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“Please no,” Jack beseeches in seeing me pinch to remove one.
“Permission, Jack. Always ask permission to move.”
With that I cautiously reach to him and snare his left nipple in the jaws, mercifully smooth. I release to pinch closed, such sending my message of correction.
“Now sit up, hands on your head, proper posture.”
He obeys, knowing that there are many clothes pins and many parts pink where such can be applied. Though only two nipples, his elongated scrotum is well exposed. On one long weekend trip, I dressed him well in some dozen clothes pins. His breathing became quite labored, thus I know my admonishment was effective.
I am pleased when his nakedness, clothes pin quite prominent, brings forth more honks. He’s kept, his status apparent to the passing motorists.
“There will be more when we arrive home. The pin is there just to remind me you need punishment. I have a certain rose bud aperture which will require your attention, Jack.”
Analingus. He hates it. I love it as a precursor to slow unending cunnilingus. But I do not demand if often. I would not want Jack to acclimate... become comfortable with the foul deed.
We enter Manhattan, traverse the FDR, turn off and fortunately, the hour late, there is little local street traffic.
Into our apartment parking garage, I remove the punishing clothes pin, the rush of returning circulation bringing a comical gasp for air. Jack takes a deep breath, steadies himself then turns to reach back for his panties and blanket.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Jack. It’s Saturday night. Theresa’s on duty and she enjoys looking at you on the security cameras.”
Yes, Theresa, a woman of color, size and authority, is one of us, well aware of Jack’s subservience... naked subservience. As the night security woman, she will follow our progress on video, through the garage to the internal elevator, in the elevator, down the hallway to our apartment.
Besides enjoying Jack’s embarrassing exposure, in a satisfying manner, I placed her in a position in which she would be ill served to disclose Jack’s curious penchant. On Tuesday mornings, one of Theresa’s days off, I have Jack tend to her apartment. There, naked and in chastity, he cleans her bathroom... her toilets... as I demeaningly reference Jack’s weekday employment.
Something about being served by a naked Caucasian male brings a thrill...
“What about the neighbors?” asked Jack expressing concern.
“Some you already clean for. If we encounter others, we’ll just offer your services and trade for their silence.”
It’s true. Jack likewise cleans the bathrooms of some half dozen fellow tenants. Odd that it is so easy to arrange new clients for his services. Modest, harmless kink... more prevalent than most would think.
“Come, let’s go. I want to be served orally. Your exhibition has once again placed me in a mood.”
A nude caged Jack exits the car, scampering like a scared rabbit to press the elevator button and minimize potential encounters, at least in the garage.
This segment of what Jack must perceive as a long journey really is not that perilous. The opening of the parking garage door would signal the pending arrival of a neighbor long before he or she would spot a naked Jack. Still, seeing my former ward in such panic brings delight. And I know within that tight steel cock cage, his penis stirs... the masochistic reaction never to be completely stifled.
I gather his blanket and panties and slowly sashay behind, taking the time to admire Jack’s physique, many years of my handiwork. Yes, Jack is a divine pile of masculine flesh, well muscled, the workouts I demanded as his governess continuing daily. It’s part of the business. I’d have him working at a male strip club but for the need to remove his chastity device and his propensity to harden before fully clothed women. I’m sure management would not appreciate such a lustful gesture of male condescension.
I am almost disappointed when the elevator arrives with no passengers. Oh well, onward to the 15th floor as viewing Jack’s exposed muscling brings memories...
Chapter Twenty
As noted, since participating in after school sports was not practical for my silk pantied Jack, I inveigled the matro
n of the house to purchase an array of exercise equipment.
The third floor attic was turned into a gymnasium and beginning in his mid teens, Jack knew to come straight home from school... really nothing else for him to do... and report to me in the attic.
There I disrobed him, a ritual upon which I insisted, making him stand most passively with hands on head as I stripped him of every inch of clothing. Yes, he would exercise for me naked.
“There’s no point in piling up more laundry for the maids, Jack... sweaty shirts, shorts and socks,” I succinctly explained.
It was with great interest on those many afternoons that day after day I watched his penis blossom and the fruit of his scrotum fully ripen into the testicles of a young man... a well hung young man... a well subjugated young man.
Treadmill work, miles on the stationary bicycle, I insisted on the development of a manly chest as well, bulging, well proportioned pectoral muscles to be honed on the Universal Gym.
