'Podded', Segment IV

I pause in my story. Salads finished, it’s time for the roast chicken with steamed vegetables. In mentioning the document... the confidentiality agreement... it dawns that I am about to break it... if not already in breech. I rise from the table.

“So that’s it?” Rhodi inquires in amused frustration. “A naked boy strolling about with a hard on?”

“No, Rhodi. But there are things I am not to tell you... some of which I have already told... said too much. Can you assure me none of this leaves the room. Is only between us?”

Rhodi smiles wickedly. Naked males repulse her... but the story intrigues. She knows she must agree. So she nods. 

“I have to know where this is going, Joanie. Back in my college days the sorority tried this CFNM thing... a party... clothed females naked males. I skipped that one... as you can imagine.” 

“You and I have similar penchants, Rhodi. We’ve proven that to each other. But the CFNM thing... as you term it... can be empowering... even if the sight of cock disgusts. Of that I can assure you.”

I serve the meal. Rhodi takes a bite, hums her approval and swears to silence.

“So...” eager for me to continue.

“You have to open your mind a bit. Not all things are black or white. You of all people... queer... should understand that.”

“Of course.”

“Well, let me start by saying not all heterosexual guys abstain from having... let’s call it... sexual relations... with another guy. You know... things with a penis as you disparage the other sex.”

“So they’re bi,” Rhodi shrugs. 

“Bisexual would suggest a degree of affection. I’d say what I encountered is well outside expressing affection. It’s about resentment, revenge, a need to conquer, to rise and triumph. The sexual conquest of another male... a thing with a penis.”  

“Wow, strong words.”

“You’re a woman of color, Rhodi... no need to remind. But does not any of what I said strike you... ping some inner feelings?”

Rhodi turns to silence. But I know her, know her intimately. I note she presses together her knees. Squeezing her thighs. She does that when come the twinges of preliminary arousal. She’s getting wet.

“What does my ethnicity have to do with your story?” 

“Because the group of eccentric men funding St. Sapphos were... are... black... wealthy... powerful... ruthless... and black.”

“And these beneficiaries?”

“As I encountered on that first day... all blonde and blue eyed... and needless to say... Caucasian. Want more? First a trigger warning, Rhodi... lots of penis... many things with a penis.”

She smiles wickedly and again nods.

I have her.

*****

I signed the confidentiality agreement. Was it the free education? The first rung on a ladder leading out of the pit of poverty? It was so beautiful... sunny...warm... the air filled with the scent of the Caribbean. That is what I told myself... the justification. But that encounter with the nurse handler Monica... leading about a naked boy... beneficiary. Well, I could sense her power. And after I signed the agreement there was more. More governing women... more naked boys... beneficiaries... in training, as Vasiliki was to explain.

“Our beneficiaries are trained to please. We have a process, requiring many years, much supervision... feminine supervision... and the development of many skills,” Vasiliki speaking as she led me about. “You’ll see some things that may disturb you... initially. But the reason we term our boys beneficiaries is that at the end of many years of mental, emotional, and physical adaptation they are better for it. They benefit... and they will please... a Master... have a home... food... shelter. Think of it as grooming a show horse. Much effort put into an exacting process.”

We stroll down a long hallway, doors to the left and right.

“Let’s have a peek. You will see beneficiaries in various stages of training. And you must understand, we use the male sexual urges, which as you are aware are blunt and self centered even at early ages. We transform such... over time. Masturbation to start. The boys are taught that the joy of orgasms are to be shared, initially with a handler.”

We pause. Vasiliki slides back a panel covering a window looking into a barren room. Inside stands a naked boy. Sitting on a stool is a young woman, uniformed in white as was Monica. The boy faces her and I must say there was shock in seeing him stroke himself. The woman is talking. I cannot hear but Vasiliki explains.

“Very early training. He’s masturbating at her instructions. Encouraging words, that she wants to see him spew his goo. Notice she smiles, making the beneficiary comfortable with her watching, guiding, relieving the boy of any inhibitions concerning touching himself and pleasing himself. This will go on daily for a week or two. Then the beneficiary is to learn that such self centered pleasure is to be shared... with other beneficiaries as well as his handler. And don’t be shy, Joan, they can’t see you. It’s one way mirrored glass.”

The panel is slid closed. Vasiliki leads to the next room. And yes, there is progression. Two handlers, two naked beneficiaries. More masturbation. I am quickly acclimating to the otherwise sordid scene, comforting myself in that the window is one way glass, I cannot be seen and, having forced myself to look at the first stop, I now freely gawk and assess. 

Beneficiary one reaches to stroke beneficiary number two, while two reaches and strokes number one. The handlers are smiling. I cannot hear but they are no doubt spurring on the hand action.

“I’d take you further down the hall, but you get the gist of the progression. You may come to enjoy watching the beneficiaries suck each other. Positioned in the so termed sixty-nine position, in stage three comes fellatio training. You’ll find it to be a very important skill on St. Sappho. Save that for later, you’ll be seeing and supervising quite a lot of that.”

Vasiliki turns, back toward her office.

“Why is it the handlers must having nursing skills? So I assume from the uniforms.”

“In later stages knowledge of anatomy... the male anatomy... is... well... not essential but helpful. And the beneficiaries are to receive the best of care. Remember my show horse analogy. You’ll note that no hair is permitted... other than eyebrows and head. Handlers supervise depilation. And later stage beneficiaries have... ah... certain modifications which are best overseen by handlers with medical skills. The feet... the urethra. And you will note that despite the sunny climate, the beneficiaries are keep as white as snow. It’s a thing with the benefactors... and maximizes a beneficiary’s value. So every day they’re slathered head to toe with sun block... pink parts included. Then there’s the need to assure regular bowel movements and squeaky clean rectums.”

I am overwhelmed, it goes without saying. Thankfully Vasiliki moves on to less prurient matters. But there is still alarm.

“The beneficiaries receive much classroom instruction. Reading and writing, no one wants an illiterate house girl. There’s also cooking, laundering, sewing, cleaning... every household skill a Master would demand.”

“Excuse me, Vasiliki... did you say house girl?” 

“Oh yes. I was about get to that. Cosmetology is essential. A beneficiary must learn to make himself look very pretty.”

I had not the wherewithal to inquire about the term ‘Master’.   

'Podded', Segment III

“Welcome to St. Sappho, Joan. Did you have a nice flight?”

A middle aged woman by the name of Vasiliki greets me at the airstrip of the small tropical isle of St. Sappho. No surname, I am to learn such is neither used nor inquired about on the island.

“Very nice. I have not been on a small plane before.”

My comment spurs pleasant laughter.

“You may consider it small, but our Gulfstream flies higher, further and faster than almost every commercial jet airliner. We were fulfilling a placement... of one of our well molded beneficiaries placed in a New York home. No point in returning empty. You stepping on board for the return flight saves time and money.”

I am led to a small electrical vehicle, I guess termed a golf cart, later to learn such is the main mode of transportation on the island. The Vasiliki woman speaks with a Greek accent as I gather in the beauteous surroundings.

“As you’re aware, our school of nursing, though not well known, is fully accredited, licensing boards of over fifty countries acknowledging our credentials and therefore our graduates. If you find the elements here to be acceptable... the environment... the ambiance... St. Sappho will be your home for the next few years. You’ll leave here well educated, well trained and ready for employment in any medical facility in the world.”

It’s a sales pitch. The Vasiliki woman is talking me into accepting free schooling in paradise!

What gives?

And then comes a clue. Planned... inadvertent... an accidental encounter?

“A little early in the tour I had planned, but so be it,” Vasiliki somewhat apologetic in seeing my eyes glued. “That’s Monica with one of our beneficiaries.”

I am shocked to see a young white unformed woman of my approximate age strolling hand in hand with a boy. Blond, blued eyed... and completely naked. More shocking... his not fully developed penis is erect and unabashedly standing! Beneath dangles a pink hairless ball sac flopping about with each step.

“Good afternoon, Monica,” pulling the cart to stop. “Cute... and a nice stiffie. Orally inclined?”

“Not fully, Vasiliki. But there’s time. A recent arrival.” 

“Well, stage one... you know the procedures.”

“Oh, yes. He’s due for a lingual frenectomy tomorrow morning. Tongue work to begin in a few days.”

The boy remains silent... in obedience... in fear... in awe? Vasiliki pulls away.

“May as well dive into it, Joan... now that you’ve come across your first beneficiary. The boy is from Scandinavia... my guess would be Norway. An orphan... possibly a run away... or abandoned. Hate to think he was kidnaped. Whatever, he’s now safe here with us... to receive the best, most attentive medical care possible.”

My mind churns. With the weather most temperate in the tropics, clothing can be... I’d say optional on most days. Yet the nurse was fully clothed in uniform and the beneficiary sporting a firm erection seemed to be more than acceptable to her... in a way encouraged.

Still, as my mind settles, my thoughts go to the financial equation. I am to receive a free education... four years of tuition, room and board. Then comes along a ‘beneficiary’... a boy with no apparent financial means... who is to receive medical care... and presumably room and board.

Again comes the question... what gives?

“He seems... ah... excited.”

“Oh, the beneficiaries are encouraged to show off... in the early stage of induction. Monica probably had him stroking himself... break the ice so to speak. In a few days time that boy will be trained not to touch himself. That pleasure is to be shared... with other boys. Then comes... well... I’m getting ahead of myself.”

I turn to silence as the cart pulls again to a stop before a low cinder block building of white. 

“The training facility... and my office,” stepping from the cart.

“I have a question, Ms. Vasiliki.”

“That’s just Vasilki. And we’ll talk in my office. Would you consider yourself a woman of discipline, Joan?”

“Oh yes. I study very hard, am a good student. I so much want to learn, if that’s what you mean.”

“Not entirely, my girl. I mean assuring beneficiaries in your charge... ah... tow the line.”

 “Well... ah... I have no beneficiaries.”

“You will. Soon, assuming you find the St. Sappho School of Nursing meets your needs. And you’ll find within yourself the need to exact discipline... all the handlers come around to that... some sooner than others. Your question?” 

“All this... this generosity... comes from where... the source?”

“A group of men... don’t be alarmed, there are no males here on the island other than some simple native islanders,” her aside comment suggesting the financial aid advisor who recommended me passed on her suspicion concerning my sexual preference, “with common interests... shall we say eccentric interests... keeps our facility well funded. Other than that, there is nothing more to be divulged. Which brings me to a document which needs to reviewed and signed. A very strong legal document.”

'Podded', Segment II

A walk to the subway station then a thirty minute ride to our upper west side coop gives time for thought. My past... the present... the future.

Aspiring for a nursing career, poverty gave rise to reality. Broke, one can obtain student loans and further impoverish oneself. But to eat? Pay rent? To do that requires employment and thus brings constraints on time needed for study.

So in applying to a prominent New York nursing school the financial aid counselor sensed something, my stress in struggling through the numbers... tuition... room... board.

‘So, Joan, you’re not married. Boyfriend to help? At least maybe buy you a meal from time to time.’

She was searching... hinting... her drab pantsuit and short slicked back hair leaving no doubt as to which side of the plate she swung.

I shook my head. But perhaps there was this certain look, my disdain at the mention of the male gender that prompted her to lean back, assume a relaxed maternal pose, and reflect.

‘You have your heart set on New York. But perhaps some study abroad would be of interest. There’s a very discerning school of nursing seeking women with... let’s say... a quaint view point... in relation to males.’

Males... not men. Why did her phraseology engender my attention? 

‘Accredited, located in a wonderful climate... two hour flight from New York...’

And so began an overview of the St. Sappho School of Nursing on a small island in the Caribbean for which the facility was eponymously named. 

The financial counselor described the location and climate as idyllic. But when she mentioned the word ‘free’, my ears began to burn.

‘Free tuition?’ 

‘Free everything, my dear. But it’s not for every girl.’

It certainly was not!

*****

A short walk from the subway station and I am home. Roommate, companion, lover Rhodi... Rhodesia Cunumba... is not yet home. She works nine to five, sometimes later. My nursing shift ends at three. Thus I play housewife in this evolving relationship, preparing an evening meal. I don’t mind cooking, and it absolves me of more tedious housework like cleaning. We split laundry duty. And with Rhodi’s growing aversion for using weekend leisure time on such matters, she has talked of household help. She can afford it, well into a fast rising career in marketing.  

Yes, such distaste for housekeeping may give rise to an opening. At least a trial.

Rhodi knows something of my nursing school education... yet not all the details. One evening, describing the level of care afforded the nursing school’s young male beneficiaries, she became flustered, ending any and all discussion concerning the attention given sensitive anatomical areas.

‘You touched them... there!’

Spoken as some faint hearted vestal virgin, aghast that a male has a penis.

There was thereafter little talk about my years at the St. Sappho school. With her revulsion and the confidentiality agreement... I let the matter go.

Bottle opened, wine breathing, I move to the bedroom, making myself presentable for Rhodi’s arrival. She likes me sexy... and scantily clad... apparel not fit for working over the stove.

Key rattling the lock, I pour a glass of wine and step to the door. She likes sharing with me, one glass, she sips, I sip, we kiss, we hug, she likes feeling my soft full rounded boobies pressing to her firm athletic breasts.

“Good evening, pretty girl,” Rhodi preferring the more masculine role, taking another sip as I present the large glass, holding to her lips.  

Rhodi is a woman of color. A track start in high school and college she is strong with muscular legs and very kissable well sculpted buttocks. I know to draw back the glass, let her put her arms around me to hug and kiss.

“Busy day, Joanie?”

“The usual. No code blue,” patients in cardiac arrest, “but an interesting encounter on the way home. You?”

“Had to lecture a couple of my boys. Shoddy work. Sometimes I think they want a spanking.”

Rhodi tends to hire submissive males as underlings. I tease her about it. She says she does not enjoy the dominant role... just chooses to avoid ‘cat fights’ in employing women... and that her ‘boys’ more readily accept their place. She’s rising fast in a very large and financially successful firm. I advise that if it works, roll with it. Perhaps the more submissive the better in terms of hiring criteria.

Hands retract. I offer another sip. She partakes. I am then permitted a sip of my own.

“I’ll change. Dinner? Something smells good.”

“Roast chicken. Seasoned just as you like.”

Rhodi nods her approval and heads for the bedroom. I go to the kitchen, toss the salad and present.      

“So an encounter,” Rhodi exiting the bedroom, tight black leather slacks highlighting her amazing form.

“An old... ah... acquaintance,” sitting as Rhodi chivalrously holds the chair for me.

I must smile graciously as she assumes the role of a gentleman suitor. Taking up my own wine glass, I let her lead the conversation, yielding to her predominance.

“Well, it’s apparent you want to talk about it,” Rhodi diving into her salad.

“It involves... the telling... of my time in the Caribbean. Which appalls you.”

“Yes, it’s a reviling thing... touching men... you touching men. Condescending... debasing yourself.”

“You may frame it that way, not knowing... not wanting to know... of the details of my extensive... and free... medical education. But I came across a beneficiary today... perhaps better phrased as he coming across me... from years past.”

“So he’s called a beneficiary. And?”

“He’s in need. And as always with the boys relegated to the island... when in need he turns to a handler.”

“Is that what you term your function... your responsibilities... handling... things with a penis!”

“Sip your wine, Rhodi... take a breath. Let me tell the story... the whole story from the beginning. You know the part where I could not afford... as a practical matter... the New York school I initially preferred...”

“Yes, the bull dyke financial aid counselor.”

“So I’ll start from there.”    

New Story. 'Podded'. Segment I

A new story. Female Dominant/male submissive.

I have no idea where this will be going, but feel an obligation to keep you readers entertained. And hopefully in a mindset to buy a story!

*****

Podded

Copyright 2024

by Chis Bellows

*****

“Do you remember me, Miss Joan?”

In New York City... especially in Times Square... a girl is given to walk quickly, eyes straight ahead, ignore the nefarious characters... the homeless, slicksters, perverts, Jehovah’s Witnesses... in general slip past all the riff raff that for some reason collect about what should be the most presentable place in Manhattan. 

But I find I must stop. First the girl steps directly into my path. Normally such would be considered overly aggressive, but in being young, blonde, well made up with large flashy earrings there is limited concern. And second, I indeed remember her... though not naked. Now she wears a one piece dress, convenient for the months of summer in that one can simply toss over the head, assure the straps catch the shoulders, slip into flip flops and go. But this girl wears heels, ludicrously high, and notably impractical for walking the craggy sidewalks of New York... subway ventilation gratings aside. 

“I’m Bobbi,” a girlish voice exuberantly exclaims.

“Yes, yes I do remember,” looking about for onlookers, chiding myself for the nervous reaction.

Bobbi wishes to have a conversation. I do not. I resume walking, She moves with me on my right side, heels tapping to bring even more notice... unwanted notice.

“Not the time to have a conversation Bobbi. Not the place.”

“But I’m in trouble, Miss Joan. And you’ve been very kind to me in the past. You know... on the...”

“Sush, Bobbi,” now having good reason to be nervous. “I no longer do that... do what I did. I cannot help you.”

As I speak I head to a small open enclave... like a little park, in exchange for construction permits the City mandating that the developer of some high rise office building provide public space. There are tables and chairs where in warmer whether office flunkies can eat a sandwich during their lunch hour. I spy a table in the far corner. Being past the lunch hour, and also being prime time for panhandling on the streets, no one is using and it is isolated enough to have a quiet talk. 

I point. Bobbi sits. She embarrasses by lifting the hem of her short dress, panties to greet the seat. It’s an ingrained motion. And I know there are most likely no panties, bare butt to the cold iron.

“Where is your Master?” my tone scolding. “You must have one.”

“He... he... turned me out.”

“Why? You must have served him for many years. I have not worked the... well you know the place... in five years. If I recall when I graduated you were near... ah... placement.”

“Yes, five years. But Master got married. And his wife... well... things were okay for a while. Then she said no more fellatio. So I then served her... intimately... as I was trained. But then she got pregnant... and... well... raising a child meant as a servant I would have to be clothed... and then Master sort of lost all interest... no fellatio... no exhibition of...”

“So you’re out. Place to live?” interrupting.

“Master has paid for a hotel room. But yesterday said ‘that’s enough’. He’ll even cut off my cell phone by the end of the month,” a manicured finger of petite hand tapping a small purse which presumably holds Bobbi’s remaining lifeline.

“You have money?”

“It’s running out, Miss Joan. I’m trained for...”

“I know your skill set, Bobbi. Remember what I do... used to do. No need to mention the name of the place or your training... not here.”

“Yes, I know... the confidentiality thing.”

Yes, not only did I sign such an agreement upon arrival but also renewed before my graduation and departure. As a result, I remain receiving a monthly stipend... as long as I remain silent. Such is not enough to support me, but makes for upscale clothing and an occasional good meal which would otherwise be a strain.    

“Well, I now have a job, Bobbi... in the vanilla world... just as I am sure your Master has one. And I have a lover, we share an apartment. It would be difficult for me to help you. She’s... ah... not into... what you are... who you are.”     

“You’re with... a girl?”

“Yes, Bobbi, I am a lesbian. And whereas things with a penis I find tolerable, Rhodi does not.”

“But I’m... you know... podded.”

“Still in place?”

“You know, Miss Joan... it’s forever,” Bobbi turning glum.

I again look about... for anyone within hearing range. The use of the term brings a slew of emotions... concern... fear... even arousal... but for some reason little sympathy. In fact I inwardly smile. There come thoughts. No one would ascertain Bobbi’s birth gender in looking at him. In fact, but for expecting a baby, a wife would find Bobbi to be convenient... alleviating the need to suffer the drudgery of housework. Yes, marriage alone would not be a reason to preclude Bobbi from serving as his Master’s housemaid and sex slave. After all in being podded... along with other refinements... he is sexually harmless... androgynous. Perhaps I can have a talk with Rhodi. This thing... called Bobbi... has a penis... but... well... perhaps Rhodi can endure that which is not to be seen.

“Give me your phone number, Bobbi. Perhaps there is something I can do. But what about... ah... the placement people. Do you have a phone number?”

“Master called them. I am old... that’s what they said... and...well... they make more money placing new beneficiaries.”

Yes, I realize. Having graduated and left the island five years ago, that would presumably place Bobbi at about age 23 or 24. In the eyes of the clandestine group of wealthy Black Masters having a predilection for young Caucasian males, he is ancient.

“I have to move on. If you’re sucking cock to earn money, be careful Bobbi. There’s the police... any number of diseases... guys getting nasty if they... you know... find out,” nodding to Bobbi’s crotch. “You’ve got no tits to speak of,” too aware that horny guys like to grope even while receiving a quick and simple blow job.