Twelve Maxbridge Street

"Number two?" This was a beautiful woman. She smiled at him as she stroked her implement. His whole body was in a state of high sexual arousal. But it wasn't so much her breasts pressed against his side. It was the humiliation of his passivity that did it. He should have his arms around her. Instead he stood immobile while she put her left arm around his waist. Her skirts draping around his leg emphasized his nakedness. These people know what they're doing. She looked up at him coquettishly and kissed the silver phallus. It was wider than the first one and was noticeably uncomfortable as she slid it in slowly. The discomfort caused more pleasure in his genitals. She seemed to relish the activity as she slid it in and out slowly, continuing to smile up at him. He was fully erect and beginning to throb. His abdomen spasmed again and he saw two people at the table point at the motion of his sex and grin at each other.

"Number three?" This was a young man. Good looking, yes, but very young looking. Obviously in his twenties, but still. The phrase "callow youth" sprang to mind. He didn't think he'd ever had occasion to use that in real life. But the fleeting sense of superiority gave way to even more intense, sexually charged humiliation as he felt the rough tweed of the jacket snake around his waist, and the other's erection press into his hip. The callow youth grinned as he slammed his implement into Faranger's rectum over and over. This phallus was the thickest yet, and Faranger was definitely in torment. He threw his head back and emitted a silent cry of pain and pleasure.

"OK, Mike. Time's up," said the woman in black.

"Now we'd like you to mount this frame," she said. The handlers were rolling up a metal contraption that had a cross bar at the end closest to the table, a leather strap about a foot wide across the middle, and in back two fiber glass structures which were obviously for his knees, if they were spread apart as far as possible. The handlers helped him get his knees in place and to lay his forearms across the bar in front. It was padded and covered in leather and there was a depression in the middle that reminded him of the head rest at the ophthalmologist's office. When he rested his ribs on the leather strap he could rest his forehead on the depression in the front bar or on his hands. The frame had him tipped up enough so that if he tipped his head just a little he had the same view of his naked, splayed body as the people at the table. He closed his eyes momentarily to savor his exposure. The people at the sides and far side of the table got up and gathered around so they could watch what was happening in the back. He could feel the beat of his heart in his penis.

He could see the tray where the implements had been, as it was on the edge of the table nearest to him. Only the largest remained. It was substantially larger than any penis he remembered seeing. A wave of plain fear washed over him. He gripped the bar where his arms lay.

A woman in a silver lame dress picked it up and went behind him. She was very thin, and her legs and flat belly were clearly outlined by the lame. She was holding the implement with both hands. The handlers pulled his buttocks apart, one on each side, and he tensed, expecting to be attacked with the too large phallus. Instead she placed it gently, but firmly, on his anus and left it there. Initially it felt quite cold, but soon warmed up, seeming to transfer sensation to his penis. She moved it back and forth sideways, just a little, and he felt his sphincter loosen. She pushed and it went in a short way, not without pain, but bearable. His erection became stronger. But now she began to push harder. He felt a sharp pain, something tearing. His head came up. He gripped the cross bar and couldn't help but cry out. Finally it was in all the way. He could feel the guard against his buttocks. She pulled it in and out and in and out and the pain gave way to exquisite heat and his penis felt like it would explode. Finally she left it still for a few moments and slowly drew it out. Faranger felt bereft. He wanted it back.

And he saw, off to his right, that his wish would be addressed. He could see a handler, from the waist down, unbuckling his belt and unzipping. He had no underwear on and Faranger could see that it was the blond. He was fully erect and stood still for a few moments so Faranger could inspect him. Then he went to the back of the frame, pulled Faranger apart and began to plunge into him.

To Faranger's surprise his anus had completely relaxed. He was flooded with a sense of receptiveness, surrender to the human phallus that was plunging into him. It was not as big as the previous silver one and slipped in more easily. The handler put his left arm around Faranger's waist and grasped his penis with his right hand. He used it to press against Faranger's pubic area to give himself purchase and began to stroke in and out. As Faranger's rectum relaxed further, his penis grew ever harder. When the handler achieved his own climax, he was able to stroke Faranger in the rhythmic way that was needed to bring him to climax. Faranger's hips thrust forward as the semen spurted out. He panted loudly to the enjoyment of the spectators, who applauded. Finally the handler lay his lightly stubbled cheek against Faranger's back for a few moments, while they both breathed heavily and Faranger's sphincter clenched, to hug the other man's penis again... and again... and again. Finally the man pulled out. The spectators remained where they were, watching his erection slowly subside.

Faranger could see that the silver tray had been placed on the floor. The handler took a towel and wiped his hand and genitals, zipped up and left.

He could see the woman in the white dress framed by his legs, just her lower half. It was clear, now, that the dress was totally transparent. He could see that her pubic hair was auburn.

"Please don't get up just yet," she said, and began to efficiently wipe his abdomen, where the semen had splashed and his genitals. She dried them and then shifted to his anus. He could see that the towels she dropped into the bowl on the floor were blood stained. "Just one more minute," she said and applied a cool soothing ointment. "This is arnica montana. It works wonders on swelling and inflammation. And it acts very quickly. You'll be amazed." With that she retrieved her silver tray and disappeared into the darkness.

The handlers helped him extricate his knees from the frame and stand upright. They gave him another glass of the pleasant drink and then bound his arms behind him. This time it was the blond who put the cape on him. He seemed just as impersonal as ever, when his knuckles brushed over Faranger. But maybe not. They then proceeded with him to the next station.

"Well, now I know," he thought. He could savor the memory, but it would be difficult to reproduce. He would need to experience total surrender again, or else it would probably be too painful for pleasure. And achieving total surrender would be complicated.

BONDAGE

The handlers positioned him facing the next table, about ten feet away and took a step back, so he could no longer see them.

A man about his own age and build, but with darker coloring approached him. He put his hand inside the cape and slid it slowly up over Faranger's genitals and torso, looking steadily into his eyes as he did so. The intimacy was intense, and Faranger began to swell. The man took hold of the tab, pulled it down slowly, holding his gaze. When it was open, he slowly pushed off Faranger's shoulders, let it fall to the floor and let a hint of a smile appear as he perused Faranger's naked body. But he left the arm restraint in place. He remained very close and took hold of Faranger's biceps. He closed his eyes and kissed Faranger on the mouth, a dry, light kiss.

A shocked Faranger felt himself turn to liquid as the man's tongue gently probed his closed lips. His mouth opened of its own accord, enough for the man to explore the roof. He felt more invaded than he had when he was raped. His mouth opened wider and the man circled around his tongue with his own, then bit it very gently. Faranger would have collapsed but for the support of one of the handlers below his crossed arms and the pressure of the other man's body pressed against his. His penis became engorged, he could feel it slide against the roughness of the man's suit until it came to rest alongside the other's erection. The intimacy was stronger than when he was penetrated.

The man pulled his mouth away, but remained pressed against him until Faranger's sensual weakness faded and he could stand on his own. Faranger looked at him with an expression of exhaustion and bafflement and gratefulness. The man then kissed him on the cheek and left.

"Loosen his arms." This from a short, slightly overweight man in a three piece suit. He made Faranger think of a middle level manager, or an accountant.

When his arms were released Faranger again reached to rub the circulation back, but each handler gently placed his wrist in the way. "You may not touch yourself, sir," reminded the blond. Instead the two again gave each of his arms a firm rub up and down. Faranger then let them hang at his side, feeling inexplicably still bound.

"OK, let's see what we've got," said the moderator. He took Faranger by the upper arms and turned him around. "Yes, good. OK, Mr. Faranger, we here at this station think of ourselves as creative." Faranger was startled at the use of his name. But, of course they would know his name. He'd signed in at the desk with it. The moderator noticed it. "Yes, of course we know who you are. And we might bump into one another out in the real world. But not to worry. No one in The Association has ever breached confidence."

The moderator continued. "We do different things each time we meet, depending on our subject. We draw numbers for our order in line, and, of course, you can imagine how order affects each person's opportunities. I get to be the first to do something with you." He picked up a small pile of leather straps from the table. The purpose was unclear until he pulled the straps apart into two pieces, one in each hand. "Do you understand what these are for, sir?"

"I think so," he replied.

"Good. But first we have to clear the playing field. We're only allowed one climax per station, and much of the fun is seeing what turns you on." He suddenly drove his thumbs up into Faranger's groin, on either side of testicles. The pain was intense. He involuntarily cried out and his erection rapidly faded.

"There we go. Now we can start fresh." He handed Faranger a thin leather belt. "Please put this on. Not too high, over your hip bones. The other piece needs to reach."

Faranger put the belt around his hips and fastened it. The moderator stepped back and regarded him thoughtfully. "Yes, that looks good. Don't you find that you feel all the more naked with just that belt on? Well? You must answer!"

"Yes, you're right." Faranger was experiencing ever heightened sexual tension. How could it be that being in the power of this smarmy man affect him this way? But there was no doubt that it did. His pelvis spasmed and the man noticed, and gave him a knowing look.

"OK. Now please attach this." He handed Faranger the other device. It had a leather dowel-like piece about three inches long with three thin straps attached to one end. Velcro strips were attached to each end so that if folded over they could be closed in a loop. The device was lubricated. Blood was flowing to Faranger's genitals at the prospect of what he was being asked to do. He reached behind himself, bent over a little bit and inserted it into his rectum. He was tender from the earlier station, but the salve and the lotion made it tolerable, and the pain soon turned to another erotic thrill. The moderator gave him a slight quizzical, but knowing smile. He was telling Faranger that even these intimate sensations were not private. Next, he took one of the straps and threaded it under the belt in back. He pulled it snug and pressed the velcro together. Finally he bent his knees and spread them so that he could thread the other two straps up either side of his testicles and attach them to the belt in front. He had a strong, disturbing sense that the onlookers knew exactly how those that plug and those straps felt. He had no secrets and that caused more swelling and visible spasms.

The moderator gave him an assessing look and shifted the front straps so they came straight up instead of at an angle. His knuckles brushed Faranger's penis and lingered in his pubic hair. He grinned. "Like suspenders! Don't you see? Much better." Then he tightened the straps to remove the slight slack he had created. Farnager's testicles were drawn together, and left in an unnatural position. The moderator tightened the velcro then pressed his fingers against the plug, as if adjusting it. To Faranger's dismay, his penis came half way to an erection.

"Now, please put this on." He produced a lined collar with studs in it. It was hinged and open. Faranger placed it around his neck and pushed the ends together until they clicked. The click caused a thrill up and down his torso.

"OK, now please mount the podium over there." Faranger turned to face a low podium, no more than a foot high, with a step in back. He approached it when the moderator said, "Stop a minute. Let us look at the rear of you. We don't see enough of it. It's quite attractive."

Faranger stood facing away from the group at the table. He could feel the focus of attention on his backside. He became increasingly uncomfortable, wished he could move ahead. He felt a small spasm in his rectum. "Good, good. OK proceed."

Faranger mounted the step to the podium and moved to stand in front of the post, where it was clear he was meant to be. His handlers appeared from the shadows and pushed him gently back against the post. The blond put his wrists into a stiff set of manacles, lined with sheepskin, which caused his hands to cross. Faranger couldn't help but view him in a new light. He involuntarily looked at the zipper in the man's pants, but the handler maintained his professional neutrality. There was a rope attached to the manacles which they threw over the top of the post and fixed to a hook in back, having pulled Faranger's arms to their full extension above his head, but short of discomfort. The dark haired handler hooked his collar to the post. Faranger felt even more exposed, tethered this way in front of the gathering, the straps around his lower torso advertising the presence of the butt plug.

"All right. Now we're ready for the second draw. This goes to a couple. Jensens?"

An attractive man and woman, young middle age, approached. Each carried a small pile of leather bands, about two inches wide. The woman smiled at Faranger, and without shifting her gaze bit him gently on the penis. More engorgement.

"Would you please spread your legs?"

He obliged, and then, one at a time, they lifted a foot and wrapped the leather around his instep, so that equal lengths trailed out. They then began slowly wrapping the bands around his legs, crossing them over, front and back, front and back, their fingers brushing Faranger's skin. The devastatingly intimate sight of these strangers wrapping his legs caused him to raise his gaze to the invisible ceiling, but their touches became even more vivid. He was aware of each finger as they moved up his thighs, his firm and quick, hers like caresses. She paused now and again to stroke his bare skin. He spasmed around the plug and his sex throbbed.

When they had gotten midway up his thighs the woman said, "Just a minute."

They paused and she handed her strands to her companion. She began caressing Faranger's thighs, letting her fingers trail over the contours of his muscles. Then she gently traced one inner ridge with light kisses, and touches with her tongue starting at the knee. Faranger spread his legs wider to encourage her to move high enough to take him in her mouth, but when her head pressed against his sex she withdrew.

They resumed wrapping, and as they worked their way higher up, Faranger became even more aroused. He didn't understand this, but the mere act of wrapping his legs was pushing his arousal to the edge of pain.

When they reached the top, they tied the bands together on the outside of his leg and wrapped them securely around his thigh as high as possible. They had to take turns to have room between his legs as they positioned the second knots inside his groin. They gently pushed his legs back together. The leather combined with the strap already there pushed his testicles forward.

Next the man produce a stainless steel object which he held it up for Faranger's inspection. It was a thin rod, two or three feet long, with a rectangular base about the size of playing card, and, attached at an angle at the top, a thin piece about 3 inches long and a half inch wide, rounded long the top and curved in a way that Faranger instinctively knew would match the curve of his body between his buttocks. He was proved right when the man slipped the base into a slot on the floor and pressed the top against his anus. The man adjusted it until there was a delicious pressure and locked it. Faranger writhed and came tantalizingly close to orgasm as it pressed the plug inside and the thongs outside. But in the end he stopped. It was tantalizingly close, but only close, and he was just providing a show for the onlookers.

As they left each squeezed a buttock in a farewell gesture. It was as if they were squeezing more engorgement into his penis. He was obsessed with the prospect of relief.

"Excellent, Jensens! Who would have thought that would work so beautifully!"

Nothing happened for a few more moments... minutes?? Faranger's consciousness of his wrapped legs, erection, naked torso and bound neck and arms, all exposed to the spectators around the table, caused him to writhe as his body was taken over by a sensual wave.

"Ok, now Maria!" A lovely woman with shoulder length blond hair and long diamond earrings approached. Faranger had shifted his gaze up to his crossed hands, but the moderator said, "Ah, Mr. Faranger, you must look each of your tormenters in the eye. Directly, not just a glance."

Faranger did as he was told and she gave him a smile. The forced personal encounter heightened his sense of humiliation and subjugation, and arousal. The arousal was becoming intolerable. But there was nothing to do but tolerate it.

Faranger's chest was feeling neglected and so he felt some relief to see her produce two nipple clamps. The pain was pronounced when she pulled out each nipple and let them clamps close, but he felt the erotic impact when he became more engorged and involuntarily clenched around the plug and visibly spasmed in his lower abdomen. He focused on the excruciating pain and response was repeated several times, accompanied by almost inaudible groans, until the pain settled into numbness. She smiled in acknowledgement. Next she leaned down and dragged an earring across his testicles and then across the head of his penis. Faranger bucked, trying to press himself against the stones enough to trigger a climax, but fruitlessly. Then the woman licked his penis from bottom to top. Faranger writhed again, vainly trying to achieve release. She buried her fingers in his pubic hair to hold him still and closed her mouth around his penis. She sucked and he felt a climax building.

"Yes!" he cried out.

"Oops!" she cried out, as she quickly drew back. She immediately drove her thumbs into the leather cradling his testicles between his legs. She couldn't reach the pressure point used by the moderator, but that was all right. She didn't want him to lose his erection. She just wanted to interfere with the climax. They're playing me like a bass fiddle, Faranger thought ruefully.