The Sash - The Ranch

The next segment of 'The Sash' will appear Saturday October 4. This is the last Wednesday posting.

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The Ranch

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

Markie finds the Prince’s ranch house to be surprisingly modest. ‘My pied-a-terre’ the Prince often making reference.

For the first three days he crawls about in nakedness, the doctor’s special high heels deemed impractical. Then comes a delivery truck, a long trail of dust heralding interruption in the daily tedium of life in the hot seclusion of the African plains.

“Your shoes,” the Prince advises. “You’ll soon be visiting the stable.”

Indeed, replicas of the dainty high heels have been specially fabricated. But in place of the pointy heels, forcing Markie to constantly concentrate on balance, there are more or less platforms, enabling the wearer to traverse the craggy soil of the veld.

Markie is heartened.

“Thank you, your Highness,” the expression of gratitude genuine as Markie entwines his calves with the supporting straps.

“Now you will begin to learn your chores in the stable. And remember, no orgasms. And only you are to understand my little game. If any of my boys requests the attention of your gifted tongue and lips, I am to be informed immediately. When they stop seething in homophobia, when they mentally succumb to orally pleasuring or being sodomized by a male, that’s when my enjoyment of a boy ends and I have them imprisoned.”   

Yes, Markie reminds himself... the revulsion, conquering the reluctant heterosexual male. It is what most thrills and empowers. It is the Prince’s penchant.

“You look very pretty, Markie.”

“Thank you sir,” Markie continuing his daily regimen... in full make up.... long golden hair coifed.

“But too pretty. Hence I’ll want you to wear lipstick on that tiny penis of yours. I want my steeds to have no doubt that a male... former male... is tending to them. It will further frustrate. Make it a sultry bright red.”

“Yes, sir,” Markie glumly replies, his castration remaining a subject of despondence, the thought of highlighting such a source of melancholy bringing more melancholy.

“Come, meet my boys.”

Markie is gladdened to find his new shoes to be fully functional. Hand in hand, father and son... father and daughter?.. the duo pace the many yards to the stable. It is a plain structure, the peaked roof high. Markie notes large fans venting at the apexes, the heat of Africa to be ameliorated.  

“You’ll have keys for the cockcages, Markie. And I’ll show you the clever snap hooks used for restraint. Just remember they are always kept in bondage. You’ll need to release various implements of restraint for cleansing and shaving. When doing so, assure to do so one limb at a time and that all other restraints are in place. You’ll soon get the gist... and I think you’ll soon come to enjoy it.” 

The interior of the stable is remarkably neat and clean... almost institutional, Markie thinks to himself, perhaps a hospital ward. Yet there are no beds and no bedding. Seven naked young males lie supine on thin mats. Seven naked young males are well shackled, wrists and ankles encircled in smooth, seamless stainless steel bands... all secured to eye rings embedded in the concrete flooring. Seven naked young males lie well spread and hooded, the thought of constant immobile dark tedium bringing Markie to shudder. Seven naked young males don formidable cock cages, the mesh of stainless steel gleaming in contrast to bright pink scrotums.

The Prince grabs a thin metal device hanging on the inside of the door frame.

“This is a cattle prod, Markie. It delivers a painful but physically harmless zing of electricity. My boys have come to labor hard to avoid its jolt,” the Prince pressing prongs to a soft and lovely right cheek.

Markie cries out with the instantaneous zap, the resulting spasm almost causing her to stumble from her perch atop the high shoes.     

“You see, something to be avoided. Carry it with you when tending my boys.”

The duo stroll inward. The seven forms align the left wall.

“Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday,” the Prince introduces with a point of a finger to each. “No names. If I ever knew them, such are long forgotten. They will respond in calling out their respective days... a boy to be run, fucked and sodomized for each day of the week.”

The Prince reaches down with the cattle prod, pointing to the pubes of Monday.

“As I said, you’ll have keys to these cock cages. I suggest weekly removal for cleaning and shaving there. The support ring is threaded through grommets I’ve had embedded in the skin about the pubes, so they won’t slip or fall off. Notice that to the cock cage is attached a Prince’s Wand. It’s long, designed to constantly stimulate the prostate... and capped. You will control urination... and I suggest you grant the privilege sparingly. With such simple measures... that and feeding... you’ll establish your governance soon enough.”

“This is how you release the wrist and ankle bands,” the Prince putting aside the cattle prod. “Note that it requires two hands... pressing here and here. Clever little contraptions. Assuming you never simultaneously release two hands, a boy can never completely free himself.”

With the explanation the snap lock instantly springs open, releasing the right wrist band of Monday from the short chain connected to the embedded eye ring.

“I suggest you immediately guide the wrist to the neck ring and snap hook it there,” the Prince lifting the cloth hood to show indeed that the human steed dons a matching smooth stainless steel neck collar.  

Markie shudders again, realizing that the bands encircling wrists, ankles and neck will be donned for life, welded closed quite decorously, not a seam to be detected.

The Prince steps to the wall opposite the seven languishing forms and gestures to a low platform of shaped marble. Hoses and plumbing fixtures hang above, steel eyelets at the corners, the surface beveled to a drain.

“This is where you will shave, wash and cleanse... internally. The boy to be run is to endure an enema... deep and high. I want no messiness when I split those pearly white cheeks. Make the others watch when you do so. It will better establish your authority and control.”

“You will exercise them down here,” the tour continuing with the Prince strolling to the opposing end.

Markie notes numerous treadmills... and other curious devices. A pair of thick cords hanging from the ceiling bring remembrances.

“A boy entertains me on his assigned day, is rested the day after, and exercised rigorously for the ensuing five days. They are to be kept well muscled and brawny, Markie. I spare no expense on nutrition. Therefore I want the manliest of males succumbing to me... to me and the Royal penis, of course. Do you understand my need to conquer... my penchant?” the Prince reiterates.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“This is the cart I ride when I work them. You’ll learn to hitch them and have them ready for good long jaunts in the hot sun of the veld. You’ll need to be mindful that the boy I run must be well coated with sun screen. You notice how alabaster is the flesh. I want them kept that way. Most of the boys I procured come from Scandinavia... one is from Iceland but I cannot recall which. But the point is I like penetrating white boys... and I want their nakedness as white as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”