A Summer Day's Nightmare

After the Great Female Takeover, most beaches required male patrons to attend in the nude (this went for the young hot ones, others found themselves most unwelcome). After all, women needed things to look at, and more importantly, needed to know what was on offer in case they needed his services.

In case, however, a boy was the squeamish kind, there were all-male beaches where they could choose to wear trunks. Perhaps ironically, such beaches reported the most cases of sexual-assault, as women appeared to teach the "prude sluts" a lesson about trying to hold back what was every woman's birthright.

That's what happened that afternoon. Another fool thought he could evade nature. As it happened he had been all alone, just begging for good company. The look on his face when the girls had stormed the place! And the way he'd cried when they had stripped him of his trunks. "Think you're too good to show us your dick? Are you, little slut!" Everyone had had a good laugh.

They were still laughing, whooping, applauding, as Tess and Simone made him crawl around the beach, encouraging him with their switches to the cries of "beat the bitch!" and "make him squeal!" and "swat his balls!" Among others.

He did have such a nice ass and cock, why would he want to hide them? The whore! Well his trunks were now in the burn barrel, along with the rest of his stuff, so he could hide nothing from them!

Next he was paraded through the girls, earning him more attention. Groping, humiliating. Lots of attention to the parts of him he was trying to hide. Yeah, he was a cute one. And such a little pussy! They would torment him good and long.

Things begin to ecalate. . .

Slowly the event become a party, drinks brought in. More women keep showing up. They come up with such wicked games to play with the boy, such torments. Then, when he lets slip by that he is a virgin, all hell threatens to break loose. Fierce arguing about who gets the first go. They settle it, in the end. There's enough to go around for everyone, they decide. The agree that they can all share credit for the deflowering. He's too busy crying and struggling to notice anyway. Takes a dozen laughing girls to hold him down. Hands clapped over his wailing little bitch mouth. Hands everywhere. Teasing him all over, his balls, his ass, his nipples. He is their little helpless plaything. Their little rape toy.

Evening continues. It gets darker. They get drunker. Inhibitions fade away. The games get rougher . . .

He is found in the morning. He would never speak about the events to a single soul. Ever.

Ah, summer memories!