Str8 Sensitive Guy Gets Explored

When I was 22 I had an unplanned and uninvited experience that I will never forget. The year before, my dad had died suddenly in a car accident. He had been a private investigator and had multiple active cases at the time of his death. A couple times we received calls from clients of his requesting information or documents pertaining to their cases. While we knew dad kept important files in a safety deposit box, we had no idea how to access it or even where it was. We were never able to provide help to those clients.

With the loss of my father’s income and two younger siblings to care for, my mom couldn’t afford my college tuition anymore so I found a job, moved out and started taking online courses. My job was at a health club in the city and my apartment was right across the street. One night at closing time, I was walking the last gym patron out. I was about to close and lock the door when two big, muscled guys stopped me and pushed their way in. They were closely followed by a man in a suit who closed the door behind him and flipped the lock. I explained that we had just closed, but the man in the suit ignored me. He was clearly in charge and walked past his well-muscled assistants and right up to me. My heart was beating fast and I didn’t know what was happening. My cell phone was with my keys and wallet in my gym bag in the office. I didn’t know what to do.

The suited man grabbed a fistful of my shirt and said, “I was a client of your father’s.  Your father had something that belongs to me. I intend to get back. What I am here to get from you is the location and passcode to his safety deposit box.”

I was gripped by fear. What would they do to me when they found out I didn’t have what he was looking for? They outnumbered me 3 to 1. I’ve never been beaten up before. I’ve never even been in a fight.

I told him I didn’t know, and that I never knew. Still with my shirt bunched in his fist he pushed and guided me back from the front windows and deeper into the gym away from the view of the street. He wasn’t a bulked up mass of muscle like his helpers but he was powerful in a compact sort of way. I was  5’ 10” and a little shy of 145 pounds. Despite working in a gym, between my job and my studies I didn’t have much time to work out and when I did, I spent that time running on the tread mill. I lacked upper body strength and as the suit man pushed and guided me around by my scrunched shirt, I provided so little resistance that it seemed like I was on roller skates.

He said, “I expected that you would claim ignorance but you will have to prove to me that you don’t have what I need.”

 I asked, “How could I prove it?”

He said, “The only way would be to show me.” He saw the confused look on my face so he clarified, “You will be stripped and searched. The information I need to access the safety deposit box can be kept on something not much bigger than the size of a postage stamp. You will have to be taken apart to prove you’re telling me the truth.”

I began to tremble and tried to assure him that I did not have what he wanted, but he wasn’t having it.

He said, “This is happening with or without your cooperation.” He then offered me some advice saying, “If you don’t fight it, the ordeal will be over sooner and while it will still be humiliating, it will certainly be less painful. My friends behind me here work hard. Their jobs are not often enjoyable but tonight is going to fun for them. They deserved to have some fun and spend as much time on me as they want. I strongly encourage your cooperation for your own well-being.”

I decided right then that I would not fight what was about to happen. This suited man was fierce and stubborn, but I also thought he was telling the truth. If I didn’t resist, they wouldn’t hurt me. Just let them do their search and I’ll be okay.

The suited man continued, “We’ll start with a pat-down” and he instructed me to raise my arms above my head.

I tried, “If I actually do have the safety deposit box information, why do you think I have it here with me?”

 He said, “I know that if you have it must be here because we just spent the last three hours tearing your apartment apart and searching every square inch. We saw and touched everything you own. We know everything about you… all your little dark secrets,” he winked at me.

I asked, “How did you---“

He cut me off and said, “We have our ways. Now, arms up. Higher, higher. All the way.”

I did as I was told. The suited man knelt down and started feeling around my left ankle circling front to back and slowly working his way up my leg. It was a cool autumn day and I was wearing sweat pants and a sweat shirt. With my arms reaching up as high as they could, my sweat shirt had ridden up a good eight inches, exposing my usually covered, shy tummy. I felt like a toddler standing there with my belly button peering out. I noticed that the two muscle guys were watching and they were clearly enjoying the show.

Meanwhile, the suited man had finished my left leg and was working his way methodically up my right. When he reached the top he was not shy about exploring my pelvic and private regions. Then he reached around me felt up my butt. I had never experienced a pat-down before so I had nothing to compare it with but this seemed beyond thorough.

With my lower half complete, the suited man stood. He reached up and began patting down my arms through my sleeves. By the time he finished my arms he must have decided that my sweatshirt was too thick and bulky for an effective search because he decided to go underneath. As he reached to go under my shirt his fingers grazed across my exposed lower abdomen. The surprise sensation on my sensitive belly caused an involuntary gasp and quiver. Instinct forced me to take two steps backwards. I saw the look of a stern warning on the suited man’s face and quickly stepped back into position.

The muscle guys grinned and watched on in anticipation.

The suited man now had both hands on my bare skin. He worked his way down from my elbows and into my armpits. Down my sides, across my belly, back up grazing my nipples as he passed, and finally down my sternum with a pause to insert a finger right into my concave belly button. Everything he did tickled almost unbearably. Knowing the muscle guys would further feed off any visible reaction from me, I tried my best to give nothing away. Based on their expressions, I was not too successful.

The suited man decided to explore my backside. He walked around behind me and reached again under my shirt. As he reached up to start at my shoulders, my shirt rode up even higher, up to my armpits, giving the muscle guys their best show yet – the full expanse of my smooth, lean torso. The suited man’s hands moved up and down and side to side across my back. He danced his fingers up my sides again into my awaiting armpits. Tears began to form in my eyes as it took everything in me to suppress a scream. He finally stopped and told me to put my arms down. I gladly did so and quickly pulled my shirt back down.

He walked over to his goons and told them, “He’s not concealing anything obvious but while I go search his stuff, you two do your thing. If he has it, I want it.” The suited man walked toward the gym office, I guessed to get my gym bag and jacket, and my new captors turned toward me and smiled.

Flanking me, they each grabbed ahold of an upper arm and pulled me, heels dragging, off to the side and onto a mat next to the massage table. Gym patrons used this large floor mat for stretching. I had to remind myself, for my own safety, to not resist. I allowed the muscle guys moved me around like a limp ragdoll. They laid me down on my back, spread my legs apart, and they knelt straddling one leg each with their broad backs to me. I felt them each begin to untie my sneakers.

Being a student and on my own I didn’t have much disposable income. I was long overdue for a new pair of sneakers. I was wearing a well-worn pair of VANS that dated back to my junior year of high school. I don’t generally have a foot odor problem, but I was worried now as these dirty old things were always a bit rank by the end of the day.

They slipped off my battered kicks and for a few moments I was unaware of anything happening. Then I realized they were busy removing my shoelaces. Once complete, they were easily able to bend out the shoes’ tongues and fully search and explore inside each tattered sneaker. They took their time and they were thorough. They even attempted to remove the insoles before deciding they were permanently attached. I also noticed them each sneak a whiff of the relic shoes. I flushed in shame at what I knew that whiff revealed. At that point I wondered what they did to my other pairs of shoes at my apartment (or to the basket of dirty laundry on the floor in my bedroom).

The slightly smaller guy (SG) said to the other, “He’s a 10.5, would that fit you?”

The bigger guy (BG) replied, “No man he’s too small for me, I’m a 12.  Besides, these are all beat up and a bit ripe, right? Why? Would you want them? What size are you?”

SG said, “No he’s too big for me. I wear a 9 and a half.”

BG said, “Dude, I didn’t know you were that small. No man-sized feet for you?”

 SG said, “Don’t size shame me.”

I realized that this exchange about shoe size was the first time either of these guys had spoken since walking into the gym. Back to business, they cast aside my shoes in different directions. Thinking that I might get into BG’s good graces I almost piped up that I’m actually a size 11. My feet had grown another half of a size since buying the VANS 6 years ago. They were so old and worn though that they stretched and conformed to my now bigger feet. Then I realized that having gone through all of my belongings in my apartment, they already knew my other shoes were 11’s. They also knew my waist was 29 inches, my inseam was 30 inches, even the brand and color of my underwear… I decided to remain quiet.

They each tugged up on the legs of my sweatpants and pulled them up above my socks. Next they grabbed my socked feet, rubbing and massaging them all over. It was surprising and actually felt nice but I realized their intent was to search and feel for anything that I might be hiding in my socks. Once they determined nothing obvious was inside, each man hooked fingers in my socks and began to slowly peel them, inside out, off of my sweaty feet. They each held up and examined their respective socks, snuck another sniff right at the toe end (especially inside out and still damp, they certainly smelled worse than sneakers) and their eyes bugged out as they coughed a little. I blushed again in embarrassment.  Satisfied that nothing foreign was hiding there, they each tossed the socks aside and contemplated their next move.

I looked over to where the suited man had dragged out my jacket and bag. My jacket pockets and sleeves had been turned inside out and he was currently examining every crack and crevice of my wallet. Meanwhile the big guys were ready to proceed. I was well aware that these guys had made no attempt to bound or secure my arms. They weren’t aware of my silent resolve to not resist, but I was certainly no match for them either way. What threat could I possibly pose? Any attack I could attempt would have the effect trying to beat down a bolted door with two wet noodles.

They still straddled my naked feet. I had just finished working a long 8 hour shift, all on my feet. They were sweaty, sore and had been trapped all day in those old shoes. Now my feet were bare; freshly exposed and sensitive. I was very afraid of what was about to happen. And then it began. Four big, strong hands attacking two helpless, soft feet. They methodically executed a strategy that combined light, tantalizing strokes with hard digs. Arches were swiped and toes were flossed. They addressed both the bottoms and the tops. They bent my toes bent back while they scratched fingernails up and down my instep. It was pure torture.

I started out determined not to react. To be strong and not give them any more fuel for the fire. My strength dissolved all of about five seconds in. I was thrashing uncontrollably and howling with laughter. The attack on my defenseless feet lasted twenty minutes but felt like an eternity. Once satisfied, they sat down and gave me a couple minutes recover and catch my breath.

I eventually regained some composure and they got up. BG straddled my waist and SG moved to above my head and sat. He took my hands by the wrists and pinned them down up over my head. With my arms up, my shirt rode up again, but I didn’t think it would matter much as I was sure I wouldn’t be wearing the shirt for long. I was silently pleading no, no, no, but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of verbal begging.

SG released my wrists for a moment but I stayed where he put me. He took hold of the cuffs of my sleeves and pulled and tugged and slipped my sweatshirt right off. He turned it inside out, including the sleeves and examined every inch for any hidden surprises. When he didn’t find any he tossed the shirt across the room.

Meanwhile BG tucked his fingers inside the waistband of my sweatpants and tugged down a few inches so I was bare all the way down below my hip bones to my pelvis. SG pinned my wrists again, but this time he held them both up above my head with just one hand. I was stretched out thin with my ribs poking up. My usually round innie belly button was stretched into a vertical oval.

I never considered myself particularly weak, but again, the exercise time I get is spent running. I have not done crunches or ab exercised of any kind. I am thin, but my middle is soft and vulnerable. Nothing was happening for a minute and I realized that they were taking in the sight. I also realized that SG now had a free hand and was taking pictures of me with his cell phone.

As I lay there with the full expanse of my nearly hairless, smooth, pale skin exposed and displayed, I felt both the cool gym air and four wide eyes on me.

I looked in the direction of the suited man. My best hope was that he had finished going through my bag, determined there was nothing of interest and would call an end to the night’s festivities. In fact it looked like he had just finished his inspection, but then his cell phone rang. He looked at the display, got up, walked to the door, unlocked it, answered his call and stepped outside. The suited man hadn’t been much help to me so far, but somehow I felt more afraid now that it was just the three of us.

Gawking time was over. As BG began his assault, he was like an intense, professional musician playing his instrument with aggressive precision. Unfortunately for me, I was his instrument. To say I was sensitive would be a gross understatement. I was taught and tense. As if he knew where I was most vulnerable, he began with light strokes across my lower belly just above the waistline. Even though I knew it was coming, I couldn’t help but tremble and gasp from the shock of the touch.

My reaction brought out a giggle from my assailants and SG continued to take photos…or wait…now he was taking video!

Gradually the strokes expanded up and down and side to side. He tickled my ribs. He tickled my sides. He teased my belly button by drawing circles with his fingers around its bullseye. He dug into my armpits and an almost animal sound escaped my throat. I was thrashing involuntarily, but between BG straddling my waist and SG pinning my wrists, it had almost no effect at all.

Finally they took mercy on me and the attack ceased. After a too-brief respite I was horrified to realize that they only stopped to trade positions. With SG now straddling my waist, he managed to execute very much the same maneuvers, but made it feel like a whole new program.

SG obviously noticed from his previous vantage point that what drove me the craziest was attention paid to the lower abdomen. He brushed side to side across my slight mound just south of my navel. Each swipe made me quiver and shudder. He also spent much more time working on the belly button itself, at one point even plunging his tongue into it as deep as he could. I had never experienced such a sensation before in my life. Just when I thought I might pass out from the torture and laughter, they took pity on me and stopped. The whole time they let me rest, they continued to stare at my body like it was an exhibit at the zoo.

They each knelt down by my feet, tugged a few times on my pant legs and ultimately pulled my sweatpants right off. They took a moment to invert the pockets and then the legs. They examined and then cast aside the garment. I was now laying there in just my underwear. I could tell that I was at the early stage of a partial erection.  I told myself this was a natural physical response to all the touching and tickling.

In unison, they each grabbed a leg just above the knee and squeezed. I didn’t even know I could be ticklish there, but I was. I threw my head back and my arms out in raucous laughter. After a few more squeezes there they slowly, teasingly dragged their fingers up my inner thighs and soon they were inside of the short legs of my boxer briefs. They squeezed again. This tickled even more intensely and I spasmed violently. A few times (accidentally on purpose) they grazed my balls with their fingertips, causing me to jerk and jump from the shock as they continued to dart in and out of my underwear.

Suddenly they stopped and stood. I was on my back, sprawled and displayed. The prey awaiting its next attack. They were just standing over me, staring down at me intently. Assessing and judging. I was generally a modest person and certainly never an exhibitionist. I was trying to convince myself that, still wearing underwear, this was no different than being at the beach or the pool, though I knew I usually wore a shirt to both of those places.

Without warning, BG suddenly reached down and snatched the underwear right off of me. Following the already-established routine, he turned the underwear inside out and performed a thorough examination before flipping them aside. I laid there passively, 100% stark naked.

They both began to giggle and BG started to outright laugh. He said, “Look how small it is!”

I was surprised, especially knowing that the partial I was beginning to sport was causing me to show slightly larger than usual. He still found me to be unbelievably small. I hadn’t seen many other penises before and never really had any reason think my size was lacking. Apparently I was laughably small. I flushed with embarrassment but simultaneously felt a stir in my now exposed cock.

BG said to me, “You can’t tell me you’ve actually satisfied any women with that tiny thing.”

I wasn’t going to answer, but the humiliation obviously stung. The staring eyes and ridiculing words were unexpectedly causing me to slowly grow and stiffen.

They noticed the changed too and SG said to BG, “You know, not everyone can have a 9 inch, porn star-sized dick like you. His dick may be small, but it looks like it works.”

I felt another tick up.

BG told his partner, “Well you’re no slouch either with your 7 inches. I bet this little guy can’t beat 4 inches.”

My member ticked up another beat. Something about two other men shaming my manhood was surprisingly turning me on.

SG noticed my change and asked his apparently well-hung friend, “Do you know what the average penis size is?”

“No,” replied BG

“It’s 5.3 inches,” SG replied.

I ticked up again.

“Are you sure?” BG asked. “That sounds small to me.”

Another bump up.

SG said, “Just about anything would sound small compared to you.”

Throughout this conversation they never took their eyes off of me and I bounced another degree higher. Why was I aroused by this?

BG said, “Well, I don’t even think he’s 5.3! No way.”

As they continued to stare down and assessing me, I felt yet another tick up. They were well aware of the affect their casual banter and peering eyes were having on me.

SG said, “You know, some guys are showers and some guys are growers. Maybe he’s a grower.”

A tick up again.

BG said, “You mean those who have large flaccid dicks that don’t get much bigger when erect are showers and those who look small when limp but grow a lot when erect are growers?”

Another bump up in elevation and now I was glistening with pre cum.

SG said, “Yes, that’s what I mean. Maybe he’s a grower. Hold on, I have an idea.” He walked into the office and returned a moment later with cloth tape measure in his hand.

BG said, “Seriously? You want to measure him?”

Boom another jump up.

SG said, “Yeah, but we need to get him all the way hard first. Are you gay?” he asked me.

The question took me by surprise. “Excuse me,” I replied.

“Are you attracted to men? Do you think us two guys can get you fully erect?” SG persisted.

 I answered, “I’ve never been touched by another man before,” as my penis bounced up another notch.

SG scoffed, “That didn’t answer my question, but it looks like your little guy is answering for you.”

 They were still staring down at me and I felt another tick up that had me now pointing to ceiling. I was just about at the stage where my semi would complete its transformation into a full.

BG said, “Now let me get something.” He walked over to the massage table and grabbed the bottle of massage oil. He came back, oiled his large meaty hands, squatted down and wrapped a slippery paw around my almost fully firm shaft.

I sadly only need a few fingers to count the number of times in my life that someone besides me has touched my penis (and I’m including doctors). The sensation racked my body in shock and pleasure. I don’t know what it is about the touch from another person, but without even doing anything more than a light squeeze he gave me a sensation I’d never felt before. It wasn’t just my body that jolted. I was now at full mast, no matter how tall or small that mast might be. They both noticed my reaction and laughed again.

BG said,” I don’t think he gets any bigger than this and look, he’s rock hard, but he gets lost in my palm. His tip doesn’t even poke over!”

They giggled but then SG defended me, “Your giant hands make even a basketball look small. Give the little dude a break. You’re gonna give him a complex.”

I was burning red with embarrassment and my fully loaded cock throbbed with my pulse in his grip.

“Alright?” SG asked me. “Have you maxed out yet? Can I measure you now?”

Knowing it was inevitable that this was happening whether I approved or not, I gave a slight nod. “Yes.”  I was fully erect.

SG nudged BG’s hand away, which had still been holding my member. He said, “Just to be sure it’s reached its full potential…” He bent over, opened his mouth and enveloped the whole of my length into his wet, warm cavity. His lips were all the way down at the base of my shaft. I would have been impressed by the deep throating, but I had just tonight learned that apparently I’m not that much of a mouthful. His wiggling and slithering tongue on the underside of my throbbing shaft felt like magic massage fingers. I don’t know how he was doing it but I knew that if he kept it going for even 10 seconds longer, I would have exploded a load right then. Just in time, he backed off me.

I still glistened as his saliva had now replaced my pre cum. At this point I began to wonder if something was wrong with me. It’s one thing to be sensitive but I seemed to be overly so. Every touch was like an electric jolt. I became fully erect from little more than just words, humiliation and staring. I almost just blew my load from being in that guy’s mouth for all of about 15 seconds. Was this normal? Am I just sensitive, am I doing something wrong or is something wrong with me?

My whole life I had a vague idea that might be a little ticklish, but isn’t everyone? My siblings are younger than me and I never had any tickle-bullies in my life to put this to the test. Here I was, a full grown 22 year old man, laying here a helpless victim. I felt like a child. Further contemplation on this subject would have to wait because right now the time had come to size me up.

He took hold of the underside of my shaft (again causing a small gasp despite everything I’d already been through tonight) with one hand and placed the end of the measuring tape right where the base meets my pelvis. Holding it in place, he then ran cloth measure up the length of my shaft, snug to every contour and curved it around to the slit at the top of the head. He marked the spot between two fingers and showed his friend who had taken over the video recording.

“Look! 5.5 inches! He’s actually above average!” SG exclaimed. He seemed oddly proud.

BG said, “Okay, but just barely. And it still looks small to me. Like he’s a pre-teen or something.”

More humiliation. I blushed once again and my penis continued pulse with every beat of my heart.

“Do you think we can get him to blow his load?” This was from SG. “I know he said he’s not gay but we got him erect without much effort. Look at it just bobbing there. He looks like he’s ready to bust a nut.”

BG said, “The question isn’t can we make him cum. The question is how long can he hold out? This guy has probably been the most sensitive and ticklish guy I’ve ever encountered. Every touch has been like a bolt of lightning. If we tickle his pickle, it will undoubtedly yield a result.”

SG said, “Okay so what do you think? He lasts 5 minutes?”

BG laughed, “Ha! More like 2 minutes!”

SG said, “Let’s find out. I insist on doing the honors!”

BG was still recording and said, “Go for it.”

SG grabbed the massage oil and lubed up his hands. He looked at me and asked, “Do you give massages here at the club?”

I didn’t answer him but the fact is I don’t. I am not certified.

He asked me, “When you give massages do you give happy endings?”

I just stared at him.

He said, “I bet you do. Or at least if you don’t, you fantasize about doing it.”

BG chortled. “Now who’s humiliating him?”

This dialogue was not causing any softening of my hard on. My cock continued to bob away in concert with my pulse.

SG said, “Well, think of this as the grand finale happy ending to cap off your special night.” With that he took ahold of my manhood and even though I knew it was coming, I still couldn’t suppress the involuntary twitch and gasp of the sudden contact.

He began slowly with some basic up and down strokes. He gradually extended those strokes to continue up and glide across my sensitive mushroom cap. I really was trying to hold it back. I found I was inadvertently holding my breath. He then steepled his fingers together and enveloped me between his palms gliding up and down and twisting around. A few minutes earlier, when I was in his mouth, I was convinced that that that would be the most intense sexual feeling I would ever have in my life. I was now thinking that it had become a close second to what I was experiencing in this moment.

Despite being 22, I am still been a virgin. My only orgasms so far in life had been self-inflicted. This man knew what he was doing. First with that mouth and now with these expert hands. It was like that scene from Ghost and my penis was the modeling clay on the spinning pedestal. I know I wasn’t actually spinning but his twisting motions were making me feel otherwise.

I didn’t think it was possible, but I felt like I had gotten even harder than I was before. I couldn’t help but think that if he stopped to measure me again right now, I might have added another ¼ inch.

He knew and he knew I was close to climaxing. He concentrated on the upper portion of the sensitive underside just below the head. As I started to convulse, he returned to those strokes that grazed across the plump, purple bulb. I was panting and groaning. My face was beet red. I shot the biggest load of my life, but SG didn’t stop. He kept ahold of me and continued his relentless stroking. He seemed to want to milk every last drop out of me. I was now ultra-sensitive after the intense climax and the continued attention was quickly shifting from pleasure to unbearable torture. He realized what he was absent mindedly doing to me and slowed his pace, eased his grip and left the tip alone. Relief. Eventually my dick had given all it had to give and SG let go.

In the end, according to BG’s watch, from start to spurt I lasted all of 60 seconds. They both had another good laugh, this time over my lack of stamina. I laid there panting and tried to recover. Their humiliating words and laughs had no impact this time on the state of my dick. When it was over, I crashed hard. Having just experienced the most intense orgasm of my life, I now found myself in the throes of a serious refractory period. I felt myself shrivel to a smaller state than I could remember since I was 10 years old.

Tonight I was victim, a toy, a play thing. Why had it turned me on?

They told me to get up and get dressed. I was hesitant though because the way I was sitting concealed my shrinkage from them. With the main festivities over, they weren’t paying as close attention to me as before. They had purposefully tossed all of my clothes far away and in different directions throughout the evening. Retrieving them would mean displaying myself and being subject to further ridicule. When they noticed that I wasn’t moving BG walked over, grabbed a wrist and, without much effort, pulled me up to standing. It was right at that moment that the suited man walked back in through the door.

As I stood there stark naked in front of him, his eyes met mine then slowly worked their way down my torso and to my barely 2 inch frightened, shriveled penis. He pointed and burst out laughing. Once again the humiliation colored my face, but still had no effect down below where I had not yet recovered. For the second time tonight I felt like a toddler, this time standing there sporting a baby dick.

He asked me, “What the hell is that?”

I stood a little taller, raised my head a little higher and said,” I’m a grower, not a shower.”

All three of them exploded in laughter and even I had to smile. SG said to his boss, “We measured and at full erection he posts a 5.5 incher!”

The suited man said, “I can’t believe that teenie penie could transform that much. Not that 5.5 is anything to be proud of.”

SG told his boss, “We’ll show you the video later.”

The suited man walked right up to me and poked a finger into my sternum. He said, “We were never here tonight and you’ve never seen us before in your life. We know there is no cctv so the only evidence would be from you as a witness.”

He was right. This was a small, privately owned facility and the owner never committed to the expense of a security system. I assured him I would never say a word.

He said, “If you do expose us, I will send my guys here back and they wouldn’t be so polite next time.” He held my gaze for minute and then accepted my answer. He removed his finger from chest, turned and asked his stooges, “Did you have fun tonight?”

They both answered in the affirmative and SG added, “It was even more fun than I could have imagined.”

The suited man turned back to me, “What about you? Did you have fun tonight?”

I didn’t answer.

The suited man said, “Look, it could have been a whole different night. They could have stripped you, searched you, then beat the shit out of you. Would that have been better?”

He looked like he expected an answer so I nodded slightly and said in a meek voice, “I did have fun.”

The suited man said to his goons, “Alright, it’s late. Say goodbye to your toy and let’s get out of here.”

BG stayed where he was, but smiled and waved with insincere enthusiasm.

SG came over to me. I hadn’t had a chance to gather my clothes yet so I was standing there still totally naked. He put his left arm around my shoulders, pulled me into him and put his lips against my right ear. He put his right hand on my belly mound and began a light rub in concentric circles. He whispered to me, “Do you know what my favorite part of you was?”

I waited.

He continued, “It was your belly button. I was drawn in and mesmerised by it from the first moment I saw it. You know, when you raised your arms and your shirt slid up? You have the sexiest, hottest, cutest belly button I have ever seen on any guy or girl. It even makes up for your smelly feet and small dick.” I burned again in shame.

SG continued, “Any time you want me to lavish attention on that belly button, you call me.” He stopped rubbing my tummy to pull his hand away, but not before inserting a finger into my innie hole one last time. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card with a phone number on it. He said, “I’m serious, call anytime. I could also help you with that stamina problem. Your size is maybe passable, but 60 seconds won’t satisfy anyone. I could practice with you and build that up.”

It was probably the combination of his warm, wet breath in my ear, the rubbing of my belly and the last parting shots of humiliation, but the whole right side of my body sprouted goosebumps, got all tingly and my member began to wake up and spring back to life.

BG, from several steps away, noticed this and chastised his partner. “Hey, come on. We gotta go before he pops a woody again and you want to stay another 3 hours.”

SG said to BG, “At least I took a souvenir, plus the video and photos.”

BG said, “Oh yeah? I took a souvenir too.”

With that, they left. SG was mouthing to me: “Call me!” his whole way out.

I wanted to go flip the bolt locking them out, but unfortunately I couldn’t do that without standing stark naked in front of the glass door lit up like an aquarium to anyone out in the dark street. My clothes were still scattered in every direction. I gathered them up and began to get dressed. It took a long 10 minutes to do so because every article was turned inside out and I had to re-lace both sneakers. I thought I had gathered everything, but while dressing I discovered that I couldn’t find my underwear and one sock. I thought to myself, souvenirs.

Once dressed, I went back over to the mat and cleaned up my extracted seed. I pulled on my jacket, reloaded my searched belongings back into my bag, grabbed it and left, locking the door behind me. As I made my way across the street to my apartment, I was keenly aware of how odd it felt to be walking in my sneakers with one sock on and one sock missing.

When I finally made it home, 3 hours later than I intended, I found that my apartment was indeed torn apart. There was no sign of forced entry… they have their ways. These guys had literally invaded every aspect of my life. They had their way with everything I own, including manhandling my body. The mess of my apartment would be tomorrow’s problem. I plopped myself down on my bed and slept the sleep of the dead for the next 12 hours.

I think of that night often. When I do, I still blush from the shame, but also, I can’t help the swelling that happens involuntarily in my pants. These men know where I work. They know where I live. They never did find what they came looking for that night, but they didn’t leave emptyhanded either.

Before that night I hadn’t ever really contemplated my sexuality. They intruded on my life appearing dangerous and threatening, but in truth, they never harmed me. Not really. And, though unintended, they helped me to discover who I was. I am constantly half afraid of and half hoping for a return visit. To this day I have not called the phone number on that card. But I haven’t thrown it away either.