Saturday, December 12, 2015

A Man's Chastity XIV

This will be the last posting from 'A Man's Chastity'. As a reminder, the remainder of this segment, plus the two other parts of the trilogy ('Continuing a Man's Chastity', 'Ending a Man's Chastity') are available from Lulu as well as a compendium.

There is also an Epilogue 'The Harlot of Bowers Enterprises'.

Next week... 'Tie Me Chicago'.




I earned another week in chastity for that brazen erection. My wife explained that her relative leniency resulted due to the extenuating circumstances. Normally such opprobrious comportment would result in an additional month. 

With the encounter came another rule. I am now to immediately disclose the slightest feeling... those twinges... to the woman in charge... whether or not my penis is under lock and key.

It’s degrading, but deemed a requirement for behavioral control and modification.

Workdays become smoother, learning to subordinate myself to Miss Madeleine at the office. Curious that I have not been yet caught in the lady’s room, Miss Madeleine prescient in choosing the timing for the cock cage implementation and day’s end release. 

Interacting with security guard Pam brings a daily morning challenge. The young woman, working part time while attending college, is fascinated with my collar and wrist bands, verbally expressing her observation that, though decorative, the encircling nylon could also serve to bind.

‘Have you been leashed lately?’ she brusquely inquired this morning while waving the electric wand over the wire stitches.

I think my silent wane smile gave me away.

For the ride home, my wife still not able to lock me up in the parking lot, I must still sit with wrists bands clipped together. But now she opens my zipper and pulls out my four inches, assuring that I remain flaccid during the drive, an ice bag at the ready should I harden... which, under the threat of extended chastity, I try my best not to do.

So now I sit in the waiting area of marriage counselor Dr. Zeke Bronski. My wife wants to assure that my male psyche... once male psyche... is appropriately decimated. My words not hers.

Her words are to describe the therapy as cathartic... and mandatory. 

“Come in Henry. You know where I want you to sit,” Dr. Zeke popping his head through a partially opened office door.

I do, responding like a well trained puppy.

“Your wife says you’ve taken well to the collar. She’s been keeping you leashed?” Dr. Zeke’s forthright tone immediately going to counseling phase with his question.


“Yes, what, Henry? Your wife wants you to show respect for alpha males.”

“Yes sir,” repressing the urge to stamp out and leave.

“That’s better. About the house? She leashes you in the house?”

“Yes.... sir,” trying not to choke on the simple but disheartening two words.

“How do you feel, kept restrained on a leash?”

“I... I... well it’s really a chain... a long chain.”

“Locked in place.”

“Yes... ah yes sir.”

“So you cannot free yourself. And...” he prompts.

“And... well... I guess it’s okay. I can work in the kitchen... and reach the den.”

“Any feelings of arousal? Does your penis swell?”

“That’s not permitted... not possible.”

“Yes, of course. You’re kept in a very tight cock cage. But do urges come, being under the auspices of an authoritative woman?”

They do. But must I tell Dr. Zeke Bronski? It’s bad enough that under the revised protocol I must inform my wife... or the woman in charge... about the twinges... urges in Dr. Zeke’s nomenclature.

“Sometimes... sir.”

“Interesting. So perhaps you’d like more... more restraint. Suppose your wife were to walk you about on a leash... outdoors? Would that excite you? Bring urges?”

With that, Dr. Zeke leans back in his chair. The change in position causes the male appendage that my wife so often covetously glares at to become clearly outlined by his trousers. It’s massive. I feel my penis shrink in its cage.

“I... I... don’t know... sir.”

Dr. Zeke smiles. I suppose some would deem it to be a wry smile.

“I think she should try it. It will be a nice challenge for you... and a woman of your wife’s ilk enjoys demonstrating... perhaps announcing... her tutelage... of beta males.”

This does not bode well. What Dr. Zeke suggests is almost always instituted.

“Feel any urges now?”

I do, cursing myself, my innate masochism dragging me into a pit, gnawing at me, bringing visions of further subjugation. I squirm on the hardwood chair. My chagrined silence answers for me. Dr. Zeke smiles knowingly. 

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