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Yellow Feathers by Throne (43 Pages)
🕑 Added 2020-05-03 01:48:56 +0000 UTCYellow Feathers!
By Throne
(Concept by Devin Dickie)
© 2019-2020 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to Devinwhitegurl@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***
All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real. The acts in the following written work are only consensual sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.
Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities.
YELLOW FEATHERS
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 it 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. He 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 some 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 pretty 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, my 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 my 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. He 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 and 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 hand 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 bits 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 penises were huge. Jack couldn't believe it. Compared to them, he possessed nothing. Worse, his was twitching. There 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 him 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 his 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. The 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 in 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 for 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.
*********
