'The Groom and the Trainee', Segment V

Happy New Year

*****

A new day in the stables, Sweet Cheeks stands on toes, bent at the waist, mitten covered hands held high behind her back by a cable strung from the ceiling. Before her is a full length mirror, her reflection filling the glass. Another protocol at Dyson Farms, psychological subjugation... made to observe one’s naked and bound capitulation.

She rides the horse, really just an upturned horizontal wooden plank, also held in place by cables, the gruff top edge just grazing the entrance to her mons. Labia parted, her moist pink flesh moistens the board.

She feels posed as would a swimmer about to take a dive. But there will be no splash. She cannot move.

“Comfortable, Cheeks?” Groom Edgar inquires, expressing paternal care.

“No, Sir... it’s... it’s straining my legs.”

“As intended. Calves, thighs, gluteus maximus... your buttocks... all need to be strengthened... and molded. How is your cunny?”      

“The wood... it’s rough... I have to stay on my toes... so that it doesn’t hurt.”

“Yes,” Groom Edgar chuckling. “Rather devious... working you on the horse. But it’s for the best.”

Standing to the pony girl’s left side, an arm reaches, a hand smoothing over a smooth young globe, Sweet Cheeks is exercised completely naked course. The muscling there is tensed. Clenched rock hard in maintaining the demanded pose, protecting her opening. With the soft covering of epidermis there is shapely allure.  

“It’s time we worked your nipples as well... another step... accelerate the stretching... just a little. We don’t go quickly in modifying a pony girl. In rushing, your titties would lose sensation... numb the skin. And we wouldn’t want that. You need to feel the crop... for correction... and encouragement.”

With the words, the hand retracts, Groom Edgar stepping to the pony girl’s front, fingers gently taking the nipples cones, pinching and smoothing down the inch and a half lengths, tugging toward the floor below.

“How’s my touch?” the defrocked doctor seemingly proud of his efforts.

“Like I’m being suckled.”

“Well you are. But we’re going to be adding some weight... during your morning rides. That’s why your hands and arms are held high, chest to the floor,” releasing to retrieve slim cords from his pocket. “Just a few ounces to begin,” winding a cord about the rubber cone covering the left nipple. “And then a little more every day. You’re going to a proud pony girl, Cheeks.”

Left nipple cone entwined, right nipple cone follows. Sweet Cheeks gasps when hands right and left each take a dangling loose cord and pull. 

“Hurt?”

Sweet Cheeks shakes her head, chagrined to find the gentle pulls to be instead sensuous. Indeed, Groom Edgar tilts his head, looking aside to the inner thighs where the edge of the plank darkens with more flow of moisture, cunny secreting. The evidence of arousal brings a knowing smile.

“Good. Girls of your ilk come to enjoy their submission. Now some weights... three ounces... get you acclimated... to control... to yielding... to subordinating your tender anatomy to modification,” attaching small baubles of metal to the end of each cord. “Weights... for fishing lines... cheap, easily procured... readily increased.”     

“Oh, Sir I don’t think...”

“But you will... take it. We know girls like you. You want to obey... want to perform... want to please... want to be displayed... so proud of subordinating to your masters.”

With the words, a finger pokes the weights. Sweet Cheeks gasps anew, closing her eyes in the shame of being oddly excited... of the realization... that Groom Edgar knows girls with her predilection... knows her.

“Edgar, tack Candy Bar for me,” the stern alto voice of Lady Dyson calls out,” strolling the long stable corridor, passing stalls to where she encounters the stressed trainee. “I want to work her at the end of a lunge line before running Gum Drop.”  

The sound of tapping boots ends. Sweet Cheeks opens her eyes, the regal owner, Mistress of Dyson Farms, riding crop in hand, observes.

“Well, well, well. My nose suggests my new girl enjoys riding the horse.”

Sweet Cheeks blushes unaware that evidence of her arousal is so apparent.

“It’s time for weighting her... nipples only for now,” Groom Edgar explains.

“So I see,” Lady Dyson stepping proximate, her crop hand extending. “You’ve progressed her nipples to well over an inch.”

“An inch and a half, Ma’am.” 

“And the labia?” the tip of the crop pushing about the weights... bringing another gasp of joy. 

“Still retracted... but with twice daily finger work I’ll soon have her in stretching cones there as well.”

“Good. And the vaginal walls? Breeding material?”

“Firm. This one will drop some foals for you... when the time comes.”

Lady Dyson nods, moving to the side. Sweet Cheeks turns her head, noting the woman seems to glow in observing a naked girl in toil... legs straining, direly protecting the entrance to her opening. A gloved hand smooths over the buttocks, examining.

“She clenches her buttocks delightfully. Nice basic shape... but in much need of development here, Edgar.”    

“She’s young, Ma’am. Development yes, but such will come soon. Diet and exercise.”

“Yes, you do marvelous work, Edgar. Have her in harness in no time.”

Lady Dyson returns to the front, peering into the face.

“Nice even features. Have you needed to shave her... other than the head?”

“Yes, some pubic hair... not yet requiring daily attention... quickly removed.”

“Well, when next putting her under the razor, shave her eyebrows. Even in baldness I detect a degree of pride in the girl... dignity. That won’t do. Pride is something we’ll bestow... proud to be mastered... to prance naked... to serve in harness. And dignity... well that will only come when she’s put in bit and bridle... and run under the crop”

A gloved hand reaches, a finger smoothing over the limited strips of hair above the eyes.

“Yes, it will give her an eery, alien look. Somewhat freakish... but needed. As I said, pride... any pride in appearance will come from what we bestow... what we permit.”

Sweet Cheeks begins to well up, her emotions on a roller coast, enjoying Groom Edgar’s sensuous handling, now her appearance to be further altered. As Lady Dyson steps away, Sweet Cheeks looks into the mirror. Having acclimated... somewhat... to baldness... complete glabrousness will next come. Yes, eery... freakish... not a strand of hair anywhere.  

“And I want Candy Bar figged. She can be a little torpid. Some ginger root will help.”

The sound of tapping boots fades, Lady Dyson leaving for the training corral.

Groom Edgar notes the tears, rivulets streaming, a droplet to the floor.

“Your eyebrows will grow back... when permitted,” Edgar softly counsels.

“How I am to be shown... looking freakish?”

A hand reaches, a finger tenderly wiping the wet cheeks. Curious, Groom Edgar thinks to himself. The conditioning, the psychological duress, Sweet Cheeks is acclimating to her servitude... disappointed that her prospective appearance... all hair gone... will deter from any pageants. Even such otherwise insignificant strips of facial hair... when removed... will preclude her complete nakedness from posing before judges... some dozen eyes assessing... hands poking and prodding. She will not be a show pony looking like a creature.   

Groom Edgar smiles inwardly. The girl is succumbing. There is relent in not being displayed in her nakedness.

“You can be raced, Cheeks. Your conditioning has yet to begin. First proper muscle formation... many hours riding the horse... then the treadmill, training corral and finally to be harnessed and run. But you’ll need to be... presentable... as well,” the hands returning to the dangling cords, pushing such that the weights swing about, leaving no doubt as to ‘presentable’.

“Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir... what a Dyson Farms pony girl looks like. There will be more weights?” the tone seeming hopeful.

“Oh yes. And your cunny as well. You’ve seen Gum Drop.”

Sweet Cheeks nods, the reply seeming to bring cheer. The labial infusion. Is there odd attraction? Can she dichotomously feel the induced sensuality of labia turned to small balloons?   

“I can’t work the fields, Sir. Whipped, caned.... and you said made supple... you know... back there,” Sweet Cheeks’ head tilting and nodding, ‘back there’ being her fine posterior.

So, Groom Edgar’s brief description of what it is to work the fields has left an indelible impression, trainee Sweet Cheeks almost beseeching to either be shown or be exhaustively run in harness. Perhaps her aptitude for Lady Dyson’s training and curious body modifications can be heightened.

“Another hour on the horse and I’ll walk you, Cheeks. Leashed of course... whenever outside the stable pony girls are tethered. Would you like that?” 

Not having seen the outdoors for many weeks, Sweet Cheeks effusively nods her head.

“Oh, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir. So kind of you.”  

'The Groom and the Trainee', Segment IV

Merry Christmas!

*****

Sweet Cheeks lies supine on a wooden platform, thin mattress offering a degree of comfort. As Groom Edgar stands above, food bowl in hand, she looks into the handsome face. She finds the man to be attractive... in a paternal manner. With hair slightly graying at the temples, perhaps he is the father she never knew. Since her arrival at Dyson Farms he has been most kindly... his touch firm and directing but caring and tender... and yet degrading in so often taking liberty with her intimate girl parts... closely supervised toileting being just one of many embarrassing protocols.

The man sits to her side, spoon scooping.

“I can feed myself, Sir.”

“Yes, Cheeks, but that would mean removing your masturbation mittens and unbuckling your wrist cuffs. Bondage... for pony girls it is best.”

Yes, Sweet Cheeks and the platform bed are one, lying in four point restraint, arms held over her head at the corners, ankles likewise secured... and of course her legs obscenely parted, hairless cunny well exposed.

“And other than that, you should understand that here the rituals and protocols are framed to ensure a sense of dependency. A pony girl has needs... we take care of those needs. You’ll not have a worry or care in the world... other than to obey and perform.”

A spoon laden hand presents a pile of brown gruel. Sweet Cheeks, though hungry, demurs... passive resistance.   

“Oh come now, Cheeks. We can use a gastric tube. You would not be the first girl so fed.”

A free hand goes to the girl’s nose, a finger pushing into the right nostril, gently but hinting at the discomfort of being so intubated.

“You can do that sir... would do that?”

“Oh yes, we have some very nutritious concoctions for recalcitrant pony girls. Particularly those destined to work the fields. We make them nice and plump... better for long working days naked in the cool air.”

Sweet Cheeks shudders, bristling with the power... and her compelled submission... the thought that in addition to modifying pink parts... nipples and labia... a girl’s entire body is to be molded into... whatever. Groom Edgar smiles in seeing the reaction of fear and concern, withdrawing his finger as a mouth opens in acceptance. The spoon enters, the tasteless mush masticated.

The exchange gives rise to questions. Just who is Groom Edgar?.. so knowledgeable... able to play with a girl’s anatomy like a Maestro violinist. He toys... but with purpose... psychologically... emotionally... physically transforming. The supervised toilet, the nipple cones... her tender nubs handled with exacting care... becoming some exotic extravagant fare, an exotic recipe prepared for royal consumption... slowly pulled, twisted, further pulled to grotesque length... then finally suctioned into tight rubber cones. All performed with knowing exactness.

And there is the attention paid to her labia... examined and palpated twice daily... for now deemed too undeveloped for alternation. But for sure Sweet Cheeks is destined for the prominent dangling strips of pink girl flesh borne by Gum Drop.

Sustenance spooned and consumed in silence, Groom Edgar puts aside the bowl. Sweet Cheeks knows it is time for her nightly examination... more ignominy.        

“How do your breasts feel, Cheeks?”

“Like... you know... someone, something... is constantly pulling.”

With the words, fingers go to the rubber cones. Sweet Cheeks knows what is to come. Maestro is to play his violin... her body.

“That’s good,” fingers deftly peeling, unrolling the tightly fitting left rubber cone down to the nipple tip for removal.

The right cone is likewise rolled off. Sweet Cheeks gazes down in horror to see her nubs do not retract. Forced to spear forth some two inches when encapsulated, on prior evenings such have shrunk back somewhat to normalcy. Not on this evening. And Groom Edgar notices as well, smiling in satisfaction.

Putting aside the rubber, the hands return, Sweet Cheeks to endure the twice daily breast massage. It feels good... it feels distressing... it embarrasses... yet she must helplessly lie and accept the attention.

Worse, she feels twinges. The shame brings arousal. She berates herself. Groom Edgar compliments.

“You’re becoming fragrant, Cheeks... learning to enjoy a mastering touch. That is good... you’re here to be mastered.”

Sweet Cheeks blushes, once again her groom’s knowledge concerning things girlishly private brings both admiration and frustration. He plays such magical violin. Yes, masterfully. 

The nipples made supple, Groom Edgar reaches for the horrid device Sweet Cheeks knows to bring transformation... forced transformation. It appears to be a modified breast pump, suctioning strongly as fingers squeeze an attached puffolator. The right nipple is pulled firmly, engulfed, and then when a trigger-like lever is pulled, with a notable click a fresh rubber cone... seemingly tighter and certainly longer... is snapped into place covering anew a length of sensitive flesh.

“Ugh,” the exclamation of discomfort bringing Groom Edgar to smile.

“You’re becoming acclimated to elongation, Cheeks,” a finger playfully tapping her nose. “You squealed the first time. Do I detect a level of acceptance,” spoken as the device is reloaded,    

Left nipple similarly encased, the device disappears and Groom Edgar slips down the side of the mattress. Sweet Cheeks closes her eyes... more shame... more play... Maestro to intimately examine as the outer labia are splayed, the inner labia brought fully into the room light, the vaginal opening gaping.

“Yes, Quite moist, Sweet Cheeks. You’re coming to enjoy being examined... being handled.”

“Must you Sir... every day?”

“Twice per day. You have no privacy here at Dyson Farms, Cheeks. You’ll be shown and put on display... at Lady Dyson’s whim. So an intimate gynecological examination will become quite acceptable... in time.”

As per twice per day, the fingers slip past the outer lips and gently pinch the inner labia,... limited on a girl of Cheeks age... then roll about beginning a tugging action just as with the nipples. Sweet Cheeks comes to realize... the horrid device bestowing tight rubber to her nipples will also be applied... first suctioning then, with a pull of a mastering finger and a click, likewise encase her precious girl parts below.

When? When will her beauty lips succumb as well?

The Maestro’s touch brings more twinges... and for sure more moisture. Sweet Cheeks begins to smell herself... more ignominy. She berates herself, stifling a quest to plead... for more attention... to likewise toy with her clitoris... to finally bring climax... to light the fuse leading to an explosive orgasm. She feels sheepish with the thought. Drat the unending chastity! 

Her thoughts worsen. There comes the sound of squishing, her cunny sopping wet, fingers turning her vagina into a wellspring.  

Then she thinks of Groom Edgar’s words... gynecological exam. Could it be?

“Are you a doctor, Sir?” the finger work continuing, the sensation both arousing and demeaning.

“You’re maturing here nicely, Sweet Cheeks. In bathing Gum Drop, you’re aware of the... ah... presentation... the Dyson Farms look for pony girls. You’re going to be so proud... and so excited to be run... sensing your girl bits flopping about.”

“Well?” her question not to be evaded.

“I have medical training. Yes. You’re in good hands... and fingers,” Groom Edgar humorously adds.

Should this bring comfort? Awareness that... though extensive and bizarre modification is to come... her body will not be the instrument of a Maestro... to be played... but instead a sculpture... clay for an artist.

“So not a doctor?”

“I was,’ the fingers of left hand and right managing to coax tufts of labial flesh from the vaginal opening... to be tugged forth and rolled about firmly... more firmly than other morning and evening sessions.

Sweet Cheeks feels more open and vulnerable than ever, gasping with unwanted joy, arms and legs tugging at her restraints.

“The medical board chose to retract my license,” Groom Edgar fesses up. “And Lady Dyson graciously assures my... financial requirements.” 

Should this alleviate concerns... naked and bound body subjected to the caprice of examining, marauding hands and fingers... but clinically trained?

“In a few weeks, Sweet Cheeks. While working your buttocks, legs and thighs on the horse, you’ll also have another set of training cones. More stretching. You’ll come to enjoy the feel. And we go slowly... your girl parts will not lose any sensation. Trust me, I know.” 

Yes, you’re a doctor... license revoked for obvious reasons, Sweet Cheeks thinks but dares not say...  medical training bastardized.     

'The Groom and the Trainee', Segment III

 Groom Edgar holds up the masturbation mittens... carefully. The outer mesh steel covering can engender cuts and scrapes. Sweet Cheeks knows to step forth and offer her hands for encapsulation.

“You’re aroused, Cheeks. Gum Drop’s cunny is not the only source feminine fragrance.”

Hands again rendered useless, tiny padlocks left and right are clicked closed. A hand lowers, fingers grazing the vulva, index finger slipping inward with ease. Sweet Cheeks knows not to resist, parting her feet in welcome. Constantly naked, she is open and vulnerable... to examination... to penetration.

“It’s... it’s horrible, sir,” nodding to where Gum Drops futilely continues to stimulate herself, hips rocking, full gratification not to come.

“Pointed words... but your love pouch speaks louder,” hand withdrawing, a wet finger presented.

Sweet Cheeks blushes in shame. Why is she aroused? she asks herself.  

“Your masochism... your need for subjugation... it is what it is, Cheeks. At Dyson Farms, it will be addressed. But never satiated. Ultimately that would not please you.”

Groom Edgar twirls a finger. Sweet Cheeks obediently turns to face away.

“Present,” the command softly uttered.

Sweet Cheeks responds to her early training, fully parting her feet, bending at the waist and arching her back, indeed presenting... a set of buttocks... girlishly shapely and under development... a tight puckered sphincter... the entrance to her hairless mons.

Can a girl ever become accustomed to the humiliation of so exposing herself? blushing deepening.

She feels hands... tender and caring. Fingers smoothing over her nakedness, squeezing in assessment of the gluteus maximus muscles. Then such palpate the thighs... outer and inner. 

Sweet Cheeks finds sensuality... oddly hoping an impaling finger returns. But she also finds the touch to be clinical. Objectified, her muscling is under evaluation. 

“Lady Dyson will be making a decision about you, Sweet Cheeks. For sure your buttocks will be well developed... that’s what we do here. But for show... for competition... or to work the fields?”

“For show, sir?”

“To be entered more or less in beauty pageants. Stripped naked of course, judged for... well... elements of appearance... shape... form... and comportment... level of obedience.”

Sweet Cheeks shudders. Still not acclimated to baring herself to a presiding male, how will she ever face an audience? Groom Edgar laughs, feeling her somatic reaction.

“Deep within, you’d enjoy, Sweet Cheeks. Perched on a pedestal, dozens of eyes examining. Hands assessing. Your most intimate anatomy open for viewing...”

The words bring Sweet Cheeks to feel twinges, vagina sopping, her scent even more evident. She doesn’t want to be subjected to such degradation... or does she?

“And if Lady Dyson wants you in competition... raced... you’ll be run... daily... for miles. Stamina maximized, weight well monitored, special diet... and hormones. Build the muscling... and you’d most likely develop a nice sized clitoris. Testosterone can do that for a girl.”

With that an examining finger goes to her gaping portal, deftly finding the clitoral hood and diddling suggestively. The simple, quick touch brings a brisance of joy... and a letdown when withdrawn.

Drat the strict chastity! Sweet Cheeks feels a rivulet of feminine essence ooze to her inner thigh.     

“I’m going to bed you and feed you. I’m sure riding the horse and the excitement have tired you.”

“And working the fields sir?”

“You’re best to avoid that... if you can. It’s grueling. You’d be well caned and whipped. And... well... the field hands... they’re gruff. To properly perform I’d need to fatten you... and... you’d need to be opened... for your protection.”

“Opened?”

In response, a thumb goes to the rear portal, pressing against a tight sphincter.

“As I said... the field hands... they’re gruff. Lady Dyson always wants them to be happy... but vaginal penetration is forbidden. No unwanted foals. So you’d be made supple here,” the thumb smoothing up and down, Sweet Cheeks grateful for no penetration.

With that, Groom Edgar steps back and offers a playful but firm swat to the right buttock.

“Food and bedtime. I need to feed Gum Drop as well... if she can stop frottaging. And I think you want to urinate for me.”   

More horror! To relieve herself in a most ignominious manner... closely supervised! Worse... a man’s finger... pressed to her urethral sponge... her flow under another’s control... becoming a man’s fountain... performing at his gist!

“Come now, Cheeks,” Edgar sensing reluctance. “That’s how we do things here. All body functions under guidance... the intimacy... the humiliation... the capitulation.  It is best for you.”

Sweet Cheeks glumly moves from the stall turning toward the back of the structure, stepping on toes  past other stalls... always moving on toes, Groom Edgar following. She feels his gaze, aware that a knowing eye appraises her gait... for sure to advise Lady Dyson when the time comes... show pony... competitor... or lowly draft animal. 

Into the training stall, no suspension cables or straps, Sweet Cheeks knows to move to the odd toilet facility, part her legs and straddle. She is being trained to relieve herself standing, a steel basin with drainage between her thighs, oddly shaped in being narrow yet long, capturing both the splatter of her bladder, and the excretions of her bowels.   

“Good girl,” Edgar noting she places her covered hands on the wall before her, leaning forth, patiently awaiting a penetrating finger and the command to open.

“Must it be like this?” her plea tearful, the humiliation intense.

A well versed finger enters her portal, going to the urethral sponge and hooking in place.

“Oh Cheeks, you’d not want this any other way. You’re blushing divinely. And your quim... so slick... so welcoming.”

The digit finds the urethra, rubbing about. Such thrill... such degradation. How is it the man knows... is so aware?

“Open,” the command finally comes. A flow begins, the sound of splatter embarrassing. And then it stops... control... control... the finger pressing closed her inner plumbing. 

Sweet Cheeks whimpers. Not like this!

'The Groom and the Trainee' Segment II

Sweet Cheeks swabs about the fragrant chamois, listening to Gum Drop purr as would a cat. Well worked, Sweet Cheeks must assume the girl has been run for miles, the naked form hanging most lethargically. She marvels at the conditioning, no evidence of distress despite relative immobility, swinging in tethers as soapy hands work. She feels the smooth, hairless warmth, a blemishless covering of fine skin enshrouding firm, well toned muscling. Does it thrill that in time, with unending exercise and training, her own young form will be so developed?

And the buttocks... large, rounded to notable prominence... and well cropped, the red welts of Lady Dyson’s crop not yet fading. The marks are even, the skin not broken. Such excoriation seems to be for encouragement... not punishment... bringing forth effort... stimulation... to be run to a girl’s breaking point... and beyond. To counter the near ecstasy of the vaginal insertions... the tantalization of the ringed nipples.

Hands smoothing about, Sweet Cheeks cannot help asking herself... about the Ben wa balls. She will no doubt be so impaled... should she be deemed worthy of bit, bridle and harness. 

What does it feel like... the constant stimulation? Dare she ask... Groom Edgar? Volunteer for impalement.

Masturbation mittens locked in place... could vaginal insertions lead to her only climactic relief?

Yet, Gum Drop is not brought to orgasm... such wickedness

“Do they really... you know... tie you together... with another girl... to be bathed.... and you know... like rub each other?” Sweet Cheeks whispers into an ear stressed by a hooked grommet.

“Yes, we’re allowed to trib from time to time... when Lady Dyson wants to be amused. It’s... it’s... well... a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”

“So that’s it... to...”

“Most times we don’t get off... if that’s what you’re asking. She uses the cane... if she thinks a girl is... you know... close... about to climax without permission.” 

“It seems... so... cruel.”

“She wants us frisky... that’s the word she uses. You’ll see. You’ll be running for her... trying your best... in pleasing her... in trying to please yourself. And if you’re good... very good... she’ll have Mr. Edgar... well... finish you. He’s... superb. He’ll get to know your cunny better than you do. And he’ll certainly be there more than you... deeper and more often,” Gum Drop snickering. “So be a good girl... be nice to him.”

Sweet Cheeks moves to the front, hands going to the breasts, swabbing there ever so gently, taking the extended nipples into right hand and left. She has never considered herself homosexual, telling herself it is for Gum Drop’s good, the cropped strips sore, the removal of the rings quick yet painful. She rolls about her fingers, ever so carefully pulling in a milking motion, ostensibly to clean. With the touch, Gum Drop sighs, Sweet Cheeks glad her tender massage is welcomed. 

‘Just us girls’, Sweet Cheeks rationalizes... simply helping the poor girl. Yet the twinges renew, Sweet Cheeks looking over to where Groom Edgar stands nearby, preparing for the next procedure. Will he notice... a soapy hand disobediently giving herself a quick frottage?

“Someday... after you’ve been run... and need to be bathed... maybe we’ll be strung... together. We become close here. It’s... well... out of necessity. When fully trained you’ll not have mittens... just be kept in constant bondage. It’s Lady Dyson’s thing. As I said... kept frisky.”

“So other then Edgar....”

Gum Drop laughs, cutting off her words.

“There’s no cock here... if that’s what you’re about to ask. Not in the stables. The fields yes. But you'd not want that. There’s exhausting exercise to counter the hormones, the insertions, the sting of the crop and Mr. Edgar’s hands and fingers. So when we’re bathed together... do learn to enjoy. No inhibitions girl... put all that silliness aside. Particularly if Lady Dyson takes a liking... to your tongue work. For oral she has a neutered boy she keeps naked in her chambers... but at times she likes variety.”     

Distracted in thought, Sweet Cheeks doesn’t realize her fingers have progressed from cleaning the lengthy nipples to palpating sensuously. She is alerted to the unintentional erotic effect when Gum Drop purrs anew and begins stirring, hips wriggling in frustration, her body swinging in the many restraining cables.

“Step closer,” softly blurted.

Sweet Cheeks so moves. Gum Drop thrusts forth her tongue, alacritously finding a cone covered right nipple and drawing between her lips to bring a pang of Sapphic delight. Her attention is swift and quickly ends.

“Well, I see you girls are getting along. Naughty girl, Gum Drop,” Edgar admonishes. “Step away Sweet Cheeks. Empty the bucket. And for you, Gum Drop, perhaps a cold water rinse?”

“Please no, sir... I... I...” 

“Yes you wanted to acclimate Sweet Cheeks to pony girl life at Dyson Farms, tsk, tsk tsk.”.    

Edgar places aside a tray of implements and turns on the spray hose. Gum Drop is grateful, the flow is warm... soothingly warm.

“And you were talking,” directing the flow to rinse away the soapiness. “About?”

“Sweet Cheeks was asking... about bathing... you know... when Lady Dyson wants to be entertained.”

“Yes. If a girl wants to get herself off here, tribbing can happen... at times. And you girls like showing off... to Lady Dyson... and her guests.”

Guests! The notion brings alarm. Sweet Cheeks to display her nakedness to the unknown!

Groom Edgar, snaps his fingers, gaining Sweet Cheeks’ attention and pointing to a towel.

“Keep your hands busy and away from your cunny.”

 Sweet Cheeks returns, noting that Gum Drop helplessly swings about in suspension as she dries, Edgar stepping between well parted thighs.

“If you’ve not before seen a girl infused, watch closely. It’s most subjugating... good for a pony girl’s psyche. Bringing conflict... emotional unease... but physical joy.”

Sweet Cheeks completes her task, obediently moving to stand behind at Edgar’s left side. She will watch, vicariously sensing shame, the girl spread so wide open.

“Hands to your head and keep them there, Sweet Cheeks. Until I get you back into the masturbation mittens.”  

Sweet Cheeks complies, watching intently as hands reach forth, pinching the lengthy draping inner labia, rhythmically tugging in a milking motion... left, right, left, right.

“First we stimulate.. bringing more circulation,” Gum Drop moaning with the touch, “and loosening things up. Notice the coloring... pink turning to red,” Edgar pedantic anew. 

The milking motion stops, the fingers gently slapping then tweaking, the dangling four inch lengths becoming toys. Then Edgar reaches to the tray.

“Then we tie off, trapping the increased circulation within the lips.”

Slim cords, appearing to be for dental hygiene, are knotted about left labium then right at the base, fingers working well into the vaginal opening. Then the fingers resume fondling, flipping the lengths back and forth.

In watching Sweet Cheeks presses together her thighs, the concupiscence of many weeks of chastity, sensing the delight of such manipulation, bring again twinges.    

“And she’s ready... labial infusion. Well trussed... exposure complete... vulnerable to whatever is to be done to her, can you sense a pony girl’s surrender... feel her concern... feel her helplessness... but also feel the sublime sense of capitulation?”

A hand reaches to the tray, grasping a hypodermic needle with a frighteningly large barrel... filled with clear fluid.

“Saline, to infuse and give a girl some nice plum beauty lips. Give a girl a welcomed sense of exposure... a tantalizing physical sensation.”

The needle pricks the red left labium. Gum Drop lurches in her bonds.

“Please... not too much, sir.”

“Oh Gum Drop, you’d not want moderation... not when you can idly sway in suspension... and feel the warmth... frottage yourself to sleep... show me... show the world... a nice fat set of lips.”

Sweet Cheeks gawks, the plunger pressed... the saline flowing... the red strip swelling... slowly... slowly... plumping... plumping... redder... larger... larger... a girl’s precious anatomy becoming a man’s plaything... a bright red balloon.

“The saline will be harmlessly absorbed. But bring such subtle ecstasy. Gum Drop will wriggle about... trying desperately to bring herself to orgasm... but will fail... finally dozing off in the frustration of unattainable joy... ready to be run tomorrow.”

The needle withdraws, the once long thin labium now a saline filled sphere of some two inches in diameter. In thought, Sweet Cheeks is tempted to be disobedient, a wet vagina needing attention.

How is it Gum Drop can take this, lurching again as the right labium is stabbed, the process repeating.... slowly... slowly... the barrel emptying, the labium engorging.

“Eighty cubic centimeters. Good girl, Gum Drop. Such nicely stretched labia. You’ll be so proud.”

The empty syringe is returned to the tray. Edgar brings more humiliation, hands returning to again toy, flipping about the balloons, then palming, turning his head back to Sweet Cheeks to pridefully display his handiwork. Gum Drop moans, squirming with diabolical pleasure. 

“Your turn will come, Cheeks. Some stretching first... another set of rubber cones for your little cunny when it better matures. In time you can have a nice prominent pudendum... just like this. Want to play with her? Just don’t stimulate her clitoris. That’s forbidden”

Hands remaining on head, Sweet Cheeks gawks. Does she want to toy with a girl’s most intimate bits? She can sense Gum Drop’s tantalizing joy. Indeed as Groom Edgar releases, fingers going to remove the strings entrapping the saline, Gum Drop begins wriggling about her hips, the swollen labia gently swinging side to side, brushing inner thighs right and left. The pony girl moans then paroxysmally attempts to thrust hips, stressing the canvas bonds... her frustration palpable.   

“She’ll work and work through the night... trying for climax... inachievable climax... finally to sleep in exhaustion. With any clitoral stimulation... denied of course... she’d come. A simple feather would do. Over time, the saline will dissipate, but her lips will be a little longer... and fleshier. And tomorrow, when Lady Dyson runs her she’ll strive... to please... to take the sting of the crop... buttocks... nipples... buttock... nipples. And such will feel good to her... hoping for the word from her ladyship... that her performance and output are satisfactory. Yes, to be masturbated... fully... to orgasm. Like you she squirts, Sweet Cheeks. All Dyson Farms pony girls ejaculate for her ladyship.”

Groom Edgar steps away, letting a mesmerized Sweet Cheeks watch and watch, the reddened flesh waggling about. He smiles inwardly in knowing the girl becomes more and more eager every day... to be harnessed..  to be run... to likewise feel the sting of leather... and yes... to be restrained in suspension... and finally be brought to climax. For a girl of Sweet Cheeks’ ilk, the humiliation... the subjugation... it’s addictive.

“Some anal attention, Gum Drop? A nice stout butt plug?” 

'The Groom and the Trainee'

This will be a free story. So far two postings. I may add to it from time to time.

Enjoy... and purchase some stories. Lulu.com. Be sure to give yourself access to explicit material.

**********************************************************************

The Groom & the Trainee

Copyright 2022

by Chris Bellows

“She’s well watered and ran okay for me... but rather uninspired. So don’t bring her off,” Lady Dyson handing a set of slim leather reins to her groom. “I want her eager and frisky to be run tomorrow. I think instead... why not infuse her. She can frottage herself to sleep. And I think our little trainee pony girl Sweet Cheeks will find interest.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

A gloved right hand goes to the bald head of pony girl trainee ‘Sweet Cheeks’, patting affectionately.

“She spent some time on the horse? I want those buttocks strong and protrudimg... especially since I’ve named her Sweet Cheeks.”

“Oh yes, Ma’am. She can now endure for nearly an hour.”

“Good. And I see she’s encased in nipple cones. Such nice titties she’s going to have for me,” the cylinders of tight rubber the girl’s only covering other than mittens.

“It will require time, Lady Dyson.”

“Yes, and persistence. But all skin stretches... don’t have to tell you that. And soon the labia,” Lady Dyson peering down to assess a hairless vulva.

The hand retracts, Lady Dyson stepping to the stable door, riding boots tapping the age-old floor planks.

“For me... a cool glass of wine, a hot bath and a warm, wet tongue. Goodnight Edgar.”

“Goodnight Ma’am.”

In departing, trainee Sweet Cheeks can divert her respectful eyes from the imposing owner and chatelaine of Dyson Farms to the sweat coated nakedness of pony girl Gum Drop. Despite her weeks of indenture, she always finds infatuation when a well worked pony girl is returned to the stables and placed under the attentive yet demanding care of Groom Edgar.

“Come, Gum Drop,” his voice low but firm, a controlling hand taking in the slack of the leather reins.

The well tethered pony girl follows as Edgar leads further into the stable structure. Sweet Cheeks notes the perspiration, listening to the small bells chime at the breasts and between the thighs.

The well muscled girl is hairless... head bald... and nude of course, other than standard restraints... high leather collar immobilizing the head, wrist cuffs holding the hands and arms useless, high to the back of the collar in the reverse prayer position,... and a thick leather waist belt making the girl and a riding cart one when properly secured.

With the reins leading to bit and bridle Gum Drop knows to obediently follow the guiding hand. Resistance and lack of attention is known to bring instant self induced pain to the mouth and tongue.

“Watch closely, Cheeks. Gum Drop is well versed and learning the protocols will save you some anguish when it’s your turn in harness... and to be groomed after a good run,” Edgar becoming pedantic once again.         

“First it’s to the suspension harness... and note Gum Drop only moves under direction. When I stop... she stops. When I move, she moves. We let you prance about as a trainee... a young filly... but when your time in harness comes... you’ll move only under supervision.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now Gum Drop has been acclimated... conditioned... to feel safe and secure only when in complete bondage. Even when she’s being run she is strictly tethered. And of course is now sensing my control at the end of the reins.”

As Edgar leads to a set of broad strips of canvas hanging from cables attached to the stable’s beams, Sweet Cheeks visually examines. The buttocks, well shaped but massive, are striped, Lady Dyson quick and generous with the riding crop. Protruding nipples, three inch long strips of firm crinkled pink turned to bright crimson, have no doubt also endured snaps of the crop.

The bells ring with each footfall, one each dangling from rings at the base of the nipples right and left. And a third, attached to a vaginal insertion, flops about at the pudendum, without doubt tantalizing pink and flushed strips of well exposed inner labial flesh.

Sweet Cheeks understands that in time her own beauty lips will be so presented.

She notes much moisture streaming down the inner thighs. Sweat? She knows it to be a mix of secretions.

Edgar leads between the hanging canvas. Gum Drop knows to step up onto a low bench and widely part her feet. The vaginal bell now hangs freely and with motion curtailed is silenced. Sweet Cheeks senses embarrassment for the girl as the scent of feminine arousal wafts in the stable air.

Gum Drop is stimulated! Painful cropping, bondage, humiliated in complete exposure of all a girl has to present... and her arousal is evident. 

Knowing of the pony girl’s deviant sexual excitement, Sweet Cheeks feels the frustration of the pony girl’s denial. Wrists well secured, there is no relief to be had for Gum Drop. Nimble fingers cannot bring herself to satiation. And with the thought Sweet Cheeks looks to her only covering. She is nude as well... but for thumb-less mittens... bag-like, gruff metal mesh locked in place and covering hands right and left.

‘Masturbation mittens’ groom Edgar has termed the curious garb. Such cruel chastity!

And indeed Sweet Cheeks has found it to be irritating and potentially painful to so much as rub her knee, her young skin notably sensitive.

How is it she will ever endure the riding crop?    

“Left thigh first,” Edgar interrupting her thoughts in continuing his lecture.

The words come as the reins are tied off and one strip of canvas, lined in foam, is slipped between powerful legs then pulled high, attaching the free end back to the cable above to form a loop encircling the upper thigh. The right leg is so encumbered and Edgar takes cuffs from the nearby wall, buckling in place about the ankles.     

“Steady girl,” Edgar firmly advises as knowing hands lift the left ankle from the bench and secure the cuff to a ceiling cable. Right ankle done as well, Gum Drop hangs in suspension, weight born by the thigh straps and ankle cuffs. Then Edgar works quickly to move to the pony girl’s front and hook slim ceiling cables to grommets set deeply into the cartilage of the ears. He next works to adjust the cables assuring that Gum Drop hangs comfortably... relatively comfortably... three feet from the floor in full suspension, knees bent, ankles and calves drawn up, belly to the floor, head held at waist level.

“You’ll soon have your ears done as well, Cheeks. Very simple bondage for the head,” commenting as the bridle is finally unbuckled and the bit slipped away.

“Comfortable?” the tone that of a father putting to bed a young child.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you. You’re so kind. Must you do... you know... the infusion?”

“You heard Lady Dyson. You need to better perform for her to be brought to full climax. And its only two little pin pricks... and then hours and hours of enjoyment for you.”

With the exchange, Edgar releases the cuffs and removes the high neck collar, his attention bringing a sigh of relief as the arms unfold and the cuffed wrists lower to more comfortably rest secured together at the small of the back. The thick waist belt is unbuckled. 

“Next come the bells, Cheeks. We’d not have her making a raucous as she tries to masturbate herself during the night. Pony girls can be so naughty,” humorously suggested in a tone of gentle admonishment.

Sweet Cheeks watches in amazement despite having before observed the removal. Fingers of the left hand pinch the lengthy left nipple and pull vigorously, stretching the three inches to a grotesque length. The action serves to thin the nub so that the fingers of the right hand can grasp the ring and with a gentle twisting motion draw the circle of steel and attached bell toward the tip. As such are slipped away the attached bell chimes and Gum Drop gasps with the quick agony, the tender flesh sore from vigorous cropping.

“One more,” Edgar advises with a smile, pinching and pulling the right nipple as well to bring more ringing and another gasp.

Sweet Cheeks glances to her own nipples, firmly encased in rubber, the constant suctioning for sure to bring similar bizarre presentation to her own breasts. As Edgar steps away to stow the rings and bells, Sweet Cheeks cannot help staring in wonderment. The glands of Gum Drop are not masculine in shape but less than feminine... mounds not rounded hillocks. It’s been explained that pendulous breasts do not well serve a pony girl, weight and floppiness there ungainly in being run exhaustively.

It seems at Dyson Farms only the presiding equestrienne is bestowed with normal feminine charms... Lady Dyson well endowed.   

Next Edgar steps to the rear. In positioning himself between wide spread thighs, Sweet Cheeks moves to stand behind. In alarm and again sensing embarrassment for Gum Drop the tethers of canvas hold the girl in a most humiliating pose. Buttocks parted, there is the puckered ring of her anus. Below the meaty outer labia yield and another bell hangs between long pink strips of the inner labia. Such humiliation... open for all to view.

Such ignominy, all a girl seeks to modestly veil on display... and such vulnerability.

Edgar notes the look of both concern and wonderment.

“Yes, well bound, spread open for examination... so helpless. Yet such enjoyment,” the fingers of the right hand going to the mass of moist pink flesh.

Edgar toys, fingers parting the labia and easily gliding inward to bring another sigh of joy. Then his hand retracts, held up for examination. The fingers are slick having gathered an abundance of juices. Sweet Cheeks knows such is not perspiration, the stable air becoming more redolent.

The left hand gestures ‘come hither’. Sweet Cheeks steps forth. She knows to lick clean the offered right hand.

“It is important... the subjugation. It leads to surrender... to obedience... and in time the need to please. Gum Drop is kept on the edge... so close to full orgasm... but yet so far. She runs and runs... bringing herself to the brink. Yet in constant denial. Climax must be earned.”

Edgar turns back to the abject display of a girl’s must precious anatomy, the fingers of the right pushing aside the abundant labial flesh and gently grasping the bell.

“Cough, Gum Drop. Be a good girl.”

Gum Drop complies, and with her response the hand pulls downward, slowly, steadily and firmly. A line of filament comes into view then an attached small steel ball, gleaming in wetness. 

“Cough again. Be a good girl for me.”

Another obedient response. Sweet Cheeks marvels at the groom’s knowledge of the female anatomy, coughing temporarily relaxing the pubo coccygeus muscles and the vagina. The small ball further lowers. More fine filament comes into view and finally a larger sphere of steel. Such completely exits the vagina with an embarrassing plop.

As Edgar pridefully holds up the configuration... large ball affixed at the cervix, small ball tantalizingly rummaging about to stimulate the vagina, bell tingling between the labia to announce the girl’s degradation... Sweet Cheeks is amazed. Her young and tight quim for sure not to accommodate such deviant trinkets. Yet Gum Drop has endured the distant unending pangs of pleasure with every footfall during a long afternoon run.

“Ben wa balls... with a clever adaptation. Lady Dyson enjoys the rhythmical cadence... the ringing bells, the sound of leather on wet skin. It can enthrall. Particularly in knowing that the sting of leather becomes welcomed... countering the pleasure of an unattainable orgasm.”

Edgar puts aside the modified Ben wa balls, stepping forward, hands reaching to the underdeveloped chest of Sweet Cheeks.

“You’ll be running for her... in time, Cheeks, performing for Lady Dyson,” fingers going to the rubber cones of nipples undergoing modification. 

Gentle tugs, bringing a girlish squeal, the groom’s touch knowing and sensuous. Sweet Cheeks is chagrined, knowing it is a squeal of joy... and that Edgar’s smile evidences his awareness. The girl is learning to find delight in a controlling touch.

“Your cunny will come. As Lady Dyson said... all skin stretches,” the hand lowering to graze at a hairless mons, bringing another squeal.

Edgar releases. Going to the wall, he returns with a bucket.

“Time to empty yourself, Gum Drop.”

This protocol always brings Sweet Cheeks to grimace. Positioning the bucket beneath, portal now cleared of impediments, Gum Drop may now urinate without hindrance. But at Dyson Farms a pony girl does that under close supervision... always under close supervision.

Edgar steps between the parted thighs, right hand going to the vaginal opening, index finger working within. Sweet Cheeks closes her eyes, too well aware of the intense humiliation, the debasement of having male fingers so penetrate.

She herself is being trained to so empty herself, vicariously feeling a knowing digit find the urethral sponge, pressing to bring both embarrassment and a sense of loss of control. The urethra is found, there comes the command to urinate, a stream begins, the bucket below pinging, and then the marauding finger more firmly presses to curtail the flow.

“Hold for me, Gum Drop,” Sweet Cheeks so often hearing the same command.

Yes, a most basic function is performed under close supervision, all dignity surrendered.

Sweet Cheeks is learning but still not fully conditioned. Gum Drop in turn dutifully withholds... waiting... waiting... until she is permitted to resume... the finger allowing full relief... only to again press... the deed requiring much time... the groom’s control fully demonstrated... any remaining self respect decimated.

A man... his finger... penetrating... bringing such debasement in exercising such dominion. 

“Good girl,” finally permitting full bladder relief.     

Bucket removed, Edgar unravels a spray hose, preparing a second bucket with soap.

“Would you like to wash her, Cheeks? We like to have the pony girls bond. Sometimes Lady Dyson strings the girls up... hands over head, wrists held high, face to face, titties to titties... and permits them to trib... vulva to vulva while being bathed. It’s quite amusing to watch.”

Sweet Cheeks is horrified. Yet she senses twinges between her legs in thinking about such a libidinous scene. The masturbation mittens... ensuring chastity, ensuring she has needs... ensuring such are never satiated.

In silence she holds up her hands, reminding of the locked covering of steel mesh rendering such  useless.

“I’ll get the key. You can bathe her while I prepare the saline. And Sweet Cheeks, do not touch her vulva. No cleansing there. Pony girls are kept ripe.”

A Short Story Coming.

Look Saturday 12/3/22 for a short story - pony girl -  'The Groom and the Trainee'.

Male/Female Dominant/female submissive.

I've been writing just not completing. I seem to lose interest in my own story, sometimes well into the story line.

'Maternal Care', Segment IX

This will be the final posted segment. The story has been published. See the July 28th 2022 posting.

CB

*****

Derrick awakens. He knows not the time. Is it daylight? With the room intended to be a nursery for a child that never came, wife Margaret had the windows boarded over. For some reason it never came to mind to remove. Derrick now suffers the consequences, to lie in the dimness without cognition of relative time.  

What has happened to him? What is happening to him? 

In testing his restraints, arms and legs flailing, such are not to yield.

He recalls the craziness of Friday, learning of his aunt’s will... the bequeathment of company stock and much cash to a trust... the voting control of the corporation essentially going to his frivolous wife... her first act as trustee to fly off on extended vacation... where the locals sing, dance and fuck all night!

Derrick seethes. But then recalls coming home... greeted by the mysterious woman of color... a nurse... a nanny... his Nanny! Oddly, it becalms, thinking of the privilege of suckling her breasts... enacting what he so often has fantasized about during hours of viewing internet porn.

But it’s not right! A captive in his own home... his anger broiling.

Adding to his anger and frustration... a wet diaper. It’s cool, it’s irritating, his own acidic excretions chafing skin brought to sensitivity. By being bathed! A woman bathed me! His infuriation peeking in thinking about the depilating tub water.  

Distraction. The bedroom door opens. A switch clicks. The room glows in bright lights. 

“How did my boy sleep?” a matronly voice coos.

“Get in here! Release me!”

Nanny knows immediately that the ketamine has subsided. She is prepared.

“That’s not how you talk to your Nanny... the woman who cares for you.”

“I’m wet... and locked up!”

“And you may stay that way... unless you calm down and be polite. You need to learn, Derrick, in this house everything now comes from me... the woman in charge of you.”

Nanny approaches. Going to the top left corner of the mattress, she reaches and with a simple flick of her finger, the cable tie for the right wrist is released.

Derrick instantly retracts his arm, folding and moving about to alleviate the cramping, then reaches over to release his left wrist. Rebuke comes quickly, Nanny’s hand going to the right nipple, both pinching and twisting to bring a stab of pain and a yelp.  

“Don’t ever touch your bonds. I will decide when to release you. I am your nanny. I am in charge.”

The pinch ends but thumb and finger remain in place as a warning. Derrick knows to still himself as demanded, relaxing his arm, ending his effort to free himself, another pinch threatened.

“Now I have something for a good boy,” free hand going to the blouse of her white uniform.

Derrick sees the hand move, hears the rip of Velcro. He calms himself indeed, recalling yesterday’s offering... breasts of size and firmness, rounded globes of perfection. His heart leaps as the folds part, the bra of half cups bringing inviting reddish-brown nipples into the bright room light.

Nanny smiles with the reaction... a child gaping at a huge ice cream sundae.

“Don’t move.”

In strolling to the top right corner of the mattress, Nanny doffs her blouse, nude from the waist up but for her revealing brassiere. She sits on the right side of the bed, positioning herself such that her boy Derrick can ogle, widening eyes inches from nipples so covetously suckled.

“Now, if I release your left wrist, would you like to reward yourself for being a good boy... staying still for me... letting yourself be properly nurtured?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Nanny smiling as the reply comes with a gasp of desperation.

“And there’s more,” Nanny’s hand going to the pocket of her uniform skirt, extracting the small jar known to contain sweet gooeyness once before savored. 

Fingers work. The bra is cast aside. Nanny enjoys the mesmerized look on her boy as the jar is opened, a finger dips and nipples right and left are brought to glisten invitingly in the bright lights.

“Just look... for now,” the coated finger going to Derrick’s lips.

Derrick knows to part his lips and cleanse... so much hoping for more... gazing in adoration... the broad shoulders... the flat stomach. Nanny is a sculpture... glands of perfection.

“You shouldn’t greet your Nanny so brusquely, Derrick. This is what good boys get,” rolling her shoulders, the firm sticky nipples swaying about. “Are you going to be a good boy?” 

“Oh, yes Nanny.”

“Then still stay. I am in control. You want me to be in control.”

The left cable tie is finally released. Derrick fights temptation but lies still, salivating. Nanny finally leans forth, arms extending, hands cradling her boy’s head, gently pulling to lift from the mattress, face going to her left breast.

“Licky, licky,” her tone one for toddlers, left hand and forearm wrapped about the back of his head.

There need be no further encouragement. Derrick licks then engulfs, taking in as much of the nipple and breast meat as possible. It comes to mind that the only thing moving under his own auspices is his tongue, all else controlled by his Nanny. 

“And no biting. Avoid the need for dental work,” index finger of the right hand tapping the nose in warning.

More ketamine... less defiance... tranquility to be restored as morning ablutions and further introduction to feminine governance and the strict protocols demanded of the diapered male will continue.

Though wife Margaret probably sleeps after a late night of partying with the well endowed native island boys, Nanny has taken the time to turn on the video recorder before entering and engaging in Derrick’s first diaper change. She knows it can be a satisfying scene for the women Derrick Mason has insulted... disparaging with his lascivious stares... neglecting husbandly duties for his wife. Perhaps the recording will even bring exhilaration.  

'Maternal Care' Published

I have published 'Maternal Care'.

49,000+ words. $6.00 (I think... Lulu's pricing module is getting quirky).

Female Dominant/male submissive. On the soft side but I think enjoyable.

https://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/maternal-care/ebook/product-kr6rvv.html?q=maternal+care&page=1&pageSize=4

Be sure to give yourself access to explicit material.

Enjoy,

CB

'Maternal Care', Segment VIII

“Can you see him on your computer screen, Margaret?”

“Oh yes, lying so peacefully. A little dark, but it’s Derrick.”

“You’re right about his infatuation with breasts. Took to my tits like starving newborn,” Nanny giggles into the phone. “How was your trip?”

“Quick and without the tedium of going through an airport and security. Flying privately is the only way to go. What’s next for Derrick?”

“More acclimatization to my control tomorrow and Sunday. By Sunday evening the piercings should be healed enough to lock away his penis.”

“Is that necessary... you know... with the locking diaper?”

“Physically no. He’ll not being touching himself... ever again unless you so decide otherwise. But mentally and emotionally it adds a layer frustration... knowing that should he somehow escape the diaper he’ll still not get himself off. And of course there’s the desired degradation... that a governing woman has his libido under her control.”

“Marvelous. I can’t help asking myself if we would have had children by now if he wasn’t constantly jerking himself off to porn.”

“Well, he’ll be getting to see the real thing... and not be able to get himself off,” Nanny laughing.

“Yes, quite the reversal. No problems handling him?”

 “I never have problems. Boys... they’re all ready to submit. It just depends on the level of determination I need to bring myself... and the ketamine. He’s taken to it very well. Turns him into a kitten,” both women laughing.

“It’s addictive?”

“No problems withdrawing physically... as with opioids. But emotionally, there will come need and attachment.”

“Just as I want. Good. Make him in need of something beside stroking himself and looking at pictures of tits.”

“Well, you have the web address for viewing. I’ll bed him every night at 8:00 p.m. For your husband, lots of rest, lots of time to think.”

“Yes, and do give the web address to Marilyn Hayes. She’ll need to know I’m fulfilling his aunt’s wishes. And to the girls in the office of course... Sophie and Liddy. They spent years with Derrick ogling their breasts, putting up with covert sexual abuse. They could use some reenforcement... bolster feminine pride.”

“Will do.”

“So you think Derrick can go through the day without wetting himself?”

“I hope not. That’s the point of diapering a boy... make him in need... decimate any male pride... bring humility. Monday morning, before dressing him and sending him off to work, I’ll fill him with water to assure the results,” the image bringing both women to laugh.

“Well I have to sign off, Miss Nanny,” wife Margaret mocking her husband’s humble form of address. “The evening is about to begin for me. While Derrick lies in bondage I’ll be picking up the islander of my choice. One’s bigger than the next... and they all fuck like machines.”

“Enjoy,” Nanny clicking off her phone.

'Maternal Care', Segment VII

“Slide forward,” Nanny releasing the wrist cable ties, “hands behind.”

In Derrick’s lightheadedness, he complies. He was feeling less drowsy, then the haziness returned. Something in the mush that his Nanny spoon fed him?

“Good boy. So obedient,” the double ‘D’ clamp returning to tether his arms behind his back.

Nanny stoops, unbuckling the Posey ankle restraints.

“Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Rather bland Miss Nanny.”

“Well that’s all you’ll be getting here. Now stand for me.”

Derrick slides further forward off the makeshift high chair, bare feet finding the lush carpeting. The soft warmth brings a not before experienced frisson, abetted as his Nanny’s arms encircle his waist to steady him. Her firm hug brings a thrill as well. Why? 

“How about we try your new penis ring, Derrick? Holding and guiding you about by your balls seemed so acceptable to you. How about if I hook my finger through your new ring... would you like that?”

“I... I... don’t... well...”

With his stammering reply, Nanny ignores his reservations, indeed hooking the sizable loop... with care... and playfully jiggling about. Penis raw and sore after being skewered, just a touch more ketamine in the evening pablum has been enough to return her charge to a state of quiescence.

“Feel good?”

“I’ve not... you know... had a woman do...”

“Yes, you’ve sheltered yourself, Derrick... as your wife suggested... not permitting yourself to address your true needs... to subordinate yourself to governing women. Come, come, bedtime.”

Nanny steps, letting her arm loosely follow behind, no stress on the penis ring. Even in his stupor, Derrick realizes how precarious is his situation. In being ringed there... well... the fear of damage greatly outweighs the concern over pain.

He follows... carefully.

“I’ve prepared the spare bedroom for you. I’ll be in the next room.”

Intended to be a nursery for a child never conceived, the spare bedroom adjoins the master bedroom. Though mind addled, Derrick knows the room is devoid of furniture. And so in being led up the stairs and down the hall by his penis, it comes as a surprise to enter and see that in the empty spare bedroom is now a large platform bed, oddly centered, no other furniture except a not before seen chest of drawers. Hanging over the bed, from the ceiling, is what appears to be a trapeze bar, familiar foam lined cuffs of nylon at each end.  

“Now boys tend to wet the bed... so I have your diaper ready.”

“A diaper, Miss Nanny!” the fawning form of address bringing a smile to she in charge. 

The words express surprise but the voice is subdued, the ketamine working its magic.

Laid out on the bed, Derrick gawks in seeing a triangle of absorbent cloth... a diaper indeed. Yet beneath lies a garment of rugged leather, attached straps and buckles imposing.

“Designed for institutional use... in long term care facilities... for the insane... and mentally incompetent. Buckled and locked in place... it’s not to be removed... not without the key... or sharp tools and a lot of effort for the defiant,” Nanny explains, always jubilant in introducing a boy to the horror of near twenty four seven confinement.  

“But... but... Miss Nanny... I don’t need...”

“I’ll decide what you need. Being diapered means you will be dependent... more in need of your Nanny. It brings the utmost empowerment, and I so much thrill in being empowered... as you will come to be thrilled in ceding to me. You’re so much going to look forward to coming home to your Nanny.”    

The penis finger gently yet firmly tugs toward the bed. A finger of the free hand points. Derrick knows to either mount the mattress or suffer as the ring finger slowly increases tension. Finally he cedes indeed, scrambling to first kneel and when the finger releases, sit upright, buttocks pressed to the cloth liner.

“Stay,” comes a softly spoken command as Nanny releases the wrist restraints, “now lie back, hands to the corners of the mattress.”

Derrick again asks himself about the preparation, straps at each corner at the ready to return his arms to bondage, cable ties quickly clipped to the straps, hands widely parted and over his head. 

“Now more protocol... I’m impressed that you so readily lie for me, but you also need to lift your feet, bend at the waist so I can cuff your ankles,” Nanny pointing to the above bar.

Derrick complies, bringing Nanny to wonder... is it truly the ketamine that brings such seemingly eager compliance... or is her boy naturally subservient... as wife Margaret has postulated? 

Nanny reaches above, cuffing each ankle, the feet held high and widely parted.

“Good boy,” Derrick’s foggy mind amazed as within seconds the diaper beneath is folded over his pubes, his defoliated groin and buttocks covered, the absorbent cloth pinned in place. 

Next comes the thick leather, assuring the diaper remains always in place. Derrick notes that it is  stiff and heavy, apparently lined with strips of metal to inhibit cutting. Nanny buckles at the waist, adhering a small padlock. Next straps about the thighs are buckled and likewise locked.

Nanny has diapered and locked away a grown male in less than a minute. The woman has many times done this, Derrick concludes.

The ankle cuffs are released from the bar. Derrick knows to lower his feet and legs. As he suspected, similar straps at the lower end of the mattress await. When secured, Derrick lies in four point restrain.

“Don’t fear, you’re on camera. I can see you whether I’m in the living room watching a movie, or next door in the bedroom,” Nanny pointing to cameras mounted high in each corner of the room.

Yes, such a conspiracy. While CEO Derrick Mason spent his day at work, ending with a stultifying meeting with lawyers, his Nanny was busying herself preparing a defacto nursery.

How long has this been planned? How much input from his deceased aunt, the termagant no doubt laughing in her grave?  

She was always inquiring about children. Derrick supposes the conspiracy, the apparent bonding of his aunt and wife, began with frank womanly discussions concerning Derrick’s lack of sexual prowess... his aunt consoling by suggesting revenge... first anointing wife Margaret with money, then power over the corporation and he as CEO, and freeing her of any connubial obligations. After all, you can’t have sex with a man locked in a diaper... treated as a child.  

“Night, night, Derrick. And feel free to soil your diaper. It’s quite absorbent. Feel good... nice and snug?” the question voiced as one would speak to a child, comforting before the lights dimmed.

As Derrick nods, berating himself for not expressing appall, the lights dim indeed. The door closes. For Derrick a day from hell ends. But has it really been so daunting? Feeling his trapped penis swelling, the question brings confused thoughts.

'Maternal Care', Segment VI

“So you’ve had a busy day. Your bath must have felt very nice.”

Derrick sits naked, penis remaining firm. He remains somewhat lightheaded. It is a pleasant lightheadedness, not like the few times he’s had too much to drink and anticipates passing out or vomiting.

Nanny has requisitioned a bar stool from the basement wine cellar. A foggy minded Derrick realizes the strong woman of color has been in the house for hours before his arrival, the master bath well prepared with fragrant bathing soap, the depilatory solution at the ready, a chamois not before seen in wait for his soak. So he sits, propped on the front edge, wrists remaining behind his back.   

“It was... so... relaxing...” searching for words.

“That’s what a Nanny does... for good boys. You suckled very nicely. Did you like the taste?”

“Yes... yes... honey. And something else... and... well... you have...”

“Firm breasts,” Nanny completing his thoughts as her hands move to Derrick’s captive wrists. “Now you’ll feed better sitting back. Again, be a good boy for your Nanny. When I unclip your wrists just bring your arms forward and lay them on the arm rests. Very simple. Be obedient.”

The words are kind but firm. Derrick notes that as a precaution, Nanny’s free hand lowers and again grasps his scrotum. A gentle squeeze sends her message of authority... and the threat of quick and painful punishment for any shenanigans.

“I can feed myself,” Derrick objects in hearing the click of release.

“You can... but you won’t. Not while I’m in charge. And I’m very much in charge,” her grip tightening.

With a yelp, Derrick draws his arms about, placing on the bar stool arm rests as instructed. For the first time he notes the bar stool has been augmented, looped about the arms left and right are what appear to be chains... collars for a small dog. As he ponders, Nanny facilely clips right wrist then left, securing his arms to the chains.

“Sit back, make yourself comfortable.”

Mind in a haze, Derrick slides his bare buttocks toward the seat back, his spine supported by the stool. In so doing his testicles are released and Nanny quickly stoops. Derrick learns there are more modifications to the stool. Ankle cuffs, broad strips of foam lined nylon are buckled in place, ensuring he is one with the stool. For the first time he feels the circle of metal implanted near his rectum, sensing that he is sitting on something. He squirms. Nanny notes.

“You’ll get used to it... all my boys do,” chuckling in knowing that acclimating to chastity forced by a presiding woman requires more mental and emotional transformation then physical. 

Nanny reaches to assure the wrist restraints are properly restrictive, then announces...

“There, my boy is ready for feeding time. So Derrick, you like suckling your Nanny? If you’re good you can have that every day... just step in the door, disrobe for me and place your wrists in bondage. Cable ties are cheap. These will be cut off before you go to work... and you’ll have a new set in wait when your return home.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the humble reply bringing Derrick to have second thoughts.

“That’s yes Nanny,” the obeisant reply bringing a smile.

“Will you... well... that stuff... your concoction?..”

“My special honey? My, my addicted already. Yes, you will suckle that as well. Put you in a nice tranquil state of mind.”

Nanny ponders if and when she should divulge that her concoction is laced with ketamine, a complex compound with numerous medical uses... as an anesthetic... as a mood altering anti depressant... a wonder drug which doctors and psychologists are still experimenting with and finding new uses. Hazardous when ingested with alcohol, one of Nanny’s first imperatives was to secure all the household wine and liquor. The supervising women in the office will ensure nothing inebriating is imbibed during the day.      

Wrists and ankles restrained, Nanny stands before her charge, marveling at how accurately wife Margaret assessed her truckling husband. Combative... but seeming only for show... veiling his submissiveness and his latent desire to serve and please... his fetish for large breasted women really just a cry for being mothered. And that Derrick Mason shall have.

“You sit. I have something for you... takes a minute to prepare,” a hand reaches forth, going to the hairless chest, almost all body hair washed down the tub drain after an hour of soaking in the depilatory.

As she toys with a nipple, bringing a foolish giggle, Nanny questions if Derrick realizes how long the ketamine put him in la la land. She is quick with the Prince Albert piercing... after ringing so many penises. But the guiche about the perineum is cumbersome, having to position the buttocks, cheeks held well parted, jabbing the perfect tuft of flesh about the rectum.   

'Maternal Care' Segment V

Derrick awakens. He feels amazingly relaxed, lying supine. He peers about not able to see much... walls of white enamel to his left and right. The ceiling lights above are bright and he realizes he is lying in the moist but otherwise empty oversized tub, head and back pressed to the bottom, legs bent at the hips, calves and ankles resting on the top edges, right and left. He realizes that in reclining in such a pose, his male package is obscenely presented. For some reason he seems not to care, tranquility remaining.

“My boy awake?” Derrick looking to see the handsome dark face of his Nanny peering from above.

Something gurgles from his mouth, bringing his Nanny to smile.

“Yes, quite relaxed. You’ll speak better in a few minutes. Just rest a bit. And if you feel some soreness down below, don’t be alarmed. I ringed you. You’ll heal over the weekend and be fine for work on Monday.”

“Ringed?” the word not fully discernible, his Nanny more or less reading his lips.

“A nice thick Prince Albert piercing for your little penis... and a guiche... that’s at your perineum near your anus. Quite useful for my control... particularly when you’re not in your diaper and I don’t want to allow a stiffy.”    

What! Derrick’s look gives away his concern.

“Maternal control... recall? Feminine authority? Your wife has decided... and you don’t want to cross her. No job... no money... no home. Keep your situation in mind.”

As she speaks Nanny leans over the side of the tub, an arm lowering. Despite the trauma... physical and emotional... Derrick is disappointed to see she has covered herself, returned to complete uniform of starched white. His thoughts divert when a hooked finger goes to his pubes area. Derrick manages to lift his head, watching in shock as a finger slips into a large oblong shaped ring inserted into his urethral opening, spearing the underside of the shaft some inch and a half below the tip.

“Ugh,” the stab of pain more surprising than painful.

“See. Tiny penis, huge ring. Rather overwhelming I know. But as I explained to your wife and corporate general counsel when interviewing, it’s best when conquering the male ego and sex drive to do so completely and thoroughly. You’ll be feeling this... forever. Quite heavy... and thickly gauge.”

Nanny slips out her finger. Derrick feels his limp, wounded penis fall to the bottom of the tub with a clunk. Heavy indeed.   

But then her words sink in... an interview with his wife... and corporate general counsel... Liddy Kincaid! She must know of this quirky arrangement! Who else knows the CEO of a multi million dollar corporation has a Nanny?

“Think you can get up? You need to eat. And I think a good boy would once again like to be led about by his balls...wouldn’t he? You’re already coming to relish a woman’s controlling touch... and control you will be under.”

Drat... the woman seems to read inner thoughts that he so much would like to cast off!

The face and head momentarily disappear. In returning, arms lower, a fluffy towel in hand. Though body mostly dry, the towel grazes about. Derrick senses a not before felt thrill, soft cotton grazing over his skin not before bringing a brisance. The gentle effort brings to him a smile... an inadvertent show of the appreciation for the attention.

“Feels good, I know. The depilatory solution brings sensitivity. My special solution brings need for care. Surrender to me Derrick. It is best. You’re a boy... not a man to fight battles... and certainly not one to win.”

Derrick lies back, accepting again, not caring whether his strength will return. Soaking up the maternal care. 

'Maternal Care' Segment IV

“Feel good... nice and comfy?” 

The query comes in a soft childlike voice, Derrick’s new Nanny speaking as if to a toddler.

His nods, the warm soapy water most soothing as promised. Sitting upright in the huge bathtub contracted and specially installed by wife Margaret, arms secured behind his back, a kneeling Nanny dotes over him, assuring he sinks not into the deep water and helplessly drowns.

“You’ll feel some tingling,” arising and reaching behind to unhook the partial brassiere.

Baring herself from the waist up, Derrick finds himself salivating, the support of the removed garment’s half cups seeming superfluous, the glands firm, the glistening nipples continuing to invite.  

Such beauty! Such a lustful sight!

“There is a mild depilatory I mixed in the bath water. In a few weeks time it won’t be needed. You’ll be nice and smooth for me... everywhere. So don’t be alarmed when you’re defoliated. It’s the way I like my boys.”

Nanny returns to kneeling at tub side, chamois in hand. She begins to lave neck and shoulders. Should Derrick be alarmed as she gently wipes his checks and chin, bringing tingling and presumed hair removal where a man needs to appear as a man? 

“Please not on my face, Nanny.”

“Oh, I’ll be shaving you. But softening the follicles helps. Shaving will just be for your face. And in time that won’t be needed as well.”

As Derrick begins to object, Nanny’s free hand goes to her left breast, lifting from below, cupping to present the coated nipple.

“Good boys get a reward. Licky, licky... be gentle... no teeth. Bad boys get a trip to the dentist,” the words again childlike... yet so ominous.

Such temptation! Too long denied, Derrick cranes his neck, putting aside his concerns of hair removal. He opens his mouth and engulfs ravenously. Whatever the nectar... honey as suggested... the sweetness is offset by something pungent yet pleasant.

Nanny did mention an added ingredient... a very special ingredient. In savoring, should Derrick be concerned?

“Good boy,” Nanny coos. “Make it nice and clean and you’ll have another,” Nanny slightly rolling her shoulders to jiggle her right breast.

Shoulders swabbed, Nanny lowers her chamois hand, cleansing the chest, tantalizingly smoothing over pink male nubs. It feels so good!

“Did you enjoy being led about by your balls?” Nanny inquires in a playfully provocative tone.

Mouth filled with sentient feminine flesh, Derrick murmurs concurrence, quickly berating himself for not expressing male revulsion. Yet the hand, gripping lightly, felt good. Warm, controlling but for some reason indeed not objectionable. From the livingroom, up the stairs, down the hall, to the master bath, with arms and hands encumbered there could be no defiance, earning a stronger and more controlling grip... and possibly pain... excruciating pain... should there be need to bring capitulation. No. Derrick obediently stepped behind.

Yes, soft, warm, convincing yet disconcertingly comfortable, Derrick followed Nanny’s hand... meekly followed. Yes, a woman led him about by his precious plums!

“These are important first steps Derrick... ceding to my authority. You’ll be better for it... help you transform to your new role. Your wife now controls the finances... you’ll not have a care in that regard... and I will control you. Everything will be just fine,” the words coming as the left hand slips from her left breast and reaches to present the right, sticky coating remaining. “You enjoy my concoction... the honey?”

Ingesting gleefully, Derrick again murmurs. He enjoys indeed... but it is more than the taste and the sense that he is pleasing. Something is happening. There is glee... inner peace... a weight is lifting... emotional. Though he sits bound, being treated as a child, there comes acceptance. He hungrily engulfs again, the right nipple of size beckoning, filling his mouth. He senses that he is no longer erect, the soothing hot water having its effect. Yet, there is something happening... not the physical sensation of pending orgasm... but feeling as though he has indeed had one.

The embarrassment.... the humility of being bathed like an infant matters not. Concerns of the humiliation fade. There is tranquility... a deservingly just end to a most daunting day.          

Then Derrick struggles to keep open his eyes. Slumber beckons. As the nipple is sucked clean, his latch releases, mouth opening, the breast dipping in retreat. Lastly he senses a very strong arm reach behind him, assuring he slumps not down into the water.

“You boys so much relish Nanny’s ketamine.”

Such words are not heard. Derrick enters another world... one of complacency, quiescence... and most importantly surrender.

'Maternal Care' Segment III

 “You’re not obeying me. It is not good to ignore your Nanny,” the melodic, pleasant voice brings Derrick from his recollections.

Remaining both enraged and frustrated from the afternoon’s revelations, now learning his wife has left on an extended vacation... with men who ‘sing, dance and fuck all day and night’... greeted in his own home by a pretentious yet seemingly matronly woman, Derrick is mentally exhausted. He knows he should fight, resist, but mustering the mental energy is trying.

“I need a drink,” starting to step past the woman of determination.

His Nanny moves to block his path.

“You’re not obeying. And there is no alcohol. Your wife gave me directions... and the key to the wine cellar. It has a new lock and all spirits have been removed from the kitchen and diningroom,” Nanny’s arms going to fold about her chest in a stance of authority. 

The standoff of many moments finally ends, Nanny’s face turning to a smile of triumph, the resistence of Derrick Mason slowly ebbing. She knows this... Derrick realizes. She knows he is emotionally out of bullets.

“You’ve had a trying day, Derrick. Take off your clothes. I am here for you. I will bathe you... nice hot, soapy water. This is what I do. And if you’re a good boy I have something you very much like.”   

With that, the arms unfold, hands going to the front of the thick white cloth of Nanny’s blouse. Fingers curl at the vertical seam running from neck to her waist. The hands pull. To the sound of a rip, Derrick finds the blouse does not button, but instead the garment separates, Velcro binding easily yielding to reveal beneath a brassiere, partial cups supporting mammary glands of size and... in Derrick’s mind... exquisite proportion... nipples protruding forth in invitation.

“Yes, good boys get a reward,” Nanny smiling brightly. “You may taste your Nanny... but not when you’re clothed. And I have something that makes your Nanny taste very good.”

Right hand to the pocket of her skirt, Nanny retracts a small jar, making a show of slowly unscrewing the lid, letting Derrick stare in lust, ignoring as a finger dips into a gooey substance then goes to right nipple then left to libidinously coat sentient flesh of dark reddish-brown.

“You’ll come to very much enjoy suckling your Nanny. Honey... and a very special ingredient.”

An entranced Derrick steps forth, head lowering, lips approaching. Such an inspiring end to a day from hell.

“No, no. Your clothes. And I need to show you how to tether your wrists for me.”

Nanny steps back, sending a message of denial. But she also returns the jar to her pocket and removes her blouse. Derrick has not before seen such a bra, the partial cups making the glands jut forth in welcome... beseeching attention.

Any remaining feistiness further ebbs. A part of him suggests continued defiance. Such erodes quickly.

“No drink. Well, I guess a hot bath will be... ah... nice,” his tone one of agreement.

“I will make you clean... and presentable. And we’ll talk. I think there are many things you’d like to tell your Nanny.”        

Not having any idea of what that may be, Derrick reaches and loosens his tie.

“Good boy. When you enter the house, just leave all your clothing here on the chair. Folded neatly. Good boys, keep things neat for their Nanny,” the voice now coming as soothing, Derrick continuing to undress, mesmerized by the enticement of such beauteous, firm and attractive breasts.

The nipples glisten with the sticky substance, seeming to beg for oral caress... to be licked clean and suckled.  

Shoes, slacks, socks, shirt... there comes pause as Derrick stands before the woman in just undershorts. Penis engorging, he realizes that complete nudity will spur full erection.

“You’ll not be bathed in your underwear... and you’ll not suckle. And if you have a nice stiffy for me, I’m sure you’d like to show it to me. As I said Derrick, I have had many boys... many years... seen what they have for me.”

A ‘stiffy’. Derrick imagines the woman... Nanny... chuckling in having young males so priapicly react to a fully clothed woman, now condescending in presenting her glands in coaxing his cooperation.    

Slowly, Derrick drops his undershorts. As he steps out of his remaining garb, he sheepishly notes he is fully erect.

“All you boys so much enjoy showing off for your Nanny. Well we’ll take care of that. You’ll be showing off for me... but when and how I want... not when you want,” the words coming with a knowing chuckle.

Nanny steps to the table, picking up the strips of vinyl.

“Now I’m going to show you how to do this just once. Then you’ll be doing it every time you step through the door. House rules... your Nanny’s orders.”

Nanny encircles the right wrist, threading the tip of one end of the strip through the small opening of the opposing end.

“Now place the index finger of your left hand on your right wrist. Yes, good boy. I will tighten a little bit, then you lean and finish tightening, pulling the end with your teeth. Leave your finger in place.”

Derrick complies, lowering his head, opening his mouth then biting and pulling. The circle of vinyl tightens.

“Good boy. Now slip out your finger. Yes, see, tight but not cutting off your circulation... yet not to be slipped off. Now you do your left wrist for me,” handing Derrick the second strip.

As Derrick pauses in thought, the revelation coming that he is preparing himself to be bound, a meaty, soft and warm hand goes to his pubes, first cupping his scrotum then rising to briefly palpate his erection.

“You’re tiny here Derrick, as your wife explained to me. I can see why she wants to spend some time in the islands. The boys are big down there. A woman needs some deep penetration from time to time... some more than others, ha, ha, ha.”

Can there come words of protest? Denial? Refute his size? Not while standing naked and erect. There can be no countering his Nanny’s assessment of his four inches. Instead Derrick saddens.

“Don’t be gloomy, Derrick. Every boy has a role. You just won’t be pleasing your wife... not as she deserves to be pleased. Finish up. It’s bath time. I’m going to make you feel very good... and look good. Then you can suckle and I’ll feed you.”

The contrasting emotions distract. Derrick finds his hands and fingers working as instructed, encircling his left wrist, right index finger pressing, teeth pulling. He knows not where all this will lead. But there is an inclination to yield to this woman. The day has been one battle and then another. He surrenders, eyes once again going to large, reddish-brown inviting nipples.  

“Arms back.”

Seeming to be in a trance, Derrick complies, hearing a ‘click, click’ as a double ‘D’ clamp, coming from nowhere, binds together the cable ties about his wrists.

“Such a good boy. Such a nice stiff penis.”

'Maternal Care' Segment II

“Good of you to stop in Derrick. You know Marilyn Hayes, representing your aunt’s estate. Since we’ve been talking, I felt it was easier for you to join us rather then packing up all the paper work and going to your office,” general counsel Liddy Kincaid gesturing to a chair at a small conference table strewn with documents.

As CEO of a multi million dollar corporation, Derrick indeed finds it a bit of a slight for him to go to her. Employees go to him.

“Not a problem. Got a text on my way back from lunch,” Derrick speaks in trying not to ogle the large breasted woman. Wife Margaret has always hassled him about the attributes he demands of female employees. His assistant of many years, Sophie Hazeltine, humorously chides him about it in private. And of course she is well proportioned at the chest as well. 

“We need to explain some things, Mr. Mason... mandated in your aunt’s will,” Marilyn Hayes getting right down to business. “About her eighty percent of the corporation.”

“Yes, of course.”

Derrick expects himself to be the beneficiary. He owns fifteen percent of the stock. Certain loyal, long time employees owning the remaining five percent. Having run the business for over ten years, being his aunt’s only blood relative, the bequeathment of his aunt’s eighty percent is about to be announced. He does his best to veil his excitement... much sacrifice over the many years... both financially and in swallowing much male pride. The woman was a tyrant.

“It’s going into a trust... your wife to be the trustee.”

“What!”

“Yes, along with a sizable amount of marketable securities and cash, details not to be disclosed to you,” Marilyn Hayes smug in her pronouncement.

“But... but... that’s not right. We’ve planned...”

“Yes, your wife mentioned that. Lots of spending over the years... no savings... relying on your aunt’s munificence at her demise. Well she had other thoughts.”

Derrick leans back in his chair. His salary has been comparatively modest over the years, leaving the corporation with as much cash flow as possible in order to grow... for his aunt’s benefit... and of course eventually his. His monthly pay check barely covers the mortgage and taxes on his mansion... purchased at a stretch under the urging of his wife. 

His hand goes to his forehead in duress. Marilyn and Liddy suppress laughter.

“Yes a surprise. Your aunt wanted to leave the stock directly to your wife. But I pointed out that in a community property state you’d be entitled to half and thus have voting control of the corporation. She did not want you to have control of anything.”

Financially neutered!

“The terms of the trust?” Derrick blurts in desperation.

“You’re not to know.... other than that your wife votes the shares... and pays herself trustee fees.”

“So Derrick, you’re now working for your wife,” Liddy gaily explains.

“And there’s more. I recommended a rights offering,” Marilyn continues, “raising money for the corporation. In order for your ownership not to be diluted you’ll need to contribute one and a half million dollars in order to keep your level of ownership at fifteen percent. If you don’t exercise your rights, the other shareholders, trust included, can acquire and utilize your unused rights.”

“But that would mean the corporation would be issuing some ten million dollars in stock. What are we to do with that much?” Derrick’s thoughts shifting from his personal predicament to that of CEO.

“You are not going to do anything with it. The corporation will be purchasing an aircraft... a sleek jet... for the new chairman of the board.” Liddy explains with glee.

“The new chairman?”

“Your wife.”

Yes, Derrick quickly realizes, Margaret Mason’s propensity to party... now to be fully manifested... jetting wherever a cocktail party beckons.

“What will I be left with?”

“No rights exercised... one and one half percent.”      

Derrick is apoplectic. In his dismay he looks to see both women sitting, shoulders back, prominently presenting mammary glands of size, seeming to subtly mock his penchant for large breasted women. In another time... another place... their combined actions would be interpreted as a sultry invitation... ‘come hither’. 

“Well we... I... don’t have the cash.”

“No cash... as expected. And you’re going to have a hard time raising it... based on your new salary.”

“New salary?”

“Half, Derrick. Keep in mind the jet will be expensive to maintain. And of course there are the fee’s to the trust... and the Chairman of the Board’s salary. Your wife’s going to need it. I understand there’s quite the mortgage on your home...”  

“I’ll be talking to my attorney. I’ll sue.”

“Before incurring substantial legal fees, Derrick... take some free counsel,” Marilyn Hayes advises in a smooth and calm voice, countering Derrick’s tone of exasperation. “Under Delaware law, the Chancery courts have ruled that legal action brought by shareholders of less than five percent are considered nuisance suits... readily dismissed.”

“We’re not in Delaware,” Derrick enjoying a ‘gotcha’ moment.

“No, but the business is incorporated there. A very business friendly state. Attack by an insignificant shareholder is viewed more or less as that of a pesky gnat. And you can’t remain as CEO and sue the company. So without a job and any income at all, think of the quality of the legal advice you’ll be able to afford.”  

More stunning revelation... how quickly and easily CEO Derrick Mason can find himself to be unemployed. He sits back in silent defeat.

“You’re dismissed Derrick,” general counsel Libby Kincaid summarily advises. “Marilyn and I have more things to talk about. You’re not needed. You may go home.”