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.

No comments: