Monday, October 11, 2010

Prologue - Whisked to Chessu

So let's begin our story. Not sure where it will lead.

Note the change in writing style. Not as aloof. Better dialogue, I hope.


Whisked To Chessu

Copyright 2010

By Chris Bellows


“You have a rather curious habit, Mr. Jay Blaine. Very much in violation of prison rules.”

The young male sits before the imposing yet alluring Dr. Ann Simpson, consulting psychologist for the Los Angeles County Bureau of Corrections. He squirms, testing the ankle and wrist straps which serve to make him one with the hard wooden straight backed chair. With women of authority he has always found attraction... odd attraction... and he is concerned it will show.

“So an initial arrest for shoplifting... women’s undergarments... no need to comment any further on that,” Dr. Ann reading from a file folder. “And then an 18 month sentence for petty theft. Seems rather harsh for a first offender... though we all know this act was most likely not the first occurrence... probably the culmination of many years of purloining panties,” the concluding words coming with a sardonic snicker.

“The judge... in chambers... he wanted me to...”.

“Enough of that Mr. Blaine,” his protest interrupted. “It’s that type of loose talk that earned you inordinate time in the County poky. And besides, if I can offer some off the record advice... do you think any knowledgeable attorney would condescend and become a judge if he couldn’t obtain some fellatio from the hapless defendant... one about to face jail time? All you had to do was suck a little cock and you’d probably have gotten off with a few weeks of community service... with the judge closely monitoring your rehabilitation, of course,” offered with another snicker.

“Instead you refused and got moderate time... but real time... and your circumstances have deteriorated to this situation...”

As her finger firmly prods the top of the file folder, Dr. Simpson’s stern voice, the tone of her lecture, the gesture of reprimand all bring forth the evidence of attraction, that with which Jay Blaine is most concerned. The slow yet steady physical reaction is noted.

“Tsk, tsk. Here you sit for counseling... and look at you!”

Dr. Ann must repress a wicked smile as her charge lowers his gaze to his lap. Yes, his most dreaded concern becomes actuated. His penis begins to stiffen and rise.

“It’s not fair. I should have clothes.”

“Oh, Mr. Blaine, clothing, or the lack thereof, was not a consideration when you were masturbating for the female guards. Besides, I prefer to interview my subjects stripped naked. It nicely imbalances the sense of power, don’t you think? And according to the report you seemed to revel in stripping down and, as you stated for the record, ‘performing’ for them.”

The forthright description of his misdeeds, the stern words of rebuke, completes the rise to full tumescence. The now purple, bulbous tip of his penis stands pointing toward the ceiling. Under his breath Jay Blaine curses himself. He desires flaccidness, but the more forceful the words, the stiffer he becomes.

“And I suppose, but for our nice tight wrist straps, you’d be showing off for me as well... performing for me... like a show dog.”

The prognostication comes with outright laughter as Jay Blaine closes his eyes and feels his penis waggle in strange agreement, wanting to perform indeed. And he does have this insatiable urge to stroke himself...

“It was a set up. They asked. Said they liked that... to watch,” his words so uncomfortably meek.

“I am sure some of the female guards do indeed enjoy the naked subjugated male form... that’s why they are guards in a men’s correctional facility. You just had the misfortunate of entertaining the wrong guard... a devout lesbian... and recently born again. She was quite repulsed... and upset.”

Jay Blaine sheepishly nods. Weeks before, observed strolling from the shower, a female guard noted his substantial endowment and brashly offered that, for certain inmates, well endowed inmates, the strict rule against masturbation could be suspended.

‘Mornings, during the lock down count. I’ll want you naked, on your knees, thighs parted, nice and erect for me. Good boys get some help from the baton,’ the grinning guard holding up the phallic shaped weapon and libidinously motioning with her wrist. Jay Blaine noted that the weapon, ostensibly for defense, was smooth and well polished... too well polished... with drooling traces of unguent remaining. He needed no further encouragement.

So for many mornings during his term of incarceration, he awaited as directed, penis standing. A smiling guard would enter his cell for the standard headcount Then, upon command, perhaps a casual gesture of the baton, he stroked away as a sneering woman of authority observed his humiliation and ultimate climax. Word had spread, with rotating shifts there was more than one guard in the debaucherous cabal. And with each offering the daily guard uttered differing words of derision, all laughing demonically, Jay Blaine found himself immersed in his proclivity. The morning encounters brought excitement... which guard?.. what would she say?.. would a well greased baton be offered? Some of the ‘weapons’ were most suggestively shaped.

Yes, the unknown brought added sexual brisance. He had never before ejaculated so strongly... and so obediently, the female guards mockingly commanding the ultimate spurts of seed. Yes... a show dog... and well trained.

But then came the woman who, though also holding the male in disdain, found no joy, no perverted delectation, in his performance. Stepping into his cell she was greeted by Jay Blaine humbly kneeling naked and erect... in gross violation of prison rules.

She blustered in disgust.

Thus Jay Blaine sits in counseling, the warden awaiting Dr. Ann’s report and recommendation.

“This conduct will add many years to your sentence, Mr. Blaine... plus designation as a sex offender. Effectively a lifetime on parole... should you ever get out. Naughty boys like you have a habit of getting caught again... and again... and again.”

Jay Blaine looks to see that Dr. Ann is provocatively stroking a sizable pen, emulating the teasing manipulation from which he so often benefitted in sleazy massage parlors. His penis waggles again, in its own world, celebrating its ability to entertain a governing woman. Yes, the woman presses his buttons. She knows... fully understands the propensities of the likes of Jay Blaine.

“And I can assure you, with this on your record, much care will be taken to guarantee that your days of performing are over... at least while incarcerated.”

‘Will there be female guards?’ He finds the urge to ask nearly irrepressible. Yet he cannot find his voice, and with second thought, that may be fortunate.

“But there is an alternative. Face it, Mr. Blaine, I have the power to alter your life as you know it. So let’s talk, shall we? That velcro wrist strap is easily loosened. I have some lubricant. Perhaps you’d like to perform for me while I discuss this alternative. It involves some travel but we can arrange sanctuary where a boy with your talents is more appreciated. You appear to be well over eight inches so you meet the first criteria. You’re young... and strong... and have a propensity which is well suited to the local culture. A place called ‘Chessu’. I think you’ll like it there.”

Dr. Ann feels twinges within her loins. Yes, there comes moisture when thinking of Chessu. Not only does the culture to which Jay Blaine will soon be relegated bring stimulation, but the considerable emolument offered by the procurer Madam Soong as well.

Though a little older than most, at age 22 Jay Blaine will still fetch a goodly fee.

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