Friday, April 3, 2020

Still Writing

A reader named Dave (surname withheld) emailed me expressing concern...

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

Hi Chris:

I am a longtime and avid fan or your writing,having purchased virtually all of your books and stories online over the past 8-10 years. I hope that you are well and healthy!

Since I've noticed - as I'm sure many others have over the past few months - that you have posted no new story or book chapters since @January 23, 2020.  Since that is out of character for you. it has me worried that something might have happened to you.  I hope that is just temporary burnout and not a lack of interest or ability due to some unforeseen circumstances.

I look forward to your next book(s)!  I have never read any other author who writes as well and with such delightful, perverse and intensely erotic tales about dominant women and the men who fall under their spell.  In the recent absence of any new works by you, I've tried others' works through a variety of online stores, Femdom Cave, etc, None of them turn me on anywhere near as much as your writings.

Thank you for all of your hard work and books!

Best regards,

David 

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

My response....

David,

Thank you for thinking of me. Yes all is well.

This time of year I get busy with other work. Plus I am finishing up a story destined (I hope) for Pink Flamingo, for whom I have not written in almost two years.

Unfortunately they request that I not post anything as teasers. Apparently such irritates the big purveyors like Amazon... which ironically I try to avoid marketing through with my Lulu stuff. I've found the best way to avoid that outlet is to not assign an ISBN. No ISBN, they can't offer it.

I understand the frustration of finding good erotica. I spent a few weeks looking over what Amazon offers in the D/s genre and I'm amazed at the lack of quality. I'd rather not have my stuff floating in such a cesspool.

That said, I have read some Molly Sands and Lutheran Maid stories. Good writing. Ms. Sands nicely builds her characters, writes good dialogue, but her themes are very repetitive. Lutheran Maid also tells a story well, yet needs to better edit, and again his primary theme, interracial cuckolding, is told over and over.

At your suggestion I'll post a note in apology to the readers. With all the Covid 19 upheaval and stay at home mandates, reading should be a likely past time.

I suspect I'll have this new story to PF by month's end (probably for release in August or September) and will at that point resume blog stuff.

It's been 20 years of writing quality smut. I suspect some 10,000,000 words. Just when  I think I'm out of ammo something pops into the imagination. Plus there are some uncompleted stories I need to finish... which requires more time than imaginable to get back into.

Again, thanks for writing. And if you do read some Molly Sands and Lutheran Maid, share your thoughts. It's important that the genre not be deluged with crap, though it seems that notion comes too late.

Regards,

CB 

Saturday, January 25, 2020

'Submitting to Miss Jade', Segment Four


Justine Powell

Such a wounded psyche! Weighty glands that some women endure surgery to possess and my maid Michael desires more.

She shall have them, my curiosity piqued as to whether she will ever decide to stop taking the pills.

I lead from the kitchen, looking back to see Michael follow. I smile in seeing his hands go to his head and he walks on toes as instructed. Such obedience to feminine authority.

Up the stairs I point out the master bedroom, Jade’s room, bathrooms, finally going to a spare bedroom which I have altered for entertaining my boy toys... perhaps better described as where they entertain me.

I unlock, keeping the room off limits to my teenaged daughter. With her eighteenth birthday last week, that will change.

“This is your room, Michael. This is where I will fuck you,” pushing open the door.

I step in, Michael follows. There is no bed of course... instead, various specially shaped pieces of furniture on which I position a girly boy. He/she can stand spreading and bending over a waist high padded bar, kneel on all fours, tummy down on a low bench, or I can place my toy in suspension, helplessly dangling from an elaborate set of thick padded straps attached to sturdy ceiling hooks.  

I step to Michael’s side, letting her assess in silence for a moment, noting the look of wonderment. There is fear... but also intrigue. Is he envisioning herself in full suspension? Entire body accessible to a woman’s whim? He notes the many mirrors, realizing that my toys can watch me penetrate them from a variety of angles. Does such excite him?

I then move to a chest of drawers. In opening, I lower my arm, my open hand presenting... voila!

“Lots of shapes and sizes, Michael. Eventually you’ll want to be able to take the largest. I will help you get there.”

Yes, an array of rubber phalli, colorful in pink, powder blue, red, black. Some to be pressed through a strap on harness, most are double with the upturned female end, specially molded at great expense for my quim... all my special spots.

She steps forth. I note she quivers. In excited anticipation? In apprehension? I must suppose the answer matters not.

“When you require my attention, you will make a selection and bring it to me. For now, only when Jade is asleep or out of the house. She has been unaware of my recreational pursuits... in the past. In coming of age, that will probably be changing. Meanwhile we’ll have a code. These will be rubber screwdrivers. I’ll tell you to fetch a rubber screwdriver. Or you’ll tell me you need a rubber screwdriver.” 

Michael nods but continues to gape. I detect a gulp. Finally comes the logical question.

“And your husband?”

“As I said, we’re open. If your question is whether he ever entertains me here, the answer is no. If your question is whether or not his aware... of course he is. This one is a birthday gift,” my hand going to one of the largest in the drawer. “From him. Not sure how he sat and had the mold made... probably some hooker sucking on his balls until the plaster dried.”

Michael peers, eyes widening.

“It’s... it’s...”

“Yes, a replica of his erection. Big black cock, Michael. And girly boys like you adore and envy I know.”

I replace and shut the drawer. There will be plenty of time for her to apprize the collection.

“You will use this bathroom,” strolling to a door. “Under the sink you’ll will find the stuff needed to keep your colon empty, your rectum clean, and your cleft well lubricated for me... at all times, Michael. As I said, I can be quite capricious in taking you. It may be best to have towels about the house. I’ll not want you staining the carpeting or furniture.”

We turn and I lead him to a far wall.

“This is where you will be punished... for more serious infractions.”

Hanging from formidable chains, strung wide to the left and right, is a thick high neck collar. It’s at waist height, the bearer able to sit upright. But the tautness does not permit full standing and certainly to never lie down in rest.

“Recalcitrance will earn you much time here, Michael. Slow unending stress... it’s best for bad little girls. Lots of time to think over your behavior. I’ll have you squatting upright for days if necessary. Sometimes lessons are best learned slowly.”

With that I go to a cabinet stuffed with supplies... towels, collection vessels, restraints... opening the doors wide.

“You’ll note no whips, canes, crops. The only instruments of correction you’ll recognize are...”

I hold up a clothes pin, one of dozens.

“For quick punishment... simple infractions... like failing to politely address as Miss Justine... or Miss Jade. Do try to avoid. For I’ll be teaching Jade how to apply... inducing the most pain with the least effort. She’ll be modifying your behavior as well.”

I take half a dozen, demonstrably clipping to the folds at the front of my blouse, showing that such will always be at the ready. So much input for my new maid. And in bearing the nasty clothes pins at the Institute, I am sure he is vicariously sensing the agony, envisioning a clipped hypersensitive nipple.

“You said this is my room, Miss Justine. Yet there’s no bed.”

“You’ll sleep with me... in my bed when Jim is not here. When he returns at season’s end... well... he will decide where. He’s the alpha male, Michael. He’s knows of you... but not all. I suspect he will need to acclimate to your... ah... skills.”

I exit the sodomy room, leading to the master bedroom.

“I had to tell Jade that I might be getting a pet,” I offer as a preamble in pushing open my bedroom door.  

There, opposite the oversized four poster double bed, is a stainless steel cage, bars of substance able to imprison a beast of size and strength. I stroll to it, patting my hand on the top.

“For when I tire of you, Michael.”   

Saturday, January 18, 2020

'Submitting to Miss Jade', Segment Three


Michael Devereau

Do I miss the Institute?

Not for a moment. For I am with Miss Justine. Such mastery... yet such kindness. And more... she is so much aware of me... my sick needs... parading me down her driveway naked and leashed by my penis!

It brought fright... it brought humiliation... it brought demented arousal.

And now I stand before her without bonds... of course without clothing... and chagrined that she so well knows me.

Yes I need to go. She simply waits until I move to the sink as instructed, open the cabinet beneath and extract a sizable shallow pan. She points... at her feet. I place down the pan and know to lie supine. When I lift my legs, knees to my breasts to assume the decubitus position, a booted foot slips the pan beneath my buttocks where the helmet of my sutured penis shaft now resides.

Hands and arms freed, I encircle my upturned thighs, holding, a task formerly performed by a tending nurse at the Institute... now to be mine.

“This is how and where you will go... under a woman’s command as always. I think you’ll better respond to Jade. After all, the young nurses reported how much you enjoyed ceding to them... and my daughter is about the right age.”

As much as the words bring duress, there comes no command to relieve myself. A smiling Miss Justine just seems to enjoy peering. Apparently my well sodomized anus has come to bring attraction. And indeed, with her penetrating double dildo abrading my relocated penis, I as well have developed a faux erogenous zone there.

I cannot help thinking how much I need for her to take me... right here... right now.  

Finally comes a nod.

“Fill your pan for me.”

I open, I press, a stream pings into the pan. With it comes the warmth of my bladder contents pleasantly wetting the sensitive pink of my portal. Her smile glows. Somehow she senses my decadent thrill.

At the Institute, the lowly deed was completed by the tender hands and fingers of a nurse, wiping me dry like a toddler. As my flow diminishes, there come words of ‘good girl’. For some reason I know not to move, no further directive coming. It seems in this lowly and humble position I will receive more instruction.

“There’s no enema room here, Michael. I know you’ll miss it... such beseeching pleas as your bowels were made to fill. But I’ll not engage in the foul hygienics... nor will I have daughter Jade do so. Instead, your morning will begin by assuring your cleanliness... no more infantile sponge baths. Your shower will include an internal douching of your boy pussy. Nothing as deep and tormenting as at the Institute. Just make sure you’re ready for anal penetration... at all times. I tend to be whimsical in taking my girly boys. So be lubricated here as well,” the toe of her booted foot pressing to my opening. “At all times. That will mean being careful where you sit,” apparently referencing the abundance of vegetable oil leaking from my rectum after being prepared for anal penetration at the Institute.  

Miss Justine shifts. Her boot, toe now wet with remnants of my excretions, goes to my mouth. I know to lick it clean. 

“When you move about the house, I want you prancing... on your toes... as little girlish and effeminately as possible. I’ll want you in full make up, Michael. I know you’ve been trained by your Master’s housekeeper. So be pretty... be presentable. You can apply rouge over your missing eyebrows. Make it thick and ostentatiously red. Nails the same color.”

Miss Justine steps away to the sink. She unrolls a paper towel and returns, tossing it to my chest.

“I hear no complaints... no objections. And your nipples are crinkled. Demeaning deeds and thoughts excite you, Michael. Was it urinating so humbly for me... or envisioning being made up to appear like a girl?”

What can I say? My sensitized glands seem to speak for me. 

In silence, I grab the paper towel, right hand reaching to wipe myself dry between my cheeks.

“I make my living as a physical therapist. It’s how I met husband Jim. In providing expert massage, I had many times concluded a session with prostate stimulation and a nice controlling hand job... Jim being just one of dozens of recipients... along with most of the team. Thus the intimacy progressed to marriage... open marriage. He knows what I like to do to sycophantic men... particularly making wimpy Caucasian males beg for my attention. So you being here and serving... it’s just an extension of who I am. And when I put you in a blond wig, you’ll become the trashy whore that macho black guys enjoy putting under the penis. And you when so submit... you will fellate, bend and spread for him. And deep within so much enjoy it.”

Seeing that I am dried she gestures to the filled pan.

“To the utility room.”

I carefully twist on the floor, lower my legs, then kneel to take the odorous pan, following her pointing finger to a utility room leading to the back door. There I empty the pan into a large industrial wash sink and rinse. 

“There will be clothes pins for disobedience... nipples and testicles,” Miss Justine informs as I return the pan to the cabinet. “For more serious transgressions there will be bondage... but not as you have come to enjoy it. You’ll be placed in a stress position... for an indeterminable period. Daughter Jade has not before heard a man beg. Though you’re more apt to squeal at this point in your transformation.”

Miss Justine pauses, signaling for me to approach. In so doing her arms extend, hands turning upright to palm my breasts. Her touch is exquisite... gentle... knowing... controlling. Her thumbs smooth about then tenderly squeeze.

“More plumping, Michael? Are these to become absurdly prominent?”

Miss Justine is aware... my file telling... that I have willingly taken the medication which promotes gynecomastia. In thought, I realize it has never been forced on me. I close my eyes, blushing bashfully. Growing the glands has been my own form of inducing degradation, beginning years ago in attempting to please my wife with my plunging self esteem, wallowing in the cuckoldry. I thought it would bring us closer.

“The Institute gave me a prescription, Michael... along with one for your estrogen. Should I have them filled?”

I open to glance at her face, noting the sincerity. It is my choice... to continue the plunge. I know not what to say. I feel so comfortable in her hands. I find myself somewhat twisting my torso, better sensing her fingers, soaking up more of her divine touch.

“I’ll stop by the pharmacy,” answering for me. “Jade will offer the pills to you daily and supervise. I’ll want to know whether you’re continuing your descent into such abject depravity.”

Regretfully, her hands retract.    

“Come, you’ll of course want to know where the double dildos are kept.”

Saturday, January 11, 2020

'Submitting to Miss Jade' published


I have published the referenced story.

31,100 words. $6.00.

Enjoy

CB

http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/submitting-to-miss-jade/ebook/product-24389380.html

'Submitting to Miss Jade', Segment Two


Justine Powell

“I feel... I’m...”

“Conspicuous?” I suggest.

Extricating my toy from the famed Institute, I’m taking him home. To establish my authority I have him sitting in the front seat of my SUV, naked with hands resting on top of his bald head, Posey cuffs unclipped. The pose nicely projects his/her breasts, enhanced to the size of small melons by way of drugs and hormones. And in the relative cool of October, the nipples stand firmly and point to the windshield.

“The exposure is good for you, Michael. And in being cooped up in the Institute for so long, it must be nice to see the light of day.”

I ponder whether I should tell him/her that the deep tinting of the glass makes her nudity almost completely unnoticeable to onlookers. Instead I decide to let her wallow in the demented thrill of exhibiting all.

“No clothing, Miss Justine?” the quest so timid.

I pause. I could have brought along something of husband Jim’s to cover him, but quickly cast the thought aside.

“Never,” my voice pleasant but firm. “You’ve by now acclimated to complete nudity at all times, Michael. Why reverse the regimen? But you’ll not be in bondage. As my maid you’ll have the run of the house,” the words coming with enthusiasm.

She’s more glum than I thought she’d be. Stopping at a traffic light I reach to the length of pink silk curled on her lap... my makeshift leash... and playfully tug. It remains tied to his penis shaft, and in being partially adhered to his perineum, my pull awakens the entire male... former male... package. This brings to her a smile and what seems like a girlish giggle.  

“Why so down Michael? You seemed happy leaving the Institute?”

“I thought I’d see my family.”

 “You mean your wife and another man’s children? That’s not to be... not without permission.”

Oddly ingrained into the warped psyche of this subordinate male is the need to please... by way of caring and nurturing... even licking the penis of his/her former Master. This will be addressed and assuaged, but in a manner which does not expose toddlers to his bizarre appearance... hairless, feminized and with a penis rendered useless... the reason his Master had him institutionalized. Also to be addressed is his acquired affinity for the adoration of the alpha male. Having read his voluminous file, dossiers contributed by all... wife, his Master Edward, the many medical types, his superior, the housekeeper Modena... there is not much I and others at the Institute could not learn about the long term patient Michael Devereau given the time to review.

His depravity is an open book. I will nourish and cultivate it.

Out of the city, into the suburbs to the macmansion purchased three years ago when my husband, professional football player Jim Powell was traded to the local team. We thought it would be home for many years. Alas, months ago he was again traded... to Chicago where he rents a modest apartment. Barring a run in the playoffs, he’ll return at season’s end.

So for the next few months it will be me, daughter Jade, and my new maid Michael Devereau.

He’s served in such a capacity before, doting over his wife, caring for her newborns, and learning to obey and adore as Master his/her wife’s alpha male lover... for whom his wife has consistently gestated. His was a natural and acceptable role, more or less programmed into his hard drive. We shall see if such can be modified, made useful in my home.

“You’ll be cooking... cleaning... doing laundry... most importantly caring for daughter Jade,” my words intended to hearten. “She’s her father’s princess. And for good girls... no bondage.” 

This somewhat cheers. But then I recall clinical notes added to his/her file... how much tight bondage comes to bring comfort to the subordinate male. It seems that being deprived of free will also diminishes the perceived burdens of responsibility. That to be rendered thoroughly immobile brings the sense of helplessness, vulnerability and degradation that is strangely relished.     

“Unless you feel better with a woman binding you,” dangling what may be a tidbit of mental snack food.

I cannot help thinking if such would be beneficial to Jade’s upbringing, learning of the demented thrills of the masochist... and how a woman of my ilk comes to enjoy such.

I turn onto our local street then into the driveway. It’s semi secluded, plus in being mid afternoon on a workday there are few potential onlookers. There is a retired woman across the street, however. So if I provide some phone gossip, so be it. Maid Michael Devereau is not to feel covering.

Stopping the SUV, she looks apprehensive.

“Hands,” briefly commanding as I reach to release her seat belt.

The Posey cuffs lower, arms drawn behind the back. I clip together, exit the car and go to the passenger door. I open and grab the symbolic pink silk leash.
“Come Michael, you’re home,” pulling with a smile in seeing the male package flop about in response.

“Please Miss Justine, It’s cold.”

“Then hurry.” 

It’s sunny yet indeed a cool day... not a cold one. But since Michael has not a stitch, he’ll feel the slightest breeze. So very obediently she follows her leashed male anatomy along the driveway to the side door.

“Perhaps a walk about the neighborhood first, Michael? It would be exciting for you,” more snack food.

I must chuckle in turning back, seeing his hairless form transform to a mass of goose bumps, knowing that it is more than the cold which brings her flesh to so awkwardly respond. I’d like to let her wallow in the humiliation until sundown, but there are in fact potential spying neighbors and for sure a car will at some point wander down the quiet suburban street.

Still message sent... and well received... that I am empowered to bring emotional suffering just by pausing my stride and lowering my hand to leave her bald, hairless and well endowed chest on exhibition for any passing eyes. Mercifully, I open the side door and pull inward. Her sense of relief is palpable.   

“You will rarely leave here, Michael. As much as this is a home to me, it will be in your mind more of a prison. A mental and emotional prison. Though you’ll be free to wander the house and do your chores, in not wearing clothing you’ll not step out the door without strict supervision. My husband’s garb is under lock and key... and in being six foot six and near 300 pounds too large for you should you somehow come across any. And even my clothing won’t fit. So best acclimate yourself to constant exposure.”

As I speak, I twirl my finger for her to turn, unclipping the Posey cuffs.

“Take off the cuffs and untie your leash. Leave the restraints to hang somewhere in the kitchen near the back door where it will remind of being under control. And if you want to be walked sometime... outdoors... you will put the cuffs on and bring your leash... to either me or my daughter Jade. You’ll find that she tends to rule here.”

Mentioning her name brings a notable shudder and look of concern.

“Yes, you will be obedient to her as well. I’m going to teach her... feminine empowerment. It’s best at her age. To learn that a subservient tongue and a well fitted double dildo can bring not only physical gratification but a satiating sense of feminine power as well.”

“How old, Miss Justine?” Michael verbalizing her concern.

“Out of high school, not yet in college. She’s in athletic training for a year... as a gymnast. Has hope for the Olympics. We’re very proud of her. Though his stepdaughter, Jim dotes over her.”

She looks at me quizzically.

“I had Jade young. By my first husband. He was not tall like Jim. So she’s... let’s say more compact. But muscled... her size-strength ratio perfected over many years in the weight room... many hours of training and exercise.”

I note that Michael begins to fidget. That brings the realization that there are bathroom needs. I smile inwardly... another opportunity to validate my authority.

“You need to go potty. I’ve read of the procedure in your file. You’ll find a pan under the kitchen sink. It will be designated for you. When in need, place it on the kitchen floor then lie on your back and wait for permission to empty yourself. You know the routine from there.”
    
The look becomes aghast. I just stand arms akimbo, knowing that bladder needs will eventually overcome any silly shyness.

Finally, standing facing me in silence, my maid Michael goes to the cabinet under the sink.

Such cruelty... but so well received.

Saturday, January 4, 2020

'Submitting to Miss Jade', Segment One


Follow up to 'To Come on Command', 'Bringing Up Baby Edward, and 'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover'.

To be published soon.

Enjoy.

CB

*****
Submitting to Miss Jade

Copyright 2019

by Chris Bellows

Prologue - Justine Powell


“You’ve been told?”

Michael Devereau nods enthusiastically, given a tail it would be wagging. I decide to keep things succinct. There will be much time to later inform, explain and instruct. 

“I’ve... ah... nothing to...” his/her voice so meek.

“Wear,” I interrupt her stammering. “Nothing will be needed, Michael... ever.”

With that, I take from my satchel a pair of foam lined Posey wrist cuffs.

“I believe you know how to bind yourself in these,” placing such next to her on the thin mattress. “It’s in your file.”

She nods. I also note that in nearing, she parts her thighs in some rote, subservient reaction to the presence of a governing woman. How convenient.

Bondage is physically unnecessary at this point after the long stay at the Institute... obedience ingrained. But for me it is symbolic. And that is for Michael Devereau... toy and oral servant... to enter her new life appropriately attired.

She picks up the strips of padded nylon, encircles her wrists, looking at me both reverently and with expectations. I shall not let her down, unraveling a long strip of pink silk.

As Michael completes the task, my hand goes to her pubes, fingers threading the soft narrow cloth under her flaccid penis shaft where it rests atop the withered scrotal sac. The healed incisions at the end, adhering his once male appendage to his perineum, makes his inadequate phallus into a loop... a convenient loop.

I have her leashed by an otherwise useless strip of flesh.

I form a knot and gently tug to tighten. Michael knows to draw his hands and wrist cuffs behind his back. I lean to clip together her only covering.   

“Ready for a new beginning?” my voice calm, smooth and caring.

She sheepishly looks to the floor in silence. That she is bound and leashed... to be led to places unknown... without protest or objection... is telling.

I take the loose end and tug again, watching with glee as the ‘U’ of her soft little shaft juts forth and she must slide from the platform bed to follow.

“I feel very exposed, Miss Justine,” strolling to the chamber door.

“You are... and you should be. You’d not want it any other way.”

Wednesday, December 25, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover', Segment Five


Merry Christmas to all.

This will be the last posting from this story.

Enjoy.

CB

******

Nurse Abigail Cole

“Yes, I know you’re upset Mr. Devereau. You’ll learn to eat without them... and you can still masticate food in the back of your mouth. Just won’t be biting into things like apples... or your Master.”

We deal rather harshly with biters here at the Institute. The incisors and bicuspids of patient Michael Devereau have been ground to the gums. With his mouth forced open by the molt gag, the process was rather simple. Amazing how quickly you can make a man edentulous... relatively edentulous... his molars spared.

“First we relieve you of the ability to bite... and now with therapy we’ll relieve you of the inclination to bite. And isn’t it nice of us to remove the gag... after so many days?”

I stay pleasant and smiling, Mr. Devereau emotionally still suffering from the trauma of hours of dental work. Yes, I must manifest the permanent transformation of his oral capabilities, my hand going to his face, one finger then two pressing past his closed lips into a mouth which will forever yield to whatever is to be introduced.

Vulnerability... we like that here at the Institute. I repress a snort of laughter in seeing the look of alarm on his face.

“So now we can talk... though you’ll need to speak slowly until you acclimate to having no front teeth.”

There comes tears, the continuous doses of estrogen strongly affecting the emotions when the male endocrine system is so immersed. Girls blossoming into womanhood learn to control it. Mr. Devereau is not yet there.


“What prompted you to so grievously assault your Master, Mr. Devereau... the man who provided so much for you... taking care of your wife... sexually pleasing her when you’re incapable... blessing her with so many children... permitting you to care for them. Seems blatantly ungrateful... some would say treasonous.”

His brow furrows in thought. I am sure in being held in tight bound isolation for so many days there has been ample opportunity to self analyze... when not in the haze of the sedatives we’ve injected.

“He was going to send me away... and I’d... well... not be able to please... ah... my... ”

“Your wife,” completing his thought as his speech is lisped and strained. “Well, your Master will continue to please her. With more children. A fourth expected soon. I see in your file that you were permitted to observe... while fucking... ah... making love. Is that what upset you... no longer watching the deep penetration your wife needs... that you can’t provide?”

Cruel... mentally stressing. But that is the point. The mind of the subordinate male must yield... be made malleable.

“I... ah... well... there’s more...”

“Yes, you were also permitted to orally cleanse her. Gracious of your Master to allow that. Many alpha males consider the vagina of their bitches... ah... lovers to be sanctuary... a privileged place... to be accessed only by the masculine... the virile. You’re far from that Mr. Devereau... choosing to grow breasts... so long having your penis locked up... female hormones rendering you impotent. Trained to ooze what little male essence you produce rather than spurt like a man. Women can feel it you know, the strong gush of a real man exploding inside them. It’s arousing... thrilling. Your wife needs that... as do many women... to know that their beauty and allure can bring a man to erupt.”

“I... I... have been pleasing her as best I could...” his tone so desperate in defense. “My love and devotion...”

“But your file indicates orally pleasing her to orgasm has been denied for many years... forbidden by your Master.”

More tears flow, for so long the devotion of Michael Devereau evidenced solely by the succinct oral clean up of his Master’s seed. Yet there were other exhibitions.

“You were frequently sent to visit my former colleague... Nurse Reinholdt... well after appointments to Dr. Michelle’s office were deemed unnecessary.”

Yes, it is disingenuous of me to broach the subject. It was under my recommendation that Michael Devereau learned fellatio... to vicariously experience the ecstatic thrill of the manly ejaculation denied to him... feel a firm penis throbbing in his mouth... exploding as a result of his ardent tongue and lips. Still, this is therapy... encouraging him to think about it... formulate thought... offer his words.

“Yes. Miss Greta.”

“Yes, her nom de guerre. She told me she is expensive... training and disciplining husbands and boyfriends. Your Master paid for the visits. Did you object to seeing her?”

“Well... no?”

“Are you grateful to your Master... sending you out to see her. Did you try to look pretty for her? I understand the evenings were not entirely spent at her penthouse.”

“I was... ah... well... I needed to...”

“Suck some cock?” such crass words, but to the point.

“I... needed to get... ah... out.”

“By going to gay clubs and flirting... showing off your womanly charms. Did you... do you... enjoy finding yourself to be attractive... that men wanted you to perform fellatio?”

“I had no choice... it was that or be caned...”

“By Miss Greta?”

“Yes... she’s... she’s...”

“Very firm... stern... exacting? Is that not what you want in a woman... that your wife does not provide? Does not choose to provide?”

“I... I... don’t know.”

“Tell me about the woman who supervised you... at your Master’s mansion.”

“Miss Modena?”

I look to the file, note the name and nod for him to continue.

“Well she’s...”