Saturday, November 8, 2014

The Sash - A Humbled Penis

A Humbled Penis

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

The small key turns to click open the cock cage lock... tiny yet so drastically confining. With the penis so prominently engorged, knowing fingers work, kindly slipping away with minimal scraping, the interior spikes functioning well in pricking the sensitive but naughty penile flesh.

Still, Thursday shrieks.

“Shush. It is what you want... what you all so ravenously desire,” Markie admonishes.

Actually more than just freedom is desired. Strokes culminating in orgasm would be ecstatic... but such is never known to happen.

Separated from the support ring, decoupled from the capped Prince’s Wand, Markie places aside the stainless steel mesh then returns. Pressed well into the urethra is the tube which so greatly adds to the frustration of thorough chastity. Markie gently pulls, Thursday howling anew. Deep within, the tube broadens to a bulbous lump, cruelly... cleverly... designed to constantly abrade the prostate. Removal is thus laborious and painful, the bulb stretching the ultra sensitive urethral passage as it is slid away. When finally exiting the tip, there comes even more roars of agony.

But when freed the relief is instantaneous. Markie steps away and marvels. Virility liberated at last, Thursday’s penis steadily engorges to full blossom, turning upwards, the tip pressing against his belly.

Of good size, such wonderfully controlled maleness, Markie thinks to herself. The spontaneous erection proves to be an amazing display of sexual power... yet so well tamed and held captive... a ferocious lion freed of its cage. She looks to see the Prince also reveling in the exchange... cock sucked... anus licked... watching another naked duo under his tutelage forced to engage... homosexually entwine... with a well worked sweat coated body. Yes, the tongues cleanse Thursday with fervor... as the Prince has commanded.

“Ha, ha, ha. You see how much they enjoy it, Markie. Their Master is so gracious is he not?”

The Prince laughs as the duo lick with zeal, fearing the cane... fearing the cattle prod. Much sweat is consumed, disgust palpable but suppressed.

“The scrotum, Monday. Long gentle laps... swish and swirl with that accomplished tongue. But never touch that humble erection. Tuesday, I left someone for you. But you’ll need to work hard for it. Press that face between his cheeks. That sphincter is holding back what you boys savor. I took him quite deeply this morning. It required lots of time and effort but young Thursday’s rosebud opening fully succumbed to nearly an hour of manly thrusts. And he enjoyed it... is that not so Thursday?”

“Yes, Master, I so much enjoy being fanny fucked by you,” the words mechanically uttered in trepidation.

“Fanny fucked, yes. But I think my seed may have gushed well past you bowels, Thursday. The Royal pecker is known to spurt deeply and copiously. Is that not right Monday?”

“Yes, Master. And I too so much enjoy being put under the penis,” another rote response.

The psychological degradation seems to be just another element of the Prince’s penchant, Markie begins to realize. The Prince is fully aware that in fact his steeds seethe with rage and revulsion in being forced to perform the vile acts.

Markie finds she can finally unwind, for now, tasks completed. She marvels at the lustiness of the Prince. Having coupled anally with Thursday just an hour or more before, he thoroughly enjoys Saturday’s fellatio, stifling grunts of delectation as the boy’s head bobs and bobs, deep throating the largest penis she has ever seen.’Face fucking’... the term so apropos.

An obedient Tuesday kneels upright, licking Thursday’s buttocks, the velvet rope hindering access to that which the Prince deposited, the gluteal cleft blocked.

“Markie, help the lad. We’ll not deny him an offering from the Prince, ha, ha, ha.”

Wrists tethered, Tuesday presses the rope with his nose, obedience absolute. Markie steps forth, manicured hands working to separate the parallel lengths. Anus made accessible, Tuesday’s mouth immediately dives forth, hunger apparent. Yet, Markie, in spying the remnants of the morning sodomy, knows the eagerness is feigned, that Tuesday’s true sexual preference, as with all the Prince’s young blond steeds, is for that of the female.

“So I am sure the taste is familiar to you, Tuesday. You feast on it weekly.”

“Yes, sir, I so much enjoy your spunk. You are generous as always sir,” Tuesday briefly pulling away to reply.

Markie notes the lad’s nose is indeed coated with slimy white. Still Tuesday’s face presses forth again, returning to the task which is so reviled.

“Well, there is plenty of it for you... for all you boys.”

Markie steps back, astounded with the Prince’s staying power. His organ remains rock hard. Slight choking noises are evident with an occasional downward thrust of Saturday’s face and head, the penetration deep, the penis tip incredibly bulbous.    

It is then that Markie feels remorse, finds herself/himself distant. Neutered, forcibly feminized, there is no possibility of joining the libidinous antics. When the Prince’s meaty hands push away Saturday’s head for a brief respite, there comes into view the raging Royal penis. Vast in its tumescent state, the thick length so wondrously symbolizes the power, emblemizes the dynamics of the sexual servitude she witnesses.

Markie looks downward with regret, her organ shrunken to that of her pinkie finger, its last stand months ago in the doctor’s office den, the catalyst of the sash required to produce what resulted in mere pusillanimous swelling.

Envy envelops the psyche. Other than the Prince, hers is the only penis free to flop about, uncaged and capable of standing, should the hormonal imbalance end. Yet, tip coated in red lipstick as the Prince demands, it instead brings only humiliation, announcing to all that a woman chose to end his/her maleness.    

She attempts to console herself, reminding that she holds the key for those that can achieve. But that power is limited. Authority is ultimately with the Prince... and he chooses to use it sexually on brawny young males... conquering... physically, psychologically, sexually.

Yes, there comes envy... and Markie finds herself gracefully falling into a well of adoration. She gawks in thought at the huge mocha stiffness, coated in saliva, casually awaiting the return to a throat well used. The Prince notes her look of contemplation.

“You like a good stiff cock do you, Markie? I know you’ve been well trained to please. But ravaging soft little girly boys is not my thing. I like my boys strong and muscular. So much enjoy entering a boy as he squirms in revulsion. Like to feel him slowly calm as he faces the inevitability of deep sodomy, ha, ha, ha. There is the resistance... the fight... the struggle... the shock as they find themselves becoming stimulated against their will...  and finally the capitulation. In the end they kneel and accept. It’s heady stuff Markie. But there will be none of that for you.”

The realization brings mourn. Markie’s addled hormonal imbalance prompts tears. To the Prince... the adored Master of the Ranch... she is sexually useless... nothing more then a servant to the Prince’s herd.

She has not the vitality, the brawn, the strength, to please the Prince... satiate his penchant.

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