'Prominence - Part One', Segment III

Day One Comes to an End

Robert Probert lies in the silent darkness brought by large goggles strapped about his head and deafening plugs inserted into his ears. He tries to sleep, the day indeed long. Yet his restraints make such difficult... not to mention the arching of his spine. And he realizes the pillow propped beneath does seem to foster continuing firmness... no doubt something to do with tension on his spinal cord. Sleep deprived, he cannot help mulling over his circumstances. Within hours his status... his self esteem... tumbling. From an oil god... a hero to bring vast riches to an impoverished African nation... to defacto puppet... led about on a leash... led about naked and bound on a leash! 

Would the powers that be at employer Benchmark Oil really trade his well being for billions in oil revenue? With his self imposed question he snickers to himself.

Of course they would!   

As the doctor pointed out he is merely one of dozens of petroleum engineers... talented or not. And he is sequestered in a monarchy... the Queen ruling all!

He recalls the copilot’s words with regard to the Queen... ‘she’s powerful... knows how to use her power... and enjoys using it’. So prophetic. 

Yet why is he being incarcerated in a such a singular manner... so much interest in his male  organ... and its ability to tumefy?

Then more words come to mind... again those of the copilot..  ‘no one calls her old’.

So, the woman is young and apparently concupiscent, Robert concludes. Perhaps having a thing for Caucasian males. Yet if so, is such to be gratified by way of cameras... the only contact possibly to be had at this point in his imprisonment?    

He thinks of the interlude with the doctor, bringing him to erection... encouraging... measuring... recording... and his testicles as well. Objectified, he... his body... becoming a piece of machinery under evaluation.

Emotions waver. He brings himself to calm... the words of his physical therapist Rwanda... that he is to be bathed, fed, and massaged... the latter to be welcomed as the four point restraint slowly strains the muscles. But then tension renews in thinking that he will be subjected to the whims of a disciplinarian! Disobedience! There is to be none. Do not unnecessarily irk your disciplinarian! 

Finally he slumbers. He dreams... of adulation... being cheered by a bevy of Zolanda natives... the man who lifts them out of poverty.  

Day Two

Robert Probert awakens feeling fingers working about his male bits. Something encases his penis. Then he is shocked as the room alights. But he sees not the white walls and ceiling, instead the goggles present a video. Then as his eyes focus there comes sound. It is the voice of Dr. Martha Humbert. Her form comes into view... handsome, calm, confident.

“Good morning, Mr. Probert. You have slept well. Miss Rwanda will be feeding you shortly. What you’re seeing is presented to your eyes by way of a high tech wireless headset. Essentially over the next few days you will be seeing and hearing what we want you to see and hear... little else. Later will come exercise... extensive exercise... directed by your disciplinarian. What you’re feeling is an inflatable cuff encasing your penis for a plethysmograph test. You’ll be subjected to stimuli through the headset and the blood flow to your penis will be measured. It’s very sensitive and the slightest reaction can be and will be recorded. There are things we need to know about you. And plethysmography doesn’t lie. Enjoy.”

Darkness returns. The sound of the doctor’s voice turns to static assuring that in addition to the deafening ear plugs he will not detect any sounds emanating from within his chamber. Within moments he feels something pressed to his mouth. Smooth metal parts his lips. Mush is introduced, smelling repulsive. He grits his teeth in denial. There comes sound.

“Breakfast, Mr. Probert. You will eat. It is mandatory,” the voice of therapist Rwanda blaring through his ear pieces. “I assure you it is highly nutritious. And I assure you further resistance to being fed will earn a visit from the disciplinarian. This is the last time I will need to talk to you,” the tone becoming ominous.

Hungry, Robert Probert concedes. He partakes. If the goal were to poison him, in being helplessly bound, such would happen.

As he masticates he feels whatever surrounds his penis tighten. The doctor termed it an inflatable cuff. It is inflating.

Another spoonful, then another, the taste is not totally offensive, but nothing he would voluntarily choose to eat. Then the headset again alights. What would be described as mild pornography flashes, women in various stages of undress... sultry and young. The viewing is pleasant. With his penis encased he asks himself if he is firming, a continuation of yesterday’s unending embarrassment.

Yet he further questions himself... does it matter? Made to expose himself to how many women?.. and meticulously measured... is the ignominy to be endured of significance?   

Thus, he enjoys, as the doctor suggested. As the feeding ends, so does the video. There is a degree of disappointment but then comes onto the small screens of the headset another video. A regal women of color standing on a low stage before a throng of onlookers. Colorful kimonos, a multitude of women cheer, African women. The video camera zooms in, the face dark, features even. The woman is royalty, Robert Probert concludes, being adulated by her subjects... but all are women. Could it be the Queen of Zolanda? It must be. And the absence of male subjects?

The words of Dr. Humbert... Miss Martha... are recalled. ‘Zolanda is a monarchy... a matriarchal monarchy. The Queen rules’.

Then the camera pans back. Within the crowd, male subjects come into view, each kneeling at the feet of one of the colorfully dressed women admirers. The scene is momentary, the video instantly switching to more pornography. This snippet is more graphic, not only female nudity but sexual acts unfold. Robert feels twinges,. If he was not hard before his penis is now certainly swelling. Many minutes of what could be termed semi hard corp porn come into view. Then the sordid scene instantly fades. It is again the Queen. She is ravishing, Robert finding attraction. And judging from nearby onlookers in the video, the woman is tall. Festooned in a sarong, such does little to veil strong shoulders... broad strong shoulders. And what is this? Another glimpse of a male, crawling onto the stage where the smiling Queen waves to her cheering subjects. As opposed to the throng of women, he has little covering.

Again the words of the doctor come to mind... ‘in the stifling head of equatorial Africa covering can be considered optional’.

Has that male subject chosen limited attire?

Before Robert can ascertain if the man has any attire at all, the view again changes. More porn. 

And so the morning progresses... Robert assuming it is morning. Salacious videos interrupted by the Queen being adulated. Porn... the Queen... porn... the Queen.

Well into the series, Robert realizes he is firmly erect... must be firmly erect. And who in the room is observing? Again it matters not. As the doctor explained, the plethysmography device is measuring. He penile response cannot be hidden.

After several montages, the pornographic scenes change, The content... homoerotic... men with men. Robert closes his eyes in disgust. He feels an electrical charge, his head is shocked, tolerable but there come more shocks... and stronger. The pain grows... until he opens his eyes. Message received, the clever device forces him to watch. And watch he does, in horror. Finally this homosexual dalliance ends with the Queen, her feet being licked as she stands on stage waving to her cheering subjects. More horror comes, the camera shifts, moving to zoom in on the kneeling man. Tongue laboring in earnest, his complete nakedness comes into view but for one shocking element. There is the glint of metal about his pubes!

The video ends before Robert can further focus. And it is the last video.

In attempting to determine if someone is in the room, Robert calls out. The electrical jolt returns.

Another lesson learned. He is to remain silent.  

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'Prominence - Part Two' published

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'Prominence' Part One Segment II

Continuing Day One

“What are you going to do to me?” Robert finds his words to be shamefully humble.

“In general, anything the Queen wants,” the palming hand closing to gently grasp the long and firming length of male flesh.

The fingers of the hand begins to gyrate and ripple, the touch sensuous but mechanical. The woman knows the male anatomy, both clinically and sexually.

“I... I... I’m going to...”

“Embarrass yourself. Yes, you’re going to achieve an erection for me. And yes, it’s embarrassing. But in a way you will acclimate to this. Then again, in a way you never will,” the woman’s unwavering eyes glued to his. 

There comes a steady rhythm, the doctor handling the stiffening appendage as a maestro with a favored musical instrument. With the continuing eye contact, Robert Probert’s look softens, mentally yielding to the woman’s touch, noting her even features. Given makeup, modest jewelry, she would be ravishing. Within moments he finds himself looking down in shame, mental capitulation complete. He cedes. Because he has no choice? He berates himself in finding unwanted enjoyment.    

Semi engorged, Dr. Humbert finally glances down to assess. She smiles, her deft hand action changing to delicate strokes. Thoughts running wild, Robert cannot help thinking how purposeful are the woman’s actions. Then the free hand reaches forth, palming his scrotum, fingers slipping beneath to the perineum, there demonstrating more expertise in massaging to enhance the flow of circulation to his pubes.

“Nice and firm for me, Mr. Probert. Good boy. The erectile chambers are flooding nicely.”

With that, the woman steps back, leaving the erection to comically bob about. More humiliation as she goes to a cabinet of white metal, Robert Probert looking about. The room is sizable but austere. White ceiling, white floor and white walls. It is a medical facility, supplies and various apparatuses those of a hospital or doctor’s office.       

“Do not ejaculate. I’ll need some measurements. Keep yourself nice and stiff.”

With that, the woman begins an assessment, utilizing a tape measure... length, girth at various points along the swollen shaft... jotting on a clipboard.

Robert blushes, sensing his heart pound. The doctor notes.

“Yes, keep your circulation strong... you’ll stay nice and hard for me,” measuring the testicles.

She encircles with the tap measure then gently squeezes each plum, nodding in satisfaction.

“Nice and firm,” giving a slight tug on the scrotal sac. “Your penis is of size, the body scan at the airport never lies. But you’ll probably need some modification here,” giving a firmer tug, “for her majesty. She’ll make the decision of course.”

“You can’t do this... do that!”

The doctor releases her hands, stepping back, letting her charge broil in continuing embarrassment.

“You’re the Queen’s mateka,” the doctor finally advises. “In English that means captive. But don’t be too distraught. You’ll have the best of care... nutritious food... exercise... special exercise... and the opportunity to perform and please her majesty.” 

“This can’t happen. You know why I’m here. Oil... lots of oil. For the Queen...  for her subjects... for Zolanda. I’ll please the Queen with money... oil money. And Benchmark Oil won’t put up with this.”

“You aren’t going anywhere and the oil isn’t going anywhere. And Benchmark Oil is aware of your circumstances.”

“They won’t tolerate this!”

“How many petroleum engineers does Benchmark Oil employ?”

“I don’t know precisely.”

“Twenty-seven,” Dr. Humbert answers her own question with a smirk. “You’re easily replaced. In fact I am told another engineer is in transit.”

“It’s kidnaping!”

“More like an exchange. Your performance for the opportunity for Benchmark to complete the find and begin drilling.”

“Perform? I’m not some entertainer. I don’t perform!”

“You’re performing now,” Dr. Humbert smiling in nodding to the mammoth unwavering erection. “And over the next few weeks you will be conditioned to perform at the snap of a woman’s fingers... mine, your disciplinarian’s, your physical therapist and of course... the Queen’s.”   

There comes silent thought, Robert Probert finding no further words. Would his employer agree to this so termed ‘exchange’? He asks himself. Then comes to mind the billions, the geological surveys suggesting not only one of the biggest fossil fuel deposits in decades, but readily accessible. The answer brings distress. Of course the greedy execs would so concur.

And his mind works forward... his disciplinarian? His physical therapist? Penis to harden at the snap of their fingers? 

“I’ve got more comfortable restraints for you,” Dr. Humbert finally breaking the silence in a pleasantly inviting voice. “And a leash. You may as well begin acclimating to feminine control. Stay nice and hard for me and I’ll get you out of those nasty steel bracelets.”

Such are the first heartening words he has heard. The restraints of the security guards at the airfield designed for convincing immobilization rather than long term wear. Yet to remain erect?    

“I... I... don’t know if I can do that.”

“Of course you can.”

Robert Probert... maketa Robert Probert... does not realize it, but he is undergoing the first step of conditioning... rigorous conditioning... as the doctor’s team humorously refers to the process.  

“Just close your eyes and think of something stimulating... sexually stimulating.”

Dr. Martha Humbert reaches nearby and holds up a pair of soft nylon restraints lined in foam. Under the circumstances such are inviting. He needs to be relieved. In closing his eyes, envisioning the erotic scenes of some tawdry movies, he questions his ready compliance. Yet the cuffs are tight, irritating the skin of his wrists, the tendons of his left bringing cramps. 

“Good boy,” the doctor noting the appendage renews its firmness. “Now waggle for me.”

Stepping behind, Robert realizes how close he is to relative emancipation. He waggles, berating himself, yet pulls on his pubo coccygeus muscle with gusto while feeling his wrists being encircled in softness. Next comes the click, click in releasing the tight wrist cuffs.

There comes a humble ‘thank you’, Robert not understanding his own obeisance.

“There will be much counseling to come. I’ll want you to fully describe your thoughts... that which your imagination conjured to bring such firmness,” Robert feeling a finger pressing downward at the very tip of his erection, demonstrating the rigidness of the shaft of steel.  

Eyes remaining closed, Robert questions his reaction... was it solely recalling the tawdry movie scenes?  Or was it his circumstances, being completely naked and helplessly bound in the presence of the handsome and erudite doctor? 

Sensing the doctor step to his front he opens his eyes to note her hands working about his scrotum. He surprises himself with his silence... stunned silence... as a ribbon of pink is alacritously tied about his sac at the base of his standing penis.

“Rwanda... Miss Rwanda... your physical therapist, will take you to your chamber,” the words coming as a length of leather is hooked to the ribbon. “Have you been led about on a leash before, Mr. Probert?” the question coming with a pleasant yet provocative smile.

“No, of course not.”

“Well it’s protocol. Be obedient and follow your therapist’s lead... and the hand and arm of any woman controlling your leash for that matter.”    

More Day One

A young woman of apparent African ethnicity speaks as she leads down the hall of a surprisingly modern building. As Robert Probert steps in ignominy... and carefully... needing to keep the length of leather slack, he peers about. He could be in some office building in America, brightly lit, temperature well controlled in the African heat. Though held in restraint, he is certainly not in a prison. 

“I’m your physical therapist,” the girl turning back with a triumphant smile, no doubt reveling in her authority, “as Dr. Humbert probably mentioned. For the most part, I am in charge of your body... from your neck down.”

The words come as a doorway is reached, free hand going to twist the knob and open.

“Your chamber,” playfully giving the leash a snap, giggling as the entrapped male plums jiggle and a penis remaining semi engorged bobs about.

The girl leads within and shuts the door. Robert looks about. The windowless room is sizable, walls of white, flooring tiled in brown. In the center is a platform at knee height, a white sheet covering what appears to be a slim mattress. Whomever lies thereon will be the center of attention, Robert quickly concludes, and will be in bondage, similar foam lined cuffs at the corners of one end, presumably for the ankles, straps lying in wait to secure the wrist cuffs at the other. More ominously, from the ceiling a horizontal bar hangs above the platform, straps dangling in invitation to restrained limbs.

“I am to feed, bath and massage you. You’re to be pampered, Mr. Probert, assuming you’re a good boy for me. If not, you’ll be engaged by the disciplinarian. You’re best to avoid that... though she will be exercising you.”

As the girl speaks Robert further peers about. There are two cameras mounted high at the corners. There are cabinets... and many devices... appearing medical... clinical... and sophisticated. He focuses on a shower head with plumbing fixtures on one wall, the floor drained beneath. Whomever is to bathe... be bathed... will do so without privacy... the area centered in the lens of one camera.

“You’ve had a long day. You’re to rest. I want you to lie down for me, supine, feet at this end. Be obedient... as I said you don’t want to unnecessarily irk your disciplinarian.”

Robert complies, sitting on the platform, then turning to present his feet at the end where the girl pats the mattress. With the foam lined strips of nylon, she encircles his ankles... with noted dexterity, Robert concluding she has before placed men in bondage. The girl next unclips the wrist cuffs and quickly guides the left to a waiting strap at the top corner. The right follows.

“Lie back,” her voice firm. “You’ll learn tight bondage will bring comfort. You’ll feel safe and secure under a woman’s direction. As I said, you’re to be pampered. As long as you obey no harm will come to you,” the words coming as the girl strolls about the platform zealously tightening each of the four straps.

Tightly spread eagled, she unties the ribbon from Robert’s ball sac, leash removed.

“There, safely bound. You’ve not much body hair... but it’s to be removed. And I think it’s best to get you a pillow. May as well begin acclimating now.” 

Robert silently concurs, head low on the thin mattress. Yet the girl reaches to a cabinet and returns to push the thick fluffiness under his hips, pubes pressed to the ceiling.

“It makes your male bits feel very conspicuous, does it not Mr. Probert?.. like you’re all penis and balls,” the girl tittering.

The therapist steps back assessing in silence, a wry smile coming in seeing the semi engorged male appendage begin to firm anew.

What is happening? Robert asks himself as for the first time he can study the pretty young face of she in charge. Yes, the girl is barely out of her teens. Shapely, her white uniform doing little to cloak a fine athletic form of medium height. How is it that at such a young age she can so facilely assume authority over a grown Caucasian man some ten years her senior?  

“I’ll get you goggles, so you can sleep. Forgot to mention the lights always stay on... you’re to be under constant surveillance,” an arm lifting, fingers pointing to one of the cameras.  

'Prominence' Part One Segment I

Prominence

Copyright 2024

by Chris Bellows

Part One - Abduction - Indoctrination 

“You can’t hold me... like this!”

A forceful tone, more of a demand than a plea.

“But yes we can, Mr. Probert. You’re not in the United States,” a woman of some thirty years calmly responds, exuding confidence in standing before the exasperated form of the captive. “You’re in Zolanda.”

“I know that!”

“Then I should remind you that Zolanda is a monarchy... a matriarchal monarchy. The Queen rules. And the Queen has... well... taken an interest in you.”

“Well, she should. There’s oil... lots of oil... and I’m here to make her... make Zolanda... rich.”

“Your skills are noted. A petroleum engineer... for Benchmark Oil... a very venturous exploration and production company. I am Dr. Martha Humbert. You may call me Miss Martha. My staff and I will be taking care of you on behalf of the Queen.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor. I need my clothes,” the tone of aggravation somewhat tempering in standing completely naked before the handsome woman, attired in the white smock of the medical profession, 

The male bravado begins to erode.

“In the stifling heat of equatorial Africa, covering can be considered optional... for some. For you a privilege to be denied, Mr. Probert.”

The revelation shocks, stunned to momentary silence.

“Well at least get me out of these cuffs,” Robert Probert turning his head, dipping his chin to gesture where his hands are secured behind his back.

“No. For now it’s best that you acclimate to bondage. And being under constant feminine control... convincing feminine control. It begins by always keeping your knees and feet parted in the presence of a woman.”

With the plainly spoken words, the matter-of-fact tone, the bravado completely fades, the realization of his vulnerability daunting. And subconsciously, Robert Probert finds himself indeed parting his feet.

“What’s this all about?” a pleadful quest.

Dr. Martha Humbert, unfolds her arms from her stance of authority. She steps forth, a hand lowering. She brazenly palms then lifts the male appendage. It is flaccid, yet beginning to engorge. And it is long... and thick.

“This.”    

Earlier in the Day

“You boys staying the night?” Robert Probert inquires as he steps from the gleaming Falcon jet of the Benchmark Oil Company, shouting over the noise of the spooling engines.

“No. We need fuel and have to ferry to Lagos. It’s less than hour, but the facility shuts down shortly after dark,” the copilot explains dropping to the tarmac the two light travel bags of the only passenger.

 “We’ve already filed and need to get going. Good luck with the find.” 

“It’s been found... and lots of it. Just need to tidy up details with the old broad running this banana farm.”

“If you’re talking about the Queen, take care. The guys who regularly fly in and out of here are cautious. She’s powerful... knows how to use her power... and enjoys using it. And no one calls her old.” 

With that, the copilot ascends the few steps to the jet’s cabin and hastily pulls shut the door, leaving petroleum engineer Robert Probert alone on an airfield of limited activity. 

Though age twenty-eight, he has risen quickly in the hierarchy of Benchmark Oil. Success has emboldened and, though alone in a foreign country of limited culture, euphemistically referring to such as a banana farm, there is self confidence. Yes, the monarchy is ruled autocratically, but he has the power of knowledge, not only possessing the details of the energy resources but how to extract such and bring to market.       

He is omnipotent.

Spotting a large sign, ‘Customs’, with the term translated below in some half dozen languages, he picks up his bags and begins the trek of legally entering Zolanda, an impoverished backwater monarchy geographically wedged amongst more notable Western African fiefdoms.

Landlocked, there isn’t even a beach for recreation which would attract free spending tourists, Robert reminds himself. Thus he is a godsend for the Zolanda economy... the Zeus of oil riches. He is to become the difference between a nation of abject poverty and a nation of unfathomable wealth.

Such a welcome sight he will make. He is sure to be feted by Zolanda royalty.

Into an makeshift shed, Robert cannot help envisioning the stately terminal building that is sure to be constructed with the prospective oil funds. He has too often visited similar but more mature oil commonwealths. There will be much infrastructure... modern roads and bridges ironically traversed by barefooted locals leading donkey carts. There are few instances of the oil wealth trickling down to benefit the masses. But such is the way of the world.

Dictators and monarchs are corruptible... and oil money corrupts.

Entering the customs shed Robert Probert is surprised to see state of the art security equipment. Two burly uniformed women of color, appearing bored, greet. One takes his proffered passport and points to a conveyor where his luggage is to be scanned, the other beckons and speaks brusquely in accented English.

“Here boy,” Robert to step through a metal detector.

‘Boy’!... not the salutation this ‘oil god’ expects. Apparently decades of colonialization remain staining cultural relations. Robert chooses to remain silent, smiling smugly. As he steps forth he notes that whereas most scanners he has been subjected to on his many travels are arches, with this device it appears he is to pass through a tunnel. Indeed when he alacritously glides through, a pair of meaty black hands greet his chest, pushing him back into the small cave.      

“You stay, boy. Be good for me. Stand still. You be scanned. I tell you when. Hands on head.”

It is a command, sharply uttered, and with compliance thereafter earns a more kindly ‘good boy’.

Robert hears hums and bleeps. He is mindful of an MRI scan... magnetic resonance imaging...  taken years ago after a knee injury. After many minutes he notes the security guard looking at a monitor. She smiles, gesturing to security guard number two as she begins typing into a keyboard. The second guard joins her at the screen. She smiles not, instead outright giggling.

“His name is Robert Probert,” English heavily accented.

The women begin speaking in their native tongue, security guard one picking up a phone and speaking more unintelligible words. After a few moments she smiles, nods and places down the receiver.

“Probert, mahn, the boss lady, she wants confirmation.”   

“‘Confirmation? I don’t understand.”

“Drop your pants,” the words of security guard one coming as another brusque command.

“You’re a big boy,” security guard two more graciously offers. “The boss lady wants photos,” pulling a cell phone from her pocket. ‘The scans... always accurate... but never as welcoming.”   

'Prominence' - Part One

 I have published the first part of a three part story 'Prominence', available on Lulu.com, (be sure to give yourself access to explicit content).

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