Manipulated Male Ch. 03: Auditor

I lost a bet...

My partner supplied random information... a person, a setting, etc... and demanded a story to approve for publication here.

I failed on my first two attempts.

The third attempt was the first story in this series. To wit, Manipulated Male Ch. 01: The Neighbour

It took me two attempts to complete a satisfactory 'punishment' story - one of the punishments for wasting her time with, quote, those two useless rambling nonsense pieces of garbage, unquote.

That story is the second story in this series. To wit, Manipulated Male ch.02: Colleague

This story also has been accepted and is the third story in the series

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She actually snapped her fingers. So yes, I peeled my tee up and off, right then, and held it out. Wrinkling her nose, the clear blue eyes positively sparkling, she waved the garment aside – leaving me no choice than to take the two steps needed to drop the garment into the open plastic garbage bag propped against the wall.

When I turned back to face her, the brilliant eyes were focussed on my boxers.

So that was that. I peeled the thick elastic away from my perspiration dampened flesh, and down, releasing my engorged erection to wobble and roll about under her amused gaze. I didn't have to ask. I added them to the open bag.

The open bag that now contained every stitch of my clothes from the hotel room...

...She was tall and slim. Attractive. What you might call quirky. She openly described herself as 'innovative kinky'. And at the time she was a completely unknown commodity...

...so I was more than a little nervous. Standing there, stripped naked, under her amused gaze. And the next words out of her mouth did nothing to make me feel any better.

"So who owns your cock and balls?"

Heart pounding, I had to swallow, hard.

"Uh-uh," she was quick. "Hands on your head."

They went to my head, believe me.

"Now answer the question. Who owns your cock and balls?"

I had to swallow, hard, again. The room temp seemed to have shot up exponentially. "You do."

"I can't hear you."

"You do."

"You can be louder than that."

"You do," I raised the volume considerably.

"That's more like the dulcet tone I remember. Why do I own you?"

"Because I'm a fraud."

"And?"

"You caught me."

She was a tax auditor. You don't want to know how bad it was. Well, you can guess – every stitch of my clothes was in an open plastic garbage bag...

...In fact, it was a reassessment but it was enough that I needed a payment plan arrangement – and she was being a complete bitch -- and one day I simply lost it and left, unfortunately, before I realized and ended the call, what is best described as a rant of a rather colourful nature at high volume. On her voicemail. The rest is what petty vindictive power can lead to in the wrong hands...

...moving around behind me, she ran fingertips along my lower back – and chuckled, enjoying the way my breathing changed audibly. The first slap was a shock. The second more expected but harder. The third, fourth, fifth and sixth were delivered at sporadic but reasonably quick intervals. She was spanking my ass – in her own time, and her own way. It was utter dominance. And it went on. And on. And on. Every blow seeming to echo more and more loudly inside the room – and inside my head...

..."Tie the bag and put it in the hallway."

I did. Ass smarting, and cock rolling and twitching, glancing anxiously around as I dropped the bag. It was a simple dark plastic garbage bag. No one would know it contained every stitch of my clothes. Quickly closing the door, I turned to find her watching me, the in-room phone to her ear, eyes twinkling: "Yes," she said, "We've left some garbage in the hallway. Yes, that's the room. Thank you."

That would be every stitch of my clothes, gone...

..."You might want to humour me," she'd said, earlier, when I was hesitating over her initial instruction – which was to remove my shoes and socks and put them in the then empty garbage bag. "Since it's either me...or jail time."

That was how every stitch of my clothes eventually came to be in the tied bag, in the hallway.

That was how she had got me to admit she owned my cock and balls.

That was how she had got to spank my ass until my eyes watered and my quivering erection oozed....

...Not that it would necessarily lead to jail time. The 'reassessment', I mean. Certainly not on its own. But throw in a recording of what a less than perceptive judge might see as threatening behaviour toward a legally authorized officer of the government and, well...

... Replacing the phone on the receiver, this time she beckoned with a finger, then pointed at my laptop case on the table in the corner. "Get it out and boot it up. No, first, get me a glass of that white. Then boot it up – with the cam. There's a website. You and I are going to entertain the girls on a website I know..."

So she wasn't just going to strip me of every stitch. She was going to strip me of every bit of dignity.

"C'mon, hop to it." Her open palm collided yet again, sharply, with my already tender ass. " And keep your hands well out of the way. I want to see those balls and that cock every moment, every movement..."