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.”

1 comment:

JHoltgym said...

i know you know this....such a delicious dilemma....
there is of course a difference between (perhaps this is the "frission" between what some of your writing is and what stimulates me personally) between what
a. 322 can resist and
b. what 322 can refuse....
he can, of course, have no say in his bondage.,....what he interprets/deals with same is of course to some extent, voluntary, i.e. acceptance/refusal.....
would you or i choose differently given the tender ministrations of
Nurse Wendy?
as in much of life....depends