Of Male Chastity

Millicent Hayward-4

“Nothing else?”

I shake my head with a mocking pout.

“No. Poor little Harold’s pecker remains untouched.”

“He must beat himself off like a school boy,“ Douglas P. MacClellan surmises.

I just giggle. It’s an evil giggle. I do not explain the CB2000.

“Anoint me with power and you’ll have more of this. Plus I think Harold can amuse... if I understand your proclivity in being ‘not as discriminating as most men’.”

He nods. I can feel the circulation pulsing through the rock hard firmness of his towering erection. I must measure at some point, I make a note to myself. But this evening I must focus on this budding arrangement.

“Want to come for me like a good boy?” I coo in my sexy alluring voice.

I have held him at bay for an impressive interval while describing Harold’s oral servitude. The man certainly has staying power. Yet he’s ripe. So I lean closer until my exposed breasts are within reach of his tongue and lips. He takes the bait and begins to lick. But not wishing to give away all my charms on my first visit I stroke fervently with my right hand with my left sliding under his balls to knead his perineum.

He comes explosively, of course, impressively splattering sperm all over his shirt... even wetting his chin and my breasts. I continue to milk him dry, assuring he’s quite depleted as he slumps in his chair.

An image flashes into my mind. Yes, it’s the zoo lion after copulating with his mate. I just step away, dab his essence from my mammaries with a tissue and right my brassiere and blouse.

“Remember, Mr. MacClellan. More power for me, more ‘attention’ for you.”

I must stifle a laugh as I flip the door lock to leave. The exhausted lion will remain for quite some time recuperating in his office. He’s done for the night. And me? I’m going home to where Harold awaits... chaste, naked and eager to please.

***

It’s the weekend and Harold is excited, particularly when I instruct him to close the blinds. He dashes about the house, completely naked, in his eagerness ignoring possible exposure to passing neighbors.

“Now get the cleaning kit,” I pleasantly suggest, Harold knowing it’s a command.

To keep the male properly chaste, there must never be touching of the p***s, at least not with deliberation or in any seductive manner.

If that neglected organ does need to be handled for some reason, it’s to be done clinically, just as one would examine or handle a hand, arm or leg.

Ignoring all s****l aspects, depriving the overly sensitive strip of flesh of all sensual attention, drives home the sense of futility in thinking that some day the little pecker will once again be permitted to spout that disgusting male essence. Harold is kept chaste... it will be a lifelong condition.

Thus, removing the c**k cage becomes an event of great anticipation. Over the months, Harold has learned to enjoy the moments of freedom as much as he formerly enjoyed ejaculating.

He eagerly presents his wrists. I cuff and he immediately draws his hands behind his back, knowing that until well secured, the CB 2000 stays in place. I clip the cuffs together.

“I’ll let you parade about a bit while the dishwasher cycles. After that I’ll want you exercised and then it’ll be shaving time.”

After checking the wrists, I know that he won’t be able to touch himself. So the tiny lock springs open with the twist of the key and the cage easily slides away. I remove the points of intrigue and Harold sighs in relief. Then I prod his balls and tug at the large controlling ring encircling both the scrotal sac and base of the p***s. Now he giggles like a child as the ring is removed and the forcibly imprisoned male appendage rises in a humble salute to its owner... me. “Very nice, Harold,” I sarcastically compliment in a voice reserved for small children. “Your little p***s appreciates its freedom.”

I smack his buttocks.

“Off you go... no frottaging!”

The CB2000 can be cycled in the dishwasher. I head to the kitchen, load the detergent and adjust the setting for a short wash. Then it’s time for my amusement. Ridiculing and teasing Harold is almost as much fun as feeling him work my labia and c******s with his tongue and lips. The extreme hormonal imbalance has him thinking like a pubescent boy, and it’s enjoyable watching him frolic with his unwavering erection. Plus, I indeed must assure that he does not frottage... rubbing himself against something. The satin drapes in the dining room are known to be a target.

I return to the living room to find him jumping up and down. I have learned over the months that this provides some ephemeral satisfaction in feeling his erection bob about, sensing its firmness... that something remains attached there. I laugh seeing how easily the chaste male can amuse himself and I just stand and watch. He’s quite frisky and I keep thinking that if he were a breeding horse, I’d be seeking an appropriate mare for him.

And the forced innocence gives rise to an inner sense of satisfaction. Having Harold locked up, I know that his devotion and loyalty are absolute. He lives for oral service.

After several minutes enjoying the show, I decide its time for the next step. A treadmill will keep Harold exercised and serve to reset the hormonal balance just a tad. So I step forward and cup his balls to lead him into the spare bedroom. There a collar and lead awaits. I will secure him by his neck to the machine, forcing him to exert as I dally about the house.

It is curious that he remains erect for the entire ordeal, proudly showing himself off to his keyholder.

Later I will shave his pubes and we’ll shower together. With wrists remaining cuffed his efforts to rub himself against my feminine softness amuse as much as watching him frolic about with a hard on.

Ice is typically required to return Harold to the c**k cage. His neglected organ does not waver, almost defying gravity. While awaiting numbness and detumescence, he usually whimpers and pleads.

“It’s for the best, Harold. You’re so much more attentive to me when locked away.”

Later, the c*********s will not end... after all it’s Saturday and I require my own needs to be fulfilled. No point in letting Harold have all the fun.

***

Monday morning, after toast, coffee and c*********s, I arrive at my office to find that an internal envelope rests on my desk. Within is a very formal note announcing both the retirement of my boss and my promotion to Director of Personnel!

Mr. Douglas P. MacClellan is certainly in earnest concerning the ‘attention’ he needs.

Also inside the envelope is a personal note of congratulations from my new high ranking conspirator and the ‘suggestion’ that another late afternoon meeting is in order.

Yes, in last week’s tryst I knew from the look of satiated exhaustion that my long controlling hand job had thrilled. Such a randy boy! The divorce must have been long and drawn out. Despite all the community property rules, it still does not benefit one to sexually skulk about while matters are before a judge. The self imposed chastity of Douglas P. MacClellan must have been lengthy.

And adding to his arousal, I am sure, is the mystique of being blonde. Though I sun myself regularly, my Scandinavian ancestry will always cause my skin to remain alabaster. Images of my white hand running up and down the lengthy dark shaft of Douglas P. MacClellan come to mind. The contrast was striking. His p***s seemed to darken even more as surging circulation heightened by advancing stimulation turned the chocolatey brown to first a reddishness and then quite purple as my coaxing words brought it to climax.

Such fun.

Well, I spend the day plotting and organizing myself as Director of Personnel. The first task is to find a new plant manager. I’m shifting Harold to a new position. Though not yet deciding on his new duties, I have decided he should be closer to me during the day. So I draft a job description for his replacement and make arrangements to have it circulated.

Next I type a memo to payroll, more than doubling my salary and cutting Harold’s to the minimum wage. The net economic effect to the company is just about zero but shifting the income to me empowers. Then I become wicked. I fabricate various notes describing husband Harold’s bizarre behavior, all untrue, and forge signatures from numerous company officials. As his personnel file thickens, Harold becomes more and more unemployable. Just where and how I want him. He’ll never obtain a credible reference should he seek to escape my clutches with a job elsewhere.

With all my devious exploits, combined with regular company business, the day goes quickly. The time for the proposed tryst arrives and the end of my first day as Director. I feel good. I close up, being sure to take a certain manila folder with me in visiting Mr. Douglas P. MacClellan.

The elevator takes me to the top floor where the executives have fashioned quite the enclave. It is lush, as would be expected of a company with our size and profitability. When I enter the suite of my s****l conspirator, his secretary, preparing to leave, just motions me through to his office.

Douglas P. MacClellan is concluding a phone call. He gestures to the credenza and I know to open the cabinet above and push a hidden switch. A false wall slides away to reveal his collection of fine wines. He hangs up.

“Select for yourself. It’s part of a very valuable collection which escaped the wife’s divorce attorneys,” he explains, laughing with the glee of revenge. “Though they got just about everything else.”

I do not know wines and pick something red and moderately old. Douglas P. MacClellan rises and moves to the office door as I arrange two glasses.

“I assume everything’s progressing in Personnel.”

He assures that his secretary has departed, then locks the door. I note that a slide bolt has been recently added. No one can enter and interrupt and the huge brown hand latches the door with finality.

“Everything’s under control. I have some papers for you to sign. I’ve given myself a handsome raise. You won’t mind approving it because there’s a second memo demoting my husband.”

He smiles, displaying fine and even white teeth. He moves and takes the selected bottle.

“Curious how you choose to manifest your new power. Hubby raise your ire?”

“Just part of my long range plan. And I appreciate the power. It will mean more attention for you... that’s the deal.”

He smiles in agreement, subtly motions about his chest and nods to my cleavage. He signals for the removal of garments. Yes, he very much enjoyed the show last week and desires an encore. That he shall have.

“Concerned with surprise visitors?” I inquire as he pours and I unbutton.

He knows I am referring to the sturdy slide bolt newly installed.

“The cleaning crew. They’re accustomed to having the run of the place after hours and sometimes don’t even knock. Found that out sleeping on the office couch during the initial separation. You know if you run up bills at a local hotel those detectives will report to the wife and divorce counsel. It’s assumed that all conduct is suspect when going through a nasty divorce. Tough to prove you didn’t do something... that you were alone. So I took to staying here a couple of nights per week.”

I decide to reward the man who has so nicely arranged for my promotion. I completely remove my blouse and brasserie, noting that the temperature in the office of the scheming Mr. MacClellan is a toasty warm. He has moved up the thermostat in anticipation of my visit. Still I feel my n*****s crinkle to pencil points. I am proud that my boobies still are able to defy gravity despite achieving my thirties.

He pours himself a finger of rich burgundy, sniffs, tastes and nods approval. Then he pours into the second glass and tops his own. I accept the offering and smile when he once again clinks his glass against mine. In doing so, he gawks at my breasts. Normally such a stare is annoying but coming from the boss, it’s a compliment, and one that will be fruitful.