Take A Stroll Around The House Or, If Your Property Is Private Enough, Around The Yard Wearing Your Strapon.

After party clean up….

how do you convince a vanilla boy to try being locked? how do you get them hooked?

Well, I’ll tell you what you don’t do. You don’t go up to a random boy, clutching a cage in one hand, a wild gleam in your eye, and say, “I want you in this, now!”

No, the answer is to use seduction, the same seduction that any girl would use to get any guy to do what she wants. So, let’s just imagine that this vanilla guy is someone in a class of mine at school. Here’s how it goes down.

One day, as everyone is milling into class, I notice our cute boy a few paces ahead of me. Like a morning zephyr I breeze past him, letting my hip or arm brush against his side. I turn and smile as I pass and say, “ Oh! Pardon me.” I reach back and touch the spot on his arm where I made contact, as if to say, “I hope I didn’t injure you there” but actually saying with body language, “feel the electric energy of my feminine touch.”

That’s pretty much all there is to it!

Okay, fine! There’s a little more. But you have to promise not to tell the girls that I gave these secrets away.

I find my seat. I’ve picked one with an empty seat on either side. Of course he comes and sits next to me. HIs attention is on me and I flashed a warm smile his way when I sat down.

“May I?” he asks politely.

“Oh! Be my guest,” I reply. 

This seemingly benign series of events is actually very important. It’s vital to paint the picture in his own head that he is pursuing me, and not the other way around.

“Did you do the reading?” I ask without waiting for an answer. “Wasn’t that ridiculous? I mean, sure Munch was a Symbolist but that doesn’t mean he could have anticipated the cultural signs and references that a semiotic analysis performed today would yield. Don’t you agree?”

Our boy hasn’t done the reading and is at a loss. But before he can cobble together a flimsy response I cut him off again,

“Van Halen!?” I exclaim gleefully as I pretend to notice his shirt for the first time. “No frik’n way!” I lean over to get a better look. “You rock! You absolutely rock. I’m so impressed. You and I are probably the only two people in this room who could pick David Lee Roth out of a lineup, I mean besides the professor.”

Class starts and I’ve accomplished my goals. I’ve established in his head that I’m intellectually superior and therefore not to be challenged. But rather than feeling threatened by it, my warmth has made him comfortable with me. Confident. He feels like he’s an insider in my world. Furthermore, he knows his role in my world. His role is to impress me. This scene plays out day after day, week after week, always bolstered with a soft touch, until he is utterly infatuated with me. The hook is in place but not set.

One day things shift. It could be that he finally works up the courage to ask me on a date. Or maybe we have to do a class assignment together. Or perhaps I just invite him over to my place for dinner. Let’s go with that last one.

He’s looking nicer than usual in that sweater and those slacks. As he waits for my roommates and me to finish cooking he slowly saunters around the living room, perusing our pictures and enjoying the décor.

“What is this thing?” he asks at length.

“What is what?” I respond from the kitchen.

“This. It looks like a metal dick.” He’s referring to the steel cock cage I keep prominently on the TV stand.

“Oh, that! Ha! Woops! You weren’t supposed to see that. It’s just a hobby of mine. It’s nothing.”

He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, puzzled.

“What kind of hobby?”

“Oh. You really don’t know what it is, do you?” I respond.

“Should I?” he asks, still confused, suddenly uncomfortable that he is not fulfilling his expected role of impressing me.

I walk over to him and wrap one arm around his waist.

“That, my love, is a male chastity cage.”

With my other hand I pluck the cage from his open palms and place it back on the TV stand.

We make eye contact.

“You mean you…?”

“Mmm hmmm.” I smile.

“And it’s a hobby?”

“I told you it’s nothing. It’s just something I’m into. You wouldn’t understand. Forget about it. Sheesh. Dinner is ready.”

But he can’t forget about it. Throughout the evening as we eat, play card games, watch movies, laugh and joke, his eyes keep wandering over to the little metal cage. He can’t bring himself to believe the thing is what he thinks it is. And, what’s even more difficult, how does this cute, fun-loving girl have this barbaric sexual thing in her living room? And just how “into it” is she? The more he thinks about it, the more he starts to wonder if he could undergo wearing it. He wonders if that would impress me. What it might feel like. The hook is now set.

Every time he comes over from now on, the cage is there in full sight. Every time he sees me, he thinks about it. Pretty soon we start talking more openly about it, about what I like to do to boys. About how much it excites me. I can now reel him in freely. He moves quickly from disbelief to curiosity to denial to resentment to a deeper interest and finally to a craving know what it would feel like.

One Saturday morning not too many days later he finds himself blinking as he stares down at the metal rings encasing his swelling penis. He wonders how in the hell he got himself into this thing and why he enjoys it so damn much.

@myheartinherhands

Booties and Babyhood…

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Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - The Strict Protocol Continues

The Strict Protocol Continues

Kelly finds herself marking a calendar, the timing of her visits most consequential. Never more often then every third day, the lengthy interval assuring that her charge Chestnuts is eager for cleansing and bathing. On occasion the suffering is extended… four days… and on one occasion a fifth day when she found herself traveling over a holiday weekend.

Imbued with unsurpassed power, she finds herself becoming giddy by the morning of the appointed day, a young girl desiring to cuddle her puppy.

Chestnuts is equally excited by her visits of course, his psyche anointing ‘Miss Kelly’ with plenipotentiary governance. She is everything… the source of all he needs. But of course not of all he wants. Denial… always denial of that which a virile young male most wants… most desires. And it pleases Kelly to deny him.

Instead there is tongue work. Chestnuts’ long wet appendage, surgically freed of the restricting frenulum, now thrusts forth with vigor in scooping the bland sustenance from an offered spoon. Miss Kelly is known to playfully dab the tip of the nose and, in encouraging with girlish giggles, has the prodigious length of pink curl upwards to swath, not only eagerly finding nourishment but pleasing with the display… the oral nimbleness of a barnyard animal.  

Kelly is also given to firmly grasp the tongue, ending each visit with many minutes of tugging, twisting and turning, imbuing continuing length, assuring strength and stamina.

Chestnuts is rewarded for his cooperation… more vaginal froth… Miss Kelly’s quim brimming with evidence of her delight… her ownership well implanted.

Still, yet there remains evidence of male aggression… almost every visit ending with a plea for manual release, Chestnuts’ penis standing most robustly after many weeks of chastity. Yes, the meek words come as Miss Kelly approaches with ice, the unwavering tumescence to succumb to a woman’s desire to return her boy to diapers.

‘Won’t you please stroke me first, Miss Kelly?’

The quest is ignored of course. But as the visits progress, ending such pleasant interludes of feminine power with notions of a soothing hand offering such crass male satiation disturbs.

In exiting the Clinic on one Saturday afternoon, Chestnuts well restrained and returned to his diaper, Kelly engaged the desk nurse in small talk, broaching the subject of ‘hand jobs for the helpless’, as Kelly humorously considers the constant quest.

“You should review the Guidebook,” the nurse suggests. “The Recalcitrance and Discipline chapter has some ideas. And I note on the chart that your boy is uncircumcised. Be sure to read the segment on infibulation as well.”

Kelly thanks the nurse, realizing she did not before delve that far into the Guidebook.

So it’s a Saturday night. Arriving home, a bottle of Chardonnay awaits. After a hot shower, Kelly calms herself after a long afternoon of feminine governance and concupiscence. The Guidebook awaits. She sits, sips and flips open.

Recalcitrance and Discipline, the final segment. Turning the pages she is surprised to find a chapter on masturbating the male, a shocking subject matter for an institution dedicated to male chastity.

‘During times of release… for cleansing or simple amusement… the chaste male will find himself erect and powerless to refrain from beseeching for sexual release. Think of the process as a young male dog in heat, assaulting Master’s leg with his privates in a most inappropriate manner. This annoyance can be curtailed very simply by indeed condescending and offering manual release… but in a very controlling and ultimately disciplining manner.

‘Clients will find each training room equipped with a slim glass tube and a supply of rock salt. It is a simple matter to introduce a few grams of salt into the tube, slip into the urethra of the erect male, and deposit sodium chloride well into the penis shaft by pressing a complementary rod as the tube is withdrawn. As the salt melts, aggravating the most sensitive of male flesh, the beseeched hand should stroke. There will follow a rather convincing combination of pleasure as denied penile skin is stroked and pain as the salt melts to irritate the urethra. Within minutes the pain pleasure will overwhelm. Subsequent ejaculation will slide the introduced salt further down the urethra, enhancing the pain as the release of ejaculate presses, and ultimately transforming what is normally the pinnacle of male ecstasy into an agonizing encounter with the determination of the female hand.’

In thought, Kelly pauses and sips… with a smile. Transforming male pleasure into pain! How devious… yet ingenious! Chestnuts will become quite reluctant to request manual release after such a daunting hand job. One can only imagine the distress in introducing salt, ironically so harmless, into the vaunted male organ.  

The Guidebook is pushed aside. Delirious thoughts of disciplining her charge in such an ignominious manner brings the need for her vibrator.