This is a chapter from a short story that I have published for FREE under the pen name M H Keplar. I’m publishing it here in hopes of getting some comments, positive or negative, both interest me. Part 3 can be read stand alone, but I think it’s better in context.
[https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1063923](https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1063923)
Thanks,
AG
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 took hold of the tab. He let his knuckles run deliberately over Faranger’s genitals and torso as he unzipped the cape. When it was open, he slowly pushed off Faranger’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor. 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. 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 along side the other’s erection.
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 and remove his sandals. We need to inspect all parts of his body.” 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 spasms in his thighs, buttocks and groin were caused as much by the thought of what he was doing as by the feel. He was aware that the blond handler was watching from somewhere in the shadows. 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.
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.
“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 devestatingly intimate site of these strangers wrapping his legs caused him to raise his gaze to the invisible ceiling, but their touches became even more vivid. When they had gotten just above his knees 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 kissed the inside of each thigh, her head pressing up on his swelling testicles. 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 were careful to position 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. He began to be 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.
His skin all over was in such a state of sexual tension that when she squeezed the clamps that she attached to his nipples, the overwhelming reaction was one of relief, even as he cried out and electricity stabbed his genitals and his anus spasmed around the plug. 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.
“Drat,” she said. “That didn’t last very long.” As she left Faranger the moderator called out, “Eugenia!”
This woman was another young beautiful one, dressed in black, no jewelry, severe page boy hair. She carried three leather thongs. Their gazes met and held, as required.
First she stroked Faranger’s stiff penis and smiled appreciatively. “Let’s see what we can do about this.” She ran one of the thongs across Faranger’s penis near the base and attached both ends to the post behind him. She efficiently attached the other two above that one so that his penis was pressed against his belly. Each beat of his heart could be felt clearly under the straps. Maybe this would work all by itself, he thought. She smiled at him again and stepped aside so that her colleagues could get a clear, appreciative look at her handiwork. Then she wrapped her arm around the post behind him and gripped his right flank. She lay her cheek against his belly. A layer of simple desire was added to his hot, impersonal arousal at the feel of her cheek and hair on his skin. She gently licked the tip of his penis. Faranger writhed. Then she worked her tongue into the split at the end. She grasped his testicles and began to massage expertly. Finally his orgasm was allowed to proceed and she pulled her face away. The motion of his hips pressed his penis against the bands painfully, so that each of his cries was a mix of torment and sexual release. He was close to passing out, but the pressure of the edge of the collar against his jaw kept him conscious. In a haze he heard the group at the station applauding.
As soon as his breathing returned to some normalcy, the handlers approached and first removed the collar around his neck and the bindings on his legs. Faranger flinched as scissors were worked underneath the bands of leather tied at the tops of his thighs, but no need. They didn’t pierce his skin. After the leg wrappings were efficiently unwound, each man firmly encased a thigh in his palms and drew them down to his ankles, soothing them impersonally. Next they released the bands across his now flaccid penis. The belt was unbuckled, hands brushing his softening genitals, and the three straps slipped off. Then the dark handler grasped his buttocks and pulled them apart and away from the post so that the blond could work out the plug. Faranger was so spent that all of this manipulation produced only a slight contraction of his pelvic muscles.
Before they released his wrists, the attendant came up, again to his side and just a little behind him, so he could only see the top of her head and her arm as she washed and dried his genitals and belly. With the help of the handlers again, she slipped her hand between the post and his buttocks and applied more of the wonderful salve to his rectum, working her finger in oh so gently. Then she removed the nipple clamps and rubbed soothing lotion over his chest.
Lastly they released his wrists and then took him down from the podium and left him to stand before the gathered members of the station. The light and changed so that he was in a spotlight and the people were standing in shadow. With all adornments removed he felt more naked than he had at any time since the evening began. His penis was flaccid, no erection to excite their attention, but the group stood quietly around watching him. His legs felt naked. His bare feet were there for inspection. His back and torso felt thrills of exposure. Still no one moved or spoke. Faranger closed his eyes and gave himself up to vulnerability.
Finally the handlers reappeared. They gave him the now familiar glass of rejuvenating drink, bound his arms and then left him on display for several more moments before covering him with the cape.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/m4b8kx/twelve_maxbridge_street_part_3_humil_bondage