The Party Boy

Chapter One

“Oh he’s adorable. You keep him hairless? Presents his balls nicely.”

“I keep him as presentable as possible. Well groomed, well exercised, well cleansed, inside and out.”

The boldness of the typical questions initially surprised me. Then I subsequently learned that most times, women outside the presence of the male gender, but for Jack, of course, will invariably let down their hair, their language becoming salty, the subject matter of conversation turning ribald. This woman is comparatively tame, but then we’re ‘entertaining’ in Greenwich, a rather upscale Connecticut community.

“May I touch him?”

“Of course, he’s here to amuse.”

And we’ve already been paid, up front, I think to myself. So be amused.

The woman of some fifty years, appearing rather prudish, apparently related in some manner to the bride, steps forth and palms the meaty low hanging testicles of Jack. At this point in our side business of offering CFNM parties (clothed female, naked male) my partner flinches not, despite being without sight and not knowing where an exploring hand will light.

I keep Jack hooded at the beginning of every session. He better stays in what I term subspace, very tame, very meek, nicely accepting of his role of subservience to women.

The woman’s actions bring forth much tittering from the other attendees, all female. And I marvel at the trendy societal change in a bride’s wedding shower. With women’s liberation such are becoming more akin to the raucous gatherings of a bridegroom’s bachelor party.

And here we are.

Having force fed two quarts of water to prompt the penile phenomenon termed ‘piss proud’, primed Jack with Cialis, plus always denying him normal sex, the woman’s touch, though brief, serves as a catalyst for tumescence. Jack begins to harden. And whereas he’s not the biggest boy I’ve masturbated in my career as governess, he’ll put on a good stand for the group. Nicely cut, within moments he’ll be displaying a tummy thumper, the swollen tip of his ten inches pressing against his lower belly.

Hopefully the bride won’t be too envious... or too demanding of her Beau on wedding night.

Sure enough Jack steadily engorges, and the tittering transforms to outright shrieks of laughter.

“That’s amazing,” the woman said somewhat sheepishly. “I hope I was not being brash.”

“It’s what he’s here for,” I offer in comfort.

And it is. Jack will be showing more maleness before night’s end, all subdued to me, his directing partner.

“How is it... well they hang so low? My husband’s... well his are different.”

Yes, the women come completely out of society’s demanded role of priggishness at these gatherings. Which is another reason to keep Jack hooded. Presumably he will never know or be able to recognize the woman who just fondled him. And the group of women quickly realize this.

“He’s been infused. Every week for a few months, I siphoned saline into his scrotum, turning it into a big red balloon. It stretches the skin over time and as you will agree offers a certain... well, I call it ambiance.”

Yes, if you’re in this business of putting the male anatomy on display, one must have something prominent to display. With Jack’s testicles now hanging at mid thigh, it tends to gather attention.

“Are you a Dominatrix?” one of the younger attendees inquires, an apparent bride’s maid.

I smile wanly.

“When he was young, I was his governess. Suffice it to say Jack has been acclimated to obey me.

“I should add ladies that you’re all free to touch and explore while he’s hooded. He will not resist... not even talk. He’s well trained.”

The girl’s question brings memories. As I reach for a glass of wine, the waitress obviously suppressing mild shock, my mind flashes back...

Chapter Two

“But I can bathe myself,” a young Jack protests.

“You won’t. Not while I am your governess... not while I have the responsibility of assuring your cleanliness.”

And not while I so much enjoy the feel of young and smooth hairless skin, I am tempted to add.

Newly appointed as governess, the wealthy parents of Jack have decided that despite his age, nearing puberty, the scamp needs watching. In a huff, too many of the household help have departed, not able to withstand the many pranks. And of late, with hormones beginning to flow, the pranks have become somewhat libidinous, hiding to spy on the maids during toilet and bathing being just one.

My resume is strong in bringing up boys... though only ten years Jack’s senior, I have many years of experience. I raised two very obedient, very respectful to women, younger brothers. Nursing school followed. A term in the children’s ward of a New York hospital furthered my abilities concerning potentially unruly boys. Thereafter, temperament and authoritative manner forged, I struck out on my own.

Being a governess involves countless hours, round the clock duties. Jack is my third effort. And no less a challenge than all the others.

By now I have rituals, knowing very well how to bring a fractious lad down a notch or two, and earn respect. Thus Jack’s first bath.

“I’ve never had a bath like this!” another protest.

“You should now consider yourself fortunate,” I banter, knowing that ultimately I will have total authority over his nakedness.

I have drawn some twelve inches of warm sudsy bath water and direct young Jack to enter and kneel on all fours.

“Why can’t I sit... like normal?”

“Because I need to wash you... all of you. And I need access... to all of you,” my tone turning ominous with the latter words. “Now take off your robe. Don’t be bashful. I’ve scrubbed many boys.”

Ah, that initial moment of introduction, a naked boy and a fully clothed supervising woman. The exchange of power is palpable. And I smile, noting that the protests cease and silence ensues. It makes one wonder why obstreperous boys aren’t kept naked all the time.

Jack has a fine youthful body, his penis already swinging away. He quickly enters the tub and kneels, incorrectly believing he will somehow veil from me his privates. I stifle laughter.

“Now you just kneel and let Governess Kelly do all the work,” my voice soothing in response to his new found docility.

Yes, the feel of young hairless flesh, the power over what will soon become male brawn. It is now in these years that I can mold it, bring respect, and enforce discipline. It is Jack’s first bath... of many.

A soaped chamois cloth swaths, my free hand also exploring. The warmth brings a sense of calm and I know to occasionally run more hot water to assure the lad’s tranquility. I note that when I playfully tweak a nipple, Jack objects not, instead smiling, my touch becoming acceptable. And I am delighted when my hands slowly rub back and belly, moving to cute buttocks, and there comes not a word.

“We do need to wash... all of you,” the once ominous tone becoming more playful.

The chamois works between the thighs. I am testing. And I smile in satisfaction as

young Jack, either deliberately or inadvertently, it matters not, further parts his knees in invitation. Realizing there will be no outbursts, my free hand joins the chamois. I want to feel his penis, palpate his little balls, set an aura of ownership from day one... that in the bathtub, Jack becomes mine.

I am delighted to feel a smattering of stubble, puberty beckoning.