A swing-chair, clearly meant to be hung on a front porch or a condo balcony was dangling at one end of the living room. Alone, facing away from a bank of windows that overlooked a busy city intersection, it looked a little odd, out of place, like a hooker at a church social. Yet it was clearly the center of attraction at that end of the apartment against the backdrop of the city. The uncluttered space around it left nothing else to focus on.
I had been invited to a party by a couple of lesbian friends from the same building. Jane told me to drop by early, before the crowd got there so I'd feel more comfortable. I was straight and almost all of their friends were lesbian or gay. I told them that someone's sexual orientation made no difference to me, but I was impressed that they were so considerate of my comfort level. I thought of myself as enlightened, able to fit in with any social group. I just didn't understand how instrumental to the success of the party I was going to be.
As we stood around chatting in the living room, I had the unnerving sense that my friends were appraising me. Maybe it was the weed-laced cookies they fed me the moment I walked through the door, but I felt like they were looking at me more like desert, rather than their token straight friend.
"It's really warm in here," Jane said. "The landlord insists on jacking the heat up so the top apartment is comfortable. We think he has a mistress up there and wants to keep her comfortable," she laughed. "Hence the cottage/beach party theme." Jane spun in a theatrical circle to show off her beach attire, a skimpy bikini that did a great job of displaying her size 36 breasts and matching hips. She and her partner Lauren were famous for throwing raunchy parties and this one was shaping up to be no exception.
"Alan, why don't you lose the clothes and pretend you're at the beach?" Jane said. At first I thought she was joking. But from her expression, and the poker-face look on her partner, who was also wearing a string bikini that barely concealed her size D tits, I realized it was more of a rhetorical question. Neither of the women offered me a swimsuit, so following a few stoned minutes and two expectant stares, I figured out that they wanted me to strip. Somehow in my cannabis-addled brain the idea of getting naked on a beach with friends made sense. They didn't even look away while I was undressing. They watched me take my clothes off and smiled, but said nothing. When I was naked Jane pointed to the suspended chair and said, "sit in the chair and slide your legs up through those loops on either side, would you? Oh, and just let your arms relax behind your head. You know, rest the back of your head in your hands. Be comfortable Alan."
Her voice was so matter-of-fact, that I did what I was told without thinking too much about it. To be fair, I did what I was told without thinking at all. I perched tentatively in the chair, one of those complex canvas and wood pole contraptions. This one hung suspended from a metal hook embedded in the ceiling. There was no little side table to put a drink on, no footrest, just the hanging chair framed by a good view of the city from four floors up. My feet swung about a foot and a half off the floor once I settled into the thing.
Now I was sitting completely naked, with my hands behind my head and my legs held wide apart in loops on either side. Again, I should have reacted faster, but before I knew what was happening, one of the women walked quickly to my head and fastened my wrists together with handcuffs.
"It's ok honey," Lauren cooed, "this will just make what's about to happen not your fault," she winked. She tied the cuffs to someplace behind my head on the swing chair. My elbows were bent at thirty-degree angles to my shoulders and my hands were trapped behind my head, but I wasn't uncomfortable. I was just very exposed and unable to do anything about it.
Maybe my vulnerable position finally registered with my cannabis-influenced brain, or maybe my conscious awareness finally caught up with where I was, but as I gained some sense of what might be happening, I noticed my cock start to swell. The women stepped back to admire their handiwork and together we watched my cock grow.
Why was I horny? Women who clearly had plans for me that I had no say in were holding me naked in handcuffs. I watched my boner get stiffer and longer as though it belonged to someone else. We stared fascinated, as it grew bigger.
"It's big isn't it?" Jane said to Lauren. "I guessed it would be. That's why I knew he'd be perfect for this evening." Jane leaned forward impetuously and smiled while she touched my stiff shaft mischievously, tracing lines up and down it with her fingernails, making sure it was as stiff as possible. "Can I measure it?" Jane asked me. By now I was as oblivious to the question as she was to the answer. Jane produced a measuring tape and recorded the length of my straining cock.
They glanced at each other and smiled like they shared a secret, then went about their business and ignored me. I waited for any clue about what was going to happen next. No explanation was offered and I quickly realized that none would be forthcoming. I was erect, on display and completely helpless.
They chatted and busied themselves with little tasks around the apartment, preparing for their party and walking past me as though I was furniture. Or, the thought occurred, as though I was an entertainment installation they were keeping primed for later. Because whenever I started to go soft, one of them would eventually notice and stop what she was doing long enough to harden my cock by pushing the swing slightly so that I had no choice but to fuck the hand that cradled my erection. They paid just enough attention to me to keep my cock hard; just enough to keep me edged all afternoon. Too late I realized that I was destined to be the main attraction at Jane's party.
By the time the sun was going down I had gone soft and been hardened so many times that my cock drooled enough pre-cum to take over from the silicone gel the women had lathered over my balls and erection. They preferred using natural lubricant. I had no idea I could produce that much lube, much less stay hard for almost the whole afternoon. Well, with short breaks, because no one wanted to have to take me to Emerg to explain why I had a hard-on for more than four hours when no prescription pharmaceuticals were involved.
As the sun set the women lit candles. Floor-model candles were placed on either side of the swing chair, like beacons or symbolic torches flanking a sacrificial offering. Jane stroked my boner soothingly and finally explained what was going to happen next.
"You're going to be the guest of honor this evening," she confided in a conspiratorial tone. She stopped playing with the erection they had been cultivating all afternoon and circled around to my head. "Can you open your mouth for me Alan? Stretch ... that's it, all the way open. Good for you!"
She snugged a red rubber ball into my mouth. My teeth automatically bit down on it and she tightened the strap that held the gag in place behind my head. Jane stepped back and smiled, satisfied with her work.
"There! That will save a lot of embarrassing conversation for you so you can focus on keeping your cock hard and enjoying yourself." Jane again used her fingernails on the shaft of my boner, just to be certain it attained it's full potential. Then she and Lauren used their phones to take pictures of their splayed, erect friend.
"Of course we'll be recording your participation this evening according to different requests," Jane explained. "No sense wasting the opportunity. Some of our friends will want souvenirs from the party and as the saying goes, 'one picture or video is worth a thousand words'. Nothing you need to be concerned about dear." She squeezed my erection and twirled the chair playfully.
