Saturday, September 20, 2014

A Woman in Control - Solidifying my power I

Solidifying My Power I

I am now a director of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances!

You see, the only voting stock is jointly held by Mr. and Mrs. G. Douglas Olivier. And I course we know who decides in what manner to vote the stock.

So for Mrs. Olivier the choice was simple... vote me onto the board and continue living and socializing in high circles... or decline my advancement and endure the humiliation and ridicule when the sordid pics of G. Douglas begin to circulate on the internet.

But I must say, our tete a tete was not completely acrimonious. Guzzling that third Mimosa loosened up the old harridan. She asked some pointed questions concerning Jack. While her control of G. Douglas has been subtle and cerebral, my control of Jack, obvious and thorough... mentally, emotionally, physically... seemed to not only intrigue but inure a degree of envy.

More of our brunch...    

“So beneath that skirt, you have his penis under control?” the inquiry coming as Jack steps forth with the fourth Mimosa.

“Locked in steel and electrified. It’s useless, other than to empty his bladder. I castrated him. But in denying him the opportunity to even touch his penis, there is a vigorous feminine message sent. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Olivier?”

For the first time she smiles... than slowly nods in thought and responds to my demands.

“You are holding all the cards, Mrs. Montrove. There’s no reason to deny you a board seat at Olivier Flavors and Fragrances, photographs notwithstanding. But may I suggest a little quid pro quo? It would also send a message... to Douglas. I want Jack to clean for me... and I’ll want him to do so naked. The maid’s costume is cute... but distracting.”

A gleam comes to Mrs. Olivier’s eye. Having kept G. Douglas denied and psychologically controlled, she’s eager to take another step... rather dauntless for a woman of her age.

“I will be happy to pay for a second remote control,” she adds.

I look to see Jack trembling. My hand and fingers are demanding when utilizing the remote... but understood... punishment equitably meted. But the notion of ceding occasional power to the termagant Mrs. Olivier brings delightful thoughts... for me... and abject fear for Jack.

“It is probably time, Mrs. Olivier. The hormonal imbalance affects his thinking... muddles the mind... that and the intensity of the sensory deprivation. His days of complicated chemical engineering are probably best in the past.”

“So he’s also a company employee. Well, all the more reason to keep him on the payroll and well controlled. It will not be an issue.”

“That being said, tidy things up Jack. I’m going to bed you until Monday morning. I have some very, very well endowed acquaintances for tonight and tomorrow.”

“He’ll sleep that long?”

“Probably hallucinate would be the more apt term. I keep him well bound and have a special montage of male subservient photos I force him to watch. When not forced to watch, he’s kept hooded at all other times. It ingrains the exchange of power I insist upon.”

Mrs. Olivier is further intrigued.

“Why not stay a few minutes longer. Your show can wait.”

Mrs. Olivier nods in agreement.   

“Jack, when you’re through clearing and cleaning, go to your room, strip naked for me and put on your Posey cuffs... nice and tight like a good boy.”

It’s the standing order for Saturdays, usually coming at midmorning after he has cleaned the apartment and prepared meals for me. So he curtsies to acknowledge my command, meekly waits for me to press the remote so he can pass from dining room to kitchen and return for more dishes, then starts his final task before beginning the endless weekend tedium. 

“It’s like having a child... the caring and the training,” Mrs. Olivier notes.

“More like a pet... but one who is loyal and obedient... and trainable as you suggest. The shift in the testosterone level is quite the noteworthy event. It’s no wonder they neuter so many dogs.”

Mrs. Olivier laughs, warming nicely to the environment, gazing openly each time Jack turns to expose those girlish buttocks, prudish parlor manners cast aside, all reservations dissipating.

“I will want to inspect that chastity device... steel did you say?”

“Yes, stainless, locked in place by way of a rather formidable genital piercing.”   

The steady tapping of Jack’s heels ends. He enters the dining area one last time and humbly lingers. I let him stand in silence, head bowed, waiting for me to change the setting on the remote while Mrs. Olivier gazes without a scintilla of compunction.

“Go,” I finally press the remote to extend my authority.

He scampers like a little girl.

“Posey cuffs?” Mrs. Olivier inquires.

“Institutional, comfortable, safe and most secure. Jack and his bed will be one until Monday morning.”

“Bathroom needs?”

“You’ll see. He wears a steel tube inserted into his penis... partially catheterizing. It ensures his chastity, delivers a punishing jolt where the male most feels it, and the tip can be easily attached to a draining tube. Come.” 

I lead to the spare bedroom, Jack has disrobed and is encircling his ankles with cuffs. As we enter I hear the click of one tiny padlock then another, Jack, in his nakedness becomes delightfully shy, blushing in pink, not accustomed to exposure to the boss’s wife. 

“Secure yourself and lie down Jack, Mrs. Olivier needs to look at you.”

He woefully encircles his wrists then knows to lie supine. Mrs. Olivier is impressed with the ease and quickness, as I clip straps to the cuffs and the waist belt, tightening to the max then plugging in the recharger of the battery pack.

“Let’s see, what shall I have you watch today?”

I step to the simple computer which drives the slide show, offering the montage of males being immersed in some form of humiliating subservience, a lesson from the Nazi Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels in terms of deluging the mind. Jack is being daily brainwashed.  

The wedding pictures may be a little over the top for Mrs. Olivier... at least currently. So I press and click on the collection from ‘Men in Lace’ magazine, attractive males attired in scanty serving attire, some photos revealing the presence of well secured chastity devices, all women not only fully clad but quite preeminently.

“This is from Jack’s creepy stash of pornography... assembled before our marriage. Such an understanding wife am I... permitting him to continue viewing such naughtiness,” I offer with a snicker.

Onto the screen comes, of course, a man in lace, along with apron, high heels, makeup, tending to what one would assume is a wife’s, or perhaps other woman of governance, tea party. Many fully clothed women, a scantily clad male... and one whose short flimsy skirt veils little. 

Mrs. Olivier glares at the ceiling with interest. As the slides progress, so many poses appear familiar, Mrs. Olivier having been similarly served minutes ago. She nods.

“How often... is he so exposed to this input?”

“Every night for an hour or two. More on weekends. After many hours of viewing, for the scenes to be fully absorbed, it is best he be hooded and left in bound darkness. The eidetic male mind... that which makes it given to enjoy pornography also makes it susceptible to visual programming and prompting. Curtailing the flow of most testosterone makes him even more malleable.”

Mrs. Olivier nods. Noting that Jack is riveted on the soft but kinky porn projected directly over his face, she turns her attention to the steel cock cage, prominently displayed between thighs restrained and well parted.

“His testicles... removed?”

“No, almost completely atrophied. Done chemically. A rather ironic fate for a chemical engineer... wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Olivier?”

She chuckles. An evil expression of merriment, the prudish woman of society has now completely doffed her facade.

“So the penis cage locks in place?”

I nod, “it connects to the rings about the base of the penis and the scrotum. The latter ring is held permanently in place by a piercing. You’ll note the post penetrating his flesh. It’s not a fetish toy, it is surgically implanted... and the cock cage is only unlocked and removed under medical supervision. Not having a key has saved me from the aggravation of hearing him beg... when there remained a scintilla of desire to be unlocked. Now it does not matter. There is no normal sexual desire... only the desire to please... serve a governing woman. Just as seen every night on the montage,” I gesture to the continuing scenes flashing on the ceiling above.

It is then that I demonstrate the neatness factor of the Prince’s Wand, slipping what is essentially a Texas catheter over the steel tube emanating from the tip of the cock cage. It leads to a collection bag which Jack will tend to on Monday morning.    

“Prostate problems? Douglas constantly alludes to it in begging me for sexual release.”

“He’s clinically drained weekly. A rather imposing nurse applies some forty volts by way of a rectal insertion. Amazingly effective. Essentially he’s jerked off, emptied more readily and thoroughly then by manual release or copulation, exploding through the Prince Wand tube without any sensation other then the painful jolts of electricity.”

Mrs. Olivier reaches to touch, stepping completely out of her envisioned character!

“So you know this nurse and doctor?” inquiring as she pulls to test the device’s security then nodding with approval.

“They have a clinic. It’s covered by the company health plan... of that I made quite the assurance.”

Her fingers move to the flesh of the withered scrotum, a small mass of pulpy flesh. Thumb and forefinger knead and caress, the testicles, tiny, not to be so easily located.

“All gone Jack. Nothing left here. You must feel so relieved in having no male distractions... in now being able to concentrate on your secret desires... to serve... women of authority... in apron, skirt and heels,” Mrs. Olivier mockingly lectures as I watch Jack squirm in his bonds, the humiliation delightfully intense.

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