Chapter 5: A Night on the Town
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The doorbell chimed, a cheerful sound that felt like a judge’s gavel to Brian. Christina, already dressed in a sleek black dress, didn’t even look up from her phone. “They’re here. Go let them in,” she said, her voice casual.
Brian’s stomach tightened. “Like this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, standing naked in the center of their living room.
“You know the rules. No clothes for greetings until I say so,” she replied, finally looking at him with that cool, appraising gaze. “Now answer your door.”
He moved on stiff legs, the cool air of the apartment raising goosebumps on his skin. Each step towards the front door amplified the pounding of his heart. He could see the blurred shapes of Alyson and Kelly through the frosted glass, their laughter a muted sound.
His hand trembled as he turned the deadbolt and pulled the door open. The hallway light framed them brightly, making him feel even more exposed. Alyson’s eyes went wide, her gaze instantly dropping and then snapping back to his face, a flush creeping up her neck. Kelly’s grin was immediate and wolfish, her eyes roaming his body without a hint of shame.
“Well, hello there,” Kelly purred, stepping inside and letting her fingers trail across his chest as she passed. “Someone’s eager.”
Alyson followed, more hesitant, her green eyes huge. “Hi, Brian,” she mumbled, carefully looking anywhere but directly at him as she slipped by.
“Close the door and come here,” Christina called from the sofa. She had two small devices on the coffee table. One was a black silicone sleeve with a subtle ribbed interior and a small, flat panel near the base. The other was a smooth, tapered plastic wand with a flared base.
Brian obeyed, his cock already beginning to thicken from the sheer exposure, a traitorous reaction he couldn’t control. Christina picked up the sleeve. “This is for this,” she said, giving his half-hard cock a firm, proprietary stroke that made him jump. “It’s remote-controlled. Ten different patterns. It’s going to stay on you all night.”
She unrolled the cool, pliable silicone over his length, her hands clinical and efficient. It hugged him tightly, a constant, snug pressure that immediately made him fully, achingly hard. The small panel sat against his pubic bone. “Comfy?” she asked, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head, now encased in a thin layer of silicone.
Before he could answer, she tapped the second device. “Now, bend over the arm of the couch. Hands on the seat.”
A fresh wave of humiliation, hot and sharp, washed over him. Alyson and Kelly were watching, drinks in hand now, their silence intensely focused. He bent, presenting himself to the room. He heard the click of a lubricant bottle, then felt Christina’s slick finger press firmly against his hole.
“Relax,” she commanded, her voice low. He tried, but his whole body was rigid. Her finger pushed in, a familiar and deeply shaming intrusion. It scissored gently, then withdrew. The cold, silicone-tipped tip of the prostate stimulator pressed in its place.
It was a slow, insistent pressure that gave way to a deep, full feeling as the flared base settled against him. “This one,” Christina whispered, leaning close so only he could hear, “vibrates. And it rotates. I can make you feel like you’re being fucked right there in the middle of the bar.”
She stood up and handed him his clothes—dark jeans, a grey henley, boxer briefs. “Get dressed. The fun starts now.”
Dressing was a unique torment. The fabric of his underwear and jeans pressed the cock sleeve tightly against him with every movement, a relentless reminder. The plug inside him shifted with each step, a profound, alien presence. He felt utterly filled and exposed at the same time.
“Let’s go,” Christina said, grabbing her purse. She, Alyson, and Kelly each pulled out their phones, their screens illuminating their faces with a soft glow. A shared app was open on each display, showing two simple, ominous slider controls: one for vibration intensity, one for rotation speed. “We’ll take turns.”
The karaoke bar was a cacophony of sound and colored light, a throbbing mass of people shouting over a terrible rendition of “Living on a Prayer.” Brian felt the devices inside him like a secret earthquake, a private vulnerability in the public chaos. They found a high-top table near the stage.
Alyson, emboldened by her second cocktail, nudged Brian. “See that woman at the bar, the brunette in the green dress? She’s looked over here three times. Go ask her what song she’s singing.”
As Brian stood, Christina casually dragged her finger across her phone screen. A low, insistent buzz immediately ignited in the sleeve around his cock, a steady hum that made his thighs tense. He walked stiffly towards the bar, the vibration a maddening counterpoint to the bass from the speakers.
The woman in green was friendly, smiling as he approached. “Hi, I’m Brian,” he said, forcing his voice to remain level as the vibration suddenly pulsed, shifting to a rapid, fluttering pattern.
“I’m Mara,” she said. “You here with friends?” Behind him, unseen, Kelly giggled and turned the rotation function on the plug to a slow, relentless grind. Brian’s knuckles turned white on the bar edge. He was distantly aware of his own voice answering, making small talk, while his entire world narrowed to the twin engines of pleasure working him over from the inside out.
He returned to the table, sweating. “Good boy,” Christina said, turning the devices down to a low, teasing thrum. “Now, get up on stage. Your name’s next.”
Singing was a new circle of hell. Standing under the lights, the lyrics to “Sweet Caroline” on the screen, he was a perfect target. Alyson took her turn, maxing the vibration for a ten-second burst that made his voice crack. The crowd laughed, thinking it was part of the act. He was painfully, impossibly hard, the silicone sleeve straining against his zipper.
He stumbled offstage to scattered, ironic applause. As he reached their table, Christina nodded towards a quieter corner booth. “Look who just walked in.”
It was Kristy. Her blonde bob was slightly messy, her nurse’s scrubs swapped for a simple jeans and t-shirt outfit. She was scanning the room, and her eyes lit up with recognition when she saw him. A genuine, warm smile broke across her face.
“Go say hi to your old student,” Christina murmured, her eyes glinting. “Be nice.”
Kelly and Alyson leaned in, phones at the ready. Brian walked over, the devices now silent but omnipresent. “Mr. Bryant?” Kristy said, her voice bright with surprise. “Oh my god, it’s been years!”
“Kristy, hi,” he said, forcing a smile. “Please, it’s Brian. How are you?”
They fell into easy conversation, the familiar connection a brief respite. She talked about nursing school, about mutual acquaintances. For a moment, he almost forgot the arsenal strapped to his body.
Then, without warning, his world exploded. Christina, with a deliberate tap, activated both devices at maximum power. The cock sleeve erupted into a violent, jackhammering frenzy against his most sensitive nerves. Simultaneously, the plug inside him began to rotate and vibrate with a deep, punishing intensity, massaging his prostate with brutal efficiency.
Brian’s breath hitched. His sentence trailed into a choked gasp. Every muscle in his body locked, a wire pulled taut.
“Are you okay?” Kristy asked, her smile fading into concern. She leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm.
The touch, the concern in her eyes, the merciless mechanical assault on his cock and ass—it was too much. A broken, ragged sound escaped his lips. His hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk. He felt the first hot, helpless spurt shoot into the constricting sleeve, a dam bursting under impossible pressure.
“I… I’m…” he stammered, as another thick pulse of cum emptied into the silicone trap, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. His knees felt liquid. The devices kept working him, milking him, ensuring every last drop was wrung from him while he stood motionless, trapped in a conversation.
Kristy’s concerned face blurred. He could feel the warm, sticky mess flooding the confines of the sleeve, a hidden humiliation inches from where she stood. Christina let the devices run for a few more excruciating seconds before they fell silent.
The sudden cessation was a shock. Brian was hollowed out, trembling, standing in soiled pants with a woman who still called him ‘Sir.’ Christina appeared at his side, smoothly looping her arm through his. “Sorry to steal him, Kristy! Old friends’ night. We should all catch up properly soon.” She led him away, a puppet with cut strings, back towards the table where Alyson and Kelly watched, their faces alight with wicked, shared triumph.
She sat him down heavily on the stool, his damp jeans clinging unpleasantly to his thighs. "You're a mess," Christina said, not whispering. Alyson smirked over the rim of her glass. Kelly openly stared at the dark, wet patch visibly spreading at his crotch.
Christina leaned into him, her breath hot against his ear. "You see that queue? They've put 'Bohemian Rhapsody' on for you. A six-minute song." Her hand slid down to the bulge, feeling the sodden fabric and the softened flesh within the sleeve. "You're going back up. You're going to stand in that light, in those pants, and you're going to finish it."
Brian's protest died in his throat, a weak sound swallowed by the bar's noise. The humiliation was a cold, heavy stone in his gut. He nodded, the motion jerky.
"Go on," she said, giving him a light push off the stool.
He walked back toward the stage, the sticky chill in his jeans a grotesque secret broadcast to anyone who cared to look. As he stepped onto the platform and took the microphone, Christina caught Kristy's eye from across the room. She waved her over, a bright, conspiratorial smile on her face.
Kristy approached, her expression shifting from polite curiosity to confusion as she saw the victorious gleam in the eyes of the three women. "What's going on?" she asked, glancing at Brian, who was now miserably introducing the song.
"We're just having a little fun with Mr. Bryant," Christina said, her voice a low, shared whisper. She held up her phone, showing the app with its dual sliders. "See these? One's for the vibrator around his cock. The other's for the plug in his ass. He came in his pants about three minutes ago, just while talking to you."
Kristy's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. She looked from the phone to Brian, who had begun singing, his voice strained. A laugh burst from her, shocked and delighted. "You're kidding me. That's what that was?"
"No joke," Kelly said, grinning. "He's our puppet. Want to pull the strings?"
Christina unlocked her phone and handed it to Kristy. "Here. For the next five minutes. Don't be gentle."
Kristy took the device, her thumb hovering over the screen. She watched Brian, who was avoiding their gaze, singing about Galileo with a desperate sincerity. She slid the vibration control to halfway. On stage, Brian faltered, missing a beat. She dragged the rotation slider up. His knuckles turned white on the mic stand.
"Oh, this is power," Kristy breathed, her earlier nurse's demeanor melting into something darker, more playful. She pulsed the vibrations in time with the music's crescendo, watching his body react with tiny, helpless hitches.
When the song finally, mercifully ended, Brian practically fled the stage. Christina intercepted him, linking her arm with his again, the wet denim pressing against her. "Such a performer!" she announced loudly enough for nearby tables to hear. She turned to the group, her voice intimate. "Party's moving. Our place. Now."
The Uber ride was a silent, charged confinement. Brian sat stiffly, the cooled cum a crusting map of his shame. Alyson and Kelly whispered, stealing glances. Kristy just watched the city lights slide by, a small, secret smile on her lips.
Inside their apartment, Christina didn’t turn on the main lights, just a few lamps that pooled gold on the floor. "Stand there," she told Brian, pointing to the center of the living room rug. The four women arranged themselves on the sofas, a tribunal in the dim light. "You gave us a show in public. Now give us a private one. Take it off. Slowly. Make it a striptease."
His fingers fumbled on the button of his jeans. The zipper's rasp was obscenely loud. He pushed the soiled denim down his hips, letting them fall to his ankles, revealing the glossy black sleeve still encasing him, the swollen base of the plug visible between his cheeks. He stepped out of the pile of clothing, completely naked but for the devices.
"Now the sleeve. Peel it off," Christina ordered.
He gripped the open end, the silicone reluctant. It came free with a soft, wet sound, revealing his cock, flushed and heavy, glistening with a mix of lubricant and his own spend. He let the sleeve drop to the rug. "The plug too," Kelly said, her voice husky. "Let's see all of you."
He bent, bracing his hands on his knees, and worked the flared base. It emerged with a faint, dirty pop, leaving him feeling hollow and exposed. He straightened up, his erection now full and bare before them, throbbing in the quiet room.
"Kristy," Christina said, settling back with her own phone raised to record. "You're a nurse. You know about control. I want you to instruct him. Tell him exactly how to touch himself. He's not to come unless you say."
Kristy stood, walking a slow circle around him. Her clinical eye was evident, but it was mixed with raw hunger. "Start with your left hand, Mr. Bryant. Use a loose fist at the base. Just hold it. Feel the weight."
Brian obeyed, wrapping his fingers around the root of his cock. The skin was fever-hot.
"Now your right hand. Use your thumb to spread the precum from the tip. Work it around the head. I want to see it shine." Her voice was calm, instructional, which made it worse. He smeared the beads of fluid, the slick sound subtle.
"Right hand takes over now. A slow, up-and-down stroke. Just the head and the first two inches. Keep the left hand at the base as a reminder." He began to move, his own touch a torturous tease under her direction. His breath shortened.
"Feel that tightness building? That's the edge. Hold it right there." She stopped directly in front of him, her eyes locked on his moving hand. "When I say 'stop,' you freeze. You don't move a muscle."
He was close, a coiling pressure in his balls and low spine. His strokes grew frantic.
"Stop."
His whole body locked. His fist clenched around his shaft, a strangled groan escaping his lips as he fought the orgasm back, the sensation a painful, dizzying pullback from the brink. A thin strand of precum drooled onto his knuckles.
"Fuck, look at him," Alyson whispered, leaning forward.
"Resume," Kristy said after a ten-second eternity. He began again, a slow, desperate rhythm. She took him to the edge three more times, her commands crisp, each "stop" a lash that made him shudder. His body was sheened in sweat, trembling with the effort of denial.
After the fourth freeze, Kristy shook her head, a look of genuine awe on her face. "Christina, I have to ask. I've never... I mean, in a clinical setting, obviously, but... can I measure him?"
Christina’s smile was blinding in her phone's screen light. "Absolutely. Kelly, my sewing kit is in the hall drawer. Bring the tape measure."
Brian stood there, his cock aching and vertical, as Kelly returned with a soft, yellow tailor's tape. Kristy took it, her nurse's professionalism surfacing. "We'll do length first, from the pubic bone along the dorsal side." She pressed the metal end firmly into his skin at the base, pushing past the coarse hair, and stretched the tape along the top of his shaft to the glistening tip.
"Nine and a quarter inches," she announced, and a collective, impressed murmur filled the room.
"Now girth is the most important metric, really," she said, almost to herself. She wrapped the tape around the thickest part of his shaft, pulling it snug. Her fingers brushed against him as she read the result. "Six and a half inches around. That's... that's substantial, Mr. Bryant." She looked up at him, her green eyes wide, all pretense of clinical detachment gone, replaced by pure carnal astonishment. "No wonder you can make him come from across a room."
Christina zoomed in on the tape, on Kristy's fingers holding it against his flesh, on the raw, impressive numbers. "Perfect," she whispered, capturing it all.