Saturday, April 11, 2015

Stroking the Male - Segment III

Saturday morning, Susan rereads the email of Mrs. Breckenridge. Items mostly already about the house are to be at the ready. She supposes not everyone has a straight backed wooden chair available, one with narrow seat. But it so happens the dining room furniture precisely fits Mrs. Breckenridge’s need. She thus moves a chair into the middle of the livingroom, pushing aside a sofa and coffee table, following Mrs. Breckenridge’s instructions.

In completing the task, Melanie descends from her bedroom. A trip to the mall is planned with friends. With the hour of ten approaching, Melanie’s timed departure is perfect, lifting an element of concern.

After Melanie bids adieu, the final item on Mrs. Breckenridge’s list can be procured. Susan steps to the basement and retrieves the stained sheet stripped the morning before from Randy’s bed. When she returns to the bright sunlit livingroom, for the first time she examines the evidence of Randy’s self pleasure with specificity. Beige and yellowish splotch’s abound, his fomenting virility bringing masturbation to a nightly undertaking.

With Susan’s extensive biological instruction, she is fully aware of the male’s awakening needs. But the catalyst for the many eruptions... that is of concern. A newly acquired glossy publication of smut was yesterday found. More bondage. More leather clad women. Wherever does he procure it? 

It is no wonder he sleeps late, is lethargic in his studies and his sporting efforts are found to be less than energetic.  

The doorbell rings. It is precisely ten a.m. How would she expect the likes of Mrs. Breckenridge to be less than punctilious?

“Mrs. Breckenridge, I presume,” Susan beaming in greeting pleasantly. “I didn’t hear your car.”

“I walked.”

As the plainly dressed woman nods and returns the salutation, Susan visually inspects.

Mrs. Breckenridge totes a sizable over the shoulder bag and appears as her voice and choice of words would suggest. Hair of grey, short, limited make up, no visible jewelry, her initial smile rapidly fades, the effort to return the pleasantry appearing to be a strain.

There is no doubt the woman is a disciplinarian, the handsome face weathered, projecting what appears to be a permanent frown.

“Is your brother about?” Mrs. Breckridge quite focused.

“Upstairs. He sleeps late on Saturdays. I told him I was expecting a visitor...”

“And his younger sister?”

“Just left... for most of the day.”

Susan advises as she leads the dour woman into the livingroom. Mrs. Breckenridge immediately steps to the couch where lies the evidence... bedding encrusted with male seed.

“Tsk, tsk, your brother has been active... hasn’t he?” Mrs. Breckenridge inspecting with like precision. “Has trouble getting out of bed does he? Late for school?”

“Why, yes. Barely has time for breakfast.”   

“We can change that. After I offer a sampling of my... my behavior modification... we’ll talk. I’m nearby. I can see Randy once a week. Though in counting the many deposits here twice per week may be best.”

“Well, we’re living on a limited budget...”

“So I understand. But this shouldn’t be allowed to continue,” Mrs. Breckenridge bluntly pointing to a particularly large circular stain of light yellow. “He’ll be more obedient... and certainly less frisky with some... ah... term it discipline. $50 per week... it’s as reasonable as I can be.”

“Well, there has been money put aside for music lessons... with no interest expressed to date.”

“Good. You don’t have a problem with male nudity?”

Susan laughs, recalling the many classes of anatomy, one curious session in which she examined an unclothed male volunteer quite intimately.

“No. I used to change Randy’s diapers... many years ago.”

“Then you’ll have no problem watching. For Randy it is best. And I see you’ve been quite attentive to my email,” a surprisingly strong hand gesturing to the assemblage of items resting on a proximate coffee table. “The bowl will become quite symbolic for him. I trust you’ll not need it for other uses.”

“No. The dog is long gone.”

“Good. Then it’s time we begin.”

“I’ll awaken him.”

“No. Point to his room. I’ll bring him down,” Mrs. Breckenridge zipping open her bag.

With that she brings into the room light a flat wooden stick, appearing to be a ruler, yet with numbers well worn. In brandishing it, Mrs. Breckenridge smiles. Despite the brevity of the introductory moments, Susan has come to understand such is rare.

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