Roberta Probert - Vignette XII - The Pink Tent - Yukon - Day Three

 The Pink Tent - Yukon - Day Three

“You’ve been very obedient. A good girl. Six boys gratified. Six to go. Are you sore?”

Forewoman Margie Stenson places down a bowl of slop then nonchalantly lowers her khakis, slipping her panties to her ankles as well. It’s feeding time. Hors d’oeuvres come first. She sits in the straight backed chair where for the past three days Roberta has fellated the roustabouts of Benchmark Oil. She gestures come hither. Roberta knows to crawl forth on her knees.

“They’re... they’re... gruff, Miss Stenson.”

“So you’ve told me,” Roberta made to divulge every detail of her deviant couplings. “Some are nicely hung, I am sure. Boys will be boys, Roberta. When there’s a need, such as getting one’s rocks off, a boy will overlook such otherwise revolting things like being sucked off by another guy... or splitting another guy’s cheeks. Learned that at Kent. For new arrivals I’d let the hormones build for a week then pair them off and... under threat of disciplinary action... have them strip for me and masturbate each other. That always broke the ice so to speak... obeying a woman while naked and jerking off another guy. They learned who was in charge. And the homophobia faded fast.”

With the words Robert knows to press her face between muscular feminine thighs, mouth enveloping, lips working to open the folds of a well trimmed mons, tongue thrusting.

“Good girl... such a good girl. And of course I progressed that to mutual fellatio... sixty nine position. Fun having them argue about who would be on top.”

Months of training, Roberta knows the intricacy of the female portal, tongue curling then fluttering about.  

Margie Stenson sits back, absorbing the wondrous oral delight, hands going to guide and cradle Roberta’s long locks, in silence... but for the heater blasting and slurps of wet flesh savoring wet flesh.

As orgasm approaches, the hands leave Roberta’s head, lowering to the chest, fingers right and left pinching the pierced and sentient pink nubs, twisting with the wave of ecstasy, Roberta needing to stifle any response to the intense pain, knowing to meekly still his tongue and sit back.

“My boy in cell block six was just as good... perhaps better. I miss him.”

“He served his time, Miss Margie?”

“Oh, no, he’s in for life, I’m sure now sucking off another inmate. And wearing prison grays, no doubt. I kept him in a pink skirt... short... and no underwear, no shirt. It’s best for boys like that... knowing their place.”

Miss Margie reaches to her side. Feeding time, the slop abundant yet foul. She places on her lap, taking a spoonful and offering. With Roberta’s wrists remaining in shackles, he needs to be fed, mouth compliantly opening.

“I know it’s revolting, Roberta... the taste. But it makes it eager for you to wash it down.”

Yes, apparently the videos sent by Miss Leona included highlights of Roberta’s toilet skills, Margie impressed with the proficiency... the neatness.       

Roberta swallows. He cannot stop himself from asking.

“So you left your job at Kent Institute to work for Benchmark?”

“No. My discipline clamps. I squeezed one too many testicles... and too hard. One twist too many. The egg succumbed... had to be surgically removed. I argued... no harm... that it’s why a guy has two. But the inmate... who was in for embezzlement... was born into a wealthy family with influence. I got canned. But I’ll always remember the look on the boys’s face in realizing what woman had done to him.”

Another spoonful. Roberta’s mind reeling, Miss Margie so aloof in partially castrating an inmate... one of her boys. And to think one of his gonads was subject to her callous handling!  

“Do you fight your penis cage... when servicing my men? Get hard... try to get hard?”

Roberta swallows, pausing, the question challenging... asked to admit whether there is sexual thrill... a response squelched by steel... in offering herself. How can she explain the deterioration of her own homophobia in acknowledging?

“It’s... it’s... well... the chastity... and you know... the prostate...”

“So the answer is yes,” Miss Margie interrupts. “Hope you don’t drool on the mattress. Maybe I should catheterize you.”   

Roberta is speechless.

“After all, I control your bladder as it is... filling the bucket for me.”

Miss Margie smiles in noting Roberta’s pleading look.

“I’d need to shorten your wrist chain, make sure you wouldn’t be able to open the tube.”

Roberta notes the seed of catheterization seems to be growing in Miss Margie’s mind. Dare she speak... object?

“You have three appointments tomorrow, Roberta, not two. David from day one wants to meet again. He says he likes ‘talking’ to you. Of course we both know there’s not much talk when your mouth is full of cock. But we’ll go along... just a lonely young man needing to converse with something appearing to be a woman. Leona is clever, providing cover for the homoerotic mischief. But it’s cheaper and less disruptive than flying all these guy back to the states.”

Bowl empty, Miss Margie places aside, drawing Roberta’s head and face back to her mons. Roberta latches, knowing the intent.

“Do give catheterization some thought, Roberta. You better feel under a woman’s control. You need that... crave it. Meanwhile you need to wash down your dinner.” 

Margie Stenson opens. Roberta partakes.

Roberta Probert - Vignette XI - The Pink Tent - Yukon - Day One

The Pink Tent - Yukon - Day One

The gravel road is noisy but somewhat smooth, the jeep traversing for well over an hour. Then Roberta’s blanket covered nakedness is thrust to the right as the jeep makes a sharp turn off one of the few major thoroughfares in northern Yukon.

“Hold on,” Marge Stenson directs, as the jeep takes rough patches.

Well forewarned, Roberta thinks to herself, but in being so thoroughly shackled there is nothing upon which to hold... if she could see to grasp something.

One mile, two, the jeep grinds at a lower speed, Roberta on occasion hearing splashes of water. Cold but not freezing, Roberta concludes. But it’s early September. That will change. Meanwhile the pain of the testicle clamp subsides to a constant yet tolerable dull ache.

Will it be removed?

“You’re scheduled for a week. I want you with two men per day. Leona has made two hour visits mandatory. So whether you’re face fucked, fanny fucked or just amuse with conversation, you’ll be working the tent. Works out well, got twelve men, so by the end of the week, they’ll all have their rocks off... if they choose... and they will.”   

The jeep makes one last turn. Roberta hears the engine cut off.

“They’ll be shy about it... some homophobia, no doubt. But they’ll come around... just as my boys on the cell block at Kent Institution. No other way to get off... other than by way of Miss Rosy Palm, ha, ha, ha.”

The driver’s door opens and closes. Roberta’s door is opened and a hand takes up the testicle leash, pulling firmly.

“You’ll need to keep discretion. Other than for sucking cock, keep your mouth shut,” sightless Roberta following tugs on the leash. “So what happens in the pink tent stays in the pink tent. If pressed to divulge what nasty deeds you performed... just say we talked. Leona’s quite clever. You say nothing, the boys say nothing, and there’s no need for a boy to be accused of being some kind of faggot. Everyone’s happy... pretending nothing unmanly happened.”

The ground is wet and marshy. Roberta’s steps are limited with the chain connecting her ankle restraints. Plus her high heels are not functional. Margie notes.

“Kick those things off. You’re not a Rockette.”

Roberta pauses and complies. Feet wet, she resumes, soon feeling rugged canvas graze her naked back as forewoman Margie Stenson guides into a tent, undoubtedly pink.

“But you will tell me what you’ve done for the men... to the men. I’ll want every detail. It’s good for a supervising woman to understand her boys’ needs. I’ll be building a file. Some may consider it extortion. But it will keep them obedient to me.”

Roberta feels fingers working about her pubes. The leash is unclipped. Gratefully the testicle clamp is loosened, falling away into Miss Margie’s hand. 

“I’m going to keep you in shackles. For no practical reason... you’ll not walk out of here... nearly one hundred miles to Dawson. It’s the sense of power... it makes me feel real good having a man in bondage. Brings me back to my penitentiary days at Kent. Let’s have a look at you.”

With that the thick hood of latex is finally slipped away. Roberta feels strange chagrin in knowing her otherwise carefully styled hair is a mess. 

Why does she want to look her best for this brute of a woman?

“Well, very pretty... even if you do have a cock and balls,” pulling away the blanket as well, nipple bells sounding.

It’s cold, not freezing but well below the temperature to be standing about naked.

“So here’s the next part of the deal... my own cleverness... Miss Roberta. I control the heat. It will be barely tolerable for you. Except when you’re entertaining one of my boys. Then the heat will blast and you can suck, bend and spread in comfort. Sort of an incentive. Maybe you’ll want to do more than two guys per day, ha, ha, ha. Because when you’re not servicing one of my boys the heat will be turned well down.”

Roberta looks about the sparse tent. It’s of size as expected, identical to that pitched in Zolanda. But barren. Also expected. A cot to sleep on, a large mattress... for ‘entertaining’. A straight backed wooden chair, Roberta envisioning herself kneeling before and offering fellatio. A small table for makeup... required to assure she is effeminately alluring. A heater... the source of electricity apparently under the control of she in charge. A bucket, for excretions.

Her captor takes the small travel bag and dumps the contents on the cot.

“Need to search for contraband,” more prison nomenclature, hands and fingers poking about the contents. “What’s this?” Roberta embarrassed as she holds up the plastic bottle with a slim tube and nozzle.

“I... I... I’m trained to.. ah... keep myself cleaned out.”

“Enemas. And I see you’ve packed lots of lubricant. Good. Well, I’ll make sure your bottle is filled every morning. It’ll be cold. But I’ve always found an ice cold colonic keeps a boy... humble and respectful. Mornings I’ll unlock your wrists... so you can internally cleanse and make yourself up for the boys. Otherwise limited use of your hands. Just need to use your mouth and tongue to please. You’ll be fed. Initially by me. But who knows, one of the boys may choose to accommodate when he’s off duty. You’ll develop friends.”

In speaking, Roberta finally focuses on she in charge. Margie Stenson is a woman of some forty years, possibly older. She’s handsome, not pretty, with even features, short slicked back dark hair, appearing masculine, as perceived, in plaid wool shirt, thick khaki pants and heavy work boots.

“I’ll leave the blanket... for as long as you’re a good girl for me. The day crew gets off in thirty minutes. I’ll see who wants to be first... in getting off, ha, ha ha,” laughing with the pun.

Margie steps forth, hands of a blacksmith going to Roberta’s hair, brushing about her long locks to make more presentable.

“I... I... ah... need to brush...” Roberts raising her hands as far as possible, not able to reach her head and face.

The chain of the wrist shackles is linked behind her back, short such that she can barely touch the tips of her fingers together.

“No you won’t. The boys will probably be using your hair like a handle anyway. It’s the Yukon, girly girl,” Margie echoing flight attendant Marissa’s words. “If it was warmer they’d probably have you outside rolling you in the mud.”

The thought horrifies. Mud! Makeup smeared! Indeed, Roberta realizes, she is becoming a girly girl!   

Margie Stenson, steps back, further assessing. 

“Leona had me review some videos... explaining you’re... ah... conditioning. Before trained to suck cock you relished licking pussy. I’ll accommodate. Had a special inmate for that on my cell block at Kent. Made him earn every meal. I miss it. Kept him hairless as well.”

With those foreboding words, Margie Stenson turns to leave, pausing at the tent’s exit folds. Then she returns, wrapping her arms about Roberta’s nakedness in an unusual display of affection, Roberta’s penis cage pressed to her pubes area. Then Roberta realizes, behind, meaty hands squeeze her bare buttocks... groping her as would a predatory man. For some reason Roberta feels twinges, penis stirred from desired flaccidity, the woman’s authoritative embrace bringing an unwanted thrill. There comes soft laughter, the woman gleeful in having her way.

“I’ll protect you, Roberta, from those mean, nasty... and horny men. Just be a good girl... be obedient... and please. Do your job for Benchmark Oil.”

“Miss Margie, may I speak?

“What is it?”

“I’m stuffed. And... you know... can’t use my hands. So if a man wants me... you know...”

“Yes, your butt plug. Seems you want to take it there, ha, ha, ha. Many of my boys at Kent came to like it too. Good that you keep yourself open back there. Had one boy go to the prison infirmary three times to have his too tight asshole sutured. After the third, I took better care of him. Within a month or two fisting him just about every day,” Miss Margie gesturing for Roberta to turn.

She does... and bends... and spreads... feeling her captor work the protruding flange of the anal insertion, gruffly pulling then tossing to the cot.

“Clean it. Then hang some place where the boys will see it. Proclaim yourself.”  

She then stoops and takes the empty bucket for excretions.

“You’ll need to ask. And don’t sneakily soil where you’re going to eat... and fuck. If you do, I’ll catheterize you. When you feel the heat turned up toss aside the blanket, greet my boys naked and kneeling. There’s no point in hiding who you are... what you are.”     

Stepping to exit, Margie Stenson turns...

“Essentially you’re my prisoner... and I know how to take care of prisoners... understand their needs. You’ll only be under me for a week. But you’ll appreciate my attention.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”

Roberta Probert - Vignette X - Dawson City Airport

Dawson City Airport

“That’s a pretty thick hood. Can she hear me?”

Having arrived at Dawson City Airport Roberta is mystified that she remains fully bound in the her seat. The jet has landed, taxied, come to a stop and the fuselage door has opened to a blast of frigid Canadian arctic air.  

“If you speak loudly,” flight attendant Marissa replies.

Roberta once again feels fingers at her nipples, painfully pinching.

“Good afternoon, pretty girl... or whatever. I am Margie Stenson. Miss Margie to you. And I am in charge. Very much in charge. If you can hear me nod. You are not to speak... not unless I say so.”

Roberta nods.

“Good. Now we’re going to get along just fine... if you obey. The pilot has taken your passport to customs. You’ll be cleared... not needing to show yourself. Hate to have to dress you, ha, ha, ha,” the laughter deep, almost masculine. “She’s an old colleague... the immigration lady. So I’m going to walk you to my jeep. And you’ll probably find a need to hurry. It’s the Yukon. It’s cold.”

Roberta feels what she presumes to be her leash being attached to her testicle rings and the wrist and ankles straps torn away. Remaining sightless, she carefully stands responding to a brisk pull on the leash. Having been so often led about while blinded in Zolanda she knows to be most obeisant, an errant step giving rise to agonizing tension on the leash and barbed testicle rings. Yet there comes no directing tug. Instead she feels attachments... ankles and wrists... heavy... metallic. Then comes the familiar rattling of chain links. Again heavy, not of the slim chain at the Cabot Estate.

“Good girl. You take to being shackled very nicely... like a very experienced, long incarcerated felon. We’re going to get along just fine. Just keep in mind bondage is your friend. Keeps you out of trouble. Just place yourself in Margie’s hands. You’ll be protected. No harm comes to good girls.”

The words come by rote, along with the quick and convincing shackling and bondage. Roberta feels as if she is under arrest!

Tension, a gentle pull on he leash comes. Roberta follows, hearing through the thick rubber the laughter of the young termagant Miss Marissa.

“See you in a few days Miss Roberta,” snickering her feminized honorific.

Baby step, baby step, the blast of cold air becomes stronger.

“Down one, down another,” each step of the stairs announced, Roberta finding the ankle shackles offer limited footwork. “That’s a good girl.” 

And indeed Roberta finds a need to hurry, difficult in remaining in garish red high heels. Naked in the arctic cold, Roberta attempts to lift her arms to hug herself. Motion denied, chains rattling but restricting. Again mobility is limited!

“My jeep is right here. Ramp access... special consideration for Benchmark arrivals and departures. Leona swings a big stick around here,” Margie Stenson narrating the short but too slow journey. “Works real well when bringing in naked whores, ha, ha, ha.”

Finally Roberta is directed to halt, hearing a car door open. Then hands guide, pushing and prompting. She steps up, a hand goes to the top of her hooded head, both pushing and protecting from striking the frame of the vehicle. There comes slack on the leash. Roberta sits. The door slams shut. The wind cuts off but the temperature remains well below that of Baton Rouge. She shivers.

“Passport?” Roberta hears the voice of the pilot, shouting in the wind.

“You may as well keep that for the return trip. No need for it the middle of the tundra,” the husky voice of Ms. Margie Stenson replies.  

Roberta next hears what is presumably the driver’s door open and shut. The engine starts.

“Well, pretty girl. I think you’d appreciate a blanket.”

Daring not to speak, Roberta energetically nods.

“Good. You know not to speak. Spent a few years in prison... on the righteous side of the bars. When promoted to run my own cell block I instituted a rule of strict silence. Not only no talking, but directing everything be done quietly... like in a library... though I doubt any of my guests ever read. Perhaps better like in a church. Makes a boy humble, having to think... not talk. And to focus and concentrate on never being heard while he’s being worked. My boys tiptoed for me. Imagine that.”

Roberta hears clicks then feels a rush of warm air, the jeep’s heater apparently turned up.

“Well... a blanket is a privilege for a girl... or whatever... of your status. Privileges are earned. How’s a naked girl in shackles going to earn a blanket?”

Roberta knows not how to respond without speaking.

“Can’t help saying you’ve got a set of balls. Ringed... leashed... but prominent... and ripe. Ten years in a men’s prison, I know balls... know a lot about ‘em. Very useful for when a supervising  woman needs to correct behavior. Takes very little effort to get a boy’s attention... modify behavior... when you focus on the testicles. Would you like to see... better understand... behavioral modification?”

Frightened, Roberta shakes her hooded head.

“But you would like a blanket.”

The connection become obvious. Roberta must earn her blanket. She is shivering spasmodically She again nods energetically.

“Good. I had these little gadgets specially made. Took a few with me from the prison after I... well... the prison system and I parted ways.”

Roberta feels fingers about her gonads, lifting her elongated scrotal sac. Something is adhered to her left testicle. It squeezes... and squeezes. Roberta breaking the rule of silence in bellowing in pain.

“Good, girl. You took it for me... and earned a blanket,” feeling a covering of warmth enveloping her nakedness.

“So on to the drilling site. And do keep in mind, my little clamp can get tighter... and tighter. So you will be an obedient little girl... and keep my boys happy. In the pink tent. I’ve seen my share of cocksucking... and worse. Prison rules were to discourage... break up any unauthorized displays of affection... as the manual termed it,” Roberta hearing the jeep placed in gear, feeling the wheels rolling. “But I quickly learned that when guys got off, even the most belligerent inmates calmed. Made my job easier. No need for them to make trouble, easier for the inmates... no matter how much of a brute... to stay focused... just do the time. At Benchmark its not about doing time it’s just keeping the rig going.”

Roberta feels the jeep turn then accelerate.

“So, Roberta, you’re here to make my job easier. But do keep in mind, I have more clamps... and you have many more places subject to behavior modification.” fingers of her free hand going to the left nipple. “Suck, bend and spread, that’s the email from the boss lady. And don’t think I failed to notice you’re well plugged... greased up and ready for action. I may just visit the pink tent myself.”  

Roberta Probert - Vignette IX- To the Yukon - Continued

To the Yukon - Continued

“Penis still caged, balls still leashed,” the pilot shaking her head as a nude Roberta Probert is led up the stairway. “Whatever happened to that key?”

The woman inquires, having been in charge of its safe keeping during the flight from Zolanda many months ago.

“It’s... ah... well... a girl keeps it in the office,” Roberta succinctly responds as fight attendant Marissa tugs to lead to a cabin seat. 

“If it’s Edie, it couldn’t be in better hands. Goodness, Marissa, they’ve got him plugged.” the pilot noting the flanged end of a red anal plug emanating from between Roberta’s cheeks. “He’ll probably need your help if he... she... needs to go potty.”

With that, the pilot steps into the cockpit, to Roberta’s relief, closing and latching the door.

“Are you going to be comfortable sitting with that thing inside you?” Marissa inquires as she turns Roberta about to inspect. “The flight is a little over five hours,” Roberta feeling fingers gently tugging at the flanged end.

More ignominy, feeling the flight attendant deep within, traveling sans clothing.

“I... I... can... ah... manage, Miss Marissa,” Roberta shamed to disclose she spends most of the day impaled.

Before giving permission to sit, Marissa places a hand towel on the leather seat.

“You’re kind of greasy... back there,” finally pushing at the shoulders, Roberta knowing to lower herself.

Roberta patiently remains still as nylon straps encircle her wrists. Hands move to playfully flick her nipple bells, then Marissa lowers to likewise encircle the ankles and adhere with Velcro. Made one with the seat, as always, there comes irony in how quickly Roberta is made immobile... and how a simple child could free her... no cuffs, chains, locks, keys. Just a pinch between thumb and index finger and a quick pull of the Velcro is what separates her from freedom.

Lastly, Marissa unhooks the testicle leash, with a giggle fingers offering a quick grope of the hairless ball sac.     

“You’ll sleep for me. I’ll hood you,” Roberta noting the tone of authority... not asking but directing. “If you need to go potty, I’ll get a basin. Quicker and easier then releasing you and using the leash to take you to the lavatory.”

Roberta submissively nods. Just as with Miss Edie, the young girl is becoming more and more authoritative over her. Prior flights Roberta was permitted to roam the cabin. Sure enough, Marissa steps to the galley returning with a full latex hood, similar to that used in the Clinic.

“My hair, Miss Marissa,” Roberta strangely proud of her coiffured locks.

Marissa ignores the plea, pulling the black latex over Roberta’s head to bring darkness as the jet begins rolling from the hanger.

“Such a girly girl,” Marissa chides. “It’s the Yukon, not Rodeo Drive.”

Taxi then take off, as the jet attains altitude and levels off, the constant whoosh of the engines, the darkness of the hood bring Roberta thoughts of his/her captivity in Zolanda, subjected to the conditioning of the Clinic... unending bondage... sensory deprivation.

There is no headset, her state of nothingness not to be interrupted by mind altering videos, yet Roberta’s mental return is bolstered when something is pressed to his lips. Food! She is to be fed, hands not released even for sustenance.

Roberta obediently partakes, his imagination again returning him to the matriarchy, where males are hand fed by supervising women... wives, mothers, sisters... throughout life... even in adulthood.    

It is fruit, flight attendant Marissa pressing an orange slice to her lips. She partakes. Then comes juice, then comes another slice of orange. Roberta envisions Miss Marissa’s look of maternal gratification as she feeds, Roberta a helpless child. More juice, another slice. The feeding continues. Finally Roberta shakes her head, no more. There comes no verbal reply, instead fingers return to Roberta’s nipples... pinching... pinching... twisting... the sharp pain makes the intent become apparent. Roberta opens. She is to take more juice, another slice. 

Why no talk? It comes to mind that under the auspices of Miss Leona and Miss Harriet, permission must be obtained for speech. In reflecting, Roberta comes to realize spontaneous speech has been denied since his captivity in Zolanda. Perhaps young Marissa too is demanding silence. 

More juice. Roberta imbibes. Dare she speak out? Shaking her head earned punishment, the pinching, twisting fingers unrelenting and firm. Another swig, another slice, another swig.

Finally Roberta feels a cloth, dabbing at her lips, swiping at her chin, cleansed as a toddler at meal’s end. Feeding time over. She is returned to dark isolation, the static-like noise of the jet engines her only sensory input. Though restrained sitting upright, she sleeps, months of being so bound in the prison bedroom of the Palace. She dreams, and with all the recent trauma, such dreams disturb.

Back to the pink tent. The jungles of Zolanda. Foreman Benson. The roustabouts. Eddie Pringle slaking revenge.

‘May I suck your penis, Sir?’ Roberta sickened as her subconscious hears his/her voice so obeisantly offering fellatio to men once considered underlings. 

Her dream transcends... to the Yukon. She knows none of those who visit the pink tent. And a woman supervises, the atmosphere for sure to be less toxic than that under foreman Benson, Roberta dreams. She will have some covering, yes. She will not need to explain the steel mesh of her penis cage. A skirt is permitted.

Yet it is a dream. What of Miss Leona’s directive... that she is to suck, bend and spread for the rugged crews working in the most remote places about the globe. Many weeks, much effort in being anally opened and orally trained, her sphincter to be an erogenous zone. Can Roberta avoid so offering herself in the Yukon? She envisions covering... not bending, spreading to offer a well lubricated rear opening. The dream ends.

Roberta feels her penis cage being handled. She stirs. Over the cabin noise, through the thick latex covering her head, Roberta hears sibilant sounds.

“Psst, Psst.”

She understands, as fingers work to shift about her male package and plumbing. Roberta is to urinate for the woman now in charge, a receptacle apparently aligned with the tube invading her urethra. Yes, the girl is reveling in her control... first feeding and hydrating... now supervising her emissions. 

Again... where does Miss Leona find these girls?

   

Roberta Probert - Vignette VIII - To the Yukon

To the Yukon

“Spent a lot of time on your makeup this morning Roberta. I think you like looking pretty for the flight crew.”

Roberta girlishly smiles with the compliment, the words momentarily allaying her fears. There will be another stint in the pink tent, fulfilling her role in comforting the Benchmark drilling crews based in some of the most remote and rugged areas of the world.

“You look worried, Roberta. You’ve been conditioned... well trained. You’ll perform for me. Yet you have concerns?” Miss Leona inquires.

“They’re brutes, Miss Leona. Very gruff men.”

“Yes, and that’s why they need attention... your special attention. You’ll calm them... sucking, bending, spreading,” Leona beaming in thinking about the intensity of the humiliation. “The foreman... forewoman... is Margie Stenson. As I explained, in time all supervising personnel at Benchmark will be women. She will watch over you, make sure the big nasty roustabouts don’t hurt you. But do stay lubricated, Roberta. You know it’s for the best.”  

There comes the toot of a car horn.

“That’s Jabari. Be obedient. You know how much she’d like to cane your buttocks.

Roberta nods in concurrence. She has no doubt about that.

Harriet rises from the kitchen table, stepping forth to give Roberta a farewell hug. She then steps back, pill bottle in hand, shaking ominously.

“These will be here when you return, Roberta. I’m still waiting for you to ask... two hundred milligrams. I want to place the cyproterone acetate on your tongue, Roberta. And I’ll also have something for you to wash it down. Twice per day.”

For over a month, Roberta has summoned the moxie to decline the anti androgens. Though not offered this morning, travel obviating the start of the required twice daily regimen, the mental and emotional pressure, to surrender remaining masculinity, continues.

Harriet then lifts the hem of Roberta’s short red satin skirt, unlocking the long chain used to restrain during household duties and clipping a leash to the testicle rings.

“I’ll walk you to the car,” Leona taking the leash.

“Must I... ah... you know?” Roberta nodding to the length of leather.

“Always, Roberta. Feminine governance. It’s best for you. Deep within you revel in it... and you’d be in a funk without it... like an abandoned puppy.”

To the livingroom, Leona leads, Roberta’s matching red heels tapping in tow. She picks up a small travel bag then steps out the front door. Jabari waits with the company limousine. Leona hands over the leash.

“Good morning pretty girl. Permitted to wear clothing. A big day for you,” Jabari greets, speaking to Roberta as one would a little girl.

“Make sure she’s under control at all times, Jabari,” Leona reaching under the gaudy skirt to pinch a right cheek, fingers then smoothing about to check the protruding flange of a sizable anal plug. 

The finger work brings Roberta to lurch, her many bells ringing. Jabai laughs.

“Of course, Leona, your girl wouldn’t want it any other way.”  

Leona then hands over the travel bag.

“Not much clothing,” Jabari noting the bag’s lightness. 

“Oh, no clothing. Roberta won’t be needing any. It’s cosmetics, hair stuff... and lubricant. Lots and lots of lubricant,” chuckling with the revelation.

As Jabari stows the bag, there comes a departing hug, Roberta expressing genuine affection in wrapping her arms about she who governs, feeling the bump of little Chester pressed to her stomach.

“Come,” Jabari gruffly tugging to bring a stab of pain.

Into the back of the limousine, Robert is again strapped in place, made completely immobile. She can’t help thinking, Miss Leona’s words bringing psychosomatic comfort. Does she indeed feel better when a woman tightly binds?

The journey to the airport is swift, Jabari skilled and aggressive in her driving. Left to her own, Roberta mulls. There are conflicting thoughts. Left behind is the drudgery of keeping house, preparing meals, the seemingly endless nights in the steel cage, listening in darkness as Miss Leona and Miss Harriet make love. But ahead is another stint in the pink tent, to offer herself to roustabouts unknown. In Zolanda, as humiliating as it was to be introduced to the protocol of the pink tent, at least his/her circumstances were known to the drilling crew. No introductions needed... no explanation as to his/her obscured gender. Now, in the Yukon, he’ll be ‘recreating’ with men unknown. It will be cold. He reflects on Miss Leona’s comments about the travel bag... no clothing. 

But why is it she would expect any? She has spent the last six weeks in nakedness... bound most of the day by a lengthy yet restrictive chain. And then caged for evenings of rest. Which bring more thoughts... how quickly and easily she learned to accept her confinement... with the sounds of Sapphic love making ending... oddly sleeping soundly after her brisk nightlypegging... the hormonal release of prostate manipulation bringing quiescence.

The limousine pulls to a stop at the Benchmark Oil hanger. Roberta looks out the car window to see flight attendant Marissa, young and assertive, waiting near the entrance door. As Jabari opens and steps from behind the wheel, Marissa... Miss Marissa... steps forward. She greets in eagerness. Having flown under the girl’s tutelage, Roberta is aware of her enjoyment of governance.

Wherever does Miss Leona find for employment such brash young girls?

“I’ll take her,” Roberta chagrined to hear the enthusiasm in the flight attendant’s voice as Jabari opens the rear door. “Is she leashed?”

Jabari chuckles, “Of course. Roberta does not move without some form of restraint.”

Robert is unstrapped, Marissa taking the leash as Jabari guides from the car. She giggles in hearing chiming, giving the leash a shake to assure the testicle bells remain.

“So pretty, Roberta.”

Roberta has come to develop skills... makeup, hair, nails. She blushes which brings more blushing with the cognition over her effeminate reaction. A peculiar loop.  

“To Dawson City, Roberta,” Marissa speaking as if taking a child to Disney World. “It must be so exciting for you,” turning and tugging.

Into the hanger, Marissa leads, Jabari follows light travel bag in hand. The sleek Falcon jet awaits, Roberta grateful not needing to walk out onto the tarmac.

“I’ll take her luggage,” Marissa stopping at the jet’s stairway.

Jabari hands over the simple bag.

“That’s it?”

“Clothing not needed,” Jabari smirking as Marissa immediately understands the implications. 

“Well pretty girl. It will be cold in the Yukon. I think you’re going to need to snuggle with someone,” Marissa somewhat implying knowledge of the pink tent activities.

There comes an odd interval... silence, no movement, Roberta not led the few steps to embark. After a time Marissa shrugs. Her free hand extending, brazenly going to Roberta’s chest, squeezing a pierced nipple through the cloth.

“The Captain says you’ll feel better... be more comfortable. Though it’s a pretty blouse, I like the ruffling. And I love the color of your skirt... but...”

“Strip,” Jabari finally intercedes.

Roberta Probert - Vignette VII - Day's End

Day’s End

In the master bedroom, Miss Harriet and Miss Leona prepare for bed. Roberta scurries about, chain clinking, bells ringing, assuring, the bed is turned down, warm towels are at the ready, one in particular centered on the mattress. After a harrowing morning with Miss Edie practicing her budding skills, returning to the humdrum of maid service is welcomed.

“Your penis stood for Edie very nicely, Roberta,” Leona casually notes, momentarily baring herself to change into an oversized robe.

Roberta tries not to gawk, but the glimpse of her ripening form brings poignant thoughts. There is attraction as her ample breasts swell, belly rounding. In pregnancy, her maternal aura brings composure.

“You’re looking at me, Roberta,” Leona catching her glimpse.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Something of interest?”

“Your child, Ma’am. He... she... is beginning to... ah... show.” 

“He... Roberta. It’s little Chester.” Leona corrects. 

Roberta appears perplexed with the certainly.

“Gender selection, Roberta. They can do that now with artificial insemination. I want a boy... Chester Mark, Jr. He’ll be tall, handsome... like his father... was... but tame and obedient... not a frat boy. No traipsing about the globe drilling holes in the earth’s crust for little Chester. No, we’ll condition him... to be polite, courteous, deferential to women. And of course he’ll be rich. Heir to the Benchmark Oil empire. I’m going to have a wealthy son... trained to serve.”

Leona approaches, hands going to Roberta’s bare chest, fingers right and left gently tweaking male nubs over sensitized in the continuing chastity.

“Sore? Edie was quite demanding with the nipple clamps.”

“I was obedient, Miss Leona. And she hurt me,” Roberta nearly sobbing in recalling the agony.

“She’s experimenting. Young girls do that over sexual matters. And as a champion athlete... well... she’s going to do so assertively. You became quite stiff for her, Roberta. You appreciated being unlocked. Or was it her strictness?”

“I... I... don’t know, Ma’am.”

“Still don’t understand yourself...your deviant needs. You kissed her feet, licked her shoes. A girl barely out of high school... and you not only ceded to her... but groveled and thanked her for her governance.”

“I... I... had no choice, Miss Leona.”

“Are you sure about that, Roberta?” right hand rising, a finger tapping Roberta’s well groomed head. “You have needs. We take care of those here.” 

With that, Miss Harriet exits the bathroom. Roberta is disappointed to see she is attired in one of her cat suits. She gives Roberta a pleasant look and points to the wall, littered with anal plugs and Feeldoes of various lengths and thicknesses.

“Time for me to shower... while you get fanny fucked,” Leona withdrawing her hands, conversation over. 

Roberta knows to step to the wall, selecting a double dildo. Licking the bulbous female end, she then tucks the male end into her mouth and turns to stand before Miss Harriet. She wordlessly unlocks Roberta’s testicle chain, secured in place for most of the day. Then Roberta kneels in a silent nightly ceremony. Harriet splays open the slit at the pubes of her cat suit, steps forth and adroitly takes the female end into her quim. Roberta knows to hold steady, reveling in the brief waft of feminine fragrance, her Master’s sigh of delight bringing curious satiation to the masochistic psyche. She’s is pleasing.

Miss Harriet then thrusts, knowing that the well trained throat can effortlessly take the length of rubber deep and without fanfare. Another sigh, the female end delightfully working its magic, vaginal walls frictioned, clitoris stimulated. She then withdraws, the length of blue rubber sliding from Roberta’s mouth. She then knows to rise and scamper to the bed... the genupectoral position mandated and alacritously assumed. Harriet follows taking up position, standing on the carpet behind.

A hand reaches to the gaudy red flange of the anal plug, inserted hours before, tugging, Roberta knowing to press and expel.

“Lubrication sufficient?” finally breaking the silence, tossing the soiled plug to the carpet.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You’ll drool for me. Show off what remains of your masculinity. Make sure it hits the towel.”

And with that, head down, elbows to the mattress, back arched, buttocks high, Roberta is entered. Miss Harriet always fucks in silence but for her gasps for air and cries of ecstasy as orgasm after orgasm rolls through her sublime form. 

Roberta’s bells ring in cadence with her thrusts, drawing Miss Leona from the bathroom, towel wrapped about her head. She smiles, enjoying the vision, the ultimate male comeuppance, degradation unsurpassed, the feminized maid capitulating to the pleasure of a governing woman. She notes the grimaces of suffering, knowing the source, stepping forth, letting her robe part in cradling Roberta’s head. She consoles, treating with views of her partial nakedness.

Thrust, thrust, thrust, another orgasm rips through Miss Harriet’s body. 

“Oh Roberta, you’re fighting your penis cage aren’t you? Well, you’re otherwise enjoying... a girl like you thrills in taking it this way. If you would take the pills in time there would be no need for the penis cage. You’d very much enjoy being fanny fucked then.”

With her words her hands, lower fingers again going to tenderly tweak the pink sentient male nipples, supplementing the sensuous barrage.  

“Two hundred milligrams. You’d stay forever soft for us, no longer feeling the spikes... only the joy of your subjugation.”

With that, Miss Leona, leans and lowers her head, noting the stream of prostatic fluid moistening the towel beneath Roberta’s cage, the deep thrusts of the Feeldoe milking of unwanted male essence.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. So sloppy Roberta!”

Roberta Probert - Vignette VI- Humbled

If I have inadequately described the 'humbler' device, consider Googling. There are a surprising number of vendors selling such.

*****

Humbled

Leona Parsons and Harriet Cabot enjoy late morning mimosas. Under aged Edie partakes in a coke. Comfortably sitting in the spacious living room of the Cabot Estate house, before them kneels naked house maid... and Benchmark employee... Roberta Probert.

“‘He can’t kneel upright and look at us?” Edie naively inquires.

“Not without hurting herself. That’s the beauty of the humbler. To right herself tensions her ball sac. And in Roberta’s case, with the barbed testicle rings, she very much wants to refrain from doing that.”

“I hadn’t thought about his... ah... her ball rings.”

“Let’s give it another try. Roberta!” Miss Leona’s voice becoming sharp and direct. “Right yourself... look at us! Be respectful of the girl controlling you. Show her that nice erection. We know of your penchant for exhibition.” 

“It... it... hurts, Miss Leona!”

“Of course it does. That’s why it’s known as a torture device.”

Given carte blanche to practice her skills, Vixen Edie assembled her newly acquired implements and led a compliant Roberta to the livingroom. There she learned to apply foam lined strips of nylon about Roberta’s wrists, clipping together behind her back, hands made immobile. The effort was not overly clumsy, but too slow for the champion athlete. Practice, practice, practice is what honed her skills. Thus she practiced. Roberta had to obediently stand as the Posey cuffs were released then resecured three times. After the third, restrained in mere moments, the coveted key was drawn from about Edie’s neck. Roberta closed her eyes in joy and anticipation as her penis caged was unlocked and the spiked cage slowly slid away. For that, Edie had experience. Freedom came timely and without mishap. Then the girl stepped back, arms akimbo as Roberta put on a show, the scene arousing, naked before a fully clothed young girl, completely under her governance. Her manhood rose, firming, engorging, steadily stiffening until pointing to the ceiling.

‘He is a big boy,’ Edie commented to observers Harriet and Leona. ‘Doubt if my wimp new boyfriend is so endowed.’

Harriet then offered the key to the testicle chain. After removal came the humbler. That required effort, opening the conjoined strips of smooth polished wood, palming the elongated sac, slipping into the carved circular opening in the middle, then screwing together wing nuts to retighten the boards and entrap the ball sac.    

The humbler was thereafter loosened, removed and reapplied four times before Edie was satisfied... with the timeliness... and the care not to pinch the sensitive scrotal flesh between the boards.

‘You’re a perfectionist, Edie,’ Harriet commented.

‘I don’t want my wimp boyfriend thinking I’m incapable. I want him to be in awe. And I’ve read something about long term bondage. It must be comfortable, no acute pain, just slow suffering.’

‘You have been reading,’ Leona complimented.

Lastly came slipping the humbler between the thighs and positioning horizontally at the back of the thighs. Edie found this required effort and determination. Again, despite the stress on Roberta’s masculine remnants, the final step was repeated three times.

So practice completed, the woman relax and enjoy the efforts.

“I think I can strip a boy, bind him and have him the humbler within five minutes,” Edie proudly proclaims.

Leona and Harriet look at each and smile.

“Well, guess the next step is to enjoy your control, Edie. Not much you can’t do to a boy when in the humbler. In Roberta’s case more aptly described as doing for her. So talk to her. Have her explain her feelings and thoughts... why she so much wants to obey and sit up for you... but can’t,” Leona mischievously guides.

Edie rises from the couch, coke in hand, moving to triumphantly stand over the bowed Roberta. Her free hand lowers, gently smoothing through Roberta’s hair.

“Don’t want to show me your penis. I unlocked it for you.”

“I... I... can’t Miss Edie. It... it.. hurts!”.

Roberta tries to divert, twisting her head, face going to Edie’s shoes, kissing right then left. Edie stoops, lowering to whisper in Roberta’s ear.

“Lick.”

She does, most obsequiously.

“Let’s give it a try, Roberta. Right yourself and I’ll play with your penis. Won’t that be nice? We’ll have an exchange. Entertain me with your pain, and I’ll reciprocate with pleasure.”

With that, Edie tightens her grip within the strands of hair, pulling up Roberta’s head. She steps forth, pressing Roberta’s forehead to her stomach, forcing Robert to remain upright as she yelps in pain, humbler stressing the bal sac and barbed rings.

“Take it for me,” Edie sharply instructs as her free hand lowers, fingers grazing up and down a shaft of steel. “I think you’re getting harder for me, Roberta. You squeal like a little girl but your penis tells me you’re enjoying.”

With that, Leona leans to Harriet.

“I think Edie would enjoy learning about the pink tent, don’t you Harriet?”

“Yes. And perhaps a trip to the Zolanda drill site. She enjoys learning... and in Zolanda there is much for a girl like Edie to learn.”

Roberta Probert - Vignette V - Miss Edie's Visit Continues

Miss Edie’s Visit Continues

“What do you mean ‘prepared’?” Harriet queries.

“Sort of prepared,” Leona corrects.

“Well, I got on the internet... read some stuff... leading Roberta and masturbating him... her... got me thinking. Then I ordered some stuff... and now you know... I need to learn how to use it. Can’t come across as some clumsy dufus in... ah... taking control of things. Next date I’m talking about.”

“Excuse me, Edie. Roberta,” Miss Leona calls out in interrupting. “Time for your breakfast... while we’re talking. Fry up two eggs for yourself... and eat,” Leona’s tone firm and direct. 

“So you have a date,” Harriet encouraging the girl to finish.

“Not yet. There was this guy... a year behind in high school. He was the manager of our softball team... which means he was in charge of refreshments and making sure our uniforms were clean and our equipment was ready... not really managing us. Well he used to look at me. At the time I ignored the wimp... particularly after one of the girls claimed he was sniffing her sweaty socks and underwear. Kind of cute... but... well a wimp. No athletic skills. I think half the team could have beat him up in a fight.”

Roberta distracts, moving about, bells chiming, with a dish of two eggs... fried sunny side up. She is chagrined to stoop, all eyes watching, and let the fare slide into her dog bowl, joining the half eaten bacon and a crust of toast earlier tossed by Miss Harriet.

Edie watched attentively but returns to her story.

“So I decided to take the guy on a date. The jocks that I was with in high school... well... like I said guys think with their dicks. Get off then say goodnight. You know.”

“You’re going to ask him?”

Edie smiles devilishly.

“No I’m going to tell him. He for sure was sniffing my stuff too. And he’s now in college, I don’t think he’d want that known.”

Leona and Harriet look at each other, wordlessly agreeing that the girl Edie is a good fit for the new Benchmark Oil matriarchy.

There comes a pause as Roberta lowers to all fours, face pressed to the dog bowl, sloppily masticating loose eggs with tidbits of bacon difficult to scoop up with lips and tongue. And of course the degrading scene is magnified as he assumes the demanded pose, knees and thighs well parted, elongated sac dangling at the end of the chain , testicle bells ringing with her motion.

“Wow... he... she eats like a dog!” Edie exclaims.

“It’s best for her esteem, Edie, keeps things in line.”  

“And what’s that red rubber between her cheeks?” Edie must ask in curiosity. “And she’s all... like greasy.”

“It’s an anal plug. Roberta won’t admit it but it makes her feel... filled. And as a practical matter it  keeps her... ah... prepared. And she has come to enjoy feeling slippery there. She lubricates herself. Rather telling... like she’s inviting... ah... attention.”

Leona hesitates in her explanation. Are Roberta’s prospective duties in the pink tent to be explained to a girl barely out of school? 

“Good for her prostate,” Leona deciding to go no further.

“Yes, I read about that... with the chastity thing,” Edie’s research apparent. 

“So there will be a date. And you bought some things,” Leona redirecting the conversation.

“Oh yes. Expensive. Hope you don’t mind I had it shipped to the office. Parents...”

“Of course not, Edie. Why don’t you just show us.”

Edie takes a bite of her muffin. As she stands from her chair to retrieve her bag, fingers go to her mouth, tongue and lips pushing out a mushy wad of chewed muffin, dropping it in Roberta’s bowl.

“I saw that it’s the last one. I’ll share it with you, Roberta.”

Both Harriet and Leona smile. Though the offering is disgusting, both women know Roberta will obediently partake. The girl will definitely advance rapidly at Benchmark Oil. 

The bag is dragged to the kitchen table. Edie begins extracting items and implements.

I know I’m imposing... but... well... I can’t be fumbling on my first date. Even in impressing a wimp.

Both Leona and Harriet stifle girlish giggling as onto the kitchen table come cuffs, a collar, leash, riding crop, tethers, clamps.

“No chastity device?’ Leona humorously inquires.

“The cheap ones appear too fragile. And the serious ones... well... I can’t afford.”

“We ‘ll order one for you, Edie. Think of it as an employee benefit.”

“But I do have this,” Edie enthusiastically placing conjoined strips of wood on the table. “The other stuff I can sort of wing it. But this... well... guess I’ll need practice.” 

“It’s a humbler, Edie,” Leona gushes.

“I know. Hand made... some guy sells them on Ebay. But I have no balls to practice on.”

With her plaintive explanation, Edie looks down to where Roberta’s ringed and prodigious gonads swing about between parted thighs. Leona follows her gaze, now outright cackling.

“It would be best to unlock her first. The penis cage may interfere,” implicitly concurring with Edie’s quest.

“I brought the key.”

Roberta Probert - Vignette IV - A Visit From Miss Edie

A Visit From Miss Edie

Miss Harriet and Miss Leona sit at the breakfast table. Roberta serves, the slim links of her chain dragging across the tiling of the kitchen floor sounding in cadence with the bells of her testicle rings, nipples, and earrings. It is Saturday, a morning of leisure. As a platter of bacon is placed at the center of the table. Miss Leona takes a slice, bites one end then playfully tosses the remnants into Roberta’s dog bowl at the floor. 

Roberta then returns with a platter of scrambled eggs. Miss Leona extends her hand. Roberta knows to immediately pause, part her thighs and permit access to her tethered scrotum. A knowing hand palms and lifts, a thumb grazing over the hairless thin pink flesh. Roberta expects another invitation. The cyproterone acetate tablets offered at every morning meal. Instead...

“Make a fried egg... sunny side up,” Leona directs. “For your bowl.”

More playfulness, Roberta directed to eat on all fours, face to the bowl, hands and fingers denied. The suggested fare will be comically sloppy to eat.

“Edie will be stopping in.... Miss Edie,” Leona informs as Roberta thrills with her governing touch. “It’s been I while since she masturbated you.”

“Yes, six weeks,” Miss Harriet joining in the conversation.

“”Six weeks locked in steel,” Leona’s hand going to the mesh of the penis cage, jostling to bring added stimulation.

Roberta closes her eyes, knowing the manipulation will have the intended effect... a catalyst to begin the march to full erection... attempted erection.

“You’re not trying to harden for me, are you Roberta? Girls don’t get hard. It’s crass.”

“No, Ma’am” Roberta biting her lip.    

“Well I’m sure Edie will have the key. She’s taken to her role. Wears it about her neck all the time.”

“Do you think she will use it, Leona,” Miss Harriet again joining in, her tone of voice that of feigned concern.

“Goodness, what do you think, Roberta? You‘ve shown impressive discipline, remaining flaccid while Harriet pegs you every night. Should your penis be granted a reprieve?”

Leona’s words bring images of the typical nightly bedroom scene, Roberta obediently positioned kneeling on the bed, elbows to the mattress, head down, knees parted, buttocks high, back arched, humbly awaiting penetration. Of late Miss Leona has joined in the frolics, standing before her, fingers going to tweak her pierced nipples and flick her bells.

The sensuous onslaught is abetted by Miss Leona’s flimsy robe, folds opening to flash inviting breasts ripening in pregnancy.

“How was your towel, Roberta? Wet?” Miss Harriet inquires. “Prostatic fluid... nasty, sloppy stuff... but always a barometer of male need.”

“Well, we know how to stop that. Don’t we, Roberta?” anti androgens at the ready. 

“It was... ah... moist, Miss Harriet.”

“Tsk, tsk tsk. That’s quite indecorous  Drooling like that in the pink tent will be unseemly. Don’t you think Roberta?”

Roberta begins quaking, the exchange bringing thoughts of his stint months ago at the drilling sight in Zolanda.

“Did you drool for the boys in Zolanda?” Miss Leona seeming to read Roberta’s mind.

Rarely. But how is Roberta to explain that fellatio became a defense ploy, begging to suck cock to obviate robust anal sodomy?

The roustabouts were big, brusque and burly. Face fucking was a welcomed alternative. Despite being prepared, well opened by Masters Satana and Sodoma, rectum made supple by Clinic staff, Roberta feared injury, aside from the abject humiliation.

Leona notes tears forming. She smiles knowing of Roberta’s memories of being entered, mercifully letting the discussion drop, Roberta to return to the stove for hot muffins.       

As the doorbell rings, matters of prostatic discharge are put aside.

“Do curtsy for her, Roberta,” Harriet nodding toward the living room and the front door. “And be particularly obeisant. The girl has your key,” understanding that the visitor can only be the vixen Edie.

Though the teen has certainly seen Roberta naked, led him about leashed, even mastered his/her emancipated penis in experiencing the elation of a controlling hand job, the lengthy chain, symbolizing her servitude, is a concern. Roberta hesitates in apprehension.

“Go Roberta. The girl knows you... knows of your needs...your propensities... your innate craving for feminine guidance,” Miss Leona lectures. “You may even wish to kiss her feet,” Leona adds to bring a snort of laughter from the two Masters.   

Reluctantly. Roberta gathers her chain, assuring such does not snag while negotiating doorways and furniture. Passing through the livingroom she finds herself pausing before a mirror, free hand going to prink loose strands of her lengthy locks. She examines her nails, dismayed to see such need a fresh coating.

Then Roberta berates herself! What is this need to look prettified for the eighteen year old girl of assertiveness?

The key yes. But is there more?

The conflicting emotions begin to overwhelm... the embarrassment... yet to once again be near she with the key! Hope!

Then with one more step comes cognition. More concern. In spending hour after hour anally plugged, the sense of fulfillment, the sensation of squishiness, has been mentally blocked. It now occure, Miss Edie will see she is impaled!

Miss Harriet laid out a particularly large anal plug this morning. Such deviousness! The flaming red flange is sure to be noted! Protruding between hairless cheeks. More ignominy!

The door bell rings again. Roberta puts aside her reservations... her thoughts... and dashes forth. In opening to grant entry she dips, lowering herself in an animated curtsy, her many bells ringing as Edie steps within. 

“You’re naked, Roberta, here in Harriet’s home!” gushing with enthusiasm.

“Yes, Miss Edie. Welcome.”

“Wow. No leash... but you’re like... chained!”

“It’s a proclamation, Edie,” Harriet Cabot stepping from the kitchen to greet. “For the likes of Roberta, it’s important for her to announce her subservience.”

“May... may I take your bag, Miss Edie?” Roberta forcing herself to focus on the role of servant.

Edie dismissively hands over a sizable over-the-shoulder bag, attention drawn to Harriet.  

“Come into the kitchen, Edie. Join Leona and me. There are muffins. And Roberta will cook what you’d like... bacon, eggs, sausages, toast. She’s becoming an inspired cook.” 

“Does she... ah... really want to so... like advertise...” Edie nodding to the long string of metal links, ending at a padlock at the barbed rings of Roberta’s scrotum.

“She locks herself in the restricting chain every morning. For a girl with her deviant needs it’s important... addresses her curious sense of vulnerability by countering with a perverse feeling of security. Being a captive can console the likes of Roberta. Like being tightly bound in a dark cell. Yes one is denied contact with the outside world... but also one is shielded. Bondage and confinement can be a two edged sword.”  

“I like the heels,” Edie compliments. “Kind of silly though... walking about otherwise nude.”

“Yes. But what you term silly is quite humiliating. For Roberta that’s what it’s all about.”

Harriet leads, Edie follows, hearing behind the clatter of links... and Roberta’s bells, which the girl expects.

Into the kitchen, Leona rises from her chair, giving young Edie with a hug.

“I know you’ve probably brought the key. But don’t feel obligated to use it, Edie. It’s totally at your discretion whether Roberta ever again... ah... benefits from a woman’s graciousness,” Leona humorously stroking the air with her clenched hand.

“Oh, no. That was fun... informative... but I’d not want to impose. I understand the importance of denial... the intensity... the need for males to capitulate to feminine control.”

“Really, Edie. Learning... such edification at your age.” Leona genuinely impressed.

“The internet. Boyfriend situation... situations. Then leading about Robert... Roberta... on a leash... and masturbating him... her. Kind of inspired me to do some researching.”

Roberta listens, knowing as a servant not to be heard... striving not to be seen... and places the stuffed bag in a kitchen corner. She then moves to the oven and places a freshly baked muffin on a plate, serving in humble silence.

“So you researched... and found?” Miss Harriet prompts. 

“Guys really do need guidance. They sort of think with their dicks. So the next boyfriend... well... I’m prepared... sort of,” Edie stifling a giggle. 

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Roberta Probert - Vignette III - The Cabot Estate Routine

As a reminder, if you have not read the 'Prominence' trilogy, these vignettes my seem incongruous.

*****

The Cabot Estate Routine

For Roberta, life at the Cabot Estate falls into a daily routine... of subjugation and humiliation of course... yet a routine.

With the arrival of Executive Vice President Leona Parsons, a delivery truck later dropped off a crate of significant size and weight. Jabari put her muscling to work, dragging into the house, up the stairs to the master bedroom. There Roberta watched in dismay as a cage of steel bars was assembled, designed for a massive pet. Dismay grew as Roberta realized there was no pet in the Cabot household. 

“You’ll feel safe, Roberta,” Jabari chided in tightening the last bolt. 

Powerful meaty hands then grasped Roberta’s chain, painfully taking in the slack and guiding Roberta into the enclosure of steel.

“See, nice and confining for you. And certainly better than four point restraint... or being forced to sleep sitting upright.”

In referencing the extensive indoctrination at the Clinic of Zolanda, later enduring Master Satana’s operant conditioning in the prison bedroom of the Queen’s Palace, Roberta once again comes to understand that the vast video archive of his servitude to the Queen is apparently open to viewing. Can anyone access?  

“You must always be reminded of your place, Roberta,” Jabari adds with a sardonic snort.

Yes, Roberta is to remain sleeping in the master bedroom of Miss Harriet. Yet now hunched, curled up in a dog cage as Miss Leona and Miss Harriet cuddle together. She is mindful of the nightly Sapphic embrace of Masters Satana and Sodoma, awakened throughout the many nights with moans, groans and orgasmic shrieks of pleasure. 

Yes, Roberta now slumbers while subordinated to a mechanical device, a locking mechanism clicking open every morning, a timer releasing Roberta so that she can quietly arise, chain herself and begin the day of servitude... the first duty typically being to retrieve and clean the soiled dildo from the prior evening’s long and deep pegging.

Yes, with a snap of fingers, words superfluous, Roberta mounts the mattress, assumes the genupectoral position, spreads herself for penetration and awaits. 

Coffee is prepared, Roberta returning to the bedroom tray in hand, endeavoring to quiet her many bells, humbly kneeling in wait, Master Harriet to stir first.

With Miss Leona’s presence, Roberta is heartened that his Louisiana Master too has taken to sleeping nude... no cat suit... and just as Masters Satana and Sodoma she toilets him.

“An invigorating start of the day, don’t you think Roberta? For both of us,” Miss Harriet adds with a nonchalant snicker, knowing of the intensity of the power exchange and Roberta’s quirky thrill as an attentive tongue dutifully tidies her quim.

Coffee is offered. Miss Harriet takes her cup and steps to a wall arrayed with Feeldoes and anal insertions; She selects, tossing to the carpet where Roberta remains kneeling. She in turn knows to impale herself in silence as Miss Harriet sips, amused in watching the self deprecating thrust of the stout rubber egg. She then steps to the shower and Miss Leona stirs and rises.

Having not before the basked in the full beauty of she who masterminded her downfall, Roberta gazes in admiration. Within weeks Miss Leona begins to show, Chester Mark junior gestating within her belly. And whereas Miss Leona was initally shy in utilizing Roberta’s mouth, pregnancy brings urgent bladder needs and she more and more finds Roberta’s mouth, tongue and lips to be convenient.

As her new Masters bathe and groom Roberta retreats to the kitchen. Breakfast is prepared. Roberta serves. Miss Leona too has come to enjoy watching as Roberta goes to all fours eating from a dog bowl. Ladened with table scraps, on occasion Roberta will feel a warm comfortng hand cradle her well exposed, elongated scrotal sac as she knows to keep well parted her knees and thighs.

“Such an anomaly, a girl chained by her balls,” Miss Leona pleasantly taunts. “The pills, Roberta. The anti androgens are right here. Miss Harriet will place on your tongue. The ultimate in male submission to the governing female. It can begin today... the final step in your transition.” 

The hand squeezes, gently but firmly, assuring Roberta’s attention.

“Two hundred milligrams of transformation, Roberta. It’s a decision... to be made by you. And you’ll make it. The time will come.”

Roberta turns his head away from her feeding bowl to see Miss Harriet standing proximate, pill bottle in hand, shaking, the rattling of the large tablet ominous

Refusal is subtle, Roberta returning her face to her bowl.

Needless to say, Roberta senses relief as her Masters complete the morning meal and depart for the office. Thereafter housework begins, cleaning, laundry, preceded by what Roberta finds to be more and more the highlight of her day... prettifying. Yes, she fancies performing her household duties appearing as effeminate as possible, frequently pausing before mirrors to assure what she hopes is allure.

At day’s ending, wine is chilled, hors d’oeuvres prepared, her new Masters to be pampered after a day in the office. Yet the most meaningful preparation... a thorough internal cleansing, butt plug temporarily removed, abundant lubrication to readily welcome anal penetration. 

Roberta Probert - Vignette II - Miss Leona Parsons Moves In

Miss Leona Parsons Moves In

Roberta exits the basement learning of the commotion. Leona Parsons has entered with Major Domo Jabari following, effortlessly carrying heavy luggage, powerful arms bringing from the company limousine the belongings of the Benchmark boss lady.

“Good morning, Miss Leona,” Roberta highlighting her servitude in curtsying.

Leona smiles wanly, otherwise ignoring. She turns to Harriet Cabot descending the stairs from her bedroom. 

“Has she begun taking her pills?”

Harriet shakes her head.

“Still reluctant. Looks like a girl, dresses like a girl... when permitted... thinks like a girl, acts like a maid, gets fanny fucked like a whore... but won’t take the final step.”

“She has taken to makeup. And her hair looks good. Do you help her, Harriet?”

 “Oh, no. It’s all her doing. Does her nails... fingers and toes... despite having to do so much housework.”

“In Zolanda, she’d be enduring some unending stress position... until she decides. Have you seen the videos of the heretic’s fork, Harriet? Quite effective.”

Roberta is dismayed in being talked about... objectified. And the horrid memory of bearing the devilishly shaped strip of metal under her chin brings turmoil within.

“We need to talk, Roberta. About what is best for Benchmark Oil... and what’s best for you... and your transition,” Leona finally addressing.

“I can cane her for you, Leona,” Jabari gleefully stepping into the exchange. 

“Yes, it would be refreshing to hear her squeal. But such marks would make her unappealing. And it’s best that she mentally and emotionally capitulate... accept the transition.” 

Harriet leads Jabari, taking the luggage up the stairs.

“Come Roberta, to the den. We’ll talk.”

To move, Roberta gathers up the long slim long locked to her testicle rings, bringing Leona to smile with the most humiliating form of bondage.

“You’ve come to enjoy your nakedness... presenting your feminized and hairless form to fully clothed women,” Leona observes in leading the way, smiling in hearing Roberta’s many bells. “You may speak.”

Yes, there is a continuous distant thrill, Roberta has come to accept. Such places her in a unquestionable position of subservience... and vulnerability. And oddly comforts... as Dr. Humbert and the Clinic staff in Zolanda long ago confirmed. 

“I... I... have... ah... well it’s acceptable.”

“Yes, so it seems” Leona entering the masculine office of the Cabot family estate.

She sits at the massive desk. Roberts knows to humbly stand.

“Harriet tells me that you chain yourself... quite obediently, every morning.”

”Yes, Miss Leona. It’s as she directs. I am to be under strict bondage throughout the day.”

“Yes, more acceptance. And it certainly exemplifies who you are... what you are... within the Cabot household. But has not Harriet... Miss Harriet suggested you may choose not to bind yourself?”

Roberta recalls, having put the paradoxical offer out of her mind... that to decline locking in place the chain would mean she would never again feel of strange comfort of its restrictions. She cannot bring herself to choose freedom.

Why?    

And furthermore Roberta, why your testicle rings? Harriet tells me you have the option... securing your chain to the control ring... perhaps simply encircling your waist and locking in place.”

Damn the provocative observations. Roberta searches for a reply not to come. 

“The cyproterone acetate will... among other effects... shrink your unsightly testicles... unsightly in respect of your need to appear effeminate. And as I am sure you’ve been told will... in time... cause your testicle rings to finally slip away. Currently such are quite painful... when you’re leashed under a woman’s firm directing hand. Yet, conversely it seems such are also acceptable. Is that why there is reluctance to take the pills? You want to be forever subject to such debasing control?”  

Food for thought. Roberta ponders in silence.

“I think you fantasize, Roberta. When working about the house you imagine a firm, strict woman is at the other end of your chain. And that excites you.”

Roberta closes her eyes in shame. They know her... the women of the Clinic... now the women of Benchmark Oil... all fully aware of her needs... her penchants... her craving for humiliation... exhibition... the innate masochism... so explicitly and thoroughly diagnosed.

There is no escaping what she is. Is it good that such needs are so aptly addressed? 

“We start with massive dosages, Roberta. That will curtail some of the silly male urges... like concern for getting yourself off instead of pleasing the women who you are meant to serve. It will help you focus. But castration is best done slowly... so the mental and emotional side can transcend with the physical. After a week or so we’ll lower the dosage. You’ll revel in the oh so slow transition... to complete womanhood. Yes in time the testicles will shrink... the rings slipping away. But also the cage, Roberta. Your penis will shrivel as well. You will no longer torment yourself... fighting the spikes... should you some how have an inadvertent desire to harden for us.”

Roberta begins to tremble in envisioning the process, his maleness completely surrendering.

“And in time, no cage at all, Roberta. There are... let’s say... procedures... that can make you... your remnants of masculinity... more presentable. Costly, but when it comes time it will be done at my directive and my expense. Consider it a Benchmark Oil employee benefit.”

Roberta begins to well up. Her tears become a concern... her makeup under duress.

“When I began working at Benchmark as a teen out of high school, the atmosphere was toxic... for women. Such a wild crew of frat boys Benchmark was. Explore and drill... explore and drill. No financial discipline... as Harriet and I are finally cleaning up. And I’ve transformed more. The entire leadership team are women. Yes, there are the roustabouts. But I’ve been hiring women foremen. The likes of Benson are dinosaurs at Benchmark. Women will supervise everything. Men will remain... as chattel. Beasts doing the heavy work... under female supervision. That’s the way its becoming... and that’s the way it will be.”

Roberta listens, impressed with the pride and determination. The woman leads, she dictates, and the likes of Benson and the burly drilling crews listen and obey.

“I brought back the pink tent regimen for more than monetary savings, Roberta... flying the crews in and out for sabbaticals. No more. But I fully understand young men... normal young men... must get their rocks off. Henceforth at Benchmark, it will be under a woman’s direction... with no female employee or contract worker being disparaged... her esteem under assault. Women foremen will decide who visits the pink tent and when. Thus your new role at Benchmark. You sucked, bent and spread for Eddie Pringle and the crew in Zolanada. And you will be sucking, bending and spreading quite often... in the Yukon... in Mexico... in Malaysia... in Libya... wherever we drill. And, yes, Zolanda. In time you’ll be going back. But you’ll need to be made more presentable. And it will be best for you to feel more like a woman... pleasing men as would a trollop, yes. Fellatio... anal sodomy. But appearing as would a woman.”   

Roberta finds herself nodding in agreement.

“So... the pills, Roberta. I would hate to have to have Jabari cane you. Such nasty welts. And if such don’t properly heal, you’ll be even more unpresentable”

Roberta Probert - Vignette I - At the Cabot Estate

As stated, I will be posting a series of vignettes continuing the exploits of Robert... Roberta Probert. If you have not read the three part story 'Prominence' these epilogues may not seem to flow.

*****

At the Cabot Estate

Roberta Probert attempts to look at the bright side of her new regimen of servitude. At least she does not have to endure the unbridled humiliation of parading about the office of Benchmark Oil... garishly attired, bells ringing, ringed testicles flashing. Or worse being walked completely nude by the firm leash hand of aspiring dominatrix Edie.

No, though her mandated nakedness continues, at least such is in the quiet privacy of the Cabot ancestral mansion. And no leash! Though the protocol of being fettered by the long testicle chain resumes.

‘I want you always reminded of your status, Roberta. It’s important for you,’ Master Harriet Cabot tapping the well coifed hair on her head as Roberta presses to snap closed the small padlock of the restricting chain. ‘And you’ll feel better.’

Roberta found herself agreeing, in silence. Feminine governance became more and more appreciated during her many days of serving in the pink tent of the Zolanda drill site. Men can be beasts in demanding sexual gratification! No males at the Cabot Estate.

Roberta feeds a batch of clothing into the dryer then reloads the washing machine, the drudgery of maid service ironically welcomed, receptive to boredom after the past few weeks. 

She recalls her last visit to Benchmark Headquarters, the conflicting emotions... the glee of finally being released from the penis cage, the accomplished hand of Leona Parsons to ply her skills in ending many months of denial. Versus the subjugation and distress of being stripped naked before so many eyeballs... and then endure the ignominy of having his manhood become a training implement for the dilettante Edie.

‘Stroke... then twist... always keep the erection pointed down. That forestalls ejaculation, Edie. A man only comes at a woman’s behest. That’s important to establish. Yes, that’s good. Now another stroke... slowly... the timing is yours no matter the squirming or the begging. Free hand under his balls. Rub the perineum... another erogenous zone. Perhaps a squeeze to the testicles... yes... right then left. Firm, let him know who’s in charge... yes... that’s it... but not too painful. Your message will come across with a simple squeeze or two.’

Leona Parsons’ directives are burned into Roberta’s hippocampus. Within minutes the girl became masterful, not only learning of the foibles of the male reproduction process... the stimulation needed for both continuing arousal and denial... but so much enjoying. Such a wicked smile in withholding ultimate release!

Puppet and puppeteer.  

Roberta adds detergent, sighing to herself in memories of the distant satiation as a finger flicks the start button for another load. He... she... got off... she consoles herself. Ultimately, at Edie’s command, shooting ropes of thick semen to the carpeting of Leona’s office... Miss Jabari, Miss Harriet, Miss Leona cheering as months of pent up male essence spewed forth. Such ecstasy....yet so quick... evanescent. 

Then thoughts of the resulting tranquility and satiation fade. Ice, flaccidity summarily returned, the cage... young hands deftly handling his maleness with impunity, the small but sophisticated lock clicking closed, returning her to chastity.

Despite the numbing ice, the return to the confinement of the cage and the harsh spikes within brought futile words of protest, earning a chorus of laughter and a response from Miss Harriet.

‘Take the pills, Roberta. The end will come slowly, but it will come. Two hundred milligrams... twice daily.’

Laundry under control, Roberta hears commotion above. She grasps the slim chain limiting her movement, not to stray from the house, and heads for the stairs. A new Master will be joining the household. Leona Cabot, within months expecting the arrival of Chester Mark junior, is moving in to join Master Harriet at the Cabot Estate.  

Bells ringing... earrings, nipples and testicles...  Miss Harriet insisting that Roberta sonorously announce her subservience... she ascends to the main floor. In taking the steps Roberta can feel her anal plug and the squishiness of abundant lubrication. Such bring the unwanted twinges within her penis cage. Thankfully ice is always at the ready in the kitchen.

Roberta realizes such continuous impalement can be curtailed, slipping away the stout egg of rubber when Miss Harriet leaves the house. But such would need to be replaced with Miss Harriet’s return. Plus there is acceptance in being made receptive to pegging. Roberta has come to understand her needs... for humility, for pleasing others, for prostate manipulation. And there are prospective stints in the pink tent, Benchmark’s promiscuous recreation program for isolated roustabouts. One needs to remain supple.      

'Prominence - Part Three' , Segment II

There will be no furthers snippets from the published story.

Look here on the blog for vignettes narrating the travails of Robert Probert, posted haphazardly.

CB

*****

Returned to Where It Began

Robert stirs. He takes counsel of himself. He lies supine. He cannot see, opening his eyes to darkness. There is white noise filling his ears. He cannot move, arms nor legs.

It must be... the Clinic.

How? Why? When?

He thinks... the treadmill... feet pounding, legs pumping, Master Sodoma supervising, taps of the rattan to his bare buttocks... and then?

The static fades from his ears.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Probert,” the voice of Dr. Martha Humbert booms. “Back with us again.”  

Robert attempts to respond. No words come, there is something in his throat.

“You’ ve been intubated. Don’t try to speak. We’ll remove it soon. Do you recall what happened?”

Robert shakes his head. At least he is not in five point restrain as with his last visit.

“You were being exercised and passed out. Fortunately Sodoma was quick and released your testicle leash before you stumbled and castrated yourself. Satana once again had to carry you here. Your scrotum is healing, the barbed testicle rings functioned as intended,” Robert feeling fingers smooth about the hairless flesh of his sac. There is noted soreness. “An incident of myocardial ischemia... as I’ve explained... to you... and her Majesty. With your priapic state, blood flow has been constantly diverted to your penis diminishing that to your heart. Passing out results. You are now conscious, flaccid with normal circulation restored after many weeks of a continuous state of tumescence,” a finger tapping the penis tip.

It is soft. To Robert such feels odd.

“The Queen is disappointed... as you can imagine... her symbol of authority now just another floppy male appendage. We can no longer keep you infused with tadafil, Mr. Probert. The next incident of myocardial ischemia could be life threatening. This brings the need for consideration. In being neither caged nor infibulated the symbol of authority is now a symbol of defiance. The matriarchy of Zolanda has rules, protocols for mambo ne uume to which males must subordinate. So in short, a decision... decisions... must be made as to what to do with you.”

Robert is alarmed, realizing that his status has plunged... no longer erect... no longer an extension of the Queen’s prominence... no longer her sceptre.

What is to become of him?  

“I’ll have some videos for you to watch. Counter the boredom while you recover and we evaluate. Plus ensure your male esteem remains appropriately receptive to feminine supervision. I understand you’re becoming quite the cocksucker. We’ll start with one of you fellating the Queen’s castrate. Quite the energetic undertaking,” Dr. Humbert laughing, “trying to make her hard.” 

The goggles alight. There comes a video of one of the many repetitive mornings of Robert undergoing the operant conditioning of Master Satana, a smiling Bozuma presenting his/her plundered male package, Robert orally obliging. It sickens noting his level of enthusiasm. He so much wanting to earn the few minutes of rest. Ah... to simply lie down, he justifies to himself. 

An hour, more, Robert watches himself offer oral gratification... as best a castrated male can be gratified. There follow videos of him being worked on the treadmill, hands obediently placed to the back of his head, exhibiting odd pride as despite the level of exertion he remains erect for his supervising Masters. Then comes the whipping. Robert internally cringing as Master Sodoma plies her craft... so slowly... so methodically... so precisely... each snap excoriating within an inch of the previous welt.

The montage continues. Master Sodoma dons a strap on harness as his naked form leans over the bedroom stanchion. Master Satana stands before him, hands gently cradling his head. She also is naked, teasingly exhibiting herself for male eyes as Master Sodoma steps behind, gruffly parts his cheeks then thrusts to penetrate, finely muscled buttocks clenching to work his sphincter... in... out... in... out. He can see Master Satana mouth encouraging words, mocking. He can hear them in his head... that he is being fanny fucked... faux penis plunging. She points out his enjoyment... that the barometer of male lust, remaining untouched, is throbbing and oozing in celebration of ceding to feminine dominion. 

It disturbs... yet it enthralls.

The montage ends. The tracheal tube is slipped away. If his words of humble thanks receive a reply, he knows not, the static in his ears continuing. He is fed... mush... but the taste is different... evidently reformulated sans tadafil. He suspects it is the caring hand of Miss Rwanda which tenderly feeds... mother to child.  

A hand touches his penis, the shaft limp. Fingers guide the tip to the edge of a basin. He knows to empty himself... under feminine supervision... always under feminine supervision. There follows a sponge bath, Robert continuing to lie in darkness, hearing impaired, as each limb is released, caringly massaged, cleansed and returned to tight bondage. 

There come concerns over his appearance. Normally after bathing, Bozuma fastidiously prettifies. He must look terrible... he tells himself... hair a mess with the headset strapped in place, makeup for certain smeared. Then he berates himself for such concerns.

Why does he care whether or not he appears feminized? What is happening to him?  

He feels a hand fidget about his chest. It is then that Robert realizes something is attached. The sensors of an electro cardiogram. Dr. Humbert is monitoring his heart, logical after an episode of myocardial ischemia.

He must also assume there are cameras. Is he otherwise being watched... someone else in the room?

Activity ends. Apparently it is designated rest time, nothing touching, headset blank. Time for sleep... but first thought. What of his status? What is to happen to him? What of his decision to stay in Zolanda after his term of indenture ends? Flaccidity now medically mandated, he is useless as a symbol of the Queen’s authority. Will he be welcomed to stay? Oil flowing, will his knowledge of exploration and production remain of use?  

'Prominence - Part Three', published

I have published Part Three of 'Prominence'. This completes the published segments of the story.

https://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/prominence-part-three/ebook/product-q62qvvz.html?page=1&pageSize=4

44,850 words. $4.88

Look for a snippet on Saturday 1/18/25.

I will be posting on the blog vignettes featuring protagonist Robert... Roberta... Probert from time to time... also featuring his many antagonists. 

Free stuff. Hope you enjoy. And comment!

CB