The Experiment

"First, your host's name is Bruce. He thinks he's been messaging with you directly, but he knows I'm pulling your strings — we told him I was basically telling you what to type — so it's no big deal either way. He's been given my proxy during your visit, which means that in order to comply with the rules of our experiment, you have to follow *his* instructions as if they were my own." That actually didn't shock me. It was such a Denise move. "Look at me," she snapped. I did.

"I want to make sure this is crystal clear," she said. "If you don't do what you're told in there, the experiment is a failure, and I'm filing that divorce complaint Monday morning." I inhaled, paused, and then nodded once in understanding.

"Bruce also knows that you know that you're not allowed to cum without permission," she went on. Unreal. It wasn't enough to send me in to be some gay guy's unwilling slave, but she was going to keep me frustrated and unsatisfied to go along with humiliated and probably very uncomfortable.

Denise glanced down at the navigation app on her phone, slowed the car, and pulled off the lane onto a long, gravel driveway. Her tires crunched underneath as we prowled slowly along the winding driveway, thick foliage obscuring our destination. Finally, we came around a bend and found ourselves in a wide governor's driveway in front of a very large — and surprisingly nice — lake-style house. There were a few other cars parked to the side. The afternoon light was starting to wane, and I could see that the inside of the house was lit up cheerfully.

"Give me your phone and your wallet," Denise said. My gut lurched. She was going to leave me with no practical way to get out of here? What if things went wrong? What if she'd misjudged this Bruce guy? "Do it this second," she hissed, "or you fail, and we go home so I can start updating my divorce complaint with chat logs from your gay hookup account." I winced. Of course she fucking would. A deep breath. Then I reached into my pockets and handed her both the wallet and the phone.

"Thank you," she said, satisfied. "Any final questions before you go inside," she offered.

"I have plenty of questions that I know you won't answer," I mused, defeated. "I guess," I started — it was worth a try — "will you at least tell me long I'm going to be here?"

"I told you that one way or another the experiment would end this weekend. That hasn't changed." I sighed. No help. Here it was, late Friday afternoon. Could be two hours or could be two days.

"Thanks," I rolled my eyes.

"Kevin," her voice softened slightly. I glanced over at her. "I think this is going to turn out to be worthwhile for both of us. Try to embrace it." I said nothing. "Now," her voice rose, "Go!" She pointed at the house. Reluctantly, I turned the door handle, got out of the car, and walked slowly up to the front door of the massive house.

I rang the doorbell, and the door opened almost immediately to reveal a man of imposing size — at least 6'2 and solidly built — but with a cultured, refined appearance. He looked to be in his 50s or early 60s; he had wavy but immaculately styled gray hair and a trim gray beard. He wore a light, beige cashmere sweater and neatly pressed slacks, and he peered down at me through round, wire-rimmed glasses and smiled warmly.

"Hello, Kevin!" He greeted me enthusiastically in a lightly accented but deep baritone voice that sounded ... Scottish, maybe? "I'm Bruce, of course," he extended his hand, and I numbly accepted it. His grip was firm — his hands were huge — and as he pumped my arm vigorously he glanced past me to where Denise still sat in the car. Bruce let go of my hand and waved to her, and I glanced back over my shoulder to see her wave back. And then she put the car in gear and pulled back out to the driveway and disappeared around the corner into the dusk-shrouded foliage.

"Well," Bruce regained my attention, "I'm delighted you're here, Kevin. Come, let's go inside and get you a refreshment!" He gently placed one of his huge hands at the small of my back and guided me through the front door into an enormous, cedar-accented living room, tastefully (and expensively) appointed, and featuring a full-length bar along one side, an entertainment center with a 60-inch (at least) TV, a billiards table, and collections of lush-looking furniture scattered throughout.

There were two other men in the room, both watching a game on the giant TV. "Tom, Zach," Bruce's voice boomed. The two men glanced over — both appeared to be in their forties, one tall and wiry with a shaved head, the other of beefier build with unruly black hair and a five-o'clock shadow. "This is Kevin," Bruce presented me as though I were royalty.

"Hey there, Kevin," said the bald guy. "I'm Zach." The other just raised a hand slightly in greeting.

"Tom," said Tom.

"H-hey guys," I said nervously. They both immediately turned their attention back to the screen. Bruce scoffed quietly.

"Well," he harrumphed. "They'll be more sociable when that game's over." He sauntered over toward the bar and I followed. "Do you like bourbon, Kevin," he asked.

"Uh, sure," I stammered.

"Excellent!" Bruce stepped behind the bar, selected a bottle from a high shelf and picked up two rocks glasses in his left hand. He generously filled each and handed one to me. "Come on," he urged. "I'll show you around.

I followed Bruce past the bar into a huge, beautifully appointed kitchen, tricked out with ultra-modern appliances, and across to a wide, sliding-glass patio door. He opened the door and I accompanied him out to a wooden deck, past which an expansive lawn gradually rolled down to the shore of a lake I hadn't even realized was there. The sun was rapidly descending behind the horizon beyond; it was an absolutely lovely vista. Down on the lawn, two figures were engaged, apparently, in a game of bocce. To my left, an improbably beefy man fussed with a grill.

"Greg," Bruce called out. The huge man looked over his shoulder at us. "How's it coming along?"

"Should be ready to throw the steaks on in a little while," answered the man apparently named Greg before resuming his preparations.

"Well, then," Bruce said with a satisfied exhale. You'll meet the rest when they come up for supper. Let's go back inside for now. I followed Bruce back into the kitchen, and this time he pivoted to his left and sauntered into yet another room, this one a classical den or office, richly furnished in walnut and leather with a thick, soft, woolen rug. Bruce held out his glass.

"To new friends," he said. I didn't know quite what to do, so I simply raised my own glass, and he tapped it with his, making the glasses tink together softly.

"Uh, new friends," I echoed nervously. Bruce peered down at me, now with a thoughtful expression.

"You've gotten yourself into quite a situation," he said evenly.

I blinked in surprise and then exhaled. It was the first acknowledgement since I'd arrived — subtle though it was — of why I was there. I'd been thrown completely off balance. I supposed I'd expected to walk in and get immediately assaulted or something. The casual atmosphere, the hospitality, the five additional guests all acting like they were just having a normal guys' weekend . . . it was all so incongruous. Bruce seemed to sense what I was thinking.

"You must be very nervous indeed," he observed sympathetically. I took a swig from my glass. It was fine bourbon, and it barely burned my throat as I swallowed it.

"Ah, yeah, you could say that," I agreed with a nervous chuckle.

"Understandable," Bruce said reasonably. "So maybe the best thing to do is just to go ahead and break the ice right now." I looked at him, unsure. Bruce set his glass down on a coaster on the desk next to him, unzipped his fly, reached inside and pulled out his cock. My breath caught in my throat — both because it was an abrupt shift in the tone of our repartee and because it was huge.

"Kneel down here in front of me, Kevin," he said, his voice still amiable, "and suck my cock." I looked up from his cock to his eyes — he gave me an assuring nod — and then down to my glass. I took large swig. There was no avoiding this, and I knew it. I set my glass next to his and lowered myself to my knees in front of his sizable member. It was slightly swollen with the first hint of arousal but not hard yet.

I reached out slowly — my hand was shaking noticeably — and gently wrapped it around the base of his shaft. I leaned forward, and opened my mouth, taking his bulbous head into my mouth. My first impression was that it tasted and smelled clean. I had no idea what I was doing, so I started to aimlessly swirl my tongue around his glans and lightly stroke his shaft. I sucked lightly on it and then pushed forward slightly, taking a little more of him into my mouth. I could hear myself breathing noisily through my nose, and my trembling had gotten worse.

"That's it, Kevin," Bruce said in a soothing tone. "You're doing fine." I inhaled deeply and tried to relax. I pulled my head back until his tip was at the entrance to my mouth and then pushed him back inside my head again, a little more deeply, a little closer to my throat. My tongue circled his helmet, flicked at the underside. His cock twitched in approval and I could feel it swelling inside my mouth. I began to develop a tentative rhythm, sucking it — a man's penis — in and out. I was sucking a cock. I was so ashamed. I hadn't even hesitated. I mean, I couldn't have — I didn't have a choice, after all, I thought as I reached underneath to lightly caress his scrotum. Bruce moaned softly in appreciation.

He was fully hard now, and my mouth was stretched open wide. As I pressed my face down around his girth, accepted more of him inside me, it began to threaten my gag reflex. Still I forced myself fractionally deeper, in and out. I thought I noticed Bruce breathing more quickly. I pressed harder. Deeper. And then I pushed myself too far, and I began to choke. I pulled my head away and coughed, drool running down my chin, trying catch my breath. I looked up apologetically at Bruce.

"It's okay," he said kindly. "Breathe." I did. But I didn't want to test the limits of his kindness, so I resumed as quickly as I was able. I took him back into my mouth, bobbed up and down, intermittently sucking on his knob, running my grip along his saliva-coated shaft. "Look up at me," he practically whispered. I did, his manhood still in my mouth. "Yes," he sighed in approval. "Such a hot little cock sucker," he called me to my face in his educated, professorial cadence as I serviced him. I flushed and felt myself begin to harden.

I held his gaze as I sucked him, again pushing his knob deeper and deeper toward my throat. I somehow managed to do it without choking, and my pace increased. In and out. The only sounds were our breathing and the wet slurping of my shameful work. His eyes bore into mine — intensely now. Fiery. I noticed how blue they were for some reason. "Yes," he urged. "Yesss."

He stroked my hair away from my forehead and said, "I'm going to cum soon. Don't stop." Faster I went, suppressing the urge to choke, trying to open my throat for him. But before I could fully succeed in working his manhood past my gag reflex, he grunted, and I felt his cock jerk and a massive spurt of hot liquid shot inside my mouth. And then another. And another. It tasted gamy and briny. I held his cock head in my mouth and massaged his shaft as he pumped more of his seed into me. My mouth was so full of him, I had no choice but to swallow his cum. I knew there was no other acceptable option. It slid heavily down my throat, and I could feel it landing in my stomach, so long had it been since I'd eaten anything.

At last the throbbing of his cock subsided, and he withdrew himself from my mouth, his erection already starting to wane. In between deep breaths I let my tongue work its way around the crevices of my mouth, finding slick remnants of him everywhere and swallowing it all.

"Well, well," Bruce said, a satisfied grin on his face. "I think we can consider the ice officially broken." I allowed myself a short, relieved snort of amusement, though I was seriously conflicted. I had just enthusiastically given a blowjob to a man. And inside my jeans I was rock hard. I had to admit it to myself, I was incredibly turned on. I was also still kneeling in front of Bruce's naked member, and I was unsure what to do next.

Bruce patted himself dry with a cloth handkerchief, tucked his cock back into his pants and zipped them up. Then he extended his hand to me and I took it. He helped me to my feet, and I found I was very unsteady. My knees were weak, and I swooned — though how much was because of what I'd just done and how much due to the bourbon I had no idea. Bruce caught me, and chuckled, then helped me take a seat on a nearby ottoman. He handed my glass to me and sat down directly across from me on an armchair, his gaze level with mine.

"Well, Kevin," he said evenly. "I'll confess that I wasn't sure I was entirely convinced from our online messaging that you would actually follow through with what we discussed." I was acutely aware that I still had essentially no idea what he and "I" had discussed via the hookup site. So I just shrugged.

"You see," he continued, "it's not uncommon for men of a certain age to get ... curious about trying new things. They watch a little porn, the sense of taboo gets them off, and they think they're ready for the real thing. And usually they aren't. I can't tell you how many times a first-timer has either failed to show up or — worse — has shown up and then chickened out." I took another swig from my drink, noting the curious intermingling of the smokiness of the bourbon with the saltiness of the semen of the man who was talking to me now. It rekindled my shame and also excited me. I let him continue.

"Frankly, I'd given up on first-timers, but your situation seemed rather unique. I considered that the bit about your wife's involvement and her coercion of you might have been an embellishment. But having seen her drop you off here ... and now, of course ... I suppose it's all true, isn't it." Again I shrugged sheepishly in acquiescence.

"Well then," he said energetically, slapping one hand heartily on my knee, "Kevin, my boy, we are going to have ourselves quite a time." His smile broadened, a mischievous sparkle there. "Quite a time indeed."

Dinner was superb. Greg was evidently a first-rate chef, and my anxiety had given way to pure biological need. I ate ravenously. The conversation was light and cheerful. These men had the well-worn ease of old friends. If any of the others knew that I just just given Bruce a blowjob, nobody let on. The two I hadn't met earlier were another contrast in physical types: Christopher was a quiet, athletic blonde around my age; Shawn was an absolutely imposing physical specimen with powerful muscles, a buzz cut and a neatly trimmed goatee — he looked like like a pro wrestler but a little older, maybe in his 50s.

When we'd all finished cleaning up, Bruce suggested we retire to the living room for "after-supper drinks." Once everyone was seated and armed with their libations of choice, Bruce called for the group's attention.

"All right, everyone. First of all welcome back. It's really lovely to get together once again with such a wonderful bunch of friends." He was met with a round of affirmative replies from the group. "Now, I told you all that we would be hosting a newcomer, and everyone has had a chance to meet Kevin." I felt a flush at the sudden attention.

"Some of you were reluctant about that when I informed everyone the other day, and that's not unreasonable given our last couple of attempts to expand our ranks." A couple of grumbles. "But what I didn't tell you all is that Kevin is a special case." All eyes were on me. I stared into my drink as Bruce described my situation with my wife, the porn, the experiment, my hookup profile, and — in general terms — the substance of my (i.e., Denise's) exchange of online messages with him. My glass was quickly empty, and Shawn almost magically appeared at my side to refill it.

"So," Bruce was wrapping up his introduction, "it would seem that Kevin has signed on for an educational experience, and we have the great honor of providing it to him." There were loaded chuckles around the room. "And since he has been relieved of his free will, we are limited only by our imaginations."

"Oh you're gonna get it, pal," someone — maybe Zach — called from somewhere behind me. Everyone laughed. I swallowed hard.

"One caveat, though, if you please, gentlemen," Bruce added. "Though you are all men of generous disposition, Kevin is under quite-strict orders not to climax without permission. And I alone have been entrusted with safeguarding that pledge."

"Oh wow — that's just cold, man," Greg drawled in a voice as deep as his body was massive.

"Yes, I know," Bruce replied. "But that stipulation is a necessary component of our arrangement, and I," he paused with a serious expression, "have given my word." That solemn pronouncement apparently meant something to this crew and was met with murmurs of acceptance. "So without further ado, Kevin..." I looked up at him. "Kindly stand and undress. Show the lads what you've got for us."

I hesitated only a moment before standing. I looked around, and six pairs of eyes were all focused on me. Hungry eyes, attached to men who outnumbered me and most of whom individually dwarfed me in size and strength. Men who were — I had no doubt — going to use me. Roughly. I shuddered and set my glass on the bar, and with shaking hands I began to disrobe. As I did, they hooted and catcalled. My face must have been beet red. When I finally lowered my boxer briefs to the floor, someone whistled. Greg yelled at me to turn around. I complied.

"Look at that tight little ass," Shawn said. "This one's a virgin?"

"Oh yes," Bruce, answered. "He did give his first blowjob shortly before supper—" The group roared.

"Ha! I fucking knew it," Tom said.

"And," Bruce raised his voice to regain everyone's attention, "while he showed some raw promise, he would certainly do well to have a bit more practice." As if he had uttered a magic word, the other men in the room began to open their pants and pull out their cocks.

"Get over here, fresh meat," called Christopher. He was seated on a couch between Tom and Zach and had already pulled his shorts down to his ankles. I meekly walked over to them. "Get on down there and show me what you got!" I knelt between his legs and placed my hands gingerly on his bare thighs, leaned forward and sucked his flaccid member into my mouth. I was able to suck it all quickly inside and set right to sliding it in and out, feeling it immediately start to expand. I'd gotten it fully hard and was cupping his balls while licking the underside of his shaft, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up, and it was Zach.

"Let's give someone else a turn, huh," he said. "We're not gonna stand around all night while you finish everyone off one at a time." I looked up at Christopher for approval and he nodded. So I shuffled over to Zach, whose cock was already fully erect. It was long but not as thick as the others I'd seen so far. I got to work right away, using my hands and my lips and tongue as best I could. Then I felt his hands on the back of my head.

"Deeper, slut," he said, chuckling. So I repositioned myself and started to force myself down further onto his shaft, driving his cock head into my throat. I got to the familiar sensation of my gag reflex about to kick in, and he suddenly pushed my head down even further, driving himself deep into my throat. I gagged around his pole. "Easy there," he said. "Just hold it a moment." I did. The gagging subsided. He allowed me to raise my head again, and I breathed, and then he shoved himself into my throat again. I gagged again, but less severely. He repeated this a few more times.