A good life gets better II
“Mrs. Montrove, I need to go to the bathroom.”
It’s Jack, calling from his office.
“Ten minutes,” I mercifully proclaim, reaching for the remote control and setting the timer.
Ten minutes hence, the control unit will automatically turn off the charger and allow Jack to leave his office for an allotted interval. If he does not return in time, he will not be able to get past the wired doorway to reenter. Failure means trouble. A call to reset the control unit for reentry results in a naughty boy shock... or worse... an agonizing shock if he returns much delayed.
“And Jack, cook for two tonight. Steaks, caesar salad, a good rich craft brew. I have a guest, so I want you to look pretty for me in your uniform.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It’s not ‘we’ have a guest... it’s ‘I’ have a guest, Jack having no say. And I might add, Jack usually cooks for one... me... and I’ll let him later ‘feast’ on what I leave on my plate such as picked over bones and perhaps a vegetable which has turned inedibly cold before receiving my attention.
Usually I eat at home then depart for drinks and a good fuck, returning satiated with a brimming love nest for a well restrained Jack. But it’s time for the next step in our cuckold marriage.
I have invited Harry the Horse and he will be impressed... with Jack’s cooking... with Jack. And Jack will be able to put a face with a mentally archived ‘taste’. My instruction concerning the uniform is to allay a degree of shock. Having a husband as a serving maid some will find quirky enough. Having a husband as a naked serving maid, cock caged in metal, can be deemed over the top. I do not want to distract Harry from his appointed duty... that is to lie supine, get it up, and eventually get it off after I do my rodeo thing.
As five p.m. approaches I set the control box to permit Jack to leave. The timer will allow him 27 minutes to get home, otherwise he’ll not get through the apartment door and will need to call me to arrange entry... and receive a punishment shock for tardiness.
Bob, my fawning personal assistant, enters.
“Got the stuff you wanted from R & D,” placing a moderately sized spray bottle on my desk. “Think it’s pretty close.”
I decided to use the acquired talents and knowledge of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances to have a little fun. I asked Bob to have someone in the fragrance laboratory concoct a spray mist with the scent of butter. Normally it’s the flavor guys who get such a request, artificially adding a buttery zest to foods without the calories and insalubrious fat. But I want to have what will essentially be a perfume bottle of butter scent. G. Douglas’s reaction will greatly amuse if the boys in R & D get it right.
One must recall, my conquest and quick rise in the organization began when he masturbated for me utilizing butter as a handy lubricant. To this day, the ‘weekly updates’ center about a slick right hand and greased penetrating fingers of the left... the use of butter continuing.
I am eager to see what the scent prompts without the actual lubricant. So I press the pump and presto, my office reeks of the makeshift masturbatory unguent.
“Tell the boys in the lab I am pleased,” slipping the bottle into my desk drawer to await the next Friday ‘update’.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
'A Woman in Control' available at Lulu
Since a significant portion of the story has been posted here, I have lowered the price for those caring to read ahead. The Lulu version is now $4.00.
http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/a-woman-in-control/ebook/product-21578977.html
Enjoy
http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/a-woman-in-control/ebook/product-21578977.html
Enjoy
Saturday, July 5, 2014
A Woman in Control - A good life gets better I
A good life gets better I
Within a few months of marriage, G. Douglas Olivier calls me into his office to order lunch, his hand bandaged, a termagant wife apparently plotting to forestall masturbation with a hot fireplace poker. The remainder of that segment of the story has been told.
So first I acquire a chemically castrated cuckold husband, then a boss so sexually frustrated that he finds relief in controlling hand jobs and lastly acquire the power to assemble a cadre of bullstuds... all of whom are on the company payroll.
Still, I am astute enough to understand that behind the power is the significant cash flow of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances. This is not to be tampered. Thus the hijinks... the office hijinks... are solely on Friday afternoons, beginning with the ‘weekly update’... G. Douglas getting his rocks off into an ash tray, thereafter Bob sucking to full erection the bull of my choice whom I will ride on my office ottoman, then having Bob do oral clean up.
Jack is sequestered in his office, ‘analyzing’ I trust. His electrified cock cage makes it impossible to step out his wired office door, so the office dalliances are not and never will be burdened with matrimonial concerns. I preserve the torment of Jack for nights and weekends. Week days he works, bolstering the company cash flow.
But once per week satiation does not, and I suspect, never will be sufficient for a woman of my penchants. Home at night in an impeccably cleaned apartment, being served a sumptuous meal every evening by a naked husband, prancing about in full makeup, stokes the smoldering embers of lust. And whereas Jack’s cunnilingus is steadily improving, as stated, my preference is for penetration... deep... the vaginal walls frictioned and well kneaded by a massive and stiff male appendage.
So I date, frequently and without compunction. As I informed Jack on our wedding night, as a mass of gism slowly drooled from my lips to his... vaginal to oral... there will be more, and many different flavors.
Rather ironic, considering Jack’s line of work. He did suggest, during his meek introduction to me that he ‘knew a little about the flavor side of the business’. So I constantly put his skills to work, returning home, straddling Jack’s supine and well bound form and letting the evening’s collection of virile male essence slither to his mouth.
“Care to guess who I fucked tonight, Jack?” I taunt, knowing that, though he finds it repulsive, by rote he records the taste in the archives of his chemically engineered mind. He cannot help himself and he knows the names and penis sizes of every one of my bulls. I am given to describe the encounters quite graphically. Having a useless penis, small and becoming smaller, locked away for no other reason than to punctuate his forced chastity, he mentally seethes. He can never physically please me in the manner of a man. It torments, and I cherish such torment.
“It’s Randy,” he’ll finally postulate... and do so quite accurately. Quite the skill since there is Lou, Adam, Chuck, Tom, Harry the Horse, Leonard and an occasional unknown the taste of whom gets recorded should I ever choose to again fuck the restaurant busboy... the parking valet... or some guy across the bar.
Yes, life gets better and better.
Within a few months of marriage, G. Douglas Olivier calls me into his office to order lunch, his hand bandaged, a termagant wife apparently plotting to forestall masturbation with a hot fireplace poker. The remainder of that segment of the story has been told.
So first I acquire a chemically castrated cuckold husband, then a boss so sexually frustrated that he finds relief in controlling hand jobs and lastly acquire the power to assemble a cadre of bullstuds... all of whom are on the company payroll.
Still, I am astute enough to understand that behind the power is the significant cash flow of Olivier Flavors and Fragrances. This is not to be tampered. Thus the hijinks... the office hijinks... are solely on Friday afternoons, beginning with the ‘weekly update’... G. Douglas getting his rocks off into an ash tray, thereafter Bob sucking to full erection the bull of my choice whom I will ride on my office ottoman, then having Bob do oral clean up.
Jack is sequestered in his office, ‘analyzing’ I trust. His electrified cock cage makes it impossible to step out his wired office door, so the office dalliances are not and never will be burdened with matrimonial concerns. I preserve the torment of Jack for nights and weekends. Week days he works, bolstering the company cash flow.
But once per week satiation does not, and I suspect, never will be sufficient for a woman of my penchants. Home at night in an impeccably cleaned apartment, being served a sumptuous meal every evening by a naked husband, prancing about in full makeup, stokes the smoldering embers of lust. And whereas Jack’s cunnilingus is steadily improving, as stated, my preference is for penetration... deep... the vaginal walls frictioned and well kneaded by a massive and stiff male appendage.
So I date, frequently and without compunction. As I informed Jack on our wedding night, as a mass of gism slowly drooled from my lips to his... vaginal to oral... there will be more, and many different flavors.
Rather ironic, considering Jack’s line of work. He did suggest, during his meek introduction to me that he ‘knew a little about the flavor side of the business’. So I constantly put his skills to work, returning home, straddling Jack’s supine and well bound form and letting the evening’s collection of virile male essence slither to his mouth.
“Care to guess who I fucked tonight, Jack?” I taunt, knowing that, though he finds it repulsive, by rote he records the taste in the archives of his chemically engineered mind. He cannot help himself and he knows the names and penis sizes of every one of my bulls. I am given to describe the encounters quite graphically. Having a useless penis, small and becoming smaller, locked away for no other reason than to punctuate his forced chastity, he mentally seethes. He can never physically please me in the manner of a man. It torments, and I cherish such torment.
“It’s Randy,” he’ll finally postulate... and do so quite accurately. Quite the skill since there is Lou, Adam, Chuck, Tom, Harry the Horse, Leonard and an occasional unknown the taste of whom gets recorded should I ever choose to again fuck the restaurant busboy... the parking valet... or some guy across the bar.
Yes, life gets better and better.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
A Woman in Control - Married to my good organizer IV
Married to my good organizer IV
Sunday morning brunch. I release Jack. He remains naked and without his cock cage. A treat, except that I insist he help serve our guests brunch. There come more protests, more beseeching, and in the end he somberly saunters downstairs where the many wedding guests are milling about, having coffee, awaiting the renowned breakfast of the B & B.
Yes, he’s in his element, naked servitude, and he blushes divinely. The male guests choose to ignore Jack’s limited organs. But the women, brash and bold, take to examining closely. What should be arousing palpation of a penis long locked and neglected, becomes a source of intense humiliation, the girls talking openly about the lack of size and its dysfunction.
“It’s a clitoris,” notes one of my domineering lesbian classmates, bringing great laughter and a Jack quivering with embarrassment.
Another woman is fascinated by the emaciated ball sac. She cannot keep her fingers off it, rubbing and kneading briskly, finally announcing for all... “I found one... I think.”. Ah, the laughter.
Well all things come to an end. By 1:00 p.m. the crowd disperses, all heading back to the city. The gay preacher asks if Jack has been trained to suck cock... phrasing his inquiry much more tactfully of course. I note Jack’s reaction of muted concern and smile.
“Not yet,” knowing to always hold a sword over his head.
Randy offers a very affectionate good bye kiss, more than that of friendly acquaintance, then pats Jack on the head and departs. Nurse Benson takes Jack back to the room and inserts the Prince Wand and locks in place his cock cage... freedom ended. Meanwhile I pack then take Jack by the hand.
“I need to get dressed.”
“You have nothing to wear,” leading him out the door.
To the parking lot barefoot and naked, fortunately for Jack the grounds are secluded. From the trunk I retrieve one of our wedding presents... a modified child’s car seat, enlarged for a very substantial child... Jack... replete with Posey cuffs which will make him one with the seat.
I place it in the back seat and strap him in for the ride to Manhattan. Unseen in the front seat, a folded blanket I can toss over him should we encounter difficulty or need to stop for gas.
The same blanket will be used to get him from the apartment garage and up the elevator, if I deem it to be needed. I do not explain that. I let him broil in the worry of more public exposure.
In returning to his apartment, I have waiting bank forms for Mr. and Mrs. Desiree Dumond Montrove. A joint bank account is opened. I have him sign the papers, cloaking not only the account number but the name of the bank. Henceforth I will arrange for his paycheck, currently larger than mine, to be directly deposited to an account under my control. Though Jack has technical signature authority, he won’t even find the blank checks much less know which bank and what number.
Financial control. It does not feel as good as physical, emotional, psychological control, but it completes my mastery.
He has not a dime to spend...
Sunday morning brunch. I release Jack. He remains naked and without his cock cage. A treat, except that I insist he help serve our guests brunch. There come more protests, more beseeching, and in the end he somberly saunters downstairs where the many wedding guests are milling about, having coffee, awaiting the renowned breakfast of the B & B.
Yes, he’s in his element, naked servitude, and he blushes divinely. The male guests choose to ignore Jack’s limited organs. But the women, brash and bold, take to examining closely. What should be arousing palpation of a penis long locked and neglected, becomes a source of intense humiliation, the girls talking openly about the lack of size and its dysfunction.
“It’s a clitoris,” notes one of my domineering lesbian classmates, bringing great laughter and a Jack quivering with embarrassment.
Another woman is fascinated by the emaciated ball sac. She cannot keep her fingers off it, rubbing and kneading briskly, finally announcing for all... “I found one... I think.”. Ah, the laughter.
Well all things come to an end. By 1:00 p.m. the crowd disperses, all heading back to the city. The gay preacher asks if Jack has been trained to suck cock... phrasing his inquiry much more tactfully of course. I note Jack’s reaction of muted concern and smile.
“Not yet,” knowing to always hold a sword over his head.
Randy offers a very affectionate good bye kiss, more than that of friendly acquaintance, then pats Jack on the head and departs. Nurse Benson takes Jack back to the room and inserts the Prince Wand and locks in place his cock cage... freedom ended. Meanwhile I pack then take Jack by the hand.
“I need to get dressed.”
“You have nothing to wear,” leading him out the door.
To the parking lot barefoot and naked, fortunately for Jack the grounds are secluded. From the trunk I retrieve one of our wedding presents... a modified child’s car seat, enlarged for a very substantial child... Jack... replete with Posey cuffs which will make him one with the seat.
I place it in the back seat and strap him in for the ride to Manhattan. Unseen in the front seat, a folded blanket I can toss over him should we encounter difficulty or need to stop for gas.
The same blanket will be used to get him from the apartment garage and up the elevator, if I deem it to be needed. I do not explain that. I let him broil in the worry of more public exposure.
In returning to his apartment, I have waiting bank forms for Mr. and Mrs. Desiree Dumond Montrove. A joint bank account is opened. I have him sign the papers, cloaking not only the account number but the name of the bank. Henceforth I will arrange for his paycheck, currently larger than mine, to be directly deposited to an account under my control. Though Jack has technical signature authority, he won’t even find the blank checks much less know which bank and what number.
Financial control. It does not feel as good as physical, emotional, psychological control, but it completes my mastery.
He has not a dime to spend...
Saturday, June 21, 2014
A Woman in Control - Married to my good organizer III
Married to my good organizer III
What can I say about a wedding ceremony where everyone is dressed to the nines... and the groom wears nothing? Delicious... so erotically stimulating. I was moist the whole time, not sure which aroused me more, watching my naked betrothed squirm at the makeshift alter, or gazing in lust at the notable bulge in the tuxedo slacks of best man Randy Evans.
Cameras clicked continuously, all my friends promising to email photos. The preacher was amused, but performed a straight and legitimate ceremony, the wording of the vows more than a little skewed toward mastery for me and abject servitude for Jack.
Immediately after the short service, I had Nurse Benson take Jack to his room where a hood, Posey cuffs awaited, the nylon straps tucked under the mattress. Jack’s distracting presence, quite fun, was not to disturb a small but lavish reception where I sat with my bullstud Randy.
Heavy hors d’ oeuvres, Champagne, we feasted, Jack’s diminutive and well exposed male organs... once male organs... the central topic of conversation. Finally, no longer able to control my excitement, I kissed Randy’s brown cheek, whispered ‘it’s time’, rose and held his hand. Glassware chimed, cameras snapped, and I had Dr. Hemstadt, as a favor, move to the door of Randy’s bedroom. There she snapped a few of Randy carrying this smiling bride across the threshold on my wedding night... to be added to Jack’s bedroom ceiling slide show montage... the intention of both parties quite evident.
Yes, Randy is quite the stud, knowing how I like it... on top... an ottoman donated by my friend and classmate... when with me he graciously condescends... appearing grateful that I do all the work.
If a girl can’t cuckold her husband on her wedding night, she just hasn’t established proper control.
We fucked throughout the night, Randy exploding deeply three times. Some time for slumber... exhaustion finally beckoning a rest... I arose early, slipped on my wedding gown, no panties, and moved to Jack’s room were Nurse Benson had him secured most admirably... a determined woman when it comes to tending to the male.
There, I pushed up Jack’s hood, exposed his mouth and we silently consummated our permanent relationship... Jack made to consume... having no choice but to cleanse my love nest of a long night of copious spending.
With Randy’s fine length... and me controlling the timing... most of the slimy essence remained deep within. And I patiently straddled Jack’s face and let every droplet ooze to his lips.
There, I made him savor it... that which his chemically altered organs can no longer produce. After all, I had kept him hungry, and Randy’s semen made for a fine meal.
In finishing, I lowered my head and tenderly whispered... “there will be more, Jack. And many different flavors.”
Saturday, June 14, 2014
A Woman in Control - Married to my good organizer II
Married to my good organizer II
It’s time. I don my gown. A naked and attentive Jack assists, coyly offering compliment after compliment, suggesting beauty.
He says I look great. I do.
Nurse Benson, invited to the ceremony and staying at the B & B knocks on the door.
“Come in.”
She enters, seen for the first time without her starched white uniform, a handsome woman.
“You look ravishing! And I see Jack is almost ready,” she quips.
I have had Jack manicured and pedicured, bright red finger and toenails. Mascara, some rouge. He does not object. As stated, his mind is muddled and seeks guidance.
Nurse Benson holds up the key to the cock cage. I reach out and turn off the control unit, otherwise he will be shocked when it is removed.
“You’ve going to make quite the impression, Jack,” wriggling her finger, beckoning him to approach.
She stoops, unplugs the wiring, unlocks the cock cage and very gingerly slips it away, the interior spikes most threatening and potentially painful. Next she slips out the Prince’s Wand, a metal tube inserted deeply into the urethra which abrades the prostate, a constant reminder of a woman’s control. Then the steel battery pack waist belt and transmitter is unlatched.
Jack smiles. Relative freedom is rare.
And I rarely see the appendage that I have had chemically decimated. It is incredible to think that it is smaller... but it is.
“Come here Jack,” I summon.
I sit at a makeup table and turn. Though the figure eight cock and ball rings remain in place, Jack wears nothing... no covering... not a shred. I palm his once male package and sense the thrill of feminine joy. Power! Jack also feels joy. Nothing and no one has touched him there in ages.
“I’ll get dressed now,” Jack suggests, “for the wedding.”
I smile politely.
“You are dressed for the wedding, Jack.”
He steps back, aghast, the look of horror... priceless.
“No! There are other people!”
Acclimated to my presence and that of Nurse Benson and Dr. Helmstadt, Jack cannot emotionally handle the notion of public nudity. So amusing.
“Friends, Jack. I want to show you to them, show that I control you... that you are owned and that you obediently serve. You would not deny me that, would you?”
Friends plus the best man, I cannot help thinking. But it is not Jack’s ‘best man’, it’s really the best manhood. One of my favorite lovers... a bullstud as Dr. Helmstadt has suggested... will serve to consummate the ceremony. Six foot four, well muscled at what I assume to be some 260 pounds, I love Randy Evans’ deep mocha complexion. And a girl like me loves his ten inches even more. Black cock... a secret but common female yearning.
“I can’t do it,” Jack protests, his voice rising in pitch with the stress, evidence of the hormonal change.
“You will do it. I can have the control unit returned. You’ll look awful silly be zinged while the preacher expects to hear your vows... one of which is that you will obey me.”
“But... I don’t want them to see... you know...”
“That you are now even tinier than ever. Jack, you are no longer a man. You are a servant, a pet. Does anyone ridicule the family dog for being neutered?”
Nurse Benson is amused. We both know Jack has no choice in the matter. Besides, I packed nothing for him and the clothes in which he arrived at the B & B have been destroyed. He will be naked for the ceremony... the only question is whether or not he will have to bear the relatively unsightly cock cage and the transmitting waist belt. Such distracts... and I want everyone to admire his form... now plumped... nipples puffy... that of an ingenue with the hormonal changes truncating the growth of all body hair. Yes there is a vestigial male organ, but its size sends a wondrous message.
“I just want as much of you exposed for the wedding album as possible. I’d even have the base rings for your penis and balls removed if I could. Your exhibition will symbolize your loyalty and your servitude. You will repay me for all the care over the months by surrendering to me, capitulating for an appropriate wedding. I want you displayed... I want your subservience to be announced to my friends... and I shall have it!”
I did.
It’s time. I don my gown. A naked and attentive Jack assists, coyly offering compliment after compliment, suggesting beauty.
He says I look great. I do.
Nurse Benson, invited to the ceremony and staying at the B & B knocks on the door.
“Come in.”
She enters, seen for the first time without her starched white uniform, a handsome woman.
“You look ravishing! And I see Jack is almost ready,” she quips.
I have had Jack manicured and pedicured, bright red finger and toenails. Mascara, some rouge. He does not object. As stated, his mind is muddled and seeks guidance.
Nurse Benson holds up the key to the cock cage. I reach out and turn off the control unit, otherwise he will be shocked when it is removed.
“You’ve going to make quite the impression, Jack,” wriggling her finger, beckoning him to approach.
She stoops, unplugs the wiring, unlocks the cock cage and very gingerly slips it away, the interior spikes most threatening and potentially painful. Next she slips out the Prince’s Wand, a metal tube inserted deeply into the urethra which abrades the prostate, a constant reminder of a woman’s control. Then the steel battery pack waist belt and transmitter is unlatched.
Jack smiles. Relative freedom is rare.
And I rarely see the appendage that I have had chemically decimated. It is incredible to think that it is smaller... but it is.
“Come here Jack,” I summon.
I sit at a makeup table and turn. Though the figure eight cock and ball rings remain in place, Jack wears nothing... no covering... not a shred. I palm his once male package and sense the thrill of feminine joy. Power! Jack also feels joy. Nothing and no one has touched him there in ages.
“I’ll get dressed now,” Jack suggests, “for the wedding.”
I smile politely.
“You are dressed for the wedding, Jack.”
He steps back, aghast, the look of horror... priceless.
“No! There are other people!”
Acclimated to my presence and that of Nurse Benson and Dr. Helmstadt, Jack cannot emotionally handle the notion of public nudity. So amusing.
“Friends, Jack. I want to show you to them, show that I control you... that you are owned and that you obediently serve. You would not deny me that, would you?”
Friends plus the best man, I cannot help thinking. But it is not Jack’s ‘best man’, it’s really the best manhood. One of my favorite lovers... a bullstud as Dr. Helmstadt has suggested... will serve to consummate the ceremony. Six foot four, well muscled at what I assume to be some 260 pounds, I love Randy Evans’ deep mocha complexion. And a girl like me loves his ten inches even more. Black cock... a secret but common female yearning.
“I can’t do it,” Jack protests, his voice rising in pitch with the stress, evidence of the hormonal change.
“You will do it. I can have the control unit returned. You’ll look awful silly be zinged while the preacher expects to hear your vows... one of which is that you will obey me.”
“But... I don’t want them to see... you know...”
“That you are now even tinier than ever. Jack, you are no longer a man. You are a servant, a pet. Does anyone ridicule the family dog for being neutered?”
Nurse Benson is amused. We both know Jack has no choice in the matter. Besides, I packed nothing for him and the clothes in which he arrived at the B & B have been destroyed. He will be naked for the ceremony... the only question is whether or not he will have to bear the relatively unsightly cock cage and the transmitting waist belt. Such distracts... and I want everyone to admire his form... now plumped... nipples puffy... that of an ingenue with the hormonal changes truncating the growth of all body hair. Yes there is a vestigial male organ, but its size sends a wondrous message.
“I just want as much of you exposed for the wedding album as possible. I’d even have the base rings for your penis and balls removed if I could. Your exhibition will symbolize your loyalty and your servitude. You will repay me for all the care over the months by surrendering to me, capitulating for an appropriate wedding. I want you displayed... I want your subservience to be announced to my friends... and I shall have it!”
I did.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
A Woman in Control - Married to my good organizer I
Married to my good organizer I
Within months of bringing Jack under my thumb, I begin to realize I have physical control, emotional control, psychological control... but not financial control. This is somewhat disconcerting. Jack makes a good salary. I am impecunious, a lowly administrative assistant... months before encountering my ‘good provider’.
So, since I am spending weekends at Jack’s apartment, supervising the many, many hours of bondage and sensory deprivation, a natural next step is to get married.
Why not? Such status won’t interfere with anything I do... I will remain sexually active... engage in multiple week night couplings... Jack will remain chaste. He’s neutered.
First, I inquire at Dr. Helstadt’s office. In observing the leashed dog boy, I have a good inkling of her clientele. I explain my wishes and she recommends a gay preacher in Greenwich Village known to cater to the souls of the New York D/s community. He certainly won’t be out of sorts when I describe my plans and request his services in a civil service of matrimony.
Next, I revive some classmate contacts from Vassar. Yes, there were other girls with penchants somewhat similar to mine... tastes and attitudes not completely in line. But we were accepting of alternative desires and lifestyles.
The first call is to a girl whose parents own a quaint bed and breakfast in a secluded Hudson Valley village. I arrange to rent the entire facility, my classmate for the most part running the operation while semi retired parents lounge in Florida.
Then come invitations, arranging my schedule, Jack’s and of course everything a girl needs for betrothal... flowing gown, flowers, caterers, etc.
Weeks later, I inform Jack, the day before we must travel. Since he has no say in the matter, there was no point in prior discussion. Jack does what I tell him to do.
“Married? I can’t...”
I let him search for the words, his mind slowly becoming a bit addled with the hormonal imbalance.
“Can’t perform as a husband? I know that Jack. Remember who took you to see Dr. Helmstadt. Well that does not matter. You know I prefer good solid and deep penetration when I fuck. You could never satisfy me with or without a fully functioning penis. It’s best that you are emasculated.”
Constant reminders. Bold and blatant discussion of his condition. It is best.
“We leave tomorrow. I packed for you. And Jack, for the service, I am going to have Nurse Benson remove your cock cage and control unit. Won’t that be nice?”
Other than short intervals at the clinic when Nurse Benson unlocks and removes the spiked cock cage and slips out the Prince’s Wand for cleansing, I have had Jack’s useless organ secured for months. It will never again become erect, but I don’t want him even touching it. It remains a potential source of pleasure even when forcefully made limp.
Jack beams. No reminder charges... no naughty boy charges... no agonizing shocks for very bad behavior. A long weekend of reprieve from the imminent threat of electrical shock.
“Thank you Miss Desiree.”
“Yes, you’re going to become Mr. Desiree Montrove... and as my husband you can cook and clean and sew for me. And don’t worry about your dysfunctional little penis. It will not bother me a bit.”
He’s excited. Little does he realize that I am removing the cock cage and the battery pack steel waist belt so he can be as naked as possible for the ceremony. Dr. Helmstadt’s cock and scrotum rings will remain in place, such are permanent, but otherwise Jack will not be wearing a thing. He will be the blushing groom.
Such a wedding album I will have!
Within months of bringing Jack under my thumb, I begin to realize I have physical control, emotional control, psychological control... but not financial control. This is somewhat disconcerting. Jack makes a good salary. I am impecunious, a lowly administrative assistant... months before encountering my ‘good provider’.
So, since I am spending weekends at Jack’s apartment, supervising the many, many hours of bondage and sensory deprivation, a natural next step is to get married.
Why not? Such status won’t interfere with anything I do... I will remain sexually active... engage in multiple week night couplings... Jack will remain chaste. He’s neutered.
First, I inquire at Dr. Helstadt’s office. In observing the leashed dog boy, I have a good inkling of her clientele. I explain my wishes and she recommends a gay preacher in Greenwich Village known to cater to the souls of the New York D/s community. He certainly won’t be out of sorts when I describe my plans and request his services in a civil service of matrimony.
Next, I revive some classmate contacts from Vassar. Yes, there were other girls with penchants somewhat similar to mine... tastes and attitudes not completely in line. But we were accepting of alternative desires and lifestyles.
The first call is to a girl whose parents own a quaint bed and breakfast in a secluded Hudson Valley village. I arrange to rent the entire facility, my classmate for the most part running the operation while semi retired parents lounge in Florida.
Then come invitations, arranging my schedule, Jack’s and of course everything a girl needs for betrothal... flowing gown, flowers, caterers, etc.
Weeks later, I inform Jack, the day before we must travel. Since he has no say in the matter, there was no point in prior discussion. Jack does what I tell him to do.
“Married? I can’t...”
I let him search for the words, his mind slowly becoming a bit addled with the hormonal imbalance.
“Can’t perform as a husband? I know that Jack. Remember who took you to see Dr. Helmstadt. Well that does not matter. You know I prefer good solid and deep penetration when I fuck. You could never satisfy me with or without a fully functioning penis. It’s best that you are emasculated.”
Constant reminders. Bold and blatant discussion of his condition. It is best.
“We leave tomorrow. I packed for you. And Jack, for the service, I am going to have Nurse Benson remove your cock cage and control unit. Won’t that be nice?”
Other than short intervals at the clinic when Nurse Benson unlocks and removes the spiked cock cage and slips out the Prince’s Wand for cleansing, I have had Jack’s useless organ secured for months. It will never again become erect, but I don’t want him even touching it. It remains a potential source of pleasure even when forcefully made limp.
Jack beams. No reminder charges... no naughty boy charges... no agonizing shocks for very bad behavior. A long weekend of reprieve from the imminent threat of electrical shock.
“Thank you Miss Desiree.”
“Yes, you’re going to become Mr. Desiree Montrove... and as my husband you can cook and clean and sew for me. And don’t worry about your dysfunctional little penis. It will not bother me a bit.”
He’s excited. Little does he realize that I am removing the cock cage and the battery pack steel waist belt so he can be as naked as possible for the ceremony. Dr. Helmstadt’s cock and scrotum rings will remain in place, such are permanent, but otherwise Jack will not be wearing a thing. He will be the blushing groom.
Such a wedding album I will have!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
