“What do you mean, you've got a sore, Stevie?”

I reddened as Laura quizzically stared up at me. Her using my name was always a warning sign, none more so than when she placed stress on the word. She was sat on the sofa, and I was stood in front of her, looking down at her. Towering over her, as I was, it might be thought I was in the position of dominance. Far from it; instead, I felt like a naughty boy reporting to the headmistress's office.

“Well?” she asked, a degree of impatience being clearly detectable in her voice. “I'm waiting, Stevie.”

It was a Sunday afternoon and since early that morning I had been aware of an itch where the ring of my chastity cage was in contact with the back of my scrotum. I had put off telling her for as long as possible.

“I think my cage is rubbing, Miss,” I feebly explained.

“Eh? What's changed to make it suddenly rub?”

“I... I don't know.”

“Have you been trying to pull it off, Stevie? When you've been in the bathroom, on your own?”

“No! I would never do that, Miss!”

Of course, she knew I would never try to remove my cage, but that didn't mean she was going to concede any ground.

I stared down at her and couldn't help but notice that her shirt was gaping open, revealing a glimpse of her pert breasts, encased in her black bra. My penis, long overdue for release, responded in the only way it knew and started twitching.

Laura, who was someone never to miss a trick, knew what I was doing. “If you were to stop looking down my shirt, and started concentrating on figuring out why you're sore we might get somewhere, Stevie. Didn't your mother tell you it was wrong to stare down a girl's top?”

“Yes, but I wasn't—”

“Put your hands on your head and look straight ahead, Stevie.” Despite the dangerous waters I was in, my penis continued to convulse within the confines of its small prison.

I obeyed her commands. “Good boy!” she remarked, “Now, have you been trying to play with yourself? Have you been trying to wank?”

“No! I've not, Miss!”

Looking straight ahead I could no longer directly see her face, but I was sure her eyes were burning into me, willing me to admit some wrongdoing.

“Have you been keeping yourself clean?”

“Yes... yes, I have, Miss,” I stressed. Whilst I was not permitted to be unlocked when showering, Laura still expected me to keep my encaged skin scrupulously clean and had warned me that I would face punishment if I didn't. Obviously, she failed to appreciate how difficult it was to fulfil her requirements with the cage in place, but I had always done the best I could.

“Is this just a trick, so you can be unlocked and have an erection? Eh?”

I was almost certain she didn't believe the accusations she was making, but I knew to my cost that if I even hinted as such, she would prove me wrong and punish me.

“No, Miss, I'm... I'm telling the truth. Something is not right and something is sore.”

“Okay... I believe you, muffin,” she suddenly concluded, with a smile. “I always believe you, so hands down, sweetie.”

It was a game she had been playing. Suddenly, all the tension and stress I was feeling was gone, as if a plug had been pulled in a bathtub.

“I'll have a look,” she decided. “Trust me, I'm a biologist,” she added.

Yes, I thought to myself, a biologist—but not a doctor. Naturally, I kept that to myself.

A few minutes later I was lying on her bed, naked from the waist down. She had blindfolded me, another of her rules intended—she claimed—to prevent me from becoming too excited at seeing a free willy. However, she today dispensed with the handcuffs but warned me of the consequences of trying to touch myself when uncaged.

A quiet click marked the unlocking of the small padlock securing my device. This was followed by the familiar yank as she pulled the device free.

Next came the inevitable erection. I couldn't see it was there, but I obviously knew it. And if there was any doubt, Laura confirmed it. “Good grief, poppet! Why do you do this every bloody time?” she asked, but with humour in her voice.

I trusted that the question was rhetorical, so I didn't answer. She continued, “Whatever is causing the itch is not interfering with the workings of your manhood, sweetheart. I'll use the torch on my phone to get a closer look.”

There followed a series of ums and aahs as she examined me in better light. Her fingers gently moved things around to gain a better view and I was concerned—as she was—that a touch in the wrong place might trigger an involuntary ejaculation. It was ten days since she had last given me a hand job, so I was in desperate need of relief.

“You've got a rash, poppet,” she declared. “Probably something fungal but you're going to need to see a doctor for a proper diagnosis. I'm not a doctor, you know.”

“No, Miss” I said.

“What do you mean? You didn't know I wasn't a doctor?”

“I mean, I don't think I need to see a doctor.”

“What?! You've not seen what I've seen. Do you want your balls to fall off?”

“No! But there must be some over-the-counter cream we—I mean you—can apply, Miss.”

“No! You're seeing a proper doctor! Or a nurse! We're not taking chances. This discussion is closed and I'll go and get the ice cubes.”

oooOOooo

It wasn't long before I was locked up again. “Phone the surgery in the morning and get an appointment, muffin. Say it's urgent.”

“The receptionist is going to ask me why I need to see someone,” I replied.

“Yes, they do that. The receptionists seem to think they are qualified to do the triaging. Just tell the receptionist that you have a problem with your genitalia, muffin. That should shut them up.”

“What about my cage, Miss?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable.

“Well, I'll have to unlock you before you go, muffin. I can hardly send you with the key, can I?” She smiled and didn't seem to be taking this as seriously as I was.

“I agree!” I hastened to add before she changed her mind. “But what about my panties, Miss?”

“What about them?”

“It'll be embarrassing, Miss!”

“Doctors and nurses don't get embarrassed, muffin! Don't be silly!”

“No, I mean, it'll be embarrassing for me, not them!”

“Oh, for crying out loud, we've been through this before. They won't say anything—at least not to your face. They're trained to take everything in their stride. Besides, you don't have any male underwear and I'm not allowing you to go commando to the surgery.”

I swallowed hard. She was right—I had nothing but knickers to wear.

oooOOooo

The following morning, I phoned the surgery to get an appointment. Sure enough, I was interrogated by the female receptionist as to why I needed to see a medic. Luckily, as Laura had predicted, when I mentioned the magic word “genitalia” the cross-examination ended, and I was given an appointment with a doctor for that afternoon.

I explained to Laura that I'd managed to get an appointment with a GP. “It's a Dr Sam Payne,” I told her.

“Oh, not heard of him, sweetie. He must be new.”

The appointment was at 3 PM, which meant leaving university much earlier than usual. Arriving back at the flat, Laura explained to me that she was letting me out of my cage. “I'm trusting you to behave yourself, muffin. Do you promise not to play with yourself?”

“I'll be good, Miss,” I replied.

“I'm sure you will, but I'm still coming with you to the doctors. I'll sit waiting while you're in the consultation room.”

A couple of minutes later, Laura unlocked my device and slid it off. Instantly, my penis, sensing it was unrestrained, decided to flex its muscle. “Oh, for God's sake, Stevie. Just try to have some self-control, will you. I hope you're not going to make a fool of yourself in front of the doctor.”

“I also hope I won't,” I retorted.

“If we had more time, I'd give you a quick hand job to relieve your urges, but we're late as it is. We need to get a move on, so chop, chop!”

oooOOooo

A quarter of an hour later we were at the surgery, in the waiting room. Laura was holding my hand and I was secretly praying that my willy would behave itself. At least it will be a male doctor, I told myself, only then to think how much more embarrassing it would be to have an erection in front of a man. I felt perspiration building up on my forehead, and my anxiety was not helped by the doctor running late. “They always do, muffin,” remarked Laura, casually, “but they still expect their patients to arrive on time. We can't win.”

Then, suddenly, over the tannoy, my name was called. “Mr Stephen Kelly to Room 5.” Laura gave me a peck on the cheek and sent me on my way.

I tapped on the door and a voice answered, “Come in!” My God, it was a female voice!

I entered and there, sitting looking at me was a gorgeous lady, mid-thirties, dressed in a business-like outfit of a navy-blue jacket and matching short skirt, the jacket worn over a pristine white blouse. Her legs were crossed, causing the skirt to reach far up her thighs. Her blonde hair was tied up at the back.

“Hello, don't be shy, come in and sit down,” she urged, smiling.

“Er... sorry. I'm... I'm in the wrong room. I've an appointment with Dr Sam Payne.”

“That's me,” she rejoined, grinning, “Samantha Payne, Sam for short. You don't mind being seen by a female doctor, do you? I don't bite!”

Obviously, I minded! “Er... no, of course not. Sorry, doctor.” Still feeling confused, I sat myself down.

“What's the problem, Mr Kelly?” she asked.

“Nothing! There's absolutely no problem.”

“Hmm? So, you've made an appointment to come here to tell me there's nothing wrong?” She smiled as she spoke.

“Er... yes, sorry to waste your time, doctor. I'll leave you to it.”

“Take a deep breath, Mr Kelly, and summon up that inner spirit to tell me what's wrong. Nothing you say will surprise or embarrass me.”

It was embarrassing myself that concerned me, not embarrassing the doctor! Yet, clearly, I wasn't going to escape her clutches without revealing my problem.

“Er... well. Umm... I've... er... got a sore. Down here!” I pointed vaguely at my genital region.

“Okaaay! Now we're getting somewhere. We'd better take a look, Mr Kelly, so we know exactly what you're referring to. Would you like a chaperone? I know that Nurse Louise is free at the moment and she could be present as a witness.”

I had met Nurse Louise once before. She was young and pretty and the thought of two very attractive women examining me down under was too much. “No, no, doctor, I don't need anyone else, thank you.”

“Okay, in that case go behind the curtain and take off your... er... hmm... leggings and underpants. Then lie on the couch.”

I felt a sense of relief that I wasn't going to have to get undressed in front of her.

Quickly, I removed my shoes, then my leggings and finally my scarlet satin panties, which I chose to hide from view inside my rolled-up leggings. I kept on my pink ankle socks—I decided that displaying them was less embarrassing than revealing my painted toenails.

Looking down at myself, I felt very vulnerable and acutely conscious of my shaved legs and absence of pubic hair. What's more, my nasal passages caught a drift of the perfume that Laura now expects me to spray onto my knickers so that I smell nice. (As I'm unlikely to receive a blow job from her, it has never been made clear why I need to smell nice, but if that is what Laura wants, it is what I do.)

With a resigned sigh, I called out, “Ready, doctor.”

She came through the curtain and looked at me. “Down there, you say?” she asked, inquisitively sniffing the air.

“Er, yes, behind my... er... testicles.”

“You don't mind if I touch, do you?” she enquired. It may have been phrased as a question but before I could reply she was moving things around, examining every aspect of my genitalia.

She was leaning over me. Her shirt was partially unbuttoned, and I caught a glimpse of a white bra that barely housed her copious breasts. And then the inevitable happened—my penis started to engorge.

Simultaneously, my face was turning red. I did everything I could to will my penis to go limp, but thinking about flaccidity had the opposite effect. Within about fifteen seconds, I was ramrod hard.

Dr Payne said not a word, as she continued her examination. “Sorry,” I muttered, “I'm really sorry this has happened. I don't know why it's done that.”

She paused her examination to look disbelievingly at me and her playful expression said she knew why it had happened, and so should I. “Don't let it concern you, Mr Kelly,” she assured me. “At least it tells me that you're fully functioning in that department.”

All I could do was go crimson and nod at her. “I can see the problem,” she announced. “And I know what has caused it, Mr Kelly.”

“You... you do?”

She smiled knowingly at me. “Yes, Mr Kelly, there's a fungal infection and your chastity cage has been rubbing against it, exacerbating the problem.”

“What?! I... I don't wear a... er... whatever you said it was. What is a er... a whatdoyoucallit, anyway?”

She laughed. “Let's not play games, Mr Kelly. I'm sure we're both very busy. It's obvious you wear a cage from the pattern of unshaved hair and when I look closely it's left subtle indentations in your skin. How often do you wear one?”

There was no point in me continuing to profess innocence. I had gone beetroot red and such was my embarrassment that even my penis was giving up its fight. “Hmm... all the time... 24/7,” I whispered.

“Oh! Really?” she replied, sounding surprised. “I'm legally obliged to ask whether that's of your choosing or whether you are forced to be locked up by your... er... keyholder.”

“She... she wants me to wear one, doctor.”

“Yes, but if you were to tell her you'd had enough and didn't want to wear it anymore, would she agree?”

“Yes... yes, I'm sure she would, but it... it might affect our relationship.”

“Okay! I understand. I just needed to check that you were not in a coercive relationship or being blackmailed, and being made to do something against your will.”

“No, nothing like that, doctor. I'm a willing participant.”

“That's wonderful to hear,” she said, smiling in a disconcerting way. “May I ask why you're locked up, Mr Kelly? Don't be shy. Have you been cheating on your partner?”

“No,” I stressed.

“Then why? If it's 24/7, it can't just be bedroom fun.”

“Hmm... my partner thought I was masturbating too often, doctor.”

“Your tone of voice sounds like you disagree, Mr Kelly. How often was too often?”

“Well... hmm... daily, doctor.”

She gave a snort of astonishment. “And you don't think that was too often, Mr Kelly?”

“Er... I thought it was normal.”

“Normal? And I guess you don't think masturbation might be thought of as a form of cheating, Mr Kelly?”

“No... no, I didn't.”

“Well, I don't wish to be judgemental, Mr Kelly, but a lot of women would regard daily masturbation as both excessive and a form of cheating. You have to see this from the other person's point of view. I know how I would feel if I had a partner who was neglecting me and self-pleasuring.”

“It wasn't like that, doctor.”

“Well, you're a very lucky man, Mr Kelly, in having a partner who is prepared to help you overcome your addiction.”

“But—”

“And how often do you get to ejaculate now you're locked up?” the doctor continued, ignoring my attempted intervention.

I was taken aback by the question but meekly replied, “Every two weeks, sometimes longer.”

“Prostate massage?”

“Er... no, doctor,” I replied, flummoxed as to why she was asking. “Do you really need to know?”

“No, sorry, I was just curious. Enforced chastity happens to fascinate me, that's all. It can be beneficial in resolving conflicts between couples,” she responded, convincingly. “Anyway, I'm going to prescribe you some cream that will need to be rubbed in twice a day for a week, and then you come back and see me. Oh, and you mustn't wear your cage until then.”

“Oh, okay, but—”

“Don't worry, Mr Kelly, I'm going to write a note to give to your keyholder to explain the situation.”

“I see,” I answered, wondering what the hell she was going to write.

“And also I going to prescribe some tablets for you to take. They're given to men who've had penile surgery because the tablets have a side effect of suppressing erections,” she laughed. “If you've had incisions into your penis the last thing you want is to get an erection. Apart from being very painful it might even open up the wound.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, oh! This drug should limit the frequency and magnitude of any spontaneous erections you get when you're uncaged. It should make things less awkward for you.”

“Right, I... er... see, doctor.” As she had been speaking, she had also been writing. She passed me the prescriptions but placed the note she had written into an envelope and made a show of sealing it in front of me. On the envelope, she wrote “Mr Kelly's keyholder, personal and confidential”.

“Here you go,” she declared, passing me the envelope and the prescriptions. She then reached over and picked up my leggings from where I'd placed them. Needless to say, out dropped my panties.

“Oh, sorry,” she remarked, picking them up, “but the floor's clean.” For a few seconds, she stared at them with a look of amusement and then passed them to me with a knowing smile, but with no comment, as if it were entirely natural that I should be wearing female underwear—maybe it was, given that I was caged, shaven and smelling of feminine scent. “I'll leave you to get dressed, Mr Kelly.”

She went the other side of the curtain while I got dressed. Having intimately examined me, as well as having seen my underwear, it seemed unnecessary for her to do so, but I suppose there were conventions to follow.

“I've made an appointment for you to return next Monday, at the same time, Mr Kelly. And please bring your chastity cage with you so I can see if it's likely to cause chafing.”

Feeling stunned, I made my way out to join Laura in the waiting room...