It has come to my attention that some readers purchased Parts I & II of 'A Castration Tale' and are solely in need of Part III (thus not needing to purchase the entire story).
If so, please send me an email and I will forward Part III. Include in your missive the final sentence of Part II.
Sunday, June 24, 2018
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
Monthly specials
Monthly specials
To revive interest in some of my older stories I am going to run monthly specials, temporarily lowering the price.
I’ll start with ‘Billie and Mary, A Love Story’.
http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/billie-and-mary-a-love-story/ebook/product-18595382.html
Former price, $6.99 now available through July 4 at $2.25.
This is a pony boy story, Female Dominant, male submissive and written so many years ago that I cannot remember much else.
Enjoy
CB
To revive interest in some of my older stories I am going to run monthly specials, temporarily lowering the price.
I’ll start with ‘Billie and Mary, A Love Story’.
http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/billie-and-mary-a-love-story/ebook/product-18595382.html
Former price, $6.99 now available through July 4 at $2.25.
This is a pony boy story, Female Dominant, male submissive and written so many years ago that I cannot remember much else.
Enjoy
CB
Saturday, June 16, 2018
A Castration Tale - The Complete Story
Some announcements....
I have completed the three part story of A Castration Tale, publishing the narrative on Lulu as 'A Castration Tale - The Complete Story'. Available for $9.00, 51,500 words.
A snippet from Part Three...
****************************************************************
It is day’s end. The neutered males of Mogadashy have labored since dawn in the lush fields irrigated by the melting snow of the mountain. Hands freed for cultivating the soil under the exacting tutelage of sjambok bearing women, they will return to the village shackled, ending the need for close supervision and admonishing strokes of thick leather.
But there is also the need for urination, the uncircumcised male appendages locked through infibulation. Though spontaneous bladder relief is possible, it is sloppy and thus forbidden without feminine guidance.
There is also the need for cleansing and what is termed ‘inspection’.
The males are aligned at the entrance to the village. On a table dozens of wrist shackles await, a young girl... feminine governance ingrained early on in Mogadashy... one by one binds the wrists behind the back. For those deemed runners or to be cantankerous, hobbling ankle shackles are no longer needed and are removed.
At the ready is a burly woman wielding a sjambok, resistance, mischief, verbal exchange, not tolerated during inspection and corrected with fierce strokes to the buttocks.
Wrists bound, each laborer proceeds to the next girl, usually prepubescent, where dainty fingers unlock and remove the infibulating clasp. Strolling to a third girl, the foreskin is skinned back and supervised urination is permitted, a young hand directing to bring moisture to the dry clay soil.
Next, it’s to where I kneel in wait, taking the place of the former Village chief, under the auspices of Garuka, well trained in her role as this month’s penis inspector. Miss Mutoni is positioned behind me. With my upturned feet presented on wooden blocks. Falaka bodes for any delay or my lack of enthusiasm in abetting inspection.
Such homophobia! I seethe, but I must comply, broiling in disgust. For working under the hot Africa sun, the foreskin forcibly closed, sweat and smegma are abundant. Orally I cleanse the exposed penis tip... it is a chore most foul!
Plus, with erections forbidden, it is paramount to ascertain who, if any, can harden. Thus Garuka again skins back the foreskin presenting the moist and smelly flaccid organ to my lips. I am to not only cleanse... but offer tender oral caresses. In attempting to bring arousal, Garuka holding the shaft, her free hand slips between the thighs to the perineum, knowingly toying at the ironically sensitive flesh where Miss Greta’s elastrator plundered.
Alas, if she senses the slightest evidence of hardening, a pink ribbon is tied about the penis. This signifies that the neutered male is to be scheduled to ride the plank, bringing more destruction to the offending prostrate gland.
There are dozens who work the fields. And though silenced, I look up into their eyes, judging the glee in having their useless manhoods orally serviced by a Caucasian male.
Gratefully, my newly instilled skill, deeply accommodating phalli of size, is not put to the test... full erections obviated. Still there is the degradation of having to so perform before the bevy of supervising village women.
Ending penis inspection... bladder emptied, penis cleaned, ability to tumefy assessed... a fifth young girl returns the penis to infibulation, threading a lock through the small openings in the foreskin.
Narration completed in relating the events of ‘penis inspection’, I look to see that Miss Uwimbabazi smiles, my description of the many afternoon ordeals amusing.
“It’s good for you, Carson. Greta has talked about your... ah... predilections. You find disgust... think you find disgust... but I think that’s superficial.”
I have completed the three part story of A Castration Tale, publishing the narrative on Lulu as 'A Castration Tale - The Complete Story'. Available for $9.00, 51,500 words.
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/a-tale-of-castration---the-complete-story/23032298
Accordingly I have unpublished the first two Parts 'A Castration Tale' and 'More Tale of Castration'. These parts are now included in this final collection.A snippet from Part Three...
****************************************************************
It is day’s end. The neutered males of Mogadashy have labored since dawn in the lush fields irrigated by the melting snow of the mountain. Hands freed for cultivating the soil under the exacting tutelage of sjambok bearing women, they will return to the village shackled, ending the need for close supervision and admonishing strokes of thick leather.
But there is also the need for urination, the uncircumcised male appendages locked through infibulation. Though spontaneous bladder relief is possible, it is sloppy and thus forbidden without feminine guidance.
There is also the need for cleansing and what is termed ‘inspection’.
The males are aligned at the entrance to the village. On a table dozens of wrist shackles await, a young girl... feminine governance ingrained early on in Mogadashy... one by one binds the wrists behind the back. For those deemed runners or to be cantankerous, hobbling ankle shackles are no longer needed and are removed.
At the ready is a burly woman wielding a sjambok, resistance, mischief, verbal exchange, not tolerated during inspection and corrected with fierce strokes to the buttocks.
Wrists bound, each laborer proceeds to the next girl, usually prepubescent, where dainty fingers unlock and remove the infibulating clasp. Strolling to a third girl, the foreskin is skinned back and supervised urination is permitted, a young hand directing to bring moisture to the dry clay soil.
Next, it’s to where I kneel in wait, taking the place of the former Village chief, under the auspices of Garuka, well trained in her role as this month’s penis inspector. Miss Mutoni is positioned behind me. With my upturned feet presented on wooden blocks. Falaka bodes for any delay or my lack of enthusiasm in abetting inspection.
Such homophobia! I seethe, but I must comply, broiling in disgust. For working under the hot Africa sun, the foreskin forcibly closed, sweat and smegma are abundant. Orally I cleanse the exposed penis tip... it is a chore most foul!
Plus, with erections forbidden, it is paramount to ascertain who, if any, can harden. Thus Garuka again skins back the foreskin presenting the moist and smelly flaccid organ to my lips. I am to not only cleanse... but offer tender oral caresses. In attempting to bring arousal, Garuka holding the shaft, her free hand slips between the thighs to the perineum, knowingly toying at the ironically sensitive flesh where Miss Greta’s elastrator plundered.
Alas, if she senses the slightest evidence of hardening, a pink ribbon is tied about the penis. This signifies that the neutered male is to be scheduled to ride the plank, bringing more destruction to the offending prostrate gland.
There are dozens who work the fields. And though silenced, I look up into their eyes, judging the glee in having their useless manhoods orally serviced by a Caucasian male.
Gratefully, my newly instilled skill, deeply accommodating phalli of size, is not put to the test... full erections obviated. Still there is the degradation of having to so perform before the bevy of supervising village women.
Ending penis inspection... bladder emptied, penis cleaned, ability to tumefy assessed... a fifth young girl returns the penis to infibulation, threading a lock through the small openings in the foreskin.
Narration completed in relating the events of ‘penis inspection’, I look to see that Miss Uwimbabazi smiles, my description of the many afternoon ordeals amusing.
“It’s good for you, Carson. Greta has talked about your... ah... predilections. You find disgust... think you find disgust... but I think that’s superficial.”
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