(You may ask if I have embellished the details of this story. I may tell you yes and no. Time and an active fantasy life tend to emblazon some things and to shade others. In some places I fill in the gaps. If my story interests you please feel free to write and encourage me to pen chapter three. In fact, any comments are welcome. Thanks, Phil)
The Professor (chapter two)
The pointer vibrated nervously, as I moved it slowly, pausing, my breath held fast, my heart rate beginning to rise. It had been two days; check that, it had been thirty two hours since I had fallen exhausted and muddled onto my bed, after returning from the professor. For the first four hours following my vague drive home I had slept like the dead then rose to an existence that now seemed foreign despite being surrounded by everything I knew. Fighting thoughts that threatened to become memories I drew myself a steaming bath and eased into what I hoped would cleanse my soul. My hands wandered over my wrists and ankles. They were unmarked. I reached beneath the surface tentatively exploring the cheeks of my ass, as if they belonged to someone else and with all of the courage I could muster distended my middle finger to drag it lightly over my anus. There was no pain, no unexplained soreness and to my relief, no gaping hole. Bits and pieces of the previous night danced through my mind, too real to be imagined, but with the absence of physical proof I knew I could push it aside and somehow bury it all. I pushed against the muscles of my sphincter and felt them tense against the intrusion. "It didn't happen," I said to the empty room and began to furtively wash the memory from my body, soaping and rinsing over and over again.
Wednesday I spent on a roof completing a shingling contract. The labor intensive work distracted me from any thoughts of Tuesday or the professor. Dinner with my aging grandmother further relieved my underlying tension. By ten p.m. I had bathed again, in a more normal manner and was settling into bed. My body was exhausted, but my mind held other ideas. It knew the truth and more so it remembered and focused on one specific point, my surrender. It didn't matter that I had been duped and surely drugged. It didn't matter that I had fought with what little will I possessed. As my breathing eased and eyes closed it looped one long moment over and over in my semi-conscious state. I felt the blood stir in my loins, as I panned the scene before me; knees held easily to my shoulders, my feet bouncing freely with each accepted thrust, my mouth hanging open, audible grunts escaping as skin slapped skin. I reached beneath the sheet and held my full erection. My knees spread and rose imitating the picture in my head. Warm fingers circled my girth and began the familiar motion I had learned at thirteen. In only seconds' hot ropes of semen splashed over my belly and chest. "No, I silently screamed as my coated hand slid from its short work, "I am not gay, I am not gay, I am not gay."
Thursday morning I spent on the phone discussing work with clients and suppliers working up two estimates neither of which belonged to the professor. As far as I was concerned I had seen the last of him and his jobs. I had awakened somewhat rested and resolved to put the entire incident from my mind. At noon I went on line to price materials and checked into my e-mail account. There was one new message from an unfamiliar address, but the subject line caught my breath half way to my lungs. "Phil, you are very photogenic." I prayed I was wrong as I clicked open the message.
"I expect you by six, don't be late," followed by the names and addresses of my closest kin. There were three attachments; all jpeg's titled good, better and best. My mouth went dry. My heart pounded. Holding my breath like a drowning man I opened "good." The picture was snapped from behind and to the left. I was naked except for thick leather cuffs, my wrists fastened together behind my lower back, my face in profile. I stared at the image, stunned. Every hair, muscle and contour was in perfect focus. My mind raced trying to believe that he wasn't me. I recalled no camera, no flash. I shuttered as I opened "better," a full frontal pose, prone on my back, cuffs in place, thighs spread, my own left hand cupping my balls, my penis fully engorged. My expressionless eyes stared directly into the lens. I slid the pointer to "best" and opened the final shot. I cannot tell you what I thought or if I thought. My movements had become robotic. I lay facing the camera holding my own knees wide in a lurid pose, my anus stretched, filled and oozing the milky substance that could have only been one thing. I stared at the soles of my own feet, my eyes following upwards, a languid drop of sperm posing for a fall, my semi-hard cock pointing to my navel, my brown eyes focused on someone beyond the lens.
Mentally, I was a wreck. I clicked from one picture to the next, as if they were going to somehow magically change. They did not and the longer I stared the more confused I became. None of this fit the image I had of myself. I had been a life long athlete whose aggression bordered on recklessness. I was a twice divorced father of two. Never had I found myself attracted to men, yet I had masturbated to the mental image of my surrender and my helplessness. My pulse raced and I found it increasingly uncomfortable to sit with the slowly growing erection in my jeans.
By five o'clock I was finishing a previously unopened bottle of wine I had dug from the ice box. A thousand scenarios had played out in my head. I was being threatened and wanted to be angry, to respond with my own threats. I was younger and stronger, yet I was preparing myself to submit even as those very thoughts raced through my mind. I knew that I couldn't lie down for him sober and had no idea if he would drug me a second time. I tossed the spent roach out of the window as I pulled into his driveway. My balance was precarious as I stepped from my truck and my vision beginning to become impaired. As I reached for the bell the massive door opened. The professor stood before me dressed much as I remembered from my previous time there. His gray eyes seemed to bore through me and reach into my soul. My mouth went dry and all the words I had planned stuck in my throat. He led me in silence to the same sitting room where my ordeal began and seated me in a single cushioned chair. I fell back heavily. Without warning his voice boomed through the room bouncing off the vaulted ceilings to surround me. He ranted about my condition and admonished me for showing up drunk threatening to make good his promise to distribute the pictures. I couldn't muster a reply, my eyes cast down like a cowling child in his presence.
His voice reached me from some distance away in low and muddled tones. I had finished the coffee. I could feel the cup still circling my finger. I had prayed it was drugged and not meant to sober me up. The room came in and out of focus. A touch to the sides of my head caused me to loose the dream I was chasing. I managed to force open my drooping lids just as the blindfold slipped into place, plunging me into total peace and darkness. My arms hung limp at my sides. I felt them raised as my shirt was removed, followed quickly by my shoes, my socks and my sweats. I couldn't move a muscle, as hands lifted my arms and legs. I felt as if I was weightless and tried to count the hands that carried me, too many hands I thought and too many voices. The hands were gentle, caressing my legs and chest, lingering here and there, rubbing me softly. I could hear water running and felt warm and safe. Occasional laughter or muffled conversation distracted me. Was it two voices or three, I wondered, as warm water soothed me? Again, I found myself weightless, no doubt being carried, but at the time I was flying. A soft warm surface grew beneath my back. Firm hands pulled my arms and legs until I was stretched to form an x. I felt the touch of the stiff leather fastened to my limbs.
Something warm and wet covered my nipple and began a gentle pressure. I heard myself moan as teeth nibbled at the sensitive flesh. A hand stroked my cock and another tugged gently at my balls. My erection felt enormous. I wanted to cum. I tried to arch my back as warm lips enveloped the head of my penis accompanied by laughter that I didn't understand. An odd weight settled onto my chest pinning my shoulders to the bed as a hot spongy object pushed between my lips. Voices encouraged and instructed me. When I sucked I felt the result in my own engorged cock. My tongue worked in unison with the gentle thrills that lifted my hips. I needed release, but was denied satisfaction, so close, so often, but without success. The weight shifted. The cock in my mouth grew in girth. The texture seemed to constantly change, once thin and long pushing into my throat, then so wide that it stretched my jaw painfully. I heard the voices in my head telling me to swallow and always the tugging sensation at my swollen nipples. I felt my anus teased and entered repeatedly. The voices carried on above me and the laughter often accompanied the raising of my hips, as the night moved slowly around me.
As I relive that second night of submission, in these lines I remember details in a fuzzy reality. The invisible hands concentrated on opening my anus while maintaining my erection. For long moments each stroke of my eager cock was matched by a simultaneous pushing into my bowels. I was released form the bindings long enough to be flipped onto my belly. Soft pillows were wedged beneath me leaving my head lower than my bottom, my face sandwiched to the mattress. Hairy thighs pressed against mine and strong hands held me in place as I was mounted from behind. I knew when they switched positions. Nothing mattered but getting off and I couldn't. I wasn't allowed that pleasure until they were through with my body.
My last thought inside the professor's house was of hot streaks of cum exploding onto my chest. Some of it was my own. I woke fully dressed and slumped over in the seat of my truck. The sun was not yet up, but the sky in the distance said it would not be long. I backed out of the drive and limped home falling into bed and not rising again until after noon. I stumbled to the bath and lifted my shirt gently over my head the material scraping my sore nipples. I glanced at the mirror and found my eye lashes black with thick mascara. My lips were fire engine red. I was aghast at the face that stared back at me. Dropping my sweats I found my boxer briefs replaced with a sheer red g-string. I looked down at my smooth legs, muscled and hairless. Except for the hair on my head, I was completely depleted of all body hair including my pubes. My penis looked like a twelve year old boys. I lifted my arms and felt smooth skin, sliding my hand down over my chest. My nipples were swollen and bruised. I squeezed them gently and felt a stirring in my loins as I stepped into the heated water and eased myself into it. Whoever I was when I left the day before no longer existed, at least not as I had known him. My hands traced the freshly cleaned flesh of my thighs and gripped my rising penis. Slowly, I began the ritual of teen passage bringing myself closer and closer to sweet release.