Saturday, November 1, 2014

The Sash - The Insatiable Prince

The Insatiable Prince

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

“My goodness, this one remains tight,” the Prince proclaims with enthusiasm, stepping from the cart.

Markie’s index finger loops through Thursday’s nose ring to steady, the shift in control symbolic but necessary... the human steed never ever afforded a sense of liberty. She notes that joining the rivulets of sweat at the buttocks, thighs and calves are streams of moisture at the cheeks.

Tears! Of pain?.. of humiliation?.. of frustration?

It matters not. The Prince is pleased.

“It’s so much more fun when you have to work and work a boy open. It’s my morning exercise. And you should hear him beg, Markie. He finds a good sized cock to be revolting, this one. But in the end he sucks... and deep within I left him a nice size wad of manliness... didn’t I boy? Ha, ha, ha.”

Bit and bridle in place, the question goes unanswered.

“Bring him into the stable. Before cleaning him I feel a need. It’s a lustful day for me, Markie. Let’s see what this boy looks like... all of him.”

Into the stable, Markie follows the proud swaggering Prince, leading Thursday by his nose, the cart rolling behind. Within moments, the spent steed finds himself leashed, bit and bridle slipped away, waist belt unbuckled to free him from the cart.   

“Have I showed you how to hang a boy?” the Prince inquires as he proudly watches his five heavily perspiring steeds labor on the treadmills.

“No sire.”

“Well I think you will find familiarity. But I’ve no fine pink sash... I don’t pamper as at the doctor’s clinic.”

The Prince moves to a chest of drawers, known to contain various implements of chastisement and restraint. Slipping open at the bottom he retrieves a length of thick rope. Tossing it to Markie’s feet she notes it is some two inches in diameter, covered in soft felt with a sizable hook at each end.

“Hang him. You remember how the doctor displayed you? With that sash...”

“Yes, sire.”

“Well wrap him as you were and hook the rope to those ceiling cords. You’ll find a stool in the far corner.”

The Prince moves to special chair... ‘my throne’ he has humorously referenced the curiously shaped device.

The seat is split, supporting the thighs but leaving accessible the gluteal cleft.

“I’ll want two boys servicing me here... and two boys for Thursday. A little reward for so nicely offering his face and backside.”   

Markie must scurry, leading Thursday under the dangling ceiling cords, she quickly enshrouds him with the velvet rope... draped over the back of the neck, ends brought to the front, slipped between the thighs, two ends pulled up between the wrists and slipped under at the neck. The stool is drawn forth. Markie steps up and must reach high to attach the rope hooks right and left to waiting loops at the ends of the cords.

She works with celerity, so often being similarly suspended in the doctor’s office den. She senses revenge, empowerment once again, as she now becomes the puppeteer... no longer the puppet.

“You’ll need cords for his ankle bands,” the Prince instructs, gazing at the treadmills and the many rolling buttocks. “And then bring me... let’s see... Saturday and Sunday. Friday can rest for tomorrow’s run. Monday and Tuesday can tend to Thursday. I’m sure they are thirsty. Lots of sweat for them, ha, ha, ha.”

Hooked and ready, Markie knows to slide away the stool. She finds the Prince to be prevenient. Thursday moves to his toes, straining to touch the floor but still finding undesired support. As Markie scampers for ankle cords, she laughs to herself, fully aware of the effect of full body suspension, she many times achieving erection even in her altered state. 

Yes, revenge. She imagines the somatic reaction and finds delight even before full suspension.

Returning, a cord is clipped to the left ankle band, drawn upward to pull the foot from the floor, then clipped to the neck collar. When the right follows, Thursday hangs in a kneeling pose. He moans, tumescence... painful tumescence... already commencing. 

Next it is to the treadmills. A long morning of forced exercise ends... but never the ignominy of being completely under the auspices of the avenging castrate.

As instructed, one by one, Saturday and Sunday are led to the sitting Prince, hobbling cords returned, wrists remaining attached to the back of the neck collar.

As Markie releases Monday and Tuesday, she peers to see the Prince has pushed aside his kimono. The massive Royal penis briefly comes into view, thereafter disappearing as a kneeling Saturday is instructed to begin fellatio. Yet Sunday has the nastier task, told to lie supine beneath
the throne, for him it is analingus, humble tongue to please the Royal sphincter.

“It’s good of you white boys to so eagerly partake in tasty chocolate flesh,” the Prince quips with a laugh. “Have those two lick down Thursday... every inch of him. The boy worked hard. I cropped him well...”

An aghast Monday and Tuesday are led hobbled to the dangling Thursday. Ah, the stable reeks of homophobia, notes Markie. All display disgust, so many male tongues licking so much male flesh!

Yet, the revulsion quells not Thursday’s need to harden. The cock cage is strained by penile flesh. Thursday cries out, beseeching words sputter forth. His reward for pleasing is not well accepted.

The Prince laughs heartily then commands.

“Remove the cock cage, Markie. Let’s see what the tiny organ looks like. Monday, Tuesday... you are to lick everywhere... every droplet of sweat, balls included. But if you touch his erection you will be caned.”

With so many tasks Markie regrets she has not opportunity to enjoy observing the combination of torment and humiliation being dispensed. She must retrieve the key to the cock cage and perform the rare function of removal, normally done weekly when she cleanses and shaves. Yes, it is a rare treat for those so cruelly held in strict chastity. But for Thursday, will it be a treat?

Saturday, October 25, 2014

The Sash - Exercise... and Amusement

Exercise... and Amusement

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday... one by one the naked steeds are leashed, released from the sleeping mats and led to the treadmills. Caution requires time. No matter the desired alacrity, care is taken in returning to restraint, two limbs never simultaneously freed.


At the treadmill, the leash at the nose ring is replaced with a connecting cord. In removing all slack, the steed is made one with the machine. Wrists secured to the back of the neck collar, hobbling chain removed, Markie knows to slowly accelerate the rotating canvas, observe to assure a challenging level of exertion, then return to release and escort the next naked form to the exercise area.

Finally with morning tasks completed, five pearly white blond boys trotting to slow exhaustion, Markie can relax and take a morning break.    
 
What better form of relaxation then to demand that the extended care and favors be returned? Since a hooded Wednesday remains at rest, having been run and deeply sodomized the day before, his restrained nakedness is a likely place to recline.

Markie kneels at Wednesday’s mat. The hood is whisked away. Another handsome face blinks with the sudden exposure to the well lighted stable.

“You need a testicle massage,” Markie summarily proclaims.

“No, Miss Markie. Please no,” the bound male renouncing what would be welcomed, penis freed, palpating fingers those of a caring female.

But instead, with any penile swelling bringing the agony of the spikes, Wednesday knows to avoid. There are also homophobic thoughts... the revulsion brought by the touch of a male.

“Oh yes. You get the best of care here, Wednesday. The Prince was pleased with you yesterday. Said your tongue was particularly lively,” Markie taunting as she straddles Wednesday’s head facing his feet.

“It is only because I am forced to offer him pleasure,” Wednesday protests.

Markie inwardly smiles, very much aware that when the likes of Wednesday no longer finds objection to weekly servicing the superior male, it will be off to prison... there to offer himself daily... if not more often.

Knees bend to slowly lower as Wednesday continues his futile entreaties.

“Thursday was kind enough to treat my boy labia,” Markie’s sobriquet for the empty scrotal sac. “But there was not time to lick my boy pussy.”

With that, Markie presses his perineum to Wednesday’s face, sliding about so his anus aligns with sputtering lips. Then she leans forth, both hands finding the scrotum, the male nest so  inviting, the constant chastity seeming to plump with an abundance of essence.

A gentle massage begins, but in sensing no reciprocating tongue work, Markie slowly squeezes, right gonad and left. She smiles in sensing a rush of air, the pain emptying the lungs.

“It will be better for you to lick. I will squeeze... firmly. Or I can be very caring. I like feeling ripe balls. And like it even more when such are so vulnerable and under my control.”

A tongue reluctantly extends. It slowly laves. Markie’s smile broadens. A girlish giggle cannot be repressed. Nurse Benson’s extensive training developed a new erogenous zone for the altered male. Momentarily looking up to see her charges running to exhaustion on the treadmills brings further exhilaration.

“I may not have balls of my own, but I have many with which to play, Wednesday. Is your penis beginning to swell? You must like servicing a girly boy there.”      

There is swelling, of course. Despite the horror, analingus upon demand, intimately touched by a male, the many, many months of neglect become evident. Within minutes the spikes of the cock cage function... punishment for the temerity of attempting erection. Wednesday begins to blubber, speech indiscernible. Markie knows the words to be a plea.

“See, maybe having a nice set of balls isn’t all that much fun, Wednesday. No cock cage for Miss Markie, ha, ha, ha.”     
 
Markie, seeing the expanse of pink penile flesh fill the metal mesh of the cock cage, is very much aware of the anguish her gentle massage brings. Yet, she cannot help herself, handling with impunity that which was so callously plucked from her.

“If you take my offering, not a drop spilled, I will stop,” Markie finally tiring despite the double delight.

She lifts to shift herself, momentarily freeing Wednesday’s mouth of her obstructing sphincter.

“Please, Miss Markie, I have tried my best!”

“Then you can try some more. I help you pee every morning and every evening. You can return the favor. Besides, you’re thirsty. I can tell. Or perhaps the cattle prod can convince,” Markie positioning then lowering once again. “And I know exactly where to apply it for the best response,” an index finger jiggling the scrotal sac.”  

The threat of shock there ends resistance. Markie’s altered urethral opening finds Wednesday’s mouth. Tiny muscles which once spasmed for ejaculation work. Markie opens herself... slowly at first. Then sensing that Wednesday is indeed compliant, she fully empties herself to complete the otherwise odorous task. Not a drop escapes on obedient mouth. 

“Good boy,” Markie compliments, rolling from Wednesday’s head. “Would you like some ice?” the fingers cruelly tapping a cock cage straining under the pressure of engorged flesh.

“Yes, please Miss Markie. It hurts.”

“It’s supposed to hurt. You shouldn’t harden like that. You know you’re to become erect only when it is deemed time to amuse,” stepping to a far refrigerator.

Curious that the supply of ice is akin to having a handy fire extinguisher... for essentially the chilling lumps within perform a similar function... suppressing conflagrations... of lust. 

Markie returns, ice in hand. As heady as it is to force a boy to erection... partial erection... bringing flaccidity is equally empowering. She prefers a slow and leisurely application. But hearing distant rapid footsteps and the thwack of leather on wet flesh, the task must be truncated. The Prince returns. 

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...