Locktober – 4
Prostate Health
Jonathan Quincy Graves
{ Note: This is Part 4. If you have not yet read the earlier parts, this one will make more sense if you do. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3}
Our Locktober date night was a huge success. I can’t describe how good John’s cock (the artificial one I bought for him) felt as he brought me to multiple orgasms. After the excellent meal, along with all the correct wines, and the long night of pleasure in our queen-size bed, my poor hubby was ready to collapse by the time I reached sexual satiation. He used his tongue to bring me off first, then after several orgasms with his big dick, I had him withdraw and go back to using his mouth for a gentle interlude. It wasn’t long, however, before I wanted his length and girth pumping away inside me again.
When John returned his face between my legs to lap at my sex, I pointed out the advantage to him of using a strapon as opposed to his cock. Namely, there was no cream pie for him to worry about, no messy condoms, no mess at all other than my juices, which flowed freely. He may not have properly appreciated this upside to his locked and loaded condition, but that’s a man for you—always thinking of his own little tool, even when it is not the best tool for the job.
I’ve been doing some research online, and the advice concerning male chastity is anything but definitive. I’m especially interested in prostate health and the effects of denial on the male. You’d think there would be guidance based on actual data. Surely some detailed scientific or medical studies have been done, so that a person like me could determine the best course of action for her man. If you, like me, thought this, you’d be wrong. What studies there have been on prostate health and denial were either poorly designed, or statistically insignificant. The advice ranges widely. Some “experts” say that a man should cum at least once every two weeks to keep his pipes cleaned out. At the other extreme, we’re told that a man never needs to cum at all to maintain prostate health.
One source I found claimed that a man hasn’t fully experienced chastity until he has been caged and denied for at least three months. In my devilish little mind, the idea of a three-month period of denial and frustration for John sends shivers down my spine, where they resonate between my legs. So, what to do? I really do not want to cause my husband serious prostate health problems, but, hey, it’s Locktober. For his first ever Locktober, which, I keep reminding him he asked to experience, I think it’s important that he not be allowed to wimp out. There are thirty-one days in the month; there should be thirty-one days of denial… at the least.
Still, there are those pesky sources that set the bar, for prostate health reasons, at two weeks, and as I say, I don’t want to take unnecessary chances with hubby’s health. To be honest, his balls look a little blue. Well, purple, but you know what I mean. Fortunately, those sources that espouse regular relief also describe a compromise approach. A cleansing of the male reproductive system short of an actual fuck.
In the ensuite bathroom off the master bedroom, we have a shower that I love. It has multiple jets so that a single person can experience warm water jetting from several directions. On a cold morning, no part of me is left to suffer in the cold dry air. Another feature, it is big enough for two people to shower if they want to enjoy the experience together.
Sunday morning, I was first up. Well, I would be, wouldn’t I? I drank far less wine than did my husband the night before. After starting the coffee, I retrieved the key to John’s cage from the pantry where I had it hidden in an empty baking powder box. I returned to the bedroom and woke him with, “Rise and shine.” He finds that particularly irritating first thing in the morning.
“I’m in the mood to make you a deal,” I said. “Let’s take a shower together. You can wash me all over, and I will return the favor.” I dangled the key in front of his face and said, “And I do mean all over.”
The tube of John’s chastity device is a lattice of steel bars rather than a solid covering. As a result, John is able to clean himself reasonably well without me having to unlock him. Still, I thought, a thorough cleansing of John’s privates and his cage is probably due.
John climbed out of bed, not without a certain amount of grumbling. Hangovers from too much wine are about the worst, and I could tell he was feeling the effects of last night. Poor baby.
I preceded John into the bathroom and started the shower to warm as he emptied his bladder. We entered the stall together, and I handed John a bar of soap and the loofa. Then, I stood, turned when requested, but mostly just enjoyed the feel of my husband bathing me. He was very meticulous, scrubbing my back, tenderly bathing my tender parts, washing me from my toes to my ears, then shampooing and conditioning my hair. It was very nice. The whole time, the key to John’s release dangled by a silver chain, on prominent display, from one of the shower heads.
“My turn,” I said, when he had run out of parts of me to bathe. I reached for the key, and holding it before him, I said, “I will unlock you, remove your cage and its ring for a thorough cleansing of both you and the hardware, but first, you have to promise three things.”
“What are they?” he asked, a little dubious, but conscious of the prize.
“First, that you will not touch yourself. As you bathed me, so I will bathe you.”
“Sounds great. What else?”
“Second, that you will let me make you cum. You will let me do it my own way. You will cooperate, do as I say, and not interfere.”
“Even better,” he said. “What else?”
“Third, after our shower, you will let me put you back into chastity. No delays, no complaints.”
“I get to cum before you put me back in the cage, right?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Good. Then I enthusiastically agree to all three of your conditions,” John said with a grin. I could see his dick straining to get hard in his cage. It started when he was bathing me, but my promise to make him cum amplified his arousal.
Bargain made, I unlocked and removed the cage and the retainer ring. The cage was reluctant to leave his cock. His tool’s attempt to swell made it a tight fit. I used soap as lubricant and managed to work it off. His dick sprang to fully erect in about three seconds. I handed the bits of metal to John and said, “Wash these thoroughly while I scrub your back.”
John used a washcloth to clean the cage, and I scrubbed his back with the loofa. By the way he arched his back, it was obvious he enjoyed the attention, just as I had. I worked my way down over his ass, then crouched down to do the backs of his legs. Still in a crouch, I had him turn to face me. While I washed his feet and legs, I kissed and nibbled the tip of his erection with my lips. I was sure he was on the brink of shooting, so was careful not to overdo it. I rose from my crouch—temporarily abandoning his cock and eliciting a groan from my husband—washed John’s chest and each of his arms. With soapy fingers, I washed his face then shampooed and conditioned his hair.
“Face the corner,” I said. “Bend over, spread your legs, and put your hands on the wall to support yourself. I don’t want you doing a faceplant while I’m making you cum.”
John did as he was told, and I nudged his ankles to get him to widen his stance. I lathered my hands and soaped and massage his privates. Again, I was careful to not make him shoot. As my left hand reached around from the side and gently stroked his hard dick, my soapy right hand slid up the crack of his ass. I cupped his cheek and flirted with his anus with my fingertips.
My left hand lightened the contact further, and John began to thrust with his hips in an effort to increase the stimulus. I slapped his wet ass, hard, and told him to hold still. My left hand slid to his hip and held him steady, while the fingers of my right became more intrusive. I forced a soapy finger into his ass.
“No…” John started to say, but I hushed him.
“Hush, baby. Let me relieve you of all those cummies. We don’t want you getting all clogged up.” As I admonished him, my finger sought and found his prostate. I had ceased all stimulation of his cock, and my left hand slid down to caress his balls. I gently worked and massaged his testicles as I increased the pressure of my finger on his prostate. My finger was pumping in and out, and I added a second. I fucked him with my fingers as they sawed across his gland.
“I have to pee,” John objected.
“It’s okay, baby. That’s just those little spermies looking for an exit.” I don’t know why I was using baby talk as I milked my husband. (That’s what they called it online, “milking” for prostate health.) It just seemed natural, as if he really was my baby, and I was taking care of his needs as a loving mother would. “Let it cum, baby. Cum for me.”
As I pulled down on John’s scrotum, squeezed his balls, manipulating them more aggressively like two marbles in a bag, and pressed ever more insistently on his prostate, his erection began to soften and seminal fluid leaked from his dick to the rhythm of my rubbing digits.
John’s groan was almost a whimper as his babymakers flowed from his wilting penis in impotent dribbles and washed down the shower drain. “This isn’t fair,” he moaned. “I didn’t get to cum.”
“And yet you did,” I said. “We emptied your balls of all that pent-up cum. That should be a great relief. You didn’t orgasm, but I never promised you that. Plus, it’s all part of the experience you requested. You needed this to keep you chaste and support your prostate health. We couldn’t allow you to shoot like a stud when we’re only halfway through the month of October. That would have negated the whole thing. We’d have had to start all over with additional time added on. And while that would have been great for me—you’ve never been so attentive to my needs—I doubt you would have been in favor of it.
“Turn around and rinse the soap off your ass. Then, we’ll get you dried off and securely back into your cage. After which, you can use your tongue to cleanse me of the itch all that sexual activity gave me.”
END of Part 4
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