All My Dreams Pass Before My Eyes - 11. Chapter 11 The Interview

The week dragged on at a snail’s pace. It seemed like forever until Tuesday arrived.

Carey’s mind thrummed with noise. Was this some form of sexual exploitation? Not really. He wasn’t underage. He knew nothing about what was going to happen at this so-called meeting. Maybe it was nothing more than an intellectual exercise. Researchers, albeit a bit warped, collecting information about the sex lives and preferences of today’s college students.

On the other hand, the idea of consenting, allowing himself to be manipulated or persuaded, made his heart beat faster. He got hard just thinking about it, rolling those words around in his head. Feeling vulnerable, giving into the power differential. Teacher and student. The whole dynamic had never occurred to him. Maybe it had been there all the time, lurking in the dark recesses of his mind.

Carey was both curious and afraid. Why didn’t he just not show up? The decision was his, wasn’t it? If it was, why was he attracted to the thrill of some unknown? Not entirely unknown, as it turned out. Oxydahl knew more than just a little about his sexual preferences. What was that suppository about? His ass, cleaned out, ready for…? His stomach churned thinking about it. Embarrassment, humiliation, people looking, watching him, feelings that made his cock so hard he could barely stand it.

Dirk spied Carey sitting at a table alongside one of the eateries, his chin in his hand, deep in thought. Dirk carried a book bag on his shoulder, on his way to football practice. The books were really just for show. Academics took a back seat to athletics. With the school’s conditioning program, he was now pushing 250, all muscle and sinew, shoulders so wide they seemed to go on forever. Short curly dirty blond hair, some acne on his cheeks and chin. A deep resonant voice. As a freshman, he’d already won the starting middle linebacker job. Destined for the pros as long as he stayed healthy.

Deeply in the closet, he rarely got a chance to get his rocks off, other than jacking off to photos and videos of all kinds of guys. There’d been a couple of close encounters and he’d actually paid for it a couple of times. He also had his personal faves, one of whom, he was staring at right now. Carey had been the center of interest for many of his fantasies since early in high school. He was so damn cute, apparently oblivious, to all of his charms. Slight built, an extremely cute face, narrow hips, and an equally cute butt. Dirk fairly obsessed about the fine, dainty little hairs above and in front of his ears. He so wanted to reach out and tickle them with his fingers.

“Carey,” Dirk nodded as he slowed to a stop.

“Oh, hi,” Carey responded dully, looking up.

They chatted for a couple of minutes about this and that.

“You been to any games?”

“Yeah, one. You’re quite the brute on that football field.”

Dirk chuckled.

“Hey! We should hang out sometime.”

In your dreams, Carey thought, grimacing slightly, thinking of Dirk pounding his pud up Apollo’s ass.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Dirk, hiding his disappointment, didn’t push it. A couple of more exchanges and he continued on toward the athletic field complex. Frustrated. Some guys were gonna pay for it today at practice.

Tuesday, just before six pm, Carey stripped off his pants and underwear. Laying on the bed on his side as the instructions dictated, he pushed the suppository past his anus and as far into his rectum as he could get it. Thirty minutes later, he was sitting on the toilet dealing with massive cramps. He emptied his bowels over and over again. It was disgusting but also mildly cathartic. As he relaxed he imagined something, anything going in rather than coming out.

Once he was sure his bowels were empty, Carey showered thoroughly. In the process, he pushed a soapy finger up his ass as far as it would go. He shuddered at the pressure. It felt good. He shaved his armpits even though he had little hair growing there. Likewise, he shaved some of the hair around his upper thighs and got on his knees, hips up, to run the razor up and down the crack of his ass. After he dried himself, he trimmed some of the loose hairs from around his cock and balls.

He dressed simply. A plaid button down shirt, black cotton pants, underwear, dark socks, and grey hikers.

His self talk kept saying, you don’t have to do this. Just don’t go. On one hand, maybe it was nothing. He speculated on possible scenarios. Perhaps the interview was nothing more than an intellectual exercise. What’s the harm? On the other hand, what if it was something else?

He left his dorm abut 8:30 wearing a light jacket against the fall chill. The address he’d been given was off campus but within walking distance. Around five to nine, he walked by the place.

It was a large house on a block where many of the faculty were known to live. The front of the two story gothic style residence was clad in dark red brick and covered in ivy. A semi-circle driveway neatly covered in pea rock spanned the front of the house bordered by low hedges. The main entry was a set a double doors protected by a columned overhang. Every window was dark.

Looking up and down the street and seeing no traffic or people, he walked across the driveway around to the back yard. It was very dark back there so he couldn’t see much of anything. As his eyes adjusted, he barely made out the vague outline of what must have been formal gardens.

Carey found the back door toward the center of the house. Ivy covered brick surrounded a plain wood door.

Just pretend to be late. Knock on the door after the appointed time. Screw it up. That was the easiest way to get out of it.

But, Carey took his phone out, watched the clock, and when the second hand wound around to the very top of the hour, he softly rapped on the door.

The door immediately bumped open, the hinges squeaking. The person opening the door was a man about 6 feet tall, dark hair combed straight back emphasizing a wide forehead, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. And a mask. A black mask covering his eyes, eyebrows, and nose, wrapping around the side of his head. Like an opera mask.

“Come in,” he said in a deep resonant sounding voice.

Carey stepped through the door into a weakly lit entry way illuminated by a simple ceiling light fixture. Brown Art Deco quarry tile covered the floor. The entry smelled faintly of onions, furnace oil, and some kind of cologne. Closed doors were on either side of the entry. The man used a key in his hand to unlock the door to Carey’s right.

“Follow me.”

Carey entered another room, a bit bigger than the entry, void of any furnishings except for a single chair. It also was dimly lit with the same Art Deco tile floor. A single closed door was on the opposite wall.

“Wait here,” the man said firmly.

He backed out of the room through the door they’d entered and closed it. Listening, Carey heard the door on the other side of the entry open and close.

This was so strange, Carey thought. And melodramatic. His heart beat like a drum in his chest.

Less than a minute later, the other door opened. Another man, dressed almost identically to the first one, wearing the same kind of mask, entered the room.

“Good evening, Carey.”

Unable to speak, Carey just nodded. Every nerve in his body was on edge.

“Let me tell you what will be happening this evening.”

Pausing and receiving no response, he continued.

“You’ll be escorted into the next room where the interview will be conducted. You’ll be asked to sit in a chair. An interviewer will be sitting across from you. He has been especially selected for his skills in this particular area.”

What skills? What particular area? Carey looked at the man and was about to open his mouth to say he needed to leave. His breath caught in his throat. But, he remained silent.

“Several other people will be in the room. You won’t be able to see them, however.”

An audience. Public embarrassment. Humiliation. Carey felt his cock stiffen.

“You will be asked a series of questions and asked to perform certain…” The man cleared his throat. “…tasks.”

Tasks? What tasks?

“Depending on your responses and the tasks you perform, other people in the room may submit additional questions to the interviewer. They may also assist in the performance of some of these tasks.”

There’s still time to get out, Carey thought. You really don’t need to do this. The word “need” gnawed at him.

“Are you with me so far?”

Carey had a question, lots of questions, but he just nodded.

“Good. Before we go in, would you please remove your shoes? And, I’ll take your jacket.”

Carey reached down, pulled one shoe off with his hand, and used his foot to hold the heel of the other one so he could slip it off. He pulled his jacket off and laid it on the back of the only piece of furniture in the room, a wooden chair.

“Follow me.”

The man escorted him into a completely dark room, illuminated by one bright light, and pointed to a brown upholstered arm chair. Extra large. Each arm was more than a foot wide.

Before he disappeared into the darkness, the man said, “Have a seat.”

The chair seemed to almost swallow him up. He felt like a little kid sitting on an adult’s chair. The moment he sat down, another light came on illuminating a second arm chair, this one more modest in size. It sat about six or seven feet in front of him.

Another man, same mask, same attire, sat in the chair, one leg casually crossed over the other. He held a small stack of index cards. As Carey’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the shoes and lower legs of some people seated behind the man. He couldn’t make out any faces. He only got a sense that there were maybe six or seven people seated in the front row. There were at least three rows, barely apparent because of a dim light at the back of the room.

The only sound came from the faint rattle of the ventilation system.

“Good evening, Carey.”

The same greeting. The man’s voice was firm but soothing. In response, Carey smiled lightly and waved.

“State your height and weight.”

“Five ten, one forty.”

“What is your waist size.”

Carey shrugged. “Thirty-one or thirty-two.”

“What size shoes do you wear?”

“9 1/2.”

“Is this your natural hair color?”

Odd question.

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever had any surgeries?”

“No.”

“Do you wear glasses?”

“No.”

“Are you circumcised?”

Carey felt himself color a bit.

“Yes.”

“Do you masturbate?”

Carey smirked.

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you masturbated?”

“Sunday.”

“How large is your penis when it’s in a relaxed state?”

Carey blushed.

“I dunno. Three inches?” He responded, not really sure.

“How large is your penis when it’s erect?”

He chuckled nervously.

“About six or seven, I guess.”

Someone coughed. There was a short pause.

“Carey, remove your socks.”

He reached down and pulled each sock off. A basket suddenly appeared out of the gloom, just to his right. He tossed them in.

“Have you ever been naked in front of other people?”

“Yes.”

“Were you embarrassed?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he smirked. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Are you embarrassed because you think, in some way, that you’re inadequate?“

“Yeah, maybe, I dunno,” he replied in a small voice.

Another short pause. The interviewer swirled his tongue around in his mouth. Was he trying to decide what to ask next?

“Carey, remove your pants.”

Carey took a breath, stood up, and unbuckled his belt. Turning part way to the side in a vain attempt at modesty, he unbuttoned his pants, slid them down his legs, and pulled them off, one leg at a time. Laughing nervously he kept his eyes down as he folded his pants and put them into the basket.

As he was sitting down, the interviewer stopped him.

“Please remain standing.”

He stood back up.

“Lift up your shirt so your underpants are visible.”

Carey did as he was told, lifting his shirt just above his waist, clutching the bottom on each side.

“Turn around so your back is to us.”

Carey did as he was told. He heard another soft cough. Someone whispered something. Another person responded,

“What?”

It was silent for another moment. Carey felt himself getting hard.

“You can turn around now.” Carey complied.

“Remove your shirt.”

Slowly and deliberately, Carey started at the top of his shirt and undid one button at a time. The second button got caught in the buttonhole. He almost ripped his shirt trying to get the button undone. As soon as his shirt was completely open, he pulled one arm out of the sleeve followed by the other and shrugged it off of his shoulders.

Placing the shirt in the basket he stood back up. There was no hiding it. He was fully erect, his cock straining the front of his briefs.

Complete silence.

“Bring your arms up and hold your hands behind your head.”

As Carey followed this command, he was acutely aware of how his bare chest and exposed armpits must look. He glanced down at his small nipples, now erect.

“Have you ever sucked someone else’s cock?”

“Yes.”

“Can you suck your own cock?”

Carey chuckled nervously.

“I don’t know. I never tried.”

“Have you ever had your cock sucked by someone else?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been fucked?”

Pausing for a moment, unsure if he should admit it.

Finally, “Yes.”

“You can bring your hands down now.”

Carey dropped his arms to his sides.

“Remove your underwear.”

Taking a deep breath, Carey pulled the waistband out and over the top of his fully erect cock and slid them down to his thighs. When they dropped to the floor, he stepped out of the right leg and used his left foot to kick them off. He was now naked. Instinctively, he brushed one hand over the top of his cock. He wanted to squeeze it but he was also felt like he should at least try to cover up his erection. Starting to bring the other hand up to fig leaf his crotch, he thought the better of it and just dropped his hands to his sides.

“Bring your hands behind your head again.”

Taking another deep breath, he complied.

“Turn around.”

Carey felt a rush as he turned to expose his ass. Now every naked part of him was visible to all of these people. This feeling. Part of him wanted to run. But, he just stood there. He felt everyone’s eyes boring into his back side. His face felt flush. Even his ass felt red.

“Spread your legs. Bend over and grab your ankles.”

Which he did.

“Spread your legs some more. Keep them straight.”

Directions were coming more quickly, sounding more like commands.

This was perhaps the ultimate humility. Knowing his winking butthole was visible to all of them made him dizzy with excitement. He fought the instinct to clench his ass.

The silence was deafening, if short lived. Carey heard a few whispers, someone snuffled, and another person coughed.

“Ok. Straighten up and turn around.”

The interviewer shuffled through some of the note cards. Out of the darkness, several cards were passed to him. After reading through the submitted cards, he rearranged them some more.

Clearing his throat, “Ok. Right.”

The interviewer looked to the side and nodded. Carey heard the squeaking of a pulley turning above his head. When he looked up, a metal bar, about three feet long, was being lowered from the ceiling. A set of fur covered handcuffs hung from each end of the bar.

“The next part of the interview will involve participation by some of our members.”

A very tall grey haired man wearing the same mask and black suit as the others emerged from the gloom. He walked up to Carey and took his right hand and arm, lifted it up, and placed his wrist inside a handcuff. With a click, he locked it. Taking his left arm, he repeated the task. Once he was done, he perfunctorily turned and disappeared.

Carey now stood with his arms above his head. The restraints were snug but not painful. The cables holding the metal bar had some elasticity so he was able to move his arms up and down a bit.

“Now for the spreader, please,” the interviewer announced as he glanced to the other side.

This time, a man and a woman appeared. As with the others, they were dressed in black and wore opera masks. The man had a shiny bald head. The woman had a matronly shape. Grey hair, wrinkly skin on her neck, a long black skirt covering thick legs over which she wore black opaque stockings. Strawberry blonde hair, undoubtedly dyed, cut short.

The man carried another metal bar, this one about two feet long. Another set of cuffs hung from each end. Placing the spreader on the floor in front of Carey, he opened one cuff, gently took Carey’s foot, and closed the cuff around his ankle. On the other side, the woman did the same thing with Carey’s other foot and ankle.

With the restraints now appearing to be complete, Carey’s arms were suspended over his head and his legs were spread and locked into the spreader. Carey’s hard cock pulsed, his balls dangling between his legs. A small trickle of sweat crawled down his right armpit. Cum pooled at the tip of his cock. The man and woman quickly receded into the darkness.

Thrilling. Frightening. Humiliating. Vulnerable.

Consulting his notecards, the interviewer said, “Now, I’m going to ask you another series of questions.”

“Ok,” Carey said in almost a whisper.

“Would you like to be touched?”

Carey nodded.

“Please use your voice to answer.”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to have a tongue lick your nipples?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to have your cock sucked?”

“Yes,” in a raspy voice.

“Would you like to be rimmed?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to be fucked with a dildo?”

“Yes.”

Would you like to be fucked?”

Carey hesitated. He looked at the interviewer as he searched his mind for an answer.

The interviewer looked at him.

“Let’s come back to that.”

Turning slightly to the side, he spoke to the audience.

“Based on the bidding so far, I invite number seven and number three to come forward.”

The same bald head man came forward accompanied by a different woman.

Much smaller than the first woman, her dark brown hair, streaked with some gray, was pulled back into a bun. She had a pointed chin and what appeared to be sunken cheeks. She wore black slacks instead of a skirt. Standing on her tip toes, she put her hand behind Carey’s head and turned her head to the side. She kissed him deep and hard, jamming her tongue to the back of his throat. After finally releasing his mouth, she bent over slightly and licked each nipple.

Carey immediately felt violated and even more aroused.

Standing a bit off to the side, the man ran his hand down Carey’s side from the underside of his arm around to his hip and knee. He repeated the motion on the other side. The woman stepped back. In a quick motion, she grabbed his ass, wiped her hand down his crack, under his scrotum, around his balls, and up his cock. He thought he might orgasm then and there. She brought her hand up to her nose and inhaled as she smiled at him.

Together, the man and the woman backed off. Standing next to each other, they acknowledged Carey with a slight nod and disappeared.

Looking down at the cards, “Number one and number ten are invited to come forward.”

At this point, Carey wasn’t aware of what they looked like. Everything was a blur.

The man stood off to one side as the woman stood in front of him. She cupped his breast with her open fingers, slowly bringing them together to close around his nipple. Holding her hand in this position, she repeated the same motion with the other hand. When the fingers were together she used them to close around each nipple and pinch. Hard. Carey gasped in pain as he tried to writhe away from her.

Letting go, Carey still gasping, she stepped aside. The man moved in front of Carey and got down on his knees so his mouth was directly in front of his throbbing cock. Rather than taking it into his mouth, he grasped it with one hand. Lifting it and turning it to the side as if he was examining it, he put his thumb over the head and ran his fingers under the shaft. Carey started to breathe hard. He was going to cum. Just like that, the man let go and stood up.

Both of them backed away and disappeared.

The interviewer looked thoughtfully at Carey as he seemed to be pondering a question. Carey had so many emotions going through his head. He wanted it to continue and he wanted it to stop.

Clearing his throat, “I invite number four and number fourteen to come forward.”

Two men appeared, one large and muscular looking, like a football player. Close cut hair and a bushy mustache. The other was a Black man. Small frame, maybe five two or five three. He kind of sashayed over, swinging his hips slightly. Maybe “he” was a “she.”

The larger man walked over to Carey, grabbed his hips and turned him so his back faced the audience. The other person brought a saw horse over from the side of the room and placed it in front of Carey. Someone else hidden in the gloom controlled the pulley that, in turn, was attached to the bar over his head. Lowering it slowly, Carey was pushed from behind as he was slowly bent over the saw horse. The larger man bent down, pushed a button on the spreader, that extended it by several more inches.

Bent over, legs spread, ass wide open.

Carey felt two hands separate his butt cheeks. A tongue touched his asshole before plunging in. It was the man with the mustache. He could feel it. Carey writhed as his mouth actually sucked on his hole. After about a minute, the mouth went away and lube was trickled down his crack. In one motion, a finger stopped briefly at his anus before plunging into his ass. Carey gasped and involuntarily jumped forward. Another hand on his back steadied him.

It didn’t hurt. The pressure felt good. He started breathing harder as the finger was pulled in and out. After a few moments, the finger stopped thrusting but remained inside him. Just as he started to catch his breath, the finger was removed and replaced with something larger and much harder. Carey had never had a dildo inside of him but he had no doubt what it was. It hurt like hell.

He groaned as it was slowly pulled in and out of him. Sweat began to pour off of his face.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

He didn’t say they should stop though. If anything, he needed more.

He got it. The dildo was removed. Moments later, it was reinserted. Or, was it another one? Bigger. Carey’s insides ached. He could smell himself. As he grunted, it was pushed in and out, first slowly and gently, then faster and more roughly. He squeezed his eyes shut, ears ringing.

Then it was over.

Struggling to catch his breath, the metal bar was raised as he was brought back to a full standing position. The larger man held his hips as he turned him back around to face the audience. Both men disappeared.

A moment passed.

In a choked voice, the interviewer said, “Number six.”

A man came forward. Long gray hair that fell well past his shoulders. Pale, pale skin. Walking up to Carey, he stood before him and stared into his eyes. The force of the dildos had resulted in Carey losing his erection. But, when the man reached up and lightly pinched one of his nipples, his cock again sprang to attention.

The man’s other hand firmly cupped Carey’s balls. Carey’s breath quickened. The man stepped back. Dropping to one knee, he took Carey’s cock into his mouth. Three or four long sucks and Carey felt the beginning of an explosion. The man must have sensed it, too. He pulled his mouth off of Carey, slid to the side still holding onto Carey’s cock.

The first spurt was rather short. Following, two long streams of cum burst from his cock landing with audible splats on the tile floor. Carey’s hips thrust forward as the orgasm continued, cum spilling out of his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut, head thrown back, gasping in relief. At the end, he kept his eyes shut, hung his head, and groaned.

From the darkness, Carey heard a smattering of light applause, a couple of coughs, murmured approval, and one guffaw. After that, it got quiet. As if by some prompt, a door at the back of the room opened, revealing an illuminated hallway. People got up and began to file out. When he opened his eyes, he realized Dr. Oxydahl had come forward. He took off his mask and looked approvingly at Carey. Without a word, he turned around and followed the rest of the crowd.

The interviewer was one of the last to leave. He got up with a sigh. Looking either bored or tired, he walked out, closing the door behind him.

The older woman reappeared out of nowhere. She undid the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Until she did, Carey didn’t realize how sore and stiff he was. Besides stiff limbs, his dick kind of ached. Oddly, he didn’t feel anything on his backside. Using antiseptic wipes, she wiped down his crotch, butt crack, and armpits. With a wet towel, she wiped up the mess on the floor.

Just as she was finishing, the man who first greeted Carey entered from the side door and motioned for him to follow. Walking naked through the door back to the other room, he found his clothes neatly folded on the chair. The man was silent. He simply gestured to the clothes. Walking across the room, he opened the door to the entry hall and closed it after him.

Throwing the clothes on the floor, he sat down on the chair. He was exhausted. As Carey dressed, he tried to collect his thoughts. Strangely, he felt nothing. The only thing that came to his mind was his school work.

When he was finished getting dressed, the door opened. The man returned with a tall glass of water.

“Here. Drink this. You need it.”

After taking several long gulps, he handed the half full glass back to the man.

“No. Finish it.”

Carey shrugged. He was still thirsty so he drank the rest of it.

The man again gestured, this time to the entry hall.

Opening the outer door he said, “Thank you for coming.” A short pause. In an official sounding tone, “As a token of our appreciation, check your tuition account in a couple of days.”

Feeling somewhat like a drunken sailor, Carey stumbled back to his dorm. Literally staggering, he got to his room and fell face first onto the bed.

***

The next day, he woke up feeling totally refreshed. He showered, ate something, and made it to all of this classes.

A few days later, Carey checked his tuition account and found a $1,000 credit in it.

Classes continued.

OxyStat went on as before, too. Dr. Oxydahl never acknowledged Carey again in any special way even when he was called upon in class.

He got an A.