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The situation became acute and as I recall I entered a week of chastity. Rousing material was beyond my reach.
Then came the day when Mother was known to be occupied for the afternoon at a social function. I stepped from the school bus rather forlorn, knowing that though there was no adult supervision for the remainder of the afternoon, there was no catalyst available to relieve my burgeoning hormones.
I moped along the dirt road to the house, entered and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. There, prominently laid on the center of my bed I was surprised to find a Hollywood magazine featuring Raquel Welch. On the cover she posed in some skimpy Neanderthal outfit, apparently having completed the filming of ‘One Million Years B.C.’. She was sensational and I festively gaped, feeling an instant stirring in my loins.
But who put it there?
My question and concerns were quickly outweighed by my pubescent need for rejoice and relief. I locked the door. The magnificent pose, skimpy animal skins projecting the ferocity of this wonderfully shaped, supreme woman, later to become a most common college dorm room poster, called for celebration. A lengthy masturbatory session! And since I was in my own bedroom and Mother was not home to interfere, I would heighten the sensory input by stripping myself of all clothing. Yes, my week long chastity would end.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I realize the level of mental torment when I feel the firm hand of Mae Lee grasping my penis in the grip she uses to encourage urination. I thought it was time for release of the straps and am wrong. My mind is lost, floating in a sea of darkness and odd memories.
Though my bladder is full, my erection forestalls immediate response to her quest to have me empty myself. So I must work my abdominal muscles and summon the strength to urinate despite my tumescence, something I learned to do years before in Bangkok. I only hope I have a limited audience.
I feel a flow begin and Mae Lee tenderly toys with a nipple in a gracious and pleasant signal of acknowledgment for my obedience. I can only imagine what the stream of excretion looks like spouting from my erect penis.
I finish and must wait for the next encounter which will entail the release of the straps.
Do I sleep? Dream? The time seems to pass quickly and eventually the straps are loosened and my limbs are forced to move. I scream in agony as circulation returns. Then the hissing sound disappears.
“You exercise. I walk you.”
So familiar. I feel the control stick being clipped to my neck collar. The anal plug deflates. I hear the velcro rustle and know to slowly stand. My muscles falter and as I struggle I feel behind my knees the brisk kick of Mae Lee’s boot sending me to the floor.
When Mae Less suggests that I am to be walked, it is like a dog. I am actually to crawl for her. And I do.
I remain hooded and must react to tugs on my neck collar and burning nips of what I assume to be a cane on my buttocks and balls. Yes, I am walked and probably respond more obediently and with more alacrity than any dog.
I feel the smooth coolness of linoleum and know we enter the hall. Back and forth, Mae Lee has her way.
“Walking our little doggie?”
My heart leaps with the sound Miss Denise’s voice. Then I hear the annoying voice of her male companion.
“He remains engorged, Denise. Amazing!”
“Yes, we’ve learned how to handle males with his propensity, Doctor. And the level of aversive inhibition is
fascinating. We’ll place him in the most stimulating situations and this will be his response. But I have some palliative activities planned for him. All in good time.”
Again I experience the frustration of the gag, having to listen to others talk about me without the ability to respond. And being led about naked, collared and leashed before this man!
My pulse races and I feel my flesh burning with the intensity of the humiliation.
“Carry on Mae Lee, I’m just showing our guest the facilities.”
There is a firm tug on my collar. Miss Denise’s voice, explaining that I am being exercised, fades as Mae Lee takes me in one direction and the visitor is led in another.
I crawl and feel beneath my knees the padded flooring of the room where last week I performed for Mae Lee in balancing on the narrow plank.
What nasty things does she have planned?
She stops me and I kneel for her. I feel the wooden dowels, one placed behind each knee. Then she pushes me backwards. The plank is under the small of my back just at the waist. My head touches the floor with my feet and calves bent beneath me. The loops of rope encircle each thigh and ankle. Of course the dowels find the elbow joints of my arms and two more loops of rope surround biceps and wrists.
There is a pause. I can hear her disrobing and despite the torment pleasant visions of her shapely form come to mind.
“You keep knees spread,” she rebukes.
