The Party Boy

“No, Jack, look at the ladies. They want to see the expression on your face as I humiliate you.”

True, of course, and making him peer back in turn heightens his humiliation.

I begin. The crowd of women turns to silence. One can hear the squish of my strokes, down, up, a slow twist known to bring an explosive spark of pleasure. I am rhythmical, mechanical... initially. But when I feel Jack begin to respond with my cadence, I know to stop.

It drives them crazy... the caprice... the unknown... the inability to gauge expectations.

I simultaneously knead the prostate. Two weeks of chastity brings forth a nice flow of pre ejaculatory fluid. But there is an important secondary purpose in my anal penetration. I can expertly sense the small ejaculatory muscles, assess where such are in the process of bringing forth male eruption. When I feel such oscillate, I know to instantly withdraw... forcing the so termed ruined orgasm... the bane of male sexuality. Depriving the penis of the ultimate ecstatic release.

I resume, down, up, this time a slow twist. I then rub the head with my palm, avoiding the super sensitive underside. Another motion known to bring angst.

At this point most males may attempt to join me with their hands, speeding the process. Jack is too well trained. He merely takes it... the frustration, the pleasure, enduring the driving need to come.

Down, up, twist, Jack’s moan of delight fires his onlookers.

“No, Jack, keep your eyes open,” I must admonish again.

More strokes, more pauses, more twists, more rubs, anally both kneading and assessing. I often wonder for how long an interval I can torment poor Jack.

But then my penetrating fingers detect the telltale oscillations. Drat, the male eagerness. I immediately withdraw.

I lean forward and blow onto Jack’s right ear. Years and years of training, his psyche knows the deed is my unspoken permission to spurt.

“Here comes Jack,” I humorously announce.

The standing ten inches waggles in a futile attempt to manly ejaculate. It fails, of course, needing to be gripped and stroked. Then it pulsates... meekly. I like to think it’s cute.

“Please more,” the beseeching words raspy, as whitish goo oozes forth.

Yes, with that, Jack’s male effluent humbly flows forth, dribbling to the towel below.

“Finish me,” he pleads.

“No, Jack,” I proclaim in my stentorian voice of authority. “Not tonight. The ladies preferred to see you dribble and suffer.”

Chapter Fifteen

Well, again to be rather punny, that was the climax of the party.

The women continued watching in fascination as Jack’s huge erection more or less smoldered, a volcano that smokes and rumbles but does not quite erupt. Then as my penetrating fingers continued to knead the prostate, the pent up mass of semen finally came to depletion. Some women stayed to watch his organ slowly deflate, returning to flaccidity for the first time since I unlocked my naked exhibitionist; others sauntered to the kitchen where the supply of wine was endless.

“All gone, Jack,” I said leaning forward to mockingly whisper in his ear.

I push; Jack knows to stand from sitting on my lap. Knees wobbly, the release of hormones brings that curious afterglow of repose... but of course, no sense of ultimate gratification in ruining the potential for ejaculation.

I arise, pick up the towel and use a dry corner to wipe my hands.

“You’ll feel better locked back up,” I summarily inform Jack.

He nods with solemnity. I move to my bag stowing the towel and retrieving Jack’s intricate chastity device and a tube of KY jelly. When I return to the chair, most of the women have dispersed about the living room, dining room and kitchen, many conversations, much talk about the

forthcoming wedding.

“That was great, very entertaining and very informative,” the budding young dominatrix approaching to stand at my side.

I return to sitting in the straight backed chair. Jack, hands remaining on his head in strict obedience, stands before me, obsequiously presenting his spent but unsatiated penis.

I palm the shaft; Jack closes his eyes in expectation of discomfort. The girl watches with great interest as I apply a large dollop of KY jelly to Jack’s urethral opening, leaving a blob at the top of the penis tip. I then roll about Jack’s Prince’s Wand in the excess, coating it well.