Wednesday, December 25, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover', Segment Five


Merry Christmas to all.

This will be the last posting from this story.

Enjoy.

CB

******

Nurse Abigail Cole

“Yes, I know you’re upset Mr. Devereau. You’ll learn to eat without them... and you can still masticate food in the back of your mouth. Just won’t be biting into things like apples... or your Master.”

We deal rather harshly with biters here at the Institute. The incisors and bicuspids of patient Michael Devereau have been ground to the gums. With his mouth forced open by the molt gag, the process was rather simple. Amazing how quickly you can make a man edentulous... relatively edentulous... his molars spared.

“First we relieve you of the ability to bite... and now with therapy we’ll relieve you of the inclination to bite. And isn’t it nice of us to remove the gag... after so many days?”

I stay pleasant and smiling, Mr. Devereau emotionally still suffering from the trauma of hours of dental work. Yes, I must manifest the permanent transformation of his oral capabilities, my hand going to his face, one finger then two pressing past his closed lips into a mouth which will forever yield to whatever is to be introduced.

Vulnerability... we like that here at the Institute. I repress a snort of laughter in seeing the look of alarm on his face.

“So now we can talk... though you’ll need to speak slowly until you acclimate to having no front teeth.”

There comes tears, the continuous doses of estrogen strongly affecting the emotions when the male endocrine system is so immersed. Girls blossoming into womanhood learn to control it. Mr. Devereau is not yet there.


“What prompted you to so grievously assault your Master, Mr. Devereau... the man who provided so much for you... taking care of your wife... sexually pleasing her when you’re incapable... blessing her with so many children... permitting you to care for them. Seems blatantly ungrateful... some would say treasonous.”

His brow furrows in thought. I am sure in being held in tight bound isolation for so many days there has been ample opportunity to self analyze... when not in the haze of the sedatives we’ve injected.

“He was going to send me away... and I’d... well... not be able to please... ah... my... ”

“Your wife,” completing his thought as his speech is lisped and strained. “Well, your Master will continue to please her. With more children. A fourth expected soon. I see in your file that you were permitted to observe... while fucking... ah... making love. Is that what upset you... no longer watching the deep penetration your wife needs... that you can’t provide?”

Cruel... mentally stressing. But that is the point. The mind of the subordinate male must yield... be made malleable.

“I... ah... well... there’s more...”

“Yes, you were also permitted to orally cleanse her. Gracious of your Master to allow that. Many alpha males consider the vagina of their bitches... ah... lovers to be sanctuary... a privileged place... to be accessed only by the masculine... the virile. You’re far from that Mr. Devereau... choosing to grow breasts... so long having your penis locked up... female hormones rendering you impotent. Trained to ooze what little male essence you produce rather than spurt like a man. Women can feel it you know, the strong gush of a real man exploding inside them. It’s arousing... thrilling. Your wife needs that... as do many women... to know that their beauty and allure can bring a man to erupt.”

“I... I... have been pleasing her as best I could...” his tone so desperate in defense. “My love and devotion...”

“But your file indicates orally pleasing her to orgasm has been denied for many years... forbidden by your Master.”

More tears flow, for so long the devotion of Michael Devereau evidenced solely by the succinct oral clean up of his Master’s seed. Yet there were other exhibitions.

“You were frequently sent to visit my former colleague... Nurse Reinholdt... well after appointments to Dr. Michelle’s office were deemed unnecessary.”

Yes, it is disingenuous of me to broach the subject. It was under my recommendation that Michael Devereau learned fellatio... to vicariously experience the ecstatic thrill of the manly ejaculation denied to him... feel a firm penis throbbing in his mouth... exploding as a result of his ardent tongue and lips. Still, this is therapy... encouraging him to think about it... formulate thought... offer his words.

“Yes. Miss Greta.”

“Yes, her nom de guerre. She told me she is expensive... training and disciplining husbands and boyfriends. Your Master paid for the visits. Did you object to seeing her?”

“Well... no?”

“Are you grateful to your Master... sending you out to see her. Did you try to look pretty for her? I understand the evenings were not entirely spent at her penthouse.”

“I was... ah... well... I needed to...”

“Suck some cock?” such crass words, but to the point.

“I... needed to get... ah... out.”

“By going to gay clubs and flirting... showing off your womanly charms. Did you... do you... enjoy finding yourself to be attractive... that men wanted you to perform fellatio?”

“I had no choice... it was that or be caned...”

“By Miss Greta?”

“Yes... she’s... she’s...”

“Very firm... stern... exacting? Is that not what you want in a woman... that your wife does not provide? Does not choose to provide?”

“I... I... don’t know.”

“Tell me about the woman who supervised you... at your Master’s mansion.”

“Miss Modena?”

I look to the file, note the name and nod for him to continue.

“Well she’s...”

Saturday, December 21, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover', Segment Four


Michael Devereau

My room... perhaps best termed a chamber... is windowless... the only opening in four plain white walls the entrance door. Lighting is at the behest of a tending nurse, a dimmer switch determining the illumination. Otherwise I am in the dark, left to my thoughts, staring at the ceiling when eyes are opened. And with the intensity of the darkness, there are times when I know not whether they are.

Most times, for going potty... as the deed is childishly referenced... the room light is limited, as with feedings. For daily examinations there is brightness... and I have come to conclude it is to augment the embarrassment as much as to assess my wellness... forced to watch as gloved hands pinch, poke and palpate with license. And of course when the nurse removed my hair... every strand... it seemed that spotlights glowed. I suppose for that I should be grateful for the enhanced vision with the sharpness of the razor and the power of the caustic chemicals applied   

So my existence diminishes to guessing at the timing of the next visit... and the purpose... food, water, potty, examination... a dose of estrogen.

My thoughts wander but always seem to circle back to when I last engaged with Master Edward.... he paying the enormous cost of my stay.

I was tenderly licking his penis... as trained to do on demand... and he was explaining that I was to be sent away... the curiosity of the many children... three with a fourth soon to come... not to be piqued by a nanny with breasts and a penis.

It stunned, having so obeisantly served over the years... that the sacrifice and surrender of both my wife and my self esteem were deemed superfluous. But is that what prompted me to bite... intend to harm my Master... he who provides all? 

Then come to mind the final words I am able to recall after days... weeks?.. of unending bondage... when in the new scheme of things I had the temerity to inquire of my wife Nicole. I found purpose in orally serving her... regularly cleansing her of another man’s seed had become a welcomed ritual... my turn to please.

‘You’re useless to her... but don’t fret... I’ll continue fucking her,’ the words intended to sooth.
Did such spur the extreme reaction?

More comes back to me... my Master’s mention of the regimen of constant pregnancy... that it would continue... without me! My wife... so often accepting... craving another man’s seed... would have her babies nurtured and cared for without me!

For some reason I find a need to talk to Nurse Abbie. In past interaction she has annoyed and irritated with her profound words... at a very young age seeming to know me... know of me... better than myself... with her graduate work in aberrant psychology her demeanor coming across as precocious. For some reason I now find wisdom.

The room door opens. The room alights most dimly. It is unexpected, but I have come to accept that visits are random.

“Well, a new arrival. Fresh meat. And not yet ready to play,” the voice is female, low, husky, the tone pretentious.

Coming into view, smiling wickedly comes a woman in a loose light blue blouse and pleated dark blue skirt... short... not in any manner stylish. She is of age... not old... but certainly not young. She moves to stand at my right side, eyes examining.

“Nicely restrained and gagged. I like a man that way. But the chart on the door says you’re a biter. Naughty boy.”

The right arm extends, a hand going to my face. I cannot move, as always. I helplessly lie as a finger goes to my lips then smooths over my teeth, forcibly exposed by steel.

“I’m Monique. As you can see I’m a patient here as well,” her free hand going to the hem of the short dark blue skirt and momentarily flipping it up.

Sans undergarments, the brief motion offers a glimpse of her sex, pubic hair well trimmed.

“So I need to be careful... for now. But after your dental work we’ll get to know each other much better.”

The finger withdraws. Then comes humiliation of intensity as I undergo examination... not clinical... instead very much intended to embarrass as my breasts are palmed, my ringed penis pushed about, my testicles palpated. The smooth hairlessness seems to thrill, a hand grazing over my freshly shorn scalp.

“So nice big tits... tiny balls... a penis that even if not rendered useless by a chastity ring could not please an elf. And someone decided to make you delightfully smooth, Mr. Michael Devereau. Should I call you Mike? Waggle your tongue if so.”

Curious that my tongue has become a form of communication. I find myself thrusting forth and waggling, fearful of annoying she with unfettered access.
“Good. Been reading your file... all about you.”

She smiles at my look of shock and perplexity.

“Oh yes, all the subordinate males have their total background information available to the women patients... sort of a library for casual reading here. Know you’ve been watching your Master fuck your wife for years... raising their kids... while held in strict chastity. Quite entertaining. But most fascinating is that you’ve been trained to come on command... to the sound of your wife’s voice.”

I wrench against my bonds, arms fruitlessly pulling, the level of agitation intolerable.

Noting the slight motion and twitching muscles, the woman laughs... a finger playfully tapping my nose.

“Want to bite me?” she taunts. “Well the most entertaining stuff were the video tapes, you fucking a piece of rubber... your wife conditioning you to ejaculate... though the file indicates you more leaked onto a plate. And the best... you licking a penis... must suppose it was your Master. Did watching that one really excite you enough to come when your wife commanded?”

I seethe, restrained and gagged I cannot explain that all was forced upon me.

“But the file indicates you’ve sucked a lot of cock over the years. So pleasuring your Master must have come as second nature. You seemed quite attentive to his penis. And so nicely hung. I can understand why your wife takes on bull studs like that. Particularly...”

Her stultifying narration pauses as a hand goes to my pubes, a finger crassly flicking the side of my penis, avoiding the piercing ring while looking into my face. She is pleasant, smiling, torturing me with her words... and enjoying every moment.

“We date here... at the Institute. It’s a euphemism for when a subordinate male is relegated to a woman undergoing therapy.... for a few hours. It’s kind of like immersion treatment... you know... eating so much of a particular candy you become queasy at the sight of it.”

She steps out of sight to a cabinet over my head... where the nurses move when in need of supplies. When she returns I hear a stool being pushed in place, then a length of dark cloth covers my eyes. Seconds later, blinded, I feel cloth enveloping my head. Then my forehead is pressed by smooth, warm flesh and my nose fills with feminine fragrance. I learn of the convenience of the loose skirt... the missing undergarments. For there begins the flow of golden elixir... hot, bitter, salty... flowing unimpeded to my gullet, mouth forced open... gag reflex long restrained.     

 “Yes, your file mentioned this well ingrained talent... so facilely taking a woman’s toilet.”

The warmth retreats, the blinding cloth slipped away. It is used to dab about my lips, unnecessarily tidying... as always, I have neatly imbibed all she offered.

“So after your dental work, we’re going to date, Mike... Mr. Michael Devereau. And you’ll be tasting more and more of me.”

The cloth is tossed away. The woman... Monique... stands where I can best view her as she in turn views me.

“Know you can’t ask... gagged and silenced... but I understand you want to know... why I am here. Well, my husband... my late husband... had a bit of an accident. He choked... on excrement. I trained him to so much enjoy the taste of my wastes that he got carried away. Least that was the conclusion of the coroner. But for the district attorney to agree to drop the case, there was offered a deferred prosecution agreement... undergo therapy here at the Institute and evidence that I was sitting on his face as my husband panicked for oxygen would be quashed.”

She notes my look of fear and horror, stepping forth, a hand going to the steel of my gag, fingers inserting and pinching a tongue with no place to hide. She pulls... vigorously.

“Long, thick and strong. Well exercised. Nicely conditioned. You don’t think the district attorney had reason to insist on the agreement... do you Mike?” smiling in hearing my gurgles of shock.     

Saturday, December 14, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife’s Lover', Segment Three


Michael Devereau

I am bald! And I berate myself for the strong emotional response. A young nurse, cooing supporting words as if I was a wounded child, holds up a mirror.

No hair!

It shocks... but more notably there is grief... unbecoming a man. Remaining completely incapacitated, I am in need of a tissue, and a pretty slim hand tenderly wipes away tears.

“There, there Mr. Devereau... plenty of girls go this way. Makes the morning thing go much quicker... nothing to have to fuss with,” her free hand going to smooth over scalp which for years has been covered in long tresses painstakingly groomed.

Yes, I cry. It is the reaction of a girl, estrogen level peaked. Guess in many respects that is what I have become... being emasculated for years at the mansion of Master Edward.

“I’d like to tell you that it will grow back. But that’s when I will be sent in with more lotion. It’s strong stuff... so guess you should acclimate to... you know... being without a strand of hair... anywhere. The follicles... well... they sort of surrender after a few applications. And there will be plenty of time for more of that.”

The words... intended to comfort... bring more distress. The strength of the depilation lotion need not be explained. After my beautiful long locks where brusquely chopped away, the smell of the applied cream, and moments later the searing heat of my scalp, evidenced its potency.

“Now close your eyes for me like a good girl,” the nurse coos again.

When a hand approaches my face with a razor, I do close my eyes... more in fear than compliance with her request.

My eyebrows... gone! I sob... so much wanting to resist... protest... shout... scream. Alas I cannot, the Segufix restraints remaining, the steel of my molt gag obviating any discernible words. There come only more sobs.

“I’ll get you into your masturbation mittens and you’ll be one step closer to release and getting some exercise... after your dental work. Won’t that be nice?”

With the odorous cream carefully applied to shorn eyebrows, I remain with eyes closed, now feeling the heat at my forehead. Meanwhile the girl works about my right hand, loosening the wrist strap. There comes covering, a thick material, and the sound of a click. Then the strap is again tightened and the same comes to my left hand.

“A little awkward... not being able to use your hands... to masturbate and whatever. But you’ll be fed. And a nurse will provide whatever you need... water... going potty...”

I am about to explain that near impotency has long curtailed any thoughts of masturbation. But... I am gagged.

A moist cloth, my head and eyebrows are swabbed, all remnants of the depilatory lotion removed. My head is returned to the constricting harness. After the young nurse departs, I carefully open my eyes, ironically grateful that she was most diligent in cleansing. I manage a glimpse of my right hand. What is described as a mitten is actually a small pillow covered in ruff canvas. And unlike a mitten, there is no pouch for the thumb. I cannot hold or grasp a thing. And given any degree of inclination, could certainly not joyously stroke myself, inhibiting Prince Albert ring aside.     

I try to calm myself but thoughts of my reflected image continue to distress. I am an alien. Should I somehow gain freedom, escape from where I am held, without hair... eyebrows... I am freakish in appearance. Nurse Abbie suggested I would be made to look vulnerable... and I am... vulnerable to the scornful looks of others.  

Is this standard care for this institution? Or the vengeance of Master Edward?

Then come more thoughts... to be released from the many straps... after my dental work? Both Nurse Abbie and the young grooming nurse have referenced such.

Head shaved, hands rendered useless, there comes more concern in mulling over the referenced  dental work. Mouth forcibly held open, there is no limit to my vulnerability, demonstrated each time a nurse introduces food, water... or anything else for that matter... into my mouth.

Saturday, December 7, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover', Segment Two


Michael Devereau

For how many days have I been so tightly trussed, each time coming out of a fog to have another hypodermic needle thrust into me?

Finally, as things begin to clear up, I try to think about the moments before being strapped down... as I recall kneeling, licking my Master’s penis. This nurse interrupts my reverie.

It is the annoying young receptionist from the office of Dr. Michelle White!  

As my head clears I recall what turned out to be our last encounter... her hands tenderly kneading my breasts as I watched a videotape and my wife commanded me to come. Moments later positioning my filled blue plate... utilized as a prompt for climactic relief... under my face and so exuberantly watching as I licked it clean.

She speaks. I listen, I can do little else being so well bound, some steel contraption in my mouth inhibiting speech. 

I learn the reason for my incarceration is that I bit my Master! And I learn the punishment... penalty... is to endure rehabilitation. To be a guest for a long, long time.

“You seem even more effeminate since I last saw you, Mr. Devereau,” such an angelic face, yet her words come across as so daunting, as I feel her fingers working about my pubes.

It is true. In the many years since the appointments at Dr. Michelle’s office ended... substituted by visits to the professional dominatrix Miss Greta... there came concerted efforts by my wife and my immediate superior, housekeeper Miss Modena, to have me appear as girlish as possible. The ruse was that the growing children would not be confused by my gender... appearing in blouse, skirt, shoulder length hair, and meticulous make up applied by Miss Modena. 

Yet the real reason was to assure the supremacy of the Master of the house... the alpha male... keeping in check my self esteem... better described as any remnants of male pride.

Master enjoyed running his fingers through my long coifed hair as I paid homage by licking his penis, so much enjoying my humiliation. 

The girl... guess I now must think of her as my nurse and care provider... toys with my breasts. Years ago gynecomastia was induced by way of a prescription drug, resulting in enlarged mammary glands. Normally considered an affliction in the male, in the haze of being relegated to household servant... regularly watching my wife’s lover bring my wife to the ecstasy I could not... emotional imbalance resulted in the need to please. To do so in a manner void of masculinity. I willingly decided to grow breasts!

In my lower peripheral vision I see she is aligning a receptacle, fingers carefully prodding my penis. It is free! Unlocked! Ironic that it is the only part of my anatomy that can move.

Carefully avoiding the sharp points of my Prince Albert ring, she makes sibilant sounds encouraging urination. How many mornings did I so perform for Miss Modena, my bathroom visits well supervised? Still I blush... closing my eyes to open myself.

“Good boy. Always please your nurse,” the advisement so condescending. 

“You’ll not be permitted clothing here, Mr. Devereau. That is the rule for our subordinate male patients. So when it’s finally deemed appropriate for you to be free to move about... well... your appearance may be found to be a little... ah... confusing... breasts, long hair and a penis.”

At my Master’s mansion I was clothed... blouse and a tight skirt... cloaking a most effective chastity configuration... penis locked to a guiche piercing at my rectum. But it seems at this institute the evidence of my gender... small turning to tiny with the deluge of estrogen... will be exposed.

Gagged, there is nothing I can say or suggest. Even when wife Nicole denied me clothing at our home, my penis was locked in chastity and not to be fully seen.

“And there will be no make up... and certainly no way to style your hair...”

Deed completed, my nurse steps away, disposing that which I have been long trained to accept from women in need.

She returns, standing over me with a smile. Anywhere else, at another time, it would be a pleasant and charming smile. It brings me to shiver. I am so much at her mercy. 

“So we’ll need to complete the... ah... hairless look. It will make you look... well... vulnerable. We prefer that here.”

With that, a hand goes to my right breast, fingers finding my nipple. She cruelly pinches...  sending a message... vulnerable indeed. 


Wednesday, December 4, 2019

Saturday, November 30, 2019

'Institutionalized by My Wife's Lover', Segment One


Sequel to "To Come on Command' and 'Bringing Up Baby Edward'

Enjoy

CB

*****

Institutionalized by My Wife’s Lover

Copyright 2019

by Chris Bellows

Nurse Abigail Cole

A biter!

In a way I feel much sympathy for the subordinate male who rashly displays contempt for the alpha male. For just as canines are isolated... perhaps put down... when dangerous conduct is exhibited, the contentious behavior of any subordinate male who is expected to orally serve must likewise be addressed. There must be trust in an oral servant... mouth... tongue... lips... never teeth. If not to be trusted then... well... here lies the result.

“Do you remember me, Mr. Devereau?”

Strapped in place, naked of course, harness restraining almost all cranial motion, there can be no nod or shaking of the head. Plus the molt gag cruelly holding open the mouth inhibits speech. Likewise the cuffs and many thick nylon straps restrict even a hand gesture or a wriggle of the toes.

“Waggle your tongue for me if so,” I improvise.

The extensively trained wet pink appendage presses past the steel of the molt gag and obscenely waggles about.

“Good boy. Yes, I’m Abbie... now Nurse Abbie.”

So he recalls. Before becoming a psychiatric nurse at the Institute, I served as receptionist and trainee in the offices of gynecologist Dr. Michelle White. The woman of authority offered services for women who needed to strengthen their relationships... conjugal and otherwise. And that’s where Mr. Devereau and I had significant contact years ago. I must suppose when you fill the bowels of a naked man and bring him to beg for relief... the recollections tend to linger.

“Do you know why you are here?”

There comes a throaty gurgle, no tongue waggle. I must assume that means ‘no’ in my improvised modus of communication.

I nod, pausing to graciously grab a squeeze bottle and hydrate, our latest inductee more of a potted plant in terms of required care. Since years ago I read his dossier when first arriving at the office of Dr. Michelle White... and of course have been updated by his admittance papers... I know he has endured extensive toilet training... able to ingest without the need to swallow. I thus squeeze to bring forth a generous rate of flow, smiling as such disappears without a swallow or a gulp. Maybe he was thirsty, maybe not. Such things are no longer under his purview. He will get what his nurse decides to give him. 

“You bit your Master, Mr. Devereau. The man who has been cuckolding you, giving your wife the pleasure you cannot provide... and bestowing her with so many children. That’s disastrous for an oral servant. It’s ingrained for you to so serve with your mouth, tongue and lips... your life’s role and purpose... and now that is to be forbidden. You’re deemed untrustworthy.”

He’s been held in bondage for many days, much time under sedation. It is my job to evaluate... perhaps there can be rehabilitation. We do that here at the Institute... try to do that. Here we treat dominant women... those who have abused their subordinates... and compliment such by providing treatment for submissive males as well... who have broken the trust of their superiors. It’s kind of a group therapy thing. And until there comes initial evaluation, much precaution must be taken... ala the extensive Segufix restraints within which Mr. Devereau finds himself ensnared, and the cruel molt gag to obviate another bite.
   
“You’re going to be here a long time, Mr. Devereau. I’m sure you’re aware of the financial resources of the man you bit. The Institute is expensive, but his pockets are deep. And as he explained, since he’s not through fucking.... ah... enjoying your wife, it’s best that you be our guest... for a long, long time.”

I can see my blatant words disturb... but so be it. In a way it’s part of the therapy... enduring the agitation brought by the caprice of the governing female... and I will be governing. 

“So let me explain the protocol here. I am your nurse. I will decide on your care... see the white uniform? Well that means I am on the staff... and you are to obey the staff. On occasion you may see... be visited... by other women dressed... well... differently. They are patients here, also undergoing care, evaluation, and possible rehabilitation. You will be obedient to them as well... sort of humor them. Most have done some untoward things with regard to their subordinate husbands or boyfriends... in some cases girlfriends. And to a certain extent that may continue until we...  ah... sort of temper their conduct... ah... things like learning to cane a man in moderation. Some have gotten carried away in the past... that type of thing.”

There comes more gurgling... I hope not a sign of futile resistance. I fear I am overly frightening him. But for biters, sometimes shock therapy is best. They can be the most incorrigible.

“In a few days, we’ll have the dental work done and have you in a nice set of masturbation mittens. Then... no more bondage... not during the day anyway.”

Having watered, it comes to mind that there may be need for bladder release. I arise to obtain a receptacle looking to his uncovered pubes. Penis secured for many years, in being inducted here the small padlock was cut away. When he was hastily extracted from his Master’s mansion, knocked unconscious in being punched before incisors did any lasting damage, his key did not make the journey. Remaining in place is the nasty Prince Albert ring, almost untouchable with the many scabrous points. I know of his extensive estrogen intake over the years... that he is impotent, trained to release... dribble effluent... at his wife’s command. So being locked in chastity won’t be necessary here at the institute. There will be no toying... not by him anyway.

I cannot ignore the breasts which in my younger days I dutifully measured while gynecomastia was induced... cannot avoid smoothing my fingers about the hairless flesh of a pubescent boy, his Master having all follicles lasered away. My touch brings the nipples to crinkle and stand in salute. I smile, Mr. Devereau’s rehabilitation may be quite lengthy. There are too many undergoing therapy who will enjoy his company... and enjoy the attention of reformed oral skills.

Saturday, November 23, 2019

'Bringing Up Baby Edward', Segment Four


This will be the last posted segment from this story.

If you've read 'Bringing Up Baby Edward', consider offering a review on Lulu. 

Otherwise enjoy.

CB

******

An Evening with Edward - Nicole Barnes

“I miss the wine... otherwise what a great dinner,” laboring to exit lover Edward’s Mercedes, baby bump feeling enormous.

Something about being so pregnant that brings an insatiable need for food. We dined at a most expensive restaurant, I ate twice the normal fare. So it’s been a pleasant evening... and pleasant will be changing to pleasurable.

Leaving my car behind, we arrive at Edward’s plush mansion. It’s roomy but not overly large. Since Edward travels extensively he has not indulged in anything outrageous as do most with mega millions. But six bedrooms is more than enough... and he has regularly hinted the space can be filled with me... and little Edward... and little Edwina... and little Jack... and little Bonnie.

He wants me pregnant, constantly, so much enjoying the evidence of his mastery that in his mind I am to show year round. And this notion comes before baby Edward has popped!

Through the front door I waddle. He takes my coat... then my scarf, draping over his arm then extending his hands. I giggle... knowing that he wants my shoes, my dress, my bra, my hideous expandable panties. He wants me naked, my rotund form seeming to excite him as much as my former shapeliness. My shyness in appearing like a sumo wrestler quickly fades with Edward’s lustful gazing. It is gratifying to know I remain attractive to him... seemingly even more.

“No maid. I gave her the night off,” responding to my quizzical look. “You know I like getting as close to little Edward as I can.”    

The gentle words come as I oblige, kicking off my shoes. Edward will take all my things and symbolically stuff such in a closet somewhere. He’s a powerful man and enjoys his power. I will not see clothing again until it is time to depart hours hence. He will remain clothed until it is time... when he decides it is time to fuck me. It’s a teasing exchange of power, and despite my advanced state, expecting in some ten weeks, I feel my juices flow.

Naked, I step to him when he returns from the closet, my clothing stowed. I reach to place my arms about his neck as I let him rub my swollen belly.    

“Did your man finish editing that video tape?”

I nod.

“Dropped it off at the doctor’s office yesterday. I want it to be a surprise. Something more to keep Mike on the edge.”

“And the... ah... images?”

“All cropped out. No facial features. And that nice big cock of yours even looks bigger. Mike will be quite envious... and there’s lots for him to get off on... with all the... you know.”

“He’ll know it’s you?”

I giggle and nod. Such silliness. Mike knows my body most intimately. And in being many months into pregnancy, how many other women with a plump belly are videotaped while having deep penetrative sex. Still, I want to make sure Edward is aware... full disclosure.

“Hardwood... you know the film director... he had me do a voice over... narrating in the background... so to speak. So while all the grunts, groans and moans can be heard... particularly when you bring me to orgasm... you know I kind of shriek... in my most sultry voice I tell how I’m feeling while a nice big bull stud takes me doggie style. Then I tell Mike to be a good boy... obey his nurse... and then at the end command him to come and fill his plate for me. Though Mike has described it more like he’s being bled... sort of oozing... no outright pleasure. He says he experiences nothing more than this calm and comforting feeling as he slowly discharges.”

“And that’s how he... ah... obtains release?”

“Yes. It’s the only way he is ever to obtain release. This afternoon while you and I were having a marvelous meal, Mike’s hormones were being...  rebalanced is the clinical term used. While watching a recording of his wife with her lover... her nicely hung and attentive lover,” embracing and offering a sensuous kiss.

I can feel Edward harden. My cruelty excites. That I so dominant and govern my husband then totally submit to him, acknowledging him as the alpha male in my life, brings gratification. And that in turn leads to my gratification.

Standing naked, having him feel his baby brings an urge... to fuck. And spurs his thoughts... of possession. He wants me... more of me.

“There’s room here,” head gesturing to the second floor

The subject arises again.

“You don’t have to dump your husband, Nickie. There’s a small room off the kitchen... the servants quarters. He can stay there... ready to serve.”

“What about Modena?” I flippantly inquire about the current maid.

“She’ll move to one of the nice big bedrooms, something to better symbolize her authority. And he’ll report to her. She’ll train him. With little Edward running about, there will be additional work... and as things get sorted out... your husband learns his place and his duties... little Edward can have brothers and sisters.”

I giggle, such grandiose plans.

“And when we run out of bedrooms?” teasing his fantasy as I lower to kneel before my god, hands going to his zipper.

“I’ll buy a bigger house.”

Edward stills himself, focusing on the thrill of feeling my fingers work within his undershorts to find his enormous manhood. Such a marvelous cock!

“I have Mike serve in the nude, Edward. You’re not the only one with a penchant for asserting power.”

I find a rapidly engorging phallus, gently guiding it into the room light.

“Modena won’t mind. He remains locked right? Harmless?”

“Yes,” my reply comes as my hands tenderly hold the swelling appendage and I lick the underside. “Always, I will not have it end.”

With my stern words of determination I feel him quiver. This brings a smile, his power yielding to something as meek as a tongue.   

“But it will be a problem as little Edward matures, Nickie... the nudity... and it matters not whether that occurs here or you decline and remain at your house. I don’t want my boy exposed to... shenanigans.”

“He has few clothes... I threw out most. Why don’t you buy him something, Edward... something appropriate for his station. Maybe a uniform... you have Modena in a uniform when you have guests...” planting a thought. “Something cute and frilly. And by the way the shenanigans are necessary for me... a woman of my ilk. And deep within, Mike would not be happy without feminine supervision... strict and exacting feminine supervision. And speaking of shenanigans, when I called Dr. Michelle’s office to suggest he will need a ride home, the receptionist told me that Mike took well to his enema. So... Master Edward... what of shenanigans? I understand you’re paying for his treatments... but really!”

My words rebuke but my tone is playful. Edward smiles... that of a cat having eaten a canary.

“I felt he’d enjoy the humiliation. You’re not the only one with a degree of understanding for the inadequate male. I was assured that it would be done in the most degrading and uncomfortable manner... a thrill for him. Ask him about it later, when he tastes me.”

Edward is well aware of Mike’s clean up duties. And his suggestion heightens my needs as my swishing, teasing tongue has brought him to full stand. I so much need to feel him inside me!

“I want you, Edward, I want you deep... and often,” encouraging the after dinner recreation to begin.

Edward can go two or three times in an evening... but at his age needs respite to reload. So I want to begin... need to begin!

I withdraw my hands and go to all fours, parting my thighs, arching my back, my now softened and plump derriere pointing to the ceiling, replicating the pose in the videotape. He’ll take me here... on the livingroom floor... later in the bedroom.

“Give Mike’s tongue a challenge,” doggie style sex and Edward’s extensive length meaning that my anterior fornix will be deeply splattered with his seed. “And try not to poke baby Edward.”   

Saturday, November 16, 2019

'Bringing Up Baby Edward', Segment Three


Waiting Room Antics - Michael Devereau

“Nurse Reinholdt will drive you home. Your wife called and said she’d be out late. She’s with her lover... the father of her baby.”

Of that I am aware. But for some reason the receptionist, aspiring psychiatric nurse Abbie, takes glee in announcing such to all present in the waiting area.

“Did you enjoy your enema Mr. Devereau? You squirmed quite a bit.”

I’d like to call the pretty young girl a bitch, with a streak of sadism antithetical to her prospective profession. But what would that do?.. other than to extend her joy of tormenting the subordinate male. Besides, as intended, physically I am composed, feeling as weak and docile as a lamb. After a month of chastity and denial I have been permitted to discharge, male juices ebbing from my locked penis onto my blue plate... formerly the prompt for supervised ecstatic eruption. So I merely nod despite the emotional agitation, silence ingrained, and the girl smiles and points to a chair next to a woman waiting to see Dr. Michelle.

“The videotape was amazing. You must know it was your wife... doing that.”

Yes, I do... and I glumly nod, hoping the subject matter, the source of my emotional turmoil, will drop. Trained to come on a woman’s command, tonight such came from a videotape of my wife... and her lover. 

“Nurse Reinholdt will be through in a few minutes,” gladdened the exchange ends.

In seating myself I begin to reach for a magazine. I note Abbie’s hands go to her head, gesturing for me to assume the position of respect mandated while waiting for my masturbation nurse. My hands obediently go to the back of my head. There will be no reading, nothing to divert my thoughts.

“So your wife has a child by another man. I’m told that can be exciting for certain men... men like you,” the woman so casual in inducing conversation by way of my wife’s cuckoldry.

“She’s expecting, yes,” my voice low... possibly interpreted as timid in politely replying but not wishing to extend the conversation. 

Yet the woman must continue.

“So a baby. You have others? Children of your own?”

“Ah... no.”

“So that explains it. Impotent. And every woman strives for motherhood. So it’s destined for your wife to take a lover... and to keep a man like you to assure occasional oral attention... and that there’s a nice comfortable nest for her... her and the baby of course. It’s instinctive. Gracious of her to... ah... arrange appointments for you here.” 

Her words inflame. I am not impotent. And I am not kept. Or am I? And what does the woman know of my oral capabilities... and the degrading yet invigorating appointments?

“You’re not dressed for the weather. Short sleeve shirt, light slacks, no socks. Do you have a jacket or coat? It’s freezing out,” the woman becoming irritatingly maternal... though the change of subject matter is welcomed. 

Dare I tell her that wife Nicole deprives me of such essential covering to assure I don’t stray after my appointment? That what little clothing I have is carefully locked away... controlled... covering granted only while working the yard or required for fulfilling obligations outside the house such as this evening?

I am saved from further embarrassment when Nurse Reinholdt steps into the reception area, donning a heavy coat.

“Come Mr. Devereau. I will take you home... but there’s a stop to make. Your wife has suggested you need special training.”

This spurs more, the woman naturally loquacious.

“Training! A man his age should... ah... by now have the necessary skills to...”

“The subordinate male should always strive for perfection,” Nurse Reinholdt gratefully interrupts. “Even the best tongue work can be improved,” my gratitude quickly turning to chagrin as she reaches to take my hand.

“Come. It’s cold out. I’ll walk you to the car. Stay near me to keep warm.”

Half a head taller, her firm grip evidences her superior strength. And I am to indeed be walked... like a child. The woman smiles as I humbly stand... a knowing smile.

Saturday, November 9, 2019

'Bringing Up Baby Edward', Segment Two


Seeing Nurse Reinholdt - Michael Devereau

Nickie drops me off at the offices of Dr. Michelle White. The monthly appointment is scheduled late in the afternoon so she can have an early dinner with wealthy financier Edward while I undergo treatment. An early dinner is a euphemism for having sex. Formerly such dalliances were late on Friday nights. With her condition, of late, returning home in the wee hours of Saturday morning has been too exhausting. Thus the change in her cuckolding.

And I console myself... at least I am no longer picking up the cost of a lavish meal on a stretched credit card.

I enter the reception area with my appointment card at the ready. In the offices of Dr. Michelle White there is a rule of silence for the subordinate male. Treating me is an extension of her gynecological practice and with the reception area filled with female patients, the doctor considers it to be an affront to have a male even so much as speak in a haven and sanctuary for women.    

So without words I present the card to the young and alluring Abbie whom I have learned is more than a receptionist. She is in graduate school, attaining an advanced degree in aberrant psychology. This explains her enthusiasm on my first appointment months ago in assisting Nurse Reinholdt with my treatment.

The card lists my name, appointment time and date and a code divulging the nature of my treatment. All superfluous since by now Abbie knows me... and the debasing nature of my so termed treatment.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Devereau. Here to be masturbated again,” her voice loud and assertive, announcing to all both my name and the reason for my visit. “Doesn’t seem like a month since I last saw you. Preparation room five please. We’ll want you stripped naked... hands on head... feet parted... facing the door.”

Despite her youth, the words come as commands. With the embarrassment, I hastily nod, eager to get away from the bevy of women... now tittering with the knowledge of my visit.

It’s been explained to wife Nicole that unending chastity has undesirable side effects. Physically the prostate gland can wither... and over time the endocrine system will cease producing the hormones necessary to keep me on the edge... as Dr. Michelle has suggested is the emotional condition in which to have me best condescend to my wife’s needs.

Thus, as young Abbie has suggested, I am to be masturbated... ongoing hormone production stimulated by draining me of the perceived excess.

I go to room five and within seconds bare myself. Clothing is rare these days, naked at all times while serving at home, and with just a loose shirt, slack and shoes... no underwear, socks or belt... the waiting hook in preparation room five accepts my things and I assume the mandated pose in wait.

And I wait... and I wait.

I have come to conclude that the long interval is deliberate, in a way subordinating myself to the imposing nurse without her even being present. And indeed, when I think about what is to happen, the faint, distant joy to be attained contrasted with what wife Nickie describes as her earth shattering orgasms while cuckolding me, my locked penis begins to engorge. These monthly visits are it... in terms of spermatic release... the key to the small padlock long gone... purportedly gone... Nickie professing to have no knowledge of its whereabouts.

As an engineer... former engineer now aspiring nanny... I am fully aware that the lock can be easily cut. But such belligerence would be quickly and easily detected... the resulting punishment not imaginable. And then to what advantage during the short interval while freed? The gruff, scabrous tip of my penis ring makes vaginal penetration impossible... not that Nickie would cede to it. And stroking myself would be possible only wearing a thick rubber glove of some type. Not overly sensuous.

No, cutting the lock would result in some moments of unfulfilling stiffness... otherwise leading to nothing... no ultimate male satiation.  

The door opens, ending my thoughts. Nurse Reinholdt enters... blonde, Teutonic, tall, broad shouldered, imposing as stated. I remain silent, my eyes fancifully able to see beneath her crisp white uniform. The woman has the physique of a well trained athlete... Olympian... her strength such that she could pick me up and toss me about like a rag doll. Thighs honed, arms swelling with muscling, abdominals rippling... Nickie is not the only woman I have been trained to orally serve.

She in turn assesses me, standing arms akimbo, just her glare bringing me to bashfully blush in my nakedness. Finally she steps forth. An arm extends, the right hand going to my chest. A finger diddles with my left nipple then right. Such obediently crinkle in response to her bold touch.

“I can always tell when a man needs my attention, Mr. Devereau. The nipples... they sit up and beg for me,” the German accent so authoritative.

They do, turning to pebbles, the abundance of hormones bringing heightened sensitivity.

“A series of enemas first, Mr. Devereau... soapy with a few cold water rinses... a nice thorough cleansing. It will relax you... and you’ll not soil my glove.”

My mouth opens... I search for words of protest... the humiliation, the discomfort too much. My words are cut off, the finger going to my lips to hush.

“Say nothing... your benefactor insists. And Abbie will supervise... it’s not a task for senior medical staff,” her directive coming as she points to previously unused corner of the austere room.

There is a tiled area, well drained, plumbing fixtures beckoning those who are to endure a high colonic. 

“On all fours, buttocks to the door... and wait.”

I comply, cursing my benefactor. He is Edward... my mind picturing him at this time with my wife, enjoying a glass of wine before they fuck... doggie style... while my bowels fill... and fill... and fill.

Wednesday, November 6, 2019

'Bringing Up Baby Edward', published

I have published the referenced story, sequel to 'To Come on Command'.

21,600 words, $5.50.

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/bringing-up-baby-edward/25513186



Saturday, November 2, 2019

'Bringing Up Baby Edward', Segment One


Bringing Up Baby Edward

(Sequel to 'To Come on Command')

Copyright 2019

by Chris Bellows

My New Life - Michael Devereau

“Is it safe? You know... ah... having...”

“Having sex, Mike? Of course it’s safe. Dr. Michelle says it’s fine. Just have to find a comfortable position. I’m not going to deny pleasure to the father of my child... not like I do you.”

I kneel in nakedness, wrists cuffed behind my back, tummy pressing the top of my so termed fucking box... a misnomer at this point. I have not copulated with the squishy rubber cylinder cleverly wedged into the glory hole in many, many months. Instead, wife Nicole, 6 months pregnant and showing, sits back in a kitchen chair, knees parted, mons presented, heels in the brackets to the left and right of my head.

She has been earlier this evening with her lover Edward and it is clean up time, her quim filled with essence. She smiles, she needlessly points. For I know what is expected. I know of its consistency... I know of its taste. Plus since the weight of baby Edward... yes, it is definitely a boy... presses on her bladder there comes special timeliness in my oral efforts... not only cleansing, bringing the mild yet pleasant orgasms of endless cunnilingus... but graciously accepting her excretions as well. And indeed, as I crane my neck, purse my lips and extend my tongue to begin my task, her growing belly presses to my forehead. I can feel baby Edward... sired by another man... to be gestated in my wife’s womb... as my tongue is permitted to gently lave where another man’s penis has plundered.

Such subjugation... such humiliation!

Nicole has in the past explained that after an evening of exhilarating copulation, having to yield to the potent phallus of the alpha male, there is particular joy with a contrasting sense of vanquishment... the oral servitude of the subordinate male. 

So I lick, taking in an initial sample. The scent, the thickness, the salty bitterness tells me it has indeed been lover Edward.

“In my condition, for sex you just have to find the right position, Mike. I used to ride Edward’s ten inches... cowgirl... reverse cowgirl. But with the added weight of baby Edward, it’s now doggie style. He grasps my breasts and squeezes delightfully. But... you know... even that will have to change when I begin to let down.”

Nicole reveres in discussing details of her trysts. Since I remain... my penis remains... under lock and key, there is some theory expounded by gynecologist Dr. Michelle White that the explicit verbiage keeps me on the edge... frustrated... and that in turn keeps the beta male eager to please. And as I feel my entrapped penis begin to stir, twinges evidencing a degree of arousal, perhaps there is validity to the theory. For with my Prince Albert piercing firmly locked to a guiche piercing penetrating my anus, attempting to stiffen can only bring pain. And despite the many months of enduring the chastity configuration, the reaction is consistent. I tell myself it is because I enjoy knowing that Nickie is happy... learning of her achieving the satiation and ecstasy that I cannot provide. But I have been counseled otherwise... that it is a reaction of capitulation and my joy in so doing... knowing that my wife is the conquest of a better man.   

As my tongue assiduously laps and swirls, gathering evidence of the evening’s sex, I cannot dispute the point. I desperately want to please... just as has lover Edward.

Am I besting my rival? As Nicole squeezes off the first of what I hope will be many orgasms, I convince myself that is the case. It cannot be that I am kept around just as a prospective nanny for baby Edward!

Of late, I have been consoling myself with the simplicity of my new life. Forced to quit my job, I have no income stream. But neither have I any financial responsibilities. Master Edward pays the bills. My role for now is to cook... when Nickie has not a date... clean house, do laundry, yard work and take classes on infant care.

To assure I attend the latter, Nickie drives me to the course... my car sold and my driver’s license surrendered months ago. Rather needless supervision, for with no money, no credit cards, it’s not like I can sneak away from class and take in a ball game over a brew.

No, I attend, telling myself that it is Nickie’s child... and in adoring Nickie I will learn to care for and adore baby Edward.

There come gasps, a second orgasm. Pleasing her brings stronger attempts for my penis to stand. It hurts... ironic that there come groans of suffering to join her breaths of delight.

In being experienced with the cream pie clean up, I am reasonably assured that all has been ingested. I thus slightly shift my efforts, the divine clitoris, swollen and inviting, becoming a target for my nimble tongue.

When there comes another gasp, I glow with pride. But then baby Edward brings need.

“Oh Mike, I need to... and I no longer drink any wine. It’s... you know... so annoying...” Nickie more than hinting at the next use of my oral prowess. She smiles coyly as I again shift to find her urethral opening... pursing my lips, prepared to open my gullet. There will be no need for her to slow her flow, for with all the oral training the gag reflex and thus the impulse to swallow has been suppressed. Her excretions will go neatly unimpeded. I become a sewer... her toilet. She at times challenges my proficiency by pressing to gush. I triumphantly consume all she offers.

“I’d like to have Edward... your Master Edward... see how attentive you’ve become, Mike. You know in paying all the bills, he needs to know you have purpose.”

The notion disturbs. I suppose it is anomalous that I have not yet met the man... despite his considerable support. Nickie has strongly hinted that such will happen before baby Edward arrives. But I have deliberately avoided the encounter... as best I can. For Nickie has described the protocol for the meeting... I must presume adhering to Dr. Michelle’s theory that the subordinate male best be kept on the edge. For Nickie insists with the introduction that I will kneel in my nakedness, open his zipper and with joy lick the penis of my Master while thanking him for the opportunity to care for his son. 

There will be no joy. Instead her flippant words bring a froth of homophobia.

“How is your training going... with Nurse Reinholdt?”

Again, more thoughts to keep me on the edge, the query coming as her bladder drains. Such stifles the moment of pride in so neatly taking all she offers.

“Ah... ok,” my few words coming as I prepare to assure neatness, tongue now working to purge any droplets.

Nickie immediately picks up on the succinctness of my response, raising her ankles from the brackets, lying further back and resting her feet and calves on my back, thighs pressing on my shoulders. There comes into view, beneath a portal licked to spotlessness, not a droplet to evidence the evening’s steamy sex, the rosebud of her sphincter.

“Purpose, Mike. You need to have purpose. And after I give birth I’m told I’ll elsewhere be too sore for the fine efforts of your tongue... for a few days.”

Will she miss the physical pleasure of my tongue and lips there... or the psychic joy in mentally and emotionally dominating the beta male?

“So... more of your talent...”

Analingus. It disgusts. It revolts. But I am being trained... being conditioned. And I tell myself... there was also a time when I found orally servicing my wife after one of her trysts to be equally distressing. That has passed. I must accept that this reservation will pass as well.

“Do it, Mike... you have much to lose,” her voice firming. “Master Edward can just as easily hire a real nanny. Then where will you be?”

I try, a brief lick. I find I cannot bring myself to penetrate with my tongue. I’d so much like to again hear the sound of Nickie’s sighs. Yet the evanescent lick is all I can muster.

“It’s nice, Mike, but I’ll be wanting more than that. I will have to inform Nurse Reinholdt of your continuing reluctance. More enthusiasm... it will come... I’ve been assured.”    

Saturday, October 26, 2019

'To Come on Command', Segment Six


This is the last posting from this story. Not sure what's next

CB

*****


Just Another Date - Nicole Barnes

“So your husband... he truly does not mind?”

Todd is a sweet graduate student. Though a stud, very forceful with his penetrating thrusts, he’s otherwise rather naive. I sort of like that in a man... very manageable.

“It does not matter whether he minds or not. I never really asked.”

“So you just go... ah... out?”

“Of course. You beginning to find objection... some concern?”

“Ah... well... ah... just curious I guess.”

“Michael has a role. We all have roles. His is to provide. He works. He pays the bills. And I let him... guess you would say glow in my presence.”

“Just glow? No...”

“No sex,” finishing his bashfully fumbled query. “But he jerks off. Least he used to jerk off... and more than I ever imagined.”

Blunt, crass, but I like stunning my boy toy.

“Finish your wine. You know... the hotel...” our meal completed.

With my weekly trysts, I have made arrangements, utilizing a plush room at the local hotel. No hot sheet motel for me. The deal is... room half price... but to vacate before midnight when some airline crews from the airport need to bunk overnight. Technically the airline pays for the room all night. Thus the manager charges little. And he gets to fuck from time to time... me.

Husband Michael makes a good living and pays the half price for the room. I like it when he sees the charges on his credit card. It drives home the relationship. But there’s no point in impoverishing him. More money to be spent on my dinners. Some of my boys... like Todd... can’t afford my tastes.  

So wine sloshed, it’s to my car, the drive short.

“Used to jerk off?” Todd’s curiosity piqued.

Our talk continues as the car whisks the few blocks.

“I stopped it.”

“So he...”

“He’s kept in chastity. Locked up. Lots of wives insist on it. And overall, it’s for the best. As I said my husband basks in my presence. Well in time he will radiate... his devotion to me strengthening day by day. Think of it as a coal oven, Todd. You can lengthen and even increase the smoldering heat by controlling the flow of oxygen.”

“But you can put the fire out too... with no oxygen.”

I reach with my free hand, unzipping Todd. Ten or more years his senior, I know he feels a decadent thrill in sensing the brazen touch of an older woman.

“Exactly, Todd. You’re so astute. That’s why I’ll control the oxygen at my whim, but not cut it off... and the inferno will not extinguish. It will blaze.”

I want him nice and hard going through the lobby. And indeed his penis springs to life. Are my words found to be arousing?

Exiting the car his firmness will assure that there will be no dawdling. Plus it amuses the young woman bestowing the room key, Todd never able to fully cloak his tumescence. 

Saturday, October 19, 2019

'To Come on Command' published


I have published the referenced story. 31,400 words, $6.55

Available at...
 

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/to-come-on-command/25401716


Enjoy,

CB

'To Come on Command', Segment Five


Desire - Devotion - Michael Devereau

Wow! Nickie looks good! I want her... so much want to please her. But then I remember... I am locked up. Plus she has a date... with an alpha male.

Left alone, Nickie dating, these are the times when in the past I have consoled myself with self gratification. The soreness of the doctor’s piercings has waned and the hormones are building with the days of chastity. And indeed I find myself toying down there, hearing Nickie backing down the driveway, knowing that there will be wine, dinner... with Todd.... Todd and his nine inches. He will seduce her. And she will make it easy for him. Much easier than with me. 

A finger caresses, hand reaching well between my thighs to work about my penis tip. I must be careful concerning the Prince Albert piercing. Scabrous at the tip as stated, it is fiendish in design. For if I were to somehow free myself, pick the lock, I still could not fully grasp and gleefully stroke. The rough tip of the metal loop would tear the flesh from my palm.

I adore my wife, so often pumping away in envisioning her beauty. Her intelligence, even her independence attracts. Yes, when she utilizes her independence to fuck other men, even that seems to bring attraction. Her dating has been a curious catalyst for masturbation... past masturbation. That has ended with a doctor’s visit.

So in my loneliness I reflect on recent events... the piercings... the humiliation of submitting to the harridan Dr. Michelle. But then I think of the cylinder of soft rubber... first my wife Nickie’s finger fucking it... than lubricating my finger so I could give the thing a few sensuous strokes as well.

It brought a strange thrill... odd arousal. It was shameful. But worse, Nickie knew of my reaction... read my thoughts.

‘You’re going to fuck it for me... when I decide.’

Why is it the words caused my entrapped penis to stir? Because I’d be permitted climactic relief? Or because I would do so at Nickie’s whim. And when I think of her descriptive words... that she will be holding it for me while videotaping, I wince as I feel my Prince Albert ring tugging against the guiche, painfully trying to harden.

More humiliation... permitted to get myself off like that! Yet the notion excites.

Left with nothing more than my idle hand and pensive thoughts, for some reason I take off my clothes. I convince myself it is because I have not yet become fully accustomed to the metal between my thighs... the rings and small padlock abrading the skin... particularly when wearing tight underwear.

But is that the reason? Or do I want to feel more compliant... submissive as when lying at the doctor’s office... baring myself at the caprice of governing women... my adored wife firmly yet gently holding me to exhibit all.

Nickie’s been dating for how long? I challenge my memory, in a way bringing my mind to other thoughts. It’s become a weekly thing... sometimes more often. And I know upon return, when she joins me in bed, I will offer her the joy of my oral prowess. And she will snicker... and she will decline... explaining that things are a little sloppy down there... filled with another man’s seed.

I recall early on, suggesting in exasperation that a quick douche would suffice.

‘It was Edward tonight, darling. Quick won’t do it... he spent so deeply... and besides, I like the feel of him inside me... the seed of a real man.’

I turned over and seethed. But as I tried to lull myself to sleep, I realized that adrenaline was flowing. The adrenaline of loathing and disgust? Or the adrenaline of sexual excitement? 

I too much adore Nickie to demand she cease her couplings. I have not the heart to deny her the pleasure and delight she seeks... she wants... she needs... which I cannot offer.

It’s... it’s... just that... well what of me? What of my needs?

It seems such are to addressed with a locked penis and a cone of rubber.

I decide to go to bed early. And I decide to remain without clothing. Yet when I climb between the covers I realize why Nickie has me wear a silly soft leather thong. Though locked in place the Prince Albert Ring tends to move about, the tip scraping my thighs... and worse possibly tearing the sheets.

I arise, I don the special garb. I pray there will be no nocturnal penile tumescence.


Saturday, October 12, 2019

'To Come on Command', Segment Four


The New Paradigm Begins - Nicole Barnes

“Found this on the internet,” holding up a cylinder of squishy pink rubber. “As you can see there’s a hole through the middle,” inserting a finger and thrusting it inward. “It replicates a vagina. I purchased the model with the smallest hole. Though it still may not be tight enough for you.”

One must always keep the beta male down, so recommended my friend Dr. Michelle.

Mike nods. I hand it to him. Whatever is the substance, it’s gelatinous but durable, able to stretch to accept my intruding finger and return to shape when I withdraw.

Mike looks at me quizzically but I can tell the rubbery smoothness brings thoughts.

“Yes, Mike, you’re going to fuck it for me... when I decide.”

It’s been four days since his piercings. Remaining under lock and key has not been too mentally frustrating for him... with the soreness not much desire to stroke himself. But there is healing, and in a day or two thoughts of furtively jerking off will return. I want to plant a seed as to the circumstances I will permit it.

“Some lube, Mike. Finger fuck it for me. Sensually, pretend it’s a pussy.”

Yes the unique substance turns to amazingly slick smoothness with just a drop of viscous fluid. When I lean and anoint his finger with a tiny rivulet of mineral oil, I’m amused to see Mike go to work, finger inserting, glaring fixedly, repressing a libidinous smile as he senses his tiny penis within the tight smoothness of the cylinder, I know imagining that it is his free penis and not a finger thrusting in and out.  

“It’s... it’s...”

“Disgustingly sensuous,” completing his thought. “And you’ll be using more than your finger... when I say so... and how. You’re going to strip naked for me, I’m going to hold it for you, and you’re going to fuck it for me while I videotape your depravity.”

“No, I won’t do that.”

He pauses then meekly inquires.

“What will you do with the recording?”

“Whatever I want. Remember Mike, new paradigm... enforced by she with the key,” holding up the sliver of metal required to emancipate his inadequate appendage.

I reach and retrieve the faux vagina.

“Fun time over. Do give it some thought,” my advisement superfluous in knowing he will soon be dreaming of getting off... if not already suffering from nocturnal penile tumescence.

“Got a date... with Todd. He’s only nine inches... but he uses it so well.”

Dressed to the nines, I stand knowing Mike will watch in admiration as I depart.

“Play all you want,” nodding to his privates.

Yes, the method of chastity is wickedly tempting. Mike can touch and play to his heart’s content. But that will just bring torture... a form of self flagellation.

“How do I get unlocked?”

“Yield and obey,” the succinct reply coming as I step out the door.

Saturday, October 5, 2019

'To Come on Command', Segment Three


Visiting an Alpha Woman - Michael Devereau

I’ve learned the lingo... that the so termed bulls that Nickie dates are alpha males. And as I lie on my side, naked on a padded examination table covered with an antiseptically clean white sheet, I must suppose Dr. Michelle White is an alpha female.

Haughty, no nonsense, apparent disdain for men, as a gynecologist it seems for the fairer gender she dispenses more than medical care but advice as well.

“Yes, they all masturbate... and most to excess. So it’s for the best.”

The doctor and wife Nickie talk as if I am not present. I am a thing... an object to be examined and discussed. And for some reason my nakedness in the presence of two regal fully clad women brings arousal. I am shamefully hardening. And the more this Dr. Michelle looks at me the firmer I become.  

“He’s been circumcised high and tight,” she notes. “Not much foreskin to work with... but that doesn’t mean there is lack of pleasure in stroking the penis,” such clinical observation. “And I do believe he’d be indecorously wanking now given some lubricant.”

“You see the problem, Michelle,” Nickie pointing, her words bringing further stiffness. “You’re drooling Mike, stop it.”

I am, pre ejaculatory fluid streaming.

“Well, after I’ve done him, you’re going to either accept the messiness or have him jerk off for you... which would counter our intention,” Dr. Michelle advises.

“I’ll keep him drained... initially,” my wife’s words bringing contrasting thoughts.

“So let’s got started. Just some piercings, Mr. Devereau. Pin pricks,” the doctor holding forth a frighteningly long and curved needle. “Nicole can you bend back his right leg and hold his knee high and well out of the way for me?”

Nickie steps to the opposite side, gently grasps my right ankle and pulls to bring it to my right cheek. In awe, overwhelmed but the scenario and the verbal input, I meekly yield to her.

“Now lift Nicole. I’ll need access to his privates... obviously. Part his thighs as widely as possible. And be a good boy for me, Mr. Devereau,” the latter words coming with a forced smile of professional politeness.

I’m a good boy, finding myself lifting to assist, sensing the cool room air waft over my scrotum and anus.

And it begins... the beginning of the new paradigm. I am to be placed in chastity... penis under lock and key. And my wife has concurred with the imposing Dr. Michelle in deciding to do so in a very tantalizing and tempting manner. For there will be no clumsy device, no steel or plastic covering. I will be able to touch myself at any time. I will play and toy. My manhood just won’t stand without my wife’s consent.

A guiche piercing at my perineum, the piercing needle exiting within my rectum. In inserting a thickly gauged ring of steel through the opening, I will constantly feel something abrading a most intimate part of my anatomy.

It hurts, but for some reason I further harden. Dr. Michelle of course taking note, again speaking as if tending to an object...

“You may consider occasionally applying pain, Nickie. If you love him, give him what he seems to crave,” her smirk most irritating.

But then my priapic response is to end.

A Prince Albert piercing, horribly deep, the penetrating needle entering my urethral opening and exiting the underside of my penis well down the shaft with agony.

I deflated, the women laughing with my timid squeal.

“The ring will take quite a bit of tension the way I pierced him,” the doctor advises holding up not a circle but an equally thick ellipse of matching stainless steel. “Deep. If it ever does tear away he’ll lose most of his little thing.”

Just as distressing as the weightiness, part of the surface of the ellipse, at the penis tip, is scabrous. I judge that brushing with a finger may cause injury!

“You’ll probably need to buy a leather thong for him. This will tear up any tight fitting underwear,” the words coming as gloved fingers carefully insert the open ellipse into my urethral opening and out the piercing some two inches down the shaft.

The ring and ellipse closed and soldered for permanence, more advice comes.

“My husband was a chronic masturbator. And clever... and deceitful. Nothing seemed to work... until I castrated him. Now his attention is better focused,” Dr. Michelle lectures.

“Castrated?” my wife so nonchalantly prompts for more.

“Oh, yes. It’s the ultimate cure. And I’ve countered his deceit with some of my own. The injections I give him which he thinks are testosterone are actually a mix of prolactin and estrogen. I feel like a farmer fattening a hog. He’s not only nicely plumping for me but growing breasts as well. He does not understand why. Someday I’ll tell him... after the physical change is no longer reversible.”

“Did you hear that, Mike? Perhaps I’m being lenient with you... and that can easily end with any disobedience.”

Nickie’s warning comes as the doctor hands her a small padlock.

“He’s flaccid. No ice needed. It’s symbolic that you do the honors.”

Nickie does. Stepping forth my wife is surprisingly nimble in looping a finger into the Prince Albert ellipse, utilizing it to draw back my penis toward my anus and locking together my two steel piercings.

“The tip of the ring has some sharpness... by design. So he’ll walk a little funny for the next few days until he adapts. It’s always amusing to learn how they explain loping about to their colleagues.”

The women step back, standing shoulder to shoulder assessing.

“Why don’t I take some measurements for you Nicole... in case you want some... other trinkets.”

My wife nods.

“Ok, Mr. Devereau. Up on all fours... like a little doggie.”

For some reason I cede to the woman who so callously used my anatomy as a pin cushion assuming the position, one again becoming an object to be poked, prodded and discussed.

“He’s not much of a specimen,” the doctor notes as calipers gauge various body parts... wrists, ankles, neck, testicles. 

Saturday, September 28, 2019

'To Come on Command', Segment Two


Confessing to Me - Nicole Barnes

“If you need to wank yourself, doing it so often is going to diminish the returns, Mike. In time that means your proclaimed devotion to me will wane. I’ll become a constant afterthought. I’ll not have that.”

I’m firm with my tone. It’s not a suggestion. And Mike knows... it’s a demand.

“I... well... you have your thing...”

He hints at my dating... ‘my thing’. He accepts but he does not. He needs to acclimate. And I in turn would feel better if he not only fully accepted ‘my thing’ but embraced it, that the devotion he claims to have is transformed to devotion for my needs... and those of my lovers.

“Women are equipped differently, Mike. I can have countless orgasms... with the right man. And I do, by the way. And that won’t put me in a state of lassitude. Look at you! You’re probably too tired to cut the lawn. Suppose I did want to have sex with you...  right now.”

I’m not a selfish woman. But I have learned at age 35 that a woman must take care of her own desires and not rely on the male. Flowers and jewelry tend to come only when male needs require address... not when the woman desires attention.

So I sip coffee in thought. Mike needs to get off.... I need to get off... and though deep penetration from one of my bulls seems to be a weekly thing, perhaps Mike’s inadequacies can serve a purpose when I’m not riding ten inch cock. But he needs to learn his place... be put in his place probably the better wording.

“You’re weak, Mike. And not only physically. You need to be led. You want to be led. Your so termed fantasies of devotion to me... rather a vague image in turns of bringing yourself to eruption. A man does not spurt on thoughts of devotion.”

He nods. He realizes by now that I too much know the male libido.

“So... more... how is it you’re visualizing your devotion while stroking away.” 

He pauses in thought... then he downloads for me. Describing his imagined fervent oral caresses brings to me a smile. He pridefully brings me orgasm after orgasm as his untiring fantasy tongue and lips work and work. And my smile is not because I can picture his oral caresses, feel his mouth as he spews the libidinous words... but because he’s not good in that department either.

If I were to ask him bluntly, he’d claim his pathetic four inch penis to be a feared serpent.

Alas... the male ego.    

“I’ll need to lead, Mike. There will no longer be unsupervised masturbation.”

He looks at me glumly, but I know he’s already considering how and where he’s going to cheat. And when I say I’m going to supervise, it will not be because I’m following him around the house, visiting him in his office.

“We’re going to visit Dr. Michelle.”

“She’s a bitch!”

“Yes, that’s why we’re going to make an appointment.”

Saturday, September 21, 2019

'To Come on Command', Segment One


New story. Unfinished, therefore I am not sure how far this will go.

Enjoy.

CB

*****

To Come on Command

Copyright 2019

by Chris Bellows

Prologue - Nicole Barnes

I’m not sure which came first with regard to sex and my husband... his preference for masturbation or my preference for sex with multiple partners. Yes multiple partners and often, yet seemingly never often enough. But before making judgements, reader, I should add that husband Mike’s preference... though the frequency thereof initially unknown... was notable as well. The occasions well concealed until one day having an emergency use for the bathroom.   

Caught him in flagrante delicto... the translation to English most apropos... hand afire.

Seeing him sitting on the toilet, the tip of that modest nearly inadequate erection squeezed to purple within the tight grip of a hand slathered in lotion, that sheepish face, fumbling for words, brought the need for a new paradigm.

“We need to talk, Mike.”

I exited, rushing to use the bathroom in the guest bedroom instead.

No wonder I needed partners... well endowed partners, eager, not so much fawning but attentive. And on that Saturday morning, after tending to my emergency needs and letting him finish getting off, it became time for a rational and calm discussion over coffee... rational for me... calm for him, having squirted any excess testosterone into the toilet bowl.

“Things need to change, Mike. What is it you think about when engaging in self gratification?”

Prologue - Michael Devereau

Okay, all guys do it, reader. Don’t be too quick to make judgements. Yet getting caught at the point of no return so to speak, is embarrassing. Beneath the chagrin, there was odd relief when Nickie simply uttered those four all too significant words... ‘we need to talk’... and shut the door to let me finish myself. 

But later came the talk... probably better termed a cross examination. 

Well, just as all guys do it, all guys have fantasies abetting the process. And I find myself at the kitchen table, physically basking in the release, but in emotional turmoil as wife Nicole Barnes proves to be quite the inquisitor... Miss Torquemada?

I have always considered my fantasies to be just that... mine. Yet with Nickie being empowered in discovering what has become a regular diversion, I cede, tending to appease, not wishing to extend the morning irritation.   

So we talk... guess I talk... Nickie listens. The frequency of my secretive couplings... hand and penis... appall. But as more of her questions are answered and it all comes out... she becomes more serene in learning that my love and devotion to her combined with my inability to adequately perform and please... has led to furtive self pleasure... guilt but pleasure all the same

My fantasy... while bringing myself to ultimate climax... is her... pleasing her. Guess it’s most  appropriately described as... doing so as best I can.

With my explanation, she smirks. Am I believed? Is a guy ever to know? 

Further chagrin comes when she acknowledges... that yes I am inadequate. Worse, the acknowledgment comes with a haughty laugh... wicked snicker?

“Yes, we’re definitely going to change things, Mike.”

I put aside my own questions... all relating to Nickie’s infidelity... strangely acceptable in knowing that such brings her own gratification... and that’s what I want as well... gratification... though mine comes vicariously.

Wife Nicole terms it a new paradigm. It becomes my turn to listen

Saturday, September 14, 2019

Snippet Three, 'Semester Break at the Family Farm'


This will be the last snippet from 'Semester Break'.

Danielle Jackson

I have a boy friend! With Todd’s ‘scholarship’, the improved family financial condition has permitted me and Jackie to go into town... only on weekends of course. We actually have some spending money now!

So sometime back in October while Jackie and I mingled at a local pub, listening to a small-town group playing country music, we suddenly had a round of drinks pushed in front of us. A guy by the name of ‘Prince’ the bartender explained. Jackie and I looked down the bar and there was a relatively good looking guy, older in his mid thirties, arm extending to hold forth his beer, nodding to us in greeting.

Somewhat forward, but having passed age thirty a while back, a girl can’t become overly prickly about a boy’s attention. So I nodded back, silently thanking and concurring, and of course he moved to our end of the bar and joined us.

Conversation ensued, strained over the music. But there seemed to be chemistry. And when Prince sort of hinted that he swung both ways, quite unusual for midwest farm country, Jackie’s attention went more to the music, politely listening, while I became more and more intrigued.

Guess I’m not as possessive as other girls. For the notion did not faze me that, if Prince and I were to become friendly and socialize, I would not be Prince’s sole outlet for companionship.

And in my mind, concerns over any potential social maladies due to Prince’s swinging sex life were moot. For I only envisioned that nice face pressed between my thighs, ears grasped, tongue and lips adoring where tongue and lips can do a girl the most good. And as we talked and became more familiar, such an image became stronger. In public, Prince would be all man, the rugged ranch hand he appeared to be. But upon command, at my whim, I realized he’d as energetically please me as he would some guy in a gay bar.

We dated. Much discussion. He liked the idea of an open relationship. I liked the idea of having no pressure to lie back and lift my skirts because some guy was desperate to get off. Vaginal penetration... the thought has never been repugnant... just not my thing.

And better, Prince was more than satisfactory in maintaining the subterfuge. When invited to the farm house for a weekend visit, Mom and Dad were always impressed... so manly!

‘You should find a guy like Prince, Jackie,’ was Mom’s constant rebuke, my sister silently smirking in knowing the truth. 

As December approached, our relationship growing, I was initially apprehensive knowing of Todd’s planned visit. But then I analyzed. Todd is my servant... Jackie’s as well. And when some photos arrived of Todd earning his scholarship... for want of a better way to describe the Phipps Estate antics... there would certainly be no problem securing Todd’s acceptance of my oral lover.

Then I had to alert Prince. There were his days off when he’d visit the farm, Dad out in the pasture, Mom at work, sister Jackie knowing to conveniently remain working in the barn lest my lustful shrieks of oral gratification disturb her. Yes, many libidinous matinees with Prince.

For the four weeks of Todd’s visit, how was I to go without Prince? Of more concern, going without Prince’s tongue and lips? Would I need to allow Todd to cloth himself? And then what, still no cunnilingus!

Guess I’ve become too accustomed, too expectant of having my needs addressed.

So, a sit down with Prince. But more aptly described as pillow talk as I mellowed in bed after countless orgasms, Prince’s tongue indefatigable as always.    

“My brother Todd is coming... from law school... the holiday break.”

“Be nice to meet him. He know about us?”

“No... nothing at all,” my arm lowering, finger tapping Prince’s wet nose then slipping down to lips redolent with the scent of my spendings, hinting that the extent and frequency of his oral prowess is to remain secret.

I affectionately squeeze my thighs about his head in a gesture of thanks. It’s curious the one sided nature of our couplings... and much appreciated. I don’t even have him take off his clothes. It’s neat. No romance, obviously no silly talk, just pure lust and the satiation thereof... my lust.

I’ve read of some women enjoying the zipless fuck... no strings sex... no emotional attachment. I guess for me it’s become the zipless gamahuche. I just lie and absorb pure pleasure.

“He’s... well... special to us. Todd is. Likes to work about the house. Not a brawny farm boy like you.”

Prince nods as I release him from the grip of my thighs.

“So you’ll need to understand... ah... that when you visit, he may be working about the house.”

“So no bedroom visit?”

“I didn’t say that. Just be prepared... you know... for...”

I pause, not finding the words. Then finally summon the mettle...

“We use him more as a maid,” deciding on bluntness. “It’s... well... just what we make him do.”

“Make him?”  

I shrug.

“You’ll see. Just don’t be too surprised. And it will only be for a few weeks until January.”

Prince nods. I begin to untangle, the afterglow fading, the need to rejoin Jackie and labor in the barn beckoning.

“Now, go to the bathroom and do your thing,” my tone calm and soothing, like telling a toddler to brush his teeth. 

“You’ll watch?”

“Oh Prince, you get so creepy. Yes, I’ll watch. But it’s just to make sure you hit the sink.”

Todd masturbates for me... at least that’s his fantasy thing... that he strokes his cock under my auspices. So I quickly slip on my jeans and follow. Standing at the bathroom door, he unzips, his engorged penis popping from his pants. Orally serving excites him. I decide to tease with his level of arousal.

“And I should tell you, Prince. Brother Todd works for me in the nude. I hope that also does not bring concern.” 

Tuesday, September 10, 2019

'Semester Break' published


I have publisher 'Semester Break at the Farm, the Phipps Estate Saga Continues'.

20,300 words, $5.50.

Enjoy.

As posted, if anyone desires a story in paper, please let me know.

CB

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/semester-break-at-the-farm-the-phipps-estate-saga-continues/25151538

Saturday, September 7, 2019

Snippet Two, 'Semester Break at the Farm, the Phipps Estate Saga Continues'


Todd Jackson

I stand before my sisters at the kitchen table. The photo with the anal hook, opening me each and every weekend while being worked by Miss Marsha, has drawn attention.

It’s semester break from Cancadia law school. For the four week interval without classes the cost of the five hour bus ride from Pittsburgh is worthy of the opportunity to see my family. But my ‘in charge’ sisters find it is an opportunity to return me to service as well. And I suppose they have a point. On a family farm everyone works, earning their keep. I am chagrined however to being returned to the duties of household maid. And I am even more chagrined when on the initial morning of my visit after Mom departed for her job and Dad headed out to the far off pastures, sister Danielle just stood arms akimbo in her familiar look of authority as at the stove I began preparing another round of bacon and eggs.

“Photos, Todd,” holding up a small ream of printed paper, evidently from her computer. “Your friend Zoey emailed me. Don’t think you’re in a position to be defiant,” she smirked, I cowered.

I turned, somewhat trembling, her presence always bringing anxiety.

“So... law school or not... you know how we want you.”

I do, putting aside the spatula, I quietly disrobed, sister Jackie sitting at the breakfast table giggling.

“So glum, Todd. But you’d not want it any other way,” Jackie joining in my disparagement.

More chagrin in realizing she is probably correct.

So I stripped, essentially on my sister’s simple suggestion. And I berated myself for sensing that quirky thrill, feeling the twinges, my cock cage veiling my reaction. Having so often served in the past, I was able to return to the focus of preparing breakfast and tending to coffee, but it’s there, the arousal, and I tell myself at least I am not leashed and being spoon fed mush as at the Phipps Estate.

Yet do I miss that?

Message received... that Zoey’s many photos are to be used to extort my abject servitude, there comes a discussion... detailed discussion... concerning every revealing click of the camera... and revealing more than my bound nakedness but the depths of my depravity as well. Does the secretive joy of subjugating myself to the likes of Miss Marsha also surface? 

My sisters are somewhat unknowing... not necessarily naive... concerning many aspects of the needs of the so termed beta male... and the women who revel in assuring such are met. But as photo after photo is presented, and I endure the humiliation of explaining the many facets and protocols of my stay at the Phipps Estate, Danielle and Jackie are not only becoming educated but begin to vicariously share in the revelry.

We come to the many photos snapped while hitched to the cart pulling pumpkins. This fosters much interest And I am commanded to come to the kitchen table, place my hands to the back of my head, and part my feet.

“Details Todd. As depraved as are the pictures of you giving a guy a blow job, these seem more telling. You’re harnessed, bound to a cart. You’ve been whipped. And look at your nipples. These little clamps were used on you, weren’t they?” Jackie pointing to the photo showing nasty little metal implements conveniently attached to the harness straps at the chest. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

“So, knowing of your response to pain... when inflicted by a woman... this afternoon of hauling pumpkins, being whipped and having your little pink nubs squeezed must have been quite exciting for you, Todd,” Danielle notes, her tone of nonchalance telling. “Too bad your little penis is locked up. It so much likes to show off.”

“I... ah... well... suppose... yes.” 

“Would you feel better that way... here... at the farm. We’d not want you to miss... your... well what do you call her?”

“Benefactress.”

“Yes, your very demanding benefactress. And this thing... stuck between your buttocks?” Jackie interjects, seeming enthralled.

“It’s an... well... an anal hook.”

“Anal. So there’s more to it then just the slim rod seen in the picture.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“It penetrates you... judging from its appellation. Slips into your little opening there... just like this blue thing?” Jackie again holding up the close up of me fellating classmate Richmond while being fanny fucked. “And you enjoy it?”

I pause, close my eyes in shame, my sisters asserting so much... so much humiliation. But the twinges become stronger. Then I feel fingers again about my cock cage. I open, I look down, sister Jackie again brazenly examining.

“I have my answer, Danielle. He’s secreting, his little male organs primed... excited... aroused... anticipating something that’s not to happen.” 

“Well Todd, we’ll do our best for you. Need to tighten up some horse harnesses. Jackie have you seen that one for the little donkey we had when we were kids?”

“It’s somewhere... in the barn,” Jackie smiling wickedly. “And I’ll get on the internet. I’m sure anal hooks can be purchased... god knows you can buy everything else.”

“But it’s... it’s winter!” I protest.

“To be run and worked barefoot in the snow. Who’s to complain Todd? Certainly not you.”

Saturday, August 31, 2019

'Semester Break at the Farm, the Phipps Estate Saga Continues'


More of the Phipps Estate saga

Enjoy

CB

*****

Semester Break at the Farm, the Phipps Estate Saga Continues

Copyright 2019

by Chris Bellows

Danielle Jackson

This Zoey Roberts friend of brother Todd is quite the photographer. She has graciously emailed numerous pics... all sordid... all debasing... and all in full color, high definition... visually chronicling Todd’s recreational pursuits... if that is the best term... while not attending law school and studying.

Quite humiliating for him. Yet there is no indication of protest, no resistance, no objection. I suppose I should not be surprised, having him so often strip naked for me and birching him in the barn. For then too there was no protest, resistance, or objection. Instead as puberty progressed into adolescence he would harden for me... me and sister Jackie... after a half hour or so of leisurely applied discipline. We ignored it at the time. But his libidinous reaction was duly noted.

And when months ago his classmate Marsha Devine called me asking that I take some photos of my own, there again came an inkling of things to come. Marsha briefly explained that a wealthy eccentric woman had been providing assistance to her and others with law school... that Todd was a candidate as well. And days later, after Todd called to announce that he was essentially on full scholarship, no longer even having to pay for dormitory and food, ignoring the excitement of being relieved of the burden, the nature of the photos requested of me should have spurred more thought... some questions.

Well now I have some answers... and will have more.

“So Todd, you’ve been doing some farming on your own...” I prompt.

Sister Jackie and I sit about the kitchen table, enjoying morning coffee served by our maid younger brother Todd. He’s naked. Having arisen quite early and likewise served Mom and Dad, the moment they departed.... Mom to a job many miles away... Dad out to the far off pastures... Todd knew to disrobe... no commands necessary... just a simple hint... ‘you know how we want you’.

He’s returned for the semester break in chastity, a very expensive and almost decorative device of shiny steel purchased by his benefactress, the wealthy woman paying tuition, room and board.   

The household duties began for him when he was an unruly teen. Though there’s much daily work to be done... man’s work... in raising sheep, an obstreperous Todd would dally, not focus, let things slacken. Plus in the Spring, when the young rams need to be castrated, a squeamish Todd just couldn’t take to it, a deed in which Jackie and I have reveled. It was decided that he work instead within the house where any slovenliness would not affect the family economics.

Failure to properly feed and water the sheep can be detrimental... particularly in not knowing what tasks have been skipped and when.

With meal preparation, household cleaning, laundry... all tasks assigned to a young Todd... there was the convenience that failure to timely perform all was immediately evident.

When the economics of sheep farming became tougher and tougher, sister Jackie and I replaced the hired help... the girls of the family needing to do man’s work because of Todd’s lack of focus. When such inattention continued, Mom and Dad deemed us... me and Jackie... to be in charge... of supervising the housework... and the discipline needed to assure its timely completion.
  
Yes, Jackie and I were relegated to farm work, annoyed that any opportunity for further education and a normal social life ended. The completion of high school brought the unending drudgery of tending to sheep. This annoyance grew and turned to envy when Todd finally became focused academically and Mom and Dad deemed him college material.

But his household responsibilities ceased not and Jackie and I decided to become more demanding... and more apt to discipline... as Todd’s educational prospects brightened.

Slight mishaps led to the denial of clothing. More significant transgressions led to trips to the barn. As Todd objected less and less and trips to the barn became more and more frequent, his household uniform became a frilly pink apron and nothing else.        

Jackie and I often furtively discussed Todd’s well cloaked disappointment in having to dress when Dad returned from the pastures. Did he truly enjoy our dominion, his naked servitude? 

The chastity cage is a surprise and would otherwise be considered a constraint on our enjoyment of birching him to the point of erection. But in a sealed package delivered to me I have found, along with an appropriate offering from his friend Marsha, a key. So if my assumption is correct, there is another surprise... that Jackie and I have been bestowed with the prerogative of emancipating Todd’s penis. It’s an empowering thought. But with it comes the notion... why bother? 

I hold up a photo of Todd in a leather harness. Sort of designed for that used to tether a draft animal, the thick wrist cuffs attached to a broad waist belt suggest otherwise.

“Hauling a cart loaded with pumpkins,” my voice pleasant, prodding him for more.

He nods, blushing as he refills my cup.

“Your buttocks... such prominent thin red stripes, Todd. The quirt I assume... the one you brought to us from Marsha?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what Todd?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Jackie and I have decided to insist on etiquette... to assure Todd’s obeisance and offer contrast to his prospects as a highfalutin lawyer.

“So your friend Marsha not only works you... but whips as well. What’s this thing... it’s like a metal rod... between your ass cheeks?”

As I slide the photo across the table to Jackie, Todd really blushes, his entire nakedness turning crimson. He turns away, ostensibly to return the coffee pot to the stove and wash some dishes, but I know better. He’s bashful, needing to collect his thoughts.

“It’s... well... this thing... used... ah... as part of the harness.”

“Just seems to disappear... the end I mean. Not part of your cock cage?”

“No Ma’am.” 

“There’s some goo coming from his penis tube,” an astute Jackie notes, staring at the photo. “You’re leaking stuff Todd.”

Jackie holds up the photo of Todd’s bound nakedness, waving it to summon him from the kitchen sink.

“What is it Todd?” my voice firming, my tone that used to presage trips to the barn.

“It’s... well... when a guy... ah... doesn’t use his... doesn’t have sex...”

“You mean masturbate?”

“Ah... yes... that too. Well the glands need to get rid of stuff.”

“You’re not oozing anything now,” Jackie, brazen as always, reaching forth to grasp the steel mesh cylinder of Todd’s cock cage for closer examination.

Jackie and I, working the farm, have not a lot of experience with the male gender. We’re not shy... certainly not virgins... it’s the dawn to dusk exhausting work which precludes social interaction. That and the fact that the nearest town is ten miles down the road. But there are the sheep. And in neutering some of the more mature rams, we’ve seen such stuff, sticky fluid. And indeed, Jackie knowingly nods to me. 

“The wethers don’t secrete like this,” she notes with a smirk, finally releasing Todd and pointing to the photo.

“Not after the elastrator. No more sloppiness,” I add with a laugh.

Todd, queasy as stated when it comes time to emasculate the young male sheep deemed to be beta... not likely to sire desirable lambs... begins fumbling about, unsteady hands clanking the dirty dishes. 

“So you’re not leaking now. Which I must suppose is explained by this photo.”

Todd’s blushing turns to apoplexy as I lay out the photo of mutual fellatio while he’s having his little fanny split open and rectum penetrated by a faux phallus of blue rubber.

“Looks exciting for you Todd... getting a blow job from some guy while being fucked. This is dated... two days ago... when you left Pittsburgh,” rather proud of my detective work.

“And explains why his little thing isn’t now as messy as in the other photo,” Jackie chimes in with glee.

“So I’m going to keep you locked up Todd. Your thing going to get sloppy? Should we get the elastrator ready?”

“That’s what this metal rod thing does, Danielle,” Jackie gushes, joining in the detective work. “It makes him ooze even more. Kind of like pumping the stuff from him.”

“Milking him,” I further add, envisioning the purpose of the curved bar of metal inserted within his gluteal cleft.  
  
With that I demand that Todd come to the kitchen table, place his hands to the back of his head, part his feet to present his entrapped male package, and tell us all, not only about his farming, but the curious bindings and enjoyment of his servitude... for we know he enjoyed.