“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,” Pederson said in response to Faranger’s expression. “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 the 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! Now,John, 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 its 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, one stack moist, the other dry, and a flat silver bowl in the middle. Without turning around, and he didn’t dare, all he could see were her thighs through the transparent white dress as she sat on her heels next to him. And her hands as she washed and dried his right hand. Her fingers were slender and long, like his, but, of course much smaller. Her pale skin made his tan look even darker. This is not what I’m here for. He shifted his gaze to the three tables in the distance. 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 indicated that he should stand. 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 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 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.
INVASION
They stopped in front of a woman sitting sideways to the table in a tall hardback chair. 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.