The Party Boy

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

It’s day four after his circumcision. In having been well bandaged, a dressing which I have fun replacing after his daily bath, I know that nightly youthful habit, when teens sexually discover themselves, has been interrupted. Thus as I dry him, patting those growing testicles with matronly tenderness, I note the ooze of clear fluid. Yes, it is evident that Jack has been m**********g, crusted sheets an obvious clue. And the recent days of forced chastity, his wounded p***s tip precluding any lustful stroking, have brought need.

A forthright discussion is required. Though bashful, as usual in discussing male needs with his governess, I cross examine in detail, the level of embarrassment sublime.

“Jack, what is this? Your p***s is drooling and I just finished bathing you!” feigning annoyance.

“I know. That happens... for some reason...” his naive response known to be genuine.

“Well, your p***s no longer requires a bandage. But I cannot have you soiling those fine panties I have you wearing. Should I diaper you?” my voice stern, a mother threatening to return a child to potty training.

“No. Well sometimes I can get it to stop for a while.”

“When is that, Jack? I want to know... in detail.”

And of course, I know the details, fondling and stroking away at that abundant foreskin... now incised away. But what has not yet occurred to Jack is the consequences of removing that excess flesh. His masturbatory habits will change... must change... by my edict.

Delicious stuff for a woman of my ilk.

So in bonding with me, the woman who strips him and bathes him nightly, the woman who altered his p***s tip, Jack downloads, somewhat reluctantly, but divulges his deep secret... indeed detailing how he had been given to drain his p***s of the annoying goo. For him, confessing to his Governess is akin to another visit to the doctor or dentist, fully divulging all health issues and needs. I am understanding but firm.

“Tsk, tsk, Jack. You should not be doing that. I forbid it. And besides I don’t think you’ll be stroking this little thing like that going forward. Seems I’ve trimmed you for good reason. You’re now going to have to rely on Governess Kelly for that.”

Clinical... always clinical in early dealings with Jack

Now, I am well aware that some how, despite the tight circumcision, Jack... all boys for that matter... will find a way of ecstatically spewing their seed. The point is for me to timely step into the breach so to speak; offering an alternative... what will become a delightfully exciting and sought after alternative... to prosaic male stroking and frottaging. And that needs to be in place before he relearns that nasty habit.

I am going to milk him.... austerely and clinically... not a hint of s****l implication. The maids vacuum, launder and clean the house... I clean Jack!

“Stay here, Jack. I’ll need some ice. Remain naked for me.”

It is of great fortune that the sprawling mansion of Jack’s parents essentially relegates Jack and me to a separate wing. Interruptions in my very, very intimate care are rare... such that at some point I may have Jack stripped naked for the entire time he’s not in school and under my tutelage.

With that said, in the kitchen I obtain a bowl of ice and return. Whereas I’d like to see Jack get nice and hard for me, his p***s tip remains sore to the touch. So I must numb him. But he will still experience the joy of prostatic massage and a woman’s controlling touch.

“Ok, Jack. This is something I will do for you regularly. In time, when you’re completely healed and if you’re good for me, I’ll dispense with the ice. Come, straddle my thighs. Hands on head. No touching.”

And no thoughts of s*x, I want to add.

I sit on a straight backed chair and position him facing away, hairless thighs spread, sitting on my lap. My starched white uniform is institutional, offering quite the contrast to his complete nakedness. I begin by applying the ice to his p***s, chuckling as the coldness brings a lurch. Then I reach for the nearby bar of soap, remaining moist from his bath. It will serve as a suitable unguent for now and I coat two fingers of my left hand, holding the ice against his p***s with my right. My actions are mechanical, cloaking the devious pleasure in having a naked boy, shaved to charming smoothness, straddling my thighs.

After a few moments I test, pinching at the sore tip and noting no reaction. Numbed!

“This is a special thing for good boys, Jack. You needn’t worry about soiling your panties... or how you’ll rid yourself of this nasty male stuff. Think of it as something you want to offer me... a nice gift for the woman who cares for you,” my words fostering psychological adaptation.

Yes, Jack, this is a medicine you must take... and thereafter feel better. Such is the nature of my technique. And indeed he will feel better.

I penetrate, experienced fingers instantly finding the prostate. Despite the numbness, the gland remains receptive, offering Jack that strange combination of discomfort and joy. I am going to teach him to savor it... savor my penetrating fingers well in excess of any notions of self pleasure.

Masturbation is over for Jack... self m**********n.

Working with fervor, a mason laying cement, the fluid of my young male ward oozes in abundance, my fingers kneading and kneading within, my free hand indeed milking an udder. His essence coats the tile of the bathroom floor. I note it is clear, pending puberty not yet bringing the cloudiness of sperm.

Perfect. Biologically, my timing is superb. Jack will soon be addicted to the feel of a woman’s controlling hands. Mentally addicted... not sexually. Jack knows not what that is. Not yet.