Short Story XXVII

Some CFNM. A subtle form of D/s interaction, but curiously enjoyable for me.

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“So good of you to visit, your Majesty.”

Whereas many of those who greet the Queen utter insincere words of flattery, the Baroness is in earnest. Amongst the women of the Kingdom, the Queen is idolized. Under her rule there are well controlled husbands, abundant oral servitude, and most gratifying sex, offered by gigolos of great prowess whenever the urge percolates. The Gynecocracy flourishes.

“I am warmed by your hospitality, Baroness. I trust bringing my servants is not burdensome. They will not eat, drink nor become bothersome in any manner.”

“Of course not, your Majesty.”

“Besides, I think it is appropriate for your daughters, observing the interaction of superior female and subservient male, don’t you think?’

“Yes, of course.”

Following the Queen into the Baron’s mansion... of late more frequently referred to as the Baroness’s mansion... are her beast and the cherubic castrate whose tongue as been trained to dance.

“Corner!” comes a simple command as the Queen points, riding crop in hand.

The parlor of the mansion is vast, designed to accommodate many. The beast has been assigned a far corner where he will be exhibited. His chains clank, noisily slithering across the tile floor as he knows to obediently assume a stance of quiet submission. For his travels he bears the prostate stimulator and weights have been added... to nipple badges and hobbling chain. He will not dash off in escape. And his ponderous presentation sends the desired message... the Queen rules over all things male!

“Keep him firm,” comes a command to the naked castrate.

The hermaphrodite skips behind. When the beast positions himself, he kneels to suck the scrotal sac.

“I would like to introduce my daughters, your majesty.”

“Of course. It is the purpose of my tour of the Kingdom to spread the gospel of gynecocracy... that women here are empowered. And you have a son as well.”

“Yes, your Majesty. Not yet of age for the cockcage.”

“I see. So he is being masturbated.”

“Yes, regularly, your Majesty. By the maids.”

“Good. He’ll most feel the drudgery of chastity when it is his turn to serve.”

Into the parlor step the adolescent daughters. Young, pretty, demure, each curtsies, their eyes wandering to the odd duo in the corner... a naked well chained male... an equally naked, neutered oral servant.

“Good afternoon, ladies. I see you find my entourage of interest,” the Queen graciously greets.

“Yes, your Majesty,” the eldest daughter meekly offers.

“As you are aware things have changed under my rule. You should know that the chained one, his penis standing as tribute to his governess, was once my lover. Had he not demonstrated typical male behavior, he would now be Prince Consort, a man of great influence. Instead he squandered the benefits of my devotion by sharing affection, what belonged to me as Princess, with a chambermaid. He now shares affection with another male... a one time male.”

The daughters titter, warming to the words of confidence and the display of dominion. As intended, the impressionable girls feel imbued with a degree of power of their own in the presence of the Queen and her well controlled male servants.

“And in a way I am grateful to my beast. But for his disloyalty, there would not have been awakened within this sense of governance, this epiphany that the male is best ruled... by a woman of purpose.”

Sauntering into the room, bashfully stepping behind a couch, a young male reluctantly presents himself. He is naked. And it is apparent that in a room of fully clothed women, his state of deshabille is of concern.

“My son, your Majesty,” the Baroness suppressing a smile.

“Come here lad. My decree of nudity for the male is so that you be displayed and humbled. I note the latter objective has been attained.”

The lad steps forth.

“Your hands, Murtoff. In the presence of ladies...” the Baroness reminds.

The hands move to rest atop the head as the young male somewhat prances. When commanded by a woman, his shyness melts, obediently moving with alacrity.

“So... Murtoff is your name.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“And what is your new role in this household... a bastion of female supremacy in my realm of gynecocracy.”

“I clean the toilets, your majesty.”

“Good. A suitable charge. Henceforth, Murtoff, I want you to lick the brims when your task is completed. That will assure your best efforts... and begin to build the strength of that tongue of yours. You will need it.”

The daughters giggle. The Queen notes their enjoyment of Murtoff’s discomfort, standing naked before the attired Queen... comfortably but regally nonetheless.

“Yes, Baroness, I see my decree is functioning well. Your daughters are well amused,” the Queen’s crop hand lowering, the soft leather finding the tip of Murtoff’s penis.

“You are masturbated by the maids, Murtoff. Yet, you seem to be stiffening. You remain randy.”

“It happens, your Majesty,” the lad stammers, struggling to find the words as his young organ absorbs the commanding yet strangely sensuous touch.

“That is good. As you see in viewing my beast, I like the sight of the erect penis... when properly controlled. When did this little thing last spew seed?”

“It was... it was... two nights ago your Majesty.”

“Well that must seem like an eternity for a lad of your age.”

Murtoff remains silent. He has no basis for judging, the release of his semen completely under the auspices of the maids.

“It must be wonderfully conflicting for you, Murtoff, being stroked by a maid. There is the ultimate pleasure... but also the ultimate humiliation. What is the regimen for his masturbation?”

“Here in the parlor, before the women of the household, your Majesty. It is best for him,” the Baroness matter-of factly offers.

“Well then, perhaps an exhibition for me. Before dinner.”

“I will get the maids, your Majesty. We usually have Murtoff stroked right here. The glass top of the coffee table makes for a most humbling receptacle for his sperm. And there is plenty of room for the girls to watch... and all the other maids as well.”

“Then so be it. Whom am I to deny you the joy of observing such an enthralling household ritual.”