Consulting Gig

"You agreed to this, right?" I prompt the young man standing before me in the hotel bathrobe, looking up at him from my seat on the edge of the queen-sized bed.

I can hear excited female voices and occasional laughter coming through the closed door from the adjoining room of the hotel suite as the male in front of me shifts his weight slightly from side to side and,

"Yes." He says, his tongue running quickly over his lips.

I wait for it; the 'but', which I expect to follow.

Having gotten this far, with his friend who's already over there in the adjoining room, there is either a real 'but' (a legitimate reason for second thoughts) here or it's just first-time nerves. The younger women in the adjoining room have sent me over here to 'see what I can do' about getting the second of their 'volunteers' to fulfill his mission. But I've told them, while I'm happy, as the elder stateswoman of the group, to facilitate breaking in new males to the sport, that does not include persuading the unwilling to do anything. So, this one either wants to be persuaded or there's a real 'but' that, whether the girls next door like it or not, I'm simply going to agree with him on and send him home.

So I wait, looking up at his handsome, rather boyish features . . . I do so hope it's just nerves. And the longer I wait for that 'but', the more certain I become that he's just waiting for me to 'insist', take the decision out of his hands. But that isn't how this goes. If he wants this, he needs to offer himself, not be tricked, seduced or commandeered into compliance. So, after a moment more, I simply ask.

"Do you want to do this?"

"Yes." He exhales hard, looks down at me rather pleadingly. "I just wasn't expecting it to be so . . ." his voice trails off.

I see it now; what he wasn't expecting.

His friend had slipped out of his robe and into the adjoining room with an air of bravado, his penis only partially engorged in anticipation. By the time I left on my assignment here, the girls had him fully erect and were lubing his ass for the pegging they were going to take turns giving him, along with this one here (that had been the plan anyway) before they had a bit more fun other ways then (again, according to their plan) had the two males stand facing each other and jerk one another off to finish.

It was a good enough plan. Maybe a bit ambitious for a first foray, but narrowly focused to keep things manageable and not have it turn into a disorganized free for all. Pegging isn't exactly my cup of tea, but it is fairly specific and any male who agrees to it should know what he's signing up for. They might have chosen something else, but the girls had never gotten to peg a guy and thought it would be hot to watch two guys jerk each other off like some of the gay porn one of them said she liked so . . . anyway.

My part in all this came up one evening a week ago when, somewhat out of the blue, Fia, a young grad student, invited me out for drinks with some of her friends to discuss the above mentioned plans saying they had found a couple guys who agreed to do it.

"But we want them to take it seriously." Fia says somewhat plaintively. "If it's just us, I think they'll, you know . . ." she winces and looks around the pub table at her three girlfriends for confirmation.

"Yeah, I mean, they know us, at least a little, socially, if you want to call it that." Darlene jumps in to support her friend. "That's part of what makes it fun, I mean, not just doing it to some totally random guy who does it for money or something. But" she pauses, leaning across the table in my direction and lowering her voice as if worried she'll be overheard, "I don't want any back-talk and macho shit, like it's all a big joke. They need to shut up and take it up the ass like they said they would."

"Fuck yeah!" Christy (I think, I'm still getting names here) enthuses, hefting her half-finished beer in a mock toast. "Seriously. Seriously up the ass." she says, a bit too 'seriously'.

"But like we said, it wouldn't be just that." Sarah, last of the four chimes in. "I mean, if they're gonna do it, I want full use of them, the whole command and control thing."

"Yeah, yeah," Christy jumps back in, "command and control. I wanna see them jerk each other off. You guys said you were down with that, right?" she asks scanning faces around the table.

"We said that's fine, Chris." Sarah says with a slightly exasperated sigh. "You don't need to keep . . ." she waves a hand to cut the rest off. "We got it." Then back to me, "So we want the right tone, like that night with the vintage and toast stuff you took us to." She reminds me. "The guys have already said they agree to the rules, but you know guys. We don't want them getting pushy or grabby or thinking they're gonna get laid or . . . I mean, we told them that; what we want out of them. But we're their age mostly and well, you've had experience with this, setting the tone and . . . I think they'll just behave better if you're there."

I had taken Fia and Sarah as my guests to a sporting evening a while back where, among other things, an impromptu wedding entertainment committee had evaluated the ejaculatory performance of ten males to select the best five to offer comeshot toasts to accompany the verbal toasts to be offered by the five bridesmaids at an upcoming wedding. How Fia and Sarah came to be my guests that evening is too long a tale for here (if you're interested, see my earlier 'Mr. Remotely'), but suffice to say that I did not know either of them before they approached me, curious to learn a bit more about what was behind some of my non-academic writings (like this).

I am always happy to introduce new women to the sport and they, apparently, quite enjoyed the experience. That was six months ago and I hadn't heard from them since. Not that I had expected to; they were much younger and we didn't run in the same social circles. But they came by my office last Wednesday and told me they wanted me to 'consult' on an event they were hoping to host themselves to introduce a couple of other friends (hence Darlene and Christy) to the pleasures of the sport.

So here I am, consulting.

And, yes, I do see it now; what this fine young male shifting anxiously from foot to foot wasn't expecting.

Extreme arousal can be anxiety provoking. I'm guessing he fantasized about things like this (the good ones always have) long before getting that invitation from the girls in the next room. But it's not something, as a young male, you admit too readily to being turned on by; what

would

the other jocks say? So like his buddy, he accepts the invite and, like him, tries to act like it's just a dare, a lark, even though, for him it's so much more. He's probably jerked off a hundred times imagining being here today, doing it, taking it, like he agreed to. But he's not wired like his friend, stepping out jauntily and still half flaccid into a chittering bunch of amused twenty something women. The hotel bathrobe is too thick to show it, but I know,

"You're already erect, aren't you?" I ask.

"Ahm, Jesus, yes." he shudders slightly, "It's way more . . ."

"Good.' I cut him off gently but firmly, "That's just how we want you."

"Okay." He swallows, "I'm just . . ."

"Yes, I can see that." I cut him off, not wanting him back in that anxious loop. "You know why the girls asked me to be here today, don't you?" I ask. Get him focused on me, out of his own head.

He swallows hard, shifts, "I think, yeah, because you do this with guys and . . ."

"Yes." I cut him off again, asserting my prerogative to control the conversation. "Usually not this exactly, what the girls are going to use you for today." I'm speaking softly, choosing words to let him know, establishing that, this

is

going to happen; the girls '

are

going to use you'. I see his body react to it, that soft but sharp intake of breath, small jerk of his hips. He does want this. "Pegging is not my thing so much." I make what's in store for him explicit to test and

"Aah, Jeezze." he exhales, and I see his hands fidget at his sides, lift slightly towards the tie of his robe but stop, just barely, still hesitant.

But he's focused on me now, the calmly authoritative older, experienced woman who 'does this with guys'. That's far less anxiety provoking than having to step out into a gaggle of grabby, laughing coeds as he tries to navigate his own unexpectedly intense responses. Especially if, as I suspect, his level of anticipatory arousal is making him anxious that he might ejaculate prematurely.

"I won't take a turn myself. But I'll definitely enjoy seeing the younger women have their fun taking turns on you and your friend." Paint the picture for him Laura; let him see himself and you "As a spectator I'll like seeing your expressions, watching your penises bob and your balls jump as they give it to you up the ass; see them laughing and high fiving each other as you buck and moan." There, he sees it, but it's from my point of view now; he's out of his own head, seeing himself as the object of my prurient interest and amusement, those hands getting restless again, lifting from his side. "It's not the pegging so much. It's seeing them have their way with you; watching you all excited and taking it just because they want to try it out on a guy, think it would be fun to do with their friends." He's got hold of the tie to the robe, prying, still a bit uncertainly at the knot. "That's what turns me on about it; seeing them and you that way."

"Aahh, fucking Jeeze!" his hands fumbling with the knot now, too excited to be efficient about it, looking down at me with that look of boyish, mouth half open fascination as I tell him,

"Seeing how badly you want to be used that way," the knot undone, he grips the front of the robe, "How excited it makes you to . . ."

"Yes!" a gasping whisper as he yanks the robe open on either side, "It does. I want to."

I do my best mask the tremor of arousal; that rush of triumphant sexual mastery and pleasure that hits me at the sight of his lean shoulders and torso, slender boyish hips and open thighs, his hands falling limp at his sides letting the robe slough off his back to the floor, his young, blushingly erect, circumcised penis jutting up past his navel, twitching excitedly under my gaze. Yes, I do my best to maintain the façade of unruffled dominance. But at heart I am still a gleeful brat getting her way with boys; the spoiled princess making the hapless suitors fight duels or dragons to impress me, show me what they're good for . . .

"Yes. Show me." I taunt the young male who is already doing just that, as if his exposure were somehow less than adequate. But I feel the mask slipping, the gleeful brat wanting to giggle uncontrollably at her own successful audacity; 'He did

what!?"

she already hears her incredulous yet admiring girlfriends asking excitedly; Oh, if only they were here to see this, share it. Oh, to be young again!

And it's just then a gleeful chorus of female voices hooting "Ohhh hohhhhh hohhh ohhhh!" comes, barely muffled, through the wall and still closed door to the adjoining room where the other male is apparently providing the entertainment expected of him.

"Ah, jeeze." The male before me shudders, his head turned away to look towards the sound.

A skittish young colt about to take the bridle for the first time; that's how he strikes me. Those fine, pony balls of his pulled up so tight against the root of his pre-cum leaking cock. He needs to be calmed before he's ridden, some of that anxious energy expended to make him more manageable when mounted. He'll still have plenty left to entertain the jockeys in the next room. Besides, it will amuse me to see him lose control, helplessly bucking and spurting to entertain the princess before I lead him from the stables to be properly broken in . . . Dear god, but I do so love where my metaphorical imagination leads me, seeing and using men this way.

I know this won't take much. So does he. That's why he's anxious.

"Offer me your balls." I tell him calmly.

His eyes return to mine.

I let him see mine drop back down between his legs and, "Offer me your balls." I repeat, feeling that perfect frisson of sexual dominance brush my clit with the butterfly wingbeat of entitlement. You see, I can just say that and . . .

"Ah, fuck, yes." The male moans, his hips curling under, pelvis tilting up to lift and thrust his balls forward, the tip of his penis pressing just below his ribs as the torso curls inward. "Here." he croaks hoarsely.

I leave him there, straining under my appraisal as another round of hoots, mock cheers and laughter permeates from the next room. In this position I can see the thick root dive between his balls to meet his anus. Yes, I do want to see this one take it. But first . . .

I hold out my hand, palm up, snap my fingers. I don't need to say it. He knows. And we both know what will happen when he complies. I could not put a price on his expression as he straightens up and steps towards me, straddles my hand and . . .

"Ah fuck." he whimpers softly as he bends his knees, his thighs opening further as he lowers his balls into my palm.

It's my preference to have them do it this way; make them lower themselves using just their legs, their torsos upright, inducing a bit of muscular tension and strain in the thighs and buttocks to accentuate their bodily need to offer me what I could so easily just lift my hand and take. All the sweeter with this one, knowing the confession of that need, the shudder in my young colt's chest as he presses his pony balls into my palm, is going to . . .

I clamp them, quickly, firmly, prying them away from where they cling to the root of his cock, pressing their spongy firmness in a possessive grip.

My young colt bucks, but he's well in hand. Restrained by the tug of my grip on his balls, his pelvis writhes forward and back in short, futile fucking thrusts as his penis wags. Then he freezes momentarily, his pelvis curled under hard as I feel the first thrum of semen pulse in the root of his cock against the heel of my hand. Another quick buck and thrust and he freezes again, moaning as his penis pulses and spurts a first, generous splurge of come onto my forearm. I laugh, shift my grip slightly to press my thumb against the lower portion of his cock, tilting it back so the next spurts hit his chest and stomach or land back on his penis, feeling the thrum and spasm under my thumb as his semen pulses up the centerline of his cock.

It's a shame the others aren't here to see this or, better still, catch it on video with their phones, because the physical strain of his bent and open legged stance as my grip on his balls holds him in position, nicely accentuates the full body intensity of his release; his thighs twitching open reflexively with each spurt, legs shaking slightly, the sudden reflexive clenching of his ass as his body jerks.

He goes longer than I expected given he hasn't even been stroked. Gasping, moaning inarticulately as it continues to wrack him, his penis twitching and throbbing in vain even after there's nothing left to eject.

The mess he's made of himself is charming; his slender torso dressed in semen, more dripping down the front of his still erect penis to my hand. Yes, the girls should see this.

I rise, still gripping him by his balls.

"Come along." I say.

He straightens up, still short of breath, looking a bit surprised or maybe just dazed; as if he had expected there would be some pause for commentary or other niceties after such a (to him, I imagine) intimate interlude. But,

"I said, come along." I tug him towards the door to the adjoining room. "I want to see you get fucked."

"Yes." he says softly and follows after me in an obedient waddle to avoid stepping on my heels as I pull him towards the door, open it and . . .

The girls are amused and delighted to see the come still clinging to him. I do enjoy watching them fuck he and his friend, but, as I said, it's more the pleasure of seeing the fun the girls have with it; the two males bent over, side by side, their elbows resting on a pair of cushions placed on a low coffee table so that, even in those inviting wide straddles, their shoulders are lower than their lifted asses.

I'm a bit disappointed by the other male in that his penis does not stay fully erect as he's fucked. It's always somewhat tumescent and the girls jack him back to full staff a few times, but, honestly, a flaccid penis, even a semi flaccid one, always strikes me as somewhat comical without being erotic; flopping about, in this particular case, under the impact of some delightfully enthusiastic fucking from the girls. For this same reason, though many other women love them, penises that are too large to fully stiffen or rise above the horizontal standing on their own when erect, are not to my taste.

It's not that comedy and eroticism don't ever mix. But the amusement in the sport, at least for me, arises from the helplessness and intensity of so much of the male response to sexual stimulus. In this respect, the young male who ejaculated all over himself in the other room, continues to provide both amusing and arousing entertainment for myself and the girls. He never does lose his erection and the girls quickly gather round their new toy. I can't see exactly who's doing what with them all clustered round, but they have a splendid time, laughing, cooing and taunting as they tease and play with his still hypersensitive penis, making him shudder and gasp, his body jerking and jumping reflexively as they handle him before bending him over beside his friend.

I position a chair at an angle so I can see their cocks and watch their expressions as they take it up the ass, but don't see the actual penetration which is less appealing to me.

The girls use a couple different strap-ons but also a few hand-held dildos. The males and the toys are well lubed and none of the toys are heroically large. So while the girls are enthusiastic and thorough in their use of the two anuses, as the film makers like to assure the crowd, no animals were harmed. But still, I love the looks of anticipation on the males' faces when one girl withdraws and the next positions herself behind, then the sharp gasp and wince when the new girl shoves whatever toy she's chosen in; those mouth half open, brows knitted expressions as they rock under the impact of being fucked and try to concentrate and respond to the taunting comments and questions from the girls not fucking them at the moment, who kneel in front of them or stand over them chortling things like;

"You love taking it up the ass, don't you? Say it. Tell us how much you love taking it up the ass." Slapping their buttocks in playful correction if the males fail to respond promptly and correctly, with gasps of "Yes!" or ragged recitations of the suggested script, in this instance,

"Yes, I love taking it up the ass."

As repetitious and pedestrian as this sort of dialogue sounds out of context, in the moment with two young males bent over in front of me dutifully gasping out such things as they get fucked and the girls gleefully slut talking themselves into the giggles . . . Let's just say my husband will have some fucking of his own to do when I get home.

It also excites the males to be talked to and made to 'confess' this way. Even if the script is handed to them, they clearly do like taking it up the ass or they wouldn't be here. As I mentioned earlier, the other male not so much, but the one I led in by the balls remains strainingly erect throughout and it's clear the fucking and the taunting are ratcheting up his arousal yet further, all of which leads to one of those pricelessly gratifying moments women like me day dream about.