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Chapter Eight: S’mores
Ms. Handlesmen sent me home believing a body waxing was a painless operation and well worth the trouble. It would make me that much more desirable to her and women in general. With the aid of a spanking and her hand, I left prepared to do anything for her. Little did I realize I would eventually do things I never imagined possible.
I again woke early, to another beautiful morning. Since taking the job at Biprods, my mornings have become brighter and happier. I hadn’t moved to a new residence and there were no more birds in the city then usual, but today I felt like a new person. I enjoyed the tunes of an avian chorus against the backdrop of autos, trains, the roar of the people and dogs barking. I sang in the shower for the first time in my life and even opened a window while getting dressed. I wanted to breathe fresh city air and hear the car horns, the sounds of a choked-up metropolis. As instructed, I slipped on a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt, sans underwear. While dressing, I was griped with a mad desire to touch myself. A desire to recreate the moments with Ms. Handlesmen, but her words of warning lingered in the back of my mind. She would be able to tell if I’d been playing with myself and she let me know that she dealt with such actions in the severest manner. I belonged to her and masturbation was forbidden.
I pulled the waistband of my pants out and looked down at my manhood. It was already as hard as a dowel rod, seeping with lubrication, and I moved my hand close. I looked but didn’t touch and only lingered near in contemplation. Showering had been torture, but nothing I did could ever match the hand of the woman I loved and I had no intention of messing things up for myself. I kept myself at bay. I’d found a life in Ms. Handlesmen’s hand and I hoped for the rest of my life. I was truly happy… humiliated, violated and dishonored, but truly happy. My mother had explained it to me this way: “There’s always a price to pay”. It was late and I had to get going.
I arrived at work five minutes of nine, waved to the receptionist and hurried to an elevator. Her unusually effervescent, giggly smile was an early morning charge that left me wondering. It sort of put me off, yet assured me that everything was okay and we’d be seeing each other soon. I couldn’t wait to be with Ms. Handlesmen, regardless of all else. I took today’s slaps and pinches in stride, ‘owwing and eeking’ in unison with each. I also found myself dancing about erotically in the elevator. Smart slaps kept me wiggling in fits and jumps around seven well dressed, very playful ladies. It became very hot in the cube, actually steamy. The fronts of my sweats were soon drenched and my ass was warmed up. I pretended to take it all in fun, all the way to thirteenth floor. I realized then that all the women missed their floors intentionally. I wiggled my way out of the giant spanking machine, planning on doing everything correctly today.
To my consternation, Ms. Handlesmen’s secretary was waiting with another carton. Still skittish, I disrobed upon entering the office and hung my clothes on the tree. She stood in one spot staring at me and I saw little reason to wait until told. With my back turned, her eyes became weights around my neck and I took several deep breaths. I tried to stop trembling, tried to act brave and kept my hands to my sides as I turned to face her. I looked to the floor, took more breaths and walked over to stand before her. She had been standing beside the carton, taken by my demeanor. I thought I caught a smile dart across her face, though a tiny terse smirk, it was a smile nonetheless.
“Well Joey, I am very pleased by your behavior,” she said while her eyes traveled. They scanned me up and down before settling in on my shaved organ. Her look still embarrassed me and probably always would. “You’ll look much nicer after we’ve rid you of all your hair. Hair on a man is so Neanderthal and on a boy such as yourself, it’s down right gross.” I smiled nervously to her comment, unsure I could agree, but very sure I was afraid to do otherwise.
Yes ma’am,” I offered in a quivering voice.
Today the secretary wore a three-piece pant suit of navy blue, over a white shirt and red tie. She wore a pair of matching glasses but otherwise was the same laconic lady. She reached into the carton and pulled poker oyna out a strange apparatus. It was a white leather and rubber ensemble which she held in the air before me by a silver ring. It reminded me of an alien creature out of a cheap science fiction movie.
Dangling from the ring, it began as an eight inch slab of leather. From each long edge of that slab, dangled five narrow Velcro-lined straps. They were equally spaced and sewn into place. It reminded me of a spine. Attached to the end of the slab, opposite the metal ring was an expandable rubber ‘O’ ring. That in turn attached to a rubber disk, three inches in diameter. A large hard-rubber ring protruded from one side of the disk and a large rubber ball from the other. Sticking out from the rubber ball was a foot long rubber thread. The long antennae began thick as a thumb and tapered into a plumule. I stared at the terrifying lusus naturae and blinked in fretful curiosity, then looked to the secretary. She used her finger to push her glasses up her nose while instructing me to kneel in the center of a nearby chair, with my ass in the air.
I was shaking uncontrollably as I moved. I wondered if she had turned the air-conditioning on high, because it felt a lot colder than yesterday. I slowly swung my ass around, up to her and offered her my puckered rosette. I watched from over my shoulder as she donned a pair of latex surgical gloves and let them snap in place. Why did everyone let the latex snap? ‘Always with perfection’, I thought while watching her move. It was still degrading, offering a stranger my behind, my anus. No other part of my body seemed so intimate. My mouth opened when I saw her grease down the ball and its long tail. She looked into my eyes and finally smiled, while lubricating it in long washes.
“Now you hold perfectly still while I insert this Joey. Don’t move so much as a muscle,” she warned. The meaning of it hit home when she suddenly drove a couple well-lubricated fingers up into my rectum and wiggled them around. “Joey, relax your muscles. The ones around my fingers. You can do it, let me feel you,” she went on instructing as our eyes pureed together. Our minds merged through our eyes, with the depth of her fingers. Here was another woman I loved and I wanted to do all she demanded, but my behind was still a bit tense and knotted up. She smiled knowingly and slipped her fingers free with a giggle.
First I exhaled to the liberation, and then my eyes bulged from their sockets in surprise. I gritted my teeth when I felt the contraption’s tail forced up into my rectum. The secretary was turning it as she pressed it on and it felt like the sound of a long nail running down a blackboard somewhere inside of me. It was the strangest sensation I had yet experienced. The ball followed the tail, till the secretary found it up against my small hole. Having prepared the ball’s way, she was now determined to succeed. She twisted and turned the rubber sphere, while pressing it into my expanding dimple. She rammed, plunged and punched it with a fist, as she toiled and troubled to fit it in. ‘Twas only after a mighty workout and a displaced groan, that she succeeded and I felt the thread’s point penetrate deep inside. I couldn’t help crying to the pain of my sphincter’s surrender as she opened me enough to squeeze the ball inside. I exhaled, as my sphincter snapped shut around the thin neck of the ball, the area between the ball and the disk. I immediately fretted its extraction.
She next worked my testicles, one at a time through the expandable ‘O’ ring. I’d decided, no other feelings came near to the one generated by a woman’s hand manipulating a pair of testicles, whether playfully or painfully. Was it simply the combination of pleasure and pain, mixed with softness and conviction? Was it the thrill of knowing the engines of life, the furnaces of seed production were in the hands of the womb’s caretaker, controlled by those who play the part of both sower and reaper, stoker and engineer? I didn’t know, it was probably all of these and more, but my philosophy of life was inadequate. I guess to some men it is frightening, knowing they’re inferior to women in so many respects.
Two things dominated my mind at that moment and one was the secretary’s manipulation of my balls. She used both hands and all ten fingers with cruelty and canlı poker oyna love. It was almost as if she knew every vessel, duct and pressure point contained therein, and she abused them all. The other, was the long thin spike buried in my butt. Sure it seemed to twist with me, but I still felt as if I’d been pinned to the ceiling. I was made to stand and turn to face her, so she could pull the rest of the contraption out from between my thighs.
The long barb buried in bottom put and kept me on my toes. I looked at the secretary, with tear flooded eyes, bemoaning that long thin nail and the ball in my behind. She looked at me, as if it was I causing her discomfort. All I could dwell on was that stem and ball, its depth, size and discomfort. That long itchy stem that irritated and tickled the deepest recesses of my bowels, and the neck of the plug I was now force to gnaw, wrestled my mind to its knees.
My eyes followed hers down, to the slab of leather on which my throbbing hard-on now rested. I watched her take each pair of the spiny straps in hand, one at a time and pull them tight over the top of my boner. She melded their velcroed ends together and left me entrapped. They gripped my organ tight and made me look as if I were in a brace. From the tip and under the head of my penis hung the ring to which the secretary attached the end of a long leash. She made me hold the other end of the leash while she reached into the carton.
I was still trembling in anticipation of the day’s humiliation and tried giving up every idea I’d ever had. Every thought was sure to get in the way and interfere. I attempted to make my mind a blank slate, as unformed as my body and soul. I saw them all as mounds of clay awaiting the artist’s hand. I could no longer distinguish between fear and excitement, and I craved both, in a heavy, ‘gimmie a lot of it’ kind of way. Anticipation alone was enough to keep my penis rigid, gorging on blood, but the stem and ball helped. The secretary’s hand emerged with a white ball from which a pair of straps hung.
She had me move closer and brought the ball to my mouth. I opened my mouth mechanically and she began working it inside through my erupting ‘hhhhmmmpph’s’. She looked into my eyes as she worked at twisting and turning the ball. A big smile spread across her face when she accomplished fitting it past my teeth and inside. Then she reached behind my head with the strap ends and buckled them together. My mouth felt stretched uncomfortably and filled to bursting. Once again her hand dipped into the carton as I stood before her in tears. This was truly a most uncomfortable uniform.
The secretary’s hand came out holding a white fan collar that she placed around my neck. I did not like these collars because I couldn’t view myself, while everyone else could. There was something far too degrading about having one’s head on a platter. This one had a very long radius and a small neck that she cinched uncomfortably tight. It fanned out at my shoulders, pressed up on my chin and then went out in all directions about two feet.
The secretary stood before me looking over the edge of my fan, then she stepped back to view her work. I had to bend some, lowering the edge enough to see her standing in front of me nodding, with a big grin on her face and I felt so small. She went to the wall and switched on a lamp. It was a large professional studio flood and one entire corner of the office became as bright as a hot operating table.
“Joey, go stand in that light,” she ordered me in her loud snappish voice. I jumped into the air and dashed onto stage as fast as I could. The secretary picked up a camera from her desk and began taking pictures of me. I stood in the light, watching her move closer with camera clicking and wondered if this was proper. She kept yelling for me to look into the camera, to look shy, to smile and pout. “The women like to see pitiful faces of sad-eyed boys,” she said with another click. Then that beautiful lady had me turning my behind to the camera, bending over while holding my ass cheeks apart.
“Show me that butt plug. That’s it, hold the ring up for me,” she ordered while clicking away merrily. Next she had me sit back in a chair and put my legs up over its arms. I felt one of her hands engulf my entire left testicle and I went up shaking. I became tense and internet casino then quivered onto the pain, moving my ass forward with her pull and adjusting to every pressure. She guided my buttocks to the edge of the chair and released me when satisfied. After a dozen pictures of me like that and from as many angles, she made me kneel on the floor and crawl. She then had me lie on my back with legs spread, which was a bit difficult with the fan, and all while smiling from over its edge. The photo session lasted about thirty minutes and took up five rolls of film.
“Joey you’re adorable, I’ll have these developed immediately. I want to show my neighbors and I can’t wait to show the girls,” she said pointedly. She knew the photos bothered me and I worried about strangers seeing them. They were all disgusting and one was dirtier then the other.
The secretary again grabbed me by a testicle and yanked me to my feet. She moved me to the coat tree, snatched the leash end from me and hung it on one of the hooks with a severe warning.
“Don’t you dare pull this over!” She came near to me for a moment, very near, fabric against skin. I felt her breath. For a fleeting moment, I believed she would slip her long arms around me, pull me to her and we would kiss. But she left me standing alone and moved back to her desk.
I stood in another awkwardly embarrassing position, slowly adjusting to a new set of conditions, withering in the grasp of an alien contraption. How strange, to have one’s mouth and rectum simultaneously crammed with a large object, neither of which could be swallowed, nor expelled. How bizarre, to find my mouth forced to gnaw on an object while my sphincter did the same. I felt as if I was eating and shitting at the same time, yet could accomplish neither.
Another thing came tiptoeing suddenly into my mind, another troubling aspect of my new job. It was something that would lead me to the brink of disobedience no matter how well I defended against it. It was acres of quickly spreading itchiness. I’d ignored it till now, possibly because of the overwhelming circumstances in my new life. With so much happening at one time, with my body and mind surrendering to so many ruthless passions, my thoughts have had little time for themselves. But suddenly… for some reason, my mind tripped over it.
I felt it between my legs, along the crack of my ass, pervading my groin, my balls and cock. Up and down my entire body, the itching was suddenly screaming for my attention. It had begun as a whisper I easily dismissed once the secretary had dressed me. But now it was shouting, demanding recognition and standing here without moving only hurried its evolution. My mind began conjuring up images of perspiration droplets, blotches of dried and drying juices, the flaking crustiness, tightness, damp nooks and crannies where itches love to congregate and multiply.
I felt as if I’d been lanced, skewered through my bottom to mouth and laid out over an ant hole. Instinctively I worked my moist buttocks on the plug and my insides on the stem. Like a baby taking nourishment, I squeezed my sweaty cheeks together around the ring and gnawed on the neck of the contraption, which caused the itching to continue doubling in intensity. I dared not turn my head to see if the secretary was watching and I didn’t know how long I could keep my arms and hands at bay. I must have begun to look like the snake charmer’s pet, because she suddenly shouted a warning.
“Young man, I want to see you standing perfectly still. I do not wish to see you wiggling your behind at me or dancing about lewdly. This is not a night club, it’s an office and I expect you to act properly. Let this be your last warning Joey, stand still and keep your hands limp at your sides. I do not want to see your ass so much as twitch or I’ll take the cane to it.” I clenched my jaw around the ball gag, trying to ignore the long strands of saliva flowing from the corners of my mouth. The rivers of saliva tickled my chin, as they dribbled onto the fan collar. I dropped my head and resigned myself to my fate, even as my mind fought to abandon a swiftly running droplet of perspiration down my back. It was on a journey through the valley of my behind, onto, around and down past the neck of the butt plug. It ran between my thighs, past my balls, then down, down, down the inside of my leg, till it reached my ankle. Oh… if I could reach down and scratch just this one, then everything would be fine. Thankfully the door opened and someone entered, capturing the attention of my mind. I’ll bet that entrance meant my exit.
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