Humiliated at a business event

 
 
Conversation opened. 60 messages. All messages read.

I was pleasantly surprised to receive a message from the Online Mistress, inviting me to assist her with an evening talk she was giving to a select group of business people, about Innovation and Enterprise at the local Institute. Needless to say I was deeply honoured by such an opportunity, and eagerly agreed. It then dawned on me that I knew nothing in particular about innovation, let alone enterprise, but thought as long as the Online Mistress knows what she’s talking about, then everything would be OK. Of course I wouldn’t be expected to contribute in any way, probably just operate the AV and IT equipment as she delivered her talk. I was not oblivious to the fact that here was an opportunity to try and impress.

 

I arrived at the institute in plenty of time in my suit, and made my way to the room where the talk was to take place. Here I found the Online Mistress impeccably dressed in a smart business suit. She greeted me with a haughty look, beckoned me over and explained what she wanted me to do. I listened intently to all her instructions, knowing all too well what the consequences of getting anything wrong would be.

 

People began to arrive. There were a few business types, but also people dressed ordinarily who I assumed must have just come for interest. They were all women of different ages, and I assumed this was some sort of Women’s Institute group or the like. The room was quite large and soon filled up. It was a normal kind of classroom. With what I could have sworn was a sly grin at me, the Online Mistress cleared her throat and began “Continuing on from our talk last week, I have brought my menial along with me this week to help illustrate some points.” As she indicated me. There was a titter from her audience and I felt quite deflated, but grinned forbearingly.

 

“First slide please!” she ordered brusquely. I activated the projector and clicked on the first slide glancing sideways to check all was well. I was about to turn back to the screen when something dragged my attention back to the projector screen. I stood in horrified amazement, as bursts of laughter began to peel from the assembly. I almost felt sick, because there on the projector screen blown up five feet square in glorious colour was a photograph of myself. It must have been one I had been ordered to produce for the Online Mistress because I was lying on my bed bound and gagged dressed in a red basque and black stockings, with a sort of pathetic look on my face.

 

“So,” began the Online Mistress “Ladies, this is the kind of predicament a superior woman can lure an inferior male such as stephen here into, just by a mere click of her fingers. He really had no idea what was going to happen tonight, or the real subject of this talk.” The Online Mistress then began to describe the photograph in the most demeaning of terms referring to me as “it”, and as if I were no more than a mere object. I could only stand and gape red-faced with shame amid giggles and peals of laughter. I was totally stunned, but was suddenly brought back to reality when the Online Mistress asked “Well Stephen, I think it’s time you explained to the ladies how this revelation is making you feel at the moment?” Her tone was more of an order than request, and with incredible difficulty I faced the audience “W-well,...I...I..”

 

“W-w-w-well, I-I-I!...” mimicked the Online Mistress to my even deeper humiliation ”Come on, spit it out you blubbering idiot, how do you feel about a photograph of yourself dressed in women’s underwear being shown to a group of unacquainted women?” demanded the Online Mistress sarcastically. I just managed to squeak “...most humiliating”

“...And would you mind explaining exactly what was going through that tiny male brain of yours to make you dress up and photograph yourself willingly?”

I was totally unprepared for this, and just wanted to leave the room and run away, but the Online Mistress was between me and the door, so there was no escape. I just couldn’t think of a thing to say. The Online Mistress stood hands upon hips waiting expectantly, the audience had quieted, temporarily suppressing their laughter in the hope of catching even greater mirth when I began to speak. Looking at myself in the photo in that situation I couldn’t find any possible justification for being like that, and was just utterly ashamed. The looks of glee on some of the ladies faces was mortifying. I began to blubber a few incoherent words which made no sense, and my nervous state sent them into raptures again. “He can’t even speak!” laughed one young woman. “What a wuss!” said another.

 

I glanced at the Online Mistress who was smirking triumphantly at me. “The truth is ladies that stephen here is such a pathetic excuse for a male, as the next slide will demonstrate.” There was a pause then the Online Mistress repeated her last six words loudly and clearly. Realizing my cue I activated the projector control for the next slide. The next photo was even worse, I was standing naked with clothes pegs clipped all over me and pushing a rolled up newspaper into my own rectum. I nearly fainted with embarrassment, as the Online Mistress paused to allow the audience their full appreciation before continuing.  There then followed another graphic description of my predicament during which the terms “tiny little cock” and “worthless shrivelled balls” were used a little too frequently for my liking.

 

“stephen will now fully describe his purpose in what brought him to the situation we see in slide two?” I was horrified, again not knowing what to say, but a few slaps around the face in front of the ladies soon convinced me that things could still get even more humiliating. Slowly and stuttering, I began to mumble and blubber about being the slave of the Online Mistress, and having to do whatever she said. As I did so I was even more horrified to find that the Online Mistress, as I spoke, began to undress me. She slipped off my jacket quietly trying not to interrupt me (though I rathered she did), then undid my tie and shirt buttons to the jeers of the audience. “KEEP TALKING FOOL!” she ordered if I lapsed or dried up completely, and I was forced to tell of my tasks and how I completed them. By the time the Online Mistress was undoing my trouser belt I was quacking and nervously bleated “Please, no!” but my trousers were soon whipped swiftly down until I stood before all in just my light blue boxer shorts. Thankfully she stopped there, but only long enough to locate some handcuffs with which to secure my wrists behind my back. Some duct tape was rudely stretched across my mouth. The catcalling and jeering had reached a new pitch and I was white with humiliation, my hair was standing on end I was so frightened.

 

The Online Mistress grasped the sides of my shorts “Nooo! Nooo!! Nooo! Nooo!” I screamed horrified, but she hiked them up as high as they would go almost to my chest, and my private parts were squashed and crushed much to the mirth of the ladies. “Too high?” the Online Mistress asked me. I nodded. She then slipped them down to my knees to roars of approval and laughter, then stepped back arms folded. I couldn’t believe my predicament. There I was handcuffed in front of a roomful of baying harpies, with my shorts pulled down to my knees. It was just awful. To make matters worse my cock responded by shrivelling to a tiny nub. The Online Mistress stepped forward and made great ceremony of looking at my shrinking privates, then to the crowd for comments. All I could do was stand shame-faced gasping in humiliation. More so when I noticed photos were being taken of me from mobiles etc.

 

“Nearly time for us to finish now ladies, just one little game of light relief for us before we depart.” Said the Online Mistress gaily. She drew a square grid on the wipe board. “OK, suppose we were to masturbate stephen’s tiny little cock here, can you just throw some times at me, how long do you think he could last before he cums?” I was mortified at the suggestion; the evening had gotten steadily worse and there was no let up in sight. In fact the longer time went on the worse it got.

 

All sorts of ridiculous suggestions were called out most under 10 seconds, so the Online Mistress put some arbitrary times up, 1-2-3-4 & 5 minutes. “Anyone think he could hold out for 6?” she asked. There was silence. She took a tally of votes for each time range and entered these into the grid. “OK, a couple of volunteers to hold him please?” asked the Online Mistress. There were some squeals of revulsion, but two reluctant but intrigued volunteers came forward.

 

I just had to get away, but how could I without my clothes? I had begun to edge towards the door, when the volunteers were called for I bolted for the door, much to the amusement of the assembly. I then had to face the ignominy of being caught by the Online Mistress and hauled back in to place by my balls, her sharp fingernails digging in deeply. I was held firmly by a volunteer each side. The Online Mistress placed a plastic bucket in front of me, and then slipped on a plastic protective pinafore. She produced a pair of bright pink marigold gloves and pulled them on each of her hands pausing to flex her fingers. I was shaking my head and trying as best I could with duct tape covering my mouth, to implore her not to put me through the shame and humiliation of being masturbated in front of everyone, but the Online Mistress simply grinned haughtily and produced a large bottle of coconut butter oil.

 

The ladies by now had become quite animated and unruly and I was horrified at the way they shouted out awful encouragements to the Online Mistress, who received them with equal mirth. She now slid down my shorts completely and took them off me so I was completely naked. Ripping the duct tape from my mouth she then stuffed my shorts in to my mouth to the rousing approval of her audience. I couldn’t have felt more humiliated, ladies were still taking photos and I was helpless. The Online Mistress upended the bottle of oil and squirted it liberally all over my privates which now glistened with slime. She rubbed the oil around my privates to get them all wet, then paused while one of the volunteers zeroed a stopwatch.

 

The Online Mistress took a firm grip of my cock and began pumping, not gently but vigorously, trying to arouse it in the shortest possible time. “Noooooo!” I screamed through my own underpants, but my protests were drowned out by the shouts, taunts and chants from these implacable harridans. Despite its shrunken state and the terror of my situation, the rapidity of the Online Mistress’ pumping, combined with the slipperiness of the oil, contrived to force my cock to erection within seconds. Only a few seconds more and I could feel the intense stimulation building up rapidly inside me. A little too rapidly! A few seconds more and I was moving inexorably towards orgasm. I gasped and pleaded with the Online Mistress not to inflict such humiliation on me, but I could only blather into my own shorts. It was awful. I don’t think it was even a minute of pumping before I shrieked in terror as I felt my sperm uncontrollably begin to make its way down my shaft. By now I was beyond caring, in the grip of a forced orgasm as I was. All I could do was screech pathetically into my gag as the laughter and taunting grew to a pitch. I was horrified to see my sperm just trickle lamely off the end of my cock and fall into the bucket rather than fountain forcefully into the air as I might have hoped. A sight not lost on my audience who howled their disapproval in a cacophony of insults and jibes. In the afterglow of such a humiliating situation, this was doubly hard to take.

 

The watch was stopped, I felt my cock wiped roughly with tissue, and I was released to stagger uneasily and lean against the wall catching my breath. The correct column on the grid was compared to the time it took me to cum. It was found that most of the ladies had guessed right, and that I had indeed been induced to cum in under 1 minute, much to everyone’s mirth and my embarrassment.

 

At this point the meeting broke up and the guests began to leave, many of them stopping to congratulate the Online Mistress for such a fascinating show of female superiority, and with a haughty sideways chuckle at me as I stood cringing shame-faced by the projector. I was further degraded when some of the ladies noticed and pointed out “Look it’s shrunk back to its normal size!”

 

When everyone had gone, the Online Mistress kept me naked and handcuffed while she gathered her things together, which I also found intensely humiliating now the ordeal was over. “Well,” she said with a sigh of satisfaction, “that was an evening well spent.” Picking up her briefcase and coat she walked to the door and paused. She then threw the keys to my handcuffs over to the back of the class room where they landed somewhere on the floor, turned off the lights and departed.

 

Needless to say it was some time before I found them, freed myself, got dressed and slinked off home feeling totally and utterly degraded. I was so humiliated by my experience that I dared not even look myself in the face in the mirror for weeks. It was many weeks too, before I could begin to get a nights’ sleep without waking after an awful nightmare of cackling women gleefully enjoying my humiliation. The Online Mistress had so thoroughly humiliated me that I hardly even dared to venture out, and could only sit around fretting about being recognized.

 

Displaying L35.docx.