging under hairy skin, and threw me over his knee in one rough heave, my belly slamming down onto his thigh, my hard cock trapped and grinding against the rough fabric of the bench edge. I clung to his hairy ankle desperately, locked into place by his iron grip on my waist, and he began spanking me at once, his big palm cracking down with vicious force.

These were fast, forceful blows, slapping sharply against my well-trodden red rear end, reigniting the fire from the long spanking he’d subjected me to just minutes before. Each smack sent jolts of pain radiating through my buttocks, the skin already tender and swollen, turning an even deeper crimson under his assault.

My rump burned like it was on fire, the sting building into a white-hot agony that made my vision blur. I mewled pathetically, crying out in high-pitched whimpers that echoed off the walls, begging for release as I squirmed helplessly in his firm grasp, legs kicking futilely, my balls tightening against the humiliation.

“You gonna do what I say, boy?! You gonna show me how you jerk that little thing off?” he bellowed over my cries, his free hand pinning my shoulders down, his heavyset body weighing me like an anchor.

Fresh tears blinded me, streaming down my flushed cheeks as the pain mixed with that twisted arousal, my cock leaking pre-cum onto the bench despite—or because of—the degradation. I promised I would, stammering out “Yes, sir, I’ll obey, please stop,” again and again, my voice breaking into sobs as he continued the spanking, each wallop forcing louder whimpers from my throat, my body arching involuntarily.

Finally, he released me with a grunt, shoving me off his lap like discarded trash, my knees buckling as I stumbled back to my feet, ass cheeks jiggling with residual pain. “Get to it, spanky,” he ordered, snatching up his phone again and resuming the filming, the lens zooming in on my tear-streaked face and quivering erection.

Sniffling, I stood back in place before the mirrors, the reflection showing my pale, trembling body hunched over, slick with sweat, and wrapped my shaking hand around my half-hard pecker, the skin hot and sensitive under my fingers.

He forced me to masturbate while filming, his chuckles rumbling from behind the phone like thunder. “Attaboy, spanky,” he grumbled in mocking encouragement as I stroked myself slowly.

My fingers are pumping up and down the shaft, the slick sound of skin on skin filling the air. In the mirrors, I saw it all—my lean, hairless frame shaking, shoulder pumping rhythmically, cock swelling back to full hardness in my grip, pre-cum beading at the tip and smearing over my knuckles. Warm, stomach-churning ripples of shame cascaded over my body, the mortification running like an electrical current from my toes to my scalp, making my scalp tingle and my breath hitch.

A video like this floating around could upend my career, humiliate me beyond repair—I imagined it spreading online, seen by coworkers, passed around my social circle, my secret exhibitionism laid bare for all. The queasiness twisted in my gut, yet the idea thrilled me too, that forbidden exposure quickening my heartbeat, making my dick pulse harder in my hand as I edged myself carefully.

I slowed down or released my boner just when I teetered on the precipice of orgasm, knees shaking each time I pulled back from the point of no return, the denial aching deep in my balls, building a desperate tension that blurred the line between pain and pleasure.

“But don’t you cum, boy. Don’t shoot your load ... I just want to see you get that little thing nice and hard,” he warned, his voice laced with cruel glee, stepping closer to capture the details.

The way my fingers twisted at the head, squeezing out more pre-cum, my other hand hovering uncertainly.

“That’s it, spanky! Put on a show for me. Dance, faggot! Pump your hips. Really, hump your fingers, you little gooner. Touch yourself, play with your tits. That’s it, ya jack off.”

His mockery spurred me on, the humiliation sinking deeper, and I obeyed, hips bucking awkwardly as I thrust into my fingers, fingers pinching at my nipples, twisting the sensitive buds until they stung.

His laughter echoed off the mirrors, a guttural rumble that made my skin crawl even as my fist kept pumping, slick with my own pre-cum, my hips thrusting desperately into the air like some pathetic performer in his twisted show. The phone’s lens captured it all—my tear-streaked face contorted in humiliated need, my lean body trembling, cock throbbing hard and denied, balls aching with unspent pressure.