Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I am not stupid. It was a mistake that could have happened to anyone. The terraced streets, all in lines looking much the same, were named after English counties when they were built, back in the 1900’s or whenever. So, I confused Suffolk Street with Surrey Street. Easily done.
I worked for an Australian Bank in Canary Wharf, London’s banking district. In the basement of the H.Q. were provided a couple of squash courts designed, it was thought, as a means of diminishing frustrations built up on the trading floor. I was in a bad mood that morning. I had already fucked up a big trade which was likely to have severe financial repercussions for my quarterly bonus. Somewhat distracted, I had gone for a ball that was not gettable, tripped, slammed into the wall and ricked my back.
My boss charged his secretary to get me to a sports chiropractor double quick. The two she had on her “approved” list were not available at such short notice. She was obliged to search further afield and eventually found one at 14 Surrey Street in the old part of the East End. It is a point of contention whether I gave the taxi driver the wrong information or whether he misheard. Either way I was dropped outside 14 Suffolk Street, and was none the wiser for it.
True, it did not say Osteopaths or Chiropractors on the brass plate to the right of the door. I must have been in too much of a hurry to read the sign that was actually there. I learned much later, that it read “Genderbenders Inc.”.
The windows had those commercial looking blinds half drawn downwards which looked the part – and I was in too much of a hurry. I needed to get sorted and back to the trading floor to try and make amends for the bad trade I had put my name to earlier. I definitely remember seeing a number fourteen on the brickwork.
.
The front door opened to to the usual hall with stairs leading upwards halfway along, and the option to bypass them and continue into the depths of the house. Immediately on my right was a door to what, when the house was residential, would have been described as the “front room”. Now it bore the message “Welcome” and, in keeping with that sentiment, it stood ajar.
I knocked and entered in one action. The receptionist was a bit of a surprise. She was big, blonde and busty. So busty, that the neckline of her scarlet dress scooped down almost, it teased, to the edge of a nipple. Or was that just my wishful thinking? The roots of her denied she was a natural blonde, but that was just me being finnicky Her generous red painted lips and black mascara with a touch of green eye shadow, made her into a sexy doll of a woman, and I warmed to her immediately.
“Hello,” she said, with a professional smile. “Are you are my two o’clock appointment?” I nodded. My appointment was for two o’clock but I was, in the urgency of my situation, quite a bit early. “I am sorry I wasn’t here last week. I had the chance of a week in one of the Spanish Costas. Down the stairs to the basement to the changing room. Get completely undressed and Raven will be with in a jiffy.”
What was she on about, missing me last week? Had she mistaken me for somebody else? So what? I shrugged it off.
The truth was that I was starting to feel much better, to the point of wondering if I really needed the services of a chiropractor. Only because I would feel shame-faced about returning to the Bank, and having to admit that I had bottled out, did I descend the stairs down to what originally had been the coal cellar of the original domestic.property.
There was only one door at the bottom of the stairs. I turned the handle and walked inside. Sure enough it was a changing room with a line of clothes pegs to one side and a bench covered with a washable fabric on the other. On one peg was hung a white robe. which, I guessed, was for my use.
A second door led, I presumed, to the treatment room. Being somewhat bashful I automatically scanned the walls for any sign of a camera and, sure enough, I was not to be disappointed. There was a small eye, top left hand corner.
Not exactly happy with the situation I undressed regardless, keeping my back to the camera. I hung up my clothes and moved across to sit on the bench, enveloping my body in the cotton fabric of the robe as tightly as I could. Almost as soon as I was sorted a green light appeared above the door to the treatment room. I took that as my cue to move forward and, as if in confirmation, the door automatically slid open and I walked through.
The space beyond was nothing like I expected. It was almost in complete darkness More so as the door I had come through slid silently shut behind me, cutting off the minimum light from the changing room.
As I stood there inert, trying to gain sort of bearing on the situation, something cold was slipped round my neck followed by an ominous click. A second or two later the cellar was bathed in a bright white light.
I turned and, standing in behind me was a tall, slim, Ankara bayan escort brunette, legs apart on four inch heels. She was wearing only a green corset so tight around her ample breasts that they overflowed provocatively allowing just a glimpse of pink areolas. The corset, as corsets are designed to do, left her pubes exposed, a black triangle of tiny curls. Red suspenders led my eyes downwards to the inevitable black, fishnet stockings encasing shapely legs.
Something inside me should have warned this was not the image the normal professional chiropractor would display. My eyes tore themselves away and up to her face. She was staring at me with a look of what I can best describe as quizzical. Ruby red lipstick on plump lips were pursed and her green eyes were attractively framed by a hint of black mascara.
At that moment I became all too aware that blood was flooding into my penis and my prick was almost a rigid pole supporting a tent protruding some nine inches in front of me. Automatically I dropped my hands in some pretence of modesty.
The girl smiled in apparent amusement. “I’m Raven,” she introduced herself. Her voice was gentle and seductive in itself. “Do you want to fuck me before we start?”
I strangled “yes” before it could slip from my lips. Of course I wanted to fuck her. What red-blooded male wouldn’t? Denying myself, I shook my head negatively.
“Don’t you like how I am dressed? This is what you ordered isn’t it?” The question seemed genuine enough. Her face mirrored confusion.
“Well, I……” I really became tongue-tied; lost for words. Nothing seemed to be making any sense. I had obviously been mistaken for someone else. I was catching up with the situation in my mind and even starting to deviously work out how I could earn a free fuck.
“Oh, I understand,” said Raven, her face relaxing into a smile. “I am surprised by the number of my clients who want to get down to the business straight away. Follow me then.”
There was a large machine standing high on the back wall. I was invited to step up to it and press my body into its soft rubber front. To this day I cannot explain what made me follow Raven’s instructions, I was sort of mesmerised – what was happening was surreal and I was the rabbit in those headlights. Raven, behind me, slipped off my robe and straight away two thick straps were wound around me, one just under my armpits and the other round my hips. They tightened up automatically and the front of my body was literally pressed into the wall of softness.
I had expected to have been laid on a bench and given a series of massages that would have counted as the treatment needed for my strained back. What I was being put through was something entirely different. As soon as Raven had appeared dressed as a dominatrix I should have run. Everything had all happened so quickly my mind seemed to have frozen for a short period of time. But, at last, my head cleared, fear flooded in and I started shouting; “Stop, stop, stop. Get me out of here. Untie me,”
I felt something soft coiling round my still rampant penis and the outer margins of my scrotum. “What’s going on here? Get me out of this Raven. Get me out right now.”
“It’s perfectly natural to have some last minute qualms, darling,” shouted the girl. “It’ll be over in no time at all and then you’ll be free to start your new life.”
“My new life?” I repeated. hovelling “What the fuck are you talking about?” I tried to thrash about with all my strength and received a huge shock through my body akin to that a cattle prod might deliver. It emanated from the thing put round my neck and took all my strength and will away.
I have a lasting image of Raven’s face. I saw doubt creep into her eyes and her jaw started to drop. I think she mouthed, “it’s too late now.” I cannot be sure of that though.
At face level, the material gave way to a screen inset about a foot or so from eyes. Playing was a collage of fast changing pornographic scenes of people copulating with an emphasis on ejaculation. I realised afterwards the intent was to keep my penis hard whilst it was trapped below me.
There was no problem with that endeavour or the need for the extra stimulation. I would have sworn that a cool female hand was slowly massaging my rock hard penis whilst another was cupping and caressing my ball sack. Much of the fear I had at being trapped, unable to move, were dissipated as my sexual instincts took over. My concentration moved almost in its entirety to my groin and, to a lesser extent, to the visual stimulation from the fast changing images on the screen.
I shot my first load in no time at all with the hugest and longest orgasm I could remember. How could that be? The intensity of it dropped off though. It had to – otherwise I would have likely passed out – but even at a lower lever gorgeous sensations continuously emanated from my prostate, keeping me engrossed in ongoing phalanx Escort bayan Ankara of pleasure.
The external stimulation of my groin never abated and I could feel my body heading for another climax. Sure enough a second explosion followed in quick succession and I imagined my scrotum working hard to find more spunk to justify this second huge climax. The paucity of the content of succeeding ejaculations seemed to make the climatic event even more dramatic, causing pleasurable convulsions right through my body.
It must have been during the sixth or seventh round that I blacked out. I guess my body could not stand the pleasure any longer. Or perhaps such an event was built into the programme. I should never know. What I remember next was waking up in a hospital type bed, tucked warmly between crisp white sheets that smelled faintly of roses. One of my first reactions was to slide a hand over and check my equipment. Thankfully it appeared to be all in order – all present and correct, although sore in parts.
My awakening did not go unnoticed thanks, thanks no doubt to hidden cameras. A matronly lady, chubby and cheerful, came to my bedside and checked me over; eyes, pulse, and then she pulled the covers back and examined my groin. I felt no embarrassment strangely enough.
Thumbs up, I was fit to go and my clothes were hung over a chair ready for my departure. I tried to talk to the woman but she replied in a foreign language unknown to me. I guessed afterwards that this was likely a deliberate ploy to avoid answering any questions, and she probably understood English perfectly. I was bundled into a taxi waiting in the street and treated to a free ride home. That evening I didn’t do much apart from renew my acquaintance with the whisky bottle and go over and over the events of that afternoon. Ironically, one thing was for sure, the pain in my back that had caused this fiasco, had disappeared completely.
As a virile twenty-five year-old, when I found I had a morning erection, I would jerk myself off, then shower, grab some cereal and fruit, with coffee of course, and then set off to work on the overhead railway. But there was no morning erection that morning, nor on the morning after that. In fact, there was no stirring in my loins whatsoever on both days. Something was definitely not right. A chill ran don my spine. What was even worse, I began to realise that my genitals were shrinking in size.
Yes, of course, I put this immediately down to the encounter I had had at 14 Suffolk Street. It had to be. But what should I do? I had friends, men and girls, girls that I slept with occasionally, but I felt unable to confide in any of them in that first week. Instead I distanced myself with a cocktail of excuses – and my manhood shrunk more and more.
Playing squash was an immediate casualty. The bulge in my shorts had been impressive and I was known for swaggering naked in the shower room. Not any more. The rate of the shrinking was alarming. And no sign of a hard-on whatsoever. I tried all genres of porn at home will no result whatsoever. There was nothing for it other than to resign my job at the Australian bank with immediate effect.
In a matter of a couple of weeks my penis had withered to a stable inch and a half and my ball sack was just a small, loose piece of empty skin which bore no relation to what it once had been. I came to realise that what I had between my legs was what I was ending up with. The worst thing of all was that I had no means of the sexual relief that a wank would reward me. The frustration of that was rank.
The coming to terms with the inexorable change to the composition of my body was the hardest thing to bear and the lowest point in my life thus far. I did not seriously consider self-harm, but it took a while for me to regenerate my fighting spirit and come to terms as to what I had become – a form of eunuch. I did dream that the Suffolk Street people, assuming they were still there and in business, had a machine that would reverse the process of minimising my sexual equipment. They might be able to enlarge my penis but surely not replace my balls, let alone my fertility.
No, I would have to think outside the box.
I still had a sexual drive. A strong one. And I had an anus. The gay world started to take on a whole new meaning for me.
I started watching gay porn. Very quickly I became excited at watching men sucking each other’s penises and enjoying anal penetration. I began to thrill in my nether regions watching the screen and my tiny prick would turn rock hard. I could jerk myself, and I did, but there was never the ultimate reward in doing so. Almost immediately I started paying attention to my anus.
Of course, for the best part of twenty-five years, my anus had just had the function of the delivery of shit, something that needed wiping and washing, and which very occasionally itched. Now, my arsehole was about to vie for central stage.
It Bayan escort Ankara was all too easy to buy a dildo online and lube to go with it. At the same time I ordered a set of butt plugs. I lost my anal virginity on my bedroom carpet. The dildo was a nice shape, smaller at the tip gradually thickening towards the base. I tried sucking it but that did nothing for me other than a plastic taste. Lubed it became slippery which, with me on my knees on the floor, somewhat contorted, I had difficulty in holding it in position and locating my sphincter at the same time. I had a vision of myself from above and that was momentarily off-putting.
I persevered, felt the tip of the penis nudge at my arsehole and nestle ready for a push. I savour that moment even now. I remember the surge of excitement I felt then. I did not hurry the process but gently applied more and more pressure on my sphincter with my hand fighting the slipperiness of the lubrication. I was seriously starting to doubt that my virginity was in danger when the tip of the penis finally broke through and penetrated me, less than an inch. I was expecting a rush of pain but the feeling was just vaguely pleasant but very naughty.
I had read a shedload of “first time” stories, fictional as well as supposedly “real”, and most of them centred on pain as well as a few degrees of pleasure. My artificial penis seemed to skip the pain element and was not too hot in the pleasure stakes either. After a couple of sessions it convinced me that I needed the real McCoy. And rather sooner than later.
There were half a dozen parks in walking distance from my flat and I knew two of them at least had within them the ‘notorious’ male lavatories where gay men linked up for sex. I visited both, several times, and as I scouted them from a distance I saw other men doing the same. Unlike them though, I could not drum up the courage to walk those final few steps.
I was up for, almost desperate for, a quickie of clandestine sex in a toilet cubicle reeking of stale piss and maybe cheap disinfectant. And with a man whom I did not know and would likely never hook up with ever again. The awareness that the place could be raided by the police, and I would be prosecuted for obscene behaviour, added more spice to the imagination rather than as a deterrent.
I would leave home determined to follow through, but when I reached the point whereby I needed to walk into the lavatory, perhaps in the wake of a man I had identified as gay, and had stalked, I chickened out every time. “Suppose the guy wanted to suck my prick?” was always in the back of my mind.
The solution was surprisingly obvious. I wondered how I had managed to miss it. I found an online gay hooking-up site that was not just free to use at a basic level, but offered complete anonymity. Or claimed so to if its members if they followed the necessary rules. Each member published a description of himself, his sexual proclivities, some descriptions of a physical nature and whether he was a “top” or a “bottom” or either. Initial contact was made through a message line.
The wolves honed in on me – guys with, hypothetically, dozens of notches on their cocks. I did wonder whether my first time should be given to one of these experienced aggressors. The fact that I had to admit on my C.V. that I could not get an erection did not seem to worry any of them. I guess my virgin arse, a new conquest, was meat and drink enough for them. Yet, in the end, I batted them all away – for the time being anyway.
Eventually, after a number of false starts, I connected with a guy from the other side of London. He seemed friendly, and intelligent and he was in no way pushy. He could not accommodate, his profile said, so a meeting would have to be in my flat or in a hotel or something like. I opted for my gaff and, on the day, I spent hours getting myself clean and ready for my very first gay experience.
The guy arrived right on time, looked me up and down to see if I was fit for purpose and asked e “where?” I chose the bedroom and he walked in, took off his shoes, trousers and underpants and lay back on my bed inviting me to suck his cock. I was a bit nonplussed. I had expected some foreplay at least – perhaps a warm-up drink together. But no, I was sucking his penis into an erection in no time at all.
He rod was soon rigid, but the loose skin around his cock was surprisingly soft and warm and pleasing to my lips. My first live cock and I sucked it with gusto and found I was enjoying every second of doing so. It was not that big and I deepthroated it until my lips were touching his balls. I kecked as the tip hit the back of my throat. I licked his balls and took them in my mouth one at a time before going back to sucking his helmet hard. All too soon I heard his voice calling urgently, “I’m going to finish. I’m going to finish.”
I had not quite worked out what to do in that situation. I had watched countless videos of porno stars collecting cum in their mouths, swirling it about before swallowing, and looking pleased about it all. But I didn’t have a chance. He was spurting before I knew it and, as it sprayed on his stomach. I was surprised how little of it there was and I was not motivated to lick it up. I had a box of tissues to hand.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32