Saturday, March 10, 2012

'To Serve Intact' II

My Master approaches, her visit concluded. I marvel at the purposeful stroll, her gait both masculine and feminine. Sizeable yet firm breasts somewhat jostle, thigh muscles ripple beneath tight jodhpurs, well polished knee high leather boots glisten.

I am now completely erect, just as she desires. She will be pleased. And bit and bridle veil my smile of satisfaction. My only goal is to please.

"Such a nice stiff penis to greet me" she coos.

I can now see the tip, the many accouterments glinting in the tropical sun. I am well endowed and uncircumcised. Thus my foreskin bares my Master’s many modifications. Openings for my infibulation clasp at the right and left. Four studs, tipped by sparkling diamonds pierce the outer circumference of the foreskin. The inside terminus of each slim penetrating post is sharp, devilishly shaped to scrape and abrade the sensitive glans penis whenever the foreskin retracts in arousal.

Thus, as stated, erections hurt.

Plus, should I ever be freed, not only is normal copulation obviated, I cannot comfortably masturbate as well.

Yet such thoughts are superfluous as I am never ever freed.

"Run well for me and I’ll have you milked," my Master graciously encourages, noting the ooze of a neglected prostate.

She stoops. Her left hand lowers to cup my ponderous scrotum, seemingly burgeoned with male seed never to be expunged. The index finger of her right hand taps my urethral agitator, the smallest but most incredibly controlling implement imaginable.

Inserted into my penis tip, it blocks, precluding urination until removed. And that can only be achieved by she with hands freed.

"Want to show off for me?"

Yes, as noted, my bladder is well filled. Before every excursion I am copiously watered in the tropical climate. I thus nod, feeling the anal hook move and increase the urgency of the deed.

My Master smiles. She tenderly grips my stiff shaft with her left hand. A finger of the right hand gently presses inward to retract the inner spikes of the clever agitator, allowing the cylinder of well crafted steel to be slipped out with ease.

Master knows to step aside. Though thoroughly turgid, I have been trained. Like a circus animal, I perform on cue, even urinate despite having a massive hard on. I press. There comes the expected sting as a formidable arch of yellow presses skyward then splatters to the sandy soil. Master laughs, never tiring of my obedient performance, exhibited upon demand.

Finished, there comes more burn as the agitator is returned.

Control... always control... thorough in every aspect.

"Do you want to bear some clamps for me?"

The question is not disingenuous. Though tiny, offering a relatively innocuous bite when applied to most of the anatomy, Master will apply such to the thinnest most sensitive flesh of the nipples or scrotum, perhaps even both. The resulting pain is unbearable. And the irony boggles the mind, so much agony to be endured from such small implements... and so simply applied... the gentle feminine fingers working up a tiny tuft, squeezing to open, then releasing with disconcerting aloofness. The resulting anguish is both instant and intense, the cerebral cortex flooded. And it spurs, for some reason the somatic reaction being to run... run like the wind... to somehow escape the intensity... to leave it behind.

Yes, I perform admirably when clamped... and Master inquires because she knows I want to run and perform for her... and do so admirably.

I shake my entrapped head as best I can. Yet the reminder is implanted... to run... to serve... to please.

"I’ll keep them at the ready," Master responds in forewarning, reaching to her blouse where a half dozen of the shiny bits of metal adorn the lapels, releasing one to demonstrably suggest ease of application.

She is a woman of purpose and resolve. Having observed her insouciantly execute and castrate, I have no doubt I will be quickly clamped with the slightest misstep... even the most undetectable slack in performance.

She smiles with my look of concern, returns the clamp to its place, so ironically appearing as decorative jewelry, then playfully taps my nose.

"Up," she commands, untying the simple hobbling cord connecting my steel ankle bands.

I arise feeling the burden of the cart surge as Master steps aboard. There comes tension on the reins, my bit irritating the wet pink flesh of my mouth. The obligatory command of ‘giddup’ is accompanied by snaps of the crop, right cheek and then left.

I am afforded another opportunity to please. My bare feet dig into the compact arid soil. I am now in my element, laboring for my Master... she with such munificence... sparing my life... sparing my balls... to better serve. I do believe I further stiffen.

Trained to exactitude, I merely react. My blank mind returns to the most momentous day of my life...


Anonymous said...

Can't wait to read the next chapter. This is already a fantastic story.

Chris Bellows said...

Glad you are enjoying.


EDWARD said...

Just got around to reading, superb,as always.Thanks .