A Man's Chastity II

The full story, some 18,200 words is now available on Lulu. $2.75

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/a-mans-chastity/17315818

More segments will be posted on the blog. 

Enjoy

CB

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On my drive home from work, I calm myself. Denise irritates... but has my key. It would be nice to let the mass of pink skin breathe a little... slip my cock cage into the dishwasher. The thought of shaving down there, removing stubble which tends to become prickly and catch in the steel, comforts.

So I swing by the grocery store, my mind recalling some of Denise’s favorite fare. I need to please her but must be mindful not to go overboard. Preparing a more elaborate meal for the woman temporarily in charge than I do for my wife will bring trouble.

So no prime steak, instead I purchase a succulent double lamb chop. Large enough for a meal and perhaps, if am deemed obedient, a morsel for me. I also stop by in the produce section. The wife insists on much greenery for me. I slip in a potato as a treat though knowing it will be eaten without butter and never with sour cream.

Arriving at home, there’s a note from my wife, instructing me to be waiting in bed for her... probably near 11:00 p.m. There’s a post script reminding that there is to be no reading, no music, no television after Denise departs and that she is to select any program while in charge.

So no baseball for me. Just thoughts of nothingness. And my tennis ball.

To the bedroom, I disrobe, putting aside the confining suit, tie and starched shirt. It’s been a hot day, the car’s air conditioning barely cooling after a short stay in the store’s sunbaked parking lot. So I shower... not hot...not cold... but tepid. It feels good. Warm water laving a ball sac partially entrapped by what is termed the control ring of my cock age, encircling from the top of my penis to the perineum, brings soothing delight. I soap myself there, teasingly imagining a penis free from feminine governance, free to be stroked.

I have read where with some chastity devices, the male given enough time, lubrication and effort can pull out his penis. Unfortunately, my wife seems to have read the same thing. For in addition to internal spikes nudging the super sensitive underside of my penis tip, others guard at the top of the cock cage where it connects to the control ring.

Drat the internet! Just attempting to slip a finger within brings a threatening prick... a warning that any further effort will bring agony.

So I truncate that futile effort, turn off the water and step from the shower, hearing neighbor Denise call out. She’s a large husky woman, not pretty, not repulsive, but plain with a booming voice. One could picture her in uniform, though I know she never served in the military.   

“Showering. Be down in a minute,” I call out in response.

I towel down, about to powder up the cock cage, when Denise steps into the large bathroom of the master bedroom. 

“Don’t bother with that, Henry. It’s warm, but you know I can’t stand a lot of air conditioning. I’ve already turned up the thermostat so you’ll be more comfortable just like that.”

So there will be no clothing... for me.

Denise has given herself quite the education concerning chastity and beta males over the past year or so. She understands that powder cuts down on the friction of underwear brought to tightness by the steel... serves to somewhat lubricate and minimize pinching and caught hair stubble.  

So... no clothing... no powder needed. Such a gracious woman.

Understanding that this will be a CFNM evening, I spy the slim necklace normally worn by my wife... kept in plain sight as a reminder of a woman’s control. Dangling at the end is the key to my cock cage... the key to my virility.

“If I recall you like lamb chops, Miss Denise,” diverting my thoughts.

“Oh yes, Henry. That would be nice. Jack’s away on business again and eating alone is depressing. And it’s nice having someone cook for me for a change.”

Jack is an imposing man of size, strength and what I have been told is admirable sexual prowess. My wife terms him an alpha male. Denise just calls him big, at one time extending her open hands, palms several inches apart, to demarcate for my wife the size of his manhood.

My wife giggled but her envy was apparent. 

“You can serve me in the kitchen, Henry. Don’t need anything fancy.”

I nod and step forth stark naked. Denise lets me lead, patting my buttocks as I pass by. Her touch adds to the strange sensation, presenting myself naked to another woman. And in turn, normally a woman would sense some degree of intimidation in the presence of a naked man. But I am controlled... by she who has the key... and that is now neighbor Denise. And she does not really think of me as a man.

To the kitchen, I am disappointed that neighbor Denise does not inquire about the decorative double ‘D’ clamp for the blue nylon wrists bands, my only covering other then the expensive cylinder of steel. For as stated, it is only with wrists encumbered that the cage is unlocked. I have left it on the bedroom dresser.

Wine for Denise. Water for me. My existence is ascetic, my wife explaining that I will have what I need, but rarely what I want. And what I want is good wine, insalubrious food, and to once again withstand the heady sensation of manly ejaculation, my stiffness once again ensheathed in warm, wet feminine tightness.

Alas, it will not happen.

So I prepare a salad as Denise imbibes. She talks of girl stuff... shopping, her favorite TV show. There was a time I would scream in being subjected to such meaningless dialogue. But now there is no objection. I am all ears.

Denise gets a rich creamy blue chesse dressing, stopping me with a cluck of her tongue before I utilize such on my salad. I therefore know to reach for the oil and vinegar instead... and not a tastily seasoned vinegar... douse my salad, then remember to put the potato into the oven.

“Eat your cucumbers,” her tone one of command.

I don’t like cucumbers. It is therefore a ritual with my wife that I eat such in abundance. My distaste has apparently been communicated. I stab a plump slice with my fork, wishing the bland vinegar would better veil the taste. I eat with a reluctance I hope is cloaked. Otherwise there will be more cucumbers I am sure.

“You need to be obedient, Henry. You wife has explained it to me... about beta males. I have my Jack. 100% alpha with 10 inches of good stiffness where a woman most needs it... but no cooking, no cleaning... and little special attention... as your wife receives.”

Ah, special attention. A euphemism for cunnilingus.

Salad consumed, I arise and begin to rub the double lamb chop, feeling Denise reach to fondle my right cheek. Her sensuous touch arouses. That is not good. I have learned to stay flaccid in the tight spiked cock cage. The wife wants me flaccid... thinking about her and her pleasure not mine... to become erect only when she permits. And the perfectly placed shards of sharp steel certainly abet the effort.

But now Denise inveigles, seeming to want to coax tumescence. She notices that I grimace as the undesired reaction commences.

“Medium rare on my lamb chop, Henry. Do a good job and we’ll put your ‘D’ clamp to use. Where is it?”

“Upstairs on the dresser.”

“Good. You can get it after you serve me.”

I broil, giddy in anticipation. Though Denise is not glamourous, there is something about her assertive demeanor which adds to the thrill of presenting my self naked... and unlocked. Will she shave me?

Medium rare, cooking has come to be a moderate talent, my wife sending me to school on weekends. I present with eagerness, proud when Denise slices open the middle and warm tender pinkness evidences an effort well done.

“Get your clamp,” her command succinct.

“I... I... I have not been shaven... there,” my stammering pleaful.

“So the Misses has been a little neglectful, ha, ha, ha. We’ll see. You feel better completely exposed... I realize that.”

I dash upstairs and grasp the small yet meaningful piece of otherwise innocuous hardware. Should I return with razor and lotion as well?

I decide otherwise, further hints deemed too presumptuous.

When I return, most of the lamb chop has been consumed by my famished neighbor. The salad won’t do it for me. I need more. It is then I recall the potato baking in the oven.

“I forgot about the potato, Miss Denise.”

“Well, it’s yours,” her proclamation coming as the last edible piece of lamb disappears. “And you can finish the lamb chop,” her words coming as I note nothing remaining other than bone and gristle.

When I present the ‘D’ clamp, there is offered access to my front, a hideously reddened scrotum constantly pressed forward by the control ring. Denise reaches forth and palms, her thumb smoothing over the fine steel mesh of the cock cage.

“Tsk, tsk. This always looks so chafed and raw.”

It is, my underwear constantly abrading the thin skin, the morning application of powder never enough for a long day at the office. That is why the removal of the ring and cock cage is a ceremony of great celebration.

Relief!

And Denise knows too well how my system well celebrate.

“You need to go potty, Henry? I suspect you’ll need to go know before I unlock you.”

I do. And Miss Denise is correct. Once I stiffen it will be quite an interlude before I can urinate. So I nod... humbly.

Miss Denise smiles, it is not a becoming smile. When she picks up the double ‘D’ clamp, by rote I pull back my arms, my hands pressing together behind my back. She reaches behind and I hear the click, click, always amazed at how quickly and easily I can be made to yield to an authoritative woman.

“Come.”

She stands from her chair, grasping the cock cage as a leash. She knows I must squat to pee... and she enjoys watching... the comeuppance of the chastised beta male.  

To the half bath near the back door, she leads into the small room. She releases. I know to sit, thighs widely parted as my neighbor reaches down and aligns my cage, assuring that my excretions will neatly find the bowl. 

Embarrassed, I cannot summon a flow despite my need. Miss Denise patiently waits, then reaches to rub my right ear, sibilant sounds fostering an urge.

I pee, sensing a frisson, my masochism glowing in performing for her.

“Good boy.”