I am considering offering my stories direct by email. Upon payment to my Paypal account the reader would receive any of the Lulu published stories in PDF format for $1.00 less than the Lulu price.
Please let me know if interested. Email chris_bellows@hotmail.com and I will provide the Paypal account info. I do not utilize this email account for Paypal.
CB
Monday, January 14, 2019
Saturday, January 12, 2019
'Diapered', Snippet Four
A Pensive Drive - David
So, yes, I finally muster the fortitude, posting at the quirky CFNM message board that ‘Erecting Dave’ will attend the Halloween party... to finally become more than an internet inquirer of shy and naive questions.
Heading to Hamilton, I calm myself, mindfully reiterating the sole instruction that serves to assuage my concerns. Males will enter the side door of the private home... purportedly a mansion... and there will be a table piled with cloth hoods. My only assigned task will be to slip one over my head. From there, features covered, will come feminine control.
I will be stripped naked.
Once again the notion brings dichotomous thoughts... concern over recognition, my participation possibly ending my career... the odd joy in yielding to assertive women who take such delight in male comeuppance.
GPS makes the address easy to find. In nearing the house, a mansion indeed, the street is littered with cars. Many attendees are early... or so it seems. I am concerned with the bright lighting, deciding to park well away, my approach appearing to be that of a casual passerby should reservations develop or some interloper see my face.
Within moments, breathing heavily, the sidewalk brings me to the driveway. The side door beckons. I hear music and voices within the house. I see no one outside.
Concerns somewhat assuaged, I stroll quickly up the driveway. Upon entrance I am heartened to see the welcoming pile of cloth hoods. I immediately grab one and slip over my head, fingers adjusting to align the openings with my nose, mouth and eyes. No one has seen my face.
With that, from the top of a set of stairs, comes a female voice... firm... directing... casting no doubt who is in charge.
“Don’t dawdle. Get up here and be stripped.”
I look to see a shapely woman, age and other characteristics cloaked by the costume of ‘Wonder Woman’. I take a deep breath. Resigning myself, I ascend placing myself in feminine hands.
“Name?”
“Erecting Dave.”
“That’s Erecting Dave, ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
From a collection of stick-on labels, the woman finds my appellation, peeling it from the glossy base and firmly pressing it to the forehead of my mask.
“Go up the stairs. Get in line. Hope you’re wearing clothing easy to remove, as posted on the board. We tend not to waste time stripping a man. If tearing and cutting is needed... so be it,” nodding to where I see two men in wait outside of a doorway. “Hands on head. Do not touch yourself unless directed. No talking to other males. Wait your turn in silence. You’re here for the women.”
And so begins my evening of CFNM... clothed female... naked male.
The Party - Nicole
Such a beautiful home. Such decadent undertakings!
Donning a glittering white mask, friend Sarah guides me, Marie Antoinette, to a bedroom turned medical chamber... initially, I assume converted for the evening’s activities. But as I assess, some of the accouterments appear permanent, the home owners presumably engaging in kink more often than occasionally hosting the CFNM group.
A sizable gynecological chair centers the room, thick straps hint that its function is other than medical. Metal cabinets abound. Prominently displayed are catheters, enema bags and hoses, and other paraphernalia a homeowner normally maintains concealed.
Sarah, curiously comfortable in being unmasked, takes command, her level of familiarity hinting that it is not her first visit to the capacious abode. She steps to a cabinet, opens and withdraws various items, assembling with professional alacrity.
“Send one in,” she calls out, smiling in anticipation.
“Remember Marie... I’ll call you Marie to assure your anonymity... women are in charge. Men obey. When you strip them of their clothing you also strip them of their dignity... and any semblance of authority. Say anything you’d like... do anything you’d like. As a first timer you’ll be amazed at the level of submission... and I think a girl of your... ah... propensities will enjoy.”
A woman dressed as an Indian... probably Pocahontas... leads in what will be the first of a dozen or more naked males. She holds him by the hand... like a mother with a little boy.
Hooded, a white patch of paper stuck to the cloth at his forehead reads ‘Jack’. I must wonder if it is real name. The question is answered when I spy in small letters beneath the word ‘off’.
“Strap him down... let’s get to work. So many cocks... so many balls... so much needs to be revealed for inspection,” Sarah gleefully pointing to the chair.
As eery as is the man’s silence, the cooperation is telling. So meek... so obedient. Within moments Pocahontas has the man chaired, limbs strapped in place... wrists... biceps... thighs... ankles. Between spread open thighs dangles the male package.
Something within tells me to look away... not bring embarrassment to the man with visual examination. But then I realize... this is what he wants... what he craves. And sure enough as Sarah approaches with a basin of warm soapy water, the penis... modest in size... twitches and begins to firm.
“Good,” quips Sarah, “get it out of the way of the razor.”
She pauses, staring intently, her glare obviously abetting tumescence. For the appendage grows and grows and finally points to the ceiling.
“It functions,” Sarah turning her head to me, “but it’s so tiny... unlikely to do a woman any good. But that’s why at most of these parties we have the likes of Jack masturbate for us. Isn’t that right Jack... off? You’re the number one wanker... or at least try to be.”
Flesh at the neck reddening, there is no doubt the words bring blushing embarrassment, the face beneath the hood I am sure turning crimson. But what is also without doubt... it is welcomed... the humiliation.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I so much like jerking off for you... and the other women.”
Sarah applies soap, a straight edged razor whisks away a mat of short hair, evidently the pubes area recently shorn. At the last party?
Deed completed... neat, clean and professional... Sarah towels, handling the organs like the fruit of her allusion. Not a word of objection, even when testicle right then left is gently squeezed in close examination, the acquiescence is notable.
Finally there comes baby oil, bringing a sheen which attracts. Desired? Judging from the enhanced stiffness I would think yes... the need so warped.
“You’re going to really enjoy yourself tonight, Jack. Though you’ll not be jerking yourself off, you’ll not be disappointed... one of the other guys will be doing it for you. Mutual masturbation under feminine control. Bring you a sick thrill? It’s a contest... whoever comes first gets spanked. I have no doubt you’ll do your best to be quickly spewing like a whale... as disgusting as you are.”
Sarah strolls to a sink and readies for the next naked male. Pocahontas releases the straps. I smile as in standing and moving to the door, the erection of the shaven Jack bobs about, readied to present itself to the cheering cadre of clothed women downstairs.
Next enters a tall man of color, build impressive, muscling toned. A thick penis swings about between thighs of tree trunks, the tip almost thumping his knees.
An alpha male, that of Sarah’s desires, he moves with noted confidence to the chair. At his forehead, the white patch of paper reads ‘Thumper’.
Aptly named.
So, yes, I finally muster the fortitude, posting at the quirky CFNM message board that ‘Erecting Dave’ will attend the Halloween party... to finally become more than an internet inquirer of shy and naive questions.
Heading to Hamilton, I calm myself, mindfully reiterating the sole instruction that serves to assuage my concerns. Males will enter the side door of the private home... purportedly a mansion... and there will be a table piled with cloth hoods. My only assigned task will be to slip one over my head. From there, features covered, will come feminine control.
I will be stripped naked.
Once again the notion brings dichotomous thoughts... concern over recognition, my participation possibly ending my career... the odd joy in yielding to assertive women who take such delight in male comeuppance.
GPS makes the address easy to find. In nearing the house, a mansion indeed, the street is littered with cars. Many attendees are early... or so it seems. I am concerned with the bright lighting, deciding to park well away, my approach appearing to be that of a casual passerby should reservations develop or some interloper see my face.
Within moments, breathing heavily, the sidewalk brings me to the driveway. The side door beckons. I hear music and voices within the house. I see no one outside.
Concerns somewhat assuaged, I stroll quickly up the driveway. Upon entrance I am heartened to see the welcoming pile of cloth hoods. I immediately grab one and slip over my head, fingers adjusting to align the openings with my nose, mouth and eyes. No one has seen my face.
With that, from the top of a set of stairs, comes a female voice... firm... directing... casting no doubt who is in charge.
“Don’t dawdle. Get up here and be stripped.”
I look to see a shapely woman, age and other characteristics cloaked by the costume of ‘Wonder Woman’. I take a deep breath. Resigning myself, I ascend placing myself in feminine hands.
“Name?”
“Erecting Dave.”
“That’s Erecting Dave, ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
From a collection of stick-on labels, the woman finds my appellation, peeling it from the glossy base and firmly pressing it to the forehead of my mask.
“Go up the stairs. Get in line. Hope you’re wearing clothing easy to remove, as posted on the board. We tend not to waste time stripping a man. If tearing and cutting is needed... so be it,” nodding to where I see two men in wait outside of a doorway. “Hands on head. Do not touch yourself unless directed. No talking to other males. Wait your turn in silence. You’re here for the women.”
And so begins my evening of CFNM... clothed female... naked male.
The Party - Nicole
Such a beautiful home. Such decadent undertakings!
Donning a glittering white mask, friend Sarah guides me, Marie Antoinette, to a bedroom turned medical chamber... initially, I assume converted for the evening’s activities. But as I assess, some of the accouterments appear permanent, the home owners presumably engaging in kink more often than occasionally hosting the CFNM group.
A sizable gynecological chair centers the room, thick straps hint that its function is other than medical. Metal cabinets abound. Prominently displayed are catheters, enema bags and hoses, and other paraphernalia a homeowner normally maintains concealed.
Sarah, curiously comfortable in being unmasked, takes command, her level of familiarity hinting that it is not her first visit to the capacious abode. She steps to a cabinet, opens and withdraws various items, assembling with professional alacrity.
“Send one in,” she calls out, smiling in anticipation.
“Remember Marie... I’ll call you Marie to assure your anonymity... women are in charge. Men obey. When you strip them of their clothing you also strip them of their dignity... and any semblance of authority. Say anything you’d like... do anything you’d like. As a first timer you’ll be amazed at the level of submission... and I think a girl of your... ah... propensities will enjoy.”
A woman dressed as an Indian... probably Pocahontas... leads in what will be the first of a dozen or more naked males. She holds him by the hand... like a mother with a little boy.
Hooded, a white patch of paper stuck to the cloth at his forehead reads ‘Jack’. I must wonder if it is real name. The question is answered when I spy in small letters beneath the word ‘off’.
“Strap him down... let’s get to work. So many cocks... so many balls... so much needs to be revealed for inspection,” Sarah gleefully pointing to the chair.
As eery as is the man’s silence, the cooperation is telling. So meek... so obedient. Within moments Pocahontas has the man chaired, limbs strapped in place... wrists... biceps... thighs... ankles. Between spread open thighs dangles the male package.
Something within tells me to look away... not bring embarrassment to the man with visual examination. But then I realize... this is what he wants... what he craves. And sure enough as Sarah approaches with a basin of warm soapy water, the penis... modest in size... twitches and begins to firm.
“Good,” quips Sarah, “get it out of the way of the razor.”
She pauses, staring intently, her glare obviously abetting tumescence. For the appendage grows and grows and finally points to the ceiling.
“It functions,” Sarah turning her head to me, “but it’s so tiny... unlikely to do a woman any good. But that’s why at most of these parties we have the likes of Jack masturbate for us. Isn’t that right Jack... off? You’re the number one wanker... or at least try to be.”
Flesh at the neck reddening, there is no doubt the words bring blushing embarrassment, the face beneath the hood I am sure turning crimson. But what is also without doubt... it is welcomed... the humiliation.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I so much like jerking off for you... and the other women.”
Sarah applies soap, a straight edged razor whisks away a mat of short hair, evidently the pubes area recently shorn. At the last party?
Deed completed... neat, clean and professional... Sarah towels, handling the organs like the fruit of her allusion. Not a word of objection, even when testicle right then left is gently squeezed in close examination, the acquiescence is notable.
Finally there comes baby oil, bringing a sheen which attracts. Desired? Judging from the enhanced stiffness I would think yes... the need so warped.
“You’re going to really enjoy yourself tonight, Jack. Though you’ll not be jerking yourself off, you’ll not be disappointed... one of the other guys will be doing it for you. Mutual masturbation under feminine control. Bring you a sick thrill? It’s a contest... whoever comes first gets spanked. I have no doubt you’ll do your best to be quickly spewing like a whale... as disgusting as you are.”
Sarah strolls to a sink and readies for the next naked male. Pocahontas releases the straps. I smile as in standing and moving to the door, the erection of the shaven Jack bobs about, readied to present itself to the cheering cadre of clothed women downstairs.
Next enters a tall man of color, build impressive, muscling toned. A thick penis swings about between thighs of tree trunks, the tip almost thumping his knees.
An alpha male, that of Sarah’s desires, he moves with noted confidence to the chair. At his forehead, the white patch of paper reads ‘Thumper’.
Aptly named.
Wednesday, January 9, 2019
'Adopted' published
I have published the sequel to 'Diapered'.
'Adopted', 21,200 words available at...
There will be one more snippet from 'Diapered' on Saturday, 1/12/19.
Enjoy
'Adopted', 21,200 words available at...
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/adopted/24282296
There will be one more snippet from 'Diapered' on Saturday, 1/12/19.
Enjoy
Saturday, January 5, 2019
'Diapered', Snippet Three
Just as a reminder, the story is available at...
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/diapered/24227124
*********
Marie Antoinette, me in costume, arrives at Sarah’s home a little early. I park and walk to the rear. There I can enter the back door to the kitchen where Sarah will most likely be gathering her keys and purse.
Being close friends, without knocking I enter to see she is oddly arranging an oversized cloth over a centered kitchen table, smoothing the white linen such that it not only covers the top but drapes almost to the floor.
I announce myself.
“Ah... Nicole, just give me a moment. Making sure Ed is... ah... tucked away and any errant visit from a neighbor does not bring concern. Never had curtains in the kitchen. I like a lot of natural light in the morning.
“Catherine the Great?” inquiring of my Halloween disguise.
“Close. Marie Antoinette... ‘let them eat pussy’,” I glibly proclaim with mocked royal panache.
Sarah smiles with my satirical and bawdy permutation of the historical quote. She is wearing her nurse’s uniform, I suppose in sparing expense. Not overly creative... her work clothes... but then I realize it’s probably a more functional form of garb in having the duty of shaving the naked males.
“And Ed’s not going out with the boys while you recreate?”
“I don’t allow it. Ever. He spent a long day cleaning the house. So he’ll rest... and finish cleaning when I get home. Won’t you Ed?”
In posing her question, Sarah flips up the table cloth at the far end, peering beneath. To her query I hear a garbled reply. Whatever the response, it is short and indiscernible.
A hand lowers. I see Sarah grasp something, slowly pull, and there comes more burbling, anguished.
“Oh calm yourself. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and have something to sooth that eager tongue of yours.”
Curiosity bids that I step forth. As Sarah rights the tablecloth I catch a glimpse. The sight both alarms and brings a quirky rush to a woman of my ilk... reserved misandry. For the table and covering cloth veils a steel cage... I assume designed for a sizable dog. But within is Ed. A naked Ed... and a slim taut cord tied to the front bars emanates from his mouth.
As Sarah again smooths the cloth, I can understand the concern over neighbors. Sans concealment, the scene would certainly give rise to unwarranted neighborhood gossip at best... calls to the authorities at worst.
“Let’s get going. We’ll talk in the car.”
In exiting, I notice Sarah does not lock the door.
“In case of emergency, responders can more readily enter to release him.”
“He can’t get out?”
Sarah laughs.
“Of course not. Though the cage is only latched, he’s cuffed. No use of his hands. Plus I’d not want him releasing the tongue clamp. I stretch his most vital sex organ daily. The elastic cord not only lengthens but strengthens as involuntary attempts to swallow make him pull against it.”
I suppress my reaction... a combination of sympathy for Ed and admiration for my empowered friend Sarah. Dare I disclose the twinges beneath the many folds of my regal eighteenth century gown?
To the car, Sarah starts the engine, quickly reversing down her driveway, the nimbleness impressive. With a couple of turns, we’re on the open highway to Hamilton, the easy drive fostering conversation.
“Is he caged often?” I cannot help asking.
“Depends on my schedule and the housework. But yes. What little idleness I permit is spent in bondage. Keeps him humble and eager to please when finally released. It’s best for males like Ed. And you’ll be meeting a bunch tonight. Beta males... mainly. Though on occasion there will be an alpha male... a well hung stud who likes entertaining the ladies. For those it’s a different mind set... a different dynamic. And most of those types are bisexual. I kind of think the likes of them enjoy the other naked males as much as being adulated by the women.”
“I was not aware of the change... in your... ah... relationship with Ed.”
“Necessary. When he lost his job and I began to work lots of overtime to cover the bills, he had to take over the domestic duties. Things evolved from there... when I realized his enjoyment. The more demanding I became, the more subservient was his reaction.”
Sarah glimpses my way and smiles.
“Plus, as you know, there was the sex part... being satiated. Not easy with a girl like me.”
Sarah is a woman of size. Tall... and though not obese... wide... at the shoulders... at the hips. We have on many occasions had discussions... prurient and frank girl talk... about a woman’s need for vaginal penetration. As a medical type, Sarah would very explicitly explain the friction element during copulation... that much is required for ultimate climax. That size matters.
It was then that she strongly hinted husband Ed was incapable of providing.
For me, the penetration thing has always been... well... blase. If demanded... which I have come to avoid... it’s tolerable. But my orgasms more facilely come with labial manipulation and the gentlest stimulation to my clitoris. Guess down there, every girl is different.
“So of the three main things a woman needs for happiness... Ed provides one... domestic servitude in laundry, cooking, and cleaning... I provide another... money and financial stability... and the third... well... but for the twice monthly journeys to Hamilton... I’d be without.”
“So for you, this CFNM is more than an entertaining show?”
“Think of it as grocery shopping, Nicole. You’d never buy fruit and vegetables without examining first, would you?”
I shake my head.
“No, Nicole, you want to give things a little squeeze first. Make sure it’s ripe. And that being said, I hope on the return trip home some company will not bring concern... a bag of... shall we say groceries... ripe plums?”
I stifle a bawdy giggle, offering concurrence. In silence, we continue to Hamilton, my heated thoughts warming my loins.
Monday, December 31, 2018
'Diapered' published
Because the story became... is becoming... long, I have decided to publish it in parts.
Available now is 'Diapered', 40,000 words $6.55.
The sequel 'Adopted' is well under way and will most likely be released in January.
Enjoy.
Available now is 'Diapered', 40,000 words $6.55.
The sequel 'Adopted' is well under way and will most likely be released in January.
Enjoy.
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/diapered/24227124
Saturday, December 29, 2018
'Diapered', Snippet Two
Happy New Year to All
*****
It Begins With a Party - Nicole
For many weeks, a rather assertive friend has been telling me of these risque parties and munches she attends.
Naked males!
‘What of your husband?’, I inquire.
‘He can either attend and strip... or stay home. He declines public nudity... so I have him stay home. I can’t change the rules... nor do I want to,’ she flippantly responds.
There’s attraction. As an independent minded woman, I always found the pressure and coercion in becoming objectified... when dating.... to be a put off. This male thing about nudity as a precursor to even the most preliminary form of social intercourse... not so much disgusts but wounds the self esteem. I am a person, not a statue or piece of art to be ogled.
And here my friend Sarah describes scenes where there is no pressure... on the women. It is the men who become living objects ‘d art.
So there is consideration. But there is also my career. I’m in human resources for a sizable and prestigious engineering and construction firm. I have the title anointing me as second in command of the department. However, title aside, most times I feel like a glorified file clerk. Still, with my boss, Henry Peterson, close to retirement, I tolerate the daily drudgery. Ascension to the number one spot beckons, becoming closer each and every day. So despite being single and at an age when a woman’s need to mate and nest weighs heavily, I keep my affairs tidy. No pretentious dating. No wild parties. No office flings. Not even any flirting.
At Gordon Engineering and Design I am known as a prude... hopefully an attractive prude... but a prude. I keep quiet, am respectful, observe all office protocol. I want nothing to be in the way of my aspirations to become Director of Human Resources.
With that... well... I’ll have the power. The owner of the firm focuses on business development and sales, giving my department cart blanche over all matters of personnel... whom to hire... whom to fire... whom to demote... whom to promote... and of most importance... that which effects all... who gets a raise, how much and when. To assure appropriate expenditures, compliance with tax rules, our department reviews all expense reports... even those of owner Evan Gordon. Such has been delegated to me, and just this little slice of authority becomes an alluring precursor of what I as Director of Human Resources will ultimately wield.
So yes, whenever Sarah describes the depravity... the thrill of it being one sided... of a recent get together, there is consideration... followed by self denial. I can’t reconcile it with my aspirations.
Then comes an enticing phone call.
“Nicole, I know of the temptation... know how you have both attraction and disdain for men. But the group... the CFNM bunch... is having a Halloween party. So the men will still be made to strip... but be masked. They’ve bought a bunch of cheap, identical hoods so the only distinguishing features will be their cock and balls... ha, ha, ha. And the women will be costumed. You can wear a party mask. So do give it consideration... this time real consideration.”
Sarah is excited, selling me on the notion. Reiterating that with Hamilton an hour’s drive away, no one I know will be attending... an additional layer of anonymity, costume aside.
“You can help me shave them,” her sales pitch continuing. “Handling a man can be... I don’t know... guess it’s a lot different than at the hospital. There erections are discouraged,” the words coming with more mirth.
Sarah, as a nurse, has been delegated the task of assuring that the sense of nakedness of all attending males is accentuated by having their privates shorn, bathed and oiled at the beginning of each party. After every event, she has excitedly told the details of her role. Naked males lined up like cattle awaiting slaughter. I don’t tell her that, though her thrill likely surpasses mine, envisioning her brazen handling brings arousal all the same.
“So rent a costume. We’ll drive together.”
“What about Ed?” once again inquiring of her husband’s participation.
“He’ll be... ah... indisposed. But I’m sure be eagerly greeting me when I return.”
So there it is. No excuses. All concerns over discovery and my budding career mitigated by both distance and disguise. And I further console myself that, putting Sarah’s offer of participation aside, rather than shaving the pubes’ of obedient men, I will simply observe.
*****
It Begins With a Party - Nicole
For many weeks, a rather assertive friend has been telling me of these risque parties and munches she attends.
Naked males!
‘What of your husband?’, I inquire.
‘He can either attend and strip... or stay home. He declines public nudity... so I have him stay home. I can’t change the rules... nor do I want to,’ she flippantly responds.
There’s attraction. As an independent minded woman, I always found the pressure and coercion in becoming objectified... when dating.... to be a put off. This male thing about nudity as a precursor to even the most preliminary form of social intercourse... not so much disgusts but wounds the self esteem. I am a person, not a statue or piece of art to be ogled.
And here my friend Sarah describes scenes where there is no pressure... on the women. It is the men who become living objects ‘d art.
So there is consideration. But there is also my career. I’m in human resources for a sizable and prestigious engineering and construction firm. I have the title anointing me as second in command of the department. However, title aside, most times I feel like a glorified file clerk. Still, with my boss, Henry Peterson, close to retirement, I tolerate the daily drudgery. Ascension to the number one spot beckons, becoming closer each and every day. So despite being single and at an age when a woman’s need to mate and nest weighs heavily, I keep my affairs tidy. No pretentious dating. No wild parties. No office flings. Not even any flirting.
At Gordon Engineering and Design I am known as a prude... hopefully an attractive prude... but a prude. I keep quiet, am respectful, observe all office protocol. I want nothing to be in the way of my aspirations to become Director of Human Resources.
With that... well... I’ll have the power. The owner of the firm focuses on business development and sales, giving my department cart blanche over all matters of personnel... whom to hire... whom to fire... whom to demote... whom to promote... and of most importance... that which effects all... who gets a raise, how much and when. To assure appropriate expenditures, compliance with tax rules, our department reviews all expense reports... even those of owner Evan Gordon. Such has been delegated to me, and just this little slice of authority becomes an alluring precursor of what I as Director of Human Resources will ultimately wield.
So yes, whenever Sarah describes the depravity... the thrill of it being one sided... of a recent get together, there is consideration... followed by self denial. I can’t reconcile it with my aspirations.
Then comes an enticing phone call.
“Nicole, I know of the temptation... know how you have both attraction and disdain for men. But the group... the CFNM bunch... is having a Halloween party. So the men will still be made to strip... but be masked. They’ve bought a bunch of cheap, identical hoods so the only distinguishing features will be their cock and balls... ha, ha, ha. And the women will be costumed. You can wear a party mask. So do give it consideration... this time real consideration.”
Sarah is excited, selling me on the notion. Reiterating that with Hamilton an hour’s drive away, no one I know will be attending... an additional layer of anonymity, costume aside.
“You can help me shave them,” her sales pitch continuing. “Handling a man can be... I don’t know... guess it’s a lot different than at the hospital. There erections are discouraged,” the words coming with more mirth.
Sarah, as a nurse, has been delegated the task of assuring that the sense of nakedness of all attending males is accentuated by having their privates shorn, bathed and oiled at the beginning of each party. After every event, she has excitedly told the details of her role. Naked males lined up like cattle awaiting slaughter. I don’t tell her that, though her thrill likely surpasses mine, envisioning her brazen handling brings arousal all the same.
“So rent a costume. We’ll drive together.”
“What about Ed?” once again inquiring of her husband’s participation.
“He’ll be... ah... indisposed. But I’m sure be eagerly greeting me when I return.”
So there it is. No excuses. All concerns over discovery and my budding career mitigated by both distance and disguise. And I further console myself that, putting Sarah’s offer of participation aside, rather than shaving the pubes’ of obedient men, I will simply observe.
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
'Diapered', Snippet One
Merry Christmas.
*****
Diapered
Copyright 2018
by Chris Bellows
It Begins With a Party - David
As a shy 30 year old bachelor, the internet has come to greatly bolster my social life... to be more aptly described as my sex life I suppose.
More and more often after a grueling high pressure day in business, I find my fingers typing, my mouse clicking, signing onto various dating and social websites. Curiously, the genre of the selected sites seems to get kinkier and more risque every week... particularly on Saturdays when there is time to explore for newer and different groups, blogs, and message boards.
So I read a lot, bashfully type a message here and there, learn of the many facets of interaction between men and women. But no real time contact... no dates... no informal rendevous. As stated I am shy, even in college limiting contact with the opposite sex... my engineering degree requiring much study when not working part time.
Guess one would say I am socially stunted. Thus in the privacy of my den study, the anonymity of the internet can embolden... even doing so to the point that I find myself diving into this site cultivating CFNM... the quirky world of gatherings for clothed females - naked males.
The more I read... the more I learn... the more something within becomes intrigued.
What is it that attracts?
I am not an exhibitionist. I am physically in shape... a little running... visits to the gym when possible. But nothing to bring undue pride... no notions of ‘hey girls, look at this’. No, as I self analyze, it seems the subtle power exchange brings arousal. Everything to be bared, women to gaze at all without compunction. And yes, on some lonely nights, the hormonal relief of masturbation is abetted by fantasies... and such are visions of being commanded to disrobe and socialize in a room of fully clothed amused women.
Week after week, the internet interludes become longer... deeper in peeling the onion so to speak of this growing... seemingly growing... form of social interaction.
The pinnacle comes when I find and join a message board which is more than just an exchange of thoughts and messages. These people actually meet once or twice per month! And they’re based in Hamilton, a town some fifty miles away.
I become a moth about the candle, the location far enough away such that my real name will not be known... face not to be recognized... no one will know me... yet close enough to drive without burden.
Yes, I become known as ‘Erecting Dave’, my online appellation alluding to my employment in designing and engineering industrial structures.
So I communicate, responding to posts, many of which include photos... faces blurred... from the latest munch or cocktail party... slowly mustering the fortitude to attend.
Yes, slowly, for as stated I am shy, and the rules of the gatherings are strict. The clothing of male attendees is collected and locked away upon entry to the home, club or catering hall of the party. Women are in charge, to be obeyed. Any touching is one dimensional... males to be freely examined... females discouraged from permitting reciprocation. And in reading of the various contests, my breathing becomes labored with an odd combination of disbelief, denial that such excites, and a yearning to attend and observe.
But to do so requires fortitude which I have not. Males are stripped! There are no casual male observers. At the Hamilton soirees, one is either humbly naked or a fully clothed empowered woman.
Finally, just as this moth tires of winging about the candle, the Hamilton group organizes a Halloween gathering. Males will have covering! Masked in a hood. Such added anonymity further emboldens, any photos neglectfully posted without the photo shopped blur will remain innocuous.
Dare I attend?
*****
Diapered
Copyright 2018
by Chris Bellows
It Begins With a Party - David
As a shy 30 year old bachelor, the internet has come to greatly bolster my social life... to be more aptly described as my sex life I suppose.
More and more often after a grueling high pressure day in business, I find my fingers typing, my mouse clicking, signing onto various dating and social websites. Curiously, the genre of the selected sites seems to get kinkier and more risque every week... particularly on Saturdays when there is time to explore for newer and different groups, blogs, and message boards.
So I read a lot, bashfully type a message here and there, learn of the many facets of interaction between men and women. But no real time contact... no dates... no informal rendevous. As stated I am shy, even in college limiting contact with the opposite sex... my engineering degree requiring much study when not working part time.
Guess one would say I am socially stunted. Thus in the privacy of my den study, the anonymity of the internet can embolden... even doing so to the point that I find myself diving into this site cultivating CFNM... the quirky world of gatherings for clothed females - naked males.
The more I read... the more I learn... the more something within becomes intrigued.
What is it that attracts?
I am not an exhibitionist. I am physically in shape... a little running... visits to the gym when possible. But nothing to bring undue pride... no notions of ‘hey girls, look at this’. No, as I self analyze, it seems the subtle power exchange brings arousal. Everything to be bared, women to gaze at all without compunction. And yes, on some lonely nights, the hormonal relief of masturbation is abetted by fantasies... and such are visions of being commanded to disrobe and socialize in a room of fully clothed amused women.
Week after week, the internet interludes become longer... deeper in peeling the onion so to speak of this growing... seemingly growing... form of social interaction.
The pinnacle comes when I find and join a message board which is more than just an exchange of thoughts and messages. These people actually meet once or twice per month! And they’re based in Hamilton, a town some fifty miles away.
I become a moth about the candle, the location far enough away such that my real name will not be known... face not to be recognized... no one will know me... yet close enough to drive without burden.
Yes, I become known as ‘Erecting Dave’, my online appellation alluding to my employment in designing and engineering industrial structures.
So I communicate, responding to posts, many of which include photos... faces blurred... from the latest munch or cocktail party... slowly mustering the fortitude to attend.
Yes, slowly, for as stated I am shy, and the rules of the gatherings are strict. The clothing of male attendees is collected and locked away upon entry to the home, club or catering hall of the party. Women are in charge, to be obeyed. Any touching is one dimensional... males to be freely examined... females discouraged from permitting reciprocation. And in reading of the various contests, my breathing becomes labored with an odd combination of disbelief, denial that such excites, and a yearning to attend and observe.
But to do so requires fortitude which I have not. Males are stripped! There are no casual male observers. At the Hamilton soirees, one is either humbly naked or a fully clothed empowered woman.
Finally, just as this moth tires of winging about the candle, the Hamilton group organizes a Halloween gathering. Males will have covering! Masked in a hood. Such added anonymity further emboldens, any photos neglectfully posted without the photo shopped blur will remain innocuous.
Dare I attend?
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