For a while, I am naked, alone with Jo. She oversees the setting up of a table and four chairs, towards the centre of the room. Three chairs are placed on one side of the table, close in, while the other is positioned on the opposite side, a little further away. She then tells me to get up on the table, on my knees, stretching my arms as far forward on the table as I can manage.

I am then asked to bring my knees forward under my chest to the limit of my capability, and then, keeping this position, bring my body back so that my knees are almost on the ege of the table. My feet are now well beyond the table's edge, my naked bottom pointing upwards, my forehead resting on the table, my cock and balls presumably hanging down in plain sight, and my arms stretched out in front, along the table. Jo then helps position my knees further and further apart, until I feel the stress in most parts of my body.

"We do this in yoga," she tells me. "It's very good for you." She then leaves me alone, saying that she needed to organise the women.

Even without an audience, I am more than exhilarated. I am aware that I am exposed in such a way as to maximise my vulnerability, humiliation and wantonness. All my sex is exposed, accessible and expectant. As I enthusiastically await an audience, the very thought that this explicit portrayal of male subordination, will soon be the spectacle that has brought women here, totally absorbs my whole being. I cannot see it, but I know my penis has stiffened, and I am sure the pre-cum has already begun to make an appearance. No program has been set, but its absence means that all things are possible, and eagerly hoped for.

I hear footsteps, coming closer, and ladies quietly commenting on the vision before them. I feel very much like a human sacrifice, positioned on the altar, preparing to be offered to the Gods. I dare not attempt to glance sideways, in an effort to see anyone, but I feel their eyes, as they inspect the offering, to ensure its suitability. A hand touches the tip of my penis, then tenderly wipes my pre-cum across my bottom.

"Are you comfortable?" I am asked.

"Not really. My body is quite stressed. But even so, I am in raptures. I hope you find me acceptable for your requirements."

"Explain to me your feelings at this moment," requests one woman.

"I feel totally at your disposal. You may use me as is your will, humiliate me, punish me, degrade me, whatever. I am more than excited at the prospect of being your sex slave. I live for this feeling of total abandonment." Despite the stress in my arms, shoulders, thighs and back, I am shivering with expectation and lust.

"You are an absolute slut, aren't you?" 

"More even than that," I reply.

"Check his anus," commands one woman. I feel a soft-covered, lubricated implement enter, and explore my open and welcoming little hole.

"Clean as a whistle," comes the result.

I am then told that I can get up, and sit in the allocated chair, for my short interview. I do as I am told, sitting back and straight in the chair before the table. My cock is looking up at me, tears of joy in its eye. Before me, on the other side of the table, are three women, each dressed in leotards, as though ready for the gym, looking quite athletic and presentable.

The interview aims to seek out my limitations, rather than my special fancies. One seems to explore bondage and related matters. Another woman seems to concentrate on punishment, SM and toilet issues, while the third concentrates on anal adventures and humiliation. Their questions are clear, specific, and somewhat matter-of-fact. Reaction to my answers is equally professional, non-judgemental and logical.

For my part, I am initially quite embarrassed to enlighten these three attractive women, who are complete strangers, about my very personal, and somewhat unusual, sexual predelictions and fantasies that I confess to them. Soon I delight in this embarrassment, absolutely humiliated by my realisation of, and then admission to, the depths to which I am prepared to be degraded. Even if this interview leads to no direct action, its effect on me is most rewarding, in and of itself.

"I think we're ready," announces one of the ladies, as she searches the faces of the other two. They nod their agreement. They rise, take their chairs and table to the side of the room, and command me to take up the position, identical to the one I had when they had entered the room, but this time on the floor. I love this position! Total submission! Total abandonment!

Now to my surprise and delight, they invite other women to join them. Obviously, they had been waiting outside, possibly guests at the earlier CFNM audition.

"This is how your man should prostrate himself before you," informed one of the interviewers. "He is there for your amusement, his only requirement is to obey, and take pleasure in doing so. Take your time to inspect him, and consider how you might impress upon him, that he is your slave, your plaything, your toy."

The new ladies seem happy to closely inspect me, but are reluctant to touch me. One of the interviewers takes the initiative, spreading my buttocks even wider, encouraging ladies to not only visually inspect my hole, but to digitally do so as well. "Your man should always present himself as clean, and as inviting, as this subject," she explains.

After each new observer has finished her inspection, I am then told to stand, and thank the ladies for their attendance, and interest. The interviewer now binds my cock and balls with silken yarn, such that my balls are quite separate from each other, thrust outwards, with my cock attached, sitting on top, within the gap the balls leave. "This technique protects your property, until you are ready to use it," she explains. As she now attaches a thin lead to the head of my constrained cock, she pronounces that my movements are now totally under the control of whoever holds the lead. She passes it to one lady, encouraging her to take me for a short walk around the room, displaying my obedience. Some of the ladies start to laugh, and soon there is much amusement as I am forced to pick up my pace, turn, even jump. 

"You may not want your charge mobile, while you are not ready to use him. Let me show you an ideal way to have him wait, but totally under your control, both physically, and mentally," she suggests.

I am told to lie on my back, spreading my arms out to my side. I lift my legs as far as I can manage, and she pulls them over so that my knees almost rest on my forehead. She then spreads them further, lifting my arms so I can grasp my ankles. She then binds my wrists to my ankles. I have never been like this before. I am utterly vulnerable, open, submissive and abandoned. And I have a full view of my audience and their reactions. It is delicious.  My cock and balls are still constrained. I am asked to comment on my situation. I do so honestly, and excitedly. "This might be a nice way to introduce your slave to your friends," she comments.

"Let's take this opportunity to lubricate his little hole. We may want to use it later," she explains, as she works copious amounts of Vaseline into my eager, defenceless and shameless anus. I can feel her fingers right up to her knuckles, as she spreads the lubricant, and the diameter of my hole, without restraint. "It seems a pity not to fuck him now, dosn't it?" she asks the ladies, who have gathered very close to the action. "Would you like to be fucked now?" she asks me.

"Yes, yes. Now. Please." I find myself begging, screaming, pleading to be fucked, as the fingers sink deeper into my tunnel. The knuckles are now inside, and I can feel the thumb, separate from the fingers, explore, and lubricate, independently.

"No, we're not ready yet. You haven't earned it yet, has he ladies?" The women, by now, have become quite vocal. The first hand slowly slides out, and another invited to replace it. And so it goes, three or four times.

My cock is freed, the binding leaving narrow ruts that remain into the skin, around my balls and penis. Another of the interviewers demonstrates how narrow metal rods, carefully deployed, can explore my tiny pee-hole. My anus is abandoned temporarily, while the ladies amuse themselves with this new-found display of female dominance, over an entirely defenceless piece of masculine anatomy. The craving to be soundly fucked, has been replaced with a feeling of abject vulnerability, as I am fully aware how reliant I am, on the good graces of those ladies, who avail themselves of this opportunity, to become familiar with this fetish of mine.

Now released from the straps encasing my wrists and ankles, and the bondage that has turned my balls into a deep purple shade, I am ready for further abuse. An interviewer has resurrected a chair, upon which she is now seated, beckoning me to lay across her knees. I do not see the size of the plug that is worked patiently, and completely, into my hole. By this time, it has narrowed somewhat, but it remains very well lubricated. If I could see it, I might faint. My insides feel invaded, fully encased. My cock is yanked out from between my legs, and given a little incentive to expand. I feel it sitting on my balls, protruding from between my legs, under the bottom, which is soon to be thrashed.

"Note how this position maximises subservience and acquiescence," she explains. The spanking of my buttocks begins, occasionally interspersed with lighter slapping of my cock. Each swipe stings and seems to thrust the plug further inside me. "Would you like me to stop?" I am asked.

"No, no. Harder, harder, please," I exclaim. A belt replaces the hand, a paddle the belt, a brush the paddle, until my persecutor relents, probably from exhaustion. My bottom is now soothed gently, with some cooling balm. I have a few minutes to come back to earth, to relax, to look around me. Some faces seem astonished. Others are smiling.  Some are chattering excitedly. Some hands reach out to feel the heat still residing in my skin. O the welts that I know, are accentuating the colour in my buttocks.

"My friend here has a quite unique little fetish that he would love to demonstrate. You know how guys like to have their cock sucked? He just loves a slight variation." She turns me over, still on her lap, bends down and takes my cock into her mouth. With teeth bared, she sinks them into the flesh, and then grinds on the meat. She releases the cock to point out the teeth marks she has made. Then she takes my cock back into my mouth, sucking it, with plentiful soothing juice. "The pleasure is enhanced by the prior pain," she explains. "Would anyone like a go?"

She nudges me to stand, and walk around a little to display the teeth marks still apparent. I am told to offer my meat to taste, savour, and bite. Most refuse. A couple take up the offer, and take delight in showing me, and her neighbours, the results of their dental handiwork.

The table is now brought out onto the floor. My feet are spread and tied to the legs of the table. My arms are stretched out, to grasp the edges of the table. The plug is carefully extracted from its resting place. At first, it feels as though it does not want to go. With a little more assistance, it eventually oozes out of its own accord. A participant is invited to replenish some of the Vaseline, that might have escaped. The strap-on harness is retrieved, and demonstrated. Several life-like cocks are offered for discussion. Naturally, the audience selects the thickest! But no-one takes up the offer to do the job, despite the encouragement from the interviewers, and the pleadings now urgently, and honestly, streaming from my mouth.

It is up to the interviewer. She mounts the cock in the harness, which she wraps around her hips. I am invited to slobber and spit over the weapon. Others contribute. Standing on some books, she introduces the shaft to its target. Little by little, I feel it force an opening, plunge a bit, relax, then repeat its endeavours. Once the entry is established, each thrust is a little easier and penetrates a little further. I hear myself screaming, maybe a little in pain, but certainly in wanton desire. With each thrust, there is encouragement from the audience for her, and shouts of humiliation for me. "Fuck the little whore! Destroy his wanton arse!"

"Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Fuck me." I have lost any reason. I want that cock buried inside me, with all my life. Finally, a thrust has met no resistance, and I am literally fulfilled. "Oh, that's so good," I hear myself utter. The cock retracts a little, before plunging back in. It teases me by withdrawing, before I enthusiastically implore its return, and it fills me once again. The crowd is also going nuts. Now I hear some volunteers wishing to take part, where there had been reluctance before.  A replacement lady is kitted up, before the first cock is withdrawn. The new one, to my delight, fills the void. And again. And again.

"Can I get up on the table?" I request. Firstly I take my original subservient position, face downwards, legs spread, knees tucked under me. It takes time to find some way to get the next lady to reach my yearning orifice, but when she manages, there is no subtlety. She attacks me like there is no tomorrow. It is then that I have the most surprising reaction to the whole session. I found myself wishing she was a man!

Then I beg them to bind me, ankles to wrists as before. I enjoy this rendition the most. I finally run out of volunteers. I am released from my bondage. I slump down on the table. Some of the Vaseline has found its way out, softened, and gives me the impression of cum streaming down my legs to my feet. God, I wish it was!

These thoughts leave me, as I luxuriate in the aftermath of my degradation. I can give no more. I am the whore of whores. I shout this in exhilaration. I am lying on my back, offering my body to any taker, for any obscenity, for any humiliation. This appears to be a little too extreme for the ladies as a whole, but not for one of the interviewers. Her leotard is off, she is standing over me, then crouching, as she releases her golden juice into my eager, spluttering mouth. She then allows the flow to fall on my stomach, and then my cock and balls, stinging where the biting had taken place. She stops the flow temporarily, gets me to turn over, and releases the rest of her warm piss over my still raw buttocks. I raise them to allow some juice to enter my ravaged hole. I now begin, without instruction, to lap up, with my tongue, spilt piss from the surface of the table.

This new humiliation seems to have shocked the audience into silence. The noise, that had encouraged and cheered my fucking, has all but evaporated. A few women are starting to leave, expressing some dismay at the level of my depravity. Others refer to the experience as "unforgettable".

How long have I been lying here, drenched in piss, sore and stressed all over, trying to determine which might have been the ultimate experience - this, or the pool party arranged by Jim, more than a decade ago. ("The need for the ultimate depravity").

I cannot make up my mind, before being ordered to "clean up the mess on the floor". This I do, still naked, now with a smaller, but still very appreciative, audience. Now off the table, I am directed to small puddles of piss that have fallen to the floor. On my knees, I bend to lap them up. "Look at the slut. There is no limit to the depth of his depravity. Has he no shame? Lap it all up, you dog."

The more they disparage me, the hornier I get. Of course I have no shame. I aim my hungry hole up at them, and turn to look them in the eyes. Still on my knees, holding myself up with one hand, I take hold of my cock with the other, and start to stroke it, still staring into their faces.

"Yes, show us what you've got," I am encouraged. I take my hand off my cock, and with it, I scoop up some used lubricant from my hole, which is still very much open for business. The hand returns to my shaft, and with only a few strokes, it has returned to life. Without averting my gaze, I roll onto my back, legs in the air, and slowly pleasure myself. "Go, go, go," they shout.

Somehow I manage to slide towards the table, and rest my legs on its top. I now have only my upper back and shoulders on the floor. The passion is welling up inside me. I am moaning with uncontrolled pleasure. I want release, but I don't want to end. Two women, I'm guessing interviewers, take my feet, and hold them above me, so that I know that the cock I am strangling, is straight over my face. I cannot hold back any longer, and I am rewarded with a rush of sperm, into my mouth, my nose, my eyes, my ears and my hair. I swallow what I can, and then use a hand to guide that which my tongue cannot reach, into my mouth. The other hand is still throttling my cock, which still has much to give. Through somewhat blurry eyes, I see the women straining to watch, as close as they can manage, and cheering my performance, willing me to continue. Another spurt washes over my face. Undaunted, I still choke my softening cock, squeezing a final dribble from it, onto my fingers, and then into my mouth. 

My remaining audience is applauding enthusiastically. I am spent, as never before. Women help me to my feet, and they crowd around me. I am a superstar. I have given my all, a great performance. I have given much more than I had ever imagined, and for this, I am immensely proud. 

The show is over. You can go home now. 

Now in the bathroom, I take great delight from what I see in the mirror. Sperm drying on and around my face. A cock savaged by silken cord, and teeth. A backside, still flushed with red, littered with rising welts. An arse and thighs slippery with expended Vaseline. My limbs are sore, as is my back. My anus is sore to touch. I have died, and I am now in heaven.