The Sash - Exercise... and Amusement

Exercise... and Amusement

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday... one by one the naked steeds are leashed, released from the sleeping mats and led to the treadmills. Caution requires time. No matter the desired alacrity, care is taken in returning to restraint, two limbs never simultaneously freed.


At the treadmill, the leash at the nose ring is replaced with a connecting cord. In removing all slack, the steed is made one with the machine. Wrists secured to the back of the neck collar, hobbling chain removed, Markie knows to slowly accelerate the rotating canvas, observe to assure a challenging level of exertion, then return to release and escort the next naked form to the exercise area.

Finally with morning tasks completed, five pearly white blond boys trotting to slow exhaustion, Markie can relax and take a morning break.    
 
What better form of relaxation then to demand that the extended care and favors be returned? Since a hooded Wednesday remains at rest, having been run and deeply sodomized the day before, his restrained nakedness is a likely place to recline.

Markie kneels at Wednesday’s mat. The hood is whisked away. Another handsome face blinks with the sudden exposure to the well lighted stable.

“You need a testicle massage,” Markie summarily proclaims.

“No, Miss Markie. Please no,” the bound male renouncing what would be welcomed, penis freed, palpating fingers those of a caring female.

But instead, with any penile swelling bringing the agony of the spikes, Wednesday knows to avoid. There are also homophobic thoughts... the revulsion brought by the touch of a male.

“Oh yes. You get the best of care here, Wednesday. The Prince was pleased with you yesterday. Said your tongue was particularly lively,” Markie taunting as she straddles Wednesday’s head facing his feet.

“It is only because I am forced to offer him pleasure,” Wednesday protests.

Markie inwardly smiles, very much aware that when the likes of Wednesday no longer finds objection to weekly servicing the superior male, it will be off to prison... there to offer himself daily... if not more often.

Knees bend to slowly lower as Wednesday continues his futile entreaties.

“Thursday was kind enough to treat my boy labia,” Markie’s sobriquet for the empty scrotal sac. “But there was not time to lick my boy pussy.”

With that, Markie presses his perineum to Wednesday’s face, sliding about so his anus aligns with sputtering lips. Then she leans forth, both hands finding the scrotum, the male nest so  inviting, the constant chastity seeming to plump with an abundance of essence.

A gentle massage begins, but in sensing no reciprocating tongue work, Markie slowly squeezes, right gonad and left. She smiles in sensing a rush of air, the pain emptying the lungs.

“It will be better for you to lick. I will squeeze... firmly. Or I can be very caring. I like feeling ripe balls. And like it even more when such are so vulnerable and under my control.”

A tongue reluctantly extends. It slowly laves. Markie’s smile broadens. A girlish giggle cannot be repressed. Nurse Benson’s extensive training developed a new erogenous zone for the altered male. Momentarily looking up to see her charges running to exhaustion on the treadmills brings further exhilaration.

“I may not have balls of my own, but I have many with which to play, Wednesday. Is your penis beginning to swell? You must like servicing a girly boy there.”      

There is swelling, of course. Despite the horror, analingus upon demand, intimately touched by a male, the many, many months of neglect become evident. Within minutes the spikes of the cock cage function... punishment for the temerity of attempting erection. Wednesday begins to blubber, speech indiscernible. Markie knows the words to be a plea.

“See, maybe having a nice set of balls isn’t all that much fun, Wednesday. No cock cage for Miss Markie, ha, ha, ha.”     
 
Markie, seeing the expanse of pink penile flesh fill the metal mesh of the cock cage, is very much aware of the anguish her gentle massage brings. Yet, she cannot help herself, handling with impunity that which was so callously plucked from her.

“If you take my offering, not a drop spilled, I will stop,” Markie finally tiring despite the double delight.

She lifts to shift herself, momentarily freeing Wednesday’s mouth of her obstructing sphincter.

“Please, Miss Markie, I have tried my best!”

“Then you can try some more. I help you pee every morning and every evening. You can return the favor. Besides, you’re thirsty. I can tell. Or perhaps the cattle prod can convince,” Markie positioning then lowering once again. “And I know exactly where to apply it for the best response,” an index finger jiggling the scrotal sac.”  

The threat of shock there ends resistance. Markie’s altered urethral opening finds Wednesday’s mouth. Tiny muscles which once spasmed for ejaculation work. Markie opens herself... slowly at first. Then sensing that Wednesday is indeed compliant, she fully empties herself to complete the otherwise odorous task. Not a drop escapes on obedient mouth. 

“Good boy,” Markie compliments, rolling from Wednesday’s head. “Would you like some ice?” the fingers cruelly tapping a cock cage straining under the pressure of engorged flesh.

“Yes, please Miss Markie. It hurts.”

“It’s supposed to hurt. You shouldn’t harden like that. You know you’re to become erect only when it is deemed time to amuse,” stepping to a far refrigerator.

Curious that the supply of ice is akin to having a handy fire extinguisher... for essentially the chilling lumps within perform a similar function... suppressing conflagrations... of lust. 

Markie returns, ice in hand. As heady as it is to force a boy to erection... partial erection... bringing flaccidity is equally empowering. She prefers a slow and leisurely application. But hearing distant rapid footsteps and the thwack of leather on wet flesh, the task must be truncated. The Prince returns.