Stroking the Male - Segment IX

“Bring him to me. His penis needs attention,” Mrs. Breckenridge hiking her skirt then sitting on the austere bare wooden chair.

Mrs. Boughton places the tray on the table and steps to unhook Randy’s immobilizing neck collar. Once again he feels the woman’s strength as she guides to Mrs. Breckenridge, thighs beckoning.

“We like rituals here, Randy. Go to your knees and place your doggie bowl at my feet. Then ask me to masturbate you. Tell me how much you’d like to have your penis stroked by a firm commanding woman. You would like to have it stroked wouldn’t you? It’s standing so stiffly!”

Mrs. Boughton releases her grip. Randy, weakened by the purging of his stomach, the cleansing of his bowels, forced to so long stand on toes, immediately goes to the floor, humbly placing the bowl between Mrs. Breckenridge’s shoes. 

“Would you please masturbate me, Mrs. Breckenridge?” the words so feeble.

“Oh, you boys are all so eager to show off. So eager to attain pleasure. Come and sit. You know how I want you. And in being hairless you can now better feel my skin. Better than frottaging against the bed sheets, don’t you think?”

Randy stands and turns, Mrs. Boughton guiding, his legs weak. He indeed knows the position, masturbated days before in front of older sister Susan. He steps back and straddles, feeling Mrs. Breckenridge grasp his testicles, his organs becoming a woman’s handle. He quakes, aware of the coming pleasure... aware of the coming pain.

“Hook him up nice and tight, Mrs. Boughton. This one truly loves his bondage.”

As a firm hand tugs his scrotum, strongly suggesting he sit, Mrs. Boughton moves to the left and grasps an ankle cuff. She lifts, bending his leg. With the sound of a click, Randy’s left foot is secured high to the back of the chair at the level of Mrs. Breckenridge’s waist. The right ankle is similarly restrained and Randy finds himself sitting, his upturned feet forcing him to lean forward.

As Randy hears Mrs. Breckenridge work the jar on the small table, the smell of bacon wafts. Next he feels his anus being lubricated despite remaining moist and most pliable from the afternoon’s deep enema.

Randy looks down to see his yellow plastic dog bowl resting to wait. Oddly, his penis waggles, seemingly in expectation. It is only his second therapeutic session, and the Pavlovian prompts seem to be already working. The yellow bowl... the smell of bacon... naked and bound before two fully clothed women... his organs react to the prompts.

“Would you like to view some of your nasty porn, Randy? There’s more. We didn’t have enough wall space for it all. Mrs. Boughton saved some particularly deviant depictions. Show him please, Mrs Boughton,” the words coming as two fingers glide inward, Randy so easily opened.

Mrs. Breckenridge proves to be prescient. Indeed, Mrs. Boughton steps forth, magazine in hand, opening to a page with a naked boy kneeling on all fours. A leather clad Dominatrix is forcing him open with a mammoth strap on. Pegging!.. and the woman smiles so wickedly!

“Oh I can feel his reaction, Mrs. Boughton. This one does like his demented porn!”

Yes, knowing fingers sense the tiny but meaningful muscles, preparing for ejaculation... an eruption that will not come until a controlling woman deems such appropriate.

Meanwhile the scent of bacon wafts throughout as Mrs. Breckridge once again coats the genitals, the newly shorn scrotum welcoming her attention. Mrs. Boughton’s razor has slightly chafed the heretofore untouched flesh there, thus Randy gasps as the salt infused unguent offers an unexpected burn.

Next comes the penis, so firm, so in need, so much wanting to show its power. Yet it will yield... it must yield, Mrs. Breckenridge too experienced in handling the male organ to let it have its way.

Randy squeezes his pubo coccygeus muscles in defiance, a futile attempt to ejaculate and ruin what is a most ignominious display... end the humiliation.

Yet is that what he truly wants? He has not touched himself... there... since his penis was last set afire. His loins seem to be brimming, overflowing in need.

The attempt brings another wicked snicker as the stroking hand presses downward, dipping low the penis tip, forestalling climax and bringing another gasp of discomfort. Mrs. Breckenridge knows too well the male anatomy. Randy begins to realize his manhood may no longer really be his.

“He’s trying to come for me, Mrs. Boughton. Imagine that. Wanting to end all the fun.”

Mrs. Boughton smiles, turning the page, the Dominatrix fully impaling the hapless naked youth, his look one of both anguish and lust.

“You’ll not shortcut your therapy Randy. Boys within my grip ejaculate on my command and not before, ha, ha, ha.”

The penetrating fingers wriggle about deep within, Randy sensing anal penetration as he must view the sordid depictions of it. Penis and scrotum coated, Mrs. Breckenridge reaches for the steel wool. She knows to apply it gently, and slowly of course, first awakening the sensitive flesh, introducing the stinging salt to the shaft. She never fully opens the skin... no cuts, no bleeding. That would render the organs to much healing time... obviating another therapy session. No she chafes, knowing that, ironically, such brings more pain than if the flesh was opened.

Her efforts are both sensual and agonizing, particularly in introducing the pornography that is known to excite... to arouse. And Mrs. Boughton so nicely fulfills her role... teasing... taunting... smiling suggestively.

“Now Randy, I do like it when a boy fills his bowl. And you do want to please me don’t you? Show off for Mrs. Boughton as well. She has not before seen you empty yourself for a governing woman... and I know you so much enjoy that,” the words coming as a greased hand laden with steel wool works, rubbing so slowly, bringing both pleasure and agony.

Ah, the salt.