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“I have both experience and training in the matter. I’ll need cart blanche in dealing with it. He may complain... and deny that he’s bed wetting.”
“He’ll not wriggle out from under your auspices, Miss Kelly. He’s greatly improved over the years of your tutelage. A very docile boy.”
And looks sweet completely hairless and in girl’s underwear I am tempted to add.
Alas, Jack has been more than receptive to the feel of smooth silk on his shorn privates. And as noted, it so nicely tempers male belligerence.
And so Jack’s mother washes her hands of what is perceived to be a most embarrassing family problem... a complete ruse on my part.
Offered to me by one of my nursing compatriots is a special locking diaper, used in psychiatric wards with not only incontinent patients, but those with dementia who, extended opportunity, are given to masturbate most obsessively.
‘Some of the younger dementia patients will rub the skin right off their penises,’ my friend relates.
It’s comprised of heavy canvas... a thick waist belt, a formidable crotch piece locking at the back.
“He’ll need to sleep with me for a while. This will require close supervision,” I forewarn the matron of the house.
She shrugs, reiterating her desire to wash her hands, showing no concern for further details of the proffered treatment and ‘cure’.
Yes, handling Jack’s rapidly developing organs, so often milking him of his burgeoning male essence, has brought needs of my own. Yet, I cannot have carnal relations and do not wish to tempt Jack into any thoughts of such.
Thus he will be bound... at least his privates will be. And Jack will begin wearing a hood, darkness deepening his docility.
Chapter Ten
I note that my explanation of the various show offerings, different aspects of CFNM, has brought much discussion.
With Jack’s nudity, his feminine controlled urination, sparking much thought, I lead my hooded partner to a stool, provided by our hostess, and guide him to step up, there to continue displaying himself and his erection while heavy hors d’ oeuvres are served.
This for the most part is a time out, the novelty of the women’s proximity to docile male brawn somewhat wearing. But with Jack’s low hanging testicles now at eye level to many of the attendees, more hijinks are sure to follow.
I see the girl talking with others. Then all retreat, returning with their purses. It seems a collection is being taken. How inspiring!
My attention is diverted by a very athletic woman staring at Jack perched on the stool. It appears she is in the Louvre assessing a fine sculpture, more or less apprizing Jack asexually.
“He’s well conditioned,” she notes in prompting conversation.
“I’ve worked him since he was a boy,” I offer in reply. “Like to think exercise keeps a boy’s hands from his penis... at least that is the intent.”
The woman laughs. And I again have recollections...
Chapter Eleven
I want my boys to be physically active, attain some form of manly shape. But I find that in milking Jack, the resulting ennui becomes extended.
Such laziness.
However, engaging in school sports is not practical for boys in brightly colored silk panties. I can only imagine the locker room antics in changing to and from uniforms.
So sometime after my trimming of Jack’s foreskin, a few weeks into the regular prostate milkings, I engage the lady of the house.
“Jack is not one for exercise,” I inform. “Rather indolent. Unless precaution is taken, I do believe he’ll begin to fatten. Not good for a boy’s self esteem.”
I should add that neither is being stripped naked, bathed and intimately massaged by a governing woman, but on these points obviously silence serves me best.
“My, my, Jack’s father would not approve of that. Whatever should we do?”
I note it is the royal ‘we’, Jack’s mother not spending a moment of time with the lad.
