Date: Mon, 25 Aug 2008 21:40:55 +0000
From: holdon2@comcast.net
Subject: Gay male, Authoritarian, Unexpected Visitors--4

I had closed my eyes to try to think of other things, to try to get my mind
off of the multiple points of pain being inflicted on my body by the clamps
that had been set in place.  How much time passed, I didn't know, but I
opened my eyes to find the room empty and to the surprisingly abrupt
realization that my bladder was full.  I had not pissed since the coffee at
breakfast and the drugged water in the limo.  The realization was building
that if I could not get to a bathroom soon, I would just need to let lose.
I was vacillating between focusing on the pain from the clamps and the
discomfort from the pressure in my bladder when I heard the quiet shuffle
of feet, and the men reentered the room.  They had left their form fitting
black leather shirts and leather pants behind, and now wore only masks,
these hoods different than the ones they had worn earlier---a type of
shimmering black cloth, but still tight fitting and covering hair, ears,
forehead, cheekbones and nose.  Mouths and chins were exposed.  Eye slits
allowed for vision, and what a vision these men were!  Their rugged
handsomeness made me temporarily forget any pain or discomfort.  As they
once again surrounded the table on which I was tied, the tanned and toned
hairy skin, the muscles which gave such definition to chests, arms and legs
took my breath away.

That lovely distraction was only temporary.  No sooner had they encircled
the table than, one man at a time, they began to randomly remove one clamp
at a time.  I wouldn't have guessed, but quickly became fully aware, that
any pain I had experienced when the clamps were attached to my body was
minimal compared to what I experienced as each one was removed and the
blood flow returned to those points on my body.  The pain was exponentially
greater.  As much as I was able, I writhed from side to side. The clamps
were finally all removed.  I was shocked when a warm shower further
augmented the pain at each clamp site.  Only as an aftershock did I realize
that each of the stunning men around the table was holding his penis in his
hand and directing a strong flow of body temperature piss all over me.  I
could hold back no longer, and with a grimace let my own urine flow.  That
relief, along with the smiles I noticed on the faces of the men surrounding
me, mitigated somewhat the continuing pain from the removed clamps.

Movement caught my attention as each man reached below the table and
withdrew a small bowl.  Holding the bowl in one hand, each man reached into
it with his other hand and scooped out some aromatic gel.  They spread that
gel all over my body, from the hair on my head to my arm pits, to my chest,
to my groin and crotch to my legs and feet.  The sensuality of hands
rubbing the gel all over my body provided me with a huge erection and
helped to soothe away the remnants of pain from the clamps.  As the gel was
rubbed onto my skin, the residual wetness from the piss helped to form a
soapy covering all over my body.  Again with the reach below the table,
each man replaced his bowl and withdrew a straight razor.  Panic set in,
followed by humiliation as every hair on the front and sides of my body was
shaved.  I cried in embarrassment and frustration as the men removed a
symbol of my masculinity, paying special attention to every crevice around
my cock and balls.  Even as I wept, unable to stop what was happening to
me, my dick had a mind of its own and stood painfully erect in response to
the attention it was receiving.

A shower from somewhere above, this time of warm water, rinsed away
residual gel, soap and hair.  The men moved to the corners of the table and
began to undo the restraints that held my wrists and ankles in place.  I
tensed my muscles, thinking for a second I might be able to escape, but
realized rather quickly that I stood no chance against these six men, and
where would I run to?  I didn't know where my clothes were.  I didn't know
how to get out of the building.  So when the restraints were removed, I
allowed the men who held my extremities tightly to turn me onto my stomach
and reattach the restraints to my ankles and wrists.

The process repeated itself: The gel, the razors, the shaving--with
particular attention to the rest of the hair on my head and to the hair on
and around my ass, and finally the cleansing rinse of warm water.  I was
sure that I had been left without a hair on my body.

>From the place at the end of the table just beyond my head, a deep voice
again began to chant and was joined in response by other voices from around
the table.  When the chanting stopped, the voice at the head of the table
began to speak.

"You have experienced the pain of coming into a new world.  Like a hairless
infant, you are now made anew."  There was a long pause.  "Mr. Jones, do
you know the story of Alexander the Great and his best friend and lover
Hephaestion?"

I answered with a simple, "Yes."

"We who surround this table are part of an elite society that has, for more
than 2200 years, continued to celebrate the code of honor, passion,
commitment and bravery that was shared by those two men.  On each of
Earth's inhabited continents there is a group of seven men who work to make
the love which can exist between like-minded men a key element of their
individual and collective success, who work to defend men who are unjustly
treated because of their love for each other.  Each man in each group wears
a lambda on his body as an identifying sign.  Each man in each group comes
to love the other men in his group and makes his body available to each of
the others to use as they will.

"One's heritage, one's genealogy, traceable to certain well-established and
historically significant Balkan family lines is a major factor in
determining who ultimately is invited to join with us.  Emotional, mental,
physical love of men is also vitally important.  Business acumen plays a
role as well.

"Each group is financially very sound.  We have had wealthy members who
have left large amounts of money to us as part of their estates.  Others
who have been helped by us have shown their appreciation by means of
financial rewards.  Each of us works because we wish to work, not because
we need to do so.  Beyond earning his own salary, each member is granted an
annual stipend far in excess of monies required to conduct work in support
of those who need our help.

"Our North American group has lost a member.  Our seventh brother died six
months ago.  Your background, Mr. Jones, has been investigated more than
you know.  You meet our qualifications and have been chosen to fill that
place if you so choose.  If you choose to become one with us, you will
become caretaker of the one block row of seven 19th century brownstone
homes.  You are in the sub-basement of one of those homes now.  Each of us
is a caretaker of properties owned collectively by our group.  You may
conduct your computer graphics and design business from this building.
Funds to pay for the maintenance of all buildings and to pay for
governmental taxes are provided from our group accounts.

"We realize that you have already been marked.  We will give you one hour
to think, to consider, to determine your course of action.  It is no small
decision we ask you to make.  If you choose not to accept this unique
position, we will provide treatment with a skilled regression therapist
whose use of hypnotism will help you to forget what you experienced at home
and what you have heard and experienced here.  Before that therapy, we will
have your lambda scar removed by a brilliant plastic surgeon.  You will
have no visual or mental memory of what you have been through if you choose
to take the path to forgetfulness.  Your personal possessions have already
been gathered from the Crowne Plaza.  Everything is here in this building.
If you decide against joining with us, you will--after treatment--be taken
to the airport for the return flight to your home.  You have many
questions.  We understand.  These questions will be answered in time if you
decide to join in our cause.  You have one hour."

The implications and opportunities inherent in the decision I was being
called upon to make were mind-boggling.  Why should I want to give up the
comfortable life I had?  Did "comfortable" mean basically dull and boring?
Why should I commit to joining this group of men before I had verification
of what I had already been told and before I had answers to many more
questions?  What if I joined them and then later changed my mind?

When faced with a difficult decision, I always tried to make lists of pros
and cons.  Restrained as I was, I was in no position to make a literal
written list, so I weighed the pluses and minuses mentally.  I concluded
that IF everything I had been told so far was legitimate, then
opportunities to assist others, opportunities to build personal
relationships and opportunities to increase personal wealth would all be
enhanced if I made the move to Chicago.  My mind was still churning when
the six men again entered the room and surrounded the table.

"Your decision, Mr. Jones."

"I accept you offer."  Having uttered those four simple words, I had only
the slightest idea how radically my life would change.

I was unbound, and just as I breathed a sigh of relief thinking that any
ritual abuse was over, I was turned again onto my back, and my wrists were
refastened.  Legs, while spread, were not secured.  As a wedge shaped
section of the table on which I was spread was detached and rolled away
from between my legs, a cushion was placed under my head.  I now had a far
better view of the men surrounding the table and of the room itself.  Each
man wore only the cloth hood, and each body was an exceptionally fine
example of masculine form, well-muscled, all with hirsute chests, arms and
legs--some hair black, some brown, some red, some gray.  Their hairy bodies
stood in sharp contrast to my complete lack of hair.  As I glanced down the
length of my body, I realized that each man was stroking his own erection,
and the endowments on these men were considerable.

The man who stood at the base of the table and closest to my feet moved
into the area where the wedge had been removed from the table.  While still
stroking his erect penis with one hand, he reach beneath the table with the
other hand.  One man on each side of the table each grasped one of my
calves and pulled my knees toward my chest.  I knew where this was headed.
The man standing between my legs applied a lubricating salve to my asshole,
inserting first one finger, then two and three, opening me and preparing me
for what was to come.  He then stepped close, and there was no easing in.
With a sudden shove, his pubic hair brushed my ass.  The suddenness of the
invasion shocked me and I grunted aloud, even as he began to buck
powerfully against me.  The pounding my prostate was taking had my hairless
dick standing at full attention and leaking precum which was pooling on my
stomach.  My fucker began to sweat and his muscles tensed as he approached
his climax.  The tempo of
 his vo ice matched his pistoning hip movements as he said, "We claim you
as our own," just before he shot jet after jet of warm cum into my
receptive ass.  With adjustments to the table to meet each man's height,
this scene was repeated five more times, and five more times the statement,
"We claim you as our own," was heard in the room.  I was sure I was going
to shoot as my ass was rammed again and again, but whenever I would come
close, one of the men would reach out and squeeze the head of my dick,
temporarily relieving the need to ejaculate.

I was imagining the amount of cum in my rectum when I noticed the one man
who remained between my legs applying something to his hand and forearm.  I
hoped I was not about to experience something that had existed only in my
realm of fantasy.  My asshole had not totally closed from the six-fold
fucking I had just received, so when this man brought his pressed together
four fingers and thumb to my hole and started to tease that entrance, I
breathed a temporary sigh of relief.  Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as I
was anticipating.  Part way in and then out.  In an inch or two and then
out.  In again and twist.  The pairs of men to my right and left and the
one at the head end of the table took long feathers from under the table
and began to very lightly tease any area of expose skin--face, neck, ears,
sides, chest, stomach, dick, ass cheeks, thighs, shins, feet.  That
exquisite torture temporarily took my mind away from what was happening to
my asshole.  The hand had moved in to
  its w idest point.  I could identify by feel the large knuckles on top of
the hand, and my hole was stretched beyond what I would have thought
possible.  With one slick and swift move, the hand was inside of me and
immediately formed a fist.  I yelled out loud as I felt my sphincter clamp
around the wrist.  I was not in pain, but rather in shock because nothing
that large had ever been in my ass.  I relaxed into the fullness as the
feathers continued to work their magic.  The fist began to move, and the
pressure as it slid past my prostate was incredibly intense.  I was certain
I was going to ejaculate, but again, one of the men squeezed the head of my
dick and the urge passed.  As the fist continued to make its slow progress
into my bowel, the feelings were of fullness and of positive sensuality
along with occasional twinges of pain.  What had existed only in my fantasy
world was now a reality--a reality I would be willing to revisit.  After a
bit of twisting and gently punching, the forearm slowed retracted.  When
the fist left my asshole gaping, I was amazed at how much I missed the
feeling of fullness and completeness that I had just experienced.

The man who had just fisted me cleaned his hand and arm.  When he was
finished, he began to caress my balls, leaving me sighing in bliss.  The
caressing soon moved on to stroking, and from stroking to feeling and
manipulating.  He then encircled the scrotum with his hand and pulled the
balls downward, tightly trapping them with one hand.  He placed the palm of
his other hand beneath the balls and, pressing up, began to rub that hand
and the entrapped balls in circles.  Painful.  I reacted by starting to
move my legs about, so that they were once again restrained.  My ball
torturer then took a circular metal band and snapped it into place around
the scrotum.  The group of men moved clockwise around the table.  The next
man between my legs got down on his knees and engulfed in his mouth first
one and then both balls.  He tongued, bit and chewed and left me gasping in
pain.  Before he left, he added another circular metal band around my
scrotum.  Again, the clockwise move.  Each successive man squeezed, tapped,
flicked, smacked, sucked my balls and added a continuing series of metal
bands.  My scrotum was stretched beyond what I would have thought possible
and I was in pain almost to the point of nausea.

"We will leave you to recover for a short time.  When we return, we will
release you.  There is one further element of the induction."  With that
the six men left the room.  Restrained as I was, I tried to breath deeply
and focus on some of the questions I still had rather than on the pain
which still radiated from my testicles.

The men returned quietly, carrying moist warm towels.  The ball stretchers
were removed, I was released from the restraints and helped to stand.  Each
of the six men proceeded to gently and lovingly wipe every part of my body
with the towels.  By the time they had finished, they and I were all fully
erect.  We moved to the head of the table where a small golden bowl rested
on a richly carved and intricately inlaid short stand.  The lip of the bowl
was positioned at mid-thigh.  As if of one mind, the six men began to
masturbate over the bowl.  Without needing to be told to do so, I joined
them.  Because they had fucked me, the six were slower to come than was I.
My orgasm, when it happened, was the most explosive, mind blowing sexual
experience I had ever had.  Rope after rope after rope after rope of cum
jetted into the bowl.  The others soon followed.  Our collected essence
filled the bottom of the bowl.  One of the men took what had been an
unnoticed long-handled golden spoon from somewhere on the stand and stirred
the contents of the bowl.  The man to my left went first.  Without being
told to do so, he lifted the bowl to his mouth, sipped the contents, and
replaced the bowl on the stand with the words, "We are one," and with that,
he removed his hood.  The second man repeated the process and the words,
and when he removed his hood, I was delighted to see Jarod.  The third and
fourth men sipped and spoke.  The fifth, when he removed his hood, turned
out to be a Canadian member of the board of directors to which I had given
my presentation.  The sixth man was the biggest surprise, for when he had
spoken and removed his hood, there stood Ben, the state trooper.  I would
later learn that because of certain areas of professional expertise, he was
on loan from the California state police force, and would soon be returning
there.  The stories about previous marriages were bogus.  His presence left
little doubt as to who at least one of my first unexpected visitors had
been.

It was my turn.  I lifted the bowl, placed it to my lips, tipped it and
drained it.  Placing it back on the stand, I said, "We are one."  And so we
were.