My Bullies - Chapter Twenty-Two

Saturday morning Ethan woke to the faint burn of humiliation still lingering in his chest. The marker on his thigh had faded to a ghostly outline, but his skin felt hypersensitive everywhere the razor had touched—pubes, ass cheeks, hole completely smooth. He showered, the water sliding over bare skin like a reminder, his cock twitching at the memory of Caleb's voice, the dare, the taste.

His phone buzzed mid-shower: Caleb's DM. Mall at 1. Food court. Loose shorts. No underwear. We're going as "friends."

Ethan dressed in baggy gym shorts and a hoodie, the loose fabric doing nothing to hide the outline of his half-hard cock when it stirred. No underwear meant every step rubbed denim against smooth skin, a constant tease. He drove to the mall, heart hammering, and met them at the food court.

Caleb arrived with the group—Mason, Tyler, Diego—acting casual, laughing about some video game. No one mentioned the burner (now at 8k views), the shave, or the previous night's edging. They wandered stores like normal friends, but Ethan's nerves were electric. Every brush of a hand against his lower back or ass felt deliberate.

In a department store, Caleb picked up a pair of slim jeans from a rack. "Try these," he said, handing them to Ethan with a small smile. "See if they fit."

The changing rooms were down a short hallway. Ethan stepped inside a stall, but the door didn't close behind him. The four boys crowded in, locking it.

"Strip," Caleb ordered quietly.

Ethan's hands shook as he pulled off the hoodie, then shoved down the shorts. Naked again, cock springing free—already hard, smooth skin flushed under the harsh light.

The boys circled him in the cramped space. Caleb started the video on his phone. "Edge for the burner. Show them how smooth you are now."

Ethan's hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow, then faster—pre-cum slicking his palm, breaths short and needy. Mason and Tyler watched, smirks wide; Diego snapped stills. Caleb reached down, fingers brushing Ethan's smooth balls, teasing the base of his shaft, pushing him closer to the edge.

"Stop," Caleb said right as Ethan tensed. Denied.

Tyler grinned wider. "Dare you to open the door. Edge on your knees. Let anyone see."

Ethan shook his head, panic rising. "No—someone could—"

Caleb stepped closer, voice soft but commanding. "Do it for me, princess. Please."

That single word broke him. Ethan nodded, trembling. He cracked the door open a few inches—enough for the hallway to be visible, for anyone passing to glance in. He dropped to his knees on the cold tile, hand back on his cock, stroking desperately, exposed.

Footsteps. Three teen boys—probably 18 or 19, carrying armfuls of clothes—walked by. One stopped, eyes widening. "Holy fuck," he muttered. The others turned, staring.

#Laughter bubbled up, low and shocked. "Dude's jerking off in there." One pulled out his phone, quick snap, then they hurried off, whispering.

Ethan's face burned crimson, but he didn't stop—stroking faster, leaking onto the floor, all to please Caleb.

Caleb pulled him back inside, shutting the door firmly. Laughter filled the stall.

"Good boy," Caleb said, ruffling Ethan's hair. He picked up the jeans Ethan had come to try on. "These look good on you."

He paid for them at the register—Ethan red-faced, shorts tented and wet with pre-cum, the group trailing behind like nothing had happened.

They didn't leave the mall yet.

Caleb slung an arm around Ethan's shoulders, casual, friendly. "Food court next," he said. "You're buying lunch."

Ethan walked beside him, smooth skin rubbing against the new jeans in the bag, cock still throbbing, face flushed from the public dare, the group chat already pinging with photos and mockery.