Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Priapus
Title: The Inner Circle
Part: 3
Summary: The patient is moved to the operating roomand prepared for his
vasectomy, and recalls the unusual circumstances when he met his wife, her
inner circle of friends, and their highly unusual courtship.
Keywords: F/M, Fdom, humil, oral, medical,
   The Inner Circle
   Comments/story and character ideas/appreciation/feedback of any sort
very much encouraged, desired, and requested at:
   Priapus <priapic_wonder@yahoo.com> http://castrisecret.tumblr.com/
   The patient was still processing what was said about him in the hallway
as he was pushed into the operating theater.  His wife, Madeline, was in
the audience.  Catholic schoolgirls were in the audience, and had been
encouraged to fondle his erection and balls while the nurse explained male
anatomy in the hallway.  And they were all here to watch what exactly?  A
special technique for vasectomy?  What could be that special about a
vasectomy?
   A chill ran through him, and not just from the frigid temperatures in
the operating room.  He looked up at the circular gallery.  The windows
angled down over the room, and were mirrored so that he couldn't see who
was there, or if anyone was.  He guessed that his wife would be seated at
his feet, since the nurse had said Madeline would have the best view of the
procedure, but there was no way to know for sure.
   For a moment, he was alone, though he could feel the eyes studying his
naked form, he could imagine the conversations they were having about him
when they knew he couldn't hear.
   Another nurse came into the room.  This one completely covered in a
crisp white surgical gown, white pants with booties, latex gloves, a cap
and a surgical mask, and carrying a basin which she placed on a tray next
to the patient's legs.
   She stood at the side of the gurney, right at his hips, and turned a
crank.
   The back of the table rose beneath him until he was sitting up at a 45
degree angle.  He could see his body now, both directly and in the mirrored
surface of the gallery windows, and the nurse was right, he had no hair at
all.  The bush of pubic hair, the hairy legs, chest, belly and armpits, all
smoothly shaved.
   She turned another crank, and he watched as his legs were slowly raised
toward his face.  It seemed like she was going to fold him in half, but she
stopped with them raised at an uncomfortable 30 degree angle.
   More cranking, and the table bent at the knees, forming his body into a
z-shape on the table.  Still more cranking, and his legs started to spread,
wider and wider.  The tendons in his groin were stretched tightly,
painfully, open at more than a 90 degree angle, and now his softened cock
and tightened balls were completely exposed and vulnerable, hanging off the
lower edge of the table.
   The nurse picked up the basin and sponge and started to bathe the
patient by hand, with the antiseptic fluid.  It stung the freshly shaved
surface of his skin, and was especially harsh on his balls, which burned
terribly.  Once he was fully disinfected and in the appropriate position,
she left the room, and again he was alone.
   He knew the girls must be up there, examining him, looking at him like a
teaching dummy, not a man.
   His wife would be watching too, if the nurse had been truthful and she
bothered to even show up.  He would be surprised if she had.  Since their
marriage she hadn't seen very much of him.
   The closest they came to sexual contact lately was when she "supervised"
his morning and evening sperm collections.  She insisted on staying
completely dressed, usually reading a magazine or talking on the phone with
her friends.
   She insisted that he knelt at her feet, naked, and stroke himself
quietly until he came in a cup.  She told him that she couldn't risk
touching him or, worse yet, allowing him any intimate contact with her,
since the clinic had said that such contact could contaminate the sample or
interfere with proper semen development.
   Other than that, he thought, it had been a long time...he stopped
keeping track of days because it only depressed him when he did.
   He saw the close-up image of his manhood flicker into focus as the
monitors in the theater powered up.  Blood started to rush back into his
flaccid organ as he imaged the girls and his wife all up there, looking at
the monitors in the gallery, staring at him in close-up HD.  Though he
dreaded what might be happening, he was excited be the center of feminine
attention.
   A woman's voice crackled over the loudspeakers in the operating room. 
"Ladies of the gallery, we at the Institute for Special Internal Surgery
hope that you will please excuse the brief but unavoidable delay."
   The patient's heart raced.  Ladies, but no gentleman?  What kind of
teaching clinic was this?
   "The patient is in position and prepped, and the doctor and her surgical
assistants are nearly finished with their preparations."
   How many assistants are needed for a vasectomy?
   "The `full safety' vasectomy procedure will begin momentarily.  In the
pocket of your viewing lounge is an illustrated program of today's event,
custom made for this patient's procedure with detailed pictures of the
patient's own anatomy as illustrations.  Please, take this with you to
commemorate the event at no charge, with our compliments.  Also, remember
to use the reading light at your seat, and not cell phones or flashlights,
in order to maintain the low-light conditions necessary for the one-way
privacy glass."
   "What the fuck?" ran though his brain, over and over, as he imagined the
little Catholic girls and his own wife flipping through their own
personalized, commemorative, illustrated guides complete with pictures of
his naked cock and balls.
   "If you would like photographs or a video of the surgery, please
remember that cameras, even cell phone cameras, are prohibited in the
gallery, but you may visit the gift shop, or access the website using the
security code on your program, to purchase HD videos of this procedure and
still photographs suitable for framing."
   Now he imagined the students lining up to buy pictures of his dick in a
paper frame, like it was some sort of theme park thrill ride.
   There was a shuffling of papers and the soothing female voice returned.
"I would like to extend a special welcome to the patient's wife, Madeline
Lorsange,"
   Lorsange?  Why was she using by her maiden name?  Why not Mrs.  Kevin
Baker?
   "...and to her gathering of lifelong friends, Danielle, Sasha, Iveta,
Stoya, Hunter, Bobbi and Lorena."
   Oh, fuck fuck fuck!  Her whole inner circle was there!  What the hell
was going on?
   These ladies were the wealthy, high-society socialites that were
constantly with his wife.  According to her, this group had been
inseparable ever since grade school, and stayed together through their
education at what his wife called the `world's best' private high school
and college.
   All of the "inner-circle," as Madeline like to call them, came from old
money, or European aristocracy, or both.  All except for Hunter, the tall,
dark chocolate-brown woman of incredible beauty.  Her mother was a
supermodel and her father was a rock star.  In many ways he found her to be
the most arrogant of the insufferable group, maybe out of defensiveness for
her more common heritage.
   He should have expected them to be in attendance.  When he met Madeline
a mere year ago they were all there, sharing a table at the elite Country
Club where he worked as a busboy.  He had heard Danielle begging Madeline
to invite the attractive busboy to her upcoming party, as a special treat
for the inner circle.  In his presence, Danielle admitted to the group that
he would have to be brought in as a member of the wait-staff, of course. 
They all snobbishly agreed that there was no way he would be able to pass
as a guest at the exclusive affair for the rich and famous.  Arrangements
were made and the young man found himself assigned to work the party, since
it was catered by the Country Club.
   At that exclusive event, one by one, Madeline's friends lured Kevin away
from the rest of the crowd and into various secluded rooms in the expansive
manor.
   They all said something curt, like "Follow me, boy." Kevin remembered
that Iveta said nothing at all, she just tugged at his coat lapel.  Each of
them then walked smartly and confidently away without it seeming to enter
their minds that he might not dutifully follow.
   Once alone with him they all did exactly the same thing, shoving him
roughly down on his back on a sofa, a bed, a pile of coats, a rug, or onto
the smooth cold marble floor.  Without another word they stood over his
head, lifted their fancy party dresses, and lowered their naked, shaved
pussies onto his face.  He dutifully and quietly lapped away at their
beautiful cunts, some of which seemed unexpectedly frothy and aromatic for
such high-toned society girls.
   None of them ever touched him or did anything to please him, though the
ones that faced his feet as they rode his face would surely have seen the
outline of his stiff erection in his tight black pants.  They simply seemed
to have no care about his gratification.
   When each of them had at least one orgasm (Hunter seemed especially
greedy, riding him through a series of three or four particularly wet,
gushy, noisy climaxes), each of the inner circle women stood up, without
another word, tossed him a handkerchief or some other handy bit of cloth,
and walked away.
   He wiped his face and returned to the party, frustrated, but enormously
aroused by the way they all unabashedly used him as a pleasure toy.
   All, that is, except Madeline.  He left the party that night without
even speaking to her, ever having the pleasure of licking her to a climax.
To tell the truth, he hardly remembered her from the table at the Country
Club, he had become smitten with all the other cold, demanding bitches that
used him for their selfish pleasure.
   So he was doubly surprised when her driver knocked at the outside door
of his basement apartment the next morning.  The tall, strong black man was
impeccably dressed, and said simply, "Ms.  Lorsange will see you now." He
led Kevin to Madeline's limousine, and as he approached the window rolled
down.
   She stuck her head near the opening, dressed in a simple black dress and
black sunglasses, her hair pulled back in a bun with multiple strings of
white perals around her neck, and instructed him.  "If we are to date, you
will tell no one, not your family, your friends, or any one of my friends
that you might happen to meet.  My driver will call you and tell you when
to be ready, give you detailed instructions, pick you up, and drop you off
when the date is over.  Is that understood?" He just nodded his head.
   Kevin soon learned what Madeline considered to be a "date." He was asked
to appear at locations where Madeline and the other girls were gathered,
typically some high-class social gathering, but sometimes dinners at
restaurants, dancing at nightclubs, or on shopping trips, and even an
occasional movie or play.  He was usually instructed to act as though he
was part of the staff, and provided with uniforms that fit those worn at
the locations.  Strangely, none of the other staff at these places seemed
to notice him going about his pretend duties.  At more crowded locations,
he was often asked to simply blend into the crowd until Madeline required
him.
   Even though every one of the other women in the inner circle had once
ridden his face to a powerful orgasm, none of them ever showed the
slightest hint of recognition when they saw him at these events.  Madeline
never spoke to him or showed him any attention in public.  No one would
have suspected the nature of their relationship.
   And yet, every "date" ended the same way.  At some point, the driver
would appear and direct Kevin to a secret near where the inner circle had
gathered.  Madeline would already be there, bent over at the waist, her
elegant dress (she always wore fancy dresses, all her friends did) bunched
around her hips, her naked legs slightly parted, sometimes tapping the toe
of her exorbitantly expensive shoes as though impatient for his arrival.
   His instructions were always the same, he would wordlessly kneel behind
her, press his nose as deeply into her tight anal pucker as possible, and
lap at her shaven pussy as she fingered her clit to orgasm.  Sometimes, he
thought, she didn't wipe her asshole as well as she should.  In fact, he
thought she seemed to be wiping less and less carefully as their
relationship continued over days and weeks.
   Sometimes, again increasingly more often during their later dates, she
would arrive to find her pussy gaping and red, running with thick, creamy
juices.  He imagined on these occasions she might have gotten so impatient
that she started masturbating herself while she waited for him.
   This went on for nearly two months.  During this courtship Madeline went
through her menstrual cycle only once.  When the driver told him on the
phone that "Miss Madeline is having her period at this time," he suspected
there would be a few days without dates.  Quite the contrary, he found out.
During the week of her menstrual cycle, they dated more frequently, not
less, and the only difference was that Kevin would have to pull down
Madeline's bloody panties before licking her gushing twat.
   When she had one orgasm, and always only one, she would stand up, put
her dress back in place and walk out without another word or even a glance.
After she left the driver would return, hand him a wet-wipe, and then drive
him back to his apartment after he had cleaned off the evidence of their
date.
   Sometimes he and Madeline "dated" more than once a day.  On the day of
her heaviest menstrual flow she required four separate dates.  He had to
quit his job at the Country Club early in the courtship, but when he tried
to explain to his landlord why he didn't have the money for the rent on the
first of the month, he found it had already been paid.  Groceries and
clothing were being delivered to his apartment on a weekly basis.  He never
knew who delivered them; the items were just waiting there when he got back
from a date.
   At the end of a date in the second month of their courtship, instead of
simply silently walking away, Madeline announced she was going on a
week-long Mediterranean cruise with her inner circle friends.  Then she
covered her sopping pussy with her fancy dress and left as she always did.
   He thought this might mean at least a break in their relationship, or
possibly the end.  But instead, when he returned to his basement apartment,
on his kitchen table he found a round trip plane ticket to the port of
embarkation, his passport (he didn't apply for one, and was curious how
someone else could apply for a passport on his behalf without his
knowledge), and a cruise ticket.  His berth was an inside cabin, below the
waterline, near the crew quarters and engine room.  
  
The Inner Circle 3