The Sash - Return to the Ranch

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.”