The Party Boy

“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.