I drove home with questions swirling in a mental fog. What did "SOON" mean? Was I to anticipate (dread? hope for? fear?) more of the same treatment I had received? Who was behind this? Was it someone I knew? If this was a stranger and he wanted to get to know me, why not a simple "Hello," and a handshake? Why the power play? I arrived not even remembering the drive.
Trying to get down to work was a joke, and sleep was next to impossible. Whether trying to work in the office or trying to doze off in the bedroom or on the couch, even the smallest noise caused me to jump, sure that "SOON" was now. Within three days my nerves were worn raw, and I was constantly on edge. It wasn't just a mental edginess or emotional rawness. It was physical, too. Very physical. When I was finally able to concentrate on my work for a time, I would be disrupted by ghostly memories --- the feel of the knife point's caress, the long, hard dick invading my ass, the warm piss cascading off my body. More than once I needed to lean back in my chair and stroke my aching cock until the sexual tension was relieved.
The plane tickets for Chicago arrived along with reservation information for the Crowne Plaze Hotel and an assurance that a chauffeur would meet me at the flight gate at O'Hare and escort me by limo to the Hotel. The professional need to whip my presentations into shape for the commodities trading firm finally trumped the "SOON" card, and I was able to do some high quality work in the final week before the trip.
Except for a handsome flight attendant who would likely have been willing to make my flight even more comfortable, the trip was uneventful. As I disembarked at the airport gate, there was a crowd of people waiting to greet passengers. I scanned the gathering to see if there was a sign containing my name. I saw no sign, but what I did see stopped me in my tracks. He was stunning. He was easily six feet two inches tall, probably weighed in at 210 pounds without an ounce of fat, had--I'm guessing--a 30 inch waist, 42 inch chest, and thighs that appeared to have been poured into his black chinos. An angular face was accented with high cheek bones, a strong jaw line, a black mustache, and steel blue eyes. He was wearing a black leather cap, and black leather vest over a light weight cream colored short sleeved linen shirt with the first two buttons opened, exposing hairy arms and chest. I was not subtle in the way my eyes took in his face and body. Only when my eyes focused on the eyes staring back at me did I notice the sign that he had raised containing my name, Jake Jones. Trying to ignore the hot blush that I knew was apparent on my face, I forced my feet to move toward this man, extended my hand and introduced myself.
"I am happy to meet you, sir," a deep resonant voice responded. And then, still engulfing in his own larger hand the hand I had offered and looking directly into my eyes, "Please, call me Jarod. Let's collect your luggage and get you to the Crowne Plaza."
The drive to the Crowne Plaza in late afternoon traffic was slow. I was very happy to just sit back and relax, occasionally catching Jarod's eyes as he glanced into the rear view mirror. My mind kept flitting back and forth between fantasies about Jarod and the far more real prospect of tomorrow's presentations.
The hotel room was spacious and provided a wonderful view of the city. After unpacking a few things and placing personal toiletries in the bathroom, it was past 6:00 PM. Encountering Jarod had really thrown my hormones into overdrive. I briefly considered a trip to Steamworks, a Chicago bathhouse I had visited a few times before, but the head on my shoulders prevailed over the head in my pants. I decided to have an early dinner, review the materials for tomorrow's presentations, and get to bed at a reasonable hour.
I left the Crowne Plaza and walked several blocks to a favorite Thai restaurant. Eating alone never bothered me, but I couldn't help imagining Jarod sitting across the table from me. The quality of the food and my active imagination made for an enjoyable meal. On the walk back to the Hotel I was casually taking in the sights of the city when a huge blinking sign on the side of a building made me stop cold. "Coming Soon..." flashed on and off, on and off. I hadn't thought of the card left on my car's windshield for the past week. Here, in the middle of Chicago, was an in-my-face reminder of that cryptic message. Well, "SOON" obviously hadn't meant within the more than two weeks since I had received the card containing the message, and while it had worried me intensely when I had found the envelope and for a few days after, I could not let that worry take hold of me again now, not in Chicago, not with so much riding on the morning's presentations in terms of income. I returned to my room, took a shower, and nursed a double bourbon and water as I went over the materials for the next morning's meeting.
I slept surprisingly well and woke refreshed but mentally in full business mode. I ordered a simple breakfast of tea, whole grain toast and jam from room service, and--as arranged--was in front of the hotel to meet the limo at 8:45. The presentation was scheduled for 9:30, and the drive to the commodities trading firm was not far. I would use the remaining time to set up my power point and mock-ups in the company's board room. I was surprised to be recognized by a female limo driver as she emerged from the car and deftly helped me into the car with my materials. She introduced herself as Shannon. To say I was disappointed by Jarod's absence would be an understatement, but decided that it would be inappropriate to ask Shannon about him.
The session with the board of directors went better than I could have hoped. The assembled group was enthusiastic about the approaches I presented, seeing both ad campaigns as having real potential in differing markets. I left the building feeling elated by the morning's successes, and the day quickly got even better. The limo was waiting for me, and standing beside the car was Jarod. He still wore the black leather cap and black leather vest, but the linen shirt had been replaced by a black silk tee-shirt that hugged his torso like a second skin. The black chinos had been replaced by black leather pants which left little to the imagination, and his black biker boots had been shined to a high gloss finish.
I might have even gushed a bit as I crossed the sidewalk saying, "Jarod! It's so good to see you," placing my hand on his very solid upper arm.
"Hello, Mr. Jones. It's a pleasure to see you as well. I am sorry that I couldn't meet you at the Crowne Plaza this morning. I had a few matters to attend to."
"No problem. Shannon was certainly competent."
"Since your return flight is not until tomorrow, the car has been placed at your disposal until you leave Chicago. Is there anywhere you would like to go, anything you would like to do?"
I allowed that question to hang in the air while I mentally censored my possible responses. I placed my presentation materials in the limo and then stood up to remove my suit coat. As I began to slide out of the coat, Jarod was right there to assist. I thanked him and said, "No. Let's just drive for a while. Show me Chicago."
"As you wish, sir," as he handed the coat to me and closed the car door.
I watched the scenery flow by and allowed my mind to wander--to Jarod, to the successes of the morning, to how I might spend the next twenty-four hours before leaving this city. I opened the mini-frig and pulled out a bottle of chilled water. I drank about a third of the bottle and caught Jarod's eyes in the rear view mirror. Felt warm. Felt hot. Was perspiring. Was aware that my cock was standing at full attention. I asked Jarod if the air conditioner was working. He assured me it was but said he would turn it up. I downed the rest of the bottle of water and reached across the seat and into my suit coat pocket to find a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from my face. I found the handkerchief, but there was something else. An envelope. Despite the water, my throat went dry. I was continuing to sweat, and the inside of the limo was spinning. I tore open the sealed flap, and read "NOW," followed by the lambda. Then I lost consciousness.
I opened my eyes and realized I was still in the limo, and it was still moving, slowly rolling down a tree-lined street of 19th century brownstone townhouses. Mentally and physically I was wrapped in a floating fog. Muscles would not have responded to a brain command even if I had been able to think to move. The car slowed to a stop, and again blackness. I came to briefly as Jarod hoisted me up the steps of one of the brownstones, right arm around my waist and left hand holding the wrist of my arm that was thrown across his shoulders. I woke again with a lurch in my stomach as a mahogany paneled elevator cage began to descend.
The contents of a syringe jabbed into my thigh counteracted the effects of whatever I had drunk from that water bottle. As my head cleared, I found myself naked on my back, spread eagled with my wrists and ankles secured to the corners of what appeared to be a large rectangular stone slab. A thin layer of rubber padding made my position only marginally more comfortable than I would have been without it. The only bright source of light was directly above me. I seemed to be alone in a circular room. To the extent that I was able, I looked left and right and noticed a raised tier that appeared to extend around the room's circumference. There was a subdued soft light at the back edge of the tier. It provided just enough illumination to highlight the elaborate chairs, thrones almost, which seemed to be made of burgundy leather and a highly polished and intricately carved black wood. I could see six chairs. Guessing from their positioning and spacing, I expected there were one or two additional chairs beyond the head end of the stone slab where I could not turn my head to see them.
This scene was beyond strange. Where was I and why was I here? More questions came to mind, but my thoughts were interrupted by the processional entrance of six men. They entered silently, one behind the other. I was at first startled by their entrance, and then both frightened and fascinated by their appearance. Each man's head was covered by a leather mask with carefully tailored slots for his eyes. Even the front and sides of the nose were covered, but not the mouth or chin. The head covering was melded to the neck of a form-fitted and sleeveless black leather shirt. The bottom of each tapered shirt ended an inch or two above the pants--if these could accurately be described as pants. Again, black leather, again form-fitting the calves and thighs, but the ass was not covered, nor was the crotch. As I watched the men circle me, I saw on each man's right ass cheek a defining scar, a Greek lambda.
After circling my table, if it could accurately be called such, each man mounted the raised tier around the room's circumference and stood in front of one of the chairs. As one, they began to chant in a language I could not identify. When the chanting suddenly ceased, I was not aware that one of the men standing on the tier at the head end of the table had stepped down and stood near me. He spoke alone and held up a thick candle with a burning wick. I did not understand the words, but he slowly began to circle the table, stopping and tilting the candle as he walked. The first drops of burning liquid wax on my left nipple got my attention like no words could have done. I grimaced and pulled against my restraints to no avail. As he circled the table, he allowed the hot wax to trail down my left side, down my left thigh and left foot and then up the opposite side of my body. He stopped on my right side, lifted my limp penis, and seemed to pay special attention to the molten wax that he dripped onto my scrotum. His task culminated with wax on my right nipple, after which he returned to the head of the table and blew out the candle and then returned to his seat. Just as I though I could again breathe after the shock of the burning wax, I watched each man pick up something from his chair and step down to surround me, one at my head, one at my feet, and two on each side.
Before I could identify what each man held in his hand, I noticed the semi-erect or erect penis that stood out in front of each man. My cock began to respond to what I was witnessing, but then--as if on signal--each man raised the riding crop he carried in his hand and extended it to my body. The one at my head reached my shoulders and pectoral muscles. The two at each side covered abdomen, groin and upper thighs, while the remaining one touched lower thighs, shins and feet. Together, as one, they began to tease, to gently tap with the ends of the leather bound riding crops. Every cock in the room, including mine, was now fully erect. I had never been stimulated in so many places on my body at the same time. The effect was at once wonderfully erotic yet the sensory overload made it difficult to bear. Even as my mind sidestepped the happenings in this room and began to question what the hell was going on, the gentle rhythmic tapping with each crop touching some part of my body at the same instant changed. What had been gentle now intensified. Instead of the crops connecting with my body at the same time, the connections ran round the table clockwise and then counter clockwise. The strikes were just on the edge of becoming uncomfortable when they became rhythmically random and again jumped in intensity. Now there was a definite sound when crop struck flesh, and I flinched at each contact. My tension increased because I couldn't anticipate where I would next be hit. There was no time to recover from the pain of a strike before the next riding crop's impact was felt on my body. The men were beginning to sweat from their exertion. My moans were close to erupting into screams when, with no overt signal, each crop was withdrawn. Each man silently turned and strode to his seat.
I noticed that the riding crops had dislodged much of the wax from my body and, strangely enough, felt relieved by that. The tension in my body just started to ease and questions were again flooding into my mind when three of the men again approached the table. One carried an ornately carved box. He stood at the base of the table between my spread legs with one of the men to his right, the other to his left. The man to each side reached into the box and withdrew a handful of something. I raised my head as much as possible to try to see what they held. Only as they began to attach what they held to the webbing between each of my toes did I quickly realize that these were alligator clamps and the bite of each clamp was strong! In tandem the two men continued to apply clamps to the inside of each thigh, beginning just above each knee and continuing to move up each thigh to the soft thigh skin on each side of the scrotum. They paid special attention to my dick, as clamp after clamp was lined up on top of, below and on each side of my penis, and a line of clamps was attached to the ball sack and to the perineum skin back to my asshole. Again---sensory overload. The shock of the addition of each new clamp was welcome only in that it helped in allowing me, at least temporarily, to forget the clamps already in place. The clamp placement was not yet complete. The men continued to place clamps along the sides of my torso and into the skin of my armpits. They paid special attention to my nipples and ears. Before returning to their seats, the two men who had attached the clamps went back to where they had started and methodically worked their way to each clamp, flicking it with a snap of a forefinger leaving much of my body throbbing from the bite of these attachments. The men returned to their seats. I raised my head as far as I could and glanced at the clamps on my chest. The teeth in each clamp were metal, but the metal teeth were set into beautifully crafted green (jade?) or off white (ivory?) settings. Beyond the clamps on my chest, I was surprised to see my straining cock with its multiple attachments. Despite the fact (or perhaps because of the fact) that at least sixty points on my body were responding to the clamps with waves of pain, part of my body seemed to be enjoying what was going on. Yet even as I groaned, I again wondered what the hell WAS going on.