Tuesday, October 21, 2014

'A Dog's Life' corrected.

Seems there was a screw up converting the sequel to PDF.

If you purchased and received only one page please email me.

Regards,

CB

Monday, October 20, 2014

'A Dog's Life', (sequel to 'The Power of Money')

For those who are enjoying... have enjoyed... 'The Power of Money', I have published a brief sequel (8,100 words) on Lulu. $2.10 


 http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/a-dogs-life/15456276

Enjoy enjoy

CB

Sunday, October 19, 2014

'The Power of Money'

I have published on Lulu a story of extreme Female Dominance, 'The Power of Money'. 47,000 words. $6.50.

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/the-power-of-money/15443634

Enjoy

CB

Saturday, October 18, 2014

The Sash - A Morning Jaunt

A Morning Jaunt

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

Markie holds high her left hand, her index finger looped through Thursday’s nose ring. This painfully forces the tethered naked steed to present himself on his toes. Once again Markie’s free hand toys with the testicles, so vulnerably presented, the support ring of the cock cage seeming to thrust the pink plums into the palm of her right hand.

“Steady boy, steady. You’re going to please the Prince today. A nice long run for you. A good fucking. You’re going to taste the Royal pecker... what a treat, ha, ha, ha.”

Bridle and bit in place, Thursday cannot reply. Yes, he’s been tethered, a broad leather waist belt secured to the prongs of the Prince’s low sleek pony cart, wrist bands hooked to his neck collar, arms awkwardly folded in discomfort at the elbows.

Thursday’s alabaster nakedness gleams in the African sunlight, every inch of flesh coated with sun block, the Prince insisting that his penis penetrate only the whitest of male flesh... his penchant.

Bringing more gleam to the buttocks are the remnants of lubricant applied to the rectum. Markie  knows it will not be enough, that the Royal pecker, vast in both length and girth, will most painfully open, stretch and penetrate... slowly... deliberately... relentlessly. Yes, Thursday will be penetrated despite his tightness, his sphincter still acclimating to weekly sodomy.   

“Be good to his highness now,” Markie’s final words as she spies her Master approaching.

The Prince is garbed in a colorful silk kimono. Markie knows that beneath the flowing folds there is nothing... that with a quick flip of his hand the Prince can facilely display the only normally functioning penis at the ranch... that after running Thursday into a good sweat he will pause, unhitch the well worked steed and take him... orally... anally... most likely both.

“Good morning, Markie. You look pretty this morning.”

“Thank you, sire,” the naked castrate blushing with the kind words from he so admired.

“And you’ve nicely prepared my steed for a good run and fucking. I’m going to take him to the oasis... swim in the cool water while the sun heats the steel of his cock cage. It’s deliciously slow torment. Makes them eager to run... a cooling breeze becomes most welcomed, ha, ha, ha.”

The Prince gathers the reins, Markie marveling at the powerful hands, the well muscled arms. As well conditioned are the human steeds, the Prince is even bigger and stronger... and his penis is fully functioning... and unlocked, Markie notes to herself with adoring envy.

“Have a good run, sire.”

“Thank you Markie. Make sure my boys are well exercised. I like to feel firmly toned muscling succumb to me... as you know,” mounting the cart.

A riding crop awaits. With a forceful swing and calloused splat, feet scurry, leg muscles labor, the reins tug to guide Thursday from the corral.

“Be a few hours... work ‘em hard,” the Prince calls out as Thursday eagerly jogs to avoid more strokes of the crop.

Suffering under the crop and tethers will only be interrupted when the Prince decides the Royal penis needs satiation, Markie notes to herself, turning to return to the stable.

Five more steeds await her tutelage... for them, hours on the treadmill.  

Meanwhile the Prince finds himself entering nirvana. His psyche daily ceding to his need, a wry smile slowly broadens as the prominent white cheeks of his human steed strain... only to receive brisk snaps of the crop, right then left. He feels the cart shudder with paroxysmal reaction to the sharp pain. This spurs a boisterous laugh of delight.

“You’ll better move those legs and thighs... tempt me with those pearly white buttocks... or feel more sting, Thursday. I like making a boy work for me, ha, ha, ha.”

The pace accelerates. The sound of air rushing past bit and bridle comforts the Prince. Though the noon hour is not yet, the intensity of the direct rays of the African sun quickly bring perspiration, the wet mixing with the sun lotion to commence streams of moisture.

Ah, thinks the Prince, perhaps my naked steed will feel the power of the Royal penis along his entire body. Yes, I’ll frottage every inch of flesh, feeling him quiver and squirm in distaste. Then I’ll face fuck him, the sound of choking always empowers. Lastly, when rock hard, then I’ll take him anally. Such tightness these new boys possess. Such a delicious reaction of horror as I slowly enter. Such revulsion as I pump and pump.

Into a valley, the road is dusty but smooth, well worn with the daily excursions. A turn to the right, a slight descent, and there comes the reflection, a modest pond, the glint of water beckoning.  

The reins direct to the shade of a tree. The Prince positions such that Thursday is left in the daylight, facing the sun. He dismounts. A short chain is quickly clipped right ankle to left. Leaving no slack, the reins are tied to a tree branch above. An exhausted Thursday will remain standing... for now.

“You’ll be eager to kneel and spread for me... in an hour or two. You’ll hate taking my cock... but you’ll also welcome it, ha, ha, ha,” the words offered as the Prince disrobes.

Kimono cast into the cart, the Prince displays his well chiseled masculinity. The impressive muscling is only exceeded by a thick manhood, the tip swinging heavily between the knees. Thursday, selected for purchase due to his own prominent endowment, gulps in dread, knowing he must service, submit to the royal penis, before being cropped and run again.

Thursday does not like Thursdays.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

The Sash - Preparation

Preparation

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

Having offered bladder relief to the remaining steeds, Markie feeds, stuffing heaping spoonfuls of nutritious gruel into seven toothless mouths. Yes, all have had the demanded dental alteration, teeth filed to nothingness, biting precluded, the ability to deny entry to Master’s raging cock greatly impeded.

In finishing, it is time to prepare Thursday for Master’s morning cart ride. Thus, leash and cattle prod in hand, Markie clips the length of leather to Thursday’s nose ring, places the prod most proximate and begins to release the blond form from his sleeping mat.

Markie marvels at the physique, all of the Prince’s human steeds a picture of male vitality. There comes envy as two hands carefully release the right wrist of a well muscled arm. By rote, Thursday partially rolls to his side, knowing to give Markie control, the arm limp as the wrist band is quickly clipped behind his back to his neck collar.  

The left wrist follows. When Markie releases the left ankle cuff, Thursday draws his foot across the mat to join his right. There the ankle bands are connected with a short hobbling chain before final release of the right ankle band.

Then leash in one hand, cattle prod in the other, Thursday is encouraged to arise and shuffle to the cleansing table. There the steed is positioned kneeling, ankle bands released then secured to rings in the bottom corners. The nose leash is tied off forcing the head high. Then, prod always ready to counter resistance, the right wrist band is released then secured to one corner and the left follows, placing Thursday on all fours, well restrained, well spread.  

Despite the many weeks of ownership, apprehension remains. Markie, hands tender and somewhat soothing, will also administer the massive enema which the Prince insists upon. Though the discomfort is notable, the humiliation exceeds. Thursday will not be deemed sufficiently cleansed until he begs for the simple press of the valve to deflate the ineluctable enema nozzle. 

As commanded, Thursday’s cohorts are forced to watch Markie ply her governance. And Markie finds the Prince to be correct, the more the herd watches him/her work a boy’s body with impunity the less and less such resist.

Mentally, emotionally, despite the size and well toned muscling, all control has been ceded to a plumped naked nymph. Such irony!

And Markie has learned such exhilarates.

“Do you like it when I penetrate you, Thursday? Press a big fat enema nozzle into your rectum,” Markie taunts. “Not as big as the Prince, and probably not as enjoyable, but I am sure you want to be clean and please him.”

Thursday remains silent, feeling Markie’s left hand grip his testicles for leverage as the nozzle slithers inward. Air whooshes to expand. A valve is then released to begin the flow of warm water. It calms... at first. Markie smiles slyly knowing that her charge will slowly fill as she cleanses... and fill... and fill. Pressure on the prostate, her gentle touch, both will soon bring tumescence to he thoroughly denied. Who to better understand the curious anatomical reaction than a former male?

A spray of warm water, soap, as Markie washes the entire nakedness she also feels for body hair, verboten and quickly shaven when encountered.

“Please, Miss Markie, enough,” Thursday squirming with the pressure.

“No, you’re to be cleansed inside and out. Be a good boy, just relax and let Markie have her way.”

A rub of the tummy confirms Thursday’s need. Bloated... and expanding... Markie again smiles. Having the intact male beg brings an odd sense of solace... retribution. Perhaps she will never close the valve, comes a brief fancy of cruelty.

But alas, the helpless and well exposed mass of flesh is property of the Prince... not to be impaired. Instead Markie slows the flow then moves to the nose cord immobilizing Thursday’s head. She tightens to bring both a jab of pain and an increase to the slow suffering as Thursday is forced to look skyward.

“Now you’ll be quiet. I will decide when you’ve had enough.”

The tightened cord, Markie well knows, forces a change in posture, further arching the back, better opening the colon, the bowels to welcome more of the massive enema.

Markie turns her head to note the six other human steeds, remaining secured to their sleeping mats,  gawk... a combination of pity for Thursday’s stressed nose ring and bloated belly... and awe of the sang froid with which the neutered stable boy/girl metes punishment.

As expected, Thursday’s entrapped male appendage begins to swell, fighting the spikes of the cock cage. There comes more sound, words repressed, but attempts to stifle reaction to the agony not possible.

With another smile, Markie moves to Thursday’s side, slips her hand between well spread thighs and pats the impressive manly plums.

“Yes, you may be proud of these, but such are useless to you. Simple playthings for me,” Markie taunts with a snicker, “That cock cage getting a little tight for you, ha, ha, ha,” the laugh coming as the fingers move to the stainless steel mesh, jostling with impunity.

A pause, more flow, and Markie takes no pity but knows the Prince will soon want to take his morning jaunt. She closes the valve.

“Thank you, Miss Markie, Thank you,” Thursday instantly sensing relief.

“You’ll hold it for me,” Markie retorts, spraying to rinse away the soapiness.

Always keep them waiting, she tells herself. They are never to know when I choose to exercise my control...

Saturday, October 4, 2014

The Sash - Naked Servitude Begins

Naked Servitude Begins

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

The day begins with a serving girl wheeling a food laden cart into the stable. Markie knows not her name. Silence seems to be the unproclaimed rule, and every day she wordlessly scampers back to the ranch house, presumably to prepare the Prince’s breakfast. She takes no interest in the seven naked well bound human steeds. And in being restrained and hooded, they have no cognition of her brief presence. She does occasionally titter while peering at Markie’s missing jewels. For her, a neutered white boy amuses, offering more reminder of his alteration.

Smelling the gruel, Markie knows to arise to begin feeding. On this morning he has been slumbering with Thursday, ostensibly offering comfort to the relatively new arrival. Instead, throughout the night, Markie has felt the lad both tremble with the disgust of homophobia... and lurch as an unruly penis fights the tight cock cage... the feel of Markie’s warm hairless flesh spurring tumescence despite the disdain for male on male coupling.

Markie’s own maleness, the remnants thereof, has surrendered. It feels oddly good to sleep with a human beast he controls. And despite Thursday’s physical revulsion, Markie knows the lad remains traumatized from the Prince’s recent modifications, and deep within is somewhat comforted as Markie freely frottages against his well bound nakedness.

Yes, there is consolation offered... but it distresses.

Thursday’s teeth have been filed to obviate both biting and the ability to deny his Master oral entry for a deep face fucking. Grommets have been embedded in the flesh about the pubes at the twelve o’clock, four and eight o’clock positions. Such deep punctures are healing, but the large ring of steel threaded through the openings and the attached well spiked cock cage require acclimatization... as does the Prince’s Wand deeply inserted into the urethra.      

Markie rolls to a kneeling position then lowers his face to the encased male tidbits. A well trained tongue thrusts forth and begins laving the pink scrotum, well presented by the ring about the pubes. He giggles in feeling Thursday stir, the warm wetness both welcomed and abhorred as more priapism is kindled.

“Your day to be run, Thursday,” Markie withdrawing to watch as the penis swells and fights its punishing cage.

“Please, Ma’am, no more,” a muffled voice entreats from beneath the hood. “And please... I need to go.”

The Prince’s Wand is capped, precluding urination. And just as the Prince prognosticated, Markie has learned to use the tormenting device to abet his authority.
  
“Well, it is good of you to politely ask. But you know what I like first.”

“Please don’t make me do that!”

“I thought you would want to please me. I take such good care of you,” Markie cynically proclaims in sliding away Thursday’s hood.

The boy blinks, his eyes adjusting to the morning light. Markie looks into the handsome young face, looks barely diminished by the stainless steel nose ring inserted well into the nostrils and piercing the cartilage of the septum.

“Come just a few licks for me. I’ve been good to your balls.”

“You have none,” Thursday contemptuously reminds, emotionally not able to fully accept Markie despite the girly boy’s transformation.

“Then think of it as my labia. Be a good boy,” the words offered as a kneeling Markie straddles the head, lowering to present his empty scrotal sac.

Yes, Markie has come to learn that there is evanescent joy in being orally served there. Plus he distantly joins the Prince in his penchant... sensing the horripilation of the virile male in being forced to capitulate to... a man? Thursday’s perception of Markie’s gender is understandably blurred.

A slim finger loops through the nose ring, jostles then levers to align tongue and lips with the withered sac. With the slightest tension there bringing instantaneous pain, a reluctant Thursday begins to indeed lick. Complete capitulation follows, engulfing the mass of flesh to bring a squeal of pleasure from Markie.

“Good boy. You see how easy that is? Understand how much delight it brings me? You should not deny me... you will not deny me. We need to take care of each other, Thursday,” Markie finally arising to procure a urination bowl.

“And keep in mind, since I have no balls, I’ll just have my fun controlling yours,” Markie suggests in returning to Thursdays’ pubes.

In demonstration, the fingers of the left hand playfully squeeze a meaty right gonad then move to the left. The fingers of the right remove the cap of the Prince’s Wand. Despite the discomfort an immediate flow begins.

“Feel better? See what Markie can do for you? And next shaving day, I’m going to have you get hard for me. You’d like that wouldn’t you Thursday, showing off for me? A nice erection for me.”

Thursday nods, his excretions tapering. It is a hesitant nod, for he knows fully well that the moments of freedom from the cruel cock cage will not culminate... well never culminate... with ejaculation. No instead, Markie will ice him down, insert the Prince’s Wand and return the cock cage to a neglected penis, ultimate satiation denied.   

Saturday, September 27, 2014

A Woman in Control - Solidying my power II

Solidifying My Power II

“Dr. Helmstadt, so good of you to call. A problem with Jack?”

“No, not at all. I incised his frenum as I recommended. Nurse Benson has him performing special tongue exercises. Our efforts will offer both agility and added length. You should be feeling the difference, better penetration.”

“I am. And I am glad the surgery is covered by the company health care plan.”

“That’s the reason I called. Is there a G. Douglas Olivier covered by the plan?”

“Yes, he’s the sycophant CEO I’ve talked about.”

“Well it seems that his wife has acquired special powers over his affairs. Normally arranged with people who are non compos mentis.”

“Or arranged by a wife with particular concerns,” I offer with a snicker.

“Well, if you say he’s covered then I will proceed. She seems familiar with the Prince’s Wand and cock cage, like that we have Jack locked into. She’s demanding such for husband G. Douglas Olivier... and she has the paperwork to make it happen.”

“Electroejaculation?” I must inquire smiling to myself.

“Yes, that as well. But irregularly, only with her concurrence. Seems she wants him sensing the frustration of denial and build up. Ordered the longest and sharpest spikes for the cock cage. And though I explained it’s not necessary with the intact male, she wants the scrotal ring surgically implanted... like Jack. Quite the coincidence... has she seen Jack?”

Mrs. Olivier and I have formed a cabal... and we’ve agreed to keep it secret. I control the business... she controls G. Douglas Olivier. And we share Jack.

“I would assume she’s getting advice from a woman of supreme governance. Mr. Olivier is known to stray,” I offer as cover, not directly addressing the question.

Well, a newly humbled Mrs. Olivier politely suggested that my ‘weekly updates’ cease. It was a modest concession on my part. I do visit his office from time to time...after spritzing some butter spray on my hands. It’s amusing to see him fidget as the Pavlovian response to the strong scent brings a tent to the front of his trousers.

He asks for his update and I deny. Obviously, henceforth, if the aging penis of G. Douglas is locked in steel, even his humble requests will indeed terminate. Those cock cage spikes will bring torment with the slightest degree of tumescence. And I shall miss the antics, having the boss squirt only at my behest, listening to him beseech for final climax.

Now it will be Nurse Benson’s task... rectal insertion, the press of a button, the electrical jolt, the painful explosion of male seed harmlessly gushing into a clinical collection vessel. 

“How has Jack been performing for you?” Dr. Helmstadt changes the subject matter. “We’re almost five years into his castration. Any mental/emotional issues?”

“When I have him stand naked in front of the mirror, he tends to sob a bit. You’ve seen what the daily quart of buttermilk has done. He’s nice and soft and plump. And yes, as expected his concentration is deteriorating. He no longer works here, it’s too challenging for him. I have him doing full time maid service. That way I avoid having to offer the dignity of male clothing. Matter of fact he only dresses now in his maid’s costume... and then only when I want to show him off. He is mostly kept naked full time.”

“Excellent. He’ll feel much better... serve you better... and overall be happier. It’s best for boys like Jack. His destiny is to serve. We see that often here.”

I voice concurrence, recalling the naked and leashed human canine in the doctor’s waiting room, the pretty young receptionist, a governess in training, tossing the dog biscuit. Then came the snap and the point of a finger... the commanding gesture to have my shoes licked.

“Well, I have to go. The Oliviers have a 3:00 p.m. appointment.”

We hang up and I must wonder what Jack is up to alone at Mrs. Olivier’s pretentious Greenwich, Connecticut mansion. So I pick up my remote control and offer two quick reminder charges, the code for Jack to call me. If he does not do so within 5 minutes, I simply apply more voltage until I hear the phone ring. I particularly enjoy knowing where the former male feels the manifestation of my power... in his useless sex organs. Such are no longer for pleasure... such are to endure the caprice of woman’s controlling hand. 

Jack visits three times per week, keeping Mrs. Olivier’s vast abode spotless and greatly pleasing the gray haired, once-thought-of-as-prim, woman of the house. Jack has indicated she watches intently, remote in hand, having dire authority over a neutered male quite rewarding.

The phone rings.

“Yes, Miss Desiree, you signaled?”

“Where are you Jack?”

“I am in Mrs. Olivier’s kitchen preparing dinner for her and Mr. Olivier.”

“Good boy. You can stay late. I have a date tonight, dinner with one of my bullstuds. New. I think you’ll enjoy his taste,” repressing a wicked laugh.

“But I need to go to the bathroom, Miss Desiree.”

A problem. Mrs. Olivier has wired her home just as my apartment has been wired. Jack cannot leave any room without the gracious press of a woman’s finger. It is best not to intercede with another woman’s control. To do so brings confusing and conflicting thoughts to Jack’s addled mind. He must focus on staying where a governing woman has designated.

“Use a jar... and be neat. You can depose of your excretions when Mrs. Olivier returns. How has your dildo training been coming along?”

Mrs. Olivier has deviously... and deviantly... been training Jack to deep throat a fairly good sized rubber phallus, the gag reflex to be brought under control. I must say, once the woman steps out of her prude persona... she steps out with vigor.

I cannot envision her purchasing such an implement. But with the internet, all is confidential.

“I still choke a bit,” a remorseful Jack replies, knowing full well of the training’s purpose.

“Well, you’ve learned to enjoy a man’s taste... a real man. Soon you’ll be able to enjoy the feel as well. It’s best for you, Jack. There is no purpose in having any male pride. You’re no longer male. Your role is to please... in all capacities.”

G. Douglas is aware that husband Jack, remaining on the company payroll, serves in his home as a maid. Over time I believe Mrs. Olivier will be expanding those duties. Could it be that any offer to remove G. Douglas’s newly installed stainless steel chastity cock cage will only come under very challenging circumstances? Such as to be fellated... by a naked neutered male? Yes, he’ll beg for climactic relief... and such wickedness in the choice Mrs. Olivier will offer to G. Douglas... either submit to Nurse Benson’s electroejaculation or entertain Mrs. Olivier with a lewd display of male on male oral sodomy... Jack’s dildo training so deviantly applied.
       
In hanging up, Bob enters my office. He presents a memo from the corporate secretary. It seems the controlling shareholders of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances, i.e. Mr. and Mrs. G. Douglas Olivier, have called for a special meeting of the shareholders and a subsequent meeting of the board of directors. The only item on the agenda... G. Douglas Olivier to relinquish his board seat and accordingly his title as chairman of the board to be surrendered. Interesting. I had not thought of that, Mrs. Olivier apparently getting on board, so to speak, with the notion of more apparent feminine control, in her own way further emasculating husband G. Douglas.

Solidifying my power, G. Douglas will become even more of a puppet. Though remaining with the title of CEO, he will report to the board, of which I am a member. Now, who is a likely candidate to take the chairman’s position? That must be decided upon at the special subsequent board meeting.

I mentally review the board’s four other comprising members, wondering which male sycophant would most benefit from nice long controlling hand jobs. I only need two other votes, and there’s lots of memory in my cell phone camera...  

********************************************************************************

This concludes the story. Hope all have enjoyed.

CB