'To Come on Command', Segment Four

The New Paradigm Begins - Nicole Barnes

“Found this on the internet,” holding up a cylinder of squishy pink rubber. “As you can see there’s a hole through the middle,” inserting a finger and thrusting it inward. “It replicates a vagina. I purchased the model with the smallest hole. Though it still may not be tight enough for you.”

One must always keep the beta male down, so recommended my friend Dr. Michelle.

Mike nods. I hand it to him. Whatever is the substance, it’s gelatinous but durable, able to stretch to accept my intruding finger and return to shape when I withdraw.

Mike looks at me quizzically but I can tell the rubbery smoothness brings thoughts.

“Yes, Mike, you’re going to fuck it for me... when I decide.”

It’s been four days since his piercings. Remaining under lock and key has not been too mentally frustrating for him... with the soreness not much desire to stroke himself. But there is healing, and in a day or two thoughts of furtively jerking off will return. I want to plant a seed as to the circumstances I will permit it.

“Some lube, Mike. Finger fuck it for me. Sensually, pretend it’s a pussy.”

Yes the unique substance turns to amazingly slick smoothness with just a drop of viscous fluid. When I lean and anoint his finger with a tiny rivulet of mineral oil, I’m amused to see Mike go to work, finger inserting, glaring fixedly, repressing a libidinous smile as he senses his tiny penis within the tight smoothness of the cylinder, I know imagining that it is his free penis and not a finger thrusting in and out.  

“It’s... it’s...”

“Disgustingly sensuous,” completing his thought. “And you’ll be using more than your finger... when I say so... and how. You’re going to strip naked for me, I’m going to hold it for you, and you’re going to fuck it for me while I videotape your depravity.”

“No, I won’t do that.”

He pauses then meekly inquires.

“What will you do with the recording?”

“Whatever I want. Remember Mike, new paradigm... enforced by she with the key,” holding up the sliver of metal required to emancipate his inadequate appendage.

I reach and retrieve the faux vagina.

“Fun time over. Do give it some thought,” my advisement superfluous in knowing he will soon be dreaming of getting off... if not already suffering from nocturnal penile tumescence.

“Got a date... with Todd. He’s only nine inches... but he uses it so well.”

Dressed to the nines, I stand knowing Mike will watch in admiration as I depart.

“Play all you want,” nodding to his privates.

Yes, the method of chastity is wickedly tempting. Mike can touch and play to his heart’s content. But that will just bring torture... a form of self flagellation.

“How do I get unlocked?”

“Yield and obey,” the succinct reply coming as I step out the door.

'To Come on Command', Segment Three

Visiting an Alpha Woman - Michael Devereau

I’ve learned the lingo... that the so termed bulls that Nickie dates are alpha males. And as I lie on my side, naked on a padded examination table covered with an antiseptically clean white sheet, I must suppose Dr. Michelle White is an alpha female.

Haughty, no nonsense, apparent disdain for men, as a gynecologist it seems for the fairer gender she dispenses more than medical care but advice as well.

“Yes, they all masturbate... and most to excess. So it’s for the best.”

The doctor and wife Nickie talk as if I am not present. I am a thing... an object to be examined and discussed. And for some reason my nakedness in the presence of two regal fully clad women brings arousal. I am shamefully hardening. And the more this Dr. Michelle looks at me the firmer I become.  

“He’s been circumcised high and tight,” she notes. “Not much foreskin to work with... but that doesn’t mean there is lack of pleasure in stroking the penis,” such clinical observation. “And I do believe he’d be indecorously wanking now given some lubricant.”

“You see the problem, Michelle,” Nickie pointing, her words bringing further stiffness. “You’re drooling Mike, stop it.”

I am, pre ejaculatory fluid streaming.

“Well, after I’ve done him, you’re going to either accept the messiness or have him jerk off for you... which would counter our intention,” Dr. Michelle advises.

“I’ll keep him drained... initially,” my wife’s words bringing contrasting thoughts.

“So let’s got started. Just some piercings, Mr. Devereau. Pin pricks,” the doctor holding forth a frighteningly long and curved needle. “Nicole can you bend back his right leg and hold his knee high and well out of the way for me?”

Nickie steps to the opposite side, gently grasps my right ankle and pulls to bring it to my right cheek. In awe, overwhelmed but the scenario and the verbal input, I meekly yield to her.

“Now lift Nicole. I’ll need access to his privates... obviously. Part his thighs as widely as possible. And be a good boy for me, Mr. Devereau,” the latter words coming with a forced smile of professional politeness.

I’m a good boy, finding myself lifting to assist, sensing the cool room air waft over my scrotum and anus.

And it begins... the beginning of the new paradigm. I am to be placed in chastity... penis under lock and key. And my wife has concurred with the imposing Dr. Michelle in deciding to do so in a very tantalizing and tempting manner. For there will be no clumsy device, no steel or plastic covering. I will be able to touch myself at any time. I will play and toy. My manhood just won’t stand without my wife’s consent.

A guiche piercing at my perineum, the piercing needle exiting within my rectum. In inserting a thickly gauged ring of steel through the opening, I will constantly feel something abrading a most intimate part of my anatomy.

It hurts, but for some reason I further harden. Dr. Michelle of course taking note, again speaking as if tending to an object...

“You may consider occasionally applying pain, Nickie. If you love him, give him what he seems to crave,” her smirk most irritating.

But then my priapic response is to end.

A Prince Albert piercing, horribly deep, the penetrating needle entering my urethral opening and exiting the underside of my penis well down the shaft with agony.

I deflated, the women laughing with my timid squeal.

“The ring will take quite a bit of tension the way I pierced him,” the doctor advises holding up not a circle but an equally thick ellipse of matching stainless steel. “Deep. If it ever does tear away he’ll lose most of his little thing.”

Just as distressing as the weightiness, part of the surface of the ellipse, at the penis tip, is scabrous. I judge that brushing with a finger may cause injury!

“You’ll probably need to buy a leather thong for him. This will tear up any tight fitting underwear,” the words coming as gloved fingers carefully insert the open ellipse into my urethral opening and out the piercing some two inches down the shaft.

The ring and ellipse closed and soldered for permanence, more advice comes.

“My husband was a chronic masturbator. And clever... and deceitful. Nothing seemed to work... until I castrated him. Now his attention is better focused,” Dr. Michelle lectures.

“Castrated?” my wife so nonchalantly prompts for more.

“Oh, yes. It’s the ultimate cure. And I’ve countered his deceit with some of my own. The injections I give him which he thinks are testosterone are actually a mix of prolactin and estrogen. I feel like a farmer fattening a hog. He’s not only nicely plumping for me but growing breasts as well. He does not understand why. Someday I’ll tell him... after the physical change is no longer reversible.”

“Did you hear that, Mike? Perhaps I’m being lenient with you... and that can easily end with any disobedience.”

Nickie’s warning comes as the doctor hands her a small padlock.

“He’s flaccid. No ice needed. It’s symbolic that you do the honors.”

Nickie does. Stepping forth my wife is surprisingly nimble in looping a finger into the Prince Albert ellipse, utilizing it to draw back my penis toward my anus and locking together my two steel piercings.

“The tip of the ring has some sharpness... by design. So he’ll walk a little funny for the next few days until he adapts. It’s always amusing to learn how they explain loping about to their colleagues.”

The women step back, standing shoulder to shoulder assessing.

“Why don’t I take some measurements for you Nicole... in case you want some... other trinkets.”

My wife nods.

“Ok, Mr. Devereau. Up on all fours... like a little doggie.”

For some reason I cede to the woman who so callously used my anatomy as a pin cushion assuming the position, one again becoming an object to be poked, prodded and discussed.

“He’s not much of a specimen,” the doctor notes as calipers gauge various body parts... wrists, ankles, neck, testicles. 

'To Come on Command', Segment Two

Confessing to Me - Nicole Barnes

“If you need to wank yourself, doing it so often is going to diminish the returns, Mike. In time that means your proclaimed devotion to me will wane. I’ll become a constant afterthought. I’ll not have that.”

I’m firm with my tone. It’s not a suggestion. And Mike knows... it’s a demand.

“I... well... you have your thing...”

He hints at my dating... ‘my thing’. He accepts but he does not. He needs to acclimate. And I in turn would feel better if he not only fully accepted ‘my thing’ but embraced it, that the devotion he claims to have is transformed to devotion for my needs... and those of my lovers.

“Women are equipped differently, Mike. I can have countless orgasms... with the right man. And I do, by the way. And that won’t put me in a state of lassitude. Look at you! You’re probably too tired to cut the lawn. Suppose I did want to have sex with you...  right now.”

I’m not a selfish woman. But I have learned at age 35 that a woman must take care of her own desires and not rely on the male. Flowers and jewelry tend to come only when male needs require address... not when the woman desires attention.

So I sip coffee in thought. Mike needs to get off.... I need to get off... and though deep penetration from one of my bulls seems to be a weekly thing, perhaps Mike’s inadequacies can serve a purpose when I’m not riding ten inch cock. But he needs to learn his place... be put in his place probably the better wording.

“You’re weak, Mike. And not only physically. You need to be led. You want to be led. Your so termed fantasies of devotion to me... rather a vague image in turns of bringing yourself to eruption. A man does not spurt on thoughts of devotion.”

He nods. He realizes by now that I too much know the male libido.

“So... more... how is it you’re visualizing your devotion while stroking away.” 

He pauses in thought... then he downloads for me. Describing his imagined fervent oral caresses brings to me a smile. He pridefully brings me orgasm after orgasm as his untiring fantasy tongue and lips work and work. And my smile is not because I can picture his oral caresses, feel his mouth as he spews the libidinous words... but because he’s not good in that department either.

If I were to ask him bluntly, he’d claim his pathetic four inch penis to be a feared serpent.

Alas... the male ego.    

“I’ll need to lead, Mike. There will no longer be unsupervised masturbation.”

He looks at me glumly, but I know he’s already considering how and where he’s going to cheat. And when I say I’m going to supervise, it will not be because I’m following him around the house, visiting him in his office.

“We’re going to visit Dr. Michelle.”

“She’s a bitch!”

“Yes, that’s why we’re going to make an appointment.”

'To Come on Command', Segment One

New story. Unfinished, therefore I am not sure how far this will go.

Enjoy.

CB

*****

To Come on Command

Copyright 2019

by Chris Bellows

Prologue - Nicole Barnes

I’m not sure which came first with regard to sex and my husband... his preference for masturbation or my preference for sex with multiple partners. Yes multiple partners and often, yet seemingly never often enough. But before making judgements, reader, I should add that husband Mike’s preference... though the frequency thereof initially unknown... was notable as well. The occasions well concealed until one day having an emergency use for the bathroom.   

Caught him in flagrante delicto... the translation to English most apropos... hand afire.

Seeing him sitting on the toilet, the tip of that modest nearly inadequate erection squeezed to purple within the tight grip of a hand slathered in lotion, that sheepish face, fumbling for words, brought the need for a new paradigm.

“We need to talk, Mike.”

I exited, rushing to use the bathroom in the guest bedroom instead.

No wonder I needed partners... well endowed partners, eager, not so much fawning but attentive. And on that Saturday morning, after tending to my emergency needs and letting him finish getting off, it became time for a rational and calm discussion over coffee... rational for me... calm for him, having squirted any excess testosterone into the toilet bowl.

“Things need to change, Mike. What is it you think about when engaging in self gratification?”

Prologue - Michael Devereau

Okay, all guys do it, reader. Don’t be too quick to make judgements. Yet getting caught at the point of no return so to speak, is embarrassing. Beneath the chagrin, there was odd relief when Nickie simply uttered those four all too significant words... ‘we need to talk’... and shut the door to let me finish myself. 

But later came the talk... probably better termed a cross examination. 

Well, just as all guys do it, all guys have fantasies abetting the process. And I find myself at the kitchen table, physically basking in the release, but in emotional turmoil as wife Nicole Barnes proves to be quite the inquisitor... Miss Torquemada?

I have always considered my fantasies to be just that... mine. Yet with Nickie being empowered in discovering what has become a regular diversion, I cede, tending to appease, not wishing to extend the morning irritation.   

So we talk... guess I talk... Nickie listens. The frequency of my secretive couplings... hand and penis... appall. But as more of her questions are answered and it all comes out... she becomes more serene in learning that my love and devotion to her combined with my inability to adequately perform and please... has led to furtive self pleasure... guilt but pleasure all the same

My fantasy... while bringing myself to ultimate climax... is her... pleasing her. Guess it’s most  appropriately described as... doing so as best I can.

With my explanation, she smirks. Am I believed? Is a guy ever to know? 

Further chagrin comes when she acknowledges... that yes I am inadequate. Worse, the acknowledgment comes with a haughty laugh... wicked snicker?

“Yes, we’re definitely going to change things, Mike.”

I put aside my own questions... all relating to Nickie’s infidelity... strangely acceptable in knowing that such brings her own gratification... and that’s what I want as well... gratification... though mine comes vicariously.

Wife Nicole terms it a new paradigm. It becomes my turn to listen

Snippet Three, 'Semester Break at the Family Farm'

This will be the last snippet from 'Semester Break'.

Danielle Jackson

I have a boy friend! With Todd’s ‘scholarship’, the improved family financial condition has permitted me and Jackie to go into town... only on weekends of course. We actually have some spending money now!

So sometime back in October while Jackie and I mingled at a local pub, listening to a small-town group playing country music, we suddenly had a round of drinks pushed in front of us. A guy by the name of ‘Prince’ the bartender explained. Jackie and I looked down the bar and there was a relatively good looking guy, older in his mid thirties, arm extending to hold forth his beer, nodding to us in greeting.

Somewhat forward, but having passed age thirty a while back, a girl can’t become overly prickly about a boy’s attention. So I nodded back, silently thanking and concurring, and of course he moved to our end of the bar and joined us.

Conversation ensued, strained over the music. But there seemed to be chemistry. And when Prince sort of hinted that he swung both ways, quite unusual for midwest farm country, Jackie’s attention went more to the music, politely listening, while I became more and more intrigued.

Guess I’m not as possessive as other girls. For the notion did not faze me that, if Prince and I were to become friendly and socialize, I would not be Prince’s sole outlet for companionship.

And in my mind, concerns over any potential social maladies due to Prince’s swinging sex life were moot. For I only envisioned that nice face pressed between my thighs, ears grasped, tongue and lips adoring where tongue and lips can do a girl the most good. And as we talked and became more familiar, such an image became stronger. In public, Prince would be all man, the rugged ranch hand he appeared to be. But upon command, at my whim, I realized he’d as energetically please me as he would some guy in a gay bar.

We dated. Much discussion. He liked the idea of an open relationship. I liked the idea of having no pressure to lie back and lift my skirts because some guy was desperate to get off. Vaginal penetration... the thought has never been repugnant... just not my thing.

And better, Prince was more than satisfactory in maintaining the subterfuge. When invited to the farm house for a weekend visit, Mom and Dad were always impressed... so manly!

‘You should find a guy like Prince, Jackie,’ was Mom’s constant rebuke, my sister silently smirking in knowing the truth. 

As December approached, our relationship growing, I was initially apprehensive knowing of Todd’s planned visit. But then I analyzed. Todd is my servant... Jackie’s as well. And when some photos arrived of Todd earning his scholarship... for want of a better way to describe the Phipps Estate antics... there would certainly be no problem securing Todd’s acceptance of my oral lover.

Then I had to alert Prince. There were his days off when he’d visit the farm, Dad out in the pasture, Mom at work, sister Jackie knowing to conveniently remain working in the barn lest my lustful shrieks of oral gratification disturb her. Yes, many libidinous matinees with Prince.

For the four weeks of Todd’s visit, how was I to go without Prince? Of more concern, going without Prince’s tongue and lips? Would I need to allow Todd to cloth himself? And then what, still no cunnilingus!

Guess I’ve become too accustomed, too expectant of having my needs addressed.

So, a sit down with Prince. But more aptly described as pillow talk as I mellowed in bed after countless orgasms, Prince’s tongue indefatigable as always.    

“My brother Todd is coming... from law school... the holiday break.”

“Be nice to meet him. He know about us?”

“No... nothing at all,” my arm lowering, finger tapping Prince’s wet nose then slipping down to lips redolent with the scent of my spendings, hinting that the extent and frequency of his oral prowess is to remain secret.

I affectionately squeeze my thighs about his head in a gesture of thanks. It’s curious the one sided nature of our couplings... and much appreciated. I don’t even have him take off his clothes. It’s neat. No romance, obviously no silly talk, just pure lust and the satiation thereof... my lust.

I’ve read of some women enjoying the zipless fuck... no strings sex... no emotional attachment. I guess for me it’s become the zipless gamahuche. I just lie and absorb pure pleasure.

“He’s... well... special to us. Todd is. Likes to work about the house. Not a brawny farm boy like you.”

Prince nods as I release him from the grip of my thighs.

“So you’ll need to understand... ah... that when you visit, he may be working about the house.”

“So no bedroom visit?”

“I didn’t say that. Just be prepared... you know... for...”

I pause, not finding the words. Then finally summon the mettle...

“We use him more as a maid,” deciding on bluntness. “It’s... well... just what we make him do.”

“Make him?”  

I shrug.

“You’ll see. Just don’t be too surprised. And it will only be for a few weeks until January.”

Prince nods. I begin to untangle, the afterglow fading, the need to rejoin Jackie and labor in the barn beckoning.

“Now, go to the bathroom and do your thing,” my tone calm and soothing, like telling a toddler to brush his teeth. 

“You’ll watch?”

“Oh Prince, you get so creepy. Yes, I’ll watch. But it’s just to make sure you hit the sink.”

Todd masturbates for me... at least that’s his fantasy thing... that he strokes his cock under my auspices. So I quickly slip on my jeans and follow. Standing at the bathroom door, he unzips, his engorged penis popping from his pants. Orally serving excites him. I decide to tease with his level of arousal.

“And I should tell you, Prince. Brother Todd works for me in the nude. I hope that also does not bring concern.” 

'Semester Break' published

I have publisher 'Semester Break at the Farm, the Phipps Estate Saga Continues'.

20,300 words, $5.50.

Enjoy.

As posted, if anyone desires a story in paper, please let me know.

CB

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/semester-break-at-the-farm-the-phipps-estate-saga-continues/25151538

Snippet Two, 'Semester Break at the Farm, the Phipps Estate Saga Continues'

Todd Jackson

I stand before my sisters at the kitchen table. The photo with the anal hook, opening me each and every weekend while being worked by Miss Marsha, has drawn attention.

It’s semester break from Cancadia law school. For the four week interval without classes the cost of the five hour bus ride from Pittsburgh is worthy of the opportunity to see my family. But my ‘in charge’ sisters find it is an opportunity to return me to service as well. And I suppose they have a point. On a family farm everyone works, earning their keep. I am chagrined however to being returned to the duties of household maid. And I am even more chagrined when on the initial morning of my visit after Mom departed for her job and Dad headed out to the far off pastures, sister Danielle just stood arms akimbo in her familiar look of authority as at the stove I began preparing another round of bacon and eggs.

“Photos, Todd,” holding up a small ream of printed paper, evidently from her computer. “Your friend Zoey emailed me. Don’t think you’re in a position to be defiant,” she smirked, I cowered.

I turned, somewhat trembling, her presence always bringing anxiety.

“So... law school or not... you know how we want you.”

I do, putting aside the spatula, I quietly disrobed, sister Jackie sitting at the breakfast table giggling.

“So glum, Todd. But you’d not want it any other way,” Jackie joining in my disparagement.

More chagrin in realizing she is probably correct.

So I stripped, essentially on my sister’s simple suggestion. And I berated myself for sensing that quirky thrill, feeling the twinges, my cock cage veiling my reaction. Having so often served in the past, I was able to return to the focus of preparing breakfast and tending to coffee, but it’s there, the arousal, and I tell myself at least I am not leashed and being spoon fed mush as at the Phipps Estate.

Yet do I miss that?

Message received... that Zoey’s many photos are to be used to extort my abject servitude, there comes a discussion... detailed discussion... concerning every revealing click of the camera... and revealing more than my bound nakedness but the depths of my depravity as well. Does the secretive joy of subjugating myself to the likes of Miss Marsha also surface? 

My sisters are somewhat unknowing... not necessarily naive... concerning many aspects of the needs of the so termed beta male... and the women who revel in assuring such are met. But as photo after photo is presented, and I endure the humiliation of explaining the many facets and protocols of my stay at the Phipps Estate, Danielle and Jackie are not only becoming educated but begin to vicariously share in the revelry.

We come to the many photos snapped while hitched to the cart pulling pumpkins. This fosters much interest And I am commanded to come to the kitchen table, place my hands to the back of my head, and part my feet.

“Details Todd. As depraved as are the pictures of you giving a guy a blow job, these seem more telling. You’re harnessed, bound to a cart. You’ve been whipped. And look at your nipples. These little clamps were used on you, weren’t they?” Jackie pointing to the photo showing nasty little metal implements conveniently attached to the harness straps at the chest. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

“So, knowing of your response to pain... when inflicted by a woman... this afternoon of hauling pumpkins, being whipped and having your little pink nubs squeezed must have been quite exciting for you, Todd,” Danielle notes, her tone of nonchalance telling. “Too bad your little penis is locked up. It so much likes to show off.”

“I... ah... well... suppose... yes.” 

“Would you feel better that way... here... at the farm. We’d not want you to miss... your... well what do you call her?”

“Benefactress.”

“Yes, your very demanding benefactress. And this thing... stuck between your buttocks?” Jackie interjects, seeming enthralled.

“It’s an... well... an anal hook.”

“Anal. So there’s more to it then just the slim rod seen in the picture.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“It penetrates you... judging from its appellation. Slips into your little opening there... just like this blue thing?” Jackie again holding up the close up of me fellating classmate Richmond while being fanny fucked. “And you enjoy it?”

I pause, close my eyes in shame, my sisters asserting so much... so much humiliation. But the twinges become stronger. Then I feel fingers again about my cock cage. I open, I look down, sister Jackie again brazenly examining.

“I have my answer, Danielle. He’s secreting, his little male organs primed... excited... aroused... anticipating something that’s not to happen.” 

“Well Todd, we’ll do our best for you. Need to tighten up some horse harnesses. Jackie have you seen that one for the little donkey we had when we were kids?”

“It’s somewhere... in the barn,” Jackie smiling wickedly. “And I’ll get on the internet. I’m sure anal hooks can be purchased... god knows you can buy everything else.”

“But it’s... it’s winter!” I protest.

“To be run and worked barefoot in the snow. Who’s to complain Todd? Certainly not you.”