"Mugged"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Gay and Lesbian  |  House: Stripping and Humiliation

David Bentley's shopping trip ends in utter humiliation

David cursed his luck as he glanced at his watch. A feeling
of impotent rage welled up in his throat. Why, oh why did Saturday
shoppers walk so bloody slowly?


Hemmed in on all sides by the old, the sick, the lame and the
stupid - or so it seemed to him - it was almost as though the
world was conspiring personally against him.


David was an individual; he did not conform. He prided
himself upon that aspect of his personality. Just because everybody
else seemed to meekly accept the sluggardly pace set by the majority,
it did not mean that David Bentley had to. Oh no, siree! Trudging
mindlessly, and at snail's pace, along the pavement, past shops and
stores he had no intention of entering that particular afternoon, he
seethed to be rid of the chains of crawling humanity that surrounded
him, to be free, unfettered, able to set his own pace.


His spirits rose as he approached a ginnel of which he had
prior knowledge. This little weind led off from the main thoroughfare
and, for those "in the know", offered a shortcut by way of various
back alleys to the next shopping street he wanted to visit. Actually,
in fact, it was no shortcut. In terms of distance, it was probably
further, but, since his progress would no longer be impeded by the
dreadful public-at-large, he would make up the time lost dawdling
along in their wake.


With an audible sigh of relief, David turned up the
passageway between two shops and broke into a trot. How great it was
to have a bit of freedom. No child's trolleys crashed into his shins
or rolled across a foot; no packages to bump or bustle into and he
could now swing his own purchases with a devil-may-care ease.
Passing through a little brick tunnel under two buildings
joined at upper floor level, David hopped with gay abandon and a
lightened heart over a dirty puddle and stepped lightly into a back
street running at an angle to the passage he had just left. The wider
street, though little more than a narrow service road itself, was far
from straight. For this was the old part of the city and had been
built to accommodate buildings and rights of way first established in
the misty past of bygone years. There was a general air of desertion
and dereliction surrounding the area. A lot of windows and doors had
been bricked up or boarded up, and there was little evidence here of
the government's much-vaunted plans for "inner-city regeneration".


As David turned a bend in the cobbled and litter strewn lane,
he first set eyes on three malevolent looking youths slouched against
a wall, smoking. With shaven heads, scuffed Doctor Marten boots and a
fair amount of metal embedded in each surly face, they surveyed David
with ill-disguised truculence as he approached with less of a care-
free spring in his step.


As he drew level with them, one lout peeled himself from the
wall and growled:


"Got any ciggies, mate?"


"No. Sorry," David replied distantly.


Avoiding eye-contact with them, he tried to maintain an air
of lofty indifference, but was concerned that the tone of his voice
had betrayed his lack of insouciance.


"What `you got in them parcels?"


The two other lads decided to try if they could stand without
the support of the wall as well and loped cat-like towards David.


"Just some new gear, that's all," he said, trying to pass.


"New gear, eh? Let's `ave a look."


David stopped. His way forward was blocked. He looked behind
him. The street was deserted. How he suddenly longed for a merry
throng of happily laden shoppers to trudge into view and make their
slowcoach progress towards him.


"Look, I don't smoke, sorry. Can I get past? I'm in a hurry."


He could hear the tell-tale tremor himself of burgeoning fear
in his voice.


"Show us your gear, that's all. What 'you got?"


With an extravagant sigh of impatient exasperation - an
attempt to conceal his blue funk - David opened a small box carrier.


"Pair of trainers," he said dismissively.


"Designer trainers, though, eh? Look at them, lads. Expensive
gear, them!"


"What else `you got?" the second lout wanted to know.


"Yeah, what's in them other parcels?" sniffed the third.


"Shirt, jeans, underwear, that kind of thing. That's all.
Look, let me get on, lads. I'm meeting my girl, and I'm late
already," he lied.


It was then that David did two stupid things. He tried to
move the largest carrier he had nonchalantly under his arm, thereby
protecting it and its contents close to his body. The other move was
to add emphasis to his lie about lateness for his girl by extending
his arm to look at his wristwatch.


"Nice watch!"


"Cor, yeah! That's a bit of all right, then."


"Fuckin' hell! That'll've set yer back a packet, that will!"


David tried to wrest his arm back but it was firmly held in a
vice-like grip. The large parcel was whipped from under his other arm
with a professional flourish much to be admired by magicians long
inured in show-business.


"Shirt, jeans, underwear, you said. What the bleedin' `ell do
you do wi' this, then?" the first yob rasped.


The second whistled in disbelief, as the third snatched it
from the first and held it up to admire. It was a black leather
blouson, or bomber jacket. Nappa too.


"Fuck me! This geezer's loaded!"


"Look, will you give that here, now! And let me go!"


Panic was setting in fast now. David tried to snatch his arm
free and attempted to dart at the leather jacket with his other.


"Not so fast, not so fuckin' fast. We want to see what else
you bought, then Don't we, lads?" the first one snapped.


"Lousy taste in shirts, this prick has," the second mumbled
disdainfully holding it up for the others' critical acclaim.


"And Tommy Hilfuckin'figer knickers. Poncy git!" the third
ventured as an opinion.


"All bought wiv plastic, I assume?" the first thug opined


"That'll do nicely, mate!"


They guffawed at their own wit.


Suddenly a hand was thrust in David's jeans pocket.


Systematically, his pockets were searched until, triumphantly, his
credit card was held aloft.


"Tar-aah!" the ruffian trumpeted his success.


"Now, all we need now is his fuckin' pin number!"


"I don't know it, honestly! I never ever use it for getting
cash!" David volunteered, truthfully, as it so happens.


Hands raked through his jeans pockets. He was parted from
three twenty pound notes and some loose change. He mildly protested
but flinched to a freeze when he felt a cold sharp blade pressed just
below his jaw line near his right ear.


"Please, I tell you, I don't know my pin number. Please
believe me. Look don't, hurt me, I beg of you," he began to whimper a
little and his voice had a distinct tremor now.


"Shall we cut `im a bit?" the second boy said with a grinning
leer.


"No! Please!" David started slightly and began to tremble
uncontrollably.


"Y'know, I believe `im. I acktchully do. I don't fink he does
bleedin' know `is number," the first one volunteered.


"I don't, I don't," David confirmed, feverishly shaking his
head at them, but not too vigorously, for fear of puncturing his own
jugular.


"Look, take the designer trainers, but let me go!" he added
with feeling.


"'at's a good idea, yeah! An' that leather jacket, an' all!"
the third one chimed in.


"No! Not the leather jack - "


The increased pressure of the blade against the pulse in his
neck cut off the word in his throat.


"I don't fink you `ave a lot o' say in ve matter, mate," the
first mugger said in a sing-song voice.


"Then there's the crappy shirt . . ." added the third.


"And the fuckin' designer knickers . . ." supposed the
second, although less enthusiastically.


"Pity he hadn't finished shoppin'," the third joked with a
raucous, jeering laugh.


"Oh, but he has, pal. He has!" the first one crowed, waving
David's credit card above his head. "'N' I fink it's abaht time we
did a bit o' shoppin' of our own."


"Yeah!"


A broad grin of realisation dawned on the second layabout's
face, and the two of them snatched up David's purchases with alacrity
as if ready to make a swift departure.


"Oy! not so bleedin' fast! There's more pickin's here, yet,"


the first one yelled, restoring them to order.


"What d'yer mean?" the second one asked, almost in arrested
flight.


"Well. just look at his kit for a start. Same sort of stuff
as he`s just fuckin` well bought. Designer fuckin` trainers, designer
fuckin` jeans, designer fuckin` shirt, and all for the fuckin'
takin'! "


Another slow smile spread across all three ugly pimply and
pustuled faces.


"And don't forget the fuckin' watch for starters!"


As his Rolex Oyster was wrenched from his wrist, David knew
it was pointless to argue. Like a lamb to the slaughter, heart
pounding, blood racing, he stood meekly awaiting his fate. He even
raised each foot as his trainers were pulled off. With the blade
still held threateningly close to the most vulnerable part of his
throat, he allowed them to unbutton his Paul Smith shirt, and
unfasten his Versace jeans. They wolf whistled at his brief figure-
hugging white Calvin Klein sports slip which becomingly lifted and
emphasised his assets, pausing only momentarily in their business-
like stripping of their chosen prey.


Reduced to just his socks and underpants, David stood there,
a pathetic figure, eyes welling up with frustrated humiliation.


"Please!" he begged, "You can't just leave me here like this.
Not in the middle of the city in my underwear!"


His appeal to their better nature was useless. They just
stood back and admired their handiwork, enjoying their sense of power
and control over somebody normally regarded as their "betters" in the
social and economical scale of things. This was their one opportunity
to up their score on Society.


After a brief pause, as though weakening slightly, the leader
said:


"You're right, mate. We can't leave you just like that. OK,
lads, get his briefs!"


With a lunge, they dived at him and quite literally tore off
his underpants. David's hands flew to preserve his modesty, as the
three hoodlums brayed with laughter at their now naked (save for his
socks) victim.


With a sinisterly sadistic grin, the leader of the gang began
to slice up one of the designer shop's prestigious polythene carrier
with the Stanley knife which had been so recently pressed to David's
jaw. Moving back to the still terrified object of their ridicule, in
a low murmur, he said:


"Put your hands behind your back, pal."


"No, please," David begged.


"Put your hands behind your back."


"The matter-if-factness of his even tone was, in itself,
sufficiently unnerving. David's fingers unclasped and moved from
covering his groin to rest on the rise of his naked buttocks. He had
to endure loud and coarse remarks about the size of his exposed
genitals, which appeared intent on retreating as far as they could
from the rude gaze to which they were now unavoidably subjected. As
the cut shreds of stout plastic from the carrier bag was now bound,
knotted and secured around his wrists, David glumly glanced down at
his shaming nakedness.


His brain seethed with a mixture of emotions. Namely, he had
escaped unhurt, but now was faced with the prospect of staggering out
totally naked and unprotected onto a busy city shopping street,
utterly unable to conceal that most private and shaming part of one's
anatomy in an effort to seek help and assistance.


Satisfied with his handiwork on the wrist restraints, the
gang leader moved forward to inspect the effects of his handiwork.
Nodding in approval at the overall effect of their combined efforts,
he clapped his fellow ruffians on their backs, ensured that all their
booty was safely accounted for and with a cheery wave, he set off
with a jaunty spring in his step, much as David had enjoyed as he
turned into that short-cut entry. As the distance between them grew,
he raised his voice in joyful shout which echoed and reverberated
tauntingly against the dead and blocked up windows of the back alley:


"So long, Sucker . . . . . . !!!!!!!!"


Submitted: February 14, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Nder. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:

Comments

Worren

Good read.

Sun, February 16th, 2020 8:38pm

Author
Reply

Thank you, Sir

Sun, February 16th, 2020 2:15pm

Igor

Très sympa

Tue, February 25th, 2020 12:52pm

nrc

No chapter 2? Who sees him next?

Sun, March 8th, 2020 9:54am

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