Chapter Twenty Three - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty Three

Returning to the hut, 322 is unhitched and relieved of his sling. It is curious how much effort is required to pull his balls back through the slit, the perspiration soaked leather having shrunk and tightly compressed his scrotal sac. The anal plug exits with a slight plop and Midori accommodates the overly sensitive penis by pulling away the sling with barely a touch.

Brank and leash remaining in place, he is led to the rear where the tethering pole awaits. He knows to kneel and Midori clips his ankle bands to the horizontal plank one foot above the ground then ties off the leash high above to secure him in the awkward kneeling position... that in which he will ‘break’.

“Just a few hours... make you eager to serve... bring more humbleness. Think about being led about naked, 322... and leashed... and by girl of some one hundred pounds. Think how well a boy like you fits in here in Chessu... how you so nicely stiffen for me.”

Donning the brank for so many hours, walked for many miles, pulling a ponderous load of ore, 332 needs rest. But he shall not have it until Miss Midori decides.

A basin is placed before him, Midori directs his penis using the Prince Albert ring. 322 knows to empty himself. When finished Midori returns to the hut. Within moments the odor of cooking suggests she is preparing dinner and the smell brings 322 to recall that he has not tasted normal food in weeks. Then it dawns, in Chessu he has not tasted anything... except women!

Struggling to stay balanced, 322 eventually begins to whimper, the brank otherwise silencing outright verbal pleas for mercy. His weight is born by knees which press into the hard, coarse soil. His well drained muscles continue to exert, keeping him upright, the intensity of the agony in toppling not to be imagined. His wrists remain secured behind his back at the shoulder blades. The cramping comes and goes, throughout the day ameliorated by twisting about and pulling against his bonds to relieve the arm muscles. But now, in being so precariously tethered he must be heedful. Sudden motion, a shift in balance, and he will be dangling by the brank, his mouth and tongue bearing much of his weight.

Yes, as Midori suggested, she keeps her beast stressed, the slow, seemingly unending implementation of her control bringing great mental duress.

Midori exits the hut. 322's murmurs for mercy shift to outright muffled shouts.

“Oh come now 322, you just have to kneel for me and accept the pain. You may plead all you like, but I will decide when you will lie.”

The nose is pinched closed. When 322, opens his mouth to draw air, the extended rubber tip of a feeding canister is thrust into his mouth and forced down his throat. Midori presses the bottom disk. 322 is not so much fed as he is injected with Chessu’s processed sustenance for beasts... putrefied garbage.

“Tonight I will begin to mark you. Exhaustion is best. You will strain less against your bonds. And you will be nice to Tamora, my beast. She has needs and has not yet been bestowed with a beast of her own.”

322 feels sludge slowly filling his stomach. It is a horrible sensation being so fed, some foul substance being pressed directly into his gullet. But it is what keeps him alive... so he can work... so he can serve.

The canister finally empties. As the tube is slipped away a kindly hand smooths over 322's grommeted right cheek then lowers to playfully tweak a nipple. He feels his penis twitch with the simple act of kindness.

“These male nubs will become more and more sensitive as your state of chastity extends, my beast. They will become your only source of pleasure.”

322 must agree and finds great disappointment as Midori steps away to return to the hut. Pausing at the doorway she turns and notes his erection. Despite the discomfort... despite the mental duress... despite the exertion of straining to remain balanced... her beast performs for her, his penis continuing to rise. He is instilled with the need to please. She has observed so many beasts conditioned for servitude, for abject ownership. 322 has no chance, no ability to resist.

In Chessu women rule... supremely... completely. And there are those, such as 384322 born to be ruled.

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Tears stream, 322 cautiously wrenching his head to fling annoying droplets which have dribbled to his chin. The lesson... cruelty... callousness... complete disregard... is imparted so slowly... but well received. Lapidary... chiseled into his mind... his soul... the women of Chessu are without compassion for the servile male.

322 hears the rattle of plates and the soft feminine voices of prandial conversation. Tamora has arrived. There comes an occasional giggle, the heartless women... girls really... casually dining as he suffers endlessly. In darkness, a silhouette comes to the rear doorway of the hut, pauses and giggles anew.

“He’s crying, Midori. He knows not to waste water here in Chessu.”

Shamed, blubbering indeed in the presence of a girl, all manly pride obliterated, 322 murmurs more pleas. Tamora smiles and approaches. 322's heart leaps in anticipating aid. For the tormented, the dim light from the hut offers an invigorating view of her feminine charms.

Small soft hands grasp his leash, releasing it from above.

“Midori has suggested it may be time.”

‘He is to lie down!’ his thoughts racing. And indeed Tamora gently guides him to lean forward. But then her directing hand stops as she steps forth, pressing his forcibly extended tongue to the soft, warm, pink flesh of her mons.

“Drink!” comes the unlikely firm command, the lithe and youthful girl as accustomed to handling a well restrained male beast as all the other women in Chessu.

The scent of her portal, so better acceptable than that of the mine worker, fills his nostrils. The thumb and forefinger of her left hand, in a motion so well practiced by all, splay her labia. Expecting mercy, 322 is instead to perform the demeaning ritual of imbibing her nectar. Branked, his throat is an open drain. Her flow begins and the pungent saltiness, that and vaginal essence the only substances offering taste, streams with vigor.

At such a young age, it is apparent that Tamora has so frequently watered the subjugated male. She smiles wickedly as her bladder empties almost directly into 322's stomach.

“He’s learning well, Midori.”

Brank in place, he cannot offer to cleanse, his tongue immobile. Perhaps... just perhaps... Tamora will release him from the horrible restraining implement. So he is heartened when her stream curtails and she offers.

“Tonight you are to be marked. But before the agony of the hot knife brings unconsciousness, perhaps we can offer each other a kindness. I have a special need. And boys like you need to satiate special needs. It is why you have been selected for servitude in Chessu.”

322 listens attentively. It is obvious the young girl is not to disregarded.

“If I remove the brank, let you lie, you will accommodate?”

322 nods as best he can, uttering the word ‘please’, gurgled and indiscernible, offered as he assumes he will be cleansing her with his tongue.

As the leash is removed and the brank slipped to the side, the tears of agony change to tears of joy.

Tamora’s slight hands then slowly lower 322's torso to the desert floor. His penis greets the rough soil, the super sensitivity instantly sending renewed signals of pain. He grunts.

Tamora smiles, steps to the hut and returns with the small patch of silk which brings comfort, and a blanket.

“You will lick,” she directs, mercifully pushing the silk beneath his hips.