“Loosen his arms.” 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 moderator gave him a slight quizzical, but knowing smile. He was telling Faranger that even these intimate sensations were not private. 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. He had a strong, disturbing sense that the onlookers knew exactly how those that plug and those straps felt. He had no secrets and that caused more swelling and visible spasms.
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, the straps around his lower torso advertising the presence of the butt plug.
“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 devastatingly intimate sight of these strangers wrapping his legs caused him to raise his gaze to the invisible ceiling, but their touches became even more vivid. He was aware of each finger as they moved up his thighs, his firm and quick, hers like caresses. She paused now and again to stroke his bare skin. He spasmed around the plug and his sex throbbed.
When they had gotten midway up his thighs 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 traced one inner ridge with light kisses, and touches with her tongue starting at the knee. Faranger spread his legs wider to encourage her to move high enough to take him in her mouth, but when her head pressed against his sex she withdrew.