Behavior Modification Institute

I tried to relax and gather my thoughts as I sat in the well-appointed waiting room impatiently rehearsing my best interview responses. It had been a long day already, up before 4 am to make the 6 am flight from Des Moines to La Guardia, then a cab to the Manhattan office. I was just barely early for my 1:30 interview. Not only a long day, but it had been a long year. Unemployed after an unexpected layoff, I hadn't had many real opportunities for good jobs.

And my wife Kelli was becoming very frustrated with me. She had been advancing in her career and she didn't seem to understand how hard it was for me to find a job. After all, I was now over 50 and I knew my job skills were lacking. Fortunately she had found me this interview. I was grateful that she'd set it all up for me, even booked my flight. And she told me that she had spoken to Ms. Panington, the director, and given her some background on my behalf. BMI, Behavior Modification Institute was the company. I had tried to research them on the internet, but the company website only listed contact information and displayed a notice that, due to the private nature of their mission, no other information was available.

I figured Ms. Panington would fill me in soon enough. If the office furnishings were any indication, this company was doing pretty dang well. All Kelli had told me was that the position would require extensive on-site training and that they were looking to fill it immediately. She had purchased an open-ended return ticket for me, and had packed my suitcase for me as well. She seemed to expect that I would get the position. We both knew I needed it. She had become so frustrated with me that our sex life had suffered and I hadn't made love with her for months.

The phone rang at the reception desk. "Yes, Ms. Panington. He is here. Shall I send him in?"

"She's sending out Ms. Jenson to get you. You can bring your suitcase in with you."

I could feel my nerves beginning to rise. I needed this job, and I didn't know how I'd face Kelli if I went home without it.

The door next to the reception desk opened, "Tom? I'm Ms. Jensen. Please follow me." Very formal, I thought, no handshake, hope this isn't a bad sign. Ms Jensen was a petite redhead with a bust line that must have made it hard for her to balance on her 4 inch pumps. I tried not to look at her well-rounded rear under her tight A-line linen skirt as I followed her down the hall. I knew that if I let myself become aroused that I would have trouble focusing in the interview.

Finally, at the end of the hall Ms. Jensen entered a door to a corner office and closed it behind her. "This is Ms. Panington, our director and chief trainer. Sit there, Tom," and she directed me to an overstuffed easy chair a few feet from Ms. Panington, who did not get up. I sat as directed and immediately recognized that I was not at eye level with Ms. Panington. She sat in a large leather desk chair on wheels and the chair I sat in left me several inches lower. Ms. Jensen sat on the nearby desk and seemed to make a display of crossing her legs.

"So, Tom, what do you know about BMI?" Ms. Panington began.

"I know that you are Behavior Modification Institute and I assume that you sell your programs to companies looking to change the behavior of their employees?" I ventured.

"That's a reasonable guess, Tom, but that's not at all what we do. We actually are a one hundred percent female company and our customers are one hundred percent women. We help women change the behavior of their husbands, their boyfriends, or their sons." I was confused and wondered what I was doing applying for a job with an all-female company. She continued, "You see Tom, there has been a bit of deception in getting you here. We do not have a job for you. Kelli has hired us to change your behavior."

"What? You've got to be kidding?" I manage to say, "And what behavior is it that she wants changed?"

"There appears to be plenty that is in need of changing, Tom. Kelli completed our questionnaire, which is quite extensive, and actually she was here last month for an in-person assessment," Ms. Panington explained with notable disdain, "She is quite disgusted with you, and frankly, I don't blame her."

"Why? What? What did she tell you about me?" I am both curious and angry.

"I think it is best that we start with your viewing the introductory video that she taped while she was here. Then we will start our assessment," she explained. She leans over to her laptop, taps some keys, and Kelli's image flashes up on the 50 inch flat screen on the office wall.

The image of Kelli begins speaking. "Tom, if you are watching this you must be with Ms. Panington and Ms. Jensen. I want you to do exactly as they tell you. This will make or break our marriage. As you know I have become quite successful in my career during this past year when you have been home surfing porn and masturbating. Yes, Tom, I know about your masturbating. I installed a hidden camera in our home office and one in the bedroom. I have seen you playing with your pathetic little dick every day. And I've seen you going through my dresser drawers and jerking off in my panties and other things. Yes, Tom, I've been watching you for months, and I have shown the tapes to Ms. Panington and Ms. Jensen." Ms. Panington taps a key on her laptop and the video pauses.

"Do you have a problem with masturbation, Tom?" she asks.

"Well, I, ahh, I just sometimes, you know, if I'm bored, or something," I feel my face flushing.

Ms. Panington resumes the video, and Kelli continues, "Tom, I do think that you have many endearing qualities and I do love you. If I didn't I would have kicked you out long ago. But, I want to tell you something that I have kept from you for years, you are a terrible lover. Your penis is very small and it has never satisfied me. You too often prematurely ejaculate, and now I find that you are a compulsive masturbator. So, here is how it will be: You can get up right now and walk out, return home, and go with me to the attorney's office and sign paperwork for a divorce; or, you will sign an agreement with BMI to undergo their training. It will begin with a two-week intensive, then one four day weekend per month over the next year or until I am completely satisfied." Kelli stops talking for a couple moments, as though for the weight of what she said to be allowed to sink in, to sink deep to my core. Then she continues, saying softly but sternly, "Things must change, Tom, or we're done." The TV screen goes blank.

I am dumbfounded. And, I am embarrassed to have these two attractive women know about my private habits. I couldn't bear the thought that Kelli had watched me pleasure myself in front of the computer screen and with pairs of her panties, bras, slips, and stockings. And these women have seen the video tapes as well. My face is flushed with embarrassment and my head hangs in shame. Ms. Panington stands up and approaches me. For the first time I notice how striking she is. Probably 6'2 in her heeled black boots, she is wearing a knee-length red leather skirt, a white silk blouse unbuttoned to show just a hint of white lace, and her perfume is intoxicating. She hands me a clipboard with a form on it and instructs me simply, "Sign here."

Without hesitation I sign. I knew that I couldn't afford, in more ways than one, to lose Kelli. Plus, I am experiencing a strange arousal from the thought that these two beautiful women knew my secrets.

"Fine, then. Let's begin. Stand up and take off all clothing down to the women's panties that we know you are wearing. Kelli told us about that little habit as well."

I did as I was told. I wished that I hadn't chosen pink panties this morning, but how would I have known anyone would see them.

"Now sit back down, Tom." Ms. Panington stated firmly, without comment about the lace-trimmed full brief panties I was wearing. Once I was seated she continued. "Since part of your problem is compulsive and secretive masturbation, I want you to rub yourself through those pink panties until you are hard. Once you are hard and as large as you can muster, tell me and we will continue." Ms. Jensen now had a big smirk on her face and was teasingly crossing and uncrossing her legs. I was so nervous that I couldn't get hard, and the harder I tried, the more I seemed to shrink and the more embarrassed I became. Little drops of precum had left a wet spot on my panties.

"I thought this might happen. You can't perform in front of a woman because you are so used to jerking off in private. From now on, Tom, you will only be allowed to touch your precious little wee-wee in the presence of a woman. Is that understood?" she stopped and waited for my answer, continuing to tower over me.

"Yes, but..." I start to protest.

"You might be wondering how we will know. Show him, Ms. Jensen. Believe me, Tom, we will know. And you do not want to see what behavior modification techniques we will use if you touch yourself outside of the presence of a woman and without explicit permission to do so," Ms. Pennington explains in a no-nonsense tone.

Ms. Jensen pulls open a drawer on the desk and pulls out a small pink contraption. "Stand up, Tom, and pull down your panties. It is best for us to do this when you are soft anyway."

I comply. Ms. Jensen pulls on white latex gloves, lifts up my balls, and slides one side of my sack, then the other, through a round plastic ring. This ring is connected by a thick red wire to a stretchy pink Velcro band that she attaches around the base of my penis. She leans over and taps a couple keys on the keyboard and a graph pops up on the screen. "See this, Tom?" Ms. Jensen explains, pointing to the graph. "This will monitor the blood flow and arousal 24/7, and an alert will be sent to both of our cell phones if this is removed. Ejaculation is unmistakable on this computer program. Comprende?"

I nodded in agreement. With a mind of its own, my penis betrayed me as it grew to a full erection. They noticed, laughed at my arousal, and Ms. Jensen said to Ms. Panington, "Kelli did tell us that he jerked off looking at FemDom websites. Look how our control of his little wee-wee excites him. How sweet."

"Get the measuring tape, please," and I was mortified to have Ms. Jensen place the end of the tape at the base of my now fully erect cock and have her convey the tale of the tape to Ms. Panington, "Three and five-eighths, just over three and a half. No wonder Kelli has been so frustrated." My face flushed with humiliation, but my cock was throbbing and dancing on its own.

"Look how he loves the humiliation of his pathetic size being revealed to us two women," Ms. Jensen comments, "this behavior modification is going to be a load of fun."

Ms. Panington took on a more serious tone, "Tom, there are a few things that you must learn. First, you may only touch yourself in the presence of and with the permission of a woman. Second, you must learn not to ejaculate without permission. We will be addressing the premature ejaculation. Third, Kelli told us that she will never again allow your little wee-wee to enter her, so your only pleasure will be supervised masturbation. Oh yes, she also told us that she plans to never again touch it since it disgusts her so much. And finally, you will learn to pleasure women in other ways. Repeat to me what I just told you so that I know you understand."

I repeated what she had told me, again with my arousal being obvious from the involuntary throbbing and jerking of my cock.

"Now I want you to stroke it for us, just as you've been sneaking around and doing. If you get close to losing control you may take your hand away and ask for permission to stop. We want to get a baseline for the computer program." Ms. Panington instructed me, now with a smile, "I am going to begin your sexual history interview, and I want you stroking as we talk. Understood?"

I nodded and took my manhood in my right hand and began to slowly pump.

"And no B.S. Remember, we have considerable information from your wife, and we've seen videos of your masturbatory sessions." I nodded that I understood. "So, let's begin. Do you like to wear women's underwear?"

"Yes, Mam, I do." I responded as I slowly stroked.

"Tell us about the first time you put on panties. Were they your mothers?"

"Yes. I was about 12 years old. I was home alone and I went into her bedroom and opened her dresser. I looked through her things and a strong urge came over me to try on a pair of her panties," I continued to stroke as I explained, "They were white, nylon with lace..." Without warning, my cock begins to erupt. I quickly move my hand away, and say, "May I stop stroking?" But it is too late. I have spattered all over my stomach, the chair, even onto the carpet.

The two women shout in unison, "You naughty little panty boy. You will be punished for that."

(If there is enough interest, I will continue the story with additional chapters.)