Saturday, March 19, 2016

Tie Me Chicago XIV

In finishing the paperwork I look up and realize two imposing women have been standing over me, ostensibly patient but both with hands on hips in a gesture of authority.

“Matt. We’re to prepare you. I’m Miss Theresa, this is Miss Monica,” the woman on the left introduces as she slips the questionnaire from the clipboard.

The clinicians! I assess. Though I am of size and well conditioned, these women, probably older than me in their mid thirties, are of size as well. Dressed in starched white uniforms, feminine shape is difficult to discern. But there is nothing unsightly, nothing to suggest any excess weight, nothing slovenly about their physiques.

Still, it’s their demeanor that more makes the impression. Dressed in uniforms of a different color, one can envision them tending to inmates at a penitentiary.  

“Come with us. Be a good boy. Follow.”

The words! Those of Miss Eve uttered many years ago... to Matt the brat... a soon to be tamed Matt the brat.

This Miss Theresa leads. I follow. A silent Miss Monica follows me.

“Enjoy,” calls out the receptionist, her brief farewell curious as I feel I am going to the gallows.

Through what I presume was designed as the dining room, Miss Theresa leads to the rear of the house. In entering a large chamber, the sense of turn of the century opulence terminates. The room has been converted... it is a salon... tiled floor, lower walls tiled, a steel and Formica massage table in the center, plumbing fixtures, steel cabinets, piles of towels and linen... all for the most part in the color white, the austere presentation notably contrasting the dark paneling and deep red carpeting of the abode. 

“Strip and sit,” Miss Theresa pointing to the massage table.

I pause. Long having left the care of Miss Eve, when stripping for a woman of authority brought thrill, concern in baring myself for unknown women has returned.

“You need to be prepared,” Miss Theresa sternly informs, looking at the completed questionnaire. “Miss Matsumoto is very particular concerning the Saturday evening presentations. Penis of eight inches. Last ejaculated a week ago,” reading aloud from the questionnaire. “You should stand nicely for us... assuming you’ve not been untruthful,” looking to me with a smirk. “So strip!”


I lie stripped naked, baring myself for the two dour clinicians, supine on the rock hard massage table as my entire form is subjected to what is termed preparation. Such includes a confirming measurement of my penis and the removal of hair... every strand... strong depilatory lotion... a straight edged razor for the sensitive pink flesh.   

I find myself hardening, not fazing the women, possibly bringing quirky delight.

This preparation reminds of Miss Eve of course, those Friday afternoons when she battled the onslaught of pubic hair, shaving with caring diligence.

I miss her. Since our separation, I have never developed what one would term normal relations with women. I date, I copulate, yet there is no intimacy. How can one explain that the apex of any sexual encounter for me is when a demanding woman penetrates me anally, diddles then counts to three?

The later years of escapades with Miss Eve, while she attended college and I completed high school, included thrilling yet frustrating lessons in female anatomy. Penis caged in steel, the jock strap was deemed superfluous for my chores in the lady’s locker room. And since my member was no longer considered threatening by those eschewing the male gender, not able to harden in mocking male triumph, I was permitted to gaze all I desired. And I did.

As stated, the women using the facility were young. serious in their exercise. And the resulting forms of pulchritude, one after the other parading from the shower, were breathtaking. Yes, I gawked, and yes they teased, some pointing to the mesh of steel and snickering... female triumph.

Scrubbing the floor one afternoon, the end of a particularly hard workout on a hot day, Miss Eve finished her longer more grueling regimen, strolling by as I scoured. She noted the rivulets of sweat, perspiring despite total nudity.

“You’re too wet to ride in my car, Matt,” peeling off her tee shirt.

I look up. She is sudoriferous as well, her tight sports bra soaked and clinging like wall paper.

“Come, the girls can’t be too upset when your penis is locked up like that,” beckoning for me to rise and follow.

What a glorious end to a demanding afternoon of exercise and chores. To her locker I watched mesmerized as my goddess stripped herself of the soaked gym garb, turned and let my eyes feast. As always the combination of power and perfect shape thrilled, the muscling flawless. I was too transfixed to move an inch as her hand lowered and a grip I know to be both potent and tender enclosed about the scrotal sac beneath the cock cage.

“Come, I’ve bathed you often enough.”

During my tenure at the gym, I was not permitted to shower, riding home with Miss Eve in grimy gym clothes, eager for a hot shower. So I was somewhat excited when, using my balls as a leash, she led to the large open shower area. There I was privileged, for the most part, it was the first time I was to touch her chiseled form.

“I need to be freed... of the cage, Miss Eve,” I confessed in soaping buttocks of granite, feeling my penis swelling and fighting the steel.

As I recall, I was age 17 at the time, hormones raging, barely able to constrain myself between the ritual Friday afternoon bath and masturbation.       

Miss Eve smiled, parting her feet to offer better access to her inner thighs. There was not to be one inch of her flesh denied to my cleansing hands.

“Control, Matt. I have it and you need to learn it.”

Later, cleansed, showered and dressed, I was very disappointed when, in passing the reception desk of the gym, Miss Eve took the key to my cock cage but did not release me, as had been the normal protocol.

“I’ll bring this back later,” she announced to the smiling owner.

The woman of Sapphos laughed knowingly.

“It’s for the best,” was her only comment.

Thereafter, my self control, always questioned, was supplanted by Miss Eve’s control.

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