Mr. Remotely

Yes, this really is just lovely.

Heavier set but pure muscle; not that ridiculous type where everything is bulging and out of any natural proportion, but more like a Grecian statue of Poseidon or Atlas; no slender Mercury this one but that same sleek delineation; pretty creases of exertion in his thighs as he stands open for us, the crisp hollow in his buttocks and subtle ripple of abdominal muscle without that reptilian looking over definition, handsomely jutting pectorals and...

Who the fuck found this one?

I draw nearer, honoring the intention of hanging these rather small cards so close up under their cinched up balls, to read his provenance; Carter, 31, Appellation de Claire.

I look back over my shoulder and, "Yeah," Claire says with a happy smirk, "this one's mine."

She sees my reaction, answers before I can ask.

"Craigs list." She turns up two open palms, "Just ran an add saying what we were looking for and why, asked for head shots and, you know, head shots and..." she motions towards her find.

I turn back. Those are very large balls, cinched up that way it's like two grapefruits in a sack, they had to use two straps on him to get them to bulge out tight and well delineated. And the penis, thick like the rest of him but in proportion, not a donkey cock that can't keep up at that pretty upward angle I like them to show. This one juts up very nicely, big circumcised head on it. Size alone doesn't do much for me, but this is high quality penis.

"31." Fia reads from beside me. "Oldest vintage so far. But he looks like he could put out a lot. I wanna heft those balls, see how they hang when we get him, what did you call it, unslung." Fia says with that same 'interested' tone of an anthropological field student on safari.

The male standing over us exhales hard and raises both arms to lock his hands behind his head, accentuating the cobralike flare of his latissimus, starts thrusting his hips to make his cinched up balls jiggle, looking down at Fia and I with that half pained, half dazed look they get when they just can't...

I really do wish I knew what they're thinking when they give themselves over this way. Are they really even thinking?

"This is great." Sarah enthuses, standing now on my other side. "He really wants her to do that. That's what you meant by reward them, right?" she asks, an eager acolyte learning the terminology. "Make him show us first. But then, it's a reward because he really wants Fia to play with his balls, doesn't he?"

Carter, 31, Appellation de Claire, moans and his thrusts become more urgent eliciting soft, pleased laughter from the other women watching with us. Sarah may be a bit affected, but she's clearly caught the spirit of explicit verbal play.

"Of course." I answer, and by way of encouraging her further indulgence along those lines, add my own needless clarification. "His balls, his cock and anything else you like. Why else would he be here like this?"

Even in jest, or perhaps particularly when in jest, there is some libidinous elixir in talking to other women about men in this way with them listening and growing ever more excited while we just smirk and amuse ourselves with repetitive anatomical banter.

On the other hand, I can sometimes feel these displays are a kind of provocation; like this one, thrusting and shaking his balls for us; he's pleading yes, but also almost daring us to make good on all this bad girl talk. I may just be projecting my own issues onto the blank slate of simplistically visceral male response to sexual stimulus - that cliché about the little head doing their thinking is a cliché for a reason - but it sometimes strikes me as a sort of arrogance; the 'big man' with his irresistible penis calling the 'little ladies'' bluff. Especially with some of the wanna-be recruits we get, who show up to be evaluated seeming to think they're going to make us all swoon with their... please. But the next minute they seem really just so helpless and almost comically desperate for it.

I realize that most of the sisters who join in the sport with me, not only don't much care what the men are thinking, but positively enjoy not caring so long as the males comply and are suitably entertaining doing so. Sort of like the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum uncertainty; they don't care how or why things work the way they do, so long as the results are predictable and the experiments are repeatable. But I'm more in Einstein's camp; to me there has to be some discoverable underlying mechanism that rationally explains (for instance) how the electron 'knows' the second slit is open or closed before deciding which one to go through (i.e. the famous two slit experiment; no, nothing to do with lesbians).

The genetic inability of most men to articulate their feelings and emotions is not (to me) sufficient evidence that there is not an identifiable psychological state (or suite of states) that motivates, compels, seduces or torments them into (and while) performing as they do. Excitability, exhibitionism, submission, compliance, supplication; those words simply describe the experimental results of our manipulation of them. But what fun would any of this be if the mechanics of their performance had no underlying wellspring of angst, trepidation, inhibition, frustration, neediness, comeuppance, surrender (or whatever emotive experience they suffer or seek) to render their submission to our whims meaningful in human terms. If they were merely robots, reducing them to sexual playthings would be trivial. It's the tension between the full personae they inhabit in their ordinary lives and the role we reduce them (and, by extension, ourselves) to that fuels the socially transgressive pleasure of using them this way.

There is a special twinge of sexual triumphalism I experience observing a man I've used for sport (including my husband) in the context of his ordinary life; seeing them confidently and competently go about their work and family life; interacting with them in polite, respectable company, joking or discussing more serious matters without any reference whatsoever, by innuendo or otherwise, to our other mode of acquaintance; yet both of us knowing...

This reticence isn't due to shame or social embarrassment. It's the mutual cultivation of a harvest we shall reap when next he stands, or kneels or lays spread, naked and erect before me with both of us knowing -- this time both acutely conscious of our 'ordinary' mode of acquaintance - it's the tension between these realities that renders his submission all the more abject and my demand for it irredeemably prurient. Yes, the knowing strips away all our excuses; we just 'want', and let the want have its way with us.

All this to say, I crave knowing - and in the absence of knowing, indulge in my own masturbatory 'just so' stories about what they're thinking, feeling, suffering or exulting in emotionally as they put their bodies, arousal, and ejaculation up for display, use and release on whatever terms my sisters and I may find amusing. In most cases I humor myself with the belief I can read them well enough to toy with the vulnerabilities of their minds as well as their bodies. But on occasion one will strike me as being annoyingly inscrutable. As you might imagine this tends to bring out the worst (or perhaps the best) of my predatory appetites.

I recall a certain male who signed up for one of our occasional recruiting sessions. Given the number who respond to our adds we can afford to be picky. So we always get some background info and have two or more of us conduct an intake interview. If they seem promising, we move them on to a small event later the same day to try them out, evaluate them more fully to assess their suitability for use at one of our larger, more formal events. My good friend Liz and I often enjoy hosting ten or so girlfriends for small recruiting events like these, renting the Maven Club's playroom for an afternoon and evening to try out new males. It was at one of these that this guy showed up answering our online add.

For purposes of the initial interviews we divided the applicants up between the eight women participating; four teams of two women to interview three males each. If the interview team thought they were worth trying, they'd send them to the lockers to get undressed and get themselves ready to be evaluated further. Liz and I were a interview team. We'd already rejected one applicant who rubbed us both the wrong way; sometimes you can just tell; we agreed he could go be god's gift to somebody else. But then this guy.

He was a well built, soft spoken redhead. He's standing in front of Liz and I in his jeans and open collar shirt; 5'11' (his sheet says), slender build, says he's a runner, handsome enough face, 27. He says he has a girl-friend and yes, he told her he was doing this. Interesting. He didn't pretend to know all about whatever it is most guys always pretend to know all about (which can, of course, be any topic from aerospace design to managing menstrual cramps). But that, in itself, was a bit of red flag since he told us flat out he'd never done anything remotely like this before. His word; 'remotely'.

That was interesting but also seemed to me a bit, you guessed it, arrogant. He was either lying and had some prior experience and knowledge of this sort of thing or was just assuming that, whatever was involved he'd... you get the picture.

'Remotely?' I'm thinking, so, let's just see.

"Well," I say practically, "you've masturbated for your girlfriend before, right?"

He hadn't.

"With her at least, then, while you watch porn or..."

"No, nothing like that. Always wanted to but she..." he breaks off with a slight wince, then, "No." he says simply, looks away.

Okay, I do like that; whatever the deal may be with the girlfriend he isn't gonna dump on her or her sexual privacy to make himself look better for this. But is that because he's a good guy, or because he just figures, being a bit of a hunk, he's a shoe in regardless? The fact that he's got me half liking him, clashes with my suspicion he's an overconfident frat boy thinking we're a bunch of harmless 'girls' and so why worry about what we might do, ask or expect. I can almost hear him asking himself smugly; 'yeah, what are they gonna do? Tie me down and... Fuck you, frat boy, we might.

Now, I'm projecting, maybe, but once I get in this space there's a kind of snowball effect where whatever the guy does or says just fuels a sort of giddy pleasure at feeling like the predatory bitch who's going to teach this one a lesson about what it means to really submit. I can feel it building already as I go back at him over this 'remotely' bullshit; like he's dangling some faux erotic virginity in front of us. As if a guy like that would be the sort who'd answer an add for;

'Men, 18 - 45, slender to medium build (athletes particularly encouraged to apply) interested and willing to serve and perform fully nude in various roles to entertain clothed women at various events TBD. Expected performance and duties may include some or all of the following; acting as wait staff; posing, display and/or movement as directed; submitting to various forms of binding and restraint; masturbatory display as directed; extended edging by multiple means; use of various vibrators, cock sleeves, dildos and/or such other devices for self or female administered stimulation, including anal penetration, as may suit the mood or best entertain the audience; ejaculation (required; two or more preferred) as and when directed or induced by such means or methods. There is no monetary compensation, neither wages nor gratuities. Your reward (if selected after interview) is your opportunity to participate.'

But a few further questions and we learn he has (or at least claims to have) never even gone skinny dipping or been to a Swedish sauna in mixed company or... we're talking remote here.

But danm-it, I do like his looks and I'm half believing this open, emotionally honest, no macho 'you'd-be-lucky-to-have-me' bullshit presentation. Well, maybe he really does look a little nervous; fidgety, even a little short of breath. But that also just makes me think maybe Mr Remotely is starting to realize he hasn't really thought this through. But, in typical male fashion, now that he's taken things this far feels he can't back down.

I lean forward slightly in my chair, letting my eyes roam over his body; be a shame to waste this one. But there's nothing more tedious than a wanna be male with a limp dick, cringing and... You get the picture; not pretty. So let's be clear;

"You know you don't have to do this, right?" I shrug like maybe he hasn't thought of that. "If you agree to serve, we'll be more than happy to use you. But understand, that's what's it's going to be; we use you. You..."

"I want to do this." He interrupts. "I read the..." exhales hard, "what you want, I read it."

Liz and I exchange doubtful glances.

"Well," Liz leans in, scenting naivete like a shark on blood, "there's a lot in there about what we might want."

"Yes." He says simply.

"So, just to be clear," I say, "you know we'll probably use at least five, maybe as many as seven other guys for this event." Sweet thought, so let me elaborate. "You're gonna be just one of six or more cocks for the day." It hits him like a little dart; he looks at Liz, then back to me. "Maybe we'll ask you," I pause, his expression suddenly makes me feel bad for toying with him when he's so clearly out of his erotic depth. I scale back what I had started to taunt him with to, "tell you to jerk off for us."

"Yes." He says quickly, nods.

Wait a minute. 'Yes'; just like that? Too easy? How about this?

"Or strap you down spread eagled and push a vibrating dildo up your anus, take turns playing with the speed setting as we edge you over and over or maybe we leave one of your hands free and make you edge yourself as we play with that, tell you not to come but..."

"Yes, you can tell me." He interrupts hoarsely, shifting his weight now from one foot to the other.

He's clearly agitated. But is he anxious, scared even, or just excited and aroused or maybe he's thinking I'm just...? It makes me want to push to the far end of the spectrum. He said he 'read' what we want, as if that's sufficient to prepare him for... well, maybe once we start with you, we add a little to the 'want' list just because, you know, if you really want to be our play thing...

"Or maybe we'll strap one of the other males down and tell you to jerk him off for us, make you do it slow, show us how you work another man's cock, have you play with his balls." I'm caught up in it now; his obvious susceptibility to this sort of verbal teasing only intensifying the pleasure I can always generate by teasing myself verbalizing such things. "Or we have one of the others do you that way, maybe suck you off, jerk your come into his mouth. Cause we like to see that sometimes; guys doing each other while we watch."

He's shifting around now like maybe he wants to run off, but his eyes are fixed on me like I'm the one who's exposed here and he's wishing I'd confess even more of my kinky secrets. Well, they aren't fucking secrets asshole and you're about to...

Yeah, I'm getting a little carried away. Liz reads it, lays a hand on my forearm.

"Not in the program." She reminds me softly vis a vis my intimations of homoerotic play.

"I know," I snort, "I just..."

She's right. Not all of our males make themselves available for that; many of them just can't get off on it, even with us watching and urging them on, it just doesn't keep their cocks stiff. There's nothing about bisexual play in the add because it might discourage too many otherwise very entertaining males; like my husband for instance. He can get aroused by two guys doing each other but only if he knows I and other women are watching and getting off on it. If he focuses on the women's enjoyment, he can be around it and stay hard. I've learned recently that he can come from being pegged for an audience as long as he knows the women have a good view of his cock and balls while he takes it because that triggers his exhibitionist pleasure circuits. But he'd wilt if a guy tried to jerk or suck him off, audience or no. Same if he was told to do it to another guy. It's just not his thing.

But it wasn't like I was just lying; if the males are into it, we do enjoy using them that way on occasion. It's not my favorite use, but now and again I like the variety and I do enjoy this one visual up between their legs with two sets of balls stacked one over the other when the lower male drives his penis fully into the upper male's anus and holds it there, straining to drive it deeper as the penis above spasms. Yes, not my favorite thing, but it is rather pretty to see that now and again. But as for new applicants, though we may have some fun tweaking their bisexual limits a bit, we'll get to know their proclivities a little better before pushing something that might discourage them from serving in other ways.

Liz is laughing. She knows I'm a little off the reservation and tries to lower the temperature a bit with a series of her own, far more innocuous questions about his availability for weekends and evenings if, in fact, we approve him for use.

But to my surprise, the shift seems to make little or no difference to his level of agitation; as if, rather than being a response to my graphic teasing, it's a self-generated angst. I am suddenly reading this, him very differently. He's nervous, yes, but there's all kinds of 'nervous'; there's anxiety you feel when you're unsure what others will do or think. But then there's anxiety that has nothing to do with others, but is about what you might do or allow; an anxiety that is even more intense when there is no uncertainty involved; when you know what you are willing to do or allow and, seeing that about yourself, when you're right there on the edge of letting it go, letting it happen. Like that vertiginous feeling you get stepping to edge of a cliff fearing that in some moment of random impulse you might just jump. Well, what if you knew you would jump, but you felt yourself walking towards that ledge anyway?

But then I think; Is he just looking for an excuse to do this? Some excuse so he can justify it to himself; tell himself it's not really what he needed or wanted but, 'Well, I had no experience. I didn't know what I was getting into. But then I got there and these forceful women just...'

Oh no, no, no; we are not going to be his excuse for this. If he wants it, he needs to own it.

"So maybe we ask or tell you to do these things." I say, cutting back in on Liz in the middle of one of her questions. "That's on us. We like what we like, and if you won't do it, we'll use some other guy for our fun. Plenty of guys want to be our cock toys; or at least, like you, think they do. But whatever we ask you, or tell you to do," I shrug, "you're the one who does these things; lets some other guy suck you off, or takes it up the ass, or jerks yourself off when you're told to. And if you do it, if you let us use you that way, that's all on you. You want it, good, get in line. But nobody's making you do this. You get that, right?"

"Yes." He answers, his hands already working the clasp of his jeans, yanking the zipper down, his thumbs hooked beneath the waist of his jeans and briefs and "Yes." He says again, pushing the material down, his penis springing up fully erect and wagging prettily from between his legs as he straightens up and, "I know. I want to serve. Use me. Please."

Now, in the normal course, a male should wait until asked to expose himself. The guy before him, we never even bothered getting him out. Now Mr Remotely here can claim he's just inexperienced. But he can read, said he read the add, and it's very clear, it's all 'as directed'; not his place to decide what we want or how we want it. What does he think, just because he's...?