I often wonder what became of Jeffrey Dillerman. He was in my year at school, a weedy kid with glasses, known to one and all as “Dildo”, he used to get bullied a lot and unfortunately I was responsible for much of it. I was forever picking on him. It went much further than teasing and making fun, I fucking terrorized this poor kid. I bullied him day in and day out for an entire year. I was not alone in this, there were other boys who persecuted Dildo, there were a few girls who did too, but I was the worst. He was such a wimp, the type who could not say boo to a goose, and he brought out the sadist in me. I grew out of such behaviour, thankfully, but back then I was pretty terrible. I was relentless. Dildo was not completely safe even when a teacher was around and at other times, during breaks, in the lunch hour, the periods just before school and just after, it was open season. It was beyond awful for him, of course, but it was great fun for me and it provided a welcome entertainment for the other kids.
Dildo would dread it when our paths crossed. Simply my proximity was sufficient to spook him. I knew this and I enjoyed this aspect immensely. I loved how on a whim I could just call out “Oh look, it’s Dildo!”, something like that, and watch him cower and cringe as I sauntered in his direction. I would not be predictable. I preferred to keep him off balance, never knowing quite what I might do, because I realized this only added to his fear. So I might simply smile wickedly, pat him on the head, then turn around and leave him be. Perhaps I would content myself with a few insults, call him some stupid names, sneer and laugh, just take the piss out of him. Or I might go further. For example, swipe the glasses of his face and make him kneel and beg to have them back, get him to say out loud what a little turd he was, force him to get down on the floor and lick my shoes, call me “Master” or “Your Highness” or “Oh Great One”, generally abase himself in front of me, I loved to make him do stuff like that, but more often I would just amuse myself with him, demonstrate my utter contempt by flicking at his ears, tweaking his nose, tickling his chin, messing his hair up, I really enjoyed treating the poor bastard like this, like he was merely a plaything, it made him feel like shit, used to start crying sometimes, which I loved, it gave me a buzz how dreadfully upset Dildo would get at being so openly and casually humiliated by me but was unable to stop me doing it, thrilling to have such power over this unfortunate kid, and there were times when I would properly hurt him, dish out some physical pain, so I would rap his skull good and hard with my knuckles, make him yelp, give him several stingers around the chops, knee him in the balls, kick his shins, boot him up the backside, punch him in the stomach, whatever.
It all depended on my mood and where we were and who else was around. Generally speaking, and assuming there were no teachers in sight, I would be more brutal if there happened to be other kids watching. If the audience included girls, which it often did, I would start kind of showing off for them, gurning at these giggling girls as I’m tormenting Dildo. Perhaps I would single out the best looking one and wink at her and inquire what she would like me to do next. What would particularly amuse her? It was great to have some attractive girl smile at me and reply that yeah it would be a scream if I made Dildo get down on all fours and pretend to be a doggie, say, or tell me that she would like it if I kneed him in the balls again, but harder this time because she wanted to hear him scream. Then could I please pull his pants down so she could see his dick because that would be just too hilarious!
Sometimes I would ask a girl if she fancied doing a few things to Dildo herself and it often transpired that she did. She would giggle and say that, sure, she would love to, in which case I would graciously allow the girl to take over and have herself some fun with the wretched Dildo. So now this cute girl strolls in and knees Dildo in the balls, if that is what she feels like doing, perhaps slaps his face a few times for good measure, calls him some horrible disgusting names, then she instructs him to get down and do the doggie thing, she makes him scamper around the floor going woof woof, to a cacophony of raucous jeering, and then, because she is a rather heartless little bitch who is thoroughly enjoying this scenario, the girl decides to humiliate the poor boy even more, so she commands the abject Dildo to crawl to her on his belly and worship her, she slips her shoes off and he has to kiss her tutsies, she makes him tell everybody how he adores her pretty feet, that he adores all of her, she is so beautiful and sexy to look at, she is just utterly fucking gorgeous, he fancies her like mad and wishes so much that he wasn’t an ugly geek who no self-respecting female would ever have anything to do with, Dildo has to say all of this embarrassing and demeaning stuff as the sadistic little cutie stands there imperiously with him grovelling on the floor at her feet, meanwhile me and the other kids are looking on and laughing our tits off.
As well as creasing up at this spectacle I would be almost coming in my pants. Ditto any other boys who were watching. At that age we were beginning to discover all of those hellish and heavenly sensations and I found to my delight that I would get a nice hard-on when tormenting the crap out of Dildo. I could get one just thinking about it. The untrammelled ability I had to dominate another boy gave me an intense sexual charge. And when there were girls of the slim and pretty variety avidly joining in, well that was icing on the cake. It was just the biggest turn-on. I was getting heavily into the charms of the female sex at the time and it was noticeable, and for me very gratifying, how being an utter bastard to Dildo could make one extremely popular with some of them, how there were a number of girls who clearly approved of Dildo being bullied, who found it incredibly funny that this weedy little kid was forever getting roasted by me and the various boys who followed my lead. Even better was how it tended to be the prettier girls who were this way inclined. The daggy ones would shy away from it, perhaps because they knew that we boys had little interest in impressing them in any case. Certainly I didn’t and neither did any of my mates. It was only the good looking girls at school who we had time for.
The absolute worst of the bullying occurred when a few of us ganged up, usually at my behest, and were able to take Dildo off somewhere nice and private where we could be confident that we would not be disturbed. Worst for Dildo, I mean, because for me and my partners-in-crime these were the times when we had the most fun. When we got him in our clutches for a prolonged period, and we managed to engineer this delightful situation fairly often, then, oh dear, the poor little bastard. We could be unspeakably cruel. In bed at night I would mentally replay the highlights, wank myself silly thinking about all of the sick stuff we had recently inflicted on Dildo and fantasizing about even sicker stuff we might do next time. The tortures and degradations that I dreamt up as I pumped my rigid cock under the duvet became increasingly demonic over time, and many of them were impractical, but we did end up doing quite a lot of what I came up with. Jesus, we did some fucking diabolical things to that boy. Why? Because we could and because it was a laugh. To me and the others who got a big kick out of tormenting him, this was all that he was good for, he was simply a thing to amuse ourselves with. Dildo was less than human to us. He was our little torture toy and, boy, did we make him suffer! Poor little sod. His life at school was a total fucking misery. Outside school too, since I had no doubt that even at home Dildo spent his every waking moment in a state of fear and shame and trepidation.
In fact that rather evil thought was part of the pleasure for me. I loved the idea that there was no respite for him. It was so horny to imagine the poor cunt in a constant state of stress and anxiety because of me and I made a point of ensuring that he was. For example, I would collar Dildo after school periodically and describe in precise and gruesome detail what was going to happen to him the following day, or the day after, or maybe the day after that. How at lunch time he was going to be marched off by me and a few others to a far corner of the playing fields and we would be having sooo much fun down there. How he would be on his belly in no time and licking gunge off my shoe, how I’d make him swallow it down until he puked his guts up, and then I’d make him eat that too, how he was then going to be forced to lie on the floor with his legs apart so that his fucking ugly mug could be stamped on while simultaneously his pathetic useless balls are being kicked in, that he was then going to have his pants yanked down and we would have ourselves a little smoking party using his bare ass for an ashtray, oh yeah and we would take our sweet time with this, chat pleasantly amongst ourselves about this and that and at the same time be leisurely tormenting him with our smokes, bringing the burning ends into brief contact with his ass, toying with him, delicately brushing the cigarettes against his butt cheeks, hardly enough to feel pain but causing dread at what might be to come, we would tyrannize him like this, prolonging the torture so we could savour his terror, the mewling and blubbering, the tearful pleas for us to stop.
Stop? As if. We are having way too much fun to stop. It’s time for poor little Dildo to really suffer. We each press the glowing tip of our ciggie firmly against his ass and hold it there, singeing his flesh, he screams for mercy but we just laugh and carry on burning him, finally we stub the cigarettes out on him as he writhes around in agony. Then we decide to give his sorry ass a little more attention, a few interesting objects are forcefully inserted up there, which makes him scream some more, even louder now, not that anybody can hear, certainly none of the teachers, oh yeah and after that, I tell him, the good news is that his pants would be going back up but the bad news was that I was gonna get my dick out and piss all over him, probably some of the others would too, and speaking of which it will then be off to the toilets, dragging him the whole way by the ankles, and we dunk his head in one of the bogs after I’ve had a nice big sloppy crap in there, maybe I don’t bother wiping and he gets to clean my shitty ass with his tongue, get it right in there, make sure to do a proper job of it, and then after that he is going to be stripped and taken back out and paraded naked in front of some of the girls.
Course, we would not be doing most of the above, we were not psychopaths, but Dildo could never be sure of that. The point of me telling him all this gross stuff, aside from the fact that I got a kick out of doing it, was so that Dildo could go home and obsess about it, be unable to eat or sleep, have to drag himself into school every morning feeling like the most unlucky bastard on earth and absolutely shit scared. And OK, so a lot of it was just bullshit to terrify him, never happened and was never going to happen, but some of it sure did. Pissing on him, for instance, sometimes directed into his mouth, I did that many times, we all did, and dunking him in the toilet, this was almost an everyday occurrence.
The thing with the girls, displaying him nude to them, was also something of a ritual and was a big favourite of mine. It was never difficult to persuade a few of the more bitchy girls to participate and I would particularly relish informing Dildo when this ordeal was in store because I knew he found it distressing in the extreme. “You can dance for them, prance around naked for all the hot girls, can you imagine, it will be fucking hilarious,” I would chuckle, savouring the look of abject mortification on his little face. “And then we are gonna give them an even bigger treat because I think they deserve it. So we stretch you out on the floor, on your back, little cock on display, pin you down so you can’t move a fucking muscle, and we let the girls torture you. No rush, I’ll tell them. Take turns if you want. Do whatever you like, I’ll say, just enjoy yourselves. Point is, they have a little naked nerd boy to mess around with to their hearts’ content. Fuck, I’m looking forward to this, I must say. The girls are too. Vicky is especially up for it. She says she can’t wait. Oh dear, I wonder what she is planning to do to you. Because we both know what Vicky is like, Dildo, don’t we? She is gonna have herself a fucking ball!”
“Vicky” was Victoria Ho, this mixed race Chinese girl in our year who was always extremely enthusiastic when presented with an invitation to abuse Dildo in such circumstances. Most of the girls would prefer to just watch the fun, but little Vicky always wanted a slice of the action. She could be incredibly mean too. She would plop herself on Dildo, kind of straddling him, as me and the other boys held him in position, and she would tickle him under the armpits, then toy with his dick to produce a little hard-on, amidst much general hilarity, at which point Vicky would abruptly slap his cheek, call him a little pervert, and proceed to inflict a world of pain to ‘teach him a lesson’. This involved all sorts of evil stuff. She would gouge him with her nails, scrape them down his torso, drawing blood, crush his balls in her hand, keep slapping his face really viciously, pinch his nipples till he screamed, she made him swallow soil, removed his specs and sprinkled chilli powder in his eyes, once she stuffed a tennis ball into his mouth, so he could breathe only through his nose, and then played this horrific game where she presses his nostrils together with her fingers and suffocates him until he goes blue in the face and is almost passing out. Vicky tortured the poor bastard like that over and over, to the edge of unconsciousness each time, all the while giggling in this demonic way that she had. Another time, when she was wearing high-heeled sandals she stood up and ground one of them into his genitals, and after that she walked all over him, stomping her heels down, and then as an encore she kicked them off and bounced up and down barefoot on his stomach for a while. Yeah, she was a bit of a monster, little Vicky was.
Her cruelty to Dildo was highly erotic to witness because Vicky Ho also happened to be ridiculously attractive. She was far and away the hottest girl in our year. All the boys lusted after Vicky Ho and so did plenty of the teachers. Vicky was very aware of this and she rather wallowed in it. She would never in a million years go out with any of the boys at school but she liked to make us all drool, sashaying around the place in short skirts and incendiary little tops, tantalizing us with her sexy legs, flaunting her precociously lush cleavage under our noses. Yeah, the girl knew precisely what she was doing to us with all of that shit and she loved every minute of it. She was a world class pricktease and the effect on a bunch of boys in the hot flush of early adolescence was painfully apparent. She drove us fucking crazy!
The girls were insanely jealous of Vicky, especially the unattractive ones who got zero attention from boys, and Vicky enjoyed this too. During breaks she would sit in the classroom, perched on the desk in her tight little skirt, thighs alluringly crossed for maximum impact, surrounded by a bunch of slobbering boys, deliciously aware that other girls were looking on wistfully, all of them wishing on a star that they could be her. She took a bitchy delight in being so much prettier than the other girls at school, and she liked to rub their noses in it. For example, Vicky would consciously dial up the joking and flirting around with her male fan club when she knew that other girls were watching, and if there happened to be any of the particularly daggy ones in the immediate vicinity she would go into overdrive. It was so incredibly obvious what she was doing, and why, that it was actually quite funny.
There was one poor girl in our year, Brenda Hardcastle, who truly was a horror show, ugly face, awful skin, obese, you name it, and Vicky would be particularly mean whenever she spotted this unlovely looking creature close by. “Hey, Brenda is looking very pretty today, isn’t she?” she would snigger to the boys, loud enough for Brenda to hear. It was clear what sort of reaction Vicky was looking for and the boys would duly oblige. There would follow a stream of highly disparaging witticisms about Brenda, everybody competing to see who could make gorgeous little Vicky laugh the most, with the hapless target sat there trapped and having to listen to every word. Vicky would titter away bitchily as the comments became more and more obscene and hurtful, would toss in a few gratuitously cruel observations of her own, and she would keep looking smugly over at Brenda, stare right at her with a big smirk on her exotic and lovely face, not even bother to pretend that she was not relishing tormenting the unfortunate girl.
I remember this one time, Vicky went and stood next to Brenda in the playground and got a few of us boys to crowd around. She struck a cute pose and suggested that we undertake a studied comparison of her and Brenda and then say what we thought. So we did, we made a production of looking the two girls up and down before delivering our carefully considered conclusion, which was that Vicky was utterly gorgeous in every way, she was by a million miles the prettiest and sexiest girl around, whereas Brenda was a complete minger who should not be allowed out. Vicky absolutely loved this, especially because Brenda had started crying, and indicated that she would like to hear a little more. How about some detail? How in particular was she so much more attractive than Brenda? Was it her face, for example? Yeah, we told her, her face was incredibly pretty, Brenda’s resembled the back end of a bus. So just her face then? No, it was far more than that, we said. It was lots and lots of things. Vicky giggled. Oh, please tell!
So each of us took turns to pick something and wax lyrical. Vicky’s legs were perfect and so great to look at, Brenda had such horrible short flabby ones. Vicky’s skin was beautifully tanned and flawless, Brenda’s was pale and all blotchy and just so ugh unattractive. And all that fucking weight she was carrying. Christ, what a sight! Why the fuck did she not go on a diet? OK, so her body was never going to be super hot like Vicky’s, but she could at least make an effort. Oh and how come Brenda had virtually no boobs to speak of, despite being so fat, when slim little Vicky had a large and luscious pair? Vicky’s tits were spectacular, all the boys thought so. Vicky had a fantastic ass too, it was just peachy, so not like Brenda’s saggy rear. Vicky’s mouth and lips, oh yeah, so full and inviting, we all dreamed of kissing her, Brenda’s gob, god no thank you, not even if she paid us. And, yuck, Brenda’s big lardy belly, gross, boys did not wish to see something like that, keep it covered please, what all the boys did want to see, although it drove them a little crazy, was Vicky in a croptop, because her belly was toned and flat and looked so smooth, it was almost unbearably sexy, just the sight of it gave the boys a fucking massive hard-on. And, oh yeah, speaking of clothes, Vicky always looked utterly fabulous in the stuff she wore, her outfits were brilliant, but as for Brenda, well, had she considered just wearing a sack?, because that would probably be best. And Brenda’s horrible greasy hair, why the fuck didn’t she sort it out? Maybe look at Vicky for some inspiration, because Vicky had great hair, Brenda, didn’t she? Etc.