This will be the only posting.
The entire story is available at...
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/dates/23270675
Enjoy
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My Second Date
‘Have you healed?’
The missive could be interpreted as caring. But I know the woman either taunts or needs to arrange another date. Welted stripes deemed unsightly, the many marks of my caning must fade in order for me to be deemed ‘presentable for entertainment’.
‘Mostly Ma’am,’ I reply. ‘I can sit normally,’ clicking send.
‘I watched the video. You cane nicely, Mr. Long... such amusing struggles. Such futility. You’re not the first subordinate male who thinks that brawn can overcome well designed bindings.’
‘It cannot be helped. The pain is excruciating,’ such a silly reply, I think moments after clicking send.
‘Yes, and you did not vomit as do most. She’s good, my client. Extreme pain, no broken skin. Hard to believe she’s the devoted mother of three. Every woman needs to vent frustrations, Mr. Long... and in what better manner than to light up the buttocks of a man in need. Diverts your concerns over your state of chastity does it not?’
‘Yes,’ I reluctantly must agree.
‘It’s cathartic, a good brisk caning, and it is certainly within the spectrum of your paraphilia. I’m sure you have not been thinking about being drained of spunk for the past few days.’
It’s true. For two days, possibly three, the state of my locked penis has been furthest from my thoughts.
‘In the video you focused again on my museum piece... my tribute to the antebellum south and the iniquity of slavery. Men in chains. You find interest, Mr. Long. But in what manner?’
‘Historical,’ my reply a prevarication... which I am sure the woman realizes.
She ignores. No response for several minutes.
‘Another date for you, Mr. Long. My whore needs the money... among other things. Report Wednesday at 11:00 a.m. Expect to spend most of the day. And you won’t need to sit.’
‘Yes Ma’am,’ ignoring her humor.
*****
Collared, I kneel, tummy to the bench, knees parted, buttocks high, forehead to the platform.
Having been released from chastity, shaved, then returned to lock up, the assistant once again grazed the razor over my entire body then oiled.
Another date... what will this encounter bring? My heart beat races with trepidation. As I await I hear at the side door the sound of an engine, heavy, pulling up the driveway.
What is to happen? The readied collar has signified in the past that I am to be led about... on two occasions to the secluded and enclosed... hopefully enclosed... backyard of the woman. Plus there is another clue... I have not been restrained to the bench.
The kitchen door above opens. There come footsteps... not soft, not booted. There is no doubt it is my ‘date’.
The footsteps approach. Hands begin smoothing over my hairless oiled skin. Smooth yet firm, such pinch and prod. I am being inspected, a barnyard animal. Considered for slaughter?
The hands draw my wrists behind my back. I am cuffed, rapidly, the woman either in law enforcement or distressingly experienced in restraining a man. The footsteps move to the wall. I then feel fingers about my collar. With a click, I am leashed.
“Come. Up!"
Commands! It is rare. On past visits not a word has been exchanged. My first date, caned in complete silence other than my sobbing and girlish shrieks.
Responding to the tug on the leash, the voice is firm but feminine. I stand and if my sense of direction serves me, she leads to the stairs where I have entered, not those to the backyard.
Step up, step up, step up, she patiently pulls. To the side door I hear the electronic lock release. The door opens. I feel the outdoor air wafting. It reminds of the quick and furtive dashes up the driveway, quirkily thrilled and exposed in nakedness.
Hooded and leashed, there can be no dashes. Yet exposed, yes. But not for long. I am directed to a vehicle, my shin pressing against metal.
“Step up, follow the leash. Be a good boy for me,” the words calm and matronly.
How many... how often... has this woman led about?
I enter. The vehicle must be a van, hopefully without windows. I am pressed to lie down. I feel the leash being tied off. Then cuffs encircle my ankles and I am restrained, made one with whatever will transport me. I am being abducted.
*****
“Cute body, Nancy. Is he handsome?” the voice of a young woman gushes as a hand smooths along various limbs, then pauses to teasingly tweak my left nipple.
I am shamed to find it feels good.
“I saw a video of him. Yes, he’s more than acceptable, but you know we have to keep him sightless. Bridge club rules.”
I am harnessed, held in full body suspension. And the feel of deep carpeting brushing my toes before being hoisted into the air suggests I am not restrained in a dungeon but instead in this Nancy woman’s livingroom or diningroom.
Whatever is this harness I am strapped into, it is resourcefully comfortable... physically acceptable. But emotionally the notion quickly dawns that my nudity can be displayed for hours without need for respite. How wicked!
“What of the rest of him? His little thing is covered in steel,” the young woman’s voice turning rueful as a hand palms my scrotal sac. “And he’s secreting. Some goo dripping from his little pee pee,” the tone mocking.
“I have the key. And you can be the one to release him, Adrian. As soon as the other girls arrive.”
“Can we jerk him off... after the games?”
“That’s extra. But his file indicates he responds most obediently to...”
I am chagrined when in completing the thought my keeper’s voice turns to a whisper and girlish giggling follows.
“Really! Operant conditioning. Read about it. Did not think it would work other than on dogs and other pets.”
“It does for the likes of this one. You have to want to submit to it... cede to a woman’s authority and control. And trust me, this one is wallowing in perverse delight right now.”
There comes silence as I hear chairs moved and glass and dishware being placed about. Then the doorbell rings, more women enter and I feel my penis fighting its cage. Why?
Why does it so much want to show off?
More hands, more inspection, more female voices, fingers pinch my buttocks. A woman, timbre of voice suggesting maturity, a hand grazing about to bring goose bumps, finds particular interest.
“He’s nicely smooth and kept hairless, Nancy. I like that in a boy. What do you know of him?”
“Name is Edwin Long. Out of work design engineer... low on cash... but not low on depravity. Anything more, you can read his file online.”
The explanation shocks. First the mention of a file concerning me... then learning such can be accessed online!
“When you’re ready to shuffle and deal, I’ll plug him and Adrian will unlock him,” hostess Nancy explains. “He’ll put on quite the show for us, I’ve been assured. But do remember we’re here to play bridge.”
More girlish giggles. In playing bridge I know there are at least four women observing my helpless hanging nakedness.
“And later Adrian wants to jerk him off... which is extra. $50 per hand for anyone who wants to watch.”
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