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.