A Man's Chastity XI

As I step from the car, I cannot help wondering if any of my colleagues will notice how far into the lot my wife has parked, well away from other cars. For obvious reasons, seclusion is needed, zipper lowered, wife finding the tiny padlock and with noted alacrity releasing and sliding away the spiked cock cage.

Normally this is done slowly and carefully, the penile flesh understandably sensitive. But not in the building parking lot, the morning sun glaring. Opportunity for observation must be minimized, the quickness painful but appreciated.

I zip up, step from the car and begin my journey, my wife honking the horn in bidding adieu, but also pausing at the exit to the street to assure I enter the lobby. 

I wave and step through the revolving door.

The large lobby, glowing in the morning sun, now appears congested, the metal detectors transforming the space into an airline terminal. The waiting line is short and I step to the conveyor, empty my pockets of keys and coinage and drop my brief bag.

I spy a smirking Madeleine Hawkins, standing in wait near the elevators. She wriggles her finger in a ‘come hither’ gesture, a stern mother beckoning a child. I nod glumly to acknowledge then move through the archway of the detector.

It buzzes, a red light flashing.

“Sir, can you check your pockets please?” a woman security guard, young yet authoritative, politely blocking further entrance.

I do. There is nothing metallic. I shrug trying to appear innocuous. 

Ah, here comes the wand, the antenna announcing its purpose. The woman moves her arms from her sides in a signal for me to assume a similar pose. I obey. Though not much older than a teenager, my reaction is ingrained. She is polite yet firm and I respond obsequiously to firmness.

I am chagrined when, with a swift continuous wave, the wand beeps, first at my right wrist, then at my neck, then the left wrist. It’s the piano wire used to secure the seams of my nylon wrist bands and collar. She ignores the warning at the wrists, presumably assuming anything there to be small and harmless. But at the neck she has concerns.

“If you’re wearing a necklace sir, you’ll need to remove it and place it on the conveyor.”

I begin to blush.

“And any wrist jewelry as well,” the woman’s tone, her pose suggesting authority.

Well, such is not to be removed, not without cutting and obviating replacement, and earning the wrath of my wife. What am to say?

“I... I...” my stammering does not impress.

Madeleine Hawkins notes my dilemma, marching to my aid.

“He wears a collar, Pam... from his wife.”

The guard turns and nods at Miss Madeleine, a wry smile suggesting both understanding and a degree of enjoyment with my discomfort.

“I see. One of those.”

She turns back, the smile fading.

“I won’t make you show it, sir. We don’t embarrass here. But I will need to feel it. There’s metal and that must be checked.”

For some reason I find myself stepping toward her. A curious reaction. And more curiously I bend at the waist, in a way bowing to she in uniform.

“It’s the seam,” I offer, pointing to the right side where I know the piano wire to reside.

The guard, some six inches shorter than me, reaches, feeling the otherwise covered strip of thick nylon. Her fingers find the wire stitches, working to slip under through the thin cloth of my dress shirt. I am shocked when she hooks her fingers and tugs... quite firmly.

I must assume she is assuring that the collar is indeed permanent and cannot be removed. Or is she replicating the action of a leash, about to lead me to the elevator, a controlling hand celebrating in feminine dominion.

“Quite sturdy. Won’t slip off. And can probably withstand lots of tension... like that of a leash.”   

Her comment magnifies my blushing. But for some reason there also comes that twinge. And with cock cage removed, flaccidity is no longer physically mandated. The guard glares intently, seeming to be aware of my plight.

“I’ll take him upstairs if there are no further security issues,” Miss Madeleine breaking the silent stand off.

“Yes, he is one of them, Madeleine. Look at those puppy dog eyes... the way he reacts to a woman tugging at his collar...”

Gratefully, Pam the guard finally steps aside, letting me retrieve brief bag and pocket items from the conveyor. It is the start of a long day.