Thursday, December 31, 2009

Short Story XXV

Ok. So it's not so short. Happy New Year to all. Enjoy.


The Baron finds the term ‘drained’ to be most apropos. The counselor toyed, then stroked, then when she deemed it time to spend... certainly not at the interval of the Baron’s choosing... she pumped with vigor, the penetrating fingers of her left hand deftly manipulating the prostate. The resulting explosion was aimed into a waiting collection dish on the floor below. Seeping through the intense sense of pleasure was the wonderment that the woman could so ably control the entire process, offering words of counsel as she mechanically worked his penis and in the end, milking him of every drop... the spurts hitting dead center of the dish.

What resulted in an amazing moment of delight for the naked, suspended male, was just another afternoon of labor, however pleasant, for the professionally attired behavior specialist.

Nimble fingers work to slip the cock cage back in place.

“I will see you again in four weeks, Baron. Do try to avoid more turns of the emasculator.”

Then that a second key is produced and slipped into the left side of the Queen’s humbling device.

“The threading is incredibly well milled. A full turn moves the rollers only some four millimeters. But you will feel the increased tension.”

A hand begins to twist, slowly. Whereas the Baron has become accustomed to the device hanging from his sac, the tension awakens, bringing new awareness that his most precious organs are controlled by women.

“Let’s see. A quarter turn for refusing oral service.”

The hand completes its initial twist. The Baron grimaces.

“And I will add a half turn for refusing to offer foreplay during the breeder’s visit.”

The twisting renews. The Baron’s grimace turns to a yelp.

“Please no more.”

“Oh, Baron you’ll get used to it. Over time you will think of it as having your organs constantly nestled in the hands of a woman. Many of my men say that. They envision their balls at all times gripped by a woman of authority. It aids in behavior modification and you should probably imagine such as well. It is best for you.”

“It aches. Please loosen it.”

“No Baron. There is no way to loosen. It only tightens... and tightens... and tightens.”

“But your system... correction and award as you described it. How am I to be awarded?”

“Simple. The relief of finally earning castration. Until then, your balls will be quite the source of pain... that used to correct and modify your behavior. As I said, think of your testicles as being in the hands of a governing woman. The emasculator serves as a reminder... and as a implement of correction as well.”

The ankle cuffs are released. The legs slowly straighten as the wrist cuffs are likewise unclipped.

“You can remove the harness yourself. How do you feel?”

“Calm... less jittery, though I ache down there. Thank you for your time and attention, ma’am... for stroking me. I am deserving of the turns. I will try to be good.”

“Yes, your behavior and attitude are improving, Baron. In time I will have your daughters observe one of our counseling sessions. They will need to learn feminine empowerment in our newly decreed gynecocracy. And it will be quite humiliating for you. That is also a factor in modification... the sense of abject subservience to the dominant female.”

Daughters! The thought horrifies... but how else is the Baron to respond other than by humble concurrence.

“That would be very thoughtful of you ma’am.”

“Just think Baron, every subordinate male in the Kingdom is being slowly emasculated. You must understand how that gives rise to marvelously satisfying thoughts of empowerment for women such as me. But for the breeders, you’re all going to lose your balls.”

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Short Story XXIV

Cleaned up. With some enhancement.


“Are you comfortable, Baron?”


“Yes what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy. You saw how my assistant strapped you into the masturbation harness. In future appointments you will don it yourself and report to her for inspection. Then politely knock on my door and we will begin your counseling.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We like obedient men here, Baron. We have a system of correction and award... which I will explain as we proceed. Are you excited about your appointment? You have not ejaculated since the Queen’s decree. How long has it been?

“Four weeks, ma’am.”

“Yes. The Baroness has submitted a rather thorough report, as you are aware. Your first counseling session. Step over here and stand under the cable please.”

The Baron obeys, of course. In the Kingdom, now a gynecocracy, all women are to be obeyed.

“You should relax. There is no reason to panic. As a behavior specialist I have handled many men for many years.”

The woman is in her mid forties, nearly half a generation older than the Baron. Pleasant but firm, a streak of graying hair suggests a matronly maturity. And there is no doubt who is in charge. The Queen has hired dozens of counselors, behavioral specialists to assure male compliance with her decree.

“The harness you wear was originally designed for parachuting. Safety and comfort, two very important elements for masturbating a man in the manner I prefer. So just calm yourself and answer all my questions and I will have you drained and feeling very good. Then I will adjust your emasculator and have you back with the Baroness in time for you to prepare dinner.”

The counselor references an elaborate collection of straps which enshroud the torso. Thick nylon, cleverly padded in areas of stress, two broad straps encircle the thighs. As the dangling cable is hooked to a large ring at the nape of the neck, the woman pulls upwards to test. The Baron feels the slight slack of the harness tighten and the thigh straps tension his inner thighs.

“Hands behind your back please.”

Wrist cuffs of similar nylon and padding are clipped together. Then the Baron feels tension on a matching ankle cuff. His right foot is raised and secured to the waist belt of the harness with a slim cord. When his left foot is raised, his entire weight shifts to the harness, his body hanging from the single cable above.

The Baron is quickly and comfortably suspended!

The counselor steps back, inspecting but also seeming to admire her work as the helpless Baron slowly swings about.

“I so much enjoy suspending a man. It sends the appropriate message, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so ma’am.”

“So how does it feel to be hanging completely naked before a woman, Baron? For a once haughty aristocrat there must be a sense of comeuppance.”

“Yes, ma’am. It is quite embarrassing.”

“And how is your penis doing... all locked up in the Queen’s cock cage.”

“It’s beginning to stiffen, ma’am.”

“Yes, suspension has that effect on the male anatomy. Something about the tension, or lack thereof, on the spinal cord. You’ve been locked up for weeks. Release requested?”

“Please yes. My penis. It’s fighting the steel mesh. And it hurts.”

“Good. Working as designed.”

The counselor steps forth and produces a key. Knowing fingers work about the chastity device.

“As you are aware, only counselors have a key. Not even the Baroness can release you, should she ever give in to a moment of weakness and seek to offer you relief.”

There comes the sound of a slight click. The Baron sighs in relief as the steel mesh, sharp points wickedly aligning the inner cylinder, is gently slipped away.

“Only the once mighty are caged with the points, Baron. The ordinary subjects are locked in less rigorous devices.”

The counselor smiles as the manhood of the Baron instantly completes its rise to full erection. She then steps to a wall switch and flicks. The naked hanging form lowers, bent knees almost touching the floor.

“So let’s talk, shall we.”

The Baron hears the snap of latex, the counselor dons gloves.

“How does it feel to now be in female dominant household?”

“It’s... well it’s different.”

“How?” the counselor inquires in pushing a chair most proximate to her dangling patient.

“There are demands. The female servants work me... cleaning... cooking. It does not end.”

“It is good for you... for your psyche... working for women that you once ordered about. The Baroness gives you a passing grade on the household duties. Seems you’ve adapted well in taking orders from the domestic help.”

“They all have whips and crops.”

“Yes, I suppose that tends to motivate,” the counselor chuckles.

“But you apparently have reservations concerning oral servitude.”

The Baron remains silent.

“Yes, Baron, according to the report it seems you were reluctant to gamahuche a couple of weeks ago.”

“The Baroness was... well it was her time of the month.”

“That makes no difference. Your reluctance, under our correction and award system, has earned you one quarter turn. You know what that means?”

Before his answer, a gloved hand reaches forth and palms the scrotum. The sac is tight and the testicles press against the thin pink flesh of the bottom. Above has been attached the adjustable device displayed in the Grand Counsel Chamber weeks before. The rollers serve to tension the scrotum and the balls. The counselor suppresses a smile of feminine control in sensing the high degree of vulnerability as the Baron shakes his head.

“It means that I will insert my special key and tighten the emasculator... one quarter turn. And you have realized, I am sure that, in time, with enough turns, your manly organs will pop. Your sac so well stressed that your balls surrender with no place to go except to yield to the Queens clever rollers. It’s a curious phenomenon, Baron, popping a man’s balls. They actually do make a sound, a meek noise. I think of it has a last cry for mercy before being permanently rendered useless.”

A smile escapes as the counselor notes that her patient shivers within his bonds.

“Yes. You’re to be castrated, Baron. Very, very slowly. The emasculator is never loosened... only tightened. In a number months... perhaps in a year... maybe more... you will find yourself neutered. Your task will be to delay the event as long as possible. And in doing so, you’re going to learn to be quite the servant to the Baroness. Yes, meek and docile... with or without your testicles.”

Sitting to the Baron’s right, the fingers of a gloved left hand work into the gluteal cleft. With the weeks of complete chastity the touch seems strangely good. The digits glide about and it is evident that lubrication is applied.

“Now, I have much experience in encouraging a man to perform adequate oral service. I have him well tethered and lie him tummy down, his face over a large bowl of ice cold water. Then I press his face into it, cutting off air, just long enough to make a proper impression. Then I offer the quim of some wretched menstruating serving girl... the most loathsome love nest in the household. If the tongue is not humbly offered, the head goes back into the bowl. Then, with breath depleted, the quim is offered again. If again no compliance, it’s back into the bowl. I can have a man quickly servicing the most sloppy of vaginas.”

The fingers of the right hand oh so gently diddle the Baron’s standing penis. It waggles with fervor, seeming to wave in greeting her touch. In being thoroughly bound, strapped within the harness, it appears to be the only anatomical part able to move.

“Behavior modification. It’s what I do.”

An index finger curls, the tip caressing the underside of the penis tip. The woman knows the male organs, readily finding the most sensitive of erogenous zones. Meanwhile the digits of her left hand begin to penetrate the rectum. The counselor notes there is resistance and smiles, knowing that with frequent future visits the Baron will not only be opened, but welcome her expert prostatic massage.

“There’s another indiscretion listed in your report, Baron. To earn you a full half turn of the emasculator. It seems one of the Queen’s breeders visited your home. The Baroness was in need of real male companionship. It is a woman’s prerogative under the decree of gynecocracy.”

“He fucked my wife!” the Baron cries out in frustration.

“Yes, he and the other breeders of the Queen are so empowered... at the Baroness’s request and with her concurrence, or course. They are marvelously well equipped where a woman most enjoys size and are skilled lovers. The Baroness indicated she was quite satisfied with his performance. Oral satiation does not always suffice, Baron. A woman deserves penetration from a good sized, well trained cock from time to time. Yours is kept locked up by Royal mandate... besides being of questionable proficiency.”

“She made me watch!”

“Yes, you were cuckolded. And will be regularly. Many women enjoy the sense of empowerment such offers. And in a gynecocracy what a woman enjoys she shall have.”

Despite the rage, the Baron’s penis quivers with delight. The counselor is an expert masturbatrix, her touch most tantalizing to the otherwise chaste organ. And two fingers of the left hand have found the prostate. The Baron first lurches then softly moans with joy.

“You’ll become accustomed to having a breeder visit. But you must, and will, offer proper greeting. The protocol is that you orally prepare the Baroness for copulation and then offer fellatio to the breeder... if he so desires. Then you will observe the Baroness have her pleasure and afterwards offer cleansing.... with your tongue of course... for both the breeder and the Baroness. Your one time refusal will get you a half turn. In the future a full turn. Is that clear Baron?”

The Baron’s naked form is flushed with rage. Yes, he was forced to watch the antics, bound in a kneeling position at the foot of the Baroness’s bed. Just hearing her pangs of pleasure was traumatic. But most disconcerting was noting the breeder’s skill. His final thrusts were steady and deep, expertly timing his climax with that of the Baroness. The Baron cannot help wondering whether a bastard child will result... one to be raised by him!

“And you should be aware Baron, that many of the breeders are polyamorous. They can give you a good fucking as well. Matter of fact, I may just recommend that to the Baroness along with my water bowl therapy to counter oral reluctance. Watching a man being sodomized can be quite entertaining.

“Now let’s get you drained. While I stroke, talk to me about your daughters. It must be quite thrilling for them to have you romping about the house naked and under the direction of the housemaids. I suspect they are enthralled with the notion of gynecocracy... or soon will be...”

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Short Story XXIII

Troubled by the sheer number of rascals occupying her dungeon, the Queen calls for a meeting of her advisors in the council chamber, Barons and Baronesses of wealth and power. There are to be royal decrees issued. For such, she requests concurrence and the cooperation of the influential.

The Grand Council Chamber is ancient, the Queen’s grandfather so often presiding within over Kingdom affairs as a young Princess playfully attended as a child. Thus it is a place of nostalgia. And where better to inaugurate her initial use of her power.

To add an aura of authority, her beast attends as well. Chained from above by the neck collar to dangle on his toes, his iron bound nakedness makes an impression indeed. The Barons appear somewhat disconcerted while the Baronesses seem to smirk in comfort. There is also the presence of the Queen’s naked castrate, prancing about, his duty to assure that the beast stays erect. In noting the missing testicles, the Baronesses thrill in playfully rubbing the empty scrotum for good luck. The Barons refrain and cannot bear to watch as once male lips are occasionally applied to a well displayed penis tip to ensure the beast continues to pay tribute with his stiffness.

“Thank you all for attending. With my coronation two months past, I have spent considerable time in the Palace dungeon tending to the most horrid assortment of rapscallions imaginable. Over time I will have the cells emptied to a manageable number. You’ll soon be seeing many frilly pink skirts about the Kingdom as one prisoner per week meets his fate.

“But I am concerned about the masses. The gene pool which gives rise to such a legion of thieves, liars, con artists, sexual perverts, and thugs must be questioned. My present solution, emasculating and branding with the letter ‘C’ will not offer a long term solution. I fear that procreation will refill my cells. I will thus issue the following decree...

It shall be the policy of the Kingdom to establish and nurture female dominant households. As Queen, I therefore decree that;

- Each household within the Kingdom is to be led by an adult female.

- Each household shall have an adult male to become a husband/servant.

- Households which do not comply will be taxed100% of income. All livestock will be confiscated.

- Within the household, the supervising adult female will make all decisions, and serve to protect the members of the household.

- Other female house members will serve to rank next in hierarchy.

- Adult males will have no status.

- Younger males will be chattel, considered as livestock, but certainly not for breeding.

- Households will be subject to inspection to assure compliance. Those needing counseling will be offered such.

- Husband/servants shall be kept chaste and refrain from intercourse. Ejaculatory relief shall only be offered at Kingdom clinics.

- Adult females shall have vaginal intercourse at their choosing only with authorized males, those selected for appropriate genetic qualities by the Queen. Resulting offspring will be raised in the household under the supervision of the adult female and the care of the husband/servant.

- Adolescent males will be masturbated only under strict female supervision. Upon reaching adulthood, chastity will ensue.

- Clothing will be carefully rationed, husband/servants limited to brief panties, if any covering is at all deemed required. Younger males to be denied covering at all times.

As the Queen reads her decrees there come knowing smiles from the Baronesses. The Barons collectively gulp. There has been read no exception for the aristocratic class. The term ‘households’ is broad and would seem to cover the estates of the gentry. Eyes glance about, furtively counting. It is normal to vote approval of decrees. And alas, there are two widowed Baroness’s. Thus the Barons are outnumbered... and doomed.

In proclaiming the final decree concerning clothing, the Queen smooths over the parchment document and sits back.


The Barons are stunned. The Baronesses amused. A haughty Baroness of the north breaks the silence.

“The males will need training, your majesty.”

“We will supply canes and whips. There will also be counseling as suggested. The husband/servant must be placed in the correct frame of mind in order to serve. I have designed a certain device which will assist.”

The Queen snaps her fingers. Her castrate jumps forth to place on the table an implement of metal. All stare.

“A standard cockcage chastity device. But I have added a feature which will bring a degree of gravitas to the male’s training. As you are well aware, my prisoners are boarded before being snipped and released. That is when the balls are slowly crushed between two planks. It makes for wonderfully humbling final punishment. I invite any of you to observe sometime. The slowly applied pressure causes the testicles to ‘pop’, to be crushed and flattened, essentially rendering such useless and mandating that removal follow.

“Well, beneath this cock cage is a small set of parallel rollers as you can see. Similar ladies, to those used to squeeze dry washed clothing, only smaller. Somewhat like an adjustable clamp. When adhered to the base of the scrotum, one roller atop, the other below... just under the penis and above the testicles... the rollers can be adjusted, tightened so to speak. A special key is inserted here and twisted. The motion causes the rollers to gather in more of the scrotum, pulling in the sensitive pink scrotal flesh and pressuring the balls. Turn the key enough times and the testicles will pop, just as when I board a man.”

The Baronesses nod in understanding. The Barons cross their legs in a somatic defensive reaction to the casual words describing slow castration.

A Baron summons the fortitude to speak.

“And who will bear this device?”

“The husband/servant. The key to adjust the rollers will be held by counselors, females of noted dominion. We cannot expect every supervising adult female to properly train... at first.”

“Your decree references the masturbation of adolescent males. A rather generous allowance under the terms of an otherwise austere decree,” another Baroness offers.

The other Baronesses murmur agreement. The Barons are dismayed by the tone and direction of the discussion.

“Self manipulation will be dealt with harshly. Mothers, sisters, nannies shall stroke... but not our male youth. I want the younger males to feel the controlling hand of a woman... and sense feminine power when, after much pleasuring in youth, such is denied in adulthood. Denial is essential. I want our males to feel the frustration of sexual deprivation."

There come more feminine murmurs of agreement. Aghast, the Barons glance at each other in stunned silence.

“No vaginal penetration? A woman does need attention from time to time,” a young Baroness from the south inquires, her relative concupiscence evident.

“The Kingdom clinics will train extensively in oral satiation. The male tongue can be taught to offer more than words of foolishness.”

“It would seem the husband/servant to is to be cuckolded,” a Baroness proclaims without cloaking her enthusiasm.

“Precisely,” the Queen offers to tittering laughter.

“Shall we vote? I want these decrees posted as soon as possible.”

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Short Story XXII

A double post for an otherwise dull Sunday.


Mustafo’s shackled ankles are raised, connected high on his cell bars, forcing him to lie supine, bent at the waist. As commanded, he has been ‘boarded’. Yes, his scrotum finds itself wedged between two narrow hinged planks, one atop the other, extending some three feet into the center of the dungeon. The device resembles a giant mousetrap and offers great leverage.

The naked, oddly bound form trembles, listening as his cohort, Virgillio undergoes a thorough anal fucking, sodomized by a relentless machine. He wonders what it feels like, undergoing such humiliation. But then the realization of his own degradation... the ultimate male sacrifice... returns his mind to his own plight.

To be relieved of his precious organs... at the whim of his ruler! She stands above with a confident smirk.

“Your sac will later be opened and your little peanuts snipped. Then you will be branded with the letter ‘C’ on your forehead. Castrates are forbidden to wear anything other than short skirts. I insist on the color pink. And when a woman sees your mark and demands that you lift your frilly garment, you will comply and show yourself.”

The Queen laughs in noting Mustafo’s distant look of panic.

“Think of how much good you will be doing... your life of crime ended. Instead spreading word of my strict rule... my gynecocracy.”

A booted right foot extends to tap the top board. The motion translates to instant pressure, the boards squeezing the testicles wedged between.

“I so much appreciate slow castrations... as I think will you. Having borne these little jewels for a lifetime, why rush to remove? If a man’s going to be emasculated, he may as well have it done in a memorable fashion... don’t you think Mustafo? The catharsis can be quite beneficial.”

“Please your majesty, no. I will get hard for you. And let me instead lick your boots for you. I so much want to please. To obey your every command.”

The boot glides along the upper board towards the area of the pubes, increasing the leverage and therefore the pressure. Mustafo huffs with the encroaching agony.

“Yes, Mustafo, others have described the pain as a dull ache which seems to spread to the entire lower body. Rather overwhelming is it not? Tends to focus the mind.”

The Queen is very much aware that, though Virgillio’s continuous fucking draws attention, Mustafo’s plight, the slow crushing of his balls, also brings heed. Amongst her cadre of miscreants, there will be no doubt as to who is in charge in the Queen’s dungeon. Comportment will change. There will be no dullards, languishing in their cells. All will be alert, eager to serve... eager to please. Penises will be most respectful... or be rendered dysfunctional.

“Please your majesty, I cannot take the pain.”

Mustafo’s plea earns a shift of the booted foot... for a moment. It glides back.

“It is good that you beg. I will therefore go more slowly. The more brave ask that I stand on the board, apply my full weight and end their maleness in mere moments. But for you, Mustafo I will let you revel in your maleness for many more minutes... perhaps an hour. There is no rush... the result will not change. Your final moments as a man will be your most memorable.”

The Queen notes that Mustafo’s composure has returned. So too her boot returns. The renewed pressure brings a grimace.

“At some point, as I slowly increase the weight on my boot, there will come the sound of a slight ‘pop’. Then will come a second. Such is akin to cries of final surrender... the ceasing of all normal testicular function... permanently. At about the same time that your balls concede to my foot, there will come the flow of pain dulling endorphins which will bring mercy, unfortunately. But then will come the mental anguish. Yes the realization of having been altered... by the foot of a governing woman.”

The Queen turns to her guards as a right foot continuously presses.

“Can you find something to prop up his head. I want him to better watch.”

Short Story XXI

“What is your name?”

“Virgillio, your majesty,” the voice firm but the element of fear is evident.

“Well Virgillio, you’re standing very nicely for your Queen.”

"Thank you, your majesty. I live for the day to perform for you. It is every day that I awake to please.”

The Queen smiles. Most would consider such to be a gracious smile. In the dungeon it is only seen when tormenting... or worse.

“Yes, of course you do. Very obedient. And you certainly seem to enjoy degrading yourself before a woman... showing off your erection like that.”

“Yes, your majesty. I so very much enjoy being with a governing woman... to entertain.”

“And that you shall.”

The Queen nods to her guards.

"This one will ride today. Make it slow but very deep... to start.”

The two burly women instantly step forth. Their grins are more obvious in wickedness. As the leg irons are released, the Queen steps to the next cell, brushes a standing penis tip with her crop then in satisfaction with its firmness steps onward to another cell.

“And you. What is your name?”

“Mustafo, your majesty,” the voice quaking.

“Well Mustafo, your penis is of limited size. It should therefore be more able to stand in tribute.”

Mustafo squirms, turning his hips in an attempt to brazenly rub his organ against the smooth bars. Though it amuses, it is a futile gesture. The organ remains partially limp.

“I am trying to become hard for you, your majesty. Each day I worship your image... thinking of your beauty while stiffening... for you. I am so privileged to be ruled by such a gracious ruler.”

“But it is small and flaccid, Mustafo,” the Queen’s declamation intoned not to be disputed.

The voice begins to panic.

“I am sorry, your majesty. Perhaps if I could use my hands. I would masturbate for you. I would make it stand and please.”

The Queen looks to her guards. Virgillio, removed from his tiny cell, is placed kneeling on the special bench. Broad strap about the spine, thighs and calves strapped as well. His cuffed wrists are raised behind his back, one guard pulling on an overhead cable. The other guard, having greased the anus, aligns the fucking machine.

“You see how erections are rewarded, Mustafo. Would you not like to ride my machine sometime?”

“If it pleases you, your majesty. I exist to please."

“Well, a man of your ilk will please in a different manner.”

“Please your majesty. I can make it harder for you.”

“It is too late, Mustafo. I want spontaneous erections here. Look at the others. Except for my castrate, there are dozens of fully standing penises... then there is yours.”

Mustafo’s quaking turns to notable shuddering. The Queen’s free hand reaches and tussles the hair in an otherwise gesture of affection. Mustafo shivers in fear with her touch.

“It will earn you release. Then you can walk the Kingdom, show your alteration and explain to my subjects what a gracious ruler they have, deigning your release. By edict, every castrate will show himself to any woman upon her command... a plundered scrotum. With such a policy, I suspect my jails will soon be empty of miscreants such as you.”

The Queen’s eyes return to the center of the dungeon. A guard flips a switch and the piston of the fucking machine inexorably glides into Virgillio’s anus. The motion is mechanical, without pause... and obviously without concern for the soft tissue of the recipient. Virgillio yelps, spasmodically lurches, yet has no choice but to accept the marauding cylinder of rubber coated steel.

The reaction of the already stiff penis brings a broad smile to the Queen. With the strict chastity of her dungeon, the kneaded prostate gland celebrates the penetration by sending a message of further arousal. Virgillio’s manhood rises even further to press against his belly.

“I am afraid Virgillio has the advantage of youth... for now. Yet his time will come. You didn’t think you were going to keep your balls forever, did you Mustafo? In my dungeon such are the property of the Queen. Just as with the dates of my palm trees, there comes a time to harvest.”

The Queen’s crop hand lowers to jostle the scrotum as she turns her head to the guards.

“Have this one boarded. I will crush. Kendra will snip at a later time.”

The Queen laughs, noting that the penis now firms... but too late.

“Just think, Mustafo. You will finally be leaving here... but these won’t.”

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Short Story XX

“You have all kept the Royal blacksmith quite busy. I hope you appreciate his efforts.”

The Queen visits her dungeon. Upon hearing her voice, the collective clatter of dozens of chains almost drown out her words.

Every prisoner bears wrist shackles connected behind his back. Ankle shackles are borne as well, connected by a hobbling chain. Haste has mandated that the many dozens of iron implements be simpler and lighter than that adorning the beast’s form. Still, access to the male appendage is denied, as demanded. Plus, the ankles are shackled together outside the perimeter of the cell making most movement impossible. As a result, the prisoners have found there are two feasible positions... lying supine... or sitting upright. In either, the hands remain behind the back... the feet extend outside the cell... the bars forcing a wide separation at the knees.

In a weekly protocol... or more aptly at her whim... the Queen leads an inspection procession. Neatly attired, riding crop in hand, she steps into the center area of the dungeon. Behind is her naked cherubic castrate. He/she/it leads her beast, leash at the neck collar, prostate stimulator gratefully left behind. Guards also enter... women of size, strength and disdain for the male. Such quietly step to the corners, ready to serve at the snap of the Queen’s fingers.

The coterie of misery... naked...bound... chaste... brings a wry smile. Particularly as all sit up and squirm, shuffling forth on their haunches, knowing to press their pubic regions through the bars in a required exhibition of their organs. Dozens of legs, feet and hobbling chains extend into the center area.

The inspection is of the male organ. The Queen expects tribute.

“Some of you are not firming fast enough,” the Queen proclaims.

The prisoners know what is expected of them... yet, can everyone adequately perform? The chastity assists. For some, being completely naked and bound before a regal woman of great beauty brings curious arousal. Yes, Royal pulchritude... the Queen is radiant, divine in her autocracy. Thus the younger, more virile slowly tumefy. Those of age wriggle about to frottage their penis against the smooth metal bars, daring not to offend with flaccidity.

Yet all endeavor to amuse, for the flaccid receive special attention.

“Every one nice and hard for me. My machine beckons.”

In the center where days before the beast was chained high by his neck collar, there has been placed an odd bench. Upon it, a male prisoner can be strapped in a kneeling position... chest resting on a padded cross piece, knees and calves comfortably secured to vertical planks. The device holds the prisoner well off the floor, the better to view, the Princess announced in first explaining its function.

Behind, there is mounted on a pedestal a clever piece of machinery... a fucking machine. Yes, a piston, mercifully covered with a cylinder of smooth but firm rubber, is driven by an electric motor. When activated, the piston emulates the action of copulation... except it does not tire... and it drives home deeply... again... and again... and again.

“So who’s going to mate with my machine today. Hmm? Let’s see who can best get it up for me. I like erect men... particularly when naked and well bound.”

The Queen laughs most wickedly as she steps from cell to cell. Yes, the prisoners know to offer tumescence, hoping for selection, for in being held in strict chastity, the machine will offer relative relief. Sodomized, the prostate gland will welcome the intense ignominy of anal penetration. Some are grateful to feel the tease of her riding crop... an occasional tender caress with the floppy tip most welcomed.

“And today... someone will get trimmed. There’s too many of you. I will offer the clemency of castration to the one who does not firm for me.”

No one doubts her word. Thus there is collective concentration, arousing fantasies conjured, smooth bars frottaged... all not only wishing to ride the machine... but to save the balls... for another day.

And so the Queen amuses herself. Dozens of hapless males... all paying the tribute of erection... all to eventually suffer the fate of her loving oral servant. Under her rule, no one has left the dungeon intact.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Short Story XIX

Over the crest ambles the handsome canine, King. The beast blinks in dread, the huge hound’s far off silhouette bringing trepidation. Upon the quickest and easiest of commands from the Princess, the beast was forced to take the knot. Yes, the animal mounted him, slowly penetrated then sodomized with abandon, the display proving to be most entertaining... and most degrading.

The capstan rotates away as the hound nears. Gratefully it moves to the shack where Kendra presumably naps after a long morning of strict tendance and multiple orgasms. With a single bark... not threatening... not playful... he announces his presence. Kendra stirs and exits into the late morning sun.

King has brought a message. She reads.

“The Queen is dead. You are being summoned by the newly reining Queen, the former Princess.”

The beast’s heart leaps. Summoned!

Guiding hands direct. For the first time since his clumsy escape months before, the prong slides away, the beast stepping sideways as the length of wood moves from under the right elbow then the left. Remaining otherwise well bound, the relative freedom feels divine.


Without a moment of hesitation, the beast falls to the soil. Kendra approaches and a mammoth stretched tongue extends to greedily gather nominal droplets of sweat from her thighs and lower belly. She smiles with the abject humility. Then her right hand lowers to splay then lift, offering the entrance to her love nest. The beast cranes his head as best he can. He knows exactly where to align his lips. He craves fluid. Though morning, he has labored for hours.

“Yes, drink. It will be a long journey in chains.”

Kendra opens herself, amused that no matter the torrent, the beast captures and instantly imbibes all the flow she can produce... and he does so with such tender appreciation.

Finally, her bladder empties and the tongue works to assure her neatness... and gather every drop.

“Stand. The Princess wants you impaled. You’ll not kneel in rest during your journey. And it is best that you be fully erect when you reach the Palace.”

The prostate manipulator is retrieved. Slipped into the large link of the thigh chain, the protuberance now enters the rectum with ease. Kendra clips the free end to the hobbling chain below. Lastly, as the penetration and Kendra’s fingers bring sensuous delight and stiffness, the thin leather strap is tied about the scrotum to assure the rod cannot be expelled.

“Remember, be careful not to fall. You’ll not be able to right yourself. Stay erect for the Princess. And be grateful that you’re penetrated. King won’t have his way while you when you’re anally stuffed.”

Kendra laughs, picturing the canine coping a quick fuck as the duo crosses the desert to the Palace, the well restrained beast meekly yielding, forehead to the desert soil, fearing for his gonads as the Princess’s prized hound mounts and copulates... doggie style of course.

The leash chain returns. Just as the Princess’s castrate had done months before, she connects the beast’s neck collar to the spiked leather collar of King.

“Just keep your nipple bells ringing. Same as when you pump. King knows the way. Be obedient.”

“Will I see you again, Miss Kendra?”

“Yes. There will be festivities in the Palace dungeons. My skills are required.”

King knows to turn toward the kennels. The leash chain tightens and Kendra swats the buttocks to begin the arduous journey.

“Go. You are to be put on display.”


The Queen rules!

“The official coronation ceremonies are over. Sorry you couldn’t attend.”

The Queen laughs most sardonically, viewing the many male forms encapsulated behind bars. She stands in the Palace dungeon for male prisoners, reviewing the sorry lot of miscreants. Surrounding a spacious center area are dozens of small cells, positioned as an audience would face a circular stage. The newly anointed Queen is most sanguine amongst the Kingdom’s ruffians. As a young girl she stood in almost the exact spot and witnessed the weekly punishments and tortures demanded by her grandfather, the King.

“My mother, the former Queen, was rather lenient concerning crime and punishment. Under my rule there will be no leniency... no mercy. The slightest infraction will be dealt with swiftly... the punishment meted to be long... slow... painful... and memorable... for those who are able to withstand.”

She laughs again. As Queen, she has become judge and jailer for all the low lifes of the Kingdom. She recalls her grandfather’s intolerance, observing as a young girl the many tortures, executions... and castrations. Her recently deceased mother proved to be more tolerant... perhaps more aloof... simply tossing the unruly behind bars to rot, her time not to be otherwise burdened with the seedy element amongst her subjects. As a result the dungeon is stuffed.

In the center, standing on a pedestal, bringing silent awe to those who would otherwise be begging for clemency, is the beast. His heavy neck collar is chained above. The prostate stimulator remains in place. He is dutifully erect, his penis standing in tribute to the new Queen... the many months of chastity... the wicked impalement... fostering the desired reaction.

The bizarre display, a sculpture... chained and weighted to near immobility... symbolizes the new regime... one of feminine power... of male capitulation.

“This beast once shared my bed. He was disloyal... he was deceitful. I have had him permanently shackled and chained and have had him laboring for countless months. As you can see, he has learned proper deportment. I like to see him stiff. It is appropriate tribute.”

There come murmurs as the Queen lifts her hand. She holds a riding crop and wedges the tip under the beast’s scrotum. He stirs as his balls are better presented, bringing forth a clatter from his many chains and the chiming of his nipple bells.

“Yes, he very much enjoys showing off for me,” the Queen laughing as the beast’s penis obediently waggles in response to her touch.

“So, there is to be a new protocol. Remove all clothing. Every one of you. Now! Toss all garments through the bars. Such will be collected and destroyed. It’s hot down here. You do not need covering... and shall no longer have it. And I can only imagine the level of lice infestation...”

There follows much wordless shuffling as the many dozen disrobe. Grimy, tattered, the resulting pile of cloth smells. But the Queen smiles most wickedly. As she surveys in the dankness, there comes into view the many forms of naked male subservience.

Yes, she rules!

“I suspect my blacksmiths are going to be quite busy assuring there is no more masturbation amongst this riotous bunch. Meanwhile, use your hands for one last time. Come and stand at the bars. I want those penises well displayed... right through the bars. Show off for me... like my well chained beast...”

Gawking at the Queen’s shackled beast, understanding the naked form, testicles jouncing about as her riding crop toys, exemplifies the toll for disobedience, the disrobed males approach the numerous cell bars. Hands collectively lower, the Queen smiles most wickedly as her captives begin to stroke.

“Consider this a gesture of royal grace... in celebration of my coronation. Hereafter, I will demand chastity.”

Monday, December 21, 2009

Short Story XVIII

The beast hears the shuffling of human activity. He stirs, wriggling his head within the tight iron neck collar, his arms testing both wrist shackles and connected arm bands. The reality of thorough bondage returns after an evening of dreams.

For some reason, in his nightly slumber, however difficult to attain in kneeling bent back over the capstan prong, he consistently fantasizes about having the ability to move unencumbered... somewhat. Yes, the Princess has forgiven, and the near hundred pounds of iron have been removed. Instead he is lightly tethered to a pony cart. And he runs... freely... full steps.... his feet prancing with glee. His burden is nominal, his gait evidencing mirth. For it is the Princess who holds the reins and bears the crop. He conveys her with pride, accepting the lash of her crop, instantly responding to controlling tugs. He is of course naked. His penis erect. To his scrotum there has been tied a leather tether. When his Princess tugs there, his penis waggles in celebration. He enjoys the feel of her governing hand.

With the abundant sweat, the sound of the crop brings noteworthy ‘splats’ as the Princess works his buttocks. In dreamland, her firm lashes feel good, bringing forth the comfort of being owned, well trained livestock to be fed, watered, bathed, massaged and pampered. So he can best perform for her. To be displayed.

But alas, as full cognizance dawns and his bound neck and arms return him to reality, he feels the nearness of his tormentress. Her fingers work about the neck collar to release a thick leather hood, born each and every night as a result of his futile attempt to escape.

As the blinding garment is slipped away, the beast extends his tongue. Kendra wordlessly grasps the slippery wet length and begins the twice daily exercises. The beast was never before aware that, just as with every muscle, the tongue can be strengthened... and lengthened, particularly after Kendra’s quick snip of the frenulum. Thus she pulls with vigor, always applying enough tension to bring stifled moans of displeasure. Left, right, up down, twist... consistently pulling with passion.

Next Kendra straddles. Her gluteal cleft is to be licked, lapped with zeal by an awakened tongue. The otherwise perverse offering brings amazing thrills... physical pleasure... the satisfaction of the ultimate in feminine dominion... the male serving with such apparent humble delight.

Kendra would care to sit all day, but she has saved the emptying of her bladder for he who will receive life sustaining liquid in no other fashion. Thus her need brings an end to the divine analingus. She slips back and presents, the beast now knowing the way to her urethral opening. She smiles as his lips know to surround, and she opens herself knowing that not a drop is to be missed.

Again there comes a curious sense of satisfaction. For Kendra, watering her charge in such an intimate manner is thought to be akin to nursing an infant... her bodily juices coveted. And indeed the lips seem to savor. For, though he will have a limited portion of gruel, he will receive no other fluids... save the feminine essence of her quim... and perhaps some of her sweat... should he beg enough.

Bladder empty, Kendra again shifts to offer more of her quim and there begins extended cunnilingus. By now, the tongue can slip well within her vagina. It can and does pressure the urethral sponge as she has trained. The toothless mouth will nibble her bud, the beast knows now exactly where it is to be located and to slowly increase the pressure there. Yes, the proper application of lips and tongue can bring forth amazing orgasms... and a torrent of feminine essence as Kendra ejaculates freely. The beast will consume with fervor. There is constant thirst to be quenched. And for Kendra there will come again thoughts of nursing as all liquids are hungrily consumed. The beast knows he relies on her for all.

“Your penis stands, my pet. You truly enjoy serving me. There is adoration for a woman of authority.”

A teasing right hand reaches back. It offers a tantalizing stroke, firm... knowing... controlling. Then it playfully bends to demonstrate the incredible stiffness offered by the virile yet permanently chastened male. Kendra knows so well the frustration her simple surgery has imbued. The hot shard first excruciatingly burned, then the thin pink flesh of the urethra healed, effectively cauterizing and forever closing the opening... no bladder relief... no ejaculatory relief. The beast now squats to pee. And when the prostate stimulator impales, the resulting fluid merely streams through her new opening to slowly drench the inner thighs.

On occasion, a controlling finger will gather and offer the ooze to quench a constant thirst.

One, orgasm... two... three... Kendra counts no more. She finally dismounts and unclips the wrist chain.


The beast obeys, righting himself at the waist, knowing to part his knees. It is time to urinate for Miss Kendra... and empty his bowels into an offered receptacle.

Thereafter, a long, long day begins. The numbed mind signals the body to lean and step... beginning a serenade of his nipple bells. Gruel will be consumed, spoonfuls offered at Kendra’s leisure as the capstan slowly turns and water is pumped. Water he will never taste or consume... unless first passing through Kendra’s divine form.

“How do you feel today, my pet?”


“You are.”

“I am. Will I die here, Miss Kendra?”

“Probably. And you’ll be buried in irons. Death will not bring release. There will be no reason to expend the time and energy to unburden your body.”

The beast steps as he talks, the hobbling chain clattering, the nipples bells ringing. He becomes forlorn in contemplating his ultimate fate. Kendra smiles.

“But you still have your balls.”

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Short Story XVII

“Please, Miss Kendra I am ill.”

“You need to relieve your bladder, my pet. But your penis no longer can drain it. Neither will you ever again ejaculate.”

Kendra has fired her coking oven. The beast remains in the pillory, his ankles secured, lying supine on the soil. Words are exchanged as she heats a surgically sharp knife. The beast has not urinated in more than a day. She understands his plight and it is only she that can offer relief.

“You’ll going to be a very obedient ox for me. Pump water, service my quim, lick my backside. Such a simple life. Yet you will also need to better understand the consequences for complicating it.”

The knife blade glows. Kendra inspects then approaches. The beast observes in shock. He recalls the quick but painful incising of his sublingual frenulum, that which has enabled masterful cunnilingus.

“Just relax. Miss Kendra will make it all better.”

The words are those comforting a frightened child. But a wicked laugh follows, that of a debaucherous executioner.

“Just a tiny nick.”

Kendra kneels. Her left hand palms and lifts the scrotal sac. She notes its plumpness, envisioning within a mass of unspent semen, the beast never again to spurt the seed of life. The thoughts of forced chastity bring an inner glow. But she puts aside the satisfying notions of the frustration and torment and aligns the hot blade with the perineum.

“Here we go. A quick incision... resulting in a urethral reroute. Henceforth you’ll be squatting to pee.”

A quick motion of Kendra’s hand, a ghastly bellow which empties the beast’s lungs, all muscles tighten in a futile effort to forestall the pain. But most meaningfully, the simple cut between the anus and the scrotum opens the urethra, forever blocked at the penis tip.

Kendra arises and steps away avoiding the torrent of the emptying bladder.

“I trust you will remember this kindness, my beast. I will introduce a catheter to assure you properly heal. Then you’ll need to be trained... to squat and pee on command. I’ll not want you sullying your circle of existence.”

“Thank you Miss Kendra. Thank you.”

“But also remember, I can light the stove and heat my knife any time. Just as it has offered relief to your bladder, the blade can also become the tool of a sculptress. Disobedience will earn you marks. I will treat your nakedness like a large lump of clay... to be molded... to be carved. And the Princess will find it most amusing... a human carving board. You’ll bear a message... that of power... control... of the Princess’s supreme governance. I’ll carve the letters slowly and keep the knife searing hot for you. Think of this when you next choose to walk off into the desert.”

Kendra laughs, noting the beast’s attentiveness. She then steps to her shack, the referenced catheter awaiting.

Her thoughts return to her assigned tasks... the unending torment of the Princess’s deceitful lover.

For his recent transgression, Kendra will demand analingus... every morning... every evening. The Princess has mandated that the fruit of the beast’s labors not be offered, water to be denied. Thus all life sustaining liquids, craved with the many hours of toiling in the desert sun, will come only from Kendra’s body. There will be times when the beast will beg to lick her sweat.

In addition, weights are to be added... to the hobbling chain... to the nipple badges. In time, such will be lightened, for he is not to be tortured to death. No, he is to be kept most alive and healthy... to labor... to offer liquid refreshment in which he will never partake... but most importantly to amuse and entertain... day after day after day.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Short Story XVI

“Go ahead, urinate for me.”

“But I cannot. It... it... it won’t come.”

Kendra smiles wickedly.

“Yes, my glowing hot shard has blocked your urethra. It’s burned and swollen. And I suspect in time, the flesh will heal together and permanently block your passage. A slow death, my pet. Uremic poisoning.”

Kendra smiles in observing the look of panic.

“Rather ironic after all the months of toil that you should die in such a slow and leisurely fashion... your own body poisoning itself. I rather thought your demise would come during forced labor... one last turn of the capstan to please the Princess... then a collapse.”

“But I need to pee!”

“Of course my beast. And I can help. But first you’ll need to show me some contrition. Then I’ll show you henceforth how you are to be watered. Then I will fix your plumbing.”

The beast remains with ankles pilloried sitting atop the small stool.

“Now just lay back and relax... and take care of Kendra. Then Kendra will take care of you. Just a little incision is all you need. But you must earn my attention.”

As Kendra speaks her hands reach under the encumbered arms from behind. Then in a display of amazing puissance, she lifts the weighted form and kicks the stool from beneath, lowering her beast to the soil.

“I know how much you savor my mons... licking and sucking. Well you will now have a new crevice to savor. A woman can also use some anal attention. And I know exactly who will offer.”

Straddling the beast’s head, Kendra lowers herself. The odious aperture greets the waiting lips. The beast knows to extend his tongue in greeting.

“Yes, such a good pet. And when you’re finished I have some life sustaining fluid for you. You’ll never have well water again. The Princess has so mandated. But you shall have what would otherwise be disposed.”

Kendra sighs with the pleasure of the lengthened and well trained tongue meekly exploring her rectum. She turns and notes the wounded penis. Despite the trauma, it begins to firm. Yes, the Princess would never deny herself the joy of watching it harden... but she has commanded that the beast be denied the joy of ever again sensing the normal male ecstasy of ejaculation.

“Lick and suck. You have my cunny brimming with the juices you’ll need for sustenance. And my bladder will offer more... much more.”

Friday, December 18, 2009

Short Story XV

The beast finds himself returned to the pillory, only his ankles encumbered. He sits on a low stool, arms and wrists restrained behind him. His penis is clamped. Though only permitted to urinate under Kendra’s supervision, she has added a precaution against disobedience. And with the clamping, for some reason Kendra waters him... and waters... and waters.

“Enjoy. The Princess has commanded that you hence be refused. Your rash action denied her water, thus she will now deny you.”

Meanwhile the coking oven remains heated, Kendra on occasion squeezing the bellows to assure searing hotness. The beast is most apprehensive. Nothing to his benefit has ever resulted from Kendra’s labors at the stove. And she has promised him intense pain.

“Yes, the Princess has commanded that all sustaining liquids are to come from me. Those lips will be eagerly sucking more than the essence of my love nest. After many hours in the sun you’ll find yourself begging for what I normally squat and discard in the sand.”

Kendra returns. The beast is surprised to see unguent. She greases her left hand.

“Whenever I castrate I offer a man his last stand... a partial handjob, bringing him to full erection before I snip. Wonderfully cathartic. They never forget.”

The beast closes his eyes and cringes in fear as the left hand lowers to remove the clamp then grasps his penis. Kendra snickers in noting its condition.

“You quiver in fear but you’re already partially stiff. I have castrated so many of the likes of you.”

“Pwease no, Miss Kendra.”

“Oh, I’m not going to snip you. The Princess wants you strong... to pump... and to suffer.”

The hand works. The beast is chagrined to find Kendra to be an accomplished masturbatrix, a surprising combination of firmness yet with soft pressure applied to the most sensuous regions of his manhood. Yes, his penis jumps to full stiffness, seeming to defy him. For once he would prefer to be flaccid.

Achieving her goal Kendra releases and steps back.

“A little treat for the condemned.”

For the first time, she removes her halter to stand perfectly nude before her well restrained charge. As suspected the breasts are large, the well developed pectoral muscles seeming to thrust forth her glands in invitation. Nipples lure the lips of the randy male. The perfect curvature beckons exploring fingers. The beast feels his penis waggle in response. Kendra notes the reaction and laughs, the fingers of her right hand rising to toy with her right nipple and add to the tantalizing scene.

“I think you’re ready.”

Kendra returns to the coking oven, careful to avoid sparks. Large blacksmith’s pliers are used to retrieve a small shard of iron from the coals. She lifts and inspects. The beast manages to divert his eyes from the supreme nakedness. The pliers grip nothing more than a glowing red hot nail.

“You’ve ejaculated for the last time, my beast... whenever that was... presumably with that Palace chambermaid.”

Kendra approaches, pliers in her right hand, the shard prominently displayed. Her left hand lowers to resume stroking. For some reason the beast feels his penis harden even more. The commanding nakedness?.. the fear?.. a strange sense of adoration for she who tortures, castrates and executes? Was his attempted escape a cry for the perverse attention of this amazing governess?

“Bladder full? Your penis seems to be piss proud. I am familiar with that effect.”

The beast sheepishly nods. There has been an abundance of water offered... and no relief.

“Well, it’s going stay full for a while longer.”

With that, Kendra ceases her teasing strokes. The right hand lowers with the pliers and glowing shard. The thumb and index finger of the left work the penis tip to widen the urethral opening. A horrified beast watches, his restraints inhibiting all resistance as the pliers press the hot shard into his pee hole. He screams. Kendra smiles... then begins to laugh as all air escapes from the beast’s lungs. Muscles go limp. He finds himself leaning back noting that Kendra's hands remain at their task. Blackness comes. The bright desert sun disappears.

When Kendra finally slips out the heated shard, having pressed it many inches into the urethra, she notes her pet has fainted... the excruciating pain not acceptable to the fully conscious.

“You’ll not flee again. Flight is something you will remember and avoid.”

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Short Story XIV

“Very amusing, my beast. Every man should get a good fucking from time to time. And judging by the stiffness of your penis you seem to agree with my assessment. King was quite gracious with you.”

The Princess remains in saddle observing from well above. While King mounted there came occasional laughter. The beast’s grunts and plaintive cries seemed to amuse the most. And yes, the beast’s manhood reacted in a most humiliating fashion... penetration of the chaste male causing a reaction of stimulation.

“You’ll be taken back to Kendra for punishment. I’ve spent enough precious time assuring your recapture.”

The Princess retrieves an iron bar from the saddle and tosses it to her castrate.

“Kendra showed you how it works. Make sure it deeply penetrates and is well secured,” she commands her cherub.

Embarrassingly stiff indeed, the beast wolfs down the last morsel of offered food. Gratefully not the gruel of Kendra, instead it is real sustenance evidently brought from the Palace. Though the morning has been traumatic, handled by a neutered oral servant, sodomized by a canine, the beast’s craving for nutrition diverts. Some caloric intake is required if he is again to move.

As he remains kneeling he looks to the iron bar. It is the well crafted prostate stimulator, attached to thigh and hobbling chains then pressed into his rectum, the protuberance to knead and manipulate his prostate gland while circling the capstan.

A soft, effeminate hand grasps his nostril tubing. It pulls upwards. The beast must arise, the simplest of tugs bringing havoc to thousands of nerve endings within his skull. Though his legs are shaky, the food has quickly restored energy.

Without a word, the beast knows to spread his feet to the maximum. The iron bar is pushed through the large circular opening in the center of the thigh chain. On cue he leans at the waist and once again shudders as the fingers of the Princess’s sexless plaything align the specially crafted business end with his rectum. There comes slight pressure and, with the slippery remnants of King’s abundant spending, the beast is easily impaled. Lastly, the bottom end is connected to the center of the hobbling chain.

When the castrate moves to the beast’s front to tie off the leather straps, encircling his scrotum to assure the device cannot be expelled, the fingers linger there, seeming to adore those organs which were cruelly plucked from him years before. The beast’s penis uncontrollably stiffens more, bringing more laughter from the Princess.

“You enjoy the touch of a male. Very telling.”

Prostatic fluid begins to ooze as the thin strap is finally knotted and the hairless form steps away.

“King is well trained. Be a good boy and follow with utmost obedience and you’ll not be harmed. I have not the time to accompany you.”

As the princess speaks, a chain leash is hooked to the beast’s prodigious neck collar. The castrate then attaches the free end to a spiked leather collar encircling King’s neck.

“He’ll know to walk slowly. But do not resist. He’s trained to nip the genitals. And I want those for myself.”


As King leads up the familiar crest, the leashed beast knows the water hole and capstan will soon come into view. The dog has been amazingly patient, ambling the near mile at a slow pace, the ringing nipple bells seeming to sooth the simple mind of an animal. Oddly, with the many weeks of tedious drudgery, the tintinnabulation soothes the beast’s mind as well.

The broad neck collar precludes visual inspection, but the beast knows his penis stands, the penetrating rod, his own footsteps bringing constant manipulation to the otherwise neglected and unused gland.

At the apex, the beast spies Kendra, her divine near nakedness working at the coking oven. There comes a shudder of fear. Nothing of benefit has ever resulted from the workings of hammer and anvil... only implements of restraint and slow torture.

Descending, Kendra looks up and smiles. A naked, well bound male led by a dog. And the erection obviously brings a smile.

“Wherever did you think you were going, my pet? Do you think anyone would assist your plight? Tinker with the Princess’s imprisoned, well shackled slave? It would require many hours and much special tooling to undo my bindings. And what would be gained by the subject who assists? They would find themselves similarly restrained.”

Nearing, Kendra steps from the oven and unhooks the chain leash.


King scampers off, knowing his way to the Palace.

“Ironic that a dog can be trained to such a level of obedience but the human male needs constant training and punishment,” Kendra casually notes.

A powerful hand grasps the nostril tubing.

“Come. You’re to be punished. You know how much I enjoy making a man suffer. It is so thoughtful of you to accommodate. I’ve been heating something which will bring the most excruciating pain. I’m curious to see if you will pass out.”

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Short Story XIII

The beast lies awake, exhaustion normally bringing sleep despite the position of awkwardness forced by his bonds. He kneels bent backwards, wrist chain clipped beneath to the hobbling chain, the prong of the pumping device wedged between his back and his bent arms as always.

The position objectifies. On occasion Kendra will stir, step from her shack and seek a late night treat, straddling then lowering herself to sit on his face. He is helpless to resist. And he has learned that fervent licking brings the oxygen of life. Thus his offerings of cunnilingus are frequent and performed with zeal, lest he smoother. And there has come a curious sense of joy in servicing her... she who so masterfully whips and assures constant torment.

Tonight there is a full moon, probably bringing a degree of restlessness. He thinks about the Princess’s most recent visit, her continuing revenge bringing her such delight. It seems the sexual pleasure of her performing castrate exceeds that brought by copulation... the many couplings when he courted her. His infidelity has unleashed an inner demon, his castration promised on the very first day he can no longer pump and perform.

Facing day after day of grueling labor, the beast finds himself wriggling about, the threat... more like the promise... of castration causes him to test his bonds, the many pounds riveted in relative permanence.

No release. All is discouragingly snug.

But alas, there is the simple clasp that holds together his wrist chain and hobbling chain. Kendra releases it every morning with great alacrity. It cannot be overly complicated!

His arms move. Not much, but enabling the fingers to somewhat explore beneath him. Such slide about the hobbling chain, the beast mentally picturing what is so quickly snapped closed to force him each night to remain kneeling and bent backwards.

Ah! There is located a clasp. The fingers toy. There comes a click... a familiar click... heard each morning after Kendra completes exercising his tongue and climaxing over his face. The beast contracts his stomach muscles. The wrist and hobbling chains are no longer connected! He rights himself, the prong moving on its hinge as he struggles to stand.

There is stillness. He must be quiet, careful to minimize the ringing of his nipple bells. But the illumination of moonlight enables good vision. He shuffles sideways, opposite the direction in which Kendra first directed him and he and the pump became one. His bent arms slide along the length of wood. Gruff, irritating, but the relative abrasion does not compare to the many, many weeks of unending agony.

More shuffling and the prong slips away from first his right elbow and next his left. The beast is free! Somewhat. No longer will his only motion be to pump in circles!

But where to go?

He knows the direction of the Palace. And he understands the greeting he will get there... the slow torturous removal of his testicles. He turns opposite, stepping with as little extraneous motion as possible. Whereas he normally lets his bells peel in tribute to Kendra, making her aware of his ongoing servitude... that forced by her governing hand continues... now it behooves to be quiet.

A careful step, limited by the hobbling chain. Then another, his nipples almost completely silent. If he can make it over the crest, that opposite the Princess’s point of arrival, he will be able to noisily shuffle with fervor.

Step... step... step he tries to calm himself, forcing his mind not to emulate the noisy pace of his endless pumping.

Not crossing his mind are the details of his escape. To where? Within whom to confide? How to be released from the nearly permanent iron bonds? Who would defy the Princess and arrange his emancipation?

For the desperate, such thoughts are distant. The beast, though forcibly chaste, must remain virile! He must save his balls!

The crest finally nears. He stands atop and looks back down at the large wooden capstan and the modest shack in which Kendra sleeps. Nothing stirs! His escape is unnoticed, but he knows not for long.

Down the slope, his feet can now shuffle faster, the sound of his ringing nipple bells not to be heard by man nor beast. He directs toward the moon, soon to be setting in the western sky. Such will assure he does not inadvertently travel in a circle.

Despite the cool night air, the beast begins to perspire. He expends energy and considerably faster then his long days of pumping. But he now moves with purpose... to save his manliness. He pictures the Princess’s naked hairless castrate. Though he knows he will never assume such an appearance if snipped at his age, the chubby effeminate form frightens. It spurs renewed effort and his feet continue to frantically ascend a slight incline.

Then the many pounds of bondage begin to wear. His diet of thin gruel, fed once per day, brings tiredness. His feet slow, the energy supplied by yesterday morning’s meal depletes. In reaching the top of a modest apex, his right foot fails to extend and fully challenge the hobbling chain. The beast stumbles, his heavy neck collar bringing his face down to the desert sand. His prostrate form somewhat glides down the opposing side of the incline with friction quickly bringing a halt to all motion.

The beast cannot right himself. Muscles fail to respond to the commands of synapse. He faints. Though traveling hundreds of yards, perhaps a mile, the desperate beast has escaped to the oblivion of a desert wasteland.


“I’ve missed my morning bath. Seems there is no water.”

The beast stirs, opening then quickly closing his dilating eyes as the morning sun shines brightly. He feels a hand entwine in his hair, another grasping his nostril tubing, forcing his face to turn away from the brightness.

The beast instantly recognizes the calm but authoritative voice. It is the Princess.

“Yes, my human ox let me down. The cistern is nearly empty. Tsk. Tsk.”

Once again the eyes open, this time turned from the sun. The beast looks into the childlike face of the Princess’s oral servant, kneeling with his nakedness intimately close, the emaciated penis most proximate.

“Drink my beast... you’re dehydrated.”

The beast instantly stirs from his stupor, shocked to see that the castrate is aligning his tiny penis with his lips. He struggles. But in remaining exhausted, his heavy bonds make it impossible to resist. The nostril tubing dictates. Then he hears the deep growl of what he presumes to be a huge hound.

“Drink. Or King will have one of your calves for breakfast.”

The beast feels the snorting breath of ‘King’, obviously a Palace guard dog.

“Or perhaps a testicle or two. Besides being hungry, he is amazingly well trained and obedient to my commands.”

The organs which the beast has tried to rescue from feminine dominion are instead endangered. He lets himself go limp as the castrate shuffles closer. With a second command of ‘drink’ he complies. The tiny penis is engulfed, slipping past lips trained to please.

“That’s a good boy. You need the fluid... and I have so little water to spare.”

The hermaphrodite opens his bladder. The beast has no choice but to imbibe. Pungent... salty... yet fluid is indeed needed.

“Didn’t really need King to track you. Your hobbling chain left quite the trail in the sand and dust.”

The angle of the voice suggests that the Princess remains astride her stallion. She need not lower herself. With Kendra’s ponderous and thorough bonds, her meek, effeminate oral companion can handle the capture of the beast... aided by the threatening growls and snorting breath of King.

“You’ll have some food too... the energy required for me to walk you... on a leash of course. But first I have a promise to fulfill. King always seems to be in need to having his pizzle frottaged. With the recent addition to the kennels it seems he’s taken a liking to doggie style sex... with less furry critters.”

The beast shudders as there comes a wicked laugh. He must resist. Yet, what the Princess chooses to have happen will happen. He has not the strength to stand and walk much less contest her whims.

“So just offer yourself and you’ll find King to be most gentle. The maid initially fought and got herself nipped and scratched.”

The beast feels the soft, once male hands push and prod, encouraging him to rise to his knees. As he moves he looks up to see the smiling Princess regally sitting in saddle. It is as if he has fallen into a well contrived trap.

“Head down, buttocks up, thighs apart. King knows to stiffen whenever a nice warm and tight aperture is so presented. But I’ll not want your rectum split. That would hinder more sodomy. Therefore some lubrication is to be offered.”

The beast’s stomach turns, his mouth and throat coated with excretions. The naked castrate moves to his rear. The huge iron neck collar impedes his view but the beast soon feels the soft hands split his cheeks and the warm wetness of that barnyard tongue which he has seen servicing the Princess’s boots. The hermaphrodite licks the odious gluteal cleft with zeal. The firm but gentle laving conveys a sickening thrill to the denied libido. Homophobia brings disgust.

“It is best, my beast. King is of good size. And you have not yet been properly opened there. But you’ll take the knot. On that I insist...”

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Short Story XII

“The head maid suggests there is just enough water for my morning bath. I want more.”

The Princess stands watching as the beast continues the sluggish rotation. Step, step, step... the nipple bells tinkling... the slow pace further slowed by the added poundage of the neck collar, arm and thigh bands. The connecting chains alone have notable weight.

“It’s the weight, your Highness. I have added some forty pounds with your gracious contribution of iron.”

“Well, he’ll need to pump longer. A couple hours after the dinner hour should do. Use the quirt. I like to see a man labor under a woman’s hand, buttocks striped by a woman’s whip.”

The beast listens, inwardly shuddering in contemplating the added hours of labor. But then he gazes at the Princess’s castrate, naked and frolicking about like a child, the cruel snips to his scrotum immersing him forever in a strange state of innocence, a hermaphroditic glee. If he labors not, he will be snipped as well.

The authoritative voice of the Princess, ordering that he be worked harder and whipped, the thoughts spurred by her neutered oral servant, again bring stirring in his loins. The beast’s penis slowly hardens and with each laggard lap his frontside returns to view with what feels like a firmer and firmer erection.

The Princess takes note and the reaction brings a smile.

“Go ahead and show off. I have let it remain functioning only to amuse me.”

The Princess steps forward, riding crop in hand. She begins to stride along, a slow pace to match the ungainly, lumbering steps of her beast.

“You should know that your trollop chamber maid, the one you so much enjoyed fucking, has met an equally ignominious fate. She professed to be a nyphomaniac, addicted to sex. Doggie style, she proclaimed as an executioner clamped her nipples to loosen her tongue. Well I have arranged to assuage her addiction. I had her cunt infibulated... sutured closed... she’s zipped. And she now serves in the Palace kennels, completely naked as you can expect. My hounds very much enjoy doing it ‘doggie style’, of course. And I graciously had her little rectum stretched so she can take the biggest of my breeding males. You will have to stop in and observe. I now enjoy the labors of two beasts... watching you sweat and listening to your bells.... watching the once young and pretty maid take the knot of my hounds. Without clitoral or vaginal contact, she will at some point come to enjoy anal penetration. But in the meantime, her plaintive cries can be quite entertaining as she finds herself forced to yield and open her rectum to dogs.”

As the Princess speaks, her crop hand lowers, the smooth butt end of the handle strokes the underside of the upturned penis, further encouraging its stand. The beast feels as though it will burst, the cruel description of the maid’s fate bringing further arousal.

“Labor hard my beast. For when the water no longer flows you will join the ranks of the castrated.”

The crop hand rises. Remaining in pace with the slow rotation, the Princess presses the butt end of the short whip to the beast’s lips. She pushes and the defenseless mouth accepts the smooth cylinder, the handle pressing inward some three to four inches. This brings a snicker, as the Princess manipulates her hand to emulate the motion of copulation.

“It’s not only a woman’s quim that your new dental work can accommodate. Your neutering will not end your punishment and you will continue to orally serve.”

The snicker turns to a boisterous evil laugh as the Princess senses a shudder of abject fear. She then steps away and snaps her fingers. The naked castrate immediately reacts, prancing to her side, kneeling and extending his tongue as she lifts the hem of her long flowing garment of white silk.

“Add some weights, Kendra... to the nipples. I want to see him in pain and well worked while I am licked.”

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Short Story XI

With each step bringing pleasant chiming to that which otherwise pains, the beast tries to let his mind wander into oblivion. But Kendra works at her anvil and the heavy clanks bring great apprehension. He knows by now that each hammer blow forges something he will bear... forever.

What more can the beast possibly endure?

On occasion Kendra pauses and approaches, commanding an all too brief halt to the endless circling. She then measures and gauges. The beast cannot see below with precision where she chooses to assess. Kendra stoops and he can no longer look downward with ease, the neck collar incredibly restrictive. But of interest is the hobbling chain and the chain connecting the thigh bands. On occasion she palms his scrotum, the warm hand adding a thrill of delight for the otherwise forcibly chaste.

Towards day’s end comes the command ‘balls’. The beast stops and bends, meekly presenting his jewels for display and amusement. He is alarmed when the fingers do not brazenly play with his testicles. Instead there is applied lubricant to his anus. Having been denied all sexual contact for many, many weeks, the beast is embarrassed to find the touch is strangely welcomed.

“Consider this a gift, my beast. It is added burden, but I think you will enjoy.”

Kendra steps to his front and displays the object of many hours and hammer blows. In her hand she holds a simple narrow length of wrought iron of some three feet. At one end there is a clasp where the implement will apparently be attached to something. It is the opposing end where she has forged for an entire day. There is attached a smooth, rounded protuberance, angled and not quite the shape of a penis. Instead there are curious bumps and ridges. Just below a short leather strap connects. Kendra smiles as, having just lubricated his anus, she notes that the beast guesses as to the implements purpose.

“Yes, a nice anal insertion for you. You will pump and milk your prostate at the same time. The Princess has demanded you remain healthy, my pet. What better way to assure prostate health for the otherwise chaste male.”

Kendra moves to the beast’s rear and stoops. She first slips the iron rod through the larger link in the middle of the thigh chain.

“Bend and spread for me.”

There is no longer even a brief thought of disobedience. The beast complies and feels the smooth bumpy end abrade his anus.

“Pwease no, Miss Kendra.”

“You know you want to please the Princess. This will also help you stiffen for her... and me.”

Firm hands work as she explains the expected result. The metal slips inward. The angled shape proves to perfectly align the protuberance with the curious male gland. The beast feels the pressure on his unutilized prostate. He begins to stiffen as the penetrating rod moves about, Kendra clipping the bottom clasp to the hobbling chain between his ankles. Lastly, the strap is used to circle his scrotum and is tied off, added assurance that the insertion cannot be expelled.

“This will also offer me the comfort that you will not kneel in rest while laboring. You are to pump throughout the day, this assures obedience.”

The strap secured, Kendra steps to the front. The vertical rod is held between the legs, secured in place below at the hobbling chain, supported by the thigh chain, held in place above by the scrotum strap and the beast’s rectum. There comes a wicked laugh as she notes the massive erection spurred by her well designed anal insertion. Prostatic fluid oozes, the penis points skyward, a bulbous crimson tip beginning to turn purple.

“Excellent,” the voice filled with glee.

A powerful mocha hand rises to grasp the nostril tubing.

“There’s an hour or two of daylight remaining. I like the idea of walking a man on a leash... naked... well bound... erect. Come. Pump more for the Princess.”

The beast knows he cannot resist tugs on that which seems to invade his brain. Still,there is reluctance, his well stuffed anus suggests he cautiously stay immobile. Thus for a moment he resists Kendra’s controlling hand. She smiles knowing she ultimately governs, toying as a cat with a mouse, her hand slowly increasing the tension on the tubing.

“It will feel a little awkward. But it is good for you. And I want you erect. It reminds me of all those castrated prisoners. Their last stand was for me... saluting the woman who first crushed then snipped.”

The cruel smile frightens, Kendra referencing a man’s neutering as a pleasant walk on the beach.


The force of the pull becomes irresistible. The left foot shuffles forth, the beast knowing to lean and use his heavily burdened form, his bent arms pulling on the prong. He moans, the anal insertion manipulating the prostate. His erect penis waggles with the odd sensation. Kendra laughs noting the result of her guiding hand.

“Yes, you will pump water... you will pump your prostate.”

Kendra leads, her beast follows. He has no choice. Step after step he feels the insertion work inside him... kneading... manipulating. He imagines it to be the fingers of Kendra’s powerful hand. The thought pleases. And he is pleased as well that his erection entertains.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Short Story X

Another day brings the unbearable heat of the desert sun. Kendra releases the wrist chain, hooked to the hobbling chain each and every night, forcing the beast to sleep in the most awkward position. With a simple command he urinates for her. Then with another command, ‘stand’, he struggles to his feet, oddly grateful for the ability to move after hours of complete immobility. The gratitude will quickly wear.


The beast knows to bend at the waist and spread to the maximum, humbly presenting his male jewels to the woman of supreme authority. Kendra very much enjoys the palpation of her testicles.

The beast looks upwards, his incredibly thick and heavy iron neck collar seeming to press his forehead into the soil. He watches as a knowing left hand palms the scrotum. The fingers of the right explore, isolating one gonad within the sac. He knows what comes next. Slowly mounting pressure, the Queen’s torturess has indeed castrated men with her bare hands... of that he has little doubt.

Within moments there comes a plaintive cry, almost childlike. Pitiful to most ears, the beast’s outburst musical to she who derives joy from debasing the male gender. The fingers then move to apply pressure to the opposing gonad bringing this time a whimper. Kendra laughs then begins to explore again, quickly finding the vas deferens, that which delivers the male seed of the unchaste. She pinches, bringing a sharper more direct pain than the throbbing ache of squeezing her balls.

“Right here, my pet. Pinch here long and tight and the vessel is permanently crushed to uselessness... the male rendered sterile. Ironically simple is it not? What the male so triumphantly spews with such false brawn can be so easily and quickly terminated... and by a woman’s fingers.”

Her message of authority and control delivered, Kendra releases, offering the buttocks a slap, more vicious than playful, and sending her pet into the long day’s cycle of exhaustion. The beast is no longer surprised when he feels a twinge in his loins.

Yes, he begins to harden for her. Is it the chastity? The sight of her supreme near nakedness? Her controlling hands, the fingers coming so close to ending once and for all his virility? The bondage seems to spur the reaction, there is not a limb which does not feel mightily encumbered.

“Gruel in an hour or two,” Kendra offers with a laugh, she also noting the slow rise of his manhood.

Knowing that Kendra is amused brings the beast to full engorgement. A right hand futilely tugs against its tight shackle, a spontaneous attempt to end the weeks of chastity. Given the opportunity, the beast would shamelessly stroke himself right before her.

Kendra notes the attempt and smiles. It is she who better understands the reaction, having toyed with so many tumescent males shortly before their castration. Could it be that the Princess’s consort subconsciously strayed with the palace maid in an odd plea for feminine attention? Yes, a quest to cede control... knowing that his lover’s recourse would be harsh... and permanent. Is that the underlying reason for his foolish dalliance?

The answer matters not. Kendra will merely torture for the rest of his life. That is the task assigned... and she so relishes fulfilling it.

As the beast rights himself at the waist, he knows to step. Despite the incredible weight, he must labor. Failure to work the capstan, however slowly, brings the quirt and possibly a return of the pole attached to his nostril tubing. And so he leans and pulls, his left ankle moving to quickly stress the hobbling chain, his stride very much limited. He is chagrined to find that the ponderous neck collar very much limits the motion of his head. The iron is not only thick but broad, encircling at the throat from his breast bone to just beneath his chin. Its shape is more akin a medical posture collar than a typical implement of bondage. Yes, as designed, its function is to torture and mentally frustrate more than restrain... and it is effective.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Short Story IX

Anybody reading?


Gratefully the angle of late afternoon sun brings a degree of coolness. There also come light breezes. With the beast’s suderiferous nakedness, there is almost felt a chill despite the heat of well whipped buttocks.

The Princess appears to nap, but her oral servant remains unseen... at least not his face and head. He has sedulously licked, lapped, sucked and swirled with his enormous tongue for hours. Bronzed effeminate buttocks flash from under the many folds of silk.

As the Princess suggested, trained for no other purpose, his castration has brought unfettered devotion to the pleasure of she who snipped. The beast notes the remnants of maleness peeking back between parted thighs. Showing his castration while orally serving seems to be a cruel mandate, the knees parted in an ungainly manner.

Above the ringing of the nipple bells, the beast hears an occasional sigh of joy. This continues to spur tumescence despite the stinging pain of salty sweat aggravating the dozens of lash marks. The castrated servant forays where his penis once basked in the bliss of royal warm wetness.

When the Princess ceased observing, lying back to absorb the many waves of ecstasy brought forth by the physical caress of tongue and lips... and the joy of slaking vengeance on her one time lover, Kendra mercifully stopped the many snaps of her wrist. Thus the afternoon returns to the daily drudgery of pulling the prong, step after step, each footfall draining not only his limited energy but his life as well.

Kendra exits her shack with water. The beast knows to continue his pace. The capstan is not to slow as he gratefully imbibes. Thus Kendra steps in circle with him as the bottle drains.

The rotation returns the duo to where the Princess languors in continuous cunnilingus. She stirs, the late afternoon coolness beckoning a need to return to reality. She sits upright to note the beast’s unending labor.

“Should he have more weight, Kendra? The thighs and biceps seem to welcome some form of restraint. And I would think a formidable neck collar would be both functionally irritating and somewhat decorative... a nice thick circle of black iron. Make it broad to immobilize his head.”

The Princess arises, pushing away the naked cherub, his chin dripping with her essence. The folds of white silk close as she approaches. Incredibly, a semi stiff manhood renews its stand, stiffening in tribute. A regal hand gesture indicates a pause. Kendra grasps the nostril tubing to still the beast.

“Very skilled with the quirt, Kendra. You whip well.”

“Thank you, your Highness.”

“But what is happening to his penis? It’s leaking.”

“Prostatic fluid, your Highness. It’s the chastity.”

“Well, we can’t have that male gland suffering for too long. It may fail to amuse us if allowed to atrophy. You will need to assure it properly functions and he stiffens for me. Remember, I want a long agonizing existence. His health is important.”

“I believe I can accommodate... and amuse.”

The Princess smiles wryly.

“Good. I’ll have more iron sent. Remember... biceps... thighs... and the larger the neck collar the better. I want him to feel owned.”


Should the beast feel grateful for the period of respite?

Kendra’s coking oven has been fired again. Her powerful arm has again brought the heavy clanks of hammer blows. Strips of hot iron are made to yield to her unequaled strength. At day’s end, the beast kneels, remaining attached to the prong as his right bicep is encircled and hot rivets are hammered into aligned apertures. When cooled such will provide permanence. There will be no key to offer temporary emancipation.

The left bicep is similarly fettered. When Kendra connects the two with a short chain, the beast huffs with the new sense of restraint. It forces awkward posture, his chest thrusts forth.

“Pwease no, Miss Kendra.”

“You’ll get used to it, my beast. The arm bindings will remind of your status and servitude... and not impede your labors.”

Another day brings thigh bands, the hammer seeming to clank in cadence with the beast’s nipple bells. A chain connects as well, measured well not to affect the beast’s shortened stride. It will have another function. The beast notes a large circular link in the middle of the length.

The snug bands and added chains double the burden which the beast must bear. And with such burden there will come new found obedience. Disciplinary weights added to hobbling chain and nipple badges will make his labors nearly impossible. Yes, he knows the quirt stands at the ready, thus comes an inner pledge of complete capitulation. He will circle without resistance, urinate upon demand... and of course orally service with zeal.

Finally, a third day brings the crafting of a neck collar. The Princess has bolstered her command with an offering of iron strips, the thickness of which surpasses that used for the wrist, ankle, bicep, and thigh shackles. The strips yield with difficulty, Kendra careful to assure for snugness without hampering breathing. But the chore becomes a labor of love, the beast’s neck to forever bear an instrument of her creation. He will feel the millstone of her controlling hand each and every moment of each and every day... for a lifetime.

Perhaps it will bring comfort, she reasons. There are those who relish the guidance of a firm woman. The beast’s penis suggests he is one.

With the setting of the sun, two incredibly thick strips of iron have been forged, semi circular segments in the middle will form a circle when joined. Heated rivets will forever hold the strips together, a human neck in between. Once cooled, the collar is not to be removed.

Kendra has taken the time to add rings. The collar can bear a leash. There may be a time when a guiding heavy neck chain will better communicate ownership and control. More symbolic than the effective but relatively dainty nostril tubing. After all, the Princess as suggested he is to be displayed.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Short Story VIII



The naked form leans and steps, his arms pulling at the lengthy wooden prong as his burdened feet challenge the harsh desert soil. The hobbling chain frustratingly limits, and well before a full stride is undertaken, he must step again. Though the capstan is substantial, the leverage of the prong and continuous exertion bring it to slow rotation. Step... step... step... the nipple bells peel and announce the slow continuous exertion. The circle in which the Princess’s consort now lives, his path never deviating, is some hundred feet in circumference. Possibly more, the prong is some twenty feet in length.

No longer required is the tension of Kendra’s hand on the pole and nostril tube. Gratefully, the sting of the quirt is reserved for ‘reminders’, when the bells become silent or fail to ring with enthusiasm. But more likely the nasty strand of leather is snapped for Kendra’s amusement. All will has been ceded to the stern woman of color, she applies pain at her whim.

Yes, the naked beast has become just that... a sluggish animal. There is acceptance. There is curious pride in serving such a masterful woman. There even come intervals of tumescence when she stands arms akimbo and displays her muscled femininity, smiling with the rhythmic chiming of the bells and the outpouring of sweat. The beast’s futile display of virility breaks the tedium and Kendra encourages the bizarre reaction... the penis spontaneously stiffening.

“Make it nice and hard for me, my beast. I like a man to be erect while serving. It is tribute.”

The days become countless. The imagination at first pictures the Princess’s fine nakedness bathing in the liquid labored by his sweat and toil. But with the many days, the hundreds of laps, cerebral activity diminishes. It is only when Kendra comes into view that the mind exits an odd world of nothingness. Thus, despite the threat of the quirt, her presence is welcomed. And with the snap of her quirt, the nasty sting brings awareness, cognizance returning with the resulting shudder of pain causing the nipple bells to ring with vigor.

It is only when he is whipped that he knows he remains alive.

Most weights have been removed. A well disciplined beast knows to earnestly pump water without. But Kendra has placed such in ready access and the threat of return looms. The slightest recalcitrance earns the slow torment of weighty nipple adornments. Pounds of iron can be clipped to the hobbling chain in mere moments.

With the sun high above, at the far off crest comes into view a silhouette, a woman on horseback. Soon the deep thunder of hoofs can be heard above the high pitch of the nipple bells. The neck cranes, straining to lift the head. Eyes struggle to focus, blinking away the streams of sweat. The rotation of the capstan frustratingly takes the visitor out of view. But as the lap is completed, the form notes the arrival of a white stallion. Upon it is the woman who once offered love, luxury and leisure. It is the Princess.

As promised, she visits.

Regally attired, the desert sun and heat require the irony of both covering and coolness. Thus she is in white, diaphanous flowing silk covering all. Only a ravishing face is exposed to the sun’s rays. The sight is juxtaposed by a cherubic saddlemate without a stitch of covering. Sitting astride the saddle facing her is an effeminate bronzed companion, diminutive in stature. The Princess reaches to playfully tweak the exposed nipples. As the young companion giggles in response, her hands shift to lift under the arms to aid her companion’s dismount. The beast notes the cherub is not only naked but hairless.

Kendra joins the duo.

“Welcome your, highness,” she steps forth to curtsy.

“A picnic lunch, Kendra. I have decided to amuse myself in reviewing my livestock.”

The Princess points to saddlebags. Kendra immediately understands she has been requisitioned to assist.

“My little friend has been trained solely for cunnilingus. Not as a house servant,” comes a succinct explanation.

With the rotation of the capstan, the scene continues to unfold to the beast’s rear. But the cerebral input has awakened a dulled mind. He listens. He thinks.

His lover! One time lover. So imposingly beautiful! So omnipotent! And with a naked servant.

Kendra removes the bags and opens. A blanket. Fruit. A bottle of wine. Sandwiches.

“I can pitch some covering, your Highness. It will be modest but offer shade from the sun.”

The Princess nods and Kendra scrambles to her simple abode. Meanwhile the motion of the capstan returns the visitors to view. The beast blinks away more sweat and visually inspects the naked saddlemate.

Yes, completely without hair... cranium and pubes. Though not overly fattened, the uncovered frame is draped with layers of curvy effeminate softness. Puffy nipples adorn slightly plumped breasts. Such have been pierced and bear glimmering jewelry. Then the eyes move lower. The gender is divulged by a tiny penis, also pierced and glimmering with baubles. Below there is revealed the derivation of the curious appearance... nothing to be seen other than a floppy tuft of skin.

Neutered! And at such a young age!

The Princess snaps her fingers and points downward. The servant instantly places his hands behind his head and falls to his knees. A sculpted gam exits the many folds of silk to present a booted foot. The servant bends and kisses.
The Princess turns her head to note that her beast is watching.

“I’ve very much been enjoying my morning baths,” she most pleasantly offers. “I trust it has not been too arduous for you.”

Her boot is being laved, the beast notes the long broad tongue extended well behind the lips. It is the oral appendage of a barnyard animal!

Meanwhile the Princess turns up her head and laughs skyward with her sardonic wit.

“Enough,” she commands as the rotation again takes the beast to the far perimeter of his limited

Kendra returns from her shack bearing tools. Massive arms work to pound into the desert soil two posts. A section of canvas is strung between to form a lean-to and offer shade. The blanket is arranged. The Princess will lunch in relative coolness. Some twenty feet away, her beast will continuously labor in the scorching sun.

“Much weight, Kendra. Your bindings are wonderfully gothic,” the Princess compliments as she gracefully moves to sit.

“Thank you, your Highness.”

“Can you whip him for me? His deceitfulness is most deserving. I can’t bear the thought of him having a moment of comfort in my presence.”

“Of course, your Highness.”

As Kendra steps away to retrieve her quirt, the beast notes that the Princess parts the many folds of her attire and wriggles her finger. The naked servant smiles and springs from his kneeling position.

“Snipped at just the right age. Trained for nothing other than oral servitude. I am sure you’ve noted the reason for his unsurpassed loyalty.”

The Princess addresses her beast, speaking as she reaches to palm and caress the empty scrotal sac.

“Castrates seem to develop a bond with their castrator, my beast. There comes a curious adoration and they can become quite focused. It seems that the testosterone levels of the intact male causes diversion... amorous diversion... bringing disloyalty which ostensibly leads to pleasure. But in the end... much aggravation and frustration comes instead. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The Princess unfurls the tight empty sac... the vestiges of maleness. She assures that the beast notes her display of the altered organs then wickedly smiles, releasing her tender grasp. The naked servant eagerly dives to the blanket, lies prostrate and works his head between her knees and welcoming thighs... his goal more than evident.
“Yes, a fascinating level of devotion. My pleasure has vicariously become his.”

For some reason, the scene brings arousal. The beast slowly begins to stiffen, thoughts of that broad tongue exploring where he once had sole invitation.

Kendra returns, quirt in hand.

“He appears bored, Kendra. But he’s also becoming erect.”

“Yes, your Highness. It’s the chastity. And governing women seem to excite.”

“Well then there is no point is denying him much excitement. Slow and steady. I have wine... I have food... I have an energetic and well trained tongue to amuse me.”

Kendra applies a moderate beginning lash to the right buttock. The beast spasms in his bonds to alter the rhythmic chiming of his nipple bells. He hears laughter. He knows too well of the oral treat presented beneath the covering of white silk.

Though the quirt pains, he feels his penis throb with continuing engorgement.

Yes, the Princess will be well entertained.