The Sash - The Subterfuge Begins

The Subterfuge Begins

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

Markie finds herself torn. She adores the Prince. His puissance, his sexual prowess, is to be esteemed. She fantasizes that some day, just as one of the blond, blue eyed and well muscled Caucasian steeds brings gratification, it will be her charms that please.

Yet she knows not how. The massive royal manhood would tear her rectum... and she cannot quite envision taking much more than the very tip of the Prince’s turgid penis into her mouth. Would her hands satisfy? Alas she assumes not... she has not the strength... the Prince’s mighty phallus desiring the tightness of male muscling which scalpel and hormones have robbed from her.

Still, though she realizes she is unlikely to ascend beyond her role of stable hand, the notion of betraying the Prince bothers.

But would assisting the Queen be betrayal? Does the Prince really have any desire to accede to the throne? Perhaps it is best to offer him an option as well... an alternative may be acceptable. Life at the ranch is good.

Also to be considered is incurring the Queen’s wrath by not cooperating... or failing in her efforts to procure the demanded sperm. Thoughts of the deep secluded Palace dungeon... where occupants never again see the light of day... bring another shudder.

She justifies... her choice not easy to accept... but easy to undertake. The Prince most consistently ends his daily escapade with anal penetration... for which, upon return to the stable, Markie offers a quick spritz enema to preclude a soiled sleeping mat when the well worn steed is bedded.

Yes, incredible globs of gooey white are known to ooze from rectums well frictioned. After all, it is due to the Prince’s size and virility that a boy is only sodomized once per week. Thus there is abundance. Markie would merely need to gather rather then flush away.

And the refrigerator is nearby and convenient, a weekly application of ice required in order to return a priapic and frustrated steed to his respective cock cage after intimate shaving and cleansing.    

So it is decided. Markie will surreptitiously gather what she can and tuck the many specimen bags into the back of the freezer.

Who is to ever know? 

“Steady, Monday, be a good boy and spread for me.”

Another day, another run, another well fucked, well sodomized human steed. A satiated Prince has departed the stable. A late luncheon awaits. Markie has returned Monday to the marble cleaning slab, ankles clipped to opposing corners, wrists released from the neck band and secured as well. The exhausted human steed humble presents himself on all fours.

Though spending deeply, remnants of the gruff coupling show about the anus. Markie begins to gather, the blade of a knife smoothing about the pink flesh, then wiping the white gel into the specimen bag.

“Don’t move,” she forewarns, “ but do push with your anus. The Prince spent deeply as always, if I don’t clear you out you’ll be oozing all day.”

Not a complete prevarication, neatness beckons her attention. But today the Prince’s essence is not to be flushed to the drain. It is to be treasured... frozen... delivered to her Majesty.  

“Come now Monday, make like you’re moving your bowels. It is only the Prince’s fine deposit which will be expelled. I cleansed you of all else.”

There is reluctance. Monday blushes with the intensity of having to perform such a humiliating deed for the pretty castrate. Yet the cattle prod is both handy and well charged. And the embarrassment of performing for his caretaker can hardly exceed the ignominy of being sexually used by another man.
 
A dainty hand palms a well exposed scrotum. By now all the steeds are aware of Markie’s envy of the intact... of her delight in palpating that which was plundered from her.

“Give me all you can. I’ll offer a treat.”

Markie steps away. Hanging on the side of the refrigerator is the small but so meaningful and sought after key... to the cock cages. She returns. Markie holds it before Monday’s frustrated eyes.

“You’ll not tell the Prince... and you will press to return his daily gift.”

“Yes, Miss Markie,” Monday energetically nods.

Whatever is required to earn freedom of the sharp spikes Monday will gratefully offer.

“Will you masturbate me, Miss Markie? Please!”

“Of course not. But you can put on a good stand and watch it bob about ... for a while.”

Though the joy will be insufficient, it is a rare treat. Monday therefore needs no further encouragement. He closes his eyes and begins to work the tight muscling of his abdomen. He will comply. He will essentially defecate for the cute castrate who rules.

It requires time, the Prince not entirely exaggerating when he wittily suggests exploding into a boy’s stomach. But as a stultified Monday works his sphincter, more whiteness slowly appears. And as the gelatinous mass exits, the knife blade carefully smooths and the collection bag fills and fills. 

The Prince is indeed most fecund, Markie concludes. So manly...