'Keyholder' Segment V

To the gym... in my tight pink spandex shorts. It’s Wednesday, my nasty sludge drained from me... prostate milked... six days ago. It may be my imagination but the hormones seem to build faster now... like some systemic reaction defying me. Just when I need to calm myself, being locked in chastity, the need for sexual release seems to build faster and strengthen each day. 

I enter, trainer Elizabeth Doyer pleasantly smiles and waves to me, not a hint as to her firm instructing words which ended our phone call. I wave back and head to the treadmills, again finding an isolated machine in the back row, my partially exposed buttocks soon to be almost fully exposed as I churn out miles of leg work.

Yes, many miles, the exhaustion seems to help. But then come thoughts of the stretching. Elizabeth’s words seem to haunt... that ‘special stretching I have you do for me’.

Is there eagerness to so subject myself... and do so under the duress of near nakedness?

She’s young... Miss Elizabeth Doyer... and demanding... as her calling dictates in mandating performance from gym members aspiring to physical improvement. Why I am mentally transforming her aura to give rise sexual attraction? 

Shapely and pretty yes. But being a half generation younger, the girl is far from being the maternal governess that is Miss Monique Von Buren.

I complete my treadmill work, drenched, the pink spandex darkened and clingy. I grab a towel, holding at my waist to cloak the outline of my caged cock, and pull at the spandex behind to better cover my butt. I head to the empty aerobics room. Trainer Elizabeth sees me, strolling to join.

“Kind of cool... you wearing what I told you to wear. Is that part of the game?”

With her quest she grabs my towel, pulling away with surprising strength... which in fact should not surprise at all.

My caged status in jeopardy, in facing away from most of the other gym members there is limited concern. But her brazenness... being so assertive... is telling. She knows not of what I have termed a game... but seems so willing to join in. 

Into the aerobics room, Liz sits not as she usually does in welcoming me to the stretching mat. Instead she stands arms akimbo and my demented psyche clicks in, going to obedience and adoration mode for the authoritative female. Her look is one of expectation... transforming to... have you forgotten, Mr. Partland?

I have not. As stated I just want to adore. But then trainer Elizabeth presses the point, stepping forth, hands reaching to my hips, fingers grasping my pink garb, pulling and arranging such that the material bunches into my cleft, the lower hem rides up over my hips. The garment again becomes a bikini bottom. Then she points to the floor and I know to meekly sink to the mat, untying my running shoes and removing my socks.

“Shirt?” finally speaking. “Your choice remember?”

I nod. I remove. I toss away. And before this aspiring woman of dominance I present myself nearly nude. Twinges come. Despite the heavy work out, sitting nearly naked before the fully clothed minx awakes what I am trying to quell.  

“Telling, Mr. Partland. Very telling. Your willingness to expand your game.”

It is. I need to divert my thoughts, hands going to the back of my head, legs straight in front of me, feet slowly parting to assume the demanded pose of Miss Monique. Liz does not join me. She is in thought. Then she steps between my thighs, her right foot sliding forth, the toe greeting the spandex where it remains covering the steel mesh. 

“Would you like to show that to me?”

The words are more of a directive than a question. And I can’t help thinking the girl is placing great reliance on the aerobics room remaining unoccupied. But perhaps that is more of my concern at this point.

Still my right hand lowers and I pull to the side the pink covering, my steel cage... Miss Monique’s steel cage... glinting in the lights.

Trainer Elizabeth now more fully inspects... unabashedly. As she peers, her arm reaches forth, fingers going to my left nipple. It instantly crinkles to her touch. Below there come more twinges.

“You could not have taken that photo you sent me... both hands on the back of your head as they are now. It was not a selfie. You posed for someone. A woman? The text said this thing only comes off at a woman’s behest,” toe pressing more firmly.  

“Yes, ma’am,” immediately regretting the meekness of my response.

“I like that... ma’am... makes me feel older... but like I am in charge.”

I am wont to say she is... in charge. But instead choose silence. I decide the burn of special stretching will counter the unwanted arousal. But I am in no position to make demands. I have more or less relinquished any authority I may have had as a gym member and client.

Finally my trainer lowers herself, legs parting widely... and with ease... sitting such that her feet are touching mine and we are breathing on one another. Her hands lower... but not to my legs and thighs. Instead, her left hand strongly pulls the spandex at my crotch and her right reaches beneath to palm my ball sac, warm, smooth and made hairless.

It feels so good. My penis begins to fight its steel enclosure in earnest. Her fingers slip under the encircling control ring as best they can. I am subjected to much more examination than on my last visit to the aerobics room. 

“You’re well shaved again... a little stubble... but certainly less then when I felt you up before. Though locked up, someone cares for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” there I go again.... ‘ma’am. “It’s... well... hair can get caught and bring lots of pain when in chastity.”    

“So that’s what you call this... this game... chastity.”

I nod, wishing she’d remove her hand and fingers... yet not wishing. My desire more toward being unlocked and letting her have her way with me. Alas it will not happen... it cannot happen.

“Suppose I just have you remove these silly shorts... stretch you completely in the nude... except for this metal thing. You seemed to enjoy stretching on that table in the photo... least your penis seemed to enjoy.”

I nod.

“Yes, I know your reply, Mr. Partland... part of the game. Well I have something to add to the game. Stand, take off your shorts... bare yourself for me like a good boy. And we’ll play.”

Yes, a minx. Must I obey? The room is empty. Though remaining shy with women outside the genre... women such as Miss Monique... Miss Elizabeth... did I really mentally refer to her as Miss?.. has astutely pointed out there’s not much remaining about which to be shy.

I stand, pulling down the pink spandex. Miss Elizabeth rises, gathering shirt, shoes, socks... and then pausing... knowing I will relinquish the sole garment of pink that is left to me.

She takes and merrily strolls for the exit door.

“Sit and stretch for me, like a good boy. I’ll be back with your clothes in a while... or would you prefer I send in the aerobics instructor with your covering. You can explain the game to her as well.”