Saturday, April 21, 2018

Snippet from 'More Tale of Castration'


Carson joins Nurse Greta Donhoffer in the African village where she annually carries out his Excellency's directive, emasculating those males who have achieved adolescence.

**********************************************************
   
“You will be calm, more obedient, respectful, eager to please those you find to be superior... both women and men,” the latter word bringing a brisance of concern.

Miss Greta lectures as we laggardly stroll to the village square, my bare feet obviating haste.

“And most importantly, this perverse lust which drives you will be tempered,” Miss Greta continuing to expound on the probity of submitting to her skills.

“Drives me?” I have the temerity to query.

“Well... you’re here, are you not?” the retort coming with a rare snort of laughter.

Reaching the square I note a large man, kneeling on all fours before a wooden post. His head is tilted back, face pointing skyward, apparently strained. As we near, the cause of his distress becomes evident. A slim chain runs from a ring above his head on the post and is locked onto a prominent nose ring. The tautness of the chain indicates it prevents him from lying down. But the ring is positioned such that he cannot fully stand either. Thus he is held restrained on all fours.

Knees well parted, I assume in a position to be assumed by all the subordinate males of the village, there are of course no testicles and the tip of an extremely long flaccid appendage nearly abrades the soil. As with the field worker spied yesterday, there is a glint of metal. 

“Good morning, Chief. It seems you’ve had a long night,” Miss Greta greets.

“Yes Miss Greta. Please can you release me? I have transgressed and one of the young daughters chose to punish.”

It is disturbing to think the man has been so secured for the entire night. Yet with the nostril ring so deeply set into the cartilage, he has had no choice but to endure the slow unending duress.

“This is the Chief, Carson. The first I castrated on his Excellency’s orders. He was once a vicious rapist and killer... not to mention theft and other inhumane crimes. As the leader... former leader... his Excellency decreed special treatment. He decided that working the fields would not set a good enough symbol of retribution. Instead the Chief is to crawl about the village, offering a lesson to young males of potential belligerence... and emboldening the young women,” Miss Greta explains as a small key mercifully unlocks the nose ring and an exhausted Chief tumbles to the clay.

Miss Greta shuffles forth her right foot. The Chief twists. Struggling on the ground he manages to most humbly kiss her shoe.

“Thank you, thank you, Miss Greta.”

“You’ll not be orally pleasing when locked up like that Chief. No fellatio, no treats. And do you have other words for me?”

I visually assess as Miss Greta awaits a reply, the Chief busy licking her shoes in gratitude. He is a huge man, I wager well over six foot. At one time no doubt muscled and powerful. One can extrapolate and assume before emasculation, with hormones raging, he indeed raped, killed and plundered in leading the truculent village males.

“And thank you for castrating me, Miss Greta,” the gratitude seemingly sincere.

“You’re welcome. Falaka of late?”

“Yes. It is why the young girl so locked me to the post. Last evening I moved my foot when she applied the final stroke of the sjambok. It angered her.”

“See Chief, lesson learned. You must be obedient. You’ve been well disciplined and will more readily cooperate when it’s next time to tenderize your feet.”
     
With that, Miss Greta extracts something from her pocket and tosses it to the soil. The Chief scrambles to right himself, returning to all fours, pressing his head down to take the offering in his mouth. As he ravenously chews, I note he again parts his knees, explicitly displaying a penis of great length and a perineum devoid of male bits.

“A dog biscuit. That’s all the Chief eats... other than sperm of course. Isn’t that right Chief?”

“Oh yes, Miss Greta... lots of sperm. I so much love to lick and suck.”

For the first time, I note the hands. The fingers are not free to work. The Chief is unable to grasp anything.

“I sutured together his fingers,” Miss Greta responding to my queried look. “As you can see the thumb is also sutured... inoperable as well. It assures his humility... and that he eats from the ground or a bowl.”

The commanding woman in white moves behind the once virile village leader. She leans, extending a hand to rub and palpate a circular patch of flesh where once hung balls I am sure of massive size. Her manipulation brings a pleasing sigh, the touch appreciated.

“Something missing here Chief. What happened?”

“You castrated me, Miss Greta.”

“Ah yes. Testicles. They’re gone. Where are they now?” the mind games evident.

“Vultures, Miss Greta. Eaten.”

“Yes, food for scavengers. A Hyena may have feasted as well, Chief, ha, ha, ha.”

The hand moves lower palming the long penis and drawing back between the thighs. For the first time I can better inspect the gleaming metal adorning the tip. It is a tiny lock similar to that securing my thumb rings. Miss Greta summons me to draw closer. When I step forth she turns me and tucks the elastrator under my hands behind my back.

“Hold onto it,“ she commands turning her attention back to the kneeling nakedness.

“I’m sure you need to go Chief, “ Miss Greta’s now free hand producing the key which likewise frees me.

“Oh, yes Ma’am. Thank you, Miss Greta,” the words so humble.

“In addition to castration, I have infibulated the village males as well,” Miss Greta explains. “In being uncircumcised, it’s a simple matter of piercing the foreskin and tightly threading a little lock through the openings. Achieving erection is thus painfully impossible... and urination only comes at the behest of a keyholding woman.”

With that, Miss Greta skins back the foreskin, pauses in a demonstration of feminine control and after several moments finally grants permission.

“You may urinate for me, Chief. Quickly please.”

There comes a torrent, the Chief undoubtedly accustomed to so performing for governing women.    

In completing the task, a degree of comfort restored, the Chief finally looks at me, a naked Caucasian male, a rare sight I am sure.

“My servant, Chief. His name is Carson,” Miss Greta explains.

“He’s... he’s... intact. May I suck his penis?”

“Ha, ha, ha... no Chief. You’ll need to beg one of his Excellency’s soldiers for another biscuit... and your morning spurt. Carson is... well... kept chaste. But if you’d like to lick his balls for me I’m sure Carson would be appreciative.”

I would not. The notion disturbs. I have not before been... I guess the term pleased is most apropos... by a man. I so state.

“Please no, Miss Greta. Not by a guy.”

“I’ll decide who tends to you and in what manner, Carson. The Chief is no longer a man, if it’s silly homophobia that disturbs you. Step closer. And do not dare bring him off, Chief. Just make him a little harder for me. It’s... ah... amusing.”

I am indeed semi erect. Is it the anal insertion? Or is it witnessing the ultimate in feminine governance... a castrator of men reasserting her superiority with those she neutered.

Still I obey, shocked when a long oddly shaped tongue juts forth adoringly lapping away, the warm wetness disgustingly pleasing.

“Another little alteration, Carson. To assure the efficacy of the Chief’s oral efforts, I split his tongue. He so much enjoys using it. Is that not right Chief?”

“Oh yes Ma’am. Much tongue work, many biscuits.”

Long laps of the misshapen tongue... slurps... the Chief indeed avoids my penis. It stands freely for Miss Greta’s entertainment. Finally comes the command to stop.

“I need to prepare for another castration, Chief. A lad named Mihigo. Seems the effluent he’s been discharging of late is white with spermatozoa. It’s time.”

Miss Greta takes the elastrator from behind my back then tugs at my elbow to lead me away. The Chief seems genuinely disappointed, the sustenance of male effluent savored.

Friday, April 20, 2018

'More Tale of Castration' published

I have published on Lulu a sequel to 'A Tale of Castration'.

18,700 words. $4.00

Carson the moth continues to fly about the candle of Nurse Greta Donhoffer.

Will the elastrator greet his precious jewels?

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/more-tale-of-castration/22803757

Writing Erotica

From time to time I search the internet for stories (erotica), attempting to obtain a grasp of what interests readers, the various genres and themes, etc.

Well, it's amazing to learn how much time and effort aspiring writers put into stuff that wouldn't pass a freshman (high school) English course.

This quote is at the beginning of a story, developing a character...

Allthough only twenty three she was more inteligent, sufisticated and just plane togther than anyone he had ever met before. 

Wow, Mrs. Malaprop could not have expressed this any better. In one sentence 4 spelling errors, misuse of the word 'plane', questionable syntax, and ending the sentence with a preposition (no longer considered a literary sin, but still could be more smoothly phrased).

And the goal of the writer is to arouse, sexually stimulate?

For me it just gives rise to irritation. Couldn't get past the first paragraph.

So, some guidelines with which I aspire to comply...

- proof read, proof read, proof read, eliminate misspellings

- whenever possible, write in present tense

- try to nail down and smooth out the grammar. It's admittedly an old school notion, but awkward stuff distracts

- in sensual scenes remember the five senses... i.e. what does the character see, hear, smell, taste, feel

- take the time to build character, forgo 'she was five foot six, 120 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes, large breasts'. You're not describing a perpetrator to an investigating detective, you're trying to build an image not only physically but emotionally. The reader needs to empathize with the protagonists, develop disdain for the antagonists, not only 'see' the character (five foot six, 120 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes large breasts) but feel what she is feeling, have an inkling for what she is hearing, smelling and tasting (in certain scenes) and most importantly understand what she is thinking. 

So my advice is, if you're going to take the time to tell a story, try your best to interest the reader and entertain... not annoy. 

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

'The Cuckold and the Cuckoldress' published

Just noticed that my latest effort for Pink Flamingo / Erotic Book Network has been published!


https://pinkflamingo.com/The-Cuckold-The-Cuckoldress-PF6270.htm


Synopsis...


The financially successful wife of salesman Andy Peters considers him to be inadequate...in business and in the bedroom. Using her economic leverage, wife Linda proposes a more open marriage...she is free to date as is he. But husband Andy soon finds the arrangement to be one sided. He has trouble establishing any new relationship while hot wife Linda finds a bevy of bull studs available for her pleasure. The solution...employment curtailed and trained to serve by the formidable professional dominatrix, Miss Marsha, with the help of her naked and fully feminized assistant, Johnny. Read of the travails as Andy Peters is slowly immersed into the role that wife Linda believes best suits him...to please others...only. Once again, author Chris Bellows has penned an erotic gem of Female Domination and total male surrender.

Includes a wide array of BDSM delights, including chastity, bondage, humiliation, corporal correction, anal sex, CBT, feminization and more. Female Dominance runs supreme in this latest from one of the masters of the Femdom genre.


Enjoy

Saturday, February 10, 2018

A Castration Tale IV

Nurse Donhoffer steps away and as best I can I look about. There are tubes, rubber bags, and finally I spy an enema nozzle. And there comes more concern as Nurse Donhoffer retrieves it from the wall hook.

“Ah... this... ah... was not...”

“Standard procedure, Mr. Carson. You’d not want me examining you there and soiling anything. And it’s good for you... a thorough purging for you.”

Is it the $300 investment that inhibits me from stronger protest? Enemas were not discussed. Still I remain kneeling... I suppose acquiescing. I must. I cannot free myself.  Though apprehensive, I try to calm, telling myself the woman is experienced... highly trained.

Gloves are donned, the right index finger well lubricated. I close my eyes in shame as a left hand grasps my scrotum, I suppose to mandate stillness, and the greased finger first smooths up and down my cleft then finds my rectum and slips inward. The digit then swirls about, the action more then what is required to lubricate. 

“You have nice testicles, Mr. Carson. A nice ripe scrotal sac. And you’re nicely tight here. That will change.”

The compliment comes as I look to my left, trying to distract myself from the ignominy of having a woman freely penetrate and explore there. Then comes irony. As the left hand maintains its grip on my balls and I feel the enema nozzle introducing itself to my sphincter, I see on the wall a curious device. There is familiarity, my hyperactive prurient mind exploring so many kinky websites.

It is an elastrator... a device resembling a set of pliers used for neutering farm animals... goats..... sheep... cattle. But it is a replica, fully bronzed, not operable. And the handle is encrusted with jewels. It hangs prominently, like a trophy or some commemorative artifact. As I feel the enema nozzle slowly slip inward... such unexpected care and tenderness... Nurse Donhoffer notes my stare of curiosity.

“It’s a gift, Mr. Carson, from his Excellency, expressing his gratitude for my service,” the explanation a proud proclamation. “My real elastrator is packed away.”    
 
Yes, as stated, irony... for the recipient of this prized neutering device now has in the grasp of her left hand that which the bronzed artifice is designed to plunder.

The enema nozzle is inflated and I feel deep within the graceful flow of warm liquid. It soothes. In contrast, though not operable, the bejeweled implement disturbs... yet it also intrigues. With my predisposition... attraction for authoritative women... I cannot help imaging her utilizing the device to encircle my scrotum and with a snap of a tight rubber band ending my masculinity. 

Dare I ask for more? The scintillating stones of the handle suggest something of true value, diamonds, emeralds and rubies. Should I start by inquiring of his Excellency and his generosity? 

“You’ve used it? An elastrator?”

My query prompts the woman in charge to reminisce, continuing to gently yet firmly hold my balls as my colon fills.

Her story... unfolding in her ascendant Teutonic accent...

Saturday, February 3, 2018

A Castration Tale III

There will be a final posting next Saturday 2/10.

For those who have purchased and read the complete story, let me know how Mr. Carson should respond to Nurse Donhoffer's email.

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The nurse walks with military precision, not masculine but certainly not the gait of a runway model. To a door, down a flight of stairs, I am led to a windowless underground chamber, well lit, walls of white tile, flooring of concrete which I find surprisingly warm, cabinets, a gurney, much medical paraphernalia and most notably a large marble slab. At knee height, it is angled to drain at one end, at the other there is a stanchion of matching marble with three semi circles, the surfaces padded.

“For the neck and wrists,” Nurse Donhoffer explains in noting my visual examination. “In your next visit I will be here preparing for you. First I’ll want you to shower for me. Patients are to present themselves scrubbed,” leading to a corner area.

There is indeed a shower but no enclosure, just a slightly raised patch of flooring beveled to a drain and a showerhead above. I am chagrined when the nurse moves to the side and points to where I am to step up and bathe... for I am nearly completely stiff. It’s this thing...           

“Mr. Carson, I can see why you’re here,” Nurse Donhoffer commenting on my arousal, her tone that of rebuking a toddler. “Do be careful washing yourself... there,” nodding to my rising appendage then leaning to turn on the taps. "No spillage."

And so I shower, finding odd comfort but also excitement, bathing under such exacting auspices with the nurse closely watching.

I soap myself, the piercing blue eyes observing all. The woman supervises with precision, the offered chamois to lave here... scrub there. The directives are sharp... not to be ignored.

“I’ll need to shave you, Mr. Carson. Body hair is not only unsightly but can be unsanitary as well.”

I nod, for some reason not mustering the fortitude to object.

Finally Nurse Donhoffer leans again, arms extend. The taps are twisted off, the shower deemed complete. She reaches for an oversized towel.

“Step down.”

To the concrete floor, once again the hands go to the back of her head, gesturing for me to obediently replicate.

So I stand before her wet and naked, the sensation of cleanliness... presenting myself for exhibition... abetting tumescence.

“Such a good boy,” the words of encouragement coming with what I must assume to be a rare smile.

She dries, the towel abrading and brushing everywhere. But she also assesses... palpates... examines. She comes to know me... not only physically but in some manner aware of my joy... the thrill of submission to a demanding governess.

“To the table. There’s more to be cleansed,” pointing to the knee high slab of marble. “I want you kneeling, neck and wrists on the stanchion, knees parted, buttocks up. Be good for me,” the words firm yet matronly.

I comply, concerned with the need for more cleansing. Then my concern grows as from beneath the raised slab the strong arms of Nurse Donhoffer lift a heavy plank. It’s smooth and in seeing the three padded semi circles I quickly know its function. Sure enough, it is placed over my neck and wrists then clamped in place. I become a prisoner, held immobile in a defacto set of stocks.

“No complaints, no resistance. Boys who reply to my Craig’s listing have needs. So I know that deep within, there is enjoyment. You’re supplicating to me... the woman in charge. And that thrills.”

Her words come as she steps behind and playfully diddles my erection, proving that she is correct, the bondage is oddly welcomed. I am hers, locked in place. Though there is much unknown, what is it she will do, there is indeed deep within a thrill.

Monday, January 29, 2018

A Castration Tale - Published

I have published on Lulu the referenced short story. 7,900 words. $3.50.

There will be another snippet posted on Saturday 2/3. 

Enjoy.

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/a-castration-tale/22488289