ZOLA AND THE PHOTOGRAPHER
story codes: MF, BDSM, Group


ZOLA AND THE PHOTOGRAPHER
By Robert White©

CHAPTER TWO



Zola lived behind a stone wall with an iron gate. Zola's house, a
sprawling ranch with barred and draped basement windows jutting
above ground level, was located at the end of a short stone walk.

There was no doorbell. Just a large brass knocker bolted to her front
door.

I knocked and waited. I could hear someone moving around inside the
house. A minute passed and I knocked again. Another minute or two
passed before I heard a latch being pulled back and the door opened.

Zola stood framed in the doorway, wearing her chastity belt and a black
leather bra, her petite body coated in a recently applied layer of oil.
Behind her to my left stood a tall muscular woman with flowing black hair
whose oiled body was naked except for a small silver chastity belt that
was strapped tightly around her waist and thighs. Obviously lifting
weights occupied a major portion of her time. For the purpose of this
narrative, I'll call her The Stallion. To my right stood an equally tall and
equally muscular woman with hair as red as a ripe apple whose body
was naked except for a small gold chastity belt that appeared to fit even
tighter than The Stallion's belt. I'll call her The Fireman.

"Right on time, Mr. Photographer. I think we should invite him in, don't
you, Sisters?" Zola said, turning to first one and then the other of the
women who towered over her.

The two powerful women nodded in agreement and then all three
stepped back in unison, giving me space to enter. I walked between
them, already sensing I was getting into something I'd later wish I hadn't.

"I don't understand what's going on, Zola."

"You're my guest tonight. Stick around and it will all become clear."

And thus I was introduced to Zola's Friday night dominatrix parties where
Zola, The Stallion, and The Fireman, who referred to themselves as "The
Sisterhood of Humiliation and Torture," gave each other permission to
have fun by creating discomfort, fear, degradation, humiliation, and
outright pain on the mind, body, and soul of any consenting victim, male
or female, gullible enough to enter through Zola's front door. In the
meantime, after observing the vice-like grip of the chastity belts the two
muscular behemoths wore, I decided that they also had a tolerance for
more than a minimal amount of discomfort.

I stood in the middle of Zola's large dining room and removed my coat
which, without hesitation, The Stallion took from me and hung in a closet.
In the meantime, Zola unfastened and removed her leather bra so all
three women were topless.

Then The Stallion came back and the three women stood in a line in front
of me. They weren't crowding me. They were more standing back and
observing me. Finally, Zola spoke.

"Now, Mr. Photographer, it's time for The Fireman to perform a strip
search on you. We always strip search every one the first time they come
to a Friday night meeting. Though it might seem a little unorthodox to
you, The Stallion and myself will be observing. So it's time for you to take
everything off."

"You mean all my clothes?"

Everything. Don't you see, that's why it's called a strip search. In order for
The Fireman to perform a strip search, you must remove everything. It's
that simple."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Don't forget. You're my guest. If you want to enjoy the evening, you have
to follow my requests, Mr. Photographer."

So I sat on a footstool located in the middle of the room and, starting with
my shoes and socks, stripped, handing each item of clothing to The
Stallion who stored my clothes, item by item, in a cardboard box. Finally,
when there was nothing else left for me to remove, The Stallion placed
the box on a shelf in the closet.

"Now stand up so we can take a good look at you."

I had never been naked in front of three women before and, due to their
intense scrutiny of me, I could feel myself becoming sexually aroused.
Still, on the surface, it didn't seem so strange since the three women
surrounding me, with the exception of the chastity belts they were
wearing, were naked themselves.

"The Fireman is a registered nurse and has worked for several years in
a prison. That's a tough place to work, Mr. Photographer. One of her
duties is to perform various types of searches on women, a much more
complicated procedure since they have more places to hide the
contraband they might be carrying with them then men do."

The Fireman stepped close enough to me that her breasts were
pressing against my chest and then, without a word, she proceeded to
run her highly-trained hands over my naked body, touching, pinching,
caressing, spreading, and squeezing everything that caught her interest
in a leisurely paced inspection that the other women intently observed.

Finally, her inspection apparently finished, The Fireman stepped back
and with her right hand grasped my penis and proceeded to squeeze it,
using her thumb to massage and apply pressure at the same time,
keeping up the sustained stimulation until I was fully erect. Then, without
warning, she released my throbbing organ, turned, and walked away,
obviously proud and satisfied with the demonstration of her manipulative
skill and the power she had over a man's penis.

"Okay, I'm aroused. Now what?" I asked of the group. But, as it had been
since I got there, only Zola spoke.

"The Fireman has just given you the primary search. What in prison, if
given by a male guard to a male offender, would be called a strip search.
If she isn't satisfied with the search she's just completed, then she'll have
to perform an additional, more thorough search." Zola turned to The
Fireman and asked, "Were you satisfied with the strip search you just
conducted?"

The Fireman slowly circled me, looking at me from every angle, and then
shook her head no.

"No. Well, that means The Fireman will have to do an additional, more
advanced search."

Zola turned to The Fireman and asked, "What you have in mind must
obviously have to do with his back passageway. Could you be thinking
about using a flashlight to look up his rectum?"

This time, The Fireman, with a stern look on her face, shook her head
yes.

The Stallion, who had walked over to the closet while Zola was speaking,
came back carrying a high intensity flashlight which she handed to The
Fireman who checked the light by shining it around the ceiling of the
room. After she apparently decided that it was in proper working order,
she turned it off.

During the testing of the flashlight, Zola had gone into the kitchen and
come back with several phone books which she placed near the end of
the footstool that I had just sat on to disrobe. Then Zola and The Stallion,
one holding each of my arms, walked me over to the footstool. "Kneel on
the phone books."

"Are you going to tie me to the stool?"

"As long as you cooperate, binding you to the stool will not be necessary.
Kneel please."

The two women held onto my arms as I slowly lowered myself until my
knees were on the phone books. Then, without saying a word, they
tipped me forward until my chest and face was resting on the stool. My
knees were now almost level with the top of the footstool which caused
my butt to tower in the air.

The two women released my arms, stood, and both walked behind me. I
could picture the three of them looking down at my hairy ass, at the
moment awkwardly projecting up into the air.

Zola wasted no time in giving the orders. "Now reach back, Mr.
Photographer. Good. Good. Get a good grip on your asscheeks. Firmly
grasp them. Squeeze them. That's it. Squeeze harder. Now spread.
Spread your asscheeks. Hold them and pull. Pull harder. Harder. Spread
them more. Good. That's it. Pull on them. Pry them apart. Pry them open.
Spread them a little wider. You can do better than that. Wider. Good.
Now push back with your asshole. Pretend you are going to take a shit.
Push. Harder. We want a good look at your tight little puckered asshole,
don't we Sisters?"

With my head turned to the side, I could see a reflection in the panes of
glass on a door I suspected lead into the garden. I had no problem in
getting an impression of what was going on behind me. While Zola was
saying the above, the three women stood behind me, The Fireman
shining the flash light on the target while the other two bent over to get a
clear look. I couldn't stand looking and slowly turned my head so I
wouldn't be tempted to observe still more of their lewd actions.

Then I heard Zola ask The Fireman, "I think he should be able to give us
a better view than that, don't you?"

The Fireman must have shook her head yes because Zola immediately
began giving me a set of instructions as to what I was to do.

"First insert two fingers of each hand into your rectum. Go on. Push them
in. That's right. Ease them in up to the first joint. Work at it. It's not difficult.
You have to get your fingers up inside a little more. That's it. The two
finger of the left hand have to go in a little further. Work them in." There
was a pause, and then Zola said, "Do you approve?"

I assumed she was talking to The Fireman and that The Fireman
approved.

"Now gently pull your asshole open. Don't rush. Just a nice easy pull.
Stretch it. That's it. Now, stretch it some more so we can see inside. You
need to put more effort into the pulling. That's it. Pull some more. We still
can't see inside. Use another finger of each hand. I think with three
fingers pulling, we'll be able to see down deeper inside."

By this time I had pulled on my ass hard enough that slipping the third
finger in wasn't that difficult. I could feel my asshole enlarging just from
having added the third finger of each hand. Then I continued massaging
and working my asshole open. Each time I thought I had opened it as far
as it would go I'd feel it give a little bit more. Damn, if this whole episode
wasn't one of the most embarrassing things I'd done in my life. I could
hear the women moving around behind me. I found out later that each
one had taken the flashlight and peered down into my widely-stretched
asshole.

Finally, when I had my rectum spread to the point that it wouldn't open
any more, Zola said, "Okay. We've all seen enough of your asshole, Mr.
Photographer. You can pull out your fingers and stand up."

After I pulled my fingers out of my ass, I tried pushing myself up from the
stool, but was having problems standing. When The Stallion saw the
predicament I was in, knees balanced on the phone books, feet not able
to touch the floor, she stepped forward and took my left arm to steady me
as I slid off the phone books and slowly stood, my knees stiff from the
position I had been in.

"Take a big stretch, Mr. Photographer. There's one more examination
that The Fireman needs to do on you."

I stretched my arms over my head. Then I turned to Zola. "May I wash my
hands?"

"Certainly. You'll find all the soap and paper towels you need at the
kitchen sink."

When I was through, I walked back into the dining room, sensing that I
was not ready for what was to be the next step in The Fireman's
diabolical plan.

[To Be Continued]

Read Chapter One


© 2007 Robert White


Robert  lives by himself in the USA and likes to watch bondage videos