His hide glinted with a sheen of sweat. A masculine scent hung all around him. Everyone was cheering him on, counting along with his reps: "Ninety-eight! Ninety-nine!"

Any Machoke could have gone much further than a hundred; doing it while lifting the equivalent of a truck at thirteen years of age, not so much. He had never felt so alive. The muscles rippled in his varicose arms. His heart was pounding, hard bur steady like his breathing. "One hundred!" he said, and passed the somewhat bowed barbell off to his spotter, the middle-aged Machamp who ran the gym. He splayed on the bench, stuck both his thumbs up, and basked in the adulation of his friends and admirers.

"You did it, bro, that's like a world record," one of them said.

"Six thousand pounds, I didn't know they even made barbells that sturdy!"

"They [i]don't,"[/i] the Machamp groused, standing on the bar and straightening it with his tremendous four arms. There were a few laughs at the spectacle, although an angry glance from the older Pokemon was enough to silence the boys. He walked off with the newly straightened bar, effortlessly carrying it in a single hand.

The Machoke started to sit up. Sweat rolled down his body, making him look almost as if he'd been oiled. Somebody threw a towel over his face and he laughed, then started to blot himself dry. "Man," he said, softly huffing, "breaking records is way easier than I thought."

"Yeah, I'll tell you what's [i]not[/i] breaking any records, though," said someone in the crowd. There was a murmur of laughter, somebody shouted [i]stop,[/i] and suddenly some unfamiliar hands yanked down the Machoke's snug, black speedo.

The muscular Pokemon cried out, slinging the towel to the floor. The speedo was hooked around his foot, still being yanked by a Persian with a wicked smile on his face. "Let go, knock that off!" the Machoke yelped, reaching for the speedo, but by then the catlike Pokemon had yanked it free and passed it to somebody else.

There was already some laughter, but then the crowd started to take notice of what exactly the Machamp was covering. His penis was just a tiny gray nub, and below it was a scrotum of matching size, the gonads of which couldn't have been larger than jellybeans.

"Whoa! Check out the baby dick," someone laughed, and the Machoke blushed horrendously and covered his minuscule package. But then some of the spectators, just previously cheering for him, grabbed his burly arms and held them aside.

"Stop! Quit it!" the Machoke snarled, beginning to cry tears of indignation. He glared at their sneering, laughing faces. Some of them appeared morbidly fascinated; others were visibly disgusted but transfixed, as if looking at a derailed train.

"Why is it so small?" an effeminate Ninetales asked, his expression almost a pitying one. "Gosh..."

Most seemed to want to jeer and stare. Those who didn't found themselves muscled out of the way, shunned for not playing along. Some of them left to find the gym's owner, and others simply left in disgust.

The Persian reappeared in the Machoke's teary view. He grinned and leaned close, then flicked the tiny, flaccid nub of the muscular Pokemon's cock. The Machoke was still grunting in pain when the Persian snickered, "Oh, come on. There's probably not enough nerve endings in that thing for you to feel a little flick."

"It [i]does[/i] have nerve endings!" the Machoke protested, jerking against the others holding him down.

The Persian flicked a few more times, laughing at the Machoke's gasps and cries. "Perhaps if I flick it enough, it might bruise and swell. Maybe we could get you to half an inch."

"Shut up! Stop it!" whined the Machoke. "I'm gonna kill you!"

Some of the boys pulled out their own penises. Only the Ponyta in the group was particularly impressive, being an equine, but even the most average cock in the group was considerably larger than the Machoke's.

An Obstagoon who tended to be regarded as lanky and weird rubbed his thick, uncircumcised penis on the Machoke's hip. "Check it out. This is what a penis is [i]supposed[/i] to look like."

The Machoke bared his teeth, but his eyes were wet and red. "I said stop it! Quit rubbing your dick on me!"

Another flick, and then someone thumped his small balls with a fist. The Machoke groaned and started to curl, but then another pair of boys pinned down his legs. "Hey, I think it's hard," someone unknown called. "Who wants to try to make him cum?"

"It isn't hard!" the Machoke groaned, his voice almost whining with desperation. "Somebody help me!"

Two things happened in rapid succession: his mouth was stuffed with his own speedo, and somebody started to pinch his tiny penis. His eyes watered more than ever, the smell of his own musky, pubescent crotch ripe on the fabric; his little penis throbbed like a zit in those unkind fingers, disgorging rare droplets of precum.

"He's wet, he's leaking," someone cackled. "Fucking fag likes having his clit played with."

Somebody asked "What's a clit?" and more laughter followed.

The Machoke heard camera flashes - the sounds phones played when taking pictures, at least. He thrashed harder than ever, biting into his speedo, his tears and sweat stinging his eyes. He broke a leg loose and managed to kick one of his attackers in the chest, but just as quickly he was pinned again. Whoever was masturbating him gripped his balls in their fist and pinched his penis harder.

"He's gonna cum! Weirdo's gonna cum from this!"

It was true, which was what stung so much about it. The Machoke hated all of them and intended to never go to the gym again. Maybe he would even appeal to his parents to move to another city. That was assuming they didn't try to sue everybody involved, blowing it up and making his torture public knowledge. The futility of his situation sunk in, and he fell slack against the bench, sobbing through the makeshift gag.

"Hey, here comes the owner, hurry up, hurry up!" someone urged. "He's [i]pissed!"[/i]

"I'm trying, dammit," the one masturbating him said. He picked up the pace, squeezing the Machoke's penis like he meant to burst it, gripping his balls in a cruel fist.

"What in the fuck is going on here?" bellowed the Machamp. "Outta here, get lost! Move it!" He started to push his way through the throng, moving gradually to the bench.

"Almost-, there!" the masturbator laughed, releasing the Machoke's small genitals just as the muscular Pokemon convulsed and started to shoot. The kids scattered, some still giggling and snickering, but four of them were snared by the Machamp, the one doing the masturbating included. He held them all in his four fists and demanded of them, "What in the fuck are you kids [i]doing?"[/i]

Freed but miserable, the Machoke pulled his speedo out of his maw and sat up slowly. "They were-, they were just messing with me," he snuffled. "I'd like to go home..."

The Machamp eyed the four he'd caught - an Eevee, a Nidorino, a Rhydon and the Obstagoon - before he said in a dangerous tone, "I don't know what you boys were doing, but you'd best put your little dicks away and never come into my gym again."

With the group shooed, the Machamp locked the doors and helped the Machoke to stand. "You, ah, want to talk about what just happened, kid?"

"No, not really," the Machoke stiffly said. "I don't think I'll ever come here again."

"Fair's fair, I suppose," the Machamp allowed. He looked away as the Machoke dressed, but he'd already caught a look. Amicably, he said, "I'll have you know, your problem, it isn't unheard of."

Their gazes met. The Machoke said, "So... you-?"

"Oh, me? No such problem," he said briskly. "I'd say it's just bad luck on your part. Just try not to let it get you down." Feeling all was well, he clapped the boy on the shoulder and said, "Maybe you can, uh, stretch it or something."

"Thanks," the Machoke sourly said. After he left, he started to feel a little better in the sun. Then he happened across the Persian standing in the shade of an alleyway, grinning his grin.

"Hey, your pictures are already pretty popular," he said. "I'll make sure to send them to you."

Without being humiliated, he might have beaten the Persian up. But he felt fragile, helpless, and he turned and left quickly before his lip started to quiver. He made it home before he started crying.