Walked by My HandlerSoft footsteps on the carpeting, the office door opens and closes. I am left alone, in darkness, mercifully the thin controlling rope left slack. I draw back on my haunches relieving more tension on my scrotum. In trying to relieve my mind of the horrid procedure I distract my thoughts in envisioning what I must look like kneeling nude, body oiled and shaved, hands restrained, balls entrapped. Am I erect?
Probably. The fragrance of Captain Morena’s muskiness remains on my nose and upper lip. And I am sure the sildenafil citrate patch works its tumescent magic. I pull on my pubo coccygeus muscles. Does little Mort respectfully waggle? I’m not sure... and then I realize... such does not matter.
Mind reeling, my thoughts return to Dr. Susan’s words... ‘a woman’s hand to
