There were so many women. Mostly middle-aged white women, a couple of thirty year-olds and one over sixty, at least. So many pairs of eyes fixed on me as Mistress Morgan led me into the room.
She had told me it would be easier for everyone if I wore a hood. Being hooded would help them relate to me as a thing, an object. Some thing, rather than someone, and it would help me disassociate and get into subspace easier. Just being led naked, collared and hooded on the end of a leash, into the middle of a group of seated women was enough to rocket me into subspace.
Mistress Morgan made a good living hosting sub-control demonstrations in the homes of clients who paid her to show them how to control their men. These women were not necessarily into Kink life. They were ordinary people, wives and girlfriends who wanted to revive their sex lives, or experiment with alternatives more in line with a female-led relationship (FLR). Mistress Morgan's unique services had been recommended to the women's club by a couple of satisfied clients.
Using a format sort of like Tupperware parties for the BDSM-curious, Mistress Morgan networked the suburban neighbourhoods looking for dissatisfied housewives with access to discretionary cash. She had a stable of three or four subs who volunteered their time in exchange for her attention. I was flattered that she had chosen to use me on this particular occasion.
My leather hood laced up the back with a zippered mouth hole and blinders on both sides so my sight was restricted to exactly what Mistress Morgan wanted me to see. My hands were handcuffed behind me. I shuffled along behind her on the end of a leash, eyes down, cock bursting with anticipation in its metal cage.
Mistress Morgan stepped into the center of a half-dozen women like a ring master at a circus. The women were seated in a loose circle sipping drinks and staring. My Mistress tugged down on my leash.
"Knees."
I sank to my knees in front of the suburban women's club. Bored with cards and gossip, dissatisfied with their men and probably their uneventful lives, they wanted something more. If they could reignite their sex lives, suburbia might not be so bad. Maybe Mistress Morgan could show them how to reclaim the lost thrill of the early years with their men. Or maybe, going forward, they could at least learn how to control them. I glanced covertly around the room, then fixed my eyes on the safety of Mistress Morgan's stilettos.
She told them me and my cock were tools. She would use her tools to demonstrate how to milk a man. They could watch and ask questions. During previous sessions she had found that a lot of women were surprisingly nieve regarding how their men functioned. Questions like, 'how does milking him relate to cock-control' or, 'why is controlling his orgasm important,' we're common. She would answer all their questions and she would let them practise.
"Milking position one."
I bent forward and put the side of my face on the carpet. My ass was raised to waist height. My wrists were restrained behind my back. She unlocked the cuffs so I could stretch my arms out in front of me and lean on my elbows.
Mistress tapped my thighs with her crop and I spread wider so the women had an unobstructed perspective. They watched, fascinated as Mistress unlocked my boner and removed most of the cock cage. She left the lock ring around my genitals. No point taking that off. The implication was blatant. My cock was going back in its cage once Mistress Morgan was finished with it. Semi-erect and on display, I was her demo sub, ready to be milked.
Mistress Morgan circled me, inspecting my position, deepening the curve of my back and widening the spread of my legs with some well-placed taps of her crop. Tardy sub-response times were quickly corrected with a few sharp cracks across the buttocks. The women watched, mesmerized. Could they teach their men to behave like this?
When she finished adjusting my posture she knelt behind me, between my spread thighs on one knee, like an old fashioned milk maid. She placed the palm of her hand on the small of my back and pushed down firmly, forcing my ass to jut out further. Then, with my cock in her hand she addressed her entranced audience.
"First, he needs to produce some natural lubricant. It's cheaper than silicone substitutes and make no mistake, they are all capable of supplying their own lube if properly stimulated. Watch."
Mistress Morgan withdrew a short length of back nylon cord and looped it around my balls several times so that the cord both bound and separated them, leaving several inches of cord hanging loose like a leash. She pulled back on the tether, stretching my balls and causing my cock to descend for easy access. She raked her fingernails along my erection then slid her soft palm along my shaft. Her hands felt like silk on my hot cock. To my embarrassment I began oozing precum almost immediately.
"Coating his tool with his own lube is a good initial step. Notice how his cock drools when it's properly handled. As you can see, his own extract makes it very easy to turn my hand into a milking sleeve and glide it back and forth along his shaft, like this.
Mmmm, there ... listen to him grunt, that's how you know you're having a positive effect. Listen for an increase in frequency and pitch when he's getting close.
See how he is half-thrusting his hips? That's an unconscious movement that will stop when I quit milking him. It's also the tell-tale sign of a true slut. But that's a different conversation I can have with any of you who are interested in learning to recognize the signs of an inherent sub-slut. In my experience most men are closet-subs. They cannot control their own cocks and they are usually grateful to be relieved of the responsibility." She glanced around the room.
"Before I let him cum, who would like to try her hand at milking?"
Initially the women seemed hesitant to commit themselves to the act. Controlling a man's cock was a big step into the unknown. It smacked of radical sex and bordered on the heresy of unmasking the fantasy of male dominance. Mistress Morgan shared some information she thought the women should be aware of.
"Just so you know, this sub won the privilege of being here today. I always have my choice of eager males ready to bend over for me. With confidence and a little instruction you can all have your men begging to be used."
Despite verbal and visual reassurances that I was more than happy with this arrangement, it took several minutes before Mistress Morgan had any takers. Finally a young blonde raised her hand tentatively.
"Yes, Lois isn't it? Don't be shy, just push down on the small of his back while you play with his balls. That's right ... he needs to be coaxed a little. So will your husband. Push harder, make him shove his ass out while you pull down on his tether. Yes, good job. See how his cock becomes more accessible for you? It's important to let your man know you mean business. Cock control is all about creating a rewarding link between his submissive behaviour and an orgasm; an orgasm that you control."
Lois was starting to get the hang of things. Making me twitch and grunt seemed to inspire her. She began modifying the technique she had been practising, trading agonizingly slow strokes with sudden bursts of hard pumping, just like Mistress Morgan.
The silence in the room was broken only by my laboured breathing and the wet smacking sound of Lois's hand keeping the precum warm and slick on my cock. I could feel the familiar tingling in my body that preceded an orgasm. I tried to pump Lois's hand faster.
