The Party Boy

“Jack, take off your panties. Throw them in the back as well. And sit up straight!”

He’ll ride for me naked, but for his steel cock cage.

“What if we’re pulled over?”

“Hopefully the officer will be female... maybe drum up more business,” I said smiling with the thought.

So we catch the Interstate and head south.

“You drooled quite nicely for the women, Jack; I think my testosterone injections suit you well.”

“Can I come at the next party... for real?”

“The terms aren’t finalized. And that’s not for me to say... and certainly not your decision. You are subordinate to the whims of women, Jack. Remember your place. It’s best for you.”

“Will you milk me this week? Like before?”

So many years of draining him... and now, but for his weekend duties, chastity. And a weekend escapade may or may not involve release. Such frustration for Jack.

“No. Bad for business. We need the money. Now still your tongue. I’ll want it to be fresh and energetic when we get home.”

Yes, his tongue... his well trained tongue. As a glum Jack returns to silence I recall the early training... under the guise of dealing with his ‘bed wetting’.

Chapter Eighteen

The nice thing about diapering Jack was that, in addition to essentially holding him in chastity, not even affording a millimeter of standing room for an erection, it fit so nicely into the ruse that he’d been wetting the bed. Should he be discovered in bed with me, the slim possibility of one of the maids delivering something or endeavoring an early morning room cleaning, his naked but diapered form could easily be explained. And it would be obvious that no carnal activity had been undertaken.

And so I take him to bed, first hooding him, thick black latex, its tightness requiring effort to roll down in place and align the large opening for the mouth and nose.

Finished, I disrobe, joining him in nakedness.

“Lie down, Jack,” pushing him to the bed.

When I turn out the lights and unite with him, he begins to quiver with excitement. In all his teen years he has never been with a girl, never had a girl friend. He is thus a lump of putty for molding.

“You’re never to remove the hood... ever,” I instruct with my most assertive voice.

I press against him, feeling a brisance of joy, frottaging skin I have labored day after day to make glabrous. I am in my element, having such youthful, masculine yet well subdued warmth to play with as I desire.

I direct his covered face to my breasts, the lesson on female anatomy to begin there.

“Lick then gently suckle,” offering my glands.

Thinking of his harridan mother, in being denied breast feeding it is most likely the first time his lips have so osculated. Indeed, we’ll make up for the offerings denied in infancy. I’m so kindly.

I moisten, of course. This day... this evening... has finally come... so many baths... so many milkings. Now I can offer more than my controlling hands.

I can smell myself, my vagina secreting. A young Jack proves to be tender. I can no longer deny myself. I cradle his head, shifting my body, pushing downward as I position him for what will become a nightly act of chivalrous coupling... oral coupling.

“You asked about pussy, Jack. And you shall have some. You will feel, smell and taste. You will come to savor me. But you will never, ever gaze. That I will forever deny you. Now ever so gently extend your tongue and lick,” guiding his face to my mons. “When you encounter wetness, gather and swallow. It’s a treat, Jack... a treat for a meek and obedient boy...”

Chapter Nineteen

We traverse the congested Cross Bronx Expressway, slowly as always. Under the many bright overhead lights, passing cars can easily spy Jack, shoulders, arms and chest exposed. Some honk. I so return the honk, smile and wave. Jack shudders, lowering in his seat in an attempt to veil himself.

“Bad boy, Jack, sit up for me like a big boy.”

With that I reach up to the windshield sun visor. There, in a neat row, are clothes pins, ready for quick and easy punishment.