Standard warning that appears in all my stories - lots of intense humiliation, blackmail, non-consensual/coercive sex, and of course extremely far-fetched. Enjoy!
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At 4:00pm on Friday, Steve got a text from Bob.
"Move your little ass Bunny I'm here." Steve swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed out. As he rode the elevator down he got three more texts from Bob, all equally rude and demanding, including one that told him he needed to stop sucking his boss's cock and get down there. Once he exited the lobby, Bob honked the horn of his SUV.
"Come on!" Bob yelled, laying his hand down on the horn excessively. As Steve reached the door handle, Bob jerked the car forward. Steve predicted this but knew he had to play along. He had to make an ass of himself, running for the passenger side door only for him to pull away right as his hand reached the handle. This repeated four more times with a security guard standing by the door laughing at the spectacle before Bob let him in.
At last he was in the car, throwing his bag on the back seat. Bob grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a rough, back-slapping hug, planting a comically wet kiss on his cheek before releasing him.
"You ready for the best weekend of your life, little buddy?!" He bellowed, shaking his shoulder roughly.
Steve regarded the man as he sped out of the parking lot and merged aggressively onto the highway. Bob had been his best friend since junior high. At 35, Bob had gained some weight and his hairline was receding, and the glasses he wore could deceive someone who didn't know him into thinking that he was every bit the mild-mannered financial analyst he had grown into. But around Steve, Bob was the same wild, slightly cruel guy who had gotten him into all kinds of trouble throughout their youth.
Bob had rented the lake house and organized the bachelor party weekend. Aside from Bob, it was seven of their oldest friends. Bob had only invited guys from their hometown and two others, Amir and Tim, from Steve's college who had grown close to his high school crew. Bob specifically wasn't interested in trying to bring in any of Steve's newer friends, co-workers, or his new brother-in-law.
Steve was quietly relieved by this - it would feel forced to try to bring together a disparate group of guys whose only connection was him. Plus, the dynamic with these older friends was much different. Around these guys, he was not the confident, competent, upstanding man that the people he interacted in his day-to-day life knew. His newer friends and colleagues all knew Steven. They didn't know "Bunny."
A Pop Warner football coach in the 7th grade had first dubbed him Bunny, teasing him for how he hopped during warm up drills that required them to leap up forward from off of the ground. The nickname had gotten at something deeper, something in his personality, which the coaches and everyone else on the team seemed to suss out - a herbivore's fearfulness, a skittishness. A cute and sweet kid, slightly bashful, eager to please and to be accepted, easily intimidated. Not tough by any means. His friends had kept the name alive long after their football careers ended, and now it was a way to express tenderness and familiarity, but also knock down the handsome and successful man just a bit. Sometimes, when the ribbing seemed less than good-natured and the pranks less than harmless, it felt even more sinister than that. Like it was their way of telling him that he was their prey.
Among the guys, the unacknowledged leader was Bob and Steve was at the bottom of the totem pole. Every group such as theirs had a mascot. The butt of the jokes. The one who good-naturedly put up with all sorts of brotherly abuse. Steve always found himself beneath the pile-on. Maybe it was the combination of Steve's good looks, his more slender build, and his passive nature, that he had been shuffled into this role among his friends. He just wasn't as competitive or as assertive as them, never had been. He was the first to cry uncle and admit defeat, the first to give up in a play fight.
Steve was the most conventionally attractive of them, and in the best shape by far. When they were younger and on the prowl he would be good for getting a group of girls interested in them, before one of his more confident buddies would sweep in to either scare them all off or seal the deal with one of them. Steve's timidity had the effect of keeping his own sexual success rate substantially lower than his friends. Steve still worked out daily, lifting weights, running and swimming, even doing triathlons. All in their mid-30s, many of them married, the rest of the crew had let themselves go. Bob loved to tease Steve about this, give him crap about his vanity. He would call him prettyboy, mock him for watching his carbs or most commonly imply that he was gay. Which is why when they stopped at a rest area, Bob insisted his friend fill up the car with gas while shirtless.
"You heard me, bitch. Lose the shirt." Bob repeated his demand. Calling his best friend a bitch wasn't uncommon for Bob, nor was making unreasonable demands like this. Still, Steve protested.
"Jesus, why?" He knew this was part of the game - a little resistance to make his capitulation more rewarding. Otherwise Bob would leave it alone only to issue some even more ridiculous command moments later.
"Cause I say so! Come on, give those horny old truck drivers a show." Bob thrust his big hand out towards Steve. He gripped the collar of Steve's t-shirt, roughly yanking it down.
"Lose the shirt, Bunny, now. Take it off or I'm ripping it off of you." Steve lowered his head and sighed, whipping the shirt off and throwing it onto his seat.
"Attaboy." Bob praised him smugly. He then fondled Steve's stomach.
"Fuck! Look at those abs. You look good, bro. You really wanted to get your little body tight for your boys, didn't you? Get one of us to finally have a go with that nice ass a your's?" The big man lolled his tongue out of his mouth and thrust his wide hips out lewdly, pantomiming sex with the steering wheel.
"You're such an asshole..." He mumbled while he stepped out of the car and went to the pump.
Steve stood there as the tank slowly filled, suffering a few amused looks from other people coming and going from the gas station.
"Good boy. Now use that squeegee to clean my windshield." Bob pointed to a bucket beside the pumps, then locked the car doors shut. Steve sighed again in resignation and got to work.
A middle aged-man who had been smirking from the passenger seat of his car burst into laughter at this latest indignity, watching Steve clean Bob's car. Steve looked over to him and the bald old bastard waved to him and blew him a kiss mockingly. This made Steve's face go red. Finally he got back in the passenger seat. He didn't bother looking for his shirt, knowing that Bob had tossed it into the backseat out of reach. He just clasped the seat belt over his bare chest.
"You know why I do it, Bunny?" Bob was looking at him behind his sunglasses with his usual shit-eating grin.
"Cause you're a sadistic fucker?" Steve jested.
