Roberta Probert - Vignette XIV - Baton Rouge Airport

Baton Rouge Airport

“I must assume she was a good girl for you.” Jabari sarcastic in greeting.

“Oh yes. Very quiet,” flight attendant Marissa replies with a grin.

The Benchmark Falcon jet has returned from Dawson City Airport. For Roberta Probert the lengthy flight seemed interminable, sitting strapped to the cabin seat as always. Marissa chose to revel in her growing authority over the hapless harlot of the pink tent, again slipping in place a thick latex hood, but before stuffing Roberta’s ears to deafen and then silencing her with a ball gag, sizable opening to facilitate breathing and to force fluids. 

Though Miss Margie provided the gadget to deflate and remove the balloon catheter, Marissa, after a moment’s thought, decided it was  more convenient to leave in place, obviating lavatory visits.  

As a result, Roberta was transported back to Baton Rouge more as a package than a passenger. Sensory input came with only the deep thrum of the jet’s engines and the feel of liquids in her mouth and throat as Marissa chose to keep her captive’s bladder brimming.   

“Do you think she will know it is you,” Marissa inquires as the duo simply stand, both relishing  Roberta’s helplessness.

“She will when she feels my leash hand. She knows my touch. What that’s dangling from her penis cage?” 

“They catheterized her... at the drilling site. Margie Stenson gave me the thing to release and remove... but I didn’t bother... taking her to the lavatory is awkward... and it’s neater than holding a basin.”

Jabari smiles with the explanation.

“And gave you so much control over her. Could it be you hydrated and neglected to open the catheter valve.”

“It was sort of fun to watch her squirm. But I opened it for her on final approach.”

“Like a very kind nurse,” Jabari laughing. “Well let’s get her to the car,” reaching to tear the Velcro strap at the right wrist.

Marissa stoops and releases the ankles. Roberta stirs as the crimson high heels are slipped in place.

“Should I remove the hood? I stuffed her ears. She cannot hear.”

There comes a wicked grim, Jabari knowing of the extensive leash training of Robert Probert while being conditioned in Zolanda.  

“No. It will be a slow trip to the car... but more fun. Probably for both of us. Deep within she thrills with feminine control.”

The testicle leash is clipped in place. Marissa hands over the light travel bag, Jabari able to thread her leash arm through the handle. With a tug Roberta knows to stand. Does she know it’s Jabari? Does it matter? Obedience ingrained, she will follow whomever controls. And when Jabari taps the bare buttocks with a short length of rattan, establishing her dominion, Roberta lurches, recognizing the painful, commanding touch. 

The journey is indeed time consuming, pilot, copilot impressed as a naked, sightless and deafened Roberta Probert shuffles, bells ringing, to the fuselage door then takes the few steps to the concrete floor of the Benchmark hanger. They giggle as her hands go to the back of her hooded head in a show of submission.

Step, step, step, Roberta becoming more and more graceful in heels. Jabari decides to end the show at the exit door. The hood is torn away, the wads of cotton at the ears dropping. Sight and sound restored, Roberta blinks under the lights, Jabari amused that her hands immediately go to her hair to prink the disheveled strands.

“Welcome home, Roberta. Do you know where you are?”

Roberta turns her head, spotting the Falcon jet resting in the hanger, noting the flight crew laughing, instantly feeling more naked and exposed sans hood.

“Yes, Ma’am. The hanger, Baton Rouge airport.”

“Good. And you’re not plugged. Would you feel better with an anal insertion?”

“I... well... and some covering, Miss Jabari?”

“You haven’t had clothing in over a week. Would that feel right to you? There was no need for it in the tent.”

Roberta understands that mind games renew, mental submission as crucial to her subjugation as the physical.

“People will... ah... see me, Miss Jabari.”

“Yes, the pilots are looking at you now. A pretty girl... naked... with a steel penis cage. It excites you, Roberta. Fighting the spikes? Penis throbbing?”

Damn... they know him... her. So aware of her demented proclivities.

“You’d probably be drooling for me... without the catheter. Very thoughtful of Margie Stenson to assure neatness. I can only imagine how excited you got in being pegged. The ultimate in humiliation for you.”

There are indeed twinges. Robert realizes that without further concession, she will continue to be put on display.

“I think I need to be plugged, Miss Jabari. And to go without clothing. It’s best for me.” Roberta struggling with the words. 

“Good girl,” Jabari gesturing to bend and spread. “You must learn your place. What is best for you.”

Jabari searches the travel bag, extracting the anal plug. Fingers splay the cheeks, the plug is pressed t0 the rosebud opening. Roberta takes the implement with surprising ease. Daily sodomy has opened her for facile penetration.

“There. Feel better?”

Can Roberta bring herself to admit... there is indeed quirky satiation? The tightness manipulates the neglected male gland, being so often opened and penetrated twice or more daily for the past week.

“Come. The limo is parked nearby. Unless you want me to walk you around the parking lot.” 

Wrapping it up

 Not too many comments on the Roberta Probert saga. So I 'll be wrapping it up  over the next few weeks.

Do let me know your thoughts on our protagonist taking the cyproterone acetate.

CB

Roberta Probert - Vignette XIII - The Pink Tent - Yukon - Day Six

The Pink Tent - Yukon - Day Six

Despite knowing of the debaucherous scene within, foreman Margie Stenson pauses at the tent’s entrance, hearing Roberta’s many bells ringing in cadence with what are for sure brisk thrusts. She then flips back the folds of the pink tent, stepping in to see a kneeling Roberta Probert, head down, elbows to the thin mattress, thighs spread, back arched. Behind is Steve, one of a dozen roustabouts, butt fucking with vigor. Sheepishly, both look up. Caught in flagrante delicto, Margie smiles.

“Finish up, Steve. Got to get Roberta to the airport. The weather’s scheduled to be turning bad. So get yourself off.”

“I’m... I’m... sorry Margie,” Steve apologizing for the sordid scene.

“Not the first time I’ve seen guys going at it. Get it done and pull out.”

With that Margie steps forth, the embarrassment bringing both to freeze. She stands before the entwined duo, reaches out and sensuously palms Steve’s male breasts, then gently squeezes. Steve somatically thrusts then grunts, doubtlessly depositing his effluent.

“Good boy. Now get dressed. Roberta pack up your stuff.”

Steve’s humiliation is palpable, spurting at a woman’s behest... akin to a ruined orgasm. He’d otherwise express anger... but Margie Stenson is the boss. She leaves no doubt about that.      

Steve dresses quickly and exits. Roberta remains kneeling on all fours, stunned to immobility.

“I miss watching boys going at it. At Kent they’d put on a show for me. Male submission to authority becomes ingrained when doing time,” a hand lowering to smooth over Roberta’s well coifed hair. “I’m going to miss you, Roberta. As will my boys. They all acclimated, homophobia vanquished. Isolation and building hormones will do that. Now get ready to roll to the airport.”

Roberta stands.

“May... ah... clean myself?”

Margie smiles mischievously, knowing Roberta’s colon is not only well greased but stuffed with jism.

“No. Take a memento with you to the airport. Maybe that cute flight attendant will assist. Come, it’s going to snow.”

“And... ah... you know...” Roberta’s dipping her head, gesturing to her pubes.

A clamped catheter tube dangles between her thighs.

Margie grins and shakes her head. Yes, the decision was made. Day four, Miss Margie inserted a catheter, the procedure simplified by the urethral tube of Roberta’s penis cage. Still, invading the prostate brought a lurch... and laughter... and for three days Roberta has felt deep within the slender length of rubber.

Making matters worse, Roberta, not able to reach the clamp, had to beg for relief, her bladder totally under feminine control.

“Step to the bucket.

Roberta obeys, Margie quickly releasing the clamp allowing Roberta’s bladder to empty.

“Good girl,” the compliment coming despite Roberta’s having no input into the process, bladder totally under Miss Margie’s auspices. “I’ll give the flight attendant the gadget to deflate the balloon. I’m sure she’ll help you if you ask nicely.” 

Travel bag stuffed, much lighter, many tubes of unguent utilized, Miss Margie assures the sizable red anal insertion is to returned to Baton Rouge then clips in place the testicle leash. No hood, Roberta questions herself whether a blindfold would bring comfort. The drilling crew will see her led about naked by a governing women! The condemned are blindfolded, perhaps Miss Margie will accommodate.

“Blanket, Miss Margie, hood?”

“No. I’ve got the jeep running. Nice and warm. You’ll leave naked. And if you can’t see you can’t wave goodbye to my boys.”

The final ignominy.

Margie takes the travel bag in her free hand, tugging on the leash. Roberta yelps and follows, bells ringing.

“Those ridiculous heels are in the jeep. So don’t worry you’ll look stylish at the airport.... naked and in haute couture, ha, ha, ha.”

In stepping from the tent, for the first time in six days Roberta sees the sky. The countryside is green, a vast forest of evergreens, but the cloud cover is threatening. Winter comes early in the Yukon and with the temperature plummeting, Roberta senses her nipples crinkling, goose bumps covering her nakedness. She hears whistles and cat calls from the drilling rig some fifty yards in the distance. Wrists shackled, Roberta does her best to wave and acknowledge, finding herself smiling in odd satiation.

Yes, she is pleased with herself, being face fucked, fanny fucked, tongue swirling, taking a man’s effluent deep in her apertures.

What is happening to her?  

Into the jeep, Roberta notes a towel on the seat as Margie unnecessarily ties off the leash then climbs aboard. Though no covering it is warm, for the past week Roberta sensing such only during the few hours when ‘recreating’ with a Benchmark Oil roustabout.

“You’re going to miss my boys. My inmates back at Kent would tell me the feel of a throbbing cock can be sort of addictive, ha, ha, ha. Guess feeling man spurting inside you is sort empowering,” Miss Margie making conversation as the jeep traverses a narrow rugged road, mud and holes filled with water. “Having him come for you, that you excite a man, can be gratifying. But Leona says you’ll be back on the road soon. Lots of drilling sites, lots of roustabouts, lots of cock, libidos to be addressed, hormones levels to be tempered.”

The jeep finally reaches the main road...the Dempster Highway 5. Gravel but for the most part relatively smooth.

“And I’m going to miss you, Roberta... for a few months. When you return, there will be construction crews, putting in a pipeline for the oil. You’ll be busy. Bring more lube on your next visit, ha, ha, ha.”

“I’ll miss you too, Miss Margie,” Roberta emotes, then immediately regretting her admission.   

A hand leaves the steering wheel, fingers to the right nipple, gently rolling about the pink flesh. It feels controlling... and feels good.

“You need this, Roberta. I know boys like you. It fulfills a craving. You’re fortunate to have women like Leona and Harriet understand that.”

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.”