YELLOW FEATHERS THRONE STORY (Patreon)

YELLOW​ ​FEATHERS​ ​by​ ​Throne 

Jack​ ​was​ ​starting​ ​to​ ​regret​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​transferred​ ​colleges.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​was still​ ​up​ ​North​ ​it​ ​had​ ​been​ ​mildly​ ​uncomfortable.​ ​​ ​Being​ ​short​ ​and​ ​slightly built,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​face​ ​that​ ​made​ ​him​ ​look​ ​younger​ ​than​ ​his​ ​18​ ​years,​ ​he'd​ ​had troubles.​ ​​ ​The​ ​fact​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​a​ ​nerd​ ​didn't​ ​help,​ ​either.​ ​​ ​Girls​ ​treated​ ​him like​ ​a​ ​joke.​ ​​ ​The​ ​rougher​ ​guys,​ ​especially​ ​the​ ​athletes,​ ​playfully​ ​taunted him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​thought​ ​he​ ​would​ ​be​ ​more​ ​comfortable​ ​in​ ​a​ ​smaller​ ​institution down​ ​South.​ ​​ ​In​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​there​ ​would​ ​be​ ​a​ ​slower​ ​pace​ ​of​ ​life​ ​and​ ​lots​ ​of hospitality.​ ​​ ​Instead,​ ​since​ ​he​ ​moved​ ​to​ ​Peckwood,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​dealing​ ​with redneck​ ​goons​ ​and​ ​sassy​ ​farmer's-daughter​ ​types.​ ​​ ​The​ ​former​ ​dressed​ ​in flannel​ ​or​ ​T-shirts,​ ​and​ ​denim,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​latter​ ​favored​ ​cropped​ ​tops​ ​and Daisy​ ​Dukes.​ ​​ ​He​ ​loved​ ​seeing​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​present​ ​themselves​ ​so​ ​sexily,​ ​but​ ​it was​ ​frustrating​ ​to​ ​be​ ​universally​ ​rejected​ ​by​ ​them. 

On​ ​a​ ​mild​ ​Friday​ ​afternoon​ ​he​ ​was​ ​crossing​ ​the​ ​campus,​ ​wearing​ ​his typical​ ​slim-cut​ ​shirt,​ ​straight-leg​ ​jeans,​ ​and​ ​slip-on​ ​shoes.​ ​​ ​His​ ​book​ ​bag had​ ​a​ ​patch​ ​sewn​ ​on​ ​it​ ​of​ ​the​ ​name/logo​ ​of​ ​a​ ​boy​ ​band​ ​he​ ​liked.​ ​​ ​His​ ​light brown​ ​hair,​ ​which​ ​fell​ ​over​ ​the​ ​tops​ ​of​ ​his​ ​ears​ ​on​ ​the​ ​sides,​ ​was​ ​longer​ ​in back.​ ​​ ​Though​ ​he​ ​used​ ​a​ ​control​ ​product​ ​on​ ​it,​ ​in​ ​the​ ​front​ ​it​ ​kept​ ​falling​ ​over his​ ​forehead,​ ​and​ ​he​ ​frequently​ ​pushed​ ​it​ ​out​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way.​ ​​ ​Coming​ ​toward him​ ​was​ ​a​ ​typical​ ​foursome.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​and​ ​Hunk​ ​were​ ​both​ ​on​ ​the​ ​football team,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​the​ ​pride​ ​of​ ​the​ ​school.​ ​​ ​Emmy​ ​and​ ​Rose​ ​were cheerleaders,​ ​who​ ​were​ ​eagerly​ ​available​ ​to​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​on​ ​the​ ​squad.​ ​​ ​The team​ ​members​ ​had​ ​on​ ​plaid​ ​flannel​ ​shirts,​ ​but​ ​with​ ​the​ ​sleeves​ ​cut​ ​off,​ ​and jeans​ ​that​ ​were​ ​badly​ ​worn​ ​and​ ​faded.​ ​​ ​The​ ​latter​ ​weren't​ ​the​ ​pricey, pre-distressed​ ​type​ ​Jack​ ​had​ ​been​ ​used​ ​to​ ​seeing​ ​on​ ​sale​ ​at​ ​the​ ​mall​ ​back home;​ ​they​ ​were​ ​actually​ ​thin​ ​at​ ​the​ ​knees​ ​and​ ​washed​ ​out​ ​from​ ​use.​ ​​ ​The girls'​ ​cheerleader​ ​uniforms​ ​were​ ​briefer​ ​than​ ​brief. 

As​ ​Jack​ ​neared​ ​them​ ​he​ ​averted​ ​his​ ​gaze.​ ​​ ​It​ ​seemed​ ​a​ ​good​ ​idea​ ​not​ ​to make​ ​eye​ ​contact​ ​with​ ​the​ ​guys,​ ​the​ ​same​ ​as​ ​if​ ​you​ ​were​ ​confronting​ ​a dangerous​ ​animal.​ ​​ ​But​ ​it​ ​didn't​ ​work​ ​this​ ​time.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​deliberately​ ​moved 

into​ ​his​ ​path.​ ​​ ​Hunk​ ​veered​ ​off​ ​to​ ​the​ ​side,​ ​blocking​ ​Jack​ ​from​ ​going​ ​that way.​ ​​ ​When​ ​Jack​ ​compensated​ ​by​ ​swinging​ ​to​ ​his​ ​right,​ ​it​ ​put​ ​him​ ​in​ ​the way​ ​of​ ​the​ ​oncoming​ ​girls.​ ​​ ​He​ ​almost​ ​collided​ ​with​ ​them​ ​as​ ​they​ ​abruptly stopped.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​turned​ ​and​ ​grabbed​ ​Jack​ ​by​ ​his​ ​slender​ ​upper​ ​arm. 

"What​ ​the​ ​hell​ ​are​ ​you​ ​doing,​ ​boy?​ ​​ ​Trying​ ​to​ ​bump​ ​into​ ​our​ ​girls​ ​so​ ​you​ ​can get​ ​a​ ​free​ ​feel?" 

Hunk​ ​got​ ​on​ ​Jack's​ ​other​ ​side​ ​to​ ​take​ ​hold​ ​of​ ​his​ ​free​ ​arm.​ ​​ ​The​ ​smaller​ ​guy was​ ​helpless​ ​in​ ​their​ ​twin​ ​grips. 

Jack​ ​stammered,​ ​"I​ ​was...​ ​was...​ ​wasn't​ ​doing​ ​anything.​ ​​ ​I​ ​was​ ​just​ ​walk... walking​ ​along​ ​and​ ​you​ ​guys​ ​cut​ ​me​ ​off."​ ​​ ​As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​he​ ​said​ ​it​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​his mistake. 

"Oh,"​ ​Trace​ ​said,​ ​nodding​ ​his​ ​blond​ ​head.​ ​​ ​"So​ ​it​ ​was​ ​OUR​ ​fault." "In​ ​that​ ​case,"​ ​Hunk​ ​chimed​ ​in,​ ​"we​ ​owe​ ​you​ ​an​ ​apology."
"No​ ​you​ ​don't,"​ ​Jack​ ​insisted. 

Neither​ ​Trace,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​vulpine​ ​good​ ​looks,​ ​or​ ​Hunk​ ​with​ ​his​ ​heavier features​ ​and​ ​straw-colored​ ​crewcut,​ ​appeared​ ​to​ ​believe​ ​that​ ​they​ ​were​ ​in the​ ​wrong.​ ​​ ​The​ ​girls​ ​smirked​ ​at​ ​Jack. 

Emmy​ ​shook​ ​back​ ​her​ ​long​ ​flaxen​ ​hair.​ ​​ ​She​ ​put​ ​a​ ​finger​ ​in​ ​the​ ​middle​ ​of Jack's​ ​chest.​ ​​ ​Redheaded​ ​Rose,​ ​patted​ ​her​ ​shoulder​ ​length​ ​locks​ ​and cupped​ ​the​ ​captive's​ ​chin​ ​in​ ​her​ ​hand. 

"Well,​ ​you​ ​know,"​ ​Emmy​ ​said,​ ​"maybe​ ​it​ ​was​ ​us​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​get​ ​Jackie​ ​boy's attention.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​he's​ ​something​ ​different​ ​around​ ​here.​ ​​ ​A​ ​Northern sophisticate." 

"Right,"​ ​agreed​ ​Rose.​ ​​ ​"Us​ ​girls​ ​like​ ​a​ ​change​ ​of​ ​pace.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​the​ ​two​ ​of​ ​us want​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Like​ ​we​ ​could​ ​share." 

Emmy​ ​considered,​ ​"There's​ ​probably​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​go​ ​around." 

"Looks​ ​like​ ​it,"​ ​seconded​ ​Rose.​ ​​ ​"But​ ​let's​ ​be​ ​sure."​ ​​ ​Rose​ ​dropped​ ​her hand​ ​and​ ​was​ ​suddenly​ ​palming​ ​Jack's​ ​crotch.​ ​​ ​"Or​ ​maybe​ ​not."​ ​​ ​She looked​ ​at​ ​the​ ​blushing​ ​student​ ​and​ ​asked,​ ​"Did​ ​you​ ​forget​ ​your​ ​cock​ ​when you​ ​got​ ​dressed​ ​this​ ​morning,​ ​short​ ​stuff?" 

Emmy​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​"Were​ ​you​ ​too​ ​busy​ ​picking​ ​out​ ​your​ ​outfit​ ​and fussing​ ​with​ ​your​ ​pretty​ ​hair?​ ​​ ​Hmmm?​ ​​ ​'Cause​ ​it​ ​sure​ ​looks​ ​like​ ​you​ ​put​ ​a lot​ ​of​ ​time​ ​and​ ​effort​ ​into​ ​making​ ​yourself​ ​look​ ​so​ ​fruity." 

Jack​ ​was​ ​in​ ​a​ ​panic.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​helpless​ ​and​ ​now​ ​those​ ​attractive​ ​girls​ ​were discussing​ ​his​ ​metrosexual​ ​look.​ ​​ ​And​ ​his​ ​genitals.​ ​​ ​He​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​wasn't large​ ​down​ ​there,​ ​but​ ​had​ ​convinced​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​at​ ​least​ ​average size. 

Trace​ ​decided,​ ​"Either​ ​way,​ ​we​ ​have​ ​to​ ​work​ ​this​ ​out.​ ​​ ​I​ ​think​ ​this​ ​little​ ​guy has​ ​to​ ​do​ ​something​ ​to​ ​prove​ ​he's​ ​not​ ​being​ ​a​ ​troublemaker." 

Hunk​ ​added,​ ​"Or​ ​a​ ​fag." 

"So​ ​how​ ​about​ ​this?"​ ​Trace​ ​went​ ​on.​ ​​ ​"All​ ​the​ ​piglet​ ​has​ ​to​ ​do​ ​is..."​ ​​ ​He thought​ ​for​ ​a​ ​moment​ ​and​ ​then​ ​smiled​ ​as​ ​inspiration​ ​struck​ ​him.​ ​​ ​"...​ ​is​ ​steal a​ ​couple​ ​of​ ​bras​ ​and​ ​panties​ ​off​ ​the​ ​girls'​ ​dorm​ ​clothesline,​ ​bring​ ​them​ ​here, and​ ​show​ ​us​ ​all​ ​what​ ​he​ ​got." 

"Sounds​ ​fair,"​ ​Hunk​ ​decided.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​mean,​ ​because​ ​otherwise​ ​we'd​ ​have​ ​to​ ​let everyone​ ​know​ ​that​ ​he's​ ​a​ ​complete​ ​chicken."​ ​​ ​He​ ​shook​ ​his​ ​head.​ ​​ ​"A​ ​lot​ ​of us​ ​good​ ​old​ ​country​ ​boys​ ​don't​ ​like​ ​cowards.​ ​​ ​Some​ ​of​ ​those​ ​fellows​ ​might 

take​ ​it​ ​into​ ​their​ ​heads​ ​to​ ​get​ ​rough​ ​on​ ​you,​ ​on​ ​a​ ​regular​ ​basis.​ ​​ ​But..."​ ​​ ​He shrugged.​ ​​ ​"...​ ​it's​ ​your​ ​choice,​ ​city​ ​boy." 

It​ ​didn't​ ​sound​ ​like​ ​much​ ​of​ ​a​ ​choice​ ​to​ ​Jack.​ ​​ ​First​ ​of​ ​all,​ ​that​ ​lingerie​ ​would be​ ​hanging​ ​up​ ​only​ ​during​ ​daylight​ ​hours,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​snatch​ ​it​ ​in​ ​the dark.​ ​​ ​Secondly,​ ​it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​right​ ​behind​ ​the​ ​dorm​ ​building,​ ​with​ ​lots​ ​of windows​ ​facing​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Worst​ ​of​ ​all,​ ​if​ ​he​ ​somehow​ ​succeeded​ ​and​ ​displayed his​ ​prize,​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​would​ ​find​ ​out​ ​anyway.​ ​​ ​He​ ​might​ ​even​ ​get​ ​into​ ​trouble with​ ​campus​ ​security​ ​and​ ​the​ ​administration.​ ​​ ​Whatever​ ​happened,​ ​it​ ​would be​ ​a​ ​losing​ ​game​ ​for​ ​Jack.​ ​​ ​On​ ​the​ ​other​ ​hand,​ ​refusing​ ​and​ ​probably getting​ ​smacked​ ​around​ ​now,​ ​and​ ​publicly​ ​humiliated​ ​by​ ​these​ ​two​ ​guys, along​ ​with​ ​becoming​ ​a​ ​target​ ​for​ ​every​ ​mean​ ​fellow​ ​on​ ​campus,​ ​was​ ​much worse. 

"All...​ ​all​ ​right,"​ ​he​ ​reluctantly​ ​agreed.​ ​​ ​"I'll​ ​do​ ​it."​ ​​ ​Where​ ​had​ ​that​ ​stammer come​ ​from?​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​so​ ​embarrassing​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​cheerleaders.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't usually​ ​have​ ​that​ ​problem.​ ​​ ​"Uh,​ ​does​ ​it​ ​have​ ​to​ ​be​ ​today?" 

"No,"​ ​said​ ​Trace,​ ​finally​ ​sounding​ ​reasonable.​ ​​ ​But​ ​then​ ​he​ ​took​ ​away Jack's​ ​moment​ ​of​ ​hope​ ​when​ ​he​ ​finished​ ​with,​ ​"You​ ​can​ ​do​ ​it​ ​yesterday,​ ​if you'd​ ​druther." 

Jack's​ ​four​ ​tormentor's​ ​laughed.​ ​​ ​The​ ​girls'​ ​dorm​ ​was​ ​not​ ​far​ ​away,​ ​right​ ​on the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​campus.​ ​​ ​Beyond​ ​that​ ​was​ ​a​ ​vast​ ​area​ ​of​ ​woods.​ ​​ ​He​ ​crept along​ ​the​ ​side​ ​of​ ​their​ ​building​ ​and​ ​checked​ ​to​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​the​ ​required items​ ​were​ ​on​ ​the​ ​line​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​purloin.​ ​​ ​Sure​ ​enough,​ ​there​ ​were​ ​several of​ ​each,​ ​all​ ​of​ ​them​ ​from​ ​some​ ​flat​ ​chested,​ ​slim​ ​hipped​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​The​ ​clothes were​ ​hanging​ ​high​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​be​ ​almost​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​limited​ ​reach,​ ​but​ ​he would​ ​just​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​get​ ​to​ ​them.​ ​​ ​He​ ​took​ ​several​ ​steadying​ ​breaths​ ​and made​ ​a​ ​dash​ ​for​ ​his​ ​target.​ ​​ ​Unfortunately​ ​for​ ​Jack,​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​was​ ​just about​ ​to​ ​exit​ ​the​ ​back​ ​door.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​reached​ ​high​ ​and​ ​grabbed​ ​a​ ​bra​ ​she came​ ​outside​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​him.​ ​​ ​The​ ​clothespin​ ​didn't​ ​release​ ​and​ ​he​ ​stood there​ ​tugging​ ​on​ ​a​ ​shoulder​ ​strap.​ ​​ ​The​ ​girl​ ​hollered​ ​something. 

A​ ​female​ ​face​ ​appeared​ ​in​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​windows.​ ​​ ​"What's​ ​going​ ​on,​ ​Sally?" "It's​ ​that​ ​Yankee​ ​boy,​ ​what's-his-name​ ​Hoff.​ ​​ ​He's​ ​some​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​pervert, 

stealing​ ​our​ ​undies."
More​ ​voices​ ​joined​ ​in,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​chorus​ ​of​ ​angry​ ​calls​ ​to​ ​action.​ ​​ ​"Get​ ​him." 

"Don't​ ​let​ ​him​ ​get​ ​away."​ ​​ ​"Grab​ ​his​ ​fancy​ ​pants​ ​ass." 

Jack​ ​got​ ​the​ ​bra​ ​loose​ ​but​ ​he​ ​still​ ​needed​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​The​ ​first​ ​girl was​ ​rushing​ ​toward​ ​him.​ ​​ ​She​ ​stopped,​ ​not​ ​wanting​ ​to​ ​grab​ ​him​ ​by​ ​herself. When​ ​he​ ​reached​ ​for​ ​the​ ​nearest​ ​underpants,​ ​she​ ​cleverly​ ​got​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​on the​ ​nearest​ ​clothes​ ​prop​ ​and​ ​pushed​ ​it​ ​upward.​ ​​ ​As​ ​short​ ​as​ ​Jack​ ​was,​ ​now he​ ​couldn't​ ​get​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​the​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​He​ ​desperately​ ​jumped​ ​up​ ​and down,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​make​ ​up​ ​his​ ​shortfall​ ​of​ ​inches.​ ​​ ​Coeds​ ​were​ ​streaming​ ​out of​ ​the​ ​dorm,​ ​heading​ ​straight​ ​toward​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​made​ ​a​ ​final​ ​leap​ ​and​ ​got​ ​a hold​ ​of​ ​the​ ​elusive​ ​garment,​ ​pulling​ ​it​ ​free​ ​and​ ​stumbling​ ​away​ ​with​ ​it. 

The​ ​girls​ ​were​ ​coming​ ​after​ ​him​ ​fast​ ​as​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​regain​ ​his​ ​full​ ​balance. One​ ​of​ ​them,​ ​a​ ​big​ ​husky​ ​rural​ ​type,​ ​but​ ​still​ ​sexy​ ​in​ ​a​ ​curvy​ ​way,​ ​got​ ​ahead of​ ​the​ ​others​ ​and​ ​hit​ ​him​ ​with​ ​a​ ​flying​ ​tackle.​ ​​ ​He​ ​went​ ​down​ ​hard​ ​with​ ​her superior​ ​weight​ ​flattening​ ​him.​ ​​ ​The​ ​breath​ ​was​ ​knocked​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​lungs. He​ ​lay​ ​there​ ​gasping​ ​as​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​surrounded​ ​him. 

"What​ ​in​ ​damnation​ ​was​ ​this​ ​jackass​ ​doing?"
"Taking​ ​our​ ​underwear.​ ​​ ​He​ ​must​ ​be​ ​some​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​freak." "Probably​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those​ ​dress-crossers.​ ​​ ​Likes​ ​to​ ​dress​ ​up​ ​pretty." 

"So​ ​let's​ ​give​ ​the​ ​sissy​ ​what​ ​he​ ​wants.​ ​​ ​Let's​ ​strip​ ​him​ ​down​ ​and​ ​fancy​ ​him up." 

Jack's​ ​struggles​ ​were​ ​futile.​ ​​ ​The​ ​pieces​ ​he'd​ ​taken​ ​were​ ​ripped​ ​from​ ​his hands.​ ​​ ​One​ ​girl​ ​got​ ​down​ ​and​ ​took​ ​his​ ​shoes.​ ​​ ​Another​ ​stripped​ ​off​ ​his socks.​ ​​ ​Nimble​ ​female​ ​fingers​ ​unbuttoned​ ​his​ ​shirt.​ ​​ ​He​ ​looked​ ​up​ ​at​ ​irate faces​ ​and​ ​breasts​ ​that​ ​jiggled​ ​beneath​ ​belly​ ​shirts.​ ​​ ​​ ​His​ ​jeans​ ​were unfastened​ ​and​ ​the​ ​fly​ ​was​ ​lowered.​ ​​ ​At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​stopped​ ​struggling,​ ​hoping that​ ​surrender​ ​might​ ​win​ ​him​ ​some​ ​mercy. 

That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​Emmy​ ​and​ ​Rose​ ​came​ ​strolling​ ​along.​ ​​ ​They​ ​came​ ​over​ ​to the​ ​scene​ ​and​ ​put​ ​concerned​ ​looks​ ​on​ ​their​ ​faces. 

"What'd​ ​this​ ​city​ ​slicker​ ​do​ ​now?"​ ​Emmy​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know.
"He​ ​already​ ​got​ ​fresh​ ​with​ ​us,"​ ​Rose​ ​added,​ ​which​ ​earned​ ​Jack​ ​glowering 

looks​ ​from​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​stripping​ ​him. 

After​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​coeds,​ ​Betty​ ​Jean,​ ​had​ ​explained​ ​everything,​ ​Emmy​ ​told her​ ​own​ ​story,​ ​if​ ​in​ ​a​ ​slightly​ ​modified​ ​version​ ​that​ ​made​ ​Jack​ ​appear​ ​to​ ​be the​ ​bad​ ​guy.​ ​​ ​By​ ​then​ ​he​ ​was​ ​down​ ​to​ ​just​ ​his​ ​jockey​ ​shorts,​ ​which​ ​were pale​ ​green​ ​and​ ​had​ ​a​ ​prominent​ ​label​ ​from​ ​a​ ​designer​ ​know​ ​for​ ​his metrosexual​ ​line.​ ​​ ​Emmy​ ​made​ ​sure​ ​to​ ​point​ ​out​ ​how​ ​small​ ​the​ ​bump​ ​in​ ​the front​ ​of​ ​Jack's​ ​undershorts​ ​was.​ ​​ ​Rose​ ​said​ ​that,​ ​because​ ​of​ ​the​ ​trouble​ ​he had​ ​gotten​ ​himself​ ​into,​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​were​ ​going​ ​to​ ​brand​ ​him​ ​as​ ​a​ ​chicken. 

The​ ​one​ ​who​ ​had​ ​tackled​ ​him,​ ​big​ ​busted​ ​and​ ​full-hipped​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou, exclaimed,​ ​"If​ ​he's​ ​a​ ​chicken,​ ​I​ ​got​ ​the​ ​perfect​ ​thing​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Let​ ​me​ ​make​ ​a call."- 

They​ ​might​ ​have​ ​been​ ​in​ ​a​ ​rural​ ​area,​ ​but​ ​everyone​ ​had​ ​cell​ ​phones.​ ​​ ​As Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​got​ ​out​ ​hers​ ​she​ ​took​ ​a​ ​minute​ ​to​ ​get​ ​several​ ​pictures​ ​of​ ​Jack​ ​in his​ ​near​ ​naked​ ​state.​ ​​ ​Other​ ​girls​ ​were​ ​inspired​ ​to​ ​do​ ​the​ ​same.​ ​​ ​He squirmed​ ​with​ ​discomfort​ ​at​ ​the​ ​knowledge​ ​that​ ​those​ ​photos​ ​could​ ​very easily​ ​be​ ​put​ ​into​ ​circulation.​ ​​ ​The​ ​girl​ ​making​ ​the​ ​call​ ​walked​ ​just​ ​far enough​ ​away​ ​that​ ​he​ ​could​ ​hear​ ​her​ ​speaking,​ ​but​ ​not​ ​make​ ​out​ ​the​ ​words. 

As​ ​he​ ​was​ ​straining​ ​to​ ​find​ ​out​ ​what​ ​she​ ​had​ ​in​ ​mind,​ ​Betty​ ​Jean​ ​and​ ​the girl​ ​who​ ​had​ ​yanked​ ​his​ ​pants​ ​down​ ​and​ ​off,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​addressed​ ​as Charity,​ ​hauled​ ​him​ ​to​ ​his​ ​feet.​ ​​ ​He​ ​blushed​ ​bright​ ​pink​ ​as​ ​the​ ​circle​ ​of​ ​girls laughed​ ​at​ ​him. 

"Okay,​ ​pretty​ ​boy,"​ ​Charity​ ​announced,​ ​"time​ ​for​ ​you​ ​to​ ​play​ ​dress​ ​up,​ ​the way​ ​you​ ​like​ ​to​ ​do." 

"But​ ​I​ ​don't...​ ​I​ ​mean​ ​I'm​ ​not..." "Hush​ ​your​ ​mouth,​ ​pansy." 

"I'm​ ​not​ ​gay,"​ ​he​ ​blurted,​ ​which​ ​got​ ​him​ ​a​ ​slap​ ​on​ ​the​ ​cheek​ ​from​ ​a​ ​very uncharitable​ ​Charity. 

She​ ​raised​ ​her​ ​fist​ ​and​ ​brandished​ ​it​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​talk​ ​again​ ​and​ ​I'll​ ​turn you​ ​from​ ​a​ ​rooster​ ​to​ ​a​ ​hen​ ​with​ ​a​ ​couple​ ​hard​ ​knee-shots​ ​to​ ​your​ ​family jewels.​ ​​ ​Understand?" 

He​ ​nodded​ ​and​ ​hugged​ ​himself​ ​protectively.​ ​​ ​Charity​ ​got​ ​her​ ​fingers​ ​under the​ ​waistband​ ​of​ ​his​ ​stylish​ ​underpants​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​them​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​tug​ ​down,​ ​to the​ ​tops​ ​of​ ​his​ ​thighs.​ ​​ ​She​ ​stepped​ ​back​ ​and​ ​put​ ​her​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​her​ ​hips, set​ ​her​ ​jaw,​ ​and​ ​dared​ ​him​ ​with​ ​her​ ​pugnacious​ ​expression​ ​to​ ​pull​ ​them​ ​up again.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​didn't,​ ​she​ ​ordered​ ​him​ ​to​ ​get​ ​them​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way​ ​off. With​ ​all​ ​those​ ​coeds​ ​staring​ ​at​ ​him,​ ​some​ ​taking​ ​more​ ​pictures,​ ​he​ ​meekly got​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​down​ ​to​ ​his​ ​ankles​ ​and​ ​stepped​ ​out​ ​of​ ​them.​ ​​ ​His​ ​pale​ ​body, nearly​ ​hairless,​ ​was​ ​shown​ ​off.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​when​ ​he​ ​transferred​ ​here,​ ​he should​ ​have​ ​stopped​ ​trimming​ ​his​ ​pubic​ ​hair​ ​back​ ​to​ ​a​ ​modest​ ​landing​ ​strip above​ ​his​ ​undersized​ ​penis. 

"Hot​ ​damn,"​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​said​ ​with​ ​mocking​ ​astonishment.​ ​​ ​"That's​ ​the smallest​ ​dick​ ​I've​ ​ever​ ​seen.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​just​ ​a...​ ​a...​ ​doodle." 

"Maybe​ ​that's​ ​all​ ​those​ ​Yankees​ ​have.​ ​​ ​Hey​ ​boy,​ ​let's​ ​see​ ​if​ ​it​ ​gets​ ​any bigger.​ ​​ ​Give​ ​it​ ​a​ ​few​ ​tugs." 

"Yeah.​ ​​ ​Yank​ ​your​ ​doodle." "It's​ ​a​ ​dandy." 

Jack​ ​sheepishly​ ​put​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​his​ ​flaccid​ ​member.​ ​​ ​To​ ​the accompaniment​ ​of​ ​snickers​ ​and​ ​more​ ​insults,​ ​he​ ​began​ ​to​ ​masturbate. 

Another​ ​of​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​got​ ​behind​ ​him,​ ​took​ ​hold​ ​of​ ​his​ ​bare​ ​hips,​ ​and​ ​ground her​ ​pelvis​ ​against​ ​his​ ​bare​ ​bottom.​ ​​ ​She​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"I​ ​bet​ ​you'd​ ​like​ ​it​ ​if​ ​I​ ​was a​ ​boy​ ​fairy,​ ​busting​ ​your​ ​girl​ ​fairy​ ​ass."​ ​​ ​She​ ​reached​ ​around,​ ​found​ ​his nipples​ ​by​ ​feel,​ ​and​ ​began​ ​to​ ​diddle​ ​them.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​you're​ ​probably​ ​real sensitive​ ​right​ ​here,​ ​on​ ​your​ ​tits,​ ​just​ ​like​ ​a​ ​girl." 

He​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​deny​ i​ t​ ​but​ ​all​ ​of​ ​a​ ​sudden​ ​he​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​an​ ​erection.​ ​​ ​Still more​ ​pictures​ ​were​ ​taken,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​face​ ​in​ ​them​ ​but​ ​manipulating​ ​girl's hidden.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​had​ ​a​ ​full​ ​hard-on​ ​she​ ​made​ ​him​ ​keep​ ​stroking​ ​and​ ​walk around​ ​the​ ​inside​ ​of​ ​the​ ​encroaching​ ​circle,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​different​ ​girls​ ​could make​ ​him​ ​try​ ​various​ ​techniques. 

"Make​ ​your​ ​finger​ ​and​ ​thumb​ ​like​ ​a​ ​ring." 

"Massage​ ​your​ ​balls." 

"Aim​ ​it​ ​at​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​and​ ​play​ ​milk-the-cow." 

"Wet​ ​your​ ​fingers​ ​in​ ​your​ ​mouth​ ​and​ ​use​ ​them​ ​to​ ​play​ ​with​ ​those​ ​girly nipples." 

Soon​ ​he​ ​was​ ​not​ ​only​ ​stiff​ ​as​ ​he'd​ ​ever​ ​been,​ ​but​ ​leaking​ ​clear​ ​fluid.​ ​​ ​They made​ ​him​ ​wipe​ ​each​ ​drop​ ​as​ ​it​ ​appeared​ ​with​ ​the​ ​tip​ ​of​ ​his​ ​finger,​ ​and​ ​then 

lick​ ​it​ ​up.​ ​​ ​His​ ​lips​ ​were​ ​quivering​ ​and​ ​his​ ​knees​ ​were​ ​shaking.​ ​​ ​At​ ​last​ ​they ran​ ​out​ ​of​ ​cruel​ ​ideas​ ​--​ ​if​ ​only​ ​for​ ​the​ ​present​ ​--​ ​and​ ​got​ ​on​ ​with​ ​dressing him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​take​ ​the​ ​lingerie​ ​he​ ​had​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​steal​ ​and​ ​put​ ​it​ ​on.​ ​​ ​First, eager​ ​to​ ​cover​ ​his​ ​essentials,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​the​ ​pink​ ​panties​ ​over​ ​his​ ​feet​ ​and​ ​up his​ ​smooth​ ​legs.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​snuggled​ ​into​ ​them​ ​and​ ​looked​ ​down,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​upset to​ ​see​ ​that​ ​his​ ​small​ ​dick​ ​was​ ​visible​ ​through​ ​the​ ​filmy​ ​front​ ​panel. 

Close-up​ ​shots​ ​of​ ​that​ ​embarrassment​ ​were​ ​taken. 

Then​ ​he​ ​squirmed​ ​into​ ​the​ ​matching​ ​bra.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​unfamiliar​ ​with​ ​how​ ​it worked​ ​never​ ​having​ ​had​ ​much​ ​luck​ ​with​ ​girls.​ ​​ ​Female​ ​hands​ ​hooked​ ​it behind​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Because​ ​it​ ​was​ ​small,​ ​like​ ​the​ ​panties,​ ​and​ ​because​ ​its​ ​owner must​ ​be​ ​less​ ​than​ ​an​ ​A​ ​cup,​ ​it​ ​fit​ ​well​ ​enough.​ ​​ ​The​ ​girls​ ​made​ ​him​ ​strut around,​ ​wag​ ​his​ ​ass,​ ​strike​ ​poses,​ ​assume​ ​half​ ​a​ ​dozen​ ​provocative squats,​ ​and​ ​run​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​through​ ​his​ ​hair,​ ​all​ ​while​ ​cameras​ ​continued​ ​to be​ ​used.​ ​​ ​At​ ​last​ ​that​ ​part​ ​of​ ​his​ ​ordeal​ ​was​ ​over. 

Emmy​ ​said,​ ​"How​ ​about​ ​this?​ ​​ ​Our​ ​sissy​ ​spends​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​afternoon out​ ​in​ ​the​ ​woods,​ ​all​ ​by​ ​his​ ​lonesome,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​can​ ​think​ ​about​ ​the​ ​crap​ ​he did." 

Rose​ ​supported​ ​her​ ​with,​ ​"I​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​ ​Let​ ​him​ ​dwell​ ​on​ ​his​ ​sins." Emmy​ ​added,​ ​"And​ ​he​ ​can't​ ​come​ ​back​ ​until​ ​it​ ​gets​ ​dark." 

There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​ragged​ ​consensus​ ​of​ ​agreement​ ​and​ ​Jack​ ​was​ ​turned​ ​around by​ ​ungentle​ ​hands,​ ​then​ ​kicked​ ​hard​ ​in​ ​the​ ​rump,​ ​which​ ​sent​ ​him staggering​ ​forward.​ ​​ ​He​ ​turned​ ​his​ ​head​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"But​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​have​ ​my wallet.​ ​​ ​My​ ​money​ ​and​ ​credit​ ​cards.​ ​​ ​ID​ ​or​ ​keys.​ ​​ ​They're​ ​all​ ​in​ ​my​ ​pants." 

With​ ​a​ ​laugh,​ ​Charity​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"You​ ​won't​ ​be​ ​buying​ ​anything​ ​out​ ​there, and​ ​you​ ​sure​ ​as​ ​hell​ ​won't​ ​be​ ​driving.​ ​​ ​If​ ​anybody​ ​wants​ ​to​ ​know​ ​who​ ​you are,​ ​without​ ​your​ ​precious​ ​ID,​ ​just​ ​tell​ ​them​ ​you're..." 

"Chicken​ ​coward​ ​boy."
"A​ ​lost​ ​baby​ ​chick​ ​looking​ ​for​ ​her​ ​mama." "Or​ ​how​ ​about​ ​just​ ​'Chicky'?" 

There​ ​was​ ​an​ ​upsurge​ ​of​ ​positive​ ​response​ ​for​ ​that​ ​last​ ​comment.​ ​​ ​There were​ ​also​ ​peeping​ ​noises​ ​and​ ​clucking​ ​sounds,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​arms​ ​being​ ​bent double,​ ​fists​ ​being​ ​shoved​ ​into​ ​armpits,​ ​and​ ​elbows​ ​flapped.​ ​​ ​They​ ​made Jack​ ​do​ ​the​ ​same​ ​and​ ​step​ ​around​ ​jerkily,​ ​bobbing​ ​his​ ​head​ ​in​ ​a​ ​pecking motion,​ ​making​ ​his​ ​own​ ​fowl​ ​sounds.​ ​​ ​After​ ​a​ ​few​ ​disgraceful​ ​minutes​ ​of that​ ​they​ ​herded​ ​him​ ​into​ ​the​ ​trees.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​glad​ ​to​ ​have​ ​a​ ​chance​ ​to conceal​ ​himself,​ ​but​ ​not​ ​at​ ​all​ ​pleased​ ​to​ ​be​ ​doing​ ​it​ ​where​ ​he​ ​was.​ ​​ ​The closest​ ​he'd​ ​gotten​ ​to​ ​nature​ ​at​ ​his​ ​previous​ ​school​ ​was​ ​a​ ​landscaped​ ​park near​ ​the​ ​campus.​ ​​ ​Now,​ ​as​ ​they​ ​shooed​ ​him​ ​further​ ​along​ ​a​ ​winding​ ​path, he​ ​felt​ ​lost​ ​already. 

By​ ​then​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​was​ ​back​ ​from​ ​making​ ​her​ ​phone​ ​call.​ ​​ ​She​ ​told​ ​Charity, "Hey,​ ​girl,​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​from​ ​the​ ​fabric​ ​design​ ​class​ ​will​ ​have​ ​what​ I​ ​ ​wanted​ ​here later.​ ​​ ​Around​ ​sundown.​ ​​ ​We'll​ ​need​ ​some​ ​time​ ​to​ ​mess​ ​with​ ​it,​ ​do​ ​some quick​ ​adjustments,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​our​ ​sissy​ ​--​ ​"​ ​​ ​They​ ​told​ ​her​ ​his​ ​new​ ​name​ ​and she​ ​corrected​ ​herself​ ​​ ​"--​ ​our​ ​Chicky​ ​girl​ ​can​ ​see​ ​her​ ​surprise.​ ​​ ​And​ ​try​ ​it out." 

Feeling​ ​more​ ​uneasy​ ​than​ ​ever,​ ​Jack​ ​walked​ ​along​ ​the​ ​dwindling​ ​trail.
Soon​ ​he​ ​was​ ​just​ ​picking​ ​his​ ​way​ ​through​ ​underbrush,​ ​afraid​ ​that​ ​if​ ​he​ ​didn't go​ ​far​ ​enough,​ ​he​ ​would​ ​find​ ​himself​ ​in​ ​even​ ​more​ ​trouble.​ ​​ H​ e​ ​came​ ​to​ ​the edge​ ​of​ ​a​ ​narrow​ ​beach​ ​along​ ​a​ ​sand-bottomed​ ​pond.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​perspiring and​ ​felt​ ​filthy​ ​from​ ​all​ ​the​ ​unaccustomed​ ​dirt​ ​and​ ​leaves​ ​and​ ​bugs.​ ​​ ​When he​ ​checked,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​no​ ​sign​ ​of​ ​anyone​ ​following​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Needing​ ​to convince​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​he​ ​still​ ​had​ ​at​ ​least​ ​a​ ​small​ ​share​ ​of​ ​his​ ​masculinity left,​ ​he​ ​made​ ​a​ ​decision.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​reached​ ​around​ ​behind​ ​himself​ ​and​ ​found the​ ​fasteners​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bra,​ ​which​ ​he​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​unhook​ ​after​ ​only​ ​three​ ​tries. 

Then​ ​he​ ​skinned​ ​off​ ​the​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​Setting​ ​the​ ​lingerie​ ​carefully​ ​on​ ​a​ ​hollow log​ ​and​ ​making​ ​sure​ ​it​ ​was​ ​one​ ​that​ ​would​ ​be​ ​easy​ ​to​ ​spot​ ​later,​ ​he​ ​went toward​ ​the​ ​sparkling​ ​water. 

As​ ​he​ ​put​ ​his​ ​toe​ ​in​ ​he​ ​found​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​chilly​ ​but​ ​not​ ​terribly​ ​cold.​ ​​ ​Jack went​ ​deeper,​ ​letting​ ​the​ ​coolness​ ​work​ ​its​ ​way​ ​up​ ​his​ ​naked​ ​form.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he submerged​ ​his​ ​genitals​ ​they​ ​shrank​ ​down​ ​even​ ​smaller​ ​from​ ​the temperature.​ ​​ ​When​ ​his​ ​chest​ ​went​ ​under​ ​his​ ​nipples​ ​tingled.​ ​​ ​He​ ​decided to​ ​keep​ ​his​ ​head​ ​above​ ​so​ ​that​ ​he​ ​wouldn't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​worry​ ​about​ ​getting​ ​his hair​ ​wet​ ​and​ ​having​ ​to​ ​let​ ​it​ ​dry​ ​later,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​reverse​ ​the​ ​effects​ ​of​ ​a soaking.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​bobbed​ ​up​ ​and​ ​down,​ ​he​ ​finally​ ​began​ ​to​ ​relax.​ ​​ ​Maybe after​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​had​ ​time​ ​to​ ​get​ ​over​ ​their​ ​initial​ ​displeasure​ ​with​ ​him,​ ​this might​ ​all​ ​work​ ​itself​ ​out.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​concentrating​ ​on​ ​the​ ​chances​ ​of​ ​an acceptable​ ​outcome​ ​when​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​voices.​ ​​ ​Male​ ​ones.​ ​​ ​Turning​ ​in​ ​the water,​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​figures​ ​coming​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​pond​ ​at​ ​an​ ​angle​ ​different​ ​from​ ​his approach.​ ​​ ​Except​ ​that​ ​their​ ​path​ ​was​ ​taking​ ​them​ ​to​ ​where​ ​he​ ​had​ ​entered. And​ ​where​ ​he​ ​had​ ​left​ ​his​ ​meager​ ​clothing. 

Jack​ ​propelled​ ​himself​ ​backwards,​ ​keeping​ ​his​ ​feet​ ​on​ ​the​ ​soft​ ​bottom.​ ​​ ​He got​ ​himself​ ​to​ ​the​ ​far​ ​shore,​ ​where​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​patch​ ​of​ ​reeds​ ​growing​ ​out of​ ​the​ ​water.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​moved​ ​among​ ​them,​ ​some​ ​bit​ ​of​ ​plant​ ​life​ ​below​ ​the surface​ ​goosed​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​almost​ ​yelped​ ​in​ ​surprise​ ​but​ ​stifled​ ​himself​ ​just​ ​in time.​ ​​ ​Crouching​ ​low​ ​and​ ​looking​ ​across,​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​there​ ​were​ ​a​ ​half dozen​ ​athletic​ ​looking​ ​guys​ ​gathered​ ​on​ ​the​ ​shore.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​they​ ​would​ ​just admire​ ​the​ ​scenery​ ​and​ ​then​ ​leave.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​maybe,​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​with disappointment,​ ​they​ ​would​ ​start​ ​getting​ ​out​ ​of​ ​their​ ​T-shirts​ ​and​ ​jeans.​ ​​ ​All too​ ​soon​ ​he​ ​was​ ​looking​ ​at​ ​six​ ​well​ ​developed​ ​bodies,​ ​with​ ​enviably​ ​defined muscles​ ​and,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​discouraged​ ​to​ ​see,​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​more​ ​between​ ​their​ ​legs than​ ​he​ ​was​ ​stuck​ ​with. 

They​ ​entered​ ​the​ ​water,​ ​splashing​ ​each​ ​other​ ​and​ ​horsing​ ​around.​ ​​ ​He sighed​ ​and​ ​dared​ ​not​ ​move.​ ​​ ​What​ ​if​ ​they​ ​noticed​ ​him?​ ​​ ​How​ ​would​ ​he explain​ ​his​ ​nudity​ ​and​ ​the​ ​absence​ ​of​ ​male​ ​clothing​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​change​ ​into? 

What​ ​if​ ​they​ ​discovered​ ​his​ ​two​ ​pieces​ ​of​ ​lingerie?​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​relish​ ​the thought​ ​of​ ​returning​ ​to​ ​the​ ​dorm​ ​without​ ​even​ ​that​ ​minimal​ ​covering.​ ​​ ​As​ ​if those​ ​concerns​ ​weren't​ ​enough,​ ​now​ ​two​ ​of​ ​the​ ​swimmers​ ​were​ ​gliding gracefully​ ​through​ ​the​ ​water,​ ​straight​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​froze.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was anxiously​ ​aware​ ​of​ ​the​ ​how​ ​bad​ ​his​ ​situation​ ​could​ ​become​ ​.​ ​​ ​The​ ​guys​ ​got very​ ​close​ ​but​ ​then​ ​turned​ ​and​ ​raced​ ​each​ ​other​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​shallow​ ​water, and​ ​from​ ​there​ ​ran​ ​onto​ ​shore. 

The​ ​others​ ​joined​ ​them.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​had​ ​an​ ​unwanted​ ​view​ ​of​ ​firm​ ​male​ ​buttocks. They​ ​strolled​ ​around,​ ​casually​ ​nude,​ ​until​ ​they​ ​had​ ​been​ ​sun​ ​dried.​ ​​ ​He waited​ ​for​ ​several​ ​​ ​more​ ​long,​ ​suspended​ ​minutes​ ​to​ ​see​ ​what​ ​would happen​ ​next.​ ​​ ​Then,​ ​to​ ​his​ ​great​ ​relief,​ ​they​ ​all​ ​returned​ ​the​ ​way​ ​they​ ​had come.​ ​​ ​He​ ​stayed​ ​where​ ​he​ ​was,​ ​hunched​ ​down​ ​in​ ​the​ ​water,​ ​those​ ​reeds all​ ​around​ ​him,​ ​peering​ ​out​ ​and​ ​making​ ​sure​ ​no​ ​one​ ​came​ ​back.​ ​​ ​He​ ​hated being​ ​in​ ​that​ ​unnatural​ ​cowering​ ​posture,​ ​his​ ​legs​ ​drawn​ ​up​ ​and​ ​bent​ ​arms against​ ​his​ ​sides.​ ​​ ​After​ ​the​ ​swimmers​ ​had​ ​been​ ​gone​ ​for​ ​a​ ​full​ ​ten​ ​minutes he​ ​at​ ​last​ ​dared​ ​to​ ​resume​ ​swimming.​ ​​ ​It​ ​wasn't​ ​as​ ​relaxing​ ​as​ ​it​ ​had​ ​been. He​ ​paddled​ ​over​ ​to​ ​approximately​ ​where​ ​he​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​in​ ​and​ ​walked​ ​onto shore,​ ​eyes​ ​darting​ ​from​ ​side​ ​to​ ​side. 

Now​ ​all​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​do​ ​was​ ​find​ ​what​ ​little​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​wearing.​ ​​ ​Where​ ​was that​ ​hollow​ ​log?​ ​​ ​He​ ​though​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​movement​ ​in​ ​the​ ​woods​ ​and​ ​dropped to​ ​the​ ​ground,​ ​on​ ​top​ ​of​ ​stunted​ ​bushes.​ ​​ ​His​ ​scrubby​ ​penis​ ​was​ ​in​ ​the scrubby​ ​plant​ ​life.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​certain​ ​he​ ​immediately​ ​felt​ ​insects​ ​crawling​ ​onto him.​ ​​ ​When​ ​nothing​ ​else​ ​happened​ ​after​ ​several​ ​more​ ​minutes,​ ​he​ ​rose​ ​and resumed​ ​his​ ​search.​ ​​ ​At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​found​ ​the​ ​log​ ​and​ ​there,​ ​looking​ ​to​ ​him​ ​like a​ ​lost​ ​treasure,​ ​were​ ​the​ ​bra​ ​and​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​hated​ ​having​ ​to​ ​wear them​ ​but​ ​now​ ​he​ ​would​ ​be​ ​glad​ ​to​ ​don​ ​them​ ​again.​ ​​ ​His​ ​skin​ ​was​ ​drying​ ​off and,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​heat​ ​of​ ​midday​ ​waning,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​chilly.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​walked​ ​around, waving​ ​his​ ​arms,​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​warm​ ​and​ ​speed​ ​up​ ​his​ ​drying​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time. At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​felt​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​put​ ​on​ ​the​ ​feminine​ ​underthings.​ ​​ ​The​ ​panties​ ​felt almost​ ​nice​ ​as​ ​they​ ​went​ ​up​ ​his​ ​legs​ ​and​ ​cupped​ ​his​ ​genitals​ ​and​ ​bottom. The​ ​bra​ ​went​ ​on​ ​more​ ​easily​ ​than​ ​before​ ​and​ ​he​ ​made​ ​sure​ ​it​ ​was​ ​on 

straight.​ ​​ ​His​ ​penis​ ​started​ ​pulsing​ ​but​ ​he​ ​blamed​ ​that​ ​on​ ​the​ ​changes​ ​in​ ​his body​ ​temperature.​ ​​ ​What​ ​else​ ​could​ ​it​ ​be? 

After​ ​he​ ​had​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​the​ ​log​ ​for​ ​a​ ​long​ ​while,​ ​bemoaning​ ​his​ ​troubles,​ ​dusk was​ ​elongating​ ​the​ ​shadows.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​start​ ​back​ ​too​ ​soon,​ ​but​ ​he also​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​wait​ ​so​ ​long​ ​that​ ​he​ ​got​ ​lost​ ​in​ ​the​ ​dark.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​decided​ ​to go​ ​partway​ ​back​ ​and​ ​then​ ​let​ ​it​ ​get​ ​darker.​ ​​ ​He​ ​moved​ ​into​ ​the​ ​woods​ ​again but​ ​couldn't​ ​find​ ​any​ ​sign​ ​of​ ​a​ ​trail.​ ​​ ​Bushes​ ​pricked​ ​at​ ​his​ ​legs.​ ​​ ​Nettles stung​ ​his​ ​feet.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​stopped​ ​to​ ​get​ ​his​ ​bearings,​ ​insects​ ​scuttled​ ​over​ ​his toes​ ​or​ ​landed​ ​in​ ​his​ ​hair,​ ​perhaps​ ​attracted​ ​to​ ​the​ ​scent​ ​of​ ​the​ ​products​ ​he used.​ ​​ ​Every​ ​time​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​go​ ​faster,​ ​he​ ​blundered​ ​deeper​ ​into​ ​entangling thickets.​ ​​ ​Finally,​ ​as​ ​dusk​ ​deepened​ ​into​ ​night,​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​lights​ ​of​ ​the dorm.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​waited​ ​until​ ​he​ ​felt​ ​no​ ​one​ ​could​ ​accuse​ ​him​ ​of​ ​coming​ ​back earlier​ ​than​ ​instructed.​ ​​ ​Salvaging​ ​scraps​ ​of​ ​pride​ ​from​ ​having​ ​done​ ​at​ ​least that​ ​much​ ​right,​ ​he​ ​stepped​ ​out​ ​into​ ​the​ ​yard​ ​behind​ ​the​ ​building.​ ​​ ​Passing under​ ​the​ ​clothes​ ​lines,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​reminded​ ​of​ ​how​ ​this​ ​part​ ​of​ ​his​ ​ongoing debacle​ ​had​ ​started.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​back​ ​door​ ​he​ ​knocked​ ​gently. 

They​ ​left​ ​him​ ​standing​ ​there​ ​in​ ​just​ ​the​ ​female​ ​underthings.​ ​​ ​Every​ ​so​ ​often a​ ​girl​ ​would​ ​stick​ ​her​ ​head​ ​out​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​windows​ ​and​ ​call​ ​down​ ​to​ ​him. 

"Be​ ​with​ ​you​ ​soon,​ ​Chicky."
"Won't​ ​be​ ​long​ ​now,​ ​carpetbagger." "Your​ ​surprise​ ​is​ ​almost​ ​ready." 

When​ ​they​ ​at​ ​last​ ​came​ ​for​ ​him​ ​it​ ​caused​ ​a​ ​mix​ ​of​ ​gratitude​ ​and​ ​fresh stress.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​led​ ​up​ ​to​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​second​ ​floor​ ​bedrooms.​ ​​ ​There​ ​were​ ​a dozen​ ​girls​ ​crowded​ ​in​ ​there.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​over​ ​his​ ​initial​ ​wave​ ​of​ ​shame he​ ​glanced​ ​around​ ​for​ ​his​ ​missing​ ​clothes​ ​but​ ​didn't​ ​see​ ​them.​ ​​ ​On​ ​the​ ​bed there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​cardboard​ ​box,​ ​about​ ​the​ ​size​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​a​ ​mini-fridge.​ ​​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou came​ ​to​ ​him​ ​with​ ​a​ ​tape​ ​measure. 

She​ ​told​ ​Jack,​ ​"Out​ ​of​ ​your​ ​frilly​ ​finery,​ ​pretty​ ​girl." 

He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​undress​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​coeds​ ​once​ ​more.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​tall,​ ​full-figured​ ​Cindy Lou​ ​began​ ​taking​ ​measurements,​ ​working​ ​all​ ​over​ ​his​ ​body,​ ​checking places​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​think​ ​need​ ​to​ ​be​ ​done.​ ​​ ​​ ​With​ ​devilish​ ​glee​ ​she​ ​saved​ ​the most​ ​mortifying​ ​one​ ​for​ ​last.​ ​​ ​Having​ ​him​ ​sit​ ​on​ ​a​ ​chair,​ ​she​ ​pulled​ ​another up​ ​close​ ​to​ ​him​ ​and​ ​went​ ​to​ ​work​ ​on​ ​his​ ​penis.​ ​​ ​First​ ​she​ ​measured​ ​it flaccid.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​she​ ​made​ ​him​ ​stretch​ ​it​ ​out.​ ​​ ​Last​ ​she​ ​wrapped​ ​the​ ​tape around​ ​his​ ​testicles​ ​and​ ​announced​ ​that,​ ​to​ ​no​ ​one's​ ​surprise,​ ​they​ ​were awfully​ ​small.​ ​​ ​It​ ​seemed​ ​like​ ​all​ ​that​ ​effort​ ​had​ ​been​ ​for​ ​no​ ​purpose​ ​other than​ ​to​ ​add​ ​to​ ​his​ ​humiliation. 

"Now,"​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​said,​ ​"it's​ ​time​ ​for​ ​the​ ​you​ ​to​ ​start​ ​looking​ ​really​ ​good." 

She​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​flaps​ ​on​ ​that​ ​box​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​saw​ ​her​ ​take​ ​out something​ ​that​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​a​ ​headpiece,​ ​made​ ​of​ ​cut,​ ​overlapping​ ​lengths​ ​of yellow​ ​material,​ ​each​ ​tapering​ ​at​ ​its​ ​end.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​vest​ ​of​ ​the same​ ​bright​ ​strips​ ​of​ ​fabric.​ ​​ ​Finally​ ​she​ ​brought​ ​out​ ​two​ ​triangular​ ​sheaths and​ ​a​ ​rectangular​ ​section.​ ​​ ​With​ ​another​ ​girl​ ​assisting,​ ​she​ ​began​ ​to​ ​dress him.​ ​​ ​The​ ​first​ ​piece​ ​went​ ​on​ ​his​ ​head​ ​and​ ​fastened​ ​under​ ​his​ ​chin.​ ​​ ​Then they​ ​got​ ​him​ ​into​ ​the​ ​vest,​ ​which​ ​didn't​ ​close​ ​in​ ​front.​ ​​ ​What​ ​happened​ ​next changed​ ​everything.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​bend​ ​his​ ​arms​ ​until​ ​they​ ​were​ ​able​ ​to​ ​cuff his​ ​wrists​ ​to​ ​a​ ​point​ ​just​ ​below​ ​his​ ​shoulders.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​the​ ​sheaths​ ​were slipped​ ​over​ ​his​ ​doubled​ ​up​ ​limbs​ ​and​ ​fixed​ ​in​ ​place.​ ​​ ​The​ ​last​ ​section​ ​went around​ ​his​ ​waist​ ​and​ ​was​ ​hooked,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​wearing​ ​it​ ​like​ ​a​ ​short skirt.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​designed​ ​so​ ​that​ ​it​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​he​ ​had​ ​a​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​pointy​ ​tail​ ​in​ ​the back.​ ​​ ​They​ ​walked​ ​him​ ​to​ ​a​ ​full-length​ ​mirror​ ​and​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​with​ ​dismay​ ​that he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​turned​ ​into​ ​a​ ​human​ ​chicken,​ ​covered​ ​with​ ​yellow​ ​feathers​ ​but still​ ​with​ ​his​ ​body​ ​largely​ ​exposed.​ ​​ ​His​ ​arms​ ​had​ ​been​ ​turned​ ​into​ ​useless wings.​ ​​ ​His​ ​bottom​ ​peeked​ ​out​ ​from​ ​under​ ​the​ ​micro-miniskirt.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​bent forward​ ​his​ ​sitter​ ​would​ ​be​ ​much​ ​more​ ​exposed​ ​​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​took​ ​one​ ​last item​ ​from​ ​the​ ​box​ ​and​ ​fitted​ ​it​ ​over​ ​his​ ​nose.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​an​ ​elastic​ ​band 

that​ ​she​ ​worked​ ​under​ ​the​ ​hood​ ​and​ ​behind​ ​his​ ​head.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​on​ ​a​ ​small fabric​ ​beak.​ ​​ ​He​ ​heard​ ​one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​explaining​ ​to​ ​another​ ​that​ ​the​ ​outfit​ ​had been​ ​crafted​ ​for​ ​a​ ​charity​ ​event​ ​that​ ​involved​ ​a​ ​big​ ​chicken​ ​dinner. 

One​ ​of​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​had​ ​make-up​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​use.​ ​​ ​She​ ​did​ ​a​ ​quick​ ​job​ ​on Jack's​ ​eyes,​ ​using​ ​yellow​ ​shadow​ ​on​ ​their​ ​lids,​ ​and​ ​his​ ​mouth,​ ​with​ ​orange lipstick.​ ​​ ​As​ ​a​ ​finishing​ ​touch​ ​she​ ​applied​ ​wide​ ​circles​ ​of​ ​rouge​ ​to​ ​his cheeks.​ ​​ ​His​ ​sissy​ ​chicken​ ​look​ ​was​ ​complete. 

With​ ​all​ ​of​ ​them​ ​laughing​ ​and​ ​making​ ​jokes,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​go​ ​around​ ​the​ ​room with​ ​short​ ​steps,​ ​rocking​ ​his​ ​head​ ​forward​ ​and​ ​back,​ ​making​ ​clucking sounds.​ ​​ ​They​ ​had​ ​him​ ​flutter​ ​his​ ​arm-wings​ ​as​ ​well. 

"Buck,​ ​buck.​ ​​ ​Buck,​ ​buck,"​ ​he​ ​buck-bucked.
"Scratch​ ​the​ ​ground,​ ​Chicky."
"Shake​ ​those​ ​tail​ ​feathers."
"Peck​ ​up​ s​ ome​ ​of​ ​those​ ​bread​ ​crusts​ ​off​ ​that​ ​plate​ ​on​ ​the​ ​floor." 

That​ ​last​ ​order​ ​was​ ​difficult​ ​to​ ​follow.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​sink​ ​down​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​knees and​ ​lean​ ​forward​ ​carefully,​ ​balancing​ ​without​ ​the​ ​use​ ​of​ ​his​ ​arms.​ ​​ ​He managed,​ ​but​ ​then​ ​had​ ​to​ ​suffer​ ​the​ ​ignominy​ ​of​ ​picking​ ​up​ ​food​ ​with​ ​his mouth,​ ​scraps​ ​that​ ​someone​ ​else​ ​had​ ​rejected​ ​after​ ​having​ ​their​ ​mouth touch​ ​them. And​ ​then​ ​Jack​ ​had​ ​to​ ​chew​ ​and​ ​swallow​ ​them.​ ​​ ​At​ ​least the​ ​false​ ​beak​ ​buckled​ ​up​ ​to​ ​allow​ ​him​ ​to​ ​reach​ ​the​ ​food.​ ​​ ​He​ ​struggled back​ ​to​ ​his​ ​feet.​ ​​ ​The​ ​beak​ ​was​ ​straightened​ ​out.​ ​​ ​A​ ​collar​ ​was​ ​fastened around​ ​his​ ​neck​ ​and​ ​a​ ​leash​ ​attached.​ ​​ ​What?​ ​​ ​Before​ ​he​ ​could​ ​react, Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​took​ ​the​ ​leash.​ ​​ ​The​ ​big​ ​sexy​ ​girl​ ​tugged​ ​him​ ​along​ ​after​ ​her.​ ​​ ​He had​ ​to​ ​follow​ ​down​ ​the​ ​steps​ ​and​ ​out​ ​the​ ​front​ ​door.​ ​​ ​Right​ ​onto​ ​the campus. 

Now​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​on​ ​level​ ​ground,​ ​she​ ​barked​ ​at​ ​him​ ​to​ ​squat.​ ​​ ​"Chickens don't​ ​walk​ ​upright​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​ ​Especially​ ​not​ ​sissy​ ​chickens.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​stay​ ​still while​ ​I​ ​finish​ ​fixing​ ​you." 

She​ ​put​ ​straps​ ​around​ ​his​ ​bent​ ​legs,​ ​binding​ ​thighs​ ​and​ ​calves​ ​together. There​ ​was​ ​no​ ​way​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​get​ ​out​ ​of​ ​that​ ​difficult​ ​'duck​ ​walk'​ ​stance.​ ​​ ​This time​ ​when​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​towed​ ​him​ ​after​ ​her,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​up​ ​by​ ​waddling, flapping​ ​his​ ​arms​ ​on​ ​demand,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​remain​ ​upright.​ ​​ ​They​ ​approached​ ​a couple,​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​football​ ​linemen​ ​and​ ​a​ ​cheerleader.​ ​​ ​The​ ​big​ ​team member​ ​got​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​Jack,​ ​forcing​ ​him​ ​to​ ​stop. 

"Damn,"​ ​the​ ​hefty​ ​guy​ ​said.​ ​​ ​"This​ ​must​ ​be​ ​the​ ​freak​ ​Trace​ ​and​ ​Hunk​ ​were talking​ ​about.​ ​​ ​That​ ​jerk​ ​from​ ​way​ ​up​ ​north.​ ​​ ​Looks​ ​like​ ​you​ ​messed​ ​up, boy,​ ​and​ ​now​ ​you're​ ​paying​ ​the​ ​price." 

Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​cooingly​ ​asked​ ​Jack,​ ​"What​ ​does​ ​a​ ​chicken​ ​say,​ ​Chicky?" Much​ ​to​ ​his​ ​shame,​ ​he​ ​mouthed,​ ​"Buck,​ ​buck.​ ​​ ​Buck,​ ​buck."​ ​​ ​For​ ​good 

measure,​ ​he​ ​gave​ ​a​ ​flap​ ​of​ ​his​ ​wings. 

The​ ​athlete​ ​and​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​laughed​ ​uproariously.​ ​​ ​She​ ​pointed​ ​and​ ​said, "Look​ ​at​ ​that​ ​piddling​ ​prick.​ ​​ ​No​ ​girl​ ​would​ ​ever​ ​want​ ​that​ ​anywhere​ ​near her.​ ​​ ​I​ ​hope​ ​he's​ ​good​ ​with​ ​his​ ​tongue." 

Jack​ ​didn't​ ​need​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​that.​ ​​ ​The​ ​idea​ ​of​ ​using​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​on​ ​a​ ​girl​ ​'down there'​ ​repulsed​ ​him.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​so...​ ​icky.​ ​​ ​And​ ​not​ ​at​ ​all​ ​manly​ ​in​ ​his​ ​mind.​ ​​ ​His thoughts​ ​were​ ​interrupted​ ​by​ ​some​ ​familiar​ ​faces​ ​coming​ ​at​ ​him​ ​from​ ​an intersecting​ ​walk.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​Trace​ ​and​ ​Hunk. 

"See,​ ​guys,"​ ​Emmy​ ​told​ ​them.​ ​​ ​"Like​ ​I​ ​said​ ​when​ ​I​ ​called,​ ​you​ ​threatened​ ​to make​ ​him​ ​the​ ​campus​ ​chicken,​ ​but​ ​we​ ​really​ ​did​ ​it.​ ​​ ​How​ ​do​ ​you​ ​like Jackie's​ ​new​ ​look?​ ​​ ​Or​ ​I​ ​should​ ​say,​ ​Chicky's​ ​look." 

The​ ​guys​ ​were​ ​seized​ ​by​ ​wild​ ​horselaughs.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​did​ ​a​ ​helluva job​ ​on​ ​the​ ​loser.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​cool​ ​how​ ​you​ ​made​ ​up​ ​his​ ​face,​ ​too." 

"He's​ ​right,"​ ​said​ ​Hunk.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​mean,​ ​I​ ​caught​ ​the​ ​jackass​ ​using​ ​his​ ​skin​ ​stuff​ ​in the​ ​men's​ ​room​ ​over​ ​in​ ​the​ ​Baxter​ ​Building.​ ​​ ​So​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​he​ ​likes​ ​all​ ​that crap​ ​on​ ​his​ ​face.​ ​​ ​Jeez,​ ​what​ ​a​ ​candy​ ​ass." 

"Or​ ​chicken​ ​ass,"​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​said,​ ​using​ ​the​ ​lease​ ​to​ ​make​ ​Jack​ ​turn around,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​not​ ​easy​ ​for​ ​the​ ​costume​ ​wearer,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​legs hampered​ ​the​ ​way​ ​they​ ​were. 

Emmy​ ​said,​ ​"For​ ​a​ ​faggot​ ​like​ ​him,​ ​having​ ​his​ ​ass​ ​halfway​ ​bare​ ​is​ ​just​ ​free advertising." 

Rose​ ​suggested,​ ​"Maybe​ ​we​ ​can​ ​help​ ​him​ ​find​ ​the​ ​right​ ​guy​ ​to​ ​do something​ ​with​ ​that​ p​ retty​ ​butt." 

"I​ ​have​ ​the​ ​answer​ ​for​ ​that,"​ ​Trace​ ​told​ ​them.​ ​​ ​"How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​we​ ​load​ ​him into​ ​my​ ​pick-up​ ​and​ ​drive​ ​him​ ​over​ ​to​ ​Coxville?​ ​​ ​Their​ ​little​ ​piss​ ​ant​ ​college could​ ​really​ ​have​ ​fun​ ​with​ ​him,​ ​I'd​ ​wager.​ ​​ ​Especially​ ​the​ ​football​ ​team." 

"Holy​ ​crap,"​ ​Hunk​ ​said​ ​in​ ​awe.​ ​​ ​"You'd​ ​really​ ​dump​ ​him​ ​there​ ​with​ ​all​ ​those Black​ ​studs.​ ​​ ​They're​ ​not​ ​gay​ ​but​ ​who​ ​knows​ ​what​ ​they​ ​might​ ​do​ ​if​ ​we made​ ​them​ ​a​ ​gift​ ​of​ ​a​ ​soft​ ​boy​ ​like​ ​Chicky." 

"And,"​ ​Emmy​ ​added​ ​brightly,​ ​"we​ ​can​ ​get​ ​some​ ​cold​ ​beer​ ​and​ ​start​ ​drinking on​ ​the​ ​way." 

Rose​ ​showed​ ​her​ ​enthusiasm​ ​with​ ​a​ ​loud​ ​Rebel​ ​yell.​ ​​ ​"By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​Jackie gets​ ​back​ ​here,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​day​ ​or​ ​two,​ ​we​ ​won't​ ​never​ ​have​ ​no​ ​trouble​ ​with​ ​him again." 

What​ ​were​ ​they​ ​talking​ ​about?​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​hadn't​ ​given​ ​anybody​ ​trouble.​ ​​ ​And now​ ​he​ ​was​ ​just​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​extricate​ ​himself​ ​from​ ​this​ ​ugly​ ​nightmare.​ ​​ ​When he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​speak,​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​backed​ ​up​ ​to​ ​him,​ ​reached​ ​around,​ ​and grabbed​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​his​ ​head​ ​with​ ​one​ ​hand.​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​She​ ​pulled​ ​his​ ​face​ ​forward into​ ​the​ ​crack​ ​of​ ​her​ ​wide​ ​bottom,​ ​where​ ​the​ ​rear​ ​seam​ ​of​ ​her​ ​cut-off​ ​shorts vanished.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​muffled​ ​and​ ​half​ ​smothered.​ ​​ ​She​ ​held​ ​him​ ​there​ ​while she​ ​made​ ​a​ ​phone​ ​call.​ ​​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​told​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​to​ ​bring​ ​her​ ​all the​ ​money​ ​in​ ​Jack's​ ​wallet.​ ​​ ​She​ ​also​ ​instructed​ ​whoever​ ​it​ ​was​ ​to​ ​take Jack's​ ​keys,​ ​visit​ ​his​ ​dorm​ ​room,​ ​and​ ​get​ ​any​ ​money​ ​she​ ​found​ ​there. Hearing​ ​that​ ​elevated​ ​his​ ​concern​ ​to​ ​new​ ​levels.​ ​​ ​When​ ​she​ ​released​ ​him and​ ​started​ ​walking​ ​away,​ ​he​ ​shuffled​ ​along​ ​behind​ ​her,​ ​watching​ ​her protruding​ ​ass​ ​roll,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​ignore​ ​the​ ​mounting​ ​discomfort​ ​in​ ​his​ ​legs. 

The​ ​tall​ ​zaftig​ ​girl​ ​stopped​ ​and​ ​looked​ ​back​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Even​ ​in​ ​his​ ​dire​ ​straits he​ ​couldn't​ ​stop​ ​desiring​ ​her.​ ​​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou's​ ​pretty​ ​face,​ ​long​ ​blond​ ​hair, overgrown​ ​boobs,​ ​and​ ​big​ ​shapely​ ​ass​ ​were​ ​a​ ​potent​ ​aphrodisiac​ ​to​ ​Jack. The​ ​way​ ​she​ ​was​ ​dressed,​ ​in​ ​that​ ​snug​ ​belly​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​barely-there​ ​denim shorts,​ ​amplified​ ​the​ ​effect. 

She​ ​said,​ ​"Is​ ​the​ ​little​ ​sissy​ ​chicken​ ​getting​ ​tired​ ​and​ ​sore?​ ​​ ​Poor​ ​baby.​ ​​ ​But don't​ ​worry.​ ​​ ​Where​ ​you're​ ​going​ ​now,​ ​you'll​ ​have​ ​plenty​ ​to​ ​take​ ​your​ ​mind off​ ​all​ ​that.​ ​​ ​You're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​a​ ​party."​ ​​ ​She​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​the​ ​misleading inaccuracy​ ​of​ ​her​ ​words. 

Once​ ​they​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​truck,​ ​Trace​ ​dropped​ ​the​ ​tailgate​ ​and​ ​he​ ​and​ ​Hunk lifted​ ​Jack​ ​roughly​ ​and​ ​put​ ​him​ ​into​ ​the​ ​back.​ ​​ ​The​ ​bound​ ​student​ ​hated having​ ​male​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​hoped​ ​there​ ​wouldn't​ ​be​ ​any​ ​more​ ​of​ ​that​ ​to come.​ ​​ ​When​ ​the​ ​gate​ ​was​ ​slammed​ ​closed,​ ​the​ ​faux​ ​chicken​ ​found​ ​himself between​ ​that​ ​barrier​ ​and​ ​a​ ​wall​ ​of​ ​bulging​ ​feed​ ​sacks.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​wedged​ ​in and​ ​unable​ ​to​ ​lie​ ​down​ ​or​ ​otherwise​ ​gain​ ​relief.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​so​ ​shameful,​ ​being exposed​ ​like​ ​that,​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​and​ ​bits​ ​visible. 

The​ ​girl​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou​ ​had​ ​called​ ​arrived​ ​shortly.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​sexy​ ​redhead​ ​named Jolene.​ ​​ ​She​ ​handed​ ​over​ ​all​ ​Jack's​ ​money,​ ​every​ ​dollar,​ ​to​ ​Emmy.​ ​​ ​Next she​ ​handed​ ​a​ ​shopping​ ​bag,​ ​contents​ ​unseen​ ​by​ ​Jack,​ ​to​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou.​ ​​ ​Then Jolene​ ​gave​ ​the​ ​helpless​ ​captive​ ​an​ ​air​ ​kiss,​ ​reached​ ​in​ ​and​ ​tweaked​ ​both sides​ ​of​ ​his​ ​face​ ​to​ ​leave​ ​him​ ​with​ ​doubly​ ​reddened​ ​cheeks.​ ​Jolene​ ​got back​ ​into​ ​her​ ​car,​ ​accompanied​ ​by​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​watched​ ​helplessly, too​ ​intimidated​ ​to​ ​say​ ​anything.​ ​​ ​He​ ​wished​ ​it​ ​was​ ​him​ ​driving​ ​a​ ​car,​ ​taking an​ ​attractive​ ​girl​ ​like​ ​Jolene,​ ​or​ ​a​ ​very​ ​curvy​ ​one​ ​like​ ​Cindy​ ​Lou,​ ​to someplace​ ​special​ ​for​ ​a​ ​romantic​ ​date.​ ​​ ​Instead,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​in​ ​this​ ​awful predicament,​ ​headed​ ​for​ ​an​ ​unwelcome​ ​destination.​ ​​ ​Soon​ ​the​ ​pick-up​ ​was on​ ​the​ ​road.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​had​ ​assumed​ ​their​ ​stop​ ​at​ ​a​ ​liquor​ ​store​ ​would​ ​be​ ​brief. Unfortunately​ ​for​ ​him,the​ ​package​ ​goods​ ​business​ ​was​ ​attached​ ​to​ ​a roadside​ ​bar,​ ​The​ ​Buck​ ​Tavern.​ ​​ ​When​ ​the​ ​driver​ ​and​ ​other​ ​three​ ​went​ ​in​ ​to get​ ​some​ ​table​ ​service,​ ​Jack​ ​was​ ​left​ ​alone,​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​peeping​ ​nervously above​ ​the​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​truck. 

He​​ducked​​down​​as​​customers,​​arriving​​or​​leaving,​​went​​past​​him.​​​​He​​tried to​ ​stay​ ​perfectly​ ​still.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​like​ ​that​ ​tense​ ​time​ ​in​ ​the​ ​pond,​ ​all​ ​over​ ​again. Some​ ​drinkers​ ​stopped​ ​to​ ​smoke​ ​cigarettes.​ ​​ ​Along​ ​with​ ​tobacco​ ​smoke, Jack​ ​detected​ ​the​ ​sweet​ ​smell​ ​of​ ​grass.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​a​ ​car​ ​pulled​ ​up​ ​alongside him​ ​with​ ​an​ ​amorous​ ​couple​ ​inside.​ ​​ ​They​ ​were​ ​sharing​ ​a​ ​bottle​ ​of something​ ​potent.​ ​​ ​The​ ​two​ ​of​ ​them​ ​switched​ ​to​ ​the​ ​backseat​ ​and​ ​began​ ​to make​ ​out​ ​in​ ​earnest,​ ​heedless​ ​of​ ​passers​ ​by.​ ​​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​gaped​ ​at​ ​them​ ​as​ ​the guy​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​girl's​ ​blouse​ ​and​ ​she​ ​did​ ​the​ ​same​ ​to​ ​his​ ​pants.​ ​​ ​Soon​ ​they were​ ​both​ ​naked​ ​from​ ​the​ ​waist​ ​down.​ ​​ ​Without​ ​knowing​ ​--​ ​or​ ​caring​ ​--​ ​that they​ ​had​ ​an​ ​observer,​ ​they​ ​got​ ​into​ ​the​ ​69​ ​position.​ ​​ ​Suddenly​ ​they​ ​were going​ ​at​ ​it,​ ​using​ ​their​ ​mouths​ ​between​ ​each​ ​other's​ ​thighs. 

Jack​ ​couldn't​ ​stop​ ​looking.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​never​ ​had​ ​a​ ​female​ ​do​ ​that​ ​for​ ​him.​ ​​ ​It was​ ​one​ ​of​ ​his​ ​dream​ ​scenarios.​ ​​ ​But​ ​as​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​reminded​ ​earlier,​ ​he hoped​ ​never​ ​to​ ​use​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​on​ ​any​ ​date​ ​the​ ​way​ ​that​ ​guy​ ​was​ ​doing. The​ ​couple​ ​went​ ​at​ ​it​ ​until​ ​they​ ​had​ ​noisily​ ​satisfied​ ​themselves,​ ​leaving Jack​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​sex,​ ​unable​ ​to​ ​get​ ​the​ ​images​ ​of​ ​them​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mind. 

Trace​ ​and​ ​the​ ​others​ ​reappeared.​ ​​ ​As​ ​they​ ​got​ ​into​ ​the​ ​truck​ ​they​ ​spotted the​ ​exhausted​ ​couple​ ​resting​ ​in​ ​the​ ​car​ ​next​ ​to​ ​them.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​simple​ ​to deduce​ ​that​ ​Jack​ ​had​ ​seen​ ​something​ ​wild. 

Emmy​ ​looked​ ​over​ ​the​ ​tailgate​ ​at​ ​their​ ​captive.​ ​​ ​"Hope​ ​you​ ​enjoyed​ ​the show.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​after​ ​tonight​ ​you​ ​can​ ​find​ ​a​ ​nice​ ​girl​ ​and​ ​take​ ​her​ ​out...​ ​if​ ​she doesn't​ ​mind​ ​you​ ​being​ ​a​ ​candy​ ​ass​ ​with​ ​a​ ​clit-sized​ ​dick."​ ​​ ​She​ ​laughed and​ ​slapped​ ​him​ ​playfully​ ​on​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​his​ ​head. 

Everyone​ ​got​ ​into​ ​the​ ​truck,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​their​ ​several​ ​six​ ​packs.​ ​​ ​They​ ​drove the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​way​ ​to​ ​Coxville,​ ​a​ ​town​ ​populated​ ​mainly​ ​by​ ​poor​ ​Black​ ​folks. The​ ​place​ ​was​ ​pretty​ ​run​ ​down.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​saw​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​Black​ ​residents​ ​on​ ​front porches​ ​and​ ​congregated​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​bars.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​became​ ​more​ ​and​ ​more agitated.​ ​​ ​He​ ​just​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​be​ ​let​ ​out​ ​of​ ​this​ ​ridiculous​ ​costume​ ​and​ ​driven home.​ ​​ ​He​ ​wouldn't​ ​even​ ​say​ ​anything​ ​about​ ​them​ ​taking​ ​his​ ​money.​ ​​ ​Trace knew​ ​the​ ​way​ ​to​ ​their​ ​destination.​ ​​ ​Hunk​ ​had​ ​been​ ​there​ ​with​ ​him​ ​before, too.​ ​​ ​They​ ​pointed​ ​out​ ​to​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​clubhouse, maintained​ ​by​ ​the​ ​college​ ​football​ ​team.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​also​ ​where​ ​Trace​ ​scored the​ ​best​ ​weed​ ​in​ ​the​ ​state.​ ​​ ​He​ ​pulled​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​unpaved​ ​rear​ ​lot,​ ​got​ ​out, went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​door​ ​and​ ​knocked.​ ​​ ​The​ ​girls​ ​saw​ ​a​ ​sign​ ​over​ ​the​ ​entrance​ ​with the​ ​team's​ ​name​ ​and​ ​logo.​ ​​ ​They​ ​were​ ​called​ ​The​ ​Roosters.​ ​​ ​The​ ​irony​ ​of that​ ​wasn't​ ​lost​ ​on​ ​Emmy​ ​and​ ​Rose. 

A​ ​tall,​ ​muscular​ ​Black​ ​guy​ ​answered​ ​the​ ​door.​ ​​ ​He​ ​said,​ ​"Yo,​ ​Trace.​ ​​ ​You want​ ​some​ ​smoke?" 

"Nah,​ ​Dashawn.​ ​​ ​I'll​ ​still​ ​good​ ​from​ ​last​ ​time.​ ​​ ​But​ ​we​ ​got​ ​a​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​business deal​ ​for​ ​you." 

"I'm​ ​always​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​talk​ ​business.​ ​​ ​Your​ ​friends​ ​want​ ​to​ ​come​ ​in?" "Not​ ​right​ ​now.​ ​​ ​This'll​ ​only​ ​take​ ​a​ ​minute." 

They​ ​entered​ ​and​ ​Dashawn​ ​sat​ ​on​ ​a​ ​fancy​ ​swivel​ ​chair.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​took​ ​a​ ​less comfortable​ ​folding​ ​one​ ​across​ ​from​ ​him,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​battered​ ​wooden​ ​table between​ ​them.​ ​​ ​He​ ​knew​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​football​ ​player's​ ​penchant​ ​for​ ​this​ ​sort​ ​of an​ ​arrangement,​ ​where​ ​each​ ​one's​ ​seating​ ​reflected​ ​their​ ​relationship​ ​to​ ​the other,​ ​at​ ​least​ ​in​ ​Dashawn's​ ​mind.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​leaned​ ​back​ ​and​ ​crossed​ ​one​ ​leg over​ ​the​ ​other,​ ​signaling​ ​how​ ​relaxed​ ​he​ ​was​ ​despite​ ​being​ ​in​ ​the​ ​other's home​ ​territory.​ ​​ ​Several​ ​additional​ ​members​ ​of​ ​the​ ​team​ ​were​ ​seated​ ​on the​ ​far​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room,​ ​watching​ ​a​ ​sports​ ​station​ ​on​ ​a​ ​portable​ ​TV. Dashawn​ ​called​ ​to​ ​them,​ ​saying​ ​they​ ​should​ ​turn​ ​down​ ​the​ ​volume​ ​while​ ​he was​ ​talking​ ​business.​ ​​ ​That​ ​was​ ​one​ ​more​ ​message​ ​he​ ​was​ ​sending​ ​to Trace,​ ​telling​ ​him​ ​he​ ​was​ ​in​ ​control​ ​of​ ​his​ ​guys.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​was​ ​the​ ​team's quarterback​ ​and​ ​a​ ​natural​ ​leader. 

"So,"​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know.​ ​​ ​"What's​ ​the​ ​deal,​ m​ y​ ​man?"​ ​​ ​What​ ​he said​ ​indicated​ ​that​ ​the​ ​preliminaries​ ​were​ ​over​ ​and​ ​it​ ​was​ ​time​ ​to​ ​barter. The​ ​way​ ​he​ ​said​ ​it​ ​announced​ ​that​ ​they​ ​were​ ​done​ ​establishing​ ​themselves and​ ​could​ ​dispense​ ​with​ ​any​ ​more​ ​of​ ​that. 

"Here's​ ​the​ ​thing,"​ ​Trace​ ​began.​ ​​ ​"We​ ​got​ ​this​ ​new​ ​kid​ ​who​ ​transferred​ ​from up​ ​North.​ ​​ ​You​ ​know​ ​the​ ​type.​ ​​ ​Too​ ​much​ ​money​ ​and​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​fancy​ ​clothes. Looks​ ​down​ ​on​ ​people​ ​from​ ​around​ ​here.​ ​​ ​Certain​ ​people,​ ​he​ ​disrespects more​ ​than​ ​the​ ​rest,​ ​if​ ​you​ ​know​ ​what​ ​I​ ​mean." 

Dashawn​ ​said,​ ​"I'm​ ​getting​ ​the​ ​picture.​ ​​ ​You​ ​saying​ ​he​ ​needs​ ​a beat-down?" 

"Not​ ​exactly.​ ​​ ​The​ ​situation​ ​is​ ​that​ ​he's​ ​some​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​pervert.​ ​​ ​He's​ ​a​ ​sissy type​ ​who​ ​gets​ ​off​ ​on​ ​being​ ​ordered​ ​around,​ ​having​ ​his​ ​fanny​ ​swatted,​ ​and being​ ​used,​ ​especially​ ​by​ ​guys​ ​who​ ​treat​ ​him​ ​like​ ​a​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​In​ ​fact,​ ​he's​ ​such​ ​a freak​ ​for​ ​being​ ​abused​ ​that​ ​he​ ​gets​ ​off​ ​the​ ​most​ ​when​ ​it's​ ​done​ ​to​ ​him​ ​by the​ ​people​ ​he​ ​likes​ ​the​ ​least." 

"I​ ​hear​ ​what​ ​you're​ ​saying.​ ​​ ​Might​ ​be​ ​fun.​ ​​ ​Have​ ​a​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​payback​ ​feel​ ​to​ ​it." Dashawn​ ​held​ ​out​ ​his​ ​hand,​ ​palm​ ​uppermost.​ ​​ ​He​ ​rubbed​ ​his​ ​thumb​ ​over his​ ​fingers​ ​and​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​"What's​ ​in​ ​it​ ​for​ ​me​ ​and​ m​ y​ ​boys?" 

"Remember​ ​I​ ​said​ ​he​ ​had​ ​too​ ​much​ ​money?"​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​unbuttoned​ ​the​ ​chest pocket​ ​on​ ​his​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​took​ ​out​ ​a​ ​fat​ ​wad​ ​of​ ​bills.​ ​​ ​"He's​ ​willing​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​big." 

Despite​​his​​usual​​cool,​​Dashawn's​​eyes​​got​​bigger.​​​H​ e​​wiggled​​his​​fingers to​ ​indicate​ ​he​ ​was​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​accept​ ​payment. 

Trace​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"In​ ​a​ ​minute.​ ​​ ​The​ ​trick​ ​is,​ ​you​ ​have​ ​to​ ​do​ ​it​ ​just​ ​the​ ​way​ ​this sissy​ ​likes.​ ​​ ​His​ ​thing​ ​is​ ​to​ ​act​ ​like​ ​he's​ ​all​ ​hating​ ​it​ a​ nd​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​make​ ​you stop.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​his​ ​fantasy.​ ​​ ​That​ ​he's​ ​being​ ​forced.​ ​​ ​But​ ​when​ ​he​ ​says​ ​that shit,​ ​it's​ ​like​ ​code.​ ​​ ​Whatever​ ​he​ ​begs​ ​you​ ​not​ ​to​ ​do,​ ​he​ ​wants.​ ​​ ​The​ ​more noise​ ​he​ ​makes​ ​about​ ​you​ ​stopping,​ ​the​ ​further​ ​you​ ​have​ ​to​ ​go.​ ​​ ​And​ ​if​ ​you come​ ​up​ ​with​ ​anything​ ​special,​ ​like​ ​to​ ​make​ ​everything​ ​worse​ ​for​ ​him,​ ​just watch​ ​how​ ​he​ ​reacts​ ​when​ ​you​ ​say​ ​it,​ ​and​ ​that'll​ ​tell​ ​you​ ​how​ ​hard​ ​and​ ​how long​ ​to​ ​do​ ​whatever​ ​it​ ​is." 

Dashawn​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​his​ ​lower​ ​lip​ ​and​ ​creased​ ​his​ ​brow,​ ​giving​ ​his​ ​'thinking' face.​ ​​ ​He​ ​slapped​ ​his​ h​ and​ ​down​ ​on​ ​the​ ​table​ ​and​ ​declared,​ ​"Done."​ ​​ ​Then he​ ​turned​ ​the​ ​hand​ ​over,​ ​again​ ​soliciting​ ​the​ ​money.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​mentioned​ ​that it​ ​would​ ​only​ ​work​ ​if​ ​Dashawn​ ​--​ ​and​ ​any​ ​of​ ​his​ ​boys​ ​who​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​get​ ​in on​ ​it​ ​--​ ​didn't​ ​hold​ ​back.​ ​​ ​Only​ ​then​ ​did​ ​he​ ​pass​ ​over​ ​the​ ​more​ ​than generous​ ​payment. 

The​ ​white​ ​guy​ ​said,​ ​"Want​ ​to​ ​give​ ​me​ ​a​ ​hand​ ​getting​ ​him​ ​in​ ​here?" 

Dashawn,​ ​back​ ​in​ ​full​ ​'leader'​ ​mode,​ ​called​ ​to​ ​one​ ​of​ ​his​ ​teammates, "Jermaine,​ ​my​ ​man.​ ​​ ​We​ ​got​ ​cash​ ​on​ ​the​ ​table.​ ​​ ​Help​ ​my​ ​good​ ​friend​ ​Trace haul​ ​some​ ​merchandise​ ​inside." 

The​ ​biggest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​gathered​ ​players​ ​came​ ​across​ ​the​ ​room.​ ​​ ​Jermaine​ ​was also​ ​the​ ​darkest.​ ​​ ​And​ ​the​ ​meanest​ ​looking.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​the​ ​perfect​ ​man​ ​for​ ​the job.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​couldn't​ ​wait​ ​to​ ​see​ ​how​ ​Jack​ ​reacted.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​gave​ ​the​ ​Black giant​ ​a​ ​bare​ ​outline​ ​of​ ​the​ ​plan,​ ​stressing​ ​that​ ​to​ ​get​ ​it​ ​off​ ​to​ ​a​ ​good​ ​start, they​ ​had​ ​to​ ​really​ ​put​ ​the​ ​wuss​ ​in​ ​his​ ​place​ ​right​ ​away.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​let​ ​them know​ ​that​ ​their​ ​new​ ​property​ ​was​ ​called​ ​Chicky.​ ​​ ​They​ ​went​ ​outside​ ​and opened​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​pick-up.​ ​​ ​As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​Jermaine​ ​saw​ ​Jack​ ​he​ ​put​ ​a sneer​ ​on​ ​his​ ​face​ ​and,​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​Trace​ ​to​ ​help​ ​him,​ ​scooped​ ​up the​ ​helpless​ ​student​ ​himself,​ ​holding​ ​him​ ​against​ ​his​ ​broad​ ​chest​ ​with​ ​one arm,​ ​and​ ​putting​ ​his​ ​other​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​Jack's​ ​naked​ ​ass. 

Jermaine​ ​gave​ ​the​ ​warm​ ​flesh​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​squeeze​ ​and​ ​got​ ​his​ ​face​ ​right​ ​into Jack's.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​so​ ​smooth​ ​down​ ​there,​ ​Chicky​ ​baby.​ ​​ ​Just​ ​like​ ​a​ ​schoolgirl. You​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​schoolgirl​ ​for​ ​me?​ ​​ ​You​ ​want​ ​to​ ​give​ ​me​ ​everything​ ​I say?" 

"N...​ ​no.​ ​​ ​Please.​ ​​ ​Take​ ​these​ ​straps​ ​off​ ​me​ ​and​ ​let​ ​me​ ​go.​ ​​ ​This​ ​can't​ ​be happening." 

"It's​ ​happening,​ ​pussy​ ​boy."​ ​​ ​He​ ​jabbed​ ​a​ ​thick​ ​digit​ ​against​ ​Jack's​ ​tight pucker.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​it's​ ​going​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​happening.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​you​ ​understand​ ​better​ ​if I​ ​spank​ ​your​ ​white​ ​ass​ ​real​ ​hard." 

"What?​ ​​ ​You​ ​can't.​ ​​ ​Please​ ​release​ ​me.​ ​​ ​Stop...​ ​pawing​ ​me."
"Yeah,​ ​you​ ​going​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​more​ ​than​ ​my​ ​paws,​ ​with​ ​that​ ​girly​ ​face​ ​and 

pretty​ ​hair.​ ​​ ​You​ ​going​ ​to​ ​get​ ​it​ ​all,​ ​marshmallow." 

Jack's​ ​lips​ ​quivered​ ​and​ ​he​ ​sniffled.​ ​​ ​Jermaine​ ​gave​ ​his​ ​other​ ​buttock​ ​a punishing​ ​squeeze,​ ​really​ ​getting​ ​into​ ​this​ ​scene.​ ​​ ​The​ ​strong​ ​Black​ ​man decided​ ​it​ ​was​ ​cool​ ​having​ ​their​ ​own​ ​white​ ​sissy​ ​to​ ​mess​ ​with.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​took the​ ​shopping​ ​bag​ ​that​ ​Jolene​ ​had​ ​delivered. 

Back​ ​inside,​ ​Dashawn​ ​played​ ​his​ ​role,​ ​like​ ​Jermaine​ ​had.​ ​​ ​He​ ​got​ ​up​ ​and scowled​ ​at​ ​Jack.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​mine​ ​now.​ ​​ ​I​ ​own​ ​you.​ ​​ ​I​ ​expect​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​'Yes,​ ​Sir'​ ​and 'Please​ ​may​ ​I'.​ ​​ ​Let's​ ​start​ ​with​ ​'Please​ ​may​ ​I​ ​kiss​ ​you​ ​shoes,​ ​Sir'.​ ​​ ​Let​ ​me hear​ ​it,​ ​bitch." 

Jermaine​ ​set​ ​Jack​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​Dashawn,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​now​ ​standing.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​was still​ ​in​ ​that​ ​enforced​ ​pose​ ​and​ ​ludicrous​ ​costume,​ ​a​ ​few​ ​feet​ ​from​ ​the​ ​fierce looking​ ​man.​ ​​ ​Close​ ​to​ ​tears,​ ​Jack​ ​looked​ ​up​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​whispered,​ ​"Sir. Please.​ ​​ ​Please,​ ​Sir,​ ​may​ ​I...?"​ ​He​ ​gagged​ ​a​ ​little.​ ​​ ​"May​ ​I​ ​kiss​ ​your​ ​shoes?" 

"I​ ​don't​ ​know.​ ​​ ​Let's​ ​see​ ​that​ ​sissy​ ​tongue." 

Jack​ ​went​ ​blank​ ​for​ ​a​ ​few​ ​seconds.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​came​ ​forward,​ ​stretched​ ​out his​ ​long​ ​arm,​ ​grabbed​ ​Jack's​ ​lower​ ​face,​ ​and​ ​applied​ ​pressure.​ ​​ ​The​ ​white student's​ ​mouth​ ​popped​ ​open.​ ​​ ​He​ ​realized​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​supposed​ ​to​ ​be doing​ ​and​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​as​ ​far​ ​as​ ​he​ ​could.​ ​​ ​The​ ​threatening​ ​Black man​ ​considered​ ​it​ ​before​ ​giving​ ​permission​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​perform​ ​the​ ​stated task.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​stepped​ ​back​ ​to​ ​where​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been.​ ​​ ​With​ ​the​ ​dirty​ ​grey running​ ​shoe​ ​too​ ​far​ ​away,​ ​Jack​ ​understood​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​expected​ ​to​ ​reach it​ ​on​ ​his​ ​own.​ ​​ ​Bound​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was,​ ​that​ ​was​ ​a​ ​challenge.​ ​​ ​He​ ​dropped​ ​forward heavily​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​sore​ ​knees.​ ​​ ​Next​ ​he​ ​inched​ ​back,​ ​pulled​ ​his​ ​bent​ ​arms forward​ ​as​ ​far​ ​as​ ​he​ ​could,​ ​and​ ​let​ ​himself​ ​topple​ ​over​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​elbows, causing​ ​himself​ ​more​ ​pain.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​get​ ​walk​ ​on​ ​his​ ​bent​ ​limbs​ ​and his​ ​face​ ​down​ ​to​ ​those​ ​shoes.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​accomplished​ ​that,​ ​Dashawn​ ​took two​ ​steps​ ​away​ ​from​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​had​ ​to​ ​wriggle​ ​forward.​ ​​ ​This​ ​time​ ​Dashawn didn't​ ​retreat,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​tilted​ ​his​ ​shoe​ ​up​ ​so​ ​the​ ​part​ ​that​ ​would​ ​get​ ​licked​ ​was the​ ​filthy​ ​sole. 

"Pleeeease,"​ ​Jack​ ​pleaded​ ​piteously.​ ​​ ​"Don't​ ​make​ ​me​ ​do​ ​it." 

Jermaine​ ​stepped​ ​in​ ​to​ ​place​ ​his​ ​own​ ​big​ ​boot​ ​between​ ​Jack's​ ​shoulder blades.​ ​​ ​He​ ​leaned​ ​hard​ ​and​ ​flattened​ ​Jack's​ ​chest​ ​to​ ​the​ ​floor.​ ​​ ​Jack's​ ​chin 

was​ ​also​ ​against​ ​the​ ​hard​ ​surface.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​slid​ ​his​ ​foot​ ​forward​ ​until​ ​the sole​ ​was​ ​mashed​ ​against​ ​Jack's​ ​lips. 

"Go​ ​on,"​ ​Dashawn​ ​told​ ​his​ ​victim.​ ​​ ​"Pretend​ ​you're​ ​eating​ ​chicken​ ​feed." 

Jack​ ​got​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​out​ ​again​ ​and​ ​had​ ​to​ ​lap​ ​the​ ​unclean​ ​sole​ ​repeatedly. He​ ​gathered​ ​up​ b​ its​ ​of​ ​grit​ ​and​ ​gunk,​ ​took​ ​them​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mouth,​ ​and​ ​forced himself​ ​to​ ​swallow.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​utterly​ ​disgusting​ ​but​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​allowed​ ​to​ ​stop until​ ​both​ ​shoes​ ​were​ ​done.​ ​​ ​Without​ ​a​ ​word,​ ​his​ ​main​ ​tormentor​ ​turned​ ​and went​ ​out​ ​the​ ​door.​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​was​ ​there,​ ​leaning​ ​on​ ​his​ ​pick-up​ ​and​ ​swigging from​ ​a​ ​can​ ​of​ ​beer.​ ​​ ​Emmy​ ​was​ ​by​ ​his​ ​side​ ​and​ ​his​ ​arm​ ​was​ ​around​ ​her. Dashawn​ ​went​ ​to​ ​Trace. 

The​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know.​ ​​ ​"How​ ​long​ ​you​ ​want​ ​us​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​that sugar-coated​ ​swish​ ​in​ ​our​ ​clubhouse?" 

"Well,​ ​I​ ​figure​ ​that​ ​money​ ​will​ ​cover​ ​a​ ​fair​ ​amount​ ​of​ ​time."​ ​​ ​Trace​ ​had​ ​been thinking​ ​about​ ​just​ ​the​ ​weekend. 

Dashawn​ ​said,​ ​"I​ ​counted​ ​them​ ​bills.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​a​ ​good​ ​payment.​ ​​ ​You​ ​starting Spring​ ​Break​ ​like​ ​we​ ​are?" 

"Yeah."
"No​ ​classes​ ​for​ ​two​ ​weeks?" "Right." 

"Two​ ​weeks​ ​is​ ​good.​ ​​ ​I'll​ ​call​ ​you​ ​when​ ​it's​ ​time​ ​to​ ​pick​ ​up​ ​whatever's​ ​left​ ​of him." 

Trace​ ​stifled​ ​an​ ​expletive,​ ​wild​ ​laughter,​ ​and​ ​maybe​ ​even​ ​some​ ​celebratory hollering.​ ​​ ​This​ ​was​ ​better​ ​than​ ​he​ ​could​ ​have​ ​hoped​ ​for.​ ​​ ​Still​ ​acting​ ​cool, he​ ​accepted​ ​those​ ​terms. 

And​ ​being​ ​something​ ​of​ ​a​ ​horse​ ​trader,​ ​the​ ​white​ ​guy​ ​said,​ ​"But​ ​maybe​ ​you can​ ​throw​ ​in​ ​a​ ​few​ ​weekends,​ ​later​ ​on." 

Narrowing​ ​his​ ​eyes,​ ​Dashawn​ ​said,​ ​"We'll​ ​see.​ ​​ ​A​ ​bunch​ ​of​ ​weekends. Maybe​ ​for​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​year.​ ​​ ​And​ ​Summer​ ​Vacation.​ ​​ ​Want​ ​to​ ​give​ ​the pansy​ ​ass​ ​his​ ​money's​ ​worth." 

"I​ ​know​ ​you​ ​will,​ ​Dashawn,"​ ​Trace​ ​said​ ​as​ ​he​ ​got​ ​into​ ​his​ ​truck.​ ​​ ​He wondered​ ​what​ ​he​ ​would​ ​find​ ​when​ ​he​ ​returned​ ​to​ ​retrieve​ ​that​ ​Northerner. 

Back​ ​inside​ ​the​ ​building,​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​guys​ ​had​ ​been​ ​informed​ ​of​ ​what was​ ​going​ ​on.​ ​​ ​They​ ​were​ ​having​ ​a​ ​good​ ​time​ ​taking​ ​turns​ ​with​ ​Jack's leash,​ ​walking​ ​him​ ​around,​ ​making​ ​him​ ​kiss​ ​their​ ​junk​ ​through​ ​their​ ​pants, and​ ​even​ ​press​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​to​ ​their​ ​firmly​ ​muscled​ ​asses​ ​the​ ​same​ ​way.​ ​​ ​He was​ ​so​ ​distraught​ ​that​ ​they​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​really​ ​loved​ ​it.​ ​​ ​This​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be such​ ​a​ ​good​ ​time. 

"All​ ​right,"​ ​announced​ ​Dashawn.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​get​ ​to​ ​pop​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​cherry."​ ​​ ​He​ ​put himself​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​Jack,​ ​unzipped,​ ​and​ ​freed​ ​an​ ​enormous​ ​cock.​ ​​ ​"Let's​ ​go Chicky,​ ​unless​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​made​ ​into​ ​a​ ​capon." 

Jack​ ​was​ ​horrified.​ ​​ ​He​ ​mumbled,​ ​"But​ ​I'm​ ​not​ ​gay."
Dashawn​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​Jermaine​ ​and​ ​asked​ ​to​ ​borrow​ ​his​ ​knife.​ ​​ ​​ ​When​ ​Jack 

heard​ ​that​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​popped​ ​open​ ​and​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​closed. 

Dashawn​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"Hey,​ ​my​ ​bitch​ ​doesn't​ ​stop​ ​looking​ ​when​ ​I​ ​give​ ​her​ ​my cock.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​make​ ​like​ ​you​ ​want​ ​it...​ ​and​ ​open​ ​wider,​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​This​ ​blacksnake​ ​is king-size.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​better.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​show​ ​me​ ​that​ ​tongue​ ​again,​ ​and​ ​get​ ​it 

moving.​ ​​ ​Lick​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​of​ ​my​ ​knob,​ ​ho.​ ​​ ​And​ ​run​ ​your​ ​tongue​ ​around​ ​the wide​ ​part.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​right.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​you're​ ​gettin'​ ​to​ ​gettin'."​ ​​ ​He​ ​sighed.​ ​​ ​"Make pretty​ ​eyes​ ​at​ ​me​ ​while​ ​you​ ​suck,​ ​pussy​ ​face.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​going​ ​to​ ​turn​ ​you​ ​into​ ​a cum​ ​dump.​ ​​ ​And​ ​if​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​work​ ​it​ ​hard​ ​enough,​ ​I'll​ ​make​ ​you​ ​a​ ​piss​ ​pot. You​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​that,​ ​do​ ​you,​ ​Chicky?" 

Jack​ ​stopped​ ​only​ ​long​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​say,​ ​"NO." 

Which​ ​Dashawn​ ​understood​ ​to​ ​mean​ ​YES.​ ​​ ​This​ ​time​ ​he​ ​fed​ ​another​ ​inch of​ ​meat​ ​into​ ​the​ ​sissy's​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​The​ ​game​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​better​ ​and​ ​better. Soon​ ​he​ ​had​ ​his​ ​sissy​ ​slave​ ​taking​ ​more,​ ​sucking​ ​like​ ​a​ ​shameless​ ​slut, desperate​ ​not​ ​to​ ​earn​ ​worse​ ​treatment.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​started​ ​a​ ​slow​ ​in-out motion,​ ​using​ ​him​ ​like​ ​what​ ​he'd​ ​called​ ​him,​ ​a​ ​pussy​ ​face.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​was sobbing,​ ​which​ ​the​ ​masterful​ ​man​ ​found​ ​arousing.​ ​​ ​He​ ​halted​ ​and​ ​had​ ​Jack suck​ ​just​ ​the​ ​head,​ ​swirling​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​around​ ​its​ ​corona.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​edged toward​ ​an​ ​eruption.​ ​​ ​He​ ​held​ ​the​ ​sides​ ​of​ ​Jack's​ ​head​ ​and​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to​ ​flap his​ ​wings.​ ​​ ​Desperate​ ​to​ ​please​ ​his​ ​new​ ​Black​ ​master,​ ​he​ ​obeyed.​ ​​ ​He​ ​also remembered​ ​a​ ​phrase​ ​he'd​ ​overheard​ ​some​ ​guys​ ​use​ ​while​ ​talking​ ​about receiving​ ​oral​ ​sex.​ ​​ ​They'd​ ​said​ ​they​ ​liked​ ​a​ ​girl​ ​to​ ​suck,​ ​swirl​ ​and​ ​swallow. Jack​ ​was​ ​doing​ ​the​ ​first​ ​two​ ​and​ ​understood​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​add​ ​the third. 

The​ ​standing​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​roared​ ​as​ ​he​ ​unloaded​ ​his​ ​spunk​ ​into​ ​Jack's mouth.​ ​​ ​Because​ ​only​ ​the​ ​head​ ​of​ ​his​ ​cock​ ​was​ ​in,​ ​the​ ​entire​ ​load​ ​was spurted​ ​against​ ​the​ ​roof​ ​of​ ​Jack's​ ​mouth​ ​and​ ​onto​ ​his​ ​tongue.​ ​​ ​The​ ​mess was​ ​thick​ ​and​ ​salty.​ ​​ ​As​ ​much​ ​as​ ​Jack​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​drink​ ​any​ ​of​ ​it,​ ​some was​ ​already​ ​sliding​ ​down​ ​his​ ​throat.​ ​​ ​He​ ​made​ ​a​ ​long​ ​moaning​ ​sound​ ​and then​ ​had​ ​to​ ​swallow​ ​more.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​so​ ​much,​ ​and​ ​his​ ​own​ ​saliva​ ​was mixing​ ​with​ ​it,​ ​increasing​ ​the​ ​volume.​ ​​ ​Tears​ ​leaked​ ​from​ ​the​ ​corners​ ​of​ ​his eyes​ ​and​ ​semen​ ​from​ ​the​ ​edges​ ​of​ ​his​ ​stretched​ ​lips.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​looked down​ ​at​ ​his​ ​suck​ ​boy,​ ​at​ ​the​ ​mussed​ ​cosmetics,​ ​that​ ​laughable​ ​chicken headpiece,​ ​the​ ​askew​ ​beak,​ ​those​ ​arms​ ​reduced​ ​to​ ​uselessness​ ​and stuffed​ ​into​ ​fake​ ​wings.​ ​​ ​The​ ​whole​ ​image,​ ​being​ ​viewed​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time 

his​ ​cock​ ​was​ ​still​ ​super-sensitized,​ ​was​ ​imprinted​ ​on​ ​his​ ​mind.​ ​​ ​He​ ​wanted to​ ​mistreat​ ​Jack​ ​this​ ​way​ ​over​ ​and​ ​over​ ​again,​ ​with​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​nasty variations. 

"All​ ​right,​ ​chicken​ ​bitch,"​ ​Dashawn​ ​said.​ ​​ ​"Now​ ​my​ ​boys​ ​are​ ​going​ ​to​ ​line​ ​up and​ ​you​ ​can​ ​take​ ​care​ ​of​ ​them​ ​too."​ ​​ ​He​ ​read​ ​the​ ​distress​ ​in​ ​Jack's​ ​eyes. "Yo,​ ​Jermaine.​ ​​ ​How​ ​about​ ​you​ ​go​ ​next.​ ​​ ​Sissy​ ​going​ ​to​ ​bust​ ​your​ ​nut​ ​for you.​ ​​ ​The​ ​bird-chump​ ​be​ ​like​ ​a​ ​yellow​ ​bellied​ ​cocksucker." 

As​ ​Jack's​ ​first​ ​drained​ ​cock​ ​was​ ​pulled​ ​from​ ​between​ ​his​ ​writhing​ ​lips,​ ​more sperm​ ​ran​ ​down​ ​his​ ​quivering​ ​chin.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​still​ ​absorbing​ ​the​ ​shock​ ​of what​ ​had​ ​happened​ ​when​ ​Jermaine​ ​stepped​ ​in,​ ​freed​ ​his​ ​cock,​ ​and​ ​rubbed it​ ​all​ ​over​ ​the​ ​waiting​ ​face​ ​to​ ​get​ ​himself​ ​hard.​ ​​ ​Seconds​ ​later​ ​it​ ​was​ ​in Jack's​ ​mouth​ ​and​ ​threatening​ ​to​ ​trigger​ ​his​ ​gag​ ​reflex. 

Jermaine​ ​said,​ ​"We​ ​take​ ​it​ ​slow,​ ​Chicken​ ​Little.​ ​​ ​See​ ​how​ ​far​ ​I​ ​get​ ​into​ ​that throat.​ ​​ ​Pretty​ ​soon​ ​you​ ​be​ ​taking​ ​it​ ​all." 

These​ ​men's​ p​ enises​ ​were​ ​huge.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​couldn't​ ​believe​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Compared​ ​to them,​ ​he​ ​possessed​ ​nothing.​ ​​ ​Worse,​ ​his​ ​was​ ​twitching.​ ​​ T​ here​ ​was​ ​no​ ​way he​ ​should​ ​be​ ​getting​ ​excited,​ ​and​ ​yet​ ​something​ ​was​ ​happening​ ​down there.​ ​​ ​He​ ​wished​ ​he​ ​could​ ​have​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​free,​ ​​ ​and​ ​his​ ​burning​ ​legs unbound,​ ​to​ ​ease​ ​his​ ​discomfort.​ ​​ ​But​ ​that​ ​wasn't​ ​going​ ​to​ ​happen​ ​yet,​ ​he knew​ ​as​ ​Jermaine​ ​pinched​ ​both​ ​his​ ​cheeks​ ​hard​ ​like​ ​Jolene​ ​had​ ​done, further​​damaging​​his​​make-up​​and​​hurting​​his​​face.​​​​Fresh​​hot​​tears​​ran down​ ​Jack's​ ​sore​ ​face.​ ​​ ​In​ ​fear​ ​of​ ​more​ ​punishment,​ ​he​ ​sucked,​ ​swirled, and​ ​anticipated​ ​with​ ​dread​ ​swallowing​ ​his​ ​second​ ​load​ ​of​ ​ejaculate. 

It​ ​went​ ​on​ ​and​ ​on​ ​until​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​group​ ​had​ ​been​ ​satisfied.​ ​​ ​Jack's​ ​knees were​ ​in​ ​agony.​ ​​ ​There​ ​were​ ​lines​ ​of​ ​cum​ ​streaking​ ​his​ ​narrow​ ​chest.​ ​​ ​Some had​ ​even​ ​gotten​ ​on​ ​his​ ​own​ ​little​ ​dick,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​by​ ​then​ ​fully​ ​stiff.​ ​​ ​The​ ​last few​ ​guys​ ​had​ ​noticed​ ​that​ ​and​ ​made​ ​fun​ ​of​ ​him​ ​for​ ​being​ ​turned​ ​on​ ​by 

having​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​used.​ ​​ ​His​ ​only​ ​consolation​ ​was​ ​that​ ​all​ ​of​ ​them​ ​had​ ​been taken​ ​care​ ​of.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​only​ ​one​ ​problem​ ​with​ ​that​ ​assumption. 

Dashawn​ ​was​ ​suddenly​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​him​ ​again,​ ​and​ ​Jermaine​ ​behind.​ ​​ ​The two​ ​of​ ​them​ ​picked​ h​ im​ ​up​ ​and​ ​laid​ ​him​ ​on​ ​an​ ​upended​ ​packing​ ​crate.​ ​​ ​Its edges​ ​dug​ ​into​ ​his​ ​flesh.​ ​​ ​Jermaine​ ​positioned​ ​himself​ ​at​ ​Jack's​ ​face​ ​and exposed​ ​his​ ​big​ ​cock​ ​once​ ​more.​ ​​ ​Was​ ​he​ ​ready​ ​again?​ ​​ ​So​ ​soon? Obviously​ ​he​ ​was,​ ​because​ ​as​ ​he​ ​used​ h​ is​ ​heavy​ ​bludgeon​ ​to​ ​slap​ ​Jack's face,​ ​left​ ​and​ ​right,​ ​again​ ​and​ ​again,​ ​it​ ​engorged.​ ​​ ​After​ ​that,​ ​inevitably,​ ​it was​ ​shoved​ ​into​ ​Jack's​ ​mouth​ ​for​ ​a​ ​repeat​ ​performance. 

But​ ​what​ ​was​ ​Dashawn​ ​doing​ ​behind​ ​him?​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​felt​ ​something​ ​room temperature​ ​and​ ​runny​ ​being​ ​poured​ ​between​ ​his​ ​buttocks.​ ​​ ​He​ ​heard someone​ ​make​ ​a​ ​joke​ ​liquid​ ​soap​ ​for​ ​clean​ ​sex.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​kneaded​ ​Jack's bottom,​ ​the​ ​feel​ ​of​ ​it​ ​exciting​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​man.​ ​​ ​Some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​soap​ ​ran​ ​down onto​ ​Jack's​ ​balls.​ ​​ T​ he​ ​head​ ​of​ ​Dashawn's​ ​superior​ ​member​ ​poked experimentally​ ​at​ ​his​ ​tight​ ​pucker.​ ​​ ​NO,​ ​NO,​ ​NO.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​an​ ​intense burst​ ​of​ ​pain​ ​as​ ​Dashawn​ ​forced​ ​the​ ​knob​ ​past​ ​clenching​ ​resistance.​ ​​ ​Then, inexorably,​ ​he​ ​sank​ ​inch​ ​after​ ​inch​ ​into​ ​that​ ​violated​ ​spot,​ ​until​ ​he​ ​was​ ​in​ ​up to​ ​his​ ​heavy​ ​balls.​ ​​ ​He​ ​sighed​ ​and​ ​began​ ​slowly​ ​pumping,​ ​gripping​ ​Jack's hips​ ​under​ ​the​ ​faux​ ​feathers,​ ​and​ ​enjoying​ ​the​ ​feel​ ​of​ ​those​ ​useless struggles.​ ​​ ​To​ ​add​ ​to​ ​Jack's​ ​misery,​ ​some​ ​ingredient​ i​ n​ ​the​ ​soap​ ​began​ ​to irritate​ ​his​ ​sensitive​ ​inner​ ​tissues.​ ​​ ​Soon​ ​it​ ​was​ ​causing​ ​a​ ​burning​ ​sensation. He​ ​moaned​ ​around​ ​the​ ​cock​ ​in​ ​his​ ​mouth. 

At​ ​the​ ​peak​ ​of​ ​Jack's​ ​humiliation,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​thought​ ​it​ ​couldn't​ ​get​ ​any worse,​ ​the​ ​door​ ​of​ ​the​ ​place​ ​opened​ ​and​ ​in​ ​walked​ ​a​ ​trio​ ​of​ ​sexy​ ​Black​ ​girls. They​ ​were​ ​provocatively​ ​dressed​ ​to​ ​show​ ​off​ ​their​ ​heavy​ ​busts,​ ​flaring​ ​hips, and​ ​bubble​ ​butts. 

"Whoa,"​ ​said​ ​the​ ​first​ ​one.​ ​​ ​"I've​ ​seen​ ​a​ ​pig​ ​spit​ ​roasted,​ ​but​ ​never​ ​no chicken." 

"Yo,​ ​Lawanda,"​ ​said​ ​Dashawn​ ​between​ ​grunts.​ ​​ ​"We​ ​got​ ​us​ ​a​ ​sissy​ ​and we're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​turn​ ​him​ ​every​ ​which​ ​way​ ​but​ ​loose.​ ​​ ​Do​ ​any​ ​damn​ ​thing​ ​we please​ ​to​ ​the​ ​little​ ​snowflake...​ ​as​ ​you​ ​can​ ​see." 

The​ ​full​ ​figured​ ​female​ ​brought​ ​her​ ​plump​ ​lips​ ​close​ ​to​ ​Jack's​ ​ear​ ​and whispered,​ ​in​ ​her​ ​best​ ​bedroom​ ​voice,​ ​"You​ ​like​ ​to​ ​eat​ ​the​ ​pink​ ​taco​ ​too, Miss​ ​Yellow​ ​Feathers?​ ​​ ​Hmmm?​ ​​ ​Want​ ​to​ ​lick​ ​my​ ​pussy?​ ​​ ​You​ ​ain't​ ​going​ ​to kiss​ ​my​ ​mouth,​ ​but​ ​you​ ​can​ ​kiss​ ​my​ ​lips.​ ​​ ​And​ ​the​ ​one's​ ​down​ ​low​ ​are bigger​ ​than​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​up​ ​high.​ ​​ ​You​ ​want​ ​some​ ​box​ ​lunch?" 

His​ ​eyes​ ​reflected​ ​abject​ ​fear​ ​and​ ​queasy​ ​revulsion.​ ​​ ​She​ ​laughed​ ​and patted​ ​his​ ​head.​ ​​ ​While​ ​she​ ​was​ ​talking,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​still​ ​being​ ​double-assaulted by​ ​two​ ​rigid​ ​cocks. 

"How​ ​about​ ​this?"​ ​​ ​Lawanda​ ​suggested.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​like​ ​eating​ ​cream​ ​so​ ​much,​ ​I get​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​other​ ​guys​ ​to​ ​fill​ ​me​ ​up.​ ​​ ​Leave​ ​a​ ​night​ ​deposit​ ​in​ ​my​ ​drop box.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​when​ ​you​ ​eat​ ​my​ ​snatch,​ ​you'll​ ​be​ ​getting​ ​another​ ​helping​ ​of​ ​the white​ ​stuff.​ ​​ ​White​ ​sauce​ ​for​ ​the​ ​white​ ​boy​ ​chicken."​ ​​ ​She​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​him. 

Dashawn​ ​told​ ​her,​ ​"I​ ​want​ ​you​ ​to​ ​do​ ​that,​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​Sorry​ ​I​ ​can't​ ​fill​ ​you​ ​up myself,​ ​but​ ​me​ ​and​ ​Jermaine,​ ​we're​ ​about​ ​to​ ​shoot​ ​our​ ​wads​ ​into​ ​this Princess​ ​for​ ​the​ ​second​ ​time.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​brothers​ ​can​ ​take​ ​care​ ​of you." 

Jack​ ​was​ ​in​ ​an​ ​inescapable​ ​nightmare.​ ​​ ​Jermaine​ ​blasted​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mouth again.​ ​​ ​The​ ​slimy​ ​mess​ ​ran​ ​down​ ​his​ ​convulsing​ ​throat.​ ​​ ​Dashawn​ ​dug​ ​his fingers​ ​into​ ​the​ ​softness​ ​of​ ​Jack's​ ​hips​ ​and​ ​fired​ ​his​ ​load​ ​into​ ​his​ ​bowels.​ ​​ ​It was​ ​revolting.​ ​​ ​Jack's​ ​head​ ​spun​ ​as​ ​the​ ​two​ ​men​ ​gradually​ ​came​ ​down​ ​from their​ ​sexual​ ​high.​ ​​ ​They​ ​didn't​ ​hurry​ ​to​ ​withdraw.​ ​​ ​When​ ​they​ ​did,​ ​some others​ ​came​ ​over​ ​and​ ​took​ ​Jack​ ​down​ ​off​ ​the​ ​crate.​ ​​ ​At​ ​Dashawn's​ ​orders, they​ ​laid​ ​him​ ​on​ ​his​ ​back​ ​and​ ​removed​ ​the​ ​wings,​ ​then​ ​unbound​ ​his​ ​arms. He​ ​straightened​ ​the​ ​limbs​ ​in​ ​stages,​ ​the​ ​muscles​ ​protesting​ ​at​ ​every movement.​ ​​ ​His​ ​legs​ ​were​ ​freed​ ​next​ ​and​ ​flexing​ ​them​ ​was​ ​even​ ​more 

difficult​ ​and​ ​uncomfortable.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​ordered​ ​to​ ​lap​ ​up​ ​all​ ​the​ ​spunk​ ​that had​ ​dribbled​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​floor,​ ​even​ ​what​ ​had​ ​leaked​ ​from​ ​his​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​After​ ​that they​ ​were​ ​eventually​ ​able​ ​to​ ​get​ ​him​ ​onto​ ​this​ ​feet. 

Meanwhile,​ ​Dashawn​ ​had​ ​given​ ​the​ ​shopping​ ​bag,​ ​the​ ​one​ ​that​ ​had​ ​been delivered​ ​along​ ​with​ ​Jack,​ ​to​ ​Lawanda​ ​and​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls.​ ​​ ​They​ ​went​ ​into​ ​it and​ ​produced​ ​the​ ​girly​ ​things​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​wearing​ ​before​ ​he​ ​was​ ​put​ ​into the​ ​chicken​ ​outfit,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​other​ ​bits​ ​of​ ​clothing.​ ​​ ​While​ ​he​ ​was​ ​still​ ​too stiff​ ​and​ ​sore​ ​to​ ​do​ ​much,​ ​they​ ​gleefully​ ​dressed​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Jack​ ​was​ ​left standing​ ​there​ ​with​ ​a​ ​big​ ​bow​ ​in​ ​the​ ​top​ ​of​ ​his​ ​hair,​ ​a​ ​lace​ ​choker​ ​around​ ​his neck,​ ​a​ ​garter​ ​belt​ ​circling​ ​his​ ​middle,​ ​and​ ​stockings​ ​on​ ​his​ ​unmanly​ ​legs. The​ ​girls​ ​swatted​ ​his​ ​butt​ ​and​ ​made​ ​him​ ​parade​ ​around​ ​to​ ​the​ ​hoots​ ​and hollers​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Black​ ​males.​ ​​ ​After​ ​several​ ​circuits​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room,​ ​during​ ​which he​ ​was​ ​pinched​ ​and​ ​prodded​ ​by​ ​both​ ​sexes,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​led​ ​to​ ​a​ ​spot​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of Dashawn,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​now​ ​seated. 

"We​ ​off​ ​to​ ​a​ ​good​ ​start,​ ​Chicky.​ ​​ ​Hope​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​mind​ ​us​ ​calling​ ​you​ ​that even​ ​when​ ​you're​ ​not​ ​in​ ​your​ ​cute​ ​costume.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​a​ ​good​ ​name​ ​for​ ​you. Right?" 

"Y...​ ​yes,​ ​Sir." 

"Now​ ​just​ ​take​ ​a​ ​break.​ ​​ ​Say​ ​twenty​ ​minutes​ ​or​ ​so.​ ​​ ​That'll​ ​give​ ​you​ ​time​ ​to think​ ​about​ ​what​ ​goes​ ​on​ ​next.​ ​​ ​See,​ ​Lawanda​ ​and​ ​her​ ​friends,​ ​they're going​ ​out​ ​to​ ​the​ ​parking​ ​lot​ ​and​ ​get​ ​it​ ​on​ ​with​ ​some​ ​of​ ​my​ ​teammates​ ​like she​ ​said.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​you're​ ​going​ ​in​ ​the​ ​back​ ​room​ ​where​ ​there's​ ​a​ ​nice comfortable​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​And​ ​that's​ ​when​ ​you're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a​ ​real​ ​generous, three​ ​course​ ​meal​ ​of​ ​prime​ ​Black​ ​pussy.​ ​​ ​Filled​ ​with​ ​that​ ​special​ ​sauce​ ​like you've​ ​been​ ​eating.​ ​​ ​Yummy​ ​yum.​ ​​ ​Bet​ ​you​ ​can't​ ​wait." 

"N...​ ​no,​ ​Sir.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​yes,​ ​Sir."​ ​​ ​He​ ​took​ ​a​ ​deep​ ​breath.​ ​​ ​"May​ ​I​ ​ask​ ​one question?​ ​​ ​Please?​ ​​ ​Sir?' 

"Sure.​ ​​ ​Go​ ​ahead.​ ​​ ​I​ ​like​ ​hearing​ ​you​ ​talk,​ ​all​ ​scared​ ​and​ ​confused​ ​and shit." 

Jack​ ​said​ ​slowly,​ ​"How​ ​am​ ​I​ ​going​ ​to​ ​get​ ​back​ ​to​ ​my​ ​college?​ ​​ ​After...​ ​all this?​ ​​ ​Tonight.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​tomorrow​ ​morning." 

Dashawn​ ​laughed​ ​heartily.​ ​​ ​"No,​ ​no,​ ​Chicky​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​You're​ ​hear​ ​for​ ​the​ ​whole damn​ ​Spring​ ​Break.​ ​​ ​You're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​get​ ​Spring​ ​broke.​ ​​ ​When​ ​we're​ ​done with​ ​you,​ ​ain't​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​much​ ​left,​ ​except​ ​a​ ​sissy​ ​with​ ​a​ ​messed​ ​up​ ​head who's​ ​probably​ ​addicted​ ​to​ ​Black​ ​cock​ ​and​ ​pussy​ ​for​ ​life.​ ​​ ​Hell,​ ​I​ ​mean, you're​ ​baby​ ​size​ ​dick​ ​been​ ​sticking​ ​up​ ​for​ ​a​ ​while​ ​now,​ ​telling​ ​us​ ​how​ ​you really​ ​feel." 

"But...​ ​Spring​ ​Break​ ​is...​ ​two​ ​weeks." 

"Don't​ ​worry,​ ​little​ ​one.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​enough​ ​time​ ​for​ ​us​ ​to​ ​do​ ​the​ ​job​ ​right.​ ​​ ​And​ ​if you​ ​need​ ​some​ ​tune-ups​ ​later​ ​on,​ ​we'll​ ​be​ ​here​ f​ or​ ​you.​ ​​ ​Like​ ​they​ ​say, that's​ ​what​ ​friends​ ​are​ ​for.​ ​​ ​And​ ​we're​ ​you're​ ​new​ ​best​ ​friends."​ ​​ ​He remembered​ ​what​ ​Trace​ ​had​ ​said​ ​about​ ​Chicky​ ​liking​ ​it​ ​rough.​ ​​ ​Dashawn slapped​ ​his​ ​face​ ​a​ ​few​ ​times.​ ​​ ​"So​ ​you​ ​better​ ​be​ ​our​ ​best​ ​friend,​ ​too.​ ​​ ​Else them​ ​girls​ ​is​ ​going​ ​to​ ​turn​ ​your​ ​ass​ ​from​ ​lily​ ​white​ ​to​ ​rose​ ​red​ ​with​ ​some full-on​ ​spanking.​ ​​ ​And​ ​then​ ​they'll​ ​go​ ​to​ ​work​ ​on​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​you.​ ​​ ​In​ ​fact,​ ​I think​ ​I'll​ ​have​ ​them​ ​do​ ​the​ ​spanking​ ​part​ ​either​ ​way." 

Jack​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​unsteadily,​ ​his​ ​face​ ​a​ ​mess​ ​of​ ​ruined​ ​cosmetics,​ ​with​ ​sore discolored​ ​cheeks,​ ​teary​ ​eyes​ ​and​ ​runny​ ​nose.​ ​​ ​Already​ ​the​ ​three​ ​girls​ ​were pairing​ ​off​ ​with​ ​guys. 

His​ ​voice​ ​unable​ ​to​ ​rise​ ​above​ ​a​ ​whisper,​ ​Jack​ ​repeated,​ ​"...​ ​two​ ​weeks." It​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​seem​ ​like​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​longer.
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