Sunday, December 13, 2020

Finding Lulu Stories

I posted a comment concerning 'Lulu' and explicit stories and thought I'd better reiterate in a general post. 

When searching for stories on Lulu you must inform the seller that you are of age in order to view 'explicit content'.

I have recently worked back and assured that all of my stuff is so designated, a recent capability with Lulu's new format. I have also placed the stories in the categories of fiction/erotica/BDSM which was not offered as a selection on the former Lulu publishing page ('Love & Relationships' was as close as I could categorize, not only somewhat ludicrous but leading to confusion and negative reviews).

If you go to 'search' on, click 'fiction', scroll down and at the extreme bottom left you will see a box to click, enabling you to see explicit stuff (putting in your birthday).

Thereafter searching for 'Chris Bellows' as author should give rise to a listing of my stuff.

Saturday, December 12, 2020

'Surrendering Maleness', Segment Three

This will be the last posted segment. A good holiday and Happy New Year to all.



It’s Saturday night. I am in the townhouse of my keyholder, Joan Gifford. I visit weekly in the hopes that some evening she will deign to unlock me, a reward for my fastidious oral servitude. Yet she has relinquished the key to Dr. Susan Fromm, release needed for the procedure which will terminate my masculinity, the ultimate in capitulation to the superior gender.

So why am I here?

I bare myself, strap in place the waiting blue nylon cuffs and encircle my neck with the matching blue prosthetic neck collar. Then I wait, kneeling in silence, staring at the latex hood, wads of cotton and leash which will guide me about. My mind occupies itself... how many tonight... will there be new tastes... will I sense stronger orgasmic clenches... struggle for life sustaining air as a woman of purpose chooses to deny me in order to maximize her pleasure?

Finally the shapely and athletically trim Miss Joan descends from above, the ubiquitous white robe flipping about to flash her charms, the straps of her cunnilingus harness dangling to beckon my collar.

I know to respectfully bow my head.   

“I’m surprised you’ve chosen to visit Robert. You know I no longer have the key. You’ll now only be freed when you submit to Dr. Fromm,” the words coming as she takes my arms and guides my hands to my back.

She clips together my wrist cuffs, the bondage more symbolic at this point. I am completely obedient to her... to all women of authority. I must suppose she knows it makes me feel better, so yielding to her dominion, the submissive male psyche finding joy.

“A treat tonight. Though it will only be me, I want you to sample my cunny.”

The words bring a brisance. For many, many Saturdays my tongue and lips have solely savored the rosebud openings of so many, the treasure of warm moist and succulent flesh denied me. 

”Just a little. And I want you to know after Susan puts you in the penis pod you’ll be feasting. I’ll have the girls in for a soiree... and just maybe... if you’re a good boy... I won’t have you hooded. You can taste, you can see, you can adore... all the feminine flesh you can have Robert. Won’t that be nice? After all, you’ll be closer to being one of us... your penis forever tucked away... your ridiculous blue scrotum hidden... those little testicles never again to be seen... and growing littler and littler each and every day.”   

The words both horrify and excite. I curse this paraphilia!

So a reward... an inducement. Visit Dr. Fromm, finalize the descent into submission, cede my maleness... and all is mine. Saturday evenings of unbridled debauchery... as long as I am vicariously able to find pleasure in that of domineering women.

Plus the stress of late... at work. Strip searched and anally penetrated on arrival, diapered and polishing boots under the thumb of the seemingly kindly harridan Miss Wanda. Sans steel, such would end.

I glance down as Miss Joan prepares the cotton, stuffing right ear then left. I glare at the cage of steel, locked in place for so long. I am mindful of Miss Monique Von Buren, my initial keyholder... of the training... to pose for her... to perform... to release the nasty male sludge at the snap of her fingers... she who conditioned me... initiating impotency.

Finally relieved of maleness, ending the urges, accepting the realization of my proclivity... my role to please... never to be pleased... and I would be free. Nothing to ever again be locked away.

The tight blue latex hood is slipped over my head, hands tugging mightily. As Miss Joan’s fingers work to align the large opening for my nose and mouth, I most obsequiously thrust forth my tongue and lick... her digits... her palm. I want all of her, sense her joy, her pleasure. In reward, her free hand diddles my nipples, hypersensitive with the months of denial. She then covers my mouth and pinches closed my nostrils, a demonstration of her mastery. I will breathe again when she decides, no motion in resisting, not a flinch to suggest concern. I am hers. She takes, I give... reveling in the exchange of power... as does she.     

Saturday, December 5, 2020

'Surrendering Malesness', Segment Two

 I lie on the changing table in the vast office of CEO Ms. Mae Mallory. Having obediently removed my shirt... mandated to be completely exposed for the procedure... I raise my arms, hands to the back of my head then lift my legs, knees to my chest in the decubitus position... as assumed by infants. It is the matronly Miss Wanda who then changes me... when she deigns to release the huge prominent pin under my navel... proclaiming my status.

In waiting I feel the twinges begin, my somatic reaction consistent with the pending humiliation, my diaper absorbing more viscous fluid. I turn my head to see the women talking, looking at the computer screen behind Ms. Mae’s desk.

Finally Miss Wanda turns and approaches, fresh diaper and moist cleansing towel in hand. She unpins, folds away the soiled garment then pulls out from under my buttocks. I sense the cooling room air on warm moist skin... and the warped thrill of exposure, baring all to a fully clad woman. She smiles, somehow always sensing my quirky joy.

“Hairless as a new born, Robert. You tell us you do it for your keyholder. But I think otherwise,” one hand smoothing about, pinching here and there enjoying her dominion as I humbly lurch and twist about in response.

The free hand then palms the compressed blue flesh of my tattooed scrotum, using it to steady me as the moist towel begins cleansing. I hate it, the elderly woman’s strict maternal care...  but a part of me thrives in it. Also bringing distress is that the women know I thrive in it.  

My nipples are swabbed, an unnecessary element of the changing, but Miss Wanda knows in my advanced state of unending chastity the nubs have become hypersensitive, smiling anew in seeing the glands crinkle to her touch.

Ms. Mae rises from her computer to join us. Standing beside Miss Wanda she smiles radiantly, my complete subordination bringing an aura of calm confidence.

“Robert, are you expecting a date later? Your anus is gleaming... lubricated,” Ms. Mae mocks.

I cringe, knowing of the source yet not having an opportunity rectify.

“It’s security, Ma’am... you know... the morning search.”

Ms. Mae smiles as she sees me squirm with the disclosure. I am sure it is she who has advised a morning cavity search be included in passing through building security. After the steel of my cock cage sets off the metal detector, each morning I am escorted to a small side room off the building lobby and stripped naked, hands pawing everywhere as I am commanded to remain motionless and each garment is examined. My cock cage is closely inspected and a mammoth black woman... lubricant and gloves at the ready... has me bend and spread... sizable fingers deeply inserted for a thorough probe of my anus.   

The security began last week and each morning the woman seems to go deeper and spend more moments within me.

I don’t think I shall ever grow accustomed to it. 

“Well Robert, your Dr. Fromm sent me an email this morning. She says your keyholder has relented and that a penis pod has arrived... tiny and pink. I have a picture of it. It will make you nice and smooth down there. Completely end all frustrating masculine thoughts of pleasing a woman other than orally... and make you able to get through security without some nasty woman stripping you naked and penetrating you with her fingers.”

The words bring both concern... for what remains of my manly pride... and strange joy.

“No more lump of hideous steel. No more searches... but I’m sure the guard would accommodate if you feel the need to submit to her.”   

Drat the women know so much of my deviance!

“You are going to schedule an appointment... to see the doctor.”

Taking Ms. Mae’s hint, Miss Wanda begins swabbing my crevice, cleansing me of the abundant lubricant. Her touch feels disturbingly good.

“Well I need to give it thought... the procedure... and will need some time off.”

“My boots can go a few days without a good licking. Take some vacation days. It is best you do it, Robert. To have a woman of competence and authority finally end the urges... the absurd notion that you will ever please a woman with your penis.”

Miss Wanda places the towlet aside and lays a clean diaper on the table. I know to curl up, further lifting my buttocks as she slips the soft cloth beneath and deftly folds over and pins in place. I am chagrined as always how warm and comfortable it makes me feel... the governing women bringing a sense of safety and protection. It’s been only three weeks in my new role, and the drudgery is becoming oddly acceptable, the tutelage of both Ms. Mae and Miss Wanda welcomed.

Rising from the table I begin to grasp my shirt to dress. Ms. Mae’s hand gestures to stop then points to the floor. I know to lower myself. Yes, her boots need licking. I must wonder if the woman in charge senses complementary joy in being so served by a nearly naked subservient male.

I go to my knees, bend at the waist and begin what has become a daily task as Ms. Mae regally stands over me running her fingers through my hair.

“No more haircuts, Robert. I’ll want your hair long and nicely styled for me.”   

Saturday, November 28, 2020

'Surrendering Maleness', Segment One

Sequel to Denial. Limited snippets to be posted.




Surrendering Maleness

(Sequel to Denial)

Copyright 2020

by Chris Bellows

The harridan administrative assistant Wanda Worthington opens the door to my makeshift office.

“There’s a telephone call for you, Robert,” her kind and matronly voice belying the harshness of her supervision over me. “You my take it out here. I won’t give you your pants. No one is here to see you in your diaper.”

I put down the polishing rag and push away one of many black leather knee high boots, the favored footwear of employer Ms. Mae Mallory. It’s good to get out of the tiny windowless chamber... a closet next to Miss Wanda’s desk converted to my workplace... yes, I am closely supervised. But as always I am apprehensive of encountering a coworker visiting the executive suite. For I am indeed diapered, my advanced state of chastity bringing a near constant flow from reproductive glands denied any form of relief. Ms. Mallory insists it is best to labor naked without concern for soiling my slacks, from the waist down my only covering a fluffy cloth diaper... shoes and socks deemed silly looking.

I step out the door into the large reception area where Miss Wanda reigns, cautiously peering about for interlopers. Why the concern? I often ask myself. The letter of Dr. Fromm... detailing my condition, a submissive masochistic male who placed himself under the tutelage of a keyholder... first went to the Human Resource Department of Mallory Products. Who and how many read of my steel encased penis and resulting denial I have no clue. It may have been loosely passed about before arriving at the desk of Wanda Worthington and then Ms. Mae Mallory. So veiling myself may be futile... half the office may be aware.    

I see a blinking light on the phone on Miss Wanda’s desk, my call on hold. Seeing no one I step to the desk hoping to bypass the frequent embarrassment.

“I need to check you Robert. Be a good boy.”

Not quick enough. I turn and obediently step to the aging woman of authority placing my hands to my head. A withered left hand slips to my lower back, gliding beneath the diaper to teasingly squeeze my right cheek and hold as the right hand likewise glides beneath at the front, smoothing down the steel mesh of the cock cage to of course find an abundance of moisture.

“You do secrete, Robert. It must be so frustrating for you,” smiling wickedly. “Just as you so much enjoy it all.”

The hands retract.

“Take the call. I’ll need to change you in a little while,” gloating in her sense superiority.

To her desk, I press the blinking button.

“Robert Partland.”

“Robert, it’s Nurse Mindy from Dr. Fromm’s office. Been licking your eyebrows?” she regularly jibes, referencing the medical procedure that brought to my tongue enhanced flexibility.

I have no snappy answer, but must wonder if the girl of some eighteen years of age is aware of just how my tongue’s recently gained strength and agility is utilized.

“Dr. Fromm wants me to advise you she has the key... to your chastity device. That your keyholder has concurred that your penis should be podded,” the plainly spoken words bringing me to bristle. “Would you like to set up an appointment... make arrangements.”

Stunned, learning the day will finally come, I search for a response. Keyholder Miss Joan Gifford has never unlocked me, deeming my manhood superfluous with the advanced oral training. And it’s been many months since I last saw my penis.

“Well... what will it involve?”

“You report here on a given morning. Dr. Fromm does the reverse orchidopexy, inserts the holding posts and performs a urethral reroute. You stay the night in our recovery room and the  next day, assuming the epidermis has not rejected the posts, the pod is set... permanently,” Nurse Mindy seeming to suppress glee in destining a male to a state of androgyny.

“I... well... I need to...”

“Come now, Mr. Partland... you know it’s best for you. You’ll be nice and smooth there... no more hideous mass of steel... no more blue sac... and we’ve ordered a pretty pink pod for you. No black. Don’t you want to look pretty?” her tone that of encouraging a child.  

“I’ll need to call back, arrange some time off work,” eager to end the annoying exchange.

“A Thursday is best, Mr. Partland. If all goes well we’ll release you on a Friday and you can spend the weekend recovering... or licking wherever it is you so much enjoy licking.”

The taunt suggests she knows of my Saturday nights, pleasing a bevy women who have no use for a male appendage... nor a male... but for a lively tongue.  

I bid adieu, placing the phone on the cradle. A smirking Miss Wanda steps before me, arms akimbo. I bow my head in shame, knowing what is to come. She points to the thick oak double doors of Ms. Mallory’s office where I endure the indignity of having my diaper changed twice per day.

Sunday, November 22, 2020

'Surrendering Maleness' published

 I have published a sequel... following 'Keyholder' and 'Denial'

"Surrendering Maleness', 34,800 words. $4.88.

Female Dominant, male submissive


Saturday, November 7, 2020

'Denial', Segment Three

This will be the last posted segment.



Days after my milking, with hormone levels restored, I need exercise, quelling the craving for climactic release that will never come.

To the gym, always attired in the tight pink shorts, I wave to my keyholder Miss Elizabeth and find an isolated treadmill machine, my attire always giving rise to mocking glances. As I begin my workout I think of the forthcoming Sunday. It will be the first of the month... a predawn workout with Miss Elizabeth restraining my wrists, unlocking my penis, pressing home the egg shaped anal insertion and supervising as I both exercise and pump away the nasty sludge.  

Feet pounding, I do the first mile as quickly as I can. Then as the program goes to cool down mode, the pace a little faster than a quick walk, Miss Elizabeth approaches.

“I’ll stretch you at 8:00 p.m. You’ll be nude for me of course. But we’ll need to talk. The Sunday morning thing... I’m tiring of it. It’s a pain getting up that early.”

Yes, as I have realized of late, Miss Elizabeth is losing the enthusiasm for presiding over me... me and my emancipated penis. Still I must protest.

“But how will I...”

“You won’t. You don’t need to shave there any more. And if you just lather up the steel cage while taking a shower it will be clean enough. So there’s no reason to unlock you.”

The callous words bring to mind Miss Monique’s analogy... her course of action akin to tearing the wings off an insect. No empathy!

“And the key? I can have it?”

“Of course not Mr. Partland, that would empower you... and Monique Von Buren advised that should never happen. I’ll give some thought about what to do with it,” a hand going to the blue lanyard about her neck and palming to jubilantly show the odd shaped key. 

Miss Elizabeth steps away, leaving me to my thoughts. I mull over the recent milking session with Miss Monique... and the offer to have me conditioned... the release of nasty sludge without hardening for her... and without the need for benumbing ice. Thus assuring there would be no reason to ever again be unlocked for purposes of hormonal release and prostate health. Yet why not have Miss Elizabeth return the key to my former keyholder... then there would be no reason to endure the conditioning.        

With the treadmill slowing, to an idle walk, I better focus... realization dawning. As much as I find perverted joy in submitting to a woman’s tutelage, hours of the day wondering if full ecstatic climax will ever again come, the women who control my libido have needs as well. Miss Monique makes a good living possessing so many keys, guiding the ultimate... if ever allowed... pleasure of so many males. But certainly there is a more mundane and perhaps more lucrative manner of making a living for a woman of her refinement. 

And Miss Elizabeth, so young but not so much allowing herself to enter the quirky world of feminine control, but instead eagerly immersing herself... to the point that even as ennui has crept into our rendevous of nude stretching, she’ll not consider relinquishing the key to he who is in most desire.

Yes, the women of governance have needs as well. With that notion there comes more realization... subconsciously I have been as eager to meet their needs as they meeting mine.   

Miss Elizabeth is to decide what to do with my key... not I... the submissive masochist who has so willingly surrendered.

The preprogrammed exercise routine ends. Knowing the wet pink spandex of my tight shorts... transformed to a bikini bottom in riding into the crack of my ass... now perfectly outlines the steel mesh of my cock cage, I grab my towel and wrap it about my waist.

Time for stretching... time to visit the aerobics room... time to disrobe... time to submit... time to pose... time to feel the burn of outlandish tension on tendons forced to accede to a woman’s bidding.   


I sit, thighs well parted, feet well to the right and left, close to forming a straight line with my shoulders, back arched. Of late, adding to the stress, hands to the back of my head as always, but bent arms as high as possible, elbows back... “further, further, now hold...” Miss Elizabeth’s young authoritative voice directing.

She stands to my front, looking to see fluid already beginning to slither to the mat, satisfied that the challenging pose awakens the pubo coccygeus muscles and that the reproductive system of this chaste male humbly weeps under her auspices. Then she moves to gather my clothing, keeping my towel at the ready should there be an interloper.

I hear the room door behind me open and close and know that once again there is no covering should there be a sudden urge for modesty, only my towel... to be offered at her whim.

In returning, Miss Elizabeth stands behind, the flesh of her bare thighs enticingly pressed to my back.

“I’ve spoken to Monique,” her arms lowering over my shoulders, hands going to my chest, tightened pectoral muscles thrusting forth my male mammary glands. “Kept her apprized of your continued obedience and discipline.”

Fingers going to my nipples, the girl is inherently aware that the neglect of male organs leads to inordinate sensitivity. As she leans, the blue lanyard, color matching my tattooed scrotum, slips from about her neck, grazing my folded hands, the attached key temptingly hanging at my right ear.

Shall I grab it and dash away? The fear of never again being unlocked brings desperate thoughts. In further reflection I realize the return of my clothing would be in jeopardy... only a towel left for covering... should I be able to wrest it from her strong hands.          

“She told me she has offered to condition you... to achieve orgasm without the need for the key.”

Yes, I am wont to explain... a ruined orgasm... dribbling the nasty sludge from a penis untouched and remaining encased in steel... no ecstatic ejaculation. There would be no manly eruption!

Not being privy to the full relationship... all that was exchanged... I decide to remain silent and listen.

“Guess you’d essentially be impotent... soft and limp all the time,” Miss Elizabeth suppressing a girlish giggle... the wings coming off more insects. “So she wouldn’t need the key back... told me the best way to convince you of the need for conditioning would be to toss it away.”

Stunned, I lurch. With Miss Elizabeth’s proximity she feels my paroxysmal response, giggle now fully forthcoming.

Then comes more shocking cerebral input... I hear the room door open... a visitor enters unseen behind me.

“Stay,” Miss Elizabeth commands in feeling me begin to rise in panic.

“More stretching. He’s such a good boy.”

The pleasant voice is that of the aerobics instructor. Last week being a few minutes early and interrupting just at the end of our session, this week she is a full thirty minutes early. It cannot be happenstance.

“Good evening, Joan,” Miss Elizabeth equally pleasant, seemingly inviting the woman to join us.

Fortunately the towel is again tossed to my front, covering my pubes, my blue balls, my steel cock cage, and the small but rapidly growing puddle of viscous fluid. Still I close my eyes, my nakedness, my pose of submission bringing shame. In hearing soft footsteps on the exercise mat, I know the woman has moved to my front, no doubt visually inspecting much more leisurely than last week’s encounter, more composed in basically being aware that I awkwardly submit myself to such exposure.

“Don’t let me interrupt. Aerobics class doesn’t begin until nine... but I’m still to learn what the towel is covering. You don’t stretch him completely nude, do you Liz?”

“Well you’ve made Joan curious, Robert. Curious enough that she’s made a special visit to watch me work you... see you perform for me. Want to show her?”

I think of Miss Monique’s suggestion... more or less a command... that I expose myself... explain my predilection... my need... to cede control of my sexuality. ‘Share with her in detail the full extent of your quirky needs. Maybe her opinion of you as a creep will change.’

“You may lower your hands now Robert. You’ve stretched enough. Then you can decide if you want to show yourself to Joan.”

And explain in full detail the extend of my quirky needs? I ask myself as my arms lower and I grasp the terrycloth.

I look up into the handsome face. Gym attire somewhat detracts from natural beauty... make up impractical. But as one can expect, the Joan woman is in shape, tights clinging to well honed legs, buttocks sculpted, breasts of possible size compressed by a tight sports bra. Her dark brown hair is drawn back in a pony tail, offering a youthful appearance despite her thirty something age.

She is vibrant, as one would expect of a woman leading rigorous exercise classes. I cannot help thinking that the same perkiness which brought trainer Elizabeth Doyer to shrug off my depraved needs and find interest in feminine power and control may enure to aerobics instructor Joan as well. Thus there comes a gambit... will pulling away the towel give rise to shock and disdain... or will the woman find a similar level of interest... as with Miss Elizabeth stepping into my need for training and conditioning... eventually leading to the possession of my key... well... a controlling woman’s key. 

Yet there’s a telling element about this second encounter. Instructor Joan holds cradled in her arms my clothing, gym shoes atop, which she gathered from the hall outside the room. There is a subtle message. On this evening I will not be dressing myself in the corner, the view of my naked hairless form... most importantly blue scrotum and steel cock cage... graciously shielded by Miss Elizabeth. 

“I... ah... well... it’s difficult to explain... ah... how Miss Elizabeth... ah... helps... with... certain needs.”

  “Just show her, Robert. It will explain itself.”

Obedience ingrained, I slip away the towel, quickly mopping up my puddle in so doing. Instructor Joan peers down as I focus on her expression. 

Shock?.. disgust?.. laughter? Perhaps I should be comforted in noting her look of amusement. She places down my clothing then quietly folds her arms, slipping forth her foot. The toe of her athletic shoe pushes aside the tip of my cock cage, better exposing the compressed blue ball sac beneath. Amusement transforms to a knowing grin as she looks up to Miss Elizabeth remaining standing over my shoulders. A hand moves past my face, grasping the blue lanyard, removing from about Miss Elizabeth’s neck. Then the key is dangled before me... before instructor Joan... silently responding to the unasked question.  

“Cute Liz,” instructor Joan’s hand reaching and taking the lanyard. “It matches his balls,” the light blue indeed identical to the shade of my tattooed scrotum. “A submissive... capitulating to a controlling woman. And here I thought Mr. Partland was just a creep.”

Saturday, October 31, 2020

'Denial', sequel to 'Keyholder', Segment Two

Tabled, I comply with the demanded protocol, feet well to the right and left, aligned with my shoulders as my legs part to the extreme, back arched, hands to the back of my head, elbows drawn back and held high as Miss Elizabeth has mandated of late. My encased male package dangles in the gap of the open table. Miss Monique stands before me, arms akimbo, gazing at my blue ball sac compressed by the control ring of my chastity device.

She has placed a bowl on the floor beneath me, knowing prostatic fluid will begin to slither from the tube inserted in my urethra. She simply watches for a few moments. For some reason I know to remain silent as she revels in the joy of feminine power.

“So... the first Sunday of the month... when your anus is stuffed and you drain yourself on the treadmill. That was three weeks ago.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”   

“You struggled when I put you on a ten day cycle. Monthly must be very hard for you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“But your ability to pose for me is much enhanced. Your trainer has been strict.”

“Yes, ma’am,” glancing down to see that I am indeed beginning to ooze.

Noting the same, Miss Monique steps forth, an arm extending, a finger going to my cock cage, gathering a dollop of viscous fluid. She rolls it about on her thumb and forefinger as if to proclaim ownership, then raises her hand to my mouth. I know to lick clean her digits.

“I can milk you, Robert.... massage that neglected prostate. But you’ll need to stay flaccid... or bear quite a bit of pain. Attempts at erection mean sensitive penile flesh fighting tempered stainless steel.”

Yes, I realize that, wondering if I can indeed make the sacrifice in order to rid myself of the build up... calm the jitters. Then I also realize how my expectations have so drastically transformed... at one time hoping to feel the ecstasy of full orgasm in being relieved... now I hope not to feel anything at all.    

“I have needs, Miss Monique,” my tone pleading.

“Yes... physical needs... but emotional as well. In ceding to being milked you’re surrendering what the male... the alpha male... expels with pride and vigor. You will meekly dribble in my bowl. It’s meaningful to you... degradingly parting with your precious essence,” Miss Monique’s words coming as she strolls to the refrigerator.

There she extracts ice, returning with a plate full and a pump bottle of unguent... a glorious bottle of unguent.  

“So here’s what we’ll do. Your bladder is full, augmenting your need to harden for me. I will penetrate your rectum and massage your prostate... bring even more need to tumefy. You will thus need to concentrate and stay soft... or pay the consequences. And you can beg for some ice. Your semen will be expunged in numbness, Robert... even more unmanly.

“But there is no key. There can be no climactic release. That is not to happen.” 

Miss Monique makes a show of lubricating her hands, pumping a fragrant lotion, reaching to playfully smear some on my upper lip, my nostrils filling with the scent of peaches.

She begins, stepping forth, one hand palming my blue ball sac, lifting, fingers kneading my perineum. The other hand slips further under, finding my anus, swirling about to bring a brisance of joy, then wriggling inward.

“After you’ve discharged, hormones better balanced, we’ll talk... about more conditioning. You’ll need to learn to become impotent, Robert... no erections. You may as well once and for all cede that... the ability to perform penetrative sex. It will never again happen... and you may seriously injure yourself in trying... fighting the steel. Such futility. End it Robert... stay nice and soft for the woman in charge. It will be better for you.” 

I close my eyes, reveling in the faint joy of prostate massage, but indeed feeling myself engorge, swelling penis challenging the cage... and of course bringing discomfort which for sure will turn to agony. 

Yet the solution... to condition myself to stay soft... limp... flaccid... no masculine exhibitions of virility... potential virility. Can that happen?.. do I want that to happen? But then my masochistic psyche clicks in... does my keyholder want that to happen?  


I drive home in deep thought, physically quiescent but mentally in a funk.

As Miss Monique... many years as a professional keyholder... predicted, it required little of her deft prostate massage to have me begging for benumbing ice. My penis fought... and of course lost... blossoming... trying to blossom... to full bloom within the confines of precision made German steel.  

Iced, I maintained my pose, looking to see the flow of prostatic fluid turn creamy white, fingers relieving me of my sperm... my nasty sludge. Perhaps more horrifying than the initial pain was the lack thereof... nothing felt at all... as my gland and vessels were expertly milked... and milked... and milked... a thick stream exiting the catheterizing urethral tube. 

Thereafter, bladder brimming, Miss Monique completed the humiliation, encouraging me to empty myself into a waiting bucket as the fingers of one hand toyed with my right nipple. Her touch was joyous, my sensory system undergoing a form of transference in being so numbed below. I opened, but then in mid stream her free hand lowered, returning to my perineum to playfully press, knowingly curtailing the flow, her rare smile evidencing feminine delight in controlling such an intimate process. Then she released my flow and after a moment once again pressed to bring havoc and demonstrate her power. 

The funk? Her suggestion... akin to a command... that I am to request a more thorough introduction to the aerobics instructor in completing my next stretching and exercise session with Miss Elizabeth.

‘You’ve piqued her curiosity, Robert. Share with her in detail the full extent of your quirky needs. Maybe her opinion of you as a creep will change. Tell your trainer you want to exhibit yourself. You know you do.’

Do I?

More funk in Miss Monique’s suggested conditioning... the ability to stay flaccid... sans icing... as my prostate is manipulated. 

‘I can train you to take delight in achieving a ruined orgasm while caged, Robert. You’ll be as limp as noodle... no discomfort... just the distant nirvana that boys like you come to crave... must learn to crave... in that nothing more is ever granted.’

Basically, the conditioning will quash any normal sex life. My blue testicles will be difficult enough to explain, but the inability to harden? Even released from my cock cage there would be no dating. I will be impotent... conditioned to stay soft... so why bother?

I am assured I will feel the twinges... and such will come with simple prompts... the sight of lubricated massaging hands and fingers... the sound of an authoritative woman’s voice... the lotion smelling of peaches... but there will come no erection. Miss Monique guarantees it. 

So much to think about... but to consider without the frustration of hormonal overflow and the resulting jitters... at least for the next two or three days.

I truly am spent, Miss Monique fastidious in her finger work. Gratefully I will sleep tonight, no nocturnal penile tumescence.