Saturday, September 17, 2016

The Arrangement I

Found this story attached to an old email. I have not a clue as to what I planned to do with it. Don't think I published or posted it anywhere.

Juliette Janvier was/is a real person (nom de guerre for a Dominatrix). But I don't think I ever met her in person.


The Arrangement

Copyright 2003

by Chris Bellows

Chris Bellows guides the car to lane six of the toll booth. The George Washington Bridge looms in a quickly disappearing late morning mist, revealing an impressive view of Manhattan. But there is limited opportunity to enjoy the vista. Arrival at the toll booths signals that it is time to take the little blue pill.                   

Chris reaches to the dash board tray and pops the top off the plastic cylinder. The small tablet of Viagra easily glides down his throat with a final gulp of decafe.

Chris prefers high octane, fully caffeinated brew. But Ms. Juliette has forbidden it.

“You’ll find yourself becoming jumpy enough, Chris. No stimulants. And no alcohol either. Just these foods... and in moderation.”

The list she waved was devoid of anything a man could want in terms of sustenance. ‘Green things and fruit’ was how he mentally summarized his allowed diet. Gratefully, pasta was included. But no meat sauce. And it didn’t taste right without a heavy sprinkling of Parmesan, which of course Ms. Juliette crossed off the list with the swipe of a broad red felt tipped pen. She had such a demonstrative a way of ordaining her dominance.

He suspected that the only reason the cheese was initially listed was so that she could dramatically delete it before his eyes... punctuating her control. She knew it was a favorite.

But that was what he wanted... to be controlled. To be relieved of the responsibility of directing his male lust, which while mounting, spurred literary efforts of provocative but questionable taste. Chris had made a habit of starving his sexual appetite in order to nourish his writing. Then in a state of unbridled priapism, Chris would feast, voraciously plunging into sultry encounters with females of spurious reputation. This was not good. Such diversions diminished his effectiveness. 

Chris Bellows writes erotica for Pink Flamingo ( Experience has taught him that the higher the hormonal buildup, the more productive and more licentious his work product. Thus, in getting his ‘rocks off’ with an expensive woman in a cheap hotel, his work product suffered. For thereafter, it would take days for his libido to become restored to a level where his prurient literary endeavors were properly refurbished.

This had to change. He found Ms. Juliette.

Since being under her tutelage, the words have flowed like a river. The imagination foments colorful and dementedly crafted scenes of dominance and submission. His readers are gratefully appalled. His publisher is happy. Thus, by arrangement, there are no women anymore. Only his Saturday afternoon visits to Ms. Juliette, where he remains forcibly chaste.

Chris Bellows wears a chastity belt from Neosteel ( Only Ms. Juliette has the key. And the steel belt encircling his waist is only opened and removed on Saturdays... ostensibly for cleaning. However, the past three or four visits have included other diversions. Amusement for certain visitors... and for Nurse Ingrid.   

The BMW weaves through light traffic and seems to find its own way to Riverside Drive. Chris Bellows’ right foot presses harder, accelerating on empty streets. Ms. Juliette has been correct in her prognostication. He is ‘jumpy’. Eager to enter the cathartic world of Ms. Juliette’s domain. There her control is complete. Subtleness, such as the diet and the chastity belt worn 24/7, is cast aside and exchanged for complete dominance. His offering of submission... thorough submission... becomes all encompassing.

That’s the arrangement... to be immersed in a total power exchange in order to cleanse his mind. Then to be released without relief to face his word processor with renewed fervor, his libido frustratingly remaining unquelled.   

The hormones spur the car’s velocity. There are needs to be fulfilled. However frustrating his visits are, it will feel good to have the belt removed despite the price of humbleness to be paid.

The city’s normally fast pace slackens on the weekends of late Spring. Today will be the first weekend day of significant warmth. Many have left for mountains, lakes and beaches. Parking is therefore ample. Chris Bellows soon finds his feet pounding on concrete and rushing up stairs. Ms. Juliette’s apartment is in sight. His hands shake. The first tremor of Viagra induced engorgement is felt under the ineluctable stainless steel belt. He will soon tumefy for Ms. Juliette like a satyric schoolboy. As the elevator door glides closed his imagination hears her sardonic laugh. It is an irritating laugh but a welcome one. She enjoys watching his penis stand and it would do so without the pill. But since Ms. Juliette insists that he remain hard for the entire length of his visit, which will occupy most of the afternoon, the medication provides assurance.     
A testosterone induced push of the apartment doorbell results in an obnoxiously long buzz. The door is abruptly flung open and Chris Bellows faces his weekly antagonist, Nurse Ingrid.

She wordlessly beckons him to enter. The middle-aged blonde Swedish woman is as dour as ever and Chris’s emphatically announced arrival has not added cheer to her demeanor.

“Into the training room and strip,” she commands. “You’re early again.”

Yes, though he trembles with a strange combination of both reluctance and expectation, Chris has indeed arrived 15 minutes before his scheduled time. Once the blue pill is taken, haste is imperative. The Neosteel belt will not allow for erection. When it comes to stainless steel versus flesh, steel prevails, and it does so with great anguish. Thus, the Viagra can produce a form of torment to be avoided.

The ‘training’ room is huge by New York City standards. There is a corner with an array of medical equipment, examination table included. Another corner for discipline, with a most awkward but functional whipping bench. And lined adjacent to one wall is various exercise equipment. Modern and expensive, Ms. Juliette insists on a regimen of exercise to complement her strict diet.

“I want you clean, healthy, well worked and with an indefatigable libido which will never be satiated,” she explained after the agreement was struck. She spoke as he was being measured... standing naked before her young protege, feeling the inexplicable sensuous rush caused by the humiliation... the enfeeblement of the masochist. The petite blonde girl measured his entire anatomy. When she announced that his erect manhood was merely adequate, the crimson hue of his flushed complexion surpassed that of his penis. Ms. Juliette nodded in agreement.

“For him it does not matter, Mary. He won’t be using it.”

Chris did not understand the necessity of the painstakingly precise task until the next visit. Mary’s efforts resulted in a chastity belt which locked about his waist perfectly. The tube beneath the crouch piece precisely encapsulated his penis, forcing it to point downward at all times and to collect any excretions, which by design would exit through an opening between his thighs.

It took weeks to become accustomed to sitting in order to urinate. And each time he plunks himself on the john he is forced to think of who and why such an unmanly manner of visiting the toilet is mandated.

“You squat to pee because Ms. Juliette wants you to squat to pee,” he mentally concluded sometime on the third day of penile restraint.

Chris Bellows tries to remain calm, disguising eagerness while removing his clothing. Appearing nude before the nurse was difficult the first few times. Now he sheds his clothes by rote while Nurse Ingrid gathers her paraphernalia. As he folds his last garment and neatly places it into a  large locking trunk, she approaches with cuff-like circles of metal.

“Wrists please, Mr. Bellows. Palms down.”

He complies and the powerful, well trained hands snap a perimeter of steel around the left wrist and then the right. The curious, thick shapes are not linked and have been precisely measured to fit, just as with the belt. The interior perimeter of each cuff is oval shaped to comfortably surround the wrist. The exterior diameters are perfectly round, a feature which at first Chris Bellows did not comprehend... until the accompanying four foot steel stock was first snapped closed around his neck and the firm hands of his dominant antagonist guided the cuffs into openings more than two feet to the right and left of his head.

“It’s termed a Martin Rigid Stock, Mr. Bellows,” Nurse Ingrid explained on the first wearing.
“Normally made of lighter weight aluminum, Ms. Juliette had it fabricated just for you. It’s a very heavy, high carbon steel. She also had it lengthened just for you. Rather disconcerting is it not? Having your hands and arms forcibly held so far outside your shoulders. In accentuating your immobility, it adds nicely to the sensation of degradation. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Yes it did. And though his tendons and ligaments were constantly strained in tautness, the wrist cuffs were locked into circular openings which permitted him to somewhat rotate his hands. Thus, the design was devilishly comfortable, permitting the wearer to be helplessly bound for hours without severe cramping or impeding circulation.

Later Chris Bellows searched the internet. At a site for Martin’s Rigid cuffs he found the object he had worn during his entire afternoon visit. When he entered into his agreement with Ms. Juliette, she informed him of the expense. The weekly visits would be costly. In viewing the item of restraint, he began to understand. The stock item cost some $900. The custom made model worn at Ms. Juliette’s behest must have cost much more. The high polished steel is of the finest quality and with the weight and snug fit, thoughts of escape are quickly cast aside.

With his hands restrained well out to his sides Nurse Ingrid inserts the various pins which serve to hold closed the openings for his neck and wrists. Small padlocks secure the pins in place and complete his restraint. They are more symbolical than functional. He can not reach the simple cylinders of steel to remove them and no one under Ms. Juliette’s supervision would ever release him. But the finality of the clicks completes the pageantry of placing him in inescapable bondage. He shudders with the permanency of the bonds and gapes in awe... such simple pins.., such small locks... such provocative results. Without the small key, pocketed in Nurse Ingrid’s starched white uniform, the stock could never be removed without the tools of a welder.    

The long expanse of steel is heavy, by Ms. Juliette’s design sending a constant message of restraint and subordination to her will. Nurse Ingrid smiles smugly... her naked and bound ‘patient’ has slid further down the slope of submission and reached bottom. He has sacrificed his freedom for nothing more than hours of physical torment... an afternoon of seeking satiation which he shall not have and knows he shall not have. His vulnerability is absolute.  
“I’m going to work you hard this afternoon, Mr. Bellows. You’re getting in better and better shape and need to be challenged.”

Chris cringes in despair with her announcement. But conversely, he can feel his stimulated penis fighting the chastity belt. It oddly reacts in anticipation to the feel of the nurse’s encouraging hand during exercise. She is demanding and relentless. His manhood wishes to pay homage.

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