The Maven Convention

The Maven Convention

Dinner

I met Phyllis and Trey over dinner the first night of the convention. I chose to sit at their table out of curiosity. Most attendees showed up at the resort a day before activities commenced to register, get their room assignments and familiarize themselves with the grounds and amenities. The first evening's dinner was a get-to-know-you social event as well as an opportunity for the organizers to welcome attendees and go over the ground rules and events scheduled for the following two days.

There were fifty to sixty women in attendance that night, not counting the organizers and staff. More women attendees were expected either later that evening or the following morning. But scattered in among the women that first evening at dinner were a dozen or so men who had been invited, or brought by their wives or partners.

I understood that there were a good many more men who had been recruited or who had volunteered, some recommended by their local groups based on their performance at local chapter events, who would be made available (that, I learned, was the preferred term, they were 'available') for use at the various scheduled events. But, by the organization's rules, only those 'escorted' by an official attendee (a woman) were allowed to join us for dinner.

I had come to the convention to gather materials for a blog article I was intending to write exploring the newish fad of CFNM (standing for 'clothed female naked male') erotic entertainment. I signed up as an attendee without mention of my writing plans and was hoping to pass myself off as 'one of the girls' and get some candid and casual feedback from participants without making them feel they were being interviewed. It seemed from the brochure there would be plenty of opportunity for this with the women as the weekend progressed. But the posted rules for male 'participation' in the planned convention 'events', seemed to limit opportunities to get a male perspective on things (at least an articulate one) during the events themselves. So, seeing this couple seated together at one of the tables with a place open next to them, I sat down, and introduced myself to Phyllis and Trey.

I'm not sure what I expected, but, to my surprise, at least initially, there were no surprises as we churned through the typical 'get to know you' chatter. They were from Massachusetts, near my own former stomping grounds, and we made some inconsequential small talk while other female attendees joined our table, introduced themselves and settled in.

Phyllis is an expert in software design with a consulting business. Trey an IT specialist for an insurance firm just outside of Boston. They're both in their thirties, look put together and fit; like they actually use their gym memberships. Phyllis is pretty in a mousy sort of way and even though Trey is not a swooner, he's decent looking. Turns out Phyllis had been one of three founding members of her local Boston Chapter and had met Trey when he volunteered for one of the group's early events.

They seemed off hand with this revelation. But even though I had 'known' in my head something of the sort must be true, this first mention of Trey's 'volunteering' to . . . Well, it somehow jars with my sense of how ordinary this encounter seems otherwise. This could have been my opening to pursue my research topic, but instead I find myself recoiling into more small talk and learn that they had been married five years and had a two-year old daughter.

Such pleasantries out of the way, I finally pluck up the nerve to turn to matters of more immediate interest.

"So," I ask Phyllis, "you both still, I mean, you are obviously," just ask! I scold myself silently, "but Trey is still active in the local chapter events and you've brought him to be . . ." I pause not quite knowing how to phrase this, but,

"Available for use this weekend." Phyllis finishes for me. "Absolutely." glances around the table at the other women, some who have joined us as we talked, before turning to Trey. "Why else?" she asks him rhetorically.

"Oh, not for my scintillating dinner conversation?" Trey jokes easily. "Guess I'll have to earn my keep some other way, won't I?"

They both laugh.

"So, you have him available," a woman across from me, Meg according to the helpful name tags, asks, "take him with you to events like this as part of your relationship?"

Phyllis and Trey exchange amused glances at this before Phyllis says, "Well, we have a relationship, obviously, we're married, so I guess anything we do is part of that. But; 'have him'?, 'take him'?" she pauses, raises a skeptical brow, "I guess I'd leave the having and taking of him to you all, depending on what suits your fancy over the weekend. We have a good time doing this together but . . ." she shakes her head, "it's not like I'm leading him around on a leash. He's got his own reasons for being here. He did need my invite to come to dinner, but that's just . . ." she waves a hand dismissively, "convention etiquette, I guess."

"So then, he's not a sub, really." Meg follows up and I make a mental note to keep track of terminology here.

Phyllis frowns, "Well, not over dinner anyway. He's plenty compliant when in use, but games don't start till tomorrow."

"So then, tomorrow, you'll have him . . ." another, name-tagged Joan, starts but,

"Jesus, girls!" Phyllis interrupts with a snort. "Why are you asking me this stuff? He's right here. Ask him. He isn't shy."

And, indeed this proves true. But, at least at first, the other women at the table seem somewhat reticent to take the matter of his availability up directly with him rather than through Phyllis' mediation. But I had my own reasons for pursuing this.

I had consulted the on-line registration site for the convention and was aware of the "Maven General Rules and Principles"; a sort of code of expected conduct that supposedly applied to all Maven events:

For Attendees (women)

1) No nudity (full or partial)

2) No sex with the males when in use.

3) Respect for other attendees;

Take turns

Share

Include everyone

4) Participate;

Join in using the males

Encourage others

For the Entertainment (males)

1) Full nudity at any or all times as instructed

2) No approaching, touching or speaking to any female unless directed or invited.

3) Be available for any female to approach, touch or examine in any way she wishes.

4) Perform as directed by any female, including but not limited to;

Achieving and maintaining erection

Assuming any position as directed for display or other use

Masturbating as and when directed.

Masturbating to ejaculation only as and when directed.

Promptly performing any service requested.

Overall, these 'General Rules and Principles' were helpful and reassuring. Even as a complete newbie, I felt fairly safe coming without worrying about ending up in an orgy or being subject to unwanted advances by any of the men. But beyond that, even the very clear instructions for the men left a lot of room for speculation; were they really supposed to do just anything or perform any service requested? Surely there had to be limits to the 'including but not limited to' expectations. So, when the other women seemed reticent,

"Trey," I get his attention, "you'll be part of the entertainment then, this weekend." I say, really not a question because that's clear already from what went before.

He turns my way and nods. "Yes, Sarah." he says, using my name I notice without having to look down at my name tag. "I hope you'll find it entertaining at least." smiles.

"Yeah, on that. I was looking through the events in the brochure before dinner." I say, "Not really too clear on what's involved in the various events. Is that usual for this sort of . . ."

"We keep it that way on purpose." Phyllis interjects. "We like to keep things general so there's room for surprise, especially for the males. Makes it more interesting when they aren't sure what's next for them."

The 'males'; the term strikes me as slightly odd when used in regular conversation with one of them sitting right here; not 'men' but 'males'.

"So then," I focus back on Trey, "you don't know what you'll be . . ." I pause, unsure of the proper terminology for this, decide to go with Phyllis' earlier, "made available for?" I ask.

"Not exactly." he gives me that smile again. "I mean the event categories are pretty general; they give you a certain set up and type of activity to expect. But," he glances around the table briefly at the other women, "they do like to surprise us with new arrangements and even if they announce one thing, things don't always run to script. The women often have their own ideas to make things more entertaining." his smile broadens as he looks at me more closely. "First time?" he guesses.

"Yes, actually." I admit. Why not, if it helps get me more info. I've read and researched this online to prepare, but I've never attended even a local event or a 'hen party' (as they are sometimes called), let alone a gathering of this size and elaborate set up.

"Oh, darling, you're in for a treat." a slightly older looking woman directly across the table from me (name tag; Amy) says breathily. "What a grand way to start."

Start? Hmmn. I am very curious and, okay, somewhat excited about this; seems like it could be fun; some of it anyway. But I'm here to get materials for my blog, not take up a new hobby. Or, at least, I don't think so. But I don't want to tell them that. It's fine they know I'm a newbie. But beyond that I just want to be one of the girls and not get people uptight or ostentatious by thinking they're being interviewed or 'observed' for publication. So, what I say is,

"Yeah. Seems so." and shrug before getting back to Trey with, "But looking at the brochure, it seems like there's a few places where there's two events going on at once, like," I fish into the pocket of my jacket that hangs on the back of my chair, pull the brochure out and spread it on the table, "here," I say, "there's a 'High Tea' and a 'Lounge Act', both at 3:30 p. m. tomorrow. So, different guys will be in different things depending on . . . well, I guess that's my question. Do you know in advance who's in what?"

"That depends." he answers. "Sometimes they'll select you specifically for something because it requires a certain aptitude or" he pauses, smiles a bit sheepishly, "or whatever you want to call it. But that's up to them. For us men it's more about, if there's something you know you're just really not into, you can let the organizers know and they'll work with that, at least usually. But if you sign up for this you can't get too picky or it's just not fun for the women. They want to be in charge and run things; that's kind of the point. The men know that coming in; that's the turn on for us. So, if the women get some idea in their heads about something they want to try . . ." he spreads his hands, shrugs. "I guess you could always just say 'no', but no guy wants to be 'that guy'. We want the women in charge. That's why we're here."

I'm somewhat surprised by his openness, almost nonchalance on the topic considering what I've read and seen on line. There's certainly a broad range of potential activities within the genre, more than a few of which I suspect would require what Trey casually calls 'certain aptitudes' or, to my mind at least, a certain tolerance for discomfort both physical and psychological. His seemingly casual confession of 'That's the turn on' emboldens me somewhat.

"So where should I be looking for you tomorrow?" I ask, making things a bit more personal by putting myself in the audience as part of the question, "High Tea or the Lounge Act?"

"Don't know yet." he says. "I'd rather be in the lounge. At least I think I would," he and Phyllis exchange what seem to be meaningful glances, "if it's anything like last year."

Phyllis smiles.

He turns back to me. "But, asking around, and what I know from our Boston group, it seems there's been a surge of interest expressed in one feature of last year's Lounge Act so the organizers have made an effort this year to recruit more males with that event and some others like it specifically in mind. Depending on how many they managed to get, they may have enough of us suitable for that, so maybe they won't need me there. But I'm happy to do either. Like I said, the thing is to have the women in charge."

"I'd prefer you in the lounge where I'll be." Phyllis says. Then to me. "High Tea is a little too low key for my taste." she shrugs, then, back to Trey, "If they give you a choice, I'd much rather see you used by these nice ladies that way." she says with a meaningful glance around the table.

The 'nice ladies' smirk knowingly and nod in acknowledgment of Phyllis' proprietary preference for the 'use' of her husband. I nod as well, feigning nonchalance, but feeling as if I'd suddenly stepped through the looking glass. It's one thing to see and read on the internet about men and women who do this stuff. But those knowing, slightly condescending smirks from these women . . .

"What sort of event is it?" I ask Trey. "I mean, what sort of aptitude" I adopt his phrase, "are they looking for, recruiting for exactly? What happens in the Lounge Act?" I'm rambling because I'm feeling out of my depth which always makes me nervous. "I can't tell anything really from the brochure. It just says," reading from the brochure now, "'Back by popular demand from members, a reprise of last year's equestrian competition. A chance to vet and wager on a new set of jockeys as they mount and ride to the finish.' I mean, I know that's code for something, and I definitely get the finish part, but what's the equestrian part? This is a Lounge act, right?"

"Right." Trey confirms. "But I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for you if you haven't already . . ."

"Oh, no, no, don't!" Amy interjects again from across the table. "Don't let him spoil it darling. It was a new thing they started just last year and they made it just as vague then, and I had all these wild ideas about what might be involved. Trust me, it'll be so much more fun for you to find out once you get there. And besides," she adds giving Trey a meaningful look, "I'm told by reliable sources that there are some refinements this year that allow a lot more audience participation. Hmmmm?" she leans forward and hmmms at him suggestively.

I watch Trey's expression, think I see a slight crack in that smooth, cordial exterior before he says, "Sure. More interesting that way."

"Exciting you mean." the woman beside me - yet another Meg -- interjects.

Trey turns her way.

"More exciting for you," the woman says, "audience participation."

"Yes, Meg." Trey agrees. I note again he does not seem to look at her name tag but still gets it right. "That does excite me. Why else would I be here." he snorts as if rehearsing the obvious.

But the dynamic has shifted.

For the rest of dinner, as far as Trey and my table companions are concerned, the games have already started. The 'nice ladies' initial reticence had at first made me feel somewhat bold and risqué asking my newbie questions. But it quickly becomes obvious that they had simply been observing a sort of etiquette among dominant women, waiting for Phyllis to signal clearly Trey's status as either dinner companion or 'entertainment'. She had sent mixed signals at first, perhaps to emphasize her proprietary claims. But once Phyllis sets the tone with her 'see you used by these nice ladies' comment, my dinner companions avidly accept the invitation; his wife is making Trey 'available for use' over dinner.

This may not be the proper setting for physical nudity, but the nice ladies proceed to verbally undress and expose him. Every now and again during this process, Phyllis or one of the other women will look my way and ask if I don't have a question for Trey myself. But I am entirely unprepared to wade into the depths - and shallows - of obscene euphemism, casual carnality, and explicit sexuality these nice ladies mix so readily with (to me) disconcertingly ordinary 'get to know you' dinner conversation.

So I learn, among other things and in no discernable order of priority, that Trey is circumcised, is 7 1/2 inches when erect; that Meg missed coming last year because she had to attend her daughter's wedding; Phyllis and Carol knew each other in college; Trey enjoys certain BDSM type activities including, apparently, being tied down on the bed and face ridden by Amy (or, at least he agrees 'that sounds good' when she asks him if he'd like her to); Carol wanted to bring her daughter but she doesn't turn 18 until next month and the organizers wouldn't make any exceptions; the coffee in the dining room is not as good as what you can make yourself in the lobby; Trey thinks his 'come shot' is "pretty good but not a show stopper", which Phyllis confirms adding that, "You may have seen the video sample from last year's equestrian events; got two out of him." then, "He's often good for two or more in a session depending on the use made of him", at which the nice ladies offer their congratulations; to her, not him, and one, eyeing him more closely now; "Oh, I do think I recognize him now. Hard with his clothes on but . . ."

"Multiple cumshots; that must be convenient in smaller groups where there aren't as many males to keep things going." Meg speculates.

Phyllis nods.

Meg's ex (the Meg across from me, not the one beside me) has gone to law school since they broke up, but the 'asshole' never had any ambition when they were together; Trey will sometimes come from anal stimulation alone and

"My, that could be entertaining." Carol says. "Well, as long as he could be prompt with it. I hate it when they just go on gasping and groaning but can't make it happen." Carol rolls her eyes.

"Really," Amy agrees, "as if we had all day just for them."; and so on.

This mix of the mundane and the blatantly sexual strikes me as posturing or role playing; the casual tone seemingly designed to emphasize the entitlement of the 'nice ladies' to sexually objectify Trey while at the same time treating it and him as unexceptional; as if even such (to me) intimate items as his 'come shot aptitude' are of no more significance than the quality of the coffee in the lobby.

They're all clearly enjoying this dynamic, Phyllis in particular, and I guess this shouldn't surprise me given why the nice ladies are here and that they are all evidently fairly experienced at this. But it's entirely beyond me to participate without feeling awkward. So, I retreat into my impersonal 'I need this for my blog' defensive shield and try to focus on getting a clearer picture of upcoming events.

However, to my mild irritation, Amy successfully lobbies the table to keep me in suspense about the content of the various events aside from what I can glean from the brochure. This may be the nice ladies' idea of good-natured fun, but it feels like a form of ritual hazing for the newbie.

To be fair, they don't know (and I still don't want to tell them) that I'm trying to gather info and materials to write an article on this CFNM trend that seems to be migrating from a fetish niche in internet porn to a real world amateur past time with various local groups, clubs and organizations putting together 'events' for their members. People get weird when they think they're being interviewed and given my own ambivalence about having my attendance here made public under anything but my blog nom de plume, I worry they might refuse to talk to me at all.

Ground Rules

Dinner dishes are being cleared by the wait staff and people are grabbing desert and coffee from the buffet when Adriene C. Rhodes, convention coordinator, mounts the small dais at the front of the room and taps the podium microphone.

"This on, Janet? Is this . . . Oh yeah," when she hears her voice amplified into the room. "Ladies, guests, welcome and can we, yes, Ladies and Guests, good evening and welcome to the third annual gathering of the Mavens' Guild. At this time, I would ask that all of our male dinner guests gather up their things and take their leave before we begin with members' business and announcements. Lovely to have you all here gentlemen, and don't worry, I'm sure we'll all be seeing much more of you this weekend, but for now . . ." it's a lame joke but it gets the perfunctory, accommodating convention crowd laughter; ha, ha.

Trey leaves us. The few other men in the room pick up their coats and half-finished coffees and head for the exits. It takes a minute or so, then the doors close and,

"Welcome again ladies. You know, three years ago when we started this, we never imagined . . ." and so on with the typical self-congratulatory drivel and name dropping; shout outs to "Jennifer Walls, of the Milwaukee group" and 'so and so' and 'her and her' who've done this and that to make this all possible. (applause, applause). And who would have imagined that today "we'd have over seventy-five attendees from 15 full local chapters and 4 new sub groups all here under the Maven umbrella to celebrate and enjoy the Maven way."

I'm expecting more obligatory applause but am surprised to hear some real enthusiasm, including a few hoots and yips of approval from our table. Well, okay, I guess you would have to be into this or you wouldn't be here.

Adriene doesn't want to bore us with any long speeches but there are a few housekeeping matters she needs to go over. First, even though it is the off season, we are not the only guests at the resort. There are apparently designated areas, "very well marked and set off", reserved for convention activities.

"If some non-attendee guest wanders in on something, well, that's not our problem. Resort staff is supposed to be policing hallways and doorways to direct folks appropriately. But ladies, I know things can get a bit enthusiastic as the weekend wears on, and particularly with your private time, which we don't want to discourage, within reason. More on that in a bit. But we really need to restrict Maven entertainments and activities to our designated areas, or, if so inclined on your free time, to the privacy of your own rooms. And that includes using some discretion going to and fro." She looks sternly, "Appropriate civilian attire and no leashes in the hallways?" she suggests archly.

General laughter.

"Management here has been great." she says, "But we do want to be able to come back in future if this works out."

Next, she turns to "the males" as she calls them. She says she doesn't have a complete roster yet as some are still expected to arrive this evening. But in any event "we have a good stock, between thirty-five and . . ." turning to, "Janet" just off dais, "we're at? Thirty-seven and three or four more still, if they all . . ." back to the audience, "So yes we'll be right around forty,"

Applause and hoots from the audience.

"Yes, that's a good number, but again, as we remind every year, they're made available for shared use and enjoyment. This is our time together to make new friends and connections. Be considerate, take turns, include everyone. I know you all know this, but it can be hard sometimes, when things get going to remember they're here to share. There's plenty for all of us to have a good time without . . ." she waves the rest off. "Nuff said, but you know I need to just get that out and" sigh.

Then brightening, "But the males!" she enthuses. "I really think you'll be very pleased with the selection we have for you. Now, we heard you last year; too much Abercrombie and too little Joe the bartender. So, we went back to the local Chapters for recommendations on their more popular and reliably entertaining males with an eye towards variety and performance. Based on their recommendations we've reached out and invited select males from all over the country who I think you'll agree provide an interesting mix. Now, don't worry, we still have a good stock of the gym rat, puff pieces for you. But we've made an effort to expand the range of body type, package size and even age; we've got one at fifty you'll have some fun with. We haven't gone overboard with it, nothing obese or carnivalesque; they're all good, healthy specimens with good performance recommendations. But I think you'll find the variety more entertaining. Or at least that's our hope based on the feed-back we got last year. But, as always, let us know if it isn't what you had in mind or if you'd prefer more or less of some type in the mix in future. We're always open to suggestions for improvement.

"Finally, now, just one more word about the males. I know we all come to these events to let our collective hair down and have a little Maven fun, and that, obviously, includes enjoying their excited anxiety and occasional discomfort as we use them in various ways to amuse ourselves. And yes, they all volunteered for this, eagerly I might add, so they have no expectation of being coddled. But, all that said, please do remember the limitations. The events are set up and intended to assure there's no injury or damage done to our stock. If some apparatus is set up in a particular way for use, please don't innovate in ways that make things more physically extreme or could risk injury. And even within the confines of the event set ups, please bear in mind that confronting them with the unexpected and making them anxious is all good fun, but we don't want things to go so far as to discourage their participation."

She pulls a sad face, as, holing one hand up in front of her, her fingers vertical, she winces meaningfully at the audience, as her fingers slowly dip and curl forward in mocking imitation of a wilting erection. The audience loves it; hoots and laughter and mock moans of condolence for the imagined, wilting male. But then, after a moment,

"With this many males," she continues, "there's inevitably a range of tolerances and past experience and it's always fun to see them respond when put to use in ways they haven't experienced before. And trust me, there's more than a few new events here that you'll have the pleasure of breaking in a good many males on for their first time. So please be alert to this, follow the lead of the staff and other organizers who have done their best to select males for the various events with your entertainment in mind. We've done our best to judge where the limits are, but if it appears one or more of them needs a bit more inspiration to perform, please use encouragement and persuasion as necessary to gain compliance. I repeat, they have no expectation of being coddled; they want to be persuaded, they want to submit; but we all know the wonders a few sluty words can work, for instance. So be firm, but be encouraging."

"Now, back to your private time activities. If a male agrees to accompany you to a private session, that's all well and good and we're not trying to discourage that or limit how you use them in other ways. But we've been careful to space and order events and activities to keep our males fresh and responsive for group entertainments. So please do be respectful of other members' use and enjoyment. Even if you think a particular male has ejaculatory stamina to spare, the proper place to make use of that is for the amusement of the group as a whole. All males need some downtime to relax, eat, hydrate and rest between events to be at their best for the group. So please, again, try to be respectful of other members.

"Some of you commented on the cost of this year's event compared to last, so just a word on that. You will notice a lot of the events are similar to last year. But you'll also see there are a range of new things; some new or improved apparatus available for many events. There's a swing set up for the plenary session that I think you'll really love and there are additions for the edging and other stations as well. That did entail some additional cost either to purchase or to pay for shipping from our local Chapters who were kind enough to lend equipment, and there were some special set-up costs on some of it. Plus, this resort set up, as you'll see, is far more expansive and accommodating than what we've been able to secure in the past. We essentially have an entire wing and even a pool area to ourselves. It all costs, but I hope you'll think it's worth it."

She pauses for a moment to gauge the reaction of the audience, but then proceeds.

"Now regarding the Lounge Act itself," she transitions, "you will notice the return of the equestrian events that proved so popular last year. Now, we were a bit surprised last year by just how popular this particular use of them was with you all. We were somewhat understocked for the event given the level of interest and how limited our available apparatus for this type of use was. And it seems many of you went back to your local chapters inspired to experiment with your local males, pushing more of them to expand their repertoires to provide similar entertainment.

"We got the message, ladies. We've been able to considerably expand the offering this year, no small thanks to the many new males you've helpfully broken in at the local level for us and the creative variations on the theme you've suggested or supplied. We've even expanded the theme to some of the events of the plenary session. Really, it's been inspiring to see such initiative and motivation; the best of the Maven spirit. So, along those lines, I want to alert you, without spoiling the surprise, that thanks to the ingenuity of Rita Thesly and the Yakima chapter," then, "Rita, where are you dear?" scanning the room.

A black woman two tables over from us holds up a hand and waves, but doesn't stand.

"There you are. Yes, well, just so you all know who to thank for this, Rita and her Yakima bunch have managed to put together a redesigned saddle for our jockeys that is really a wonder of ingenuity that's going to make things much more entertaining and open up new possibilities. If you enjoyed last year, you're going to love this. I did get to watch a video of Rita demonstrating its use with a sample male this afternoon." she looks again in Rita's direction. "Really, just so amusing to see you run it through it's various . . ." she breaks off, then, turning back to the room generally, "But you ladies will just need to find out for yourselves." she says coyly.

Well, I'm certainly interested at this point, but I confess that what I'm picturing is not all that appealing, at least to me; some guy on his hands and knees being saddled and jockeyed around by . . . this could be weirder than I expected. I want to see how this goes but I won't be taking a turn at that.

Taking Stock

Next morning, there's a leisurely buffet breakfast in the resort dining-room with regular guests as well as conference attendees. I keep to myself, feeling somewhat out of sorts and out of place, not ready to navigate small talk. I'm grateful no one from last evening recognizes me or approaches.

It's a ten O'clock start for the plenary session to accommodate those just getting in that day. I'm thankful for that because I didn't sleep very well. I was trying to put some notes together based on the evening and Adriene's speech, but I kept obsessing over the brochure and the sense that I might be getting into something much more intense than I had bargained for. The whole damned brochure was written in code and now I wasn't so sure I knew the limits of what the code covered.

The organizers said that was because they didn't want explicit materials left around the resort where non attendees might pick them up and start getting curious. The resort Management wants the Maven's business, but their main stock in trade is family tourists, so they're pretty insistent on discretion. Unless you already knew, you could hardly tell, even if you found a brochure lying around, what the Maven convention was up to in its three hermetically sealed dining, conference and ball rooms, the separate indoor pool and spa facilities and the subterranean bar and lounge dedicated to their use.

Maybe they were just being 'discrete', but it also seemed like a bit of snobbery among those 'in the know'; secret handshakes and 'nod, nod, wink, wink,' kind of stuff, where the fact that 'you have to ask' marks you out as less worldly and . . . fuck all that cliquey stuff!

I'm probably just grumpy from too little sleep. Everybody here is being plenty nice to me. I just need to lighten up and get with the program.

I show up outside the main ballroom at 9:30 to check in with the staff at the registration table and pick up my fresh name tag. A short woman in a red jacket with a clip-on badge with 'STAFF' printed in big letters looks me up on the spread sheet and,

"Hansen, Sarah, yeah, there you are. Hi, and you're . . ." she runs her little black marker across the row beside my name, "oh, I guess you haven't . . ." looks up at me, "well, we can do that now. Concurrent events; have you decided which event you'll be attending?"

"Oh, I didn't realize that was . . . I have to choose?" I ask.

She blinks and, "Ahm, I'm . . ." she seems stumped.

"I'm new to this." I say apologetically. "First time at one of these. Didn't realize I needed to . . ."

"Really!" I've now got the attention of the other STAFF lady seated at the table beside her. "Quite a way to start!" she says beaming up at me.

"Yeah, so I've been told."

"You've never attended at all? I mean, not even a local?" the first one asks.

"No." I cut her off. There's now another woman standing beside me waiting to register. "Look, I can just pick one, what are the choices again?"

The two STAFF ladies look at one another.

I give an apologetic smile to the other woman waiting to register.

"Well, you know dear," the second STAFF lady says sweetly, "the concurrent sessions, they're really very different sorts of entertainment. Most members have a distinct preference for . . ."

"So I've been told." I say and move my hand in a tight circle to move them along, "I'd thought I would sample a little of both, just to see. But if that's not . . ."

"Oh." STAFF lady one pulls her head back like I've bopped her on the nose. "Well, I guess that's . . ." looks at STAFF lady two, "I mean, she's new, and, well how many . . ."

And then they're both flipping down through the spread sheets and looking back and forth, counting together. Meanwhile there's now two other women waiting to register.

"Really I'm perfectly happy to just . . ."

"No, no, dear." STAFF lady two holds up a hand, and "Really," she says quietly to STAFF one, "what's one more one way or the other going to matter, if she just wants to . . ."

"Yeah, we can just make a note; check her for both. What's one more?"

STAFF one looks up at me brightly. "Look, we'll just make a note. It's not a problem. It's just usually they know and we get a count to make sure that," she shakes her head, waves this off. "It's not a problem. You're all set. Sample what you want. Have a great time, Sarah."

I thank them.

Two guys in Resort uniforms are tending the doors to the ballroom, glance at my name tag and let me in, closing the doors quickly behind me. Another STAFF lady just inside the door asks,

"Cell phone?"

I nod at my purse.

"Needs to be off. No pictures. No recordings."

I nod again. "Sure." I wonder does that cover tell all articles and blog posts? Not that I'd ever name names without permission but . . .

Staff lady is giving me the eye.

I fish the phone out of my purse, power it down, show her the black screen.

"Thanks." she waves me past.

Big space. Lots of room in here. The place is obviously made for several hundred people or more to fit easily. It's still early so there's maybe only forty or fifty attendees milling around, and that makes it seem even bigger and emptier. There's different stuff set up around the perimeter in what look like separate stations.

Apparatus; yeah, okay, I see that; a couple straight back chairs with straps, some sort of table with adjustments, and there's one looks like a crucifix. And over at another there's a kind of swing set up in some sort of plexiglass booth which I'm guessing is the swing Adriene had mentioned. Yes, this is definitely looking a bit more intense than the local group stuff I researched. But fine, I tell myself. The guys are all volunteers. What was it Adriene said; 'they want to be persuaded, they want to submit.' So, I tell myself I'm okay with that even if it's not exactly what I expected. Should make for an interesting article at least.

There's a raised platform or dais in the middle of the room; carpeted, maybe 20' by 20 feet. Three sets of those collapsible aluminum bleachers, three tiers high, are arranged in a shallow concave amphitheater set up for an audience on one side. There seems to be very little space between the stage and the tiered seats. Very cozy for the audience and whoever, whatever winds up on stage. There are some lighting stands arranged on the flanks, like stage lighting for a show.

I should go around and check all this stuff out to get my bearings. But I'm more interested in what's at the far end of the room.

There's an area, cordoned off by those lane guards like they use at airports or theaters. Actually, it's two rows of those things stretched along a section of the far wall. The first line of dividers creates a long narrow cordon along the wall in which a group of men, all fully clothed in regular street or resort attire are gathered. Then there's an open lane before the next line of dividers. Behind the guys there's a line of chairs set hard by one another up against the wall. Some guys are sitting, but most are standing, milling around and chatting though they don't have much space to move in. There's a bunch of white and red colored shopping bags with handles sitting on the floor and chairs around them.

A smattering of women is scattered along the outer divider line, looking across the empty lane between, checking the guys out.

Stock; that's what Adriene called them. It does strike me sort of like cattle in a stockade waiting to be auctioned. These are 'the males.' Interesting.

I go over there wondering why they have clothes on if these are the 'entertainment.' I come up to the first barrier, look across the empty lane to see if . . . yep, there he is; good ol' 'ride my face' Trey, down near one end talking with a guy who I'm guessing is one of the 'gym rat puff pieces' Adriene assured us there'd be a supply of; big guy, shorts and T-shirt, sandals, great bod and not trying to hide any of it. A lot of the guys look to be in their twenties, but there's all types here. A slender, slightly androgynous looking guy in tight black slacks and a grey shirt and vest outfit like he's going to interview to be a waiter here. This other guy looks like a banker on his day off; one day stubble, little bit of grey at the temples, handsome face but holding himself all proper and straight. And this one; is he really old enough to be here? Looks like he's still in high school; in a track suit and sneakers. And there he is, our Joe the bartender type; garrulous, robust guy, laughing too loud about something; a little tire around the waist but big shoulders and hands. There are a few black guys in the mix as well as at least one Latino and two east Asian or maybe Indian looking types talking together. A few quiet, seemingly shy ones are back in the chairs, fidgeting, looking at the clock on the wall occasionally, one of them even scanning a copy of the brochure like maybe, like me, he isn't so sure what he's gotten into. We got pattern baldness over here, young flowing Jesus hair on that one, pony tails and crew cuts, tall, short, thick, lean, man's men and slightly effeminate pretty boys, one even with lipstick. Okay, I decide, Adriene gets one point for truth in advertising; we got variety.

More women are up along the barrier with me now, chatting, looking at the guys across the way and commenting among themselves. But there is no attempt at communication between the 'males' and the women; not even a friendly wave. Guess that makes sense in its own way; I mean, do you wave at cattle? It's a little strange but I do get into the ambiance; 'the stock', the 'males available for use'. It's what they signed up for, right?

"Where do they get them all?" a woman beside me in a smart looking pantsuit and heels asks a companion as she surveys what's available.

"Fuck, Marta," the other answers, "put an add on Craig's list and they come out of the woodwork like termites." she snorts.

"So why do we only have this many? Why not one a piece?" she challenges.

"Well, you know, fucking guys. They all think they want to do it." the other scoffs. "But mostly they come thinking it's all just about them getting off, instead of entertaining us the way we want. Or they just suck at it; can't get it up, keep it up or put it out when it's wanted."

"Typical." Marta says with a sniff.

"Yeah. You want the ones that can't help themselves. Those are really fun, what you can put them to. They can be grimacing and squirming, but that penis is just as stiff and ready to unload for you. They can't help themselves."

My.

I focus on the males with renewed interest. Grimacing and squirming with stiff penises? I can't quite picture it. They look like ordinary guys to me; maybe a little better kept and looking than average, but still. Maybe that was just hyperbole to impress Marta, but, note to file; Adriene's caution about the males needing downtime between sessions may carry a bit more practical weight than I first gave it.

"Ten minutes, ladies." Adriene's voice comes over the sound system. "Coats and purses can be checked at the table by the refreshments. Restrooms are down the corridor just behind the coat check to the left. Ten minutes, doors are going to close, be locked. If someone you know isn't here, give them a text or something. We are going to start the plenary session on time. Doors will be locked, no one else admitted once we start. Remember, please respect other members' privacy concerns; no photos, no recordings; that includes selfies; all phones powered off once we start. You can just check them with your coats and purses if you like. Nine minutes now." she cautions.

I scan the room. Lots more women have arrived but still, given the size of the space, it's fairly sparse looking. Just like the dinner last night, it's a mix of ages and styles among the attendees; some older in slightly more conservative skirts and blouses, others in blue jeans, some in resort wear, shorts and tank tops. There's a gaggle of four young coeds in skin tight leggings and T-shirts, pony tails and sneakers like they're about to go out for a jog together. I'm in my green sun dress, which seems to fit in as well as anything.

More and more women now are migrating over to the barrier to view the stock. Now would be the time to make a quick circuit of the stations to see what sort of 'events' are in the offing. But the ten-minute warning has stirred the stock up a bit. Some milling around and guys doing that shoulder shrug, neck crick kind of stuff like they're about to wrestle something. One guy strips a gold watch off of his wrist and drops it into one the bags on a chair.

I work my way down the line slowly, excusing myself and slipping past folks, heading closer to where Trey, the guy from last night is. I grab a spot across from where he is in his casual dress slacks and nice button-down shirt. He sees me there. I can tell he recognizes me and I remember him saying how he hoped I'd find this entertaining. Not like I really know him, but it feels odd - not in a bad way, just odd - looking across at him, neither of us saying anything, getting that little nod of acknowledgment from him, picturing him last night at the table talking and . . . sorry Trey, but that woman's phrase is sticking in my head; are you ready to grimace and squirm for us with your 7 1/2 inch stiff penis?

Guess we'll find out.

"Five minutes, ladies." Adriene's voice again. I look back over my shoulder to see where she is. There, up on the center stage with one of those head set microphones on.

"Ah, here you are. Sleep well?" Phyllis has come up beside me on the line.

"Oh, hi." I smile at her, suddenly realize I'm standing across the way from her husband, and . . . "Slept fine." white lie, "How about you?"

"Always a little wound up before these things." she answers. "Don't know why. Trey slept like a baby, as always." she darts her eyes sideways in his direction. "I hope you enjoy him. I got him assigned to the Lounge for later."

"Is there a special reason you want him there; I mean, other than that's where I guess you're going to be?"

She gives me a wicked smile. "Oh yes. More special than he knows." then she shrugs. "He'd be wasted at High Tea. We'll get way more out of him in the equestrian competition. It was so entertaining to see him used that way last year. It wracked him like nothing else. And this year they're taking it up a notch."

'See him used', 'wracked him'; and that's 'so entertaining' for his wife? I'm trying to gauge how much of this is euphemism or maybe bravado, and how much is, well, what it sounds like.

"What exactly is the equestrian event." I ask.

She looks sideways at me. "Still, nobody's told you?" she asks with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"No, but I haven't really . . ."

"Oh, then I don't want to be the one to spoil it for you." she gives me this little pout, "I will say that it isn't just one thing, not this year anyway. It's a series of things that share a common theme. But really, Sarah, just let it ride for a few more hours, no pun intended." laughs. "You'll find out soon enough."

I start to argue but,

"Three minutes, ladies." Adriene's voice again. "All right males, strip down. Clothes go in the bags with your names on them, unless you want to wear somebody else's home."

And just like that, the guys all start to undress. There's nothing stripteasy or theatrical about it. Shirts come off, they sit down and pull off shoes and socks, undo belts and drop pants, boxers and briefs, fold things and stuff them into the red and white bags.

"Chop, chop." Adriene says, "Just stow it. Iron it later if you need to. We're going to start on time. Up to the line for inspection. Two minutes. Staff, poke your heads out and check for any late arrivals, but then secure the doors. We're starting."

All up and down the line the guys step up to the barrier, naked, single file, hands at their sides, penises and scrotums out - well of course, they're naked, so everything is 'out' - but its abrupt and unusual enough for me that that's sort of all I see at first; penises and scrotums, about forty of them (as promised), most hanging flaccid, but a few already stiffening, some even erect, many circumcised, some not, some I can't tell.

Note to file on grooming; very little pubic hair, lots with none at all, others with little tufts or close-cropped patches above the shaft but it looks from here at least like we have bare scrotums all down the line.

There's one right across from me already up stiff at forty-five degrees.

"Oh, he's so glad you're here for this." Phyllis says with a chuckle.

It hits me. My gaze lifts up over the guy's torso and chest and I meet Trey's eyes, though he's looking a bit dazed like he isn't exactly focused.

"He was excited to hear this was your first time." Phyllis says. "Thought you were so cute."

"Cute?" I ask, looking sideways at her.

"Yes. He told me all about it." she laughs easily. "And here you've come looking for him first thing." she teases.

"Well, I" start to justify but she tosses her head and

"So glad you did. And clearly, he's even gladder." she darts her eyes meaningfully his way again. "Go on dear, he's got it up just for you. Don't disappoint him."

I look back at him, at it. His penis flexes under my gaze. Yeah, okay, Phyllis is cool with it so . . . that's seven and a half.

Last few guys are stepping up to the line. My focus is getting a little broader; hairy chests, others clean, not all well sculpted but mostly flat bellies, okay, some with a little paunch, chins up, eyes straight ahead like soldiers on parade.

"Doors locked." Adriene again. "Alright ladies, starting on your right, first pass, check out what we've got for you."

Women along the rope line start moving to the right. Phyllis grips my arm companionably.

"Come on, this way Sarah." guides me forward with the flow.

"What are we doing?" I ask, even as looking ahead I see the women at the far end of the line round the edge of the divider and start flowing into the lane in front of the men.

"Inspection time." Phyllis answers.

I notice some women stepping back to get out of the flow, smiling and motioning us past. As the line moves forward, I see what the women in the lane are up to. Chatty, laughing, commenting to one another as their hands run across bare chests and shoulders, trail down to lift and inspect penises and testicles, stepping back now and then for a better perspective. Other women just walking along and watching the others without touching the men, some still holding cups of coffee, but gesturing and exchanging comments and laughter with the ones handling them. They talk and laugh among themselves, but nobody speaks to the men except for occasional brusque commands like, "Spread more", "Turn", "Let's see your ass." or just, "Your ass." in a slightly impatient, 'do I have to tell you this?' tone.

The guys don't say a word, just do as they're told; eyes straight ahead, like they're focusing on the far wall (or at least trying to).

"No need to hurry, ladies." Adriene on the speakers. "But do keep things moving. We've scheduled fifteen total for inspection. Second pass always takes a bit longer."

"Second pass?" I ask Phyllis as we round the end of the barrier and step into the lane.

"Second time through they'll all be erect." she says matter-of-factly as she steps up to the first male in the line. "Fun to see the transformation." she says into his face as she searches his features.

He's a near eastern looking male in his twenties, olive complexioned, big brown eyes under dark lashes. She's got his balls in her hand, still watching his expression as he looks past her and tries to play good soldier.

I just stand back, not sure I'm quite into this yet, or if I will be, mostly because the regimented aspect of it for the guys seems odd next to the girl talk, laughter and playful hands of the women. I'm not quite in sync with this yet; am I supposed to be a drill sergeant or a bimbo?

But Phyllis wants my opinion. She's standing to one side, bouncing the guy's partially engorged penis in the palm of her hand and asking me, "This one has promise, don't you think?"

I look at the guy's face, the bouncing penis, and back again. He's acting like I'm not there, but not doing it that well.

"Yeah, Phyllis." I agree in my 'cool girl who knows all about this' voice, and why not, "Look forward to seeing that one stiff." I feel slightly absurd saying that out loud but it's nothing compared to some of the dinner conversation last night with Trey or the stuff I'm hearing these other women say. I watch the guy's expression.

Sure enough, he heard that; little twitch of the lips and a quick swallow.

Maybe this could be fun.

But it's also a bit of sensory overload.

As Phyllis and I go down the line, Adriene starts in again over the speakers, helpfully laying out a few housekeeping items. The 'males' will be rotated through the various stations by the staff who will do their best to adjust the numbers at the various stations depending on interest, but please be patient and share as there is limited capacity. Also, please clear the way and don't handle or accost the males as they transfer from one station to the next. Activities should be limited to the designated stations."

Now, I suppose all this would be helpful if you were a full-fledged Maven. But for a girl at her first rodeo, who's seen a few but never 'inspected' even one naked guy, let alone a line of about forty in succession, who's surrounded by a bunch of chatty, laughing, teasing, man-bossy, dick and ball grabbing women . . . yeah; sensory overload.

Maybe that's good in a way. I'm not sure if I were totally focused on this, I'd be able to participate like I should if I really want to know what this is like. But with all these other women, and especially Phyllis, urging and acting as if, 'of course you want to do this, don't be silly', it quickly becomes a bit of a blur and I find myself stepping up to handle and 'discuss' one male after another without ever feeling I'm quite 'all there' except for a few moments of clarity where it hits me that; 'hey, here I am, doing this!'

The first comes when Phyllis and I are about halfway down the line. We're standing close together in front of an older guy and I'm telling her that I like the look of balls that have a certain separation and hang like this guy's have. Just chatting away because, well it's true; I don't watch much porn (aside I guess from my research for this) but sometimes it's nice and there's a definite type . . . Anyway, he's got them, and I'm rolling them around in my hand and she's standing right next to me with his semi erect penis between her thumb and forefinger, tipping it up and peeling back the foreskin to get a look at the head and then it hits me.

I'm suddenly focused on the slight splash of grey in the guy's chest hair, and the solidity of his body, the heat of it, his breathing right up close like this. I feel a twinge of mild panic because I'm trying to remember when was it, somewhere back up the line, I started touching them and all of a sudden now I'm grabbing this strange guy's balls and chatting away like he isn't right here listening.

It's weird. I step back to look at him and, yeah that's a real guy; all these others too. But the epiphany doesn't stick, cause everything around me just flows on as before and I'm in the flow; like Adriene says, keeping things moving. Phyllis is laughing at my expression and tugging my arm to move on to the next guy, so . . .

My next aha! moment comes when we get to this young guy I had noticed before, the high-school kid I called him, though I knew he wasn't that young, at least in my head I knew it, because they wouldn't do that. Says so right in the brochure; 'all male volunteers are over eighteen'. He's six feet or so, thin but not skinny, long and lanky, big hands and feet, kind of gangly and right away it hits me; he's just a big, nervous kid. He's not keeping up that regimental facade as well as most of the others, shifting his weight foot to foot and his eyes darting around, licking his lips and his breathing a little uneven in that hairless chest of his. I almost feel bad for him as I watch the woman just ahead of us handle him, see that boyish ass of his clench and his hips jerk slightly at what she's doing.

But only almost. Cause the kid has got a very large penis of surprising length and it's already up at full mast. It's flushed, bobbing and flexing as this woman plays with it, smiling down at it as she teases the underside with a light fingertip. Like that woman told Marta, he can't help himself, and I feel this twinge of mild disdain and realize this is getting me kind of aroused.

It'll do that; sneak up on me sometimes without me really noticing until all of a sudden, I'm moist and . . .

When we get up to him, I toy with that cock a little bit too, make it bob and dance for me, tell him to spread his legs further, look up at his face as I play with his balls. He gives me this quick exhale and shudder, makes eye contact but then looks away quick. He's so worked up, precum already seeping from the tip. So nervous, almost jumpy, but that stiff penis keeps him right here.

This feels kind of mean. I was ready for that; from what I read and saw online that's part of the fun for the women. I wasn't thinking that would be an attraction for me, though. But it's like he deserves it; he's begging for it. I clamp his balls a little tight, get a groan and watch the penis bob for me. I wonder, what do these guys think we're thinking about them, being 'available' this way? They want it so bad they just . . .

"Sarah, hey." Phyllis says softly, taps my forearm. "More to see."

I let go of the kid, step away.

"You like that one, huh? Young and hung?" she asks.

'Like'? Don't think I would describe it that way, but it's easiest to just say,

"Yeah."

Back into the flow.

Women are filing back out as they finish passing down the line, refilling the spots along the rope line behind us.

Down near the far end of the regiment we come up to Trey. I'd almost forgotten about him and for just a second, I get this bizarre split screen feeling of 'hey, I know this guy', even though I don't really know him, and this is his wife waving me closer and pushing her circled thumb and forefinger tight to the base of his erection to display it better for me.

"Not the biggest in the bunch," Phyllis is saying, "but look how happy he is to see you."

Trey has the regimental thing down. You'd think that would make it less awkward for me to treat him like meat, but it's kind of the opposite. We were just talking last night. He has a two-year old daughter, been married to this woman five years. I feel like I should say 'Hi, nice to see you again.' And, okay, maybe then step up and play with his genitals - which is clearly what Phyllis wants me to do. But the mix is disconcerting.

He actually looks pretty good; not weightlifter buff, but muscles and no spare tire. And that's a nice penis, 7 1/2 when erect I've heard, and he's certainly erect. But he's looking off into the near distance like he doesn't recognize either of us.

Meanwhile, Phyllis is going the other way with it, teasing him like she's trying to get him to break character.

"Look, Trey, here's Sarah from last night come to check you out. I told her how excited you got thinking you might be one her first males to use this way." she's saying this stuff, motioning me closer. "Sarah's gonna watch you jerk off with the others later. You're so stiff already thinking about that, aren't you?"

And it hits me that it's not just Trey. It's all these guys. They're all somebody; got a name, a job, maybe like Trey here, a wife or girlfriend, kids maybe, at least some of these guys for sure.

I'm not sure what to do with that.

Why do anything?

I know what Phyllis wants and it would feel weirder to shy away and have to make some lame excuse. So, I smile and step right up and handle my man Trey like the ingenue in Phyllis' narrative, a narrative which just keeps running as she steps aside and

"Oh, there's that cute Sarah holding your balls and stroking that cock for you. Don't come for her yet though."

I don't mind it really. But because of the other stuff going through my head, it feels pretty mechanical; putting in my time to placate Phyllis' need to be my tour guide. I don't mind that either; she's getting me into this way better than if I'd just been left to myself. So, I hold her husband's balls and stroke his erection for a few seconds, but then we're moving on.

A couple more and we come to the end of the stock, turn the corner at the end of the rope line and fill in back up along it as the last of the women finish their 'first pass'.

It actually went fairly quickly and I'm trying to think back; how many penises and scrotums did I just fondle in the last five minutes? I need some hand sanitizer.

Sure enough, when I look around there's a range of pump bottles and a stack of paper hand towels on a nearby table.

I excuse myself for a second, head over there and sanitize. There are a couple other women there doing the same. They smile and nod when I come up as Adriene's voice comes back over the sound system.

"Okay males, get those cocks stiff for us."

Well, the time for euphemism is past, I guess.

When I get back over to the line next to Phyllis the guys are all working their dicks, jacking and pulling, some fast, others slow and methodical, back hand, forehand. We have some moaning going now and hips thrusting as they work. The women are talking to them now: "Get it up pretty boy." "C'mon, up big for me." "That's it, we wanna see some stiff cocks." and other things that I know will sound silly if I put them in my article, but just now are really pretty fun and kind of arousing to hear and see the effect on the guys up and down the line.

I notice the guys are not so much in regimental mode now, but are looking across at us as we talk to them, making eye contact, looking down at their dicks as they stiffen. I'm liking this part. It's interesting to see all these different guy's and penises as they come erect and by ones and twos take their hands away, push their hips forward and under to present their balls and erections up and down the line, then watching this whole line of erect penises bob and stiffen at these different angles with a lot of the guys breathing hard now. It's not something you see every day.

"Alright ladies, seven minutes now, time to play with the new toys for a bit. Everything is fair on this run, except, of course, it stays in their balls until they get on stage at the end. Play but don't spray as the saying goes."

That's a saying?

But the women cheer at this, laugh, and the flow to the right starts again. Phyllis starts shuffling in behind the women in front of us. But I'm suddenly feeling like I need a little processing time. All these naked guys and stiff penises, and here I am, or was, going down the line handling them and . . . something about this isn't sinking in, not fully registering. I'm just going along with these women but I was just playing with this woman's husband as if . . .

Phyllis looks back over her shoulder at me, jerks her head for me to follow.

"Think I'll just . . ." I shrug and tip my head to the side, step back out of the flow.

Phyllis raises her eyebrows at me but then just smiles, waves and heads off.

As the women file into the lane in front of the guys and start down, I get a clearer idea of what 'everything is fair' means in terms of permitted activities. There's a bit of everything in the mix. One woman standing to one side of a guy, has one hand curled lightly around the shaft of his cock and is telling him to "fuck that, fuck that" as he thrusts back and forth through her curled fingers. She exchanges amused smiles and nods with another woman who stands nearby watching.

The pony tail coed girl pack are going down the line from guy to guy taking turns, one coed per cock, kneeling and trying to deep throat them as the others look on, cheering and laughing as the one on her knees succeeds or maybe gags and fails, before jumping back to her feet, wiping her chin, high fiving her friends and moving on to the next one where; "This one is yours. You had an easy one last. Let's see it." as another drops to her knees for her turn. They hardly seem to look at the males above the waist and are quick between one and the next.

There's lots of handling, stroking and bad girl talk. Some more casual, less regimented sucking; a woman in a tight skirt bending at the waist to take one in her mouth. I watch this one group of three women being a little rough; some ball grabbing, hair pulling and nipple pinching (looks mostly theatrical).

The guys stand there, hands and their sides and take it, do their best to hold still and don't touch the women. But there's no way they can pull off the royal guard routine with the women at them like that; shudders, hip thrusts, moans and yeah, grimaces but also smiles, even a couple breathless laughs from them.

I notice there are several other women hanging back here with me; mostly it seems the same ones who waved us by them earlier and didn't take a pass down the regimental line to inspect the troops. There's a couple of them standing together a few feet away watching and talking quietly. I do need to write that article, so I sidle up to them, say 'hi'.

"Oh, hello." a redhead in (I'm guessing) her forties in a stylish blouse and slacks smiles at me.

I read the name tag; Gretchen.

She reads mine.

"Sarah." she says and gives me a polite nod.

The other woman glances sideways at me and gives me a pleasant look and a raised brow in acknowledgment, but then goes back to watching.

I'm unsure what constitutes small talk at a moment like this, but here goes.

"Good variety, don't you think?"

Not-gretchen turns my way slightly again. "Decent." she opines. "We'll see how they perform."

"Uhmn." I nod and agree knowingly.

"Not going for the second pass." Gretchen observes with a wan smile in my direction. "Saw you take the first."

"Yes, well," okay, be easy here; honesty is the best policy, "not quite ready for that, I guess."

"No reason you need to be." Gretchen seems to approve.

"Foolishness." not-gretchen (whose name tag says Debby or maybe Dianne when she uncrosses her arms for a second) huffs and shakes her head. "Just giving them what they want."

Interesting.

"Well, the ladies . . ." I start but,

"Not the ladies." Gretchen guesses where I'm going and cuts me off gently, "The males. She's talking about the males." she says with the slightly weary tone of going over a familiar topic one too many times. "But it's still amusing Di, even if it's not exactly . . ."

"Yes, but they should be amusing us themselves. They're here to serve and entertain us, not the other way round. They can play with their own cocks when and as we tell them to, keep them stiff themselves, or have them do it for each other if they need the help, and not this . . ." Dianne (I assume) waves a dismissive hand at the proceedings and shakes her head.

"But it's still amusing." Gretchen says again, gives me a little wink on the side. Then, "Di's a purist."

More interesting still.

"Well, isn't that the point?" Di asks archly, eyeing me sideways. "If you want to watch other women pleasuring males and getting them off, you can get that anywhere. Fucking strippers and . . ." she scowls.

"Not into strippers, I take it?"

It seems to me that should be an innocent question (as far as innocence goes in these circumstances). But Di turns to look at me as if I had just run over her favorite cat with my ingenue four-wheeler.

"Jesus! Another one." she scoffs.

"Now, Di," Gretchen tries to intervene.

But Di is having none of it.

"All that fucking macho strutting and dick waving in your face, and 'aren't you so lucky to suck the whip cream off my big bad penis'?!" she says in a mocking 'big man' voice. "You're kidding, I hope."

Okay. Not into strippers.

"It's CFNM." she says (as if that clarifies things). "It's about who's in charge. Who's serving who."

Note to file: Staff comments about members' distinct preferences for certain types of events should be taken seriously.

To Your Stations

Adriene gives a helpful one-minute warning, trying to keep things on schedule, but the second pass runs a few minutes overtime. Even as the staff begin to pull guys out of the line into smaller groups to lead them away to their first stations, there's a few persistent women reluctant to release the 'new toys'. This leads to some good natured "Awhh"-ing and mock complaints but;

"Duty calls." one staff member jokes as she pulls one of the last of the males away.

The women serving as staff seem very matter of fact and businesslike about things. There's ten or maybe twelve of them and they're all wearing some combination of black skirts, slacks or leggings, white tops and comfortable, flat heeled shoes. Most of them have their hair pulled back or put up and little or no jewelry. They look like they're volunteers at a charity garage sale who've come expecting to shlep things around for an afternoon and pick up after closing. They're shlepping now, herding different groups of guys to the various stations around the ballroom.

I recognize Staff lady #1 from the registration table leading a group of seven or so males. She's got the two in front in harness, an erection in either hand as she guides them along, another staff in the rear shooing the others along with playful slaps on their butts. Scanning the room, it strikes me as somewhat comical; these guys herded off in different directions, their erections wagging along as they walk.

Things get set up pretty quickly. The staff knows it's stuff and are getting the guys in place with brusque efficiency. I decide the thing to do is to go around the full circuit of the stations once just to get the feel of things before I try any of the activities. With that in mind I decide to start over at the refreshment area to grab a fresh cup of coffee cause I'm still feeling a little dragged out from not sleeping well.

Then, armed with my supplemental caffeine source, I start my tour.

Massage

To the left, adjacent to the refreshment area, is a set-up of comfy chairs and couches that look like they moved furniture in from the lobby and sitting areas of the resort. In front of each couch or chair are low padded stools and ottomans like you might find at a shoe store for the clerks who help you try on shoes. Perched on the stools are five or six males, some already engaged, others waiting for women to sit down in front of them to be serviced. The women being serviced have removed their shoes and some have even rolled up the legs of their slacks so the males can massage their feet and calves. Now and again, I see a playful foot stretch out and tap an erection as the men cradle the women's feet in their laps or on the stool between their legs to do their work. But other than this, the women seem to be simply enjoying the massage without particular attention to the men being naked. I do note, however, a certain congratulatory haughtiness in the demeanor of some of the women as they look down at the men and give them directions or exchange occasional comments with other women seated nearby.

I love having my feet massaged and this actually looks tempting. But I decide to stick with my original plan and make the full circuit first before joining any activity.

Blind Woman's Bluff

Next on the circuit are two free standing, white wall sections, separated from each other by a few feet. Each section has three circular 'glory-holes' cut into it through which males, concealed behind the wall, have thrust their erections and testicles. There's one woman in front of each wall section handling and examining the proffered genitals. I have to watch this play out for a minute before I catch on to the game.

Each woman is given a couple of minutes to handle and examine her three males (or at least the relevant portions thereof). The males on each wall are assigned numbers, 1-3, indicated by sticky notes attached by the staff to the wall above their dicks. After the women have had their time to familiarize themselves with their three males, they are blind folded. Staff then rearrange the males behind each of the panels into a different order and move the identifying sticky notes accordingly. The blindfolded women are then led back to the wall and are given a certain amount of time to guess, using touch alone, the original number of the males in their new order.

Between turns the staff women inspect the males for stiffness and burnish any erections that seem, in their opinion, to be flagging; though, to be honest, I can't discern any noticeable wilting and it seems more like staff are just enjoying the perks of the job as they rearrange and supervise.

Given the variety in size and shape, circumcised and not, and the hang of their balls, it seems like an easy enough challenge, especially on one panel where there is a true trophy cock jutting glans and shoulders above its wall mates. But then, I have never tried to identify a man by touch alone, even given more anatomy to work with. So maybe it's harder than it looks. On the other hand, I'm fairly certain degree of difficulty is not the point of the exercise, and the women watching and cheering or bemoaning the results seem to be having as much fun as the contestants.

Carnival Games

Moving on I come to a cordoned off area with two activities proceeding simultaneously. These are both adaptations of common carnival games.

The first is a fairly low-tech version of ring toss. A set of three low padded benches are arranged in a two/one triangle with the single bench at the top up close to the ballroom wall and the others extending out towards a rope barrier behind which the players stand. Each bench has a male laying on it, feet towards the players, propping up their erections for the players to toss different colored foam rings at. A player gets one point for a ringer on either of the two cocks nearest the rope line and three for a ringer on the one furthest away.

Two players can toss at once using different colored rings. The staff collects the errant throws, tallies up the points for each player, and records the four highest current point totals and the player's name on an erasable white board nearby.              

There are a few women watching from the sides and cheering on the players, but the main attraction seems to be the second game going on nearby.

The second game features a long bench, with a reclining back rest set up as a swing. The bench is hung on a suspension system like a porch swing, but it's designed to swing side to side rather than forward and back. The bench is raised so that the seat is about four or four and a half feet above the floor. That's too high for anyone sitting on it to have their feet touch, but it's just about shoulder level to your average attendee. The swing is set inside a rectangular plexiglass booth, like a shallow shower stall that's long enough to let the swing move back and forth a couple feet in either direction.

Four males are strapped onto the bench. They're propped with blow up cushions behind their lower backs so their hips are pushed forward on the seat, their asses resting close to the front edge. The staff binds the first male's outer leg to the side of the bench and then proceeds to strap his other leg to the leg of the male next in line and so on down the line until the male on the far end has his outside leg strapped to his side of the bench. The bench is long enough and the males are spaced so that this procedure spreads their legs fairly wide. Then each male's cock is secured up tight against his belly with a string looped around it just below the head and then tied around the waist to keep it up out of the way. Once they're strapped in and cock tethered, the staff adjust the back of the bench to a 45-degree reclining position so the male's hips turn under and up slightly. This presents a row of upturned balls and asses for use in the game.

The men don't look particularly comfortable, asses on the edge of the bench, legs strapped open and lower legs dangling, but it seems harmless enough.

There is plastic sheeting laid down on the carpet between the front lip of the stall and a line of three firing stations where players stand and take aim with hand held water guns. Each gun is connected to a pressurized water source whose mechanism kicks on and off with a soft whir to keep the gun pressure steady. Each gun fires a different, intensely colored water, similar to a paint gun in intensity; green, yellow and red. When fired, the guns release a single short burst, not a steady stream, so each shot needs to be aimed and fired separately. When it hits its target, the shot bursts in a bright splash of color helping to confirm which player's shot scored the hit.

I don't see anyone keeping score. The point seems to be simply the satisfaction of hitting the targets, and enjoying the males' reactions.

To keep things challenging, the staff moves the bench slowly back and forth in front of the players, using a simple rope attachment on either side. It's sort of like shooting the line of moving ducks in a carnival booth, but it's balls instead of ducks in this game.

The level of enthusiasm for this game is pretty high. There seem to be more women gathered here, cheering and jeering and laughing and eager for their turn than at any other station. There is a certain spontaneous glee at any direct hit that seems out of proportion to the difficulty involved; the range is not very great and the targets rather prominently presented, so there are a good number of scores each turn. The water shots probably aren't powerful enough to do any damage to the stock, but given the male sensitivity in that area, a hit will almost always make the male jump and reflexively try to close his legs. Strapped together as they are, when one tries to close his legs, he simply spreads his neighbor wider, making that one a more open target. The line of jumping hips, straining thighs and clenching asses as the hits lightly jounce their balls and the colored water runs down their butt cracks or drips off their spread thighs to the basin below seems to offer endless amusement to players and spectators alike.

I am not insensitive to the not so passive aggressive dimension of the pleasure taken in shooting men in the balls and watching them squirm. What surprises me is that I rather enjoy it. Even the fact that those four tethered penises seem less than robustly erect can't wipe the wry smile off my lips or dull that little twinge of satisfaction at seeing a good direct hit that makes a male tense and strain in harness, and hearing the hoots of the women who echo my enjoyment.

I realize it is partly the elaborate set up here that pleases; all this ingenuity and organization lavished to strap four guys down and use their balls for target practice. I hadn't come across anything similar in my research so perhaps this is a brand-new innovation. First comes the pyramids and now this. A testament to the progress of civilization, surely.

Between turns the staff rinses down the four target males with a hose (amusing in itself).

I watch for longer than I had intended. I feel a disturbingly strong urge to take a turn myself; disturbing because I realize that even though the game may be harmless, my urge to play is partially fueled by the visceral illusion that it might not be; maybe it does hurt, at least a little. I know my last couple of relationships were disappointing, but am I really that . . .?

Anyway. Before I resolve this, Adriene's voice comes over the speakers and the staff hose down the males one last time, quickly unstrap and release them, sending them off with white resort issue towels to dry themselves and wiping down the bench in preparation for the next four males to be strapped into position.

There seems to be a regular rotation on roughly the half hour, with staff collecting and leading males from one station to the next. I am struck again by the organization and efficiency of the staff and offer my silent kudos to Adriene and crew.

Edging

I drop my now empty coffee mug on a service table and head to the next station.

Even at a quick glance on first entering the ballroom I had noticed this one because of the proliferation of 'apparatus'. As I arrive staff is busily strapping a number of males into the various restraint devices. One seems particularly dungeon-esque; a black crucifix with straps for the hands on the cross bar, wide set straps for the ankles below to spread the male's legs, and finally a height adjustable collar to secure the neck to the upright.

I have never been much interested in this sort of thing. Particularly since it usually is accompanied by women in dominatrix style leather get ups and gear - bad Halloween costumes if you asked me - that the men seem to need to complete their fantasies but that do nothing for mine. Maybe that's the difference here, or maybe it's the rather meanspirited arousal and pleasure I took in the last event coloring my mood. But it seems very different than I would have expected; being here in person watching the staff strap one of the gym rat puff pieces into place on the crucifix; a muscular black male with a good sized and very stiff penis, that bobs and flexes in obvious excitement as they fasten him in place. Instead of goth looking doms in high heels and leather, there's women like me in ordinary street clothes and casual wear standing by watching, waiting to put him to use.

There are five other pieces of apparatus I check out quickly as the staff secure the males in place. There's a bolster a male is strapped down face first over, bent forward at the waist, his ass and genitals available for manipulation from below or behind. Next there's a table set up like an operating table that has arm and leg rests with adjustments to lift the knees and/or spread the legs of the male as desired. Further on there's two very similar chairs with arm and leg restraints, the seats very short so the male's hips are pushed forward to offer the genitals. Each chair is conveniently furnished with a low padded stool for the 'handler' to sit comfortably as she plays. And finally, there is a simple straight back chair without arms or any restraints, but with a tapered five-inch-long dildo fixed in the seat for the male to settle down over, taking it up his anus. He's required to keep it there as women take turns edging him, any squirming or movement induced thereby adding to the amusement of the women as the dildo works in his ass.

I am particularly intrigued by this last. I have never engaged in anal sex myself or anal play with any of my male partners (who admittedly have not been that numerous or kinky). The dildo doesn't look large enough to do any damage and I do know intellectually there are pleasure centers in the prostate and elsewhere that can be triggered by male anal penetration. But having heard enough jokes by men about the unpleasantness of rectal exams, this particular set up seems to be pushing things (no pun intended). Are all the males here actually prepared to do this if asked? I wonder if perhaps this isn't one of those things a reluctant male might alert the staff that, as Trey put it, they just aren't into.

And indeed, the male the staff leads up to the chair seems a bit apprehensive. He is slightly older, with patterned baldness but a fairly lean and reasonably toned physique. He is not overly large, either in stature or penile proportions and I wonder if he's thinking, as I am, that that dildo might pose less of an anatomical challenge to one of the larger males in stock. Be that as it may, he stands dutifully by as one staff woman coats the dildo with a generous amount of lubricant and a second kneels behind him, tells him to spread his butt cheeks, and lubes his anus with a gloved hand.

I wince a bit for him, because he does look a bit anxious and I suspect this isn't helped by the small group of women standing, watching with me who are cooing and teasing him, telling him he's going to "take that up the ass" and "ride that for us". Despite this, I note that his erection doesn't seem to be flagging.

The moment of truth arrives. He's led up to the chair, straddles it and lowers himself down. A staff woman kneels beside him, reaching in to guide the dildo into his anus as he drops. He takes a bit of it, reacts, snorts and raises back up a little.

I find myself reflexively joining in the amused chorus of mock sympathetic "ohhhh" from the women watching with me. He exhales, tenses, settles back down on it further. The staff woman pulls her hand out and I see the dildo half buried in his anus below his balls. One of the women watching steps up closer, drops to one knee for a better look underneath.

"Yeah, take it up the ass." she chortles happily.

It seems to distract him a bit, his eyes dart her direction momentarily.

"C'mon," she urges, "up the ass."

He exhales and his penis flexes as he starts down again slowly.

"Ah, you like it up the ass." she purrs at him.

The other women laugh. I laugh with them.

He's trembling slightly, trying to control the descent, go slow as he eases down onto it. He lets out a shudder of breath as he hits bottom, his balls settling onto the seat. He lifts his head to look up at us and we cheer his achievement. He is grimacing somewhat, yes, but his cock is spasming prettily, ready for use.

I am slightly disturbed by how readily I have slipped into the group dynamic of these women. They joke and laugh among themselves and I simply go along. No, I more than just go along. Like them I find the persistence of this male's sexual excitement as he grimaces both amusing and arousing. I justify it by reminding myself that he volunteered for this; they all did. But even so, the twinge of pleasure triggered in me by seeing that cock spasm despite his obvious discomfort pulls me up short. Is this really me, or is it just the herd-mentality working on some animal level of my psyche?

"Who goes first?" a smallish oriental woman in tight jeans and red sweater asks.

This is an edging station, a concept I'm familiar with from my research. The object is for women (singly or in groups) to tease and work the males until they're just shy of ejaculation. Stopping just short, they then pull back to watch with their friends as flushed cocks bob and strain in frustration as the male gasps and moans and struggles not to come. As soon as the crisis passes, the women start working them again, stroking, sucking, anything the women want to try. The only rule is, don't make or let the male come.

The others agree to let the oriental woman edge him first.

I stay to watch. Four of us gather to stand companionably around the impaled male as the oriental woman (her name tag reads "June") pulls a low padded stool up in front of him, leans to place her hands on the inside of his thighs and

"Spread." she says simply as she pushes them wide, pulls the stool a bit closer up between his legs and sits down.

June pauses for a moment, surveys what she has to work with. She doesn't smile, but seems to be considering her approach in a workmanlike manner. He is leaning slightly forward as he sits. June reaches up with one hand and pushes his chest to lean him back against the chair back. He grunts softly at the change of position with that dildo up his ass, but he complies. His cock flexes and his balls draw up slightly in the sack as his hips tip under a bit.

I shift a little to one side for a better view than I had looking over June's shoulder.

Satisfied with his positioning, June reaches forward with one hand and grips his penis near the head, slipping two fingers behind and pressing her thumb to the front just below the head, her glossy red polished thumbnail nestling in the cleft of the glans. She starts to work her thumb, up, back, side to side, making him tense and "uhn, uhn, uhn" softly as she works. She looks up at his face then back down at her hand a few times in succession, bringing her other hand in now to lightly fluff his balls from below with her fingertips, jouncing them up and letting them fall back, like a pin ball flipper keeping the balls in play. I like how she does that; sort of irreverent; flip, flip.

He looks up at his audience, at me leaning in slightly over June's shoulder. I meet his gaze for just a second, suddenly aware of his awareness, it triggers a little twinge of aggressive pleasure. I drop my gaze back down, lean in a bit further to emphasize my attention and "Yeah, flip his balls." I say. "That's fun."

Whoa. Where did that . . .? I feel the heat in my cheeks because . . .

But the other women laugh and one repeats,

"Flip his balls."

And despite the dildo up his ass the male moans and tries to roll his hips under to better display them. Flip, flip.

What did Adriene say; a few slutty words? I could get used to this.

Those three fingers near the head now are working rapidly, polishing the sensitive frenulum, making him clench and buck just slightly.

June obviously knows how to do this, has her technique down. She strikes me as a skilled mechanic absorbed in her work. She tips her head to one side, appraising his balls that are now showing much less jounce as she fluffs them, gauging her progress with a practiced eye as they draw in tighter to either side of the root of his cock. Then a few quick but full strokes of her hand up and down the shaft.

The sudden change surprises him, making him lift his hips reflexively. I catch a glimpse of the dildo under him as he comes up off the seat just a bit before dropping back on it, hear myself say "yeah" softly in agreement when the woman standing next to me tells him, "That's good, fuck yourself with that for us."

June is back to polishing that spot below the head.

The guy is still leaned back against the seat back but his shoulders are hunched forward, his breathing tight and shallow and,

"Fuck! Ahn fuck!" he gasps.

June takes her hands away abruptly, slides a foot or so back out from between his legs to watch the results with the rest of us.

His body jerks slightly, once, twice. The chair has no arms but he's gripping the sides of the seat with both hands as he writhes just a little, clearly feeling the need to move somehow, but pegged in place by that dildo up his ass, as his penis flexes and bobs above those now very tight balls of his.

He's saying "fuck, fuck, fuck" softly like a breathless mantra.

We're "ahh" ing in mock sympathy and applauding June on her achievement.

He exhales hard and, "Fuck, you're good." he manages as the crisis passes.

"Yes, I am." June acknowledges with a snort. "Lucky you."

"Yeah." the male agrees with a half grimace-half smile.

Okay, so he's clearly not complaining here.

He's still shuddering a little when another two women walk over to join us and, "Looks like a fun one." one of them observes, "Room in the Queue still?"

I excuse myself to continue my circuit.

I decide to watch a round at each of the various edging apparatus.

It quickly becomes apparent that many of these women, like June, are extremely proficient at this game. Working the males up quickly and seeming to know just when to stop, usually abruptly, to keep them from coming but still get those tell-tale dry heave cock spasms that tell you they're barely keeping it in their balls, sometimes clamping down hard on a penis at the base to forestall things.

I watch three women around a male at the apparatus that has him bent over at the waist, his chest strapped down to a padded bolster. The male's head and hands hang over the front side, a bit like being in the stocks, but he's standing on both feet at the back end. There's a helpful stand nearby with a pump bottle of lube, paper towels and a dispenser for those thin blue latex, single use surgical gloves. After the male in the chair, I am not surprised to see a small assortment of dildo's arranged for use.

One of the staff women stands near the table, I assume to assure the stock isn't damaged by any over enthusiastic or under lubricated use. The staff woman looks slightly bored; I guess almost anything can become normalized with enough repetition. But the three women using the male seem busy and enthusiastic, talking and laughing back and forth as they work him as a team. One stands behind him to take advantage of the most obvious opportunity his position presents.

I try to stay back a bit so as not to distract or interrupt, but I come close enough to confirm that she isn't using a dildo on him. She's fucking his ass with her gloved middle and forefinger, twisting them slightly as she thrusts. The other two are down on low padded stools on either side, like milk maids, taking turns reaching in from either side below to handle his penis and balls. From my vantage, with their heads in the way as they watch their work, I can only infer what they're up to under there from arm and elbow motions, but when the one nearest me pulls her head back to look up at the one working his ass, I catch a glimpse of busy hands on a very dark flushed penis as she says, "Yeah, Cindy, that's getting him." before popping her head back under the hood.

Indeed, it does seem to be getting him. His knees bend and straighten now and again in quick bucking motions and the breath is heaving erratically in his stomach as he gasps, "Ahoh, ahh." in mounting excitement.

Then,

"Whoa, Cindy, stop!" the women handling him warn, laughing, pulling their hands away a leaning back a little to watch as the one behind him drives her fingers in hard and holds them there as he bucks and gasps, and

"Jesus, yeah!" one enthuses as she watches. "You got him good that time. Yeah Cindy, he wants to pop so bad."

I look at the male's face where his head hangs off the other side of the bolster; a youngish Latino, mouth half open, dark locks falling down in front as he looks at the floor and heaves against the restraints. He has a dazed expression mingling pleasure and futility. Yes, 'he wants to pop so bad'.

"Can we go again?" the woman behind him, Cindy I presume, asks the staff woman.

The staff lady glances about, looks my direction and says, "Well, he needs a moment at least. But if somebody else . . ."

I hold up both hands and shake my head. Though it's far more interesting to watch than I would have guessed - at least when it's in person like this and not that leather clad dominatrix stuff on the internet- I have no desire to use a man anally myself.

"Give him a bit." the staff lady tells Cindy and crew with a shrug. "Nobody else here right now, so he's all yours. But if some other members . . ."

"Of course," the woman closest to me says cheerily as she gets to her feet, "we'll share." then, "I call shotgun this time." she says with a giggle and circles back behind him to claim her place as Cindy steps away, strips off her surgical glove and drops it in a nearby bin.

I recognize two of the four women gathered around the next apparatus. It's the examining table set up. One of the older males has been strapped down on it. The four women are standing, two on each side of the table, chatting over him like surgeons discussing an upcoming procedure. I walk up towards the foot of the table to join them.

The male lifts his head as I approach. He notices me coming up before the women do. He's the guy I thought looked like a banker on his day off earlier. He's looking down his prone body at me, meets my gaze when I'm still a few feet away.

For just a moment I feel another one of those disconcerting twinges of normalcy, like I would if I were meeting the gaze of a passing stranger on the street. You know, you catch his eyes for a brief moment, maybe nod politely. We do. And then the disconcerting part comes as the situation registers and my eyes drop to take in the erect penis and rather large balls presented as I come up to stand between his feet at the foot of the table. The penis is flushed and pleasantly thick, if not so long as some. The circumcised head is a pretty purple mushroom cap leaking pre-cum. It bobs under my attention like an excited puppy happy to see me. I look up and meet his gaze again and, oddly, he is still that guy I might pass on the street. But he's also this, whatever this makes him, and me.

"Sarah, darling!" one of the women interrupts my reverie.

I look up and smile my sociable smile and confirm from the name tags that this is Amy and, standing next to her, one of the Megs from our table at dinner last evening.

"How are you liking it so far?" Amy asks me brightly. Then, before I can answer, turns to the two across the table from her and, "It's Sarah's first time." she informs them. "Not even a local chapter meeting before this." Then, turning back to me, "Isn't that right darling?"

The 'darling' bit strikes me as an affectation. But, my 'secret' out, I decide to take advantage of my ingenue status.

"Yeah." I nod to the other two women and, "So how does this set up work?" I ask, looking at the arm and leg rests the male is strapped to that seem to be adjustable in various ways.

The male moans quietly and stirs in his restraints, thrusting his hips, his penis flexing up off of his stomach in anticipation of the new girl finding out how things work.

I notice this, of course, all the women do. But I feel myself falling naturally into an unspoken etiquette of aloof condescension and mild amusement with the 'antics' and reactions of the male as the four women very helpfully demonstrate the apparatus' positional features.

Meg points out that the restraints around his ankles and wrists have some play to them so that males of various sizes can be attached and have enough slack to move with the adjustments without straining joints. This also leaves them free to thrust and thrash some, lift the head, torso and hips, arch the back and respond in other entertaining ways. Adjusting the arm and leg rests, they splay the male into a spread-eagle position.

Playing the curious CFNM virgin I have been cast as, I step up in between the male's legs and note with ingenue interest that,

"I see what you mean by how it lets them move." as the male lifts his head and chest up slightly to look down at me.

He makes eye contact, but this time it's different. It's like a switch has been thrown in my head and I see him for what the situation makes him and we women all agree he is; a toy for our sexual amusement. I don't acknowledge him and feel a definite ripple of entitled pleasure when I simply drop my gaze to look at what interests me. I examine his cock and balls from this nearer vantage like the curious CFNM tourist I am. So liberating, really, to just enjoy a male this way, knowing he's watching me but not caring what he thinks.

In response to my attention the male drops his head and shoulders back and, groaning, lifts his hips up to offer his genitals. I accept in character; amused smile, raised brow and slight tilt of the head as I appraise; Sarah, newly minted connoisseur of cock. The thought makes me smile.

But the ingenue game clearly excites him, just as it did Trey. Men.

My mentors demonstrate the additional leg adjustments, raising the legs up and back, hinging at the knees to put the male in the stirrup position like a gynecological exam. I observe from the traces of lubricant around his anus and its slightly gaping appearance that,

"Looks like he's taken it up the ass already." I feel a small twinge of pleasure in my cunt being so casually lewd and anatomically specific, making such 'observations' with this male right here listening.

"Yeah," one of the other women (name tag Candace) says casually, "Cher and I did him that way already." She motions towards the nearby table with the lube, dildos and gloves which is apparently a shared resource with the bolster set up. "He takes it nice."

The male seems to agree; bucks a bit and gasps "Awh, fuck!" softly.

We ignore this, of course.

"We were just debating," Amy says, "as you came up to join us, whether to fuck him again or let him tighten back up a little first."

"We haven't taken a turn on him yet." Meg explains. "We were just deciding."

I nod thoughtfully at the male's anus as he bucks again.

"Have you fucked one before, darling?" Amy asks brightly.

"Ah, no." I answer which triggers more moaning from the male.

"Oh, then, I insist, you simply must start with this one!" Amy enthuses breathily.

Must I, darling?

"I think not." I say, feeling some peculiar sort of satisfaction in turning down an invitation to fuck a naked man, splayed and erect on a table in front of me as if I were declining an invitation to sit in on a hand of bridge. I can see it throws Amy just a bit.

"Oh." she blinks. "Are you not . . .?"

"Not so much, no." not sure what she was going to ask, but I have my own question. "Are they all required to take it up the ass?" Uhmn, that twinge again.

"Required?" Candace half asks, "No. Not all of them anyway."

"Unfortunately." the other woman with her, name tag Cherel, snuffs. She reaches in casually and takes the male's penis in her grip, works it somewhat absently as she continues, "They're encouraged to, at least by those of us who enjoy them this way. Always encouraged. But some won't do it, and some, even if they do, are just not entertaining this way; don't stay erect, won't come when you want it from them."

I look at what's in Joan's hand and, "Not a problem with this one apparently."

"Oh, no." Cher growls and strokes his cock a bit more earnestly. "I don't know who supplied us with this one, but I'm tempted to break the rules and fuck him till he comes right here."

He's moaning softly "Yes, yes."

"He wants it again." Candace avers. "It's your turn." she says looking between Amy and Meg.

"Yeah." Meg nods, looks at me.

I step back out of the way, wave a hand to motion her in.

Meg steps around and up between his legs.

"Does look tempting." she says.

Cher stops stroking and drives the circle of her fingers hard to the base of his cock to display it for the group. The male lifts his hips up in front of Meg as he did for me, clearly excited to have his penis the center of attention, and

"Yes, yes." he groans again, lifting his head to look down at Meg as his penis throbs in Cher's grip.

"He's begging for it." Cher says.

"Yes." the male exhales hard, "Please."

Now, I suppose if being used this way didn't excite you, you wouldn't volunteer for it. But there is still something luridly fascinating (to me at least) about this rather handsome forty-ish male reduced to this. I recall Trey's remark at dinner that he hoped I'd find him entertaining and it occurs to me that part of the excitement for the males may be tied to the urge to 'put on a good show' for the ladies. Well, this one is certainly making a good effort.

I stay to watch.

Amy selects a couple of dildos from the nearby table for Meg to choose between. Candace suggests one of them; a six inch, slightly curved shaft shaped like an actual penis with a handy grip at the base. The male seems excited by the selection; moaning a few more 'yes's and rolling his hips under hard to offer his anus. Meg agrees she wants the penis and Amy helpfully lubes it up for her while Meg and Candace chat about what might be on the lunch buffet later.

This strikes me as posturing, but I still find it oddly appealing contrasted with the abject eagerness of the male, his head lifted, watching with us as Meg takes the toy penis from Amy with one hand and reaches down to spread his ass cheeks with the other, saying casually,

"The food here is better than the place last year though. Don't you think?"

The other women agree as Meg positions the tip of the dildo at his anus, teases him with it, pushing gently then withdrawing without penetrating.

The male grows more excited, strains to turn his hips under further, and,

"Please."

"Good boy." Meg says and abruptly shoves the dildo halfway into his ass.

He thanks her, his penis spasming desperately as Meg starts to work the dildo in and out, a little deeper with each thrust.

I do enjoy his reaction to being penetrated, but I don't particularly like the actual sight of the fake penis going in and out. I decide I like the thought of what Meg is doing to him, but that this is not a very attractive way to present a male, however efficient it may be for access. I liked the chair version better; the male basically doing it to himself, then watching him edged and knowing he had that up his ass but not having that be the main visual.

I stay to watch Meg finish the round with him; reaching up to stroke the male's penis with her other hand as she continues to fuck him. She misjudges just a bit. She has to stop abruptly and clamp down hard on his cock because he starts to come. It throbs in her grip and a few small pulses of semen emerge from the head and cling there.

The women are laughing and scolding Meg good naturedly.

But I feel suddenly out of synch with this posturing. The male is gasping, his flushed penis clamped in Meg's hand as a dribble of come leaks from the head onto his belly, a fake penis shoved up his ass and . . . yeah, okay, he volunteered for this. But something about seeing him actually come, or at least try to, and have it cut off so casually, these women laughing among themselves as if he really were just a piece of furniture or maybe a video game they were playing; they all seem suddenly to be trying too hard to impress one another rather than . . . What? Like I'm here on some noble, selfless mission? I get that, but still . . .

I'm glad they don't seem to notice particularly when I slip off.

I move on to the two chair restraints placed side by side. They have a male strapped into each of them. I recognize one of the males immediately as my suspected high-school kid. He's being worked by two middle aged women; one in jeans, down on one knee and the other close beside her perched on a small stool between the male's spread legs. His legs have been bound to either side of the chair by wide straps cutting him at mid-thigh. The seat he's perched on is barely deep enough to fit his buttocks. This brings his hips forward so his genitals are thrust out towards the women working him. His arms are bound to the chair at his sides.

The male in the other chair is bound identically, and has a few women gathered to use him, but I am immediately drawn to 'the kid' with his very large and (no better word comes to mind) beautiful penis, and his two handlers. A group of half dozen women are gathered round to watch as the two between his legs take turns stroking his cock very slowly and softly a number of times. They observe him carefully, watching his face and body as he bucks and strains against the restraints, judging the moment when he has had just enough, then taking their hands away to let him gasp and writhe as his penis spasms repeatedly. His penis and scrotum are both deeply flushed.              

This is edging with a vengeance. The two women are keeping him almost continually on the edge of ejaculation, never even letting him fully come down from one peak before going at him again. Each time one of them strokes him he's moaning in time "Ah, Ahh Ahhh, AH" with steadily ascending volume and desperation until they pull their hands away again to let him buck and plead for us.

"Awh fuck! Awh Jesus!" as his ass and thighs clench, his breath shudders in his chest and that very large and lively penis dances and dips like a puppet on a string.

Moving closer I can see beads of precum slung from the bobbing head, leaving glistening threads down from the tip onto his balls or the floor in front of him as his cock jerks and pulses.

"Oh, there he is, there he is." a woman in the group coos approvingly as she watches.

Yes, there he is.

This dynamic seems very different than that with Meg and her friends with the banker. The women watching are quiet and attentive. They're not pretending to be uninterested in or dismissive of the male's display of excited, if somewhat frustrated, pleasure.

I step up to join the circle as

"Ah, ahhh, Ahhhh, AHhhhh!" his voice rising in time with a stroking hand then,

"Ah, look at that." one of the women I've joined says softly as the kid bucks against the restraints and the lovely penis dances for us.

The two women working him lean back a bit from between his legs to improve the audience's view as the spasms slowly subside.

Yes, look at that.

That's just beautiful.

Odd, but that's just how it strikes me. He is so utterly exposed and at the mercy of these women and what they're doing to him; his body and responses make an artistic set piece; a skillful use of available materials to best esthetic advantage, inducing this helplessly ecstatic display of male sexual urgency.

He's looking up at us, meets my gaze momentarily, seems to recognize a new audience member has joined even as he shudders. I smile at him, look down to enjoy the fading throbbing of his penis, then meet his gaze again. Does he remember me from inspection, I wonder?

But then his upper body jerks and his head drops, he gasps as one of the women starts in on him again.

This round is very quick; it takes only a few soft strokes and he is writhing for us again.

As the spasms slow and fade, one of the two between his legs looks up to ask if others want a turn with him.

We all decline.

"No, no." one says, "This is perfect, just what I came for."

Nods all round.

"Just keep him going." another says.

They do just that.

I realize I'm growing increasingly agitated as I watch. I want to do him like that; tease him, toy with him, watch his expression as I handle him. Or at least I want a turn with one of these. But there's no way I'm going to interrupt or try and follow this act with my newbie fumbling. He is definitely being used to best advantage just as he is. As for my own manual skills, I've given hand jobs before, sure, but never toyed with a guy like this or tried anything with that level of refinement. It was more, 'hey, let me get this done'.

I look over at the male strapped into the other chair nearby; young Indian looking guy being worked by a somewhat overweight blonde woman in a too tight skirt and blouse sitting on a stool between his legs, jacking him so his balls are jumping up and down in time. There are only a couple other women around that one. I could probably get a turn on him pretty quick. But as I listen to another rising round of desperate "ahh" 's over my shoulder, the proceedings over at that other chair just seem somewhat shabby by comparison.

I turn back to watch the kid buck and gasp in the throes of another barely forestalled orgasm.

"That's good, give his balls a little." the woman next to me says softly as we watch one of the women's hands toying with them as his cock flexes desperately just above.

Like an experienced trainer soothing an overexcited stallion with a calming touch and quiet words, "That's right. Uhnmm, I've got you." the woman is cooing softly as she plays with them. "You're doing so well."

Yeah, there's no way to follow this act. So . . .

There, at the final apparatus, the large black male strapped to the crucifix; I want a turn on that.

I leave the group gathered around the kid and head over to where five or six women are gathered around the upright spreadeagled black male. He is deliciously lean and muscular, large pects and shoulders, ropes of muscle and sinew in those spread thighs and a six pack. I admire the hollow in the side of his clenched buttock as he thrusts his hips forward to offer his genitals to that gaggle of four, ponytailed coeds who apparently operate in all things as a pack. Two of them are stroking him hand over hand, another has his balls and the fourth has circled slightly behind to play with his ass. They're giggling and telling one another this or that, trying to work him in some coordinated fashion. But it seems efficiency here is taking second seat to togetherness and camaraderie. Nothing wrong with that of course, but it makes it harder to enjoy the show with the four of them crowded round like that.

He's moaning and I see his legs tremble slightly as he strains to push his cock and balls into their playful, nubile hands.

"Ah, girls. Ah girls!" he calls them girls.

Sounds like a caution then,

"Ah, Girls!"

They skitter back a bit, laughing and squealing excitedly as that fine black cock flexes and bobs.

Yeah, I want a turn on that.

I come up to one of the other women watching.

"Room in the queue?" I ask stealing a phrase I'd heard earlier.

She turns to me, smiles, "Oh yeah." she says with a nod. "I've had a go with that already, so . . ." she turns back and, "So who's next?" she asks generally. "We have" she pauses, turns back to read my name tag then "Sarah here who wants a turn." she informs the small group.

I am immediately ushered forward with smiles and polite waves and

"Sarah, come right up."

The four coeds are still in front of him but they step aside and,

"Yeah, go on. We're good." one says chirpily to me. "Gorgeous, isn't he?" she asks with a laugh. "Hand over hand and still room to spare. Could have taken three on that thing."

I nod in agreement, but as they clear out of the way I become viscerally aware of this very large, muscular male, breathing hard and straining, spread eagled in his restraints, his hips still thrust forward to present that 'three-hander' cock and a large, low slung pair of balls. His cock is pulsing gently with his heart beat, pre-cum leaking from the big circumcised head. I step up closer. Gorgeous he certainly is.

I look up from his genitals to his face. Even with his legs spread this way, he stands slightly taller than me. Strapped to the upright at the neck he can't lower his head, so he's looking down at me with just his eyes.

"Your turn, Sarah." he says and flexes his cock hard, wanting my attention back there.

"Yeah." I agree and drop my gaze to where we both want it.

"Ahmn, Sarah's turn." he growls softly, flexing it for me again.

He heard me announced, of course, my name and how I wanted a turn. But it's still odd, after seeing so many males today treated like furniture and game props, to hear him use my name that way. Odd, but very arousing, like it's suddenly personal. He wants me, Sarah, to . . .

I take his cock in my hand, feel it throb, the thick pole flexing in my grip, a sharp intake of air into that huge chest and

"Ahm, yeah, Sarah's turn." he repeats.

Fuck. Let me have this. I wrap my other hand around it, squeeze and bring them up the shaft to milk another big glob of clear pre-cum from the slit in the head.

"Yeah Sarah, more for you in there." he moans softly like he's talking just to me even though these other women are standing here listening and watching.

I like it.

"Is that right?" I ask him and slip one hand down to take his balls. "You have something in these for me?" again, I am surprised by how natural it feels to be talking this way. I've never been a talker during sex and I certainly don't do this sex kitten porn talk stuff. Always sounds silly to me. But right about now . . .

"Ahnm yes!" he curls his hips under hard to give those balls to me. "That's what I'm here for."

I step up closer, turn to one side slightly so the women watching can see me work him as I start to stroke his cock and keep playing with his balls. I like having them watch and hearing me ask him,

"What is it you're here for? Tell me." God, he feels so nice in my hands. Nice long strokes on his penis now, tip to balls and back again. So much to work with here. He is so fucking stiff.

"To give it to you." he manages. "Ah, fuck Sarah."

I realize I need to be a bit careful; I don't have experience with this edging stuff and an ejaculation would definitely be a faux pas. But I can feel myself getting into doing this and if it were up to me right now, I'd work him till he gave it to me.

"Give me what?" I ask. "What's in these balls?" okay, that was a bit too much to say out loud. But

"Ahhh, fuck yes!" he thrusts hard in my grip.

Maybe that was just right after all.

"Yes what?" I demand and bring my cock hand up to just under the head, start working him in short quick strokes just there. "Say it. What do you want to give me?"

I can see this is working, maybe too well. He was already pretty cranked before I got to him. But I want to make him say it. Even if making him say it makes it happen. I'm new at this, so they can sue me.

"My come."

Fuck that's nice. A pulse in the root of his cock between his balls and in the shaft in my grip. I know that should warn me off, but I just have to . . .

"Say the whole thing; 'I want to give you something from somewhere'." I taunt him with the fill-in-the-blank script I want.

"Ahnm, fuck Sarah!"

"Say it. My turn. I want to hear it. Why are you here?"

"I want to give you the come from my balls!" he says his lines and bucks in my hands.

I let go. Step away. Fuck, that's so hot! Look at him thrash; that beautiful penis dancing to Sarah's tune. I get a flash of worry because,

"Don't come." I say and wince slightly when for a moment it seems, "Don't come."

He doesn't, but I think just barely.

I step back away further, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the porn talk stuff with these other women listening, because, really, I don't do that 900 number shit. It just . . .

"Whew!" a leggy black woman with beautiful, high, aristocratic cheekbones flashes me a brilliant white smile. "You go girl!" she says, holds a graceful hand out my way and "Sarah, right?" she asks. "Genine." introduces herself.

I nod, smile, take her hand. "Hi."

"Well, hi to you too, girl." she says with a slight southern tinge to her voice. "That's makin him earn it." she nods at the crucified male. She releases my hand, leans in amiably. "He does that. He's a talker." she confides. "Gorgeous, but just can't shut up sometimes. He knows he's not supposed to. Not like he does anyway. He just seems to need it. Throws some girls off. But we just had to bring him. I mean . . ." she nods again towards the male.

I follow her gaze, glance back over my shoulder at . . . fuck, that is still so hot. And I just . . .

"Yeah." I sigh and turn back wistfully; I wouldn't be leaving that at home if it were mine.

"Yeah." Genine echoes with a knowing smile. "But you took it right to him, girl. Had him verbally masturbating for us." she laughs. Then, apropos of whatever, "You wanna join me and the three amigos for lunch?" she asks.

"Sure." I say, "Thanks." but, "The three amigos?"

"Oh, we got a little gang up from Tulsa. It'll be fun. That one," she motions to the male again, "he's one from our stock. We put him on the web page, great for recruiting. So nice to see him used to his potential. Girls will love to meet you."

"Okay. Great. Ahm, I'll look for you. But I still need to . . ." I motion towards the last station. I haven't even made the full circuit yet.

"Oh, sure, sure." she says with narrowed eyes and a mischievous smile. "So many males and yet so little vacuuming gets done." she jokes.

That gets me laughing.

"We'll save you a seat at lunch." she says. "So nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Genine." I use her name to make sure I remember it later.

I'm relieved to walk away and have a moment to myself. I am way more agitated and aroused than I was expecting to be. I was going to observe, maybe join in just a little for research purposes but . . .

It isn't that some of this didn't appeal to me when I looked into it; I don't write about stuff I have no interest in. But it struck me as an exotic, somewhat over hyped fetish; things stretched way beyond their normal context. Like visiting the zoo to see the animals pacing in their sad, little cages; good for tourists but artificial and slightly pathetic in terms of real wildlife. What kind of women, after all, would really go for this stuff; in real life I mean, rather than just as some fantasy to rub one out to now and then? What sort of guys? Yeah, I was coming to the zoo for my article. I wasn't expecting to be one of the animals.

I realize I've been at the edging station for a full rotation when Adriene calls out the next one and the males start to be unhitched. I look back to watch as the male with the dildo up his ass slowly lifts himself off of it. He doesn't look any worse for wear although, like most of the other restrained males he shakes out his legs and body to loosen up again.

As the staff start to collect their charges and shepherd them on, I am starting to be surprised/impressed by the erectile robustness of almost all the males. They do stroke and work themselves to stay stiff, but there seem only a couple instances of even partial softening which are quickly remedied by the staff or more usually the men themselves. I wonder if maybe they're all on Viagra but, then again, don't really care. Good for them either way. I like them erect. It's like a license not to fret about using them this way; all these stiff penises advertising the readiness and eagerness of the attached males to make themselves 'available' for this; helplessly erect, begging 'please, please, look at this! I need you to play with this! Let me serve you!'

So, what kind of woman would find this appealing 'for real'? Maybe that kinky little slut Sarah who wants her turn for more than just research purposes on that lovely black cock.

Souvenirs

I am somewhat surprised by the next station given the insistence of the staff that to protect member's privacy, there be no pictures or recordings. There are two photo shoot areas set up with professional looking backdrops, props and lighting, each with a female photographer attending.

There is a lull as the males are redistributed to their new stations. I walk up to one of the photographers; a pretty twenty something Italian looking woman in loose fitting coveralls, her dark hair tied back, frowning down at her camera as she flicks through the prior digital images on her screen.

"I thought there were no pictures or recordings." I say.

She looks up, big brown eyes under black, pencil thin brows.

"Oh, yeah, hi." she says.

"Hi."

"There's not." then laughs. "I mean not for the members to take them. You want a souvenir posed with some of the guys, we'll do that. But it's strictly for you. You won't wind up on somebody's Facebook page unless you put it up yourself or you sign a release says we can use it on the web page for advertising or recruiting. We video some too. But again, only the males and, if they want to be included, members who sign consent forms. Really, it's okay. You control it. We don't even keep copies of these, though we do use the videos, if they turn out any good, on our web pages for member access only. But these pictures here, once you download it, we erase everything."

I recall the conversation with Trey over dinner where the ladies had teased him about recognizing him from a video of the prior year's event.

"And the guys?" I ask. "What about their privacy?"

She shrugs, smirks. "The male's you mean." she reverts to the shop terminology; 'males' not 'guys' any longer. "They sign a release. Members can do what they want with their own pictures. And for the ones we take of the males without members in them, they have to agree we can use them on the web page or for recruiting new members. We also use them to create digital or hard copy scrap books for members who want them as keepsakes. But other than that, we don't sell or use images of our males unless they give separate written consent. But realistically, there's so much of this stuff out there, who's gonna pick out one more naked guy in some fetish photo or video and say, 'Hey, isn't that good ol' Bob?'" she huffs, then, "Still, to be clear, as a member you don't have to worry. You see me and Linda out on the floor taking shots or video, you're never gonna wind up in one, not even in the background, unless, like I said, you sign a release and want to be in something. We're real careful with that. This is a great gig; we aren't gonna fuck it up that way." she assures me. Then, "But, hey, I gotta . . ."

"Yeah, thanks." I say and let her go back to scrolling images.

Males are arriving now; six of them. I recognize Trey among them.

There seems to be a different, more relational atmosphere between the women and the males gathered to have their pictures taken. The women talk and tease and the males smile and laugh with them as they stand by in a group waiting for their summons to pose.

The photographers are ready.

"First two." the one who spoke to me says, "Make sure to sign in; name, email or phone if you want it sent that way. Get your number and give it to us when it's your turn so we can tag and match up later. That way if there's a problem with the download, we can find your set and resend if we need to. Check your mail, you should know by this afternoon if there's an issue. But make sure you're signed in."

The digital logistics out of the way, the first two women step up and give their numbers, choose from among the available males the one or ones they want in their photo and start to pose their shot.

I notice Phyllis over at the side table signing in.

"Hey." I say, walking over towards her.

She looks up, sees me and smiles. "Hey there." she says brightly. "Wondered where you got to. Just . . ." she holds up a hand, looks back down and finishes signing in. Then, "This is really well organized this year." she says as she comes towards me. "And I'm just loving the selection of males. You?"

'The selection'; how does such terminology feel so natural, even pleasing all of a sudden. But,

"Yes." I agree without even a trace of inward irony or posturing. "I'm loving it too."

"Oh, I hoped you would." she enthuses as she comes close and grips my arm again in that affectionate way of hers. "So glad I caught you here." she says as she turns me back towards the photo shoot. "I always try to get a shot or two of Trey and me to remember each of the events we attend together. I'd love to get one with the three of us; maybe you on one side, me on the other, each of us with one hand around his cock and one on his ass. He'd love that."

I am grateful when another woman standing nearby interjects and saves me from having to give an immediate response.

"Is one of these, sorry," she says with a slight cringe, "for interrupting I mean, but I couldn't help over hearing. Is one of these is yours?" she asks Phyllis. "If you don't mind me asking."

I thank her silently for the momentary reprieve as I try to formulate a polite way to decline Phyllis' invite.

"Oh, not at all." Phyllis responds. "My husband. He's that one over there," she motions, "with blondie holding up his balls for the camera."

I look and see Trey posed with another male and a blonde woman. She's sitting in a throne-like chair and they stand on either side of her, their thighs up against the arms, their erections jutting out in front of her as she smiles for the camera with one hand wrapped around the first male's penis and the other palm up under Trey's balls like she's weighing them.

"Oh, that's nice." the woman says a bit wistfully as she looks.

"Why thank you. I think so." Phyllis accepts the compliment with a happy snort.

"But really," the woman turns back to Phyllis, "I'd love to, but how do you find one that will do this with you? It would be so nice, even just among girlfriends to be able to . . ." she breaks off, laughs. "How do I get one?" she asks.

"Just look around." Phyllis says with a trace of disdain. "Plenty of them out there who'll do this. The problem, just like with guys who won't do it, is finding one who's good for anything else."

We're all laughing, because it's just so true. But it suddenly strikes me that I have no idea how that sort of a relationship would work. I know about polyamory, open marriages and swinging and I have a difficult time picturing how that could really work. But this; having a partner who makes himself 'available' this way? Seems like a whole other level of . . .

"Lucky you." the woman says.

"Absolutely." Phyllis agrees.

The woman turns back to watch and wait her turn.

I politely beg off from Phyllis' photo op. Given how open she seems about this I get the impression I could end up being splashed around the Boston area in her emails to friends and wind up recognized by one of my relatives or ex's. Low probability maybe, but I don't need that and I'm not about to negotiate ground rules for use with her.

I stay to watch a few of the other women pose and preen for the camera, having the males move various props and furniture to set up scenes and then pose in them. Some are fairly vanilla. One woman just stands between two erect males, her arms around their waists like they're in a threesome prom photo. But others get more elaborate. The woman just before Phyllis directs two males to balance rather precariously, one on each side arm of the throne chair facing the camera. She has a third stretched on his back on a low bench in front of her with his legs spread for the camera. She props her feet on his chest and uses him like a footstool then grips the erections of the two balanced on the arms in either hand like royal scepters of some sort. It takes a few shots to get what she's after, because the males on the arms are not that steady and she wants them symmetrically spread and positioned, but she gets it eventually.

I slip away when it's Phyllis' turn, worried that at the last minute she'll look out into the audience and put me on the spot with some version of 'Look Trey. Sarah's come to see your photo shoot. Wouldn't it be exciting to have one with Sarah?' then waving me over like she did on the inspection line.

Not happening.

I go back to the refreshment area but there's nothing except coffee, soda and water. I need to ratchet down a little. I know it's still before noon, but I'm looking for a real drink. This is a resort, isn't it?

I grab a bottle of water.

That's the circuit.

I pause thinking I should take stock of what I think of this but I'm feeling an odd mix of agitation and numbness that won't crystalize into any specific thought or reaction. I can still almost feel that lovely black cock in my hands, the weight of his balls and then a flash of that other male settling down over the dildo, then cut to Meg smirking and talking about where to get the best coffee while . . . I feel all over the place; aroused, mildly appalled, aloof, complicit, desensitized and enthusiastically or morbidly curious, but somehow a little bored too by how ordinary and anticlimactic male nakedness can be. Aroused though; definitely. But even that is unfocused.

So much for taking stock.

Where to now?

Well, first, I have to pee.

Too Much of a Good Thing?

I pull my panties back up and flush, take a moment to straighten out my sun dress before leaving the stall when,

"Yeah, but I was expecting it would be more focused or something. I don't know." a woman's voice, the sound of high heels on the bathroom tiles.

A pause. A faucet turned on. Then the same woman's voice again.

"Well, you'd think so, right? Forty-two of them. But it's actually, I don't know, like too much of a good thing?"

Another pause.

"Yeah, but it's like you can't . . . No, it's not that. It's more like you can't . . . What?"

I sniff loudly to make my presence known and open the door to the stall, step out.

A petite brunette in a short skirt and heels stands at the far end of the line of sinks, a phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she rinses her hands under the faucet. She turns her torso my way, gives me an apologetic grimace . . .

"So, I can't really talk right now." she says as if she suspects I'm going to report her for not having her phone powered off. "We're supposed to not have our phones . . . no it's just a . . ." she pauses again, gives me a pained smile.

I hold up both hands and shake my head in the universal sign for 'Not bothering me' and turn on the faucet in the sink in front of me.

"It's like there's too much else going on to let you bore down, or whatever, on one and make him really . . ." another pause. "Yeah, exactly. The guys, they're distracted by it too so, but I gotta go."

I see in the mirror another glance my way as she listens, turns off the faucet.

"Yeah, call you tonight then. Oh, I forgot that, right. But Tuesday, we're still . . .? Good. See you then. Yeah, me too."

She reaches and pulls one of the fancy hand towels from the stack and

"Sorry." she says to me, meeting my gaze in the mirror as she dries her hands.

"Not a problem." I tell her. "But I couldn't help overhearing . . ." I pause, looking to see if she is offended or put off, but,

"Yeah?" she asks. "You mean about the guys?" then "The males." she corrects with a smile and those silly air quotes.

I laugh. "Yeah. The males. Sounds like you were saying . . ."

"There's too many." she finishes for me, "Yeah." then, "I know, silly right?" she asks rhetorically. "Big convention, must be a hundred of us here, so what was I expecting?"

I turn off my faucet, shake my hands off over the sink, "Well," I say as I reach for a hand towel, "I haven't ever been to a CFNM event before so . . ."

"Never?" she interrupts.

I nod, push on past that, not wanting to get bogged down on that again, "So I wasn't sure what to expect, but I agree, that's a lot of naked guys out there."

"A lot of erect penises." she huffs.

"Yeah. Do you think they all take Viagra or something?" I ask.

"Some do, I'm sure." she laughs, squints at my name tag. "Sarah." she says, then squares up to show me hers. "Shea," she says, "like the stadium."

"Hi."

"Hi. So, it's not just me then." she says. "I haven't been to one of these before, I mean a convention. Me and two girlfriends we just have this little subgroup thing going where we'll get a guy - once we did have two. But, anyway, I figured what the hell, more's gotta be better, right? I'll go to the 'Maven Convention'." again with the air quotes. "At first it was hot. So many guys, sorry, males." she corrects herself. "We just call 'em guys, but okay, I do kinda like the" airquotes "'male' thing. But then, after that initial rush it's like, I don't know, an assembly line or something. So much going on all over with these different things and guys traipsing over here, over there. It's still fun I guess, but . . ." she waves it away shakes her head. "I don't mean to hold you up."

"No, no." I cut her off. "This is interesting." and it is, but it's also grist for my blog. "Please go on. Like I said, I haven't been to a smaller group event either, so I guess you're saying . . .?" I trail off, not wanting to put words in her mouth.

"Well, it's just completely different when it's just the three of us and we've got some guy to ourselves for the evening. I mean, there's some prize real estate out there, no doubt, that our little group . . ." she rolls her eyes at me, "I mean, some of the cocks on these guys here! We aren't getting that sort of quality in Jen's playroom, just local guys who answer the add. And we don't audition really, like they say you should, cause it's just us and we don't have that much time to put into it. So, if we meet the guy over coffee and agree he's okay, his audition is just to show up, strip and do what we decide. So yeah, sometimes we get a guy who doesn't live up to what he told us. But the guys we do get, they are ours for the evening, if you know what I mean. We got time and imagination and he's got nowhere to go and nothing to distract him. Adriene up there talking about blue balls," she scoffs happily, "you want to see a guy plead for it, give me, Jen and Rach a couple hours with one. Especially a new one who hasn't been used before." she laughs.

"But this out there," she waves a hand towards the door, "it is fun, sure, with the guys out there. You can take one and use him in whatever set up they have going at that station, at least for a couple minutes. And there's no duds in the bunch. But you're not learning him; you know, pushing a guy again and again and making him show you where he's vulnerable and helpless to control himself, settling down in on him and letting him really feel it; how you can just get at him and not let up until he knows you own him."

I am struck by the transformation; this petite brunette, her eyes narrowed, her mouth set in a satisfied smirk; like Torquemada at an auto de fey. Then a regretful sigh,

"You can't do that really with forty-two guys and all this . . ." she shrugs. "I mean, I can't even focus too long on any one of them cause there's always another one with a bigger dick or who's getting used over at the next station in a way I just want to see or try . . . you know what I mean? It loses a lot of its umphh! when it's just everywhere that way."

"I think I can see how that could be." I nod. "Just hadn't thought of it because . . ."

"Yeah." she affirms.

The Purist

I emerge from the ladies' room with a shifted perspective on the morning. I'm starting to think this convention may just be the tip of the CFNM iceberg and might not even be that representative of the activities on a smaller scale at the local groups and sub-groups. I glance around at the elaborate set up with the stage and various pieces of equipment, naked guys scattered about the various stations and women chatting, laughing, going back and forth between things, and then try to picture Shea and her two girlfriends in 'Jen's playroom' (whatever that might entail) concentrating their attentions on a single, naked male who, in her terms they would 'push again and again' until he shows them 'where he's vulnerable and just can't control himself'. I get some sense of that one-on-one sort of dynamic at the edging station, but even there the other activities going on around me, the other women watching, taking turns, pretty much validates and takes away most any personal angst about participating. But I know I would feel completely different about it if it was just me or maybe even me and just two other women with only one guy. There'd be no crowd to hide in. No distractions. So many males like this makes it feel less personal; forty erect penises make examining or toying with any single one less intimate; this penis could be any one of many and I'm just doing what everyone else is. I don't have to take responsibility for this set up as if this were my personal fantasy being catered to. But if it were just me, say, with some huge black stud strapped up to a crucifix waiting, erect and eager to be edged, at my personal instigation for my personal amusement in my living-room . . . It makes me nervous just thinking about it. Shea's right; by comparison this is kind of like a production line.

There's an open spot on one of the couches in the massage area. A young, athletic looking male, his long hair tied back in a ponytail, sits on his stool glancing around for his next customer. I walk over. He looks up at me as I approach, smiles, nods and motions with an open, welcoming hand for me to take a seat.

It's another one of those everyday gestures that seem oddly out of place; like a friendly clerk in a shoe store, but one with a good-sized erect penis he's stroking with his other hand as he sits on his low stool, one knee pulled up, his other leg comfortably extended in front of him.

I have decided I rather like seeing men work themselves that way; there is something naively endearing in how they seem at times to be almost absently pleasuring themselves, keeping it stiff and 'presentable'.

He sees me glance down at that working hand as I settle in on the couch in front of him and interprets it as either a request or an invitation. He leans back onto one straight arm behind him, drops his raised knee out to the side to open his legs and, taking his stroking hand away, rolls his hips under to lift and present his penis and balls. There is nothing subtle here; a blatant display, offered so readily. He's looking up at me - hopefully? anxiously? what? I can't quite tell - but expectant of some reaction. I find myself focusing on what's presented with a sense of noblesse oblige, only reenforced when he says,

"At your service, m'lady."

"M'lady?" I smile at the formality and the way his penis stiffens and bobs up slightly off his belly under my gaze.

"Yes, m'lady, how may I be of service?" he asks.

I can feel he's still looking up at me, but I don't lift my gaze. I try to slow myself down, ignore the fact that there are all these other males here, naked like this one. What if it was just me or, like Shea was saying, just me and two other women at most, and just this one guy doing this? Focus, Sarah; there's a guy here in front of you leaning back and spreading his legs to show you his erection, calling you 'm'lady' and asking what he can do for you, his hips turned under and up that way to lift his balls and show some ass. That's what this is. So just look at it. Look at him. You don't know him. He doesn't know you. But he clearly wants this, your attention and interest and hopefully enjoyment of him and his proffered genitals. Maybe I just hired him to come to my apartment to give me a foot massage but insisted he do it this way; naked and erect.

But even just trying to do that as a mental exercise - making it personal and 'in your face' the way I know it would be if it were only he and I here - makes me feel both embarrassed and, at the same time, uneasily aroused; because in that scenario, it seems to say as much about me as it does him to be doing this. Well, as much maybe, but certainly something different; look at him, he as supplicant, but that makes me . . . m'lady?

I realize that my extended appraisal is increasing his excitement. His legs spread further and his hips lift slightly. Such attention is clearly what he hopes for. He's at my service, yes. It's silly role playing, but I realize the silliness, the 'script', is what makes it possible for me to sit here like this and simply stare at a man's genitals because it's interesting to see how excited it makes him. I didn't make up the game and, come to think of it, neither did he. Maybe that's what makes this possible for him as well. We're both just following the rules and the rules invite and encourage the exercise of female sexual prerogative. It's nothing personal to me that I have to assert; the rules of the convention and the role playing simply hand me this privilege. Under the rules he expects me to accept this display as my due, to appraise it and him under the standards governing 'good service'.

Very well. What would m'lady think of this particular presentation?

He's nicely hung; circumcised as I prefer with a thick and pronounced ventral ridge that cleaves down between his tautly slung balls to his anus. His cock is pleasingly straight, lacking that common upward curve in the shaft that can also be pleasing, but the boltlike jut of this one . . . a very nice cock. But as much, or perhaps even more than the looks of him, I decide I like this dynamic of male supplication; how he looks up hopefully from his position below me, his exposure as he waits for however long I want to make him wait that way, with other women sitting nearby or passing on their way to other stations seeing his display and my own calmly entitled demeanor.

So, I indulge it -- I'm allowed and besides, it's what he wants. I smile when his breath catches and his penis flexes excitedly again under my gaze.

"That's a nice one." a woman a few feet down the couch getting her feet massaged by another male says.

I turn to look at her, smile. She looks familiar. I'm trying to place her when,

"Sarah, isn't it?" she asks, then seeing I'm still searching, "Diane." she offers, "We spoke earlier, just briefly but . . ."

"Oh, yes, of course, Diane." the 'purist'.

"I was just saying, that's a nice one." she repeats, motioning casually to the male at my feet. "At least the cock on him." she specifies, "Don't know if he's any good with his hands." then, "This one isn't bad." she motions to the male working on her right foot and calf.

He's a young, slender, slightly effeminate looking male with long, unbound Jesus hair. He's holding Dianne's foot by the ankle with one hand and deep massaging her calf with the other.

"Uhnm." I nod and noting the head of his erect penis jutting up just above the thigh of his bent leg, "With his hands you mean."

"Yes." she confirms with a conspiratorial smile. "But, here," she says, turns and snaps her fingers at her male, "let us compare." she tells him.

"Yes, m'lady."

He sets her foot down carefully, draws his knees up and spreads his thighs, then leans back, placing his hands of the carpet behind his stool mirroring my male's presentation. His penis is average in size but nicely formed, his balls slightly asymmetrical, one slung a bit lower than the other.

I look from one male to the other, stretched back and spread in that slightly awkward but very compliant way. Both penises flex in excitement, or perhaps the males are doing that intentionally. I don't really care which; it's a plea for our approval either way.

"I like mine better." I decide. "Cockwise." I specify needlessly. Or perhaps I should say gratuitously; indulging the entitlement to select one over the other as if they were entrées on a menu.

Both males moan slightly at this and their penises bob for us again.

"I agree." Dianne says with a wicked smirk. "Like I said, that's a good one."

More soft moans from both males as they hold position. I look up at the face of the second-place finisher and it strikes me that winning or losing is not what excites them. It's our interest in and attention, even if only to make an unfavorable comparison. It excites them simply to be considered and appraised this way by women.

I look over at Dianne.

"This is what you meant earlier by who's serving who." I realize.

"Precisely." she nods. "They're lucky to have the opportunity. That should be enough for them." she tosses her head towards the waiting males. "Shall we?"

"Yes." I agree.

She turns and "Back to work."

"Yes m'lady."

"You too." I tell the male at my feet.

I slip out of my shoes and for the next ten minutes enjoy a lovely foot, calf and ankle massage as Dianne and I chat.

Dianne apologizes if she seemed rude earlier but explains that CFNM in her view should be a predominantly voyeuristic activity for women focused on naked males providing service and sexual entertainment. While she agrees in theory that women should have a proprietary right to handle and use the males as they wish, continually rewarding them with sexual pleasure by constant touching and attention is poor practice, in her view, because it makes many women feel this is somehow required of them, if only from the social pressure to keep up with the other women doing it. Rather than make the males demonstrate their eagerness and excitement to serve and perform, the women seem to wind up performing for each other.

Dianne points out that a male always wants to be handled and pleasured by women, so it's like providing them a service rather than the other way around. The point of CFNM is to make them offer up their sexual excitement as a tribute to women's erotic power over them.

"You want to emphasize that." Dianne opines. "Have them make a spectacle of themselves and show us their gratitude for the opportunity to dedicate their pleasure to our amusement."

"So, earlier when you" I begin but "uhnm," I sigh happily at the sensation of a long, gentle but firm swipe of skilled thumbs along the arch of my foot, "when we were talking about the inspection stuff." I continue after a moment. "What you didn't like was the touching and . . ."

"More the atmosphere of the thing. Just too informal and . . ." she waves a hand, "It was good to line them up that way. Let us look them over flaccid and then watch them stroke it up for us. And they should have been available for inspection both ways. But having the women all pile into the aisle and wander down it that way . . ." she shakes her head. "It's not really inspection; it's just a grab fest. Especially the second pass."

"But you said they should have been available for inspection." I remind.

"Yes. But the males should have been made to present themselves in an orderly and, frankly, more objectifying fashion."

"More objectifying?" I ask, trying to imagine, "How?"

"Well, to my taste, I would have the women all just seated comfortably and the males would need to step up in front of each in turn and present themselves. You could have some sort of timer ding or beep or whatever about every thirty seconds to keep them moving along. Each time the signal goes off they step to the next woman and so on."

I try to picture this set up. How long it would take to get forty males inspected by eighty attendees at thirty seconds a whack, the logistics of it. Don't ask me why, but my mind just goes there.

I try to explain how I think that might take longer than the twenty or so minutes the organizers had allotted for inspection.

"That's not really," Dianne interrupts shaking her head, "Look, okay, sure." she says. "I would have given us more time for inspection anyway if it were done the way I'd prefer. But maybe the way they did it was the only practical way with this many. My point is, the ambiance should be more . . ." she pauses, starts again. "Look, to me at least, it's less important that every single woman get to inspect every male than that the males are made to feel their status. If you did it my way, the males are made to come to the women, not the other way. They need to step up in front of seated women with their penises roughly at eye level and the women can do what they want. The power dynamic is just so much more blatant and objectifying. A woman doesn't even need to look up past the waist and acknowledge the male. That sends the message of what they're here for." she chuckles and adds, "What they're good for. Like these two, so eager to show us." she laughs softly leans back slightly against the couch and tips her head up with a mock eager puppy expression in imitation of our two males looking up for our approval earlier.

I laugh with her. I have to admit she's very persuasive.

My male is doing a wonderful job on the calf and Achilles tendon of my right leg.

"But I get a lot of that objectifying power dynamic over at the edging station for instance." I say. "I mean, I know the males are being pleasured, but they're certainly being made a spectacle of as well."

Dianne shrugs. "It's all a matter of degree maybe. I just much prefer seeing a male do himself. Especially when they're made to finish for us. It's all on them; very simple and direct; they can't evade it or make it about something else. They just have to stand there, or kneel or lay there, however we want them, and work themselves up however they need to do it until they come. I never really get tired of that." then she smirks and, "Well, I guess I'll have to see; maybe after forty or so it might get old. Never been to an event with this many males." she explains.

"So that's what happens at noon?" I ask. "What the brochure calls 'Toast to the Members'?"

"Yes. What else?" she asks rhetorically.

"Well, I guess I did think it was something like that, but all forty of them?"

"Forty-two, I think actually. They'll barely all fit on the stage."

I glance over my shoulder at the stage and lighting set up in the middle of the ballroom. So, that's what that's for. Then I have another of those brief 'aha' moments as the situation and conversation gel into something more visceral. I look back down at the naked male cradling my foot in his lap as he works it, his head lowered in concentration and it hits me he's been listening to this - of course he has - his erect penis jutting up from between his thighs - listening as we discuss the logistics of his jerking off for us up on that stage. Yes, he's going to be up there in little more than half an hour now; this other one at Dianne's feet too.

"All at once?" I ask, watching my male's expression. "Forty-two doing it all at once?" what is he thinking, feeling about this?

"I hope not." Dianne says. "That would be a waste other than just the novelty of it."

"Why a waste?" my male's penis twitches slightly; is that a reaction to this or just what they do when they're stiff and excited. Could be either. I can't read his expression. He seems absorbed in his task, and he's doing a lovely job of it; my feet are in heaven.

"Because the point is," she clears her throat, "again, this is my point, the way I think it should be done. The point is to put them on the spot with it. Not let them get lost in some crowd. But to make them feel their personal obligation to entertain us with it; demonstrate their gratitude, however you want to say it. Ideally in my book, you'd make them do it one at a time, so it's just you, or us, and them. One male on his own with no other distractions for him or us. Make him do his best."

"If we're going to finish at 12:30," I note, "at least that's what's on the schedule, that's only half an hour for . . ."

"Oh, I know." Dianne waves this off with a laugh. "A plenary session is not really set up for that. We'll have them do it right later this afternoon at High Tea. But I'm sure Adriene and crew will come up with something amusing to finish the morning for us. It's still fun to watch them do it, even if it's not perfect. In some ways, like with inspection, I think we may have too much of a good thing with forty-two of them. At least if you're going to insist on working them all the same way."

"You're the second person who's said something like that." I tell her.

"Really?"

And so, I tell her briefly about my conversation in the ladies' room.

The massage is feeling really wonderful but I've been here for a while now and I'm noticing other women waiting for a turn. Conscious of Adriene's directive to 'share',

"I think I'll let one of these others have a turn." I say to Dianne, and draw my foot gently away from my male's grip.

She looks up at the other women waiting nearby and frowns. "Yes. I probably should too."

"But it was lovely to talk to you." I say. "I do get your point about the ambiance. I'm guessing from what you said you'll be at High Tea later?"

"Definitely. And you?"

"I think I'm going to take in a little of both events." I say as my male helpfully slips one of my shoes back on for me.

"Really? That'll be quite a contrast." she says, then. "But I've enjoyed talking with you too, Sarah. I'm done here so, where did you think you might head now?" she asks.

I consider. "I thought I might take a little target practice."

Dianne brightens. "Oh, that was fun. I took a turn at it. Would you mind if I tagged along and . . ."

"Of course not. I'd love some company."

We get our respective shoes back on and head over to the carnival station.

Sampling

Dianne and I wait till we can take a turn together at the firing range with the males in the swing. We wind up with a third woman who introduces herself but whose name I immediately forget. We get a four-minute block of time to shoot.

We step up to our stations as the males are being hosed down between turns. Dianne grabs the middle spot because she says she likes the red ammo. I take one side shooting yellow and our nameless playmate the other, shooting blue. I examine the potential targets. First towards my end of the bench, a young black male; not as big and buff as my crucified edging victim but presenting a good-sized pair of balls that I expect my bright yellow ammunition to burst against with lovely contrast to the dark flesh. Next, a somewhat heavy set near eastern looking male with impressive penile proportions but who's rather tightly slung for target practice. Then it's Joe the bartender, yes, that's him; a robust male, whose tied back penis looks to be on the soft side but otherwise makes a respectable showing for target purposes. And finally, at the end of the line farthest from me; a pale and slender, somewhat effeminate looking male (the lipstick adds to the effect) whose penis pulses excitedly against the tie and whose young not particularly large balls hug the root of his cock in pretty symmetry.

I am drawn to this last by the apparent arousal this use of him seems to provoke in him. I watch his penis bob and strain against the tie when the staff sprays him down, watch his expression as he looks out at the women spectators around him. I note that his hips are thrust forward further than the others, his legs spread willingly to offer his balls as a target.

By comparison, the black and near eastern males have mildly vexed expressions as they glance around at the audience and eye the three of us in front of them. They flinch a bit as they're hosed down, tight smiles, like they're doing their best to be patient with unruly children. I note however, that this attitude seems not to diminish their excitement, exhibitionist or otherwise, at being on display this way. Both males are firmly erect. Joe the bartender seems simply stoic, his softening penis signaling he's enduring this without enthusiasm but, I assume, for the sake of expected rewards later.

I feel again that slight twinge of satisfying disdain, a happy condescension for what males will endure or allow to satisfy that need for female attention and approval. Volunteers all; they shall have their reward. But first, Di and I are going to have a little fun.

The buzzer sounds and the swing starts moving. It's slightly more difficult than I expected to score a clean hit. The water guns release a short fairly forceful burst but the distance of eight or so feet from rope line to target and the back-and-forth motion of the bench create some lead/lag timing issues. I'm not giving enough lead on the first few shots, hit knees and inner thighs but eventually get the range and score a good direct hit on the near-eastern male, a vivid splash of bright yellow against his olive skin that jounces his balls, makes him jump slightly. The rich pigment clings and drips down over his ass. Nice.

Di has already painted the black male's balls a bright, fire engine red when my first shot hits home, a little high, bursting against the base of his cock, the bright yellow dripping down over the scrotum in rivulets tinging into orange as they descend. At one point all three of us score on unenthusiastic Joe almost simultaneously, Dianne adding her burst of red less than a second behind the simultaneous blue and yellow strikes that jostle his balls and make him flinch. Whatever impact a single shot may have, three solid hits all from slightly different angles at once have the three of us laughing and the audience cheering or 'ooooh' ing in mock sympathy at his reaction.

There is something slightly ludicrous, but also therefore satisfying, in the effeminate male's response to being targeted and hit. He looks excitedly from one to another of us and squirms his ass on the bench trying to orient his hips to offer a better target when he sees one of us taking aim at him. A hit provokes an excited "ahn, yes!" and often a soft, breathless but distinct, "thank you" his body bucking in pleasure. It is comical, but seemingly sincere; his cock spasming in excitement at being the object of our attention even if only for this ridiculous purpose. I task myself to score as many hits on him as I can in quick succession. There is an aggressive gratification in the feeling of doling out punishment and reward simultaneously as I score four quick hits one after another and watch him buck, writhe and gasp in harness; sweet, stupidly excitable boy.

Our four minutes goes quickly. Before Dianne and I part ways, she invites me to join her 'court' for High Tea.

"I know you said you'd be going between both, but I'll save you a spot with us for whenever you get there and for however long you want to stay."

I thank her and accept. She heads off to try the ring toss, but that has no appeal for me. I find myself drawn instead towards the blind-woman's bluff game.

I watch a young, Arab looking woman groping blindfolded from one erect penis to the next, hefting balls and squeezing shafts as she tries to guess the proper order for the three males behind her wall section. The blonde on the wall next seems to have a different approach; balls in one had; cock in the other, stroking and fondling one and then the next, smiling at the soft moans from behind the wall.

"Oh, that's you." she says softly with a satisfied smirk as one of them jerks reflexively in her hands; seeming to gauge identities by the males' bodily reactions to stimulation as much as anything else.

"Time." the staff person running things calls.

Still blindfolded the women each try to guess the correct original number of each cock.

"It's three, one, two." blondie guesses the new order.

I don't quite hear what the other says, but when the blindfolds come off, blondie raises a fist in triumph. It's one out of three for the other, causing her to playfully slap at the nearest erection in mild retaliation for fooling her, making it waggle in apology.

"Anyone hasn't had a turn yet?" Staff woman asks. "Getting close to winding up with this batch, so anyone who hasn't yet, wants to try?"

Apparently, there are more than a few repeat players in the small group because only one other woman and I hold up our hands.

Marsha (by her name tag) is a trim woman with short grey hair and deep, friendly laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She smiles and reading my tag says,

"Sarah, is it? Go on dear take your pick." motioning towards the two sets of three for handling.

I thank her, choose the three that blondie had. We step up to our respective walls and,

"Two minutes thirty seconds." staff woman says.

What I should do here is just enjoy the novelty of handling and examining three relatively well hung and thoroughly aroused and erect males at my discretion and, as far as the males are concerned, in complete anonymity. I like the feel of an aroused man in my hands and looking these over should be interesting and enjoyable regardless of this silly pretext of memorizing them and putting them in order later. But there is something about being 'on the clock' and feeling I'm competing to do better, or at least as well as Marsha across the way, that adds a certain mercenary tinge to the pleasure (and it is still pleasure) of handling them.

I have two circumcised and one not. That should be easy enough to pick out, even blindfolded. On the uncut male the foreskin still covers the back end of the glans even fully erect. I take the head between the fingertips of one hand and grip the shaft to pull the foreskin back with the other then push it forward again, feel how it hits against the fingers gripping the head. That should be enough. So that's number one.

I step back a bit to examine the other two, side by side for comparison. One cock slightly larger than the other. I take them in either hand, am slightly surprised by the surge of the shafts in my grip and the moan from one of them, having almost forgotten they were more than just genitals. I close my eyes move my hands up and down; can I tell the difference? I switch hands try it that way. Switch back, not so sure now, they're fairly close in size and girth. I reach under to cup their balls and compare. I think I'm getting this; number three's balls are tighter, hugging the root and not moving much in my hand. I switch over now to number two, the one who moaned earlier. He actually has a fairly big cock; it has a slight curve to the right but not so much as you could tell just by feel and while one ball hangs slightly lower than the other, I can't really tell that once I lift them. I hold his balls in one hand and stroke quickly with the other. Ah yes, there it is, blondie had the right idea, he's a moaner. I close my eyes now, grope a little with one hand on either of them; there, the tight balls and yeah, number 2's cock is bigger but if I didn't already know that would I really be able to tell?

"Time." Staff woman says.

Blindfolded, led back to stand in front of my wall as the staff rearranges the males then,

"Two minutes now ladies. Arrange your cocks."

It's not as easy as I thought it would be. Groping I go for the easy find first, but it takes me a bit to find the right cock and then get my fingers around the head to identify number one. The staff has put him in the middle, so now my other two are separated on either side. I go left first, fumble along the short stretch of wall until I find the cock, wrap it tight in one hand and test the balls for tightness with the other. I think this is two. One way to be sure; fondle and stroke. The male thrusts in my grip and I get a soft "Ah fuck." from behind the wall. That isn't how two sounded before so is this . . .? I fumble a bit along the wall bumping number one's erection and mistaking it at first for the one I'm going for on the far end. I waste time groping his balls trying to feel their tightness before I realize my mistake, move on and get a hold of the cock I was after. I just can't be sure. These balls feel tight but they do move some, so I go for the moan test, fondle the balls and jack the cock quick. I do get a moan but is that the same guy, is that how he sounded? Maybe they all moan or swear when you go at them like that.

"Ten seconds."

Shit. No time to grope my way back down the wall to try out the other again. I use both hands on those balls now, fingertips pressing and testing either side tracing the root of the cock between them. Yeah, those are tight.

"Time."

Marsha goes first.

"You didn't even move them." she guesses. "It's one, two, three."

The audience cheers.

"You know your cocks." Staff woman says admiringly. "Thought for sure we'd get you."

My turn.

"Two, one, three." I guess.

The blindfold comes off, but the audience is already cheering so I know I got it right. I look to confirm anyway.

I feel a completely irrational sense of accomplishment and comradery with the women around me. Marsha and I high five like we just proved Fermat's theorem for cubes on the back of a napkin and accept the congratulations of everyone, Nobel prize to follow, I'm sure.

I am beginning to realize it is precisely the frivolousness and mild absurdity of using males this way that feeds the enjoyment. Those ecstatic moans and breathless 'ah fuck!' from behind the wall when all a girl is trying to do is figure out which number to assign . . . something about that mismatch between male desperation and female amusement is both heady and slightly addictive. I don't know that I would want or need a steady diet of this stuff. But I do see and feel the attraction of an occasional spree to vent some pent-up aggression and frustration with the usual grabby, obnoxious, arrogant and self-entitled male bullshit that almost every woman has to put up with at least some of the time just to get by.

Our turn.

The Pledge

I had pretty much figured out what toasting the members entails just from the brochure. It was one euphemism that wasn't too tough to crack given what I knew from my research. Most all of the CFNM events I researched required the males to ejaculate one or more times for the women, most often simply by jerking off.               The last rotation still has a bit to run, but I can see several women already filling in the bleacher seats down in front of the stage. I hustle over and manage to squeeze in towards the middle in the second tier up. The stage seems very close, separated from the bleachers by only three or four feet of carpet covered by plastic sheeting. I can guess what the plastic is for. The side bleachers angle slightly in towards the stage so there's really not a bad seat in the house, but I like being close to the front.

Dianne and Gretchen are already there in the very middle of the front row. They wave pleasantly to me from a few seats away.

Adriene mounts the stage and her voice comes over the sound system.

"Okay ladies, time to wrap up. Finish your last turn at whatever station you're at. We need to keep on schedule. Buffet service is in the Ballard suite and goes till two, but our males will need a little downtime before three thirty to be at their best for Tea and the Lounge. Finish up ladies. Staff, if we can close the other events down.

"Males to the stage. Do what you need to be ready to show your appreciation when it's your turn. We expect the expression of your gratitude to be prompt and fulsome."

I laugh with everyone else.

I notice the two photographers from the photo station standing together a little off to one side in front of the stage. They're fiddling with their cameras, exchanging a word now and then, apparently getting ready to get some shots of the proceedings. I think back to what that one told me about the males signing a release for web-page and recruiting purposes and wonder how they actually feel about that. Even if they have a strong exhibitionist streak, which they clearly do, how can they really be sure where such images will end up?

But as the males mount the stage, they seem to pay no particular attention to the two and their cameras. It seems like they're all fully erect now but I still like seeing them stroking their erections as they come from the various stations and climb up onto the stage; pleasuring themselves; doing what they need to do to be 'prompt and fulsome' with their toast when called upon.

I recognize several of the males at this point; Trey, of course, the black male I edged, the kid, the banker, good ole Joe, his erection fully restored by his own attentions, the balding guy from the dildo chair and others. As for the women in the stands around me I pick out June who edged the guy in the dildo chair and there, filing in on one of the side bleachers, is Phyllis; Amy and Meg are one row behind me, and others who watched with me or I watched as they played at the various stations. I'm feeling like one of the club at this point. I like it.

The males gradually fill the stage behind Adriene; stroking, shifting about, looking out into the audience as the women gather. Some males are posing and displaying their erections for us. There's a large gym rat puff piece, white male near the front slowly stroking a very large circumcised penis and thrusting his hips up and under with each stroke to show it off. That's a good look for him. I suspect he's probably a jerk otherwise - who knows? Who cares? - he's being put to good use just now.

The staff carries a single chair in from one side and places it in the center on the floor below the front of the stage. As they position it, I notice that it's the dildo chair from the edging station. The staff pauses to lube up the dildo for use.

Interesting.

"At this point," Adriene says from her position on stage, "I'm going to turn over MC duties to our secretary for Maven affairs, Audrey Williams out of the Boston area chapter."

Blah, blah, blah; some blather about the Boston Chapter and Audrey's dedicated work over the years and her help in putting this conference together and then applause for Audrey, a stout woman in heels with sixties looking hair but a rather pretty face who takes the headset mike from Adriene.

And then of course it's "can we have a round of applause for Adriene and the staff for putting together such a" - you know the speech - and I applaud politely with the rest but am focused on the males; all those naked bodies, the way they look down at the dicks in their grip as they keep them primed or look out at the audience as this convention etiquette drivel continues.

I'm not complaining. I like the drivel; the ordinariness of it; the polite applause as some forty naked and erect males with their tight balls and the precum seeping from the head of their cocks are made to stand and stroke as they listen to it; their arousal and need for release just another element to be properly coordinated to meet the convention schedule.

"It's just before noon, ladies, and we're out at 12:30." Audrey says. "We've got forty-two males who want their chance to show their appreciation for being allowed to serve us. Count them," she waves her hand towards the stock, "that's eighty-four blue balls to drain in about thirty minutes if we get started right on time at noon."

Cheers, laughter, calls of 'drain those balls!', 'Come! Come!' and other stuff that Audrey, smiling, let's go on for a bit before she waves the crowd back to some semblance of order and,

"So, ladies, I'm certain this will be a Maven record here today for the number of balls drained in the shortest time."

Another round of hoots and cheers that Audrey cuts off much more quickly with,

"But to get there, we need to get started." she cautions and the audience complies, though there is still a good bit of murmuring and laughter. "So, they'll be toasting us in four groups of eight and one of nine which gives them at most six minutes per group," she pauses, glances at her watch, "maybe a little less with the switches in between. But that should be no problem" she says and addresses her next over her shoulder to the males, "so long as they've primed themselves properly and, after all the encouragement they've already gotten this morning, they better be ready." she says like a grade school teacher warning her class that there'll be no excuses accepted for not having done the assigned homework. Then back to the audience, "But just to provide some incentive for staying on schedule, the last male to finish in each group gets the chair," she motions down at the dildo chair in front of the stage, "where he'll finish but also be christened with the come from the males over him on stage in the next group."

More cheers, laughter.

"Ah, this is fucking great." a woman next to me says, nudges me companionably. I turn her way, a mousy, librarian looking woman who smiles and adjusts her glasses on her nose to look at me, "Isn't this great?" she asks a bit sheepishly as if perhaps she's been a bit too forward.

"Fucking great." I agree.

She beams. "Yeah." turns back.

And it is; just fucking great. Me and all my new girlfriends having our fun while all these naked males up there on stage listen to us cheer and laugh; all of them are just as stiff and eager and helplessly aroused for their chance to jerk off for us. We deserve this. They do too because they're just so amusingly horny and desperate for it.

"So now," Audrey turns to the males, "you've all been given your group number. Group one to the front."

Nine males step out from the crowd and come to line up on the edge of the stage facing us. I recognize the male who gave me a foot rub and Joe the bartender among them.

"Display your cocks." Audrey, standing to one side commands and all the males drive curled fingers tight to the base of their erections to display them for us.

Cheers, bawdy commentary and some laughter from the crowd.

I notice some of the males are looking tense and serious but others are clearly taking pleasure in this, some even smiling.

"Present your balls and pledge the Mavens." Audrey instructs.

The line of males all roll their hips under and forward to present their balls and; "I pledge the come from my balls to entertain the Mavens." they all say in unison.

It's ridiculous. But there is an eruption of cheers and laughter from the women.

"Awh, fuck! That's new." the woman beside me enthuses happily. "That's fucking great! Who came up with that?"

"You like that?" Audrey asks the audience rhetorically to another round of hoots and cheers.

"We love that!" the woman beside me calls out.

I lean forward slightly to glimpse her name tag; 'Sarah'; well, okay, that should be easy enough to remember.

"Yeah," Audrey says, "I call that the blue ball salute, you know, like the old gladiator thing, 'Hail Ceasar, those about to die salute you?' Because you know, like the gladiators, however much they may want it, they need to be reminded this is for us, not them. So, I changed it up a little with the 'present your balls' command, but it's like 'hail Mavens, those about to come . . ." she laughs and waves the rest away as the crowd applauds. "Yeah, so you like that? Good. And, like usual, just to make sure they don't miss their big chance for their five seconds of fame, they're gonna announce nice and loud when their big moment arrives." She turns her attention back to the males and, "You all want to make sure these ladies get their money's worth out of you, right?" she asks.

The males all nod and answer "Yes."

"Alright then, so . . ."

Audrey looks down the line of males still holding the 'present your balls' position, frowns, then wags her forefinger at the line like she's counting.

"Nine?" she says looking puzzled, looks aside at the staff women standing on the far edge of the stage. "Supposed to be eight." she says to them, "Four groups of eight, then just the last one of nine."

The staff women look at one another and shrug.

I do the math quick in my head; four times eight is thirty-two and nine is forty- one. We have forty-two males; so it's clear this little numerical melodrama is staged. Audrey turns back to the line of males and,

"One of you obviously forgot your number." she says with a disapproving shake of her head, looks down at her watch, "This is slowing things down." she scolds.

Several of the males look at one another with knitted brows, but a few others smile and shake their heads knowingly, apparently still able to add even with the little head doing most of the thinking. The women in the audience, quick to catch on to the ruse, laugh and make mock disapproving sounds.

"Well, that won't do." Audrey says sternly. "We only want eight up here so" she raises a mischievous eyebrow towards the audience, nods down meaningfully at the dildo chair.

More cheers and laughter, which I find myself joining whole heartedly. One of the males is going to the chair. But

"Which one?" Audrey asks us playfully. Then, "Turn around." she orders the males. "The Mavens need to pick an ass for the chair."

The males do as instructed.

There's a couple of really nice asses up there, but the enjoyment for me is more than visual; it's seeing them all do it just because Audrey told them to. Audrey gives us a few seconds to consider before,

"Really." she says shaking her head looking down the line, trying to sound dissatisfied but unable to hide an amused smirk as "do I have to spell this out for you?" she asks. "Okay, so I did say pick an ass." she sighs, looks out at the audience with a mock eye roll. "Guess that was a little too general for you males. So let me it spelled out for you. We need to pick an anus. So, open your legs, grab your shins and show the girls their choices."

They do it, all of them, mostly without hesitation; planting their feet further apart, bending at the waist to grab their shins.

The crowd loves it. I don't find it visually appealing, but somehow that only adds to the satisfying sense of female entitlement. They must know they look silly that way - at least they do to me - but they so want their chance to jerk off for us that they just do it.

They continue to hold that absurd position as Audrey proceeds down the line like a pornographic version of Vanna White, presenting them each in turn, gripping buttocks to spread ass cheeks, toying with their balls with an illustrative flourish to gauge their hang and heft, running a deft middle finger up over the perineum to tap playfully at their anuses; making funny faces at the crowd who eggs her on; raising a brow to silently ask, 'How about this one?'; holding a hand to her ear theatrically to listen, or at least pretend to listen for which anus gets the most enthusiastic response. It's completely absurd, but all the more fun for that.

I get into it with the others, and even begin to enjoy the visual of the hang of their balls from behind this way. But as far as I can tell it's more than a little random. Still, after two quick passes down the line Audrey judges (somehow) that it's between two of the younger males. She goes back and forth between them once, twice, then settles on one of them to the raucous applause of the women.

When the males straighten up and turn back around to face the audience, I see she's chosen the male who gave me the foot massage. Yes, as Dianne observed, that's a nice one . . . cockwise.

"To the chair! To the chair!" chants and laughter.

Audrey flicks her head at the staff women and they come and grasp the male by either arm and lead him off the stage and down to the chair in front. The women in the audience are teasing him with mock sympathetic comments. When they get him down in front, one of the staff women kneels behind him, surgical glove and lube at the ready. He starts to lean forward, but the other staff woman grips his shoulders, pulls him back upright and, "Spread." she says. "Show the girls."

He straightens up, looks out at the audience; at 'the girls'; his eyes scanning the ranks of women on the tiered seats around him. He seems a bit disoriented by the sensory overload of the ranks of smiling faces, the overlapping female voices, gesturing and teasing and laughter coming from all sides. It strikes me again how cozy this seating arrangement is when, for a brief moment, his gaze meets mine and I realize, even seated here in the second row, he is less than ten feet from me.

"Spread!" the staff woman repeats sharply, which seems to snap him back into focus.

He shakes his head slightly like he's clearing it, but quickly steps out into a wide straddle and . . .

"Good boy, come on now, show the girls." a laughing voice from the front row says.

He nods at the woman who said it, rolls his pelvis under and up to bring his balls forward and tip his penis up almost vertically.

"There you go, pretty boy." my seatmate Sarah chortles happily from beside me midst the mild cacophony of other approving, encouraging comments. "Show us how you take it." she coos.

The staff women kneeling behind him lifts her gloved hand with a gob of lube glistening on two fingers up between his legs from behind. She pauses, her gaze shifting for just a moment to where one of the photographers is kneeling down slightly to one side, camera poised. The photographer nods, raises her camera.

I watch his expression; a flicker of the brow, the eyes narrow, his mouth opens slightly as the hand at first works probingly back and forth up under the hang of his balls and then,

"Ahn, uhmmm!" a sharp inhale of breath shudders his chest, his eyes close then open at the slow upward thrust of those two fingers up his anus. His back arches and he raises slightly up onto the balls of his feet as she fully penetrates him.

She holds him there a moment, hoisted on her two fingers as his penis flexes repeatedly.

"Ah, look at you dance, pretty boy." my seat mate Sarah teases.

Other women comment and laugh, voices overlapping; "Ooh, he likes that."; "Fuck his ass."; "Take it. Show us."; "Give it to him again."

She does; a few times slowly, pushing up hard and lifting each time to get him back up on the balls of his feet, then a few hard, fast thrusts while he's up there, his balls jumping with the impact, all to the great amusement, verbal approval, laughter, coos, jeers and mock sympathetic commentary of the women around me. Then,

"There you go." she says with a sniff, hoisting him for a moment longer before drawing her fingers out of him. "All ready for us."

I remember what someone said earlier about they don't all like it up the ass and wonder whether Audrey's choice was truly as random as it seemed. Something in me, something I never would have expected before this, has me wishing maybe it was as random as it looked and that maybe this particular male is not entirely, or even a little into this.

Why? I watch him step up to the chair, turn to face the audience and straddle the seat, that penis of his is still stiff and flushed. If he wants to get off for us, he needs to do this. But nobody's forcing him; it's that mindlessly needy, erect penis and the ache in those young blue balls that are going to make him do it. The fact that, just maybe, he'd prefer not to have that up his ass, somehow adds to the gratification of knowing he'll do it anyway. Good.

"Look up." one of the photographers kneeling in front of him directs.

He does.

Click! Click!

"Go on." she directs, dropping down further so as not to block the view from the front row, aiming her camera between his legs.

He lowers down slowly. The staff woman who lubed his ass kneels beside the chair and guides the tip of the dildo into his anus. His mouth opens in reaction and

"Hold it." the photographer says. "I wanna get that."

The staff woman pulls her hand away, gets up off her knees and out of the picture. The male holds himself there, the dildo half way up his anus, hands on his spread knees to steady himself as

Click! "Yeah, there it is." Click! "That's good. Take it now."

He does; grimacing slightly, hands still on his knees to control the drop and

"Ahw, that's it, up the ass, that's it." Sarah next to me purrs softly as she watches, then, as he settles down to the mock cheers of the women, she turns to me and "They should all have to do it that way." she says.

I smile at my namesake, "They don't all like it, so I hear."

"Who the fuck cares?" Sarah says, then breaks out in giggles. "This is for us, not them, right?" she asks. "Won't hurt him." she scoffs. "They all get off on women taking it that way so who the fuck cares if he wants it or not."

Okay then.

I look back at the male in the chair, his penis spasming as the photographer tells him to lean back and spread his legs further, then takes another few pictures before moving off.

I snort, turn back towards my seatmate. "Yeah, who cares." I agree. Then hold out a hand, "I'm Sarah." I introduce myself.

"Hey!" she says delightedly, turns to flash me her name tag. "Me too." takes my hand, "Sarah."

"Okay." Audrey says from the stage. "You've held things up long enough." she scolds the males. "Now, show us what you're good for." she tells them. "Make good on your pledges."

Toasting the Members; Act One

"They look so serious." Sarah says with an amused snort.

"Yeah." I agree. "They do."

"Isn't that sweet?" she asks rhetorically, laughs softly.

I'm not sure what I expected, but the males go about masturbating with the same lack of theater as they stripped when told to. It's clear they're excited and eager for it. But there is also something determined and businesslike in their approach to their own pleasure. They have a job to do. The fact that they like the work doesn't change that.

They stroke, some steady, some uneven, quick then slow, some handle their balls but most just work the shaft. They alternately look out at us, make eye contact, look down at their cocks or sometimes, like sprinters checking the competition, glance aside at one another or at each other's' cocks. Breathing quickens, catches, thighs open, strain as hips start to thrust. Some males seem to still and tense as their excitement mounts, but others shudder slightly or jerk their hips in quick, excited spasms as they approach orgasm.

In contrast to our earlier cheers and laughter, once the males start, the women in the audience are mostly quiet, except to exchange soft words and comments with their seat mates the way you might at a movie so as not to distract others. The males are left to perform with only our attention for encouragement. We can hear their soft moans and ragged breathing over the murmur of our sisters as their urgency mounts.

The relative quiet unsettles me some.

"So quiet." I say softly to Sarah.

"Yeah." she answers just as softly without looking away from the stage, then, softer still, "Jerk those cocks." she urges them. "Give us that come."

I've never had a partner masturbate for me. I've never felt comfortable asking and no one has volunteered. It seemed too intimate to just sit there and watch a guy do it. I definitely want to see this, but to just sit and watch, hear them up there without any music or crowd noise, makes what they're doing seem so blatant and personal that even as just an anonymous face in the crowd I feel like I'm sitting here with my own personal interest and arousal on display. Because, what the fuck else could I possibly be paying attention to just now? Even that flimsy excuse about writing a blog post doesn't provide cover anymore.

It's unsettling, but also freeing. I have no excuse.

"Yeah, jerk those cocks." I feel a twinge between my legs as I whisper my agreement.

The male in the chair uses just his index finger and thumb to masturbate; long, full sweeps from balls to tip and back that leave most of his penis visible as he works it. I like that and the way he leans back so you can see the mount of the dildo where it nestles between his ass cheeks. He meets my gaze for a moment as he scans the audience, seems excited to have my attention, to show me.

"So, show me." I say softly.

"Yeah, show us." Sarah agrees from beside me.

They do.

It's been less than two minutes, so the first to go is very prompt.

"Here's my come!" he calls out from the stage.

Third from the end, he shudders and holds his penis at the base to display it as it bobs and spurts out onto the plastic sheeting below.

"That was quick." I say. He puts out a good amount of come. Both prompt and fulsome. I smile.

"That'll start the others." Sarah says with a soft laugh.

"Here's my come!" a second male lets us know; far end of the line this time. His hand jerks hard upward on the shaft with each spurt like he's trying to shoot it as far as he can. If that's his intent he does a good job of it, sending white ribbons well out from the stage to fall on the plastic sheeting below.

"Here's my come!" the male in the chair spurts semen up onto his chest. I watch the pulse in the root of his cock, enjoy the helpless small jerks of his hips as he rides the dildo for us, still using just the one finger to coax it from his balls.

Then two more call out, one right after the other, their 'announcements overlapping as the arc or their semen does. Standing side by side in the center of the stage, mindful of their pledge to be entertaining, they both angle their hips and jerk their penises to shoot their come out onto the male in the chair below. This prompts some delighted laughter and soft commentary from the audience.

Joe the bartender avoids the chair by announcing and shooting come from his sizable prick out from the stage. He doesn't seem to put out as much as the younger males but it's fun to see how he groans and bucks with it.

They do seem to set each other off; the young male next to Joe looks down to watch the come spurt from his neighbor's penis, his mouth half open, his expression slack and then grimaces and,

"Here's my come!" he joins good old Joe, his hips rolled under and forward, shooting his semen straight up so it comes back to slick his cock and drip down the back of his hand onto his balls. I like that; the messiness of it.

The last two males are both moaning and stroking fast now, both clearly near finishing, their cock heads flushed deep purple-red, their hips jerking reflexively as they near orgasm. The two staff women approach, shoo the males who have done their toast a bit to each side so they can take up position one beside each of the last two males.

"Here's my come!" one of them announces and, with the next stroke, sends a thick jet of semen from the head of his penis.

The staff woman beside the other male reaches in quickly and pulls his hand away so he can't finish. It seems she is almost too late. The male's average sized cock bobs and strains as he moans in frustration. He's twenty something, somewhat short and husky but solid looking, not fat. He's breathing hard and his hips thrust plaintively but he doesn't resist the staff woman.

Only now, like a theater audience at the close of Act One, do the women break their relative silence to applaud and cheer as Audrey proclaims

"Last male to the chair!"

The staff women grab the least 'prompt' male and melodramatically pull his hands behind his back, like officers making an arrest, before leading him off the stage to his 'punishment'.

"To the chair! To the chair!" the women chant and laugh.

I'm laughing and chanting with them.

"Group two, front and center." Audrey commands as the first eight clear off to either side to make way for the next.

I'm watching the male destined for the chair. The two photographers position themselves to document his impalement as they did the first. One of the staff women wipes down and relubes the dildo while the other kneels behind the male to lube his anus. They repeat the staging from round one; male straddled wide, hips curled under and forward.

"Ahn, Jesus!" he flinches and moans when she inserts a lubed and gloved finger up his back side. "Jesus!" His cock spasms hard up against his belly.

"Easy now." the staff woman coos at him. She is a bit more careful, gentle with this one, sensing he is already close to ejaculation from masturbating on stage. "Save it for the chair."

The audience picks up on his reaction to being penetrated and begins to tease him.

"Oooh, you like it up the ass."

"Is that gonna make you come? Is that gonna make you come?"

"Can't wait for it can you?"

"Go ahead. Let's see it. Right now."

"Poke his ass again. Make him come."

The attention, encouragement, or whatever it is, is working on him with some effect. This only encourages the audience to intensify the verbal masturbation. The next group has taken position on the stage, but he remains the focus of the audience as he is led to the chair. He straddles it, starts to lower himself then pauses at the photographers' direction, hands on his knees, poised just above the dildo. He looks up at the photographer as she kneels in front of him then up at one of the women in the front row who is urging him to,

"Come for the camera. Take it up the ass and come. Give us a come shot."

Other women are making similar requests and his flushed penis bobs excitedly as the photos are taken. The teasing gets more intense and graphic as he lowers down. The staff woman kneeling beside the chair guides the tip of the dildo into his anus then gets back out of the way as,

"Ahn, Jesus Christ! Fuck!" he groans, his legs starting to tremble as,

"Hold that." the photographer instructs.

He pauses for the photographer to get a shot of the dildo halfway into his ass, but the tension in his body, the teasing of the crowd and his excitement at being photographed prove too much in combination with the dildo. His penis spasms again and a small bead of semen emerges from the purple head and clings there.

"Come for the camera! Come for the camera!"

The staff women standing to either side of him exchange glances, look up at Audrey on stage as the photographer gets her shot. Audrey snorts and makes a quick downward motion with one hand. The Staff women nod.

They move quickly. Stepping in on either side, they grip the male's arms, pull them away from where they brace against his bent knees and push him down hard onto the dildo, pulling his arms and pressing his shoulders so he leans back to give the photographer a good shot as his penis flexes helplessly and spurts once, twice three, four times, sending come up onto his belly.

He tries to say it. "Here's my, awhn, fuck, my, awhn fuck!" as it wracks him.

"That's it." Audrey says over the speaker system with a laugh from the stage. "Come for the camera. You heard the girls. Come for the camera."

Hoots, cheers, high fives in the front row.

Sarah, next to me, is "Hooo! Hooo!" ing delightedly.

"Well, that didn't go exactly as planned." Audrey says. "You girls are obviously just too persuasive."

Cheers, self-congratulatory applause.

"But it was entertaining, wasn't it?" she asks to more applause and laughter. "We probably should have videoed that. But I think we got a few good shots for the website." she says looking down at the photographers who both lift their cameras in acknowledgment.

"So, he's got a good start on his come bath, let's see if we can't add some to it."

Act Two

When I focus on the males on stage, I recognize a few of them, like the banker, seemingly ready, despite his foiled ejaculation on the table, to toast with the others. But I'm pulled up short as I look down the line and notice Trey is among them, in center left position. Like the others he's stroking his penis but when I look up from that I see he's focused intently on me. The stands are close, I'm just one row back from the front, directly in front of him, looking slightly up at him as he stands on the edge of the stage.

I had made brief eye contact with some of the males in the first group as they looked out at us, but this is different. He's not surveying the audience or seeming dazed or unfocused like some of them. He's zeroed in on me intently and when he sees I've noticed him, he gasps softly, and drives the hand on his cock hard to the base to display it for me. He drops his gaze to it then quickly lifts it back to me inviting . . .

Sure, why disappoint him. I look at it, enjoy the sensation of him watching me do it and seeing it flex with his excitement. Yes, I assure his penis silently, like your wife told you, Sarah's gonna watch you jerk off with the others. I look back up to meet his gaze again.

"Ahnm, fuck." he groans softly.

One of the women sitting in front of me picks up on his focus, glances back over her shoulder at me.

"Yeah." I confirm what I think she's thinking.

She laughs, turns back as,

"On your knees." Audrey commands and the males all, without hesitation, drop to their knees on the edge of the stage.

"Display your cocks."

They comply. Audrey leaves them there for a moment then,

"Now, spread those knees wide, legs open and lean back, present your balls."

Again, they comply, spreading their knees wider and leaning back, propped on straight arms behind them.

Trey never takes his eyes off of me.

"That's it, don't be shy. Do it like you mean it." Audrey urges them.

The males strain to open their legs wider, arching their backs to thrust their hips further forward and lift their balls out towards the audience. Trey's head tilts slightly to one side as he watches me watch.

"Yeah," Audrey says approvingly, "get those balls out there for the girls. Hold right there. Don't make em squint."

Laughter.

"Now, pledge the Mavens."

"I pledge the come from my balls to entertain the Mavens." they say in rough unison, their voices somewhat tight from the exertion of their position.

Applause, hoots of approval.

"I love that." Sarah says from beside me. "We gotta start using it with our males."

"Go on then." Audrey says after a moment. "Entertain us."

Once again, as if by common agreement on proper etiquette, the women in the audience grow quiet.

Several of the males pull back up into an upright kneeling position to masturbate, but three of them remain leaning back on one arm, reaching forward to grip their penises with the free hand. Trey is one of the three and I note how the position accentuates the jog of his balls in time with his stroking. Same with the other two. I like the looks of it.

"They should all do it like that;" I opine softly to Sarah, "leaning back like those three."

"Uhnm." she acknowledges the comment but has her thoughts on, "I love how they just do it. Tell them and they just do it. Look at them all, jerking off just because we told them to."

"Yeah." I agree.

My gaze strays to the males on stage behind the front line still waiting their turns, stroking themselves to be ready and prompt as they watch us and the males kneeling in front. They seem to be growing more excited as the event progresses and . . .

"Here's my come!"

So very prompt this time. I scan the line. It's one of the males leaning back, shooting come up onto his chest and stomach, the jerk of his fist scarcely lifting those tight balls now as his hand sweeps upward to accelerate each spurt, his thighs creased with strain.

"Pretty." Sarah snorts.

I look back at Trey. Sure enough, his eyes have never left me; working that seven and a half inch cock and bouncing his balls for the audience. I wonder does he really think jerking off for 'the new girl' makes it special? So go on then, let's see that come shot we discussed over dinner. I'm watching.

But it's the banker who announces next and pumps his semen out, his hips thrusting in time like he's fucking his own hand. He had plenty left apparently, even after his spoiled orgasm earlier.

Others go in quick succession, one particularly nice one calling out and then simply taking his hand away, arching his back to push his penis out towards the audience and letting it bob and spurt freely, his hips jerking in small quick spasms as he toasts us with his come. I look back at Trey and see from the tightness of his balls and his expression that he has only been waiting to be sure of my attention before,

"Here's my come."

I smile and his cock pops out the first salvo of his 'pretty good but not show stopper' come shot, gazing at me as he shudders as if expecting me to hold up a score card.

He gets his wish in one way at least; I find it very entertaining. I wonder, is he really open to being tied down on the bed and face ridden? Never in my life have I considered doing anything that kinky, but if he really wanted it . . . fuck. A huge gob leaps up onto his chest as he heaves and shudders for me. Yeah, for me. That's surely how he wants it. He's looking right at me.

I glance over at Phyllis a few yards away on the side bleacher. She's smiling at me knowingly, obviously recognizing where, just as she had predicted, her husband's orgasmic attention is directed. She gives me a raised brow as if to say, 'told you so'.

I laugh.

She laughs.

More to see; more cries, shudders, desperate bucking and semen until there is only one still stroking.

"To the chair! To the chair!" as the staff women grip his arms and get him back to his feet, his penis bobbing and wagging comically as they hustle him off stage and down in front for his impalement photo op.

Act Three

The third male to get the chair is one of the gym rat puff pieces; large, blonde, thirty something by my guess, not ugly but not a particularly handsome face. But he has very well developed and defined musculature. He looks almost too large for the chair and the contrast between his size and his docility as the staff women melodramatically manhandle him like an erotic miscreant is amusing; holding his arms behind him as they lead him down in front of the audience when it's obvious that, with a mere shrug, he could probably toss both of them across the room.

His penis is circumcised, a short, thick pile driver with a large head. On second glance, it's not that short, it just seemed so at first relative to his size and its thickness. Shit, that could hurt a girl.

The audience is after him, teasing him like the others, telling him to

"Take it up the ass and come for us." and other such 'encouragement'.

This one is not as excitable as the last, but the women still have fun with it as they pose and ass fuck him like the first two in preparation. The crowd 'Ahhhhh' s playfully as the staff woman kneeling behind him pushes a lubed finger into his anus. She glances sideways at the audience with a knowing smirk, then lifts her free hand to play with his balls from behind as she works her gloved finger in and out. This makes him exhale hard, his stomach drawing in tight as his fat penis bobs up against his belly.              

"Has he got a good load in those balls for us?" one of the women down front asks.

"We'll see." the staff woman shrugs, pushes a second finger into his anus making him moan to the delight of the crowd.

"He better."

Or what? I wonder without much caring. Sure, I know all this 'bad girl' talk is ridiculous; he could probably snap our scrawny little voyeur necks with a twitch of those thick wrists. But at the moment it hits just the right chord. Subdued by his own macho vanity and arousal, he submits; straightening up and stepping compliantly towards the chair, the fat cock waggling slightly as he moves, the shine of his pre-cum on the head advertising his excitement at being used this way.

He straddles the chair, thighs wide holding his torso upright rather than leaning forward like the other two, flexing his chest and his cock, clearly trying to put on a show for us as he lowers slowly down and pauses for his pre and post insertion pictures, then drops down hard and decisively, leaning back, legs wide, cock bobbing to the cheers of the audience. He does look good that way; vain, exhibitionist asshole that he seems to be; good use for him, including the asshole! I'm laughing at my own joke.

It does cross my mind that I am way more into this than I should be; 'should' in the sense that I'm pretty sure I'll look back on this and cringe (at least a little) at 'going native' to this extreme.

"Display your cocks." Audrey starts the next batch of males through their paces.

Another eight males drive circled fingers to the bases of another eight erections to display them for us. I recognize the Latino male I'd watched being tag teamed by Cindy and her two friends at the bolster and a pale, red head sporting a shorter than average penis who was in Trey's group at the photo station.

Note to file; I like seeing a range of male body types and penis sizes. I've noticed too, that there's a range of semen output both quantity and quality. Don't think I'll get into that level of libidinous detail in my article, but I've noticed that some of them really spurt it hard; thick white ropes of it, and with others it's more watery and just seems to spray everywhere and with still others it just kind of burps out and drips off the head without much pop to it. And the males' reactions are all a little different. Most seem excited to make a show of it, thrusting, trying to jerk it hard to make it shoot for us. But a couple just seem to freeze and put it out with these small shudders and gasps, but otherwise holding perfectly still as they stroke it out. One of those last kneeling males seemed to totally lose it, his hand and body jerking erratically, looking down at it or out at us as if the result caught him by surprise and he had no control to do anything but ride it out.

"Down now, on your backs." Audrey instructs, interrupting my seminal reflections.

The males sit down on the edge of the stage facing the audience then lay back and

"Spread those legs," Audrey says, "wide, spread em."

The males comply.

"Hips under, roll em under, you know what we want, get those asses turned up. Present your balls."

The line of prone males on the stage curl their hips under, lifting their balls up. Some males place hands under their asses to lift their hips up to make a better show of it. Audrey leaves them there for a moment then,

"Heads up, look at the audience."

The males lift their heads up, looking down along their bodies at the audience.

"Now, pledge the Mavens."

Their voices are a bit strained and tight given their position, but the males all recite the pledge pretty much in unison.

"I pledge the come from my balls to entertain the Mavens."

Audrey comes to stand over the two middle males in the line.

"You two," she says, the two males drop their heads back to look up at her, "work it on your backs, but when you come, I want you to sit up and make sure you give our delinquent here," she motions to the male in the chair below them, "a good christening to encourage him to be more prompt when a woman asks for it. Unless of course, you want to take his place next round."

The males nod.

"For the rest of you, stand those cocks up and shoot it high for the girls. I want it straight up so it comes back down on your hand and your balls where they can see you smear it around. I want you to make a pretty mess of yourselves. You're here to entertain us so go on, get to it." she claps her hands.

"So specific." I muse softly as the males begin to stroke, holding their cocks upright as instructed.

"Yeah," Sarah, overhearing me, says, "she's got this down. Make em concentrate on doing it for us instead of just getting off. Let's see some come land on those balls." she chuckles.

She's put her finger on something; there is nothing at all 'natural' about this except the bare mechanics of male arousal and ejaculation. The more contrived the staging gets, the more blatant their abject surrender to these simple mechanics becomes. Every arbitrarily lewd contrivance - scripted oaths and announcements, theatrical positioning, ejaculatory instruction - makes their desperation to do this 'for us' more gratifying . . . more entertaining.

Most of the males drop their heads back as they work, but a few continue to lift them up and look out at the audience. It's an interesting angle to watch them from. The positioning reduces them to a line of spread legs, pumping hands, bobbing balls and clenching asses.

The photographers pass down the line getting close up crotch shots up between their spread legs, softly instructing those with their heads back to "Look at the camera." Heads lift, half opened mouths and glazed expressions, their eyes go to the camera, but then past it as they look out at us, confirm the spectacle they're making of themselves. But that only seems to add to the urgency of their stroking and thrusting.

Alright, I tell them silently, if this is how you want it then, go on.

"Yeah," I agree quietly with my namesake, "let's see some come land on those balls." I actually do want to see that now; just because.

We don't have to wait long.

"Here's my come!"

His head is back so I don't pick him out of the line until he's spurted a couple times; a good sized penis held upright, doing as instructed, come popping up prettily from the head to come back to land on the back of his hand and yes, as he finishes, run down onto his balls, the shaft slick and shiny as he smears it stroking.

Others follow, doing their best as they buck and gasp to meet our messy standards of performance. The photographers try to catch a few of them as they go, staying low so as not to block the audience', quietly requesting "Hold that." to document the more amusingly sloppy results.

The male in the chair is a bit of a disappointment. For all he's a trophy to admire, he doesn't put out that much semen; a few squirts of thin, pale liquid he ejects with shudders and gasps that seem out of proportion to the results.

More entertaining is when the males Audrey told to 'give him a good christening', announce their ejaculation one after the other. As instructed, they sit up on the edge of the stage, arch their backs and thrust their hips forward to jerk themselves off over him, sending ribbons and gobs of semen out onto his head and shoulders. The second of the two makes the better show of it; a young, slender Indian looking male with a quite averaged sized penis, he nevertheless spurts copiously; thick, very bright white semen, his hips jerking forward with each spurt to add distance.

His efforts elicit murmurs of mixed approval and amusement from the audience. He is so excited and, well, sincere in his compliance that it's almost endearing.

The last three go so close together that there isn't any time for the staff women to determine a 'loser' and stop him before he's emptied his balls for us. I'm not even sure which of them is technically last; they all seemed to announce and shoot simultaneously.

But Audrey is undaunted. She walks slowly down the line of males, standing over them as they hold position for the audience, stops over one of the three and "This one." she pronounces.

Only then do the women in the audience break their relative quiet to cheer the performance and results as the staff women pull the selected 'least prompt' male from the edge of the stage.

He looks to be in his thirties - pattern baldness but no grey - his clean-shaven genitals contrasting pleasantly with the dark hair of his square chest and strong arms. He has the robust look of a construction worker rather than the intentionally sculpted muscles of a gym rat. His erection subsiding now after orgasm; his half mast, come slick penis, still dripping a bit from the head, wags with each step as the staff women, repeating the parody of escorting a prisoner, hold his arms behind him as they lead him towards the chair.

I am struck by another moment of disconcerting normality. The gym rat, his turn in the chair over, lifts himself off the seat and steps away just as his replacement comes up. The two males meet each other's gaze and . . . they are suddenly just 'guys'; two guys in a bar maybe, silently jutting their chins up at one another in acknowledgment as they pass in that way guys do - like a silent 'S'up dude?' - before passing on.

Sarah is saying something to the woman sitting on the other side of her about "how cool it is to have so many do it, cause most we usually get for one of our events is like seven. Well, we did have nine once, but they didn't all . . ."

I can't focus on it. The ordinariness of that exchange between 'two guys' has, at least momentarily, cast a wrench of social incongruity into the theatrical gears. The fresh line up of 'guys' on the edge of the stage - naked, erect, primed to 'perform' - the prior 'loser' leaning forward, hands on his knees, as some woman pushes her fingers up his ass, the women in the audience, teasing, laughing, making lewd comments about expecting another 'load' from him . . .

I forget for a moment; what's the point of this again?

Act Four

"And now, ladies, for the dance portion of our entertainment," Audrey, standing stage left to a fresh line of males says, "we've selected some of the younger and better-hung males from stock." she claps impatiently, "Display your cocks."

The males comply and indeed the selection does seem to be both younger and overall better endowed than earlier mixes which had had some large cocks but a broader age mix. I pick out the kid, hips thrust under, his long, flushed cock flexing eagerly above his grip as he displays and the fine black male I edged, that lovely cock looking even more tempting in his grip as I picture seeing his come spurt from it.

My sense of incongruity seems to have evaporated in the heat generated by the display on stage. I am aware again of how aroused this has made me. I'll need to go back to my room for a change of panties and perhaps a quick orgasm of my own before sitting down to lunch.

No 'perhaps' about it. I had expected to enjoy this, just not quite so much. I had assumed the kitchiness of it would counteract the eroticism with a sense of at least mild absurdity. Live and learn.

The audience hoots and applauds its approval of the selection.

"Hands off." Audrey directs after letting the audience enjoy the display for a bit.

The males release their erections and stand with their hands at their sides.

"Dance for the girls." she orders. "C'mon, let's see those cocks bob and flex."

Up and down the line the males flex their erections making them bob and sway.

The 'girls' approve and Audrey let's this go on for a bit before,

"Alright," she says, "but that was just rehearsal. We'll expect a much more entertaining routine from you shortly. But now, present your balls."

Stances open, hips roll forward and under. My gaze is drawn to a sturdy looking redheaded male in one of the two center spots. His circumcised cock has a slight rightward curve to it but points almost straight up past his navel as he curls his torso to roll his hips under and offer his balls. He wears a slightly slack and dazed expression as he strains, his penis pulsing gently with his excited heartbeat as he holds position. Something familiar about him and I'm thinking maybe he was one of the ones I handled going down the line at inspection, but he wasn't erect at the time so . . . No, wait. That's my number 2 cock from the wall, yeah, the balls too - slightly asymmetrical, one hanging a bit lower than the other - that's him. I played with that; that's the guy moaning behind the wall. Why does that connection make the thought of what he's going to do now so pleasing? It's not like he even knows that was me handling him. But I know, and I like it.

"Pledge the Mavens."

They do.

I watch him say it; the way his penis strains when he does, the big head flushing darker with blood.

"I pledge the come from my balls to entertain the Mavens."

I like the looks of him.

"So, here's how this goes, or rather, how you males are going to go." Audrey says with a soft laugh. "You're going to jerk off and give us what you've pledged, but when you start to come, you're going to take your hands off and let the girls see how those cocks can dance and spurt on their own." She turns to the audience and raises a flat hand up parallel to the floor then pulls a desperate face and "Ohn! Ohn! OHN!" she groans, cocking her wrist in time, her fingers flexing up and back in imitation of an ejaculating penis.

We love it. Not least because

"Oh, that's cruel." Sarah purrs unsympathetically amid the laughter and applause.

"She is such a bitch." a woman just behind me says approvingly.

Pretty much what I'm sure my last boyfriend would have said about me, sans the tone of approval, if I had ever stopped whatever I was doing just as he started to come and left him to 'dance and spurt on his own'. A couple of males in the earlier groups have done it that way, but when I've seen this sort of thing on the internet - I came across whole compilations of the stuff when I was looking for dominatrix related material - the descriptive title was 'ruined orgasms.' So, yeah, that's really bitchy to make them do it that way.

But then, how many times has some guy climbed off of me when he was finished, or decided he's had enough cunnilingus and 'moved on' while I was just getting . . .

Payback is a bitch. But what was it they promised; the come from their balls for our entertainment? Big talkers; big dicks; let em prove they mean it.

They do.

The results vary from male to male. For a few of them the hands-free dance requirement doesn't seem to lessen the ejaculatory force or output. Certainly not for the kid who calls out almost immediately, shuddering as his young cock bobs in time to spurt after spurt, sending out four or five forceful streamers then continuing to spasm and force out lesser blurbs that cling and then drip from the head as it bobs. But most others are clearly cut short; calling "here's my come." and jerking the first pulse from the shaft, then dutifully releasing their pricks to bob and sputter, their pleasure interrupted, hips jerking plaintively as eratic pulses of semen burp from the head and run down the shafts.

My gorgeous black edging victim calls out and manages two decent spurts but then is shuddering in obvious frustration as that magnificent cock of his spasms and blurps semen in ineffectual gobs, the thick shaft flexing two or three times between fresh gobs of it. The women seem to find this delay between fresh dollops particularly amusing.

"Oh, look, he's still not done." one laughs as the throbs continue to pump more out.

"Long way up from those balls." another jokes.

I am surprised by how much I enjoy this; watching penis after penis pulse and burble up come ineffectually as the males shudder and gasp, most clearly grimacing in frustration, but dutifully spoiling their own pleasure for our entertainment. The few who shoot it well, like the kid, are amusing in a different way; so helplessly wound up and excited, so eager to show us, that their pleasure is almost more abject than the plaintive throes of the others. But with all of them, the fact that they simply do as they're told, let us dictate the terms of their most intimate bodily responses this way, having waited with growing arousal all morning for their release and then, still, accepting their place in line and . . .

My number 2 from the wall is another like the kid. He goes near the end, calling out and assuming the 'present your balls' position, hips rolled forward and under hard so his come shoots back up against his chest or comes back to land on his upright cock and lifted balls. He shoots it up almost a foot, his penis dancing prettily. He puts out a lot of come and it's clear he's trying hard to make a good show of it; gripping his ass with both hands to hold position, his curled under hips jerk slightly with each spurt, looking out at us like a school kid trying to impress teacher.

The women hoot in mock celebration of his feat and coo in sympathy with the other 'poor' males whose come dribbles out in desperate, largely ineffectual cock spasms.

"Oh, too bad." Sarah coos from beside me at one of the males thrusting his penis plaintively in futile, reflexive search of the friction needed to complete his ejaculation. "Nothing to hump?" she asks with mock concern.

The staff lets the entire group finish this time, the last male, second from one end, moaning and performing his penile jig, burping out his come in small pulses to cap things off.

We all cheer and applaud lustily.

"That was so sweet." Sarah opines. "Half of it is still in their balls." she jokes. Then, "Poor things." she laughs.

Act Five

"You may be wondering why we allowed them all to finish for you without selecting another for the chair." Audrey says as the males in group four disperse to make way for the final group. Unlike earlier groups where she has stood off to one side of the line, she stays center stage as the males in the final group line up four on either side of her.

"Well, aside from not wanting to give the least prompt of them a more enjoyable finish than the others," she smirks to mild laughter, "we have pre-selected a male who's going to provide a little teaser of things to come later this afternoon and, after that, we have a special surprise for you with this last group based on some suggestions and feedback from members who have a particular interest. Something new for the males that we haven't tried before but . . ." she waves the rest off. "Based on the feedback, I know at least some of you will find this very entertaining. So, let's just keep it a surprise. Would you enjoy that?" she asks.

Cheers, hoots of approval and applause. Perhaps others know more about what might be upcoming, or maybe, like me, they just assume that whatever is about to happen will be some further escalation of intensity for the 'pre-selected' male and these others to endure. Either way, we're all for it.

Audrey beams, then, "Get him up here." she commands and the two staff women who've been acting as stage hands bring a male forward from behind the line up to the front to stand beside Audrey. The other males compliantly make room.

Audrey lets us look him over before proceeding.

He is a nice specimen - that's actually what goes through my head; 'a nice specimen' - what a difference a day makes. The staff women hold his arms behind him as they did the others, but his muscular shoulders and creased pectorals proclaim him a willing captive. I know this in my head, but there's a pleasure in suspending disbelief and letting the theater of dominance and submission become reality. He's a nice specimen; taut, decently defined (not quite washboard) abs, a narrow waist and well-muscled thighs; he strikes me as a cyclist or swimmer. His penis is well proportioned for his size, ramrod straight and capped with a big head that is wider than the shaft and has that true 'mushroom' look to it perched on its stalk. He's got those balls I like; large, symmetrical and clearly defined in the sack, the scrotum not too loose or saggy; nice hang. He's blonde with a rather handsome face. I try to place him from earlier but can't. I can't quite tell how old he is; his chest, legs and arms shaven clean of hair; I'm guessing he's late twenties, 30 tops.

Audrey has him turn to show his ass. He turns and opens his stance, lifts his arms up to lock his hands behind his head and flexes his back and ass for the crowd, his open stance allowing a pleasing glimpse of those balls from behind.

We approve and Audrey keeps him there for a bit as she explains,

"It seems our Lounge entertainments of last year inspired several of our members to go back and experiment with their local males. In the process several groups have come up with clever innovations and suggestions for variations on the theme. So, not to let a good thing go to waste, we've incorporated many of these suggestions for this year's Lounge Act that I hope will make it even more enjoyable than last year's," and here she pauses for effect, "at least for the members." she adds with a casual shrug.

Laughter.

I survey the line of males, trying to read their reactions to our amusement at this allusion to their potential discomfort. If anything, it seems to only increase their urgency. I look up and down the line, feeling a superior and condescending pleasure at the sight of those stroking hands and obediently bobbing balls; proof that they deserve whatever they get. I recall feeling this way when I first saw and handled the kid at 'inspection'; he was nervous and jumpy, but that mindlessly erect and needy penis held him obediently in place. They're all the same. Why do I find that thought so pleasing, so freeing?

Audrey snaps her fingers and the pre-selected male turns back to face the audience.              

The staff women carry a piece of furniture from the back edge of the stage up to center front. It's an arm chair of some sort, draped over with a thick throw. Audrey lets them pass then steps up to stand behind it, her hands resting on the back.

"This little gem is compliments of the ladies at our Augusta chapter. We were going to save this to debut at the lounge act, but I so wanted to see it used . . ." she waves the rest off, "Anyway."

And with that she grips the drape and pulls it off, tossing it back behind her to reveal a variation on the dildo chair design. This version has armrests and to the immediate delight of the audience, a much larger dildo fixed to the seat. It's both longer and thicker than the simple black peg affixed to the other chair and is shaped like a large, vein rippled, skin tone penis, replete with a pair of bulging testicles where it fastens to the seat.

"Yes." Audrey purrs in agreement with the audience, reaches down and bats the tip of the penis with the flick of her fingers, making it wobble slightly, then lifts her gaze to the pre-selected male standing nearby. "Won't that be fun." she says; not a question.

The male's gaze drops from Audrey's to the penis then returns. He doesn't look so sure. Maybe that too is theater - after all he's been 'pre-selected' for this - but it doesn't matter. Even a whiff of male trepidation is red meat for the audience.

"Oooohhh, won't that slide in nice." a woman behind me teases.

Other women chime in with similar, cooing, lewd commentary and laughter.

I join in, imitating one of my seatmates, repeating, "That'll fuck him good." relishing the sense of female comradery.

"But the really clever part is this." Audrey says and waves the staff women in from either side.

One of them carries an attachment which they quickly strap onto the arm rests. It's a padded cross bar attached to an upright support on either side. Mounted in the center of the crossbar is one of those fake vagina tubes for males to masturbate with. It takes a moment for the physical implications of the tube over dildo design to register, but as more and more women in the audience put things together the cheers and laughter gradually build to a crescendo.

"Yes," Audrey says smugly, "gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Go fuck yourself', doesn't it?"

The pre-selected male is eyeing the thing, I can't read his expression, but I notice his penis bob reflexively, the mechanics of arousal seemingly on auto pilot as he pictures himself strapped into that to fulfill his pledge.

"And look," Audrey says brightly, "it's even adjustable." which the staff demonstrates by unfastening and moving it forward and back along the arms then lowering and raising the height of the crossbar on the uprights. "One size fits all." she laughs.

"So," Audrey snaps her fingers at the two staff women, grips the back of the chair and pulls it backwards a few feet, "prepare him while I instruct these others on what we expect."

The two staff women grab the pre-selected male roughly by the arms again and turn him to face away from the audience. They first push him down onto his knees then forward onto all fours in the center front of the stage where the chair had been.

The staff women kneel down on either side of him and abruptly pull his arms from under him, out straight to either side, dropping him chest down on the carpet but not allowing him to slide forward. He's still up on his knees behind, his backside lifted to the audience.

One of the staff women slaps his ass and tells him, "Spread, nice and wide. Give the girls a good view."

He groans and spreads his knees wide as instructed.

The 'girls' hoot their approval.

Still not entirely satisfied, the staff women press down on his back to force his upper torso flat on the carpet and accentuate the arch in his lower back.

"Anus, cock and balls." a staff woman says with a laugh as she presses down. "Show the girls, come on." she urges, "Anus cock and balls." she repeats.

The 'view' is not particularly flattering, he looks ridiculous in fact, but I find it more gratifying for that. He's allowed us to reduce him to this. Call it theater, or role playing - call it what you want - but that moan and the eager flex of his hanging cock as he strains to 'show the girls' confess his excitement at being used this way. There he is; anus, cock and balls. Fine, let's use him for what he is.

Audrey is telling the other males what she wants as one of the staff women slips on a blue surgical glove and swipes up a generous gob of lubricant on two fingers from a jar.

"You are to edge yourselves." Audrey instructs the other males. "I mean it, right up to the edge, I want the precum dripping out of you like a faucet. Do it as many times as you can before I tell you to stop. I want those balls of yours ready to give it up as soon as I ask for it. But no one is to come until our main attraction has fulfilled his pledge and I ask you for it. Is that clear?" she asks.

Nods and hoarse 'yes's up and down the line.

The gloved staff woman steps across the pre-selected male's back so she's straddling him facing the audience. The other Staff woman carries the jar of lubricant to one end of the line of males.

"Good." Audrey says, still addressing the line, "Because we have a surprise in store, just for you, to help you finish and I want all of you ready to go at once, and quickly, when I give the word. Clear?"

Nods again.

The staff woman straddling the male reaches down and begins to lubricate the male's anus, smearing the lube gently over the tight brown rose then, abruptly, driving her index finger in up to the first knuckle. The male bucks and moans, his balls drawing sharply upward to the root of his cock, stretching the scrotum taut between them.

"Ahn, that's so good." Sarah growls beside me. Then, "Ahn, yeah, so good!" when the staff woman drives it in deeper and gets a yet stronger reaction from him. "He wants that so bad."

"Yeah." I agree. Apparently, he does.

Unlike my earlier reaction to seeing this done to the banker strapped to the table, I find this view of anal penetration more tempting. He isn't strapped down, he's got no such excuse. He's face down, ass high, legs splayed all on his own. So abjectly at our mercy, his position begging, his penis stiffening and flexing for the crowd as the staff woman works her finger in his ass. I feel a twinge of pleasure when she pushes a second finger into him.

"And just to make sure things go, or should I say come, smoothly when we want it," Audrey continues, "I want your cocks lubed for this round." she motions to the staff woman holding the jar of lubricant who holds it up to the first male in line. "Yes, go on," Audrey says impatiently, "take some. Get those cocks slick for us because when the time comes for your surprise you'll want to be lubed and ready." she snorts sarcastically.

The staff women passes down the line with the jar and the males do as instructed, their penises are soon slick and glistening in the stage lighting.

"Both hands." Audrey instructs. "Lube up both hands. Get more if you need it. Trust me, you'll want both hands well lubed. You'll know why soon enough."

The male for the chair is raised back up to his feet.

Audrey pushes the chair back to the front edge of the stage.

The staff women take the cross piece off, turn the male back around to face the audience and tell him to sit.

He backs up to the chair, opens his stance and reaches back to brace himself on the arm rests as he lowers.

As before, the photographers move in to get their shots, standing on the floor in front of the stage, telling him to 'hold that' and 'look at the camera' now and again as he works it in. Audrey stands to one side to watch with the audience.

He has to take it slowly, lowering and lifting, gradually taking it deeper, wincing and moaning softly, his breath shuddering slightly as it penetrates. Even if he has been used this way before, the size of what he's taking is clearly challenging, at least initially. I enjoy the visual of the fake penis and balls below his real ones as he bobs gently up and down on it, taking it slightly deeper each time, looking out into the audience with a pained, open-mouthed expression.

I try to tell myself I shouldn't enjoy his discomfort; it's unkind. But once again, that helplessly erect, desperately twitching penis tweaks my moral compass; it's all the excuse I need to laugh and tease with the 'girls'. He's doing this to himself so why not have our fun with it?

With a final sigh and shudder, he settles down onto it, his balls coming to rest on the fake balls of the dildo.

The photographer moves in to get a close up then backs away and, "Look here." she tells him. 'Click'.

The staff move quickly to fasten the cross piece onto the arms over his lap.

"Your cock." one of them says to him a bit impatiently, pointing to the tube mounted in the center of the cross piece.

He grips his cock to stand it up and align it with the opening of the fake vagina as the staff women adjust the cross piece, lowering it down until the head of his penis slides into the tube. They tighten it in place and one of the staff women leans forward to observe the fit, telling him,

"Try that." then, "Go on and fuck it." she snaps impatiently when he seems to hesitate.

He nods, and braces himself on the arm rests, then very slowly lifts up off of the dildo, pushing his cock up into the sleeve. The kneeling staff woman examines the dildo in his ass and "All the way up." she instructs.

The staff have adjusted the cross bar so he needs to lift a good four or five inches up off of the dildo to push his cock into the sleeve far enough for the head to emerge from the top. He grunts and lifts until his balls meet the bottom edge of the tube and the head of his cock emerges, propped on two inches of thick shaft like a squat mushroom sprouting over the top of the sleeve.

"Again." the staff woman says.

He drops back down slowly till his balls hit then lifts again until,

"Good. Hold that." she says as she examines the head of his cock jutting up out of the tube. She makes a quick adjustment, lowering the arm so a bit more of his cock is visible above the tube. Then, "You're to be up like that when you come." she tells him. "The girls want to see it. Understand?"

He nods.

"You want to show them, don't you?" she teases.

Another nod.

"So up like this each thrust." she reaches in and grips his balls, tugging them pulling him "All the way down." dropping, following her hand until the fake balls meet his ass, "And then," she continues, tugging upward now. He groans and follows that hand until he's "all the way back up." his cock head jutting up from the sleeve once more. "You got that?" she asks sweetly, as she holds him there.

He nods.

"What?" she asks.

"Yes." he answers.

"One more time then, just to be sure."

He groans softly as

"All the way down." she pulls him by the balls down again and, "All the way up."

He shudders slightly as her hand, clutching his balls, bumps the underside of the sleeve.

"Good, just like that." she says holding him in place. "So the girls can see that dildo fuck your ass and that cock head poke till you pop." she says, "And do you remember what to do when you come?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Up! Up!" she tugs his balls upward twice, making him buck up against the sleeve but unable to go higher. "Yes. Up just like this." then "Tell me why." she tugs and he bucks again, "Tell me why."

"The girls want to see it."

"See what." another tug.

"Fuck." he groans softly as he bucks again, then, "The girls want to see my come." he growls plaintively.

"Well, but you want that more than they do, don't you?" she teases, "Don't you?" another tug when he doesn't answer right away.

"Fuck yes."

"Yes what?"

"I want the girls to see me come." he gasps quickly to avoid another upward yank.

"Go on then." she says, "tell them." she takes her hand away and turns to look out at the audience with an amused smirk, "Now."

He holds position and "I pledge the come from my balls to entertain the Mavens."

We cheer. The staff woman takes a small bow.

"Well," Audrey says, "you best start fucking yourself for us then."

He does; lifting and thrusting slowly, somewhat erratically at first, but careful to do it as instructed, his balls coming up to bump against the underside of the sleeve and dropping back to rest against the fake ones below with each thrust.

Audrey has been ignoring the other males to let us enjoy the 'main attraction', but now that he's started, she turns to the others and,

"Display your cocks."

Circled fingers press tight to the base of turgid shafts to display for us. They are slick and shiny with lube and most are deeply flushed having worked themselves up to meet Audrey's requested performance.

"Present your balls."

Stances open, hips curl under and forward. I look down the line. The balls of all but one of the males are drawn up tight to the root of their cocks; some have pulled in until they almost aren't visible. The one exception is a low-slung male with very large testicles that are perhaps a bit of a lift even for orgasm. I smile; variety is good.

"Pledge the Maven's."

I know what's coming; it's not novel any more. But there's still a twinge of satisfaction hearing eight naked and erect males recite that silly pledge in unison as they 'present' this way.

"I pledge the come from my balls to entertain the Mavens."

Perfectly ridiculous; they must know that. But they say it with such gratifying and amusing sincerity.

"You better mean that." Audrey says. "I don't want any excuses from you when I ask you for it." then, "Go on. Remember no one comes until you get your special surprise. We want to see you edge yourselves. Show the girls some nice dry heave spasms as you get ready for your surprise treat." she says and gives the audience a wink as the males begin to work themselves.

She turns to the audience and adopts a mock confidential tone, as if the males couldn't hear her saying, "Like I said, we haven't tried this particular surprise with any of our males before, so they may need a bit of encouragement to stay on task when the time comes. But you'll help, won't you? Let them know how much you appreciate their hard work to give us what we want?"

The women in the audience laugh and assure Audrey, and, of course, the listening males,

"Oh, yes, we'll help."

"We can be very encouraging."

"And appreciative."

And so on.

Audrey makes it clear she wants the encouragement to start as of now; holding two hands out, palm up and lifting them to signal 'more'.

As a result, we are far more talkative and boisterous this round than in previous ones, commenting to one another ex-cathedra so the males can hear us, about how we're eager for our surprise and speculating obscenely about what it might be; others cooing and chanting, "fuck, fuck, fuck," in time with the thrusts of the male in the chair who is now working steadily according to his instructions, thrusting fully up and back each time.

Some women adopt a more direct and 'personal' approach. The males on stage are very close to the women in the front rows, just barely beyond the range of some of the semen that's shot from earlier groups. This makes it easy for women, especially those in the front rows, to single out individual males for attention and comment, teasing and 'encouraging' them to deliver what Audrey's asked for.

Several of the males edge themselves nicely; moaning and thrusting as they stroke, their urgency mounting, then stopping abruptly just short of climax to display flushed, spasming cocks for the crowd.

True to their word, the women show their appreciation, albeit in their own amused and condescending way.

"Oh, that's a good boy, just like that."

"Yeah, show us how bad you want to come."

It's silly, bad girl talk. Much of it repetitive. But I join in the fun, because it is fun. I single out one, getting his attention and 'encouraging' him as he works himself up to a lovely pitch and then, gasping, displays his penis for us, gripping it tight at the base as it flexes and strains repeatedly, the flushed, bobbing head seeming to plead in frustration for permission to spurt.

"There, that's what we want." I tell him from my spot just one row back from the front. "Make that cock dance." I tell him.

Yeah, this is fun.

The encouragement seems almost too effective. Some of the males don't look like they'll last. They slow down, or even stop stroking and squeeze the shafts, clearly struggling to forestall orgasm.

"Uhmn," Audrey purrs over the speakers, "looks like our main attraction is almost ready to fulfill his pledge."

And indeed, the male in the chair is gasping and thrusting desperately now. The photographer has moved into position below the stage, angling her camera lens up between his legs to get a come shot.

"I hope the rest of you are ready as well." Audrey says, "Keep going until I say stop. Then close your eyes and get ready for your surprise."

"Ah yes! Ah yes!" the male in the chair starts saying with each thrust, "Ah yes!"

"Ooh, I think he's ready to entertain us." Audrey chuckles. "Come on." she coos at him like she's coaxing a pet. "You want to show the girls your come, don't you? They want to see it."

"Ah yes!" he thrusts up hard against the cross bar. He shudders and his hips work in small jerks, the head of his penis bobbing like a cork above the top of the sleeve as he fucks it in short, quick thrusts. "Ah yes!" he says again then shudders against it and, "Here's my come!" as it spurts up in an elegant rope from the head.

He does it the way the staff told him, holding position so the top of his cock stays above the tube as he continues to spurt, his shoulders and chest heaving with the contractions.

"That right," Audrey says approvingly, continuing her salacious MC routine, "show the girls."

He has a lot of come and the photographer takes several shots. I wonder, was he preselected with that in mind? Surely, they must have tried him out to see how he'd do. I'm not sure every guy would get off 'fucking himself' this way; they must have known he had the 'aptitude', as my come puppy Trey would say. Was he 'supplied' along with the chair by the Augusta group? Or was it more mix and match, maybe, Audrey taking recommendations for a male who'll take it up the ass but also 'puts out a good load' (I can almost hear her asking that) to make sure we get a showy finish to wrap up our plenary session? Thinking about the practical side of this adds to the pleasure of seeing him perform up to spec.

He does a good job entertaining us; holds position until the spasms pass.

Audrey waits for him to finish. We're applauding and hooting our approval as the tension in his body slowly releases, a few last gobs of semen emerging from the head to cling there before he slips slowly back down onto the dildo, his hips jerking slightly as he takes it again.

The Surprise

"Alright males, hands off, now, stop!" Audrey commands. "Close your eyes and get ready for your surprise finish. I mean it, close them."

The males do as they're told, dropping their hands away to their sides and closing their eyes. Most of them are breathing hard. They've clearly followed directions and are very close to orgasm. Their penises bob plaintively as they await their surprise.

It isn't long in coming.

The staff women work quickly to remove the cross piece from the chair. Then they each turn to one of the males standing on either side of the chair, grasp them by the shoulders and move them in closer to the arm rests. The males, their eyes still closed, shuffle obediently into place.

"Eyes closed." Audrey reminds as the staff women proceed outward on either side, guiding the males to close up the gaps between them so they stand right next to one another, shoulders touching. "Keep them closed till I say open."

The gaps in the line closed up, the staff women turn to look at Audrey.

"And now for your surprise." Audrey says and gives the audience a wicked grin. "Remember, eyes closed until I say open." she repeats.

The staff women walk back to the chair. Each takes hold of one of the seated male's hands. They guide his hands out and place them on the cocks of the two males standing on either side of the chair.

The audience erupts in delight.

The standing males still have their eyes closed so it isn't clear they realize it's not just one of the staff women handling them. But the male in the chair surely knows. He snorts softly as if amused, clearly unfazed, perhaps even enjoying this 'surprise'. I realize he's been pre-selected for more than his willingness to fuck himself so entertainingly. But as for the others . . .?

The first two aren't left guessing for long. The staff women start their way out from the middle in opposite directions down the line. Going to the next male on either side, they grip their outside hands and guide them to the cocks of the males next in line. Now it registers, and the responses are fun to watch. One of the males takes a quick breath when he feels his hand placed on his neighbor's cock and opens his eyes without permission. Looking down in consternation at the hand around his own cock and then the one that's been put in his grip. He shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. Another male at first yanks his hand away when he feels his neighbor's penis, as if there must be some mistake. He gropes blindly about for what he assumes he was meant touch, then looks perplexed when the staff woman grips his hand more forcefully and guides it back to where she wants it, speaking to him in soft tones,

"This is what you want."

And so on, down the line.

They all comply, but it's clearly an understatement when Audrey says, "Open. Surprise!"

"Ah fuck, this is too good!" Sarah enthuses from beside me. "Are they really gonna do this?"

The women are going bat shit as they watch the males on stage look back and forth at one another and at Audrey, gripping their neighbor's erections but seemingly still too surprised or maybe non-plussed to take the obvious hint.

"Come on," Audrey purrs sweetly, "you pledged us your come for our entertainment. You all know how to work a cock to make that happen. Just because it's not yours . . ." her voice trails off in amusement. "You're not going to let a little thing like that spoil our fun, are you?"

There is a moment of anticipation when it isn't clear whether Audrey's surprise might be a bit too much for even their obvious arousal and our encouragement to overcome. But then the male in the chair snorts once more, obviously happy to comply, and begins to stroke what he's got in either hand. The males he's stroking have gotten themselves so worked up already that it really doesn't matter whose hand it is. They both moan softly and thrust their hips forward to receive it.

"That's the idea." Audrey says, "Jerk those cocks. The girls want to see this."

A few of the others start moving their hands tentatively, exchanging glances with each other as if checking to make sure this is alright to do.

"Like I said ladies, they may need a little encouragement. Let them know what we want."

It starts out soft, but insistent, "Jerk those cocks. Jerk those cocks."

"You hear them." Audrey says. "They want to see you do it. The girls want to see you make each other come."

Soft chants of, "Make him come. Make him come." start to mingle with the 'jerk those cocks' chorus.

"You promised it would be for our entertainment." Audrey persists sweetly, "The girls want to see you come this way."

It all begins to have its effect. One by one they begin to work each other in earnest and, as they do, the chanting breaks up into cheers then fades out and the women are talking excitedly among themselves or urging the males on with soft, lewd and appreciative comments and encouragement.

A woman in the front row just below me leans forward to talk to the male in the chair.

"This one first." she says motioning to the male standing to his right. "This one first." she says again. "Make him come."

The standing male looks down at her as the seated male works him. He looks like he's ready to give her what she wants. She seems to know it, leans in closer to double down.

"Yeah, that's it." She says breathily. "Jerk that cock for me. Make him come. I want to see you make him come." Simple, no frills porn talk. But I can see it's definitely working and so can she. She's leaning in, focused intently on the standing male's penis. "Make him come. I want to see you make him come." she repeats artlessly, but it's all it takes to get her wish.

He's the first one of the group to go. He announces, "Here's my come." to the hoots and cheers of the audience as his penis spurts in the seated male's grip.

"Ahn, that's good." Audrey enthuses, seemingly somewhat relieved that her surprise has started to bear fruit. "Finish him. Finish him." she urges, "No cheating the Mavens with a half job. Milk him dry for the girls. Finish the job."

The seated male does as he's told, continuing to stroke until the standing male has no more to offer. Audrey has stepped around one end of the line to watch and,

"Milk that cock." she instructs, "You know how. The girls want all of it." then "Yes, good, good," she approves as the seated male squeezes and runs a tight grip up the shaft to force a last bit of come out of the head as the standing male shudders, his hips jerking as his now hypersensitive penis gives up the last drops.

"That's how to finish him properly." Audrey enthuses. Then, "All of you," she addresses the other males "that's what we want. Who's next?"

"Here's my come!" the male on the end of the line right in front of where Audrey is standing sends out a spurt that almost hits her. Being on one end, he is perhaps not distracted by the unaccustomed task of working another man.

Audrey takes a quick step back and, "There we go. Good." she snarls happily. "Now finish him. Do it right." she urges the male stroking him.

Maybe he tries to, but seemingly triggered by the response of what's in his hand, he's almost immediately distracted by his own orgasm, calling out and shuddering, his handwork on his mate becoming erratic, the other male's come slicking the shaft and getting all over his hand as he pumps it sloppily while he sends out his own semen.

"That's so fucking hot." Sarah mews happily, repeating a phrase from some of the other women around us. "So fucking hot." she calls out to the males.

The appreciation of the audience seems to work for most of the males, overcoming whatever homo erotic reticence they might feel. But it becomes evident that this is just not working for at least one of them. He's second from the other end of the line from where Audrey is, and while he works dutifully on his neighbor's penis, his own is flopping rather noticeably in the grip of the male on his other side. He seems grimly focused on his masturbatory task in order to deliver at least part of what the crowd wants. But the effect on the male trying to work his wilting penis is causing that one, in turn, to seem distracted from his own pleasure. He's still erect but is looking doubtfully about.

Audrey notices the problem and juts her chin at one of the staff women.

I'm expecting some rough words or theatrically harsh treatment for the wilting male. The staff woman walks up to intervene.

"You obviously jerk off with the other hand." she scoffs at the wilting male as if she's disappointed in the job he's doing on the one on the end. She grabs his other arm, pushing away the hand of the male trying to jerk him off so she can guide his hand across his body to replace the one he's been using. This turns him away from the male who'd been handling him, to the apparent relief of them both.

"That's better." the staff woman says, holding the male's gaze. "Isn't it?" she asks him.

To my surprise I can see the question is leading but not rhetorical. He knows the answer both she and the crowd want, but she's letting him know this is up to him.

He nods his acceptance of the assigned task.

She smiles, nods back. The next words out of her mouth have regained the hard edge of authority.

"Go on then. Make him come." she growls, and steps back to watch with a scowl like she's wondering what the hold-up is.

"Fuck yeah." Sarah snorts from beside me as he begins to stroke the other male's penis. "Look at them; he doesn't even want to, and the guy he's working knows it. But he's gonna make that guy come. He doesn't even want to." she repeats. "That's so perfect."

Relieved of the fruitless task of trying to push a rope uphill, the next male in line begins to moan urgently under his neighbor's ministrations.

Audrey, alert to the signs, circles back behind the line to come stand close beside him in the gap left when the wilting male turned away to use his 'better hand'.

"That's it. That's it." she says, standing close, looking down at the hand working his cock, then up to his face and then to the male stroking him. "That's what we want." she says approvingly. "Make him come for the girls. We want yours too, but let's see this one first. Come on, that's it. Jerk him off."

Audrey seems very much into her role as pornographic MC and narrator. But she also seems a bit anxious not to have her "surprise" spoiled by any further erectile failures.

The last male left to go on the other side of the line calls out before the one she's focused on. He rolls his hips under so his cock is pointing straight up and shoots his come up onto his belly and chest. The male beside him jerks his penis in time with the spurts.

'Finish him. Finish him." women in the audience urge, saving Audrey the trouble. "Finish him. No half jobs! We want it all." laughter and, "Do it right."

The male working him gives the crowd what they want, working him steadily until he stops spurting and his hips jerk plaintively with the hypersensitivity of his penis at each stroke.

Cheers and appreciation, the stock phrase, "That's so fucking hot." repeated as others instruct, "Milk his cock. We want it all."

And it is rather 'hot' to see a male slowly force the last drops of semen up the shaft and out the head of another male's penis. I have never been much into gay porn, but there's something about seeing what seem from their initial reactions to be basically straight guys (with the obvious exception of the one in the chair) respond to our 'encouragement' and slut talk; to see them excited enough by our attention and approval to jerk each other off. I realize my enjoyment is mixed with a certain superior disdain for the manipulability of male arousal.

"Here's my come." the male Audrey has been egging on announces, and for all that it's repetitive and by this point unnecessary, it's still wonderful to join in with the others and Audrey demanding,

"Finish him. Finish him. Do it right." and "Milk that cock." when the time comes.

The male on the end, being worked by our flaccid male with his supposedly better hand, isn't far behind. Although he's disappointed us fulfilling his own pledge, the flaccid male seems intent on making up for it by working his assigned cock to our particular satisfaction; holding the shaft at the base to let the penis bob and spurt the first two times, then working it forcefully to eject the next few spurts out from the stage.

"Milk his cock. Milk his cock." the women recite the lewd mantra with glee. "Do it right."

He does.

And then there are two.

Despite what seemed like a promising start, the male standing to the left of the chair seems not to have made much progress as the seated male works him. He isn't going soft, but he seems to be simply maintaining, though he huffs and thrusts as if he's trying to persuade himself to be more aroused than he is. Audrey let's this go for just a bit longer but then intervenes.

She steps up beside the chair and brushes away the sitting male's hand.

"You obviously need more practice." she scolds the seated male as if he were the problem. Then, "Here," she says turning to the standing male. She grips his wrist and guides his hand to his own cock. "Show him how it's done." she tells him and looking back down at the seated male, "Watch and learn." she says with a disapproving shake of her head.

Like the previous intervention, this shifts attention away from the 'underperforming' male's failure to 'deliver' and provides another focus for both the male and the audience. Audrey steps back away so she's out of his line of sight then makes clear what she wants from us, motioning the crowd to offer its encouragement.

I recall Adriene's dinner speech, where she talked about the fun to be had making the males uncomfortable and anxious at times but not wanting things to go so far as to discourage participation. When needed, be firm, but encouraging, she had urged.

He's already gotten himself close several times. So it doesn't take long as he becomes the focus of our attention and our playful, slutty talk, pleading with him to, "Give us your come," reminding him, "You promised" like disappointed little girls whose daddy is only pretending not to have brought them presents; he quickly surrenders what he owes us.

"Here's my come." his hips buck and a thick jet arcs towards the audience.

Audrey steps back up beside him to watch and "There it is." Audrey enthuses sweetly as we offer coos of appreciation and applause for his effort.

"Yes, show him how it's done." Audrey says with a mock disapproving side glance at the male in the chair.

He finishes to the now usual chorus of "Milk that cock." which he does with a half smile - half grimace clearly relieved to have performed to our satisfaction.

Sportsmanship

"But you," Audrey says crossing the stage back towards the final male who, I note, has been regaining his tumescence since the male trying to jerk him off released him, his penis pulsing gently as it raises again now to about half mast, "you haven't fulfilled your pledge." she scolds as she approaches.

He nods, shrugs a bit sheepishly, "Sorry." he says, "I want to. I will. But that's just really not my thing."

Audrey raises an eyebrow at him, glancing down with a mild smirk at his growing erection. "What's you name." Audrey asks.

"Tom."

"Well, Tom, you say it's not your thing, but you did such a nice job with the other half of your assignment." she observes coyly, then glances aside at the audience, "Didn't he, ladies?" We are murmuring our approval as Audrey elaborates, "Jerked that cock and made your male come so nice for the girls, milked him and got it all for us." she purrs, "You did such a nice job. And," another pointed glance down at his stiffening cock, "it doesn't seem to have discouraged you too much. Are you sure it didn't turn you on, Tom, maybe just a little?" she asks.

He snorts. "Well, it's a turn on that you want to see guys come. It was what you wanted so, yeah, it was kind of a turn on to make him come for you. I want to give you what you want. But some other guy doing me was just not . . ." he spreads his hands.

"Oh, but he's not discouraged though." A voice from the front row. "Come on, stroke it up. You still owe us your come."

There are general murmurs of agreement and approval as his hand comes in and starts the work the now almost fully erect shaft.

"Well, you're a good sport then I guess." Audrey says. "Particularly considering" Audrey snorts and imitates his voice and shrug, "it's not your thing. But I think we may have a reward for good sportsmanship." she smirks. "What do you think ladies? Shall we give him a good sportsmanship award?"

We're all for it, but the male looks doubtful, justly suspicious of any more 'surprises' after what's gone before.

"Don't worry." Audrey says in a tone not at all reassuring, "It will be something much more 'your thing'." she smiles at him, then casts a sideways glance at the chair where our 'pre-selected' male still sits. "Up your alley, as they say. You've earned it." Then, "Out." she says peremptorily to the male in the 'fuck yourself' chair.

The male in the chair is half again Tom's size. He grips the arm rests and hoists himself up off the dildo. I am struck again by the size of the thing compared to the one in the seat of the original chair which still sits just below center stage. The skin tone and molded penis shape, replete with a large set of balls splayed out at the base, add to the contrast.

"Display your cock, Tom." Audrey says easily. "Show the girls you're ready to give us what we want."

"Yes." he answers and drives his curled thumb and forefinger ring hard to the base.

"That's a nice penis." I say softly. It is. It's one of the larger one's in the set, crowned by a large handsome glans, the shaft and head prettily flushed. But I feel a momentary sense of disorientation at the sound of my own voice rather casually observing this as if it were the most natural thing to . . .

"Yeah." Sarah, next to me, agrees. "That's a good cock. We got some pretty ones, didn't we?"

"There you are, Tom." Audrey says approvingly as she surveys his display.

Behind Audrey, the two staff women are busily wiping down and re-lubing the dildo in the fuck-yourself chair. It isn't clear Tom is paying any attention to that. Like so many of the other males I've watched today, he seems absorbed in his excitement at being on display for the women, looking out at us, his penis pulsing in his grip as they coo at him in the same approving tones as Audrey; soft voices overlapping. But before Audrey even starts in on him about his 'reward', I'm cringing slightly at the implications of those busy hands sanitizing and lubing up the fake penis and Audrey's coy 'up your alley' euphemism. Sure enough,

"Well, Tom," Audrey says after a moment, "you know the rules. The last male goes to the chair to finish for us."

"Yes." He answers reflexively and I see his eyes drop to the original chair which is still in place in front of the stage.

He doesn't resist when the staff women come up and grip his arms, pull them behind his back in the same way they did with earlier late ejaculators. They begin to lead him away off stage to the stairs like the others when . . .

"Oh, no, no." Audrey laughs pleasantly.

The staff women pause, look back.

Audrey motions with her hand, summoning them back. The staff women turn Tom around and start back towards Audrey. She lets them get close, then smiles and steps back out of the way, motioning them past her with a sweep of her hand towards the fuck-yourself chair.

She says something but I can't make it out because the women in the audience around me erupt in gleeful hoots and bawdy cheers as the staff women lead Tom to center stage and the chair. They bring him to stand beside it, turn him to face the audience as the happy cacophony swells at the sight of the slender, athletically built Tom with his fully erect penis standing next to the upright fake penis in the chair which seems to match his proportions.

I can't read his expression; his eyes dart between the dildo in the seat beside him and the audience as we coo encouraging obscenities at him.

"Oooh yes, Tom," Sarah calls to him from her seat next to me, "that'll go up your ass so sweet. I want see you take that."

"He wants it. Look how his cock bobs. He wants it."

This last observation, bubbling up happily from one of the back benches amid the froth of other commentary, is visually accurate; Tom's penis flexes and bobs excitedly under the barrage of feminine 'encouragement'. But I am less sure of the offered interpretation of that visceral, exhibitionist response. I can't read Tom's expression. He casts yet another sideways glance at the dildo. I'm trying to rationalize away my unease; yes, the previous male was bigger, but he seemed to accommodate that fake penis with no ill effects, even got off on it. I am reminded of our conference chair Adriene's reminders and advice over dinner about encouraging the males and the potent effects a few sweet obscenities can have on them. In her words, 'they want to be persuaded'. Yet I still can't bring myself to join in the happy lewdness of my seat mates.              

Audrey lets the encouragement continue for a bit longer before she waves the crowd silent and, "What do you think, Tom?" she asks sweetly. "One way or the other, it's the chair or," she pauses, drops her gaze meaningfully to the fake penis, "the chair. You knew before we started the last male would be . . ."

"Yes." he exhales before she can finish. "We all knew."

"Good. So then," she pauses, makes a motion to the two staff women who move quickly to retrieve the necessary items to, "let's get you ready while you decide how you'll take your sportsmanship reward. Lucky you, as our last bit of entertainment before lunch, you have the ladies' full attention all to yourself." she purrs as the staff women come up to him, one sporting a fresh blue surgical glove on one hand and the other carrying a container of lube. They take hold of him and guide him up to the front edge of the stage facing the audience.

"Open." the one with the glove says brusquely, tapping the inside of his calf with her foot.

"Yes." Tom moans, opening his stance wide, his penis flushing and flexing, slinging a drop and trailing strand of pre-come from the tip.

The 'all to yourself' comment brings my focus suddenly back to the crowd of other males standing or shifting about on stage behind.

It is odd how one can become desensitized. Focused on Audrey and Tom, I had almost forgotten they were there. Despite their offerings of semen, many are fully or partially erect again. Considering the ruined orgasms, surprise homoeroticism and other less generous dispensations under which they were made (allowed) to deliver their pledges, how could they not be envious of the focused voyeuristic attention being lavished on this 'good sport'.

"Look at the others." I say softly to Sarah, jogging her arm. "They look jealous."

"Let em be." she says with a happy snort. Then, "Oh, that's it." she growls as the staff woman kneeling behind Tom drives her fingers up his anus, makes him lift up onto the balls of his feet, his penis flexing frantically. "Yeah, fuck his ass for us." she smiles as another upward thrust makes him moan as his balls jump in the sack. Then, "Let em be jealous. It just winds them up more, makes them more fun to play with later."

"So, Tom," Audrey says casually as she smiles down at his bobbing penis, "it looks like it excites you to take it up the ass for the girls. Does it?"

"Yes." he gasps as another upward thrust jogs his balls.

"Good." Audrey purrs. "So, now, it's clear which chair the girls would like to see you finish in, and I know it excites you to give them what they want. But just to be clear, it's up to you; no one is forcing you to do anything here, although, uhnmmm . . ." she breaks off with a happy growl as he moans, his back arching and head tipping back as the staff woman fucks his ass with a quick flurry of deep thrusts.

"Careful, he's gonna come." a woman a couple seats down from me cautions as Tom's hips buck and his dancing penis flushes crimson under the repeated thrusts of the staff woman.

It seems he might; just from our attention and those fingers thrusting up his ass. But the staff woman backs off, pulling her fingers out of him abruptly, making him stumble slightly for balance as he drops down off the balls of his feet, his head coming back forward and down as the pent-up air in his lungs escapes in a rush.

"Awhh, fuhhck." he gasps weakly, lifts his head to look at Audrey. "I want to give the girls what they want."

I remember what Trey said about not wanting to deny the women their 'fun'; in his words, 'no one wants to be that guy'. So, there is pressure to comply here, yes. But as I listen to the women around me hoot, laugh and cheer as Tom steps up in front of the chair and turns to face us, my perspective suddenly shifts. I see it in his face, the way he looks out at us, watching us watch, the tension in his chest and the spasms of his cock as he opens his stance wide and starts to lower himself over the dildo; he is getting what he wants, as much as we are.

Maybe the size of the dildo is more than he expected (agreed?) to take. But Audrey is right; no one is making him do this. His excitement is feeding off our enjoyment. His anxiety is just the right spice to make his compliance more savory to us, but also more viscerally intense for him.

The audience falls quiet as he settles lower over the tip of the dildo, balancing himself as one of the staff women kneels to one side and reaches in to position the head to meet his anus. Murmurs of 'That's it, Tom.' and other soft encouragement.

"Ah, that's pretty." I hear myself sigh; it just comes out as the kneeling staff woman pulls her hand away from the fake penis and he lowers further, the shaft of the dildo bending slightly under the pressure until the fat head pops in past the sphincter. "So pretty." I repeat as his body shudders and his balls pull upward and separate in the sack; the penis pulsing in one long throb to the soft coos and pleased laughter of my seat-mates.

He's gripping the arms of the chair to steady himself, the muscles in his shoulders and chest creased nicely with the strain, his upper body leaning back slightly to offer us and the camera women a good view of his impalement. Without being told, he pauses so they can click away, get the shots they want before,

"Oh, such a good sport. Fuck yourself with that. Come on, that's it. Take it." a slightly louder voice amidst the soft murmurs chortles happily.

He does.

My brain keeps spitting out this repetitive mantra, a whisper under my breath of "That's so pretty, so pretty." as I watch him tense and shudder, bobbing slowly up and down taking a bit more each time, arms and chest straining, legs wide, leaning back to show us, show the cameras, his balls pulling up and apart in the sack with each downward increment, then lowering to hang looser again with each slight retreat, his penis and scrotum both flushed now to a rich vermillion.

"That's so pretty." A sincere yet inadequate assessment; my mind too swarming with ideas I know I need to remember for my blog, to get unstuck from this reflexive verbal formula.

I'm seeing this differently; like a grand conspiracy I'd been told about but hadn't taken seriously. Like his willing pause to let the photographers get their pictures. I had thought the photos an imposition on the men; an act of domination and entitlement by the women over the male body; taking control of their personal images for future use at the feminine whim. If the men want to be used at all, they must agree to it.

It is that, yes.

But it is also a prod that further excites them; their lack of control, even their anxiety, a further jolt of even more blatant sexual exposure they crave. They want to be 'featured' on the webpage; to have as many women as possible see them, enjoy them, amuse themselves using them this way. We're giving him what he wants by letting him, making him, give us what we want.

Gasping softly, his spread thighs trembling slightly with the strain of controlling his descent as he bobs, taking it slightly deeper each time, soon only a short section of the shaft is still visible between the curves of his buttocks.

"Ahm, almost there, almost there." Audrey coos at him happily as she stands over him beside the chair, smiling down at his repeatedly flexing penis. She makes a slight hand gesture to the staff woman who guided the dildo into his anus still kneeling on the other side of the chair.

The staff woman reaches in from the side, quickly sweeps two fingers up and back along the shaft of his cock, once, twice, three times.

"Ahn, fuck." Tom moans as his penis spurts a jet of semen back up against his chest. The staff woman pulls her hand away as, "Ah, fuck." he moans again, his body shuddering, his legs giving way, dropping down firmly into the chair, the fake balls meeting his ass. The impact seems to jettison another spurt of come from his cock.

The audience hoots and cheers as his body shudders, his hips curling back and forth reflexively with the repeated flex and spurt of his penis.

"Yeah, grind that in your ass." my seat mate Sarah growls and laughs as he writhes and bucks.

And, indeed, his body's reflexive jerks and thrusts that shift and move the dildo up his ass seem to intensify and extend his ejaculation, his penis and body flailing in a way that's

"Just so pretty." I sigh happily. "That's so fucking pretty."

Lunch

Twenty minutes, three orgasms, a quick cleanse and a fresh pair of panties later, I leave my room and head down to the buffet lunch.

Alone in the elevator, the initial edge taken off my arousal, I'm feeling slightly foolish and embarrassed. I know the old saying 'when in Rome', but I can't shake the sense that these women will somehow know exactly what I've just been doing, or would suspect it even if I hadn't been. They have no idea I only came here so I can write this article. They all think I came here, like them, because . . . but there I was, hooting and laughing right along with them; telling some naked guy I've never seen before today to 'empty your balls' as if I were . . .

Well, but I was, wasn't I? And they all know that. Especially with me sitting there sighing like a high-school girl 'that so pretty' as that last one, Tom.

Come on, what was I thinking? Just some guy losing it and . . . But they all think I'm one of them even though never before today have I ever . . .

I mean, I considered it, of course. I'm open minded and curious. I'm certainly no prude just because I don't do tinder or one-night stands. And I'm not judgmental or anything; so sure, consenting adults can do what they like. So what if I got interested and looked into this a little? That doesn't mean . . .

But then that restless . . . even after three orgasms there's still these images in my head, and the day isn't over. Maybe I should have made it more than three, because the last one surprised me with its intensity. I was pretty sure I was finished when all of a sudden it came back to me; the sight of all those fully clothed guys corralled up against one wall with those neat red and white bags for their clothes, and me standing there just looking across at them; 'the stock', the available males . . . it just about blacked me out; all of them just waiting to be told . . .

I'm not even all the way down the elevator to the main floor, but if I hadn't told Genine I'd meet up with her and her 'three amigos' for lunch, I'd be going right back up for round two, just to shake this off. But even if it weren't Genine, (who I don't even know, so why should it matter?), or her friends; but any woman who sees this silly name tag that advertises my attendee status, even if they don't recognize me otherwise, I recognize me.

Or do I?

The elevator stops, 'Ding. Swish.' Door open.

Shit. But okay. Smile. Who are these women to judge me anyway?

Meeting the Amigos

"Sarah!" Genine, standing up from her place at a round table part way into the room, waves me over when she sees me in the door way.

I had almost forgotten how pretty she is, really pretty; those fine, high aristocratic cheekbones.

I head over. There are four, not three, other women at the table already. Genine does a quick round of introductions.

First up is June, a petite oriental looking woman in red sweater and jeans. I recognize her immediately as the woman I watched work the male in the dildo chair at the edging station.

Then it's Fran, who I know I've seen but can't place specifically; a long limbed, forty something woman with short cropped hair and an animated expression who bugs her eyes and greets me too effusively (for my taste anyway).

Then Linda, a slender brunette with a pretty face sporting stylish, black-rimmed glasses and gloss lipstick. I can't see her whole outfit as she smiles and greets me from her seat, but compared to the more casual attire of the other women she seems more put together - in her soft teal blouse and bangle earrings - than the rest. She was one of those in the first row in front and a few seats over from me for the 'toast'. I remember her talking and laughing as I scanned the audience around me and . . .

I look back now at Fran. Seeing them together I now recall where I've seen Fran. She was the one next to Linda in the front row who zeroed in on one of the males being jerked off during the 'surprise'. I remember her leaning in and saying; 'Make him come. I wanna see you make him come.' Yeah, that was her.

"And this is Talie." Genine says, motioning to a slightly heavyset woman in a grey blouse and, again, jeans. "Talie, Sarah."

"Hi." then, "Natalie." she says with a little nod, "But you can call me Talie, everybody does. So, yeah."

"Yeah, hi."

Talie seems slightly nervous or at least not as relaxed as the others.

Fran and Linda have already been to the buffet and have plates in front of them, but the rest still haven't gone up.

"So, Genine says you gave our Neil a taste of his own." Linda says, motioning towards me with her fork.

My reputation, however minimal, seems to have preceded me.

Talie immediately wants to know what that's about.

Genine, still standing, tells her. "This male Neil, he's one of ours." she says motioning with a sweep of her hand to indicate June, Linda and Fran. "He's a talker. I mean not like," she drops her mouth half open and closes her eyes, "oh yes! Oh please! Ah! Ah!" she gasps breathily in imitation of an excited male, "that kind of stuff. Lot's do that when they get excited. And not just the 'speak when your spoken to' stuff; like making them answer questions. But he'll be like," she does a deep voice now, "You want this big cock to play with?" she imitates him, snorts, "That shit?" She pauses.

Talie nods.

"He's not supposed to, you know, only if spoken to." Genine continues. "But it just seems to be his thing and he's, well," she sniffs. "He's that really big, buff black male with a penis like." she holds her two hands apart to illustrate.

Talie is pretty sure she remembers that one.

"But so anyway," Genine continues explaining, "that's all he does - talk -- like it's just part of how he gets off. He's not supposed to be doing that, asking you stuff and commenting. Sets a bad example, but shit, in every other way he's . . . well you saw him, right?"

Talie nods in understanding. "Yeah."

"Yeah, so anyway," Genine waves herself on, "he was up on the cross at the edging station and Sarah comes up and asks for a turn . . ."

There follows an admiring rendition of how "Sarah turned that back on him. She was like; 'you wanna talk to me boy? Here's what you better be saying'."

Laughter. Congratulatory nods and smiles.

I shrug, can't help but feel a twinge of pride as Genine goes on with . . .

"Made him tell her;" Genine screws up her face and moans melodramatically, "I want to give you the come from my balls!" then shudders in imitation of the big male on the cross. "And it just about forced it out of him. He was bucking and gasping like he was gonna strangle himself on that neck brace. And I was like, okay, I gotta meet this girl. Because usually, when he breaks the rules like that, it kinda throws most women off, least at first. If you aren't ready for it; he's so big and all of a sudden, he's breaking the rules and talking to you. But not Sarah."

Absurd, but I now feel like a minor celebrity and I can't resist telling them that I've never been to one of these things before. Yes, "Never."

So, then, I must be, according to June "some kind of natural."

"Made to run guys." Talie adds.

And suddenly I don't know what I was so uptight about on the way down here; this is fine. These women are all . . . We're all just having some fun. And why not? If these guys are going to let us, why the fuck not?

"But so, how do you like it so far?" Fran asks, then, "Isn't it great to have this many?" she follows up before I can answer. "Only like, twenty-five last year. But forty, forty-two, that's some real cockucopia!" she chuckles.

"Yeah." I say vaguely as Linda rolls her eyes.

"You know; 'cornucopia'- cocku . . .'

"We get it Fran." Linda interrupts bumping Fran's arm affectionately. "Very clever. But Sarah, what do you think so far?"

"Well, it is a lot of guys." I evade the personal for the numerical, "Males." I correct my terminology. "Lots of males. Don't know if I was quite prepared for that. It's nice variety and all. Good selection." I'm trying to sound casual, talk the talk. "I am enjoying it, mostly. But it's all pretty new." understatement on both counts.

"We should get on line, get food." Genine says, perhaps sensing I have reached the limit of my comfort with 'sharing' for the moment.

Genine, June, Talie and I head for the buffet line.

The buffet is great and after we're seated around the table, resort staff come around with wine (finally) or coffee or other stuff if you want it. So, over a glass of Chablis and a plate of poached salmon, my new best girlfriends and I become better acquainted and compare notes from the morning session.

"To be honest, it sort of creeped me out." Linda says of Audrey's surprise. "I mean, sure, I get it in terms of 'look what we can make them do'. But some things . . . I mean we could get them to recite the pledge of allegiance too, but . . ." her voice trails off.

"Creeped you out?" Fran asks. "So, you're not into mano a mano then?"

Linda snorts. "Well, I don't know, maybe if it really was. I mean, if they had seemed like they were really into doing each other." she frowns. "But no. Actually, you know, even then, I don't know that I'd like it. If they're getting off on each other, where do we fit in that? Are they really doing this for us even if it's all . . ." she shrugs.

"Most of them were into it." Fran asserts. "I mean, a guy doesn't come unless he's getting off on it. And that one guy, noodle city." she scoffs. "But he was the only one. But even he lost it when he took it up the ass. That's kind of a gay thing, right?"

The other women shake their heads and mutter disagreement but Fran cuts that off.

"Fine, fine. But anyway, still, he's the exception that proves the rule. Like we say, the penis doesn't lie. It may hurt, but if it spurts . . ." she laughs. "They all did. Cept that one, but . . ."

"Not sure about that." Linda says but doesn't seem to want to pursue it. "It's fine if you liked it."

"I'm with Linda at least on that." Genine chimes in, pauses to take a sip from her wine glass. Then, "I don't think they were into it. I mean the gay part of it. But the whole thing of having them go last, keeping themselves stiff and ready all morning and then, up there on stage waiting their turn while they're watching us and seeing all the other males jacking it and coming, and then too, how she made them edge themselves right before. I think after all that they just had to come so bad they just . . ." she waves the rest off, spears a piece of asparagus.

"Well, yeah." Fran snorts. "That's all the 'into it' I need. Maybe they didn't want to jerk each other off; whatever that means; but they needed to come. That's why it was so fun to watch em do it. I wasn't saying they were into the gay part. They were into the 'I just gotta come' part. Don't tell me you're feeling bad for them."

"Hell no." Genine snorts. "If we can get them to do it, that's on them. But it could have backfired too, like with that one. Tom."

"He got off too easy." Fran asserts. "But so, are you saying you liked it or you didn't?"

"It was fun the way it worked out; to see the look on their faces." Genine nods. "But I'm not sure I want to spend my CFNM time watching gay stuff, reluctant or otherwise. I think there's better uses for em. But there was one thing about it I did like. It was good payback for all that bullshit of how guys always want to see two women; like we owe it to them if there's two women in any situation, to get it on for the men, it's just expected we're into it so they can watch. It's like taken for granted. Like two women couldn't just want to use some guy together without . . ." she shakes her head, "whatever."

"Yeah." Talie agrees. "Why is it always the women? Nothing against that if they're into it. But what's good for the goose, right?"

"So, you liked it?" Fran presses.

Talie looks between Genine, Linda and Fran as if she doesn't want to alienate anyone given the split reactions.

"Well, you know, you guys, you do this together a lot. You know," she looks over at me as if trying to delay, "Genine calls them the three amigos." she laughs. "I just asked to sit with them for lunch." she explains apropos of what I'm not sure. "But, yeah," she says, turning back to Fran, "I kinda liked it. Guys doing each other."

"Kinda." Fran pushes.

"Okay, I liked it." Talie concedes with an appeasing glance towards Linda who just snorts and smiles. "Actually," Talie continues, seeming to have gained some momentum, "I really like gay porn." she adds with a shrug. "The guys are almost always, you know . . ." she raises her brows, smiling.

"Yeah." Fran agrees. "They are. But even these guys, I'll watch them do each other any way they like. No need for dildos; take a real one for us. I wanna see that!"

Linda crinkles her nose up, but doesn't say anything.

I've been keeping quiet. I know it's only a matter of time before someone asks me, but I'm expecting they'll go to June next who also hasn't chimed in. No such luck.

"So, Sarah," Fran turns her attention to me. "What about you?"

I should just tell them; why not? It creeped me out a little too. But in that moment of hesitation, when they first opened their eyes and looked at each other and us and what was in their hands, I wanted to see them do it; see if they would. And then when they started, kind of awkward and tentative at first, I felt awkward too and didn't really like the looks of it; the way they were reaching across each other and seemed to be just trying it out even while some other guy was trying it out on them. But then, you could see the simple mechanics take over; the stimulation tightening the chests, catching their breath; and my mood began to shift to one of superior amusement; the way they looked out at us with those softening, pleading expressions, their eyes narrowing as if trying to focus on what we told them we wanted. Didn't they know, care, how inelegant and comical they were; another male's hand working the knob, tightening their balls like so many windup toys until the tension trips the trigger, the shafts spasm and they 'pop', one after the other; 'Here's my come!' 'Here's my come!' Comical, yes; especially the first couple to go. But then, unexpectedly, another shift, now to arousal as we urge them, one after another, to 'finish him' and 'milk that cock'. It feels at first like a way to accentuate our superiority. The crisis (and excuse) of their pleasure now past, make them continue to handle each other to fulfill their ridiculous pledge 'to the last drop'; as if the stuff were actually worth collecting. But something in the erotic geometry of it; both males looking down as one brings tight circled fingers up the still rigid shaft to force the last drops from the other's penis, the milked male tensing and jerking reflexively as the curled fingers cross the hypersensitive switch just below the head. Their shameless compliance seems to assert their disdain of our disdain; we are the ones asking for this, after all. 'That's so hot.' the audience repeats. Yes, there is something unreasonably hot about that.

So, what about me? I should just tell them, but I can't think of any way to say all that without, well, saying all that. And further, I'm uncertain which of those serial responses predominates. So, what I say instead is;

"I'm not really sure." which is true enough, as far as it goes, but then try to shift the subject to back to, "But Fran, were you serious about wanting to see a male 'take a real one', I mean, from another male? Do you actually have them do that?"

"Nah." Fran shakes her head and laughs. "Today's the first time I ever saw any gay stuff at all. But yeah, I'd love to see them fuck and suck and jerk each other, long as they made it like a show for us and didn't just . . ." she shrugs. "But these guys, the ones we get, aren't into that. I was just saying."

"Not many males who get off on this would be into that." June, who's been quiet till now, pipes in. "It's our attention and approval, at least for the guys who do this, that's what gets them excited. They do want to be told what to do, but, well like with Mr Wilty there, you can't make a pig fly. I was surprised Audrey got as many to go as she did; even with all the careful build up and encouragement."

"Well, yeah but, maybe it's a start." Fran says hopefully. "Like, look at all the guys we have this year who'll take it up the ass. That wasn't even a thing a couple years ago. So why should it be so different to take a real penis rather than a dildo?"

"Well, I don't wanna see that stuff." Linda says a bit more firmly than her earlier take.

"Maybe not so different for the one taking it," Genine chimes in to answer Fran's question, "that's just passive so maybe. But on the other end some male has to be excited enough about fucking another male to get it up and do it. I don't think, even knowing we wanted to see it, that many of these guys, any of them really, would be there. Plus, Fran, I think if we did find some guys who were into it and started doing that stuff, we'd lose most of the others who it would creep out. That's not what they signed up for. Not at all."

"I worry about that some already with all this anal stuff." Linda says. "I know we don't force them; they agree to it. But it starts to put pressure, I think, on the other males who really . . ." she waves it away. "And the ones who don't, they're still really nice to use in every other way. But if we keep harping on it . . ."

"Nobody's 'harping' on it." Fran says with snort.

"Taking it up the ass should be right there in the Maven rules, if you asked me." June says. "Even make it part of the auditions; in the chair and get off for us or come back when you can."

"You see?" Linda says with a wave of her hand.

June shrugs, unperturbed. "It doesn't hurt 'em any. All these guys here, for sure, would do it if they knew that's what it took to be invited. It's not harping any more than telling them they need to be nude and get it up when asked. Like Genine said, it's passive. Look how many more we came up with in just a year once we started asking. We didn't lose anybody, least not that I heard of. But I agree about trying to push the gay stuff. Not that I'd mind seeing it in the mix, but we'd lose lots of guys on that. They wouldn't even want to be in the same room with it."

"Maybe so." Fran concedes. "But not if it was just the anal stuff. They'd all take that if push came to shove."

We all laugh at the double entendre.

But I'm curious still about how these things actually get decided or arranged.

"So, what is it, exactly, with the anal stuff?" I ask. "You're saying it's kind of a new thing. But I'm picking up that, the lounge act today, the whole thing with the chair and, is that like the equestrian thing they're talking about?" I ask, remembering Phyllis saying it was variations on a theme.

I'm half expecting to be cold shouldered on the topic again, but to my surprise,

"Hell yeah, girl!" Genine laughs, "Nobody told you about that?"

"Well, I asked a couple times but everybody said I should just wait and be surprised."

Puzzled looks all round.

I'm not sure how to read the reaction.

"I can't tell anything from the brochure, but all this talk about . . ." I start to explain.

"Who the hell told you that?" Genine asks.

Then, before I can answer. "That's bullshit." June says. "All this 'surprise' stuff. I don't want to be surprised. I just want to know if I get to peg one. They could just answer that."

"What?" Talie half squeals. "You mean like . . ."

"Use a strap on and fuck one." June says in her matter-of-fact way when Talie seems to hesitate.

"Are they doing that?" Talie asks looking a bit wide eyed.

"Why not?" June asks. "Seems like they're taking it every other way. That bolster set up and the strap down table at the edging station, what's the difference? To the males anyway. If they're gonna take it, let me fuck one."

Genine and Fran are laughing.

"Don't get her started." Genine says.

"I'm serious." June insists.

"We know you are." Genine says, "But maybe give it a rest." she looks at me and then Talie. "She's been on this ever since she saw the video from last year." her eyes go back and forth between Talie and I. "You haven't seen it." she guesses. "It's on the main website but . . ." waves that off. "They videoed some of it last year, the equestrian event. It was just one part of the Lounge Act last year. Linda and I were here but we went to High Tea. Still, we heard all about it. We watched a couple rounds they got on video and put up on the website. They would put two males up on stage, each in a chair like they used today, not the big penis one but the other one like they used at the edging station where the male just has to sit on it. It was a new thing, having them jerk off with a dildo up their ass. But they would have them race and the girls would bet on which one would come first. They also had some of them fuck those fake vagina things like that last one did, but they weren't strapped in a chair that way or taking it anally, they were just standing and thrusting into them. The things were mounted on these supports like an old lady's walker so the males could hang on and go at it two at a time and so, again, the girls could bet on which one comes first and . . . ." she pauses frowns, "There was other stuff too you could bet on, but it was the chairs, having them take it up the ass and jerk off; the girls couldn't get enough of it. They ran out of guys who were ready to do it. But the women still wanted another round, so they made some of the males go twice. And it became this new thing as word got around and people watched the video. All of a sudden everybody was sending in suggestions and requests for more anal stuff.

"Some people argued that that's really not CFNM, but was more like femdom or humiliation; like it's not really sexual but just sadism or whatever." Genine sees my expression. "We have a chat and comment section on the main web page." she explains. "So you can share ideas and suggestions or, I guess critiques too. But anyway, I guess some of the chapters, like Yakima, were already doing it with some of theirs and argued that if the males were still erect and could come that way, it was consistent with the principles for Maven entertainment and should be made available for the members who wanted it. Anyway, on the comment page on last year's event, other than a few members who weren't thrilled with it, almost all the comments are asking, how do we get more males who'll do it?"

"So, wait." I cut in; so much to unpack here I'm not sure where to start. "Sorry but, I'm just . . ."

"Sure." Genine says obligingly, gives me a moment to organize my thoughts before,

"So, a couple things I guess."

"Shoot."

"First, about the Yakima group saying as long as they're erect and can, uhnm, get off still, with it that way, I mean, she's saying if they could get it up and come, then it was consistent with Maven principles; is that really like a thing? I mean, a principle of some sort; they have to be able to, you know get it up or it's not . . .? And second," I cut off my rambling and push on, irritated with myself for being reticent verbalizing where they are all so relaxed and casual with these things, "you're saying, I guess, that this anal stuff is still kind of new?"

"Yeah, at least at the convention level, anal was never a thing." Genine answers my second question first. "Like at the edging station; none of that anal stuff was part of the edging station last year. But after having a bunch of them take it in the chair last year in the lounge act, anal is like a new fad. Sounds like all the local chapters were trying it out, seeing if they could get their males to, what did Audrey call it, expand their repertoire?" she snorts. "I mean, we tried it. Got a handful who would. We didn't have great luck, but June is right, nobody quit on us either, and more guys kept agreeing to try it when they saw other guys doing it and getting off. Neil for one. We just did the simple chair thing though, you know, sit on it and jerk off or whatever."

She shrugs, looks at Talie, "I mean, didn't your chapter try some stuff with your . . .?"

"I don't really have a chapter." Talie says. "I've looked but there's nothing local where I am and, probably, I wouldn't go to anything local anyway. Who knows who you might run into. Not a big town. But I've been to three or four events in Boston as a guest of my college room-mate who lives there. I mean, we do other things too when I visit, but if there's something going on when I'm there, she'll get me in. But I haven't been for a while, so I don't know what they maybe did in Boston since last year. This is my first event this year."

"So," I interject, wanting to get back to, "do you agree with that, what the Yakima groups says?"

"You mean that it should be available if some of us want it?" June asks.

"Well, yes, but not just that." I say, "Also the part about if they get erect and you know, come that way, that they should be able to do that or . . . I guess that's my question, or what?"

"Is it a principle?" Genine recalls the question. "Well, it's not exactly written down in that form, but it pretty much goes with the rule about erection and ejaculation when requested. It's not like they have to be erect all the time. Like tomorrow, during our free time, we have them the whole afternoon and a guy can't be erect for four or five hours or having to stop every two minutes to stroke it back up when we just want him to serve drinks or get us towels or whatever. But if we decide we want it, yeah, they need to put down the serving tray or whatever else, get it up and let us play however we want. Now, okay, if a male just put out a load or something, well that's understandable but . . ."

Genine breaks off as one of the resort staff waitresses draws near to gather up empty plates from the table.

It's Linda who picks up the thread after the waitress leaves. "It's not that tough to enforce. It excites them just to be naked for us. Or they wouldn't be doing this, right? It turns them on just the thought that we want them that way; want to see them erect, watch them come. The idea of CFNM, at least the Maven idea of it I think, is to leverage their excitement for our entertainment; push them to do stuff or let us do stuff to them, boss them around in ways that emphasize their sexual exposure for our amusement. That's really it. So yeah, part of the fun is seeing how far we can push them with that. I mean, they don't have to be comfortable or happy about everything. But there is a line, even if it's not exact, between using their sex drive on one hand and just plain abusing them in some way on the other. I mean, if you've got them doing something where they're so uncomfortable or hurting or grossed out or whatever, that they really can't get it up, no matter how much encouragement or other stimulation they get, then it's more like sadism or humiliation for the sake of humiliation." she scrunches up her nose. "I mean, like you just want to whip a guy or something or," shakes her head. "I wouldn't be into that even if the guy was getting it up and getting off. I mean, that's fine if other people like that, but you aren't gonna get forty-two decent males like we got here showing up for it. And most of these women wouldn't show up for it either. To be honest, I think some of this stuff is getting close to that line. Like that surprise set up; I hope that doesn't make all these males feel like now they have to be worried they're gonna be asked to do gay stuff. Lot of them might just stop showing up. But even that last guy in the 'fuck yourself' chair. He got off on it, I know, but you could see some of the other guys on stage looking at it and . . ." sigh, shakes her head.

"Awh, c'mon!" Fran says in good natured exasperation. "The 'fuck yourself' chair? That was so funny, making him do it that way. I mean that first guy; how she dragged him by the balls up and down on it?" she looks incredulously at Linda, then around the table as if lobbying for support. "And then he's lifted up, fucking it with those little thrusts to show us, and you can see the tip of it up his ass, and he's like bobbing on it while he comes? C'mon, that was completely, what was it you" looks back at Linda, then, "amusing? That's what you said right? Well, that was so fucking amusing I almost peed myself laughing." she giggles happily. "So fucking fun to see him do that; fuck himself with it and then strain so hard keep it up there to show us while he's, 'uhn! Uhn! Uhn!'" she imitates. "I mean," she looks back at the rest of us, "c'mon guys." she urges.

"I thought so." June says easily. "I especially love the pre-insertion prep show; big guy like that, shoved down with his ass in the air." She chuckles. Then, to Linda, "Pretty clear he got off being used that way. So" she shrugs, "don't see the issue."

"Yeah." Talie chimes in. "Like June says, when, before they put him in the chair, they had him down in front and pushed him down that way to lube him. His cock was flexing like he was so excited to be shown that way."

"You liked that?" Fran chuckles. "Ass up for the audience?"

"Yeah. I like seeing a guy's stuff from that angle, another guy fucking him is even better, like two for one." she pauses, waves this off like she knows she's getting off track. "But anyway, we been over that. I'm just saying, he knew what we were seeing, right? He was excited to be pushed down like that for us, to have us see him that way." Talie says. "I'm just agreeing, he totally wanted it."

"Yeah, he did." Linda again. "I'm not arguing that. And I'm not even saying I didn't like it. He was fun to watch and I like the way they handled him too; you know, like you said, pushing him down that way and yeah, dragging him up and down by his balls on it. I like seeing them handled aggressively. I'm just saying, they had tried him that way before. He knew it was coming and got off on it. But if they think they're gonna just spring something like that, like on that last guy, Tom, who couldn't get it up; you saw his reaction when he realized which chair we wanted him in, at least at first it was 'no way.' But we kept at him and at least he'd seen the other guy take it and survive. But if he hadn't, no fucking way. You can't just pull something like that as a 'surprise' and think . . ." she frowns, breaks off with a shake of her head. "If they thought they were getting into that kind of thing on a regular basis, we wouldn't have forty guys here."

"Oh, come on. Tom was just a dweeb." Fran says unsympathetically. "Got off way too easy."

"Yeah, well, that 'dweeb' was perfectly entertaining at the edging station and gives really good foot rubs." Linda answers. "And he was pretty good looking and decently hung, he just wasn't gonna go gay. I hope he sticks around cause, even though he did take it and come, we made him plenty nervous and uncomfortable before that. I know they can always say no. But I'm just telling you, if you keep pushing these guys until they say 'no', or you continually make them feel like any minute they may have to, you're just fucking up the dynamic. They want to be dominated, yeah. But they aren't into punishment or abuse for its own sake. If it doesn't excite them anymore, they're gonna bail. I'm just telling you. You're gonna be down to just sado-masochist subs who can't get off unless you're beating them or whatever. You can have it." she waves dismissively.

She looks around at us. Then. "Just saying."

It's then that another staff waiter comes around looking to refill wine glasses. I don't drink in the afternoon usually but this is definitely a two-drink conversation.

"Red or white?" the waiter asks.

Looks like a college kid, or maybe even younger. But apparently old enough to serve alcohol. I'm sure he's been catching more than snippets of Maven themed conversations like ours as he tries to unobtrusively make his rounds. I wonder if management has forewarned him about 'those women' at the Maven convention. Surely, he knows something is up by this point.

"Mam," he says patiently, "red or . . ."

"White, yes. Thank you."

He refills my glass along with Fran's and Genine's, drifts back away.

The pause in conversation makes me feel like I can jump back in.

"So, Linda, are you saying that as long as they can get it up and come" there, that felt better to just say it the way they would, "that it's really not humiliation or abuse? I mean, they don't see it as abuse if it excites them that way but . . .?" I raise my brows at her.

"Well, I don't know if I'd put any particular label on it. Me, I think people that jog are abusing themselves." she laughs. "But you know, like I've seen things where supposedly women get off on finding guys with really small penises just to make fun of them or stripping some guy who supposedly doesn't want it and he's all embarrassed and that kind of crap. You know, humiliation that way. Or kicking guys in the balls or . . . just dumb stuff if you asked me. Other people like it? That's fine. But it does nothing for me."

"Well, no, me either, that stuff." Talie says. "But I don't think the guy in the chair was . . ."

"Nah." Linda waves that off. "I told you what I worry about with that. If a guy signs up for it in advance and gets off on it, I'm fine. Again, up to a point. Still maybe not the best use in my book. But . . ." she shakes her head, "I said what I think."

"So, then it's not really humiliation so much as . . ." I start.

"Oh, it's humiliation." June cuts in, laughs. "All of it is. I mean, just standing there naked with us all . . ." she waves a hand. "The fact that they're stiff and even losing it just adds to it. Seeing those penises all flushed and dripping their stuff while we make em do shit, that just seals it."

"Yeah," Fran seconds the sentiment, "the erection and orgasm stuff is part of the humiliation, or at least . . ." she breaks off, frowns, then, "you think it should at least embarrass them, right, to be so excited about being used that way. I mean, I wouldn't stand up naked with a bunch of other women in front of a crowd of guys and masturbate for them. I mean, if I was actually getting off on that?" she raises an eyebrow. "I do agree there's other ways you could humiliate them, but when they're stiff and excited, or they're coming and we're just talking and laughing and teasing them. I mean, doing it to themselves and we're just . . ." she snorts. "It's using that against them, that stupid, constant male inability to shut it off; like maybe just once they could look at your face instead of your tits when you're trying to talk to them. But no, they just can't do it." she scoffs.

"Who knows what a guy is thinking if he's just flopping around." June huffs. "But when they're up stiff that way; you know, how they stand there looking at you as they take whatever? I just look down at it and let him know I can see, we all can, how bad he wants to be my bitch."

"Yeah, that's . . ." Fran waves her hands in front of her like she wants it quiet so she can formulate this, "It's not so much that I want to humiliate them, it's that I want to see those stiff penises and tight balls drive them to humiliate themselves for me."

"I think you guys are kind of missing it." Genine, who's been quiet for a while, comes back in softly. "You know, we're sitting here, paid all this money and took a perfectly good weekend to come here to use guys this way because we like it, it excites us to do it. Some people maybe think we should be humiliated by that, for wanting to do this. I mean, I at least, know there are people I know who would think I should be embarrassed about doing this. Now, I don't throw it in their faces, but if it came up and they gave me shit about it, my attitude would be, well, fuck you. I'm done being embarrassed because other people are embarrassed or think I should be. I like what I like."

"Yeah, I think we're all pretty much there." Fran says.

"Okay, then, so why should some guy be embarrassed or feel humiliated because it turns him on to be our bitch, as you call it?" Genine asks. "I mean, I'm grateful so many guys want to do this and I'm pretty much with Linda, I don't want to scare them off or make it so it doesn't excite them to keep wanting to do it. Takes two to tango, as they say. I'm glad they like to be dominated, used this way, but we're both just doing it because it excites us. Don't see how that's more humiliating for him than it is for me. In some ways these guys are using us to get what they want just as much as the other way around. I'm good with that."

"Me too." Linda agrees. "But that's why I'm not sure we need all this . . ." she shrugs, "like Audrey's 'surprise'. I know they're trying to push things, but I just think sometimes it gets in the way of them, the males, focusing on that 'being our bitch' part of it. Even like that last guy in the chair, doing it that way, making him fuck himself, it's a show for sure, but is he really focused on us at all or is it just, you know, him and the machine? I don't know. When it gets too elaborate . . ." she breaks off.

This seems to quell conversation for a bit. I flash back to sitting on the couch next to Dianne, two young, erect males at our feet, leaning back, their legs splayed to display for us to compare, looking up at us expectantly. There really is something potent about that - the directness and simplicity of it - that gets a little lost, or at least changes when things get, as Linda would say, more 'elaborate'. But I also feel a kind of lurid fascination, even if I don't find some of it appealing, with just how far things can be pushed and still have them do it and, yeah, be excited by it enough to be erect and even come if they're told to.

I want to get back to,

"So, you think then, that the Lounge act is going to be mostly . . ." I pause, "anal oriented?" guess that's how you'd say it.

"Supposed to be." June says. "They keep saying they recruited more males for it and all this about 'breaking them in' at the local groups. And, not to keep harping on the fuck yourself chair," she says with a glance towards Linda who just shrugs. "but if he's gonna take that and still get off . . . I mean, I just want to do it once; bend one over and give it to him."

"Why?" I ask and almost immediately feel stupid for asking, but,

"Don't know really." June says easily. "I just have this urge. That stupid porn shit where they show two women using strap-ons is laughable. I don't go that way, but if I did, I sure wouldn't need some stand in penis to satisfy another woman. But on a guy, a woman using it on a guy? I don't know, it's just dominating him in a way that really lets him know. Plus, I just think it would be cool to feel what it's like to . . ." she laughs. "Why not? If they're gonna take it, let me give it to them that way. I just want to try it."

"But you don't know exactly what they have in mind." I say.

"Well, it'll be at least that chair they had for the last male. They'll get some guy, or maybe more than one to do that again." Linda says. "That's new and Adriene also said something about a new set up from the Yakima group. So, there's apparently going to be a bigger variety of anal stuff than last year, even just going by the edging station set ups. More than I need for sure. I'm sticking with High Tea."

"You don't like the anal stuff?" I ask.

Linda scrunches up her nose. "I wouldn't say that exactly. I like some of it; like when they just take it and jerk off. That can be nice. But the whole race thing . . ." she sniffs, "what does that add? Seems like just a distraction. Or some of this other stuff, like the table set up. Don't get me wrong, if people are into that then, sure, and if we got guys who will do it, sure. Why not, I guess. But to spend a whole two, two and a half hours on just that stuff? Taking up more than half the stock it sounds like? I don't know that it's worth a whole session for just that anal stuff. I mean, it's fine if you want to do it June. But I have no urge to watch you peg some guy, even if he somehow comes that way. No offense."

"None taken." June assures her.

"But you do like some of it." I reaffirm, massaging my own sense of ambivalence here.

"Sure." Linda shrugs. "I said. Some of it."

"But anyway, I'm not sure it's really more than half the stock. I mean, it would be great if it were." Sue jumps back in. "But as to how many might be available for anal, just counting those who've already taken it in some way, that's like already fifteen or so. But that would mean there'd have to be a lot more."

"And I know another one," I say, "guy called Trey." I'm tempted to add what I heard about him sometimes coming from just anal stimulation, but it seems a little weird to be offering that and I don't really know if it's even true.

"Trey, you mean Phyllis' husband? That Trey?" Fran asks.

"You know Phyllis?"

"Oh yeah." Fran laughs. "We all know Phyllis. She put him up for that again this year?" she asks, but then, "Of course she did." she answers her own, "Dumb question."

"Well, I think he . . ." not the time to be snitty about him having his own reasons, "yeah. She said she'd prefer to have him used that way instead of at High Tea." I feel a little kick 'talking the talk'; 'have him used that way'; just rolls off the tongue now, doesn't it?

"Surprise, surprise." Linda snorts.

"I'd peg that." June assures us.

Something about the tone here is throwing me.

Genine sees it in my expression.

"Trey was in the video from last year's session." Genine offers. "Went two rounds and won both times. Maybe that one you could peg." she says to June. "Make it another highlight clip for Phyllis."

"Yeah," Linda snorts, "Phyllis would share, wouldn't she?"

They all laugh, but again there's an edge to it I can't quite place.

"Why do you say it like that?" I ask. "I mean, I was talking to one of the photographers and she said the g . . . the males all had to sign some waiver or something that let them be used for things like the web page, their pictures I mean, videos too I guess you're saying."

"Oh yeah, it's not that." Fran says. "They sign up for that. If it's for Maven related stuff, we can use them how we want. It's just Phyllis."

Interesting.

"What about Phyllis?"

"Nothing really," Fran says unconvincingly, "it's just she can be a little . . ." looks around at the others.

"A little . . ." I prompt.

"Don't take this wrong." Genine says after a moment. "I like Phyllis just fine, we all do." nods all round. "And everybody gets into this in their own way so, more power to her. But she can be a little over zealous about sharing her things, if you catch my meaning."

"You mean . . ."

"Yeah, Trey." Fran says.

"Don't take this wrong." Genine cautions again, "Trey's a nice piece of ass, one of the better ones really, I mean so susceptible and compliant, always a good show. But Phyllis has this thing where it's 'my husband' this and 'my husband' that. Kind of hard to explain."

"Like she'll bring him to dinners, like last night," Fran says, "and it'll be, 'Oh, and you know my husband, Trey.' like she's pretending or maybe expecting us to pretend that we met Trey and 'know' him like maybe how I 'know' my neighbor's husband who we run into now and then. That sort of thing? When maybe the only way I 'know' Trey is from holding his balls while my girlfriend Linda here jerked him off for a come shot contest or . . . you get the idea. And that's fine, I mean if she wants to do the 'husband' thing'; a little weird maybe, but I could do that. But then it's . . ." she sighs, looks around at the others.

"Phyllis loves putting Trey out there for the rest of us to admire." Genine steps back in. "Like last year, I told you, Trey was one of the males videoed for the member's portion of the web page. Phyllis loved that. But it was like she had to put her brand on him, remind everybody whose toys we were playing with. So, she sends around this short excerpt clip of just him."

"Not all of it either." Fran adds. "Just his two come shots, played one after the other."

"Just that from last year's video, pointing out that 'my husband' -" Genine picks up again, "it's the husband thing that gets her off - 'my husband put out more semen for us the second time; an unusual level of performance for any male' and" Genine shakes her head, "it was something like that, or no, it was 'entertainment', level of entertainment. But anyway, she sends this note with the clip urging us all to watch and judge his output for ourselves, compare his two come shots and let her know if we agree he gave us more the second time."

So, I'm thinking it was a good call not to join Phyllis for a cameo with Trey at the photo station. But beyond that I'm struggling with the etiquette here. After what I've seen and heard this morning, comparing ejaculations from some male doesn't seem out of step, at least in context. I don't want to look stupid here; everyone else seems to get this.

"Look, it is a fun clip to watch." Fran jumps in again when she reads my expression. "And it did get lots of comments back, which is just what she wanted."

"Yeah, it's not that." Linda, who's been quiet for a while, jumps back in. "In fact, a lot of the members got into sending in these detailed comparative analyses. Sometimes just playing around trying to out-do each other, half joking. But also, you know, liking the idea of treating it like a real question. But really . . ." she rolls her eyes.

"He's one male." Fran again. "And sure, he's just fine to use, no complaints. But look, we got forty of 'em here, right? Some at a way higher 'level', whatever that means, at least if you asked me. I know she gets off on the 'sharing my husband' thing; they both do. Fine. But, sorry, what do I really care whose fucking husband some one of these guys might be? Scuse my French but, you can't have your cake and eat it."

Genine and the others laugh.

"Sorry, I still don't" I pause, "I know what you mean about the dinner thing. I sat with them last night and . . ." I break off, not sure what I'm trying to ask here.

"Well, so," Genine asks, "was he her husband or was he just another priapic appetizer for the girls to share over dinner? I mean, almost literally; at first, it's 'here's my husband' and then it's 'here's my husband'. It's fine with me either way. But it's not like he's more entertaining to play with just because he's her husband. Congratulations already. But we got plenty more where he came from."

"Yeah, that's really it." Fran agrees. "We get it. Congratulations," she smirks, then adds doubtfully, "I guess. But it's not like I'd have my boy-friend doing this, even if he would. I'm impressed, but at the same time, you know, I'm not impressed."

There is a long pause. They're all looking at me to see do I get it.

I nod. I do, sort of, but I'm grateful when,

"Still," June says deadpan, "I'd peg that."

We all laugh, and the conversation moves on to other topics.

Concurrent Events

Replaying the lunch conversations over in my head is enough to keep me occupied and agitated for the hour and a half before heading back down to the 'Concurrent Events' scheduled from 3:30 to 6:00 pm. I'm trying to write this up in some semblance of order, but my sense of chronology is skewed because my personal impressions have so mutated that my perspective on 'what happened when' gets muddy.

I had thought to entertain, or at least interest, my readers with an 'outsider's' reaction to attending a CFNM event for the first time, assuming most of them would never have done so or even considered it. I'm not going to write a confessional about my inmost thoughts (or wet panties) but I do want to convey a sense of the novelty and incongruity they might feel if they were in my shoes. How else to engage them and keep them coming back for more of my witty and perceptive social commentary? Simply relating a string of facts and occurrences won't do. Even if it's only the personae of my nom de plume, they must have some emotive reaction, commentary and observation from me to grace their vicarious experience.

The problem is, I can hardly recall now what my actual thoughts and reactions were even just a few hours ago when I got that most basic of initiations into the genre when the males all stripped and stood for inspection. I can picture it, but it's all overlaid now with thoughts and reactions to what came later that I'm still processing but that seem now linked to the image.

'Oh, it's humiliation.' I hear June say as she laughs. 'All of it is. I mean, just standing there naked with us all . . .'

But did I think that? Did I somehow sense how submissively compliant they were and secretly sneer in self-congratulation? I know I did several times later, seeing them used; targeting their balls with my little gun for example. But even then, was I thinking of it as 'humiliation', or was I just enjoying it at some level without caring before that label came up in conversation at lunch? But now, looking back, I can't see it without a tinge of June's amused assessment creeping in and feeling like I should at least ask myself; am I somebody who gets off on sexually humiliating men? Even Genine's 'they're using us too' approach doesn't help me avoid asking. But was any of that in my head when they first stepped up to the line naked for inspection?

Or even simpler stuff. Like just coming in and seeing them all over there, still fully clothed in their narrow corral; I was curious looking them over. I knew in my head what they were there for, that they would be naked soon and 'entertaining' us. But I wasn't ever imagining that the thought of them there that way still fully clothed, remembering it, would produce that earth moving orgasm I gave myself right before lunch. There I was across from them, all these perfectly ordinary guys in street clothes like you might run into anywhere. But I wasn't seeing them, not like I should have. Not enjoying them or the situation for what it was, until looking back at it, knowing then what they were going to do, become, be used for, seeing them again in that light, with my fingers pressing a circling my clit . . . so fucking incandescent!

So, which is it? What would I think or feel seeing another group like that again? Or did I sort of sense all that, really, even in those first moments? I mean, I 'knew' what they were there for, right?

And even terminology now; just how these women talk about 'males' and 'using' them, about 'cocks' and 'come shots' and 'taking it up the ass' and 'fun' without any sense of inhibition or even how odd it would sound to people (like me, I used to think, but now am not so sure) who weren't immersed in this. I don't think after just one morning of it I'm immersed, but I've lost my own sense of incongruity listening to it. How do I describe 'what happened'; like a Maven would or . . .?

I'm not getting anywhere. It's still early, just 3:00, but I'm heading back down.

There is a separate sign-in table outside the section of the resort reserved for Maven activities. Does this mean I need to go through the whole "I'm new and can I do both" routine again? I find myself slightly annoyed as I come up and,

"Name?"

"Hansen, Sarah Hansen."

Staff woman flips the page, finds my name. Then looks back up.

"Sorry," she says apologetically, "but it's not listed. I'm sure it's just our screw up, but are you green or red?" she asks sweetly.

Shit. Are the events color coded? "Well, I'd like to be both." I say. "They said earlier they'd put me down for both."

She squints at me then reaches into a nearby tray of colored wrist bands like they use to identify hospital patients and, "Green or Red." she repeats, holding one each.

"Look." I say as sweetly as I can manage, "They told me there'd be no problem if I wanted to attend a little of each event. They said they could sign me up for both. Is there some pro . . ."

"You're new." she interrupts, smiling.

This again. "Yes. But they said . . ."

"Did you sign a consent form?" she asks, then adds, "For being in photos or videos." she adds when she sees I'm still drawing a blank. "We're going to be filming a lot of this and taking candids with members who want them but only those who . . ."

"Oh, no." I say. "And I would prefer not to be . . ."

"Of course." she says quickly and firmly. "And you won't be, rest assured. But, so, you're red." she holds up the red wristband. "Don't worry. They're going to get photos and video, of the males mostly, but sometimes the members like to be in the shots. Just so you know, they won't be taking any crowd shots and with this on, even if you asked them to be in a picture, they wouldn't do it. And they always look before they shoot, so really . . ."             

"That's fine." I say as she fastens the band around my wrist. "But, so, there's no problem with me going to both if I . . ."

"Oh no dear." she says patiently. "They're filming mostly in the lounge but the restrictions are the same for either event. Red means you won't be photographed."

"Oh." I say, feeling a bit sheepish now having displayed some annoyance when she was only trying to be . . .

"And you'll want these." she says and holds out two poker chip like counters, "For drinks." she explains. "Good for the lounge downstairs and for after dinner tonight. But, after two it's cash only."

"Thanks." I take them.

"And really, about the photos . . ." she starts. But

"I'm not worried." I say with shrug. "But thanks."

And, surprisingly, I am not.

Part way down the hall, I'm half tempted to go back and ask for a consent form; get me a green wristband and maybe a cameo appearance credit on the Maven website. I won't, but I resent my caution too.

High Tea is being set up in the Mavens only buffet room where we ate lunch. I poke my head in to look around and am surprised by the transformation. The dining tables have been taken down and removed and a large assortment of lobby furniture; couches, cushioned chairs, end tables and coffee tables and, once again, some of those low stools they had used at the foot massage and edging stations have been moved in and arranged in a series of cozy sitting areas. At one end of the room there is a slightly raised platform with what looks like the throne-like chair they used at the photo station on it and two lower chairs arrayed on either side of it. There is a small cleared space in front of the dais and throne with a rectangular red and gold oriental style throw carpet.

It's still a bit early. There are only a few groups of attendees occupying some of the sitting areas. There are no males to be seen. The resort staff are still putting the finishing touches on things; setting out decorative doilies, coasters and flower arrangements of various sizes on some of the table surfaces.

I wonder what the resort staff think of this, or even how much they know or have been told about the use that is to be made of their preparations. How much, for instance, might that waitress who was clearing away empty plates at lunch have overheard of our conversation or those going on at other tables. They'll all be ushered out once things start; members and males only after that. But as I watch a middle-aged Latina in her blue and white resort uniform fluffing and arranging a few pillows on a nearby couch, I can't help wondering; supposing they did know, how many of them would like to stay? Or for that matter . . . my gaze moves to rest upon a trim young man arranging tea cups and saucers on a counter; leaning forward slightly as he works, his twenty something ass in those tight blue slacks presented nicely; maybe him? Would he like to stay? We do recommend they be auditioned first. But no worries, I have time; as long as he's prompt with it when asked.

Yes. Something has shifted alright.

'Low key'; that was Phyllis' description of High Tea, and it does look somewhat staid and proper; like a series of small drawing rooms. But that throne set up and those tight young buns across the way . . . I'll be back.

Down a corridor to a propped open door at the head of a flight of stairs. A tasteful, painted sign above the door reads 'The Cavern, Lounge and fine Dining, open; 6pm-2am.' It's only a little after 3, but like other areas of the resort, the Cavern has been reserved for Maven activities for the weekend so . . . down we go.

Part way down, the stairwell takes a right-angled turn then opens out into a fan shaped descent into a fairly large lounge with a stage and dance floor on one end and a long, dark stained wood bar along a side wall. There are several booths and niches along the other walls but the main floor is set up with tables and chairs. There are no windows and the decor is a bit kitsch-cavernous - faux stone facings on a few walls and those little table candles in equally faux stone bowls. But the furniture looks nice and the lighting is a bit bright but tasteful; no crappy neon beer sign over the bar, big mirror there, nice glassware.

The back of the stage is lined with what I'm guessing are the various chair apparatus we'd seen earlier. I'm assuming that anyway because it's all under drapes, but there's a lot more up there than the three or four used in the plenary session; looks like a dozen or more separate pieces. I'm reminded of Adriene's shout out to the Yakima group. I assume their 'invention' is up there under one of those drapes.

I notice the two photographers have set up some tripods in various strategic positions at different angles to the stage. One is set up on top of one of the circular tables in the center of the room just behind the first rows of tables that border the dance floor. It appears to be situated to catch action up on stage by shooting over the heads of the audience using a long zoom lens. The two photographers are up there fussing over the positioning and peering through the eyepiece to check the focus.

Along the walls where the booths and private niches are, I can see they've set up some or all of the apparatus used at the edging station. The crucifix is there, the bolster thing, the exam table and even the two non-dildo restraint chairs. I squint; well, they were non-dildo in the plenary session. But now it looks like the seats have been fitted with fake penises too.

The convention staff is setting out a variety of gloves, lubricants and implements on the booth table tops. There are some attendees over there watching them unload and arrange items, chatting and looking things over. One of them picks up a long pink rubber penis from the table and wags it playfully at her girlfriends. Laughter. She puts it back.

I'm curious to go over there a see what's available. I'm not particularly tempted to use any of it, but there does seem to be a larger - both numerically and dimensionally (if that penis she just wagged is any indication) - selection than was available for use on the males at the plenary session. I can't see from here, but I'm wondering if maybe there might even be a strap on or two over there to answer June's prayers.

This is all interesting and I'm definitely curious about how far they'll take this new 'anal fad' with the males. But as I look around, I also recall Linda's skeptical remark about 'two, two and half hours' just for that? And wonder if maybe she had a point.

First though, I want a drink.

I head across to the bar. There are a few women at it already buying drinks. I recognize a couple of them; we exchange smiles and nods as I step up.

"Thanks." Sarah, my erstwhile seat-mate, says to the barmaid as she plops down one of her free drink counters, turns away, sees me and "Sarah, Sarah!" she says brightly, pointing back and forth between us. "Ready for this?" she asks.

"Ready." I say, trying to match her ebullience but not quite succeeding.

"Yeah. Me too Sarah Sarah." then, "Join our table if you want." she offers, motioning to a group of three women claiming a table near the stage. "We got good seats." then, noticing my wrist band. "Oh." she says, flashes me her own green one. "You're red." her smile a little less radiant.

"Yeah." I acknowledge.

"Yeah." she says, hoists her drink slightly, "Well we were . . ." tries to get back her big smile.

I can read this easy enough; one red tomato in the bushel could compromise photo ops for the green bunch. She threw out the invite without thinking.

"So, thanks but, I'm already meeting another bunch. Otherwise . . ." I say with my sad face.

"Oh, too bad." she frowns.

I'm sure she knows I'm lying, just as I know she's relieved.

"Thanks so much for the invite though."

"But of course!" she bubbles and lifts her drink to me. "Next time maybe."

As she heads off, I'm thinking maybe that wasn't her first free drink.

"What can I get you?"

I turn back to the bar and, "Something red. Merlot or C . . ." before it hits me. "Cabernet." I finish.

The bartender is a guy; pretty fucking cute actually, but

"Which." he says. "Got a couple of each."

"Ahm, I, Cab I guess." I answer, look down along the bar to where a barmaid is waiting on others.

He notices my glance. "Got a Sterling or a Kendall Jackson." he says with raised brows.

I draw a blank, notice he isn't in resort staff livery but he's also not, "Ah, the Kendall's fine." I manage, not naked; just a cute bartender wanting my order.

He nods, turns away and pulls a fresh wine glass from the overhead rack, and,

"Yeah," he says as he pours my drink. "I'm a guy. And no," he says with a snort like he's already been asked this too many times, "I'm not part of the entertainment."

He sets the glass down in front of me on the bar.

"Anything else?" he asks.

"So, you're . . ." I know he just wants my drink chip and to get on to the next customer, but it's still throwing me that, "I mean you'll be . . ." while we . . .

"Tending bar with Cloe." he nods and motions to the barmaid down the way. "We own this place. Lease the space from the resort. Separate business. You have a problem," he assumes wearily, "take it up with the organizers."

"No, no." I say quickly. "But so, you know then what we're . . ."

"Sure. That's your business, okay? This is mine. We host all sorts of events. First one of these, but happy to have you all." then, "Chip or cash." he prompts.

"Oh, sorry." I quickly fish one of the free drink chips out of my purse and hold it out.

He takes it.

"Thanks, Ms. Enjoy your show." he turns away to help the next woman at the bar.

I fish in my purse again, pull out a dollar and stick it in the tip jar.

It's another one of those collisions between ordinary life and whatever this is. Using males for sport is our business. Tending bar is his and Cloe's. What could be more mundane?

Users' Manual

I hadn't been planning on it necessarily, but as the attendees fill in the tables I see Genine and my other lunch companions and it just seems easiest all round to join them rather than squeeze in with some other group. Except for Linda who's gone to High Tea, they're all there, including Talie who they've taken under their wings as an honorary amigo.

We're one table back from the dance floor. Up front, one table over to our left, is SarahSarah and her friends and in the other direction, again up front on the edge of the dance floor, is Phyllis with the two Meg's and some others. I'm sitting between Genine and Talie. The table seats six so we have room for one more, but no one else joins by the time things are ready to start. We leave the chair nearest the floor empty and range ourselves more closely at the far side of the circular table so we can mostly face the stage without anyone having to crane their necks to see 'the show'.

"Before we bring in the entertainment," Adriene says from the stage, "As you all know by now, this is still a relatively new area of usage for our males. Many local groups have done a wonderful job since last year identifying suitable males and breaking them in to various degrees. But here I do need to sound a note of," she pauses, "not caution exactly but, good husbandry, shall we say, in the use of our stock."

Laughter.

"Not all of the stock we have available to you for this has been broken in to the same level of" she snorts, holds up an 'okay' sign with one hand and pushes the index finger of her other hand through the 'o' suggestively, "receptiveness." she finishes.

More laughter, a few cat calls and hoots.

"We were worried that a one size fits all approach would limit the number available. We didn't want to deprive you, for instance, of the enjoyment of the nervous excitement and including, I'm told, spontaneous ejaculation induced in a couple of the more novice males from taking it. So, we have worked to accommodate this range by allocating the stock between the various stations and competitions based on the information on their performance at the local level provided with their recommendations. Just to be clear, all our males have been informed that their past usage does not limit our discretion to make use of them in whatever way we find most entertaining, and we do intend to provide you the amusement of pushing several of them beyond their past performance. One notable case in particular which I'll get to in short order. But as a practical matter, ladies, to meet the policy guidelines we've agreed upon for incorporating this use into the Maven male repertoire, it's important that you abide by the usage limitations the staff sets for various males at each station, not only to avoid damage to our stock, but to make sure that when it's their turn to be up on stage, they have enough left to entertain us properly. Size does matter in that regard, so please, don't give the staff a hard time. They're not trying to spoil your fun. So, if they tell you that your selection of a particular toy is not approved for use on a certain male, please just take the hint and don't make a fuss."

"That better not mean those strap-ons are just for show." June says under her breath having, apparently, reviewed what's available and found some to her liking.

"As for the stage show," Adriene continues, "members will have a variety of ways to participate that I think you'll find really fun and gratifying and we encourage any member who wants to, to take part.

"Now, like last year, we can't formally take bets on the various races. That would run afoul of various regulations and restrictions. But private wagers between individual members or groups of members are none of our business and if that does occur, well, it can make things a little more sporting. Again, only if members are so inclined."

"Place your bets here!" someone calls out to general laughter.

"I, of course, did not hear that." Adrienne says with a sniff. "But now, I know many of you are eager to get on to the stations and get the stage events underway, but I do hope you'll indulge me for just a bit more for two demonstrations that I think you'll find worth the delay as I think they'll really set the mood and get the fun started on our theme for this year."

"Now, I mentioned earlier about the responses of some of the more novice males to anal penetration and how we intend to push many of them past what they've taken or been used for before. And along those lines, believe it or not, we're going to start things off by breaking in, right here on stage, a fresh, virgin anus."

Coos of amusement and appreciation from the audience.

"I kid you not." Adriene assures us. "Supplied by Brenda Mills of the L. A. group."

"Wait, she's what?" Talie hisses softly to the table.

"A virgin anus." June repeats as,

"Yes, you heard right." Adriene says in response to similar reactions from several others. "Brenda assures me this will be this male's absolute first time to be penetrated. He's been saved just for this, like a virgin bride to be de-flowered on his Maven nuptials." she snarks. Then, "Yeah," she shakes her head in theatric disbelief, "amazing, isn't it, what a woman can convince a male to do? But I'll let her tell the story. Great story, trust me. But yes, she'll break him in right here for us as our virgin sacrifice. Should be fun."

"This should be good." June opines softly. "Unless it's just like a butt plug or something." she speculates, obviously rooting for something more 'intrusive'. "I'd love to peg a virgin."

"So, with that," Adriene says, "let's bring in the entertainment. Brenda, if you're set," Adriene looks to a woman seated at one of the tables up front who gets up and,

"Fetch him." She says to one of the staff.

Virgin Sacrifice

The male up on stage beside Brenda seems relatively young; early thirties if I had to guess, medium build; naked, of course. He looks like he works out some, but not a gym rat. I like his legs; maybe he runs. He's got sandy hair and a slight beard I think he'd probably look better without. I don't recognize him from earlier and he seems not to quite know how to stand or what to do with his hands.

Like most of the other males he came in with, he's flaccid, or partially engorged maybe; seems like a decent sized penis, but we'll see when he's erect, which, I assume, will be happening shortly based on the discussion over lunch. It's hard to judge his balls from here.

As I make these assessments, I recall again my initial reaction to seeing the males naked, lined up for inspection. Looking back, my initial response was surely a bit of an overreaction. He's naked, like the other males being directed by staff around to the various stations. I like them that way, but it's nothing earth shattering or even disconcerting at this point. They're way more excited about it than I am. This one's a little jittery; but considering what it's been advertised he's here for, that's understandable. At least if his alleged 'virgin' status is true and not just another bit of theater. And on that score,

"This is a true story." Brenda assures us. "Not some bullshit act."

Brenda's a slim, smart dressed woman in a maroon pant suit styled with graceful looking, loosely flowing material around the legs. She's in heels and looks relaxed and talks confidently, taking over from Adriene as the staff women lead other males to various spots and stations around the room or start to fuss with the equipment on stage behind her.

"This one," she motions to the male beside her, "is a real virgin." she pauses, glances aside at him, "Never taken it in the ass." she says, then, "Go on, tell them."

"I, ahnm," he shifts uneasily, looking around at us as if he's trying to gauge how big the audience is, "I've never taken it in the ass." he parrots her words, glances sideways at her.

"And I'm going to use this on him." Brenda turns back to a small table behind her, picks up a black strap on dildo and turns back around, "This." she emphasizes, holding it out towards the crowd.

"Fuck yeah." June says, then, looking around at the rest of us, "That's gotta be like eight inches." she whispers so as not to interrupt Brenda who is now wagging it in front of the male's face and . . .

"You're gonna take this for us, right?" she taunts him.

This is getting reactions from the audience; some, like June, murmur excitedly, but others, like Genine and Talie seem somewhat shocked even as the male,

"Yes." he answers hoarsely, nods, swallows, his eyes darting around at the women in the crowd.

"And you haven't cheated on me, have you?" she asks him archly, "Gone off and popped your cherry with a cucumber? Spoiled my fun?"

"Oh, jeeze." Talie winces.

Other women laugh, some of it sounds nervous.

"No, no." he says quickly, "I told you . . ." he starts, but then it's as if he realizes it was not a real question and suddenly remembers we're all here watching, "No." he repeats, looks to one side in the direction of the bar like he just realizing there are 'normal' people over there doing 'normal' things, and this is just a bar not some special purpose dungeon, and yet here he is . . . he looks down.

Brenda laughs. "As you can probably tell, he's not used to this." she turns towards him, lowers her head to look up into his lowered gaze from below and, "I told you there'd be lots of women here for this." she says teasingly. "Not like your little audition with just me and two others, hmmm? Didn't I tell you?"

He lifts his head back up, looks out at us again. "Yes." he answers with what seems like mild defiance, as if accepting this as a challenge. "You told me."

I notice his penis seems slightly more engorged, draping a bit further out from his body.

"And that's kind of the story here." Brenda says to us. "His only real excuse for what I'm going to tell you is that, other than a quick audition me and two of my friends ran him through, he's never been used for CFNM before and, how to say this, was ignorant of the rules. But we'll see if he's learned anything and can behave properly for us here today. So," turning back to him, "first off, the girls need to see you erect so they know you're properly excited about being here. Go on."

The male grips his penis with one hand and begins to work it.

Brenda turns back to the audience.

"So, as I said, we did audition him, but he's never been used in an event or put in front of a crowd for anything, let alone for what he'll be getting today. So really, I'm not sure how this will go." she glances aside down at the male's stroking hand. "There," she says to him, "you're getting it up. Seems like we have a start at least."

And indeed, the male's penis seems to be stiffening quickly.

"So, here's the story." Brenda says, talking with her hands, gesturing casually with the dildo as she speaks, "Couple weeks ago, he answers one of our adds for the L. A. area group. He shows up. Me and a couple other members audition him. He does alright. Like you can see," she waves a hand at his now surprisingly full erection and, "Go on." she instructs, "Show the girls." then, "That's right." she says when he drives circled fingers hard to the base to display it for us.

"Yeah," she turns back to us, "he got it up fast for us that day too and . . ." she turns to him again, "yes, there you are." she coos, "All excited to have all these women here for this."

"Yes." he answers. "I told you."

"Yeah," Brenda says, looks back at us, "he told me," rolls her eyes, "that and a lot else."

"That's a decent cock." Genine says softly from beside me.

"I wasn't sure he'd be so quick with it here." Brenda confides. "But, okay, he's not bad to look at. He comes pretty well too, at least the once we tried him. But anyway, we audition him and, good enough, we think." she shrugs. "So, we get his info, send him off, tell him we'll get back to him after we make our decisions and I'm not thinking any more about it.

"Hour or so later, I leave and go home. I don't live that far from the center."

Brenda looks around, frowns.

"Do you think we could maybe . . ." she looks back over her shoulder at Adriene, "could we take this down." she waves the dildo vaguely in the direction of the dance floor. "I would rather . . ."

"Your show." Adriene says accommodatingly. "Wherever you want."

Brenda steps down off of the stage, tosses her head for the male to follow. She comes to stand in the middle of the small dance floor, five of six feet away from the front row of tables.

"I mean, can everybody see okay if I do him here?" she asks. "Nothing fancy. Just gonna fuck him standing, have him jerk off, if he can." she explains casually. Then, "Yeah, sure," she says looking out into the audience, "move in some if you want. It's just, like, too far back up there;" she waves back at the stage, "feels like I'm shouting at you and, here," she says stripping off the headset microphone with her free hand, "I never like these things. You can all see and hear me, right?" she asks in her unamplified voice.

We can.

"Good." looks sideways at the male. "All nice and cozy." she teases.

One of the staff women helpfully picks up the small table with the lube and towels on it and places it nearby where Brenda can reach it easily, then takes the headset from her.

"So anyway," she continues, "yeah, this is better." she says seeming yet more relaxed, "He followed me home."

Indignant reactions.

"Creep." Genine says acidly.

"Yeah, exactly." Brenda agrees with the audience. "Waited in his car outside in the center parking lot till I came out and literally followed me home."

The male is looking even less comfortable now, shifting from foot to foot, his penis wagging as if in apology, but, I notice, still fully erect.

Brenda lets the crowd vent for a few seconds more, but then holds up a hand.

"So, right, he never should have done that. He knows that now." she glances aside at him disapprovingly. "But here's the thing. It's not like he crept around outside and tried to look in my windows or something. No. He came right up to the door and knocked.

"My wife, Phee, she answers the door and this guy is standing there, asks to speak to the woman who runs the CFNM auditions.

"Now," Brenda turns and lays the strap-on back down on the table picks up one of the blue surgical gloves and slips it on as she's saying, "the thing is, he didn't know shit about this stuff or how it was supposed to work." snap!; the glove now on.

"So anyway, Phee is not happy. She knows all about this Maven thing. It's not like he outed me. That's not it. We have no secrets. But the agreement is that all Maven stuff stays at the center; that's my play-space, but that's it. As long as I play by the Maven rules - no nudity, no sex - she's okay with my thing for dominating males. She knows it's nothing personal.

"But this one . . ." she glances at the male, picks up the jar of lube and, "he thinks he's in love." shakes her head, scoops up a gob of lube on two fingers then steps around behind him. "I almost called the cops on him, but he's out there on my porch begging me please, he didn't mean any harm and he was just" she pauses taps at the inside of one of the male's calves with the toe of her shoe.

He quickly spreads his stance.

"Wider." she says.

He complies, starts to lean forward but,

"No, up straight." she instructs. "Look at the audience. Spread your ass cheeks and look at the audience while I do this. You're the entertainment, remember?"

He does as instructed, reaching back with both hands to grip and spread his buttocks.

She looks down at her fingers working the lube in around his anus, "He's telling me he's sorry if this was the wrong way to do it, but he always thought, he tells me this, he wanted a woman to take charge of him. Just didn't know how and never got up the nerve. Until, that is, he answered our add and, uhmn," she brings her fingers up hard into his anus.

"Ahn, fuck!" he gasps, his back arching, his penis spasming and his elbows flapping weakly at his sides as he does his best to hold still and keep his ass cheeks spread.

"Yes," Brenda snorts, "and all of a sudden" pushes her fingers in again, snorts in amusement when she gets a similar reaction, "all of a sudden" she chuckles, "he thinks CFNM is his magic cure, better than Viagra. Here," she pushes in again, "show the girls, hmn? You want to show the girls, don't you?"

"Yes." he answers, his voice tight, reaches in with one hand to display his erection again, looking a bit wildly from face to face in the crowd around him as,

"Oh, that's tight." Brenda growls as she works him again. "But look at you," she leans slightly forward to glance around his hip at his erection, "still all excited." she laughs and shakes her head. "But we'll have to see how you do. No come, no deal." she tells him. Then, turning her attention back to us.

"Looks like maybe he won't wilt on us at least." she smirks, pushes her fingers in again, "Look at him." she says, holding her fingers in deep. "But once I start for real, he gets three, maybe four minutes tops to make it happen. Depending, I guess, too, on how much you girls are liking it. I'll fuck him longer if he lasts and you think it's still fun to watch. But if he can't come, or he wilts or whatever, we won't waste time on it. You see, that's the deal." she says. "But back to," she frowns slightly, slips her fingers out of his ass, "where was I? Oh yeah.

"He followed me home because he was thinking he'd found his mistress." Brenda snorts, steps out from behind him. "Like I'm the mamma duck and he just finally hatched at the audition and imprinted on me or something, I don't know."

She turns and picks up a towel from the table, wipes some of the lubricant off her gloved hand as she says, "Anyway, about the whole 'be my mistress' stuff; I told him, I don't keep pets. CFNM is about playing with my girlfriends, the men are just . . ." she shrugs and, "whatever. And I also told him there's no way he's getting anywhere near another Maven event after that creepy thing of following me home. That just isn't tolerated."

She puts down the towel and picks up the strap on, looking at how it goes on. "Goes this way, I guess." she says to herself as she turns the strap-on the other way in front of her hips, looks back up at us. "But he's out there pleading with me not to cut him off that way and . . ." she breaks off, frowning down at the strap-on as she tries to, "this is still not getting . . ."

"Here." a woman from Sarah's table up front, gets up and comes to help, "It goes back around like this." she says as she guides two straps down between Brenda's legs and back up to attach in back.

"Oh, yeah." Brenda says as she sees how it works, starts pulling on the straps to tighten it. "Duh!" she says making fun of herself, then "Thanks." as the woman slinks back to her seat.

"So, almost more as just a way to get rid of him," Brenda resumes her story, apparently completely unfazed by looking ridiculous, to me at least, in her stylish clothes and heels with a waggling black strap-on dildo cinched up between her legs. "I say if he wants to be in a Maven event, I've got one for him. I tell him he can come to the convention in just a couple weeks. But only on one condition."

Some laughter from the crowd.

"I'm expecting he'll take the hint just from my tone that my 'one condition' is gonna be a doozy and slink off."

Brenda reaches back and picks up the jar of lubricant again, continues talking, motioning with it and her gloved hand as she explains.

"But instead, he gets all excited, and doesn't even ask what the condition is. Tells me he'll do anything. Oh really? Anything? I think. And that just brings out the queen bitch in me." she laughs.

We laugh.

"Typical male bullshit bravado, right?" she asks rhetorically. "So now, I'm out to teach him a lesson."

"Now, like everybody else, I'd been reading the comments and suggestions on the anal stuff from last year and it hits me to go that direction, but I mean, really go there, to wake him up to the error of his ways."

She pauses to scoop up a generous gob of lubricant from the jar with her gloved hand, begins to apply it to the dildo.

"So, I ask him, has he ever taken it up the ass. He says 'no', and that just makes me more determined. So, I explain what I want, real clear, and he starts looking nervous, just like now." she laughs.

We laugh.

She scoops another gob of lube from the jar with her gloved hand, starts working more of it over the fake penis.

I glance across the room to where the staff is securing males into the various apparatus, suddenly remembering they're all hearing and seeing this. One of them is already strapped upright in the crucifix looking across at the proceedings as Brenda carries on with,

"I tell him the condition is he comes to the convention for just one thing; I get to lead him out here like this, and tell you all about him. Then I fuck him for the audience, just like I'm going to, and he gets one chance."

Another male fastened to one of the edging chairs, legs splayed wide by the straps creasing his thighs, is already fully erect as he watches and listens, waiting his own turn.

"If he can take whatever I decide to give him," she breaks off, starts again, "And it's my choice, I tell him, what he gets."

My eyes come back to Brenda.

"That's the condition. First time he's seen this beauty." she says as she continues to lube it up. "And by the feel of him around my fingers just now, it could take a bit to get this in. Won't do any damage." she says with a shrug. "But I tell him, if he takes whatever I give him and can get himself off while I do it, well, I'd see about at least getting him another shot at a local event."

She pauses, the fake penis well lubed and glistening.

"No way he's taking that deal, right?" she asks rhetorically. She moves her hips to waggle the fake penis in front of her. Smiles. "Look," she says to him.

He looks.

She waggles it again. "I told you; my choice. That was the deal."

He nods, but his breathing is uneven and . . .

"Fine then." she says. "But I'm serious; no come, no deal." glances down at his penis, smiles and shakes her head in amusement. "Really." she snorts. "You're really gonna let me do this." statement.

"Yes." he answers her hoarsely, but he's looking out at us.

Brenda looks back out at us, snorts, "So that's the story." then, "Wanna see how he does?" she asks brightly.

A chorus of "Yeahhhhh!" 's and a "Fuck that virgin ass." from the audience.

I'm "Yeah" ing right along with them, watching the male's penis twitch excitedly as the crowd roots for his impalement. He took the deal. He deserves this.

I adjust the position of my chair slightly for a better view as Brenda steps up behind him and,

"Spread those cheeks." she says. "Give me that tight, virgin anus." she chuckles.

He grabs and spreads his buttocks and again starts to lean forward, but

"No." Brenda scolds, bending her knees slightly to come up at his anus from below. "Up straight. Look at the girls. I want them to see your face while you take this." then, "Yeah," she says approvingly as he shudders and widens his stance still further. "That right. Spread wide."

He's looking out at us, his mouth falling open, nostrils flaring as the tip of the fake penis in Brenda's gloved hand finds its mark and,

"Oh, that is tight." she says as she pushes steadily, not seeming to get far.

"Ahnnn!" he winces, hips lifting a little as,

"Ah, there you go." Brenda says looking down to watch as "There you go." she repeats, pulls back slightly, thrusts and "There."

His chest and stomach clench, his penis bobs and his eyes and mouth open then close again in surprise or . . .

"How's that?" she asks him, "Got the tip in. How's that?"

"Ahnn, fuck." he exhales raggedly, his feet shifting around but keeping his stance wide as,

"How's" thrust, "that?" she asks. "Just a little more for you." she coos. Then, looking around at the women craning their necks from the tables. "Yeah," she cocks her head at them, "you wanna see him take it, come around, just, you know, make sure everybody can still see."

Several women, including SarahSarah, get up and come forward to stand around Brenda, ranged to the sides and slightly behind her so as not to block the view from the tables.

'Yeah," she tells him, "spread those cheeks for the girls, they wanna see you take it."

"Ahnnn, jesusfuck," he says softly the breath shuddering in his chest as he looks around at the women gathered on all sides now.

"Here." Brenda says, looking to one side of her gathered audience. She pulls her hips back, withdrawing the dildo from his anus, opens her stance slightly in their direction so they can see past her hip as, "That's virgin ass, right there." she says to the women, "Here you go." guides the tip of the dildo back into position and pushes in again, keeping her hip turned out to let the women on that side see. "Nice and tight." she growls.

She repeats the process for the women gathered on her other side, pulling the dildo all the way back out then penetrating him with it.

One of the women drops to one knee for a better view.

"That's nice." she growls, then, "Give him more of that." she prompts sweetly.

Brenda accommodates, repeats the process.

"He likes that." Phyllis says from her chair at the edge of the dance floor, one table over. "Watch his balls. He likes that."

"Ahnm, fuck." the male exhales softly and, as if unable to control the urge, prompted by Phyllis' comment, curls his hips under more to better show his balls. The movement pushes more of the dildo up his ass and,

"Ah, good boy." Phyllis laughs as he groans and, "Show the girls. Watch his balls when she . . . yeah, right there."

When Brenda thrusts gently, working a bit more of it in, the male's penis spasms and his balls draw up and separate in the sack, staying there for a moment with the scrotum stretched taut between them, before lowering to hang more loosely again.

"There." Phyllis repeats as his balls rise and fall again in response to another increment of dildo from behind. "Oh, good boy. You like that don't you?" she asks.

He lets go of his ass with one hand and brings it around to his cock, starts stroking, but,

"Not yet." Brenda tells him. "You haven't taken all of it yet. Get that hand back here and spread your cheeks. Girls want to see you take all of this. You can jerk off when I'm fucking you properly. That's the deal."

He does as he's told.

I watch his face as Brenda continues to work it deeper into him, opening her stance slightly to one side and then the other to let the gathered women on either side enjoy the view. His expression is glazed and desperate, almost like he's in shock. I even wonder if the spasms in his cock and the lift of his balls are more like flinching than anything to do with pleasure. His chest shudders as Brenda gives the dildo a slightly more energetic push. His spread legs look shaky.

Something in me knows I shouldn't be enjoying this quite so much. Maybe not at all. But when I try to articulate why, it all floats away and,

"Oh, yeah." I breath happily along with the other women as, "Right there." I enthuse, enjoying how he bucks and shudders when she shoves it that last bit. Up hard against him. His penis and balls flushed now like she's forced the blood there out of the rest of his body.

She starts fucking him. Easy at first. Bending her knees slightly each time to back it down and out then thrusting back up in.

"Yeah, fuck him." it's out of me without my meaning to say it, reflexively echoing other women in the audience around me. But then, I do want to see this. "Fuck him." Why pretend otherwise?

Now that Brenda is all the way in up close behind him, some of the standing women are shifting back more towards the front for a better view of the male as he takes it. They are considerate of the rest of us, glancing at the women still seated to check they aren't blocking anyone's view as Brenda begins to fuck him more vigorously, shoving it hard enough now that he needs to keep shifting his feet to keep his balance. I like the way his balls jounce in the sack with each impact.

Yeah, fuck him.

SarahSarah steps in from one side and lays a hand on his shoulder to stand him up straighter and steady him. It's an almost casual, helpful gesture; like the way you instinctively reach out to lend a hand to someone who looks like they might drop a heavy bundle.

"Yeah." Brenda says approvingly, "Hold him so I can . . ." she thrusts against him with a bit more force, making his body jump and his chest shudder. "Yeah." she affirms, "Hold him up for me."

Another woman I recognize but whose name I can't recall, steps in now from the other side to hold him upright and steady along with SarahSarah. Once she lays hold of him, she leans her face in close to his, watching his expression intently as Brenda gives it to him again, again.

"Go ahead now." Brenda tells him after a few more thrusts. "Make yourself come."

He grips his cock with one hand, his body shuddering as he starts to stroke it furiously. Looking down at it as he works, gasping in time as Brenda puts it to him.

"Head up." she says sharply. "I told you, look at the audience. This is for them."

The woman holding him opposite SarahSarah reaches in and lifts his head up with a hand under his chin.

"They" Brenda says and slams into him hard, making him gasp and freeze momentarily, his feet shuffling slightly forward as she holds it deep and lifts him slightly on it, "want to see your face when you come. That is, if you can." she sniffs and goes back to fucking him.

"Are you gonna come?" SarahSarah asks him sweetly.

Other women pick up on this, start mimicking her syrupy tone asking him, "Are you?" mock, little girl voices. "Are you gonna? Are you?" and, "Can you make yourself come?" and so on.

He's looking around at them as they tease him, stroking hard, his balls jogging along under his fist in that slightly comical way they will.

Brenda seems to be doing her best to distract him; changing the pace of her fucking from slow, long thrusts, then to short quick and hard flurries with it deep in. The shifting sensations seem to keep him from settling in to any one masturbatory rhythm; his hand stopping and starting erratically, his gaze jumping from one to another of the women as we tease and taunt him.

"Are you gonna come? Are you?"

He's clearly getting more excited and desperate, his chest heaving and the head of his penis now a deep purplish-red above his fist. But,

"We don't got all day for this." Brenda growls from behind him. "You wanted your chance, so do it or don't. You either come or we'll move on to the ones who can."

It's harsh, but she seems to have read him right. The scolding works him up still more so now he's gasping and jerking himself frantically.

I'm rooting for this to go on a bit longer, because it's fascinating and fun to watch him gasp and try to focus on jerking off as Brenda makes him jump and shift with her fucking and the two women on either side brace him upright between them with those knowing smiles. Yeah, this is using the male in a most sisterly fashion; that's the Maven way.

So, will he, or won't he? Uhnm, a pretty shudder in his chest and stomach; that quick flurry from Brenda seemed to hit the spot.

And then he does.

He doesn't announce it like the others; maybe he hasn't learned that yet; he's new. But he shudders and his hips jerk in that tell-tale way and there it is, nice thick spurts. He does come pretty well, I think, recalling Brenda's earlier remark on his audition. Even from two tables back, his ejaculation shows well; he jerks out five or six generous spurts and keeps jerking it a while after that, stuff all over his hand, but not putting out much now.

Brenda continues to fuck him through it.

The women are applauding, laughing, congratulating Brenda who seems to want to keep fucking him, but does eventually stop and back it out of his ass. SarahSarah and her helpmate release him.

The male drops to his knees, breathing hard, his penis still stiff. He pulls his legs in together under him, wincing a bit, reaches back with one hand to touch his anus gingerly. But he's also smiling; weakly for sure; a smile like maybe he's just glad that's over but . . . it's a smile.

The woman who had been holding him opposite SarahSarah drops to one knee beside him and,

"Hey," she says in a strangely gentle voice, "I'd keep a pet." she tells him.

Some of the other women start teasing her.

"Sure, Sandy, bet you would."

She looks up at them. "I would." she says, then to him again, "I mean it. You ever get to Yakima, I'd give you a run as your mistress."

Brenda steps forward to stand over him, reaches down and tousles his hair playfully with one hand.

"Well, there's hope for you after all." she tells him.

He looks back up over his shoulder at her like nothing so much as a big puppy, worn out from chasing sticks but told he's been a 'good boy.'

"That was fucking amazing." she snorts at him. "A deal is a deal." She's shaking her head at him, but she's smiling too. "Fucking amazing." she repeats.

"Well," Genine says, "that was somethin' anyway."

"Sure was." June agrees.

The Demonstration

Adriene is back up on stage. She's standing beside two identical straight-backed chairs the staff has moved up to the front edge of the stage. Placed side by side, each chair has a huge fake pink penis affixed upright to the seat. Like the two strap-in edging chairs used in the plenary session, the seats look relatively shallow; just deep enough for a male to settle down over the dildo and have his balls rest in front. Other than the anal peg, my guess is it would feel like being perched on a ledge. Like the edging chairs there are supports attached to either side of each chair that can be used to strap the male's legs to and adjusted outward to spread them and hold the male in position. There are cords running from the underside of the seats to an outlet towards the back of the stage. Mounted on the back of each chair is a short pole with two lights.

The fake penises look ridiculously large; over a foot long and painfully thick. Even after our virgin sacrifice, I am a bit shocked by the suggestion that any male of any size is going to be asked to settle down over that, let alone two males, side by side for some sort of 'race'. I'm feeling this must be a joke of some sort.

There are four males lined up to the right of the chairs facing the audience. Adriene stands stage left on the other side of the chairs. If this is a joke, the males do not seem amused.

"Jesus. No way." June says.

Other women seem to share a similar sentiment; soft comments and titters.

"Please, settle back into your seats for just a moment more." Adriene says. "I promise we'll let you all circulate around to the stations so you can play and experiment if you like with the males who aren't in use up here on stage. But I really think you'll want to check out this new toy we'll be using on at least a few of them, because it really is . . . well . . ."

She motions towards the two chairs.

The four males on stage are all flaccid or only partially engorged. They stand very still, hands behind their backs, but they do not seem relaxed. They cast occasional uneasy sideways glances at those oversized dildos Adriene has just assured us 'we'll be using on at least a few of them'. Their expressions do not indicate, at least to me, that they were expecting anything quite this intrusive.

I am now uneasy as well. Those things will do damage to something, or certainly risk it. Somebody has misjudged the limits here and the males seem to know it. Other women around me know it as well. Someone should object, shouldn't they?

But Adriene carries on breezily, explaining,

"Now, if you look carefully, you'll notice that, in addition to the anal probe, these beauties are also equipped with a vibrator pad on the seat just . . ." she motions to the two staff women at the back of the stage, "could you tip one of these up a bit so they can see it better?" she asks.

The staff women approach and tip one of the chairs forward to,

"You see." Adriene says, stepping up to point to a slightly raised pink pad in the seat just in front of the dildo. "It's a vibrator pad; variable speed;" she pauses, looks about the audience, "for the prostate and balls." then, "Yes, thanks." she says to the staff women who tip the chair back again and retreat.

"Now, here's the fun part." she turns and picks up a hand-held remote-control device from a nearby stand. "You can make these things . . ." she pauses, fiddling with the device, "You can . . ." she says again then looks out at a woman in the audience.

"Middle switch forward." a black woman at one of the front tables says. "Forward is together, back is separate, center position is off. So, it has to be either forward or back."

Adriene nods, looks down at the remote then back up.

"I really think you should be demonstrating this, Rita."

Rita shakes her head, waves a hand at her, "You're doin fine. Forward or back, then it's the right one for the penis and left one for the vibrator."

Adriene flips the middle switch forward and suddenly the two fake penises are bobbing up and down in unison, the shafts retreating partially down into the seat then thrusting up. One of the two lights above each chair starts blinking in time with the thrusts.

The four males nearby are looking even more uneasy as Adriene says.

"There, okay. So, as you can see, you can make them go both together like this. That way each male gets the same, so if we want them to jerk off against each other it's a fair race. Or," she reaches back to the table again and picks up a second remote as the penises continue to bob along and the lights continue to blink in time, "you can, let's see, middle switch back," she talks to herself, "there." and the penis on the right stops bobbing. "So you can control them separately so one player can go against the other and see who can make their male come first, or, you know," she quickly sets down the first remote, picks up the second and, "you can just play around with them a little" she pushes a lever on the second remote and the penis in the second chair starts bobbing, but at a faster rate than the first, "to see how they react to different stuff." she pauses, flips the switch back to make the second penis stop and puts the second remote back down. "So here." she picks up the first one again and starts moving the switches on the remote. The bobbing penis in the first chair speeds up, the light still blinking in time with its thrusts, "Or slower if you want," turns it down again, "and see how the light blinks so the audience knows what the male is getting and, oh yeah, the vibrator." she adjusts a second lever and the buzzing sound of the vibrator peaks and wanes as she adjusts the lever forward and back, the second light on the pole coming on and getting gradually brighter or dimmer as the sound of the vibrator gets louder or fades. "That's adjustable too, and, you can see how the light gets brighter as you give them more?" she adjusts it up and back making the light brighten and dim. "So, like the penis, even though they're sitting on it, you can still sort of see what they're getting and watch what it does to them. And with this too, you can do both chairs together with this one remote" she pushes the middle lever forward and the second chair penis starts bobbing in time with the first, it's vibrator adding to the buzz of the first. "or, again, do them separate if you want two players to go." then, "Isn't that just clever?" she asks us. "Rita, I really think you should take a bow here."

Rita, from her seat, demurs once more, laughing and waving this off.

"So now, just a quick demonstration so you can see it in action on one before we mount the first couple for you to play with." she looks across at the line of four males. "We need a volunteer." she says with a smirk.

The males have been looking increasingly uneasy. They've been shifting restlessly and exchanging glances seemingly trying to gauge one another's reactions. Maybe half expecting, as I have been, that the terrible dildo, ass ripper chairs are an intimidating joke and not really intended for use. None of them wants to be the first to bail out of line, but at this point in the game of chicken, the oncoming train is starting to look a bit too real. A couple of them actually shake their heads, the other two look away.

"No?" Adriene says in mock surprise. "Maybe you?" she asks one of the males who shakes his head more vigorously and actually steps back out of line. "Awhhh." Adriene frowns in disappointment. Then,

"Well, never mind." she says dismissively. "I thought this might happen. But I believe one of our members is prepared to supply us with a suitable male for our demonstration." she says and looks out at, "Phyllis," she queries brightly, "it seems we'll need you to . . ."

"Oh, of course." Phyllis responds equally brightly from her seat two tables over from us. "Let me fetch him." She gets up and heads across the dance floor towards the group of males at the stations.

"No shit." Fran says, leaning in towards the center of our table, "She can't be serious."

"She wants another video clip of hubby." Genine snorts.

"No way." Fran shakes her head, "He won't be able to walk after taking that thing."

"Hey, if he'll do it." June snorts. "Phyllis knows what he's good for. Let's see him take that. It's up to her."

The two staff women have come back up. One is lubing up the dildo in the chair closest to Adriene and the other is waiting at the edge of the stage watching as Phyllis comes forward leading Trey by his erection like a leash.

"Thank you, Phyllis." Adriene says with a broad smile as Phyllis brings him to the foot of the stage. "Now, would you like to do the honors here?" she asks, holding the remote out towards her.

"Oh, no, no." Phyllis begs off with a casual wave, lets go of Trey's penis. "He's all yours. Have fun."

Phyllis walks back to her seat, leaving him at the foot of the stage.

I notice Trey's penis is almost starting to wilt a bit. Given his previous erectile responsiveness, I begin to suspect that while this has clearly all been scripted between Adriene and Phyllis (I recall her saying she had gotten him 'assigned' here) the screenplay, at least this part of it, is news to Trey. Whatever the agreement between husband and wife may be, it's looking to me like the only thing keeping him in place at the moment is his unwillingness, as he once said, to be 'that guy' who spoils the girl's 'fun'.

He glances doubtfully back over his shoulder after his wife as she returns to her seat. But prompted by a soft word from one of the staff women he steps up onto the stage on the opposite side of the chairs from Adriene. The four males shuffle back (gratefully) a step or two to make room, and . . .

"He all set?" Adriene asks looking towards the booths where staff has been prepping the other males.

"Lubed and ready." a staff woman calls out in answer.

"Well then," Adriene says turning back to the staff woman on stage who has finished lubing up the dildo, "let's try this out."

"Sure." she answers brightly, motioning to her colleague to come forward and assist.

The two staff women step up on either side of Trey and take his arms in what I now recognize as the expected display of female dominance over supposedly hesitant males. While the dominance may be mostly theater, I'm fairly sure the hesitance in this case is not. The staff bring him to stand in front of the chair closest to Adriene and turn him to face the audience.

"Open up." one the staff instructs, reaching down to place a hand on the inside of his thigh, and press outward.

A moment of hesitation, but he does comply, opening his stance now so the audience has a view through his legs of the huge dildo on the seat. They pause here as if to let us enjoy (or cringe at, as the case may be) the relative proportions of the dedicated male and the 'anal probe' about to be inserted.

The suggestion he take that is absurd and abusive.

I'm looking now at the faces and body language of the women around me, somewhat alarmed by their expressions and reactions. Some look as appalled as I am, yet they watch expectantly nonetheless, like rubber-neckers at a highway accident. They don't wish anyone harm, but if there's blood on the road, well . . . But others, like June and Fran, seem grimly yet gleefully amused at the prospect of what is surely going to be more than 'discomfort' for the male on stage.

Someone should object to this. Yet here I sit, appalled but frozen somehow.

The pause for comparison now over, the staff women tug at him to pull him back towards the chair. He takes a first, tentative shuffle backwards in compliance but then stops before he has straddled the seat. He's got his feet planted, looking out to where Phyllis sits with her friends at her front row table. The staff women make some feeble show of tugging at him impatiently, but he shakes them off with flex of his arms and it's clear that he's done playing along.

But there's something about this; that go-tither flex of his shoulders and arms that shooed the staff women back a step. I see the tension in his chest and I am suddenly aware he's rather more muscular than I had noticed and . . . the staff women, wisely in my opinion, take still another step back away. But he doesn't storm off or move away. He stands there in front of the ass-ripper dildo chair looking out at Phyllis with an expression that I can only read as; 'Stop fucking around'.

I follow his gaze. Phyllis is leaning back in her chair, a drink lifted casually in front of her, looking disdainfully amused by his hesitation.

He doesn't move. I'm looking back and forth between husband and wife and it strikes me like a silent face-off in a western gunfight scene between the marshal and some gunslinger; it's a stand-off and no one is going anywhere till someone draws and the bullets decide.

Adriene says something that I don't make out and the staff women start back towards Trey as if they might . . .

It's subtle as a mule kick; a quick, eyes narrowed glance from Trey to one side then the other and the staff women wisely shrink back out of the line of fire.

Phyllis starts to laugh; a high, hard warble of triumphal amusement.

Trey's expression shifts, the half sneer of a contemptuous smirk curling the corner of his mouth; a disdainful snort and then . . .

"Jesus fucking Christ." I exhale in alarm as he takes a quick step back and straddles the chair, the tip of the oversized dildo jutting up obscenely to within a few inches of his balls between his open legs. Because of its proximity to the object of my alarmed attention, I notice something else.

Trey is not just back to being fully erect, his penis is darkly flushed and twitching with the sort of pre-ejaculatory excitement that . . . something isn't meshing.

My eyes go to Phyllis. She is sitting very still, a slight frown, her head wavering very slightly side to side like one of those dashboard bobble head dolls as husband and wife continue to lock gazes.

Another disdainful snort from Trey brings my eyes back to him. His chin is lifted in mocking defiance and he starts to lower himself down, the head of the dildo pushing up now against his hanging balls as he shifts to position himself, by feel, to line it up with his anus.

The staff women are in a sudden panic; stepping forward, hands fluttering ineffectually, looking at one another or at Adriene with open mouths and big eyes.

"Okay, okay!" Phyllis calls out "You win." She snorts, shrugs and waves her drink in a dismissive gesture and bursts out in another fit of laughter.

"Ah well," Adriene says with a relieved sigh, "I suppose we should remove the protective cover first."

Both staff women rush forward and grip Trey by the arms, pulling him back up. Once he's up and pulled forward away from the chair a step, one of them steps behind him. Reaching down to grip the giant fake penis, she gives it quick twist and pulls it up and away to reveal a far smaller, but still substantial dildo it had been 'covering'. This one too has the form of an anatomically correct penis, replete with thick veins and a slightly oversized head. It already glistens with lubrication. Though large, it is more in line with what Brenda used on our virgin sacrifice than the original donkey cock.

The reaction of the audience is a mix of amusement and mock disappointment. Or perhaps some of the disappointment (like June's) is real; it's hard to tell. I am relieved but there is also a twinge of . . .

I realize that if, somehow, he had been persuaded or pressured into taking that donkey cock, I would have sat right here and just watched. For all my discomfort with the obvious sadism of it, I would not have tried to interfere or object. I would not even have walked out. No. If this foolish male was going to let us, or his gleefully manipulative wife, pressure him into it, if it were going to happen anyway, I'd want to see it.

What's that about?

But I also see something else. Phyllis is beaming at her husband with a kind of conspiratorial glee and . . . pride. She's manipulative yes. But she's been bested this round; forced to blink first by an equally skilled player; one who knows and can read her as readily as she does him to get what he wants from the game. There is clearly tension and competition between them. That adds to the pleasure and excitement of the game. But the secret that allows the game to be played this well? Trust.

Trey glances back over his shoulder and sees what now awaits him. When he looks back out towards Phyllis, it's clear that, even though she's blinked, she's still pushing at a boundary. That's still a good-sized dildo and I am reminded of Adriene saying how 'we do intend to provide you the amusement of pushing several of them beyond their past performance.' I'm getting the sense from Trey's expression and body language this is one of those moments.

But there is also something else in his expression now; a hardening around the eyes and the corners of his mouth. Phyllis stops laughing. She won't blink this time. Will he?

"Your chariot awaits." Adriene says to him playfully and turns the remote control up until both penises are thrusting rapidly up and down, the chair opposite still sporting the larger 'protective cover' version.

Trey isn't paying attention to Adriene. He's looking at his wife.

"Just fucking do it." she tells him with an amused snort.

Laughter from the audience. High fives at Phyllis' table.

"Mount up, cowboy." Meg calls out from her seat beside Phyllis.

It is almost imperceptible but, after a moment Trey nods. He exhales heavily then lets the staff women guide him backwards until he straddles the dildo. He's still looking out at his wife and her laughing group of friends and . . . His penis bobs and slings a strand of pre-come from the head as he watches them watch and coo and laugh. Phyllis knows her man; how to set him up so he's too excited to say no, will give her the performance she wants these other women to see she can command.

"Here he goes." June says softly to our table as Trey looks down between his legs at the still bobbing dildo.

Adriene hits the switch and the two dildos stop bobbing.

"We'll keep the cover on the other one so you can see more clearly what he's getting." Then, "Get it up him." she instructs the staff.

One of the staff women drops to her knees to help guide the dildo into him as he lowers, the other holding his arm to steady his descent.

As I watch the tip or the dildo disappear from view behind his balls, I love the way his erection bobs and bobs but then surges and rears back in one long, sustained flush of straining excitement as the dildo first penetrates.

"Look at his cock." I advise mindlessly, needlessly, only realizing I said it out loud when I hear my own voice. "I mean . . ."

"Yeah." June agrees. "He's such a slut for this."

Is he? Is that what this . . . "Ohoa." I react softly seeing his penis surge and strain again as he lowers further. "Yeah, his cock, when he takes it." I narrate stupidly, but my seatmates don't mind me pointing out the obvious.

"Yeah, his cock." Fran echoes happily, "That's sweet how it . . . yeahhhh." She purrs at another surge and strain, the head darkened to a violet hue with the flux of blood.

"You're getting this?" Adriene asks looking out to one of the photographers behind the video camera shooting the scene over the heads of the audience.

"Yep." the photographer answers. "Zoom on this is great." she adds.

Adriene nods, turns back to watch as

"Ahnmmnn . . ." Trey exhales as he balances himself, settling slowly, having taken more than half of the dildo.

Adriene looks out at us, smirks and winks, flips the switch on the remote up and back quickly. The dildo in the empty chair bobs up and back once, twice and stops.

"Ahhnn!" Trey's body tenses, his hips jerk slightly. His penis surges and bobs in that 'sweet' way.

Coos, mock cheers and laughter from the audience.

"That's what we want to see." someone calls out. "Show us how you take it."

His gaze goes in the direction of the comment. He nods, leans back slightly opening his legs a bit wider which drives a bit more of it up his ass.

Adriene laughs and gives the dildo switch another push and . . .

"Fuck, fuck." Trey moans in time as the dildo does just that.

"Good boy, show us." the woman calls to him again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck . . ." he moans as it does, seems to lose strength, settling down, taking the rest of it, spreading his legs wide now in reflexive, helpless response to the several laughing women, calling out to him gleefully, their voices overlapping.

"Good boy, show us. That's it, good boy. Show us how you take it."

Adriene keeps the lever pressed for a few more moments, the dildo in the empty chair bobbing along in time with his breathless gasps and 'fucks', then shuts it off abruptly.

"Ahhhhn, fuchhhhk." he exhales hard, slumps slightly forward, his spread legs twitching slightly back together but still leaving a good view of his balls pressed down and draping one on either side of the mounded pink vibrator pad, his penis twitching plaintively with his pulse.

We are applauding and hooting merrily.

"There you go." Adriene says, standing beside the chair with the remote poised, looking down at Trey. "That fits you just right, doesn't it?" she asks rhetorically, then looks out at Phyllis. "You know your toys." she compliments.

Phyllis lifts her glass in acknowledgment then, "Stroke it." she instructs her husband.

Trey reaches in and grips his penis, looking down at it as he strokes.

"That's right, just don't come." Adriene says as she watches. Then, after a few moments, "We know you want this. So, you heard them; show the girls. Show the camera."

He takes his hand away, lifts his head to look out at us again.

"Isn't that sweet?" Adriene asks condescendingly. "Okay now, lean back, spread wide." she instructs.

Trey groans and spreads his legs wide again, leans back slightly although the chair back doesn't allow too much of an angle.

"We could strap him in this way." Adriene says casually to the audience, "Or just let him . . ." she nudges one of the switches on the remote slightly and Trey's upper body hunches forward and his legs come partway back together in a sudden reflexive tensing as the dildo in the empty chair begins to bob slowly, mimicking the one up his ass. "Yes," Adrien purrs happily, "like that." she laughs. "Leave him free to thrash a little for us." she nudges the lever up slightly, the dildo bobs a bit faster.

Trey moans and throws his head and shoulders back now.

Adriene leans down to look at his face.

"There you go." she says to him sweetly. "How's that?"

Trey turns his head and looks up at her, open mouthed, his chest and stomach clenching slightly in time with the bobbing dildo. He seems to want to say something, his mouth moves inarticulately, manages to nod.

Adriene smiles, gives the lever another small nudge.

"Ahnnrrm!" Trey exhales shakily, looks back out at the audience to hoots and calls of

"Yeah, ream his ass!" and "Faster!"

The dildo is bobbing along now at about once a second.

"So, you can see," Adriene says motioning to the blinking light above Trey, "if we were playing with two of them, you could see what each one was getting up the ass and then," she glances down at Trey, frowns slightly and, "spread your legs," she tells him again, noticing he had closed them somewhat in response to the dildo working, "wide." she says scoldingly.

He does as instructed.

"Keep em spread." she tells him, "We'll strap you open if we need to, but you want to give the girls a good show, right?"

He nods.

Adriene looks out past the audience to the woman running the camera.

"Zoom in on his balls." she instructs. "Should be able to see this."

Adrien looks around the audience. "Time for the vibrator." she says.

She frowns down at the control, pushes the second lever forward.

The second light above both chairs comes on and slowly brightens. The vibrators hum softly, getting louder as Adriene leans forward looking down between Trey's legs as . . .

"There." she says with a snort, "See that?" she looks out at the audience. "See those balls vibrate?" then, "Here, let's really . . ." She pushes the lever up, the two lights brighten and the hum from the vibrators increase in volume and pitch. "Ohhohh!" Adriene chortles merrily as Trey tenses and squirms, his head shaking from side to side.

"Buzz those balls!" someone in the audience calls out.

He's gripping the seat on either side with his hands, his chest clenching and releasing, inhaling in short sharp rasps followed by erratic exhales that are hoarse half moans.

"Legs wide." Adriene reminds with a laugh. "Girls want to see those balls shake."

He groans and his legs twitch wide open, the muscles on the inside his thighs creased with the strain and yes, we can all 'see that'. Trey's balls jiggle on the rounded pad, his penis a flushed, bobbing exclamation point jammed down between them.

"Oh yeah, buzz those balls!" another voice from the crowd.

"Okay, so prostate and balls and now lets give him . . ." Adriene pushes the dildo lever further forward.

The audience cheers as the big penis in the empty chair begins to bob rapidly.

Trey's body is shaking in time with the thrusts up his ass, he groans in a staccato series of short grunts, his back arched looking out at us with half closed eyes.

My eyes go back and forth from his face to his penis and jiggling balls. I think he might come, his penis so flushed and his expression both slack and desperate. I want to see him come.

But before he does, Adriene nudges the switches back the other way again; the bobbing dildo slows, the light dims and the buzz of the vibrators lessens.

Trey's head drops forward, breathing heavy, a shuddered exhale. "Awwh fuck."

"So, you see, we can do one at a time like this, or two together, both getting the same, or compete to see who can make theirs come first, or we can just strap two in and let you girls play with them separately, bring in a fresh one when you make one come or if you just want to try out the different males first and then run them all through at the end to finish them. Just be aware, we've only got eight, maybe nine for this set up, and there are other events we have for the stage. But we can be flexible with the timing and with how we finish the rest" she's saying all this as the dildo continues to bob and fuck Trey, "maybe have a few come at the stations, if you get playing with this and want to keep them at it for a bit. But, in any event, this was such a sweet set up I wanted you all to at least see the demo before we got rolling. As you can see . . ."

Adriene looks back down at Trey, nudges the dildo lever up a notch.

"Ahnnn!" Trey tenses and groans as the dildo fucks him faster again.

"you can really . . ." she flips the vibrator lever up and back to give his balls a quick buzz making him jump slightly, "mix it up and . . ." pushes the lever up to fuck him at top speed again, "right there," she laughs as she watches Trey tense and throw his head back, "surprise them." she flips the lever back down and the dildo abruptly stops.

For the next couple of minutes Adriene plays with the switches, pushing them up and down in various combinations. The women egg her on, mimicking the increase and decrease in the speed of the dildo with playful chants of "Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh," in time with the thrusts, the chants growing faster and louder until finally blending into a playful "UHHHHHHH" at the highest speed, then dissolving into cheers and laughter as, at the peak, Trey bucks and shakes, gripping the sides of the chair, his balls visibly vibrating with the cranked-up vibrator before Adriene backs it off once more.

In the lulls between the high-speed rounds, she lets him recover and relax just enough to get a more entertaining reaction when he tenses and gasps under a playfully sudden series of short bursts and pauses of fucking and/or ball buzzing. The women in the audience exclaim and hoot approval when she gives it to him or call out comments of mock sympathy

"Oh, she's makin whipped cream outa the come in those balls, isn't she?"

"Did that one get you? I think it did."

"Poor thing, he needs another dose, he looks so sad when you stop."

or aggressive cheerleading for

"Ream his ass!"

"Buzz his balls till he comes!"

"Give it to him fast again!"

A woman next to SarahSarah entertains herself providing a string of playful stage directions to Trey, reminding him as he bucks and gasps to

"Keep those legs spread, open wide for the camera. No cheating. We want those jigglin' balls on video. Head up now. Yeah, spread for the zoom." and so on.

I fall effortlessly into the crowd dynamic.

The other four males on stage are still there in line facing the audience. They watch the proceedings, looking back and forth between Trey in the chair and the women in the audience, their eyes darting here and there in the crowd as various women call out or hoot their approval and enjoyment. They still seem anxious, certainly agitated; shifting feet, a few hard swallows. But two of them are now fully erect, and the other two are stiffening in anticipation.

"So that's how it works." Adriene says after a while, turns the switches both back down to stop the dildo and vibrator action.

Trey exhales hard and slumps slightly forward, the muscles in his chest and stomach relaxing, is hands releasing their grip on the sides of the seat. "Ahw, fuck." he groans very softly, looking down at his flushed penis.

"Now," Adriene waves the remote at the audience vaguely, "shall we finish this one off, or maybe give him a breather, save him for more use later and mount a couple of these others for you to play with?"

"Finish him." a voice from the crowd.

Others second this.

"He needs to come."

"Yes?" Adriene asks brightly, looking for a bit more input, "Your pleasure but, finish him?"

"Finish him." the crowd now in more universal agreement.

"Great." Adriene says. "I've showed you how this works so, anyone else want to come up and do the honors? Really, it's easy. Anyone? I don't mean to hog all the fun." she says holding the remote suggestively out towards the audience.

"I'll do it!" it's SarahSarah waving from her spot at a front table. She stands up, "I mean, unless somebody else . . ." she begins accommodatingly, glancing around.

But, "No. No. Do it. Do it." others in the crowd urge her on.

"Yeah, c'mon." Adriene adds her vote, tossing her head for Sarah to approach. "It's being filmed, though, right? You're Okay . . ."

"Sure!" Sarah answers brightly, flashing her green wristband, before Adriene can finish the question. She bounds up to the stage like an eager kid.

She takes the control from Adriene, holds it up in front of her as Adriene hovers over her shoulder pointing to levers and talking softly to her. Sarah toys with the levers glances up at Trey and across at the empty chair to see the results as she tentatively moves them up and down, giggling in delight when Trey gasps and grabs onto the sides of the chair again as she . . .

"Yeah, yeah." Sarah says gleefully, "I get it, yeah." cranks the dildo lever forwards and watches excitedly as Trey bucks and throws his head back, moans as the dildo reams his ass at full speed. "Oh yeah!" Sarah laughs.

"Buzz his balls!" a call from the audience.

She cranks the other lever forward.

It's artless. She doesn't tease or toy with him; just cranks it up and leaves it that way. She steps a bit forward to watch, looking between Trey and the rapidly bobbing dildo in the other chair to picture and enjoy what she's giving him as she watches the result in his tensing and shuddering body. She tips her head down to look at his expression more closely.

"You gonna come?" she asks. "This gonna do it? You gonna come?"

His penis is throbbing as his hips move in very small jerks in response to the dildo thrusting. The buzz of the vibrator pulses with the slight motion of his hips.

Sarah frowns, pushes her thumbs against the two levers again like she's making sure it's as fast as she can make it work.

"Oh, yeah." she says again, more softly, drops to one knee now beside the chair, tipping her head down to watch the action on his balls more closely. She's ignoring the remote at this point, apparently uninterested in nuance or subtlety.

"Gonna come?" she asks him again with a laugh.

He lifts his head to look at her, but can't answer, his head nodding slightly but it's unclear if that's meant as a yes or just the reflexive muscle action as his body tenses and bucks.

"C'mon," she urges, focusing back between his legs, "a nice cock dance for the camera. Do you need to jerk it a couple times to get started? Huh? Need to jerk it?" she asks him.

Trey moans raggedly, his eyes closing, his head dropping back.

"Yeah, you need to?" Sarah teases, treating this as a 'yes'. "Go on then. Jerk it. Just to start. I want to see a cock dance. Go on. Not gonna stop till we get a nice cock dance." she threatens playfully.

Trey releases the chair seat with one hand, brings it in to grip his erection and strokes hard and fast, just a few furious strokes and then,

"Fuck! Here's . . ." his hand moves away, his penis flexes, burps out a generous glob of semen, then flexes again and shoots a good wad of it up against his chest. He can't finish his sentence, bucking now in time with the spurts of semen from his cock, his shoulders hunching forward then back like his torso is a pump handle forcing it out.

The crowd is cheering, chanting "Come, come come!" and calls of "Sarah! Sarah!" from the friends at her table.

It's a good come shot.

I realize but can't internalize how absurd it is to be watching this and reacting as if it were merely an aesthetic exercise; enjoying it as one might a well-made martini or some other satisfying (for its kind) but ultimately frivolous indulgence. Maybe immersion has made me lose perspective; I've watched a lot of guys come today so maybe I'm just desensitized to whatever moral or social considerations would otherwise apply. But, on the other hand, without the distraction of those considerations, just sitting here and sipping my CFNM visual martini, his performance has much to commend it.

His penis flexes and ejaculates forcefully, the contractions visible in the root of his cock between his balls as the shaft bobs and spurts. Yes, it dances, and the extreme and helpless clenching and bucking of his body with each spurt as it splashes up against his chest, the twitching of his spread legs and . . .

I like the disparity; his orgasm so dramatic and climactic for him. For us, for me? It's good entertainment; fun to watch. A good come shot. Pour me another.

He's still clenching and bucking even after he's drained until Sarah, as if just remembering, abruptly throws the two switches back to the off position. Trey crumples forward, breathing heavily, his hands on his knees. But even now, his entertainment value isn't exhausted.

Sarah gets back to her feet, reaches in to grip his shoulder, pull him back up straight to . . .

"Show them." she says. "You got come all over you. Show the girls and the camera." then, with a mischievous grin she flicks the dildo lever up and back quickly to make him jump and gasp a final time before turning back to Adriene and,

"Here," Sarah says holding the remote out to Adriene, "Thanks."

And Now

Several women, including June and Fran from our table, head off to explore the offerings at the various stations.

I stay to watch the next two males settle down on the side-by-side dildos. I do enjoy seeing their expressions and the bob of their erections as they impale themselves, taking it a bit at a time as they lower onto the seats. But after the back and forth between Trey and Phyllis, despite the equally frantic flexing of penises and reflexive jerks and moans as, one after the other, they settle down and their balls drape in equally picaresque symmetry over their respective vibrator mounds as Trey's did, the performance seems to lack drama; the shudder and buck of male bodies as the fucking starts seems mechanical as do, now, the coos, laughter and lewd comments of the women watching with me.

It is visually pleasing, even fun to watch as the two women take turns playfully buzzing and fucking their assigned male. One goes first until, after about two minutes, the other yells "Time!". Then the first stops to watch the other do the same to hers; competing to get the more amusing writhing and gasping reaction from their male. It's also easy to fall into the rooting and cheering of the audience for a particularly entertaining round; easy to readily agree with my seatmate Tallie's assessment as we watch one of them lean back groaning as his balls jog along with the blinking of the dildo light over him; "That one really wants his ass fucked for us. We should have used the bigger one on him." "Yes." I agree, even though, of course, we shouldn't.

But that's all it is; easy and fun. Nothing wrong with that; I like watching his balls jog along, the way he leans back and spreads his legs so eager to show us. But his bodily desperation and eagerness doesn't stir the visceral response in me that watching Trey take it and come did, with Phyllis over there in her front row seat, laughing with her friends. Still, I do want to see this.

After letting them buck and flail freely for another round, they decide they want to strap these two in. The staff would do it for them but the women want to do it themselves. This leads to yet more posturing and exaggerated presentation as they cinch the straps to spread the males wide and wrap their arms tightly to their sides with bands around their chests.              

The effect is rather medieval, even somewhat comical; like a parody. The males, immobilized, fully erect, they look a bit like priapic temple statuary in some kitsch Indiana Jones movie trailer.

I watch for a bit as the two women start playing with the remotes again, working both males together now. Most of the women watching are loving it; the way the males buck and strain against the restraints, making the chairs jump and rattle slightly, their heads thrashing around. But there's something about having them strapped in that way that makes it less enjoyable, at least for me, than what went before.

The restraints create an unwanted ambiguity. Despite those erections, it seems to me it lets them deny their complicity in what we're doing; leaves them, ironically, free to thrash and pretend it's just us doing this to them as if we could 'force them'. It requires no self-control or effort from them to entertain us this way. Not like Brenda's virgin who had to stand there in that awkwardly upright, open stance, shifting and staggering to keep his balance as he spread his ass cheeks and took it, or even Trey, obviously free to just get up again if he chose, but who, even as he shuddered and gasped, still struggled to keep his legs spread for the camera and give us that nice come shot.

I realize I'm developing my own tastes here. This, on stage just now, is not quite it.

I get up to check out the stations. Talie asks if she can come with me.

"Sure." I toss my head for her to follow.

"Great." she says brightly, gets up quickly, then, "I've never actually done a guy in the ass, though." she says with an apologetic shrug, "But . . ."

I wave this off. "Me neither."

She brightens. "Great!" then, "I mean, you know . . ."

"Yeah, I get it. C'mon."

In the series of individual 'private' booth spaces along one wall, the staff has set up stations utilizing some pieces of the apparatus used in the plenary session, but also adding a few additional slightly different ones.

The crucifix is being used in much the same way as it was earlier except that now the attached male is available for anal penetration as he's edged.

As we approach, I can see it isn't an ideal set up; it clearly wasn't designed with anal penetration in mind. The male is fixed to the cross bar and in the leg restrains to spread him, but he's not clamped into the neck brace. This leaves him free to come slightly forward off the upright, arch his back a bring his hips forward to make his anus more accessible to the woman reaching in from behind to use one of the various dildos on him. But in some ways the ergonomic mismatch makes the result more appealing. It makes the male work to offer himself for this, his genitals thrust forward to be toyed with as he's fucked.

The male currently in use is the gym rat with the fat cock whose come shot in the chair at the plenary session had been a bit of a disappointment to me. But purely as eye candy for current use, his muscle creased thighs, chest and arms straining, those large balls swaying between his spread legs as one of the two Megs works him from behind; he presents nicely.

I step around the outside of the small group gathered to get a better look at what Meg is using on him. Something slender, slightly curved and pink with a convenient grip that lets her drive it up and in until her fist smacks his ass and imparts another little impetus to those swinging balls. He's grunting and jerking slightly with each thrust. He's fully erect but it's not clear from watching his expression or his penis if this will bring him close to orgasm. Not sure Meg cares much, smacking up against his ass that way and leaning forward now and then to look up at his face or check out the state of his erection. She could easily reach around with her free hand and work his penis to edge him, but she seems focused on the fucking. She's having fun.

Once again, I find myself enjoying the thought of what she's doing to him, but not finding the visual of seeing the dildo go into his ass very appealing. I slip back around again to stand in front of him, Talie trailing along after me.

"What do you think?" I ask Talie.

"About this?" she asks softly.

"Yeah. You want a turn at this?"

She giggles. "Maybe, but not with that one."

I look at her, raise a brow.

"I like the more regular guys." she says with a shrug. "I mean, if I was going to do one. He's fine to watch but . . ." tips her head to one side.

"Hmmmn."

"You?"

I shake my head. "I like watching, at least from here like this, where I can see how it gets him but not, you know. And I like the idea of them taking it to entertain us. But a guy's butt hole has never held much appeal for me."

"Well," she bites her lip, looks thoughtful, "when you put it that way, me neither really. I kinda want to do one, but it's more, like June said. I mean, to fuck one would be to really own him."

"Yeah. You see I like the thought of that too, what they're letting us do to them. But doing it myself, that's another thing."

"Yeah." she agrees vaguely.

We move on.

There's laughter and rowdy calls and hoots coming from the women still watching the males on stage. I glance that way and see both males bucking as the lights above them glow bright and blink rapidly in time with the fucking they're getting. Wonder if the staff has some time limit on use for each male. Unlike Trey, they can't jerk off with their arms strapped to their sides that way. So, unless they can come just from the dildo and vibrator . . .

Ah well, they'll work something out.

The next booth area is another edging set up using the two bondage chairs used at the plenary session. They're like the one's on stage but they don't have wires and the electrical set up. In the plenary session there were no dildos in the seats but I wonder if, in keeping with the theme here, dildo's have been added. We come and stand nearby to watch as the males are worked by three or four women around each. I try to get a glimpse under the balls of the two males currently being edged. I can't tell if they're taking something up the ass or not. I could ask but don't want to interrupt and, besides, I much prefer the simple dildo chair without restraints which has also been brought in from the plenary session.

"See, like that one." Talie says, bringing my focus back to her. "If I was gonna do one, that's the kind I want."

She motions to one of the strapped in males. He's mid-thirties, slightly receding hairline, trim but not overly muscular, pleasant features I think, though it's hard to tell with his expression tensed up that way as the woman between his legs toys with him. When she takes her hands away, I watch his cock spasm and bob. Not a terribly big cock, nothing that would stand out on the inspection line, but circumcised and very upright and rigid. Decent balls.

"You mean . . ."

"Yeah, I'd do one like him. A regular guy." she clarifies. "I like them better. They're more interesting."

This, of course, begs the question of just how 'regular' any guy could be who'll volunteer to be strapped into a chair with a dildo up his ass and . . . but anyway.

"I think I get it."

"Yeah, you know?" Talie asks vaguely. "What would I be doing with a guy like that jock on the crucifix? Jerk." she assumes, but she's probably right. "Fun to look at, but I want to do a real guy. I mean, if I do one." she adds, "Still haven't completely decided."

I nod, toss my head towards the next station.

"Yeah." Talie agrees.

We move on.

Craftsmanship

I catch a glimpse of the pack of four coeds over in one corner gathered around another chair. Per usual, as they crowd around the object of their mutual amusement, it isn't easy to make out what they're up to, but they seem happily agitated as they hover about it. Nearby, a Staff woman stands, leaning casually against a booth partition, her arms crossed before her as she watches the proceedings to assure, I assume, no damage comes to 'the stock'.

"Come on." I say to Tallie, toss my head in their direction.

"Sure." Tallie says amiably and follows.

As we get closer, I see the tell-tale side supports and center bar of the fuck yourself chair, catch a glimpse around the hip of one of the coed's, of the head of some male's penis jutting up above the top of the masturbation sleeve. A small hand reaches in from the other side to toy with it, the male moaning softly as the coeds giggle and comment among themselves. One of them is kneeling between his legs in front of the chair, an arm stretched forward. But whatever she's doing is blocked by the others standing around him until we get closer, step around in front to look over the kneeling one's shoulder.

As we do, it tickles me to recognize it's the kid they have in the chair.

The coed kneeling in front is gripping his balls, lifting them, "Up, up." she urges, her hand pressed up tight under the sleeve. "All the way up." holding him there so a few inches of his penis jut up above the top to be toyed with by her friends.

He's bracing himself, his hands pressing down on the chair arms, his feet planted to hold his raised hips position to thrust his erection up through the sleeve. A thin line of strain creases his slender shoulders.

I take a step closer for a better view. I see they have adjusted the height of the cross piece so only the tip of the dildo remains in his anus when he's raised up this way.

"Oh, so pretty, pretty, pretty." the slender blonde standing on one side burbles in baby girl talk as her fingertips grip and toy with the head of his cock, her head shaking slightly, her pony tail wagging with each 'pretty'.

"Yes, you're our pretty boy." the one standing behind the chair chortles in her own version of that little girl, falsetto voice. "And look," she says glancing up to acknowledge Tallie and I, "more friends come to play fuck the pretty boy with us. Isn't that fun?"

The kid lifts his eyes to look at Tallie and I. His gaze meets mine briefly but then seems to lose focus, drift away to some point behind but directly through the back of my head.

"This is so special." the last of the four, standing on the other side of the chair from the blonde, joins the little girl voice chorus, her hand reaching in to replace the blonde's and take her turn toying with the head. "Show our new friends how it's played, Shandra." she says to the kneeling one. "Fuck the pretty boy. He's so cute when he" then she's laughing as the kid moans and tips his head back, "yes, you're so cute getting fucked." as the one between his legs (Shandra, I presume) pulls him downward now by his balls to drive the dildo up his ass.

She does it slowly, the way the staff woman worked the preselected male earlier, her head tipped to one side to look around her clutched hand and watch the shaft slip up into him.

"Yeah, take that, pretty boy." she murmurs.

The one behind the chair reaches in and slips her hand under his chin, tipping his head back still further to look down at his face as he hits bottom and shudders. "Yes," she purrs at him, "you're so cute this way. This is so fun. Shandra gets a few more reps with you before her turn is up. Isn't that good? Do you like the way Shandra makes you fuck yourself?"

He opens his mouth like he might answer, but only nods and swallows.

Settled down on the seat, only the tip of his penis is still in the sleeve. He has a long cock. I remember I enjoyed handling it on the inspection line. I realize they have adjusted the sleeve to take full advantage of this to maximize the length of dildo pushed in and out of him with each full thrust. A male with a shorter penis would slip out of the sleeve if it were set so high and wouldn't jut up so nicely over it at the top of each thrust.

This all occurs to me in an inarticulate flash.

There is a beauty in seeing even trivial things done in a craftsman-like manner to optimal effect; the selection of tools and techniques that exploits the quality and characteristics of available materials to best effect. Given the purposes to be served here, his build, genital proportions, youth, excitability, and eagerness to perform, combined with the apt adjustments to the chair, allow both the mechanism and the male to be used to their full aesthetic and erotic potential. The lighthearted teasing and taunting of these women as they play, is exactly the craft required to fully provoke and accentuate his helplessly intimate need to serve their sisterly bonding and sexual amusement.

This all hits me between the moment of that nod of his head and,

"What was that? I didn't hear you." She pulls his chin back harder, looking down at him. "Do you like the way Shandra makes you fuck yourself?" she repeats the question more firmly. "Tell us."

"Yes, I like the w . . ." he starts then inhales sharply, his arms and shoulders tensing again, his feet bearing down to lift as,

"Up, up." Shandra urges perkily, pulling him by the balls again to raise him, "Up, up. Push that pretty cock head up for the new girls. Just slow and . . . yeah, that's it." she coos as the head of his penis pops up over the top of the sleeve. She gives his balls one last tug to coax a bit more of the shaft into view and "All the way."

"I, ahm, like the way . . ." quick breath as he strains upward into the sleeve, "Shandra makes me fuck." he manages. "Yes."

"There you are." the blonde smirks, reaches in again to flutter her fingers about the plump head. She turns to look at me. "You guys want a turn?" then quickly, before I can answer, "I mean, we're just doing the ball thing cause it looked so cool when staff did that guy. We all just wanted a turn at that. We're almost done. Shandra's got two more, we agreed on five reps apiece. Then just Jess for her five after that, so you can . . ."

She's rambling on but I'm only half listening, because as Blondie is talking, Shandra is dragging him slowly back down onto the dildo, making him moan softly and gasp as he tenses to control the slide down the shaft so as to, literally, not get ahead of his balls. I am looking back at Blondie as she talks but my attention is in my peripheral vision on that hand clutching the kid's balls, pulling him down, the tremor in his spread thighs as he strains not to drop too quickly as the coed opposite Blondie is purring at him "Yeah, my turn next." And Blondie is continuing, "said we can make him come if we want." apropos of something I've lost track of because it is oddly sensuous and captivating to see his young, slender frame strain and shudder as the shaft of his penis slips down out of the sleeve in equal measure to the shaft pushing up into him. This strikes me as such perfect use of him that,

"I just want to watch this." I say a bit more impatiently than I intended.

"Oh, sure, sure." Blondie says, looks away with a bit of an eyeroll.

"I mean," I try to correct my tone, want them to just keep going, "this is good, the way you're doing him."

"Yeah." Tallie agrees. "The new girls want to watch you play fuck the pretty boy." she says, diplomatically adopting their jargon and using her own version of the teasing little girl voice.

"Ahnm, fuck." the kid moans softly, writhing a bit around the dildo up his ass.

This delights the four coeds. They laugh, purr and titter, their taunting little girl voices overlapping as Shandra pulls his balls to slowly lift him again.

"Ooooh, you want to show the new girls, don't you?"

"They want to watch. So exciting for you."

"The nice Staff lady says we can make you come."

"You wanna come with that up your ass?"

"Fuck, yes." the kid gasps softly as he reaches the top of his thrust, the purpled head of his cock jutting over the top of the sleeve. "Show the new girls." he pleads hoarsely, looking up at Tallie expectantly, confirming how seamlessly his own needs and urges align with this, his best use for our enjoyment.

The staff woman standing nearby, snorts in amusement. "Somebody trained that one right." Then, "Go on, make him come if you want. He's not going to the stage after this. We got another male for this after him. So, as you please." This delivered with the off-hand hospitality of a waiter telling a diner not to fret about taking the last crescent roll since 'there's more in the kitchen'.

I glance her way, recognize her as, in fact, the originator of the ball dragging ritual being re-enacted here.

She raises a friendly brow at me. "Cute kid. He'll pop sweet for you that way."

"Ah, fuck yes." the kid shudders hearing this favorable prediction of his pending ejaculation.

I nod. Turn back.

He does 'pop sweetly'.

Just not right away, for which I am grateful because it allows me to settle myself and fully enjoy this young male's mounting urgency as the last of the coeds takes her five, tauntingly slow reps.

At one point I step closer, reach past the kneeling coed, take a turn toying with the head of his cock; loving how it makes his body jerk slightly, feeling the reflexive pulse in the shaft between my fingertips as I toy with that nerve switch just below the head, how he looks up at me as he strains to hold himself there so I can play; my fingertips coming away slick with his pre-come.

A couple other women have gathered. When Jess has finished her reps, one takes a turn pulling him up and down a couple times.

But the staff woman is now getting a bit uneasy. She says his ass can only take so much and we should finish him while he's still 'workable'; a craftsman-like observation on the tolerances of the materials.

The gathered women agree we want to see him fuck himself until he comes.

"Yes, use the chair for what it's designed for." another fresh arrival agrees, "But can I just, I mean, while he's fucking?" She motions vaguely towards the woman currently kneeling between his legs, "Just toy with him a little, encourage him. I'll stay low so you can all see."

The kid is growing entertainingly more agitated, looking from one to another of the women gathered, shifting reflexively in the seat around the dildo as he listens to us discuss how to stage his comeshot. When the woman makes that 'encourage him' request, he moans softly and I see his hips rise slightly, his balls, now free of a guiding grip, draw up in the sack in anticipation.

His excitement at the suggestion is charming. I quickly give my vote in favor of such encouragement so long as "when he comes, he shows us like that one on stage did; the head above the sleeve so we can see each spurt."

That I said this so easily and bluntly, will later strike me as odd. But at the time it rolls off my tongue as the natural and obvious description of the desired performance as well as playful, verbal masturbation of the kid who moans and pleads his eagerness, his hips now lifting and falling in short reflexive thrusts, pleasuring the upper shaft and head of his penis with the friction of the sleeve as he rasps softly, repeating variations of the triggering verbal formula in time with his thrusts.

"Yes, let me spurt for you. Let me show you how I spurt for you. I'll do it the way you want, spurt my come, show you . . ."

I feel a rush of lustful affection as I watch and listen to him, the women around me laughing softly, enjoying, as I am, the state we've prodded this young male into. They indicate their agreement with my suggestion by piling on playfully with rhetorical questions and instructions. Seizing gleefully on the mounting excitement the word and image provoke in him, they each take a turn prodding him with repetitions of the word 'spurt.'

"Ooooh, does the pretty boy need to spurt for us?" Blondie taunts, "You need to do it the right way."

"You want to show us?" Tallie chimes in with the welter of voices, "We need to see every spurt. Are you gonna do that, do it right?"

He keeps moaning "Yes, yes, I want to show you. I'll spurt for you." as they continue to ask and taunt, their voices overlapping, the playful, lashing repetitions of the word 'spurt'; "I want to see you spurt. Are you going to spurt for me?"; clearly whipping him to near desperation to "Let me show you how I spurt." His thrusts getting deeper now into the sleeve, growing erratic as he shudders his assurances that he will do it the way we want. "Please, let me show you. I'll spurt for you."

I realize he's holding back, awaiting the command; the final permission that will render his compliance the act of submission he longs for as he pleads, "Let me show you."

A length of dildo is now clearly visible beneath him as he lifts and falls back on it.

The woman who asked is now kneeling between his legs reaching in to stroke the root of his cock; her fingertips sweeping upward from his anus when he lifts himself, fluffing his balls each time as she slips up the root between them.

I somehow recognize that in the unspoken etiquette applicable to the moment, it is my prerogative to give the command, to grant him permission. But he is so endearingly vulnerable and desperate as he pleads, struggling not to come from the friction on his cock as he makes those short thrusts, but too excited now to restrain the reflexive urge to pleasure his penis in the sleeve. Still, his repeated pleas to 'spurt'; that word so evocative just now of a 'consummation devoutly to be wished' (apologies to the Bard); but yes, it tempts me like a work of fine drama, to see him, 'thrust. To spurt, to spurt perchance to . . .'

"Go on then. Do it." I give the command.

"Ahn, yes." he gasps and thrusts up hard into the sleeve, his gaze fixed on me. "I'll spurt for you." he croaks hoarsely as if short of air, straining up against cross arm to keep the head of his cock nicely above the sleeve as if in illustration. "The way you want." he rasps his gaze shifting now to the other women gathered. "I'll spurt for you."

"Good boy." One of the later arrivals croons.

"Say it again." Blondie laughs and reaches in to toy with him as she had earlier. "So cute the way you say 'spurt'. Say it again." She tweaks the head of his cock playfully. "Say it."

"I'll spurt for you." he manages, his lifted hips jerking slightly as she teases.

"So, do it already." coed Shandra scolds with a wink at Blondie who's holding things up with that teasing hand. "Fuck yourself till you spurt." She tries to sound disapproving, but the façade cracks at the silly repetition of the magic word and she breaks out in a giggle. "Such a pretty boy."

Blondie takes her hand away. "You heard her; fuck till you spurt." She pulls it off with a straight face.

But I find myself laughing delightedly. This 'spurt' game; it's a bit of erotic silliness, arising spontaneously from my initial use of the word triggering his excited response. He may be sexually desperate while we are erotically entertained, but we are not feigning interest; we do want to see him spurt, see him do it the 'right way'; the game synchronously ratcheting up our anticipation of it and his urgency to do it.

So, go on, pretty boy, "Fuck till you spurt." I add my voice, feel how the words trigger the image in my head, a twinge of pleasure in my cunt to see him drop down to take that first full thrust up his ass for us, then lift again to drive the head of his penis up out the top of the sleeve.

He fucks himself the way he's been coaxed to, just more quickly; full thrusts up and back; his chest, shoulders and thighs flexing and straining, needing to raise his weight fully up off the seat to drive his cock into the sleeve up to his balls and then control the descent back onto the dildo. He looks so earnest, so endearingly eager to do it the way we want it done; lifting himself fully each thrust, pausing just a moment to display the head of his cock and let us see the exposed length of dildo jutting up into him under his balls, before settling back on it, looking out at us, watching us watch him take it.

"That's it, pretty boy, fuck yourself till you spurt." the game continues, escalating to a kind of frantic gaiety as his thrusts grow more erratic.

The fingertips of the woman kneeling between his legs now sweep unobstructed up the root and shaft of his cock as he lifts and falls, his balls separated to either side, pulled up, "So tight," she laughs, "he's gonna spurt so hard. Aren't you pretty boy?"

"Yes. I'll spurt for you. Uhhhn, God, I'll . . ." he drives his cock up into the sleeve, "spurt" He does; a tight gob pops from the head in time with the word, "for you." he rasps, then shudders as the first, full ejaculatory spasm slings a thick rope of his come up onto his shoulder.

He does it right; his hips jerking reflexively up against the crossbar with each pulse of the shaft, the head of his cock bobbing slightly on its stalk thrust up above the sleeve as his semen spurts and spurts in five or six forceful ejections.

"That's it, pretty boy. Spurt for us. Do it right." the kneeling woman growls as she presses his balls.

Next

"Hey, so, that was pretty fun, right?" Tallie asks brightly as we walk away towards the next set of booths and apparatus. Then, "Sarah," she prods, touching my arm "that was pretty fun, wasn't it?"

"Pretty fun." I echo somewhat vaguely, because I'm still trying to sort my own reactions to . . . what exactly was that?

In the moment, I had felt a kind of quasi-religious, ritualistic euphoria. But that was clearly an overdramatic reaction (I mean, it was, wasn't it?) to the reality of gleefully slut talking the come out some over excited young male's balls. 'Fuck till you spurt'; I said that; hyper absorbed in what felt like an intimate erotic dynamic, it felt like the invocation of some pagan priestess in some esoteric rite. I had been so absorbed, I almost forgot where I was.

Three minutes later, walking away, gazing around at the gesticulating and cheerily cavorting women, the strapped down males, the variety of erect penises on display, feminine laughter and squeals of amusement, masculine moans and pleas, the cheers from the women around the stage as yet another set of balls is emptied to crown another jockey a winner . . . my sense of context returns with an indelicate 'kathunk!' From erotic ritual to this; carnivalesque lewdness, cheery bawdiness and abject male sexual submission; the ingredients are the same in either version; what was the 'spurt' game if not the later? But my perception keeps shifting.

"Sarah, you good?"

"Uhnm, yeah, sure." I focus on Tallie, smile. "Let's . . ." I motion towards the next station.

June has gotten her wish. She's pegging a male strapped to the exam table. On his back with his legs open and lifted back like the banker I watched being used earlier, he's a slender Indian looking one I recognize from the inspection line and the Maven toast. There are a few other women gathered on either side of the table to watch. Fran is there opposite the side from which we approach.

June is leaning forward over him, two straight arms planted on either side of his hips, a strap on thrust as deep up his ass as she can get it. She holds still, looking down at him curiously.

"Hmmmn." she says softly, tilts her head slightly to one side.

As we come up, she pulls her hips back just a bit then shoves the dildo back in again to the hilt.

The male under her lets out a sharp "Uuhn!" looks slightly surprised.

"Hmmn." she says again.

One of the other women watching senses our approach, looks back over her shoulder, gives us a nod and steps aside slightly to make room for Talie and I opposite Fran. Fran glances up, gives us a smile of recognition, but quickly looks back down to watch.

June on the other hand, doesn't seem to notice, or at least care to note, our arrival beside her. She seems completely absorbed in her experimentation; eyes narrowed in focus, pursed lips. She drops her chin to look down at the male's penis which is only partially engorged, watches it loll on his belly under the impact as she gives him another short but deep thrust.

Another soft "Hmmn." but this one at a slightly different register.

She begins now to fuck him.

As with the male she edged in the chair when I first saw her, there is a businesslike detachment in her manner. She focuses intently on the male's expressions and responses as she varies her fucking. She seems particularly interested in his gasps and writhing when, after withdrawing slightly for some short quick but shallow thrusts, she abruptly slams it back into him to the hilt.

"Awh, fuck!" the male exhales tightly as she holds it deep.

His eyes dart our direction, aware of us as new observers. I swear, he seems like he wants to ask us what this woman fucking him is after.

It's only then, following his gaze, that June looks up and notices our presence.

"Oh, hi." she says easily. "Trying this out." she says, drops her gaze once more and slams it in quickly, watches him buck then looks back up and "Biggest one they'd let me use on him." she says as if in apology for I'm not sure what.

She pulls her hips back to draw the dildo out of him, steps back slightly to let us see the eight or so inches of slightly curved purple penis strapped to the front of her jeans.

I'm struck by how ridiculous she looks. It's what I think every time I see a woman wearing one, but just now my amusement is a bit awkward. I try to keep a straight face.

"Hmmn." I say and nod.

Thankfully Talie seems interested enough to cover my barely suppressed 'gag or laugh' reflex.

"That looks like a lot." she says eyeing the thing with a slight grimace, "I mean, you know, for . . ." she clarifies, without clarifying, needlessly.

"Yeah, well," June shrugs, "he could take more." she says. She steps back up and guides the tip of the dildo back to his anus with one hand. Her other hand reaches in to take his balls, lift them up and back like she wants a clearer line of sight when she

"Ahhnnm!" the male's eyes widen and the air seems to go out of him as June leans back in and drives the dildo home in one smooth thrust.

His eyes come to mine once more and stay there as June lets go of his balls and pegs him a few more times hard, laughing slightly under her breath. Like so many of these males when they're in use, he seems slightly dazed, looking at me but not really registering any connection; the way a lab rat must look at a lab technician who may give him a treat or an electric shock, or both. His head tilts back, his eyes narrow; Uhnm! That last hard thrust got him, didn't it? I smile. He groans and looks away.

"Pretty fun." June says looking his body up and down as she leans out over him again on two straight arms, "But you know," she fucks him quickly, five or six short thrusts, making his penis and balls shake as he moans, "not as intense as I" pauses, slightly short of breath, "expected."

I, on the other hand, am finding it increasingly unappealing. Whatever satisfaction there may be in the sheer domination implied by the arrangement, it is, for me at least, more than counterbalanced by the visual blight of the male's positioning; legs pulled back, butt up, torso scrunched. Again, if it's going to be done, I much preferred the look of Brenda's virgin getting fucked, watching his face and body and seeing his balls jump and penis twitch as he was held upright between two women to receive it. But even then, the absurdity of Brenda in her fine clothes with that thing cinched up between her legs . . .

I decide I am not a big fan of pegging. Not that I want to deprive June or any of the others of their fun. But the dynamics of it are just not that appealing or arousing.

"Here's my come!" a call from the stage.

I turn away from June and her lab rat, take a step or two back in the direction of the stage where one of the males is bucking and ejaculating. Like the earlier males, he's strapped in so he can't jerk it, his penis ejaculating on its own. I'm a bit far away to see how much come he's putting out, but his penis spasms and dances as the audience greets his accomplishment with mock cheers and laughter.

I like seeing them come. Not something I gave much thought to before this; I mean, it happened or it didn't. The real issue was whether it was at a time and in a way convenient and pleasurable for me and not just him. But male orgasm as a spectator sport, offered up (or not) in a way to amuse and entertain women; yes, I do like watching that.

The male in the other chair on stage is moaning and pleading, his cock flushed a telltale deep purple/red, his balls drawn up tight. Whatever the ground rules for the 'race' may have been, with a winner now declared, chants of "Come! Come!" and calls to "Drain his balls!" or simply "Next!" from the audience encourage the women on stage to finish the second male and mount a fresh pair for play.

I step away from the side stations back towards the dance floor for a better vantage. I am somewhat to one side as compared to the view from the tables, but the male's spread legs still offer a good look at his cock and balls in 3/4 profile as I get nearer the stage. The staff woman on stage closest to where I'm standing notices me, gives me a big smile and steps back to make sure she isn't blocking my view. She wasn't, but I smile back and nod, acknowledging the courtesy in another one of those strangely casual vignettes of ordinary social interaction in the midst of whatever this is.

The dildo light above the moaning male is blinking steadily and I can hear the hum of the vibrator now that I'm closer again.

I now recognize the woman standing on the other side of the chair from my vantage as Cindy from the threesome who were taking turns on the male strapped to the bolster earlier in the day. She's leaning down slightly towards the male saying "Come on now, you hear them, empty your balls for me." then, "You can do it." she encourages sweetly like she's encouraging a ten-year old to go out and hit that home run his little league team needs.

The male seems ready and willing enough, but also seems to be just short of the needed stimulation.

Cindy straightens back up, looks down at the remote in her hand with a slight frown and adjusts one of the levers slightly. The hum of the vibrator grows louder.

"There." she says, looking back up to watch as the male tenses, presses back against the chair like he's trying to pull away from the sensation.

"Ah, fuck, please." he moans.

Cindy waits a moment to see, but alas, he apparently needs more than the dildo and vibrator to produce for the team, and the crowd is getting restless.

"Come. Come."

Cindy sniffs, turns to hand the remote to the staff woman on stage behind her and then, somewhat begrudgingly, leans down to give the male's penis a few quick strokes. The male groans and bucks in the chair. She pulls her hand a way quickly like she's determined to do the least possible to help him.

"Ah, yes, yes!" he pleads, his penis spasming, but he doesn't come.

The audience laughs and hoots.

Encouraged by the crowd's reaction, she does it again.

He moans and pleads, again his penis flexes several times when she pulls her hand away, but still no come.

They laugh harder, hoot louder and "Awh, poor thing!"

She gives him a moment.

Renewed chants of "Come. Come."

"Please!" he's shaking.

I smile, join the chanting under my breath. "Come. Come."

She reaches down and works his cock again.

"Oah yes! Oha yes! Here it is. Please! Here it is!"

"Promises, promises." she jests sweetly.

But after a few more strokes there's a quick spray of a few white flecks above her hand. She pulls her hand away.

"Here's my come!"

"Finally." Cindy smirks.

It makes me laugh how dutifully he adheres to the announcement protocol, seeming as excited to tell us about it as he is to do it.

A more generous spurt now from the bobbing head. His torso curls forward hard against the restraints, head down, the chair rocking slightly as he bucks and spurts again.

His sensitivity to the vibrator and dildo seem to be heightened by his release. His hips now jerk slightly in time with the blinking light. After those first two decent spurts his penis continues to spasm and flex. But it takes him a while to pump out the rest; smaller gobs of it emerging from the head at irregular intervals as he bucks and writhes.

This extended process of ejaculation amuses the audience, draws smugly delighted ex-cathedra commentary from several women, like sportscasters giving the play by play:

"He's still got more." one assures us all as he continues dry spasm two or three times and then, "Ah! There! Still going." when another and then, a few contractions later, yet another gob burps from the head.

They leave him to shudder and groan for a while, reluctant to be done with him until the spasms are clearly just dry heaves of his now hypersensitive penis.

The staff woman hands the remote back to Cindy. She shuts it off. The lights go dark. The male gasps, slumps forward, head down, his penis still erect and twitching slightly. She turns to hand the remote back to the staff woman then leans down, grips his chin in one hand and raises his head to look at her. She examines his expression with a thin, satisfied smile then releases him again with a short laugh. His head drops back down once more.

Cindy and the other member on stage take mock theatrical bows to the applause of the audience as the staff women begin to unstrap the males in preparation for the next round.

I look back over my shoulder towards the stations along the far wall. Talie and crew are still gathered round the table where June now seems to be jacking the male's penis as she fucks him, frowning down in concentration, still all business. There's a group of women still gathered around the male on the crucifix. I can't see through them to tell what they're doing with him, but I can tell one is in up close behind him to one side and by the titters and shifting about of the gathered women it looks like a joint sisterly experiment; ah yes; participation; the Maven way.

I look further on past the table in the other direction to the section I haven't visited yet, a few males are bent forward over various items, one strapped down on the bolster from the plenary session, two others appear to be simply chest down over the tables in the booths. There are some males standing by at the various stations who are not currently in use, standing along the walls ready to be rotated in or perhaps sent to the stage for their comeshot, however elicited.

Yes; carnivalesque is a good word. The women are rowdier than they were in the plenary session, slightly tipsy perhaps but also just exaggerated in some way, as if they were egging each other on to reassure themselves they're having fun. It's clear they are, and I do get the 'party girl' dynamic, but I also find it distracting.

Staff seems to have their hands somewhat full trying to keep some semblance of order. I see one take a very large didlo out the hands of a disappointed looking woman who apparently was hoping to try it out on one of the males waiting face down on one of the tables. The staff woman is shaking her head, trying to smile but clearly feeling a bit harassed as she explains whatever it is she's explaining, motions to a nearby stand where, apparently, the dildos approved for use on that particular male are located.

Males moan, women laugh and hoot, call out to one another.

I'm suddenly feeling slightly irritable. My reactions to the kid in the chair aside, despite my somewhat lurid fascination with what the males are willing to endure for our amusement, I'm finding a lot of it, like June's pegging, distinctly unsexy. More than a few of the males are not erect, and even though it seems they can be made so if wanted, there's still something . . .

I'm wondering if maybe Linda's take on this wasn't the right one. Making a few guys take it in the ass as a spice to the CFNM dish is one thing. But as a stand-alone entre, it loses its effect, becomes repetitive and . . .

Time to try out High Tea.

High Tea

The contrast in mood and atmosphere could not be sharper; from carnival to cultured decorum; the gentle clink of tea cups on saucers amidst soft background music and conversation, 'polite' in tone (if not always content). It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the more subdued lighting as I step in the door and survey the room.

The women sit in informal groups at the various sitting areas defined by separate circles of couches, chairs and various side or coffee tables. They all seem to have changed into more formal attire than they wore at the plenary session; cocktail dresses, jewelry and makeup, even some formal gowns with fashionable clutch purses and other accessories. I feel at first a little self-conscious having not changed my sundress for something more elegant, but I do note at least a few other women in more casual attire like mine.

Circulating among the sitting areas are 15 or so males. Some seem to be acting as waiters; carrying trays with some sort of appetizers and what look like cream and sugar dispensers, others toting ceramic pots with waiter like towels draped over one forearm. Their bearing is very formal and proper; holding themselves very erect or bowing with that slight, deferential curl of the upper torso as they lean to serve, like butlers from a Jane Austen novel. But departing assuredly from Ms. Austin's standards of decorum, their posture is not the only thing erect about them.

Other males distributed about the sitting areas seem to have no such duties. I notice one of these standing in front of two women who sit side by side on one of the couches close to the entrance. He is in that access friendly, open stance I've seen other males adopt when presenting for women; hips forward and pelvis curled up to offer the balls. I can't quite tell from my position here in the doorway, but there is also some odd looking (at least to me) sort of harness or something about the male's genitals. A strap of some sort about the base of the penis and around the scrotum that; I step a bit further into the room for a better look; yes, circling the scrotum lifting and forcing the balls forward, propping them up, making them jut out noticeably in that presentation position that already accentuates their display.

I glance around, cock spotting the other males and, now that I know what I'm looking for, even in the lower lighting and from a distance, I can see some, though not all, other males are similarly trussed. I look back at the male standing before the two women on the couch. They seem to be chatting amiably, looking back and forth between his presentation and one another as they talk. He shifts his stance a bit, his cock flexing slightly, but otherwise keeps still, looking down at them expectantly, like he's waiting for further instruction.

I find I rather like the look; the exaggerated presentation of his balls, the way they jut, how he strains to hold them out; the position tipping the erect penis to point nearly vertical. It's not a 'natural' stance; so blatantly objectifying, pleading for attention; vulnerable physically but, more gratifyingly, also vulnerable to any woman's appraisal and judgement; not just the two on the couch in front of him, but mine; a casual passerby on my way to . . .

I look out across the room, catch sight of Diane, standing up from her seat amidst a group of other women to wave me over. As promised, she's been on the look-out for me and has saved me a spot next to her on the couch in her sitting area. I pick my way around a couple of other groupings to get to her small circle of two couches and a few chairs.

She introduces me around the circle. There's Gretchen who I'd met briefly earlier and five other women whose names I immediately forget but one of whom leans in to lift a cup and saucer from the low center table and hold it out towards me. I take it and settle in beside Diane.

Before I can really get my bearings, Diane snaps her fingers at a nearby waiter, gets his attention, and motions towards me and my empty tea cup.

He's one of the younger males, not much more than twenty I'd guess; slender, not particularly muscular but sleek and fit, his hair put up in a ponytail, a slight stubble of beard contrasting with his otherwise seemingly hairless body. He moves around the end of the couch and comes to stand before me. He's carrying a ceramic teapot in one hand but doesn't lean to fill my cup. Instead, he pauses and adopts that wide-stance presentation position, and

"At your service, m'lady." He says, looking down at me attentively as if waiting for some further signal to proceed.

I can now see clearly the nature of the genital harness. It's in the form of a figure eight. His erect penis is clamped tight at the base by the upper loop which is essentially a cock-ring. The lower loop is cinched around the base of his scrotum to lift and jut his balls out from his body, the sack drawn tight to accentuate their size and shape. He has a good sized, pleasingly straight circumcised cock and his average sized balls are well articulated by the harness set up.

But it's slightly disconcerting the way he just stands there; I'm not sure what sort of signal he's waiting for. Do I just lift my cup and . . .?

"This is Steven." Diane says easily. Leaning forward, she reaches out and fluffs his balls gently with a light brush of her fingertips. "One of our newer males." She fluffs his balls again, her touch triggering a slight jerk of his hips. She settles back.

"So, I," I start, frown, "What do I do with this?"

"Oh, sorry dear, I forget this is your first." She places a hand on my forearm. "You can do anything or nothing with it. If you like the view, as I remember you did before, have him stand there a bit; handle him if you're in the mood for that. Or just tell him to pour your tea and shoo."

"But he looks like he's expecting . . ." I start, but then her remark about my liking the view before . . .

"Oh, he's hoping you'll want to take some time inspecting or handling him." she laughs, then, "Aren't you Steven?"

"Yes." he answers quickly, his penis bobbing in front of me as if nodding in agreement.

"They're all hoping that. So, when you summon them, they'll all present; like this, make themselves available." She reaches out again, this time fondling his balls more thoroughly in the cage of her five fingertips curled around the jutting sack. "It's what they're here for; to be enjoyed and, they hope, enjoy our attention." she says softly as Steven moans and arches to push his balls further into her hand. "They so want our attention. Don't you, Steven?"

"Yes, m'lady, thank you." he gasps tightly. "That's why I'm here, yes. Thank you."

Diane smiles, gives his balls a final, playful twerk and pulls her hand back. "I always like to reward them with a bit of attention before I send them off. You remember how excited he was to display and win your good opinion of his cock earlier. It's sweet how eager they are for it. I hate to disappoint them. And, after all, that's why I'm here; for the pleasure of seeing the different males and toying with them. But it's entirely up to you what you do with it dear. What he's expecting is irrelevant."             

"At your service, m'lady." he says again, his voice tight.

I can tell she's trying to set the proper tone and example for the new girl; unhurried, casual manipulation and appreciation of male nudity and arousal. I glance quickly around the room and sense the same ambiance; the women chatting, laughing softly, viewing and casually handling various presenting males as other males clear used tea cups or refill empty ones, the soft background of feminine voices broken occasionally by a restrained male moan.

I recognize I'm still carrying some holdover agitation from the more frantic atmosphere of the lounge. Okay. Draw a deep breath, try to shut that down.

My gaze shifts back to Steven; more accurately, to his erect penis and trussed up balls still being offered for my appraisal at roughly eye level two feet in front of me. 'You don't have to do anything with this' I hear Diane's voice in my head. So, let's try and go with that; settle into the High Tea vibe; slow down, let him stand there and wait while I get my bearings.

He does.

You would think after all the male nudity I've seen today, this would hardly phase me. But there is something more blatant about this. It somehow feels both more sexually objectifying and yet more 'personal'; the calm and formal atmosphere, his polite 'm'lady' even as his cock spasms in excitement, his cinched-up balls thrust out towards me to accentuate what was already obvious; all this with nothing but the flimsy pretext of 'waiting' on me - I could have poured my own tea for fuck's sake.

It's all theater and role playing, sure. But the pretext is so flimsy it makes my own complicity impossible to evade. He's here to present his body; why be coy, the presentation certainly isn't; his cock and balls for my appraisal and to display his arousal and excitement. But the situation is forcing me to confess that this display, and others like it, is also, as Diane noted, what I'm here for. What other pretext could I have for being here at this point? I have way more than I need already for any blog. I don't even like tea.

Then it hits me; that remark about 'earlier'; I remember this cock. The harness presentation threw me at first, but the bolt straight shaft and deep clefted head. Yes, as Diane and I agreed at the foot massage station, 'cockwise', this is a very nice specimen. I'm sure it's the same male.

I lift my gaze, scanning up over his slender, sleekly muscled torso until my eyes meet his. He doesn't look away or scan my features, but meets my gaze directly; he is as attentive to me as I am to him. Yes, it's him; the male who leaned back and spread so accommodatingly at my feet to display for 'comparison' to the male displaying for Diane. So, this is Steven; a young man with his own reasons for being here.

He's lovely and 'available'. Fuck the blog. I just want to do this.

I drop my eyes back to his genitals, motioning him forward with a little flick of my hand.

He steps up and, correctly reading my intent, stands now less than a foot from the edge of the couch, resuming his presentation stance.

I am vaguely aware of the other women around me; how they carry on chatting and sipping their tea; how, at one point, Diane helpfully relieves Steven of the tea pot and towel he carries, taking it from him and passing it to another nearby male without comment. But for once today, I do not feel distracted, hurried or half somewhere else in my head wondering about what might be next. This is just between this lovely young man, Steven, and I.

I reach forward past his erection and press my hand flat to his belly; the warmth of skin, the feel of his breath under my hand as I run it up to his sternum and back; the flex of his penis before my face; how the head bumps my wrist and forearm as it bobs; that half moan, shudder; the way his hips lift in anticipation as my hand descends down over his flat abdomen to press just above the base of his cock.

It's a very nice penis. Before today I had seen (in the flesh, that is) and handled seven, maybe eight erections if you count jacking off my high-school boyfriend. But there always seemed to be some element of tension or expectation of performance on my part, especially with a man as fully aroused as this one; a pretty blurb of pre-come already gracing the eye, his shallow breath and there, again and again, the penis flexing so pleadingly. I blow on it, watch it bob in the soft stream of air, his hips giving me a small, reflexive jerk that shakes his trussed-up balls. Yes, I don't have to do anything with this; I could send him off right now and summon another.

But I think not. Steven and I are just getting to know one another.

I remember looking down at him at my feet and liking how straight his cock is. Closer inspection reinforces what Diane would call my 'good opinion'. Although an upward curve in the shaft can be attractive too, there is something suggestively erotic about the way his juts up. Of course, it's an erect penis so saying it's suggestively erotic may seem redundant. But among the variety of cocks I've seen today or handled personally before, Steven's, and others similarly formed, (there were a few other similar ones among today's selection) give me an anticipatory twitch of penetration or an urge to suck.

I think I'd like sucking him; feeling the shaft flex against my palate; flicking under and around the thick ridge of the head with my tongue; a soft slow glide of a lap from balls to tip up the vein marbled shaft. I like that too; the red and purple snaking veins, how they stand out. Though I wonder if that is partially an effect of the cock ring forcing added engorgement. Either way, I could suck him. But there's no hurry. He's not going anywhere.

"Yes, that's how it should be done." I hear Diane purr approvingly. "Aren't you lucky, Steven, to be enjoyed the way you should be?"

"Ahmn, yes." he moans softly, another jerk of his hips against the pressure of my flat pressed hand there, just behind the jut of his erection.

I look up at his face, a much closer, steeper angle than before. Yet again he meets my gaze without evasion, his chin down to look at me directly, and,

"Thank you, m'lady." he rasps. "Please, let me serve you."

"Oh," I smile, "you are. I like your cock. I like having you just this way." I tell him as my hand slips aside over his hip and curls around behind to sweep over his ass. This brings my face a bit closer to his body.

"Ah, fuck, yes." a hoarse, breathless groan. Another reflexive buck of his hips makes his penis tap against my upturned chin as I look up at him, squeeze one of his flexing buttocks in my grip.

That's good ass.

His face looks so young with that stubble of thin beard and the long hair tied back. I smile as he jerks again and his cock bumps my chin. Without looking away from him I move my hand holding my tea cup towards Diane who helpfully takes it from me. Now free, I bring my other hand up between his legs, watch his face as I reach back past his balls, brushing them slightly with my palm as I trail my fingertips down the root of his cock, feeling my way to his anus and then pressing up the crease of his ass to grip both cheeks were they meet, his balls pressing against my forearm as I press my middle finger into the crease, feel the root of his cock pulse against my palm as his penis flexes.

I pull back just a bit, look down at it. The phrase comes to me again; that's just so pretty; the head poking up at me, the gleam of pre-come dripping down the front of the shaft, a fresh pearl of it seeping from the head as his cock spasms to force it out.

"Please m'lady," he manages, a bare whisper, "I know I'm not worthy, but I want you to be the one."

He shudders and I love the feel of that pulse in the root of his cock as I watch it dance for me.

"God, please m'lady. I want it to be you." he moans more loudly, "Please, let me serve you."

"Hush, now." Gretchen, who sits next to me on the other side from Diane, scolds him softly. "She's told you what she wants from you for now. Just be grateful."

This makes me re-aware of the other women around me. Despite Diane's earlier encouragement, I suddenly worry I may be hoarding resources here. I've somewhat lost track of how long I've been . . .

I look at Diane. "Should I be letting others . . ." I start.

"Absolutely not!" Diane says emphatically before I can even finish.

"No, no." Gretchen from my other side jumps in just as quickly. "It's perfect. We've all had our time with him. You got here late. And we all enjoy watching. There's a sweet, vicarious pleasure seeing another woman use them for what they're good for. It's charming how strongly he responds to you. I'm enjoying this."

Other women in the sitting area chime in with similar sentiments, encouraging me to, "Get what you want from him." Gretchen urges simply.

"Besides," another says, "we have two others assigned to us if we want to play more before they offer."

I look her way; a petite, thirty something brunette in stylish, red framed eyeglasses, sits cross legged in a comfortable arm chair positioned perpendicularly to the couch. Tight beside the armrest of her chair another male stands, his propped balls and erection thrust forward over the arm. She's smiling at me, one hand lifted to graze the underside of his cock with a playful index finger making it stiffen and flex up away from contact each time she brushes past the head. She's focused on me rather than what she's doing to the male.

"It is just about time to decide." she says easily as the cock continues to bob to her absent teasing. "My vote is we give Steven his wish. But go on. It's so cute how he shudders and bucks for you. I think he's in love." she laughs.

I realize there are several implicit messages here about how High Tea is organized and run that, an hour ago, I would have wanted to explore for my blog; two more 'assigned'; something to be 'decided'. But just now?

Fuck the blog. I have Steven. Nobody's complaining and . . . I look back up at his face; that young brow creased in hyper attentive focus on me, the sweet slash of his lips pressed together as he looks down, the pulse in the root of his cock beneath my hand as he awaits, pleads, for me to proceed however I choose. Diane is right; this is how it ought to be done.

I pull the hand between his legs back towards me until my middle fingertip finds and taps his anus. I like the way his eyes narrow, his breath catches, the little thrusts that seem to plead, that sweep his balls over the heel of my hand as I tease his anus gently.

I suddenly remember, see it in my head again, how this cock bobbed and jerked so prettily as the dildo slip up his ass when he was sent to the chair, how he stroked himself in that viewer friendly way with just the thumb in back and one finger in front. He shot his load so sweetly, stroking it with that up his ass.

I tap his anus again, so tempting with that vision still in my head of him bucking and spurting in the chair. Never done that, never wanted to, and just a few minutes ago was finding it unsexy; but here, in the soft light and the quiet, when it's just between Steven and I, his response is like a confession; so tempting.

"Do you like that?" I ask as I press there a bit more firmly.

"Yes, m'lady," he manages, "whatever you want."

"Uhnm." I press again, consider. I'd like to see him respond to a finger up his ass; watch his face, see his body jerk, his penis flush and bob the way it did earlier, but here, now, where it's so much more intimate. But I don't want it to be my finger, I decide. Just seeing his susceptibility; his willingness, no, his eagerness to take it if I wanted that; seeing it in his face, feeling his body tense in anticipation in my hands . . .

I almost laugh at the brief flash of disappointment in his expression as I draw my hand back without penetrating him, disappointment so quickly snuffed out by the slack jawed collapse of his features in pleasure when my retreating hand grasps his balls. His eyes close, his chin lifts up.

"Ah, fuck yes. Thankyou." he whispers heavenward to whoever of the erotic goddesses is granting him his prayers.

That's nice. I like the way the lift and propping of his balls makes them fit snugly in my hand, how I can feel each ball separately as I fondle them together in the taut sack. I've never really spent time feeling balls before; I mean, actually paying attention to the spongy firmness. Like all the guys on the inspection line this morning; sure, I felt up a lot of balls in succession, but I wasn't really . . . I bring my other hand around to grip Steven's cock . . . paying attention. He bucks slightly in my hands. I'm still watching his face, feeling how his penis surges and his body heaves.

I glance back over at the woman in the chair; she's beaming at me, looks as if she's about to laugh again; still leisurely teasing that penis as you might absently acknowledge an attention seeking pet with a placating touch. For some reason it strikes me; that one too, like Steven, has a name. I am suddenly aware of the physical solidity, the individual visceral reality of the male she's toying with; the crease of muscle strain running up the side of his open thigh; the shadowed hollow in the side of his buttock; the way his hands hang loosely at his side behind his forward thrust hips; the arch in his back; his chin pulled forward and down, lips drawn tight; that tousle of sandy hair; the rise of his stomach with his breathing as his mid-sized penis bobs and bobs mechanically, helplessly, every time that idly playful fingertip triggers that nerve switch near the head.

This all strikes me at once; at a glance. Like one of those optic illusions when you suddenly see the alternate pattern and then can't unsee it. It's as if I'd been watching a movie of a storm at sea all this time; sitting in my assigned seat, feeling swept up in the mood and tempest of the scene; it's a good movie; when suddenly a rogue wave crashes out of the screen and inundates the theater; things get real.

My hand begins to move on the shaft of Steven's cock in time with the bobbing of the one the woman in the chair is toying with; paying attention, feeling the girth and firmness, the smooth slip of the outer sheath of skin about the turgid shaft as I watch the other penis bob, see the other male jerk slightly like this one in my grip when the woman across the way triggers that switch just right.

That's so pretty; the mantra returns; the phrase so overburdened now with an almost physically keening ache at its inadequacy of expression of just this, right here.

I turn my full attention back to what's in my hands. The flesh is warm, hot. Pre-come has dripped down onto my thumb knuckle, glistens slick on the shaft when I drive my hand down tight to the base to view the full length of his penis; so handsome and straight; that lovely twinge again between my legs as I feel it surge in my grip, watch it blush darker, squeeze his balls to elicit . . . yes, there he is, my young Steven, moaning his gratitude; "Thank you, m'lady, thank you."

I enjoy again the rich marbling of his cock with the tendrils of vein; the way the softer lighting (compared to the glare of the stage and stations at the lounge for maximum visibility) brings out texture in soft shadow, the gentle shading of the ridge beneath the head. I realize I've never been able to fully enjoy cock before. I love erections, but they always seemed to demand something of me, to perform or respond or . . . maybe I just put that on myself; never let myself just . . .

I take my hands away, sit back again for a fuller view of him; Steven wants nothing more than just this; my attention to and interest in his young cock and balls. It's that simple. He makes it so blatantly, shamelessly obvious; the way he stumbles slightly forward as my hands and body retreat, opening his stance still further, moaning softly as he strains to lift and offer his propped-up balls, his blushing penis flexing in barely pre-ejaculatory spasms.

"Please, m'lady, please, I want it to be you." he pleads.

"Well, we have to start somewhere." Diane says with a soft chuckle from beside me. "Two votes now for Empress Sarah and Steven."

"Three." says Gretchen from the other side. "I'll go tell Mira we've got our first, whenever she's ready to start the offers."

I'm hearing this; Empress Sarah, something about voting and offers; but not caring to sort it. The couch cushion shifts slightly when Gretchen gets up from beside me, but my focus is where Steven wants it, needs it so shamelessly that my freedom to indulge in the simple enjoyment of young, erect cock for its own sake feels absolute and absolutely enticing.

I look up at his face; he seems so earnest, grateful, helplessly agitated. I watch his expression as I reach forward again, slip my hand under his balls, feeling for the Velcro tab that cinches the harness; his eyes narrow, his lips move wordlessly as his chest shudders slightly. I find the tab, grip it between my thumb and middle finger, tell him; yes, I should tell him what I want, let him hear it as well as feel it; "I want to see how your balls hang without this."

"Ah, fuck yes." he gasps and "Fuck yes." again as I look down, peel the tab away and watch his balls spill out and down to hang freely.

"That's better." I say softly. It is. "Nice young balls." I say aloud what I'm thinking because I'm free to and he wants so desperately to know my opinion. "They hang nice; even and full, the sack not too loose."

"God, yes." Another gasp and the jerk of his hips flouncing them up and back sharply.

Diane is laughing delightedly. "Oh, you do him girl." Then to Steven, "Keep it in those balls just a little longer, Steven, and you'll get your wish." she laughs again.

I reach back in, tipping his cock down with one hand so I can get at the Velcro tab for the cock ring that's up against his body, pull it open, draw the harness back away from him to see him fully untrussed.

"Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck." he whimpers as his penis, suddenly unclamped at the base, bobs and flexes frantically, his balls drawing up tight to frame the root.

"Don't come." Diane scolds him.

But I don't care. The tight young balls pulling the sack taut between them, the heave of his chest as the penis flails and slings pre-come from the tip; he's so completely lost, helpless against this need; "That's just so pretty." I exhale like an ecstatic bacchant. "God, I love this."

"I told you." Diane says in mild triumph, "This is the way to have them; at our leisure, no distractions, no excuses for them; they just need to show us how badly they need it, plead like this one for our attention, for the privilege of offering us their semen. That's CFNM Sarah. I'm so glad you joined us, got to see the real thing."

The real thing; that wave inundating the theater. At our leisure, yes. So pleasant and arousing not to be hurried, to be able to pause and consider,

"Turn." I say gently to Steven who has managed not to come, though those young balls are still pulled up, pretty and tight, his penis bobbing with his pulse. A little wave of my hand and he turns where he stands to, "There." I say when his hips are in profile, pleased at how he reads my intent, or maybe just can't help himself, needing to show me, his hips curling under and forward again to offer a nice side view of those pulled up balls and vertical, pulsing cock.

I'm struck again by how straight his cock is; an upward driven, veined bolt of flesh that makes me squeeze my thighs together to pleasure my cunt with the soft press of the labia against each other. It is a physical feeling of pleasure implied by the object, without the need of doing more than enjoying it for what it is.

'There you go, Steven." I purr encouragement. "Young cock and balls; that's a nice look for you." I say, again, just whatever comes to mind, because I can and there's no need to be artsy or original; his penis blushing darker once more as it pulses, a harder flex in response to these simple, repetitive, iterations of whatever the pleasure of seeing his, "Fresh, young cock and balls." this way elicits from the jumbled erotic lexicon in my brain. "That's so pretty."

I reach forward, slip my hand under his balls and run my thumb back and forth over them and the root of his cock, pressing lightly, enjoying the tautness in the sack, the way they shift only slightly, clinging to the root.

"Yes, tight young balls." I narrate repetitively, needlessly. "That's sweet, Steven; how excited this gets you."

Gretchen has returned, is standing back beside me looking down with a happy smirk at Steven's erection jutting up at her as his chest shudders with the play of my hand.

"God, girl, you have a knack for this." she says with a soft snort, "But," she reaches forward, lays a hand on Steven's chest, and, "there, easy, easy." she coaxes softly. Then, back to me. "Don't let him come yet. You've got him just about as primed as he can be without triggering him." she cautions. "You and your 'just so pretty'" she imitates my voice, "slut talk. I'm surprised he hasn't."

I pull my hand back, unsure what the problem is. I'd like to keep playing for a bit; he's a lovely young man, hung handsomely and strung so desperately eager for it that I'm just not quite ready to be done exploring this new degree of freedom to enjoy men that swept in with that rouge wave. But, if he comes, he comes. I want that eventually; not as badly as he does, but I definitely want to see that lovely, ramrod penis spurt for me as he bucks and shudders and gasps one of those sweet, breathless 'thank you, m'lady' s as his balls empty. I do want that. They said I could have him. If she's saying, now, there's some problem with that . . .

"Mira said, if you're ready for it, we can go first." Gretchen says. "We voted. He's all yours if you want his come. Just not here, dear." Then, "No big crime or anything if it happens." she says easily. "But High Tea is set up to make them earn the privilege by supplication."

"Supplication." I echo, glance back at that handsome upright, pulsing penis, silently pleading with every throb to eject the load in those upturned balls. "I mean, isn't this . . ." I look back up at her, motioning towards it.

"Well, yes, like I said," Gretchen smiles, "you definitely have a knack for this. He's begging for it. So, I'm just saying, make him beg for it, but," she motions towards the center of the room where the throne like chair is, "up there, where we can all watch and enjoy it."

Princess for an Hour

The furniture in the sitting areas has been rearranged; the women rising momentarily to accommodate this, chatting easily among themselves as the males shift and angle the couches and chairs to form a semi arena, focused on the throne-like chair on its slightly raised dais and the two lower chairs placed one on either side of it. There is a rectangular red and gold patterned carpet rolled out upon the floor in front of the dais, about eight feet long and five wide.

I've been led by Diane and Gretchen up to sit on the throne. They have taken their seats on the chairs on either side. They have told me, laughing at my initial obliviousness, that they are my imperial court officials. The other women have settled back into the (now) arena seating, fallen quiet.

I had been so absorbed in my enjoyment of Steven that I hadn't focused on the now obvious implications of the throne set up and the talk about 'voting' and his repeated pleas that I should 'be the one'. I get it now. I have been elected Empress to receive the homage of Steven, one of the fifteen or so males in service at high tea. I have been granted the first audience of the afternoon. Others will have the honor of being Empress after me and receive the homage of their selected male, until each male has offered his semen in supplication and worship to an imperial mistress.

I feel an odd yet pleasing shift of my inward perspective. It's more than just the ambiance and staging. The common expectation of both the other women and the males, is shifting my inner sense of person and prerogative. The reverential quiet of the attentive court all focused on my imperial personage, grants me this red and gold carpeted rectangle to be my realm, where my erotic will is law. I am what the moment makes me.

Two staff women stand at the far end of the carpet awaiting my pleasure. I nod and they turn to the group of waiting male petitioners gathered just beyond the semi-circle of the arena. Steven is summoned.

He walks down the narrow aisle between the seats at the head of the court, his cock swaying, his eyes deferentially lowered. The staff women part to either side and he steps up to stand between them at the edge of the carpet, his gaze still lowered, his erection bobbing gently with his heartbeat. The Staff women wait a moment, then one announces him.

"Comes now Steven, your Highness, to pay his homage and plea for your grace."

Then the other, "Will you grant him audience, hear his plea?"

"Yes." I answer. Then, "I will." I affirm my imperial beneficence to myself as much as him.

At this time, in this place, with witnesses gathered in communal expectation, 'Empress' doesn't feel like a role. When Steven steps forward, his gaze still lowered, drops onto splayed knees before me, leans back on two straight arms, his back arching, his hips lifting to offer up his young balls and that sweetly pulsing, rigidly erect cock in obeisance, it feels more like the acknowledgement of a truth. If 'Empress' is a role, it is like being the bride at a wedding. Like a bride, I may be princess only for a day, only for this hour. But no groom ever came to the altar to speak his vows with more eagerness and sincerity than Steven does here.

I know he awaits my acknowledgement to rise and proceed with his plea. But I am reluctant to free him. He is so enticingly supplicant just this way; the tension in his young, sleeky muscled body as he strains to spread, lift and arch; his chin down hard to keep his eyes lowered, the rise and fall of his breathing in his chest and stomach. I am just about to speak, when a short, ragged exhale shudders him, triggering a small buck of his hips that jogs his balls as that ramrod penis bobs and bobs . . . in worship.

Smile if you want. But even lesser deities have their acolytes. In this moment, I embody for him some aspect of the feminine he longs with body and mind to sexually submit to and serve; to honor me with this public display of his erotic devotion. It is a role, yes; but only this can grant him the mercy of answering his need.

I glance at my purist imperial counselor in her chair at my side; her calm features, soft smile of approval; yes, Diane, this is the way to have them.

I turn back to Steven, consider telling him to lift his gaze to look at me, but leaving him there in that charming position; having him just lean back on one arm as the other hand strokes. But the tautness of his balls and the excitement so clearly generated in his body by the muscular tension of this strained display, caution me that my reign may be unduly shortened by such a command; he might come with just a few strokes. I can always send him back to his knees to finish this way if I want to.

"Rise." I command.

He pushes forward onto his knees then climbs to his feet, still without lifting his gaze.

"Thank you, my Empress," he begins hoarsely, plants his feet in that now familiar open stance and, though I know it's coming, "for granting me audience" it is still unreasonably gratifying to watch his hips come forward and curl up to lift his balls out towards me, tipping that lovely cock up to vertical, "to plea for your favor and beg for your mercy upon my body. I know I am nothing special; you deserve the homage of every male. It is already more pleasure than I deserve to be allowed to stand before you and present my cock and balls for your appraisal. I am erect before you and your court to beg you to let me more fully display my sexual obeisance. Your gaze makes my balls ache with my need to offer you my semen in homage, makes my cock throb in excitement, pleading to serve your pleasure and amusement with the spurt of my come."

I know this is not spontaneous; he has crafted the script, rehearsed it. But that makes it more poignant. He has chosen the words to meet and serve his need; to answer his longing to be seen and treated just the way he frames it. Set free by the role to confess that need openly, shamelessly; the words reveal the truth of his desire. Those tight, lifted balls do ache to offer me their semen. His cock does throb in excitement under my gaze. I am Empress enough to grant him this mercy; to accept the obeisance he longs to offer and, I realize, I now crave to receive. Better princess for a day, for an hour, than never at all.

"Lift your eyes, look at me." I speak gently.

He raises his eyes, meets mine. A shudder catches his breath, a reflexive buck of his hips pleads for my attention there. I reward him with a smile and the drop of my gaze to pleasure his penis and tease his balls with my royal glance.

"Yes, my Empress, thank you." he moans, straining to spread and lift and offer them more fully, raising up onto the balls of his feet, knees bent to further open his thighs, his cock twitching, mimicking ejaculation, under the lash of my attention.

His response is so intense I worry he might come just from displaying for me. It's clear that, when I ask for it, let him stroke himself, he'll spurt his homage quickly. That's endearing but also convenient; knowing I can finish him quickly, I can toy with him a bit longer without worrying I'll unfairly delay others waiting their turn to be Empress.

I motion with an open hand, tell him, "Turn. Present for my ladies on that side of my court."

"Yes, my Empress, thank you." he groans and turns to the side, re-sets himself in that presentation position.

The stance, viewed in profile, seems even more blatantly pleading for attention; his lithe body arched into that shallow 'S'; hips forward, pelvis curled up, the hollow in the side of his buttock as he clenches to lift and thrust his balls out, the shoulders curling forward to tilt the chest and lift his head to look out at his audience.

"You made such a pretty speech." I say. "It excites you to plead that way, doesn't it?"

"Yes, my Empress, it does." he manages hoarsely, his breath shallow, his penis flexing in agreement.

"What excites you about it?" I ask.

"Everything." he gasps, and bucks. "I want you to know, to see, them all to see, to hear me telling you, begging to come for you, saying it as I try to show you, show them all, how badly I need it . . ." he breaks off, his hips bucking reflexively again, jouncing his balls, "Telling you, having them all see and hear it, so you know and they know, ahnmm . . ." he rasps, "when I come for you."

"My." Diane says softly from her chair beside me. "That's nice."

The other ladies of my court seem to agree; amused smiles, approving murmurs and soft, pleased laughter ripple through the audience.

"Go on then. Tell us again. Tell my ladies on that side of the court how you are nothing special, how your balls ache." I can't suppress a soft laugh, he is so charmingly vulnerable. "You want to beg them like you did me, don't you?"

"Yes, my Empress, yes." he moans.

"Go on; tell them."

"I am nothing special;" he pauses, a shudder in his breathing, "you deserve the homage of every male. It is already more pleasure than I deserve to be allowed to stand before you and present my cock and balls for your appraisal. Ahnm . . ." another small shudder wracks him, his cock dancing frantically as he tries to get his breath and "I am erect, ahn, thank you my Empress! I am erect before you to beg you to let me more fully display, ahnnn . . ." the word triggers the act, his thighs opening further to better display "my sexual obeisance. Your gaze makes my balls, ahnn, it makes my balls ache with my need to offer you my semen in homage. See how my cock throbs in excitement, pleading to spurt my come for your pleasure and amusement."

It is not a verbatim rendition; his mounting excitement editing the text entertainingly. He doesn't just need to come. The excitement and release of confessing his need and pleasure to be seen and treated as our abject sexual supplicant, wracks him almost as intensely as I suspect the release of his semen will.

Well, he wants to amuse us; it's a short speech, let's hear it again.

"Turn." I tell him. "Present to my ladies in the back of the court. Tell them how you are nothing special, and beg them. You want to beg them too, don't you?"

"Aahnnnm, fuck, yes, my Empress, yes. I want to beg them, thank you."

The murmurs and laughter, coos of approval and amusement grow slightly louder as Steven turns and presents to the ladies seated in the rear. I am struck by the loveliness of his taut young ass as he assumes position, curls his hips under and clenches to display. I get a flashback of teasing his anus with a fingertip as he stood before me, wanting to see him take it up the ass but not wanting to do it myself.

"I am nothing special." he begins his recitation. "You deserve the homage of every male. It's more pleasure than I deserve to stand before you and present my, uhn, please, here are my cock and balls for your appraisal." Saying the words triggers a lovely jerk of his hips, that firm ass lifting and clenching hard in his excitement to offer himself for appraisal.

I motion and catch the eye of one of the staff women, wave her towards me as,

"My cock is erect for you," he starts, realizes he's losing the script, starts again, "I am erect for you to beg you to let me more fully display, ahnnn . . ." that word again, the visceral prod of saying it as he does it, lifts him up onto the balls of his feet again, opens his thighs wider, the view from behind this way so . . . "my sexual obeisance." he manages. "Ahn, fuck."

"Yes, Empress?" the staff woman says softly, having approached at my summons.

"Does my gaze make your balls ache?" some woman coos at Steven softly from the audience, her voice rising slightly above the generally hushed murmurs of the attentive court. This triggers gentle laughter.

"Yes, thank you for letting me . . ." he groans, gets back on script, "Yes, your gaze makes my balls ache to offer you my semen in homage. My cock throbs in excitement, pleading to spurt my come for your pleasure and amusement."

I look at the woman who cooed that question at him. She's sitting on a couch at the edge of the carpet. She meets my gaze a bit sheepishly then says softly, "Pardon, Empress, not meaning to intrude upon your . . ."

I smile, shake my head and wave this off. "He is for the amusement of the court." I say and sweep my hand in an imperial gesture, granting general license to my 'ladies' to entertain themselves with such prodding as I command him to "Turn" again. "You want to present and beg the ladies on the other side too, don't you?"

"Yes, my Empress, yes. Thank you. I want them all to . . ." his voice breaks. He stumbles slightly as he drops back down onto flat feet and turns the last 45% to "Here," he moans as he plants his feet and "Here," the hips buck, his penis dancing prettily in profile, "my cock and balls for your appraisal." he jumbles the order of the script in his mounting urgency. "I'm nothing special. But I offer my cock and balls for you to . . ." he breaks off again, another buck of his hips jouncing those young balls he so desperately wants us to 'appraise'; his body writhing in the verbal net of his own desires spoken aloud as he enacts them.

I worry again as I watch that penis flail, that the combination of confession and display might trigger his ejaculation before I get to. . .

"I want him to take it up the ass." I say quickly to the staff woman who still stands nearby. "Before or while he comes, either way, I just want to see . . ."

"Sure." she says quickly. "What do want him to take? Should I . . .?" she motions vaguely.

"Just," I make a quick upward motion with my hand like I'm plunging two fingers in. "quick, once or twice; I want to see what it does to him. He's just so tempting."

"Yes, he is." Then, "You got a good one. The rest will have a hard time being so entertaining. They'll all have their little speech, but he's just so . . ." she raises her brows."

I nod and "Yes, he is." I agree as I listen to the last sector of women begin to prod him gently as he struggles to stay on script;

"Oh, does it make your balls ache to have us look at them?" one asks.

Other voices chime in with similar fare in soft, cooing tones like the murmuring of doves; provocatively obscene doves, surely; but all in that half-hushed pitch of 'polite' conversation in keeping with the formal ambiance of court; so different than the hoots, squeals and high fiving ruckus of the lounge.

"But sure." the staff woman says. "You say when." She heads off.

"While he comes." Diane says with a soft chuckle, having heard my exchange with the staff woman. "He can barely hold back already. I'm all for it, but there's no way it won't set him off. It'll be while he comes." She laughs again.

"Yes, my balls ache to show you, when you look at them I . . ." he shakes his head slightly, like he knows he's being drawn off script. Then, "Please, appraise my cock and balls, even though it is more pleasure than I deserve to be allowed to show you. I am nothing special,"

"Oh, but will your cock spurt in homage to the Empress?" a slightly greying blonde interrupts from her seat at the edge of the carpet in front of him. "Or will it just spurt because you're so excited to show us?"

"God, please, I need to spurt my come for the Empress. It has to be her, spurt my come for her pleasure and amusement. My cock throbs to . . ." he seems to lose the words in a shudder.

"Yes, we can all see your cock throbbing." the woman sitting next to the greying blonde cuts in softly; she's struggling to keep a straight face, "It's already more pleasure than you deserve to be allowed to show us."

She intends it as a gentle taunt, trying not to laugh as she hoists him on his own verbal petard for the audience. But his gasping response; "Yes, it is, God, yes, thank you." and the helpless jerking of his hips in shameless confession that "Yes, I need to show you, thank you."; melts her expression from amusement to something more acquisitive. She shifts in her seat as if resisting the urge, now, to pleasure that penis, throbbing just a few feet in front of her, with more than just her gaze.

There is something disarmingly arousing about his abject surrender to the pleasures, urges and desires his words profess; there is nothing guarded, nothing held back, no reserve for deniability or cynicism in that 'Yes, I need to show you, thank you.'; no separation between what the words say and what his body reveals as his truth. His vulnerability is almost heroic; a true knight of erotic romanticism entering the lists for his lady. That he comes to pledge and spill his semen rather than blood in worship of the idolized feminine, is, in my opinion, a congenial adjustment to the troubadourian script of blood first, semen later; it eliminates the chest thumping and bro-bonding, tournament mayhem in favor of a more direct demonstration of what a man with a lance in his hand is really good for. In furtherance of which,

"Steven," the Empress speaks, "face me." I reclaim my knight.

"Yes, my Empress, yes." the words shudder out of him as he turns, plants his feet in that wide stance and "Yes, my Empress, thank you." presents his 'cock and balls for appraisal'.

I know those words are in his head as they are in mine; defining the act; the mounted knight extending his lance to the maiden in the stands for her to tie her colored, velvet ribbon around the tip; the phallic imagery not much less blatant, just less visually satisfying, than this version.

"I know I am nothing special," he begins again his plea, but,

"Ah, but you are." I interrupt, feeling a rush of aroused beneficence for my true knight, Steven. I reward him with the appraisal he so longs to have made. "Your cock and balls are just to my taste."

"Ah, fuck!" the desperate buck of his hips and the straining blush of his penis are too tempting for me to resist prodding his helpless pleasure further.

"I especially like how bolt straight your cock is, and how the veins marble the shaft." It's true, but the truth of the matter is secondary to the delicious twinge in my cunt from delivering my royal assessment aloud in that tone of entitled authority; setting the latest court standard for 'good cock' and watching the recipient of my approval buck and buck, his excitement having nowhere else to vent itself, his young body flexing and jerking as his balls jump and drop in time.

"Thank you, my Empress, thank you." He barely has the air for it. "Please, my cock needs to spurt for you, please."

The staff woman has returned wearing one of those blue surgical gloves on one hand, her thumb and fingertips working against each other to smear a gob of lubricant over and down her fore and middle finger.

"Please." he rasps again and, once more, compelled to comply with his duty to wait upon my permission before jerking himself off, having nowhere else to channel his mounting urgency to do it, his young body pleads in the only way it can, rising up on the balls of his feet, his knees bending slightly to open his thighs further, his upright cock flexing, flexing, "Please."

"Yes." I tell him, "I want that from you. When I tell you, I want you to stroke it slowly, hold back for just a little longer, so I can enjoy seeing you stroke it for me. I like that. I know you can't wait long. I won't make you. A few pretty strokes, then," I dart my eyes meaningfully to the side where the staff woman stands close by.

He turns his head to look, his eyes dropping down to her gloved hand and back. "Ah, fuck, please." He shudders, turns back to me, "Please."

"I want to see you take it up the ass, have you come that way," I pause, knowing the words that will both frame and reward his homage as his devotion deserves, "see you come taking it up the ass for my pleasure and amusement."

The words are meant to trigger him, and do.

"Oh, fuck, yes, please." the hips buck again lifting him higher on his toes for a moment, his balls jouncing as if in emphasis. "Let me take it up the ass and spurt for you in homage. Please, I'll do it the way you want. I need to do it. Please."

But they also trigger something in me; a rush of pleasure at my own shamelessness, dropping the pretense of pretending, a flush of heat from my belly down through my cunt at the sight of those young balls jouncing as he ritually fucks me with that upthrust cock; I want this from him, just the way I said it.

"Go on then." I say.

"Yes, my Empress, thank you." it is almost a whimper, his hips jerking again in excitement as his hand sweeps in to grip his cock and,

"Slowly." I caution again, afraid he'll ejaculate immediately, he is just so tightly wound. But I needn't have worried.

"Yes, my Empress, yes." He shudders at the touch of his own hand, but complies with my instructions, gripping his cock lightly, his thumb behind the shaft, and, as he did in the chair, using only one fingers to sweep slowly up and down in front, keeping the friction as light as needed to keep the come in his balls because, "I stroke my cock for your pleasure and amusement my Empress. How ever you want it, slowly for you to enjoy. Thank you for letting me try to please you this way. I want to please you. It has to be you."

I can tell he's talking to himself as much as me, using the words to keep the body on task, restrain the urge to come for the greater pleasure of performing to my satisfaction. Even though it is a small matter in the scheme of the larger world, it seems a glorious thing to have my wants so elevated and prioritized by a man above his own visceral needs.

"Holy fuck." Diane sighs softly from beside me. "You drew the ace, girl, first try."

Yes; princess for an hour is better than never.

It's almost too pretty to watch; how his breath catches and he shudders trying to restrain the urge even as that softly stroking hand and his Empress' gaze swell his upturned balls to bursting. Too pretty to last.

"Now." I say softly.

The staff woman steps up beside him, slips that gloved hand up from behind and,

"Yes." His body jerks as he gasps with the upthrust of her fingers, then freezes. "Yes." he bucks and his long pent semen leaps in a first arcing rope from the head of his cock.

His hand falls away from the shaft, leaving his penis to dance freely as another thrust up his ass ejects a second, larger spurt.

"Yes, make me come for my Empress. Make me . . ." another thrust sends another spurt upward to drape back onto the flexing shaft, "come for my Empress." he continues to plead even as his prayer is granted.

The staff woman is laughing softly as she playfully times her next thrusts to match the spasms of his cock, like she's ejecting the last three or four lesser spurts with the plunge of her fingers.

"Jesus fucking Christ." I whisper to that damned fool woman who came here to 'objectively observe and report.' I feel my own body shudder with that last plaintive jerk of his hips as the staff woman pulls out of him, the pulsing cock still bobbing as the last burbles of come cling for a moment, then slip from the head down the shaft.

There's no way to get this in a blog.