by j.
Bobby Gets Caught By Marcy – The Most Dangerous Game
Bobby was scared. No, he was not just scared. He was terrified. And he couldn’t figure out why.
He knew very well that Marcy and Michelle would never do anything that would injure him. And while he was pretty embarrassed about the whole thing (after all, it was a little humiliating to be caught humping a washing machine), just the thought of Marcy’s catching him in the act got his penis stirring all over again.
This was what he’d wanted all these years, wasn’t it? Two attractive young women were getting ready to punish him for “being a really bad boy,” and that was what he’d been day-dreaming about ever since he was a kid. He wouldn’t have to tie himself up this time; someone was going to do it for him.
Still, he was scared. Being scared was a big part of the sexual turn-on, of course. Bobby knew that. Anybody with any sense knew that. It was the balance between fear and fun that made it so exciting. But he hadn’t expected there would be quite so much fear.
As he sat there in his living room, trying to watch television, killing the minutes until it was 10 o’clock and time to show up at the girls’ apartment, he kept having to get up and go urinate. And then when he was in the bathroom, standing over the stool, he couldn’t. His penis had shriveled up so far that it almost disappeared, and he tugged on it, trying to get it back to its usual length. He didn’t want Michelle and Marcy to think he was poorly equipped, but then he remembered that they had seen him with a king-size erection two nights before.
Finally, it was time to go. He tried one last pee before leaving. No luck. He hoped it was warm outside, because all he was wearing was a T-shirt, shorts and sneakers. The girls had given him clear instructions about that. And no underwear, they had ordered. Make certain of that, Marcy had said. But the athletic shorts he was wearing had a mesh net inside, like a swimsuit, so his genitals weren’t just bouncing around down there.
He walked down the stairs to the second floor and down the hall to the girls’ apartment. Marcy answered the door and ushered him into the room with a big grin. “Michelle is still getting dressed,” she told him, “and I’ve got to finish my makeup. You go stand in the corner, while you’re waiting — and face the wall.” Bobby really felt like a fool then, but he did as he was told.
He had to stand there for 15 or 20 minutes, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, until he heard the girls come into the room. “Okay,” Marcy said. “Time for inspection. Come over here.” He turned around. The women were dressed in jeans and T-shirts, and they looked a lot alike. Both had short, dark hair and fairly average in size, but Marcy was a little taller and a little skinnier and Michelle was a little shorter and a little more rounded in the appropriate places.
They looked him up and down. “Let’s see if you followed the most important instructions,” Michelle said, and she walked over, pulled forward the top band of Bobby’s shorts and peered down inside. She wasn’t pleased.
“Oh, no!” she said angrily. “These shorts will never do, young man! That lining is just like underwear! We are definitely going to have to do something about this!” (Bobby hated it when she called him “young man,” which she had been doing whenever she saw him. After all, he was pretty sure that she was at least three or four years younger than he was; she couldn’t be much more than 26 or 27.)
“I’ve got a pair he can wear,” Marcy said.
“I can go back upstairs and get some others,” he said quickly.
“No, I think you’ll look really cute in mine,” Marcy said, and she went to get them while Bobby’s stomach did flip-flops.
She returned with a pair of grey gym shorts and handed them to him. They were thin cotton, and they were very, very short. There was a Bryn Mawr logo on them. He didn’t think Marcy had gone to Bryn Mawr. While they watched, he slowly slid down his own shorts and stood awkwardly on one foot and then the other as he pulled them off. He was painfully conscious of his shrunken penis; he almost wished he had an erection. He stepped into Marcy’ shorts and pulled them up.
To his dismay, they were not only very short, they were very tight. They were molded to his buttocks, and there was a distinct bulge in front. Now he was glad his penis was not its normal self. If he got an erection, it might pop right out the bottom of one leg.
“I can’t wear these!” he said.
“Can’t, can’t, can’t,” Marcy said. “That’s all you ever say. But you are definitely wearing those if you know what’s good for you, young man.” (Young man? Now she was starting with that, too.)
Bobby gave in. He knew he would, but he thought it was important to complain a little, to insist on keeping some vestige of his self-respect. If he didn’t protest a little, God only knows what they would tell him to do.
He didn’t have much time to wonder about it, because Marcy grabbed him by one ear and led him out of the apartment like a teacher dragging a little kid to the principal’s office. He was relieved when she let go before they got out of the building, but he turned crimson again when she smacked his thinly covered rump as he was getting into the back seat of Michelle’s car. When he got inside, he looked back to see whether there was anybody passing by who might have noticed, and he stared right into the startled faces of the older couple who lived in the apartment next to his. They must have been coming back from their evening walk. He hoped they hadn’t recognized him.
He didn’t have much time to think about that. His big worry now was where the girls were taking him. They both got into the front seat, and Michelle pulled away from the curb. Marcy turned to look at him. “Pull down the shorts and play with yourself, Bobby,” she ordered. “I could hardly see your little thing this evening, and I want to make sure it’s still there.”
So, she had noticed. He hesitated a moment, but then he tugged the tight shorts down to his knees obediently, took his limp penis by its head and stretched it as far as it would go. He was relieved that it began to stiffen a little under Marcy’s critical stare. It was not close to a full-blown erection, but it was big enough now for him to stroke it between his thumb and first two fingers. He wiggled it back and forth, and it waved triumphantly in the succession of spotlights from the streetlights they passed.
“Don’t you dare get yourself off,” Marcy said. “I want you to save that. Just keep playing with it enough to keep it hard.”
She turned back around and starting talking with Michelle about some girl they knew who was getting married. Bobby was left sitting there in the back seat with his penis in his hand, ignored by the girls. He felt like a fool again, but he followed Marcy’s orders. He continued rubbing and fondling his penis so that it didn’t sound retreat. He was doing it so conscientiously that he was surprised when Michelle pulled into the parking lot of a bar called Freddy’s. He’d been there, but only a few times.
The girls got out of the car and waited for him. Now the semi-erection was a problem. He had trouble pulling up the shorts anyway because they were so tight, and the former small bulge had become a very noticeable one.
“I can’t go in like this,” Bobby said.
“There goes Mr. Can’t again!” Marcy said. “Don’t worry about it. It’s dark inside, and nobody’s going to pay any attention to you.”
She was right, but Bobby still sidled into the club sideways, keeping his front away from the two or three people sitting at the long bar to the right of the door. That gave them a good view of the shorts stretched tightly across his butt, but that seemed to be the lesser of two evils. The girls walked back to a table next to the tiny dance floor, and he followed them and sat in the chair that was farthest away from the bar. When the waitress came back to take their order, she gave him a curious look, or at least he thought she did. Maybe she didn’t, but he was so conscious of the tight shorts that he felt as if everyone in the room was staring at him.
“Want to dance, Bobby?” Michelle asked, and then the girls giggled at his stricken reaction to her suggestion.
“Look, Bobby,” Marcy said. “Later on, we’re going to see you get it on with that washing machine, but it’s way too early for that. Why don’t you just relax and have a good time? You know, it’s not every guy who has two girls taking him out for drinks.”
“Sure,” Michelle added. “All we’d done before the other night was say hello when we passed on the stairs, and we’d been wanting to get to know you better for a long time.” She paused. “We didn’t know you had a steady girlfriend, though.”
“She doesn’t say much,” Marcy said.
“No, she just sort of rumbles,” Michelle replied.
“But she can make him come clean,” Marcy said, and the girls started laughing again.
Bobby was embarrassed, but he was glad that they were joking about his encounter with the washer instead of seeming disgusted by it. They talked some more, and they had a few more beers, and before long, he was telling them about himself and about his fantasies. He even told them about that very first incident, when he was a kid in summer camp, and about some of his attempts at self-bondage.
“But I don’t usually do it with a washing machine,” he added. “That was the first time. Honest. I was there with my hands and feet fastened, and I really wanted to get off somehow, and the machine was shaking, and I just leaned up against it. That’s the only time I ever did anything like that.”
“Well, you’re going to do it again tonight,” Marcy said.
“What I want to know,” Michelle said, “is whether you enjoyed it.”
Bobby hesitated. “Yeah, I guess I did,” he said finally. “Part of it was just being naked and helpless in the laundry room, but the way the machine was shaking felt good, too. Sort of like a really big vibrator. And when I came, that was great until Marcy walked in.”
The girls began telling him about some of the unusual things they had done and about some of their own fantasies. He wanted to hear that for sure, but he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to urinate. He hadn’t been able to pee back at his apartment, and they’d been sitting there drinking beer for an hour or more. He excused himself and headed for the bathroom. He’d forgotten about the tight shorts while they were talking, but now he was acutely aware of them again. He walked past a booth with two couples and past another where the waitress was taking an order from two kids who looked under-age. The shorts had crept firmly into the cleft of his buttocks, and he was sure everyone was looking at his backside. Someone whistled behind him. It was Michelle, he was sure.
There was no one in the men’s room, but he still went into a stall rather than stand at the urinal. He closed the door and pulled down the shorts. It took him a minute to get started, but when he did, he thought the stream would never stop. He shook his penis hard, trying to dislodge that last drop. With no underwear, it would be the easiest thing in the world to get a spot on those shorts.
Marcy must have been thinking the same thing, because when he got back to the table and slid into his chair, she asked, “You didn’t get my shorts wet, did you?” She reached under the table and put her hand on his thigh. “Let’s see.”
He almost jumped out of the chair when she slid her hand up his thigh and across the bulge of his thinly-covered penis. It hardened almost instantly under her touch, and he couldn’t keep himself from gasping. She felt his penis with her fingers, squeezing the tip as she searched for any dampness. He couldn’t feel an orgasm building this soon, but he seemed to feel a drop of cum escaping.
“Oh, my,” Marcy said. “There is definitely something there. I’m ashamed of you, Bobby. These are my very favorite shorts, and if you are thinking about cumming in them, I am going to be really disappointed in you.”
“Is he being unfaithful to Miss Westinghouse?” Michelle asked.
“Not yet,” Marcy answered, “but I think he is getting close.”
“He better not be,” Michelle said, and then she reached under the table, too, and her fingers joined Marcy’s on Bobby’s crotch. She squeezed his penis.
That was more than he could stand. He stiffened in his chair and stared out in panic at the couples on the dance floor as his penis swelled and went exactly where he’d feared earlier – poking out of one leg of the shorts. He couldn’t stop the orgasm that was rising like a flash flood, and then it was there, and he could feel the jets of hot cum hitting his bare thigh. The girls jerked their hands away.
“Ewww! That is so gross!” Michelle said. “I would think you would have the good manners not to do that in public!”
“I just hope you saved some for the washing machine,” Marcy added.
Bobby didn’t know what to say. Actually, he was too stunned to say anything. He could feel his penis shrinking rapidly, back into the shorts, while the last remnants of his ejaculation were still draining. Marcy’s shorts would be spotted for sure now. And he didn’t know what to do about the cum dripping from his thigh.
“Here,” Marcy said, and she handed him some Kleenex from her purse. Bobby tried to clean off his leg without looking at it and attracting more attention. He was certain that everyone in the club knew something was going on. The girls went back to the conversation as though nothing had happened, but Bobby couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying. He sat there miserably. A big area on the front of his shorts was damp with cum, and there were probably streaks of cum he’d missed drying on his leg. How in the world was he going to get out of the club looking like that?
It wasn’t as hard as he thought. They sat there for nearly another hour, and when they got up to leave, no one seemed to be paying attention. No one was on the sidewalk outside as they walked to Michelle’s car and got inside, and Bobby decided he was home free. But then the waitress from the bar came running after them and poked her head in the car window.
“I apologize, but I’ve just got to ask you something,” she said. “Was I seeing things, or did you guys get him off under the table?” In answer, Marcy and Michelle burst into laughter.
“That’s what I thought,” the waitress said. “You guys have a good time now. You made MY night.” And she went back into the bar.
“I hope you all are satisfied,” Bobby said.
“Oh, Bobby, we’re not even beginning to be satisfied!” Michelle said. “Don’t forget, you’ve got a big date with a washing machine.”
“And before that, it’s time for us to have a little fun,” Marcy said. “Drive over to the other side of the parking lot, Michelle.”
It was a big lot, and the far side was next to a furniture store that had closed a long time ago, but they could still hear the music from the club. The girls made Bobby take off the little clothing he had on, and Marcy tied his hands behind him with a length of rope they had brought along. Then she told him to get out of the car and get down on his knees. He was between the car and the furniture store, hidden from the street, but he was still very nervous as he knelt on the hard asphalt.
Marcy walked around to the side of the car where he was kneeling, next to the open door. She sat down on the seat with her legs outside the car and pulled off her jeans. She spread her thighs. Either she hadn’t worn any panties or she’d taken them off in the ladies room in the bar. “Okay, Bobby,” she said, “I think you know what to do.”
He was surprised to see that she had shaved herself, and even in the dim light from the streetlight, he could tell that the exposed folds of her vulva were wet. It was probably his imagination, but they seemed to be swollen in readiness for his tongue. Domination was apparently something of a turn-on for Marcy.
He leaned into her and licked her lower lips, first one side and then the other. He swiped her clitoris briefly with the tip of his tongue and then went back to the lips, spreading his tongue as wide as he could cover as much ground as possible. He might be naked and bound and kneeling on the hard asphalt of a parking lot, but this was more pleasure than punishment for Bobby. He loved to perform oral sex on a pretty girl.
Marcy reached her hand behind his head and pulled it closer between her thighs. She lifted her bottom off the car seat, grinding her vulva into his face. She was soaking, and her juices were running down his chin. He began concentrating on her clitoris. Some girls seemed to like him to flick it rapidly with the tip of his tongue, while others preferred slower, broader strokes. He didn’t know what Marcy liked, so he tried it both ways.
Her hips were moving now, and he thought she might already be getting close to an orgasm. But she was grunting. Bobby had heard lots of moaning and groaning before orgasms, but this was the first time he had ever encountered a grunter. He was beginning to like Marcy a lot. Then the grunts turned to moans, and her hips bucked once more, hard, and she slumped back on the seat with a long sigh.
“That looked like fun,” Michelle said. “My turn!”
Michelle wasn’t shaved, but her bush had been cropped short and her lower lips were large. Bobby started over, using the same licks and probes that he’d used with Marcy. He was a little ashamed to repeat himself, but he couldn’t think of much new. After he had licked the outside for a while, he drove his tongue between the vulva and as deep into Michelle’s vagina as it would reach. She seemed to like that, but she obviously preferred it when he went to work on her clitoris.
He figured that most women were like him when it came to that. The deep-throat thing was okay, but when he was getting a blow job, he enjoyed it most when the girl was licking around the end of his penis, especially that little sensitive spot right below the head. Those long, slow licks on the underside were great, too, and he even enjoyed it when the girl stuck the tip of her tongue into the little pee hole, though that made him jump sometimes.
Unlike Marcy, Michelle wasn’t a grunter. She was an old-fashioned shouter. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she screamed as she was beginning to come. Bobby was afraid that they’d hear her in the bar. But maybe they were used to orgasmic screams from their parking lot.
Once she was done, Michelle didn’t linger. She bounced up and retrieved her jeans and panties. She and Marcy went around to the other side of the car and began whispering to each other and giggling. Bobby strained to hear what they were saying. His knees were beginning to hurt, and he was ready to be untied. And after all that one-way oral sex, he had an erection that was badly in need of relief.
The girls came back around the car and helped him to his feet, but they didn’t untie his hands. They didn’t do anything about his stiff penis either. They just helped him slide into the back seat, and then they got back into the front of the car.
“It’s about time to meet your date for the night, Bobby,” Michelle said. “The poor thing has been doing the wash all day long, and she could use a little recreation.”
She drove out of the parking lot and took a left. Bobby thought she had made a mistake, because their apartment house and his laundry-room rendezvous were in the other direction. He asked if she hadn’t turned the wrong way.
“Oh, Michelle’s going the right way,” Marcy answered. “We thought you’d like trying it with a newer model.”
He asked her what she meant, but the girls just laughed and told him to wait and find out. Before they said that, Bobby had decided that the evening was turning out okay, but now he got that sickly feeling again. He hoped that he wouldn’t throw up after drinking all that beer. Oddly, his penis stayed hard…
They drove for a while, toward a more run-down part of the city, and then Michelle turned off the main street and down a darkened side street. There were no lights in most of the storefronts, but halfway down the block, there was a long window with flourescent light shining out. A 24-hour coin laundry.
“Please don’t take me in there,” Bobby begged. “Please.”
“Just shut up,” Marcy told him.
They got him out of the car and he stood shivering on the sidewalk. This was no neighborhood for a naked guy with his arms tied behind him. Marcy opened the trunk and pulled out a laundry bag.
“If anyone wants to know what we’re doing, we can always show them our laundry,” she said.
It was well after midnight now, and the laundromat was deserted. That didn’t really make Bobby happy, because if anyone had been inside, the girls surely would have been afraid to take him in. There wasn’t, though, and they weren’t, and in moments, he found himself inside and face to face with a long row of washers. Marcy dumped the laundry bag into one of them, put in some coins and pushed in the coin slide. The machine began to fill with water.
“Bobby, I’d like you to meet your date for the evening,” she said. “Miss Washer, this is Bobby. Bobby, this is Miss Washer.”
Michelle reached over and pinched the head of his penis to make sure his erection wasn’t going away. Actually, it had been doing just that, but when she squeezed her thumb and forefinger together, it got a new life. She let go and spanked the penis on the underside a few times. At the same time, Marcy gave him a few smacks on his bottom, not hard, just love swats. While they stood there and waited for the washer to fill, they repeated the spanking several times. It helped keep him hard.
The water stopped flowing, and the washing began. The washer was a big, heavy-duty machine, and it shook a lot harder than the one back at the apartment house. It looked as if Bobby was in for a great ride. The girls shoved him forward, so that his groin was pressed against the machine. Then they stood back to watch. The surface of the machine was hard and cold, but it soon warmed from Bobby’s own heat. He pressed harder, squeezing his penis between his belly and the washer.
The vibrating machine shook his whole body. At first, he didn’t think he would be able to reach an orgasm with the girls there watching. Then he began to feel like he might. Then he was pretty sure he would. Then he knew for certain.
Now, he was glad they were watching. He wanted to give them a good show, and he rotated his hips, rolling his rock-hard penis against the washer. He could feel it coming. He could feel it in his belly and nipples and especially in that little strip of precious flesh between his balls and his rectum. He leaned hard into the machine, and the orgasm came in waves, leaving him gasping. He threw back his head and closed his eyes and squirted and squirted, trapping the cum against his belly. As the last jet came, he slumped across the washing machine. After a few minutes, he straightened up and turned to face the girls.
There was no one there.
Bobby thought his legs were going to collapse. He almost cried out as a wave of panic flashed from his head to his toes and rebounded to lodge somewhere in the pit of his stomach, or maybe in his puckering sphincter. He ran to the front of the laundomat, getting there just in time to see Michelle’s car pulling away from the curb and disappearing down the dark street…
“Those bitches!” he screamed silently. “Those complete absolute total bitches! They cannot leave me here like this!”
But it seemed that was exactly what they had done.
Bobby tugged futilely at his bound wrists as he walked to the back of the laundry. He looked around for someplace to hide. There was a door back there, but he couldn’t open it with his hands tied. There was no place else. Then he heard the laundromat door open. Thank God. The girls had come back. He turned around, and again he felt as though he might collapse. Unless Marcy and Michelle had dyed their hair blond in the short time they were gone, that was not them coming through the door.
No, definitely not them. These were older women, pushing 40. Both were bleach-bottle blondes, but one was white and the other was black. And they both looked stunned to see Bobby standing there naked, hands fastened behind him and his belly still glistening with cum. Jesus, he thought, this was deja vu all over again.
“What in the world!” the white woman said.
“I can explain,” Bobby said, thinking as fast as he could. “I was washing my clothes, and some guys came in and took my wallet and stuff and tied me up and left me here. If you can untie me, I am splitting as fast as I can before they come back.”
“It looks like they screwed your belly button before they left,” the black woman said, looking at the cum running down Bobby’s abdomen. She walked over to the washing machine, which had just rattled to a stop. She lifted the lid. “Are these your clothes.”
“That’s right,” he said.
She lifted up a handful of the wet things. “That’s pretty funny,” she said, “because all of these are ladies’ panties.”
Bobby tried to think of something to say. She didn’t give him a chance.
“You know what I think?” she asked. “I think your story is bullshit. I think you are some kind of freak. I think you get some kind of kick out of getting yourself tied up with your pecker hanging out, and I think you just got caught this time. What do you think about that?”
She wasn’t really looking for an answer, but Bobby didn’t have one anyway. After all, she was pretty much on target. He hung his head.
“You think we should call the police?” the white woman asked.
“I don’t feel like messing with any police,” her friend said. “I say we let this guy go. But first I say we need to give him something so he’ll think twice before doing something like this again. I say that this freak needs a real good spanking. Is that fair, weenie waver? Or do you want us to call the cops after all.”
Bobby said he’d take the spanking.
The women looked around for something to use as a paddle. They couldn’t find anything in the laundromat, so the black woman went outside. She came back with a thin, flat board that looked like something pulled from the side of a fruit crate. It looked to Bobby as if it were filled with splinters. They had him sit on the table that was used for folding laundry and swing his legs up onto it. Then they rolled him over and got him onto his knees. The white woman grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed his head down until his forehead was touching the table and his bottom was sticking up into the air.
“Spread your legs, because I want to be able to grab these if I need to,” she told him, and she reached between his thighs and grasped his balls tightly. She gave them a hard squeeze, released them and stepped back. At the same instant, there was a loud smack on his bottom and a flash of pain spread across his buttocks. The other woman was wasting no time.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! A fire engulfed his bottom. Five swats, and he felt as if he couldn’t take it anymore. Then she smacked him 10 more times. Tears were running down Bobby’s face by the time she was done, and then she handed the board to her friend. The white woman started spanking him, too, ever harder. He was yelling and sobbing at the same time now, begging them to stop.
Suddenly, the paddling ended and the women stepped back from the table, looking toward the front of the room. There was a big guy coming down the aisle, a really big guy.
“What the fuck is going on?” he shouted. “Who is this asshole?” The women started to explain, but he wouldn’t let them. “I don’t care who the fuck he is,” he said. “All I know is that he’s naked in a room with my wife, and when I throw him out of here, he’s going to leave his balls behind!” And he pulled out a huge pocket knife and flipped open the blade.
Bobby thought he was going to faint. He thought he was about to fill his pants, if he were wearing any. He thought he was going to pee, which he did, though he didn’t even notice. The women were begging the man not to castrate Bobby, trying to hold his arms, but he shook them off and stepped behind the helpless Bobby with the knife in his hand.
“Don’t! Please don’t!” the women screamed.
Then there was another voice from near the door: “Hell, yes. Cut ’em off. I’d like to nail ’em up over my bed!” Bobby knew that voice. It was Marcy.
The look on his face must have been priceless, because everyone else in the room began laughing. The man with the knife was laughing so hard he could barely stand up. As Marcy and Michelle came down the aisle, the other women pulled off their bleach-blond wigs.
“Couldn’t you wait to get to the bathroom, Bobby?” Marcy asked, and he realized that he was kneeling in a pool of pee.
“Bobby, I’d like you to meet my brother Steve and his wife Ellen,” Michelle said. She motioned to the black woman. “And this is Ellen’s best friend, Grace.”
Bobby was so humiliated he wanted to sink into the table. He was mad, too. This was way more than he deserved. But mostly he was just relieved that he was going to make it through the evening with his genitals intact. And, believe it or not, he was getting an erection as he knelt there naked in the circle of people.
“Goodness,” said Grace. “Look at that!”
As Ellen untied Bobby’s hands, Marcy tossed him the Bryn Mawr shorts. “See if you can get that thing inside these,” Marcy said. “We’re planning on doing some more drinking tonight.”
“I think your friend has had about as much partying as he can stand this evening,” Grace said. “Young man, you can go out drinking with these bad girls if you want to, or you can come home with me, so I can tuck you into a nice soft bed and rub something on that red bottom of yours before it blisters.”
Bobby decided later that he had never slept in a better bed.
