Second Snippet from 'The Gynecocracy of the Phipps Estate'

Redmond Richards

The frustration of forced silence cannot be described.

I lie gagged on the short bench, feeling my stomach bloat, the expansion so slow, so continuous. It does not stop. Until Miss Marsha playfully closes the valve. And that comes only when she wants... offering a moment of mercy. Conflicting with the discomfort is the nice warm bath, my skin brought alive under the sharpness of the razor... Miss Eve’s hands and fingers so soothing.

Nothing escapes her touch... her examination.

And yes, I am engorged... at least I think I am engorged. Forced to all fours, it is not overly evident... until Miss Eve grasps, and pulls it about. The message is received... it is more her appendage than mine.

“More Redmond? Blink your eyes for me,” Miss Marsha having so much fun.

How am I interpret that quest. Blink my eyes... for more... or blink to finally end the morning of slow torment?

The left hand ends the enema of my bath partner, Maxine, fingers squeezing closed the valve. Miss Eve injects her right buttock, a hypodermic needle brimming with hormones, Maxine giving a cute whimper with the jab. Next the nozzle is deflated and the tubing abruptly pulled away allowing Maxine to empty. As the foul contents of her bowels are hosed to the floor drain, she lets out a squeal of delight, her entire form rinsed with warm water. Then her baubles are returned to the pierced openings in her empty scrotum and, to the sound of the attached bells, she is released to fulfill her daily household chores... maid service. Quite laborious with five of us residing in the vast mansion.

I try not to blink, which of course is impossible. So I close my eyes. When I reopen, Miss Marsha considers that a blink. She nods to Miss Eve. The spray hose is turned off, my relief and final rinse to be delayed.

“See, he wants more,” Miss Marsha’s tone deceptively naive.

I do not. The blinking of my eyes a mind game, the fingers of Miss Marsha’s right hand allowing the flow to resume.

I am going to burst. Yet there is nothing I can do. I am strapped down. I am helpless. I am silenced. I am suffering. And ironically, I am safe... not in any danger. Miss Eve... Nurse Eve... so closely supervises. She knows what I can take. She will decide, letting Miss Marsha play, enjoying her authority. 

Miss Marsha steps forth. At my right side she bends, peering at my freshly shaven buttocks, thighs well spread.

“He moans, lurching against his bonds... but he’s so hard!”

“The prostate, Marsha. A little gland that gives a boy a nice hard on for us. They so much like to have it manipulated... which is what the inflated nozzle and abundance of warm water does. He squirms about... but trust me, it’s not all suffering. He not only enjoys the simple control afforded you... you and your fingers... but his little gland gets massaged.”

Miss Marsha nods, the flow continuing. I am a sponge. I absorb. Then finally...

“Well I suppose we should finish him up... lock down his penis and get him dressed for class. It’s getting late.”

Yes, it’s not the horrid distension of my belly that brings mercy... it’s the clock.

My left cheek is injected. Though it hurts, it is welcomed, signaling the end of the morning humiliation.