Mr. Remotely

But fuck, that is a really nice penis; big circumcised head and pretty marbling veins along the shaft; and I do like when they spring out fully erect that way, like the guy just can't wait, needs to show us. I still want to be pissed off at him for just assuming... whatever. But Liz is past that already and,

"Tom, is it?" She asks.

He nods and his penis bobs like it's agreeing.

"So, go on, Tom. I like to hear a man say it." She says. "Ask me nice, say please. Tell me again what you want."

"Please, use me." He says hoarsely, his penis twitching. His eyes go from Liz to me and, "I want you to use me as your cock toy." he echoes my phrasing. "With the others, however you like."

And then he does it -- the good ones always do -- the way they curl their pelvis under and lift when they're on their backs, or push their hips forward and under when they're standing or kneeling; it's like an instinctive reflex of supplication; no ne tells them, their bodies just need to do it. His pelvis curls under and up till his penis is vertical, his hips come forward as he strains to spread his legs further against the restraint of the jeans around his knees. "Please." He exhales as he offers us his balls.

I do like that; especially in a group setting, seeing a line of males (it's especially nice on their backs, looking up at you) all spreading and straining to hold their balls up and out; the way they'll do it when I walk by them at whatever station they may be strapped down on or up against or standing ready for use or being used at; if they see a new woman coming to watch or participate, it will almost always trigger it; that need to offer their balls, offer themselves at their most vulnerable. It's these small, common pleasures that only seem to be sweeter because they are so predictable.

Okay, so he's not going to be sent home just yet. We send him back to the lockers to get ready with the others. But I can't shake this aggressive feeling that, in his obvious excitement and inexperience, he's offered up more than he can deliver. He heard us talking our bad girl talk and simply couldn't keep it in his pants. I get the feeling that if I had told him we wanted to put a live rat up his anus and watch it claw and chew it's way out, he would have agreed to that too and figured he could worry about the rat if it happened but...

Males can say "No" to certain things, long as it's not too many and we can make good use of them otherwise. But they better not be telling us they're available for things and then try to back out by claiming they were just too excited to be taken seriously. Like all those vows of eternal love if we would just let them... yeah, sure. Let's face it, if it's sex, they're always too excited to be taken seriously; that's the fun in using them this way. Tom better not be thinking it's okay to promise big and then spoil my fun.

We ended up with seven after the interviews. For purposes of evaluation we usually run new males as a group for two and a half, at most three hours total. We tell them up front that after their first thirty or forty minutes of whatever we decide to do for inspection, handling and display, we expect them to jerk off for us, either singly, in pairs, as a group... just however we decide we want it done.

It's a simple test; with forty or so minutes of anticipation and teasing, and knowing in advance what we want, we expect them to ejaculate promptly when asked - a couple minutes, maybe three at most to work it out. It's a practical consideration. When staging events it provides more variety and opportunity for audience participation if the comeshots from different males can be spread out over the evening and/or called for spontaneously as the mood strikes. For this to work the males need to be primed and come-ready so each ejaculation doesn't turn into a marathon of coaxing and flogging by themselves or their handlers. Even without the prior handling and other attention they usually get, the good ones are just so excited to show us, and even more excited by us wanting to watch (just ask my husband) that they can barely keep it in their balls until it's asked for. As for the others, well, fascinating as they may hope it is for us, there's only so much bandwidth in the audience for wondering when that paint is gonna dry.

Anyway, we weeded two more out of the seven for a lack of promptness. We sent them off with our thanks (we always appreciate the effort) so we could spend the remaining hour and half or so focused on the remaining five; try them out a bit more thoroughly, see if and how quickly they become erect again; whether their post ejaculatory level of arousal can still provide good entertainment value and if so, whether they're good for a second or even a third comeshot if managed properly. Other than our two dilatory spurters (of whom no more need be said) the initial round of ejaculations was quite enjoyable.

To start things off, we paired two of the males who we decided had the largest balls in the set (A note to my sisters who may be thinking of trying this at home; there was no actual measurement involved. Any sized balls will work for this. But the selection criteria let us have some fun letting them know what we were looking for and then watching them preen excitedly to display their qualifications).

We stood the two of them face to face, close enough so the tips of their cocks and their working hands almost bumped as they stroked. They made a nice duet in profile, getting more and more excited as they watched each other stroke per our directive they focus on each other's cocks as they worked.

The timing turned out nicely; they give us a couple of minutes to enjoy the vignette and anticipate the denouement as they start to thrust and moan, their cock heads bumping now and then in their mounting excitement. Then the first one shoots his come onto the other which, predictably (but none the less amusingly) almost immediately sets off the second to return the compliment. They know we want them face to face this way so they'll come on each other, but they do so want to show us their own very special comeshot; they just can't help but open their stances slightly in our direction to make sure we have a good view as their hips come forward till their penises are head to head, crossing like a phallic duel as they spurt onto each other, their hands, stomachs and shafts slick with each other's semen now as they jerk the last of it out, making a pretty mess of themselves.

"Oh, look how it..." Phyllis starts to say when they finish, then gets up from her place, "I just gotta get this before it..." she says stepping forward and dropping down onto one knee, cell phone poised to snap a quick photo of, "How it clings to their balls. That's just so..." she shifts slightly to get a better angle and "No, no." she scolds the two panting males when they start to turn towards her, "close together, just like that, I wanna get how it's..." she clicks another, looks at the result. "Yeah." She says approvingly. Gets up and comes back to her seat.

She passes it around. It's a good shot. Got it while it was still fresh, clinging there with that pulpy white consistency it has before it gets thin and runny.

As for Tom, Mr. Remotely, I requested he masturbate alone for us.

I almost always enjoy a man standing or kneeling alone in front of my girlfriends and I, with it quiet so you can hear his breathing and stroking as he gets more excited, working his penis with nothing to distract him or us. It just feels like doing it that way is letting him know, letting him really feel, that he's just entertainment; not some rare commodity; we've had plenty like him this way before; so he just needs to get it out of his balls and hope it amuses us enough to keep him around; his big moment reduced to just another party favor for the girls. I do like that; the ambiance of female entitlement and the male acknowledgement of it; they know that's exactly what it is, what it means when they do it that way, but they still make themselves buck and spurt for us because they can't shut off their need to do it.

He does have a fine penis, and he's decently built and fairly handsome; nothing, as the saying goes, you'd kick out of bed. So you'd think I'd be rooting for him to be a keeper. But still, I find myself half hoping the intensity of (according to him at least) jerking off for a woman for the first time (let alone for eight of us with a group of other guys here watching too and waiting their turn) will faze him at least a little. If he's really such a virgin, I want to enjoy at least a twinge of that transgressive glee of watching him squirm hesitantly and maybe grimace self-consciously a bit before he pops his own cherry for the audience. Is that too much to ask?

But I just can't read him. Oh, he's plenty nice to watch; strokes it slow and full with a small, breathless shudder each time he hits the frenulum and then, at the bottom of each stroke, a little pause to display his full penis, his hand pressed tight to the base. It clearly excites him to show us that penis; the way he looks at us, scanning the group like he wants to make sure we're all watching. That shudder each time on the upstroke tells me he could come anytime, but he's trying to hold back, stretch this out because he's right where he wants to be. But it quickly becomes too much for him and with a small buck of his hips at the bottom of a last stroke he stops, holding his penis at the base to display it, and says;

"Here's my come."

There's a short pause and then the penis flexes back and a gob of semen burps from the tip, clings there.

"Ah, that's pretty." Liz snorts in approval from bedside me.

And then his penis is flexing and spurting, flexing and spurting as he holds it at the base, giving us a little buck of his hips each time like he's jouncing it up from his balls, shaking the seminal champagne. And yeah, it is pretty; unlike some males who lose a bit (or more than a bit) of ejaculatory force and volume when they dance for the ladies this way, he spurts nicely, puts out a lot and even provides a pleasantly extended post ejaculatory display; something I often enjoy more than the initial salvos.

As I've mentioned, there is something endearing and gratifying about watching a male continue to clench and gasp as his still erect penis flexes and wracks him with post ejaculatory dry heaves. They look so sincere and helpless as their bodies strain to give us all of it; the penis flushing and pulsing in that desperate yet ineffectual way to squeeze a few last dribs up the shaft to drip from the head.

I know, I know; another perfectly gratuitous digression from a story you thought was going to be about, what was it? Ah, yes, my young college protégés and our search for worthy seminal vintages for our upcoming wedding toasts. But I do like telling you such things and enjoying the thought of my male readers all imagining themselves entertaining me this way, picturing themselves as the object of one of those endearing vignettes, while my literary sisters smirk happily because they know that's exactly what you gentlemen are wishing. Why else would you be laboring through this nonsense about emotional quantum uncertainty and my occasional enjoyment of two sets of balls stacked... Yes, like I said, it's both endearing and gratifying, isn't it ladies?

So yes, he performs well. But right away I'm feeling maybe a little too well. I mean, come on; he never did anything 'remotely' like this before? We're supposed to believe this is just... what? A spontaneous act of inspired showmanship? I'm sure he practiced this, at least in front of a mirror if not... I mean, no guy does the 'look mom, no hands' comeshot when he's just jerking off by himself unless he's working on a show and tell project for class. He's pretending he had no idea what he was getting into but he knew he'd show well that way. Goes right along with the pre-emptive 'here's-my-penis-isn't-it-great' stunt he pulled before we'd even asked for it. Arrogant bastard. Yes, I've swung back to that again.

But that's what it can do to me when I can't make the man behind the penis confess as well as come. I know one or more of these multiple states of mind and emotion I'm imagining is what's driving him to this or scolding him to make his surrender to it burn deeper and sweeter. But without knowing which I feel I can't prod the beast where it's tender, make it snarl or buck or plead as I twist it's need into a circus act; throw it a bit of meat for its hunger, but only if it performs its assigned tricks for the audience. The psychological whip is far sweeter to wield than a physical one; it stings with the whisper of a word, flays the soft, exposed skin with a glance, draws blood and semen with the knowing smirks, softly shared laughter and cooing condescension of feminine amusement.

That's what I want from them; to see them writhe and strain as I work them with that whip. But his opacity has taken it out of my hand. I don't know whether to confront and taunt his arrogance, violate his virginity, exploit his over confidence or prey on his anxiety, teach him the perils of carelessly overpromising, or put the spurs to him and ride him hard to make him prove it to me. Sure, he performs as directed. But without that sense (illusory or otherwise) of knowing how and why it works, it's just an artifact of the mechanism. It doesn't 'feel' like the submission I crave from... 'Tom'. I can't let it go. Take my whip, fine. I'll use a cudgel, but he shall yield to me.

The remaining five are all erect again in short order. A couple, including Tom, hardly seem to have faded even after coming. We spend some time edging them to see if they can be coaxed close enough to release to make their frustrated jerks and spasms entertaining but still keep it in their balls so our sisters at better attended events can share and enjoy them that way for as many rounds as it may take to give all who want one a turn at them. We use some toys on them and... anyway. Normally I would be enjoying the leisurely provocation and neglect of their mounting desperation, but I find myself continually distracted by my quest to pin down this 'Tom' on my specimen tray. By the end of our allotted thirty or forty minutes before their second round of ejaculatory evaluation, I am simply ready to pummel him into confession with any blunt object that comes to hand.

My opportunity presents itself almost immediately; or let's say my libidinous impatience gets the better of my manners and I highjack the proceedings to suit my own agenda a bit too abruptly to be strictly in conformance with the sisterly etiquette usually observed on such occasions.

The males draw numbers to determine the order of ejaculation for this second round. First up is a brawny construction worker with a shaved head and tattooed arms. He sports the largest penis in the set, and a pair of low-slung balls (jointly awarded the prize for biggest balls in our initial round) that provided an entertaining sway and slap when he took his turn fucking the mounted cock sleeve for us. His name was Clayton or Clay I think.

Clairice and Cheryl interviewed him and so had an informal claim to direct the staging and means for his ejaculatory reprise. They choose to mount him on an upright dildo fixed to the seat of a low stool. The stool is brought out and set front and center of our small semi-circle of eight chairs and the male summoned forward to impale himself before masturbating.

As I've said in other places, I do enjoy this way of staging them, especially if the male can be induced by his own excitement or directed by a handler to periodically raise and lower the hips to fuck himself while he jerks off. It's just fun to see what they'll do to themselves, how hard they'll work, to entertain us. But I feel somehow that Mr. Remotely has spoiled the pleasure I'd usually take in this by distracting me with his...

I'm stewing about this as this Clay comes forward and Clarice tells him to straddle the stool.

"You're gonna take it up the ass and jerk off." She tells him, not because the set up isn't self-explanatory, but because talking to them that way, especially with other males listening and watching, is a pleasure in itself. "So, go on." She says.

He faces us and straddles the stool. It's a bit awkward, he has to spread to straddle and bend at the knees, holding his torso upright to position his anus over the dildo for insertion. And right then I see what I want and just can't shut it down; etiquette be damned.

"Wait, wait!" I say just as he starts to lower himself, making him pause. Because, you see, that right there is such an open, temptingly vulnerable position for a male to be in; legs spread, knees slightly bent, torso upright, hips straining forward to get the anus in position. "I need him just like that." I say.

There is moment of confusion among my sisters, but I plead and apologize, tell them I really need to do this one. Clairice and Cheryl, sensing my unaccustomed level of agitation, graciously, if also somewhat bemusedly, turn his handling over to me.

"Stay just like that." I tell him, pleased to see that his effort to hold the position is already inducing some attractive signs of strain in the muscular open thighs and barrel chest. He exhales hard and shifts a bit causing those dangling balls to sway, his penis flexing. Oh, this will be nice.

"Tom," I motion him over from the line of males waiting their turn.

He comes forward, his erection swaying as he walks, his gaze sweeping around the semi-circle of women as he comes to stand, hands at his sides, to one side and slightly behind Clay.

"Move that out of the way." I say pointing to the stool. Then, "You stay right there." I caution the other who moans and shifts slightly again, those large, low-slung balls of his swaying over the dildo's tip. Yes, I congratulate myself; the bodily tension trying to hold that position induces should make him come more readily.

"Good." I purr at him approvingly as the stool is pulled out from under him and set aside. "That's how I want you." And just because it's so much more fun if you tell them; "You hang just right that way, so you can buck and show us how those pretty balls jump and swing when you spurt for us."

Yeah, okay; sounds stupid when I just sit back and read that. How would my undergrad Ancient Civilizations class react to hearing prof Burns talk that way?

But context is everything. And in this context, Clay hears my approving, feminine voice compliment his 'pretty balls' and suggest what I'd enjoy with them and his body simply can't help but give us an early sample.

"Ah, fuck!" he exhales as his hips buck hard and those 'pretty balls' jump up then drop and swing back and forth.

"You go girl." Liz chuckles under her breath from beside me. "He does have the balls for that, low slung and... Ah, good boy." She snorts in amusement as, spurred by the approving murmurs and soft laughter from the audience, he bucks hard again. "But okay, so what's this with Tom?"

What indeed.

"You," I say motioning towards Mr. Remotely, "jerk him off for us."

A soft chorus of surprised murmurs from my sister evaluators at this violation of the usual standards of good husbandry. Do I already know something about the inclinations of these prospects that warrants risking the awkwardness of a refusal or the sudden wilting of their enthusiasm and cocks?

Phyllis sitting next to me opposite Liz, touches my forearm lightly. "Have you, I mean did this guy say he was...?" she starts to ask.

"Not exactly." I answer quickly. Then, with a guilty wince. "No idea," I confess, "with either of them." But it's too late to take it back without pre-emptively conceding our authority to use them as we please. And even though I know it's totally irrational to blame him for this, I'm even more pissed at 'Tom' for getting me to the point where I'm this reckless with fresh stock.