'Power, Admiring It'

Power, Admiring It

Copyright 2011

by Chris Bellows

Some gig. And every Saturday evening!

Ms. Maria de Havillier offers more cash than I earn in a week at the pet store. And I only have to take off my clothes and follow directions.

Of course I only do it for the money... least I did at first. Then deep within I learn there is something about giving up one’s self... for pleasure. To start, I am bathed. This Mia servant, age absolutely indeterminate, is amazingly skillful, smiling so coyly as she shaves my balls. She has this strange thing about testicles...

Then I am pampered in being washed.

Yes, I am pampered indeed, and I guess there are times when even the most macho guy likes that, even though the sweet smelling bubble bath is a little over the top.

But then comes the scene that both appalls and oddly thrills... this guy Maria de Havillier terms her husband... gagged... shackled... caged.

Last semester in college, in my psychology course, I learned of a 1971 Stanford University experiment... involving 24 student volunteers, pre tested to be psychologically normal. The group was divided... half designated as prisoners... half anointed as their as jailers. The goal was to observe the change in behavior... the jailers becoming emboldened... the prisoners passively accepting capitulation. Famously, the experiment had to be truncated when the jailers became notably cruel and the prisoners entered a depression in which excessive authoritative behavior was strangely accepted.

And so here I am in Ms. de Havillier’s home and with each and every visit I seem to be drawn further into this web of power and control... participating in the amazing level of cruelty.

Something about knowing that the guy is kept... shackled and locked in a cage... and silenced. Yes, a prisoner... what he sees and hears never to be divulged...

It brings peculiar comfort, knowing that no matter my actions or level of participation, he can not ever reveal anything. Ms. de Havillier certainly can’t let him go, suddenly free him to tell the world of her cruel governance. And my role is so tame... so comparatively innocent. I just lie on the bed and let this becoming woman ride ‘little Trevor’ to multiple orgasms... the caged guy watching intently... moaning something as Ms. Havillier shrieks in climax.

She’s amazingly wet... and warm... and tight... and knowing. Yes, vanilla dates have come to be disappointing after lying beneath as Ms. de Havillier takes her pleasure. She squeezes, knowing to use her kegel muscles to heighten her joy... and mine, though that seems to be of little concern. And then she squirts, her ultimate climax strong, a small geyser coating my pubes in fragrant lubricity.

The sounds made by her whining husband have come to add a certain psychological dynamic to the seemingly endless copulation. Something about the abundant ecstasy being shared... with him watching in permanent and total denial... that adds quirkiness to the thrill... quirkiness I have come to accept.

‘He will never, ever again ejaculate,’ Ms. de Havillier profoundly emphasized after the conclusion of one lengthy night of fucking. ‘He hasn’t even been permitted to touch his in months,’ the observation coming in post coital bliss as her fingers drew a semi flaccid ‘little Trevor’ toward the ceiling, stretching fully to show the length off to her envious ‘pet’.

Then, awaiting for me to reload, she rummaged about her cunny and arose to stand naked at the cage. Tugging on her captive’s leash, her sopping fingers slowly dripped into his forcibly opened mouth the slime of our coupling.

Yes, of late she has taken great care to gather that which has bespattered her cunny and let it slowly drool into what she terms Harold’s ‘sink and drain’.

‘Yum, yum,’ she taunts knowing that the odoriferous goo must be ingested.

I find myself smiling with the facial expression of this Harold character... so vulnerable... so humble... so much in need... but so thoroughly denied... of everything.

Ms. de Havillier encourages me to actively participate in the torment. And though I don’t lock the cage... tug on the leash... apply any duress... direct duress... I surprise myself... the Stanford University experiment being replicated.

There has come this esteem for the power... the governance... the control... the abject capitulation she demands and has attained.

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"You look divinely randy tonight, Trevor," spoken in the sultry voice which always kick starts my libido.

Mia has shaved me, after rinsing away the excess shaving lotion, her tongue generously lapping the smooth skin of my scrotum. It feels good. And with my level of comfort piquing after many Saturday trysts, I relax and let ‘little Trevor’ show off, the tip of my penis engorging, the shaft rising in stiffness to press against my belly.

Ms. de Havillier is correct. I am indeed horny. Mid week vanilla dates have been put aside, the sexual passion paling in comparison to my Saturday evening obligations. I thus feel well stocked with spunk.

Ms. de Havillier gains curious joy in watching her little serving girl tend to me. I initially rolled with this ritual for the money, she sitting covered only by her robe, the folds enticingly flipping open to flash her feminine charms as she observes Mia’s care. Now I kind of join her in the enjoyment...

I step into the hot bath and Mia works to soap me, scurrying about the perimeter to chamois my entire nakedness. She is tender and accomplished, a skill set I cannot imagine how acquired.

"You know I think Harold has come to enjoy your taste, Trevor. So much juice I’ve fed him over the many weeks. I am thinking maybe you’d like to share your generosity. With his pent up sexual desire, watching me ride my bull stud excites him. Instills certain envy... and I imagine a thirst."

Gagged, unable to even gesture with his hands, it is absolutely indeterminate what this Harold likes and dislikes. He moans and whines a lot. Otherwise, all I know is... I have nothing to do with his torment... directly.

Mia finishes. I stand and step from the tub, the little serving girl scrambling for a large towel. As part of the ritual, she dries me then knows to lick my balls and restore any degree of wavering stiffness. Ms. de Havillier insists. She likes having me hard. And whom am I to object? I am a guy after all...

Fully erect, Ms. de Havillier arises from the chair where she sits. As Mia continues to kneel and lick my balls, my benefactress parts her feet to stand over her servant then hugs me. The robe parting, she presses her nakedness against mine. Such a brisance of pleasure... being both licked and hugged, her substantial breasts abrading my nipples, my erection greeting the smooth flesh of her tummy.

"Mia is very good with her hands, too," the comment somewhat self evident after the gentle swathing of the chamois.

"An extra stipend tonight, Trevor. You just have to stand at the cage and let Mia be Mia. A little game we’ll play... keep your hands at the back of your head and there’s an extra two hundred for you."

Wow! The money certainly flows during these Saturday night visits. Ms. de Havillier’s wealth must be substantial... the offered pile of dollars growing each week... along with the depravity.

As always, a small parade departs the bathroom, Ms. de Havillier leading, a prancing Mia following, those cute little buttocks rolling in tight pink panties, then me, now with hands on head, guided by Mia’s right hand cupping my balls.

Such decadence! But for me such lucrative decadence. And the power... Ms. de Havillier revels in it and I marvel at her enjoyment as one would enviously view a gentleman savoring a glass of fine, expensive port.

Into the bedroom there kneels in the shining steel cage a shackled, leashed and hairless Harold, oiled skin glowing... placed on display as one would exhibit a treasured sculpture. There is such pride taken in his subjugation!

"Come my pretty pet," Ms. de Havillier reaching to take in the leash and draw the gagged face to the bars.

Harold has no choice but to respond, the leash attached to nasty nipple clamps, the slightest jostle bringing inordinate pain.

"You’ve so much enjoyed Trevor’s taste these past few weeks, Harold..." the voice mocking.

I am alarmed as Mia’s soft hand pulls to direct me to stand at the bars. The two women work in conjunction, my erection pressing through the bars to align with the molt gag which constantly forces open Harold’s mouth.

"Hands on head," Ms. de Havillier reminds as I feel Mia’s grip change.

It is rare that she touches my penis, ostensibly reserving that privilege for Ms. de Havillier, plus for some reason deriving inordinate delight in instead handling my testicles. But now Mia wraps her little hand about the shaft and strokes most sensuously.

"So Harold, Trevor has something he’d like to share with you... something you’ve been forcibly denied expelling for quite some time."

I am amazed to feel the hands and fingers of this Mia servant become even more tender and caring as one of the most exquisite hand jobs begins. It is as if she can vicariously feel exactly what I feel... stroking, twisting, gripping with expert pressure. She knows the male organ, precisely where the most sensation is felt.

Meanwhile Ms. de Havillier cackles wickedly, her leash hand assuring that Harold’s open mouth remains aligned with my penis tip.

"I think you’ve got enough sperm for both of us tonight, Trevor. Just let little Mia have her way. She’s quite accomplished as you can feel. And in shooting a load first for Harold, you’ll be beneath me even longer... not so quick to pull the trigger a second time. I’ll have a nice long ride on my bull stud."

The look on Harold’s face is one of horror. And I find myself smiling, akin to joining in the Stanford University experiment, conspiring with the cruelty of Harold’s jailer.

I close my eyes. The hands are exquisite. The pleasure mounts. The scene is as depraved as any Saturday night. I feel the twinge of the seminal vessels preparing. Incredibly, Mia knows too. I look down to see her nodding to Ms. de Havillier. The wicked woman reaches with her free hand, tweaking my right nipple as she is wont to do when I lie beneath her... when she cues me to ejaculate.

"Come for me a like good bull stud," the words, her touch, bringing forth the desired burst of essence.

The minx Mia assures that the splatter, a considerable explosion, erupts directly into the sink of Harold’s mouth... to flow to the drain of his throat.

"Yum, yum Harold," offered with such a savage and spiteful giggle... and such a pitiful moan of distress in return.

Then comes the gurgling sound of Harold’s ‘drain’. Swallow or choke, he cannot reject my sizable offering of slithering male ooze.

I have been masturbated... and made to discharge into the mouth of another male!

I once again convince myself... it is only for the money.