The number of visitors to the blog has been waning. Probably because many chose to purchase the 'Woman in Control' story and have read ahead. That's fine but it's not too uplifting for me to see a decline in interest.
So... beginning Wednesday August 6, I will begin posting another serial. This one involves much male on male interaction, so you homophobes be forewarned. It will continue on every Wednesday until 'Woman in Control' runs out at the end of September.
Hope you all appreciate my efforts. Paucity of comments of late.
Enjoy.
CB
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Saturday, July 26, 2014
A Woman in Control - A good life gets better IV
A good life gets better IV
It is important that Jack no longer feel like a man, no longer think like a man. I have chemically ended his gender, but if he is to be a devoted servant, the emotional and intellectual maleness must also be truncated. Thus the seemingly harsh interaction with Harry... making Jack appreciate a man who can get it up... and appreciate that it is best that his wife avail herself of the exceptional talent... and best that Jack appreciate it as well.
Jack, you do want your wife to be happy... do you not?
So Harry becomes comfortable, I click the remote to permit Jack to prance to the kitchen and we move to the dining room. Salads are brought to the table, Jack serving with the skills of a high paid butler.
He returns to the kitchen to put on the steaks. Medium rare over a perfectly heated grill will require just minutes.
“He’ll be okay? Here? While we...” Harry muses.
“While we fuck,” I complete the thought. “He has no choice but to be okay. He’ll acclimate. I’m just tired of running out three to four times per week getting what he cannot offer.”
We munch, a tangy caesar salad, easy on the anchovies.
“I’ll bed him down. He’s sleeps well restrained and hooded. But I am thinking of offering a treat. You’re not overly shy are you, Harry?”
Harry laughs. He’s the type of guy who would perform in pornographic movies given the opportunity and the right paycheck. Harry has nothing about which to be shy... that I know from experience.
“No. What are your thoughts?”
“I want Jack to not only be frustrated but to also have no doubt about his place... that is to cook and clean for me, sew when necessary and graciously offer his tongue and lips when a girl... well when I girl most needs oral servitude.”
Harry nods. This is easier than I envisioned.
“So you saw that nice large and soft hassock in the livingroom. I want to ride you there... do my thing which you have come to enjoy... and I’ll put Jack in his bedroom. He cannot leave, it’s wired like all the other rooms.”
We munch more salad.
“So?” Harry not quite envisioning my wickedness.
“I’ll leave the door open. He will be able to watch... and will watch. I do not offer many opportunities for him to visually adore...”
As matter of fact there have been none, Jack always hooded when I straddle his head in need of oral attention... in need of the so termed cream pie clean up.
Harry smiles. “No guns around? The thought of getting shot by an enraged husband tends to amuse... but I’d like to delay that for my old age.”
I shake my head just as Jack brings in the thick porterhouse steaks, broiled to perfection with home made Maggi sauce on the side, Jack’s flavor expertise able to freshly duplicate the store brand. It smells fantastic. Yes, it is indeed important that a woman have a man who is a good organizer, neat, attentive about the household, cooking and cleaning with cheer. But a neutered man is even better.
Jack the butler serves again then humbly moves to stand in the corner to await orders and anticipate my needs.
“So, we’ll break in the hassock Harry? I ordered it special and Jack spent much time opening the seam at the top to add more stuffing. It’s nice and extra soft now. Jack can sew wonderfully.”
Masticating a tender morsel of beef, I look to see Jack bristle. I am sure he was aware of why I had him alter a brand new piece of furniture, but now the deed seems particularly libidinous... diligently laboring so his wife can better enjoy sex with another man... and he reacts in silent frustration.
As stated, I want my bullstuds to be completely motionless while I fuck them. So comfort is important, the better to just lie and let me hump away, angling and positioning the penetrating phallus just right... hitting my spots which when left to the male are never found.
I know it’s not how the likes of Harry and his cohorts most enjoy copulation, but in constantly rotating my bull studs it’s only once or twice per month and as stated, I’m not bad to look at... or feel... or to engage in an exchange of bodily fluids.
So Harry of course nods... then seems to have another concern.
“That cage... around his dick... can he get it off?”
I laugh. What a concern, that Jack may somehow join in the party.
“He does not have the key... nor do I. His care is left to a clinic... for boys like Jack with special needs. He’s unlocked, cleaned and shaven weekly... though the shaving is no longer much of a task... all covered by his health benefits. Keeping a neutered male healthy can be time consuming and expensive. The prostate demands particular attention... otherwise he drools about the house. Plus there is the weight gain. It’s expected and rather delightful to monitor. But one doesn’t want to over do it. Soft and voluptuous... that’s how I want Jack. I do not in any way want him feeling like a man.”
Harry smiles and nods. I do believe, in talking right in front of a silent and servile Jack, he is getting into the scene, so to speak.
Yes, that hassock beckons, doesn’t it Harry?
It is important that Jack no longer feel like a man, no longer think like a man. I have chemically ended his gender, but if he is to be a devoted servant, the emotional and intellectual maleness must also be truncated. Thus the seemingly harsh interaction with Harry... making Jack appreciate a man who can get it up... and appreciate that it is best that his wife avail herself of the exceptional talent... and best that Jack appreciate it as well.
Jack, you do want your wife to be happy... do you not?
So Harry becomes comfortable, I click the remote to permit Jack to prance to the kitchen and we move to the dining room. Salads are brought to the table, Jack serving with the skills of a high paid butler.
He returns to the kitchen to put on the steaks. Medium rare over a perfectly heated grill will require just minutes.
“He’ll be okay? Here? While we...” Harry muses.
“While we fuck,” I complete the thought. “He has no choice but to be okay. He’ll acclimate. I’m just tired of running out three to four times per week getting what he cannot offer.”
We munch, a tangy caesar salad, easy on the anchovies.
“I’ll bed him down. He’s sleeps well restrained and hooded. But I am thinking of offering a treat. You’re not overly shy are you, Harry?”
Harry laughs. He’s the type of guy who would perform in pornographic movies given the opportunity and the right paycheck. Harry has nothing about which to be shy... that I know from experience.
“No. What are your thoughts?”
“I want Jack to not only be frustrated but to also have no doubt about his place... that is to cook and clean for me, sew when necessary and graciously offer his tongue and lips when a girl... well when I girl most needs oral servitude.”
Harry nods. This is easier than I envisioned.
“So you saw that nice large and soft hassock in the livingroom. I want to ride you there... do my thing which you have come to enjoy... and I’ll put Jack in his bedroom. He cannot leave, it’s wired like all the other rooms.”
We munch more salad.
“So?” Harry not quite envisioning my wickedness.
“I’ll leave the door open. He will be able to watch... and will watch. I do not offer many opportunities for him to visually adore...”
As matter of fact there have been none, Jack always hooded when I straddle his head in need of oral attention... in need of the so termed cream pie clean up.
Harry smiles. “No guns around? The thought of getting shot by an enraged husband tends to amuse... but I’d like to delay that for my old age.”
I shake my head just as Jack brings in the thick porterhouse steaks, broiled to perfection with home made Maggi sauce on the side, Jack’s flavor expertise able to freshly duplicate the store brand. It smells fantastic. Yes, it is indeed important that a woman have a man who is a good organizer, neat, attentive about the household, cooking and cleaning with cheer. But a neutered man is even better.
Jack the butler serves again then humbly moves to stand in the corner to await orders and anticipate my needs.
“So, we’ll break in the hassock Harry? I ordered it special and Jack spent much time opening the seam at the top to add more stuffing. It’s nice and extra soft now. Jack can sew wonderfully.”
Masticating a tender morsel of beef, I look to see Jack bristle. I am sure he was aware of why I had him alter a brand new piece of furniture, but now the deed seems particularly libidinous... diligently laboring so his wife can better enjoy sex with another man... and he reacts in silent frustration.
As stated, I want my bullstuds to be completely motionless while I fuck them. So comfort is important, the better to just lie and let me hump away, angling and positioning the penetrating phallus just right... hitting my spots which when left to the male are never found.
I know it’s not how the likes of Harry and his cohorts most enjoy copulation, but in constantly rotating my bull studs it’s only once or twice per month and as stated, I’m not bad to look at... or feel... or to engage in an exchange of bodily fluids.
So Harry of course nods... then seems to have another concern.
“That cage... around his dick... can he get it off?”
I laugh. What a concern, that Jack may somehow join in the party.
“He does not have the key... nor do I. His care is left to a clinic... for boys like Jack with special needs. He’s unlocked, cleaned and shaven weekly... though the shaving is no longer much of a task... all covered by his health benefits. Keeping a neutered male healthy can be time consuming and expensive. The prostate demands particular attention... otherwise he drools about the house. Plus there is the weight gain. It’s expected and rather delightful to monitor. But one doesn’t want to over do it. Soft and voluptuous... that’s how I want Jack. I do not in any way want him feeling like a man.”
Harry smiles and nods. I do believe, in talking right in front of a silent and servile Jack, he is getting into the scene, so to speak.
Yes, that hassock beckons, doesn’t it Harry?
Saturday, July 19, 2014
A Woman in Control - A good life gets better III
A good life gets better III
Harry the Horse is expected at 7:00 p.m. Since he is a guy’s guy I’ll not have Jack go overboard with fancy cooking. As I demanded, steaks will do, and Jack can show off with some zesty sauce... he does know a thing about flavors.
So I arrive home at six to inspect and freshen up for Harry’s arrival.
Jack is in the kitchen of course, he has no choice and must stay there, either waiting for me and the remote control or calling my cell to request permission to use the bathroom. Tonight will be a big night for Jack. He’s not been proximate when I have ridden a bull in the past, the Bed and Breakfast wedding night when I was two doors down fucking Randy with zeal was as physically close as he’s been.
I find Jack naked and barefoot, just as I like him, knowing to prepare without soiling his uniform. He is upset, apprehensive. Emotionally he survived the wedding and the serving of my guests brunch the following Sunday. He of course knew I fucked Randy... hard and often... in consummating our unorthodox vows. And his hooded head has been wedged between my thighs several nights per week since. But it’s been impersonal... just between me, his cuckolding wife... and my cuck, Jack. He licks, engulfs and swallows... I taunt and mock... offering some reminder zings to his cock cage to assure attentive oral servitude... describing the length and girth of the stiff cock I rode to satiation.
But now he’s going to meet Harry... and serve him... and in later tasting him put a face and personality with one of my bullstuds.
A normal man would find repulsion... would protest... perhaps threaten... but Jack is no longer a man. The doses of cyproterone acetate continue. Though most likely unnecessary, his testicles shrunken to nothing, I like the idea of feeding him his morning pill... like the idea that he is fully aware I castrated him... me and Dr. Helmstadt... I like the idea that his knowledge of chemistry offered full awareness of the slow but very effective process. And now I like the idea that he will serve... me and my bullstud.
“Everything in good stead?” I inquire pleasantly, pinching that cute butt which seems to get plumper weekly.
Jack squeals like a little girl, marinating two thick porterhouse steaks. He’ll have much bone to pick over tonight. Leftovers and a large glass of buttermilk are his standard fare at home, the latter plumping him nicely.
He turns, which offers my fingers opportunity to toy with those tender girlish nipples... appearing prepubescent.
“I need to shower... and dress,” his manner glum.
“And makeup, Jack... along with the earrings I bought you.”
His look turns outright lugubrious.
“I thought I wore them for us.”
“For anyone I want to show them to, and show you to. Pour me the brew you selected then scoot,” I command, pushing the remote control to momentarily turn off the electrified dog barrier.
I replicated a set of gaudy but cheap rhinestone earrings displayed in one of the issues of ‘Men in Lace’. Curious how wearing such is of concern... drawing people into his secretive world of fantasy serves to fluster.
Jack scampers about, those buttocks rolling saucily. I take my brew and he prances to the bathroom... shower, makeup and skimpy maids uniform awaiting.
“And use the perfume,” I command as I settle in to relax.
The scent is strong and tawdry, cheap to match his earrings, stuff probably purchased by the quart by $ 50 hookers.
I move to the livingroom. As I sip I give some thought to this evening’s introduction. Months ago Randy Evans proved to be most open minded concerning the wedding and acting as best man. If there is one thing I have learned over the year, the male mind is more controlled by his penis than his brain. So in Randy knowing that the ceremony would be followed by sizzling, unbridled sex, there were no reservations expressed about his role. He just had to wear a tux and look virile, which is facile for any one of my bullstuds.
But with Harry the setting will be more intimate, as I intend. He knows I am married, but not to a chemically neutered ingenue whom I choose to keep naked and bound every night and most weekends. I do hope Jack’s proclivity and my exploitation of it does not disturb Harry. My quim really needs to be frictioned.
My brew is deep and malty, perfect for a steak. Jack does know flavors, I realize as he calls out from the bedroom, requesting permission to step out.
Total feminine control... always.
I press the remote and reply ‘come’, momentarily suspending any electrical shock.
Into the livingroom comes my little serving maid.
Cute. In heels, sexy black stockings, a black skirt so short that there is an occasional glint of his steel cock cage. At the back, I had Jack alter it, cutting the hemline up to the waist. Nothing covers his girlish buttocks. I decided such were too precious not to be always shown. White apron, white blouse, a traditional cap.
The makeup is adequate but he gets better with every attempt. He smells like a hooker and the finger and toe nails... what a shocking crimson shade. Such a vixen is my Jack.
“Very pretty tonight, Jack, Harry will be impressed,” smiling wickedly as I watch him blush.
Jack is both giddy and apprehensive, the hormonal confusion manifesting delightfully. A little girl wants to show off, a smidgen of remaining manliness urges concern. I suspect the little girl will prevail... and I have a remote which will assure it.
Jack skips to the kitchen, some final preparations. I glance at my watch then dash to the bedroom for a little preening. Harry will be on time, knowing he’s going to get laid, my command and control style found to be refreshing once or twice per month.
Within minutes the doorman calls to announce our visitor and with haste I change into something a little more comfortable and a lot more enticing... a very sheer negligee. A little early in the evening but I want Harry’s mind focused sooner rather later on the evening’s intended objective... unbridled copulation.
Curious, but Jack has never seen me other than fully dressed. Gazing at my charms is deemed to be a privilege to be earned by those whom can avail themselves. Though Jack has asked... before the cyproterone acetate devastated his libido... I have not let him have the slightest peek. Now in being chemically neutered I suppose it is no longer a point of interest.
The doorbell rings. I press the remote to permit Jack to exit the kitchen. The bedroom door is open but I hear no taps of those dainty heels. I again pick up the remote pressing the button for a reminder ‘zing’. It is uncomfortable but tolerable, enough voltage to remind Jack that he is under the control of a woman, one who can deliver... and will deliver... a most debilitating shock to his withered scrotum and the steel Prince’s Wand insertion.
He is reluctant. I do not permit reluctance.
I press again, a punishment shock. I hear a wince then I hear the heels. Tonight when I bed him down, I will need to recharge his battery pack. It is apparent this new paradigm will require some voltage.
I hear the apartment door open to offer entry.
“Good evening, sir,” Jack’s high pitched voice greets.
Harry’s initial silence brings a smile. Exactly what is Jack? I read his mind. Finally Harry’s deep booming voice inquires.
“Desiree Montrove?”
“She is dressing sir, and you are expected. Please come in. May I get you a brew?”
Harry is a blue collar guy, not exactly the type for a summa cum laude Vassar girl. But his equine sobriquet is appropriate... and references a most desirable anatomical male attribute.
Jack taps back to the kitchen, his genital control device on suspension while he serves... prancing from kitchen to dining area and back. I step from the bedroom in my negligee. As stated it is sheer... diaphanous probably a more apropos term. Nipples press forth, the ruby red tips seeming to bleed through the flimsy white. Below, I am sure my mons makes an equivalent introduction.
Harry gapes then finds words.
“Looking good babe. Who’s the little doll?”
“That’s Jack. My husband. Though I am probably going to change it to Jackie.”
Harry nods, appreciating more the ‘open relationship’, which is really down and dirty cuckolding.
Jack’s little heels tap again, carrying a tray... two of the malty brews with frozen mugs.
“Head?” I inquire, referencing the pour of the brew but the double entendre setting the mood.
Harry smiles, “just a little, for now.”
Jack pauses, gazing at me with desire, not having before seen my charms. Then he finally curtsies just as I taught him. When he turns to return to the kitchen, Harry notices the missing portion of the short skirt, Jack’s cheeks rolling in distraction. He suppresses a smile, a macho guy not to find interest in viewing a forcibly transformed male... one time male.
“Rather cute don’t you think, Harry? Castrated males make wonderful servants. Such devotion... and never a thought about any nastiness, like requesting inadequate sex. You know a girl like me likes it deep... and often. So what I am otherwise to do with Jackie?”
“Castrated?” Harry almost choking on the first sip of his brew.
“Neutered like a dog. I decided it was best for him. And he’s caged... down there. Keeps his mind off things long since past...”
Harry concentrates, focusing on a long draw, the soothing effect of alcohol deemed needed.
“Cooks wonderfully. Attentively cleans. He can sew... and teaching him proficient oral servitude is much easier... now that his mouth and tongue are his primary sex organs.”
As we exchange thoughts, we move to the livingroom, a chair for Harry, the couch for me.
Harry sits. I hope the stun of Jack’s introduction wears and does not effect his prowess. I really need some good stiffness tonight, and I need it hot... and deep.
Yes, I approximate Harry at nearly twelves inches. I judge by the amount of penis jutting forth above my hand when I grasp a man at the base to guide for insertion. There is more of Harry protruding above my thumb than any other lover.
We talk, Harry appreciating the fragrance of fine cooking as Jack prepares a special steak sauce. I decide to prime the pump, so to speak, patting the couch next to me. Harry knows to arise and move. All men are hounds when it comes to responding to gesture and receiving a treat. But no dog biscuit for Harry, instead just my hand, the one that has fostered my rapid rise within the Olivier Flavors and Fragrances hierarchy.
I reach to my right and smooth up and down at the zipper as Harry relates his day. I laugh inwardly, his voice cracking when certain hand motions become bold. Within moments, his slacks are tented, and with a man of Harry’s size the garment is strained and I am sure his manhood frustrated.
“Another brew, Jack,” I call out.
I hear the heels. Then comes a yelp. The setting on the remote has automatically returned to constrict and Jack has zapped himself trying to step from the kitchen. I reach out, grab the remote and press a button.
“You may come now, Jack.”
A sheepish Jack enters with a tray, two brews and two frozen mugs.
“You hurt yourself. You need to be more careful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” a glum Jack replies serving then taking away the empties.
With his proximity he notes the amazing bulge in Harry the Horse’s slacks. His eyes become glued. I reach down and brashly stroke at the cloth as if masturbating.
“Been a while since you’ve seen one of these, Jack. It’s termed an erection in case you no longer remember. Yes, yours does not get hard any more... and never did like this... did it?”
Jack reddens in silence.
“Did it Jack? Answer me. Isn’t that right?” reaching for the remote, I administer a reminder shock.
Jack gets the message. He will answer or various levels of electricity will surge through his penis and balls until he falls to the carpet in agony.
“Yes ma’am, that is right. Never hard like that.”
“So why don’t you be polite and compliment Harry on his size and stiffness?”
Jack pauses, gulps then stammers. Such a treat, the emotional stress.
“You’re... you’re... nicely sized, sir.”
I laugh most irritatingly.
“And its stiffness...”
“You’re very nicely stiff, sir.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice of Harry to share this with your wife, Jack?” reaching with both hands to cup the cloth covering the massive organ. “Since you can’t offer adequate vaginal penetration, perhaps Harry can accommodate. Ask him Jack. Ask Harry if he will be kind enough to fuck your wife.”
More pause. The flesh reddens more, Jack’s heart racing, circulation pounding. This is delicious. And though I so much appreciate Jack’s discomfort, the intense humiliation, I look to Harry. I am heartened to detect some furtive enjoyment.
“Sir, would you fuck my wife please?”
Harry laughs uproariously. He’s more than tolerating the cuckolding, he’s amused.
“Show him why, Jack. Put the tray down and show him why you need a real man to please your wife.”
With the front hem of the maid’s costume so abbreviated, it requires little effort to lift and display the steel cock cage. This also brings into plain sight the figure eight rings which anchor it in place and the pierced puff of flesh which once nestled Jack’s now emaciated testicles.
“Not much to him, is there Harry? And what remains of his gender I keep locked and wired, always at the ready for a little electrical shock to modify his behavior. Though meek and docile, there sometimes comes the combativeness of a little girl... Jack’s attempt at getting attention,” I hold up the remote control as I explain.
“Perhaps Harry would like to give you some of that special attention, Jack. Would you like that? Just a short reminder shock so you remember your place.”
It is key that Jack subordinate his will to my cuckolds. He will serve them, admire them, obey them... though not every one of my well hung lovers will care to participate. Still Jack must know that they can, that they are all empowered... by me.
“This little button, Harry. If you ever find his behavior lacking, press here and his penis and shriveled testicles will endure a 20 volt charge. Not much effect when applied elsewhere... but as a man I am sure you appreciate the sensitivity there.”
Harry nods and accepts the remote. I stroke that incredible cloth covered penis as encouragement. Jack, having not received any commands, remains standing before the couch, holding up the hem of his maid uniform to offer a most humiliating display if his entrapped organs.
“Here?” Harry seeking assurance.
I nod, the finger presses, and Jack stifles a wince.
“There are more powerful settings when he’s a very bad boy... or tries to exit where I have him working for me.”
Harry hands back the remote with a look of perplexity.
“It’s essentially a dog restraint system adapted for boys like Jack. The rooms are wired. He stays where I want him until I decide it is time to move.”
I do believe Harry is getting into the exchange of power. That makes for a good night of entertainment.
“Jack, put the steaks on and bring the salad to the table. We’ll eat first and then I think Harry wants to take you up on your offer. Look how big he’s become,” my hands reaching to once again tent the bulge and highlight it’s size.
Harry the Horse is expected at 7:00 p.m. Since he is a guy’s guy I’ll not have Jack go overboard with fancy cooking. As I demanded, steaks will do, and Jack can show off with some zesty sauce... he does know a thing about flavors.
So I arrive home at six to inspect and freshen up for Harry’s arrival.
Jack is in the kitchen of course, he has no choice and must stay there, either waiting for me and the remote control or calling my cell to request permission to use the bathroom. Tonight will be a big night for Jack. He’s not been proximate when I have ridden a bull in the past, the Bed and Breakfast wedding night when I was two doors down fucking Randy with zeal was as physically close as he’s been.
I find Jack naked and barefoot, just as I like him, knowing to prepare without soiling his uniform. He is upset, apprehensive. Emotionally he survived the wedding and the serving of my guests brunch the following Sunday. He of course knew I fucked Randy... hard and often... in consummating our unorthodox vows. And his hooded head has been wedged between my thighs several nights per week since. But it’s been impersonal... just between me, his cuckolding wife... and my cuck, Jack. He licks, engulfs and swallows... I taunt and mock... offering some reminder zings to his cock cage to assure attentive oral servitude... describing the length and girth of the stiff cock I rode to satiation.
But now he’s going to meet Harry... and serve him... and in later tasting him put a face and personality with one of my bullstuds.
A normal man would find repulsion... would protest... perhaps threaten... but Jack is no longer a man. The doses of cyproterone acetate continue. Though most likely unnecessary, his testicles shrunken to nothing, I like the idea of feeding him his morning pill... like the idea that he is fully aware I castrated him... me and Dr. Helmstadt... I like the idea that his knowledge of chemistry offered full awareness of the slow but very effective process. And now I like the idea that he will serve... me and my bullstud.
“Everything in good stead?” I inquire pleasantly, pinching that cute butt which seems to get plumper weekly.
Jack squeals like a little girl, marinating two thick porterhouse steaks. He’ll have much bone to pick over tonight. Leftovers and a large glass of buttermilk are his standard fare at home, the latter plumping him nicely.
He turns, which offers my fingers opportunity to toy with those tender girlish nipples... appearing prepubescent.
“I need to shower... and dress,” his manner glum.
“And makeup, Jack... along with the earrings I bought you.”
His look turns outright lugubrious.
“I thought I wore them for us.”
“For anyone I want to show them to, and show you to. Pour me the brew you selected then scoot,” I command, pushing the remote control to momentarily turn off the electrified dog barrier.
I replicated a set of gaudy but cheap rhinestone earrings displayed in one of the issues of ‘Men in Lace’. Curious how wearing such is of concern... drawing people into his secretive world of fantasy serves to fluster.
Jack scampers about, those buttocks rolling saucily. I take my brew and he prances to the bathroom... shower, makeup and skimpy maids uniform awaiting.
“And use the perfume,” I command as I settle in to relax.
The scent is strong and tawdry, cheap to match his earrings, stuff probably purchased by the quart by $ 50 hookers.
I move to the livingroom. As I sip I give some thought to this evening’s introduction. Months ago Randy Evans proved to be most open minded concerning the wedding and acting as best man. If there is one thing I have learned over the year, the male mind is more controlled by his penis than his brain. So in Randy knowing that the ceremony would be followed by sizzling, unbridled sex, there were no reservations expressed about his role. He just had to wear a tux and look virile, which is facile for any one of my bullstuds.
But with Harry the setting will be more intimate, as I intend. He knows I am married, but not to a chemically neutered ingenue whom I choose to keep naked and bound every night and most weekends. I do hope Jack’s proclivity and my exploitation of it does not disturb Harry. My quim really needs to be frictioned.
My brew is deep and malty, perfect for a steak. Jack does know flavors, I realize as he calls out from the bedroom, requesting permission to step out.
Total feminine control... always.
I press the remote and reply ‘come’, momentarily suspending any electrical shock.
Into the livingroom comes my little serving maid.
Cute. In heels, sexy black stockings, a black skirt so short that there is an occasional glint of his steel cock cage. At the back, I had Jack alter it, cutting the hemline up to the waist. Nothing covers his girlish buttocks. I decided such were too precious not to be always shown. White apron, white blouse, a traditional cap.
The makeup is adequate but he gets better with every attempt. He smells like a hooker and the finger and toe nails... what a shocking crimson shade. Such a vixen is my Jack.
“Very pretty tonight, Jack, Harry will be impressed,” smiling wickedly as I watch him blush.
Jack is both giddy and apprehensive, the hormonal confusion manifesting delightfully. A little girl wants to show off, a smidgen of remaining manliness urges concern. I suspect the little girl will prevail... and I have a remote which will assure it.
Jack skips to the kitchen, some final preparations. I glance at my watch then dash to the bedroom for a little preening. Harry will be on time, knowing he’s going to get laid, my command and control style found to be refreshing once or twice per month.
Within minutes the doorman calls to announce our visitor and with haste I change into something a little more comfortable and a lot more enticing... a very sheer negligee. A little early in the evening but I want Harry’s mind focused sooner rather later on the evening’s intended objective... unbridled copulation.
Curious, but Jack has never seen me other than fully dressed. Gazing at my charms is deemed to be a privilege to be earned by those whom can avail themselves. Though Jack has asked... before the cyproterone acetate devastated his libido... I have not let him have the slightest peek. Now in being chemically neutered I suppose it is no longer a point of interest.
The doorbell rings. I press the remote to permit Jack to exit the kitchen. The bedroom door is open but I hear no taps of those dainty heels. I again pick up the remote pressing the button for a reminder ‘zing’. It is uncomfortable but tolerable, enough voltage to remind Jack that he is under the control of a woman, one who can deliver... and will deliver... a most debilitating shock to his withered scrotum and the steel Prince’s Wand insertion.
He is reluctant. I do not permit reluctance.
I press again, a punishment shock. I hear a wince then I hear the heels. Tonight when I bed him down, I will need to recharge his battery pack. It is apparent this new paradigm will require some voltage.
I hear the apartment door open to offer entry.
“Good evening, sir,” Jack’s high pitched voice greets.
Harry’s initial silence brings a smile. Exactly what is Jack? I read his mind. Finally Harry’s deep booming voice inquires.
“Desiree Montrove?”
“She is dressing sir, and you are expected. Please come in. May I get you a brew?”
Harry is a blue collar guy, not exactly the type for a summa cum laude Vassar girl. But his equine sobriquet is appropriate... and references a most desirable anatomical male attribute.
Jack taps back to the kitchen, his genital control device on suspension while he serves... prancing from kitchen to dining area and back. I step from the bedroom in my negligee. As stated it is sheer... diaphanous probably a more apropos term. Nipples press forth, the ruby red tips seeming to bleed through the flimsy white. Below, I am sure my mons makes an equivalent introduction.
Harry gapes then finds words.
“Looking good babe. Who’s the little doll?”
“That’s Jack. My husband. Though I am probably going to change it to Jackie.”
Harry nods, appreciating more the ‘open relationship’, which is really down and dirty cuckolding.
Jack’s little heels tap again, carrying a tray... two of the malty brews with frozen mugs.
“Head?” I inquire, referencing the pour of the brew but the double entendre setting the mood.
Harry smiles, “just a little, for now.”
Jack pauses, gazing at me with desire, not having before seen my charms. Then he finally curtsies just as I taught him. When he turns to return to the kitchen, Harry notices the missing portion of the short skirt, Jack’s cheeks rolling in distraction. He suppresses a smile, a macho guy not to find interest in viewing a forcibly transformed male... one time male.
“Rather cute don’t you think, Harry? Castrated males make wonderful servants. Such devotion... and never a thought about any nastiness, like requesting inadequate sex. You know a girl like me likes it deep... and often. So what I am otherwise to do with Jackie?”
“Castrated?” Harry almost choking on the first sip of his brew.
“Neutered like a dog. I decided it was best for him. And he’s caged... down there. Keeps his mind off things long since past...”
Harry concentrates, focusing on a long draw, the soothing effect of alcohol deemed needed.
“Cooks wonderfully. Attentively cleans. He can sew... and teaching him proficient oral servitude is much easier... now that his mouth and tongue are his primary sex organs.”
As we exchange thoughts, we move to the livingroom, a chair for Harry, the couch for me.
Harry sits. I hope the stun of Jack’s introduction wears and does not effect his prowess. I really need some good stiffness tonight, and I need it hot... and deep.
Yes, I approximate Harry at nearly twelves inches. I judge by the amount of penis jutting forth above my hand when I grasp a man at the base to guide for insertion. There is more of Harry protruding above my thumb than any other lover.
We talk, Harry appreciating the fragrance of fine cooking as Jack prepares a special steak sauce. I decide to prime the pump, so to speak, patting the couch next to me. Harry knows to arise and move. All men are hounds when it comes to responding to gesture and receiving a treat. But no dog biscuit for Harry, instead just my hand, the one that has fostered my rapid rise within the Olivier Flavors and Fragrances hierarchy.
I reach to my right and smooth up and down at the zipper as Harry relates his day. I laugh inwardly, his voice cracking when certain hand motions become bold. Within moments, his slacks are tented, and with a man of Harry’s size the garment is strained and I am sure his manhood frustrated.
“Another brew, Jack,” I call out.
I hear the heels. Then comes a yelp. The setting on the remote has automatically returned to constrict and Jack has zapped himself trying to step from the kitchen. I reach out, grab the remote and press a button.
“You may come now, Jack.”
A sheepish Jack enters with a tray, two brews and two frozen mugs.
“You hurt yourself. You need to be more careful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” a glum Jack replies serving then taking away the empties.
With his proximity he notes the amazing bulge in Harry the Horse’s slacks. His eyes become glued. I reach down and brashly stroke at the cloth as if masturbating.
“Been a while since you’ve seen one of these, Jack. It’s termed an erection in case you no longer remember. Yes, yours does not get hard any more... and never did like this... did it?”
Jack reddens in silence.
“Did it Jack? Answer me. Isn’t that right?” reaching for the remote, I administer a reminder shock.
Jack gets the message. He will answer or various levels of electricity will surge through his penis and balls until he falls to the carpet in agony.
“Yes ma’am, that is right. Never hard like that.”
“So why don’t you be polite and compliment Harry on his size and stiffness?”
Jack pauses, gulps then stammers. Such a treat, the emotional stress.
“You’re... you’re... nicely sized, sir.”
I laugh most irritatingly.
“And its stiffness...”
“You’re very nicely stiff, sir.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice of Harry to share this with your wife, Jack?” reaching with both hands to cup the cloth covering the massive organ. “Since you can’t offer adequate vaginal penetration, perhaps Harry can accommodate. Ask him Jack. Ask Harry if he will be kind enough to fuck your wife.”
More pause. The flesh reddens more, Jack’s heart racing, circulation pounding. This is delicious. And though I so much appreciate Jack’s discomfort, the intense humiliation, I look to Harry. I am heartened to detect some furtive enjoyment.
“Sir, would you fuck my wife please?”
Harry laughs uproariously. He’s more than tolerating the cuckolding, he’s amused.
“Show him why, Jack. Put the tray down and show him why you need a real man to please your wife.”
With the front hem of the maid’s costume so abbreviated, it requires little effort to lift and display the steel cock cage. This also brings into plain sight the figure eight rings which anchor it in place and the pierced puff of flesh which once nestled Jack’s now emaciated testicles.
“Not much to him, is there Harry? And what remains of his gender I keep locked and wired, always at the ready for a little electrical shock to modify his behavior. Though meek and docile, there sometimes comes the combativeness of a little girl... Jack’s attempt at getting attention,” I hold up the remote control as I explain.
“Perhaps Harry would like to give you some of that special attention, Jack. Would you like that? Just a short reminder shock so you remember your place.”
It is key that Jack subordinate his will to my cuckolds. He will serve them, admire them, obey them... though not every one of my well hung lovers will care to participate. Still Jack must know that they can, that they are all empowered... by me.
“This little button, Harry. If you ever find his behavior lacking, press here and his penis and shriveled testicles will endure a 20 volt charge. Not much effect when applied elsewhere... but as a man I am sure you appreciate the sensitivity there.”
Harry nods and accepts the remote. I stroke that incredible cloth covered penis as encouragement. Jack, having not received any commands, remains standing before the couch, holding up the hem of his maid uniform to offer a most humiliating display if his entrapped organs.
“Here?” Harry seeking assurance.
I nod, the finger presses, and Jack stifles a wince.
“There are more powerful settings when he’s a very bad boy... or tries to exit where I have him working for me.”
Harry hands back the remote with a look of perplexity.
“It’s essentially a dog restraint system adapted for boys like Jack. The rooms are wired. He stays where I want him until I decide it is time to move.”
I do believe Harry is getting into the exchange of power. That makes for a good night of entertainment.
“Jack, put the steaks on and bring the salad to the table. We’ll eat first and then I think Harry wants to take you up on your offer. Look how big he’s become,” my hands reaching to once again tent the bulge and highlight it’s size.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
A Woman in Control - A good life gets better II
A good life gets better II
“Mrs. Montrove, I need to go to the bathroom.”
It’s Jack, calling from his office.
“Ten minutes,” I mercifully proclaim, reaching for the remote control and setting the timer.
Ten minutes hence, the control unit will automatically turn off the charger and allow Jack to leave his office for an allotted interval. If he does not return in time, he will not be able to get past the wired doorway to reenter. Failure means trouble. A call to reset the control unit for reentry results in a naughty boy shock... or worse... an agonizing shock if he returns much delayed.
“And Jack, cook for two tonight. Steaks, caesar salad, a good rich craft brew. I have a guest, so I want you to look pretty for me in your uniform.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It’s not ‘we’ have a guest... it’s ‘I’ have a guest, Jack having no say. And I might add, Jack usually cooks for one... me... and I’ll let him later ‘feast’ on what I leave on my plate such as picked over bones and perhaps a vegetable which has turned inedibly cold before receiving my attention.
Usually I eat at home then depart for drinks and a good fuck, returning satiated with a brimming love nest for a well restrained Jack. But it’s time for the next step in our cuckold marriage.
I have invited Harry the Horse and he will be impressed... with Jack’s cooking... with Jack. And Jack will be able to put a face with a mentally archived ‘taste’. My instruction concerning the uniform is to allay a degree of shock. Having a husband as a serving maid some will find quirky enough. Having a husband as a naked serving maid, cock caged in metal, can be deemed over the top. I do not want to distract Harry from his appointed duty... that is to lie supine, get it up, and eventually get it off after I do my rodeo thing.
As five p.m. approaches I set the control box to permit Jack to leave. The timer will allow him 27 minutes to get home, otherwise he’ll not get through the apartment door and will need to call me to arrange entry... and receive a punishment shock for tardiness.
Bob, my fawning personal assistant, enters.
“Got the stuff you wanted from R & D,” placing a moderately sized spray bottle on my desk. “Think it’s pretty close.”
I decided to use the acquired talents and knowledge of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances to have a little fun. I asked Bob to have someone in the fragrance laboratory concoct a spray mist with the scent of butter. Normally it’s the flavor guys who get such a request, artificially adding a buttery zest to foods without the calories and insalubrious fat. But I want to have what will essentially be a perfume bottle of butter scent. G. Douglas’s reaction will greatly amuse if the boys in R & D get it right.
One must recall, my conquest and quick rise in the organization began when he masturbated for me utilizing butter as a handy lubricant. To this day, the ‘weekly updates’ center about a slick right hand and greased penetrating fingers of the left... the use of butter continuing.
I am eager to see what the scent prompts without the actual lubricant. So I press the pump and presto, my office reeks of the makeshift masturbatory unguent.
“Tell the boys in the lab I am pleased,” slipping the bottle into my desk drawer to await the next Friday ‘update’.
“Mrs. Montrove, I need to go to the bathroom.”
It’s Jack, calling from his office.
“Ten minutes,” I mercifully proclaim, reaching for the remote control and setting the timer.
Ten minutes hence, the control unit will automatically turn off the charger and allow Jack to leave his office for an allotted interval. If he does not return in time, he will not be able to get past the wired doorway to reenter. Failure means trouble. A call to reset the control unit for reentry results in a naughty boy shock... or worse... an agonizing shock if he returns much delayed.
“And Jack, cook for two tonight. Steaks, caesar salad, a good rich craft brew. I have a guest, so I want you to look pretty for me in your uniform.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It’s not ‘we’ have a guest... it’s ‘I’ have a guest, Jack having no say. And I might add, Jack usually cooks for one... me... and I’ll let him later ‘feast’ on what I leave on my plate such as picked over bones and perhaps a vegetable which has turned inedibly cold before receiving my attention.
Usually I eat at home then depart for drinks and a good fuck, returning satiated with a brimming love nest for a well restrained Jack. But it’s time for the next step in our cuckold marriage.
I have invited Harry the Horse and he will be impressed... with Jack’s cooking... with Jack. And Jack will be able to put a face with a mentally archived ‘taste’. My instruction concerning the uniform is to allay a degree of shock. Having a husband as a serving maid some will find quirky enough. Having a husband as a naked serving maid, cock caged in metal, can be deemed over the top. I do not want to distract Harry from his appointed duty... that is to lie supine, get it up, and eventually get it off after I do my rodeo thing.
As five p.m. approaches I set the control box to permit Jack to leave. The timer will allow him 27 minutes to get home, otherwise he’ll not get through the apartment door and will need to call me to arrange entry... and receive a punishment shock for tardiness.
Bob, my fawning personal assistant, enters.
“Got the stuff you wanted from R & D,” placing a moderately sized spray bottle on my desk. “Think it’s pretty close.”
I decided to use the acquired talents and knowledge of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances to have a little fun. I asked Bob to have someone in the fragrance laboratory concoct a spray mist with the scent of butter. Normally it’s the flavor guys who get such a request, artificially adding a buttery zest to foods without the calories and insalubrious fat. But I want to have what will essentially be a perfume bottle of butter scent. G. Douglas’s reaction will greatly amuse if the boys in R & D get it right.
One must recall, my conquest and quick rise in the organization began when he masturbated for me utilizing butter as a handy lubricant. To this day, the ‘weekly updates’ center about a slick right hand and greased penetrating fingers of the left... the use of butter continuing.
I am eager to see what the scent prompts without the actual lubricant. So I press the pump and presto, my office reeks of the makeshift masturbatory unguent.
“Tell the boys in the lab I am pleased,” slipping the bottle into my desk drawer to await the next Friday ‘update’.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
'A Woman in Control' available at Lulu
Since a significant portion of the story has been posted here, I have lowered the price for those caring to read ahead. The Lulu version is now $4.00.
http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/a-woman-in-control/ebook/product-21578977.html
Enjoy
http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/a-woman-in-control/ebook/product-21578977.html
Enjoy
Saturday, July 5, 2014
A Woman in Control - A good life gets better I
A good life gets better I
Within a few months of marriage, G. Douglas Olivier calls me into his office to order lunch, his hand bandaged, a termagant wife apparently plotting to forestall masturbation with a hot fireplace poker. The remainder of that segment of the story has been told.
So first I acquire a chemically castrated cuckold husband, then a boss so sexually frustrated that he finds relief in controlling hand jobs and lastly acquire the power to assemble a cadre of bullstuds... all of whom are on the company payroll.
Still, I am astute enough to understand that behind the power is the significant cash flow of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances. This is not to be tampered. Thus the hijinks... the office hijinks... are solely on Friday afternoons, beginning with the ‘weekly update’... G. Douglas getting his rocks off into an ash tray, thereafter Bob sucking to full erection the bull of my choice whom I will ride on my office ottoman, then having Bob do oral clean up.
Jack is sequestered in his office, ‘analyzing’ I trust. His electrified cock cage makes it impossible to step out his wired office door, so the office dalliances are not and never will be burdened with matrimonial concerns. I preserve the torment of Jack for nights and weekends. Week days he works, bolstering the company cash flow.
But once per week satiation does not, and I suspect, never will be sufficient for a woman of my penchants. Home at night in an impeccably cleaned apartment, being served a sumptuous meal every evening by a naked husband, prancing about in full makeup, stokes the smoldering embers of lust. And whereas Jack’s cunnilingus is steadily improving, as stated, my preference is for penetration... deep... the vaginal walls frictioned and well kneaded by a massive and stiff male appendage.
So I date, frequently and without compunction. As I informed Jack on our wedding night, as a mass of gism slowly drooled from my lips to his... vaginal to oral... there will be more, and many different flavors.
Rather ironic, considering Jack’s line of work. He did suggest, during his meek introduction to me that he ‘knew a little about the flavor side of the business’. So I constantly put his skills to work, returning home, straddling Jack’s supine and well bound form and letting the evening’s collection of virile male essence slither to his mouth.
“Care to guess who I fucked tonight, Jack?” I taunt, knowing that, though he finds it repulsive, by rote he records the taste in the archives of his chemically engineered mind. He cannot help himself and he knows the names and penis sizes of every one of my bulls. I am given to describe the encounters quite graphically. Having a useless penis, small and becoming smaller, locked away for no other reason than to punctuate his forced chastity, he mentally seethes. He can never physically please me in the manner of a man. It torments, and I cherish such torment.
“It’s Randy,” he’ll finally postulate... and do so quite accurately. Quite the skill since there is Lou, Adam, Chuck, Tom, Harry the Horse, Leonard and an occasional unknown the taste of whom gets recorded should I ever choose to again fuck the restaurant busboy... the parking valet... or some guy across the bar.
Yes, life gets better and better.
Within a few months of marriage, G. Douglas Olivier calls me into his office to order lunch, his hand bandaged, a termagant wife apparently plotting to forestall masturbation with a hot fireplace poker. The remainder of that segment of the story has been told.
So first I acquire a chemically castrated cuckold husband, then a boss so sexually frustrated that he finds relief in controlling hand jobs and lastly acquire the power to assemble a cadre of bullstuds... all of whom are on the company payroll.
Still, I am astute enough to understand that behind the power is the significant cash flow of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances. This is not to be tampered. Thus the hijinks... the office hijinks... are solely on Friday afternoons, beginning with the ‘weekly update’... G. Douglas getting his rocks off into an ash tray, thereafter Bob sucking to full erection the bull of my choice whom I will ride on my office ottoman, then having Bob do oral clean up.
Jack is sequestered in his office, ‘analyzing’ I trust. His electrified cock cage makes it impossible to step out his wired office door, so the office dalliances are not and never will be burdened with matrimonial concerns. I preserve the torment of Jack for nights and weekends. Week days he works, bolstering the company cash flow.
But once per week satiation does not, and I suspect, never will be sufficient for a woman of my penchants. Home at night in an impeccably cleaned apartment, being served a sumptuous meal every evening by a naked husband, prancing about in full makeup, stokes the smoldering embers of lust. And whereas Jack’s cunnilingus is steadily improving, as stated, my preference is for penetration... deep... the vaginal walls frictioned and well kneaded by a massive and stiff male appendage.
So I date, frequently and without compunction. As I informed Jack on our wedding night, as a mass of gism slowly drooled from my lips to his... vaginal to oral... there will be more, and many different flavors.
Rather ironic, considering Jack’s line of work. He did suggest, during his meek introduction to me that he ‘knew a little about the flavor side of the business’. So I constantly put his skills to work, returning home, straddling Jack’s supine and well bound form and letting the evening’s collection of virile male essence slither to his mouth.
“Care to guess who I fucked tonight, Jack?” I taunt, knowing that, though he finds it repulsive, by rote he records the taste in the archives of his chemically engineered mind. He cannot help himself and he knows the names and penis sizes of every one of my bulls. I am given to describe the encounters quite graphically. Having a useless penis, small and becoming smaller, locked away for no other reason than to punctuate his forced chastity, he mentally seethes. He can never physically please me in the manner of a man. It torments, and I cherish such torment.
“It’s Randy,” he’ll finally postulate... and do so quite accurately. Quite the skill since there is Lou, Adam, Chuck, Tom, Harry the Horse, Leonard and an occasional unknown the taste of whom gets recorded should I ever choose to again fuck the restaurant busboy... the parking valet... or some guy across the bar.
Yes, life gets better and better.
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