The Taing of Eli Noth

This is a new idea I'm experimenting with. The world is generally as we understand it today--at least on the surface. There is a follow-up story I'll post after this, but it's not one of my established areas (but I'm not abandoning them either!)

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Eli had his first run-in with THEM in a diner bathroom where he was trying to satisfy his erection from having seen the waitress 'get it.' Ms. Taylor who ran the late night diner serving mainly undergrads who had to walk from campus, was rumored to punish her all the girls on her staff with an "old fashioned" paddling in the employee room--allegedly followed up by worse in her office if the girl in question had either earned worse--or taken her more moderate dose of punishment badly.

Eli had watched the sorority princesses toy with the waitress girl like cats playing with a mouse. When they'd gotten the over-reaction they'd been looking for, Ms Taylor, waiting in the wings, had called her girl over, guided her back to the semi-private employee area, and Eli had watched the whole dreadful affair,

The girl's hangdog expression indicated she knew she'd failed the test. He watched her sheepishly pin her pink uniform's skirt up in the back and then lower her panties, stepping out of them. He felt dirty, seeing this intimate moment as the girl, sniffly and clearly dreading this, nevertheless obediently spread her feet and bent into what he thought of as a "football crouch," placing her elbows on her knees so her bottom stuck out.

Eli had chosen the 'study table' because it WAS far away from the row of booths where the beautiful creatures sat and laughed. That it had a literally pornographic view of the poor waitress was an unexpected bonus! Still, he'd almost moved until Ms. Taylor had positioned herself so that rather than blocking 'the action,' he was going to see the paddle impact the girl's buttocks.

The woman placed the scary board against its intended target and Ms. Taylor gave her girl a quick little tap--and then POW! It was past 11:30 PM, but the college diner was open all night. The stroke sounded thunderous in the quiet diner and the college girls, knowing exactly what they'd done, erupted in giggles.

POW! SMACK! POW! Ms. Taylor bounced the implement again, and then dealt more. POW! CRACK! SMACK! The poor girl jumped now--but her punishment wasn't done, POW! POW! POP! Eli thought the spanks sounded like gunshots. The sorority girls cheered and gasped with each report! Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them--literally squirming on the leather seats. Eli thought he knew why: he was feeling a distinct discomfort himself.

POW! POP! SMACK! SMACK! SPANK!

How was the girl not bawling? Ms. Taylor was giving her a short break, and he watched her rub her buttocks--ohh--oh! She pranced, hands trying to smooth out her punishment. Eli--and worse--the waitress--could hear the laughter of the girls.

Ms. Taylor pointed for her to retake her position, and Eli was astonished to see she did. POW! POW! POP! POW! The girl broke position. He couldn't tell directly, but he thought she was crying. Ms. Taylor landed a few more. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Quick strokes with the paddle on the already tenderized buttocks-the pain--the smarting--the humiliation--it had to be unbearable. Eli was powerfully erect in his jeans.

He nearly came when Ms. Taylor stood the teary girl and hugged her. The girl sobbed softly; her head against Ms. Taylor's chest. Then she was pulling her panties up, undoing the safety-pin that held her skirt up. She took a few short comments from Ms. Taylor, nodding tearfully. Then, taking a container with pump lotion, she gave it to the girl, and the girl went out, misty-eyed, to apologize to the sorority girls.

Eli watched, horrified for her--but when she came to the girls and they gave her hugs and sympathy, he felt like his cock was going to burst out of his pants. They turned her and lifted her skirt, surveying the damage and then two of the girls hustled her to the bathroom with the pump of after-care lotion.

"Like the show?" The girl's voice hit Eli like a whip crack. He jumped and looked, goggle eyed at the other late-night waitress holding a water pitcher.

"Oh! Sorry--I didn't mean to--I mean I didn't see--what--what do you--"

The girl laughed--but kept her voice low. "Ms. Taylor wants a show for the 'study table.' I've been seen in the altogether." She poured the water, refilling Eli's glass. "It's as wretched as it sounds," she said, "but it's well understood that if you work at the Full Moon Diner, it's going to happen--a lot more than once. Like, every other week? And there's still a long line of girls waiting to work here." She shrugged.

"Believe me, Ms. Taylor and Jennifer both knew you were watching." She gave him a little smile. It was friendly, and warm if a awkward--and when Eli left way too big of a tip on the table, he hustled down the aisle, moving past the still-celebrating sorority girls, desperately afraid they'd see his erection.

In the pale-blue tiled boy's room was bright and clean. The bathrooms at the Full Moon were always clean and had full wall mirrors. Eli ducked into one of the stalls and got his trousers down. His underwear was sodden with pre-cum. He groaned.

His private humiliation ought, he thought, to have been enough to make him wilt. The idea of the girls seeing (or having seen??) the wet spot on the front of his jeans somehow made it worse! He imagined them laughing at him--maybe taking him to the back to clean his--

He had his hand on his erect penis when the lights flickered. There was a sound like a loud thunk--a heavy object moving in the wall behind the mirror. The sound--which in his mind was the tipping over of a heavy leather covered crate, was enough to stop his hand in mid-rub--but that was as far as it went. The need--the promise of needed release--was just too strong. He listened. The lights... must have been a power flicker?

He had given his penis another stroke when an entirely different sound rang out. Someone knocking hard on the bathroom door.

"Coming in!" It was the waitress who had come by him at the table. "Hey--is anyone in here?"

"I am," his voice was strangled. He could hear her cross the floor.

"You have to come out of there now," she said--right outside the stall. Her voice was urgent. "Now!"

"I'm not done--"

"Yes, you are," she said. "Put it away and get your pants up and get moving!" A pause. "Like a fire-drill."

"Get out!" he shrieked. His face was burning.

"Ms. Taylor is going to be here in two minutes," the girl said. "Come-out-now!"

The thought of Ms. Taylor finding him with his pants soaked got him moving. He grimaced as he pulled his wet underwear over his still erect cock.

KLUNG-THUNG--the machinery in the wall, or whatever it was, moved again. There was another flicker of lights. The girl, somehow, opened the stall door. Eli thrust his hands over the direct bulge from his crotch. The girl looked and to his horror, clearly saw what was going on.

"Pants up, NOW--we don't have time to fuck around--" her sense of urgency, bordering on panic convinced him. He pulled his pants up, and reeking of cum, she pulled him out. Looking over his shoulder, the mirror was dark as though someone had put a film over it. It looked like the lights of the reflected bathroom were turned off.

She burst him through the door and stopped.

Down the long aisle of booths and out to the front window of the Full Moon Diner light covered the parking lot. There was a figure there--under the lamppost. Long coat, fedora hat, dark gloves. He--clearly a man with a broad chest and a 6'7 frame was just standing there, still as a mannequin, watching--but Eli was sure the figure was watching him.

"Shit," she breathed. "This way." She yanked him to the side. The waitress was sitting with the sorority girls and everyone was laughing. Eli's waitress, her name-tag said 'Chelsea,' virtually yanked him into a door to the kitchen. The smell of cooking grease and the oppressive scent of short-order cooking filled the room. The girl at the stove wore a thin shirt but leather pants.

Eli heard a sound like something soft, but heavy fall to the floor in the bathroom behind them. The lights, again, flickered. She drew him past the cook and, moving swiftly, but quietly, got him to the rear door.

"Out this way," Chelsea said and with surprising force and grip on his wrist that brooked no argument, she hauled him out into the back dumpster area.

"Stay put," she hissed. "And do NOT touch your penis."

"I'm not--" he started to cry out, horrified.

"Zip it!" Chelsea snapped. She was at the wall that concealed the dumpsters and was crouching, peering around the corner. She waved Eli forward.

"Okay," she said. "We are going to walk quickly to my car. Be careful about looking around or looking panicked. Walk normal. We don't want attention."

The parking lot, save for the Full Moon, was deserted. Attention from who? He thought--but he knew that the answer lay in the figure he'd seen through the front glass.

He swallowed and nodded. She led him quickly out across the asphalt. He looked ahead, but he couldn't help but see two of the big men with a smaller, lithe, female figure down in a squat or maybe stretch between them. They were far enough away to be silhouettes but he thought the girl was wearing a leash connected to her neck.

Chelsea got into a small red hatchback that looked washed out, dusty, and dented. She ordered him in and she started the car and, looking over her shoulder pulled out in reverse and then floored it, driving quickly--too quickly, Eli thought.

She also pulled her phone out. She thumbed a number and held it to her ear. The older car didn't have bluetooth, but it was obvious she was speaking to Ms. Taylor.

"Ma'am, I had to go--emergency. I'll take my punishment when I get back."

Then: "Yes. The boy. Yes." The last yes was said with a dismal finality. "Yes ma'am. Thank you. I will." She decelerated out on the late-night streets. She was driving slowly now, looking--peering around, checking mirrors.

"What are we looking for?" Eli asked in a hushed voice.

"People--unusual people--on the streets. Black cars--like big ones. Cadillacs? Big older black cars. Also... " she was going slowly enough now that he could've opened the door and jumped out, running to keep up. He scanned the outside.

"Graffiti," she finished. "Like, urban. Colorful. Designs you can't figure out."

"Can you tell me what's going on?" he asked.

"Yes," she snapped. "You very nearly got Taken!" She paused, now stopped in the middle of the post-midnight streets, the world seemed empty and frozen. "You would have... vanished, I think? For a bit? Come back different. We call it Replaced. It's bad--really bad."

The calmness in her voice--her authority--the strangeness of what had just happened--it convinced him. He looked at her with an electric sense of dread.

"I think we made it," she exhaled. "Okay--you're coming with me." She started the car.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to see Diana--she's my group leader. She knows stuff about this. She's the one who got me to Ms. Taylor. Got me the job. Makes sure I don't quit. She knows enough about Them to know that if I was on my own, they'd Take me too." She said that with a miserable blush and started driving again.

Eil sat back. Now the sense of ambient fear surrounded him--the feeling of being watched--the humiliation of his erection, which still hadn't subsided.

Chelsa was on her phone again. "Diana, I'm coming. I'm bringing the boy. Yes." She looked over at him, then directly down at his pants where his cock was still pushing up his sodden underwear through his jeans which weren't buttoned so the humiliating exposure stood like a flag. "He still is. Right."

"Hands on your head," she told him. "I'm serious about that. Palms in your hair."

"Can I close my fly?" Eli whimpered.

"No," she said. "You can take your pants and panties down to your ankles or put your hands on your head--or do both with a sore bottom. Your choice."

He put his hands on his head. The humiliation--her threat---just made his fucking erection worse.

She drove cautiously, eyes scanning.

He squirmed in the seat--the car stank of his penis. He had a question that he couldn't hold back.

"Why does Ms. Taylor side with the sorority girls?" he asked. In his mind, since he'd seen it (and, if he was honest, things he'd glimpsed before at the Full Moon) was playing over and over. It seemed so unfair--cruel, even.

"They grade us--for Ms. Taylor," Chelsea said with an edge of bitterness. "She wants them to come in and give us little challenges. Sometimes we fail them."

"She sets that up??" Eli was horrified.

Chelsea nodded. He saw blush on her cheeks. He squirmed. "It's not as bad as it sounds. When we see a group of them come in, we usually know one of us is getting it. Jennifer was probably relieved to get it over with. You saw the girls cuddling with her?"

Eli suppressed a little whimper--his hands on his head was all that prevented him from covering his jutting cock. He nodded.

"Look--Diana can explain this to you better," she said. "Let her take care of it."

They were in a suburb now. All the house lights were out, save for a large house with warm lights in the upstairs window and down on the ground level as well. There were expensive cars and cleanly manicured lawns--it seemed as far from the jumbled "student ghetto" where Eli lived as the dark side of the moon. Chelsea pulled into the driveway.

"Diana is waiting for us," she said. "Keep your hands on your head until she says otherwise."

"My pants will fall down!" he protested. He'd kept them up by holding them with one hand on the way to the car.

"Then shuffle," she said. "I'll hold you so you don't fall."

"I can't go in like this--" he felt panic.

"You're going to," she snapped. "Like this--or like this with a very, very sore bottom. Your choice."

Now he did whimper. She got out of the car, moved around and helped him out. His jeans did instantly fall around his ankles and his soaked underwear somehow made covering his erection even more obscene. What was happening to him??

He was boiling with blush as she put an arm around his waist and held him firmly. He wouldn't fall.

"Let's go," she said, keeping her voice gentle. "It's past midnight--no one is watching."

It was true... probably... but even so, he was nearly in tears as she guided him across the walkway up to the double door. It opened as they arrived. A tall woman, icily pretty, wearing pajamas--but somehow still 'elegant' looked at him like he was a worm and she was the early-bird.

She looked past him, scanning the street. He saw her eyes narrow.

"Get in," she said. Chelsea, alarmed at her tone, brought him forward.

"What, Miss?" she asked. The woman, Diana, gave a nod and Eli turned with Chelsea to see a black van at a stop sign perhaps 100 yards down the street. It gleamed under the streetlamps but it seemed to be streaked and splattered with mud around the bottom. It idled there, not moving. It was on the road, but its headlights were out. He shuffled inside.

"Shit," Chelsea breathed. Then, catching herself, she amended it: "Poo."

The house was 'grand.' There was a huge fireplace with a gray stone face. A professional kitchen with an industrial stainless steel refrigerator was visible through a square arch. Before the fireplace was a slightly sunken area with a sectional couch in what looked like gray velvet. On a tile island with a bay window was a grand piano.

He could see potted plants in ornate vases. There were pictures of women on horses. Jockeys, perhaps--but some of the pictures had them nude from boots to shirt, looking serious in the saddles as they posed with riding crops. His cock twitched. He nearly groaned. Whatever was wrong with him, it was getting worse--the pressure--the need to cum was still increasing!

Diana closed the door and threw several heavy locks. Testing it and, what Eli thought, was a steel frame it was inset in, she decided it was solid.

"Down in the conversation pit," she ordered Chelsea. "Get all of that off him--everything--even his shirt is soiled."

To his horror, it was true. He had damp spots on the lower part. Chelsea moved efficiently to shuffle him to the pit and then she squatted and got his shoes and socks off--and then his pants. She took down his underwear, and then he did let out a little cry of utter humiliation. His penis bobbled comically when his underpants were pulled away.

She lifted his shirt, and coaxed it over his hands. She moved them gently back to his head. He moaned. His cock was catastrophically erect---hard and vividly inflated. It quivered slightly as his intense need--his urgency to cum assaulted him and his flinching tenseness in his loins made it twitch shamefully.

The woman padded down to the sunken conversation pit and sat on the sofa before him, looking him over with a judgmental eye.

"He's been hard since you left?"

"Yes, miss--before." She glanced at a wall clock. She shook her head.

"We're going to fix that," she told him. "But it's going to be temporary... and very unpleasant. You're going to need to understand some things."

He stared.

"Chelsea," she instructed the girl, "you were right to bring him here. Call your sister."

"Miss, it's past midnight--"

"Call her anyway. Get her up. We need to know if," she paused, "Eli, is on any of the boards."

"Miss--I don't know if she'll tell--"

"Ask," ordered Diana. "You saw the van? That's one of Theirs. They're out there right now."

# # #

Eli was on all fours on the coffee table before Diana. The humiliation was thundering in his ears. She'd put a puppy training pad under him. His cock was still as erect as he'd ever felt it. Chelsea was wearing rubber cleaning gloves that had been liberally coated with vaseline.

Her finger was in his anus, reaching deep. The sensations were nearly horrifyingly good and terrifyingly humiliating. He'd let out a little sexual grunt when she'd gone in between his cheeks and now she was working, gently, to stroke him to orgasm. He was being 'milked.'

Diana had explained to him what was known about Them.

They were the Followers or the Monitors. A mysterious organization--most people said 'government'--but she thought differently. They were Something Else.

When They detected you--when They had your scent, They appeared at a distance, at your periphery, watching, following, observing.

When the leash tightened, they were reported at windows, across the street, as signs someone had been in your house. The next step, so the legends went, you were Taken. Replaced.

"You'll be different," Diana said. "We've observed it. It's... spooky. We've never had one of the Taken fail any test. They don't interact with us though. It's like... they have a disdain for us. They're... different. We think it's a doppelganger or something."

He'd listened incredulously.

"The doppelganger is eager for guidance and correction--the same way that the Full Moon works. There are other places they can go that do the same. Sometimes worse... although the Full Moon is much more severe than you see as a customer."

Her eyes met Chelsea, who blushed and continued stroking. Eli groaned.

"After a time--we think--the taken 'come back.' Those Taken change again--back, we think, to who they were--but..."

"Subjugated," Chelsea said in a whisper.

"That's what we call it," agreed Diana. "Subjugated--submissive, defeated. Domesticated. Whatever is done to them it's clearly awful. There have been contacts--little... movie clips... postcards--phone calls--things like that--sent from the Taken while their double, or whatever is walking around."