Photo Strip
Chapter 7 The Naked Interview
The green light over the door came on. I stood up, walked over and stood in front of it, with my hands on my head, waiting for it to open. I was about to leave the relative security and privacy of the preparation room and enter the Board Room completely naked, for an interview with the Chief Executive and Directors of PhotoStrips Sagas plc who I had never met before in my life.
The door opened, and I went in. I heard it close behind me. I found myself in a lofty chamber in the castle, with the Directors sitting in a long row of chairs, facing the door through which I had just walked. At each end of the room, I noticed, stood a very upright, armless wooden chair, standing on its own. Each had a small hand-towel hanging over its back. One of the chairs was accompanied by three stools of similar height, one on one side, and two on the other, arranged one behind the other a few feet apart. How bizarre, I thought.
"Approach!" commanded the imposing man in the centre of the row, obviously the Chief. I walked right up to him, hands still on my head, feeling very disadvantaged in front of all these people wearing business suits. "Sir Gus Somerset," he said, by way of introduction, holding his hand out. I took my hands off my head, and held my right hand out to shake his. "Who gave you permission to remove your hands from your head?" he snapped. "I "But, but you were going to shake hands ..." I stammered, putting my hands back up. "I was going to give you the usual greeting for screening interviewees," he said, "and shake your balls, not your hand." With that, he took hold of my balls, and gave them a couple of light squeezes. I couldn't help wondering what form his greeting for females took.
"Before the interview proceeds, you will be punished for this act of disobedience and impertinence," he decreed. "Miss Green and Mr. Striker, take your seats in the punishment chairs, please."
Miss Green was a slender bespectacled woman in her early thirties, wearing a smart navy suit, and high heeled shoes. She walked over to the lone chair at one end of the room, took the towel off the back, sat down, and placed the towel across her lap.
Mr. Striker was a mature businessman with slicked back hair, and a pinstripe job. He probably combed his hair looking into the toecaps of his shoes. He approached the chair accompanied by stools, took the towelling, but sat down without placing it over his lap.
"Over Miss Green's lap!" commanded Gus. Naked, I lay face down on her lap. One of her hands placed itself round my outside knee, and slip up my leg until it was just touching my balls. Thereupon it gently eased my legs apart. I could feel my naked prick growing against the towelling covering her skirt. Then her other hand inserted itself between the towel and my balls, cupping them, her middle finger resting on my perineum, and gently stroking it.
She smacked the lower inside part of my cheek, the soft, tender, sensitive part. And she smacked. Six resounding slaps landed alternately on each cheek, and they stung.
"You may stand and approach the other chair," commanded Gus. Remembering to put my hands on my head this time, I paraded the length of the room, past the row of directors, unable to conceal the hard on I had developed at the hands of Miss Green. As I neared Mr.Striker, Gus Somerset instructed: "Face up, this time!"
Taking my position over Striker's lap, I realised why there was a stool on each side. I put my head on one, and feet on the other two. With my backside centred on the lap in the middle, I was horizontal, with my legs nicely apart, exposing the whole of my genital area for punishment at the hands of Striker..
From the top pocket of his jacket, Striker produced one of those soft leather bookmarks, about one inch wide, six inches long, with fronds at one end. He draped the towel over my head, so I was unable to see what was going on. He laid his left hand over the shaft of my still erect prick, running it lightly up and down a few times to ensure it was at its maximum rigidity and the skin was really taut, and then he rippled his fingers over my balls, like he was checking the target area.
In fact, he was. Suddenly there was a 'THWACK!' and the leather strap struck midway up the shaft of my prick. Then came the touch of his hand again, soothing the target area. Twice more the strap struck, followed by the soothing hand.
Next it was the turn of my balls. Striker played the strap over them, teasing them with its light feel, as the fronds were dragged over them. Then came the stinging hit. Two more of them, and a very thorough soothing.
He took the towel off my head, and wiped the sticky beads which had started to ooze from the slit of my cock.
I was commanded to return to face the Chief Executive. I rose, put my hands on my head, and faced Gus Somerset with prick bright red, straining to bursting point.
For the next fifteen minutes I faced a barrage of questions from the directors. How much time was I prepared to put into the job, if offered? Was there anything I could think of that I would not be prepared to do in the execution of my duties? In the end, I told them that I really couldn't answer their questions, without a price. I might not want to work seven long days a week, nor spend most of my working life naked in front of complete strangers, but everyone had his price. I needed a figure against which to base my responses.
The financial director stood up and came over to me. She seductively started stroking my arse, and worked her hands round to my balls and cock. "If we said £150,000 per annum, and subject to compassionate and important other personal calls, we had call on you 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, for a five year contract, what would you say?" she asked. "It would all be paid into an offshore bank, and free of UK tax. And there'd be a pension, of course," she added. "How restful February 29th sounds!" I replied. There was a ripple of laughter among the directors. "But yes," I added, "I'm all yours!"
"Dismissed!" announced the Chief. I returned through the door into the changing room, and there was Zola. She produced a pair of handcuffs, and grabbing hold of my wrists, pulled them down behind my back, and snapped them on.
"That's better!" she said, satisfied. "I heard about your disobedience. We will teach you that what you do with any part of your body is our business, and not yours!" "OK! " I replied. "But you'd better release my hands for a while. I need a piss." "I certainly shan't release them!" she retorted. "Don't blame me if I piss all over the floor, then!" I warned. I walked over to one of the WC's, and she followed. She took my prick in her hand and pointed it towards the bowl. "Now piss!" she barked. I did, without any trouble, for she was the last person on earth likely to arouse me. But it was unimaginably humiliating to have to stand in front of a WC in the nude, with my hands cuffed behind my back, and a woman holding my penis, ordering me to piss.
"What now?" I asked, as she shook the drips off the end, and meticulously dabbed it with a wad of toilet paper. "Bedtime!" she announced.
She led me, handcuffed and still naked, through what seemed like miles of narrow twisting stone corridors, until we reached a long portcullis covering an alcove set in the stone wall. Behind the portcullis was a very narrow bunk bed. Zola pressed a button set in the wall, and the portcullis rose. Zola turned out the corridor lights, removed my handcuffs, and pushed me on to the bed. She pressed the button again, and I heard the portcullis descended. I felt around the bed, and reckoned it was about a metre wide, and two metres long.
I was exhausted after my day's travel and the ordeal of Zola and the interview. I stretched out, and fell into a relaxed sleep.
I've no idea how long I had been dozing, naked, on the bed. I was suddenly awakened by the sound of the portcullis rising. I strained to see what was happening, but the corridor outside was still in total darkness. I felt someone beginning to climb on to the bed. I turned on my side, and flattened myself against the wall, facing it. I felt a hand touch my naked buttock, and then recoil. The new arrival to this single bed, climbed on to it, keeping its distance. This was not easy, due to the restricted width. I heard the portcullis begin its descent, and then, obviously Zola, or whoever had brought my hapless roommate along, pushed the body inwards, so that it would be out of the way of the portcullis.
I felt another naked body being pushed against mine, a limp prick nestle along the cleavage of my arse. When the portcullis was in place, I could feel the body trying to move back, but with no success - we were both jammed in. My companion had nowhere to put his top arm, so he draped it along my thigh. Then, no doubt, curiosity got the better of him, as his hand slid over to the inside of my thigh halfway between knee and groin, and surreptitiously slid upwards to see what type of genitals lay at the top.
It seemed comfortable with what it discovered when it reached my genitals, and gently held them. My prick slowly began to grow in this hand, and I could feel the prick pressed against my bum enlarging, too.
Before long, the hand let go of me, and pulled on my shoulders, to turn me over to face its owner. Suddenly a pair of lips met mine, and we were in a passionate embrace, our hard pricks pressed against each other.
Without warning, a bright overhead light came on, and the portcullis started to rise. A disembodied voice said "Well done, Ian and Dermot. You have passed our first test! Now you can get up."
They had obviously been watching us on closed circuit television, with night vision. We got off the bed and stood in the illuminated corridor. "We can't allow you to continue, as we need you awake and in tip top condition in the morning. So you will be parted. Have a good night's sleep, both of you. You have an exhausting day lined up for tomorrow!"
With that, all the corridor lights came on, to reveal Zola. "What pretty dicks you have when they are hard!" she commented, "Naughty boys! Now put your hands on you heads." As we did so, she produced another one of those leather bookmarks, and gave our cocks a couple of sharp lashings with it.
"Follow me!" she ordered, and led us further down the corridor, until we came to a pair of stout wooden studded doors. Producing a large iron key, she unlocked them, and thrust us through different ones.
Inside was luxury. A king sized bed, a deep pile carpet, and an en-suite bathroom with jacuzzi bath. There were no covers on the bed, but a nice crisp white sheet topped it. I lay on it, and luxuriated. I turned off the light switch, but it only had the effect of dimming the lights. That was when I spotted the closed circuit TV camera in the ceiling. I was too tired to care. It was warm and comfortable on the bed, and I soon fell into a deep sleep, wondering what they had lined up to exhaust me tomorrow ....
To be continued ...