Saturday, December 10, 2011

'Power, Craving It'

Power, Craving It

Copyright 2011

by Chris Bellows

This cage thing is a bummer. Mom has the door secured with three padlocks! I have not a chance of ever opening it.

So stepfather Harold kneels within, hour after hour, with Mia on occasion knowing to reach through the bars, hold Harold’s caged cock and offer a bowl for urination.

I miss listening to him slink about the house, the clatter of the many chain links which serve to restrain drives home the intense humiliation of being under complete control.

Still, I can sit and view in Mom’s bedroom, teasing in complete nakedness as I have become notably comfortable exhibiting myself. For me it’s like disrobing in front of the family dog. So helpless... so vulnerable... he can watch, to a point indulge his sick fantasies... but never ever touch me... or bring self gratification.

I cannot help but cultivate this craving. I have Mia lick me to orgasm at least once per day... and always... well when Mom’s not present any way... almost always while sitting totally naked and spread, clutching the back of Mia’s head as Harold kneels in his cage and watches.

I fantasize of what I would do... hopefully what some day I will do... given a subservient male of my own. I have learned so much... and am so eager to implement my knowledge.

As Mia’s gifted tongue works, I gaze at Harold just as years ago he gazed at me... with a degree of want and lust. Shackled and hobbled... so physically unnecessary with the sturdy stainless steel bars of the cage. Plus three locks... not one... not two... but three. Then there is the leash, restricting much motion within the cage. And most importantly the penis is secured in Mom’s cock cage. Knowing that Harold suffers, bringing self inflicted pain, if he ever lets his thoughts become too impure, thrills for some reason. And so I am given, whenever Mom’s out of the house, to strip naked and offer Harold all the viewing of my eighteen year old charms that he can handle. He either learns to control that long neglected male organ or the many, many spikes in his cock cage do it for him.

In summary, the feminine dominion offers a great lesson from Mom...

‘He’ll feel much better being thoroughly restrained and totally controlled. Once there is the realization that he will never, ever have complete freedom of movement... the mind succumbs. He’ll become as gentle as a lamb... there will be acceptance... he will almost beseech for a woman’s touch and attention. Something as simple as caressing his ear will be a most welcomed highlight of his day.’

And so I note, while Mia’s tongue vigorously thrusts past my inner labia, that Mom has cruelly tied Harold’s leash high, to one of the top bars, forcing him to kneel upright... for hour after hour.

A stress position. Wherever did mother learn such a thing?

So in addition to being shackled and caged, the leash, attached to painful nipple clamps, prevents Harold from comfortably lying down.

I wonder what Harold would offer for a few moments of respite?

I shift, raising my thighs. Analingus has come to be the culmination of good oral service, and Mia knows to work her tongue and lips lower, lapping away at my rosebud, while my fingers go to my clitoral hood and began a brisk massage that triggers ultimate climax. I see Harold stir, careful not to tension his leash. I close my eyes in complete ecstasy, my loins oscillating in joy. Then presto! I once again soak the bangs of Mia’s forehead with a forceful spray of feminine essence.

I calm, lying back in bliss in the large easy chair. I look to Harold, his expression priceless... such need... such frustration...

"Mia so much cares, so desirous to bring pleasure to others, don’t you think Harold?"

Castration, every woman should consider it for the kept male... perhaps I will even teach myself to snip...

I push Mia’s head away, the hormonal release temporarily distracting from what is otherwise a constant need. I stand, Harold feasting his lusting eyes on my budding nubile form. My nose detects my fragrance and I smile knowing this so much adds to Harold’s stimulation.

"I can give you some slack, Harold... if you’re a good boy."

Yes, one need satiated... another arises... this craving.

He nods quite gingerly, careful not to stress his leash. I stroll to the cage and untie the simple knot which serves to hour after hour bring slow torment. I hear a rush of air from his lugs as for the first time in hours his back and stomach muscles are not straining to hold him upright and assure his nipple clamps do not painfully tear his overly sensitive pink nubs. I pass the leash from one hand to another guiding him to the locked door. Within there is a small hatch, offering an opening larger than the bars, ostensibly for the introduction of a feeding bowl.

"Come, be a good boy for Gigi."

I kneel and pull open the hatch, my leash hand guiding Harold’s face to the low opening. The molt gag, as always, holds open his mouth, the piercing of his tongue, Mom’s cavalier augmentation done for no other reason than she could do it, glittering in the room light.

"I think you’re a thirsty boy and need some drink," I coax in the voice of master to pet.

Harold likes looking at my pink parts. So I let him have a visual feast... in exchange for a simple kindliness.

"I’ll go real slow so you don’t miss a drop," pulling the leash outward such that his forehead presses the bar above the opening and his open mouth is partially thrust through the hatch.

I press forward with my hips, smiling as Harold’ eyes widen. My lower belly presses to the bars, sensing the warmth of his forehead. The fingers of my free right hand splay my lips. Well shorn, I offer an unfettered close up of what he would so much like to touch and taste... wet pink flesh, well reddened by Mia’s attentive tongue.

"Drinkie, drinkie," I encourage, the grip on the leash firming to send my message of earnest control, forcing him to crane his neck.

Yes, as Mom so humorously suggests, Harold’s molt gag has transformed mouth and throat to a sink and a drain. As I open my bladder, careful to first dribble and judge his ability to swallow, I blush in a different form of satiation... hearing the gulps, my excretions totally ingested... sensing that such streams directly into his gullet. He must ingest what I discard, take whatever I offer... and savor it. I am giddy with my own mastery.

Harold spills not a drop. He knows to please. And I smile in seeing him grimace. I know the look, know the suppressed sound of aggravation. Drinking from me, offering such proximity to that which he would so much like to savor, has brought those impure thoughts, his firming penis once again engaging in the losing battle with the spikes of Mom’s cock cage.

I frown lugubriously, feigning sympathy.

"I think it is best not to make me use the leash, Harold. Going forward when I release you from the bars, just crawl to the hatch on your own and I’ll quench your thirst for you."

He’ll do it. He does everything I want.

What is this craving? Having been orally brought to amazing gratification, I still need to govern... to humiliate... to continuously drive home my power... power that seems to be blossoming.


len said...

Something I noticed about your style of writing - it is a real pleasure to read how the dominant characters (typically the females in your stories) take charge and run things their way.

However, I find reading the perspectives of the more submissive characters more of a turnoff, mainly because they are typically fleshed out as being so weak and pathetic that you feel they pretty much deserve whatever fate is meted out to them.

Thus, I quite enjoyed this chapter but much less so for the previous one. Can't really explain why though, perhaps they have a scientific explanation for all this (not that I care).

That said, happy writing and happy Christmas. As for your present, I ....Oh, look at the time. Gotta go...:P

Chris Bellows said...


Thank you as always for the input.

I did not mean to imply the Kindle was for me. Buy one (stuffed with stories) for the loved one of your choice.

Hopefully it will not give rise to thoughts...