Saturday, December 5, 2009

Short Story V

Any suggestions for a title?


“Impressive considering it’s nearly one hundred years old. And where in this desert land would all this lumber be found.”

Kendra marvels in gazing at the ancient contraption installed by the deceased King many years before to pump water from the deep well. She speaks as she leads. Entwined in her right hand is the nostril tubing. In her left a heavy box and a thin pole.

She walks. The naked well shackled form shuffles to follow, stooped at the waist in deference to her lowered leash hand, laboring to ensure slack on the agonizing tubing penetrating his head. His face is mere inches from the dark flesh of her uncovered buttocks. The hillocks are amazingly well formed, perfect globes, and certainly more robust than typical female gluteals. There is impressive muscling, and it strangely attracts.

Oddly, there comes another twinge of arousal as for the first time the form experiences the full weight of his permanent additions. All unnecessarily thick and heavy, the huge links clank, the hobbling chain slithering across the scabrous desert floor. His legs strain mightily. Yet he feels himself somewhat stiffen. Does the stimulation result from being bound? A woman’s controlling hand? The proximity to such well shaped and powerful feminine charms?

His steps are short and many compared to Kendra’s leisurely stride. And when she looks back she beams with that confident smile. Control... thorough governance over a hapless and helpless male beast... and he will indeed become a beast... such brings comfort. Perhaps glee.

Perched atop a large pole within a circular wall of stone there rests a capstan of heavy wood. The pole disappears into the depths of the earth, presumably connected to a pumping device. Emanating from the circular capstan are four prongs, similar to the spokes of a bicycle wheel. Something, someone, has over the century labored to push the prongs, turn the capstan and draw water from deep below.

“There are modern electrical motors installed now, my pet. But the Princess prefers her water to be offered by the humble sweat and toil of her former lover... her duplicitous lover. Well bound, naked and endlessly tormented, think how soothing her bath will be.”

Kendra laughs as the struggling feet scramble to follow to one of the prongs.

“Lift your hands. Bend at the elbow.”

In complying the short chain of the wrist shackles glides up the spine. Kendra then pushes and maneuvers, positioning such that the prong slips under the left elbow, is pressed against the back and then, as the form is directed to move sideways, likewise slips under the right elbow.

“I assume at one time that oxen or some other livestock were connected to this. Now it will be you.”

Kendra grasps the nostril tubing and kicks behind the knees.


The command is superfluous as her powerful foot instantly brings the form to the desert soil. The prong lowers, hinged at the capstan, evidently designed to accommodate creatures of various size and height. The form quickly comes to understand that he and the capstan are one.

“This is your new home, my pet. You will labor here, sleep here, eat here. And entertain here of course,” Kendra adds with a laugh.

The heavy box and pole is placed nearby. Kendra moves to stand at the form’s front, lowering her hands to gently cradle his face. Her mons is within inches. The delightful fragrance of the feminine love sheath wafts. Kendra smiles in noting that the form breathes in deeply, capturing the redolence of her undouched femininity. It is only the subservient male tongue that cleanses there.

“The rules. You will either kneel in rest or step in toil to work the pump. You will urinate and defecate under my supervision. Eat what I offer. Drink what I offer.”

The fingers of the right hand slip between the lips and capture the tongue, tugging vigorously to expose it to the desert sunlight. The form winces in pain, the underside not completely healed from the quick but cruel alteration. Kendra ignores the pained reaction and begins what will become twice daily tongue stretching and strengthening. Up... down... right... left... she whimsically tugs, the appendage no longer his to control. The form feels the tension, senses pain where little has ever been felt.

“Yes, my pet. This will become your only functioning sex organ. And you’ll extend it for me at my whim. I don’t want to have to keep searching for it... though it cannot hide.”

Is it imaginary? The tongue indeed seems to grow, the tip tugged well beyond its former capable range.

“And there will be times when I want to inspect you. At the command of ‘balls’, you will stop, bend at the waist, forehead to the soil and spread your feet as far as the hobbling chain permits. The prong permits such motion. I like fondling a man’s testicles... actually more than fondle. I have neutered men with my fingers, my pet. It requires practice but some very tiny nerves along with sperm ducts can be crushed with firm, sharp and lasting pinches at the proper spot. And the Kingdom’s jail is full of castrates who can tell you I regularly find the right spot.”

Kendra laughs in feeling the form shudder in fear. Her resolve, her misandry, is apparent, altering with her bare hands.

“You heard the Princess. You are to be worked. But when you slow... no longer able to respond to my whip and commands... it is then that I may as well pluck your balls. And after rendering a man sterile with my fingers, I usually surgically castrate as well. Precludes gangrene.”

“Pwease no,” the form beseeches, the wet tongue escaping her grasp.

The entreaty earns a wickedly boisterous laugh.

“Oh yes. You will have great incentive to keep the palace brimming with water.”

The hands lower to the chest. There, deeply skewering the nipples are the once heated needles. Kendra’s fingers twirl both right and left, noting the cauterized skin is healing. She then slowly slips the long shards from their nests.

“Not heavy enough my pet. You’re going to bear weight while you labor for the Princess.”

Kendra steps to the box. She retrieves a pair of nipple badges. Crude circles of wrought iron to match his bonds. Heavy, black and gothic. Only a slim bar suggests a degree of dainty elegance, and the form quickly realizes that that portion is not to be seen. It is to penetrate his new openings.

“I must compliment myself on my own contrivance. Heavy, yet able to torment the most sensitive of flesh. Once clipped in place, most difficult to remove. And you see here?.. I can add weights.”

As Kendra speaks, the slim bar of one badge is inserted into the opening of right nipple. There comes the sound of a ominous click as a clasp is closed. When Kendra withdraws her fingers the form gasps with the sudden added weight where little has ever had to be borne. The badge also pinches the incredibly sensitive areola.

She laughs.

“Oh, you’ll become accustomed... over time. And time is something of which you will have much.”

The left nipple is similarly adorned to the sound of another gasp.

“Now let’s get you properly weighted. I like bringing a man to a good sweat. It offers the satisfaction of achievement.”

From the box comes numerous lumps of iron, both large and small. Three large are connected to the hobbling chain which the form will drag in a circle along the desert floor. Then, as if decorating a Christmas tree, Kendra stands and clips several smaller weights to each nipple badge.

“Yes, you’re going to labor hard... and in pain. And a good beast will learn to earn a reward. As easy as weight can be added to your bondage.... it can also be removed. So my pet, I suggest you show discipline, acceptance of your status as an animal, and begin to display contrition. Though such display will merely amuse.”

Two final additions, to be heard not felt. To the nipple baubles are added bells... one right, one left. Kendra flicks with her fingers and the action results in simple chiming. The sound brings a smile.

Next, the nostril tubing is connected to the slim pole. Then Kendra finally empties the box. Her left hand wields a quirt. Short, thin, a single strand of leather which will bite horribly.

“I can whip a man with either hand my pet. Much practice in the Queen’s jails.”

The right hand grasps the end of the pole, some four feet in length. She pulls upwards and with a simultaneous snap of her left wrist, the form feels the amazing searing burn of the simplest of strokes to his right buttock. He instantly struggles to his feet, bells ringing the weight offering surprising resistance.

Yet, he must not yield to the weight. He must fight... the nostril pain, his searing buttock all mandate instant compliance.

Then comes the utmost in humiliation. As Kendra holds the pole high, forcing the form’s face to point skyward, the left hand lowers. He feels the quirt gently stroke the sensitive underside of his penis. It is standing. And Kendra snickers noting that her charge is fully erect.

“Yes, you are learning my pet. There comes the curious adoration of a governing woman. I have seen it often.”


Anonymous said...

I'm liking this story a lot. wonderfully written (as usual).

I do have a suggestion: It's hard for me to imagine a woman like Kendra cackling. Cackling brings to (my)mind the laughter of an old crone. I think a women like Kendra would have more of a throaty chuckle or an amused laugh that puts that giant bust in motion - lol.

Anyway, thanks for sharing your story!

Chris Bellows said...

Ok. To cackle...

1. to utter a shrill, broken sound or cry, as of a hen.
2. to laugh in a shrill, broken manner.
3. to chatter noisily; prattle.

Not too figuratively distant from my intent.

However, Kendra now snickers, offers a boisterously wicked laugh, and a sardonic laugh.



Jane said...

You've really got him deliciously bound. I love her dialogue. wonderful CB...and I am only at chapter 5.