Under the Mask

Ivan 2 bends back the tongue of the boot and says, "Size 10. Hey, it was really lucky that the boots you found in the storeroom of that shop were your size. That's a pretty big coincidence. Funny how that worked out."

"I've been nothing but lucky all day," I deadpan and The Ivans chuckle at that.

Jim says, "It's not that lucky. Size 10 is average for adult men. Odds were it would have been close."

I don't want to know why he knows this. My tube socks are clinging to my sensitive feet as a lone and feeble layer of defense. The thin fabric isn't as white as it once was. Something tells me that reflexology is not performed through socks and my feet are about to be stripped naked. Ivan 1 hooks his fingers underneath while Ivan 2 grips the bunched fabric at my toes and pulls. In both cases, it's a slow peel. Like carefully unwrapping delicate presents.

Ivan 1 asks, "Where did the socks come from?"

Isn't whatever torture they have in mind for me enough? Why try to trip me up with these games too? I glare at him, "They were stuffed inside the boots."

"Convenient," he replies.

"I thought so too," I glare at him.

Jim does not have a stool. He is standing at the ready by my head. I dare not let go of my mask.

My socks are off and I can feel the eyes of the room on my bare, exposed feet. The skin is damp and the air of the room feels cool. No one has touched me yet but I shiver. There is a tray of odd looking wooden tools next to Ivan 2, but they are ignored. For now. They each wrap a strong, meaty paw around a foot and even though I saw it coming, I jolt from the touch.

Jim says, "Wait. I know a little about reflexology."

The Ivans sigh in unison. "You seem to know at least a little about most things," Ivan 1 says with fading patience.

"Aren't you supposed to wash his feet before you begin?"

Ivan 2 says, "Usually we would. This is a special case. We aren't giving a traditional treatment today. Washing his feet first would desensitize them. We need him to be as sensitive as possible to prove our point."

Jim isn't so sure, "This is highly irregular. Plus, his feet are a little smelly. I'm getting it all the way up here. It's got to be even worse for the two of you right up in there."

I blush under my mask. Why did I wear the boots today instead of my sneakers? Maybe my foul funk will ultimately shorten whatever routine The Ivans have planned.

Ivan 1 says, "Remember, Jim. These aren't his own boots or socks. This odor is not his fault. Plus," he buries his nose in my toes and inhales deeply, "this is a nice change of pace for us. I told you, our regular clients are all women. I find his manly scent refreshing."

I giggle from his mustache on my foot and Jim seems ready to move on. He tells me, "Reflexology is generally performed without the use of oils or lotions. You can expect a lot of pressure and friction."

"Great."

Ivan 2 doesn't want to be left out, so breathes in my left foot and lets out an exaggerated, "Ahhhh" sound. I giggle again. He observes, "For a guy who finds himself running around barefoot frequently, your feet are in nice shape. Smooth and blemish free. Pinkish, bulbous toes, well-trimmed nails, not too much hair. No callouses... Pretty nice. And we should know. Our job involves hours of feet every day."

They each commence with a gentle stroking up and down my soles. I realize that this is nothing compared to what's to come, but I'm already on the brink of thrashing myself right off of this table. Realizing just how sensitive I am, they each reach under the table and unroll Velcro straps. Within seconds, my legs are secured to the table by the unyielding bindings of my tormentors.

And then they really begin. Fingernails slowly scrape up my arches and I laugh like I haven't laughed in ages. Thumbs and knuckles press and prod all over my average size ten feet. My two sensitive, naked and bound feet are no match for those four strong hands. My feet are captive victims as every square inch gets teased and tormented. I am literally screaming and trouncing as my tears soak my ski mask.

It has to have been at least fifteen minutes before they finally ease up and I catch a break. I honestly think I was close to blacking out.

Ivan 1 says, "What do you think, Jim? Surely David Banner would have hulked out by now."

Jim looks skeptical. "But it's like you said before. This wasn't pain or anger. It was the opposite. He was laughing."

Ivan 2 grins, "I was hoping the show wouldn't end so soon. Now we're going to slowly transition extreme pleasure into excruciating pain."

"But you can't—"

"Jim!" Ivan 2 cuts him off. "Trust me. We'll all be safe and you'll have the proof you need."

They pull their chairs up next to me on opposite sides of the table. They begin methodically unbuttoning my flannel shirt. There's nothing I can do about it. My feet are still strapped down and don't dare let go of my mask. All three of them stare down at my exposed chest and stomach. My nipples firm up.

Ivan 1 asks, "Jim, does this look like the same shirtless body when The Hulk turns back into David Banner?"

"I can't tell. I think so? Average build, in his thirties, not much body hair, I guess the innie belly button looks the same. I never seem to get a good look at David before his next shirt is back on."

"I know, right?" asks Ivan 2. "It's like they use up their shirtless quota on the muscly guy and the regular guy is always covered."

Ivan 1 asks, "Doesn't Bill Bixby have a little scar right here?" He drags a finger along the right side of my navel and I twist and giggle.

Ivan 2 says, "Or is it on this side?" and he drags his finger along the left side of my navel. I flinch the other way.

Jim asks, "Again, who is Bill Bixby?"

The Ivans sigh in unison. "Never mind," one of them says.

"Let's get him ready."

They start stroking and caressing my chest and belly. My skin blossoms with goosebumps and my nipples get even tighter still. This is not a tickle torture, like my poor feet went through, so I'm not surprised when I notice that my cock is coming to life. The Ivans are making me tingle all over. When Ivan 1 glides his fingertips in swiping motions across my lower abdomen from side to side, my sensitive belly bounces and quivers as my breath turns choppy. At the same time, Ivan 2 goes at my nipples and I can't help but moan. My dick is now raging against its denim barrier.

The button of my jeans is undone. Two hands pull my jeans down to my hips and those swiping hands continue to swipe even lower. I am shuddering so much, I fear I might pull a muscle. Then my zipper is tugged and my jeans come down to my knees. All three of them stare at the giant wet spot on my white briefs at the peak of the mountain beneath the fabric. I can't help it. I am incredibly turned on. I'm a sensitive guy. These feelings are what lost me my job and my girlfriend, but right now, I don't even care.

The tray of tools is placed on a cart. They look like ancient tools used in an archeological dig. Now I'm a little scared again. Ivan 1 picks up a large pair of scissors."

"Umm..." My eyes widen. "What are those for?"

"Our very own X-rated transformation. You are about to hulk out of your underwear."

He snips the fabric from the leg hole to the waistband on both sides and they fall away like a snapped rubber band. Suddenly my full sevens inches of glory springs free. Seven inches is not enormous, but I know from experience that it is above average. All three of them gasp.

Jim stares for a full minute as my bobbing member points toward my belly button. Eventually he recovers enough to say, "I really do know a little about reflexology. It's mostly about the feet and sometimes the hands. You didn't use the tools on his feet at all, you just tickled him. Now what are you going to do?"

I'd like to know the answer to that question myself.

Ivan 2 says, "Today we're experimenting with a new treatment. Consider John...I mean David...to be our test subject." He cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck. "It's tool time."

My erection has not at all subsided.

Ivan 2 whispers in my ear, "You wouldn't be this ready if you weren't into it. Tell me the truth. The boss's relative who got you fired? It wasn't a wife or a daughter, was it? Was it his son or his brother?"

I gulp. "Son. Cute as a button."

He chortles. "You're kind of cute yourself."

My dick twitches.

Ivan 1 picks up a wooden tool with bumps and rollers on it. He grabs my cock and presses the tool to the base of my shaft, rolling slowly up my length. With no lubrication and a serious amount of pressure, I have never felt such a sensation in my life. Those nubs glide and slide and my eyes roll back into my head.

Ivan 2 picks up a tool that might double as an abacus. He manhandles me like he's grating cheese. It feels like he's scraping me against bark and I scream out in agony. The next tool looks like something a medieval dentist would use to torture a naughty patient. I look away. It's better that way. I'd rather not know. But various tools with various features of torment continue to brutalize my most sensitive of places.

Jim has been silent since the second act began. I glance at him and can't help but notice that his pants are tented in his own erection. A sizable one at that.

I make the mistake of looking at The Ivans again. One of them picks up something the shape of a toilet paper tube, but it is covered in wooden rollers and spikes. It slides down over my pulsing dick - a tight fit, extremely tight - and I scream louder than I did when my feet were being attacked. Then the evil tube is sliding up and down my length. Despite my sensitivity everywhere else, I generally can go for a long time; it takes effort to get me to blow my load. Not tonight. Not if that thing slides up and down me just one more time, there will be no stopping the flood of cum that will surely follow.

Of course the tube thing continues its wicked journey and my whole body begins to rumble and shake. The tube slides faster and I bite my lip hard enough that I taste blood. But I still can't let go of my mask and my feet are still strapped down. So, my back arches, my toes curl and a guttural growl emanates from deep within. My first shot gets Ivan 2 right on the "X" of his "Reflexology" t-shirt, so he angles me away and my second shot lands on my own chest. Number three is a sticky pool on my belly and after that, creamy pearls ooze down my steely dan. Only once my thrashing subsides is the unholy instrument is removed.

Ivan 1 says to Jim, "Here it is. The moment of truth. This is where pleasure and pain meet."

What the fuck is he talking about? That wasn't the end?

Ivan 2 takes my still-rock solid shaft in one hand and rubs its head against the palm of his other hand, like he's shaping modeling clay. He is aggressive and ruff and in my post-orgasm state, I am extra sensitive.

Jim tries to stop him but Ivan 1 blocks his path. "Polishing him! After what he's been through! That's absolute torture!"

"Exactly!" say both Ivans in unison.

I flail and flop on the table like a fish out of water while my screams of pain can probably be heard up and down the block. But he doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow. If anything, he rubs even harder. My dick is redder and rawer than I've ever seen it. Actually, it's less red now and more purple. Eventually, my screaming stops. Not because it doesn't hurt anymore, but because I'm all screamed out. The polishing continues and I think I might be about to pass out again when inexplicably, I begin to have another orgasm. Round two yields very little man seed, but it still manages to shake me to my core. I convulse like I'm being electrocuted. I'm drenched in sweat. My dick is burning, abused and frightened. It finally begins to deflate and that's when Ivan mercifully releases me from his clutches. I lie there, panting and gasping.

All Jim can say is, "Wow."

Ivan 2 says, "I second that," as he mops my spunk off his shirt with a towel. He then tosses me the towel and unstraps my ankles.

~~

I mopped up my mess as best I best I could, but my own sex juice is still filling my nostrils. My abused dick resents going commando in thick denim jeans, but what choice do I have? My useless, snipped underwear look like thin cloth diaper. My dick will eventually heal, but my underwear paid the ultimate sacrifice. My pants are buttoned, my shirt is buttoned and I'm re-tying my boot laces. All three of them have been watching me for so long now that they can't seem to stop. They've watched every move of my redressing.

Ivan 1 finally says, "So Jim. What do you think?"

He sighs in sorrowful resignation, "I guess I was wrong. If this really was the guy who was exposed to an accidental overdose of gamma radiation, then I suppose..." he trails off.

"We would have brought the beast out of him," Ivan 2 finishes the thought.

Ivan 1 grins, "A small part of me hoped Crazy Jimmy here was right. How cool would it have been to see that massive cock turn green? How big would it have gotten?"

Ivan 2 playfully swats his partner's arm. "Jim? Can I ask? What do you do?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you have a car. Do you have a job? Do you live alone? With family? A roommate? How do you live your life? How do you support yourself?"

"My family doesn't understand me."

Understandable.

He looks sad, "I moved out a few years ago and we don't really talk anymore. I had inherited a modest lump of cash five years ago directly from my grandpa when he died. He and I were always close. My parents and brothers kind of resented it." Jim rubs his neck. "That's when I moved out on my own. I don't have a job, though. I wrote a series of fantasy books after college and they just sat there for years. My family thought they were dumb. After I left them, I submitted them to a few agents and I got published under a penname. They were all best sellers and I made ten times what my grandpa left me. So I don't work a job, but I get paid residuals monthly."

Ivan 1 is grinning, "What series? Would I know it?"

Jim whispers in his ear and Ivan claps his hands and laughs, "No freaking way! Jim! You're not crazy! You're a misunderstood genius!"

"But I was wrong about John."

"So! It was a reasonable deduction. Everyone gets it wrong once in a while." He puts a meaty hand on Jim's shoulder, "You should write a book about this!"

While Ivan 1 and Jim chat about the possibilities, Ivan 2 asks me, "How good of a friend is this Detroit guy?"

I shrug. "He's okay."

"Maybe you should skip the Detroit thing and hang out with Jim."

I scoff, incredulous.

"I'm serious. Look, he likes you. He was only trying to protect you. He never wanted you caught or hurt."

"But he's crazy."

"Not really. He's harmless and he means well. But he could probably use a friend to look out for him. You could be that friend. And now that all of this is over, look at him. He's actually kind of cute."

I take a good look for the first time. He is cute. But he's still crazy.

I tell Ivan 1, "I might not be wanted for the murder of Doctor David Banner, but I am wanted in this town for attempted robbery."

"So leave town. But do it with Jim. He's got money. His family has cut him loose. You two could go anywhere and do anything. You could both start over. Together. And like I said, he really likes you. Look at how sad he looks right now. He's not sad because he was wrong, he's sad because he thinks this little adventure is over. But it doesn't have to be."

Why would he like me? Then I remember the raging boner he had while he watched my rock-hard dick being mercilessly tortured as I lied there helplessly. Maybe he does like me. Maybe it's a chemistry thing that even he can't understand. And he does look sad.

"Hey Jim," I rub my neck. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-two. Why?"

That's how old I am. I usually go for guys a little younger, like just out of college and not sure what to do with the rest of their lives. Although, Jim has the latter going for him. And the more I look at him, the cuter he seems to get.

I say to Ivan, "But I'll have to wear my mask forever. He'll recognize me from the paper and TV news last night. We know he was watching television. He saw the report and my photo for sure."

Ivan sighs, "Just tell him the truth. Tell him what you told us while he was still out on the sidewalk. You were in a bad place and made a mistake. You never would have hurt anyone. He'll forgive you; he seems to be the forgiving type. And he might not even make the connection. If he watched the news last night, then why didn't he question why the emergency plane landing and the green creature escaping the plane were not the lead story? Maybe he hasn't seen the news at all."

If that's the case, then I went through these last few hours of torture for nothing. "But I still have to leave town," I say.

"That is a man who will follow you wherever you go if you let him. But you have to be good to him. Keep him safe. You have to commit. Don't take him away from his life just to abandon him somewhere."

Despite the events of the last few weeks, I really am not a bad person. I'm not into hurting people and Jim is no exception.

Ivan 1 asks, "What is your real name?"

I grin, "You won't believe me. You'll think I'm making it up."

He grins back, "No! Really? It can't be."

I nod, "I'm David."

He laughs, "Maybe you should stick with John or you just might blow poor Jim's mind."

Ivan 2 and Jim seem to have wrapped up their book talk. Jim is staring down sadly at his own feet. Could I do that? Could I commit to this guy?

I say, "Jim, if you're still offering, I could use that ride."

A small smile plays at his lips, "You mean you forgive me?"

He has an adorable smile. I nod.

"You're still leaving town?" He asks hesitantly.

"Yeah, I have to. But I was thinking about inviting a new friend." I step up to him so there's very little space between us. For the first time since I left my place this morning, I pull off my ski mask. I can tell that my hair is sticking out in a million different directions. Jim's eyes widen and for a moment I'm sure he recognizes me as a wanted man, but then he blushes a crimson red and says, "Wow! You're way cuter than David Banner."

All four of us laugh. Ivan 1 takes Ivan 2's hand and they both grin at us.

Jim holds my eye and my poor beaten and battered cock twitches back to life. Hmm. Maybe this will all work out. I lean in and he doesn't back away. I kiss his lips and a warmth spreads in my chest. His cheeks turn pink and he holds my eye, grinning. Yeah, this will work out just fine.