Taming the Virile Male

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

It seems I am indeed ready for another step. Miss Betty no longer visits. And with each of Miss Ann’s feedings my p***s begins to stand from the time she flicks on the light switch to the time of her departure. She continues to ignore my tumescence... for the most part. But she is given to an occasional comment, complimenting on the length and girth of my erect manhood and upon her departure childishly pushing it down and watching it right itself... the resulting thump to my belly seeming to amuse.

Without the daily relief of Miss Betty’s firm stroking hand, my p***s seems ready to stand for any person at any time, and finding that it so entertains Miss Ann, I let the process of engorgement unfold immediately upon awaking, knowing that she would soon arrive with her youthful cuteness and her bowl of coveted mush.

Then on about the fifth or sixth day, after savoring every spoonful the bowl has to offer, Miss Ann’s fingers begin to explore. She notes that my erection is secreting fluid. She smiles, extends her finger to dab and then wipes the essence on my stomach.

“Miss Beatrice will stop in later for a little chat, Captain. You’ll keep this nice and firm for her. She very much enjoys obedient boys with erect penises.”

She teases, extending the nearly empty spoon for a last lick. Then the ingenue Dominant-in-training arises to leave. Oddly, I blush with the thought of another woman entering my barren enclave, gazing at my nakedness and seeing me bound and restrained by my gonads. It is a sensation to which I am not so much becoming accustomed but instead strangely learning to enjoy... like a first time thrill ride. Yes, a ride experienced with wrists bound and every inch of my anatomy exposed and subjected to the whims of a Dominant woman. And with the many hours of seclusion, I suppose such interludes of embarrassing companionship are to be enjoyed. Any contact becomes welcomed.

With the lights dimmed, I reflect back on the first time I had experienced the feeling... the odd thrill. It was after my initial journey through the pit, where after the frightful acid bath and rinsing, a uniformed guard clipped on another leash and led me into a small room. With indiscernible words of gibberish and small applications of her cattle prod, she had me prancing like a school girl. It amused her and I was humiliated. But the electric charges, however slight, reminded of the ultimate power she wielded. She was to be obeyed... and my supplication was meekly proffered.

In that small room I was ringed. A dour woman in a white cotton smock, latex gloves, and wearing a gauze mask directed me onto what I can only describe as a gynecological examination chair. With feet in stirrups, thighs well parted and under the constant threat of the cattle prod, my hairless scrotum freely hung for inspection. And despite the gruff touch... poking, prodding, twisting... my p***s came to full erection.

I know that beneath the mask the woman was smiling, fully enjoying her control and my discomfort, but her hands worked arduously and within minutes I felt tremendous pressure on one testicle and then the other.

Perfectly sized steel rings were slipped over each gonad and pushed well up my scrotal sac toward the base of my erection. When large stainless steel pliers appeared, I shuddered. The woman laughed knowingly. I assumed that she had so often observed such a reaction when formidable tools were used about the male’s most sensitive and precious anatomy.

Within seconds the pliers gripped the rings and crimped the roundness to the shape of an oval. Latex covered fingers pulled and pulled. My new jewelry was tested. The rings were found to be secure and would not easily be slid away.

The leash was moved from the front of my yoke and clipped onto the two rings. There a woman’s ultimate control was demonstrated as the beige uniformed guard pulled and I followed with celerity.

I stepped from the room following the tugs to the sound of much laughter. And yes with my erection preceding me I felt my heart pounding and my circulation turn my hairless skin to a crimson. I was blushing in the humiliation but felt the odd exhilaration. As stated, a sensation with which I was to become all too familiar.

A woman was leading me about by my balls. I was yoked... naked.... erect. There was no resistance to be offered. She guided me to this cell, my new home, removed the leash and in its place clipped on the simple narrow chain bolted to the center of the floor.

And other than some dozen return visits to the pit with subsequent acid baths, here I have remained.

My reverie ends with the squeak of hinges and the flip of the light switch. Lying in my rat’s nest bedding I turn my head, spy an unfamiliar face and immediately struggle to rise.

My captors are known to insist on a degree of comportment and I know I am not to greet any woman while slovenly lying about.

My heavy yoke makes movement a burden. I am slow to gather myself and as my testicle chain rattles, an authoritative woman stands arms akimbo, patiently waiting for me to arise.

“Good afternoon, Captain. My name is Beatrice. Miss Beatrice to you. It is good to see that you’re happy to meet me.”

With her eyes gazing downward, she stoops to lift and place a satchel on the m**********n table. Yes, with the recent denial of Miss Betty’s exquisite touch and thoughts of my naked subservience, my manhood is semi-erect. Miss Beatrice’s attention returns from the bag and she seems pleased to just stand in silence as the neglected organ slowly rises to full tumescence. Her facial expression is of a knowing amusement, as that of a mother catching a mischievous young child rummaging about in a forbidden drawer. Miss Ann is correct, she enjoys males with erect p*****s.

“Yes, very nice.”

My erection definitely draws her attention and her rapt gaze seems to cause it to stiffen further despite my attempts to mentally rein its unruliness.

I remain wordless. Applications of the cattle prod have strongly insinuated that silence is best and I try to gauge my visitor without any intimation of defiance. The dangling testicle chain serves as a reminder of my vulnerability.

Miss Beatrice is a handsome woman. Younger than my masturbatrix but much more mature than Miss Ann, she has short raven hair which matches her black cashmere turtleneck sweater, the fine softness of which yields pleasingly to perfectly rounded breasts. A woolen skirt of charcoal grey is hemmed just at the knees to display shapely calves. She is finely figured with even and symmetrical features and strikingly bright blue eyes that seem to light up my cell. She exudes confidence, which I interpret as an indication of a degree of self esteem. But there does not seem to be a narcissism over her looks as much as an awareness of her own intellect.

Yes, whereas the radiant presence of most beautiful women is mostly often contrived from the barrage of compliments of priapic admirers, Miss Beatrice’s savoir-faire is self developed... internal. There is a mental superiority that suggests she considers her fine looks to be trivial to the overall composition of her own persona.

“Today begins another step, Captain. You’re going to please and entertain women... but more importantly, you’re going to learn to enjoy it. It will become a life’s role.”

The satchel is opened. Manicured hands work the folds of modest canvas and a small board is removed. One surface glints with small metal objects and Miss Beatrice moves to hang it from an unassuming hook on the wall adjacent to the cell door. She turns and smiles. Most would judge it to be a pleasant and guileless smile... but most are not naked, yoked and held captive by their genitals. No, when held to be so vulnerable to the whims of the Dominant woman, such a smile is conniving.

“Just some trinkets for use in the event of disobedience. I doubt if such will ever be needed,” she suggests with a smooth and even tone... not expressed with flippancy but certainly suggesting authority.

My first day at school is recalled when the teacher hung a length of rattan on the wall of the one room country school house. She had spoken similar words with equal confidence and also smiled as the boys cowered... all having experienced the nasty bite of a similar instrument at the lonely, isolated ranches we called home.

Miss Beatrice returns to the satchel and lowers the folds to unveil a curved phallus of gleaming metal. The tip is comically bulbous and when removed I notice the shaft bends to connect to a less lustrous plate of steel or iron. There it is welded in place.

“A toy for you, Captain. Your chastity will begin to suggest certain needs and I think you’ll soon enjoy playing with this. We term its use as ‘going for a ride’.”

With a chuckle, the handsome woman strolls to the far wall opposite the cell door. There, four heretofore unnoticed bolts jut forth from the rough concrete. The protrusions align perfectly with holes bored into the four corners of the plate and with the aid of wing nuts, quickly tightened, the cell wall is adorned with a sizable faux erection of polished steel. It seems to most obscenely penetrate the openness of my quarters.

“Of course, you’ll need to have your chain loosened in order to reach it. But with good behavior, I can accommodate.

“Now... let’s get to know one another...”