Winceyette Pyjamas

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Stripping and Humiliation

More naked humiliation for our victim

They say that men like to look at naked girls but that girls aren't interested in naked men. It isn't true. It's just that their motives are different. Men like to look at naked ladies, women like to strip men naked. That's the difference. For men it's sexual titillation, for women it's the power. They enjoy the man's embarrassment, even his humiliation. Women aren't interested in pictures. They want the real thing. And they want to be in charge, they're naturally bossy. Well that's my opinion anyway and the explanation for what happened on that trip.
The company had sent us on this training course. All the secretaries in the office. You may laugh at the notion of a man being a ‘secretary’, but it's more common now that we're all business support executives or whatever the fancy title is.
Regardless of fancy titles everyone thought of us as ‘the secretaries’ and everybody presumed secretaries were girls. That was how the mistake was made I suppose.
To save money some clever clot in the travel department had put us all into an apartment. A three bedroomed apartment, for the six of us. Five girls and me.
It was only when we got there that we realised. Of course I couldn't share a room with a girl. That would not have been acceptable. I nobly volunteered to sleep on the sofa. There were spare blankets available. I could get sort of comfortable. Sort of.
I can't say the morning wasn't without its embarrassments. For me anyway. The girls didn't seem to mind. They wandered round in their pyjamas or their underwear without any concern. I suppose girls' pyjamas are quite respectable. You couldn’t say the same for bra and panties mind, but it didn't seem to bother the girls that I was there.
I suppose my pyjamas were respectable too. In a way. They were blue and stripy and made out of the cotton flannel material called Winceyette. The girls fell about laughing at them.
Whoever wore Winceyette pyjamas nowadays! That seemed to be their opinion anyway. 
Anyway there they all were dressed in their pyjamas or in bra and knickers - all five of them. The noisiest was Nicola, short, dark, a little on the plump side with short curly brown hair. She was what would have been called at school a madcap, always doing crazy things and getting into what might have been called scrapes. She was sharing with the blousy, blonde blue eyed Marilyn. She of the big bosoms and broad behind. Commonly regarded as the office bicycle, rumour had it that she had been ridden by all the men. Not me of course. I didn't count.
Sharing the second bedroom were Yvette and Sally. Little Yvette was, a sexy import from France with black hair cut severely in a page boy cut. For some reason she was never to be seen without a little pill box hat on her head. Sally was the bossy no-nonsense head girl type, a jolly hockey sticks girl - an English girl of eleven stone two and five foot ten in her dancing shoe, as the old song has it. I always thought she had it in for men.
Finally on her own, and the only one who wouldn't troop round in her underwear was Mindy - a rather shy, reserved, mousy girl who never said much, but who would have scrubbed up well, as the saying goes, if anyone had taken the time to do the scrubbing.
It was perhaps Mindy that caused me to put my first foot on the road that led to my downfall. The bathroom didn't have a lock on the door, so in order to avoid embarrassment it had been decided to hang a sock on the door knob if inside in a state of undress.
The trouble is that I'm the sort of person that tends to wander round in a dream half the time. I hadn't noticed that Mindy wasn't wandering around in her knickers like the rest of the girls. She was in the shower and I walked in on her. I don't know who was more embarrassed, her or me.
I was mortified. I'd seen Mindy with nothing on. Only for a split second before I averted my eyes but nevertheless....
The other girls thought it hilarious. But poor old Mindy. She was going to get ribbed about that for the rest of the day. We both were. That was perhaps why she did what she did. Revenge I suppose.
It was a typically boring training day. The sort that needs to be expunged from the memory as rapidly as possible, and can only be expunged by a good dinner and copious amounts of alcohol.
Have you ever had dinner with five girls on a business trip when they have imbibed copious amounts of alcohol?
They tend to get a bit, how shall I put this politely, boisterous, and obsessed with sex. And the sex they got obsessed with was mine, and in particular how big it was.
They took bets.
Not that I was going to tell them. Not that they wanted me to tell them. They wanted to measure it. I felt lucky to get out of the restaurant with my trousers still on.
As I finally got on to the sofa, in my Winceyette pyjamas, under my snugly blanket, I finally felt safe. I had had far too much wine and was soon in a deep and oblivious sleep.
In a way I was glad to be sleeping on my own. I've never been good at sharing, and when that nerd (whoever heard of a male secretary before - must be a real wimp) offered to sleep on the sofa it seemed a godsend.
Mind you. If we'd been sharing! I'd always rather fancied him see (I have a thing for wimpy nerds). Maybe we could have? Why not? They said Marilyn has set a target of doing all the men in the office and she hadn't ticked him off yet. She'll get those silly pyjamas off him if he didn't look out. That's what I reckoned. 
Anyway I was asleep when there was a tap on the door and in come the others giggling and holding their fingers to their lips like people do when miming don't make a noise.
"Shhh!" Whispered Nicola, always the one to come up with the mad ideas.
"What?" I was still a bit bleary eyed.
"We're going to see who's won the bet."
Now I understood. We'd had this like silly bet on how big a one he had. You know what I mean. I have this theory that men with blonde hair always have big ones. Admittedly it was gained from looking at pictures of that film star bloke (you know the one with the blonde hair) that somebody had put on the internet. The ones there was all the fuss about. Well he's got a big one hasn't he! Bloody enormous.
So I had bet on 'Big'. Needless to say nobody else had so I stood to win a fair bit.
"How are we going to find out?"
"He's flat out and I've got a pair of scissors," said Nicola, still giggling.
We crept through into the living room where he was fast asleep under the blanket we'd given him.
We each took a bit of blanket and lifted it off. There he was. Lying there in those silly pyjamas. The sort that went out of fashion in about 1327.
Nicola opened and closed her scissors and then carefully snipped all the buttons off his pyjama jacket. It fell open. 
She grinned at the rest of us.
"Now for it," she mouthed, and snipped the button holding the pyjama bottoms together. She carefully opened them up. A gasp went round.
"Bloody hell," said Marilyn, "that's a whopper!"
And she, as we all were aware, was a girl who would know.
"But why is it... Well you know... Why is it... Well... Up?"
I was curious. 
The others looked at me as if I was stupid.
"They always go up when men are asleep," explained Nicola, "don't you know anything!"
I did know one thing. The sight of a whopper in all its glory was having an effect on me. Indeed it was having an effect on all of us.
It made me feel incredibly naughty. I had an overwhelming urge to...
It had been really funny snipping his buttons off like that and well worth it! His cock up like the Eiffel Tower and almost as big!
Well worth a viewing. And handing over five quid to Mousey Mindy whose eyes were nearly popping out of her head. Who'd have guessed it!
And who'd have guessed what would happen next, and they call me a madcap!
Bloody Mindy only goes and starts pulling his pyjama bottoms down. I was sure he would wake up, but he was right out with all that wine he'd consumed. She soon had them completely off.
I thought she'd leave it there, but some devil seemed to have got hold of her. She took the scissors and started snipping at his pyjama jacket. It wasn't long before she had that in shreds and he was lying there completely starkers.
We'd stripped him naked! 
She put her finger to her lips, picked up the remnants of his pyjamas 
the blanket and we all crept back to our rooms. He was in for one big surprise in the morning.
I opened my eyes. My head felt like a balloon and the noise that the girls made as they clanked around the apartment seemed to reverberate through it like a gong.
What had I drunk last night! I had no idea. I'd forgotten almost everything about the evening.
"Morning," said Marilyn, looking for once in her life in that sexy seductive way she used on men, but never on me, "Nice to see you."
She said it in a funny sort of way, as if it had some special meaning. Only when I glanced down did I realise what that meaning was. She could see me all right. I was in the nude. Completely in the nude.
It dawned on me in a flash what must have happened. I'd come back drunk. Got undressed and gone to sleep naked. What on earth would the girls think. What on earth was I going to do!
I leapt up covering my willy with my hands. 
"Sorry, sorry," I burbled like an idiot, "I must have... I mean I mustn't have,,, I mean I must..."
If truth be told I didn't know what to say. I felt my face burning as red as a beetroot. All these girls could see me with no clothes on. It was so embarrassing!
"Stop standing there like a blushing maiden hiding her maidenly treasures," said the grinning Marilyn, "We're not delicate flowers who faint at the site of a penis! Come and help get breakfast ready,"
"But I've got to get dressed," I looked round wildly for my clothes. They were nowhere to be seen.
"Oh bother your clothes," said Marilyn, "we like having a naked man at our beck and call. Sort of the natural order of things. Don't you agree girls?"
"But where are my clothes?"
"Well, we sort of hid them. It seemed the right thing to do. As I said. Naked man. Beck and call. Natural order of things. You can start by cooking breakfast. I'll have fried egg. You can ask the others what they want."
I looked at the others expecting them all to laugh and produce my clothes. But to my consternation they started giving me orders. They were deadly serious.
It's funny how group psychology works. Marilyn's original idea had just been to have a laugh by hiding his clothes. The look on his face alone would be worth it, she had said. And she was right. It was worth it. And we were having so much fun with him, he was so red faced and so embarrassed, that nobody wanted it to end there. If it had just been me or Marilyn or any one of us it would have ended there. But being in a group gives you courage, courage just to go that one step a little further.
Nicola instructed him to make breakfast for us all. Nude. Our own naked manservant she said. And we all played along of course. Who wouldn't. It was a laugh. We didn't really expect him to do it.
There is something funny about being nude when everybody else is dressed. Completely nude that is. Without a stitch on. It's probably because you feel extremely embarrassed and extremely vulnerable at the same time.
Everybody can see everything. You can't have any secrets. It makes you feel subservient. You tend to do what people tell you.
That's my only explanation for what happened next. I knew I should stick up for myself, demand my clothes back, threaten them with something or other. But somehow I couldn't do any of that. I started making breakfast in the nude. I thought it was the easy way out, but it was the first step on the slippery slope to my total humiliation.
My name is Yvette and I am French. Always I am thinking that the English they are so reserved and they do not have the little naughtiness’s that we like in Paris. And here I am so wrong.
These girls they take all the clothes off this Englishman and say he must be the nude servant, like my boyfriend he is the nude servant for me in Paris, and instead of being the reserved Englishman he agrees. Oh la la! This I would not have believed if I had not myself seen it!
But there is something that is missing. The nude servant he must have the collar and lead that the nude slave he must always wear, and it is I, Yvette, who have the collar that I use in Paris. I go search it.
It was the collar that did it I think. If I had put my foot down then. If I had refused to wear it things might just have gone down as one big joke. But wearing the collar turned me from the butt of a joke into naked slave.
When Yvette started to put it round my neck I should have said no. I should have run off, done anything. But she was standing close to me as she looped it over my head with one hand, the other, unseen by the rest of the girls, was gently cradling my balls. It was at the same time both reassuring and threatening. I didn't object. Before I knew it the collar was round my neck and she held the other end of the leash.
We were all a bit taken aback when Yvette reappeared with her collar and leash. Our naked servant had served us breakfast and I for one had presumed that the fun was over and we'd give him his clothes back. We had a free morning from the course and we were supposed to be preparing for the afternoon, when Yvette suddenly disappeared and reappeared with a collar and leash. She looped it over his head and tightened.
You probably think this is all rather naughty, but it just kept escalating a little bit every time.
"Good Boy!" Said Yvette, "You go, what you say, Walkies! Yes! You go walkies!""
They were all laughing at me.
Yvette had put the collar around my neck and was leading me round the room stark naked on all fours like a dog.
Everybody found it hilarious. As for me, I thought 'once round the room and they'll let me have my clothes back'. So I put up with the humiliation.
She led me once round the room then right up to Mindy.
"There you are," she grinned, "the little Peeping Thomas ready to pay his, how you say, penance. What is it to be?"
Mindy just shook her head. I breathed a sigh of relief, but in the end it might have been better if she'd suggested something. As it was it was Sally who interjected.
"I say string him up by his balls," she said. Well I said I thought she had it in for men. I don't suppose she meant it literally, but the others cheered and when girls get worked up then one thing leads to another.
I hadn't really meant it literally. I mean he deserved to be strung up by his balls after sneaking in on poor Mindy like that - but what do you expect of men. One track minds all of them.
It was just that everybody seemed to be expecting Mindy to come up with an exemplary punishment and she was completely tongue tied so I just threw in the suggestion.
But then they all took it seriously. 
"Yeah! String him up by the balls," they all cried. Well I knew this little trick. You see I've been about a bit in my time. It wasn't stringing him up by the balls but it seemed somehow appropriate. I walked behind him and as he looked apprehensively around I whipped his hands behind his back, two loops of the lead round his wrists, a sharp tug and he was restrained, hands tied behind his back, helpless, balls at our mercy, cock at our mercy. If he struggled it tightened the choke collar round his neck. I fastened the lead to the door handle. He was naked and bound. All we had to do was think what to do next.
And in a way our mind was made up for us.
I once read somewhere of what is called the boiling frog effect.
It has been described thus:
The boiling frog story is a widespread anecdote describing a frog slowly being boiled alive. The premise is that if a frog is placed in boiling water, it will jump out, but if it is placed in cold water that is slowly heated, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. The story is often used as a metaphor for the way in which a person fails to react to a gradually increasing danger until it is too late.
I'd been stripped, I'd been humiliated and now I was tied up and helpless. And all because I'd let them go a little bit further and a little bit further until it came to this.
My cock was at their mercy and it was bolt upright and has hard as a rock. I've never felt so embarrassed in all my life.
At least I hadn't been strung up by my balls.
They think I'm little Mousy, Wouldn't Say Boo to a Goose, Mindy.
What they don't know is that I know men and I know their cocks. Playing with men's cocks is my favourite sport. I just don't go around telling people.
I had thought what his punishment would be. Tempting though stringing him up by his balls was my way was much more subtle and much more of a torment.
I was going to tease his cock. Tease it and tease it and tease it until he was brought the brink and then make him beg for relief. He would have to beg and beg to be finished off, and once he had begged enough he would be released and allowed to bring himself off. That would be his ultimate humiliation.
I started to stroke his cock but Sally still had another little addition. A little icing on the cake as they say.
I didn't see why he shouldn't have a little pain with his pleasure. There was a little ball of string in the drawer. I fastened a little loop and fitted it snugly round the balls then tied the other end to where it would cause the most discomfort. I nodded to Mindy to begin.
So what was it that had got me into this situation: boiling frog effect, group psychology or just the fact that whatever their basic personality all girls get a thrill out of domination and only need an excuse to exercise their power.
Whatever the explanation I had been stripped, bound and my balls had been leashed - the free end wrapped round Mindy's foot so she could yank them whenever she liked. And she liked.
And then she started to tickle my cock. It was up, it was hard and it was throbbing. I was on the verge of exploding, but whenever I was just about to let fly Mindy stamped her foot, the noose tightened round my balls and my poor cock was left begging for more.
Not only was my cock begging. I was begging.
I was enjoying this. The little nerd was begging and I was going to make him toss himself off in front of us. It would be the ultimate humiliation.
"All right," I said grinning, "loose his hands Sally.
I couldn't help it. Once my hand was free I had only one thought. It went straight to my cock and even with all the girls watching, even in front of that laughing audience I worked my cock into a frenzy and let fly.
After everything, with all that built up pressure my balls were pumping like a fire hydrant. At least it went straight in Mindy's face so I had that satisfaction."
"Oh My God!" Shouted Sally, "Look!"
She was pointing at the clock.
"We're supposed to be back at the course in twenty minutes and I haven’t done my hair yet."
The girls dashed off.
I looked round. I was alone in the living room. I got my hands free, got dressed and met the girls to catch the bus to the course. It was going to be another boring day.
Or was it?


Submitted: April 01, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Joex. All rights reserved.

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Nice story, I hope Marilyn finalized her list with him at the end of the day

Tue, March 23rd, 2021 6:05pm

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