Miss Amanda’s Bitch Boys I

Copyright 2015

Female dominant, male submissive.

Enjoy

CB

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“I may be a bitch. But you’re going to be my bitch.”

Guard Amanda Contrell’s words are calm and cool. She smiles, always enjoying the arrival of a big, rugged, recalcitrant inmate. For in the end each one falls so hard and begs so pitifully. As the immense woman of color stands arms akimbo at the cell bars, verbally jousting with the new arrival, she surveys the supine and yoked form with a sang froid which brings disquiet. For the powerful prisoner, known as ‘Leg Breaker Luke’, expects his hissing menacing words to bring distress.

Instead his insult seems to have amused the brown uniformed woman and brought awed silence from the five inmates in adjoining cells. Guard Amanda Contrell is rarely spoken to in a derogatory manner... much less be termed a bitch.

She must be aware of my convictions, my years of contract killing, Luke Donovan thinks to himself. Even grizzled mobsters have been known to fear him. Yet this woman cowers not.

“Shall I show you how we use your new jewelry, Luke boy?”

“That’s Donovan... Luke Donovan.”

“In this cell block, it’s Luke boy... or whatever I decide.”

Amanda Contrell reaches to the right. Through the bars she grasps a thin cord... ironically thin... mercifully thin. For it is designed to break should a guard inadvertently... or perhaps in anger... pull too hard.

“Get off your cot and come here to me at the bars. We need to sort out the hierarchy, Luke boy. I know you’ve served time before... juvenile crimes. But this is super max. This is where we tame the hardest, the toughest, the most belligerent.”

The meaty dark hand slowly, almost gracefully tugs. Amanda recalls her training as a teen, a summer on a ranch, learning horses... memorable times for a city girl. And in pulling on the defacto leash the advice of a wizened ranch hand comes to mind, crassly worded, as she for the first time took the bridle reins of a huge and imposing stallion.

‘Think of the bit as pinching your cunny, sweetheart. The horse’s mouth is that sensitive.’

And indeed, the slightest tension instantly commanded the stallion’s attention

And so, despite the feisty words, the truculent attitude, Amanda kindly takes control, pulling inmate Luke to the bars. 

“What the fuck!” Luke Donovan gasping in pain.

The words bring another smile... a knowing, matronly smile.

“You don’t think the Bureau of Prisons bestowed a steel ring on you just to improve your looks do you?”

Amanda thrills with a prisoner’s discovery of the simple but most effective trinket of restraint, control and punishment. Surgically implanted into the cartilage of the septum, the heavily gauged stainless ellipse is unlikely to tear away. But it will impart an unforgettable burst of agony, the nerve endings transmitting immediate messages to the cerebral cortex... the most important of which is... minimize the tension... capitulate... and quickly.

And so the yoked inmate jumps... awkwardly... from his supine position and follows the taut string... really a thread... to where Guard Amanda Contrell awaits. Both quick and obsequious, his reaction ends the stunned silence of the cell block, his fellow inmates laughing raucously.

“Good boy,” Amanda taking in the slack, holding her hand high to force the mammoth prisoner well up on his toes.

“How does the yoke feel?” a notable wince obviating an answer.

“Fuck you!” exhaling in pain.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too tight. With the body scans they tend to get the measurements just right. And you’ll become accustomed to it in time.”

Resting on Luke Donovan’s shoulders, probably in violation of most conventional rules and regulations throughout the world’s institutions of incarceration, is a rectangular block of thick polymer. Light but strong, smooth yet inexorable, it’s sealed, perfectly measured holes entrapping the neck and wrists, making the hands useless... for aggression... for eating... and most distressingly for the long term incarcerated... for masturbation. To be removed only upon years of demonstrated tamed behavior, ultimate release from prison or death, Guard Amanda knows for the likes of Luke Donovan, serving 19 consecutive life terms for first degree murder, the latter will be the case.

With a simple knot, Amanda reties the defacto leash high on the bars, freeing her hands. Next she lowers, reaching through the bars at the waist of inmate Luke Donovan. There she works the belt buckle.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just a little demonstration of the power exchange you’ll need to adapt to here. Most new inmates get it at chow... when they discover the need to either find politeness and be spoon fed... or eat from a bowl like a dog. For you Luke boy, I think the lesson needs to start now.”      

With that the inmate’s belt is unbuckled, the zipper lowered and Amanda stoops to pull the canvas grey pants to the concrete floor.

“Now be a good boy and step out of your trousers. Slippers too.”

Amanda commands as she rights herself and her thumbs slip under the waist band of prison issue underpants. In a well practiced move she lowers herself again, whisking the newly issued shorts to the floor as well, stripping Luke Donovan waist to ankles.

“You can’t do this!”

“I just did. And if I have to forcefully pull your clothes out from under you, it will be agonizing should you trip and fall. That nose ring is effective, I assure you. So be a good boy. Step out, slippers too. Let’s begin your lesson.”

Luke reflects and realizes the woman’s warning is to be heeded, standing balanced on toes. He is aggravated, appalled... and uncharacteristically bashful. For upon entry to super max, prisoners are deloused, the process involving the removal of most hair. Thus he stands before the woman he insulted as being a ‘bitch’, not only half naked but without the veil of manly foliage.    

“Yes, Luke boy, you look like a plucked chicken... just like every prisoner I have to strip naked for behavioral reasons,” the words intended to sooth as Guard Amanda spirits away the slippers and garments.

Pulling the clothing through the bars, a brown right hand returns to reach through and cup a shorn low hanging scrotal pouch. Luke is aghast with the intimate handling, but quickly understands his vulnerability, hands useless, nose ring tied off high. And then comes the grip... firm... frighteningly comfortable. The woman has before handled a man, he quickly comes to realize. But then comes a threatening squeeze, his precious organs susceptible to a woman’s whimsy.

“I’m reporting this!”

“To whom? And to what end, other than to gain a reputation as a prison rat?”

Amanda’s thumb palpates, brushing over the top of the scrotum, assessing the jewels within. Nice and plump. She feels a twinge, within her loins. Power over the virile male... a serial killer for hire... brings sexual thrill.

“Yes, Luke boy, you’re going to be my bitch.”

Amanda releases, offering a concerned Luke a moment of reprieve. But then her hands move higher, working the Velcro strips of the special prison shirt, to be removed for laundering without requiring release from the yoke. Yes, the sleeves part open without delay. Within seconds killer Luke Donovan stands completely naked. Again, no chest hair, the nipples invite. And Amanda, smiling wickedly, accepts the invitation.

“Nice tits. You’re going to make a fine bitch indeed,” fingers tweaking right nipple then left. “We’ll talk again... in an hour or two. In time I’ll give you an introduction... to some of my other bitches...” Amanda casually strolling the corridor.

“You can’t leave me like this!” killer Luke Donovan immediately assessing his precarious position, forcibly held by a simple thread and ring of steel, forehead pressed to the bars as toes and feet strain.

“I just did,” Amanda playfully calls out from her observation room at the end of the cell block.