Saturday, August 30, 2014

A Woman in Control - Reaching my zenith II

Reaching My Zenith II

Yes, such a conniver am I. Though it’s Friday I do not call G. Douglas’s office to arrange a time for the ‘weekly update’. Though the boss is aging he has come to expect my call and the subsequent squeeze of my buttered hand just as Pavlov’s dogs expect to hear a bell and get fed.

Late Friday, while I am riding the week’s best salesman, Bob buzzes on the intercom. It must be important, because he knows I have my skirt up and am straddling the ottoman, slowly frictioning my quim and driving crazy a young bull who wants to get his rocks off too soon.

“Yes,” my tone direct, somewhat cloaking my annoyance.

“It’s Mr. G calling,” Bob using the boss’s diminutive. “Says he needs you right away... ah needs to see you right away.”

I smile with the slip. Yes, of course G. Douglas needs me. He spent I am sure a long evening in a home reeking of the scent of butter... and his only relief to beg the Mrs., stroke himself which has been forbidden, or struggle through the night and await my gracious hand... which he did... and I have withheld.

“Tell him I am busy, Bob,” offering my salesman, name temporarily forgotten, another slow, pleasurable-for-me, frustrating-for-him, thrust.

Later, well after five p.m., Bob having licked his penis clean, my rooky bullstud dresses. I rode him long and hard, wearing him to mushy pulp despite his young age. He smiles wanly, still not accustomed to the lascivious prize for the week’s best sales effort. And though I climaxed thrice, I glow in knowing that a servile Bob awaits to offer more.

“Send in Bob back in. He sucks a good cock, wouldn’t you agree?” adding further ignominy to the afternoon’s romp.   

The boy nods in quiet, smiles then steps out. I take my place at my desk, hiking my skirt before sitting down. Then Bob enters and disrobes. For the third time this afternoon I have a naked male in my office.

I like having my male sycophants strip for me. It’s a nice reversal.

Bob silently crawls under my desk and begins the cream pie clean up. More accomplished than Jack, it’s a refreshing change. I sometimes wonder if the cyproterone acetate is shrinking Jack’s remaining functioning sex organ.

Moments after my first clitoral orgasm, my phone rings. It’s now close to six. With the switchboard closed I know it is an internal call and since Bob is preoccupied, I answer myself, reveling in talking while having my cunnie licked clean.

“It’s Mr. G, Miss Desiree. I stayed late hoping you’d have time for the weekly update I find so invigorating.”

He is desperate. Being old and horny is a terrible way to go through life. It demeans. And of course I find that quite amusing.  

“Nothing to update. I will have more next week. Meanwhile, have Mrs. Olivier call me. Business. She’ll understand.”

I hear some mumbling. G. Douglas does not give orders... nor suggestions... to her Highness. The thought of the harridan brings inaudible words and he talks to himself.  

“I will... try. But I’d rather not go the weekend without my update,” his tone a curious combination of firmness and desperation.

“You will have Mrs. Olivier call me. Only then will I update you,” offering a saucy enunciation. “Meanwhile surely you must have some butter in the house, Mr. G,” my tone innocent in mocking how the codger now gets his rocks off. “Does not Mrs. Olivier cook with butter?”

“Well half the house smells like it. It’s annoying.”

“Did you say annoying or arousing?” I hang up so as not to laugh directly at him.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

The Sash - Oral Skills

Oral Skills

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

A seated Nurse Benson takes the offered number ten ball, well moistened. Markie smiles in anticipation then shuffles on all fours, turns to present his backside, and obediently lowers face and forehead to the floor. It is with eagerness that the back arches, the knees further part and a sphincter brought to suppleness presents itself for impalement.

Yes, weeks of daily training have not only physically opened Markie, but mentally imparted the thrill of prostatic manipulation. Nurse Benson pauses, the joy of her authority bringing a frisson of delight to any woman of governance.

“You enjoy it when I open you, Markie. Why is that?” Nurse Benson letting the expectation linger.     

“Yes, Ma’am. I don’t know why.”

“Could it be your remaining male gland enjoys a woman’s attention... enjoys submitting to a woman’s control,” the index finger of the left hand teasingly abrading the gluteal cleft.

A powerful right hand squeezes to compress the sizable sphere of foam rubber. There will be a moment of struggle, fingers of the left hand further parting the lovely cheeks, right hand stuffing. But then after insertion the ball will expand within the anal passage to announce its presence, greeting the unused prostate gland with constant pressure and bring a girlish squeal of delight.

“I’ll want you revering my fingers today, Markie... practice your oral skills. Do you feel a difference with the doctor’s little snip?”

With the query, index and middle finger give the compressed ball a final thrust, pressing it well within. A reply comes not, Markie instead uttering the initial squeal followed by an ‘ah’ of satisfaction as the hands retreat.

“It’s looser, I guess,” Markie’s focus returning.

“That’s because the doctor performed a frenectomy, incising a little flap of skin under your tongue called the frenum. Do you know why she took the time to do that Markie?”  

“No Ma’am.”

“So you can better please with it... your tongue.”

As the nurse lectures, Markie knows to right himself to all fours and turn, facing the woman who can so knowingly bring faint pleasure to the castrated male. 

“So let’s practice. I want you to lick and suck each of my fingers. Kneel upright for me. I’ll give you a nice nipple massage if you’re doing it right,” the right pinky finger presented for engulfment.  

With that, Markie smiles. For reasons unclear to him, nipple play has become quite joyful of late. And Nurse Benson is well aware, the massive injections of estrogen overwhelming the once male libido, the absence of testosterone causing the endocrine system to succumb. Yes, there is new sensitivity... and an aware Nurse Benson knows well of the emotional lever such offers.

“May I rub your leg with... with my...”

“Your penis, Markie. Yes you still have a penis and I know it still gives you some pleasure. But no... not until you’ve sucked. Now begin. Follow my instructions. Be obedient. We like obedient girly boys here.”

The proffered digit is engulfed. Nurse Benson smiles, the degree of tenderness telling.

“Swish the underside, Markie. Pretend it’s your penis. You know where you’d most like to feel warm wetness there, don’t you?”

There comes a slight nod in reply and indeed a most sensuous swish. Nurse Benson’s left hand goes to the right nipple. She in fact knows of the faint pleasure to be imbued and in reward begins a most tantalizing massage, her index finger first diddling, then thumb and forefinger to squeeze, then the entire once male breast to be kneaded... should Markie’s efforts earn such reward.

“Good girl Markie. Now suck a little... just for a moment... then more swishing.”

Prostate pressed, nipples teased, Markie knows to return the joy, swishing...sucking... swishing... sucking.

There is no better oral pleasure a male can receive than from another male... or former male, Nurse Benson notes in silence. The tongue seems to dance with enthusiasm. And Nurse Benson knows that, upon having sucked each of her ten fingers, the slippery wet length not only celebrates its newly offered freedom, but strengthens itself as well.

“Good girl, Markie!” Nurse Benson feeling the tiny penis beginning to frottage her leg as Markie thrusts his hips, “ but no, no” the calve quickly withdrawn, “that comes later. First I’ll want to stretch you a little.”

With that, the right thumb is joined by her fingers, Nurse Benson somewhat cruelly grasping the warm wet appendage.

“Now just relax. We’re going to do this every day. For just a few moments. It is best for you,” pulling to spur slight choking. “And we’ll need to work on that gag reflex. Very impolite in offering fellatio, Markie. A good girl needs to learn to control that. And I have a box full of toys over there that will help. You’d like to orally please others, wouldn’t you Markie?”
There comes a muffled verbal response, Nurse Benson’s grip continuing.... though slippery pulling, pushing, twisting with tender zeal. Words indiscernible, Nurse Benson pretends the reply is affirmative.

“Yes, my Markie is going to be quite the sucker of cocks.”   

Saturday, August 23, 2014

A Woman in Control - Reaching my zenith - I

Reaching My Zenith I

Fridays are long days. Masturbating G. Douglas, riding the week’s top producing salesman on the ottoman in my office, watching amused while a naked Bob pays homage and cleanses the award winning salesman’s cock, then leisurely sitting at my desk, skirt hiked, thighs spread as Bob does the cream pie clean up.

With the antics going well past five p.m. I set the remote to allow Jack to depart his office and go  to the clinic. There Nurse Benson strips him and utilizes the painful electroejaculation to drain him of whatever his chemically altered reproductive system is still able to produce. The effluent is collected, the Prince’s Wand making that facile, but it is no longer tested. It’s merely prostatic fluid and is demonstrably shown to Jack to emphasize his castration. Plus it is best to rid him of the goo lest he drip about the apartment.  

Next the cock cage and waist belt are removed for cleansing and Jack in turn is cleaned and shaven. Upon leaving, Nurse Benson calls and I set the timer, offering just enough time to return home before the electrified door locks him out. There he will disrobe and clean the apartment while back in my office an orally accomplished Bob licks and licks and licks.

Sometimes I will call home and describe how Bob’s mammoth tongue is fluttering about between my thighs.

It’s year four of my ascendency and the steady string of pre planned promotions have brought the title of Chief Operating Officer, and a huge salary. G. Douglas’s title of CEO is more of a sinecure than ever. Essentially, I call all the shots. And whereas Jack’s salary was material to my means at the time of our marriage years ago, it’s now a pittance by comparison. I toss most of his pay into savings and a good long term care policy. Castrated men have particular health issues as they age. I just hope when needed I can find a place that will keep him suitably restrained... and find another servant for myself.

Presently my well stored photo collection of the boss performing for me is vast. If disclosure is ever deemed necessary, there will be no arguments of a photoshopped scene... something contrived... cut and pasted to embarrass G. Douglas. No, the huge collection will speak loudly, cleverly photoshopping hundreds and hundreds of snapshots deemed impractical.  

And my collection continues to grow. I like having G. Douglas perform for me before the camera... another aspect of this power thing...

I have come to realize that though my power is almost absolute, there is one possible glitch... the termagant Mrs. G. Douglas Olivier. Their estranged marital relationship has become more distant. With me satiating the boss’s sexual urges, now only once per week as his senescence progresses, G. Douglas no longer even attempts to get any at home. Still he chooses to cowtow, there being nothing to gain in a divorce instead just a division of assets, mainly stock in Olivier Flavors and Fragrance. Such is deemed unthinkable.   

So who is to ultimately rule over G. Douglas?

If there is one thing I have come to learn about the haughty Mrs. Olivier, social prestige is paramount. Yes, the sizable wealth and income bring comfort, but status... that is what ices the cake of the affluent.

Thus I ponder, realizing that as impactful as the disclosure of my many photos can be to G. Douglas Olivier, there would be equal impact to the social status of Mrs. G. Douglas should there be further disclosure outside the comfortable and opulent G. Douglas Olivier nest.

So perhaps I can attain a degree of power over the harridan wife of poor G. Douglas. But how to manifest?

If G. Douglas knows that the Mrs. is aware of the Friday dalliances... firm stroking hand, fingers penetrating, infirm pecker spurting into the ashtray at my behest... then my power will diminish. One less and very good reason to obey me. But if the Mrs. learns of my ability to extort and informs not G. Douglas, then my power does not diminish... it is enhanced. Power over G. Douglas by way of threat to disclose to Mrs. G. Douglas... power over Mrs. G. Douglas by way of threat to disclose the humiliating photos to the myriad of clubs and societies where she revels in supremacy.  

I connive. Mrs. G. Douglas rarely comes to see G. Douglas. Places of labor are beneath her, the offices of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances thought of as the stable of a gentrified country house... a dwelling of necessity... but not to be visited.

I have only met Mrs. Olivier at the annual company Christmas affair. Terming it a party would be a stretch as no one dares celebrate in the overly stuffy atmosphere, the attendance of the board making all wary of ‘inappropriate behavior’. Still she knows of me... and my rapid rise and annual promotions... by way of sharing a glass of punch... and from the days when I formerly answered the phone... line 3.

Mrs. Olivier is prim and aloof. Discussing business, that which keeps her in diamonds, vintage wines and cut flowers, is beneath her. So conversations are brief and the only thing we share in common for sure, so to speak, is husband G. Douglas... which shall not be an item of conversation.

Yet perhaps I can entice her into some level of business discussion... woman to woman... research... her input needed on a potential product line... just out of R & D.

Yes, I connive. I write...

    Mrs. Olivier,

    Olivier Flavors and Fragrances is developing radical new air fresheners for the home. No longer    the foreign scent of laboratory concoctions, we have the ‘baker’s delight’ series of fragrances, offering the homemaker the pleasant scent of home cooking. Planned are the scents of baking pies... bubbling soups... roasting meats. But first out for field testing... butter... pervading the kitchen and dining room with the ubiquitous fragrance of all fare that is savored.
(Not bad, perhaps we should in fact be working on just such a product line.)   

    Enclosed is a specimen for trial use in the Olivier household. It would be helpful to our research if you as matriarch of the Olivier family and organization first sample the product in your home. Mr. G. Douglas Olivier is unaware of the sampling. We would be interested to learn of his ‘blind’ reaction.


                        Desiree Montrove   
                        Chief Operating Officer

I am so mischievous!   

I instruct Bob to print a formal letter on company stationery and have him retrieve a small box. G. Douglas, after some four years of being masturbated by a woman’s butter coated hand, becomes aroused with the scent of butter. So in mailing the fragrance to Mrs. Olivier, I am empowering her with the catalyst that has prompted the patriarch of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances to drop his drawers every Friday and stand before his desk, sometimes the long conference table, and spew his seed into an ashtray... at the behest of a woman.

Always butter, always the ash tray, I am fond of rituals, turning the debonair, epicure, wealthy, captain of industry into a Pavlovian dog. And G. Douglas indeed drools like the psychologist’s canines... though from his penis.     

Packaged, appearing distinctly personal, the letter is mailed along with the R & D concoction, to arrive on a Thursday. I smile inwardly, envisioning G. Douglas’s priapic response to the scent of his kitchen.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

The Sash - Balls


Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

“Bring me the ball marked number one, Markie. In your mouth... no hands.”

The so termed toy box is filled with a plethora of rubber objects, phallic implements of bizarre shape... some frighteningly large... and indeed foam rubber balls of varying size. The demanded ball, numbered as clearly as a billiard ball, is the smallest, some one inch in diameter.

Markie bends his neck, lowering his face to retrieve the number one ball. Though of foam rubber, he notes the firmness as his lips open and his teeth grasp.

“Bring it here, hurry. Crawl quickly... come, come.”

Markie obeys, Nurse Benson’s stentorian words backed by instant punishment for disobedience. He turns, knees parted as commanded, legs shuffling rapidly, He feels his tiny penis flop about, the folds of his empty sac rolling to abrade his inner thighs.

Markie notes the waiting hand, palm upwards.

“Lick it well, the more moist it is the easier it will be for you,” Nurse Benson’s fingers wriggling in welcome.

Markie quickly rolls about his tongue to apply more moisture then humbly plops it from his mouth into the waiting palm.

“Turn, forehead to the floor, back arched, buttocks high, spread for me like a good girl.” 

There comes no doubt as to where Markie will bear the sphere, Nurse Benson’s left hand firmly gripping the empty scrotal sac for leverage as he complies with precision... indeed spreading like a good girl.

Yes, the wet foam is pressed to his anus, his sphincter easily yielding as the knowing nurse presses inward with steady force. How many has the woman so dextrously impaled?

“Now, twice about the room, crawl keeping your knees parted for me. Show off those girly cheeks. Then bring me ball number two.” 

With the words Markie feels a brisance of delight, the foam sphere, compressed while stuffed past his purse string muscle, expanding to knead his neglected prostate. The nurse notes his reaction, his pause of faint pleasure. She laughs.

“Yes, we know all about the anal propensity of castrated boys, Markie... know very well how much you will come to crave attention there. And you shall have it.

“Now... crawl about... show off for me... then get ball two... quickly.”  

Twice about the room, when Markie returns to the toy box, he again lowers his face, his nose rummaging through the many implements to find ball number two. It is larger... by some quarter of an inch. Then he notes balls three and four... each larger than the next... the diameter growing with the digits. And there are more! Ball ten is imposing!

He feels his emaciated penis begin to firm. The physical pressure of the inserted ball? Thoughts of being stuffed by a larger and larger ball?

“Bring it to me. Do not dawdle!”

Lips part, teeth grip, Markie’s tongue knows to moisten as parted knees rapidly shuffle across the room.

“Now, place ball number one into this bowl, Markie. No hands. Make like you’re having a bowel movement,” a white shoe sliding forth a large bowl.

“Forehead to the floor... be a good girl for me.”

The humiliation intensifies as Markie must perform what is otherwise a most intimate anatomical act. He positions himself then both presses with his stomach muscles and purses his anus, working to expel ball number one, tongue moistening ball number two.

“How do you feel performing for me like this Markie? The humiliation is sublime wouldn’t you agree? And I know we’re awakening that prostate gland... neglected and unused.”

With the stultifying words, the nurse lowers her hand and toys with right nipple then left, the estrogen bringing incredible sensitivity of late. Goose bumps of delight form as ball number one slowly slides forth and softly plunks into the waiting bowl.

“Good girl. Now you can have ball number two,” the right hand opening to accept the wet sphere.

Strangely, reluctance begins to dissipate. Markie further spreads not in capitulation... but in welcome. Nurse Benson laughs, recognizing the desperate need to sense the sole remaining male pleasure... prostate manipulation.

Yes, the penis firms more as the fingers of the right hand press to offer a final thrust, the inserted ball slowly expanding within to bring a sigh not to be hushed.

“Now twice about the room, naked girly boy. Then you can select any ball you want to replace ball number two,” Markie pausing, allowing his psyche to soak up the evanescent joy.

The well experienced nurse knows it will not be ball number three chosen next. No, they all go to the larger size... quickly... anal proclivity awakened...  desperation for more apparent.

Yes, she silently wagers on ball five. Yet, if larger, the doctor will be most pleased.    

This is day one. With the toy box well stuffed with anal insertions of every imaginable shape and size, the nurse knows well that Markie will soon be presenting her diligent hands with the nastiest of probes, the sizes most challenging. And he will be trained to take such....orally and anally. 

Thoughts on Gunning

Would really like to get some thoughts and feedback on 'gunning', particularly from women of Dominance.

Power exchange yes, but in which direction? Humiliation yes, but for whom?


Sunday, August 17, 2014


Came across accounts of this curious conduct on behalf of male inmates in the custody of female guards.

My reaction, assuming the role of the Dominant Female guard, would be more of amusement.

'Who's locked up and left with the only form of sexual release being your hand,' would be the attitude I would take. To me it's more demeaning for the perpetrator than for a governing woman.

'You'll need to stroke it harder for me. I can barely see it.'

So, of course this conduct spurred a story... nasty... deviant... demented.

Nothing like reality to encourage quality smut from Chris Bellows.

The Peg Board (ID #15110001): 

4,300 words. $ 2.00 (I get $.91, Lulu gets $1.09).



Saturday, August 16, 2014

A Woman in Control - A good life gets better VII

A good life gets better VII

I glow in satiation yet find the vigor to dismount. Jack remains standing at the doorway. I approach. He’s seen enough.

“Bed,” I command.

A mortified and dejected Jack reluctantly tiptoes to the single mattress centered in his chamber. He lies, I quickly attach the straps to ankles and wrists, pulling to tighten with ease. Added to his bondage is a strap attached right and left to his waist belt, i. e. the receiving antenna and battery pack. This further immobilizes, driving home the message of complete feminine dominion. I slip on his hood, then plug in the waist belt to recharge the batteries.

As I check the straps to assure exacting tightness, Jack finds the temerity to speak.

“You look very pretty, Miss Desiree,” the tone so heartwarmingly timid.

I smooth a hand along a cheek then reach beneath the hood to remove the audacious cheap earrings.

“Thank you, Jack. And I feel great. Harry is a great lover, don’t you think? So nicely hung... and patient in letting me do my thing. Quite virile, as you will find. I think I’m filled.”

“I’d like to do that... make you feel great. Like Harry.”

I laugh.

“It will never ever happen, Jack. You’ve been castrated... and are locked in a steel cock cage. But I’ll be in later and you can lick me. For now, I think Harry’s good for one more ride... if not two. Now go to sleep, it’s late... almost nine p.m.”

Jack’s slumber time is that of a child. I deliberately bed him more than necessary, bringing endless tedium as he lies bound and helpless.

It’s good for him... for a psyche which capitulates more each day. He’s seen me fuck with purpose... aggressively taking not giving. Now I will leave the bedroom door open and he will listen in darkness... and in complete immobility. It will frustrate, his wife fucking another man... and with such fervor. Yes, he’ll pine for his own opportunity... and that will never ever come. He’ll just cook and clean... the latter task to include my pussy. 

And indeed, I am going to ride Harry again. My attitude is... if there is an iota of spunk available... I want it. Harry is to be depleted. Drained, his penis will be milked and milked by my deft PC muscles. I’m not completely greedy... after all I share his spunk with Jack.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

The Sash - Obedience Training

Obedience Training

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

“You will listen to my every word... most attentively, Markie. And then you will obediently follow my instructions... instantly. You are not to speak unless I demand a reply.”

“Yes, Ma’am,”

The lithe form stands in nakedness, hands humbly folded atop long blonde curls. A tall and imposing Nurse Benson looks downward despite his high heels. Many weeks of hormone injections have abetted in developing a delightfully smooth layer of subcutaneous fat. The hairless once male figure appears pubescent, such girlishness brought to a once budding muscular frame.

“Remove your shoes.”

“But Nurse Benson, that means I will have to crawl.”

“Silence! Obey!”

The Nurse reaches forth, thumb and index finger most cruelly capturing a right nipple, puffy with the hormonal reaction to the flood of estrogen. Yes, the depleted testosterone of the castrated male offers timely and notable transformation to femininity. She pinches. Her charge gasps, his knees buckling with the sharp pain.

Bending to follow the supplicating girly boy to the floor, the nurse maintains her grip until hands rapidly move to the straps of the right shoe and begin to remove. Without the footwear Markie’s altered feet do not... will not... function to permit him to stand upright... and certainly not offer normal motion.  

Right shoe removed, left shoe follows to leave Markie in complete deshabille. Stripped!

“Good girl. You will save yourself some suffering by listening and obeying. You must feel good without your diaper. You like to show yourself to women... don’t you Markie?”

The question brings remorseful thought. The constant nakedness is most humiliating. As is being in make up, styled long hair and polished nails... fingers and toes. Yet there is indeed a strange inner joy.

‘What is it they are doing to me?’ Markie asks himself in silence again and again.

“I... I... guess so, Nurse Benson.”

“Yes, girly boys like you find joy in the humiliation... the exposure. Now roll to your back spread your legs and show your Nurse Benson the doctor’s latest modification. Quickly now. Well spread... put your feet up to your shoulders. Show off for me... be a good girl.” 

Avoiding another assault, the nurse knowing precisely where to apply the most modest pressure of thumb and forefinger to the most sensitive of pink flesh, Markie scrambles to comply. Within seconds he lies supine, legs parted, thighs raised, obscenely showing himself... herself... to the white uniformed woman of governance.

“Very nice. Very obedient. Markie I do think your penis has shrunk even more,” the nurse lowering herself to inspect. “And this little sac of yours is withering. At bath time I’ll massage it for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Markie?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the notion bringing a modest yet joyous smile.

“Yes, you castrated boys all like having a woman toy here. It brings memories doesn’t it Markie?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the implied loss brings a mournful tone in contrast to the faint joy.

“Now what is this here, Markie?” the fingers slipping lower toward the anus.

The question brings disconcertion. Markie remains silent.

“Tell me what this is Markie!”

“It’s... it’s my new pee hole.”

“New. Yes, the doctor has graciously helped you again. You’re becoming more and more like the little girl we want you to be. You now must squat to pee. And you’ve so nicely learned how.... haven’t you Markie. Squatting like a girl now...”

A finger abrades the new opening, at the perineum between the plundered scrotal sac and the anus. Markie’s mien further plunges in thinking of the process. The operation was quick and simple, but learning how to control the flow of excretions time consuming. Many weeks in diapers. Many fanny spankings for soiling himself.

Finally, muscling which normally permits ejaculation more or less came to Markie’s rescue. No more diapers... no more fanny spankings. He pees now... upon command... but only upon command... and only as would a girl.

“And now your penis is useless... except to amuse. Do you like amusing us, Markie? Like it when you wear the sash and you get hard for us?”

“If it pleases, Nurse Benson.”

“Yes, it does. And you’re learning to please... and you enjoy learning to please.”

The nurse rights herself, picking up the special shoes which empower Markie with normal movement. Without he must crawl, both feet curled almost to the shape of a fist.

Strolling to nearby shelving, Markie is disheartened when the nurse reaches above, stowing his footwear high. No longer able to stand, the footwear is beyond his reach, not to be retrieved without assistance.

“Now, I want you to crawl for me, following my commands. Left, right.... fast, slow... forwards, backwards. We like it when meek little girly boys crawl... all pink and naked. And keep your knees parted, Show off that empty scrotum. Make that little penis flop about,” the demanding words offered as the nurse returns.

A firm hand swings. Markie’s well rounded right cheek resounds with a splat, painful but no where near the level of anguish received with the discovery of a soiled diaper or failure to empty his bladder upon command. Thus he knows to instantly comply, hands and knees shuffling.

“To the toy box. We’re going to begin anal training. Girly boys like anal training.”

Sunday, August 10, 2014

'The Sash' available from Lulu

I am offering the completed manuscript on Lulu for those who wish to read ahead.

49,000 words. $6.00

The Sash (ID #15080764):

Although there is male on male interaction, I believe aficionados of the Femdom genre will be more than adequately entertained.



Saturday, August 9, 2014

A Woman in Control - A good life gets better VI

A good life gets better VI

I fuck Harry, riding him like the bull he is. Lying supine on the hassock tends to enhance the penetration... at least seems to enhance the penetration. Knees bent with feet flat on the floor, hands and arms to the sides, head dangling off the top, Harry’s back is somewhat arched and thus those twelve inches stand straight toward the ceiling. I part the billowing negligee, straddle, grasp at the base, assessing the abundant length protruding above my hand as always, then guide the purple bulbous tip to greet my outer labia, engorged in anticipation. Vagina wet and slick, I then lower myself in glory, feeling the hotness, the slight friction as I open myself using Harry’s equine length and girth. Yes, girth. Probably more important for this girl is the intense frictioning of the vaginal walls and the resulting heat brought by the plumpness... bringing physical smoldering to join smoldering desire.   

Fully impaled, I pause, teasing... tantalizing. I control all motion, including toying with Harry’s nipples. I smile, taunt in suggesting the need for further penetration, knowing that there is no more to be had... there is no more that can be taken.

Harry once talked during copulation. This I discouraged by shushing and delaying... demonstrating that all was under my governance... the timing... the motion... the squeezes... my pubo coccygeus muscles well tuned.  

So in silence I begin to slowly buck. Harry’s moan of pleasure brings a smile. I turn my head, toward the spare bedroom, Jack’s chamber of bondage and sensory deprivation. There stands my husband, cautiously avoiding proximity to the frame. My smile broadens. My thighs contract to lift then relax to lower. Another moan. I wave a hello to Jack, a child greeting her father from the merry-go-round. He pouts, I purse my lips to blow him a kiss.

Then I concentrate. Though tormenting Jack is amusing, I shall not have it distract. A girl needs to take care of herself... for though it is important that a woman have a man who is a good lover, caring and attentive in bed... a well stuffed hassock will do just as well.

Up, down, up, down, time becomes meaningless. I no longer look to the bedroom, I know Jack watches... mesmerized? Perhaps there is some how the return of normal sexual desire, the libido some how restored after a constant deluge of anti androgens. But then what, Jack? Your penis is locked in a cage... and even if freed it will not ever again function... not like that of a man.

No, your role is to watch... and serve... and ogle in envy.   

More thrusts, more squeezes, I feel oscillations. I reach down and tenderly pinch my clitoral hood, adding to the stimulation. Then my PC muscles go to work, adding a rippling sensation which I know my bullstuds so much enjoy. One final squeeze, a paroxysmal down thrust and I cry out in ecstasy, feeling Harry simultaneously explode deep within.

It will be a while before Jack can feast on that load, I think to myself, slumping to rest on Harry’s sweaty chest. My timing superb, the spunk splattered my cervix... at least so it felt... so I imagine. Yes, Jack will need patience in his oral efforts to gather and cleanse.  

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

The Sash

The Sash

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

“You said you’d like some covering... and I think it will make you look very pretty for us.”

The naked lad follows the doctor’s gaze, humbly turning his head to view the simple garment held by the white uniformed nurse. There is reluctant coyness, but the smoothness and bright coloring brings attraction... and a smile. The doctor’s transformation has brought odd reactions. Things frilly and feminine now attract... and seem to attract more and more each day.

“Must I wear it?” the high pitched voice timidly pleads, remnants of masculinity spontaneously objecting.

The woman’s brow furrows, the look of scorn bringing instant regret for the brief utterance suggesting unwillingness.

“You’ll wear what we want you to wear... or we’ll take away your shoes.”

The boy looks down in regret, peering at his sole attire... curious footwear which permits ambulation... plain high heels... yet extremely high heels... with supporting straps entwined about his smooth girlish calves. Since the doctor altered his feet, a medical procedure similar to the ancient Chinese custom of foot binding, the lad cannot stand, bones broken then reset to greatly curve the arches, toes permanently pointed. Without the special shoes, feet gnarled, he cannot even stand upright much less walk.

Thus he has learned he must either crawl about or beseech to wear his heels, the extremeness of such demanding much practice and careful balance. The denial of footwear has become simple punishment for simple misdeeds.

Crawling in nakedness can be cumbersome.

“Show Markie how he’s to don it, Nurse Benson.”

“Yes, doctor.”

The handsome but strict nurse, she who feeds, bathes and soothes... but is to be obeyed at all times... steps forth with the length of pink silk-like cloth. It is somewhat thick, six inches broad and several feet in length. At each end, the cloth is doubled over with decorative grommet holes, the ruggedness there belying the otherwise dainty appearance of the cloth.

“Part your feet for me, arms straight out to your sides,” the words pleasant but known to be a command.

Markie complies as the firm hands which so often palpate... everywhere... drape the middle of the garment over the lad’s head, encircling at the neck. She adjusts and there comes a brisance of delight as the smoothness is pulled over the shoulders to the front and drawn down to brush the extremely sensitive once male nipples.

Markie giggles. Goose bumps form with the sensuousness. This girlish response is new of late... since the doctor excised his testicles and the injections began.

Hands lower, slipping the two ends between the thighs, fingers pausing to teasingly diddle a tiny penis and empty scrotum. Over the many weeks Markie has come to thrill being touched there. The mocking gesture, reminding of his castration, no longer brings forlornness.

‘All gone,’ the nurse first whimsically announced when initially exploring there, pretending to search for that plucked away, kneading the thin sensitive flesh between thumb and forefinger. Now he merely needs to be touched to be reminded of the doctor’s plundering handiwork.

And the loss of male organs has become acceptable... somewhat.

“Hold still,” the nurse further commands as she steps to the lad’s rear.

There comes chagrin as the doubled length is bunched, pulled between the thighs then upwards, parting the buttocks, firmly occupying the gluteal cleft. The cheeks are left totally bare. A playful pinch to the right brings a girlish squeal.

The hands then move to the neck and push aside the long golden locks. Fingers work at the back of the head, pulling to slip the grommeted ends under the middle of the length at the back of the neck. Firm tugs remove all slack. When released, the lad feels compression, his naked form effectively entwined in a large knot. With some two feet of cloth freely dangling at the shoulder blades, the grommets hang nearly at the waist.   

The nurse steps forth to again tug and tug, adjusting to apply more snugness, indeed knotting the length about the lad’s torso. She then returns to the front to assess. The pink silk forms a ‘V’, joining at the pubes, the budding nipples cloaked yet saucily outlined. At the rear the parallel lengths cleave the buttocks and run upwards along the spine, to be securely slipped under at the neck. Overall, the smooth bright pink serves to highlight the nakedness rather than veil.  


Markie must nod. There is indeed strange comfort in being so delicately restrained. Though taut, the smoothness abrades the nipples, anus, penis and most convincingly the plundered scrotal sac.

“And we can still toy when we want to toy... a woman needs to have her way,” the doctor proclaims with a gesture to the nurse.

With that Nurse Benson steps forth, lowers her hand, fingers working to part the dual garment at the pubes. She draws into view the emaciated once male organ, the vestigial folds of scrotal flesh dangling below. She gently pinches the emptiness, pulling downward to prominently assure awareness... that despite the long coifed hair, manicured crimson nails, lipstick, rouge and mascara, the effeminate appearance of the lithe nakedness clad in pink results from the whim of a woman’s altering hand.     

“See, you can be displayed quite facilely... whenever I want visitors to understand that you’re a castrated and feminized male.”

With the daunting words, Markie’s smile of delight slowly turns to glumness. Though there have been many weeks of psychological counseling, the mental transformation lags the physical transformation brought by the doctor’s exacting scalpel and quick snips.

The nurse notes the pending gloom, reaches behind and gently smooths her hand over rounded hairless buttocks. Her touch consoles and brings another giggle of delight, evidencing relief that her attention does not result in the sharp prick of the hypodermic needle that brings his daily hormone injection.

“Show Markie how practical is the sash, Nurse Benson. There are times when I’ll want you to perform for me, Markie... and my guests.”

The nurse reaches to take a dainty hand and directs to a corner of the doctor’s office den. The naked lad steps with aplomb, the doctor smiling in viewing the roll of effeminate cheeks, the gams of a pubescent girl. He has acclimated nicely, she proudly thinks, placing one foot before the other to pertly sway the hips... the fleshy buttocks so saucily quavering. 

Not before noticed are a pair of thick but decorative cords from which hangs a large potted plant. The powerful nurse releases, lowers the plant to the floor and pushes forth a small stool.

“Step up, Markie. Be a good girl for me,” more pleasant words of command.

The lad cautiously complies, balancing on heels demands careful attention. He then learns of the grommet’s function, the nurse turning up the free ends of the sash and hooking such to the cords.

“I like to suspend girly boys from time to time,” the doctor notes. “It amuses.”

With that the nurse slips away the stool. Markie’s nakedness dips as the cords tighten and indeed his entire form becomes suspended in the room air. The sensation is bizarre yet comfortable, gravity further tightening the smooth silk-like sash, the sensitive nipples now more firmly pressured, as are perineum and anus. The clever length, so decorative yet so wickedly functional, envelops his torso, convincingly transmitting a message of feminine control  The tiny penis flops about freely between the taut strips of silk, the empty scrotal sac well exhibited. But then, as the nurse stoops to unravel and remove the high heels, Markie feels something which has been deprived of him since the doctor altered.

He begins to stiffen!

Nurse Benson notes, smiling broadly, reaching up to again diddle the fleshy nest which once cradled tiny balls. The penis waggles with the pleasurable touch.

“Ha, ha, ha. You see Markie, there remains some anatomical maleness... and we know how to control it. It’s now for our pleasure... not for yours.” 

Feet freed of the footwear... that which humiliates yet empowers with movement... Markie squirms about, curled toes searching for the floor. As his actions bring increased tension, he senses more tumescence.

“Yes, enjoy your hard on, Markie. After I reroute your urethral opening, forcing you to squat to pee, having it harden for me will be its only function.”

Though hands are free, Markie quickly realizes he cannot extricate himself. The loss of testosterone, the nurse’s sizable hormone injections, have depleted much strength. Gone is the ability to engage in the simple pull up which would offer relief and possible release. Still he tests, reaching behind and upwards to where the tight sash connects to the cords. He tugs. It is futile, his attempt fostering laughter as his efforts cause his nakedness to meekly swing about.

“Ha, ha, ha, our neutered plaything so much enjoys the humiliation does he not Nurse Benson?

“Why not play with your erection, Markie? You’ll not spurt and soil anything. I’ve ended that. And you’ll not be freed until I tire of the show. Go ahead. Give that little thing some strokes for me.”

Saturday, August 2, 2014

A Woman in Control - A good life gets better V

A good life gets better V

“Go to your room, strip and put on your Posey cuffs,” I command.

“But I’m hungry Miss Desiree,” a dejected Jack beseeches.

“I’ll have something quite tasty for you later,” my evil grin giving away my intentions.

“Go. Harry and I want to be alone for a while.”

For dessert, there is ice cream and me. Harry’s libido is well primed, my negligee distracting despite the perfectly broiled steak. He wants to skip the ice cream.

So Jack, having cleared the table, curtsies and glumly departs as I press the remote to permit passage to the spare bedroom

“Time for my ride,” I suggest, never one to veil my desires. “You know how I want you.”

Harry is not a truckling subordinate like Jack, but he does cede to my wishes. Otherwise he does not get any... these are the rules... my rules.

Having gained comfort with Jack and my environment of absolute control, accepting Jack’s ingrained servility, Harry steps to the adjoining livingroom and begins to disrobe. I move to the spare bedroom to assure Jack is naked and has encircled his wrists and ankles with the Posey cuffs. When it becomes time to bed him down, I’ll want no untoward delay. I will snap my fingers, he will lie supine and the straps will retain him for the evening.

So I check, Jack is naked, the nylon strips are in place and I examine to make sure each is properly locked for the evening.

“The door will be open. You can listen, perhaps even watch if you’d like Jack. But do keep in mind your penis cage remains electrified.”

He’ll not depart the room. As he nears the doorway the charge activates, delivering a reminder zap. In stepping to the threshold he’ll receive a most debilitating shock, not to be physically endured without the loss of mobility. And overall it’s without real harm. Yes, I can zing Jack... or he can be disobedient and zing himself... any number of times. Each charge serving to modify his behavior without physical damage... which means more shocks can be applied. Delicious stuff.

Jack continues to gaze at my thinly veiled nakedness. Quite the treat for him. And if he cares to watch his wife fuck a real man, he’ll get more of a treat.   

I turn to depart and see a naked Harry standing at the doorway. His semi swollen penis appears to be a swinging elephant trunk and I note Jack’s attention is finally diverted. Ah, the envy is palpable!

“He lives here?” Harry commenting on the austere chamber where Jack is kept nights and weekends... restrained ad infinitum.

There is nothing other than the narrow bed centered in the middle and the screen mounted on the ceiling where I have Jack gaze at the montages I created... the brainwashing slide show.

“It’s best for him. Once leaving work, I want all mental stimulus to come from me. He’s quite psychologically dependent at this point. The hormonal imbalance creates a need which he does not fully understand... a need for guidance... and a need to serve in gratitude for that guidance.”

I pat Jack’s head, his eyes glued to the elephantine appendage, and move toward Harry. There my left hand cups his heavy scrotum and my right lifts that massive appendage, swelling rapidly in anticipation. I display it to Jack for better viewing, smirking in imagining my husband’s thoughts. 

“Time for the hassock... time for me to ride my horse.” 

Harry’s huge hands move to the back of my head and draw forward my face for a kiss... wet and hot... and long.

“Good night for now, Jack,” turning to see the most priceless look of envy and want on Jack’s face. “I’ll be back later to tuck you in... and offer a nice snack.”