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It was bound to happen. [Youtube] 

The Naked City

The city is a big place. You’re bound to find interesting sights. Just don’t get the boys in blue involved! Movie: Knallharte Jungs 2002

Poor Beef can't even enjoy a shower without an angry mob pursuing him. At least he's a quick runner. Though he's not as good at tieing his robe. Looking good, dad!

The Anatomy Lesson

Howard normally dreaded the part of the day he'd have to spend in Mr. Kent's class. As the school's "physical education" teacher, time with Mr. Kent usually meant one thing: "gym class."

Fat and effeminate, Howard would naturally be the target of bullying from other the other boys his age — even at 18 years old, many of them still acted like children, after all. Perhaps that's something he could have dealt with. But the relentless taunting he received from Mr. Kent was on a different level.

It seemed every day Mr. Kent would single out Howard, either for his more-than-average weight, his less-than-masculine mannerisms, or a combination of the two.

Today, however, Howard was feeling very different about having Mr. Kent for second period. It wasn't just that this was a "classroom day" -- one of the rare times the meathead Mr. Kent had to pretend to be able to teach "health studies." Rather, it was that Howard had a feeling he'd finally figured out how to test the project he'd been working on for psych class.

Howard made sure to be the first one in the classroom that day, scoping out the best place to sit. Where his normal tactic was sitting in the back to try to avoid Mr. Kent's notice as much as possible, today he knew he'd want to be near the centre of the action.

The classroom gradually filled up, with every student eventually finding a seat. A couple seemed surprised to see Howard sitting right in the middle of the second row, but no one was fazed beyond that. Instead, most students seemed more interested in the empty space at the front of the room, with Mr. Kent normally being there well before the class began.

As the minutes ticked by, Howard began to worry that maybe he would not be getting what he had hoped for. He knew Mr. Kent had seen the hypnosis videos -- his IP address was all over the site he'd anonymously sent to the buff blockhead last night -- but perhaps the effect had not been what Howard had expected...? Mind control was tricking business, after all. Maybe Mr. Kent was still snoozing away in the "deep sleep" of a trance he must have entered into...

The high school senior let out a sigh of relief when the physical education teacher walked into the classroom, seeming like he was in a bit of a daze.

"Sorry I'm late," Mr. Kent said as the room of teenage boys quieted down and he took his place front and centre of the classroom. "As you all know," he began, mostly sounding and acting like he normally did (a certain vacancy in his eyes only visible to someone who knew to look for it). "We're supposed to have our human anatomy lesson with a model to demonstrate today."

This was, of course, completely untrue. The anatomy lesson, in reality, tended to consist of little more than a series of slides and some worksheets to fill in. But Mr. Kent spoke with such certainty, everyone in the class just accepted that this must have been something they'd already been told and which they'd simply forgotten about.

"Unfortunately, I was just informed our model has the flu," Mr. Kent said matter-of-factly. "But, thankfully, Principal Shaw has authorized an alternative."

Without missing a beat, Mr. Kent peeled off his shirt and casually threw it aside, revealing an impressive physique. With his clothes on, it was clear that Mr. Kent was a muscular man, but the details were always left to the imagination. Now, with bulging biceps, plump pectorals, and rippling abs on full display, it was apparent that whatever this man lacked between his ears was more than made up for with the body he possessed.

Acting as though his behaviour was not out of the ordinary at all, the physical education teacher undid his pants as he continued to speak normally. "Since I'll be the model today," he said plainly as he began pulling down his waistband and fully exposing himself to his class, "I'll need someone to walk us through the lesson plan."

Casually, he stepped out of his trousers and adjusted his ample package like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Howard, since you're the only honours student in the class, I'd like you to do that, please."

"Sure thing, Mr. Kent," Howard said, grinning widely as he got to his feet and made his way to the front of the class.

This bastard had spent years making fun of Howard's body. If it wasn't his rolls of fat, it was his limp wrists. If it wasn't how winded he got, it was his lisp when he spoke. In other words, he'd made Howard a laughing stock because of the body he moved around the world in.

Turnabout was fair play, right?

So far, no one in the class was objecting, so Howard figured he'd start out slow and gradually ramp things up. He didn't want to spook anyone and end things before they even got started.

A few muscle groups explained, a few poses from his puppet -- and Mr. Kent would gradually get an erection all the while. If the exhibitionist display on its own wasn't enough to have the class thinking Mr. Kent was a bit of a pervert, the pre-cum that would soon be oozing out of his rock-hard and throbbing cock any time Howard touched him during the lesson would send that message much more clearly. Eventually, the bare-ass beefcake would be blissfully blowing his load from his totally-untouched cock when the hands-on portion for the "buttocks and anal region" began.

Still, they were not there yet. Before any of that could get underway, Howard had a very important instruction for the class.

"No notes today, guys," he said cheerfully, looking around the room before returning his gaze to his totally-exposed tormentor standing next to him without a clue about what was really going on. "I'll need your full attention on Mr. Kent, so feel free to pull out your phones and record if you think you'll want to refer back to this later."

Based on the hungry look a few guys in the room had on their faces, Howard knew many of them would be "referring back" to this often. Still others, he was sure, would waste no time spreading the footage around, ensuring everyone got to enjoy Mr. Kent's anatomy as much as they did.

Howard was looking forward to Mr. Kent himself seeing the footage tomorrow and realizing that stripping, posing, and spewing buckets of cum in front of his students was not some bizarre nightmare he'd had the night before. Instead, it was just the first of many new lessons he'd be learning thanks to one student he'd made such an impression on...

Ricky had absolutely no idea why he'd stripped completely and totally naked when his roommate Ian had told him to. Normally, he would have told the fruitcake he reluctantly shared an apartment with to fuck off with his faggy fantasies unless he wanted to be eating a knuckle sandwich for his next meal.

Something had changed, though. Ever since Ian had shown him that strange video -- what had that even been, anyway? what were all those odd colours, shapes, and sounds? -- there was something about Ian's voice that made it impossible for Ricky to do anything other than exactly whatever the scrawny little poof told him to.

Just stripping down in front of him was humiliating enough on its own. Ian -- dressed like he had somewhere important to be -- had regarded Ricky with an almost clinical gaze as the beefy bodybuilder had peeled off each article of clothing, making him feel significantly more vulnerable and exposed than he did when undressing in the locker room or getting naked with a sexual partner.

But that was far from the end of what Ian was going to order his homophobic roommate to do for him. Before the bare-ass beefcake had even had a second to process what he'd just done, Ian handed Ricky a bottle and issued a simple command: "oil up."

"Heh, okay, come on, bro, you've had your fun," Ricky said nervously, trying to act like this was not freaking him out as much as it was. Despite his profound desire to escape this situation, he was nevertheless doing exactly as he was told, starting by rubbing the baby oil all over his meaty pectorals as Ian looked on hungrily.

"Don't stop there," Ian said, ignoring Ricky's words, openly objectifying him by paying attention only to his body. "Make sure to get plenty on your abs and biceps, too."

"Right... cool, but... uh, this is probably enough of this shit now, right?" Ricky asked with the same nervousness in his voice as -- despite himself -- he applied more baby oil to his well-muscled flesh.

"Dick too," Ian said plainly, gesturing to the nether regions where he wanted Ricky to continue oiling himself up.

"Fuck, come on, Ian," Ricky pleaded as he applied the slick substance to his crotch. "I know I was a jerk, but don't you think whatever you're doing has gone far enough now?"

"Arms above your head," Ian stated, again ignoring Ricky's words in favour of his body alone. As the burly bodybuilder lifted his arms, Ian circled around him, evaluating him like a piece of meat for purchase instead of a person he shared an apartment with.

When the slender, smaller man had finished his walk around the Greek god currently displaying himself like a cheap whore for sale, he finally looked Ricky in the face. The beefy meathead's hope for a response to his plaintiff pleas for mercy were dashed when Ian's next command came: "No more talking, got it?"

While not an order that came with a physical action like the others had, Ricky felt his body obeying, his tongue choosing a position to rest in and his jaw clenching shut ever-so-slightly.

"And to answer your question," Ian began, studying Ricky's oiled-up physique as he spoke. "I've barely gotten started."

Ricky swallowed hard as a vindictive expression came over Ian's face.

"You think I don't know the shit you get up to?" he said, contempt in his voice. "Date-raping all those girls you bring home?!" Ian spat. "Acting like a goddamn neo-Nazi at all those fucking far right rallies?!" he continued. His eyes narrowed and his voice went ice cold as he concluded: "Beating the shit out of my best friend and his boyfriend for holding hands in public?"

Ricky felt his stomach drop. Ian knew. Ian knew all of it. And, thanks to whatever impossible trick he had used to put Ricky into his current state, Ian was going to make sure that this malicious macho man learned an important lesson: karma's a bitch.

Ricky jumped when a knock came suddenly at the door to their apartment.

Ian glanced at his wristwatch, a sly grin forming on his face. "Looks like some of my guests must be early," he said simply.

Ricky, unable to speak, pleaded with his eyes, knowing he deserved no mercy but still praying that he might receive it.

"Not to worry, though. It won't take me long to set things up for the party..." Ian said, reaching down to start pulling items out of a sack that had been sitting at his feet. Calmly and methodically, he set the first few items down on the table in front of him: a leather flogger, shark-tooth nipple clamps, a full-sized wooden frat paddle, and a spiked chastity cage.

Ricky didn't know what mortified him more: the torture devices Ian had just spread out on the table, or the fact that the bag that these BDSM nightmares had come from still appeared to be three-quarters full.

A knock came at the door once more, this time louder and more insistent.

"Well, don't just stand there," Ian said to the white-as-a-sheet Ricky as he began to dig in the sack once more. "Be a good boy and let our guests in."

Dreading what would come next (answering the door -- naked, oiled up, and on full display -- to a couple of fags who loved his muscles and hated his guts) and what would come after (a night -- or more -- of sadistic sexual torment from every last homo Ian knew), Ricky still had to do as he was commanded.

As he turned the handle to let the first of Ian's guests inside, he heard his new master call out with words that told him things were only going to get worse from here on out: "Come on in, guys! The party's just getting started..."

As Gerald unceremoniously groped one of Carson's perky butt cheeks -- under the guise of innocently "applying sunscreen," of course -- he could tell that his roommate was hating every last second of this very public humiliation.

Thinking back on how they'd gotten here, Gerald's smile only grew at Carson's reaction.

Carson was, to put it mildly, an arrogant asshole. From the moment Student Services had randomly assigned them to the same room, Gerald had had to put up with a guy who was much wealthier than he was (Gerald was there on a "financial need" scholarship, while Carson was a "legacy admission"), was hotter than he was (not that Gerald was unattractive, but he just couldn't compete with a total 10 like Carson), and also insisted on letting everyone know just how rich and good-looking he was.

To make matters worse, Carson's views on everything were deeply conservative -- and he didn't keep that to himself for a second. Gerald quickly decided he wasn't going to reveal his sexuality to his roommate for that reason, given the openly homophobic statements that he'd made without prompting on their first day together in residence. While Gerald could, thankfully, "pass" as straight -- and Carson was too self-involved to notice any of the "tells" Gerald gave -- he resented having to hide who he was (having thought he'd left those days of being in the closet long behind him).

However, as it turned out, Gerald had something on his side that would quickly give him the upper hand over the cocky prick he shared a room with. It was his interest in hypnotism that had inspired Gerald to major in psychology and, after a few lessons on the nature of "knowledge" and "belief" in the brain, he felt comfortable trying out his skills on Carson.

Not the brightest bulb in the box, Carson had easily accepted the "relaxation playlist" Gerald provided him with without a second thought. By the end of the week, a hypersonic message of Gerald's voice had been drilled into the beautiful bastard's head: "You'll believe anything I say."

On Saturday morning, Carson rose groggily from bed, having drunk far too much the previous night. He wore only a loose pair of boxer shorts -- typical nighttime attire.

Upon seeing him, Gerald quickly decided to test out how well the "relaxation playlist" had worked over the previous week. "Hey, big guy, ready for the beach?"

Carson gave his roommate a quizzical look, still a bit drowsy. "Beach...?" he asked uncertainly, scratching his head.

"Yeah, we go to the beach every weekend," Gerald replied, watching Carson's reaction closely.

"Oh... right... Yeah, you're right..." Carson said, confused and uncertain as he spoke. He glanced back towards his dresser and added, "Just, uh, let me get my trunks, bro..."

Gerald was pleased with how this was going so far, but "going to the beach on the weekends" was an easy belief to instil. Why would Carson question it, especially since he was still drowsy from sleep and, in fairness, had gone to the beach with Gerald at least once before?

The psych major decided to test out a stronger "belief" on Carson. "You don't have any swim trunks," he said calmly. "It's a clothing optional beach."

Carson narrowed his eyes, like he was struggling to understand the very words his roommate was speaking. He looked to his dresser, back to Gerald, and then back again before finally saying, "Oh, right..."

"You know, big guy," Gerald continued, emboldened by his apparent success so far, "you don't even wear anything on the trip there."

"I... I don't?" Carson asked, again narrowing his eyes in confusion.

"Nah," Gerald said, taking a step closer and putting a thumb in Carson's waistband. "It's just a short drive there, you know?"

Carson instinctively recoiled from Gerald's intimate touch, roughly pushing his hand away. The psych major had a moment of panic. Maybe the hypnotic command hadn't worked?

"I can take my own shorts off, bro," Carson said bitingly, apparently appalled only by Gerald's touch and not by his words. Although he still seemed a bit confused, Carson wasted no time in lowering his boxers to the ground and stepping out of them.

He stood awkwardly for a minute, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. This wasn't like a locker room where he and a buddy might be talking naked in the shower. No, he was bare-ass and on display while Gerald was still just dressed normally.

"You better let me carry your stuff," Gerald said, pocketing the car keys (among other things) and walking to the door. "Since, you know, you don't have anywhere to put it."

Carson was obviously feeling apprehensive about following his roommate past the threshold to their dorm room. Gerald's statement had definitely underscored how very vulnerable he was in this state -- no clothes, no keys, no wallet, no phone. He looked around the room, almost like he was trying to find an answer to why this all felt so unnatural despite his belief that he did this all the time.

Growing concerned that the thick-headed rich boy was going to figure out what was going on -- at least enough to spoil his fun -- Gerald volunteered another "belief" for Carson: "You're always in such a hurry to get there, you know?"

Blinking as though a bright light had just been shone in his eyes, Carson's attention shot back to Gerald.

"Yeah, shit, what am I doing wasting time?" he said, marching up beside his roommate. "Let's catch some rays!" he continued, now walking ahead.

Carson may have been convinced this was normal -- him walking bare-ass down the halls of their residence building -- but Gerald noticed right away that his instinctive reactions were still there. The arrogant jock had his hands cupped in front of his crotch, trying to preserve some sense of modesty. He even seemed to blush when they walked by their first fellow student.

"Sup," Carson said, trying to act casual.

"Sup," the other guy replied, eyeing up Carson's nudity skeptically, but saying nothing about it.

Much as Gerald had hoped, that guy's reaction was shared by everyone else they walked past. Yes, it was unusual for Carson to be parading around in his birthday suit, but this was college! Who knows what Carson got up to last night or what inane dare his buddies put him up to today? And Carson was selling it, hardly letting his embarrassment show (although Gerald could see the signs of blushes and cold sweats when looked for them).

When the two reached the parking lot, Gerald kept hold of the keys, unlocking the car and hopping in the passenger seat. Why give the keys back to Carson when all that was needed for the car to start was just having the fob inside the vehicle?

Watching the bare-ass Carson climb into the driver's seat beside him, Gerald felt like he could get used to having a chauffeur -- especially one who wore such an appealing "uniform."

"You always let me pick what we listen to," Gerald said as Carson started to pull the car onto road. The cocky jock eyed his roommate suspiciously, but did nothing to stop him as he hooked his phone up to the vehicle's media system.

As Kylie Minogue sang "Padam Padam" through the speakers, Carson gave Gerald the side eye and spat out, "Yo, why are we listening to this gay shit?"

Feeling empowered, Gerald said simply, "Because I'm gay."

Carson took his eyes fully off the road, looking directly over at the man sitting next to him. "Whoa, are you fucking serious?!"

Gerald thought about changing Carson's mind on this one. It would be easy, based on everything he'd accomplished so far. Just a few words saying "You've always been fine my sexuality" or "You've always supported gay rights" or anything like that would probably do it.

But there was something about keeping Carson's personality exactly as it was that appealed to Gerald much more than changing it. After all, where's the fun in hypnotism if not in making someone do things they know they don't really want to do?

"You don't want to talk about this right now," Gerald said, looking out and seeing the lake. "We're almost there."

"What... but you said you're a fa..." Carson said, confused, almost like he was forgetting what he'd been saying a moment ago. "Right, yeah, okay..." he mumbled. "We'll talk about that later, yeah..."

As they pulled into the parking lot, Gerald could tell Carson was growing apprehensive again. The beach wasn't crowded, but there were at least a couple dozen other college students there.

"You, uh... you sure this is a clothing optional beach?" Carson asked as they pulled the car up to the side of the road, no doubt seeing that everyone there was either fully dressed or in a regular swimsuit.

"Well, the clothing optional section is a couple miles down that way," Gerald said, gesturing to the distance as he opened his door to get out. "But we always walk along this part of the beach to get there."

"Ri... right..." Carson replied hesitantly, self-consciously covering his crotch again as he hopped out the driver's side.

All eyes were on the totally naked stud standing in their midst as soon as the two roommates stepped foot on the beach. Thankfully, since they were all college-aged folks as well, they seemed to think the same things those on campus had: this guy either lost his pants in a night of blackout drinking or was getting up to some kind of frat boy shenanigans right now.

Still, in this very public place, the reactions were more apparent, with a lot of the people looking over and gasping or laughing at the bare-ass jock strutting his stuff. Noticing that several of them had pulled out their phones to take a picture, Gerald volunteered another "belief" for Carson: "You never cover your crotch like that."

The well-built bastard let his hands fall to his side, blushing profusely as he became even more exposed in this very public place. He seemed to be trying to find a way to question this -- that couldn't be true, could it? -- when Gerald casually peeled off his shirt and handed Carson the sunscreen.

"You always get my back," he said simply, turning so that his face wouldn't be in the pictures.

"Oh... right, yeah..." Carson said confusedly, squirting some sunscreen onto his hands and awkwardly working it into Gerald's back. With any luck, the photos that came out of this would be even more humiliating than just ones featuring Carson in the nude would be -- instead, they'd featured Carson apparently massaging sunblock onto another man's back, giving everything a "gay vibe" the butt-naked homophobe would be horrified to see.

"And I always get your back too," Gerald added, promptly taking the bottle from Carson and squeezing some sunscreen into his hands.

"Oh... yeah, right, okay..." Carson said with the same confusion, blushing as he turned around and brought his totally-exposed cock and balls back into view of everyone else on the beached. He bristled at Gerald's touch like he had in their room, but didn't pull away this time (apparently "believing" this is what always happened). Gerald gave his roommate's well-muscled back a quick once over before proceeding to openly grope and fondle his bare butt in front of everyone.

"Really gotta get it on good," Gerald said as he publicly manhandled Carson's perky posterior.

"Uhh... yeah, umm, shouldn't we get going down to the clothing optional beach, bro?" Carson asked, obviously extremely uncomfortable with what was happening to him, nervously eyeing the people taking pictures of this public degradation.

"You call me 'Sir'," Gerald said, squeezing Carson's butt, not making any effort to disguise it as the application of sunscreen anymore.

"What?" Carson said, more fear than confusion in his voice.

"You always call me 'Sir' in front of other people," Gerald stated again, treating Carson's butt cheeks like a toy to play with as he spoke. "Because you want them to know I'm your superior."

Carson snapped at that, pulling away from Gerald. He whipped around, his full manly might and strength on display as he glared at his roommate like an animal about to attack.

"'Superior'?! What the FUCK are you talking about, Sir?!" Carson snapped, apparently not noticing how his new title for Gerald had slipped in there.

For all the virility and power Carson was displaying, Gerald couldn't help but smirk. The big guy looked ridiculous, standing there totally bare-ass in public and trying to act all big and manly.

"Well, I mean, think about it," Gerald said, picking his shirt up and putting it back on causally. "You always insist on being totally naked for me, even though I normally stayed fully dressed," Gerald added, gesturing to both of their bodies (and causing a blush to form once more on Carson's face). "You always want to drive me everywhere," he continued, gesturing to Carson's luxury vehicle. "And you always call me 'Sir' when you think someone else might hear you."

"That... well... yeah, that's all true, but... but..." Carson said, going pale now as his world seemed to come crashing down around him. His mind was racing trying to make sense of so much conflicting information.

"You know you've got more money," Gerald said, laying out the facts. "You know you're hotter than I am," he continued. "But you've always believed I'm your superior."

"I... I..." Carson stuttered, the internal conflict too great for him to even form words. He had obviously always thought no one was better than him. With such a deeply held belief in conflict with the new "belief" he'd given the arrogant asshole standing in front of him, Gerald didn't know if this one would stick.

"You know what?" Gerald said, digging something out of his pocket. "Why don't you take some time to think that one over?"

Carson hesitated, clearly uncertain about what to do or say. Thankfully, Gerald had something in mind to keep things moving along as the "belief" that he was Carson's superior wormed its way deeper into the big guy's brain.

Handing Carson's own wallet to him, Gerald continued, "You love buying things for me." He gestured to the concession stand at the edge of the beach, adding, "So, how about you go buy me an ice cream?"

Carson looked at his wallet as though he was seeing it for the first time. He studied the item in his hand, clearly trying to make sense of what he was running through his head. Finally, he looked up and met Gerald's gaze.

"What flavour, Sir?"

When he stepped into the living room wearing only a towel, Vince hadn't realized that his roommate was home -- let alone that Randall appeared to be hosting some kind of event, judging by the half dozen other men seated in front of him. He didn't recognize any of them, but they appeared to be uniformly all of the same type: fat, old, ugly, and seemingly fixated on Vince.

"Vince," Randall said, smirking like he knew something his roommate did not. "Can you come here for a second?"

Vince had two reasons to hesitate. The first was that this was the first time all week his roommate had looked at him with something other than a scowl on his face. Randall had been covering Vince's share of the rent for three months now -- something he had been doing on the belief that Vince had fallen on hard times. When Randall discovered earlier that week that Vince had actually been spending his rent money on a pricy gym membership -- alongside everything else that had helped him gradually build his body into a work of art -- suffice it to say that he was none too pleased to have discovered that his apparently self-absorbed roommate had been taking advantage of him all that time.

Secondly -- and most pressing in this moment -- Vince was wearing nothing but a towel in a room full of strangers (all of whom, he noticed now, were eying him up with a definite hunger in their eyes). Did Randall really need him right now?

"Uh, just let me get --"

"It will only take a second," Randall interrupted. "Really."

Reluctantly walking up where his roommate was standing, Vince hardly a moment to gauge the situation before Randall suddenly yanked the towel away from around his waist and casually threw it aside.

"What the fuck?!?" he exclaimed, not yet having processed anything more than the initial shock.

Acting as though he was trying to calm his roommate down, Randall pointed to the laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of him and said something which had quite the opposite effect: "Just look at the camera..."

"Camera! What?!"

Finally putting the pieces together -- and realizing he was now totally exposed not just in front of the strange older men sitting in the room with him, but untold numbers of viewers online -- a feeling of total mortification overtook Vince. Coming to his senses, he quickly attempted to provide himself with some level of modesty by cupping his hands in front of his crotch (something which mattered little to those who would replaying the recording of his exposure later).

"Yeah, you see, Vince," Randall said, smirking even more widely now as he took in the sight of Vince's stellar physique and petrified expression. "I told my friends here about our little predicament," he continued, gesturing to the other men in the room.

Adding more anxiety to an already nightmare-inducing situation, Vince noticed with horror that several of the men had risen to their feet, obscenely rubbing their crotches as the tents within their pants grew -- and grew, and grew, and grew -- in size.

"You've got to prioritize working on that body of yours -- best gym membership, a personal trainer, top-quality protein powders, the best supplements a body can buy..." Randall began, making no effort to hide the way he was sizing up Vince's body like a piece of meat he was about to purchase from a butcher. "You can't possibly pay your share of the rent when you're investing in all that..."

The men in the room were coming closer. Vince knew -- with sudden terror filling him up -- that, despite being big, strong, and manly, he was prey this pack was about to pounce on.

"My friends here, they're gonna help both of us make enough today to cover a year's worth of rent," Randall said, stepping away to make room for a creepy old man fishing a shockingly large cock out of his pants to get closer to Vince.

Randall dipped in front of the camera only briefly to say some concluding remarks before leaving the scene completely and allowing the hundreds of well-paying viewers to get a good view of today's unwitting star: "Enjoy the show..."

The ad Daniel saw didn’t exactly describe his ideal job: “WORKSHOP MODEL NEEDED ASAP - must be comfortable with nudity and adult content.”

Daniel was not particularly "comfortable with nudity" and, being a Christian father of three, "adult content" also wasn't something he usually condoned of. Still, money was tight and the pay they were offering for this position was incredible -- he even wondered if he could squeeze a few more dollars out of them since a "workshop model" was apparently needed so urgently.

When he called the man named "Alan" listed in the ad, a young-sounding guy picked up on the first ring. Saying he was interested in the "workshop model" position they had advertised -- if they could sweeten the deal with a couple extra hundred thrown on top -- the person on the other end didn't hesitate: "Yes, absolutely, I can make that work. The position's yours if you can be here in 15 minutes."

Daniel wasted no time going to the address he was provided with. To his surprise, the building had a sign saying "Learning Annex" out front -- and the specific suite to which he'd been directed seemed to have an art class in session.

Peaking in the barely-cracked-open door, Daniel saw a group of people painting at their easels in a circle, all of whom seemed to be paying attention to a flabby, old naked man standing on the platform at the centre. From this alone, he figured this must be the position for which he was being hired -- and, while he didn't love the idea of being totally exposed in such a public way, he did feel a bit of thrill at the idea of showing off his athletic physique and meaty package to a crowd of mostly young women. 

He was faithful to his wife, that was for sure. But who didn't like being "noticed" by members of the opposite sex? No doubt these ladies would much prefer to be studying a fine specimen of middle-aged manhood like Daniel over the dumpy-looking geriatric currently in their gazes -- no wonder they were willing to pay so much for another model to take his place ASAP!

"Are you Daniel?" a 20-something young guy in a button-up shirt (presumably the "Alan" he'd spoken to on the phone) asked anxiously as he came to the DILF spying on the class in session.

"Uh, yeah, I'm here for the, uh, modelling," he replied, having decided he would definitely take the job if it meant getting some appreciative attention from some very good-looking ladies in there.

"Oh, thank God," the slender young man said with a sigh as he looked Daniel up and down. "I thought we'd have to cancel tonight -- but you look like you'll be perfect for this!"

Daniel didn't love hearing that from another man -- especially one who seemed like he was probably a flaming homo -- but he was, at least, pleased to know he would be getting the payout and the thrill he'd started to hope this "workshop model" position would give him.

"We don't have much time," Alan continued, setting down a large sack next to him and starting to pull things out. "Here's a robe and a key to employee bathroom. Just leave all your things there and bring the key back to me," he said quickly, shoving the terrycloth garment into Daniel's arms.

Before DILFy Daniel had a chance to ask a question, Alan pointed down the hallway (presumably towards the employee bathroom) and added, "We'll go over the paperwork and any questions you have if there's still time when you get back."

Accepting that time was of the essence, Daniel did as he was bid and made his way to where he'd be sent. He made quick work of peeling off his clothes and setting them in a neat pile on the counter before donning the robe he'd been given. 

Going back out to find Alan again, Daniel saw the door to the suite was now open. He tentatively stepped inside to find the platform now empty and the students casually talking to each other.

"Oh, perfect," Alan said, thrusting a clipboard into Daniel's hands. "Just fill this out and we can get set up."

Noticing an attractive, young brunette sizing him up, Daniel barely looked at the forms he'd just been handed. Aside from making sure he spelled his name correctly and signed in the right places, he didn't bother to read most of it, just circling "N/A" wherever he could to speed up the process and quicken how soon he could show the hot young things in this room why they should be calling him "Daddy."

Absentmindedly passing the clipboard back to Alan, the younger man said, "Okay, I'll just look over your limits and everything if you want to go get comfortable on the platform."

If Daniel had been paying attention to something other than the fine pieces of ass in the room, he probably would have questioned that word Alan had just used: "limits." He probably would have realized that that form was asking about some very important things -- and that circling "N/A" was the worst thing he could have possibly done.

But Daniel was caught up in the moment, mounting the platform and -- with a deep breath to steady his resolve -- throwing off his robe to expose himself fully to everyone present.

The young ladies he'd been eying definitely all responded positively, eyeing Daniel's well-toned DILF bod hungrily. 

But, just when Daniel had convinced himself that this was something he was going to enjoy, Alan said something that surprised him: "Okay, folks, you'll have to clear out of here now so we can get set up."

The on-display Daniel gave Alan a quizzical look as everyone around him started to pack up their stuff. 

Maybe he would be posing for another group of art students? That had to be it. He just hoped that the next bunch would have as many -- if not more -- fine-looking young ladies in the mix.

"Let's get you in position," Alan said, climbing the platform and motioning for Daniel to put his legs on either side of the stool there.

Just as the last of the art students left the room, Alan began to pull a new item out of the bag he had with him. Daniel's eyes bulged when the young man produced what looked like shackles and started to attach them to the naked DILF's left ankle.

"Whoa, uh, is that... is that really necessary?" Daniel asked, a nervous laugh trying to cover how very anxious he felt in that moment.

"We need to make sure you stay in place through everything," Alan said casually, not looking away from what he was doing as he locked a second shackle onto Daniel's other ankle. "And the workshop participants go wild for this aesthetic," he continued, standing up to attach a connected set of shackles to Daniel's arms behind his back.

While feeling very apprehensive -- and suddenly quite aware of how very vulnerable he was (totally bare-ass, alone in a room with a fully-dressed stranger who'd just bound him in place) -- Daniel was willing to accept that Alan's explanation made a certain kind of sense. He would need to stay in place for the students to draw him, sure. And, all right, the shackles seemed a bit excessive, but in if they really made "the workshop participants go wild," maybe he could put up with the cold metal bondage for a few minutes...

Alan went back to rummaging through his bag, speaking absentmindedly to Daniel as he did so.

"You're really such a great find, you know?" he said casually. "Our normal model isn't anywhere near as fit as you are," he continued, seeming to find what he was looking for in his sack. "And all his limits mean that we can never get into the really extreme stuff most of our participants actually want to see."

There was that word again: "limits." This time, Daniel heard it. This time, it worried him. This time, he had to ask just what Alan meant by that.

Unfortunately for Daniel, he'd opened his mouth to speak in the same moment Alan was placing the item he'd just pulled out where it needed to go: a ball-gag right in the middle of the naked-and-bound DILF's mouth which he swiftly tightened in place.

In another moment of exceptionally bad timing, Daniel began his futile grunts of alarm and struggling against his bonds just as the first workshop participant entered the room. In Alan's mind, Daniel was just doing this for "added effect" -- acting the part of the "terrified victim" or playing up the image of a "reluctant submissive" for his audience.

"Is this the gay BDSM workshop?" the twinky newcomer asked, almost licking his lips as he sized up the well-muscled model on whom everything would be demonstrated very soon.

"Yep, you're in the right place!" Alan said causally, unloading more things from his bag and setting them up as more men filed into the room and found seats for themselves. Clearly, everyone had just been waiting for the cue to enter and, hearing Alan's words, were now eagerly filling the room.

Daniel continued to struggle helplessly and grunt in distress, trying to beg anyone to let him out of here. Being served up like a piece of meat to a bunch of fags was a nightmare -- one which was going to get much worse very soon.

"Can we record this?" a heavy-set guy sitting near Daniel asked, already holding up his phone to capture everything.

"Great question!" Alan said, using this as his cue to get started. "Hi, everyone, welcome!" he continued. "You'll be pleased to know that our model tonight has waived any rights to his image, so you can record and post away!"

Daniel went white as a sheet.

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!!!

He should have read those forms more closely. Whatever happened now -- however invasive and nightmarish it ended up being -- would not just be limited to this moment and this room.

Visions of his totally-naked, shackled body (displayed on a stage in the centre of a group of otherwise casually-dressed gay men) being posted all over the internet flooded his mind. He would never be able to live this down. Everyone -- his friends, his family, his wife -- would see him getting reduced to nothing more than a pain-slut himbo by a scawny-looking fag who was young enough to be his son.

Yet, quickly stealing his focus from that train of thought was the next bombshell Alan dropped: "In some more good news, Daniel here has identified himself as a truly limitless submissive."

There were some sounds of surprise and approval from the audience, this crowd clearly curious to find out just what that meant.

"As you can see," Alan said, running his hand down Daniel's toned torso and then roughly grabbing hold of his his cock and balls. "Our model is very well-endowed."

The hold Alan had on Daniel's balls caused the bound DILF to bite down hard on the ball-gag in his mouth. It wasn't a particularly firm hold, but one which had been taken careless enough to cause an immediate reaction. Daniel's dick and balls were both extremely sensitive -- such that he always told the women he was with that they absolutely needed to be "handled with care."

"So, we'll spend our first hour on CBT," Alan said, releasing Daniel's manhood so that he could retrieve something he'd previously set on the side of the platform.

CBT? Where had Daniel heard that before? It sounded familiar, something he'd heard in a porn, he was sure...

Seeing Alan lift up a croquet mallet, it suddenly -- and horrifyingly -- came to him: "CBT" was "Cock and Ball Torture."

Daniel redoubled his pathetic attempts to beg for help and escape his shackles as Alan sauntered back up in front of him. "Since we had to stop at Level-3 CBT with our model last week, we'll pick up there today."

He mimed swinging the mallet like a golf club, lining it up directly with Daniel's heavy-set, defenceless balls.

"Once we get to Level 5, Daniel's package will be pretty much pulverized, providing an opportunity to move into two additional lessons," Alan said matter-of-factly, still miming the violent attack that was going to take place on Daniel's super-sensitive, totally defenceless genitals any moment now. "We'll go over how to provide effective First Aid when dishing out the most extreme forms of CBT," he continued. "And we'll also cover how this kind of CBT can be a great way to play with your sub's mind and convince him to beg you to keep his naughty bits 'safely' in chastity."

Winding up to finally connect the mallet directly with Daniel's balls any second now, Alan said simply, "So, folks, let's get this started..."

Brad rounded the corner into his apartment’s front hall just as his landlord and the new potential tenant stepped in the door. Not processing what this meant at first — after all, in the privacy of his own home, Brad had completely forgotten about being naked — both the men who’d just entered his apartment got a full view not just of Brad’s beefy body, but also of his biggest secret: a tiny little chastity cage crushing the “manhood” between his legs into little more than a sad-looking nub.

“Oh, fuck!” Brad exclaimed as he came to his senses, dropping the carton and letting its contents spill all over the floor as both his hands rushed to cover his crotch.

Knowing an opportunity when he saw it, Brad’s landlord turned to face the potential tenant (whose eyes were still glued to the naked stud they’d stumbled upon). “If you take the place, you’ll get two sets of keys: one for the front door and one for his cage.”

Brad was shocked by what he heard his landlord saying. The cock cage had been the compromise he thought they’d arrived at when he wasn’t able to pay rent for the past few months. His landlord had promised that, if Brad allowed him to lock up his cock, he’d let the handsome himbo live rent-free for…

Brad’s heart sank as he remembered the full deal: rent-free for six months, with today being the beginning of the seventh.

Looking Brad over before then also looking around the space, the tenant got a wicked smile on his face. “I’ll take the place, as long as he’s included,” he said, adjusting the growing bulge in his pants as he spoke. “But I’ll only need the first set of keys. That cage isn’t coming off any time soon…”

Is there anything better than the carefree feeling of walking around your place in your birthday suit drinking straight from the carton? As good as it feels, nothing feels worse than getting caught by your landlord and some potential tenants who let himself in for the apartment viewing you totally spaced. They certainly got a great showing.