Thursday, November 4, 2010

Chapter Twenty One - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty One

The hands are gruff, those of a manual laborer, those of a breaker of rocks. Midori steps back, a gesture of concurrence, offering the woman full purview over her beast. The woman tugs. 322 winces, emitting a simple word of objection not to be discerned, the brank obviating all speech. No, he must obediently move his head as the woman releases the leash and instead directly grasps the brank, right and left. She slowly lowers her hands, 322's head following as he must bend at the waist. The slightest tremor is felt, as if the woman cradles his brain, holds his very nerve center. And she amuses herself knowing of the intense discomfort brought by the most insignificant motions of her fingers.

Face at waist level, sensing that her power is understood, all resistance vanquished, the woman steps more proximate, her body odor filling the nostrils.

“Yes, it’s important in the desert, one dehydrates quicker than one realizes.”

The woman raises the hem of her leather skirt, continuing to control the brank in her right hand. Sans undergarments, 322's gaze greets a mass of pink flesh... huge, plump outer labia are parted. Between are the brighter pink inner labia, loosely dangling, daunting for even the most devoted cunnilinguist. It is evident the lips, mouth and tongue of some subservient have served there ad infinitum, sucking with fervor and without waver.

With tongue forcibly extended beyond the lips, brank offering maximum governance, the woman presses the mass of her sex to the moist and warm pink appendage of the beast. 322 cannot resist. He finds that though her odor is strong her taste is stronger. She moves her hands, 322 must move his head, the brank a convenient lever to assure the protruding tongue partakes. The woman sighs feeling the subdued wet warmth.

“So much enjoy the servile male tongue. I’ve been saving my funds, Midori. Going to get me a castrate. Dr. Saunders has assured me if I have him snipped young, he’ll be quite the docile oral servant. Keep him soft and plump. He’ll sleep naked with his head between my thighs...”

As the woman muses, she aligns her urethral opening. When she subtly parts her feet, 322 knows what is coming.

“You’ll drink lots in Chessu, beast. We’re generous with fluids... once such pass through the kidneys. Well watered beasts work harder,” the words offered with a sardonic snicker.

The left hand moves from the hem, propped atop 322's head. The thumb and forefinger lift the clitoral hood and further splay the lips. She opens herself, firmly jostling the brank in sending her silent message... ‘drink or be in agony’.

322 drinks, the contents of her bladder seeming to continuously stream into a mouth forced to accept all that a woman induces.

“Yes, blond, chubby and neutered, that’s how I’m spending my hard earned pay.”

Meanwhile, other laborers ignore the antics and toss ore into the cart. Half filled, Midori signals enough as the woman finishes her excretions, gathers up the free leash and steps back.

“Very attentive. Quite docile. I am sure you appreciate the Empress’s generosity,” returning the leash to Midori.

The woman reaches and tweaks 322's right nipple. Though the skin of her fingers is understandably coarse, 322 is surprised at his reaction, a brisance of pleasure causing his semi erect penis to waggle.

Both the woman and Midori smile knowingly, the reaction not a surprise to those governing the chaste male.

“Come my beast,” Midori’s soft words known to be a command.

Taste remaining, the strong fragrance of feminine essence continuing to fill the nostrils, 332 knows to recompose and focus on the leash as Midori steps. He digs in, feeling the sling tighten, his balls compressing, the short chains of the waist band pulling against the prongs. But the cart moves not. He redoubles his efforts as Midori steps back to his left side.

“It’s only half a load my beast.”

With the admonishment, the marsh grass is to be utilized, that which 322 observed being moderately applied with notable results moments before.

The arm extends, the gentlest of strokes greets the well exposed scrotal sac, the plant world’s natural defense against grazing animals first titillates then scorches the overly sensitive pink male flesh. Dozens of nettles bring fervent desire to move, to quickly escape from what feels like fire.

322 howls, the brank muffling his vocal protest. Meanwhile a merciful mine worker, though amused, pushes against the back of the cart offering a modicum of momentum.

322 digs in, underutilized leg muscles straining, but now able to continue the cart’s roll.

“Good boy. You like having your balls lashed. And I like the results.”

Midori references the renewed stiffness, a firmer penis waggling anew. As 322 strains, he excogitates... is it the pain that spurs such a truckling reaction... the bondage... the anal plug... or being under a woman’s exacting directive?

Midori hastens her step to move to the front. 322 becomes sanguine, the cart rolling, his laboring footsteps find a cadence, the exertion needed to keep the cart moving achievable, the beautiful, uncovered cheeks of his handler... his Master... offering diversion from the slow torment of challenged muscles. On occasion she turns, to survey her beast, flashing that between her thighs. With the taste, scent and view of the feminine portal, 322's mind becomes emerged in lust. His transformed penis has been rendered useless, yet he finds the urge is to please others not himself. He thinks of the antics at the Los Angeles county jail, the notion of stroking the raw skin of his penis now seeming so foreign... so distant. And that he would place his pleasure before that of others... a sentiment which has been disavowed.

One mile... two... sweat pours, 322 feels his sling moisten. And yes it seems to slowly shrink, tightening its grip to further compress his precious testicles. But it feels good.

There is a securing comfort, as if Miss Midori is cradling his organs. Yes, it feels good indeed and he notes his own perspiration has quenched the fire of the nettles. There is a lesson learned... to work, to labor, to toil, is to avoid pain. And to please others...

His erection will not subside.

1 comment:

JHoltgym said...

such ecological/sound resource management.....
profoundly impressive that "hydration management" is spread throughout the 'managers' of the realm despite whom might be title-holders in the Empress's properties......

it's great that in Chessu, (shades of immigration reform in "r/l"!!!) immigrant workers have opportunity to purchase chattel from the Realm.....

a lovely vision of an gynarchic culture/future