Short Story XXVIII

You women are so cruel!

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The maids are summoned. The Baroness offers her simple words, ones which Murtoff both welcomes and detests.

“Drain him please, ladies.”

“No. Please not in front of so many,” the young male protests.

“Hush, Murtoff. The Queen is to be amused.”

The uniformed duo, one young, one of middle age, need not a second invitation. They smirk. The woman of middle age sits on the couch facing the glass table. She lifts the hem of her uniform, a flowing ankle length skirt, well up to her hip. Beneath is revealed a shapely gam, a thigh not overly plump but of abundant firm feminine flesh. The second maid, young, pretty grabs Murtoff by his ear. When he offers a modicum of resistant, he receives a resounding smack on his right buttock. This brings laughter from his sisters and a knowing smile from the Baroness.

“No matter the level of satisfaction offered, for some reason he resists,” the Baroness comments. “Godiva is from Scandinavia and has masturbated boys all her career. The hands of an angel. Yet there is so little appreciation for her talents.”

The pretty maid positions Murtoff facing the coffee table his back side to Godiva. The observing eyes of the women note that he stiffens more, the Queen’s crop serving as catalyst, the ignominy of appearing naked and being commanded by a maid seeming to complete the lad’s march to full tumescence.

Using the ear as leverage, Murtoff is bent at the waist. A knowing hand quickly offers lubrication to his anus. He is then positioned to straddle the sizable uncovered thigh. As he is directed to sit, the Queen notes that the fingers Godiva’s left hand slowly impale his rectum.

“You work his prostate... at such a young age?”

“They are all the same, your Majesty. They will moan, object, lurch about, wriggle in protest but in the end they enjoy... and it is best for them,” the matronly Godiva offers with confidence.

The Queen nods, noting that as the pretty maid releases the ear and moves to the side, Murtoff displays a raging erection. She also notes the hands obediently remain atop his head.

“He is of good size, Baroness. He will not enjoy being caged.”

The women collectively laugh. Murtoff has not yet realized that as intense as the humiliation is, adulthood will be worse. But at his age, one cannot sit back and docilely submit to a woman’s commanding touch. Yet he does. His antics are insignificant to the process. In the end he will most shamefully give up his seed.

The right arm of Godiva slides over the flesh of Murtoff’s right hip. A hand finds the standing manhood and ever so gently begins to toy. Godiva is indeed masterful, her fingers dance and bring mirth to the observing women as Murtoff finds that his organ inadvertently waggles in response. The Queen smiles knowingly. There is no doubt that the unseen fingers of the left hand furtively knead well within the lad’s anus. The Baroness has hired well.

Within moments Murtoff begs.

“Please, stroke and let me spend.”

“But you did not want to feel Miss Godiva’s touch a moment ago,” the Baroness chides.

All laugh. Godiva jostles her leg. Murtoff rides as if on a pony, helpless to resist, his penis bobbing about. The Queen imagines that the warm flesh of the thigh pressing against the youthful scrotal sac must augment the sensate input. Murtoff appears overwhelmed, yet Godiva’s hand has yet to fully stroke.

Meanwhile, the kitchen empties, more of the Baroness’s staff join the entourage, word out that the young ‘master’ of the house is being made to perform.

“You know you must ask for some clips, Murtoff. You know that pretty young Minerva so much enjoys decorating you. If you take a clip perhaps I will stroke,” Godiva lectures.

Godiva proves to be quite the tease, withholding what the turgid shaft most demands. The Queen notes that the young maid, Minerva, retracts trinkets from the pocket of her uniform.

“I don’t want him to ever feel pure pleasure, your Majesty. We’ve devised a little ritual which demonstrates feminine control, amuses my girls and in the end teaches Murtoff a lesson... that all pleasure comes at a price,” the Baroness explains.

The penis tip turns from deep crimson to purple. Despite the frequency of masturbatory displays the sisters gawk. A finger tip diddles the underside of the standing erection. Finally Murtoff pleads, the words expected.

“I will take a clip, please.”

Minerva smiles. For the first time Queen notes a tinge of sadism, her look transforming from pleasant amusement to libidinous joy.

“Where shall the first clamp go, girls?” the calm voice disguising her eagerness.

“A nipple,” the younger sister proclaims with glee.

Minerva steps forth, the fingers of her left hand gather some flesh of the right male mammary gland. The right succinctly applies a small but cruelly serrated clamp to the very tip. Murtoff howls in agony and the Queen notes that Godiva times her first fervent stroke of the penis to coincide. Yes her grip finally firms, slowly drawing down the entire length, instantly countering the pain of the nipple clamp.

The Queen notes Murtoff’s flesh, the many small bumps those of goose flesh. With the howl, there is intensity of pain... but also of pleasure. Yes, Murtoff will not take well to being caged. His forthcoming chastity will be most frustrating... the masturbation of the male in this household a most cathartic ritual... which though painful and humiliating will be missed.

“Another stroke, Murtoff? Minerva has many clamps.”

“His scrotum,” the older sister cries out before Murtoff can reply.