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 threadbare tank, shorts, and barefoot sneakers. He pedaled into a quiet corner of Montpellier where he just moved. A dice game with four bullies decided who ended up naked.
It is a sort of prologue to the series "Yellow Bike Guy Unraveled in Montpellier."
Thanks for your feedback. This is an updated version (28 Feb. 2026). I'll appreciate your comments to make this episode and the whole series (even) more exciting. What will happen to Tanguy in the next episodes? đ
â Tanguy's character is modeled on one of those guys dressed in black shorts and T-shirt the whole year. Come rain or shine, I see him cycling on his bright yellow bike, his toned bare calves and pale forearms constantly exposed as if he were looking for more. Â Â
Tanguy pedaled his bright yellow city bike through the streets of Montpellier. The sun burning his pale arms, he could feel the skin tightening and reddening, a brand-new sensation he craved.
He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and tasted the salt on his lips, drops damping his patchy reddish beard.
Mid-August 2021, the temperature hovered above thirty-four degrees, hotter than anything he'd experienced in Annecy, where summers were cool and predictable, much like the life he'd left behind: neat and quiet, yet suffocating. Here in the south, the heat didn't ask permission. It grabbed you by the balls and squeezed. And he liked it.
Three days earlier he'd moved into the apartment on Place des Lilas. A small one-bedroom studio, barely furnished with the essentials. Tanguy had moved south to study maths, pushing his big step into adulthood, but he was caught off guard by the leap, still unprepared to take the plunge.
While preparing for the move, Tanguy reduced his wardrobe to a minimum, throwing away most of his boyish clothes that were unsuitable for the southern heat. Just a couple of boxes, with what he thought was the bare minimum.
"Merde!" he gasped when the truck arrived and they realized that the boxes of clothes were missing. The moving truck had lost his clothes. Or someone stole them. The distinction didn't matter. "We don't have time to lose," said the oldest of the two rugged movers, sweating for the heat, while the youngest, shirtless and in tight shorts, was moving a few boxes to unload Tanguy's yellow bike. "Fill out your reclamation form online," the hairy young man said, nudging him before rushing to their next destination.
Tanguy stood there, frightened and alone, with his carry-on bag he'd kept with him. Inside: a few tees, five pairs of cargo shorts in different conditions of wearability, some almost indecent and worn out at the crotch, underwear for five days, toiletries. That was all, aside from the other stuff and books.Â
He could have bought new clothes, but didn't. Instead he made a decision that felt like clarity. This would be his new uniform: t-shirts that pulled slightly across his broad shoulders and soft belly. Black shorts with buttoned flies. A handful of briefs he will wear until they disintegrate. He chose the challenge of ruthless minimalism, no backup plan whatsoever, until he'll risk bordering flashing on his bike.
"I'm in the south now," thought Tanguy, feeling stubborn and defiant, "let's play harder, it's hot as hell here," he said to himself.Â
This would become his year-round uniform as he rode his yellow bike through the southern heat. Permanently bare-legged, come rain or shine. The decision had a logic to it. Or maybe it was the heat making him stupid. Either way, it felt correct.
What he didn't admit, even internally, was that the lost had activated something. AÂ kink he'd never named. Fear of exposure mixed with the desire for it. The fantasy of being seen, of being caught, of public humiliation that would make his cock hard even as his face burned.
Taken by the momentum, he went even further and set up his small apartment to pursue uncontrolled exposure. "Nobody knows me here," he said, daring to leave the shutters wide open day and night. No curtain when he moved in, except the one in the shower, "I don't need this either," repeated himself while he ditched it.Â
No air conditioning in the cheap studio flat, not even a fan. So Tanguy had even to keep the windows wide open since his arrival, adding the thrill of unwittingly exposing his hairy body to any passing glance. Anyone could look in and see him naked while he was at home or showering, hoping to be seen.
No one looked, though. The city was empty in August. Workers gone, other students not yet arrived, just the heat and the ear-splitting chirping of cicadas.
Still shaken from the theft and excited from the move, Tanguy went exploring the city on his yellow bike.Â
"I want to feel the southern sun," he thought, rummaging among his few possessions. The shower had broken the day before, so he decided to go smelly throughout the new city. "Anyway, I'm already sweating as hell," he dared. So, he picked up the lightest attire he could: the old threadbare tank top from last summer's farm job, a pair of ripped shorts, and his dark beat-up sneakers. "No socks," he braved, "I wanna feel my sweaty toes curling against the damp insoles."Â
He hesitated going commando for the first time ever, but he finally kept on the sweaty briefs he was wearing for three days, which were near their end.
Dazed by the heat he went further. "I want more risk," he said, putting back the phone, "this stays home today." He grabbed a few euros, pushing them in a pocket, "I'll stop to grab something to eat somewhere."
Once out another idea struck him: "No need to bring the keys," he thought, hiding them near the window. "It has to be just my body and the bike."Â The jagged scar by his left nipple, teased by the rough hem of his tank top, sent unexpected jolts of thrill through him, confirming his choice.
His cock was already half-hard just thinking about it: a newbie, vulnerable and unusually exposed in the new unknown city. Â
Tanguy left Place des Lilas heading south on Route de LavĂ©rune then roaming around Croix dâArgent, without a plan or destination. That was the point: just pedaling through heat and feeling the hit.
By eleven he'd reached the Lemasson neighborhood, which looked like a suburb of the city.
"Man, this heat is killing me," he muttered, shifting in the saddle as he slowed at a crosswalk. Sweat soaking the waistband of his shorts and dripping from his beard. "Why the hell am I even out here?"
At a crossroad, Tanguy stopped pedaling, one foot on the ground, and caught his reflection in a big shop window on the corner, looking at himself properly for the first time that day. He stopped pedaling only for a few seconds, but long enough to hate what he saw.
Twenty-three years old, one hundred eighty centimeters, almost eighty kilos.
His broad shoulders filled the tank top, stretching the thin cotton, particularly against the soft middle. Not fat, just soft. A few kilos he'd been gaining during the pandemic, and that he was carrying for two years now, accumulating slowly through desk work and cheap beers after midnight coding.
When he leaned forward, the tank top stretched across his chest and rode up slightly, revealing a hint of his lightly hairy lower back. He could feel the warmth of the sun there, or maybe it was the gazes of passers-by.Â
His face looked back at him: round, open, eyes blue-gray, smallish, set close. Tanguy looked quiet but with a shy competitive edge. Nose straight, wide at the base. Mouth wide, thin pale pink lips, corners usually turned down like he's already disappointed in whatever's coming next.
The haircut was a week overdue. Dirty blond, reddish-brown in certain light, cut short on the sides and too long on top. A compact uniform coverage of thick hair that has no particular fashion for him.
For the rest, his body was hairy in all the right places: chest fuzzy, armpits dark and matted with sweat, fine blond hair covering the pale legs. He briefly pulled the tank to wipe his face, exposing the tawny trail of hair crossing his soft belly, leading to the bushy groin that his sweaty briefs could barely contain.
Sweat dripped into his eyes again, stinging them, feeling it drip into his damp beard. That beard that made him look a little bit older. Patchy in places, fuller around the soft jawline he was trying to hide for a couple of years now, the slight double chin when he tilted his head down.
Big hands, knuckly, fingers long but clumsy, nails chewed raw and crushed short from nervous picking.
His legs were the part of his body he was most proud of: longish for his height, thighs thick, calves defined from the bike.
Finally, his yellow bike, bright, cheap-looking fixie with black grips and taped bars, sitting under him like an extension of his stubbornness, impossible to ignore.
Near the protestant cemetery, a wiry roadie in skin-tight bibs blasts past on a carbon racer, then skids to a stop, wheels screaming, and circles back like a vulture smelling weakness.
âChainâs slipping worse than your shorts are gonna, pale dude.â
The unexpected interaction made Tanguy freeze, causing him to stop and look down at the bike. The chain was actually coming off, weakened by careless handling during the move.Â
The guy suddenly got off his bike, letting it fall to one side, and slammed his shoulder into Tanguy's thigh, pushing him brutally aside. His expert fingers rummaged the derailleur back in order, repeatedly tugging his elbow into Tanguyâs thigh, who was stuck in the saddle and biting his lip
The chain clicked back into place.
The unwanted repairer stood up and wiped his oil-black fingers down the front of the tank, smearing the soft ribs as if they were sponges. Then he pinched the nipples till they stiffened under his fingertips like little traitors.Â
âLook at that,â he sneered. âYour soft belly rolls are black striped like a zebra.â
Tanguyâs throat tightened, suffocating every word. A wet smack right across the cheek woke him up. The smell of oil and stale coffee flooded his nose as the guy leaned in close.
âSay thank you, northern bitch. Or Iâll rip that tank off right here. Make you pedal home showing your tits.â
Tanguy shily whispered: âThâ thank you,â hint of tears burning at the corner of his eyes. It was not only for shame. His cock was throbbing hard, pushing the briefs up, for intimate contact.
The cyclist spat on the ground between Tanguyâs bare calves, then rocketed off without another word.
Tanguy stays planted, his grease-streaked tank clinging like shame, fighting not to sob out loud in the middle of the street.
Back on Boulevard de Strasbourg, a construction site on the left attracted his attention. A scaffolding against a stone facade, three workers hauling materials up from street level. He spotted a fountain across the street, a credible excuse to stop by and keep looking. Leaned down, turned the tap. Water came out warm at first, then cold. He drank, then splashed his face, his neck. Water ran down his chest, soaking the tank top.
"Putain," one of the workers yelled over, "it's too hot!" He was pulling off his t-shirt as he said it, then tossing it onto a toolbox. His chest was hairy and freckled, matching his ginger hair.
Another one followed. "I can't stand it today." Peeled his shirt over his head, stood there bare-chested in cargo pants and work boots, drinking from a plastic bottle.
The third unzipped his hi-vis vest, pulled his shirt away from his body to let air circulate. "Still three hours to go, I'm gonna die."
Tanguy straightened, water dripping from his beard. The image locked in his mind.
It was exactly like last summer. The farm job near Annecy, picking fruits. The fellow workers pulling off their shirts during lunch breaks , dunking their heads under the outdoor tap, water running down their backs into their sweat-damped shorts. Tanguy had watched from the farmstead entrance, pretending to sort tools. He memorized every body, every gesture. The way they touched themselves without thinking. Scratched their chests. Adjusting their crotches pushing the hands under the damped waistbands.
He'd stared at those bulges for too long, driven by a deep desire he couldn't acknowledge, trying to understand who was going commando among them, no courage to go for it yet.
He got back on the bike. His shorts felt tighter against the throbbing helmet, sticky for the mix of sweat and precum oozing through the foreskin.
The random journey took him west through the Esplanade Charles de Gaulle, an open space with no shade, white stone reflecting heat like an oven. A few tourists moved slowly under hats and sunglasses. Tanguy cut across fast, heading north toward the river.
The path along the water at Bord du Lez was quieter, tree-lined, shadowy and cool. He pedaled slowly, watching families on picnic blankets, couples on benches. A group of students sat with their feet in the water, passing a frozen bottle of rosé. Normal people doing normal summer things.
He felt raw, opened up by the heat and the city and the constant presence of male bodies he couldn't stop cataloging.
Already past noon, he was getting hungry. He stopped at a small bar at Marché du Lez, the kind of hipster place with mismatched furniture and a chalkboard menu. He locked the bike outside and went in.
The interior was dim, cooler. He took a table near the window.
The server appeared almost immediately. Mid-thirties, slim, dark-hairy chest visible through a linen shirt deeply unbuttoned, ripped shorts riding low. Bright eyes, and a grin that knew things.
"What can I get you?"
"Um. Croque-monsieur? And some lemonade."
The server looked over at him, "You sure you don't want to order a shirt first?"
Tanguy glanced down. His tank top was still greasy on the side and damp from the fountain, clinging to his soft belly, nearly transparent.
"It's hot outside."
"I can see that." The server leaned against the table. "And your shorts, are those held together with hope?"
"They're fine."
"Barely." He straightened. "One tragic croque-monsieur coming up. For our tragic northern tourist."
"I'm not a tourist. I live here now."
"Even worse. You live here and you dare to go out like that?" He walked away, calling back over his shoulder: "And it smells like you had no shower this morning."
The sandwich came ten minutes later. The server set it down with the lemonade and a bottle of sparkling water.
"On the house," he said. "I'm being nice." He sat down across from Tanguy without asking. "You really just moved here?"
"Three days ago."
"And you're already melting. Look at you." He gestured at Tanguy's face. "Sunburned, dehydrated, dressed like you're a runaway."
Tanguy ate. The server watched.
"You have a name?"
"Tanguy."
"Of course you do. Very northern." He tapped the table. "I'm RĂ©mi. And you need better clothes. Seriously. And what happened to your tank?â said while gesturing to the greasy stripes.
"An accident with the bike. And for the clothes, I lost them during the move, probably stolen or lost."
"Oh, poor thing!" RĂ©mi mocked him, then stood. "Is that yours?" He nodded toward the yellow bike visible through the window.
"Yeah, it's my bike."
"It looks like the only good thing you own." RĂ©mi said in a mocking tone "Come back sometime when you're not actively dying. But take a proper shower before."
Turning too swiftly he "accidentally" bumped into the glass in front of Tanguy with his elbow, spilling the lemonade on him. The yellow sugar-water ran onto the shorts, pooling in the crotch.Â
RĂ©mi grabbed some napkins âFuck me!â he yelled, âI got distracted,â then squeezed Tanguyâs groin to limit the damage. Tanguy blushed for the new humiliation, embarrassed despite the bar being empty at the moment.
âOi! Youâre hard as a brick under all this pissy lemonade. You get off on being a walking cum-rag, huh?â Tanguy wanted to shove the grind away but his hips jerk forward instead, chasing the pressure.Â
After another hard squeeze, RĂ©mi pretended to brush off pieces of the napkin that had stuck to the shorts. In doing so, he pulled up the greasy tank to dry underneath. Tanguy wasnât wearing a belt, as it had been lost with the two boxes. So, RĂ©mi found no barriers and pulled hard at the waistband of Tanguyâs shorts to undo the fly. He hadnât seen that it was not a zipper, and a couple of buttons popped on the floor.Â
RĂ©mi didnât bother to apologise and seized the opportunity and took another napkin to edge the boner through the briefs, still pretending to dry it. This made Tanguy moan silently, and his boner throb harder. His hands were stuck to the table in deep embarrassment, while his full erection betrayed his excitement. The foreskin slid back, lubricated by precum and the lemonade, leaving the helmet exposed and peeking through the waistband.
A new customer entered, making RĂ©mi run in the kitchen, leaving the bike guy aroused and exposed, on the verge of tears. Tanguy blushed red and tried to close the fly with the remaining buttons, then stood up. Then he put on the table all the euros he had taken leaving the apartment, wanting to be even more vulnerable, and went out.
Back on the bike, he was feeling simultaneously humiliated and aroused by that humiliation. That public embarrassment was making him feel seen, every interaction being also visible on his miserable attire.
He pedaled aimlessly again, under the striking afternoon sun that dried the lemonade. He was pleasantly lost. The city felt enormous and unknowable, full of men he wanted to catalogue.
At the intersection on Place 8 mai, construction barriers forced him to stop. The works for the new tram line were reshaping an urban landscape that Tanguy just started to explore. The street was torn up, exposing red earth and cable bundles. Four workers in the trench, two more directing traffic.
Tanguy put his foot down and waited.
One of the workers climbed out of the trench, maybe thirty-five, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He wore a hi-vis vest over nothing, just bare torso underneath. His work pants hung low on his hips, tool belt dragging them lower. He grabbed a water bottle from the truck bed, drank half in one go.
Then he hooked his thumbs in his waistband and pulled it away from his belly, letting air circulate the groin. Tanguy could almost feel the warm musky damp exhaling from it. His gaze peeped the trail of hair leading down from the navel, Â his toned stomach contracting as he breathed.
The worker noticed nothing. Turned to say something to his colleague, still holding his waistband open, completely unself-conscious of his straight masculinity.
Another worker sat on the truck tailgate, legs spread to air the groin through the dirty shorts, elbows on his bare knees. His shirt was off, tied around his head like a bandana. Sweat ran down his chest, caught in the hair there, dripped onto his thighs. He scratched his crotch absently, while talking mindlessly.
âIs he freeballing?â wondered Tanguy, trying to sneak a peep without being noticed. He couldn't move, nor couldn't look away. They were magnetic in their carelessness.Â
âHey mate, move on!â the traffic director cried, âthis is not a place for voyeurs,âwaved him through.
Tanguy blushed, but pedaled forward slowly, the eyes locked on those bulges. His cock was fully mast now, the helmet throbbing against the waistband of his damped shorts. He could feel precum oozing into his briefs, soaking the fabric already wet with sweat.
He reached down without thinking and adjusted his groin, still embarrassed to do this in public. But he needed more.Â
The heat was making him dazed. He knew he was no longer capable of thinking straight. He needed to get out of the sun before he did something irreversible.
Parc Montcalm appeared ahead on his right. Green space behind iron railings, and trees promising cool shade.
He turned in through the small entrance on Rue de Bugarel. Locked the bike to the first rack he saw, and went on exploring.
He heard voices from deeper in the park. Young men, loud. A ball bouncing on asphalt. The sound guided him, until he saw the basketball court through the trees. Five guys playing, shirts off, shorts riding low. The ball hit the backboard with a metallic clang.
One of them spotted Tanguy. "Look at this guy. Where'd you come from, bro?"
"He looks lost."
"He looks fucked. Look at his face."
"I'm fine," Tanguy tried to defend Tanguy, just obtaining more laughter, his gaze peeping on those sweaty hairy trails again.
"Yeah? You don't look fine." The ball handler moved closer to the fence. "You look like you need to sit down before you fall down."
Tanguy turned away before they realised what he was looking at, walking deeper into the park, away from the court. His legs felt weak.Â
He followed a path that led behind the big open athletic track. The voices from the basketball court faded. Then he heard something else. He moved toward the sound. Pushed through some low bushes.
In a secluded yet public spot where paths crossed, he was drawn deeper by 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. Something in Tanguy's gut twistedâa 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 around as he heard Tanguy's steps. Leaning back on his elbows, lean build, loose shorts, a tank top, barefoot, the sandals just kicked off beside him. He was the type who thrived on public exhibitionism, always pushing the others to increase the thrill. His eyes flicked around like a predator.
"Hey, you lost," he called out at Tanguy, "or just staring?" His voice stopped the game. "The park is big, but this corner's ours. Unless you want to play."
Tanguy's mouth went dry. "Just cycling around."
"Sure, so whereâs your bike?" The tall one grinned. "Iâve parked it at the entrance,â Tanguy replied.
The slightly chubby one, maybe the same age as Tanguy, turned his head toward the newcomer, his gaze lingering on Tanguy's bare toned calves. "We're playing dice. Come sit if you want, and rest a bit in the shadows.The sun's brutal out there." Tanguy was captivated by his black hair and clear blue eyes. His shirt clung to his slightly chubby middle, on top of grey cotton shorts, light sneakers, and short socks.
"Kid, you look like you need some thrill," said the wiry blond with the big nose, sniffing the air in Tanguy's direction. "I'm Xavier. Tall prick's MathĂ©o. Shy boy's Adrien. Ginger brute's Gabriel." He jerked his thumb at the oldest oneâcarpenter's build, ginger beard, cotton shirt unbuttoned over a tank. "We don't bite, except if you ask politely." He wore shabby clothes: a thin tee, ripped short jeans, and beat-up loafersâand was clearly the pack leader.
"Don't scare him off, Xavier. The kid looks like he's from up north He's pale as fuck, probably never seen real heat." Gabriel grunted, scratching his chest hair.Â
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 decides what the low roll loses," continued Gabriel, picking up the dice, rough hands turning them over while speaking to the newcomer. "Seat here, bike boy," he added, patting the grass. "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, his briefs sticky with precum and lemonade. "Tanguy."
His cock pushed harder against his briefs. He should've left. Should've got back on the bike and pedaled straight home. But the urge to stay held him. The same one he'd felt while spying on farm workers changing, their bodies exposed while he lurked at a safe distance.Â
He edged closer, hesitating, his kink pulling him forward despite the warning in his gut.
"What's the stake?" he muttered.
Beside him was Adrien, the slightly chubby with light blue eyes that darted shyly. "Clothes, man. Low roll loses a piece. Shoes first. Then everything else. Keep playing long enough, someone ends up naked."
Mathéo laughed. "Usually Adrien."
Adrien shifted uncomfortably. "Fuck off Mathéo," yelled Adrien, shifting uncomfortably as he always did when they mocked him.
Tanguy swallowed. One round," pulled in by the unexpected thrill and the possibility to live what he was just dreaming of.
They handed him the 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.Â
MathĂ©o leaned in closeâtoo closeâhis breath hot on Tanguy's neck. One hand brushed his thigh, just enough to make him flinch.
"Listen, bike boy. We keep it simple but raw. Once it's off, it's gone until we say stop." His fingers traced higher, almost touching the frayed hem of Tanguy's shorts. "And if you hesitate? We'll take it off for you, making you feel every stitch leaving your body."
Tanguy's heart pounded in his chest as if it wanted to escape. "What if I lose everything?"
Adrien shifted next to him, his bare knee intentionally rubbing against Tanguy's bare calf. His light blue eyes flicked down to peep through the gaping fly. "Then you lose everything. Not everyone will walk away fully dressed." His eyes flicked down on the worn crotch of Tanguy's sticky shorts, undressing him with his gaze.
"Too much chatter! Roll, newbie." Xavier's smirk cut sharp. "Show us what that sweaty grip can do."
Tanguy shook the dice hard. They clattered on the flat stone. Four and three. Seven.
He exhaled shakily.
Gabriel scratched his ginger chest through the tank. "Decent start. Don't get cocky, though. I've seen newbies like youâthought they were safe, then BAM! Arse out in the grass."
Adrien rolled. Six and four. Ten. He grinned, relieved.
Gabriel went next. Five and six. Eleven. "Safe for now, you pricks."
Xavier grabbed the dice next. They tumbled across the stone. Two and three. Five.
Mathéo rolled last. Double sixes. Twelve. He laughed, flexing his lean torso. "Looks like Xavier's the bitch this round."
"Shit. Already?" Xavier cursed under his breath and kicked off his left loafer. His hairy foot slapped the dirt, toes spreading wide. "There. Happy? Bet your funky bike feet are next, Tanguy. I can smell them from here."
Second round, Tanguy rolled first. Four and five. Nine.
Adrien followed. Three and two. Five. He winced.
Gabriel grinned and rolled. Two and one. Three.
"Fuck." Gabriel grumbled, already reaching for the hem of his outer shirt.
Xavier rolled a six and two. Eight. Still safe.
Mathéo rolled last, eight as well. He 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, MathĂ©o. You talk big, but I remember last game: you were the one begging not to lose your shorts first. Roll your ass."Â
Then he stripped off his shirt, leaving just the tank underneath. Ginger fuzz matted against the thin fabric. "Satisfied? I've been working all week. Yeah, it's ripe under here," his eyes slid to Adrien to tease him.
Adrien smiled back, fingers brushing Gabriel's forearm. "You look good, Gabe. That fur makes me want to run my fingers through it."
The dice clattered to and fro, the tension mounting with each roll.
Third round, Adrien rolled first, eleven. Gabriel eight. Mathéo nine.
Tanguy's turn eleven, matching Adrien.
Xavier grabbed the dice last. One and two. Three. "Fucking hell." He yanked off his other loafer and threw it into the bushes. "There. Both feet bare. This goddamn heat! My dogs are barking," curling his bare toes into the cool grass.Â
Xavier stood abruptly, brushing dirt from his arse. "Right. New rules. This group-play bollocks is boring. Let's jazz things up."
He pointed at Tanguy. "One-on-one challenges. When the winner of previous rounds loses, he strips, and the new winner is out and gets replaced."
Mathéo's eyes lit up. "Oh, I like this."
Gabriel nodded slowly. "Fair enough. Who's first?"
Xavier grinned. "Me and the bike boy."
Tanguy's stomach dropped, but his cock throbbed harder anticipating the thrill.
Xavier rolled first. Four and six. Ten.
Tanguy picked up the dice. His hands shook. Three and two. Five.
"Unlucky, bike boy." Xavier's grin widened.
Before Tanguy could move, Mathéo grabbed one side of his shorts while Xavier grabbed the other.
"Waitâ whatâ"
They yanked hard. Pop, pop, pop. The buttons already weakened by RĂ©mi back in the bar, flew off one after the other, scattering in the grass. Then the fabric at the crotch tore, seams splitting apart. They pulled again, each shredding the piece of the shorts they just grabbed into ragged strips, before throwing them away.
Tanguy was left in his briefs: threadbare, soaked through, filthy from the whole-day biking in the sun and soaked in sweat and lemonade. The outline of his cock and bush were easily visible through the cotton.
"Fuck! My shortsâ" Tanguy's voice cracked. He wanted to cry, but the uncontrolled exposure was gluing him in place, captivated by the imposed embarrassment.Â
"Gone." Xavier tossed the scraps into the bushes. "Should've rolled higher."
Mathéo leaned in close, nose almost touching Tanguy's neck. He inhaled deeply. "Smells like fear and groin sweat. You're leaking already, aren't you?"
His hand slid down Tanguy's stomach, pulling up the tank, fingers tracing the line of hair that disappeared into the waistband. Tanguy flinched but didn't pull away. That physical contact he had craved for so long glued him to the spot.
Xavier's hand joined, groping the front bulge. "Look at this. The kid's already half-mast. Looks like he likes it!" He was right and Tanguy did nothing to conceal.Â
Mathéo stepped in, replacing Xavier. "My turn."
He rolled. Five and four. Nine.
Tanguy rolled. Two and three. Five.
"That greasy tank's coming off, bike boy."
Xavier didn't wait for Tanguy to digest the command. He grabbed the strap of Tanguy's threadbare tank and yanked with a strong move. The fabric was so worn it tore easily. MathĂ©o did the same on the other side, definitively ripping the tank apart.Â
Tanguy's chest was now completely bare, slick with sweat. Adrien's gaze went through the trail of blonde-brown fuzz that led down his soft belly to the sweat-soaked waistband of his briefs.
He tried to cover his nipples. "Oh, donât dare to cover, little boy." MathĂ©o's hands were on him instantly, one pinching the scarred nipple, twisting just enough to make Tanguy gasp. "Nice fur. Soft and sweaty."
Xavier grabbed the torn tank scraps and brought them to his nose. He inhaled deeply. "Fuck, this reeks. All that sweat soaked in." He grabbed the pieces and pushed them under his arse to seat more comfortably.
Mathéo insisted on groping Tanguy, his fingers threading through the chest hair, slicking through sweat. "You're built solid. That belly's got a bit of give, though. Bet it jiggles when you ride that bike."
Tanguy's cock throbbed in his briefs for this humiliation, totally dazed and aroused. Nonetheless, tears were wetting his eyes and running through his beard.
Xavier noticed it. "Holy cow. You are frightened, but that tent in your briefs tells another story. You could pitch a full circus here."
They rolled again: Mathéo got an eight, Tanguy a three.
"Left shoe." Mathéo pointed.
Wanting to please them, Tanguy reached down, fingers fumbling with the laces.
"Too slow." Xavier grabbed the trainer and ripped it off, rough, yanking Tanguy's ankle. He dropped the shoe aside, then grabbed Tanguy's bare foot.
"Let's see what we've got here." Xavier brought the foot close to his face and inhaled. Long. Deep. "Fucking hell. These stink like rubber and day-old sweat. You bike with no socks?"
He pressed his nose against the sole, breathing in again. "Ripe as fuck."
While Tanguy was realising how fucked he was, and how much he liked to be embarrassed, Xavier picked up the trainer and started tearing it apart. The worn out canvas ripped easily. He pulled out the insole, sniffed it, then threw the pieces in different directions.
"There. Gone for good."
Tanguy shook his head and stared at the scattered pieces in disbelief. "That'sâ I needâ"
"You don't need shit," Xavier said, slapping Tanguy's chest hard red with the rubber outsole, before throwing it with the other pieces. To recall who's the boss, he grabbed Tanguy's foot again, this time bringing his tongue to the sole. One long lick from heel to toes. "Salty. Just like I thought."
Tanguy's cock leaked visibly through his briefs. He sobbed silently, teared between the need to go away in a safe place, and the arousal of being finally seen and touched.
Mathéo laughed. "Look at him. Fucking loves it."
Xavier sniffed again-this time moving up to Tanguy's ankle, then his toned calf. "Sweaty all over. I bet your pits match," then brutally grabbed Tanguy's wrist to raise his arm and sniff the armpit. He stood there like a doll, wanting to please them despite their rudeness.
Mathéo rolled a seven, Tanguy eleven. "Finally." Tanguy's voice was barely a whisper.
Mathéo grinned and slowly peeled off his tank top, flexing his lean torso as it came off. His nipples stood erect. "See? No big deal. A better way to stay cool. Now you all have something to stare at."
Gabriel stepped forward. "My go. You're safe for the moment, bike guy."
Six for him, eleven for Mathéo.
Gabriel cursed and pulled off his tank top. His ginger chest was fully exposed now, the thick fur matted with sweat, nipples hidden in the fuzz. "There. Happy?"
Adrien's eyes went wide. "Damn, Gabe. That's... yeah."
Gabriel's cheeks flushed red. "Shut it."
Adrien stood, replacing Mathéo in the challenge. "Guess it's my turn."
Twelve for him, five for Gabriel.
"Shoe," Adrien said softly.
Gabriel kicked off his left trainer. Adrien picked it upâbig, still warm, smelling of work and sweat. But Gabriel grabbed it back and brutally tossed it at Tanguy's chest.
It landed with a thud in the gap between his legs. Tanguy gasped, pleased to still draw their attention.
"Watch out, kid," Gabriel hissed, wanting to distract Adrien's gaze from the newbie.Â
Xavier laughed. "Now you have two shoes again."
Tanguy's uncut cock was fully hard now, straining against the thin cotton, the helmet uncovered from the foreskin and leaking a visible wet spot. He has learned that he cannot conceal it, but the awareness of his growing exposure was making him shift uncomfortably.
MathĂ©o rewarded Tanguyâs submission and pointed ruthlessly at his tenting briefs. "He's leaking like a tap. Poor bastard's gonna blow soon." Tanguy blushed and new tears were wetting his cheeks, but the same blood pressure pumped through his shaft too making it throbbing harder.
Gabriel rolled ten, Adrien seven.
"Shoe," Gabriel hissed, echoing previous Adrian' choice.
Adrien bent down and untied his trainer. He pulled it off slowly, freeing the wet crew sock.
Gabriel took it, sniffed it once, then threw it again at Tanguy. It brutally hit his sternum, leaving a reddish mark, then dropped into his lap, joining the other shoe.
"There. Now you've got three," Gabriel's voice rough and teasing.
Tanguy sat there: bare-chested, one shoe on, worn briefs soaked through, two random trainers in his lap. His cock throbbed tenting the fabric obscenely. He wouldn't have been able to get up and leave anyway, not so undressed, at least.
Adrien stared. His own cock visibly hard in his shorts. "He's... fuck. Look at him."
Xavier moved closer, crouching next to Tanguy. His hand reached out and groped the front bulge, squeezing with no mercy. "Hot and sweaty, yet rock hard: You love this, don't you? Being stripped while we watch. Getting hard from it."
Tanguy's breath hitched. No words, but he nodded.
It was time for Tanguy had to step back in, replacing Gabriel.
Dice rolled again. Nine for Adrien, four for Tanguy.
"Shoe," repeated Adrien, keeping the loop.
Xavier's grin went vicious and acted faster than the light. In no time he grabbed Tanguy's right ankle and yanked the trainer off. Then, like before, he started tearing it apart, insole pulled out, and lace snapped and used to whip Tanguyâs back leaving red marks.Â
"There. Both shoes are gone. Destroyed." Xavier threw the pieces in every direction. "Itâs easier for you to go away barefoot than with just one shoe."
Then he grabbed Tanguy's bare foot and brought it to his nose. Long, deep inhale. "Fuck, that's good."
His tongue came out. One long lick up the sole. Then another. He sucked Tanguy's big toe into his mouth briefly before releasing it with a wet pop. Tanguy was unable to speak but moaned and grunted his pleasure, while tears ran from his eyes.
Seeing that guy seemed to like the harsh treatment, Mathéo joined and groped Tanguy's chest with both hands, pinching nipples then trailing through chest hair. "He's shaking. Feel that?"
Tanguy was shaking uncontrollably now. All that attention was making him moan deeply, hoping for more, and to run away to a safe place at the same time.Â
Gabriel replaced Adrien and rolled. Five and five. Ten.
Tanguy got one and one. Like the two boxes of clothes he'd lost. That sudden memory made his hands fall to his sides, making it clear to him just how badly fate was pursuing him.
"Snake eyes, you lost!" Gabriel hissed imperiously, "game over."
Leaving no time for Tanguy to run away, Xavier and MathĂ©o moved in unison. They grabbed the waistband of Tanguy's briefsâone on each sideâand pulled. Too late, there was no safe way out.
The fabric was so worn it tore immediately. Ripping apart with a wet sound, the elastic snapping and whipping Tanguyâs ribs before breaking for good.
Suddenly conscient of everything, Tanguy felt every stitch leaving his body, his cock springing free: hard, throbbing in the thick bush, the balls hanging heavy and slick with sweat. He froze like that, with a mix of terror and excitement. No courage to cover his boner, nor to run away.Â
He had no idea on how to come back home from there. Better hoping that playing their game would keep them reasonable. They were just playing a sexy game. Or werenât they?
"There he is." Xavier tossed the shredded briefs aside. "Naked as the day he was born."
âBam! Arse out in the grass,â shouted Gabriel âTold ya kid, donât be cocky with us!â
Then their hands reached everywhere. No more barriers between their palms and the fully exposed skin of Tanguy.
Mathéo's hand wrapped around Tanguy's cock with a firm grip, and gave it one slow stroke. Precum leaked over his fingers. "Oi! You are sticky and leaking! Would you really want to blow in front of us?" Tanguy was completely overwhelmed, deeply embarrassed and betrayed by his cock, which was being touched for the first time by hands other than his own.
Gabriel's rough hands joined in, rolling Tanguy's balls like they were dice, squeezing just enough to make him gasp.
Then his hand slid behind, his big thumb pressing against the arsehole, rough and insisting. "Tight little arse. Look's how he's clenching." He thrust it in with one brutal stroke, breaking through the rim. Then he added a second another finger, then another. Three fingers probing deep and stretching. He started scissoring, making Tanguy's whole body jerks, captivated by unexpected jolts of pleasure.
"There it is. That's your prostate, kid."
Adrien finally moved in. His hand replaced Mathéo's on Tanguy's cock, gripping the shaft, thumb pressing into the slit. "Fuck. He's throbbing."
Xavier grabbed the torn briefs, held them to his nose, and inhaled deeply. "These reek. Sweat and precum, with a hint of lemon," he said lushily. "Gone. All of it. You're not getting any of it back."
Tanguy sat there astonished, completely naked and barefoot, covered in sweat and leaking precum. In a few minutes he went from exploring the park to being surrounded by four unknown men whose hands were fondling every inch of his body.
"Pleaseâ" His voice cracked, without being credible.
He'd wanted this. Wanted to be the only one exposed and deeply embarrassed. Wanted them clothed while he was stark naked. He was frightened yet captivated by the extreme power imbalance and his uncontrolled vulnerability.
"Please what?" Mathéo twisted a nipple. "Please stop? Or please keep going?"
Tanguy didn't answer. He couldn't anymore. His cock answered for him, leaking steadily, throbbing in Adrien's grip.
"Right." Xavier stood, brushing grass off his knees. "Game's over. But we're not done with you yet."
Tanguy looked up at the four men standing over him, his cock still half-hard despite everything. They were all still mostly clothed. And him? Nothing. Not a single thread left for him to cover. Barefoot, the uncut cock rock hard, and even the mushroom helmet completely visible, pulsating and gleaning in precum, every inch of his hairy body exposed.
"Look at him," Mathéo said, noticing. "Just figured it out, didn't you? That you're the only naked one here. And you love it so hard"
Xavier laughed. "That's right, bike boy. We played the game. But you're the only loser."
Tanguy's face burned. Shame flooded through him. The realisation hit him like a fist to the gut. Naked and embarrassed among clothed men, the only one humiliated. Yet, something dark and hungry made his cock leak again.
"He's getting even harder," Gabriel bantered. "Dirty little fuck likes being the only naked one."
"Of course he does." Xavier crouched down, grabbed Tanguy's jaw, forced him to look up. "That's why you sat down with us, isn't it? You wanted this. You wanted to be stripped while we watched and be our toy."
Tanguy couldn't deny it, instead nodded shily, surrendering to his kink and their hands.Â
"Right then." Mathéo grabbed the torn tank scraps and used them to tie Tanguy's wrists, binding them together behind his back. "That's time for the second part of the game."
Mathéo fastened the rags tightly around Tanguy's wrists to make him feel who was in control, then pulled his arms back, chest thrust forward, making him even more exposed.
Gabriel took the shredded briefs and tied them across his eyes as a blindfold. "Can you see?"
Tanguy shook his head, and his dick throb in unison to confirm the silent submission.
"Good."
"Now, let's get properly dressed. I want him to really feel the difference."
Tanguy heard fabric rustling, and the soft thud of shoes being pulled on.
Xavier pulled his shirt back, then his trainers, mirrored by Mathéo who dressed fully again, tank top and sandals. Gabriel pulled on his tank and the shirt, lacing up the sneaker he had thrown to Tanguy. Adrien was already mostly dressed. He just tied his remaining shoe.
Now they stood there: All four fully clothed while Tanguy was still sitting crossed legs at their feet. Stark naked.Â
"There." Xavier grinned. "Now we look normal. And you look like what you are: a naked pervert, ready to please us."
They hauled him up. Hands gripped his arms, his waist. He stumbledâbound, blindfolded, and completely naked while they were fully dressed.
"Whereâ where are we going?" he mumbled, surrendered to their control and excited by it.
"For a walk." Mathéo's voice was close to his ear. "Want to show you off."
They marched him through the park. Tanguy felt everything with heightened intensity: branches scratching his naked thighs, leaves tangling in his pubic hair, gravel biting into his bare soles.
Every step reminded him he was barefoot naked, in a public park he barely knew. He was shaken by a dark mix of fear and thrill. His cock bobbed with each stumbling step, fully visible to anyone who might see. He just felt the precum oozing along his hard throbbing shaft, long ropes sticking to his tone thighs.
"Feel the sun hit?" said Xavier, slapping his bare arse hard. Tanguy moaned. Couldn't help it.
They laughed, and finally stopped. Tanguy heard them moving around him.
Xavier spoke up. "While we're checking: How far you want this to go?"
Tanguy's heart pounded. This was the moment. He could stop it. Should stop it.
"All the way," he heard himself say. "Whatever you want. Just... keep me the only one naked."
"Even if it hurts?"
His cock throbbed again, visibly ready to burst anytime.
"Right." Gabriel's voice. "Time to make this interesting."
Not even the time to complete the sentence, that lips suddenly pressed against Tanguy's. Hard and insistent.
It was Adrien. His hand cupped the back of Tanguy's head, pulling him closer. He parted his lips and let the other's tongue explore him intimately. His first kiss experience was rough, tongue pushing into his mouth, tasting him from inside.Â
Tanguy gasped against Adrien's lips. His bound hands flexed uselessly behind his back.
Adrien's other hand groped Tanguy's bare arse, squeezing hard, fingers digging in, probing the butthole.
The kiss went on, deeper and harder, like Adrien was trying to prove something.
He pulled back finally, breathing hard. "Fuck. That wasâ"
"What the hell, Adrien?" Gabriel's voice was angry and jealous.
"What? He's right here. Naked. Might as wellâ"
"Might as well nothing." Gabriel's footsteps moved closer. "You don't justâ"
Then pain. Explosive, nauseating pain radiating from Tanguy's balls.
Gabriel had kicked him. Full force. The heavy work sneakers connecting with tender flesh.
Tanguy's knees buckled. He couldn't breathe nor think. The world narrowed to that single point of pain between his legs. He would have used his hand to protect his vulnerable groin, but they were tightly bound on his back. Despite the unbearable pain, his cock stayed hard. Got even harder, aching for pleasure and leaking more.
"That's insane!" Xavier noticed. "Kicked in the balls and still rock hard and leaking. Let me try." his voice eager and merciless.
Two more ruthless kicks. Each one sending fresh waves of pain through Tanguy's body. Each one making his cock throb harder.
He groaned, guttural. Part pain, part something he couldn't name but felt deep in his gut.
His cock leaked steadily now, dripping onto the grass, impossibly hard despiteâor because ofâthe agony.
"Unbelievable." Mathéo laughed. "Kid's getting off on it."
Before Tanguy could recover, Mathéo kicked him from behind, right in the perineum, making him fall back, right into Mathéo's waiting arms. "Got you."
Xavier moved fast, sweeping Tanguy's feet out from under him.
Mathéo understood immediately. He pulled Tanguy's body down, guiding the fall until Tanguy was flat on his back in the grass.
Arms bound beneath him, pinned under his body. Blindfolded. They spread his legs wide, blocking each foot between their ankles, the cock pointing straight up, the mushroom flushed violet as Tanguyâs face.
He felt completely helpless and exposed, totally under their control.Â
Then his bladder gave up for the repeated shots of adrenaline, and he started pissing like a fountain. A warm stream blasted from his throbbing cock, releasing part of the tension and fear. He soaked his chest completely.
"Perfect." Xavier stood over him, one foot on either side of Tanguy's head. "It seems you're asking for a golden shower, filthy boy."
Tanguy heard them fumbling, the sound of fabric rustling as they pulled their cocks out through their flies. Then hot liquid splashing against his chest.
Mathéo pointed the stream alternatively at each nipple, running down through his chest hair, then to the navel, bubbling with the filthy foam.
"That's it. Soak the naked boy."
Xavier's stream joined, aiming for Tanguy's cock. The hot piss ran down his shaft, over his balls, pooling beneath his arse.
"Look at that boner. Still hard. Heâs fucking love it."
Gabriel's stream hit his face, direct and unrelenting. It soaked his beard, ran into the blindfold. He filled his mouth when he gasped for air. "Swallow. That's what you deserve." Tanguy obeyed, disgusted at first but thirsty for the intense experience.
Adrien went last, his stream hitting Tanguy's stomach, his groin, adding to the lake of piss already covering him.
Tanguy lay there, drowning in it. The wetness pooling beneath him in the dirt, matting his hair. He could feel the piss dripping from his beard, the sour smell overwhelming.
He was completely drenched, yet his cock stayed hard, achingly throbbing and leaking precum that mixed with the piss.
Suddenly as they started, the streams stopped. They tucked their dicks back into their sweaty clothes, and towered over Tanguy, who was shaking in their piss puddle.
Before MathĂ©o and Xavier could free Tanguyâs legs, still pinned wide apart, Gabriel stepped forward. "One more pour la route."
His dirty sneaker hit Tanguy's balls again, hard and brutal. Perfectly aimed at the tender swollen flesh. The pain was instant, unbearable. But this time it pushed him over the edge.
âAAAARGH!â Tanguy cried, bursting into uncontrollable tears.Â
His body arched off the ground, then released the whole tension coiled from the constant teasing. His cock throbbed violently once, twice, while Tanguy slapped in the piss puddle, then erupted.
Ropes of cum shot across his chest, thick and white. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. They kept coming. Rope after rope covering his piss-soaked body. Hitting his chest, his beard, his hair, mixing with the piss already soaking him. One even reached his moustache, then slid into his mouth, making him discover the taste of his own cum.
His balls ached, but his cock kept pulsing. More cum, more than he'd never spurt in his life.Â
"Fucking hell." MathĂ©o stared. "Look at that. How much did he justâ"
"He's still going." Xavier laughed. "Covered all the furry chest of his."
"That's what happens when you kick a pain slut in the balls." Gabriel's voice had an edge of satisfaction.
Finally, it stopped. Tanguy collapsed back, chest heaving, completely spent in the filth.
"Beautiful." Gabriel pulled his phone out. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
Camera clicks, multiple, from different angles.
"There. Evidence. Proof that bike boy loves being pissed on and kicked."
"Right." MathĂ©o checked his watch. "Getting late. Itâs time to go before the park gates close."
"Waitâ" Tanguy's voice was hoarse, broken. "Please, donât abandon meâ At least leave my yellow bikeâ,â he tried to cry."
âShhh, be quiet!â shouted Xavier, making him shut up by putting a hand over his mouth, "figure it out yourself, bike boy," he said. Then pushed into Tanguyâs mouth a ball of cloth made of some rags of the shorts he had grabbed before, to gag him silent. Tanguy tried to cough it off, with no success.
"We'll take care of it, bike boy," bantered Gabriel.
"See you around, neighbor," added Adrien while the group walked away.
Then silence.
Their footsteps faded, their laughter growing distant. Four men in casual clothes, heading home after an evening in the park.
Tanguy stood there, exhausted from the heat and the whole thing. After a pause, rolling out from the piss pool, he recovered some energy and started twisting his wrists to break free his hands. The tight bound scratched into his skin. The piss had made it wet and harder to loosen.
Eventually, after what felt like hours of painful twisting, his hands came free, yet numb. He pulled off the gag, gasping free, then removed the blindfold. He scarily discovered that night had fallen completely. The park was now empty and frighteningly dark. A light breeze bit his wet skin, making him shiver.
He stood seated in the piss puddle, violently shaking, and looked down at himself.
Completely naked and barefoot. His skin filthy with piss, cum and dirt, the hairy chest, the beard and the hair crusted with a mix of his own semen and the guys' piss, glistening under the faded moonlight.
The rags from his tank and briefsâthe pieces they'd used to bind, blindfold, and gag himâlay beside him, soaked with piss and stinking. But they were the only thing he was left with.
He grabbed them with trembling hands and tried to cover for his cock and balls, wrapping them loosely around his thigh, tied with clumsy knots, his fingers numb and shaking.
It barely covered anything. His chest and his arse were still embarrassingly exposed. The toned calves bare as usual. But it made him feel better than riding home stark naked.
He painfully moved through the open park, roaming in full dark, retracing his steps back towards the entrance where he had parked his bike. His bright yellow bike was leaning against a tree nearby. Waiting for the bike guy.
He walked over, grabbed the handlebarsâ
And stopped.
The seat was gone.
Completely removed. Unscrewed. Just the metal post sticking up from the frame, about an inch in diameter.
"Fuck." He stared at it. "Fuck. No. They didn'tâ"
But they had.
He'd have to ride home standing up. Orâ
He looked at the post. Smooth metal. Perfectly positioned.
No. He couldn't. He wouldn't.
But he had no choice.
He discovered in pain that the main gates were locked. So he had to walk along the fences on the parkâs boundaries, until he found a gap near the maintenance shed. He squeezed through. Thorns scratched his chest and his thighs. Fresh pain on top of everything else. But at least he was on the street again, with his yellow bike.
The streets were silent and empty, lit by harsh white led streetlights that made his filth-covered body gleam in the night.
He couldn't walk the whole way. His feet were already blistered from the gravel paths. And the streets would get busier the later it got with people heading home from normal summer evening activities.
That would have taken too much time. He had to ride.
He threw his leg over the frame and tried to pedal standing upâarse raised high, exposed to the air and anyone behind him, legs working hard to keep balance without sitting.
It barely worked, as his thighs burned immediately from exhaustion. He canât help doing anything other than exposing his arse, completely vulnerable.
Every bump sent shocks through his legs. The makeshift rag covering his cock kept slipping, threatening to fall away completely.
He pedaled faster, trying to get home quickly.
Then he saw them.
A group of young menâfive or sixâstanding in front of the MonâCalm kebab shop, harsh light spilling out on the front door. They were in their late twenties, visibly loud and drunk. The kind who'd hassle anyone who looked vulnerable.
Tanguy tried to keep going. Stay standing and balanced, trying to not attract their attention.
"Oi! What the fuck is that?" They'd seen him.
"Is that bloke naked?"
"On a bike with no seat?"
Whistles and laughter were harsh, heightening his deep embarrassment and public humiliation.
"Look at his arse!"
"Mate, are you fucking naked?"
Tanguy panicked. He sat down hard, trying to make himself less exposed. The metal post entered him, deep and unavoidable.
He gasped loudly, body tensing as the smooth post slid into his arseholeâthe rim still puffy from Gabriel finger stretching. Just a new brutal insertion with no lube.
Pain was sharp and immediate, but underneath it, pleasure. Unexpected yet undeniable.
The post pressed directly against his prostate. The same spot that Gabriel made him discover with unexpected pleasure, massaging with his rough thumb.Â
Each pedal stroke sent jolts through his body that made his vision blur.
"Look at him! He just sat on the fucking post!"
"He's riding it!"
"Fucking pervert!"
"He's getting off on it. Look at his face!"
Tanguy tried to stand again but his legs wouldn't cooperate. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming, and the exhaustion too strong. His cock hardened againâimpossible but it didâpushing against the loose rags.
He pedaled. Each stroke sent the post deeper, rubbing against that spot inside him. Each rotation made him gasp.
The rags loosened and slipped away completely, leaving him definitively barefoot naked and exposed for public embarrassment. Despite the deep humiliation, his cock sprang free, impossibly hard, bouncing with each pedal stroke, fully visible under the streetlights.
"LOOK AT HIS COCK!"
"HE'S FUCKING HARD!"
"SICK BASTARD!"
"PERVERT!"
They threw him a bottle that smashed near his back wheel, the glass scattering behind.
Tanguy pedaled faster, the post moving inside him with each stroke, hitting that spot again and again. His cock leaking, dripping, betraying him completely.
Another bottle. This one hit his shoulder.
He turned left on the corner to rue des Chasseurs, hiding from their view. But their laughter echoed behind him in the quiet summer night.
He couldn't stop now. Couldn't pull off the post. The pleasure was too much. Too overwhelming. His body moved on autopilotâpedaling, riding, the post penetrating him deeper with each rotation.
He rode like that the rest of the way homeâarse impaled on the seatpost, cock hard and leaking and completely visible, covered in dried piss and cum, completely naked under the streetlights.
A few cars passed, some honked, some slowed to stare.
He didn't stop. Couldn't stop until he reached Place des Lilas, finally at home.
Tanguy dismounted carefullyâthe post sliding out with a wet, obscene POP that made him gasp and shudder. His arsehole ached, gaped slightly. His cock was still semi-hard, still leaking.
He leaned the bike against the wall and locked it, then he stumbled toward the window to search for the keys he had hidden near the window ledge.
His hands fumbled, shaking uncontrollably. The filth and cum made his fingers stick together.
Where was it? Where the fuck was it? There. Behind the shutter bracket.
He grabbed it with clumsy fingers, then moved inside, reaching the apartment door and tried to fit it in the lock. Missed. He tried again, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"Well, well. What do we have here?" Tanguy froze. His blood turned to ice.
Two men stood behind him in the hallway on the ground floor. Neighbors from upstairs, he recognized. He'd seen them around the building the previous day but didnât dare to talk to them. In their thirties, they were built like brick shithouses and rough-looking. The kind who inspired no trust.
They stared at him, deliberately scanning his body in every detail.
Buck naked and barefoot. Visibly covered in filth. Cock half-hard and arsehole still a bit puffy from the seatpost. Smelling for the sweat, the piss, and the filth
"Looks like someone had a rough night," the taller one said. His eyes traveled down Tanguy's bodyâlingering on his cock, his matted chest hair, his filthy beard. "Very rough."
The shorter one grinned, predatory and hungry. "Or maybe a fun night. Look at him. Still half mast. Bet he loved every second of whatever it was."
Tanguy's hands shook harder. He tried to turn the key. Missed the lock completely.
"Where've you been, neighbor?" The tall one stepped closer. Tanguy could smell beer on his breath. "Out for a naked bike ride? Late-night park adventure?"
"Iâ I have toâ" Tanguy's voice squeaked barely audible.
The key turned. The door finally cracked open. Tanguy stumbled inside and slammed it shut. "Lock. Lock it!" His fingers fumbled with the deadbolt.
He heard them laughing outside. Right outside his door.
"Fucking exhibitionist pervert."
"Bet he loved being seen. Probably came from it: I can smell it from afar."
"Should've grabbed him. Bet he would've let us do anything."
"Might still. We know where you live, and what you are into, now."
Footsteps moved away, up the stairs, but slowly. Like they were considering turning around.
Tanguy collapsed against the door, his whole body shaking. But through the windowâthe one he had left wide openâhe heard more voices from the courtyard.
"Did you see that?"
"The new guy from the ground floor?"
"Definitely naked. Saw everything."
"Think he was alone?"
"Maybe someone dumped him there."
"Or maybe he's just a drunk pervert."
Other neighbors. Some of them were watching too. Their comment made him feel even more humiliated, but this public embarrassment aroused him even more.
Tanguy slid down to the floor, back against the door. Cold tile against his filthy skin. His cock was hardening again despite everything.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps on the stairs. Coming back down. The two men from before.
They knocked hard on his door, insistently, making his naked body resonating with fear.
"Hey, neighbor. We know you're in there."
Another knock. Harder.
"Come on. Open up. We just want to... introduce ourselves."
The door handle rattled. They were twisting it, trying to penetrate the apartment.
Tanguy had locked it. Thank fuck he'd locked it.
But the windowâStill wide open, not even a curtain. No way to close it quickly without them seeing him move.
The footsteps moved away from the door, going around the building corner, toward his window.
Tanguy scrambled up, rushed to the window on hands and knees. Too late.
They were already there. Faces peering in through the open window. Grinning eyes, gleaming with something dark and deep as Tanguyâs secret kink.
"There you are."
Tanguy grabbed the window frame, tried to pull it closed. A hand reached in fast and grabbed his wrist. Thick fingers with a strong grip.
"Not so fast, neighbor."
The other man's hand came through the other side. Grabbed his other wrist.
"We're just getting started."
They pulled hard.
Tanguy tried to resist but he was exhausted, weak, and they were strong. So strong.
They pulled him halfway through the window, scratching his chest on the windowsill, the boner trapped beneath. They pulled until his upper body was outside, legs still inside, feet in the air. He felt it again: powerless and without control. That scared him, but his dick was full mast again.Â
"There we go. That's better."
"Now we can see you properly."
The taller one moved his nose closer, to sniff Tanguyâs beard and body.
"Still covered in piss, are you? Whose piss? Where've you been, dirty boy?"
"Let meâ" Tanguy tried to pull back.
"Shh. We just want to look. For now."
Then a shout.Â
"Shut the fuck up, filthy perverts! There's people who want to sleep," shouted someone, making them hurry away.Â
Suddenly freed from the grip, with no support under his feet, Tanguy slid ruinously to the ground. Exhausted and sore, he lay there, breathing his own filth, the dick finally spent from the fear.Â
Next time, Tanguy thought. Next time the dice will roll lower.Â
Even lower, if that was even possible.
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