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.”