Chapter Eleven
My reverie ends, the driveway beckoning as does a host of Sunday afternoon household chores. And the realization comes... it now matters not whether I am well hung. My male package is under lock and key, the release at the whim of a defacto eunuch.
I cringe in thinking of the morning, baring myself, being exposed to the staid Mrs. Larson, she who punctured... my penis... my male psyche. She stayed and watched while Johnny put me to work, scrubbing the kitchen floor, vacuuming, doing laundry. In the nude, in chastity. Yet there is also a sense of... of... accomplishment? That I pleased... seemed to please? I try to stifle such errant thinking.
Many hours of labor completed, there came grooming lessons. It seems one of my chores after bathing Johnny will be to make him loo
