Author’s note: This story is a work of fantasy. I struggled with releasing this flash fiction as it contains elements of non-consent. In any real world situation, consent is mandatory, and one cannot give consent under duress or intoxication.
I thought it was my lucky day. After my morning run, I came up behind a small group of women out for a neighborhood walk together. I couldn’t take my eyes off their toned asses which swayed invitingly with every step. I caught up to them, playfully slapping the slowest of them on the ass. “Hey! Keep up with your friends, or your cute ass will fall behind,” I teased. At first they told me to leave them alone, but I persisted. Eventually, I wore them down and they allowed me to walk with them a bit.
Eventually they warmed to my presence in their group. Women almost always do. Persistence pays off. Occasionally the one with long black hair who wore the shortest of shorts even laughed at one of my jokes, slapped my arm, and said, “Too funny!” I was entranced by her deep brown eyes and neatly shaped eyebrows. I knew she was interested in more than conversation when she introduced herself as Julie and invited me to join them for drinks at her house.
After we arrived at her home, both the drinks and the conversation flowed freely. I will admit it was an ego boost to be the only man drinking with a group of beautiful, fit women. As we drank, they got bold. A cute brunette with a short pixie cut slapped my ass every time I got up to get another drink. “Keep up or your cute ass will fall behind,” she repeated my earlier words back to me. It seemed like playful fun at first, then others started slapping my ass and body. The slaps became harder, leaving various handprints on my arms, shoulders, and ass. It quickly turned into a game of sorts, with each of the women hitting me harder than the last. My thighs, ass, and torso quickly turned from pale white to bright red.
It wasn’t only the pain that bothered me. I’ve never been the object of someone else’s game before, and it made me uncomfortable. “I think I should go now,” I complained as I was slapped again. I set my drink down to leave as she mocked me, “What’s the matter, a strong guy like you can’t handle a few drunken women?” I sarcastically smiled back at the blonde-haired woman who spoke. I glanced at her ample cleavage before picking up my wine glass again. She slapped my ass as I stood and said, “You look cute when you’re flustered.” The more I drank, the less the slaps stung, and the more “cute” and desired I felt.
Before long, I found myself bottomless and drunk. I had lost both my dignity and any sense of control. I barely remember someone daring me to pull down my shorts to give them a better look at my thighs. They knew how to play on my vanity. As I pushed my shorts down, I lost my balance and fell to the floor. Someone quickly sat on my chest and arms while another stripped off my shorts and underwear. I didn’t know where my shorts and briefs went, but I was far from caring or processing what was happening by then. In my drunken state, I hoped I’d get lucky with the whole group in a bottomless party.
I was so drunk that it took me a bit to realized I was the only one naked from the waist down. None-the-less, I found myself increasingly aroused at my embarrassing situation as the women encouraged me to show more and keep drinking. They pulled off my shirt, leaving me as the only one completely nude in the room. My excitement soon became apparent to all. My cock grew paradoxically harder with each slap on my thighs and buttock. My head was spinning, unable to process the mix of humiliation and arousal. Julie, who seemed to be the leader of the group, slapped the hardest. Drops of precum started forming at the tip of my rigid dick. My breath grew quick. My face blushed to match the rest of my skin when she commented, “Oh look! He likes our game. He has such a cute little erection, doesn’t he?”
The whole group laughed in response. Suddenly self-conscious from her referring to my boner as “little,” I asked for my shorts back. Instead, they handed me the wine bottle and had me pour them more “Mommy juice.” They told me that once everyone’s glass was filled, they’d give me back my shorts if I wanted them. Of course, I couldn’t pour quickly enough to keep all the drinks full at once. A task especially difficult when they kept pinching my exposed butt and fondling my balls whenever I passed by.
Then one of them had a new game idea. “Let’s play one more game, OK?” Julie asked. For some reason, I agreed to one more game before I left. A bucket of clothespins was spilled out onto the coffee table. Julie tossed her ex-husband’s silk ties on the table. The group used them to blindfold each other. I should have left when I had the chance, but my arousal, embarrassment, and intoxication paralyzed me. The women swarmed around me, and I missed my opportunity to escape. Julie pinned my arms behind me, shouting, “I got him. He’s not going anywhere!”
One by one, the women attached clothespins wherever they could. With their vision blocked by the makeshift blindfolds, they groped me all over to find a place for each clothespin. One hand groped my face, clipping clothespins on my lips, ears, eyebrows, and even tongue. Another on my torso found my nipples and sensitive underarms. Each clothespin bit into my flesh, causing me to twist and squeal in a vain effort to avoid more pain.
One hand spent the entire time on my cock and balls. I couldn’t count how many were placed there, but I could feel their pinch, encasing my foreskin, balls, and shaft. Another tried clipping them onto the underside of my butt cheeks. Fortunately, they ran out of clothespins before I ran out of areas to attach them.
They held me upright, my hands still behind my back. Julie gripped my wrists and arms securely, preventing me from dislodging the clothespins. The women removed their blindfolds to admire their handiwork. That’s when the cellphones came out to document their achievement as if I were some trophy. I was humiliated and worried about where those photos would end up.
“Don’t worry,” Julie whispered in my ear. “Those photos remain safe as long as our little club remains a secret, and you learn how to behave around women. We’ll call you for our next mommy party. Now it’s time to clean you up and get you home.” The pain from the clothespins was thankfully subsiding, but I had no idea what was to come next.
Oddly, her grip on my arms did not loosen. I soon realized why as each woman picked up a crop, flogger, or short whip. They started whipping and slapping the clothespins off my body. I yelped in surprise. The pain intensified whenever a fallen clothespin allowed the blood flow to rush back to sensitive nerve endings. I was lost in whirl of pain and arousal. It became impossible to separate pain from erotic desire. I do not know why or how it happened. When the last clothespin was knocked from my cock, I shuddered in an intense orgasm in front of them.” We have a winner!” One of the women declared, and my arms were released. I collapsed to the floor as passion sprayed uncontrollably from my cock. They pointed at the marks they left on my skin and laughed. As I lay on the ground, I rubbed my sore ears and nipples where the clothespins had been. My cock was now limp and shriveled. It ached too, but I didn’t want to touch it in front of them for fear of generating more photos.
They pushed me out the door, tossing my briefs and shorts after me. Defeated, I quickly slid them on and ran home, displaying my welts to anyone driving by. My mind was spinning in confusion as much as it was from the alcohol. I realized that I was not the first to fall into their neighborhood trap. Nor would I likely be the last. No wonder all the other men in the neighborhood walked on the opposite side of the street when they saw these women walk together in their revealing sports bras and booty shorts. I should have done the same, but my ego thought I had a chance to land at least one of them in the sack. I was wrong. They were not to be conquered. They were the mommy bullies who destroyed the men of our neighborhood.
Copyright 2021 by Quinn Blueheart
Last revised 9/7/2021
Note: Thank you to BJ Frazier for the writing prompt that inspired this story. You can find his original post on twitter at https://twitter.com/xxxbjfrazier/status/1397290122610057216?s=21
Quinn Blueheart 