Life without parole.

That is the sentence I am itching to give out.  Sometimes I just want to lock ‘em up and throw away the key.  All these men sniffing around my heels, begging for me to help them stroke.  Begging for me to help them control all those urges.  Begging for my attention.  They need my guidance.  They can’t keep their hand off their cock long enough to complete any menial tasks in their own life.  Their orgasms are weak.  They are slaves to the compulsion.

They ask for schedules, for goals, routines, with me allowing release as a reward.  Two days, two weeks, two months even though right now they struggle with two hours.  Some can be helped; they can learn to modify their behavior.  Others, on the other hand, have no hope- they would need constant monitoring.   They would wrap their hand so tight around their dick and pump so furiously from the moment they are sprung from their cage until it was ordered to be placed back on.  These are the men who should be permanently chaste.

It is easy to distinguish these men from you average wanker.  They are the ones with ragging painful hard-ons , time after time.  They know the second their dick springs up against the constraints of the cage they will be in pure anguish.  But they don’t try to think of nuns, or kittens, or other buzz-kills.  No, no, no!  They let their eyes gaze upon the silk-stocking-clad leg of their coworker, following it from stiletto heel up to the cropped hemline.  They imagine what her panties smell like.  And before you know it they are racing to the bathroom in absolute discomfort.   And within hours they will do it again.  They CANNOT discipline themselves.  They know it, that’s why they turned to me in the first place.

What else am I to do?  This incessant stroking is really becoming an epidemic.  If I try to carry the key of every pathetic little chicken choker who begs for my assistance I wouldn’t be able to lift the key ring.  That is why I have to be so selective.  So I think going forward I will need to create an organizational system; rings for each level of a-dick-tion.  And if I just so happen to flush the key ring for the hoplessly devoted tugg-aholics down the toilet… oops!  They would never get off for good behavoir anyway!