Third Snippet From 'A Summer at the Phipps Estate'

This will be the last snippet from this story. Not sure what is next.

*****

To the Psychiatrist - Redmond

The room door opens. Entering is the pretty young nurse, she who so embarrassingly explored with her hands and fingers before my brief encounter with the doctor.

“Turn for me, Redmond. I’ll take you to see Dr. Rosen.”

I obey, my penis remaining somewhat engorged. She looks down, smiling, arms folding about her chest. I note that at her right wrist a metal baton of some two feet hangs from a strap.

“Come now, Redmond. I know you’ve been masturbated, but certainly you can offer me a proper greeting.” 

I can. And I do, the encouraging words not needed as I feel full erection returning. More concern, more confusion. Why am I so eager to stiffen yet unable to ejaculate?

“That’s a good boy,” the smile beaming as she steps forward, her free hand wrapping about my upstanding firmness.

“We don’t get many ten inch males here... not beta males anyway. So you may as well show off for us.”

The nurse leads, I follow, out the door. I am reminded of my first visit to the Estate, Miss Eve directing me through the unknown mansion utilizing my penis as a leash.

Into the hall, though the journey is brief, the sights impress. Nurses in uniform, young males without a stitch, all in make up, hair coifed, effeminately prancing about in a manner antithetical to their age. Apparent adults, but appearance and behavior contrary.

Little time for evaluation, we enter an office, a sign suggesting it is that of Dr. Rosen.

“Redmond Richards, Dr. Rosen.”

Sitting at a large desk of dark wood is a woman professionally attired in a dark blue business suit. Short light brown hair, even features, she appears trim. She is attractive, not stunning, the attire suggesting a woman of purpose, perhaps dressed to intentionally distract from her beauty.

“On the stool. Position him for me. Remove his gag.”

The words are not barked as a command, but firm, leaving no doubt that the woman is in charge. And I am heartened to have removed the gag, the deep penetration constantly titillating to trigger the gag reflex.

Dr. Rosen returns to reading files, many folders piled on her desk. The nurse tugs to a low stool.

“When permitted to sit in the presence of a woman, the protocol at the clinic is to always maximize your exposure. So feet back, knees parted. Think of it as offering your penis and testicles,” the nurse lectures.

It’s ungainly, lowering myself onto the hard wood and adjusting feet and legs as mandated. As the nurse pokes and prods to assure compliance, it feels like I am in a position of offering prayer, almost kneeling, my thumbs remaining secured to the back of my neck collar.

“Good boy,” the compliment coming as for some reason I seem to further stiffen.  

Next the nurse takes from her pocket a simple rod of metal. It is incongruous that something appearing so innocuous can offer such welcomed relief. For the fingers of her left hand part my lips, and the right hand slips the tip of the four inch rod into my mouth, deftly finding the valve which releases air, deflating the ghastly ball which silences me. Then fingers pinch and slowly slip away, the long penetrating length following.

“You’re convincingly silenced, Mr. Richards,” Dr. Rosen notes, the penetrating tube quite stout. “And you will remain silent until I direct you to speak.”

I nod, repressing the desire to graciously offer thanks.

“Sleep okay? The Segufix restraints are severe, but I believe you have acclimated to such at the Phipps Estate.”

I nod, the system almost a duplicate of that into which Miss Eve binds me each and every night.

“I am the clinic psychiatrist, as I am sure you by now are aware. I’ve been evaluating you for summer employment. Plus your own... ah... benefactress wants us here at the clinic to assure that certain attributes detrimental to your standing at the Phipps Estate have been adequately addressed. And I suppose you are due some answers as well.”

A slip of the tongue? Did she begin to use the term ‘owner’?

“I’ve been reading about you. Everything there is to know about you is on this desk. Your mother... stepmother... was interviewed by satellite phone. She’s somewhere in the south Pacific on a year long world cruise. In reviewing the transcripts of the call, I would judge her to be a passively dominant woman. Says here that she bathed you well into your teen years.”

I nod.

“Did you object? You may answer.”

I demure. For it is true, and with the embarrassment of so enjoying, I never told anyone... not my closest friends. I always felt the many Saturday night baths were an intimate thing between my widowed stepmother and me... offering myself to her, in a way alleviating her loneliness with a form of male companionship... completely non sexual. Yet now she has told of it. How much of it?

“No. No objection,” my words raspy, throat worn.

“So you enjoyed it. Exposing yourself, at an age when most teens are shy.”  

“It seemed... natural... and harmless.”

“Yes, natural for a boy of your predilections. Really, Mr. Richards... I’ll call you Redmond... attaining an erection... in front of your mother?”

“Stepmother.”

“Stepmother. Yes, I know. So in your mind such conduct is ‘natural’,” the term somewhat mockingly enunciated.  

I blush, visions coming to mind of my stepmother tenderly cleansing me... everywhere... with hormones raging, my priapism spontaneous.

“And then you posed for her,” Dr. Rosen holding up photos of me exiting the shower, hands to the back of my head, obediently turning about then bending, the pictures sent to Miss Taylor Phipps to become the catalyst for law school and my sojourn at the Phipps Estate. 

“Miss Taylor Phipps has nicely submitted detailed records of your stay at the Phipps Estate. No clothing... ever. And your affinity to submit to the rather exacting care of her nurse is telling. As well as your relationship with your law school classmates... Marsha Devine and Zoey Roberts. That you allow them to cane your bare buttocks.”

“I don’t... don’t allow...”

“Oh but you do, Redmond,” Dr Rosen grasping another piece of paper. “Six foot three, 250 pounds,” she reads. “And you beg like a little boy... cry like a little boy... kneeling for punishment without resistance.”

Dr. Rosen pauses, skillfully letting the shame of my submission further fester.

“It’s all here, Redmond, your escapades as a beta male well documented, the ongoing retention, to be interrupted only when commanded to ejaculate, your chastity, the conflicting sentiment concerning Miss Phipps’ husband and maid... a very accomplished product of the clinic by the way. Your homophobia when fellated by her.”

I am shocked... and disheartened... so much documentation... the disclosure of such antics having the capability of ending my legal career before it begins.

“I could go on and on, Redmond. It’s quite a bit of reading... the affidavits of Miss Zoey Roberts. and Miss Marsha Devine quite prurient... having you strip naked in the cafeteria bathroom... ”

My heart sinks. I am emotionally exposed as well as physically.

“They are very much amused by the suspension bondage I should add. Young women of their ilk find smug comfort in seeing the disdained gender so vulnerable and helpless. No still photos of that. Taylor Phipps submitted to us videos. Amazing how stiff you become.”

The humiliation intensifies. I know there are cameras. I did not know there are video recordings.  

“But enough of that. Suffice it to say, Redmond, that we know everything about you... you and your depravity... your warped proclivities. But you should be cheered to know such attributes  make employment at the clinic possible. Even the fact that you’ve been toilet trained. Such sordid servitude. But from the information I’ve reviewed, you’ve come to enjoy a woman’s effluent. This Marsha girl states in her affidavit that you seem particularly enthralled with her taste.” 

Yes, but more that it pleases her for me to take from her what she discards... and relish it. And I so want to please.

Damn this predilection! 

“So we can accommodate that need. You’ll not go thirsty. Many nurses... much delight in subjugating you.”

Dr. Rosen leans to her desk, elbows down, arms upright, resting her chin on her folded hands.

“Let me explain what we do here. There are males who have latent desires for change... gender change. And there are certain women... and men... who wish to not only cultivate such change but... ah... let’s say augment such change... to the extreme... to permanency. For a considerable fee, we ensure transformation not only takes place, but is done in a manner most pleasing to the own... ah... benefactress... benefactor.”

Again, a slip of the tongue... owner!     

“Yes, we assure the latent desires... sometimes expressed... sometimes well concealed... are turned into talent... and that there is inclination to please... strong inclination to please... whether the boy likes it or not,” the latter greatly emphasized.

“Likes it or not?” 

“As I said, sometimes the latency is well hidden... obscured in confusion. That’s why we often neuter. It speeds the process. Mandates acceptance of life’s new role. No going back once a boy is snipped,” Dr. Rosen’s tone both flippant and calloused.

Maid Maxine comes to mind, testicles dangling in Lucite, bells announcing for all that she has succumbed.

I begin to tremble. What will my role be? Still, in glancing downward I note my penis seems firmer than ever.

“One aspect of the talents we imbue here is oral servitude. Cunnilingus... fellatio... we strengthen tongues... we lengthen tongues... for many a frenectomy is appropriate... a little snip to an otherwise constricting flap of skin under the tongue. Another is anal sodomy, we open for both ease and safety... done under medical supervision. All the nurses are trained... kindly yet exacting... helping in turning boys into obedient little girls with unfettered desire to please... and of course the ability to do so.”

Dr. Rosen pauses. My mind races... so many thoughts... so many visions... the notion that Miss Taylor had her husband so institutionalized and changed bringing heightened fear... and respect... for the libertine woman of wealth.  

“And I am here to...” afraid to complete my query.

“Fellatio training, Redmond. We use dildos of course... in the early stages. As you have learned the gag reflex needs to be addressed. But for our male own... benefactors... we need to assure our girly boys can properly take cock... to be blunt. Utilizing rubber phalli, there is only so much detail one can replicate in teaching proper oral servitude. Before being released, all our girly boys must suck the real thing. Bring pleasure... and learn to enjoy bringing pleasure. That can only be done... adequately assessed... with real cock. And for the summer months... it will be yours.”

I am stunned. My homophobia stirring anew, I cringe, thinking of the many times I have had to endure maid Maxine’s attention.

Alas, I counsel myself in reluctant realization. Maxine’s attention has been most accomplished, her tongue and lips seeming to adore the firmness of the intact male. Such apparent envy. 

“You will be used weekdays, returning to your owner on weekends.”

There! She said it! Owner! Without correcting herself, Dr. Rosen continues...

“While here you will abide by our strict protocol. For failure you will be disciplined,” Dr. Rosen nodding to the young nurse behind me.

“Abby, just a reminder jolt please.”

Young nurse Abby steps before me smirking. Her right arm makes a rapid motion, the baton flipping into her hand as one would draw a pistol. She then lowers the tip, aligns and with a press of her index finger I am jolted, an electrical charge to my well exposed scrotal sac. The pain is sudden and unbearable. I lurch and shudder, nearly falling off the stool. 

“A cattle prod, Mr. Richards. We don’t us the cane here... it leaves marks. We don’t blemish the property of the owners,” Dr. Rosen succinctly explains. “That was the lowest setting, by the way. Just an inkling of what can be expected for disobedience.

“Thank you Abby,” the nurse returning behind me.

“You’ll be well tended, bathed, internally cleansed just as you are at the Phipps estate. Days you’ll spend having your penis licked and sucked by our aspiring girly boys. Nights you will be strapped down in thorough bondage.”

“What if I come? I... I... can’t retain forever with that much... ah... attention,” I meekly interrupt.

“I will explain that in a moment. The masturbation nurse reports that you were incapable of ejaculating for her... yes?”

I nod. Dr. Rosen smiles knowingly then continues.

“In addition to your duties, as stated certain attributes potentially detrimental to your standing at the Phipps Estate will be addressed. Taylor Phipps has insisted. We will instill in you a complete dependence on supervising women. You will not move without guidance... not do anything without permission. Right down to the most basic needs... eating, relieving yourself and at times...”

Dr. Rosen pauses, taking from her desk drawer a strangely shaped open tube. Slim and rounded at one end it curves to where the opposing end forms a lump similar to that which gags me. From there another slim tube protrudes.

“Breathing. This is an endotracheal tube for intubation... normally used to assure breathing while sedated for medical procedures... surgical operations... or during prolonged illness. We’ve modified it here at the clinic.”

Dr. Rosen gestures to the young nurse. Returning into vision this Nurse Abby takes the tube, stepping between my thighs. Her youthful look of innocence slowly transcends, a wicked smile coming as the fingers of her left hand pinch to close my nostrils. She patiently waits, the smile growing, and as I open my lips to take another breath, the slim end is brusquely stuffed into my mouth. The hand pushes, gruffly... more gruffly than medically regimented. The lump fills my mouth. The pushing stops. Despite the many days of enduring the penis gag, I somewhat choke. And the smile... it grows... and it frightens. 

“The nurses here... I should explain... they are selected for certain attributes. One of which is a noted lust for sadism,” Dr. Rosen offers with a pleasant laugh. “Now you’ll find you can exhale, Redmond, but not inhale. We’ve had installed a one way valve in the wicked little tubes.”

Left hand remaining pinching my nose, I learn first hand of the described alteration. For when I attempt to draw a breath, the tube yields not... and the pinching fingers of Nurse Abby’s left hand relinquish not as well.

I panic. No air!  Dr. Rosen smiles anew, noting my struggle. Hands restrained, the grip on my nose firm, my legs locked, folded under me, my lungs suck paroxysmally. Nothing! But what is more telling is that Nurse Abby steps even more proximate, the folds of her starched white skirt pressing my scrotum and upturned penis. And in contrast, her nearness, the cloth brushing my penis tip... it feels good. Her controlling presence excites!

“Calm yourself, Redmond. This is just a little demonstration... of feminine control... and how you will learn to cede to it. Yield even more than you have at the Phipps Estate. For I will decide when you draw your next breath. You cannot expel the tube, as I’m sure you’re aware. And the hand of the woman in control will not release your nostrils. You’ll just have to calmly and meekly wait, accept the ultimate in feminine governance... that the essence of life is ours to bestow... not yours to take.”

There comes a pause... no words... and no air. Finally Dr. Rosen breaks the silence.

“Ok, Abby, half a breath.”

Should I be grateful when the young pretty nurse leans even closer, taking the open end of the tube into her mouth and gently blowing? The one way valve opens, restoring much needed air into lungs desperate for resuscitation.

But then she stops, lips withdrawing, leaning back, her nirvanic look so wicked... so terrifying!

“Getting the feel for it, Redmond? It’s best to stay still. Motion uses up the oxygen which will only be partialled to you. You’ll have another gulp of air... in time.” 

Second snippet from 'A Summer at the Phipps Estate'

As a reminder, I do not normally offer stories in paperback. Over the years I have found that the time and effort are not justified... probably 1% of sales are in paperback for those stories which I offered in both formats.

That being said, if anyone has a particular interest in paperback, let me know and I will so format and offer.  

*****

Redmond - The Masturbation Nurse

In comes a woman of maturity, her appearance that of a great aunt, gray hair, fully sized though not obese, smiling jovially. She carries a tray, setting it down on a small table.

“I’m the masturbation nurse, Mr. Richards... Redmond. I extract sperm samples.”

Clinically attired in the crisp white uniform of the clinic staff, covering at the waist and rising to just below prominent breasts is an apron of matching white rubber. It is smooth and shiny, gleaming in the room light.

“I’ll want you nice and hard for me. And I see you’re already offering a woman a proper greeting.”

I am. For some reason I am shamefully stiffening. Just being in the presence of a fully clothed woman of authority has come to excite.

Damn this chastity! Damn this conditioning! 

She circles her finger in the air, silently instructing me to turn. When I do, she unclips the double ‘D’ clamp holding together my elbows.

“We find that the reverse prayer best satisfies a boy’s need for restrictive bondage. A little uncomfortable at first. But you’ll become accustomed to it... and enjoy the sense of helplessness and humility.”

She draws back my forearms. I cede, letting her position my hands to my back, elbows folding as she lifts, taking a hold of my thumb rings and directing to the back of my head. There such are attached to my neck collar. And when the double ‘D’ clamp is returned to tightly bring together my elbow bands, I find the woman is correct. The so termed reverse prayer is quite restrictive... and much more than a little uncomfortable... ligaments strained... my chest thrust forward.  

“Enhances your sense of submission to me... does it not Redmond?” hands pressing to my hips to turn me toward her.

I must agree, humbly nodding.  

“Now, you’re going to ejaculate for me. In reading your file, I think you’ll enjoy that... so much in need. But you will only discharge at my command... as you have been trained,” fingers toying with my nipples to demonstrate my complete vulnerability.

Gag in place, I nod... vigorously. With the dogma of retain or pain drilled into my psyche, to end many weeks of denial is certainly welcomed. But for being ridden by Miss Taylor... Cowgirl... reverse Cowgirl... my penis has been untouched other than for the placement and removal of my cock cage.

I so much need relief!

“I have a very special and intimate manner of bringing a boy off. You be a good boy for me and I’ll treat you. Be obedient for me.”

With that, the masturbation nurse hikes up her skirt exposing the smooth warmth of voluptuous thighs... sizable but shapely. She then sits on a high backed wooden chair and reaches to the tray. Opening a tube of unguent, she generously lubricates her hands then beckons.

“Come. Straddle my legs, sit on my lap facing me. I always like to look into a boy’s eyes as I work him. Your face will tell me where you’re at. Lets me read a boy’s thoughts.”

I comply, my eagerness not to be disguised. And as expected, in lowering myself, the warmth of her bare flesh is so welcomed. Also welcomed, just as the young nurse so brazenly palmed my scrotal sac, the left hand of the masturbation nurse grasps my testicles, squeezing firmly... not only guiding me downward but sending a message of feminine control... that her hand can offer subtle pleasure... or agonizing pressure.

“Good boy,” her condescending comment coming as her right hand slips under her left, the gooey fingers working about my gluteal cleft, finding then lubricating my anus.

“You’ve been cleansed daily. A nice long and high enema administered by your nurse. A stout enema nozzle according to your file. So I know you’ve been nicely opened here,” the observation coming as I moan into my gag, one finger then two pressing inward with embarrassing ease.

Yes, I have been opened... there.

“So we’ll find your little gland... no doubt swollen and in need of attention. And I’ll amuse myself in fondling your balls... while you do what you’d like to do. What you so much need to do.”

With that, both hands pull, forcing me to slide a little further forward on her lap, the intimacy progressing as my penis... now rock hard and pointing to the ceiling... presses against the smoothness of the white rubber apron.

I moan again, now with the pleasure of frottaging the hyper sensitive, long neglected underside of my penis tip against the cool smooth apron which rapidly warms... my body heat as well as hers.

“So show me what naughty boys do. Don’t be too shamed. I’ve masturbated hundreds over my many years. And this is how subordinate boys most like it.”

The words are most apropos... for it is indeed shameful, sitting on the lap of a woman older than my mother, absorbing the warmth of her skin, feeling the controlling grip of one hand, sensing the fingers of the other deep within.

She is expert, kneading my prostate, gleefully squeezing my manly plums. But the most needed touch... is denied. No direct stimulation. It becomes apparent that the ultimate pleasure of penile manipulation is mine to initiate... that I must work myself... it is not to be given.      

“Come now, Redmond. You know you want this... to hump your nurse’s apron. You have my permission. And yes it is humiliating for you. But that is how you most enjoy it... performing... showing off... displaying your subservience... reveling in your subjugation.”

Such curt words... yet so appropriate. For I do need to extend the joy... the pleasure. I thus thrust forth, pressing my penis into her apron.

And it feels so good... so smooth... the warmth seeming to glow.

“Yes, wriggle about... a little to the right... a little to the left... up... down... back... then forth... come... jerk yourself off for me.”

I so move about, cursing myself, for my abeyance... for my need to do exactly as she suggests.

She has masturbated many... that is assured... for I simulate copulation... fucking and fucking against a garment of latex... rhythmically pressing into her... into the hygienic purity of her rubber apron.

“Oh your are such a good boy! You’re getting very close, aren’t you Redmond? Very near ejaculating for me. You want to soil your nurse’s apron. You just need my permission. To discharge upon a woman’s command. That’s what boys like you do... so much enjoy... to perform under direction... like a trained circus beast.”

I nod, my fucking motion fervent. I sense pending explosion. And she senses it too... her gripping hand encouraging motion, the penetrating fingers wriggling about but also assessing.

Yet... the retention... the dogma... night after night in suspension bondage... retain or pain... I cannot come... not without the directing words of a woman.

Finally she speaks.

“Come for me, Redmond. Become my fountain. Spurt! Rid yourself of all that nasty male effluent. Go ahead... pull on those little muscles. I want to feel you come for me.”

One final thrust. I indeed pull. Yet nothing happens. I thrust again. Nothing. The masturbation nurse senses my attempts... then she begins to cackle.

“So long locked in chastity... so long denied. Yet when I tell you to come for me... you can’t. What’s happening Redmond?”

I thrust again and again. It’s the sneeze that just won’t come... so close... yet so distant.

I continue wriggling about. With a wry smile the hands withdraw.

“Enough Redmond. You’ll wear yourself out. Dr. Gehorchen will be pleased to learn her injections worked. She rarely misses. And the clinic psychiatrist will counsel you.”

The hands push me away. The futility of my efforts ends as I rise from the lap of the knowing masturbation nurse. She remains seated, the index finger of her right hand extending, pressing  the tip of my rock hard erection and slowly pushing downward.  

“There may be a time when I will have you truly discharge for me. You’d like to perform for me, I know. As do all the little boys here at the clinic. But this has merely been an experiment... a bit of a ruse to assure the injections properly manifested.”

The finger withdraws and my penis comically snaps upwards, smacking just below my navel.

“Go to the corner of the room, face the wall. A nurse will come in and guide you to Dr. Rosen.”

I so move, my mind addled, compliance to feminine authority long instilled, the masturbation nurse departing, leaving me in disconcertion.

What is happening? I wanted to come... I was told to come... and I couldn’t! 

'A Summer at the Phipps Estate' published

I have continued the 'Phipps Estate' saga.

'A Summer at the Phipps Estate' has been published.

16,300 words, $4.25

Enjoy.

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/a-summer-at-the-phipps-estate/24842988

As a reminder, anyone desiring to obtain books from me direct, please email me at chris_bellows@hotmail.com. I will send paypal instructions. $1 off the Lulu price. Sent in PDF format.

'A Summer at the Phipps Estate'

Continuing the saga, a fifth short story following 'Transformed', 'Maid Service at the Phipps Estate', 'To Reign at the Phipps Estate', 'The Gynecocracy of the Phipps Estate'. This story may stand on its own for those who have not read the first four segments.

*****

Prologue - Redmond Richards

I stand as directed in what I am told is a specimen room. As always, I am naked, the paradigm for the so termed beta male demanded by my benefactress Miss Taylor Phipps extended beyond the plush historical mansion of the Phipps Estate. I am also gagged, my mouth filled with an inflatable rubber pouch, my throat deeply penetrated, the gag reflex teased and in need of  constant suppression. Though my penis is freed, my elbows bands are clipped together behind my back, immobilizing my arms for the most part, perhaps a straying hand able to touch my penis... but I dare not try.  

The summer begins, no law classes. With no academic pursuits Miss Taylor has mandated that I will not lazily strut about the house and grounds of the Estate. And since my stepmother has sold the family home and is traveling extensively, I cannot return to where I grew up in California. Therefore summer employment has been arranged... and I am most apprehensive. For I am to subordinate myself to the staff at the clinic. The facility has no official name... none that I know of... but is euphemistically referenced as a place for boys who want to be girls!

My apprehension is well reasoned!

Yesterday, upon arrival, I was led to this elaborate medical room where I surrendered my clothing. I suppose I should have been heartened when I found that a pretty young nurse had the key... perhaps a duplicate key... to my formidable Steelworxx chastity device. Hands obediently going to the back of my head as so often dictated when naked in the presence of a woman, I parted my feet to present my male package. My steel neck collar and the matching steel bands about my biceps just above the elbows went unnoticed as the nurse unlocked me and with aplomb slid away the cock cage... not quite as quickly and easily as Miss Eve... but with a knowing hand... smiling as the bulbous tip of the catheterizing tube brought the usual discomfort in exiting my urethra... my flinch deemed to be amusing.

Graciously the control ring encircling my penis and scrotum was also slipped away, the posts ensuring snugness unscrewed. Thus I was presented to the pretty nurse for inspection... my only covering the humbling steel loops of Miss Phipps’ permanent bondage.

Of course I hardened for her, penis steadily engorging, the injections and ongoing chastity fostering a physical need, the many months of training at the Phipps Estate imprinting on my psyche the demand to politely offer the tribute of a firm erection to women of authority.    

She commented, the size of my penis impressing, stating that most beta males at the clinic were very much undersized. Otherwise my stiffness was ignored... certainly not discouraged... but as with my nakedness, curiously acceptable... considering the girl’s age.

Yes young... yet so experienced in handling the priapic male.

She commanded... smiling but firmly insisting... that I present my hands.

When I did, about my thumbs came small steel bands, similar to hose clamps. Such were tightened with a special device, the knuckle to hold in place. When completed I noted such held  small rings. More implements of bondage!

Next I was led to a chair, to be described as that found in the office of a gynecologist, and strapped in place, laying back with thighs, legs and feet in stirrups... parted to the extreme. Thereafter, the nurse examined me, her touch knowing, no part of my hairless body escaping her palpating fingers. It was embarrassing... it was humiliating... yet it so much thrilled... the hardness of my penis not wavering as I was made to submit to her... warm hands palming my testicles... thumbs rubbing about... my plums seeming to become a treasured sacrifice.

‘So nice, Redmond. So big... so strong... yet so meek and eager to yield to me. I hope you enjoy your summer here... I know I will.’

With a final acknowledgment, that the doctor would soon visit, she departed, leaving me to curse my demented reaction. She excited me... and she knew it... knew of my predilection... knew of my joy in offering myself... and used it for her enjoyment. 

So I just lied in the chair, feet well above my head, the exposure extreme, my thoughts rambling wildly in fright... so well bound, forced to fully succumb to the doctor of the clinic... for boys who want to be girls... 

My thoughts are interrupted when another nurse enters... 

Second Snippet from 'The Gynecocracy of the Phipps Estate'

Redmond Richards

The frustration of forced silence cannot be described.

I lie gagged on the short bench, feeling my stomach bloat, the expansion so slow, so continuous. It does not stop. Until Miss Marsha playfully closes the valve. And that comes only when she wants... offering a moment of mercy. Conflicting with the discomfort is the nice warm bath, my skin brought alive under the sharpness of the razor... Miss Eve’s hands and fingers so soothing.

Nothing escapes her touch... her examination.

And yes, I am engorged... at least I think I am engorged. Forced to all fours, it is not overly evident... until Miss Eve grasps, and pulls it about. The message is received... it is more her appendage than mine.

“More Redmond? Blink your eyes for me,” Miss Marsha having so much fun.

How am I interpret that quest. Blink my eyes... for more... or blink to finally end the morning of slow torment?

The left hand ends the enema of my bath partner, Maxine, fingers squeezing closed the valve. Miss Eve injects her right buttock, a hypodermic needle brimming with hormones, Maxine giving a cute whimper with the jab. Next the nozzle is deflated and the tubing abruptly pulled away allowing Maxine to empty. As the foul contents of her bowels are hosed to the floor drain, she lets out a squeal of delight, her entire form rinsed with warm water. Then her baubles are returned to the pierced openings in her empty scrotum and, to the sound of the attached bells, she is released to fulfill her daily household chores... maid service. Quite laborious with five of us residing in the vast mansion.

I try not to blink, which of course is impossible. So I close my eyes. When I reopen, Miss Marsha considers that a blink. She nods to Miss Eve. The spray hose is turned off, my relief and final rinse to be delayed.

“See, he wants more,” Miss Marsha’s tone deceptively naive.

I do not. The blinking of my eyes a mind game, the fingers of Miss Marsha’s right hand allowing the flow to resume.

I am going to burst. Yet there is nothing I can do. I am strapped down. I am helpless. I am silenced. I am suffering. And ironically, I am safe... not in any danger. Miss Eve... Nurse Eve... so closely supervises. She knows what I can take. She will decide, letting Miss Marsha play, enjoying her authority. 

Miss Marsha steps forth. At my right side she bends, peering at my freshly shaven buttocks, thighs well spread.

“He moans, lurching against his bonds... but he’s so hard!”

“The prostate, Marsha. A little gland that gives a boy a nice hard on for us. They so much like to have it manipulated... which is what the inflated nozzle and abundance of warm water does. He squirms about... but trust me, it’s not all suffering. He not only enjoys the simple control afforded you... you and your fingers... but his little gland gets massaged.”

Miss Marsha nods, the flow continuing. I am a sponge. I absorb. Then finally...

“Well I suppose we should finish him up... lock down his penis and get him dressed for class. It’s getting late.”

Yes, it’s not the horrid distension of my belly that brings mercy... it’s the clock.

My left cheek is injected. Though it hurts, it is welcomed, signaling the end of the morning humiliation.

'The Gynecocracy of the Phipps Estate' published

I have published the referenced story.

22,500 words, $5.25.

Enjoy.

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/the-gynecocracy-of-the-phipps-estate/24816434

Snippet from 'The Gynecocracy of the Phipps Estate'

'Transformed', 'Maid Service at the Phipps Estate', 'To Reign at the Phipps Estate',
and now this snippet from the fourth installment of the Phipps Estate legacy... 'The Gynecocracy of the Phipps Estate'

To be published soon...

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Copyright 2019

by Chris Bellows


Marsha Devine

The second semester of law school begins at Cancadia University. The first semester I finished at the top of my class. My parents are proud. For me, within there is a feeling of merely achieving expectations. What other results would come to a girl with my intellect and determination?

Yes, I’ve been learning the law. But of more interest... somewhat exhilarating... has been the introduction to Miss Taylor Phipps and the fascinating world of the Phipps Estate... a turn of the century... 19th century... mansion with hundreds of acres of manicured grounds. Yet as idyllic as is the setting, it’s the ambiance that brings thrill.

For here women rule. The chatelaine, Miss Taylor Phipps, dictates that the male be subordinate. And in being a tribadist since my teen years, I never realized men could be so useful. I suppose just as one does not have to love cars in order to benefit from the convenience... I have learned it is also possible to advantage myself of the so termed beta male... beasts with the drawback of having a penis... but still able to bring the comfort of abject servitude.   

Amazingly, the husband of Taylor Phipps, Maximilian... Maxine... serves as the household maid! Long relieved of normal husbandly duties, something happened where his testicles... now the gonads of Taylor Phipps... were deemed superfluous for his role and are now ornaments! Encased in Lucite such dangle from a bright pink withered scrotum, tiny bells attached to chime as she... we’ve been encouraged to use the feminine... moves about the house, being constantly reminded of her alteration. Thoroughly obedient, she rarely speaks, serves totally naked... a tiny blue apron donned during our first visit deemed unnecessary.

Thus the penis, no longer functioning other than to drain the bladder, is fully displayed at all times. And in being so limp and tiny it tends to empower the women of the house. It certainly does not threaten as a symbol of normal male virility.

And then there are the breasts. Such are not those of a girl... but certainly not masculine. The nipples protrude and cute blue ribbons draw attention... unwanted or not... to glands I have been told were brought to secrete for a time! To lactate!

Yes, the dullness of learning the law is frequently abridged at the Phipps Estate. Particularly with classmate Redmond Richards and the attentive care afforded as he too attends law school.      

Breakfast is over. Taylor Phipps has returned to her room with a third cup of coffee. Friend Zoey has departed to shower, soap and hot water beckoning after her extensive early morning workout. Thus the naked maid Maxine hurriedly removes the cups, saucers and dishes. Morning ablutions are next. I turn to Miss Eve... nurse and disciplinarian.

“I’d like to watch. I just can’t... you know... pull myself away,” my hand going to her hers, hopefully not to be interpreted as a Sapphic inducement.

“Marsha,” the tone pedantic, “This is the Phipps Estate. What a woman wants... a woman gets. What a woman enjoys, the male will provide. The close circuit cameras don’t fully portray things.... I know.”

Owner Taylor Phipps has cameras, ostensibly to monitor... for safety... when the male is kept in tight bondage. This includes the study room where my cohort Redmond Richard hangs in full body suspension, his bedroom where he lies at night, held completely immobile by the Segufix restraint system... an amazingly elaborate and ineluctable set of cuffs and straps... and the preparation room where daily the males are subjected to bath, shaving, full body inspection and internal cleansing.

And Eve is correct, the sounds, the feel, the sense of trauma, the emotions of having to cede to the supervising woman, are not adequately captured by the cameras. Thus my request.

“Gag Redmond, take him to the prep room and strap him down for me. I’ll join you when Maxine finishes cleaning up.”

Eve, some four to five years younger, is not my superior within the household. But when it comes to the exacting care afforded the beta males... she is in charge. I nod, feeling sanguine. It’s a wonderful start to the day.

I look to Redmond, kneeling at the kitchen table. He’s bound, stainless steel elbow bands connected to a slim chain of matching metal which slips between his thighs and leads to the control ring of his chastity device. The locking tube is not worn within the house... the constricting cone which encapsulates his penis... so he’s pleasantly erect for me... me and the other ladies of the house. Having been hand fed... arms not fully mobile... the close attention of the directing female brings arousal. And this brings tumescence... which leads to humiliation... which leads to more arousal and more firmness.

Such a pervert.

“Please no, Miss Marsha,” his hate for the gag bringing him to beg.

“Oh but yes, Redmond. You’re done eating and we need not hear from you. And one does not learn while one talks,” reminding that his sojourn at the Phipps Estate is to learn the law.

I arise from my chair, taking his gag from the table.

“Open for me. Be a good boy for your Miss Marsha.”

He does of course. And the simple bar of hard rubber is slipped into his mouth between his teeth, connecting straps quickly secured behind his head.

“Tight enough?” I chide.

He hums for me. Probably objecting. But it matters not.

I step back, reach forth and tousle his hair. Six foot three, blond, Redmond is an Adonis. Given a change in gender preference I would probably find him attractive.

“Come. Bath time,” unraveling his leash which has been wrapped about the table leg.

I pull briskly. He stands. With the opposing end of the leash being connected to the control ring at his pubes, I literally have him by the balls. His semi firm penis bobbles about. I am amused to see it becoming firmer... the supervising hand of a woman so thrilling for a boy of Redmond’s predilections.         

Out of the kitchen, to the stairs, I lead, Redmond must follow. I am wearing a flimsy robe and when I pause and turn at the top of the stairs to assure he negotiates the final steps, the folds part and I flash some of my nakedness... that which he covets but shall never ever have.

“Such a hound, Redmond,” doing nothing to right my attire. “Get you fixed like Maxine,” the threat known to be idle as his raison d’etre at the Phipps Estate is to humbly display his massive hard on for female enjoyment. I turn again, hearing him groan with desire into his gag. Into Eve’s bedroom then to the specially equipped adjoining bedroom converted into a huge bathing facility... among other uses.

“Tummy down,” pointing to a short vinyl covered bench where daily both he and Maxine kneel for morning ablutions.

I strap him down, removing the leash and testicle chain to cuff his wrists and ankles. It is the mandate of Taylor Phipps that the intact male... capable of masturbation... never be freed of bondage within the house. And so it is.

Redmond’s moan of apparent lust brings thoughts. Whereas I have Zoey, nightly bringing me to ecstasy... absolutely no desire for men... perhaps my disdain and need for dominion over the lowly male beast can be further augmented... the frequent canings becoming blase.

“Would you like to taste me sometime, Redmond?” my hand smoothing along his right cheek.

“Hmmpph.”

With the reply open to interpretation, I give it some thought... a tongue is a tongue. But a subordinate tongue and mouth can bring glee to a girl like me. Such wicked thoughts.

Yes, sometimes on a Saturday night when Zoey and I get bored, we pause in our love making and turn on the television. Switching the channel to Redmond’s bedroom, we’ll watch... in lust... in amusement... as Taylor takes her ride... mounting a well bound and amazingly erect Redmond and fucking him. He becomes a living dildo, hooded, spreadeagled to the extreme, pillows propped under his buttocks to assure his ten plus inches strive to touch the ceiling. I’ve learned it’s called the Cowgirl... changing to the reverse Cowgirl after several apparent orgasms.

Amazingly, Redmond does not ejaculate... the Hindu mantra of retain or pain tattooed... if not branded... into his mind. Past training has involved bastinado if pending climax is sensed.

He retains. Avoiding pain.

Thus when freed of his Steelworxx cock cage, his overflowing hormones bring him to stiffen... almost constantly.

And so comes this thought of having him taste me, envisioning him well restrained in his Segufix straps as with his owner... but not riding his many inches... penetration is not my thing as it is with Taylor... but instead riding his hooded head and face... nose mouth and lips left uncovered for breathing. 

Yes, the more I think about it the more the moisture flows... Redmond’s secured and obeisant nakedness augmenting my thoughts.

I often think about the arousal I sense in governing Redmond. I have no thoughts of affection for him... or any desire for things with a penis for that matter. Instead I suppose it’s the power... the power of sexual attraction. He wants me... probably more likely needs me. And that is something I can use... and that is what most pleases me.

The last time he was permitted to ejaculate, many weeks ago, he exploded at my command... untouched. Otherwise there was nothing to bring the ultimate in male stimulation other than his need to perform for women of authority and purpose. And it is so telling that he chose me to give the command. He wanted to cede, to succumb to... to... to whom... to what? Zoey is prettier, Pamela Harrison more physically imposing, Taylor Phipps literally owns him... the flagellatrix Eve provides the discipline and care he needs... yet he wanted to respond to my voice... my command.

Yes, he wants to capitulate to my authority... no one else’s.

Such ingrained submission... I suppose to intellectual superiority. Such opportunity for me.

I can offer guidance. I told him I will make him a lawyer... and I will... but I will make him into more than that. He’s malleable... easily molded.

My thoughts end as Eve enters, Maxine in hand.

“Did you want to cane him a little first?” Eve amused with my growing thirst for corporal punishment.

I hear Redmond moaning into his gag. He’s afraid. And he should be. For the notion brings me such exhilaration, his fate laid before me.

“No. Many classes on Monday. He’ll need to sit a lot. Plus our first group study meeting.”

Maxine knows to position herself tummy down on a similar vinyl covered bench. When strapped in place she is nose to nose with Redmond, the ignominy of the morning routine to be intimately shared.

Then the skilled and accomplished Eve begins, the naked and vulnerable male... and former male Maxine... subjected to thorough feminine inspection and subjugation. It begins with being anally impaled... a stout inflatable enema nozzle for each... tubing leading to a large single enema bag which Eve fills with soapy water.

“I know you most enjoy this,” stringing the tubing to me, offering the valves, to be cradled in right hand and left. “Just pay no attention to the moaning and groaning. You decide how much... when to pause... when to continue.”

Just a wonderful sense of control... releasing the flow as Eve hoses the duo with warm water, bare hands beginning to soap and lave... both cleansing and inspecting. I note that Maxine, despite the pending discomfort, cranes her pretty head and kisses Redmond, licking about his face, her homophobia quashed with the wifely neutering and the daily hormone injections.

Redmond finds disgust. Despite the partial fellatio Maxine provides, so often orally brought to full stand at Taylor’s whim, his homophobia remains. But in being thoroughly restrained, he must accept the attention... along with Eve’s palpating fingers... and the warm soapy flow entering him under the control of my hand. 

Slowly bloating, the moaning begins. Maxine pleads first... such a little girl. Within moments Redmond challenges his gag.

“What’s that? More Redmond? You know it’s so good for you... cleansed inside and out,” I mock, knowing full well of the intense pressure in his bowels... bestowed by me.

Well soaped, the daily shaving comes. The frequent defoliation is not needed... but being introduced to the blade deemed important.

‘Hair... it denotes masculinity,’ Taylor explained. ‘And the sharpness of the blade... it frightens... and it should. And that is best for subordination... each and every day subjected to such closeness... experiencing such vulnerability.’

A wise woman this Miss Taylor Phipps.

These are the times I suffer the gag as much as Redmond. I’d so much like to hear him beg. But such is the mandate... such is the protocol. When we want to hear from the beta male... the women of the house will decide... never him.

Maxine is shaven as well. Clever, after removing her little baubles... Taylor’s testicles... that Eve can so deftly whisk the blade about the shriveled empty scrotal sac.

Then it is rinse time... and with it expulsion. Eve looks to me for concurrence.

“A little more, Marsha? A little more suffering? It can be addictive,” nodding to the valves in my hands. “They can always take more. They think not. But it is your decision, not theirs. And it’s so humbling for them... taking so deep inside what you choose to give.”

It is true. I want to hear Redmond... watch him in such intense discomfort... so slowly building... see him chew through the hard rubber of his gag.  

“More Redmond? Blink your eyes for me.”