Monday, November 29, 2010

A Boy's Transformation - II

Will be traveling over the next few days.


Calming from the dread, concern subsiding, Lu asserts herself. Mrs. Jensen listens, happy to place herself in the hands of the disarming woman of confidence and authority.

“There are some basic things I will need, Mrs. Jensen. Probably the most cumbersome is my own room with bath where I will stay with Jensen.”

“I can do that. I’ll move into the upstairs study and you may have my bedroom.”

“Good. He must first be displaced from his things. I am sure at his age there is the collection of boy’s stuff... the things that amuse... probably some giving rise to naughtiness.”

Mrs. Jensen nods and again arises to step to the drawer.

“I found this under the mattress the last time I changed his sheets.”

From under the tray of utensils comes a thin glossy magazine. Lu notes the wicked photo on the cover, the well bound nearly naked girl preempting the need to read the title, ‘Girls in Distress’.

“Oh yes, he is of that age. It is good that you responded to my ad.”

“You’ll not want to look inside the cover. It’s shocking. I know boys enter a phase of sexual curiosity but to satisfy it with this! He’s becoming his father.”

“Oh Ms. Jensen, Randy’s curiosity will be satisfied... in time. And we will need to keep his room locked until all is disposed of and the room converted.”

Ms. Jensen tucks the magazine back into the drawer, appearing to be repulsed in touching it.


“Everything must go. It will otherwise remind him of being a boy. So it is best.”

Mrs. Jensen nods, not to miss the raucous noise of violent computer games.

“You will need to inform the school authorities of Randy’s withdrawal, Ms. Jensen. Home schooling is becoming prevalent and there will be few questions. I will need to talk to your daughters. And do not be of concern, I have found siblings, particularly the girls, to be quite understanding of my efforts. How old?”

“Evelyn is 15. Joan will be turning 18 in a couple of months.”

“Oh, that is perfect. Girls who have attained puberty have much understanding of the planned transition.”

Ms. Jensen returns to sit at the table.

“And you will need to be tolerant of an occasional male visitor, Ms Jensen. I am not overly active... sexually. But the occasional visitor helps refresh. I will be astute... and somewhat discreet. It will come after Randy is... well... at a time when a visitor can help with the process.

Ms Jensen, nods, guessing at Lu’s age, early thirties, the need remains, not having experienced her disheartening disappointments.

“When can you begin?”

“In two days. I have very few things to bring. And when I arrive, Randy must be separated from access to his clothing. So I suggest a sturdy lock be placed on his door. If possible make it large... symbolically daunting. I will need complete governance, Ms. Jensen. I am strict but you will benefit from the results. Soon you will no longer be changing sheets... and neither will Evelyn and Joan."

The sly smile brings more comfort.


“Hey mom, what the fuck’s going on?”

The voice is young... the timber ranging between soprano and alto... but the words are crass and delivered with provocation.

“Randy, do not use that language with me. And do not use that language at all!”

“‘There’s a steel bar across the door to my room.”

“Yes, there is. We’re going to have some changes. I have decided you need a governess.”

“What the hell is that?”

Ms. Jensen just stands looking at her future delinquent son, moving her arms to stand akimbo. In a way relieved that the rising belligerence will soon be the problem of another.

“I have engaged someone to take care of you. She will be in charge and will be schooling you as well.”


“We’ll see about the bovine excrement, Randy. Ms. Lu is due here shortly.”

“Great. I will be sure to welcome the bitch. Meanwhile, let me in my room. Want to play some Grand Theft Auto.”

“No more Randy,” Ms. Jensen waving the odd shaped key of a Medco lock.

With that, the doorbell rings, the verbal encounter ends.

“Your new governess, Randy. Do be a good boy and answer the door.”

“She won’t make it. She’ll quit.”

“We’ll see. Go greet your governess.”

With no where to go, steel bar and Medco lock separating Randy from his world of boy stuff, he marches with authority to the door. Being the only male in the household, having achieved some degree of masculinity, there is cockiness.

‘A governess’, his mind cynically mulling.

But then he opens the door. Ms. Lu stands before him at nearly six foot, towering over the prepubescent Randy. Yet as imposing as is her height, a hand the size of a ham hoc reaches forth. Before Randy can utter a word, stunned with the woman’s presentment, the wrist rests on his left shoulder and fingers work to toy with his ear as she speaks.

“Why you must be little, Randy,” Lu exclaims with seemingly genuine enthusiasm.

The gesture appears friendly, but when thumb and forefinger find the earlobe, such lock in place with authority.


“Goodness, am I hurting you?” the question ostensibly ingenuous as she slowly increases the pressure. “I am your governess, Miss Lu.”

“Let go, bitch!”

“My goodness. Such a greeting. Well Randy, you’ll need to get to know me. For I am going to know you very, very well. Every inch of you. Now pick up my bag like a good boy.”

The voice is smoothly calm, but firm. The clenching hand lowers, the head must follow and Randy finds himself stooping to pick up the bag.

“The things in there are for you, Randy. You’ll soon learn Miss Lu is very direct. Very business like. And expects obedience.”

Miss Lu steps into the house where a smiling Ms. Jensen stands in wait, the scene of immediate capitulation quite satisfying. Doubts concerning the tendering of her son’s tutelage rapidly dissipate.

“Up the steps, your room is at the end of the hall,” Ms. Jensen advises as she hands over the Medco key. “You’ll not have trouble finding Randy’s old room, should you need anything.”

“Not now. At some point we will return there and Brandy will be permitted to reminisce. But for now all he needs is in that bag. Come Brandy.”

Led by his ear, Randy has no choice but to follow. Growing up with less imposing women, he is amazed at the demonstration of relative power.

“Did you say Brandy?” Ms. Jensen inquires with a snort of laughter.

“Oh yes. Pardon my slip. A little premature. You’ll hear some noises while I give Brandy... er... Randy his bath. But not to worry, all will be fine.”

Sunday, November 28, 2010

New Story - A Boy's Transformation

Though most of you viewers and readers are completely undeserving, failing to have commented on both stimulating fiction and thought provoking non fiction, I offer a Sunday treat. Should I bother asking for feedback?

A Boy’s Transformation

Copyright 2010

by Chris Bellows

“You have done this before?”

“Oh, yes ma’am, just as my advertisement suggests,” the words offered in the pleasant patois of the tropical islands.

A large ebony hand slides a folder across the formica covering of the kitchen table. The alluring woman of some 40 years, sitting opposite, accepts the offering, flipping open the unassuming cover.

“They are all so pretty... but they are boys?"

“They do not think of themselves as such now... but they were all born with a penis, yes.”

The woman flips again... and again... and again. On each page there is a picture of youthful vibrance... cute... little girls... bangs... pony tails... pink ribbons... glittery costume jewelry... the frilly neckline hem of a pretty dress. In viewing, a wry smile appears then broadens. Though attempting to cloak her awareness of the gender obfuscation, the woman’s amusement is evident.

“It is painless?”

“Not entirely, ma’am. There will be some initial suffering... quick... such as that felt with the vaccines of youth. There will be a few days of aching, during which I can be of great comfort. After that... it is all emotional.”


“The pictures are intended to offer you a degree of comfort... that I can be effective... that results will be achieved. But more important is what the photos do not show... that they all think as little girls. The physical, though time consuming, is easily accomplished. It is getting the boys to not only think of themselves as girls... but to enjoy being so. That is the challenge.”

“And you can do this?”

“Nine successful transformations... over the past 13 years.”

“It is full time?”

“Yes. I will be your son’s nurse and governess. He will be immersed in my tutelage. It is best for him.”

The woman reflects then nods.

“Your fee... it is high but if it is indeed full time then it is a bargain.”

“As I indicated in the ad, ma’am, I will be living here. So there will be no need for me to pay rent or to buy food. And when my father met his end, rest his soul, he left my mother with ample funds, which she in turn passed on to me. I am not rich... but I can afford to pursue my passion.”

“And that is transforming... boys into girls.”

“In so many cases it is best... I assume you agree.”

The woman nods... slowly... thoughtfully.

“So tell me about Randy,” the sizable woman of color settling back in the kitchen chair. “Why is it he needs to be transformed... and how will my efforts rest with your family?”

The woman also settles back... in continued pensiveness, choosing to respond to the latter first.


“Marital bliss ended with the birth of my second daughter, Evelyn. Jim was a great husband... initially... tried to be a good father... when not traveling. But the flame of romance just slowly died. By mutual agreement we separated when Evelyn turned school age. That allowed me to return to work... and offered a degree of economic independence. And it also put Jim in a position to travel even more... and he did.”

The woman arises and steps to the stove. A kettle of hot water awaits. Consumed with thought she grasps and turns.

“More tea... Ms....?”

“Lulana, Ma’am. But Lu is fine.”

“More tea, Lu?”

The handsome face nods. The woman steps to the table, leans and pours.

“Well, every woman has needs. Work every day... tend to children every night. The boredom seems to heighten the need. And so it came... the need. I met this guy on the train ride home... Mr. Wonderful,” the sobriquet offered with a sardonic snicker.

The woman sits, taking her time to dip her tea bag in silence as Lu does the same.

“It was only once. I know that sounds like the excuse of some concupiscent teen. But that’s all it
took. I was stupid. Fell for the line that he’d pull out. Coitus interruptus. To make a long story short, Randy was conceived right there in the living room while my daughters slept upstairs.”

“And you chose to keep him?”

“Stupid again. We dated more. When I learned the results of the single night of oversight I thought another little one would bring joy... that I’d be sharing a new life with Mr. Wonderful, alleged multi millionaire investment manager.”

The woman sips. Lu joins.

“Well that was a lie... a big one. And I was in the third trimester when I learned that Mr. Wonderful was far from wonderful. A con man... but worse... I learned that the sex we had was probably about as vanilla as he ever had. With others... a predator... ruthless... heartless... aggressive. One sick son of a bitch.”

Appearing ruffled by her own words, the woman stands and steps to a cabinet drawer. Lifting a tray for utensils, there is drawn from beneath a newspaper clipping... not overly well hidden... but in an unlikely spot for easy discovery.

“A downright pervert. I tossed him out on suspicion and later learned of his suspected proclivities. He’s now serving time. Statutory rape. He’s finishing his third year on a ten year stint. I am ashamed I ever let him near Randy... ashamed I brought Randy to term.”

“And the solution is to transform?” the patois ever so consoling.

“He writes... from prison... says he wants to visit Randy when the time comes. Buy Randy his first beer. That is of concern... but I have seven years to plan... and when he’s released Randy will be into his teens. So when it’s time I’ll be able to talk to Randy as an adult... explain my mistake... his reprobate father’s sordid transgressions... at least I hope so.”

“So why? What is it my services will do for you?”

“Randy is approaching puberty, maybe already there. Getting stronger... and getting more aggressive with my daughters. They are older... able to hold their ground for now. But I cannot help thinking of the genetics... the propensities I am sure he carries within...”

Lu nods. The woman of size can bring comfort. Emotional... but at nearly six foot with broad shoulders and arms of steel... physical as well.

“You are afraid... for your daughters?”

There comes a fervent nod in response.

“They are first... number one... their well being placed well above the little bastard I am forced to raise. But I am concerned that his needs are soon to arise... perverted... filthy... I cannot sleep thinking about his father... that I will come home and find Randy on the living couch... with...”

With the pause the huge ebony hand slips across the table, firmly grasping the forearm of the woman... her new employer.

“Mrs. Jensen... there is no need to fret. I will see to your daughters. They will very much enjoy having another sister...”

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Captain Carolyn Wood - Dream Date

The only pic of the mischievously playful Captain Wood to be found (see November 20 posting). I would exchange photos with her, given an email address. And I know what photos of me she would prefer (shaved, naked and in a stress position).

Perhaps a romance would spark? A quiet CFNM evening of dinner (an MRE for me) by candle light of course.

"Miss Captain Carolyn, what are you planning to do with that hot wax?" 


Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Been on the Road

Been traveling. But my absence does not mean interested parties cannot make comments.

Nothing on the wondrously Dominant Captain?

Thought the 'real life' aspects would incite some reaction...

Got a story in the works. Not ready to share it. Might post on Lulu instead. I like it.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Interrogating the male

Our good friend Jholtgym references Abu Ghraib and it has incited certain thoughts and memories in reading of the abuses.

Most intriguing to me, referenced in many reports, was the mysterious interrogator Captain Carolyn Wood. She was never charged criminally, but was cited for various failures in terms of her supervision of the treatment of prisoners. There are inferences that she conveniently looked the other way while the ill trained guards ‘softened’ the prisoners for interrogation by her group.


From an article entitled ‘The Torture Working Group’ by Paul Sperry 6/10/04

Here is a list of so-called Category II and Category III interrogation techniques authorized for use at Gitmo early last year, according to a Jan. 8, 2003, memo written by a JAG officer and circulated among Army intelligence officials at Gitmo, the Bagram base in Afghanistan, and U.S. Central Command in Tampa. I obtained a copy of the two-page memo, which permits (and I quote):

Use of stress positions (like standing) for a maximum of four hours;
Use of falsified documents or reports;
Use of isolation facility for up to 30 days unless CG [commanding general] approves extension;
Use of environment other than standard interrogation booth;
Deprivation of light and sound;
Use of hood as long as it does not restrict breathing and under direct observation;
Use of 20-hour interrogations;
Removal of comfort items, including religious items;
Switching from hot rations to MREs [meals ready to eat];
Removal of clothing;
Forced grooming (i.e., shaving of facial hair);
Using individual phobias (e.g., fear of dogs) to induce stress;
Use of mild, non-injurious physical contact such as grabbing, poking in the chest with the finger and light pushing.

The methods mirror ones posted on a wall at Abu Ghraib by military intelligence on Oct. 18, 2003, about the time much of the more serious abuses at the prison began. The document, titled "Interrogation Rules of Engagement," was posted by Capt. Carolyn A. Wood, the officer in charge of the interrogation center at Abu Ghraib.
It turns out she was also the officer in charge of interrogations at the no-holds-barred Bagram detention facility, where at least two inmates were murdered.


Emphasis in blue added by me.
Could Captain Carolyn be in Chessu?

Thursday, November 18, 2010

More on the Prologue

In a way, I combined two cases for the prologue.

This case is from Georgia and gives rise to even more stimulating thought...


BOXER X, Plaintiff-Appellant, v. A. HARRIS, Sergeant, Defendant-Appellee.
No. 04-13083.

January 27, 2006

Between July and November 2003 in Smith State Prison in Glennville, Georgia, Harris repeatedly approached Boxer's jail cell and demanded that he strip naked and perform sexual acts of self-gratification. On 5 July 2003, Boxer complained that his food was cold and that his tray was dirty. Harris stated that she would get him a new dinner if he did her a “favor” to show her [his] penis” while she watched through the flap in the prison door. Boxer declined, and Harris promised retribution.

Incidents of this nature continued for the next several months. Sometimes Boxer disobeyed Harris's commands, but sometimes he obeyed her. On 1 August 2003, Boxer received two disciplinary reports that followed an encounter with Harris in which he did perform for her. These reports were for failure to follow instructions and exposure/exhibition. Boxer received these reports in the prison distribution system and was not afforded the opportunity to challenge Harris's statements in front of a disciplinary hearing officer.

On 28 August 2003, Harris approached Boxer again offering not to write further false disciplinary reports if Boxer followed her orders without question. Boxer acquiesced to Harris's orders on six occasions from September to November 2003. Boxer subsequently filed grievances against Harris, which were denied. Boxer sued in December 2003.


These facts were stipulated, i.e. the events did happen. The legal question was whether Boxer's legal rights were harmed and to what exent.

At least we can better understand why a woman with the described penchants would desire to serve as a prison guard.

I feel another story coming...

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Whisked to Chessu Author's note - Provoking The Prologue

As a courtesy, I have posted the entire story, 'Whisked to Chessu' on Lulu for easier reading. It is available for free.

Have some fun and write a review... or at least give it a rating.


As written, many segments of my stories are actuated by news events.

Below is interesting reading. Would you male readers not like to 'perform' for this Broward County guard?

I have cut and pasted the story, originally published by the Miami Herald in July 2007.


A Broward prisoner accused of committing a sex act while he was alone in his jail cell was found guilty Tuesday of indecent exposure.

Terry Lee Alexander, 20, unsuccessfully fought the charge, which had been brought by a female Broward Sheriff's Office detention deputy who saw him perform the sex act in his cell in November.

In reaching the guilty verdict, jurors found that an inmate's jail cell is ''a limited access public place'' where exposing oneself is against the law.

The judge sentenced Alexander, of Lauderdale Lakes, to 60 days in jail, on top of the 10-year sentence he is currently serving for armed robbery.

The sole witness in the case, BSO Deputy Coryus Veal, testified that Alexander did not try to hide what he was doing as most prisoners do. Veal saw him perform the act while she was working in a glass-enclosed master control room, 100 feet from Alexander's cell. There was no video tape or other witnesses.

Alexander's attorney argued that the prison cell was a private place and that what Alexander was doing was perfectly normal.

''Did other inmates start masturbating because of Mr. Alexander?'' McHugh asked Veal. ``Did you call a SWAT team?''

''I wish I had,'' Veal answered.

Let me know your thoughts. Love to read of Saratoga's reaction. Female readers as well.

I should add that this female guard also brought charges against 7 other inmates, the only guard to make such accusations. Those charges were either dropped or plea bargained to minor time.

Keep in mind, as opposed to protocols in women's prisons, the inmates are open to observation by male and female guards during shower time and while using the toilet in their own cell. No privacy.

Why would a woman of this ilk seek to work in a male prison? It's the 'snowflake' which can cascade into an avalanche of erotica from the likes of me.

Final Chapter Thirty Four - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Thirty Four

The days become countless... tedium, interspersed with intensely stimulating nightly intervals of assiduous cunnilingus. Oral servitude... for 322 a vicarious pleasure... just as the Empress’s castrates take such joy in extracting sperm from the impressively intact Emperor.

322 notes that his well worked form carries practically zero fat. The extensive exertion plus the fortified swill, apparently well formulated indeed, have brought noteworthy muscularity. Midori has stopped gauging the thickness of his layers of epidermis, satisfied to have molded her beast for maximum performance. This permits the conveyance of loads of ore limited only by the size of the cart, Miss Midori specifically instructing the burly women of the mine to fill the box to brimming.

The pile of excess script returned to Miss Midori’s shirt pocket after visiting the market is consistently large. Plus excess canisters of swill have been accumulated to assure 322 the beast can have sustenance should he be precluded from laboring... illness... injury... and of course the one day of respite when he would instead prefer to face the drudgery of the mine... the weekly visit of Nurse Wendy.

It could be psycho somatic, but there does seem to be something enlarging between his thighs, behind the base of his balls, at his perineum. The capsaicin injections to the prostate are many, steadfastly offered and cruel. And such do have an affect, 322 convinced that it is not his imagination which brings a sense of burning whenever his anus is stuffed. Yes, the anal insert seems to pressure the gland and stir the capsaicin... inducing his penis to stand firmer and longer. Nurse Wendy’s applications are effective... or at least imagined to be.

Oddly, though the sharp needle of the many injections brings immediate intense pain, he is consoled in knowing that the searing hotness assists with his tumescence... that he will not earn the ire of the Empress... he will avoid an undesired visit with Dr. Saunders... and that Miss Midori will be continually pleased as well.

And the acid baths... such callousness... Nurse Wendy weekly coating ‘so many feet of standing cock’... as her crassly humorous comments suggest.

‘Anyone want to stroke themselves for me?’ she mockingly inquires after each application, knowing that the seared penile flesh is untouchably raw.

Yes, Jay Blaine, if he can recall his name, has been emotionally, psychologically and physically transformed to beast number 384322. When not branked and leashed he merely has to turn his head back and peer downwards to be reminded that he is now property... of a woman. His number is permanently emblazoned into his flesh, the trauma of the many nights of being carved by the hot knife never to be forgotten... emblazoned on both his flesh and in his memory... as opposed to his former name.

He understands and accepts his role... to labor... to display his erect penis... to orally satisfy.

It is day’s end and 322 hangs from the tethering post, Midori’s whim of inducing stress never to subside. Weight perfectly apportioned amongst neck band, waist band and ankle bands, 322 quietly endures, brank obviating speech. He can feel his stiffness... pleased that he is pleasing.

Midori exits the hut, feeding canister in hand. As she steps up on the small box, 322 can feel her warmth on his overly sensitive penis. Such invigorates... and without touch. The tube is inserted, pushed to the back of the mouth to enter the throat and bring a slight choking sound... which is ignored. The fingers press... sludge slithers.

“Would you like to be worked hooded, my beast? You’ve seen the magnificent specimens who pull the carriage of the Empress. With such precise obedience, so well instilled, sight is no longer required. A privilege denied to ensure total focus on the task at hand.”

322 shakes his head as best he can. Gazing at Miss Midori’s rolling buttocks as she leads the ox cart is one of the few enjoyments... other then extensive oral servitude.

“You can be trained. I can discipline you to do anything. Blinded you’ll need to trust even more... have complete and utter faith in your handler. And in constant darkness, to feel and instantly react to the slightest jostle of the leash and brank. You should know that the Empress has her beasts deafened as well. While harnessed, the feel of her guiding hand and the desert soil beneath their feet are the only sensory input. Delicious, don’t you think? The male form completely objectified... the only obligation being to respond to a woman’s whimsy... the slight flick of the leash from the tremor of a controlling hand... and of course to offer a good firm erection... in Chessu the symbol of feminine superiority over the vanquished male.”

Midori smiles, ostensibly quite pleasantly... except the subject matter horrifies. With the canister empty she steps from the box.

“Another hour or two my beast. You’ll be stressed nicely, physically exhausted, your mental capitulation complete. Then I will have you kneel for me for a while and thereafter I think you’ll be eager to taste me.”

Yes, he will.


Brank finally removed, well into the night Miss Midori releases the neck band which has held 322 in the straining kneeling position for an eternal interval. Despite the cooling night air of the desert, a rigorously stressed 322 is drenched, his body exuding the precious fluids which he ingests so ignominiously.

Gracious hands extend. Soft fingers work the male nipples, before the extended chastity, glands of no use... now a source of rare pleasure. 322 murmurs meekly, the touch so welcomed, the fingers expertly bringing instant joy. He feels his penis waggle in celebration, the interminable stress position to finally end... the caprice of his master now to bring the impartation of brief delight. She smiles in noting the humble reaction, stiffness demanded as tribute in Chessu, knowing that though the standing organ seems to seek attention, the slightest palpation there would instead bring searing pain to Nurse Wendy’s finely altered penile flesh.

Even the weakest solution of acid can so effectively erode the inflated male will.

With the seemingly extended moments of comparative ecstasy, Miss Midori notes an ooze of prostatic fluid and knows to suspend her tantalizing efforts. Her fingers withdraw, her hands guide her beast to lie. She understands that just as she watched her mother do years before, she could indeed force her chaste beast to sublimely offer a slow and most humiliating drool of otherwise potent male essence. Yes, the nipples have become a pleasure center... the only other his impaled rectum... completing a most demeaning transformation. But with the joyful drool comes the release of hormones... and an edgy beast works best, pulls hardest, endeavors most to please. Since childhood, Midori has been imbued with this knowledge concerning male chastity... abundant sperm... abundant effort.

322 whines in disappointment as his overly sensitive penis greets the protective patch of silk thoughtfully awaiting. There come more murmurs, obsequious words of gratitude. The duress has once again overwhelmed, mentally he has succumbed to his superior and there is a strange inner glow. He knows his slow torment pleases... and that there is to be a reward for pleasing.

“You have partaken in my essence so often and for so long, my beast. Have you not realized there is missing some taste?”

As she questions, Midori unrolls a blanket before the prostrate form, slipping one edge under the chin. 322 is heartened with her preparations. It is time to feast, a well deserved helping of warm wet feminine flesh quite welcomed.

“Something that I offer your tongue and lips monthly,” she hints.

Midori sits, spreads her legs under 322's lustful gaze then shuffles her hips to offer herself. Pressing her mons to his face, she slowly lies back, raising her thighs and wrapping such about his ears to squeeze. It is an authoritative grip, engulfing his head within the smooth warmth he has revered most of the day.

In spreading herself, the sublime pinkness beckoning, 322 curses the darkness. The only illumination is the flicker of the kerosene lamp, the small flame beaming light through the open rear door of the hut. He would so much like to visually partake. But her fragrance enlightens the olfactory nerves, her warmth brings comforting radiance to a libido frustrated with the constant and thorough chastity.

It is time for cunnilingus. His tongue extends, thrusts and plummets, bringing the hushed sound of a satisfying sigh to his covered ears.

“And you may notice some plumpness... a rounding of the belly.”

The loose blouse of Miss Midori is not where her beast chooses to cast his adoring gaze. But it does come to mind that there has been no menses to cleanse in weeks too many to count.

“It is a privilege to so serve the Empress, my beast. I have been inseminated with that which her castrates so fondly extract from the Emperor. There will be a child.”

Miss Midori is expecting!

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

The End Is Near

As previously noted, tomorrow's chapter will end this segment of the story. Please give consideration to commenting and helping to spur thoughts for another visit to Chessu.

Hopefully all enjoyed.

Chapter Thirty Three - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Thirty Three

322 idly kneels. He misses his master. In his lonely thoughts he realizes that other than sleeping or being stressed while tethered to the pole, he has not been out of Miss Midori’s presence since arriving in Chessu many, many days before. And while sleeping, the thought of her nearness has strangely comforted... being restrained by her hand has assuaged the feeling of desolation.

But now... where has she gone?.. when will she return?

Having watched the Emperor being milked, the cheering, well amused crowd thereafter slowly dissipated. A smiling Empress wordlessly took Midori by the hand and she joined the small parade of castrates and drained sperm donor in returning to the palace, leaving 322 kneeling before the ox cart with leash tethered to his ankle bands.

Though he cannot move, 322 can flex some muscles, staving off cramping. Also, with his anal impalement awakening his loins, he works to contract the small muscles there, watching in his lower vision as the tip of his firmed penis rises to flash his Prince Albert ring.

He reflects on the events of the late afternoon. In such a harsh barren land, a jeering crowd assembled for the mere purpose of observing as a male was harvested of his seed. Such diverting but seemingly trivial antics. But in thought, 322 realizes it is the only sperm flowing in the province... an event of significance. The ritual is the beginning of all procreation in Chessu, the custom of normal copulation long banned. And the result shall either be a daughter... to be trained to command the male beasts of Chessu... or a son... to be exchanged for cash... perhaps as valuable as Rhodium?

322 thinks of the ignominious extraction... the Emperor denied even the favor of a feminine hand. Instead the fingers and tongues of the genderless cherubs worked his prostrate suspended form like a lactating cow.

Milked indeed!

And the manner of suspension... widely parted ankles and wrists secured above, torso supported at the hips, the mammoth testicles dangling below, the royal penis stiffening, firming, engorging... 322 was amazed at the size... to have such an organ!

But did the Emperor really have it? Or was such the possession of the Empress and the women of Chessu?

No, it appeared that the Emperor was merely offered the burden of carrying it about.

322's thoughts are interrupted. A guard approaches, uniformed. He is reminded of the dour woman who led him from the hospital, so facilely guiding then restraining his nakedness. She bears a riding crop, an instrument of correction not deemed necessary by the handlers.

“Your first milking, 322?” the well marked buttocks introducing his identity to all.

322 nods as best as his leash and brank permit.

“Rather demeaning, is it not? The male normally so prideful in giving up the seed of life. Normally offered in such ecstatic triumph.”

She moves proximate, standing before his kneeling nakedness.

“Yes, it’s quite the event here in Chessu. A younger Emperor was milked weekly. Such a wonderful set of balls, the castrates are known to constantly stretch with zealousness, as you can imagine, their own organs a woman’s trophy... jarred. And he’s well over twelve inches. the Emperor. At one time his sperm was abundant, sometimes able to sire two or three with a single offering.”

Hands reach forth. Fingers graciously brush his cheeks then playfully tap a forcibly exposed tongue. She smiles, his well restrained nakedness evidently bringing subtle delight. A leg shuffles forth. 322 feels the warmth of human flesh on a most sensitive standing penis... where normally there is craved the feminine touch... but no longer.

322 grimaces as the guard presses her calve against his erection. The mere saltiness of her flesh brings a sting to the super sensitive acid bathed organ. Such irony... the abundance of hormones bring a craving for attention there, the raw skin of his altered manhood requests pleads for denial.

“You’d so much like to frottage, would you not? Such wondrous conflicting needs... your libido says rub... yet your penis denies you the simplest of male pleasures.”

Yes there is irony indeed. Despite the soreness, 322 feels the twinges which lead to even more stiffness... yet he suffers. That which once brought such joy instead brings pain and frustration. He shifts in his restraints, attempting to avoid the guard’s otherwise tender ministrations.

To think he can be so easily tormented!

The guard withdraws her leg, cackling.

“Yes, it’s useless to you, isn’t it? Drains your bladder and stands for your master. And that is all. But at least it stands. You’ve seen the alternative that is offered in Chessu. Castrates make such cute house servants, don’t you think?”

The guard steps back. The riding crop rises and taps the nipples.

“Male obedience... male degradation. Yes, complete subjugation... and yet you’re all so happy... rather telling is it not?”

The guard gratefully moves onward, laughing to herself. 322 quakes, his vulnerability so well demonstrated, he once again pines for the return of his protector... lord and master Miss Midori.

With the sting of his penis subsiding, 322 thinks of the Emperor’s impressive appendage. If it too has been acid bathed it was not apparent, the thoroughly restrained body showing no signs of pain as the seed was slowly extracted. Instead there was frustration. A curious reaction considering the apparent number of times the Emperor has been strung up naked before a large gathering of women and made to give up in public that which is normally offered in intimacy.

Long, broad, wet and warm... 322 thinks to himself of the tongues of the castrates. Such were prodigious, andtheir soft effeminate hands so knowing.

How many times have they forced the seed of life from the Emperor’s loins?

322 closes his eyes and relives the milking...

Having the Emperor well secured, the castrates, offering no shame in fully exposing their nakedness, the emptied scrotal sacs well displayed. One chubby blonde responded to mocking catcalls by lifting his tiny penis with one hand, parting his feet, and fully presenting the puffy flesh of his empty scrotum... bringing a wave of effeminate yet raucous laughter.

Then they began their efforts in earnest. The nearby table yielded the implements for the well practice procedure. Derek made a show of first greasing his right hand then, in stepping to the hanging Emperor, reached to apply lubricant to the gluteal cleft of the well parted thighs. A kneeling Eric worked the penis, his nimble fingers slipped what appeared to be a condom over the tip of the Emperor’s firming manhood. A closer look suggested it was in fact more like a Texas catheter, collection vessel attached. Then the duo began, the amazing tongues first extending to waggle about in the air and amuse the crowd. Derek, kneeling at the rear begin long sensuous laps of the hanging scrotum. And Erik, kneeling beneath the belly, applied equally long and sensuous laps to the incredibly sized semi stiff shaft.

322 noted that the Emperor squirmed in his bonds, the intense pleasure notwithstanding. Obviously, despite the sensory deprivation, the attention was not welcomed. All the years, so often milked, siring an entire Province with his essence, and the homophobia remains. Such ignominy... to be masturbated, if that is the proper term, by genderless one time males. 322 contemplates the Emperor’s fate... never to have carnal relations... yet made to produce... all care offered... the perfect diet, the temperature of his organs controlled at all times, so attentive, everything... solely to maximize the production of sperm.

As the guard suggested... male obedience... male degradation... complete subjugation

Age an obvious impediment, the earnest efforts of the castrates still brought full tumescence, the reluctant Emperor made to display a firm stand to the amused crowd.

Then as Derek continued lapping away, Erik arose and stepped to the table. A bowl of crushed ice awaited and in gathering a fistful, he returned to meticulously apply the freezing slush to the perineum. The process seemed well practiced, apparently part of the standard procedure, and 322 quickly realized the Emperor was to be numbed. Yes, the ejaculatory muscles were not to contract and offer any manly spurts of ejaculate. Instead, this was a milking, the sought after seed to be meekly harvested, not a scintilla of ejaculatory pleasure to be imparted.

Satisfied with the numbness, Derek reached upwards with his greased hand and began working the gluteal cleft. Erik returned to kneel and resume lapping away at the shaft. 322 noted that his oral efforts avoided the underside of the penis tip, where Dr. Saunders first explained the erogenous significance before excising such from his own organ. No, Erik’s efforts were teasing, obviously offering a very distant and tantalizing pleasure, if any could be felt.

Within minutes, 322 noticed that Derek’s greased hand had disappeared, impaling the Emperor’s rectum up to his wrist.

He heard the Empress comment...

“Fisted again, the Emperor’s been well opened over the years. The fingers of Derek’s small hand can actually grasp the prostate gland. In being well iced, the Emperor won’t ejaculate... can’t ejaculate... so Derek will slowly play and squeeze while Erik assures all the oozing essence is well collected. It so empowers the neutered... don’t you think? Offered governance over the intact male, the envy is quite telling...”

Erik began a milking motion, withdrawing his tongue. A pudgy little hand was barely able to encircle the massive swollen shaft. But it did and with a long, slow drawing motion... down... never up... the penis of the Emperor became an udder and thus encouraged... not to spurt... but to meekly drool... the collection bag slowly filling.

The only thing the Emperor felt was the intensity of the humiliation.

Can one ever become accustomed to the cheers and jeers of the imposing women of Chessu?

The ceremony ending, a proud Eric slipped off the Texas catheter and quickly sealed the collection vessel, holding it up for all to see... a goodly offering of sperm.

With his gratified look... it appeared that he had been the male to climax... the closest the castrate will ever come...

Monday, November 15, 2010

Chapter Thirty Two - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Thirty Two

Instantly reacting to slight but more frequent tugs, 322 endeavors to roll the cart to an open space adjacent a kneeling beast, number 226987. Midori, uttering the command ‘kneel’, dismounts.

“Feet together.”

Midori works behind, 322 feeling the leash jostle as her hands fidget about his ankle bands. Then comes the feel of constant tension.

“Stay,” another command as she moves to stand before him.

The command is superfluous. Miss Midori has looped the end of his leash through both ankles bands then tied it off tightly. His brank is held in place, immobilizing his head and his ankles held together in a fiendishly simple and quick tie. Though sight is limited, directly before him is the platform and 322 notes all the beasts are positioned facing it and a curious frame resting on top.

Two sturdy horizontal parallel planks are supported about six feet above the surface of the platform... really a small stage. Strung between in the middle is a broad cloth strap. Toward the ends, right and left, dangle straps with cuffs attached... comfortable, foam lined, thick and also broad. At one end there rests a nearby small table.

Having come to know the protocol and procedures of Chessu, 322 knows that the apparatus is for binding. Someone will find himself, definitely not herself, well secured and presented helpless to the assembled audience.

Midori takes the slim controlling rod of steel in her hands and steps close to position herself. 322 knows what is to come.

“You need to be watered.”

He does... and in keeping with the protocol of the province... watered in a most humiliating manner. 322 knows to open as widely as possible as he sees thumb and forefinger work to lift the clitoral hood and splay the labia.

He takes the flow without hesitation... without a drop of spillage. With brank in place, he is disappointed not to be able to humbly cleanse and tidy where he so much enjoys serving. Instead Midori quickly smooths her quim against his exposed tongue and hurriedly steps away. The Empress has exited the palace to greet the visiting entourage. As seems to be de rigeur, she is regally attired in white silk.

Empress Claudia mingles. Words of greeting for the women, occasional tantalizing tweaks of a male nipple, her eyes move to the many standing phalli in a quick inspection, satisfied that her property is presented in the required condition.... thoroughly erect. Oddly, 322 senses gratitude for the very special anal plug which Miss Midori astutely selected. She indeed knows the male anatomy and that the No. 10 plug would adequately stimulate stiffness. A glance and smile from the Empress suggests he passes muster.

“Midori, I have reviewed the records. For this milking, it is your turn. The other nubile girls are either ill or not ovulating. And the Emperor’s seed is not to be wasted.”

Midori nods, her manner uncharacteristically humble in the presence of royalty.

“So it shall be, Empress.”

The attention of the crowd shifts, the decibel level of the many voices rises. A small parade has exited the nearby palace. Unseen until some women step aside, into the open area surrounding the platform steps one of the blonde cherubic castrates, he traveling with the Empress. Stripped naked, not an iota of covering, the tiny penis flops about, the only evidence of gender... one time gender... even the mammary glands appearing to be those of a prepubescent girl.

“It’s Eric’s turn to lead,” 322 hears the Empress comment. “But Derek is just as happy to have the hind leash.”

In his hand is a length of white leather trailing behind and moments later there follows into the open area another naked form. Hooded in a manner very similar to the Empress’s beasts, the form is emaciated, aged. But at the thighs dangles an amazingly long penis... and dangling well below the tip are testicles of outlandish size. 322 notes the scrotum swings about heavily, and well below the knees! But above at the base the sac is encircled with a matching strap of white leather.

The gait is strained, the motion hesitant, and the length of white leather, actually a leash connected to a gold neck band, tightens to demand more steps. The form is obviously reluctant and the slight resistance brings collective laughter from the crowd of observing women.

“He’s been milked so often... why does he not more willingly offer us the only thing we need from him?” 322 hears a voice in the audience.

“It’s male thing... seemingly inbred. They think the release of sperm is for their pleasure.”

The observation brings titters as the second castrate follows, stepping into view walking behind the Emperor. Also in his hands is a length of white leather. 322 is amazed to see it stretch forth to the thighs of the hooded figure. It is attached to the encircling strap at the ball sac. From the front the Emperor is led by the neck collar. To assure proper deportment he is also leashed by his balls!

Stairs at the far end of the platform are ascended, Eric leading. The blinded Emperor awkwardly follows. He meekly responds to directing hands and tugs and 322 learns of the utility of the many straps. The Emperor’s stomach is pressed to the strap in the center. Hands push to have him bend at the waist. He is placed lying tummy down, the broad nylon supporting his waist at the hips. Next the castrates, in a well practiced ritual, begin to secure the wrists and ankles, assuring the feet and hands are widely parted in a spread eagle position. The leashes are removed and 322 is amazed to see, now freely hanging, two huge male eggs almost touch the wooden surface of the platform. The gonads heavily swinging about bring amusement, the well stretched male sac is seemingly a fond diversion for the imposing women of Chessu.

Next, time is taken to encircle the Emperor’s neck with a posture collar. Large and thick it encumbers the chin, its lower edge pressing heavily against the breast bone. 322 notes that it is inflatable, and as castrate Eric squeezes an attached rubber ball the posture collar expands, completely immobilizing the head, obviously stretching neck muscles, ligaments and tendons as well.

With that, the crowd offers a mocking cheer. Yes, the regal penis twitches, despite its relative age and hint of infirmity, as the second castrate tightens the straps attached to the wrists and ankle cuffs, drawing the limbs well over head and forcing the Emperor to uncomfortably arch his back.

Incredibly, the uncomfortable position seems to spur more twitching... and more mocking cheers.

“Eric and Derek take such pride, do they not? Note the look on their faces. There is an interesting vicarious joy experienced in extracting sperm... that ability robbed from them by a woman’s quick fingers...”

322 cannot see the woman who makes the observation, but it is likely accurate. The effeminate duo, despite their nakedness... despite having to display their emasculation to all... labor before a gathering of women and cheerily bind a male... one owning the only fully functioning penis in the Province.

“A precise diet, lots of protein, he is kept well bound at all times to preclude exercise, all energy to be expended on the milking platform. We even keep his scrotum at the optimal temperature, his balls constantly immersed in water at 94 degrees... perfect temperature for the production of sperm. This is all he is permitted to live for... right here... right now... to be presented and made to perform on the milking platform. The many years of sensory deprivation, seclusion and constant restraint have turned his mind into pudding. He cannot even formulate words any more. But he still produces semen for me... whenever I want.”

The Empress’s overheard words chill, bringing horripilation... that a being could be so wickedly kept and commanded to perform.

But it is Chessu!

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Chapter Thirty One - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Thirty One

Donning a silk blouse of much finer decor, Midori strolls from the hut to where her beast kneels in slow suffering and mental duress.

“Are you ready to pull for me today?”

There comes an enthusiastic nod, limited by the cord attached to his neck collar.

“Of course you are! That’s what the stress positions are all about... obedience and instilling the eagerness to labor for me... offer me your sweat... show off your erect penis.”

Midori steps forth to release the neck cord, the scent of her uncovered mons, most proximate, wafts, so close to 322's tongue and lips. He curses the brank.

“Today I will ride, my beast. Your extensive oral servitude has brought a degree of ennui.”

Midori slips a leash onto the brank and guides him in arising. The procedure for harnessing begins and 322 dutifully allows himself to be directed about, to the front of the hut for his sling and anal insertion then to the ox cart. He is pleased to feel the firm knowing fingers first lubricate and then press to impale his anus with a stout No. 10... noting with delight the many bumps which he has learned can be most joyful as he labors in harness.

Yes, for the chaste male, there does develop an addiction, he has come to agree. And Miss Midori is there to assuage his need.

To the cart, prongs attached to his waist band, his sling buckled to the leading edge. The leash is pulled over his head, the ‘Y’ to the back at the nape of the neck. Then Midori mounts to sit on the seat-like broad front edge.

“With the cart empty, you’ll trot for me today, 322. Build some stamina.”

Yes, his strength has greatly improved. Midori is a masterful handler, within days conditioning such that massive loads of ore can moved. She daily assesses his flesh, with thumb and index finger taking in large tufts at the thighs, buttocks and tummy, judging the fat. As 322 noted with the other beasts, particularly those of Empress Claudia, beasts which who labor for the women of Chessu are well conditioned, lean, with optimal power ratios of weight to strength.

Midori once commented that the lesser his fat level, the more ore to be conveyed.

So as 322 feels the slack of the leash taken in, and the initial gentle tug, he pictures himself as a finely tuned race car... mechanic Midori tinkering to achieve maximum output.

Not knowing the way to the palace, Midori directs and 322 must endure some painful pulls of the leash. He notes the chosen path is towards a mountain, one appearing to be the closest of the surrounding peaks. Then he is chagrined to feel the seemingly innocuous brush of the swamp grass. Yes, she strokes the scrotum, encased and made most vulnerable by the wicked sling.

Midori did say she wanted a trot... and as the expected pulses of sting reach the cerebral cortex, though expected, the pain brings a stutter step. 322 indeed quickens his footwork in utter compliance with her wishes.

“Kind in mind you must stay thoroughly erect at the palace, 322. It is proper decorum for the male beasts of the Province. Flaccidity will draw the ire of the Empress. You’ll not want to visit Dr. Saunders again.”

He heartily agrees.

Past mid afternoon, the heat of the desert is at its peak, and Midori soon has her beast in a lather. Sweat pours and though it serves to sooth the sting of the nettles, 322 cannot help thinking of the loss... precious fluid flinging to the soil to quickly evaporate. But there is more. He can view in his lower peripheral vision the tip of his erect penis, the Prince Albert glinting anew. A fluid oozes there as well, viscous... from the prostate. Miss Midori has knowingly selected an anal insertion which abrades the gland with acclaim... causing her beast to manipulate the curious gland with each step. And he feels a slight burn... the capsaicin of Nurse Wendy?

She injected abundantly... could it be the irritating substance resides... waiting to sear with the proper kneading... with the insertion of some cleverly shaped mass of rubber designed to spur the release of the stored irritant and bring... and bring what?

Despite the physical exertion, the demanded output, 322's penis is stalwart in its rise. It wavers not. And 322 comes to realize that the devious injections... for the most part... are for his own benefit... imparting him with the ability to display himself as the women of Chessu most desire... most demand.

Unbridled tumescence!

Yes there comes another element of odd comfort, augmenting the sling’s cradling of his balls. The ability to harden... and with the psychological duress... the desire to harden... to entertain... to please... to bring joy to the woman who tends to all... she who feeds... she who assures his ability to perform... she who protects from the sky’s fiery dragons... from nature’s quick death.

Yes, Jay Blaine is gone. But beast number 384322 lives... and will live intact with Miss Midori in tendance.

The thoughts bring renewed spirit and without need for leash or nettles, the pace increases. His trepidation over staying erect dissipates. 322 realizes he is a prized show dog, Miss Midori endeavoring her best to assure he is well displayed... and he will perform... he will gratify.

The way proves to be a gradual incline, as noted the direction towards one of the many surrounding mountains. But without the burden of Rhodium ore, pulling the cart seems effortless and with adequate rate of tread, Miss Midori graciously withholds the swamp grass. Many miles, the air becomes slightly cooler with the change in altitude. This invigorates and the abundant sweat no longer flings to the soil but instead quickly dries to cool and inspire more effort.

Finally in ascending a knoll, a vast white structure appears. In its grandness there can be no doubt that it is the abode of the ruler of Chessu.

322 is chagrined to feel tugs on the leash, gentle though painful, as Midori guides the cart through a large open gate to enter an assembly area, a courtyard, within high protective walls. Surrounding the perimeter, arranged to encircle a centering platform, are dozens of carts. Many are similar to the ox cart of Miss Midori, a few of a lighter more sleek nature. Kneeling between the prongs of each cart are the naked male beasts of Chessu... all harnessed... all with buttocks callously numbered to denote ownership... and all standing erect.

Mingling about are the gregarious women of Chessu, gathered for a pleasant Sunday afternoon ceremony... the milking of the Emperor.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Chapter Thirty - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Thirty

Under the door jam, beams of early morning sunlight bring limited illumination to the windowless hut. 322 feels his master stir, her grazing warmth transitioning to an outright rub of her smooth flesh. She shifts, drawing her nakedness against his as her ravishing body glides towards his head. 322 is thrilled when a breast is incidentally offered to his restrained hand. It is momentary. He feels her warmth shift more.

He sees a hand reach over his shoulder. The brank, it is slowly slid from cheek and tongue.

“Roll my beast. It is Sunday and I wish to sleep a little longer.”

Brank removed, Miss Midori’s warmth slips away. 322 then feels hands guide and assist. With ankles secured together, wrists remaining behind the back, an obedient 322 awkwardly rolls indeed. The removal of the blanket brings wafts of cool room air.

“Drink... lick me clean... then feast. A little treat for you.”

322 is heartened to watch as his lord and master returns, moving with grace to straddle his supine form, feet at his shoulders. He stares upwards. With thighs parted there is offered an unfettered view of her luscious pinkness. Her knees bend and her mons lowers to greet his lips. A well trained 322 knows to open his mouth and begin the arduous oral service demanded. Within moments a night’s build up of excretions begins to flow and he happily partakes.

It is his duty.

Then Miss Midori further lowers to lie flat, her smooth warmth now pressing his chest, her head at his lower belly. The blanket is drawn over and it becomes evident more rest is intended as 322 cleanses then begins the slow, attentive cunnilingus which Miss Midori has exactingly taught.

As a tongue parts the inner labia and sensuously thrusts, 322 feels warm, soft fingers return to the mass of his well stretched scrotal sac. Another hand slips between the osculating bodies and tenderly kneads his right nipple. He imagines her touch to be his reward, and indeed his lips purse to assure heightened pleasure and earn more... his tongue swirling to thrill the feminine bud, just as a demanding Miss Midori instructed.

Miss Midori begins to purr... like a contented cat... and 322 knows not to waver in his efforts. Minutes later, he is surprised when the motion of her rewarding hands stops. She sleeps, the warm wetness of her subjugated beast’s mouth and tongue offering sublime comfort.


Miss Midori stirs anew. 322, never stopping his oral efforts, renews the fervor, having feasted indeed on the juices his efforts have spurred. The beams of sunlight have shifted, telling 322 it is well into the morning as he senses oscillations, the insatiable genitalia finally reaching an orgasmic apex. There comes a sigh then a repressed shriek of joy and 322's mouth receives a deluge of feminine juices. He swallows greedily... pridefully.

“Enough,” comes the succinct command.

322 stills his efforts and is disappointed to feel Miss Midori roll from atop his supine nakedness.

The room is warmer, the intense late morning desert sun returning heat to the storm cooled arid province. The door is opened flooding the one room hut with light, and illuminating the wondrous completely naked form of his idol and master. His eyes now feast as did his tongue and lips.

“I am going stress you for a few hours. It is best for males like you. Deep within you enjoy. Then it will time to go to the palace. The Emperor is to be milked.”


Of course the brank returns, he’ll never move without it in place. That he has come to understand.

Ankle bands released, 322 exits the hut as he entered, shuffling somewhat upright on knees with a controlling hand guiding the brank. His balls swinging heavily, Midori reaches back and applies a playful pat, evidencing the thoroughness of her governance and ownership.

At the tethering pole, Midori raises her hand and the brank mandates that he rise from his knees and stand. Within seconds he is secured standing on the small box.... neck band, waist band, ankle bands. Then comes the beginning of the slow, barely tolerable stress as a dainty foot pushes the support out from under. 322 dangles, again at the caprice of a woman.

He gazes in admiration at his naked idol, standing arms akimbo, she in turn enjoying the view... for her beast, engorged by way of the stimulation of oral servitude, stiffens even more, his Prince Albert ring rising to touch his lower belly.

“Yes, 322, you truly enjoy. Dr. Ann Simpson, Madam Soong, they so very much understand the psyche of males like you.”

He knows not to ask for how long he will be suspended, but does murmur into the brank, hinting that, in being held stationary, it be removed.

“No my, beast. The brank remains. Remember... feminine caprice...”

Midori steps to the hut and returns with a half filled basin and chamois. 322 is once again the beneficiary of the teasing show, Midori laving the soapiness everywhere, face, shoulders, arms, the most enticing breasts, torso, legs and finally her sex and gluteal cleft.

322 thinks to himself... could she not do this out of sight... in the hut? The display of her feminine charms, though rather clinically presented, is thorough, every inch of flesh exposed to his adoring gaze.

Is it intentional? It has been suggested that he will bond, transform to a puppy which will soon learn all existence is by way of his master’s grace. That he will become a loyal beast... understanding that he owes all to the lithe 100 pounds of Miss Midori... owner... care giver... woman of caprice... but a protector... saver of his life in dauntlessly confronting lightning.

Miss Midori finishes her ablutions, carefully picking up the small basin.

“For you my beast,” she offers stepping to the small box.

The mouth of 322 seeps with the divine aftertaste of the unending cunnilingus. He savors, but must drink as Midori works the brank to properly position his mouth then slowly pours, not spilling a drop. By now 322 has learned to open his throat, precisely timing swallows impeded by his entrapped tongue as Midori in turn knows to pause to await the telltale motion of his Adam’s apple.

Finished, she releases the brank and steps from the box.

“Just a few hours... then I will have you kneel for me.”

Heartless, relieving his stress by placing him in another stress position. But it is part of the training. Despite the cruelty he remains erect... and he is coming to understand.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Chapter Twenty Nine - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty Nine

Once again suspended upright, neck, waist band and ankles secured to the post, Midori slips out the brank.

“I want to offer more stress. It amuses. Then you’ll be fed and can lie down.”

322 offers no words of protest. He has come to expect the slow torment... almost accept such as a form of tribute.

“For how long, Miss Midori?” the words humble, the voice meek,

“For as long as I decide. Caprice... remember that my beast. You’ll always be subject to a woman’s caprice.”

Midori palms the low hanging sac, her warm hands bolstering the wearied fortitude in facing the hours of slow torment.

“What did you think of Empress Claudia, my beast?”

“She is beautiful, Miss Midori. But...”

322 hesitates, not able to muster the temerity to express himself more forthrightly.

“But what? You may speak,” the fingers tenderly kneading the well worn cremaster muscles, subjected to a day’s labor in the sling, again demonstrating such knowledge of the male anatomy.

“I like looking at you.”

Midori smiles.

“Of course you do, my beast. You are bonding to me. All you have, what little there is, comes from me. I can leave you here tethered to the post and you’ll die... very, very slowly. But I will not. You are needed... to serve me... with your muscles... and your tongue. And the display of virility enthuses. It brings moisture to my loins... that which you so much savor.”

Midori laughs.

“We have needs. I know precisely how to appease yours. Look at yourself. You remain erect. And as for my needs... you are being trained to indulge.”

322's eyes shift downward noting that, even with neck immobile and limited line of sight, his stiffness is firm and prominent enough to be seen.

“What is happening to me?”

“You are being conditioned, my beast. Our province may be unsophisticated but our methods for handling subservient males are not. Think about what I have had you do. Is there anything you can refuse... would refuse? Think about how little you resist. Rather telling is it not?”

There is a pause for contemplation. 322 pictures the huge beasts of Empress Claudia, incredibly well muscled and fit, their long thick phalli engorged to the maximum. And such serve blinded, conveying the Empress without sight. Exerting, reacting to the slightest pull on leash and brank, and maintaining tumescence, two tasks... and only two tasks... life boiled down to its simplest.

Also coming to mind are the castrates, practically twins. So effeminate, so eager to serve, they appeared pubescent. Before departing, the blonde duo watered the Empress’s beasts. At least it appeared to be water. And then, with a snap of the Empress’s fingers, knelt and fellated each beast, their soft childlike hands reaching behind to massage the well entrapped testicles as well. Cultivating stiffer erections, they knew to stop well short of spurring ejaculation.

The Empress observed the male-on-male interaction with a telling smile.

“Sunday. What will happen, Miss Midori?”

“You will see. The Emperor will be publically milked, forced to once again give up his seed. In Chessu, the genesis for all procreation is from his loins. Though of age, the castrates work him with patience and great skill. He always provides... his seed forthcoming... but offered in a manner most humble.”

With that, Midori steps on the small box and reaches upwards.


322 is branked, the slim rod slipping effortlessly into place. As she dismounts and steps away, 322, though having ogled her wondrous derriere throughout the day, finds himself gawking anew. Such tempting mounds of flesh, he strains in frustration against his bonds. Midori turns and, catching the intensity of his gaze, smiles... so much aware of his thoughts. She knows of his lust... understands that it is transforming.

Having been fed, then subjected to hours more stress, Miss Midori finally removed the brank, released his bindings at the neck and waist, and carefully guided him to the ground, protective patch of silk waiting in place for his over sensitive penis. Wrists remaining linked behind his back, ankles secured to the lower horizontal board, 322 was grateful to finally let sleep overtake.

But he awakens. Noise! Loud... booming... the desert sky alights in a display of natures might. Bolts of lightening crash to the earth. So close... so near.

322 cries out... in fear... in consternation. A plaintive yelp. There is no shelter. With the flatness of the desert his tethering pole is envisioned as a lightening rod. The heart beat races with bolt number three. Closer still. As the resulting thunder rolls across the province, 322's yelp turns to words... a plea.

“Miss Midori, please, I will be killed.”

Another bolt and with the bright flash 322 cranes his neck to see the silhouette of his savior at the exit of the hut. She is completely naked, and despite the dire circumstances, 322 peers, waxing, his lust stirred as she approaches.

“Tongue,” Midori cooly commands.

By rote the appendage is thrust forth and 322 is instantly branked. Nimble fingers unclip the ankle bands without delay.

“Up,” the fingers returning to hold the brank as 322 arises and draws forth is knees.


Firm grip holding the brank, 322 cannot stand, cannot flee as his subconscious demands. Instead he crawls indeed, shuffling upright on his knees, Miss Midori directing him to the hut... where he has never before been.

Inside the door shuts, offering shelter and insulating the sound of the booming thunder.

“Over here. Down,” a single hand on the left end of the brank so facilely controls.

A dim kerosene lamp reveals a hovel of crude simplicity. The floor is dirt. In the middle is a mat, apparently unrolled for sleeping. 322 watches as a thoughtful Midori lays out his protective silk patch, attentively knowing the smoothness is required for rest.

322's inquisitive eyes shift to Midori, her sublime nakedness, her rarely offered breasts... so firm... so perfectly shaped... the nipples beckoning.

“Down,” she must command again, ending 322's lustful view, firmly and painfully directing the brank.

He lies, her hand suggesting the prostrate pose of the many nights sleeping under the desert sky. In releasing the brank he hears a click, his ankle bands clipped together.

322, the feeling of being well bound now most acceptable, breathes evenly, his heart stilling with the sense of warmth and safety.

“Dry lightening, my beast. Winds shift, blowing the cool moist air of the mountains to mix with the desert heat. An astounding display, but rarely resulting in what we need most... water in the form of rain.”

322 murmurs into his brank, suggesting he be relieved, wanting to offer his thanks to the bold woman who faced the wrath of lightening to save his soul.

“Oh no, 322. Shelter is luxury enough. The brank remains.”

With that the lamp is turned down and then 322's heart races anew as Miss Midori moves to lie atop his prostrate form... her complete nakedness grazing his. On his back, he can feel the firm pebbles of her nipples just below his upturned wrists, feel the intensity of her warmth, her smooth thighs pressing against the back of his. A blanket is pulled over both and 322 understands the need for the brank, he would so much like to taste... to lick... to devour.

“The winds will bring the cold, as the thunder suggests,” the door rattling with the intense gusts. “You will appreciate the blanket.”

322 is thrilled to feel a hand work between his thighs and grasp his testicles, the pressure of the soft fingers remindful of the odd comfort afforded by his sling. And with that, silence ensues, 322 understanding that his master, she who provides all, protector of his helpless, naked and vulnerable form... sleeps.

Feeling the constancy of her hand, her pressing breasts, he cannot close his eyes, so much desiring to partake in her beauty. Yet the brank... such a devilishly simple instrument... its length, the protruding ends, forbid him from so much as turning his head.

No, 322 just lies, forced to absorb the frustration, feeling his erection frottage against the sanctuary of the silk patch beneath.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Chapter Twenty Eight - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty Eight

Saturday is another day of toil and drudgery... for 322. In now taking a full load, it becomes one of bounty for Midori. Her pile of script is noteworthy, even after procuring abundant food, and thoughtfully, extra canisters of swill for her beast.

In returning to the hut, provisions attained, for the first time Midori sits on the cart, at the front edge of the storage box, the thick plank forming a passable seat. The leash is drawn over 322's head, the ‘Y’ parting at the back of his head.

“You know the way, 322, please don’t make me use the leash.”

A quick, slight tug demonstrates that equally painful guidance can be offered, and 322 is fully aware that the strand of stinging swamp grass remains available as well.

Between her calves, draped over the leading edge, is the buckled end of the sling. And Midori takes the time to impart another element of her control, the leash hand grasping and slowly pulling to tension the sling, jostle the anal insertion and generally bring awareness of her ability and the complete vulnerability of her charge.

Having labored to deliver some 1,200 pounds of ore, the procured provisions, though abundant, are trivial in weight. And Midori’s some 100 pounds seems to burden not. So 322 pulls, sensing the sling tighten to bring the odd comfort, as if his handler is cradling his balls, and begins the return journey to the hut. A route he now knows well.

He now also knows how to avoid the application of the nettles, the effortless swing of his handler’s hand which brings the incredibly stinging result... swamp grass abrading his well exposed scrotal sac.

So 322 quietly revels, a long day of working and pleasing, now completely acclimated to feminine control. He works, eats and sleeps... and pleases.

In his lower peripheral vision the western setting sun makes his Prince Albert ring, pointing upwards atop a firm erection, glint. It has indeed become a reminder, a final act of kindness from Dr. Saunders, ironically bringing assurance that his manhood can be handled and positioned without the need for touch... painful touch... that which is to be avoided.

For the thoroughly subjugated, there is solace in the known, the repetitive existence. The ritual is daily. He will be released from harness, restrained, offered bladder relief, and fed... though being injected with sludge is a more apt description of the method of receiving sustenance. At some point in the evening... usually late... Miss Midori will offer the relief of lying prostrate, his brank finally removed so he can offer tearful words of thanks.

Then he will finally taste... feast on Miss Midori’s fine pink flash. Relish her juices... all her juices... all she cares to offer. It is to be cherished.

Yes, to be permitted to lie down... such an act of grace.

And perhaps... just perhaps... Miss Tamora will visit and also offer her taste, her need of otherwise debaucherous anal attention considered quite prosaic in the Province of Chessu.

Nearing the hut, 322 senses relief, the leash pulls not, the swamp grass withheld. Instead he has governed himself. The sling, such a deviant device of self bondage, has offered a comforting sense of feminine control, cradling his balls, obviating any reminders from Midori concerning his extreme subservience.

Midori dismounts and the cart is stowed. As 322 is led to the hut for the removal of his sling a vehicle of size can be seen in the distance. Before the leash is secured to the overhead beam, 322 spies a carriage. White, the sun’s rays reflecting from garnishments of gold, four wheeled, as expected it is drawn by the human beast. But there are four... two pairs, one before the other... all large... all extremely well muscled. 322 is amazed to see such are hooded.... the head covered in white leather with a single opening at the mouth. And of course such are branked.

“It is Empress Claudia, my beast. Remain erect.”

Leash tethered above, the comforting soft length of leather is slipped under the back of the waist band. The anal plug, No. 9, plops from a rectum which has come to greedily devour its stoutness. As the balls are pressed through the compressing slit to swing heavily between parted thighs, the nearing carriage slows then comes to a stop.

322 strains his head, turning to look. Yes the carriage is not only garnished in gold, but the many bands of the beasts, identically donned at the neck, waist, wrists and ankles, are all of gold as well. The hoods of white leather are tightly sutured to the neck bands, suggesting permanency. But most impressive, the four penises of the quad of beasts are all amazingly erect... and amazingly large.

“Good evening, Midori.”

The pleasant greeting draws 322's attention from the riveting sight as a woman in white, sitting at the driver’s position in front, ties off four leashes, each leading to the brank of a beast.

“Welcome, Empress Claudia,” Midori politely curtsying.

At the front of the carriage, a blonde head pops into view, quite the contrast in a land of Asian ethnicity, raven hair so prevalent. The form arises and, completely nude, scrambles from the carriage, steps to the desert soil than immediately drops to all fours.

As the woman in white dismounts, her first step down is to place her booted foot on the back of the kneeling form... a living step stool.

322 visually examines, the long golden hair is effeminately styled, fostering confusion... a female of such obeisance in the gynecocracy of Chessu?

The woman’s second step brings her to ground level. The blonde form rights and then a second blonde form, identical, jumps from the carriage, apparently kneeling before the sitting Empress and entrapped in front of the seat. As the Empress steps forth the duo obediently assemble behind her, seeming to be at beck and call and within an arms length.

As 322 more closely examines, the mystery of female subservience is solved. Two tiny emaciated penises flop about. And most disconcerting... that is the only evidence of maleness. The gonads appear not.

“You handle your beast with aplomb, Midori... tight bondage... it is best for them. Your mother taught well.”

Yes, the leash, limited slack, has been well secured to the beam, the brank very much limiting 322's head movement.

“Thank you, Empress. And thank you for the wonderful gift.”

“It is your right, Midori. Every woman is bestowed with the right of ownership in the Province of Chessu. As long as we continue to provide male infants, the Chinese government will overlook our disdain... our little peccadillo... our predilection for female authority and thorough governance.”

As the Empress talks she nears and 322 can better inspect. Beautiful olive complexion, her ethnicity appears more of that from the regions to the south... Nepal... India. Dark eyes, raven hair, her white attire contrasts strikingly. White leather boots rise to the knees. A short pleated white skirt ending at mid thigh offers a view of olive toned, shapely thighs. White silk blouse as well as a white silk scarf which glamorously encircles the neck and entwines in ravishingly styled long hair, complete the ensemble.

“He is of good size... and he stands well for you,” the Empress noting 322's erection. “You are working him well?”

“Yes, Empress. He is already taking full loads.”

“And you’ve marked him. Not a moment of hesitation for you, Midori. I am sure you carved well and imparted much pain. He cried?” the Empress smiling wickedly with her inquiry.

“Like a little girl.”


A hand extends. 322 feels warm, soft fingers graze over the recently keloided flesh, the gesture of ownership subtle but well communicated.

“I have little to offer, Empress. Some water?”

“That will change as you work your beast and transport more Rhodium. And I need nothing. I am here to remind that the Emperor is to be milked on Sunday. I know you attended as a child and enjoyed in the past. But I believe that it is best that your attendance be assured. You are quite nubile, Midori. And though aged, the Emperor remains fertile. In time it becomes every woman’s turn to procreate. You can hope for a daughter, but the market for a male progeny remains strong.”

322 watches as the hand glides from assuaging his buttocks to Midori’s thighs, then slips upwards to cup the uncovered mons. Just as witnessed at the airstrip, the fingers gently begin to work inward, knowingly parting the outer labia. There is no resistance, Midori shifting her feet to offer better access.

“You have your beast, Midori. And judging from the warmth of your nest I sense you are ovulating. We have learned that women of our ilk better conceive when satiated by the ownership of a well subjugated male. So it is time. And you’ll still work him well during gestation.”

Midori smiles. Though quite Sapphic, the touch of the Empress is obviously well appreciated.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Chapter Twenty Seven - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty Seven

Returned to the hut, Midori finds there is not enough time for a trip to the mine. Nurse Wendy’s bizarre and agonizing injections and acid bath were followed by standard but thorough physical examinations, her hands closely inspecting every inch of subordinated, well exposed and tethered male flesh.

So with limited daylight, instead Midori releases 322 from the cart and leads him to the rear where the tethering pole awaits.

“I want you to endure more stress for me. And I want you to talk.”

Branked, sling removed, Midori positions 322 before the pole and has him stand on a small box. She then connects his neck band to the high horizontal board, his waist band to the middle board and as always his ankle bands to the lower board. With wrists remaining linked behind his back, she unhooks the leash and slips out the brank. Since his arrival in Chessu, he has not before been relieved of the aggravating restraint so early in the day.

“Thank you, Miss Midori, thank you,” come the heartfelt words of gratitude.

But then Midori slips the box from under the feet, leaving 322 to dangle from the various bands, toes just inches from the soil.

“Cozy my beast? Long term bondage ironically requires a degree of comfort... so your muscles and ligaments can bring the slow torment I prefer.”

Oddly, 322 senses no immediate pain, his weight equally born by the many tethers.

“Yes, Miss Midori.”

322 also feels renewed stiffness just as when he hung in bondage for Nurse Wendy as she bathed and injected.

“How does your penis feel?” the question posed without bashfulness.

“It is sore, Miss Midori. As if it’s been rubbed too much.”

“That is good. Would you like to stroke it for me? Should I release one of your wrists?”

“No please. I cannot touch it. It will burn.”

“Do you want me to stroke it for you?” Midori steps forth as she inquires.

“No, please do not touch it.”

Ignoring the plea, a finger tip ever so gently diddles the upturned underside where Dr. Saunders performed her quick surgery. 322 grimaces, the touch unbearable. Midori laughs.

“How does it feel to have that which once afforded you so much pleasure transformed into that which now torments? Think about it 322, a woman has altered that which drives the male psyche.”

322 just nods as best as his bonds permit.

“So you’re held in chastity, constantly bound, made to perform. And brimming with hormones. And you’ve been well marked, forever to bear the number which signifies that your nakedness is the property of the Empress and the Province of Chessu.”

322 just nods again.

“And your reaction... you stiffen for me. To so brazenly display your hard on. Yet you will not stroke it for me. Tsk. Tsk, 322. One of your favorite pastimes denied you.”

322 offers a perplexed look.

“Oh, don’t look so confused, I have read Dr. Ann Simpson’s file... a thorough description of you masturbating for the female guards in Los Angeles.... with her underlying psychological analysis and the ramifications. Your predilections resonate well here, don’t you think? We want to see the male stiff, but under control, for your own good. After all, in ejaculating there was lost the opportunity to show off for the next guard. Here in Chessu you can display yourself for everyone.”

Midori playfully laughs with the notion.

“Well if you want me to stroke it for you, just ask. It will work well to test Nurse Wendy’s altering applications. She knows just the right strength of acid... and just the right length of time.”

The thought horrifies. Masturbation, despite the lustful build up of hormones, is not even imagined much less desired. The physical transformation begins to serve as a catalyst for the mental and emotional transformation.

“Tongue!” comes the oft heard command.

The pink appendage is presented and the brank slips through grommets and tongue with noted ease.

With that, Midori steps into the hut, leaving her beast to dangle in the setting sun.


Dishes rattle, there comes the smell of cooking food. Having tasted nothing other than feminine fluids, the aroma brings salivation and drool drips from 322's forcibly extended tongue.

The muscles begin to cramp and as opposed to being harnessed, there is little movement to offer relief. And oddly, 322 peers downward to note his erection has not wavered. Nurse Wendy’s horrid injections? The tension on his neck band? Perhaps the psychological need to entertain... to remain erect for the governing woman... is becoming ingrained.

At one time being trained to so perform would bring consternation. But in understanding that the swill factory is staffed by those who failed to please, 322 comes to accept his transformation. He wants to be stiff... for Midori... for the demanding women of Chessu. Since he cannot touch it, can longer use it for self pleasure, why should he not perform and show off? Nurse Wendy suggested her visits were to help. Despite the pain... the ignominy of being restrained naked before the many handlers... the trauma of needles to the scrotum and perineum... it appears her treatment abets his performance. And in a bizarre emotional/mental transformation he not only physically tumefies, the turgid length of flesh brings strange sanguineness. He is pleased with himself.

Yes, he hangs, helplessly, completely dependent on his handler, she of such amazing knowledge and experience concerning the male anatomy, but he does so in comfort.

Capsaicin... in the prostate gland!

Is it psychosomatic that 322 can feel a smoldering heat and swelling there?

Midori exits the hut and approaches. In her hand is the feeding canister. She steps on the small box, reaches up and summarily slides the tube into a mouth forced open by the brank. Then she callously pushes and 322 feels the tube continue inward, back of the mouth, well down the throat.

She smiles noting the repressed gags, then presses the disk at the end to force the putrefied swill into his stomach.

Is there anything that he can resist... can refuse?

Thereafter, 322 receives another testicle massage, Midori isolating the cremaster muscles within the scrotum and kneading and massaging. She knows of the stress brought by the sling, of having the scrotum and male muscles constantly tensioned while pulling the ox cart.

After a time her hands rise. 322 is amazed when fingers tweak the nipples and expertly massage there as well. Sensuous, caring, she has been well taught. He imagines her young fingers offering the same to her mother’s beast. She knows of the joy. And 322 begins to understand what has been suggested, that the extreme chastity brings new found erogenous zones. He finds his penis waggling in celebration.

“This spurs the endorphins... so you can hang for me longer... endure more”

Her fingers feel so good...

“I once watched my mother milk her beast of sperm doing this. The joy became such that he leaked, his essence meekly drooling for her. Without touching the penis, without the friction required for normal ejaculation, he could not spurt and achieve climax. But mother rebalanced his hormone levels and it was quite amusing and informative to observe... the male udder... fecund but otherwise useless.”

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Chapter Twenty Six - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty Six

Ten naked well trussed males, herded beasts, stand in wait. Above is a long thick horizontal plank supported by sturdy posts right and left. Holding each upright are chains attached to the neck bands just below each ear. Ankle bands are also tethered, right band to the left band of the neighboring beast. The handlers have worked in conjunction, the many years of experience in binding sizable males, physically sculpted for unending labor, well practiced.

Perched on wooden blocks, the feet are well spread. Nurse Wendy demands access to the most intimate male anatomy during her weekly visits. Her inspection and tendance ensures a healthy subordinate, able to perform as demanded.

For the newly arrived 322, it is an awkward stance. His right ankle band is attached to the post, his left ankle band to the right band of the adjacent beast, anonymous but for his number... 224665. And that beast in turn has his left band secured to the right band another, numbered buttocks unseen.

Yes, when finished adjusting, assuring the neck bands are without slack and the feet are widely parted, ten handlers, all attired to flash shapely buttocks and feminine charms, gather to await, each passing time in sharing stories of torment, forced labor and lucrative loads of Rhodium ore.

Within minutes comes the drone of the Hercules cargo plane. The craft passes parallel to the airstrip turns and banks, the steady hum of the engines lowering to begin decent. There follows the momentary screech of tires, a cloud of dust and the place taxis proximate to the curious display of naked, well subjugated male brawn.

The cargo hold door drops and an enthused Nurse Wendy steps to the desert soil, large canvas bag in hand.

“Greeted by some eight feet of standing dick. A woman could not have a better reception,” Nurse Wendy quips, bringing forth titters from the covey of handlers.

322 knows that his own organ has dutifully firmed, the tension on his neck collar, the weeks of chastity, fostering a moderate erection. With Nurse Wendy’s comment he must assume that his compatriots have achieved a similar condition. Neck encumbered, it is hard to turn his head to see.
322 notes the woman who so attentively altered his penis wears her crisply starched white uniform. He is reminded of her size... not only are her resolve and heartless ministrations imposing but her stature as well. On a well worn wooden table she plunks down her satchel and begins her preparations.

“No branks, no slings ladies. I’ll want complete exposure... complete access.”

The handlers dutifully step forth to collectively remove the ubiquitous restraints. With his mouth freed, his testicles freely swinging between well parted thighs, 322 feels a degree of relief... yet it is not to bode well.

“For those newly arrived, I will explain my role. I am here to assure that the property of the Empress is duly cared for and in good stead. We want physically toned males, able to work, able to entertain, able to stand for the Empress at her behest.”

Nurse Wendy snaps on latex gloves as she speaks in a stentorian voice.

“To assure adequate performance you are to be kept chaste. Pleasure in the Province of Chessu is for the female. Any gratification for you will be in pleasing. And as Dr. Saunders has worked to further assure, your penises will never again be a source of sexual satiation. They will only be a source of entertainment for the women of Chessu. Therefore you will continue to be mentally and physically altered... starting with a nice acid bath and followed by some injections that will help you perform.

“Remove the blocks ladies, let’s have a nice show.”

With each beast standing on small wooden blocks, the effect of removing such is to have the well restrained and naked males move to the very tips of the their toes, further tensioning the neck bands. That in turn further spurs the penises which Nurse Wendy will soon inspect and modify.

322's feet scramble to find terra firma, his left ankle band stressing the right ankle band of the neighboring 224665. His is the same reaction and there comes collective laughter as the handlers watch their charges dance in unison.

“Calm yourselves. The neck bands are well designed. Breathe steadily and just let mother nature work. Tensioning the spinal cord has a nice firming effect on the male I am sure you’re all feeling,” Nurse Wendy proclaims with snicker.

She opens a jar and grasps the moderate sized paint brush which 322 has before endured.

“Just a little muriatic acid to start, boys. Keep that penile flesh nice and raw and obviate any desire to stroke yourself.”

322 is first. Without compunction the woman knowingly brushes his standing erection with a thin coating of what appears to be water. She is quick, efficient and attentive assuring every square centimeter is wetted. Then she steps to 224665 and replicates her handiwork. As she endeavors to coat the third beast, 322 begins to feel the acid... warm... warmer... hot... hotter... and as Nurse Wendy steps to the far beast... searing.

Once again the feet dance, in unison tugging away at each others ankle bands. The handlers find amusement. And despite the suffering, 322's penis shrivels not.

“Good. you’re all standing for me so nicely.”

Gratefully Nurse Wendy returns with a spray bottle, A spritz of cooling water ends the immediate burn, but 322 knows his penis is chemically well chafed, not to be touched. As described, it feels as if it has been well sun burned.

“Now for your hormone shots. Mostly testosterone with some other additives to make you all nice a randy. It can be injected anywhere. But I think you seasoned beasts know where I like to press the needle.”

Hypodermic needles are assembled on a tray. A more experienced handler assists, moving with the tray as Nurse Wendy steps behind and 322 feels her palming his low hanging scrotal sac.

“You know why I do it this way?” Nurse Wendy poses with a sardonic laugh... “because I can.”

Added to the sting of his penis comes a stabbing pin prick to the thin flesh of his scrotum. Then 322 feels warming as some substance, purportedly hormones, is injected directly into his balls. Once again the feet kick, stressing the ankle band of 224665 who in turn kicks to tension his neighbor’s bound foot.

When it comes time to inject 224665, the reaction repeats... and so on until ten dangling scrotal sacs have all been cruelly infused with... with whatever.

“Desire my boys... you will always have it... and never satiate it...” Nurse Wendy cackles as she returns to the table.

“And now my favorite. A little prostate stimulation... for that little male gland that is so helpful in keeping the virile male erect. You should all appreciate this. For it will keep those balls away from Dr. Saunders’ snipping shears and her collection... and you out of the swill factory.”

Yes, as 322 has learned, the failure to stand for the Empress can have dire consequences. He cannot help wondering if this calloused nurse is indeed of assistance as he senses an odd warmth within his scrotum, observing as the nurse prepares another set of hypodermic needles.

“Capsaicin, for the benefit of you new beasts. A harmless skin irritant. But injected directly into the prostate gland it will irritate there as well. Make that walnut sized lump big and swollen, ready in a moment to assist with erection.”

The thought horrifies. But there is no manner of resistance. Nurse Wendy again moves to 322's rear, the handler following with the tray. A gloved left gloved first kneads the perineum. Fingers work to further spread the extreme upper thighs and lower buttocks. Then 322 feels the most incredibly painful pin prick ever, up and pressed deeply into his flesh between his rectum and his scrotum. The woman knowingly pauses then oh so slowly injects. More horror comes as the needle slightly withdraws and is reinserted at a different angle. The procedure repeats for a third time to completely immerse the curious male gland with the searing hot liquid.

322 is amazed to feel his penis further stiffen despite the intensity of the agony. And of course his feet kick to once again begin the choreographed reaction of his ten cohorts. More laughter as he howls. He has never felt such pain.

“Yes, sing for me 322. It is why I prefer the brank to be removed.”