This is the second chapter of a short story that I have published. It’s FREE. I really hope I get some feedback. Positive or negative it doesn’t matter. I’m just curious. Part 1 is advised but not necessary.
VIOLATION
They stopped in front of a woman sitting sideways to the table in a wooden chair with stiles that reached several feet above the back. It gave the chair a little bit the look of a throne. She stood up and approached the three. She was very slim and almost as tall as Faranger. It was hard to tell her age. She had no lines, but her skin had lost some of its firmness. He figured maybe fifteen or twenty years older than he. But she was definitely attractive. Not beautiful, but arresting. Her hair was pulled back in a tight French twist. She wore a black sheath and no jewelry. She stopped about a foot away. “Remove the cloak please.” The darker handler slipped his hand up under the cloak to grasp the tab at the top, zipped it down and pushed the cloak to the floor. She looked Faranger up and down. “Ah, good. Good.” She placed her fingers at his throat and very lightly traced all the way down. A wave of contractions washed through Faranger’s torso, shifting his genitals slightly. She noticed. “Hmmm. Can you do that at will?”
“No.I don’t think so.”
“A pity. You know. For a movie or something.” *Movie?? ‘No films. No photographs.’* She detected his consternation and patted him on the stomach. “No, no films or photographs.”
Then she asked, “Have you ever been anally penetrated?”
“No.”
“Do you desire to be anally penetrated?”
“No.”
“Do we have your permission to anally penetrate you?”
“Yes.” As he uttered his consent a thrill went through his torso and his genitals shifted again.
“Pity,” she said again, with a rueful twist of her lips. She ran her finger again from his breast bone to the tip of his still flaccid penis. Then she buried her fingers in the tangle of light brown hair at its base, gave a little tug and returned to her chair.
Now he could see what was on the table behind her. It was a tray with a number of silver phalluses on it. They were of different thicknesses and all had hilts and guards. The guards were angled away from the tip, like swallows’ wings, not straight horizontal to the shaft. His breath became shallow and rapid as the use dawned on him.
“Gentlemen,” she said, addressing the handlers, would you remove the arm restraint? “We’ll need his help at some points.” They loosened the Velcro and his arms came free. He instinctively moved to rub them, but each handler gently stopped him. One of them lifted an eyebrow to remind him that he must not touch himself. But they each did refresh him by swiftly running their hands down his arms.
“Before we begin,” she continued, “Cheryl has a special request.” She indicated a woman on the far side of the table. It was the woman with the black glasses. “Would you go over to her, please?”
Faranger walked around the table and stopped at her place. “Please face away from me and spread your cheeks as wide as possible.” Another tremor passed through his loins. He did as he was told, and then felt the point of her long fingernail on his anus. Slowly she worked her finger in and moved it around until his sphincter spasmed. It was if she was forcing blood into his genitals. “There we go,” she said. “A good beginning.” She moved her hand up and down and then slowly withdrew. By this time his genitals were beginning to become engorged, as everyone could see. He caught a glimpse of her daintily dipping her hand in a finger bowl. As he walked back to his place around the table two women reached out and caressed his genitals and a man with unusually large hands grabbed his right buttock and squeezed. Faranger stopped until he let go. “Nice,” he said. Faranger was dismayed that the swelling increased noticeably.
The woman in black took up the thinnest of the phalluses. It was also the longest. It had a small, soft vinyl cap on the end. She then stepped behind him, wrapped her left arm around his waist and drew the implement down between his buttocks until she felt his anus. She inserted it. At first there was not much sensation, although his genitals became slightly more engorged. But then she slowly inserted it further and further. Until he cried out in sudden pain, serious pain in his belly. She pulled back a bit, manipulated something around the guard of the phallus and then pulled it out the rest of the way. “Ok, everyone. Set your implements at 4 when it’s your turn.” Faranger understood that they were enabled now to ram their phalluses into him has hard as they could without danger of “permanent injury.” “All right. Now please hold on to the posts.” she instructed him, as she turned her chair back around to face the table. She remained standing. Faranger complied.
“Who drew number 1?” she asked. An older man stood up. He had a paunch and heavy, but sloping shoulders. He came to Faranger, and placed his left arm around his waist. He had removed his suit coat, and his shirt, stretched across his soft body gave Faranger the feel of sweat, even though it was dry. Faranger could feel rough cloth all the length of his own left leg. It was repulsive. Why was it that it was more humiliating to be used by someone with a paunch than by a good looking man or woman? Huh. An imperfection in his character. But it worked. Faranger’s penis was reaching the point of a real erection. He rammed the implement in up to the guard. The wings of the guard hurt more than the phallus. The man laughed and did it again and again. He pulled it out and tossed it into a second bowl filled with water, and left.
“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 closed his eyes and accepted the pain.
“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 the people at the front edge of the table could see how being taken in his ass had affected him, and he could see also, if he tipped his head down just a little. 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, 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. 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. Faranger could see that the silver tree 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.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/m2tl0r/twelve_maxbridge_street_part_2_violation_mmf