TW: Blackmail, Porn without plot, Humiliation, Exhibitionism.

Short Description:

You tried to play hero and became the official bouncing, air-fucking, crab-posing mascot of four lower grade idiots. They treat you like the oldest member of the group... the one who always ends up naked, red-faced, and looking as stupid as possible on camera.

Full Story:

Your name is Alex Carter. Twenty-three senior, short dark hair, built like a gym poster that got too soft in the chest. Thick bouncing pecs, bright pink nipples, big soft ass, heavy . Everything sensitive. You were popular, cocky, and allergic to walking away from trouble.

One afternoon you saw four lower grade guys cornering a smaller dude. You walked in like the hero, grabbed Marcus, and told the kid to run.

The dude took the chance and ran away.

Then they jumped you.

By the time it was over your shirt was over your head, shorts around your ankles, and Marcus already recording. Sweat ran down your chest. Your pink nipples were hard. Your thick pecs rose and fell with every breath.

“Smile, big bro,” Marcus said, flicking both nipples. Your whole chest jerked. Tyler slapped your ass hard enough to make it ripple. Chris pinched and twisted until your knees wobbled. Jay zoomed in on your .

“You’re in the group now. Official big bro. Show up when we text. Do every challenge. Videos stay private... or they don’t. Deal?”

You had no choice.

They added you to “Big Bro’s Training Arc.” Every notification made your stomach drop and your pink nipples already tingle.

The challenges got dumber fast.

Empty classroom after school. Door locked. Phone on a tripod.

“Alright big bro,” Marcus said. “Crab pose. Legs spread wide, hands behind your head, chest out. Now bounce. Make those tits jump.”

You dropped into the pose, thick thighs open, soft pecs thrust forward. Every little bounce made them jiggle. Chris stood behind you and casually rolled your pink nipples between his fingers while the camera rolled.

“Faster. Bounce like you’re proud of them.”

Then came the air-fucking.

“Hip thrusts. the air. Hard. Tongue out. Eyes crossed. Make it look as goofy as possible.”

You thrust your hips, heavy swinging, thick pecs bouncing with every movement, face twisted into the dumbest ahegao they could demand. Tyler counted out loud and slapped your ass on every third thrust just to watch it jiggle.

“Stupider face. Come on, big bro, you can look dumber than that. Cross the eyes harder. Drool a little.”

Jay’s playground nights were the worst.

Midnight. Empty park. Completely naked.

They made you balance on the seesaw in full crab pose, hands behind your head, legs spread, pink nipples pointing at the sky, while they filmed and dared you to keep bouncing even when cars passed in the distance.

Or the dog challenge: crawling on all fours, tongue out, hip-thrusting the air every few steps while Tyler spanked your soft ass and Chris reached under to flick your nipples.

“Speak, big bro.”

“Woof...”

“Louder. And thrust harder. Show the camera how dumb you can look.”

They never tried to you. They just treated you like the group’s favorite toy. The oldest, the biggest, the most popular guy... reduced to a sweaty, pink-nippled, air-fucking, crab-posing idiot who showed up every time the chat lit up.

You told yourself you’d get the videos deleted one day.

Instead you kept showing up, already knowing you were about to bounce, thrust, and make the stupidest face of your life again.

And somehow, in the most humiliating way possible, you were still part of the group.