Look Saturday for the first segment of a pony girl story. Very little Female Dominance, sorry to disappoint. But I'll be working on Part Two and there will be a female handler and women medical staff for the pony girls.
Enjoy.
And the reference to 'Constancia Island' is intriguing. Wrote that story 20 years ago!
CB
Segment V was the last posted segment. Hopefully you readers enjoyed. The full story is available from Lulu as posted on November 14.
Any one have interest in a pony girl story?
CEO Alexandra Morris arrives home late. As she presses the remote to open the solid steel gate for entry to the long drive to the house, the headlights flash on a small package. She is expecting a delivery, high tech ear buds to more fully condition her human equine to total isolation and dependence on her tutelage. The idea came to her in spotting the number of young employees at her firm listening to music and facilely able to take phone calls when needed.
For Robert there will be no music... but there can be phone calls. Yes, Miss Alex will enjoy exercising her dominion from a distance.
Stopping the car, she exits quickly to retrieve the package, as always limiting activity and attention to the otherwise barely noticeable estate entrance. In stooping she notes an envelope perched nearby, a hand written salutation ‘Dear Neighbor’.
An interloper! Though obviously not able to enter the grounds, Miss Alex has concerns. Was the package delivered before or after the envelope? Envelope dropped off first... no harm. Envelope delivered later... the package would reveal her name.
Such would undermine her efforts for anonymity with any nearby residents. With the estate purchased by a trust, not even the village tax records divulge her identity.
Too much time already expended, it’s back to the car, envelope and package in hand, Through the gate, the sensor closes, Miss Alex is again cocooned in her world of Feminine Dominion.
To the house, to her bedroom, she disrobes. Darkness precludes walking her steed outdoors. Thus she decides to return herself to the island days of her youth. She dons a simple shirt leaving herself otherwise naked. The lack of attire brings a warm glow. Miss Alex closes her eyes, dreamily sensing the nimble tongue of a kneeling steed tenderly lapping away at her young bald mons.
Robert awaits. And in being held in suspension bondage for the entire day there will be such eagerness to serve.
To the kitchen, as Miss Alex prepares a bottle of wine her eyes return to the ‘Dear Neighbor’ envelope. Curiosity brings the need to open and read but there is also the need for cunnilingus. She decides to take it with her to the basement... peruse as steed Robert orally assuages after a stressful day.
Iced wine bucket in hand, the code to open the well secured basement stable is entered. Miss Alex takes the envelope, grabs the delivery package opens the door and descends. She can’t help thinking that the sound of her entry may be the last thing Robert freely hears. Hence he will linger in wait of her company in both darkness and silence. The notion brings moisture, her daunting dominion over the subjugated male to be augmented. She once again reminds herself, the submissive male, masochism so well ingrained, needs her governance... craves her governance.
“Good evening Robert. Happy to see me?” mocking in knowing he’s been kept sightless since his morning stint on the treadmill.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Oh, I tend to forget I keep you blindfolded,” placing the wine, ice bucket, package and envelope on a nearby table. “And since I’m nearly naked you’ll need to stay that way tonight.”
She steps before the hanging form, the hooded head at the level of her waist, reaching to cradle.
“And I’m happy to see you. Your nose may tell you so,” pulling to guide Robert’s mouth to her well trimmed pubes.
Long held in chastity, Robert, as with all the human equines trained by Mother Morris, hungrily thrusts forth his tongue, his nose indeed telling of Miss Alex’s needs. It is a long and strong appendage, slipping past the outer labia with noted gusto.
“Good boy.”
Yes, Miss Alex returns herself again to the island paradise of her youth, endless oral servitude. She pauses in silence, several moments absorbing the delight.
“Should I masturbate you tonight? Have your penis drool for me?”
“Oh yes, please Ma’am. It’s been so long,”
“We’ll see. I tend to think you’d be more attentive to me... my cunny... with another week or two of denial.”
The words bring a moan... and a smile to Miss Alex’s lips. She brings the head closer in a silent command to resume.
“Well I’ve brought something for you. It will enhance my control over you... which you so much need... and bring you further into the world of complete submission. You’d like that wouldn’t you Robert?”
“Oh yes, Ma’am. It will please you.”
“Yes it will,” pushing back the head to go to the package.
She returns opening and explaining.
“I’m going to deprive you of sound... normal sound. Unless I want you to hear something.”
From the small box come the ear buds and a control box.
“So you’ll spend most of your day... and night of course... in nice tight bondage and both blinded and deafened. Just the sound of static... what’s termed white noise. It will be most annoying at first... but you’ll adapt.”
“Must you do this, Miss Alex?” the beseeching quest coming as Miss Alex carefully slips her fingers beneath the cloth spandex of the hood.
“Of course. I can do things with you, for you and to you. So I will.”
Ear buds are inserted, left and right. Miss Alex retrieves the control box. A dial is turned, and her naked well trussed steed is immersed... his world of darkness now one without the cognition of earthly sound.
Miss Alex presses a button. She speaks, the sound of her voice transmitting through ear buds.
“But you’ll hear my voice from time to time. And I think it’s best you be gagged from now on. Licking my cunny will become more and more of a privilege. So food, water and licking... otherwise you’ll be gagged and silenced.”
Miss Alex smiles in seeing her captive attempt to nod, already conforming to the expanded protocol of her strict guidance by remaining silent. She senses twinges, the wetness of her loins evidencing the enjoyment of her thorough dominion. More tongue work must come. But first the envelope. She steps to the table, opens and returns. The tongue resumes. She reads... a type written note.
Dear Neighbor,
My name is Duncan Hunter and I recently moved into a modest home near your beautiful estate. It seems I thoughtlessly intruded on your privacy a few days ago, interrupting a Saturday picnic. I believe you noticed my drone overhead. It’s a rather childish hobby and it seems in my attempt to better get to know the countryside I disturbed you. I hope it was not the noise of my drone that caused your horse to run off.
I’d like to introduce myself personally and make amends for any inconvenience I caused. If you’re an oenophile, I have a few bottles of a fine Chablis which need to be consumed.
My apologies,
Duncan
914-555-6198
P. S. I love your boots.
As Miss Alex completes reading, the sounds of the slurping tongue bring a frisson as the twinges strengthen. Knowing that the sensory perception of her loyal steed is further deprived by her hand brings a giddiness. Robert is further objectified... a mere set of tongue and lips... and useful feet and legs when touring the estate.
The first of many mild orgasms comes. The tongue glides upward in search of her clitoris. It is blissful.
She refocuses on the letter. Brazen to more or less invite himself to visit, this Duncan Hunter. Yet the postscript intrigues. Removing both boots and jodhpurs for her steed’s oral servitude, she recalls leaving her garb near the cart. Obviously the drone’s camera focused there for a time. Yet there is no mention in the letter of her apparent state of semi nudity beneath the blanket. Just a compliment on her knee high black leather boots. Somewhat telling, knowing of so many submissive males who are known to lick the leather footwear of an imposing woman.
More intrigue in the mention of a missing horse... a subterfuge?.. pretending not to be aware that the pony cart is reconfigured for human conveyance?
Her anger with the intrusion comes back to mind. Over the past days she has put it aside. But the concern remains. Will there be more drone interruptions when running about her naked steed?
Surely this Duncan Hunter must have suspicions concerning the full nature of the ‘picnic’. If the camera lens conveyed images of her boots, what of the clamped testicles and golden brown buttocks of her oral servant? Surely more drone incursions will come, more fully satiate this man’s curiosity.
Her privacy paramount, Miss Alex mulls the invitation. A notion to ‘nip in the bud’ comes to mind. Perhaps a phone call. To strongly object to being observed and recorded. But would that not further flame the man’s curiosity? Suggesting there is something to be kept from view... which of course there is.
No objecting phone call. A more personal appeal. Perhaps to indeed accept the offer of wine. Yes, a visit, with frank discussion. That the drone noise does in fact scare her horse... politely but firmly ask to refrain from more overhead annoyance.
But what of the horse? There is none... none with four legs. And if this Duncan suggests a visit to her stable?
As she senses well trained lips purse about her bud, she laughs with the thought. Yes, she needs to be bold in protecting her privacy. She’ll invite this Duncan Hunter for a visit. Clad in her boots, riding crop in hand, she’ll feel the man out, the nature of his penchant for black leather to be fully scoped.
Knees weakening with the surge of pleasure, Miss Alex steps back. Cunnilingus time over... for now. She decides to immediately begin indoctrination into steed Robert’s new world of nothingness, not speaking... certainly not explaining... simply terminating the sensual inputs of taste and smell by merely stepping away. His sole sense will be touch... to feel the constant cling of her bindings.
And she cannot forget to gag him. Strolling to the far wall, feeling the delight of the cool basement air wafting over her wet mons, she selects a stout ball gag with a large opening for air.
Such cruelty. Mother Morris would be proud.
Grapes consumed, multiple orgasms tossed, Miss Alexandra Morris suns herself, tummy down, feet parted. Steed Robert’s oral servitude continues, lying prostrate, face wedged between her shapely cheeks. A fine wine is savored as the more mild yet gratifying orgasms brought by assiduous analingus make the afternoon seem endless.
Miss Alex recalls first discovering the delights of such sordid tongue work. Her cunny being licked, a second steed of her mother’s herd dutifully approached from behind, the many, many weeks of forced chastity bringing great attraction to her cute young backside. When Mother Morris noticed the young trainee fervently licking, she commanded more focused attention to her daughter’s rosebud opening. Miss Alex smiles in thinking of her initial squeal of delight. She quickly learned to relish a steed’s tongue work both front and back.
“Be careful rubbing your penis tip on the blanket, Robert. No frottaging. Bad boys stay infibulated.”
As Robert murmurs concurrence there comes a sound.
Miss Alex hears a whir.
Miss Alex looks skyward.
Miss Alex rises to her elbows.
Miss Alex shields her eyes, searching the sky.
Miss Alex finds the source.
It is a drone. It is of size, not a child’s toy. And it approaches.
A hand quickly grasps the edge of the blanket and flips, covering her buttocks and Robert’s hooded head and upper back.
“Stay Robert.”
Miss Alex realizes that to move about will present their nakedness and she has no doubt the intruding craft has a camera. Otherwise there would be no recreational purpose.
Hands reach beneath the blanket, pushing away Robert’s face then twisting her body beneath the blanket to lie on her back, torso propped up on her elbows. She notes her quick efforts failed to cover Robert from the waist down, his well muscled globes of golden brown prominently exposed for filming if indeed the drone has a camera.
It is disconcerting. Hundreds of secluded acres, walled and fenced for privacy, and her moments of intimacy with her oral servant are on exhibition.
She mentally tries to shrug off the invasion... it is what it is. But then her eyes go to her pony cart, waist belt hanging at the prongs, riding crop at the ready. Her heart sinks in realizing the discovery of the drone owner... that this is not an afternoon of two lovers picnicking on a leisurely weekend. It is a woman of Dominion exercising her supreme authority. For besides the sight of a pony cart with no pony, Robert remains bearing the testicle clamp. She hopes the steel encased penis shaft is tucked under his belly.
How good is the drone’s camera lens? The craft remains relatively high above, not obnoxiously encroaching. But it does hover, recording what would seem quite bizarre or eccentric in the vanilla world of a staid and wealthy New York City suburb.
Trapped beneath the blanket, a frustrated Miss Alex does her best to placate herself. At least with her blouse remaining in place, any flash of feminine charms has been limited, the covering blanket flipped in place when the drone was at a distance.
Then, drone continuing to linger in place overhead, there comes anger. For sure some voyeuristic hobbyist is finding demented delight. Yet to what conclusion can she assume the viewer will come? A naked man of color half covered by a blanket... a pony cart without an apparent form of conveyance.
Finally, battery power no doubt diminishing, the craft moves off. Miss Alex pushes aside the blanket, rising to quickly slip into her jodhpurs and boots.
“Well that ends a relaxing afternoon, Robert. And it seems I’ll need to take caution in running you about.”
Miss Alex pulls at her steed’s shoulders. Robert knows to right himself, going to his knees. The sight of his full erection brings a smile. Despite the frantic conclusion of his indefatigable oral efforts, tongue thrusting, lips savoring, basking in her scent, the virile yet chaste beast has enjoyed. Miss Alex looks to see a circle of wet at the end of the blanket.
“Goodness, Robert, such drool. I will have to masturbate you soon,” promising again.
“Yes, please Miss Alex.”
A left hand rips away the blinding cloth. Right hand to the testicle leash, Alexandra Morris calms herself. At least she will have a riding crop and a fine pair of buttocks for consolation, tugging to return to the cart.
“I have a plug of ginger in the basket, Robert. Want to offer me a quick dash back to the house? It stimulates you wonderfully,” the suggestion coming as the waist belt is buckled and secured to the prongs of the cart.
“Please no, Miss Alex,” the well trained steed all too aware of the stinging, burning anal insertion.
Yes, a training aid for reluctant and recalcitrant human equines, Robert has too often been figged. Mother Morris so much enjoyed the harmless torment.
“Then do give me a good pace... without wearing out my crop.”
To her bedroom, Alexandra turns on the television and disrobes. Onto the screen comes the naked hanging form in the basement stable. The camera system, intended for concerned parents in monitoring sleeping infants, is most suitable for assuring the well bound steed is not in danger. With the signal coming through the internet, she can surreptitiously monitor her possession while working in the office as well.
With the end of a long day, the bed attracts. Though relatively early, Alexandra must rest. She will have a predawn start to her day. Exercise for her captive steed, securing him to the treadmill for a modest two mile run... comparatively light exercise in that she will be running him extensively about the estate late Saturday morning. Then will come more ablutions and feeding.
Slipping under the bed covers, she thinks of all the exacting care her mother afforded her herd of human beasts. Though argument could be made that their captivity was cruel, they were spared nothing in terms of physical care. And so it continues with Robert. Her words come back to mind concerning his prospects given manumission... nothing to offer the world other than his brute strength and stamina... oral stamina included... a humorous thought... coming to mind the endless cunnilingus the steed has been trained to provide.
Lights dimmed, the television glows in silence, Alexandra enjoying the cooling smooth sheets tantalizing her nakedness. She had always slept in the buff, a habit ingrained in being brought up on the hedonistic tropical island. Mother insisted, the climate so hospitable, never hot, certainly never cold. And so her nude prepubescent form would roll from her little divan every morning and slip over her head a loose, white cotton shirt, barely long enough to cover her navel... her only covering.
Such encouragement offered by libertine Mother Morris, running, jumping, skipping about the island of domineering women and subjugated well trussed males with buttocks flashing, her underdeveloped slit bared to all... including those held in bondage.
In maturing, Alexandra began to realize the effect on the bound males held in constant chastity. She learned the term ‘rutting’, mother’s intent and desire to keep her many steeds on the edge sexually. Mother liked them kept ‘frisky’ was the simple explanation given the young daughter. And her cute well rounded cheeks filled many a gawking male eye.
As slumber beckons, her thoughts and the image of her naked captive bring dreams... and of course such are of her childhood on the idyllic island... being licked by subservient males.
*****
“It’s autumn, but there’s still quite a bit of sun. I want to keep you a nice shade of golden brown.”
The words come as the imposing hands of Alexandra Morris complete lathering her steed with sun lotion. In the halogen lights of the basement stable his six foot two frame gleams. She takes pride in her well muscled human equine. And she takes delight in deciding on the shade of brown he will cast. In completing, right hand going to the leash of the testicle clamp, she thinks of her mother’s preference, constantly having her herd put to pasture and sunned.
‘I want them black as coal,’ Mother Morris would exalt, imbuing on daughter Alexandra the notion that the whims of a governing woman are edicts. Training, conditioning, shaping, exercising... and even determining a steed’s coloring.
“Rather cool this morning, Robert. A good morning run to the overlook and by the time we arrive it’ll be quite pleasant. I’ve packed a nice lunch. And if you run well you may have some grapes.”
“Yes, that would be excellent, Ma’am.”
Miss Alex gently tugs, a sightless Robert instantly steps forth to follow, to the light pony cart.
“Would you like to put on a nice stand for me?”
The quest comes as Robert cautiously steps between the leading prongs and idly stands as Miss Alex works to make his nakedness one with the sleek two wheeled cart.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Yes, the cool morning air can be exhilarating for a big sensitive penis.”
Tacking human equinse since youth, within moments Robert and the cart are one. The testicle leash is drawn backed and tied off at the front of the cart. A thick leather waist band is buckled in place and secured to the prongs. Bit and bridle are put in place and lastly Miss Alex fondles the male package, the fingers of the left hand diddling the entrapped scrotum and the fingers of the right slipping away the infibulating clasp. She steps back, smiling in calm confidence as the enormous penis swells within the confines of the steel cylinder, the fleshy foreskin retracts and the massive purple glans penis greets her gaze.
“My, my, you do need to be masturbated Robert.”
The bridled head nods enthusiastically, shaking the many buckles and straps and bringing a sinister laugh.
“Perhaps next week,” her words bringing a pout of dejection.
Miss Alex strips away the strip of blinding cloth. She waits, letting the eyes adjust then steps away to enter the code for the overhead door. The door rolls upwards, Miss Alex grabs a crop and mounts.
To the sound of a throaty ‘haw’ and the stroke of the crop, Robert knows to pull... and pull vigorously. Niceties end when a steed is put to harness. Mother Morris was a disciplinarian and there was no laziness in her herd. Such has passed on mother to daughter and a well trained Robert knows to pull, run fully until otherwise directed, and for sure follow the guiding hands of the reins.
Though the way to the scenic overlook is well known, Miss Alex is given to test her steed’s obedience to feminine governance, altering the route. Yes, quick strokes of the crop to bare buttocks bring instant compliance. And there is heady joy in the silent communication. There need to be no words, just commanding pulls on the reins, encouraging strokes of the crop.
The sun brings a nice glow to the golden brown flesh. And as Miss Alex works her steed into a good sweat a moisture of her own begins to flow. Lunch may be greatly delayed she smiles to herself.
Within an hour, a well run steed pulls cart and equestrienne to the highest point of the sizable estate. Perspiration oozes from every pore and Miss Alex notes that indeed, on this cloudless autumn morning, nearly noon, the air has warmed. She looks about, no signs of civilization, no buildings, no houses. And being on a place of elevation, no interlopers to look down at the duo.
Privacy! Mentally... emotionally she can return to the tropical island paradise of her youth.
Pulling Robert to a halt in a familiar grassy area. Miss Alex dismounts, stepping to the front of her captive. She peers to see he remains partially erect, despite the brisk lengthy run. A hand lowers, the very tip of a feminine finger grazes about the exposed penis tip, hypersensitive in being well tucked away under the infibulating clasp. Steed Robert shivers, the reins and buckles again shaking, the simple and most evanescent touch bringing a frisson of pleasure.... yet so brief.
Bit mandating silence, he cannot beg for more. And to do so would extend the lengthy interval of chastity.
“Going to run off, Robert?” Miss Alex teasingly inquires as she begins freeing her conveyance from the cart.
Robert shakes his head. The temptation of escape is offered regularly, Miss Alex often testing. But both equestrienne and human equine know of the bond, the emotional attachment over the many years. Robert has no other life... can not have any other life. This Miss Alex knows... and she knows that constant bondage brings complacency... an odd surrender of the will.
Waist belt unbuckled, testicle leash untethered, bit and bridle removed, Robert’s arms remain restrained behind his back. There is one temptation never to be permitted... and that is for him to touch his penis. Any stroking, massaging frottaging there is only under feminine dominion.
“You’ve got me into a lather of my own, Robert. You’ll never understand the thrill of cropping the buttocks of a subjugated male. Though I sense there is enjoyment of your own... judging from your erection.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“So some grapes... for you,” Miss Alex stepping away to lay out a blanket on the grassy clearing.
“May I... well... look, Ma’am.”
“Of course not. You had your last glimpse when I was a girl. Now for you... it’s taste and scent.”
Miss Alex returns, removing the blinding strip of cloth from the pocket of her jodhpurs and reaching up to instantly return her steed to sightlessness.
“Down,” reaching for the testicle leash and guiding the massive form to his knees.
The jodhpurs are quickly removed, the waist band of Velcro designed such that she can bare herself from the waist down in an instant. No panties, nude from the waist down, Miss Alex next doffs her boots, returning herself to the days of gallivanting about her mother’s island paradise, unknowingly rutting the many captive human equines held in strict chastity. She cannot recall when first licked. Was it mother’s suggestion? Perhaps one of the trainers? But licked she was. And such required little encouragement to have the biggest and strongest of steeds offer endless cunnilingus... and more.
“Can you smell me Robert? I get quite frothy in cropping you,” Miss Alex retrieving the picnic basket from the cart.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“And that means you’d like to taste me.”
“Oh yes Ma’am.”
“And some grapes.”
The ritual begins. Miss Alex seats herself on the blanket, spreading her thighs, the fingers of the left hand splaying her labia, the fingers of the right introducing grapes, her vagina to be stuffed, the tongue and lips of the devoted steed... now oral servant... to feast.
Returning to the stable door, a garden hose offers a quick douche. Watching Robert’s erection instantly shrivel with the cooling spray offers a placating sense of control. The infibulating clasp is returned. Steed Robert hardens only at Miss Alex’s behest.
Into the basement stable, the well subdued human steed meekly follows the guiding gentle tugs of the testicle leash. He docilely stands within the web of cables and straps. Miss Alex, so often handling captive males at Mother Morris’s island paradise, quickly reverses her steed’s emancipation... hood and chest strap first. Once in place Robert knows to lift right leg then left for the thigh straps and to surrender himself for a night of bondage.
“Good boy,” Miss Alex offers, master to dog, in refilling her wine glass.
She sips then begins the nightly ablutions. As with any equine, Robert is bathed, a soaped chamois smoothing over his golden brown flesh. The deed is soothing for Alexandra, a subtle manner of expressing her ownership... a car buff polishing her rare and exotic automobile. The task could be thought of as menial. And indeed, the minions who report to her in her office would be pleasantly surprised in knowing of her twice daily cleansings... the boss lady more or less scrubbing the hallway floors. But the intimacy is appreciated. As owner she is aware of every inch of flesh... every mark....every blemish. And when it comes time for the complete body shave, there can be no further comeuppance for the virile male then to have his reproductive organs fastidiously brought to glabrousness, fingers palpating and examining as they work.
“You do have nice testicles, Robert. Quite plump. So on Saturday I may masturbate you. Make sure all these potent and well subjugated glands remain working for me.”
“Thank you Miss Alex.”
Lastly comes the head... and the need to remove the blinding hood.
“Hold your head still and level, Robert,” Miss Alex unhooking the cable holding his cranium steady. “I’ll be quick,” knowing the neck muscles tire.
“Yes, Ma’am. But I like looking at you.”
“And I enjoy looking at you,” finger’s peeling the thick Spandex garb.
Yes, the visual thrill of the naked male brings exhilaration. Particularly when vulnerable and well bound.
“Perhaps less time...you know... under the hood,” the suggestion impertinent but so humbly expressed.
“No Robert. As has been explained, depriving you of sight is important for your sense of complete submission to me,” the explanation coming as Robert blinks and labors to adjust his eyes to the room light. “And it mandates that you better listen and focus on my controlling hand when I’ve leashed you. And you do want to focus on my control.”
“Oh yes Ma’am.”
“Plus it enhances your sense of smell, taste... and touch,” the latter word coming as a hand lowers and playfully diddles right nipple and left, smiling in seeing the nubs instantly crinkle in response.
Miss Alex returns to the task at hand, soaping the head and face and smoothing about the straight edged razor.
She is dishearteningly quick. Robert is returned to sightlessness within moments.
“You’ll be permitted to see on Saturday. Harness you and take you for a nice long jaunt to the peek,” sensing Robert’s disappointment.
“That would be very nice Miss Alex. Will I be able to look at you... you know... like on the island?”
“You mean bottomless... like when I was a little girl? You males are such hounds.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“Those days of rutting are over, Robert. Mother had her little penchants... but she’s gone... and the island is gone.”
“It’s sad Miss Alex.”
“Yes. But I kept you. You’re safe and well cared for Robert.”
“Yes, thank you Ma’am.”
The exchange comes as the cable is reattached to the back of the hood, returning the naked human steed to suspension, lying helplessly prostrate above the cement floor
“I’ll get your dinner. Then you can have a nice sleep. Tomorrow is Friday,” having to remind in that her steed cannot possible track the days... not to mention the time. “So an easy two miles on the treadmill.”
“Can you loosen the clasp a little so... you know...”
“No. You always miss the bucket and make a mess on the floor. Besides I enjoy having your bodily functions under feminine control. And you do to. You’ll urinate for me in the morning.”
Hands reach, the left tenderly smoothing down the covered cheek, the right returning to toy with right nipple then left. Robert squirms. Alexandra knows it to be a sign of appreciation.
“And no more talking. I’ve got to feed you then feed myself.”
I have published the referenced story on Lulu.
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/chris-bellows/alexandra-morris/ebook/product-gkjnjp.html?page=1&pageSize=4
43,000+ words. $5.50
Be sure to allow yourself to view explicit content.
Enjoy
CB
New Story
I've been writing but not posting. I've learned to finish a story before posting any segments, thus the time warp.
'Alexandra Morris', Female Dominant, male submissive. Some pony play... it's been awhile.
Enjoy. Complete story available on Lulu soon.
CB
*****
Alexandra Morris
Copyright 2021
by Chris Bellows
Alexandra Morris slows her Mercedes Benz, braking strongly to turn off the fast moving county road. Though she notes little traffic behind, she never lingers when entering the secluded long driveway of her estate, approaching quickly and turning at the highest yet safest rate of speed, the black Mercedes seemingly swallowed by the thick shrubbery and towering pines outlining the right of way.
The drivers of passing cars never take notice, the entrance way appearing to lead to a neglected farm or campsite.
Pressing the electronic remote for the gate of solid steel some hundred yards ahead, Alexandra times her entrance perfectly, the car slipping through, the gate closing rapidly with the sensors detecting her passage. She checks the rearview mirror assuring no interloper has passed through. Her many acres are otherwise walled and fenced in, ten feet of concrete and heavy gauged links topped with sophisticated motion detectors to assure isolation.
It’s been a long busy day, resulting in eagerness... to change into more comfortable clothes... to open a fine bottle of wine... to visit her basement... to dote over Robert.
It’s a curiously dichotomous lifestyle, she once again reminds herself. By day, chief executive and owner of a multimillion dollar business, evenings and weekends... glorious weekends... Mistress of an exclusive estate... with... recreational benefits. Her thoughts bring bemusement, a smile radiating as she pulls the Mercedes to the front of the mid sized mansion.
She can afford larger... more prestigious... but prestige for whom? She dares not have visitors. Alexandra has yet to even conjure how she can arrange the practicality of household help.
She thinks about her late mother, such an opulent lifestyle... the many servants. Of equivalent wealth, Mother Morris inherited at a young age, father Morris long out of the picture, and used the vast funds to augment her... her... sexual orientation?
Front door unlocked, Alexandra enters, immediately decoding the alarm then locking the door behind. To the bedroom, the sleek business attire is doffed. White blouse, beige jodhpurs... special jodhpurs... knee high black leather boots donned. It’s to the kitchen, Alexandra peering out the window noting the expanse of green pasture below. The Chateau of granite and marble is built on a knoll, the many open acres are a level below the kitchen and slope away. The view is extensive.
She notes there remains much daylight... but not enough for an extensive ride. Early autumn means such will need to wait for weekends. Still her steed and loyal companion requires exercise and toilet. Sustenance will come later. Yes, a quiet evening of bathing, grooming, and feeding the male beast so long relegated to her care.
Ice bucket, bottle of Chardonnay, glass and cork screw, Alexandra turns to the door leading to the basement. Fingers pressing another keypad, she has mentally conditioned herself not to consider her descent to lead to a stable facility. Basement... basement... basement she tells herself.
There are no facilities for human steeds in the posh suburbs of Westchester County, New York! Or are there?
Door opened, a hand reaches. A light switch is flicked, the vast basement area alights under some half dozen powerful halogen fixtures. Boots tap the concrete. Mentally Miss Alexandra Morris returns to the halcyon days of her youth, growing up in the stables of her mother’s exotic tropical island gynecocracy.
“Good evening Robert. Had a good day?” the tone cheery and passive, but known to project her governance.
“I’ve missed you Miss Alex,” the male voice deep and resonate, yet passive.
“Of course you have. I know you’re hungry, but let’s walk you first. It’s a nice evening and I need to relax... finally out of the stuffy office.”
Miss Alex places the bucket of ice on a nearby bench, inserts the wine bottle and opens. In doing so she gazes over her naked companion... refraining from thinking of the term ‘steed’.
As trained years ago by Mother Morris, the bronzed giant is suspended prostrate some three feet above the solid cement of the floor by a series of configured ceiling cables. The cables hold thick padded straps, one encircling the chest, two encircling the widely parted thighs left and right. A fourth attaches to a hood of black spandex cloth, rigidly but comfortably holding the head level with no strain on the neck.
As Miss Alex fills her wine glass, she recalls mother’s lectures... her words... ‘firm but comfortable’... long term restraint is for eroding the will... molding the mind into a state of capitulation... not for physical pain and suffering.
“A long day for me, Robert. So much paperwork... so many meetings. I envy you... just idly hanging... waiting for your governess. No complicated thoughts... just one... to perform for me.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I ah... do need...”
“Yes, of course. To urinate. But let’s go outside... not mess with a bucket.”
Miss Alex takes a sip then steps to a wall arrayed with tacking gear.
“Just a leash and testicle clamp tonight Robert. I know you need more exercise. But the weekend is coming and then I’ll take you on a nice long ride.”
Miss Alex detects the sound of a hurrumph of dejection. She smiles, knowing how much her human steed enjoys being run into a good lather. But not tonight, dusk beckons.
Grabbing the curious contraption, a set of hinged metal plates, there come reflective thoughts... as a girl... Mother Morris showing how to entrap the male organs between the flat steel, attaching the controlling cord... leash... and pulling ever so gently to demonstrate the that slightest of tugs can bring such instant excruciation to the restrained male.
‘Just an initial tug... establish your control and authority... and the male beast will follow wherever your little heart desires,’ the maternal words advising so calmly as, in wonderment, a young Alexandra observed the resulting lurch.
“Perhaps the penis leash instead, Miss Alex,” the suggesting words so meekly offered.
“No, no Robert. You know I prefer to have you by your balls... and deep within I think you do as well.”
“And my arms and hands... I’m obedient.”
“No again, Robert. You just wouldn’t feel right. You think you’d be better off... but you won’t be. You need to feel your total submission.”
The words come as Miss Alex deftly attaches the testicle clamp. And yes, there comes a gentle tug to assure proper adhesion.
Next the straps are unhooked, right leg then left lower, feet touching the floor again after many hours of idling in the basement air. Bent arms remaining strapped behind his back, Robert carefully rights himself and the chest strap is likewise unhooked.
“Bend,” the simple command bringing quick compliance
“May I see you?” the full hood remaining in place as the cable at the back of the head is released.
“No. I want to walk you blinded. It... well... you know how much total control enthralls... both of us.”
The eye patch thus remains in place... the hood covering the entire cranium but for a large single opening for the nose and mouth.
Leash in one hand, Miss Alex retrieves her wine glass, stepping to the broad overhead door of the makeshift basement stable. Another key code is entered. The door of reenforced steel rolls upwards. No one enters the secured stable without the code. And her human steed certainly will never depart without supervision.
“May I harden for you Miss Alex?”
“You do like showing off for me, Robert. And I do too. You really impressed me with your penis when I was a girl,” Miss Alex chuckling as she presses a button and the door lifts.
Selected for purchase on the tropical island, Mother Morris explained just about the sole criteria for Robert’s acquisition was his endowment. Uncircumcised and measured at some ten inches, Miss Alex recalls the pleasant memories of watching her mother weekly measure as Robert matured, the gonads thickening and thickening and seeming to beckon the testicle clamp more each day.
“Hold your bladder, Robert. I know you have to go so you’ll have a nice firm piss proud erection for me.”
Miss Alex leads to a patio area, momentarily stowing her wine glass as fingers ever so carefully remove the infibulating clasp inhibiting erection. Threaded through two pierced openings in the impressive foreskin, when tightly in place, Robert can neither achieve tumescence nor urinate... unless granted the noblesse oblige of a woman’s attention.
“There,” Miss Alex proclaims with enthusiasm. “Let’s get you nice and hard... and we’ll walk... and talk,” the clasp going to her pocket.
“Thank you, Miss Alex... thank you,” the expression of gratitude sincere.
Miss Alex leads to the grassy pasture, turning to watch as the enormous steel encased penis of her steed slowly engorges. Despite the weighty cylinder encapsulating almost the entire shaft, she smiles in seeing the length stand to greet the setting sun.
“Good boy, Robert.”
“Could you?.. well?..”
“You’re not asking me to masturbate you... are you Robert?” Miss Alex’s tone turning grave and foreboding.
“Oh, no Ma’am... never...”
Held in chastity... seemingly unending chastity... Robert knows expunging male essence is always under a woman’s prerogative... never to be requested or beseeched.
“Good. And yes, I realize it’s been awhile. But just as with the constant bondage... being leashed, tethered and led about... it’s important for you... your psyche... to feel a woman’s constant dominion over you. If I were to grant emancipation... where would you go, Robert?.. what would you do? No money... no clothes... no education... no skills. There are no openings for pony boys in Westchester County, New York, Robert.”
“Then... well... may I taste you?”
The quest brings a smile... and a sense of the prevenience in wearing the special jodhpurs. For at the crotch, there is no zipper... no buttons. Thus the leash hand slips within the folds, quickly and effortlessly gathering an abundance of feminine essence. Yes there is frothiness in sensing total empowerment over the male beast... the extensively endowed male beast.
The wet hand retracts and reaches, fingers to coat the nose and lips of her steed. A huge tongue eagerly juts forth, licking fervently as the nostrils flare to inhale. Miss Alex laughs.
“And where would you utilize your oral skills, Robert?”
The hand is presented to be licked clean. Then it lowers, toying with the nipples.
“Waggle for me.”
Conditioned... well trained... the humiliating quest brings instant compliance, the steel encased length bobbing about.
“Good boy. Do you remember first tasting me, Robert? I was a young girl.”
“Yes, Ma’am. And very pretty... you know... down there. I like looking at you.”
“Of course... you’re a male... graphically aroused. Yes, Mother was well aware of the male libido. She had her ways, using my charms to intoxicate. But those days are over.”
Miss Alex turns, gently pulling to lead onwards to a copse of trees sheltering a picnic area for the warm days of summer. Robert of course follows, diligently maintaining desired slack on the testicle leash.
Equestrienne and human steed, in the gloaming of the setting sun, she recalls prancing about the stables of Mother’s extravagant island home... the warm Caribbean breezes caressing her near nakedness. In a way she misses those days, daring not to replicate such ambiance even in the seclusion of her New York estate. Yes, adulthood has brought a degree of modesty, the many days of nudity from the waist downward ending as puberty brought awareness. Before that, exposure to the naked and well trussed steeds of her mother’s stable brought no reservations. And as she has reminded Robert, as an outgoing and empowered young minx, Mother encouraged... and a young Alexandra Morris discovered... the delights of being licked... anywhere and everywhere her mischievous mind desired. Her orgasms were many... dry but pleasurable.
And to her mother’s credit, a young Alexandra Morris became most acclimated to the oral subservience of captive male beasts. So acclimated that when her mother passed on, and bribes to local authorities were truncated, in the hurly burly of having to sell the enclave for women of dominance and equine pursuits, a college aged Alexandra managed to furtively steal away her favorite steed Robert. Consensual?.. non consensual but quirkily acceptable?.. Robert’s servitude continues in the shadows of the country’s largest city.
To a picnic table, Miss Alex guides, seating herself to face her steed.
“Down,” the command crisp and succinct, the knees bending. “Shuffle closer.”
The wine glass goes to the table. A free hand extends, a finger going to the mushroom shaped tip of the engorged glans penis, the foreskin well receded in arousal. Such knowingly circles about, bringing a brisance of evanescent male pleasure, Mother Morris’s training extensive concerning the male sexual anatomy.
The massive length waggles anew, bringing another chuckle.
“You’re due for another stud, Robert. I know you have no calendar... can’t read a calendar... but your anniversary is coming up in a few months.
“Please no, Miss Alex. It’s... it’s....”
“Painful... as intended... and confining... as intended... and conferring more masculine submission... as intended... and augmenting the permanence... as intended... and so nicely glorifying a woman’s total control over you.”
The hand goes to the steel cylinder, a finger sliding to the base where there are the aforementioned protruding studs, rubbing gently.
Such are dull... not endangering the epidermis of her finger tip... but for certain precluding normal male stroking... and of course vaginal penetration as Mother Morris was so vehement in prohibiting.
“Let’s see... I count fifteen. So fifteen years since Mother acquired you. Do you recall when first placed in the chastity cylinder?”
“No Ma’am.”
“Well let’s count the openings awaiting the studs. Looks like nine. So I’ll be skewering your penis shaft with nine more studs.”
The surface of the otherwise smooth precision made steel implement has small round holes where a metal stud can be inserted.... eight rows, three to a row. The internal end is sharp and stud is super cooled to shrink in size before application. Such is pressed through to painfully enter the flesh of the penis shaft, measured not to impair functionality but to assure that the male appendage and the steel encasement become one. As the studs warm, such expand and become one with the cylinder, The first three studs were enough to impede removal under threat of damage... the remaining studs are symbolic... that which represents male omnipotence is greatly tamed and controlled.
“It’s... it’s not necessary, Miss Alex. I am obedient... I won’t... you know... stroke myself,” the tone pitiful.
“I know silly boy... you can’t.”
“I mean... you know... when my hands are free... when being bathed.”
“It’s more for your state of complete submission, Robert.... between the ears. To fully understand that you’ve ceded your sexual needs to a woman... and that such is acknowledged every year.”
The hand retracts bringing forth another subtle hurrumph of dejection, touch... ever so brief... ever so slight... greatly desired.
“You cannot talk and taste at the same time, naughty boy,” the hand moving to the face, a finger slipping past the lips to playfully diddle the broad, strong and well trained tongue.
Message received, the blinded human steed docilely allows owner Miss Alexandra to guide the head and face lower. Between the thighs, to the folds of the special jodhpurs, such are facilely pushed aside. There comes a feminine sigh... and more recollections of cunnilingus on demand in Mother Morris’s Caribbean stable. The stronger scent brings renewed stiffness... and silence... other than the sounds of wet pink flesh savoring wet pink flesh.
The leash hand relinquishes its grip, going to the back of the cloth covered head, further guiding and pulling, the odd desire to pull the delightful invading tongue into the vagina... into the uterus... into her... make the skilled appendage one with her sex. Within moments, when well trained oral servant senses oscillations, without command or encouragement, the tongue shifts, rising to find the swollen bud. Knowing of its sensitivity such gently curls and enshrouds. Lips begin to suckle. There comes an explosion... physical and emotional. A shriek. Release. The setting sun seems to momentarily disappear. A sigh of satiation. Then realization. That the chances... the risks... the costs of having a kept male beast... seem trivial.
Alexandra Morris knows of no other form of sexual satiation. And in further recompense her captive does not as well.
“Good boy. Clean up time... and I need to empty myself.”
The knowing tongue shifts, hungrily swathing about to gather all the slick feminine essence to be had, then deftly shifts again to find the urethral opening and humbly await. The deed normally considered revolting, for Alexandra Morris, raised in the gynecocracy of her mother’s island paradise... feminine island paradise... toileting the male is de rigeur. She opens. Steed Robert partakes... a thirsty beast stranded in desert sands.
“Thank you, Miss Alex... thank you.”
The meek words of gratitude, permitted to relish that which is otherwise cast aside, brings its own delight. There comes a smug smile.
“And you, Robert, may now urinate for me. Shuffle about and turn.”
Remaining on knees, Robert complies. With penis remaining stiff, to accomplish will be difficult. But he needs to empty... and he also needs to further please... the intimate deed known to bring entertainment. As he summons the will to press himself open and empty through his steel encased erection, he feels hands slip about his shoulders, fingers going to nipples, the sensitivity enhanced by the many weeks of strict chastity.
She knows. How is it she knows?.. seeming to vicariously sense the sublime thrill of her touch!
“Go ahead.... water my lawn. Then it’s feeding time, into suspension and a nice sponge bath. Wouldn’t want to spoil you with too much time out harness or not hanging from my ceiling.”
I am not dead. I've been writing stuff, sporadically, for Pink Flamingo. A full length story should be coming out from them within the next few weeks, entitled 'The Donor'. Female Dominant/male submissive. I will post here when it is published.
Slowing down my efforts, I clumsily overwrote some 47,000 words written as the sequel to 'The Donor'. I have a hard copy but must retype the manuscript into the word processor, an incredibly boring task, given that I have previously proof read the stuff five to six times.
But to titillate my hyperactive kinky mind, and to keep my fingers active, I am working on a third segment of the 'Donor' series. It's strong stuff, 25,000 words to date. But coming to an end probably at 30,000+.
So I thank you all for your concerns... and I'm still writing. But I am senescing. So after what I approximate to be some 15,000,000 words of quality smut, production will diminish.
CB
