'Keyholder' Segment III

 “So there are now three of us who know your penis is under lock and key... your sexual needs under a woman’s control.”

My weekly visit with Miss Monique. As always I am fidgeting in need, trying to calm myself in drinking another glass of water, gazing at my divine and majestic keyholder.

Miss Monique goads, knowing of trainer Elizabeth’s awareness. I did not inform her, such became apparent as the stultifying session of stretching in the aerobics room came to an end. As part of the game, I needed a photo, I explained... me and my trainer together. I did not suggest it was needed to evidence the mandate of exercising in brief pink shorts. But my trainer concurred and I retrieved my cell phone. As we stood together and posed, my right arm about her shoulders, left arm extended in aligning the camera, there came a well timed motion. Elizabeth’s right arm crossed over, going to my crotch, a hand pushing aside the spandex to bring fully into view the shiny steel of my cock cage... just as I clicked.

In shock, I reached down and righted my garment, pleasantly insisting that I needed another photo... one not displaying the idiosyncrasy of a chastity device. But trainer Elizabeth simply smiled and strolled away.

I had nothing else... no other evidence... to show Miss Monique that I had complied with her directives. With the room beginning to fill with the 9:00 p.m. class, my evening ended. When I rejoined Elizabeth in the large weight room, she casually smiled.

‘Guess you’re not going to shower here,’ she flippantly remarked as I then decided to humbly head for the door.

“How did you... how do you feel knowing that some naive teenaged girl is aware of your condition... knows of your depravity?”

“It was... frightening. She just... well... in doing the stretching thing... I suppose she suspected something... you know... before the tight shorts. Guess the spandex... ah... sort of confirmed it.”

“You became excited... exposing your condition?”

I sheepishly nod, recalling closing my eyes during the stretch. Was I giving permission... almost inviting? Dear Elizabeth... look closely... perhaps touch... confirm your suspicions. I am a man under a woman’s control.

Miss Monique sips her wine. I finish a fourth glass of water. I will be proud tonight... quite piss proud. I can feel her directing fingers holding my penis as I humbly fill a bowl for her... eventually... her command to commence always withheld... and withheld.     

She stands. Taking my glass, to the kitchen. I wait... always to wait. Fidgeting in my obedience.

“Come, come Robert... to be shaved... to be drained. Let’s see if you can properly perform for me tonight.”

I dash to the kitchen, stripping naked, eagerly adjusting the table.

“Get your cell phone, Robert,” her tone pleasant but I know her words to be a command.

I have not the temerity nor the inclination to delay things by questioning. I return to my slacks, pull from the pocket and place the phone on the table, mounting and assuring my steel encased package drapes over the gap. My hands go to the back of my head, legs parting to the point of discomfort, toes pointing. I can feel twinges. I need to urinate of course, but as my hormones surge in expectation such need dissipates, transforming to the need to climax.

Will it happen? 

“Light blue,” reminding in my eagerness of the key color.

Miss Monique steps to the table, nodding, placing down the sudsy bowl and razor.

“Remember, Robert. Long term subjugants get tattooed... right here,” a hand lowering, the tip of her index finger grazing over the exposed front of my scrotum. “Requires a special artist... with the thin skin of your ball sac care must be taken. And hygienics... you’d not want an infection here.”

I nod, hoping that my gesture is not perceived as one of concurrence... that I will have my privates so permanently colored and marked. It’s a game, I remind myself. And all games end. Though it would seem not for all of Miss Monique’s clients.

The key, the click, I close my eyes knowing of the penile suffering as the bulbous tip of the urethral tube is slipped away. Though gently done, there is suffering.

“Perhaps a longer tube for you, Robert... with a bigger bulb... keep your prostate stimulated. And you’ll better feel me... more aware of what you’ve given away.”

Despite the terrifying notion, my penis springs to life. I subtly shake my head... refusing but hopefully not annoying she who is about to bring such relief. Then I open my eyes peering down to see am I fully engorged... and so quickly. And I also see Miss Monique pick up my cell phone.

She steps back and clicks... a photo. It is apparent she captures my entire subjugated form... naked... so obediently posed... balls hanging low... purple penis tip standing high.

I am about to protest the invasion of privacy... but choose to remain silent. I do not wish to aggravate... and it is my phone... the photo to be simply deleted... curtailing more of Miss Monique’s hijinks.  

“Your trainer... her name?”

“Elizabeth Doyer.”

“I think that will become Miss Elizabeth Doyer to you, Robert.”

I am horrified to see her scroll through my contact list. In an instant, her finger presses.

“And now you and Elizabeth will have something to talk about... what is under my mass of steel... what it is you have chosen to subject to a woman’s caprice.”

Shocked... I search for words. Miss Monique simply gazes at me, her smile wickedly mirthful.

“Look again at the photo you sent me... you and your trainer at the gym. Study the look on her face. Not where her hand is... not what it is doing as you snapped the picture. Don’t look at your cock cage... see her look of calm confidence in handling you. A rather precocious girl, Robert, no reservations in touching you there. And it’s telling that you did not delete the photo. No, you sent it to me as instructed... but then you kept it.” 

“I don’t know what to do... what to say to her now,” finally finding words of objection.

“I think in standing before her you will be humbly silent... and she will speak. And Robert... look at you... you protest but your penis is firmer than ever.”

I look down. The incident has indeed seemed to bring more strange delight, pre ejaculatory fluid oozing.

“Now let’s get you shaven and cleaned... and then see if you can properly perform for me. We may have to extend your intervals of lock up time, Robert... if you don’t ejaculate for me like a good boy.”

*****

I depart Miss Monique’s with conflicting thoughts and feelings. To the good, I have been once again drained. I am physically becalmed. To the bad, I simply and meekly oozed my essence... my nasty sludge as Miss Monique so termed... my keyholder slowly milking my prostate... methodically, clinically, mechanically.

She cooed encouraging words... for me to concentrate... to pull on my ejaculatory muscles and erupt... to perform for her. I failed... fluid turning to thick white... streaming down my untouched erection to my dangling scrotal sac. 

More distress comes in checking my cell phone before starting the car. Indeed trainer Elizabeth Doyer was texted my image... my posed, naked and erect image. And worse there was added a message... the cage only comes off at a woman’s behest.

To the recipient such would seem to be a subtle invitation. Will trainer Elizabeth Doyer understand the words are not mine?

And the another distressing thought... Miss Monique has changed my weekly Thursday night appointment.

‘You’re not randy enough, Robert. Between the ears you’re eager to spurt for me but physically not primed. I’ll see you a week from Sunday. See if a ten day interval is sufficient. Come in the afternoon. We can have a leisurely matinee session with a friend. Perhaps then you will perform for us’.

With a friend?

I am apprehensive... fearful. A man friend?.. or a woman friend? Aware of my kink... the exchange of power? Or to be introduced... by way of me posing... being tabled?

For the first time since our arrangement began months ago... being measured by knowing hands in ordering the custom made device, I want out... to end it. This thing... abdicating my libido to a firm woman of resolve... was supposed to be private. Bringing outsiders into the relationship... trainer Elizabeth, now a friend unknown... was not discussed. Who else is to be made aware or my proclivity... my kink?

But then comes realization... what was discussed... that I would be subordinating more than just my sexual urges. Yes, Miss Monique was specific... I would be surrendering more than my need to get off. The intense desire for climatic relief would lead further... to total capitulation.

It shall not happen! I will resist. Yet did I resist wearing tight and revealing effeminately colored shorts in public? The capitulation has begun!

More realization... reading of the precision made German cage now encapsulating what a man holds most dear. The warnings... do not lose the key... attempts to remove without may bring injury.

I have no key. And the arrangement to retrieve such from my keyholder and end the arrangement... two thousand dollars. Miss Monique Von Buren was specific about that as well. And a woman with the determination and resolve to hold over a dozen males in denial for long periods... apparently some unending... will hold fast. After all, for her it is a business... enjoyable for her, yes... her knowing smirks as she rids my glands of build up... the nasty sludge... evidencing her subdued joy... but a business. One hundred dollars per visit.

That alone is depleting my funds, the cock cage not yet even fully paid for.

No, in pulling into my apartment parking lot it dawns that I am trapped... and more than just physically.