With My Master Baytor 05

Coming home from my session with Mentor, I opened my laptop, and used the Open Office program to create a file named 'Journal 20-05.odt' in a new folder named 'Journal.' Then I began to type. When I was finished, the page looked like this:

Journal - May, 2020

14 May 2020 (Thursday)

Just got home from my third session with Mentor Robert Thierry. An impressive man, he was professor of sexology at Columbia University, but is now retired except for some counselling and mentoring which he does privately. Having become his pupil only a few weeks ago, we are still getting to know each other, but already I feel a strong connection to him. I answered his ad promising help to 'compulsive or habitual masturbators' that he'd placed on a website I visit. I don't know if he'd consider me 'compulsive,' but there's no question that I'm 'habitual.' Before we started, I was jerking off three or four times a day. Already, he's cut me down to twice a week (or three times, if he has me do one at our sessions), using the threat of his prison strap as a deterrent. This is a level which he considers acceptable - at least for now - and which I feel I can live with.

Why did I answer his ad? What am I trying to accomplish? There were two reasons, really. It's certainly not that I want to quit wanking altogether. I've never thought of it as 'self abuse,' and neither does he. But doing it three or four times a day is too much for any guy out of his teens. It comes to feel boring and mechanical after awhile. At least it did for me, and I have reached a point of knowing that I would enjoy probably enjoy it more if I did it less, but in more imaginative ways. That was one reason why I answered Prof. Thierry's ad.

There was another reason as well. One of my fantasies was and still is to have my masturbatory habit supervised and directed by a strict governess or father-figure who would keep it under control, and punish it when it became excessive. I had hoped that Mentor would play this role, and indeed, a week ago, he did call me to account for excessive wanking; but he was not playing, and that spoiled the fun. He flogged me quite seriously to discourage the practice, at a tariff of two strokes per wank with a heavy Canadian prison strap. I'd been at myself four times that week - for me, a record low - and I received eight strokes for doing so. I was too sore to move or sit comfortably for three days after that, and could not get much work done. That week I only wanked twice, expecting to take four strokes at our session this afternoon. But I had a pleasant surprise. Mentor told me that if I could keep it down to twice a week, he would not punish me at all!

At this session, all we did was talk - with two exceptions. He introduced me to a kind of masturbation with the genitals off limits, and told me to practice it. More on that in my next journal entry. He also ordered me to start this journal, as a basis for our work together, and as a record of my progress. He pointedly explained that he was my mentor, not my playmate - that he would teach me things and punish me when he had to, but not play games or top me beyond the mentor/pupil relationship. He did not even watch me at the end, when I wanked myself to lose the woody so as to get the cage back on. He just gave me permission to do this, and walked out of the room. He said he'd help me find playmates when I was ready - if I wanted them.

No more for now. I'll just have dinner and try to get some work done this evening. I'll write about masturbation with my cock off limits in the next entry.

It was supper time, and I was hungry. I re-heated a frozen Pad Thai dinner in the microwave, and ate alone with a novelette on Literotica to keep me company. After this dinner, nude and caged, I stood in front of the mirror for almost an hour, practising the exercise that Mentor had assigned me. After that, I thought I'd put in a few hours of work; but found myself distracted.

I did not need Mentor to find me playmates. I already had some very good ones including one whom I thought might enjoy becoming my keyholder and could be trusted not to abuse that power. On a sudden impulse, I phoned Elizabeth Slater, who worked on contract through Dieppe and Higgins just as I did, and was the friendliest of my 'friends with benefits.' We work out of the same consulting firm, occasionally on the same project, and we meet from time to time for mutual pleasuring.

"Hi Dan," she answered her phone, recognizing the number that was calling. "How are you keeping? I haven't heard from you for awhile."

"I've been busy," I replied, "and I have a lot to tell you. Any chance of getting together?"

"Not tomorrow," she said. "I've got a blind date with someone. But if you take me to dinner on Saturday, I'll let you have me for desert."

"Deal. We'll have each other. But you're in for a surprise."

"What's the surprise?" she asked.

"Not for the phone," I answered. "And if I tell you now, it won't be a surprise. Wait till we're together, and you can discover it for yourself."

"Sounds interesting," she said. "OK, I can wait two days. I'm not going to push you. I'll find out what it is when you're ready."

That's what I liked most about Liz. More than almost anyone I knew, she had this Zen-like ability to take things as they came - or didn't. Without anticipation or impatience, she would meet each new situation on its own terms, taking whatever it had to offer, and making the best of it. That was why I wanted to see her. I needed to tell someone about my new mentor and my caged cock. I wanted someone's response to this new adventure, and could think of no one better. We arranged to meet at a restaurant near her place, one that we both liked, and ended the call. She would be cool until Saturday evening. It was I who would be nervous. I worked for another two hours, then read for awhile and went to bed. Of course, I wanted to masturbate but decided not to.

In the morning I peed and shaved and drank a cup of coffee, then practised Mentor's chaste masturbation exercise for 40 minutes before having some breakfast and settling down to work. Friday evening, before going to bed, I wrote a journal entry.

15 May 2020 (Friday)

I promised to use this journal entry to report my feelings about caged masturbation - or masturbation with my cock off limits. I've done it three times already: once in front of Mentor with the cage off, and twice in front of a mirror with it on. To me, it feels just like edging, with the sole difference that I am forbidden to touch my genitals. I enjoyed touching myself and posing in front of Mentor; and I enjoyed performing for myself before a mirror; but all the pleasure was visual and exhibitionist, not tactile. The sensation of touching my face, nipples and other erogenous zones was pleasant enough, but not at all arousing. I'll keep practising.

I've made a date for Saturday evening with Liz, my favourite play partner. I want to tell her about our mentoring arrangement and get her reaction. She likes every kind of sex there is, which (in her words) "does not involve some guy sticking his prick into me somewhere." She says that the penis, as most guys use it, feels to her like an aggressive weapon. Getting poked with it, she says, does not feel like making love. It isn't even the submissive role that bothers her, although by temperament, she's more of a Domme. For example, she'll happily give a blow job - actually, a very good one - that involves licking and sucking, but she won't deep throat. She doesn't want me thrusting into her. She'll even take a tender spanking, even with some sting in it, so long as its message is love and pleasure, not anger or punishment.

I'm thinking of asking her to be my keyholder. With her love of sex combined with her unwillingness to find herself on the receiving end of sexual aggressiveness, she may enjoy the control that gives her. At the same time, I trust her to allow me ample relief because she's a sensualist, not a sadist, and would take no pleasure in making me suffer. I'll write Sunday on how our date goes. I think the caged penis will turn her on!

Saturday evening, I dressed for a casual dinner date, in grey slacks, a light yellow turtleneck and a blue blazer. Under the slacks I was nude except for the cage. I wore its key under my shirt.

Liz was eager that evening. When I picked her up at her apartment she was waiting for me downstairs, and as we were driving to the restaurant, she put her hand on my crotch, felt the cage over my sex and recognized it at once. "What's this?" she exclaimed.

"It's a chastity cage," I told her.

"A cock cage? For you, Onanism is practically a religion. You're the last person I'd expect to be wearing one! Who's got you under their control? Who is holding the key?"

"I'll tell you all about it, while we're eating," I promised. "That's why I wanted to see you."

"I've got the key myself. You can feel it under my shirt - on my chest."

She felt for the key, then pinched my nipple, just for fun.

"It's voluntary," I went on. "After, dinner, we can take it off and play back at your place . . . just as we usually do. I decided that my wanking was becoming a meaningless addiction. I'm working with a mentor now, and he's got me wearing this. It's not to prevent me from masturbating. It's to make my sex life more interesting and fun."

"Just wait till we're settled at the restaurant. I'll tell you all about it."

Liz was silent after that exchange, and so was I. I drove, while she just stared at me and fondled me. She couldn't get at my sex, of course, but she could feel around it, and did. She could also press on the plate that covered my shaft and squeeze what lay beneath. Frustrated as I was, I enjoyed her puzzlement and her explorations; and I too said nothing more.

We arrived near the restaurant. I parked in a nearby lot and we walked two blocks to reach it, Liz still silent, holding my arm. I had made reservations - in an elegant, Spanish place, for a private table for two. When we were seated and had ordered drinks, I started in by showing Liz Professor Thierry's ad, which I had clipped and saved.

Are you a compulsive masturbator?

or just a chronic and habitual one?

Is your habit getting out of hand?

Would like some help getting it under control?

I'm an experienced mentor in this field. My name is Master Robert, and I can be of assistance. If you feel guilty or ashamed, or just in need of some firm, old-fashioned male guidance,

my lap and strap are waiting!

Phone xxx-xxx-xxxx for free introductory chat and session!

"And you answered this?" Liz asked.

"Yes, several weeks ago," I told her. "My wanking was feeling more routinized and habitual than pleasurable, and I felt a need to liven it up. This mentoring deal seemed to be a way to do that, and I thought I'd try it." I described my first instructions from Mentor, my visit to the toy store, buying the cage and getting pleasantly spanked by one of Mentor's former pupils. The waiter came and we ordered our dinners: gazpacho soup for both of us, followed by a seafood paella for two, marvellously prepared, and with a bottle of light Sauvignon.

While waiting for our soup, I told her about the first few meetings with Mentor, and that flogging with his strap. I explained the agreement we had reached, and where we stood today. "So the deal is that I can have release twice a week, either alone or with a partner - as I hope tonight, with you. Once a week, I meet with him to talk, and perhaps receive new instructions. I'm supposed to keep a journal of my sexual thoughts, feelings and activities - that he will review, and that we will discuss."

"So long as I stay within those limits and follow instructions, I am safe from serious punishment, though not from a light spanking or other activities to teach or stress a point. But the professor is at pains to emphasize that he not my playmate. He said he could help me find suitable playmates and partners when appropriate, and I thought of you."

The gazpacho came and we dug in. "Thought of me for what?" Liz asked, as we enjoyed the cold, refreshing soup. "What are you looking for?"

"First, someone who knows about this mentoring arrangement, whom I can talk with about it. We can continue to see each other and play, just as we've been doing. But I wanted to talk about my new situation with a friend, and you're the closest I have."

"Do you have doubts? What is it you need to talk about?"

"I don't have doubts about working with a mentor to make my sex life more meaningful and get my wanking under some kind of discipline. And Professor Thierry seems as serious and knowledgable a mentor as I could hope to find. But he has made it very clear that he will not be a playmate - that his role is to teach me, not to play. He said that he would help me find suitable playmates when I was ready. But you and I have been playmates - friends with benefits - for a few years now. I value this friendship and don't want to give it up. I want to ask you to become my keyholder under Professor Thierry's supervision. You will have sexual use of me as before, but I will not be able to masturbate unless either you or Mentor removes my cage, directs or supervises my activities and gives me permission to cum."

"That sounds pretty heavy," Liz answered. "Do you want an answer, right now?"

"No. No way. I thought that when we played tonight, you'd have a chance to try out the role. I'll give you the key right now, if you'll accept it. You'll have control for this evening, and you can keep the key when I go home. We'll agree on some ground rules, and you can try the role several more times if you like. Then we either go on with it, or you can hand the key back to me if you want to quit."

"Fair enough," Liz said, "Let me think about this. I'll tell you after dinner how feel about it, and you can give me the key then, if I agree to take it. If I don't we'll just go back to my place - for pleasure as usual. "

"That's great," I said. "Take your time. Think of ways to make that arrangement fun for you. There's no pressure at all."

We talked about other things, and had a very pleasant dinner. Even so, I watched Liz closely, wondering what she would decide. Finally after coffee and a shared desert, she smiled at me. "All right," she said. "Let's do it. You'll be submissive tonight. You have to do as I tell you. If you're a good boy, I may let you cum."

I wanted to say that I was not really a submissive, and that a blanket promise to obey her was more than I had in mind in asking her to be my keyholder. Then, I reflected that my submission was only for tonight, and that there would be a better time to raise the issue if she overdid it as a Domme. After all, I was asking a favour, and I did enjoy pleasing her. There was no point in raising the issue unless it became one.

I took the silver chain from around my neck, pulling the key from under my shirt, and passed them across the table. Liz took them, studied the key for a moment then put the chain around her own neck, slipping the key under the key under her dress between her breasts. "Very good," she said. "Take me home now. I'm going to have my way with you, and you will obey me if you want release."

I settled the check, offered Liz my arm, and we walked back to car. I helped her seat herself in the front, passenger's seat then walked around to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. As we pulled away from the kerb, Liz asked, "Is this the only key to your cage? Will you be in trouble if I lose it?"

"Oh, no," I answered. "I have another as backup in a safe deposit box. And I can get more keys from the manufacturer any time. But keep that one safe. The bank is closed over the weekend and I couldn't get to it before Monday. We'd be out of luck."

"So if I don't let you cum tonight, you'll have to suffer till Monday?"

"That's right."

"Well then, I think you should say, 'That's right, Mistress.' Don't you? Having this ownership of your masculinity - this power to make you suffer - I am your Mistress now, am I not?"

"You are my Mistress tonight, Mistress," I answered. "I've made no promise for the future, and neither have you. Why don't you just play with me and use me this evening, and we'll see how it goes?"

"That's what I'll do," she said, "but you should understand that if you're asking me to be your keyholder on a long-term basis, there has to be something in it for me. Privileges to match the commitment and responsibility."

I felt a shiver down my spine and a twitch of my anal sphincter, as if it were expecting penetration. "Yes, Mistress," I answered her. "I do understand that."

We fell silent for the rest of that short drive. When we got back to Liz' apartment, she at once ordered me to strip. "I want to see you naked," she said, "wearing your cage, and nothing else." I undressed, leaving my clothes neatly folded on her coffee table. Still in the dress she wore to dinner, Liz sat in one of her arm chairs, spread her thighs and motioned me to stand between her knees. "Put your hands behind your head," she commanded, "and don't move. Close your eyes. I want to study your cage, and don't want you staring at me."

I obeyed, folding my fingers, to keep the hands in place. Displaying to her like that felt deliciously humiliaing. She slipped one hand between my legs and held my balls, gently. I widened my stance a little to make it easier. Gripping the testes with one hand, she felt around the cage with other, noticing how it covered and flattened the penis completely, and kept it pointing down. "Wearing this thing, you have to pee sitting down," she commented. "How does that feel?"

"Humbling," I answered her, "as you'd expect. As if a masculine privilege had been taken from me."

"That's delightful. Now you know how women feel when guys leave the toilet seat up! And what's this slit, just above the cage? What's that for?"

"That holds a chip that keeps a record for my mentor's use. It keeps a record of when the cage is off. If you pull the chip out, I'll be in trouble with him, so please leave it alone."

"All right," Liz said. "We've talked enough for now. Now you're going to serve me, and if you do a good job, I may unlock you and let you cum. That's what you want isn't it?"

"That's I hoped for tonight, Mistress, but in asking you to become my keyholder, I was hoping for more than that. I'm hoping that we can work out some ongoing arrangement which builds this keyholding role into our 'friends with benefits' deal. You will limit and supervise my masturbation and I will serve you in some way."

"That's fine, Dan, but we'll take it one step at a time. I'm going to tie your arms behind your back, and you're going to show me what a man's tongue will do to please a woman when he knows that he'll go home horny and cocklocked, if she is not completely satisfied."

"Now turn around, and cross your wrists behind your back. One of my nylons has a run in it. That will be perfect for tying you." I turned my back to her as she'd commanded, and crossed my wrists in the small of my back. She tied them carefully with the nylon, making sure that I could not free myself, and that she was not cutting off my blood flow. Then she undressed, spread a towel on the sofa, sat down on it, and helped me kneel between her thighs. Finally, she lay back and spread her legs, showing me everything she had between her smooth, strong thighs from the top of her pubic mound to her anal 'rosebud' and tail bone. "All right big boy," she said. "Show me what you can do!"

"At your service, Ma'am!" I exclaimed, and dove in. Soon I had face smeared with her juices and she was on the brink of a climax.