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. A man with unusually large hands shifted his chair and took hold of each side of Faranger’s ass, the thumbs pressing against his anus. At first the sensation was of a pleasant intimacy, but then he squeezed with the tips of his fingers. He squeezed so hard that Faranger was forced to grimace. “Nice,” he said. The swelling increased noticeably, and the sensation of pain lingered after Faranger was released as the blood flowed back into the pressure points.
When he returned to the head of the table, 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. The side pieces rose to head height so when he grasped them his arms were raised, exposing all of his torso. There were only two thin cross pieces, so his nakedness and arousal could be closely viewed by the onlookers.
“Who drew number 1?” she asked. An older man stood up. He had a paunch and heavy, but sloping shoulders. He positioned himself facing Faranger’s left side and placed his left arm around Farnager’s 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. Another imperfection in his character. But it worked. Faranger’s penis was reaching the point of a real erection. The man 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.