Ignominy

Author's Note: This story doesn't fit neatly into a single category. The narrative touches upon various topics, including: exhibitionism, humiliation, power/control, coercion, and gay sex.

I stood in the hotel bathroom looking at my reflection in the large mirror. My heart was racing with a mixture of excitement and dread. I was trying to psych myself up. The words 'You can do it!' were playing on a loop in my head. A stoic façade stared back at me; it was reassuring to know that others wouldn't be able to see my anxiety.

At twenty-seven years old, I looked really good for my age. It was one of the perks of not having any children. All my friends had developed beer bellies as they'd settled into domestic bliss and stopped caring about their appearances. I still had the time and energy to go to the gym each day after work.

I had just finished styling my hair. I used a product that made my blond locks look spiky and wet with dew. I wanted it to appear as if I had just finished showering. I focused on my hazel eyes, noticing how the outer perimeters were honey-hued while the centers were forest green.

I didn't shave that day, since I thought I looked the most attractive when I had some stubble. Along with my wide, square jaw, it gave my face a rugged, masculine quality. I smiled, as if practicing how I would disarm any tension that would likely arise over the next hour. I even shrugged a little to ensure that my body language came across as genuine.

At six-foot-three, I knew that my height was both an asset and a liability. It made it so that people found me more attractive, and it made it so I couldn't exactly disappear into the background. My frame was packed with muscle; I had tried to maintain the same habits that had allowed me to thrive as the quarterback on my college's football team.

My biceps were large enough that they appeared as though they were always flexing at least a little. My pecs bugled out in front of me; if someone looked closely, they could tell that I shaved my chest hair off. I ran my fingers across my six-pack. I was incredibly proud of my abs. It had taken countless crunches to keep them well-defined, so I didn't feel vain. I'd done the work and deserved the reward.

My dick hung down between my firm thighs. At seven inches soft, I was the quintessential 'show-er.' In college, I was the guy who got playfully teased for my larger-than-average size. I kept my blond pubic hair trimmed into a small patch above my dick's girthy root. My balls looked well-proportioned to my cock, even if they were a bit pendulous.

I rotated so my back was facing the mirror, and I turned my neck to look behind me. My firm, muscular ass stared back at me. It had taken me a while to like my backside. In college, I hadn't appreciated it. I had always thought it didn't match the rest of my physique since it was what I'd later learned people described as a 'bubble-butt'. With time, I'd learned to love it. I bounced up and down on my heels; it gently jiggled in response to my movements.

Tap, tap, tap!

The door started to open as my wife, Chloe, entered. Unlike myself, my wife was fully clothed; she was wearing tight jeans and a low-cut blouse. Standing next to one another, we always looked a bit silly. She was five feet tall and very petite; she weighed half of what I did. Just as I religiously went to the gym each day, she practiced yoga with the same level of commitment.

She positioned herself by my side and wrapped her arm around my waist. She looked into my eyes and smiled; hers were large, blue, and doe-like. I leaned over to smell the top of her voluminous, red quaff. The products she used on it made it smell like honey.

"You look really good," she said. "How are you feeling?"

My heart sped up as soon as I started to reflect on my emotions. My mouth became dry as I tried to find my words. I felt her squeeze me more tightly; she could sense how nervous I was.

"You don't have to do this for me," she said.

"I don't feel like I 'have' to do this," I replied. "It's a choice I'm making. And it's for both of us."

Chloe and I had been together for five years. We had met during our last year at college. Things had been amazing at first; everything had felt so new and invigorating. In the past year, things had started to get worse. It felt like we were pulling away from one another.

It had reached the breaking point when Chloe had revealed to me that she had kissed a male co-worker at her company's Christmas party. A few days after that, she'd opened my laptop to discover a browser I hadn't closed. A quick search of its history had informed her about some of my unique sexual interests.

In therapy, it had all gotten tossed into the open. Chloe felt resentful of how I never put her needs first, especially when it came to sex. She talked about how she had been trying to hint at some of her fantasies for years, but I hadn't picked up on the clues. Specifically, she fantasized about taking control of me.

My kinks were more extreme - more specific, perhaps. Somehow, I had been wired to get off on the idea of public embarrassment and exhibitionism. At the low point in our marriage, I hadn't even bothered trying to have sex since it had been easier to just jerk off to porn of women catching men naked in various settings.

The therapist had encouraged us to see if we could find a way to meet in the middle. We'd gone to a nudist retreat two times, but that hadn't really done it for me. Everyone had felt so comfortable; part of what I needed was for the nudity to be risky and unexpected. Likewise, we'd experimented with her tying me up at home, but she hadn't enjoyed it. She'd said she needed "more control" and "higher stakes."

One evening, I'd told her that my favorite porn video was about a guy who gets locked out of his hotel room naked. She'd tried to understand the appeal by asking me questions. I'd told her about how the guy's female friends refused to let him back in the room unless he followed their orders, like doing jumping jacks or running down to the ice machine. Chloe had started to become more interested, and that was the first step in getting us to this hotel a week later.

We both walked out into the living room of the hotel suite. Chloe sat on the bed while I stood in front of her. Light was flooding in through the large windows on the opposite wall. We had chosen this hotel because it catered towards adults; we hadn't seen any children when we'd arrived.

"Are you ready to hear the rules?" she asked.

I nodded. I had been dreaming about something like this for years, but now that it was about to happen, I was second-guessing myself. I pushed my worrisome thoughts to the edge of my mind. I had already been through them all before. I knew that I would just chicken out if I thought about them again.

"I'm going to tell you what I want you to do, and you are going to follow my orders," she said. "If I ask you to walk across the street to the gas station completely naked, you will make that trip. I'll watch from the window. If you quit, you will be punished. Maybe I'll take everything and leave you here to figure things out on your own. If you try and fail, I will support you completely."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing; was she really going to ask me to leave the hotel naked? We had never discussed anything that extreme. I tried to tell myself that she was merely offering up an example, but I worried that we weren't on the same page. I just wanted to get my feet wet; she seemed to desire to dive into the deep end - or chuck me into it while she watched from relative safety. I remembered the therapist's advice, that had also sounded like a warning: we had to compromise if we wanted to make things work. If I asked to pull things back, she likely wouldn't get any of her needs met. I knew that the dominance she exercised in her fantasies did not involve negotiation.

"Go get us some ice," she said with a smirk. "I want to have something from the mini-bar to keep myself refreshed."

I paused for a second. I was a bit relieved while still feeling incredibly nervous. It was as though this thing that should have been mortifying felt less scary since I knew it could be worse.

"One more general rule first," she said. "Be as helpful and cooperative as you can to anyone who approaches you. If someone tells you to leave, do it. Find somewhere to hide until they are gone. Conversely, if a drunken bachelorette party asks you to pose for pictures for them, do it. I'm going to follow you at various points, so pretend like I'm always watching."

I had planned on going with the flow anyway, so that didn't seem like too big of a deal. It wasn't like I was going to stalk someone if they caught me naked in a hotel hallway and yelled at me to leave.

"Yes, I understand."

She handed me the silver ice bucket. I could see my warped, naked body reflected back at me in its surface.

"You can cover yourself with the bucket in whatever way you desire. If someone asks what happened, tell them that you got locked out naked when you opened the door to get an ice bucket that had been left at our door."

I looked down at the ice bucket. I used both hands to hold it directly in front of my crotch. Luckily, it was big enough to cover everything critical. I thought about whether to try to use one hand to cover my backside, but I preferred that extra protection in the front to ensure I didn't drop the bucket if I was startled.

I slowly walked over to the door, and Chloe followed me. She didn't say a single word. I paused, listening for any sounds in the hallway; it was dinnertime, so I was praying that most people were out at a restaurant. I wanted to look out the peephole, but I refrained. I didn't want Chloe to think I was wussing out.

Once I was certain the coast was clear, I opened the door and slid through the small gap I had created. I felt the handle pull away from my hand as Chloe yanked it shut. I frantically placed my hand back on the ice bucket.

I froze for a moment. Holy shit, holy shit, a voice screamed in my head. Feeling panicked, I looked to my left and my right to scan the corridor. There were about ten doors on either side of our room, and I became acutely aware of the fact that one of them could open at any time. I consoled myself with the thought that the elevator didn't open directly into the hallway. If I heard its telltale chime, I would have time to prepare.

I knew where the ice machine was located; I had guessed that this very scenario might arise, so I had made sure to create a mental map of our floor when we'd arrived. It was to my right, heading away from the connecting corridor leading to the elevator, at the end of the hall.

I started to walk; against all reason, my pace was interminably slow. The threadbare carpet was uncomfortable against my bare soles, and yet somehow, I also felt as though I were trudging through quicksand. I started breathing both faster and harder. I knew that I should be sprinting to the ice machine, but I felt like a baseball player on base, leading slightly, still unsure of the play. I didn't want to get too far from safety.

I made my way past the first three doors, and I tried to listen for any stirring inside. I didn't hear anything. At that point, I sped up. I didn't sprint per se; it may have been some Olympic-quality speed-walking though. I felt the cool surface of the silver bucket pressing against my dick as I held it close.

I pivoted into the nook at the end of the hallway; it only contained the ice machine. I let out a sigh of relief. Even if someone came walking down the hallway, I could easily hide myself. I highly doubted anyone else was getting ice at 6:30 p.m.

I hurriedly scooped ice into the bucket while still scanning my surroundings. I pulled the bucket back to where it provided optimal coverage. Cold! Fucking cold! I wanted to yell as I accidentally pulled it too close and it collided with my crotch. My sensitive balls immediately retracted closer to my body.

I peered out of the alcove; I didn't see anyone coming. Just as before, I tentatively walked by the first two doors, knowing that I could run back and hide. Suddenly, the door across from the ice machine start to open. My stomach dropped as I heard two women's voices talking about being late for dinner.

I full-on sprinted. It was only fifty feet at most, but it felt like it was a marathon. I peered over my shoulder as I made my escape. I could see that they hadn't spotted me; they were making sure they had their key. I was almost back at our door. I was almost home free.

In a panicked frenzy, I tapped on the door. I wanted to bang on it to illustrate that it was urgent, but I knew that that would just draw the women's attention. I saw the peep hole get dark; I knew Chloe was on the other side, watching me.

I looked to my left; the women were staring at me. They were hesitantly walking up the hall, unsure of what to do, or even what to think. I recalled the mental map; they were almost certainly heading towards the elevator. Nobody took the stairs in a hotel. Everyone coming or going would be passing by our door. I wondered if my wife had already known that.

"Honey, the door slammed shut!" I projected loudly enough for them to hear. "Honey, can you please let me in? I opened the door to grab the ice bucket and it slammed shut behind me!"

The women were only about twenty feet away from me. They both appeared to be in their thirties, and they were good-looking. They had clearly dressed up for an evening out on the town.

"Please, honey!" I begged. "I'm naked, and there are people staring at me like I'm a crazy person!"

Both of the women burst out laughing. They were only a few feet away from me. Clearly, my antics had made them bolder. Meanwhile, I was praying that Chloe would open the door. I continued to hold the ice bucket over my dick, leaving my ass fully exposed. The two women were both staring at it as if it were a tasty meal. A wave of excitement combined with mortification washed over my body.

Suddenly, the door pulled open. Chloe planted herself firmly in the gap so that I couldn't push my way into the room. I moved to the side of the doorframe, waiting for her to get out of the way.

"I'm so sorry, ladies," she said calmly. "This is my husband, Mason. It appears that he was too dumb to put on clothes before grabbing the ice we requested from room service. Men do the stupidest things. Are either of you married?"

All hesitation vanished from both women's demeanors. It was as if seeing my wife reassured them that I wasn't a pervert - just a bumbling idiot. They both stopped and smiled at my wife. I planted my back against the wall and tried to covered myself to the best of my ability.

"Neither of us are married," said one on the right, "but I agree that men do the stupidest shit."

They started chuckling again; it seemed like they had already been pre-partying. The woman on the left looked at her phone and nudged her companion.

"We really have to get going," the woman said. "We're late for dinner."

They started to walk away; Chloe still didn't move. I heard one of them talking about my "hot ass." Chloe looked at me and smiled. She knew that the "hot ass" they were talking about belonged to her; I was under her control.

She moved out of the way. I walked back into the room. My heart was still racing; I could see in a mirror on the wall that I was blushing. I followed her over towards the bed where she had perched. I placed the ice bucket on the table and stood in front of her.

"You liked that, huh?" she said, nodding at my crotch.

I looked down; I realized that I had started to get an erection. My cock had firmed up to eight inches. It was sloping downward at a forty-five-degree angle. I couldn't believe that I hadn't realized I was getting hard; perhaps the adrenaline and the coldness of the ice bucket had impacted my ability to notice in the moment.

"I'm loving this," she said. "I don't want to lose momentum...and I don't want you to lose it either, especially down there."

My nerve endings tingled with excitement. I was riding the high from having just lived out my fantasy, and I didn't want it to stop. The shame of being caught was part of what turned me on, just like how domination was what did it for my wife. I nodded to covey that I was ready.

"Here," she said as she tossed me a small washcloth. "You can use this to cover yourself. You are going to walk to the elevator. Wait for the first one to arrive. If it keeps going, come back to the room. If it stops, explain that locked yourself out and are trying to get back into your room. You can tell them that I ran across the street to run an errand."

My cheeks felt warm as I processed the new challenge. There were only five floors in the hotel, and we were staying on the third one. That meant I had roughly a twenty-five percent chance that the elevator would stop on our floor. In that moment, I wished we had booked a room at a high-rise.

I opened the washcloth to better look at it. It was made of flimsy white cotton; it was so cheap that it was practically sheer. I estimated that it was only six inches by six inches. I quizzically looked at Chloe for an explanation.

"I brought that just for you," she said with a smile. "This is probably one of the few times you've wished you had a smaller package."

I gulped even though there was nothing to swallow. I placed the washcloth over my partially-erect dick. When I lined it up at the root, the top of my cock head was visible. I draped it so that it just barely hung past the edge of my dick. I used the top of my hand to hold it in place while covering the base from view. I fanned out the fingers on my other hand and stuck it in front to gauge how much extra coverage that provided.

"Nope, one hand stays by your side," Chloe commanded.

"Really?"

"Yes! Those are the rules of the challenge. If you don't want to accept it, this can come to an end."

I imagined myself standing by the elevator and watching the numbers light up as I waited to see if it would stop on the third floor. My dick twitched with anticipation. More endorphins released at the very prospect of completing the challenge.

"Okay, I'll do it."

Chloe followed me to the door again. I stopped for a moment. She leaned in and gave me a passionate kiss. It felt as if something was reigniting in our relationship. She reached around and squeezed my firm, peachy ass.

Chloe opened the door, not seeming to care enough to check for passers-by. She gestured for me to leave. I started to crossed the threshold into the hallway.

"I'll have my cell phone on me in case you need anything," was the last thing I heard before the door lock clicked into place.

I was feeling a little more confident after my earlier success. I enjoyed being ogled; I knew that I had a great physique. What I liked even more was the power imbalance and the risk. I couldn't be sure if someone would pity me, laugh it off, or freak out if they caught me.

I didn't stop to scan my surroundings. I speedily walked the thirty feet and turned the corner into the next corridor. My feet made contact with the cool tile floor that indicated I was getting close to the elevator. I walked ten more feet and stopped. I knew that as soon as I rounded the last corner, the elevator would be directly in front of me.

I took a deep breath and moved into position. There was a large mirror across from the elevator. I looked at it for a moment to take stock of my situation. The washcloth looked comical. It was almost like a single ply of toilet paper. It gave the illusion of coverage, but didn't do anything to obscure my dick. It was also pretty apparent that I wasn't completely flaccid.