I borrowed one of my Dad’s suits for the occasion. I didn’t ask his permission. The morning of the interview, after he’d left for work, I simply went into his room, pulled out the most conservative-looking of his suits, and spent the next hour in front of the mirror, tying my tie and trying to make sure that I looked presentable and grown up and conscientious and all the other things I was pretty darned sure they’d be looking for me to be. To be honest, I’d not worn a suit before but I kinda liked how it looked. I felt smart and, well… hot! I’ve never really thought of myself as being hot before, but it was a good feeling, which kinda made me hard. So hard, in fact, that the front of the pants got all wet and I had to dab them down with a piece of tissue paper!

Anyway I reached the complex, which was huge, and I was ushered into a room by someone who barely spoke, then left alone on a rather grand chair in the middle of the space. The room itself was white; so blindingly white and so bright that it was hard to work out how big it was.

A middle-aged man then walked in through the door. He had a shaven head, and a neatly-cropped, salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were like pieces of glacial ice and I instantly felt overwhelmed. He was immaculately dressed in a pure white suit which was so beautifully tailored. The knot in his tie was perfect, utterly perfect. I instantly felt like a scruff ball. My Dad’s suit suddenly felt way too big and old-fashioned and it must have looked like I’d tied my tie in my sleep or something. The man sat down next to me and pulled his chair right up, so that his legs were on either side of mine. I could smell his cologne, which was plainly very expensive. Then he told me that his name was Master Kamp.

He said that he needed to ask me a series of questions. He told me I had to answer honestly, which felt like a fairly redundant statement, but I guess some people are prone to elaborating a little when they get into this kinda situation. The first question came like a bolt from the blue, however. Did I enjoy the company of men? I answered yes, immediately, without thinking, and then started to second guess myself. Why did he ask that question? I heard myself mumbling a load of nonsense before dejectedly telling Mr Kamp that I didn’t know how to answer the question. I mean, what a disaster! It felt like the whole thing was over before it had started. I looked at the floor, utterly humiliated.

Then I felt his giant hand on my thigh. My head began to pound. He asked me if I’d ever touched myself without permission. Again, I was completely thrown. Was he actually asking me about masturbation? I shook my head and said no. I mean, I haven’t. I just haven’t. I’ve wanted to. I wanted to the moment I put Dad’s suit on this morning, but it’s not a thing to do, is it? I mean, there are way more important things in life, like grades and… Gosh, he was still touching my leg. Then he asked if I’d ever looked at pornography and I just wanted the earth to swallow me up. I said no. I mean I have but only by mistake and I didn’t stay looking at it too long. It all seemed a little uncomfortable and she didn’t sound like she was having too much fun.

Then he started to rub his hand up and down my thigh, asking me if I’d seen pornography involving two men. It was like he was reading my mind. And why was he touching my leg? And why were his eyes so amazingly blue? He asked if I’d fantasized about other men and weirdly the first word which came out of my mouth was “maybe.” I mean, I have been distracted by men, usually older men, and always within the context of wishing I was somehow more like them, but why did I say maybe? And why was I shaking? And why was my dick hard!?

Again, he seemed to read my mind, “older men?” He looked at me, piercingly, then his hand moved up my thigh. Up and up it went until his palm was resting on my penis. On my penis! I mean, it was covered by at least two layers of clothing when I last checked, but it was as hard as iron. He asked if I’d ever looked at men in a lustful way and I told him I hadn’t because I haven’t. But then I looked at his giant hand and the beautiful golden cufflink on his sleeve and my head started spinning.

He asked if I was willing to prove that I wasn’t attracted to men and I nodded. He said “very well” or something like that, before instructing me to stand and remove my clothes. Yeah, you heard me! Remove. My. Clothes. Well, I just froze. I simply didn’t know what to do, but somehow I found myself standing. And then, before I could process my thoughts, my hand was undoing the buttons on my jacket, and then, before I knew it, the jacket was coming off. It’s odd but a curious part of me was thrilled to be given an order. It was like everything was being taken out of my hands. I didn’t need to worry whether the answers were right or wrong, I was just undressing because I’d been told to undress.

As I hung the jacket on the back of the chair, I realized I was rock hard again, exactly as I’d been in front of the mirror when I pushed my hand against my bulge and wondered if my Dad had gotten hard when he last put the suit on… Before I knew it, I was undoing my tie, wondering how long it would take me to do it back up again. Strangely, this particular thought seemed infinitely more embarrassing than it felt to be removing my shirt, which was happening very much on auto-pilot.

Master Kamp, still seated, looked up at me with a glint of approval in his eyes before leaning forward in his chair and reaching out towards my belt which he then began to undo while I stood, frozen to the spot. I mean, surely he could see that I was hard - I was tenting like crazy - but he just looked up at me, smirking. He tossed the belt aside, started to undo the zipper of my pants and then, all of a sudden, the biggest hard-on of my entire life had been exposed, dancing away inside my boxer shorts. Goddammit!

He commanded me to sit and immediately produced a rope which he used to tie my hands behind the chair. It should have sent alarm bells ringing in my ears, but, again, the lack of control, the lack of needing to make decisions or answer questions, was thrilling. I guess I must have trusted him. I guess I felt safe in his company. And I guess I was, well… turned on. It felt like he desired me and I liked that a lot. He began to touch me, plunging his great big hands underneath my undershirt and over my chest. Everything he did made me feel weak. I just didn’t want it to stop. Every time he brought his face closer to mine I had this bizarre desire to kiss his lips. I was so aroused. I was filled with uncontrollable desire for him.

He carefully pulled my wildly erect penis out of the slit in my shorts before wetting his fingers with saliva and running them gently over its tip. The sensation was remarkable. Addictive. I didn’t know a body could experience such pleasure. And those waves of pleasure just kept on surging right through my body.

He stood up and removed his jacket. I could see from the bulge in his beautifully-tailored trousers that he too was hard. I had made him hard. He carefully removed his cufflinks and put them into his pocket, before rolling the sleeves up on his shirt. I watched in awe, staring at the huge, golden signet ring on his engagement finger before noticing the tattoos on his arms. There is something utterly renegade about a man rolling up his formal shirt and revealing tattoos.

He sat down again and continued to touch every inch of me. His face oscillated between smiling fondly, and glaring at me like I was a common criminal. Then he dragged me to the edge of the chair and pulled my legs up so that my hole was exposed. I instantly felt a rush of vulnerability with the realization that I wouldn’t be able to do anything to prevent what was destined to happen from happening.

He produced an object. It was transparent and made from glass. I instantly knew that he was about to push into my ass and my body spontaneously began to shake. He ran some sort of oil over it and then started to tease me with it, pushing the freezing tip of it against my hole until I began to twitch uncontrollably. At the same time he ran his oily palm up and down my penis, causing the weirdest throbbing sensation in my balls. Before I knew it, he’d started to push the thing into my hole. I cannot lie; it felt very strange indeed. I think it was maybe more psychologically uncomfortable than it was physically uncomfortable. But the more he ran his slippery hand over my erect penis, the more it all began to feel amazing. Utterly intense.

Then he tossed it aside and pushed his fingers into me, wriggling them about and touching something deep inside me which sent waves of pleasure through my body and made my balls contract. He ran his hand up and down the shaft of my dick with greater speed and pressure until I felt a sense of losing control. My body began to tingle. It was as though a million tiny needles were being pushed into me. I stared into those beautiful blue eyes, feeling his fingers inside me; one, two, three… My balls began to clench and tremble. Something was happening.

He stopped suddenly, reaching over me and untying my hands. Then he instructed me to do to myself what he’d been doing with his hands. And it felt really good. He pushed a finger into me and the fluttering sensation returned to my balls. I continued to rub myself. I could feel the pressure down there building, and instinctively knew that I could only relieve it by continuing to touch myself. And then, just like that, it happened. There was an overwhelmingly joyous sensation and then thick white stuff started flying from the tip of my penis. It was extraordinarily powerful. I genuinely thought it was gonna explode.

Master Kamp then took my penis and pressed his lips against it. It felt incredibly tender and I recoiled in agony. Then he smiled at me, and pushed his thumb into the white substance before rubbing it over my forehead as I tried, but failed, to catch my breath and work out what the fuck had just happened to me.