The Party Boy

In completion, Jack stands from the table, his erection not wavering with his complete nudity before two women.

“You see what tension on the spinal cord does for a boy, Alice? Greatly enhances his ability to harden. Can you feel it, Jack... feel more need to display yourself?”

Jack tries to nod. Alice and I both laugh with his feeble attempt, chin held so high.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“It’s too high,” Jack reiterates during our return to Manhattan.

“You’ll become accustomed... you have no choice. And you’ll come to enjoy the collar when you better learn that it will abet your erection and draw more attention when I put you on display.”

I have returned Jack’s penis to its cage, Alice fortunately having a tray of ice in her office refrigerator. She enjoyed watching me slip in the Prince’s Wand, noting with a smile, as I always do, the male lurch as the rounded tip abrades the prostate.

Deciding to temper the degree of recreation during the drive home, I have Jack donning one of his new togas. The masterful Alice fabricated the simple garment such that is fits perfectly about Jack’s neck, a vertical strip of Velcro at the back enclosing the cloth about his torso. It is somewhat constricting at the shoulders and chest, holding Jack’s biceps at his side, but nicely loosens at the waist, the lower hem quite flimsy, the opposing folds at the rear not connected at waist level. Thus Jack has limited use of his arms and hands while donning the garment, cannot remove it himself, and below, Alice perfectly measured the length such that his steel cock cage flashes when he moves about, plus the folds at the back can flap open to display those nicely rounded hairless buttocks.

There will be no doubt on the part of onlookers as to Jack’s status... that of owned pet... particularly when I lead him about on a leash. And for this, presented as a gift, Alice offered a decorative length of white leather... studded with garish rhinestones to assure that prospective onlookers indeed take notice.

“Stay,” I command, master to dog as I park the car.

I exit, leash in hand and open the passenger door. When I clip it in place on Jack’s leash for the first time, I feel the moisture spawned by my sense of feminine power.

“You’re going to take me to the apartment like this?” Jack inquires with incredulity.

I laugh.

“Yes, a boy with your penchants prefers to be completely exposed, I know. But that’s for me to decide, Jack. Come.” I tug, hoping it’s Theresa who is on duty.

But then again, at this point, why should it be of concern?

Chapter Thirty-Four

Leash training Jack proves to be invigorating. I teach him to respond instantly to directing tugs, to heel, actually taking the time to purchase a brief dog training guide. And with arms and hands useless, he has no choice but to concentrate and obey... not that there is any semblance of resistance remaining in a well washed brain.

As our Saturday evening Soho soiree approaches, I scheme as to transportation. From our Upper East Side apartment it is too far to walk Jack there, tempting as it is to show off his leash training. And subways are a nuisance, not quite figuring how to facilely get a leashed Jack through the turnstiles. So I settle on a cab, calling down to Theresa to see if she has a contact who is one of us, not wishing to overwhelm some non English speaking immigrant driver.

Resourceful as always, she has a name. A woman with a limousine service. I call. She’s in New York City on Saturday and can easily fit us between a scheduled theater excursion, from and to Connecticut. Excellent. The direct pick up and drop off won’t expose Jack on his leash as much as I’d like, but there will be other opportunities. Perhaps a Sunday afternoon in Central Park some time?

So all is arranged. Saturday arrives and Jack has the day off from heavy exercises, cleaning the apartment. I give myself a workout, and at 5 o’clock draw Jack’s bath.

He gets excited just hearing the water run, for so many years I have been sensuously bathing him. Since it’s a party day, he knows he will be released, temporarily, from his cock cage, pubes area shaven and inspected.

“It’s not good to go this long, Miss Kelly, without... you know,” a languorous Jack meekly suggests as I complete his body shave.

“You mean being milked, Jack?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m leaking goo.”

“That’s prostatic fluid. That means that a woman is keeping you chaste. Lord knows males don’t do that on their own. And that means you’re eager to perform for me.”

“But it’s not fair. I was eager to perform last week... for you and those women.”

“They chose not to have you ejaculate. That’s the way it is Jack. It’s a woman’s prerogative to have you spend... never yours. It’s what you enjoy. What your subconscious has ingrained.”

Given the matter thought, Jack may be correct with regard to milkings. Not because it is fair or unfair, but because too long a period may affect his performance, allowing his organs to enter a state of lassitude. It may be better training to keep them primed and ready to explode at my behest.

Finished bathing and shaving, veiling the thrill of palpating his entire nakedness with impunity, I unlock his cock cage, slipping away the steel mesh

. Then I pull his penis downward with my left hand, sliding out the Prince Wand with my right.