'To Come on Command', Segment Three

Visiting an Alpha Woman - Michael Devereau

I’ve learned the lingo... that the so termed bulls that Nickie dates are alpha males. And as I lie on my side, naked on a padded examination table covered with an antiseptically clean white sheet, I must suppose Dr. Michelle White is an alpha female.

Haughty, no nonsense, apparent disdain for men, as a gynecologist it seems for the fairer gender she dispenses more than medical care but advice as well.

“Yes, they all masturbate... and most to excess. So it’s for the best.”

The doctor and wife Nickie talk as if I am not present. I am a thing... an object to be examined and discussed. And for some reason my nakedness in the presence of two regal fully clad women brings arousal. I am shamefully hardening. And the more this Dr. Michelle looks at me the firmer I become.  

“He’s been circumcised high and tight,” she notes. “Not much foreskin to work with... but that doesn’t mean there is lack of pleasure in stroking the penis,” such clinical observation. “And I do believe he’d be indecorously wanking now given some lubricant.”

“You see the problem, Michelle,” Nickie pointing, her words bringing further stiffness. “You’re drooling Mike, stop it.”

I am, pre ejaculatory fluid streaming.

“Well, after I’ve done him, you’re going to either accept the messiness or have him jerk off for you... which would counter our intention,” Dr. Michelle advises.

“I’ll keep him drained... initially,” my wife’s words bringing contrasting thoughts.

“So let’s got started. Just some piercings, Mr. Devereau. Pin pricks,” the doctor holding forth a frighteningly long and curved needle. “Nicole can you bend back his right leg and hold his knee high and well out of the way for me?”

Nickie steps to the opposite side, gently grasps my right ankle and pulls to bring it to my right cheek. In awe, overwhelmed but the scenario and the verbal input, I meekly yield to her.

“Now lift Nicole. I’ll need access to his privates... obviously. Part his thighs as widely as possible. And be a good boy for me, Mr. Devereau,” the latter words coming with a forced smile of professional politeness.

I’m a good boy, finding myself lifting to assist, sensing the cool room air waft over my scrotum and anus.

And it begins... the beginning of the new paradigm. I am to be placed in chastity... penis under lock and key. And my wife has concurred with the imposing Dr. Michelle in deciding to do so in a very tantalizing and tempting manner. For there will be no clumsy device, no steel or plastic covering. I will be able to touch myself at any time. I will play and toy. My manhood just won’t stand without my wife’s consent.

A guiche piercing at my perineum, the piercing needle exiting within my rectum. In inserting a thickly gauged ring of steel through the opening, I will constantly feel something abrading a most intimate part of my anatomy.

It hurts, but for some reason I further harden. Dr. Michelle of course taking note, again speaking as if tending to an object...

“You may consider occasionally applying pain, Nickie. If you love him, give him what he seems to crave,” her smirk most irritating.

But then my priapic response is to end.

A Prince Albert piercing, horribly deep, the penetrating needle entering my urethral opening and exiting the underside of my penis well down the shaft with agony.

I deflated, the women laughing with my timid squeal.

“The ring will take quite a bit of tension the way I pierced him,” the doctor advises holding up not a circle but an equally thick ellipse of matching stainless steel. “Deep. If it ever does tear away he’ll lose most of his little thing.”

Just as distressing as the weightiness, part of the surface of the ellipse, at the penis tip, is scabrous. I judge that brushing with a finger may cause injury!

“You’ll probably need to buy a leather thong for him. This will tear up any tight fitting underwear,” the words coming as gloved fingers carefully insert the open ellipse into my urethral opening and out the piercing some two inches down the shaft.

The ring and ellipse closed and soldered for permanence, more advice comes.

“My husband was a chronic masturbator. And clever... and deceitful. Nothing seemed to work... until I castrated him. Now his attention is better focused,” Dr. Michelle lectures.

“Castrated?” my wife so nonchalantly prompts for more.

“Oh, yes. It’s the ultimate cure. And I’ve countered his deceit with some of my own. The injections I give him which he thinks are testosterone are actually a mix of prolactin and estrogen. I feel like a farmer fattening a hog. He’s not only nicely plumping for me but growing breasts as well. He does not understand why. Someday I’ll tell him... after the physical change is no longer reversible.”

“Did you hear that, Mike? Perhaps I’m being lenient with you... and that can easily end with any disobedience.”

Nickie’s warning comes as the doctor hands her a small padlock.

“He’s flaccid. No ice needed. It’s symbolic that you do the honors.”

Nickie does. Stepping forth my wife is surprisingly nimble in looping a finger into the Prince Albert ellipse, utilizing it to draw back my penis toward my anus and locking together my two steel piercings.

“The tip of the ring has some sharpness... by design. So he’ll walk a little funny for the next few days until he adapts. It’s always amusing to learn how they explain loping about to their colleagues.”

The women step back, standing shoulder to shoulder assessing.

“Why don’t I take some measurements for you Nicole... in case you want some... other trinkets.”

My wife nods.

“Ok, Mr. Devereau. Up on all fours... like a little doggie.”

For some reason I cede to the woman who so callously used my anatomy as a pin cushion assuming the position, one again becoming an object to be poked, prodded and discussed.

“He’s not much of a specimen,” the doctor notes as calipers gauge various body parts... wrists, ankles, neck, testicles.