Saturday, August 28, 2010

Free Story on Lulu/The Masturbatrix

A slow Saturday morning and no ideas, limited inspiration for writing.

So I found an old story, posted years ago on some kinky sites, that may serve to amuse.

It's rather whimsical, a fantasy setting a little over the top compared to my recent stuff.

But I like it.

The Masturbatrix from 2002. The complete story of some 14,000 words is offered for free. See


Copyright 2002 by Chris Bellows

Part One

Even as a teenager, the male phallus had fascinated Ms. Lucinda Contrell, but not in the normal sense of youthful wonderment and curiosity. No, Lucinda Contrell’s interest was in control..., manipulation..., making the odd cylinder of flesh stand for her..., and after a suitable interval of play, suitable for her enjoyment of course, perhaps..., just perhaps..., permitting it to attain the strange spasmodic release which its custodian seemed to think was its paramount function.

And so Ms. Lucinda Contrell, respectfully called Miss Lucinda by her male underlings, considered her position of employment to be the pinnacle of her fulfilling career as the masturbator of boys.

Yes, years before at age 28 Miss Lucinda had quickly risen to the position of Chief Masturbatrix at the infamous Degradation Club, that secretive but notorious enclave where the wealthy Dominant women of the world vent their demented proclivities.

There were other employees of the club who achieved noteworthy status at a young age. The Whipmistress was 30. The Director of Bondage had been promoted to her exulted status at age 27. There were excellent nurses, fresh out of school, who could psychologically break the most belligerent of recruits within an hour of having him strapped to the examination table. But all admired Miss Lucinda’s skill, an unusual combination of both physical strength and knowledge of the male anatomy that proved to be so entertaining for the grateful members of the Club..., entertaining and rewarding.

Miss Lucinda learned early on that delighting the members of the Degradation Club could not only provide self satisfaction but could also be tremendously lucrative. Gratuities were generously offered for a pleasing exhibition of male humiliation, and so at age 32 Miss Lucinda’s bank account was continuing to grow along with her talent and her desire to provide the ultimate exhibition..., having a virile tumefied young male squirm for climactic release, but extending his torment until that most coveted moment..., when a subtle nod or perhaps a casual motion of the hand of a woman..., yes a Dominant woman..., signaled Lucinda to finally allow the slippery, turgid manhood to ignominiously empty itself, spewing male seed in the direction of her choosing.

Normally a young male would welcome the opportunity to ejaculate. But when restrained in Miss Lucinda’s masturbation harness, swinging helplessly at the end of a soft but taut nylon rope, with various Dominant females ogling well-exposed genitals, the ordeal proved to be mentally overwhelming, imparting upon the naked male an indescribable level of embarrassment, which of course added a welcomed dimension for the viewing members and guests.

Miss Lucinda’s day begins with the driver of the Club’s limousine patiently awaiting her descent from her lavish Fifth Avenue coop apartment. He cautiously reads the paper, frequently glancing out to ensure Miss Lucinda does not step out of the lobby elevator early. When the dashboard clock reads 6:59 a.m., he puts aside the paper and exits. Miss Lucinda may occasionally be early, but she is never late. Thus, even on a cold winter’s day he humbly stands outdoors knowing that if it is Miss Lucinda’s hand that reaches the door handle first, there will be a price to be paid.

The large windows of the lobby reveal the arrival of the elevator. Miss Lucinda exits. She is radiant in her simple attire and make up. Since her first endeavor of the day will be an extensive workout in the Club’s gymnasium, Miss Lucinda expends little effort in enhancing her natural beauty. Still, she draws attention. Standing at more than six feet and some 170 pounds, she is noticed. And as a woman of color traversing the lobby of one of new York’s most exclusive residential buildings, her focused march causes heads to turn. The doorman once commented that he didn’t need to look to know that Ms. Lucinda Contrell had entered the lobby, he could feel the concrete floor move and sense from the hushed reaction that the tall ebony goddess was distracting all present from both conversations and chores.

So on this cold morning the doorman once again senses her arrival, this time by just looking at the driver straighten up in a comical attempt to make himself appear more than the mere obsequious male that he is.

Before needing to turn his head, he swings open the large glass door, then pivots to greet the Coop’s most alluring resident.

“Good morning, Ms. Contrell.”

Miss Lucinda returns the greeting but without hesitation proceeds to the car where the driver’s quavering hand dutifully pulls open the rear door.

“Good morning Miss Lucinda,” the driver using the more familiar diminutive.

Little do the employees and residents of the Coop realize that in utilizing the moniker the driver acknowledges her status as Chief Masturbatrix within the Degradation Club hierarchy. It pleases her.

“You’ve spilled coffee, Albert,” Miss Lucinda comments with a smile.

A doe skinned gloved hand reaches out, ostensibly to highlight the offending spot. But with her back shielding Albert from the eyes of the curious doorman, a knowing hand does more than to point out a beige stain on Albert’s white shirt. It briefly traces over the cloth then moves downward to the front of the black slacks. A crooked index finger smooths over the zippered area where a man normally welcomes a woman’s touch. Albert’s shoulders straighten more, bringing himself to an ingrained and humbled posture of attention before the imposing black beauty.

“Things like this earn you a stint with the Miss Stenson.”

The mere mention of the name causes Albert’s knees to partially buckle. Miss Stenson is the Club’s Whipmistress, and the image of her perfectly proportioned, booted, gloved and leather- clad body invokes fear.

Still, even with the trepidation, the briefest of caresses from the most accomplished Masturbatrix has its effect. Albert feels himself stiffen. The fact that Miss Lucinda is also well aware of his subservient reaction causes to rapidly cascade the process of achieving erection. Albert can do nothing other than to feign pleasant conversation while Miss Lucinda expertly brings him to full tumescence with a simple digit of her right hand.

Age old memories of hanging in her harness accelerate the process. And Albert involuntarily closes his eyes as within seconds Miss Lucinda’s single finger causes his slacks to tent.

“I hope the steering wheel won’t cause discomfort,” Miss Lucinda laughingly observes as she mercifully terminates her guileless but effective efforts and enters the limousine.

Albert closes the door and moves quickly to the driver’s door, hoping that his bulging pants are not noticed. In achieving his 21st birthday, his duties changed from that of naked and caged sycophant, humbly awaiting Miss Lucinda’s skilled hand, to that of staff servant. But still, the pay is good and Albert is sanguine knowing that if he begs enough, one of the Club’s nurses may take pity, strip him and let him lick her shoes during a lunch or coffee break. Otherwise, his advanced age of 23 obviates any further ejaculatory displays before a gathering of Degradation Club members.

And so, as an aroused Albert steers the lengthy black car into traffic, he calms his excitement by convincing himself that a certain blond German nurse will find his stiffness amusing enough to supervise the taking of a sperm sample, something normally done with only the newly arrived youthful applicants. But Albert soon finds that Miss Lucinda is correct, the zipper covering the bulbous tip of his maleness brushes the steering wheel and with each turn his arousal heightens.

With the early hour the car speeds through normally crowded Manhattan streets. Reaching 57th Street Albert hears the calm, authoritative voice of his passenger.

“You may unzip, Albert. You appear uncomfortable.”

There are only two blocks remaining in the journey. Albert hopes the sidewalk will be void of pedestrians, for when he complies with Miss Lucinda’s ‛suggestion’ his erection pops through the opening in his pants. The exposure and the fear of a passerby peering through the windshield spurs Albert to accelerate through a changing traffic light. He leans to activate the button for the overhead garage door and in so doing presses his penis against the steering wheel. It feels good. Albert begins to conspire for relief. The Club facilities are well monitored and it has been made very clear that unauthorized masturbation can subject a male to the nastiest of punishments.

Alas, a visit to the nurse will definitely be in order, he concludes.

The clandestine Degradation Club occupies three deep subterranean floors in a Midtown skyscraper. The garage door provides the only entrance and facilitates anonymous visits by the wealthy famous members. No one knows who rides in the back of the daily parade of arriving darkened limousines until the vehicles stop in the very bowels of the building. Thus once Albert enters, his exposed manhood, however embarrassing, will not subject him to the ridicule of the vanilla world or possible interdiction by law enforcement officers.

Albert notices an ambling pedestrian approaching the sidewalk near the garage. Again he accelerates and whips the large auto through the open door before he needs to pause to let the elderly prudish woman cross in front. After passing over the sidewalk, the rear view mirror shows that the overhead door immediately closes. A relieved Albert guides the limousine down a circular ramp.

The space occupied by the Club was originally intended for use as a vault for a large brokerage firm. Numerous mergers within the securities industry made the secured footage superfluous. A certain well known real estate magnate, a one time subservient to a prominent member of the Club, provides the vast space at a nominal rent. Rather graphic photos proved to out weight the economic remuneration the space would normally command. Thus somewhere in the Club’s archives is an unbreakable 99 year lease safely tucked away along with negatives that are said to be luridly revealing for the landlord..., a man whose extensive but leveraged holdings require that he have the respect of staid bankers.

Continued use of the basement floors at a less than reasonable monthly payment insures that his photographs remain secure and that he will continue to command such respect. It is wry that the amount of money involved is immaterial to the wealthy members of the club. It is the notion that their membership facility and the pleasure derived therefrom is at the expense of a lowly male that adds a mirthful degree of irony to their escapades.

The car is barely stopped as Albert leaps from the drivers seat to open the rear door for Miss Lucinda. His phallus points straight forward through his trousers and brings a smile from the accomplished Masturbatrix. For a woman who commands such obedience from the male organ, it is a wonderfully servile tribute. Soft gloved hands reach down. Albert remains at attention as a knowing left hand deftly slips into the unzipped opening to find a pair of male eggs. She firmly squeezes while the fingers of the right hand diddle the most sensitive underside of the prepuce. Miss Lucinda gently strokes and feels the penis twitch. Albert’s hips lurch forward, welcoming the amazingly sensuous touch.

“You have a nice day, Albert.”

Miss Lucinda pulls the stiff manhood downward then quickly withdraws her hands. The extreme stiffness causes the bulbous purple head to snap upwards and hit the belt buckle with a noticeable thud. Albert grimaces. An amused Miss Lucinda strides away with a wicked snicker. The gymnasium awaits.

Few males have ever had the pleasure of watching the Chief Masturbatrix of the Degradation Club as she immerses her muscular body in an exhaustive work out. Stripping down to ‛G’ string and sport bra, Miss Lucinda appears to be a well muscled show girl. And indeed, as she stands before the floor to ceiling mirrored wall, her reflection reveals an interesting contrast of soft, smooth, coffee-colored flesh covering well developed power. The results of daily workouts are beautifully shaped legs, buttocks which distract, rippled abdominal muscles and arms whose size resemble those of a wrestler, except the feminine covering adds a delightfully teasing degree of viewing intrigue, causing observers to question how a body so alluring could also lift and pump such incredible weightage.

But it is Miss Lucinda’s unseen muscle development which proves to be the feature most facilitating her role. Years of special exercise have imbued her with the grip of a blacksmith. In lighter moments she amuses Club members by cracking walnuts in the palms of her hand and on occasion removing the tops of soda bottles without benefit of a standard opener.

Yes, Club members find the demonstrations particularly amusing when their imaginations picture such puissant hands wrapped about the shaft of an engorged male organ, daring the hapless owner to ejaculate without the consent of the Chief Masturbatrix and the viewing audience.

And so the voyeuristic members find merriment in watching the ebony giantess apply her power, extracting the ultimate in humiliation for the entertainment of all, knowing that young males will cede total control to this amazing woman.

Every pore opens. Perspiration beads and drips to the gymnasium floor. The bright lights cause her wet skin to shine.

The morning session ends with twenty minutes of squeezing the grip developer. Even well conditioned males find it difficult to close the springed handles of the device. Miss Lucinda whips through dozens and dozens of repetitions, alternating from right hand to left. The resulting squeaking sound produces a cadence which brings satisfaction. The final part of the routine is to pose before the large mirror and flex. Miss Lucinda finds gratification in the glistening image shining back. Years before, some staff members suggested that she model for body building products. She smiles in recalling the idea as her frame expands and certain muscles spread like the neck of a cobra about to strike its prey. It is an intriguing thought for anyone to have their body highlighted and portrayed as superior. But alas, her bursting bank account suggests that her time is better spent within the walls of the Club.

Refreshing ablutions are well deserved and the day’s tasks require attention. Miss Lucinda showers then dons a large robe for the short walk to her office. By 9:00 a.m. the Chief Masturbatrix sits at her desk reviewing her calendar and the day’s work orders. There is a new arrival to be interviewed. The heiress of a Swedish auto manufacturer has a group of friends visiting the club for a lunch and requests the presence of a particularly well endowed young male. In the late afternoon some members have requested that their bridge game terminate with a suitable display of obeisant naked flesh. ‛Large low hanging testicles’ is written in bold letters at the bottom of the request form. All three encounters will involve Miss Lucinda’s skills of course. It is the job of the Chief Masturbatrix to evaluate each new arrival. And every Club member enjoys watching her ply her handiwork.

All in a day’s work.

Miss Lucinda presses an intercom button.

“Margie, I’ll need the standard black latex skirt and halter top. Bring a thigh strap also.”

The Club’s uniforms are cleaned nightly and centrally stored. Most employees retrieve their attire upon arriving for work. But Margie, the clothing clerk, insists on bringing the uniform to Miss Lucinda and for her efforts she is afforded the opportunity to assist. Margie prefers the company of women and Miss Lucinda has long ago put aside her superficial aversion to bisexual dalliances. Within a minute a knock announces Margie’s arrival and Miss Lucinda stands to remove her robe.

When the door swings open Margie is greeted by the vision of her six foot ebony goddess standing naked, the tautness of her frame evidencing the many morning workouts. Margie gawks. Her eyes cannot avoid breasts which defy gravity and a trimmed pudendum which seems to beg for the attention of her lips.

Margie herself is a pleasant eyeful. Having served for three years as one of the Club’s rutting girls, age required that the cute blond rotate into a more mundane role. But under her plain blue cloth pullover dress remains the body of a ‛go go’ dancer. Only her complete disdain for the male gender inhibited her early career of tucking dollar bills under the slimmest of ‛G’ strings. A Club member visiting her swanky but sordid place of employment caught not only her dance performance but also recognized her distaste for having sweaty, meaty hands sneak a feel with each proffer of cash.

There ensued a discussion concerning potential employment at the Club. It was short. Nudity was not a problem for a girl who spent many hours of each day strutting before fat oversexed males. The offer of money was more than adequate. But it was the Club’s raison d’etre which made the decision easy. As a rutting girl, Margie would remain nude, but no male hand would ever again touch her. And there would be a price to be paid by her new audience for gazing at her fine form, well beyond that of modest dollars..., that of complete subjugation.

“Good morning, Margie. You look good this morning.”

Margie suppresses a bashful smile and hands her idol the short skirt. With her envious gape comes an irrepressible silence as Miss Lucinda wraps the unusual garment about her waist.

“Can you help me with the halter.”

It is a ritualistic tease which Margie seems to enjoy. The latex halter is extremely thin and fits over Miss Lucinda’ s torso like a second layer of skin. It is sleeveless and zips closed in the back. Thus in providing assistance the pretty daughter of Sappho gains proximity and the opportunity to briefly caress the smooth chocolate skin as she pulls together the folds and forces the zipper into its track. Margie finds Miss Lucinda’s freshly showered body most exhilarating. She presses her hips against the amazingly powerful latex covered buttocks as she works. Miss Lucinda smiles.

Margie may enjoy a visit to her Fifth Avenue coop, Miss Lucinda thinks to herself. Meanwhile fraternizing on employer time means termination. So a new arrival must be interviewed and Margie must return to her duties. But lastly...,

“Can you attach the thigh strap, Margie. You know I like it in the exact middle.”

Margie kneels as Miss Lucinda lifts and opens the front of the short skirt. Since there are no undergarments, and the simple length of latex folds in the front, Miss Lucinda’s genitalia are once again exposed. When she parts her legs and moves her right foot forward, the musky scent of soap mixing with burgeoning feminine fragrance wafts through the room.

Margie’s hands quiver with the excitement of arousal as she encircles the huge thigh with the strap. It is important to apply the correct tension and Margie works to hitch and buckle at the point of proper tautness without impeding circulation.

“Align the base, please.”

The strap will undergo much stress over the course of the day’s activities. The base holds the various implements which Miss Lucinda will attach and use to anally penetrate the rectums of her prey. The clever configuration leaves both her hands free, the utility of which every boy at the Club fully understands. Margie concludes her endeavors by quickly wrapping her hands about Miss Lucinda’s rounded cheeks and thrusting her head under the elevated skirt. A kiss is planted atop Miss Lucinda’s sex before an admonishment can be uttered. Margie sheepishly arises.

“You’re putting me in the right mood for an interview, Margie. But you know the rules.”

An enchanted Margie prances from the office. Miss Lucinda considers a Friday evening tryst, but her mind moves to thoughts about a newly arrived eighteen year old boy. The file indicates his name is Billy. Since the time is nearly 10:00 a.m. His nurse will have him stripped, shaven, internally cleansed and washed by now. Miss Lucinda picks up the file on her desk picturing as she reads the lad being strapped onto an examination table.

Billy is a troubled eighteen year old. For the past two months after high school graduation, he has had three simple jobs from which he has been invited not to return. His father died years ago. His mother has recently acquired an illness that rendered her unemployable. Billy’s inability to support himself means his mother has a double burden, feeding herself and her son. Upon surrendering the boy to the ‛shelter’ of the Club, she relieved herself of both.

The Club will gratefully wire transfer Billy’s earnings directly to her account. The money will be more than she could possibly earn when healthy and certainly more than an unskilled Billy could ever imagine. So at least for the period of his three year tour, Billy’s mother will be financially secure.

And as for Billy, the Club spares no expense in feeding and caring for the male subjugants. Food is important to the libido, which the Club members desire to maximize, and for every three boys there is a nurse in attendance. There is no healthcare facility in the country that can boast of such a ratio.

The file contains photographs of a naked Billy. Not graphic, the photos were surreptitiously taken during Billy’s initial physical exam. A local doctor serves as a front, and though Billy’s mother was fully aware of the circumstances of his appointment, an unaware Billy attended only after much maternal pleading.

Luckily for Mom, Billy’s appendage proved to be quite prodigious. A full frontal shot shows the head of the flaccid phallus dangling limply at mid thigh. Otherwise his body is unimpressive, in fact most boyish, which many of the Club’s members prefer. The contrast of large erect manhood thrusting forth from a seemingly prepubescent body provides a curious level of entertainment. Miss Lucinda always theorized that the Dominant women, many on the far side of middle age, recall their early sexual experiences with such display. Ones in which they had no control and were forced by the sexual urgings of adolescence to submit to the male beast. For a young girl with latent Dominant proclivities, the experience must have been most unsavory, and thus at the Club the reversal of roles is a welcomed mid-life catharsis.

Yes, at the Degradation Club it is the male who finds himself submitting. And the role reversal is played out countless times, the laughter and applause proving to be both endless and psychologically unbearable for the subjugant. So unbearable that it is the Club’s rule to rotate the submissive males out of servitude by age twenty one. Many times, such as in Albert’s case, continued employment is offered. But most often, private servitude follows. All the Club members require servants, and after some three years at the Club, quiet one on one submission can be a welcomed refuge.

Miss Lucinda smiles reading of Billy’s reaction to the prostate exam. If only the vanilla world of femininity understood the odd male erogenous area as well as her..., well time for a visit.


Anonymous said...

Nice work :)

Chris Bellows said...

Thank you, anonymous.

It's old, been around but the price is right.

From a setting prospective, it's rather flippant and unmannered, but I believe the development of the characters is good.

Please feel free to comment on anything else. I truly seek feedback, positive or negative.



LadySonia said...

Hi there Chris Bellows ,

You have just shared a spectacular story up there...