Racing The Enemy Naked

RACING THE ENEMY NAKED

The track team bully humiliates a young runner

by G. Lawrence

Nothing in this story really happened, the events are not likely to happen, and I don't advocate that anything in this story should happen. It is a fantasy not intended to reflect real life. This story has nudity but no sex. All of the characters are over 18 years old.

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"Okay, this is how it works," the bully said. "We go down to the lower track field in the late afternoon after practice. A match race. Say, 200 meters. The loser becomes the winner's slave for the rest of the day. You don't like me, and I don't like you. One of us gets humiliated and put in his place."

"Why should I trust you? Or any of the seniors?" the freshman track star answered. "You're jealous that I'm winning my meets while you guys can barely cut it."

Brad Parks, taller and heavier than the boastful pipsqueak, had to control his temper. This was his last year at Midvale Valley College. He'd done well in track and field, though never outstanding. The kid had a point, but that didn't mean he needed to take his attitude.

"I'll bring two friends. You bring two friends. They'll be at the finish line to judge who wins," Brad recommended. "If the vote is 2 to 2, it's a draw. But I expect to win. You're great at the 100-meter dash, but I doubt you can last in a real man's race."

"I can beat a lumbering hulk like you at any distance," Jeff Mathewson replied. "I may have been a skinny runt in high school, but I've filled out since then. I'm 120 pounds now, all muscle, most of it in my legs. I'm not afraid of you."

"Then the race is on? No excuses?" Brad said, reaching to shake on it.

"I'll need to find two judges who are on my side," Jeff mentioned. "I'm new here, you aren't. But a few of my old high school classmates are attending Midvale. I'll find them."

"Fair enough. Saturday? 3 p.m.?" Brad suggested.

"Saturday," Jeff confirmed.

It was a cool April day for the small Indiana college. At 5'5, Jeff was smaller than anyone else on the track team but known for his competitive spirit. His undoubted speed in the 100-meter dash, and even the 200-meter, had quickly made him a star. Which he enjoyed. The carping of the seniors about his decorum was just designed to bring him down. And Brad Parks was one of the worst, always complaining about Jeff's victory laps and waving his blue ribbons.

Jeff only had a day to find judges who might be on his side, but he knew where to look. He jogged down to the cafeteria outside the accounting building. Several of his Claymore High School acquaintances were enrolled there. He hadn't been close to many classmates during those days, being shy. He had wanted to date more, but his short stature sometimes made him feel insecure. He had focused on getting good grades instead.

Mark Leads and Bryan Manning were sitting with their high school sweethearts, Janice and Paula. The women weren't enrolled at Midvale, just visiting. Jeff didn't want the women knowing about the match race, so he drew Mark and Bryan aside. Which was uncomfortable. They hadn't always been on the best of terms, to say the least.

"I need two friends," Jeff said outside the front door. "I'm running a match race tomorrow against a bigmouth senior. He has two buddies judging. I need two on my side. Will you help me?"

"Sure thing. Those bastards make me sick the way they pick on everyone," Mark agreed. "What do we need to do?"

"There's a practice field down at the lower end of campus," Jeff explained. "The race is tomorrow at 4 o'clock. We should meet up fifteen minutes sooner to make sure they aren't trying to pull something."

"We know how sneaky those seniors can be," Bryan said. "Are you racing Brad Parks? He always lords it over everyone like he owns the school."

"He's been trying to lord it over me, and I've had enough," Jeff responded. "This race is just what I need to shut him up."

"We'll be there. Should we bring anyone else? Our girlfriends? You remember them, of course?" Mark asked. Jeff remembered them all too well, bypassing the question.

"They want a private event. Which is okay. You'll see why," Jeff answered.

The race would be held on a temperate afternoon under a blue sky. The track was somewhat isolated from the rest of the campus by tall trees and a hill. Jeff arrived with Mark and Bryan. The other two freshmen were eighteen, casually dressed, tall and well-built, though not athletic like their smaller high school classmate. Brad was already there with Gregg Jones and Hayden Willoby, who had been on the football team before their final senior game sent them into retirement.

"I'm surprised you showed up," Brad said. "Don't expect me to go easy on you when you lose."

"I won't be the one who loses," Jeff defiantly responded.

"What are the stakes?" Mark asked, sensing more was going on than pride.

"The loser becomes the winner's slave," Gregg answered, younger than Brad but several years older than the freshmen. He had a bright, easy-going nature about him. "A slave to be humiliated for showing off and treating others like dirt."

"Treating others like dirt is your thing, not mine," Jeff said. "Always calling the shots for everyone else. I just like to train hard and win."

"There's nothing wrong with winning. It's how you win that matters," Brad replied.

"Slave?" Mark questioned, his thick eyebrows going up. "One of you will become a slave?"

"That's between the contestants," Hayden lectured, the oldest of the group, dark-haired and grim. "We're just here to guarantee a fair start and judge the winner. Though it wouldn't surprise me if someone gets naked."

"Naked!" Mark and Bryan shouted.

"You froshes don't know how this works, but at Midvale Valley College, we have traditions," Gregg said. "The loser of a match race strips. The winner decides on the punishment."

"Sounds harsh," Mark said, taking a step back. "Glad I'm not running today."

"Jeff, you knew about this?" Bryan asked.

"Yes, they've done it to others," Jeff acknowledged. "But I won't lose. Parks won't be such a big shot after doing a naked loser lap around the track."

"I have my phone. We'll take pictures of him," Mark said, drawing frowns from Gregg and Hayden.

"No, that's not what I want," Jeff said, pushing the phone aside. "I just want to see him taken down a peg."

"We'll see who takes pictures of who," Brad said. "Ready to do this?"

Jeff and his guys went to a bench where he took off his street clothes, dressing in his sports trunks and tank top. Everything was stuffed into a gym bag. Brad and his friends did the same on another part of the field. Then both sides came together at a yellow chalk line just off the infield.

"Okay, one lap around the track wins," Brad announced.

"One lap? That's 400 meters," Jeff objected. "You said 200 meters."

"You said you could beat me at any distance. One lap is simple. We start here and end here. Our teams don't need to move anyplace else to observe."

"No problem, Jeff. You can beat him," Mark said. "You were always fast in high school."

"And very fast running away from bullies," Bryan added with a laugh.

"Fine. I can still win," Jeff said, though without the confidence he wanted.

They set up on the starting line and Gregg fired a starter pistol. The runners took off. Jeff had the initial advantage. Though much shorter, he had strong legs. Quick movement. It would take time for Brad's longer strides to make a difference.

Jeff was well out front at 100 meters and kept the lead halfway around the track at 200 meters. In the final curve, Brad began to catch up. Jeff needed to strive harder, struggling to maintain the pace. Breathing hard. Sweating. Their muscles were beginning to ache. They went into the final stretch. Cheering was heard from the four judges.

Nearing the finish line, Brad moved ahead. He was running hard, too. Giving nothing away. Jeff dug deep for a final burst of speed, catching his larger opponent. It was close, but Jeff was fairly sure he had won. They staggered to the infield, trying to catch their breaths.

"Tough race," Brad conceded.

"You're faster than I thought," Jeff wheezed.

The judges approached.

"Brad definitely won," Gregg instantly said. "Not even close."

"That's the way I saw it," Hayden agreed. Jeff wasn't surprised. They'd say the same thing if Brad lost by ten yards. He turned to his high school acquaintances.

"Well, it was close," Mark said. "But I think Parks won."

"Parks?" Jeff questioned.

"Yes, he had the edge," Bryan conceded. "Hate to say it, Jeff. You were a step behind like always."

Jeff couldn't believe it. He knew he had won. Or, at least, was pretty sure he had won. How could this be happening? He looked at the expressions and finally understood, his shoulders drooping. Those he hoped would be his friends weren't. They were smirking.

"Thanks a lot, guys," Jeff muttered.

"Not welching on the bet, are you?" Brad asked.

"I've never welched on a bet," Jeff quietly replied.

"Okay then, take off your clothes," Brad ordered.

Jeff kicked off his shoes, peeled off his white socks, and yanked off the sweaty tank top. Gregg brought his gym bag, stuffing everything inside with Jeff's street clothes. The trunks came next, leaving only his jockey shorts. It wasn't like Brad hadn't seen him in the showers after a track meet. He was a new sight for Gregg and Hayden. Jeff took off his underwear, seeing them disappear into the bag. Gregg zipped the bag shut, leaving Jeff standing nude before all of them.

"He's actually not bad looking," Bryan said. "If I was gay, I'd want to tap that ass."

"Not a bad cock, either. How come he doesn't get more girls?" Gregg wondered.

Brad had to concede the point. Jeff may have been small, but he was well-proportioned, with sinewy muscles perfect for a sprinter. The result of hundreds of hours of hard training.

"Because he's a monk," Brad said. "All he thinks about is winning races and showing up his competitors."

"Fine. Whatever," Jeff said. "Have you had your fun?"

"Oh, we haven't even started," Brad replied. He nodded to Gregg, who came up behind Jeff. In a quick move, Jeff found his arms pulled back and handcuffs put on his wrists. He lurched forward, turning around.

"Brad, what the fuck?" he said.

"You are my slave. That was the bet. I'm going to treat you like a slave," Brad responded. He stepped forward to buckle a leather collar around Jeff's neck and attach a 6-foot leash.

"Okay, let's take that victory lap," Brad said, drawing Jeff back out on the track. They started slowly, gradually picking up speed. Brad in his running shoes and Jeff barefoot. Jeff didn't need to be dragged, keeping pace without complaining. A few minutes later, they were back at the starting line. The field was deserted. No crowds to witness the event.

Jeff paused to catch his breath, unhappy to see Mark and Bryan enjoying themselves so much. Remembering their high school days, perhaps he should have expected this betrayal, but he had hoped they'd moved past that now that they were in college. It had been a mistake. Mark raised his phone to take a photo.

"Not now," Gregg said, pushing the phone down. "Brad has plans for that."

Brad went to the bench, getting dressed in his street clothes while Jeff was forced to watch. Hayden held the leash.

"I'm looking forward to a shower when I get home," Brad announced. "Jeff, you won't need to wait that long."

There was a soccer net at the end of the field used for practice. It was long and wide, white nylon netting attached to PVC poles. Jeff was led down and shoved inside, the leash tied to the overhead bar. And then Gregg came up with a hose.

"No! No, don't do this!" Jeff yelled as Hayden turned the faucet on. Gregg stood before Jeff, spraying him ferociously. Making him jump and twist in the cold water. His audience laughed uproariously. Jeff finally gave up, sinking to his knees. And then it got worse.

"What's this?" a young woman inquired. Jeff looked up to see five girls from the lacrosse team, carrying their sticks and a bag of balls. They were slim, strong, and attractive. Good runners.

"Hi, Sandy. Can we help you?" Brad asked.

"We were hoping to use the net," Sandy replied.

"No problem, we're almost done here," Brad said.

"Is that Jeff Mathewson? Did he lose a bet?" Sandy asked.

"Yeah, he sure did," Mark snickered. Sandy looked at the two freshmen still wearing their clothes. And their leering grins. She was not impressed. The women offered more frowns than smiles.

"Don't make the grass too wet," Sandy requested. Hayden turned the faucet off. Gregg untied the leash from the net, leading him out.

Jeff was mortified, standing naked before five women, soaking wet and shivering.

"I didn't realize he's so cute," Tracy Adams said. "How come he never dates?"

"Because he's a monk," Brad replied, taking Jeff to the far end of the field. The other four men followed. Both Mark and Bryan repeatedly spanked Jeff's bare ass to keep him moving, chuckling with each smack.

"This is so great," Mark said. "Jeff was always such an uptight little bastard at Claymore High. Hardly talking to anyone. Feeling superior to the rest of us. Smarter. Working harder. Always getting the best grades. He's not looking so superior now." Brad glanced back, listening without commenting. They reached the bench where Jeff's gym bag was.

"Okay, you've had your fun humiliating me," Jeff said. "Take these handcuffs off."

"Not yet. We have places to go," Brad answered.

"Places? What places?" Jeff protested.

"You haven't learned your lesson yet, but you will," Brad promised. He turned to Mark and Bryan. "Are you froshes interested in attending Sheryl Yee's pool party tonight?"

"Wow! Sheryl Yee? Really? That's a big deal," Mark said. "Don't they have an open bar and live music?"

"Come as my guests, and bring Jeff's clothes with you," Brad said, throwing them the gym bag. "You can bring dates if you want. Now get out of here. Your part of this is over."

"Mr. Parks, we want to thank you for--" Bryan started to say.

"Pay attention, frosh," Gregg said, getting in his face. "You're done. Get the fuck out of here before we make you run a lap."

The freshman ran for their lives. Attention returned to Jeff.

"You can't do this. The bet was for the track field," he said.

"Nothing specified where your slavery would take place. Or exactly how long. Technically, it won't end until dawn," Brad said.

"No, not dawn," Jeff said, shuddering. They realized Jeff had heard the stories, poking each other with their elbows. Midvale's senior hazing events were legendary.

Gregg put a hand on Jeff shoulder, whispering, "Have you ever been abandoned on the beach of Lake Michigan? Naked? Tied to a pole? It gets a little chilly in April. Would you like us to give you're a ride?"

"No, please, I'd rather not," Jeff said, shaking.

"Then you would rather stay with us?" Hayden asked. Jeff knew he had no good options.

"I don't want a ride to the beach," he answered.

"You might still end up at the beach. Many have," Brad warned. "But for now, you're coming with us."

To his shame, Jeff was led off the field and over the tree-lined hill into the heart of the campus. It was a traditional Midwestern college, with ivy-covered red brick buildings and a large quad surrounded by stone benches. A statue of the founder, the French fur trader Marced DeLeon, stood prominently next to the flagpole. Being Saturday, there wasn't much activity. But there was some. No one wanted to approach Brad's group and ask questions, which was okay with Jeff. He knew the parking lot was up ahead, only ten minutes away. Forced to walk naked through the center of campus dragged on a leash was a humiliating nightmare. Or should have been. It wasn't the first time he'd been naked where he shouldn't be. Those previous times had been terrifying, and in a strange way, thrilling. Brad looked back at his captive, noticing Jeff taking more in stride than he expected.

"We need to check in at the Fine Arts Building," Brad said, diverting their course.

"Why fine arts?" Jeff dared to ask.

"If you paid attention to anyone but yourself, you'd know I'm a fine arts major," Brad answered. "My specialty is photography."

Oh, God, Jeff thought, this could get bad.

The modern art structure had large glass doors. Brad led the way into the lobby, holding the leash. Gregg and Hayden followed Jeff, giving occasional slaps to his butt. Jeff was getting used to it. They weren't hard enough to be painful. Just embarrassing.

"Hi Brad," a beautiful young co-ed said in a happy voice. "Is this a new subject?"

"Can't giveaway my secrets, Darla," Brad answered with a wink.

"Kind of skinny," she observed, wrinkling her nose. "Nice equipment, though."

"It's Jeff Mathewson," Brad informed.

"The track star? Gosh, I've heard of him," Darla said with more interest. She circled Jeff, looking at him from all angles. "Wow, he looks great for a small guy. Like a miniature Mercury. All he's missing is a winged helmet. My art class is about to begin. Can we sketch him?"

"You need a nude model?" Gregg asked, looking ready.

"Not you, you big lug. We want this new guy, not a has-been football player," Darla answered with a grin.

"We have time," Brad said. "I'm sure my friend won't mind helping you out. Will you, Jeff?"

"I am born to serve," Jeff replied, not unhappy to have an attractive woman praise him.

"Thank you so much," Darla gushed. "What's with the handcuffs?"

"It's Jeff's birthday," Hayden replied. "This has always been one of his exhibitionist fantasies, so we're giving him this present. Isn't that right, Jeff?"

They were all staring at him, grinning, having a terrific time.

"Yes," Jeff sarcastically confirmed. "I've been fantasizing about this my whole life."

It got a good laugh. None of them guessed how true it was.

Jeff was led into the art class, eight women and two men. He took a position directly in front of them all, trying not to be overwhelmed. Many poses were requested, most of them classic. None were extraordinarily rude, to Jeff's relief. His captors lingered back against the wall, plotting some new terror for him, and then Brad disappeared for nearly forty minutes. Jeff was surprised, assuming Brad would want to enjoy the show.

Being professional, few comments were made about Jeff's body. Or the handcuffs. Jeff made a point of straightening up, refusing to be cowed by the awkward situation. The young artists were impressed by the powerful leg muscles, finely crafted calves, the strong lines in his back, and even the obvious strength in his thin shoulders. Various poses allowed the features to emerge in different ways. Jeff's expressions were perhaps the most interesting of all. He had a steady glance, soft brown eyes, and an occasional smile. Brad returned toward the end, giving the kid credit. He never made a squawk about any of it.

"We want to thank you," Darla said at the end of the session. "This has been great. We'd like to have you back, if that's okay. The handcuffs aren't an everyday thing, are they?"

"No. Hopefully I'll be able to do without them after today," Jeff answered, looking at Brad. "And I would be willing to do this again if it doesn't interfere with my training."

"Do you train every day?" Darla asked.

"I take Wednesdays and Sundays off to avoid stress injuries," he explained.

"Wednesday it is," Darla happily confirmed. Then she leaned over to peck him on the cheek. "You're very cute. A few of the girls would like to see more of you."

Jeff smiled, slowly turning around. "I'm not sure there is more of me to see," he replied, drawing chuckles.

When the art class ended, they were on the move again. The campus theater loomed three stories high with seating for 2000 people. Brad led Jeff across the empty stage, giving him a taste of true exhibitionism, and stopped outside the dressing rooms. A dozen young actors were preparing for rehearsal. They paused to give Jeff the once over.