I’ve published a FREE short story called Twelve Maxbridge Street, by M. H. Keplar, but try though I might I haven’t been able to get any feedback at all. I’d love some! I’ll publish this a chapter a day. Lemme know, positive or negative, doesn’t matter!
Thanks,
AG
THE BEGINNING
He looked around his spacious, spare, perfect office. One of the perfect things was the large picture window overlooking the park across the street, just now leafing out for spring. Another perfect thing was the executive bathroom… not really a bathroom, but roomy enough for a closet and shower. Life was good. He relished his job. He had enough money to comfortably pay for a new, strange experience. And it was five o’clock, time to get ready for that experience. He stood up from his desk and went into the bathroom. A shower was required just as it was if one were going for a thorough physical. Only this time, presumably, there would be many strangers examining him.
He soaped well, front and back. He looked at his reflection in the large mirror as he toweled off. Another perfect thing in his life was how he looked. Tall, but not grotesquely so. Well muscled, but not bulky. Masculine hair in all the right places, and in none of the wrong places. The suit he put on was, of course, perfect.
He chuckled silently to himself. Then there was his modesty.
As he left his office he looked over to his right where there was a large open plan area of desks. Pederson was, as usual, at the front desk. He was always struck by the misfortune that Pederson was the first employee the public saw on this floor, with his straight bangs, dumpling face and soft build. A good worker but not a good image. He couldn’t even remember Pederson’s first name. A defect in his character that he should attend to.
At the bottom of the wide curved stairway to the lobby was another slightly less than perfect (!) employee. Stephanie was a good receptionist, but it always seemed to him that she was chewing gum. She wasn’t, of course. She just seemed that way.
When he opened to door to the street he breathed deeply of the wonderful late afternoon spring air. The faint aroma of car exhaust added piquancy. He’d experienced a heightened sensuality all day and took pleasure the feel of his suit along the length of his legs as he strode down the sidewalk.
He’d never been inside The Association’s building on Maxbridge, but he’d passed it often. One block up along the park and then another block and a few more paces. Three steps led down to a massive wooden door with a shiny brass handle. It opened easily.
A short carpeted set of stairs led down to a reception area about the size of a large living room, defined by the same red carpet. On the left its curved edge marked the beginning of the parquet floor of a large hall. Just how large was impossible to tell because the lighting left the edges in darkness. Three sizeable round tables, about fifty feet apart sat in circles of light, the table on one edge of the light, and mysterious structures on the other. *Ah, those, whatever they are, are for me.* The muscles between his legs contracted in a pleasant way, and his breath briefly became a little rapid and shallow. He paused for a moment to savor the sensations.
On the right of the reception area was a counter, a little above waist high.
There were a dozen or so people in the area, mostly couples, dressed in suits and cocktail dresses. He looked at as many faces as he could easily see. These were the ones. Two were talking with the receptionist behind the counter, a young fresh faced woman, girlish. The woman patron said, “We have tickets for the bondage station, but we’d like to switch to punishment, if there are openings.”
“Are you certified?”
“Yes, we both are.”
“OK. Yes, there are two openings. I’ll switch you.”
*Bondage. Punishment*. The muscles between his legs contracted again. Ever since he’d begun the process of signing up for The Association, his body had begun to give him these pleasant little gifts. Muscles would contract… his sphincter, his thighs, various places in his abdomen or lower back when he reflected on what he was up to. Now it was no longer reflection, it was real.
The couple moved on and he stepped up. “Hi, John Faranger. I want to check in.”
The receptionist typed on her keyboard and scanned her screen. She brought her brows together. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t see your name for any of the stations.”
“I’m the subject,” he said. Following him in line a short woman in startling black framed glasses nudged her companion. She was looking at Faranger like a child who had spotted a much wished for Christmas present under the tree. If her mouth had been open she would have been gaping.
“Oh. Yes sir! I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. Of course.” The receptionist reached under the counter for a clipboard. “Here are just a few things we need to go through.” She checked her clip board again, seeming new to the task, and brought a tape measure from under the counter. “Now can I measure your forearm, please?” He extended his arm and she measured from inside his elbow to his wrist and then wrote the measurement on her clipboard. The woman beside him was fascinated. “And what will your safe word be?”
“Armadillo” he answered, having no idea why. It was the last time the word entered his consciousness.
“Of course, there will be no refunds, should you choose to use it.” Faranger nodded his understanding.
“OK. Great. Now, just a couple more things. You must do whatever an Associate tells you to do. And you may not touch yourself unless an Associate requires it. If you’d give me the contents of your pockets, we’ll keep them in the safe overnight. Now please remove all your clothing. You can leave it on that chair over there. They’ll be valeted for you overnight.”
A wave passed through Faranger’s torso as he looked through the gathering of people at the wooden armchair at the edge of the room. OK. He had stripped many times in locker rooms. He had a good body. And, of course, he was naked many times with desirable women. But that didn’t allay the weakness he was feeling. Doing this alone in a crowd of clothed people would be a challenge.
She continued, “When you’re naked, those two gentleman over there will take you to the first station.” Faranger looked where she was gesturing. Almost in shadows were two young body builder types dressed in khakis and yellow collared tee shirts. One was dark, Mediterranean looking, and one was blond with curly hair. “They will be your handlers for the night”
When he reached the chair he took off his jacket and draped it on the back. He removed his tie and hung it there too. He started to unbutton his shirt when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the woman with the glasses. “Would you turn around and face us while you take off your clothes?” He turned around. “And look at me.” He raised his eyes to hers and finished removing his shirt. Most of the other people continued conversing among themselves, looking at him casually now and then. He sat down on the chair and slipped off his shoes and socks and then stood up, looked her in the face again, and put his hands to his buckle.
“John! John Faranger! Who’d have thought we’d find you here!” Even before he turned and saw the man speaking on his left his breath stopped. *Oh, God! God! It’s Pederson! And Stephanie!* *Oh my God!*
“Yes, that’s right. Here we are. Don’t move for now.” Pederson turned to Stephanie, who was clinging to his arm with both hands, positioned just a little behind him. “Look at him!” He pointed to Faranger’s swiftly growing erection, clearly visible under his trim pants. “But don’t think he desires either one of us. No. He desires humiliation.” Pederson smiled at her. It was actually a smirk. “We can provide it. First, why don’t you go over and check him out. See if he’s hard enough for us to go on to the next step. No, John, don’t close your eyes. You must watch us the whole time to get the full effect.”
Stephanie seemed uncertain of her role, but she came over to Faranger and felt his erection. She squeezed a bit and then felt his testicles. “Yes. He couldn’t be harder.” Faranger continued immobile, his hands at his sides.
“Ok, now, John, would you spread your legs slightly?” Good. Now you can unzip your pants.” Faranger did as he was told, even though he almost couldn’t grasp the small tab on the zipper, being almost frozen with horror. “OK. Good. Now pull your underwear down and hook it under your balls. Just the front.” Faranger complied. His genitals stood out, framed for inspection. Faranger felt like he was in danger of collapsing. He didn’t dare look around, but he could sense that the small crowd was paying attention now. “Yes. Now just hold that pose for a little while, so Stephanie and I can fix it in our memories.” He smiled.
He stood that way for too long. Finally Pederson turned to the two handlers behind him. “OK, guys. Would you come and finish undressing him?” The two men came over to Faranger and each one grasped a wrist. Then one slipped his hand to grasp front of Faranger’s clothing, the side of his hand passing lightly over Faranger’s scrotum. The other slipped his hand under Faranger’s boxer briefs and pants and slid them down, the back of his finger sliding between Faranger’s buttocks. “Please put your feet together, sir,” said one of them. Faranger complied. Together they pulled his clothing down to the ground, holding Faranger’s wrists for balance as he stepped out of them.
“Ah, there we go,” said Pederson. “Totally naked. This is good! But it can get better. Guys, please put the sandals on him.” One of the handlers went behind the counter and came back with a pair of knee high sandals, reminiscent of gladiators. They were constructed so the top bent back at the toes and was affixed with Velcro, so that they would fit any length of standard width male foot. “See, Steph? See how the top points to his dick? Don’t you think this makes him look even more naked?” She was clinging to his arm again. She nodded. “Now, Faranger, please kneel.”
The handlers grasped his wrists again, for balance, and Faranger kneeled, facing his office manager and his receptionist, his heart pounding and his penis throbbing. An unseen person came up behind him, took his hand and squeezed some lotion from a tube into his palm.
“Please masturbate until you climax.” Faranger grasped his penis at his base, but made no further motion. He was aghast at the thought of bringing himself to orgasm under the gaze of those two. But his need for release was intense. More to the point, he’d been given a command. He slid his hand up to the tip and then commenced the familiar rhythm. Against orders, his eyes closed involuntarily. It didn’t take much before he came to a loud climax. He collapsed onto his heels, panting, his hands on his thighs. One of the handlers gently moved his left hand to the floor. The unseen person behind him set a silver tray on the floor on his right. It contained two stacks of small towels, on stack moist, the other dry, and a flat silver bowl in the middle. The unseen person was actually a woman in a transparent white dress. All he could see, without turning around, and he didn’t dare, were her thighs as she sat on her heels next to him. And her hands as she washed and dried his right hand. The used towels went in the silver bowl. “Would you spread your knees a bit, sir?” She asked. He did that and she washed and dried his genitals and the tops of his thighs. Then she picked up the tray and disappeared behind him.
After she left Pederson came up to him. He put one foot between Faranger’s legs and moved it side to side. “Spread further, John, as far as you can.” Faranger complied until Pederson was able to get his foot, clad in expensive brown oxfords, nudged up under Faranger’s scrotum. He could easily have hurt Faranger badly, but he just pushed gently, so there was only the threat of pain. He moved his foot up and down, making Faranger’s flaccid, but still swollen, genitals shift. “Ok, John. Please look up.” Faranger shifted his gaze from the foot nudging him. Even through his post orgasmic exhaustion he felt a sexual thrill as he looked Pederson in the eye. “This has been fun. We’ll see you at work in the morning.” Faranger was too wiped out to really absorb the terror of that thought.
After Pederson and Stephanie left, one of the handlers gave him a bubbly drink in a tall glass. “Here. This is a very mild stimulant. It hydrates you and helps you to participate fully in the next station.” He drank it gratefully and let his body curve forward for rest, with his hands obediently on the floor beside his thighs.
After a few minutes the handlers helped him up by holding his wrists so he could leverage himself. The dark one went behind the counter again and came back with a long satin cape and a square of stiff fabric. It seemed to have sheepskin on one side, but carpet backing on the other. They drew his arms behind him and crossed them, wrist to elbow, tight enough that his chest was pushed forward a bit. Then they fastened the square around his forearms, soft side in and velcroed it tight. Next they draped a the cape around his shoulders. “They fasten your arms so you can’t touch yourself out of sight under the cape,” volunteered the dark haired handler.” The cape went went to the floor, but zipped just down to his thighs. The pull tab was on the inside so that the handler’s knuckles passed lightly over his genitals and belly and sternum as he pulled it up. At first Faranger thought it was put inside to prevent catching his genitals in the zipper. But that didn’t make sense. It would be so easy to hold the fabric away. The cape didn’t seem to be reversible. He finally decided that it was made this way precisely to ensure the contact of the handler’s hand with his body. The cape was lined with heavy quilting, so that when he walked his genitals and buttocks and thighs were caressed. A not unpleasant feeling. The three of them proceeded across the dark floor to the first pool of light.
Faranger almost smiled wryly to himself. A case could be made that he’d already, in fifteen minutes, gotten his $3000 worth of value.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/m22018/twelve_maxbridge_street_part_1_the_beginning_mmf