A straight man in a position of authority discovers that he has a liking, no, a need, for pain and sexual humiliation when he is a prisoner of war. In the second story, back home and employed in law enforcement, he seeks out those very needs.
This is a record of a fantasy, not an attempt to describe a real life POW situation, about which I know almost nothing.
Lt. Luke Henderson stood naked in the hot sun in the center of a semi-circular amphitheater. About twenty-five feet in front of him a dozen or so enemy soldiers lounged in plastic Adirondack chairs. Where did they get those? Drinks were on small tables beside them. About twenty feet to their left Miller, DeAngelo and Beaubain sat on their heels in front of three soldiers who held them by their hair with knives at their throats. The translator had made it crystal clear that one of them would have his throat slit if Henderson resisted them in any way, which was why he remained motionless even though he was not physically restrained. The implication of having three there was that they could move on to another man if one had to be killed.
Fifty feet off to his right was a cage, built into the foundation of the amphitheater. The front of it was a barred wall with a similarly barred door in the center, so that everything inside the cage was visible from the outside. The remains of his platoon were there. Less than two dozen men, no non-coms left.
Blood from the several small wounds on his chest and thighs had dried. The wounds happened when his clothes were cut off of him with knives. Poor prospects for getting dressed again.
The expressions on his three comrades' faces were stoic, as was his. His mind was as empty as the landscape. There was no point in trying to guess what would happen next. He concentrated on his resolve to do whatever it took to save his men. He straightened a bit.
Five men in the group of enemy soldiers stood up and began to walk toward him. Three were dressed in fatigues, one in a service uniform, and the other, his demeanor suggesting he was of a higher rank, was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis. Henderson watched them approach, but his mental image was that of the three men with knives at their throats. As they drew closer Henderson's heart began beating in near panic as he realized that the black object in the hand of one subordinate was a leather facsimile of a circumcised penis, complete with testicles that could be used for a handle. He clenched his hands and stiffened his back further and stared hard at the officer in the middle, as much to avoid looking at the leather thing as to bolster his courage.
But it was worse. When the men arrived the one in the Hawaiian shirt said something to the man in uniform, who then turned to Henderson and said, in heavily accented English, "Lieutenant, what the commander wants from you today is a show." The commander flipped Henderson's penis, and spoke again. The translator said, "This won't do. If you can't give us a show, we'll slit the throat of that man over there." Henderson looked toward his three men in front of the bench. A small trickle of blood was already running from DeAngelo's neck. Oh, God! Oh, God! Di Angelo was just nineteen. He looked terrified.
Henderson's fear of assault was replaced by fear for his men. Getting aroused wasn't something you could command. The fear left no room for plans or ideas about what to do.
And then it came to him. He did know what to do. He would have to reach down to a seldom acknowledged aspect of his psyche. The prospect of going down that path in the real world caused a mental shudder. But needs must.
He had experienced a yearning for abuse and pain and humiliation that would allow him to surrender so totally that all other thoughts would be driven away. He knew it could result in an intense sexual response, but he had never experienced these things in reality. Now he must. He shut his eyes and cast about for a feeling of surrender, but he couldn't find it. He opened his hands and pressed his palms and fingertips into his bare thighs, a gesture evocative of being bound, or self stimulation. Then he forced himself to stop struggling and simply surrendered. He dropped his shoulders and took a long breath, so his whole body loosened. He shifted his feet so his stiffening cock and balls hung even more exposed. He focused mentally on his nakedness, nakedness under the gaze of these five captors.
Then he opened his eyes and found all but the officer staring back impassively, but the officer had an expression of sneering ownership. Henderson took this in and his body came awash with a sense of being owned. He was relieved to find his breathing becoming more rapid and shallow as he focused on the eyes of the officer. His genitals swelled further. He focused on his nakedness before the assembly drinking at the edge of the amphitheater. His torso became sensitized so he wanted the men to touch him, to hurt him. Squeeze his nipples. Dig their fingers into his muscles. He focused on the humiliation of having his men witness his arousal and that increased it even more. Sexual tension engulfed him. Finally he shifted his gaze to the dildo, desperate to be impaled.
The translator left and two of the remaining fatigue clad men came up to him and gripped his wrists, bending their own arms and holding his arms bent, to provide purchase. They were about his height, but bigger in all other ways; larger bones, more muscular. Their hands could almost encircle his wrist. He focused on the intimacy of their touch, of being imprisoned by their four locked elbows. He focused on the sneering face of the officer who had him in his power. As Henderson looked at the face so close to his own, his fear of failing his men drained away. His whole body became fluid except for his cock which was now fully erect. There was no chance he would not give them a show and in his relief he gave himself over completely to the experience that awaited him.
The two imprisoning him dug their fingers into his buttocks and pulled them wide apart. He watched the soldier with the phallus walk behind him. He felt its tip start at the top of the cleft between his buttocks and slide down to his anus where it rested. Henderson braced expectantly for a brutal, painful thrust, but instead the instrument was twisted slowly from left to right as it was eased in. The pain came in small increments, steadily. Finally the full width had stretched him to the limit and warm pleasure deep inside joined the pain.
At each subtle movement of the dildo Henderson's cock throbbed. His breath was quick and shallow. He was increasingly in need of release.
During this time the officer had fixed his eyes on Henderson's, just occasionally looking down at his rigid erection with a half smile on his face. It was this look, rather than the invasion of his ass, that caused Henderson's abdomen to convulse erotically. The officer's smile broadened to a grin.
Finally he gripped Henderson's penis, squeezing and stroking just enough to cause Henderson's swollen testicles to contract and shoot out a strong stream of semen. His involuntary cry was a mix of pain and pleasure. The men around him and those in the chairs cheered. He would have collapsed but for the soldiers holding his wrists and elbows. He felt a sense of loss as the phallus was slowly withdrawn. When his panting ceased and he could stand on his own, they let him go and motioned for him to return to the cage. The four of them went back to their drinks.
Henderson stood there for a few moments, waiting for his cock to return to some semblance of normal. His thoughts were, paradoxically, of completion. He had completed the task of saving his men, but he had also completely surrendered to his tormenters. If more of his men's lives were to be put at risk, he hoped he would be forced to save them again in the same way.
He absolutely did not want to face his men. Surely some had figured out what might actually be going on, but there was nothing for it. He had to figure out how to handle this and fast. He couldn't let his men become part of the sado-masochistic scene in his head. He fought the urge to cover himself with his hands, and instead tried to muster up the feeling (or absence of feeling) he would have if he were just coming out of the shower back at the base. No big deal. He finally turned and headed toward the cage. He had about fifty feet before he had to come up with an approach. With about twenty feet left it came to him. His shoulders relaxed. He knew what to say.
He entered the open door to the cage and the guard outside clanged it shut. The men were all standing, watching him expectantly. He knew them all well. He knew where they came from, their family situations, their military records. But it was clear that now they'd begun a journey of knowing him in an even deeper way. He took a deep breath and sat down gingerly on the splintery wooden bench, the only one in the space, and leaned his forearms on his thighs.
He paused for a moment to watch MacKenzie apply the two band aids DeAngelo had been given to his neck. DeAngelo caught his eye and pressed his lower lip up in a sort of inverse smile, conveying thanks and apology and sympathy, reminding Henderson that much more was at stake than his or his men's self image.
Then, "OK, guys, pull up some dirt, have a seat and listen up. I think these people want three things. He lifted his forefinger. They want entertainment. They're gonna get it and there's nothing we can do about it. He lifted his middle finger. They want to leave you leaderless. They want to destroy all respect you have for my authority. Well, I'm not resigning. Three," he lifted his ring finger. "They want to destroy your morale. One way, of course, is to put you all in fear for your lives. Will you be picked next? Beaubain and Miller and DeAngelo were legitimately terrified."
He paused and gently bit his lip, to take a moment to process some emotion. It was sadness. He was sad at the loss of his nearly seamless public persona. He suppressed a sigh and continued.
"It would be crazy to tell you to relax, but I think I can say that I'll rise to the task of protecting you." His wry smile was met, not by chuckles, but with sympathetic looks and smiles.
"I may be over thinking on these last two things, but that's my guess. But, whether that's their plan or not, we're not going to let that happen. You'll have had a lot of different reactions to what happened out there today." He tilted his head toward the amphitheater. "That's OK. The way not to lose morale, not to fall apart, is for all of us to accept our feelings. Did I expect to get a hard-on from having a dildo shoved up my ass? No. I did not. But there's nothing to be gained by running from what you're feeling. If I want to deal with it later, when we get out, fine. But I'm not giving these guys the benefit of making me upset or guilty or demoralized. And I want you to do the same.
"I know you have a whole host of feelings. Some were aroused and are now feeling guilty. Some were aroused and are not feeling guilty." He smiled in acknowledgement of the two openly gay men in the group. "Some of you were nauseated. Whatever you're feeling, it's OK, because, you know what? We're human! We accept our feelings. And we take charge of our actions. We thank you nauseated ones for taking charge and not throwing up in our home." Scattered smiles. "If you need to jerk off, just wait for dark and go for it. But while we're here we don't get involved in personal attachments, or angry acting out. Accept our feelings. Control our behavior. OK? Repeat after me, 'We're human!'" Almost all did. "Work on it.
"We need to keep busy, and one thing is we'll do a half hour of calisthenics twice a day, once after breakfast and once after the 'entertainment hour.' It's a good way to release nervous tension. Barbo, you'll be in charge of calisthenics. If you decide on jumping jacks, I'm going to invoke executive privilege and do something else, like sit ups. There's just so many assaults on my dignity I can handle," he chuckled.
McSpadden spoke up. "Hey, Loot, while you were out there a bunch of us thought it might be a good idea if we stripped down too, sort of for solidarity, you know? But the guards out there," he motioned in the direction where a few guards were gathered out of site, "they put a stop to it."
Henderson smiled. "Sounds like a brilliant idea to me. Too bad you couldn't implement it."
Later in the afternoon he gathered them around again. "Men, we have to stay occupied and focused on things outside of here. I have an idea to address that just a little bit. Each day we'll do three things. First, we'll play a game between two teams, divided equally among us. Second, we'll figure out the logistics of having the losers reward the winners when we get out of here. You'll have to take into account that we might not all be physically together forever. Third, you'll invent a game for the next day. To get you started, I've invented the game for tomorrow. We'll divide ourselves into two teams and will all stand on one foot. The team of the last man standing is the winner. Finally, tonight you need to invent a way to reward the Remainders when we're back home. The Remainders are those guys who were never on a winning team. The logistics of rewarding winners will be recorded in an imaginary log, one page per day. We'll need to review the log regularly so we can refer to it when we get back to base."
"Hey, Loot." The gravelly voice was MacKenzie. "This is stupid. No way am I going to play games like standing on one foot."
"Sorry, MacKenzie, but this is an order," he said in a conversational tone that belied his words. "If you decide you want to disobey orders in this hell hole, then we'll just deal with it back at base."
That night, being in a desert like environment, the temperature dropped precipitously. Henderson was curled up on the floor, trying to sleep, but the cold was getting unbearable. They had been told that if anyone gave him clothing, they would be shot in the gut. They would die slowly. If Henderson was given clothing and the donor couldn't be identified, someone would be shot at random. His teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, the sound clear to everyone in the group.
McSpadden whispered to his neighbor. "Angstrom, come over here." Then he crawled over to Henderson and said, "Loot, turn on your stomach." Henderson did so and then McSpadden said, "Angstrom, lie down next to Henderson like I'm doing. Put your leg over his and your head on his shoulder. Put your right hand on his head. Link your fingers in mine so we can relax and our hands will stay in place. That's the best way to warm someone up. Keep the scalp warm. And Malmstrom, lie down so the soles of his feet are pressed into your stomach." Slowly the warmth penetrated their uniforms and reached Henderson. "Thanks, guys," he mumbled and fell asleep.
Henderson slept through the night after he had warmed up, but in the morning he threw himself into whatever activity was available, such as the complexities of positioning twenty-two human checkers in the grid they had traced into the dirt floor of the cage.
After lunch, the same cooked grain in two large bowls that they'd had for breakfast and for supper the night before, Henderson thought some more about what was likely to happen that afternoon. Would he be able to pull off the same psycho-sexual parlor trick he had accomplished yesterday? Probably yes. He'd tapped a powerful part of himself.
At mid-afternoon two soldiers came to the cage and indicated that Geminiani, Schultz and Barbo should head for the bench near the head of the amphitheater. Then they gestured for Henderson to follow them to the center, where he'd stood the day before. The translator was absent. The officer came up close and stared appraisingly at Henderson for a moment. Then he took Henderson's hand and placed it palm forward against his own sizeable erection pressing against his khakis, and rubbed it slowly up and down. He had a thin see-what-I-can-make-you-do smile. Henderson's penis swelled. His breath became more rapid and shallow and anything, do anything, filled his mind as he returned the officer's gaze. His whole body seemed to melt into his now fully engorged genitals.
Then two of the soldiers pushed on his shoulders until he kneeled and then one put his cheek on his own crossed forearms and pointed to the ground in front of Henderson. Henderson positioned himself as indicated, with his ass on display. He concentrated on the superior officer who was standing about five feet away. His penis throbbed. He relaxed his shoulders and let his chest press into the ground and waited for whatever was to happen.
"Hey, Loot," came a voice behind him. It was Miller. What did they want with Miller? "Loot, they... they... I can't do it Loot! What am I going to do?"
Ah! "OK, Miller, just think about those guys over there."
"It's Gemi, Loot. They've already cut him!"
"OK. Then we've got to pull this off. Just pull down your pants and masturbate yourself a hard-on. You can do it. Everyone can do it!"
Miller let out a long moan of distress. A few anxious moments later he said, "OK. I got it."
"Now stick it in me!" He felt Miller kneel behind him and put his hands on his waist, but nothing at his anus. He felt Miller's erection lie between his buttocks and then he felt it wither.
"Loot! It's gone! It's just gone!"
"OK. We'll fake it. Keep your legs together and lean down on my back and just fake it. For Gemi!"
He could feel Miller push into him a half dozen or so times, breathing as if he were climaxing. When he stopped Henderson immediately said, "Don't get up! We can't let them see a totally limp dick so soon. Stay there and jerk me off." The reason he gave Miller was true, but he also needed help keeping his own erection. It was too much of a balancing act to take charge of Miller and abase himself before the enemy officer at the same time. After a few awkward strokes, accompanied by Miller's moans of distress, Henderson achieved the lamest orgasm of his life, but achieve it he did. As he sank onto his heels the officer kicked him in the ribs. Not hard, but contemptuously and said something scornful. But he did signal to let the three hostages return to the cage.
Miller pulled up his clothing and gave Henderson a hand up. The two walked back to the cage in a somewhat awkward silence. Henderson wished he could say something that would help Miller over this psychological hump, but "Good job, soldier" didn't seem the thing at the moment.
When they were once again locked in the cage Henderson stood next to Miller and put his hand on his shoulder. "Today, guys, you saw a show. Most of what Miller and I did was fakery. You need to give us a good round of applause." They dutifully applauded and added hoots and hollers. "And look me and Miller in the eye. We're all human!"
A ragged response. "We're all human!!" Not everyone, but it would do.
Many times over the rest of the afternoon and evening Henderson thought about how disappointing his experience had been, how diluted. A little in contradiction to his advice to his men, it was disquieting to realize how thoroughly these cravings had permeated his consciousness.
But being naked among his men didn't address these cravings at all. He was royally tired of being naked. He really wanted to get dressed.
That night Henderson's two human blankets didn't have to warm his scalp as they covered him before he got chills.
On the third day, as soon as three men were chosen as hostages, Henderson felt a frisson of anticipation wash over him. He went immediately to the front of the cage, so the men couldn't see his swelling sex. He gripped the rusting bars and pressed himself against a cross bar until the guards gestured for him to come out. As he walked to the center of the amphitheater, even as his limbs felt weak from dread, he had to admit that there was pleasure in the anticipation of being displayed and debased. As he watched the officer and his two assistants approach his penis stiffened even more. He could feel his blood pulsing in it. When it became fully erect he offered it to the commander in unspoken communication. The commander, in turn, drew his forefinger slowly and knowingly from the base to the tip. The muscles in Henderson's thighs contracted visibly.
After a few moments one of the soldiers motioned to him to kneel down before the commander. Then the inevitable happened and the commander lowered his zipper and released his erect penis. Henderson grasped it in both hands, but one of the soldiers pulled his arms back by the elbows. Then he grasped Henderson's wrists and pulled them up between his shoulder blades. The position caused him to be awash in wonderful sensations of powerlessness and degradation. The officer gripped the hair on either side of Henderson's head. When the head of the penis pressed against his lips he dropped his jaw to accept it. He relaxed his throat with a yawning sensation, but the officer's intention was not release. It was to inflict pain. He tilted Henderson's head back, to get the right angle, and rammed his cock into Henderson's soft palate. He did this four times before he pulled away and sheathed his weapon. Henderson's mouth was flooded with saliva, but he didn't dare spit. He bent his head and swallowed painfully and convulsively.
Then one of the soldiers indicated that he should take the same position as the day before. He bent sharply at the hips and laid his cheek on his hands and presented his ass to the world. He could see the officer's boots and imagined one of them placed on his back, between his shoulders. He imagined the pain of grit being rubbed into his skin.
Then he heard Kretschmer's voice. "Hey, Loot. It's me. This is really wrong. No way should I be their pick." Kretschmer was one of their two openly gay men. Henderson felt some sense of relief. At least it wouldn't be a replay of yesterday. He wouldn't have to manage Kretschmer while trying to abase himself before the enemy officer.
"Not to worry, Krteschmer. Do what you have to do. It's for those three guys."
"It looks like Kintebe is their pick today. They've already cut him. Oh, God, Loot, this just isn't right!" he said as he spat on his fingers several times and moistened Henderson's anus and rectum. He slowly worked his way in. "Oh, God, Loot. No part of me is enjoying this except my prick."
"Kretschmer, if you don't stop apologizing I won't keep this hard-on. Kintebe needs us to put on a show." What Henderson really wanted to say was Don't distract me from this experience! Kretschmer shut up and Henderson shifted his focus to the officer's boots. If he shifted his head, he could see his crotch. He opened himself up to Kretschmer, thinking about the officer watching them. The officer could see each stroke of the penis into his ass. Even though Kretschmer went slowly, it was painful. In his mind he gave the pain as a gift to the officer. The thought made his penis throb. Finally Kretschmer finished, pulled out. The soldiers gestured for him to leave, so he patted Henderson on the flank and headed for the cage. The two soldiers hoisted Henderson up by his arms and held him standing, his erection growing even harder as he saw the officer staring at him up and down.
The officer approached, stepped up close, reached behind and dug his fingers into Henderson's buttocks. Henderson threw back his head. Hurt me! Hurt me hard! The man did hurt him, but not hard enough. The officer showed a slight, secretive smile and he drew his forefinger the length of Henderson's penis again. Henderson looked him in the eye. Do anything you want to me. Anything. Tie me up. Whip me. Erotic waves roll through his pelvis.
The officer slowly pinched and twisted each of his nipples until Henderson emitted a soft "Ahhh!," a mix of pleasure and pain. When a tear leaked out of Henderson's eye, the officer let go and then drew slow circles around the nipples with his forefingers. He drew them down to Henderson's groin and dug his fingers into the hair there. Henderson closed his eyes. He was vividly aware that his face, as well as his cock, was telling the world what was going on inside him. That only increased his arousal. His torso convulsed, apparent to all around. He again looked into the eyes of his tormenter, surrendering his whole being. The man slowly squeezed his rock hard testicles until the pain caused another, louder cry. Then he stroked his penis just a few times. Henderson's hips bucked again and again. He panted loudly and climaxed into the air.
The two soldiers let go of Henderson's arms and he sank to the ground to lie curled on his side. He was exhausted and overwhelmed by his experience. He knew he had to own it if he was to continue on as a whole person. "God, help me." It was a real prayer. Very slowly the erotic cloud dissipated and Henderson thought of Kintebe for the first time since Kretschmer had identified him as the possible victim. Well, that show was, for sure, enough. He gathered himself together sufficiently to stand up. He straightened his spine and brushed the dirt off his forehead, arm and hip and headed toward the cage.
He sat down at his usual place on the bench and said, "OK, guys. Sermon time!" He didn't know if the residual tremor in his voice was detectable, but reminded himself that he was human and decided not to care. "There's no way you're not wondering what I was and am thinking, so let's lance the boil. You can tell that I was turned on in strange ways. That's left me confused. I figure that's allowed. I'll just be confused for a bit. And I'm going to visit some of my favorite ladies in my head over the next little while, to check to see that all systems are in working order. I'm pretty sure they are. Maybe even improved." He chuckled just a little. "OK, look me in the eye." He passed his gaze around the group, making a brief pause at each man. "Now, do the same for Kretschmer." They repeated the procedure. "Time to do some calisthenics! And then I'm going to take a nice nap!"
Henderson opened his eyes to a dim morning light. The human blankets had left. Half of the men were lined up across the bars at the front of the cage. When he sat up McSpadden came over with a pair of pants. His own, apparently, as he was in his olive drab underwear. "Here, Loot."
"And take this," said Angstrom, handing him a shirt as he stood in his olive drab undershirt.
"Guys! We can't do this!"
"Yeah, we can, Loot. Our guys have taken over the camp! They haven't found us yet. We wanted to make you presentable before they come over here!"
Henderson was stu
nned. When the wheels in his brain began to turn again, the first thing that came was an enormous sense of relief. He would no longer hold his men's lives in his hands. His eyes fell on the place just below the jaw of several men, blessedly free of knives. Next he absorbed the near unbelievable idea that were going home. What a miracle! Lastly, a quickly suppressed guilty regret that he would no longer walk to the center of the sunny arena each day.
"Oh, God. Thanks. This feels so good!" said Henderson as he drew on the clothes.
"Here are your shoes and socks! Hard to cut off shoes, and I guess they didn't want to bother with socks."
"Oh, this is so great!"
After Henderson was dressed he said, "OK, guys. Just one more little talk. We'll all be debriefed and I don't want anybody trying to get your stories straight with each other. That never works anyway, but it's for our own good that we tell it like we saw it. And the stories will all be different and all be true because..."
"We're all human!" all but two or three
cried out with big grins.
This is a record of a fantasy, not an attempt to describe a real life dungeon, about which I know almost nothing.
* * * * *
"Well, Lieutenant Henderson! What brings you back here? Another murder? You think another one of my people did it?" The speaker was a heavily muscled man, about three inches shorter than Luke Henderson's six feet. They were standing in the dark lobby of a sex club in central Manhattan.
"No, Hugo. I've come to purchase your services."
"What? Some undercover thing?"
"No, just your regular services for me on an unofficial basis."
"Oh," he said reflectively. Not surprised. He regarded Henderson up and down, a sort of professional inspection. Then he looked up at him. "OK, well I think we can accommodate you. What are your preferences?"
"I'm just assuming you know your job."
"Sure, sure! Alright, for how long?"
"Two hours? Does that sound reasonable?"
"Sure, sure! That'll be five hundred dollars up front. If you leave early, no refund."
Henderson pulled out his wallet and took out a credit card. His hand trembled just a little, but he didn't care if Hugo noticed.
"Don't you want to use cash?"
"No, this will be OK." In wrestling with his decision to come here, Henderson had settled on the plan to tell his wife about this sooner or later. Their relationship was one that would be hurt by a lie, and she already knew about his time in the camp. He would also tell his captain, hopefully confidentially, to eliminate the possibility of his someday being seen as a target of blackmail. Not the details, of course, but enough. It took days to make this decision. What tipped him over the edge was the realization that knowing his soldiers were seeing, and probably understanding everything that happened was part of the experience. Feeling that known made him feel whole. Perhaps it would again.
"OK, before I run this, I need you to sign this waiver for our causing visible marks, bruises, minor bleeding, that sort of thing. OK with you?"
"OK," it looked like his confession to his wife would have to be sooner rather than later.
"And you need to write a safe word on that line there."
Henderson wrote down "platoon" and signed and Hugo ran the credit card.
"This is actually great timing." He looked up at Henderson appraisingly. "We got an audience here already. I'll re-schedule the planned entertainment. Good looking guy like you. They'll love it."
Henderson had come today after a week of wrestling with memories of an event when he was a prisoner of war. He was the object of repeated sexual humiliation, and he liked it. It was a part of him he had hardly known existed, and it had been quiescent for the last four years, but after visiting this place a week ago, in the line of work, the desire came flooding back. It overwhelmed him to the point where he would undergo confessing to his wife and captain if he could just revisit that experience.
Hugo took him into a short hall, with three cubicles on the left containing a bench across the back. "Go in there and take off all your clothes," he said gesturing to one of them. "When you're done you enter a code into that lock and you use the code to open it again. Just like a hotel safe." It was a cramped space with the bench and three hooks. Henderson didn't try to shut the door all the way. If someone came by and stared it would just be an early start to the experience. The thought caused a small thrill in his balls and cock. He sat on the bench and removed his shoes and socks. Then he hung his coat and shirt and tie on two of the hooks. He pulled off his slacks and underwear and hung them on the third hook. When he came out of the cubicle he experienced a frisson of anticipation and fear of what he had signed up for even as he approached the business like Hugo at the end of the hall.
When he reached him, the man gave him another professional once over. "Yup, this will be good. OK, go stand under the spotlight." Hugo opened the door into a room that was just as dark as the hall. The floor was dark wood and the walls were brick. It was the size of a large living room with a ceiling lower than you'd expect. A little more than a dozen casually dressed people sat in a variety of upholstered chairs in a ragged semicircle. There were more men than women. Luke walked, as directed, to stand in the spotlight on a wide low stage made of the sort of firm rubber underlying a boxing ring or a modern playground. He gazed at the semi-circle of onlookers, but remained strangely unmoved.
Hugo reached into a bowl on a stand just inside the door and pulled out a piece of paper. "Seventeen!" he called out. A slight blond man in his mid-twenties, sitting in the back row, pumped his fist and grinned. "Yes!" He came up to stand in front of Henderson. His face was all sharp angles, with thin lips. Henderson thought he looked like a petulant fox. "I'm Lewis," he said, and smiling in anticipation he stooped down and began licking Henderson. Nothing happened, "Damn," thought Henderson, "looks like a waste of five hundred dollars and two difficult conversations." Lewis squeezed Henderson's buttocks in anger. Then tried sucking on Henderson, to no avail.
The slap was so unexpected and so violent that Henderson fell to the floor.
"What are you trying to do, you fucking cunt?" yelled the man. "You're gonna get stiff, you're gonna get stiff! Or I'll whip you within an inch of your life!"
Henderson had fallen on his hip and hands. He let his forehead sink to the slightly gritty floor. Somehow this felt right. Blood began to fill his genitals. I am stiff. I am stiff. But please don't stop! Whip me! He felt a strong impulse to crawl over and grovel at Lewis' feet. But Lewis approached and pressed the toe of his shoe into Henderson's anus. He pushed sideways until Henderson fell on his back. Lewis pressed Henderson's erection into his abdomen lengthwise with his foot, resting the edge of his shoe alongside for balance, his heel pushed slightly into Henderson's balls. Henderson arched his back to press himself more firmly into the gritty hard leather. Lewis rubbed the skin up and down over the shaft, and Henderson almost came from the pain and pleasure and degradation. But Lewis saw it and snarled "Don't you dare!" Henderson gritted his teeth and fists and slowed his breathing and didn't come.
Lewis kicked him lightly in the ribs. "Get up!" Henderson stood and faced him, his erection in full view of the crowd, the message clear that it was the violence that had elicited it. He was ashamed that such a one as Lewis could arouse him, and to such a degree. But he was also glad for his shame. It took some effort to continue to hold his head high.
"Get over there!" Lewis pointed to a set of manacles about three feet apart fixed to the floor and two chains hanging from the ceiling about a foot above head height. Henderson saw that Lewis was enraged. He wasn't playing a scene. He wanted to do Henderson harm. Should I use the safe word? How much danger am I in? Not mortal danger, with all these people. His desire for the persecution to continue overcame his fear. Lewis approached Henderson and slapped him again, once hard on either side of his face. He tasted blood where his teeth cut his cheek. Yes!
Lewis produced a set of manacles. Henderson offered his wrists without prompting, his breathing shallow and rapid. He didn't miss the irony when he saw that the manacles were lined with sheep skin. Lewis snapped the manacles on and, again, without prompting, he raised his hands to reach the chains hanging from the ceiling. A member of the audience who was taller than Lewis hooked the manacles to the chains. Finally Henderson spread his legs so his ankles were within reach of the manacles fastened to the floor. A lamb to the slaughter. Lewis went to the back wall and chose a short whip with five thongs. There were small metal balls at the end of each thong. Fear coursed through Henderson when he put the whip together in his mind with Lewis' evident anger. His limbs turned weak and for a short moment his full weight hung from his wrists.
Henderson welcomed the restraints and he welcomed the pain when Lewis, without preamble violently lashed his inner thigh. Henderson let out a cry. His penis stiffened further. Lewis whipped his other inner thigh, but from the back. There was a pause between each blow which allowed the tension to build in Henderson so that the blows brought cries of release as well as pain.
Lewis violently struck both his buttocks, the balls landing in between them, where Henderson had especially craved the pain. Because they were spread so wide some of the strands landed between his legs, perilously close to his balls. The threat caused them not to shrivel but to harden further and triggered a delicious convulsion of his pelvis.
"Justin! Hold down his cock! I want to get the tender parts but I need his cock for later." Justin complied and Lewis raked the thongs across Henderson's lower abdomen, causing him to cry out again. Then he lashed his chest and back. Henderson thrashed at the pain, but also reveled in it. His genitals swelled almost beyond endurance.
When Lewis finished he watched while Justin unfastened Henderson's ankles, and then, when it was clear he had his balance, his wrists. Instead of many loci of pain, Henderson's whole torso, back and thighs were enveloped in a glow of eroticism, centering in his penis. Lewis approached with a sneer on his face, like a seventh grade bully claiming lunch money from a fourth grader. He pulled his sweat pants down just enough to reveal his own erection and pointed at it significantly.
"Of course," thought Henderson, and without needing the push from Justin, sank to his knees in front of Lewis. He gripped the other man's buttocks for stability and opened his mouth but before he could commence what he thought was required, his head was grasped on each side by his hair and he was held immobile. Lewis shoved his penis into Henderson's mouth, pressing against the roof and soft palate. He was not well endowed, so Henderson's face was pressed into the other man's pubic hair. He barely suppressed a gag reflex as Lewis jammed his cock into his throat repeatedly. Instead of administering a blow job, Henderson was being orally raped. He dropped his jaw, to better accept the assault. His limbs turned to water, and his cock hardened still further. "Ha! Ha!" yelled Lewis. "Look at you now!"
Henderson closed his eyes and awaited further violation. But then Lewis abruptly withdrew. "Nope. Gotta save some for the next step. I'm gonna make you stiff again! So set the stage and jerk off. Stay on your knees and jerk off!" Henderson was in such a state of sexual tension that it only took three strokes for him to climax. He abandoned himself to a loud cry as his semen shot out toward the audience for several feet. The audience cheered and he collapsed onto his heels, gasping.
Presently Lewis nudged him with his foot. "OK, go lie down on that. Put your tail bone right at that joint." He was pointing to a plastic padded table, like an examining table, but lower. Henderson stood up and did as directed. "OK, now pull your knees up to your chest and hold them there." Henderson was slim and limber and was able to do as instructed, but he paused and thought briefly that this was too much. He should leave. Then the desire for degradation that brought him here took over. He placed his palms under his thighs and slowly drew them up to the back of his knees as he bent his legs as instructed. He rested his elbows between his waist and the table. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, not just to avoid Lewis' countenance, but so he could focus on the overwhelming sense of erotic surrender that his humiliating exposure and the power of this contemptible man engendered in him. Another delicious spasm encircled his pelvis and gripped his thighs. Yes, yes! Do whatever you want to me! The audience hooted when they saw his genitals shift and his body writhe.
The sections of the table below his hips were dropped and Lewis, drew closer with a thick dildo in his hand. He took his time applying lubricant. First he wiped it on with his palm flat. Then he drew a circle around Henderson's anus and then poked his finger in. Each lascivious touch caused Henderson's abdomen to clench and his penis to throb. Finally Lewis pushed the dildo into Henderson. It had been four years since he was used this way, and even though he offered no resistance and there was lubrication, the pain was significant. Even as he cried out the pain became mixed with warmth. Lewis jammed it in again and again and Henderson pulled on his legs to open himself as fully as possible. It was as if Lewis was pumping blood into Henderson's genitals.
Then the instrument was removed and Lewis placed his own penis at Henderson's anus. A charge swept through Henderson at the touch of another human, so different from the rubberized phallus. He felt himself open even more to the welcome friction of an alien presence in his body. With no extra touch required his body convulsed over and over in orgasm, his hips bucked. He gasped loudly and semen shot up his torso.
Lewis moved away and someone flipped up the dropped sections of the table. He let go of his legs and slid them down till he was supine.
Presently Lewis reappeared. His expression was as feral as ever. He had not acquired more humanity in his demeanor, but Henderson looked him in the eye as he said, "I know we promise no permanent harm, but I'd really like to leave you with a little mark, so you can remember me. Can I make an X here?" He put his finger on a spot about five inches below his left collarbone. Henderson, puzzled as to why he would acquiesce to such a request from such a man, nodded his permission. Henderson looked at Lewis, saw his teeth biting his lower lip in feral concentration, a look of grim glee on his face. Then he shifted his gaze to Lewis' claw like, albeit manicured, fingers, one hand stretching Lewis skin and pulling apart the wound as the other held the scalpel that made the brand, two short cuts. They were painful enough to make him grip the sides of the table, but not as painful as Henderson expected. He was well past the possibility of another erection, but his testicles felt warm and heavy on his thighs and his lips parted in fervent acceptance of the pain and the mark.
Lewis pulled a tube out of his pocket. "Now I'm going to put this stuff on it. It will pretty much stop the bleeding, but it will make it scar a little. So you can remember." He grinned his wolfish grin. Another frisson engulfed Henderson at the new pain.
Lewis left and Henderson was engulfed in exhaustion, physical and emotional, total, thorough, complete exhaustion. As he lay there he savored the old pain in his ass and elsewhere and the new pain on his chest. The gazes of those around him took on the aspect of caresses. Eventually they drifted off, the haze of erotic degradation began to lift somewhat, and a sense of his other self began to return, he shifted to his side and brought his knee up to cover his genitals.
He was nearing the edge of sleep when Hugo came in. "Here," he said and gave him a wet washcloth. "It's not quite two hours, but these things have their own rhythm. I could find one of the staff to give you a couple a hand jobs for a little while?" Henderson shook his head wearily as he wiped off his torso, gingerly over the weeping wounds from the whip. "OK, well, let me put some gauze on the places that are oozing, so you don't stick to your clothes." Henderson stood, so the manager could get to all the places, and when he was satisfactorily bandaged, he put on his clothes and left the building.
First he went to a drugstore and bought four tubes of topical anesthetic and then he called Marcia. "Hey, hon, are you at home now? Good, 'cause I'm getting off early and I have some stuff I want to tell you. Yeah.. see you soon, sweetie."