Note:
This story begins in part 1. I was new in town and in my job at the university. Marty Sutter was one of my peers in the department. I was taken with her sharp looks and funny sense of humor so I jumped at the invitation to meet her two friends Sylvia and Lauren on her porch for summer drinks and laughs. Little did I know just how far I would be made to jump for my three new friends. I hope you'll read part one.
* * *
I saw Marty at work as usual; she was all business but pleasant, and friendly. I didn't have any reason to see either of her two accomplices, Sylvia or Lauren, because they worked in other departments on the other side of campus. From Marty's behavior you would have no reason to guess just a weekend ago they taught me my first CFNM lessons. After being stripped of my cloths and subjected to a series of taunts and torments I ended up on Marty Sutter's dining table, naked on hands and knees as she and her two cohorts milked my prostrate with a long silicon probe. I had a prostate-milked orgasm which, though delightful for my tormentors—I did supply plenty of "cream" for their coffee-did not produce a typical orgasm for me. In other words my pressure was released but my pleasure was not quenched. I was sent home with explicit instructions to not touch myself to orgasm until they saw me again. I was told there would be serious consequences if I didn't follow their rules. They had plenty on me, and lots of pictures on their phones to prove it. I believed they would make me pay if I didn't obey.
I felt ravaged, and spent after last weekend's evening of humiliation and abuse. I was also more sexually aroused and excited by that experience then I have ever been in my life. Of course I had heard of CFNM-frankly, it turned me on¬¬¬¬-but I never thought it could happen anywhere but in my head.
* * *
My email on Friday morning brought the usual bevy of work related academic fodder: mandatory research committee meeting reminder, cafeteria services menu, grade change request, basket ball tickets for sale, late assignment excuse, mandatory research meeting cancelled, request for recommendation letter, basketball tickets still for sale, keys lost, basketball tickets sold, moral turpitude draft document for review—WTF?- recommendation letter request, keys found. I checked my personal account. All the usual but then I found this email from Marty.
Hi Jerry,
You were just delightful last weekend. Sylvie, Lauren, and I talked about our night of "Pictionary" all week. Speaking of pictures, you should see the ones we have of you, dear boy. Priceless! We have decided to make you a regular member in our little club. Please be at Sylvia's place Saturday at 7:00p sharp. Sylvia's contact info is attached. Don't worry about dress. Doesn't matter; you'll be out of your clothes in no time anyway. Hmmm maybe we should have you arrive naked...we'll see. e.g.
Fondly,
Marty
Oh, and Jerry, I certainly hope you kept our deal-You haven't squeezed the cream out of your cream stick since we've seen you, have you? If you disobeyed us about this you will be in serious trouble, young man.
* * *
I felt my heart race as I read her email. "...Decided to make me a member in there little club...disobey...serious trouble," Marty was treating me like a little boy and I was just a year or two younger than her and her friends. What had I gotten myself into? And no, I had not "squeezed my cream stick," to use Marty's expression. As torturous as it was, I had not masturbated all week. My memories of my night with the ladies and the prospect of being with them again drove me crazy. I wanted to jerk off so badly but I held off all week half out of fear of the consequences and half just wanting to please my new friends. I couldn't believe the things they made me do. There was no denying the easy power they held over me, nor the simple fact that I was thrilled to be submissive to my Tres XXX Amigas.
* * *
It was tedious waiting for the calendar and clock to tick off the days and hours till Saturday. On Friday I finished work and raced home. I didn't go out and I had to Xanax myself to sleep from all the sexual tension. Saturday did not go any faster. I map-quested directions to Sylvia's address a couple of different ways and then, on Google Earth, I tried to will myself inside her house to quell my anxiety. An hour and a half before I was to leave I got a call from Marty.
"Jerry, its Marty. Are you excited about coming over to Syl's tonight?" Before I could answer she went on, "We certainly are." She had a way of doing that, talking over you before you had a chance to respond. "You were just too much last weekend; and so well behaved." I waited for a pause.
"Hi Marty. And yes, I'm pretty excited to spend some more time with..." She cut me off again.
"Jerry, you didn't jerk your big dick off this week, did you...you didn't shoot your goo into a sticky puddle? Hmmm? Be honest because we will be able to tell."
"No, Marty."
"No what, Jerry?" Marty said sternly.
"No, Marty, I did not have an orgasm since I left your place last weekend."
"That isn't what I asked you, now is it, Jerry—what did I ask you?"
"No, Marty, I didn't jerk my big dick off this week."
"ah-hem."
"...And I did not shoot my goo into a sticky puddle."
"Very good, Jerry." Marty breathed into my ear. "Then you just might have one tonight if you behave. Oh, Sylvia thought I should warn you that her niece is visiting." Before I could question or protest she went on, "She is an art student from the Universidad De Polytechnica in Argentina. I've met her-she's lovely—you'll like her."
"Marty, I'm not sure how I feel about anyone else being there. I mean, it would be mortifying to have someone else there. This is all so new to me."