Oz Beach Boy Strips For Rival Fans

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This is an entry in the YAY TEAM 2024 SPORTS & SEX AUTHOR ORGANIZED CHALLENGE, so I'd really appreciate it if you could take the time to leave a score.

This story features my recurring character Matt (a muscular, well-hung, twenty-something male exhibitionist) being forced to publicly strip and jerk off by a group of rival female rugby league fans.

This story features CFNM, enforced male stripping, body worship, humiliation, mild femdom, enforced public masturbation, lots of NRL references, and plenty of potentially offensive profanity. This is a complete work of fiction. All characters are over eighteen. I am endeavouring to gradually write a CFNM "Oz Beach Boy" story in every Literotica category. This entry: "Non-Consent & Reluctance".

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It was a brisk winter night in Sydney, Australia. For a change, I wasn't really looking to get involved in anything sexual that night...but I certainly found myself right in the middle of it.

I'm nearly always up for sex or anything sex adjacent. Though not officially diagnosed, I'm pretty much a raging sex addict. I'm a narcissistic Aussie male exhibitionist in my twenties who loves getting nude, preferably with women watching me. I spend hours training to get my body as ripped and muscular as I can, principally to attract as much female attention as possible.

I like to show off and put myself in potentially sexy situations whenever I can, particularly around Sydney's many beaches and secluded coastal bays. I also frequently stroll around at night on busy weekends looking for action wherever I can find it. I am constantly horny, and I've enjoyed a lot of kinky hook-ups in my time. [See Story: "Oz Beach Boy's Exhibitionism Essay"] On this night, however, I just wanted to get home.

As the cool winter wind nipped at my cheeks, I walked quietly down a dark, quiet street near a large, deserted park in the Sydney suburb of Waterloo. I'd been at a rugby league match, and I was dressed in the fan gear of my team, The Sydney Roosters. I had a team-coloured red-white-and-blue beanie pulled over my longish, sandy brown hair, a same-coloured woolen scarf tied around my neck, a Roosters t-shirt, and a vintage Roosters footy jersey over the top in the famous 1970s style, complete with the name of the old team sponsor, City Ford, pasted across the front.

The bottom half of my body was Roosters-unadorned with blue jeans and sneakers. I did, however, have Roosters footy socks on. Also, somewhat ridiculously, I was wearing Roosters underpants, a joke birthday gift I'd received the previous year from my best friend and one-time foster sister, Darby Hamilton. In short, I looked exactly like what I was: a Roosters tragic.

I was also very, very happy. In the special exhibition match I'd just watched, the Roosters put their long-time rivals and sworn enemies, The Rabbitohs, to the sword. Without mercy, the Roosters ran the hapless Rabbitohs around the field and battered them senseless, walking away with a very comfortable 32 to 0 win.

The wild, baying, heaving crowd was loud and vocal throughout the entire match, yelling encouragement and insults in equal measure from the first whistle to the last. The language was, well, colourful, to say the least, and the beer went down by the gallon. It was a big night for Roosters fans, and a humiliating one for Rabbitohs fans.

Unfortunately, the game was held at the Rabbitohs' old, now rarely utilised home ground in the rough-and-tumble inner-city Sydney suburb of Redfern, and I had to make my way out of there and get back home to my apartment closer to the coast.

Rabbitohs fans are notorious for being amongst the most aggressive and outspoken in the National Rugby League, and my friends and I were hit with a litany of abuse as we left the ground. Obviously angry about being so soundly beaten, the Rabbitohs fans flipped us off, furiously and crudely grabbed their balls, and stopped just short of spitting at us.

"Fuck you," screamed one morbidly obese, toothless Rabbitohs fan decked head to toe in his team colours of red and green, or cardinal-red-and-myrtle-green, as the team's die-hard fans officially and stupidly like to say. "Go back to Bondi, ya fuckin' wankers!"

"Go and have a latte, ya tools!" yelled his equally tooth-deprived mate. "Ya fuckin' arseholes! Go and suck each other off! Suck each other's little dicks! Fuck the lot of ya!"

"Shit, sorry we've gotta leave you here, Matt," said my friend Jackson Monteith with a frown. "I've gotta get up really early tomorrow morning to help my old man with a few things. You'll be right, yeah? Grab an Uber or something? These guys are just giving us shit...they're all talk, Matt."

"Yeah, I know," I responded. "I'm not too worried."

"You'll be okay," added my friend Cole Kinkade. "You can throw a punch, but I don't think it'll come to that. Rabbitohs fans just like to fuck with us...all bark and no bite."

"It's all good, guys...I'll be fine," I said, and turned to walk off.

Jackson and Cole lived in the opposite direction to me, and Jackson had things on tomorrow, so I understood. We waved goodbye and then separated to make our respective ways home. As Jackson and Cole took off in Jackson's car, I gulped nervously.

I was on my own, and I quickly realised I should have planned my exit home a little more carefully. I didn't think to drive because of the limited parking, but then, of course Jackson had got himself a spot with little to no trouble. It was all a massive pain in the arse.

From an inner-city area of Sydney long seen as a rough-and-rugged lower and working class one, the famously ragged-around-the-edges Rabbitohs fans see Roosters supporters as their posh, pretentious neighbours...the polished people in the more affluent beachside suburbs next door they love to hate...and hate

passionately

.

The feud has brewed and bubbled between the Roosters and Rabbitohs for many, many years. It's the most famous rivalry in the National Rugby League, and will likely never end, especially with the very vocal Aussie/Kiwi actor Russell Crowe installed as the Rabbitohs team owner and high-profile figurehead.

Though I can certainly handle myself -- I grew up rough in a succession of foster homes, and basically had to fight my way through my adolescence -- I was more than a little concerned about walking around the Redfern area alone, and potentially being assaulted in enemy territory, so to speak.

Every taxi was taken, and there were so many people ordering ride-shares that I opted to walk a little further away from the busy football ground to increase my luck in getting home. Why the fuck didn't I bring my car? There were Rabbitohs fans everywhere, and I forged on to a chorus of boos and raised middle fingers.

"Ya fuckin' cheat," screeched a hatchet-faced female fan at me, obviously a little confused, considering by how many points we'd won the game. "You pricks have always got the ref in ya pocket! Fuck ya, pretty boy! Go home and wank yourself off while you watch the replay! Have a pull over it, mate! Fuckwit!"

"Yeah, go home and yank your cock, ya fuckin' jerk-off!" howled what looked like the hatchet-faced fan's even more horrifying mother. "Give it a good pull! Play with your little balls too!"

Though I'd actually been considering jerking off to busty female rugby league player Jamie Chapman's bikini-strewn Insta page when I got home, the idea of busting a nut to the game itself had never crossed my mind. It was a funny thought nevertheless, and I giggled to myself about it. I waved meekly at the female fans and they both lewdly grabbed their crotches in response. Rabbitohs fans...such generational charmers!

I continued my walk, and pulled my scarf up around my face for warmth. Sydney doesn't get too cold in the winter during the day, but the nights are always chilly, and I was keen to get home so I could have a wank and then a beer in the warmth of my apartment. I looked around for taxis, but there were none to be seen. There were finally no people around either, and I thought I'd gotten enough distance between myself and the football ground to finally order a ride-share.

Just as I reached for my phone in my jeans pocket, I heard noises coming from the park that I was walking alongside. Again, I gulped nervously. I looked over and saw a group of people walking across the park. I stood quietly behind an unoccupied bus shelter in an effort not to be seen.

Through the darkness, I sensed first that the group appeared to be made up entirely of women, and second that they were all dressed in Rabbitohs fan gear. As they got closer, I heard cackles of laughter and muttered profanity. I stood tight behind the bus shelter, but very soon discovered that I'd been seen, and that this was very quickly developing into a situation that made me very nervous.

"Oh, fuck," I muttered to myself. "Oh, fuck..."

"Fuckin' Roosters fan!" came a loud, screeching, female voice from the darkness. "Fuckin' Roosters fan! Are you hidin' behind there? Let's have a chat, ya fuckin' cheat!"

As a very obvious look of fear likely crossed my face, the group of women emerged from the darkness of the park, and then onto the slightly more well-lit street. I quickly realised that I was now effectively trapped, with the bus shelter at my back and the group of women approaching me from the front.

The first thing I saw was a sea of red-and-green, or cardinal-red-and-myrtle-green, or whatever the fuck they called it...Rabbitohs footy jumpers, Rabbitohs beanies, Rabbitohs t-shirts, Rabbitohs tracksuit pants, and Rabbitohs caps. Once again, I gulped hard...I was fucked. Fucking Rabbitohs!

After accepting the unsettling sight of all the Rabbitohs fan gear, my eyes then focused on the dark-skinned faces of the women wearing it. For many years, the inner-city area that the Rabbitohs represented has been heavily populated with indigenous Australians, and these fans indeed appeared to be Aboriginal women, indicated by their dark skin and hair, broad noses, brown eyes, thick lips, and wiry frames.

My last encounter with an Aboriginal woman had been an incredibly sweet and enjoyable one [See Story: "Oz Beach Boy's Black Christmas"], but the sneering looks and curled lips told me these indigenous women were going to treat me a little differently to the way the gorgeous indigenous dancer and high school teacher Dakota Jessup had.

"What the fuck are

you

doin', prick?" said a wild-eyed Aboriginal woman who appeared to be aged in her forties. "I thought you fuckwits all got limousines back home to Bondi!"

"I don't live in Bondi," I said quietly. "I live in..."

"I don't give a fuck where ya live, prick!" the wild-eyed Aboriginal woman yelled, cutting me off fiercely. "You're a fuckin' Roosters fan! You shouldn't be here, ya white prick! You're on Rabbitohs land! A white cunt on Rabbitohs land!"

"I couldn't get a taxi or ride-share at the ground," I responded meekly. "I was just gonna walk a bit...I was just about to order an Uber. I'm trying to get home."

"Well, you didn't try hard enough, ya white bastard," said the also forty-something Aboriginal woman standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the first woman. "He's on our turf, isn't he, Shari?"

"Yes, he fuckin' is," Shari responded, her eyes wide with anger and contempt. "This prick is on Rabbitohs turf in Roosters gear, Deb...and we should do somethin' about that."

Huddled around Shari and Deb were six other Aboriginal women, likely aged in their thirties and forties, all dressed in Rabbitohs gear, and all looking at me with a mix of snarls and wicked smiles laced with cruelty. I could hear a few laughs from the women as well. Yep, I was fucked.

There was, however, one exception in the group. The only remotely friendly face belonged to a much younger woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Her pretty face was crossed with obvious concern and sadness, and she had none of the brio and vigour of her friends.

The younger woman looked at me with obvious concern and then hung her head. If I was going to get out of this situation unscathed, this young woman looked like the closest thing to an ally I was going to find on this dark, deserted street.

"Maybe we should kick the shit out of him?" Deb asked with a nasty smile. "Put this prick in the hospital? He's a big prick but there's eight of us...we could beat the fuck out of him..."

"Aunty," the pretty younger woman said in a sweetly pleading voice. "Don't hurt him...don't do that...he's just a Roosters fan...don't put him in the hospital. You're not that mean..."

"Yeah, yeah...okay, little Tilly," Deb responded after a lengthy pause. "You've got a big heart, sis. We won't hurt him...but we've gotta fuck this prick up...he's a fuckin' Roosters fan wandering around our turf in Roosters colours!"

"Well then, he can't be walkin' around here in his Roosters gear, can he?" Shari asked with a wicked smile. "I think we might just have to do something about that, girls. Let's get all that shitty Roosters gear off him, huh? We'll hang it from the street signs when we get home!"

Though it was a large group of eight older women, it had become instantly obvious that Shari and Deb were very much the leaders, and they were the ones doing most of the talking and making the big decisions. The other women were huddled around behind them, watching and awaiting their next move.

Cackling, laughing and backing up everything Shari and Deb said with a chorus of nods and "yeahs", the women were obviously in total agreement with their two chosen leaders. The only member of the group who reacted any differently was the far younger Tilly, whose look of concern and embarrassment continued through this latest development. The younger woman gazed at me with a furrowed brow and sad eyes, and then dropped her head.

Tilly was very attractive, and even in this bizarre and increasingly unsettling situation, I was wondering about her large breasts, and what she'd taste like. She looked disturbingly resigned to whatever was about to happen, as if she knew she had no power over Shari, Deb and the other women. Something told me they'd given people this kind of shit before.

"Let's start with the scarf and beanie," Deb said with a sneer. "Hand that Roosters shit over."

"Are you serious?" I asked pleadingly. "It's cold...you can't just take my stuff. You've gotta be kidding."

"No, we're not fuckin' kidding," Deb shot back. "If it wasn't for little Tilly and her big heart, we'd be giving you a fuckin' hiding and sending you to the hospital."

"Hand 'em over," Shari said firmly. "Beanie and scarf...now."

Royally pissed off, I raked my beanie off my head, and then unwrapped the scarf from around my neck. The cold night air instantly hit me, like icy fingers across my neck and hair. I bundled up my scarf and beanie, and then handed them to Shari, who ripped them violently from my hands.

"This gear is expensive," I spat unhappily. "It's not cheap..."

"I'm sure you can afford it, fancy pants," Shari responded with a wicked smile, and then passed my beanie and scarf back to one of the women behind her.

"I'll use these to wipe my arse with," the woman said with a giggle, and then waved my scarf around over her head, "and then I'll burn 'em!"

There was a long pause as Shari and Deb looked me up and down as I stood there alone on the deserted street, way behind enemy lines, so to speak. Almost in unison, wicked smiles slowly cracked across Shari and Deb's dark-skinned faces. I knew what was coming next.

"Take off your footy jumper," Shari said with a very cheeky sparkle in her big, dark-brown eyes. "That fuckin' shit's next...take it off and hand it over, pretty boy."

"Hopefully he's got nothin' on underneath," I heard one of the women mutter from the back.

"This is going a bit far now," I said. "It's cold, and this cost over a hundred bucks... it's a vintage replica."

"Do I look like I give a fuck?" Shari asked with a sneer. "Take it off and hand it over...now."

"It's that or the hospital," Deb added. "We'll kick your arse."

I looked at the women with disgust and simmering anger. I could have run for it, but there were eight of them, and I didn't want to cause a scene. Also, if anyone got involved around here, they'd likely be on the side of the women, so there was no use yelling for help...it would probably just land me in bigger trouble.

I slowly, reluctantly peeled off my $149.95 replica vintage Roosters jersey, lifting it from the bottom hem and bringing it up over my stomach and chest, and finally taking it off over my head. I pulled the jersey down and off my arms.

Smiling with a look of pure satisfaction, Shari held out her hand and moved her fingers back and forth. I pushed my longish, Sandy brown hair back off my face, and then slowly handed over the jersey. Shari grabbed it from my hand, and then casually slung it over her shoulder, my Roosters jumper horribly incongruous against her Rabbitohs one.

"Nice," Shari said with a laugh. "Maybe you can buy it back when I take it to the pawn shop!"

"Fuck," Deb said with a snort when she saw my tight, dark-blue t-shirt, which was emblazoned with the Roosters logo and a scroll reading "Premiers 2019".

"This prick has Roosters everything," Shari shrieked, doubling over with laughter.

"Hand that over too," Deb said with a big laugh, and then looked at me wickedly. "Fuck knows where this might end."

"Oh, come on," I pleaded weakly. "Not my t-shirt...I've got nothing on underneath."

"Well, now it's

definitely

comin' off!" Deb responded with a howl. "Let's see what this white boy's got!"

"Take it off," Shari commanded. "Lose the t-shirt, pretty boy."

There was a lewd sparkle in Shari's wide, dark-brown eyes when she said this, and I could tell from her calling me "pretty boy" that there were very likely sexual thoughts running through the Aboriginal woman's mind.

While this had started as just a mean-spirited rival fan group's theft of my Roosters gear, I could sense it quickly turning into something else...something decidedly...

sexual

. I didn't know what would happen once I'd taken off my t-shirt and revealed some skin. I shivered nervously at the thought.

"Come on," Deb said firmly. "Take off that shitty Roosters t-shirt. Let's have a look at ya..."

With the cold night winter air cruelly caressing my neck, I did as I was told. I grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt with a sneer, and then pulled it up, first revealing the smoothly waxed, rock-hard muscles of my abdomen, and then my marbled pecs.

As I pulled the t-shirt up over my head, I felt the cold air bite into my bare torso. I slid the t-shirt down my arms, and felt my biceps bulge and my muscles ripple and pump as I moved. I handed my limp, dangling t-shirt to Shari.

Without taking her eyes off my bare torso, Shari threw my stolen t-shirt over her shoulder, and one of the women behind her caught it with a whistle and a laugh, and then swung it over her head in triumph. I could feel eight pairs of female eyes trained on the hard muscle and smooth skin of my freshly revealed bare torso.

"Well, look at this white prick," Shari said, looking even more self-satisfied as she stared at my chest. "Someone's been working out."

"Look at those muscles," Deb added, and then pointed at my deeply ridged abdomen. "He's cute, huh, girls?"

"He's a real spunk," came a voice from behind Shari and Deb.

"Yeah, for a white prick Roosters fan," mumbled another female voice. "He's hot."

"He's nice...real nice," came another voice. "Look at that body..."

"I reckon he's got a hotter rig than most of the Rabbitohs boys," Deb said, running her slightly crazed, deep-brown eyes up and down my bare torso. "This white prick must love working out....mmmmm, mmmm...yummy, yummy."