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.

1 comment:

JHoltgym said...

wonderful.....he does seem to be fitting into this gynarchical society....nicely.....