And such a pleasant surprise for Alice! She giggles like a school girl, not at all flustered, knowing well of Jack’s obeisance.
“This I must measure,” she said pointing to the floor in front of her.
Jack steps forward, hands remaining on head, obeying her gesture like a well trained dog. Alice slips her tape from about her neck, holds one end at the base of the upstanding erection and unravels.
“So stiff and so large. Ten and a half inches. I think Jack is still growing, ha, ha, ha.”
She steps away and pats the top of a table.
“He’s probably best lying down. Neck collar first and it will take awhile.”
Jack mounts the table, lying supine, his penis searching for the ceiling. The distraction ending, Alice produces a length of leather... thick.... and to certainly rise high on Jack’s collar bone.
“Not permanent, the piano wire I will be using can be cut. But it won’t fall off in the shower, I will guarantee that.”
Embedded in the leather are ringlets, one large for a leash, smaller ones to secure in place a hood. To date Jack has been on the honor system while hooded. I think a woman’s authority and control would be better projected with the capacity to lock such in place.
At each end of the precisely measured length, Alice has punched many small holes, there piano wire to be threaded. I am impressed with the strength required to bend the thickness, Alice slipping the leather under, hands straining to bend and make the ends meet.
Jack will not enjoy his new restraint... at least not until the stiffness dissipates.
Aligning the holes, knowing hands manage to thread the wire through the first set of conjoining openings. Once pulled taut, the task eases, the wire holding together the ends to lessen the tension. Still Alice must tug firmly to assure tightness. And as the collar closes, the feel of its constraining presence, the reality of permanently sensing a woman’s governance, becomes evident.
“It’s too high!” Jack deliciously protests, feeling the upper edge force up his chin.
“It will help you posture yourself, Jack. Especially during cunnilingus. I like the idea of your head being made less mobile.”
Alice sutures, the last of some dozen loops. She pulls firmly, ties and cuts the wire... temporarily.
“Now don’t move, you’ll burn yourself.”
Stepping away, she plugs in a soldering iron, waiting for it to heat.
“Collared many a boy. They appreciate the notion that the wiring won’t unravel.”
With that, tip blazing hot, Alice returns, stringing a long electrical cord behind her. Though the heat appears unbearable so close to Jack’s skin, she carefully joins together the ends of the wiring, applying the hot tip until the metal melts and cools to bond, forming a continuous strand.
In completion, Jack stands from the table, his erection not wavering with his complete nudity before two women.
“You see what tension on the spinal cord does for a boy, Alice? Greatly enhances his ability to harden. Can you feel it, Jack... feel more need to display yourself?”
Jack tries to nod. Alice and I both laugh with his feeble attempt, chin held so high.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“It’s too high,” Jack reiterates during our return to Manhattan.
“You’ll become accustomed... you have no choice. And you’ll come to enjoy the collar when you better learn that it will abet your erection and draw more attention when I put you on display.”
I have returned Jack’s penis to its cage, Alice fortunately having a tray of ice in her office refrigerator. She enjoyed watching me slip in the Prince’s Wand, noting with a smile, as I always do, the male lurch as the rounded tip abrades the prostate.
Deciding to temper the degree of recreation during the drive home, I have Jack donning one of his new togas. The masterful Alice fabricated the simple garment such that is fits perfectly about Jack’s neck, a vertical strip of Velcro at the back enclosing the cloth about his torso. It is somewhat constricting at the shoulders and chest, holding Jack’s biceps at his side, but nicely loosens at the waist, the lower hem quite flimsy, the opposing folds at the rear not connected at waist level. Thus Jack has limited use of his arms and hands while donning the garment, cannot remove it himself, and below, Alice perfectly measured the length such that his steel cock cage flashes when he moves about, plus the folds at the back can flap open to display those nicely rounded hairless buttocks.
There will be no doubt on the part of onlookers as to Jack’s status... that of owned pet... particularly when I lead him about on a leash. And for this, presented as a gift, Alice offered a decorative length of white leather... studded with garish rhinestones to assure that prospective onlookers indeed take notice.
“Stay,” I command, master to dog as I park the car.
I exit, leash in hand and open the passenger door. When I clip it in place on Jack’s leash for the first time, I feel the moisture spawned by my sense of feminine power.
“You’re going to take me to the apartment like this?” Jack inquires with incredulity.
I laugh.
“Yes, a boy with your penchants prefers to be completely exposed, I know. But that’s for me to decide, Jack. Come.” I tug, hoping it’s Theresa who is on duty.
But then again, at this point, why should it be of concern?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Leash training Jack proves to be invigorating. I teach him to respond instantly to directing tugs, to heel, actually taking the time to purchase a brief dog training guide. And with arms and hands useless, he has no choice but to concentrate and obey... not that there is any semblance of resistance remaining in a well washed brain.
As our Saturday evening Soho soiree approaches, I scheme as to transportation. From our Upper East Side apartment it is too far to walk Jack there, tempting as it is to show off his leash training. And subways are a nuisance, not quite figuring how to facilely get a leashed Jack through the turnstiles. So I settle on a cab, calling down to Theresa to see if she has a contact who is one of us, not wishing to overwhelm some non English speaking immigrant driver.
Resourceful as always, she has a name. A woman with a limousine service. I call. She’s in New York City on Saturday and can easily fit us between a scheduled theater excursion, from and to Connecticut. Excellent. The direct pick up and drop off won’t expose Jack on his leash as much as I’d like, but there will be other opportunities. Perhaps a Sunday afternoon in Central Park some time?
So all is arranged. Saturday arrives and Jack has the day off from heavy exercises, cleaning the apartment. I give myself a workout, and at 5 o’clock draw Jack’s bath.
He gets excited just hearing the water run, for so many years I have been sensuously bathing him. Since it’s a party day, he knows he will be released, temporarily, from his cock cage, pubes area shaven and inspected.
“It’s not good to go this long, Miss Kelly, without... you know,” a languorous Jack meekly suggests as I complete his body shave.
“You mean being milked, Jack?”
“Yes ma’am. I’m leaking goo.”
“That’s prostatic fluid. That means that a woman is keeping you chaste. Lord knows males don’t do that on their own. And that means you’re eager to perform for me.”
“But it’s not fair. I was eager to perform last week... for you and those women.”
“They chose not to have you ejaculate. That’s the way it is Jack. It’s a woman’s prerogative to have you spend... never yours. It’s what you enjoy. What your subconscious has ingrained.”
Given the matter thought, Jack may be correct with regard to milkings. Not because it is fair or unfair, but because too long a period may affect his performance, allowing his organs to enter a state of lassitude. It may be better training to keep them primed and ready to explode at my behest.
Finished bathing and shaving, veiling the thrill of palpating his entire nakedness with impunity, I unlock his cock cage, slipping away the steel mesh
. Then I pull his penis downward with my left hand, sliding out the Prince Wand with my right.
“Okay, Jack. From now on if you’re not brought to orgasm during one of the Saturday CFNM parties, I will milk you on the following Sunday. It’s probably for the best.”
With that, as a treat, I palm his testicles and knead the abundance of thin, pink scrotal flesh. He moans, his ten inches swelling for me. He’s no doubt ready for the boys in Soho... at least his penis is.
I release and then retrieve the razor. Amusing that it’s easier to shave his pubes when erect, not having to push the organ out of the way.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“But I can’t walk around the city leashed! People will... people will...”
“You will walk about as I see fit, Jack. And people will think what they care to think. Should they ask, it’s a costume party... we’re attending a costume party.”
“But Halloween is weeks away!”
“In Soho, Halloween is every week,” I sardonically terminate the conversation.
Jack is more than leashed. I have him in his pink toga and after pulling tightly and pressing together the vertical strips of Velcro at the back, the garment is more like a straight jacket than decorative party garb. Alice has designed the garment such that Jack’s upper arms are immobile and thus his hands for the most part useless.
The high stiff neck collar furthers his sense of bondage, holding high his head. And of course, there’s the leash. At a pet shop I purchased a second, this one pink with Rhinestones to match the white one gifted by Alice.
Over all, Jack looks ridiculous. But fortunately, the sandals from his pink dress match. We’ll draw attention for sure, but not because Jack’s color coordination is out of sorts.
“Come,” I tug slinging my bag over my left shoulder.
Theresa has informed on the intercom that her friend with the limousine awaits. So I lead, Jack follows with the precision of a well trained dog. Into the hallway we await the elevator. I am pleased... and Jack most chagrined... when a neighbor is likewise departing. It’s Mrs. Rivers, whom Jack serves on Thursdays.
“No cleaning tonight?” Mrs. Rivers quips as the elevator arrives.
Blushing, Jack’s face begins to match the hue of his Toga.
“A party, Mrs. Rivers. Jack’s going to be quite entertaining, don’t you think?” my question posed as we step into the car.
Well, having a caged and otherwise naked Jack clean for her each week, the woman understandably takes liberties, slipping her hand between the folds of the toga, low below the waist.
“Cute... the costume... and the butt,” Jack lurching as apparently Mrs. Rivers, a woman nearing 60, pinches his cheeks.
I smile, no need to admonish for otherwise shameful conduct. I know the woman to be quite familiar with Jack’s buttocks, her hand prints visible after most Thursday visits to her apartment.
At the lobby we part company. Theresa smiles and waves from the security desk. I snap the leash to impress her, then lead out to the sidewalk. There a distracting highly polished white limousine awaits. It’s pretentious. Apparently on Saturday night’s the choice of limousines is limited.
I open the rear door, assisting Jack, arms useless, in entering. Driving is a young woman, not the owner to whom I spoke. I hope there is no problem and that she is one of us!
“Going to Soho?” she inquires, assuring we have the correct transport.
I concur and offer the address. She nods and slips the car into gear.
“I’ll not be able to pick you up for the return,” she informs. “Be returning to Connecticut late.”
Well, looks like a late night cab ride coming back, I tell myself. Shouldn’t be a problem. Taxi drivers have seen much in the avant-garde province of Greenwich Village.
Down the FDR Drive, I slip my hand under the toga and play, kneading Jack’s scrotum, prepping for an evening of depraved exhibitionism... perhaps more. Jack is silent, entering subspace, the leash wondrously setting the atmosphere. When we turn onto Houston Street, from my over the shoulder bag I retrieve a hood... again pink.
“You’ll feel more comfortable, Jack,” I said sensing that I am an executioner offering a blindfold. “Just carefully follow the leash... as I’ve trained you.”
“Must you display me to men?” Jack pleading as I slip the hood over his head.
“Yes. It’s best for you, Jack. I want 100% submission. And you want to 100% obey. And besides, within that psyche of yours, you’re eager. I’ve physically toned you to perfection, brought your virility to a peak, psychologically primed you, your penis trimmed for exhibition. They’ll like you, Jack... adore you. And you so much need to be adored... so much want to be adored...”
With that, the clean white limo pulls up to a drab, filthy brick building. In opening the door, the stench of urine greets us. A homeless man staggers by then stops to rifle through a garbage container. And then out steps Jack, covered in pink... leashed in pink. Even in Soho he makes a show! The dumpster diver pausing to stare... cat calls coming from a mixed party of four across the street.
I wish I could see Jack’s face!
As the limo departs I open a graffiti covered door, the sound of music blaring.
“Stairs down,” I advise Jack, snapping the leash and hearing more cat calls.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Last weekend female debauchery, this Saturday male.
Jack stands on a pedestal. In a large dank and dark cavern-like basement chamber, his naked form seems to light up the room, a spotlight above making his flesh gleam. Prostatic fluid oozes. And in having been paid $300 by a very effeminate man named ‘Pat’, I whisked away his pink hood and toga with much flare. Then, under many watchful eyes, released Jack from his cock cage. Cialis flowing, brimming with testosterone, two weeks of chastity, Jack’s penis headed straight upwards, on this occasion to the cheers of dozens of male voices. I can tell the restrictive neck collar, forcing high his head, abets his tumescence. His leash remains, tied high to a convenient hook.
I sit alone at a small bar, the bartender clad in leather, body piercings and tattoos. My gender has no appeal; I am alone, silently taking in the action.
Jack’s performance, probably the most apropos term, is before a sizable gathering of gay men, their attire gaudy, their behavior bawdy. Pat, mostly called Pattie by his friends, approaches as I begin to count the instances of fellatio, my pet’s exhibition serving as a lustful catalyst.
Pattie has pierced nipples and wears only tight leather shorts. Probably better described as leather panties.
“Ramrod would like to talk to you,” he lisps pointing to a large man in the corner, barely to be seen.
“Tell Ramrod I’m here and available to talk,” my aura of feminine control not to be besmirched in subordinating to a male request.
Pattie steps to the corner, hips effeminately swaying. My eyes follow and, in better adjusting to the dim light, note that a head is bobbing atop Ramrod’s lap.
Pattie returns. I find my ears are acclimating to his lisp.
“It’s not Ramrod, it’s actually his boy, Lips Louie. Lips wants me to say the words Kinder, Morganthau and Mack.”
Kinder, Morganthau and Mack! The law firm used by Jack’s mother... step mother!
“He’s says it needs to be private.”
The head arises from the lap of Ramrod and looks my way. Yes, though not immediately recognizable, no stuffy three piece suit, it is indeed an attorney, a most annoying attorney, with whom I had to deal concerning Jack’s trust.
Lips Louie, previously known to me as Louis J. Welkeyser III, Esq. stands. He is entirely naked but for a pink ribbon and bow encircling his neck, apparently a symbol for the offer of oral servitude at this club of deviance.
Louie, my new friend? points to a doorway at the far end of the room. Had I not known his name and where to instantly track him down, I would ignore. But discovering his secret life of sexual aberration, how can I resist a discussion?
I follow Lips Louie into a changing room, clothes hanging about, surprising vanilla suggesting that many members are in the closet... not this closet... concerning their sexual preferences.
“Welcome, Miss Kelly,” his tone surprisingly humble compared to that used in our brusque legal dealings.
“I must assume that Kinder, Morganthau and Mack is unaware of your weekend recreation,” I bluntly begin.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. No longer there, no longer in the legal profession. Seems sucking the cock of a judge in turn for a favorable ruling is outside the tenets of the bar.”
The light better in the changing room I note that Lips Louie wears make up. Whereas it’s not polite to stare, I cannot help glancing downward to also note a very limited male appendage. Lips Louie is well advised to hone his oral skills when pleasuring women as well.
“Hope all is well. I like your boy.”
I nod, sensing that Lips Louie means in the carnal sense... knowing full well that he means in the carnal sense.
“That trust working for you? Rather sparse. Mrs. Lipton certainly bargained hard... under the circumstances.”
Mrs. Lipton, being Jack’s step mother, widow and inheritor of vast wealth, now of Palm Beach.
“It’s parsimonious. And since Jack needs much care, I cannot work. So we live modestly and I put Jack on exhibition to earn a few extra dollars,” no point cloaking my needs.
“Oh, well. You may consider reviewing that. Though Jack is illegitimate, as I am sure you realize, Mrs. Lipton’s position is somewhat precarious... was somewhat precarious as well.”
Lips Louie’s club appellation is well earned, his lips indeed moving... and doing so to intrigue.
“Illegitimate?”
“Mr. Lipton never married Jack’s biological mother. He did not have a first wife, the woman was a trollop. Mrs. Lipton was obviously aware of the transgression and used it as a lever over her husband up to the day he died... insisting that Jack be out of the will.”
The Party Boy Page 7
