Return to the Ranch
Copyright 2014
by Chris Bellows
As the limousine approaches the ranch, Markie becomes more apprehensive. The cover story presented in the Queen’s letter to the Prince is only partially true... that the Queen desired Markie’s presence so she could threaten recalcitrant guards with the repulsive delights of being sexually serviced by a genderless prettified blond.
Indeed, Markie so offered herself. The well experienced Helen demonstrated the age old trick of applying a condom to the raging erection of men reluctant to use protection. She showed Markie how to surreptitiously insert the oval of rubber into her mouth, then fellate, in one smooth motion orally taking a stiff phallus, engulfing and unraveling the latex down the shaft without the knowledge of the bearer.
A young guard, quite virile, quite repulsed in having to offer himself to another male... former male... lay on Helen’s so termed ‘jerking table’, naked and restrained, as Helen instructed.
Quite intriguing how sexual release is apportioned at the Palace, Markie came to realize.
“This is where the guards receive their reward for loyal service. The Queen wants them calm, yet eager to return for more. So I deplete the hormones... and do so in a manner which never completely satisfies. There is also the matriarchal symbolism the Queen desires. They are never to control their own orgasms...”
Helen deftly gripped the base of the shaft to forestall ejaculation while Markie practiced again and again, unraveling some half dozen condoms, the last three meeting approval... applied in one smooth continuous motion of her head.
The guard, wide eyed with both pleasure and frustration, struggled against his bonds, pleading for ultimate release. At the end, expertly sensing pending eruption, a cruel Helen instructed Markie to withdraw and she simply withdrew her hand as well. No strokes, no application of Markie’s oral skills, Helen smiled evilly as, with penis throbbing and wrists restrained, the priapic young lad meekly dribbled into the condom, unable to even stroke himself.
“Note how the spunk oozes with each beat of the heart. That’s when you know you’ve maximized their frustration. They want to come... but they don’t want to come without a downstroke or swirl of the tongue... they try to hold back... and in the end they just leak. So tame, so docile.”
A laughing Helen then summarily tossed the semen filled condom into the garbage, conforming to the Queen’s rule of neatness, disposing of male filth.
“Yes, frustrating, but they always come back... don’t they boy?” Helen taunted.
The art of the controlling hand job... incomplete hand job.
Markie understands there will not be similar teasing and denial of the Prince. Given opportunity, Markie will have him explode into the clandestinely applied condom, most copiously. Then turn her head to veil the collection effort, somehow getting to the freezer as quickly as possible where it will pried from her mouth and stored.
It must be done, she realizes. With a second failure, the Queen’s special dungeon beckons. And indeed, the Kingdom needs an heir... an heir sans depravity.
As the sun sets, the Queens’s limousine pauses to deposit, then quickly turns for the return journey. A lit stable reveals the Prince’s whereabouts.
“Where have you been?” the Prince inquires, as Markie enters, presuming the question to be a test of the Queen’s letter... her cover story.
“The Queen summoned me to the Palace, sire. I’ve been fellating her guards.”
The Prince smiles and nods.
“It’s good for a girly boy to stay in practice. Choke at all?”
“No sir. I am trained. Perhaps... perhaps...”
“Perhaps what?”
“I would very much enjoy serving the Royal penis sire. I... I... find you attractive. I so much wish to please,” the sentiment, though demanded by the Queen’s quest, not entirely false.
“Ha, ha, ha. More like you’re envious. This is power girl,” the Prince pointing to his pubes. “I have it and you don’t. And it’s power best utilized in putting a squeamish white boy in his proper place. You’re already there, ha, ha, ha.
“But I am glad you enjoyed your day. I had to tend to your duties, swabbing down Tuesday. And the herd wasn’t exercised. So it’s double time tomorrow, Markie. I want them worked hard, kept well muscled and trim. They can better grapple when resisting the Royal pecker... though they always succumb.”
“Yes, sire,” Markie grateful that the Queen’s ruse appears to be working.
Yet how is Markie ever to fellate and extract semen? Meekness... femininity... fail to attract the Prince, a conquering warrior... not a lover. Missing from Markie’s perception, Markie’s picture of the Prince’s existence, is life outside the stable and the long jaunts on the veld. What goes on in his pied-a-terre when not tormenting and fucking his steeds?
Markie knows of one girl, she who daily wheels a cart of gruel to the stable. Are there others? Does the Prince engage carnally with the opposite gender. Does he engage at all with the opposite gender? Proximity will be required in order to fulfill the Queen’s demand and someone must keep house, clean and serve him meals. Should Markie endeavor to enter household duties?
“Now get the rope. I want to have my balls licked... watch a boy helplessly dangle while showing off a useless erection. Need to relax a little, with a fine glass of wine. The Queen’s intrusion has made me put in an exhausting day.”
Saturday, December 27, 2014
Saturday, December 20, 2014
The Sash - To Be Motivated
To Be Motivated
Copyright 2014
by Chris Bellows
Markie finds his own heart rate racing. Upon preparing to exit the well secured chamber, for the first time she noted the array of implements adorning the walls. Yes, it is a torture chamber indeed, the Queen able to press, pull, pry, squeeze, tear, human flesh with impunity. There was even a small coal fired stove to heat clamps, knives and the many needles... long vicious needles... that which Sir Egbert has come to relish.
The Prince’s quirky depravity seems to be hereditary.
“So, Markie, some motivation for you. Fear,” the words offered with a pleasant laugh.
Having returned to the Palace reception chamber, the seated Queen speaks as Markie stands before her, feet parted, hands on head. Once again she toys with the remnants of her maleness... the tiny penis, the folds of her boy labia. The Queen perhaps envisions her own hands ripping away his testicles. For some strange reason Markie senses distant joy, the diddling fingers, the controlling hand deemed so threatening after touring the secret dungeon. Such brings a frisson of odd excitement.
“Markie, your many sperm samples were sterile. I would hate to believe thwarting my efforts was intentional. Not a single spermatozoa alive.”
“No, your Majesty,” a stunned Markie rejoins. “I carefully sealed every bag and immediately froze,” Markie's concern legitimate.
“I have a vengeful streak, Markie, as you just witnessed. You had best be truthful. Many cells in my dungeon. Your next visit there will be a one way excursion. How were such samples procured?”
“From the steeds. After every run I gathered such for safe keeping.”
“Gathered from where?”
“The Prince, he prefers anal penetration... and rather deeply. It required time to retrieve, done under the guise of cleansing.”
“Too deeply... and too much time. Heat kills the sensitive little squirmy things. As well as exposure to air. Hard to believe the entire world has been populated by such delicate male essence. Your efforts are for naught.”
“I am so sorry, your Majesty.”
“We will need to try again, utilizing different methods. I have a rather experienced woman, a former reform school matron, who satiates the Palace guard. She will train you. I want you to fellate the Prince... into a condom which you will immediately tie off to seal and then freeze.”
“It would be a privilege to please the Royal penis, your Majesty. But such is not my role at the ranch. I merely tend to, tease and torment his herd. The Prince finds me... undesirable. My charms fail to attract.”
“Can you offer massage?”
“I have experienced such, your Majesty. My nurse.”
“Try to tempt him... when he’s tired and cares not to expend the energy for the silly acrobatic carnal pursuit of anally raping a resisting boy. Men think with their penis, Markie. Seduce him, fellate him, gather my seed.”
“I will try, your Majesty.”
“It’s not possible to place you in a humbler, my neutered little toy. But with another failure, I will assure that your suffering is slow and unending.”
The Queen laughs in feeling Markie tremble. She then turns and presses an intercom button.
“Send in Helen,” the Queen commands.
“You are not to divulge to Helen why I want you to acquire this talent. I am going to tell her you will also be sucking the phalli of the Palace guard and that I insist on neatness. You’ll see what I mean.”
The reception room door opens. In steps a surprisingly prim Caucasian woman, conservatively attired, not at all brandishing the aura of a woman of pleasure. She is handsome, not ravishing, staid not flashy. She enters with an air of authority... perhaps that of a strict school teacher. No Palace visitor would surmise her Royal function. Markie assumes her restrained presentment is intentional.
For the young members of the Palace guard she must be considered maternal.
Markie recalls the Queen’s comment during her visit... ‘I have my guards emptied regularly. Keeps them calm... and loyal’.
How devilish to have the deed performed by a mature woman of authority. Certainly not to be considered the masculine encounter about which most young males fantasize, being brought to orgasm by such an imposing figure. But if the Queen insists that is how Palace pleasure is meted... then that is how subordinate males will receive.
“Helen, I am going to offer the boys an alternative form of sexual release. Thought it would be fun to insist they have relations with a castrated male. Rather distressing for them, don’t you think? Would make your offerings even more preferable.”
The woman nods and suppresses a smile. It is evident that she has a degree of disdain for the male.
“Helen specializes in the so termed ruined orgasm, Markie. In the end, after much teasing, she withdraws all efforts and forces a boy to more leak his essence rather then spurt in ecstasy. The hormonal release calms, but denial of ultimate male pleasure keeps them randy and eager for the next try.
“Have Markie practice on one of the undeserving guards, Helen. Someone on report.”
Copyright 2014
by Chris Bellows
Markie finds his own heart rate racing. Upon preparing to exit the well secured chamber, for the first time she noted the array of implements adorning the walls. Yes, it is a torture chamber indeed, the Queen able to press, pull, pry, squeeze, tear, human flesh with impunity. There was even a small coal fired stove to heat clamps, knives and the many needles... long vicious needles... that which Sir Egbert has come to relish.
The Prince’s quirky depravity seems to be hereditary.
“So, Markie, some motivation for you. Fear,” the words offered with a pleasant laugh.
Having returned to the Palace reception chamber, the seated Queen speaks as Markie stands before her, feet parted, hands on head. Once again she toys with the remnants of her maleness... the tiny penis, the folds of her boy labia. The Queen perhaps envisions her own hands ripping away his testicles. For some strange reason Markie senses distant joy, the diddling fingers, the controlling hand deemed so threatening after touring the secret dungeon. Such brings a frisson of odd excitement.
“Markie, your many sperm samples were sterile. I would hate to believe thwarting my efforts was intentional. Not a single spermatozoa alive.”
“No, your Majesty,” a stunned Markie rejoins. “I carefully sealed every bag and immediately froze,” Markie's concern legitimate.
“I have a vengeful streak, Markie, as you just witnessed. You had best be truthful. Many cells in my dungeon. Your next visit there will be a one way excursion. How were such samples procured?”
“From the steeds. After every run I gathered such for safe keeping.”
“Gathered from where?”
“The Prince, he prefers anal penetration... and rather deeply. It required time to retrieve, done under the guise of cleansing.”
“Too deeply... and too much time. Heat kills the sensitive little squirmy things. As well as exposure to air. Hard to believe the entire world has been populated by such delicate male essence. Your efforts are for naught.”
“I am so sorry, your Majesty.”
“We will need to try again, utilizing different methods. I have a rather experienced woman, a former reform school matron, who satiates the Palace guard. She will train you. I want you to fellate the Prince... into a condom which you will immediately tie off to seal and then freeze.”
“It would be a privilege to please the Royal penis, your Majesty. But such is not my role at the ranch. I merely tend to, tease and torment his herd. The Prince finds me... undesirable. My charms fail to attract.”
“Can you offer massage?”
“I have experienced such, your Majesty. My nurse.”
“Try to tempt him... when he’s tired and cares not to expend the energy for the silly acrobatic carnal pursuit of anally raping a resisting boy. Men think with their penis, Markie. Seduce him, fellate him, gather my seed.”
“I will try, your Majesty.”
“It’s not possible to place you in a humbler, my neutered little toy. But with another failure, I will assure that your suffering is slow and unending.”
The Queen laughs in feeling Markie tremble. She then turns and presses an intercom button.
“Send in Helen,” the Queen commands.
“You are not to divulge to Helen why I want you to acquire this talent. I am going to tell her you will also be sucking the phalli of the Palace guard and that I insist on neatness. You’ll see what I mean.”
The reception room door opens. In steps a surprisingly prim Caucasian woman, conservatively attired, not at all brandishing the aura of a woman of pleasure. She is handsome, not ravishing, staid not flashy. She enters with an air of authority... perhaps that of a strict school teacher. No Palace visitor would surmise her Royal function. Markie assumes her restrained presentment is intentional.
For the young members of the Palace guard she must be considered maternal.
Markie recalls the Queen’s comment during her visit... ‘I have my guards emptied regularly. Keeps them calm... and loyal’.
How devilish to have the deed performed by a mature woman of authority. Certainly not to be considered the masculine encounter about which most young males fantasize, being brought to orgasm by such an imposing figure. But if the Queen insists that is how Palace pleasure is meted... then that is how subordinate males will receive.
“Helen, I am going to offer the boys an alternative form of sexual release. Thought it would be fun to insist they have relations with a castrated male. Rather distressing for them, don’t you think? Would make your offerings even more preferable.”
The woman nods and suppresses a smile. It is evident that she has a degree of disdain for the male.
“Helen specializes in the so termed ruined orgasm, Markie. In the end, after much teasing, she withdraws all efforts and forces a boy to more leak his essence rather then spurt in ecstasy. The hormonal release calms, but denial of ultimate male pleasure keeps them randy and eager for the next try.
“Have Markie practice on one of the undeserving guards, Helen. Someone on report.”
Saturday, December 13, 2014
The Sash - An Audience with the Queen
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Saturday, December 6, 2014
The Sash - To Be Used
To Be Used
Copyright 2014
by Chris Bellows
After many days, much sodomy, much semen, many collection bags filled and frozen, the expected messenger of the Queen arrived, his timing good. In traversing the veld, tugging reins, stroking with his crop, penetrating a welcoming orifice, the Prince was unaware of his visit.
“The Queen conveys her appreciation,” the trim young male offered, barely able to keep his eyes off the straining buttocks of five naked steeds laboring on the treadmills.
Long blond hair, well styled, polished red nails both hands and feet, the mandatory lipstick applied to a tiny penis tip, the Queen’s messenger had equal difficulty not gawking at the pretty castrate, true gender... former gender... well veiled.
Into a well insulated, iced chest, the freezer emptied of what seemed like quarts of male essence, Markie felt both accomplishment and relief, the evidence of her subterfuge removed. The Prince is not to suspect her involvement in the conspiracy, Markie sighed in thought as the messenger departed. Months hence a child will be born. Years hence the Queen will surprise her son Samja with news of his fatherhood. A wedding announcement will follow.
How will the Prince ever suspect Markie’s participation?
And so the daily routine at the ranch returns to normal. Sperm collection curtailed, a spritz enema quickly offered with a quick cooling douse of spray water before the worn steed is bedded.
Apprehension removed, Markie’s attraction to the Prince, her envy of a fully functioning penis, her adoration of handsome virility, blossoms anew. Though free to frottage with the steeds, tease and torment their chaste forms, there is a sense of emptiness, lack of filfillment. The steeds offer oral stimulation upon demand... boy labia... boy pussy. The lipstick though, is not to be smeared, the Prince using it as a defacto gauge as to whether there has been trespass on Markie’s comical once male organ.
Still, during lonely restless nights Markie is known to lift a hood, straddle a face and offer herself.
Yet, it satiates not. The steeds, oral skills accomplished, gratify mechanically. And adding to the sense of ennui is the fact that Markie’s castration precludes any ultimate orgasm. She senses a pending sneeze that just won’t come. Thus coercing fellatio is not only precarious, should the Prince discover, but unsatisfying.
‘Why bother,’ has become Markie’s mental response when considering such coupling. It is the Prince... pleasing him would be the pinnacle... her tender efforts awarded with an eruption of male seed. Trained in sexual subservience, she yearns to give... and she yearns to bring delight to he most fertile, he who commands, he who provides... he who owns. Such has been ingrained in her psyche. Pleasure for the Prince... fulfillment for Markie.
Yes, Markie feels the need to be used.
One month, two? There comes a far off swirl of dust as the Royal long white limousine wheels forth just at the moment the Prince’s cart and human steed disappear onto the veld.
Has someone been observing? Or perhaps the timing coincidental?
It is the Queen’s messenger again, on this occasion arriving as Markie works to release the remaining herd from the sleeping mats and run them on the treadmills.
“The Queen summons you,” the messenger abruptly proclaims. “You are to come to the Palace.”
“But I have chores. The Prince insists his boys be well worked.”
“You are to come immediately. This is for the Prince,” the messenger presenting an envelope, sealed in wax, the Royal crest prominently displayed in conveying the authenticity its origination. “I suggest you comply... and promptly. There is no time for your chores. The Queen is best kept pleased.”
The handsome young African smiles warmly, assuaging fears.
“Your safety and well being are assured. I am told this letter will adequately explain your brief absence.”
“How long?” Markie inquires, returning a naked steed to his respective sleeping mat.
“The Palace is an hours drive. I know not of the Queen’s intentions.”
“I’ll need covering.”
“The queen insists that you be naked. She suggests that it is best for you,” a hand extending to tweak a nipple, highlighting Markie’s state of deshabille.
Markie cannot help giggling with the unexpected touch. Silly of me... and curious that public nudity remains of concern, Markie ponders. She has not worn a scrap of clothing in many, many months... other than her shoes. Yet, she demurs in exhibiting herself.
“Come,” the messenger brazenly taking her hand in offering more familiarity, “this is a Kingdom. Fealty is required. Royalty is to be obeyed.”
He leads to the limousine. In opening the door for access, Markie feels a hand smooth over her girlish cheeks. The many touches suggest attraction, she realizes in seating herself. Her gender may confuse, but the pent up desire of the young male is apparent. The messenger follows sitting opposite.
“I believe you will be more comfortable kneeling on the floor,” the voice becoming more authoritative as Markie hears the click of the door locks. “And an hour long ride should be just enough time,” the words received as ominous, the messenger unzipping himself.
Not approaching the size of the Prince, the messenger produces a male organ uncircumcised, a dark pink tip slipping past the foreskin, seemingly eager to greet the day.
“The ride can be otherwise boring. You may suck me. Cleanse the smegma first. I like a girl to be neat. Suggests obedience, proper humbleness...”
Copyright 2014
by Chris Bellows
After many days, much sodomy, much semen, many collection bags filled and frozen, the expected messenger of the Queen arrived, his timing good. In traversing the veld, tugging reins, stroking with his crop, penetrating a welcoming orifice, the Prince was unaware of his visit.
“The Queen conveys her appreciation,” the trim young male offered, barely able to keep his eyes off the straining buttocks of five naked steeds laboring on the treadmills.
Long blond hair, well styled, polished red nails both hands and feet, the mandatory lipstick applied to a tiny penis tip, the Queen’s messenger had equal difficulty not gawking at the pretty castrate, true gender... former gender... well veiled.
Into a well insulated, iced chest, the freezer emptied of what seemed like quarts of male essence, Markie felt both accomplishment and relief, the evidence of her subterfuge removed. The Prince is not to suspect her involvement in the conspiracy, Markie sighed in thought as the messenger departed. Months hence a child will be born. Years hence the Queen will surprise her son Samja with news of his fatherhood. A wedding announcement will follow.
How will the Prince ever suspect Markie’s participation?
And so the daily routine at the ranch returns to normal. Sperm collection curtailed, a spritz enema quickly offered with a quick cooling douse of spray water before the worn steed is bedded.
Apprehension removed, Markie’s attraction to the Prince, her envy of a fully functioning penis, her adoration of handsome virility, blossoms anew. Though free to frottage with the steeds, tease and torment their chaste forms, there is a sense of emptiness, lack of filfillment. The steeds offer oral stimulation upon demand... boy labia... boy pussy. The lipstick though, is not to be smeared, the Prince using it as a defacto gauge as to whether there has been trespass on Markie’s comical once male organ.
Still, during lonely restless nights Markie is known to lift a hood, straddle a face and offer herself.
Yet, it satiates not. The steeds, oral skills accomplished, gratify mechanically. And adding to the sense of ennui is the fact that Markie’s castration precludes any ultimate orgasm. She senses a pending sneeze that just won’t come. Thus coercing fellatio is not only precarious, should the Prince discover, but unsatisfying.
‘Why bother,’ has become Markie’s mental response when considering such coupling. It is the Prince... pleasing him would be the pinnacle... her tender efforts awarded with an eruption of male seed. Trained in sexual subservience, she yearns to give... and she yearns to bring delight to he most fertile, he who commands, he who provides... he who owns. Such has been ingrained in her psyche. Pleasure for the Prince... fulfillment for Markie.
Yes, Markie feels the need to be used.
One month, two? There comes a far off swirl of dust as the Royal long white limousine wheels forth just at the moment the Prince’s cart and human steed disappear onto the veld.
Has someone been observing? Or perhaps the timing coincidental?
It is the Queen’s messenger again, on this occasion arriving as Markie works to release the remaining herd from the sleeping mats and run them on the treadmills.
“The Queen summons you,” the messenger abruptly proclaims. “You are to come to the Palace.”
“But I have chores. The Prince insists his boys be well worked.”
“You are to come immediately. This is for the Prince,” the messenger presenting an envelope, sealed in wax, the Royal crest prominently displayed in conveying the authenticity its origination. “I suggest you comply... and promptly. There is no time for your chores. The Queen is best kept pleased.”
The handsome young African smiles warmly, assuaging fears.
“Your safety and well being are assured. I am told this letter will adequately explain your brief absence.”
“How long?” Markie inquires, returning a naked steed to his respective sleeping mat.
“The Palace is an hours drive. I know not of the Queen’s intentions.”
“I’ll need covering.”
“The queen insists that you be naked. She suggests that it is best for you,” a hand extending to tweak a nipple, highlighting Markie’s state of deshabille.
Markie cannot help giggling with the unexpected touch. Silly of me... and curious that public nudity remains of concern, Markie ponders. She has not worn a scrap of clothing in many, many months... other than her shoes. Yet, she demurs in exhibiting herself.
“Come,” the messenger brazenly taking her hand in offering more familiarity, “this is a Kingdom. Fealty is required. Royalty is to be obeyed.”
He leads to the limousine. In opening the door for access, Markie feels a hand smooth over her girlish cheeks. The many touches suggest attraction, she realizes in seating herself. Her gender may confuse, but the pent up desire of the young male is apparent. The messenger follows sitting opposite.
“I believe you will be more comfortable kneeling on the floor,” the voice becoming more authoritative as Markie hears the click of the door locks. “And an hour long ride should be just enough time,” the words received as ominous, the messenger unzipping himself.
Not approaching the size of the Prince, the messenger produces a male organ uncircumcised, a dark pink tip slipping past the foreskin, seemingly eager to greet the day.
“The ride can be otherwise boring. You may suck me. Cleanse the smegma first. I like a girl to be neat. Suggests obedience, proper humbleness...”
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Segments of 'The Sash' to end
In fairness, I should forewarn that the last segment of the Sash will be published on 12/27. As posted, the entire manuscript is available from Lulu.
Yes, the postings have been a 'teaser', but I have offered some 22,000 words for free. Not a bad bargain. Amazon discourages offering a single page!
Not sure what will begin in January.
Yes, the postings have been a 'teaser', but I have offered some 22,000 words for free. Not a bad bargain. Amazon discourages offering a single page!
Not sure what will begin in January.
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