Jake was now going to work every day with one of his insulting T-shirts on under his clothes. He no longer wore underwear. He felt exposed and humiliated. He had grown to hate that word. His sales figures were up, his focus and achievement at work had improved, management was impressed with his performance, but he could not see it. Once while meeting with a new influential client, Christian extended a hand, shook the other man's and smilingly introduced himself as Stooge.Inwardly, Christian flinched horribly, but no one seemed to notice or care. Now it seemed that even when speaking his own real name, Christian heard only the word Stooge. Wonderful.

The sessions at the gym had gotten a bit shorter, or perhaps only seemed so. His workout time flew by and his sets and endurance were above anything he had heretofore ever achieved. Patrick was now his personal trainer and was amazed at Christian's progress. After reaching a certain level of muscle mass, they began to work on tone. If Christian chose to abandon his lucrative career in marketing he could easily have taken up a new line as an underwear model.

He received a merciless pieing every night from Jake, his Pie Master. He could not cancel their meetings, could not turn him away, could not even lock the door. He was compelled to let his Master in, descend to the basement together, strip buck naked before him (no T-shirts allowed anymore), and take his punishment. It still felt fantastic, was still arousing, and still intoxicating. Every morning Christian awoke under a coating of creamy goo feeling spiritually broken and degraded, trying in vain to ignore his raging hard-on. By afternoon, he would vow to himself that the previous evening's session had been the last and that he would play the stooge no longer. And every night he let Jake the Pie Master in, calling him 'Sir' and shouting out his own name of Stooge! as he took pie after pie to the face, hammered and humiliated, insistingbeggingthat he needed to be so demeaned.

Jake followed through on all his ideas and added chocolate cream pudding, lemon meringue, and mint fluff surprise pies to the mix. It got so that Christian never knew what to expect when Jake produced his stacks of white bakery boxes. The anticipation made his humiliation all the more sweet. For Jake, at least.

The next day's workout at the gym was harder than usual for Christian. Oh, the actual exercise was no effort. He had been effectively groomed into a lean, tightly-muscled, well-defined machine of hotness by his pie master, with any rough edges that remained smoothed off and polished up by Patrick. But Jake had upped the ante when it came to Christian's workout wardrobe. Just when Christian thought he was getting used toor at the least, adjusting towearing no underwear and having demeaning T-shirts on under his clothes. (That day at work, he had one on beneath his shirt and tie that read STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! in block letters stacked beneath a bright red finger pointing upward. Christian made sure never to loosen his tie or let his jacket fall open.)

Christian was with Patrick at the gym today, undergoing his latest workout assessment, and stupid T-shirts and lack or briefs during the workday were the least of his concerns. Now that Christian was sporting a more impressive build, Jake had moved him on to spandex. Christian now did his workouts solely in tight-fitting bright spandex singlets, with hi-top athletic shoes that either matched perfectly or clashed horribly. Today he was in a fuchsia singlet (let's face itit was pink) with a series of purple star clusters running down the sides. Christian's shoes were also purple, with yellow lightning bolt logo and hot pink neon soles. Where the hell did Jake find this shit?? So even though Christian's body looked amazing, it was clear to all, especially himself, that he was still just a stooge. Patrick was paying less attention to Christian's garish ensemble, or trying to, than he was the stopwatch and clipboard. He nodded and smiled approvingly.

Damn, Chris, you are doing excellent! I have never seen anyone make this kind of progress without some kind of supplements or enhancers.

Christian ran on the treadmill, barely breaking a sweat while still beating all his previous times. I don't do that stuff, Christian said flatly.

Oh, I know you don't, Patrick agreed. I already made the usual checks. You are clean as a whistle. That's enough, you can step down.

Christian let the treadmill stop and hopped lithely to the floor. Patrick checked his pulse and just smiled. Your heart is steady as Swiss clock. Patrick looked at Christian's brow, which showed barely any signs of sweat. Your perspiration is less free than it was a few weeks ago. Shows your body's adjusting. Good. Christian took a swig of water from his bottle and caught a look at himself in the mirror. He flinched inwardly. It didn't matter how good his body now looked, he felt like an imbecile. He wondered how long it would be before Jake had him showing up in the weight room in oversized polka dot pants and inflatable shoes that squeaked when he walked.
Chris?

Christian turned back around to face Patrick. Sorry. Lost in thought. You were saying?

I was saying that I could not be happier with your results. Your stress test, endurance, weight lifting, and cardio are all first rate. And although I have to admit that I don't know exactly what inspired your wardrobe change, and he looked Christian up and down slowly, I'd have to be blind not to see that you look fucking incredible in it.

Patrick's comment caught Christian off guard. His remark seemed a bit too familiar for the supposedly unbiased observation of a personal trainer. Patrick reached over and very gently ran his fingers across Christian's hard pecs, atop his shoulders, and down his biceps. Patrick took a deep breath and sighed. Christian was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The close contact and intimate touching was making him get hard. Fast. Christian was about to carefully brush Patrick's hand away, but for some reason found himself unable to. He even tried to place a hand over his bulging crotch, but found that impossible, too. All he needed now was for Patrick to mention cream filling ...

Patrick pulled his hand back on his own (finally!) and snapped himself out of it. Anyway, you pass with flying colors, the trainer said with a bright smile. Keep it up.

Christian stepped away, his erection throbbing and with fear of precum staining his bright singlet. So we done here?

Yup. Lookin' good. And Patrick looked at him again, his smile widening.

Um, that's good, because I have to meet Jake in the Life Circuit room.

A sudden glaze came over Patrick's eyes at the mention of Jake. For a split second he seemed a million miles away, and then the life returned to his expression. He snapped his fingers. Jake! Right! I'm glad you mentioned him.Patrick reached into the breast pocket of his polo shirt and pulled out a small note. Jake ran into me earlier. Wanted me to give this to you when we were done.
Christian opened the note to find a message in Jake's scrawl.

Forget our usual workout. Go directly home after assessment. Got a surprise for you there. Your Master

Oh, goodie. More humiliation. Christian had decided then and there that he was done. No more. Playtime was over. He was a respectable person, dammit, not a clown. A man, a dignified adult. He would no longer play the fool for anyone, especially not some power-hungry muscle-bound sociopath. As of that precise moment, he would no longer be anyone's stooge.

Standing taller, setting his shoulders back, Christian puffed up his chest and opened his mouth to tell Patrick to pass on the message to Jake the next time he saw him that he could go to hell. He then broke into a beautiful smile and said, Well, change of plans, I guess. I gotta get home. Inwardly, his heart crumbled. He was still a stooge.
Well, you better get that cute butt home then, Patrick said happily, sending Christian on his way with a very playful hard slap on the ass.

Christian hurried out the door, not even wanting to look back and see what had prompted that reaction from Patrick. Had he looked back, he would have seen his personal trainer standing there in the middle of the room, staring at his hand, a look of great puzzlement on his face.


*************************************************


Christian opened the door to his home and a large box fell out at his feet. It had been placed inside the storm door. It was a large white box, as used by department stores for dresses or trousers, wrapped in a large purple ribbon with matching bow. There is no way in hell I'm wearing a goddamned dress, Christian thought, Stooge or not. Christian had been able, thankfully, to change back into normal street clothes in the locker room of the gym after his assessment with Patrick. He had no great desire to put on something else ridiculous this soon after ridding himself of the pink spandex, which he gladly left behind in his locker. He went inside and opened the box atop the counter. Suddenly the dress idea was looking pretty darn good. Inside the box was a clown suit. Wanting to stuff it back into the box and chuck in the nearest trash bin, Christian found himself instead pulling the outfit out and holding it up in front of him.

The clown suit was mostly white. It had purple ruffles around the neck, wrists, and at mid-calf. The legs of the suit ended in purple bootsbright, shiny, and clearly too large for Christian's feet. Running down the chest of the clown suit, perfectly centered beneath the collar ruff, were three large purple pom-poms, punctuating the front of the suit from sternum to waist. Just below the third pom-pom, there looked to be a little pouch to fit Christian's cock and balls, even. Oh, goodie. Attached to the back of the large collar ruff by a sturdy purple ribbon was a clown hat. Nothing huge or tall, but conical, perhaps riding seven or eight inches atop the wearer's head. On the white hat were two smaller purple pom-poms, matching the large ones on the suit. Christian looked closely and saw that stitched over the left breast of the jumper was a name label, as if this were a pair of coveralls worn by a garage mechanic, though with much more elaborate and careful design.Rather than a simple oval with the name Christian on it, there was an outlined purple star with the named (no surprise) Stooge written there. The stitched lettering even sparkled in the light. Christian turned the outfit over in his hands and found even larger letters printed across the back that mirrored the sentiment: STOOGE! Exclamation point and everything.At least the name ran across the shoulders, Christian mused. It could have been worse. He could have stenciled it over my ass.

Christian's mouth had not closed since he pulled the suit from the box. He knew that Jake wanted him to wear this. He knew that whatever his feelings about the matter that, eventually, he was going to wind up inside this ridiculous suit. Still, Christian found himself saying aloud to no one in particular, He can't...he can't seriously expect me to wear this...Christian began to say aloud, I won't do it. But he finally closed his mouth in silence, knowing that with all his programming, his conditioning (his training), whatever defiant thing he said would, in the end, be a lie.

Christian laid the clown suit across the counter and very slowly sat down on a chair at the kitchen table. He sighed, trying to steady himself, trying to convince himself that he had the willpower to resist whatever he'd been set up to do, knowing already that he was full of shit. Or at the very least, kidding himself. He ran his fingers through his hair and fought the urge to break down and cry. Already he could feel a part of himself, something deep inside him, deeply ingrained there, whispering to him, Put it on...Put it on...Put it on...you KNOW you want to...

He had no idea how the matches wound up in his hand.

It took a moment for Christian to even register that he was holding a lit match between two fingers, watching it burn. In his other hand was a box of kitchen matches. He recognized them, they had come from the utility drawer near the dish towels. But when had he gotten them, why had he struck the match on the side of the box...

Christian realized that his confused musing had allowed the match to burn low enough to scorch his fingers. Quickly, he tossed it away, not even thinking of where it was going. He soon saw. Into his old grill. Grill? There in front of him was his old barbeque grill, black and rusted, pulled forth from forgotten obscurity and wheeled out from his garage. Set there in the middle of his backyard. When the hell had he come out to the backyard?? The unspoken question was cut short by a sudden FWOOSH!

A fire went up within the grill, where the still-burning match had landed. The smell of lighter fluid was thick as the flames danced high, then lower, and Christian followed the potency of the stench to see a dusty old tin of lighter fluid, its cap off, sitting on the concrete floor inside the garage, clearly visible through the open side door. What the hell?

Christian turned back to the grill, seeing that the fire was safely contained. His flirtation with grilling some years ago was not very successful in terms of culinary expertise, but he knew very well how to pack a grill so that no flames, and very few embers, could escape the confines of the barbeque. The fire was burning strongly, to be sure, but it was concentrated entirely on its fuel source. Christian looked closer. That wasn't charcoal... His eyes widened in horror when he saw what the fire was consuming.

My CLOTHES!!

It was true. The clothes that Christian had on his back when he came home to his mystery package were now in the fire upon the grill. Every stitch. His shirt, his pants, his underwear and socks. Even his shoes. Christian looked down at himself to see that he was sitting buck-fucking-naked on an old filthy patio chair. He was sitting fully exposed in the middle of his backyard, indecently exposed and fully visible, as the saying went, to God and the whole world.

In a blind panic, Christian dropped the box of matches and raced barefoot and frantic to his side door. Please let it be unlocked, please let it be unlocked, oh dear God please... This was no longer mere humiliation. This was something for which he could be arrested. To Christian's relief, the door was not only unlocked by wide open, and he tore inside and slammed the door behind him, having entered unseen by neighbors or passersby. He panted and gasped, his head awhirl. And there neatly laid atop the counter was the clown suit.

In hell!", Christian said defiantly, and stormed into his bedroom. He threw open the closet door and found nothing but a rack of empty hangers. They tingled and clanged softly as they bumped into one another, a few of the plastic ones falling to the floor. No fucking way...

Furiously, Christian yanked open every dresser drawer, dug through the hamper, even searched under the bed. All empty. He had been wiped out. Christian dashed to the basement to see if he at least had some of the embarrassing T-shirts Jake had made for him down there. Nada. He had no clothing at all left in his house. He had just burned the only thing he had left to wear. He was left with nothing. Except, of course...

Christian began to pace. How had Jake done this? When did he get in without him knowing it? Had he done it while they had their last pie session? Had he stolen all his clothes then, maybe even destroyed them, as Christian had been forced to do? No, no, that didn't make any sense, it wasn't possible. There were all kinds of clothes here this morning when Christian had left for work, he was sure of it. Unless the clothes were already gone and he had only been made to believe that they were still there.

Christian's head was swimming. How they hell had things gotten this far?? How had he let his stupid humiliation fantasy spin so far out of control? It started with some absurd gunge play, and now it had evolved into all this panic and overwhelming feeling of helplessness, for what? Just so he could call himself a stooge? What had he been thinking?! Christian stood before the full length mirror in his bedroom and tried to collect himself. As he regained control of his breathing, he took a good look at his sculpted, smooth body. He had to admit, as side effects go, this one wasn't half bad. He felt himself begin to smile in spite of himself, seeing how impressive he looked naked. He never paused in front of his own mirror before. Then his smile widened unnaturally, growing freakishly broad, and a twinkle came to his eyes. Oh, shit. Now what was happening?

I'm a stooge!", Christian announced brightly, without any intent to do so. And stooges need to go outside!

And he started to march right out the door.

Naked as a jaybird and feeling like a jackass, Christian felt trapped inside his body as he strode to the door, grasped the doorknob, and began to pull it open. In surrender, and not knowing what else to do, he cried out in desperation, Alright! I'll put on the fucking clown suit!!!

His remote-controlled body stopped and he felt as if he had regained control. But the feeling was tenuous at best.Christian knew that if he tried to resist again, he might well find himself dancing ballet down the middle of the expressway, bare naked and balls hanging. Reluctantly, and brimming with impotent rage, Christian stepped into the clown suit. He hated to admit it, but it felt great. It was designed with an elastic neck entry, so there were no zippers or fasteners to deal with. The material was stretchy, but nowhere near as much as the spandex outfits he'd found himself in lately at the gym. The material was coated with a latex finish, making it just a bit shiny and very slick. The material hugged his legs and ass, and the boots fit perfectly. They were clearly made to fit his feet snugly, but from the outside, his feet looked at least three sizes larger than they were. It took a moment to get steady on his feet because of the odd size. As Christian slipped his arms into the sleeves, he realized that there were purple gloves, as rubber as the sturdy boots, folded inside the sleeves. As his fingers found their way into the gloves, they hugged his hands snugly, and the end of the sleeve ruff came to about mid-bicep. The main tunic stretched across his chest, accenting his strong build, and the collar ruff snapped firmly and securely around his neck. The sack that held his privates did more than hold them in place. It did a pretty fair job of showcasing them as well. Terrific. To top it all off, Christian knew he had to make the look complete and put the hat atop his head.Its interior was lined with a ribbing of very sticky rubber elastic which caused it to cling to his brow and back of his skull.It wasn't going anywhere, even were he to get pelted by a barrage of pies. Which Christian knew was coming. Even if he were to lose the hat, there was a stout purple ribbon attached securely to its back base and the back of the suit's ruff collar. If knocked off, it would not fall far.

Defeated and dehumanized, Christian trod uneasily toward the basement steps, ready to descend and wait for his Pie Master to arrive and deliver his just desserts. But when Christian reached the top landing, he stopped. His booted feet would not move. What else was there for him to do? He had been clowned, for lack of a better term, what was left for him now?

Abruptly, Christian spun on his heel and did an about-face just like a military cadet. His gloved hand reached to the key rack on the wall beside the door and lifted his car keys from their hook. Oh, no. He really was going to go outside.At least he wasn't still nude, he thought dolefully. Christian returned to his car, locking the house behind him. The smell of burnt clothing was still ripe in the air and as he settled behind the wheel, he could see the fire in the grill dying down, his devastated clothing, his last remnants of a dignified existence, nothing but burnt shreds and ashes. As Christian started his car, the GPS system came to life. Its mildly musical bleeps and chimes announced the manufacturer's logo on its screen.Christian hated the GPS. He never used it. So clearly, this was all part of his carefully-planned, prearranged humiliation. The tinny female voice that spoke to him confirmed it.

You arefifteen minutesaway from your destination, Stooge. At the end of the driveway, turnRightimbecile.

Christian no longer knew if it was his compromised brain that was adding the insults to the GPS lady's directions or if Jake had actually rewired the GPS to do it for real. Not that it mattered, he figured.

Continue on Parkway for3 milesthen turnRightyou jackass.

And so it went until Christian reached his destination. Where he wound up, he had never been before. Oh, he knew of it, alright, he had just never visited it. All the same, Christian the Stooge pulled into the driveway and coasted into a parking spot that had been reserved for him as if he had gone there every day of his life. Whatever sign had once stood at the head of that parking space (No Littering, Keep Dogs Off Beach, it could have been anything), now had been pasted over with a garish placard of hot pink peppered with yellow polka dots that read:

"RESERVED FOR STOOGE"

Wonderful. Christian turned off the engine and sat there, knowing full well that he would have to get out eventually.He already tried to reinsert the key and back up, but his arms and legs would not let him. Christian sat there, content not to move until nightfall when he could slip away under cover of darkness. He looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror, his face looking idiotic framed as it was by the clown ruff and hat, and he found that his reflection was smiling back brightly and stupidly. Oh, no. It was clear that even with his destination reached, he was still far from being in control. Christian felt his arm reach over and open the car door. Here we go, he thought, inwardly grimacing.

Christian stepped out of the car and closed the door. From behind him rose a cheer and a burst of thunderous applause that made him jump. Christian spun around to find a crowd of people greeting him with great enthusiasm. Beautiful women in bikinis waved banners that bore the name STOOGE in bright letters, as did some incredible buff muscle boys in revealing swim trunks. At first Christian thought the image of all the banners and signs was more of his mind scrambling, but he also noted a few other posters and flyers with the name Christian written on them. What the hell was going on??

As more and more people cheered and applauded, Christian found that he was frozen in place. His legs would not move. This was no mind-suggestion at work, this was plain old shock and terror. Christian tried to speak but only managed to splutter. Whuhwhat's allwhy are you all hereI'mI don't understandI-I-I!
Jake stepped out of the crowd and approached Christian, who had started backing away. Hey, buddy, Jake greeted him, his face aglow with mock friendship, don't back away now that you've arrived for your big moment! Jake put his powerful arm around Christian even as his clownish subject was starting to turn away. The larger man spun Christian back around to face the crowd. Ladies and gentlemen, our Stooge has arrived!Everyone let out another cheer as Jake raised his voice to be heard, adding, What say we all come up and give him a proper greeting!

The joyous men and women rushed forward with pats on the back and handshakes for the confused Christian. Muscular men grabbed his arm roughly and high-fived or knuckle-tapped him. The smaller men and boys patted him on the back and even smacked his ass. The ladies squealed and offered him kisses on the cheek. One lovely blonde girl threw her arms around Christian in a big hug. After pulling away, she chirped, Oh, Christian, I think you are just so wonderful volunteering this way! I am making sure that everything gets caught on video! And she perkily bounced away. Jake began to wave the well wishers off as well.

Okay, everybody, let's all give our man some room so we can get this party started! More cheers and whoops of encouragement as the crowd dutifully receded. Christian turned to Jake in utter bafflement.

Is this...is this really happening, or are you just making me imagine it?

Do you feel humiliated?", Jake posed.

Christian furrowed his brow. Um...no. I did when I first got out of the car, but after all that...that welcome, I feel pretty okay.

Then trust me, you're not imagining it, Jake whispered in Christian's ear. His massive arm had once again wrapped around Christian's shoulders so the stooge could not pull away. But you're gonna feel pretty damn humiliated reealll soon.
Jake led Christian across the parking lot, giving Christian a chance to see the many banners and placards scattered about the area. He noticed the name of a local charity in several places, and at the bottom of many of the signs. Some of them even featured the charity's official logo. Christian recognized it easily. Where had he seen it before?

The hapless stooge did not have long to dwell on it. Jake dragged Christian over to an old bandstand that sat at the edge of the parking lot and quickly hauled him up it's stairs. He pulled Christian before a single stand microphone that had been preset there. Keeping a firm grip on the clown-suited Christian, Jake spoke into the mic. Can everybody hear me? The resounding cheer was definitely in the positive. Okay then! On behalf of my clownish friend here, I'd like to welcome everyone to our fitness center's first annual grand fundraiser for our favorite charity!! The loud and lingering applause gave Christian the moment he needed to collect his thoughts. The charity was indeed the gym's pet project. There was always a small jar next to the main desk for loose change. During end of the year holidays, there was always some type of poorly organized fundraising drive, asking for castoffs or the like. For whatever reason, everyone present seemed to think that today was the dawn of a new era of giving, and that Christian the Stooge was at the center of it.

As the applause and cheers died down, Jake spoke again. After seeing our haphazard attempts to support our favorite charity, Christian here encouraged me to organize a big event to help us make a difference! More applause. He told me a few months ago, he said, 'You get the people and the material together, and if you do, I will be a big fool clown for everyone.' So we did itand here he is! Huge cheers. Inside his head, Christian thought, What, I did? but outwardly, he was nodding with a big grin on his face.

Jake extended a hand in grandstanding fashion and indicated two very slender and adorable young men in very skimpy bikini swimsuits. They were holding some kind of rolled-up tube between them. Fellas! Show our boy what we've got!
The two young swimmers stepped away from each other, unraveling a massive banner on sturdy poster paper. In gigantic, circus-style lettering, it read:

"1st Annual StoogeFest Pie-apalooza!!!"

Christian's heart sank in his chest. Oh Dear God no...

Jake leaned back to the mic and declared, The Stoogefest Pie-apalooza is on! And whattaya say you tell your adoring public who you are, Christian? As the applause began to obscure some of Jake's words, he pushed his lips right against Christian's ear and said forcefully, Tell them who you really are.

Christian knew it was time to run. His heart was pounding in his chest and the moment Jake let go, he knew he had to bound off the stage and bolt from the parking lot. This was his last chance to redeem himself, regain once last shred of dignity, and free himself of the trap in which he'd gotten himself imprisoned. But the second that Jake removed his arm from Christian and stepped aside, Christian felt his purple boots moving toward the microphone with confident strides. He wasn't going anywhere. He wanted so badly to say that there'd been some mistake, that he meant for Jake to do this, or any number of the handsome gym bunny boys to take turns, or help, oh please somebody help me, I'm being held prisoner in my own twisted wam fantasy by a psychotic power-mad psychologist. But Christian paused only half a heartbeat when he stood before that microphone. Then he threw his arms up, fists clenched in victory.

I am a STOOGE!

The crowd went wild and Jake grabbed the microphone before Christian could do anything else (not that there was any danger of that). Gentlemen, Jake announced, grab him.

Out of nowhere, three massive bruisers appeared, all smooth shaven skin and rippling pecs and abs. They were clad only in tight, brightly-colored neon bikinis which, while showcasing their massive packages, did nothing to decrease how imposing they looked.Two of the men grabbed Christian by the arms and practically lifted him off his feet. Jake stepped forward and placed the fingers of one hand against Christian's forehead and said softly, Limp body. Instantly, Christian felt his entire body relax like a big rag doll. Jake removed the microphone from its stand and hollered into it, Take him away, boys! The two burly men hauled Christian off the stage with ease, their third man leading the way down the stairs. Christian kicked his feet and dragged his heels, but it was like manipulating a series of wet noodles. It made him look all the more ridiculous and had everyone watching in hysterics.

Ha-ha, what a ham!", one of the girls shouted.

He realizes what he's in for now!", one of the men called.

In fact Christian did not know what he was in for, but he was pretty sure that he could guess. The two massive men hefted the helpless Christian across the pavement and over to a large wooden post some other, smaller gym members were setting up.Christian took one look at it and began to shake his head."...no...", he whispered. Then, louder, No way! No! You can't! His floppy legs kicked ineffectually.
Jake spoke jauntily into the mic, hiding Christian's fear with his own humorous tone. No chance to back out now, Stooge!Christian's situation only earned more applause and laughter.

When the slender, toned men stepped away from what they were constructing, everyone could see it, too. It was indeed a sturdy wooden post, held in place by a base that had been fortified with a number of large cinder blocks. Atop the post was a horizontal stock, of the kind seen in town squares in medieval times. It was clear to Christian and to everyone present that he was about to be locked upon the stocks to take his punishment. The third man, hands free of restraining Christian, approached the post and gave it a good hard shove, then another. It didn't budge. There was no chance that the smaller Christian would be able to move it if the huge weightlifter couldn't.

You know what to do, fellas, Jake prodded.

No! Please don't!!", the stooge pleaded, all for naught.

The large musclemen dragged the squirming Christian over to the stocks and flipped him around as if he weighed only twenty pounds. Facing the crowd, his back to the formidable stocks, Christian felt the two men hold his arms in place as the third clamped thick steel manacles over his wrists. They took a step back to reveal that the stooge was held firmly in place. Christian tried to find some purchase with his jelly legs, but almost dangled from the stocks in the process. He tugged at the steel bonds bolted into the thick wooden stocks and saw at once they would never yield. The bonds were painted in merry colors of bright pink and yellow (like the parking sign), so onlookers would never know how formidable they really were. As far as the crowd was concerned, this was all just good clean fun and showmanship.

Jake held up a necklace he'd had concealed in his shirt, from which dangled an old-fashioned key. Don't worry, folkshe's not going anywhere.

Jake then scampered down the steps of the stage to stand before his former friend. His back to their audience, Jake leaned in close to Christian and said, So how does it feel? To be the helpless stooge and finally be out of the closet about it?
Fuck you, man, Christian sneered. This is not what I wanted and you know it. You fucked up my own fantasy!

Jake's mouth split into an evil smile. And you've perfectly fulfilled mine. He nodded to the third man who was still standing behind the stocks. Hold him. Before he could even consider how he could possibly be held any more firmly than he was, Christian felt two massive and meaty hands grab hold of his face. Jake nodded to the other two large men on either side of him and told them, Give me some cover. As the two bruisers did as they were told and took a position of parade rest on each side of Jake, Christian wondered why they were being so responsive, why they were following Jake's orders. Then Christian caught a glimpse of their eyes as they glanced back at him. They were sharp, focused, enough to fool any average passerby. But Christian could tell. The captured stooge could make out the telltale glaze in their eyes. They were in a daze. Christian looked up at the man with the giant arms leaning over the stocks and holding his head. Him too.

I said hold him!", Jake scolded. Instantly, Christian's face was snapped back to look directly at Jake and was held there, unmoving.

We need to make our stooge just a little more presentable, Jake smirked. Christian couldn't imagine what Jake meant by that. Was he going to smear clown white makeup all over his face next? Then Jake held up a large red rubber nose.Our clown needs a nice big nose, Jake said happily.

Oh, come on, Christian said, exasperated. Isn't the clown suit enough? The public humiliation? The Christian stopped short when he saw what Jake held up in his other hand. A tube of super glue. Right on the tube in a jagged-edged red screamer label Christian could clearly see the warning: Attaches permanently! Avoid all contact with skin! Bonds in seconds! Christian felt his heart beat fast with panic and tried to shake his head in protest. The large, muscular hands held him fast. No, please...come on, man... Jake removed the cap from the super glue with a bit of flourish, then set the tiny plastic spout upon Christian's nose and began to squeeze the tube. The chemical stench was terrible, causing Christian's eyes to water. He could feel the gooey liquid spreading over his skin, seeping into his pores. The stooge began to beg. Please, Pie Master Jake, don't do this to me. I'm a stooge, I admit it, just don't make me look like one all the time. I'll take my punishment, sir, I will, I'll take every single pie, I swear it!

Oh, I know you will, Jake told him. As he applied the glue, Jake took great care to hold the tube by the end so as not to risk getting any on his own fingers. Once the clear but powerful substance covered Christian's nose, Jake quickly took the red rubber clown nose and set it upon Christian's face. He held it there firmly and looked at his watch. He began to count down from 30. 29...28...27...26... He no longer even noticed the tears running down his stooge's cheeks.5...4...3...2...aannnd 1! Jake let go of Christian's shiny red nose and neatly stuffed the super glue back into his pocket before it could be seen by anyone else. Then, smiling, Jake reached out and grabbed the red rubber nose affixed to his stooge's face and gave it a good hard pull.

OWW!", Christian cried. New tears formed in his eyes, this time from the pain of feeling the harsh pull on his skin.

Perfect, Jake nodded. Then he nodded again, to his three entranced muscleboys. You may go, fellas. You're relieved.

The three men's eyes seemed to come back into normal focus and they departed, smiling cheerfully with no memory of what they'd done. The man who'd been holding Christian's face gave him a playful pat on the cheek and remarked, You're too cool, man.

As the three big men departed, only vaguely aware of what they had just done or why they had done it, Jake lingered before Christian, pretending to adjust his bonds so that he could speak to his stooge. How are you liking this, stooge? Public humiliation. Doesn't get any more public than this.Christian said nothing. He knew that no amount of begging would get Jake to back down, not after all this preparation.Hell, not with his out of control power rush he had going.The power rush Christian had sparked in him.

Hey, stooge, Jake prodded. Stupid, worthless, dumbass clown boy...look over my shoulder. Christian did so and saw several of the lovely ladies in bikinis pulling up a large wheeled cart. It was as long as an extended board room table, only it was made out of metal, like a cafeteria cart. It had multiple shelves to it, each one covered with wax paper, each shelf layered with large cream pies. There were easily 50 or 60 pies on the huge pie cart, and those were just the ones in plain view.Christian's eyes widened. What the hell was he in for??

Now look over my other shoulder, jackass, Jake taunted.

There, off to the side of the parking lot, was a bakery truck...the largest Christian had ever seen. It was the size of a package delivery truck or a small moving van. On the side of the bakery truck in bright letters was the name of Christian's favorite bakery, the one near his house. The same one where he had purchased the very first pie he'd had Jake smash him with. On a banner nearby the truck was the bakery logo again, declaring them as the official sponsor of this glorious event. The driver's side door of the truck opened and out leaned one of the many bakery employees whom Christian knew personally. He waved to the stooge, offered a quick bit of applause and gave him the thumbs-up. They were all ready to go.

They're so proud of you for organizing this shindig, Jake told his stooge. Another van pulled up just beyond the bakery truck, smaller than the first. It was a local news van.Terrific. On top of everything else, Christian the Stooge's humiliation would be broadcast throughout the area. Ready for the degradation of your life, stooge?", Jake asked him.

Christian locked eyes with his pie master, his tormentor, and the stooge's face bore the expression of a desperate snarl as tears began to well up in his eyes. Ohhhh no you don't, Jake cautioned. There is no way you are ruining my big moment by crumbling now, you weak-kneed little fuck.

Jake's powerful hand clamped over Christian's mouth and Jake's voice took on the forceful, compelling tones of the mentalist. Smile. You will smile from now until I tell you to stop. You cannot help it, you cannot stop it, you cannot change it. Feel it, stooge. Feel the corners of your mouth turning up, your shining white teeth baring to the world. It feels so good to smile, it makes you feel happy. Endorphins are released throughout your entire body when you smile, stooge, and that's what's happening right now. You can feel it, can't you? Despite yourself you are beginning to feel happier and happier. You are smiling. You are a smiling stooge. Smiiiiile.

Beneath Jake's meaty paw, Christian could feel his mouth stretching into a massive grin, as if two powerful metal hooks were pulling at the edges of his lips. He could not stop it.

Thaa-aat's right, stooge. Go on and smile. Feel good, feel better, feel like the clown you are. Clowns smile. No sad clowns here today.

Christian felt the flood of positive endorphins rush through his body and a wave of happiness begin to build up inside him.No, not that. He did not want to be happy. He did not want to feel good. He wanted to rage and pull against his bonds and scream to be set free. But the taut muscles in his legs relaxed and his clenched fingers uncurled from fists to loose waving hands. Jake let go of the stooge's face and saw the bright, broad, gleaming smile there. The tears in his eyes had dried up and the stooge's expression appeared truly genuine, despite both men knowing it was not.
Now, Jake ordered, make an attempt to try to frown.

Christian made an honest effort to turn down the corners of his lips. Nothing doing. It was as if his smile was cemented in place. Which for all intents and purposes, it was.

Try to stop smiling, Jake commanded. Try and fail.

Christian tried again, failing just as miserably as before, only this time feeling rush after rush of happiness and joy filling his entire body, making him weak and pliable.
Jake patted the stooge on the cheek. That's a good stooge. For the rest of the day, on into the night, for as long as it takes, you will remain happy and obedient. This is all for a good cause, and no matter how you got here, you will not spoil it for all these nice people. Jake snapped his fingers crisply. SNAP. Got that?

Yes, Sir, the stooge smiled.

Jake stepped away from the stooge and let the crowd get a good look at him, all trussed up as he was. Stooge could see the large crowd of people looking on and offering well-wishes. Some just came to watch and get a good laugh out of the spectacle.There was a roped-off area to keep people from rushing the parking lot. There was a pathway that ran up to the large, multi-shelved pie cart. The path was straddled by ropes and even had a red carpet laid down it's length. At the end of the path was a sign the read:

"Smack the STOOGE! $10 a Pie!"

Each thrower could then take his pie and pummel the stooge waiting some twenty feet past the purchase point.Stooge looked at the cart with its dozens of pies, glanced at the huge bakery truck which held God only knew how many more pies. Hundreds? Jake waved to the rambunctious crowd and held up the microphone, which he had taken from its stand on the stage opposite.

Everybody ready to throw some pies?", he called. The crowd went wild. What do you say, Stooge?", he asked Christian, holding the mic out to him.

Christian wanted to say, Fuck you, asshole, and die in a fire for ruining my dream fantasy. But what came out, accompanied by a happy smile was, Whoa! Is all this for me? This is awesome! Thanks so much, Mister Pie Master Jake! Thanks to everyone for coming out in support of this wonderful cause! WOOO!!

The crowd showed its approval with more applause and cheering. Christian saw the many flashes sprinkling the huddled group and realized that there were cameras and video recorders everywhere. Terrific. Christian fought to yell out that he was being forced into this, that is wasn't even his idea, to at least fucking frown a little, but all protests died in his throat and his frozen mouth kept right on smiling brightly for everyone.

Ready to get this show on the road?", Jake asked. Thunderous applause. He held the mic back to his victim and whispered, Give 'em what they want...stooge.

Christian yelled into the mic, I'm a STOOGE!! Gimme some PIE!!!

Pointing at the big red clown nose on his stooge's face, Jake announced, Aim for the big red bullseye! As the laughter grew, Jake signaled the start of the festivities by declaring, Let the fun begin!

And fun it was. For everyone there, except for the stooge.

The only people in line to throw a pie were all men. No women allowed. There was no sign or declaration of such, but somehow Jake had worked his magic on the crowd through anything from manipulation in his phrasing to NLP to leave everyone with the clear indication that only the men...the big, strong, strapping, handsome, hunky, scantily-clad men...were permitted to hammer pies at the hapless stooge. Not only did no one seem to mind, but no one even noticed. One of the things the all-male lineup certainly had going for it was arm strength. Time and again, Christian's head shook like a ringing bell when strong-arm men came up and hammered him with massive cream pies.

At first, Christian feared his neck might wind up damaged due to the power with which these creamy delights were being hurled at him. But lo and behold, there was a special cushioned headrest directly behind the stooge, set to support the base of his skull and his upper spine. The cushion was sturdy without being too hard and had been built right into the stock pole to which the poor stooge was fastened so securely. Jake had thought of everything. The stooge would suffer torment after whipped cream torment without being physically hurt by any impact. Delightful.
As pie after pie smashed mercilessly into Christian's face, he found himself accepting the humiliation, pausing for a heartbeat or two so everyone could get a good look at him, take their photos, what-have-you, and then he fiercely shook his head, clearing his face as best he could (which, let's face it, wasn't much), sending globules of goop this way and that, and often letting out a big, WOO! or other asinine outburst of clownish happiness. The crowd ate it up.

In short order, there was very little of Christian left to be seen. He was coated and covered in pies. Jake held the mic to his mouth and announced, It is time for a momentary pie cleansing! A few people in the crowd booed, not knowing what this meant but fearing it signalled an end to their fun. But with a sweep of his arm, Jake called back the two bruisers who had initially held Christian to the post and helped lock him into the stocks. This time the smooth-skinned weightlifters were armed with gigantic, comical seltzer bottles decorated in festive, if garish, colors. On Jake's cue, Let 'im have it!", they opened first with high-powered sprays of colored water and hosed down the hapless, bound stooge, clearing away the whipped cream and gooey filling in short order. The process took less than a minute or two, but Christian's squinted eyes, sputtering protests, and spitting of water had the audience in hysterics.

By this time, Christian realized from the sound of clicks, whirrs, and the occasional flashes, that many of the lovely ladies had lines up alongside of the red carpet runway and were taking pictures, recording video, and in general preserving the moment for all time and happy posterity. Not an angle of Christian's humiliation, a second of his defeat, would miss going down in history. Terrific. Soon the poor clown was dripping with seltzer and the crowd applauded in appreciation that they could clearly see his face once again. Gotta make sure we can all make out that awesome nose!", Jake declared. He reached forward and gave his stooge's nose a squeeze, simultaneously honking a clown horn into the microphone. Let the games continue, Jake announced, and don't worry, boys and girls, we have plenty of seltzer spray leftso keep those pies coming! And so they did.

Large, muscled men and trim attractive boys from the beach were coming one after the other, some buying a single pies, some of the bigger guys grabbing two or three, gladly forking over the ten-dollar-apiece cost to hammer the idiot in the purple and white suit. The majority of the younger mencollege fraternity brothers, skater lads, beach-going high schoolersdidn't even know anything about the charity event, but were drawn to the bandstand parking lot by the uproar and commotion. It didn't take long for the baggy-pants boys, the pin-wearing pledges, and classmate passersby to leave the shore and the surf to assemble with all the rest who had gathered. One bushy-haired kid, his blond mop barely contained by his ratty ball cap, made his way toward Jake, who was helping with the cash-taking table.

Hey, dude, the kid said, can anybody do this?

Jake smiled wide. You got ten bucks?

The skater boy stuffed his hand in his pocket and produced two fivers. Jake gave him a thumbs up and waved him over.You're in.

The boy, excited, turned around and hollered to a group of boys standing at the edge of the crowd. Guys! Anyone can do this! Come ON!

Jake accepted the newcomers heartily. Make way, folks. Make way for the new bloodlet 'em on in! Seeing lingering kids and college men around the outskirts of the bandstand area, Jake grabbed the mic and hollered into it good and loud.Come one, come all, boys! Smash the Stooge! If you've got the disposable income, we've got the disposable pies!! He might as well have announced that he was giving away free money. The rush of new participants, standing out from the gym members by wearing all manner of different clothes besides swim trunks and Speedos, injected new life into the proceedings.The women and girls were now cheering as much for the cute and handsome lads lining up to buy and throw pies as they had been earlier for Christian, their stooge.

Some of the men who'd been there all along, a bit winded from bounding about and chucking pies, found themselves rejuvenated by the arrival of their new slapstick fellows. Several of the musclemen even offered pointers to the younger men. The real power's in the wrist action. Don't fret using your whole armhere, like this. Just remember, it's not about impact, it's about coverage. If you want him good and gunged, you feel free to walk right up and slowly smear the hell out of him. In an astonishingly short time, these fitness professionals had become pie-throwing experts and were eager to share their knowledge with the next generation.
Christian lost track of time. SPLATT! Hot guy with muscles bearing a wicked grin. WHAM! Applause.Cute sagger kid showing off for his buddies. POW! Cameras flashing, vidcams whirring. GOOSH! Cheering. A feeling of creeping, unstoppable humiliation...his dignity, his very humanity slipping inexorably away. PA-DOWW!!
Christian had been trussed up for under an hour (47 minutes and 16 seconds, to be precise), but it seemed to him that he had spent his entire life locked against the stocks, accepting his fitting punishment for being such a stupid stooge. Wasn't he born in this old bandstand lot? Didn't he grow up wearing this degrading clown suit? His head whirled with every pie, his face coated, his nostrils filling with cream. Each blast of the seltzer bottlesthey were on their third cleansing hose-downalmost returned his senses to normal.

No, his name was Christian. he had this stupid kink about gunge and wam, he had been manipulated by a hunky control freak. That was all. This punishment couldn't possibly last forever. An adorable frat boy does a little dance on the red carpet and has his brothers make a show of doing a countdown before he lets loose with his scholarship-earning pitching arm. SUH-MASSHH!! No, I'm just a stooge. I belong here. This is what I deserve.

What made things worse was that deep down inside, Christian was truly enjoying this. Oh, he hated the circumstance, he loathed being so completely controlled. But all these gorgeous men, these cute boys...so many, many pies, such thorough and utter humiliation ... He could not help getting hard.

On the subsequent seltzer spray-down (number four), Christian lowered his head as if to shake away the excess cream and goop, but wanted to get a look at his package. There was no way that he could hide, much less stop, his powerful arousal. All he needed to complete his public humiliation was for his erection to be spotted by the crowd (and come ON, how could they miss it??!) and for that cute-as-hell fraternity ball player to shout out, Look, everyone! He's got a BONER!

As seltzer spray hosed over him and chunks of crust and filling dripped away from his head, Christian looked down to his crotch. And saw nothing. Just the rubberized clown jumper, spattered here and there with pie, but otherwise flat as a pancake. How was that even possible? Christian could feel his raging hard-on. And it was raging. His balls buzzed and he ached for release. It was the kind of tingle and surge that emanated from his dick, all through his pelvis, sending static charges down his legs and over his arms, leaving his spine feeling like a downed power line. All that electricity and nowhere to send it.

It was then that Christian realized that pouch in front that he thought was strictly to accentuate and display his privates was actually designed to keep his cock not so much under control but well-concealed from the crowd. In a motion that left everyone watching think he was just regaining his footing, Christian swiveled his hips and felt the firm rubber sheath inside that pouch, which contained his dick and perfectly hid his erection from onlookers. Jake had indeed thought of everything.

With moistened cream running down his cheeks, Christian looked up. His expression was one of exhaustion and desperation. He had a moment to collect himself as one of the muscled helpers replaced Christian's hat (that baseball playing frat boy had one helluva armhe knocked the clown hat off).He looked across the way at Jake, who was all smiles and joy.He alone realized exactly what Christian the stooge had been doing when he looked down at his crotch. Jake gave his stooge the thumbs-up. Nobody but the two of them knew it was a taunt.

However, many people did pick up on Christian's look of exhaustion and anguish. Especially the girls gathered around with their cameras and vid phones. Hey, are you okay? Wait, he looks awful! Somebody check to see if he's hurt or something.
Jake's face grew hard. Damn these stupid women and their empathy and shit. He knew he should have made this thing Men Only, but that would have raised too many questions. Now a couple bikini-clad chicks were moving toward his precious stooge pie target slaveboy to check on him. Jake knew he had to regain control, and fast. Grabbing the microphone, Jake spoke into it loudly, gaining everyone's attention.

You're lookin' a little pooped there, Christian! You need to call it quits?

All eyes shifted from Jake to Christian, who hoped at last that he had his chance to stop the onslaught of pies and the feeling of helplessness. But much to even the stooge's surprise, he found himself straightening up instantly (he had no idea where he was getting the strength suddenly) and he shouted out, No WAY! We're not done raising money for this charity!Keep it comin'! I'm a STOO-OOGE!! Where's my PIE?!!
Everyone burst into applause and Christian had no idea how or why he had just said what he'd said. He had intended to say, Yeah, I'm beat, let somebody else take the pies for a while.Obviously, he had been conditioned never to surrender. Jake really had thought of everything.

So the event went on.

In between batterings by the endless parade of hot and adorable guys, Christian saw a sharply-dressed woman making her way through the crowd, followed by a cameraman. Another man, in a T-shirt and wearing a cap featuring the local television station's logo, was pulling some people to the side for quick interviews.
We're here at the old Shoreline Bandstand, the chipper woman announced, at the site of perhaps the most high-spirited fundraiser this area has seen in quite some time! An area fitness center, combined with some very generous hearts has whipped up a pie-throwing event for a good cause! And the good-humorous mastermind behind it all can be seen behind me as the center of attention. His name is Christian, but today, he's just 'Stooge'. Let's take a look. The crew cut to footage already shot and mixed of pie after pie smashing into the stooge. Laughter and applause filled the air on the taped playback, while in real time, the reporter signalled a few good-looking people to come forward for sound bites.

So what do you think of this celebration?", the reporter asked a lovely young lady.

I think it's amazing. So much fun and good will, and everybody's really into it.

And you, sir?", she asked a muscleman in small swim trunks.

It's pretty awesome. I mean, the guy's taking a beating and all, but it's like a totally fun beating, you know?

An adorable college freshman stepped up, baseball hat askew and bits of pie cream flecking his snug T-shirt from his last turn up the red carpet. Yeah! And it's not like anyone forced himit was all the Stooge's idea, so you know he's probably having more fun than we are, even!

The man at the small mixing board in the news van cut fast to a clip from moments before, as the battered stooge called out, Where's my PIE?!! His cut back to the attractive journalist was rapid and seamless.

It certainly looks that way, she agreed, supporting the college boy's sentiment. She turned to the camera as it's frame closed in on her. The event appears to be open to the public, so if you'd care to come down and toss a pie at a willing clown for a good cause, now's the time. I'm not sure how much longer the fundraiser will last, so get here quickly, as there's quite a line. The camera took in the long line of hunky men and boys lining up to fill their arms with pies. Back to the reporter. I'm Susan VanderVeen, at the Shoreline Bandstand grounds. Back to you, Carl. One last shot of Christian getting hammered by two pies at once. Two shirtless and ripped young men shared a high five and an exaggerated roar at their dual throw, and the crowd cheered loudly in response.It was a good puff piece. The reporter and her crew were still smiling as they packed up their gear, nodding approvingly at the shenanigans going on. It was so nice to cover a story where no one was being hurt or kidnapped.
Christian hung on his stocks, feeling imprisoned and humiliated beyond anything he'd ever felt before. His body was drenched in pie filling, whipped cream, crust, and streams of seltzer.He had lost track of how long he had been here, but he saw that the sun was beginning to set. The light was fading a bit and the blue sky was streaked with lines of pink and orange. But despite the sunlight dispersing, the crowd did not. Didn't these fucking people have homes??

At a signal from Jake, a switch was thrown and three very old and rickety telephone poles were tended to by three of the musclemen. Atop the poles were a series of nine giant floodlights, placed there to keep any late-night show well lit. It had been ages since anyone had performed at this venue, so it was something of a gamble as to whether the lights would even work. Jake dropped his arm in a grand gesture. Hit it!

KaCHUNK!

KaTHUNK!

KerCHOW!

All three poles flared to life. There was only one bulb out on the first pole, two out on the third pole.The second, aimed directly above Christian, was fully lit. Everybody went wild. Their night could go on forever, it seemed. Everybody thought their beloved stooge was laughing along with the rest of them when he began to cry.