Josh leaned back against the mic stand, his smirk widening as he looked Greg up and down. The crowd was still buzzing from the fag’s confession, their laughter echoing through the venue. Josh tapped the mic, the sound sharp and commanding. “So, Greg here thinks he’s inferior to us. And honestly? Dude's not wrong." Josh paused, his grin practically dripping with cocky charm as the crowd snickered. "I mean, let's be real, all faggots are just naturally inferior, right? Like, science says it or some shit. You can’t argue with facts.” The laughter got rowdier and Josh soaked it in like the spotlight was his birthright. “But yo, let’s test how inferior! I'm dying to see just how much of a pathetic little loser this freak really is, you feel me?”
Greg smiled adoringly at Josh, his face flushed with a mix of humiliation and twisted pleasure as the audience roared their approval. "Yes, please," he whispered, his voice trembling with eager submission.
Josh whipped his head around, his smirk twisting into an evil grin as he shot Greg a dismissive look. "I wasn’t talking to you, faggot, I was talking to the actual men in here.” He paused, letting the crowd eat it up, then added with a sharp laugh, “But hey, love the energy, loser! Keep that desperation coming, it’s fuckin’ hilarious.”
The audience erupted into chaos, fists pounding tables and voices shouting their approval. Someone yelled, "He’s actually loving it!" while another laughed so hard they nearly fell out of their chair.
Josh shook his head amused. He turned to them, grinning. "Well, boys, first things first! Should we strip this loser down and see what he’s hiding under that fancy suit?"
The roar of approval was unanimous, voices shouting things like "Do it!” and "Take it off!”
Greg's knees nearly gave out as the weight of Josh's suggestion hit him like a sledgehammer. Did he really just say that? It was a fantasy Greg had replayed in his mind countless times—shameful, humiliating, and perfect. His heart hammered in his chest, a chaotic mix of disbelief, excitement, and a jolt of raw, electric arousal. He felt dizzy, the room spinning as he stood there, trembling. This is actually happening. This has always been my dream. The thought alone sent a shiver down his spine, his body betraying him with a rush of heat that made his face burn. He was terrified, yes, but mostly he was desperate—desperate for Josh to follow through, to strip him bare, to make his fantasy a reality right there in front of that kind of merciless crowd.
Josh leaned in closer to Greg, his voice full of teenage swagger. “Alright, fag, let’s make this fun,” he said, his smirk practically splitting his face. “Here’s how it’s gonna go: every time you strip off a piece of that expensive-ass suit, you’re gonna tell these kings one reason why straight guys like us are gods to you. And if your reason sucks—" he paused for effect, leaning in even closer, “—I get to slap that faggy face of yours into next week. Sound good?”
Josh raised his hand, fingers twitching as if he were already itching to smack the humiliation even deeper into Greg’s soul. The audience erupted into cheers, fists pounding tables and voices shouting their approval. “Do it!” “Hell yeah!” “Let’s see him squirm!”
Greg swallowed hard, his throat dry as he nodded frantically. “Yes, Josh,” he said, his voice barely audible over the roaring audience.
Josh’s tone was commanding. “First up, the tie. Take it off, Greg, and give us your first reason.”
Greg’s trembling fingers fumbled with the silk tie, the material slipping between them as he struggled to undo the knot. Finally, he pulled it free and held it limply in his hand. “Because… because straight boys are… stronger,” he stammered, his voice shaky.
Josh arched an eyebrow, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm. Stronger, huh? Weak-ass answer, Greg.” Before the fag could react, Josh’s hand snapped out, delivering a sharp slap across his cheek. The sound was loud and crisp, drawing cheers and cackles from the college boys. Greg winced, his face reddening from the sting, but instead of cowering, he looked up at Josh with wide eyes and a trembling voice.
“Thank you, Josh” Greg whispered, his tone dripping with eager submission.
The room exploded into chaos, everybody lost control. “That’s what he gets!” someone shouted, while another yelled, “Slap him again!”
“Looks like the fag’s loving it,” Josh said, cackling like a hyena. “Can you believe this shit?” he managed to choke out between fits of laughter, turning to the college boys who roared back in response. He straightened up, still grinning like a madman, and looked at Greg “You’re welcome, faggot! Next,” Josh said “The shirt. Let’s hear a better reason this time.”
Greg’s hands shook as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, each button feeling like a Herculean task under the weight of the boys’ jeers. Finally, he slipped the shirt off his shoulders, his pale chest now exposed to the raucous audience. He took a shuddering breath and stammered, “Because… because straight boys are more confident.”
Josh tapped his chin, pretending to consider this. “Confident, huh? I mean, duh,” he said with a smirk, before delivering another sharp slap across Greg’s face. The sound echoed through the venue, and the room, predictably, went wild again. “Still fucking lame. Try again after the pants.”
Greg’s cheek burned from the slap, but instead of cowering, he turned to Josh with an expression that bordered on reverence. His voice quivered as he spoke, even more submissive than before.
“Thank you, sir,” Greg said loudly, his eyes wide and pleading. “Thank you for putting me in my place.”
The room lost it once again, their voices shouting in frenzied approval. Josh couldn’t help himself—he doubled over, laughing so hard he thought he might collapse. When he finally straightened up his cheeks were flushed with amusement. His cocky voice crackled through the speakers. “Yo, did y’all just hear that? This old-ass faggot called me ‘sir’! What the actual fuck?!”
Everyone went absolutely wild. Josh grinned like he’d just won the lottery, pointing at Greg with that signature smirk plastered across his face. “But hey, I totally get it. When you’re a straight god like me—his words, not mine—what’s a faggot like him supposed to do? Worship the ground I walk on, right? What else is he good for?”
The audience roared even louder. Josh stood there, basking in the chaos, looking every bit the arrogant king of the stage he knew he was. He looked at Greg like he was the punchline of the world’s funniest joke. “Isn’t that right, Greg?” he teased, condescending as hell.
Greg nodded weakly, his face flushed but his eyes glistening with gratitude. “Yes, sir,” he whispered, trembling. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome, faggot,” Josh said, leaning back with a smirk. “Now get those pants off and make it good.”
Greg’s humiliation deepened as he unbuckled his belt and slid his trousers down awkwardly, stepping out of them with shaky legs. He stood there in his boxers and socks, his body trembling under the crowd’s piercing gaze. “Because… because straight boys are more… more desirable,” he stammered, his voice amplified by the mic.
Josh burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking as he pointed at Greg with mock disbelief. “Desirable? That’s not even a reason, Greg!” He delivered another slap, this one so hard Greg staggered slightly, his face turning crimson. The audience roared with delight, some chanting, “Again! Again!”
Josh turned to the audience, still chuckling. “Yo, you guys see this shit? I don’t even think this fag’s trying to give a decent reason at this point. Pretty sure he’s just soaking it up ’cause a straight boy is slapping the shit out of him!”
The room exploded again, the college boys cackling like wild hyenas. A few shouted, “He’s loving it!” and “Slap him harder!” while others doubled over, clutching their sides. Josh grinned, clearly enjoying the moment, and looked back at Greg with a raised eyebrow.
“What do you say, faggot?” Josh sneered, leaning in closer so the mic amplified every word. The College dudes held their breath, waiting for Greg’s response.
“Thank you, sir,” Greg shouted, his voice trembling but laced with complete submission. “Thank you for putting me in my place, sir.”
"That's a good faggot!" Josh shook his head, chuckling almost in disbelief. “Yo, this dude’s got the masochistic gene hardwired into him or some shit—like, it’s embedded in his DNA! Pathetic much?” he shouted to his straight peers, who roared back in unison, some of them standing up as they cheered and jeered.
Josh’s grin was wild, almost unhinged, as he turned to Greg and pointed with exaggerated authority. “My pleasure, faggot,” he sneered, his amused voice echoing through the venue. The room erupted into a fresh wave of chaos.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Josh laughed. “You know what, folks? I just got a fire idea! This fag right here? He should be teaching a damn class. Let’s call it… Faggot 101: How to Know Your Place and Serve Straight Boys Properly.”
The laughter was deafening. Josh grinned, soaking it all in before continuing. “Nah, for real though, think about it, bros. Wouldn’t it save us so much time if these fags learned this kinda shit in, like, junior high? Walk in, bow down, and get to work—doin’ our chores, our homework, whatever. That’s literally all they’re good for anyway, right?”
The audience roared again, voices blending into a cacophony of approval. Josh’s unfaltering grin widened as he turned back to Greg, who stood there trembling in his boxers, his face flushed with humiliation but clearly loving every second of it.
“So there you go, faggot,” Josh sneered, his teenage bravado on full display as he pointed at Greg like he was some kind of prized zoo animal. “Now you’ve got your next mission. Go show these losers how to actually be useful for once in their sad little lives.”
Greg nodded enthusiastically, his voice shaking like a leaf as he stammered, “Y-yes, sir. Th-thank you, sir.”
Josh let out a loud, obnoxious laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Dude, you’re on another level. Like, seriously, you’re practically the poster boy for your kind. Maybe you should even start a podcast or something—call it something like Straight Worship Weekly! Anything goes as long as it's spreading the message. Letting every faggot out there know their place. It’s, like, a public service, y’know? You'd be teaching ‘em the rules of the world: straight boys are gods, and faggots? They’re just here to worship us and do whatever the hell we say. Simple as that.”
Greg nodded so fast it looked like his head might fall off, his voice, heavy with loving submission barely audible over the rowdy college boys. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammered “I-I’ll do whatever you say, sir.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely keep you to that, fag, believe that shit!” Josh sneered, drawing out the words like he was savoring every syllable.
The chaos went absolutely feral, their jeering and cheers bouncing off the walls. Josh held up a hand, trying to calm them down but failing spectacularly. “Alright, alright, shut up for a sec!” he shouted over the chaos “Let’s keep this show moving. Don’t know 'bout you, but I wanna hear one more reason why we're superior to faggots.”
As the audience laughed again, a young guy from the organization hurried onto the stage and leaned in close to Josh, whispering something in his ear. Josh’s smirk widened as he listened, and he turned back to his audience.
“Yo, yo, yo!” Josh hollered, his voice crackling with that brash energy that had the crowd hanging on his every word. “Bros, you’re not gonna believe this shit—” He paused for effect, letting the tension build like he was teasing the punchline of a joke. “The next act just bailed. Got stuck in traffic or some weak excuse like that. So guess what that means?” He spread his arms wide, grinning like he’d just scored the winning touchdown. “We got 20 more minutes to roast this faggot into oblivion! Let’s go!”
Everyone went wild, like they’d just been handed front-row tickets to the Super Bowl. Some of the college boys jumped out of their seats, chanting, "Keep going! Keep going!" The energy in the room was electric. Josh’s smirk was practically glowing under the stage lights.
“Greg, you lucky motherfucker—you get to be my personal punching bag for the next 20 minutes. How’s that sound?” he taunted.
Greg’s face turned beet red, but he still managed to stammer out, “T-thank you, sir. I-I’m honored to serve,” his voice trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.
Josh chuckled, his voice low and mocking but laced with pure giddiness. “Alright, faggot,” he said, sneering. “Let’s make these next 20 minutes un-fucking-forgettable. You ready to get destroyed?”
Greg nodded weakly, his whole body trembling but his eyes wide with this weird mix of humiliation and adoration. “Y-yes, sir!”
"Good! Go on then! You're up! Drop another reason why straight boys are gods, and then it’s time to lose the boxers." He mocked “And listen up, fag—this time, make it good. Like, actually put some effort into it. You’re already a walking joke, so at least try to do one thing right in your pathetic-ass life, yeah?”
The room exploded again, their cheers and jeers blending into a chaotic symphony of delight as they eagerly awaited Greg's next humiliation. But no one was as giddy as Greg. He stood there trembling in his boxers, his face flushed, but he swallowed hard and mustered the most humiliating admission he could think of. "Be… because straight boys are the real men," he stammered, his voice quivering. "And I’m just a worthless faggot who deserves to be laughed at and slapped around by them."
More and more laughter thundering through the venue. "That’s what I’m talking about!" Josh shouted into the mic. "You hear that, folks? This guy knows he’s just a waste of space compared to us!" Everyone roared even louder, their fists slamming on tables.
But then Josh’s smirk widened as he looked back at Greg. "You know what? That was almost a decent reason. But guess what? I’mma slap this fag anyway—just ‘cause it’s fucking hilarious. Y’all cool with that?" He raised his hand dramatically, letting the anticipation build.
The college boys lost it completely, chanting "Slap him! Slap him!" as Josh delivered another sharp, stinging slap across Greg’s cheek. The sound echoed through the speakers, and Greg stumbled slightly, his face so red now he looked like a strawberry. But once again, he looked up at Josh with wide, adoring eyes and repeated, "Thank you, sir. Thank you for putting me in my place."
Josh chuckled again. "This fucking fag's unreal!" The crowd was in hysterics, some of them wiping tears from their eyes as they howled with delight.
"Alright, alright," Josh said once he caught his breath, pointing at Greg with mock authority. "Time to lose the boxers, faggot. Let’s see what you got."
Finally, Greg thought, his heart racing with a twisted mix of anticipation and excitement. This was the moment he had been waiting for since Josh first declared he’d have to strip—the ultimate humiliation. His hands trembled as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, achingly aware of how hard he was right now. He had never felt this insanely horny in his entire life.
Josh, however, wasn’t about to let him draw it out. "Now!" Josh barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip. Greg didn’t even think—he just yanked the boxers down, stepping out of them awkwardly, his face burning but his body betraying just how much he was loving every second of this.
The room fell silent for a split second as Greg’s tiny, shamefully small dick was revealed to the audience. Then the silence shattered as everyone lost it. "Look at that thing!" someone shouted, while another guy yelled, "Is that even a dick?" Greg? He couldn’t have been happier.
Josh was laughing so hard he could barely stand, clutching the mic stand for support as he tried to speak but could only manage choked gasps of laughter. Finally, he leaned into the mic, barely able to get the words out. "Oh my fucking God, Greg! I thought you were a loser before, but this? This is fucking beyond!"
The whole room was in absolute chaos, some standing up and pointing at Greg as they cackled. Greg stood there, completely naked except for his socks, his face burning with humiliation but his eyes still filled with that twisted sense of happy, blissful submission. He was living his fantasy. It felt so insanely good it was dangerously addictive.
Josh, still cracking up, shook his head at Greg like he was the saddest thing he’d ever seen. “Bro, I don’t even know where to start with you. Like, what is this? You’re on a whole new level of pathetic.” His smirk stretched wider “Yo, folks, I think we’ve officially found the world’s smallest dick! I mean—is that thing even real? Or did you just glue a Tic Tac down there for fun or somethin’?” Uncontrollable laughter filled the room, some of them pointing and hollering and guffawing.
“Wait, wait—I got one!” Josh said, pretending to stroke his chin like he was coming up with some genius-level joke. “What do you call a dick that small? A clit!” The room went wild, voices shouting so loud it felt like the walls were shaking. “Seriously, Greg, I’m surprised you can even find that thing to piss! Do you need, like, a magnifying glass or what? Maybe a GPS?”
Someone in the back hollered, “Maybe it’s just shy!” and everyone lost it all over again. Josh nodded with that smug-ass grin plastered on his face. “Yeah, shy—or maybe it’s just ashamed to be attached to a faggot like this!” He pointed at Greg like he was some kind of science experiment gone wrong, and the audience howled like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.
Greg’s face burned with humiliation, but he didn’t dare look away from Josh. The straight boy’s cruelty only seemed to deepen his twisted sense of submission. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “And the thing is that I am so hard right now! I've never been this hard in my life, Sir!”
Josh’s eyes widened for a second before he doubled over. “Holy shit, faggot! Are you serious? You’re telling me that thing is actually hard right now?!” He pointed at Greg’s barely-there erection, his voice dripping with disbelief and mockery. “Wait, wait—how big is that thing, Greg? Like, give us the digits. Don’t be shy, faggot. We’re all dying to know.”
The boys started pounding the tables with their fists as they chanted, “Measure it! Measure it!”
Greg’s face burned even hotter, but he stammered out, “T-two inches, sir. No, actually, almost… almost two inches when I’m hard.” His voice wavered, but there was a perverse pride in his admission, like he was finally revealing his deepest shame and loving every second of it.
The room exploded. Someone shouted, “That’s just fucking sad!” while another guy doubled over, cackling so hard he could barely breathe.
Josh shook his head in disbelief, his grin practically eating up the stage. “Less than two fucking inches? Bro, that’s not a dick—that’s a thumb! A fucking stub!” He paused for effect, letting the laughter build before adding, “Like, seriously, bitch, I was bigger than that when I was, like, five and I couldn't even get hard yet! Talk about pathetic!”
The chaos was abnormal, everybody cackling as they pointed and jeered at the pathetic fag. “Greg, how do you even jerk off? You need tweezers or somethin’? A microscope? Or do you just sit there and pray it grows, like a faggot version of Pinocchio?”
Greg stood there, his face beet red, but his tiny dick stayed stubbornly hard, betraying just how much he was loving every second of this.
Josh’s smirk practically ate up the stage as he looked down at Greg’s pathetic excuse for an erection. “Yo, Greg, real talk—what the fuck is even going on right now? Are you seriously hard because I’m up here roasting your sad little dick to shreds? Or are you just that fucking desperate for attention from a straight guy like me?” He paused, letting everyone howl with laughter before leaning in closer. “Either way, bro, it’s so cringe. Like, seriously. You’re out here with a two-inch boner… oops, sorry, almost two-inch boner and I’m just chilling, having the best night of my life. And you fucking paid me for it! This shit’s gold.”
The audience cracked up, shouting their approval. Greg just stood there, trembling and exposed, his tiny dick betraying just how much he was living for every second of this humiliation.
“Thank you, sir,” Greg whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
Josh shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, you’re welcome, faggot. Always happy to put your kind in your place.”
Someone suddenly shouted, “He’s not just a fag, he’s a micro-fag!” and the room exploded again.
Josh nodded, pretending to consider it. “Micro-fag… I like it. That’s officially what we’re calling you from now on, Greg.” He turned to the sea of college boys, his smirk widening. “Let’s give it up for Greg, the micro-fag!”
The boys went crazy, as they chanted, “Mi-cro! Mi-cro!” Greg stood there, completely naked except for his socks, his face burning with humiliation but his eyes wide with adoration.
“Thank you, sir,” he whispered, his voice trembling with gratitude. “Thank you for pointing out how pathetic my tiny dick is.”
Josh laughed again and stepped closer. His hand snapped out with a sharp, stinging slap that echoed through the venue, leaving Greg’s cheek red and throbbing. The crowd obviously went with it “No fucking problem, bitch,” Josh sneered. “But don’t worry, loser, we’re just getting started.”
Greg stumbled slightly from the force of the slap, but his face lit up with a mix of gratitude and twisted pleasure. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered, his voice trembling. He looked up at Josh with wide, adoring eyes, his tiny dick still embarrassingly hard. “I-I can’t wait for more.”
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
