The Party Boy

by Chris Bellows

  Next I gingerly slip out the Prince’s Wand, the rounded tip bringing discomfort as I slide ever so slowly down the super sensitive urethra. Jack grunts with the internal prostate manipulation, then cries out as the evil ball painfully stretches the internal pink skin.

  He’s freed.

  Sure enough, in handling his penis, clinically as always with his baths, he slowly stiffens. I feel that brisance, my governance so exciting, but otherwise ignore his hard on. And Jack knows to obediently ignore as well, maintaining his hands on his head.

  “Enema time,” I announce, rising to gather the needed paraphernalia. “All fours.”

  For party preparation... CFNM party... he is also internally cleansed. I don’t want to offer prostate massage to a messy rectum... nor have any odorous accidents.

  Sometime I’ll post another Craig’s Listing. There may be ladies who would enjoy watching a subordinated male endure one of my high and hot colonics. Such a show would further debase Jack, assuaging his deviant psychological needs.

  “Buttocks high, arch your back for me.”

  I fill the enema bag, using soap to lubricate the rectum. I then impale.

  “Please not too much, Miss Kelly.”

  “I’ll decide,” I remind Jack, kneeling to place my hand on his lower tummy, gauging the slow but steady flow.

  I drain the water, readying the tub for the messiness of Jack’s bowels. So water flows in and water flows out. Though the warmth brings lassitude, the building pressure on the prostate fosters more and more stiffness. Yes, Jack displays his full ten inches, the penis tip, so much in need of an attentive touch, turning a bulbous purple.

  Becoming languorous with the penetrating heat, Jack slumps, head lowering to the bottom of the empty tub.

  “Why do you do this to me, Miss Kelly?”

  “Because I can... and you need it. You have special needs, Jack. You need the exacting care of a woman. And you enjoy showing yourself in your hairless nakedness. Plus I need the money... if you mean the weekly parties... so I can care for you. You don’t earn much in cleaning toilets.”

  “I’m full,” Jack groans.

  “Yes, and will get fuller,” I smile with my ownership.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  To New Jersey, the George Washington Bridge is flowing well on a summer’s Saturday evening. The directions are simple, our destination one of those upper middle class suburban towns. The drive is short.

  Jack’s penis has been returned to its cage. I’ve pantied him in baby blue, his blanket wrapped about his nakedness. His fortitude begins to wane as I pull the car up to a large house. There are other cars parked in the front and our hostess gave instructions to park in the one remaining space in the driveway. Darkness is approaching. Still, before exiting, I must coax a reluctant Jack from the passenger seat. Shyness brings cold feet.

  “Why must you do this to me?” he again protests.

  “Why does your penis stiffen whenever I release it?” I question in reply, taking his hand. “Women like to see a boy being governed and humiliated, Jack. And they pay. And I need the money... for you,” grasping his hand.

  I look at my watch, the Cialis should be surging. I thus reach under the blanket and offer some very intimate caresses. Held in chastity for a week, system deluged with injected testosterone, my fingers are welcomed... until the flooding erectile chambers cause his sensitive penis to greet hard steel.

  “Please don’t,” grimacing with the growing pain.

  I know that with the dose of Cialis, engorgement is most difficult to reverse.

  “Well, if you’re good, you’ll be unlocked. Then it won’t hurt,” the advice offered as I slip his hood over his head.

  I exit the car, grab my bag and fling the strap over my left shoulder. I move to the passenger side and open the door.

  “Come, Jack, it’s show time,” leading him like the child he becomes when flustered.

  I guide him up a set of steps and ring the doorbell. I am greeted by a naked girl. She curtsies, seeming concerned in seeing Jack, but smiles in noting that he is hooded.

  “I’m Kelly, here with Jack.”

  In silence she gestures for us to enter. We step within and my eyes explore. The girl is short, blonde hair closely trimmed, somewhat plump, with enormous breasts.

  “Show them in here, Katrina,” a deep female voice instructs.

  I follow Katrina into the house, leading a fumbling Jack by the hand. In a large living room there are numerous women. The scene is of debauchery. Three women sit, knees parted, a naked young girl on all fours before each, heads wedged between three pairs of thighs. Each sitting woman is neatly but plainly dressed, blouse and skirt. But I note the skirts are loose and pleated, obviously designed for the advantage of receiving cunnilingus.

  The woman with the deep voice sitting alone, similarly attired, again speaks.

  “Welcome to our bridge club,” she greets with a wry smile. “I’m Sue... Miss Susan to our oral sycophants.”

  The woman rises handing me an envelope. Cash. I don’t insult by counting, instead placing in my bag. I then whisk away Jack’s blanket, fold and stuff it in my bag.

  “Tonight’s entertainment, ladies,” Miss Susan announces. “He is well put together, isn’t he?” the hostess pointing to the stool I suggested she have ready.

  It greatly adds to Jack’s sense of degradation to have him pose perched high. Plus, in being hooded, he’ll not dare endanger himself by shifting about and possibly falling. No he’ll be very obedient and merely exhibit himself for the gathering of the bridge club. I pull down Jack’s baby blue panties, have him step out then guide him to mount the stool.

  “I assume you want him erect,” taking the key from my necklace, seeing Jack fidget in distress.

  Yes, the humiliation of being put on display is beginning the loop already, humiliation leading to stiffness which in turn enhances the humiliation... which so nicely assures further stiffness.

  Miss Susan steps forth and palms Jack’s low hanging testicles, the stool presenting his plums at the height of the woman’s chest.

  “I assume an erection brings suffering locked up like this?”

  “Yes, the cock cage is quite restrictive, custom made to his measurements to assure the slightest engorgement is denied.”

  “Then leave him in chastity for now. Katrina, come here and lick the boy’s balls.”

  The girl at first looks shocked, then glumly steps forth. It is apparent the young naked lesbian is not enthused with the demand to orally caress a male.

  “Do his buttocks as well,” Miss Susan adds in an after thought.

  “Can we talk... in the kitchen?”

  I nod and follow, noting the knee high leather boots. Yes, the party is no doubt for women who like women, but the air reeks of dominance and submission. One recipient of oral attention wields a riding crop, occasionally reaching forth and encouraging more tongue work with a quick flick of her wrist and a crack of leather to exposed buttocks.

  In the kitchen I am greeted with an even more bizarre sight. Hanging over the kitchen table is a trapeze bar. On it, upside down, knees well parted and folded over the bar is a naked girl, appearing short and chubby, breasts even larger than Katrina’s. Her wrists are pulled behind her back and secured to her ankles, making her one with the bar. A clear plastic speculum holds open her portal, the bright pink flesh of her moist vagina well displayed. Beneath the girl on the table is a large glass bowl. The girl’s breasts, tipped with elongated nipples, appearing more as udders, are letting down. Lactate drips!

  “One of our cows,” Miss Susan casually offers. “She expresses when she’s exposed and aroused. Her proclivity for lactation is handy. Later we’ll need her for coffee. For now she just secretes.”

  “Upside down?” I must inquire.

  “Gravity. Improves the circulation in those bestial glands of hers. That brings an intense need to be milked. We’ll take turns at the end of the night,” Miss Susan extending her ha
nd to jiggle the low hanging left breast.

  Her action causes several droplets to splash to the bowl.

  “Don’t worry, honey, they may be throbbing now, but you’ll be well milked by evening’s end.”

  On the table is a feather. Miss Susan picks it up and briefly uses the very fine tip to caress a prominently presented clitoris. The girl moans. More lactate drips to the bowl.

  “Curious anatomical reaction to pleasure, don’t you think?” returning the feather to the table.

  Miss Susan nods for me to sit. She joins me.

  “As you can see, our little bridge gathering, as we humorously reference it because some of the girls are married, is for dykes like me who favor the tongue and lips of little morsels of flesh like Katrina. She’s my little whore. And I want to pimp her out, have her earn her keep. Unfortunately one can’t make money being skilled in cunnilingus. No woman ever needs to pay for oral sex. She just has to walk to the nearest street corner and ask the next passing male hound if he’d like to lick her pussy.

  “So I need to expand her oral skills. Teach her about the male appendage... how to lick, where... learn to take a stiff cock down her throat. So, before you unlock your boy, I want to explain the reason for this form of entertainment. Unusual for the bridge club to have a male beast in attendance, but there’s only so much I can teach Katrina using a dildo. Does your boy have a problem with premature ejaculation? Hate to end the evening early.”

  I smile.

  “When and if Jack comes, it is at my command.”

  “So he has no expectations about ejaculating?”

  “His expectations are irrelevant. In presenting at these parties, sometimes the women want to see him erupt... other times a ruined orgasm is preferred. Depends on the gathering and the whim of the hostess.”

  Poor Jack, I am beginning to think. This group could care less about men... and their needs.

  “Good. Well I’ll want neither. This is about women’s pleasure... and teaching Katrina how to suck cock. With those tits of hers she’ll get at least a hundred for a quick blow job.”

  “I’m going to need some ice... for later... when I put Jack’s penis back in its cage.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Miss Kelly, I need to be milked,” Jack blurts as I again negotiate the George Washington Bridge.

  “No, Jack. Next week you’re scheduled for the party in Soho. I’ll want you bursting with juices for your new friends. Meanwhile I’ll have you well worked on the treadmill tomorrow. That will help.”

  For an inordinate length of time at Miss Susan’s ‘bridge party’, I pressed Jack’s amazingly firm erection toward the floor while the trollop Katrina licked and sucked, deep throating Jack at Miss Susan’s command, choking on his ten inches, bringing laughter from the skirted women receiving unending cunnilingus.

  So much aware of the male anatomy, I learned long ago that a penis cannot erupt when held at such an angle. I thought Jack was going to swoon, enduring for so long at the edge... pleasure not to be ultimately permitted.

  And yes, I had to ice him to get his raging penis back into its tight cage.

  “It’s not fair,” Jack pouts like a little boy.

  “Perhaps. But I have $300 in my bag and for the first time you had your penis sucked. I thought it was rather nice of Katrina. She learns quickly.”

  The remainder of the journey home is in silence. As a woman I cannot empathize with the many emotions... most notably the male delight. But Jack is certainly not completely at the losing end of the exchange. He merely had to stand completely exposed, in frustration trying mightily to come in Katrina’s mouth... something my directing hand would not permit.

  “I’d like to make love to you, Miss Kelly,” Jack gushes in earnest as I pull the car into the parking garage. “I’d like to have you... come normally... please you like a man!”

  “Jack, you’re a pet not a lover. When I feel the need to be with a man, it will not be with you. Though perhaps you’d enjoy being present. Such a scene would certainly nourish your proclivity. You could listen, smell my feminine arousal... perhaps even taste my lover’s spendings. But as always you’d be hooded and obedient... just as I have trained you... deep within just as how you prefer.”

  The final words come as I pull the car to a halt. Once again it’s late on Saturday night. Only Theresa is likely to witness Jack’s dash through the building to our apartment. So before leaving the car for the elevator, I pause letting him digest words I am sure he has found to bring mourn.

  “Do you want to leave your panties and blanket with me... or wear such for covering? Tonight I will make it your decision...”

  His choice is most telling.

  Chapter Thirty

  Yes, naked but for his cock cage, Jack made his way through the garage, entered the elevator after having to wait for my more leisurely approach, then pranced down the 15th floor hallway. One could almost feel his heart racing with the demented excitement, the possibility of being discovered sans covering in his own building.

  Yes, the effect of the pent up frustration is telling.

  Hooded and bedded, I let him suckle my breasts in consolation... before beginning a long glorious night of cunnilingus.

  “You chose not to wear your blanket this evening, Jack,” I said deciding to offer psychological counseling while his mind is fresh with the curious behavior.

  “Yes, Miss Kelly,” moving his lips to my right breast.

  “I offered you a choice. Why do you think you left behind what little covering I provide?”

  His fluttering tongue pauses. Jack is in thought. But I know the process to be distorted by hormones which overwhelm. Testosterone levels maximized, he mentally primed himself for a massive discharge of male essence this evening. It did not happen and in being denied... remaining denied... his psyche drags him further down the path of masochistic exhibitionism... that to which I introduced him in his formative years.

  Finally, he lifts his head.

  “I’m not sure. I had this need... to... to...”

  “Display yourself? You know Miss Theresa watches on camera. And perhaps you were hoping as well that another tenant would step from the elevator... someone new to you... someone who would be pleasantly shocked by the sight of a naked, chaste, kept boy.”

  As stated, I understand Jack better than he understands himself. I would milk him, assuage his raging imbalance, but truly want him burgeoning for the unique Soho appointment on Saturday.

  Though my quim is throbbing for oral servitude, I push away his head, arise and don my robe.

  “I want you to go to the lobby and confirm your Tuesday appointment at Miss Theresa’s apartment, Jack,” my words coming as I work to roll up his tight latex hood.

  “But I can phone her on the intercom!”

  “No, you go see her. Talk about cleaning her toilets on Tuesday then kiss her feet to thank her for the opportunity to serve.”

  Jack moves to the dresser seeking panties.

  “No, no panties, Jack. Treat yourself to another naked romp through the building.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It’s Wednesday, I call Alice and confirm that Jack’s new party attire is ready... thick leather collar, brief togas. Alice suggests an 11:00 a.m. fitting, and to leave her thirty minutes to sew in place the collar.

  In giving thought to Jack’s antics of late Saturday, offering himself to a game of naked roulette in terms of having his deviant propensity discovered, I decide to, in the parlance of wagering, up the ante.

  We’ll be departing after the morning rush hour. Whether or not Theresa is at the security desk I do not know. If not, then I may have to arrange for Jack to cleanse another bathroom. For on this journey, I am going to remove Jack’s cock cage.

  Not for long, but what would seem to be merciful relief will keep Jack unsteady, constantly the object of a woman’s whim. Plus Alice has not seen Jack put on a stand, and the trip to the ca
r and subsequent journey to Astoria should be fun. And I’ll lock him back up for the return trip.

  “Jack, I’ll want your hands on your head for the entire car ride to Queens. Disobey and you’ll be greeting Miss Alice bearing many clothes pins.”

  With that, I shock Jack when I reach to my necklace for his key.

  The base ring is released and the cock cage slipped away. Then comes that somatic lurch when the Prince’s Wand exits its nest in the prostate gland. Jack’s mind becomes somewhat overwhelmed in confusion, normally released only when hooded and standing before a gathering of women.

  “What... why...”

  “A treat for you, Jack. You’ll not wear a thing for the length of the trip. Saturday night you took a very meaningful step in your servitude... so telling are your deep desires. Come let’s go,” I said slipping his tube and cock cage into my purse.

  His hands indeed go to his head. And though I do not otherwise touch or caress, Jack begins to harden. No Cialis; however, the interval of chastity has been long, considering the abundance of hormones I inject, and I have posed thoughts which are known to excite. Exhibition... complete... no encasement of steel... his penis free to show off.

  I step back, arms akimbo, smirking in watching the slow but steady erection come to full blossom.

  He cannot help himself.

  “Miss Kelly I cannot be walked to the garage like this!”

  “You’ll be walked in any manner I choose, Jack. Feel a little exposed without your cock cage?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  We arrive at Alice’s dress shop. Mercifully I have let Jack slump a bit in his seat, cloaking a massive erection that, with his proclivity for exhibitionism, will not waver. He’s such a big boy his penis tip presses quite high to his belly when sitting.

  Jack jumps from the car and scampers to the rear door, happy to find it unlocked.