Warning: This is different from most of my stories and might not be for everyone. The MC has a humiliation and degradation fetish. He encounters three large wrestler dudes who recognize his masochistic tendencies and are willing to play along and give him the night of his life. The MC is completely safe and able to walk away any time he chooses. He simply chooses not to. He gets what he wants.
Humiliating the Security Guard
The lights are on in the Fitness Center. That's weird. It's 2:00am and the campus is supposed to be closed. Completely closed. I've been a Campus Security Officer here at Davidson College in North Carolina for two months now - this is my first year on the job and it's October. It's a crisp autumn evening and strolling around this beautiful campus alone with my thoughts is an easy way to earn a paycheck. But now? I've never stumbled upon a potential situation. That is, if you consider someone forgetting to turn some lights off a "situation". I'm sure that's all it is.
I am the youngest officer on our team - college aged myself. I can't afford the lofty tuition at Davidson, so I work here full time and I take online classes at the community college around my work schedule. Working on this campus with all of these kids makes me oddly feel like one of them. A commuter, but one of them nonetheless.
Davidson College is a small college; the student body sits just below the two thousand mark. There are ten of us Security Officers. Each day, three of us are off, three work the first shift, three work the second shift, and since the campus is closed from 10:00pm to 6:00am, only one of us works the overnight shift. We rotate shifts weekly and all this week, I have overnight duty. Alone. I really don't mind. I've always been a loner. A loner by choice because I've always felt like I've had to hide who I am.
I have a humiliation kink. A fetish, really. I yearn to be dominated, degraded and minimized. I am turned on by being made to feel pathetic and helpless. Embarrassed, ridiculed and emasculated. Being taken advantage of causes me sexual arousal. Cut in front of me in line at the movies nudging and elbowing me around like I'm nothing. Assess me from head to toe and tell me that if I have a problem with it that you'll send your thirteen year old son to beat me up. Cut me off on the highway, beat me in a game (and cheat while doing it), rig the game against me - I never want to win. I win by losing. I love losing so much that even when my favorite sports teams lose games, I get a little hardon.
Please steal my lunch money, knock my books out of my hands, plagiarize my homework, arm wrestle me into submission, run faster, jump higher, push harder, block all of my shots, slam dunk over me, throw your fastball by me, ace me with your serve, trample me, troll me, pants me, taunt me... I am the soft feather weight weakling on the beach that all of the other guys love to bully - stomp on my sandcastle. Swipe my sneakers right off my feet, tie the laces together and throw them up into the gym rafters. "Out" me in any and every way a person can be outed. No matter how you choose to humiliate me, please do it in front of an audience. The more pointing and laughing, the better. It gives me a raging erection. My penis might be small but it certainly works. It has a mind of its own and it delights in its own inadequacy. It basks in the mocking attention. It might not stand particularly tall, but shame it and it surges in false pride.
A dream of mine is to be targeted by a big, beefy, manly, bully of a TSA Agent at the airport. I want to be selected out of hundreds for examination for no other reason than I am perceived to be a weak, vulnerable, pathetic excuse for a man. I want him to pull me aside and wand me all over. I want him to pretend like he thinks I'm concealing something that I'm not. His suspicion can only be satisfied by a strip search, except he doesn't pull me into a private room. He strips me right there in front of all of the hundreds of other people. Socks and all, stripped stark naked. Drawing attention from the hundreds - preferably thousands - of surprised spectators. Pointing and laughing at my scrawny body and my stiff little willy. That would be a dream come true.
Understand, I would never shame any characteristic of any other person ever. I am a shame receiver, not a giver. As a matter of fact, on the rare occasions that I've met weaker men than myself, what I've felt for them is envy and jealousy, not pity or shame. I want all of the world's shame to be heaped solely on me and me alone. I yearn to be shamed for my own sexual gratification. That's who I am. I didn't choose to be like this. I just am. Unlucky me.
But I have to keep my fetish to myself. People wouldn't understand. It's way too far out there. I don't even understand it myself. But it's also not my fault. I've tried ignoring my desires. I've tried tamping them down. They don't go away. It's simply how I'm wired to be. Since it's not a choice, how can that be wrong?
I never understood how people are selectively proud of things that are not choices or accomplishments, like the size of your dick. It's not something you work for or earn. It's heredity or luck of the draw. If some asshole can be proud of his huge dick, why shouldn't I be proud of my small one? I believe that all fetishes are healthy. Most of us have them; we just either haven't discovered them yet or won't admit them to ourselves. The thing is, ignoring them won't change them. I say, no matter what your fetish is, lean into it. If you like belly buttons, go to the beach. If you like feet, become a podiatrist. Whatever. Surely bottling them up is an unhealthy choice.
Anyway.
I approach the Fitness Center door and find that it's locked. I have very few tools for my trade. They call us Security Officers, but really, we can't actually do much. What I have is one month of training, a navy blue uniform, keys to every door, a flashlight and a cell phone. That's it. No weapons of any kind. If I ever were to encounter any real trouble, I am trained to call the police. They pay me to be a glorified lookout. A weak, unarmed set of eyes and ears. Powerless to provide any real service. Paid to wait for the real men to swoop in, take action and save the day while I remain helpless. Feeble. Incapable. Emasculated. I imagine a big muscly officer three times my size nudging my 5' 7" frame away and saying, "Step aside, kid. Pretend time is over. An actual man is here now." Thinking about it causes a stirring in my crotch.
But I won't need those manly police tonight simply because some lights were left on. I unlock the door and step inside. Something seems immediately off. I hear people. They're not talking exactly, they're...grunting. I take a right and head toward the main fitness room to find that two guys are wrestling on a floormat. They seem to be about my own age - twentyish, though gigantically huge - and they also seem to be encouraging each other. Teaching each other. That's when I realize that they're actually teammates practicing and not opponents battling.
I find that I'm riveted watching the show. Something about these two guys... All the grabbing, touching, rolling around... I'm mesmerized. I realize that fifteen minutes have gone by and I haven't moved a muscle or said a word. Well, that's not completely true. It's more a bone than a muscle, but one thing has moved a little. I'm beginning to chub up in my pants. Uncomfortably so.
Being smaller and less athletic than all of the other boys growing up, I was the worst at sports. I loved being the worst. As the weakest, I was picked last every time. Last because I'm useless. The humiliation was wonderful. I always made sure my team was Team Skins, proudly ripping my shirt right off and flaunting my underdeveloped physique. During the game I was inevitably dominated and beaten in humiliatingly spectacular fashion. The locker room after was always my favorite part. I was never shy. Seeing how much bigger than me the other boys were was always exciting, but showing off my inadequacy was thrilling. Even the monitoring coach would snicker on occasion as I shamelessly paraded around.
But nothing more than far too few whispered comments or giggles has ever happened. It was mostly in my head; what I hoped they were all at least thinking. I guess that's been the case for many aspects of my life. I live more in the fantasies in my head than in actual live experiences.
As I continue to firm up inside of my pants, I shift my hips to make an adjustment. When I do so, my key ring jingles, announcing my presence. Shit.
They stop wrestling and look my way. Seeing my uniform, they realize they've been caught. They approach me cautiously, not sure what I might do. They are completely unaware that I actually have so little power and so rarely do anything at all.
The one with the blond hair and blue eyes says, "Um... Hello there."
I remember that to this point, they assume that I have the authority in this situation here and I clear my throat. "The building is closed," I say with more confidence than I feel. "The whole campus is closed. You need to head back to your dorms."
The one with the black hair and the steel grey eyes says, "Sorry. There's a big quad meet this weekend and we were just trying to get some extra practice time in."
Blue Eyes adds, "We were pretty much done." He raises his hands in surrender, "We're on our way out."
I make the quick mental assessment that these guys weren't causing any harm. There's no evidence of theft or vandalism. They really were just sneaking in some extra practice time. I'll just let them go. Like anything else was ever an option anyway.
I say, "Well, that's good timing since I just walked in."
I jump as two large strong hands clamp down on my shoulders from behind me.
A deep voice says, "He's lying to you, boys."
He steers me so we are all deeper in the room. He moves out from behind me and the new guy is just as mammoth as the first two. All three of them stand in a row like linebackers.
This newcomer has brown hair and dark brown eyes. He too is wearing wrestling attire. He continues, "I was on my way back from the restroom and I noticed Mr. Security here watching you two. I stayed back to see what he'd do. Guess what. He watched the show for a good fifteen minutes before his keys gave him away."
Now
I
raise
my
