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.

“Kneel.”

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.”

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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.”