Wednesday, June 6, 2012

'To Serve Intact' XVI

The chariot is burdensome indeed. There comes a tug on the reins, notably gruff, then a smack of the crop to right cheek then left. After months of laboring under Master’s tutelage, I note the crisp firmness. It is not the hand of Master... yet it is a hand that metes encouragement without compunction.

I seethe as I do whenever recalling the duplicity that brought death and castration to so many. There is hate and revulsion. Yet despite the proximity of the woman responsible I can do nothing. Yoked and harnessed, there is no vengeance to be slaked, instead I endure... her mocking words... her taunts... and now her crop bearing hand.

Trained, indoctrinated, strangely accepting of my bondage and servitude, there are no words of protest... can be no words of protest. The bit silences. Instead I humbly lean, dig in and pull. Well developed muscles, toned and worked daily for no other purpose, contract in earnest. The chariot instantly begins to roll despite the ponderous load. I suck air knowing oxygen will quickly be depleted.

And... I also feel familiar twinges in my loins... my penis further stirs. A commanding woman reigns supreme... this one not adulated... but hated. Still, my somatic reaction is the same. I further stiffen and labor to please.  

The path begins its rise to the plateau of the island. Feet and legs work fervently. There must be momentum built to ascend, this Genevieve instinctively knows and the stings of the crop continue. Over the slap of leather on perspiring flesh and the rumble of the chariot I hear pleasant conversation. Dispensing pain is by rote. The words are indiscernible but I know to include suggestions concerning the handling of the human equine.

‘Firmness,’ I imagine Master’s lecture ‘always direct with firmness. It is best for the kept male.’

The slope is slight but long, the strokes many, the sweat abundant. The limited velocity fails to offer the continuous self generated cooling breeze which serves to bring evaporation. Thus the sweat rolls to my ankles and feet causing dust to cling. The resulting mud begins to fling. Brandi will need to cleanse with diligence, her caring tending hands to be appreciated.

Nearing the apex the cart slows, the crop strokes increase. Mere paces from the luxury of a flat stretch of road, the hand begins to encourage with ardor, the crop slipping between my thighs and tapping upwards. I lurch... more in concern... more in fear than in pain. I have labored many months to assure I remain intact. Now the leather instrument of correction threatens.

My effort instantly renews and to the sound of girlish laughter, my zealous effort to save my precious gonads from the whim of feminine caprice fostering amusement, the chariot reaches the level plateau. Though there is well over a mile to the stable, I am much better able to adequately perform for Master and guest.

My feet pound. We accelerate. Despite my loathing of the woman who commands, I feel a degree of pride and accomplishment. When life is compacted to doing one thing, there is comfort in doing it well... no matter the circumstances.

The breezes cool. Perspiration evaporates. Caked mud remains. Threatening taps to my scrotum cease. Master’s abode comes into view. In imagining Brandi’s touch there comes renewed effort. Then I feel both reins tighten... the signal to slow. I obediently come to a walk then feel a hand about my cheeks, slipping into my cleft.

The plug of ginger root remains. Fingers grasp the flanged end. The bulbous insertion is jostled then twisted. It kneads the prostate. I am also surprised to feel the return of the burning sensation, remaining juice oozing to resume the searing encouragement of figging.

Master knows exertion has caused my penis to waver... knows that her steed needs to be erect... wants to be erect. I feel stirring. I need not look downward... cannot look downward... but know my penis tip engorges, my erection firms... my diamonds further rise and sparkle.

In reaching the stable entrance my manhood stands as desired. Brandi exits the wide door. Naked and neutered, a tiny flaccid appendage immediately proclaims her former gender despite the effeminate layers of gelatinous mocha flesh and the page boy coiffure.
The stress of the prongs eases as Master and guest step from the chariot.

“A castrate, how cute,” Genevieve gushes, seeing Brandi blush in response.

“Loyal and focused. They make excellent servants,” Master explains stepping to my front.

I am chagrined when she slips out the urethral agitator, normally a task for Brandi. I therefore know what is to come. Master wants me to show off, to exhibit the results of months of ingrained discipline, her thorough control.

But not before her!.. the woman I so much detest! 

I am stultified... yet I feel myself as stiff as ever.

“Psst, psst. Perform for me like a good boy. Show Genevieve how you so much enjoy pleasing and responding to women of authority.”

I close my eyes. I contract my muscles. There is a need. I am filled, over a quart ingested at the dock.

“No. Open your eyes. Look straight into Genevieve’s face.”

With total obedience, I do. Goose bumps form... the humiliation intense... yet a flow begins. A laughing Genevieve knows to quickly step to the side, peering intently. She so much enjoys my subjugation.

And I so much despise her... but I so much need to perform...


ez_cat2001 said...

Great story (as always). Hope the Genevieve becomes a bigger part of the story.

Chris Bellows said...

ez_ cat2001

Thank you.

Miss Genevieve will indeed.