Saturday, September 24, 2016
The Arrangement II
“Well, back again so soon.”
The familiar voice of Ms. Juliette grasps his attention. She enters the training room. Professionally attired, her authoritative demeanor detracts from her otherwise radiant appearance, jet black hair, dark eyes, make up modest but precise. Her comportment is that of a businesswoman, certainly not a woman who earns her living shaping men of low self esteem.
Chris Bellows humbly falls to his knees hoping that any conversation will be accompanied by the turn of the key in the formidable lock of the chastity belt. Fortunately, Ms. Juliette is as eager to free his penis as he is. She graciously stoops, key in hand. The lock springs open.
“The belt is working nicely Chris. Your hormones must be overflowing.”
She playfully caresses his right nipple as Nurse Ingrid removes the belt. The imposing nurse momentarily disappears. The well designed device will be cleansed, a procedure as simple as placing it in a dishwasher.
For the first time in seven days, Chris Bellows’ genitals are free. As Ms. Juliette watches his penis rise in salute, she smiles. Its firmness is for her and only for her. But for her key wielding hand, it would continue to be entrapped under steel. For her the psychological dominance is not only pleasing... it’s arousing.
So after ten weeks of complete chastity Chris Bellows’ organ is again free to show off... and it does. Rising to full erection before the two fully clothed women in a futile demonstration of male hubris, both nurse and Ms. Juliette smile. The organ stands for their amusement not his. And both chuckle as Chris’s right hand spasmodically tugs against its bond. It so much wants to stroke the tantalizingly hard shaft. The women find enjoyment in the feeble effort.
“Bad boy Chris. You wanted to be controlled and controlled you are.
“How is your writing? I wager it’s as deliciously kinky as always.”
Chris nods. In fact, it is. With his hormones surging the words cascade from the word processor. With his male machismo engaging in a raging battle with his need for submission... for the first time in his life the testosterone is losing. Ten weeks... not only deprived of the ability to ejaculate but also of the capacity to merely stroke his neglected penis.
So often he feels the urge, his manhood knocking on the steel barrier of his belt. And so often the only possible response is to concentrate, write, and fantasize about the upcoming weekly visit to Ms. Juliette’s lair. And now he is here and his male appendage shows its appreciation.
“We’ll talk later, Chris. Be a good boy for Nurse Ingrid now.”
The smiling dominatrix, a master at extracting psychological submission, bends and diddles the exposed underside of Chris Bellows’ standing phallus. It wriggles as if to thank the woman who has so graciously set it free. She chortles at the reaction.
‘Will she not just stroke it for me?’ Chris thinks to himself.
As she turns to step out, Nurse Ingrid establishes herself.
“On the table please, Mr. Bellows. We have work to do.”
Chris stands and feels the assuring comfort of his heavy scrotal sac swing between his thighs. At least it’s still there, he thinks with some satisfaction... though useless except for the amusement of Ms. Juliette.
The weighty stock makes all movement laborious. He carefully steps onto a small stool resting next to the shining metal table then places one calve and then the other on the smooth surface. He knows to kneel with his knees well parted. Nurse Ingrid insists on complete access to every inch of his flesh and every aperture. Resistance during his first visit resulted in convincing twists and pinches of his gonads. He learned to obey and extinguish all thoughts of resistance.
The tall and powerful nurse begins the day. For the next thirty minutes his entire body will be examined, shaven and cleansed. Nothing will escape her inquisitive hands and fingers and Chris has written enough D/s erotica to understand it is the ultimate in mental submission. Kneeling naked under bright lights and forced to display everything. To have all his anatomy offered to the knowing eyes and fingers. Just having to widely part his lips while Nurse Ingrid rummaged about within his mouth and throat could take a toll. The arrangement necessitated such payment and coinage came in the form of complete subservience.
He recalls his first visit where, after the huge nurse was through with him, he sat and was ‘counseled’ by Ms. Juliette. Chris was notably disquieted by the experience and even after ten weeks he finds the nurse’s brusque treatment of his uncovered body difficult to mentally accept. He had to pose the question. Ms. Juliette answered.
“Where did I find Nurse Ingrid? Why I simply ran an ad in the Nursing Journal, Chris. She’s actually quite an experienced nurse who finds her regular weekly job rather boring. The notion of having part time employment on Saturday afternoons was attractive only because the ad specified the need for a stern woman who would be furnished with unfettered access to a special male patient in providing unusual treatment.
“Yes, don’t look surprised. Though unfortunately suppressed by various standards of deportment, most nurses have latent desires to control... to be completely in charge. To entice them, one just has to use the right code words in the ad. The ethics of the profession are rather strict about the special care aspect. Except for here, of course, where there is no need for concern,” the words coming with a laugh.
“And I think I chose wisely... wouldn’t you agree?”
Chris had to admit the nurse made good use of her ‘unfettered access’. She had shaved is entire body with a straight razor. From the neck down all hair was removed. It proved to be a frightening experience... but not a nick resulted... not even around the nooks and crannies of his testicles, perineum and anus. And she repeats the removal every week.
So once again he kneels as the nurse’s soapy hands knead and caress his genitals. It feels
so good after seven days of entrapment. Yet, she is so careful not to cause ejaculation, keeping the trained fingers of her left hand on the tactile area between his rectum and his scrotal sac. She knows it to be a barometer of his level of arousal. When the nurse feels him quavering there, she immediately withdraws, admonishing him to control his neglected maleness.
He must obey. And he does.
“You’re becoming nicely toned, Mr. Bellows,” the nurse having massaged and felt every limb and muscle.
“Amazing what a little change in diet and some exercise can do.”
The nurse is correct. No stimulants. No alcohol. No red meat. Mountains of fruit and vegetables. But to what end? To keep his publisher happy? So he can better entertain Ms. Juliette? To satisfy some quest... that she has the power to mold the male body... to have a subjugated male amuse her for longer and longer periods with an erection that will not subside?
Gloved fingers probe his anus. He feels abundant lubricant and hears a soft laugh as one digit and then a second penetrate. The nurse is all too familiar with the male anatomy.
“Your prostate is swollen. We’ll take care of that on our next visit.”
The fingers withdraw but in their place is inserted a rubber plug. He has come to expect it. There is no probe or procedure to which he can object. His body is open, exposed and vulnerable to all the nurse wishes to impose. There are no limits.
With a hiss of air the diabolical implement expands, completely filling his backside. His penis waggles in response and, though there is minor discomfort, he knows he cannot expel the expanse of rubber. It will stay until the nurse releases the air and with mocked ceremony slides it out. It greatly adds to the humiliation of his ordeal, forcing his manhood to achieve previously unattainable levels of rigidness.