The Party Boy

I am going to milk him.... austerely and clinically... not a hint of sexual implication. The maids vacuum, launder and clean the house... I clean Jack!

“Stay here, Jack. I’ll need some ice. Remain naked for me.”

It is of great fortune that the sprawling mansion of Jack’s parents essentially relegates Jack and me to a separate wing. Interruptions in my very, very intimate care are rare... such that at some point I may have Jack stripped naked for the entire time he’s not in school and under my tutelage.

With that said, in the kitchen I obtain a bowl of ice and return. Whereas I’d like to see Jack get nice and hard for me, his penis tip remains sore to the touch. So I must numb him. But he will still experience the joy of prostatic massage and a woman’s controlling touch.

“Ok, Jack. This is something I will do for you regularly. In time, when you’re completely healed and if you’re good for me, I’ll dispense with the ice. Come, straddle my thighs. Hands on head. No touching.”

And no thoughts of sex, I want to add.

I sit on a straight backed chair and position him facing away, hairless thighs spread, sitting on my lap. My starched white uniform is institutional, offering quite the contrast to his complete nakedness. I begin by applying the ice to his penis, chuckling as the coldness brings a lurch. Then I reach for the nearby bar of soap, remaining moist from his bath. It will serve as a suitable unguent for now and I coat two fingers of my left hand, holding the ice against his penis with my right. My actions are mechanical, cloaking the devious pleasure in having a naked boy, shaved to charming smoothness, straddling my thighs.

After a few moments I test, pinching at the sore tip and noting no reaction. Numbed!

“This is a special thing for good boys, Jack. You needn’t worry about soiling your panties... or how you’ll rid yourself of this nasty male stuff. Think of it as something you want to offer me... a nice gift for the woman who cares for you,” my words fostering psychological adaptation.

Yes, Jack, this is a medicine you must take... and thereafter feel better. Such is the nature of my technique. And indeed he will feel better.

I penetrate, experienced fingers instantly finding the prostate. Despite the numbness, the gland remains receptive, offering Jack that strange combination of discomfort and joy. I am going to teach him to savor it... savor my penetrating fingers well in excess of any notions of self pleasure.

Masturbation is over for Jack... self masturbation.

Working with fervor, a mason laying cement, the fluid of my young male ward oozes in abundance, my fingers kneading and kneading within, my free hand indeed milking an udder. His essence coats the tile of the bathroom floor. I note it is clear, pending puberty not yet bringing the cloudiness of sperm.

Perfect. Biologically, my timing is superb. Jack will soon be addicted to the feel of a woman’s controlling hands. Mentally addicted... not sexually. Jack knows not what that is. Not yet.

Chapter Seven

My thoughts truncate as I note that Jack, hands remaining on head, raises one finger.

Ah, all that water. He has needs and the timing is perfect, the many women acclimating to the presence of a naked sculpted yet well subdued male.

The next segment of the entertainment is included in our base fee, and prearranged with the hostess.

“Ladies, my companion Jack has a need,” I announce reaching into my large decorative over-the-shoulder bag. “Should any of you care to observe, he’ll be utilizing the back deck.”

The hostess showed me the way and suggested a convenient isolated spot while arranging our bridal shower tête-à-tête. I thus reach in my bag and extract a slim penis leash... actually to be wrapped about the low hanging scrotum, but I term it a penis leash.

This always makes an impression, leading a man about by his balls... a mirthful impression. And the girl who inquired about my position of prospective Dominatrix is intrigued. Others laugh.

Remaining hooded, Jack must follow my gentle tugs as this smiling Governess pulls to tautness and steps towards the sliding glass door. Jack must follow, of course.

The pending darkness of a summer evening looms, but enough light remains to properly amuse. And as Jack steps awkwardly, I am pleased to see the Cialis works as prescribed, a raging hard on bobbing with each step, mesmerizing the assembled female crowd.

This portion of our show has been ingrained in Jack’s psyche for many years. As stated, from the first day of assuming my duties, I took over his toilet... at least while not at school. Yes, I supervised closely, training him to urinate and stop, later holding his penis, squeezing off the flow until he learned to do it himself on my command.

As a result, our offering of CFNM entertainment is de rigueur amongst those providing kink. So to a corner of the deck, secluded as suggested, I guide a sightless Jack, pressing his shoulders to signal him to kneel.

“It’s the garden, Jack,” I whisper, alleviating him of concerns over soiling our hostess’s home.

Next I stand behind. Like the trained circus animal Jack has become, he knows he will perform for me... perform for all women. I wait until the many observers have assembled.

“I’m sure most of you are repulsed by male sloppiness in terms of bathroom use and urination. I have thus trained Jack to perform when and where I dictate,” I proudly announce.

“But he’s stiff,” a woman of age points out.

“Training... and an ingrained need to please, ladies.”