The Chronic – Part III: The Handoff
Your mother tells you at breakfast. "Violet is coming with us to Dr. Perkins today."
You look up from your toast. "What?"
"She wants to observe your session. Dr. Perkins agreed. It's part of the transition to outpatient management." Your mother's tone is matter-of-fact, as if she's discussing a dental appointment. "Violet will be your keyholder after today. She needs to learn the protocol."
Keyholder. Protocol. Words that belong to a world you now inhabit.
Dr. Perkins' office. 2:00 PM.
Violet sits in the corner chair, black dress, legs crossed, a small notebook in her lap. She smiles at you when you enter. "Hi, sweetie."
Dr. Perkins gestures to the recliner. "Undress, please. We have a full session today."
You hesitate. Your eyes flick to Violet, who is watching you with a soft, attentive expression.
Dr. Perkins notices. She turns to Violet, her tone instructive. "You see, Violet? He's hesitant. That's normal. There's residual shame, performance anxiety. The key is to use a calm, certain tone. Not a request. A gentle instruction. Watch."
She turns back to you, her voice dropping into that warm, unembarrassed register.
"Sweetie, there's no need to be shy. Your mother has decided that Violet should be your keyholder, and Violet has agreed. Today we're going to train you to respond to her. That starts with you being comfortable undressing in front of us. It's a medical environment. We're all here to help you."
She glances at Violet again. "The voice is important. It should be warm, but it should assume compliance. You're not asking his opinion. You're telling him what's happening, because it's already been decided for his benefit."
Violet nods, taking notes. "So… I should just say it? Like it's normal?"
"Exactly," Dr. Perkins says. "You say, 'Take your clothes off, sweetie,' as if you're telling him to wash his hands. No drama. No negotiation. His penis will respond to the certainty." She looks back at you. "Now, let's try again. Undress, please."
You comply. She takes your cage off with a soft click. Your penis, freed after a week, is soft and small. It doesn't stir.
Dr. Perkins takes your vitals, notes them. "Excellent. Resting heart rate is down. Blood pressure normal. The cage is working." She turns to Violet. "You'll see that his baseline arousal has decreased significantly. He's no longer in a state of chronic stimulation. This makes retraining more effective."
Violet nods, taking notes.
"Today, we're going to reinforce the two-minute target and introduce a conditioned trigger." Dr. Perkins holds up a small black plastic clicker—the kind used for dog training. "We'll pair the click with the moment of release. After enough repetitions, the click alone will be sufficient to trigger his orgasm."
She turns to Violet, her expression brightening. "It's a classic Pavlovian paradigm. The penis is remarkably responsive to this kind of conditioning. It's like training a puppy—consistent stimulus, immediate reward."
Violet's eyes light up. "Oh! That's fascinating. I'm taking a behavioral psychology seminar this semester. I could… I could even do a case study. 'Operant Conditioning of Male Sexual Response in a Chronic Masturbator.'"
She glances at you, then back to Dr. Perkins, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Would that be ethical?"
Dr. Perkins smiles. "With proper consent, absolutely. And he has consented—his mother signed the treatment forms. It would be a valuable contribution to the literature." She looks at your lap. "Ah, see? His small penis is already responding to the discussion."
You feel a flush of heat. Your penis, which had been soft, is beginning to stir, thickening against your thigh.
Violet follows her gaze. "Oh, wonderful. He's getting hard. Just from us talking about him." She giggles with excitement.
"Precisely," Dr. Perkins says, her tone pleased. "The arousal is becoming linked to the clinical context itself. That's part of the retraining."
She leans in slightly, addressing Violet as if pointing out a specimen. "Notice the size. It's quite small, even when erect. That's typical for chronic cases. The organ is often underdeveloped from overuse without proper release."
Violet nods, studying you. "It is small. It's… cute. Like a little button."
"Small penises are actually ideal for this protocol," Dr. Perkins continues, clinical and warm. "They're more sensitive. The nerve endings are concentrated. They respond more quickly and predictably to directed stimulus. A larger penis has more tissue, more variability. His little guy here…" She gestures toward your now fully erect cock. "…is a perfect candidate. He'll be squirting in no time."
Dr. Perkins watches your erection for another moment, as if confirming a hypothesis. "You see, Violet? The arousal is already present. The mind is engaged. Now we simply channel it."
She turns to her cabinet, pulls out a fresh pair of thin latex gloves, and begins to put them on, snapping the cuffs snugly at her wrists.
"I'll demonstrate the assisted technique first. Pay close attention to my grip, the rhythm, and most importantly, my timing of the click. His penis will learn to associate the sound with the point of no return."
She returns to the recliner, her gloved hands held slightly away from her body.
"Now, sweetie," she says, her voice dropping into that soothing, certain register. "We're going to begin. Watch the timer. Let your penis respond."
She holds up the clicker. "We're using a two-click protocol. The first click is your cue to become aroused—to get hard, to get ready. The second click, when you're at the edge, is your signal to release. Your penis will learn the sequence. Today, I'll guide you through it."
You lie back. Violet watches.
"Let's begin," Dr. Perkins says. She holds the clicker up where you can see it. "Priming click," she announces, her voice calm and instructional.
"There. Your nervous system just received the signal. Blood is beginning to engorge the corpora cavernosa. You can feel it, can't you? That low thrum of arousal."
She watches as your penis, which had softened, begin to thicken and lift from your thigh. "Excellent. The association is strengthening. Violet, note the latency between stimulus and visible response—about three seconds. Very good."
Only then does her gloved hand move, wrapping around your now semi-erect
You're hard in seconds—her touch is familiar now, a conditioned response of its own. She strokes with the same steady rhythm, but her pace is slightly faster than last time.
"Watch the timer," she instructs. "Two minutes."
The digital numbers count down.
And then she let's go. Her gloved hand loosens its full grip. Instead, she lays two fingers flat against the underside of your shaft, just behind the head. Her touch is light, almost teasing. "Just hump against my fingers, sweetie," she murmurs. "Let your hips do the work."
You obey. Your hips begin to rock forward, pushing your cock against the firm, unyielding pressure of her fingers. The sensation is sharp, focused.
"That's it," she coos. "Good boy. Hump. Hump. Just like that. You're building the pressure right there, aren't you? I can feel it." Her fingers remain perfectly still, a stationary target for your desperate thrusts.
Violet leans forward in her chair, watching intently. "He looks like a puppy humping a leg," she whispers, her voice a mix of fascination and delight.
Dr. Perkins nods without breaking her focus. "Exactly. The humping motion is primal. It's how males of many species achieve intromission. For boys like him, whose penises aren't suited for penetration, the humping instinct remains, but it needs to be redirected. We're training him to associate two fingers with pleasure and release. It's more efficient than a full hand stroke. Less work for us, and it teaches his penis to seek a very specific, minimal stimulus."
Your breathing turns ragged. The orgasm feels closer than it ever has before, a tight coil of heat in your groin. You're humping faster now, a frantic, rhythmic piston.
Violet’s voice cuts through your frantic rhythm, soft and musing, as if she’s thinking aloud. “You know, I could have him kneel on the floor beside the couch while I watch TV. I wouldn’t even have to look down. I could just let my hand hang over the edge, two fingers like this…”
She mimics Dr. Perkins’ posture, holding her own hand limp, two fingers extended. “And he could hump them. My own little puppy. Getting his quick little release while I watch my show. Wouldn’t that be perfect, sweetie?”
Dr. Perkins smiles, her fingers still a steady platform for your thrusts. “That’s an excellent application, Violet. It integrates the training into domestic routine. It reinforces his place. And it’s very low effort for you—which is the goal. Management should be sustainable.”
“Almost there,” Dr. Perkins says, her voice returning to that low hum. “I’m going to click now. When you hear the click, you will cum.”
Your orgasm erupts—a sharp, convulsive burst that tears a ragged moan from your throat.
Your hips stutter, still humping desperately against her fingers as the first hot spurt arcs out, splattering against her latex-covered knuckles. A second, thicker pulse follows, then a third, each one wringing another helpless gasp from you. The smell of your own cum—salty, musky—fills the air between you.
Violet giggles, a soft, delighted sound. “Oh, wow. Look at him go. He’s making such a mess.” She sounds genuinely pleased, like she’s watching a child succeed at a task.
Dr. Perkins holds her hand steady, letting you finish. “Good boy,” she murmurs, her voice warm with approval. “Very good. That’s exactly right. Keep humping. Get it all out. That’s what my fingers are for.”
You obey, your thrusts slowing to weak, aftershock jerks as the last drops dribble out.
"Forty-two seconds," Dr. Perkins announces. She holds up the clicker. "You see? The association is forming. With practice, the click alone will be enough."
Dr. Perkins holds her gloved hand up, examining the streaks of your semen across her knuckles. She doesn't wipe it off. Instead, she turns her hand slowly, showing it to Violet.
"An important part of the conditioning," she says, her tone instructional, "is teaching him to associate the taste and smell of his own emission with the completion of the act. It reinforces the cycle: arousal, release, cleanup. It also prepares him for potential future configurations."
Violet leans in, curious. "Future configurations?"
Dr. Perkins smiles. "If you decide, for your own adult needs, to introduce an adequate male partner into the dynamic, your boyfriend here would need to be trained to service that relationship. Cleaning you after intercourse, for example. Or cleaning the other man. This is a foundational step."
She turns her hand toward your face. "Lick it clean, sweetie."
You stare at her gloved fingers, glistening with your own cum. Your stomach turns.
Violet places a gentle hand on the back of your head. "It's okay, sweetie. It's just your semen. It's natural. And Dr. Perkins is right—it's good training. Be a good boy and lick it up."
Dr. Perkins brings her fingers closer to your lips. "Open."
You hesitate. The smell is strong in your nostrils.
"Sweetie," Violet says, her voice soft but firm. "This is part of being managed. Part of being my good boy. Now lick."
You open your mouth. Your tongue extends, tentative, and touches the cool latex. The taste is salty, bitter. You lick a stripe across her knuckles, collecting the fluid.
"Good," Dr. Perkins murmurs. "Again. Get it all."
You obey, your tongue moving more surely now, cleaning her fingers thoroughly. When you're done, you swallow.
"Excellent," Dr. Perkins says. She pulls off the soiled glove, balls it up, and discards it. "You see, Violet? He's responsive to instruction. The reluctance is normal, but the compliance is what we're building."
Violet nods, her eyes bright. "I understand. So… would I be able to try now?"
Dr. Perkins smiles. "He's still in his refractory period, but that's fine. We'll wait a moment." She steps back. "Put on gloves. I'll guide you."
Violet pulls on a fresh pair of latex gloves, her movements eager. She approaches the recliner, looking at your soft, spent penis. Dr. Perkins stands beside her.
"Now, we're going to use the clicker in two phases," Dr. Perkins explains. "First, as a priming stimulus. You'll click once to signal the start of the session. That click will begin to arouse him—his penis will learn that click means 'get ready.' Then, when he's close, you'll click a second time. That click means 'release.'"
Violet nods, holding the clicker. "So… click to start, click to finish."
"Exactly. And remember, we're using the two-finger technique. Less work for you, more focus for him." Dr. Perkins gestures. "Place your fingers like I did."
Violet lays two fingers flat against the underside of your soft shaft. Her touch is lighter than Dr. Perkins', almost ticklish.
"Now," Dr. Perkins says. "Click to prime."
Violet watches your face. "Did it work?"
"Give it a moment," Dr. Perkins says. "Watch his penis."
You feel a faint stirring. Your cock twitches against Violet's fingers, then begins to thicken.
"Oh!" Violet breathes. "It's working. He's getting hard just from the click." She looks up at you, her eyes shining.
"You hear that, sweetie? That click means it's time for you to get excited for me. Time for you to hump my hand. My hand, never my pussy. You'll never even try. This is all you'll ever need. My two fingers. My click. Your little virgin penis, humping away until I tell it to pop."
She leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I think I'm going to keep you a virgin forever. Isn't that perfect?"
Your cock is fully erect now, straining upward, seeking the pressure of her fingers.
"Good," Dr. Perkins murmurs. "Now, encourage him to hump. Just like before."
Violet keeps her fingers still. "Hump, sweetie. Hump my fingers. Be a good boy and hump."
You begin to rock your hips, pushing your cock against her stationary fingers. The sensation is immediate, electric.
"Watch his breathing," Dr. Perkins instructs. "When it gets ragged, when his thrusts become frantic, that's when you click the second time."
Violet watches, mesmerized. Your breathing hitches. Your thrusts speed up, becoming desperate, rhythmic.
"Now," Dr. Perkins says softly.
Your orgasm hits—a weaker, thinner spurt than before, but it comes on command. You gasp, hips jerking.
Violet giggles, delighted. "He did it! He came just from the click!" She looks at Dr. Perkins. "Can I… can I have him clean up? Like you did?"
"Of course," Dr. Perkins says. "It's part of his training."
Violet holds her gloved fingers, now streaked with your semen, to your lips. "Lick it clean, sweetie. It's your mess. You made it for me. Now clean it up."
You obey, your tongue cleaning her fingers as she watches with a warm, possessive smile. Then she looks at Dr. Perkins. "What's next?"
Dr. Perkins sits at her desk, writing a final note. Violet stands beside you, her hand resting on your shoulder.
"I'm declaring the patient ready for outpatient management," Dr. Perkins says, sealing the envelope. "His baseline latency under self-stimulation was over five minutes. Under assisted stimulation, he's now at forty-two seconds. The conditioned trigger is established. He's responsive to your touch."
Dr. Perkins holds out the key to your cage. It glints in the office light. "This is yours now," she says to Violet. "You'll maintain the schedule: cage on at all times except during supervised release sessions. Twice a week. You'll use the clicker to reinforce the trigger. If you have any concerns, call me."
Violet takes the key. She doesn't just slip it into her pocket. Instead, she pulls a thin silver chain from her purse. She threads the key onto it, then lifts the chain over her head, letting it settle around her neck. The key disappears between her breasts, nestled in the cleft of her black dress.
She looks at you, a soft, possessive smile on her lips. "There," she coos. "That's where your key lives now. Right here, between my boobs. You'll see it every time you look at me. You'll know that your little penis belongs to me. And if you're a very good boy, maybe someday I'll let you kiss it." She pats the spot where the key rests. "But for now, it stays right here. Safe and sound."
"Thank you, Dr. Perkins," Violet says, her hand still resting over the key.
"Take good care of him," Dr. Perkins says, smiling. "He's a good boy. He just needed the right management."
In the car, your mother drives. Violet sits beside you in the back seat.
She reaches over and pats your thigh. "We'll start our first session tonight," she says softly. "I want to see if the clicker works without Dr. Perkins."
You nod. The cage is back on. Violet has the key.
That evening, in your room, Violet sits on your bed. She holds the clicker. "Undress," she says.
You do. The cage doesn't come off. You're soft.
She doesn't touch you. She just holds the clicker.
"Remember what Dr. Perkins said," she murmurs. "The first click means get ready. The second click means release." She looks at you, her expression soft but certain. "I'm going to click now to prime you."
You feel the familiar stirring. Your cock, still soft in its cage, gives a feeble twitch against the plastic. A low heat begins to gather in your groin.
"Good," Violet whispers. "You're getting ready for me. That's my good boy."
She watches you, a smile playing on her lips. "I can see it in your eyes. You're getting all excited. Your little guy is trying to get hard in there, isn't he? Pushing against his little pink house." She leans closer. "I love that. I love knowing that with one little click, I can make you all hot and bothered. I can make your testicles get all heavy and full for me."
She sits back, the clicker held loosely in her hand. "I think I'm going to click you a lot, sweetie. Not to make you cum. Just to keep you… eager. Attentive. A good boyfriend should always be a little bit aroused for his girl, don't you think? Ready to pop at a moment's notice."
She clicks again, a soft, deliberate sound.
Your cock twitches harder. Pre-cum beads at the tip, seeping through the cage's opening. You're cock is trying to get fully hard now, straining against the plastic, but there's no release.
"See?" she says, her voice warm with pleasure. "You're so responsive. My little minute man in training. Soon, one click will be enough. You'll hear it and just… spurt. No touching. No humping. Just a good boy, obeying his girlfriend."
She reaches out and pats the cage gently. "But not tonight. Tonight, you just get to be hard for me. You just get to want. That's your job now. To want. And my job is to decide when you get relief."
She stands, slipping the clicker into her pocket. "Good boy. Don't worry, we have the rest of our life to work on it. We'll start tomorrow." She kisses your forehead. "Sleep well. Dream about my clicks."
She leaves. You lie in bed, caged and painfully erect, aching with a need she has no intention of satisfying tonight.
You are a chronic masturbator. You are cured of taking too long. But now you are pussy-free, caged, managed, constantly aroused, and grateful.
This is the third and final in a series about a mother, her son, the girl next door, and the doctor who decided to manage his little problem — with a cage, with a timer, with a clicker, and with his best interests at heart.
Previous: The Chronic: Part I | The Chronic: Part II - The Girl Next Door
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