A Naed Day Eeps Getting Worse

A NAKED DAY KEEPS GETTING WORSE

Part Two

A computer geek is humiliated by his co-workers

by G. Lawrence

Stories on Literotica may have multiple categories. This story could easily fall into Humor & Satire, for none of it is to be taken seriously. It's an absurdist romp. Nonconsent/Reluctance is also not a stretch. I don't think it goes far enough for BDSM despite the bondage and handcuffs. But I prefer Exhibitionist & Voyeur as my default category. Please note that none of the events in this story really happened. It's a fantasy. This story has mild sex and a lot of nudity. All of the characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

After Megan had taken advantage of Terry in the locker room, he wanted to return to the privacy of his 8th floor office. It wasn't meant to be. Still naked and handcuffed, Terry was taken in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, he and George were outside the employee breakroom.

"Okay, no one is here yet. Sit in the chair at the head of the table. No one will realize you're naked sitting down," George said.

"That's ridiculous. Of course they will," Terry protested as he was pushed forward.

"Not in your stories. Sitting at a table always hides everything. Until something unfortunate happens."

"Won't they find it strange that I have no shirt and that I'm keeping my arms behind my back?" Terry sarcastically remarked.

"Invent a good story. Say you have a painful sunburn. You are kind of red from loitering on the roof all morning."

"Loitering! You locked me up there! For people in the other buildings to photograph!"

"They would need telephoto lenses to get good shots. We should check the internet," George suggested.

"The internet? You goddamn--" Terry whined.

Footsteps approached. Terry ran for the head of the table on the far side of the room, plopping down in the nick of time. Phyllis and half a dozen ladies from the secretarial pool arrived, pulling food from the cabinets and refrigerator.

"Happy birthday, Terry," Phyllis said. "We made a cake for you, with candles."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hawkins," Terry shakily replied.

"We're all just friends today. Call me Philly," Phyllis insisted. "My husband calls me Philly because he says I sometimes act like a randy filly in heat. Speaking of which, when is the last time you got laid?"

"Mrs. Hawkins ... Philly, that is a very personal question," Terry protested.

"If you hung out with us more often, I wouldn't have to ask. We'd all know," Phyllis replied. "Isn't that right, girls?"

"Yes," young Emma Kellerman agreed with flashing blue eyes. "Terry, we need to see more of you."

More co-workers appeared, including Megan, bringing the number in the room up to twenty women and a few men. Terry knew most of them by name, having more interaction with some than others. After sandwiches and salads were served for lunch, Phyllis brought out the cake. Terry's lunch was drinking coke through the straw that George had kindly provided.

"Terry, tell us again," Megan said with a pixyish grin. "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

Terry gazed at her, seeing the mocking expression, and suddenly realized she had no intention of helping him. Megan was in cahoots with George! Oh, my god, he thought. How many more know about this?

Phyllis put the beautiful chocolate cake before Terry and lit twenty-six candles. The assembly sang Happy Birthday with joyful enthusiasm. Some of the ladies waved party streamers. It was all very festive. Terry didn't like the direction things were going, unnerved by the constant smirking of George and Megan.

Once the candles were lit, Phyllis moved the cake where Terry could lean over and blow them out. "Make a wish," Phyllis said.

Terry knew the wish he wanted. He straightened up to blow out the candles, but suddenly, Phyllis moved the cake back several inches. He leaned forward farther, trying not to reveal himself. She smiled at him and moved the cake away several more inches. Now Terry would need to stand up to blow out the candles. He looked into Phyllis' eyes and realized that she knew. Her laughing expression confirmed his guess.

"Come on, Terry, make a wish and blow out the candles," Phyllis urged.

"Blow them! Blow them! Blow them!" his co-workers chanted.

Terry tried to get closer to the cake without embarrassing himself, lifting his butt from the seat and stretching. His posture inspired a wave of curious remarks. And then Terry felt movement behind him. George had taken the chair out from underneath him!

Now Terry felt ridiculous, hunched over with his chest on the table, George and Megan standing behind him enjoying the view. Megan couldn't resist slapping his ass.

"Okay, fine, I'm naked and in handcuffs," Terry said, straightening up. "Are you happy now? How long have you known?"

"We got the text from George about nine o'clock this morning," Emma said. "The whole floor knows. He's been sending pictures." Emma held up her phone, showing Terry on the roof after the spring rain, his nude body dripping wet. Everyone laughed uproariously. Terry wasn't feeling good about this.

"You know, he looks good without his clothes," Marge Lieberman said. "Maybe this could become a regular thing?"

"That's not a bad cock. No shame there," Emma added.

"Let's get a better look at his ass," one of the gay guys said.

"Dream on. Annie has her eye on this one," Megan replied.

"So, what happens now?" Terry asked. "You stand me up on the table and make me sing a song?"

"Of course not," George replied. "We're saving that for the tavern after work. For now, we need to take you to Mr. Smithers. The boss wants to know why you're running through the halls of his company naked."

"I could say I've been tricked, kidnapped, and humiliated by my co-workers," Terry warned.

"You could, but twenty other people here can say this was all your idea, and then we'd show him the stories on your computer," George said. "So, let's not litigate the issue and just have fun. Believe it or not, we're doing this for you."

"That's true," Megan agreed.

"Yes," several observers mumbled. Everyone nodded. Terry read their faces and guessed it was true. Or, at least, they believed it was true. He'd only seen his own perspective, not theirs.

"Friends, it's my birthday, and I am at your mercy," Terry said more light-heartedly than anyone expected. "I only ask that you be kind to me, if you can."

"And if we can't be kind?" Megan menacingly asked, pressing at his side.

"Mistress, if you wish to tie me to this table and ride my manhood while everyone else watches, there is nothing I can do to stop you. All know you are a hot-blooded wench thirsting for a proper fuck," Terry responded. Megan stepped away, her eyebrows shooting up.

"I can't believe you just said that to me," she exclaimed red-faced. Her co-workers laughed.

"Rest assured this slave will be punished for such insolence, madame," George said. "He is our prisoner and subject to our will. But first, we need to see Mr. Smithers."

As George led Terry to the door, Phyllis stopped them. "No slave is complete without a collar and a leash to guide them," she said. She strapped a black leather collar around Terry's neck and clipped on a nylon leash. At first, she started to hand the leash to George, and then thought better of it, giving the leash to Megan instead.

"Take care of our slave," Phyllis said. "We need him back for the zoom conference at 3 o'clock."

No, Terry thought. No, no, this is going too far. He didn't want the company directors seeing him, too.

* * * * * *

Mr. Worthington Smithers had a huge office overlooking Broadway decorated with nautical flags, fancying himself a sailor. Though none of the photographs on his walls pictured him on a boat. Now 65-years old, tall and gray, he stayed detached from everyday business, having confidence in his excellent staff. He liked reading online erotic stories and looking at bondage videos. He glanced up when Terry, George, and Megan entered.

"Don't sit. You won't be here long enough," Smithers said, rising from his cluttered desk. "What's this about Terry running around naked in my halls? And these stories about him wanting to be whipped and tortured? Hell, Terry, you're our IT guy, isn't that torture enough already?'

"Sir, I--" Terry started to explain.

"Well, I don't want to spoil your game. You've done a hell of a job here. A hell of a job. If you want to spend a day being whipped and tortured, far be it from me to stop you."

"Sir, if you could--" Terry tried to interrupt.

"Megan, George, are you in charge of this torturing? Looks like he has the right outfit for it. Okay, go ahead and torture the hell out of him. Give him something to cry about. If you need a good whip, let me know. But be sure he's back at his desk Monday morning. Can't have him missing work. Now get out."

"Thank you, sir," Megan and George said, backing away. Terry wasn't feeling thankful.

As Megan began to lead Terry out of the office on the leash, Smithers spoke up again. "Oh, George, he's got a nice tight butt. Don't leave him alone with the gay employees unless that's what he wants."

"Is that what you want?" George impishly whispered to Terry in the hall.

"It's not at the top of my list," Terry answered.

"It might be worth trying. To see if you like it," George pushed. "It happens in those stories you write all the time. We can get all the lube you need."

Terry noticed the grin on Megan's face, but he suspected they were kidding. At least, he hoped so.

With time to kill, Terry was taken to the photo department on the 6th floor. Using the elevator with three surprised visitors. Devon Piler was on duty playing with his new high-definition 3-D camera. He jumped up, surprised when Terry entered naked and handcuffed with Megan and George.

"We're making a photo album," George said. "Terry wants something for his fan club."

"Fan club?" Devon inquired.

"He's an online erotic author," George explained. "He writes the Prisoner of Zenda stories."

"Really? Prisoner of Zenda? What a freak," Devon said, causing Terry to shrink back in embarrassment. "I've got the perfect program. We shoot him naked from every possible angle and use overlays to put him in degrading situations. Chains. Stocks. Public whipping. Paraded through the streets. Being burned naked at the stake while a merciless crowd shouts for his blood. The fans will go crazy."

Terry got a jolt to his loins, hoping none of the others would notice. It sounded so hot. It worried him that he was getting used to this, not nearly so ashamed as he should be.

The photoshoot lasted an hour. Terry was shot standing, kneeling, curled up, and lying flat. Front and back. Sometimes he protested, but not strongly. He was having a good time. But he didn't want his captors to catch wise and take it as license to escalate the situation. And at the same time, he was hoping they would. Much of the day was unfolding like his favorite stories.

"So, are we leaving Prisoner of Zenda's porno photos anonymous, or tagging Terry?" Devon asked.

"Tagging? Don't tag those pictures! No one knows I'm Prisoner of Zenda!" Terry objected.

"It's a secret? Gosh, Terry, I didn't know," Devon apologized. "I messaged my nieces and they put you up on Tik Tok half an hour ago. It already has 10,000 hits."

Terry sunk back into a chair. He couldn't quite grasp what it all meant.

* * * * * *

At 3 o'clock, it was time for the conference call. Instead of being taken back to his office for the zoom, Terry was led to the secretarial bullpen where the clerks and assistants performed their many duties. There were twenty desks set in rows with cubicles along the walls. Broad windows allowed the large work area plenty of light.

"Emma is generously letting you use her desk," George said, seating Terry in the swivel seat with his handcuffed arms wrapped over the back support. It kept Terry trapped, making it hard to lean forward. An open laptop was being prepped for the conference call, two dozen important department heads from around the country.

"Your tech work here has been so good that Mr. Smithers feels you should offer advice if the other subsidiaries need it," George mentioned.

"It's nice to be so well thought of," Terry groaned, seeing all other work had come to a halt. Thirty co-workers, mostly women, were standing around watching. George was kneeling to one side, off-camera, with Megan on the other side, making sure Terry couldn't slide the chair in either direction.

The zoom activated. Small squares showed the faces of middle-aged and older executives ready for a serious discussion. Terry was visible, too, a shirtless young man. None of his co-workers appeared in the background.

"Thank you everyone for attending," Homer Bedlow, the senior vice-president said. "We expect this meeting to last forty-five minutes. We have a new attendee, Mr. Terry Holiday. Terry has cleaned up the chronic tech issues at our Seattle headquarters and is available for consultation. Welcome aboard, Terry."

"Thank you, sir," Terry replied.

"No shirt today? Somewhat informal, don't you think?" Bedlow asked.

"Got a bad sunburn, sir. Doctor's orders say no shirt for a few days," Terry lied, hoping to sound sincere.

"Well, son, be careful," Bedlow said. "It must be hard getting sunburned in Seattle in April." Several on the zoom laughed, and they got down to business.

Terry was trying to pay attention, but something was moving below him. He glanced down to see Emma, on her hands and knees, crawling under the desk from the other side. What was she doing? He felt his foot being pulled to the side against the foot of the chair. And something fibrous. Terry broke his view of the zoom to look down. Emma was tying his ankle to the chair with a piece of rope! He tried to pull back. The sudden movement drew attention from the zoom.

"Terry, is everything okay?" Bedlow asked.

"Yes, sir," Terry said, forced to sit still.

Emma tied the rope with a strong knot, pushed Terry's knees wide apart, and tied the other ankle just as tightly. He was now thoroughly bound to the chair, twisting to see if he had any flexibility. It was limited. When he looked up, the entire office was grinning at him, phones out. And then it got worse.

With her victim now completely helpless, Emma's fingers went to his crotch, working his enflamed manhood until he grew erect. Terry was finding it hard to focus on the zoom, writhing as Emma increased her efforts. And then he felt her head go down on his lap as her mouth wrapped around his throbbing dick.

"Oh, God," he muttered.

"What is that you said, Terry?" Mr. Bedlow inquired.

"I said, oh good, sir," Terry answered. "Those systems--ahhh!"

Emma was pumping hard now. Drawing him deeper into her mouth. Her hands rubbed the insides of his thighs. Fingers squeezed his balls. Terry hunched over, twisting, ready to cum. And then Emma stopped, looking up at him with an evil smile. "Not yet," she whispered.

Terry looked at his smirking audience, hating them all, and looked back at the zoom screen. His breathing was short, eyes watery. He had no idea how to get through this.

"Now, these problems we've been having with the AI-500 internet connections," Bedlow said. "Terry, can you provide some perspective?"

"Yes, sir. Though the AI-500 is a fine model, we--aahhh!"

Emma was down on him again, more forceful than before, stroking and sucking. Terry tried to wiggle free, but even the limited movement he might have had was checked by George and Megan, who chuckled with delight.

"Ahh? Is that a new computer system?" a senior manager asked.

"It ... the ... Oh, God," Terry moaned, ready to explode. And then Emma stopped again, giggling. Terry bent over, his forehead on the desk, struggling to breathe.

"I don't know what kind of new computer Terry is recommending," the senior manager said, "but I want one for my office. Hell, I want them for my entire staff." Now all the zoom attendees were laughing.

"Mr. Holiday, you seem distracted," Bedlow said. "I'm sorry your sunburn is so painful. Would you please stand up and show it to us?"

They waited. Terry couldn't have stood if he wanted to.

"Sir, there is an issue with that," Terry said, trying to straighten his shoulders. "The--"

Emma was on him again with such fierceness that Terry rocked back, his eyes shut, and was then propelled forward, his head pounding on the desk.

"Dear Lord, dear Lord," he muttered between gasps.

"Oh, I definitely want to order one of those," a female vice-president said. Terry had no responses left, just trying to survive the next minute as Emma tortured him.

"I think we've had our fun," Mr. Bedlow concluded. "Please tell Miss Kellerman to finish the mission, if she's so inclined."

The image on the zoom screen changed. It showed the Seattle office, with the staff watching a distressed young tech tied to a chair and a young woman kneeling under his desk. Emma redoubled her efforts, and it didn't take long. They heard the air burst from Terry's exhausted lungs as he erupted in passion and release.

"That was exciting, Mr. Holiday," Bedlow concluded. "You people on the west coast certainly provide a lot of entertainment. Please be dressed for our next meeting."

"Yes, sir," Terry moaned, still not able to look up. The laptop screen went dark. His co-workers applauded. Emma jumped up and took a bow, wiping cum off her face as Phyllis gave her a towel.

"Okay," Phyllis said, turning to her staff. "Who's next?"

* * * * * *

"It's almost time for Terry's birthday party at the Rabbit Hole. We should reclaim his clothes from lost and found," George suggested.

"It's only eight floors down. Let's go," Megan said, tugging the leash.

"What? Go where?" Terry asked.

"The lobby. The lost and found is next to the mail room," Megan answered.

"You can't take me into the lobby. Not like this," Terry denied. "Get me something to wear."

"You look fine," George said. "Take my word for it, you'll be the center of attention."

They emerged from the crowded elevator into the grand marble lobby. Dozens of men and women were in transit. Many stopped for a brief look at Terry, but they had places to go that were more important. A few did pause to take pictures.

"The lost and found is open until 5 o'clock," George said, checking his watch. "We have a few more minutes."

"Let's not wait," Terry urged, trying for the counter but restrained by Megan's leash.

"Oh, look, it's my girlfriends Pat and Tricia," Megan said, waving. "Girls, come over here and meet my co-workers."

A gabfest followed with exchanges about boyfriends, work, and who was doing what to who. Terry kept looking at the clock above the desk, seeing the minutes count down.

"Are the guys in your office often naked?" Tricia asked.

"It's something we're experimenting with," Megan replied. "What do you think?"

"He's kind of pale and skinny, but that's a nice pecker," Pat observed. "Is his nakedness only for show?"

"Oh, no, that wouldn't be any fun," Megan answered. "We pass him around."

"Invite us up for lunch one of these days," Tricia requested, taking a photo. "His name is Terry? Let me tag that."

"Guys, we've got to go," Terry insisted, pulling on the leash. Megan and George relented. The clerk had seen Terry from across the lobby and seemed amused when he stepped up.

"I want my clothes back," Terry said.

"What clothes are those, sir?" the clerk asked.

"The pile of clothes found on the 8th floor. Brought down this morning by Annie Walker," Terry pressed.

"Oh, yes. I remember that. Very pretty girl," the clerk said, going into the back room. Terry breathed a sigh of relief. Now if he could just get George to remove the handcuffs.

The clerk emerged from the rear room, Terry's clothes in his hands. "Here we go," he said, laying them on the counter. "You will need to fill out this claim form."