A Pensive Drive - David
So, yes, I finally muster the fortitude, posting at the quirky CFNM message board that ‘Erecting Dave’ will attend the Halloween party... to finally become more than an internet inquirer of shy and naive questions.
Heading to Hamilton, I calm myself, mindfully reiterating the sole instruction that serves to assuage my concerns. Males will enter the side door of the private home... purportedly a mansion... and there will be a table piled with cloth hoods. My only assigned task will be to slip one over my head. From there, features covered, will come feminine control.
I will be stripped naked.
Once again the notion brings dichotomous thoughts... concern over recognition, my participation possibly ending my career... the odd joy in yielding to assertive women who take such delight in male comeuppance.
GPS makes the address easy to find. In nearing the house, a mansion indeed, the street is littered with cars. Many attendees are early... or so it seems. I am concerned with the bright lighting, deciding to park well away, my approach appearing to be that of a casual passerby should reservations develop or some interloper see my face.
Within moments, breathing heavily, the sidewalk brings me to the driveway. The side door beckons. I hear music and voices within the house. I see no one outside.
Concerns somewhat assuaged, I stroll quickly up the driveway. Upon entrance I am heartened to see the welcoming pile of cloth hoods. I immediately grab one and slip over my head, fingers adjusting to align the openings with my nose, mouth and eyes. No one has seen my face.
With that, from the top of a set of stairs, comes a female voice... firm... directing... casting no doubt who is in charge.
“Don’t dawdle. Get up here and be stripped.”
I look to see a shapely woman, age and other characteristics cloaked by the costume of ‘Wonder Woman’. I take a deep breath. Resigning myself, I ascend placing myself in feminine hands.
“Name?”
“Erecting Dave.”
“That’s Erecting Dave, ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
From a collection of stick-on labels, the woman finds my appellation, peeling it from the glossy base and firmly pressing it to the forehead of my mask.
“Go up the stairs. Get in line. Hope you’re wearing clothing easy to remove, as posted on the board. We tend not to waste time stripping a man. If tearing and cutting is needed... so be it,” nodding to where I see two men in wait outside of a doorway. “Hands on head. Do not touch yourself unless directed. No talking to other males. Wait your turn in silence. You’re here for the women.”
And so begins my evening of CFNM... clothed female... naked male.
The Party - Nicole
Such a beautiful home. Such decadent undertakings!
Donning a glittering white mask, friend Sarah guides me, Marie Antoinette, to a bedroom turned medical chamber... initially, I assume converted for the evening’s activities. But as I assess, some of the accouterments appear permanent, the home owners presumably engaging in kink more often than occasionally hosting the CFNM group.
A sizable gynecological chair centers the room, thick straps hint that its function is other than medical. Metal cabinets abound. Prominently displayed are catheters, enema bags and hoses, and other paraphernalia a homeowner normally maintains concealed.
Sarah, curiously comfortable in being unmasked, takes command, her level of familiarity hinting that it is not her first visit to the capacious abode. She steps to a cabinet, opens and withdraws various items, assembling with professional alacrity.
“Send one in,” she calls out, smiling in anticipation.
“Remember Marie... I’ll call you Marie to assure your anonymity... women are in charge. Men obey. When you strip them of their clothing you also strip them of their dignity... and any semblance of authority. Say anything you’d like... do anything you’d like. As a first timer you’ll be amazed at the level of submission... and I think a girl of your... ah... propensities will enjoy.”
A woman dressed as an Indian... probably Pocahontas... leads in what will be the first of a dozen or more naked males. She holds him by the hand... like a mother with a little boy.
Hooded, a white patch of paper stuck to the cloth at his forehead reads ‘Jack’. I must wonder if it is real name. The question is answered when I spy in small letters beneath the word ‘off’.
“Strap him down... let’s get to work. So many cocks... so many balls... so much needs to be revealed for inspection,” Sarah gleefully pointing to the chair.
As eery as is the man’s silence, the cooperation is telling. So meek... so obedient. Within moments Pocahontas has the man chaired, limbs strapped in place... wrists... biceps... thighs... ankles. Between spread open thighs dangles the male package.
Something within tells me to look away... not bring embarrassment to the man with visual examination. But then I realize... this is what he wants... what he craves. And sure enough as Sarah approaches with a basin of warm soapy water, the penis... modest in size... twitches and begins to firm.
“Good,” quips Sarah, “get it out of the way of the razor.”
She pauses, staring intently, her glare obviously abetting tumescence. For the appendage grows and grows and finally points to the ceiling.
“It functions,” Sarah turning her head to me, “but it’s so tiny... unlikely to do a woman any good. But that’s why at most of these parties we have the likes of Jack masturbate for us. Isn’t that right Jack... off? You’re the number one wanker... or at least try to be.”
Flesh at the neck reddening, there is no doubt the words bring blushing embarrassment, the face beneath the hood I am sure turning crimson. But what is also without doubt... it is welcomed... the humiliation.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I so much like jerking off for you... and the other women.”
Sarah applies soap, a straight edged razor whisks away a mat of short hair, evidently the pubes area recently shorn. At the last party?
Deed completed... neat, clean and professional... Sarah towels, handling the organs like the fruit of her allusion. Not a word of objection, even when testicle right then left is gently squeezed in close examination, the acquiescence is notable.
Finally there comes baby oil, bringing a sheen which attracts. Desired? Judging from the enhanced stiffness I would think yes... the need so warped.
“You’re going to really enjoy yourself tonight, Jack. Though you’ll not be jerking yourself off, you’ll not be disappointed... one of the other guys will be doing it for you. Mutual masturbation under feminine control. Bring you a sick thrill? It’s a contest... whoever comes first gets spanked. I have no doubt you’ll do your best to be quickly spewing like a whale... as disgusting as you are.”
Sarah strolls to a sink and readies for the next naked male. Pocahontas releases the straps. I smile as in standing and moving to the door, the erection of the shaven Jack bobs about, readied to present itself to the cheering cadre of clothed women downstairs.
Next enters a tall man of color, build impressive, muscling toned. A thick penis swings about between thighs of tree trunks, the tip almost thumping his knees.
An alpha male, that of Sarah’s desires, he moves with noted confidence to the chair. At his forehead, the white patch of paper reads ‘Thumper’.
Aptly named.
