Glancing at Foofoo as he stood up on the balls of his feet, hands on head, eyes lowered, Nikki smiled indulgently at the sight of her oh-so obedient and blushing servant-boy, as she considered Teresa’s question over whether his motivation to go through the trials and tribulations that he did was related to the size of his tiny cock.

Turning back to Teresa, she saw that her friend’s eyes were still wide, like saucers, at the sight of her simp, attired in his Modern-Day Cinderella work uniform, standing obediently before them. The uniform she’d given him consisted of the latest Holy Trainer nub pink chastity cage, neck collar, electric shock collar nestled behind his balls, belled nose ring through his septum, and a multitude of shaming bells secured to wrists and ankles.

Pleased that Teresa had instigated a return visit so soon after being introduced to Foofoo, Nikki was more than prepared to indulge her friend with any curiosities she might have over the nature of her working livestock. Nikki explained, “Well, in that sense, Teresa, you’re correct. In theory, Foofoo’s penis is not different from any other grown man’s penis, used to urinate, intended for procreation, in theory. The reality is quite different. When Foofoo’s hormonal surges from puberty kicked in, triggering feelings of sexual desire for the opposite sex, he remained bashful and tiny. So very tiny.”

“Looks like nothing’s changed since he left his teenage years behind him then!” Teresa piped up.

“Indeed,” Nikki smirked. “To cut a long story short, excuse the pun. Foofoo never grew out of the immaturity of his masturbation years.”

“Eww!”

“Quite,” Nikki agreed with Teresa’s sentiment before continuing. “Lacking confidence, he’s told be how he would clam up around girls, and thus how his comfort zone became an innate solosexuality, and as a result, driven by his physical urges he developed into an accomplished wanker. Playing with himself something silly over the unobtainable, getting crushes here, there, and everywhere, putting them up on a pedestal in his head, submissively willing to do anything for them for the chance of their attention or being in their company. In doing so, with only his fantasies to accompany him, Foofoo developed a devotion-based obedience drive, more than a sex drive. As a result, he never went on to sow in wild oats. Instead, he is with us today, having just spent all morning barefoot, chaste, and in my kitchen. Scrubbing the floor, playing with the dishes.”

Letting her explanation sink in, Nikki concluded, “Imagine a world where the only sex partner you’ve ever had was you. Well, that’s Foofoo.”

The sound of bells tinkled through the room.

“Did you say something, my little dickless-wonder?” Nikki snapped, regarding him sternly.

“Whmpr! Whmpr!” squeaked in denial, quickly, without even raising as much as his chin.

“I would hope not,” Nikki scolded. “It would have been impertinent for a pipsqueak to interrupt our conversation.”

Further noises emanated from the multitude of bells attached to his limbs as they settled, but Foofoo steadfastly kept his head down, otherwise silent. His blush deepened from the shame of being referred to as a ‘pipsqueak’ and scolded like a child in front of his keyholder’s guest.

“So, you see Teresa,” Nikki returned her explanations, picking up where she’d left off. “For Foofoo, there was never any wonderful, glorious penetrative sex so rampant in its rapturous plundering. Such things only happened in his head as wishful thinking and daydreams. He remains a virgin to this day, never been kissed, sucked or fucked.”

“Oh my, on his way to being a forty-year-old virgin, just like in the movie!” Teresa giggled.

“So far, yes, but hitting forty won’t change anything for him,” Nikki confirmed. “He’ll remain a virgin. Now and always. In his natural habitat, the kitchen.”

“Is he one of those sad incels then, Nikki?” Teresa asked, attempting to retain her composure at the sight of him.

“Well, yes and no, it’s a fine line,” Nikki admitted with a sigh. “My take on things is that incels are bitter women-hating men. Yes, they are virgins, like Foofoo is a virgin. He doesn’t want to be a virgin, and incels don’t want to be virgins either. Instead, Foofoo was once a lonely wanker, while I suspect most incels are still lonely wankers, and so on. I can’t believe they can all be dickless-wonders like Foofoo, but some will be. But the core differential is that while incels get all angry about it, blaming women for their faults, wallowing in misguided misogyny and deviant fantasies rather than looking at themselves and facing up to their inadequacies; Foofoo, to his credit, was better than that. Perhaps the devotional obedience drive he’d developed saved him. That, in combination with the only thing his tiny nub will ever penetrate, is a chastity cage. Since I caged him, with no masturbation to distract him, he’s come on leaps and bounds. I have to say, because I include myself in learning this, that once discovered, the values of service in strict ongoing chastity of the male of our species should never be dismissed or underestimated! I can’t see that ever changing, either. He simply would not be here if he weren’t caged.”

Her eyes drawn back to the tiny pink device that encased Foofoo’s junk, Teresa giggled at her friend’s explanation. It was so small! About the size of a squash ball. Then, she managed to say, “Well, if he’s going to go being involuntary celibate in chastity, it’s as if you were preserving his virginity and his penis in aspic!”

“Heehee!” Nikki managed, getting a fit of the giggles. “Yes, I suppose I am! I like that, I like that a lot!

“I do, too, Nikki,” Teresa said. Then, with a shrug, she added, “More than I’d ever thought, but given the way my ex has behaved, you know.”

 

The End.

 

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