Chapter 6
It was the next stage of my personalised programme, or so the handwritten note from Thaleia said.
A larger box than the last one was waiting on the doorstep.
I scooped it up quickly, taking a suspicious look around, before hurrying back inside.
It was the same pinkish-golden colour, the same lotus logo, but it was heavier and longer than the empty box I still kept on the living room table, its contents spread over the house wherever they were needed.
For week four, it read in perfect curling writing, a private chakra-balancing exercise using our Root Bloom Wand for sacral energy flow and deep emotional release.
Four weeks was only a couple of days away, but the lingering smell of oils in the house and the day’s events had me at half-mast and dampening my boxers already.
There was no way I would be able to hold back, and my body moved before my mind had time to catch up.
My fingers clawed at the neat bow tied around the box before throwing it aside, then more carefully pulled off the lid.
I set the open box and myself down in a comfy chair closer to the hall leading to the door and peeled back the layers of rustling tissue paper.
Blooming Bath Salts announced the text written across a large circular container.
Just add to hot water and climb on in. Relaxing, all natural, and vital to your progress.
Simple enough.
Then came the Root Bloom Wand mentioned in the note, an entirely smooth instrument in a tasteful silver colour, slightly curved towards the front and ending in a bulbous tip.
Sitting snugly alongside it was a tube of gel, obviously lube even to me, which promised to make the entire process of unblocking my chakras frictionless.
Lastly there was the CD, as mundane-looking as the rest, which a new leaflet told me I would need to follow.
Holding the wand in my hand, just from the shape of it, reminded me of holding—
‘I’m not gay!’ I yelled before I could stop myself, tossing the wand angrily back into the box. ‘For Christ’s sake, I have a fiancée.’
But… but what if I was?
Like any straight man wishing to discover the truth, I got up and went cautiously upstairs to my study — a room I hadn’t entered since the night Cathy left. The door swung easily inwards, and the computer was still on from where I had rushed after her.
I had become so used to my cock leaking by now that when I slumped down into the leather executive seat and wheeled it over to my desk, having already peeled off my shirt, trousers and damp underwear, the sight of my half-erect cock and balls shining with precum didn’t even seem to register.
Why should it be odd? I thought. The smell of oil from my morning and evening routines made me give a small moan, my body tingling beneath the skin and my backside clenching as I clicked onto the first porn site.
‘I’m just checking,’ I told myself. ‘Evelyn is wrong an-and Mats is my boss, a guy to look up to. Obviously.’
It started pretty tame — men kissing, a handjob or two, some blowjobs — before transitioning into prostate play, and then into bottoming.
My cock leaked and throbbed, that constant niggling pain of arousal which I could — was forced to — manage at work returned with a vengeance.
In spite of this I found myself uninterested, the urge to touch myself present but no stronger than it had become over the last few weeks.
My eyes focused on a hairy, muscular man pumping his cum all over a more slender guy playing the role of his office secretary.
Right, I thought, time to get som—
Ah shit. I hadn’t realised it was on autoplay, and now another video popped up. I moved to close down the browser, but what I saw — a slender, smooth, young man in luminous green lingerie that clung to his body — made me pause.
My mouth was dry as I watched him prance about a bedroom, turning away to present an arse so round and pert that you could bounce a coin off it.
The barely-there outfit only emphasised each cheek, his cock and balls nestled between his tanned, hairless legs in a way that made my own cock engorge and stand painfully hard.
By the time the boy on the screen, his angular face made even more perfect by subtle makeup, was lying on his back on the bed, pulling his panties aside and spreading his cheeks apart, I failed to notice my hands wandering across my body.
Well practised by now, I pulled on my nipples, circled two fingers around my taint, but resisted the urge to stroke myself.
Under no condition are you to climax during this programme.
This is what your body has been craving, said a voice in my head — one that sounded oddly like my own, but pitched differently.
‘NO!’ I cried out, shutting off the browser, screen and speakers in a quick series of motions powered by pure willpower. I was breathing like a hot dog, panting, my whole body sweating and my head pulsing with the need to climax.
For several moments I sat there, motionless, before I remembered the box on the table.
‘A bath?’ I questioned myself. ‘Yes, a bath would be good. A nice hot bath.’
Well, it was not the beefcake physique I had been expecting, but the figure looking back at me from the half-steamed mirror was certainly leaner than I had been after years of allowing myself to skip the gym and snack on almost anything.
That was positive, right?
My pecs… my breasts… were also looking more defined, small but certainly more pronounced… becoming fuller… and whatever was in that oil and diffuser blend had given me more robust thighs… my hips rounding… so overall it seemed that things were going well.
Without thinking I ran my hands over my drying body, making sure to pay special attention to my essential areas, and smiled at the way I was almost as hairless as the boy – the sissy – in the video.
My skin was so smooth, any remaining hair more fine and downy than wiry, and it made me strangely happy to feel the small sparks that leapt inside myself as my fingertips traced across my chest, inner thighs and my crotch.
I am opening… I am softening… I am blooming.
‘I am opening… I am softening… I am blooming.’
The only thing that did bother me was the size of my cock – my eyes seeing it at least several inches smaller than it had always been, but my mind giving a shrug, as if it were of no consequence.
Let your masculine edges melt away…
Adrian, said the voice of Cathy in my head, you did all this for me? I love you so much, but there’s still more to do.
A sharp beeping interrupted my thoughts like a needle popping a balloon. My smile widened as I moved towards my bedroom for the evening half of my programme.
The headphones sat neatly over my ears, the Walkman and wand beside me. My first Root Bloom session was about to begin.
Soft, soothing music reached my ears, stereophonic tones fading into it from somewhere in the background. A voice began to speak, different from the one I had heard before — velvety, slow and intimate. Yet somehow familiar.
Welcome to your Root Bloom Practice…
Breathe in deeply… and let it all go.
A lungful of diffused oil and air was dragged into my nose, held for a moment, and then released. My head instantly felt lighter… happier… and my body relaxed against the headboard of my bed.
That’s it… good. You’re doing so well.
Feel the warmth of the oil on your skin… how it sinks deeper with every breath.
Your body already knows what it needs. It has been preparing for this moment.
One hand was already stroking my cock so that the firm but floppy erection spattered my thighs, lower stomach and my sheets with precum. A groan rose in my throat.
I must not blow my load though. I mustn’t ruin all my progress.
I could feel the airborne oils settling on my body, seeping into my pores as I took more deep breaths, fully knowing that whatever it was doing would ultimately bring Cathy back to me.
Now… take the Root Bloom Wand. Feel how smooth and curved it is… made to fit you perfectly.
Generously coat it… and yourself… with the special gel.
Myself?
The diagram in the leaflet lying open on my other side showed two gel-slick fingers and — oh, right. Of course.
With a hand covered in gel — the aroma making white lights play over my vision before settling, my head fuzzy, feeling overjoyed but also oddly unbalanced.
As if I wasn’t there, as if I wasn’t actually myself — I took the wand and weighed it in my hand, fascinated by the shape of it, how it shimmered even in the dim lamplight of my bedroom.
I ran a hand to the tip, rolling the head around in my palm.
Still ensnared by the constantly seeking fingers of oil making the room seem warmer than it was, I made sure to apply some more gel to my fingers and slipped them between my legs, arching backwards as I circled my rear entrance without the least sense of connection to the day’s conversations or anything before seeing myself in the bathroom mirror.
When you’re ready… press the tip gently against your entrance… and breathe.
My legs were forced wider apart, and I tried to angle myself to make it easier. The bulb-shaped head rested against my hole in a moment that even my hazy mind could tell was significant in some way. Nothing I could think of, which was little enough, came to mind though.
That’s it… slowly… let it slide in… just a little at first.
Her voice combined with the pulsing music was like a massage of my brain, tendrils controlling me like a very willing puppet, causing actions that I would more than likely not remember after.
At her command I nudged the wand tip inside and gasped, my lips parting and eyes widening, as my ring stretched.
Every nerve in my body vibrated as it entered me.
A sharp flicker of resistance flared — I’m not gay, I have a fiancée, this is insane — but it was quickly drowned beneath a wave of overwhelming pleasure as the gel did its work.
Good girl… feel how natural it is to be filled.