A young jogger with a bad attitude has an absolutely humiliating experience when he trespasses on a construction site in this hot story from new author Dupree!

Work Site Strip Search - Page 1
by Dupree
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Johnnie loved to jog, and he was young and fast. The eighteen-year-old redhead raced down the side of the road at a steady, even pace, putting distance between himself and the house where he lived with his parents a good mile back. It was a beautiful early-Autumn day in eastern Texas, the afternoon sun bright and hot, and the youth stopped to take a cool drink from his water bottle. He took a good look around the forested expanse and delighted in the day, for he had just graduated high-school and had the opportunity to take a leisurely, mid-week jog without having to worry about term papers and trigonometry. He relished such luxury, and his face lit up brilliantly with a handsome smile that was rather popular with the girls in town.

He ran a good three miles farther and stopped at the head of a hiking trail he hadn't stepped foot on in at least a year. Beats the asphalt, Johnnie decided as he fiddled seductively with the bottom of his white t-shirt. It was certainly a hot day, hot enough for a jogger to run shirtless, and while the urge had crossed his mind earlier the occasional car passing by had prompted the boy to decide against it. The youth was shy and insecure with his body, and he very rarely took his shirt off in public unless he was swimming, an activity he avoided as much as possible!

It seemed he had the same physique as when he'd been a freshman, though here he was now a high school grad, and despite the fact his father often told him he'd fill out as he got older it wasn't happening any time soon. He sometimes stared at his smooth, slender torso in the bathroom mirror - a track and field body if ever there was one, and though he was chiseled without an ounce of fat still he longed to have big muscles and a little chest hair. And until he 'filled out' the shirt would stay on, even as he ran along this deserted hiking trail, for the chance he might run into someone along the way, especially someone that he knew, would be humiliating for him.

And maybe these insecurities were the cause of a slight Napoleon complex (the skinny guy version) that the youth carried around. He was generally good-natured but could become somewhat of a jerk if his feathers got ruffled, especially by someone he felt was trying to bully him.

The trail followed alongside a river, and Johnnie fantasized how refreshing it would be to find the courage to rip off all his clothes and jump in to cool off, but he knew that would never happen. His skinny chest wasn't the only feature of his body he was ashamed of. Like many tall, slender men he also had a big dick, the only problem being his was over-sized to the point it hung twice as low as his balls when soft, and he had stopped showering with the rest of the track team at school because of it. He found it humiliating to be naked in front of other boys for they always stared and pointed at his privates, and to boot his penis had a tendency to start dripping pre-cum at the very onset of arousal.

As a matter of fact he had to stop a couple times on that rocky, winding trail to reposition himself for comfort. He tried his best to keep it hidden away within the confines of his briefs, and God forbid he ever wear boxers beneath his jogging shorts lest it fall out alongside one of his legs and wink at someone.

The trail meandered along the river toward a footbridge, the other side of which was within close conjunction to a good-sized construction project, with dozens of hardhats laying concrete and putting up scaffolding. Johnnie became curious about the project as he jogged across the bridge, so he decided to get a little closer and check things out. The creation of buildings had always interested him, and he walked right past a sign which read DANGER - CONSTRUCTION AREA - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

He wandered around for a bit, watching the workmen with their hardhats and orange vests engrossed in their labor, until he came upon a really nice adjustable wrench on the ground which had probably fallen off somebody's tool belt. He bent down and picked it up, with no intent to actually take it, but a few seconds later someone shouted, "Hey, buddy, you're trespassing in a restricted work zone! What's the matter - you don't know how to read?" Johnnie turned to see four large Mexican men in black security uniforms running toward him, and the guy who seemed to be in charge also looked to be about the meanest. They reached him and the lead guard, a thirty-ish hombre whose name badge said ARMANDO, pointed at the wrench and yelled, "What's that you're holding? Is that worksite property in your hand?"

"I found it on the ground. I wasn't going to keep it..."

"This is private property," a different guard informed him. His name badge declared him to be MIGUEL, and he seemed calmer than Armando. "Anything you find on this job site belongs to the job site!"

"Fine!" Johnnie barked, and he dropped the wrench. Armando immediately charged forward at him.

"What's this?" he demanded as he snatched the water bottle from his other hand. The jefe scowled at him, his face just an inch or two from Johnnie's, and writhing in his deep, dark eyes lurked an animal fury and a bestial hunger. The youth wasn't sure whether or not the guard was going to beat him up or take a bite out of him; needless to say he was starting to feel threatened...bullied even.

"That's my fucking water bottle!" he yelled to the guard, trying his absolute hardest not to stutter or stammer. "What the fuck! Give me my shit back!"

Armando held the water bottle up and carefully scrutinized it with a badass, sardonic gaze. He then turned his eyes to Johnnie and slowly looked him up and down, and with a menacing smile he asked, "What's in your pockets, hotshot?"

"Nothing! Now gimme me back my shit!"

Armando cast him a Cheshire cat grin, then he turned to a guard at his side, a short but stocky dude called Rickie, and he told him flatly, "Pat him down."

Rickie sprinted behind the youth, eager and grateful to have been picked, and he started to pat Johnnie down along his sides, hips and legs. "Get the fuck off of me, asshole!" the teen exclaimed.

"Settle down, settle down," Rickie told him and Armando began to snicker.

"This is outrageous!" Johnnie screamed. "Fuck all of you Mexican mother fuckers!"

"He's clean, maybe not his mouth," Rickie told his boss, and as he walked away from Johnnie the boy sprang forward and grabbed his water bottle from Armando's grasp.

"You better watch your skinny little ass, whiteboy," the guard warned him with an oddly-provocative shine in his eyes. "I see you around here again you might get more than just a pat-down!"

Johnnie turned around and ran a good twenty yards back toward the hiking trail, then he turned about and shouted "Fuck you beaners!" Armando merely flipped him off, but the fourth guard, a younger guy with long hair and tattoos, told him, "Come on back here and I'll kick your puta ass so you don't know how to walk or even shit for a good week, comprendes?"

Right then and there Johnnie knew that he would end up having the last word in all of this, but not today, and as he turned around and began jogging away he heard the guard Armando call after him, "Bye, little bitch."

The teen lay naked in bed that night, sleepless and agitated, as he recalled the events of the day. He was still pissed at those guards for fucking with him like that, and he decided how he would get the last word - with spray paint! But when and how he wasn't sure, though that wasn't what was agitating him so. It was that big Mexican called Armando, the one that had cried out bye little bitch, that was irritating him unto sleeplessness. And it wasn't just the way he had been mistreated by him; it was the way the brute had stared at him with a hungry gaze like he wanted to take a bite out of him...or at least taste him...

Johnnie's dick began to get hard as these thoughts ran through his mind, and his blanket rose up about ten inches in the shape of a tent right between his legs! He started to touch himself. The memory of Armando's dark eyes staring directly into his held a magnetic allure that he couldn't fully describe if he tried. Suddenly the boy became enraged! "I'm no faggot!" he said aloud, and he removed his hand from his cock with disgust. "Fuck that Mexican mother fucker!" But a wet spot of pre-cum had appeared at the tip of that tent between his legs.

Come Saturday Johnnie took another little jog down the road toward that same hiking path through the woods. Unlike earlier in the week there was a morning chill in the air so the teen had thrown on sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He had also thrown on his favorite running shoes in case he needed a quick getaway, for his sweatpants had side pockets and in one of them was a can of red spray paint.

His sweatshirt also had side pockets in which he carried his water bottle, and he stopped to take a drink when he reached the trail. Could he actually go through with this? he wondered, but he had come this far, so why not just keep on going? And besides, he wasn't sure that the job site would be vacant just because it was the weekend, and if it wasn't he'd just have to turn right back around and head home...

With the decision made, he jogged up the trail to check out the situation. When he reached the footbridge he stood on its highest point and appraised the worksite, and from where he was standing it seemed to be unoccupied. There were no people and no cars, and the fencing around the actual construction area had been closed and padlocked. He noticed for the first time a gravelly access road that had been recently made yet was well traveled, but it looked deserted at the moment and he could hear no sounds in the distance. As Johnnie cautiously approached he noticed several prefab sheds, a mobile trailer and a row of porta potties outside the fenced-in area, and thus at his mercy. This was going to be fun and easy the boy decided, and he set his eyes on the trailer with evil intent. This seems like a good place to start, he told himself.

As he walked toward the trailer he stumbled over a roll of electrical tape, and deciding that he needed a souvenir to bring back home he placed it in a pocket of his sweatshirt. He then boldly pulled that can of spray paint from his sweatpants and gave it a good shake and started to strut toward his revenge...

"Well well, what we got here?" a voice from behind him said, and Johnnie turned about to face one of the security guards he had encountered a few days ago, the calmer one called Miguel. "You don't learn too well, do you, boy? I thought we told you just a few days ago to get out of here and not come back, yet here you are again. What's that you're holding?" The moment the guard recognized that Johnnie was holding a can of spray paint he pulled his radio, turned to one side, and spoke into it, and while the boy couldn't hear what he was saying still he knew it was about time to say adios!

"Don't move!" the guard commanded when he saw that Johnnie was about to run off. "My boss wants to have a word with you."

"Well he's not fucking here, is he?" the youth told him as he started to back away, yet the sound of a vehicle behind him curbed his attitude significantly. He whirled about to see a white van rocking along that gravel access road he had spotted earlier, and when it braked harshly several yards away he gulped and his heart started to race.

And when he saw Armando jump out of the driver's seat and approach him without a moment's hesitation he almost shit his fucking pants!

"What the fuck we got here?" the brute-in-charge demanded angrily! "I thought we told you to get lost four days ago, and to stay lost."

"He's holding a can of spray paint, boss," Miguel told him, "and it looks like he's got other items in his pockets."

"Why are you carrying spray paint?" Armando roared as he neared Johnnie who was beginning to tremble. "You planning on vandalizing the place? Answer me, boy!"

"No," Johnnie lied, "this isn't mine. I found it lying on the ground..."

"Then you're a fucking thief!" he yelled into the boy's face, and Johnnie could smell beer on his hot breath.

Three Mexican guys in street clothes jumped out of the van, each holding a can of beer. "Maybe this isn't a good time for us to hang out," one of them suggested. "We could take off if you'd like..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Armando told them with a mischievous grin. "Go ahead and drink your beer while we take care of this guy." The three amigos shrugged and they each took a swig as they leaned back against the van and watched.

"This will give us a chance to show our buds what we do," Miguel proudly told his boss whose mischievous grin grew bigger.

"What else you got in your pockets, boy?" Armando grilled him like a cop as he showed off for his friends, and when Johnnie didn't immediately answer he made a gesture at Miguel who started to pat him down like a different guard had done just a few days back. Only this time a roll of electrical tape was found in his pocket, and the guard held it up for all to see. "Okay," Armando barked, "let's see what else he's got on him. Remove his shirt so I can search for inside pockets!"

"NOOO!" the boy screamed as he clutched at his sweatshirt, and the guys by the van started laughing. "I don't have any other pockets, I swear!"

"You're either going to cooperate with us and do as you're told or we're going to turn you over to the police," Armando told him as he pulled out his cell phone. "And I guarantee if I do that you'll be spending the night in jail, and I'm sure they're going to like you in there. You know what they do to redhead cuties in jail, don't you?" he asked the other guard.

"I've heard stories," Miguel replied with a snicker.

"Well then, what's it gonna be?" When the boy didn't answer Armando made another gesture toward his coworker who stepped forward and lifted Johnnie's sweatshirt up and off his body with one quick swoop of his hands. For a few seconds the shirt caught on the boy's upraised arms and everyone could clearly see his bright red underarm hair, which contrasted sharply against his alabaster body. His arms dropped down and he stood there feeling exposed and violated as the burn from everyone's collective stare made his pink nipples harden and blush, and they stood out even more so upon his skinny chest. One of the beer drinkers let loose a loud, sharp whistle, and another one muttered, needs to grow some hair on his chest, and the third shouted, pretty tits! And when Johnnie's hands flew up over his chest to hide his nips the three of them burst out laughing again.

"This is no time to get shy," Miguel told him as he handed his boss the shirt. "You should have thought of that..." But right then the boy began to panic and he bolted, making a run for it. Miguel easily caught him, and being a good fifty pounds heavier than Johnnie he had no problem dragging him back. Armando seemed infuriated by his attempt at escape.

"Kick off your shoes and remove your socks!" he screamed into his face like an angry army sergeant.

"Why?" Johnnie asked with a quivering voice, on the verge of crying.

"A barefooted thief can't run away," he told him. "Now do it!" And with Miguel's help the boy did what he was told, and all the while Armando stood right in front of him, quite the threatening presence. With the guard obscuring their view of the young thief, the three beer drinkers began to migrate around them at a near distance until they were over by the trailer Johnnie had intended to spray paint.

From their new point of view they could see the boy's slender, white back bending to pull off his socks, then he stood upright as Armando threw them with his shoes to one side. "Now tell me what you've got in your pants pockets," he told him with a sinister tone to his voice.

"Nothing, I swear!" the boy cried out.

"If you're lying again I'll need to search your pants thoroughly, like your shirt."

"I'm not lying!" Johnnie insisted, his hands clearly shaking.

"Then what's this?" Miguel demanded as he pulled the water bottle from one of his pockets. Armando shook his head in disbelief, then he made a deliberate nod toward the other guard who sprang into action. With both hands he grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants on either side and deftly slid them down the boy's slender legs, then he grabbed his feet one at a time and lifted them up and out. He handed the pants to his boss who had started to laugh at the boy's white briefs, and one of the guys over by the trailer said, I haven't worn shorts like that since fifth grade!

"But that was my water bottle! You saw me with it just a few days ago!" Johnnie screamed in outrage, but what Armando mainly remembered was how he had ripped it out of his hands before fleeing. The boy felt overwhelmed with shame and humiliation that he was standing outside in front of five fully-dressed men in his underwear. And despite the fact he could feel the chill of the air all over his bare skin, down in his shorts a fire had been stoked and his dick had begun to swell.

Armando had Johnnie's pants inside out looking for hidden pockets, but when he found none he cast them aside with the boy's discarded shirt. He then looked him up and down slowly, twice, with leering humor in his eyes, but the third time his eyes stopped on Johnnie's crotch, and outrage once more darkened his face.

"What's that you got shoved down your shorts?"

"Nothing, I swear!"

"You keep saying that yet we keep finding things on your possession. It looks like you've got a tool or something hidden down there." And most certainly it did, for Johnnie's cock was growing larger by the second, and it was lying long and thick to one side of his pelvis beneath his Hanes tighty-whities.

"Th-that's my p-p-penis," the youth admitted, stuttering with absolute shame and horror in his voice.

"I don't know if I'm falling for that," Armando said, genuinely stumped. "What do you think, Miguel?" The other guard bent down and took a good look at the front of Johnnie's undershorts, then he shrugged. "Well, I need to know for sure," his boss told him. "Remove his shorts."

"N-n-nuh-NO!" Johnnie managed to screech while his eyes pleaded with Armando for mercy, but the guard just glared back at him with scorn and derision in his dark pupils. Miguel walked behind the boy and grabbed the waistband of his shorts with both hands as he had done with his sweatpants. As he pulled down Johnnie's underwear the boy's semi-hard cock popped out and bounced up and down, up and down, and when his shorts were at his ankles Miguel pushed him forward, forcing him to step out of them. Johnnie was totally naked at this point.

There he stood buck-ass naked in a state of utter indignity with the chill of the day upon him in full view of five other men who were laughing, and his humiliation was so intense his face turned red and his hands trembled like leaves in a storm. Armando stood before him staring downward, mouth wide open, at the boy's huge, cut cock still bouncing about from beneath a hairy tuft of bright orange-red pubic hair - the only hair on the youth's body! Miguel came around from behind to see what his boss was staring at and his own eyes and mouth shot wide open, and he shouted to their friends by the trailer, "At least he's a true redhead!"

The three beer drinkers had been watching all this silently in a state of disbelief, though from their standpoint the worst they could see was the boy's tight and petite, milky-white ass, but after Miguel's ribald announcement they began chuckling and whistling and one of them even began applauding.

Miguel noticed the youth was shivering as he made a futile attempt to cover his massive manhood with his hands, and he told his boss, "I think the boy is cold."

"Not a problem. Let's escort the young man up into the office trailer for interrogation," Armando barked, showing off in front of his friends again, and both of them grabbed an arm and started to walk Johnnie to the trailer over by where the three beer drinkers had gathered. The boy struggled and cried and pleaded but to no avail as the two guards escorted him stark naked right up to their friends who were standing there staring and pointing at Johnnie's boner. At this point the youth's dick was jutting straight out away from his body at a full ten inches or longer, thick like a salami and cut with a purplish, mushroom head, and as he was forcibly walked it was bouncing back and forth, up and down, back and forth, sometimes rolling about in a circular motion when he struggled before resuming its bounce back and forth, up and down, back and forth...


1 Comment

  1. scotts60143 - January 10, 2021, 8:58 pm

    Who could not like a hot story about a red headed twink with a big dick forcibly stripped for the amusement of the guards and other onlookers! Enjoyed chapter one and look forward to more coming…or is that supposed to be cumming?

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