Stroking the Male - Segment V

Saturday evening, Susan types a polite email, thanking Mrs. Breckenridge for her visit, relieved that before departing, the ruler firmly tapped away at Randy’s bare buttocks, making him reveal the location of his entire stash of porn... behind some storage boxes in the basement. Quite the collection! And all turned over to Mrs. Breckenridge. Her large over the shoulder bag became stuffed.

In observing Mrs. Breckenridge so deftly handle Randy, she has agreed to further therapy. Most serendipitously, it seems Mrs. Breckenridge lives within walking distance of Randy’s school. And thus Susan’s next task is to inform school administration that he will not be riding the school bus home on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. He’ll instead be visiting Ms. Breckenridge for dire therapy.

Susan hits ‘send’ then sits back, enjoying a cup of tea. Despite her many years of biological study, she had not before so attentively witnessed the process of male ejaculation. She feels now informed... amused... and relieved.

Informed in better understanding the abundance to be so forcefully excreted by the fecund teenaged male. In finishing the deed, Mrs. Breckenridge proved to be quite adroit having Randy explode, emptying himself into the yellow dog’s bowl on the floor between his feet... then ‘milking him’... Mrs. Breckenridge’s words for post eruption massage of the prostate gland while slowly drawing her fingers down a rapidly softening penis shaft. Susan was surprised to see Randy slowly drool even more gooey effluent.

So clinical... so thorough... and indeed so neat. Not a drop spilled.! And the collected mass was impressive.

Amused as a spent Randy, entering a notable stupor of post ejaculation repose, was pushed from Mrs. Breckendridge’s lap and commanded to take the bowl to the kitchen and clean it. His look was comically sheepish... normally leaving the mess on bed sheets for big sister Susan to launder.

Relieved that soiled sheets and reams of nasty sadomasochistic depictions are no longer in the house, Susan finds the requested fifty dollars to be more than reasonable. There remains some concern over Randy’s penis. Still, Mrs. Breckenridge’s distinctive tactic for handling male masturbation addiction has always worked... and the harm relatively minor.

And seeing the look on Randy’s face as he was forced to discharge was priceless.

Susan’s thoughts are interrupted as brother Randy, pajamas suggesting bedtime, saunters into the den... his earlier sheepishness transforming to quiet shyness.

“How is your penis?” Susan bluntly inquires... as advised by Mrs. Breckenridge.

“Sore.”

“It will heal... in a day or so. No touching,” Susan offering a knowing smile with her maternal advice. 

“Did she have to do it... like that?”

“It is best for you. It’s the beginning of your cure. That was quite the repository you had in the basement. Wherever did such urges come from?” Susan well supposing the answer to her own question.

Yes, she has been forced to step into the shoes of a maternal figure. And without a father, Randy needs a stern one. Is it her attentive but exacting care that is the catalyst?

It matters not, Susan supposes. Help is on its way.

“Let me see your penis. You’ve kept it moist?”

“Yes, sis,” a glum Randy responds, pulling downward on the elastic waist band of his pajamas.

Susan extends her left hand and gently palms the penis tip, lifting for better viewing. The fingers of the right then quickly press back the foreskin exposing a well chafed penis tip. Susan, having so often performed the chore of cleansing smegma from her adolescent brother, is equally adept in handling the male organ... her talent acquired differently from that of Mrs. Breckenridge.

“It’s fine. It will be ready for more counseling on Tuesday,” Susan pleasantly suggests with a grin. “Do apply more ointment... then go to bed.”

Randy rights his pajama bottoms and departs, Susan amused that his penis is now objectified... no longer an organ for male gratification... instead to become an object for female care... proper care... sans the stimulus of deviant pornography.

Susan takes another sip of tea and marvels. Mrs. Breckenridge’s timing, no doubt acquired over many years of masturbating addicted boys, was exquisite. Her bacon greased right hand slowly stroked as Susan displayed page after page of leather clad women and well restrained males, bringing young Randy into a frothy plateau of sexual stimulation. Then in sensing pending climax, Mrs. Breckenridge reached for that one object requested in her email that Susan could not fully understand... a wad of steel wool. Its usefulness came to light as she first palmed then most irritatingly continued her stroking, pointing Randy’s erection downward to forestall ejaculation. After several moments abrading the shaft with the steel wool, she next firmly rubbed the super sensitive engorged penis tip to bring it to painful rawness.

It was only then that Mrs. Breckenridge offered the proper angle, shifting so that Randy’s chafed and raw penis pointed to the bowl and, penetrating fingers evidently pressing the prostate, finally permitted an eruption... a painful and most aggravating one.

And all while viewing his favorite stimulus.

Susan sips again, now understanding Mrs. Breckenridge’s effective therapeutic methods... immersion into what addicts... and while bearing pain not pleasure.

Yes, Randy howled in agony... while his stiffness was forced to explode into the dog’s bowl. Normally a deed of great male ecstasy was transformed. It seems that to Mrs. Breckenridge’s lubricating concoction has been added salt. With the penile flesh chafed open, it greatly augmented the irritating stinging of the otherwise harmless bacon fat.