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To New Jersey, the George Washington Bridge is flowing well on a summer’s Saturday evening. The directions are simple, our destination one of those upper middle class suburban towns. The drive is short.
Jack’s penis has been returned to its cage. I’ve pantied him in baby blue, his blanket wrapped about his nakedness. His fortitude begins to wane as I pull the car up to a large house. There are other cars parked in the front and our hostess gave instructions to park in the one remaining space in the driveway. Darkness is approaching. Still, before exiting, I must coax a reluctant Jack from the passenger seat. Shyness brings cold feet.
“Why must you do this to me?” he again protests.
“Why does your penis stiffen whenever I release it?” I question in reply, taking his hand. “Women like to see a boy being governed and humiliated, Jack. And they pay. And I need the money... for you,” grasping his hand.
I look at my watch, the Cialis should be surging. I thus reach under the blanket and offer some very intimate caresses. Held in chastity for a week, system deluged with injected testosterone, my fingers are welcomed... until the flooding erectile chambers cause his sensitive penis to greet hard steel.
“Please don’t,” grimacing with the growing pain.
I know that with the dose of Cialis, engorgement is most difficult to reverse.
“Well, if you’re good, you’ll be unlocked. Then it won’t hurt,” the advice offered as I slip his hood over his head.
I exit the car, grab my bag and fling the strap over my left shoulder. I move to the passenger side and open the door.
“Come, Jack, it’s show time,” leading him like the child he becomes when flustered.
I guide him up a set of steps and ring the doorbell. I am greeted by a naked girl. She curtsies, seeming concerned in seeing Jack, but smiles in noting that he is hooded.
“I’m Kelly, here with Jack.”
In silence she gestures for us to enter. We step within and my eyes explore. The girl is short, blonde hair closely trimmed, somewhat plump, with enormous breasts.
“Show them in here, Katrina,” a deep female voice instructs.
I follow Katrina into the house, leading a fumbling Jack by the hand. In a large living room there are numerous women. The scene is of debauchery. Three women sit, knees parted, a naked young girl on all fours before each, heads wedged between three pairs of thighs. Each sitting woman is neatly but plainly dressed, blouse and skirt. But I note the skirts are loose and pleated, obviously designed for the advantage of receiving cunnilingus.
The woman with the deep voice sitting alone, similarly attired, again speaks.
“Welcome to our bridge club,” she greets with a wry smile. “I’m Sue... Miss Susan to our oral sycophants.”
The woman rises handing me an envelope. Cash. I don’t insult by counting, instead placing in my bag. I then whisk away Jack’s blanket, fold and stuff it in my bag.
“Tonight’s entertainment, ladies,” Miss Susan announces. “He is well put together, isn’t he?” the hostess pointing to the stool I suggested she have ready.
It greatly adds to Jack’s sense of degradation to have him pose perched high. Plus, in being hooded, he’ll not dare endanger himself by shifting about and possibly falling. No he’ll be very obedient and merely exhibit himself for the gathering of the bridge club. I pull down Jack’s baby blue panties, have him step out then guide him to mount the stool.
“I assume you want him erect,” taking the key from my necklace, seeing Jack fidget in distress.
Yes, the humiliation of being put on display is beginning the loop already, humiliation leading to stiffness which in turn enhances the humiliation... which so nicely assures further stiffness.
Miss Susan steps forth and palms Jack’s low hanging testicles, the stool presenting his plums at the height of the woman’s chest.
“I assume an erection brings suffering locked up like this?”
“Yes, the cock cage is quite restrictive, custom made to his measurements to assure the slightest engorgement is denied.”
“Then leave him in chastity for now. Katrina, come here and lick the boy’s balls.”
The girl at first looks shocked, then glumly steps forth. It is apparent the young naked lesbian is not enthused with the demand to orally caress a male.
“Do his buttocks as well,” Miss Susan adds in an after thought.
“Can we talk... in the kitchen?”
I nod and follow, noting the knee high leather boots. Yes, the party is no doubt for women who like women, but the air reeks of dominance and submission. One recipient of oral attention wields a riding crop, occasionally reaching forth and encouraging more tongue work with a quick flick of her wrist and a crack of leather to exposed buttocks.
