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With that I lean, whispering into Jack’s left ear the sibilant sounds taught in potty training a child.
“Pssst... pssst.”
Jack clenches his stomach muscles, abdominals I have forcefully had him perfect. His penis waggles, the angle of erection slightly dipping. Then comes a forceful gush, arching upwards, between the railings of the deck and streaming to the garden below. Yes, the women are impressed. But there is more.
“Jack that’s enough,” all knowing the bladder remains in need.
Jack obediently curtails the flow. I pause looking to see the many aghast faces, a woman’s command so promptly obeyed.
“Now you may finish for me,” my follow up command coming after many, many aggravating moments... for Jack.
The stream resumes. For $300 dollars I let him finish. I explained to our hostess that for an extra stipend I will have him turn on and off the flow many times. She did not express interest. I am sure some are disappointed.
Waiting in my hand is a tissue. I dab his penis tip, a chore I have so often undertaken since youth.
“Come, Jack,” pulling his leash for him to right himself, I note that he blushes.
Yes, the masochism of the subordinate male. Psychologically, they never seem to fully acclimate to their own needs... they never seem to want to...
I lead him back to the living room in silence, my ears soaking up the many excited comments.
Chapter Eight
“Do you bind him?” the girl with interest in domineering females seems eager to learn.
“No longer. But he is kept chaste. It’s an essential part of the business.”
“No sex?” the girl incredulous.
“For him? I’ll get him off at these parties. Extra fee, of course. Sex for me? Constantly. Jack’s quite orally proficient and I find male penetration to be demeaning.”
The girl nods, quite receptive to the one sided nature of our sexual relationship.
“Tonight... will he... will he…?” the girl shy concerning her words.
“Be masturbated? No. Not in the planned program.”
“But he does... does...”
“I have him ejaculate on cue when it’s desired... normal orgasm or ruined, depending on the desires.”
“It seems cruel to leave him frustrated.”
“It’s part of the business,” I shrug. “He’ll just have that much more jism to spew at the next party,” my tone cavalier.
But the girl’s questions spur more reflections. Do I bind him...?
&n
bsp; Chapter Nine
“Your son is wetting the bed,” another prevarication in reporting to Jack’s haughty mother.
This brings a look of disgust, a subject not for discussion and a deed deemed well beneath the desired deportment of her silver spooned son.
“Well, it must be dealt with. He’s too old!”
Yes, he is. Jack is approaching his senior year. And he has no real problems, in fact, urinating for me only at my command, most times with me handling what has blossomed into a nice sized manhood.
