Saturday, October 29, 2011

'Power, Gaining It', (Part One of Two)

Power, Gaining It

Copyright 2011

by Chris Bellows

Though an accomplished business man, Harold Townsend is clueless concerning human relations, husband and wife, and still does not fully fathom the circumstances of his downfall.

Benefitting from my aunt’s early training and instruction, it required little effort to draw him into my web. And Gigi has such a natural attraction for making mischief. The little pranks I prompted... mother and daughter secrets the man of the house has no basis to gauge... were brought to a crescendo when we stuffed his lap top and phone with photos of my budding young actress Gigi.

My early life living with Auntie was a dream for a concupiscent teenaged girl. Mia was there whenever the hormonal needs of puberty arose, bringing intense satisfaction particularly when and if a weekend date went awry. Trained to offer sexual gratification in a Bangkok bordello... never to receive... his hands and tongue were... and remain... exquisite.

My marriage at age 18 became my own downfall, from which I have fully recovered, of course. Auntie did not approve of the boy. And being older and wiser, she proved correct. He was a deadbeat dad almost before Gigi was born. Auntie was angry, suggesting use of the chains and shackles which now fetter Harold. But at age 18, I had not the well developed propensity for the female led relationship that she had and which she tried to instill in me. Yet there was certainly a predisposition in me. And such came to fruition after years of slinging hash at the diner.

Auntie and I became somewhat estranged with that early marriage. I would visit from time to time. But she made it clear I was more guest than welcomed family member.

I had no idea of the size of her fortune and was equally surprised to inherit it all, I suppose her infuriation with my first marriage waning. Plus there appeared to be a degree of approval for my acquisition of Harold, my wimp second husband, he who found Mia, a woman’s fantasy servant, to be so abhorrent.

This amused Auntie.

‘I suppose Harold thinks we dowagers just sit around and deplete the batteries in our vibrators,’ Auntie humorously remarked of Harold’s prudishness, his gawking at Mia’s penis even more evident than his wanton glimpses of my blossoming Gigi.

Auntie realized the possibilities before I did, understanding both my dire need to get out of that diner... and my genetic proclivity. Observing my interaction with Mia in my teen years brought knowing smiles.

When Auntie returned home one day to see that I had Mia shackled, finding the cuffs and chains stowed in the basement, she mildly admonished yet was clearly amused.

‘She’ll not be doing much housework hobbled like that, Maria. Be sure to unlock her in time to make dinner,’ was her only rebuke.

I did, unlock, Auntie always referencing Mia utilizing the feminine pronoun. But I could never forget the thrill of having another so thoroughly restrained. When I later came across the bondage gear while tidying up her house for estate sale, how could I possibly part with such quaint family heirlooms?

Today I shop and my excursion includes a stop at the pet store. Gigi continues to thrive on being empowered and I think it is time that Harold be leashed. Some nice harsh nipple clamps connected to a standard length of leather should offer the sense of control which serves to keep my Gigi away from the types of relationships... with boys... which brought my downfall and early failed marriage. Psychologically satiated by Harold, physically satiated by Mia, she’ll not stray as did I. At some point in her life, feeling fully tutored by me and empowered by Harold’s well restrained nakedness, she’ll come across some subordinate male and move on with her life. But for now, I want her to avoid the type of mistake I made.

Strolling through the store, the privileges of wealth offer the impulse to consume... anything and everything. I thus become infatuated while assessing leashes with a display of assorted cages. Mostly small, I spy one of size, sturdiness, with notably thick bars, high enough for the tallest of canines.

This brings the twinge I sense whenever I gaze at my chastised well restrained husband Harold. I moisten. Not even the immense price tag can bring a chill to my heating loins.

Saturday afternoon, sales representatives are busy. I finally draw the attention of a pleasant looking adolescent, I apprize to be early twenties, a lad of color... and bulging slacks.

More twinges as the privileges of wealth can also foster boldness.

"This cage, it is only for dogs? It appears large enough to constrain other pets... but strong enough?" giving the term ‘pets’ special emphasis.

The lad smiles.

"It’s for dogs as large as Great Danes, ma’am... the most powerful of breeds... and high enough so they can stand within."

"Expensive. Does the price come with delivery?"

"Ahh... I am afraid delivery is extra."

As I reach into my pocket book, I smile most provocatively, offering that come hither, ‘Mrs. Robinson’ look of seduction, the older woman enticing the younger male.

"Well, if I’m going to pay someone, it may as well be someone who has been helpful," withdrawing my wallet.

I peel off two crisp one hundred dollar bills, then glare with deliberation at the bulge, his zipper straining.

"Why not bring it to my home yourself?" I pleasantly suggest, approximating that my offer is well more than a day’s wages.

Yes, boldness, stuffing the bills under the front of his belt as I coax, my fingertips briefly brushing that bulge as my hand withdraws.

"What’s your name?" I whisper in a most sultry voice.

He smiles as he reaches to withdraw the bills. I’ve got him.

"Trevor, ma’am."

"Well Trevor, you’ve probably heard about women such as me... frustrated housewives. Think there’s a television show..."

There is no actual sexual frustration of course, Mia offers cunnilingus nonpareil. But a girl needs penetration from time to time... deep... strong... steady. Harold is not to be released from chastity... ever. Such would empower and those days for him are over. And when a woman of my ilk accepts penetration, it must be under my terms.

Trevor will do nicely.

"I get off at 6:00 p.m., ma’am."

I smile warmly.

"I’ll pay for the cage and leave my address with the cashier," brazenly stepping close enough to press myself against his redoubled bulge, reaching up to pat the back of his head in a gesture of affection... that of owner to pet.

With that, I grab a leash and head for the cashier.

It is for events such as I have planned that I keep Harold so cruelly gagged. Daughter Gigi, a Saturday evening planned with the girls, is not to know of mother Maria’s penchant for cuckolding... not yet any way.


I arrive home mid afternoon to find that Gigi is napping. Don’t know precisely what makes the girl so tired, but I have a good inkling. Just as Mia so enthusiastically serviced me as a teenager, I am sure Gigi also avails of his/her talents. I will never discourage such harmless interaction. It’s healthier than masturbation, offers a young girl sexual empowerment during the formative years of discovery, and as Auntie suggested, does not deplete batteries.

Mia greets me with that special hug we’ve conspired upon years ago. He/she enjoys frottaging that tiny penis against my leg. So I accommodate by hiking my skirt to offer a patch of warm smoothness.

I feel the limp worm of one time masculinity on my right thigh. Knowing he can’t harden brings its own lofty sense of power. But I allow the ephemeral pleasure, just as when I occasionally bed him with Harold... Mia’s joy and my husband’s homophobic dread bring a certain psychic exhilaration to this woman of governance.

"Visitor tonight, Mia. Gigi is not to know and you must stay out of sight until I summon you. I want Harold shaved, bathed and lotioned for me."

Mia obediently nods and turns, my open right hand playfully smacking those alluring buttocks.

Yes, I keep Harold completely hairless below the neck, matching Mia’s glabrousness. It adds to his sense of capitulation, being presented as I see fit. The lotion is effeminately scented and keeps him nice and soft... for Mia.

Stepping to the sun porch I spy my well bound husband doing what he does day after day... nothing. I deny him reading material and access to television and radio as well, dulling his mind. That serves to highlight any interaction with me or Mia or Gigi, and as he stirs, one can surely interpret his greeting as a dog wagging its tail.

"Go upstairs with Mia, Harold. Saturday bath time. A little early but I’m having a visitor."

He struggles to rise from his shag rug, wrists bound behind his back as always. The many chains clink, always bringing a smile, and he grimaces as his own motion yanks the chain to the chastity ring encircling balls and penis. He murmurs something, I never understand a word, the molt mouth gag assuring his inability to communicate.

Such frustration... each and every day. But he agreed to it, avoiding a police investigation and possible jail time... along with financial ruin... the photos of Gigi held as leverage.

Many short steps, the hobbling thigh and ankle chains straining with each step, stairs can be both challenging and amusing... challenging for him... amusing for me. The slack is just enough for one foot to lift and reach the ascending step... but only if he keeps his ankles close together... which of course deprives him of stability.

The result is a laborious ascent, each step requiring nearly half a minute, and then a pause to regain balance. I moisten just watching, his near immobility mandated by cuffs and chains locked in place by me.

The display of submission ends as Harold reaches the top step where an eager Mia reaches to grasp his steel cock cage and guide him to the bathroom where an oversized tub will be filled. Mia so much enjoys bath time, each and every Saturday unlocking the cock cage for more thorough cleaning and shaving of the pubes. The intimate proximity and handling is warming, Harold never becoming accustomed to Mia’s unfettered manipulation of his penis and scrotum.

I retire to my bedroom, needing to make myself presentable for Trevor, my bulging ‘bull’, as those practicing cuckoldry term the fornicating male.


Exiting the shower I find a paucity of large fluffy towels into which I so much enjoy enshrouding myself. Mia will need to be more attentive.

I step into the hall and stroll to the communal bathroom, that shared by Gigi, Mia, and Harold. Opening the door I note that Mia is just finishing with the straight edged razor which scythes every inch of Harold’s nakedness. Harold lies supine on a bathroom rug, Mia straddling to sit on his chest facing his feet. I chuckle with the scene, Mia’s well rounded globes inches from Harold face as she works about his pubes. Cock cage removed only on Saturdays, Harold’s neglected manhood is celebrating its release from constant torment... stiff, purple and bulbous... but as always, remaining untouched.

Harold turns his head to gawk at my own nakedness. With Mia being castrated, Harold being so tightly chained with cock caged, there is no need for girlish modesty. Both can look... but only pine for the unattainable... fantasize over the inachievable.

"Need a towel," my words known to be an admonishment.

I pause to both watch and enhance Harold’s sense of helplessness, lying with penis finally freed, admiring the beauty of his nude wife... but unable to perform any husbandly duties.

Harold is not too badly built in the manhood department. His problem is that it no longer matters... big... average... small... it is to be kept under lock and key.

Mia carefully whisks about with the razor, such tender adoring fingers and hands... which in being male... or former male... give rise to much chagrin on Harold’s part.

"Do you want Mia to give you a nice lick, Harold? She was so well trained on Bangkok. She really misses fellatio. I am told the castrated male can really come to revere propagating a nice firm erection on the intact."

Harold’s murmuring becomes spirited, apparently turning down my offer.

"Well, how about you give Mia’s little thing some attention?" a notion giving rise to even more homophobia, and more energetic murmuring.

I laugh. I know too well, some of Auntie’s tales coming to mind, that held chained and chaste long enough, Harold’s gender problem will eventually dissipate.

‘They all have needs... the hormones control. Reasoning distorts for the better over time,’ Auntie suggested, never being overly explicit about her experiences in keeping the male equally bound and deprived. Did Mia and my long departed uncle, her husband, share a bed?

Mia finishes and I find I must stay a bit to view Harold’s bath. In being chained, Mia must assist, those tiny well manicured hands pressing and guiding.

Harold is pulled to his feet, erect penis bobbing about, the shortness of the wrist chain making it impossible to reach forth and touch. He knows to move to the edge of the tub. The hobbling chains make it impossible to step over the edge. Instead he sits, facing away and Mia assists in gently lowering him backwards into a tub the size of a child’s swimming pool. Her hands grasping here and there, it is charming how attentive she can be in assuring Harold does not drown, pulling up the fettered legs and pushing into the suds while Harold twists to immerse himself.

Then the cherubic Mia steps over the edge to join, frolicking with the delight of a child, which with balls excised in youth, she essentially is.

She giggles, splashing suds at a glum Harold, his boring day ending with such homophobic consternation.

"Make sure you scrub him everywhere Mia," my words offered as Mia sits facing Harold and reaches to begin lathering shoulders and arms.

It’s coded phrase, offering Mia reign to freely soap all the erogenous zones, Mia’s tiny fingers known to assure the rectum receives well deserved attention. I note that Harold shudders in disgust, also aware of the coded phrase.

"And remember to lotion him... the nice smelling stuff."

I take a large towel and step to the bathroom door, well aware that as Harold’s ravaged mind distorts, the hormonal build up taking its toll, there will come a time when he will accept as a treat having his wrists temporarily freed so he in turn can bathe Mia.

Such a notion currently sickens. But that will change. Hormones will pervert the reasoning of the male in intense need. And the timing is of no concern. Harold will remain thoroughly bound until he agrees to more politely return Mia’s caring tendance.

I turn at the door, one last glimpse of the charming scene which serves to empower. As Mia smooths her soapy hands over shorn flesh, Harold looks at my nakedness with such intense desire. I think he will really enjoy Trevor’s visit, vicariously sensing pleasure as my tight love nest offers the snug warm wetness the deserving male appendage so much craves.

Some day Harold will worship the virility of the unchaste male... of that I am certain.


I doll up to the hilt. I’ve still got it at age 36. And I can still flaunt it.

The doorbell rings. I call out to Mia to stay away, reminding that she is not to be seen. Full makeup, flowing bathrobe, I negotiate the stairs and pull open the front door. My new friend Trevor has arrived, standing with a large but flat box. It surprises.

He notes my inquisitive look.

"Needs to be assembled, ma’am. Just a screw driver and a wrench."

"Well, I’ll want it in my bedroom, can you bring it in?"

He nods, the two hundred dollars buying much cooperation.

"Please take off your shoes. New carpet."

He unties the laces, casting away boots then lifting with zeal as the box of steel bars proves to be ponderous. I must admire the fine muscling, long lost on Harold with his sedentary life as house pet.

The stairs prove difficult. Trevor, my radiance somewhat distracting, props the box standing upright then moves up a few steps and pulls, his power and the carpet making the collection of steel glide upwards, one step at a time. Nearing the top, he begins to perspire, my bull working vigorously.

"Will I be okay with your dog, Ma’am?" apprehensively inquiring with my need for such an oversized cage.

"Oh, I don’t have a dog. It’s for another pet I keep," I reply with a coy smile.

I’ll not introduce Harold... not yet.

I follow up the steps as Trevor continues to pull. At the top the task eases on the level hallway floor and I step around box and bull to lead to my bedroom.

"There’s another $100 if you can assemble it for me," I wheedle,

"I have the tools with me," withdrawing such from his pocket.

"I’ll want it here... so my pet can see me in bed," pointing to a corner.

Trevor is quite sudoriferous. I love sweaty... it so nicely projects virility and it also advances my plans.

"Take off that shirt and cool a little, Trevor."

He feels the warmth of a thermostat deviously pushed high. I feel the warmth of catching glimpses of those bulging trousers, my loins becoming torrid as his shirt is cast aside and a finely chiseled chest, pectoral muscles rippling under moist mocha skin, gleams in the room light.

I sit, teasingly letting the folds of my robe part, some pink flashing to further distract. Trevor notices. He can have no doubt concerning my state of complete deshabille beneath. I can read his thoughts as he opens the box, draws out the prefabricated top, bottom and sides along with a plastic bag of nuts and bolts.
He begins to assemble.

"I think it is best to add glue to the nuts, wouldn’t you agree?" I suggest in hinting at my first offered clue.

"Well, I can tighten pretty firmly..." he counters as I arise.

"What one person can tighten another can loosen. I’ll be right back."

I dash to the kitchen and retrieve epoxy. I’d not want to tempt Harold by offering nuts he could furtively unscrew. As prison staff have learned over the many years, idle time gives rise to mischief... and Harold will be spending much idle time caged.

I return noting that Trevor has the bottom set and is propping up the four sides. I feel a tingle of feminine power knowing that he placed within will stay within. Henceforth, Harold’s time hobbling about the house will be most limited. I will have Mia cage him, making him earn release.

"It will be difficult to disassemble Ma’am, in gluing the bolts," offered as I hand Trevor the strong epoxy cement and resume sitting.

"And difficult for anyone within to loosen and escape as well," a more direct hint of the nature of my pet.

Trevor becomes demure in thought with that remark, shuffling about on his knees, applying glue then tightening, the arm muscles offering visual evidence of great power as each of the many nuts is turned.

Before he stands to position the bars of the top, it is time to make my move. I arise to stand behind him, the folds of my robe falling open, the scent of soap mingling with the feminine fragrance of my sopping love poach.

"There are men... boys really... who need the confinement... not able to properly deal with their inadequacies... who best empower others by being in bondage," my voice mature yet sultry, spoken as I lower my hands first to his shoulders, then tauntingly glide down his chest to his nipples.

I tweak. I feel him quiver, his thoughts concerning my near nakedness, the imagery of a male kept by a woman, such brings a brisance of... of what I will soon determine.

"Stay for a little longer, Trevor. For another $100 I’d like you to help me test the cage. Make sure you’ve tightened each and every nut and bolt."

Yes, he quivers more and I know I’ve got him. A twenty something year old lad of color alone with a torrid woman of the world, just a flip of my arms away from exposing myself completely to his wanton gaze. How can he refuse? The $100 is nothing more than to cover his conscience, always able to tell himself the subsequent events were only for the money.

I bend further at the waist, my hands further lowering to that bulge. My breasts escape the robe. He can feel my hardened nipples press against his bare back. In military terms, though it is only me, I have him surrounded and outnumbered.

"Not me. Not me in the cage," he sputters with concern.

"Tsk, tsk, of course not Trevor. Men like you have no problem with adequacy," my words bold, my hands bolder as I brazenly squeeze his massive manhood through his trousers, leaving no pretext concerning my intentions.

I can feel its semi firmness further engorge. I have him indeed.

"And if you like it here... you can visit often."

Trevor nods... reluctantly. He’s apprehensive... yet he’s a guy... with a penis... which thinks for him.

"Bolt the top on the cage and we’ll test the security. You may feel more comfortable without those pants compressing your thing. And you’re still sweating."

He is. Yet I doubt it’s the heat.


James said...

I love this serialisation, although as with the anon comment (22/10/2011) I would like a little bit more on the process of Harold's enslavement. I also feel that he capitulated a bit too easily, I would have expected at least some defiance, suppression of which would have added to Maria's experience.

Ren said...

I am actually looking more forward to the retelling from the daughter's POV, as it seems she is the main driving force behind the entire story. The mother comes across as more of the "can't be bothered" type. She knows what her daughter is up to, but pretty much leaves her to her own devices while she does her own things outside.

I guess it is because we haven't really seen her being mentioned much during the previous chapters, which is why her actions seem quite OOC.

Anonymous said...

This is progressing quite nicely indeed.
May I suggest "Power, the Origins" to follow ?
About the Grandmother's original obtaining of her powerful position, perhaps written via the storytelling device of a hidden (til now) personal diary she kept, which either Maria or perhaps Gigi discovers.

Wherein many hitherto hidden truths are revealed.

Hmmm... perhaps it could even be Harold who first discovers it one listless afternoon under Mia's less-than-watchful eye - and begins to learn just how depraved the old dowager really was.

Maybe Gigi discovers his illicit reading material and after a mind-expanding read, decides to employ some of the Matriarch's methods with the zeal of the newly converted.

Quite a few possibilities...