My hands trembled as I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my boxer shorts. The room had stopped spinning but I was still feeling a bit zipped from the booze. But what I really felt was the throbbing of my erection.
I squinted through the mask I was wearing, peering across the room, trying to see beyond the glare of the spotlights. But my audience was in dark shadow. I knew they were there because I could hear them breathing. Every once in a while, someone would shuffle, or there would be the mechanical click of a camera shutter.
I looked down at the pulsing tent in my boxers and at the heap of clothes on the floor ... the clothes I had just peeled off. The idea that I had crossed a boundary into some new world floated through my head but I didn't spend any time thinking about it. My level of arousal was simply too high. I was about to show this anonymous group how insanely excited I was at undressing in front of them, letting them take my picture or make a movie of me.
For a split second I felt something like shame and turned my back to them, but I knew I would continue to strip. I slid my boxers down slowly. As I pulled the waistband over my rigid cock, I felt both the resistance of the fabric and again the sense of having reached a point of no return. My hard-on sprang back up as my boxers finally fell to the floor and I kicked them aside. I reminded myself that I was wearing a costume mask over my eyes so it was all completely anonymous. I took a deep breath, then turned back to face my audience, my erection pumping along with my racing heart.
There was a flurry of shutters going off, some electronic beeping as video cameras were activated, flashes were set off. I heard somebody whisper, "Wow, he's really turned on." Someone else chuckled quietly. I lifted my arms over my head and started to gently sway my hips in a small circle. I would stop from time to time and pose briefly, my cock straining almost straight up. Sometimes I couldn't help but tense the muscles at the base of my erection. Each time, a jolt of pleasure shot through me and I trembled. My breath was shallow and my heart beating a mile a minute. I wasn't sure anymore if I was really OK or if I would have some kind of collapse, but I also didn't really care. I was the prisoner of an incredible urge to show myself to these strangers, despite the humiliation ... or maybe because of it.
"Touch yourself," somebody said. He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, without any emotion. My swaying dance hesitated for a moment, then I reached one hand down and gently stroked my balls in an upward movement, slowly running my finger tips over my rigid shaft. I closed my eyes as the pleasure swept over me. A few more shutters went off. "That's right," someone said, a different voice this time. I closed my eyes and repeated my light stroking motion, once and then once again.
The tension in my stone-hard cock was almost unbearable. I had not given any thought to what I was doing or where this would end, I had just decided to do something that I had fantasized about almost since I could remember. Obviously this was not anything rational and my judgment was not helped by the gin and tonics I had been downing to give me the courage I needed to get this done. Now there I was, nude in front of a group of complete strangers, my hard-on pounding, the tell-tale tingle of release building in my balls. I knew immediately, when that stranger had told me to touch myself, that this would end in only one way.
I continued my swaying motion and put both hands over my head again. I flexed the muscles at the base of my penis, sending shivers of pleasure through me. I started to thrust my cock forward, in slow and gentle motions, each time squeezing the muscles around my balls, flexing my erection.
