Saturday, October 31, 2015
A Man's Chastity VIII
An emboldened Madeleine Hawkins again visits my office, those powerful arms empty. I look up quizzically. If she is not either picking up or delivering files there is no reason for her presence.
I find I am wrong.
“Henry, hope there’s not much metal in your collar. Building security will be utilizing a metal detector starting Monday. With the federal government offices on the sixth floor, things need to be tightened up.”
So she has a reason to visit, to provoke. She pauses standing arms akimbo, her grin suggesting she gloats over my collaring.
“It’s... it’s nylon,” I explain, hoping that the piano wire utilized for suturing won’t set off alarms.
My reply does not quell her curiosity.
“Well, I understand they will have the machine’s sensitivity turned up. Not much metal will get through without first being examined... closely examined.”
Her eyes divert lower as if attempting to peer through my desk at my crotch, her grin broadening.
Ah, it finally dawns. Some half pound of steel cage and control ring encase my genitals. The annoying Madeleine Hawkins seems to be aware... and if she is merely surmising, I imagine that my look of apoplexy confirms her suspicions.
I am speechless in concern. She laughs.
“Well, I’m sure the security guards have encountered it all. Lots of intimate body piercings and jewelry with the kids these days.”
Madeleine Hawkins departs. Where does she acquire her knowledge?
Confused, not knowing what to do, these are the times when I question the mental/emotional effect of the abundance of male hormones held in check. Or perhaps it is the brainwashing of Dr. Zeke and my wife’s constant reiteration of such that brings the need for guidance. Is that why I feel a need for her counsel?
I text my wife and mentor, keeping my message short in knowing it annoys her when I speak or in any manner initiate communication.
‘Metal detector at work, beginning Monday’
After pressing send, I lean back in my chair, close my eyes and try to calm myself. At first envisioning some security guard, female for some reason, exploring my mid section with an electric wand which shrills at the area of my pubes, my thoughts become more rational.
My wife can’t possibly make me come to work knowing I will be stopped in the building lobby, frisked and possibly strip searched because of the mesh of metal entrapping my penis. Instead she will have to offer release... glorious release... and with my wrists freed, hands mobile for work.
So despite the devilish look of Madeleine Hawkins, heightened building security will bring emancipation!
A new concern arises when I receive no text in return. Have I irritated she who rules?