This will be the last posted segment.
Days after my milking, with hormone levels restored, I need exercise, quelling the craving for climactic release that will never come.
To the gym, always attired in the tight pink shorts, I wave to my keyholder Miss Elizabeth and find an isolated treadmill machine, my attire always giving rise to mocking glances. As I begin my workout I think of the forthcoming Sunday. It will be the first of the month... a predawn workout with Miss Elizabeth restraining my wrists, unlocking my penis, pressing home the egg shaped anal insertion and supervising as I both exercise and pump away the nasty sludge.
Feet pounding, I do the first mile as quickly as I can. Then as the program goes to cool down mode, the pace a little faster than a quick walk, Miss Elizabeth approaches.
“I’ll stretch you at 8:00 p.m. You’ll be nude for me of course. But we’ll need to talk. The Sunday morning thing... I’m tiring of it. It’s a pain getting up that early.”
Yes, as I have realized of late, Miss Elizabeth is losing the enthusiasm for presiding over me... me and my emancipated penis. Still I must protest.
“But how will I...”
“You won’t. You don’t need to shave there any more. And if you just lather up the steel cage while taking a shower it will be clean enough. So there’s no reason to unlock you.”
The callous words bring to mind Miss Monique’s analogy... her course of action akin to tearing the wings off an insect. No empathy!
“And the key? I can have it?”
“Of course not Mr. Partland, that would empower you... and Monique Von Buren advised that should never happen. I’ll give some thought about what to do with it,” a hand going to the blue lanyard about her neck and palming to jubilantly show the odd shaped key.
Miss Elizabeth steps away, leaving me to my thoughts. I mull over the recent milking session with Miss Monique... and the offer to have me conditioned... the release of nasty sludge without hardening for her... and without the need for benumbing ice. Thus assuring there would be no reason to ever again be unlocked for purposes of hormonal release and prostate health. Yet why not have Miss Elizabeth return the key to my former keyholder... then there would be no reason to endure the conditioning.
With the treadmill slowing, to an idle walk, I better focus... realization dawning. As much as I find perverted joy in submitting to a woman’s tutelage, hours of the day wondering if full ecstatic climax will ever again come, the women who control my libido have needs as well. Miss Monique makes a good living possessing so many keys, guiding the ultimate... if ever allowed... pleasure of so many males. But certainly there is a more mundane and perhaps more lucrative manner of making a living for a woman of her refinement.
And Miss Elizabeth, so young but not so much allowing herself to enter the quirky world of feminine control, but instead eagerly immersing herself... to the point that even as ennui has crept into our rendevous of nude stretching, she’ll not consider relinquishing the key to he who is in most desire.
Yes, the women of governance have needs as well. With that notion there comes more realization... subconsciously I have been as eager to meet their needs as they meeting mine.
Miss Elizabeth is to decide what to do with my key... not I... the submissive masochist who has so willingly surrendered.
The preprogrammed exercise routine ends. Knowing the wet pink spandex of my tight shorts... transformed to a bikini bottom in riding into the crack of my ass... now perfectly outlines the steel mesh of my cock cage, I grab my towel and wrap it about my waist.
Time for stretching... time to visit the aerobics room... time to disrobe... time to submit... time to pose... time to feel the burn of outlandish tension on tendons forced to accede to a woman’s bidding.
I sit, thighs well parted, feet well to the right and left, close to forming a straight line with my shoulders, back arched. Of late, adding to the stress, hands to the back of my head as always, but bent arms as high as possible, elbows back... “further, further, now hold...” Miss Elizabeth’s young authoritative voice directing.
She stands to my front, looking to see fluid already beginning to slither to the mat, satisfied that the challenging pose awakens the pubo coccygeus muscles and that the reproductive system of this chaste male humbly weeps under her auspices. Then she moves to gather my clothing, keeping my towel at the ready should there be an interloper.
I hear the room door behind me open and close and know that once again there is no covering should there be a sudden urge for modesty, only my towel... to be offered at her whim.
In returning, Miss Elizabeth stands behind, the flesh of her bare thighs enticingly pressed to my back.
“I’ve spoken to Monique,” her arms lowering over my shoulders, hands going to my chest, tightened pectoral muscles thrusting forth my male mammary glands. “Kept her apprized of your continued obedience and discipline.”
Fingers going to my nipples, the girl is inherently aware that the neglect of male organs leads to inordinate sensitivity. As she leans, the blue lanyard, color matching my tattooed scrotum, slips from about her neck, grazing my folded hands, the attached key temptingly hanging at my right ear.
Shall I grab it and dash away? The fear of never again being unlocked brings desperate thoughts. In further reflection I realize the return of my clothing would be in jeopardy... only a towel left for covering... should I be able to wrest it from her strong hands.
“She told me she has offered to condition you... to achieve orgasm without the need for the key.”
Yes, I am wont to explain... a ruined orgasm... dribbling the nasty sludge from a penis untouched and remaining encased in steel... no ecstatic ejaculation. There would be no manly eruption!
Not being privy to the full relationship... all that was exchanged... I decide to remain silent and listen.
“Guess you’d essentially be impotent... soft and limp all the time,” Miss Elizabeth suppressing a girlish giggle... the wings coming off more insects. “So she wouldn’t need the key back... told me the best way to convince you of the need for conditioning would be to toss it away.”
Stunned, I lurch. With Miss Elizabeth’s proximity she feels my paroxysmal response, giggle now fully forthcoming.
Then comes more shocking cerebral input... I hear the room door open... a visitor enters unseen behind me.
“Stay,” Miss Elizabeth commands in feeling me begin to rise in panic.
“More stretching. He’s such a good boy.”
The pleasant voice is that of the aerobics instructor. Last week being a few minutes early and interrupting just at the end of our session, this week she is a full thirty minutes early. It cannot be happenstance.
“Good evening, Joan,” Miss Elizabeth equally pleasant, seemingly inviting the woman to join us.
Fortunately the towel is again tossed to my front, covering my pubes, my blue balls, my steel cock cage, and the small but rapidly growing puddle of viscous fluid. Still I close my eyes, my nakedness, my pose of submission bringing shame. In hearing soft footsteps on the exercise mat, I know the woman has moved to my front, no doubt visually inspecting much more leisurely than last week’s encounter, more composed in basically being aware that I awkwardly submit myself to such exposure.
“Don’t let me interrupt. Aerobics class doesn’t begin until nine... but I’m still to learn what the towel is covering. You don’t stretch him completely nude, do you Liz?”
“Well you’ve made Joan curious, Robert. Curious enough that she’s made a special visit to watch me work you... see you perform for me. Want to show her?”
I think of Miss Monique’s suggestion... more or less a command... that I expose myself... explain my predilection... my need... to cede control of my sexuality. ‘Share with her in detail the full extent of your quirky needs. Maybe her opinion of you as a creep will change.’
“You may lower your hands now Robert. You’ve stretched enough. Then you can decide if you want to show yourself to Joan.”
And explain in full detail the extend of my quirky needs? I ask myself as my arms lower and I grasp the terrycloth.
I look up into the handsome face. Gym attire somewhat detracts from natural beauty... make up impractical. But as one can expect, the Joan woman is in shape, tights clinging to well honed legs, buttocks sculpted, breasts of possible size compressed by a tight sports bra. Her dark brown hair is drawn back in a pony tail, offering a youthful appearance despite her thirty something age.
She is vibrant, as one would expect of a woman leading rigorous exercise classes. I cannot help thinking that the same perkiness which brought trainer Elizabeth Doyer to shrug off my depraved needs and find interest in feminine power and control may enure to aerobics instructor Joan as well. Thus there comes a gambit... will pulling away the towel give rise to shock and disdain... or will the woman find a similar level of interest... as with Miss Elizabeth stepping into my need for training and conditioning... eventually leading to the possession of my key... well... a controlling woman’s key.
Yet there’s a telling element about this second encounter. Instructor Joan holds cradled in her arms my clothing, gym shoes atop, which she gathered from the hall outside the room. There is a subtle message. On this evening I will not be dressing myself in the corner, the view of my naked hairless form... most importantly blue scrotum and steel cock cage... graciously shielded by Miss Elizabeth.
“I... ah... well... it’s difficult to explain... ah... how Miss Elizabeth... ah... helps... with... certain needs.”
“Just show her, Robert. It will explain itself.”
Obedience ingrained, I slip away the towel, quickly mopping up my puddle in so doing. Instructor Joan peers down as I focus on her expression.
Shock?.. disgust?.. laughter? Perhaps I should be comforted in noting her look of amusement. She places down my clothing then quietly folds her arms, slipping forth her foot. The toe of her athletic shoe pushes aside the tip of my cock cage, better exposing the compressed blue ball sac beneath. Amusement transforms to a knowing grin as she looks up to Miss Elizabeth remaining standing over my shoulders. A hand moves past my face, grasping the blue lanyard, removing from about Miss Elizabeth’s neck. Then the key is dangled before me... before instructor Joan... silently responding to the unasked question.
“Cute Liz,” instructor Joan’s hand reaching and taking the lanyard. “It matches his balls,” the light blue indeed identical to the shade of my tattooed scrotum. “A submissive... capitulating to a controlling woman. And here I thought Mr. Partland was just a creep.”