I had closed my eyes to try to think of other things, to try to get my mind off of the multiple points of pain being inflicted on my body by the clamps that had been set in place. How much time passed, I didn't know, but I opened my eyes to find the room empty and to the surprisingly abrupt realization that my bladder was full. I had not pissed since the coffee at breakfast and the drugged water in the limo. The realization was building that if I could not get to a bathroom soon, I would just need to let lose. I was vacillating between focusing on the pain from the clamps and the discomfort from the pressure in my bladder when I heard the quiet shuffle of feet, and the men reentered the room. They had left their form fitting black leather shirts and leather pants behind, and now wore only masks, these hoods different than the ones they had worn earlier---a type of shimmering black cloth, but still tight fitting and covering hair, ears, forehead, cheekbones and nose. Mouths and chins were exposed. Eye slits allowed for vision, and what a vision these men were! Their rugged handsomeness made me temporarily forget any pain or discomfort. As they once again surrounded the table on which I was tied, the tanned and toned hairy skin, the muscles which gave such definition to chests, arms and legs took my breath away.
That lovely distraction was only temporary. No sooner had they encircled the table than, one man at a time, they began to randomly remove one clamp at a time. I wouldn't have guessed, but quickly became fully aware, that any pain I had experienced when the clamps were attached to my body was minimal compared to what I experienced as each one was removed and the blood flow returned to those points on my body. The pain was exponentially greater. As much as I was able, I writhed from side to side. The clamps were finally all removed. I was shocked when a warm shower further augmented the pain at each clamp site. Only as an aftershock did I realize that each of the stunning men around the table was holding his penis in his hand and directing a strong flow of body temperature piss all over me. I could hold back no longer, and with a grimace let my own urine flow. That relief, along with the smiles I noticed on the faces of the men surrounding me, mitigated somewhat the continuing pain from the removed clamps.
Movement caught my attention as each man reached below the table and withdrew a small bowl. Holding the bowl in one hand, each man reached into it with his other hand and scooped out some aromatic gel. They spread that gel all over my body, from the hair on my head to my arm pits, to my chest, to my groin and crotch to my legs and feet. The sensuality of hands rubbing the gel all over my body provided me with a huge erection and helped to soothe away the remnants of pain from the clamps. As the gel was rubbed onto my skin, the residual wetness from the piss helped to form a soapy covering all over my body. Again with the reach below the table, each man replaced his bowl and withdrew a straight razor. Panic set in, followed by humiliation as every hair on the front and sides of my body was shaved. I cried in embarrassment and frustration as the men removed a symbol of my masculinity, paying special attention to every crevice around my cock and balls. Even as I wept, unable to stop what was happening to me, my dick had a mind of its own and stood painfully erect in response to the attention it was receiving.
A shower from somewhere above, this time of warm water, rinsed away residual gel, soap and hair. The men moved to the corners of the table and began to undo the restraints that held my wrists and ankles in place. I tensed my muscles, thinking for a second I might be able to escape, but realized rather quickly that I stood no chance against these six men, and where would I run to? I didn't know where my clothes were. I didn't know how to get out of the building. So when the restraints were removed, I allowed the men who held my extremities tightly to turn me onto my stomach and reattach the restraints to my ankles and wrists.
The process repeated itself: The gel, the razors, the shaving--with particular attention to the rest of the hair on my head and to the hair on and around my ass, and finally the cleansing rinse of warm water. I was sure that I had been left without a hair on my body.
From the place at the end of the table just beyond my head, a deep voice again began to chant and was joined in response by other voices from around the table. When the chanting stopped, the voice at the head of the table began to speak.
"You have experienced the pain of coming into a new world. Like a hairless infant, you are now made anew." There was a long pause. "Mr. Jones, do you know the story of Alexander the Great and his best friend and lover Hephaestion?"
I answered with a simple, "Yes."
"We who surround this table are part of an elite society that has, for more than 2200 years, continued to celebrate the code of honor, passion, commitment and bravery that was shared by those two men. On each of Earth's inhabited continents there is a group of seven men who work to make the love which can exist between like-minded men a key element of their individual and collective success, who work to defend men who are unjustly treated because of their love for each other. Each man in each group wears a lambda on his body as an identifying sign. Each man in each group comes to love the other men in his group and makes his body available to each of the others to use as they will.
"One's heritage, one's genealogy, traceable to certain well-established and historically significant Balkan family lines is a major factor in determining who ultimately is invited to join with us. Emotional, mental, physical love of men is also vitally important. Business acumen plays a role as well.
"Each group is financially very sound. We have had wealthy members who have left large amounts of money to us as part of their estates. Others who have been helped by us have shown their appreciation by means of financial rewards. Each of us works because we wish to work, not because we need to do so. Beyond earning his own salary, each member is granted an annual stipend far in excess of monies required to conduct work in support of those who need our help.
"Our North American group has lost a member. Our seventh brother died six months ago. Your background, Mr. Jones, has been investigated more than you know. You meet our qualifications and have been chosen to fill that place if you so choose. If you choose to become one with us, you will become caretaker of the one block row of seven 19th century brownstone homes. You are in the sub-basement of one of those homes now. Each of us is a caretaker of properties owned collectively by our group. You may conduct your computer graphics and design business from this building. Funds to pay for the maintenance of all buildings and to pay for governmental taxes are provided from our group accounts.
"We realize that you have already been marked. We will give you one hour to think, to consider, to determine your course of action. It is no small decision we ask you to make. If you choose not to accept this unique position, we will provide treatment with a skilled regression therapist whose use of hypnotism will help you to forget what you experienced at home and what you have heard and experienced here. Before that therapy, we will have your lambda scar removed by a brilliant plastic surgeon. You will have no visual or mental memory of what you have been through if you choose to take the path to forgetfulness. Your personal possessions have already been gathered from the Crowne Plaza. Everything is here in this building. If you decide against joining with us, you will--after treatment--be taken to the airport for the return flight to your home. You have many questions. We understand. These questions will be answered in time if you decide to join in our cause. You have one hour."
The implications and opportunities inherent in the decision I was being called upon to make were mind-boggling. Why should I want to give up the comfortable life I had? Did "comfortable" mean basically dull and boring? Why should I commit to joining this group of men before I had verification of what I had already been told and before I had answers to many more questions? What if I joined them and then later changed my mind?
When faced with a difficult decision, I always tried to make lists of pros and cons. Restrained as I was, I was in no position to make a literal written list, so I weighed the pluses and minuses mentally. I concluded that IF everything I had been told so far was legitimate, then opportunities to assist others, opportunities to build personal relationships and opportunities to increase personal wealth would all be enhanced if I made the move to Chicago. My mind was still churning when the six men again entered the room and surrounded the table.
"Your decision, Mr. Jones."
"I accept you offer." Having uttered those four simple words, I had only the slightest idea how radically my life would change.
I was unbound, and just as I breathed a sigh of relief thinking that any ritual abuse was over, I was turned again onto my back, and my wrists were refastened. Legs, while spread, were not secured. As a wedge shaped section of the table on which I was spread was detached and rolled away from between my legs, a cushion was placed under my head. I now had a far better view of the men surrounding the table and of the room itself. Each man wore only the cloth hood, and each body was an exceptionally fine example of masculine form, well-muscled, all with hirsute chests, arms and legs--some hair black, some brown, some red, some gray. Their hairy bodies stood in sharp contrast to my complete lack of hair. As I glanced down the length of my body, I realized that each man was stroking his own erection, and the endowments on these men were considerable.
The man who stood at the base of the table and closest to my feet moved into the area where the wedge had been removed from the table. While still stroking his erect penis with one hand, he reach beneath the table with the other hand. One man on each side of the table each grasped one of my calves and pulled my knees toward my chest. I knew where this was headed. The man standing between my legs applied a lubricating salve to my asshole, inserting first one finger, then two and three, opening me and preparing me for what was to come. He then stepped close, and there was no easing in. With a sudden shove, his pubic hair brushed my ass. The suddenness of the invasion shocked me and I grunted aloud, even as he began to buck powerfully against me. The pounding my prostate was taking had my hairless dick standing at full attention and leaking precum which was pooling on my stomach. My fucker began to sweat and his muscles tensed as he approached his climax. The tempo of
his vo ice matched his pistoning hip movements as he said, "We claim you as our own," just before he shot jet after jet of warm cum into my receptive ass. With adjustments to the table to meet each man's height, this scene was repeated five more times, and five more times the statement, "We claim you as our own," was heard in the room. I was sure I was going to shoot as my ass was rammed again and again, but whenever I would come close, one of the men would reach out and squeeze the head of my dick, temporarily relieving the need to ejaculate.
I was imagining the amount of cum in my rectum when I noticed the one man who remained between my legs applying something to his hand and forearm. I hoped I was not about to experience something that had existed only in my realm of fantasy. My asshole had not totally closed from the six-fold fucking I had just received, so when this man brought his pressed together four fingers and thumb to my hole and started to tease that entrance, I breathed a temporary sigh of relief. Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as I was anticipating. Part way in and then out. In an inch or two and then out. In again and twist. The pairs of men to my right and left and the one at the head end of the table took long feathers from under the table and began to very lightly tease any area of expose skin--face, neck, ears, sides, chest, stomach, dick, ass cheeks, thighs, shins, feet. That exquisite torture temporarily took my mind away from what was happening to my asshole. The hand had moved in to
its w idest point. I could identify by feel the large knuckles on top of the hand, and my hole was stretched beyond what I would have thought possible. With one slick and swift move, the hand was inside of me and immediately formed a fist. I yelled out loud as I felt my sphincter clamp around the wrist. I was not in pain, but rather in shock because nothing that large had ever been in my ass. I relaxed into the fullness as the feathers continued to work their magic. The fist began to move, and the pressure as it slid past my prostate was incredibly intense. I was certain I was going to ejaculate, but again, one of the men squeezed the head of my dick and the urge passed. As the fist continued to make its slow progress into my bowel, the feelings were of fullness and of positive sensuality along with occasional twinges of pain. What had existed only in my fantasy world was now a reality--a reality I would be willing to revisit. After a bit of twisting and gently punching, the forearm slowed retracted. When the fist left my asshole gaping, I was amazed at how much I missed the feeling of fullness and completeness that I had just experienced.
The man who had just fisted me cleaned his hand and arm. When he was finished, he began to caress my balls, leaving me sighing in bliss. The caressing soon moved on to stroking, and from stroking to feeling and manipulating. He then encircled the scrotum with his hand and pulled the balls downward, tightly trapping them with one hand. He placed the palm of his other hand beneath the balls and, pressing up, began to rub that hand and the entrapped balls in circles. Painful. I reacted by starting to move my legs about, so that they were once again restrained. My ball torturer then took a circular metal band and snapped it into place around the scrotum. The group of men moved clockwise around the table. The next man between my legs got down on his knees and engulfed in his mouth first one and then both balls. He tongued, bit and chewed and left me gasping in pain. Before he left, he added another circular metal band around my scrotum. Again, the clockwise move. Each successive man squeezed, tapped, flicked, smacked, sucked my balls and added a continuing series of metal bands. My scrotum was stretched beyond what I would have thought possible and I was in pain almost to the point of nausea.
"We will leave you to recover for a short time. When we return, we will release you. There is one further element of the induction." With that the six men left the room. Restrained as I was, I tried to breath deeply and focus on some of the questions I still had rather than on the pain which still radiated from my testicles.
The men returned quietly, carrying moist warm towels. The ball stretchers were removed, I was released from the restraints and helped to stand. Each of the six men proceeded to gently and lovingly wipe every part of my body with the towels. By the time they had finished, they and I were all fully erect. We moved to the head of the table where a small golden bowl rested on a richly carved and intricately inlaid short stand. The lip of the bowl was positioned at mid-thigh. As if of one mind, the six men began to masturbate over the bowl. Without needing to be told to do so, I joined them. Because they had fucked me, the six were slower to come than was I. My orgasm, when it happened, was the most explosive, mind blowing sexual experience I had ever had. Rope after rope after rope after rope of cum jetted into the bowl. The others soon followed. Our collected essence filled the bottom of the bowl. One of the men took what had been an unnoticed long-handled golden spoon from somewhere on the stand and stirred the contents of the bowl. The man to my left went first. Without being told to do so, he lifted the bowl to his mouth, sipped the contents, and replaced the bowl on the stand with the words, "We are one," and with that, he removed his hood. The second man repeated the process and the words, and when he removed his hood, I was delighted to see Jarod. The third and fourth men sipped and spoke. The fifth, when he removed his hood, turned out to be a Canadian member of the board of directors to which I had given my presentation. The sixth man was the biggest surprise, for when he had spoken and removed his hood, there stood Ben, the state trooper. I would later learn that because of certain areas of professional expertise, he was on loan from the California state police force, and would soon be returning there. The stories about previous marriages were bogus. His presence left little doubt as to who at least one of my first unexpected visitors had been.
It was my turn. I lifted the bowl, placed it to my lips, tipped it and drained it. Placing it back on the stand, I said, "We are one." And so we were.