Date: Sat, 17 Feb 2024 22:24:30 -0800
From: gayD <gaydic@gmail.com>
Subject: It's A Bet - Chapter 3

WHAT THE FUCK! Is Rickie actually going to have to wear a tiny pink
G-string off the bus? No, it can't be. No one would do that to his cute
19-year-old hustler, right?

I have written tons of erotic porn stories. Most are too intense and too
graphic to be approved for inclusion here. So they are posted on
https://www.gayties.com/. (You have to join, but membership is free.) This
is my first story posted here in the category of Adult-Youth. I have
written a 4-chapter outline, and I am enjoying writing it out fully. This
story is copyrighted by GayTies.com. (BTW, please support Nifty.org, a
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It's a Bet

Part 3 of 4

I was sure he would untie me so I could put the G-string on, but instead,
he knelt down, and after prompting me, I raised my feet one at a time so he
could get the string thing on me. Then he pulled it up my legs. As he
raised it, I realized how small and tight it was. It was easily two sizes
too small for me, so it took him a while to maneuver them fully up to my
waist. Strangely, he continually tugged, shifted, and pulled on them. I
dare not complain; he might rip them off me and push me out naked. Then he
was mumbling that my dick did not fit right. I wanted to yell, "Well, of
course not. These stringy things are way too small." But I just let him
keep readjusting them.

I did not realize what he was doing, but soon, he had both his hands inside
my stretchy, teeny, tiny bikini brief. He had one hand down my backside
between my ass cheeks, touching my crack with fingertips, and the other
down my front side, pulling and adjusting my balls and dick into
place. However, he seemed unsatisfied with his various adjustments to the
skimpy material.

My erection was developing again. With my hands secured, I could only watch
him manipulate my dick and balls and grope my ass crack. First, he placed
my hard dick toward my right hip but shook his head and repositioned it
straight down, curving under my balls. He grunted with dissatisfaction and
then moved my dick to point upwards, but it was getting longer and stiffer
now, and it stuck up with only the base covered by the pouch. Two-thirds of
my pole showed pointing to my face. He loudly exhaled in frustration and
slid it over to my left hip like a windshield wiper. "No," he mumbled, then
back to the right and back to my left hip. His other hand, down my ass
crack, reached in further and cupped my balls. It tickled, and I wiggled my
hips.

It dawned on me that he was teasing me on purpose to get me as erect as
ever. The G-string was so small he could not pull them up to cover any of
my pubic hair. He ended up leaving my now hair-trigger dick angled to my
left hip. He "hooked" my mushroom head just under the waistband, letting it
catch there so it would not spring up and peek out of the top of my
swimsuit. Once done, he quickly pulled both hands out of my suit when I
moaned and shuttered as if I was about to climax. He knew, I guess, I would
shoot if he touched my dick any further. If I did shoot, my dick would go
down, and the pouch would fit a little better. Obviously, he did not want
that. When he was finally finished with all his window wiper movements of
my dick, I looked down and saw how indecent I looked. It was so tight that
anyone seeing me could make out everything. The suit was so small; I could
feel that the top third of my butt cheeks were not even covered by the
material. And anyone standing near me could look down into the front of the
suit and see my dick all cramped sideways since my dick stretched the
material outward away from my belly.

He stood back, looking at me proudly, smiling, "That fabulous swimsuit fits
you perfectly; I can see almost half of your butt cheeks, and the red on
them really goes with the pink material."

"SWIMSUIT?" What the fuck?

Then he added, "It was nice meeting you, Rickir. My friend Harry lives
about six blocks down that road to your right. You can't miss his house;
it's the only house you'll see with huge palm trees in the front."

With my bikini barely covering my dick, I turned my back to him and pushed
my bound hands toward him. I looked pleadingly at him to at least untie
me. He gave me that wonderful toothy smile and winked as he scooted me
through the doorway and steadied me as I took the three steps onto the
sidewalk. My only comforting thought was that anyone who took a quick look
at me would think I came from the nearby beach. I heard the bus engine
start-up, and he released the air brakes and left me there.

Although I saw people around me, none were close. My best bet was to hurry
quickly to Harry's house. My heart was pounding; my hard dick was throbbing
with excitement. I started to run, but then I realized my dick, which was
precariously wedged under my bowed-out waistband, would spring free, and
with my hands bound, there would be no way for me to tuck it back in. I
abruptly slowed and took long but slow and steady strides.

The possibility that someone would see me, or worse, walk up to me and
check me out closely, was freaking me out. Yet, at the same time, it was
keeping me very hard. I never looked in any other direction except straight
ahead. I imagined people looking out their windows at me and coming up
behind me, but I just kept going down this street, looking for the house
with huge palm trees. If I saw someone walking toward me, I crossed to the
other side of the street, desperately continuing to Harry's house. I must
have been in a daze, but the house with palm trees suddenly appeared. I
walked more quickly to it and bounded up the few front porch stairs with a
bounce.

Shit! My "bounding" caused my dick to spring out of my bikini and was now
pointing straight toward the door before me. I was extremely anxious to get
Harry's attention to get into the safety of his house. The front door was
open wide, but the screen door was closed, and the way the sun hit it, I
could not see in. So, I called to him. "Hello, Sir?" I did not want to call
too loudly because his neighbors might hear and poke their heads out to
look at me with my big boner sticking out. "Hello? Is it Rickie? The guy
from the bus?" Luckily, my G-string didn't fall down my legs. The front of
the waistband was resting under my dick and sort of gripping against the
top of my ball sack.

I notice two couples walking on the sidewalk toward Harry's house. I
thought they wouldn't see my obscene dick jutting out as long as I didn't
turn around. If Harry did not come to the door soon, I thought I should
somehow try to rub against the wall and work the swimsuit material back
over my dick to cover it again. "Please? Sir? Are you there? Please, kind
Sir?" Then, I added the magic words. "I'll be good, Sir." I did not know
Harry was peeking through the window curtains all along, watching my
frantic behavior and hearing my panicky pleadings.

After a few minutes, he finally appeared at the door behind the screen, and
I could see him. I was so relieved. "Oh, thank God! I am so glad to see
you. Please, may I come in? Sir?"

"Well, boy. I see you made it. You kept your word. Now that's a good
boy. How were your bus ride and your little trek to my house?"

WHAT THE FUCK?! I'm standing on his porch with my dick pointing to his face
like a cannon, and he is chit-chatting with me?!

"Please, Sir, I am all beat. You win. I have no more fight left in me. I
respect and honor you, the big winner." Then I whispered, "May I please
come in now; people are approaching."

"Now, finally... you are speaking with respect. Boy, I don't mean to be
hard on you, but apparently, you only respond to firm management." He
paused and then added, "I'll tell you what, if you agree to not touch your
dick or even your pink string thingy, I'll untie your hands. Agreed?"

I was so fucking overjoyed. He was kind even though I treated him like an
asshole. "YES! YES, SIR! I PROMISE!" And he turned me around and untied my
hands. I shook my wrist. I was just as vulnerable, but somehow I felt
better.

However, when he untied me and shook my body in the process, my dick
dislodged from being held up by the string waistband and now slid down to
poke out from under the pouch. I looked down to see how indecent I was,
standing nearly naked on his front porch with my dick protruding like a
horizontal flagpole. Actually, I would have been less obscene if I were
totally naked. The bright pink G-string brought more attention to me. I
quickly looked around to see if anyone was on the street. I didn't know
what I could do about it, but I had to know who was looking my way, if
anyone.

Suddenly, Harry looked up and noticed, as I now did, an athletic teenager
approaching his house from the sidewalk. Oh shit! My dick is hanging
out. "Hey, Billy," Harry yells as he waves him up to the porch. "Come on up
here. I've got your lawn-mowing pay. Come here. I'll get it for you." And
Harry disappeared into the house. As Billy cautiously came up the steps, I
wanted to disappear from the front porch. As he approached from behind, he
was googling at me and my near nakedness in public.

"Whoa!" Was all he said as he stepped fully onto the porch and stood beside
me. He was dressed in western-style boots and jeans, with a muscle
T-shirt. Billy was shocked to see my dick sticking straight up from my
bikini string. He, obviously, saw me standing in a submissive position as I
held my hands behind my back. I immediately turned away from him to try to
hide my jutting dick, even though he had already stared at it. I was so
humiliated. My dick was now bobbing up and down and drooling liquid strings
of precum. My face must have been beet red as I involuntarily made a
nervous, stuttering hum. I was trying to think of something to say to
answer a thousand questions that must be whirling around in his head. I
just cleared my throat in preparation to speak when Harry called out from
inside the house.

"Billy, come on in. The screen is unlatched," came Harry's voice from
inside. "I'll have to write you a check for this month." Since I planted
myself close to the screen door to try to hide from the view of the street,
Billy had to reach across in front of me to grab the handle. He was slowly
squeezing himself between me and the door. His backside gently pressed
against my nearly-naked front and rubbed my dick as he nudged me politely
to step back. He was not acting rude; he just politely tried to open the
screen door I was blocking. I just moaned as I felt his jeans-covered ass
press against my dick head. He pulled the door toward us, which, in turn,
pushed him more tightly against me. I was just too scared to step back or
turn my body. I was shaking. I did not know what to do, so I left my feet
glued where they were.

Finally, he looked me in the eyes and whispered sheepishly, "Sorry, I just
need to...." Then with one hand pulling the door open, he placed his other
hand on my dick and used it as a handle to nudge me back. Then, suddenly
feeling foolish, he let go and noticed my leaking goo all over his hand and
running down his jeans. He had a puzzled look on his face. I guess he felt
some sympathy for me standing there so obscene-looking. He leaned to my ear
and quietly said, "Do you want me to tuck your dick into your ... ah
... pouch?"

I whispered back, "Oh please," and I started to tear up. I was humiliated,
asking a handsome cowboy-type teen stranger to shove my dick into my pink
bikini. I was busting with embarrassment. He was obviously straight and
just being kind. But was he actually going to grab my leaky boner with his
hands ... on Harry's porch? Are neighbors watching through windows? I just
wanted to crawl into a hole. But I looked at him teary-eyed and whimpered
again, "Please?" And gave in a beggar's stare.

He awkwardly took my dick in one hand and tried to push-force it back under
the pouch material. In the process, he pulled the G-string up to try to
cover my dick within the pouch. But this caused my balls to plop out and
fall out the bottom of the tiny pouch. He tried to stretch my bikini pouch
up, but of course, it was too small. Billy then tried to pull the skimpy
back panel up the back better to cover my ass crack. That brought the front
down. He pulled the front up and away from my groin to jam my balls and
dick back inside before letting go of the waistband. I now knew why the bus
driver had one hand down my backside, between my ass cheeks, as he worked
the tiny material on me. He was pulling my balls down and back toward my
asshole, so there would be more room in the front of the bikini to house my
dick. But I was not going to tell Billy what to do. I was so humiliated. He
was trying to help me. My knees were shaking as this handsome straight teen
carefully manipulated my hard dick this way and that. But all that was
happening was that I was getting closer to climaxing.

He finally placed my dick under the waistband, pointing to my right hip. My
hard dick usually curves a little to the left, so I was not sure it would
stay. Then Harry again called out, "Billy, I've got your check for you."
And suddenly, we both saw Harry appear on the other side of the screen
door. Billy stopped immediately and turned to Harry. He was red-faced and
embarrassed, hoping that Harry did not see him touch me. "Here you go,
Billy." Harry opened the door a few inches and handed him the check. Billy
quickly said thanks and hurriedly turned to go down the steps, bumping
nervously into me on his way to the walkway. That "bump" caused my dick to
flip out again. I don't know if Harry saw Billy trying to subdue my dick,
but he did not mention it; he just smiled.

"Now, where were we? Oh yes, you were apologizing for wearing that
ridiculous pink bikini. It looks like the obscene panties of some two-bit
whore, doesn't it?" Again, I nodded. "You were much better off staying the
way I left you. Weren't you, boy?" I nodded, begging with my eyes for him
to usher me inside. "Well? You don't expect to enter my home wearing that
indecent little pussy rag, do you?" I shook my head no. "Well? Get rid of
them, boy, and don't use your hands. "

I was stunned. But I finally picked up on what Harry was telling me. What
he was ordering me to do. I stepped against the side of his stucco house,
bent my knees low, pressed my left side against the wall, and then
straightened my legs to stand. I did this a few times. The rough stucco
kind of grabbed the material and held it as I stood, making the string
bikini roll down my thighs. The stucco also scratched up my skin a bit, but
Harry smiled as I repeated the same maneuver on my right side.

Now, the string bikini was just above my knees. One more time, I used the
stucco maneuver, and this time, the material rolled below my knees and fell
to the ground. Now I stood on Harry's front porch, totally naked and fully
boned up. I did not notice anyone coming along the sidewalk, but I thought
someone would soon. I was utterly naked, holding my hands behind my back as
Harry had instructed, with my still rigid boner dripping. I was totally at
Harry's mercy, waiting.

I know this was what I needed. What I justly deserved. I started to cry. I
wanted Harry to hug me, kiss me, spank me, bring me inside, and leave me
outside - I did not care. What the FUCK! I wanted whatever Harry wanted me
to do... to be. I sobbed and sniffed at Harry helplessly through the screen
door. It was unlocked; he only needed to open it and let me in. We stared
at each other, and I cried, "I am so fucking sorry, Sir. I tricked you,
tried to cheat you, and was rude and arrogant. I am so truly, fucking
sorry. I don't deserve your help, my clothes," I angrily kicked off the
G-string that had fallen around my ankles, making my nakedness
complete. "No, I don't deserve my return bus fare. I don't deserve any
kindness from you. I feel so fucking stupid for being a fuck-up, selfish,
greedy, self-centered, idiotic asshole. And I am so very sorry for all my
stupid behavior." And I cried. I didn't care what happened to me. I didn't
care who heard me, who saw me.

As I started calming down to quiet sobs and sniffles, I thought Harry would
let me inside. I was sincere and now truly respected Harry, no matter what
he would or would not do. This is the punishment I deserve. He owes me
nothing. I didn't know what would happen to me or where I would go, nor did
I care. I was all out of fight, completely empty of arrogance and the need
to have anything my way. I was not the winner; I was the loser. I just
stayed there and looked down at my naked feet, with my huge hard dick
sticking out. I saw a puddle of precum between my feet.

Harry said one word, "Stay." And I did. Where was I going to go? He
disappeared into the house, and I heard him making some cutting-type
noise. I had no concern that someone might pass by and see me so naked. In
a few minutes, Harry came back to the door. I could see him carrying a
bundle of stuff, my clothes. "What are these?" I looked at the
bundle. "Those are the clothes you won from me in the card game we played
on the bus, the card game where I tried to cheat you out of your money and
jewelry." Without waiting any longer, he opened the screen door and set the
small pile of clothes on the concrete beside me. My jeans, shirt, T-shirt,
underwear, and socks were all there, with my tennis shoes on top. My MP3
player, my wallet, my money, my backpack, and all the stuff in it was
missing from his winnings. Then I realized he was extremely generous in
returning my clothes. I did not deserve to have even these. "I have your
return bus ticket for you to get back home. I'll give you that, too." I
looked at the pile of meaningless clothes for a long time. I bent down to
pick them up. "How strange to have this choice to get dressed," I
thought. My ordeal was over. I was no longer wanted. I screwed up big
time. I was done being temporarily used and controlled as punishment. I no
longer had an owner, an overseer.

My dick had gone soft as I reflected on these final, parting thoughts. I
was now to go home. I was being left to my own decisions, my own values,
and my own deceptions. Alone, I have made some greedy, hurtful, and callous
decisions. I have conned people, including my friends and dorm-mates, out
of large amounts of money and their valuable possessions. I am sure that to
many of them, what I took from them was painfully missed. My need to win at
poker was not to increase my fortune. I did not need money. It was to feed
my ego. My stupid ego.

I sadly reached for my clothes, picked up my underwear, and started to put
one foot into the leg hole. Then, in a calm yet authoritative voice, I
heard, "Or ... you can take that pile of clothes, walk out to where my
trashcans have been set at the curb, and place them in there with the rest
of my refuge. The trash collectors should be here any moment. They must be
late. Then come back here, and I will let you inside to be severely spanked
as I promised you I would do when we met on the bus this morning."

Any average, normal 19-year-old college teen would ask the fundamental and
reasonable questions: "What will I wear when I go back to my dorm room?
What will you do with me, to me? How long will I be here? Will you give me
money to get home? Will all my other processions be returned? How will I
get home? What about my school? It's Saturday, and I have classes the day
after tomorrow?" These were all important and reasonable questions,
especially for this 70-year-old stranger. But I asked none of them. To
require these answers would mean that I want the responsibility for making
decisions. What a natural high not making decisions. I was scared, needy,
nervous, afraid, child-like, embarrassed, helpless, worried, endangered,
vulnerable... humiliated ... very humiliated. I felt a stir in my soft
dick. Again I thought about being humiliated, and again my dick
tingled. Being humiliated publicly, both frightened me and thrilled me.

I looked up at Harry, who stared at me, waiting for me to decide: Either
ask for my bus fare home or... take my precious clothes to the trash can. I
saw no clue in his eyes what he wanted; it was my decision, my final
decision involving Harry. I stooped down, picked up the clothes, and
paused. Then I heard the noisy trash truck approaching. I heard the air
brakes squeal. The hydraulic mechanism powerfully grunted away as it
finished a nearby neighbor's collection. It was now at the house next door,
emptying those cans. The noise snapped me out of my daze. I quickly pivoted
on the porch, and with my full nakedness for all to see, I carried the pile
of clothes in both arms, close to my chest, and moved quickly down the
walkway to the curb, where Harry's covered trashcans sat.

The trash truck was arriving. When it stopped at the curb, I saw two men,
two middle-aged Latino men in their 40s. One was the guy riding on the
bumper end, and the other I saw through the cab window. They must have been
weirded out to see a naked teen at the curb as if he was waiting for
them. I wasn't. It was just a coincidence that we were both there
simultaneously. There they were, the driver staring at me from his high
vantage point in the cap and the other man hopping down as he approached
Harry's cans. I thought he would assist me by raising one of the lids to
allow me to deposit my arms full of clothes. I was shocked when he started
speaking to me instead.

"Hold on, just a sec," said the older of the two Latinos with a nametag
indicating "Sam" as he eyed my nakedness up and down. "You can't mix
recyclables with vegetation."

WHAT THE FUCK! Then he added as if he just thought of it, "And you can't
stand near the truck for safety reasons. Put those down here, and please
step back to the sidewalk." As he spoke, his arm gestured for me to back
up, and he accidentally deposited a small blob of grease on my belly.

"Oh, sorry. Here." He reached for a roll of paper towels and handed it to
me. I immediately wiped whatever it was off my body.

I laid the clothes down at the curb and stepped back as he told me. I'll
never know why I did not immediately hop back up to Harry's pouch. I did
not think about it then or ever. I just obeyed these two musky-smelling,
handsome Latinos. A few cars drove by, honked, and hooted at me. I just
stood there as the trash man emptied the two cans there and then signaled
to his driver to cut the engine and come down to us.

I had to get off the street, so I quickly tried to resolve this issue,
whatever his issue was. "I just need to put these in the trash, any
trash. What do you want me to do? Get a different type of container?" I
spoke nervously as I now addressed both men. I again felt humiliated, being
naked and needing to deal with these two ... two ... trash men.

"First, are these your clothes? Or did you steal them?" I should have said,
"It's none of your business." But both men seemed to be making a big issue
out of nothing as they each removed their heavy work gloves. "So, where did
you steal these?" I had no idea if they were seriously asking these
questions. It seemed so obscure, but I was scared. I was panicky. I had to
get back to the safety of Harry's porch.

"What? Steal them? Me? These ARE my clothes. Please take them. I need to
get rid of them. Please." Now, I sounded like I was begging. I could not
help it; I wanted to get back to Harry and the security of his
house. "Please?"

"Let me take a look at these." And Sam picked up my shoes and socks and
held them up. "Don't you know there are boys and young men who would fight
for expensive shoes like this? I know this brand, but I cannot afford shoes
like these. Many of your neighbors here don't even have decent shoes. Are
you some conceited asshole, little muscle stud who does not care about your
own neighbors?" He was not yelling, but he did sound angry. That shook me
up and got me off balance.

"I am so sorry. Please. Please give them to anyone who needs shoes." I was
shaking and was extremely embarrassed. He simply looked at me in disgust
and placed the shoes and socks in a plastic box attached to the side of the
truck. I guess it was for special items that should not be thrown away.

Then he picked up my shirt. "Are you kidding me?" He said in disbelief,
"I'll bet this shirt cost $50."

I stupidly blurted out, "100."

"What kind of a degenerate is as selfish as you? I just shook my head and
looked down at the ground. Then he picked up my T-shirt, a muscle, string
top T-shirt, and said, "Now we have a problem. Jessie." He was speaking to
his driver now. He held up the Tee, "Look at this." Jessie was probably
wondering where Sam was going with this. "First, this bastard tries to
throw away his costly clothes. Now he has this tiny, stolen T-shirt from
God knows who, probably some poor kid, and is trying to get rid of the
evidence."

"No! Wait! That's mine, too. Honest. It's a muscle shirt; it's supposed to
be super tight. Really, it's mine." I pleaded.

"Let's just see if it's actually your size." Jessie, who was the thinner
Latin guy, told me, "Come over here. We want to put this up against you to
see if it would fit." I covered my dick with both hands as I walked up to
Jessie and stood one foot before him. Sam moves behind me, maybe as close
as one foot. I could smell a lot of sweat and heavy manliness. Then Sam did
something odd. He took my T-shirt and held it at the top of the shoulder
straps, and from behind me, he brought it over my head to hold it in front
of my chest for Jessie to check. That was weird. In the process, Sam moved
his body very close to my backside. His clothes were now rubbing against my
bare back and butt. It was as if he was giving me a full-body bear hug from
behind me. His muscular biceps were circling -- and caressing - my
shoulders as he held the shirt against my chest.

These fucking old Mexicans. Why don't they leave me alone! Yet, I moaned. I
could not help it. I loved how my bare backside rubbed against his shirt
and pants. His chest, belly, groin, thighs, legs ... all pressed against
me. Even his booted feet were pressed against the insides of my naked
feet. I did not want him to step on me, so I abruptly moved my bare feet
out and away from his heavy leather boots. Weird, but soon after that, I
again felt his boots against the inside of my feet, and again, I quickly
moved mine still farther apart, spreading my legs wider. Sam asked Jessie,
"Does it look like this would fit him?"

"I don't know, Sam," Jessie said, "His arms and shoulders are all scrunched
up." Of course, I held them to cover up my dick and balls. After all, I was
on the sidewalk ... naked! I saw a white Toyota pickup slowly drive by. The
driver was staring at us. That was creepy. Jessie said my shrugged posture
made my shoulders too narrow to match the tee." Then Sam told me to flex my
biceps and place my elbows out to the sides, my fist toward my head. So I
did. "Just hold that position." I did.

I felt so fucking stupid. I was out on the public sidewalk, totally naked,
and these two guys had me sandwiched between them, having me strike a pose
to flex my bicep muscles. I felt like an idiot. I don't know if Sam, the
guy behind me, was intentionally rubbing the front of his body against my
butt or if I was just too weak to stand still, and I was swaying against
him at times. His clothes were massaging my entire body. I tried to keep my
feet wide to prevent Sam from stepping on my feet with his massive, heavy,
steel-toed boots. I was so vulnerable and at their mercy. I felt the row of
brass buttons on the fly of his pants slowly move up and down my ass
crack. He must have been gyrating his hips. My dick was getting harder, and
my arms were required to stay in this tense muscle-flexing pose, so I could
not protect or even cover my dick. I was confused. I really never thought
of them as mind-fucking me. They weren't, were they? I felt so manipulated.
My dick didn't care. It was happy and pointing straight at Jessie.

To be continued.....

I will upload the last chapter in a day or 2. Let me know your comments on
what you read so far. My name is Bruce Darkforce, and my email is:
gaydic@gmail.com. Go to GayTies.com to find over 100 stories of mine.