Saturday, October 3, 2015
A Man's Chastity IV
“It’s termed figging, Henry. It’s an old English custom... to prepare bad boys for caning.”
My wife explains as she releases the ‘D’ clamp and my hands are freed for the first time in hours.
“You’re cute with all those tears. Like a punished child. Think of what would flow if you were bent over a chair and suffered a few strokes as well.”
The vexing words come as my wife steps to the bathroom. Though bedded well before 11:00 p.m., she has arrived quite late and I have laid in wait for hours. Though normally my wrists are freed after being returned to the cock cage, Miss Denise decided to leave me bound, unable to remove the plug of ginger root she cruelly inserted into my anus.
Apparently well experienced in the matter, she carved up my ginger root, forming a de facto butt plug, the natural juiciness promoting easy insertion. The results were something I have never before endured. The spicy ginger burns to the point that one senses a lit match or candle applied to very sensitive pink skin. Plus there is an incredible somatic reaction within the loins, my penis further engorging to the point I thought it would explode.
Miss Denise permitted me to jump from the kitchen table and prance about, the pain stimulating a strange need to clench the buttocks and spasmodically move about in futility, the plug expertly shaped and not to be ejected.
She laughed, greatly entertained, but offered no relief.
‘I think it grew another inch, Henry. Be sure to purchase more ginger for my next visit.’
The baked potato was finally offered, Miss Denise tossing it into a bowl and placing it before me. Dry, skin in place, hands restrained the improvised butt plug distracting, eating as would a dog I could not finish it before it turned to coldness, despite the paucity of greens as my evening meal.
Finally I was iced, never before welcoming the shock of pending numbness, then returned to the cock cage to await my wife... as instructed... on the bed, no reading, no music, no television.
With celerity, I reach behind me, the ginger butt plug remaining in place, well shaped and well wedged. I press and pull. Some burning returns, I must assume in expelling there are unexposed areas newly subjected to the searing juices. Still I manage to eject but must suffer anew. The revised stimulation renews the need to harden, now impossible with my cock cage in place. I concentrate on limpness as I have so urgently learned. But it is difficult.
“Ben was amazing, Henry,” my wife calls out from the toilet as I hear the sound of urine heavily splashing. “He’s just the right age for a woman. Of good size, becomes erect with moderate stimulation... and stays hard. I orgasmed three times. Never get that with the undergraduates.”
My wife teaches... psychology... mainly at the undergraduate level, but on occasion will mentor a graduate student... a la Ben. She has long been of the belief that if you can’t have sex with the students, why teach?
Water runs. Teeth are brushed. From the bathroom steps my goddess, draped in a negligee that veils none of her amazing beauty.
“I’m glad you enjoyed your evening, Ma’am,” my tone so obsequious.
Curious calling one’s life long mate ‘ma’am’. Difficult when first discussed, if such adequately describes the exchange leading to the protocol, but now oddly accepted.
“Yes, I did. Think I got most of his discharge out, Henry. But Ben’s so long and he spent in me so deeply...”
The goddess moves to the bed, kneeling, turning, then lying back, arms extended in welcome. These are the times when concentration concerning flaccidity is challenging but demanded. I’d so much like to harden for her... enter her... please her.
As I step forth, my goddess spreads her thighs, bends at the knees then arranges her negligee in further welcome. I know to kneel, what is termed my fully functioning sex organ at the ready.
As her hands grasp my ears to guide as she desires, her words soften, a lover’s coo.
“Denise watch over you? She becomes a little playful, I know. Alpha males like Jack can please a woman... but there are urges they can’t fulfill.”
I cannot reply and my wife knows that, for her hands pull at the handles of my ears, pressing my face into a mons that remains steamy and moist with a long evening’s love making. My response is to lick... humbly... slowly... attentively.
“I trust you made her a good dinner. Did she shave you, clean your cock cage? You know how much it disappoints me in seeing your little thing when I must do it. It’s good of her to tend to you.”
I murmur in response, assuming she accepts this as acknowledgment.
“Yes, seeing those tiny four inches, knowing it’s all you can achieve, is a downer for a woman.”
This psychological barrage concerning my physical inadequacy in the bedroom did not originate with my wife. It ironically began with our marriage counselor.
“You’ve been working with your tennis ball, Henry, I can tell. So long and strong...” my wife uttering an initial sigh of delight as my tongue thrusts inward.
Yes, my tennis ball... more marriage counseling. I was given a tennis ball with a two inch slit cut into the circumference. Slipped within the hollowness is a marble of size, nearly impossible to retrieve with one’s tongue. But it is demanded that I try... and try... and try.
The counselor explained that the oral exercise would compensate for my deficiencies elsewhere. It seems it has, though on this evening the nightly exercise was impractical with wrists restrained.
“Where would you be without that prodigious tongue of yours, Henry?” my wife further chides.
I am greatly aroused in serving my wife, pleasing her. But the arousal is all mental, the physical so long stifled, first by the cock cage, later by me. So endorphins flow, as such would with normal intercourse. But there is no physical sensation to be enjoyed, other than my tongue swishing warm wetness. I cannot react in the manner of a man... an alpha male. The pain is too great. And my wife has her bull studs... young... strong... virile... with phalli of size and firmness.
My wife’s thighs squeeze with zeal. I know it to be only the first of many climaxes. Thus I continue my efforts. She will decide when I am through.
“I think I’ll send you for another counseling session, Henry. Being and talking with an alpha male is good for you. I’ll make an appointment for next week. You can session while I’m tutoring one of my students.”