Tanguy Rougey traded in his safe little life in Annecy for math classes and real heat. He lost his wardrobe during the move, prompting a change in his style: black tees, cargo pants, and one pair of briefs at a time until they shredded. Today he went lighter. He wore a tank, shorts, and barefoot sneakers. He pedaled into a quiet corner. Dice decided who ended up naked.
It is a sort of prologue to the series "Yellow Bike Guy Unraveled in Montpellier."
Tanguy pedaled his bright yellow city bike through the streets of Montpellier. The sun heating his pale skin was a brand new sensation he craved for.
He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and tasted the salt on his lips. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, but it didn't help much.
He kept going, feeling as if the air were pushing back against him. It was mid-August 2021, just a few days after he'd settled into his small apartment. The temperature hovered above 88°F—hotter than anything he'd experienced in Annecy, where summers were cool and predictable, much like the life he'd left behind.
But here in the south, the heat grabbed you by the balls and didn't let go.
Days like this were rare back near Annecy, and the southern ordinary summer felt like fire to the pale newbie. Tanguy had moved down a few days ago to take math classes at the university and gain some independence from his parents.
The move was supposed to be his big step into adulthood—college for math, away from his parents' house where everything was planned out like a schedule. When the truck with his things arrived it was empty. This hit him hard, unprepared for the next step.
All his clothes were gone. Stolen. Only the carry-on bag he'd kept with him survived. He could have bought more clothes, but he embraced the challenge, and stuck to the basics with ruthless minimalism: from that day on he would only have a handful of identical black crew-neck T-shirts and black cargo shorts with buttons.
His underwear consisted of a few worn black briefs and pairs of no-show socks that he washed in rotation until they started to fall apart. No spares. This would become his new year-round uniform for the southern heat, summer and winter, thin and always threatening to ride up or gap, shaping his days.
The theft fed something darker in him—a kink he'd never named—for the risk of exposure and the shame of being caught with nothing on.
Also his apartment on Place des Lilas was set up for unwanted exposure. He dared to leave the shutters wide open, and ditched every curtain, even the one in the shower. During the summer, even the windows always cracked, seeking for the thrill of offering his hairy body to any passing glance.
Usually, he wore black tees and cargo pants, but today he went for the thrill: sockless in beat-up sneakers, a tank top from his internship days that barely covered his ass, and briefs that were too tight.
Today, he went with a lighter look for the thrill: just the old tank top from last summer's farm job, ripped shorts, sweaty briefs that were too tight, and beat-up sneakers without socks. His feet slipped around inside the sneakers, his toes gripping the insoles. No backups. Every bump on the path sent a jolt up his legs.
He increased the thrill by leaving his house keys hidden near the window, and ditching his phone at home for these wanders, just him and the bike, no safety. Just thinking about all this, newby in the new unknown city, made him hard and leaking.
The pedals turned slowly. With each push, a fresh wave of sweat pooled at the small of his back where his tank top touched his skin. The fabric was old and worn thin. He had worn it during his internship as a farm worker the previous summer in Annecy, when he had discovered the secret pleasure of sneaking peeks at the other workers' glistening bodies in the fields. His eyes lingered too long on their bulges, without the courage to name what he felt.
His torn shorts rode up his thighs, and the frayed edges scratched his bushy groin. The cheap cotton briefs underneath bunched up and rubbed against his balls, sending unwelcome tingles through him. Without socks, his feet slipped around inside his worn sneakers, his toes curling against the damp insoles.
"Man, this heat is killing me," thought Tanguy, shifting in his seat as he slowed at a crosswalk. Sweat pooled at the small of his back, soaking the waistband of his shorts. “Why the hell am I even out here in this oven?” he muttered under his breath, wiping sweat from his beard.
He was built for the bike life: lean and toned from riding, with broad shoulders that strained the tank's seams, and strong arms dusted with fine blonde hair that glinted in the sun. A tawny trail of hair led from his chest to his soft belly, and below that was a thick, bushy groin that his briefs could barely contain.
Soft blue eyes peered out from under closely cropped reddish-blonde hair. A thick reddish-brown beard framed his face, which looked shy but held a quiet competitive edge.
His body was hairy in all the right places—his chest was fuzzy, his armpits were dark and matted with sweat, his legs were covered in fine hair, and his groin was wild and untamed. The tank top clung to his body, teasing his nipples through the worn fabric.
The shorts sagged just enough to hint at the waistband of his briefs when he shifted. With every pedal stroke, his balls shifted, the cotton rubbing and building an ache he tried to ignore. But the heat and minimal clothing made it impossible; his cock stirred with the new dare of near-exposure.
He spotted Montcalm Park up ahead—a patch of green that looked inviting. Maybe it was a place to cool off. At least, that's what he told himself as his heart started pounding a bit harder.
The park was a patch of green in the mostly empty city—everyone was off at the beaches for the summer holiday. He pulled in, his tires crunching the gravel as he locked the bike to a rusty rack.
Sweat dripped again into his eyes, stinging them. He wiped it from his forehead, feeling it drip into his beard.
The park was quiet. Paths wound through the trees and the benches were empty. Deeper in, however, in a secluded yet public spot where paths crossed, voices carried—rough laughter and the clatter of dice.
Four men in their thirties were sprawled on the grass, using a flat stone as a dice tray. They looked like the type to push boundaries, and something in Tanguy's gut twisted—a mix of fear and an unnamed pull. He edged closer, pretending to just pass by, but his eyes locked on the men.
The tall one looked up first, his hazel eyes scanning the park with a mischievous gaze. Leaning back on his elbows, he revealed almost six feet of lean muscle. He was wearing barely anything—loose shorts, a tank top, and sandals that he had kicked off, leaving him barefoot with his toes digging into the dirt. He was the type who thrived on risk; public exhibitionism was his thing. He was always pushing the others. His eyes flicked around as if he were hunting for fun.
"Hey, you just gonna stare or what?" he called out at Tanguy. His voice was casual but cutting. "Look at this fresh meat wandering in. You lost, bike boy?" The park is big, but this corner's ours. Unless you want to play."
"You spying or joining?" the chubby guy with the short black hair and light blue eyes insisted shyly. He was seated next to the tall one.
Tanguy stopped, his heart thumping. "Just exploring," he replied. What are you playing?"
"Dice. Bets. Nothing serious," he said, shifting uncomfortably and lingering his gaze on Tanguy. "Yeah, join if you want. It's hot as hell there in the sun."
The small, wiry, blonde guy with the big nose sniffed the air toward Tanguy, his nose twitching. "Come on, kid. My name's Xavier. The tall one is Mathéo, the chubby, shy one is Adrien, and the redheaded brute is Gabriel. We don't eat newbies—unless they ask for it." He wore shabby clothes as if he didn't care, and he bossed the group around—he was clearly the pack leader.
Gabriel, the eldest, with a ginger beard and a physique like a carpenter's, had light hair peeking from his cotton shirt over a tank top. He wore short jeans and sneakers with crew socks. He seemed rough, but his eyes softened when they landed on Adrien. He grunted and adjusted his shirt. "Don't scare him off, Xavier. The kid looks like he's from up north, all tanless and crap.
He chuckled deep in his throat and picked up the dice with his rough hands. "The rules are simple: roll two dice and add them together. The high roll is safe, and the low roll loses whatever the winner says. You seem to be in need of some excitement, bike boy. What's your name?"
Tanguy sat down cross-legged in the circle. His shorts pulled tight over his crotch and the grass tickled his bare calves. Inside, fear mixed with arousal, and his briefs got stickier. "Tanguy."
He should've left, but the urge to stay—the same one he'd felt while spying on farm workers changing, their bodies exposed while he watched from hiding, hand down his pants—held him. He shifted closer, hesitating, his kink pulling him forward despite the warning in his gut.
"All right, what's the stake?" he said.
Beside him sat Adrien with short black hair, light blue eyes that darted shyly, and a slightly chubby middle. He sat cross-legged. He looked intrigued by the game, yet hesitant. His shirt clung to his soft belly. He wore light sneakers with short socks and shifted uncomfortably when the others teased him.
Adrien looked up, his voice soft but direct. "Clothes, man. Low roll loses a piece. It's dumb, but it's something to do in this empty park. You in, or you gonna bike away?"
Tanguy swallowed, his mouth dry, pulled in by the unexpected thrill and the possibility to live what he was just dreaming of. "All right, one round," he said, sitting cross-legged with his hairy legs brushing the grass and his sneakers feeling loose on his bare sweaty feet.
They handed him two dice.
Tanguy grabbed the dice, his hands wet, and looked at the group of men who had already sized him up like a fresh catch.
Mathéo leaned in way too close, breathing hotly on Tanguy's neck, and brushed his thigh with one hand just enough to make him jump.
"Listen up, bike boy. We keep it simple but raw. First loss? Drop a shoe, or maybe a sock if you're lucky. But once it's off, it's gone until we say stop. And if you hesitate to remove it, no worries—we'll take it off for you, making sure you sense every stitch.”
Tanguy's throat went dry and his heart pounded as if it wanted to escape. "You mean stripping? Like actually taking off your clothes right here?"
Adrien shifted next to him, his chubby knee bumping Tanguy's bare calf. His light blue eyes flicked down to where Tanguy's shorts rode up.
"Yeah, but it's fair game for all of us. Nobody walks away fully dressed. It keeps things interesting, you know? Last time we played, I ended up blushing like crazy, but hell, it bonds the group."
Xavier smirked. "Roll, newbie," he said, “Show us what that sweaty grip can do.”
Tanguy shook the dice hard and watched them bounce. Four and three. Seven. He let out a shaky breath.
Gabriel nodded slowly, scratching his hairy chest with his ginger beard. "Decent start, kid. But don't get cocky. I've seen newbies like you who thought they were safe, and then—bam! ass out in the grass."
Xavier grabbed the dice next, rolled a five, and cursed under his breath. "Shit, already?"
He kicked off his left sneaker, his hairy foot slapping the ground as his toes spread wide. "There, happy? I bet your funky bike feet are next, Tanguy. I can smell 'em from here, with all that pedaling in this oven."
Mathéo burst out laughing, slapping Gabriel's knee. "Man, Gabe, you're dying to lose that shirt, aren't you? Take it off and show us that ginger rug you've been hiding. I bet Adrien's already picturing it."
Gabriel glared, but his cheeks turned red as he grabbed the dice. "Fuck off, Mathéo. You talk big, but I remember last game—you were the one begging not to lose your shorts first. Roll your ass."
The dice clattered to and fro, the tension mounting with each roll.
Tanguy got lucky twice, until Adrien rolled low. He slowly tugged off a sock, revealing a pink, damp foot with awkwardly flexing toes. "These socks were soaked anyway, sticking to my skin like glue. It feels better barefoot, with the sensation of cool grass on hot soles."
Tanguy's dick stirred at the sight, his briefs getting that sticky pull. He shifted, trying to hide it, but Xavier noticed. "What's up, bike boy?" Getting a little stiff down there? Are Adrien's cute toes getting you going?"
Then, Tanguy rolled a three. Low as hell.
Mathéo grinned like a shark and leaned forward to pat Tanguy's shoulder hard. "Ha! Right sneaker, dude. Kick it off, or we'll tear it off."
Tanguy bent down and hesitated for a second before pulling it off. His bare foot touched the grass, his toes curling into the heat and glistening with sweat. The other guys watched, and Mathéo whistled low. He grabbed the sneaker and yanked it away, closing Tanguy's mouth and making it clear who would rule the game from then on.
Xavier moved closer, his nose right up to Tanguy's foot, and inhaled deeply. "Damn, these stink like cheap rubber and all-day sweat. You bike commando or something? I bet your pits match. Lift an arm and let me check."
Tanguy flushed hard and his face burned. "Yeah, well, it's hot today.
Gabriel was next to go, grumbling as he peeled off his outer shirt. His tank stuck tight to his hairy chest, with ginger fuzz matted down. "Satisfied now? I've been working all week, so yeah, it's a bit ripe under here." His eyes slid to Adrien, softening just a touch.
Adrien smiled back and brushed Gabriel's arm with his hand. "It looks damn good on you, Gabe. That fur of yours makes me want to brush my fingers through it."
Tanguy rolled a six; he was safe for now. Mathéo, instead, flopped, slowly taking off his tank top and flexing his lean torso, his nipples perking up in the air. "See? No big deal. It keeps me cool and gives you all something to stare at. Adrien, you look like you're hungry over there."
The heat built up, and sweat poured down Tanguy's back. His tank top was soaked through, displaying his chest hair and nipples. He lost his left sneaker next, yanking it off quickly. Now, both feet were bare, and the grass prickled his damp soles. "Shit," he muttered. His cock pushed harder against his shorts, his erection clearly visible.
Xavier pointed right at it and laughed. "Holy hell, look at that. Kid's pitching a tent already."
Then he grabbed the sneaker and sent it far into the bushes. "Are your bare feet that exciting, Tanguy? Or is it us watching your hairy toes twirl?
Adrien shot Xavier a look. "Ease up on the teasing, man. But yeah... we’re staring too. Can't blame him."
Rounds kept rolling, slow and steady.
Xavier ditched his other sneaker, revealing his hairy, flexing feet. "This goddamned heat—my dogs are barking now, all exposed like this."
Gabriel slowly took off a sock, revealing his big, rough foot with bulging veins. "There. Happy, you pricks?"
Mathéo poked Adrien's side. "Your turn to flash some skin, chubby. Take off your sock and join the barefoot losers."
Adrien rolled over, peeling off the other sock. His feet were now exposed, and his toes wiggled nervously. "All right, the barefoot club's official. It feels weird, but kinda freeing, you know? The grass is tickling my arches."
Tanguy already felt naked with his feet out, but he rolled a two next. “I’m fucked!” he thought.
Mathéo's eyes lit up. "Shorts or tank?" Pick quickly, or we'll decide for you—and it won't be gentle.
"Tank," Tanguy exclaimed.
Without waiting, Xavier grabbed the hem and yanked hard. The fabric tore with a loud rip, tearing into pieces. Tanguy's chest was bare, hairy, and slick, with nipples standing stiff. Hands groped all over him. Mathéo pinched a nipple, twisting it, while Gabriel's rough fingers trailed the fuzz down his gut, lubed by the sweat.
"Ow, fuck—cut it out!" Tanguy gasped, but his dick throbbed and leaked more.
Gabriel chuckled lowly. "Nice fur, kid. Soft like a puppy's, but that beer belly's got a little give. Bet it jiggles when you ride that bike."
Adrien bit his lip, watching. "He's solidly built. That chest hair's thick. It makes him look like an easy prey."
More rolls flew. Mathéo lost his shorts and was down to his boxers, his bulge pushing out. "Leading by example, boys! See this? I'm hard from the game already."
Xavier stripped off his shirt, revealing a hairy, wiry body. He sniffed Tanguy's torn tank scraps. "Smells like fear and boner sweat. Kid, you're dripping already."
Gabriel ditched his tank top and jeans, leaving on one sock, his ginger chest out in full view. "There. Stare all you want."
Adrien lost his shirt, revealing his soft, slightly hairy torso, and blushed deeply. "This is getting really weird now, all of us half-naked here outdoor."
Tanguy was shocked, and turned on badly, losing his shorts next. Before he could move, Mathéo and Xavier grabbed the sides of his shorts and pulled hard, making the buttons pop off and tearing the fabric into miserable rags. He was left with his briefs exposed, stained and wet, his bush and cock revealed.
Mathéo laughed cruelly. "Look at that pathetic boner poking out like a sad puppy. The kid's loving the humiliating show—his bush is all messy, and his balls are sagging low."
Hands smashed his balls ruthlessly, and Tanguy gasped. "Ah, stop—"
But Gabriel went further on, and slipped a finger under the waistband and probed his prostate roughly. "Tight little ass, huh? Clenching like a virgin. Bet it hurts just thinking about it."
Adrien groped the front bulge, squeezing it. "Feels meaty enough. Leaking like a faucet—poor guy's gonna blow soon."
Tanguy moaned, shame flooding him as precum oozed out like ever before. "Don't—ah, shit—"
The game continued. Everyone lost other pieces of clothing.
Xavier was down to his boxers, his hairy ass crack flashing as he bent over to the delight of Mathéo, who gazed at it with interest.
Gabriel lost his jeans. "It's growing now, thanks to this shit", not even trying to conceal his swelling bulge in the tight boxers.
Mathéo was wearing a hidden jockstrap and teasing. "I planned to strip Gabe first, but watching you squirm works better, kid."
Adrien ditched his shorts and stood in his briefs, his chubby thighs quivering. "My thighs are shaking. It's embarrassing as hell."
Tanguy lost his last piece of clothing—his briefs. They ripped them off viciously, his cock springing out, hairy and hard with balls dangling. They slapped his dick and jammed fingers deep in his ass; the pain mixed with the thrill.
"Damn it! Ple—stop probing!" Tanguy begged, still rock hard.
Xavier bound his hands with scraps. "Stay fucking put, loser."
At that moment, their mood shifted back to what Tanguy had feared from the beginning.
The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the park and creaking the distant gates shut.
Mathéo grabbed Tanguy's arms, bound his wrists with cloth, and pulled him up roughly. His lean body pressed close enough that Tanguy could feel the guy's half-hard dick through the jockstrap. "Time's up, loser. The park's closing, and we're not done marking our territory yet. You stink like sweat and precum already—let's add the finishing touch."
Xavier laughed cruelly, shoving Tanguy forward with a palm smack on his bare butt, his fingers digging in just to watch the cheeks jiggle.
"Walk, hairy bitch. Those raw feet dragging in the dirt? Pathetic. Your soles must be burning from all that grass. It was a mistake thinking you could hang with us."
Gabriel pulled from the other side, looping his thick arm around Tanguy's waist. His rough hand slid down to squeeze a tender ball sack.
"Keep moving, kid. Adrien here has been eyeing your leaky cock the whole game. He wants to see it bounce while we hose you down properly."
Adrien trailed behind, his chubby thighs rubbing together. His briefs were tented, and he stared at Tanguy's exposed hole, which tightened with every step. "Yeah, drag him deeper into the bushes. That ass still looks too clean—it needs our piss steaming off it. The poor guy's already shaking, like he knows he's just a urinal now."
They shoved him into the thick scrub. Branches scratched his hairy thighs and chest, and leaves tangled in his pubic hair. Tanguy stumbled and hit the dirt with his knees, his cock swinging heavily and dripping leftover precum.
Mathéo unzipped first and pulled out his dick. He pissed a hot arc straight onto Tanguy's chest. Streams hit his nipples hard and ran down the fuzzy trail to his gut. "Open wide, bike boy. Feel that? My piss is soaking your pathetic fur. It makes you look even cheaper, all matted and stinking."
Xavier aimed lower, a hot jet splashing Tanguy's balls and running up the shaft, making his cock bob and leak more. "Ha! Look at this sad boner twitching. Getting off on being our toilet?" Your bush is drenched now, with piss dripping off those tangled pubes like you pissed yourself, scared."
Gabriel groaned and unloaded a thick stream onto Tanguy's face. It hit his beard full on, soaking his hair and running into his eyes and mouth. "Swallow some, ginger wannabe. Taste real manhood. Your beard's ruined with a mix of cum and piss, you filthy pig."
Adrien went last. Shy, but bold now, he pissed directly on the cockhead and watched it pulse. "Fuck, it's throbbing badly. Are you gonna blow from this? Go on. Shoot your worthless load while we mark you as ours."
Tanguy bucked, moaning, his body arching as ropes shot wildly, splattering his beard thicker and matting his hair grossly. His chest was covered in a mixture of cum and piss.
They laughed mercilessly.
Mathéo kicked the dirt at his feet. "Stay tied up until you figure it out, loser." Your clothes are gone for good." But we'll leave you the bike."
Xavier spat on his face. “Crawl home naked. Now you can finally hope someone sees your piss-soaked ass waddling.”
Gabriel ruffled Adrien's hair. "Come on. Let's grab beers. We're done with this loser."
Adrien looked back at him, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Night, yellow bike boy."
They vanished, their voices fading.
The night grew cold and the wind whipped the bushes. Tanguy twisted his wrists raw against the scraps until he was finally loose, his hands numb.
He crawled out slowly, his feet aching on the gravel paths. His soles were cut by sharp stones, and his toes curled in pain.
The streets were empty, but every breeze bit his wet skin. His piss was cooling, sticky; his cum was crusting his beard, stiffening it. He felt shame like fire in his gut.
He snuck through the shadows, his hairy body gleaming in the streetlights. His cock was soft now, but his balls ached as a painful reminder.
A car passed slowly, its headlights flashing on his bushy chest and scarred stomach. He ducked late, his heart slamming.
Place des Lilas at last. His building. His slides in, his apartment loomed, its windows wide open, never obscured by curtains. The bed was illuminated directly by the lights from the street.
He slipped into the ground-floor apartment, the door always unlocked, and collapsed onto the cold tile floor.
He heard faint voices from the neighbors—had they seen the naked mess stumble in?
Tanguy lay there, cheek pressed to the sheet, breathing his own filth. The craving didn’t fade. It coiled tighter. Deeper. Irreversible. Next time, he thought, the dice would have to roll even lower.
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