Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - A First Visit

A First Visit

Guidebook completed, at least the indoctrination segment, Kelly Davis returns to the Clinic, her interview with the director bringing her to regard the drab structure of concrete as more of a penitentiary than place of rehabilitation.

She brims with excitement, her smile effervescing as a nurse greets at the reception desk, checks for authorization, then arises to lead to room seven.

“He’s had his daily meal. When you decide to begin feeding him, it is best to call before noon.”

The Guidebook likewise so informed Kelly. She has decided to introduce herself first in diaper changing and later assume the task of spoon feeding the Clinic’s special concoction to her charge.

“Do you know the patient’s name?” Kelly reverting to her many years in nursing.

“They have no names here. Their past lives are more or less obliterated with the mental stress and isolation. You may call him whatever you’d like,” the nurse smiling wickedly with her reply.

Kelly also smiles. She recalls as a little girl naming her pet puppy. Such fun she and mother had in formulating an appropriate appellation.

The nurse opens the room seven door and steps aside to allow her entry. Kelly notes she flips a sign at the door knob...’do not disturb’.

“If you intend to change him, all you’ll need are in the cabinets to your left. The Segufix lock release hangs from a pouch in the right hand cabinet. If you choose to have him speak please return him to the gag thereafter. The button beside the door summons the duty nurse should you encounter difficulty or have a directive.”

Yes, a directive, Kelly is pleasantly reminded. The Guidebook so indicated. As prospective owner, she now directs all elements of her charge’s care. She moistens again in being so empowered. Perhaps she will increase the flow of the drip bag... keep those kidneys in good order and his diaper in great need.

The door closes leaving Kelly alone with the supine well restrained form. The odor of bodily excretions is stronger, two more days lying in filth. She marvels at her change in attitude. As a nurse of some ten years the task facing her was considered drudgery, so many infirmed patients in similar need. Yet the protocol at the Clinic affords such desirous caprice. She can do as she wishes... a young virile male to be completely subject to her whim.

Kelly steps forth and again watches the drip bag, smiling at the slight but constant aggravation as drop after drop splashes to the yawning mouth, the tongue twitching, and her charge helplessly swallowing. Curiosity... brazenness... prompts her to reach forth, fingers slipping into the opening forced by the metal strips of the cruel molt gag. Yes, she gathers the tongue, newly freed of its entrapping frenulum, pinches and tugs. The male form lurches, the Segufix bonds holding fast. The length of slimy pink futilely attempts to retract as a delighted Kelly unravels to display to herself the impressive length and budding agility. When another droplet splashes, she finds her grip impedes the ability to swallow, the naked form coughing with heightened aggravation.

Lesson learned... turn off the drip bag when exercising the altered sex organ.     
   
She releases. The form calms, a subsequent droplet more readily ingested.

Kelly next presses a button to the side of the form’s well restrained and hooded head. The Guidebook informed that with a press of her finger, hearing is temporarily returned to her prospective companion.

“I am Kelly Davis... Miss Kelly to you,” the words offered as she reaches with her free hand to turn off the drip bag. “My nose suggests you need changing. Would you like to be changed?”

The question of course is superfluous, Kelly knowing the form has been forced to lie motionless in his own sludge and juices for many days.

The gag inhibits speech, but still there comes a gurgling sound, the desperate words indecipherable.

“If you want to be changed, thrust forth your tongue... waggle it for me.”

Ah, Kelly’s first command. More moisture flows as a most compliant young male obeys, the tongue eagerly fluttering about with zeal. It beseeches.

“Then you’ll need to be a good boy for me. When I release your ankles I’ll want your legs folded, knees to your chest. You will remain so while I tend to you.”

Kelly steps to the cabinet and retrieves the simple but clever device which releases the magnetic capping lock from the metal pins of the Segufix straps and cuffs. In seconds the ankle cuffs are released. As Kelly lifts to guide the feet upwards, she notes bands of smooth seamless steel encircle the ankles, before covered by the Segufix cuffs. Though lighter in gauge, such match the steel waist band.

The form meekly complies, knees to chest... such eagerness. Ah... to be finally cleansed. With the motion the room fills with the odorous collection of excretions. Kelly realizes that haste will be of benefit during the initial stages of cleansing. She thus encircles thigh and calves with straps, holding legs right and left in a folded position, and releases a lever to fold down the lower portion of the table. She then moves to the right wall where there is a sink, water faucets and waiting hose and spray nozzle.

It’s a smelly endeavor, tending to a diaper soiled with many days build up. But Kelly reminds herself that as unpleasant as her duty is, her well restrained charge has lain in the irritation for days, slowly breaking the will. Such wickedness, returning the hapless male to childhood.

With knees to chest, the Segufix lock securing the strap of the canvass to the steel waist band is well exposed. Again, it is rapidly released, the strap pulled away, the metal lined chastity device unhooked and dropped to the floor. Beneath is the absorbent cloth diaper, reeking of days accumulation of urine and stool. Kelly unpins, allowing the foul mass to fall to the floor. There she sprays, alleviating much smell as she adjusts the flow and awaits to assure a comforting temperature.

Warmth flows. She directs the spray to the well exposed buttocks and nicely presented testicles of her charge. She is pleased that within moments, much of the odor dissipates, the tiled floor well drained. She is also pleased with the reaction of the virile young male... her virile young male.

He slowly hardens.   

Kelly turns off the spray. She steps forth, palms the meaty testicles and jostles... celebrating her ownership, inspecting the firming penis with curious pride. It is sizable and uncircumcised, the pink tip turning to purple as tumescence slowly progresses. Its helplessness amuses.

“You’re becoming erect,” Kelly announces in pressing the button for speech.

And the lad blushes, she notes, the humiliation intense.

Kelly decides to pause. Wrists and hooded head remaining secured, gag in place, there is nothing her charge can do or say other than to wallow in the embarrassment of ignominious exhibition.

She would like to just leave him be, watching with a smile as a restrained hand challenges the Segufix cuff in an attempt to stroke and play. But alas, cleansing must continue.

Kelly prepares a basin of warm soapy water, finds a straight edged razor and notes there also awaits a bottle of depilatory lotion which she knows to be quite strong.

Ah, the privileges of ownership...

Now, what should I name him? her thoughts wandering as she works. 

Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - The Guidebook

Ownership

Part I, The Clinic

The Guidebook

The director has mandated that contact not begin until Kelly Davis has reviewed the guidebook. Returning home, chilled glass of wine, Kelly spends an evening reading. She finds the guidebook is written in three parts, Indoctrination, the so termed interval during which she will manifest her control and ownership, Care and Feeding of the Subjugated Male, more or less suggestions for a satisfying ongoing relationship, Recalcitrance and Discipline. Kelly assumes the latter segment to be perused if unexpected events unfold, such as a return to male aggression.

She finds the manuscript to be well written and well researched, clinical psychologists summarizing many years of hands on experimentation and behavior analysis.

Kelly reads that for many males there is a yearning, deeply encrusted in the psyche, to return to a maternal environment. A need to be nurtured. A desire to be freed of responsibility. To bring to the surface these latent wants, the Clinic begins with many days of sensory deprivation. All care coming from a governing woman... and at her whim... never in response to request or pleading.

The male is immersed, learning that nothing is under his control. All comes from a supervising maternal authority.

It is during this interval that the process of imbuing ownership begins. The male finds that food, water, cleansing, basic things such a bathroom needs are meted by she in charge... she with eventual ownership.

As Kelly reads the moisture returns in contemplating the level of the strict restraint, the regiment from which there is to be no deviation. And the diapering, so clever, forcing the male to return to childhood, wallowing in bodily fluids and excretions until a controlling woman deems soothing relief should be offered... perhaps the term ‘earned’ more apropos.

Diagrams outline the process for removal and changing of the incredibly confining canvas. This is required study, for it is Kelly as prospective owner who will be charged with the task. The male will find his only relief from the endless, sightless soundless tedium will come from her.

Alas, the table to which her pet is secured folds downward at the middle. Thus at changing time, the ankles are released and the decubitus position, knees to chest is assumed. The guidebook suggests the patient will willingly comply, knowing that in order to be finally cleaned, exacting compliance will be demanded.

Yes, after many days of lying on one’s irritating and odoriferous wastes, Kelly imagines the obedience to be total. Bring the knees to the chest... or wallow longer. The guidebook suggests days... not hours... of further delay, continued wallowing, if any resistance or lack of cooperation is displayed.            

The position exposes the adjustable strap, locking to the waist band at the back. The Segufix magnetic post can thus be readily removed, the strap pulled from under and the metal lined canvas slipped away. This permits the soggy, stool soiled undergarment to be released and dropped to the tiled floor, handling minimal.

Then comes a warm spray, found to be most soothing in dousing skin chafed by many days of irritation, one’s own urine bringing slow endless torment.

‘Cradle the testicles, handle the male genitals with clinical authority,’ the guidebook emphasizes. ‘Clean the penis with deliberation, but no evidence of passion. Consider it an object in need of attention... brief attention... a mantel piece in need of dusting. Manifest ownership over organs the male normally vaunts. The evanescent touch of a controlling woman will speak loudly.’

Shaving is found to be demeaning and therefore necessary. Ultimately swathing about depilation lotion for permanent glabrousness recommended.

Kelly is enthused by the paragraph concerning erections.

‘During this process, though quick and austere, the chaste virile male will tumefy. This is not to be encouraged or discouraged. But discussion, calling attention to this embarrassing state, will enhance the process. Humiliation fosters humbleness.’

The guidebook has a photo. The head of a prospective pet is propped up, the hands of a governing woman having released the head bondage so the male can peer at a massive erection standing between thighs, apparently up turned for cleansing.  

‘You can see... but never touch,’ the encaptioned words of the smiling woman so flippantly driving home her authority.

A following paragraph explains the need for ice, flaccidity required for the return to diapering.

Kelly smiles in imagining the plaintive yelps as dripping coldness denies the male organ further celebration of its brief freedom.

‘The penis is to be drawn between the thighs, tip to the rectum,’ advice offered before absorbent cloth is returned to the adult infant.

A diagram shows a fresh diaper nestling the buttocks and genitals. ‘Tightness cannot be over emphasized,’ the guidebook offering a sequential diagram of the locking strap tucked under the waist band and pulled most firmly before the magnetic Segufix post is thrust through metal grommets in the strap to secure in place.

‘The male needs to feel the controlling touch of a woman at all times. Anal insertions should be given consideration. With proper laxatives, stool will still be exuded with strained effort... and sloppily as desired... greatly intensifying the level of discomfort... both psychological and physical.’

Such cruelty, Kelly thinks to herself, the male forced to labor to relieve his bowels.

In finishing the segment on Indoctrination, she sips her Chardonnay and recalls the director’s final comments. Yes, weeks of indoctrination... certainly not months. The male will break and capitulate, there is no doubt.  

Ownership - Part I - The Clinic - Acquisition

Ownership

Part I, The Clinic

Copyright 2014

By Chris Bellows

Acquisition

“We guarantee our work product. Your... ah... companion... will be malleable and most obedient. The variable we most often must address is... do you really desire ownership?”

“Well, I would think my sizable deposit speaks to that.”

“To be refunded if the boy is found to be untrainable... but not if you find the burdens of care and discipline too daunting. You of course realize that typically our clientele are wealthy. For those with daughters coming out it’s become fashionable for the parents of a young debutante to offer a symbol of social status. Fast sports cars have become blase of late. A girl’s hierarchy is deemed better conveyed... more... shall we say convincingly... with a possession. A... plaything... for want of a better term. And many times we find that in the fog of youth the recipient of such parental generosity is not ready. In such a case we offer to recycle... but not at our cost.”

The woman pauses and Kelly Davis mulls the words of warning. She is far from being a young debutante... for years laboring as a nurse. But she is wealthy. At age 32 she has come upon an unexpected inheritance. Who knew that her late Uncle Henry saved and invested so fastidiously?

So she finds herself expending many thousands of dollars on a whim. But it is a whim that has long lingered. And with her inheritance, not only will the tedium of working for food and rent finally be confronted, but the frustration of unfulfilling sex as well. Kelly Davis is heterosexual but has found the company of men to be overbearing. Submitting to the pleasure of gruff males has been objectionable. And penetration... it’s repulsive!

Her thoughts bring a smile as the director of the Clinic patiently awaits a rejoinder. The woman is past middle age... stern... matronly with gray hair rolled into a taut bun. Kelly pictures the woman in the role of headmistress at a boys boarding school. Such canings she would be sure to mete!

“I understand. The funds are forfeited should I renege.”

“I’m sure, based on your relative maturity and background, that won’t be the case. But I am obligated to make our policy clear.”

Kelly Davis nods... policy understood.

“Wherever do you find them?... the boys?”

“We do not divulge that with any degree of specificity,” the director’s words offered in a rote reply. “But in general such are young males... of age, though we reference them as boys... that society will not miss. Miscreants. Males who have transgressed and are in need of correction and guidance. The supply is ample. Our specialty is determining the psychological make up and whether a candidate can be molded into a suitable companion... for a woman of special needs.”

The director slides across her desk a packet.

“Some guidelines for your review, though the protocol here will become self evident. Visit whenever you desire during indoctrination... though, as you will read, lengthy periods of isolation ironically facilitate the ultimate desired bonding.”

Kelly Davis reaches to accept the moderate sized notebook and stuffs it in her purse.

“When indoctrination is completed, and you take your companion to wherever you wish exercise your dominion, you’ll be given his file to augment your control. We suggest tucking it away quite safely.”

“His file?”

“For the most part a duplicate of his FBI criminal record. Expensive to obtain, but thorough. As stated the typical candidate here is a miscreant, a scofflaw... most times petty crimes... but for certain wanted by the authorities somewhere for some misdemeanor. If deemed necessary due to some reversion to past behavior, some ill advised resistance to your authority, with a simple phone call you can have him incarcerated. Certainly not advisable, in view of your investment, but another element of your ultimate control.”
 
Kelly Davis marvels at the thoroughness of the Clinic. Young rapscallions with diminished life’s options... jail or a stint in the Clinic for dire rehabilitation as a woman’s subordinate. 

“Now if you’re ready, Miss Davis, I’ll take you to your prospective companion. He’s already undergone oral alteration... teeth filed... tongue healing nicely from the lingual frenectomy,” the director rising from her desk.

“Is that standard?”

“The teeth yes. You’d be surprised how even the most well bound boy is given to bite... or attempt to bite. And the frenectomy was performed based on your stated desire for oral prowess. The tongue is so much easier to strengthen and stretch when freed of the frenulum. I’m constantly recommending the procedure to frustrated wives...”

As she explains, the director leads from her office. Into the austere hallway of the Clinic, Kelly Davis is reminded of her many years working in hospitals.

“Now I must forewarn... what will appear to be harsh is actually for the best. Remember we must make a boy malleable. We’ve found that is best achieved through restraint... very strict restraint.”  
  
The director leads past several doors of glossy white, each marked only by a plain black digit. At number 7 she enters, Kelly noting that no knock is offered. Stepping within, Kelly’s eyes rove as the woman steps back to close the door.

Tiled floor, walls of white, metal cabinets align the left side, a sink and plumbing fixtures the right. The chamber is of size and without windows. Centered is what appears to be an operating table. Lying supine thereon is the prospective possession of Miss Kelly Davis... a young male.... naked but for many restraining straps and the most restrictive diaper that Kelly read about when first reviewing the Clinic’s protocols. It is of gruff canvas. Kelly is aware of the soft absorbent material beneath. She is also aware that the garment is locked in place and is lined with wiry metal to preclude cutting by scissors or any handy kitchenware. 

It is more chastity device than sanitary receptacle.

“You’ll need to tolerate some odor. He’s been diapered for many days.”

Kelly Davis nods and steps forth. There comes a tremor... of delight... sexual delight. Within her loins she feels moisture. The scene excites. Any second thoughts of frittering away Uncle Henry’s hard earned fortune dissipate. Ownership brings arousal!

“He cannot hear... and obviously cannot see,” the director offers in encouraging discourse.

Yes, the supine form is hooded, bulges at the sides of the restrained head suggesting the ears are well covered. Straps Kelly knows to be termed the Segufix restraint system encircle the wrists and ankles, such are adhered to the sides of the table, no slack offered. In place of the standard crotch restraint there is instead a band of smooth stainless steel about the waist. It appears to be seamless. It is to this that the front of the canvas diaper is hooked, presumably locked beneath at the back.

“As you can see we use a modified Segufix system. Safe, comfortable, patients easily secured and released.”

Kelly nods and steps forward. It is one thing to read in forewarning, it is another to actually be in the presence of human being reduced to an object.

A metal piece holding open the mouth distracts her inspection. The director notes her look.

“A standard molt gag. His teeth have not only been filed to preclude biting but also so the gag can be wedged in place and not readily ejected. Offers access to the tongue for stretching and exercise... and of course forced hydration.”

From a stanchion at the head of the table there a hangs a drip bag. A thin nozzle is aligned with a mouth forcibly held wide open by the metal of the molt gag. As Kelly peers a droplet slowly oozes at the nozzle’s tip. It grows until gravity takes its course, the clear liquid splashing to an opened mouth. The form gasps, attempts to shake its head in futile defiance of the many restraints, then gulps, ingesting whatever the contents of the bag.

“Water?” Miss Kelly Davis cannot help but ask.

“For now. But we can forcibly ingest whatever we desire. He must swallow or choke. In time he learns to obediently swallow... everything. As you will read in the guidebook, we control all functions. During indoctrination that control will be manifested in you. He will take from you all that you choose to offer... water or otherwise.”

Yes, the moisture of Kelly’s loins turns to what feels like a river.

“Keeps his kidneys active, his bladder full and his diaper nicely messy. He’ll be very grateful at changing time. Your touch... your gracious handling will be most appreciated. In time he will not only accept your ownership but revel in it.”

“How long... for the transition?”

“For however long it requires. Our fee guarantees results. If he needs months of restraint... so be it. But typically it’s more like weeks until he breaks. Our psychological screening is fairly accurate. Deep within they want to be owned. You will see. But you will also find that with ownership comes responsibilities. Once broken... he’s going to need a lifetime of care.”

The director turns to silence letting her client absorb as she watches another droplet slowly ooze forth. With it, the quim of a pleased Kelly ironically oozes as well.

Funds well spent.         

New Story

Tomorrow I will post the first segment/chapter of a Female Dominant/male submissive story, 'Ownership'.

I am well into it, yet it is unfinished so I will not promise anything. But since the blog has been silent for a month, I feel obligated to post something.

Comments as always are welcomed and appreciated.

I will suggest that sorting out the comments from 'Anonymous' can be confusing when there appear to be numerous persons 'sailing' under such colors. So if you expect a specific reply/response from me, do consider utilizing a 'nom de guerre'.

Enjoy,

CB 

The Sash - Return to the Ranch

Return to the Ranch

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

As the limousine approaches the ranch, Markie becomes more apprehensive. The cover story presented in the Queen’s letter to the Prince is only partially true... that the Queen desired Markie’s presence so she could threaten recalcitrant guards with the repulsive delights of being sexually serviced by a genderless prettified blond.    

Indeed, Markie so offered herself. The well experienced Helen demonstrated the age old trick of applying a condom to the raging erection of men reluctant to use protection. She showed Markie how to surreptitiously insert the oval of rubber into her mouth, then fellate, in one smooth motion orally taking a stiff phallus, engulfing and unraveling the latex down the shaft without the knowledge of the bearer.

A young guard, quite virile, quite repulsed in having to offer himself to another male... former male... lay on Helen’s so termed ‘jerking table’, naked and restrained, as Helen instructed.

Quite intriguing how sexual release is apportioned at the Palace, Markie came to realize.

“This is where the guards receive their reward for loyal service. The Queen wants them calm, yet eager to return for more. So I deplete the hormones... and do so in a manner which never completely satisfies. There is also the matriarchal symbolism the Queen desires. They are never to control their own orgasms...”

Helen deftly gripped the base of the shaft to forestall ejaculation while Markie practiced again and again, unraveling some half dozen condoms, the last three meeting approval... applied in one smooth continuous motion of her head.

The guard, wide eyed with both pleasure and frustration, struggled against his bonds, pleading for ultimate release. At the end, expertly sensing pending eruption, a cruel Helen instructed Markie to withdraw and she simply withdrew her hand as well. No strokes, no application of Markie’s oral skills, Helen smiled evilly as, with penis throbbing and wrists restrained, the priapic young lad meekly dribbled into the condom, unable to even stroke himself.

“Note how the spunk oozes with each beat of the heart. That’s when you know you’ve maximized their frustration. They want to come... but they don’t want to come without a downstroke or swirl of the tongue... they try to hold back... and in the end they just leak. So tame, so docile.”

A laughing Helen then summarily tossed the semen filled condom into the garbage, conforming to the Queen’s rule of neatness, disposing of male filth. 

“Yes, frustrating, but they always come back... don’t they boy?” Helen taunted.

The art of the controlling hand job... incomplete hand job.

Markie understands there will not be similar teasing and denial of the Prince. Given opportunity, Markie will have him explode into the clandestinely applied condom, most copiously. Then turn her head to veil the collection effort, somehow getting to the freezer as quickly as possible where it will pried from her mouth and stored.

It must be done, she realizes. With a second failure, the Queen’s special dungeon beckons. And indeed, the Kingdom needs an heir... an heir sans depravity.

As the sun sets, the Queens’s limousine pauses to deposit, then quickly turns for the return journey. A lit stable reveals the Prince’s whereabouts.

“Where have you been?” the Prince inquires, as Markie enters, presuming the question to be a test of the Queen’s letter... her cover story.

“The Queen summoned me to the Palace, sire. I’ve been fellating her guards.”

The Prince smiles and nods. 

“It’s good for a girly boy to stay in practice. Choke at all?”

“No sir. I am trained. Perhaps... perhaps...”

“Perhaps what?”

“I would very much enjoy serving the Royal penis sire. I... I... find you attractive. I so much wish to please,” the sentiment, though demanded by the Queen’s quest, not entirely false.

“Ha, ha, ha. More like you’re envious. This is power girl,” the Prince pointing to his pubes. “I have it and you don’t. And it’s power best utilized in putting a squeamish white boy in his proper place. You’re already there, ha, ha, ha.

“But I am glad you enjoyed your day. I had to tend to your duties, swabbing down Tuesday. And the herd wasn’t exercised. So it’s double time tomorrow, Markie. I want them worked hard, kept well muscled and trim. They can better grapple when resisting the Royal pecker... though they always succumb.”

“Yes, sire,” Markie grateful that the Queen’s ruse appears to be working.

Yet how is Markie ever to fellate and extract semen? Meekness... femininity... fail to attract the Prince, a conquering warrior... not a lover. Missing from Markie’s perception, Markie’s picture of the Prince’s existence, is life outside the stable and the long jaunts on the veld. What goes on in his pied-a-terre when not tormenting and fucking his steeds?

Markie knows of one girl, she who daily wheels a cart of gruel to the stable. Are there others? Does the Prince engage carnally with the opposite gender. Does he engage at all with the opposite gender? Proximity will be required in order to fulfill the Queen’s demand and someone must keep house, clean and serve him meals. Should Markie endeavor to enter household duties?

“Now get the rope. I want to have my balls licked... watch a boy helplessly dangle while showing off a useless erection. Need to relax a little, with a fine glass of wine. The Queen’s intrusion has made me put in an exhausting day.”   

The Sash - To Be Motivated

To Be Motivated

Copyright 2014

by Chris Bellows

Markie finds his own heart rate racing. Upon preparing to exit the well secured chamber, for the first time she noted the array of implements adorning the walls. Yes, it is a torture chamber indeed, the Queen able to press, pull, pry, squeeze, tear, human flesh with impunity. There was even a small coal fired stove to heat clamps, knives and the many needles... long vicious needles... that which Sir Egbert has come to relish.

The Prince’s quirky depravity seems to be hereditary.

“So, Markie, some motivation for you. Fear,” the words offered with a pleasant laugh.

Having returned to the Palace reception chamber, the seated Queen speaks as Markie stands before her, feet parted, hands on head. Once again she toys with the remnants of her maleness... the tiny penis, the folds of her boy labia. The Queen perhaps envisions her own hands ripping away his testicles. For some strange reason Markie senses distant joy, the diddling fingers, the controlling hand deemed so threatening after touring the secret dungeon. Such brings a frisson of odd excitement.

“Markie, your many sperm samples were sterile. I would hate to believe thwarting my efforts was intentional. Not a single spermatozoa alive.”

“No, your Majesty,” a stunned Markie rejoins. “I carefully sealed every bag and immediately froze,” Markie's concern legitimate.

“I have a vengeful streak, Markie, as you just witnessed. You had best be truthful. Many cells in my dungeon. Your next visit there will be a one way excursion. How were such samples procured?”

“From the steeds. After every run I gathered such for safe keeping.”

“Gathered from where?”

“The Prince, he prefers anal penetration... and rather deeply. It required time to retrieve, done under the guise of cleansing.”

“Too deeply... and too much time. Heat kills the sensitive little squirmy things. As well as exposure to air. Hard to believe the entire world has been populated by such delicate male essence. Your efforts are for naught.” 

“I am so sorry, your Majesty.”

“We will need to try again, utilizing different methods. I have a rather experienced woman, a former reform school matron, who satiates the Palace guard. She will train you. I want you to fellate the Prince... into a condom which you will immediately tie off to seal and then freeze.”

“It would be a privilege to please the Royal penis, your Majesty. But such is not my role at the ranch. I merely tend to, tease and torment his herd. The Prince finds me... undesirable. My charms fail to attract.”

“Can you offer massage?”

“I have experienced such, your Majesty. My nurse.”

“Try to tempt him... when he’s tired and cares not to expend the energy for the silly acrobatic carnal pursuit of anally raping a resisting boy. Men think with their penis, Markie. Seduce him, fellate him, gather my seed.”

“I will try, your Majesty.”

“It’s not possible to place you in a humbler, my neutered little toy. But with another failure, I will assure that your suffering is slow and unending.”

The Queen laughs in feeling Markie tremble. She then turns and presses an intercom button.

“Send in Helen,” the Queen commands.

“You are not to divulge to Helen why I want you to acquire this talent. I am going to tell her you will also be sucking the phalli of the Palace guard and that I insist on neatness. You’ll see what I mean.”

The reception room door opens. In steps a surprisingly prim Caucasian woman, conservatively attired, not at all brandishing the aura of a woman of pleasure. She is handsome, not ravishing, staid not flashy. She enters with an air of authority... perhaps that of a strict school teacher. No Palace visitor would surmise her Royal function. Markie assumes her restrained presentment is intentional.

For the young members of the Palace guard she must be considered maternal.

Markie recalls the Queen’s comment during her visit... ‘I have my guards emptied regularly. Keeps them calm... and loyal’.

How devilish to have the deed performed by a mature woman of authority. Certainly not to be considered the masculine encounter about which most young males fantasize, being brought to orgasm by such an imposing figure. But if the Queen insists that is how Palace pleasure is meted... then that is how subordinate males will receive.    

“Helen, I am going to offer the boys an alternative form of sexual release. Thought it would be fun to insist they have relations with a castrated male. Rather distressing for them, don’t you think? Would make your offerings even more preferable.”

The woman nods and suppresses a smile. It is evident that she has a degree of disdain for the male.

“Helen specializes in the so termed ruined orgasm, Markie. In the end, after much teasing, she withdraws all efforts and forces a boy to more leak his essence rather then spurt in ecstasy. The hormonal release calms, but denial of ultimate male pleasure keeps them randy and eager for the next try.

“Have Markie practice on one of the undeserving guards, Helen. Someone on report.”

The Sash - An Audience with the Queen

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