Saturday, October 10, 2015

A Man's Chastity V

“Your wife is pleased with your progress. Says you’ve adapted well to chastity.”

I sit on a rock hard wooden chair. Our marriage counselor, Dr. Zeke Bronski, leans back in his well padded desk chair of size and comfort. He notes my nod and smiles.

Zeke Bronski, one time noted college football player, is a man of great size. And not only in stature. During our first marriage counseling session, my wife gazed at the bulge about his zipper for the entire session, Dr. Zeke brazenly doing nothing to cloak the apparent length and girth of his appendage.

“And you want to please your wife, Henry. That’s what it’s all about for men of your ilk... pleasing.”

I’ve heard this before, many times. The first when I was presented with the slit open tennis ball, the loose marble rattling about within like some toy for a cat or dog. Cunnilingus training. It became a mandate.

Then came the chastity device. My initial reluctance, turning to protests after day three, brought the demand that I be counseled again... and the lecture on pleasing came again.

“Women such as your wife are happiest with many lovers... and being loved in many different ways.”

Here it comes again. Is this counseling or brainwashing?

“She is very appreciative of your efforts, Henry. The cooking, the cleaning... gives her time to... well... to experiment. Some women like to explore... like men in variety... alpha men I should add.”

Dr. Zeke leans forward, the gesture adding to the gravitas.

“Beta males... well... time is best spent at home... sheltered... life’s challenges minimized... competition limited in a world which idolizes alpha males. Your thoughts?”

I pause, my role mainly to listen, to let my brain be laundered and laundered.

“Yes... I guess I do spend most of my time at home... when not working.” 

It is because my wife insists, but that is information I rarely offer. Whenever the guys at the office congregate for drinks after work, or plan a football party to watch an important game, I find excuses. And such are not that I must cook or clean the house because my wife insists. I usually suggest instead that I will be engaging in some other masculine endeavor.

“Any comments or concerns over your wrist bands? Your wife gave them much thought. They look good on you.”

I shake my head no, Dr. Zeke probably the only male knowing of the circular blue nylon’s true function.

“There are women who like control, Henry. Your wife is one of them. And it pleases her to place you under control. It’s an important aspect of your marriage... your happy marriage. She is free... feels free... because you are not.”

More pleasing. Where is this going? I constantly please. Why am I here?

“I think you need to better express your status, Henry. You’ll feel better... as will your wife.”

“My status?” my  trembling voice bringing self disgust.

“Yes, that of beta male, capitulating your wife’s sexual gratification to others... to alpha males.”

“I... I... please her every night,” more vocal trembling.

“Orally,” Dr. Zeke’s tone firm, not posing the word as a question but as a fact.

“Well... that’s expected of me... with the... the cage and all.”

He smiles, perhaps envisioning my head wedged between the soft but firm thighs of my wife, tongue fervently lapping.

“But you realize that will never be the ultimate form of gratification for her. She needs much more... and regularly.”

Wash, wash, wash... on this visit the machine seems to be on an unending fast spin cycle. Since my wife dates sometimes four to five times per week... ostensibly as tutoring sessions... I am well aware of her concupiscence. So I nod again.

“So, your status... being reminded of it... your wife being reminded of it... would enhance the relationship, keep her in the frame of mind which so much enthuses a woman with her propensities. And of course yourself.”

Dr. Zeke opens the top right drawer of his desk. From it he withdraws a strip of blue. It matches my wrists bands, but is longer and thicker.

“Your wife had this made. Don’t know if you remember being measured. But it should fit very comfortably. As you can see it matches your wrist bands.”

“What is it?” the stress in my voice apparent.

“It’s for your neck. To be sewn in place and never removed... just as with your wrist bands.”

“No, I’ll not wear it,” my response surprisingly brash.

“Oh but you will, Henry” the tone paternal. “Your wife expected this negative reaction. That is why she had me present it... with words I hoped would sooth. But do keep in mind, she has the key. And she mentioned something about a brush. That you’d want to tell me about that.”

Ah, the brush, that fostering my only sexual release... the ruined orgasms... both satisfying and frustrating... the latter sensed most strongly with the end of every teasing application. And she’s wrong, and knows she’s wrong. I do not want to talk about it... not with alpha male and counselor Dr. Zeke Bronski. Still, her gambit is effective.

“How will I explain it?” my instance of boldness crumbling rapidly as I choose to ignore more talk about the small soft brush which so humiliates but offers the only joy attainable.  

Dr. Zeke shrugs.

“Tell anyone who asks that your wife insists that you wear it.... and that you are obedient to your wife. And it is functional by the way, Henry. Once in place, it will sustain the stress of a leash.”

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