Tabled, I comply with the demanded protocol, feet well to the right and left, aligned with my shoulders as my legs part to the extreme, back arched, hands to the back of my head, elbows drawn back and held high as Miss Elizabeth has mandated of late. My encased male package dangles in the gap of the open table. Miss Monique stands before me, arms akimbo, gazing at my blue ball sac compressed by the control ring of my chastity device.
She has placed a bowl on the floor beneath me, knowing prostatic fluid will begin to slither from the tube inserted in my urethra. She simply watches for a few moments. For some reason I know to remain silent as she revels in the joy of feminine power.
“So... the first Sunday of the month... when your anus is stuffed and you drain yourself on the treadmill. That was three weeks ago.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“You struggled when I put you on a ten day cycle. Monthly must be very hard for you.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“But your ability to pose for me is much enhanced. Your trainer has been strict.”
“Yes, ma’am,” glancing down to see that I am indeed beginning to ooze.
Noting the same, Miss Monique steps forth, an arm extending, a finger going to my cock cage, gathering a dollop of viscous fluid. She rolls it about on her thumb and forefinger as if to proclaim ownership, then raises her hand to my mouth. I know to lick clean her digits.
“I can milk you, Robert.... massage that neglected prostate. But you’ll need to stay flaccid... or bear quite a bit of pain. Attempts at erection mean sensitive penile flesh fighting tempered stainless steel.”
Yes, I realize that, wondering if I can indeed make the sacrifice in order to rid myself of the build up... calm the jitters. Then I also realize how my expectations have so drastically transformed... at one time hoping to feel the ecstasy of full orgasm in being relieved... now I hope not to feel anything at all.
“I have needs, Miss Monique,” my tone pleading.
“Yes... physical needs... but emotional as well. In ceding to being milked you’re surrendering what the male... the alpha male... expels with pride and vigor. You will meekly dribble in my bowl. It’s meaningful to you... degradingly parting with your precious essence,” Miss Monique’s words coming as she strolls to the refrigerator.
There she extracts ice, returning with a plate full and a pump bottle of unguent... a glorious bottle of unguent.
“So here’s what we’ll do. Your bladder is full, augmenting your need to harden for me. I will penetrate your rectum and massage your prostate... bring even more need to tumefy. You will thus need to concentrate and stay soft... or pay the consequences. And you can beg for some ice. Your semen will be expunged in numbness, Robert... even more unmanly.
“But there is no key. There can be no climactic release. That is not to happen.”
Miss Monique makes a show of lubricating her hands, pumping a fragrant lotion, reaching to playfully smear some on my upper lip, my nostrils filling with the scent of peaches.
She begins, stepping forth, one hand palming my blue ball sac, lifting, fingers kneading my perineum. The other hand slips further under, finding my anus, swirling about to bring a brisance of joy, then wriggling inward.
“After you’ve discharged, hormones better balanced, we’ll talk... about more conditioning. You’ll need to learn to become impotent, Robert... no erections. You may as well once and for all cede that... the ability to perform penetrative sex. It will never again happen... and you may seriously injure yourself in trying... fighting the steel. Such futility. End it Robert... stay nice and soft for the woman in charge. It will be better for you.”
I close my eyes, reveling in the faint joy of prostate massage, but indeed feeling myself engorge, swelling penis challenging the cage... and of course bringing discomfort which for sure will turn to agony.
Yet the solution... to condition myself to stay soft... limp... flaccid... no masculine exhibitions of virility... potential virility. Can that happen?.. do I want that to happen? But then my masochistic psyche clicks in... does my keyholder want that to happen?
*****
I drive home in deep thought, physically quiescent but mentally in a funk.
As Miss Monique... many years as a professional keyholder... predicted, it required little of her deft prostate massage to have me begging for benumbing ice. My penis fought... and of course lost... blossoming... trying to blossom... to full bloom within the confines of precision made German steel.
Iced, I maintained my pose, looking to see the flow of prostatic fluid turn creamy white, fingers relieving me of my sperm... my nasty sludge. Perhaps more horrifying than the initial pain was the lack thereof... nothing felt at all... as my gland and vessels were expertly milked... and milked... and milked... a thick stream exiting the catheterizing urethral tube.
Thereafter, bladder brimming, Miss Monique completed the humiliation, encouraging me to empty myself into a waiting bucket as the fingers of one hand toyed with my right nipple. Her touch was joyous, my sensory system undergoing a form of transference in being so numbed below. I opened, but then in mid stream her free hand lowered, returning to my perineum to playfully press, knowingly curtailing the flow, her rare smile evidencing feminine delight in controlling such an intimate process. Then she released my flow and after a moment once again pressed to bring havoc and demonstrate her power.
The funk? Her suggestion... akin to a command... that I am to request a more thorough introduction to the aerobics instructor in completing my next stretching and exercise session with Miss Elizabeth.
‘You’ve piqued her curiosity, Robert. Share with her in detail the full extent of your quirky needs. Maybe her opinion of you as a creep will change. Tell your trainer you want to exhibit yourself. You know you do.’
Do I?
More funk in Miss Monique’s suggested conditioning... the ability to stay flaccid... sans icing... as my prostate is manipulated.
‘I can train you to take delight in achieving a ruined orgasm while caged, Robert. You’ll be as limp as noodle... no discomfort... just the distant nirvana that boys like you come to crave... must learn to crave... in that nothing more is ever granted.’
Basically, the conditioning will quash any normal sex life. My blue testicles will be difficult enough to explain, but the inability to harden? Even released from my cock cage there would be no dating. I will be impotent... conditioned to stay soft... so why bother?
I am assured I will feel the twinges... and such will come with simple prompts... the sight of lubricated massaging hands and fingers... the sound of an authoritative woman’s voice... the lotion smelling of peaches... but there will come no erection. Miss Monique guarantees it.
So much to think about... but to consider without the frustration of hormonal overflow and the resulting jitters... at least for the next two or three days.
I truly am spent, Miss Monique fastidious in her finger work. Gratefully I will sleep tonight, no nocturnal penile tumescence.
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